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  1. [Hey folks, first time posting a story here. Some of you may know me from my tumblr Broodingmuscle. This story will feature MMA fighting, dominance, forced exercise and feeding, and fast but realistic muscle growth. Eventually there will be some little bro revenge because that’s my jam. Let me know what you think, sorry no growth in the first chapter. - Broody] Fight Night: Part 1 Stick vs Meatball by Broody “Welcome back to the Underground Fighting Championship, I’m head commentator Fred Williams. Our next fight in the Flyweight division is going to be something I’ve never seen before. Curtis “Stick” Quick, the division’s tallest fighter will face his polar opposite, Tony “Meatball” Pizetti who replaces an injured competitor. I’ll ask my fellow commentator Al Sharp, what do you make of this crazy match-up?” “More like mis-matchup my friend, wow! As the fighters take their places in the ring you can see that the 6-foot-1 Quick just towers over Pizetti who stands a mere 4-foot-1.” “And yet, Al, and yet… look at these other stats, Pizetti is the heavier fighter, coming in at the regulation upper limit of 126 pounds, while Quick is a mere 123 lbs. What happened there did Quick over-correct trying to make weight?” “I asked his trainer this very question and the answer may surprise you. Curtis Quick has always been a super-lean guy, in fact he got into fighting as a kid because of how much he got picked on for being skinny. He’s never cutting weight for a fight, always trying to maintain or gain weight to stay competitive in the Flyweight rankings.” “And so he doesn’t blow away in a stiff breeze. Good Lord someone get that kid a sandwich!” “Well speaking of a meal, look at Tony Pizetti! “Meatball” is an apt nickname for the stud just look at all the muscle piled into this short stack. I just did a quick calculation and proportionally if Pizetti was as tall as his opponent, he’d be a whopping 280 lbs! Just look at those massive arms, they’ve twice as thick as Quick’s! Pizetti may not have the ultra long 80” striking reach of his opponent, but you better believe a body like that is going to do some damage if this goes to the ground.” “Pizetti’s wingspan is certainly respectable at 60” for a man his height. He’ll have to get inside to do any punching, but this is mixed martial arts! Expect some dominant wrestling from this pint-sized Hercules.” “And now the announcer is being ignored by both fighters during the introductions. What intensity as they yell smack-talk across the ring at each other. Quick says something about Pizetti shopping for his tights in the boy’s section. Pizetti-- oh my god!-- reaches into those same tights and pulls out his XXL cup! He holds it up to the audience and his tights snap back to form an outright elephantine bulge! Now he’s calling out Quick’s own fashion sense, with his loose shorts hanging down to his knees to hide his skinny legs, and what other inadequacies? As the referee scolds Pizetti, the short fighter grins and makes show of the compressing effort required to stuff those enormous genitals back into the protective device.” “Well Al, I don’t know about you, but the fight hasn’t even started and my blood is already flowing. I think the ring girl just fainted! And Quick looks a little pale, I don’t think he expected to be shown up this badly by a fellow just about four feet tall!” “Well as the bell sounds to start the round, we’ll see if Quick has a comeback to all that!” “And he does, a lighting fast left jab hits Pizetti full in the face! But he’s fast enough to raise his guard and block the follow up right which thuds impotently against the Meatball's thick forearm. Pizetti advances to try to get inside, but gets caught in the gut with a front kick from Quick that pushes him back into a more comfortable range for the taller fighter. This time Quick’s one-two combo hits the mark both times but Pizetti shrugs off the punches! He taunts Quick by sticking out his chin, his face plastered with a mocking grin and The Stick takes the bait, launching a straight right down the center which Pizetti ducks easily. The Meatball powers an uppercut drawn from somewhere in this arena’s basement and smashes into Stick’s jaw!” “Oh he’s hurt! Goddamn it if I didn’t feel the force of that punch from the ringside. How he’s even still standing after that hit I do not know but he manages to back away and bat aside Pizetti’s follow-up shots drunkenly. He was definitely rocked by that blow!” “The Meatball bulls his way inside and goes for a double leg takedown, no wait a double leg lift! He picks Quick’s slender body up like it’s a pencil and slams his foe brutally to the canvas! Oh my god, that has gotta hurt! Pizetti falls on him like a log dropped onto kindling and Quick tries to scramble out the side. No dice. Pizetti hauls him back, gets into full mount and rears up for some devastating ground and pound. A few hits from those sledgehammer fists and Quick’s face is bloodied up like raw hamburger. Quick's coach, his big brother Butch Quick, is yelling obscenities that would make a sailor blush from the corner.” “The ref calls out for Quick to fight back or he’ll end it and the fighter finally responds, flipping his legs up to catch Pizetti’s head between them. Quick wrenches down and the power of long limb leverage launches The Meatball halfway across the ring to land on his head! Pizetti pushes himself up to one knee but looks wobbly. Quick is dripping blood from his face but makes it to his feet. He lunges and strikes like a kicker after a field goal, his foot hits Pizetti’s gut with a dull thud. Quick winds up for another shot but The Meatball turns aside at the last moment, lashing out with a left hook to the body that nearly snaps The Stick in half.” “Holy shit, I think Quick’s liver just got made into paté. Spread him on a cracker, he looks done.” “Oh what a mess, his face ruined, fallen to his knees gasping, the wind knocked out of him. Now Pizetti approaches and reaches out to hold his head almost tenderly. He whispers something in his ear and the pulls him close, burying his face in his meaty pecs. He locks his muscular arms around Quicks head and cranks it. Forget breathing, Quick taps out in an instant so that his skull doesn’t pop like a zit!” “Oh my, over already just as I was getting excited.” “Looks like you’re not the only one! Pizetti pull out his cup yet again as Quick collapses to the canvas, chest heaving. He may be David but I’d call that cock Goliath: wide, rock hard and bursting up right out of his tights well past his navel!” “He gets grief from the ref and from Quick's corner, but the fans seem to love it! He drops the cup onto Quick’s face and then grinds his foot on it, forcing the defeated fighter to breath in his sweaty ball stank. Pizetti does a victory double bicep flex that gives the ring medic pause as he rushes in to check on the flattened loser.” “Pizetti grinds out a most muscular pose and blows Curtis Quick a kiss as security enters the ring to keep the two separate. As the referee raises his arm in victory, he points at Quick and mouths ‘I’ll be seeing you soon’ with a leer and a wink.” “Well Al, I’d sure like to be in the room for that meeting. Maybe even film it! Well, this has been quite the fight. On behalf of my colleague Al Sharp, this has been Fred Williams for the Underground Fighting Championship. Thanks for joining us and see you next time!” *** Fight Night part 2: Don’t Call Him Little The next day, Curtis Quick woke from his doctor-mandated bedrest to a pounding coming from the door of his room. He lived in a run down two story motel that rented rooms monthly for cheap. He dragged his poor battered body to the door shouting. “All right already, I’m coming, hold your horses. Jesus!” The noise was making his headache worse, but that was nothing compared to the shock he got when he opened the door and looked down to see Tony Pizetti outside his room on the balcony. His stomach churned but he put on a brave face, swollen as it was. “What are you doing here, huh, didn’t get enough of humiliatin’ me yesterday?” Tony wore a low cut white tank top that showed off his massive hairy pecs. He held a 15-lb bag of potatoes over each shoulder. “I’m here ‘cuz I’m your new coach, Stick.” Tony took a step back and then hoisted the potato bags, swinging them around like nunchucks. Curtis watched dully, still blinking the sleep from his eyes. With a last swing, Tony threw both bags at his chest and he flew back into the room, knocked flat on his back. “How did you know?” Curtis groaned weakly from the floor. His coach Butch, his older brother, had quit in disgust yesterday after the fight. Tony stood over Curtis’ flattened form, folding his thick arms over his chest.. “Everybody knows, Stick. He talked to the media this morning. I believe his exact words were. ‘I ain’t training a loser who lost to a midget.’ What an asshole.” Curtis got to his knees, still sore, but anger over Butch was riling him up. “He is a fucking asshole! That’s not the word you’re supposed to use. It’s like… little person, right?” “Look at this shit. You see anything little?” Tony flexed a bodybuilder-style double-bicep pose. His lats flared out into meaty buttresses holding up arms that were so thick with huge hard muscle that his biceps, triceps and forearms had to fight for space. “From now on you call me Coach or Sir, got it?” Curtis mouth hung open as he watched Pizetti show off. He remembered the power in those arms and thanked God Pizetti hadn’t broken any of his bones. “Got it, Coach! Damn are you bigger than yesterday?” “Fuck yeah, I hate cutting weight for a fight, after I was done with you, I went out with my buddies for a huge steak dinner and then went to the all night gym and blasted these muscles hard. Speaking of which….” Tony chuckled and reached over to tousle Curtis’ hair. With Stick on his knees they were the same height. “I like you kid. You got potential and I need a project. All I get for fights are gimmicks and last-minute replacements.So I’m switching to coaching. I’ve booked you a light-heavyweight fight 4 months from now.” Curtis shook his head. “It’ll take me that long to recover from that beating you gave me. How could I recover and train AND gain thirty pounds to fight as a lightweight in just 4 months?” “Clean out your ears, bumpkin, I said light-heavyweight, that’s 205 lbs. You’re gonna gain eighty pounds of pure muscle. And you're gonna learn to punch and wrestle like a man, not those girly blows you sent my way. And as to how. You leave that to me. Now get up and take this.” Tony pulled Curtis to his feet and shoved the motel ice bucket in his hands. “Go get ice. Lots of it.” While Curtis went back and forth to the ice machine to fill the bathtub, Tony stomped up and down the balcony stairs to his car, unloading the potato bags, 20 in total, till they filled one corner of the kitchen. When he was done, he checked the ice level in the tub. “Alright that’s enough. Come with me. It’s time for your first training session.” Tony popped the trunk of his classic 1983 Buick Grand National and Curtis flinched. “Is that a body?” Tony scowled. “What, you think I’m a gangster or something? Just ‘cause I’m Italian? That’s racist.” “I don’t think it’s r—” “Take another look, bright boy.” Curtis gingerly pulled at the bloody cloth wrapping. “Jesus, it’s a whole side of beef.” “Lift it out, kid. You’re taking it upstairs.” “What? How? It’s gotta weigh 300 lbs.” “Probably 325. Think of it as CrossFit.” “Shit.” Curtis said. He shucked his shirt and tucked it in the back of his shorts. Compared to the boulders of muscle fighting for space on Pizetti’s short body, Curtis’ thin muscles looked like strings stretched along a giant banjo. He strained hard to lift one side of the bloody mass over the lip of the trunk. The effort left him heaving breaths in and out his bony chest. He looked from the truck to the stairs going up to his second floor balcony and then back in despair. “Damn, son, you look like the carcass left over from last night’s roast chicken.” Tony jibed. Curtis hauled more on the mass of meat until he had two thirds of it over the lip. “I got…” he grunted, “a fast… metabolism… fuuuuuck!” Curtis tried to figure it out. He thought he could manage it if he got the side over both his shoulders. But the trunk was below his waist level and there was no way his skinny legs could rise up from a deep squat with that much weight. He looked over at Tony. “Y-you got a jack or somethin’?” Pizetti rolled his eyes. “Alright, soft boy, I’ll help ya, but it’ll cost ya later.” Pizetti scooted his legs under the bumper of the car. He spread his arms out straight and pressed them flat against the asphalt, then tucked up his thighs to his chest and pressed his feet to the undercarriage. Curtis heard first the groan of shocks and then silence as Tony leg pressed the back end of a loaded Buick. The trunk rose up level to Curtis’ chest and he ducked under the mass of meat to brace his shoulders. “Oof. Almost there, a little higher.” “Get ready, punk,” Tony growled. The trunk lowered down again as Tony’s legs pressed to his chest and then shot up fast and hard. Curtis pulled the weight freely onto his shoulders. He teetered over to one side but solidified his core and managed to keep from tumbling over. “I got it, I got it, Coach! Look, I’m doin’ it.” Curtis slowly turned around carefully keeping the huge load balanced on his shoulders. Tony was still under the car, grunting out leg press reps. Goddamn. Curtis made a mental note to google its curb weight. “That’s great kid, let’s see if you can get up the stairs in the time it takes me to do 3 sets.” Curtis let out a grunt of his own. “You’re on coach!” Curtis adjusted the ponderous weight and then stomped step by step toward the stairs. He got to the bottom and looked up. It looked impossible. He flexed his abs and thought of his older brother, mocking him yesterday for weakness. He raised his right foot and set it on the first stair. He pressed hard, feeling his quads solidify and contract. He stepped up and then planted his left. “Fuck yeah, I can do this!” He repeated the process and got to the third step. His heart was pounding. He heard Pizetti counting out reps: “Fifteen! Where you at, boy?” “Halfway up!” he lied. “You better go faster if you want to beat this chicken carcass.” He heard Pizetti breathing heavily. “Oh I’m gonna enjoy this.” Curtis heard the bouncing of shocks as Pizetti started pumping out his next set twice as fast. Curtis visualized the bloated strength of Pizetti’s tree trunk quads and willed it to transfer to his own slim legs. With the next step he forced his left leg to skip a stair. Then his right leg did the same. He was no longer inching up the staircase like an old lady, but taking it normally, like he didn’t have half a cow on his shoulders. The tension in his limbs was intense but he took a deep breath and stomped up the rest of the stairs, reaching the top just as Pizetti yelled out his final rep. “I did it coach!” He huffed, a huge shit-eating grin on his face.. Pizetti set the Buick down and stood up. His thighs were so swollen with pump they rounded outward like beachballs. “Nice job kid!” He stamped his right foot down and his quads exploded, rending the overstretched lycra of his gym shorts right up to his crotch, with a loud RIIIIPPPP!. “Fuck yeah!” he growled. Reaching into the trunk he pulled out a huge meat cleaver. “Now get that meat on ice. It’s time to grow!”!” Cont.
  2. mmvmgo2011

    Vaccinated - A Continuation

    Hi all. Been offline for WAY too long now. I hopefully have a bit of spare time again, so I’ve revisited some of the characters and continuing Vaccinated. (And, yes, I have other stories on the go - haven't forgotten.) If you haven’t read it, you’ll almost certainly get more out of this one if you read that one first. A refresher might be helpful too, as there will probably be lots of callbacks and interwoven story lines. Obviously heavy spoilers here if you haven’t yet read the first one. Consider this a continuation following on immediately from the events in the first story, before the Epilogue. Events here may or may not progress matters to the same point in that Epilogue - so a sort of alternate history. Hope you enjoy. As before, I only have a vague outline of a story - I’m making the rest of it up as I go along, so fair warning, the story could include almost anything. If you’re easily offended or triggered, then maybe avoid this one. I welcome any feedback and will work in any suggestions you might have as it goes along. Delivery will likely be a fair bit slower than in the past, but I’ll try my best to keep chapters coming in on the regular. ~~ONE~~ Jake’s timing was exquisite; perfection. He could feel the crescendo, the approaching tsunami about to break, and he wasn’t about to miss the opportunity to experience the pleasure his partner’s ejaculation was about to unleash on his dick. Undulating, peristaltic waves of muscular contractions milking his shaft, coaxing the breeding load from deep within his heaving, roiling balls. Jake’s cock fully plugged the tunnel, his cock’s sensitivity heightened by the tight embrace along the entire shaft from tip to pubic bone. He pulled back slowly, deliberately, the head of his massive cock raking against the tunnel’s walls, tweaking the prostate, eliciting a deep, resonant growl in his partner that vibrated throughout his entire body, increasing the sensations and bringing the coming flood to the brink. He stopped as the head reached the opening, enjoying the feeling of the ring of muscle quivering against his fraenulum, his partner’s growl increasing. Jake’s heavy, pendulous balls seethed, ready to unleash their prodigious load. Squatting slightly, he adjusted the angle of his cock so the head would smash his partner’s prostate as he rammed in all fourteen inches down to the pubic bone. The separate muscles of his massive quads stood out in stark relief, vascularity pulsating and engorged, the massive root running along his inner thigh branching out to feed power to every muscle. He flexed his cock, watching, enraptured, as it swelled even bigger, became even harder, the veins flooding it with blood, steeling the shaft and sending bolts of exquisite pleasure spreading throughout his godly body. Jake’s core tightened, the globes of his perfect arse contracting and squeezing as he slammed his cock in as far as it would go, and then further. As he smashed past the prostate, the tsunami was triggered. It was Jake’s turn to groan, as his partner’s orgasm and ejaculation began, massive waves spreading up his shaft, tingling, more bolts of electric pleasure sending him wild. As Jake slammed in as far as it would go, his balls slapped into his partner’s arse, his orgasm contracting and pulsating muscles throughout his pelvic floor. The hole clamped shut around the base of Jake’s shaft, a natural cock ring further swelling and hardening the already diamond-hard cock. As it swelled, his massive cock pushed harder against the walls of the tunnel, increasing the strength of the muscular contractions as it struggled to contain and eject the monster invading its depths. Jake’s eyes rolled back as his partner’s cock pumped out splashes of thick, creamy cum. As the first few arcs of cum splattered against his partner’s pecs and abs, a large glob settling in his thick, dark beard, Jake allowed himself to ejaculate, his own muscular contractions mingling with those of his partner, heightening their ecstasy. Jake’s balls, so eager to unleash their load, rose up, and his cock somehow swelled and hardened even more as his ejaculation began. The pressure exerted along the length of his cock, and especially by the ring of muscles clamped around the base of his shaft made it more difficult for his cum to make it through all fourteen inches, causing high pressure spurting jets of cum to spray deep within, the massive load contained by the swollen head plugging the tunnel. Even as they both continued ejaculating, Jake leaned in for a deep, passionate kiss, the taste of cum on his lips adding to his explosive wave of orgasms. *** “Get out,” Jake said, as he stood up and went to shower. “Fuck, mate,” he breathed heavily, still recovering from the orgasm, “you were mind blowi–” “I said, get out.” He didn’t even turn back. “Can I at least get your number? I don’t even know your name…” He trailed off, distracted by the incredible view of Jake’s naked body walking to the en suite. The X shape, his glorious arse cheeks, sitting atop massive ham-hock hamstrings, the sweep of his quads visible even from behind, his back muscles mounding and rippling as he walked, roadmap veins - everywhere he looked, splendour upon perfection. Jake ignored him. The cumrag, having served his purpose, already forgotten. Despite his swelling dick - how could you not get hard at that view, he thought? - he hurriedly dressed, the cum covering his abs and chest already drying, sticking to his shirt, and left. **** Brad, Amber and HE were sitting in Brad’s living room, regrouping and discussing the recent events and the fallout. “Can you still sense him?” Amber asked. They all knew which 'him' she was referring to. “Yes…” He hesitated, “…he’s having sex.” It was a very odd sensation, having his best friend’s subconscious as a stream in part of his brain. Despite everything, Amber and HE both blushed. Amber, in particular, was still trying to process her feelings about Jake. She could not let go of the fact that they meshed perfectly, their sex on a level she had never, and almost certainly would never, experience again. But, equally, she could not forget his treatment of her. His callous disregard, the violence against her without so much as a second thought. Yes, he was under the effects of the vaccine, but was that merely amplifying an existing tendency? She did not know, and the conflict was gnawing at her. What made it worse, she could never discuss it with him. Jake could not - must not! - ever know or be reminded of his rampage. They all feared if he learned what they did – what he did – that he would try to regain his abilities, and his reign of terror would resume. She nuzzled into Brad’s strong, comforting embrace, his Herculean arm around her. He was no Jake, it was true, but he was kind and loving, the sex was fantastic (though, of course, not the perfection she had with Jake), and his body was phenomenal. And, yet, she still could not shake the thought and feelings - he was no Jake. **** As Jake’s orgasm erupted in a corner of Brad’s brain, his own dick chubbed, and his mind wandered, lustful thoughts – of tits, of arse, of legs for days, of vascularity and muscle – flooded his brain, like cumshots pumping hot man cream, flooding holes. Amber nuzzled into him, the feel of her pert, luscious tits pressing into him causing lustful fire to tingle through him, making a beeline for his cock. He smiled. Not for the first time he silently thanked Jake, his best friend and, in many ways, his saviour. If Jake had not convinced him to break his vow of celibacy, he would not have met Amber. Not since Angelina had he felt such feelings for a woman. Amber would never replace Angelina - nobody ever could - but Amber was a mighty fine substitute.
  3. tester26

    Brent the God

    In a darkened auditorium, a crowd of 20 men stood around, waiting expectantly. On stage, four muscular men, clad only in skimpy posers, hauled an odd assortment of objects onto the stage: a huge tank, numerous large metal drums, and an oversized rack of weights. Each man was massively muscular, handsome, and clearly well endowed. About half of the crowd appeared to be drooling at the sight of these overmuscled men, but the other half remained unmoved, as if they'd seen such beauty regularly before. In fact, though the crowd was entirely made up of men who clearly prided themselves on their physiques, it was evident that the group had come in pairs, only one partner in each looking around, wide eyed and confused at what they had been brought to. The stage set, the men left and the room momentarily fell silent. Then a chant rises in the audience, the words unintelligible until the crowd speaks in a unified voice. The previously unphased half of the crowd lead the chant, their eyes now focused expectantly on the stage. Their partners, more confused than ever, try to interrupt and ask questions, only to be drowned out by the chorus of voices. From the back of the stage a cloaked figure appears. The cloak falls away revealing a body more stunning than anyone could imagine, although the face is still hidden in shadow. As he steps completely into view, the audience stops chanting. He stands in the middle of the stage and surveys the crowd with an arrogant expression on his face. Ten feet in height, his body the very definition of spectacular muscular accomplishment and incomparable beauty, Brent was a rugged, almost bestial *god*. The crowd murmured as they let their eyes rake over the vast expanse of Brent's form, the sheer volume of muscle bulging off his mighty frame was almost too breathtaking to believe, the crowd was drinking in the sights as though it was the most beautiful thing they had ever seen in their lives. A pair of pectoral muscles carved from a block of marble, clenched and heaved with muscle defining power. Below that ponderous pectoral shelf, a perfect set of abdominal muscles glistened with oil. The freakish, overdeveloped, ridiculously shredded ten-pack flexed and clenched with even the slightest of Brent's movements. Arms that were completely relaxed hung off Brent's shoulder muscles a good distance away from his tight waist, pushed away by the monstrosities trying to pass off as his bulging lats. So muscle-bound were his arms that, fully flexed, they would probably measure a scant inch or two away from being as huge as his freaky quads. Brent sported quads that would have required entirely new words to describe them. Hulking, shredded, teardrop-shaped muscles rippled and flexed against each other like muscular mountains fighting for space along his leg. His diamond-shaped calves were covered in veins, their enormous masses swelling and tightening like hot lava finally cooling after a volcanic eruption. He was so packed he could not keep his legs together; instead, he had to straddle them outward, his feet about a yard apart. The impact of his gargantuan thighs packed with enormous slabs of muscle was almost lost by the inhuman mass mounted between them. A pair of custom-made red posing trunks stretched tightly over his round, muscular butt and barely managed to envelope a set of male sex equipment the size and weight of a bowling ball, drooping down almost to his knees. Even against the muscle god's gigantic body, Brent's cock and balls looked freakishly and wonderfully oversized. The base and a foot of his mighty tool were plainly in view as the posers were pulled downwards by his meat. The shaft was already as thick as a grown man's wrist and must have been eight inches in girth, ten inches around the bulbous head. Brent's cock was easily eighteen inches long, and it wasn't even hard! The huge mass swung slightly as he walked. The monster stud grinned at the audience and turned sideways and bounced up and down on the balls of his feet, proudly displaying his colossal manhood. His heavy sperm-packed balls bounced off his tight thighs. Brent strutted over to a set of dumbbells, each loaded with 1000 lbs, picked them up, and started effortlessly curling. Gasps arose as the peak of his bicep rose and swelled in bursts. He added more plates and resumed curling. His biceps continued swelling, with cruel looking veins as thick as fingers appearing encircling the swollen peaks. When he seemed satisfied with the pump, he tossed the dumbbells aside and swaggered over to the car. The audience murmured as they realized what he intended to do. Brent grabbed the front end of the tank, and flexed his arms. The front rose two feet off the ground! Then his arms straightened, and flexed again. Up and down. Gasps arose from the crowd. He responded by flashing a killer smile. His arms exploded with rippling, throbbing, pulsating movement as his arm meat cranked out rep after rep. The auditorium fell silent, the men slackjawed in awe. Brent squatted down and shifted the massive weight of the tank onto his shoulders, then hand over hand until it was balanced just over his bent, thick neck. Then with a guttural roar Brent stood up and pressed the tank over his head. Up and down for twenty reps. He shifted again, centering the tank until the full massive weight now solely on his right hand. Brent gave one last huge push and heaved the mighty load fully over his head, until his tree truck arm was fully extended. The cheer from the crowd was so huge, it was a wonder the roof didn't come flying off. The tank landed behind him with a loud crash, shaking the stage. The incredible display had many in the crowd with their hands on their hardening crotches, squeezing and rubbing their dicks in appreciation of the spectacle. The muscle man on stage threw down the car and struck another double bicep pose. “You like what you see, boys?” Brent boomed, with a deserved air of superiority. It was the first words the musclegod uttered to the audience, the deep and smooth voice made some in the crowd grow weak in the knees. Brent chuckled as he turned his attention to his own body, watching his god-like chest heaving and his impossibly developed arms tensing and relaxing, pumping blood through muscles that could only be described as superhuman. The peak of his biceps now reached the palms of his hand, completely filling the space within his flexed arm. He grunted like an animal, beads of sweat appearing on his upper body. "FUCK! That felt so GOOD!" grunted Brent, leaning forwards into a truly magnificent most-muscular pose, bringing his enormous fists together in front of his bulging pecs. The pump on his muscles was incredible; he was suddenly nothing but bulging pecs, biceps and traps. His torso was slick with muscle sweat. The pecs stood 6 inches thick off his ribcage, rising on each side of his chin. The side view of his pecs was awesome: the tight pumped chest muscles jutting up and out, so solid they hardly moved. Although he appeared to ignore it, his thick, soft cock started to swell, pulling his posers downward past his knees. More and more of the growing tube of meat appeared between his quads as his posers were stretched to their limit. A network of grotesquely gorgeous veins creeped down the shaft, thickening and pulsating as rich oxygenated blood and raw testosterone was pumped into the wondrous organ. Brent's boulder-sized testicles were rising and falling against his crotch, incredible amounts of testosterone pumping into Brent's body as his massive pillar of man beef continued to grow. “Yeah, that’s right. You like all this fucking muscle, don’t you? All this power just gets me so fucking hard!" Brent growled as he flexed his sweat-covered body. The smell of his musk filled the room, the crowd drooling as they watched Brent's cock grow harder, the immense weight of his muscular penis taking its time as it engorged itself on raw power. He scanned the crowd with his eyes, looking approvingly at the collection of muscle heads watching him with rapt attention. With a snap the red posers exploded from the overwhelming volume of his sex tools, the thick tall shaft of man flesh swinging upwards. Several in the audience screamed. Pre-cum, dense and viscous, began seeping from the swelling cockhead. Harder and stronger did Brent's cock grow, mighty muscles flexing across the length of the rippling beef stick, until three fucking feet of cock flesh was throbbing in front of him, the cock head level with the top of his pecs. Brent's prick was so huge that even he could not wrap his hand fully around it. Brent swaggered over to the row of metal drums, lying on their side. He straddled the first one with his massive thighs and squeezed. The metal drum groaned, deformed, and collapsed like cardboard. More cries of lust from the blissed-out audience. Streams of man-juice lept into the air from the sensory-overloaded men, who were groaning and yelling at the spectacle. Brent laughed as he reduced each drum to pathetic piles of crumpled tin foil, lifting one and holding it between the palms of his hands parallel to his chest before flexing his pecs and flattening it. Another he slammed onto his mammoth erection, the rock-hard pole easily bending the drum in half. Roars from the crowd rose. Finally, triumphantly strutting out to the edge of the stage, the untiring musclegod starting to beat his meat out toward the audience. His shaft was so incredibly thick that Brent used both hands in unison, stroking up and down. “Look at this, you muscle-loving fuckers! Look at this body of the biggest fucking musclegod on earth! You’ve NEVER seen anything like this before, have you? Look at these gigantic muscles! I’m a fucking god! Worship me, musclesluts!” Brent boomed to the screaming audience. The four musclemen from before joined him on stage, all naked, all sporting massive erections easily over a foot long. They teamed up in groups to please their Master, two alternating between Brent's huge balls and cock, the other two massaging his chest and arms. Moans and groans erupted from the crowd as men lost their load at this incredible sight. “Aw yeah, worship my fucking muscles! Stroke this giant fucking stud cock!" It was an orgy of flexing as the four men felt up Brent as he flexed. Freaky double-bi, massive rolling pecs, horseshoe triceps, and mountainous traps. The men switched places - one moved to massaging his huge shoulders, another his massive mounds of pectoral muscle, a third was sucking on his cock, and the last stroked and kissed Brent's powerful legs. Brent surveyed the scene around him. The audience had collectively stripped in their passion, most fucking each other as they watched the erotic display on stage. A group of men had congregated towards the front, begging him to take them, fuck them, degrade them. The smell of testosterone, sweat, and cum reeked through the room. The floor of the small auditorium was becoming slippery with the cum shot from the male audience members going wild with desire. Brent felt like he was in heaven. One of the acolytes wrapped his arms around Brent's huge torso - and rubbed his torso up and down the muscle god's mass. His large cock brushed against Brent's abs - the deep cuts jacking him off. Another came up behind Brent and wrapped his arms around his neck; Brent turned to make out with him as the stud slid his dick between Brent's perfect globes. Without warning, Brent grabbed the first man by the waist and and lunged his massive dick inside. Using his muscular arms, he whipped the bodybuilder's neck back and covered his mouth with his hand, squelching the man’s scream. The audience stared in awe as Brent thrust his beastly dick up the man's ass. The man screamed in pain, but Brent was unyielding. He grabbed him by the waist and tugged hard - moving the muscleman up and down his three-foot shaft, nearly managing to fit his entire cock inside. The massive intrusion made the acolyte cum immediately, his impressive member spraying the first few rows of spectators with jizz. It was clear the men on the stage were well-practiced, capable of enduring Brent's brutal fuck without being torn apart. Behind them, the three attendants embraced one another and entwined tongues. One of the attendants bends for the other and offers himself. The third kneels before them and deep throats the bottom's big dick. They begin to fuck behind the god creating a lustful diorama. Brent pounded his worshipper's ass in half a dozen different positions, the bottom in a state of continuous orgasms as Brent manhandled him. The heat of the god’s coupling washed in waves of lust over the standing men in the audience. Hands fumbled and groped as they reach out to their neighbors, unable to resist the urge to couple themselves, though woefully inadequate to match the intensity they felt from the stage. The acolyte's eyes rolled back in his head as he lost consciousness. Without skipping a beat, Brent slid the man off his still-rockhard dick and then picked up one of the other attendants, positioning his dick at the base of his ass. The intimidating monster looked as if it would split the man in half, but the man showed no fear. Brent penetrated the man's tight, muscular ass and rammed its way inward. The acolyte let out a deep moan as he began to cum, Brent fucking him with unrelenting power, forcing load after load out of his dutiful follower until his body too went limp. Brent was unyielding; he drove his penis into the remaining two assistants, brutally plowing each of them until they could handle no more. The audience had descended to orgy by now, not even seeing the scene on the stage. The final supplicant impaled on Brent's rod moaned and screamed as he shot his load all over the men in the front row until finally Brent pulled out of him and roared. Cum, pure and thick, erupted from everyone in the audience as Brent flexed the greatest double bicep pose ever flexed, his own monstrous penis exploding so mightily the massive jet of cum reached twenty feet before finally arcing earthwards and raining down upon the screaming fans below. Brent aimed his erupting monster at the crowd and watched as man after man keeled over, overwhelmed and overcome by the strongest orgasms they had ever had in their lives. Even for a god, all good things had to come to an end, and it was at the end of three whole minutes of wondrous, blissful, orgasmic release did Brent's finally calm down, though the few conscious members of the audience had long since been reduced in shooting blanks, their eyes seeing stars as they caught their breaths. The auditorium looked like a warzone now, unconscious bodies resting peacefully in gigantic puddles of cum. The room fell silent. From the back of the audience, there is stirring. Half of the men had managed remain conscious through the intensity of Brent's orgasm, though it seemed their partners had not. The men jostle and pick up their unconscious lovers, lining up without saying a word. The four musclemen, having recovered from their brutal fucking, move a massive chair on stage, a throne for Brent. He sits, cum and sweat dripping from his pumped muscles, his elephantine cock extending past his knees and leaking a continual stream of cum onto the floor. The first audience member approaches, a championship-level bodybuilder, carrying a similarly built man in his arms like an offering. Though not yet in the league of the men standing on either side of Brent, he is still a vision of powerful masculine beauty. His thick, stubby dick, the size of a soda can now stiffens and points straight toward his master. Brent smiles and leans in to kiss the man, forcing his mouth open with his own, tasting his lips and his mouth. The man's cock is painfully hard, and his hips bow toward his master, giving himself to his god’s desire. He places his unconscious partner against Brent's pecs, the head sliding between he massive mounds of meat. Without breaking the kiss, Brent begins to glow as the body sinks into his own. His worshipper moans as he feels Brent absorb his offering, cumming as the body disappears completely. Brent pulls back and smiles approvingly at his worshipper, who bows deeply and returns to the audience. The pattern is repeated again and again, each man bringing forth another offering to add to Brent's mass. They ask different things of their god, some choosing to suck on Brent's three-foot monster, some begging him to flex a muscle for them to kiss. Brent was in heaven, feeling more mass build inside him as the men slavishly worship his impossibly huge body. With each absorption, Brent glowed brighter, his eyes closing as he rubbed his hands all over himself, resisting the urge to cum as each offering was broken down into more nutrients and cum. Finally, the last worshipper returned to the audience, joined by the four attendants, all of the men kneeling before their god. Brent stood and walked to the edge of the stage, surrounded by a golden light. Already he looked as if he had grown, but the men knew this was just the beginning. Brent locked eyes with the nearest worshipper, causing the man's orgasm to burst from his already spent cock as if he had been abstaining for weeks. He collapsed on the ground unconscious, his body continuing to convulse. Brent smiled, turning to another as he raised one massive arm and flexed his fingers in a slow-yet-rhythmic fashion. As if on cue, the second man cried out, a great burst of white fluids gushing from him, his pelvis thrusting rapidly as he was rendered unconscious by his massive orgasm. Brent laughed, his deep chuckle sending shivers down everyone's spine. He was too huge, too sexy, and most of all far too muscular for any man on the planet to resist. “Holy *fuck,*“ he moaned, the deepness of that utterance sending chills all the way to my toes. “This… feels… *magnificent.*“ The crowd watched attentively as Brent began to glow brighter. He bellowed lustily as intense waves of power spread across his muscled form. The golden aura around his body deepened. Brent's torso and legs began to stretch to new lengths. His height increased to 11 feet, then 12. His shoulders erupted with inhuman power, muscular mountains fusing into monster traps that barely contained the growing pillar passing for his neck. As he bent forward to look over his thickened pecs, he saw his devotees drooling as they watched him, stroking themselves and each other as their god grew. His monster cock convulsed, as if it was barely holding on to an orgasm to end all orgasms. “I can feel every muscle, every *cell* in my body, just bulging and flexing with insane power!” Brent growled. The crowd could only gape as Brent's growing body swelled. The muscles on his enlarged frame found new space to grow and expand. His mammoth chest lifted and thickened. Brent repeatedly flexed his super-sized chest and felt light-headed by the power that rocketed through his body. Below them, his freak-show abdominal muscles had grown to the size of anvils, and they were still getting bigger! He watched with approval as one muscle after another in his arms grew in volume to fill the spaces from shoulder to elbow and from elbow to wrist. His biceps split into huge lumps of throbbing power. His triceps hung like giant hams, each of the three heads fighting for room. He raised his arms slowly in triumph and found his biceps had grown so large, he could barely touch his head with his fist. "Oh god…..so much fucking muscle and power!" he whimpered to himself, his prodigious pecs bouncing back and forth under his groping fingers. Between his legs, Brent's already monstrous mega-cock grew even larger pressed between his cinderblock brick abs and pillow-sized pecs. Brent moaned, his hands massaging his gargantuan prick as the muscular tower of throbbing flesh continued growing out until the swollen head was throbbing at eye level to him. “Now *that’s* what I’m talking about,” he growled, spreading his huge legs wide. “So much power, so much raw, erotic power! Fuck! I can feel it shooting through my muscles, my cock! Fuck yeah!” Simultaneously, Brent's lats expanded and pushed his arms further outward. The traps and deltoids of his shoulders grew into melon shaped masses of power. The V-taper, already impressive, took on even more dramatic shape. Brent's throat became encased in a thick column of muscle pushing hard against traps that just touched his ears. As quickly as Brent's upper body grew, his legs thickened even more rapidly. His calves, mighty and thick, split into two perfectly shaped diamonds each threatening to tear away from the bone. "Fuuuuuuuuuccckkkkk!" Brent rumbled. Thick, pulsing veins ran like highways over and around every supersized muscle, converging at the base of his throbbing, monstrous, king-sized cock. The muscle giant gripped the base of his cock with both hands, the throbbing head spraying precum onto his face and hair. With no effort at all, he bent his head slightly forward and shoved his leaking cock into his mouth, slurping at it loudly, both hands pumping it at the same time. Spit and precum leaked out by the mouthful, covering his cock and chest in a slimy, clear residue as he felt his testes fill with gallons of potent cum. His throbbing, muscular cock was riddled with veins, easily six feet long and as thick as a man's leg. Brent's moans of pleasure sent shivers through the audience, their god growing bigger than any of their wildest imaginations. As the glowing light faded, Brent's metamorphosis subsided. He sat back on his throne, dripping in sweat, panting as he tried to catch his breath. Brent had grown into a fucking titan, a herculean god. He was a fucking freak, a bulging muscle freak, twelve fucking feet tall and definitely over a ton of pure fucking muscle. Every square inch of his body was filled with distended muscle. Veins wound around his body and throbbed with blood like molten steel. Brent flexed his gargantuan physique. The muscles audibly rumbled as they shifted beneath his golden skin. Brent's hands squeezed his pecs, feeling their new size and weight. He couldn't help himself, every inch of him had been pumped to perfection. Pinching his nipples sent more jolts of pleasure through his body. Cum churned in his balls, processing the last of his offerings, inflating like balloons against his thighs. He wrapped his herculean arms around his titanic cock and began jerking it with his entire body. Every muscle in Brent's huge body was flexing violently, biceps bunching with the pump of his fist, bubble butt clenching, mammoth thighs rippling with shredded muscle, pecs bouncing involuntarily with each stroke. "Oh yeah…..oh fuck yeah….." Brent drawled to himself, his eyes screwed shut, lost in his own self-pleasure. Any man who could focus their eyes long enough through their orgasms was staring fixedly upon Brent's swollen cock. He began to use both hands to stroke himself, using nothing nothing but his copious self-lube to slick up his monstrous pole. Both hands traveled up and down the length of his rod, and he turned and twisted so everybody got incredible shots of his rigid, leaking dick, now even harder and leaking more. He shoved his cockhead into his mouth. Audibly, he began to suck and bob on his cockhead as his hands stroked from balls to crown. Brent groaned with joy as he felt himself getting close, every muscle twitching and flexing, his fingers drenched with pre-cum. The audience were in hysterics, frantically masturbating as they awaited the inevitable. Even those who didn't have a drop of jizz left in their bodies stood massaging their aching erections nonetheless. His groans became faster and louder, muffled by the incredible bulk of his bloating cockhead, and his hands became blurs as they rode the amazing length of his shaft, and then, throwing his head back and screaming, the first shot of cream was spewed forth form his balls. "ARRRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH FFFFFFUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCKKKKKKKK!!!!" Brent let out an animal bellow of orgasm and ecstasy as pints upon pints of thick jizz rushed from his mighty balls, rocketing up his throbbing rod and exploded from his dark red cockhead, soaring over the crowd. All at once the audience came, shimmering wads of cum blasting from their cocks in unison. They fall onto their knees and cry out in pleasure as their orgasms took over, sending them into convulsions of pleasure as they fired loads that were completely dwarfed by Brent's. "AAAARRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!" Brent screamed again. The second jet of thick, heady cum erupted from his cockhead, shooting 30 feet into the air, hitting the ceiling. Cum showered down on the masturbating crowd, upturned faces splattered with cream. Rope after rope after rope of thick, creamy splooge blasted from the muscle god's six-foot monster cock. Some jets soared meters across the room, high above the heads of the crowd, landing here and there randomly on some lucky spectator. Brent's mighty orgasm ripped through ever fiber of his gigantic body, muscles flexing and relaxing involuntarily with ecstasy. "Oh YEAH!" he moaned, cupping his hands over his huge, heaving pecs, squeezing them. His abs crunched as he thrust into the air. The acolytes, zombie-like, moved toward Brent's superhuman body and began rubbing their bodies against his legs and lower torso. Two wrapped their hands around Brent's erupting cock and jerked it with all their strength. The men were in absolute lust for Brent's muscles, squeezing, licking and caressing them with the fervor of pure sexual ecstasy. Brent moaned as he enjoyed his superhuman orgasm, his massive hands squeezing the armrests of his chair tightly as he flexed and thrust his hips in the air. The acolytes aimed Brent's cock at each other, try to swallow what they could, knocking each other over from the pressure of each blast. The hyperconcentrated protein from all of his processed offerings had the effect of the most potent steroids, giving them the strength and mass they needed to endure Brent's intense fuck sessions. They'd point the erupting hose at Brent, letting him drink his own load, all the while whispering how hot he was in his ear. "You're so fucking huge, Brent," whispered one. "I can't get enough of this enormous dick," grunted another. They told him how massive his cock was, how amazing he was, how no man compared to him. Just hearing this made the musclegod writhe with pleasure, his muscles tensing and bulging out, cock flaring and pulsing as his orgasm went into overdrive. He drenched his worshippers for ten whole minutes before his orgasm calmed to a trickle. The slightest of movements caused his muscles to flex monstrously. Every flex was intoxicating. Brent felt so strong it was almost surreal, his head dizzy with excitement. He was the epitome of masculinity, with his insane, overdeveloped muscles and a cock that throbbed with barely controlled sexual energy. He leaned back on his throne, his massive dick resting on his chest, cockhead leaking the last of his epic load onto his shoulder. Streams of white flowed down the deep valleys and grooves of his muscles, pooling on the seat and floor beneath him. "Fuck!" Brent panted, "What a growth." Brent grinned widely, nodding proudly to himself as he surveyed the room. The scene was chaos, a sort of sexual carnage, the aftermath of a lusty rampage of epic proportion. Muscle men were strewn everywhere, their balls drained so thoroughly that they were nearly too exhausted to move. Most seemed unconscious, others were barely hanging on, moaning and writhing weakly. Each was covered from head to toe in sperm… thick lines and ropes and splatters across their sweaty forms. Those still able to move seemed perfectly happy with the situation, their hands roaming their bodies slowly, sliding through pools of hot seed as they brought fingerfuls of creamy cum to their lips or stroked their abused dicks. In the morning, they'd head home, where they would go out in search of new partners, new lovers to become offerings to their monstrous muscle god.
  4. tester26

