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  1. goremeridian


    Bit of post-apocalyptic fun. (If that's not an oxymoron!) I promise this is the last of the silly ideas in my head before I write something more mainstream, so thanks for bearing with me while I indulge some of my ridiculous fantasies! I'll try to put all of the parts in the same post to keep things nice and simple. Superior: First Part The metallic door slid open with a whispered whirr and great beams of sunlight filled the tiny cabin. Lewis had to shield his eyes from the white glare as he hastily unclipped the buckle of his seatbelt, cursing himself mentally for not thinking of bringing sunglasses. He’d packed lightly for the trip, and ocular protection had clearly not been at the forefront of his mind. You can’t blame me, he thought to himself. After all, it’s not like there’s a manual entitled ‘Things to remember to pack when you travel through time’. Heh. Not until he wrote one, anyway. Squinting in the uncomfortable brightness, he snatched up his knapsack from beside his pilot chair and exited the vehicle, hoping to find some nearby shade. He looked for all the world like a mole rat emerging from its little hole in the ground, blinking, weak and vulnerable. Taking tottering steps away from the diminutive craft, he scanned the area for a snatch of shadow in which he could rest and orientate himself. The sunlight stabbed into his irises, but he was rewarded for his painful efforts: a low building sat not fifty yards away. So eager was he to throw himself into the building’s cool interior Lewis barely noticed that it was a ruin. Indeed, it wasn’t until the sunspots had finally gone from his eyes, some five minutes later, that he started to take notice of his surroundings. The place was a wreck. And so, he realised, glancing out of the doorway into the shimmering street, was the building opposite, and the one next to it. Some future. Hollowed out shells of concrete, the buildings, once host to hordes of suited workers, were filled only with shadows now. Huge chunks of the ceiling had collapsed and Lewis could see clearly into the room upstairs, and the one beyond that. All appeared like this one. Empty and…wrecked. Like some terrible hurricane had just manifested itself in the centre of the office district and swept up all of the people. His footfalls, disturbing great clumps of dust on the matted carpet as he took stock of his location, were the only sounds other than the muted crunching of window glass beneath his boots and his breathing, which, he noticed, was getting increasingly frantic. What on Earth had happened here? He squatted down before one of the twisted clumps of metal, wood and plastic that sat about the room like macabre sculptures, only barely recognisable as office furniture, and tried to steady his beating heart. Could a natural disaster do this? He wondered. Bring a city – a big city, like this one – to its knees? In a year? He had travelled only just over 400 days into his future, but it may as well have been 400 years, so different was this apocalyptic landscape to the one he knew. Striding over to one of the jagged rectangles that used to be an office window, Lewis checked, not for the first time, that his craft was still where he had left it. He knew it would be, of course. But the sense of strange panic was getting too great, and the little vessel offered a modicum of reassurance. If the worst came to the worst, he could always just leave this place and forget about it. But… He steeled himself. But not until he had found out what had happened. Perhaps – a spark of hope flickered inside him – he could prevent all of this. Maybe warn everyone in the past about the tornado about to descend on them. If it was a tornado. He was beginning to doubt his original theory, but could come up with nothing else. Nuclear war? There were so signs of excessive heat, merely ruined buildings. He needed evidence. Was he not a scientist? Don’t just make assumptions, he chided himself. Find the evidence, then reach a conclusion. But that meant going back outside. And his eyes had only just begun to recover from the sun's sudden and unwelcome scorching. Lewis was nothing if not practical, however. It was one of the reasons why he had succeeded in inventing the time travelling craft, when so many other scientists had failed. While they had their heads in the clouds, his more pragmatic, some might even say prosaic approach, had yielded results. He put that practical mind to work now. Tearing off a strip of cloth from the sleeve of his shirt, he tied it about his head, binding his eyes. The cloth would shield his pupils from the worst of the glare, but was thin enough to see through. His vision would be impaired somewhat, however. Which would explain why he had no sooner stepped back out into the sunlight than he bumped smack into the huge bodybuilder. * Lewis landed painfully on his arse in a cloud of dust and the strip slipped from one of his eyes. Nonetheless, through the gauze and the glare, he couldn’t help but think the bodybuilder looked somewhat…familiar. Partially silhouetted against the sun, the huge muscleman’s handsome face registered first surprise, then a strange sort of jubilation. His black posing trunks took the strain as the fabric began to fill with the bodybuilder’s rapidly awakening cock. “Didn’t think there would be any little mice still scurrying around here,” said the big man, grinning. His accent was not British. Something Eastern European? His grin seemed to get wider as he loomed over the hapless scientist, huge, naked muscles shimmering in the intense sunlight. “Guess today is my lucky day. Been a while since I tore the limbs of a Zeta...” Despite the blazing heat, terror and confusion froze Lewis to the spot as the hulking brute reached for him, massive fingers twitching with excitement.
  2. SimonG


    Hi guys, it took me long to start, but I got a new job, so that took a lot of my time. Hope you like and any feed back will be appreciated. Solon, Ohio. Hudson family home. February 4th, 2075. 8:36 AM. Leonard Hudson turned again in his bed. He has slept little in the last few days. Nightmares haunted his dreams. He was the only witness of the failed kidnapping attempt of his best friend. It was without question a terrible experience, but the main reason that has the teen so uneasy almost a week after the event was the strangeness of it. He had considered several times about telling someone what he saw, yet he remained silent. Leonard doubted that the police would take him seriously. He was sure that even his own mother would send him to therapy if he talked to her about it. He could show them the pictures he had taken with his grandfather Polaroid camera. But he refused to do it. He was certain it will only make things worse. It will open a Pandora's box right in his house's living room. He has been carrying the well-maintained and functional old relic for several days. His family wasn't doing well financially, so after pondering on it for almost two weeks he decided his family needed the money more than he needed the memories. The problem was that he had loved his grandfather almost as much as he hated his bullying father. The elderly man understood his grandson because he was an old nerd himself. Peter Hudson left the camera as an heirloom to Leonard. The boy had a smile on his face remembering as his grandfather always argued that digital pictures were soulless things. He used to say: "You ain't no photographer until you reveal an authentic negative my boy." Two times had he visited the pawnshop but never had the courage to trade it. It was a good thing. Fate had other plans for the old and trustworthy device. It scared Leonard to show the images to anyone. He always knew Ken was different. That there was something with him beyond his hyper-developed, muscular and strong body. Something else. Something, almost out of this world. The events of that day proved it. He saw a team of well-trained paramilitary style goons use state-of-the-art weaponry to take down and restrain his friend. Then a rag-tag group of freaks took down those fully armed troopers and freed Ken. That all the soldiers' equipment was worthless against them stunned the teen. How he had taken out the old camera and snapped the entire film full of pictures, he would never know. He could remember everything from that day. The fight, the blood, the brightness of the beam weapons. He also remembered the face of the soldier he had seen killed during the short battle. Hell, he was the only dead person he had seen besides his grandparents. That would freak out anyone. But there was more. He was sure that one of Ken's freaky rescuers had known he was hiding. The man somehow perceived he was around. Leonard couldn't explain how, but he did. He saw his dark eyes search for something. Then suddenly he stared at the spot the teenager was hiding. For a second Leonard would have sworn their eyes had locked. He didn’t remember being that scared in his whole life. The memory of that moment made him shiver each time he remembered it. Then the feeling of being caught vanished as suddenly as it has come to him. The mysterious man and his team retired from the scene. The police arrived less than 2 minutes later. Leonard realized he had to do something. After much reflection on those sleepless nights, he reached a decision. He will talk with Ken. The best option for him and his family, was for his friend to put as much land as possible between him and the Hudsons. He recognized it was not nice or what a real friend would do. But with his father out of the house for the foreseeable future, it was his responsibility to look after his mother's safety. When the clock app made his green ibracelet vibrate, he has been awake for over 40 minutes. A rough draft of the speech he would use with Ken has taken shape in his head. 'Today is the day.' He thought with determination, before opening his eyes to the dimly lit room. Then he retracted his room's thick drapes with a quick command to the house's assistant. Big mistake. The light flooded the room and made him want to fall back to his bed. With a groan, he covered his head with his Star Wars-themed blanket and dragged his naked feet to the bathroom for a quick shower. ***** Minutes later while Leonard was standing under the jets of cold water trying to infuse life into his slept-deprived body, Ken was standing naked in front of the main suite's bathroom. He has been looking at his reflection for several minutes. Unlike his smaller friend, he had none nightmares because he had no memory of that day's events, and that was killing him. "Why can't I remember?" His voice rumbled with tightly controlled anger. He wanted answers. "I have to act quickly or I won't ever know. This time nothing will stop me. I'll have answers." He was looking intensely to his image in the mirror, then realizing how idiotic he should look talking alone, he said, "Great and now I'm talking to myself!" He threw his hands up in the air with an exasperated sigh and then grabbed the shorts that Leonard's mother gave to him. 'Today my quest for answers begins.' He vowed as he struggled to make the white garment fit. It was loose around his waist but stretched tautly to cover his buttock. Through the fabric of the rugby shorts, it was easy to see the outline of his penis. Like the rest of his body, it was big and hard to conceal. As usual, he wasn't wearing any underwear, because he hasn't been able to find any brand that could survive one of his erections. He did his best to accommodate his male organ, but it extended down his thigh stressing the cloth. Well, he had no choice, his entire wardrobe -that wasn't much anymore as he had ripped seven shirts and two pants in the last three weeks- was in the washer, and there wasn't much of Big Ed's clothing to pick from. The pants were at least three sizes too big at the waist. The short Ken was wearing had been in a drawer for nine years. A relic from the days when Big Ed was less big all around. Leonard's clothes were not an option. Ken's forearms were thicker than his friends' legs. He couldn't go around the house naked or wearing only a bath towel neither. 'Not that Teresa would mind.' He pondered naughtily, sure that his friend's mom would enjoy the view. But it will cause too much trouble, so he had to wear the short. He tried to rearrange his cock in several positions but to no avail. There was no way to hide it. The sound of his hungry stomach made him finally leave the bathroom. "Fuck it!" He said and opened the door. "I'll explain to Leonard. I'm starving." Ken walked down the stairs and made a quick stop to take a peek at the state of the dark red sofa-bed where he was supposed to sleep. "Good. It looks like if I had slept here last night." He said in a whisper and headed straight to the kitchen. Something filled the air with a delicious aroma. I was Teresa's cocking. ***** Ten minutes later, with steps firm and fueled by his resolution, Leonard went looking for Ken. His thin long-fingered hands carried the envelope that contained the pictures. Finding a place where he could reveal the film, proved to be a very difficult task. The guy who had helped him had believed the explanation about them being from a new sci-fi holo-movie. The man never asked what was Leonard doing with such old device, in the set of a modern holo-movie. It would have been a logical question, but he was more interested in the mint state of the camera and Leonard's money. The dirty-blond haired high school senior looked for his muscular friend at his convertible sofa-bed but found it empty. Messy as was usual in the morning yet empty anyway. He went then to the guy's next logical location. The kitchen. When Leonard stepped through the pantry's door his resolution wavered. Ken was sitting at the head of the table, on the chair that Leonard's father used to occupy. He was wearing only a short with no shirt and was barefoot. His hair was wet, and he was sitting with his back to the door. The first thing that caught Leonard's eyes, was the immense expanse of Ken's muscled back and shoulders. He remembered that they were so big that barely to fit in his double sofa-bed. The guy's body dwarfed the wooden chair where he sat, and his presence seemed to fill the entire room. His rippling, striated shoulders swelled outwards. They were one-third as wide as he was tall. But when the muscular 17-years-old sat, they looked bigger. Above them, brutal trapezium muscles rose like mesas around his thick neck. Small veins snaked feeding them all the way down to the rounded delts of his shoulders. Next, Leonard gaze moved to his thick, brawny arms. Carved triceps bulged against his tanned, flawless skin, twitching and rippling as he moved to devour the food on his plate. The thick, hard cords of muscles in his forearms bulged when he impaled the enormous serving of eggs, sausages, bacon, and pancakes that Leonard's mother has cooked for him. Veins run up in his arms too, from his forearms to his bulging biceps. The small teen was unable not see the peaks of muscle because they hid behind his mountainous triceps. The white shorts that the big teen wore looked skin tight as he spread his thick legs wide. The fabric looked dangerously stretched over his thighs and ass but still held together. Barely. Then his eyes looked at Ken's massive legs. His quads were thick of muscle and huge. His calves had the size of softballs and the hardness of granite-carved diamonds. They bulged each time that his huge beefy feet moved at the melody of whatever music he was listening as he ate his breakfast. 'Dam! I should be used to this already.' Thought Leonard. 'But by the holy socks of the last holo-film reincarnation of Gandalf! It's impossible not to be in wonder with this son of Mordor.' Then he remembered one phrase his friend had told him when they first met. "Get used to speaking while in a state of awe buddy because if you don't, we won't be talking much." How right he was with that statement. After the usual wave of wonder passed, Leonard realized something. The shorts that Ken had on belonged to his father. That made him pause for a moment. He knew the guy didn't have a lot of clothes. 'Well, is not as if Big Ed will come looking for them soon.' He reflected with a mixed feeling about his father leaving the house. The man was abusive, and he could not forgive him for what had forced Ken to remove him from the house. He had slapped his wife so hard that Teresa had ended on the floor with a bloody mouth. Leonard feared back then that Ken would kill his dad. The look of unmitigated anger that the giant shoot to Ed was murderous. The unapologetic man foolishly squared himself to face the muscular teen. The showdown ended quickly and was very anticlimactic. Ken wiped the floor with Leonard's father in less than one minute. Then threw his battered 6 feet 1 inch and over 220 lbs body out of the house's front door. Big Ed had called several times apologizing, but Leonard's mother was adamant. She didn't want to see him again. Teresa made her point clear during her husband's last call. She said, "I have taken a lot of your crap over the years, Ed! You behaved like a fucking ass with me and with Leonard. But hit me? Really? Fuck you! I'll never accept that, and I don't want to see your sorry ass ever again! Ah! And you better don't get ideas. I have pictures of what you did and witnesses too. If so much as even try to fuck with me, I'll press charges and suit your sorry ass! Now fuck off!" But despite all that, the man was still his father and having another guy wearing his clothes at his house while he sat in Big Ed's chair seemed wrong. Troublesome. Awkward to put it lightly. His mother, who has been busy cooking more food for Ken and noticed her son at the door interrupted Leonard's line of thought. "Sweety! What are you doing there?" Asked Teresa after she served a new load of crispy smoked bacon to the young titan sitting at her breakfast table. She had the usual unwavering adoration in her voice she always had for her younger son. Not that she loved Leonard's older brother Kevin any less, but she liked Leonard better. Kevin took too much after his father. "Dear, you look awful!" She exclaimed worried as she ran to embrace her son. "Ah! Mom!" Complained Leonard as his mother hugged him, then checked his face, and felt his forehead looking for his temperature. "Well, you have none fever. That's good. But you are pale and those bags under your eyes..." "I'm fine mom. Really." Assured the teen as he moved toward the table. He felt slightly annoyed by her display of motherly love, but deep inside he loved it. It only made him more aware of his need to protect her. "Yes, I get it, you are a big man. I can't get my head around the idea that you'll be 18 in two weeks. But today you'll eat all your food and will rest at home. Let's get color back on those cheeks. OK?" "Sure mom." Leonard sat across his friend, and both exchanged head nods. They were usually more effusive. However, both had many things in their minds. The small teen used his ibracelet to send a text message and saw Ken's eyes' focus change as he read it in his retinal implants. Parts of his digital-tattoo shimmered as he mentally drafted and sent his answer. Additional parts of the tattoo changed color when he gave the command to deactivate his ear implants. 'Man! I would kill for having that kind of tech!' Leonard thought for the 100th time. Ken had told him he got the implants as a gift from a friend with deep pockets. He had never wanted to elaborate on the topic though. A sharp head-shake from Leonard answered Ken's question. It meant not here. Ken knew something has been bothering his friend for several days. Leonard has been distant and moody. The huge teen noticed he had slept little, and it worried him. Leonard's ominous message increased his uneasiness, it reads "We need to talk today. It is important." 'He knows. Dammit! He knows!' The muscled teen screamed in silence. Ken forced himself to remain calm. He liked Leonard very much and didn't want to lose his friendship. 'I didn't want this to happen. Shit! Shit! Shit!' Leonard tried to focus on his food, but his mind kept asking how will Ken react when he tells him he has to leave? Surely we won't get mad. Probably sad. But what will happen if he doesn't want to go? What then? It wasn't like he has the means to force him out of the house. 'What would I tell him?' Asked Ken in his mind with his eyes on the food, which for once wasn't vanishing almost at the speed of sound. 'Maybe is something else. But what? There are no problems at the school. I took care of the bullies, got the coach and the principal off his back. There are no repercussions from the first-day massacre. All the football team members I put in the hospital are clear what will happen to them if they tell on me. Or if they point a finger to Leonard.' He then asked himself if it may be Big Ed's departure, but he knew no much father-son love existed in their relationship. However, that line of thought took him back to his initial theory, and that sent chills down his spine. "There is something wrong boys?" Asked Teresa when she returned from the laundry. "Leonard you haven't touched your breakfast, and Ken why is still food on your plate?" The surprise on her face was clear. The time that took her to put the clothing in the drier, was enough for Ken to devour twice as much food. "Nothing mom!" "Yes Teresa, everything is fine." At once the muscular guy realized he had called the woman by her first name, and his head quickly snapped to watch Leonard's reaction. The older but smaller teen has a surprised look on his face. "Your mom asked me not to be so formal..." Explained Ken a bit too fast. "You know... Mrs. Hudson this, Mrs. Hudson that..." Teresa stepped in mid-sentence and confirmed what Ken said with a spirited argument. "Sure, honey. I was getting sick of being called Mrs. Hudson in my home. I have a name you know. I was a person before becoming Mrs. Hudson too." Then she turned to the shirtless guy and putting one of her tiny hands on his muscle-packed right shoulder she continued in a softer more affectionate tone. "Besides, he is around the house all the time, helping me with stuff, and we are all friends. Don't we?" Then after a quick sigh, she removed her hand and moved to check on the state of the family's groceries in the fridge's pad. 'Low as usual' she reflected bitterly. They were out of milk, bacon, potatoes, fruits, salt, coffee, and the last smart-pack of eggs in the fridge reported only 5 units left inside it. So she reviewed the suggested menu the house assistant proposed for the following week, approved the list of ingredients needed, and added 7 additional packs of eggs to the order. "Ok boys, I requested an express delivery for the groceries. The drone will be here in less than 30 minutes. Now, eat all your food." She commanded. Then with a friendly pat on Ken's round and rock solid deltoids, she left to take care of the house chores. ***** 'Control yourself, woman!' Thought Teresa, chastising herself as soon as she left the kitchen. Her son should not learn about her feelings. It would destroy him, or at least hurt their relationship beyond repair. Once again she needed to harness all her inner strength to control her desires. For the 44-years-old woman, it was a constant and excruciating battle to hide her attraction for Ken since day one. She had to be the good mother, but the young man's masculinity drove her crazy with lust. The woman wanted to touch him, taste him, smell him. She found sexy every single thing about him. The way the house's old wooden floor creaked under his weight with every step he took. His secure heavy strut made her legs weaken. When she saw him walk, she had to fight with all her will to not stare at him dreamily. Each time Ken used the stairs that lead to the upper floor, she relished in the view of his hard round ass. Teresa seized those opportunities to stare at him at her leisure. The way he lifted any piece of furniture as if it weighed no more than a feather and how his muscles bulged when he did that. For Teresa, it has become a common occurrence to just stood to watch with her mouth hanging open in awe and desire each time he did it. Nothing would have caused her more pleasure that go to him and lick every veiny muscle of his body. Teresa remembered the first time Ken showed her his strength. It was a Sunday back in the days when the muscular teen didn't live in her house. He was just the unexpected new high school friend of Leonard. She has been cleaning the house and needed to move the refrigerator to sweep behind it. Usually, her husband helped her with that, but Big Ed was out of the city. She struggled with the 250 lbs appliance for 12 minutes but had moved it only a few inches. Suddenly the kitchen's door opened, and Ken walked in. He had visited the house only three times before, but he didn't knock or give any warning. It was as if he owned the place, like if he may do whatever he wanted in her house. His arrogance should have offended her, but she found confidence like that incredibly sexy. It was one thing she had liked in her future husband when they meet in College. The teen noticed the refrigerator and asked about it. When she told him about her predicament, the teen swiftly moved past her and bending his legs he hugged the machine and lifted it clean from the floor. The ripped muscles that curved along his arms bulged with the effort. But his face remained relaxed as if such a feat of strength meant nothing to him. Big Ed always puffed and groaned when he had to move the refrigerator to help her. He pulled and pushed it but never held its entire weight off the floor. The married woman couldn't stop from casting a look at Ken's massive body. It was magnificent and filled his black shirt almost to its breaking point. Her heart quickened, and for several seconds she didn't move or emitted any sound. One of Ken's eyebrows rose in question, and when she still didn't react, he spoke. "Mrs. Hudson, are you going to clean now?" "What? Oh! Yes, yes! Of course. Sorry. Silly me. Lord! That should be heavy." "What, this?" He asked, followed by a short, deep laugh that resonated deep inside her body. "Not at all." He said with no sign of exertion in his voice. "I may even borrow it later to help me warm up for my squats." Then he raised the machine higher, careful not to bang it with the roof, and performed 10 squats with perfect form. "Do you see? This is a toy for my muscles." Teresa's pulse thumped wildly, and her juices soaked her panties in response. The corners of the teen's mouth lifted in a knowing smile. With a naughty wink, he let her know he'd seen her pure female reaction. That night she had fucked her husband as a madwoman thinking of Ken. The married woman had her first orgasm in over a year as she rode the father of her two children. From that day on, she took every opportunity to ask Ken for his help to move furniture whenever he visited or hung around the house with her son. And without fail, those days ended in amazing nights of sex for Big Ed. Teresa loved also the way his naked torso moved with every breath when he slept. She loved to sit close to his sleeping form at night and look at him, sometimes for hours. Several nights -even when Ed at home- she took advantage that Ken was a heavy sleeper and caressed his striated muscular chest. Occasionally, she couldn't control herself and peppered his pecs with small kisses. She had thought about licking his nipples too but didn't dare to take the risk. The way his big cock strained the cloth of any pant he wears made her feel light-headed. She salivated when she crossed him in the mornings before he relieved himself. Those morning-wood moments were priceless. She loved how nonchalant he acted about it. He even winked at her when he noticed her eyes locked in his crotch. Big Ed stumbled on him early in the morning twice and got a good view of his package. The first time he saw it, the man's shock at the size of it muted him. He wanted to protest the lewd display but he could not utter a single word. It looked more than twice as big as his. Several days later, when a second sight happened, he talked to Ken about it. The muscular teen told him he could do many things, but fight biology wasn't one of them. "Sorry, Mr. Hudson I can't make it smaller." He argued with a smirk. "But let's be honest." He continued whispering in confidence. "Whom that has one this size would want to?" Then he winked mischievously and patted the back of the man of the house with barely concealed condescension and walked to the bathroom. Big Ed never mentioned it to Teresa nor Leonard, but his uneasiness around Ken rose to new levels after that. Teresa had always been proud of her culinary skills, so naturally, she loved the way Ken devoured her food. He ate at least twice as much as her husband, and she liked that in Ken it will turn into more muscle instead of an extra layer of fat. She admired as his arms and forearms' muscles moved and twitched when he forked his plate's content. And the sensations that washed through her body when he hugged her thanking a good meal almost overwhelmed her. All that hard manly brawn surrounding her threatened to drive her mad with barely contained lust. Sometimes, she even got to kiss the beautiful chest she fancied so much. Teresa also found sexy everything else about him. His deep rumbling voice. His chestnut wavy hair. His tanned complexion and cocky attitude. She even found his tattoos hot, and she hated tattooed people. Thought them filthy and cheap, but she found herself sometimes mesmerized following how each trace of digital ink hugged and clung to the shape of his muscles. Her son had explained to her that the ink composition included some kind of tiny computers. That was the reason Ken used no visible devices to interact with all the digital resources around him. But above all, she loved his body odor. She couldn't describe it in words. It wasn't earthly or musky as they described it in those cheap romance novels she used to read. It was something deeply pungent and so pervasive that she had to change his covers every single day or the smell will spread all over the living room. Sometimes the fragrance left by his body was so potent that she had no choice but to lock herself in the laundry room to masturbate several times. She knew she was head over heels for Ken. And if it were not for Leonard, she would let the muscular guy walk naked around the house. She would also let him fuck her at every room, and over each piece of furniture. She would let him do whatever he wanted. He would become the master of her and the house. But she had to protect Leonard, so she had to keep her actions and desires on a tight leash and be very careful. 'Good God! I can't believe he is younger than my younger son.' She thought all the time. Ken was almost two months younger than Leonard. That meant that in two weeks when her son turns 18, his friend -the source of all her naughty dreams- will be yet seven weeks and three days away from his 18th birthday. "That's it! I need one." Teresa said as she ran to the master suite's bathroom to get a release with some of her toys. She had become used to do that whenever she thought too much about her house-guest. ***** When Leonard and Ken finished their silent breakfast, they put their dishes in the sink and went upstairs to the Hudson family's younger sibling's bedroom. The small teen walked point, his big friend followed him with a subdued attitude. Something very uncharacteristic of him. The teens walked over the black and white tiled floor, passing the doors of the house main suite and the Hudson older son's bedroom. Then they entered the long corridor that connected the house's second floor to the annex that Big Ed has built over the garage. At first, the man had thought to give it to Jeremy, but his favorite son didn't want it. He wanted to have the room he shared with his younger brother for him alone and argued that he will be out to college in less than a year. He didn't want all the hassle of another moving. Jeremy liked pushing the embarrassment that was his wimpy brother, out of the house's main area. Leonard took the room without hesitation, the opportunity of getting out of his brother night pranks thrilled him. Teresa proposed once to let Ken sleep in her older son's room, but her husband refused to allow it. That was his favorite son's room and nobody will use it. Ed argued that the Champion -his nickname for Jeremy- should have his room ready for him, whenever he came home. All his trophies were inside the bedroom, and he would be very mad if some guest damaged any of them. With Big Ed gone, Ken has been thinking about some changes in the order of things but had not pushed for it. The time was not right yet. Also, he didn't know where his plans will take him in the near future. He has kept spending the nights he slept alone in the house's living room for the time being. The red Ikea engO-leather sofa-bed will stay his nominal bed for the time being, and the big Sony holo-screen his companion on those few nights. He was a little fed up of having to take his fuck-buddies to hotels or having to settle for quickies, performed in places not designed for a good satisfying sex session. He liked to take his time when he has to get his rocks off. He wanted to extract every drop of pleasure from each sexual encounter. For him, 20 or 30 minutes was not enough. But he had to cope with the situation until he could convince Leonard or move on. Teresa was not an issue. He knew all he had to do, was to drop his pants and she will agree to anything he wanted. Back in Leonard's room, the 5 feet 4 inches high school teen stood next to his bed. Then he took a deep breath that made his 123 pounds body tremble and turned to face Ken. The young muscular jock was walking at a slow faltering pace through the hallway. It was easy to see his reluctance to enter the room. The big guy was almost as width as the corridor. His vast lats looked like they were about to send his muscle capped shoulders straight through the walls of the narrow passage. 'Dammit! Why am I acting like this?' asked silently Ken in his mind as he walked. 'I am a fucking alpha! I should tell Leonard what to do and be making fucking sure he obeys me!' However, he knew if he did that he will get what he wanted, but at the price of losing the only person, he could call a friend. He may force Leonard to do as he says, but it would change forever their relationship. Their friendship will be over. 'God! People have to deal with this crap every day?' Thought Ken with frustration. 'No wonder they are so stressed, and the world is so full of angry people.' Yet he realized that he found that kind of resilience worthy of respect. Going day after day negotiating with others using only ideas and words, was remarkable. When he wanted something, he used his strength or sex appeal to get it. For him it was natural. People usually gave him what he wanted. 'That must be the reason regular people seek power, any kind of power, so desperately.' Ken perused about the other sidekicks he had in the past, and how they didn't mean the same to him. Then he wondered once more what was different about Leonard. At first, they had the usual relationship alpha-sidekick. The huge teen had awed the smaller one on their first meeting in the high school's hall and later consolidated his power over him, with a classroom take over. But the guy had grown on him. He had on multiple times surprised Ken with his intelligence, wit, and loyalty. He couldn't help but laugh at his constant use of references to classic movies and holo-shows. He seems to have one for each situation. Then, one day it had hit him like the proverbial wall of bricks, he realized that he cared deeply about Leonard. Since that day he had to adjust his tactics and actions to keep his friend out of harm. It made things more complicated, but he realized he didn't care. Leonard was his friend. The troubled muscular youngster stopped at the door frame, leaning against the doorjamb. His hulking, almost naked torso filled the frame. However, his usual cocky attitude was missing. At once Leonard noticed Ken's penis stretching the fabric of his shorts. He has adjusted his tool side-wise because if he let it hang, it would surely show the head at the bottom end, right next to the team's logo. A quick flash of annoyance crossed Leonard's mind, thinking his mother could have seen it. But he got over it almost immediately. There were more pressing matters. "Close the door, please." Leonard's voice was firm. Letting out a resigned sigh Ken moved to comply with his friend's request. *****
  3. CardiMuscleman

