Popular Post TQuintA Posted July 20, 2021 Author Popular Post Share Posted July 20, 2021 Part 2 – The College Con-Artist Chapter 9 From the official weigh-in, I went right back to my room in third floor south to change into real clothes, and as soon as I opened the door, I was delighted to see Flynn in the room waiting for me. It had been a week since we’d seen each other. It had been 24 pounds since we’d seen each other. “Damn, you look fucking hot,” Flynn said, running over to kiss me. I devoured him in kisses, and he began feeling up my pecs and arms. “You should get this big for real. It looks good on you,” he said between kisses. “And it feels even better,” he added, grabbing my ass. “I’ve missed you,” I said, inhaling his cologne, running my hands over the stubble on his face, feeling his pecs press into my pecs, flexing my ass in his hands. My body felt so much firmer than I was used to it feeling. However, even at my larger size, Flynn was still bigger than me. For now. I began leading Flynn over to the bed, but he stopped me. “There’ll be time for sex later,” he said. “Tonight, I want to celebrate.” Flynn dressed me in my best shirt—which was now far too small for me, but in a sexy tight way—and tight pants that showed off my ass and thighs. We went to our favorite bar. The bouncer, as always, let us in without waiting, and I could swear he eyed me up and down lustfully. On the dance floor, Flynn was a possessed man. He danced close and fast. He couldn’t keep his hands off me, especially not my abs, and more than once, he reached below my belt to cop a feel of my dick, which spent a large portion of the night in a semi-erect state, pressed visibly into the front of my pants. A few hours into the night, Flynn got a glint in his eye and took off his shirt. God, I’d missed staring at his hairy chest and wide torso, thick with burly wrestler muscle. Then, with his eyebrows, he cued me to follow suit. In the middle of the crowded club, I took off my shirt. It was snug and tight, hard to get over my shoulders, but with a struggle, I got it off cleanly. In the blinking lights of the club I saw that I’d developed a prominent Adonis belt to compliment my etched six-pack. Even over the music and the din of the crowd, I could hear the gasp and groan of pleasure escape Flynn’s mouth. He’d seen me this big, of course, but never in public, drenched in sweat, my puffed-up chest heaving from the exertion of dancing. He got close to me and began grinding even harder against my body. I don’t know how long we danced like that before I heard someone shout, “Shakespeare!” Alphonse and his coterie of strippers flocked over to us. “Shakespeare,” Alphonse repeated, “you got big. It’s enough to make an innocent stripper like me lose my virtue.” Territorially, Flynn pulled me in closer and grinded even harder. To the bevy of strippers, he smiled broadly. “You boys can look,” Flynn turned me around so my torso was exposed. My chest and abs were now facing the strippers, and Flynn’s erect cock was grinding into my ass even through his pants and mine. “You boys can even touch a little,” Flynn grabbed Alphonse’s hand and rubbed it down my abs. Alphonse shuddered. “But you can’t taste.” Flynn licked my cheek and nibbled my ear. He punctuated the thought by saying, “Vaughn’s mine,” and then, just loud enough so only I could hear it, “I have to show you off, but I’m not an idiot.” Alphonse was practically drooling. One of the strippers was ignoring me and making eyes at Flynn’s muscular shoulders, so I added, “And Flynn’s mine.” I grabbed the side of his face and pressed his into mine. With that, Flynn and I danced in the throng with the strippers. Hands, chests, hair, backs, asses—we were a mass of erotic flesh throbbing to the music. Time, which had already lost all meaning, melted like a dripping icicle. The night seemed to last weeks, and then, in an instant, it was over. I don’t know how we’d gotten there, but Flynn and I, both still shirtless and sweaty, now glittery from the strippers, were leaning against his car and making out in public. The roughness of his stubble, the salt of his sweat, the velvety texture of his tongue and lips. I had missed Flynn so thoroughly that I could have spent the rest of my life in that parking lot with him, but he, once again, put a stop to it. “You’re going to make me blow my stack if you keep going like that,” he breathed. “So?” He leaned into my ear and whispered, “I’d rather blow my stack inside your ass.” I practically threw him into the driver’s seat. We ran every red and broke every speed limit getting back to his room. We’d barely closed his door behind us when he tore off the rest of our clothes. I’m sure some of it ripped, but I didn’t care. Some of it landed on the bed; some of it landed on the floor; some of it seemed to have simply evaporated. We stood there, breathing heavily, naked, each waiting for the other to make the first move. Normally, when we fucked, Flynn turned off the lights because he said it added to the atmosphere. This time, though, either out of impatience or a desperation to see my body, he left the lights on. I could clearly make out every vein and ridge in Flynn’s cock. Flynn’s thick five inches were vibrating with intensity, mirroring