    Sean meets his twins

    This story is based on an old Metabods story called "The gene" that's no longer on the site. Also, of course, HSMuscleBoy's characters. Sean laid on his bed, his body hot and sweaty, and his enormous cock, a staggering 22.5 inches long, a thick 9 inches around, raging hard and pissing precum all over his chest and face. He gazed at his laptop screen, his hands moving all over his ripped, muscular body. Though well into his twenties, his face looked no older then eighteen, a beautiful face with piercing blue eyes, and full sensual lips. In contrast to his youthful face, he was massively built, broad powerful shoulders that narrowed to a shockingly tight waist, huge slab-like pecs, a hard chiseled eight pack, biceps the size of his head were adorned with throbbing networks of veins. His legs were long and powerfully muscled, wrapped in golden toned, vacuum tight skin, every massive muscle was clearly delineated. He was the wet dream of any championship bodybuilder and he knew it, evidenced by the many medals and trophies lining his walls. This was a game he played often, how much porn could he watch without getting off. Sean groaned as he watched the two handsome muscle studs on the screen embracing, their nearly identical limbs wrapping around one another, their rippling abs sliding over each other. His face was becoming flushed as he licked his lips. His right hand was stroking slowly, smoothly up and down the large shaft. Sean grinned and laid his cock flat against his bare torso, relishing the sight of it sliding up between his pecs. Sean’s gaze traveled over his naked body as waves of pleasure washed over him. His muscular thighs, giant cock, and rippling torso filled him with desire and lust. He loved his own body, wanting himself more and more as each stroke filled him with bliss. Sean released his cock and sat up, abs, contracting into a display of defined, youthful muscle. Sean sat up and ran both hands over his shortly clipped, blonde hair. He stood and wandered over to the large mirror across the room and began flexing his chest and abs, grinning as the muscles contracted into fibrous, erotic, bulges and creases. God he looked amazing. He flopped back down on the bed, his cock smacking his hard chest, then raising up slightly off his bare belly. He closed his eyes, utterly horny, stroking his oversized cock. It throbbed with desire in his hands. His whole body writhed in the feeling of building orgasm. He stroked himself to the brink of orgasm again and again. The sounds of fucking eminating from his laptop increased his pleasure as he fondled himself. After some time, Sean had worked himself into a frenzy. Feelings of sex spread all over his body. He moaned softly to himself and continued to torture his steel-hard pole. A little touch here, a slight caress over the tip. The pleasure magnified to near unbearable proportions. Sean thrust his hips up and down, his cock was so hard that it barely even moved, just sticking straight up above his belly. Sweat began beading on his smooth skin. Eyes still closed, he ran his hands down over his bulging chest to his narrow stomach, feeling, caressing, enjoying himself. He didn't need to see his muscles flex to get off on them. He squeezed his biceps, licking the peaks. In a moment, Sean would lose all control over his cock and cum... but this time, something felt different. Something like an orgasm washed over him, but not from his cock. Sean’s body contracted, every muscle rippling into sharp definition. His chest was heaving, mind reeling... and then suddenly, it stopped. Sean was still on the brink of orgasm... but in coming back to reality, he felt another presence in the room. He listened as his breath slowed, his chest rising and falling a bit more evenly... but it wasn’t just his own. Sean could sense a form lying next to him on the bed. He opened his eyes and looked. What he saw was impossible... Sean was literally lying next to himself! For a brief moment, Sean thought he was having an out of body experience. He gazed down past his clamped shut eyes, face in obvious concentration to withhold the oncoming orgasm. He observed his body’s bare torso, watching his chest and stomach rise and fall evenly, his abs contracting with each exhale. He drank in the sight of himself. Light perspiration made his skin shine in the dim light coming through the window. Even in the darkened room, he could clearly make out the outlines of his body’s abdominals and the deep crease in the center of his pecs. His bobbing cock continued to throb mercilessly from his groin. Precum flowed down its length from his extended self pleasure. Sean’s mind brought him back to reality. This didn’t make sense. He could feel the bed underneath him, the weight of his own body... Sean’s heart was pounding, but his head had cleared. His peripheral senses were returning, and he was blissfully aware of his angry cock emitting pangs of pleasure, twitching, on the verge of tumbling him into an immense orgasm. Sean looked down and saw his cock pointing straight at him. Precum was drooling from the head between his pecs. A pool was forming, running through the center crease in his abs to his belly button. It was true, he had actually cloned himself! That realization alone nearly sent him over the edge. With pounding heart and quivering breath, Sean sat up, cock sliding between his pecs. He didn’t dare touch it. Slowly, he got up on his knees, hovering over his own image. Despite his care and caution, his movement on the bed alerted the man below. Sean’s clone opened his eyes, surveying the room, but not moving his head. Sean had noticed that the other man's cock had softened slightly, he seemed just as thrown off as Sean was only a moment before. The head drooped off to one side, painting his right pec with wet, sticky precum. The clone looked downward in the direction of where Sean was kneeling. Their eyes made contact for the first time. A jolt coursed through Sean’s body... his clone must have had the same reaction, because his cock rapidly twitched and stiffened back to the same oversized length as his own. A look of realization spread over the other guy's face, followed by a huge, uncontrollable smile. “I cloned myself???” whispered the sprawling image on the bed. “You're me???” whispered Sean. Instantly, both of their minds were reeling with possibilities. So much to do... so much to try... And there were questions too. How much time do we have? Is this permanent? If it isn’t, where does he go? And then a wicked thought flickered through Sean’s mind: Can I make more? They began eyeing each other greedily, lustfully. The studs flexed and caressed themselves, not even touching each other — Sean was swooning as he was able to see his body twitch and move from different angles. God, he was ripped. What a huge fucking muscle stud! And his monster cock! Fuck! Sean nearly came just from looking at his double. Their cocks were bouncing and pulsating, pressed tight now against their ripped torsos. Sean’s double placed his hands behind his head and crunched his stomach, showing off his beautiful abs for Sean. His clone’s throbbing cock was obscuring much his abs. With shaking hands, Sean reached forward and grasped his image’s penis with his left hand. The organ felt huge and hard. It was hot and heavy and just like his own... except it wasn’t. But somehow he felt the pleasure inside him, as if an invisible connection linked the two of them. The studs moaned together, one being touched, one touching, both identical. Sean pushed the other man's cock to the left, bringing into view his ripped abdominals. The clone's meat leaked a continual stream of pre, the liquid running over the channels of his abs as he flexed, wetting Sean’s hand as he held the giant cock. Slowly, Sean bent forward and licked the other guy's torso, tracing the defined creases of his clone’s stomach muscles. The precum tasted just like his own... wet and thick and a bit salty. The other Sean was taking husky breaths, trying to crunch his abs even harder for his twin, groaning softly at the sight. Sean looked up and grinned. He was straddling his other body now, kneeling with his legs straddling his image's. He released his image’s cock, watching it snap back to its original position. He could see the veins pulsing, cramming blood into the engorged member all the way up its 22.5 inch length. The other stud's balls were pressed tightly against the bottom of his shaft, giant and ready to explode. Slowly, Sean reached with his tongue, giving his clone’s cock a small lick. The man threw his head back and kicked involuntarily, knees smacking Sean in the ass. “Sorry, I was edging for the last hour,” replied his clone. “Yeah... I know” grinned Sean. “I’m you, remember? Or, we’re each other...” That thought alone nearly drove Sean crazy with lust. Sean leaned forward, pressing himself down on top of his other body. Their monster cocks touched first, causing both studs to swoon. Carefully, Sean sandwiched their two steel-hard cocks together, the shafts throbbed against one another, the heads kissed, mixing copious amounts of precum from one cock to the other, trapped between two sets of thick, bulging pecs. Sean laid all the way down, pressing his chest against the identical chest of his twin. He wrapped his arms around the bare back of his clone, who was already softly stroking Sean’s shoulders and down to his sides. The two stared into each other’s eyes. Identical lusts reflected their inner desires. Sean could feel his clone begin to lightly thrust his pelvis, almost imperceptibly rubbing their slick cocks together in the deep cleavage between their pecs. Sean smiled and reciprocated. He gripped his clone harder, and bent to kiss him. Their mouths locked, setting off fireworks inside their heads. Their tongues entered each other’s mouths, wrestling together, sliding along the other's lips. They embraced tighter, Sean’s clone violently pushing him over. Now Sean’s back was against the bed, his hands roaming over his clone’s bare back, enjoying the silky smooth skin, gripping his twin’s firm ass. Their cocks slid over one another as their hands groped each other’s body. Sean was in sensory overload. This was too much. Too good. He gripped his twin and forced him onto his back once again, then began kissing the stud's body with abandon. Squeezing biceps and triceps, cupping pecs, licking nipples identical to his own. This really made the other Sean moan. They both loved that stimulation. Sean felt his dick rubbing over the other's leg as he made his way down the torso. He looked up with a sly smile and said, “I want to suck you.” “Huh, do you think it’s a coincidence that I was thinking the same thing?” grinned his twin. “Not even a little bit” replied Sean. Sean swung his legs around so that his knees were on either side of his clone’s head. He gripped his own cock and pushed it down, playing with his other self. He rubbed his cockhead over the other Sean’s forehead, down his nose, over his cheek, and glanced off his lips. His clone stuck out his tongue, attempting to catch a quick lick. Sean pushed back the other direction, smacking his cock against his twin’s left cheek. Finally, his clone reached up and grabbed Sean’s shaft with his hands. Electricity shot through both of them as all four hands wrapped around Sean’s thick cock. “Ok” breathed Sean. “You can have it.” The other Sean grinned and took the head into his mouth. Sean swooned again, his body jutting forward, pressing his face against his clone’s identical stomach and cock. Both of the giant muscle studs licked and caressed each other's huge cocks and balls before taking them into their mouths. Sean reached up and jammed his clone’s penis into his mouth. It felt amazing, as if he had two cocks being sucked off at once; which in a way, he did. He heard his clone moan around his own cock. He took some of the shaft in, tracing the large vein of his cock’s underside with the tip of his fingers. Sean just could barely open wide enough... but there was no way he was going to be able to take it all in. He said quietly, “God, we’re so fucking huge.” His cock twitched inside his twin’s mouth. The other Sean released it, chuckling. “Couple of horse hung musclestuds, right Sean?” “Yeah, Sean.” Both guys laughed before throating each other once again. Magnificent, sweaty, muscular bodies writhed in ecstasy. They continued pleasuring each other for a few more minutes, until they were both getting close. Without a word spoken between them, they released each other and stood up off the bed. Sean flicked on the lights and the two sat down on the edge of the bed. They wrapped their arms around each other. Their heads pressed together, but eyes closed as they slowly adjusted to the bright light in the room. They looked into the mirror and witnessed the most erotic sight of his life. Two naked, identical musclegods, rubbing each other’s bare bodies, their massive cocks jutting up from their groins between each other's pecs, crossed like swords. With their legs spread, their heavy testicles hung low off the side of the bed. Sean’s double grinned and leaned over. He began pulling on Sean’s large ballsack. Sean grinned, “God, I love how that feels.” His twin sat up, and Sean repeated the actions on his large balls. Sean could feel hands running up and down his bare side. Simultaneously, the identical studs reached out with their opposite hands and began fondling each other’s giant penises. They began stroking in earnest, pounding their oversized cocks, occasionally leaning down to steal a lick from their spurting cockheads. Sean looked down at the display of identical muscle and cock, his twin did the same. They shifted their gazes back and forth between the mirror and their bodies, feeling the pleasure welling up inside of them. Sean could feel the eruption coming. The two began crying out. Just before orgasm hit, Sean felt that same odd sensation he had felt just before he cloned himself. He looked at the mirror and suddenly, on his left side, another Sean materialized. Standing over the two of them, the new clone's mouth was hanging open, abs flexing, left hand flying up and down on his own enormous cock. With the realization that Sean could clone himself more than once, the dam broke, and orgasm took over. He began erupting all over his own chest, both of them. The sight of Sean releasing carried the two clones over the edge. Sean could feel his other bodies' cocks swell up and begin blasting out their own loads. The first clone moaned as he leaned over, drinking from Sean's cock with ravenous hunger. Sean groaned as he felt his double throat his meat while hot cum sprayed him in the face from two identical dicks. The third Sean stood in front of the two seated studs and roared, thrusting his hips towards the other two as he erupted. His beast pointed straight at their identical torsos, burying them in white. The two seated Seans took turns swallowing jets of jizz from the erupting member. Cum spraying onto their chests and abs. Sean could feel all three orgasms at once, giving him the most intense pleasure he'd ever felt. He knew the clones were experiencing the same thing. They leaned against each other for support as they twitched and shuddered. Bodies heaving after five whole minutes of cumming, the triplets’ pleasure began to finally subside. Sean and his clones still had their hands wrapped around each other’s cocks, but were now stroking slowly, milking out the last of their juices. “Amazing” the three Sean’s said at once. They slowly released each other and laid down, wrapping their limbs around each other. Sean was in the middle, his cock wedged firmly between his pecs, the large poles of his clones sliding against his chest as they turned towards him. “I love you guys” he said. The three smiled at each other. No words needed to be said. The other Seans were exact copies of the original… identical in lust and desire. They paused for just a moment to adjust positions. Skin to skin. The three gripped their large bobbing cocks with their left hands, then paused at the same moment to pull their large ball sacks from between their legs into a more comfortable position. They giggled at the identical gesture, their abs rippling into a display of 24 bulging abs, and began stroking again. Sean could feel the biceps and triceps of his clone’s arm flexing against him as he masturbated himself. With their other hands, they stroked and squeezed each other's arms and pecs. Sean #2 gripped the original and pulled him closer and the two began kissing. Sean rolled on top of him, running his hands all over the Sean on the bottom, feeling his hard chest and abs. His cock was rubbing along the creases of the other man's abs. He leaned down and kissed his image. The Sean on the bottom’s cock was pointing straight up between the muscle stud's ass, leaking pre once more. His hands were at his sides, allowing full access to his perfect body. The sight was fiercely erotic. The third Sean pulled out a bottle of massage oil off the nightstand. Quickly, he unscrewed the cap, lifted the top, and squeezed the bottle. He felt the greasy oil flow down over his neck and shoulders, down his chest and stomach. Thick rivets were running all over him. Sean put down the bottle and began massaging the liquid into his own body. In seconds, he was gleaming from head to toe, setting off his muscles in an incredible display. He gripped his throbbing cock, smearing the oil all over it with both hands, shivering at the intense sensations. “Hey guys” he called to his images. They broke their kiss and looked over, mouths agape. “Don’t you think this would be easier with a little oil?” Sean asked innocently, flexing his stomach and biceps. His muscles popped, and the studs grinned in anticipation. The original Sean on top flopped down on the bed next to his twin. Sean #3 sat up and began drenching their identical bodies with oil. Their hands kneaded in the slick liquid. Sean tossed the bottle away. Soon, all three of their naked bodies were glistening. Their slippery bodies glided against each other. Sean’s oiled cock slid easily against his twin’s bare ass. Sean’s whole body twitched involuntarily as his cock head slid between his image’s legs, poking up against an identical ballsack and thick shaft. He felt hands massaging his cock against the other, feeling his own bulbous head sliding against his image’s oily cockshaft. The horny studs groaned. Sean pressed his forehead against the back of his clone’s neck, sliding it down the length of his bare back, licking the oiled skin as he went. Sean then gently pushed Sean #3 forward, so that he was lying on top of the clone on his back on the bed. The two began making out wildly. Sean stroked his shaft slowly, enjoying the self-love below him. Their cocks were pressed hard together, pulsating as one. Hands caressed identical muscles and flesh. Sean laid on top of the two of them, sandwiching his dick between his chest and his image's back. His butt muscles flexed and relaxed in rhythm as he humped his two copies, pre oozing out from the small of Sean 3's back. The juice trickled down and rolled underneath him to moisten his abs. After some time, Sean gripped the clone on top from behind around the chest and lifted him up again. The two reluctantly separated, grabbing with their hands for each other’s naked bodies, but couldn’t grip each other with their slick skin. Whispering in his Sean 3’s ear, he said, “We’re going to double fuck you.” The stud moaned in anticipation. Sean lifted the giant muscleman easily, lining up the huge pole of the clone underneath. Three identical hands guided the large shaft to the opening. “Ohhhh” moaned the twin underneath. He was clearly enjoying the sensation of his sensitive cockhead pressed up against his tight hole, with his stomach sucked in and chest pushed out. He then thrust slightly, abs flexing as his cock buried itself in an ass just like his own. "Oh my god!" he groaned through gritted teeth. "Fuck that thing is thick." The lower Sean smiled as he gripped his clone's hips and plowed his cock into his image with greater force, pulling him down until his huge balls made a loud slapping sound as they hit his ass. "Oh fuck yeah!" Sean #3 cried out. "Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck! That's a big fucking cock!" The other Sean leaned forward and they continued sucking on each other’s faces. Sean could see his clone’s cock pumping slowly in and out. Crazed with lust, Sean stroked his cock, pumping it up just a bit more, then lined up his own goliath member. The other’s paused as he entered. He could hear his twin moaning softly as his cock joined his twin’s. Sean pushed. Slowly and easily, his cock slid in on top of his identical brother’s. Sean could feel the other monster pole throbbing against his. Finally, their cock head’s touched inside the other Sean’s ass. The Sean he was entering reared up slightly, all of his back muscles on display, glistening and shredding with taut muscle. Sean ran his hands over it, feeling the hardness of his twin’s body. “I can feel you inside of him,” Sean #2 said. The other Sean moaned, “God, you two feel so huge inside of me.” “Yeah, I can feel our heads rubbing together… awwww… feels tooo gooood.” “Look at all this hard muscle…. Damn, we are amazing.” The Sean being fucked was on his hands and knees, his triceps corded into defined horseshoes. Sean felt the hard muscles of the boy’s stomach and chest. He glanced down at his own flexing body and groaned loudly. All of the Seans were. Three voices blending into one. “God, I feel you… both of you…” “We’re together… the same” moaned the Sean underneath. "FUCK!" Sean #3 gasped. "I fucking love this! Fuck me! Fuck me dudes!" Sean pulled his cock as far out as he could, then started pumping his cock in and out as fast as his pulsing, hulking muscles would allow. “Gonna fucking cum!” Sean began thrusting harder, could feel an identical pole thrusting harder alongside his own. Suddenly, the twin being fucked reared up again. His eyes were rolling, cock flopping against his abs, twitching for release. “Ohhh fuck, here I cum!” Without even touching his cock, Sean #3 began spraying his load. It sprayed all over Sean #2's face and chest, volley after volley hitting the headboard and the wall behind it. Sean reached around as his twin began forcing out the rest of his load. They moaned together as he released, pushing Sean and his other image over the edge. The two giants thrust together, then held their cocks deep inside the other Sean, their cocks pulsating and pumping their cum into his perfect ass. Both of their bodies flexed into granite. Sean looked down, catching the eye of his image as they orgasmed. Time stopped. Ropes of cum shot deep inside Sean #3, filling all of the space around the two huge cocks, and then flowing out of his pussy and joining the huge puddle of cum between the three of them. He looked at his clone's red-flushed face, down over his veined chest and biceps, to his rippling, bulging abs. The Sean in the middle began rubbing his cum into the channels, feeling the hardness of the muscles. Two minutes into his orgasm, Sean felt another orgasm building inside him. He started quickly thrusting back and forth into his handsome clone again, still shooting thick ropes of cum. Finally he pushed all the way in again, and released a second massive orgasm on top of the one he was already having. It was amazing. His cock had become a fire hose spraying an unending jet of thick, glorious cum. The two other Sean's moaned as they felt the new wave of hot jizz. The three identical musclegods collapsed onto each other, two still wedged tightly into the one. All heaving with unimaginable pleasure. Finally Sean stopped shooting. The three of them remained locked together for a moment, all of them panting to catch their breath. He uncorked himself from his image, and Sean #3 rolled off his twin. His copies were completely coated in cum, sweat, and oil. The bed and wall in front of them buried in white. Cum was still leaking from their cocks as they rested next to each other, casually leaning into the thick puddles of seed. Sean admired the scene, his own meat still dripping jizz onto the two of them. Their combined emissions filled the deep crevices of their massive pecs and abs, oozing off the bed. He smirked at that. He laid down next to them, the king-sized bed forcing them to squeeze shoulder to shoulder to fit. "Fucking trio of muscle gods," he said, smiling at his two copies. His horniness barely waned from all of their orgasms; his mind was running wild with more smutty ideas as sweat and cum dripped down his body. "Aw fuck yeah dude... Look at all this fucking meat!" Sean #2 groaned as the three of them laid in post-orgasmic bliss. They lazily hefted their heavy cocks, playing with them as they leaked the last dribbles of cum. Sean gripped his doubles and pulled them closer and the three began kissing again. Their hands never left their cocks, stroking themselves back to hardness. Soon, the feeling took hold of all three. “It’s happening,” whispered the clone. Sean’s next body actually sauntered into the room from the hallway, his big, dripping cock leading the way. Grinning, he said, “Well you guys look comfortable.” Sean’s clone curled his pointer finger inward as he licked his lips. “Join us” he replied. The clone obliged, slowly sauntering towards them. Before sitting, the clone kneeled in front of Sean. Winking, he leaned forward and wrapped his hands around Sean’s, who was still gripping his large cock. He pointed the organ down and slid his mouth over the head sucking deeply, flicking the underside with his tongue. This sent Sean into orbit. He pushed his hips forward, thrusting his cock deeper into the other Sean’s throat. After a couple of quick licks up the shaft, the teen moved on to Sean #2 and repeated the actions. Then with 3. With all this identical muscle, Sean was near blowing his load…even after cumming so many times already. He stood up and stretched. His clones spread out a bit on the bed with the extra space, eyes glazing as they watched Sean stretch and flex his bulging muscles. Sean flexed his cock muscles, causing the 22.5-inch penis to bounce up and down. Sean felt three sets of eyes on him and looked up grinning. “You like that?” The three identical studs nodded together, their breathing heavy. Their hands were slowly rubbing over their own bodies, kneading and caressing the muscles of their bulging chests and arms. Sean gripped his cock with both hands and flexed his arms. A large vein popped out, snaking over his bulging biceps muscles. His chest flexed, revealing fibrous muscles. His abs looked like cobblestone pavement. Sean brought an arm up and flexed, licking slowly and sensually the head sized bicep that was throbbing with power. "Fuck..." he moaned, flexing this way and that, posing for himself and his copies. With every flex he felt a new level of pleasure, as though it were flowing in his blood and into his muscles. He wanted more and more of this feeling, and soon found himself flexing so hard he was panting. Pleasure overtook all of them again, and a fifth Sean walked through the door. His eyes flamed with lust, and he walked slowly, sensually, towards Sean, making sure his thighs flexed with every step, swinging his arms just enough that his pecs bounced. He flexed his stomach, his washboard abs gleaming with the sweat that was coating them. "Dude..." he whispered when he approached the muscle god. The clone looked at Sean for all but five seconds before shoving his tongue into his mouth. They touched each other all over - squeezing muscles, grinding their bodies against one another, tongue intertwined. Sean's hands grabbed the image's bottom, squeezing firmly. Meanwhile, the clones on the bed began to feel each other up once more. One man's hands were roaming the other's ripped backside, slapping his muscle, squeezing his ass. The three of them locked in a deep kisses that effortlessly went from one to another. They were moaning loudly, tongues roaming each other's bodies. One's tongue was trailing the lines of muscle of the second's abs, the latter throwing his head back and howling with delight. “Jack me” Sean whispered to Sean #5. The clone grinned at him. He stepped behind Sean and wrapped his arms around him. Sean leaned against the other stud's rock-like body. He could feel his twin’s hard cock sandwiched between them, burning with desire against his bare back. Sean laid his head against his double’s shoulder as his image ran his hands up and down his bare torso, feeling the bulging muscles of his chest and stomach. Sean flexed in reply. "Aw fuck yeah dude! You love this muscle don't you? Yeah, squeeze those hard fucking pecs, man." Sean groaned in pleasure. The clone wrapped his right arm around Sean’s chest as his left hand snaked down and began stroking Sean’s engorged pole. Sean was in heaven. He caressed himself and his image, his hands free now that his twin was manipulating his large organ. Three hands were all over his body. Sean began thrusting his hips, fucking his twin’s hand as it flew up and down his shaft. Sweat was beading on all of the studs, Sean could feel droplets running over the rivets of his muscles. He pushed himself back against his other self and put his left hand over his twin’s. They entwined fingers around his thick shaft and continued stroking. Sean looked down at his clones making out on the floor. Their heaving chests and abs were gleaming, identical muscles flexed in sharp relief. Each of their hands were wrapped around another’s cock, flying up and down. Three sets of balls flopping against the knuckles of the hand on the shaft. Their faces glazed and mouths open, moaning in pleasure. Orgasm nearly overtook him… but the sensation shot through him one more time. The 6th Sean materialized directly in front of him, his massive cock pointed directly at his face. Sean #5 stopped stroking as they looked up to greet the latest addition. The clone smiled back at them and pushed his identical cock and balls against Sean’s. Their two gorgeous cocks thrusted up from their groins, burning shafts pressed tightly together. Precum oozed from both heads, mixing together, running down over their veiny poles. He leaned forward and kissed Sean, cocks now pressing against their identical chests. Sean #5 leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Sean and the clone in front, sandwiching themselves together, and kissed his bare shoulders. Sean was beyond thought or reason. He could feel hands all over, worshipping his body. He could hear moans and groans coming from all directions, all sounding exactly like his own. Sean #6 released the kiss and gripped their shafts with both hands. Sean wrapped his hands around the two of them, and they began jacking their cocks against each other. With a groan, Sean grabbed the newcomer's head and drove his raging hard cock into his mouth. Sean #6 soon had his hands wrapped around the stud's muscle hard bubble ass as the nearly 2-foot long cock slid down his throat. But he was also losing his footing, and would topple over, helped by a lust filled Sean #5 who moved around the two of them and aimed his hard cock up the clone's ass. Sean #3 was right behind him, getting off the bed and sliding between Sean 5's legs, the twin monster cocks both going up Sean #6's ass at nearly the same time. Not to be left out, Sean #3 reached around and lovingly stroked and sucked on the cockhead of Sean 6 the moment he was all the way in. Seans 2 and 4 remained on the bed, stroking each other as they watched the orgy unfolding, the puddles of precum on their chests growing larger at the sight of all the intertwining muscle. Sean #2 rolled over and got on his knees in front of the other clone, his massive cock presenting itself in front of image's lips. Sean #4 immediately took it in his mouth, sucking hard. Sean 2 nearly fell back in pleasure; he thrust into the twin's mouth, and soon he was being deepthroated by his twin. Sean 4's cock bounced on his chest, spurting pre all over his chest and Sean #2's back, who grabbed the pillar of meat and jerked it roughly as he thrust into his twin's mouth, spit and precum splashing all over. Soon Sean #2 erupted, dumping pints of cum into the twin, which spurted out of the sides of Sean #4's mouth and out his nostrils. Still, it wasn't enough. Both wanted more. Sean #2 pulled out of his image's mouth, who seemed to read his twin's mind and flipped onto his stomach, cock sticking out of his side, oozing more and more precum. Sean #2 spread the twin's cheeks wide before driving his massive rod into his partner. "FUUUCK!" Sean #4 roared, his back rippling and tense, arms wrapped around the bed as his twin relentlessly fucked him, going until his balls touched the man's rump before coming all the way out and slamming himself back in, sending massive amount of cum to squelch out of the muscled rump. The two came in unison soon after, flooding the bed. Meanwhile, the group of four had changed positions after flooding Sean #6 from both ends. The clone had erupted in the process as well, falling to the floor as jizz poured out of him from both ends. Sean stood over his image, making out with Sean #5 as the clone jerked his still throbbing dick. "Aw yeah dude, like that dick?" Sean said. "It's so fucking huge..." the clone marveled, touching the massive meat, lifting his gigantic balls, rubbing his ripped and muscled body. "I can't believe how hot you are...we are..." "Aw yeah, just looking at us makes me cum," he said, winking. "Think you can take this big cock?" Without a word, Sean #5 smiled and straddled the muscle god, impaling himself on the raging hard cock. Sean #3 lined up behind Sean, forcing his massive meat deep into him. Sean moaned and reached backwards, grabbing his head and kissing him roughly. The three fucked in tandem, falling to the ground so Sean #6 could sixty-nine with Sean 5, the tangle of flexing muscle moaning as one until Sean #5 cried out from the dual stimulation, his cock exploding in a large fountain of cum, coating the clone sucking him in his spunk. Gagging, Sean #6 fell back and pulled his cock out as his partner coated him in warm spunk. "Yeah, shoot all over me..." he moaned. The thrusting of the other Seans soon became too sloppy, however, and they erupted as well, torrents of seed flooding their asses. They pulled out of each other, wrapping their hands around their rods and jerking ferociously. The four of them swapped spit as their cocks, sandwiched between their bodies, exploded all over them. Sean #3 wrapped his legs around Sean's waist, and the stud managed to shove his cock into the clone, fucking him silly while he orgasmed. The remaining two clones slid to the floor, joining their duplicates as the muscle studs formed a vast elaborate network of probed mouths and asses, their loins burning with wild desire. They thrust, grunted and groaned, those whose mouth's weren't full that is. The Seans eventually reached orgasm almost all at once, no more then a minute separated each one's monstrous orgasm. They were like a wild living fountain of pure sex, cocks spurting, mouths filled and asses filled to overflowing. Cum sprayed everywhere, dowsing the whole room with thick, rich spew. Finally, they all sat back, exhausted. His bodies sprawled all over the room, legs splayed in different ways, muscles flexed or relaxed, but they all had the same face. Content, blissful smiles filled the room. A heap of sweating, cum covered muscle covered the bed and floor. Sean lay there for a few minutes just breathing heavy and basking in what was the most incredible sex of his life. Despite all the action, his giant cock was staring him in the face, almost literally. He flexed it a time or two and it slapped against his gut with a deep thwack. His lips curled into a smile as he had another horny idea. He reached under the bed and pulled out his massive cock pump. The custom-built machine had a tube 3 feet long. The other Seans watched with big, lazy grins, limbs stretched out as they relaxed. "I wonder..." Sean said out loud as he slipped the giant tube over his half-hard meat. He switched it on and immediately all six of them groaned out in unison as they felt the suction pull their massive cocks instantly to erection. The gargantuan cock began to fill up the pump. The tip quickly passed the 2 foot mark with no sign of slowing down. Veins throbbed as the blood engorged monster grew and grew. Simultaneously, his clones' cocks grew at the same rate, as if they too were filling their own respective pumps. They all moaned as they passed 30 inches and kept growing. The two Seans closest to him sat up and began to lick Sean's chest, rubbing their growing dicks against his body, urging him to grow more. The clones turned toward Sean, circled together around him. Closer and closer they inched, until they were standing hip to hip, toe to toe. Sean’s hands felt and squeezed the muscles of his clones’ biceps and triceps. Inside the circle, six pairs of eyes focused on the giant cock being pumped, five identical cocks pressed tightly against it, smearing the outside of the pump with pre as they grew. Heavy breathing and groaning filled the room. They were staring hungrily at each other. Hands were roaming over their naked bodies, caressing idly. He felt connected to all of them, after all, he was them. His cock swelled and his clones’ big cocks responded, growing upwards. "AHHHH. UHHHH..." he moaned, eyes clenched tight. It was like he was having sex times ten! His tongue was sticking out, mouth open in bliss as he felt his cock growing. Sean turned slowly, enjoying the sight of his multiplied body as his meat expanded inch by inch. He reached for one of the clones, caressing his pecs, another’s hard abs. He drew another in for a kiss, wrapping his arms around the twin, feeling the firm muscles of his back. He licked nipples, massaged biceps. His clones were all getting off on his self-worship. Finally, his cock completely filled the tube. Sean kept pumping. The six of them moaned in unison as they felt the pressure inside their now 3-foot-long members increase, each of them on the verge of cumming. The sound of cracking plastic was audible as the pump struggled to contain the monster cock. “Rip outta there!” “Bulge out, bulge out!!!” The clones cheered Sean on. He flexed his cock and the plastic split apart with a loud crack as his monster muscle cock burst out. Cries of amazement erupted from the room and their hungry eyes looked upon Sean's endowment. "OH SHIT!" Sean exclaimed. The two clones closest to him grabbed the three-foot long monster cock in awe. He humped into their palms as his pole throbbed, veins popping up and down his shaft. He grabbed the base and thumped his cock against his body, precum splattering out and flying in all directions. The three of them moved to the center of the circle, the two Sean clones dropping to their knees in front of the original. Sean #2 got between Sean's legs and started to suckle and lick his low hanging orbs. Sean #3 sucked on Sean's cock, both running their hands all over his body, grinding against the muscleman. The other three clones wrapped around them, gripping their own oversized equipment, massaging Sean’s body with their cocks. Sean moaned as three throbbing cocks rubbed over his naked body, smearing cum over his taut muscles. "Yes..." Sean moaned. "Gonna cum so hard...gonna feel so good..." Sean #3 gagged on the huge member. Sean #2 moved up to join him, licking it all over, making it throb and twitch, precum spurting out of Sean 3's mouth, veins pulsating all over the pillar of meat. "Gonna cum...so close..." Sean moaned. The clones all jerked Sean's cock with one hand a piece, their other hands busily jacking their own throbbing dicks. Eight hands wrapped around his massive dick with room to spare. Pre from his clones added to the lubrication provided by the throbbing rod, the spurts of hot liquid splashing on each other eliciting short bursts of pleasure in each of them. Sean could feel his balls tightening. His eyes glazed and he began groaning loudly. Soon all six of them were. Their identical lusts began building on each other. All of them were thrusting and flexing. Their cocks began thickening up one more time. It was coming. “Awww fuck…” “Let’s do it guys…” “Yeah, together…” “All this identical muscle…” “Look at our cocks dude, so fucking huge… getting bigger” “Ohhh, awww, yessss, awww fuck!” "Oh God...Oh...GOD! UHHH!" Sean's entire body flexed. His hands behind his head, eight pack crunched, pecs exploding outward, legs tense but trembling, his orgasm hit. Cum shot out of him like a firehose. "YES! FUCK! YES!" he roared, the sight of him cumming so hot that the clones erupted as well. They screamed as they released their loads. All of their bodies tightened, chests thrusted out, stomachs caving in. The combined feeling of cum rocketing out of six 36-inch long monster cocks was more intense than Sean could have imagined. Every one of them felt each others' orgasms multiplied with their own, layering one on top of the other. Soon all six of them were shooting uninterrupted streams of white, drenching the walls, the bed, and everything else in the room. Sean took hold of his own cock and thrust into the air, completely hosing down his duplicates. The guys took turns placing their warm lips around his cock head and drinking down his jizz. They writhed on the ground, rubbing all that spunk onto their bodies, wrapping themselves around each other, shoving their gushing rods into the nearest mouth or ass. They rode out their mindblowing orgasms together, filling and feeding each other from their seemingly bottomless nuts until finally their orgasms came to an end. As the six muscle gods sprawled out on the cum-flooded floor, Sean closed his eyes, finally sated. Sean opened his eyes with a start. His eyes darted around his room, his mind trying to discern his current location. It took him a while to warp back to reality. It was daylight, and he was alone in his room. No evidence of the sea of jizz and bodies from the evening could be found. He sighed and stretched, but quickly stopped when he felt something strange. He lifted his sheets and saw that his chest were dripping with his spunk. He laughed. He hadn't had a wet dream in a while.
  5. VRGoh

    The Alpha

    This is a re-write of an older story from a couple of years ago. As usual, my previous disclaimers apply. Fictional characters, safe sex, etc. That said, enjoy. -------------------------------------------------- Jason stared at his reflection in the upstairs bathroom of the Alpha Chi Lambda fraternity house, admiring his godlike physique. Though using the word "fraternity" in their official name, the Axls, as they were known, were a co-ed fraternity emphasizing all-inclusiveness and community service. Right now, however, all of the Axls were asleep in the common room, bathed in the afterglow of what was the best sex of their lives and their first orgy of the school year. The entire house smelled of cum, since the 6'3", 300-pound muscle god thoroughly fucked everyone in the house at least once the night before. This has become a tradition of his ever since he started college three years ago. Every weekend, one of the various off-campus houses on Greek Row, the one-block stretch of Poplar Street that was home to the various fraternities and sororities present on campus, gets a visit from "the Alpha," as he has become known. Taller, more muscular, stronger, and more virile than any man has a right to be, he owns every room and building he walks into, having even the most masculine and heterosexual guys going gay for him. He is the only alpha male in any room he's in, his ruggedly handsome looks, Mr. Olympia-worthy physique, and porn star cock commanding the respect, awe, and lust of all onlookers. Every fraternity wants him as a member, but he has turned them all down. He prefers to silently rule over all of the Greeks as their unseen king, whispering decrees to the chapter president of each organization. Some say he's the reason that the Beta Xi house stopped serving watermelon and fried chicken at campus functions throughout February, though the official reason involved the Black Student Union and a call to the Dean of Students. Jason turned to hear the sounds of the Axls waking up, their groans and moans punctuated with exclamations of post-coital bliss. "Holy shit. Did we just meet a god?" "I think we did, brother. That was definitely the Alpha." "Think he'll give us an encore performance?" "I sure as hell hope so, sis. That was too fuckin' amazing." Jason smiled, his cock slowly swelling with blood and lust. He always stayed for two nights at each house he visited, giving orgies that would last well into Sunday. Since it was Saturday and no one had class that day or the next, he was free to thoroughly grease these Axls as only he could. He dropped the towel exposing his orgasm-inducing body and cock, and turned from the mirror to make his way to the Axls. It was time for round two. As soon as he descended the stairs to the common room, he heard the rush of conversation wash over him like the ocean at high tide. Mostly, the topic was him and his Herculean physique and sexual prowess that would impress anyone, combined with expressions of desire for more. "I think I'm gonna feel him inside me for months." "You and everyone else here. Do you think he'll give us another ride?" "As a matter of fact," he said as he entered the room, his cock already rock-hard and ready, "I am." He grabbed the closest Axl, a blond guy with a swimmer's physique and lifted him into his powerful arms. The two kissed with unbridled passion as he felt a pair of hands exploring and worshiping his tree-trunk-like legs. He slid a finger into the blond's ass, warming him up for what was to come, as the aforementioned blond moaned in both surprise and lust. The finger currently invading his ass was easily bigger than most guy's cocks, and he knew that the Alpha was only just starting. In moments, Jason knew this guy was ready. He removed his finger and replaced it with a larger invader, plunging his tumescent cock into the blond's tight ass. The blond shouted in pain and passion as Jason started plowing him standing up, his entire body held up with effortless ease by the Alpha's powerful arms. He locked his legs around Jason's waist as everyone in the room watched what they would soon experience. As far as anyone on campus knew, only the Alpha had the strength and stamina needed to perform what everyone called the "Alpha Flight Class:" a standing carry fuck on an entire group of people, one at a time, for as long as it took to cum into each and every hole. Jason growled with lust as his cock erupted in the blond's ass, reveling in the unbelievable bliss they were feeling. Pulling out of the blond's ass, he flipped him over and held him upside down as the blond took the massive man-missile into his mouth. They knew that none of them would touch the ground while the Alpha was fucking them. Such was the legendary status of his size, strength, stamina, and sexual prowess, as well as why every fraternity continued to want him to join their ranks. But why join the princes of campus when you're already its king? As soon as the blond guy was thoroughly filled up in both ass and mouth, he moved on to the next. A brunette woman with huge breasts was perfect for the next partner, as he especially enjoyed women who appreciated him. It wasn't because of anatomy, but also because he liked to fuck them vaginally for longer than anally or orally. She screamed his praises through her lust as she orgasmed again and again, awash in passion. When he finally came inside her pussy, she had passed out from lust. Nearly everyone there had came at least once just from watching such a spectacle, and they knew that it would soon be their turn. The sun was setting when he finally finished fucking everyone there, leaving the fraternity's president for last. He had been working on convincing this particular fraternity to allow a buddy of his into their ranks, for this was another move he liked to make. One of his protégés would be installed in every fraternity, one who was every bit of an Alpha as him. He called it his "Next Generation Alphas," and they would rule the school when he graduated. The president gladly agreed to allow this new guy into their ranks, one who would toe the Alpha Chi Lambda line, but would simultaneously answer to their own king as well. With that bit of business settled, Jason moved on to the pleasure, giving the chapter president the reward they wanted: a flying lesson from their one true Alpha.
  6. mmvmgo2011

    Vaccinated

    Hi all Long time lurker. I thought I'd start a story that's been mulling around in my head for a while now. I'm still not sure where it's ultimately headed - though I'm hoping it won't go where you think it might. I have some ideas for the direction - but nothing concrete. There could be anything - so fair warning - if you're easily offended, or grossed out, or whatever, this may not be the thread for you. I'm planning on keeping each chapter fairly short, but hoping to post updates more often. It's my first ever story - so be kind, or not ... EDIT: I've purposefully not given our main protagonist a name, but will use uppercase HE/HIM/HIS to refer to HIM. I'm gradually editing each entry to fix this after the fact. Apologies if it's hard to follow. ******* CHAPTER ONE It was over. Well, IT wasn’t over, but the race to find a vaccine against the SARS-CoV-2 virus, the virus that caused COVID-19, was done. The company where HE worked had lost the race. There were five or six vaccine candidates approved worldwide, some mRNA based, some more traditional. HIS company had spent billions of dollars, and would never recoup those R&D losses releasing vaccine number six or seven, even if it was more effective. If only it was even slightly effective. The project was shelved and, indeed, the existence of the company itself was now under threat. Word had come down from on high that afternoon; a Thursday. The staff were shocked, but not particularly surprised. Everyone expected the axe to fall at some point — many surprised it took as long as it did. It was always a radical and ambitious plan. A plan that would pay massive dividends if it paid off - not only in immediate sales of vaccine, but in lucrative patents that would forever change vaccine development and progress medical science as we’d known it. As the old saying goes, if it’s too good to be true… A vaccine that reprogrammed the patient’s DNA so that the patient’s own immune system would produce the cells and antibodies necessary to fight the virus would not only prevent COVID-19 disease, it would also prevent transmission of the virus causing the disease, ending the pandemic once and for all. But that was small fry compared to future developments. No more influenza, common cold, herpes, HIV, Hepatitis… any infection known to man — virus, bacteria, fungi — would be cured. And even the big C, cancer. Well, it WAS ambitious. But it was not to be. Though the theory seemed sound, putting the theory into practice proved… challenging. Hundreds of billions of dollars were spent trying to make it work and, though there was some promising early results in vitro, every single tested animal had resulted in horribly disfigured or dead animals. Not exactly ready for initial human trials, let alone approval for final manufacture and sale. The bean counters and lawyers were still crunching the numbers and considering the options, but it seemed that so little progress had been made converting theory into practice that everything relating to the project, from samples to formulas, from notes to equipment, from methods to specialised equipment — everything — was effectively worthless.
  7. Vasilij

    Dominating the jocks

    After classes Owen had trained in his high school gym and was now in the locker room. Though he has only been lifting for two hours, which was less than his usual workout, he worked out a sweat and got a huge pump. Now young beast was clad in nothing but his sweaty posers and was checking himself in the mirror. Side chest, abs pose, Zyzz pose, double biceps, most muscular. He couldn’t get enough of his own power. He wanted to use it, to show it. Suddenly the door opened - it was the high school’s football team getting back from training. The jocks were in a good mood, appreciating each other’s efforts and friendly joking at each other’s mistakes on the field. They were all skillfull athletes, some ripped and some with the layer of fat over their muscles. Air around them reeked with testosterone and their uniforms were tightly rapped around strong young bodies. However, even the captain, who was the biggest, was barely half the weight of Owen and didn’t even reach to his chin. They always admired and even feared the him and coach was said that this muscle giant wasn’t interested in team sports. Owen just continued to flex, while smirking and thinking to himself: “Good! These boy toys came just in time. My cock’s already leaking”. It was true - his massive weapon rose, pushing the posers. Precum alone was so voluminous that it started dripping through the fabric. Jocks noticed it with a shock, but the brutish teenager didn’t feel any shame. He said laughingly: - You miring? That’s a real man’s meat right there. - Oh dude… - the football captain was stuttering, trying to hide his own growing bulge - You are a beast. Can… can I… see it? - Why not? Here you go! The former cocky attitude of the jocks was instantly replaced by the worshipful desire as Owen ripped his posers, letting them see his cum-cannon rising almost to his pecs. Captain couldn’t control himself - he kneeled before Owen and trued to suck him off, but even the cock head alone was too huge and hard, so the jock started to lick it and than shaft and bloated balls, causing the beastly teenager to moan lustfully: - Fuck yeah! Come closer, bitchboys, gonna fuck all of you! The captain was first. Owen effortlessly grabbed him and put on his cock. Only a few thrusts were enough to make the football player cum. The came the next, and the next. Soon all team had Owen’s thick cum flowing from their overstretched holes. It was painful, but they lusted for more and so did Owen, whose mighty cock seemed to only get even harder and bigger after two dozen cumshots. The orgy lasted for about an hour until the team layer completely exhausted on the floor, moaning incoherently. Among them stood Owen, covered in a mix of sweat and cum, arrogantly watching his conquest. “Here cums the last one… Get ready, bitchboys… FUCK YEAH!” It was almost visible as cum traveled through his shaft. Then a flood-like thick load erupted from his cumslit, splitting the sealing and raining over the lying jocks. Enormous orgasm lasted for a few minutes. Owen sniffed in the thick smell of his own testosterone and semen and then glanced over the half-conscious athletes, flowing in the layer of cum that covered the locker room. “Thanks for the help, team, gotta do it again some day!” - he said and strutted to the shower while licking his own cum out of his biceps.
  8. FallenAway

    David's Day by LORUS

    Once again, with the author's permission, I am reposting a story he wrote for the old forum and later deleted. Fortunately, I saved a copy. Some of the pop culture references may be a little dated, especially for younger readers, but that shouldn't get in the way. There are two parts to the original story and a sequel called David's End of Days. I will post all of those in this thread. Enjoy! David's Day by LORUS Part 1 of 2 7:00 am: The alarm always went off at 7am. David Driscoll, like every morning would awaken to the 1979 disco hit “Born to be Alive”, by Patrick Hernandez. The song was his personal anthem, and he just loved life, although he would have preferred to have been a teen back in the 1970s. He loved that decade, the decade of polyester, which wasn’t always flattering on people, unless of course, they had a body like David Driscoll. He dressed, seventies-style, every day of his life, sometimes mixing and matching the loudest of shirts with the most ludicrous of pants, the wider the bells on the bottoms the better. He was THE biggest bodybuilder in the world, and so young, too. He was so beautiful that he could get away with wearing just about anything, or sometimes very little at all. It depended on the mood he was in at the time. So it was Friday morning, on his 18th birthday and he always performed a little show for himself in front of his bedroom mirror, as Patrick Hernandez belted out his catchy disco hit. Standing totally naked he would assess himself in minute detail, but for no longer than fifteen minutes. There was just so much for him to do and achieve today. “Bam.... best fucking arms ever, but they need more size,” he declared, curling his forearms up to a vertical position on either side of his handsome head, squeezing thick mass into his bis, and gasping in mock-surprise at how the peaks pushed upwards as if they were miniature mountains rising out of the land, a pure herculean feat that would forever go unrivalled. “First thing today... eat a huge, power-packed breakfast, and kiss your mom, in that order, trying to look as though you don’t already know about the Ferrari F430 she bought you for your 18th.” He flexed his rippling, deeply cut abs and sucked them in with expert control, as he fanned his upper body out to the biggest full-lat-spread he’d ever seen, and this was before today’s massive upper body workout, which, he’d planned to make the most productive one of his life so far. He had a plan for today, now that he was old enough to drink and go to bars. There was a new gay bar and nightclub opened in town and he planned to be the center of attention by the onset of evening. “Gotta work these muscle-titties up to their most bulgerific, oh yeah!” His mouth and chin disappeared into a mattress of super-strong, almost obscenely developed pec-cleavage. He flexed the slabs huger – hefting them higher – and causing rippling striations to blast across their corpulent surfaces. Nipples that pointed straight down now stood out perpendicular to the floor, each one pushing out in support of the pushing out happening further down. “Ha ha ha.... no one will ever come close to being as huge as me... yeah... huge in every place where it goddam fuckin’ counts.” Yeah, he was cocky to a fault, but he was entitled to be. He hefted the massive snake of his cock in his hands, shocked in a “not-surprised” kinda way, when it felt longer, thicker, and heavier to him than it had the day before. He always knew that he would grow amazingly on his 18th birthday. How he knew this he couldn’t say... he just, well, knew. “Gotta weigh myself.... must have hit 500lbs by now, aw yeah!” His cock snapped fully erect at the thought of weighing this much. Lately he’d been bodybuilding like crazy, even dropping out of school to devote as much time in each day to bulking up his body to even more massive proportions. Hell, he didn’t need to be academically achieved to sail through life. He already had everything handed to him on a silver platter, given that he came from one of the world’s wealthiest families. His parents were divorced, his father based in South America where he spent most of his time adventuring in the rain forest in search of ancient relics (yawn). His mother was a complete socialite, given to throwing gala parties at the drop of a hat. Today David would inherit a trust fund amounting to fifty million dollars, so what did he need school for? He had looks, muscles, vast wealth, and from today onwards... complete and utter independence. One thing he vowed not to have by the end of the day and night was his virginity. He stood on the scale in his personal bathroom whilst his manservant, Carmichael, stood in attendance. “I’ll take it the Sir is pleased by the number on the readout,” said Carmichael, in the fakest British brogue you will ever hear. But he was good-looking and although in his forties, looked a good ten years younger. David often thought about fucking him, but he knew that Carmichael was straight, and he respected that. “Damn, only 496,” David angrily snapped, stomping his foot in Hulk-like fashion, flattening the expensive scale beneath. As well as being monstrously muscular, the teen was immensely strong. “I will clean that up immediately and have a replacement scale within the hour, Sir,” Carmichael droned, as if disinterested. “Damn, I wanted to be 500 on my birthday. But I know I can grow so much today. I can feel it in my blood, Carmichael. By the way, does my cock look bigger to you?” Completely unashamed of his nakedness – in fact he loved to be naked as often as circumstances allowed – David squeezed his cock so hard that the mushroom head swelled to the size of a man’s fist. “Longer than my forearm, Sir. The Sir must be very proud to sport such a magnificent member,” Carmichael replied, tonelessly. “Yeah, and it’s going to see plenty of action this evening. But I need to bulk up to my hugest ever. Tonight has to be special, Carmichael. I need to be goddam fucking HUUUGE,” David roared, and flexed out a most-muscular that caused every bulb of muscle on his upper body to tautly explode with size and definition. “Ha ha ha... is that a little spot of precum I see staining the front of your pants, Carmichael?” David was becoming playful now, and so very lusty. “Yes, Sir, but I’m thinking about making love to Missus Carmichael later this evening, so please do not think that my sudden... ahem... display is in any way directed at you,” the servant politely stated. “Damn.... seven-fifteen. I need to get food into me before my cardio. Wow, it’s a sunny morning. Think I’ll go for a shirtless run, get these pec-melons of mine bouncing like crazy. Damn but they weigh a ton. Feels like they’re gonna drop off under their own weight at any second. Fuckin’ bones me.” David needed to fuck badly. He’d never done it with anyone before, respecting his mother’s wishes not to lose his virginity whilst living in the same mansion as her. Besides, bodybuilding left David with very little time for socializing, let alone pursuing a relationship. Since quitting high school a full year before graduation, he’d put the extra time to very good use, bulking up from 335 lbs. at just seventeen, to almost 500 in less than a year. But it was never enough for him. He had to be huger. “Need to be HUGE! Not HUGE enough. This bodybuilder is gonna get MASSIVE beyond belief!” He continued to flex the huge muscles across his mighty six-foot-eight frame. He felt as though he was done with growing in height, but if he happened to gain another couple of inches before his bones were done with growing, he figured he could live with it. Besides, as far as his bones were concerned, he still wanted his shoulders to widen and his rib cage to expand even further. The better the foundation, the bigger the muscles he could pack on to it. Carmichael laid out his clothing for that morning, a tan-colored pair of low-rise, butt-n-crotch-hugging running shorts that barely covered the top of his dark pubes or the top of his butt-crack. The curved cleft between his bubbled glutes was deep and dark, with just a small puff of hair poking out. Any sweat running down the deep channel of his back formed by the immense sheets of convoluted muscle on either side would collect in that tuft, two scents mixing to form his ultra-musk. He liked to build up this musk, and with tonight being an adventure of unprecedented proportions, David vowed to enter the nightclub reeking of musk, manly and over-comely, altogether dripping with seduction. David pulled on the shorts, taking great effort to do so, but being careful not to pop the button-fly as he struggled to pack his meat inside. He never wore a jockstrap or any kind of underwear under his shorts when running. He also never wore the same pair twice. Once done with the shorts, Carmichael, his devoted manservant, would (with the aid of a gas mask) package them up and sell them on eBay, but not before cooking them in a sauna for a few days, to get them really pungent. A pair of David Driscoll’s unwashed running shorts would usually go for upwards of $3000.00 lately, not that he needed the money, but it was fun to watching the furious bidding that took place on eBay for the much-coveted shorts. “Ha ha ha... the best thing is though, that my shorts get muskier the bigger I get. Better watch out, Carmichael, I may soon be sooooo musky, so manly-flavored, that even you won’t be able to resist me.” That was another of David’s plans, to seduce and fuck as many straight guys as possible. He was going to fuck the world....aw yeah! “Remind me to stock up on clothes-pins, Sir,” Carmichael responded, his droll tone dripping with the driest sarcasm. He helped his master on with his running shoes. That was the downside of being enormously muscled; putting on shoes was damn-near impossible when you had so much titanic muscle clogging up the space between your neck and your shins. But David wasn’t immobile, far from it. He was getting stronger and fitter as he got bigger, but any problems he had with dressing only served to make him even more proud about his burgeoning body. He was nearly ready, but for one more thing: Glisten Mist, the spray-on moisturizing oil and anti-burn factor, developed by one of his father’s many companies. The mist would coat his muscles evenly, buffing them up to a glistening shine whilst helping to lock in moisture and protect his beautiful, tanned skin from UV damage. “How do I look,” asked David, knowing full and well how amazing he looked. He posed some more in his mirror, aghast at how the mist-sheen brought out the beauty, mammoth size, and sheer mind-blowing magnificence of his bulging body. He flexed an arm, hooking it down before him, and a melon-sized ball-bicep morphed into being. “Gonna get these beauties twice as big today,” he vowed, with a manly snigger. “Um, the Sir might want to become less “excited” before going downstairs to greet his mother,” said Carmichael, drawing David’s attention to the huge cock-bulge in the front of his shorts. The visible button-fly strained and groaned in defiance of the pressure put against it, and the waistband, already ridiculously low and challenging the nudity regulations of California, was pushed out further from his ab-wall so that more of his pubic bush poked upwards. Already musk was forming there, the smell of the scent enough by itself to get David really horny. “Shit, I’ll have to cum first, Carmichael. Damn, I won’t even make it to the bathroom.” Frantically, furiously, David undid his shorts and expanded his cock to its complete length of twenty-something inches. It thickened considerably, the mushroom-head seeming to grow even further, his ball-sack bulging up like the throat-sac of a horny bullfrog. Fortunately, Carmichael always carried a fold-up umbrella in his inside pocket, in case of emergencies such as this. He just about got the umbrella up, using it as a shield before him, in time to not get showered. 7:32 am: David came and came.... then came some more. His milking went on for six minutes, bringing the time to 7:32 am, and he still had to leave his bedroom. “Aww...fucking horny. Huge bodybuilding mega-stud that I am... cum everywhere.” He coated every surface of everything in the room, and soon Carmichael’s umbrella was coated in thick, opaque splashes of viscid cream. He finished by licking off as much of the cum from his mirror, which completely covered it. When he could once again see his awesome reflection, he crabbed into a most-muscular, growling with such intensity that the mirror shattered right in front of him. “Fuck yeah!” When he arrived downstairs, Consuela the cook had his breakfast ready. David wolfed down twelve chicken fillets, four bowls of oatmeal, a pound of lean ground beef, and washed it down with three quarts of gainer shake (his own special recipe prepped to max for ultimate results in growth and conditioning). It was more food in one sitting than what three super-heavyweight pro bodybuilders would be able to get through. David was banned from competing for the simple reason that posing in front of a crowd got him so boned, he would come out in a massive erection every time. Fuck it: he knew he was the best. Besides, he would win every time, thus ruining the competition for everyone else. It was a lot of food to take in before a run. But David’s metabolism was truly exceptional. It was as though he had a nuclear reactor for a stomach. As soon as food entered his system it was broken down far more rapidly than a mundane human body could do. And he could eat anything he liked, too, once he had the sensible breakfast out of the way. Lunch would be pizza at the gym. His family owned most of the gyms in America, so his rules were different than those for everyone else. He was allowed to send out for 8 massive pizzas to help him through his workouts, and only David was allowed to train shirtless. His body was an example to everyone else working out at the gym... they would never match its perfection. His mother hardly noticed him as she glided into the massive kitchen, struggling with one of her earrings, her outfit the latest Versace two-piece, her makeup and hair done to perfection courtesy of her live-in stylists. “I’m jetting off to Milan, sweetie. Kiss kiss. Happy birthday. The keys to your present are on the countertop. Love you lots, daaaarling.” And that was it. Monique (real name Maud) barely had time for her extraordinary son, these days, not since hooking up with the wealthy Italian oil magnate, Rubio Andretticalzoni. “Huh, so much for my surprise party later on,” said David, a little despondently. But he’d mostly been raised by the servants since he was little, his parents far too important and jet-setter-ish to spare much time for their only son and heir. Even when he started to gain absurdly huge amounts of muscle, his parents hardly noticed. But David didn’t care. He only cared about himself and his body. He was too rich to have strong family ties beyond what his blood entitled him to in the way of inheritance. 7:51 am: He left on his run, charging through the mega-rich suburb, passing other rich-folk, musicians, movie-stars etc. He nodded a good morning to Vin Diesel who was out walking his poodle, the little toy-dog’s curly fur tinted pink in places. “It’s my girlfriend’s pooch,” the star of the Riddick movies explained, somewhat shakily, to the hulking Adonis that passed him, his eyes rapt on the seething bounce of David’s weighty pecs as he jogged. “Sure it is, Vin. Sure it is,” said David, winking. He blew a kiss at Lenny Kravitz who was out collecting mail from his mailbox. Kravitz gave him the finger but asked him where he got his pants from. “House of Trione, and you’d have a problem filling them out, hot stuff,” David blurted out as he quickly put distance between himself and the musician. He turned the head of every person he passed, the rich and the famous, although not one of them could ever match David’s size and beauty. Movie Director Louis Leterrier who, like many directors, had property in Santa Barbara, had seen David before, and was always trying to grab his attention. Sometimes David liked to tease him a little. “The offer still stands, David. The studio will pay you twenty million dollars to play the Hulk in HULK 3. The CGI hulks just haven’t been working out,” said Leterrier as he tended to his rose bushes. “Hmm,” said David, considering the offer. He’d seen both Hulk movies. And the Hulks looked terribly unrealistic, although there were significant visual improvements made to the Hulk in the second film. But twenty million dollars was now mere pocket change to David. “Of course, to use you as a live-action Hulk, I’d need you to bulk up by another three hundred pounds before we start shooting in mid-2011,” the director added. “I could easily get that big, Louis, but location shooting away from my base of operations could be problematic. It would eat into my training schedule far too much. But you might be able to change my mind, say, for forty million dollars plus merchandising rights for use of my likeness.” Smug and over-confident, his body glinting blindingly in the Californian sunshine, David flexed a most muscular, pushing all his weight and power into it. Several car alarms went off suddenly. Leterrier almost tripped over his tongue when he saw the muscles standing out so much. “Forget forty million, David. Your asking price is too high. Looks like it’s CGI for HULK 3, so.” Obviously the world wasn’t ready for a teenage Hulk. The director sighed and went back to pruning his roses. David continued jogging. 8.25 am: He decided to not turn back for home, but continued jogging, leaving the ‘burbs altogether and heading for downtown. He stopped plenty of traffic as he jogged, his muscles, especially his enormous pec slabs, caused guys passing to pop erections (whether they were straight or not) and grown women to start fingering themselves in the street. A cop car flashed its lights as a warning to him, but by the time David passed the vehicle, a quick flex and lick of his bicep was enough to overwhelm the two cops and they started to undo each other’s flies. David had an astounding and exceptional effect on people. It seemed that any laws that existed to keep mundane society in check simply didn’t apply to David. “Fuck, I’m gonna jog shirtless to the gym every day from now on,” he vowed, reckoning it would give him an extra thirty minutes to work on the weights if he didn’t have to go home first and shower, obviously driving to the gym after that. That meant that he could lift longer and get huger because of it. It made sense. “Grrrr, why didn’t I think of that sooner? I could be hundreds of pounds heavier by now.” He got to the gym, leaving in his wake a trail of orgasming Santa Barbarians. He stopped to catch his breath, which only took seconds. His body was glistening beneath a coat of shining, liquid beads, and his slutty shorts were sodden with his musky sweat. In fact, he entered the gym that morning and immediately Alan behind the desk, himself a huge bodybuilding hunk of 24, caught a sniff of David’s reek and instantly shot a messy load in his own shorts. “Unnnngh.... you’re so fuckin’ hot, Driscoll. Unnngh, how about you and I get jiggy in the showers later,” Alan moaned, now stroking his not-inconsiderable cock, caring little if his employers caught him on camera. Not to worry, David would fix everything, considering his family owned the gym. “I might take you up on that offer, sexy. Better start re-filling those nuts of yours. ‘Cos your cum is all mine. But for now, I gotta fucking lift. Gotta get so fucking, incredibly fucking HUUUUUGE!!!!!” He flexed his enormous biceps, screaming to get his blood flowing so that his muscles could bulge even larger. Alan immediately shot another massive load, blowing a huge stream of thick cum into the air. It splashed all over David’s biceps and he quickly licked each of them clean of every drop. 8:51 am: To hell with warming up. Jogging at 496 lbs. – his body saturated with massive muscle-flesh – was a warm-up enough by itself. Today he was concentrating on chest, arms, delts, and shoulders. Yeah, he could work all those groups by 5pm, his cut-off point. He needed to have his upper body looking immense before hitting the town later. It wasn’t even 9am and already there was a small crowd forming around David as he took his position on his favorite bench. It was chest first, aw fuck, he had to get it up past one hundred and eight inches. The other bodybuilders present, every one of them totally into themselves and their training, unless in the presence of David, began to egg him on, chanting in unison so that he could break through the pain threshold and break his personal bests. This morning he was benching 1100 lbs. on the bar, the bar itself bending dangerously from the massive weight. He cranked out a staggering thirty reps at this weight. Arteries begat new veins and veins begat a myriad of new capillaries as his circulatory system transformed to cope with the increase in his mass and the punishment he gave it. His body erupted with newfound bulges and vascularity as he managed a further twenty reps before returning the bar to its resting position. He didn’t need help doing it either. He sat up on the bench and bunched his pec muscles together. Even sweatier than he was when he arrived, he playfully raised his arms up high to expose the thick, twin bushes of his dark armpits, spraying every guy present with his sopping-wet perfume. “Aww David, you dirty cunt,” one of them cried, a tall muscle-hunk named Barry Watts, his sudden erection shredding his shorts at the front. The entire retinue of David-worshippers, straight, gay, and bi, began to go at themselves or else go at each other; such was the effect of being around the supercharged eighteen-year-old. “ I’ve come of age now, guys, so you’d better all watch out. I’m going to get huger than this.... way fuckin’ huger, and by the end of the day, you all will be walking home with smoke cummin’ outta yer butts. David has arrived, and David will CUMMMMM!!!!” The air-conditioning failed, causing the temperature to shoot up in the gym. David’s musk got stronger still, his once tan-colored shorts now dyed a dark brown from saturated moisture. His musk dripped down his legs and coated so many surfaces. Cockily he commanded some of his worshippers to load up the bar with another 100 lbs. The bar sagged even further on either end, but still held. He settled back beneath it and took the strain. “Unnnnngh!!!!” He was slow to start pumping reps, but as he commanded more strength from his ever-developing muscles, the bar soon began to feel lighter and lighter. Within twenty seconds David was pumping the 1200 lb. bar with ease. The fact it was getting lighter and easier to lift as he progressed, made him mad.... very mad! “48... 49... 54... 60... 68... 71... 150... 399...680...1397....,” the congregation chanted. David couldn’t stop pressing the bar. He was locked into the activity, doing away with sets altogether. There was now just constant pumping, ceaseless repetition, whilst around him, grown men in various degrees of muscular development continued to get off to the massive muscle-god named David. 10:00 am: Finally, after an hour, somewhere around his 2000th rep at 1200 lbs., David returned the bar to its rests, boned by the fact it was hot from friction, each overloaded end drooping like melting ice cream. He sat up, his musk now billowing around him. He looked around. Up to fifty gym-goers were locked in a ceaseless orgy around him. He got so very horny looking at them writhing in a seemingly endless rippling ocean of muscle and male beauty. He looked down at his pecs and was amazed to see that they were twice as huge as before. “Aw fuck... look at me. So huuuge. But not huge enough, not by a long shot.” He flexed his massive pecs, delighting at how much heavier they felt, the cuts deeper, the cleft between each pec-melon now richly dark and leaking his scent as abundantly as his boned cock dripped cupsful of precum at a time. So much moisture was leaving him, at an astonishing rate. He was thirsty, but not for water. He needed to test a theory. He’d had a dream once where he was milking other bodybuilders of their juices, drinking them in, leaving them dehydrated and unconscious. Strangely Carmichael was there, just for a second, but winking at him, as if he knew something that David didn’t. And in the dream, having drunk the bodybuilders of their nut-nectar, David bulked up far huger and huger. Could this be the secret to his exceptional muscle growth? The men at his feet were totally in his power, now. He started with Barry Watts, tearing every shred of clothing from him as he easily lifted him up with both hands. Barry was about two-eighty, bulking in his off-season, but he felt totally weightless to the monster that David’s muscles had made of him. “Mmmm, nice little pecker you have there, Baz,” David remarked, before closing his lips around Barry’s porn-worthy ten-incher. He sucked him for exactly nine seconds before the groaning, enraptured Barry blew another load and a blast of hot, salty crème gushed down David’s throat. David swallowed hard, savoring every drop. He drank Barry to the last, then pushed him aside and started on another, Guy Colette, whose balls were the size of tennis balls. David got him off and sucked him dry. He did this to every boned bodybuilder in his retinue. David grew. Aw fuck, he grew and grew.... like fucking never before. 10:33am: His perfume radiated outwards into the street, causing passers-by old enough to react to it to stop what they were doing and pile into the gym en masse. Some people had never seen the inside of a gym in their lives, but David’s reek was intoxicating and addictive. Soon a huge throng of people from all walks of life had gathered around him on the weight room floor as he underwent a most remarkable transformation. Considering he’d only intended to train some of his muscles on this day, he was completely boned to discover that sucking off the other bodybuilders had caused all his muscles to grow. His traps gorged on free space, pushing upwards and outwards, shortening the distance between his shoulders and neck. Veins, thickly throbbing, erupted across the triangular wedges, sticking out ferociously whilst the cords and pipes of his neck bulged and thickened, which sent further chemical power spreading to other muscle groups. His deltoids swelled larger, deeper, and thicker than... oh fuck... thicker than his goddam pecs had been just minutes before. A dozen inches or more was added to the colossal spread of his shoulders, providing the most perfect framework from which his now beach-ball balloons for pecs hung weightily, the under-swell of each pec-belly deep, round, so very thick and capable of casting a shadow under each hemisphere, dark enough to hide his top two cantaloupe-sized abs from view. His nips pointed down once more but grew intensely into cigar-butt-sized domes, each one ultra-sensitive and inviting of many a hungry, eager set of lips. His arms thickened massively, thicker and wider than the entire torsos of some of the skinny dudes his reek had drawn in from the street. One brave guy stepped forwards, stripping himself naked as he went, urged by, of all people, his girlfriend who was herself so turned on by the spectacle of the ever-developing mega-expanding young bodybuilder. He stood beside the giant so that everyone else could compare his width to that of David’s augmenting upper arms. “Hot dude, your arms are as thick as all of me,” the skinny fucker declared. “Oh really?” With a wink to his audience and the smuggest of smirks, David curled his forearm towards him, smiling out of the corner of his mouth, and immediately his biceps DOUBLED in circumference. The ball was gigantic, easily eighty inches or more, hopefully more, David hoped... a lot more. “Guess you’re going to have to start working out, stickman. You’re just half as thick as one of my arms now. Tsk tsk tsk,” said David, teasingly showing off, now, and loving every moment of it. Hearing this made stickman start to cum. David lifted him up with one hand and caught every drop of his spunk, draining him to the point of dehydration. In contrast to the swelling of his incredible upper torso, David’s waist seemed to tighten and become denser. It went in by an inch, giving him the most incredible difference in the ratio of size between his shoulders and waist. The ratio was easily 4:1 in favor of his shoulders. He also grew two inches taller, and his bones cracked and shifted in order to adjust to the extra muscle mass. David sucked off dozens of men, whilst their wives or girlfriends saw to their own “needs” watching David make fags out of their partners. One guy sauntered up to David and began to inhale David’s dripping, steaming musk. The gigantic muscle-teen lifted him up, sucked him dry, and added him to the pile of dehydrated stickmen gathering at his feet. He grew and grew and grew, sucking off any guy overpowered enough by his reek enough to throw themselves at him. He sucked on bodybuilder after bodybuilder as they began arriving from other gyms. He drank of the city police force, construction workers, in short, every gay man who was overpowered by David’s reek and just HAD to get to the gym. This went on until lunchtime, when traffic became deadlocked and complete sexual anarchy ran riot across the Santa Barbara coast. Finally, David could grow no more. 1:04 pm: Though his belly should have been glutted on man’s creamy ambrosia, David was ravenous. He looked down at the sleeping multitude of Californian folk: some naked, others half-in, half-out of uniforms, everything from police officers, dentists, paramedics, and even the odd man of the cloth (who would really have to question their faith after this). He smirked smugly at the sight of an Asian pizza delivery guy hogging the shredded remains of David’s slut-shorts, rubbing their reek all over his bare torso, intending to coat all of his parts with a stench he would never want to ever wash off. “Hey dude, where’s your van? I’m starving for pizza,” the now almost seven-footer bellowed anxiously. He could barely see much of the pizza boy who writhed on the floor amidst so much soil and reek, for his pecs were now monstrously huge and jutted out from him by more than four feet. His lats were so massive that they forced his elbows outward so that David could barely lower his arms. But with a little effort he could still get his hands around his lithe but solid hips. He flared a lat spread and any space between his bent arms and his waist was filled with lat muscles. He walked back a couple of meters to get a better look at the Asian cutie, his legs, beyond elephantine girth, rippling and flexing with the slightest of movement. His muscle-thighs were now so big that there was no room for his cock and balls to hang downward and in between. Pushed outward, they made his profile look even more dynamic. And... fuck... but his cock was thicker and longer than ever, longer than the distance from the top of his thigh to his knees. It slapped loudly against his thighs as he walked, and the feeling sent ripples of further arousal around his body. The Asian barely acknowledged him, caught up in the throes of his own masturbatory lust, but managed to point in the direction of his truck. The monster bodybuilder stepped over many sleeping folk, all of them sated to the last, and ventured out of the gym in search of the pizza wagon. He found it and got to its delicious cargo easily enough, ripping the rear door right off the vehicle and tossing it aside with hardly any effort. Just as he was about to get his handsome chops around the first pepperoni and cheese delight, a not-unattractive man, clad in a designer suit, hurried across the street towards the behemoth. “Stop right there, big fella. That’s a corporate order. I was watching for the van from the lobby of my building. That pizza is for the Board of Directors.” The guy looked pissed off but somewhat bemused by David’s size. “What’s the name of the company, pipsqueak?” David didn’t look away from his gorging. Fuck, but that was mighty good pizza. “Brody, Brody, and Marshall. Best law firm in Calif – heeey!!!” The thirty-ish-looking exec took exception to David reaching down to snatch his cell phone from his inside jacket pocket, which he then used to dial a familiar number. “Carmichael it’s David... yeah, training is going swell.... I’m fuckin’ huge. Listen, do me a favor and buy Brody, Brody, and Marshall... that’s right, the law firm on Main St. Across from the gym, exactly. Great. Oh, and one more thing...” Another question to the stupefied exec: “What’s your name, dude?” “Er... em... Alistair Marshall, junior vice-president. My father is treasurer and Ch––” But before he could finish: “And see to it that Alistair Marshall is promoted to Chairman of the Board, with a $500,000 bonus. Great. See you later.” David closed the phone and politely popped it back inside Alistair Marshall’s inside pocket. He patted him cheekily on the head before returning to his eating. It was David’s birthday, after all, and he was feeling generous. 1:57 pm: So much growing had worn David out. He decided he could use a nap. He bounded upstairs and evicted Ray the manager from his office, knowing he had a bed in there, a sizeable one, too, which Ray used to bone many a hot chick as was his wont in life. While he slept, he had a dream, but it was the strangest dream he’d ever had in his life. His dad was in it, and so was Patrick Hernandez. Both were sat around a blazing fire in some enclosed village community central to some lush, dense forest. David Driscoll Sr was staring beyond the flames, as if caught in some inner journey that only his mind could experience, whilst Patrick Hernandez feverishly scribbled down lyrics into a pad, his sequel to “Born to be Alive” probably. “Dad, what the hell is going on? Where are we?” There was little to glean from the dreamscape except from the immediacy of the surroundings: the campfire blazing high and brightly, the flames crackling and popping as resin from the burning wood was exposed to them. Beyond that the surrounding environment seemed to be smudged out of focus in the way that dreams can sometimes be to save writers from having to waste an entire paragraph describing it. “I’m afraid, son, that I’m dead. This is the afterlife, based on where I died and how I died,” David’s father lamented as he tossed more wood on the fire. The flames roared up higher, causing shadows to dance skittishly across the sprawling landscape of David’s enormously pumped muscles. “I see you’ve been doing some growing, son... and on your 18th birthday also. Just as I predicted.” David Sr smiled broadly at his son, the son he hardly ever saw, and yet was still proud of. “Whoa, wait a sec... before we get into anything else. You’re telling me that you’re dead?” Now this was a dream that David could really do with waking up from. But there was something about how it was presented to him, and the fact that it felt so much more than a dream, that piqued David’s curiosity. “Yes, it was all part of the bargain I made with, Old Nick here,” said David Sr, and slapped the back of Patrick Hernandez as if they were old buddies. Which, in fact, they were. The Devil looked up from his scribbling and flashed a mouthful of pearly whites at David. They were all pristinely bright, except for one bad one that ruined what would otherwise have been a perfect smile. “You made a deal... with the devil?” David looked horrified and began to back away from the glow of the fire. “Of course, we go way back, him and me. We both got our business degree together. Nick and the males of this family go right back to your great, great, great, great grandfather Efram Driscoll, who began this family corporation, which is now worth twenty million, billion dollars. We practically own two thirds of the free world,” said David senior, proudly. “You mean that Efram made the first deal with the Devil, a tradition that carried down all the way to.... shit... me?” David had never considered himself religious in any way, but if this dream was real, then there was some hot shit going down... shit that was hotter than Hell. Old Nick Hernandez put down his writing pad and began to roll a joint. He was a man of very few words, it seemed. “Yes, our forefathers all wished for great wealth and influence over the masses, and that sustained the family, and shall continue to through future generations, provided you don’t stay gay all your life and beget a son and heir. You need to pass on the tradition, you see. It was the nature of the first deal made by old Efram. By the time it was my turn, I didn’t need anything in the world whatsoever, cos I was set for life. When you were born, and we saw just how scrawny you were, I thought “Jeez, he’s a runt and a half. He’s a weak link in a long line of strong links in our exceptional family chain. I said to Nick that you should be big... really big. And that was meant to come to fruition on your 18th birthday.” “Fuck... that’s deep, Dad. I don’t know what to say. So now Satan has come to collect... your soul, obviously, and drag you down to hell?” Suddenly David felt bad. He hadn’t seen much of his father, growing up, and now he was never going to see him ever again after this dream. Life for David, it seemed, had just hit a fork in the road. “It won’t be like that at all, Davey,” Satan Hernandez said, finally speaking, now that he was puffing away contentedly on his huge spliff. He drew slowly and deeply, before passing the weed to David’s father. “Your Dad and I are old friends. Why, he’s been to hell many, many times. Even got beach-front property there, next to the golf course and spa. Hell is very misunderstood, not like the Hell people imagine thanks to Dante Alighieri, that allegorical ass. Damaged my public image for centuries, he did. Hell’s not a bad place at all. But that’s the rules. Souls are like tax in Hell. Your Dad gets to live there forever, but he has to pay his dues, too.” Silence washed through the dream for what seemed like a long time. Finally, David was the one to break it: “What about me? I have to make a deal, too? But I can’t think of anything. I’m too young to make such a big decision.” He turned to focus squarely on his father: “What am I supposed to do now?” David Driscoll toked on the spliff for a long moment and considered all options. He finally came up with: “You could sacrifice some of your size. Lose, say, 60 percent of it. You’d still be huge, but not like you are now. What are you now, easily 2000 lbs. or more?” “2666,” Satan interjected jovially, liking so much about that number. “But... but... I like being this huge,” David looked down at his magnificent muscles, each one swollen and bulging beyond all extremity. He was ravenous for muscle-growth, but a deal had to be hammered out before this dream came to an end. “Tell you what,” said Satan, taking out a harmonica for no reason. He began to play his rendition of “Devil in a blue dress”. It was a most horrendous version. “I will take off 666 pounds of muscle and convert it into your soul tax. You get to live out your life as before, but your size will be frozen at 2000 lbs. Also, to secure future deals with your bloodline, you have to produce a son and heir. Artificial insemination will suffice, so long as the little tyke is born and has a soul, which he will have, obviously.” More silence ensued. David didn’t know what to think. Finally, though, as the flames began to shrink and die, casting the immediate area into a spreading dimness, he reluctantly agreed to get smaller. “Great, kid. You won’t regret it,” said Satan, pulling out a contract which David had to sign in blood. The deal was done. David would be the first of the Driscolls since before Efram to avoid spending eternity in hell. He said goodbye to his father and shook hands with Satan, before... ... he awakened with a start and saw that he was in Ray’s fuck bed. What time was it? How long had he been asleep? He quickly got out of bed, only to find Carmichael standing over him, a clean set of clothes draped over his forearms. “I trust everything is now clear with the Sir?” Carmichael had never smiled in all the years he’d served the Driscoll family. Now, for the first time, he smiled broadly, displaying a mouthful of pearly whites, their perfection marred solely by a single bad tooth... the very same one as... “It’s you. That dream was real. What the hell?” “What the Hell indeed, Sir. You should get dressed. It’s after 5pm. You were asleep for most of the afternoon.” Carmichael began to lay out the master’s clothes for the evening. “Wait, how small am I?” David raced downstairs to the weight room to check himself over. The place was deserted, unusual for this time of day... all evidence of the calamity his growing had resulted in had been washed clean. Everything was mundane and without any reverberation of events. “Hmmm, I’m still pretty fuckin’ huge,” he exclaimed, gawping at the hyper-muscularity that occupied almost inch of his hulking bod. He’d come out of this deal better than he expected. He was four times as huge as he had been at 7:00 am that morning. He flexed a humongous, freaky double biceps pose, and his arm cannons did a 21-gun salute to his hugeness. He flared his lats, and they became engorged on blood, hulking out his mass to insane levels. He bounced the heaviest pecs in all creation, whilst flexing his mammoth quads, one after the other. He became lost to his pec-bouncing and almost passed out when he felt so much manly pec-meat heaving up and down on his chest. His pecs alone must have weighed about two hundred pounds apiece. His measurements were totally off the scale. “I will always be the hugest, strongest monster bodybuilder on Earth,” he exclaimed, somewhat proudly, bunching his torso into a most-muscular pose, leaning all his weight into it to maximize the flexing and the size it generated. “But I can never get bigger than I am now. Not now, not ever.” It was a sobering thought. He returned to Ray’s office to get dressed, his body somehow clean of soil, but with just enough of his musk on him to make the night ahead be the best one of his life so far. The oddly supernatural Carmichael had brought a most splendid outfit for David to wear. And despite that the birthday boy had grown by 400%, somehow the manservant had found an outfit that fit him perfectly. David started by rolling on the pants. He always put on pants like any lesser man puts on a condom, for the material of this clothes always hugged his muscles so tightly. The pants were mustard colored, a spandex and polyester mix that looked like a second skin as it clung to his parts, showing every striation and separation of each massive muscle. His cock and balls were truly enormous, and David had a bit of trouble squeezing his junk-load into the crotch of the pants. But he finally did it, the doing up of each visible button of the five-button fly a miniature triumph. The pants had very wide bell-bottoms, but even the bells clung to his huge calves at their widest points. Being of an early seventies design, the exposed button-fly wasn’t the only feature that nodded back to the retro-fashion era; the front square pockets of the pants were square-cut and dark brown in color, the same as the pockets on the back. And his bubble butt looked so beautiful and shapely in the pants, his crack sucking in the central seam and drenching it in musk. Next he put on the most stretchy, clingiest disco-style button-front shirt he’d ever worn. The material was semi-transparent, save for the pattern on the material, which was comprised of so many crescent moons and shooting star motifs. The flyaway collar was high and broad, settling well over his massive traps, but, like the pants, David had trouble doing up some of the buttons, specifically the ones behind which the most bulging pair of pecs ever built sat squarely on the widest chest ever sported by a man. He decided to leave a few buttons open to show off the fine brown hair speckling his pec-mounds. He finished off the ensemble with a gold chain around his bull’s neck, sporting a medallion in the shape of a tiny bodybuilder frozen in a perpetual full-lat spread. Similarly, the buckle of his belt showed a bodybuilder flexing a double biceps. Carmichael brought stylists into the gym to cut and style the hunky David’s hair into a sexy seventies look. They lightened it to a coppery blonde and cut it tight at the back but left a long, flowing fringe framed on either side by manly sideburns which didn’t overpower his looks. Finally, when he was fully dressed, he stepped back to admire himself. “Pure 1973,” he remarked, posing and flexing for all he was worth, testing the strength of the shirt, especially the buttons, in case they started to ping. They held, although some threads snapped in the shirt’s arms when David flexed his biceps. “How do I look from the back, Carmichael?” “Stunning, Sir. The width of your shoulders compared to the absurdly small taper of your waist spans far wider in the relaxed position than even the biggest superheavyweight is capable of when pulling a rear lat-spread. Your back is a “W” up top, but a lower-case “v” at its bottom, diminished still further by the massive and globular swell of your rectal area, making the button-flap pockets of the pants sit way more horizontally than vertically.” Carmichael was good at describing stuff. David could easily picture how his pants looked from behind. He flexed his glutes to their fullest, causing the buttons on the pockets to strain as their endurance was tested. David turned to the side, to take in his incredible profile. He noticed that the ball-shaped form of his biceps and triceps had stretched the shirt sleeves to near-bursting point... and... oh god... his upper arms were thicker than his waist, thicker by loads. The huge bulge in the front of his button-flies was extremely prominent, and so David played around with his meat, adjusting it inside the pants so that the bulge stuck out as far as it would go, whilst still flaccid. The distance between the apex of his crotch bulge, and the farthest point of his bubble butt at its most flexed, was a mind-blowing four feet. But that was easily dwarfed by the distance between his nipples when his pecs were most flexed and the middle of his back. He was so big, his muscles primed and pumped, traps, delts, bis, tris, pecs, abs, serratus, glutes, quads, hamstrings, and calves... maxed out and bulging beyond belief. “I guess I will have to get used to being stuck like this, never to grow ever again. But I’m certain of one thing... this shirt will be shredded before the night is out.” It was David’s holiest vow to himself on his 18th birthday. “Come, Sir, the car is waiting. I have you booked in for dinner at the Fangucci Bistro for 7pm sharp. You’re at Elizabeth Hurley’s table. I... er... arranged for her to come down with a twenty-four-hour strain of sweaty-cheese-minge syndrome. You know how hard it is to get a table there.” Carmichael, the devil that he was, was such a cool guy to know. “Do I have a dinner date for the evening, too?” David was starting to get horny again. He would love to get to know the son of Consuela the cook, the hunky Manuel who took over at weekends from the regular gardener to the Driscoll Palatial Estate. He saw him in his mind, now, stripped down to his jeans, his Mexican body toasted a healthy brown in the afternoon sun, cooling down under the hose he used to water the plants, his manly flesh modest but evident in the visible cuts between his work-hardened muscles. “You’re getting boned, Sir. Might I remind you to be careful regarding the pinging of buttons? And your dinner date is Manuel, the son of the cook, if you must know.” Carmichael had a devilish glint in his eye now. Had he read David’s mind? End of Part 1
  9. VRGoh

