A Most Productive Year II

[Vetinari26]

Thanks for all the nice feedback on part one! Here's part two, written in the same flurry of imagination that sparked part one. The next installments won't be coming two a day, but I intend to finish this one out :). Next time, two new growers join our hero and his partner.

 

A Most Productive Year, Part II

It was a month later, and I was itching to get home. A two week business trip had taken me to Chicago, and the hotel’s gym left something to be desired. Just an elliptical and some dumbbells. Still, I made do. Since our slip up a month ago, I’d stuck to Scott and my agreement and worn a loose white T-shirt whenever I worked out, and avoided myself in the mirror. A month ago, that had meant mediums. Now my shoulders, chest and arms were obvious in a medium and I’d had to switch to a large. The morning before my flight, I slipped up. I’d been hit on at least once a half-hour my last day there, and I wanted to see what I looked like. I ripped off my shirt removed the towel I'd used to cover my tiny hotel room’s bathroom mirror.

I looked good, like fitness model good. With a cocky grin, I bounced my pecs and flexed my abs. No longer were they faint outlines, I had a full-on six pack, with obliques and a faint Adonis-belt to match. I could be on a magazine cover—well, if I shaved. And I wasn’t about to shave. What had been a light smattering of fur had begun transforming into a dark silk carpet over my chest, accentuating every muscle and groove. My back hair was, while less conventionally attractive, a masculine homage to my ancestral countrymen that made me grin. As I examined my smile (were my teeth whiter?), I noticed that my jawline had gotten more distinct too. I rolled my shoulders, admiring the mound of muscle as it turned past my traps and felt the muscles in my back flex. Turning to the side, I examined my bubble butt, which stuck out to an almost obscene degree in my too-tight boxer-briefs and slapped it. Was my dick bigger? It felt heftier in my hands, and I’d never been a slouch in that department—call it Skinny White Boy Syndrome, everyone else does. No, my dick couldn’t be bigger. That wasn’t a thing that happened people at 28. My butt must have just grown so much in these tight underwear that it was making my unit look bigger. That had to be it. I threw on a shirt that fit well, packed, and stepped out the door. In my haste, I didn’t notice that the “well-fitting” shirt I’d put on was a large.

Yep, Scott was going to like this.

The flight was uneventful, though I noticed I was getting more looks than I normally got. I grinned and strutted down the airport to my terminal. I remembered looking at guys who looked like me. It was invigorating to be on the other side. I caught my reflection in mirrored glass. Damn, my face was looking good too. My beard was coming in even thicker than it had been, which was flattering. My neck was thicker, and some of the fat had left my cheeks. I was starting to look chiseled everywhere.

On the flight, I was seated next to two teenage girls. Half an hour in I realized that the subject of their whispering and giggling was me. I turned to the one nearest me and gave her my best “I caught you” smile. She turned beet red as her friend cackled. The rest of the flight I occasionally flexed my arms surreptitiously when I saw them looking. I was drinking this in, and now I wanted to see how my new and improved body played among “family”--I was hitting the bars tonight. Just as I was almost done planning my night of vanity, another thought struck me. A better one. Once we landed, I immediately called Scott. If I’d seen these kind of gains, what did he look like now? My imagination was running wild. I wanted to drag him to our bedroom and stay there for a whole week. My stomach was making demands, too. First things first.

“What’s up, sexy?” he answered. His voice was warm, but gruff. Was it deeper than it had been?

“I just landed. Want to meet up for dinner? I’m starving.” I was. I’d had the appetite of a bird before, but for the past month and a half I’d constantly been ravenous.

“Can’t. I’m at work. You could come and meet me here.”

“How could you be at work?” I asked. “You’re a baker. You a daytime shift. What’s there for you to do at 10 o’clock at night?”

“I picked up another job. At the bar. They wanted me to work security, and they offered more than the bakery does. Come on, meet me here.” Looks like I wasn’t going to have to choose between my desires tonight; the universe had provided everything. Well, almost everything. I’d pick up teriyaki on the way.