his heartbeat. He walked towards me, and I backed away towards the bed. Soon, I was on the bed, lying across it sideways, flat on my back, my feet on the floor. Flynn was over me, his hands on either side of my shoulders. After putting on his protection, he positioned his cock to enter my ass, and then, with one quick thrust, he was inside me. My prostate tingled with familiar excitement, and my ass stretched to accommodate his girth. Then he just stood there. Like that. With his cock in me to its hilt. He wasn’t thrusting yet. Something was off. His breathing was ragged—he clearly wanted to begin a serious fuck—but he stood there, waiting. I was about to ask what was holding him up, when his phone rang. Still fully inside me, Flynn reached over to the bedpost his pants were dangling from, pulled out his phone, and answered it. “Yes. Perfect timing.” He handed the phone to me. “It’s for you.” Confused, I took the phone from Flynn and held it against my ear. “Hello?” I said hoarsely, my breath sticking in my throat. “Hey, Vaughn. It’s Shafe. You can borrow forty more pounds of my muscle.” When the realization hit my eyes, Flynn took the phone, hung up on Shafe, and tossed it to the side. “I’m going to fuck you huge,” he said lasciviously. With that, Flynn began thrusting hard. I could feel the muscle pouring into me. My back and ass began lifting me off the bed as they inflated with steely brawn. My pecs bulged out more, the sinews clearly visible. Then, they bulged out even more, rising to further prominence on my chest. Then, they bulged out what felt like an obscene amount. While this was happening, my shoulders were getting rounder and wider. As they grew further out, Flynn had to adjust his arms twice to accommodate my burgeoning mass and size. I had been holding Flynn’s shoulder with my left arm when I took the phone, so I could see the cords of my forearm define and thicken, my bicep enlarging and engorging with muscular flesh. My right arm, which had been holding the phone, was free to flex and stretch as it pumped larger with muscle. I felt my back widen as my lats spread, pushing his bedding out as they expanded. My waist thickened a little, but it felt tight and powerful, dense and solid. My thighs and calves, flexed from my position on the bed, spread wider and mightier as I planted my feet more firmly in the ground. All the while, Flynn kept thrusting in and out. He gazed in awe at my blossoming muscles and my developing physique, causing his tempo to increase as I soon outclassed his athletic build. My dick, fully hard from the night’s excursions, bobbed between us, pressed into my abs by his continued pushing. Pre leaked all over my midsection, and I could feel it trickle into the grooves of my deepening Adonis belt, collecting and pooling there. When I reached my new full muscular glory, Flynn began swearing loudly, a clear sign he was about to burst. When he came, the head of his thick cock flared even wider, pressing intensely on my prostate, and I joined him in our first orgasm together in a week. We fucked twice more that night—I topped him once now that I was bigger—and then we showered together, both crammed into the same small shower stall, overfilling it with our masculine musculature. When we got back to his room, I looked down at the massive expanse of my chest. I was 244 pounds. That was practically 15 pounds more than Shafe, and he was a competitive bodybuilder. I’d been bigger than this before, but not with muscles this well-honed and hewed. Borrowing a bodybuilder’s muscles was an entirely singular experience. Plus, these muscles on me looked so glorious. My muscles were red from the fucking and the hot water of the shower. My chest hair had darkened to black and matted to my chest, looking thicker in the damp. Looking down, I could see a behemoth. While Flynn got dressed for bed, I dropped my towel and looked at myself in his closet mirror: the first time I really got to explore my body in a week. My legs were thick and corded, each individual muscle in my quads was discernible, and my calves had that rugged teardrop shape. My waist was thicker than I was used to, but not by much. And in comparison to my shoulders, chest, and thighs, it was minuscule. The abs were bricklike and etched, deeply defined. The Adonis belt was angled, and seemed to draw a line straight to my dick. My chest was proud and jutted forward authoritatively. Shafe must take special pride in his back, shoulders, and lats, because I was incredibly wide. My arms were unable to rest at my sides because the lats were so thick. The biceps bursting from my arms, decorated with a delicious vein over the bulge, didn’t help resting my arms. I lifted one to flex it, and both heads of the muscle were easily defined. And my armpit was a deep cavern filled with wet black hair. A sentence I never thought I would think crossed my mind: “My armpits are sexy.” My neck was thick and assertive, thicker than it’d been even when I was more muscular. And then I saw my face. My face had a thickness to it at the cheekbones and jaw, my cheeks somewhat sunken and hollow. My face had gotten both leaner and buffer—I don’t know if that had ever happened before. I looked like me, but a much more intense version