    Danny's Secret

    This is a rehashed version of an old story from the old forum, "The Weekend with Danny." Usual disclaimer applies. Enjoy. -------------------------------------------------------- Danny watched from the window of the living room of his home as his parents drove off for the airport, preparing to start their two-week vacation in Puerto Rico. They wanted to enjoy a vacation in an exotic location, but they didn't have passports. Luckily for them, passports are not needed for U.S. citizens when traveling to U.S. territories like Puerto Rico and both of his parents are fluent in Spanish. His mother works as a high school Spanish teacher who spent a year in Madrid during graduate school, and his father, a computer technician, was raised by a Puerto Rican mother who insisted on her children knowing the language of their heritage. He silently made a mental note to call his Abuelita via Zoom on her birthday next Tuesday. Because of long distances, traveling to her home in Florida was not very feasible for most of her children. However, using Zoom allowed her to get regular digital visits from her children and/or grandchildren. As soon as their car turned the corner, he headed for the upstairs bathroom, removing his shirt along the way. He wasn't prudish about his body; he enjoyed showing off the fruits of his labor, in fact. However, he didn't often get the chance to do so, as his mother would quickly have him put on a shirt "so you don't catch a chill." He chuckled at that as he arrived at the landing. Making a stop in his room, he removed the rest of his clothes, placing them in the laundry hamper. Whenever he had the chance, which wasn't often, he'd prefer to walk around the house naked. His mother wasn't wrong when she said that Danny would "go around here without a stitch of clothing on." He just wouldn't do it while his parents were in the house. Once completely naked, he went into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He didn't do this out of prudishness, but to lessen the mess. Turning to the mirror on the back of the door, he gazed at his reflection in the mirror. Looking back at him, with a look of confidence and swagger, was a god among men. Standing 6'6" tall, he was built like one would imagine a son of Zeus to be built. A twenty-five inch neck flares out to traps worthy of the flying buttresses of Notre Dame Cathedral, ending at shoulders so wide he enters rooms by turning sideways. From his cannonball shoulders, arms measuring 30" would proudly stretch out the sleeves of any shirt he wore, including his favorite T-shirt, with arrows pointing to them over the sentence, "Two tickets to the gun show." His 66" chest casts a shadow over his eight-pack abs, his lats, like the hood of a giant cobra, tapering dramatically to a drum-tight 32" waist and a bubble butt that fills the seat of every pair of pants he wears magnificently. His powerful thighs measured 36" around, bigger than the average man's waist, which tapered to 29" calves as hard as diamonds. Dangling from his crotch between thighs as thick as oak trunks was a powerful cock that, when hard (which was often) was 20" long and 14.5" around. Everyone wanted the secret to his godlike body and porn-star-worthy cock. Most figured that it was either good diet and exercise, or that he was injecting steroids or something similar. He let them speculate, knowing that they wouldn't believe him if he told them the truth. Stepping into the tub beside him, he lay down and started stroking his massive member. He bit his lower lip as he jerked off, his libido rising with each stroke. He knew about basic exercises, but the only workout he'd ever done was masturbating. The method he used, however, gave him the effects of a full-body workout, because he would be at it for hours on end. Not only that, but every time he "worked out," he was always a little bit bigger, a little bit more defined, and a lot stronger. He started masturbating like this when he was 14, at the first flush of adolescent hormones. Finding something like it online, he tried it out that first night to his surprise. Now at eighteen years old, he was built like Hercules, strong enough to lift his parents' car overhead with no visible effort, and superhumanly hung and virile. He grunted and moaned as he kept going, his muscles flexing and rippling like ocean waves, going from the hardness of stone to that of steel and beyond with each flex. Viridian veins, like small hoses, emerged from beneath his skin as striations stood out in bold relief. He flexed throughout his "workout," licking his mountainous biceps and caressing his plate-armor-like pecs. Before long he was drenched in sweat and near a massive orgasm. Any time he performed what he called "super-edging," he would drench the entire bathroom in cum. Closing the bathroom curtain helped a bit, but not by much. This process, not only increased his size and strength to impossible limits, but also dramatically increased the size of his loads. Edging in this manner backed them up, one after the other, until he would cum for a full minute without stopping, his cock a firehose of cum. It was this level of orgasm that he was steadily approaching now, his body impossibly shredded and hard. He roared and grunted as he approached the point of no return. Releasing his cock, he let out a long roar of godlike release as his twenty-inch monster cock erupted like a volcano, spraying cum everywhere in the room. He flexed and shook in the throes of his sexual release, veins and striations making him look like an inhuman muscle monster with an insatiable lust that could only be sated by an entire horde of willing partners, which is what awaited him that night.
  10. VRGoh

    The Triplets

    It was his first time in the gym, and Brett was at once nervous and excited. He had wanted to build muscle on his 5'8", 135-pound frame, and joining a gym would be just the thing he needed. He went into the locker room after signing in with the buff front desk guy, changed his black shirt and blue jeans for a pair of black sweats and a gray T-shirt, and headed onto the floor to start pumping his pecs. As soon as he got onto the floor, his eyes drifted around to the many faces working out that day. By the mirror, a woman was doing crunches with a friend spotting her. Various machines were taken up by people of numerous shapes and sizes, while the free weights were the denizen of mostly muscular guys who looked like aspiring bodybuilders. One group stuck out in his mind as he started on a nearby pec deck. Three young-looking guys stood side by side by side, curling what must have been fifty pound dumbbells. He felt a stirring in his shorts, but he attributed that to the increased blood flow from lifting as he shifted his focus back on to the exercise he was currently doing. From the pec deck, he went to incline bench press, going into the free weight area. As he lay down on the bench, a pair of 20-pound dumbbells in hand, he heard a voice from behind him. "Need a spot?" the tenor voice said. "Sure, couldn't hurt. Thanks," he responded as he turned to look at his would-be spotter. His gaze fixed on the squared jaw, high cheekbones, and almond-shaped eyes of one of the trio from earlier. The shape of his eyes made Brett think he was of Asian descent, though he couldn't tell exactly where. The other two were focused on their own bodies, curling the weights to pump up their biceps. Shaking the cobwebs out of his head, Brett got back to his workout, with the Asian guy spotting him. "Name's Brett. You?" he said, introducing himself. "Francisco," he responded. He and his companions were dressed alike: black T-shirt practically clinging to their athletic torsos and gray sweats. Through their clothes, Brett could tell they were athletic. I wonder if they're bodybuilders or something he wondered as he continued his exercises. Throughout the day, Francisco kept encouraging him to go bigger, hit one more rep, one more set. By the time he was finished, his pecs, triceps, and shoulders were pumped, a ruddy cast to them from the increased blood flow. "Good workout, dude," Francisco said, clapping Brett on the shoulder. "Let's hit the sauna to loosen those muscles up. This way you don't get sore the next morning." With a smile and a wink, he and his friends headed to the locker room. Curious about this trio of muscle-men, he followed them to the sauna. He stripped down to his red boxer briefs and found the sauna at the back of the locker room, only to be greeted by a sign on the door that said, "No clothes or towels permitted in sauna." Brett blushed, as he'd never been naked around other guys before, even in gym class back in high school. With a sigh, he went back to his locker, removed his boxer briefs and quickly made his way to the sauna, closing the door behind him. As he sat in the sauna, he was almost certain that Francisco would have already left. No sooner did he get comfortable when the door opened. Brett quickly cover his cock and balls as Francisco entered, along with the two from earlier who looked like clones of him. As Francisco (or one of them) closed the door behind them, he noticed how unbelievably muscular and ripped the three of them were. They could be fitness models, if they weren't already. Each of them had thick, meaty pecs, chiseled six-pack abs, and bulging biceps worthy of K2 or the Himalayas. Thighs like redwoods supported their awesome physiques, while their shoulders and back made them look as wide as the door. All three sported sizable cocks, easily bigger hard than Brett's respectable six inches. He suddenly felt a bit inadequate against this trio. "Um, are you guys...?" He let the rest of the question hang in the air to avoid making the usual assumptions. They sighed in unison. "Yes, we're brothers," one said. "Yes, we're triplets. Born ten minutes apart each, if your curious," continued the second. "No, we're not psychically linked and, no, we can't feel each other's pain," replied the third as they sat down around him. He felt his own internal body temperature rising as they sat close to him. "I, uh, take it those questions have been asked before," he said. "More times than we care to count," responded the one on his left. "I'm Francisco, by the way." "The name's Fernando," said the one on his immediate right. "Federico," replied the one to the right of Fernando. "And in case you're wondering how Asian guys can have Spanish names, we're Filipino." Oh yeah, Brett thought. The Philippines is a former Spanish colony. Just then, Brett noticed a mole above Fernando's upper lip on the right side, by the corner of his mouth. He filed that away as he looked at the other two studs. Federico has a mole on his right pec, while Francisco had no such mole. He filed this away for later, as it was a way to tell them apart. "Uh, wow," Brett said, a bit nervous. "You guys... really look great. I mean, how do you get it so big? I mean, get so big." He shook his head, hoping they didn't notice the Freudian slip. What he did notice, however, was his growing erection in the presence of these muscular triplets. "Good old diet and exercise, Brett," Fernando said as he stood up and passed Brett, his own semi-hard cock inches from the latter's face. He scooped some water from a nearby basin and poured it over the hot stones that heated the sauna. A cloud of steam issued forth from the stones as the water hissed and immediately vaporized. "Though, genetics helps. On both accounts." He stretched his arms up, draping one behind Brett's head in a classy manner. Brett's heart thundered in his chest. He'd never had feelings like this before, except when he was a kid, reading comic books. He thought nothing of it then, but now... No, that can't be, he thought. I'm straight. I lost my virginity to Samantha in college. I'm not gay. But could I be... bi? he wrestled with the thought as he stood up to add more steam. He felt all six of their eyes on him as he poured the water. As he made his way back to his seat, he tripped over his own feet, and landed right in Francisco's lap. "Woah there. You okay, Brett?" Francisco asked, his voice suggesting attraction. Brett slowly stood up as he noticed a black rubber ring around the base of Francisco's cock. Looking at Francisco's brothers, he saw the same rings on them as well. "Don't those hurt?" he said, pointing to Francisco's cock ring. He subconsciously licked his lips while staring at his huge member. "Not at all," he responded. "Keeps everything front and center. Good way to show off the goods. Wanna try one? I've got, like a whole box of these." "Uh, sure," Brett said. "I've never heard of these before." Francisco headed out of the sauna, as if he was not embarrassed by walking around a public gym's locker room without a stitch of clothing on. "Do you guys ever, you know, get embarrassed by that?" he asked the other two. "I mean, going around naked?" "Why should we?" Fernando asked. "It's our way of inspiring guys to keep lifting." "Yeah," Federico added. "It's our way of saying, 'here's what you can look like if you keep at it.' Plus it's a good way to catch the eye of any passing guy who's into muscle." "Wait, you guys are gay?" Brett asked. "As the day is long," Federico responded. "We found out on the same day. Kinda fits, huh?" Just then, Francisco came back with a small rubber ring. "Good thing we buy these in bulk," he said as he handed it to Brett. He stretched as much as he can, but he couldn't get it on completely. "Here, lemme help," Francisco said as he reached over to Brett's hands, giving him some assistance with the cock ring. All of a sudden, Fernando kneels right in front of Brett, licking his lips. "It helps if it's wet," he said as he took Brett's hard cock in his mouth. Brett felt a rush of uncertainty and a desire to fight him off, but... for some reason he didn't act on it. Part of him wanted to, but another part of him wondered where this would go. "Wait, I'm... I mean, I think I'm..." Brett stammered, unable to finish a sentence. "Always thought you were straight, Brett?" Federico asked, a sly smile on his face as his own cock throbbed red and hard between his powerful legs. "Seems you're not as hetero as you thought." He flexed a mountainous bicep for Brett, the huge boulder-like muscle standing proudly before him with a sharp peak worthy of a mountain range. Brett's hand went to the powerful muscle, feeling its stony hardness. "M-Maybe... bi?" he asked, at the edge of a psychological cliff he'd never dared to approach until now. "I've had women before, so I thought i was straight..." "And now," Francisco purred in his ear as he fit Brett's hand around his own cock, "you'll experience sex with a guy. Or, more accurately, three guys." Federico guided Brett's other hand to his own cock as Fernando moaned low in his chest, the vibrations shuddering across his cock as the ring tightened around the root of his cock and balls. He was right, it did feel good. It pushed more blood to the shaft, increasing the pleasure provided by Fernando's hearty sucking. "How big are you guys?" Brett asked breathlessly, losing his ability to restrain himself before these beautiful men. "Seven inches soft, ten inches hard," came an answer, but he didn't know from whom. Everything was blurring in a haze of lust and passion as he slowly gave in. Maybe I'm bi, he thought as one pair of lips sucked his cock and another kissed him with wild abandon, both of his hands jerking on cocks each bigger than his own by a full four inches. He let out a loud moan, surrendering to his inner sex-fiend and started enjoying the trio of buff studs pleasuring him when the door opened a crack. "Just to let you guys know," a familiar voice said, "we close in five minutes." It sounded like the buff guy at the front desk. "You got it," Federico said. "Hey, could you look at the heater in here?" Francisco requested. "I think it's a bit on the fritz." "Sure. Lemme get my clothes off and take a look," he said as the door closed for a moment. Matt! That was his name! Brett thought, remembering his name as he start skull-fucking Fernando's face as he started wanting them more and more. He growled in lust as he felt his cock slide in and out of the man's hot mouth as he jerked them off even faster and harder. "I think someone's ready for the whole shebang," Fernando said as he turned his ass to Brett. "I think you're right," Francisco agreed as Brett grabbed Fernando's ass. "I want to feel all of you," he growled as he stood up, plunging his throbbing cock into Fernando's ass with a low roar. He plowed the man with a gusto he had not felt before, not even with the women he's fucked. Never before had he felt this hot, this horny, this uninhibited, where he could truly unleash the beast that dwelt within him. And unleash it he did. Just as Brett was plowing Fernando, Francisco embedded his own monster tool into the smaller man's ass with a hearty thrust and a grunt. He lowered the two on the bench as Fernando lay on his back, taking Brett's cock like a champ as he jerked his own. "Oh yeah, Brett," he moaned. "Let it all out. Don't hold anything back." Fernando tweaked Brett's nipples as he kissed him with a fiery lust that only fueled Brett's fucking. Francisco kept pace with the rutting animal that Brett had become right as Federico stood over his brother and presented his own cock to Brett. The middle of this four-way cock pile slurped up the rod aimed at his mouth, sucking hungrily as Federico face-fucked their new partner with gusto. The two were so engrossed in the act of fucking that they didn't notice Matt come in and fix the heater. "You guys are lucky no one is here," he said. "Normally I'd have to let you know that the boss frowns on sex in the sauna." He stood before them in all his chiseled glory, his own 10-inch cock standing at attention like a soldier. "Feel free to join us, Matt," one of the triplets said, a smile audible in his voice. "Eh, why not," he said as he approached. "You three are the best fucks I've had in a long time."
  11. VRGoh

    Short Story: The Alpha

    (Author's note: Any similarities to real-life fraternities and sororities is purely coincidental and not intended.) Jason stared at his reflection in the upstairs bathroom of the Alpha Chi Lambda fraternity house, admiring his godlike physique. Though using the word "fraternity," the Axls, as they were known, were a co-ed fraternity emphasizing all-inclusiveness and community service. Right now, however, all of the Axls were asleep, bathed in the afterglow of what was the best sex of their lives and their first orgy of the school year. The entire house smelled of cum, since the 6'3", 300-pound muscle god thoroughly fucked everyone in the house at least once the night before. This has become a tradition of his ever since he started college three years ago. Every weekend, one of the various off-campus houses on Greek Row gets a visit from "the Alpha," as he has become known. Taller, more muscular, stronger, and more virile than any man has a right to be, he owns every room and building he walks into, having even the most masculine and heterosexual guys going gay for him. He is the only alpha male in any room he's in, his ruggedly handsome looks, Mr. Olympia-worthy physique, and porn star cock commanding the respect, awe, and lust of all onlookers. Every fraternity wants him as a member, but he has turned them all down. He prefers to silently rule over all of the Greeks as their unseen king, whispering decrees to the chapter president of each organization. Jason turned to hear the sounds of the Axls waking up, their groans and moans punctuated with exclamations of post-coital bliss. "Holy shit. Did we just meet a god?" "I think we did, brother. That was definitely the Alpha." "Think he'll give us an encore performance?" "I sure as hell hope so. That was too fuckin' amazing." Jason smiled, his cock slowly swelling with blood and lust. He always stayed for two nights at each house he visited, giving orgies that would last well into Sunday. Since it was Saturday and no one had class that day or the next, he was free to thoroughly grease these Axls as only he could. He dropped the towel exposing his orgasm-inducing body and cock, and turned from the mirror to make his way to the Axls. It was time for round two.
  12. fillups

    Zeus' Folly, Hulk's Pain

    Chrismac29can graciously allowed me to expand his story King Leonidas eats Hulk for breakfast, found at https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/HulkSmashed/conversations/topics/85 Zeus' Folly, Hulk's Pain by fillups and chrismac29can King Leonidas of Sparta sat among his men as they feasted furiously. Beast-like, he tore a piece of burning flesh and devoured it Was it the cattle or the meat of some other beast? Leonidas found he cared not. He sought only to fill the ravenous hunger of his body. Though Leonidas was king he sat among his men not above them because of the incredible changes that had been wrought, his view was above the rest. He watched his men savagely tear into the carcasses of the various beasts on the battlefield, reveling in their victory over the Persian army. The multitudes of the Persian army had been brutally slain to a man and yet not a single one of the 300 who had defended Sparta had fallen. It seemed like an eternity ago but on the previous day, Leonidas and the mighty 300 had been on the brink of annihilation by the Persian army. Inspired by the bravery of the Spartans, the futility of their last stand and especially by King Leonidas, the God-King Zeus had intervened just before the Persian army had overrun the brave Spartans. Zeus had intended to endow each of the 300 soldiers with the powers close to that of the gods. It was not within his power or his intention to bestow god-like powers on mere mortals but the bravery of the Spartans was such that he was bestirred to grant something to even the odds of this awesome and fatal act of bravery. To each man he sought to grant the strength of fifty men, near a hundredth of the enormous strength and power of his offspring Herakles. Also the speed of fifty gazelles or rather near a tenth of the speed of the god Hermes., and finally a portion of the battle savagery and skill of Ares. For Leonidas, Zeus intended to receive double of each of these gifts such was his affection for this potent king. However the workings of the universe are even beyond that of the great god, for the men's intense loyalty and bravery charged the atmosphere around them. Even as they faced certain death the men were suddenly surrounded by the white hot glow the god king's power. Such was the intensity that the Persian army was momentarily blinded. Even Zeus himself could not perceive what was happening to the 300 within the glow. When the glow faded, Zeus was taken aback. For instead of granting the men a portion of the gods' powers, each man was fully endowed with the powers of the gods. Nay far beyond the gods' power. For instead of a mere hundredth of Herakles glorious strength the men were imbued with twice Herakles might. The same for their speed, savagery and battle skill. All double what the gods themselves possessed. And Leonidas, such was the strength of the adoration of each and every one of his men he himself was filled with the power of all 299 of the godlike super powered Spartans that followed him. The bare muscular torsos of the men around him were expanding, growing huge with muscle. The muscles rippled and glowed in the fading of the supernatural light. Each of the men were larger and more muscular than the massive Herakles himself. Leonidas himself stood half a foot again taller than the men around him, almost 7 feet tall. His beard and hair grew ever more wiry. His chest and legs sprouted a dark coating of hair. His monstrous shoulders rounded wide out to his sides pushing the men away from him. Veins ran like lighting bolts coursing across the wirelike striations of his muscles. HIs pecs bulged outwards like an enormous shelf over his powerfully muscled abdomen, thick, thick with muscle His arms dwarfed the trunks of the oldest woods in the gods own forest. His forearms twice as thick as the hulking legs of his own soldiers. Terrible and awesome his arms hung far off to Leonidas' sides pushed away by their own incredible mass and the width of his mammoth lats. The teardrop shaped muscle on his thighs bulged ever thicker even as the muscle was cleaved by striation after striation. The incredibly muscled men around Leonidas looked like small boys in comparison with the colossal muscle size of their beloved king. The mountain of striated muscle that was Leonidas moved forward in a graceful and quick motion. In a voice that cleaved the air and rattled the heavens with the power of a multitude of thunderclaps Leonidas roared, "CHARGE!" The Persians were deafened by the noise and had only seconds to react as the 300 megaliths of muscle moved into battle. The Persian army was spread out for miles with an almost limitless number of skilled warriors. To a man these warriors were to meet a gory end before the hour was through. Hundreds of men died almost instantly pierced by javelins hurled with such force they traveled for miles through the ranks of the Persians, as if their thick armor and bodies exerted no resistance at all to the weapons. The Spartans moved with such speed even Zeus with his divine vision could only glimpse a blur of motion and the flash of a sword as the soldiers raced through the suddenly terrified ranks of the vast opposing hordes, easily hacking Persian bodies to pieces. In a panic, the Persians loosed the wild beasts---the rhinoceroses, the elephants to dash in and lay waste to whatever living creature they encountered. The animals lumbered forward trampling hapless soldiers on their way to the battle maelstrom. As the beasts rammed into the Greeks the beast roars gave way to squeals of pain as they were bodily flung by the soldiers. Leonidas hurled fourteen of the animals almost as once. The animals smashed into phalanxes of Persian soldiers reducing them to mixtures of human and animal gore where nothing living remained. From atop the giant golden dais that served as his throne, Xerxes stared at the field in rage and disbelief as his vast force was being consumed by a bronzed cloud of death. They had been about to destroy the obstinate Spartans!!!!! He saw thousands of his minions fall to the fast moving cloud that was the Spartan army. In the cloud's wake, nothing moved. All was death and devastation. Within moments of spotting the Spartans the cloud was suddenly upon his golden throne. His troops were brutally smashed almost before he realized what had happened. Suddenly the ferocious sounds of battle stilled and Xerxes gazed upon the prodigious men that were the army of 300. They stood ranged around his throne staring up at him. Dwarfing the rest was King Leonidas his pale skin covered in the dripping blood of thousands. His green eyes cold as he beheld Xerxes. In an act of bravery and foolishness the nine foot Persian king leapt from the dais to attack Leonidas with his royal sword and the sharpened claws on his hands. The giant king crashed into Leonidas steely frame like a wave crashing against the Spartan rocky coast The Spartan King budged not an inch while Xerxes bruised and broken body crumpled to his feet. Xerves forearm had fractured as it has come down on the muscle of Leonidas's unforgiving shoulder. His sharpened claws had shattered trying to penetrate his hard, sinewy neck. Xerxes moaned in pain as Leonidas walked forward, his bare feet crushing the bones that littered the battleground. Xerxes gasped and looked backward to see the King grip underneath the front end his war-dais. He whimpered and pissed himself as the biceps of that arm peaked into a mountain of hard muscle much larger than the size of the king's own head. Leonidas single arm raised the massive platform into the air easily as if Leonidas were picking up a light spear. The dais was now balanced vertically in his god-like grip. Unintentionally Xerxes felt his cock submissively spew his seed as Leonidas stood over him with the dais held cradled easily in his grip. Leonidas wielded the dais like a club and squashed Xerxes flat. The titanic king tossed the dais aside. It's great weight smashed a deep crater into the earth where it landed. Leonidas sniffed in disdain at the remains of the once mighty army around him. He felt no need to honor the brave dead, only disdain at their weakness. He then stuffed the shattered remains of the former Persian King into a wooden barrel, and then hurled the barrel over the horizon. With the new power he was imbued with, he knew the his throw would send the barrel down in the middle of Ecbatana, the Persian empire's capital city as a grisly sign to any successor of the dangers of confronting his might. Leonidas savored the memory of the savage joy he had felt at that moment of triumph in his mind as he ripped another piece of meet from the bone he was eating from. He knew he had been deeply altered not only the enormous physical change but within as well. Where once all he could dream of was coupling with his beautiful wife, now the thought gave him no pleasure. He still felt affection for her and appreciation for her beauty but no desire for her filled his loins. Instead he looked at his men with newfound pleasure and love. Oily juices from the massive slab of meat coated the rippling muscles of his powerful forearm, as his teeth ripped flesh from the bone. Finishing off the hind leg like it was a chicken wing, he marveled at the hunger that consumed them. This hunger extended not only to food but also other carnal desires. He watched his men fuck each other with wild abandon and he found the coupling of his men to be the most beautiful sight to ever greet his eyes. He stroked his dark beard in appreciation that gave way to a sadness. His own enhanced power was so great he would now cripple or kill any man he sought to ravish, even men as strong as his soldiers. Nevertheless he pulled out his mighty organ fully thicker than a stout tree branch. He gripped it's hot veiny width with his big hands and stroked himself at the sight of his men's copulation. His phallus had not only increased in size but in the pleasure it gave him. He moaned out loud shaking the very mountains with his cries of ecstasy. A fountain of hot cum showered from the skies on to the men bathing them in Leonidas' seed. Zeus looked down at the speed, the ease and the completeness of the Persian army's defeat with no pleasure. Such power was beyond him and all the gods of Olympus. What had been created here? He felt himself shaking with something he did not recognize. Fear. Fear especially of Leonidas. With all his abilities, Zeus could not see the limits to the Spartan king's powers. Powers, he was well aware, that Leonidas had not even discovered yet. These were no longer men and as such they were a threat he needed to deal with before they realized the extent of their power. Zeus used his powers to search the universe for a force to challenge them. Suddenly far in the future he came across a creature mightier than all else around him. A creature that destroyed everything it came into contact with, without even meaning to a creature that could increase his size as he became angrier. He saw far away a weakness in the tissue of time. A wizard was dueling with the creature, opening up a dimensional gate. Zeus, using his powers to their utmost, manipulated the gate. Stelios, had just finished pleasuring Captain Artemis. He had never experienced such ecstasy in his young life. While he shared the magnificent strength of his fellows, as the youngest he was also slightly weaker than the other men. After the first nine orgasms he found himself tiring slightly, unable to muster the fortitude to equal his Captain's. While Artemis was busying himself with two other soldiers, Stelios bounded away to find some water. His powerful legs carried him many leagues in a few moments. He found a small valley nestled among the nearby mountains which hid a pleasant lake and a cooling spring. Shedding the remnants of his much abused armor and cape, Stelios washed the remains of battle and his carnal rutting from his skin. It pleasured Stelios to feel the contours of his new body. The amazing hardness of his chest, shoulders and arms. He ran his hand across the rutted surface of the muscle savoring the new feelings and how impossible it was to completely reach across his new mass. He pushed his hand down deep into the furrow of his own chest. He had a large hand and it could completely vanish into that muscled valley. His manhood started to enlarge despite the hours of fucking and the cool water that now rushed across it. He suddenly ejaculated thick ropy streams of his issue, staining the pool further. Suddenly, above the valley, the sky itself was rent apart in a reddish gash. Winds suddenly appeared whipping the foliage around Stelios into a frenzy. He found himself strangely unmoved by the supernatural spectacle that would have previously sent him to his knees. A new confidence bloomed in him. A massive green form leapt from the torn fabric of space and time and landed at the edge of the valley. The ground rumbled with the impact. The tear then suddenly disappeared from the sky as quickly as it had formed. The naked youth strode from the lake, the clear water misting off from the heat of his magnificent body. Although the green creature had dropped a mile away, Stelios was there in less than a second. The green behemoth raised his head groggily: "Uhhh.. Puny magician has sent Hulk away again. No fair to Hulk." Stelios did not know what to make of this creature. It was emerald green and had the appearance of an incredibly muscular man. Bestial it seemed to Stelios,. Perhaps one last travesty of nature from the Persians he thought. Their magicians trafficked much in the black arts and the creature did mention something that sounded like sorcery Stelios was thinking so intensely he did not notice he was gripping the trunk of a small tree next to him snapping it in two. The Hulk stood up at the sound and turned to face him. Stelios was suddenly aware that the creature was considerable taller than him, about the same height as Leonidas with muscles that would have overawed him a day ago. Now even though this creature towered over him by almost a foot....Stelios was not sure that it was any more muscular than his own incredible body. "From where have you come?" he shouted bravely up at the great creature. "Hulk chase puny magician up mountain. Hulk not know where that was. Hulk not know where here is either" The creature did not appear to be ready for combat and it seemed disoriented. Stelios decided to take the creature in for Leonidas' pleasure. "You are a prisoner of the Spartan army, creature. Come with me." The creature's eyes cleared of befuddlement, giving way to fury. "Hulk is no one's prisoner Muscle boy is not as strong as Hulk!" The creature suddenly sprang at Stelios. Stelios moved quicker than the Hulk's eye could follow, sidestepped and using the Hulk's momentum gripped his forearm and smashed him into the side of the hill. There was crash as the granite cracked with the impact of the Hulk's skull. Chunks of rock pounded down on top of the briefly prone creature. There was a roaring sound the creature burst forth suddenly scattering boulders everywhere. The green creature looked subtly larger to Stelios. "Hulk smash tricky muscle boy!!" the creature rumbled quickly sending a massive uppercut to the youth's head. Stelios was caught by the suddenness of the explosion and knocked up high into the air. He landed on his feet, his prodigious legs easily cushioning the impact, directly in front of the angry creature who was waiting for the youths landing. Stelios felt his ears wringing from the prodigious blow, but he was still conscious surviving a blow that would have destroyed tanks in the Hulk's time. The Hulk was surprised the young man was still standing and he noticed the bronzed youth's massive muscles. They were at least as big as his own even inflated by his growing rage. "No one bigger than, Hulk!" he roared, breaking into an obscenely huge most muscular, his muscles bulged obscenely. The muscular challenge uncoiled Stelios' pride and he matched the creature's pose, nay he exceeded it; his more symmetrical bronzed body bulged thicker and overcame the incredible size of the Hulk's frenzied pose. Hulk roared in a rage, vainly trying to grow bigger than this massive youth. The young man crouched in front of the Hulk. The Hulk approach the youth and gripped the young man's arms in an attempt to hold them down. The golden muscle was not dented by his enormous pressure and the arms felt disturbingly powerful in his hands. Stelios's arms were gripped with a force that could pulverize mountains. Stelios' muscles ached as he resisted the downward force with an equal force of his own. Massive arms pushed against more massive arms. Even with the advantage of leverage and gravity, The Hulk could not budge the Spartan's arms downward and anger and fury began to fuel his strength increase. With minute slowness and with every bit of enhanced strength the Hulk could muster, he began to move this young man's arms downwards. While the Hulk was concentrating every molecule of his being into subduing Stelios, Stelios was able to divert a small portion of his attention to concentrating on how to get away from this stubborn gargantua. With Stelios' attention momentarily diverted the creature had begun to muscle his arms downwards. He could see the spark of triumph in the Hulk's eyes when suddenly Stelios simply kicked out somehow catching the Hulk in the back of the knee. The creature staggered which was enough for Stelios to quickly pull from the Hulk's grip and race back towards the army. Stelios was fast but the Hulk saw the direction and came roaring after him. Stelios arrived at the camp in moments. "A creature from the heavens chases me. It's strength and fortitude are more than a match for me and it comes directly behind!!" Leonidas' sensing this might be the beginning of a second wave of attackers commanded, "SPARTANS! FORM ON ME!" In less than a minute, all 300 men had assembled in a wedge formation, with King Leonidas the massive tip of the wedge. The green creature skidded to a halt at the edge of the camp near Stelios' position away from Leonidas. "HO, GREEN CREATURE!" Leonidas bellowed as the Hulk created two huge ruts in the road throwing up a thick cloud of dust from stopping so quickly. "IF YOU MEAN SPARTA HARM, WE WILL SEND YOU TO YOUR GRAVE!" Irritable to no end due to his struggle with Stelios, still intent on catching the youth and surrounded by the dust he had kicked up, Hulk did not notice the power of the voice confronting him and could not see the army. He pulled his arms forward inflating his massive emerald green chest and screamed, "Hulk smash muscle boy!!!!!!!" Then the air cleared and Hulk was confronted with the 300 bronzed muscle gods arrayed in front of him. His eyes quickly found Stelios among the group and deep in his mind he felt something like fear as he noticed that Stelios was the smallest of this musclebound group. A deep rumbling which turned out to be King Leonidas' laugh alerted the Hulk to his overwhelming presence. The Hulk, seeing the gargantuan man gulped inwardly. "STELIOS! YOU SAY THIS CREATURE WHO LOOKS LIKE A MAN CAME FROM THE HEAVENS? PERHAPS HE IS A GIFT FROM ZEUS TO RELIEVE MY LONELINESS. BUT ZEUS COULDN'T YOU HAVE MADE HIM COMELIER??" Leonidas laughed bitterly at the sky. "Hulk have bigger muscles!" Hulk said uncertainly flexing his cannonball arms. King Leonidas strode over to the creature. They were the same 7 foot height and yet the Spartan's muscles looked to be infinitely bigger, ripped with veins and radiated megatons more power than the subdued Hulk. The massive bronze shelf of Leonidas' chest pushed the Hulk backwards several feet as Leonidas stood directly in front of him. In all the battles and all the super beings the Hulk had faced, he had never been so awestruck by the power of another as he was by Leonidas. Leonidas curled one arm in front of the Hulk. The biceps crested so high and so densely layered with muscle the Hulk was ashamed at his own pitiful arm. This bicep was an indomitable, omnipotent mountain of tanned flesh and made the Hulk's usually more than substantial arm look almost tiny, like an anthill next to Mount Olympus itself. Hulk felt just the near presence Leonidas all conquering bulk crushing him. A remainder of his fury came to the surface and he struck out at Leonidas' massive chest with a blow that was several times more powerful than the blow which had staggered Stelios. His fist came rushing at Leonidas with the power and speed of several exploding bombs. The 300 could feel power of it compacting the air before it struck. The fist collided with behemoth mountains of muscle. The Hulk felt his super thick bones shatter like crystal on the immovable hardness of the Spartan's chest. The Spartan was completely unmoved; he did not even flinch or step back from the force of the tremendous blow. "I SEE YOU NEED TO BE TAUGHT A LESSON!" thundered the king who in a blink of an eye swung his mighty fist up into the Hulk's abdomen easily crushing the creature's abdominal muscles and launching the Hulk up thousands of feet into the air. Leonidas was just getting started. He leapt up faster and higher than the Hulk and smashed another mighty blow reversing the upwards thrust of the Hulk and propelling the creature fatally fast down to earth. The Hulk slammed into the hard rock of the plain, creating a deep abyss. Even the 300 stepped back from the force of the impact. The creature was covered in blood and tried to stand on his hopelessly broken legs to face Leonidas who landed with a deafening crash further decimating the rock of the plain Even as his hyper healing abilities kicked into gear knitting up the wreckage Leonidas had made of his body, the Hulk felt deep fear at what this awesomely muscled creature would do to him. "STELIOS, YOU SAY THIS CREATURE CAME FROM HEAVEN. I KNOW NOT A PERSIAN SPELL THAT WORKS THUS. METHINKS THIS CREATURE IS PERHAPS OF THE GODS," Leonidas said looking at the Hulk thoughtfully. The Hulk felt his abilities returning almost fully. He waited until his terrible foe's attention was diverted back towards his men and then moved to take a mighty leap that would carry him miles away The Hulk leapt but the King moved even faster catching the Hulk by a thick ankle stopping the Hulk's forward motion with ungodly ease. "PITIFUL CREATURE. YOU CANNOT RETURN FROM WHENCE YOU CAME!" Suddenly he began to arc the helpless superhero back and forth over his head and slammed him down into the ground over and over again. 1000 times in a less than 30 seconds, Leonidas was a bronze blur of heat and motion. In that time every bone and organ in the Hulk's body was destroyed, pulped by the unstoppable might of Leonidas. The king smiled without pity as he stared at his broken foe laying in a pool of his own green blood and splayed flesh, still breathing raggedly. "IF THIS IS THE BEST THAT HEAVEN CAN SEND THEN HEAVEN ITSELF IS NO LONGER WORTH DEFENDING!! WE FORMERLY OF SPARTA NO LONGER OWE ALLEGIANCE TO A COUNTRY THAT FORSAKE US. WE NO LONGER OWE ALLEGIANCE TO A HEAVEN THAT SENDS SUCH TO US. WE OWE ALLEGIANCE ONLY TO EACH OTHER AND WITH EACH OTHER WE MARCH ON THE GODS THEMSELVES!!!!!!!!!" With that the king raised his foot above the green creature's barely moving chest intending to smash the barely beating heart and finish the beast. He paused staring at the pathetic misshapen form and whispered, "You are as much a pawn as I in these infernal games. Recover if you can, you are my first spared." The musclegod king,turned away from the fallen creature to his men and pointed a huge arm to the far away peak of Mount Olympus, "WE MARCH TO WAR!"
  13. tereshky