    The Doctor and the He-Man

    There have been a number of suggestions about teaming up characters who you might never normally expect to see together because they are complete opposites and one combination that has been mooted in the past is the Doctor (very intelligent but not that strong) with He-Man (incredibly strong but nothing like as intelligent as the Doctor) so here's my little offering as to whether it could work. As a sense of placement, it happens after "The Enemy Within" (which was broadcast in 1996 and featured Paul McGann as the Doctor) and before "The Night of the Doctor (which was broadcast in 2013 and introduced Sir John Hurt as the War Doctor) Chapter One As the TARDIS landed with its customary thump, the Doctor was rifling through the drawers of the cupboard in the console room looking for his interniary. He had been warned, by means of a projection from the Matrix, the heart of all Time Lord knowledge, that a time war was coming, a war that was started by the Daleks in revenge for the mission that he had undertaken for the Time Lords to avert their creation. That mission, with Harry Sullivan and Sarah Jane Smith, had only been a partial success, delaying their rise by a millennium, but it was all the provocation the Daleks would need, and so he was commissioned to find allies and that meant visiting every class five planet in the TARDIS databanks and that included "Eternia" he declared as he found the piece of paper, "I knew it was here somewhere!" and with that closed the drawer and read from the sheet of paper. Located at the centre of the known universe, it was likely to be one of the first planets to be invaded by the Daleks and therefore, although the habitants were much bigger and stronger than most humanoids in that sector, they could ever expect to stand up to the Daleks and so it was decided that they would be asked to join against them. It was a planet that had suffered from war, if the records were correct, a Great War, that meant the planet was half science and half barbarian, which reminded the Doctor of the planet where he was condemned as "The Face of Evil" and hoped that the members of this planet were not going to put him on trial as happened there so with that put on his coat and left the TARDIS. He was a little disappointed when he found that the TARDIS had landed in the middle of a plain, but he liked walking. Ever since he had been given the pair of shoes that he was wearing by Dr. Grace Holloway, he wore them as a way to remember "the doctor who brought back the dead" in the form of himself, although she was the reason he regenerated in the first place, and both her and Chang Lee after the Doctor defeated the Master's plan to destroy Earth at the turn of their third millennium and in doing so brought them back to life, but as he locked the TARDIS door, he instantly realised that he was not alone. "Greetings, Doctor" said a voice and as he turned around he smiled. "My dear Sorceress, how lovely to see you again, and may I say you don't look a day over a millennium!" The eagle that was sitting on the ground in front of him, nodded its head before taking to the skies and headed south. "After you" smiled the Doctor and was soon walking towards the fabled home of the Eternian Royal Family, whose monarch he had been charged to speak to, however little did he realise that he was being watched "DOCTOR SIGHTED ON PLANET SURFACE. INFORM SUPREME DALEK" "THE DOCTOR MUST NOT KNOW OF OUR PLANS. SEEK THE BEING KNOWN AS SKELETOR WITHOUT DELAY AND CONDITION HIM TO FOLLOW DALEK PLANS" "I OBEY, SUPREME DALEK"
  4. rienzope