of me. “Your back and ass are also glorious,” Flynn said, slipping into his boxers. I moved to look at my back in the mirror, and when I turned to the side, my chest ballooned out, and my waist sank in. The effect was deliriously enticing. Mountain ski slopes and sheer cliffs. I stared, mesmerized, by my torso for a few moments before I remembered why I’d runed profile in the first place. I turned further to get as good a look at my back as I could. Flynn was right. My back was ridged and defined, the muscles bulging and full, an anatomy of musculature. My ass stuck out prominently, but it was somehow shredded, too. “When you just stand there at ease,” Flynn said, “you have that unmistakable shape that bodybuilders get. The kind you could recognize even in silhouette. And it looks like there’s a Christmas tree in the lines of your back. Shafe should be proud.” I stood there, staring at my large, bulging, wet muscles. “If I sleep naked, will you be able to get to sleep?” I asked. “Clothes on that body? That would be a crime,” Flynn said. “Besides, it’s four AM. I have a meeting with Steele and Rhodes in 5 hours. Trust me. I’ll get some sleep.” As I curled up with Flynn in his bed, it never felt so small, and I never felt so big or hard. I don’t mean my dick; I mean my body. I was used to Flynn being a solid mass that I rested my solid mass against, but now I felt like a stone statue, or a foundation of bedrock, but I was warm, and my skin was supple. Flynn curled up next to me, nuzzled me affectionately, and then we were both out like a light. 45 2 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
zazu Posted July 20, 2021 Share Posted July 20, 2021 Damn that's some hot shit. Glad he's starting to like his beefed up form more - I always prefer it when the big guy is into it. Excited to see how this changes things! 3 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Maxum Posted July 20, 2021 Share Posted July 20, 2021 Fantastic! I'm already hungry for more... 2 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
actorsarecool Posted July 20, 2021 Share Posted July 20, 2021 It’s at the point where I look forward to Tuesdays and Fridays when you are posting a story. Great work as always TQuinta! 3 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
TQuintA Posted July 20, 2021 Author Share Posted July 20, 2021 4 minutes ago, actorsarecool said: I look forward to Tuesdays and Fridays I'm glad you picked up on my pattern. 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
arpeejay Posted July 21, 2021 Share Posted July 21, 2021 Thanks! I needed that! 2 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Wrestlejock646 Posted July 21, 2021 Share Posted July 21, 2021 52 minutes ago, arpeejay said: Thanks! I needed that! Me too! I was out of town for a few days and hadn't previously caught onto TQuinta's publishing cadence so I got THREE new chapters to read in one sitting! Come quick, Friday!!! 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Mdlftr Posted July 22, 2021 Share Posted July 22, 2021 Wow - Just WHOSE fantasy is this entire scenario? It HAS to be Flynn's! No more calm, dispassionate observation for him! The word that comes to mind is "besotted", along with a few others -- but we'll stop there! New point: I LOVE the epigrams buried in this story: latest example: "Time, which had already lost all meaning, melted like a dripping icicle." Better than Lord Byron! 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
TQuintA Posted July 23, 2021 Author Share Posted July 23, 2021 The College Con-Artist Chapter 10 The next morning, I slept in. I didn’t have work anymore, and I only had one afternoon class. When I woke up, Flynn was gone, but he’d left a note saying, “Be back soon.” I lazed about in my nakedness, caressing every muscle on my body, fondling the granite-hard bulges and curves—essentially feeling myself up. The fizzing would start in a day or two, so I wanted to enjoy the peace before it came. I couldn’t have been up for more than ten minutes when Flynn came back, carrying a bag full of food. He saw me naked and awake, so he dropped the food, came over, kissed me passionately, and stroked my chest, giving a playful squeeze or two. “Good meeting?” I asked. “The best.” Flynn sounded frenetic, almost manic. “Steele and Rhodes ate up my entire sales pitch. I made it very clear that your results are completely unexpected. That there must be something unique about your physiology. Which is true. I told them I really only expected five pounds. Which was a lie. Then, I told them the price was $250 a bottle. But, that I might raise the price considering how successful you’d been. They both bought 400 bottles on the spot. They practically begged me for it.” He removed his hands from my chest and pulled two checks out of his pocket. “We did it, Vaughn. $100,000 from each of them.” I was elated momentarily, and then my stomach fell out of me. Righteous indignation will only get you so far. At some point, reality and consequences set back in. Now that I had the check in my hand, it felt so real, and I felt so guilty. I’d experienced guilt before, but it had never actively eaten away at my intestines. I wasn’t used to scamming people. I hadn’t expected my conscience