    The 12 Disciples

    The Twelve Disciples (I wrote this story as a thank you to the first 12 guys who liked my work enough to follow my profile. This is my last story of the month so I just wanted give you guys one last thing to read before I went on vacation!) ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Shawn was your typical college athlete, always looking for any kind of an edge. He was one of thirteen people on his swim team and, while he was really good, he consistently came in third in their meets. His frustration at never coming in first was overwhelming. It didn’t matter that he could have any girl he wanted or that his friends looked up to him like an idol. He wanted to be better than everyone. It was the end of August and a new swim season was about to begin. He was sharing his frustrations with an online friend late at night when they suggested an herbal supplement he’d never heard of before. Shawn went to the website and found it all pretty sketchy. The site was covered in obviously morphed photos and the company was operating out of some town in India that he’d never heard of before. But he was so desperate to win he’d try anything. When the package arrived he eagerly opened it up only to find that it contained one pill that said, “take with water.” “Jesus Christ… I spent $50 bucks for this!?” He groaned. He was so pissed he almost threw it away but he figured he might as well swallow it. So he gulped down the pill and chased it with a glass of water and then hopped into the shower. As he was soaping his body up he felt warm all over. His muscles started to tingle with a strange sensation and then suddenly his entire groin felt like it was melting in pleasure. He felt his cum splashed against his chest as he fell against the side of the shower in the most intense orgasm of his life. His muscles were begging to swell. He gripped his pecs and felt the meat getting thicker in his hands. “Fuuuuuck.” He closed his eyes as the sensations overwhelmed him. He shot load after load until his cum was spent and his cock was dry heaving. When he opened his eyes, his biceps looked like someone had added a baseball to their mass. His triceps flayed out more and his legs had crazy definition. “Shit that stuff really works!” He turned off the water and got out of the shower to check his body out in the mirror. He’d gained a good 20 lbs of muscle. He bounced his meatier pecs and smiled. “That shit’s out of this world!” Then he immediately went online and ordered another package. He was going to do a lot better this season. The second package arrived in a few days, just before their first day of practice. He was so excited he took it immediately even though his friend was hanging out in his dorm. Rami was from India. He and Shawn had known each other since freshman year. “What’s that stuff you’re taking?” Rami asked him. “It’s this great supplement I got from India. It’s amazing! Watch this!” He said pulling off his shirt as he gulped down the pill with a glass of water and waited. Shawn and Rami stood in front of the bathroom mirror for 20 minutes with no obvious effect. “What are we looking for?” Rami said. Shawn’s body looked amazing and he suspected this was some kind of joke his friend was using to show it off. “I’m going to start growing!” Shawn shouted, but nothing happened. “I’m bored with this, lets watch TV,” Rami said. The two watched Netflix for about an hour and still there was no sign of any new growth on Shawn. Eventually it was time for the first swim practice of the season. “Ugh… so disappointing. It happened so quick last time!” He said gathering his things. Rami got up to go. “You don’t have to leave man. I know you hate your room mate. You can just stay here while I’m out.” He said, pulling on his shirt and walking out of the room. Rami sat down and continued watching “The Crown”. Eventually he got up to go to the bathroom and nearly tripped over the packaging that the supplement came in. He picked up the packaging and looked at it. “Wow this is a really seedy company.” He thought to himself. The instructions were all printed out in Hindi. Where there were English translations they were written by hand. “Odd… they translated this wrong. That doesn’t say ‘take WITH water’ it says ‘take IN water’.” scratched his head wondering why on earth the instructions would say that. Then he read some of the untranslated section. “Allows the user to absorb water through skin… converts into muscle and genital growth… for safety do not expose yourself to more than fifty gallons at a time… holy shit!” Down at the pool Shawn’s phone was vibrating like crazy as Rami tried to call him ten times but his phone was in his pants pocket and his pants were shoved to the back of a locker. Shawn was walking out to the pool deck in a tight speedo. His team mates were complementing him on the weight he’d gained since last season. Shawn was feeling confident, the second pill had been a dud but at least he had something to show for his efforts. His slightly larger ass was bulging out of the sides of his speedo as he dived into the pool and began swimming laps. He had gone five laps when Rami burst through the doors and started shouting at him to get out of the pool but Shawn was swimming too hard and couldn’t hear. Suddenly Shawn’s entire body began to tingle again. His cock poked out from the top of his tight speedo as it became erect. “Fuck… not now...” Shawn thought as he gripped the one of the lane dividers and started shooting white clouds into the water. The swim coach shouted at him, wondering what he was doing but Shawn couldn’t respond, he was in too much pleasure as the water rushed into his skin and he began to bulk up. His shoulders looked like a rising volcano as his traps built up and his delts rounded out. His nipples were forced downward by the pounds of meat that were being added to his pecs. His cock continued to grow and thicken as clouds of white jizz erupted from it. His balls were swelling rapidly in his speedo until they popped out from either side, the size of tennis balls. His ass expanded until the speedo was jammed up in his crack like a thong before it snapped. By this time he’d captured the attention of his fellow teammates. To them his contorted face made it look like he was in incredible pain and they swam over into his cloud of cum filled water to see what was wrong. They touched his swelling body, unable to believe what they were seeing. “Bro… what the hell is going on!” One of them shouted as they crowded in to watch his biceps swell before their eyes and his back muscles develop a deep topography. He was getting taller too, his expanding feet were being pushed deeper into the pool, inch by inch. “Jesus man… should we get a… gnnnn” Another guy said. His skin was feeling tingly as the herbal infused cum began to soak into his skin. Shawn’s balls were still swelling, now the size of melons and thick clouds of jizz were floating all over the entire team. They had been so concerned for Shawn that they hadn’t seen what was happening in the cloudy water as their cocks all became rock hard. Suddenly they liked the sensation of their mostly naked bodies pressed against each other. They pressed in on each other more closely until their fit frames were rubbing the jizz into one another. Soon they were dry humping one another. “WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON!” The couch shouted, seeing his team all blissfully groping one another. Shawn continued to grow until he could touch the bottom of the deep end, his cock was as wide as a two liter bottle. His balls floated to the top of the water like shipping buoys as gallons of cum spewed into the pool. As he bounced his pecs in pleasure it created a wave pool. His muscular ass grew the size of a bean bag chair. Rami and the coach just stared in slack jawed awe. Shawns abs split in a twelve pack and the the team was climbing all over him to feel it, starting to swell themselves. He was finally number one on this 13 person team. He was their muscle god and they were his 12 disciples, and they worshiped their leader as all the water in the pool was slowly turned to cum.
  14. Hello, all...here is the long-awaited Wrestling Chapter......to catch up where you were before, I highly recommend you look at the other chapters first..... Links to other chapters: "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Precis, Introduction, Chapters 1 & 2 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapters 3, 4, 5 - White Cap Training / A Brief History of Casey Rockland / Miles Donovan's Gym "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 6 - Casey is Discovered at Miles Donovan's Gym "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapters 7, 8 - Hardcore Training, Pt. 1 / Tiffany's Talent "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapters 9, 10 - Good for Morale, Continued / The Men Hit the Showers "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 11 - Casey Meets the Muscle Squad Precis: Valhalla Labs is a remote mountaintop Northern California military facility, overseen by genius muscle growth scientist Dr. Ira Zaftig and CO Staff Sergeant Rod Moster, a 7'-0" ripped and hung 395-pound black muscle giant. There, 18 extraordinary bodybuilder-soldiers live, train, and play together, overseen by Moster's strict rules and brutal regimen for muscular perfection. Known as Project Herculaneum, the men serve as Dr. Zaftig's lab rats, receiving regular injections of P-21, a specially developed enzyme that facilitates muscle and strength growth in the very few bodybuilders whose systems can withstand it. The goal: to create an army of supermen, whose strength, size, and combat skills are unparalleled in the modern military. Unfortunately for the Project, the soldiers' enhanced strength and dramatically increased muscular size is accompanied by a corresponding increase in priapic size as well, along with a rapidly diminishing sense of social restraint and inhibitions. And along the way, the men's extraordinary physiques prompt their own extreme muscle fantasies into a daily acting-out sexual reality. Into the mix comes young Casey Rockland, a lonely, handsome, super-hung 18-year old bodybuilding giant. Inducted by Dr. Zaftig into the top-secret government muscle strength and growth project, Casey comes to learn the ropes amongst the muscle giants, whose hunger for hardcore training is matched only by their sexual appetites and growing fantasies, including their insatiable need to receive muscle worship. Casey's innocence, simplicity, and his growing need to receive both love and muscle worship threaten the very core of the decade-long Project, itself only now approaching its full potential. THE TWENTY A Government Issue Adult Cartoon -XXX- Muscle Fantasy By Joey Silverado This book is dedicated to Tiny Yokum – and to all his fans, past, present, and future. Chapter 12: Part 1 Casey vs. Karim Abdul: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match Five minutes later, Karim Abdul was striding down the corridor, pecs bouncing, headed for the wrestling room. Still carrying his clothes from Casey’s presentation, he was now dressed only in his red Lycra wrestling singlet. His step was deliberate, his gait powerful. As he walked he grumbled to himself, ignoring the low clamor of the rest of muscle squad, who followed eagerly behind. His cock, loose in the singlet, swayed heavily from side to side as he walked, his balls pushed forward. “Asswipe kid.” The rest of his thoughts were a little too vague for words. Thoughtlessly he grabbed his cock and got it momentarily out of the way of his quads, pumping as he walked. Most of the squad was keeping a good 20 yards of distance between themselves and Karim Abdul. No one wanted to be on the receiving end of a wild Abdul punch at this moment. Even Schumacher, McIntyre, and Duncan, men who could well defend themselves and were used to Abdul’s occasional wild swings, were keeping themselves at a cautious distance. Karim knew he had to mark his territory. Now, tonight, and fast. No questions asked. Leaving nothing to second-guessing. After all, even he had to admit it - this kid was fucking unbelievable. He was huge, he was cut, he was raw, he was handsome, he was young, he was unbelievably hung. And at only 18 years of age, he was still growing. Karim wouldn’t rest until he’d smashed the kid’s handsome face into the mat. And maybe pissed in his mouth, too. Something. Something like that. Yeah. Show him who was in charge. But - it was all – well, a little unformed. Even to him. He passed the door leading to the back of the kitchen. He bashed the door open with his fist, smashing the frame and cracking the thick glass. Inside, Pedro, Abdul’s handsome little kitchen cocksucking buttboy, was sweeping up. “Your ass in the wrestling room. Bring that 10-pound canister of olive oil. MOVE!!! NOW!” commanded Abdul. Pedro jumped a mile. Then Abdul was gone, continuing on down the corridor. Pedro immediately put the broom away, washed his hands - his musclegod demanded clean fingernails - climbed up a little ladder to one of the shelf larders, and grabbed a 10 gallon jug of olive oil. Carrying it with some difficulty, he nevertheless darted out the door and ran excitedly after Abdul. "Wait for me!" the eager boy squeaked. He was about to get an awesome muscle show. Maybe suck some massive cock. Wow! Further ahead, Abdul was a man on a mission. And coming up behind him and running by was Private Tiffany. Abdul didn’t like that asswipe, either. Great glutes, though. Perfect glutes. Big, hard, striated boulders. Yeah. Fuckable. Most inviting. He’d fuck the little asswipe’s butt one day and then push his face in the toilet. Yeah. He continued on, paying little notice, though he did allow himself a quick, cool glance at the muscleboy’s rolling, muscular boybutt as he scampered by. From the corridor somewhere behind Abdul, Schumacher was shouting to Tiffany. “Where you going?” he demanded to know. “Getting Dr. Irving!” “Who?” Tiffany turned back, running backwards, explaining patiently as if to a child. “The dude with the camera. Ever notice him? Probably not…” He waved Schumacher off with easy, grinning contempt, turned back and scooted happily up the corridor towards Dr. Irving’s office. Schumacher swore to himself. He had to acknowledge he had no idea who Tiffany was talking about. He rarely noticed the lab workers or other doctors, barely paying attention to even Dr. Zaftig himself. He returned his gaze to Karim, striding purposefully up the hall ahead of him. Karim Abdul’s rocky man glutes rumbled darkly as he walked, and Schumacher gazed into the impenetrable deep butt crack outlined in the red Lycra. Excepting only the cloaked, anonymous butt fucking nights, no one other than powerfucker Schumacher had yet penetrated Karim’s magnificent asshole. Ever. “At least I have that much,” Schumacher muttered. By now he was passing the open office door. Tiffany, his back to the corridor, was hurriedly explaining to some geeky lab coat doctor who Schumacher had never noticed before, saying something about Get the camera out, asshole, and Come with me now…. Schumacher paused for a moment in the office doorway to admire Tiffany’s butt sweep in his tight regulation khakis. His full, hard, rounded glutes were a most enticing display in his slacks, the rear pockets rounded with the curvature of pure muscle, promising the pleasures that lay beneath. Joe Tiffany Now there was a butt to fuck. He grunted and continued down the corridor, following Karim. In truth he didn’t know why he was heading off with the others to the wrestling ring, and especially at this hour. He should be headed off to bed, a quick JO instant replay of the group shower suck / group butt lick he’d enjoyed just 40 minutes earlier, and then plenty of shuteye for another brutal workout tomorrow. That was the life. And another day to plan on getting into Tiffany’s butt. Another day to strategize some deep cock / muscleboybutt frottage sessions. Another day to – “Hey, Schumacher.” It was McIntyre. “Where you going? This way.” He’d walked right past the wrestling room door. “Oh.” He retraced his steps. As he came back, a little sheepishly, Alvarez and Lang were in the doorway. Lang’s tongue was practically lolling out of his head in anticipation, and even cool customer Alvarez had an excited gleam in his eye. “What do you assholes think is gonna happen?” snarled Schumacher as he strode by, pushing past them into the wrestling room. Alvarez put his hands up in mock defensiveness. “Oh, nothing, nothing. We just thought we might want to watch.” “Yeah, we wanna watch nothing happen,” smirked Lang. Both men mockingly bowed as Schumacher went by, Alvarez of course taking the lead, with puppydog Lang following suit. Schumacher glanced down at their packed flies bulging out of their khakis as he strode by. “You both sure got big enough hard-ons, just to watch nothing happen.” Lang looked defensive. Alvarez just laughed, and gently patted Lang’s growing bulge. “Yeah, guess we do.” He nodded and winked, and went inside the wrestling room. Lang followed, and even had the temerity to wink at Schumacher as he went by. Alvarez threw his arm around Lang and playfully squeezed his ass. Faggots, thought Schumacher. His own cock roared to life in his pants and was soon poling straight out and upward. He glanced back down the corridor. Moster and Casey were rounding the corner. Moster had changed out of his sweats, and was now in the regulation Valhalla Labs green t-shirt and tight khakis. Casey still had only his micro posing trunks on. Behind them scurried Dr. Irving, carrying Casey’s sweats and his video equipment. He was babbling on his cellphone. Probably talking to the insane dude who ran the place. Zaftig. Moster noted the ruined kitchen door and sighed. “Another door,” he grumbled. These dudes, when they got pissed off. It’s not like Valhalla Labs was a bottomless money source. Close, but not bottomless. He nodded at Schumacher and gestured briefly for him to go into the wrestling room ahead of them. Schumacher scowled, but did as he was directed. “Dr. Irving?” “Yes, Sergeant Moster?” Irving scurried to catch up to them. “Do you have a white cap on you?” “Why…yes….” Moster knew he would. The little doctor had long since learned that anything could happen when the men gathered, and he made it a point to carry extra medication with him at all times. And there was no sense in irritating Moster with a “Why, no.” He wouldn’t put it past the giant black muscle monster to deck him with one mighty punch in the nose if displeased, which would no doubt kill him. He scrambled and produced a small medication bottle. Moster turned to Casey, struggling a little to keep up, halfway between a walk and a run, his black shiny micro poser barely covering his steadily bobbing cock as he ran. “Here,” said Moster. “Take this.” “Hunh?” Casey stopped full. “Take it. Don’t ask questions.” “What—what is it?” “Extra confidence.” “Drugs?” Casey was momentarily stumped. He remembered that the boys in the Home were always experimenting. It made them silly and weak. He wanted no part of it. “I don’t do drugs.” Moster motioned to Irving. “Go on and set up, we’ll meet you there.” He turned to Casey. “It’s not a drug. Not like you think.” “I don’t do no steroids, neither.” “Not a ‘roid. There is no man in this facility on the juice. We have to do something about your grammar, by the way.” “Then how –“ “Shut up and take it. I will explain later. You will be fine.” Casey gulped, put his faith in Moster, and did as he was told. He popped the pill in his mouth, and smiled with weak subservience at Moster. “Okay, sir.” “What was that?” “I..I mean, Yes, Sir!” “That’s better.” Moster turned and continued down the corridor, Casey scampering after him. Good thing the men still do what I tell them to do, thought Moster. And how long is that gonna last with this boy? Once he finds his power? Moster tucked that thought away. “Let’s go watch you wrestle. You do wrestle, you said?” “Yeah, but I’m scared…” “No need to be.” “…no..…scared I’ll hurt him. I always do….” Except, of course, Ramon Ramon, the much smaller wrestler at Raw Weight Gym who never failed to thoroughly pin the muscleboy. But of course, that was a long time ago. Inside the wrestling room Karim had already snapped on the overhead lights and was doing deep knee bends in the middle of the 20 sq foot wrestling ring, which dominated the center of the room. The thick blue mat of the ring gleamed in the overhead lights, with the VALHALLA LABS logo in the center. Around the ring on two raised platforms were about 40 folding chairs, all affording perfect, elevated views of any wrestling action. Pedro stood eagerly on the side, now holding towels and a water bottle. “Getting limbered up to better meet the kid?” called out Blankenship. He had already grabbed his ringside seat, he too adjusting his crotch as he sat. “Shut the fuck up,” said Karim, squatting. To Pedro he shot out, “Where the fuck is the oil? Get the oil.” Pedro shot off into a storage room and returned with a 5-gallon jug of olive oil. “Goin’ for Turkish wrestling, hunh, Karim?” Chad was grabbing a seat ringside. He nudged Waring. “This is gonna be good.” No answer from Karim. “The kid’s got an iron grip, I’m told,” called out Waring, nudging Eli Meyer’s ribs as he took a seat next to him. Meyer’s mouth hung open in a perennial smile. He pointed to his mouth so Meyer could read his lips. “I said, Casey Rockland’s got an iron grip.” “I heard you.” Obatu was next, leaning against the ropes. “And those quads be killers. He gets you in a lock hold, you gonna be dead in the water. What’re ya gonna do about that, Mr. Abdul, sir?” Karim didn’t answer, regarding them all stonily. Obatu lazily returned his gaze, smiling, unintimidated. Blankenship had started this. But Blankenship had easily dodged the intended receiving end of a few near-miss wild roundhouse punches in the past. He was too fast and too alert to be caught unawares, and Karim Abdul had learned not to waste his energy on him. So Karim suffered the men’s ready comments stoically. “This kid got veins like this?” he asked, flexing his 25-inch biceps, showing off half-inch thick rivers of veins, pulsing with power. “Yeah, I think, actually, he does,” said Blankenship with a smile. “Here he is now. Let’s see. Kid, you got veins like his?” Moster and Casey had appeared at the opposite door, the darkened end of the wrestling room. Both giants approached, in black silhouette against the framed light from the corridor, getting larger as they quietly walked toward the ring. Casey looked up quizzically at the question. “Flex your biceps,” whispered Moster. “Hunh?” “Flex, man. Don’t ask stupid questions. Flex it up. Now.” “ ’kay.” Casey stopped and hammered out a front double bi. 25 inches of his own, in response to Abdul. As always, he felt compelled to go on, adding side chest, front lats, quads, and sent a hand probingly down rippled, hardrock abs. “That good?” “Good, good,” muttered Moster. “You catch on fast. You ever compete, kid?” “Uh…..no……should I? Other guys are so much bigger than me….” Moster smiled. They all think that, at the beginning. “Get over here, plebe,” Abdul called out from the center of the ring. Pedro was standing on a stool, pouring the olive oil over his massive physique, worshipfully slathering him up. Casey in Silhouette Casey stared. “What’s all that….?” he stammered. Moster noted that the white cap hadn’t taken effect yet, but then it had only been a few minutes. “Now, Karim,” said Moster patiently, coming into the light as they approached the ring. “You know Casey is not a plebe.” Abdul started to speak. “Nor is he a cadet. He is now one of you. He makes us The Twenty. You need to accept this,” he continued, walking and speaking easily now as he pulled up the ropes and stepped into the wrestling ring. He approached the angry giant muscle Arab. “And he isn’t threatening you. Casey isn’t going to pull your power away from you.” “That’s not what this is about.” “Bullshit,” one of the men yelled. The others laughed. Abdul glared at them and went on. “Whatever you say, Sergeant Moster, sir,” said Abdul. “I just want to make sure he’s going to be worth my time to train with.” He smiled easily. “That’s all.” The oil was dripping off him onto the mat. Moster said nothing. Casey was now visibly nervous. Still outside the ropes, he leaned in to Moster. “They gonna reject me?” he whispered loudly. “I mean, now?” “No one’s rejecting you,” said Moster loudly. He then turned to the waiting group of musclemen. “Are you, boys?” Something about that ‘boys’ rankled Abdul even further, though Alvarez and Gunst just smiled. The others looked perplexed. “Since when are we boys?” squealed Hension. “Shut up, Hension,” said Chad. “You ever wrestle, boy?” Abdul called out. “His name is Casey. Or Private Rockland.” “I asked you a question, boy. Ever wrestled? Get your butt into the ring.” “You really want all this oil?” sighed Moster. “We’re gonna wrestle Turkish style.” “It’s messy.” “I’ll clean it up, sir!” squeaked Pedro. “Bet your ass you will.” “Yeah, you don’t want a spanking, now, do you?” yelled Lang. He adjusted in his chair, his glutes still smarting from the paddling he’d received earlier that evening. Moster’s cock twitched a little at the suggestion of paddling handsome young Pedro’s hard, receiving little boybutt, a pleasure he had not yet allowed himself, although the teenage boy’s firm little butt cheeks had always been particularly inviting in his kitchen whites. He ignored it for now, however. Later, he thought. Casey shot a look at Moster. “What’s this about spankings?” he asked. Moster ignored the question. “Get in there.” “Yes, sir.” Casey climbed obediently into the ring. Moster watched him closely. The white cap should be taking effect in a moment…. “Oil him up,” commanded Abdul. Pedro ran over to him with the stool and the olive oil, climbed up, and began to pour it all over Casey’s massive physique. The sheer size and beauty of his muscles was overwhelming to the little Mexican, and his own powerful little cock began to bulge in his pants. After a moment, Casey was drenched in the shiny, thick liquid. The two musclemen stood face to face, Abdul in his tight singlet, fearsome muscles gleaming in the light, looming with threatening power. Casey was still in his micro, bulging posers, wet now with slick oil, the top 6 inches of his massive, meaty cockshaft fully exposed, blond tendrils of pubic hair curling with thick radiance. He was embarrassed, humiliated that his huge penis was twitching outwards in anticipation of what-was-coming-next. But then he noticed – Abdul’s oily, pylon-thick tool was also clearly coming to life in the thin singlet. “Good. Now, you got some mighty fancy muscles. But that doesn’t mean much here. We all got fancy muscles.” “You’re not being very polite, Corporal Abdul, “ said Moster, moving to the sidelines. “I think the men ought to introduce themselves before we get into any personal demonstrations of our manhood. Don’t you agree?” Even the ever-present log in lying against Moster’s pants leg was firmly outlined and appeared to be twitching a little, and the thin khaki fabric of his slacks covering it was now smooth and tight. Slowly the 17 others bodybuilders rose from their seats around the ring, one by one. 38 pairs of eyes stared at Casey intently. He glanced at the cocky little Joe Tiffany, and then over at Corporal Schumacher, who was now looking at him expectantly. “Okay, now, boy. This is Turkish wrestling. There are clear rules, but they’re different from American collegiate.” “Hang on,” said Moster. “We’ll get to the Turkish rules of wrestling in a moment. He stepped into the ring and approached Casey, now thick and dripping with oil. The men were now gathered on two sides of the ring, leaning on the ropes, leaning in to see what was coming next. For any other cadet introduced into the ranks, Sergeant Moster would have generally proceeded to paddle Casey’s hard young butt as the formal ritual of initiation. Last had been Private Tiffany receiving the red-hot butt cheek welcome, which he had borne stoically and proudly, displaying the twin globes of burnt-cherry perfection under the paddling. And after all, they had all gone through it, excepting Abdul, of course. Even Schumacher had known the firm, unrelenting hand of Moster on his butt. Hazing was hazing. But tonight, that didn’t seem to be happening. Abdul’s interesting wrestling challenge has precluded that. All were watchful. “Men, introduce yourselves. I was going to do this tomorrow, at Casey’s first workout, but now seems as good a time as any.” He turned to Casey and smiled. “Don’t worry, you won’t have to remember all their names just yet,” he added. “That’s good. I’m not very good with names.” “You’ll know them all, in time.” One by one, each man introduced himself. “My name is Private Leo Jin,” said the Asian man. “I’m 25 and from San Diego. I have been in the Project 8 years. My best bodypart is my forearms.” To prove it, the handsome Asian brought his beefy, fetchingly oversized forearms, walloping with solid muscle and veins, and squeezed the muscles hard. “I’m Private Dan Gunst, and until today, I had the biggest biceps here – except for Sergeant Moster’s.” Gunst flexed his mighty guns and then gave Casey a half-cocked smile. “Guess yours are bigger,” he proffered, respectfully. “I saw that this afternoon.” Moster glanced at him questioningly. “Oh, yeah,” he added. “I’m from Milwaukee, I’m 27, and I have been in the program 3 years. Hi, Casey. Welcome again.” “Hi, Dan!” Gunst sat back down. Moster eyed Casey carefully, wondering when the little capsule might take effect. Casey seemed cheerful and happy. Around the circle they went, each muscleman getting to his feet, politely introducing himself, offering basic information, and then showing him his best bodypart. “I’m Steve Waring, and my best bodypart is my traps.” Bulge. Flex. Steve Waring “I’m Rene LeFevre, and my best bodypart are my pecs.” Surge. Bloom. Bulge. “I’m David Duncan, and my best bodypart are my triceps.” Rip. Bulge. Bloom. Flex. “I’m Schumacher.” He said nothing else but grudgingly offered a front lat spread. Casey nodded without expression. This guy was not to be messed with. Eli Meyer signed with ASL. Casey nodded, showing some intelligence. Moster was pleased. Then Meyer turned around, bent over, grabbed his ankles, and showed off his hams, bulging through the khakis. He turned back and Casey gave him the OK and thumbs up sign. “I’m Chris Hension, and my best bodypart – “ “Is my FACE!” shouted Corporal LeFevre. “I’m a refugee from a lost episode of ’21 Jump Street’!” “Smack me around a little and I’ll follow you forever!” added Chad. “He’s our little boyband musclepup,” explained Blankenship. “Shut up,” yelled Hension, visibly embarrassed once again to be labeled the squad pretty boy. All the men were laughing now. “My best body part is my quads.” He started to rotate them. “And my baby blue eyes,” shouted LeFevre again. Hension was confused and humiliated but continued to show his quads, blooming in his tight khakis. “I think it’s his butt!” said Waring. “It’s okay, Chris,” said Casey. “Your quads are awesome.” Hension looked up, hopefully, and Casey felt compelled to go on. “And I think you’re very handsome indeed.” Hension smiled hugely at Casey, his heart beating a little faster. Gee, he thought. Wow. He gazed at Casey, who was now turning his attention to Private Waring. “I’m Private Ryan Waring, and my best bodypart are my delts.” He extended a powerful arm and began to rotate it. Suddenly Hension spoke up again. “I’m 22,” he blurted out, “and I’m from Toledo!” The men laughed again, and Hension hung his head a little and stuck out his lower lip. Next to him, Chad patted his thigh comfortingly. Casey saw him wink at Hension, who straightened up a little and smiled weakly. Casey’s head was spinning. He was inspired past all understanding by the mind-boggling panorama of muscle before him. And he was part of it. About then, he noticed that the room seemed to be getting a little brighter and a little hotter. He was staring again at Moster’s leg log. “Private Lang,” said Lang. “I’m 28, I’m from Lansing, Michigan, and….” He looked a little helplessly at Alvarez, sitting next to him. “My best body part is……um….” “Your back. Your lats are your best body part,” said Alvarez with quiet encouragement. “Yeah, I guess it’s my lats.” He turned and flared his lats wide. Alvarez clapped him approvingly on his butt. Lang smiled and sat, and Alvarez got up. “I’m Corporal Julio Alvarez, I’m 32, I’m from El Paso, and my best bodypart are my biceps.” He flexed. “Gunst’s are bigger but mine have sick peaks.” He popped them back and forth. “See?” Casey was indeed impressed. “Nice. Sick.” Gunst yelled in good-humored protest and flexed his own guns. Casey looked between Alvarez and Lang. Alvarez glanced over at Lang. “No, we’re not related,” he said. “They’re just joined at the wrist and ankles,” called out Gunst. “More like mouth and cock,” muttered Blankenship loudly, winking at Casey. It was Private Tiffany’s turn. “Casey and I will be meeting privately soon,” he boasted, and made a show of wiping the corner of his lips with his index finger. The men laughed knowingly – all but Corporal Schumacher, who looked down into his lap and seethed a little. Moster watched him intently. Something has to be done about Tiffany. But he didn’t worry. Though Tiffany didn’t know it yet, something was already happening. Casey felt a touch flushed, but his head was suddenly amazingly clear. Suddenly he spoke. “And what’s your best bodypart?” he asked. The stammer was gone, but only Moster noticed it. “What do you think?” Joe Tiffany turned around, bent over and grabbed his ankles. He pulled his gym shorts tight at the crack of his butt and proudly displayed his magnificent bodybuilder glutes. “Cupcakes!” said Gunst gleefully. The men howled. Schumacher made a show of laughing, but all he could do was glare. “Wow,” said Casey calmly. “Very pretty.” Tiffany's Butt after Squats Moster smiled inwardly. Good. He’s responded. And this boy responds well to White Caps, he thought. “No one’s had it yet,” said Tiffany confidingly as he straightened up and turned around, tucking his t-shirt back into his shorts. Then he winked. “Except in group.” “Group?” Casey was obviously perplexed. The men shouted with laughter, which died down sheepishly as, looking around the room, each man eventually shrugged and acknowledged it was probably true. None of them had had Tiffany yet. “I haven’t, anyway,” grumbled Schumacher, and the men laughed again. Tiffany sat back down and ignored Schumacher’s look. “Too bad,” said Casey. “Shame to waste such a pretty little behind.” The laughter died down and the men stared at Casey. No one knew what to say. “What’s ‘group’?” repeated Casey. Silence. On the sidelines, Alvarez raised his head a little. He exchanged looks with Moster. White cap? he mouthed. Moster looked away. Alvarez smiled and leaned in. He nudged Lang in the ribs. “Ow,” said Lang. “This is gonna be good,” said Alvarez in a low voice. “And I’m Karim Abdul. My best bodypart? My whole fucking physique is my best bodypart. As you are about to find out.” He flexed, whipping through pose after pose, his heavy cock bulge, dripping with oil, whipping left to right in his wrestling singlet. Snap. Snap. Snap. Casey could hear it slapping against his thighs through the man’s singlet. “All very impressive,” said Casey, looking pointedly at it. Moster smiled again. The cap had taken effect. “Okay. Turkish wrestling. Rules. One: there are few rules.” Abdul ticked off the rules on his fingers. “Submission: the “crush.” A fighter can get his opponent onto his stomach and then trap him by sprawling on top. If I can keep you down with your face, I can then turn you on a half-nelson for a pin.” “What if you can’t do it?” asked Casey bluntly. “If I can’t crush you, the referee has to begin us again from a standing position.” He ticked off another finger and looked Casey right in the eye. “I am not restricted from placing my hands inside my opponent’s kispet…” “Hunh?” “Your poser. I can also use the waistband to hold you in place. If I yank your poser so far below your hips that you are exposed, I win. Okay. If I can lift you entirely off the ground … “Fat fucking chance.” “Whoa,” breathed Hension. The temperature in the room seemed to raise 15º. Abdul paused, tense, and continued. “…and carry you five paces in any direction, that is a “carrying” pin. Got it?” “Yep.” “Okay.” Abdul looked at Casey. “You wanna go?” “What are we waiting for?” “Let’s wrestle,” said Abdul. He clapped his hands together and strode into the center of the ring. Ever since the mention of ‘group’, Abdul had been a touch shaky – or so Moster thought. Still can’t acknowledge how much he likes musclebutt. To say nothing of getting pissed on,” thought Moster. “Sure thing,” Casey answered, slick with oil and now quietly confident. Pedro scampered to the side of the ring and squatted eagerly to watch. Abdul began to bounce around, heel-toe, heel-toe, flexing his fingers, stretching his arms behind his head, limbering up. “Let’s go, man.” “You got it, man.” Casey hunkered down. “Center of the ring, gents,” said Moster. The men began to circle one another. “You wrestle till one of you gets a pin,” Moster instructed, now in the ring and getting between them. Casey flexed his biceps. “Big peaks, man. Like ‘em?” “Seen bigger,” said Abdul. He crunched forward, did a most muscular, his veins popping like railroad tracks. “How ‘bout you? Like what you see, faggot?” he asked. Casey just smiled, hunkered lower. Abdul palmed the crotch of his singlet. Casey smiled and refused to look down. He grabbed his own crotch, pendulously looming in his bulging posers. “Big handful, man.” “Watch it, boys,” said Moster. “This is a friendly get-to-know-you match.” “I already know him,” said Abdul. Moster snapped his fingers to Dr. Irving, now on the unpopulated side of the mat and with his ever-present video camera whirring. He dug in the pocket of his white lab jacket, wordlessly tossing him a whistle. Casey and Abdul met each other in the center of the mat and stared one another down. Their noses touched. Abdul grinned, ear to ear. Casey followed suit. Both began to gleam with anticipatory sweat. “Wow…..” breathed Hension. His hand shot down into his pants and he began massaging his stiffening tool. Moster pushed the two apart and blew his whistle to start the match. “And……wrestle!!” CLICK HERE FOR PART 2!
  15. Previous chapter: Casey's First Interview with Sergeant Moster Chapter 16: Hardcore Training Part 2: Casey’s First Herculaneum Workout, and What Happened After Casey’s first workout demonstration for The Nineteen that afternoon promised to be brutal – and awesome - as he had hoped it would be. He knew he would love every moment of it. He knew it would almost make up for the confusion and fear he had felt the night before. He would be as strong as a god, sailing through every lift, every rep, every set with strength he didn’t know he had. Almost make up for it. Not quite. But maybe afterwards, he could pose for them? Just a little? In the locker room, alone, and about to go before these crazy huge guys once again, he ruminated. He was, if he admitted it to himself, not a little leery about these guys. After all, he had a big black eye. And just about 12 hours ago, thick, creamy jets of cum had shot from18 firehose cocks and plopped down on him while he lay tangled in a sweaty muscle mass mess with Karim Abdul, both of them with swelling black eyes and bloody noses. Kind of a strange introduction to the world of supreme muscle he had been looking forward to for two years – and had been fantasizing about for far longer. “I wonder what Miles would say,” he thought to himself. He had glanced at his black eye in the mirror in the locker room. It was fully open, not bloodshot, just rimmed with black and blue. Not too bad. Actually, it looked fucking hot. He quickly did a side chest. Bam. Nips high. Rivers of striations. Yeah. Lookin good. He was hot. He knew it, too. Or, rather, was beginning to know it. He found his old sweats, thoughtfully hanging up and waiting for him in a large locker with his name on it, which he assumed was his. He noted that the lockers themselves were almost like storage units, not the shameful, small individual skinny things most gyms had. He looked up, slightly startled. Musclemen Gunst and Obatu were suddenly there at the end of the locker row, waiting for them. At first he barely noticed what they were wearing. But then he saw. “What the fuck?” “You ready?” “Uh. Yeah.” “Let’s go, then.” He stripped down fast, found his old jock in the locker, and grabbing his huge cock and balls, shoveled his heavy machine into the pouch. As always, it sagged heavily, groaning softly from the weight of his manhood. He glanced down the row. Gunst and Obatu were blankfaced. Casey threw his sweats on. “Now?” “…..yeah.” Casey slammed the door and waddled towards them, throwing a bathsheet towel over his broad shoulders. “Let’s go lift.” Gunst and Obatu brought Casey onto the workout floor. All of the musclemen in the squad were in attendance, naturally wanting to see how much weight the pretty muscle boy Casey could handle. After all, he may be huge, and all realized he was pretty fucking strong in the ring. He could move fast, and his mandatory poses last night were impressive. But could the dude lift? Could he train?? Dr. Irving stood by with the video camera, fussily taking his precise notes. And Zaftig was there, of course, hanging back, saying nothing, just watching, watching. And now, at least, Casey could remember the dude’s name. Dr. Zaftig. After all, this was the dude who was going to make him huge. He nodded shyly to him. “Good afternoon, Dr. Zaftig.” “Good afternoon, Casey. Welcome to Valhalla.” “Thank you…” “Let’s get going, Casey,” said Sergeant Moster. “You’re keeping us waiting. Again.” “I’m sorry,” Casey said. Moster frowned. No signs of reaction to all the White Caps swimming around in his bloodstream. There were, inevitably, more moments of muscle awkwardness to be had first. First off, Casey was entirely unprepared for the men’s workout gear. His usual workout clothes fully covered him, a ripped and worn outfit of dirty, sweaty baggies, a sloppy oversized sweatshirt that seemed to have been made for a man of 600 pounds, and full-length sweatpants, ragged and much the worse for wear. Even in these baggies, his bulge loomed heavily, swaying from side to side as he came onto the floor. Moster had changed into his full-dress spotlessly clean green uniform slacks, boots, and a skin-tight regulation t-shirt. His mammoth black muscles gleamed with ferocious power, and his crisp, clinging t-shirt outlined every peak, valley, cut, bulge, thick vein and crevice of his astonishing physique. Casey tried not to stare at him. He was oddly drawn to this black mountain of muscle. “I wanna be as big as you someday,” he said softly to himself. The squad, on the other hand, he nervously noted, were all dressed in White Cap Night Valhalla regulation gym gear: ripped, torn and ragged wife-beaters with muscles bulging every which way. Dripping sweat, muscles red and inflamed, their workouts over. No shorts, Army boots, heavy cable socks, and sweaty, swollen, looming Army-green mesh jocks. Bulging packages protruded, looming cocks, also swaying heavily with each muscleman movement, all around the gym floor. “This is how you guys dress to work out?” asked Casey timidly. Okay, so it was still weird. His question was ignored. There was a lot of barely sheathed bulging heavy duty muscleman dick on this gym floor. His own was more modestly covered. If just as bulging. And just as evident. And no one’s on the floor appeared to be as big as Moster’s. Once again he stared for a moment at the man’s obviously huge, looming penis, outlined clearly in his green trousers. He could see the penis corona, even the deep piss slit through the thick dark khaki fabric. Moster sure wasn’t ashamed of his cock. So maybe Casey shouldn’t be ashamed, either. And what Casey couldn’t know is that the men, just having finished their workouts, were delaying their shower sports. White Caps racing in their bloodstreams. And holding back. Not 10 minutes before Moster had sternly separated Blankenship and Lang from some foreplay, giving each man a quick spanking on their bare bottoms before all the other men. Afterward Alvarez pulled Lang back and eyed him dangerously. There would be words between them tonight. Lang was staring at the floor. Blankenship, of course, was grinning. Toothlessly. “How about starting off with some incline flyes?” said Moster. “You need a warm-up set?” “I wanna stretch first,” said Casey. Miles had always taught him the necessity of proper technique. Light warm-ups were part of that, though once he actually started lifting, what constituted a warm-up for Casey might be a final blasted set for another man. “Always smart.” The men stood watching Casey intently. “Don’t you guys wanna go workout somewhere?” he blurted out. “We’re done,” said Alvarez. “We’re waiting for you.” Abdul was staring at him with undisguised hatred. Tiffany was smiling sweetly, butter not melting in his mouth. Schumacher was blank-faced, and all the scarier for it. The others were intent, if blank-faced. Even Hension, whose thoughts were usually betrayed on his handsome face, wasn’t reacting much. He just was staring. They were all staring. Casey shuffled off to a corner of the Marley mat and began his stretch routine, arms swinging, legs kicking, gentle but firm. The men watched him. “He’s bow-legged!” whispered Hension. Loudly. “Yes, we see that,” said Alvarez, mocking the whisper. “I think that’s so hot….!” Casey heard a resounding smack! echoing through the room. “Ow!” Someone had hit Hension again. Casey, his face turned away, had to smile. Apparently the pretty boy got hit a lot. “Um. This takes 20 minutes,” Casey said. Suddenly he didn’t care what they thought. He was going to stretch. He started torso turns, his hands behind his head. Moster spoke. “Casey, we don’t have all day.” Casey turned back to him and repeated himself firmly. “This takes 20 minutes. I stretch for 20 minutes. If you don’t want to watch, don’t.” And he turned back, cupping his big hands together, continuing his torso turns. Moster smiled slightly. Good. The White Caps had obviously kicked in after all. It seems Casey required more White Caps for an effect, and the societal restrictions weren’t so easily abandoned. But the boy was asserting himself, and quite naturally. Zaftig was suddenly next to Moster. “He’s not so easily bullied,” he whispered. “Not like your other men. You won’t have your way with him so easily.” “You don’t think so?” “No, I don’t.” “Well, we’ll see, then, won’t we?” Zaftig frowned. Clearly, Moster wasn’t concerned about Casey digging in his heels at his first workout, doing it his way, defying the Sergeant. “What do you know?” Zaftig hissed at Moster. Moster, never taking his eyes off the teen muscle giant now doing rapid pushups, turned to Zaftig, laid his cards on the table. “The kid has never been worshipped before. He wants it, he needs it. He needs someone to tell him how amazing he is. And he needs musclesex. Badly. He doesn’t know how much.” “I see. It’s your musclesex thing again. Goddammit, Sergeant. This project is about youth and strength and creating the most fearsome army the planet has ever seen. It’s not about sex. It never was. It was about creating the perfect physical specimen. The most extraordinary physiques the world has ever known.” Moster smiled sardonically. “You’ve forgotten, Dr. Zaftig, or perhaps you never knew. Even when you were a young man. Were you ever young?” Zaftig smiled. “Amazing to consider, isn’t it?” Moster continued. “Everything for men is about sex. And bodybuilders? Even more so. And for these bodybuilders? All that times about 200. 500. All these guys want is to be admired. Worshipped. Sucked off. Felt up. Fuck. And, I might add, get fucked. Train, lift, eat, sleep, shit, fight, suck, get sucked, fuck, train some more, fight some more, fuck some more, suck some more, eat, shit, sleep. And,” he added sweetly, “…that’s about it.” “Fuck you, Sergeant.” But now Zaftig was smiling. He knew there was more to it. Wasn’t there? Moster sighed. “I’m sorry, Dr. Zaftig. But that’s what you’ve created here. Millions of dollars poured into fucking machines. But look at the bright side.” He leaned in. “It’s going to make you millions, as well. All of us.” “I already have millions. I don’t care.” “Well, I don’t, and I do.” “By the way, how did the boy get that black eye?” “Looks pretty hot, don’t it?” “Less than 24 hours in the compound and already someone’s slugged him.” “Don’t look too closely at Abdul or Blankenship.” Zaftig glanced over at Abdul, sporting a shiner of his own, and noted the missing teeth of the blond bomber beauty Blankenship. Zaftig groaned inwardly. Another trip to the dentist. He hated having to take the men off the mountain. But there was a dentist in San Jose who fixed up the men regularly, regular hygiene, capping, replaced teeth, crowns, implants, the works, and charged nothing, content merely with big biceps flexed in his face while he sat in the chair playing with his tiny dentist dick. Then, Moster to Casey, “You about done there, boy?” “No, sir.” “All right, then.” The men were getting restless, shifting from foot to foot, now staring at Zaftig and the ever-cool Moster. Alvarez was the only man on the squad who seemed calm and in control of himself. A fact not unnoticed by Moster. Or Casey, for that matter, now secretly watching all this play out for himself. He was beginning to catch on that there was even more to these big dudes than just training, taking this crazy drug, and spanking their monkeys. “Men, time for some biceps curls,” Moster announced. “All of you go do 15 sets of light reps. 25 reps per set per arm. No ball busting, now. Get to it. No more than 25 pounds. I mean it.” He turned back and smiled at Casey. “We’ll wait until The Boy is ready.” Okay, so he was The Boy again. Zaftig wasn’t done. “In a few months the Joint Chiefs will be here for review. I want Casey ready and I want the men at their sharpest, and no funny business. Intensify their training.” He turned away. “You leaving?” Zaftig turned back. “Hell, no” he smiled. “I want to see my latest boy wipe your men all over the floor. Maybe you’ll listen to me then.” Moster nodded. Inwardly he had to admit he respected Zaftig deeply. The man may have been a puny genius with no body, but he wasn’t dishonest, and he was clearly unafraid of Moster. He had no personal need for muscle worship, and never bothered the men. He was, at the end of the day, a partner Moster could trust, if never take advantage of. He admired that. Moreover, Zaftig had never indicated another other than scientific curiosity about Moster’s treetrunk tool. That was a plus on his side, too. Moster turned to Casey and called out. “Okay, you’re done,” he said, brooking no denial. “What’s your starting weight for inclines?” “Um…..180?” Hension, 20 feet away and now doing the ordered biceps curls, stared at Casey. “Damn!” he squeaked. He put the dumbbell down and scratched his barely covered balls. “180?? To start?” Casey looked away, trying not to notice. That boy certainly was pretty. A perfect face. Without realizing it, Casey licked his lips, staring a little at Hension, who, gawking at the muscle monster, inadvertently smiled back, absently scratching his balls. The exchange did not go unnoticed. Lang nudged Alvarez, who nodded sagely. “180 it is. Let’s see what you got.” Moster strode to the bench, grabbed two 180-pound dumbbells as if they were sacks of feathers, and handed them to Casey. Casey took them without a blink, two sacks of feathers. And so the workout began. One by one, the men re-racked their light weights, approached the bench where the giant Casey lay, ready to lift. Casey’s perfect technique was evident from the start. He smoothly lowered his huge bulk onto an incline bench. He raised his arms into position, the two dumbbells easily held aloft overhead. In no time he reeled off twenty reps of perfectly calibrated incline flyes, then peeling off into overhead presses, gently touching the dumbbells one another, then down to the tips of his big brown nipples, outlined in his oversized sweats. His chest bloomed, rivers of sweaty muscle flowed, the pumped pecs seemed to reach to the ceiling as he pumped. “Pow, pow, pow, pow,” he breathed to himself with each rep. Light stains of pec milk appeared on his sweats. “Wow….” breathed Hension. “Do you see that??” “What’s next?” “Do it again.” “Okay.” He reeled off another set. The men watched him stonily, now all gathered around the bench. More pec milk appeared. “Now?” “Do another.” “Sure.” He did another set. Finishing, he clanged the weights to the floor. “Can I work with something heavy now?” Moster smiled. The White Caps had taken effect. He shot a look over at Zaftig, who merely raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Certainly, boy. Take it to 220.” So he was still Boy. “Anyone have gloves?” “Sure, Case!” Lang reached into his bag and tossed a pair to Casey. Casey smiled a little, hearing Lang call him by the same nickname the cadets down the mountain did. “Thanks.” He caught the gloves and slipped them on. Everyone was watching now. The red light of the video cam continued to blink. Standing next to Lang, Alvarez was blank-faced, but not unapproving. In the corner, Dr. Zaftig now had his head tilted back, musing. This boy will go the limit, he thought. No matter what Moster says about what the men really want. This boy is different. He’s pure muscle, and nothing else. No, that was not right. He was muscle, cock, and butt. This boy would be worth millions. And very, very soon. An uncommon sex machine of the first power. Innocent Casey, unaware of the plans being made around him, rose, took the two 180 pound dumbbells, and re-racked them, two sacks of feathers back to the their featherbed. He strode down the line and grabbed two 220s, returned to the incline, lowered his bulk, and reeled off another set of 20 reps, grunting loudly and blowing out air with each rep. More milk flecks appeared on his shirt. He blew sweat and spit, began to groan mightily. “ugh, ugh, ugh, ugh….” When he was finished he set the dumbbells down gently on the marley floor, and looked up at Moster. Absently he wiped the milk away from his nipples with thumb and forefinger. “Nicely done, boy,” said Moster. He spoke loudly to the group. “Notice that Casey does not drop the weights.” He looked pointedly at Jin, who was famous for throwing the weights to the floor after the punishing final set of any lift he did, excepting squats – where he re-racked as noisily as possible, all while screaming. Jin looked back, defiant. “Why do you do it that way, boy?” Casey shrugged. “Way that Miles taught me, I guess. It’s harder.” “Miles?” “Miles Donovan, Raw Weight Gym.” So that was it, thought Gunst. Miles Donovan. He should have known. Donovan was a biceps freak, and hosted many others in his gym, taking their pay-offs for private posing from men who liked to blast big guns in the faces of the hapless, endlessly paying schmoes. No doubt Casey had been a major revenue stream for the notorious Donovan gym, he reasoned to himself. Of course he had to have huge guns. Miles would have seen to it. Blankenship grinned, a front tooth missing and looking all the hotter for it. “Yeah, makes sense, he came from that old horn dog Donovan’s gym. You worked out on the 3rd floor yet?” Casey looked at Blankenship a little blankly. “Um. No.” Obatu spoke up. “Casey is still too young and green for the 3rd floor. Besides, he has been training at the cadet gym down the mountain for the last several months. Haven’t you, Casey?” “Yeah, I guess. What’s next?” “You flat bench?” “Sure. How much weight?” “Let’s see what you can do.” The squad backed away a little as Casey, gripping each elbow and stretching his arms over his head, walked towards a row of flat benches. Gunst despaired a little. He was wrong. Casey wasn’t posing and being paid for it at Donovan’s. Which meant he’d built those mountainous biceps on his own. “Lose the shirt!” squawked Hension. “I want to see your nips milk!” “’Kay,” said Casey. He stopped, slipping out of his sweatshirt, folding it up carefully. Underneath he wore a baggy green t-shirt, which may probably have been at one time a pup tent. “My nipples always make a little milk when I train,” he explained. “See?” He reached under his soaked t-shirt to a nipple, gathered some white liquid, held out a finger dripping with milk droplets. “But it looks like I’m making a little more today.” In spite of himself, Moster was touched by Casey’s innocent neatness with his sweatshirt. And his explanation. “T-shirt too,” said Waring. “Not yet,” said Casey. Moster’s eyebrow raised a little. He glanced over at Zaftig, who nodded. Good. Good. It was all good. The White Caps were claiming his ego. Casey was showing signs he could stand up on his own. “Load up a starting weight of 360 pounds,” directed Moster. “You can handle 300, can’t you, Casey?” “Sure, easy.” Casey laid his bulk down on the flat bench while Waring and Lang placed eight 45-pound plates on either end of the bar. He began to suck in air in preparation. “Hey, can someone wrap my elbows?” he suddenly asked. “Sure. Washington, grab some heavy wraps for Cadet Rockland. Get to it. The man has to lift.” He lifted the bar off the bench and began to bench, pumping his enormous pecs. Now he was working his hardest. He was now more determined than ever to fit in with these huge men. He was going to show them now. The workout continued. Flat bench, declines, more flyes. All pecs stuff. More milk. Throughout the workout Hension, Lang, Jin, Bogarde, Washington, Meyer, Waring, Duncan, Chad, and Corporal Blankenship were cheerful and approving. They howled their encouragement and counted the reps. “10! 11! 12! 13! 14! 15!" Throw the weights, Casey!” "Okay to throw them?" Casey asked Moster, holding 600 pounds aloft, just about to bring it down to his milky nipples. He was calm. "If the men want. This time. Throw it when you're done." "Okay." He finished pumping, and instead of reracking... Clang! Casey threw the weight on the floor, sat up, grabbed the plastic bottle and chugged a half-gallon of water. Water poured from the side of his mouth onto his shirt. The men whooped and hollered. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand and strode forcefully to the next weight. Immediately the men were counting again. “10! 11! 12! 13! 14! 15!” Clang! Wipe. “YEAHHHH….!” And on it went for 45 minutes of grueling, punishing lifting. Corporals Schumacher, Obatu, LeFevre, and Alvarez and Private McIntyre seemed more reserved. Corporal Abdul just grunted. But he was impressed, in spite of himself. The boy was training harder than he had ever seen. His muscles were blooming, seeming to grow as he watched. Gunst was quiet and watchful. Zaftig was beaming with professional pride. Moster remained aloof and keenly observant. And all the while, Dr. Irving followed every move with the video cam. The cocksure little Private Joe Tiffany cheered him on just as loudly. Casey pretended not to see the evil glint in the muscleboy’s eyes, but he couldn’t help it. He’d learned at the Home how to read signals. The Home…..hmmm. A memory appeared dimly, and, just as quickly, was gone. While resting between two punishing sets, Casey was still silently agog at the size of Moster’s muscles. Occasionally he found himself staring at the improbably large mound resting atop his CO’s left quad. The tip of the mound reached to just above the giant’s knee. He noted the other men seemed to be avoiding looking directly at Moster’s leg. Even though they all seemed to be sporting packages of similar size. Damn, their dicks are big, Casey thought. Are they real? And deep inside Casey, a little voice proudly squeaked…..”Wait until they see MINE…” Then he remembered – …..oh yeah.... They’d already seen it. And he had seen theirs, too. Sorta. Between his half-closed black eye. His hand went up, and he rubbed the black eye. Looked at Abdul, and his black eye. Adbul was smiling a little now. Not friendly, but hard - but still, a smile. Casey grinned wearily as he finally finished up with the last set of triceps pulldowns. Private Meyer, a big toothy grinning lighting up his handsome, beaming face, burst forward from the group, and pumped the newcomer’s hand. “Thanks,” said Casey. Meyer nodded enthusiastically. “He can’t hear you,” said Private Waring. Casey looked at Meyer, stricken for having forgotten that Meyer was a deaf mute. “It’s okay, he doesn’t mind.” Casey, touched, shook Meyer’s hand vigorously. Meyer shook his head cheerfully, touching his lips, and shrugged his shoulders to show that indeed he didn’t care that he couldn’t speak. Then he stepped back and proudly flexed his own powerful, round right biceps, smacking them with his left hand, and reached down to grab Casey’s wrists. He pulled his arms up encouragingly and Casey, getting the message, proudly brought his huge guns up and flexed mightily. “Mother fucker!” yelled Lang and Hension simultaneously. The men roared with laughter, and Casey colored a deep red, smiling sheepishly. Alvarez clamped that affectionate paw of his around Lang’s shoulders and hugged him close. But he looked worried. Something was on his mind. Behind them Hension eyed them both steadily, with longing. Meyer kept his hands on Casey’s obliques as if he was rotating his upper body for all to see. “It’s okay, plebe,” said Jin, laughing. “You’ll get to know us all.” While all through the devastating workout he had been stronger than he could ever remember, now he felt – well, almost frail – as if something, suddenly, was missing. “All right, men,” said Moster calmly. “Rec room in 15 minutes. Casey, shower up.” “Yes, sir.” “Men, file out. Casey, come here a moment first.” He glanced at the men, who leaned in, curious as to what Moster might be saying. “Well, Cadet Casey, it looks as if you’ve made it.” Moster spoke quietly. Casey looked up at him, and grinned wearily. “Thanks, Sergeant Moster.” The men gave him a round of applause, Casey noted that even Corporal Schumacher seemed to approve. He lowered his head, modestly grateful. Then Moster turned back to the group. They were still applauding. Casey was embarrassed, turning to go. He didn’t see Moster’s stone face shift into a slight smile. “Men, get dressed. Shower up. No play time. Get to it. I expect you all in uniform, neat and clean, in the rec room, in 10 minutes. Hop to it. Get a move on.” Then, to Casey, “Casey, use my private locker room to shower.” He pointed to a door across the floor. “You’ll find clean sweats in there. They’ll fit. Grab them after you shower. And no jerking off, boy.” Casey, embarrassed that Moster seemed to be reading his mind, nodded dumbly and headed to the door. He was worried again. He had only masturbated once today so far, and on a day like today, he needed a lot more….especially after that worship session with the cadets this morning. He was discovering….something….and his huge cock wanted to know more. But he went, dutifully, into the private locker room, showered, and changed into the clean sweats he found there. Before he left, he checked his guns and his pecs in the full length mirror. Flexing, he breathed to himself. “Damn. I’m fucking awesome.” And with the capsules still not in apparent full-force effect, dressed in baggy trunks and a clean, white light tee, he stumbled his way to the rec room. For what, he couldn’t tell. Probably more weirdness. But now, he was ready. Dr. Irving was there ahead of them all. He had set up chairs for all the bodybuilders in a semi-circle, with the inevitable video cam set up. There was a chair in the center, obviously meant for him. He glanced over at Moster, who nodded and gestured towards the chair. Casey waddled with his bodybuilder’s walk towards it slowly and sat. He looked around with anticipation. “So now what?” he asked. Zaftig took Moster aside. “This boy is gentle. We don’t want to break his spirit. He’s had a tough time and he just wants to make friends. Go easy on him.” Moster’s shoulders stiffened. The veins in his neck popped a little. He looked Zaftig dead in the eye, and said, “Being sweet to him now will kill him later. Is that what you want?” “No.” “Then let me handle it. I know what is best.” “Did you at least give him a capsule?” “Sure,” answered Moster. “He’ll be just fine.” “Doesn’t seem to have taken effect yet.” “He’s a big boy. Blood volume and all. It takes time.” “Fuck you, Moster.” Moster’s eyebrows raised slightly, but he knew not to protest. Zaftig was properly proud of his discovery. “You know fucking well that White Caps P-21 take effect immediately regardless of ‘blood volume’, if you want to put it that way.” “Dr. Zaftig, it’s my turn now.” “It’s always your turn.” Zaftig turned on his heel and left the rec room without further comment. Moster watched him go. The men were sitting impatiently. “All right, men. Let’s get to it.” He turned to Casey. “All right, Casey. Welcome. You’re one of the group now. We’re now….The Twenty.” “Yeah, baby!” “Bout fucking time.” “Tell him what that really means….” said Alvarez. “Spank him!” yelled Hension, and then, before Chad, sitting next to him, could swat him, he said, “Don’t you fucking hit me!” Chad did anyway. “Ow!” yelled Hension. Casey chuckled. “That’s gotta hurt. These dudes seem to hit you a lot.” “You will too, in time,” said Waring. “What did …he….”….um…” “Alvarez,” said Alvarez. “What did Alvarez – sorry – mean – when he said “tell him what that really means?” Silence. Casey continued. “I mean, what does it mean to be one of The Twenty?” Moster smiled. “Yes, let’s talk about that, Casey. Men, why don’t we show Casey what it’s all about?” Then he paused a moment. Casey wasn't reacting. He was just sitting quietly, albeit with great body tension. His muscles were hugely pumped, and Moster could see the fabric shifting as Casey's enormous cock began to uncoil in his sweats. Soon he would be hard. But the boy wasn't moving. Odd. Quietly, he asked, leaning in, “Casey, level with me.” He looked the teen in the eye. Casey couldn’t look away. Inwardly he was stammering. He was looking at Moster's crotch. “No, look me in the eye. Look up. Not down there. Up. How many White Caps have you taken?” “White Caps?” “The capsules. The pills. How many?” He gazed at him levelly. A pause. “Four, I think. Five?” He shrugged, weakly. "i don't remember." "Where did you get them? I gave you one...." "Uh..." Casey didn't want to indict the men on his first day. Weirdness notwithstanding. “Never mind. I can guess." Moster looked back at the group, all standing still, attentive, neatly dressed in their uniforms. And every cock seeming at attention, poling out hugely in their khakis. The men were ready to play. Past ready. Mmmmm. Not much effect on Casey, though, for 5 White Caps. A few moments of assertiveness and a powerful workout, but…..not much. "Are you feeling anything…unusual?” “Well….” Casey paused and looked away. He found himself staring at the men and their looming erections. Jesus. Here it came. Strong societal blockers, Moster thought. "Do you want to have sex? Like now?" No answer. Casey just stared at the cocks in the room. The men were deadly quiet. Then it hit Moster. Of course. “Casey, are you hypoglycemic?” Not so much to his surprise, even the dimwitted Casey knew exactly what that meant. Still staring the the men's rocket crotches, he spoke softly. “......I need oranges or candy bars sometimes.....” “They told you this when you were growing up?” “They told me in the Boys Home. My blood sugar. I have problems.” Of course. That was it. It happened sometimes. He reminded himself he had to mention it to Zaftig. It was the same for Obatu when he first checked in, and then, years later, for Eli Meyer. Since Meyer could neither speak nor hear and his sign language didn't encompass the subject of hypoglycemia, it took them a few days to realize that a cup of chocolate milk worked wonders on the tight glutes of the hot little muscle fuckee Meyer. Give the boy some cocoa and he'd take massive tool after tool up his butt for hours. He called over his shoulder. “Dr. Irving, please step into my office and get an orange. You’ll find a bowl of fruit on my conference table.” He turned back to Casey and smiled a little. “It’ll be just a moment. Then we’ll tell you what The Twenty is all about.” Irving left the room, used to being invisible except when ordered about. Moster stood up, in front of Casey. "It will only be a minute now." The men, behind him, were now pawing the floor like racehorses, ready to rock and roll. Casey, sitting, was now eye-to-crotch to Moster, in front of him. He stared openly at Moster’s enormous bulge in the fly of his uniform khakis, a thick pylon of sheathed cock snaking heavily along the edge of huge quad muscle, and gulped, looking up. Though Moster was the only man in the room without an erection, his penis yet appeared to be the biggest. “Yes, sir,” he stammered. And stared again. His heart was pounding. Moster put a hand on Casey’s beefy shoulder, kneading his fingers slightly into the thick muscle. “Hang on. It won’t be long now.” He turned to the men behind him. “Men? Drop trou.” Zippers unzipped, belts slipped out of belt loops and went to the floor, as the 18 bodybuilders – even Abdul – dropped their uniform slacks to their ankles. Pants down. Around the room. Now all the men were in micro posers. Those massive bulges were unleashed. Looming, heavy, hard, all already pointing straight out. Their cocks almost fully exposed except for the bulging, straining fabric barely covering cockheads. Some of the posers were ready to snap. Casey stared at them all. "Wow...." he breathed. "Men why don't you do some posing for Casey? You've seen his muscles. I don't think he's had the opportunity to see yours." "You, too, Sergeant," said Abdul. Moster looked at him. He paused. "All right, then." He unbuttoned his bulging dress shirt and slipped it off. Casey could almost imagine he could hear the groan of relief of the fabric, suddenly relieved of the need to stretch over the man's massive muscles. But he wasn't prepared for the massive musculature of Moster. Cocks and balls bulged forth, each man spilling half a foot of visible cock into barely sheathed pouches. Casey felt a dribble of precum shooting in his posers. “Arms behind backs!” barked Moster, clearly now the leader of the group. He turned to Casey and became one with his men. The Nineteen placed their hands behind their lower backs. “Spread legs!” All spread their legs wide, shooting their right legs out in choreographed unison. “Prepare!” Fists clenched, crammed in solid obliques. “Front double biceps!” All arms slowly rose. And 40 cannonballs of enormous power ball biceps snapped into ungodly peaks. The men faced straight ahead, all eyes high and level, as if gazing into infinity. “Jesus,” breathed Casey. He fumbled with his crotch a moment. His head was spinning. The lineup of 19 men stood before him, all flexing with massive front double biceps power. The black muscle god brought his arms down strode slowly across the room back to Casey. As he moved, his half-covered organ swayed heavily from side to side in his posing pouch. Behind him, the lineup of men continued to flex without wavering. He stood next to Casey, and impossibly, appeared to tower over even him. Dr. Irving returned with the orange. “Chow down on this, Casey,” said Moster as Irving handed it to him wordlessly. "Men, drop the biceps pose." The men relaxed. Hension snickered. "Yeah, chow down, Casey." Then, warning Chad...."Don't you hit me...." “Dr. Irving, would you get back to your camera, please?” Dr. Irving went back to the video cam, checking his clipboard, and began to tape. The men circled around Casey as he took a big bite out of the orange, and then another, and then another. A moment passed. Casey began to flush, a deep crimson red – and then, just as quickly – the flush faded. He looked up at Moster, and smiled. Broadly. “I’m fine now,” he said. “Casey,” asked Moster evenly, “have you ever sucked cock before?” “No, sir.” “Would you like to?” “Yes, sir. I think I would.” Snap! Snap! Gunst's and Blankenship's posers snapped. Their cocks bloomed free, swaying heavily, ready for service. Gunst stepped forward, but Blankenship elbowed him heavily out of the way. Gunst looked at him threateningly, raised his fist, ready to punch face. Moster stood back. "Easy, men. There's time for everyone. Who should he start with?” he asked the group. “I think he starts with ME,” said Abdul, striding forward, his hands on the straps of his bulging posers. The 14 inch shaft was fully exposed, the tendrils of Abdul's thick pubic hair shining in the rec room light. “Fine with me,” Casey said, still smiling. “How do I do this?” “Don’t worry. It’ll come naturally. Just let it happen.” Abdul took his position in front of Casey and pushed out his powerful hips. As Casey leaned in, Abdul roughly cupped the back of the teen’s head, and pulled him in close. "Get to work, boy..." Casey open his mouth. Wide. "Sorry about last night, " he said up to Abdul, who loomed over him, taking his mammoth cock out of his posers and aiming it. "Wider," said Abdul. "Can I pose for you guys later?" Casey asked. "Sure thing!" squeaked Hension. Smack!! "Ow! What did I say??" "I said OPEN WIDER," commanded Abdul. "Sure thing," said Casey. He opened his mouth wider. "Let's go." And so.... it began. **** Want to read "The Twenty" from the start? Links to chapters of "The Twenty": "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Precis, Introduction, Chapters 1 & 2 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 3, 4, 5 - White Cap Training / Hardcore Muscle / A Brief History of Casey Rockland "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 6 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 7, 8 - Hardcore Training, Part 1 / Tiffany's Talent "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapters 9, 10 - Good for Morale "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 11: Casey Meets the Muscle Squad "The Twenty" Chapter 12, Part 1: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 12: Part 2 Casey vs. Karim Abdul: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 13: After the Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 14: In Which Casey Discovers He Likes to Get Worshipped "The Twenty" - Chapter 15: Casey's First Interview with Sergeant Moster "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 16 - Hardcore Training Part 2: Casey’s First Herculaneum Workout, and What Happened After "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 17 - The Presentation "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 18 - The Musclemen Revealed: Inside Zaftig's Lab "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 19 - Further Encounters, Part 1 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 20 - Pose and Approve: Further Encounters, Part 2 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 21 - Sam and Casey "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 22 - Field Trips for Worship, Part 1 "The Twenty" - Chapter 23 - Field Trips, Part 2 – Casey Rediscovers Muscle Worship, and Makes a New Friend "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 24 - Further Encounters 5: Sam and Casey Again, and Moster and the Cadets
