Mike Hugeman Super-Powered Muscle Whore by LORUS

[FallenAway]

Here's another blast from the past written by Lorus for the old forum and saved in my private collection of erotic gems.  I'm reposting it here with the author's permission.  Mike Hugeman was mentioned in BOOM!, the short story I reposted earlier, so I thought it would be good for readers to know who he is.  No one who meets the Hugeman ever forgets him.  I certainly haven't.

The story has eight episodes followed by a teaser for a sequel.  I will post all of them in the same thread.

MIKE HUGEMAN SUPER-POWERED MUSCLE WHORE

by LORUS

Episode 1

 The room shook from the force of Ken Preston having the fuck pounded out of his cute bubble-ass. It was his birthday, this day, and he’d used the money he’d gotten from his parents to hire the Hugeman for an afternoon, rather than put it towards his new car. The greatest gay whore in the entire city of Stillbrook didn’t come cheap either, considering he charged five hundred dollars an hour. Not everyone could afford him, but Ken had been building up to this for an entire year of scrimping and saving, deciding that if he was going to lose his virginity, then he was going to do it in style, with the best dick in the world impaling him along its incredible length.

 “Oh God, this is fucking... ugh... amazing. Don’t...ugh... want it to stop!!!!” Ken was face down on the bed, knees dug into the sheets so that his angelic, heavily lubricated ass pointed upwards. Mike Hugeman, the most super-huge, awesomely massive mega-bodybuilder in the world, rode into the youth with all the experience his craft would ever provide him. He was super-hung, sporting a dick that was a solid eighteen inches long when fully hard. It was thick, too, thicker than a beer can. Given that this was Ken’s first time having sex of any kind, Mike was surprised at just how well he took his meat, imagining the kid probably practiced every day with dildos of ever-increasing dimensions. He loved his work, and was proud of his physical accomplishments, often posing and flexing his enormously pumped muscles during the fucking of his clients. He was versatile, too, and would often grant his customers many of the requests they made of him. Ken was new to this, sure. He would be exhausted afterward, which suited Mike. He had to get to the gym within the hour. It was leg day, and his wheels needed an intense workout.

 He’d already made the kid shoot his load just by bicep-flexing five minutes after arriving at the dilapidated hotel room. He was used to better surroundings, but reckoned the kid was on a tight budget. Besides, he’d had cockroaches for spectators before, and had fucked in worse places than this. The kid was inexperienced, but his balls were big and round and held a lot of jizz. He would bring him to another incredible orgasm before the hour was up, after which any sex Ken would ever have in his life after this would never match up to the ride he got from the Hugeman.

 “Take it all in... all of my massive muscle-meat, you little twinkster, yeah fuckin’ moan and scream the Hugeman’s name, ugh yeah!” The bed took as much of a pounding as Ken did, for it groaned under Mike’s huge weight, which was getting close to six hundred pounds, since he’d really thrown himself into his beloved bodybuilding. He loved lifting and he loved fucking. You could say that he lived for these pastimes and nothing else. He was well-known in his native Stillbrook and was totally out about his whoring and his desire to get bigger and stronger. No other gay whore in the city could make the kind of money Mike made, so it could be said that he was the king of his hill, with fuck all in the way of competition. But that was soon to change, along with his life, forever.

 Meantime, he brought the twinkster to a howling orgasm once again and flared his lats in triumph as his organ, gorged on blood and pumping for all it was worth, penetrated Ken over and over, hurting him in throes of awesome ecstasy from which the eighteen year old hoped he would never recover. Usually, Mike was wider than most doorframes, loving how he had to squeeze sideways just to get in and out of rooms. When he flared his lats it seemed like his body got wider still. Coupled with the rush of his orgasms, his energy levels would peak, and his muscles spring erect and huge. When he flared his lats during ejaculation, he was at his biggest and widest, and the skin across his back groaned in defiance of his increase in size, almost to the point of splitting apart and causing him injury. But it never did. He was strong as an ox... hell... he was strong as a dozen oxen.

 Ken’s time was almost up. Mike had been pacing himself and could have climaxed long before now. In truth he had a hyperactive sex drive and could easily be ready to orgasm again just two or three minutes after cumming, and his tennis-ball-sized gonads acted rapidly when it came to replenishing their jizz stocks. “Fuck me to death”, pleaded Ken, but Mike would never do that. Despite his ruggedly handsome looks and tough-guy persona, he was pretty much a nice 22-year old Italian American, with only an occasional short fuse, who still found time to visit his Sicilian mama for the best home-cooked pasta in all of Creation. He often joked to his friends that it was his mama’s cooking that was to blame for his enormous muscle-growth. In all honesty, the hunk had no idea why nature had singled him out with such an incredible ability to grow a huge, hulking muscle-bod. He loved getting larger, showing up at get-togethers and causing his friends to gawp in disbelief at how much larger he’d become since they’d last seen him.

 This got him thinking about the gym, now, and satisfying his other voracious appetites for the good things in life. It was time to blast the twinkster out of it. He gripped the sides of the bed as he gave one final lunge into Ken, his body tensing as it hardened into a seizure of ejaculation. A gushing torrent of creamy spunk erupted from Mike’s eighteen-incher, and he positively adored cumming inside his clients. He didn’t care about disease, for it was impossible to find condoms to fit his gigantic whore’s dick, and his doctor was astounded by the fact that having had unprotected sex with more than four thousand paying clients since he’d started out at just sixteen years of age, that he hadn’t once picked up an STD. He really was a superman in every sense of the word, with a superb immunity to disease that was unprecedented.  

 Ken screamed his loudest as the Hugeman ravaged his hole, pumping a massive load of cum into his body. Even after pulling out of him Mike continued to spurt cum all over his newest client. More and more of the steaming cream soiled Ken and the bed they rode on. Mike then grabbed hold of Ken and firmly turned him around on the bed, so that he was facing up. The look of sheer pleasure on the youth’s face was a sight to behold, and his gaping mouth seemed hungry for Mike’s elixir. He did not disappoint and eagerly shot more and more cum, this time allowing Ken to swallow a great deal of it.

 “God, it seems I can cum more and more as I get bigger,” Mike bragged and allowed Ken to take his fill. Finally exhausted, Ken slipped into a satisfied slumber, spread-eagled on a grimy bed, and drenched in the Hugeman’s spunk. “My work here is done,” said Mike, and muscle-strutted into the ensuite bathroom to take a shower. The plumbing groaned and spluttered as he lathered himself up with the shower gel from his kit bag. As it was summer, he seldom wore a shirt when he was out in public because he simply loved to show off his gigantic muscle-bod. He was a regular sight on the streets, posing for all he was worth, sometimes allowing guys to come up and touch his thickly-veined muscles, but only if they had cold hard cash for the privilege. Mike Hugeman never gave anything away for free. It simply wasn’t his style. He decided to get ready for the gym here in the hotel room, which didn’t take long. He’d arrived wearing only stretch-denim jeans, his upper body glistening from a mixture of sun-tan lotion and baby oil. Now he placed the jeans in his kit bag and pulled on a sexy pair of black and blue striped spandex workout shorts that did little to tone down the massive bulge his cock and balls formed at their front. He couldn’t wait for it to be larger, too, for it seemed that his cock grew another inch for every fifty pounds of muscle he put on.

 “Fuckin’ HUGE,” he declared as he bounced the massive shelf of his pecs up and down for a couple of minutes as he dried his ravishing black hair with a hairdryer. He was completely beautiful and loved how his father’s looks married so well with the Italian in him. He’d once been told he looked like a cross between a young John Travolta and Robert Redford. He agreed with this comparison, but reckoned he was many times more handsome than the two actors in their youth. Mike got more and more beautiful with each passing day. He had sparkling blue eyes set beneath a confident brow that complimented his rugged, square jaw-line beautifully. He had full, pouting lips, the bottom larger than the top one, and when they parted to form a smile he had perfect white teeth. He always maintained thick, designer stubble which went well with the curly black hair on some of his chest, which he never shaved. He loved having a lot of hair on his front, and he especially loved how his chest hair tapered down to a fuzzy treasure trail that formed a pleasurable tongue’s highway between his chest hair and his thick but trimmed pubic tuft. At the special request of some of his regular customers, he never shaved his armpits, and the dark bushy growth he had in them was so beautiful, merely lifting his arms and flashing his pits was enough to drive some of his customers to complete, frenzied orgasm.

 It was time to leave. He sprayed himself with sexy cologne that enhanced his natural masculine musk and flexed some more in the mirror before helping himself to the cash the twinkster left beside the bed. There was a business card sticking halfway out of Ken’s wallet, not that it was any of Mike’s business. But curiosity got the better of him and so he looked at it. And then he got mad... very mad.

 

Episode 2

 The sensation that he was no longer asleep, but instead floating mid-air in a slight summer breeze, brought Ken Preston shrieking back to consciousness. He was no longer spread-eagled on a cum-sodden bed, or even in the hotel room, for that matter. Mike Hugeman had taken him up the fire escape to the roof of the hotel. Somewhat maliciously, the massive muscle-whore dangled him over the side, holding him only by his right wrist, like a small child would carelessly carry around a beaten-up old teddy. Beneath him was a twelve story drop that would surely kill him were the Hugeman to let go.

 “What are you doing to me?” Fear had caused Ken to urinate but thank goodness nothing else came out of him. This didn’t make sense. Why had Mike taken him up to the roof of the hotel? What had Ken done to deserve such a fate? The giant muscleman got to the point somewhat gruffly.

 “Why do you have an UltraZen business card in your wallet?” In the hands of the Hugeman, Ken Preston hardly weighed anything at all. He leaned out over the edge as far as he could extend his bull-strong arm, causing Ken to kick and dance in mid-air as he tried desperately to get closer to the roof.

 “I don’t... don’t know what that is, Mike. Puh-pleeeese, let me back in. I’ll pay you more money, I swear. I’ll cash in my college fund.... just please let me...” 

 “That wasn’t the answer I expected, you little bastard. Shit, I think my fingers are losing’ their grip.” Mike feigned a worried look as he pretended to lose hold of the terrified teen. Then, ever so audaciously, Mike ripped off his spandex shorts, causing his dick to spring forth like a striking rattle snake. It instantly grew super-hard and began to ooze copious amounts of precum. He brought Ken in a bit, flipped him around and rammed his ass with his dick, but only halfway along its length. Then he stood perched on the edge of the roof, so that Ken was now once again dangling, held in place by the power of the Hugeman’s cock alone. “Look, mama, no hands,” Mike goofed, and imagined his dick growing bigger and bigger whilst impaling Ken and pushing him ever further from the edge of the roof. To emphasize just how in-control he was of this situation, Mike shot a massive bicep pose, cranking up his guns from their cold size of 32 inches around, to a staggering 42 inches. Whilst Ken quaked in fear on the end of his monster dick, the Hugeman kissed each of his biceps, flexing them harder and harder, forcing more and more blood to distend his veins, bulging them outwards like thick, ropy cables.

 “Pity you can’t see this from your position, twinkster. You’re missing one hell of a show,” Mike boasted, marveling at how monstrously huge and powerful his guns were becoming. Every day it seemed that he’d grown a little. He was constantly in awe of just how massive he was. But he was never satisfied with his gains. He wanted more and more size, strength, incredible beauty, and unbeatable power. He began to contract the muscles in his groin, causing his dick to bob upwards, still with the terrified young man impaled on it. “Hey this is a great workout for my dick muscles. You must weigh about one-fifty. Hell, I could perch two more of you on my hot super-cock, and still bounce it upwards. I’m just so goddam fucking huge and powerful. I’m so ultra-fucking-gorgeous. But I don’t like to be fucked with. I won’t ask you again, what the fuck is an UltraZen card doing in your wallet?”

 Sobbing fitfully, Ken was as truthful as he could be. “It’s my dad’s wallet... his spare one. I luh-lost my own a while buh-back... so he gave me his one. It muh-must be his cuh-card.” In the street below, a curious crowd had begun to gather. The Hugeman considered what Ken said, and after a minute decided to let him in. He placed the crying birthday boy down on the rooftop and stood towering over him, his body heaving with power in every sinew and fiber that made him so amazing. He flared his lats somewhat threateningly, but in truth posing helped him to think clearly.

 “Hmm, you could be telling the truth. You seem honest enough. But if your father works for those crooked bastards then I’m going to fuck him harder than I fucked you.” It was a vow which Mike promised to keep. He went to his kit bag and pulled out a spare pair of shorts which he quickly put on. They were grey in color and immediately a precum stain formed in them, but Mike didn’t care. He was just minutes away from causing so many guys in the locker room of Joel’s Gym on Church St to make with their own precum.  

 “I hardly see my dad, ‘cos he’s always working. I think they may be clients of his. He’s in advertising. That’s all I know, Mike. I swear.” Ken was still crying. Mike suddenly felt bad. He pulled a clean towel out of his bag and gave it to Ken to dry his tears with. “Sorry about that. I guess I got carried away. UltraZen tried to recruit me into their organization a couple of years back. They offered me a free health assessment and free membership to their ultra-modern super-gym. But all they really wanted was a sample of my tissue to experiment with. They think I’m some kind of mutant, ‘cos I can grow so big. A mutant, can you fucking believe it?”

 Ken now understood why the Hugeman had flown off the handle. But the experience still had him rattled. “For what it’s worth, I wasn’t gonna drop you, twinkster. And even if I had, I could easily have leaped down to ground-level to catch you before you hit the concrete.” Smiling the most beautiful smile Ken had ever seen on any man, actor, supermodel, athlete or bodybuilder, Mike did a side chest pose and hefted up his medicine ball-sized pectorals, beefing them up to super-striated status. His chin immediately became lost in the meat of his upper pecs, creating the illusion that his head was about to be devoured by his muscle-tits. He couldn’t wait to inflate these babies through further workouts. He really was obsessed with his bodybuilding and obsessed with himself.

 “I deserve a free session for what you did, Mike. It was cruel of you.” Fear and upset rapidly began to give way to anger. Ken had every right to be angry. Mike thought about this. He guessed the kid was right. He dug into his bag to return his five hundred bucks.

 “No – keep the money. I meant another session, on the house, of course. Or I’ll tell the cops what you did to me.”

 “Hmmm, Hugeman in the State Pen for attempted murder. Lots of jailhouse ass for me to pound. Communal showers and I heard they’ve got one of the best gymnasiums in the state. I could get really fucking HUGE in jail, not that any cell could hold me.” Mike scratched his gorgeous stubbly chin as his mind set off to explore such a fantasy. In jail he could be worshipped far more intensively than in normal life. But on the other hand, he’d miss his mama’s pasta. Nah, it was best to keep on the right side of the law.

 “Blackmail doesn’t suit you, twinkster. But you’ve got yourself a deal. One free session it is. But not right now, ‘cos I have to get to the gym to beef up further. You can come by my place tonight at 9pm. I live at Pinewood Heights on Reginald and Main, Apartment 12, on the top floor. I promise not to dangle you from my balcony. I usually do webcam hulk-outs at that time, but tonight, for you, I’ll make an exception.” That said, the Hugeman leaped into the air and out from the edge of the rooftop. In a single bound he was across to the adjacent building, coming down heavily with a mighty stomp powerful enough to loosen every tile on the ceiling of the rooms below. He chuckled to himself, delighting at how huge and hulking he was.  

 Suddenly the unexpected happened. The force of his connection with the second rooftop was enough to jar the body of the peeping Tom who’d been observing his antics through binoculars. The guy was dressed in combat fatigues, but he seemed too fat to be a real soldier. He staggered drunk-fashion out from behind an extractor fan assembly and puked up his McDonald’s lunch all over his boots.

 “What the fuck? Were you spying on me you fat fucking pervert? I’ll break you in half for that. The Hugeman never gives it away for nothing.” Fuming, Mike snatched the binoculars from the peeping Tom and crushed them into tiny bits of broken glass, metal, and plastic. He felt like ripping out the extractor fan unit and using it to beat the living crap out of the fatty. He was strong enough to do it, too. He thought about the prison fantasy again.

