growth with effort The Gym in the Background

[PowerFibres]

It had been a very hectic day, but it was soon coming to a close. Moving from the university town where my lab was located to a big city, doing the paperwork, getting everything in the building, more paperwork, directing the movers, more paperwork, worrying about the opening day, and finalising the paperwork. But, the last piece of equipment (a rack of dumbbells, in cast you were wondering) had been hauled up the stairs, and the last document had been signed. The people who worked on this collaborative effort all left, leaving me alone with my brand new gym. I’d been laughing to myself all day when the movers stopped to comment on my business model.

“This place seems a bit remote, I wouldn’t know where to find it.”

“Are you advertising this place?”

“Maybe I’ll get a membership, my misses thinks I’m packing in the pounds”

Oh how innocent they were, none of them new the extent of my true intentions with this place, but that was kind of the idea. They were correct that there was no sign outside of advertising that told a soul that this place was a gym, or any way that the average Joe off the street could discover it, but that was the general idea. I walked through the gym area, marvelling at the amount of weightlifting stations I’d managed to pack into such a small space, and the array of weights that accompanied them. I peeped inside the men’s changing room, and fantasised about the men who would soon fill it. I also peeped into the women’s changing room, but only for a quick chuckle to myself. The only other place was the reception area and my cramped office in the back, where I had already set up my device. It stood proud in the middle of the room and looked like something right out of the future, which in a way it was. I checked the message I’d already coded, and sure enough it was ready.

“If you want to be big, to be powerful, want muscle, and love muscle, come closer, come to the fourth floor.” I turned the device to its most powerful setting, and waited for my first client.

In fact, my first client would walk down the street that day. I’d conveniently placed my gym near the local gay bars and the general gay scene, so it was only a matter of time before someone to my liking would stroll past.

Samuel was on his way to drink away his sorrow at his local place, and maybe shack up with someone. His job was a miserable slog through hours of bullshit that he only had the slightest grasp on, and the rest of his life was suffering. His mid section looked as if it has been inflated by a bicycle pump, and he began to get out of breath just walking to the nearest fast food restaurant, which was a trip he often made. While there were guys willing to get with someone of his disappointing build, few were the guys he dreamt of, the muscle guys. They were all interested in others like them, the ones who looked like they lived in the gym; but Samuel wanted to be like them, and to have them. As he walked from his work, still dressed in the suit that barely contained his swinging belly, he started to feel strange, but in a good way. His cluttered mind cleared of all the bad things rattling around, and he felt both a sense of calm, as well as a magnetic pull towards the building to his right. He wasn’t sure why, but he’d never seen what was up there, and needed to find out. He heaved himself up the stairs, stopping at the forth floor, and pushed against the unmarked door into whatever was behind it.

When he came barrelling through the door, I was stood there waiting for him. Seconds before he entered, I’d switched to the second message on the device, knowing the first had done its job.

“You want to be big, you want muscle. This gym is doing it. Don’t question, just lift, eat right, and lift.”

He looked around, a little confused, and finding no other source of information, approached my desk.

“He-hello, um, I know this is a strange question, but what is this place, I’ve never noticed it before?”

“It’s a gym, Mr...”

“Sam. Well that’s my first name.”

“Nice to meet you Sam. We’ve just opened this morning, and you’re the first to come through our door. If you’d like to look over our membership options, I’d be happy to make you our first client.”

“Oh I see, well it sounds great.” Brilliant, the second message was taking hold. This guy looked like he’d barely walked into a gym in his life, yet he was already signing on. He looked over the memberships, but I could tell he’d already made up his mind. He bought a month’s membership, and left, promising to come tomorrow morning. I didn’t need a promise, I knew he would.

When I opened up the place the next day, it was scarcely twenty minutes before Sam came through the door. He was clearly nervous, but had a gym bag over his shoulder. He said hello to me, and went into the changing room. The walls were covered with pictures of muscled bodybuilders, and even a couple of morphed ones beyond human potential. They all turned Sam on, but he thought better than trying to jerk off there. He began to pull a shirt out of his gym bag, but saw a sign displayed prominently on the wall.

