Popular Post Artizek Posted December 22, 2020 Popular Post Share Posted December 22, 2020 Longtime reader, first time posting. PART ONE Growing up, I never questioned how my Dad was so immense. I just always remember him being huge. Even in my earliest memories he was a veritable mountain. I know kids tend to exaggerate, but my Dad was absolutely massive. In our family album, he towers over everyone else. He doesn’t have his full beard yet, just some stubble on his lantern jaw. His chest hair isn’t the bear’s pelt it would later become. In the photo, we’ve moved into our house and dad is just in a stringer tank top. The photo’s just a grainy, yellowed polaroid, but still I can see the uncompromising mass in his arms, his bicep bigger than mom’s head, a finger-thick vein running down the middle, his forearms like Christmas hams. And there I am, a toddler perched on his broad shoulder. He’s got a hand on my hip to hold me there and it’s practically the size of my whole torso. Dad is 23 in the photo but already pushing 300 lbs. I’m ashamed to say I never remember him being this...small. All my memories of him are great. For his colossal size and strength, he was a caring and doting dad. His rumbling baritone was comforting instead of frightening, and he never raised his voice to Mom and I. He was quick to smile and laughed easily. Though he had a full-time job and spent most of his free time in his gym, he always found the opportunity to play with me. He’d help me build a fort in the woods and then take up the entire thing with his tremendous body. He’d read me adventure stories while I drifted to sleep on his broad chest. In one of my favorite games he’d pretend to be a bear. Snarling, he’d go shirtless, his chest and forearms covered in brown hair, and chase me about the house on all fours. I’d hit him on the head, which somehow tamed the bear, and then I’d ride on his back until bedtime. It was my favorite game until I discovered The Incredible Hulk. Dad went along as I painted my room green, covered it in posters, bought all the toys, and even talked Dad into painting himself green for my Hulk-themed birthday party. His only condition was that he’d keep his beard. I still remember a friend’s little sister crying as Dad lumbered over, gave a most muscular pose, and growled. I really can’t blame her. I was 8, so at 29, Dad must have been 6’7” and 450 lbs. His chest could stop a car and his arms resembled great knotted ropes like those used on ships. Dad’s neck was bullish and even when fully relaxed, I could spot a vein popping from it. As a kid, I just assumed all dads were gigantic. Didn’t all dads devour 20,000 calories a day? Didn’t all dads have to buy new clothes twice a year to accommodate their swelling muscles? Most of Dad’s friends were powerfully built muscle men (I would later learn he slept with half of them). I just thought that’s what men looked like. I remember going to a friend’s house and meeting my best friend’s dad, a thin wisp of a man, whom I mistook for an older brother. It blew my mind. Meanwhile, the friends I invited over were always awestruck at my dad’s sheer size and strength, something I took for granted. There were moments of jealousy as my friends flocked to him instead of me, but I soon realized I could show my dad off like a new toy. Five fifth-graders would dangle from his one extended arm. They’d ask him to crush watermelons or burst out of a shirt and he’d happily oblige. Most of the town knew my Dad (there were only a few thousand people and how could you miss a man of his stature?), but it wasn’t long before every boy in my school was talking about him like an action hero or football star. I admit I made a lot of friends that year. I did notice certain things, but I didn’t realize how strange they were until years later. For example, once a year Dad would disappear into a black van and be gone for a week. Mom always said he went to the hospital, but the men in black suits and sunglasses who ushered him into the van never looked like doctors to me. When Dad returned he would always, always be bigger and over the next few weeks he would fill out even more. He’d arrive on the doorstep with a big smile, his tank top and jeans reduced to ribbons, his toes poking out of his socks, his sneakers gone. At 10, I remembered Mom screaming in shock once she saw him. He was a few inches taller and his shoulders wider. He must have packed on over a hundred pounds. His delts, triceps, and traps looked like huge bags of flour. Freakish biceps pressed into his pecs, which were now the size of couch cushions. His quads were as big around as the trees in our yard, and his calves were bigger around than most men’s waists. Seeing him grow every year was second only to Christmas for me, but I’d have to wait before he showed me his gains. The day he came home I’d always have to go play in the yard or at a friend’s house. That was “mom and dad” time. “Mom and dad” time was right after I went to school, most days at noon when Dad would come home on his lunch break, and then at night. My parents weren’t particularly strict, but this was the one thing they couldn’t bend on. I was not to be in the house. Even at 10, I didn’t know what they did. I had my hunches, of course. Kids on the bus talked about it. It was some kind of wrestling. Now Mom was a powerhouse in her own right. She wasn’t a bodybuilder herself but she’d played rugby and volleyball in college. A friend called Mom “stacked,” which I think meant she lifted weights. In any case, she could keep up with Dad, or at least she did at first. Knowing what I know now, I can’t begin to imagine how they did the deed. I’d seen him getting out of the shower before he wrapped the towel around himself. Everything was proportionate: that is to say beyond human proportions. Maybe it was great at first. They did make me after all. I’d see her feel his arms and the look they gave each other was something I couldn’t describe at the time, but as he grew and grew and grew, it must have become too much. He needed