    New Kindle Book

    There's a new book on Amazon.com about muscle growth "Journeys are unpredictable. Not the ones planned on your smart phone. The ones you lay out for your life. The ones measured in years rather than miles. Those can be longer and take you further than you can imagine, especially if they are fueled by ambition. Because ambition strives. At first for goals... until it reaches them. Then for more... because it’s insatiable. Harry Zane was led off the stage by the Feds after winning the biggest title in bodybuilding. He's about to travel to another world. A place where physical development is religion, more is not enough, and genetic engineering is unfettered. And he’s about to learn that what we seek is usually not what we seek."
  5. Before I go to the train, I post a short story. Muscle Growth in Plato’s Republic I see that you are awake. Hush. There is no reason to yell. You will only damage your ability to listen, if you yell that loudly inside your chamber, considering its lack of furniture, its lack of cloth and the fact that the walls consist of metal. Who I am, is not your business, but I am permitted to reassure you, that I speak on behalf of The Leadership. I speak to you through these loud-speakers. That mirror is actually a window. I watch you through it. Hello to you. There is no reason rant like that. What would you prefer? The old systems were apalling. One of them categorised persons after their pigmentation, and put some persons in ovens. Another one robbed persons working in agricultural production of their homes and working tools, boasted over alleged equality, while their leadership lived in an opulence that the productive classes were denied. A third one was ruled by the rich one percent. A fourth was ruled by skillful demagogues. Almost all of the old systems put too much executive power in only one person’s hand – a system waiting for to be abused. Seriously, do you really want to have any of these systems back? Ah. You are returning to more immediate questions? The reason for not remembering, is that you were anaesthetized during sleep. Your whereabouts… Let me return to that shortly. You can’t accuse The Leadership of that. Come now. Really? You ought to be well aware, that The Leadership lives in considerably more ascetic conditions than the Productive Classes. Moderation is a virtue. The Productive Classes are given the sort of housing they desire, the food they desire, credits to buy clothes of their own choice from the 156 different licenced brands, and unlimited access to all TV and film. They are given exactly what they want. How many of their forebears actually used their so-called suffrage before The Great Reform? Freezing? Yes, of course you are freezing. You are stark naked and strapped to a metal bench with a plastic cushion. Anyone would freeze under those conditions. Don’t interrupt me. Your new buzzcut suits you, by the way. But, as I said before, The Leadership lives in considerably more ascetic conditions than the Productive Classes. Equity! Prudence! Bravery! Moderation! The Productive Classes are allowed to have appetites. The Leadership are not. Or like that eastern writer, of whom our Founding Parents were so fond, put it: The Leadership shall show benevolence to the subjects, and put public duty before self-interest, while The Defenders and The Productive Classes shall show due respect to The Leadership. Is it too much to ask? We who belong to The Leadership do not own any private property, are not allowed to chose which clothes to wear, and our food is carefully calculated to be healthy, but not exactly tasty. I know the difference. As so many else of us, I grew up in The Productive Classes, just like you, but my achievements at the diagnostic tests in school brought me to the attention of The Supervisor, and I was transferred to a B-class for evaluation, and, when the evaluation turned out Code Green, to an A-class for further education. Do you know, that we have to study mathematics until age 30? We are not allowed to watch TV or films, since entertainment is distracting from duty. There are benefits and drawbacks with every position in society, but it is constructed in order to make all of us happy, regardless if you belong to The Leadership, The Defenders or The Productive Classes. Different personality types find happiness in different sorts of lifestyles. Nowadays I like the serene, uncluttered surroundings in The Leadership quarters, and find the over-decorated homes of The Productive Classes slightly tacky. My parents regard the lifestyle I have to lead is too stern and joyless, but the thing is: We find happiness in different sorts of things. Why is it important to wear a shirt with a particular embrodiery on one side of the chest and not another one? You are right. I talk too much about myself. I haven’t got rid of some Plebby traits enough. I have to consult my shrink tomorrow. Let’s talk about you instead: Transferred from C-class to B-class at a very early age, but was returned to C-class at age 14 when puberty distracted you. Performed well in social studies before age 14, but began to behave in rebellious fashion from that age on. Good results in PE. Produce less than average at your office employment. Your registered attendance at institutions for physical exercise is higher than average. Shows ability to sacrifice time and unhealthy food, for the higher goal of fitness. Your social life is mapped and evaluated to have a high exchange of known dissidents. Warmer now? Good. I thought it was just a matter of time, before you would feel better in your metallic surroundings. Of course we have to make use of surveillance of everyone’s life! Otherwise the terrorists will win. And we will have The Defenders patrol the streets, in order to ensure public safety and security. Personally, I admire the Defenders: These tall, powerful men in uniform, who serve to protect all of us. I definitely lack what it takes to become one of them. Wrong personality type. Not understand why anyone would join The Defenders? As I said before, our pursuit is to assure that everyone in society will be happy. The Productive Classes wish to consume commodities, even if that mean that they will not enjoy suffrage. The Leadership enjoy unlimited information, the opportunity to use of our minds, and responsibilities in government, even if that mean we have to refuse property and close relations. The Defenders… Have you noticed… Oh. Sorry. Do you feel well? That spasm looked uncomfortable. No? You are fine? Good. You must have noticed how badly performing children are demoted to The Productive Classes if they are evaluated Code Red in school. And you must have noticed how children from The Productive Classes are transferred to A-classes if they are evaluated Code Green in school. Our Founding Parents was adamant, that we were not supposed to become a caste society. Meritocracy and mechanisms, to ensure movement from one state of life to another, were the foundations on which this Republic was built. But have you ever noticed anyone to be recruited to The Defenders in school? Or have you ever met a child of Defender parents? My questions are rhetorical of course, this fine art, which Cicero was an expert of. The problem with the police and the armed forces in the old systems in the bygone world, was that they sometimes attracted the wrong sort of people. Someone, who would be prone to abuse his power, would be unsuitable as a Defender, but in the old systems the position as a Defender attracted that sort of people. There existed dutiful and idealistic persons too, of course, but, despite that some of them sincerely wished to serve and protect, there was a risk with the old system. I don’t know if you remember the ancient state called Turkey, for instance. Several times its army toppled the democratically elected government. Similar things happened in a state called Burma, but I don’t know if you read about that in C-class history lessons. Even in C-class you must have read about the atrocities committed by Gestapo and Stasi? Oh my! That looks uncomfortable. Is there anything I can do? No? Good? Feels so good? That sounds fine and dandy. Nothing to worry about, then? What is happening to you? Actually, I was just on my way to explain that. That muscle tone suits you, by the way. Oh, yes! The Defenders, then. The conundrum for every state, is to be sure that persons guarding the state and the general public against enemies without and within, don’t abuse their power. A state like ours, for instance, could risk to be toppled by The Defenders, and turned into a military dictatorship, and we can’t have that, can we? The solution our Founding Parents choose, was to ensure that The Defenders don’t have offspring, and actually is the least free of our inhabitants. That doesn’t mean that Defenders are not happy. As I said before: There are benefits and drawbacks with every position in society, but it is constructed in order to make all of us happy, regardless if you belong to The Leadership, The Defenders or The Productive Classes. Different personality types find happiness in different sorts of lifestyles. And I now come to the question: How would you find happiness? Your outspoken views about The Leadership are misguided, and easily corrected by the mind-control program that is running in your brain just now. Your wariness of power-abuse, on the other hand, is a useful virtue in a society like ours. It ought to be encouraged, especially in a Defender. Not a Defender? Oh come now. At this stage you must understand what’s going on. Defenders are not born. They are made. I read your psychological profile. You like to be re-programmed. Thinking of it: I don’t any longer have to read your psychological profile to see that you like the re-programming. Some gymboys work out in order to compensate for something, but I notice that that reason don’t apply to you. Shouting abuse despite this high frequency of brainwave re-programming? That means that you have a strong will. Good. That’s another virtue of a Defender. The warm feeling, which drives the cool temperature away in your chamber, is caused by the injection you received while asleep. Based on your height, weight, age, and the time which has lapsed since the injection was administered, I would make an educated guess, that it is still intensifying in effect. If you enjoy this feeling, I can bring you pleasure by informing you, that the enhancement of your body tissues and physique has just began. When this process has reached its goal you have become a Defender. That’s the spirit! It seems like some inhibitions are removed? Yes, you are right. These biceps are indeed ’fucking big’. And yes, these abdominal muscles are very hard, but don’t you think that overuse of the word ’fucking’ is emptying it of its rhetoric impact? Yes! Give in to it! You know that you like re-programming! Ooops. Not all of the recruits shout that much. So. So. Just breathe. It breaks you in order to rebuild you into a stronger being. Yes, just like that. That sounds confident. Yes, I agree, these vein-covered quads and thighs are, as you put it, ’awesome’. I’m literally full in awe over the muscle mass you are achieving, and it seems like you are, too. I know, by experience, that it is best to inform you, that the process will now enter the next phase. Yes, that’s right. This is just the beginning. No, there will be more. No, I’m not kidding. Yes, you don’t have to ask for it. I will ’bring it on’. You can trust me in that regard. You start and wrench unusually much. Are you okey? Never felt better? Good. I hoped that you would accept the process at last. Proud to be a Defender? Good. Yes, I hear that you think it’s good, too. Too good to be true? But it is true. Wait for phase three. Yes, there are further phases. Can’t take any more? I’m sorry, but the procedure must go on, when it has started. Safety protocol demand that we finish this. Oh, look at those lats! And your traps and shoulders! You respond unusually well to the treatment. Yes, you are unusually big, already. I can’t imagine how you will look when this is finished. I don’t need any encouragement. I’m already looking at you. And what a sight you are! That’s my cocky lad! If that is a good expression at your age. Damn. I am beginning to sound unusually emotional. I must see my shrink tomorrow. If I can’t compose myself, I might be demoted to the Productive Classes. If I'm willing to pay that price for watching your humungousness? I… I… I don’t know. Oh, aren’t you a miracle? Those hard pillows of a chest… Becoming like basket balls now. Yes, I would moan too, if that happened to me. Initiating Phase three. I thought, that you just said, that you can’t take any more? Give you all? Yes. Everything in due time. More? Yes, you will have more. I adjust the controls here manually, to quicken the process somewhat. We can’t hurry too much outside the ordinary parameters. No one knows what would happen to your organism then. ’Beef?’ That’s a word for it. ’Powerhouse’. Yes, that’s another one. Oh, my! You broke your restraints. They were for your own safety, you know. A lot of subjects shake so violently, that they risk to harm themselves. Yes, I’m looking at you. Oh. Yes. Definitively as volleyballs. And these football shoulders! You are not supposed to do that. Hot? Well, ehrm… We in The Leadership are not supposed to think about such things. Initiating Phase Four. No. I can’t. Oh. I’m not supposed to… I’m here to guide you through the process, not watch you in another capacity… Oh! Oh, uh! No! I can’t… Don’t tease me like that. Goddammit, I’m a doctor, not a … And those veins! Covering your legs and your chest… I don’t believe my eyes! A behemoth of raw untamed power! And the monumental calves of yours, protruding, bulgingly, still pulsating… The hypertrophic powerfield surrounding you… stimulating you… No! No! I said, don’t tease me! I don’t… You insanely ultra-masculine brute, you don’t understand, I can’t… Oh! Uh! Join you? No, I can’t… No, I can’t, oh… So this is how the sluice works? What am I doing here? I’m not supposed to… I return out of this sluice. It’s too dangerous. I’m not evaluated… I’m not scheduled… I don’t fit the personality test… Uhn. Enter. YES! TOGETHER WITH YOU! BECOMING A DEFENDER! THE POWER! THE ALL-CONSUMING POWER! TOO MUCH… I… OH! YES! UHN! UHN! COMPUTER: INTENSIFY PROCESS Process intensified, and increasing
  6. In chapter three, I take a closer look at one of the former minor characters. As usual, I hope that you will tolerate my unintentional linguistic errors. Chapter One is here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/5059-project-defender-–-chapter-one/ Chapter Two is here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/6609-project-defender-–-chapter-two/ DISCLAIMER This story do contain an element of internalised homophobia, at least in the beginning. If you are offended by this, please read no further. Project Defender - Chapter 3 He always wanted to be huge. But he wasn’t. Kowalski had grown up in a small municipality just outside Warsaw. He had been bullied in primary school, but when he entered secondary school he joined a gym, and although his results were modest, his newfound muscles kept the bullies away. His parents – especially his mother – were devout Catholics, and he joined them, when they attended Mass on Sundays. He felt like having two minds when it came to physical exercise. On the one hand, it felt amazing in the end of each training session, when his body released all those relaxing substances, and blood pumped into all his newly trained muscles, causing him to feel hard in a very good way. On the other hand, he felt uncomfortable that he often became horny after workout. He had tried to mention it to his vicar during confession once, but Father Wójcik had reacted in horror: ’You are having dirty thoughts, young man. Do you hear: Dirty! The only normal thing to feel aroused by is your future wife. I hope you will find a suitable girl sometime during Technikum. Now avoid to think dirty thoughts again. I absolve you in the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.’ He hadn’t dared to mention the topic again. During his studies at Technikum, he had to go by bus to Warsaw each day, and he joined a bigger and more well-equipped gym inside Warsaw. He must have been eighteen when he found out that one of the adult guys at the gym was a British Jesuit, teaching in the capacity of Guest Professor in astrophysics at the university for a time. Father O’Kelly seemed to enjoy exercise himself, although he mainly used the treadmill and the step-up-machine, so Kowalski dared to take up his embarrassing worries. O’Kelly laughed somewhat, and had a much more relaxed view on Kowalski’s perceived problem: ’Listen, son. Now and then in the history of the Church, a few people have – mistakenly – believed that the human body is something bad. It isn’t. Evil is only able to harm things. Evil is not able to create and nurture life. Some saints were wrong about some issues, and a few of them were anorectics or neurotics. We do good if we try to do the same sort of good deeds those saints achieved, but we ought not to follow their mistaken personal opinions or quirks. The human body is an amazing thing: Our brain and our hands cooperate in a way that made engineering and art possible. The human body functions the way God intended – perhaps not perfectly, since we have a free will, but the basic processes are there, because it is for the best. St. Paul writes that the human body is a temple for the Holy Spirit. That isn’t something bad or evil, is it? Men like you try to make their temple as fitting and embellished as possible, and there is nothing wrong with that, at least if you don’t become obsessive about it, and forget the needs of persons around you. Excessive vanity would make the life complicated for you, but in the right amount it is just confidence, and confidence is good to have. Human sexuality is a strong feeling, that sometimes blur peoples judgment. Those consequences of a blurred judgment are sometimes evil, but not sexuality itself. God created it. I would advice you to exercise more, not less, since exercise helps to diminish exaggerated arousal, but I would also advice you to thank God for your ability to feel good. In the future you will probably find a cute girl. If sex had been something intrinsically bad, matrimony wouldn’t have been regarded a sacrament, would it?’ After his discussion with Father O’Kelly, Kowalski felt much better. He continued to work out at the gym, and achieved a lean and very hard physique, but he wasn’t able to become big and burly the way professional bodybuilders looked. During Technikum, some of the girls had found the combination of his short stature, ripped physique and cream coloured downy hair irresistible, and he had snogged a number of young women, but nothing serious. Since his early childhood, his favourite saint was St. Michael the archangel. The church his mother attended had several smaller adjacent altars, and his favourite one was dedicated to St. Michael. A broad shouldered statue of St. Michael was there, his enormous wings outstretched protectively, and his big chest decked with chainmail, a sword in his muscular arm, trampling the devil underfoot. It was an icon of masculine heroism, and Kowalski wanted to be a hero. To protect people, and defend them. When he graduated from Technikum, he first applied to the fire brigade, but his application was rejected since he didn’t fulfill the regulated minimum height. He then applied to the Armed Forces of the Republic of Poland, and was accepted. He scored very high on endurance tests, and he managed to lift heavier backpacks than men his own size usually did. He was very good at diving. He was extremely good at parachute jumps, but one part of his test results differed significantly from the rest: He scored low when it came to the ability to lift really heavy equipment, and he felt frustrated over this. Now and then, he shyly asked himself if he possibly could be gay. The Church’s position on the issue was clear, and that made him uncomfortable: He liked attending Mass now and then, and he appreciated to slip into an almost empty cathedral in the middle of the afternoon, experiencing the soothing silence and stillness. The Army officially maintained a non-discriminatory policy when it came to sexual orientation, and had always did, but the personal opinions among some of the senior officers and some of the other squaddies was another thing. As far as he knew, no-one had suspected anything. He knew that he often became horny when he read magazines about bodybuilding or watched action films with muscular heroes, but he wasn’t sure if that was a desire for the men themselves, or if it was rather a lust for becoming just as huge and ripped as them, excelling in masculinity. Gays are not masculine, are they? When TV news reported about Gay Pride parades in Warsaw, he didn’t feel anything for the men who walked by on the television screen: Trannies trying to look like women. Soft and wimpy men with rainbow pennants, some of them with glitter on their faces. They looked happy. He wished them luck with their everyday lives, but he didn’t feel attracted to them in any way. They seemed uninteresting. He had nothing in common to them. So he couldn’t be gay, could he? He had nothing against gays, as long as they didn’t hit on him. The Army became like a second home for him. He liked being challenged to achieve feats beyond his former limits. A couple of years went by. Then the Space Attack occurred. His family was evacuated from the Warsaw area to the countryside. He was sent to the Pan-European Military Research Facility, since he had been deemed suitable for experimentation. He had felt excited when he became aware of the purpose of The Program. De Vries had been a pain in the ass, but most of the international guys had been pleasant enough to work with. Among the scientists he felt most comfortable with the Norwegian one they called ’Viking Guy’, who had been friendly and polite. Coach was so well-trained, that he made Kowalski feel small in comparison, and there was something with the tiny Englishman, Smith, that made Kowalski feel awkward. He didn’t know what. He missed Soares. They had met the first day at the Facility, in the gym, and found a common bond in how much they liked workout and their disappointment with being hardgainers. Soares had a good sense of humour. Under cheering sounds from the other squaddies, they had sometimes wrestled at the living quarters, pitting each other’s strengths against each other. They had shared stories about their home countries and their worries for their families. Soares was also Catholic, so Kowalski had given him his St. Michael pendant as a gift of brotherhood. Soares had a good heart and kind eyes the colour of hazel nuts. And now he was comatose, because of an experiment gone wrong. Kowalski had sat beside Soares sick bed at Infirmary every evening since the accident happened. He felt angry at the scientists, but he also felt a bad conscience for his anger, since Viking Guy had told him that they worked on a treatment. He couldn’t sleep. He clothed himself, and tied his boots. The Infirmary lay in darkness, with the exception of a single lamp at the desk. To his surprise, neither Johansson’s nor Soares’ bed were there. After the initial surprise, he found Fischer, the night working nurse, tied to a chair. ’The recruits! They wheeled the patients away to the Lab.’ As soon he had freed Fischer from the chair, Kowalski jogged to the Lab, walking silently in suspicions the last distance. He peeked carefully into the Lab. Jones was there: He was a funny one, with a good sense of humour, at least when Kowalski could manage to understand his dialect. And Varga! Varga had behaved as an elder brother to Kowalski and Soares. Why had they of all persons disobeyed orders? If they actually had disobeyed orders. Weren’t they programmed to behave as perfect soldiers now? And who was the tall and muscular uniformed man typing at a screen? No! It couldn’t be… Doctor Smith? It’s impossible! He was so tiny, bespectacled and plump yesterday. This is like magic. He’s even bigger than Varga. And Boffin! And Viking Guy! And… O saint Mary in heaven: Coach was humongous now! What were they doing? Kowalski noticed the movable sickbeds. Empty. And the Chambers were activated. It dawned to him that Soares and Johansson were inside the Chambers, so it seemed that they tried to cure them from their comatose states. Cautiously, he stepped inside the lab. CHAMBER ONE IS [OCCUPIED][AND RUNNING PHYSICAL REPROGRAMMING PROTOCOL] Cpl. Soares Weight: 56 kilo grammes Now:[iNCREASING] [AWAITING DATA] Height: 168 centimetres Now:[iNCREASING] [AWAITING DATA] Chest: 91 centimetres Now:[iNCREASING] [AWAITING DATA] Waist: 70 centimetres Now:[iNCREASING] [AWAITING DATA] Arm: 34 centimetres Now:[iNCREASING] [AWAITING DATA] Thighs: 56 centimetres Now:[iNCREASING] [AWAITING DATA] ’Brain activity detected and intensifying.’ ’Pulse, breathing and temperature stable.’ Soares had grown inside the chamber. Muscles bulged and protruded from him. He was far from the size of the men in the Lab, but it was obvious that he was still growing in the golden shimmer. ’Kowalski? What are you doing here?’ Viking Guy had noticed his presence. The other large men looked in his direction. He felt uncomfortable. ’I was worried for Soares. Why did you tie Fischer?’ ’Did you tie Fischer, Jones? Why?’ ’Ah dinna thought mooch abuht ed. Ah wanted ’im to be outovva way. The Program kicked in.’ ’But why in the world would Fischer want to hinder us from curing the patients? Although it is in the middle of the night? Which is – ahem – unconventional.’ A short and confused discussion took place, but the safety for the patients soon redirected the focus of all present to the Chambers and the persons therein. Fischer peeked inside the room, but, although some of the men probably noticed him with their enhanced military senses, they all focused on the patients. Since Fischer didn’t have any patients to guard any longer, he sat down on a stool. ’Good to have you here, Kowalski.’, Doctor Green said. ’I know that you have sat beside Soares’ bed several nights. He knows you well. You are friends. He would listen to you.’ ’Yes?’, Kowalski asked. ’There is no damage to his brain. Whatever may have damaged himself before is perfectly healed by Morphogenetic Fields by now. I suspect that a psychological factor would help him to awake, under the condition that he remain in the Field during awakening. Human contact. You were scheduled for The Procedure the day after tomorrow, I believe. Would it disappoint you very much, if we rescheduled your treatment till tonight, instead?’ ’You mean. To become like you? Now?’ ’I understand that it comes of a sudden, but I really think that Soares would benefit from you talking to him, while you both go through The Program together.’ It came so suddenly. Kowalski felt confused. ’He is very close to awakening, but something delays it, and I believe there is a human factor to this. Your voice and your presence would hopefully lead him back to consciousness, but since that would expose you to The Program, you need to go through it all, with nano-inhalation, nutrition-IV and everything.’ Although it was buzz cut, Kowalski felt the hair on the back of his skull raise. He felt a pleasant shiver at his back. A lump emerged in his throat, and his mouth became dry. He silently observed the absurdly titanic men in the Lab – even the scientists looked like imaginary super-soldiers by now. He watched the growing Soares and Johansson in the Chambers. He should join their ranks tonight already. Everything felt unreal, like it was one of his silly teenage fantasies coming true. Absentmindedly, he answered: ’Yes. Of course I accept a reschedule. I want to help Soares. And it is – ehrm – actually quite exciting.’ He blushed somewhat, and untied his boots. The T-shirt fell on the bench. The trousers as well. Socks. Pants. It still felt unreal when Green applied the IV and the neuro-helmet. ’May I have a glass of water before I enter?’ Varga handed over a large plastic mug filled with drinking water. Kowalski devoured it. Green tied the breathing mask over Kowalski’s face. ’There is a microphone in the mask. If you feel strange, you may tell us. Most of the guys who have went through this Process have felt very well. Thank you for helping us to awaken Soares, and good luck inside.’ [CONNECTING] [ACCESSING DATA] [AWAITING SPECIMEN] Cpl. Kowalski Weight: 57 kilo grammes Height: 169 centimetres Chest: 91 centimetres Waist: 69 centimetres Arm: [AWAITING DATA] Thighs: [AWAITING DATA] CHAMBER ONE IS [OCCUPIED BY 2 SPECIMEN][AND RUNNING PREPARATORY PROTOCOL] [CONCOMITANTLY TO] [PHYSICAL REPROGRAMMING PROTOCOL][MULTI-THREADING] When the inner sluice opened, his entire body was struck by a violent wave. It caused all his bodily consciousness to tingle and buzz, in a way that was impossible to describe. He stepped inside the chamber, and the feeling became more intense. For a while it shut out all his other impressions. He tumbled into an intense vision of golden flashes and flares, in which his physical body ceased to exist. In its place he consisted entirely by raw, primordial power. Buzzing. Crackling. Emitting bolts. Devouring bolts. A voice which was not his own was saying something inside his mind. He didn’t actually hear it, since it was in his mind. He couldn’t hear clearly: It was not audible. It was more like a thought – an implanted thought. The intensity of the implanted thought increased: Do you accept The Program? He was rather strong minded. He couldn’t be forced to accept. Do you accept The Program? But it was because of The Program he was here. This reminded him of something a drill officer had said during basic training: ’I will break you down, in order to rebuild you!’. This was something similar. Do you accept The Program? Far, far away, he was vaguely aware that his physical body was involuntarily mumbling and grunting random words, but he didn’t pay attention to it: He was deeply immersed in his inner experience of integration into The Program. Do you accept The Program? He would become like the unbelievably huge titans outside the chamber. He shivered unintentionally in delight. Do you accept the Program? And he was here to help Soares. But what would happen if he tried to refuse The Program? You will accept The Program Fear arose. His instincts told him, that, if he accepted, he would no longer be entirely the same. From a certain point, he would no longer be himself. The instincts of fear became stronger. You will accept The Program You will accept The Program Damn it! It was his duty to endure this process, in order to help mankind. It was his duty to become… Becoming Defender Yes. To defend his fellow men against the invasion, and to defend his brothers-in-arms in danger. Becoming Protector Yes. To protect the weak and innocent… You will accept The Program Yes. To become a part of the same Program as the other optimised lads. United. Together as the first generation space marines. United… in… the… same… Program. You will accept The Program You will accept The Program You will accept The Program You will accept The Program You will ac ’SIR! YES, SIR!’ CHAMBER ONE IS [OCCUPIED BY 2 SPECIMEN][AND RUNNING NEURO-REPROGRAMMING PROTOCOL] [CONCOMITANTLY TO] [PHYSICAL REPROGRAMMING PROTOCOL][MULTI-THREADING] A small part of him knew, that the experience he re-lived wasn’t his own, but borrowed from someone else, like the one just before, and the one just before, but it felt so real, and it felt so much a part of his own experience… It was like he had been through this for years, by now: Years of painstaking exercise to perfect his ability to… …triumph in close combat… …swiftly and effectively handle weapons of innumerable types… …make tactical decisions… …defuse explosives… …hack into computer technology… It went on and on. He re-lived the lives of countless experts in their fields, and all were implanted and coalesced in him. Becoming consummate individual unit His confidence exploded and went off the scale. Nothing would ever make him feel awkward or uncomfortable any longer. Neuro-Reprogramming Protocol aim achieved Neuro-Reprogramming Protocol accomplished Closing according to Program Running: Physical Reprogramming Protocol [undivided] … [both specimen] [according to same matrix] Enhancing He was awake. He was present in a cylinder with another man. O, yes! The Chamber. The Process. Soares. His friend Soares. It felt good to be close to Soares. CHAMBER ONE IS [OCCUPIED BY 2 SPECIMEN][AND RUNNING PHYSICAL REPROGRAMMING PROTOCOL][iNTENSIFYING] The fluid around him was crackling with power discharges, and it caused his entire body to tingle in an incredible way. The power was crackling around Soares too, and he had grown amazingly big and well-defined, still pulsating of growth. Now, the same power surged through Kowalski, making him grunt with uncontrollable pleasure. An ugly sound of bones breaking and reforging was transmitted through the fluid. Kowalski was dimly aware of pain, and for a while his consciousness drifted away into darkness. When he awoke, he felt different and elongated in a strange way. The power emissions buzzed: in the fluid, on the surface of his skin, and through the essence of his entire body. He concentrated, and managed to speak. ’Soares. Wake up. It’s me, Kowalski. Please, Soares.’ And Soares opened his eyes. ’Kowalski? Oh. It feels… Mmmm.’ ’You are awake!’ ’So they continued to… Mmmm. …physical phase anyhow? Oh, this is good… Uh!’ Soares shivered in delight. He contracted his arms and tensed his abs. His dick awoke. Soares shivered again, and closed his eyelids again. His grunts revealed that he hadn’t drifted back to unconsciousness. Kowalski was so relieved that Soares had awakened, that he let his dogged determination go. His awareness tumbled into the flashing, buzzing, bubbling experience of bodily change, of transformation. The irresistible power surge… The Field… The radiation… He felt himself pack on meat in an incredible speed. His back broadened, became more massive, and his shoulders too, filling out, full, round, meaty powerful globes of human flesh. There was nothing he could do to stop it, but why would he want to do that? He was programmed to do everything necessary to optimise and maximise the performance of himself and of The Program. To enhance himself. To augment himself. And Soares. His legs felt like they were able to support incredible amounts, tree trunks widening, pillars of uncrushable steel, voluptuously huge calves. It was like pump, but intensified, and instead of just feeling like they grew, his muscles actually became larger, harder, more defined. His traps and pecs contracted in a deliriously delightful way, while they swelled up into uncrushable ridges and mounds, and he revelled in the feeling of his hyper-charged biceps and triceps, and of the vein covered steel cords, which once had been his forearms. His abs and iliac furrow burnt intensely while they became more and more well-defined, but the feeling gradually changed into the same buzzing and brimming feeling of power which filled the rest of his body. His firm gluteus had filled out into diamond hard orbs. [ACCESSING] [sPECIMEN DATA] Cpl. Kowalski Weight: 220 kilo grammes [AND INCREASING] Height: 215 centimetres [AND INCREASING] Chest: 228 centimetres [AND INCREASING] Waist: 114 centimetres [AND INCREASING] Arm: 100 centimetres [AND INCREASING] Thighs: 120 centimetres [AND INCREASING] Cpl. Soares Weight: 220 kilo grammes [AND INCREASING] Height: 215 centimetres [AND INCREASING] Chest: 228 centimetres [AND INCREASING] Waist: 114 centimetres [AND INCREASING] Arm: 100 centimetres [AND INCREASING] Thighs: 120 centimetres [AND INCREASING] [iNTENSIFYING] [according to same matrix] He didn’t become what he had ever dreamed of: He became something beyond the limits of his wildest imagination, and he diverted himself in the mindless roar of anabolic ecstasy. When he closed his eyes he heard the rushing sound of his pulse and of his blood stream transporting growth enhancing substances to every fibre of his pleasantly convulsing body. He grew in a way beyond what he could comprehend. He was a living battery, charged with the power current from a high voltage line. The power of vitality itself filled him limitlessly. Nuclear bombs exploded inside his body and inside his mind. The ineffable powerblaze stormed in every atom. He brimmed of unlimited and unconquerable might. Suddenly, he could feel Soares' hand on his left pec. It felt good. Soares’ hand had grown in size, but so had Kowalski’s pecs. Soares’ grip had increased, and a man of softer build would have been crushed by this, but Kowalski was no ordinary man. His pec resisted steel-hard the squeeze of Soares'. It felt good. Actually, it did feel amazing, since the empowering current of force, which made him grow, now streamed through him with redoubled intensity. It was like the power current streamed through him twice, and he could hear from Soares’ roar that the effect worked in both directions. He grabbed Soares’ incredible pulsating shoulders with both of his hands. His touch gave Soares a start, and for a couple of seconds Soares upper body went rigid. Then he relaxed – as far as the convulsing and pulsating state his muscles found themselves in could be called relaxed. Soares let his right hand move to Kowalski’s left bum, and the left hand soon followed. The hypertrophic power current now streamed through them again, again and again, in a heightened state of intensity. The Chamber bubbled of liquid. Thunderbolts of morphogenetic power struck their inner cores. The breathing masks hindered them from kissing each other, but both opened their eyes. Staring deeply into each others eyes, Kowalski’s ice blue eyes into Soares’ hazelnut brown ones, they could see how the heightened energy state began to affect their tissue. Golden power sparks arose in Soares’ eyes, and Kowalski could feel a strange, but pleasant, buzz arise in his own eyes. Then their eyes became interconnected to each other by two sparkling power currents of golden fire. Something happened at their groins, and the pulsating steel rods between their legs suddenly became interconnected by a similar crackling power current. Their muscular fibres became more and more unyielding. Their bodies became ever more covered in uncrushable brawn. They shook in pleasure. When Kowalski thought it couldn’t become better, more pleasurable, more ecstatic, the feeling intensified further. They both became monstrously titanic behemoths of ultra-masculine perfection. They roared. They raged. They bellowed, and hugged each other in steel hard embraces, but when the transformation process of The Program reached its climactic optimum, they both fell into velvet black unconsciousness. When Kowalski awoke, he found himself lying in a hospital bed at the Infirmary. Soares was lying in another one, and, since he was reading an e-book, any suspicions about a relapse into coma were dispelled. Two weeks ago, they had been the smallest of the recruits at the Facility. Now they both looked enormous. The story continues in https://muscle-growth.org/topic/7121-project-defender-chapter-four/
  7. This chapter will be very, very dark, since it does explore the mind of Cpl. De Vries, who is a well-known nuisance from earlier chapters. Chapter One is here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/5059-project-defender-–-chapter-one/ Chapter Two is here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/6609-project-defender-–-chapter-two/ Chapter Three is here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/7120-project-defender-chapter-three/ DISCLAIMER The following story do contain heavy amounts of racial slur, homophobia, several forms of prejudice and mental images of violence. Please do not read this if you are offended by anything of the aforementioned. The author do not condone any of the opinions or values the character expresses. Project Defender - Chapter 4 De Vries sat on his bed, already awake, although it was several hours until reveille. When he had looked at himself in the mirror before the experiment, he had seen an Aryan, just as his dad used to say. When he had looked at himself in the mirror after the experiment, he had seen a perfect Aryan. He was big now. And strong. He cupped his left pec with his right hand. But he was surrounded by idiots. Idiots that held him back. There was a war raging out there, and the idiots went on about safety concerns, correct procedure, democracy, scientific method and other civilian bullshit he wasn’t interested in. He wanted to smash space squid. But first he wanted to have his revenge on the idiots. And the midgets. And the monkey boy. And Major Murphy. And the disgusting little fag. No-one should stand in his way. He had made his decision. He rose and walked through the empty corridors to the Lab. It was dark, but a LED helped him find the switch. The air in the room was strangely humid and warm, like the machines had been used several hours later than usual and not cooling down the way they normally did in night time, but he didn’t think more about it. The screens were turned on, but the screen savers were activated. Idiots. Under other conditions, this could have caused a security breech. Do they know nothing about computers? But now, this would make his revenge easier: Just what boffins leaving their computers on deserve. He watched the screens, and pushed some of the keys, first curious, then excited. They had held him back on purpose, the sanctimonious nerds. They could have pumped him full of a much larger dose of that what-it-was-called, and they could have increased those golden rays and things much more. He remembered the intense pleasure the Field and the Rays had given him, when he had bathed in that otherworldly non-burning golden fire. The hair on his forearms and his back-hair tingled pleasantly and he felt how he became hard. Yes, he had liked it, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted more of it, and he wanted to be bigger than anyone else in the project. He stared at the screen. Once a test subject had absorbed the nano-bots, it was obviously possible to reprogram them further by IV, if the subject underwent a repeated treatment. He didn’t need a new dose of nano-bots, just air and an IV. He had found the display of the two anatomical charts and found the log about his present enhanced physique. He copied the green chart of his present build, and made it into a new blue chart: the starting-point for something even more amazing. He could feel how his engorged dick pulsated against the inside of his shining black, leathery uniform trousers. The engineer who designed these trousers must have been another fucking damned fag, but he had to admit that they were very comfortable, and they actually made him look aggro when he saw himself in the mirror, so it wasn’t exactly a catastrophe. He concentrated on the screen again. Ah! It was possible to click on the sketch in green lines, in order to mark which muscle to design. And then these boxes and numbers… His back-hair tingled again and he salivated. He could design exactly how he wanted to look! Every man want insane biceps. And an even bigger chest sounds good. And traps. He clicked on a number of different muscles, and changed the numbers in the boxes. A cartoonish figure drawn in green lines began to form. The ridiculously broad-shouldered man in the sketch was built something like the comics character The Hulk, but with a much more exaggerated physique. Another man, and probably all women, would have considered the sketch ugly and monstrous, but De Vries stared on it longingly: With muscles like that, no-one would be able to stop him. He wasn’t a science guy, but 1000% level of Hypertrophic Radiation sounded good - yeah: really good - and a target level of 1000 milli-sheldrake sounded like it matched the other figure. He had chosen the alternative ’auto-procedure’, so no-one else was needed to oversee the process. This amazing machine would follow his wishes and demands, and make him into what he wanted. He pressed enter. Modified settings not available under present symmetry protocol ’Deactivate symmetry protocol.’ Are you sure you want to deactivate symmetry protocol? What the bloody hell? ’Affirmative.’ Symmetry protocol deactivated That was a relief. The computer behaved just like the idiots, but it was possible to subdue it to do one’s will. Enter. Modified settings not available under present functionality protocol Rage was rising from the inside of his mind. Crawling. Erupting. ’Deactivate functionality protocol.’ Are you sure you want to deactivate functionality protocol? ’Affirmative.’ Functionality protocol deactivated It isn’t possible to reason with computers. Just give it what it wants. Enter. Modified settings not available under present safety protocol ’Deactivate safety protocol.’ Are you sure you want to deactivate safety protocol? ’Who the hell designed this bloody damn interface – Microsoft?’ Negative … The Program was designed by [Dr. Gruber] by the help from [Cyberdyne Systems] and [umbrella Corporation] He sighed, and tried to control his temper and impatience: ’I am sure, that I want to deactivate safety protocol.’ Safety protocol deactivated Enter. Something happened on the screens. He didn’t bother to read it. Shivering of anticipation, he undressed, laid the uniform – rigorously neatly folded – on a bench and stepped into the sluice. He didn’t need the neuro-helmet, and wore the breathing mask just for air. The IV was, however, necessary to pump him full of the high dose of viruses, the super-supplements, the reprogramming stuff and the super-gear-thingy. He stepped into Chamber 1. The fluid level rose. The warm, comforting fluid surrounded him. He fell into an analgetic half-dream state, only dimly aware of something happening to his bone structure. He had a list of those who deserved punishment. The Britse, who wasn’t able to speak his own language correctly, thought he was so tough with all his tattoos and all, chattering all the time like an old shrew, but De Vries was going to make him kneel and then put the thumbs in his eyes, listening to him screaming like a little girl. And then rip out his balls and tear off his willy, and ask who’s tough now? And he was going to let Monkey-boy watch. What was British armed forces thinking when they sent a black man to do a white man’s work? De Vries grandparents had moved to the Netherlands from South Africa in 1992, only to find that there were a lot of Arabs in the Netherlands. He distrusted Arabs. And Jews. De Vries had seen a star in the neck chain of Van Gelder, the other Dutch recruit. He distrusted Van Gelder. De Vries was going to torture The Britse and his monkey-boy friend before hunting the midgets down. The midgets didn’t deserve to undergo this enhancing treatment, and the turnout of events showed that one of the shrimps hadn’t been affected by The Program, but swooned like a little girl instead. Not like a real man. Not like himself, who had got brawny like a good test subject. Yeah! Really, really brawny. He wished he had been able to show his dad what he had become. His dad had been so disappointed when he slapped the neighbourhood children down as a kid. Dad used to chasten him with his belt. The same happened when he had smoked perfectly legal marijuana. And when he only came second in the swimming competition. And Fridays. De Vries had shown him what he was able of, by joining the Armed Forces, making dad proud. He was going to crush the heads of the shrimps with his heavy boots. He was going to torture Major Murphy, since he had become an inconvenience… De Vries slowly awakened from his reveries by the voluptuous feeling of growing muscle fibres. His already superhuman physique had already began to transform even further into unknown anatomical territory. He had liked how his muscles had filled out and increased in meaty firmness the last time, and the same feeling was rushing through his entire body now, even stronger than the last time. Doubling, tripling, quadrupling in intensity, like a wave of energized liquid, bubbling of raising power levels. Raw strength itself was forced into his growing, ever-hardening brawn, at a much higher power-level than the last time. He was almost unable to handle this extremely increased level, and doubted for a moment if he had chosen the right settings on the screen, but, in a mixture of voluntarily abandonment and forced surrender, he let his body and mind go into unrestrained and uninhibited transformation. Under the influence of the incredibly high doses of hypertrophic radiation the reprogrammed nano-bots, the high doses of the endocrine formula, and the now extremely modified DNA, he approached the goal desired according to the tampered Field settings. De Vries roared in pain and lust, but wasn’t aware of it any longer. The heightened levels of testosterone now stoked two primal fires in his mind – sex and aggression – and in his present state he could no longer separate one from another, leaving out all other mental activity. He felt his power to break and crush, dominate and humiliate, revel and wallow in ecstasy increase without limit. His physical form increased in heaviness and might. An ecstatic feeling of expanding in every direction, of hardness increasing beyond all restrictions, and of an energetic power level beyond all comprehension brought him to an orgasmic state lasting for hours without any relief or outlet. When he awoke he was lying in a puddle on the Lab floor, surrounded by glass splinters and a few screw nuts, unaware how he had got there. The Being looked at its hands, and noticed that the cuts were already healing, and that in an almost visible rate. The Being looked in the direction of the Chambers, and noticed how Chamber 1 had shattered. It was of no concern. The Being was hunting. Hunting such targets as midgets, a monkey boy, a faggot, the tattooed one and the one with many signs on its clothes. The hunt wouldn’t end until the prey had been crushed and destroyed. * * * AFTERWORD It took me almost six years, but I finally was able to write next chapter, which will be found HERE.
  8. flamedelft