  16. The first two chapters of my muscle novel-in-progress, The Twenty. Links to chapters of "The Twenty": "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 3, 4, 5 - White Cap Training / Hardcore Muscle / A Brief History of Casey Rockland "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 6 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 7, 8 - Hardcore Training, Part 1 / Tiffany's Talent "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapters 9, 10 - Good for Morale "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 11: Casey Meets the Muscle Squad "The Twenty" Chapter 12, Part 1: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 12: Part 2 Casey vs. Karim Abdul: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 13: After the Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 14: In Which Casey Discovers He Likes to Get Worshipped "The Twenty" - Chapter 15: Casey's First Interview with Sergeant Moster "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 16 - Hardcore Training Part 2: Casey’s First Herculaneum Workout, and What Happened After "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 17 - The Presentation "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 18 - The Musclemen Revealed: Inside Zaftig's Lab "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 19 - Further Encounters, Part 1 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 20 - Pose and Approve: Further Encounters, Part 2 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 21 - Sam and Casey "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 22 - Field Trips for Worship, Part 1 "The Twenty" - Chapter 23 - Field Trips, Part 2 – Casey Rediscovers Muscle Worship, and Makes a New Friend "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 24 - Further Encounters 5: Sam and Casey Again, and Moster and the Cadets Precis: Valhalla Labs is a remote mountaintop Northern California military facility, overseen by genius muscle growth scientist Dr. Ira Zaftig and CO Staff Sergeant Rod Moster, a 7'-0" ripped and hung 395-pound black muscle giant. There, 18 extraordinary bodybuilder-soldiers live, train, and play together, overseen by Moster's strict rules and brutal regimen for muscular perfection. Known as Project Herculaneum, the men serve as Dr. Zaftig's lab rats, receiving regular injections of P-21, a specially developed enzyme that facilitates muscle and strength growth in the very few bodybuilders whose systems can withstand it. The goal: to create an army of supermen, whose strength, size, and combat skills are unparalleled in the modern military. Unfortunately for the Project, the soldiers' enhanced strength and dramatically increased muscular size is accompanied by a corresponding increase in priapic size as well, along with a rapidly diminishing sense of social restraint and inhibitions. And along the way, the men's extraordinary physiques prompt their own extreme muscle fantasies into a daily acting-out sexual reality. Into the mix comes the twentieth muscle god, young Casey Rockland, a lonely, handsome, super-hung 19-year old bodybuilding giant. Inducted by Dr. Zaftig into the top-secret government muscle strength and growth project, Casey comes to learn the ropes amongst the muscle giants, whose hunger for hardcore training is matched only by their sexual appetites and growing fantasies, including their insatiable need to receive muscle worship. Casey's innocence, simplicity, and his growing need to receive both love and muscle worship threaten the very core of the decades-long Project, itself only now beginning to suggest its full potential. Introduction The 3-story steel, glass, and concrete compound was snugly nestled in the misty rural hills that rolled gently inland from the ocean, where the Santa Ana winds met the hot air rising from the distant desert to the east. Poised at the edge of the highest peak of the Santa Cruz Mountains, the 4,000-acre gated complex was just barely visible from the discreet entrance on Pacific Coast Highway below. A single sign stood at the locked automatic entrance gate, reading - Private No Outlet The private drive wound up the mountain, snaking through dark woods of redwood and pine, finally arriving at the labyrinth of vine-covered high concrete walls, topped with barbed wire, which surrounded the entire complex. Closed circuit cameras marked every turn of the road. Manicured lawns and open fields could be occasionally glimpsed through thick veils of leaves, branches and red rock. 350 miles south was Los Angeles. San Jose was the closest city, 30 miles away. Local residents drove past the gate on Pacific Coast Highway, wondering about the mysterious multi-million dollar complex. The place had seemed to spring up overnight, seemingly from nothing, more than 10 years before. The traffic in and out was largely limited to food delivery and supply vans. Unseen generators hummed through the night. The people who worked there appeared to be in residence. Was it an athletic training facility? Low planes flying overhead clearly identified a likely indoor Olympic-sized swimming pool, bicycle trails, playing fields, and more. There were also a few outer buildings that appeared to be well-appointed dormitories, with small lawns and private drives. A building attached to the central core might possibly be a central hall, with sizable private, enclosed terraces open to the sky. Convoys of SUVs, all bearing the logo VALHALLA LABS were parked in a half-empty parking lot in front of the main building. Occasionally local delivery men, bringing whole sides of raw beef, fresh vegetables, lab equipment, chemicals, electrical supplies, and – this was the most perplexing part – hundreds of tons of expensive exercise equipment would spot one or two dozen young men on bicycles, pedaling furiously through the high hills, always followed at a discreet distance by an unmarked black car and by the one of the SUVs. From a distance the men on the bicycles appeared to be unusually large. In any event, the local deliverymen weren’t talking. Most would just shrug and say they didn’t know. Besides, they’d signed a confidentiality agreement barring their conversation about what they might happen to observe within. And since no one appeared unduly nervous about the place, over the years the matter dropped. Still, the rural locals who hung out at the motorcycle bars and music clubs nestled deep in the hills continued to buzz. Most assumed that it was some kind of military base and laboratory. Others noted the apparent residence buildings from the air, and thought it was either a private Olympic training compound, or some kind of crazy health nut cult commune. Certainly it was neither a prison nor a university. But no one really knew what it was. And over the years, little by little, the mysteriously well-tended commune was enveloped in the mists of revered local mystery, a legend the hill people of the coast, who were mostly Northern California biker clubs, surfers, horsemen, and artichoke farmers, relished and loved, without knowing anything about it. Remote, mysterious, un-Google-able, not listed on any map, no one really knew what the place was, and even less was understood. However, since it was apparent that no nuclear waste was being discharged, no one worried. No one appeared on either San Jose or San Francisco streets with appeals to join some far-out religion. No shots were fired in the night. And because, in fact, the whole compound was refreshingly green, paid its local bills on time, and was mysteriously quiet at night, for years no one really worried about the place. If only they had known it was the wellspring of the Fountain of Eternal Youth. Or, as it came to be called years later, after all the fuss and scandal and stories had finally faded into the misty aura of legend – the Lourdes of Bodybuilding. ********* This is the story about the day that it all changed forever. THE TWENTY A Government Issue Adult Cartoon -XXX- Muscle Fantasy By Joey Silverado This book is dedicated to Tiny Yokum – and to all his fans, past, present, and future. From Dr. Warren Irving’s Notes List sorted according to date of entry into program. Click tables to see details. Chapter 1: Project Herculaneum October 20th, 2021 1855 Hours In Valhalla Labs’ 15,000 square foot soundproofed gym, 18 of the longtime test subjects of Project Herculaneum were approaching the second hour of their balls-to-the-wall workout. On the west wall, one-way visibility windows framed the magnificent mountaintop panoramas in the growing twilight. As the sun disappeared, the glass increasingly glowed with the golden reflections of a roomful of massive male musculature. The workout floor crackled with the sounds of iron clangs, grunts, groans, and ecstatic roars of pain, shouts and taunts. The air was thick with hot sweat, crotch and armpit smell. Low ranking solders in the US Army, and ranging in age from 20 to 45, the 18 were, to use the argot of the world of male bodybuilding, freaks. Huge muscle freaks. Animals. Swole. Jacked to the balls. ‘Roided to the tits. Except that they weren’t ‘roided at all. Every man on the squad was clean and clear of the usual bodybuilding drugs required to build massively muscled specimens of uncommon size and strength. And they weren’t just conventionally “huge” either. All of the soldiers of Project Herculaneum were fired by one supplement only. P21. And Project Herculaneum, now approaching the end of its first decade, was finally yielding the astonishing results promised from the beginning back in 2007. The Project Director and Genius Factotum, Dr. Ira Zaftig, had long dubbed his lab creation enzyme P21, “The Fountain of Youth.” The wellspring of eternal energy, strength, youth, beauty, and sexual power. Perhaps the secret of life itself. The Men of Project Herculaneum thought of P21 differently, though. “It’s the straightest line between two mostly unreachable points: freaky muscle, and ba-boom!” Or so said Private 1st Class Dan Gunst, a 6’-10”, 375-pound mountain of ripped muscle whose growth on the enzyme had surprised even project founder Zaftig. Off to one side, the 19th man on the squad squatted on a bench and closely surveyed the men's training with half-lidded eyes. By far the largest man in the room, CO Staff Sergeant Rod Moster’s muscular perfection was unparalled, even in this room of freakishly huge men. Squared-jawed and blindingly handsome, 44-year old Rod Moster was 7’- 0” tall, weighing in at 395 ripped and shredded pounds, a black mountain of solidly ridged muscle: deeply separated, profoundly striated sheer muscle mass, boasting a body fat index of 1.2%. Dr. Zaftig was the heart and genius creator of Project Herculaneum. The squad and their CO were the ongoing subjects of his personally supervised “Top Secret” project. For years, the men had been receiving regular lab-controlled injections of Zaftig’s carefully developed muscle growth enzyme, P21. Sergeant Moster, on the enzyme for more than a decade, was the project’s powerful senior officer and unopposed trainer. Yet in spite of Moster's formidable size and strength, he was soon to be equaled by two of the soldiers in his direct command, Corporal Karim Abdul and Private Gunst. He knew it, too. The workout room met Moster’s strict standards. Room temperature was always set exactly at 90o. Moster would not allow air-conditioning on the workout floor. After all, sweat lubricates muscles and encourages growth. No one disputed Moster's rules. On a sprung workout floor measuring 10,000 square feet, there were two dozen squat racks, 42 benches, 8 rows with hundreds of dumbbells ranging from 5 to 300 pounds, and hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of gleaming machines, standing bicycles, elliptical tracks, cable racks, ropes, belts, grips, and stacks of weights. Hundreds and hundreds of tons of weights. In the distant corners of the gym, a few normal-sized Valhalla lab assistants scurried silently in the shadows with video equipment, towels, heavy water jugs, and cleaning equipment. The men on the floor never paid any attention to the pipsqueak lab rats, as they called them. Occasionally, one of the pipsqueaks meekly approached Sgt. Moster with questions or a need for direction. Moster was always gracious, brief and business-like with lab underlings. They were Zaftig’s people, after all, and he appreciated that it just might be difficult to recruit them. More importantly, the lab rats were not, after all, muscle worshippers. Geeky science majors somehow matriculated from Berkeley and Stanford, their applications for their employment were most thoroughly scanned to determine both their dedication to science, and their lack of sexual interest in the project subjects. Past circumstances had indicated that the men of Project Herculaneum were unusually vulnerable when it came to the possibilities implied by muscle worshippers. The less of that from outsiders, the better. For now, anyway. Besides, there was real money to be made with the advent of worship. That would come later. Above all, Moster didn’t want to water down the future possibilities. Some day, when all this was over, there was a lot of money to be made. Moster was counting on it. Under his leadership, the goals of his 18 musclemen were never ending, their focus never dulled by the daily routine of their sequestered lives inside the Valhalla Compound. And for Moster, it was all about building muscle. Solid, rock-hard, healthy, powerful muscle. Muscle supported by bones and internal organ strength. Whereas Dr. Zaftig was compelled to his daily grind of endless lab research and observation of the men by his quest for eternal youth, Moster was not distracted by such vague, high-minded creationist illusions. All Moster cared about was that his men develop huge, serious, ripped, dominant, clean, overpowering muscle, muscle like the world had never seen before. Moster relished the fact that his extraordinary development was still a constant inspiration to his men. He generally preferred to remain completely covered, rarely choosing to display his magnificent physique. His custom-built oversized sweatsuits were carefully tailored to camouflage his physique while not hindering movement. They were heavily reinforced at the seams to avoid tears and bursting, and were neutral in construction and color. The sweat pants were gathered into tight stretch bands at Moster’s ankles. He generally wore combat boots and a white do-rag. But even the careful design of more than 25 yards of a blend of durable synthetics and heavy cotton couldn’t disguise Moster’s 60-inch wide shoulder girth, 7'-6" reach, 70-inch chest, 36-inch quadriceps and 25-inch calves. An observer might only be able to guess at the Sergeants’ biceps, triceps, and brachialis size. Moster chose to wear his sweatshirt loose, masking a slender, powerfully shaped 32-inch waistline. He never tucked it in, always making certain he was successfully covering his crotch. He had his reasons for this, which were well known by his men. Whenever Moster appeared in uniform, or civilian clothing, his appearance was all but terrifying – and, at the same time, insanely alluring. Rod Moster's boxing, wrestling, and extreme fighting skills were superior to all but Corporal Karim. Moreover, by now in this stage of team development, Moster found he had to work harder than his men in order to maintain the very slight edge he still held. Zaftig knew this, much to Moster’s subtle discomfort. He knew could be unseated by the right man at any time. Project Herculaneum was that far along. He remained proud of his team, knowing as he did that some day soon they might surpass him. When it became apparent to all that his long-held edge over the others was narrowing, a few of the men privately anticipated the day that he might finally be bested by one of the 18. The bets were on Karim Abdul, though Abdul had no particular vendetta against Moster; all the same, it would be a day of reckoning for the alpha CO, to atone for some of the more painful and humiliating extra-curricular disciplines he had long enforced. Hey, as long as that day doesn’t come too soon, he would joke in the mess hall. And all would laugh, even as they exchanged meaningful glances. Moster’s dedication to Project Herculaneum was total, even if it did lead him to occasionally lock horns with the dreamy, physically underdeveloped senior genius Dr. Zaftig. The 67-year old Zaftig was both crafty and kind-hearted. Though he held a basic unshakable respect for all, he was not above manipulating the men’s fragile psyches to get what he wanted out of them, and he made it a priority to know and understand all of them for their personal strengths and weaknesses. Over the years, it had been hard work finding and inducting these particularly gifted men into the program, and, once introduced, each man represented years of painstaking research, investment, time and testing. It was only right that he would pay close attention to what made each man tick. On the other hand, Moster preferred to accent his authority with an occasional dash of cruelty. He felt it was good for the team. After all, life was cruel, wasn’t it? And so together, Zaftig and Moster had forged a decade-long alliance of good cop/bad cop, each man sharing in his own personal way a common goal. Both cared only for the success of Project Herculaneum. At base, however, they held profoundly different motives. Zaftig hoped to find the perfect candidate for P21. As magnificent as the 19 men were, the final, perfect genetic recipient of the miraculous compound had yet to be discovered. Sergeant Moster, meanwhile, had other plans. All those worship sessions loomed ahead on a promising horizon of money, power, travel, and new opportunities. After all, Moster wasn’t a fool. Zaftig might be, but he certainly wasn’t. Chapter 2: P21 1987-2021 Ira Zaftig’s 2007 successful lab synthesis of Protein P21 promised nothing less than a physical revolution for all mankind. For more than 30 years, the eccentric, obsessed, and touched with genius, Harvard Med educated Dr. Ira Zaftig had parlayed a vast inherited private fortune and the proceeds of his own lucrative San Francisco medical practice into ongoing lab research and experiments. At first, he sought to develop nothing less than an injectable synthetic that would, of course, cure cancer. The usual dream of every young medical researcher, the youthful and wealthy Zaftig, heir to a lumber empire long sold to a larger conglomerate for a lifetime profit that elevated him into the 1%-ers, had the means to set up a private lab to do it. Over the years, that cure for cancer evolved into something else. As he aged, Zaftig grew more interested in creating a formula permanently extending youth, while enhancing physical strength and systemic health. The years passed with no result. Zaftig grew more obsessed, and eventually discarded his practice. He never married and avoided personal relationships, building an impressive private lab in the Santa Rosa Mountains outside San Jose. And he became a hermit whose life routine was only about continual research, testing, developing, synthesizing, note-taking, and video review. He amassed a team, whose job it was to test protocol after protocol on lab rats, guinea pigs, and rhesus monkeys. None of the animals, he was satisfied to note, were ever harmed by his injections, but none ever exhibited any permanent signs of renewed vigor, either. It was as if they were injected by harmless placebos. Over time, lab teams noted some temporary strength and health benefits in some, not all, of the lab animals. The effects were temporary, at best, and it was difficult to determine which animal might feel the effects, and which ones would not. Zaftig assumed sympathetic systems were required for any effects at all to take place. By 1998, Zaftig had engaged as his permanent first assistant the all but silent, studious, equally hermetic Dr. Warren Irving, whose natural reticence disguised fervor equal to Zaftig’s. By then, Zaftig’s ever-growing lab employed small army of coming-and-going lab workers, security personnel and personal administrators, whose silence and trust was purchased with time-stamped temporary employment terms, astonishing starting salaries and carefully drafted legal confidentiality contracts, were on hand in the continually refurbished lab facility, now enlarged into a complex of some size. Since Zaftig was seeking the creation of a God, he appropriately named his ever-growing facility Valhalla Labs. At first, in the specialized world of pure research outside the lab, ‘Zaftig’s Folly’, as came to be referred to, was an unending in-joke on the perils of vanity research. However, it was equally observed that any man or woman who had served in Zaftig’s lab emerged silent, circumspect, and deeply respectful about what went on within. Over the years, the jokes stopped, and by the late 1990s, ambitious young researchers hoped to spend a few seasons at the secluded lab, if for only to slake curiosity – and to make a lot of money. Still, the lab had produced nothing. No patents had been applied for. On it went, year after year. Then, after 30 years of steady non-production, in 2003 the 53-year old Zaftig had a breakthrough. A crop of lab male lab animals appeared dramatically invigorated by a trial run of newly developed formula. Careful notations of animal behavior indicated that the rejuvenation of the lab animals was deeply organic in nature. Most importantly, after protocols were ceased, the effects remained. And the animals grew surprisingly. They did not become monsters, but measured, in some cases, a quarter larger in size and weight than they were at the outset. They were somewhat more aggressive, too, but, as all were relieved to note, did not become, maddened, dangerous or even slightly mean. In fact, personal handlers reported that the animals appeared “cheerful” and “playful.” They also, when allowed, copulated with the other males, and sometimes the females, almost continuously. This was noted by Zaftig, who duly recorded it. Dr. Irving felt Zaftig somewhat ignored the sinister implications. After a year of continually successful lab animal results in select males, it was finally time for the first human trial. Zaftig, ever the Henry Jekyll tried P21on himself. The results were disastrous: violent vomiting, nosebleeds and headaches forced Zaftig into a week of bed rest. “Wrong genetics,” he had to admit to himself. He assumed the formula was a failure for humans, and lived in despair for weeks. Once recovered, he volunteered for trial his chief lab assistant, the meek, complicit, and nearly silent Dr. Irving. The injection nearly killed him. In sympathetic systems, it was as if evolution was sped up 10,000 years. P21 was capable of creating nothing less than jaw-dropping gigantism, coupled with glowing organic health, visually stunning physical perfection, astonishing strength, grace, speed, coordination, and renewed sexual energy. It only worked on X-Y heterogametic chromosome pairings – that is to say, on human males. Moreover, at this point in its development, it was successfully observed in very few subjects. Because of the necessary secrecy of the project, Zaftig lacked proper comparative controls, but by his estimation, he calculated P21 to be beneficial for only 1 out of every 1,000 men. However, for that one recipient, the sky was the limit. Zaftig finally saw the light on a subject for whom the formula might work when he met Rod Moster. That was in 2006. Moster was facing prison then, charged with manslaughter. Zaftig had heard all about the man’s prodigious muscularity, and got him the best defense money could buy. Moster served 1 year, and was released. Zaftig awaited him at the prison gates, ready to whisk him away to the Santa Rosa Mountains, to another kind of a prison, and yet one that Moster would soon relish. And so, in 2007, Rod Moster (soon to be Sergeant, USAC, hurriedly and secretly enlisted) became Project Herculaneum’s first official entrant. The already competition-trained superheavyweight bodybuilder Moster took to P21 like a duck to water – or, rather, like gasoline to fire. And Moster beat even Zaftig’s greatest expectations. Muscles bloomed on muscle. Strength quadrupled. Now that he had a perfectly responsive candidate, Zaftig was eager to find another. Later in 2007, another superheavyweight bodybuilder, the near-silent Turkish giant Abdul Karim, was discovered at Raw Weight, the hardcore San Jose gym owned by 50-year old retired pro bodybuilder legend Miles Donovan. Immediately whisked into the program, Moster and Karim trained like madmen in the Valhalla Labs compound, where a new gym was put into construction just for the two of them. They didn’t much like one another, but that led to heightened competition, tension, anger, and, inevitably, greater muscle growth. And now Zaftig could make some truly accurate notes on the success of P21 in sympathetic systems. Zaftig observed in his lab notes that it was as if the full assimilation of P21 triggered alterations in deep genetic timestamp coding. It was exactly as if the body suddenly redefined its male development to date as late ‘childhood’, and began to take itself into something like a new ‘adolescence’, blooming into a new definition of ‘adulthood’. Consequently, accompanied by proper training and consistent regulation of nutrition and rest cycles, muscular growth was not just enhanced; it was prompted into a supersonic explosion unlike anything Zaftig had anticipated. As intended in trial development, P21 was, in effect, nothing less than a miracle formula, successful beyond Zaftig’s wildest imaginings. He was still tinkering with it in the lab, however, in hopes that somehow he might find the key to more universal acceptance, including female development. The injected enzyme boosted performance, it seemed, only in those recipients whose natural dopamine and endorphin levels had already reached a certain high capacity, following either years of regular workouts, or a monitored high-intensity training in very young, genetically predisposed teens. Moreover, once on the enzyme and going forward, steroids, regular insulin injections, pain blockers, and growth hormone proved not only unnecessary, but also potentially dangerous. A protocol of P21 worked best on a naïve system, or, at the very least, a metabolism cleaned over time from the longtime effects of other injectables. Mental acuity was not diminished, but then again, it wasn’t improved, either. At first, Zaftig had been disappointed P21 didn’t produce intellectual giants as well, but in time he accepted it. After all, as long as subjects weren’t rendered newly stupid by the protocol, and followed orders, he accepted that it wasn’t really an issue. It was about muscles and strength, not smarts. More subjects were introduced into the program. By 2011, the men in the program included competitive bodybuilders Rene Lefevre, Herman Schumacher, Anthony Chad, Derek Washington, and William Obatu. Muscle monsters all at the outset, and mostly discovered by Miles Donovan, as each man moved into the compound and began the training and the protocols, their size and strength increased with rapid gains measureable almost daily. Most astonishingly, perhaps, was the measurable growth in each man’s height. Over time, all recipients grew anywhere from 2 to 5 inches taller. The skeletal structure itself was affected by regular injections of P21, and bones lengthened and thickened throughout each man’s body. The principal area of bone growth appeared to be in the legs, but even the arm bones slightly lengthened. A 6’-0” man with a finger-to-finger reach of 6’-3” before injections was gradually able to reach a length of 5 inches in addition to his newly gained height. The lengthened arms, of course, gave the men a slightly ape-like appearance, with the tips of their fingers now brushing the patella of each kneecap. However, the men did not become ungainly as a result, seemed to grow at the same time in natural grace and motor coordination. Muscular density almost doubled, strength nearly quadrupled, subcutaneous fat tissue was nearly eliminated. Muscular separations, ripples, cuts, and deep tissue striations appeared where before, even on a beautifully developed physique, there had been nothing but smoothness. Muscles roiled and bloomed with magnificent grace. Even symmetry improved; it was as if the muscular system had developed an over-all critical eye as to the proper balance and sweep necessary for each man to remain at optimum performance levels. Even so, with the loss of subcutaneous fat, waist size was stunningly diminished. Within six months of starting injections, a formerly 200 pound muscular man with a standard 34” waistline would find himself sporting a mere 30” at his midsection, with his rectus abdominus muscles and lower obliques newly reknit into interlocking, striated layers of shapely support musculature, easily able to carry the newly burgeoning upper body mass. His bodyweight would shoot up at least 20 pounds, all of it lean muscle mass. Fast-twitch and slow-twitch muscles were affected alike: a man on P21 was not only able to lift almost impossibly heavy weights, but run like the wind. Motor-nerve coordination profoundly improved. Endurance was beyond imagining. Although the subjects’ diets were kept clean, this appeared to have little effect one way or the other. As long as the men were regularly fed full meals six times a day, and drank a quotidian 3 gallons of water, then diet itself was moot. However, to maintain the psychological fiction that diet was still “important”, food selections were limited to lean meats, arrays of vegetables and proper complex carbs. The men held the “no veggies” diets of standard, “middle earth” bodybuilders in profound contempt. “If it’s green, it’s good,” was the mantra. With the six meals a day and the explosion of muscle growth, human waste products predictably doubled. The men seemed to require 30 minutes daily for proper excretion. Each man found himself pissing rivers of bright, clean urine. Happily, their digestion systems were as efficient as could be hoped for, and pleasure-filled howls filled the residence halls periodically as the men eagerly shat their meals. “A good shit is like great sex,” Obatu observed. Pissing was as pleasurable, for as powerful as their kidneys were, each man produced ropes of healthy white piss, like clockwork, 5 times a day. Their glowing prostate health allowed them to empty their bladders thoroughly with each resoundingly copious piss. A man on P21 would also exhibit astonishing skin health. Blemishes and scars faded to nothingness. The men’s complexions glowed as if powered by an inner laser. Hair health flourished, and though some of the men on the protocol preferred to shave their heads, it was not for a lack of healthy follicles. Even the bald Sergeant Schumacher, hairless as a wombat when he entered the program, was delighted to see his full head of hair restored within six months. Later, however, in response to other psychological effects, he chose to shave it off daily. Normal pain thresholds decreased proportionately. Sleep cycles were not affected. Over time, any already-accomplished athlete’s natural talents were likely to be exponentially sharpened. Newly recorded performance benchmarks surpassed any previous personal best. In short, the benefits were astounding - provided the recipient was initially genetically gifted to begin with, and had already achieved a certain performance level. Once P21 had been introduced into the system, after 3 years of weekly injections, Zaftig had discovered the protocol must be carefully monitored, and in some cases, stopped for periods of time. Not everyone developed at the same rate. Once the protocol was stopped, the successful manifesting effects enjoyed by the recipient to date would not be lost, but any continuing development would slow and finally stall. However, to avoid trauma, the project’s subjects weren’t informed of this, and several of the older men had been receiving intermittent placebos for years, in order to avoid a state of psychological withdrawal. More seriously, and although Zaftig was not yet certain of the veracity of his latest finding, he was keen to observe with a continued injection schedule, that the men’s aging processes seemed to stop entirely. This is the most sensitive of all the information he gathered, and the top-secret introduction of placebos disguised the anti-aging effects for the older men in the project. It was critical that this be kept a closely guarded secret. Was part of P21’s astonishing potential the end of natural aging? Zaftig was at war with himself on this point. As a scientist, he was elated. As a sympathetic human being, he was appalled. No one but he and the deeply trusted Dr. Irving were aware of indications that P21 was The Fountain of Youth. And just as P21 seemed to promise unending anti-aging, not all of the other developmental effects could be anticipated. Nor were they, in fact, terribly convenient. Its extraordinary properties included some rather startling, not to say unexpected, priapic side effects, which had first manifested themselves in the first guinea pig lab rat Sergeant Moster, nearly 15 years before. Since then, as new men successfully entered the project, different results were recorded for different recipients. All the same, universally P21 provided something like miraculous growth and enhancement for all who responded to it. Even now, in 2021, Zaftig could only guess how it might manifest itself in different subjects. Zaftig didn’t really want to deal with the complexity of the multiple sexual side effects. For there were surprising sexual benefits as well. After all, a physically evolving male always experiences a coinciding change in sexual stats and activity. What he had not anticipated was the dramatic extent of these changes. Zaftig discovered it not long after he first tried it out on Moster in 2007. The most observable immediate change was the startling increase in genital size. At the outset of his induction into the program, Rod Moster’s penis was already unusually large, looming forth when erect at a majestic 8 inches. While impressive on most men, all the same for a muscleman of Moster’s size and development, in appearance, it came off as merely average. All that changed once Moster entered the program. Six months after beginning the P21 protocol, even when flaccid, Moster’s penis measured just over 10 inches. When erect, it approached 16 inches. Midnight black, cobra-thick, and lightly laced with a cross section of interlocking capillaries shooting off from two pulsing central shaft veins, it had become a dangerous, dazzlingly beautiful machine. In fact, Moster’s penis had become a weapon. While he was delighted with his newly gargantuan cock, it presented him no end of trouble. For one thing, there was simply no hiding it in his clothing. His dress slacks uniform trousers had been custom-fitted to accommodate his massive quads, glutes, hamstrings and calves. Now, unless he wore specially designed rubber mesh briefs under his slacks that firmly restrained him, his slack member lay lazily on his quads, with muffled slapping against his thighs as he walked. The flies of all his clothing had to be forged from blue steel, and even so, were doubly reinforced to prevent bursting from the strain. Standard bodybuilding posing trunks were all but impossible if he wanted to remain covered; his cock and balls simply didn’t fit in any pouch. Most of the time, Moster chose to wear ultra-baggy sweats, with the sweatshirt hanging down to his thighs to cover the always-looming member. Otherwise, it was all just too distracting. Over time, Dr. Zaftig discovered that for all enrollees into the program, the size of the subject’s genitalia similarly grew to outlandishly large proportions. A man with average endowment was soon delighted to note that his organ, when flaccid, enlarged half again in length, girth, and stamina. A man considered ‘well hung’ at the outset would enjoy even greater growth. But that wasn’t all. Moster quickly realized a greater sexual appetite to match his newly achieved girth. Soon after injections began, normal societal behavioral blockers that prevent many men from acting on their fantasies all but vanished. Deeply buried sexual fantasies began to seem not merely attainable, but regularly actionable. Over time, the sexual activity of the subject became an all-pervasive cycle of, at first, increasing need, accompanied by a single-minded determination to fulfill the fantasy. Moreover, it was apparent that the recipients of P21 responded with particularly heightened sexual energy and passion to other recipients of the enzyme. So-called heterosexuality was no longer an issue: choice was abandoned. The men needed close supervision to keep their sexual activity confined to the proper hours, settings, and duration. And it took some doing to keep the men in line. Of course, any partner was possible for the men. As long as their muscles were the source of longing, they were eager to spread their copious seed in any number of ways, among any number of partners. Fortunately, a psychological fail-safe was built into the men’s newly ripening sexual psyches. The men were at their most vulnerable when presenting their muscularity to outsiders. Always able to leap into swift action, whether fighting, flexing, posing, Zaftig discovered after some carefully administered lab control tests that if the men were confronted with levels of apparent sexual unresponsiveness from observers, their sexual impulses were notably dampened. While their overall athletic, training, and bodybuilding prowess was never diminished, the translation of muscle energy into unfettered sexual energy did not occur unless observers explicitly expressed longing. In other words, the men needed to be sexually worshipped, gawked at, touched, stroked, admired and longed for in order to become aroused. They needed to flex their powerful biceps and rotate their mountainous quads for the stunned and appreciative. It was slightly ironic, therefore, that these astonishing physical specimens of undeniable Alpha males were, actually, subservient to the atmosphere of admiration. Indifference seemed to cow the men into silence and confusion – all except Sergeant Moster, of course, whose internal sexual battery was always on full charge levels. Fortunately, for the orderly continuation of Project Herculaneum, Sergeant Moster was aware of what he called “the Kryptonite effect” on his men. He could douse their sexual energy easily with a disparaging glance or an offhand comment. The small army of resident support staff, facilities associates, cafeteria and maintenance personnel, and office and lab workers were duly advised not to show any sexual interest in the men on any level. Zaftig himself was never troubled by the issue. Proud of his men, he nevertheless seemed to regard them as his “boys”, growing adolescent sons, in whom he had nothing but the purest parental love, devoid of any sexuality. Moster was more than well qualified to handle that job. Zaftig took a step back, promising himself that “some day” he’d approve a comprehensive study on P21 and sex. Over time, the psychological benefits had proved addictive. In other words, P21 was crack cocaine for bodybuilders. Any man receiving regular injections of P21 had to be handled with extreme care and caution, which necessitated a largely cloistered lifestyle. They were simply not ready for general public release. Nor was the public ready for them. To be continued.....
  17. "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 3, 4, 5 - White Cap Training / Hardcore Muscle / A Brief History of Casey Rockland "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 7, 8 - Hardcore Training, Part 1 / Tiffany's Talent "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapters 9, 10 - Good for Morale "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 11: Casey Meets the Muscle Squad "The Twenty" Chapter 12, Part 1: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 12: Part 2 Casey vs. Karim Abdul: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 13: After the Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 14: In Which Casey Discovers He Likes to Get Worshipped "The Twenty" - Chapter 15: Casey's First Interview with Sergeant Moster "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 16 - Hardcore Training Part 2: Casey’s First Herculaneum Workout, and What Happened After "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 17 - The Presentation "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 18 - The Musclemen Revealed: Inside Zaftig's Lab "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 19 - Further Encounters, Part 1 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 20 - Pose and Approve: Further Encounters, Part 2 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 21 - Sam and Casey Chapter 6: Casey Is Discovered The day that Casey Rockland first set foot inside a gym, he was a shy, tongue-tied, lonely, oversized 12-year old. He stood, frightened and abashed, at the front desk of Raw Weight. He had walked around the block for an hour before he found the courage to walk through the dark-glass swinging doors. Miles stood behind the desk. “Yes, son?” he asked after a moment. God, this kid has potential, he thought. Gosh, he’s handsome, Casey thought. He gawked at the huge, veiny arms that poured from the short sleeves of Miles’ sports shirt. The hugely rolling biceps made his dick twitch a little. From the moment Casey first laid eyes on Miles Donovan, he thought he was the handsomest, smartest, most masculine, most muscular man he had ever met in his life. Just the sight of Miles’ hardcore physique, casually displayed in loose-fitting slacks and a navy blue sports shirt boasting the Raw Weight logo, made Casey’s well-hidden, oversized teenage member leap to attention. It was love at first sight. Which was not lost on Miles. “C-can I join?” Casey finally stammered out. “You want to train here?” “Yes, sir.” “How old are you, son?” “Twelve,” answered Casey honestly. Miles paused, and then asked kindly, “Where do you live?” “San Jose Boys’ Home.” Aha, thought Miles. His heart went out to the beautiful, over-sized, sad-faced kid. “Of course you can join. Ever trained before?” Casey’s heart leapt. “No, sir!” “How much can you pay?” “I can work for you, sir! I can clean the locker rooms, and the toilets, and take out the garbage, and paint the walls, and – “ If Miles had allowed it, a tear would have come into his eye. Besides, this kid had overwhelming genetic promise. He held up a hand. “No need for all that. Of course you can train here. We’ll discuss money some other time. Let’s get you started. Do you have workout clothes?” “N-no, sir.” “Well, let’s get you fitted out. Come on along with me. Sid, take the desk,” Miles shot to the flirting young muscleboy trainer who was chatting up one of the wide-eyed fitness babes who trolled the workout floor, looking for available young muscle studs. “And try to keep your mind on your work.” Back to Casey. “What’s your name, son?” “Casey Rockland.” “Well, Casey Rockland, I think you might have found your new home. Let’s see what you got.” He moved out from behind the desk and approached Casey. Casey’s heart was still leaping. Miles Donovan was an astonishing man. Casey had never dreamed that such a huge, handsome, masculine, muscular man would ever take notice of him. Like an eager puppy, he fell into step behind Miles, who was leading him out onto the workout floor. There, dozens of men and women of various sizes, states, dress, and degrees of sweat were toiling away at nameless, complicated activities involving weights, machines, benches, bars, cables, racks, mats, balls, rings, and rope. One or two looked up curiously at Miles and the gawky big kid trotting behind him. William Obatu was one of those who looked up. Already in enrolled in Project Herculaneum, the handsome black African muscle monster Obatu was allowed to steal away from the compound to his home front of Raw Weight (with occasional forays to the 3rd floor, where he regularly held personal worship sessions). Obatu takes a selfie.... “Who’s that big kid?” he asked Miles one evening a few weeks later on the 3rd floor. He was working arms, doing slow concentration curls, generally ignoring the rich twinky boy on his knees before him, begging to worship the bulging cannonball biceps. “What kid?” asked Miles innocently, walking by. Obatu continued doing curls and feigned the same indifference that Miles was displaying. “You know. The big kid. Downstairs. He ever come up here to 3?” “Naw. Too young.” “Pleeeeeaazzze…..” begged the handsome kneeling twink on his knees, reaching up in hopes to get a quick fingertip brush of iron muscles. Obatu glanced down, a little impatiently, and reracked the weight. “Whtchu want?” he demanded, and slapped the kid’s face. Some ‘a’ this?” He flexed his biceps. The kid moaned gratefully. “Shut up, worm,” he commanded. Flexxxxxx… “Boom,” he said. “25 inches. Feel ‘em.” Back to Miles. “Saving him for yourself?” “Nope. Saving him for your boss. And your commanding officer. Is Tyrone any good?” Obatu was perplexed. “Who’s Tyrone?” He continued flexing, gazing admiringly at his peaks. Miles pointed down at the kid who now was both reaching in vain to touch the iron biceps while feverishly licking the heavy downward-pointing bulge in Obatu’s regulation tiny posers. Obatu shuddered with pleasure but covered. “These posers are too damn small.” “You must be used to it by now.” “You never get used to it.” “I repeat, is Tyrone any good?” “What do you care, I’m paying $5,000 a month to be up here,” mumbled Tyrone, his mouth now scooping up the thick black muscle cock that tumbled from Obatu’s straining posers. Obatu glanced up. “Trust fund kid,” Miles explained. “Oh.” He looked back down again and flexed his biceps again, a little more respectfully. “Hope you’re enjoying yourself.” Tyrone moaned passionately and sucked vigorously. After a moment, Miles spoke. “Looks like fun. Mind if I join you?” “Oh, if you’re gonna make a party of it, be my guest,” said Obatu, stepping aside. Miles, still dressed, stepped in and unzipped his pants. His big cock poured out. In an instant Tyrone had both bodybuilders’ cocks in his mouth. “Flex for him. He likes it,” said Obatu. Miles flexed his powerful silver daddy 23-inch biceps. A slight tearing sound was heard. “Damn. Another shirt.” He decided to take it out on Tyrone. He plucked the cock from his mouth and slapped his handsome smooth young cheeks vigorously with the now hard-as-steel shaft. “Nice move,” said Obatu. “Let me try that. Hey, asswipe. Over here.” And he smacked Tyrone’s face with his black cock. Soon Tyrone’s head was whipping from side to side, his face buffeted by heavy cock blows. "Take us both, boy. One after the other," ordered Miles. Tyrone went into a frenzy, sucking Obatu's cock, then twisting his head and sucking Miles' cock, back and forth. "Yeah, good boy," said Miles. A few minutes later the musclemen both shot, coating Tyrone's face with heavy layers of thick, creamy cum. Tyrone moaned as thick spurt after thick spurt emerged from each man's pisshole, painting his face, covering him with cum. “That was fun,” said Obatu. “Yeah, let’s do it again some time,” said Miles, walking away. "Clean that up, boy," he ordered as he strode away, squatting slightly as a zipped up, putting his heavy cock away. Obatu resumed his workout, Miles went back to his office. Tyrone lay on a bench, ecstatically spent. Casey took to lifting weights immediately. He had a genius for developing his own start-up training program, and he poured over the muscle magazines he could find. During computer hours he browed the net for muscle information, training routines, and reading all about the muscle stars. He was going to be one, one day, himself. He was determined. Then they’d see. But, gosh, it was hard work. Lifting hurt. It was painful. It was slow. It took time. He was stunned at the beginning at just how much work it was. One afternoon after he'd been lifting only a few weeks, he was sitting dejected in the locker room. Alone. Miles, coming through with towels, saw him. He understood. He put the towels away, and came over and sat with him on the bench awhile. They were silent together a few minutes. "It hurts." Casey finally said. "Yes, it does." "And it's hard." "Yes, it is. Not everyone can do it." "I didn't know it would be this hard." Miles smiled, and put a paternal arm around Casey's shoulders, patting him with a giant paw. "If it were easy, everyone would be big. It is not magic. You can't take a pill and get bigger. People who think so are crazy and wrong. There's no growth serum. I repeat Casey, there's no magic. It doesn't exist. You can't eat a magic cookie, and just get huge. And people who think so are fools. And dreamers." "But I'm a dreamer....." Casey said sadly. "Yes, you are a dreamer, too, but you're not foolish. You know what work is. Hard work. It's growth with effort. Growth without effort doesn't exist. It's an empty dream, a useless fantasy. There are no super heroes, Casey. There's only hard work. Years and years and years of it. But I'll tell you a secret......" he leaned in. Casey looked up. "If you keep doing it? every day, you'll get a little closer to your dream." A light began to shine in Casey's eyes. A tear formed. He looked up at Donovan, now standing over him. "You mean that?" "I do. And Casey? You'll achieve your dream. If you keep working." He paused and stepped back, hitching his thumbs in his belt. "You had a good workout today. You're pushing the limits. But now you need to rest. G'wan back to the home and eat some chicken. Rest tomorrow. No, rest two days. Don't want to see you back here until Saturday." He smiled. "But on Saturday? I'll train with you. And we're gonna fucking murder those weights." Casey's face shone like the sun. He nodded, eagerly, unable to speak a moment. "Sure, Miles! I'll go back and eat chicken and sleep and see you Saturday!!" He got up and began packing his bag. "Work on those abs. You can do crunches tomorrow as long as you don't use weight," he said as he left the locker room. ****** As Casey trained at Raw Weight it was soon apparent that as he gained strength and grew, he needed more than three times as much food. Sister Anne in the kitchen, sympathetic to the big, sweet, dumb, exceptionally handsome kid, supplied him with the extra portions of meat whenever she could get away with it, unaware that the Home’s director, Sister Marietta, had deliberately turned a blind eye. She was even guilty of making sure there were plenty of steaks and chicken breasts on hand. Four years passed. Casey trained like a maniac. He would have been there every day, all day, but Miles forbad it, making him aware of the need for rest days. "Your body won't grow muscles unless you rest. You want to get big?" "Yes, sir! I want to be huge!" "Then you stay away 3 days a week. Eat a lot of protein. Do your ab exercises every night. But no weights. You wanna grow and get big you gotta give your body a rest." Casey, deeply in love, filled with awe, was all the same a little frightened of Miles, and shied away from him for a long time. Miles, understanding the nature of hero worship, gave the handsome kid a wide berth, encouraging him in a business-like way as he made muscle gains. Sensing even more talent, after Casey had been at Raw Weights about 2 years, he introduced him one afternoon to Ramon Ramon, a stern, grizzled, totally ripped, if slightly punch drunk old Puerto Rican extreme cage fighter who always seemed to be at Miles’ gym, as if he didn’t have anywhere else to go. Soon Casey was taking boxing and kickboxing lessons from Ramon Ramon. He began running, jumping rope, lifting the huge truck tires in the corner of the 1st floor, and working out with a punching bag. Ramon was also into wrestling. He bought Casey his first singlet. For hours after Casey's workouts they grappled on Raw Weight’s stained old wrestling mats, bathed in sweat. Ramon was old and grey but had solidly ripped, strong muscles, and Casey loved the feel of the old iron warrior’s abs against his abs as rolled around together on the floor. When Ramon locked his legs around young Casey’s neck and squeezed, Casey always got what the boys in the home called ‘a boner.’ Big and hard, it poled up in the singlet and would have embarrassed him had Ramon not been so cool about it. “Big tool. Get you a bigger singlet next time. You need a scoche more room in the crotch.” Ramon’s legs were clamped onto 16-year old Casey’s 22-inch neck. He howled. He had never been happier. His erection pointed high to the ceiling. “Go ahead and take care of it,” said Ramon. “Be good for ya. Young guys gotta cum.” He let go of Casey’s left arm. Casey shouted and stroked with his freed hand and his cum shot to the ceiling and plopped onto his abs and the wrestling mat. He was never embarrassed around Ramon. “Think you got the biggest cock I ever did see,” said the old wrestler, his iron vice grip holding Casey in a headlock now. The cum continued to shoot. “It’s healthy. Like to see it.” And Casey groaned happily with pain as Ramon squeezed harder. They wrestled in a pool of cum, soon made even greater as Ramon shot all over his steely abs. “Thought I’d join you,” he said. "Be sure to clean that up before you hit the showers." "Yes, sir!" said Casey, happily spent. For two more years Casey followed a strict regimen of quiet hard-core muscle building. He grew and grew. Miles was taking notice. By the time he was 17, it was clear that he had extraordinary bodybuilding gifts. His dedication to lifting was unquestioned, his genetics nothing less than astonishing. One afternoon at the gym during one of his workouts, Miles Donovan glanced out of office window at the big, muscular young teen in the middle of the workout floor. Casey stood alone on the workout floor, his red t-shirt dripping with sweat. He was insanely propelling himself through a 5th set of unduly punishing biceps curls, curling 125 pounds. His face was crimson, his eyes bulged, his teeth were gritted like a madman, thick cords of veins pounded in his neck. His meaty young biceps were being punished into new growth levels. Miles watched the 16-year old boy through the window closely. “Guess it’s time,” he said to himself. He speed-dialed Dr. Anton Zaftig at Valhalla Labs on his mobile. It was time. He hardly knew nor cared what who Zaftig was, or what this “research” was about. All Donovan knew is that he was supposed to be on the lookout for ‘special’ muscle - from the young men who showed unusual potential, to the older, more weather-beaten gym rats who were so far past feeling any pain that all they could do was pack on more and more beef – as long as they were able to keep a balance with their abs, that is. And – as long as they had other talents as well, including square jaws, clean skin, clear eyes, and redoubtable priapic gifts. Zaftig had been quietly paying Donovan for years to spot potential talent. And the size and regularity of Zaftig’s checks were profoundly motivating. “Zaftig?” A mumbled affirmative. “There’s a kid who’s been training here a few years who I think you might want to check out….. No, he’s only 17, but he’s huge. Yes. Really huge. Yes, he’s good, very good, and I think he could be great. I’ve been watching him quite awhile now. Hmmm? Two years. No, three. Regularly. Yeah.” Donovan paced a little and glanced out his window to the gym floor. Casey was putting himself through his 6th set of curls. 15 reps per set. Now at 160 lbs. “Weight? He’s 220. At age 17. Yes, really. 220. Height? Get this: he’s 6’4”. And I don’t think he’s done growing. Yes, superb symmetry. What?" He sighed at Zaftig's question. "Yeah, he's hung, too. Biggest goddam tool I ever saw." Another mumbled question. "What? Okay. I’ll call you back. Ten minutes.” He hung up. He got up from his chair and walked out onto the floor up to the muscleboy. “Awesome. Awesome young muscle. Congratulations,” he said breezily. Casey was in heaven. “Gee thanks, Mr. Donovan!” he said. Casey was always excited when the handsome muscleman praised him. “Let’s see those guns,” said Miles. Casey was only too happy to comply, eagerly flexing his powerful young biceps. Miles stroked them appreciatively, and then casually flexed his own right arm. Casey stared. “Wow,” he breathed. He reached forward to touch it. “Go ahead,” said Miles. “Stroke it.” As Casey approached respectfully and softly ran his fingers over Miles’ thick biceps, the older man glanced down. And was startled. The bulge in Casey’s gym shorts was poled out about a foot from his hips. He didn’t seem to notice, transfixed as he was stroking Miles’ biceps. Miles flexed a few more times for him, and with great self-control, walked away. He called Zaftig back. “Yeah, he gets hard when he touches muscles. Okay. No, I don’t think he does drink. Or smoke. One thing, though. I don’t think he’s the brightest light in the billboard. Does it matter? No? Okay. Yes. I will. I’ll keep you posted.” It was that afternoon that Donovan smilingly informed Casey that his membership to Raw Weight would be free of charge for the foreseeable future. He clapped him breezily on his powerful young shoulders, and was slightly astonished at the hardness of the muscle beneath his palm. For his part, Casey was overjoyed. He didn’t stop to examine why such good fortune might have his way, and what might be expected of him in exchange in the future. He continued to pump enthusiastically, and pack on the muscle. The kid’s not bad, thought Donovan, watching Casey joyfully burn through a grueling set of 20 reps of 400-pound deadlifts. ******* Just a few days later that Casey Rockland finally decided to do something about the gang who had been pummeling him in the dorm shower room for years. Already it was taking more and more of the boys in the gang to hold him down during his beatings, which were growing far less frequent as he got bigger and bigger. One day they stopped completely, but the boy’s hostility still festered in the air. Casey was getting ready for payback. Ramon had showed him how, too. “You got a fearsome punch, kid,” he said one afternoon, flat on his back in the ring where Casey had just knocked him, his eye blackened. “Lead with the left. You got it.” One night after lights out, a few of the boys circled his bed. He looked up at them, bleary-eyed and half asleep. “What?” he asked. “Pull his shorts down!“ “You do it! It’s gay!” “I wanna see!” came a pipsqueak voice. Casey felt a dozen hands pin him down in the half-light, and his shorts were yanked to his knees. His adolescent penis, tumescent in the steamy night, was exposed. He was humiliated. And mad. “Goddamn!” one boy yelled. “It’s huge!” “It’s like a monster!” “Hey, Banana Man!” “See, I told ya!” “He’s a freak!” “Casey the Freak!” the boys chanted, and began to pummel him. Casey curled into a ball on his mattress, gritted his teeth, and took it tearfully. “Next time,” he said himself as the boys rained his body with their weak punches. "Next time, they get it." On what turned out to be his last day in the San Jose Boys’ Home, a gang of 18 biggest boys circled him during morning showers, laughing and pointing at his monster penis for the last time. "Okay," he said. "You turds have laughed at me for the last time. He swung a fist, very deliberately, and caught the ringleader square on the jaw. A tooth flew out and the boy hit the wall of the shower. Methodically Casey began to punch his way through the crowd of now-terrified boys. He was surprised at how easy it was. When the steam cleared, all 18 lay on the ground with an array of blackened eyes, broken noses, fractured jaws, and missing teeth. Casey sported a huge shiner himself. It was worth it. That afternoon 5 ambulances pulled up to the front gates and took the boys away for bandaging in the San Juan ER. Four boys were required to stay overnight for observation. Sister Marietta called him into her office to reprimand him. As she always did with the bad boys, she bent him over her lap and spanked his firm young butt with a ruler. She broke three of them before she finally gave up, perplexed at how hard the young man’s behind had become. Afterwards, rubbing his stinging bottom, Casey ran back to his room and cried. No one loves me, he cried. That night he ran away forever from the San Jose Boy’s Home. He went to the gym, and still sniffling, emptied out his locker. Donovan watched him from the window in his office as Casey, in tears tucked his favorite do-rag in his back jeans pocket and slumped out into the night. Casey figured he had to leave town, although he had no idea where exactly he was going to go. Miles picked up his mobile phone. He figured the time had come. A hour later, Dr. Zaftig found Casey sitting alone and dejectedly in the San Jose bus station. Dr. Zoloft was in transit from the city to the lab facility in the countryside outside town when Donovan had called him hurriedly. He did a fast detour in his minivan, walked swiftly into the bus station, and took a good look at the huge kid bursting out of his t-shirt, sitting alone on a bench in the corner. He knew right away he had another promising specimen for Project Herculaneum. Miles Donovan was never wrong. Zaftig walked unhesitatingly up to Casey and introduced himself. He talked about a bright, golden future for the young bodybuilder. Innocent Casey stared at him uncomprehendingly for a few minutes. Then he smiled through his tears. In the end, he went with the doctor with the funny name. He never questioned anything. He was just grateful. Casey moved into the cadet facility at the base of the mountain leading up to the main compound that night. The next morning, Dr. Irving appeared in Sister Marietta’s office and signed for his release. He flashed some government identification for her, muttered some Federal mumbo jumbo, announced that Valhalla Labs had invested in Casey’s training for four years, and petitioned the court for the right to take Casey into custody. Sister Marietta held up her hand to cut him off, offering no objections. “Take him. He’s too big for us now. We can’t afford to feed him anymore, and the other boys are now terrified of him. Besides, four of his classmates are still in the hospital. It would be best for all if he left.” As she signed the papers offered by Dr. Irving, she added, “But please take good care of him. Casey is a sweet and simple young man. He needs love.” No other paperwork seemed necessary, and though it was far from being anything like a formal adoption, it was enough for the Good Sister. She was relieved to see the boy go – he now always seemed to be hungry, and she had been forced to replace Sister Anne in the kitchen because the boy’s appetite was breaking the food budget. She was glad he could go somewhere where, hopefully, he would get his required 6 square meals a day. Beyond that, she wouldn’t worry. Casey had always been a good boy – well, until the day before. She knew he’d make the right decisions for himself. Or not. Once in the program, Zaftig fast-tracked Casey’s growth. Under Zaftig’s watchful eye and the encouragement of the cadet trainers, he worked harder than anyone he had yet encountered. And the food? He couldn’t believe it – six full meals a day! Two days a week he was required to remain near his quarters and relax. The other five days of the week were taken up with schooling, enhanced nutrition, supervised meditation, running drills, bicycling, swimming, gymnastics practice, small arms training, and nightly injections of Protein 21b, Zaftig’s laboratory serum developed under the most rigorous of testing. Within two months, he was a full cadet in the program, and in less than 2 years he was approaching the threshold of muscular perfection. Most of the time for those years, he was alone with Zaftig, Dr. Irving, his trainers, and some of the Project cadets. He had been restrained from meeting the other 19 men, who trained and socialized on their own in the main building of the facility. He didn’t notice it just at first, but during the next two years he couldn’t help but wonder at the increasing volume of his emissions. He had no inkling that Protein 21b might be causing his sperm production to gradually increase exponentially. Still, during the two years he came to understand that there might be some link between the clear liquid in the daily injections and the increasingly generous volume of semen that spurted out of his cock nightly. He was also amazed that his cock itself appeared to be getting even bigger. He had always been hugely hung, but – this was crazy. At first it required little more than a washrag to clean up after himself, but in time, larger and larger bath towels were required to mop up the flow after cumming. His sheets were badly always badly stained in the morning, and – strangely – every night he found they had been replaced by crisp, new sheets. He never knew who might be doing this for him, and over time his initial embarrassment about his sticky sheets faded away into the generally dark, accumulating volume of unanswered questions. After he passed his high school graduation equivalency exams, Zaftig decided he was ready to take it to the next level. It was time to formally present the boy to the 19. Casey was 18 years old and in the best condition of his young life to date. Still, he was lonely. At night he lay alone in his little room, gazed out the window at the moon and the stars, and beat his humongous meat off fiercely. He dreamed of being the biggest, strongest man in the world. Everyone would love him. And he would protect everyone. It was the sweetest dream in the world, and it was always enough to charge him to a satisfying climax. Then he’d roll over and fall into a deep sleep, hopeful for better days.
  18. Hi everyone! Welcome to Chapter Three. This chapter came about a few days ago as I was working out with a friend of mine and we talked about body dysmorphic issues we both have with out bodies, and how we both see ourselves as the fat kids we used to be. I haven't been fat for a long time now... but I have trouble not thinking of myself that way. The transformation sequence in this chapter comes from what my friend said he would evolve into if he had to become what he really was deep down inside. I think he enjoyed telling me about it too much!! Enjoy!!!! The Test Chapter Three: Destruction Chad and Jacob emerged from the ether outside Chariots in Vauxhall. Jacob had never been to a gay sauna before, but as he gazed upward toward his friend, he could see that Chad was practically vibrating with excitement. - Can you feel it? Each man in there is calling out to me. As each one experiences lust, desire, orgasm, or experiences any form of sexual stimulation, it is like a call out to my soul. I can hardly control myself. It is taking every ounce of strength I have not to take you right here, Jacob. I need to be among them. Chad walked away from Jacob and approached the door. Without even touching it, the door swung open, and he stepped inside. Jacob ran after him, nervous to be alone. William who had passed out towels and charged the entrance fee at Chariots for seven years was bored with it all. He had seen everything and there were no surprises… that was until the wind blew the door open, and the man in skin tight leather pants strode in. He had to bend down to get his muscle mass through the door. It also looked as if the door suddenly stretched itself to allow the man into the room, but no doubt that illusion was only due to the sudden heat that filled the room. William was instantly hard… something that hadn’t happened in 24 years, and he waved the man through without asking either he or his small friend for the 20 pound entry fee. He must have been so enraptured by the mere sight of this God standing in his presence that as he walked away into the next room, it seemed as if the leather pants disintegrated from his body, and he was totally naked. I definitely need to get my eyesight checked, William thought as the man’s perfect ass and back disappeared from sight. William placed his hand on his erection, the hardest it had been since he was 15. Waves of intense horniness passed over him, and he could barely think straight. Fuck it, he thought as he got up from his stool, and followed the man in. He needed to be with him… worship him like the God he obviously was. The sound of sex was everywhere as Jacob and Chat entered the main room of the spa. Fog filled the air and the smell of poppers came from every directions. There appeared to be twenty men in the room. Some were fucking, some were observing, some were masturbating, and others were simply talking to each other while stroking their cocks. Chad observed his disciples with pride. With one thought, Chad closed his eyes and released his scent into every molecule of air. It traveled quickly throughout the room reaching each and every man. Silence quickly overtook it. One by one, each man slowly stopped whatever they were doing and walked over to Chad. At first, they only stared, afraid to touch him. Filled with his own uncontrollable desires, Jacob moved next to his friend and began to lick and clean the deep grooves between his abs. As if Jacob had singlehandedly broken the damn, every man began to touch Chad, caress him, lick him, kiss him, and even fuck him. Soon Chad was brought to the floor by the men so they could better pleasure him. Sill not satisfied, Chad called out for more worshipers. From miles away, men who were straight, gay, and questioning stopped what they were doing and made their way to Chariots. Three blocks away the local gay theatre company stopped performing their production of Beautiful Thing when nearly every member of the audience (five lesbians remained in their seats) stood up and left the auditorium with the group desire to worship Chad. Even the cast walked away from the stage and followed the audience to Chariots. Within one hour of Chad being there, hundreds of men filled the room. They each took turns fucking Chad and even trying to be fucked by him. A few dedicated fisters succeeding in having him slightly enter them, and were rewarded with the most intense orgasms they had ever had. Every inch of Chad was covered with men pleasing him. Soon he could not hold back, and he began to spray the populace with his seed. Each man took in as much as they could, enjoying the sweet ambrosia that flowed from his loins. Momentarily awaken from his sexual haze, Jacob could hear each man emanating a sound from deep within their souls. It was a word. - Eros! Eros! Eros! - Why are they saying that? - They know that is my name. - I thought it was Chad. - Chad was my human name. Eros is now the name I possess. A wave of sadness filled Jacob. He suddenly realized his friend was gone to him. Chad had never really needed him, but there had been a certain bond between them that had seemed special. Now that he was a God, Chad, or rather Eros, needed nobody. The God of Sex and Lust didn’t need a human wingman or hanger-on. Jacob began to separate himself from the group and walk away. Noticing his friend was gone, Chad turned and with his powerful hand, picked Jacob up and deposited him onto his massive chest. - You can still call me Chad. I’d like that. As hundreds of men brought pleasure to his body, Chad moved his large head toward Jacob. Without any supernatural influence, both men began to kiss… softly at first, and then filled with more passion. It was the best sensation either had ever felt, and Chad began to cum again. ************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************ Chaos materialized outside the lab building close to the Jeep Jacob had driven to his house. How long ago that time seemed, and how pathetic his life had been then. He had been a man pretending to be a God… yet here he was… a God disguising himself as a man. He breathed in deeply and attempted to get the whereabouts of the one he could only describe as his ‘new-formed brother.’ As he attempted to locate he and Jacob, a psychic punch threw him backward onto the pavement. Something powerful was blocking him from learning their location. Sparks of lightening shot from his eyes. His desire was to kill every human in his path with one blow… but he attempted to control his craving. There must be another way. Chaos stood up, dusted himself off, and moved closer to the Jeep. Taking a deep breath, he took in its scent. From the sensory explosion in his mind, he knew this was indeed his brother’s vehicle. He could smell human sweat mixed with cologne mixed with sex coming from the machine. Images of the many men his new-formed brother had fucked flooded his mind, and Chaos grew angry. How easily this man had lived his human gay life. Men had fallen at his feet, and he took them for granted. He took is existence for granted. Simply out of spite, Chaos reached out to his ex-wire and caused her to stumble and injure her back. Chaos grinned as he saw this occur in his mind. She was the one who had idiotically gotten pregnant. She was the one that had demanded a second child. She was the one who had entrapped him in a marriage and life he couldn’t stand. Anger bubbled inside of him again, and he threw is ex into a second contraction of pain. He clenched his fist tight as he continued the agonizing pain pulsating through her body. When he felt she could handle no more, he continued for another minute before setting her free. Returning to the Jeep, Chaos flicked his forked tongue at it, receiving tiny chemical molecules of information. In moments, he knew the exact location his brother had been in prior to arriving at the lab. A gym. Of course it was. The hunt was on. Now the fun could begin. Dark mist swirled around the figure of Chaos, and he disappeared. ************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************ Adrian Brooks shut off the foyer lights and turned the lock in the gym door. What had once been a massive old warehouse with immensely tall ceilings had been converted three years ago into a gym that catered to casual gym goers and muscle heads alike. Admiring the empty gym club, he admitted that this was his favorite time of the day. This was when he had the place and all of its machines all to himself, and he could work out in peace. All day he sat behind the desk welcoming patrons, answering questions, making smoothies, and cleaning white towels. The next two hours he had, working out on his own always made up for the prior eight. Adrian was a self-proclaimed gym rat, and he took no offence when people told him that he had only one real love: his body. It was a true. He took better care of his body then anyone he knew, and would rather work out then go to a pub any night. He hadn’t always been this way. Adrian had been a fat child, unhealthily attracted to chips and Coke over veg and water. Believing she was showering love on her only child, Adrian’s mother overfed him every chance she could. By fifteen, Adrian was severely overweight, had several health conditions including chronic anxiety, was bullied at school, and hand the lowest of self-esteems. One day in July two years ago, despising that he needed to hide his body behind baggy track pants and sweatshirts and couldn’t wear the shorts and skinny jeans he saw other men sporting, he decided to take his life into his hands. He began cooking his own healthy food, jogging little by little every day, and began reading up on current health and nutrition. In October of that same year, after loosing more than four stone, Adrian took his first step into a gym. With money he had saved from birthday’s and Christmases, he hired a personal trainer to show him the ropes. In no time at all he saw the faint outline of muscles replacing the fat that had once possessed his body. In a year and a half, Adrian was half the size he had been, proudly showing off his newborn pecs and biceps, and wearing the tightest clothes possible. When the front desk job at the gym became available, he jumped at it. The job meant working out for free and spending all of his time in a place he thought of as his second home. Now at age 20, Adrian stood before the mirror and flexed. He had come a long way, but still there was room for improvement. Removing his T-shirt, he focused on each muscle group, flexing in the mirror, and then judging and debating what he needed to do next to make them larger and more prominent. He knew he needed to shave his chest again. The light brown hair that coated his pecs and flowed down over his abs matched the hair on his head and stubble that had risen on his face today. Now that the gym was empty, he could do the one thing he had fallen in love with doing: working out in only a jock strap. Lifting without any clothes on allowed him to easily tune his mind with his body when he could clearly see the pump he was getting. When he opened his own gym one day, he would encourage this. Of course, it also sexual aroused him, but this was beside the point. Anything to do with muscle turned him on. He lived his life for muscle morning, noon, and night, and nothing would stop that. Adrian stacked the plates on the sleeves of the bar and began his set of bench presses with a cool 175. He completed 20 reps with this, and returned the bar to the catcher. He stood up and wet to load 25 more on each side when the lights in the gym began to flicker and go out. The emergency lights turned on, and the room was slightly illuminated, but mostly bathed in shadows. The temperature in the gym appeared to Adrian to also be rising, and he wondered if something was wrong with the Shoreditch powergrid. Beads of sweat began to emerge on his forehead and upper lip, so he reached for his towel and dried himself off. As he turned, he could see what appeared to be the air on his right ripple and bend. What could only be dismissed as an optical illusion or the sudden rise in temperature, Adrian leaned down and reached for his water bottle to cool off. - Could you be of some assistance? Adrian spit out some of his water, and nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the man speak. Looking to the shadows that bathed most of the space, he saw a man clothed all in black standing halfway across the room. - I’m sorry, mate. We’re closed. Adrian wanted to ask the man how he had gotten into the building, but he couldn’t help admiring the muscular physique he had. The man standing in front of him was simply immense with a size, that was practically unheard of. Most certainly a professional body builder, he thought, and a friend of the owner. He no doubt had his own key. That’s how he got in. Damn his size was monstrous. - I was just finishing locking up and going home myself. Thought I would get a quick chest workout in, but honestly, I’m knackered. I really should be getting home. Do you often work out here? I’ve been coming here for two years, but only started working here about six months ago. Adrian stopped talking because he knew he was just blathering on. The man dressed all in black simple stared at him and smiled. - No. I’ve never been here before. Though I doubt the equipment here could give me the pump I require. The man bounced his pecs for Adrian causing him to get slightly hard in his jock. Slowly the man walked closer to where Adrian was sitting, touching pieces of equipment as he passed. Each piece he touched suddenly rusted before Adrian’s eyes, and collapsed into a pile of dust on the floor. In shock, it took Adrian nearly twenty seconds of seeing this before he moved to run in the opposite direction. As he hoisted himself up to run into the locker room, his arms supernaturally turned completely to rubber, stretched, and distorted themselves around the bench press machine, tying themselves in a tight knot and forcing him to lie still on the bench. Although his arms were totally made of rubber now, the pain he could feel was agonizing, and any movement he made instigated the torment to rise. Closer and closer the man came until he stood right before Adrian. - You’re going to help me, aren’t you… little man? - What do you want? - Tell me who this is. The image of Chad developed in the mirror in front of Adrian. - That’s Chad. Chad Mitchell. - More. - He’s a trainer here. I think he’s worked here for a year now. - More. - I don’t really know any more. I swear. I don’t really know him. Chaos grinned and sat himself down on the bench as close to Adrian as the massive man could. With one figure, he began to stroke Adrians chest. For a moment Adrian was afraid he was going to touch him and he would disintegrate like the machines, but nothing happened. - More. - Ummm… he’s not a bad guy… he can be a bit of a jerk… kind of full of himself. - And have you ever seen this man? An image of Jacob took Chad’s place. - Yeah. That’s Jacob something or other. I don’t remember. They work out together. - Right. Chaos took his nail and began to run it over Adrian’s nipple. - And where do you think I could find Chad Mitchell. - I have no clue. I really don’t. I’m sorry. I really want to help, but he left hours ago. Chaos started flicking Adrian’s right nipple. - Hours ago? How many hours. - I don’t remember…it’s what… 9 now? I think he left at 5 or 6 Chaos continued to flick and play with Adrian’s right nipple. With lightening speed, Chaos squeezed his nipple tight sending shockwaves through Adrian. When he let go, milk abruptly started to pour from it. Chaos leaned over, and with his snake-like tongue lapped it up. - That is your fear leaking out of you… and it tastes delicious. - I want to help… please! Maybe he’s at XXL. He talks about going there a lot. Chaos grabbed the left nipple and proceeded to squeeze that one as well. Like the other, milk began to flow. Like a thirsty animal, Chaos continued to lap up the milk, his tongue burning Adrian as it touched his skin. - Please, God!! Please help me!! Chaos looked Adrian in the eyes and laughed. - The God you call on has abandoned you. Only Chaos remains. - Let me look in the files to find his address. I’m sure it has to be there. - Truthfully… the thought of my brother tires me at the moment. I’m suddenly much more engrossed in you at the moment. You taste so marvelous. You want to play some more with me… don’t you? Chaos rose to his feet and stood before Adrian. Mist whirled around the lowermost half of Chaos, and his black jeans and boots evaporated and in their place were two muscular horse legs and the most enormous hooves Adrian had ever seen. Chaos grabbed onto the hairy shaft that extended down the middle of his legs and began to stroke it, causing what was inside to elongate and harden. From within the shaft, Adrian could see a ginormous horse cock begin to emerge. - It’s time to play, Adrian. It’s time for you to play with Chaos. Without knowing how it happened, Adrian found the bench that had been supporting him had disappeared, and he was naked, and his arms were now tied to a metal rack, bending him over, ready for Chaos to fuck. An invisible finger began to play with Adrian’s hole, forcefully trying to open him up further. - Please, don’t! Please! I’ll do anything to help you! Anything!! Chaos stopped, frozen in place. He tried to lift his feet from the ground but found that he couldn’t. Even with all his strength and might, Chaos found himself immobile. Mist wrapped itself around his legs, and he was once again clothed in his tight black jeans and knee-high boots. Chaos screamed into the shadows of the empty room: - Who’s doing this? His scorpion tail tore through the ass of his jeans and swung wildly around behind him. Since he was facing away from Chaos, Adrian wasn’t sure what was occurring, but he could hear the loud sound of destruction the tail was making as it swung around, smashing into the mirror and overturning machines. - I have allowed you your little temper tantrums and show of dominance… but not it is my turn to display my power. See how… like a puppet... I control you. At the mere sound of Asarualimnunna’s voice ringing in his head, anger welled up in Chaos. - No one controls me! The tail swung and shattered another of the mirrors. - Quiet!!!! An invisible sword cut through Chaos’ tail, severing it from his body. With a heavy thud, it fell to the floor, twitching as if it were still alive, and then dissolving into a puddle of sludge. - I am your Creator! I control you! I have always controlled you! Say it to me now, or I shall snuff you out of existence. Through gritted teeth, Chaos spoke the dreaded words: - You are my creator. You control me. - Good. I will destroy you, Chaos though. I will destroy you. - Now, as you play with this human, Eros has gained nearly 150 worshipers. In his mind eye, Chaos could see Eros being worshipped from head to toe; each second more joined in the revelry. - You’ve disappointed me, Declan. I had such high hopes for you. Hearing his human name spoken by Asarualimnunna shamed Chaos down to his core… and enraged him. - Let me play the role of Creator then. Let me give you this human to help free you from your prison. Eros is doing nothing to help you. I am here to do your bidding. - Unfortunately, you have proven yourself untrustworthy. - Try me. If I fail you, then be my judge and executioner. Silence. Chaos wondered what Asarualimnunna’s decision would be. He received his answer when Adrian appeared standing in front of him. Adrian wasn’t sure what had happened and what had freed him from being raped by the man in black’s massive horse cock, but whoever did it, he was forever grateful. If only they would take him away from this psychopath. Adrian’s heart beat quickly as he saw the man in Black slowly begin to grow larger and larger, ripping through his clothes. His back snapped right below his Adonis belt as two massive horse legs grew to join the two already standing on the floor. The man’s torso grew longer and harrier, massive horns grew from his head, and a large scorpions tail swung from his hind end. When the transformation was complete, Adrian couldn’t believe what he was standing before. He had never seen something so incredible yet so filled with evil. - Look upon my true form, human. Larger and larger the creature grew until he towered feet above Adrian, his mighty horns nearly impaling the ceiling. - You have been chosen by Asarualimnunna and myself to take your place among the God’s. - Please let me go. - You beg for mercy when all I want to do is free you. I look within you and all I see is sadness. Let me be the father you never had. Let me give you the universe. Let me give you power beyond your wildest dreams. The words echoed in Adrian’s head. He wanted to close his ears so he couldn’t listen to the massive Centaur, but Chaos had a way of entering into his soul. - Tell me what you are. - Please - Tell me what you are. - I’m nothing. - That is not true. Look within yourself and tell me what you are. - I can’t. - Look at what I was. The image of a stern middle-aged man with grey thinning hair and with a half-way decent physique appeared before Adrian in the mirror. This was once the creature that stood before him, thought Adrian. This fairly average looking man was now so imposing, so regal, so god-like. - Simply from looking within, I discovered what I really was, and Chaos was born. Look within yourself. Look. Afraid of what he might see, Adrian looked within and saw himself at 16, fat and lazy. Hating this image, he tried to run from it but it engulfed him until it was all he could see. No, he thought. This isn’t me. Not anymore. As he fought his past, the image began to morph until it became what he was today. - What are you, son? - I’m muscle. - Yes. Look deeper. - I am strength. - Yes!! - I am muscle built upon muscle. - Continue! - I am perfection. I am stronger then any man who has entered this building. I tower over them. - Are you my soldier? - No…. I… I think I’m more. - I know you are… and now you must take your place. Through the many realms of existence, the birthplace of all supremacy began to glow, powering the gem stone. Rays of light shot from the gemstone in the laboratory and into the ether. Chaos felt it enter into his soul. Taking in Adrian as he stood there, Chaos released it through his eyes. The moment the beam hit him, Adrian feared every word he had said. - No! Please! I don’t want this! - You have looked within and admitted what you are. The power now fills you. Adrian felt every inch of his body start to slowly vibrate with a power that came from the God’s. He tried to fight it with all of his mental capacity, but found it harder and harder to concentrate on anything but his body. He was his body. He was muscle. What else did he need to be? Perhaps the man was right… - No!!! - Don’t fight destiny, Adrian! I can feel the power filling you, caressing you, embracing you. - You can’t have me. - I already do. Stop fighting me and become what you were always meant to be. Adrian fell to his knees. The energy that coursed through every cell of his body was quickly raising his temperature. Sweat poured out of every pore. Chaos flicked his tongue and enjoyed the scent emanating from Adrian. Any second now it will begin, he thought with a wicked smile. Any second I will have my first soldier. Adrian screamed out in agony. He opened his eyes but found it difficult to focus. When he closed them, all he saw were the visages of armies of muscular men… each larger then the other. They were calling to him. Join us, they said. Take your place among us. Adrian reached out his hand to touch the herculean image that had appeared in his mind’s eye and discovered that it was him. When the two hands met, his word exploded. The sound of bones shattering filled Chaos’ ears as Adrian cried out. Every bone in his body was cracking and becoming lengthier and denser. His spine began to elongate as both his legs and arms grew further from his core. The bones of his skull cracked and rearranged themselves as the skeleton underneath grew and refined itself. Adrian reached for his face, trying to hold it together, but found it difficult to control his elongating hands. Through the pain, he opened his eyes and gazed at himself in the mirror. He could no longer identify himself from the stretched out creature he saw revealed in the mirror. Minutes before he had only stood 5’6, but now he had to be nearing 6 feet. He tried to stand erect, but his feet were too long… everything about him was too long. Once again, he tried to stand, and found that with time he was able to balance himself. His head rose up past the mirror now and continued his journey. Through his fear, Adrian heard himself giggle. Once he was looked down upon by everyone… now he would stand above them all. He laughed again but was thrown off balance by his own body. He landed on his ass with a thud. Looking at himself in the mirror again it looked as if all of his hard gains had been stretched out over his body forcing him to look like a tall emaciated skeleton. He crawled to the mirror the best he could and looked at himself closer. The heat emanating from his core was slowly tanning his body to a golden brown. If he didn’t look so sickly skinny, he would have thought it was the healthiest he had ever looked in his life. As he continued to examine himself, the stretching stopped, and there was silence. Adrian slowly got to his feet and moved away from the mirror so he could see himself completely. From what he could guess, he had to be nearly 7 feet tall. His face had elongated and thinned drastically, and the nose that had been broken twice by his drunk father had repositioned itself into a perfect Roman configuration. His jaw was sharp and angular, and his lips had a slightly pouty look he had never had before. Due to the massive heat emanating from him, every single hair on his body had fallen out and now lay on the floor… even his eyebrows. His torso was incredibly extended, finishing with the longest and scrawniest legs and arms he had ever seen. Even his penis had elongated. It flopped down in front of him half way to his knees and was as thin as an earthworm. When he grabbed the disgusting thing with his skeletal hand, it could have easily encircled it several times. With terror in his eyes, Adrian looked to the man in Black. - What have you done to me? - Patience, my son. That was only the beginning. Chaos blinked, and the energy flowed from within him again, and into Adrian. Adrian was thrown back slightly, but he maintained his balance as he felt his body getting heavier and heavier with muscle mass. - I’m growing! Adrian relished in the feeling of his muscles multiplying on his body. Larger and thicker each muscle became. No longer did his legs look like sticks, but massive tree trunks with awe inspiring calves and quads. A light dusting of blonde hair began on his legs and spilled lightly up the newly formed cobblestone abs. One by one Adrian’s abs popped out firmer and thicker, the crevices between them growing deeper. Adrian lusted after this perfect six-pack that was appearing on his lower torso, and just when he thought he couldn’t get enough, two more appeared on top. An eight pack!! I can’t believe it, he thought!! His waist caved in deeper giving Adrian the most awe inspiring and physically illogical wasp body. His waist was a mere 32 inches and his chest erupted into a massive 58 inches. Adrian felt up his own chest, loving the pecs that had grown there and the deep crevice that had formed between them. As he touched his nipples, the areoles grew larger, darker, and more sensitive. Adrian’s lats spread out wide from his back, but his arms, which were hard and full, were long enough and in proportion to this incredible form that they still rested down on his sides. His neck became a wonderful column of muscle holding up a beautifully sculptured face. Muscle sculpted his face till it would remind one of a statue created with care by one of the masters. Blonde hair grew out of Adrian’s head, long and full, going down past his shoulders. The final organ to form on this perfect specimen of manly beauty was his penis. It grew thicker with a bulbous head. His pubic hair grew in blond as well, brushing the ball sack, which held two oranges in there, proving to the world how virile he now was. When the growth finally stopped, Adrian stood before the mirror in utter awe. He had never seen such a beautiful manly form as himself. Every inch was pure perfection. There was not a blemish nor a spot nor a mark on any part of his body. Hair grew in all of the “right” places, and every muscle was in impeccable proportion and symmetry. Perfect was all he could think of when he looked at himself. Adrian’s hands couldn’t stop touching every inch of his body. He looked to Chao’s and smiled. The Centaur looked down at him. - What do you think, my son? - I’m perfect. - Yes. - So beautiful… yet so manly. Adrian shook his hair and laughed as it fell around his shoulders. He looked again at the man in black and saw that he was smiling, but there was something dark in his eyes. Was he attracted to my new form, Adrian wondered? Now that he was larger he might be physically able to take the man’s cock, but did he want to? Not wanting to appear ungrateful for what he was given, Adrian approached the Centaur. - Thank you. Thank you so much! - Thank you… father. - Thank you, father. - Are you satisfied? - Yes!! Totally!! - Really? I’m just not sure I am yet. Maybe your pecs need to be bigger. Adrian’s pecs started to swell larger before his eyes. Rounder and fuller they grew. Pound upon pound was added to his pecs until they threatened to block his view of his lower body. - No. That’s not it. Maybe it’s your body hair I don’t like. Blonde hair began to sprout all over Adrian’s chest, getting fuller and bushier. The hair traveled down his abs, coating them but never covering them. - No! That isn’t it either!! Chaos looked deeply into Adrians eyes and smiled a wicked smile. - I know exactly what it is. The magnificently huge Centaur walked behind Adrian, and placed his hands on his shoulders. Gently… almost too gently… he turned Adrian so that he was once again looking at his reflection. - You looked within, but you wouldn’t look deep enough. You looked and saw only what society told you you should be. Just as you tried to build a body the world would love, you created this mask that is still covering the true you. You still want the world to love you, don’t you Adrian? - Of course. - I will teach you something now I learned long ago… the world will never love people like you and I. They despise us. They always have and they always will… until we force them to love us. Think of all of the people that have hurt you. Your father beat you, belittled you, broke your nose several times, and then abandoned you. Your mother’s affection only harmed you, and when bullies attacked you and made fun of you every day at school, what did anyone do? - Nothing. - Exactly. They allowed it to continue. It seemed they even welcomed it. Chaos continued to speak, evenly and intensely, and the words buried themselves deep within Adrian’s soul… slowly forming a bitter fruit there. - Even when you did something for yourself, lost weight, built a new body, did anyone notice? Did anyone really care? - No. - Did your life change for the better? - No A tear fell from Adrian’s right eye. - No. Even here… the place you love more than anywhere else in the world… does anyone really respect you? Treat you as an equal? They watch as you serve them and clean up their mess, but never really see you. People like Chad Mitchell will never really see you, will they? You asked him out once, didn’t you? - Yes. - When you had gathered the courage, convinced yourself that you were his equal, what did he do? - He told me no. He told me I was too young for him. - He laughed at you. Chaos conjured up the image of Adrian asking Chad out for coffee, and it appeared like a movie on the mirror. Chad thanked Adrian, told him he was flattered, but that Adrian was too young for him, that he should ask out someone his own age. Adrian, dejected walked away. Chad watched after him, and then started laughing. “As if!!!” Chad said to the departing figure. “You think you could touch this?!” Chad flexed his bicep in the mirror and licked it. “Fuckin fatties are always lusting after me. Hate it!” The image of Chad froze on the mirror. Tears fell freely from Adrian’s eyes. - They all laugh, Adrian… until you give them a reason not to. Look at me. No one will ever laugh at me again. I looked deep… deep within and I discovered what I was. Let me help you. Let me show you the way. You aren’t this, Adonis, are you? - I want to be. - Of course you do, but for the world it will never be enough. Let them truly see you, Adrian. Let them hear you. Let them fear you. - Yes… yes… They need to see me. - Exactly. - They all need to pay for what they’ve done. - They will, my son. I promise you. Now, look deep within. Is this really you? - No. - Tell me what you see. - Muscle. I am muscle upon muscle. - Yes. - Muscle creating dominance. - Yes. - Muscle creating supremacy! - Yes! - I’m bigger, more immense then anyone! They scream in terror and awe at the sight of me!! - Yes!! - The whole world fears me, for with one word I can bring upon their destruction. - YES!!!! - That is what I am. I am Destruction. Simply saying the word caused Adrian’s voice to fall several octaves, and caused Chaos’ loins to stir. The power build up once again inside of Chaos and shot out of both of his eyes and into Adrian. Knowing that more was needed, Chaos opened his mouth wide, and a beam of light emanated from it into Adrian as well Adrian screamed as all three rays hit him at once. Within moments, he was growing again. His legs exploded in size, becoming so freakishly muscular that he was forced to spread his legs as wide as they could go just so that he could continue standing… and still they continued to pack on muscle. His feet got larger and thicker, and his toes quadrupled in size in order to hold up the immeasurable mass of his legs. When it seemed that they could no longer balance such columns of muscle, they mutated, his immense big toes shifting down and more toward the middle of his feet, creating what could only be described as a massive hybrid of human and gorilla feet, enabling him more room for control and balance, and of course, growth. Just when he thought he couldn’t spread his legs any further, the pelvic bone of the man once known as Adrian split and dislocated, growing and reforming in order for his legs to gain more and more muscle mass. Enormous veins wove themselves over the surface of his legs trying desperately to feed the colossal quads and calves. The creature once known as Adrian felt only relief and pleasure as he let himself go and evolved into his true form. Gone was the Adonis belt as his abs grew bigger, thicker, heavier, and the grooves between them grew deeper. His stomach appeared to distend creating a powerful roid gut, accentuated by an impossibly jaw dropping 15 pack that grew on it. Adrian rubbed the cobblestones of his stomach wishing them greater and more enormous. Even the sight of his stomach must cause fear. Just thinking it caused more freakish abdominal muscles to grow until he possessed an unheard of 18 pack. The creature screamed out as his rib cage cracked and split, quadrupling in size, giving more room for his massive chest to grow… and grow it did. Pound upon pound of muscle deposited itself on his pecs forcing them to become rounder, fuller, and denser. The creature drooled, happy at no longer being able to see his lower half. Bigger, he thought. Make me mightier!!! Lost in the sensation of every muscle in his body growing out of control, Destruction grinned as he had difficulty lifting the heavy arms that were growing nearly as large and as veiny as his legs. With only lust and muscle in mind, he began to massage his pecs with his ginormous hands. As he massaged his pecs, the creature noticed that something was starting to force them slowly upward toward his chin. Moving his hands down, he discovered what felt like two more nipples emerging from the skin under his pecs. Squeezing them, he discovered that they were indeed two new sensitive nipples. With what sounded like an explosion erupting from his chest, another set of massive pecs burst out and formed under the original. Yes, he thought, pinching and rubbing the massive thumb sized nipples on his new pecs. If two are incredible, four are simply amazing!! The two newly grown pecs grew larger in size till Destruction’s torso was forced to begin stretching and growing upward again to form more room. Taller and taller he rose, growing closer to the high ceilings of the gym. He was thankful that this building had such high ceilings, but even more grateful that his body was creating more space to pack on more muscle. Destruction’s lateral muscles grew more gigantic, compelling his mammoth arms away from his side. When he did try to set his arms down against this side, he was not only prevented by his lat span, but by two large lumps that had formed two feet below his arm pits. Trying his best to look in the mirror as it got further away, he saw the lumps getting larger and larger, pulsating with a power from within. The pressure built up underneath them until they finally erupted like two volcanic pimples, forcing out two new colossal arms. Destruction roared as the two additional arms gained size to match their brothers. They were nearly impossible to control at first, moving as if they had a mind of their own, until he found that through some concentration, he was finally able to manipulate them himself. Still he continued to grow taller and more muscular. Never had Chaos seen such a specimen as this manifestation of all of the anger the man once called Adrian had held down for so long. Dark brown hair erupted all over Destruction’s body, coating his arms, legs, and chest in a thick carpet. The hair on his head turned a dark brown, and a thick beard began to grown on his face becoming fuller by the minute. Standing nearly 13 feet tall, Destruction continued to grow. The world would definitely see him now. The world would quake at his massive feet. As if fuelled further by this new found anger that had been released inside of him, Destruction continued to transform. An angry ripping sound came from Destructions body as foot long razor sharp horns angrily erupted from his elbows and his shoulder blades. Raising all four of his might hands in front of him as best he could, Destruction laughed as one by one he made a tight fist, and ten inch horns began to protrude and curve from each of his upper knuckles. With his two upper arms, he easily dragged the horns of his hands across the ceiling ripping it apart. Material fell around him, but this only caused Destruction to laugh, his voice now so deep that it sounded more like an unearthly grumble. Destruction roared again, his mouth growing larger as he did. Two more rows of sharp pointed teeth forced their way through his gums behind his original teeth, creating a terrifying shark-like mouth. Exuding so much heat from his own transformation, sweat began to pour down Destruction’s brown onto his face and chest. The burning of the salt water started to irritate his eyes, so to the best of his ability, he tried to brush it away, but he found it impossible to even touch his eyes with his bloated muscular arms. The more he tried to wipe the sweat away, the more appeared to fall. Chaos watched as the colossus tried in vain to stop the odd flow of sweat. Soon though, he realized it was not simply sweat, but appeared as if Destruction’s own flesh from his forehead was turning to liquid and pouring down his face and puddling around his eyes. The liquid soon started to solidify, and like clay, began building a wall in front of his eyes. - What’s happening to me??!! Stop this now! - I’m sorry, but it’s all simply out of my control. The flesh continued to flow, building up more and more in front of his eyes until it finally covered them completely. The creature, now blinded, roared and stomped around the room causing devastation all around him. Loosing his balance, the colossus fell to the floor. Chaos watched as the flesh smoothed itself out on his forehead until it looked as if he eyes had never been there at all. - It burns! It burns!! A primal roar came from deep within Destruction as his brow ridge distended further causing an oddly masculine Neanderthal look to overtook Destructions face. The skin below the ridge began to bubble and flex, and with a loud rip, one massive red eye opened in the middle of his forehead. Arching his back, Destruction roared again. Chaos watched with excitement as the four massive nipples ripped open as well creating four more additional red eyes. - Look upon me!! Look at what I am becoming!! Destruction got to his feet with a deep bellowing laugh. Chaos could feel all five eyes on him… staring deep into him. - I will be seen!! I will be feared!!! Would you like to see another trick, father. - Show me. Destruction reached his two bottom hands down and began stroking his immense penis. The more he stroked it with animalistic force, the more it grew. As he jerked it, the shaft grew thicker and thicker, quickly tripling in size. The head continued to grown larger and more bulbous as well, overtaking the shaft with how thick and long it was itself. The most erotic and sensual feeling began to emanate from the massive shaft. Smiling and looking directly into Chaos’ eyes, Destruction stopped what he was doing. Suddenly with one quick flick, he dug the horns of his right hand into the underbelly of his penis. The beast roared out, but the sound appeared more like pleasure then pain. A moment later, Destruction lifted his left, and dug those horns into the top of his penis. Chaos expected blood to start flowing, but all he could see was the flesh of the penis moving and puddling on its own like clay. A thick river of pre began to flow from the bulbous head soaking the floor. Flexing his might biceps, Destruction pulled his arms apart, and with a loud ripping sound, Destruction’s thick cock split in half. The clay-like skin quickly formed around it, and within moments, Destruction possessed two immense penises, both now dripping free flowing pre. - What do you think of your son now? The two penises continued to grow larger, standing at attention. Using two hands to stroke his penises and two hands to massage his basketball sized testicles, Destruction brought himself to the most forceful of orgasms. Cum rocketed from both shafts, covering the floor and shattering the mirror. Asarualimnunna smiled as the wall into the fifth realm cracked and he could easily slip through. Standing now at an immense sixteen feet and weighing thousands upon thousands of pounds of pure muscle, Destruction had finally been born. Angrily he began to tear the building apart, wanting to free himself from his prison. - Calm, my son!! Destruction did as his loving father requested. - There will be plenty of time for you to show yourself to the world. First, we must find another to join our army against the common enemy…Eros. We must build it before he is able to, and if my calculations are correct, only four more will be able to be born. Come with me. I think I know the next perfect candidate.
  19. Alternate title: The pump is life! The pump is...too much? The story isn’t done but I’m posting what I have for those guys that expressed interest in it, I’ll be finishing and editing it over the next day or two. Feedback is welcome. “Congratulations Max! You’ve been chosen, as you are required to do as per section 4 paragraph 3 of your sponsorship contract, to test one of the many fine products we make here at Unbound Beast! Project Pump Unbound is sure to lead to great things during your workouts and will leave with a pump like no other while giving you the energy to push yourself to levels you’ve never knew you could attain. Satisfaction? Guaranteed! Ensure you follow directions EXACTLY as laid out to give you the best results possible and relay your experiences back to the company ASAP. “ Yadda, yadda, yadda. The letter that came with the package goes on for some more self aggrandizing bullshit about the company. For a supplement company they really have their heads deep up their own asses. Don’t get me wrong, I am thankful they sponsored me and love what their “100% legal over the counter supplements” (and the not so legal ones they give people like me they sponsor) but I have to admit they worry me at times. Not just the completely soulless nature they do things but the fact, for all they hype them up, the men they sponsor and spend so much time and money on all seem to...quietly just disappear. At the same time though I do love the results I’ve been getting, the attention, money, and the chance at getting on the Olympia stage so if some shady shit is going on I don’t care so long as I get my due. With their help I’ve gone from an up and coming heavyweight bodybuilder tipping the scale at a, relatively, meager 253lbs while juiced to the gills to a rather staggering 328lbs, with a pro card now I might add, in a matter of a few short months. Thank fucking god that I’m over 6’ because the muscle just keeps packing on with no end in sight and I’d start to worry if I was any shorter about being able to get around properly. I mean at least this time they decided to have me act as a guinea pig on a preworkout of all things. I’d love to get to a nice even 350lbs with their help, so I can truly put the fear of ME into people at the gym and on stage, but it is starting to get a bit out of control. Whatever. Who the fuck actually needs clothes that aren’t painted onto every part of your body or to be able to fit in doorways...or cars...or plane seats without some severe discomfort for everyone involved? I sure as fucking hell don’t! I love this shit. I live for this shit. Unbound Beast can make me into a freak of nature but it’s my choice to stay one. So let’s see what this new toy they just sent to me on a silver platter can really fucking do. I put on my favorite pair of tights, spandex shirt, and high tops before grabbing my shit and a shaker full of this special “Project Pump Unbound” before getting into my truck and speeding my way to the gym like a child anxious for the arrival of Santa. I couldn’t hold in my excitement as I down the bitter and tangy preworkout the moment I saw the gym on the horizon. By the time I got out of my truck, which very visibly lurched as I stepped out of it, I could feel it start working. I swear the veins on my arms and what you could see all across my legs through my tights were pulsating with every heart beat as the supplement made its way throughout my body. I swaggered toward the gym with full confidence that this workout was going to be fucking legendary. Every step I could feel my arms bounce off my lats as they made contact, my quads grazing each other all the way down my knees, and my calves flexing into thick balls of pure sex and power with every step as I waddled through the front door. So single minded was desire for self worship through steel that I brushed past the front desk with the attendant looked at with a mix of annoyance and recognition. Not a single person at this gym did not know who I was or just how much of a muscled freak I’ve become over the last few months. Despite my best efforts people were intimidated of me and gave me a wide berth, I admit it bothers me that they feel this way even when I go out of my way to be friendly and approachable but you know? Tonight. Tonight it suits me just fucking fine. I’m on a mission to test this little prototype drug of UBI’s and I won’t be done until I’ve pumped every single muscle to the fucking max, time to stress test this shit. I made my way to the weight room floor stopping at the threshold to survey my kingdom, my temple of iron dedicated to the exultation of power, muscle, and personal dominance. I couldn’t help myself as I adjusted my inordinately sizes bulge as my dick too decided to begin its own praise of what as to come. One major thing I will give Unbound’s products, I don’t have to worry about my balls withering to nothing like I had to on hear despite my body hosting a chem lab’s worth of chemicals. With purpose I made my way to the nearest unoccupied treadmill to start a quick warm scaring a man I’d seen numerous times before at the gym. There was a spring in my step as I began a light jog which I couldn’t tell if it was due to the preworkout or my anticipation. I looked around the gym floor curious to see who was here tonight as I noticed that the man on the treadmill next to me was blatantly eye fucking me as I ran, the only noise that could be heard were my thundering footfalls that echoed through out the entire room and his hard breathing as he leered at my form. I laughed to myself and stared directly into his eyes which finally broke him from his trance, he blushed and turned forward again but stumbled off his treadmill and onto his ass on the ground. Immediately j stopped my jog and allowed the treadmill to deposit me on the ground next to him with a resounding THUD. He had a combination of surprise, hurt pride, and embarrassment on his face as I bent down to help him back onto his feet. Only then did I notice the respectably large tent in his shorts that was twitching with need as he looked at me. Defiantly he ignored my hand and scrambled into the locker room blushing so hard his face darkened several hues redder. I chuckled to myself about the situation while feeling sorry for kid’s predicament. I gathered my things, readjusted my dick again which was having a mind of its own since I drank that preworkout, and headed over to an open bench press. I put a plate on each side to begin warming up my chest, quickly busting out 20 reps to really get the blood flowing for a weight that is otherwise completely insignificant to me. As I sat back up I caught a quick glance of myself in the mirror. I could see my chest visibly swell just a little bit larger with every breath after this single set. Oh. Hell. Fucking. “YES!” I startled two guys next to me in the middle of their set with my outburst. I thought to myself now that I have their attention I may as well request they help my make the most of this. “Hey. Can you two do me a solid? Put on another 45lb plate when I tell you to, I want to bust out a quick pyramid set.” They glanced at each other before quickly nodding. I laid back down under the bar as they put another plate on each side of the bar for me and again I repped out a quick 20 reps with little exertion on my part. “Another!” A plate was added and 20 more reps went by. “Another!!” 20 more reps. “Another!!!” 20 again. “ANOTHER!!!” I finally slowed down but not due to fatigue or exhaustion, in fact I’d never felt so good, I slowly…slowly lowered the bar down to my chest taking my sweet time to burst back up with enough force to surprise my two helpers into taking a step back. I did this again, and again, and again until yet another twenty reps had passed with my brow finally starting to sweat from the show the combination of personal and chemically enhanced strength. I was spellbound as I went through the motions. Any pain or ache I’ve ever had no matter how minor was dispelled as if it was never there, I was like a conduit of human prowess made manifest as I started to scare even myself with what this drug was doing for me yet my only thought was “MORE!” With a jarring sound of metal on metal I racked the weights before muttering my thanks to the two slack jawed men that helped me. Keeping my head down so I could surprise myself with the results I made my way to cable area. Immediately I began to belt out rep after rep of cable crossovers, lateral raises, reverse later raises, pull ups, wide grip pulldowns, curls, pushdowns, and anything at all that could be done for my upper body in quick succession. The only time to sound of weight hitting weight as I acted like a demon possessed was when I changed the weight or exercises, I began to draw the attention of nearly everyone on the gym floor but I didn’t care. Well over an hour passed before I finally stopped to look at the results at which point I now knew why everyone was staring at me. My compression shirt was so tight across my hulking form that it looked like I had stolen a shirt belonging to a small child. I gingerly flexed one of my arms in the mirror as they were so bloated with blood and brawn that it became a feat to even do that much. What had once been about the size of my head now completely eclipsed it. My forearms were so thick and riddled with veins completely engorged with blood that it fought with my biceps for space as I flexed my arm. Quietly a sound of threads tearing as they futilely fought against my lat that stuck out like a wing belonging on a beast from legend. I gasped at the sight and accidentally began to choke myself as my chest puffed up like parade float balloon. Unable to help myself lowered my arm and began to flex my chest, making my pecs dance and put on a show for anyone watching, which at this point was so densely packed with muscle that they may as well make a Z cup size just for me. My shoulders made my shirt like I was smuggling two basketballs that both lead to a mountainous peak which lead to the bottom of my skull rendering me truly neck-less, the only thing ruining this image was my legs that had until now escaped my attention. Swiftly I made my way a leg press and the seated calf machine loading them both with as much weight as they could hold. I want to make sure I don’t neglect a single part of my body so long as this preworkout is in my system but I wanted to do something special for my own amusement and curiosity. With both haste and control I jumped back and forth between the two machines only allowing my increasingly pumped calves time to rest as I walked from one to another. Rep after rep, set after set, I pounded the bastards into compliance like a blacksmith at a forge attacking them at every angle for over half an hour until the pump was so fucking painful I could not take another step and sat down next to a squat rack. As my breath was so ragged it came out in bellows I began to laugh madly at the pain just completely fucking reveling in it. Delicately I stood up, my movements awkward, as I began to pile on plate after plate on the squat rack to finish my calves off completely. Flippantly I tossed another two plates onto the ground for me to stand on as I fought through the pain and the excruciatingly over pumped muscles to begin a standing calf raises using a weight that would have blown even my own squat one rep max out of the water. With every repped they bulged out wider, another vein appeared, and the pain from both the exertion and pump only got worse. Victoriously I slammed the bar back onto the squat rack after set after nonstop set to see what I had accomplished. Immediately I got hard, painfully so. Defiantly they ignored my commands to flex only responding with pain and a tightness that distended my overburdened skin but eventually my calves relented. So overloaded with muscle were they that my stance was forced into an inverse of a cowboy, the size ratio between my calves and upper legs were reverse making me look truly ridiculous but yet, to me, only aroused me further as a large wet spot began to form on the railroad spike bulge jutting from my groin. I got under the bar one last time as I had one last area that demanded my attention. With perfect form I squatted…and squatted…and squatted, the entire time my tights were being pulled forward by my dick which was no less turgid than when I started. Every ascent I was welcomed to my quads bloating up just a bit more, every descent I could feel my hamstrings flex and swell further as my ass bulged even more. Soon my calves were met and then exceeded by the size of my upper legs as they took their rightful place as the reigning monstrosity they were always meant to be. I only stopped when I could no longer push my feet outward to accommodate the muscle just take up every millimeter of possible space on my legs. Awkwardly I racked the weight and waddled out to see what I had made of myself. No doubt came to my mind that while my calves here half again as large as my legs used to be my legs were now half again larger than that; and to both my delight and surprised the pump I had worked so hard for on my upper body hadn’t diminished…in fact if anything it looked like it bloated up even more. I began to go through my pose routine laughing to myself every time I felt stitching on my tights or compression shirt rip and tear or when I wasn’t able to fully complete a pose either due to the pump or the staggering, almost bordering on offensive to the eye, size of my body. Winded from a long, grueling, and fruitful workout I stopped posing and grabbed my gym bag as I made my way to the locker room. Thoughts of how hard it was getting to move or that maybe I overdid it crept up to the forefront of my mind but I had little choice but to try and not think about it as I awkwardly waddled into the locker room, every step more of a challenge than the last. Unceremoniously I dropped my bag in a corner and began to flail around in vain while I attempted to pull off my clothes. I sighed in a mixture of defeat and worry as I heard someone enter the locker room behind me. Very stiffly I turned around as I heard someone begin to speak. “Look man I’m sorry about earlier, it’s just that you just a…fucking beast and I couldn’t help but stare at you.” It was the man earlier from the treadmill. He was looking down at his feet clearly too embarrassed to look me in the eye from his fall earlier. He began to look up as he continued. “I mean I’m sure you’re used to it and all but I know it’s rude as hell to stare at people but I just wanted to say…HOLY FUCK WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?” I quickly raised a finger to my mouth, or tried to at least I should say. My arms were too swollen from whatever the fuck this preworkout is doing to me that it was just an impossible task at this point. “Hey!” I barked at him. “Lower your voice damn it and apology accepted but can you do me a solid here?” He flinched slightly at my outburst and looked at me inquisitively. “I uh…sorta over did it…can you help me take my clothes off?” Immediately he began to give me a look as if he was wondering if this was a trick and simultaneously praying to whatever god that it wasn’t. “I swear to Christ I’m not fucking with you or coming on to you but I seriously need to take a cold shower and cool down but I really fucking overdid it in the gym man.” Like a wild animal accepting food from a human he slowly and very cautiously took a few steps towards me as if to make sure I wasn’t about to hit him or something. “I’m not going to bite man.” I laughed to myself and then muttered under my breath. “I don’t think I could right now if I wanted to anyways.” As his hands neared the hem of my compression shirt he stopped to look at me and check if this was really ok or not, I rolled my eyes and nodded my head for him to get on with it. He shrugged and delicately began to peel it off. I could hear the fabric protest and seams rip even more as he disrobed the shirt which was well past its max capacity. I could feel his hands explore my torso as he tried to take off the shirt without outright destroying the tortured and abused clothing. It ended up being all for nothing though as I could barely raise my arms at this point with how swollen they had grown that he ended up ripping it off the rest of the way. We both let out an involuntary gasp once we were both able to get an unobstructed view of the aberration I had turned into. Every single muscle on my torso simultaneously looked like it was made of the densest granite ridden with innumerous veins and striations but also as if they were inflated like a balloon struggling to not burst. Treadmill guy started to pitch another rather impressive tent in his shorts as I snapped my hand to get his attention. “Hey…uh…what is your name?” I asked while trying to hide my embarrassment at not asking him before asking him to take off my clothes. “Brent.” He responded as he put his hand onto one of my pecs. I snapped again to try and get him to pay attention. “Look I’m flattered but could you please help me take the rest off and maybe buy me dinner before you go any further?” Brent blushed as he took his hand off my chest and started his attempt at taking my tights off. With some patience, and extreme luck that no one walked in on us while he was helping me, Brent was some fucking how able to peel of my tights which were now severely distorted by the ordeal they went through trying to contain my legs. He also helped take of my shoes and socks with little fanfare but that left just one thing piece of clothing left that I still wouldn’t be able to take off in my current state...the posers I wore when I worked out. “Seriously?” Brent asked me in a tone mixed with humor over the audacity of the situation and hope that hope he wasn’t just dreaming. “…yes, seriously. Please.” I responded blushing and trying to avoid eye contact the entire time. “Ok then…” Brent said to reaffirm himself as he put his hands around my waist and pulled down my posers. Immediately my dick, which had softened but still left a very visible wet spot from my earlier excitement on both my posers and tights, popped out of my posers. It uppercut Brent’s jaw as it inflated like a twisting balloon with a mind of its own to the utmost size possible without popping. As Brent started to cuss at the unexpected dick uppercut my now excessively large, and did I mention erect, dick succumbed to gravity as it plopped down onto Brent’s face with the tip resting firmly in the middle of his forehead leaking precum all over his face. Brent stared cross-eyed at his assailant wondering what the hell just hit him and then leaked over him I turned around and wobbled away at a pace that would be ridiculously slow if not for my current predicament spouting a thank you over my shoulder before he could comprehend what happened to him. As I made my way to the showers, praying that maybe a cold shower would help ease my exceedingly pumped up muscle, I could feel a pressure begin to build up in my nuts. Every step the pressure got worse and worse, my dick was being pushed up until it was standing vertically as my balls began to swell and accumulate seed at a painful and worry rate. I got the counter and mirror before the shower room with every one of my erratic steps being followed by a resounding THWACK noise of flesh hitting flesh as my dick bounced around wildly when the pressure was too much. I bent over and grabbed the counter as all of the cum that had been demanding release could wait no more. I stared into my reflection meeting my eyes are I let loose a sound that no human should be able to make, my gaze never broke as I took in what a fucking freak of nature I became as what felt like gallon after gallon of cum erupted out of my dick ten times more powerful than any volcano but just as destructive as I could feel the wall, floor, and my feet be completely doused with my essence. It took me a few minutes to collect myself and catch my breath as I hurried as fast as my overly bloated legs could take me into the showers. Finally I made it into the open showers and fumbled about trying to turn them on in a final attempt to cool my body down or do something…anything at all to reverse or slow whatever the fuck is happening to me. I was on the verge of tears in my frustration that I finally got what I wanted, to be a freak, but it was just too fucking much when I heard Brent’s voice. “Hey man are you alright? I saw your…mess, do you still need some help man?”
  20. ‘What the hell is going on?’ That is the reaction Brice has after he passes out and then wakes up several minutes later after Cain Darkori places him into a holding cell. The larger red skinned brother leaves the room and locks the door as Brice tries to stand up. He falls back down after realizing that he doesn’t have any type of balance. He barely remembers anything that happened just a short while ago except that some crazy substance has taken up residence in his body somewhere. He wonders if it will force him to somehow change against his will or if it is awakened by some sort of weird occurrence. His energy level seems to have leveled off and he feels fairly decent, but the fact that he is locked up tells him that he may be in some secret program. ‘HEY, WHY AM I IN HERE? HELLO? I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME!’ Brice tries to shake the bars on the cell and they don’t budge. After a few more seconds, he goes to sit on a bench inside the cell and puts his hands on his head. As he sits there, he hears a click on the main door as it opens. He looks up and sees a familiar face and even looks at them bewildered. ‘WHAT THE HELL? Owen what are you doing here?’ It is the friend that originally recommended the Darkori’s in the first place. The young trim man sits in a chair just outside the cell and puts his glasses on that he had in his pocket. He parts his legs enough to put his arms on them and smiles back at Brice. ‘Hi buddy, I see you visited Dr. Orleans and Dr. Darkori. Did they help you get better at all?’ ‘What the…? Why aren’t you answering my questions? Why are you even here Owen?’ ‘Well Brice, as it turns out it wasn’t a coincidence that I sent you to either one of them because they helped me too.’ ‘Uhh well thanks I think. Why are they red and why do I find them so attractive? Is this a side effect of their serum?’ ‘Hehe, yeah you could say that Brice. I also was attracted to their red skin and how the muscles glistened in the lights. I’m actually here right now because they called me in to calm you down. You don’t need to be so loud and obnoxious you know.’ ‘I’m fucking scared Owen, this crazy shit is flowing inside my body. I can feel it moving through me, it does make me feel normal though.’ ‘I’m glad Brice, but I need to make you understand that the serum flowing through you is meant for more than just hormone therapy, it is a key that unlocks a part of you that you never thought existed. Trust me I had no idea either when they did this to me.’ Two beads of sweat begin to slide down Owen’s head as Brice can see his skin starting to get redder. ‘Are you alright Owen, you seem like you are experiencing some kind of a hot flash?’ Owen wipes his brow as more beads of sweat begin to move down his face. He pulls a handkerchief from his shirt pocket and rubs it all over his face as he pulls his glasses off to wipe them down too. He puts them back on and sighs. ‘I ummm may not be able to hold it back much longer so I’m just warning you before it happens.’ ‘What are you….oh gawd I have already seen this before from Dr. Damien Darkori. Are you going to change colors?’ *slight laugh* ‘Hah no I’m not going to become a red muscle monster like the doctors. They were born that way, I am just a product of their creation.’ Brice can sense a bit of danger and starts to move towards the back of the cell but realizes that he won’t be safe no matter what happens. He starts to grab whatever he can get his hands on in the cell: the bed, the bench, the clothes, and puts them all around him as he cowers over in a corner and watches Owen start to squirm in his chair as it starts to creak slightly. His breathing grows heavier by the minute. He grabs his chest and turns his head down into it. ‘OH GAWD BRICE I FEEL IT BUILDING UP INSIDE ME. IT HURTS SO MUCH BUT IT ALSO EXCITES ME MORE THAN EVER.’ *voice deepens* ‘OHH MAN, IT IS MOVING TO THE SURFACE JUST LIKE I AM ABOUT TO ERUPT LIKE A VOLCANO.’ Brice’s eyes grow large as he sees his friend’s back expanding rapidly as he gasps for air. His shirt begins to shred under the sheer size of his muscles. Seams split in his pants as the chair crumbles beneath him as he falls to the ground. Muscles grow everywhere as Brice can see Owen’s face beginning to change shape. The man looks up as his glasses fall to the ground and shatter. His green eyes have now turned yellow as his massive chest makes quick work of his shirt as the material falls to the ground in tatters. The growing beast gets up to stand as his shoes explode beneath him as his feet nearly double in size and appear to be getting longer. His toes get a new shape to them which alarms Brice to the point that he starts to mumble to himself. His quads grow fatter and more developed as his cock explodes through his underwear dropping them to the ground as his cock grows larger and longer. Even stranger now, the beast’s skin color is changing as it quickly moves down from his head which no longer has any hair on it to his feet. His formerly normal skin tone is now grey. His body hair is minimal now besides the goatee on his face. The creature turns to his side and laughs as his huge ass presses up against the bars exposing his throbbing hole. Brice involuntarily moans as he sees this and feels an erection building in his pants. ‘OH GAWD NO, YOU ARE TRYING TO MAKE ME GIVE IN AREN’T YOU?’ The beast moans in delight as a tail begins to grow from just above his bubble butt. It flies out of his enormous back and sits close to the ground in the cell as it flails about. Brice jumps up and yells in fright as he realizes that his friend is actually a demon. It turns back around and starts to shake the front of the cell like it is taunting him. It laughs again and starts to bounce its giant cock at him. Once again, Brice can feel his cock stirring as he feels his temperature heating up. ‘STOP DOING THAT! I WON’T GIVE IN…..PLEASE STOP!’ The huge beast flexes its engorged 24” pythons and rips the doors off the front of the cell. Brice jumps back and tries to climb up the wall away from Owen. The man creature grabs him and pulls him down on the ground as it shoves its long tongue down his throat so he can’t say anything. Brice starts to convulse as his body involuntarily gives in to the demon’s advances as he no longer has any type of control. It locks its lips on his and begins to push the entity from within Brice to the surface. The 350 pound creature continues to summon the beast inside Brice as it wraps its giant arms around him and rubs his back forcefully. Brice feels his body go stiff as the change begins. He can feel the hair on top of his head starting to fall out as the man demon Owen makes him flex his biceps. He peers over at them as his eyes enlarge noticing them growing rapidly rising ever higher. The fact he is nearly nude makes the growth cycle commence even quicker as he feels his back popping and stretching further outward. He still cannot make a sound as the pain intensifies. He winces as tears roll down his face. Owen pulls his tongue out of Brice’s throat to lick the tears off his face as he watches his friend change even further. The man demon caresses him as his abs grow and thicken as well as his pecs which blow up into huge slabs of granite. Just like with Owen, Brice’s quads explode in size pushing his legs further apart to make room for his growing cock which has already begun to thicken and lengthen.With the slit growing bigger, Owen leans down to shove his tongue inside and starts to lap up the juices that are beginning to flow through his cock. Brice’s face and head are now bare. He can feel the muscles tightening and growing at the same time as he realizes that he may lose his awareness soon. He feels his eyes starting to change from their blue color to the same yellow color of Owen’s. His feet are also changing as his toes thicken and lengthen at the same time. His pain threshold is now gone as it now turns to pleasure. He moans deeply as his voice changes dramatically. He reaches down with his new larger hands and pushes Owen’s face on top of his cock. The cum begins to build up quickly as Owen moans deeply too tasting the thick pre beginning to change over to the white stuff. Before long, Brice moans in his new gruff tone as Owen gulps down tons and tons of thick cum. His tail flaps wildly as his cock begins to spurt its own frothy load on to Brice’s new thick calves and feet. Brice sprouts a tail shortly after he finishes cumming down Owen’s throat. He pulls him off his powerful cock and shoves his tongue down Owen’s throat as the two huge muscular demons play tonsil hockey with each other. They are completely unaware that someone else has entered into the cell. After a minute of wrapping their tongues together they realize they are being watched. ‘Hello there men or shall I say pups. I see that you two have gotten acquainted with each other finally.’ Brice and Owen stare at each other and smile. Brice realizes that his mind is still intact but his voicebox isn’t the same. He tries to say something, but nothing comes out. ‘No no Brice, it is okay. You don’t have to speak to me I can hear what you say through your eyes and mind. Perhaps even Owen can help you out with your issue.’ Brice is beginning to feel a lot of contentment in his new body as he looks down and marvels at his new gray muscles and rubs them a few more times before leaning over to rub Owen’s chest and face. ‘I can see that you care about him Brice. I am glad that you have someone to help you transition. Just know that this form only appears when you are excited or feel the need to act.’ After taking a few more steps, Brice stares at the red-skinned behemoth and remembers that it is Cain Darkori. Cain shows his teeth to both man demons and warns them to not approach him as it isn’t safe at this point. He motions for Owen to move himself over to the other cell located beside Brice’s so that he can revert back to his old body. He wants Brice to watch carefully so that he is able to do it in a safe fashion away from anyone he cares about. Owen sits down on the ground as his tail begins to fall off and his face returns back to its normal shape. His body hair begins to sprout again as his muscles slowly shrink back down to their original places and sizes. Now drenched in sweat and completely nude, Cain walks over to him and pulls another pair of glasses out of his lab coat he is wearing and hands them to Owen. He extends a giant red paw out to Owen and embraces him. He then tells Brice to let his brain clear itself and to let himself revert back. Brice nods as he sits on the ground and attempts to do the same thing that he saw Owen do. His tail falls off and his body hair begins to grow back as he calms down. Before anything else happens though, he passes out as his muscles were beginning to shrink down again. Cain rushes over to pick him up as he senses there may be a slight difference inside of Brice’s body. Owen follows them into a separate area where Cain places him on an exam table. He rushes out as he starts to yell for Damien to come quickly. Owen looks down at his grayish-colored friend and wonders if something has went gravely wrong with Brice. At this point, the half man half demon has gotten his original face back but has retained various features of the creature like his coloring, his feet, and even his gargantuan cock. Owen keeps staring at it in awe as Brice bounces it for him. It is at this point that Brice can speak again and whispers into his friend’s ear. ‘Please you have got to relieve this load building inside me. It just keeps building and it is driving my mind crazy.’ Owen stands there and debates on whether he should even honor this request since it may be too dangerous. What would the Darkori’s do to him if he did in fact relieve Brice? ‘Damnit Brice, I…..can’t buddy……I don’t know what they would do to me if I did that?’ Brice moans deeply as he feels a volcano of precum flowing out the slit of his cock. He grabs Owen on the arm and pulls him towards the leaking pole. Owen tries to resist as he feels pre hitting him in the face. It immediately makes his body start to tingle as his mind begins to race wildly. Before he locks lips on the giant pole, he is thrown across the room and knocked unconscious. Brice yells, ‘NO! WHY?’ seeing his friend lying there motionless. Damien Darkori immediately locks lips on the leaking rod and pumps it quickly. Brice heaves his body up and down as he launches tons of seed down inside Damien’s body. It goes pouring down all over his bare red chest and face as he gulps as much down as he can. Cain watches in the distance as he picks up Owen and slings him over his shoulder. Brice’s feet finally return to normal as Damien finishes drinking down the massive gallon of cum that the man demon produced. He pulls the shrinking cock out of his mouth as it sits silently on Brice’s leg. Damien turns to look at Brice and smiles a bit before he turns around to leave the area. Brice jumps up quickly and realizes that his skin is still gray. Cain walks over to him and puts his free hand on the scared man’s shoulder. ‘I know what you are thinking Brice, but I am here to tell you that being gray isn’t so bad. Look at it as a stepping stone to something better. You are not the same human anymore, you are something far better. I suggest you stay here overnight so me and Damien can help you with your diagnosis. Don’t worry about Owen, he took a licking but he will be fine.’ He pats the helpless man on the back and turns to leave the area. Brice goes back to the table and sits down with his hands on his face. He begins to wonder what will happen next as he ponders his next move.
  21. Links to other chapters: Links to chapters of "The Twenty": "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Precis, Introduction, Chapters 1 & 2 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 3, 4, 5 - White Cap Training / Hardcore Muscle / A Brief History of Casey Rockland "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 6 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 7, 8 - Hardcore Training, Part 1 / Tiffany's Talent "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapters 9, 10 - Good for Morale "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 11: Casey Meets the Muscle Squad "The Twenty" Chapter 12, Part 1: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 12: Part 2 Casey vs. Karim Abdul: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 13: After the Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 14: In Which Casey Discovers He Likes to Get Worshipped "The Twenty" - Chapter 15: Casey's First Interview with Sergeant Moster "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 16 - Hardcore Training Part 2: Casey’s First Herculaneum Workout, and What Happened After "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 17 - The Presentation "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 18 - The Musclemen Revealed: Inside Zaftig's Lab "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 19 - Further Encounters, Part 1 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 21 - Sam and Casey "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 22 - Field Trips for Worship, Part 1 "The Twenty" - Chapter 23 - Field Trips, Part 2 – Casey Rediscovers Muscle Worship, and Makes a New Friend Chapter 20 Pose and Approve: Further Encounters, Part 2 February 10th, 2022 2050 Hours Alvarez, already shirtless and oiling himself up, answered the knock on his door. Naturally, it was Lang. “Right on time. Come on in,” he said. Lang came in, babbling with his usual over-the-top excitement that preceded every Pose and Approve session. “So what do you think the brass thought?” he asked eagerly as he pulled off his t-shirt. Alvarez tossed a bottle of heated mineral oil to his buddy, who uncapped it and began to smear oil onto his muscles as well. “Did you see that old Admiral Whatsisname? Jesus, he looked awesomely p i s s e d o f f, man! And what about all those other dudes? Didja hear them? Didja hear them groaning?? Dude! D’ya think they all creamed their pants?” “Of course they did. They always do. It’s the guaranteed effect.” Alvarez sighed, oiling his triceps, shaking his head. "It's why we're here, man. It's the only reason." Lang laughed excitedly, working the oil into his muscles. “Man, those dudes ain’t never seen muscle like ours before, right? Right?” He flexed powerful biceps and nodded into one of the room’s full-length mirrors with a frowning sneer. “Asshole dudes never seen guns like these, right? pow! bam!!” “Oh, shut the fuck up,” muttered Alvarez. Lang stared. He was suddenly quiet. Alvarez continued to oil himself up. He looked worried. “What’d I say, dude?” Lang asked plaintively, his arms outstretched. Alvarez walked over to him and stood nose to nose before him, the bulges in Alvarez’s jeans and Lang’s posers just touching. He reached around Lang to the back of his head and, guiding his face close, planted a deep kiss onto his perfect lips. He worked his tongue into Lang’s mouth, who responded deeply. Then he pulled back and gazed long and hard into Lang’s deep brown eyes. “I’m sorry. Forget them,” he said reassuringly. “Let’s pose.” “Yeah! Pose and approve!” shouted Lang, and then giggled apologetically, clamping his hand over his mouth in response to Alvarez’s stern look. “Shut up. We don’t want everyone in here.” “Sorry, dude.” “Tonight is just us.” “Sorry, dude! Let’s rock!” Both turned and looked at their reflection in Alvarez’s three-paneled mirror. Excepting Alvarez’s mustache, the two powerful musclemen were almost exact duplicates of one another: tall, dark, and handsome, with deep brown eyes, taut cheekbones and shiny black hair. Their ripped, 285-pound physiques were perfect symphonies of bulging muscle. Lang nodded and forgot all about the brass. He did a crab crunch into the mirror. “Freakkkkyyy…” he muttered. “Swole. So swole.” His veins exploded with throbbing power. Alvarez was undoing his belt, unzipping his zipper, working his tight jeans gradually down his ripped quads. “Pose and approve time, man,” he said to Lang. “Pose and approve.” He picked up a remote and lowered the room’s lights, bringing up the glare of the overhead spotlight focused on the 15' posing dais in front of the mirrors. “Yeah, man, let’s get to it!” Lang ripped off his clothes and stepped up onto the dais as Alvarez kicked away his jeans. Both men were now only barely covered with skimpy royal blue competition posing trunks with hundreds of bright spangles sewn onto the extra-large pouches. The spangles caught the light and glistened like small sapphires. Alvarez stood before him. “You go first.” For an instant, Lang was honored to be going first, as the unspoken law between them during their nightly mutual muscle worship sessions was that Alvarez always got to pose before he did. Tonight was apparently different; even so, Lang was instantly caught up in the sheer joy of his own reflection of muscular near-perfection, and he forgot it right away. The muscleman stood quietly, his heavy arms around his back, his hands clasped. He waited. His ripped abs seemed to extend forever, cobbled fatless bricks laced with thick veins. His cock poled out in his posers. But still he waited. Alvarez was always in charge of Pose and Approve. “Go.” “I’m fucking ….. awesummmmm…..” Lang moaned, loving himself. He slowly curled his huge body into a side biceps pose and turned his head to cockily grin at his reflection. Then he glanced uncertainly at Alvarez in the mirror. “Talk to me,” he demanded, but Alvarez knew he was really begging. “Tell me I’m huge.” Alvarez was not about to let him down. “Yeah, you’re huge, man,” whispered Alvarez with warm smoothness, and he shifted his weight, smoothing the small pools of oil onto his delts. “Those guns of yours look to be about 23 inches. Check out your fist. Motherfucking huge. You could seriously do some serious bare knuckle damage with a fist like that.” His muscles were now gleaming with oil. Lang laughed joyfully. “I have, man! I’ve cleared a few barrooms in my day!” “Punching out ba-a-a-d dudes with those fists?” “Yeah, punching out the bad dudes! Check out these veins, man! They’re like super highways, man! Pumping, buddy. Pumpin’ it up for ya, man.” Lang pumped and flexed. Alvarez capped the bottle, set it down, and turned back, rubbing his hands together. “Oh, yeah, man. That’s good. Nice. Big old motherfucking biceps. Flex those guns for me, man.” “I’m flexing these guns for ya, bro. BOOM. Big muscle in the house,” he cried out joyfully. “Yeah, I see you, man. Nice. Nice big muscles. Biggest muscleman on earth, man.” “’Cept for you, bro. You’re bigger,” said Lang. Alvarez stepped onto the dais under the spotlight, and standing between Lang and the mirror, smoothed hot oil onto Lang’s glistening pecs, stroking his muscles appreciatively. They stood nose-to-nose, not six inches apart. Lang flexed powerful biceps. “Don’t know about that.” Alvarez smoothly applied oil to the granite softballs of Lang’s peaks. Lang stared at himself, transfixed. In his posing trunks his heavy cock was already pointing straight ahead. Alvarez clapped Lang’s huge biceps in his palms. “Like fucking rocks.” “Yeah, man, like fucking boulders, I know. Feel ‘em, man. Feel my muscles.” His eyes took in the mirror reflection of Alvarez’s awesome glutes. “I’m there, man, doing your muscles for you, man.” Alvarez licked his pecs, kissed each bulging biceps, and lightly bit Lang’s nipples. Then he knelt, leaned in and whispered again, his face now level to Lang’s bulging crotch. His breath softly exploded onto Lang’s stiffening cockshaft appearing as his posing trunks poled heavily outward. “You’re big, man. Real big.” “I’m big, hunh?” asked Lang. Now that Alvarez was on his knees and not blocking his upper body reflection, he was gazing at himself with hypnotic eagerness. “Motherfucking huge muscleman, dude.” Lang could feel Alvarez’s breath lightly exploding onto his junk. Still, he never looked away from his own reflection. “So reward me, man. Reward me for my muscles. Reward me for this pose.” “You got it, man. Here comes your reward.” “Thanks, bro,” purred Lang, gazing now in rapture at the pointing peaks of his biceps, his tongue slightly hanging out. His buddy approved. He was in heaven. He’d taken first place in the show running in his head. He and his buddy. “Just keep posing, man.” Alvarez gently opened his mouth and tenderly began to suck Lang’s big cock through his posing trunks. Lang glided into his next pose, a side-chest. And then a front lat spread. His pelvis pushed forward. His poser straining with cock. The pose and approve ritual always began with each man wearing his posing trunks for as long as he could manage to keep them on. They mentally pictured themselves on a competition stage, posing for overwhelmed judges and an audience of thousands of screaming fans, while under the lights, they were really posing only for each other, taking turns kneeling and occasionally bending and sucking each other’s erect cocks through their trunks. They fantasized no one else would be allowed to touch them. They’d turn and punch the lights out of anyone who dared. But the reality was that anyone who wanted to suck their cocks could do so. With just a little begging. After all, big musclemen deserve to get their cocks sucked. Now Alvarez was licking the bobbing cockhead through the straining cloth, running his tongue up and down Lang’s piss slit. Then he deep-throated him, holding the giant cock tenderly in his warm mouth. He held it for 30 seconds. Above him, Lang gulped and continued to pose. Then Alvarez slowly slid his lips off the big dick. The bulging fabric of the bursting poser was wet with saliva. He looked up and winked at the grateful Lang. “Big musclemen like you work hard,” he said with a quiet smile. “You pump those awesome muscles into unbelievable size. When you flex those muscles, it’s mind-blowing. You deserve a reward for all that hard work. You deserve to get your big cock sucked.” “Thanks, man.” “Don’t mention it, bro.” Alvarez ran his hands smoothly up and down Lang’s obliques, smacking his firm sides. He nodded, then looked up. “You got a lat spread you want to show me, man?” He licked his buddy’s abs and waited. “Comin’ up, “Lang breathed, and with a small explosion of breath, he grabbed the straps of his posers, pulled them taut, planted his fists into his obliques, and pumped his rocky pecs into their full mass. He spread his legs wide, the pouch of his posing trunks bulging forward with his fully erect 10-inch penis. Alvarez, still licking the washboard abs, stroked the cock with his thick fingers, glanced up and nodded. “Good lat spread. Great pecs. Lemme see you bounce ‘em. Show me, now.” “Okay.” Lang began to bounce his flexing pecs back and forth in dance of perfect machine gun muscle rhythm. “Yeah, man. Doin’ some serious pec dancing for you now. Boom. Boom. Boom. Watch ‘em, now. Watch these pecs of mine do their thing.” “Do that pec dance thing for me, baby,” said Alvarez. He watched Lang’s bouncing pecs for a full minute. Then he leaned in and licked the cockhead, again through the posers. “I approve. Here’s your reward.” Alvarez once again opened his mouth wide, and with a quick fleck of his tongue against his lips, took the bulging pouch of Lang’s posers full down his throat. Lang, his pecs still dancing, began to slowly pump his hips, fucking face. Bursts of warm precum began to stain the poser fabric, blooming into a widening pool of moisture. Alvarez could see the giant slit of Lang’s big penis head, and licked respectfully. After a minute, he released another small explosion of breath to signify to the bodybuilder kneeling before him that he was going to change his pose again. “Front double biceps,” he announced, and swung his arms up into mighty peaks. Alvarez pulled back slightly, licked the cockhead again, and rocked back on his heels. In his own posing trunks his cock was now full 11 inches erect and poling above the waistband, slap tight against his abs. “Lookin’ good. Now hold that for two minutes. No, three. Hold that pose solid without moving for three minutes. Then you’ll get your reward.” It was agony. Lang loved it. He fiercely held the mountainous peaks of his 23-inch biceps for three full minutes. Sweat began pouring down his face. “Flexing for ya, man!” He bared his lips and gritted his teeth into a grimace. His veins exploded down his neck. The veins in his forearms were like cables of steel wire. He raised one biceps, then the other, again dancing them back and forth. The baseball peaks of his guns gleamed in the spotlight. On his knees before him, Alvarez gazed up worshipfully, pumping his own cock right out of his posing trunks, but not touching Lang. “It’s been more than three minutes,” Lang finally said through his gritted teeth. “So reward me, man! Suck my cock, man!” “Think you deserve a reward?” Alvarez teased, now stroking Lang’s cock tenderly with his tongue. “For these guns? You bet, baby. Take that big cock of mine down your throat now!” “You got it, man.” Alvarez fell forward onto his knees again, his mouth wide open, and landed bulls-eye onto the giant pole bursting in Lang’s posing trunks, taking it all into his mouth. For three minutes, he sucked cock, up and down, licking, spitting, back and forth, deep sucking. Lang gazed down at him, relaxed his biceps a few seconds, and then resumed the pose. He was rock hard. “Dig these guns, man, and suck my cock. Suck your approval. Pose and approve me. Pose and approve.” “Yeah, you like it when I suck your cock while you’re posing?” breathed Alvarez. He licked the mammoth bulge in Lang’s posing trunks. “I can see you onstage, man. Flexing for all those asshole judges. Blowing them all away. Never seen biceps as big as yours. Never seen a cock as big as yours. Poling out in your posing trunks. Big old heavy bulge. Big cocks need to get sucked.” “Yeah? Well, man, I like it when you suck my cock. I like it when you suck my cock while I’m posing for those assholes.” Greedily, Alvarez licked the cloth covering Lang’s heavy testicles. “Lickin’ your balls now, man, licking your balls.” “Put ‘em in your mouth, man. Put my balls in your mouth.” Still flexing, he looked down and eyed Alvarez’s cock hungrily. Alvarez was pumping it now with both hands. It looked like a firehose. Suddenly Lang wanted to suck it. But he didn’t want Alvarez to stop. He dropped to his knees. Alvarez lowered with him, knowing what he wanted. As he watched, Lang flexed his right biceps one more time; Alvarez nodded approval; then Lang leaned in to Alvarez’s cock. He pulled the posing trunks over the cockhead onto Alvarez’s balls, and brought it into his mouth. Alvarez kept sucking. Together the two bodybuilders slowly lowered their huge bodies onto the posing dais under the spotlight and began to service each other with a full-body 69 grapple. Their arm muscles rippled against each other as each man gripped the other’s hard glutes, thick fingers gripping slabs of butt muscle. Each man ecstatically sucked his muscle buddy’s gigantic rod, their balls both still barely covered by their straining posing trunks. After 18 minutes of violent 69 sucking, their posing trunks finally tore from the strain. Rrr-i-i-i-i-pp! Their bullish balls burst free in unison, and each man eagerly licked the other’s heavy testicles passionately. “Next time, you pose first,” whispered Lang, and Alvarez looked over at him, grinned, and flexed a biceps. Lang nodded seriously. “I approve,” he said, “now here’s your reward,” and he bent in, sucking cock. The slurping, moaning, sucking sounds echoed down the corridor. In his room, Private Chris Hension, lying naked in bed, covered with sweat, his pole rising stiffly towards the ceiling, finally couldn’t take it any more. He jumped out of bed, grabbed a robe and a pair of purple spangly posers, stepped into them, fitting his huge member into the pouch with some difficulty, and tore out of his room. He ran down the hallway, his half-tumescent, half-sheathed cock waggling in the breeze, and stopped at Alvarez’s door. He waited an instant – and was about to knock – but, what the hell. He banged on the door, threw it open, and walked in. He knew it would be unlocked. Somehow instinctively he knew they were waiting for him. And so they were. The two musclemen lay on the dais, sucking each other’s cocks, their mammoth physiques coated with a glistening layer of sweat. Without removing dick from mouth, each man slowed for a moment and gazed up at Hension questioningly. “Were we making too much noise?” asked Alvarez, his speech garbled by Lang’s cock. “Yeah. I’d say,” said Hension. He threw his robe to the floor and stood before them in his favorite posing strap, his own erection poling straight ahead. He slammed the door behind him and stepped forward, whipping his arms up into a front double biceps. “Check me out,” he commanded, but there was a note of hopefulness in his voice. Of desperation, Alvarez quietly noted to himself. Good, good, all to the good. “Damn. He’s a pretty little muscleboy, ain’t he?” said Alvarez, momentarily releasing Lang’s cock. “He sure is,” said Lang, doing the same. “You see me every day, guys. I ain’t so little,” said Hension, flexing. “Maybe we’ve never noticed you before.” “Fuck you both.” “Oh, sorry. Maybe you should leave?” “NO! I wanna play too!” Hension flexed feverishly. “Okay. We’ll think about it.” Alvarez licked Lang’s dick a few times and lolled his head back towards Hension. Lang, however, appeared to take no more interest, turning his full attention to sucking his buddy’s dick. He bent in and deep-throated Alvarez’s stiff penis a few times, gagging slightly, and then resumed his gentle, steady sucking and licking. “You sure are pretty. Big biceps. Big. Good quads. Turn around.” Hension turned around, did a rear lat spread, pointing his shapely round glutes to the ceiling. “Nice. Awesome hams. Lang, you see those hams?” …..Suck suck suck suck suck…. “No? Hmmm. Guess he’s busy. Come on over here and flex for us while we suck some cock.” And Alvarez turned back to Lang’s quivering member, appearing indifferent. “I’ll show you guys,” muttered Hension, stepping onto the dais. He was ready. He’d been waiting a long time for this. And he’d been kidded, slapped, punched, and pushed around too long to not grab the moment. His moment. “I’m gonna flex now, and you’re gonna watch me!” he shouted. From the floor of the dais, Alvarez and Lang turned and looked up at him. There was a pause. “So go ahead,” said Alvarez. “Let’s see what you got.” He paused. “Boy,” he added.