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My fantasies hadn’t nearly prepared me for the sight of Scott. As I approached the bar, I noticed a great bulky figure looming among the figures crowded by the door. Some sort of altercation was going on.

“And don’t fucking come back!” the figure bellowed, and it finally clicked. This great bulky bear in the black security t-shirt was Scott. If before he had been approaching the size of the large men we would ogle, now he was the largest man around. His great meaty chest bulged and hung over an equally large stomach. His legs were like tree-trunks, his basketball shorts revealing calves the size of footballs and a pendulous package that swung obscenely with every movement. His shoulders were nearly the width of the doorway, his deltoids great mounds on his shoulders. He’d cut off the sleeves of his t-shirt to let his arms loose, and they were the most impressive of all. They weren’t as defined as mine, but you could tell his bicep from his tricep—and they were huge--the size of his legs (heck, nearly the size of my waist), the great heavy things hung at a degree from his side, swinging when he moved like a great, gorgeous ape. The skinny guy causing the problem turned tail and ran, fearful of the angry grizzly on the approach. Once the guy was around the block, Scott turned and noticed me.

“Fuck yeah,” he growled as he lumbered toward me. My god, he was massive. It took all my willpower not to rip his shirt off and start worshiping him right then and there.

“You look like a fucking Viking in basketball shorts,” I breathed. He didn’t respond. He sauntered straight into me, and walked me up against the brick wall behind me. I wasn’t a small man—not anymore—but he enveloped me. His torso was neither rock hard or soft as he pushed into me, but firm. Warmth radiated off his skin like he was on fire. I looked up into his blue eyes, vibrant behind his bushy red beard. God, his neck was thick. His traps had started melding into it and it was hard to tell where neck ended and muscle began. He raised up his arms to place his hands (were they bigger too?) against the brick wall on either side of my head. I felt a small tremor in the wall behind me as he did. The thought danced across my brain, One day, he will break down brick walls with his bare hands, but was soon banished by the presence of his armpits inches from my face. They were armpits you could get lost it. His pectorals and lats formed a deep cavern of flesh over which his triceps hung mightily, masking a great forest of ginger hair. Fuck, I just wanted to bury my face in them—and given the size of his pits, it might just fit. Their aroma wafted up my nose. Not rank—by my estimation he’d probably showered last night—but the scent of man was overwhelming regardless.

“You want to worship these pits, don’t you boy?” he whispered in my ear. I was beyond hard by now. “Yes,” I whimpered, my knees weakening. I didn’t care that we were surrounded by the nightly Eagle sidewalk sale, I wanted him, now.

“Too bad. Boy has to be patient,” he said as he suddenly swooped in to kiss me. I was still wedged between him and the wall, and he pressed the bulk of his body weight against me as our lips and tongues entwined and our beards rubbed against each other. “That was a taste. My shift ends in four hours, does boy want to stick around until close?” I nodded my assent. Time to flirt with all the boys I knew, with my Viking waiting for me just outside. “You brought food for me, right?” I grinned, and opened my bag.

The next four hours were some of the most flattering of my life. I’d appreciated my gains in the mirror, but I hadn’t expected how differently I was treated. The bartender didn’t recognize me, and comped my drinks. I think he was angling for some fun with me, but I already had plans, and he was watching the door. None of our friends were out that night, which was a shame. The crowd looked shorter for some reason, too. I was used to looking up at a good three-quarters of any given crowd, but here I felt average height. No real lookers either—normal for a Tuesday night. Bar lizards tried to chat me up all night, and while I was flattered by the attention, I was growing impatient. The hottest man I’d ever seen was outside, waiting to fuck me. This was intolerable.

Finally, 2 AM rolled around. Scott sauntered in the door as if he owned the place, and no one was inclined to argue. He gathered his share of the tip pool in record time. “You. Outside. Now,” he placed his hand on my shoulder and pulled. My stool almost tipped over, as though he didn’t quite know his own strength yet. “Yes, Viking,” I said, not needing any encouragement. As I scampered outside I could hear him rumble behind me “Daddy’s dick is about to burst.”