    An evening run, chapter 6

    Chapter 1; 2; 3; 4; 5; 6; 7 A/N: Sorry for the long delay. For this chapter, I thought I'd change the pov to Ty. As for Ty's gymnastics at the end of the chapter, I'll link a video of what I had in mind below the chapter in second A/n, along with an explanation to a term I decided to use. As always, any feedback, critique, questions and praise are very appreciated. Enjoy! --- While I was still beaming from the "sex day" Eli initiated a few days earlier, (Eli even mentioned that I seemed much more energetic lately. When I said that it was because of him he acted all embarrassed, but that cute smile of his lit up his face. I'm not sure he's aware, but when he's embarrassed, he starts scratching his tummy. It's so adorable!) we decided to go on a date. I reminded him that my folks will be helping at that midnight poetry reading thing. I'm not really into poetry, but Eli enjoys it occasionally, and it would be a nice opportunity to let my folks know about the change in our relationship. They were always fond of Eli. Since my vacation ended, we naturally spent less time together, but I went to his apartment after work everyday. We had another sex session/afternoon (less intense than the previous, but no less satisfying) yesterday, which was actually suggested by me. I wasn't quite sure if that counted as 'pushing', but I figured he could always say no. I'm still getting used to our situation. Don't get me wrong, it's totally fine and I love all of it, but there's a difference between just knowing about asexuality, and actually dealing with the different stances and preferences in the actual relationship. Anyway, in preparation of the midnight reading, we decided we would sleep in the afternoon beforehand. I'd sleep on the farm to save on travel time and we'd meet in front of the food hall where it would be taking place. I took my 'special occasion' vest with me to work, neatly packed away in my bag, but someone saw it in the changing room, and people started teasing me throughout the day. I still wasn't used to that kind of attention; I'm not sure if people are that intimidated by my stature. People are kind to me, I just don't get hit on as much as the other guys. I guess that would be part of why Eli's attention turns me on so much, his willingness to please me, almost in spite of his asexuality (not exactly accurate, but that's the closest I can describe it)... Well I better stop thinking about it, or my giant dick will give others more reasons to make fun of me. Even though it's slightly embarrassing, I like the cheeky support. Boss allowed me to sleep for a few hours after work at the farm, when I explained that I had a date at the midnight reading. She gave me a room in the back of the house, and warned the kids, which were there helping out with minor tasks, to not disturb me. She's like a fourth parent to me sometimes. Thanks to that I woke up refreshed when the alarm I set up beforehand rang in the evening. I took out the vest. It was sleeveless to enhance the volume of my upper arms, and made from a slightly stretchy material that hugged my torso. The tailor made some special mechanism that put the buttons at the chest level on a separate layer, so when I breathed in, the main cloth of the vest could separate, while the buttons would be still in their place, and the chasm between my pecs would be momentarily revealed without any damage to the vest itself. To cover my legs I just wore my normal stretchy boxers.It was always nice to see people stare at my considerable ‘assets’ as I walked by them, to feel the fabric hug my thighs and support my package. Though I did have to be careful not to get hard when wearing them. The best case of that would be the cock flopping out over the top, but once I was a bit too absorbed in my daydream while working on the farm, my hard cock straight up ripped through the fabric. Luckily, I was just taking a break inside the farmhouse and I had a spare in my locker, so any awkwardness was averted. I knew that my whole body was amazing by any standard, but I hoped that Eli would appreciate the vest. It probably wouldn't turn him on, but he still liked to look at me, and that was enough for me to try and enhance his usual experience. I used my perfume, adding some cinnamon to my natural smell. Eli said that he didn't mind my body odor, but I figured he wouldn’t mind if I changed it up sometimes. Especially for the date. I made my way over to the food hall by foot, and saw Eli already waiting in front looking the other way. He looked great, opting for a thin see-through cloth that draped over the front of his body. He had black trousers, the left leg missing below the knee, torn away because he messed up horribly when he tried to repair a rip there. So he made it into a fashionable outfit. Or something. As far as I'm concerned, he looks hot in pretty much anything. I’m no fashion expert, I'm just happy that I have some things that look good on me that fit. If other people like them, it’s a bonus. I crept up to him (not an easy task for someone of my stature, let me tell you), crouched down and said "Boo!" in his ear. He jumped in surprise. "Aah! Ty! Don't scare me like that, you big lug!" The smile on his face and his tone told me he didn't entirely hate it. "Heh, sorry, I couldn't help myself, I don't get to surprise people often." "That is true. Ok, I guess I'll let you scare me sometimes." I love the wrinkles that crinkle the skin around his eyes when he smiles at me. He gave me a hug. His small arms wrapping around me as far as they could felt amazing. I reciprocated, stooping down and enveloping him in my embrace. We let go after a few seconds. Ty was still smiling, “You smell especially yummy today.” “Thanks, you look amazing. Ready for the poetry?" "Truth be told, I lost track of time and didn't get any sleep in the afternoon, so I may fall asleep..." "That's okay, I can just carry you home if you do. If you want." "Okay, that'd be great." With that he raised his arms, like he was praising some mystical entity. After a second of me staring confusedly at him, he sighed. "Ty, could you give me a lift to your face please?" "Oh, of course!" I finally understood what he wanted to do and grabbed him under his arms lifting him to give him easier access to my face, which he immediately took advantage of, kissing me on the lips. After a few seconds, I felt his small tongue licking along my lips, and I opened them to allow it entry, but I reached out with my bigger one, playfully filling his whole mouth with it before retreating it. We enjoyed the kiss for a few moments before the sounds of someone clearing their throat snapped us out of it. I lowered Eli back down and turned towards the person voicing displeasure. "I'm sorry, we kind of got lost in the mome- Pops! What are you doing here?!" That was a surprise for me. Pops, or Rafael to most people, is one of my three parents. He’s pretty built and he towers over most people, his dark olive skin, straight short black hair hinted at his Filipino origins. He’s the same age as Rima, my mom and they’re younger than Yannick, my dad. He was grinning smugly. "Watching you make out with Eli, apparently." "Uh..." Eli came to our defense, "Sorry Rafael, as Ty said, we were caught up in the moment, we're still new to the relationship." Pops chuckled, "I can see that from a mile away, Eli, your technique is pretty sloppy. But I'm sure you'll have a lot of practice to improve it." I facepalmed. "Pops, seriously?" He grinned, "Yes Ty, seriously. At your age I could turn most people on like you wouldn't believe with just a kiss." "Really? That sounds interesting!", Eli said, obviously interested. I looked at Eli incredulously, "Don't encourage him!" Pops rolled his eyes, "Anyway, are you two coming in or do you intend to scare more people off with your ‘kissing’”. He had the nerve to add the finger quotes. I groaned, “Yes pops. Are mom and dad helping too?” “Rima is currently in another town, for an education conference, but Yannick is here, we’ll come to you when we’ll have a free time, okay?” “Okay, see you then.” “Bye, Rafael!” “Nice meeting you again Eli.” Pops turned around and went in. Eli placed a hand on the small of my back, “He seemed to take our relationship in stride.” I put my arm around his shoulders, bringing him closer to me. “Yeah, about that… They actually bet on whether we’d have one, beyond friendship…” He giggled, “Somehow that does not surprise me. I’m guessing Rafael bet on us.” “Yeah, if I remember the bet accurately, the options were ‘a relationship before they're thirty, a relationship after they're thirty and no relationship’.” He turned to me and gave me one more hug, before he lifted his head, "We should go inside." He turned around and went in, while I idled a bit, enjoying the sight of his cute butt flexing with his steps. The things I would do to it... I sighed and started after him, forcing these thoughts out, not wanting to cause another scene. The inside of the food hall looked different than usual. Most of the tables vanished, along with most of the chairs, but there were thin mattresses, blankets and sitting rugs added instead. Some were already occupied by the first arrivals. The center of the room had a simple podium added, with a few bioluminescent flowers to create a spotlight of sorts. More of the lighting plants were distributed around the hall to create a soft lighting. With my long legs, it took only a few strides to catch up to Eli, who was headed to a place next to the wall with a table that would give us a good view of the podium. As it was a usual-sized table and chairs, I sat down on a pillow with my back to the wall, my thick legs stretched out. Eli took a chair, turned it so the table would be on one side and me on the other. But since there was still time before the start he sat down on my thighs and cuddled up to me. After a few minutes I noticed his breathing deepened and he relaxed. I put a blanket around him and let him rest for the half hour it took until the hall filled and the host approached the podium. I rubbed Eli’s shoulder and whispered into his ear, “Hey, sleepy head, should I let you sleep or do you want to listen? It’s starting.” He stirred awake, rubbed his eyes and looked around a bit surprised, “Did I fall asleep?” “Yeah.” He stood up and sat down on the chair, the blanket still around him. He poured himself a glass of water. He offered to pour me one too but I declined. He stuck one hand out of the blanket and put it on my shoulder and squeezed affectionately. I returned the gesture by tensing the delt under his hand. He managed to stay awake while I found that the poetry wasn’t that boring. The running theme was distant countries, the poets sharing their adventures in Eurasia, Australia and the Americas. After another thirty minutes I saw Pops and Dad head towards us. I poked Eli and pointed them out, he nodded when he noticed them. When they came close enough, they whispered their greetings and sat down. Dad (Yannick) was black like me. He was a bit more slender and shorter than Pops, but he still had the start of a belly and his face was marked with the scars of heavy acne from his youth. After he acknowledged us, he turned his attention to his tablet. He usually was in charge of managing events like this and liked to know what was happening. He fired off a message, dimmed the tablet and sat up, smiling widely at us. “So I heard you two are in a relationship now. Congratulations!” I squatted near the table, at Eli’s side so I could keep my voice from disturbing nearby people too much. I told them, “Yeah, it’s very recent and we’re still figuring things out, but so far it’s going great.” “Ty is very patient with me.”, added Eli. That made me reach out and squeeze his hand gently out of happiness. He smiled at me. Dad’s smile widened a bit, “Good to know that our upbringing stuck.” Pops added, “It’s not that surprising. You’re great at parenting. I don’t think he’d be half as great if it was just me and Rima.” Dad grabbed and rubbed Pops’ shoulder, “Don’t be self deprecating Rafael, you two are not that bad.” With a grin, Pops retorted, “Did you forget that one time both me and Rima were having a nervous breakdown because we couldn’t get Ty to stop crying and you calmed all three of us in like five seconds?” “One mistake doesn’t define your capability as a parent, Rafi.” It seems like this isn’t an exactly new topic for them. Pops turned back to us, “Fine, fine whatever.” He turned back to us, “So, you two, have you done the horizontal tango yet?” All three of us yelped some form of “Rafael!” at the same time, drawing shushes from the people around us. When we apologized, Dad said: “Rafael, we have talked about this, you can’t just ask them if they had sex yet.” “So you want to wait and hope they’d spill the beans? You’re just as curious as I am.” Dad looked guilty, but replied: “I admit I am curious, but I can control myself, and I wouldn’t mind if they never told me.” Rafael rolled his eyes and turned back to us. “Sorry, that was rude of me.” It didn’t sound very sincere, but we accepted it anyway. And we didn't confirm or deny whether we had had sex. We chatted a bit more about other things (work, how are the kids at Eli's school doing...) before they excused themselves to go prepare the feast. I went back to my place next to the wall, noticing Eli's big yawn that he failed to subdue. "Should we go?" "No, it's fine, I'll manage to stay awake a while longer. Don't worry, you won't miss the feast because of me." "I'd survive even without the feast." "Did you eat before this?" My stomach gave the answer for me by growling quietly. "Er, no..." "Then we'll stay until the feast, I won't have you starve yourself because of my bad decision." "Okay. Thanks Eli." "No-" it turned into another yawn, "-problem." I leaned my head sideways into his side and he started lightly massaging my scalp. We sat like that through the last poem. People started clapping to thank the authors at which point the lights started to slowly turn up so people could see the feast that was now brought in by some people under the coordination of my folks. I moved to the table again and we started eating. The meal consisted of buckwheat with a fruity sauce. During the meal I noticed Eli's eyelids dropping lower and lower, until he slowly slumped into his chair. Not wanting to wake him up, I shoveled the rest of my meal into my mouth, quickly chewed and poured the rest of Eli's food in too, as I didn't want to be wasteful. I was sure Eli wouldn't mind. I carefully pulled the blanket off of him and picked him up, my big hands supporting his knees and upper back as I held him to my chest, and I started walking to Eli's home. I can never explain the happiness that fills me whenever Eli's close to me. He's just so wonderful, I wish I could spend the rest of my life with him. He's so beautiful that there should be statues and paintings of him all around the world. He's also smart and funny, and no one seems to dislike him even a little... While I was deeply in thought, the way passed quickly and before I knew it, I was standing at the door of his house. I entered, being careful not to bang Eli on anything. I went right to the bedroom and put him on his bed. But he unconsciously didn't want to let go of me, and I stood there hunched over for a few seconds, thinking about what I should do. I noticed that the mattress I sleep on was still out, so I grabbed him again and stood up. I maneuvered out of my vest and I pulled a blanket out of the closet and laid it down on the mattress and laid down on my back, with Eli on top of me, his head in the deep ravine between my pecs. I hoped he'd be comfortable there, and went to sleep. I awoke a few hours later, Eli now curled on my belly. I checked the time; it was a bit earlier than I normally wake up, so I had plenty of time to comfortably get ready and leave for work. I carefully slid Eli down to the mattress, got up, and covered him with the blanket, which he immediately cuddled into. I felt a bit sad to leave him. I took care of my morning business and showered. I loved exercising my body almost as much as I loved Eli. The feeling of my muscles doing whatever I wanted, moving unbelievably heavy weights with incredible ease, while being more flexible than someone of my build probably should be... I moved in front of the mirror and hit some poses, checking out and feeling the hard muscles move and pump up exactly as I wanted. I started to get hard when a stray thought reminded me that Eli was willing to top me in the near future. Damn, that was such a hot thought, his beautiful cock fucking my meaty butt. I wondered if he'd be up for some rimming too, and my cock was rock hard in no time. Since it was still too early for Eli to wake up, I knew I shouldn't just whack off into the toilet, so I sat down and pushed myself up on my hands, lifting my ass forward while spreading my legs, which pushed my cock in to my opened mouth through the valley of my pecs. I started flexing my abs periodically, which made my cock slide back and forth, and the friction of the shaft against the muscle mounds of my chest combined with the sucking of my own mouth quickly brought me to orgasm. I managed to swallow the whole load. In the post-orgasmic bliss I felt in the mood to show off, even though there wasn't anyone else around, so I reversed the position into a handstand, which I fluently transformed into a bridge and finally I stood up. Then I cleaned my dick, which was slick with cum and saliva in the sink. I toweled off and put on my boxers and went into the kitchen, closing the doors to dampen the sounds and smells I'd created. There I made breakfast, putting a portion for Eli under a cover. After I ate I wrote him a letter. I put it on the table, next to the cover. Then I went over to the bedroom once again, kissed Eli on his forehead, and went to work. An hour later I got a text from Eli: "Thank you for the breakfast, it was great. Will you come over after work? :* " I fired off an answer immediately: "Yes, can't wait to see you again " A/N #2: Ty's gymnastics: manna (he autofellates in this position) to handstand I used perfume, because I feel that in the future (or at least this fantasy one ), people would have looked at language, and would stop insisting on using different names for things based on the gender of the target audience (perfume/cologne).
  9. flamedelft