to react like this. I didn’t know what to do. “What happens when they don’t get massively muscular?” I asked, doing my best to hide the fear in my voice. “They’re in their 20s. And this will encourage them to push themselves hard. Just as hard as they pushed you. They’ll get bigger. Trust me.” Guilt not assuaged. “And the people they sell to?” Flynn shrugged. “That’s on Steele and Rhodes. I’m not responsible for their lies. If they’re smart and don’t oversaturate the market, they might just make some money. Though, I doubt it. They were overzealous. Bought too many bottles. There’s only so much people will believe. Even if they manage to tap into an online market.” He completely missed my point. I was worried about the people Rhodes and Steele were going to scam, not those two. “But they have me and Shafe.” “They spoke to Shafe. He doesn’t want his name attached to this. And he has lawyers to sue if they infringe on his likeness.” How could Flynn be so obtuse? “But what about the people they scam? Aren’t we responsible for them too?" Flynn smiled sweetly, if a hair condescendingly, and stroked my face. I could feel my rough stubble—I needed to shave. “They’re going to sell to only two types of people. Their friends, and people who are shopping for easy fixes. Fuck their friends. As for the others? They were going to get scammed anyways.” He stroked my forehead. “And you didn’t scam them.” I breathed a little easier. Flynn continued. “I know you’re afraid of the Repository becoming public. It’s bound to bring other stuff up to the surface. So, I made my sale conditional. They can only use you in their advertising if they compensate you at your own price. If you think the risk is worth it, if you can handle scamming more people, I say go for it. Gouge Steele and Rhodes for even more money. They have it, and they have it coming. Otherwise, price yourself out of the running.” “Thank you.” “Rule #1 of being a good businessman: don’t piss off your boyfriend.” I smiled, and Flynn kissed my cheek. “Oh,” he added, “if you wanted to visit Shafe anytime soon, don’t. He doesn’t want to see all of his muscles on you. Says it would bum him out.” “Reasonable,” I agreed, and went back to my lunch. We ate peacefully, Flynn staring at my chest the entire time, relaxing into his chair, a look of contentment on his face. When we’d finished eating, I said, “Your hard part is over. My hard part is just beginning. For instance, how am I going to hide all this bulk when I go to class?” Flynn shook his head. “I prepared for this too.” He got up and opened his closet door, and it was full to bursting. Half of it was his clothes; the other half was a wide variety of clothes I’d never seen before. “This is all sized for you. Well, your current dimensions.” He pulled out a Henley and a flannel, saying, “Some are basic staples of your wardrobe.” He put those back and pulled out a ginormous solid yellow hoodie that seemed impossibly big, commenting, “Some are designed to hide and conceal.” He put back the hoodie and pulled out a tight-looking, long-sleeved royal blue Underarmour shirt and commented, “Some are designed to flaunt and accentuate.” He put back the shirt. “It all depends on your plans.” “And if I bump into Steele and Rhodes?” I asked. “They’ll know something’s up if they see me even bigger than I already was. I keep secrets well, but I’m not as good a liar as you are. I might crack.” “Where are the only two places you have ever bumped into them?” I thought about it. “The cafeteria and the gym,” I said. “Exactly. You don’t have classes with them. You don’t move in their social circles. Don’t go to either of those two places, and you’re home free. Part of Shafe’s $30,000 investment was for food. I will have meals sent to you every day. Ones made specifically to Shafe’s nutritional requirements. As for the gym, I suspect you’ll want to visit less often. That way, you don’t blow up into a massive mass freak. But, if you change your mind? If you want to make my wet dreams come true? I got you a membership at a gym outside of town. A hardcore one with huge guys. You’ll blend in, but Steele and Rhodes wouldn’t be caught dead there.” Flynn had clearly planned this through. He smiled, seeing that I was satisfied, and then said, “Vaughn, you have class in twenty minutes.” He threw me a shapeless black t-shirt, a pair of grey sweat pants, and the yellow hoodie. When I put it all on, it was clear that I’d put on some size, but as the formless fabric draped over my body like a drop cloth, it was impossible to tell just how much. “Damn,” Flynn said. “You even make being a large, shapeless blob sexy.” On my walk to class, I couldn’t help but look around at all the other guys. I’d spent the last week around Steele and Rhodes—two rather big guys themselves. I’d spent last night with Flynn, a guy bigger than me, and the strippers at the club, who were fit and developed themselves. Now, I was around normal guys. They all seemed so much smaller. So much less significant. I had to keep reminding myself that this was Shafe’s muscle, not mine, because it was an ego trip to realize just how much bigger, how much more impressive, I was than everyone else. If I let myself, I could become entirely self-centered. While that was