 “Puh-please... don’t hurt me,” the slob in camouflage pleaded. On a hot day like this the smell of expelled stomach acids soon became unbearable. Mike wasn’t hanging around. He was going to charge this pervert for the privilege of watching him perform on the twinkster, and so he grabbed him by the scruff of his fatigues and searched through his pockets for a wallet. He found it without any trouble. It bore the motif of UltraZen. Mike’s blood began to boil. He flared red in the face and puffed himself up to a massively muscular rage. He soon forced a confession out of the peeping Tom, whose name turned out to be Lenny Simmons. Mike listened to everything he had to say:

 “They hired me to watch the boy. I slipped the business card into his wallet when he dropped it at McDonald’s before meeting you. It was meant to get your attention. After the kid left the hotel I was to take him out with a tranquilizer dart and drive him to an abandoned warehouse at the docks – unit 108. There the kid would have your jizz extracted from him. What they do with it after that is none of my beeswax”

 Mike needed to flex while he thought about this. He pushed out a crab pose that caused his muscles to striate massively, bunching together with almost electrical ferocity. Like the comic book Hulk, anger seemed to inflate Mike lately, something he was curious about. If he could make an actual ability of this, then he could will himself far huger whenever it pleased him to. He was getting turned on, too, and his second pair of shorts began to part at the seams as his cock, once again, stood to attention. The wet bulge inflating in his crotch was enormous. Simmons couldn’t take his eyes off it. He wasn’t gay but his contact at UltraZen had given him a dossier on Hugeman, and the gigantic bodybuilder had fucked straight guys before, just because it suited him to. The shorts would not withstand a full erection, not when he was this angry, boiling blood surging through every last inch of him.

 “Get the fuck off this rooftop, Simmons. And don’t contact UltraZen under any circumstances. Your driver’s license was in your wallet, so I know where you live. Think I’ll be holding on to that for insurance. I’m going to pay a visit to that warehouse. If you warn them I’m coming, I’ll pound that house of yours into rubble, with you in it. Got that?” When the Hugeman spoke, he had to be heeded. Simmons, his fat lips blubbering, hastily made an exit. Mike set off towards the Stillbrook docks, his shorts just about managing to keep his junk in place. It had been a long time since he’d been this angry about something. The word “UltraZen” was enough to drive him into an indignant frenzy. What further enraged him was that he might miss his workout for the day. And for that he was going to make UltraZen pay dearly.

 

Episode 3

 For a henchman, Artie Pimms asked way too many questions. UltraZen’s Arkadian Stoat tugged at his electrically air-conditioned black mackintosh and tried to remain calm and sane. In truth, he was failing at keeping Pimms from grating on his nerves. If something interesting didn’t happen in the next 60 seconds, he was going to have to cause a public nuisance, simply to keep from going around the bend. Pimms shifted nervously from one foot to the other, surveying his surroundings with an almost pathological level of suspicion. It was abandoned, here at the docks, the perfect place for UltraZen to spring its trap. “Do you think it was a good idea having Lenny place the card in the kid’s wallet, boss?” It was Pimms’ umpteenth question in several minutes. Stoat wanted to kill the obsequious troll in man’s clothing. How in all the cosmos did these “inbreeds” make it onto the company payroll anyway? The mind just boggled.  

 “For the third time, already, I planned it this way, Pimms. The Hugeman has a short fuse and hates all things UltraZen. How else could I get him to come here? Simmons is about as stealthy as a rhino with whooping cough. He’s almost as bad as you for messing things up. Stillbrook’s arrogant muscle whore will be here, and soon. I guarantee it. Now do me a favor and check your weapon. You may need it. And do it quietly!” Stoat adjusted the settings on the electro-blaster he carried with him, making sure it was set for maximum output. He would only get one shot at this. The only way to stop a man as huge and powerful as Mike Hugeman was with an electro-static force-field that could jolt even the most superhuman nervous system into complete but totally reversible shutdown. Positioned out of sight, keeping to the gloom cast by the shadows of some empty packing crates within the spacious sprawl of the virtually empty Warehouse 108, Mike Hugeman would have to possess x-ray vision to notice his adversaries before they noticed him. Stoat silently prayed to St Norris (the Patron Saint of B-List Bastards) that this wasn’t the case.

 Within minutes there was a loud, thunderous sound of something heavy hitting the concrete outside. Nearby car alarms sounded as the impact set them off. Young ladies screamed in terror, but then seeing it was the Hugeman, began to get moist for him and wish he wasn’t gay, oh and er... yeah... a couple of dogs barked or something. The Hugeman was really pissed off as he tore through the docklands looking for Unit 108. This was causing him to miss his workout. He got madder and madder, and this seemed to make him get a little bigger, which wasn’t a bad thing, he reckoned. But his shorts were about to disintegrate from the immense pressure his inflating glutes and erecting dick caused by pushing outward in opposite directions. When he found Unit 108, he smashed through the large slide-doors, pulverizing metal and wood and whatever else the fucking things were made of, the force of which made him totally lose his shorts. He didn’t care. Looking down at his massive whale-dick excited and pleased him. But he snorted in a rising rage, thinking that it wouldn’t get to be glorified in the gym today, if the day’s events kept causing him to get sidetracked.  

 “Come out from hiding, you UltraZen bastards,” he boomed, his gargantuan roar powered by an incredible set of lungs. He was getting stronger and stronger. He could feel his body bulging all over. He had to capitalize on this effect, but also clear his head to think clearly. When silence returned to the warehouse’s echoed interior, Hugeman flexed, sweet fuck did he flex, greater than he ever flexed before. He squatted down a little, bending his legs at the knees, so that most of his weight was carried by his shimmering quads. He crabbed down into a most-muscular pose, squeezing his balled fists so tight, he could compress coals into diamonds had he been holding them. This incredible pressure, aided by a snarl that added deep russet tones to his cheeks, sent a shockwave of flexing, bulging superpower throughout his exceptional system. Energy crackled in pulses along his body’s veined super-highway, energizing his circulatory system to hulk up into overdrive. Massive, thick cords pushed out of a 22-inch neck.

 His body exploded into hyper-muscular relief, with extra inches popping out everywhere, his weight increasing significantly. He couldn’t wait to get this business over with so that he could beat all his lifting records over at Joel’s Gym, with a full retinue of horny, awe-stricken, paying worshippers gathered around him, just the way he liked it. He would have it no other way. He posed and flexed, flexing huger still, and posed until he could think more clearly. He pounded his granite fists together, sending further pulses of shocking power throughout. Growling and snarling – gruffly lauding his bodybuilding superiority with an exceptional nod to superior masculinity – Mike screamed the place down as his glistening, colossal physique bulged more immensely than ever, muscles bulking up so fast, his skin stretched almost to the point of sheer translucence. His definition was mesmerizing. His hulking pecs widened and deepened, and when he bounced them, it took slightly more effort on his part, the mass of the pec-bellies at their greatest so far, so that their momentum seemed more gradual, but no less rhythmic. This pleased him very much, and his hard-on raged with greater impunity.

 “My God,” Arkadian Stoat gasped from behind the vantage point of crates, then cursing himself for uttering a sound. He wasn’t gay, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate just how much larger Mike Hugeman had become since last their paths crossed. He had failed, before, to secure the genetic samples he craved in order to experiment with Mike’s unique muscle-building properties. UltraZen thrived on defense contracts. Should they patent an elite super-soldier for sale to the highest bidder, they could become a major world power in their own right. Hugeman was the key to mastering this design. And Stoat, as head researcher for UltraZen Industries, was under a lot of pressure to reel in his prize catch. Today he vowed not to fail. Luckily the Hugeman hadn’t heard him make a sound, so caught up was Mike in his flexing and muscle-gaining. With an enormously delta-shaped back bouncing rays of glorious sunlight back through the skylight through which they came, Mike was oblivious to the stealthy, snake-like advances of Stoat, as he carefully eased his way closer to his quarry, the electro-blaster primed and ready to be fired. Stoat would only have one shot at this. He signaled with a nod for Pimms to ready the overhead net conductor. It would fire from a cylinder high above the Hugeman, something that had failed to catch his eye, fortunately for Stoat. So far things were going by the numbers. But still, caution was the only card to play.

 Mike was overwhelmed by his flexing, and the obsession he had with growing, coupled with the rising strength he felt surging in him. His balls swelled with jizz, and he would have to expend it soon before frustration got the better of him. He began to stroke his huge whale-dick, completely awed that it seemed, now, to be at least an inch and a half longer than it had been earlier, back in the hotel room with Ken Preston.  

 Saint Norris’s Ghost, Stoat mentally gasped, not expecting to get a full sex show from the biggest muscle behemoth the world has ever seen. He was an out and out heterosexual, but if that was the case, why did Stoat feel the front of his trousers getting tight?  

 No, this cannot be. This fucker cannot be turning me gay, he thought, but then lost the run of himself and said the last bit aloud: “I won’t allow it!!!”

 Hearing this caused the Hugeman to turn around like a whirlwind, just as his cannon dick was about to release its salty torrent.

 Several life-changing things happened in the space of one and a half seconds. The force of Mike’s massive discharge spewed forth with the pressure of a fire extinguisher, blasting into Stoat across a distance of about twenty feet. Gripped momentarily by his most powerful self-induced orgasm ever, Hugeman was temporarily paralyzed, but that did not matter, for the blast of his jizz knocked Stoat off his feet, sending him sprawling, just as Pimms pressed a button on his remote control, blowing the cylinder above both Hugeman and UltraZen’s head researcher. Stoat fired the ultra-blaster, but something went terribly wrong. Coils of Tesla-like energy arced into the torrent of cum that existed briefly between Hugeman and Stoat, creating a brief circuit through which the gun overloaded. The connection was only a fraction of a second in duration, but the conductor net fell over them both, holding in the charge for a little longer. Dazed and confused, Hugeman rolled around in the net and soon became trapped.  

 Like an idiot, Pimms sprang to help his boss, reaching out to grab his arm where it stuck out from a gap in the net. Stoat writhed in agony as energy danced impishly across his suffering but scrawny frame. As soon as Pimms touched his hand, he absorbed most of the energy, which now siphoned off into him. He was knocked back into the packing crates, smashing through them. He screamed for all of his worth as anomalous energies scorched him... reshaped and rewrote him. Likewise, Stoat was also rewritten to a certain extent. This was a day that would live in infamy, no doubt about it.

 When the lightning show eventually ended, Mike found the strength to tear himself free of the confining net. He felt weak and he staggered to his feet, his dick now limp and pendulous as it swung from his movements. “Am I... smaller? Oh, please God, please no.” He cleared his head and rubbed his eyes to get them into sharp focus. He looked down at himself... well, his gaze got as far as his pecs and would go no further, for his muscle rack prevented it, it was so bloated and huge. He flexed his forearms and bis, squeezing his balled fists to crank up the flexing to its fullest. He breathed a sigh of relief, for he hadn’t shrunk at all, despite the sapping of his strength. In fact, he thought he might be even bigger. Thinking this quickly energized him and lengthened his dick to a semi-flaccid state. Still a bit groggy from whatever it was his assailant had shot him with, Mike turned to look down at the living mess caught in the net. At first he didn’t recognize the charred, wizened man. Then, as he studied the sooty face a little further:

 “Arkadian fucking Stoat. I should have known you’d be behind this,” the Hugeman growled. Stoat just moaned something incomprehensible but appealed to the Hugeman to be freed from the net. He poked an even bonier arm through the netting, hoping the giant above him would take pity on an injured scientist. Hugeman scowled and thought about pissing on the little runt. “Puh-please have pity on me, Hugeman. You can see I’m beaten, finished. I know when I’m licked. At least help me to my feet so that I can check on poor Artie. I think he took the worst of it.”

 Mike thought it over and bounced his pecs so as to clear some space in his head. Maybe UltraZen would leave him alone, now that Stoat had seen the new, bigger, and more powerful Hugeman. They simply couldn’t beat him. Stoat looked old, broken down, emaciated. He was no threat to the Hugeman, Mike decided. And so, he extended a huge hand downwards, offering it reluctantly to Stoat.

 When Stoat touched Mike’s hand, he felt a rush like no other. Although his body didn’t change shape or size, he leeched off a great-deal of Mike’s incredible power. Mike, towering above the scientist, felt his legs turn to jelly, weakening to the point of being unable to stand under his own power. In contrast, Stoat snapped himself to a standing position in a trice, almost squeezing the life out of the Hugeman. Instincts that were new to the older man coursed through him, now, and with the merest tug of his arm, wrenched the Hugeman into the air, with force enough to expel him upwards, higher, and higher. He crashed out through the roof of the warehouse, soaring ever higher into the summer sky. Stoat watched it happen, marveling at what he had just done. But how could this be? He decided there was time for analysis later. For now, he just enjoyed the worried squeal from Hugeman, gradually fading as distance claimed him.

 “Sto...aaaaaa...aaaaat!!!!!!!!!!”

 “No, dear boy, from now on I won’t be going by that name. Oh no...” He looked at his burnt hands and marveled, wonderingly, at the crackling, residual static charge that arced between his clawed fingers, energy that seemed to leech the power out of the most powerful man on the planet. Stoat took a new name and shouted it aloud:

 “From now on... I will be called... Man Handler!!!!!”

To be continued . . .

[FallenAway]

MIKE HUGEMAN SUPER-POWERED MUSCLE WHORE

by Lorus

Episode 4 – “Mighty on Aphrodite” Part 1

The Story so far: Mike Hugeman is the strongest, most muscular gay muscle whore in the world, and he’s proud, not only of this status, but also of the fact he has butt-fucked more than 4000 men in his career so far, despite that he’s just 22 years old. When his most recent client, 18-year-old Ken Preston is found by Hugeman to have an UltraZen business card in his wallet, this infuriates Hugeman, and he reacts in a way befitting a 600 lb. super-hunk, by dangling the twinkster off a roof to get answers from him, eventually releasing him when the kid claims his innocence. It so happens that UltraZen industries arranged to have the card slipped in the kid’s wallet, somehow knowing that he would be meeting the Hugeman, who hates this organization with a passion, considering they tried to steal genetic material from him two years ago to experiment with, their plans: to create a force of elite super-soldiers for sale to the highest bidder.

UltraZen’s chief scientist, Arkadian Stoat, leaves a trail of breadcrumbs (of a sort) for the Hugeman to follow, in the form of an overweight hired henchman renowned for fucking things up and spilling the beans. Hugeman easily gets the information from him that he seeks, and sets off to confront UltraZen, so that he can make them pay for their interference and then get to the gym to pump up his huge body and be worshipped there.

 Alas, things don’t go to plan, for neither the Hugeman, or Stoat, when the confrontation at an abandoned warehouse on the docks of Stillbrook, results in Stoat’s transformation into the Man Handler, a powerful villain who steals Hugeman’s strength for a time, throwing the massive bodybuilder high into the sky. The Hugeman soars upward...  

***

Mike Hugeman crashed into the sea fifty miles west of the Stillbrook coastline. The splash he made created a shockwave so powerful, it killed hundreds of fish, stunned two porpoises and a great white shark, and short-circuited much of the electrics aboard a Russian spy-submarine positioned about three-hundred feet almost directly below where he came down. The splash was also picked up on the radar of a luxurious vessel named the Aphrodite, a mere speck on the horizon in relation to Hugeman’s position. Curiosity getting the better of its owner and captain, the yacht altered course to investigate the disturbance. The Hugeman floated face down in the now calm water for a time that could not be determined. Still and motionless, he was nursed by an indolent current.

But he came to, sometime later, when he felt himself being hoisted out of the sea, his body once again falling foul of a net. Though his senses hadn’t quite re-attuned to current events, he struggled fitfully to free himself. But his mighty strength had yet to return.  