    An evening run, chapter 2

    Chapter 1; 2; 3; 4; 5; 6; 7 A/N: I thought that I would describe the whole day, but decided to stop at noon. Hope you guys like it. Anyways, hope you guys enjoy this, and as before, please do share any comments and critique, I appreciate it. I woke up to the smell of fresh breakfast. I sat up and stretched my fairly average body, my ankle greeting me with a twinge of pain. I didn't see or hear Ty, so I moved to the bathroom to brush my teeth and to freshen up. I checked myself in the mirror. My face looked back at me and like always, it looked like some prankster took a brush and dotted my brown skin with fresh henna while I was sleeping. The signs of lack of exercise were pretty clear. A small layer of fat covered muscles that were a bit bigger some time ago, my belly bulging out slightly despite not having any food in several hours. Well, it wasn't /that/ bad. But exercising shouldn't hurt, as long as I was less clumsy than yesterday evening. I was mostly hairless, with a patch of pubic hair, and a very light dusting of hair along my legs. I kept the hair on my head short. I finished up and made my way over to the kitchen, picked up the still warm plate with some toasted crickets with some vegetables, and went to the backyard I shared with a few other apartments. There was a big table with benches around, a big tree providing shade and- Oh. Naked Ty cranking out push ups underneath. He didn't notice me, so I limped to the table, sitting so I could watch him. It was such a lovely sight in the morning, his skin, coffee-like except in the few places where sunlight pierced through the branches and illuminated spots on his back which looked lighter. His body supported only on his fingertips and ends of his toes, the length of his long fingers somewhat offsetting the range of motion stolen by his beach ball pecs. His torso was as stiff as a board, not bending in the slightest. His bowling ball like buttcheeks, slightly flexed, bouncing hypnotically up and down, his dick and balls flopping around on the other side from the quick changes in position. A stray thought entered my mind: would he have any difficulty doing push ups if he got hard? Would he just literally fuck anything that was under him? Could it be as strong as the rest of him, supporting most of his weight as he flexed himself up and down, no hands? After a while, he went into the side plank position, facing away from me. I took the liberty of feasting my eyes on his perfectly formed calves, his hamstrings, not quite hidden beneath a layer of fat, his quads clearly visible even from behind. A big ass, sticking out even from this angle followed by a thick midsection, from which wing-like lats sprouted. A deep groove along his spine surrounded by his thick back muscles, that reached out for his enormous arms, which were held perpendicular to his body, the lower being as solid as a pillar, easily holding up his immense weight. I was almost done with the breakfast when he switched sides (though it didn't look like he would have any trouble being in that position for a lot longer). He finally noticed me. "Hey, did I wake you up?" "The smell of the breakfast did, thanks." "You're welcome, how is your ankle?" "I should go to the doctor to make sure yesterday's accident isn't anything serious." "I figured, I can take you there. Even carry you if you want. I took the next few days off." "Won't they miss you at the farm?" "Nah, they always nag me about not taking any personal time off and doing all the work for them. Boss almost started to cry from happiness when I told him. Guess he actually misses the physical work." "Well, if you want to be my maid so much... I guess you could go shopping after we come back. I got a few kids coming over for tutoring after lunch. I won't need to move much, so you don't have to be here all the time. Maybe you could even enjoy your vacation?" "Is it all right if I just hang around your apartment? You sure you don't need cleaning anything? I enjoy being around you." "Oh... well, you can stay, I won't kick you out. I enjoy being around you too." When I finished my breakfast, Ty stood up, and came to the table. He took the plate and glass in one hand, and offered me a ride on his other arm. I eagerly agreed, so he told me to turn around on the bench and lift myself up a bit. As soon as I did it, he slid his hand between my legs and lifted up while angling his forearm upwards, which caused my body to slide down, until his biceps, similar in thickness to my torso, stopped my descent. I hugged the warm pillar for balance, even though there wasn't much danger of me falling off his thigh-like forearm, and he straightened up, nothing indicating that my weight bothered him. As he came back inside, he playfully flexed his whole arm, which caused his forearm to harden and push my legs a bit wider, before his expanding biceps forced me a bit back towards his hand before he set me down. He had a quick shower, and we got dressed, I put on a white cloth vest and shorts, while he wore a pair of black drawstring sweatshorts and a strip of dark blue cloth that covered his midsection. "I took the liberty of contacting doctor Kuti earlier, she said she has time for you today before noon. I know that you don't like being babied, but I just thought it'd be nice for you to sleep in." "Thank you. I appreciate it. I should apologize for yesterday's explosion too, I overreacted." "Hey, no problem, I get it. So, you wanna get carried there by your personal butler?" He flexed in a monstrous most-muscular, showing off his whole body, his legs straining his shorts, underscored by a deep growl summoning a cold shiver that went up my spine. "Uh, as tempting as that seems, I'll have to politely decline. Could you give me my crutches from the closet? I may not be able to run for a while, but at least they could help me start strengthening my arms, and I won't have to rely solely on you for transportation. And if you're so eager to carry me all the time, I'll make the time for you. You do make quite a comfortable seat." "Aww, yeah! I'll hold you to that!" He rushed to the closet to get me the crutches. "So, um, can I come with you anyway?" "Of course you can. You'd probably start worrying I got lost five minutes after I went out of your sight." I started poking his thigh. "That's not true. I'd give you six minutes." He replied with a smirk, tensing the poked thigh, the flexed muscle becoming steel-like hard and pushing my finger back. "Fair enough. Shall we get going?" "Yeah." We departed for the street, Ty's giant stature naturally drawing attention. People knew him, thanks to him spending half of his childhood here and his efforts to come to my home as often as his free time allowed, even though he lived on the farm most of the time for better access to his work. I remembered that Ty wasn't really fond of the tram, since he always felt like he was constantly intruding in others' space with his shoulders, broad as three normal guys, and people having difficulty trying to go around his thick frame if he was standing. So I tried to go across the street, the route which lead to the doctor's by foot, but Ty's massive body quickly blocked my way. "Oh, no you don't, I see what you're trying to do, but that's not an option today. We're going by tram or I'm carrying you. Those are your only options. I don't want you ending up in a hospital because you wanted to spare my feelings. And the tram is empty anyway." I looked at the tram that just rounded the corner, and he was right. "Okay, fine. We're taking the tram." We got on board, and he sat down quickly, to save himself from having to bend down, making himself comfortable, spreading his considerable arms along the back rest of the bench. I followed him, and sat next to him, leaning into his side, my head supported by the side of his meaty pec. He was a bit surprised, but a wide smile lit up his bearded face quickly, and he gently put his arm around me, nudging me closer to him. I'm sure he had to hold himself back from letting the whole weight of the arm on me, because it had to weight almost as much as I did, but I felt no discomfort. Glancing down, his crotch told me that he loved this. During our ride, only two other people boarded before we had to leave, so it wasn't bad at all.When our stop came up, so we got off and walked the short distance remaining to the doctor. We entered the bright waiting room, the only other patient was an old white guy in a wheelchair. We politely struck up a conversation, to fill the time. He mentioned that we looked like a lovely couple, which surprised me, but I thanked him. I sensed that Ty was taking the backseat in the conversation, and he made no effort to confirm or deny the man's assumption, only smiling politely, but shooting me a questioning look. Before the conversation could continue further, the nurse came out, and took the man in, while telling us that this should be a routine check-up, so they will take me in in just a few minutes. As the waiting room became silent, I started thinking about the man's words. "Ty... are we a couple?" "Do you want us to be?" "I... I don't know. Do you?" "I do, yeah." "Huh. I... have to say, I'm not sure what I'm supposed to say here." "You don't have to say anything. You don't have to want to be a couple with me. I'm fine with being your friend, because that's wonderful on its own." "I, uh, thank you. That never even occured to me." "I kinda figured, since you never talked about anyone tickling your fancy." A few silent moments went by. Then suddenly I was enveloped in the warm and comforting pressure of his side hug. "Hey, don't worry, you don't have to figure this out right now. Seriously." I rubbed his arm as a silent form of gratitude. In that moment, the old man wheeled out of the doors, followed by the nurse. "Eli, you can come in now." "Right, thank you for seeing me." Ty let me out of his embrace, and I stood up, and followed her into the office. The visit went smoothly, the ankle seemed alright, so the doctor told me just to be careful with it, and progressively start to load it over the next few days and she applied slow-release topical analgesic, which would numb the worst of the pain for about 24 hours. Then she bid me goodbye. I went back into the waiting room. Back to Ty. I sat back down at his side. "So, what now?" "Well, I was thinking you could go to the food court, you already know what needs restocking, while I'll go back, and make a mushroom risotto so it'll be ready when you'll get back." "Okay, that sounds great." "Could you bring some mutton too? I haven't had it in a long time." And it was his favourite meat. His face lit up. "Yeah, I can do that. Oh, how's your ankle? I assume it's fine since you obviously don't need me to chaperone you." "Yeah, the doctor said it'd be fine, I just need to exercise it starting tomorrow." "That's great. I can assist you with that. If you want." "Yeah, I'd like that." We left the building, Ty followed me to the tram stop, and he waited until the tram took off. When I sure I was out of his sight, I slumped on the bench and cupped my face into my hands. 'Ty wanted a closer relationship with me. How did I not see it before? Do /I/ want a closer relationship with Ty? I guess I'm not opposed to the idea... What does 'closer relationship' even mean for Ty? Will there be sex...?' Now that I was alone, the barrage of questions started pouring down. I forced myself to breathe more slowly, deciding that I couldn't answer some of those question without Ty, but I can work on others. I obviously liked Ty. I definitely wouldn't mind being around him more frequently. I've never given sex much thought... we did learn about it pretty thoroughly at school, but I always assumed I was asexual. Not that sex was repulsing, it just... wasn't really a thing for me. I noticed the tram stopping, so I looked up, and seeing that it was my stop, I got off. I went inside my apartment, started cooking the risotto. When I had a few minutes, I took out a paper and a pencil and sat down in the kitchen. I started writing down questions, and added answers where I could. When the lunch was done, I had almost both of the sides of the paper filled with text. And there were still more questions. Suddenly, there was a knocking on the door that shattered my thoughts.
  10. The Teaser for this story is found here: http://muscle-growth.org/topic/5008-teaser-for-the-new-story-project-defender/ DEDICATION I dedicate this story, which is my first, in gratefulness to all the persons who have given me advice: Scriptboy and Alexdrake who assisted with the translations in Chapter 2; Jocaflo, who taught me about Portuguese name customs; Arpeejay who gave me advice on stats (although I only followed most, and not all, of them); gecko888 who declined to let the French become main protagonists, but taught me a few thing about the French Armed Forces; and T. and W. who proofread (you know who you are). All quirks and oddities are the author’s own. Since English isn't my native language, please send me a message, if I am incomprehensible. Some things may have become corrupted in translation. DISCLAIMER The following Chapter do contain descriptions of verbal abuse, nakedness and sexually aroused men, a military-industrial environment, speciesism, a library scene with religious and atheist books, jokes about national stereotypes, a smaller amount of uncouth speech, together with a lot of Northern European irony and sci-fi references probably best understood by the age range born 1960-1990. If you may take offence of anything aforementioned, you are hereby strongly reckommended to not read further. Please, go away. You have been warned. DON'T PANIC Oh, and another thing: If the complicated background (which is two thirds of Chapter One) tire you out, you can jump right to 'It was afternoon again. Lamarck and Gospodinov had beeen unusually...' after three stars ***, in order to come to the growth bit, but you wouldn't understand the sci-fi-scientific lingo then. Added in 2021: For continuity reasons, I have edited a few details. Project Defender – Chapter 1 My heart sank in my breast, and I felt a feeling of foreboding coldness in my belly, when the army jeep entered the slope leading down into the subterranean tunnel. On our way there, I had watched the skies nervously for any vessels, but the Pseudo-Crustacean Extra-Terrestrial Organisms had seemingly chosen to attack another part of the European mainland that day, so we arrived unharmed. When we had passed through the Outer Perimeter a few minutes earlier, I had heard conversations in Finnish, English (with an Irish accent) and a handful of languages I didn’t recognise among the rugged, camouflage-painted snipers around the smoking wood-fires. Several days later I was briefed, that Finland, Northern Ireland, Croatia, Bosnia, Serbia and Ukraine had volunteered to man the Outer Perimeter. I didn’t envy them, but sent them my thoughts of gratitude, since it was their dangerous duty outside, which made my assiduous work inside possible and undisturbed. The jeep continued on its way downward in the asphalt-coated meandering tunnel. On two consecutive levels we had to await the opening of armoured steel gates painted in black and yellow. Outside the first gate, the air was moist, and smelled of gasoline and rubber, but inside the gate, the jeep switched into electric mode. Silently purring without any fumes, the vehicle took us to our destination. I wasn’t surprised to find out, that my phone-watch didn’t work under the surface. The Inner Gate at the end of the Parking Hall (a natural cavern, enlarged and carved into rectangular shape by human hand) was connected to a keypad lock with microphone and speaker. ’Doctor Skrefsrud reporting for duty.’ I hoped that I used Army Speak correctly. University research teams were not environments, which trained for dealing with servicemen. ’Welcome, Doctor Skrefsrud.’, answered the metallic voice of the speaker. The gate opened for me and the driver, revealing a man-sized concrete passageway leading into Research Facility B. It was at this facility we had been ordered to assist in the defence against the Extra-Terrestrials (or PCETOs), by ’improving the performance of military human resources’, as the classified report preferred to express the purpose. All of it wasn’t classified actually. Certain parts of the scientific tools had been reported in newspapers, and an early undefined Pan-European plan about ’space marines’ had been debated in public several years ago, but nothing had happened then. And now a space invasion occurred. If the Project had been led by the European Union, several states, such as Iceland, Norway, UK (what was left of it), Albania or Ukraine would have been unable to participate. Likewise, Switzerland, the Republic of Ireland, Finland and Sweden would have refused to participate if the initiative had been taken by NATO, but since the Project was now launched by an entirely different international European body, they all agreed to do their part. The member countries had reacted in very different ways. France enthusiastically backed the project financially, and sent us their two required test subjects according to the letter of the agreement, together with a chef. UK told us, they should ’explore other means beside this laudable initiative’, but sent us lots of medical supply, two officers with a past in the SAS, a physicist and a sports medicine physician. The German negotiators obliged to take the major part of the financial burden for the Project, but informed us, that they declined to send any men at all, due to domestic political concerns. The Italian negotiator – a former Prime Minister – assured that Italy was willing to support the Project financially in many small amounts of money delivered according to a long-term plan, and tried to convince the coordinators, that a much larger share of Italian test subjects would be reasonable, ’since Italian men are more masculine than other Europeans’. I later heard a rumour, that the Spanish and Greek representatives tried to leave the negociations in an angry hurry at that moment, but our coordinators (Norwegian and Swiss diplomats, together with military officers from Ireland and Ukraine respectively) politely declined the offer: The Italians had to send just their agreed number of two men, and the placated Spanish and Greek representatives remained at the meeting until it closed. We had no fuzz with the smaller countries, but were somewhat surprised, when Liechtenstein, Andorra, San Marino and Monaco sent two test subjects each. Iceland have no army in the ordinary sense, but sent two coast guards instead. Vatican City informed us, that we ’served in a just war, if we defended the innocent’, but, due to a treaty, Vatican City was hindered to send any participants itself. Switzerland was constitutionally hindered to send any combatants on its own behalf, but sent us two Swiss Guards on the behalf of the Vatican instead. None of us on medical staff complained: The healthy, weapon-trained twenty-five year olds, sent by the Swiss, were probably more attuneable to the Project, than a pudgy, middle-aged, non-combatant, retired Ethics professor, a clerical office boy, or whatever the Vatican otherwise had been able to spare. I was met at the entrance of my new environment by Doctor Smith, an acquaintance from an international research conference. I didn’t know him very well, but, a couple of years ago, he had presented an interesting paper about Morphogenetic Fields. ’Nice to see you again, Doctor Skrefsrud. Let us skip Army Speak, while we are among fellow scientists. You will see, that the Research Facility keep us in three different areas: Military personnel at Hall 3-6-1, administration and nurses at 3-6-2 and us clever ones at 3-6-3.’ I followed Smith through the corridors carved into the stone. Research Facility B was a very vast complex of cavernous halls, coldly lit by old-fashioned fluorescent tubes. We passed an office hall with desks, computers and folders, staffed by the coordinators, Hansen and Müller, Novák, the Amanuensis and Andersson, the Registrar. ’Initially, Sweden and the Czech Republic – who had been given responsibility for the bureaucracy – wished to send women as office staff, due to equality concerns, but the European level decided against it – being worried about the risk of harassment, I suppose. Actually, several countries wished to send one male and one female soldier, but that was vetoed by Gospodinov, our endocrinologist. It was something about oestrogen balance and bad experiences from female shot-putters, back in the days. I didn’t listen attentively, I’m afraid, since endocrinology is not my field. We are only men here, now. An unusual environment, compared to my usual Oxford lab team, but I do not complain.’ Then we entered the mess hall. ’Since the Project is such a small unit, hastily gathered together in an emergency situation, there is no reason to uphold the difference between several different mess halls. I suppose the presence of us civilians has contributed to upset the ordinary structures somewhat. They didn’t know how to organise us, really.’, Smith said. ’But Major Murphy and Captain Melnyk usually sit at the short table close to that wall – reminds me of Refectory back at St. Cynhelm’s, actually – and the entire scientific department is allowed to sit there, if we wish. We have been given some slack, and we are allowed to eat together with the office staff or the test subjects if we wish. I don’t expect the grunts to read Einstein, Hawking or Vera Rubin, though.’ Smith pointed out the corridor leading to the test subjects’ living quarters, the corridor leading to the officers’ and office staff’s living quarter, the laundry, the gym, the showers, Inventory, Infirmary, meditation room, and the corridor leading to the research area. ’We have eighty-four test subjects at our disposal, organised into eleven smaller squads. Even if the result wouldn’t be optimal at the first trials, it wouldn’t take too long until we understand how to facilitate the procedure to maximum extent, or so I hope, anyhow.’ Smith was of slightly short stature, and, despite the years still left until his fortieth birthday, a somewhat rotund belly had began to grow at his mid-section. I was a few years younger than him, and had achieved my doctoral degree at the age of 31, some years before. When he brought me to the scientists’ living quarters, I found out that Smith, Green (the British sports medicine physician) and László (the hunky Hungarian nutritionist and trainer) and myself were scientists in our 30’s, and that the remaining three scientists all had passed their 60th birthday. We were assisted by four male nurses in their late twenties. We arrived at the living quarters for scientific personnel. I put my belongings in a locker, washed my face, and brought a handful of files with me to the lab. *** The following day I was focussed on directing the engineers while they unpacked most of our scientific equipment, but – to the consolation for all of us – the Dark Matter cyclotron had arrived and been installed long before my own arrival. I was therefore not fully aware that the corridors began to echo of arriving recruits, the youngest of them recently promoted to the rank of corporal at the instance they accepted the assignment to this very specialised company – the first of its kind. The briefing took place in the evening. Each of us had been instructed to give extremely short lectures in laymen’s terms – not necessarily an easy objective for a bunch of persons so accustomed to University. Major Murphy ordered silence, and in very few words presented The Program, and Captain Melnyk presented himself for the sake of the late arrivals, who hadn’t met him yet. They then assigned the scientific team to present the different aspects of The Program. ’Gentlemen. I am Professor Gruber. My area is brain physiology. My field of expertise is an entirely new way of imprinting new knowledge and new habits into the brains of persons, and enhance the speed of such things as reflexes and tactical decisions. I look forward to work together with you.’ The gaunt and bald Austrian neurological expert in his very strict grey suit, looked out over the audience with his penetrating ice-blue eyes, and ended his short speech. Gruber’s dry, aloof and abrupt style of addressing non-academicians only served to enhance László’s more relaxed and humorous style, when the latter spoke to the soldiers the same way he was accustomed to address footballers, weightlifters and bodybuilders, when he coached them: ’Hi. I’m Doctor László, but you may call me Csaba. The politician and the footballers are no relatives of mine, if you wonder.’ He chuckled. Only the two Hungarian test-subjects laughed. Under his lab coat László was dressed in a sweatshirt, tracksuit pants and sneakers. A stopwatch hanged around his neck, and he wore a heart rate reading device around his wrist. ’I am sorry that your meals will be measured with precision, and you will not be allowed to eat more than what I and my colleague here, Doctor Green, will allow. The meals will follow a planned and calculated pattern, with larger servings some days, and smaller servings some days. I assure you, that this is not at random. Theoretically, the pattern of your nutritional intake will cooperate with the other augmentation factors of The Program, to make you the best of the best. Every morning the nurses will take blood samples, urine samples and check your blood pressure. I will give you a training programme for physical exercise, and – as those of you who arrived early already have found out – we have an excellent gym at the Facility. Each one of you will see me and Doctor Green at least every eight day during the project, and the training programme will soon become individually tailored. The good news are, that servings at the meals will become larger for those who have undergone the procedure, and that it was decided that France and Italy would be responsible for sending chefs to The Program.’ Cheering from the Italians and the French. No-one else seemed to disagree, however. I looked out over a crowd of men of almost every European nationality. All of them had finished at least basic military training and served a few years, but, beyond that, their years in service ranged considerably. The youngest were 21 years old, while the most experienced of them were in their mid-30’s like László, Smith and myself. They had been sent here, not because of their age, not because of their years in service, or their military rank, but because of their performance ratings. A slender, clean shaven and rather tall man past his sixtieth year, dressed in the latest fashion suit under his lab coat, took the microphone. A moderately short carpet of dark grey frizzled hair covered his head elegantly, and a scent of a luxurious after shave was unavoidable to notice. His dark, sad and thoughtful eyes looked out over the audience. His pronunciation of English words was humming with the slightest French accent. ’ I am Doctor Lamarck. I research in genetics. The biological genetic makeup of each individual is a factor which determines the way he looks, many of his abilities and the way he reacts. Some diseases are not contagious but hereditary. In our research to cure hereditary diseases, we have discovered mechanisms, which could potentially be used to enhance physical prowess in healthy individuals. The limits of how fast, strong, enduring and quick thinking an individual is are determined by genetic factors, but we now believe that we are able to remove these limits. ’Most of you have heard about viruses, like that which cause the common cold. Besides bad viruses, which causes diseases, there are useful viruses. There are also neutral viruses – as it were – which neither cause good or bad effects on us. Modern genetic studies use such neutral viruses as a sort of vehicles or carriers of the sort of modified human DNA we hope will cure a patient. The patients’ immune systems will remove the viruses after a couple of days, but the modified DNA will stay and multiply. This method may also be used in order to enhance speed, endurance, strength or quick thinking. ’A more recent method use something called nano particles. The patient inhale the particles, which are programmed to rebuild the genetics of the patient. This is still on an experimental stage, but my team has researched for a long time, by now, how to use viral treatment and nano treatment in tandem. I have read that all of you are very good soldiers. I will rebuild you into perfect soldiers.’ The audience was murmuring excitedly for a few seconds. The sight of the men confirmed the impression I had gathered by reading their files: They were all very fit, but that common characteristic didn’t mean that they all looked the same. Far from it. Many seemed to enjoy frequent time at the gym, but without any considerable interest in fat loss or competitions. Some slim and lean (but very hard, sinewy and defined) soldiers, like the little Portuguese and his Polish friend, had very good ratings when it came to endurance tests and extremely long marches with lighter backpacks, and looked like what sprinters or fitness competitors would have looked, if they had developed more functional physiques. More than a handful of the test subjects were into bodybuilding. One of the Icelanders had competed in Strongman competitions, and had an entirely different type of physique. Some of the test subjects were under average height, but most of them were slightly above average. A handful of them were very tall – among them the Icelander and my fellow Norwegians, I proudly noticed. Doctor Gospodinov was a Bulgarian endocrinologist, close to retirement age. His hair was a formless tufty mass of grey and white, trying to escape in every direction. He was a broad shouldered man with dark brown eyes, somewhat under middle length and with a pot belly. He had unusually large cheeks, looked tired (which wasn’t surprising, since all of us had worked hard with the engineers to make the prototype chambers working), and was puffy under his eyes. He was dressed elegantly in a timeless three-piece suit under the white lab coat, and, while the rest of us had left watches and phones behind us years ago for contemporary phone-watches of different brands, he had an old-fashioned pocket watch in his waistcoat. He gave the impression to dislike the public speech situation, especially since the audience wasn’t composed of medical students. ’I am Doctor Gospodinov. I teach medicine, and I have researched on athletes my entire life. I will not bore you with giving you a full lecture in medicine. The reason that you were all surgically given a subcutaneous implant before arriving here – and as a matter of fact all of us were, although by different reasons – was to ensure easy access into your venous systems. The viral treatment by Doctor Lamarck and the hormone treatment by me will be administered through the membrane under the skin of your chest. If you want to enhance the performance of a man, it will not do to just tinker with one of the hormones, and it may even be counterproductive. A heightened dose of one performance-enhancing chemical may lower the dose of another useful and beneficial chemical. You need to take all biochemical substances naturally produced and used by the human body, and make them all interact in the right direction, in a concerted effort. If you believe that my job in this Project is to inject you with any new super-steroid, you are wrong. The negative side-effects of such a substance, if it existed, would outdo any positive effects – I suppose some of you may have heard about the bad complications of overuse of cortisone against inflammations? My job in this Project is to stimulate your own bodies to permanently produce the optimal balance of all the body’s own performance enhancing substances. After the initial treatment with this new stimulating formula – the exact composition of which is actually classified – you will not need any ongoing medication, and the effect will come from within yourselves, not from any injections or pills. The effect will remain the rest of your lives. Doktor Skrefsrud?’ Gospodinov had misjudged how much medical knowledge the recruits possessed, and he had lost most of them, despite his attempt to dumb down the subject. The awake and intelligent glimmer in the eyes of a lean and small Pole and his wiry and slim little Portuguese buddy did, however, show that not the entire class was asleep. It was my turn to speak now. I cleared my throat, and felt intimidated by standing before this sort of audience. A Dutch test subject had a very arrogant body language, and looked intently on me and the other scientists in an unnerving way with his green eyes. I cleared my throat. ’My name is Doctor Skrefsrud, and I am a physicist, just like Doctor Smith here. I will not go into any boring details, but I guess, that you will feel easier about what’s going on, if I explain the basic idea about what you will endure. You have all read about the Big Bang in Science Class at school, I suppose. The Universe expands at unfathomable speed. All visible material things are composed by a sort of matter we call ’baryonic matter’, since it is built by particles called ’baryons’: We can easily observe it, weigh it, measure it. What is less known, is that the Universe behaves in such a way, as there ought to exist another sort of matter: not easily observed, not easily measured. The expansion of the universe would render asunder the galaxies, if this other matter didn’t exist. We call it ”dark matter”, but please do not attach any importance to the word ”dark”. It is just a figure of speech.’ I had become accustomed to be perfectly clear on this account, when I educated undergraduates. The most silly and unfounded ideas could be spawned by the randomly chosen word ’dark’. It doesn’t mean ”bad”. ’There also exist ”dark energy”. For many decades, dark matter and dark energy were only hypothesised by the means of mathematics. Then, quite recently – in the early 2020’s – dark matter particles were observed by revolutionarily new means of observation. If you read science-fiction stories or comics in childhood, you know stories where the heroes get strange powers by radioactivity. In real life it doesn’t work that way: Too high amounts of radioactivity would give you cancer, not super-powers.’ The audience chuckled in a low voice. ’But dark energy radiation is not the same thing as radioactivity, since it is not baryonic.’ The audience abruptly fell silent. ’My mentor’s team has researched in several years on the probably beneficent effects of certain dark matter particles and radiation frequencies, in the hope to apply it medically. We are already in the early stages of successfully curing muscular dystrophy. In the future, we hope to help people who’ve lost a limb to grow a new limb. I know it sounds like science-fiction to you, and we haven’t reached our goal yet, but we have reason to believe, that we have the means to make Earth’s defenders against the PCETOs much better soldiers: More fit, more physically persistent, more powerful. I call this technology ’Hypertrophic Radiation’. Doctor Smith will now tell you more about how physics may help us in the war.’ Hair colours of all sorts gleamed in the artificial light, short-cut in different fashions: Buzz cuts, flattops, jarheads, short mohawks or shaved entirely. Ash-blond and fair brown seemed to be the most common hair colour among European men. Neither ’black’ nor ’blond’ are very good words to describe the variety of other actual hair colours: The glossy ’black’ of the Portuguese lads was something different from the velvet ’black’ of the two hunky Hungarians. Although you may have called the rye and golden hues of some Scandinavian test subjects ’blond’, these were actually two different colours, and these two colours also differed from the cream-coloured or almost white ’blondness’ of the two Estonians, one of the Ukrainians, one of the Finns and one of the Poles. Three of the test subjects were ginger: One of the Norwegians, one of the Britons (who stood there side by side to his Caribbean-British colleague) and one of the Irishmen. One of the men sent by France looked like he was of Polynesian-French descent. Since performance trumped everything, they didn’t share exactly the same background. Some of them were recruited from Special Units of several sorts, some from frogman units, paratroop units or marines, also depending on the various ways armed forces were organised in different European countries. ’Besides the discovery of hypertrophic radiation, which Doctor Skrefsrud just mentioned, the breakthrough in Dark-Matter-research, after a while, also confirmed the existence of Morphogenetic Fields, or Sheldrake-fields, as they also are known. Rupert Sheldrake had hypothesised about Morphogenetic Fields back in the 20th century, but very few scientists took his hypothesis seriously. That changed when Dark-Matter-research grew out of its initial phase. Now you ask: What is a Morphogenetic Field? We already knew the importance of the biological genetical makeup of each individual, as Doctor Lamarck already has described. Secondly, potential personal traits and abilities may blossom or lay dormant, dependent on outward factors such as education, physical exercise or food. But besides these two groups of factors, we now know a third group of factors: Morphogenetic Fields influence our physical development. It also seems like Morphogenetic Fields would contain and guide Hypertrophic Radiation to stimulate brain tissue, skeletal and muscular growth in certain ways. It seems like we are now able to control in which ways the Morphogenetic Fields form an organism. Each of the factors we work with in this scientific team would, on its own, enhance and augment your capacity, but the combined effect of all these factors together is so much greater. If you have any further questions, don’t hesitate to ask me after this briefing.’ *** The interviews began the following day. At the end of the day, I was exhausted by interviewing twenty-four of the men, and so were all my colleagues, with the notable exception of the inexhaustible Professor Gruber. It took us four days to interview them all. By then, László and Green had given them their individualised training programmes. The individualised meal-plans would reach the Mess Hall Kitchen next morning. Although the Project was officially meant to be performed in English, French and German simultaneously, it didn’t took long time, until we found out that it would be more practical to use English as main spoken language (although notes were written down in all the three languages). The Polish and Czech test subjects spoke German much more fluently than I did myself, but anyhow seemed reluctant to speak German. I tried to be polite, when I interviewed the Belgian, Swiss, Luxembourger, Andorran and Monegasque test subjects, and so using French, but they seemed to enjoy an opportunity to practice their English, especially one of the Belgians (who spoke Flemish at home) and the Swiss, the native tongues of whom happened to be Arpitan and Romansh. The French test subjects listened very amused to my stumbling pronunciation of the French vocabulary, and then proposed that the interview ’should continue in English, perhaps?’ The Liechtensteiners and Austrians (including Professor Gruber) would have preferred German to anything else, but since everyone else spoke English, they quickly adapted. It made the work much easier, not only for me, but also for Andersson, the Registrar from Sweden, who – although he read both languages – was reluctant to speak German or French. When I interviewed the two test subjects from UK, Jones and Taylor, I found out that they, too, were relieved when the trilingual rule was softened: None of them spoke anything else than English, and they had initially felt sheepish when they had been addressed in French or German. We worked much longer working days, than the usual eight hours, since time was essential, and a swift breakthrough in our experiment could mean life or death for so many persons. The four nurses were initially scheduled with extra recreation, since we knew that they had to be rested when night hours at Infirmary began. We needed, however, some sleep and recreation in order to think clearly, in order to not put the test subjects at risk. I found out, that our elder colleagues kept together in our free time, and seemed like fish out of water at the Facility. It took less than three days, until Gruber, Gospodinov and Lamarck began to keep together outside working hours. Most of the time they sat in the living quarters at 3-6-3, but sometimes they gathered in the Lab, since Gospodinov had a habit of smoking his cigars under the fume hood. The alternative for the four of us younger researchers, was to spend free time together, or together with some of the test subjects or office workers, either at Mess or at the Gym. *** Green and László had mainly worked together with athletes during their professional careers, and both maintained an overall healthy life style even privately. It was easy for them to befriend those among the test subjects who were interested in weight training (although that was far from all). Despite my resultless experience of weight training, I had nothing against following Green and László to the gym during lunch hour. ’Have we heard anything more from the Yankees or the Russians?’, Green asked László on our way into the gym. ’No. It seems like the transatlantic cable broke and several satellites went down quite early in the attack from the Space Squid. Kiev lost telephone- and web-connection with Moscow and Beijing. We don’t know what happens elsewhere. It is up to us now. This experiment got to work correctly, and that soon.’ László changed subject, and eyed me professionally: ’Have you worked out before, Skrefsrud? I see that your body fat is low?’ ’Actually, I worked out at a gym during my graduate studies, in order to give it a try,but since I didn’t achieve any visible results, and continued to be scrawny, I quit the gym, but continued jogging. Is the word ”hardgainer” a current one? Some of my fellow students used that word about me.’ ’Oh yes. It is a rather common situation. Some people have to eat incredible amounts in order to achieve any muscle gain. Perhaps you followed the meal plan of dieters or a baseline one. It is useless for ectomorphs.’ The scent of steel, subtly corroding of salty sweat, filled the gym, but was mixed by whiffs of talcum powder, rubber carpets and cheap anti-perspirants like Lynx. The clang and clink of weight-plates hitting each other or steel bars hitting power rack stands echoed among the stone walls, only slightly subdued by the rubber carpets. Some of the recruits had made themselves at home in the gym from Day 1. László stopped at a leg curl machine, used at the moment by two British SAS-officers: The ginger Lieutenant Jones and the Jamaican-British Lieutenant Taylor – the latter with the good looks of a young Cassius Clay. I listened absent-mindedly for a few seconds, but thought it a good idea to say hello to the men at the nearest bench. It happened to be the rather tall Polish frogman Sergeant Zielinski, his compatriot, the short paratrooper Corporal Kowalski, and the short Portuguese, Corporal Soares. Soares was lifting a bar of probably his own weight. Many of the test subjects were rather clamorous and boastful individuals, but the 21 year old Kowalski was unusually silent and reserved. Almost shy. He had a lean physical constitution, witnessing an ability to persevere and endure in extreme conditions. I had noticed that he worked out very seriously at the gym, but, despite this, he hadn’t achieved any typical bodybuilder-physique. The downy stubble on his scalp was cream-coloured and almost white. A silver pendant hung around his neck in a rather heavy chain, but I wasn’t able to see what it depicted. Corporal Soares was of the same age and same body-type as Corporal Kowalski. When he had restored the bar to the stand, he observed his surroundings with an alert and humorous gaze. ’Two other hardgainers.’, I thought for myself, and felt sympathy for them. I had finished my scheduled exercise for the day, and was on my way to the showers with László and Green, when we heard shouts from the calf raise machine in the corner. ’Who the hell brought the small fry to this project? How do you think you could meet the Space Squid in battle, or be useful subjects for these tests? Midgets!’ It was Corporal De Vries, one of the Dutchmen, who stood leaning over Kowalski and Soares. Kowalski answered less noisily, and I couldn’t hear what was said. De Vries gripped Kowalski’s t-shirt and lifted him up in the air, saying things I couldn’t hear from this distance. László was already on his way to the corner, followed by Taylor. I couldn’t hear what was said, but Taylor gripped De Vries by the shoulder. De Vries put Kowalski down, and László said something heatedly to De Vries, of which I could only hear: ’My gym. My rules.’ When Kowalski and Soares left with Taylor and László, De Vries gave them the finger behind their backs with an angry expression on his face. *** When I arrived to the Lab after lunch, Smith and Gruber were discussing their fields of research, respectively. ’Is the breakthrough of your’s recent, Professor Gruber? I’m not sure that I have heard anything about it before.’ ’The first breakthrough was with mice in 2014. We cured them from depression, by stimulating their hippocampus and reward centre simultaneously. By developing the neuro-helmet a few years later, it became possible to stimulate various parts of the brain without any cranial surgery.’ ’But what will happen now, when the same technology is applied militarily?’ ’I have scanned the brain-wave patterns of a great number of expert soldiers, and brought them together in a standardised high achieving pattern. In layman’s terms, you could say that I will implant memories or habits into the specimens, by using recordings, as it were, from other individuals.’ ’Are there any dangers to it, Professor Gruber?’ ’Not any I am aware of. Nowadays we even have equipment to translate mildly hypnotic verbal suggestions into brain wave patterns, by the help of an AI, and it has worked very well to treat insomnia and stress disorders in individual civilians. A military application is something new, and will probably need some milder adaptions and adjustments before working optimally.’ ’So it is the first time you apply it for a military purpose?’ ’Yes, and it is the first time I try to use it in this scale. How does your own part of The Program work, Dr. Smith?’ ’Initially, we had to program every detail of the Emmeffs from scratch, and in the process we blew up a lot of fruit flies and some mice, I’m afraid.’ ’Emmeffs?’ ’Oh, sorry for that. Morphogenetic Fields. It takes so long to say, so, within the team, we call them Emmeffs. After a while the mice were lucky and survived. Anyhow, later on, the computer engineering department assisted us in simplifying the programming of the fields. We had a grotesquely large prototype programming device, which determined how a standard mouse should look. We put a poor little fellow in the Chamber – he suffered from muscle dystrophy – and, voilá! – he was cured. And he didn’t explode. Later on, the engineers were able to slim down the size of the Programmer – which was a great relief, since the Black Matter Cyclotron was space consuming as it was, without the Programmer competing for space. From then on, the experiments behaved a little more – eh – standardised, I would say. One of my colleagues performed a series of experiments on a dystrophic hamster, and later turned it into a birthday present to her nephew, who called it ’Hulk Hamster’. As you see on this display, we have a sketch of a man here…’ He pressed a button. A drawing of an average man, sketched in blue lines against the black background, glow on the screen. The drawing was anatomical, and each muscle was marked in fine detail. With another button Smith could display the inner layers of those muscles who consisted of several layers. ’which is the starting point of The Process, and then…’ He pressed a third button. Another line drawing lit up on the screen – this one in green lines. It was only slightly larger than the blue drawing, and looked like it was projected outside and around the first man, enclosing him. ’…this one, which is the desired goal. It is possible to grow the green chart proportionally…’ He pressed another key, and the green man became taller and wider, but retained his average physique. ’… but it is also possible to click on each muscle, and redesign the way he looks.’ Smith moved the cursor, clicked on a number of individual muscles, and clicked some boxes. ’Ooops. This combination of changes would make him deformed. It is important to maintain symmetry and functionality. We have some templates approved and authorised by the Command. Let’s see…’ Smith’s fingers danced at the keyboard, and a green anatomical chart popped up on the screen. The depicted man was huge and looked dangerous. If anyone looked like that, he would probably have good chances to win a weight-lifting competition, or perhaps bodybuilding. Smith shut the machine down. ’I would prefer if we begin with the Neuro-Reprogramming Phase. If he becomes physically enhanced but without self-control, we could have a situation here. We don’t want to endanger The Project, would we?’, Gruber suggested. ’Who’s the first one in the pipeline?’ It happened to be Corporal Soares. The fit little Portuguese was briefed about the process, and told that his physical conversion wouldn’t occur, until we were sure the Neuro-Reprogramming worked correctly. He left his boots, cargo trousers and T-shirt on a bench, and took somewhat shyly off his socks and pants. On the top of the pile he put a silver pendant in a heavy chain. I noticed that the pendant depicted St. Michael the Archangel. Gruber put the neuro-helmet on his head and the breathing mask over his nose and mouth. ’Good luck! And just relax!’, László said, when Soares stepped into the sluice, and reached the cylindric chamber, built of glass and steel. ’Synthetic amniotic fluid activated’, Lamarck said, while the light blue liquid began to fill Chamber 1. ’Body temperature 37,4 Centigrades’, Green reported from the body scanner. I still feel worried and disappointed about what happened the following hour. A few minutes after Gruber had activated the Neuro-Reprogrammer, Soares screamed in agony and fear. His pulse and body temperature were abnormally high, and we had to abort the process. When Chamber 1 had become sufficiently emptied of liquid, László and Nurse Dubois entered the sluice and carried the unconscious Soares out of the Chamber, and put him on a paper-covered medical bunk, before moving him to a moveable hospital bed. László and I were shaken, but luckily Green kept his mind cold, and gave Soares a physical exam. He consulted with Gruber, but the diagnosis was outside my own field of expertise. Somehow, the reprogramming had caused Soares a comatose state, but his life wasn’t endangered. Green connected him to IV-nutrition, and Dubois wheeled the hospital bed away to Infirmary. The following day came. Morning was scheduled for interviews and medical tests as usual, but I felt worried over the afternoon experiment. Would that go wrong as well? This time it was one of the Swedes, Corporal Johansson, who sat waiting in the waiting room. Johansson was somewhat over medium height and robustly built, although not conspicuously so. His golden hair was cropped, his nose slightly upturned and his eyes sky blue. ’We will not lie to you: The Program is still in a prototype phase, and may be dangerous, although not lethal. It would be unethical to keep this information away from you.’, Green said. A worried expression came and went in Johansson’s eyes, but he answered: ’Give it a try. I was aware that the Project was experimental when I agreed to go here. Do your best. It is my duty to give you a chance to develop The Program, isn’t it?’ He left his clothes on the bench. The neuro-helmet, the IV and the breathing mask were placed where they should be, and the experiment began. The Preparation Phase for reprogramming took almost forty-five minutes. Tranquillising and analgesic formulas devised by Gospodinov and Lamarck circulated in Johansson’s blood vessels, and Gruber had modified some settings in the Neuro-Reprogrammer. This time we would try to change both the mind and the body of the test subject. ’Do you hear me, Corporal Johansson?’, Green asked into a microphone. ’Mmmm, yes… So sleepy…’, came the answer from the microphone in Johansson’s breathing mask. ’Do you feel okay?’ ’Oh, yes. Go ahead.’ ’Initiating Neuro-Reprogramming.’, Gruber reported from his corner. A low humming sound was heard in the Lab. ’Pulse increasing’, Green reported from the body scanner. We could hear how Johansson’s breathing becoming faster. ’No. No, no, no. NO!’, he shouted into the microphone. I felt uneasy. ’No, it… no, um. Umngh.’, the protests subsided and changed gradually into moaning or grunting sounds, until a sudden change in mood seemed to have occurred: ’Yes. YES! I will comply! All orders will be executed! Becoming integrated into The Program!’ ’Pulse decreasing’, Green reported. The breathing was still faster than normal. Now and then Johansson mumbled. ’Brain activity as expected’, Gruber said. Fifteen minutes later, it seemed that the neuro-reprogramming had went well this time. ’Initiating Physical Reprogramming’, Lamarck reported. ’Endocrinal stimuli working’, Gospodinov answered. ’Viral activity increasing. Nano saturation increasing’, Lamarck echoed. ’Twenty millisheldrake, and increasing.’, Smith reported from his screen. ’Hypertrophic Radiation 110% and increasing’, I answered from the screen in my part of the Lab. The hypertrophic radiation (although invisible when projected in gas, vacuum and most liquids) became visible when it was projected into the specially devised synthetic amniotic fluid together with the Morphogenetic Fields. Slowly we increased the stimuli. After a while it was obvious for the naked eye that Johansson had become visibly more muscular, but suddenly something went wrong: ’No! This is not my body! Where has my body gone? I can’t move my legs! I can’t feel my arms!’ The frightened screams increased, then suddenly fell silent. Gruber reported that the specimen had become comatose. The events from yesterday repeated themselves, and the setbacks took their toll in most of us. Their upbringing helped Smith and Lamarck to keep up a polite and neutral facade, but unlike the unperturbed Gruber, they seemed anyhow to feel concern for Soares and Johansson. The rest of us were unable to hide our feelings of worry, concern and guilt. I had honestly believed that the safety level of The Program’s each component was higher than this. What had we done to these young men? The next morning, it was impossible to keep what had happened a secret. Major Murphy told the recruits during breakfast that Soares and Johansson were unconscious in Infirmary. Someone called Gruber ’Doctor Frankenstein’, and someone threw a paper cup in the back of Smith’s head. László was avoided by his training buddies at the gym. Corporal Kowalski stared accusingly on me without a word. The mood at the Facility deteriorated. The ginger haired Lieutenant Jones complained over how László had planned the meals: ’Yuh’ll be kidding me! No bloody jipper ter the veggies?’ We cancelled any scheduled afternoon experiments, and went through all readings and notes again and again.Gruber asked all of us in the scientific team to record our brainwave patterns, in the presumption that we all had ’healthy brainwave patterns’, whatever that meant. *** I went to bed early, but couldn’t sleep, since Lamarck and Gospodinov were drinking wine in the neighbouring room. I drifted into the Lab again. It must have been after midnight, but Gruber worked late. I heard him talk into a microphone in a way which reminded me of relaxation sound files a friend of mine had used: ’You will be in perfect control of your body. You will be in perfect control of the abilities you have achieved by integrating into The Program, regardless of how much your physical form changes. You feel calm and relaxed. Your physical performance will be enhanced. It feels good to enhance your physical performance. You are in perfect control. You are perfectly present in your body. Everything will be fine. You will obey The Program. You will integrate everyone attuneable into The Program. You will obey the direction to protect the military unit and all civilians. You will do everything necessary to optimise and maximise the performance of yourself and of The Program. No-one will be permitted to abolish or limit the aim of The Program. You will attune perfectly. You will become enhanced. You will become augmented according to plan.’ Gruber pressed a button. A metallic voice answered: Vocal instruction translation into brainwaives initiated executed and accomplished The recording translated from speech into a brainwave pattern visible at one of the screens. Gruber pressed some other keys on the keyboard. A pattern labeled ’Smith’ flashed on the screen and was mixed with the first pattern. A pattern labeled ’László’ was glimpsed for a moment, until Gruber mixed it with the other two. I left the Lab, since I wanted to be alone. Somehow, I drifted into the Infirmary. It was Nurse Dubois who served at nightshift. A single lamp was lit close to Soares’ bed, in the light of which a silver pendant glinted on the bedside table. A plastic bag with nutrition hang from a stand, connected to Soares’ IV with a thin plastic tube. He wasn’t alone. Kowalski sat on a chair, looking sadly on Soares. I felt my bad conscience return, and I left the Infirmary silently. Since I was an Agnostic and a non-practicing member of Church of NorwayI hadn’t felt any reason to peek into the Meditation Room before, but I did it now. First, it lay in complete darkness, but a dim point, turning out to be a LED, guided me to the graded switch. At 50%, the grey ovoid concrete room rested in a soft and calming illumination. The floor consisted of polished stone. No images were to be seen. No chairs, but concrete benches fixed to the wall and surrounding a moderately large open space. Right. Le Corbusier meets IKEA. Ceiling-high cabinets were folded into the wall at some places, alternating with the grey concrete. In one part of the room, close to the entrance, the cabinet doors were made in dark oak, but gave place to several shades of gradually lighter brown woods in the middle, and with fir panels at the opposite end. ’Obvious committee work’, I thought. ’The British and the Greek had probably voted for oak, and the Norwegians and Swedes voted for fir. But the architect solved the problem tastefully. Probably someone from France or Switzerland.’ I continued to explore the room. In one cabinet I found bookshelves: The Christian Bible in thirty languages. Three books with the title ’Chumash’, which turned out to be the Hebrew Bible with translations into English, German and French. Six translations of the Koran in several languages. A highly decorated book in Greek, which I couldn’t read, and two similar ones in two eastern European languages I couldn’t identify. A German book called ’Gotteslob’. A number of booklets with latin text and several vernaculars in parallel columns. A handful of small A6-booklets in bright colours announcing: A Common Eucharist and Evening Prayer: As agreed upon by the member churches of the Porvoo Communion. A handful of similar booklets in duller – or perhaps more serious – colours with the title: Gottesdienst in Kriegszeiten. Ein Leuenberger Agenda für EKD, SEK, FEPS und GEKE 2021. Bhagavadgita in English, German and French. A slightly damp-damaged booklet with the title Sandhya Vandanam. Samyutta Nikaya – what on earth is that? Oh – Buddhism in English translation. The Lotus sutra. Platform sutra. Guru Granth Sahib – hmm… Oh – Sikhism! Dawkins: The God delusion with a sticker: ’Donated by the National Secular Society’. Russell: Wisdom of the West. Oh, there seem to be something for everyone here! Someone has been thinking. We didn’t have any permanently stationed chaplain at the Research Facility, since the stay was – hopefully – expected to be short, but preparations had been made to facilitate devotions according to several religious beliefs or non-beliefs. I riffled absentmindedly through the pages of Bhagvadgita. I wasn’t Hindu, and only knew it by name: ’Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.’ Not uplifting, but hadn’t I heard these words before? Read somewhere… No. I couldn’t remember. Another cabinet contained a number of prayer shawls, two types of chalices for Eucharist, and a number of foldable carpets. As a matter of fact, a few of the uppermost carpets were folded slightly more carelessly than the lower ones, so probably they had been used more recently. A timer. A Byzantine icon of Christ folded in protective velvet, and a copy of Our Lady of Czestochowa, similarly contained. An electric fake candle. A lighter. Batteries. A crock filled with sand. A cylindric aluminium box marked ’Spaghetti’. Spaghetti? I opened the box, and a scent of sweet wood of some sort greeted my nose: It contained incense sticks, which reminded me of the habits of a former girlfriend. Most of the space in that cabinet was, however, consumed by small foldable meditation benches in different sizes. When I observed the polished stone floor, I became aware of a very subdued mosaïque, which informed the directions of East, Mecca, and North. Why North? I was puzzled. Both the southern wall and the northern were equipped with handles in waist height, which made me curious, but it turned out to be two foldable altars. Why two? Whatever belief anyone had – or not – the room was soothing, at least when the cabinets were closed and the altars folded back to the walls. I sat there in the stillness for more than twenty minutes, until I returned to my bed. *** It was afternoon again. Lamarck and Gospodinov had been unusually silent and gloomy in the morning, and didn’t melt until lunch, when they had consumed unusually large amounts of mineral water and buttered bread. Smith and Green absent-mindedly looked through their notes again, and László emitted whiffs of Lynx. ’Nice Einstein hair-do, Gospodinov!’, was the first words, when Lieutenant Jones entered the Lab. Jones, it had come out during the interview almost a week earlier, had a long time background in SAS, and was divorced. During childhood he had moved around frequently with his divorced mother between several places in the north: Liverpool, Manchester, Blackpool, Wigan, Bradford, Newcastle… – a litany of place names. His head was covered in a red haired buzzcut, and his ears were more protruding than in an average person. He was of pink composure, and built like a human version of a pitbull terrier. His military tattoos made him look perilous, but towards the scientific team he behaved protectively and irreverently in a humorous and good-natured way. It seemed that László and Jones had bonded well at the Gym already, and that helped to make Jones cooperative, despite of the sour mood in the Mess Hall. ’Ah dinna thought tha’ the avvy would come so suuhn. After wha’ ’appened ter Soares and Johansson, we all feel a li’l bi’ worried abuht the effects, out there. Wharryl ’appen ter us inside the Magic Boxes?’ Smith and Green seemed to understand Jones’ argot well enough to answer him, but for me, who was only familiar with schoolbook English and TV-programmes from BBC sent by Norwegian broadcasters, Jones was incomprehensible. The elderly scientists also seemed to be confused by Jones’ version of English. Smith explained: ’The Program is still in a prototype stage, but we believe that we may have fixed the bug now. If you two react well, and we have reasons to believe you will, the readings from your transformations will probably help us wake Soares and Johansson from their unconscious states.’ Corporal Bjarnarsson had stood silent near the doorway from the waiting room, looming. He was a twenty-seven year old giant of a man, with a past in strongman-contests. ’Ah. Corporal Bjarnarsson! For you the Procedure will probably cause less strain. The change will be lesser in extent, since you are in such a good shape already.’ For a millisecond Jones eyed Bjarnarsson somewhat enviously, but then changed back to his usual irreverent humorous chattiness. László took their measures, as befitted their coach. Curious, I peeked over László’s shoulder in order to see the Pad connected to The Program: Ltn. Jones: Weight: 95 kilogrammes Height: 186 centimetres Chest: 115 centimetres Waist: 91 centimetres Arm: 40 centimetres Thighs: 66 centimetres Cpl. Bjarnarsson: Weight: 156 kilogrammes Height: 199 centimetres Chest: 160 centimetres Waist: 104 centimetres Arm: 60 centimetres Thighs: [AWAITING DATA] ’When Ah was rather nuw in the Service, abuht fifteen years ago, or thereabuht, me an’ me mates went ter cinema an’ watched th’film ”Captain America”. ’s like being in the middle uvv something similar ’ere, innit. Please duhnt knock me uuht like yuh did ter Corporal Soares an’ Corporal Johansson.’ Jones continued to talk while the IV, the neuro-helmet and the mask were placed on him and Bjarnarsson. Bjarnarsson was reticently silent. Then they moved into the sluices and the Chambers. ’Tranquillisers and analgesics distributed.’, said Gospodinov, looking at a monitor governing the IV. ’Forty millisheldrake, and increasing.’, Smith reported from his screen. ’Hypertrophic Radiation 125%, and increasing’, I reported. ’Endorphins activated. Myostatine blockers activated. Testosterone production rising. Oestrogen moderated. Adrenalin moderated. Kortisol moderated. Somatropin level rising.’, Gospodinov said. ’Viro-treatment active. Saturation level of nano-particles increasing’, Lamarck echoed. Something looking like ghostly flames in a strange golden hue flared and filled the entire cylinders, surrounding Bjarnarsson and Jones. Something looking like electric bolts (although we knew they didn’t have anything to do with electrons) hit the defenceless bodies of the two test subjects. Gruber attended their Neuro-Reprogramming. It went well this time, but it was too soon to triumph and feel relief. Soon both bellowed lustfully their acceptance of, and obedience to, The Program, and the Competence Programming was encoded into their brains. Meanwhile, the analgesics, the endocrine treatment and the DNA-altering formulas circulated in their bodies, preparing the way for the upcoming Physical Reprogramming Phase. They fell into oblivion for a while, when their bone tissue adapted with an ugly scraping sound. They regained consciousness. Their breathing became heavier. They clenched their fists. Their shoulders and legs tensed. Their manhoods awakened. An eerie pulse of force caused their muscles to tense and relax, tense and relax… A change occurred in Bjarnarsson. The already very huge man didn’t become taller, but his body composition went from big-bellied to what my student-day gym-buddies would have called ’ripped’. Any unnecessary body fat was burned away by the altered metabolism induced by The Program, and Bjarnarsson’s already well-developed muscled swelled. The changes of Jones were much more tremendous. When he entered the Chamber, he was padded of tight but undefined muscles like an overstuffed Chesterfield, but now his brawn was growing, and when body fat burned away, his muscles became visible like protruding spheres and bicones of terrifying strength. ’Uh, uh! Ah! Oh, it’s so fuckin’ unbelievable! It’s so friggin’ brilliant, innit! Duh yuh hear me ouht there? … Oh yes! Really ace! All hard flesh… meatier… Am beefing up! … the feeling! It’s… oh, OH! Am connected to this amazing power surge, nnnn, mmmm, aah! Charging me! Powerload! Powercharge! POWERHOUSE! Um! Nnng! Ah! Yes, yes! Yes! Um! Nnngh, nnngh, AH!’ We lost verbal communication from Jones, since his words devolved into incomprehensible excited moans and grunts. His body was not easy to see by now, since the golden shimmer from the rays enfolded him, but, from what could be visibly observed and from the growing blue digital chart of his body, his physique quickly adapted to the extreme ideal of the green digital chart of the Field. In the other Chamber, Bjarnarsson emitted similar noises as Jones. A pulsating pump raged in every muscle of Jones’, but, unlike pump at the gym, this actually increased his muscle tissue here and now. His back muscles contracted, relaxed, hardened and swelled. Incredible back muscles protruded increasingly, forming a map of valleys and ridges. His lats broadened. His glutes formed into globes, and then globes indented, forming ’C:s’ patterned like spruces. His shoulders became boulders. His neck filled out into steel wires plaited into cords, forming an uncrushable bull neck. His calves became insane rugby balls of rock, defined by a valley into twin ridges. Both the front and the back of his thighs swelled into jaw-dropping vein-ridden monuments of masculine might. Deeply defined abs formed an unconquerable brick-wall of warm flesh, and his chest was composed of two expanding shields of engorged bulbous brawn, radiating of vigour. Under the influence of the treatment his vein-patterned triceps, biceps and forearms, fortified by hypertrophic power, were ever hardening, bulging and toughening. When The Program reached its culmination both test subjects shouted in hypertrophic bliss, bellowed in anabolic ecstasy, and roared in testosterone-fuelled power-craze. Green noticed that both specimens ejaculated. He looked at Gospodinov, who answered: ’Probably a side effect of the extremely heightened testosterone-production. The nurses have to clean the Chambers before next experiment.’ Nurse Fischer looked up from his notes with a disgusted expression. For a few seconds both test subjects passed out, and for a while we were all very worried that our failures would repeat, but Jones and Bjarnarsson soon regained consciousness, while the fluid receded. As soon as possible, László and Nurse Fischer opened the sluice doors and helped the subjects out. They actually could walk by themselves, but seemed elated and dizzy-headed. While they used their towels, we could notice that they transpired a lot of sweat. Worried, Smith asked: ’How do you feel?’ ’Ah feel really boss, nuw. Gobsmacked, really. Yuh duhn’t have ter worry abuht me, Doc. Am really made up. Feeling buff as hell. Wha’ stonking arms!’, and, eyeing his new complection he added: ’An’ its the first time Ah got a real bronzee, mate. At vacation in Ibiza and Lanzarote, Ah uhnly got pink, scolded and peeling. Dis’s unusual. But Ah can’t stan’ ’ere starkers all day. Yuh said something abuht a nuw sorta uniform?’ Calmly, Bjarnarsson said something about feeling fine. Green took measures of Bjarnarsson, while Smith took the measures of Jones,in order to assure that the data on the screen were correct: ’Oh by Jove!’ Ltn. Jones: Weight: 180 kilogrammes Height: 200 centimetres Chest: 188 centimetres Waist: 97 centimetres Arm: 76 centimetres Thighs: 96 centimetres While László was ransacking the Inventory for the new prototype uniform, Smith explained: ’The prototype uniform was engineered for several reasons. Since a traditional uniform would probably risk to either fray or to be a chunky inconvenience in action, something adaptable and stretchable was needed. Since the PCETOs seemingly use IR-perception as their primary sense, it was important to use a fabric which conducts excessive body heat in an unnoticeable way, while still warm enough. A new way of arranging carbon atoms has been demonstrated to hold the capacity to protect from projectiles and edged weapons. Since some of your future operations probably will take place in space, the uniform had to be easily used in combination with conventional space suits and the new prototype space armour. The same material is actually used in the tarpaulins at the Outer Perimeter, in order to camouflage the wood fires.’ László returned from the Inventory with a number of items of clothing. I hadn’t seen the new uniform myself, so I was as astonished as the recruits themselves. The stuff was black and glossy, with no hints of spun threads. Most of all it had a sort of leathery surface, but it had pliable qualities, and formed after the wearer. ’Dis pura kecks is tuh tight. Du yuh ’ave any larger pair uvvem? A’ve no’ any sparrer legs, anymore. Lewk at these ’amstrings an’ calves!’ László had a broad grin on his face, and handed over a larger pair of uniform trousers. It turned out that size 11 boots were too small, and we all waited while Jones tied the bootlaces of his size 12 army boots. When Jones and Bjarnarsson had dressed, we inspected the results. The uniforms looked painted on them, but, regardless of this, there seemed to be no risk of fraying or rips at the seams. The black, glossy and leathery material cling in a snug-fitting way to their enormous shoulders and pecs, saliently enhancing the presence of the shoulder straps with insignia and the breast pockets – the short sleeves leaving the forearms bare. The shirt buttons were designed to be non-obstructive and easy to button. The trousers were snug around the calves, but were tailored like cargo-trousers around the thighs, in order to facilitate the typically useful pockets. The trousers were reinforced over the groin, in a way bringing anti-riot equipment to mind. The belt buckle was adorned with the heraldic crest of this prototype Company. There was something vaguely intimidating to the rather high bootlegs, but, despite being advanced in ways which went over my head, the boots looked like typical military boots designed for practical usefulness rather than looks. They were smoothly polished, but with the new material the entire uniforms had the look of being polished by military standard shoe polish. The results were stunning. The uniforms didn’t hide their muscular physiques, but revealed and highlighted them. It felt somewhat unsettling to be in the presence of the uniformed and huge recruits. ’Yuh ’aven’t given ed a thought to take a trip into the Magic Boxes yerself, Doc? It luuk like yuh could ’ave use fer ed, eh? An’ yuh, Coach? Yuh would certainly like ed. Mooch be’er than slapping the monkey.’ Smith looked away with an embarrassed expression. His ears and cheeks were purple. Green interrupted: ’You will need some rest in the Infirmary. Later tonight or early tomorrow we will go to the gym and measure how your performance has increased.’ When Jones and Bjarnarsson had left for observation in Infirmary, Smith commented our conversation with Jones: ’There is something you mainland Europeans don’t understand: That UK is a kingdom divided by a common language.’ Chapter Two is found here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/6609-project-defender-–-chapter-two/
  11. flamedelft