release more often. Dad always made noises during those times, the same noises he made while working out, but over the years they became louder and more animalistic until my windows began to rattle and I thought we were having a small earthquake. One day I saw him pulling their giant bed frame to a dumpster. It was in pieces. So was a dresser and a nightstand. Things fell apart when I was 15. We’d moved to an enormous new house with vaulted ceilings, castle-sized doors, a huge yard, five refrigerators, a pool, and a basement that Dad would convert to a gym. As a teenager, I never wondered where the money came from to buy it all. I wouldn’t find out for years. Dad and I loved the place but Mom could only force a smile when I showed her how Dad wouldn’t have to duck to get through the door anymore. They started eating and sleeping in separate rooms. When Mom picked me up from school and explained her and Dad were getting a divorce, I was disappointed but not shocked. I didn’t blame her back then and still don’t. She didn’t expect her husband to triple in size. She hadn’t signed up for this. At that point, Dad was a goddamn behemoth: 7’4” and 900 lbs. His shoulders were four feet wide but the way his arms stuck out, his triceps pushed that to five feet. He started measuring his biceps in three digits, and it was a miracle he could even bend his arm. Even relaxed, those biceps resembled beach balls. One day, Dad accidentally tore the door off his truck. I remember him standing there dumbfounded, holding it as if it were lighter than a sheet of styrofoam. It took him less than a week to landscape our yard. He ripped a dead maple tree out of the earth like it was a weed, and he rolled boulders across the yard like soccer balls. How could a woman sleep with a man that powerful four or five times a day? Believe it or not, I think there was a lot Dad held back. Because once she left, his growth went into overdrive. Maybe “hospital” injections were more potent or maybe Dad had given himself permission to go all in? Whatever the reason, he quit his job as a construction foreman and devoted himself to growth. Every day a whole car full of groceries was delivered to our doorstep. Whey powders and supplements filled an entire wall of our walk-in pantry. No gym was enough of a challenge, so he had to build his own. A dozen construction buddies helped him weld a series of machines that looked like medieval torture devices: the benches were as wide as a double mattress, the weights went up to 15,000 lbs. They had to reinforce the house’s foundation. Even then finishing a set could make the ground rumble. Half a block away a car alarm would go off. Dad channeled all his sadness and frustration from the divorce into working out. He smiled less and hardly went into town, but he still participated in my life as best he could. He was ecstatic when the high school football team picked me as linebacker. Even now I chuckle at the memory of this 7 ½ foot colossus, shirtless and painted in our school colors, cheering me on at our games. I’d have friends over to the pool and half the talk centered on how gargantuan my Dad had become, especially a crotch that practically hung to his knees. “Your Dad could sit in his bedroom and fuck a chick in China,” and all that sort of thing. I laughed it off, trying to hide how conflicted I felt. Truly, I loved my Dad. I admired him and he was a great friend. But ever since puberty, something felt wrong. Friends would pass around copies of Hustler or pull up porn on their phones, but it never did much for me. While I used to stare in awe at my Dad’s column-like legs and the contours of his teardrop quads, I now cleared my throat and forced myself to look away from his dense, rotund glutes as he walked by. He’d lean over to check my homework and I’d seize up as his bare chest caressed the back of my head. Our playful wrestling came to a halt. We had the best gym imaginable downstairs but I always exercised at school, afraid the sight of my hulking beast of a dad, all pumped and sweaty would make me spray my gym shorts. We hung out less and less. I’m sure Dad assumed I was being an aloof teenager or perhaps still hung up on the divorce. We never said anything, but he gave me the space I needed. I couldn’t help but worry I was breaking his heart. Of course, I was growing, too. Looking in my bathroom’s full length mirror, I could see the beginning of my Dad’s thick jaw. I was 6’0” and 190 lbs with a stocky, muscular build. I was bulking, so the outline of summer abs had vanished, but that was fine. I was after mass. I had pubic hair but nothing on my chest or jaw. I was huge for a high school junior, but I longed for real growth. I wanted to be a leviathan like Dad. He went through so many tank tops, it was easy to take one without him noticing. The damn thing could have been a tent on me. It hadn’t been washed and some nights I would drape it over myself, breathing in Dad’s musk, imagining my naked body hulking out enough to fill the shirt, maybe even tear it. There were other guys I fancied in school. Being on the football and wrestling teams, I got to see all the biggest men working out, stripping down, washing themselves. We all jerked off together, never thinking anything of it. I don’t want to come across as vain, but because I was big for my age I got a lot of attention. Behind the bleachers, the quarterback and I sucked each other off after practice. During wrestling season, everyone was popping boners. After pinning a particularly strong guy, I realized I was raging hard. So was he. He was leaking through his lycra. Luckily the coach was distracted. We drove to my opponent’s house that night and repeated a version of our match. After watching people rub my Dad’s bulging muscles, it was strange to have someone do the same for me. Especially, since I was a toothpick next to him. In the midst of passion, my wrestler friend moaned how big my cock was. It was only ten inches, I thought. I’m ashamed to say I always thought of Dad during sex. My friends were hot, but