He was winched upwards and inwards, his weight testing the hydraulics of the winch that bore him down onto the deck of the Aphrodite. He coughed a few times, clearing his lungs of a lot of sea water and a young herring unfortunate enough to have become lodged in his throat. He looked up and then smiled when he saw half a dozen extremely hunky crewman standing over him, each sporting a second-skin sailor’s uniform of navy and white striped shirt and matching white hot-pants, and displaying a look of extreme awe at the sight of the most incredible catch they’d ever hauled in. They quickly parted, however, to allow their captain, fucking-mega-rich-Onassis-type Giannis Papastamos, to get a good look at him. “Ο Ιησούς Χριστός, αυτός είναι γαμημένο τεράστια,” the over-tanned, Anthony Quinn-esque tycoon exclaimed, which in Google Translate means: “Jesus Christ, he’s fucking enormous!” He was so shocked by Hugeman’s physical magnitude that he almost spilt his glass of Metaxa down the front of his (stereotypically) apt blisteringly white suit. Then in English: “It would seem that Poseidon has given up a rich bounty this day, eh? But what to do with you, what to do with you indeed….”   

“Where am I, and who the fuck are you?” Mike was in a terrible mood, too pissed off to acknowledge the fact that he’d just had his life saved. “Giannis Papastamos is my name, international playboy and oil tycoon. You’ve probably heard of me, big man.” Papastamos paused to slurp down his beloved Metaxa.

“It’s HUGEMAN,” Mike corrected, doing his best not to hold on to that insult.

“Apologies, Hugeman. I will try not to forget that. As to where you are, this is my ludicrously opulent luxury yacht, the Aphrodite, so named after the Greek Goddess of beauty, but also named after my youngest daughter, because, like her mother, my sixth ex-wife, the spoilt little bitch threw a tantrum when I proposed to name it The Sharon of Osbourne.” Papastamos gestured to the luxury of his ship by sweeping his fleshy arm in an arc, then clapping his hands together for his Metaxa glass to be refilled. One of his hunky semen…er… seamen ran off to fetch a bottle.

“You have your boy-toys well-trained, Giannis. But why do I get the impression that they all look like they’ve just stepped off a Gaultier catwalk?” Not that Mike had anything to complain about. Papastamos’ crew was the best-looking of their kind that he’d ever seen. Judging by how some of them tented out the front of their ludicrously tight white sailor shorts, they appeared happy to see him… a lot happy. Mike, still with his back lying on the deck, thought about fucking every one of them, and his cock reacted by twitching gradually upwards.

“That’s because we have, stranger,” said one of them, out of turn. He was gorgeous, about six-two, two-twenty pounds, much of it muscle, very tanned and Italian-looking, but sounded like a New York street queen when he spoke. It was the turn of another to elaborate. “Jean-Paul decided that the wraith look was back in vogue, so he fired all our muscular asses after his last show bombed. We were just too muscular for his clothing. Fortunately, Mister Papastamos took pity on us and gave us jobs on his ludicrously opulent yacht. We still don’t know what “opulent” actually means, but we’re all sure it’s a good word.”

“Hmmmph”, the Hugeman snorted, not really caring. He was dying for a workout and to get back to Stillbrook to stop the Man Handler. At this point Papastamos looked at his watch, and then seemed to become more frenetically animated in his movements. He brusquely clapped his hands together. “Chop chop. Christos, escort the Hugeman down to the crew quarters. My guests will be arriving soon by chopper, and I can’t risk them having heart attacks when they see this huge …er… how heavy are you?”

“‘Bout 600lbs,” Mike instantly replied

“…this 600lb muscleman strutting about the decks with no clothes on. And find something for him to wear. That… that… instrument of yours, Hugeman, is making me feel somewhat inadequate.” The portly late-middle-aged Greek oil baron had once been renowned for being a satyr of beautiful women, movie stars and hookers alike from LA to London, from Milan to Monte Carlo. He never dated women from his native Athens, believing all Greek women to look frumpy like his old mother (I’m so going to get letters over this).

“Thank you for rescuing me, Papastamos,” said the Hugeman, for once showing a little humility as he stood up from the deck on legs that were still a bit wobbly from his experiences. Then he added: “I need you now to turn this boat towards land. I must get back to Stillbrook as soon as possible. There is a mad man on the loose, and I’m sure he’d going to wreak havoc across the city if I’m not there to stop him.”

Papastamos laughed in the Hugeman’s face. “Out of the question. We are setting sail for international waters, where there are no gambling laws. My guests will be here soon, all high-rollers at the poker table. There is a hefty purse at stake. Why, buy-in alone costs five million US dollars.”

“He got the idea from Casino Royale,” the street queen hunk named Carlos added, which got the Hugeman thinking about Daniel Craig in tight swimming trunks. His dick stiffened a little, poking into another crewman’s rippling thigh. Of course, this made his shorts to tent even more and his fly to come apart. Damn, Mike thought, I could take over this ship if I really wanted to and demand that I be taken back to the city. But…

It would have been the wrong thing to do. He began to see himself as a superhero anyway, and superheroes were meant to benefit mankind, not operate against its grain. Fuck it. He decided he could do with some downtime, for as the sun began to dip below the horizon, so that its orangey-crimson radiance melted into a stunning liquescence across the calm water, the sound of a helicopter’s rotors could be heard, “Whup-whup-whupping” ever closer to the Aphrodite. Mike Hugeman was trapped for the time being, and so would have to make the most of it. But he had a feeling that he would be kept well-entertained down in the crew quarters.

 *****

Christos escorted Mike below deck to the crew quarters that took up a significant portion of the yacht’s forward section on deck 4. Not only did the Gaultier Six reside here, but Papastamos had other staff, too, including cooks, waiters, masseurs... even a huge-breasted croupier named Darla. All in all, there was a staff of thirty or so manning the Aphrodite at any one time. But at the moment, the Hugeman only showed interest in one of them. Christos, being the most-muscular of the Gaultier Six, reckoned he had some choice cuts of clothing that were stretchy enough to accommodate the Hugeman. Mike was happy enough to remain naked. To emphasize this, he began to playfully flex his pecs and biceps, much to the delight of Christos, who wasn’t a weakling himself. But Hugeman was so incredibly huge, he was easily three times the weight of Christos, and easily twenty times as strong. Christos pretended not to get too interested in Mike’s flexing and began to poke around in drawers in the cabin in search of a very stretchy thong he thought might fit the muscle-hunk. “I think I have a thong that might fit you,” he explained, excitedly.

“Grrrrr, your ass is hot when you bend over in those pants, Christos,” said the Hugeman, flexing with enough force to send the temperature soaring upwards. He was still wet from the sea, but now sweaty beads dappled his mighty, tanned physique, giving him the appearance of polished amber. His dick became fully hard. He marveled at its size and thickness. “Wow, I think this baby has grown a little since this morning. Christos, you got a tape measure?”

“Sure, we hotties have dick-stretching parties a lot and we keep a tape measure handy to keep track of our progress.” Near-palpitating with lust for the Hugeman, Christos slipped off his top and let his pants fall around his ankles. His dick was a nice size, easily ten inches, and it bobbed and twitched to full mast above a ball-sack that was swelling in reaction to his lust. Below his balls were manly legs with defined quads that rippled attractively. Christos’ upper body was impressive. He had large, defined pecs, and a beautifully chiseled six-pack. His nipples were enormous, almost pouting for the Hugeman. Well, things were getting hotter by the second.

“Measure my dick, sexy boy,” Hugeman snarled lustily. He gripped his massive member in his hand and pushed it into Christos’s face. Christos fell back on to his bunk and the Hugeman advanced, towering his hugeness over the lesser bodybuilder, his dick leaking a lot of precum which Christos expertly licked clean. He wanted raping from this massive hunk, and soon, too.

Shaking with excitement and desire, Christos held the tape along the entire length of Mike’s dick, whilst the Hugeman fanned himself out with a manta-like lat-spread display, which strangely felt different to him. The lats felt bigger. Everything about him felt bigger.

“Dick is... oh my... 23 inches hard. Wow!”  

“Amazing, this morning it was only 21 inches. I’m fuckin’.... HUGE!” Massive biceps surged with blood as he forced them into gigantic peaks. Christos was already sucking the great bulb bobbing before him. He could just about get his mouth around it. Hugeman’s dick was a choker, no doubt about it.

“Hey you two, Christos is needed up above,” said a voice from the other side of the door. Hugeman was large enough to get sucked off by Christos and reach across to pull the door inward. He found another of the Gaultier Six, sporting a nametag that read: “Simon.” With a blonde, blue-eyed face on the body of a light-heavyweight bodybuilder, Simon was genetically gifted. Hugeman lusted for him and grabbed him up. He made Simon naked very quickly, tossing his clothes away, even as the young man’s boner flexed into a rigid 11 inches. For a guy of his height and build, he most likely had one of the biggest cocks ever. This made the Hugeman hungry. With Simon now placed on the top bunk, whilst Christos continued to suck off the Hugeman from the bunk below, Mike now had a mouthful of cock to enjoy. He took in every inch of Simon, wrestling the shaft with his tongue, causing the crewman to moan in bliss.

“You like my muscles, boys? Am I a huge monster-muscle-god to you both?”

“Yessss,” they both moaned. Simon came very quickly, pumping quite a lot of cum into Mike’s hungry mouth. He took it all to the last drop. “Mmmm, tasty little hunkster, aren’t we?” But Mike was far from satisfied. He crabbed out a most-muscular pose, allowing Simon to feel the hugeness and hardness of his muscles. He would have him cumming again in seconds if he chose to. Instead, he flipped him around so that he was lying face down on the bunk, his cute muscle-ass exposed and inviting. Hugeman guzzled into the hole, fucking Simon with his tongue. Simon screamed in bliss, not wanting this to ever end.

Down below, Christos was beginning to tire, but Hugeman was only getting warmed up. Christos, as if responding to a mental command from the muscle-god, turned around, also wanting his ass serviced. Hugeman was only too eager to oblige. He fucked Christos with all 21 inches of his cock, amazed that the man was able to accommodate him. Papastamos looked like the type who could afford to pay his staff well. Hugeman would make sure to leave the Aphrodite with at least a week’s worth of business.

Christos cried out in pain and bliss, as Mike continued to pound him into another dimension. He screamed for more and more, as Hugeman again flipped Simon around, preparing to take another mouthful of his juice. Just then, another of the Gaultier Six came in, this time the nametag said Manolis, a beautiful big bodybuilding Greek hunk with black hair, moustache, chest hair comparable to Mike’s, and he was already naked before he invited himself in. He came up behind the Hugeman and began to rub his cock against his glute-cleavage. The Hugeman hadn’t been ridden in years, but now he liked the idea.  

“Fuck me as hard as you can, dude. Don’t stop until I demand it,” growled Mike.

Manolis, not known for speaking much, got so hard just from looking at the Hugeman, but running his keen hands across and up and down the widest, most-muscular back he’d ever seen, got him harder still.

When the Hugeman came, he filled Christos near to bursting. Even after he pulled out, he was still cumming, and so Simon changed places with Christos to receive his own measure. Mike left the first two shivering in ecstasy, totally spent of energy and lust. But Manolis was strong and had plenty of power in him.

Hugeman showered him in cum and then picked up him, pushed him against the wall and kissed him repeatedly. “I didn’t even feel you in me, pity,” said Mike, enjoying his orgasm and the fact he could make it last for almost a minute. He bent Manolis over and fucked him over and over, still ejaculating semen, amazed at how much he could produce, now that he’d gotten bigger.

“Aw, soooo good,” Manolis moaned, now cumming himself and spurting quite a lot of jizz even as Hugeman continued to cum inside him, over and over. In fact, Mike’s orgasm lasted longer than a minute. This interested him greatly. Could Stoat’s ray-gun be responsible?

“I’m superhuman,” he exclaimed proudly.

“Unngh, you’re better... unngh... than that,” moaned Manolis. Mike was becoming more and more powerful. It made him smile. He loved getting bigger and bigger, for it was addictive. When he’d finished with Manolis, he stepped nearer to the door and surveyed his handiwork. Simon and Christos were sleeping like babies, each to his own bunk. Manolis was passed out on the floor.

“Heh, heh... and then there were three.” He decided to fuck the rest of the Gaultier Six, despite that Papastamos would now be short-handed, and his guests were probably already aboard, too.

“Fuck it, I have my needs, too,” he remarked, continuing the search for the stretchy thong that Christos was unable to complete. Sure enough he found it in a drawer without too much effort. It was a shimmering, sparkly red, variety, somewhat see-thru, with a cutaway back and a zipper on the pouch. He tried them on, thought they were a bit snug, but unzipped the pouch halfway, deciding they would have to do. The pouch failed to contain all of his meat, but he liked the way his balls and dick caused the pouch to bulge outward in a way that defied its design. It was made for a much smaller man, but Mike always loved to wear clothes that were a little snug. He set about exploring the crewman’s deck, deciding he would like to flex in front of a mirror, to help him think clearly.

His luck took a sudden and much-welcomed upturn, when, two minutes later, he not only found a mirror, but an entire wall of mirrors. Best thing of all, the mirrored wall formed part of Aphrodite’s staff gym. This was where the Gaultier Six did their bodybuilding, no doubt.

“Hello Mama,” cried Mike, feeling like he’d died and gone to Heaven. It was time to pump up. And he was going to pump himself up... bigger... HUGER than ever before.

 

Episode 5 – “Mighty on Aphrodite” Part 2

Previously: rescued from the sea by a Grecian Tycoon, Mike Hugeman has the run of a vessel populated by gay bodybuilding hunks: The Gaultier Six are ex-male models who now devote their lives to bodybuilding, looking hot, and serving their master as crewmen on the Aphrodite. The Hugeman has already fucked three of the six, Christos, Simon, and Manolis, but he is hungry to fuck the other three. As he sets off exploring the luxurious yacht, he discovers the onboard gym, and decides to have a workout like no other....

“Think I’ll work some blood into my guns,” Mike decided, as he picked up the largest dumbbells he could find and began to rhythmically pump each one up and down in alternating curls. He cranked out twenty reps in the first set, put the bells down and thought about the process. He snorted with disdain. “Fuckin’ pussies... callin’ themselves bodybuilders. Huh, they couldn’t bodybuild their ways out of a vegan picnic!” His unsound simile made no sense. And so he flexed in order to make himself think more clearly.  

Standing before the mirrored wall, Hugeman brought his arms upward, fists bunched tightly, so that his knuckles threatened to burst through his skin. “Grrrrrrrr,” he grrrrrrrred, working up his man-muscle-lust into an internal fuel that could probably power a hospital for a year. Veins pushed upwards and outwards across his mountainous self, bulging with near-seismic force and coaxing super-hard thickness from the muscles of his fore- and upper arms. His biceps gushed with size, upwards from a cold 34.5 inches, to a colossal 44.5. “Fuck, I can see the measurements in my head,” he exclaimed, utterly fascinated. Could this be the development of a new ability? The more he flexed, the more he could concentrate, and the more he did both, the more his command of the body became more dominating yet. “Damn,” he cried, thinking about his weight, imagining himself to be standing on a virtual scale whilst around him half a dozen virtual clones of him engaged in a muscle-gorging, cock-fucking-and-sucking orgy. In his mind the scale told him: 647lbs. It also told him his height: 6’3.5” and that his body fat was 0%.

“Goddam, I’m evolving into a superhuman,” he cried, and he reeled somewhat, staggering on his feet as he struggled to process his new abilities and to accept his new size. He leaned against a wall for support, causing the Aphrodite to rock slightly on calm waters.