    An evening run, chapter 4

    Chapter 1; 2; 3; 4; 5; 6; 7 A/N: I just noticed that the chapters are getting progressively longer (this one is twice as long as the first one). Anyway, here it is, hope you guys enjoy, I tried a few ideas that sounded fun, so let me know what you guys know. As always, please do comment and critique (you could even pm me if you want). --- I woke up suddenly, because Ty got up in a rush with a quiet "Sorry, I really need to go." And he quickly thuded into the bathroom. I was unwilling to get up, so I kept my eyes closed and rolled over to the large warm area that smelled like his body. I guessed he really need to go, since he almost groaned with relief. And there was the powerful stream. And another, and again. Well, my peeing hypothesis was totally wrong, because nobody does Kegels first thing in the morning when they really need to pee. Oh well. I started wondering if he ever did that before, but I wasn't sure. I couldn't remember, but he always got up before me. And then there was a longer stream with less force. And then the flush of the toilet. More thuds, but these were slower and somehow more relaxed. "You're lying on my spot." "So?" "Should I lie down on your bed?" At this I cracked my eyes open, he stood at my feet, towering over my lying form. "Don't you dare, it would collapse under you. And you wouldn't fit in it anyway." "Well, that leaves me with just one option." He scratched at his furry cheek. "Hmm, if Ty falls on Eli in his apartment, and there's no one else there, does it make a sound?" With that, he seemed to start growing bigger, my brain still slow from the remains of sleep only realizing too late that he was falling on top of me- BANG! I flinched and yelped, shutting my eyes, before realizing that nothing hurt. I opened them again, and I could only see the dark brown of his skin filling my whole field of vision. I looked to the side, where I could see one of his arms supporting his frame. He must have extended them to catch himself. "Fuck, don't freak me out like that! I would've been flattened to a pancake under you!" "Aww, but don't you trust me? I won't ever hurt you." As I got my breath under control, I wanted to repay him, so I grabbed onto his nipples and tweaked hard, as that always hurt me like hell. He roared in response, and he almost let himself drop onto me again. "Fuuuck, don't do that! I thought you were angry at me, not horny." "What are you talking about, I just hurt you." There was a pause, before he shifted downward so we could see face to face while he was still above me, his arms supporting him. "Uh, pain wasn't what I felt. I, um, enjoy that, actually. No offense, but I really don't think you have the strength to hurt me doing that. Not without some tool at least." "Damn. Sorry I tried to hurt you." He chuckled "It's okay. You must have really been freaked out. I get it. I won't do something like that again. But I won't refuse if you want to twist my nipples. At least in private, I don't think many people would appreciate me roaring anytime you wanted." "Okay, got it. Well, there's no way I'm going back to sleep, I've got too much adrenaline in my system now. What about you? Should we get up, go do something?" "Hmm, I want to stay in bed some more." Then he grinned. "And you're staying with me." He went back to the original position, his pecs hovering just over my head, before he lowered himself so I was once again surrounded by his body. I tried to push him up, with no effect, but he was careful to let me breathe. It was quite comfortable, feeling him, putting a firm pressure on every part of me like a heavy and hot blanket. Like I was in a tight full-body cast and it tightened and relaxed around me a little with his every breath. The short hairs tickled my face slightly. "In the bathroom, you came, didn't you." He only hmmed affirmatively. "Do you do that often while here?" "Sometimes, does it bother you?" "I never noticed before. But no, it doesn't bother me. I mean, it's fairly common, right?" "Well, maybe not exactly common, not in my, uh, quantity, but yeah, some guys do that. And, I think it might happen more often, due to the recent developments. You cool with that?" "Yeah." We spent a little more time like that, before we decided to get up. We made ourselves some breakfast and we talked about what we wanted to do that day. We settled on some exercise first, then Ty wanted to give me a massage. We cleaned the dishes, and went outside, so Ty could exercise himself a bit, and give me some pointers. First, he told me to just slowly work on my walking, just feel through the whole process, feel when it hurt, when it felt wobbly, and such. I still used crutches, but I tried to use them as little as possible. It was all quite hard, since he went through his own routine, displaying his body with no indication my presence bothered him. His muscles, writhing under his dark skin as he commanded, holding his body in various positions without much apparent protest. Then he decided to work on my strength a little, letting me test myself against him, we had an armwrestling match where he of course held his own without any effort whatsoever. I even tried both my hands against his, without any change which wasn't that unexpected. He complimented me anyway. That felt pretty nice. Then he put me through modified push ups, where he knelt behind me and held my shins off the ground to not put any strain on the ankles. Then he made me do pull ups. He stood in front of me, and he put his flat hands, palms facing his torso, in front of his chest, so I could grab onto his fingers. He raised them until I dangled a couple inches in the air. To give me motivation, he promised a quick peck for every time I could pull myself up to his face. That was great, even though I didn't manage more than three reps in a set. Then we did L-sits together, I managed only a few seconds at a time, without having the strength to lift even one of my legs. Ty of course had no problem holding it the whole time even with me struggling on top of his tighs, but his encouragements made me push myself harder. When we ended the last exercise, I was panting, clutching at my sore belly, while leaning on his midsection for a while. Then we stood up to go inside and Ty grabbed me and slung me over his shoulder, giving me a great sight of his back, glutes, hamstrings, calves and the backs of his massive feet as he made his way over to the shower, where we washed the sweat off. We decided to go to the food court for lunch, as I wanted to go outside for change. I assured Ty that it would be fine to go on foot, I'd tell him if it hurt too much so he could carry me. We arrived, the court wasn't fully packed, which was good, I was fine walking here, but I wasn't sure if I could manage waiting in a queue for a long time. We got our food (it was a thick and quite spicy tomato soup with mealworms), Ty of course got a big bowl of it, and we made our way to 'his' table. The crafters made it because of his request, but they improved on the basic design, and it could be used by other people who were bigger in some way, fat, tall... We spent most of our meal in silence, but I noticed that he was slower than usual, I almost had my bowl empty while his was still half full. I put my hand on his fist, noting that it was clenched pretty hard. I rubbed at it to get his attention. "Everything alright, big guy?" "Huh? Oh, yeah, I, yeah, I think. I'm just freaking out a little bit, overthinking everything..." "Would it help if you told me and I gave my opinion?" "I'm not sure. But I want to deal with this on my own, if you don't mind." "Alright." I didn't stop rubbing his hand, and it did get more relaxed. "Can you relax your hand a little bit more? I want to try something." I finished the soup, so I had both of my hands free now, which I used to coax his fingers from the fist, and I tried to interweave the fingers of his hand and mine. His hand was too large for me to get all of his fingers, but I managed to grab his pinkie and ring finger, with my thumb reaching his knuckle from the underside. I smiled at my victory, and looked up, Ty's stunned face was looking back at me. "What?" "Nothing, it's just a bit surprising for me. Not in a bad way of course." "Your hands are not that big Ty." "No, I didn't mean it that- I just wasn't expecting it that's all." The rough pad of his thumb assured me to keep holding his hand. When he finished his bowl, Ty carried the dishes to the cleaning counter, while I made my way to the entrance. As he reached me, I asked him: "Your folks weren't here today?" "I didn't see them, so probably not, they're probably taking another shift." "Okay, you mind if we take a little detour at our way home?" "Not really." --- We visited a craftstore, where I got some bodypaint, which I usually only got for the kids. They always love making a mess. But this time, I was intending to use it in a more precise way then they did. I told Ty that I recently got a nice canvas to paint on. --- Along the way we talked about the massage, I wanted just a regular back rub. Back home, we put the cans of paint away, Ty got the oil from the kitchen, as he instructed me to take some towels and put them below me, strip down and lay on the futon. I made myself comfortable, my hands under my forehead, an additional rolled up towel under my ankles. I heard Ty approach thanks to his thudding accompanying him everywhere. "Okay, I'm going to straddle you, do you mind if I'll be nude?" "Hmm, not really, but won't your penis get in the way?" "Let me try it." I heard the rustle of him taking off his boxers, and he moved over me, put the bottle of oil near my head, he got in the position above me on all fours, and he got up into the kneeling position. I felt his hairy balls land between my thighs, just under my ass, but he didn't touch me otherwise. "Okay, so it shouldn't get in the way. Although it may drop some precum on you, that alright with you?" "Yeah it's fine, as long as you don't cum, I don't want to clean this room." I felt him move again, and then I felt his long and hot penis pressing into my back, then his pecs joined it and then he planted a kiss onto the back of my head. "Don't worry, I'm pretty good at holding back." He raised himself, and grabbed the bottle, pouring the oil into his hands, warming it up by rubbing them together. "Here I go." One of his hands landed on the small of my back covering a considerable area, exerting light pressure as he moved it towards my head in a very short time. The other hand joined it on the other side, but moving slower. He repeated this a few times, gradually adding pressure. Then he changed to just the tips of his joined fingers, focusing the pressure. A moan escaped me in response to his stimulation. I assured him that it feels great, and urged him to continue. I felt like I was melting under him. He started adding more circular motions, squiggles, sometimes going slow and hard with the heel of his hand along my spine, sometimes using quick brushes that danced along my skin, sometimes driving a tip of his finger into a sore spot, almost to the point of unbearable pain, while whispering soothing words to take my mind off of it. Then he returned back to the slow strokes, and he moved onto my traps and the back of my neck, working it like a dough he had to prepare for baking. And then he tapped on my back, lightly (for him) and rhythmically. He ended with going back to the start, with the very light strokes across my whole back, before just resting his hands there, letting me feel their warmth. I whined a little bit, sad that it was over already. He chuckled "Enjoyed it?" "Soo much..." I felt drained of all energy, yet rejuvenated at the same time. "Didn't feel the precum falling though." "Yeah, got lucky and it all fell on my hands. Don't worry, you'll still smell like me until you shower." He was right, I didn't notice it until now, but there was his musk in the air now... "When did you get so good at this?" "On the farm, we usually massage each other after work, so I got a lot of practice. Though I probably never felt like you did. Guess it'd take someone a lot stronger to give me a proper massage." "Have you thought about having more than one guy working you at a time? Maybe they could walk and stomp on your back. That has to do something, right?" "Hmm, never looked at it that way. I'll bring it up, see if they're up to it. Maybe even do a few push ups as long as they're up there." "You're unbelievable, isn't massage supposed to be about relaxing?" "I guess so. " "Anyway, my body is feeling limp like boiled noodles right now. I don't think I'll be able to paint..." "Aww, and I wanted to see you paint so much..." "You're like a kid. Just give me a few minutes, and I'll be up. Also you're kind of keeping me down." "Oh, right, sorry." He jumped up, moving to wash his hands and put away the oil. I gathered my energy and sat up slowly, checking on my body. Despite the seemingly rough treatment, I felt really good, more loose, more relaxed... "I'll have to persuade him to do this more often. Well, it's probably not going to take much persuasion, to be honest." I went for the paint cans, selecting three colors. Green, red and yellow. I turned to Ty, who was looking at me with that curious expression of his. "Can you bring a chair to the bathroom?" "Bathroom? Why there? And where's your canvas." "You're the canvas." I said with a smile. The confusion written in his face was quickly replaced by a questioning look and then it settled into a wide smile. "That's awesome!" In his joy, he grabbed the chair in one hand, and with the other he grabbed me by my waist, cans still dangling in my hands, as he practically skipped into the bathroom, his cock that became hard very fast leading the way. He set me and the chair down, looking at me. "So what do you need me to do? Should I hold you in front of my chest as you paint it? Should I hold some poses for you?" He started posing, going through several in a few seconds, not able to choose one... And his cock started flinging pre cum like yesterday. He was like an overgrown puppy, just crackling with energy at the prospect of his master giving him a treat. "Whoa, hey, settle down. Can you sit down here?" He froze in the middle of the side triceps pose. "Oh, uh, yeah. Sorry, I got carried away." "Don't apologize, it's great that you're so enthusiastic. Though I have to say, the painting itself won't probably be that exciting." He sat down, and I took an old rag and brought the chair closer to him but as I approached him from the front, I sat down on his thigh, it was like I was facing a wall of living stone, shivering with excitement. "Okay, now take a couple of deep breaths, and lean back a bit." I opened the cans and dipped a finger in the first paint as he followed my directions. I started to cover his massive chest in lines, circles of different color, noting the drops that were caught on his chest hair. Painting it in my emotions, wherever my hands wanted to roam I let them. Well, at first, I steered them away from his nipple, but as I looked up to his face, I could see him looking back with such intensity... I let myself brush against it, first with just the clean parts of my hands, as I drew them near the nipple, and then even putting just a dot of paint directly on the top of it. Both actions resulted in sharp inhales from him, and an intensifying of the precum dripping from his cock, which now formed a puddle between his legs, soaking my foot a bit. I repeated the same thing while sitting on the other leg, which gave me acces to his other side. Then I moved onto his abs, where I highlighted his bellybutton, and drew lines more or less pointing towards it. He politely moved his dick away when it got in my way. I got a bit playful, 'accidentaly' smudging a bit of paint on it. As I decided his front was covered enough, I stood up and went to get the chair. "Is this the end?" "No, I'll continue on your back. Unless you want me to stop." "Please continue, this is pretty intense. Oh, and just sit down on the chair, I'll move you." He added with a smirk. I sat down and he reached over with one hand, grabbed the leg of the chair, and moved it, with just a twist of his torso slightly behind him, then he faced to the front again, grabbed out with the same hand backward, and moved it again, so now I was right behind him, giving me the vast canvas of his back at my discretion. Then he gave me the cans. I started working again, noticing that as I progressed, his breathing became more heavy, the muscles clenching under my hands. "Are you okay? Do you need a pause?" "No." He sounded pretty angry. "Please continue, it's just much more intense than I thought it would be. I'm just having a hard time holding it back." "Holding what back?" And then it clicked, the heavy breathing, the twitching muscles, the words filtered through his clenched teeth, the memory of his hard cock growing harder during my work on his front... "Oh, you want to cum? Fire away at will. I don't have to be the only one painting here." I continued, now focused more on very slow, very light strokes along his back, sometimes leaning closer and helping the paint dry with a gentle breath... "Fuck-" Another dot. "I-" Another stroke, this time quick and short. "I'm-" I dipped my whole hand in the paint, meanwhile gently blowing on an empty patch of skin. "I'm gonna-" I slapped my hand on his skin with all the force I could muster. He roared like a bear, arched his back, and his dick exploded. The ropes of his cum splattered on the wall several feet in front of us, painting it in a vertical puddle of white goo that reached above my head. It was amazing to watch. As his orgasm died down, the cum created a path from the wall painting leading directly to the person responsible. "Woah." Still huffing, he began to laugh. "You just got me to cum with only some paint and breathing, without anything touching my dick and the only thing you can say is 'Woah.'? " "I'm kind of speechless right now." He stood up and turned to me, his still throbbing cock pointing at me, then he leaned down, grabbed me under my armpits and brought me to his mouth to kiss me. I happily reciprocated. After a long while we stopped. He put me down again and stomped to the mirror. "Now I really want to see what you painted." He looked at himself, turning one way and the other, visibly growing more confused. "Uh, no offense meant to your talent, but... This just looks like a painting of a three year old kid that just got crayons." "Actually, it's a very complex pattern of lines and dots, designed specifically to make the paintee more turned on and to bring them to climax. I got it from a magic book I was given by my great grandpa." I tried my hardest to look completely serious, looking at him through the mirror from his side. "Are you kidding me?" "Yes." "Aww, and here I thought you could do some more magic for me." "You're magical enough as is. I just basically let my fingers go across your skin, while thinking about you, me, us... I thought this would be a good, I guess, intimacy exercise, but apparently it's also a bit more for you. Which is great." "I love you." I looked at his face directly. I knew he meant it. The next sentence was easy to say. I may not have been able to pin my exact emotions about all this, but I felt sure that it was in the right place. "I love you too." I hugged him, planting kisses on the painted skin as he brought me even closer to him with his arms.
  12. flamedelft