going on inside my head, there was even more going on outside me. Although my clothes hid just how much bigger I’d gotten, it was still obvious that I’d gotten bigger. People reacted accordingly. They’d never been warm or friendly to me, but now they outright avoided me, leaving a wide berth between us. Some out of fear, some out of awe, the rest out of deference. I was delighted to not have to interact with them. My walk grew a little more strident. The first three days went exactly like this. Sex and meals with Flynn, class, and then hiding out in my dorm doing my schoolwork. Day four, I woke up fizzing. If the ten pounds Gregg had given me felt like shaking up a can of soda, the sixty pounds Shafe had given me were like dropping Mentos into a Diet Coke. I was physically vibrating. Someone who didn’t know my situation might have thought I was having a seizure. Flynn had slept in my room, and my shaking woke him up. “Is this the fizzing?” he asked, concerned. “Didn’t think I’d feel it from the outside. You’re pale and sweating.” I nodded. “It’s never been this bad.” “You’re skipping your morning class. We’re going to the gym.” “But I…” “It’s that, or the ER. Which would you prefer?” “Gym,” I said through clenched teeth. Flynn practically had to dress me, but he got me decent and to the gym. “Shafe says it’s leg day,” Flynn said, consulting the workout plan. “Sound good?” “Just tell me what to do,” I managed. Flynn helped me through Shafe’s leg workout. I’d been working out pretty religiously since Gregg converted me senior year of high school, but some of these were exercises I’d never even heard of. Sissy squats? Not for sissies. At the end of the workout, my legs were swollen and thick. Happily, the fizzing had subsided to a quiet background hum. I was actually able to go to both of my afternoon classes and focus on the lessons. When I got back to my dorm room, Flynn was in there waiting for me. He hadn’t wanted me to go to my classes at all, so he was worried. “It was fine,” I said. “I’m just going to have to work out like a bodybuilder for the next few weeks to survive this.” “Maybe. I’ve been thinking about it,” Flynn said, rubbing my abs affectionately, “The fizzing only gets so bad when you have the muscles for so long. Shafe needs his muscles back from time to time.” “True,” I said optimistically, filling in the blanks in my head. If I kept returning and re-borrowing the muscle, the fizzing might stay at a minimum. The first break, the first time I was scheduled to give Shafe’s muscles back to him temporarily, came the next day when Shafe’s cleaning lady came back from vacation. She hadn’t been around all week, so she’d be there for a solid two hours. During those two hours, I gave Shafe back his muscles, and I was just me. 184 pounds of me, but it felt so peaceful, and I got a lot of work done. Sadly, the break went so quickly. Then the two hours ended and Shafe gave me the 60 pounds back. I expected to feel nothing, but the low-key fizz was back. I instinctively knew that if I didn’t go back to the intense workouts, the fizzing would get bad again. “I don’t get it,” Flynn said. “You’re not keeping the muscles full-time. Why does the fizzing stay?” “It just does,” I said resignedly. Shrugging, I added, “So, bodybuilding workouts it is.” As an afterthought, I concluded, “But the reprieves will be nice.” On Tuesdays and Thursdays from 8 AM to 9 AM, Shafe’s cleaning lady came. On Friday nights, I had a break from 7 PM to midnight. And there were two doctors’ appointments and one tarot reading scheduled. Other than that, if I wanted the fizz to stay at a minimum, I had to work out those muscles like Shafe. 23 2 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Popular Post TQuintA Posted July 23, 2021 Author Popular Post Share Posted July 23, 2021 Part 2 – The College Con-Artist Chapter 11 It took a lot of exertion to keep the fizzing down to a minimum, and a lot of exertion means a lot of tissue repair and growth. And borrowing a lot of mass augments that reality. I could feel my muscles swell as the days marched on. I maintained a near perfect ignorance of scales, reflective surfaces, and anything that could tell me exactly what my weight was, but I could feel myself getting heavier and harder each morning when I woke up. But that wasn’t the biggest or only giveaway. I mostly noticed it when I was wearing my gym clothes—they were getting tighter around my chest and getting a little harder to take off each day. My gym shorts, too, were starting to encase my thighs and ass more tightly. I also noticed it in chairs and on my bed. All furniture just seemed to sag a little bit more every day, like I was forcing it further to the floor, or gravity was pulling it harder, or both. Then I started noticing it in other ways, too. For instance, I noticed that it was taking more and more food just to sate my bottomless stomach. Six meals a day sounds like a lot, but I needed it. Also, when I showered, I just took up a little more space in the stall each day—my shoulders practically touching each side. I tried to shower more at the gym because I fit in those stalls more easily. At the gym, I noticed my lifts getting heavier and heavier. The life of a bodybuilder was monotonous and