“Last time I measured my chest it was ninety-four cold and a hundred and sixteen inches flexed. Hmm,” he thought about the numbers in his head as he regarded himself with integral interest, bouncing his pecs with feverish delight in front of the mirror. The massive mounds heaved and rippled, alternating between soft domes of man-beef one second, and super-striated glaciers of ripped diamond-hardness the next. He counted five incredible segments in his pecs now, when flexed to their fullest so that the striations created deep gullies across each pec. Then he flexed his entire torso, metamorphosing it into a massive delta-spread, re-adjusting his ribcage so that his entire upper body filled out, seeming, also, to surge higher around his neck and jaw-line. Striations flared across his titanic muscle-tits, each one deepening and darkening. Sweat dappled his skin, making it glisten like amber, his entire muscle-bod glowing with light-refracting intensity in many areas, but with striations, clefts, and gullies, making cleavage between all of his muscle-parts. Each cleft was deep enough and dark enough to swallow light itself. In his mind the readout barked its answer in shimmering green neon characters: “98 inches cold. 122 inches flexed.”

“I’m fuckin’ HUUUUGE!!! Grrrrr, Hugeman is the biggest fucking strongest hulking bodybuilding stud ever!!” Energized with a newfound spirit (not that he was lacking any to begin with), Hugeman discovered that his powers were growing as he got bigger and stronger. He could now move more speedily than before, discovering the ability to work every body-part in just minutes. He called this his “Whirlwind Workout.”  

“Heh heh, Superman changes in a phone booth, Wonder Woman twirls around in a big glowing flash. And Hugeman grows huge from his Whirlwind Workouts. I wonder if I can refine this, growing huge from a workout that takes only seconds to achieve. It would be the closest thing to an instantaneous superhero transformation I can muster. Hmmm.” More flexing and more thinking clearly ensued.

He pounced on every machine, working his shoulders, delts, lats, biceps, forearms, chest, back, abs, glutes, quads, hamstrings and calves. He worked every machine beyond its tolerance threshold. Faster and faster, more feverishly yet, he willed more size and strength out of his incredible musculature. He set all weights to maximum, dismayed that he still wasn’t getting the workout he desired so much. The weight machines and free weights could only be set so high in this floating gym-for-pussies. By the time Hugeman was finished, he still felt he could have gotten a better pump, and he experienced no further growth beyond what his mind had shown him.

“Damn, that was shit,” he barked, flexing into the most muscular most-muscular of his life thus far. His neck bulged to insane thickness, making his head appear shrunken, his traps roaring with fire and hugeness and making the neck that made his head seem small... well... seem smaller, I guess. He snarled, baring his teeth into an awesome sinew-stretching grimace, curling his arms before him in a clash of fists that sent muscle-rippling tremors throughout his body. The tremors made everything firm-up, become harder, stronger, but not bigger. He’d gained another inch around his neck, bringing it up to twenty-two, a further inch and a half across his superior shoulders (they were now 51.5 inches across). His massive, massive ball biceps were easily ten inches thicker than his waist when fully flexed. His waist was a half-inch wider (which annoyed him) and the bricks of his eight-pack became more deeply-developed, the light-guzzling properties of the striations in between each cobblestone making it stand out better against its perfectly-formed neighbor.

Veins across his amazing topography bulged more thickly, finding it hard to keep up with the eating requirements of the muscles they serviced. Hugeman was hungry, ravenous. He wanted to get bigger.... no.... fucking mega-colossal... but there was no way he was going to get more size on an empty stomach and working out with sissy weights.  

“You destroyed our gym,” gasped the queen-sounding hunk named Carlos, for he’d been standing at the open door to the gym for the past minute and a half, stroking his fully-erect cock as he got lost in the lust of watching Hugeman flex.

“Huh?” Hugeman got mad when his attention was diverted away from his self-assessment rituals. He growled loud enough to make a bear hibernate in shame. Mike glanced around the gym, failing to previously acknowledge the fact that every piece of equipment in the room had been damaged beyond repair. Dumbbells lay scattered around, melting into pools of liquid iron, worked with such velocity that friction with the air itself had caused them to melt. The lat machine was a tangle of softened, warped metal, and the stanchions of the benches were crushed under the weight of barbells that sagged in the middle due to their payloads being so great (but still way too light for Mike). The leg-press machine was in several pieces, cranked beyond its tolerance and utterly useless now. It was the same for all machines. There were dents in the floor where Hugeman had hurled the weights down with enough force to almost send them crashing through to the deck below.

“Oh... er... sorry about that. Guess I’ll have to make it up to you,” Hugeman smiled, his cock pressing hugely against the inside of the micro-thong, pushing the spandex outward and stretching it beyond its elastic limit. Every fiber in the material groaned against the pressure it fought. The zip on the pouch, already partially unzipped at the top, began to open further downward, unable to resist the strength of Mike’s gargantuan erection. He muscle-strutted towards Carlos, great slabs of his thigh-beef slapping together with his movement as the thong strained more and more. Precum had already made the pouch wet, but soon it would be flowing like a broken faucet. He bounced his pecs as he went, their immense weight colliding with and kicking back against the force of gravity, making their heft seem heftier still. His bulk was astounding. Carlos groaned at the sight of him, working his manly meat into a lather, his stroking becoming more vigorous. Mike, with his Travolta-esque Italian chiseled face atop a body that made even the next hugest bodybuilder look like a stick-figure, radiated his lust outward as he bore down on the receptive Carlos. “Gonna do you right here, sweet-stuff,” he vowed, and scooped up Carlos as though he were weightless.

“Buh...but.... Mister Papastamos’s guests have... gasp... arrived. You have fucked most of us into a... gasp...coma. Who...will....fuck...er... tend to the...gasp...guests?” Carlos was overwhelmed. Already naked and dripping a great deal of precum, the hot-looking Hispanic knew that he was about to join Christos, Simon, and Manolis in whatever little corner of fuck-heaven the Hugeman had sent them to for an indeterminate time. Papastamos would be furious, but there was absolutely nothing Carlos could do about it. “Maybe when I’m done fucking you and the other two in your little muscle clique, I’ll fuck every one of the guests. Heh, last thing they’ll be thinking about is the poker prize money.” Mike lay Carlos down on the floor, and knelt over him, the bulge in his thong about to go critical. He was enormous, every part of him exaggerated and masculine beyond belief, with the unerring potential to become more exaggerated yet.  

With the snapping of spandex fibers, the thong flew apart and a gigantic muscle-cock shot upwards, slapping against Hugeman’s pec-meat with a sound like a hundred whips being cracked at once. “Mmmmm, it’s almost big enough to self-suck, if only I could get my mouth past the enormity of my gigantic muscle-tits.... awwww,” said Mike proudly. He began to flex his pecs, bringing his arms forwards so that all his pec-meat in between was forced to come together and smother the head and upper shaft of his dick. He flexed and flexed, forcing incredible energies into the effort, masturbating his dick using his own pecs. Beneath him Carlos groaned with lust as he fondled Hugeman’s satchel-sized ball sack. “So huge.... never seen the like of it before,” he cried, in complete awe of the hunk before him.  

“And going to get fucking HUGER,” Mike vowed with a lusty snarl. Still crushing his mega-cock between the vast and voluminous pillows of his pec-meats, a torrent of precum lubricated the entire member, soiling each muscle-balloon kneading it with loads of the stuff. It dripped from the bottom swell of each pec and ran in controlled rivulets down through the brickwork of Mike’s abdomen, only stopping when it collected in pearl-like beads in the mesh of his thick, dark pubic tuft. Carlos could take no more of this teasing and managed to snap to a standing position. He launched himself at the Hugeman, his ravenous tongue and lips attacking his pecs and dick with frenzied zeal. Hugeman released his dick from the grip of his pecs and allowed Carlos to straddle it. Now astride his shaft, Carlos was carried across the gym floor as he kissed Mike’s pecs and bit at each of his thimble-sized nipples. Blood flowed into each teat, causing them to swell further, bigger, and bigger. Carlos’s lust intensified. He ran his hands upwards and along the deep valley between Mike’s pecs and gasped when he felt the pecs swell and tighten around his hand, enough to affect the circulation of blood. His hand was devoured by the pecs, easily swallowing it a couple of inches beyond the wrist. Carlos was overwhelmed by the wall of muscle before him; there simply was too much of it for his senses and organs to service.

Mike clutched him like a ragdoll, easily turning him around and positioning him so that he was bent over one of the reasonably intact benches with seats relatively undamaged. Carlos eagerly bared his ass, spreading his legs to better advertise his hungry hole. Oh, but he was starving to be filled with so much man-meat. Mike would have preferred to have a bigger dick, but he reckoned that good things would come to those that wait. Carlos looked ahead to the mirrors on the wall, focusing, briefly, on the reflection of the great monster-muscleman looming over him. He was colossal... truly mega-huge.....HUUUUUUGE!!!!!! Mike saw this and blasted out a double-biceps pose, causing his body to surge with greater muscular power. Every muscle across his magnificent torso screamed “Present!” as Mike made a muscle roll-call. But they weren’t just present.... they were stimulated into bulging with more growing power. Biceps pushed against forearms, causing both to bulge and bloat and threaten to explode completely. Veins like ropes thickened to high-tension cables, bloated and black across his vast body. His lats scorched the very air itself as their growth caused them to surge outwards, gobbling up space, bulging...thickening... to incredible magnitude. His hungry triceps became quickly gorged, adding more and more thickness to his stupendous arms. Thicker and thicker.... huger.... fucking huuuuuge, it was a sight that Carlos would never forget: the swelling of an already immense muscle-monster into the muscle-god that first gave the monster life.

“Unnnnngh”, Carlos moaned, spreading his legs wider, almost willing the gape of his sex to yawn wider still, hoping his butt would be big enough to let Hugeman in. Oh, how he wanted to be filled to bursting-point by every last inch of this colossus. Mike’s musk filled the air, gathering in whirling eddies around Carlos, making him more receptive, almost to the point where the musk itself could alter Carlos’s hole. And so his gape gaped wider, unhinging like the elastic jaws of a ravenous python.

Hugeman flexed down into his biggest most muscular yet, his dick hardening even further, thicker and stronger than it had ever been before. And as Mike held that enormous, powerful pose, the yacht called Aphrodite shuddered from port to starboard, aft to stern as so much manly meat was energetically thrust into Carlos.

He felt every inch, screaming with incremental bliss as Mike worked every last inch of his meat into him, imagining that a fuck by four men simultaneously wouldn’t hurt half as much as this did. Carlos dug his heels into the floor and gripped the sides of the bench seat to steady himself. His screams were heard throughout the ship, causing everyone on board to stop and listen, their blood running cold. Mike buried his dick right to its end, uttering grunts of reasonable bliss, flexing even further as he pounded Carlos over and over, imagining himself bigger and willing more size into every part of him. He wasn’t happy with his size. His ravenous appetite for muscle-growth simply could not be satisfied. “You like this massive pole inside you, Carlos... lancing through you and making every part of you part of me?”

“Unnngh...yesssssss....oh fuck.....yesssssss. Fuck me harder.... you massive.... gasp.... muscle god!!!”

Mike was only too pleased to oblige. He rode Carlos deeper and harder, the Aphrodite made to rock further, as if jostled by stormy waves. Ah, but the greatest storm to ever ravage the sea off the coast of Stillbrook, came in human form... nay... superhuman form. Mike Hugeman, the strongest being on the planet. Thinking this further energized him, and he transferred that energy into his dick and into Carlos. Now the Hispanic was crying out in defiance of Hugeman’s invasion. It had become too much for him, and a torrent of cum gushed out of his own comparatively minute penis, the pressure in his balls too great to maintain. The smell of warm cum further stimulated Hugeman, and with a mighty baritone bellow, brought himself to tumultuous orgasm.  

He pumped out lots of the stuff, unloading it into Carlos with force enough to eject him partway out of the rectal passage. Hugeman leaned all of his immense weight into the effort of anchoring himself against the force of his own jizz-torrent. “Fucking fireman’s hose,” he barked proudly, repeatedly ejecting his entire stock of cum into the far-from-placated Carlos. Hugeman’s orgasm lasted more than a minute and the volume of semen he produced in one off-load appeared in his mind as “1.75 liters”.

When he was utterly spent, he pulled out of Carlos and did some victory posing, flexing into huge most-muscular poses, each one more muscular than the one before. He made side-chest poses, left first, and then right, marveling with mock-awe at how swelled the profile of his pecs looked at their most flexed and striated. He turned to the front and bounced his now huger, fuller, deeper pecs. Just for fun he found a 10kg plate from a barbell and stuck it between his pecs. Then he squeezed, delighting at how the entire plate was completely swallowed by the swell of his muscle-tits. Not only that, when he removed the plate it had been flattened thin, squeezed out of shape, even showing the marks from Mike’s striations. He was mesmerized by his size and muscularity. Still boned-up by his muscle show, his balls quickly replenished their stocks of jizz, and he felt in the mood to shoot again.

“I am the biggest, hugest bodybuilder on the planet. But I’m going to get huger.... way huger, aw fuck....grrrrrrrr!” He finished with the greatest double-biceps pose he’d ever shot, his body impossibly bloated and bulging with incredible muscle-growth. He grew bigger and bigger, heavier and heavier, his dick lengthening by inches and thickening up hugely. “702 lbs.” flashed across his mind, and he screamed in orgasmic bliss at seeing this number. It was enough to make him shoot some more. As Carlos quickly travelled to fuck-heaven and the coma its release promised, Hugeman coated every surface in the wrecked gym with so much of his warm, thick cream. Another of the Gaultier Six had been subdued. Two still remained, and whatever hunky guests Papastamos might have upstairs in his casino should Mike still be in a fucking mood after owning all six of the beautiful bodybuilding crewmen.

Totally naked, caring little for that fact, but all too eager to show off every inch of his new more powerful, more awesomely sexy size and looks, Mike Hugeman emptied his balls to their last and then bounded out of the gym and into the tight-fitting corridor beyond. It was time he made himself known to everyone aboard.

 

Episode 6 – “Mighty on Aphrodite” Part 3 

Previously: rescued from the sea by a Grecian tycoon, Mike Hugeman has the run of a vessel populated by gay bodybuilding hunks: The Gaultier Six are ex-male models who now devote their lives to bodybuilding, looking hot, and serving their master as crewmen on the Aphrodite. The Hugeman has already fucked four of the six, Christos, Simon, Manolis and Carlos, but he won’t rest until he has fucked the last two. After working out in the gym aboard the yacht, Mike balloons in size and strength: he now weighs 702lbs and has a 27” dick (hard). With a high-class poker match about to happen aboard ship, the Hugeman can contain his lust no further, and must make himself known to everyone...

***

“Giannis, daaaaarling.... what does a ridiculously rich socialite like “moi” have to do to get a Martini around here?” Lady Edna Covington-Lauder-Islington-Tibble sought to know as she struggled to keep her $500,000 gams inside her low-cut frock created by Shabam Moolah-Grunt, dressmaker to the rich and stupid. It was also difficult for a 50-something year-old woman to walk in eleven-inch heels, but she had to, for they are all the rage in Milan these days. She spoke on behalf of all of Papastamos’ guests as they congregated in the Aphrodite’s main lounge on the second deck.

Papastamos, himself, was reduced to waiting on his guests, and he flitted to and fro, filling champagne flutes and silently cursing four of his staff for doing a disappearing act at this time. Two of the Gaultier Six, Todd and Zachary, frantically shook cocktails in shakers behind the bar, their beautifully rippling muscles pasted in sweat from their exertions. Christos, Manolis, Simon and Carlos were nowhere to be seen.

“It must be that Hugeman guy. I’ll bet he’s fucked them all,” Todd said to Zachary, tossing an olive into the air and catching it between the cleavage of his bulbous pecs. Regardless of who he prepared a drink for, he always made his little signature contribution, coating the olive in some of his sweat before adding it to the glass (hygienists please stop reading now!).