  22. Catch up: Precis: Valhalla Labs is a remote mountaintop Northern California military facility, overseen by genius muscle growth scientist Dr. Ira Zaftig and CO Staff Sergeant Rod Moster, a 7'-0" ripped and hung 395-pound black muscle giant. There, 18 extraordinary bodybuilder-soldiers live, train, and play together, overseen by Moster's strict rules and brutal regimen for muscular perfection. Known as Project Herculaneum, the men serve as Dr. Zaftig's lab rats, receiving regular injections of P-21, a specially developed enzyme that facilitates muscle and strength growth in the very few bodybuilders whose systems can withstand it. The goal: to create an army of supermen, whose strength, size, and combat skills are unparalleled in the modern military. Unfortunately for the Project, the soldiers' enhanced strength and dramatically increased muscular size is accompanied by a corresponding increase in penis size as well, along with a rapidly diminishing sense of social restraint and inhibitions. And along the way, the men's extraordinary physiques prompt their own extreme muscle fantasies into a daily acting-out sexual reality. Into the mix comes young Casey Rockland, a lonely, handsome, innocent, super-hung 18-year old bodybuilding giant. Inducted by Dr. Zaftig into the top-secret government muscle strength and growth project, Casey comes to learn the ropes amongst the muscle giants, whose hunger for hardcore training is matched only by their sexual appetites and growing fantasies, including their insatiable appetite to receive muscle worship. Casey's simplicity, and his ever-growing need to receive equal doses of both love and muscle worship threaten the very core of the decade-long Project, itself only now approaching its full potential. Links to previous chapters of "The Twenty": "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Precis, Introduction, Chapters 1 & 2 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 3, 4, 5 - White Cap Training / Hardcore Muscle / A Brief History of Casey Rockland "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 6 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 7, 8 - Hardcore Training, Part 1 / Tiffany's Talent "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapters 9, 10 - Good for Morale "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 11: Casey Meets the Muscle Squad "The Twenty" Chapter 12, Part 1: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 12: Part 2 Casey vs. Karim Abdul: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match THE TWENTY A Government Issue Adult Cartoon -XXX- Muscle Fantasy By Joey Silverado This book is dedicated to Tiny Yokum – and to all his fans, past, present, and future. Chapter 13: After the Match Casey lay on the wrestling mat, completely spent. His eye was swollen – he’d have a nice shiner tomorrow. His huge, tired muscles gleamed oily red with sweat and scratch and pressure marks from the match. Casey dripped with splotches of oil mixed with muscle cum. Lakes of cum oozed into the oil, painting his raw, vascular physique a creamy, drippy, white, gathering in little lakes in the deep cobblestones of his abs, rolling in thick tides down his lats and onto the mat. “What the fuck?” he asked plaintively. “What kinda place IS this?” He sniffed the air. Cum. Everything smelled of cum. Around and above him the men were zipping up, putting their cocks away, retrieving sweaty, torn clothing. Karim Abdul, the vanquished muscle monster, lay to his left. Enraged, cum-coated, growling. “I’ll get you, kid,” he threatened. He stood, rivulets of cum flowing down from his face onto his massive traps. He started off. He stopped when he got to Blankenship. Blankenship grinned toothily. It didn’t last long. POW!!! Blankenship flew about 20 feet into the air from the force of Abdul’s uppercut punch, his feet never touching the ground. A tooth, suddenly without a home, landed beside him. Out cold. “Where you going, Corporal?” Moster demanded, stuffing his massive, dripping cock back into his pants and zipping up with some difficulty over the bulge. Abdul ignored him, stalking out the room. "Come on, Pedro," he barked to the pretty little kitchen boy, who scampered eagerly after him. “Someone get Blankenship and put him to bed.” Moster sighed, knowing that the muscleman would demand a match of his own the next day. And on it would go, until he was forced once again into public bare-butt spankings to keep them in line. Funny how they’d deck one another but submit meekly to hard paddling on their razor sharp glutes. The men stared a little – though all had seen Moster’s cock before – in fact, all the men had at various points sucked it dry, and had their own faces coated with the steady, unrelenting stream of ropey gism that shot from his deep piss slit. But no one could remember a group scene quite like what had just occurred. Abdul stalked off to the showers, Schumacher and Obatu bent to pick up a groggy, moaning Blankenship. Moster took his clipboard to a desk in the corner of the wrestling room and lowered his rockhard muscle butt into the swivel chair, which sagged and groaned under his mass. Corporal Alvarez and Private Lang, who had called Casey a motherfucker, but somehow managed to make it sound good, turned to check out the new muscle kid last time as they passed through the door back to their quarters, where they planned to fuck butt all night. They knew Moster wouldn’t be paying attention. Not tonight. Casey caught their look, and they nodded briefly at him. Lang gave him a half smile. Then he winked. And then they were both gone. Schumacher didn’t leave right away, though. He handed Blankenship over to LeFevre and stood back, watching like a hawk as the others filed out. Then he walked boldly right up to Casey. He looked up at him. “Sergeant Moster has another little honorary initiation ritual on that I think you may find both interesting and rewarding.” He smiled. “We’d like the opportunity to take you through it tomorrow.” “I - I’ll be honored to be a part of it.” “Yes, you will.” “Get out of here, Schumacher,” said Moster with good-natured gruffness. Schumacher looked blankly at Moster, who hadn’t even looked up from his notes. “And it won’t be tomorrow. It won’t be any time soon.” He looked up. “For Casey, that is. However, I’d be happy to accommodate you at any time.” His hand twitched and Schumacher instinctively shot a hand down to protect his glutes. “Yes, sir.” Schumacher left the lab. “Sorry about that, Casey,” said Moster, as soon as he was gone. “Corporal Schumacher gets a bit riled over anything having to do with Private Tiffany. They all have their quirks. You’ll adjust. Those last two men? They were Private Robert Lang and Corporal Julio Alvarez. Those two specimens were brought into the facility only a year ago. Others have come, but not everyone makes it through, and if they fail, then Zaftig releases them back into the general population. In fact, only 1 in 50 make it as far as you have. Now, drop your posers. It’s time I inspected your penis more closely.” Casey slightly rolled his eyes. “Again, sir?” “I’m not going to say it twice.” Casey nodded, resigned. He understood. It was about his penis, after all. Not his muscles. His dong. His wang. His rod. His cock. His huge motherfucking penis. It was always about his huge motherfucking penis. Moster was watching him steadily, his eyes narrowing. “Is there a problem, cadet?” he asked quietly, after a moment. “No problem, at all, sir.” He slipped his fingers into the elastic band of his torn, micro posing trunks and pulled it out from his body, and slid it down over his quads. Pop….. Smack! His giant penis poured out and slapped down onto his quads just above his knees. Immediately it stiffened slightly. The bell-like cock head bobbed forward once or twice, and the pulsing veins in the shaft began to throb a little more rapidly. Casey was breathing hard now. He was beet red with embarrassment. Moster never stopped looking him in the eye. He strode forward and grabbed hold of his thick penis in his left hand, squeezing the shaft lightly. Casey’s eyes widened in profound surprise. It grew hard in the palm of his hand. His palm glided up and down the warm steely rod 2, 3 times, very slowly. It grew under his hand. “Impressive. How big is this machine of yours?” He stroked it with his fingers. “I see you didn’t cum during the match." He began to rub his heavy hands with practiced movements up and down the boy’s thick shaft. “I – I don’t know, sir.” Casey had begun to sweat. Moster remained cool. “No, I didn’t shoot.” He shuffled from side to side, and his penis slipped out of Moster’s palm. Moster looked up. He took hold of the cock firmly once again. “You seem agitated. You badly need some additional training. Part of what marks this troop is their ability to restrain their emotional responses. And it seems to me your cock is responding emotionally.” Moster continued to stroke Casey’s machine vigorously. “So since we’re going in that general direction, let’s take a few additional measurements. Private Tiffany!” he suddenly called out towards the open corridor door. No response, but Casey made out a figure in the darkened shadows of the corridor. “Private Joe Tiffany. I know you’re out there. Step in here now, Private.” Tiffany appeared in the doorway. The young bodybuilder had removed his t-shirt and stood stripped to the waist. His ripped muscles gleamed in the fluorescent light. He entered the lab and walked bow-legged, a coiled cobra, towards the two musclemen in the center of the room. “Take some additional measurements, Tiffany. You know what I am referring to.” Tiffany smiled. “Yes, sir, I know.” He approached Casey. Looking him squarely in the eyes, he knelt with business-like efficiency before him. When his eyes were level with Casey’s member, he looked squarely at it. “What is the diameter, Private Tiffany?” Moster reached again for the clipboard, all business. Tiffany opened his smiling mouth wide and moved towards Casey’s cock. Casey nearly jumped out of his skin. “What’s he doing?!” “Private Tiffany has an unusual talent. It’s like having perfect pitch. He can take exact measurements with his mouth. He’s never off by more than 1/64th of an inch. Go for it, Private. Enjoy yourself, Casey.” “Flex for me, dude,” cajoled Tiffany sweetly, his mouth hovering just above the head of Casey’s enormous penis. “Come on, man, let’s see those big rocky peaks.” He flicked his tongue out and lightly touched the corona. “Sir…” Casey started to say. “Cadet Rockland, Project Herculaneum soldiers do as they’re told. Private Tiffany will now suck your cock. If you have a problem with this, speak up now. We administer regular oral-stimulation sessions here at Valhalla Labs.” “But ….it’s so gay, sir.” Tiffany snickered. “You’re standing there covered with oil and cum and you’re complaining about this being gay?” Moster stepped forward and spoke evenly. “That’s enough, Tiffany,” Tiffany immediately shut up. Moster turned to Casey. “Muscle is its own sex. Some have posited over the years that sex is bad for bodybuilders. We know better here. Cocksucking is not only pleasurable, it stimulates the psyche. It clears out problems with the prostate. Done regularly and properly it enhances semen production. It sharpens the animal instincts, to say nothing of increasing testosterone production. It also serves to further bond the men.” “You mean everyone sucks dick here.” “Everyone who wants to remain in The Project get their cocks sucked. Not only that, they are expected to suck cocks themselves. Regularly. Is there an issue? Are you frightened?” “No….I…..what if he bites me?” Tiffany gave him a lopsided smile, which he meant to be charming. “I never bite too hard,” he said. “I assure you Private Tiffany knows what he is doing. Proceed, Private.” “Okay…..” said Casey, bewildered. “Let’s see those guns, cadet,” said Tiffany. Slowly, as if hypnotized, Casey raised his arms up into front double biceps. Joe Tiffany smiled like a little boy in a candy store. He flicked a little river of cum that followed a thick vein from the cannonball right biceps to the tri’s. Then he squatted on his handsome haunches. He glanced at the mammoth machine that hung before him, and spoke out of the side of his mouth. “This looks like a real jaw-breaker, sir.” “You’ve worked with mine. It’s far bigger. Get to work,” Sergeant Moster commanded, clipboard ready. “Yes, sir. Anything for the good old USA, sir.” Tiffany fingered his Adam’s apple. “Gotta limber up.” He opened his mouth as wide as he could, yawning it four or five times, retracting his teeth behind his lips. He pressed his palm to his jaw and tilted his head, then raised his hands and gently pried his own mouth open to its fullest expanse. He licked his lips until they dripped with spit. Casey watched him intently, still flexing his biceps. His brain was burning. Tiffany approached Casey’s fully erect manhood, gently guided it up to his mouth, parted his lips slightly, and tenderly extended his tongue to lightly flick the big cock head. Flick. Flick. Flick. Casey blinked. Tiffany ran his tongue along the piss slit and probed a little inside. He looked up again. “What’s your preliminary estimate, Private?” “I’d say it looks to be between 14 and 14 -1/2 inches in length, sir.” “Very good. Girth? “9 inches at least.” “Confirm it, please.” “Yes, sir.” Tiffany leaned in and oh so softly glided his lips smoothly over the head of Casey’s penis. He closed his mouth and gently held firm. He closed his eyes, as if concentrating. Inside his mouth, his tongue methodically caressed the cock head. Casey was blown away. He stared down at the cocky short muscleman whose mouth was now enveloping the head of his penis. No one had ever sucked his cock before, let alone a man, let alone a muscleman. He gulped. Shit, Casey thought. Shit. I’m gonna cum. “Sir, I’m gonna cum, sir!” he blurted out. “Not yet you’re not. No man in my outfit cums in 5 seconds. Control yourself, cadet. Tiffany, what’s your first assessment? How big is this cadet’s cock?” Tiffany, his mouth full of cockhead, tried to respond. He couldn’t. Even he was surprised at the girth of Casey’s member. “MMgghblrb,” he said. “Gaaggg…mmmmhyrpphhhglub……aaaaackk…” “I can’t understand you when you mumble, damn it. Speak plainly, Private.” Tiffany pulled back for a moment, giving the head a final appreciative lick as it popped out of his mouth. “Yes, sir!” He reported, “The corona, I’d say, has a circumference of 10 and 3/8s inches. That sound about right to you, boy?” he asked wickedly. “I…I dunno…” Casey was baffled. What's a corona? Did he mean his cock head? One thing was sure: he was gonna get this guy. He wants to suck my cock, does he? Okay, then. “Now for the shaft.” He smiled again and whispered up to Casey. “This is the fun part,” he said. “Go for it, faggot.” Casey muttered. Tiffany raised an amused eyebrow, then winked at him and plunged forward, his mouth taking in all of Casey’s massive organ. His lips slid easily over the thick shaft, and somehow – by an instinctive rearrangement of tonsils? and a replacement of his soft palate? his mouth glided smoothly down the full length of the erect penis. When he reached the base, once again he stopped. Inside his mouth his tongue stroked the thick, pulsing cock veins. The penis grew stiffer and began to throb insistently inside Tiffany’s mouth. Tiffany sucked Casey’s cock. Back and forth, up and down, tip to base, his lips glided smoothly over the engorged shaft. Threads of thick glistening saliva appeared along the pulsing veins with each plunge. After 10 deep sucks, 5 very appreciative full-length licks, and a little tongue-and-balls-dancing, he pulled back again a moment, and, his eyes dancing merrily up at Casey, he coated the heavy, hairy testicles three or four final times. “Very nice,” he whispered. “Too bad you’ll have to shave these babies.” Okay, thought Casey. Maybe this guy was an asshole, but he was beginning to enjoy this. Something came alive inside him for the first time in his life. Hey, he thought, I really like this. This feels really good. “How do you like it, cadet?” asked Moster, clearly amused. “I like it fine, sir.” Casey managed to get out. “Private Tiffany, resume sucking.” “Yes, sir.” Tiffany went back to work. He sucked deeply five more times, and then pulled back for what he thought was a final time. As Casey’s penis rolled out of his mouth, he wiped his lips with the back of his hand. He turned to Moster, ready to report. “The shaft circumference is unusually thick. I’d put at just over 9 inches. Length of the erect penis, 14 -1/4 inches from base to tip. Weight, maybe 7 pounds, a few ounces? Give or take.” “Your overall assessment?” Casey was staring, excited beyond words, and getting mad as hell. Why had he stopped? This was just getting good. His erect member lobbed back and forth in the air, protesting, next to Tiffany’s left ear, who had turned to face Moster. Tiffany felt the wind of it as it passed, and studied ignored the whooshing sounds. “Definitely a superior organ. I sense he has not used it much in sport yet, aside from masturbating, but I’d also guess he has to masturbate 4 or 5 times a day. Maybe more. There’s a lot of blood pumping here, and it throbs steadily throughout the sucking process. I’d guess this cock hasn’t been sucked very often before, if ever.” “That’s all you know,” said Casey. “Seems unlikely that such a big muscleboy hasn’t found suitable candidates eager to give him regular blowjobs. There’s lots of men out there who like to suck bodybuilder cock. I suppose women, too. Still, Zaftig said this boy is different. All right, then. You’re done for now. Dismissed. Back to your quarters.” “Yes, sir.” Tiffany got up and winked at Casey, wiping his mouth. “See you later,” he said smugly, and sauntered out of the room. Casey stood trembling. “Do you need to shoot, Cadet?” asked Moster, all business. “Yes, sir, I’m afraid I do, sir.” “Get to it, then.” Moster walked casually over to the main table of the lab, put down the clipboard, and surreptitiously picked up a 2-quart beaker. He approached Casey. Casey grabbed his engorged cock with both hands. His body shuddered. He was about to let loose with a mighty blast of gism. Moster was prepared. He strode forward and grabbed Casey’s cock, and in the moment he exploded, he had the beaker ready. He calmly forced the beaker over the cockhead. Casey was stunned, but couldn’t stop his semen from bursting into the jar. “UUUUNNNNGHHH!” he shouted, and his cum flowed heavily out of his shooting dick and began to fill the container with its milky white thick fluid. “UUUUUUUUNNNNNGGGGHHHHHHHHH!! uuunnnggHHHGGHH!!! YEAH! OH GOD YEAH MAN!” As Casey’s huge body shuddered with spurt after spurt, the cum level climbed, half filling the jar. “AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhUNHHH ARRRRGGGGGG hhhhhhhhhhhh hhhhh……” Three minutes later, with a last huge shrug, he was done. As he shuddered to a finish, Moster corked the beaker and held it aloft. He swirled the thick liquid in each and smiled. “Not bad, cadet,” he said calmly. “Close to a pint. Pretty good for a first shot. You’ll do better later.” Casey was meek and baffled and embarrassed. “Thank you, sir,” he said. “Dismissed. We’ll see you at the gym tomorrow at 0700 hours. Get some sleep, Casey. Good night.” He turned and marched out of the room. Casey wiped his dripping dick with the back of his hand. He picked up his clothes and dressed quickly, forcing his still-hard cock into his shorts. But he wasn’t done yet. Not by a long shot. “Shit,” he said. He stood alone in the center of the room, his ripped posing trunks stretched around his ankles, the pole of his mammoth cock weaving out of control in the air. He closed his eyes and scrunched up his face. He was going to shoot again. He grabbed his cock with both hands, and fired towards the ceiling. “UUUUNNNNNGGGGHHHH!” he shouted, and, as ropes of semen began once again to fly into the air, hitting the ceiling, painting the walls, and splashing onto the ground. As his cum shot out of his enormous cock head, he was thinking feverishly. He remembered the cum on Abdul’s handsome Arab face. And he had been accepted into The Nineteen. Would they now be known as The Twenty? Casey knew it to be true. He could now be considered one of the world’s finest bodybuilders, if Project Herculaneum wasn’t so top-secret, and he wasn’t even 20 years old yet. He was powerful. He had a future. He had promised. He was in the elite. The last of his cum geyser shot into the air, arced, and splashed heavily on the sopping marley floor beneath him. His shoulders slumped and he dropped his hands to his sides. So why was he still bothered by something he couldn’t quite figure out? And how come that evil little muscle boy Joe Tiffany looked so familiar to him. Who was he? And why couldn’t he put his finger on it? Casey bent to put what was left of his ripped and shredded posing trunks back on. They barely covered his cock, but he didn’t notice. He waddled to the door of the wrestling room to head back to his quarters for the night. Tomorrow he would move into his new room. He had a lot to think about. He’d have to think about it all.
  23. Previous chapters: "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Precis, Introduction, Chapters 1 & 2 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 3, 4, 5 - White Cap Training / Hardcore Muscle / A Brief History of Casey Rockland "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 6 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 7, 8 - Hardcore Training, Part 1 / Tiffany's Talent "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapters 9, 10 - Good for Morale "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 11: Casey Meets the Muscle Squad "The Twenty" Chapter 12, Part 1: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 12: Part 2 Casey vs. Karim Abdul: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 13: After the Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 14: In Which Casey Discovers He Likes to Get Worshipped "The Twenty" - Chapter 15: Casey's First Interview with Sergeant Moster "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 16 - Hardcore Training Part 2: Casey’s First Herculaneum Workout, and What Happened After "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 17 - The Presentation "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 18 - Inside Zaftig's Lab: The Musclemen Revealed "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 19 - Further Encounters, Part 1 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 20 - Pose and Approve: Further Encounters, Part 2 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 21 - Sam and Casey "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 22 - Field Trips for Worship, Part 1 Precis: Valhalla Labs is a remote mountaintop Northern California military facility, overseen by genius muscle growth scientist Dr. Ira Zaftig and CO Staff Sergeant Rod Moster, a 7'-0" ripped and hung 395-pound black muscle giant. There, 18 extraordinary bodybuilder-soldiers live, train, and play together, overseen by Moster's strict rules and brutal regimen for muscular perfection. Known as Project Herculaneum, the men serve as Dr. Zaftig's lab rats, receiving regular injections of P-21, a specially developed enzyme that facilitates muscle and strength growth in the very few bodybuilders whose systems can withstand it. The goal: to create an army of supermen, whose strength, size, and combat skills are unparalleled in the modern military. Unfortunately for the Project, the soldiers' enhanced strength and dramatically increased muscular size is accompanied by a corresponding increase in priapic size as well, along with a rapidly diminishing sense of social restraint and inhibitions. And along the way, the men's extraordinary physiques prompt their own extreme muscle fantasies into a daily acting-out sexual reality. Into the mix comes young Casey Rockland, a lonely, handsome, super-hung 18-year old bodybuilding giant. Inducted by Dr. Zaftig into the top-secret government muscle strength and growth project, Casey comes to learn the ropes amongst the muscle giants, whose hunger for hardcore training is matched only by their sexual appetites and growing fantasies, including their insatiable appetite to receive muscle worship. Casey's innocence, simplicity, and his ever-growing need to receive equal doses of both love and muscle worship threaten the very core of the decade-long Project, itself only now approaching its full potential. Chapter 9: Good for Morale, Continued Oral was hardly uncommon in the compound. In fact, Moster encouraged it. And Zaftig was fascinated by the men’s hunger for it, though he never took part. Not long after starting a P21 protocol, each man had developed insatiable an insatiable need to suck and be sucked. Cocksucking was therefore more than just a healthy release for the men: it was now mandatory. And though none of them would acknowledge themselves to be 100% gay, part of their acceptance into the program relied on each man’s private original tendencies towards pansexuality, boosted as they were by the behavioral blockers of P21. Over the years, each of the bodybuilders in Project Herculaneum had at one time or another sucked every other bodybuilder’s cock to full release many dozens of times. Often it happened in the showers after training, but sometimes it was after meals, as well. And as all were superlatively endowed with astonishing penises of uncommon weight, size, length, beauty and girth, no one was disappointed. Even Abdul Karim took part, much to the surprise of everyone. Though he never talked about it, even appearing bored, the more observant men noted a gleam in his eye each time he bent to service Gunst. Oral was against the rules on rest days. By the time training days came around again, the musclemen were already laughing, slapping each other on the backs during meals, and smacking their lips in anticipation. Fucking was another matter. All the men had been vaccinated against the virulent STDs that had long ravaged the world, and were now immune to any infection, their antibodies remorselessly attacking any invader. Butt fucking was an art. The soldiers were all equipped with powerful machines, all endowed with superb glutes, and all highly in touch with the pure waves of pleasure broadcast by their sensitive prostates. Good muscle butt fucking was serious stuff. As all the men were huge, heavy, and powerfully strong, it was like heavy lifting crossed with pure animal pleasure: one bull fucking another bull. Vigorously. Group fucks of spirited, high-energy muscle daisy chains were a once-a-month event, seriously organized and generally preserved on video for the records. Wearing full black leather masks in order to remain as anonymous as possible, and with deep black satin robes covering their individually distinctive bodies, the men gathered in the dimmed mess hall and connected their dicks to the next asshole in a line-up deliberately arranged by Moster. Muscle worship was not part of the evening. The point was prostate manipulation and bonding. Still, private fucking was not discouraged. A few of the men had distinct preferences for one another as fuck buddy, even as the cocksucking was group-wide and free-for-all. Of course, Schumacher had been fucking them all for years – except for Karim, of course. Apart from the daisy-chain sessions, no one dared to even approach Killer Karim from the rear - if he valued his teeth, that is. But so far, as far as he knew, no one man in particular had privately fucked Joe Tiffany – apart from the scheduled group daisy-chain fucks, where Moster was careful to make sure that the connections varied from session to session. Schumacher had fucked him just once in a group session, although as always as always he was masked and gowned. He could see through Tiffany’s mask that his eyes were rolling back in his head in pleasure, and Schumacher wasn’t sure Tiffany knew who he was. He knew it was Joe Tiffany’s muscular rear he was fucking, however, sliding up and down his supercharged big cock. That butt was pure, beautiful gold, a magically shaped combination of soft skin and raw, ripped power that was mind-boggling in its balance and tireless in its energy. Tiffany had taken charge of the fucking, as he gave it to the taller muscleman in the chain ahead of him, powerfully blasting forward into the glutes ahead of him, and, in perfect timing, also pumping his animal butt up and down on Schumacher’s cock with furiously blind energy. For his part, Tiffany knew full well whose cock had impaled his perfect butt that night. He didn’t share this information. From that night, he had a plan. Another plan, that is. In reality, all of the men were deeply aware of whose butts they were servicing, and who was manfully plugging his own from behind. The men had spent too many hours together in the rec room, on the workout floor, in classes and in the showers, not to be able to instantly recognize and distinguish each of his buddies. The wearing of the robes was nothing but a farce, but still they conceded, secretly further aroused by the spectacle of the volumes of black fabric draped with alluring mystery over each man’s rippling physique. Still, from that night on, Joe Tiffany knew that Herman Schumacher was just the man to regularly plow his supple, needy, bodybuilder-cupcakes behind. All he had to do was train him just a little bit over the following few months to ensure that he was captive, obedient, and would always be on call whenever Tiffany was of a mind to be mindlessly fucked. In the mean time, at night in his quarters his oversized dildo was getting the workout he bought it to do during one of his rare trips to town. He would energetically shove it deep into his butthole, rear his head back, close his eyes, and dream of Schumacher’s likely powerful thrusts. And, as Moster always said to Dr. Zaftig, who wasn’t entirely comfortable with the ritual behind the group fucks, “They need more sex than ordinary men. A lot more sex. Their metabolisms demand it. Besides – “ And Zaftig would say with him, in unison, “It’s good for morale.” Waring was screaming in Gunst’s face. Steve Waring “Come on, asshole! What’s the matter, pansy ass? Can’t you do it? You’ve only done 12 so far, butthead. What’s the problem, 200 pounds too heavy for you to curl, baby boy?” Gunst’s face was screwed into a mask of lip-curling, teeth-crunching pain as he vainly tried to complete the 13th rep. His biceps were exploding. The veins in his neck stood out like steel cables. His face bloomed deep crimson. He screamed. He couldn’t do it. He strained and squeezed and tried again, and his arms froze mid-rep, unmoving, the biceps bulging with 23 inches of shattering power. Suddenly he threw the weight to the floor, where it crashed resoundingly, echoing throughout the compound. Waring jumped back a little to avoid getting hit by the bar. The other men never stopped work, nor did they look up. Moster strode over to them. “What’s the problem here, Private Gunst?” “I – I couldn’t do it, sir,” said Gunst, backing away and mopping his face with his huge hand. Ashamed, he lowered his head. Fountains of his sweat splashed onto the floor. Moster turned to Waring. “What set was he on?” “Sir, he had completed five sets of 15 reps each, sir.” “Successfully?” “Yes, sir.” Gunst glanced nervously down at Sergeant Moster’s twitching palm. Moster hadn’t punished anyone yet tonight for slacking, and he knew it was about time he’d want to show his authority over the men. He needn’t have worried. Moster smiled kindly. “That’s actually pretty damn good, Private Gunst,” said Sergeant Moster. “Waring, take care of this man, and then let’s see him try again.” “Yes, sir,” said Waring. The young bodybuilder quickly got to his knees, lifted Gunst’s pulsing cock out of his barely restraining jockstrap, brought it tenderly up to his lips, and began to suck it deeply. Gunst closed his eyes and reared his head back thankfully. Immediately his cock was at full erection, throbbing and pulsing in Waring’s mouth. On white cap nights, cocksucking was permitted on the workout floor only if approved by Moster. “Use your lips, Private,” directed Moster, “the way we’ve discussed. You know the way Private Gunst likes it.” Waring nodded eagerly and mouthed the young man’s giant throbbing organ. “Pump your hips, Gunst.” Gunst began manfully plowing Waring’s good-looking, All-American face. “Harder.” Gunst pumped harder, and the satisfying sucking sounds grew louder, adding to the din. Waring thoroughly licked the cock up and down its full length, and rubbed it against the two-day old beard stubble of his cheeks. “Scratchy,” moaned Gunst with pleasure, his eyes closed. He plunged in again. Tiffany nudged his darkly handsome training partner Private Lang, who was just finishing a set of pull-downs. “Check ‘em out,” he murmured, winking and pointing. Lang turned and smiled broadly at the dreamily cocksucking Waring. “Waring always was a good cocksucker,” he said, just a shade too loudly. “You have a problem, Private Lang?” Moster’s voice boomed through the room. Tiffany ducked his head towards the pull down machine. Lang went white. “No, sir,” he stammered. “I think you do. Get over here.” Here it comes, chuckled Gunst to himself, watching the intimidated Lang stumble forward meekly as Waring, below, hungrily sucked his throbbing big cock. “Go get your punishment, man,” whispered a grinning, sweating Corporal Lefevre, punching the shame-faced Lang on the shoulder as he passed. Alvarez watched expressionlessly. “Take it like a man,” he murmured Alvarez as Lang passed him. He flashed a hard look at Tiffany. He knew what he was doing, getting Lang on the hot seat. He’d pay. Later. The hot seat. Indeed. 5’-11”, 280-pound Lang, streamlined with ripped, striated muscle and dripping with sweat, approached Moster and stood at rigid attention before him. He saluted. Sighing, acting as though he were resigned to the inevitable task of discipline before him, the giant Sergeant Moster sat heavily on one of the benches. By now the men were all looking away in a mix of nervousness, embarrassment, eagerness and excitement. Lang stood motionless, staring straight ahead in perfect attention, dreading the humiliation about to befall him. “Was something funny, Lang?” “No, sir.” “You don’t find Private Waring funny?” Lang glanced nervously at Waring, who greedily sucked cock. “No, sir.” “What are the rules, Private?” “We are respectful of the need for regular oral stimulation, sir.” “And why are we?” “It’s good for morale, sir.” “Was your comment good for morale, Lang?” Lang was ashamed. “No, sir.” “No. Let’s get to it, Private.” “Yes, sir.” Lang relaxed his attention, gulped, and quickly slipped out of his sopping t-shirt. He squeezed large droplets of sweat out on the marley surface of the gym floor and tossed it resignedly in the growing puddle. Standing before Moster a little pathetically, he was a muscle giant about to be chastised by an even larger muscle giant. Silently, submissively, he bent over Sergeant Moster’s powerful quads and lay prone on his lap. Moster, his fingers twitching, raised his palm. He paused a moment. “How long has it been, Private?” “Since when, sir?” Through Moster’s sweatsuit Lang could feel the man’s enormous penis, relaxed across the top of the sergeant’s right thigh, press against his abs. “Since I had to discipline you in front of the men, Private?” “About two months, sir.” Moster glanced down appraisingly at the beautiful, trembling glutes that lay gleaming over his knee. He paused, his hand held aloft, inspecting with internal approval. “You were training legs tonight, weren’t you, Private?” he asked. The suspense was killing Lang. “Yes, sir, I was, sir.” “Squatting deep?” “Yes, sir.” “Keeping good form?” “I think so, sir.” “Good, Private. This will supplement your workout tonight. Heat helps muscles grow.” With calloused, powerful palms, his thick fingers spread wide for maximum sting, Sergeant Moster sharply spanked the muscleman’s rocky glutes with carefully applied, deeply resonant butt smacks. Lang twisted and turned on his lap. After a few sharp spanks he cried out. “Sir, it stings, sir!” Tears spouted from his eyes. “Goddamn right it stings.” Moster turned to Gunst, watching from a few feet away with wide eyes, his large cock sliding deeply in and out of Waring’s mouth. “Fuck face, Private,” he commanded. “Yes sir!” shouted Gunst. He placed his hands on the back of Waring’s head and pumped his hips rhythmically as Waring, his mouth full of cock, moaned with deep satisfaction. The rest of the squad was watching. Moster could see all were now getting visibly excited. Their jocks were starting to bulge fearsomely, and two or three massive penis heads had popped out of their restraining pouches. “Get back to work!” Moster commanded, and without hesitation, the men turned back to their weights and began to lift again with renewed zeal. Gunst’s huge body shuddered, and a river of thick cum began spurting out of Waring’s mouth and down his chin. “UUUUNNNNNGGGGHHHHH!” he roared. Waring was moaning deeply as the desperately swallowed the pint of semen pouring down his throat. By the time he was finished shooting his load, Moster was steadily applying the 25th blow to Lang’s shiny red, twitching musclebutt. Moster issued his next order. “See that you finish that set properly, Gunst, or you’re next on the hot seat.” “Yes, sir!” he shouted, stuffing his dripping, still hard cock back into his stained jock as best he could as Waring, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, scrambled to his feet. “Spot me,” Gunst said to Waring, and, grabbing the weight, he peeled off 15 perfect-form, agonizingly correct curls. Waring, doing his best to ignore both his own achingly enlarged cock and the yet looming bulge in Gunst’s jockstrap, and with the splotches of cum still dripping down his face, spotted him with as much concentration as he could muster. “1! 2! 3!” Waring counted the reps, filled with admiration as Gunst’s mountainous biceps exploded with power. As Waring shouted the count, Moster applied another heavy smack for each rep to the quivering, deeply scarlet, muscular bottom of Private Lang, who, over his knees, groaned deeply with a blend of humiliation, excitement and pain. As he spanked, Moster called out loudly to the men. “Attention! Men!” “7! 8! 9! 10!” Spank! The man snapped into attention from wherever they stood around the workout floor. “Tonight you will be meeting our newest recruit in Project Herculaneum.” Spank! Spank! “From this evening on, we will now be known as The Twenty.” Spank! Spank! Spank! The men stood at rigid attention. “Yes, sir!” they shouted. “And remember, men,” said Moster, grinning down at handsome Private Lang stretched over his knees, who had tears in his eyes and whose face was almost – but not quite – as beet red as the handprints on his perfect butt, “being spanked by me is a badge of honor. Never be ashamed when I call you forward to the hot seat have your butts whipped. I do not pay such honorific attentions to anyone outside the squad.” Spank! Spank! “18! 19! 20! 21!” “Yes, sir!” Spank! Spank! Tiffany grinned. He had often spotted the quiet, shy, legendary young muscle giant Casey Rockland in the mess, and heard all about his fearsome physique. He was looking forward to meeting him. He paid no attention to the unwavering, hostile gaze of Corporal Alvarez. Corporal Schumacher strode over to him. He glanced over at Alvarez threateningly, who immediately shifted his gaze and went back to work. “You better watch it. You don’t want to piss off that guy,” he muttered to Tiffany. “Who the fuck cares?” shrugged Tiffany. Thirty feet across the room, Moster continued to apply his stern, masterful spanking to Lang’s squirming, rock-hard musclebutt. Lang’s face was now contorted in an ongoing blissful combination of pain and pleasure, his mouth forming a smiling O….. “…oooooooooo….” Alvarez was watching closely from the corner. Even at more than 40 feet, Tiffany could see the Alvarez’s jock was now poling straight out from his body, strained to the bursting point. “I can’t always cover your ass when you misbehave. These men are my buddies. You’re still new here.” Tiffany smiled cockily. His fresh young musculature glowed with youth and health. He knew that since the last daisy chain that his sunny handsomeness and bad boy intentions had become irresistible to the old horndog Schumacher. It was all going beautifully. “I can take care of myself,” he said. He gestured with his thumb to the blank-faced, completely erect Alvarez, who was by now busy with his next set of deep squats. “Besides, he looks like he doesn’t mind.” The mute Private Meyer was now gleefully bent over before Alvarez, holding his ankles and laughing silently, dancing and twitching that magical butt of his just a few feet in front of the man’s protruding jockstrap. Alvarez had to grin. Then he turned back to the squat bar. “See?” Schumacher grunted. “Yeah, I know you can take care of yourself.” Schumacher moved in close and breathed into Tiffany’s face. “ I want to see you later on.” “You do, hunh?” “Yeah, I do, hunh. After the detail meets Casey Rockland, you come to my quarters. Tonight. That’s an order.” “Finish up, men!” commanded Moster, still spanking the twitching Lang’s bright-red glutes. Spank! “Ouch!” Lang cried. “You’re not my CO.” Tiffany lifted a bar off a squat rack and began doing slow military presses. He smiled indifferently at Schumacher and said no more. Schumacher grunted angrily and moved to the cable rack, where he finished off his chest workout with a final set of intense cable flyes. He now had Corporal Herman Schumacher wrapped around his little finger, and he knew it. He wrapped up his set of presses, now purposefully ignoring him, and grabbed his towel. He wiped himself off and smiled beatifically across at Moster. Moster, never pausing in his discipline of Lang, was amused. He winked at Tiffany. He knew he’d get the Private’s butt to himself – in time – but he generously allowed that Schumacher would get to it first. And that was part of his plan. Casey Rockland was the other part. The workout was finally over. “To the showers, men,” Moster called out. The men collected their workout bags and empty water jugs, and filed eagerly off the floor, clambering over one another like puppies, heading towards their no-holds barred shower room games. Even the normally disgruntled Karim had a special light in his eyes. He was looking forward to Gunst’s piss. As they raced out, Moster looked down at Lang, still stretched pitiably over his knee. “How many was that, Private?” he asked calmly. “59, sir.” “Good. I assume you enjoyed it?” “Yes, sir,” he said with meek truthfulness. “Actually, I loved it.” “Then here’s one more for good luck.” He raised his black hand and applied the last, 60th searing red-hot butt smack. WHACK! “Ow! That was good, sir!” Lang scrambled to his feet, saluted, and tenderly rubbing the scarlet handprints on his delectable bodybuilder butt. “May I join the others now?” “Off with you.” “Thank you, sir!” Lang scooped up his discarded clothes and plastic bottle with one hand, flinging his gear over his broad shoulders, standing still for a moment pouring what was left of the cool water over his shoulder onto his stinging glutes. He grinned at Moster. "Thank you again, sir, for the discipline. My butt needed it." Moster waved him off. Then, kneading his iron-hard, hand-print reddened butt cheeks with the fingers of both hands, the handsome private scampered happily, if somewhat bow-leggedly, away to join his sweaty, horny muscle buddies in the locker room. Chapter 10: The Showers Inside, they had already slipped out of their drenched t-shirts, boots and jockstraps, slipped on striped flipflops, and had headed quickly to the showers, and down to extreme business. Lang was eager to rejoin the men. After all, there was just enough time for one more round of group cocksucking, butt fucking, and stress-reducing water sports before they all had to gather in the lab upstairs to meet the new recruit. Naked in the steamy group shower, he found his way to his muscle buddy Alvarez. He fell to his knees as Alvarez turned, strode forward to meet him, flexed his mammoth biceps, and shoved his meaty erect cock into Lang’s gratefully receiving mouth. Behind Lang, Private Gunst thoughtfully soothed his stinging, reddened glutes with a powerful jet stream coating of clear, clean piss. His mouth full of cock, Lang nodded gratefully up at Gunst, who returned his nod with a “Hey, it’s okay.” Lang arched his butt to receive the coating of piss all the better. He glanced over at Schumacher, who was now violently plowing Tiffany’s wide-open mouth with his own swollen firehose man meat. Schumacher hadn’t said a word. He had walked directly up to Tiffany, who swiftly went to his knees and carefully guided his lips over the shaft of the Corporal’s 11-inch penis. Schumacher was facefucking him as mercilessly as he could manage, but the young Private seemed serenely in control. As usual, he never gagged. Which made Corporal Herman Schumacher plow harder and deeper. Which prompted a satisfied smile on Tiffany’s calm, appreciative lips as he sucked with cool detachment the muscle daddy Schumacher’s violently throat-pounding large cock. After Gunst finished painting Lang’s glutes with thoughtfully applied streams of hot piss, he turned to Waring, fondled the handsome young muscleman’s leathery testicles, got down on his knees and allowed him to glide his own achingly engorged member down his eager throat. “MMMMmmmmm, it’s good!” he moaned, satisfied. “Even big boys like to suck cock,” he winked up at Waring. He smacked his lips. “If it’s big enough.” “Is mine big enough?” asked Waring as he rubbed his scalp in the streaming hot shower. “Yup,” answered Gunst, dipping in for another full-throated suck. “Sure is.” All the other musclemen were similarly at work, soaping up, sucking cock, washing armpits, lathering crotches, laughing, shouting, grunting, flexing their muscles, getting their oversized cocks sucked, or with their faces buried deeply in their buddies’ spectacular glutes. In the center of the shower, Corporal Alvarez and Private Lang were going through “Pose and Approve.” Alvarez was gliding through his finest posing routine, while below him and kneeling on the tile floor Lang licked and sucked his huge, stiff cock with hungry appreciation. “Front double bi’s,” said Alvarez. “Pow.” Meyer was dead center in the large shower room, standing on one hand on the tile floor, holding his powerful body aloft, his legs spread wide, one fist supporting his full bodyweight. He arched his butt high and smiled happily as, through the steam and roar of the water, one after another of his training buddies bent over and applied luscious, deep licks into his succulent butthole. He grinned, pumping his stiff cock with his free hand as they licked, kissed, and smacked his firm buttcheeks. Jin and Washington were now each chewing ferociously on Bogarde’s perfect, brown nipples. He roared with pleasure, and pumped himself into a mighty front lat spread. Straps of pec muscle bloomed powerfully. He turned from side to side, proudly thrusting forward each pec. His buddies chewed, licked and bit. Meanwhile, the handsome Blankenship, who had a preference for big black cock, was fiercely lathering up Washington’s enormous pole. He covered it waves of soapsuds, pumping it up and down as it rose to full girth. He glanced up at Washington, now biting Bogarde’s nipples. “Yeah, you got one big black motherfucker muscle cock!” he shouted. “You like big black cock?” roared Washington, waggling it in Blankenship’s face. “Love it!” he shouted, and washing the soap off, took it all in his mouth. “Watch him suck my cock!” Washington whooped. Obatu, soaping his armpits, laughed. He strode over to the group. “Room for another brother?” he asked, and without waiting for an answer, shoved his meat into Blankenship’s face. Blankenship smiled rapturously, and as Obatu continued to soap up, he took his cock into his mouth as well. “Most muscular,” said Obatu. “Pow. Check out dis crab.” Black veins exploded. His fists pumped together. He pushed his hips forward. His cock surged straight ahead. The two black cocks plunged in and out of Blankenship’s mouth, his tongue tracing over their shiny thick veins. The enormous Washington, the biggest man of the group of five, put his arms around Bogarde’s and Obatu’s shoulders, while on the tile beneath them Blankenship moved from cock to swaying cock, from Washington to Bogarde to Jin to Obatu and back to Washington again. Surrounded by the bodybuilders’ cocks, Blankenship sucked each erect penis deeply. He gazed at the network of veins that criss-crossed the hip muscles of each of his buddies. Their huge cocks were like jewels set in the finest of settings: lean, fat-free muscles. When he got to the handsome Asian Private Jin, he marveled once again about how a Chink could have such a huge dick. He sucked it lovingly as the other men stood closely above him, their cocks looming in his face, dripping with water and pre-cum, awaiting their turn. When he finished with Jin, he moved on to Bogarde, whose nipples were being avidly chewed with care above him by Jin and Washington. Bogarde’s cock was, of course, in great need of immediate service. No problem. It was, after all, a world of huge, looming bodybuilder cocks. And Blankenship’s favorite sport – after bodybuilding – was cocksucking Next to him knelt the dimwit Hension, his handsome face now buried deeply into the posing Corporal Alvarez’s glutes. Lang was now on his feet and posing with him, as the dark Arab Corporal Karim, behind him, licked and kissed his mighty ass as well. He caught Hension’s eyes, and, in unison, the two men buried their faces into the posing partners’ glutes. “Hey, careful, there,” said Lang. His butt still stung, and Moster’s handprints were still glowing bright red on his taut asscheeks. “Sorry, man,” said Karim. He gently licked the red hand welts, and could taste Gunst’s piss. He knew the man’s special sweet taste. Gunst had often pissed deeply into his mouth. Chad and LeFevre, soaping up themselves, moved over to Hension, whose beautiful face was deeply buried in Alvarez’s butt. “Hey, McIntyre,” called Chad, “get over here and take over for Hension!” “Don’t bother me,” said Hension. “Sure thing,” answered McIntyre, licking Meyer’s butthole. “Be there in a sec!” “What are you doing, guys?” asked Hension plaintively as Chad and LeFevre lifted him bodily from Alvarez’s glutes, carrying him into a corner of the shower. Alvarez stopped posing for a minute and looked back at them. “Hey, where you taking him?” he asked. Lang looked up. “To the rescue,” said McIntyre, now on his knees and pressing his face into Alvarez’s butt. “Oh, okay.” Alvarez turned back to Lang and continued posing. Karim had never stopped licking Lang’s ass. Chad and LeFevre were now sharing Hension’s pretty tool. “Figure you have it coming,” said LeFevre,” licking away the last remnants of the chili powder. “You guys,” said Hension, and began to wash his hair as the men cleaned his cock with their tongues and lips. Moster leaned in at the shower door. “Good work tonight, men.” He turned and headed toward the locker room door. “Thank you, sir!” the men shouted after him. Moster called back to them as he left the locker room. “No fucking tonight. No time.” “Shit!” Moans of general disappointment. “Sorry. Expect you all upstairs in the lab in 10 minutes.” “Yes, sir!” Once again, in unison. On the workout floor, alone and silent as always, the meek Dr. Irving slipped back into the room and to shut down the lights for the night. From the locker room, he could hear the splashing of the showers and the groans, moans, roars, whoops and shouts of the satisfied men as they each let loose volleys of thick, spurting cum high into the steaming air, arcing and splashing onto each other’s superbly muscled bodies. Thick cascades of semen plopped onto the tile and began flowing slowly past the men’s browned feet towards the shower’s drains. Irving walked over to the garbage pail. He glanced inside. Yep. There they were. He could see them in the half-light. He reached in amidst the wet rags of paper and extracted 18 empty aluminum capsule wrappers. Moster had probably ordered the enhancements from Zaftig particularly for tonight’s workout. He knew that by now each bodybuilder probably had already cum three or four times. By 2150 hours, they would all, to a man, be drained. Except, of course, for Sergeant Moster. He picked up the receiver of the staff phone on the wall, and pushed a button. “Facilities,” he requested. In the distance now, the men were all roaring as one. No doubt they were all spurting in unison by now. Pints and quarts of cum. “Facilities? Yeah. Irving. Right. Better put the plumber on notice. The shower drains in the main workout locker room will be clogged again tonight. They need to be cleared by 1800 hours tomorrow.” He hung up without bothering to listen to the response, turned, and walked out of the room. In the showers, the roaring was dying down to satisfied explosions of breath and more laughs, whoops and hollers. The water was turned off, and locker doors began to open. The room grew quiet as the men dressed, all thoughtful now. All thinking about the new recruit they were about to meet. Casey Rockland. In the showers, thick rivulets of cum dripped from the ceiling, walls, spigots and faucet handles, clogging the drains. It cost Zaftig thousands each month to simply to maintain the system’s burgeoning septic tanks. “It’s just one more thing I didn’t really plan for,” he would sigh to Moster, who would nod, straight-faced. "It's always something," Moster would reply, absently scratching his bulge.
  24. "Je vous laisse, mon ami!" "WHAT!, after everything we have we went through together Pierre? I don’t understand what you want me to do. I was going to propose to you at Christmas. You are going to just give up on us without a second thought? I don’t even care that you slept with Gustav, you mean so much to me." “Winston, I just can’t get past the fact that you look…..uhhhh so…..small. I want to be with a partner that can not only make me happy on the inside, but also looks great on the outside.” “I do workout Pierre, you know this. You used to complement me so much on my athletic physique. What happened?” “Gustav est passé mon ami. He fulfills my insatiable desire for muscle. If you were just……uhhhh…..how do you say……bigger, I would be much more satisfied.” Winston continues to look at Pierre dumbfounded and wonders why he would be thinking this way since they seemed to be so happy. Before he can get another word out though, Pierre waves goodbye to him and turns around to get into his car. The stunned thinner young man stands in silence as his eyes well up with tears. They stream down his face as he watches his former lover drive down the road and beyond the mountain outside the city in the distance. To take Pierre off his mind, he walks a few thousand feet down the sidewalk before he stumbles upon a park that is located just on the edge of the city. He enters the passageway and notices an impressively built water fountain about a quarter mile ahead from where he is standing and walks towards it. Halfway there, he can hear several clanging sounds as the sky rains with piles of shiny gold coins. When he leans down to examine some of them, several pelt him in the head and knock him down unconscious. He awakens several minutes later and realizes that the entire path to the water fountain is made of these coins. He hears a voice in the background and wonders if it is his imagination. He speaks loudly. “Hello? Who are you?” There is no answer. He takes a few more steps and notices that some of the coins are loose on the ground and can be picked up. After examining a handful of them, one of them glows a bright green color which immediately catches his eye. He grins as he drops the rest of them and continues to stare at it. The voice returns again which makes him snap out of his trance. “What the? WHO ARE YOU!?” The voice laughs before saying, “Lad, I think you know what you are supposed to do with that lucky coin, am I right?” He looks at it again and then walks the rest of the path to stand directly in front of the fountain. He closes his eyes before flipping it up into the air. As he does this, time slows to a crawl as he watches in amazement when the coin hits the water at half the speed. The splash is so intense that it forms a tidal wave and lands directly on top of him. He yells in fright as it drowns him before draining into the ground. As he comes to again, he looks up and sees a rainbow appear from just over the mountain as it ends directly in front of the fountain just a few feet away from him. A strange looking machine follows it down as it stops at the bottom. A small muscular man dressed in a green outfit with a black belt and a color coordinated hat jumps down and immediately walks over to punch him in the right leg. “OW! What the fuck man? Damn, you are a strong little man. And kind of…..” The small man stops him before he can get another thought out. “Don’t say it mate, I know what you are thinking. You think I am attractive because I have these muscles.” *he points to his biceps and flexes them as they stretch the fabric on his jacket* “Now, I want you to come with me back to my home world Winston so we can get this moving along.” Winston looks thoroughly confused and has no idea what he is talking about as he looks down at him. “Huh? What? I don’t know what you are talking about little man? What did I do?” The little man punches him in the crotch and shakes his head in disbelief as he stands there with his hands on his hips. “Lad, why do you have to be so naïve. You made a wish when you threw that coin into this here fountain behind me. I am here to help you fulfill that wish, but you have to come with me to complete a quest in order for it to come true.” Winston looks on in a stupor as the little man physically picks him and slams him onto the machine he rode on. He gets in on the other side of it as it begins to move. The shocked human has trouble getting any words out as he attempts to comprehend how a man that probably weighs about 50 pounds could carry a guy that is three times his body weight without any resistance whatsoever. “Shhh…..don’t even say anything mate. Let me introduce myself, I am Padraig, leader of the Emerald guild. In case you haven’t noticed, we be muscled LOL.” *he flexes again as the machine moves up the rainbow towards the mountain* “But seriously Winston, you said in your mind as you threw that coin that you wished to become the man that Pierre wanted you to be. This is your chance to show him that you indeed can and will.” Once they get to the other side of the rainbow and over the mountain, Padraig and Winston get off the machine and start walking towards the village located just to their right. The surprised human stops for a few seconds as the little man turns to look up at him. He puts his big right hand on his forehead and sighs before he speaks again. “Winston, I know that this is all a bit of a shock to you, but there is only a small amount of time to complete your quest. Before you begin however, I want you to meet your guide through your adventure.” As they walk through the village, another little muscular man approaches them and stops just far enough away to where he catches the eye of the much taller human. Paddy stops him in his tracks and stands next to Winston before he starts to smile knowing what he must be thinking. He then walks over to the other little man and puts his hand on his beefy shoulder. “Aye there Ioan, glad you could come and participate in the quest that has been selected for you. This here is Winston, he made a wish in the fountain on Earth and is now here to fulfill his destiny.” The remarkably good-looking small man looks up at him and makes a few gestures like he wants Winston to pick him up. When the surprised human attempts to do so, he figures out that the man is a lot heavier than he looks. After a few more failed attempts, Paddy intervenes and leads them both over to a table so they can talk briefly. “Ioan will be with you through this quest Winston. Actually, he will be a part of the quest as well. His fate will be in your hands as a result of a set of questions that will be asked as you make your way through the tundra that is just beyond the gates of this village.” Paddy points in the direction of the tundra and leans over the table to whisper something into Ioan’s ear. The little man looks a tad bit concerned as he turns to look up at Winston and then looks at Padraig again. The elder muscleman gives him a look that suggests that he must go through with whatever he told him or else there will be consequences. After about twenty seconds, Ioan gets up from the table and walks towards the gates before opening them and disappearing into the landscape. Winston is a bit confused as to what just occurred and wonders what this will entail. “I don’t understand what this man has to do with me, but for some reason I feel like I have some connection to him. Is this partly because of the quest that I have to complete with him?” Paddy smiles before he gets up from the table and motions for Winston to do the same. He then leads the human over to the gates and walks through them. They stop after a few hundred feet of entering the tundra before the little man stops. He turns to look up at Winston once more. “Okay lad, this is where I must leave you so you can fulfill your destiny. The tundra will be jarring at first, but once you reach the crossroads, you will know what to do next.” A large sack appears in front of Winston which surprises him. “Take that with you laddy, it has enough supplies in it to sustain you for however long you are here. I wish you luck and I will see you soon.” The little muscleman turns to walk back through the gates as they close behind him and he vanishes. After pausing for a few seconds after picking up the velvet bag, Winston immediately starts walking again across the barren wasteland. The cooler temperatures make him stop after trekking for a few minutes as he opens the bag up and pulls out a heavy coat from within. He briefly wonders how this could be inside of it but figures that it is some kind of magic and continues to walk ahead. For what seems like hours, Winston eventually reaches the area that Padraig spoke of. A huge cave appears from out of nowhere which briefly concerns him. He goes inside and manages to find enough kindling in his bag to make a fire. He then makes a bed out of some fabric and goes to sleep for the night as the sun disappears behind the mountain that is just above the village in the distance. When he awakens the next morning, he is greeted by the small man he saw leave from back in the village. He is not wearing a top as his hairy muscular chest is just inches away from Winston’s face. The muscular man’s deep masculine voice stuns the much taller human as he sits up. “Good morning sir, I wondered if you might find this place. I am supposed to ask you a question which has two possible answers. Whichever answer you choose will decide what happens next.” He helps Winston up from the ground so he can look up at him as he talks. The man’s nicely groomed reddish brown beard and green eyes are not what he was expecting to see when he woke up for the day, but is pleasantly surprised. They take a few steps outside the cave and turn back around to look at it. Ioan proceeds to ask Winston the question. “Which one of your parents do you miss the most Winston? This question must be answered truthfully or your quest will end here.” Winston is stunned by the question right off the bat and puts his arms above his head. He had no idea that this would even come up and immediately looks down at Ioan. “WHAT!? What kind of question is that? What does this have to do with my wish at the fountain? Did Padraig tell you to ask me this question?” Ioan puts his hand out as Winston takes his hands off his head to hold the little man’s. He looks up at the human and has a relatively neutral look on his face. “This is just part of the process Winston and I am sorry. I was summoned to be your guide and I have been put in charge of the questions that have to be asked. This actually does pertain to your wish indirectly and is meant to help you cope with what happened to you in the past.” After a moment of self-reflection, it dawns on Winston that he is going to be asked three questions that will pertain to his past, what is happening in the present, and what may or may not happen in the future to him. He grips Ioan’s hand as hard as the little man is now gripping his. “I…..I can’t go back Ioan. They both meant so much to me. I mean…..why?” Ioan walks forward, still holding Winston’s hand, and pulls him further into the cave with him. After taking about fifty steps down into the dark corridor, it changes into two emergency room doors. They stop just a few feet in front of them as Ioan looks up to talk to Winston again. “This is where you must answer the question Winston. Your parents are both here. Talk to them face-to-face one last time. This will help you move on since this has been lurking in your mind for a great deal of time. I will wait in the lobby for when you return so that we can move on to the next question. You will be fine mate, I promise.” Ioan lets go of Winston’s hand as they enter into the waiting area of the hospital. The little hairy muscleman stands there as numerous medical personnel move around him not noticing either one of them are even there. The scared taller young man tries not to lose his composure as he takes a deep breath and walks down the hospital corridor towards one of the recovery rooms on the right. He stops walking when he glances inside one of the rooms and sees both his father and mother lying in beds side by side hooked up to machines. He slowly enters the room and walks between them to turn back and forth to look at them with heavy eyes. He can’t get any words out as he gets on his knees beside his mother to hold her hand and lightly weep. She moves her hand as she turns to look at him. “Winston…..I am so glad that you made it here. Ronnie and I didn’t know if you would get here in time or not…..I can’t seem to remember much…..I just wanted to let you know how much I love you and that I will always be in your heart. I also wanted to tell you that I am fine with who you are so don’t worry about it anymore, okay?” Winston tries to keep from crying but can’t hold back the tears that are welling up. They stream down his face as his mother begins to struggle with her breathing. Before he can say anything to her, she loses consciousness and flat lines. His father Ronnie starts to grunt behind him as he tries to get up to see if his wife is okay or not. Multiple nurses come flooding into the room as they try to restrain him as others try to revive her. Winston’s dad is finally put in restraints as the incredibly muscular middle-aged man winces feeling his body hurting from the catastrophic injuries he sustained in the car accident. The extremely sad young man quickly moves over to the other side of his father’s bed where there is no medical personnel and grasps his dad’s bloodied hand. He is amazed that he never noticed how powerful his dad was before as he looks at all the huge veins cascade from his forearms all the way up his arms and directly into his father’s head. Ronnie looks over at his son and is very distraught. He squeezes Winston’s hand tightly as he pulls him in to hug him. The stunned young man bawls as his dad holds him against his chest. After a few seconds, he lets go of Winston and the sad young man gets down on his knees again to talk to his father. Ronnie tenses his muscles a few times since the pain is so excruciating and looks at his son’s eyes before he speaks. “Look at you Win, you have really grown up since I last saw you. It seems like yesterday that you were just barely walking…..actually it has been that long hasn’t it?” Ronnie pauses for a few moments before he reaches over to grab Winston’s arm to squeeze it. “I am a bit surprised though that you haven’t started growing muscles like your old man here. I want you to be big and strong so you can handle things in case you need to protect yourself or possibly the love of your life perhaps.” He tenses his chest and arms again to show Winston that he stayed in shape all the way up to the accident. He then smiles at him before he speaks again. “I may not have ever heard that you were gay son, but just know that I am okay with it. I’m not sure how your mother would feel about it, but I love you more than you will ever know.” He puts his arms out again to embrace his son and pulls him in to hold him one last time. The power radiating from him dissipates as Winston feels his dad fading away as the machines beep before he flat lines as well. The nurses that were trying to revive his mother move over to Ronnie and begin doing CPR on him as they push Winston out of the way. The young man falls onto the ground and yells in agony as he witnesses both of his parents die in front of him. After a few seconds he feels a small hand move up against his shoulder. He looks up and sees that it is Ioan who joins him on the floor to comfort him. “I didn’t say it would be easy mate, but you were here to see them one last time. I know it hurts a lot, but this will help you heal. *gets up and reaches his hand out to pull Winston up off the ground* Come on, it is time to move on to the next question. We will have to leave this place first though.” Winston stops sobbing and leaves the room only to turn back around to look in at them one last time. Ioan grasps his hand and starts pulling him away towards the front of the ER lobby. They walk through the doors as it vanishes behind them. The young man turns and is stunned by what just happened. Ioan takes him back to where he was staying at in the cave and has him sit down. “Rest for a few minutes Winston and eat something. This was a difficult situation I know. Think on it if you need to and I will return to go to the next question.” Winston spends a few minutes sitting there before he gets up to find Ioan standing just outside the cave. The little muscleman is quite surprised that he is already there. “Wow, are you sure you want to move on so quickly. This next question is going to be a bit tough as well. Why do you think your boyfriend left you? This question must be answered with a truthful answer or your quest ends here.” Winston thinks that he knows the answer to this question but before he says a word, Ioan shakes his head no. “Hold on Winston. I don’t think that you were told the whole story from Pierre. It is time to go back into the cave again and find out what the answer is okay?” The two men walk back in and proceed down the cave corridor again. They stop moving forward when a balcony appears in front of them with a beautiful lake in the background. There are numerous boats on the lake and it appears that there is some party going on. Winston seems a bit confused by the whole scenario before he hears Pierre’s voice off to the side. It sounds like he is moaning quite loudly and is having sex with someone. He then hears multiple voices and rushes onto the balcony before going into a side door into what he thinks is a beach house. Ioan stands outside and looks on as Winston finds Pierre sandwiched between three heavily muscled men. His ex-boyfriend is being fucked by one of them as the two others take turns fucking his mouth with their huge rods. None of them are Gustav though since Winston would recognize him immediately. His blood pressure rises as he confronts his ex. “WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS PIERRE!? You told me you were with Gustav, why would you lie to me?” Pierre immediately shoves the guy that is inside him off and jumps to his feet. He is completely soaked in sweat as he tries to compose himself. The three muscle monsters begin to move towards Winston, but Pierre tells them to stop. “Oh mon gawd mon ami! What are you doing here? I didn’t expect you to show up so soon after we broke up. Gustav? Uhhh…..well I was going to go see him after taking a few days off, you know? *seems really confused* Uhhhh, how did you find this place? I don’t think we ever came here when we were dating did we?” The three musclemen move down to the lake and find an open area to lie on the ground. Pierre notices that they are going there without him as he tries to move past Winston. The angry American grabs his French lover on the arm and grips it tightly. “I want answers Pierre, what are you doing with these guys? Were you doing this shit when we were together?” The athletic Frenchman pauses for a few seconds and sighs. “Winston, I have needs. I need to satisfy these needs by going all in with it. Originally, it was just one, but it has grown quite a bit since then and now I have three awesome sluts that make me feel alive. *pulls Winston’s hand off his arm* Maintenant, si vous pouvez me excuser mon ami, I need to go join my friends so we can finish what we started when you got here.” The nude Frenchman rushes out the side door and down to the lakeshore as the three huge hulks begin to mess around with each other again. Winston walks out slowly and looks over the balcony as he watches his ex-boyfriend get ravaged by each one of them as he yells in ecstasy feeling his body getting thrashed by each one of them. Ioan climbs up onto the bannister of the balcony and sits beside where Winston has decided to wait for him. The irritated human looks over and shakes his head. “How the hell did I not know about this Ioan? This isn’t the guy I knew. He never once let on that he was into this kind of thing.” Ioan reaches over and pats him on the back. “Mate, these kinds of things happen more than you realize. What he is doing with those men right now is a fantasy for quite a few muscle lovers. Of course, not every man is as reckless as he is.” The little man points down at the orgy as Pierre yells in French as one of the men pumps him full of cum. The two others pump their cocks as the Frenchman licks the precum off both of them. They both grunt as they shoot two massive rivers of cum all over his face and chest. He takes turns gobbling down the huge poles as they continue to spurt into his mouth. His appetite for their muscular bodies is so great that he makes himself cum without ever touching his cock. The volcano splashes all over his chest and legs as one of the men grabs a hold of his rod and grips it tightly. When he lets go, his cock continues to shoot huge ropes all over himself. At this point, Winston is quite disgusted and gets down off the bannister and turns to leave. Ioan follows behind as they walk back through the cave as the beach house disappears behind them. The young man sits down again and puts his head in his hands. Ioan stands above him to speak. “That was supposed to be tough mate. This was meant to show you that he is not who you thought he was.” “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Our last conversation was about me being muscular. He said I wasn’t his type. Do you know if he is really dating Gustav or not?” Ioan grins and shakes his head yes. Winston is stunned that he is actually with him and wonders if he should ever tell him about Pierre’s secret. The little man doesn’t offer much of an answer to that thought. “When you are ready Winston, we can move on to the last question.” The story will conclude next week. Check out a previous installment in this series: Rainbow: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/2429-the-little-man-and-the-rainbow/
  25. Ragnar12231

