growth without effort My Hulk-daddy is Paying : Chapter Ten

[Hialmar]

The Prelude to this story may be found HERE

The preceding chapter of this story may be found HERE

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PREFACE

The initial part of this chapter is unusually violent, at least implicitly so. Sensitive readers be warned.

This segment of the story is crucial to the narrative structure. The author do not defend rape or domestic abuse.

 

My Hulk-daddy is Paying

Chapter Ten

'Hanced now.

BIG.

His titanic presence had left the ModPod, anabolic power still surging through his muscle fibres, flowing through his veins. Had watched himself in a mirror and almost cummed. 

His big hand caressed his vein-covered incomprehensibly big muscles. Entered the suite he shared with Sir ... Shared with the little cunt.  The old runt waited for him with an expectant smile and eager gaze.

"Look at you! Look at you! I will assiduously engage in adulatory blandishment in the most sesquipedalian of manners. I’m overwhelmed!”

He was BIG now. HE was Sir now, and the little cunt deserved a ride on his manhood. No greeting. No pleasantries. Straight to the essentials:

"Kneel."

His voice sounded like the sound of a sub-woofer now. He took his terrycloth gown off and threw it away, revealing his vein-covered massive presence. YEAH: VEIN-COVERED MASSIVE PRESENCE. He stood there, imposing, with his brutal and obscenely bulging thighs wide apart in an assertive stance, and watched the little cunt obey him. Yeah! His dominant Alpha-ness had manifested and asserted itself, forcing the obedience of lesser men ... The little silver-haired fragile old runt between his legs, fumbling, struggling to swallow his manhood and failing, because of the girth of his telescopic man-cannon ... His dick throbbing ... His entire body throbbing, because of the aftermath of the 'Hancing-process ... The scent of Alpha musk in the room ... the scent of pre-cum ... His anger rising, because the cunt wasn't able to give head ... lifting the runt effortlessly, the runt moaning because of his display of strength and superhuman POWER ... Ripping the trousers off the runt – no time for pleasantries and romance and titillation and other tosh, because his will was focused on the goal of immediate and total RELEASE ... so the old wanker had to excuse, because Brad Maxxx wanted maximum release, and Brad Maxxx was a Bad Boy Alpha ... the old cunt had even payed for Brad Maxxx to become a Bad Boy Alpha, and he would get it ... Yeah, he would get it all ... The old cunt screamed when Brad entered, and screamed when Brad adjusted the position of the toff on Brad's man-pole, like a piece of pork on a skewer ... Look! No hands! Even his dick was insanely strong and muscular now, carrying the weight of a baseline man on its own, though admittedly a tiny and insignificant baseline man ... When Brad began to throb (and throb harder, throb more intensely) the cunt screamed again, but it didn't matter, because Brad was in charge, and Brad was the dominant Alpha, and Brad was BIG now, and Brad's man-meat was like a homing missile now, with the target set on total release, and the old cunt asked for it ... Yeah: Sir would have what he wished for ... Here it was: An 8 foot veiny Hulk-like behemoth with a dominant Bad Boy Alpha mindset, just as ordered, and this dominant Bad Body Alpha throbbed very hard now, throbbed very intensely now, and felt his Hulk-like POWER circulate in his veins and all his muscle fibres, because he was ... Uh! He was ... YES! SOON! ... throbbing Alpha ... HE WAS THE STRONGEST MAN IN THE WORLD!!!!!!!!

* * *

When he woke up Sir wasn't there.

At first, it didn't alarm him. The bathroom perhaps. They could both need to use the bathroom. Then he felt hungry. Without waiting for the frail toff, Brad lifted the phone and ordered a 'hancer-sized breakfast, and return to doze. He woke up again and watched the news. Something about King George VII meeting Joseph I, King of Scots, and then something about wood-based plastics. He switched the screen off.

Room service. Breakfast. So hungry after his final 'hancing. No sign of Sir. Then a knock. He didn't bother to dress. Naked in all his ultra-masculine glory he opened the door and received three envelopes. Strange.

A document, largely written in incomprehensible legalese.

"... on behalf of our client, Dr. Oxford-Cambridge ... not press charges, unless the individual known as Mr. Maxxx refuse to sign the non-disclosure document ..."

What the fukk?

 

A hand-written letter:

"I'm sorry Brad. I'm sorry for what you did to me, and what I did to you. It wasn't a good idea after all, only an ill-advised attempt to turn a daydream real. Do you even remember, that you raped me? My lawyer tells me, that I would be prosecuted according to the Illegal Enhancing Act, enacted by the Canterbury Parliament, if I pressed charges against you. What do you say about parting of our ways, and leaving each other alone? I have arranged for a return ticket to any destination in the world, if you ask for it in the waiting area – aeroplane or zepp, whichever you prefer. Let my lawyer know where to send your remaining belongings. Some days it was fun, wasn't it?

Yours sincerely 

Hulk-daddy"

 

A message from the lobby:

"Dear Mr. Maxxx,

Until told otherwise, you will remain in your suite. A nurse will ensure, that you don't suffer any adverse medical effects of last day's 'hancing. The company is aware of last night's events, and Dr. Oxford-Cambridge has been brought to hospital. An enhanced guard will be stationed outside your door, until the legal position of the situation has been clarified.

Dr. Korsakoff"

 

Confusion. Contradictory feelings. Legal position? Rape? He wasn't a bad person ... He didn't ... The dawning comprehension ... The rising guilt ... The other feeling rising: No one tells this fukking awesome Alpha Bad Boy what to do ... Was it himself, or was it the mind-implant Sir wanted installed inside his mind? No money from his Hulk-daddy anymore?

The following days were a haze, and afterwards he didn't remember them particularly well. No adverse medical effects. No sight of Sir. No opportunity to apologise or say farewell. Ticket to New Vancouver. Trouble to enter the Federation of Cascadia without a passport and a smartwatch, until the border authority took his fingerprints. Told him he was Maximilian Brzęczyszczykiewicz. Didn't feel right. Didn't remember any Maximilian Brzęczyszczykiewicz. He was Brad Maxxx, the strongest man in the world.

The days. The weeks. The months. A journalist seeking him. Refusing the journalist. Non-disclosure document. No flat. No phone. No watch. No one paying for his a-Gram account anymore. Sleeping rough. A rush or two when other Bad Boys picked a fight and he won. The pain and the hunger. Shelters were not dimensioned to feed 'Hancers who didn't feed their muscles properly. Guilt. Denied admission to his usual shelter after a fight with a 'hanced veteran. Dark night. Rain. Soaked. End his life?

Nothing mattered. Pain and hunger.

Guilt. Dark. Soaked. 

Dark.

A kid on a bench watching a vintage commercial. A platinum blond 'hanced giant with an aesthetic physique wearing a He-Man costume shouting: "I have the power!" A fragment of a forgotten memory stirring. Hot 'hancer-guy. Seen him before. 

* * *

A pleasant male voice answering:

"Nelson."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It must be in the middle of the night where you are, too, but I don't know who to call. My name is Brad Maxxx. 'Hancing has made a mess of my life. You are so darned impressive, and I don't know if anyone else can help me."

He let out a sob.

 

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Next chapter may be found HERE

Edited September 10, 2022 by Hialmar
minor details, added link, language, continuity