“Yeah, the lucky fuckers,” Zachary agreed, who, of all the Gaultier six, had the biggest shoulder-to-waist ratio in the troupe, with shoulders spanning 41 inches across, whilst his waist was a ridiculously waspish 27 and a half inches, thanks to most of his teen-years spent as an Olympic-class swimmer. He liked to keep his head shaved and his body free of hair at all times. He had beautiful slate-gray eyes and truly massive nipples set into nicely bulbous pecs that hung over his abs with just enough weight and depth to bring even straight men out in boners. Darla the croupier with the big tits, Marv the piano-player, and even the kitchen staff, had all been drafted to make sure that Papastamos’ guests of the evening were well catered for. But when Papastamos got his hands on that Hugeman guy, he would do his utmost to rip his throat out for forcing the tycoon to work for a change.

“Here you go, Lady Covington-Lauder-Islington-Tibble, one Martini as you like it,” said Papastamos, trying to keep from blowing his top, although his face had turned cherry red with pent-up rage.

“Mmmm, yummy yummy, daaaaaarling, “said Lady C.L.I.T. (the acronym was planned, believe me), “I must say, aren’t we a little short-handed tonight? Where are all those hunky model-type crewmen you usually have lavishing the goodies on us whenever we visit?”

“Joining the ranks of the unemployed, if I’ve anything to do with it,” Papastamos vowed, rushing off to mingle with the rest of the guests. He noticed the contorted face made by Hugh Heffner as he struggled to acquire a taste for one of Todd’s “customized” cocktails.

“Good turnout, Zach,” said Todd as the bodybuilders watched the rich, famous and stupid having nothing else to do with their lives but be rich, famous... and stupid. Todd was gorgeous, a twenty-something version of Robert Downey Jr, only super-buff, his musculature often compared to that of Jorge Betancourt, in bodybuilding circles.

“Yeah, but who’s that grandma standing next to Ryan Philippe.... oh wait.... it’s just Madonna,” said Zach.

“They look really pissed off, dude. The finger buffet hasn’t even been brought out yet. Maybe we should jump the bar and do some poses to keep them entertained,” Todd suggested, placing yet another olive between his sweaty pectorals.

“Better not. If we do that then Iggy Pop will want to strip off and join in. I couldn’t bear to see that, bleurrrrch,” said Zach and immediately turned to serve a cute-looking fellah in a badly-fitting, obviously rented tux, who arrived at the bar looking mightily thirsty.

“Scotch... make it a neat one,” said the youngster, making lingering eye-contact with Zach’s boner-inducing pecs. As an automatic reaction to being lusted after, Zach bounced his “babies” a few times and flashed a bright smile at his customer.

“Are you eighteen, son? I know it’s a private party, an’ all, but I have my morals,” said Zach, somewhat hesitant before reaching for a bottle of Grant’s. This provoked a hostile response from the teen:

“Look, Muscles, I’ve had a fucking hell of a day. I would really like a neat scotch right now, or I’ll come behind that bar, rip off your pants and fuck you up your goddam pretty ass! Now POUR!!!!”

Todd turned away, stifling a sudden uncontrollable burst of laughter. The look on Zach’s face was priceless. The bodybuilder had been put in place by a twink of all people. When does that ever happen?  

“Uh...scotch neat comin’ right up, buddy,” said Zach as he slammed a tumbler on the bar. He poured in a measure of scotch and then suddenly decided he could use a toilet break. As he left he made eye-contact with his Greek boss, Papastamos shooting him with a “Don’t you fucking dare take a piss on my fucking time!” look from across the floor.

“Sorry about that, we’re all under a bit of pressure tonight. Some of our staff have... er... come down with something,” said Todd, who found the twink to be quite cute-looking. Something about him, however, told Todd that he wasn’t rich, but it was just a hunch.

“Pressure you say?” The twink knocked back the scotch and then his face went Picasso as he fought against the sharpness and taste of the alcohol, trying not to cough it back up. He shuddered from head to toe, but soon felt better when the scotch started to coat his insides with its nurturing warmth. “Buddy, you want to know what pressure is? It’s using the birthday money you get from your parents, along with your entire savings, instead of putting it on your first car, so that you can afford an hour with the biggest muscle-whore in all of creation, who later goes loco on you and dangles you over the edge of a building by your ass impaled on the end of his goddam dick. That’s pressure. Hit me again,” said Ken Preston, shoving the glass across the bar towards Todd.

“Are you referring to... the HUGEMAN?” Suddenly Todd’s expression turned cold and somber.

“Yeah, Mike Hugeman, that’s him, fucking schizo bastard. Nice one minute and a psycho the next. Then he apologizes and says he’ll make it up to me, giving me a free hour with him at his apartment. So I go there, and wait, and wait... but the asshole doesn’t show. Damn, I was so boned as well. Fuck!” Ken Preston accepted a second shot of scotch.

“So how did you end up on Giannis Papastamos’ yacht?” A fair question from Todd, who actually considered coming to the twink’s rescue later, and giving him a fuck he’d not soon forget.

“I left Hugeman’s building at 9:45 and this limo stops in front of me, looking for directions. The window rolls down, the cute passenger asks why I’m so pissed-off-looking, so I tell him. He says he’s on his way to the heliport to fly out to his uncle’s yacht for a poker game, but he’d like to have a date on his arm, so I figured, to hell with it. Might get some dick in my ass if I’m lucky.” Ken stung himself with more scotch, but this time it didn’t affect him so severely. He could get to like this stuff in time.

“Wow, my boss’s nephew favored you. Not bad goin’. He has a reputation for picking up guys off the street. Keeps a shitload of tuxes in his limo at all times, just in case. Bet you never even got his name.” Todd almost sounded sympathetic.

“Fuck his name. It’s a free party. I think his uncle sent him to the galley, or whatever it’s called, to help with the food. So here I am, on my lonesome, getting drunk and spilling out my woes to a super-hunk with gorgeous pecs,” Ken said, his speech beginning to slur. Todd beamed in response to the compliment, flexing his pecs so that striations appeared across their meaty mass.  

“Tell you one thing, though, and this is for fuckin’ certain... if I ever see that Mike Hugeman again, it’ll be too fuckin’ soon, y’know what I’m saying?” Ken was getting drunk, already doing that exaggerated finger-pointing that alcohol causes, where you have to point repeatedly at every syllable you slur.

It was as though Todd had turned to stone... including all of the guests congregating in the opulent lounge. Ken hardly noticed the shadow falling over the bar where he stood, but he was drawn to Todd’s eye-line, deciding to follow it to the thing that had transfixed Todd so: the source of the giant shadow. Ken turned and found himself staring right into the hugest, most muscular chest he had ever seen... even bigger than Mike Hugeman’s from earlier that day. But how could that be?

Then Todd looked up, straining his neck to take in the sheer height and mass of this towering, naked behemoth. This monster was at least four inches taller than Hugeman, and at least a hundred pounds heavier... all muscle, of course.

“Whuh-what? Whaaat? It’s... it’s... you! Jesus fuck... you’re fucking HUUUGE!!!!” Ken seemed to shrink inside his already loose-fitting tuxedo.

“Huge muscles... small world. How’re y’doing, Twinkster?” Mike beamed a smile down at the 150-pounder and bounced his pecs and flexed his ab-wall as a means of punctuating his greeting. With all that had happened to him since last they met, he’d forgotten about his promise to Ken, to give him a free session at his apartment. Then again, since meeting the Man Handler, life for Hugeman had gotten a little difficult to control.

“Hey buddy... what time do you get off... so I can get you off,” said Mike, now ignoring Ken Preston and focusing his attention solely on one of the Gaultier Six. Todd said nothing, but just stood there gawping, as if frozen in time.  

“Er... this isn’t right,” said Ken, suddenly feeling the effects of the whisky voiding in his system. All around the lounge everyone had frozen solid. Lady C.L.I.T. was trying to fish an olive out of her ridiculously over-sized silicone bosoms. Ryan Philippe was reading over the first draft of the script to “Cruel Intentions 12: The Revengening,” Heff was getting it on with Darla the croupier, whilst Madonna wowed a small crowd with her “bottle trick.” Papastamos looked set to trip over the foot of Iggy Pop but was frozen in time as he reached out to the piano to steady himself. It was the same all around... time had stopped... er... timing.

“Except you and I are the only ones unaffected. Why?” Hugeman began to throw his eyes fleetingly from place to place, expecting something bad to happen. If he had a Huge-sense, by now it would definitely be tingling.

“It must be some kind of temporal schism, a rupture in the fabric of time, as if there’s been an occurrence of a chrono-sequential arrest in the flux of matter versus space-time,” said Ken, his sphincters tightening in apprehension of what was about to come.

“How do you know all that?” Hugeman shot him with a quizzical eye, “are you some kind of scientist in your spare time?”

“Nah, I just watch a lot of Star Trek,” Ken admitted with slight embarrassment.

Suddenly everything went painfully bright, as powerful energy beams pervaded the lounge through every one of its windows. The entire yacht began to shake violently. Bottles were hurled from shelves to go smashing onto the bar, drenching Ken and Hugeman in an assortment of beverages.

“Fuck, booze, shit,” yelled Hugeman for no apparent reason. The piano went spinning out of control across the floor, running down Papastamos, Iggy Pop, Heff and Darla with the huge tits. Madonna almost choked on her bottle (the dirty bitch). Ryan Phillipe fell through a hole in the deck caused by incredible shearing forces as even more incredible energies shook the Aphrodite from top to bottom. Hugeman anchored himself as best he could, and grabbed hold of Ken, as if he were something to be treasured. But before he could react accordingly....

A massive robotic claw bashed through the roof, powerful metallic talons tearing off the entire topmost part of the yacht, in this case the bridge and communications pod. Suddenly, amidst a rain of debris, the lounge was exposed to the night sky. More beams, blinding and searching, flooded in through the jagged gape of the wound afflicted upon the Aphrodite. It was like something out of War of the Worlds, as an alien-looking machine, round and crab-like, showed itself where it hovered about fifty feet above the smashed yacht.

“But since when do giant crab-like robot monsters come equipped with gigantic, telescopic robot dicks?” Hugeman barely had time to get out of the way before the massive robo-member extended downward from the crab-machine and was quickly joined by an identical twin. Two giant robot cocks darted about the lounge, as if searching. One of them wound itself around the torso of the transfixed Todd of the Gaultier Six, whilst the other snatched Ken right off his feet.

“Nooooo,” cried Hugeman, over-dramatically, as though his voice and movements had been slowed down for greater effect. He tried to rescue the helpless twink and bodybuilder, but a beam of super-charged energy shot downwards from the machine and knocked him flying with enough force to send him crashing through several bulkheads.

Suddenly a voice sounded over some very loud loudspeakers:

“YOU CAN’T SAVE YOUR PRETTY LITTLE FUCKLINGS, HUGEMAN. I’VE COME FROM THE NEAR FUTURE TO GET MY REVENGE ON YOU. AND WHAT BETTER REVENGE THAN TO KILL THE PEOPLE YOU LOVE. HA HA HA HA HA!!”

Mike quickly gathered himself and charged back into the wrecked lounge, where a planned poker match would never take place. He flexed his huge muscles in order to think more clearly, but it was difficult considering the pandemonium that was going on around him.

“But I don’t love them, you fucking asshole. I barely fucking know them. But if anything happens to them, I’ll fucking rip your dick off!!!!” Hugeman looked around for something to throw skyward at the great hovering machine-ship-crab-thing. He managed to get off one of Lady C.L.I.T.’s eleven inch stilettos. It would have to do. He launched it with all its might, but it glanced off the machine’s outer hull without causing any damage (throwing a shoe indeed, puh-leeeeese)

“OOOH, NOW THAT I’D LIKE TO SEE, HUGEMAN, BUT YOU MIGHT BE IN FOR QUITE A JOB OF IT, CONSIDERING I HAVE FOUR DICKS ALTOGETHER. MY NAME IS DOCTOR COCKTAPUS, BY THE WAY, AND IN THE FUTURE IT SEEMS THAT YOU CARE ABOUT THESE PEOPLE A GREAT DEAL. OH MY, DID I JUST GIVE AWAY A SPOILER? NAUGHTY ME, NAUGHTY ME INDEED.”

Mike was mightily confused. How could all of this be happening? First the Man Handler is born, with the power to hurl Hugeman fifty miles out to sea. And now another super villain had made himself known: Doctor Cocktapus. Jeez, he was obviously awake all night thinking of that one. Did he say that he was from... gasp... the future?

“I LEAVE YOU NOW, AMIDST THE RACK AND THE RUIN, HUGEMAN. BUT PLEASE, I INVITE YOU TO COME RESCUE YOUR BELOVED KENNETH AND TODD, BUT I ALSO CHALLENGE YOU TO....FUCK, IS THAT MADONNA? JESUS CHRIST SHE GOT OLD....ER...WHERE WAS I... OH YEAH... I CHALLENGE YOU TO COME TO MY UNDERWATER LAIR AND GIVE YOURSELF UP IN EXCHANGE FOR THEIR LIVES. I MUST BE AVENGED... I MUST HAVE YOUR DICK TO ADD TO MY GROWING COLLECTION, WOO-HOO-HAAA-HAAA-HAAA!”  

With nothing else left to say, Doctor Cocktapus retracted all of his claws and dick-things into the main body of his flying machine, which summarily shot off into the night, leaving only a calm kind of chaos in its wake.

Just then Zach returned from his toilet break. He, like Hugeman, was unaffected by the effects of the super-villain’s time-freeze ray.

“Fuck, what did I miss?” Zach looked around, shocked by the damage to the ship, but instantly boned by the size, the sheer massiveness and sexual gorgeousness of the Hugeman, standing butt-naked amidst the devastation.

“They look like they’re coming out of it, but slowly. Help me get them to their staterooms to recover,” said Hugeman, his dick twitching as he took in the sight of the beautiful Zach of the Gaultier Six. And so they tended to the guests, making them comfortable one by one.

Although the ship was damaged, it would remain afloat. Since it had dropped anchor in international waters, and its communications pod destroyed, Hugeman fired off some distress flares in the hope of alerting help. Apart from Zach no one else aboard was of any assistance to him. “We need to get off this boat and follow Doctor Cocktapus.” Hugeman filled Zach in on the events he’d missed whilst taking a piss.

“Wow, I must have been spared the effects of the time-freeze ‘cos I was out of the room. Cocktapus must have arranged to spare you, Zach, and Ken from the effects of the ray because it suited his nefarious plans for revenge on you. But why revenge, Hugeman? Have you pissed him off in the past?” Spoken like a true sidekick (not that I’m suggesting Zach become Hugeman’s sidekick, but you’d all like that wouldn’t you?

Hugeman thought about this. He needed to flex in order to think it through. He pushed out a most muscular, veins ripping across his vast muscle-bulk, mounds of beautiful, thick, hard muscle dominating his incredible mass. Zach grew very hard looking at him. His traps gorged up free space, hulking upwards and outwards, appearing to devour his neck and head. His ball biceps, each one now a massive 47 inches flexed, bulged hugely, bigger than soccer balls. Zach just had to worship them and Hugeman didn’t object. He was one of the Gaultier six, after all. Zach panted profusely as his hands alternated between squeezing the hell out of Hugeman’s biceps and fondling his enormous muscle-tits. He especially savored the thick strip of fur that seemed to issue out from between the Hugeman’s pec-cleavage, growing to become that gorgeous treasure trail that stored his sweat so well.

“Lick my cleavage, lick it good, hot stuff,” Hugeman growled, his lust rising. Zach’s tongue fucked Hugeman’s cleavage, the sensation of slurping up his sweat from hair so thick and dark drove Zach into a palpitating frenzy, and his eight and a half inch dick yearned to bury itself deep into Mike. “Your nips, oh God,” cried Zach, tonguing the hard nubs, each the size of strawberries, and they continued to harden and expand even as Zach suckled from them. Hugeman’s 27-inch dick snapped fully erect, now, and he allowed Zach to straddle it, the bartender’s sweaty ass dripping wetness along the mighty shaft he sat on as he wrapped his muscled legs around Hugeman’s still-34.5-inch waist. They kissed long and hard, Hugeman appearing to inflate in contact with Zach, as if he were a huge amoeba about to completely absorb a lesser organism.