    Packmates part 5

    Part 1: http://muscle-growth.org/topic/3688-packmates-werewolf-muscle-growth-part-1/ Part 2: http://muscle-growth.org/topic/3689-packmates-part-2/ Part 3: http://muscle-growth.org/topic/3691-packmates-part-3/ Part 4: http://muscle-growth.org/topic/4032-packmates-part-4/ At 3 o'clock the next morning I still hadn't gotten to sleep. Snow, Bruak, Ragnar and Logan were all laying with me but they'd managed to nod off. I couldn't shake what had happened out of my head, I was in a war. Suddenly there was a knock on the door before it was opened and closed loudly. Ragnar didn't wake but Snow and I did so we went to investigate. "Help us please!" cried a croaky African voice as we got to the main hallway and found two men stumbling down it. One was bleeding all over the place and the over was dragging him. Immediately I rushed over and began to help him, using the healing magic Miranda had taught me as Snow dashed off to find her. The wound was very deep, he'd almost been cut in half and he was losing a lot of blood. I ripped off my shirt and began to wrap the wound I then instructed everyone who had gathered to do the same. I was hoping to staunch the bleeding and buy the guy some time whilst we waited for Miranda. He was breathing but very weakly and I didn't know if he would make it. "Please, you have to save him... I-I don't want-" "It'll be okay" I assured. "Out of the way Layton, I'll take it from here!" cried Miramda as she sprinted down the corridor holding some kind of crystal in here hand. I immediately backed away and allowed her to approach just as Asad appeared. "Winston! Arthur?" he called as he broke through the circle of on-lookers. The uninjured man immediately grabbed him in a hug and began to shake slightly. "It'll be okay Winston" he said softly as tears began to brim in his eyes as he saw Arthur's wounds. An hour later I was sitting in the kitchen making tea for Asad and Winston - who had finally stopped crying. I couldn't think of anything to say, from what little we got from Winston we found out that their entire werelion Pack had been killed, the Mutts had managed to blow up their car just as they were leaving the airport. The only reason Winston and Arty had managed to escape was because they'd been shoved out of the way by their Alpha. We still didn't know how Arty had been injured because Winston had been too upset to say. We sat in silence for awhile before Ragnar eventually came. He hugged us all tightly and took Asad away, leaving me with Winston. I managed to convince him to get some sleep, so I took him to the American's section and spent the night with him and two men called Chad and Chuck who had offered us their bed. There was a very somber mood the next morning, after our run we found out that Arthur had survived the night, but there had been no word from the werelions and they were presumed to be dead. We went about our business as usual, training and eating but when the evening came everyone's spirits were so low that we barely ate. Seeing how down everyone was Ragnar got us all to get changed into something comfy and return to the main hall. When we got there there were sofas and comfortable seats for everyone, blankets, food and a warm fire. "We've all been pretty shaken by the news of the loss of our brethren. I want us all to be together at this time, to comfort each other and prepare for what is to come" said Ragnar as he walked towards us. We all moved into the hall and began to fill up the space, we shared seats with each other, lay down together and began to talk. Everyone let out their anxieties and their grief, our thoughts of what might happen and what we hoped we would achieve. After and hour or so there was a knock at the door and Arthur entered the room. He was in a wheelchair and Miranda was pushing him, he didn't seem to be in any pain but his wound still hadn't completely healed. A green salve had been rubbed all over it and was now drying, it smelled pretty awful but no-one cared as we all gathered around him to greet him, Winston had immediately ran over and had kissed him before taking control of the wheelchair from Miranda. Ragnar then led the two of them over to where he was sitting and gave them space besides him "I'm glad you're okay Arty" he said softly as he put his hand on his shoulder and kissed him on the head. Arty just nodded, he hadn't said a word since the accident but Miranda had said it was just due to the shock of almost being cut in half. That night I don't know if I ever saw Asad. After losing his Pack he had become reclusive and kept to himself, Winston and Arty handled the news better because they had each other but we still didn't know what we were going to do with the last three werelions in existence... That night as I lie awake, surrounded by my slumbering pack I decided to do something useful with my sleeplessness. I used my short ranged teleport spell to hop between the sleeping wolves towards the exit and then through the door. I didn't hear anyone stir so I assumed I'd gotten away unnoticed. I went to the library - which had thankfully remained at a normal size - so that I could study. I found a book about werewolf anatomy and began to read, perched in the cushioned window alcove with a warm fur blanket wrapped around myself. I was studying werewolves as I wanted to know exactly what I was becoming. As I neared the end of the book I heard footsteps approaching. My childish instincts kicked in and I turned off my reading light and pulled the curtains over the window before teleporting to the small space behind one of the armchairs. I didn't feel scared, in fact I felt excited as I caught a glimpse of feet. I hadn't been noticed yet and the urge to leap out at the visitor was becoming stronger. They approached a bookshelf near me and scanned one of the rows before plucking a book out and promptly leaving. I knew it had come from the advanced magic section so I was curious as to who else had decided to stay up for a late night study session. I followed them silently along the corridors, using what I'd learned from living with Ragnar to sneak around. They turned into one of the living rooms in the American wing. Knowing that it'd be empty I decided to go into the room next to it as I could hear voices as they entered. Pressing my ear against the wall and attempting to use some of my werewolf characteristics that I had obtained from my first bite I listened in to their conversation. "He doesn't know yet, only the circle do. The ritual should go off without a hitch but he might not like the results and if he does then we're going to have to deal with an angry Demi-God whenever something bad happens" said one of the voices. I quickly processed what they were talking about and realised that it was me. "Well I'd prefer it if Hircine just took over. Layton's just weak" spat one of them. "Hmmph of all the people Ragnar has to choose from it makes you wonder why he chose him, a light breeze'd probably push him over and we're meant to bend over and submit to him in the middle of a war? We need strong leaders not some stuck up Oxford brat who probably can't even lift a sword." muttered another. "Well he's still human... If he were to accidentally fall... No maybe that's going too far" said a more familiar voice. I didn't listen to anymore, I could feel the sting of tears in my eyes and I didn't want to risk getting caught so I put the glass down and crept into the hallway. I cast a muffling spell and then ran along it to the grove. I knew it wouldn't be cold as it had been enchanted to stay humid in order for the exotic plants within to survive. I walked over to the padded arbor and curled up in it. I'd never been able to handle people talking about me behind my back, it made me so angry. I could feel tears streaming down my face, hot from my burning rage. It was then I realised that I was sweating too, my body getting incredibly hot all of a sudden. Then alI I could feel was a searing pain all over my body. I saw a figure enter the grove but before I could cry out I blacked out from the pain. Buck In the morning I was feeling unexpectedly refreshed. The feeling of sleeping amongst everyone had made me feel at home. However when Ragnar's pile of men began to stir there was a sudden tension "Where's Layton?" called Ragnar as we all looked around. When there was no response we all jumped into action to find him. I followed Logan as I knew he'd be one of the first to find Layton. He crowded around a large stone door with Fenrir and Ragnar who then opened it. We all stepped inside and I was amazed to see a garden full of beautiful fauna and standing in one of the white arbors was a shimmering blue woman and a slumbering man. When the woman saw us enter she smiled and nodded at Ragnar before disappearing in a swirl of leaves. Ragnar and the rest of us then immediately paced over to the man. I didn't recognise him at first He was at least seven foot and about as broad as the arbor he lay in, a day old beard had grown around his chiseled jaw and his jogging bottoms had torn and fallen off him. "Layton?" questioned Ragnar as the figure opened his eyes "what happened?" "I-I don't know," he mumbled as he curled up against the arbor and seemed to realise that he was much bigger than before "what happened to me?" "I don't know right now, c'mon lets get you inside" Ragnar said soothingly as he helped Layton to stand. His trousers barely held on to his waist and everyone could see that he had clearly grown in all aspects. However it was hard to find his godly muscles attractive as he looked incredibly pale and sickly. Ragnar ordered everyone back inside and then Logan took all of us on the morning run. Though we took a shorter route as everyone wanted to get back as quickly as possible to make sure Layton was okay. Logan When we returned the Grove was locked and Bruak was guarding the steps to Ragnar's room. When I approached he stepped in front of the stairs, blocking them out completely with his enormous green bulk. "Sorry, no interruptions. Ragnar's orders" "Is he okay?" I asked, still moving towards him. Bruak put his hand on my shoulder, his thick digits were about the site of a baby's arm. "He's going to be alright, now run along before I make you" he teased as he grinned down at me from behind his enormous muscular gut and bed-sized pecs. Growling I walked off, not wanting to seem intimidated, for if I wanted to get past him badly enough I knew he wouldn't stop me. Though it'd certainly be hard. "See you tonight then I suppose, I hope Snow share's his food" I taunted, grinning back at him. "Heh, I've hope you've tasted Orc before. Wouldn't want to break you little guy" he replied. "I'll get him back for that later" I thought to myself as I walked back towards the main hall where Breakfast was being served. "Yo Fen" I cried as I swaggered towards him and the other Alpha's (who were overseeing the hall). I stood next to him but he still towered above me. "You know what's going on with Layton?" I questioned. "Keep your voice down dumbass, you'll find out later. Now sit down and eat" he growled. I went to take some food off of his plate but he grabbed my hand "don't even think about it" I went and sat with the British Pack members, I hadn't really met any of them but I was trying to work my way around the Pack and they knew Layton best so I could find out about him too. That night I walked back up to Bruak's watch post, this time he smiled and let me past. He slapped me on my ass as I passed, making me grin and get slightly aroused. When I got to Layton's room I was sporting a full on boner, luckily no-one inside paid any attention. "Logan, come here" ordered Ragnar from his seat next to Layton. I darted over and looked down at the bed, some colour had returned to Layton but it was hard to tell as there were hundreds of intricate silver tattoos all over him. "He's finally ready" said Ragnar as he stroked Layton's head. I couldn't hold back my smile, I didn't care about Layton becoming a Demi-God, he was becoming a werewolf and that's all I cared about. "When will we perform the ceremony?" I questioned, knowing it'd have to be soon. "At dawn, it should take all day" replied Ragnar. "Go and tell everyone to prepare. Their new Alpha is coming" Layton I woke up feeling heavy, I could barely lift my head and my body was numb almost as if it wasn't mine. "Layton?" I strained my head to the side and saw Ragnar looking down at me, smiling broadly. I attempted to move to hug him and found that I suddenly flung myself at him. Catching him off guard "W-what happened to me?" I asked, holding him tightly and resting against him. "It's okay, you just passed out. Your body started to adapt too, we think you might've gone through 'blood fever'. It's when a werewolf with only wolf blood experiences extreme pain via emotion or physical injury and so it's body adapts to defend against it" explained Ragnar. I understood what he had said and knew what he was about to ask "I wasn't hurt" I stated as he began to hug me back. "What, or who got you so riled up then?" he asked, Ragnar his voice dripping with concern so much that I almost didn't notice the anger. "Just... The usual crap. It doesn't -" "Cub, blood fever is dangerous. You need to tell me everything" replied Ragnar. I pulled away from him and nodded, before letting him know what had happened. "Well after the ritual you can deal with them how you please. Just know that I chose you because of your heart, your kindness. I don't care about anything else." he replied, kissing me and crawling into bed with me. "You're going to become a werewolf at Dawn..." I smiled nervously "Will I be okay?" "Well look at yourself, you'll be fine" I looked down and saw my godly body, it was covered in tattoos and patterns made out of some kind of salve. I recognised them from the book I had read last night. I felt more at ease and began to smile, I was finally going to be a true part of the Pack. The ceremony took place outside in the larger garden. I was lying on some kind of stone altar and everyone was kneeling around it, they all had similar tattoos on their chests (they were all naked) but no where near as many as me. Ragnar stood above me in his wolf form. "Brothers and Sisters of the Pack please join me in the blood pact for the coronation of our new Alpha and the conduit for Lord Hircine. Everyone began to speak some kind of pledge but it was in a different tongue that I couldn't recognise. Suddenly their tattoos began to glow and slowly so did mine. "Layton, do you accept our gift?" asked Ragnar. "I do" I replied as o gazed into his eyes. "Do you accept the responsibilities of being an Alpha?" "I do" "Will you join your spirit with Hircine?" "I will" I replied, not fully aware of what I was getting into. "Then as Alpha, I shall impart to you our gift" replied Ragnar as he leant down and kissed me on the forehead before taking a huge bite out of my chest, the tattoos that used to cover it remained however like a spectral skeleton. I cried out in pain but I didn't black out as Ragnar began to lick the wound. Miranda then stepped up and placed a large silver crystal on my chest. "Hircine, we offer you this man to use for your survival. As Alpha he shall be in charge and you will aid him in anyway you can" she called out as the sun crept over the altar. The moon was still high in the sky and I could feel it beacon to me. After a few minutes the stone began to grow and my body began to reform, the wound completely closing up and leaving a crescent scar. An hour later the stone stopped glowing and my body began to tingle as small dark silver hairs began to sprout all over my rapidly expanding body. When the sensation finally stopped Ragnar helped me off the altar and I looked down at the Pack, realising slowly that Ragnar and I were at least thirty feet tall. "All rise for your new Alpha" called out Ragnar. Our Pack immediately obeyed, I smiled at them all and heard Ragnar whisper "Roar" I felt something stir inside me and it forced upwards, I let out an ear splitting roar and eighty percent of our Pack immediately lay down and bowed. "Now the rest of you will fight him" said Ragnar grinning. He then turned to me and kissed me passionately before saying "You'll have to shrink back down though" I grinned at him and we slowly shrunk back down to a more suitable height for brawling. "Beat Layton and you'll become Alpha instead. Though if you lose he'll put you in your place" said Ragnar as he sat down on the stone altar. He then started pointing at the Pack members who were still standing one by one and ordering us to fight. I barely had to try to beat them until I was pitted against an Alpha. Angus and Alpha were the hardest to beat but they only required about half my actual strength. Logan on the other hand was a lot stronger than I thought. For such a small guy he certainly was strong, I almost thought I was going to lose to him as his epic biceps flared up around me as he attempted to tackle me. I held my ground however and soon I had him pinned. Snow and Bruak were just as hard, though Bruak's extra weight made him slightly harder. Though it made him so much more comfortable when I had him pinned to the floor. After two hours my only opponent was now Ragnar. He grinned at me and stood up "Now this fight is optional, it just determines who's dominant in our relationship" he explained. "Think you can beat me then?" I taunted, moving closer to him. "Oh I'm sure of it" he replied, stepping even closer and touching my arm. "Go for it" We began to wrestle and scrap with each other. He was stronger than I'd ever imagined, I was pushed to the limit trying to beat him. Though he was also baring his teeth and snarling a lot and soon it was getting to me. His overwhelming dominance, his masculine scent and powerful body was beginning to make me feel submissive. "I knew it Hircine, I've surpassed you" he whispered, as I felt myself give up. "Heh, now I get to really let loose on you, cub" Ragnar flirted as he bared down on me. The rest of the Pack were all submitting to Ragnar along with me. We both began to grow back to our maximum size, our sweaty bulging muscles rubbing against each other as I felt his now building-sized cock brush against my eager hole. As he entered me my senses heightened and I cried out in intense pleasure as he began to fuck me. Every thrust making the ground shake, his feet pushing themselves into the dirt. The other Pack members were all drunk with lust watching their godly Alpha's mate. After what seemed like I year I felt Ragnar release a lake of cum into me, it's warmth filling me up. I was shooting all over his chest and as he stood back up he licked it off his hand and watched as I used his cum to expand even more until I blocked out the sun from the entire Pack. "Now Layton, you get to fuck everybody else. Go wild" I now realised why the ritual would take all day. As the sun set I strutted over to Bruak. He immediately began to lick Snow's cum off my bulging pecs so I held his head against them and began grinding on his stomach. "Hope you're ready Bru, I could still go for another hour or two." I grunted as he tweaked my engorged nipple. The I slowly lifted him up until he hovered above my eight foot cock. As I impaled him he let out a war cry and began to clench my cock with his right ass, pumping it and getting me even more horned up. My cock swelled within him as he continued to lick my chest and armpits, burying his face in my hairy cleavage. When I was finally finished he was still cumming gallons. The rest of the Pack were either sleeping, passed out or growing from my cum. "Impressive cub, didn't know you were such a dom" called Ragnar as we embraced. "Might just let you have a go with me" he teased before grabbing my ass.
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