repetitive, so any small change to the routine, even just lifting five pounds more, was enough novelty to be newsworthy. If I didn’t have classes, I’d have gone mad from the tedium. I also noticed it in Flynn’s treatment of me. In some ways, he was the same old Flynn, but in others, it felt like I was dating an entirely different person. For instance, he would beg me to sleep naked on the nights we were together, and we were spending more nights in each other’s bed. I caught him staring at my sleeping form more than a few times the following mornings. “Your body is glorious,” he said in his defense. “And it gets more glorious the longer this goes on.” He also wanted me to top him more often than not. I was happy to, but it was weird. I was used to one dynamic, and suddenly he was more adventurous bottoming than he was topping. We tried a variety of positions (some of which required more balance than I had at this size). These were positions he never would have agreed to when he was topping. He also initiated physical contact more. I was used to him casually kissing, patting, or touching me when we were together, but now he could barely keep his hands off me. I noticed that he was working out harder too. He was growing far more slowly than I was, but I think being the smaller man was simultaneously erotic and emasculating for him. He liked seeing me bigger and bigger—clearly—but he still, inside, wished he was the bigger guy. I also noticed growth during my reprieves. Every time I gave Shafe back his muscles for one reason or another, I was just a little bit bigger than I had been the last time I returned “to my size.” My arms were thicker than I recalled, my chest more obtrusive, my legs thicker and more pronounced. All of the clothes I wore when I was at “my size” were tight in delightfully tantalizing ways. Even my desk chair seemed to be shrinking. I wasn’t even sure what “my size” was anymore. I had to ignore it just to maintain sanity as my body was rocked by growth and muscle. If the pattern from Gregg’s long-term storage repeated itself, I could wind up 300 pounds of muscular man, and that thought came with it a both a hardon and a tingle of fear that never fully left me. I’m not entirely sure what I was afraid of, but there was a fear there. Part of me was scared that 300 pounds could not go unnoticed. My secret as The Repository would be out, and my life as I knew it would incinerate before my eyes. Another part of me was scared that I would find my body grotesque, a hideous pile of exaggerated masculinity, bigger beyond human, a pulsing mass of hypertrophy covered in twitching fibers, stretched skin, and visible veins. A hulking, sweaty, ungodly mass of meat. I’d been close to 300 before, but that was just a few hours as part of a sex game. The everyday reality might be something out of a monster movie. Yet another part of me, the loudest part of me, was scared that I would love seeing myself so huge. I’d love it all: the bulk, the size, the power, the weight, the density. I’d become so enamored with my gargantuan proportions that I wouldn’t want to give Shafe back his muscles. Then, I would want to get that big for real, not just borrowing muscles. If that happened, Flynn would figure out a way to do it. I don’t know how, but Flynn would find a way. Worse off, I’d let him. I suspect it’s expensive to get that big, but I had $100,000 just sitting in my bank account. Ah, yes. There was fear there too. I hadn’t spent one cent of the money we’d scammed from Steele and Rhodes. Practically speaking, there was no reason to. The scholarship paid for my room, Flynn (via Shafe) was paying for my food, gym, and clothes, and I’d already bought my textbooks before I was fired from the cafeteria. On top of that, between classes, Flynn, and the gym, I really didn’t have any free time. As a result, I had no expenses. But that’s not why I hadn’t touched it. I kept expecting something to fall through. Some hook to catch us. Some consequence to come barreling towards us. I trust Flynn when he said what we did wasn’t illegal, but it surely felt illegal, and it had to be immoral. Right? I couldn’t shake the sinking suspicion that at any moment the house of cards would come crashing down. After four weeks of this fear gnawing at me, I finally confessed it to Flynn. “Aw, baby,” he said, kissing my forehead and rubbing my chest. “They’re happy customers.” “Really?” Flynn nodded, his hand never leaving my chest. “I didn’t tell you before now because I thought you wanted them miserable. Didn’t want to ruin your revenge.” He pulled out his phone and showed me a picture, his left hand still on my pec, the index finger circling my nipple. “This was Rhodes and Steele at the gym yesterday.” They looked thicker. Much thicker. They’d definitely put on some mass. “They’ve each put on almost 10 pounds over the past month,” Flynn said, practically reading my mind. “Steele more than Rhodes.” “How?” Flynn shrugged. “The placebo effect is real?” “I need a better answer than that. The powder’s worthless.” Flynn shrugged. “Their workouts aren’t. Each wants to outgrow the other. The supplement just spurred them on.” He finally let go of my pec. “Something has to go wrong. They each bought 800 bottles.” Flynn swiped