    An evening run, chapter 3

    Chapter 1; 2; 3; 4; 5; 6; 7 A/N: And they take their first baby steps, yay! As always, all comments and critique are welcome! --- I went to open the door, seeing through the glass that it wasn't Ty, but a group of kids. I let them in, and lead them into the backyard. As we sat down at the table, I started the tutoring. Some kids were there just to help their friends, so I didn't need to oversee them all, which was great. It wasn't much work, I just pointed out a mistake here, and gave a bit of advice there. Before I knew it, the hour was over and the kids started leaving. As I followed the last kid, I saw Ty in the kitchen, who was just putting the groceries away. I closed the main door and went back into the kitchen. "Lunch? I'm starving." "Yeah, me too. Sorry I didn't arrive earlier, got held up by my folks, they talked my ear off." We put the food on the plates and sat down at the kitchen table. It was a bit awkward. "What did you talk about? How are they?" "Well, first they scolded me for not talking to them enough like always. Then they wanted to know how I was doing, how were you doing... They send their greetings. Anyway, they are doing great, they are organizing some midnight readings next week." "Thanks." We continued eating in silence, Ty going for seconds and thirds and still finishing at the same time as me. We leaned back in our chairs. "Man, you are a good cook, it was really great." He said, patting his belly. "Thank you. I've been thinking about what you said..." "I know, I found the paper in the kitchen. Do you want me to answer the questions?" "We don't have to do it right now. I'm feeling like nap right now." "Okay. Do you mind if i join you?" "Not at all, you know this is pretty much your home at this point." We put the dishes away, and went to the bedroom. We stripped to our underwear and laid down on our beds, both staring into the ceiling. After a while, it was quite clear that I wouldn't sleep any time soon. I looked over at Ty, who was also staring upwards, but he must have registered the movement out of a corner of his eye, because he looked at me too. "This is so weird." "Yeah, maybe I shouldn't have told you." "No, I'm glad you have. It's great that you think so much of me." We returned to our silence, now a bit more comfortable. "Do you think I could lay down next to you?" "Of course." I moved over to him, spending a moment to decide where to lie down, while he watched me. I made up my mind, motioned for him to move his arm away and laid down at his waist. I laid my head and upper back on his abdomen, enjoying the slow, swaying motion as he breathed. I pulled at his hand and put it on my own belly, palm up. I started to stroke and rub it, exploring the long and thick fingers, the rough skin from the years of manual labor. I explored the meaty palm, placing my whole hand inside it. I turned it around, and pushed at the veins which yielded somewhat to my pressure, sliding under his skin. The tendons were much harder to move around. I turned my head back towards his, continuing my exploration of his hand, but I couldn't see his face due to the pecs in the way. "I think I want to give the 'closer relationship' a shot. I just, I'm not quite sure what that means." "Well, I'm pretty sure it means whatever we want it to mean. We can start by me talking about things I want, and you could give your opinion. You know 'I love that', 'I want that too', 'eh, not really my thing', 'absolutely not.' " "That sounds great." "Hoo, okay. Hum. There's so much... Okay, I'd like to be more physically intimate with you. You know, cuddling, massages, simply holding hands, carrying you when you want... naps like the one we're having right now." "That sounds awesome. Definitely yes on all of that." "Okay, what about kissing?" I brought his hand closer to my head and started kissing it. "Like this?" His chuckle jostled me. "Yeah, kisses like that are awesome. But I also meant kissing on the cheek, on the mouth, and with our tongues. Maybe even somewhere else, if you feel like it..." "I'm not certain, but I'm sure we can find out. It sounds good." "All right, I'm looking forward to that. So, the 'big' question, how do you feel about sex?" "It does not repulse me, if that's what you're asking. But I also don't have any experience. What kind of sex would you like to have?" "Well, um. I-I'd want you to..." he mumbled the rest of the sentence, so I didn't hear. "You want me to what? I didn't hear you." He sighed and took a deep breath. "I want you to fuck me." "Oh." "I mean- you don't have to, of course. And there are other things we can do. Or not, that'd be totally your call." "Heh, thanks. I can't say that I feel like fucking you right now, no offense. Do you think we could... build up to it? Start a bit lighter?" "Yeah, of course." The relief was clear in his voice. A bit more silence followed. "Wait, why does everything to do with sex have to be my call?" "Well, I'm guessing I'll be cool with whatever, so I'm being careful not to push you too early or too hard or something." "That makes sense. But I might have some ideas of my own, I mean, not right now, in the future. You can always say no to any of them." "Okay. Eli?" "Yes?" "You are so amazing. I'm so glad to be your friend." I kissed his hand again. "You're amazing too." --- I slowly woke up, the upper half of my body still rhythmically moving up and down from Ty's breathing. I noticed that I let go of Ty's hand while I was asleep, but it was still on my belly, and his massive thumb stroked my chest. I laid my left hand over his, and the stroking stopped. "Slept well?" "Very peacefully. I'll have to sleep with you more often, you make for a great pillow." He chuckled and resumed his stroking of my chest. I looked around, and seeing that the lighting changed, I must have been out of it for a few hours. "Did you fall asleep too?" "For a while. Woke up in about 30 minutes." "And you just laid there for so long? You could have gotten up." "I don't have anywhere to be, so I just left you sleeping. It's given me a time to think too." "And what did you think about?" "I thought about going for a run or a walk in the evening, there's this recipe with mutton I've wanted to try, and I've enjoyed your closeness. Also, I listened to your cute snoring." "I snore?" "Yes, adorably." I sighed. "Alright then. Well I can't run yet, but it should be alright to walk now. I mean if you want me to go with you. I definitely wouldn't be able to keep up at faster speeds. Now that I think of it, even after I heal I won't be able to if you let loose. And you can cook the mutton, if you'll let me help you prepare it." "Fine. You know, you could just ride me. You said you wanted to. We could talk more." "I'll think about it. We should get up and start preparing the mutton if you want it for dinner." "I'd get up, but there's this immense weight on my stomach, it's stopping me from moving." "Please, like I could stop you from doing anything." "You're doing it right now! I'm so weak I can't get up, your weight is crushing me!" "You're unbelievable." I sat up with a groan, being a little stiff from the nap. I stood up, turning back to Ty. I offered him my hand. "C'mon, let's get you up, you crybaby." He grabbed my hand and pulled me back down on himself, I landed face first into the cleft between his pecs, his arms wrapping around me, trapping me there. "Mmmf, mmmhmhmm, mmmmafuh!" I tried to yell at him, before realizing that he won't understand me, the muscles muffling any words into incomprehensible sounds. "Yeah, yeah, that's what you get for making fun of weak people." I could hear his words, a bit dampened, but still clearly. I felt his body shifting around me, he moved one hand to my butt, palming it like a basketball, and the other going to the ground for support. His belly hardened below me, signaling that he started moving up, so I wrapped my legs around it. Suddenly there was a pressure on my back, as he brought his legs closer to his torso, but it passed quickly as he straightened up. After a few steps he stopped, and as I pulled my face from his cleavage I found we were in the kitchen. He set me down and we made the marinade for the mutton and put the meat in. We decided Ty would go for a run alone, since that way I could tend to the meat and start cooking it before he came back, so it'd be done on time. I gave him figs for the run, in case he'd get hungry while away, he put them in a pouch on the cloth around his midsection. He hugged me, and he went out, running as soon as the door closed. In a few seconds, his thuds were no longer hearable, so I went to the kitchen, picking up a book on the way and started reading. In about half an hour, I got hungry, so I ate a few of the figs and started cooking. --- An hour and a half later Ty came back, sweaty and breathing heavily. He didn't seem very talkative, only grunting in response to my greeting, but he was smiling. "Had a good run?" He grunted again, this time with a nod, his smile widening. "Take a shower, dinner is ready, we can eat as soon as you don't smell so horribly." He only smirked and hugged me, getting some of his sweat on me. "Wow, thanks a lot. You could have just asked if I wanted to shower with you again." We got into the bathroom, he dropped all of his clothes and started showering, I got to the sink, only washing my face. He wasn't smelling that bad. I noticed that I could see him in the mirror, he was facing the other way and I watched for a while. "Hey, Ty?" "Yeah?" "Would it be weird if I watched you jerk off?" "Actually, that sounds pretty hot. Could do it right now, if you want." I turned towards him, certain that he could see blush darknening my brown and freckled cheeks. "Okay." I sat down on the toilet, and he shut off the water, but not bothering to wipe off. He turned to me, proudly displaying his large dick, still soft, which swayed and slapped his thigh from the movement. The head was covered by almost excessive amount of foreskin. He planted his feet apart, and he put his hands on his waist. For a few moments he just beamed at me, but before I could ask what's going on, there was a twitch, and his cock started to swell. It was interesting to watch, as I never really paid much attention in the moments that I got aroused. For me it was something like a chore, get to the orgasm, enjoy the feeling and good night. But Ty relished even the beginning. He used his hands now, one going to the balls, fondling and squeezing them. I didn't think that would be pleasurable, but it drew a low moan out of him. The other hand held his dick, slowly stroking it along the expanding length. He applied a bit more pressure, the foreskin just began partially revealing the dark head. There was a drop of precum on it that transformed into a tiny stream which grew bigger as he continued stroking. I looked up to his face, he wasn't smiling anymore, it was more relaxed, almost blissful. His eyelids drooped a bit, eyes almost black from the pupil dilation, but still trained on me. As it continued swelling, the dick also started to angle itself upwards. Ty speeded up his strokes and I noticed that everytime he reached the head, he was flinging excess precum away. "Fuck, I'm so close..." He turned away from me, giving me a view from the side. His strokes were now very quick and he used both of his big hands, still having room to spare. His legs were twitching, flexing to keep him still. "Oh, fuck, here it comes!" He roared as his dick started pulsing, and expelling cum in long streams that splashed against the wall a few feet before him. It was unlike anything I've ever seen, just one of the streams was several times bigger than my whole load. As he calmed down, he gave it a few last pumps, forcing the last of the cum to drip down. "Wow, I didn't expect this to be so hot. Did you enjoy it too? I really hope you'll want to do this again sometime." "That was definitely something. Wait, that sounds weird, doesn't it. I meant to say, I enjoyed that." He threw his hands up in the air like he just won something: "Yeah!" A bounce of his penis caught my attention. "How come it's still hard?" "It's because you're here, watching me jerk off, enjoying yourself. It's flattering as hell, and it's pumping me up like you wouldn't believe. I want to go again right now." His cock apparently agreed, as the precum started flowing again. "That's amazing. Although... Would you mind me not being here? I think I've enough for now." "Yeah, I'll have no problem finishing myself. Thank you, Eli." "You're welcome." I went back to the kitchen, while Ty resumed whacking off. He definitely wasn't shy about it, the sounds and grunts clearly hearable while I was setting up the table. In a few more moments, I could hear the now unmistakeable splashes of his cum against a wall and then he turned on the shower. I hoped he'd clean up the walls. --- He came out in the nude but he clearly dried himself off, his dick now returned to its soft state. We dug in with a smile. "Damn, two delicious meals in a row. I'll have to move in at this rate." "This was your idea and recipe, I just followed your instructions. And I think this apartment is too small for you to live longterm." "Eh, I'd manage somehow. I see a lot of incentives." "Really? What kind of incentives?" "Let's see... A cute boyfriend, a great food, a backyard I can workout in, and a great friend. What's not to love?" "That does sound great when you put it like that. although I'm pretty sure the farm is giving you a place for harder workouts. What do I get out of it?" "Hmm, someone who will always appreciate you and your cooking, someone who will be there for you...and a strong man who will always help you if you need to move somthing heavy." "Sold!" "Alright!" We burst into laughter. --- We stayed up and talked for a while after dinner, before deciding to head to bed. He carried me into the bedroom again, this time he held me in his palm like a baby, my back supported by his arm and chest. I undressed and sat down on my bed, while he got comfortable on the futon. "Would you like to sleep down here with me?" "No thank you. I still love my bed, and it's really comfy." "Aww, and I'm not? You said I make a great pillow." "As a pillow yes, but I'm withholding my final verdict on you as a bed until I experiment a bit more. My back was pretty stiff." "Okay. Good night Eli." I moved to him, and planted a kiss on his shoulder. "Good night Ty." --- I awoke a few hours later, it was still dark. I felt thirsty, so I went to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water. I sat down to spare my ankle, and I felt a paper on the table under my hands. I turned up a small lamp, making sure it wouldn't shine into the bedroom. It was the same paper from yesterday, the one full of questions. I read it again. Now I could fill in some additional answers. Not all. But Ty was right, there was no rush. We could enjoy each other, and find out the answers together. "Hey, what are you doing up? Is something wrong?" I jumped a bit, surprised. Apparently I wasn't as succesful at not waking Ty as I hoped I would be. "Oh, hey Ty. No, nothing is wrong. I just felt thirsty. I'll go back in a minute." "Okay," He rubbed his eyes, still groggy from the sleep. I crumpled the paper and threw it into the trashbin and turned off the lamp. I followed Ty, grabbing on to him for support. He led me to my bed, but I tugged at him to turn around. "Wha?" "It's only a few hours now, I'd like to sleep with you." He beamed at me, and hugged me. "That's great! Uh, I was thinking, maybe you could sleep at my side, your head on my shoulder?" "Okay." He lied back down, and set his arm a bit more apart, to make room for me. I nestled into the crook, noting his smell was stronger here, but not unpleasant. I hugged one of his pecs with my own arm, setting my head down on his meaty shoulder. Yes, that felt pretty comfortable.
  13. flamedelft

    An evening run, chapter 1

    Chapter 1; 2; 3; 4; 5; 6; 7 A/N: So this is my first work that I felt like posting. There will be little if any growth (certainly none in this chapter), but there should be some showing off and worship, since one of two characters is 7'6'' and somewhere just below 600 lbs (inspired by the Tyrant from the game Nosgoth). Also, the setting is "vaguely solarpunk 20 minutes into the future" (something like steam/cyber punk, but more utopian, everyone is on board with solar powar, ecology, not destroying nature/planet but integrating it and adapting to it, art nouveau, not much of racism/sexism/ableism, people have different/better attitude to bodies and sexuality (no one will freak out over a shirtless woman on a very hot day), things like that). It's mostly just sugary romantic fluff. --- It was early spring, which for me meant more free time than during the school year. Not that I didn't have to do anything, I had my own studying, sometimes the kids would come in the afternoon for additional tutoring if they wanted to better prepare for the upcoming exams, and sometimes I volunteered at the farm. This afternoon, Tyler, my best friend since we met in the primary school, came to catch up, he's working on the farm most of the day, so we can't hang out all the time like when we were young. Farmwork was a simple choice for him, since he was always a lot bigger than most, and he was good at biology and ecology at school. I started teaching, since I helped out a few kids with learning even at school, so I just continued to do that, although I have now specialized in art and technology. We're both in our early twenties, at 5'8'', 150 lbs, I'm a bit below average, while Ty's a giant of a man. He towers over everyone else at his 7'6'', and his (almost) 600 lbs of muscle dwarfs even the burliest of men. --- "Hey Ty, I've been thinking..." "Yeah?" "Would you mind if I went running with you tonight? I mean, I've been neglecting my exercises lately, so it'd be great if you could help me, but you don't have to, you really don't, I can just exercise on my own, I'm sure I'd just slow you do-" He put one of his thick fingers on my lips to shut me up. A corner of his mouth was curled up. "Sure, I don't mind. Though you may not be able to speak so much, at least if you want to keep up with me." "Oh. Thanks." --- He appeared in the doorway, naked save for his running boxers, that looked more like a body paint than a piece of clothing. His package, huge even for his enormous body, was clearly visible. They were clearly worn for practicality, not modesty. He never cared for covering his body, since the combination of the warm and sunny climate, his own warmth thanks to his muscles and the layer of fat, and his dark and thick skin was enough for him to be comfortable. "You ready?" "Ah, uh, yeah, just need to put on my clothes." He caught me naked, thanks to my indecision. I grabbed the nearest tank-top, shorts, and minimalistic shoes, putting them on. "You look great in that tank." "Thank you. So, as I said, I'm a bit rusty, you wanna lead the way?" "Sure, let's walk a bit, then we'll warm up a little and we can start." --- We reached a start of a trail, lit by bioluminescent vines. It was a beautiful sight no matter what time it was. During the day, the vines provided a cool shade, absorbing the sunlight and showing off their beautiful blossoms, and during the night they lighted up, providing visibility even on the darkest of nights. I didn't think more warm up was necessary for me, given that my heart rate was elevated simply by trying to keep up with Ty's long strides, even when he was walking at his normal speed. But it was really motivating watching him put his body in various positions, so I followed the simple exercises he did. When he judged he was warmed up enough, he checked with me (his light warm up wasn't excruciating, but I worked up a good sweat. I really needed to start exercising more), and we finally started our run in the relative silence of the night. His tempo was surprisingly easy to keep up with, possibly thanks to his mass making it impractical to run at higher speed. Nevertheless, after 20 minutes, I was feeling tired, which wasn't helped by his constant presence distracting me, looming to my right, his skin, darker than usual, glistening slightly in the muted vine light, the light tremors and the thudding of his big, bare feet. Suddenly I tripped over my own feet and tumbled to a stop. While I tried to pick myself up, Ty stopped and came back to me. "You okay Eli?" "I think so." He offered a meaty hand to me, pulled me up, and I almost collapsed to the ground again, if not for my hand snagging on his running boxers, pulling them down, accidentally freeing out his huge dick. As soon as I could, I grabbed onto his waist for balance and stabilized myself. "Oh, fuck, sorry." "It's okay, nothing you haven't seen before, besides, you should worry about your leg more right now." He assured me, while putting his penis back inside his boxers. "Right, I can't put any weight on my left ankle. I guess I am just a burden for you after all." "Hey, no worries. I can carry you back, I was just about to ask if you wanted to turn around." "Thank you." "Okay, can you stand on your good leg for a second? I'll turn around and you can hop on my back." "Yeah, that sounds great." I stood more upright, shifted my weigth to my good leg, my eyes level with the bottom of his pecs, letting go of him, and he quickly turned around and squatted down. I climbed on his vast back, locking my hands around his thick neck, he grabbed my legs, leaned forward and broke into a run, much faster than we ran before, a slight breeze from his speed cooling me down, but his back kept me warm enough. His breath was still as steady as it was when we walked to the trail. "Damn, you were holding back. You should have said something. You could have just went ahead." "And leave you alone? You'd get lost." "Hey, my orientation sense is not /that/ bad. Now I feel bad twice, not only you have to carry my sorry ass back home, I slowed you down too." "I get my proper run now thanks to your clumsy and cute ass, and it was actually great going that slow. I don't have to go full speed everytime, you know. Now shut up and enjoy the ride." I did not protest after that, letting the rhythmic movement of his body and the thudding, now louder and more frequent than before, his warmth radiating into me, and the shifting of his muscles lull me into that state between consciousness and sleep. --- I noticed Ty slowed down after a while, so I dredged myself back to full consciousness. "'re we home yet?" I asked, not quite succeding at suppressing a yawn. "Yeah. You mind if we shower before going to bed?" "Go right ahead." He entered my apartment, went right to the walk-in shower, flipped on the light, and let me down near the elevated platform so I could sit down. He quickly shucked off his boxers, and helped me get out of my clothes, being careful when manipulating my ankle, but I still hissed a bit with the pain. The ankle was now swollen. "Do you want me to bring you something? Do you have frozen vegetables or a cooling spray or something?" "You're not supposed to chill an injury like that. I should have my old brace in my closet, I think I put it somewhere low. It's not the first time the ankle's been twisted." "Okay, be right back." Before he returned, I shuffled a bit closer to the shower, so he wouldn't have to help me shower off. Thanks to him, I put on the brace, and before I could protest, he scooped me up, and put me down on the floor, then stood up back to his towering height, amplified by me sitting at his long feet, and he started the water, picking up the hose and keeping it away from me until the warm water started flowing. I did not like that. "Geez, I'm not feeling like a useless baby right now at all!" He froze. His eyes widen in surprise and his cheeks quickly started to darken. "Oh, fuck, I'm sorry, I didn't reali- sorry. Uh, here you go, again, sorry." The hose he practically threw at me landed next to me, giving me a face full of water on its way down. I started coughing, and rubbing my eyes. When I got the water out of my eyes and settled down, I looked up and saw Ty frozen in different position, he was crouched, his arms reaching for me, he clearly realized part way that helping me without my consent right now might not the best idea, his face clearly showing his inner battle. I burst out laughing so hard I had to curl into fetal position, my belly hurting from the force of the laughter. He started chuckling along and sat down next to me. The whole situation was just so weird. When I believed I wouldn't start laughing too hard again, I told him: "Sorry for laughing so hard, but dude, you should have seen yourself. Your face was so hilarious." "Heh, well, you're welcome, I aim to please. And sorry again, I shouldn't just manhandle you like a dog." "It's okay, you just have to remember that while not all of us are giant muscle-bound monsters, we don't turn into useless puppies when we twist our ankles." We finished our shower, now in better mood, Ty helping me move around, and in return, I scrubbed places he couldn't reach on his back, and his meaty feet. When he stood up to put the hose in its place, I slapped his calf hard playfully, and immediately started to shake out the pain and regret. "Ow, ow, ow." He looked at me with raised eyebrows. "Dammit, I forgot how hard your muscles are." With a smirk, he again squatted and reached for me. "Does your highness want the lowly peasant to carry him to bed now?" I stuck my tongue out at his remark. "Yes, and I want a good night kiss too." He grabbed me, easily stood up and brought me to the bedroom and put me on my bed. "The futon is in the closet too, and there should be some blankets and a pillow if you want, you sleep in the buff too, right?" Most people did in our city. "Yeah." "Could you also get me a dry cover for the brace?" "Sure, here you go." He followed my instructions, and set up the futon while I change the soaked cover on my brace. Before he laid down, he came back to me, and kissed me on the forehead. "Sleep tight." "You too." He seemed to fall asleep as soon as his body was sprawled on the mattress, his breathing deepened and slowed down. I stayed awake a little while longer, looking at his sleeping form, before sleep finally came to me. // Well I certainly hope you've enjoyed this, I didn't look for typos/grammar errors, so please do tell me if you find any. Constructive criticism is highly encouraged (I am aware that the whole setting is kind of badly built and shouldn't be analyzed too closely, otherwise it might fall apart very quickly). And tell me if you want more, I got ideas for two chapter more right now. Credit to http://fandomschoolofficial.tumblr.com/post/111623292900/solarpunk-education, for the education system, which I will mention here and there.
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