“You’re sooo huge, my God.... enormous man that you are,” Zach panted as his lust for Hugeman intensified with each passing second. Both men were now caught up in the lustful act. In the meantime, Doctor Cocktapus, in his flying crab-dick-tentacle-fucking thing, got further and further away. But Mike suddenly didn’t care as his lust took over, governing his every thought and action. He lay on the floor of one of the undamaged decks near the guests’ staterooms, his massive back and shoulders easily taking up the entire width of the corridor. With his dick pointing upward, he invited Zach to settle on to it, which Zach did without hesitation. Zach never felt such pain and ecstasy come all at once, for the meat he rode was just so thick and huge, he could barely accommodate one quarter of its length. But he did his best, hoping his insides weren’t scrambled during this seizure of unprecedented sexual bliss.

“Gonna get huger, too, sexy-boy,” growled Hugeman as he applied powerful upward thrusts of his pelvis in order to hammer home the meat. He erupted a shitload of cum into Zach, almost prematurely, and Zach’s insides inflated outwards from the jizz.

“Sweet fucking.....awwww.....fuck!!!!!” His screams echoed throughout the yacht as Hugeman pumped him with liters of cream, seemingly without end. Zach threw back his head in order to heighten his rapture, his body laved with glistening sweat, further enhancing his super-model beauty.

“Take it all.... take in every last drop,” urged Hugeman, and when Zach fell off him, exhausted, Hugeman still had more spunk to offer. They swapped positions, now, Hugeman pinning him to the floor but not in a way that would cause Zach injury. Mike shot load after load of jism, totally drenching Zach from head to toe. Zach hungrily devoured as much of the cream as his taut little stomach would allow, his desire for Hugeman growing along with his burgeoning appetite.

Then something began to happen: Zach began to grow.... yes folks... he began to fill out all over, neck, traps, delts, pecs... you name it, it thickened, deepened, became more striated. In less than thirty seconds Zach picked himself up from the floor, sodden with Hugeman spunk, marveling at how his widening, thickening lats forced his arms out from his sides, his deeper, fleshier pecs now casting longer shadows over his ab-brickwork. His dick now bobbed flaccidly at more than twelve inches. He’d gained four fucking inches on his dick alone. He held it in his hand, amazed at how his fingers barely closed around it.  

But, as quickly as the muscle-growth began, it stabilized and stopped. “My God, I must be fifty pounds heavier now. Fifty pounds of solid muscle on top of my previous two-thirty five. This is amazing. I could win the Olympia looking like this!” Zach rushed off to the gym in order to check himself out and flex like crazy. Hugeman, confused by what had just occurred, was hot on his tail. When he got to the wrecked gym, he found Zach, hot and sexy – oh so beautiful Zach – flexing before a mirror for all he was worth. He expertly fired pose after pose, boned up on how beautiful and huge he had become. Still dripping so much of Hugeman’s cum, Zach shot his own load and a torrent of warm spunk splashed wetly onto the polished glass.

“Unnnnngh.....fuuuuck!”

Hugeman was too intrigued by Zach’s transformation to bother to shoot a further load. At 702 lbs. he was still more than double Zach’s weight, but Zach was now something of a mini-behemoth himself.

“This isn’t possible. My growth can’t transfer like that. It’s impossible. What are you on, some kind of alien steroid shit? Fess up or get a face full of knuckles,” Hugeman angrily warned.

Not to my knowledge,” said Zach, quivering as he continued to coat the place with his cum. Then, when he was spent of juice: “I did have an experimental flu-shot yesterday. We all did, some crackpot scientist friend of Papastamos’s he had aboard when we picked up supplies at the Stillbrook docks. If I understand correctly only one of the shots was the actual drug. The other five were placebos.”

“Hmm,” said Hugeman, bouncing his pecs hugely and forcing out a lat-spread in order to think more clearly. Zach instantly grew hard looking at him. “I observed no such reactions in the others when I fucked them. I think it’s safe to assume you got the drug and they got the placebos. The question remains, how can it make this happen? Unless...”

“Unless what?” Zach was momentarily interested, worried that the flu-shot was contaminated somehow.

“This reeks of UltraZen. I wonder if Giannis Papastamos may have had his hand in the UltraZen cookie jar at some point.” Hugeman made some quick decisions. He turned to Zach: “Can you fly that chopper that brought in the guests?”

“Sure, we all can. Papastamos had us all take piloting lessons in case his existing pilot got sick and there was an emergency. Why do you ask?” Zach was still interested in his body more than anything else. He couldn’t stop flexing. He also couldn’t wait to put his new muscles to the test.

“We’re getting off this boat and going after Doctor Cocktapus. And we’re taking your boss with us. I’d like to ask him a few questions. Plus, I want paying for all that fucking I did since I got here.”

“You want... paying? After all that’s happened?” Zach briefly looked up from his pec-flexing.

“Yeah, what d’you think, I give it away? The Hugeman never gives it away for nothing!”

Enough said.

To be continued . . .

[sssska]

where can I read all his stories，I really like them，but with the old site closed it is difficult to find.

[FallenAway]

10 hours ago, sssska said:

where can I read all his stories，I really like them，but with the old site closed it is difficult to find.

With the author's permission, I will be gradually reposting the ones I saved from the old forum.  I don't want to dump them on here all at once.  Fortunately, Lorus is also posting new stories if you haven't read those yet.

[sssska]

On 6/12/2022 at 4:37 AM, FallenAway said:

With the author's permission, I will be gradually reposting the ones I saved from the old forum.  I don't want to dump them on here all at once.  Fortunately, Lorus is also posting new stories if you haven't read those yet.

That would be great.

[FallenAway]

MIKE HUGEMAN SUPER-POWERED MUSCLE WHORE

by Lorus

Episode 7 – “Analtopia” Pt 1

Previously: rescued from the sea by a Grecian Tycoon, Mike Hugeman had the run of a vessel populated by gay bodybuilding hunks: The Gaultier Six were ex-male models devoting their lives to bodybuilding, looking hot, and serving their master as crewmen on the Aphrodite. The Hugeman already fucked four of the six, Christos, Simon, Manolis and Carlos, but he wouldn’t rest until he’d fucked the last two. After working out in the gym aboard the yacht, Mike ballooned in size and strength: he now weighs 702lbs and has a 27’ dick (hard). With a high-class poker match about to happen aboard ship, the Hugeman contained his lust no further, and made himself known to everyone...

But all hell broke loose when Doctor Cocktapus appeared, travelling back from the future to steal away the things most precious to Hugeman, namely Ken Preston and Todd (of the Gaultier Six). The multi-cocked villain launched an unprecedented attack on the Aphrodite, in his multi-cocked War of the Worlds-sort of tripod machine thing, and Hugeman was barely able to restore order. If he is to see Ken and Todd returned to safety he must team up with the sixth member of the Gaultier Six, Zach, who discovers he can gain an extra 50lbs of rock-solid muscle on his already rippling 235lb bodybuilder’s bod whenever he gets some of Hugeman’s spunk on him or in him. Is he destined to become Jism Boy, a name I just came up with? Read on... True Believers!!!!

The jet-powered chopper thundered across the still-waters of an indolent ocean, like Airwolf from the 80s. It had three occupants: Mike Hugeman, the strongest, most-muscular super-whore the world has ever known (and let’s face it, fans, he’s not done growing by any means, not by a long shot you size-loving freaks will be pleased to hear), Zach of the Gaultier Six... gorgeous and always throbbing with spunk-inducing masculine deliciousness, and finally a groggy but soon-to-come-around ‘former’ captain and owner of the ill-fated yacht Aphrodite... Giannis Papastamos (who looks a lot like Anthony Quinn).

***   

“I like how you’re holding the stick,” said Hugeman to Zach as he got hard just by looking at the white knuckles of Zach’s right hand as it expertly manipulated the controls to the chopper. He imagined that the stick was his cock, and that Zach could fly the helicopter and give him a hand job at the same time.

“Is sex all you think about, Hugeman?’’ Zach fleetingly took his eyes off the flying for a moment so as to beam a pearly white smile of sheer gorgeousness at Hugeman, who for all intents and purposes was looking more like Zach’s future boyfriend with each passing second. Hugeman was only too eager to respond.

“When you look as incredibly hot and huge as I do, sweet-stuff, it’s hard not to get over-boned all of the time.” Mike found the interior of the chopper to be cramped and uncomfortable, and yet he was just about able to cram his enormous muscle-bod into it AND pump out a massive single bicep pose, which he shoved into Zach’s face, causing him to get instantly hard. He lost control of the helicopter and it plummeted seaward at a rate of loads of meters a second. But, heroically, he managed to get it under control before anything disastrous could happen. There’d been enough upheaval already, that day, but Hugeman reckoned there was more on the horizon. Speaking of which:

“Damn Hugeman, give me some notice in future before you go boning me like that with your awesome, fucking shit-hot huge muscles. Whew, you could melt the sun with your super-huge, ultra-pumped bodybuilder’s body, which we seem to be flying towards, with no destination in mind. Is there actually any way to track Cocktapus’s mechanical monstrosity?’’

They flew onwards towards a virgin horizon and into the breaking of a new dawn. Sputtering awake in the seat behind them, a rather disorientated Papastamos sat up with a start.

“Metaxa.... get me Metaxa at once,” he snorted gruffly, demanding his favorite tipple. Then: “Huh? Where am I.... what the fuck is going on?’’

“Shut your hole, Papastamos. You are not in any position to demand anything,” growled Hugeman, turning his huge bulk around as far as he could in the co-pilot seat so as to semi-acknowledge the Greek tycoon.

“Am I being.... kidnapped? Zachary, I demand you explain yourself at once,” Papastamos raged, his anger rising as sweat dappled his deeply furrowed and ridiculously tanned brow.

“Sorry, old man. But I don’t work for you anymore. As you can see from my size, I’ve gone up on the muscularity scale quite a bit. I have plans way beyond the meagre existence you afforded me as a glorified cabin boy,” said Zach and flashed a bicep back towards his former boss. Papastamos gasped when he saw the peak rise and rise, bulging almost to the point of splitting the skin apart.

“Hey, there’s a small islet down below. And I think it has a landing strip. No wait... it’s just a perfectly straight and flattened strip of beach. Strange but convenient,” said Hugeman upon noticing the golden strip coming up below them.

“Yeah we should land on it and plot our next move, starting with interrogating this one,” agreed Zach, nodding back towards Papastamos.

“You ungrateful prick. You’re forgetting how I came to the rescue of you and your pretty ‘sisters’. You’d all be nothing without me, now that male catwalk modelling has rejected the super-muscular bodybuilder male model in favor of something Kate Moss might date,” Papastamos fumed. His remark fell on deaf ears. No amount of money could save him from the fate that awaited him.

Zach set down the chopper on a nice flat piece of ground. The islet was no more than a kilometer square, with the strip of beach on one side and a few trees and some modest foliage further inland. Apart from that the islet was featureless. But it was a place to stretch their legs now that morning had again arrived.

Once his feet were firmly on the warming sand of the isolated mini-beach, Mike wasted no time whatsoever in removing their passenger from the chopper. He lifted Papastamos out by his lapels and angrily marched him across the sand and to one of the trees nearby, hanging him up from a jutting branch as a lesser man would his coat on a hook. Sweating and furious, Papastamos flailed his limbs wildly, demanding to be let down. Of course, his demands fell on deaf ears.

“Doctor Cocktapus got way too lucky last night for my liking, you old fucker. He got Todd, and Ken, the latter being the current carrier of my cream in his body. It’s exactly what Ultrazen wants,” growled Hugeman, drawing his beautiful but raging face towards the flailing Grecian. “And then there’s the matter of Zach’s muscle-growth and something about a rather suspect flu-shot. You’d better spill the beans, old man, before I get really mad and flex more hugely than I’ve ever flexed before. I may completely lose what little self-control I’m currently struggling to maintain.”

Hugeman stepped back a few paces, as the sun rose high enough over the horizon as if its sole purpose of the day was to coat his massive, tanned flesh with beams of sunlight to further enhance his muscularity. He began a series of quick poses, pushing his lats upwards and outwards so that they formed platforms for his bulging bis and tris as he willed blood and exceptional nutrients into them in order to squeeze more growth from his already grossly huge and beautiful bodybuilding muscles. He bent his forearms upwards, bringing his balled fists level with his head, but they quickly disappeared behind the biggest bicep peaks he had ever forced upwards. He flexed them as he felt more growth, a greater pump, exerted from them as new capillary pathways found their ways to newly-formed flesh on which to extend his endocrine super-highway of muscle-building infrastructure. Across the computer screen of his mind, his powers told him that his arms, now fully flexed, had increased by another two inches.

“Thirty-six and a half inches cold. Forty-fucking-NINE inches pumped and flexed.... unnnngh. Every part of me is fucking getting HUUUUGE!!!!!!!! See my massive muscles, see what they could do to your fat head with the least amount of effort?” Every part of Hugeman got a little bigger as he flexed before Papastamos, who, pinned up on the tree, began to struggle with less and less effort as fatigue got the better of him. New measurements.... Mike’s vital statistics... ticker-taped across his mind as his weight went up to 716 lbs., his height to 6’ 7” and his rippling, heaving massively bulging chest swelled up to a faint-inducing 105 inches cold. He needed to bring himself to a lat-spread in order to mentally gauge his chest’s circumference when fully pumped and flexed.

“Aw fuck.... 132 fucking inches fully flexed.... grrrrrrrr,” Hugeman screamed, and felt so much power flooding his system, a lot of which went right down to his already gorgeously bloated, surrealistically exaggerated genitals. More size roared out of his dick, increasing its erect length to a record 32 inches and its girth to 19.5 inches. It slammed upwards, hard as iron, whacking him in the nose. Angrily and excitedly, he began to tongue the shaft of his dick, finding he didn’t even have to lean forwards to do so, ‘cos his dick seemed to curve around the contours of his massively flexed tits so that its giant head easily drew level with his mouth. As he licked and sucked on his own massive dick, Hugeman wanted more growth to spurt out of him, electrifying every last inch of him, making him even bigger and bigger.... stronger and stronger... THE bodybuilder of bodybuilders.... the ALPHA MALE of all super-huge bodybuilders.... the one and only, super-massive-colossal monolith of bodybuilders.

“Whoa, Hugeman, careful you don’t give Old Giannis a coronary before we get information out of him,” said Zach, so boned by Mike’s even bigger muscle-growth show that he had to get out of his jeans and allow his swelling, hardening fledgling monster-dick to breathe and grow free of the restraint of sexy, tight denim.

“Grrrrr, the fucker deserves it,” Hugeman growled, caring only for the ever-increasing level of muscularity he was further pushing his already insanely huge body closer to.

Papastamos couldn’t bear to watch the spectacle much less endure the withdrawal symptoms of alcohol deprivation. Fake tan began to dribble in rivulets down his bulldog jowls, diluted by the sweat caused by his discomfort. As the tan began to stain his once pristine white suit, Papastamos looked more like a vagrant than a tycoon. He also began to sport the first boner he had ever sported without a woman being present to ‘benefit’ from it.  “What the….?”

“Well, well.... look what’s been hiding in ole Pappy-stamos’s closet all these years,” remarked the Hugeman, never one for not noticing an erection from a spectator of his muscular magnificence.

“Ha, ha... looks like you have the power to turn gay men straight, Hugeman,” Zach commented as he worked his own stiffy with gusto in order to maximize on Mike’s latest muscle show. With precum flowing energetically downward, soon Zach was standing on a sodden bit of beach.