to a new picture: in it, him, Steele, and Rhodes were wearing business suits and shaking hands with a man I’d never seen. “They figured out the 800 bottles were the entire supply. Then, they bought my LLC. That way, I can’t compete with them anymore. Not even if I get a new supply. They’re going to wait until they’re big enough. Then, they’ll sell the bottles at a huge mark-up to serious gym-goers, using themselves as spokesmen.” “They bought your company?” “Yeah.” Unaware he was doing it, Flynn began caressing my bicep. “The product is, in fact, worthless. However, now, if someone decides to sue, I’m no longer legally liable.” “They gave you more money on top of…” I was so confused. “How much money do you have?” I asked seriously. Flynn pulled me in close and made shushing noises. “I am saving up to start a real company. A real empire. Something solid that isn’t surrounded by moral quicksand. TGS required a $30,000 initial investment. My plan for the future requires so much more.” This conversation was actually allaying a lot of my fears. Not only were we not legally on the hook, but Flynn wanted to go legit. I had always suspected he was just going to scam people forever, but here he was saving so he could start a legal, public business. “What is your future plan?” Flynn leaned back, but his hand stayed on my arm. “An entertainment dynasty. Sports venues. Theaters. Vacation destinations. Maybe a TV studio.” “That will require a sizable nest egg,” I agreed. “To that end, I sold an LLC I didn’t care about. It had outlived its profitability.” I was momentarily reassured, but I still wasn’t ready to spend any of that money. Life continued on this way over the remaining fourteen days, and it was getting harder to ignore my growing giganticness. The yellow hoodie, the enormous, impossibly huge yellow hoodie I’d worn every day to hide my mass, was starting to fit. Specifically, the shoulders and the arms were the right size for my body, and my chest wasn’t far behind. It still billowed over me, especially my abs, and the sweatpants still mostly disguised how massively thick my legs were, but I was definitely looking much, much bigger. It affected the way I moved, too; Flynn pointed out that I was getting a serious bodybuilder's waddle. Once Flynn brought it to my attention, I couldn’t help but notice every time I walked. I was moving a lot more slowly and deliberately, swinging my legs around each other because I couldn’t move them directly forward. I also felt intensely heavier, more powerful, thicker, and denser. Doors were becoming more and more of a problem for me, especially when I wore the oversized hoodie. Walking around campus, I took up the space of 2 or 3 people all by myself. I was just so much thicker and wider than everyone else. Even smaller movements made my size apparent to me. When I tried to cross my arms in front of me, my biceps and pecs fought for space, and I had trouble holding the pose. Flynn found it incredibly hot and tried to get me to do it as often as he could. I hadn’t crossed my legs in days because I simply couldn’t. Even brushing my teeth caused a fight between my arm and my chest. At the same time, the gym I was going to was also making it harder for me not to notice just how titanic I was becoming. When I first started going there at 244 pounds, I was definitely one of the biggest guys there, but there were guys bigger than me, especially the powerlifter types. Flynn hadn’t lied about the size of their clientele. But now? I outsized them all handily. It only took a cursory glance to see I was the largest of all the bodybuilders. Even the powerlifters were starting to look a little small to me. And because Shafe’s ready-for-competition muscle was fueling the growth, I was still cut to shreds—low body fat, paper-thin skin, striations and vascularity pitched to perfection. Seriously, shave me and douse me in spray tan, and I could’ve cleaned up at Olympia. I had to start going to the gym either really early in the morning or really late at night. Otherwise, a crowd would form around me as I lifted weights they thought they’d never see lifted. I even got a few solicitous glances in the changing room and showers—in a straight man’s hardcore gym. And after my workouts? The showers at the gym were getting a little tight. Let me repeat that: the showers at the hardcore lifters’ gym were getting a little tight. By this point, the showers in third floor south were so small each felt like a veal cage when I got into it. It was grossly unprepared for a man of my remarkable girth and thickness. I had to stand sideways, half in and half out of the shower, showing everyone in third floor south my ass (and my dick if I wasn’t careful). It wasn’t that extreme at the gym, but it was getting to be a squeeze. Moreover, the water would pool on the plateau on top of my pecs, and I’d have to bend over and practically limbo to get the bottom half of my body wet. This was all excessively frustrating. Between Shafe’s intense workout schedule and moving around normal life at a size larger than a bodybuilder, I needed at least two showers a day to feel clean and fresh. I’m sure Flynn could have acquired a shower that fit me, but he liked that I was too big to fit in the dorm-provided