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  1. 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
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