“Hell yeah, isn’t that something? But I would suspect that Giannis, here, might have been burying those tendencies all along, for so many years, eventually tricking himself into thinking that he was hetero, so long as he surrounded himself with beautiful women. Heh, kinda gives weight to why he had you and your muscle-friends working on his yacht.” He moved ever closer to the fallen tycoon, whose struggles had completely ceased, now that he was truly a broken man. Hugeman forced him to kiss a mighty bicep, now so swollen, flexed and pumped, that the veins alone were starting to grow muscles of their own. Musky sweat broke free of every last pore across Hugeman’s hulking frame. He made sure that Giannis drank his fill. Finally, when the Grecian could take no more, he struggled to free his cock from his sensible rich man’s underpants and trousers. Alas, dangling by his collar from a tree made the task an impossible one.

“It is true,” Papastamos sobbed, utterly defeated. “I have always been a closet homosexual. My first fascination with muscle began in the fifties, watching those Steve Reeves Hercules movies. It is Hollywood’s fault for making me the way I am. May Zeus damn me to Hades for all eternity!”

“Tell me about the flu-shot given to Zach when you were docked at Stillbrook. How much did Ultrazen pay you to set this up?” Hugeman wanted to punch Papastamos’s lights out, but he really had to fight against his burgeoning temper.

“Get me down off this tree and I will tell you everything,” said the tycoon, his suit now badly soiled from melting tan. He now looked less like Anthony Quinn and more like Pope Benedict crossed with a melting candle.

Hugeman lifted Papastamos down off the branch hook and did not feel pity for him as he sank to his knees and wept like a scolded child. When he composed himself he spilled the beans.

“The Man Handler, greatest and most powerful of all Ultrazen mad scientists, is behind all of this. Doctor Cocktapus is his trusted assistant, and they use future time to plot dastardly deeds against you and mankind. But because they reside in the future, you cannot touch them. It also gives them the bonus of knowing events that will transpire before you do,” Papastamos began as he dabbed excess sweat from his brow

“Holy contaminated synthol, Hugeman.... that would give the Man Handler and Doctor Cocktapus all kinds of unfair advantages against us,” interjected Zach, the Jism’d Wonder, as he continued to play with his ‘throbbin’ (Robin?) wonder-cock in proximity to Hugeman’s hugeness.

“Indeed it would, old chum,” said Hugeman, not knowing why he said it (but go with me on this, it’s going absolutely nowhere). “Go on, Papastamos, this bodybuilder is all ears.”

“Sigh, I didn’t really want to sell out my boys, and I knew nothing of you before we left the docks for international waters. But stock in my companies is plummeting every day because of the global economic downturn. The Man Handler promised to help me to become buoyant on the financial seas once again. After all, in the future he has foreknowledge that would help broker better trade deals for me, and I would be powerful once again. I guess a super villain really cannot be trusted.” Papastamos lowered his head, slowly shaking it from side to side.

“That super villain wouldn’t exist had it not been for me. Why, from my perspective, his origin only happened early yesterday. I should know... I was there,” Hugeman butted in. He crabbed out a most muscular pose in order to help him to think more clearly. It felt good, as fresh new muscle battled for space to put down roots. After flexing his muscles, his way-too-prominent veins would flex also, adding more definition and thickness to his throbbing, bulking muscles. Each time when it seemed that he could flex no huger, he concentrated hard, squeezed his muscles ever tighter, harder, stronger yet, and presto... more size, thickness, and striated super-hardness would erupt across his awesome and unique muscle-bod. Papastamos groaned as his ‘stiffy’ got ‘stiffyer’.

Hugeman’s semi-erect cock bobbed erratically before the Grecian, and because he was knelt down before the giant hunk, the rod cast a massive shadow over him, because Hugeman was standing between him and the sun, casting his heavenly physique into glorious silhouette. He flexed up into a full-lat spread, fanning the silhouette out even further, blocking out more of the sun and casting an even darker shadow over Papastamos.

“The Man Handler is hell-bent on getting revenge on you, Hugeman. But he wouldn’t explain why. He manipulated everything from the future, making sure that the Aphrodite would pick you up. He knew that you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off my crewmen, and that your cream would get into their systems at some point. But he is a paranoid super villain, and always has a secondary plan in case the first fails due to chance. For the effects of pure chance cannot be gleaned from future time.”

“Of course... you arranged for your nephew to pick up Ken Preston from outside my apartment and take him to the Aphrodite. It was a long shot but some of my cum may have been lingering inside him even hours later. Something the Man Handler might be able to exploit. Yeah, Zach told me about that whilst you were unconscious aboard the chopper. But I can’t understand why Doctor Cocktapus didn’t just kidnap him as he waited anxiously outside my building. It could have saved him a lot of effort.”

“Think about it Hugeman,” Zach interjected, his boner all but lost as he engaged in the conversation, “super villains are all about making huge impressions, being feared by many and remembered as bringers of destruction. Doctor Cocktapus undoubtedly gets off on attacking boats and shit filled with terrified celebrities.”

Hugeman thought about this, bouncing his titanic pecs in controlled, rhythmic heaving. Papastamos almost choked on the drool his mouth produced. “Hmm, we’d better warn the likes of Paris Hilton, Drake Bell, and Grandma Lee from ‘America’s Got Talent’ that there’s a super villain out there who may start to prey on them.”

“I said ‘celebrities’, Hugeman,” said Jism Boy, rolling his eyes to the sky as he slapped a palm against his hunky forehead.

“One thing bothers me, amongst a lot of other things bothering me. This sounds like a dastardly plot if ever there was one. But it still doesn’t explain how my jism was able to augment Zachy-boy after the bogus flu-shot. Spill the beans, Pappy, before I spill my beans all over you.” Hugeman was growing, as well as growing ever-impatient.

Ever defeated, a man merely a shadow of his former self, Papastamos played with his chubby little cock, annoyed that his arousal seemed to level off way before it became something he could enjoy. “Even though I would welcome your beans spillage all over my aging frame, Hugeman, alas, it is such that I don’t deserve it. The Man Handler, because he is in the future, has already successfully created an antigen - or rather an Alphagen - from your jism, one that doesn’t provoke an immune response in the body as a regular antigen might, but it instead triggers muscle growth. I am not a scientist, so all of this is sketchy to me. But I think you have the gist of it. It’s a calling card, if you will, a way of getting your attention, nothing more. But what the Man Handler is really doing with your DNA was something I never learned. All I know is that the secret exists in a place called Analtopia.”

“Analtopia? Why the very name suggests that something gay and sexual may occur there, Hugeman,” said Jism Boy, getting excited and turned on as his boner returned to ‘full-mast’ once again.

“Hmm,” said Hugeman, and for no other reason but to pump himself up huger and huger, he applied immense force to a tree, hugging his mighty guns around its considerable bore, and tugged it right out of the sandy soil. Its root-structure fought bravely to keep it anchored, but the entire islet shuddered when, grunting near-maniacally, Hugeman wrenched the fifty-ton tree out of the ground and began to wield it barbell-fashion. He cranked out fifty reps over his gorgeous head, each one adding a little thickness and definition to his already near-impossibly over-developed mega-muscles. When he was done with the pumping, with a solid grip of the tree, he cracked the trunk across his chest and the wood shattered into two equally-sized chunks. He tossed the first chunk skyward, and the massive wood soared higher and higher into the air as he sent it into orbit. With the second chunk, just to show off, he pounded it into the ground using just his little finger. The tree stump disappeared from view, buried right up to its now upturned root system.

“I’m fucking stronger than ever,” he boasted with a cocky growl.

“I think you’re strong enough, Hugeman,” moaned Jism Boy, his arousal now becoming impossible to control.

“Never.... there is no limit to how big and strong I can become! You want me to get huger, Zachy-boy, bigger and more pumped and ripped than I am now, and then fuck the living daylights out of you, huh? Would you like that, me covering you with more and more of my steaming spunk in order to grow your muscles by another fifty pounds?” Antagonistic to a fault, it was the way of the massively gigantic super-huge bodybuilder to behave when in the presence of ‘lesser mortals’.

“Unnnngh, I shouldn’t really.... unngh.... encourage it, Hugeman.... but Jeeeesus fuck... I can’t help myself from obsessing over your incredible size and power..... unnnngh fuck.... destroy my ass now, Hugeman.... fucking rip it wide open..... aw jeeez.... can’t help myself..... so fuckin’ boned!!!!”

As precum ‘geysered’ out of Zach’s now rock-hard cock, he got down on all fours and stuck his asshole upward and outward, causing Hugeman to drool from the mouth. A gallon of precum sloshed out of his cock’s head as he hungrily approached Zach, his lust greater than it had ever been because he was so pumped from fifty reps of tree-pressing.

It was like using Zach’s ass to chalk up a pool cue. Hugeman, annoyed that his cock had achieved ‘over-swell’ now harder, thicker, and longer than anything nature had previously crafted in the form of a sexual organ, Zach’s ass simply couldn’t accommodate so much fuck-meat. But Hugeman wasn’t a quitter, and Zach screamed and screamed in the greatest pain-versus-bliss he’d ever experienced. This moment would forever become etched in his fate, for to not experience this, the ultimate throes of agony and ecstasy rolled into one, was to admit to not living whatsoever.

Every moderately massive muscle in Zach’s jism-built bod heaved and tensed against the forces applied against them by Hugeman’s unstoppable invasion. Zach screamed to high heaven as his fingers and toes dug deeply into the sand in order to keep him anchored so he could push back against Mike’s superhuman advancement.

“Grrrrrrr, you need to be fuckin’ bigger if you stand any chance of being my sidekick and fuck-buddy, Zachy-boy. I won’t.... grrrr.... have it any other way...... Raaaawwwwrrrrrr!!!!!” Hugeman, because he could only get part of his cock’s head into Zach’s ravenous passage, decided to unleash his torrent of spunk. It exploded out of him with the intensity of a hundred fire hydrants going off at once, the force pile-driving into Zach enough to make him scream out in the greatest rapture he ever felt. He was coated, head to toe in slimy juice; it flowed and surged around him, and he slurped as much of it into his mouth as he possibly could.

THEN...... “HULK SMAAAAASH HUGEMAN!!!!!!!!”

The giant, green behemoth came from nowhere, but unlike the HULK from the comic-books, this one wore no pants, instead opting to have its massive, HULKing green-veined mega-cock bobbing to the four winds for all to see. It was as big as, if not bigger, than Hugeman, and easily as strong. The HULK easily pulled Hugeman off Zach, and, holding him by one ankle alone, swung him around and tossed him to the other side of the islet.

“Now HULK have Jism Boy all to HULK’s self,” roared the HULK, his massive cock swelling beyond the thirty-five inch mark, and easily twenty or more inches in girth. A rod that size would surely kill Zach.

“Oh God, puh-lease no, don’t let this happen. I’m too young to die,” Jism Boy wailed, but the HULK was way too strong and anchored him good.

On the other side of the islet Hugeman lay dazed on the sand, such had been the strength of the HULK, who, incidentally couldn’t possibly be Bruce Banner, but perhaps there were more than one HULK now in the world. It was up to Papastamos to do something. But what could a horny old queen be capable of doing at this critical juncture?

He’d already cum just looking at the HULK, who seemed strangely familiar in a CGI sort of way, but he bore it no further thought. He had to get to the chopper. Under the pilot’s seat he found a rocket-launcher given to him by the same Ultrazen agent that provided the flu-shots. It was something he had neglected to mention, but it was to be used only if things got out of hand. He’d been told that one of The Man Handler’s secrets might make itself known at some point, and Papastamos figured the HULK to be this very secret. But right now, even though Zach had joined Hugeman... still Papastamos couldn’t bear to see him suffer like this. The rocket in the launcher had been designed to take down Hugeman, but what the heck... surely it would do damage to the HULK as well.

Having never fired anything like this in his life, the petrified Grecian did his best to line up the HULK in its sites. “Not quite the discharge I was hoping for, you big, green bastard,” Papastamos declared, almost as a war-cry, “... but you’ll find this old Greek gets more BANG for his buck!!!!” Papastamos fired the launcher, the recoil from which caused him to fall backwards, claimed by the sand. The projectile struck HULK on his left shoulder, stunning him as he was engulfed in an electro-static sheath of Tesla-energy. It pinned him and drained him simultaneously, giving the jism-sodden Jism Boy a chance to struggle free. Some of HULK’s strength and size transferred through a jism-circuit and into Zach in much the same way as Hugeman’s strength had transferred into Arkadian Stoat back at the warehouse the previous day. HULK began to shrink as readily as Zach began to grow.

The transformation was swift and revealing. As Papastamos got to his feet he cautiously approached the scene, craning his vision in order to focus more sharply. Sunlight and sweat clouded his vision. “Is that... could it be.... huh? No way.”

Even as HULK changed back into something less green and more man-like, his former identity began to reveal itself...

“By the water nymphs of Poseidon’s harem.... my dear, dear boy... who did this to you?” Papastamos was unaware that he was still holding the rocket launcher. The now half-changed-back mini-HULK, his passions still roused, growled threateningly towards the tycoon, warning him to keep his distance.

“It’s obvious who is to blame, Papastamos,” said Hugeman as he landed mid-way between Giannis and the still-shrinking HULK. His leap had taken him right the way across the islet, just as HULK had leaped in order to make himself known. Hugeman landed in a cloud of disturbed sand thrown upwards from the crater formed at his feet. Recovered from his daze he towered over everyone else present. With fists tightened, arms outstretched above monstrously-flared lats, with pecs heaving like shifting land-masses, with every last vein and capillary bulging with hungry, gorging force, and with a cock so huge and hard and ravenous for hot man-ass, Hugeman willed himself to become the most formidable bodybuilding force in all of creation.

Anyone against him would pay dearly. Starting with the HULK.

Episode 8 - Analtopia Part 2

Previously: Having fled from the ravaged yacht “Aphrodite” aboard a chopper piloted by his now official sidekick Zach “Jism Boy” DeVeiny, Hugeman is intent on interrogating ruined tycoon Giannis Papastamos once they set down on solid ground. They find a small islet and put down the chopper, so far confused as to how to pick up Doctor Cocktapus’s trail, following the villain’s attack on the Aphrodite in which he kidnapped and made off with twinkster Ken Preston and Todd of the Gaultier Six. It turns out that Papastamos was in cahoots with UltraZen the whole time, even exposing Zach to an experimental “flu-shot” which seems to have given him superpowers... primarily the ability to grow about fifty pounds of extra, sexy-hot muscle whenever he ingests or gets drenched in Hugeman’s spunk. Mike gets Papastamos, who is now out of the closet, to tell everything he knows. Giannis states that the Man Handler is behind all this, that he resides in the future, giving him an unfair advantage over Hugeman by knowing things that have yet to come to pass. He is also hell-bent on getting revenge on Hugeman, and getting his spunk in order to experiment with its magnificent muscle-building properties, which he’s already succeeded at, somewhat, in the form of the “Alphagen” used on Zach.  

Papastamos also states that the secret to what the Man Handler is ultimately doing with Hugeman’s spunk can be found at a place called Analtopia. Then the Hulk attacks, yes.... the Hulk, or rather ‘a’ Hulk, tossing Hugeman to the other side of the islet before attacking Zach. Hulk’s cock is even bigger than Hugeman’s and Zach is terrified that such a raping from the green behemoth will kill him. But using an UltraZen rocket launcher hidden on the chopper, Papastamos manages to fell the Hulk, triggering a Tesla-effect energy explosion in which some of Hulk’s power passes into Zach. Zach begins to grow huger, even as the Hulk undergoes a partial regression to his previously mortal state, revealing a form that Papastamos immediately recognizes. Meantime Hugeman, recovered from his daze returns to the scene, vowing to make the Hulk pay dearly....