“For hygiene purposes, we ask all our male clients to exercise without upper-body clothing.” Sam slid the shirt back, and left the room with the air on his bare chest. When he walked into the gym area, I’d already switched to the third message that provided instructions on how to perform the main lifts. I watched him like a hawk as he flawlessly performed a bench press set, then another, and another, and another. He moved on to another exercise, and another, and another, and another. Soon multiple hours had passed; sweat was running down Sam’s uncovered upper body, but he was still desperate to keep going.

As the months passed, Sam became morphed into the very definition of a “gym bro”. He was eating like a train, but if was all beans, lentils, of whatever protein he could get his hands on. The idea of eating fast food seemed like swallowing a live rat, and his belly soon vanished until he had a slight gut protruding. Despite his rapid weight loss, the muscle mass kept on coming. I was shocked at his increasing size that didn’t seem to have an end; the weights he put on the bar climbed higher and higher. Also, he always had a story of the latest guy he’d taken to bed, often with pictures of guys with bulging muscles to accompany them.

One day, I saw the true change in him. His shoulders looked like they’d almost doubled in width thanks to the many exercises and the lack of fat below them, and the seemed to crown the pecs that had began to form a gorgeous shelf above the last whimpers of a gut (which I knew had chiseled and beneath). I don’t know what about that day had told me that the experiment was a success, but my pilot trial had gone without a hitch, and it was time to expand the operation.

“Sam, can I ask you something?”

“Go ahead dude.” Sam replied, his voice seeming much deeper than when we met, possibly from some bodily change, or his new confidence.

“You involve yourself with a lot of guys who are into fitness. I don’t want to put you on the spot, but it would be great if we could drum up some business around here.”

“Sure thing bro. I’ve got guys that would put my progress to shame, and they’re constantly looking for a place with a lot of lifters.” He was nice to consider my request so thoughtfully, but the machine was giving him another message.

“Get ones like you used to be. Convert the hopeless. Make them into gay adonises like you.” And he did.

Soon, a guy called Blake was walking sheepishly up my steps. His thin physique was a product of years of neglect, and it was thanks to his dislike of food that he wasn’t as fat as a planet. But the messages guided him along, and he soon found himself shirtless and heaving weights in my place. Then another called Peter, who was too nervous to step foot in a gym, but laughed along with his bros and flexed for them after some conditioning. Then Bertrand, and Viraj, and Michael, and Paul, and Rohaan, and Julien, and another Michael, and so on. Soon, my gym was stocked full of beautiful adonises. They were all as shirtless as swimmers, showing their chiseled bodies on display, and I suspect I didn’t need the rule to get them to do it. Their shoulders were so broad they could barely walk around the place without bumping into the others, their pecs were striking and big enough to bounce with considerable force (which they loved to do), their arms showed mountains of muscle that rose into beautiful peaks when they checked their progress in front of the mirror, their legs forced them to waddle and their asses strained the largest jeans. In total, they were perfect. But the best part was the lust for each other that they soon discovered. I’d morphed their interests had always been towards the muscular, but I’d changed them to accept the biggest guys, and accept little less. This, combined with their rising testosterone, meant they could barely perform a session without slinking off to the back. They hammered away at each other which such ferocity, and I loved it when it became a battle of strength for who could take the most. They wouldn’t give two shits when I’d sit in on their sessions, and watched their muscles collide and stick together from the beads of sweat that rolled down the many crevices of their new bodies.

My experiment had worked better than I could have ever expected, but I wanted more. The device could be scaled up, and so could the results of my clients. Of course, their progress was less than natural, a fact they would of learnt if they’d only stopped to consider why the liquid in the water cooler seemed to have such an odd taste, not that they would question it.

This was only the beginning.

[debate1]

Please more!

[Rubber1984]

Holy cow that was so good. I’ll have some more please too! 

[Ro20316]

such a great start. He is creating new alpha men that will take people like them only

[debate1]

Please do a sequel!