“Daddy is it, huh? You’re two years older than me.” We had made our way to the alley behind the bar.

“That’s right, Movie Star. It’s Daddy now.” With that, he wrapped his tremendous arm around my ass and lifted me up against the wall. My legs wrapped around his sizable midsection as he wedged me between his beefy torso and the brick behind me. My jeans were off in moments. My thighs wrapped around the warm, massive flesh of his hips, stomach and torso. It was nirvana.

“Are we about to fuck in public? Won’t someone stop us?” I asked, short of breath.

“Who’d stop me?” he growled, and with that his basketball shorts were around his ankles. Holy shit, his thighs were massive. Each of them was the size of small man’s torso.

I didn’t need any preparing. The sight of him had opened my asshole so wide he slipped right in. For the next ten minutes, he pounded me against the wall of the alley, my feet never touching the ground. Several bartender stepped out to leave for the night, only to notice us and head back inside. I don’t think anyone wanted to bother Scott while he was getting his rocks off. Once he was finished (I came moments after he started fucking me), we collected ourselves to head on home.

It was disorienting to arrive in our apartment. It was as though everything had gone through the wash and shrunk, just a tiny bit. It felt like the day I first got my glasses, seeing everything as though it were a little closer, a little smaller. Scott smirked.

“Yeah, we’ll have to upsize soon. You should see the bed.” As he leapt to sprawl on the bed (the spring creaked ominously) I saw what he meant. A full had been fine, if a bit of a squeeze for the two of us, until now. Now, I was going to be mostly laying on him if I wanted to share the space—he took up the whole damn thing. Not a problem tonight, we can deal with it in the morning, I thought as I peeled off my shirt.

Scott whistled. “Look at my fucking movie star. Fuck, you look like you should be walking out of a pool of water on some tropical island.” I looked at him, sprawled on the bed, his huge body radiating heat. I eagerly curled up next to him, my hard torso nestled against his magnificent frame and my head tucked against his shoulder. And then my Viking abruptly grabbed me by the ankles, lifted, and pillaged me once more for good measure.

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The next morning both of us awoke refreshed, if a little achy. This bed really was getting too small. As we set off for our morning workout, I remembered something.

“We haven’t been back to see August since the first day we went to the gym, have we? I bet he’d love to see you.”

Scott looked back at me, his expression inscrutable. “I thought about going to see him a few times while you were gone, but I didn’t trust myself.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“I’m afraid we’d end up fucking, and I’m not willing to screw things up with you.” He may have been a grizzly bear in appearance and demeanor, but he was still still my teddy bear at heart.

“Do it!” I yelped. “Let me do it too! Just bring him home for a threesome!” Scott looked at me with a shocked expression.

“You know how things bad got between us. And then to see him looking like that, it was like he’d won the ‘ex’ competition.”

Did he not see himself? “Babe, look in the mirror. If there’s any competition, you’ve won. Besides, you’ve got all this” I bounced my pecs and flexed my biceps “to come home to. You think I’m worried? If you want to fuck him, fuck him. Just throw it out there that I want in.”And with that, it was decided. On our way to the gym that morning, we stopped into the smoothie shop where August worked. As we walked in, his mouth dropped open.

“Jesus, I didn’t think...” he stammered as we approached. Now I was the one thrown. What was different? Why did August look so different?

It hit me at the same time August said it. The short crowd at the bar last night, the shrunken apartment, and now the top of my head was even with August’s eyes. And Scott, instead of being the same height as him, was a few inches taller.

“You didn’t just grow bigger. You're taller.”

[arpeejay]

Does it say anything about my interior fantasy life that I think the following is one of the most beautiful sentences in the English language?

" For the next ten minutes, he pounded me against the wall of the alley, my feet never touching the ground. "