cleaning facilities. He began scheduling his shower times so he could watch me overfill my stall. When I came back from the showers, my hair thick and wet, pasted to my body, a towel ineffectively trying to encircle both of my mighty thighs, if Flynn was there with me, he would have this devious, lascivious grin on his face like some dark prayer to an elder god had been answered on his behalf. Then, as if magnetized, his hands would rub me all over until I physically pried him off me. When I was naked, especially when I was naked and wet after a particularly intense workout, I couldn’t help but notice just how thick I’d gotten. My pecs and shoulders were always in my line of sight. And while I’m sure my waist had gotten thicker, for reasons of anatomic necessity if nothing else, it wasn’t getting thicker at the same pace as my chest, shoulders, and thighs. As a result, at least in my mind’s eye, I was more and more resembling a buff letter X. Once I had reached status as a letter of the alphabet, Flynn would exclusively bottom for me. Even though he was a thick, muscular wrestler, bigger than he’d ever been, anyone looking at the two of us would see that I was paradigmatically bigger than him. I outclassed him immensely, noticeably, especially considering how refined and defined my muscles were. I lifted him up and carried him around during our sex sometimes, just to show him how small he was compared to my magnificence. He was still working out maniacally, with a fervor unmatched when I was smaller than him, but he knew he wasn’t going to catch up. I could still see that uneasy blend of aroused and threatened in his eyes, but aroused won out. The last two weeks, during my reprieves, when I was at “my size,” I was starting to look more and more like Shafe normally did. I had to repeat that fact to myself all the time because I found it hard to believe. I was starting to look like a serious, hardcore bodybuilder without borrowing the bodybuilder’s muscles. It was hard to get my head around it. The last few days of week seven, my gym clothes were so tight and stretched to the max, threatening to pop right off me, that getting them off of me was a workout in and of itself. I might as well have worked out naked. And it wasn’t a problem unique to my workout clothes. My yellow hoodie was getting tight. That giant hoodie that looked comically oversized just two months ago, it now bunched at the sleeves when I flexed my arm. My shoulders and back stretched it wider, my chest pushed it out further. If there had been a logo or image on the front of the hoodie, it would have been distorted and spread out by my growing muscles. When I wasn’t wearing it, I could see the places I’d visibly warped and stretched the fabric out of shape. My desk chair was too small; I had to do all of my homework sitting on my bed. The shower in the third floor south bathroom was tight even with half of my body poking out. Doorways were bear traps. And I was always eating. Always. My classmates clearly noticed—there were a lot of points and stares—but no one approached me. For once, I was thankful for their deeply entrenched snobbery. Being a muscle freak was so garish and déclassé that even the ones who admired every steely curve of my body stayed far away. As a result, no one asked any prying questions. If anyone had interrogated the situation, I would have ended up with my secret spilled: there was no other way to explain my size. I was equally noticeable at the gym. A few die-hard muscle fans had immediately realized my plan to go at off hours and had changed their workouts to match mine. Flynn had to play the macho over-protective boyfriend just to get them to stop hitting on me in the locker room. The shower at the gym? I had almost outgrown those too. Finally, it was the end of week seven. I was so happy for things to go back to some semblance of normal. The entire semester, I had felt like I was stuck in a maelstrom of muscle and food and muscle and workouts and muscle and sex and muscle. My grades had taken a bit of a hit—not enough to endanger my scholarship, but enough for a few scares and for me not to be so thrilled with my own work. I was delighted when Shafe got the all clear from his doctor to have his cast taken off—a doctor who was impressed with how in shape Shafe had stayed. There were no complications, the break had healed quickly, even a little faster than the doctor had expected it to. The long-term deposit was almost over. After my classes that day, I was expecting Shafe to call me and the whole thing to end, but Flynn was waiting for me in my room. “Should I even lock my door?” I asked. “Yes,” he said. “I’m the only one who can break in this easily. It’s a pretty good lock.” “When is Shafe calling?” “We’re calling him.” “Fine. When are we calling him?” “Tomorrow.” “But, the seven weeks are up tonight.” “Ah, but the agreement was for 50 days. We have one whole day to play. And neither of us have classes tomorrow.” “You don’t mean?” “I take advantage of situations when they arise. This situation is unlikely to ever repeat itself.” “Take advantage of it how?” Flynn smiled wickedly. 35 5 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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