I was always comparing their anatomy to Dad’s. It’s not fair, I know, but I couldn’t help it. When I finished on my wrestler friend’s chest, I imagined it was Dad’s mountainous pecs. I pictured them shredding out of his tank top, the striations dancing in each lobe, a forest of dark hair trapping the sweat, and the saucer-sized nipples pointing at his feet. Then I imagined my dick disappearing in his cleavage. I spent whole days locked in my room just beating off over and over, Dad’s old tank top pressed to my nostrils. I pictured him lifting the entire house, his cock rock hard as he crushed his truck into a ball of shrapnel no bigger than my head. Things only got worse after that year’s injection. With no wife to come home to, he spent a week with his construction buddies. No one will admit where the orgy took place, but we didn’t have to look far. No one was buying the “industrial accident” at a work site out of town. The explanation kept changing for how all those steel beams were bent, how entire concrete walls were leveled, and how half the surrounding trees were felled like in a hurricane. These were hundred year oaks, too. The place had a pungent ocean smell for days. Afterward, all the biggest, brawniest men in town were walking funny, though each and every one of them feigned ignorance. That whole week I couldn’t stop theorizing how much he’d grown. Each growth spurt was bigger than the last. Two hundred pounds? Three hundred? Maybe a few inches of height? The anticipation was unbearable. I felt like a little boy counting down the days before a trip to Disneyland. Bigger and bigger shipments of food had arrived in his absence and I’d spend hours putting it away. I was hoisting half sides of beef in our walk-in freezer when a knock came at the front door. I hesitated when I saw it rattle. This door was ten feet tall, six wide, and nearly a foot thick. Mom and I struggled to open and close it. From the way it shook, there must have been a battering ram on the opposite side. I opened it and couldn’t believe what I saw. A set of hairy deep-cut abs stared me in the face. I had to look up to see Dad’s colossal chest. Wider than a car, it bulged two feet over those abs. I could have buried an arm between those pecs. They rose and fell with his breath. His saucer-sized nipples were all but lost in the dense pelt of hair that now coated his stomach and shoulders. I say shoulders, but those delts were more like wrecking balls. His freakish arms hung at 45 degree angles, pushed out by lats that nearly started at his waist. Dad’s biceps were just as big as his delts, bigger even. They pushed into his pecs, fighting for space. A brachial vein thicker than my wrist snaked down the middle of his guns, and even relaxed, each head was prominent. His hairy forearms were two feet across at the widest point, covered in a lattice of veins. His hands put the Incredible Hulk’s to shame. They radiated strength. I could see them ripping train engines apart. Dad’s bare feet were just as immense, the soles caked in dirt from walking through fields and woods. It was a miracle there weren’t cracks in the front step. His calves should have been called bulls. I’m certain they were wider than a probodybuilder’s quads. Oh yes, quads. Dad’s were outlandishly developed, but I couldn’t appreciate them because they were so damn big they pushed forward his monstrous manhood and that’s where all my focus went. Look, I knew my Dad was hung, but this was something else entirely. Had they used a gamma ray on this crotch? A stretched and tattered jockstrap struggled to contain a mass that hung to his knees. Pumpkin-sized balls peeked from the open sides of the jock, so heavy they tugged the underwear down and exposed the base of Dad’s penis, itself obscured in a jungle of pubes. Alarmed, dumbstruck, and horny beyond belief, I looked up at Dad’s face and realized it too had changed. His neck had pretty much been swallowed up by his traps, though I could spot some tendons like steel cables. Stubble covered the majority of it. Dad’s hair was longer, shaggier, and though his beard was full, I could see his jaw had grown wider, bulkier. His cheekbones were more pronounced, too, not a ridiculous amount, but enough to give him a brutal, hypermasculine look. Though when he smiled, he still retained that friendly and loving demeanor. Always the gentle giant. “What’d’ya think, kiddo?” his bass boomed, deep and gravelly. 76 4 4 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Wagnerman267 Posted December 22, 2020 Share Posted December 22, 2020 Holy shit! This is my favourite piece of work I've ever read on this site. A big round of applause to you and I can't wait to see what's to come 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
kramberry Posted December 22, 2020 Share Posted December 22, 2020 Absolutely amazing. Eagerly awaiting the next part! Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
dredlifter Posted December 22, 2020 Share Posted December 22, 2020 Oh yeah, keep growing big daddy! 2 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Ro20316 Posted December 22, 2020 Share Posted December 22, 2020 Well that's a HUGE dad! great first chapter Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest Posted December 22, 2020 Share Posted December 22, 2020 WoW!! Bravo Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
ToolShedCub Posted December 22, 2020 Share Posted December 22, 2020 HOT! sounds like dad needs a BIG boyfriend. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
MochiNii Posted December 23, 2020 Share Posted December 23, 2020 Pienso que papá necesita un novio para relajarse Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Roidaddict Posted December 23, 2020 Share Posted December 23, 2020 Super hot can’t wait to see where this story goes! Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
gman34 Posted December 23, 2020 Share Posted December 23, 2020 Amazing. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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