***

“Tuh-Todd, is that really you”” Zach’s attention was momentarily diverted from the fact his body was growing huger than ever, as the Hulk shrank down to a less Hulk-ish form to reveal many of the features possessed by Todd of the Gaultier Six. And to think, just a few short hours before, the two supermodel bodybuilders had been tending bar at Papastamos’ celebrity-packed pre-poker soiree. Now, following some terrible time-meddling from a future aspect of an already pain-in-the-ass super villain, Todd, too, had been augmented, but in ways he might have otherwise objected to, had he been given a choice.

“Uh-huh....my head hurts.... thoughts all fuzzy. Man.... I’m so... so.....green!” Todd tried to get up from the beach, but his naked body was wobbly, his legs struggling to bear his weight. Zach, no longer fearing him, lent him an arm of support.

“No sudden moves, you emerald-hued fuck-head,” Hugeman snarled, bunching every huge, freaky muscle in his incredible physique in case he needed to lash out at any moment in a fit of massively-strong aggression for the sake of keeping Zach safe from the menace that was the Hulk.

“Relax, Mike.... Todd is no danger to us, not now anyways. I’ve known him a long time. I know that he has the power to fight what’s happened to him,” said Zach to the bulging behemoth, before turning to Todd once he’d gotten him standing again, “Can you change back fully to your old self?”

“I – I think so. Hold on. Need to concentrate.” Todd concentrated and within a few seconds he was fully deflated and back to his human self, naked as the day he was born, and completely in awe of the sheer record-breaking size of the Hugeman, not to mention the massive bulking-up that had happened to Zach in the space of a couple of minutes. Fortunately, he’d only inherited mass and strength from leeching the Hulk, not his green color.

“Wow, Hugeman look at me now,” marveled Zach as he suddenly became aware that he was almost as tall as Hugeman and at least four hundred pounds, all of it muscle. He squeezed down a most-muscular pose and delighted as bunches of muscles seemed to collide and push outward, lending him the appearance of even more humongous mass. The feeling got him so boned, and his erection sprang to attention in seconds. Likewise, Hugeman got stiff just looking at Jism Boy’s new size, and his gigantic cock shot up super-hard. Then Todd and even Giannis got in on the dick-hardening act. It was a very horny encounter on this little strip of an islet in the Pacific Ocean.

“We have to fight our urges,” Mike cautioned, cautiously. “This is the work of the Man Handler, so we shouldn’t be getting off to it. Besides, I don’t think your size spurt is permanent, Zach. I have a hunch that the Man Handler can’t stabilize the muscle growth; hence Todd here was able to change back so easily to his original self. This is a factor we can’t ignore. Might be something we can use to our advantage later.”

“Can we all have an orgy now?” The question came from Papastamos. He was out of the closet, finally, after many years of keeping it a secret. He really had a lot of ass-pounding to make up for after years of gay abstinence.

“Now is not the time, Giannis,” said Zach. Then to Todd: “Do you know about Analtopia?”

“Hmm... my head is kinda fuzzy... but I’d be lying if I said I’d never heard that name before. I think... no... I’m nearly sure that that’s where Doctor Cocktapus took me. After that I blacked out. They must have sedated me or something. Then they made me into a Hulk.” The thought of having been experimented on caused him to grind his teeth in anger. His skin briefly turned a greenish color, but he managed to fight off the urge to transform again. Then, it hit him: “Hey, I remember seeing something like an oil platform from a portal in Cocktapus’s Cock Ship. But it wasn’t drilling for oil, I don’t think. There were tons of neon signs and stuff all over it. And I thought I could hear dance music coming from there. Then everything went black.”

“We should get back to the chopper. Once airborne we can search for this thing, hopefully before nightfall. Every muscle in my huge, hot body is tingling with the hunch that this is where we will find my nemeses,” growled Hugeman. He craved a workout, one that could really give his ever-expanding muscles the workout they deserved, one that would augment him to even bigger muscular status. But now was not the time. He had superheroey stuff to do first.

They mounted the chopper, but when Zach tried to take off, the craft couldn’t get airborne, no matter how hard he tried.  “We’re now too heavy,” said Hugeman gruffly. He snorted harshly as he tried to stuff his even more massive bulk into the now less than accommodating co-pilot’s seat.

“That’s okay, you guys. I can stay behind if you like. I kinda feel like I’ve already partially ruined things for you,” said Todd somewhat ruefully. He was back to his normal height and level of muscularity and occupied a back seat in the chopper, next to his now somewhat pungent ex-employer. Papastamos had seen better days. His ego deflated, his clothing soiled and smelly, he was a long way from where he wanted to be right now.

“Nonsense.... you’re the victim here, Todd. And besides, you’re our ticket into Analtopia. You’ve been there before.... chances are when we arrive there you will remember enough to be a great help to us,” said Zach before expending a long, drawn-out sigh of exasperation.

“I will stay behind. I am no further aid to you now, Hugeman,” said Giannis, utterly defeated.

Hugeman thought about it but had to bounce his pecs for a couple of minutes in order to think clearly about what was about to transpire. He loved how his pecs felt even heavier than the last time he’d bounced them, which was probably just a few minutes ago.

“Okay, but what will you do on this islet all by yourself,” Zach questioned.

Suddenly Papastamos brightened considerably. “When I has hanging from that tree earlier I not only spotted some papaya fruits that will sustain me indefinitely, but there were some monkeys in the tree canopy above, and I think they are gay for me. Plus, if I assimilate into their pack, they may teach me how to build one of those leafy bed/platforms you often see higher apes weaving on those National Geographic specials. I will be fine. This islet is a perfect place to get back to basics and find the inner me.” That said Papastamos gingerly removed himself from the chopper.

 “Guy’s a fucking weirdo,” barked Hugeman when the chopper was finally light enough to get aloft.

 (Giannis Papastamos permanently exits the series)

They found Analtopia eventually, as the sun began to wane heavily towards the horizon yet again. It looked like it had been an oil rig at some stage in its past incarnation, but now it was decked out in neon glows advertising all sorts of extremely gay activities. They saw huge and glowing animated signs spanning metal buttresses, depicting huge, animated dicks ploughing into huge animated anuses, as well as all manner of homoerotic imagery hung as flags and banners in between a spaghetti junction of multicolored fairy lights. Great super-trooper strobe lights cut through the darkening sky like lasers in time to booming club anthems spewing from a myriad loudspeakers perched high on a multitude of towers and upright-thingies you might see on oil rigs.

“Wow, that’s some sight, you guys,” admitted Hugeman as he gazed downward at the approaching focus of this chapter of the series. “Hey, it’s playing Smalltown Boy by Bronski Beat. That was the first record I bought when I realized I was gay. Heh heh heh... I was just three years old,” said Zach as he lined up the chopper with one of Analtopia’s many helipads.

“You knew you were gay at three?” Hugeman found that hard to believe.

“Yup... my G.I Joes were already having naked Tupperware parties and baking delicious fudge brownies by the time I started Elementary School,” said Zach, almost as a boast. He set down the chopper just as the fuel gauge needle hit the “E” on the dial.

“Phew that was close. Five more minutes we’d have dropped into the Big Blue faster than a chihuahua bolting from Paris Hilton’s limo,” said Zach as he powered down the chopper for the last time.

“That’s only funny if by ‘limo’ you mean ‘ass’,” said Hugeman, ripping the entire left side of the chopper from the fuselage as he struggled to get his burgeoning shoulders free of the ruined aircraft’s shrinking confines. The helipad was as colorful as the rest of the sprawling structure.

“It’s like a miniature city... or at least a gay district in San Francisco that caters to the more effeminate modern gay men as opposed to the blue collar steel mill variety of gay,” said Zach as he tried to take in so many sights all at once.

“Yeah, it’s hard to believe anything bad could happen here. And by that I mean an appearance by Doctor Cocktapus or the Man Handler,” said Hugeman, working a mild cramp out of his shoulder by flexing and rippling his mega-huge muscles. He’d obviously grown, and he craved a workout more than anything he’d ever craved before. He turned to Todd: “You remember anything yet, pretty boy?”

“Hmmm... it’s all a bit foggy... but I think I remember something to do with the Can-Can... you know... the burlesque dance with the garters and the high-kicking?”

“Yeah Todd, we know what the Can-Can is. We’re just not sure there’s a hyphen between the two ‘Cans’,” said Zach as he continued to cautiously survey his surroundings. As if those words had been an invocation, an entourage of hot-looking but extremely camp muscle-queens danced out onto the helipad to meet the new arrivals, each one locked arm-to-shoulder with his partner as they ‘can-canned’ towards them in time to “It’s Raining Men” by the Weather Girls. Well, if men were rain, then Mike Hugeman was a monsoon that lasted all year. Each dancer high-kicked for all he was worth but didn’t split apart his obscenely tight leather hot-pants.

“Welcome to Analtopia you hot muscular hunks.... especially you, Hugeman,” said the lead can-canner when all eight of them drew to a halt. Hugeman cast a massive shadow over them, and they all got boners just looking at him.

“My reputation seems to precede me,” snorted Hugeman, barely acknowledging the queens stood before him. He felt nervous in his guts. Something didn’t feel right about this place.

“Oh dear, you seem to have damaged your whirly-bird,” said another of the dancing queens. “Not to worry, Velma here is really handy with a spanner, aren’t you Velma,” he said, addressing one of his associates.

“Yeah, for shoving it up his butt,” said another of the troupe. Hugeman closed his eyes for a moment and thought about his mama’s delicious pasta. Analtopia promised all sorts of delectable sexual wonders, not to mention deeply hidden dangers lurking far inside its sprawling decks, but the dialogue was terrible, like something Uwe Boll might have written in the sixth grade.

“Oooh, can we feel your enormous muscles? They’re a lot bigger than anything we could have previously imagined,” said another of the can-canners, fawning around Hugeman like a lapdog in heat.

“A lot bigger you say?” Mike glared down at the little muscleman and scowled, fire burning like hot coals in his eyes. “Listen, sister, you put me out of your closed little mind for a moment and then try to imagine the biggest, hugest bodybuilder that your frail and untrained imagination is capable of generating. Then put him next to me and you will see that I am not a lot bigger than he.... but WAY bigger. WAY, WAY bigger.... you got that?” And to emphasize his remark the hulkingly enormous Mike Hugeman, naked as the day he was born, pumped up and blasted out a full-lat spread which completely filled each of the can-canners’ field of vision. Across the screen of his mind new measurements were presented: weight: 815 lbs, Forearms cold: 34”, forearms flexed: 40”, biceps cold: 41”, biceps flexed: 55”, thighs cold: 63”, thighs flexed: 78”, calves cold: 36”, calves flexed: 42”, chest cold: 110”, chest flexed: 141”, shoulders: 58”, waist: 34.5”, neck: 28.5”, dick (flaccid): 21”, dick (hard): 33.5”, dick circumference: 21”, balls: large satchel-sized (16 lbs.).

Seeing these ever-increasing numbers in his mind made him smile. But he still wasn’t satisfied. He needed to be bigger... a LOT bigger... way huger than he already was. If only he could get to have a proper workout.... he would be colossal in no time at all.

His short-lived flexing show was enough to cause each of the can-canners to faint on the spot. One of them, the one nearest to Todd, melted into his arms and he held him confidently, for he was a strong bodybuilder in his own right. “Wait... I know this one. His name’s... Barry. And.... shit... I think we’re... married!”

Sure enough Todd found a wedding band on the unconscious Barry, engraved with “To my darling Barry, with love forever, your husband Todd”.

“Damn Todd... what else didn’t you get up to in Analtopia whilst at the pleasure of Doctor Cocktapus?” Zach gave his friend a playful pat on the back.

Todd looked down at Barry, liking his body, but not pushed on his hair-color and facial tattoos. Todd liked blondes and Barry was a dirty kind of ginger. “I... I feel nothing for him, you guys. I don’t remember the wedding ceremony whatsoever. Maybe there was liquor involved.... I dunno.” Todd thought about dropping Barry on his head, in the hope he’d get amnesia and forget they were ever married. He wondered what happened to his own wedding ring. Obviously his transformation into the Hulk had snapped it right off. It could be at the bottom of the ocean in several pieces by now, beyond even the reach of a demented hobbit.

“We must find out all we can about this place. We should stick together, it would be easy to get lost in all these buildings,” said Hugeman, taking the lead as always.

“We’ll stick out like sore thumbs walking around naked... and you being so huge, too, Mike. If only there was some way to blend in,” suggested Zach. Todd had little to offer at this point.

Then Zach came up with an idea: “I was mildly psychic when I was a kid. Nothing fancy, mind you. I could make other kids do stuff, like pick their noses in class, or shoot spit-balls at the teachers. But I lost the ability as I got older. Maybe... just maybe...”

Hugeman picked up on what he was thinking, brightening considerably. Every muscle on his body flexed and bobbed with excitement. “You haven’t lost that ability. It just went into hibernation when you stopped using it. But now you have some of my power in you... and some of the Hulk’s... er, I mean yours, Todd. I’m developing new powers all the time, and so should you. If we concentrate our wills, focusing on the part of your mind where you’ve locked away your persuasion ability, we might be able to augment it... use it to make people think we’re not us. Then we can blend in and do all the snooping we need to in order to find Doctor Cocktapus, and eventually the Man Handler.”

“It’s worth a shot,” said Zach to both Mike and Todd. They concentrated for all they were worth, Hugeman first stepping back into his own mind and finding the psychic modem that would allow his mind to “dial-in” to Zach’s, using Todd’s as an extra source of power. It didn’t work at first. He kept getting spammed with Viagra ads and sites where you can marry women from Peru for $100 a pop.

Eventually, however, the necessary psychic link was established. Mike bashed down the cell door in Zach’s mind, behind which his persuasion ability had been locked for twenty years or so. Once the door was gone, the ability, represented in this mind-scape as Bea Arthur’s head on the body of a velociraptor, rushed out, biting the psychic version of Hugeman in the process. He didn’t feel a thing, but through the bite new energies were born and transferred. By the time “velociarthur” had re-established itself as an active agent in Zach’s mind it had already mutated to become Estelle Getty crossed with that fucking monster from Cloverfield. The power was out... and it was made new.

“Wow that was some rush, Mike... but I can feel my power switching on. From this day it shall be known as: Hidesight,” roared Zach proudly.

For the first couple of minutes nothing happened. Then it began to rain. Standing on the wet helipad, Hugeman and Todd started to get pissed off.  “So... make it work, Zach,” pressed Todd.

“Er.... I’m not sure how. Okay let me try some things,” said Zach, getting annoyed: “By the power of Grayskull!”

Nothing happened.

“Autobots roll out!”

Still nothing.

“Screw you guys, I’m going home!”

Not a dickie-bird of activity.

“Shazaam!”

Nothing.

“Two all-beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions on a sesame seed bun!!!”

There was a massive discharge of energy, a great spherical event that encapsulated the three bodybuilding superheroes. Every fiber in their muscled bods charged up with new power. The mental became the physical and their bodies changed... not physically as such... but mental images became living projections they could wear as camouflage.

Hugeman gasped when he looked down at himself. He was so small, or it just seemed that way. It had been years since he’d seen his feet and his toenails were long overdue a trimming. No, wait... these were the toenails of the holo-guise he’d adopted.

“So who do I look like?” he asked excitedly.

“Er.... Luis from Sesame Street, I think,” said Todd, surprised to find a pair of boobs jostling about on his chest.

“Hmm... that will have to do. Way to go, Zach, turning us into celebrities that may be recognized, I think not! By the way you make a fine and dandy John Boy Walton. You even got his mole,” jested Hugeman.

“At least you guys are still... guys! Who the fuck am I anyway,” said Todd, somewhat annoyed.

“Er... Morgan Fairchild when she was in her twenties. Not bad, you have hot tits, for what it’s worth,” said Zach feeling his new mole and hating the texture.

“Maybe these disguises will hold. I can’t imagine most clients at this resort being old enough to remember any of these celebrities. Although we’re still naked, Zach, but not bad for your first attempt,” said Hugeman, suddenly feeling the urge to find a trashcan to see if it contained a grouchy green monster called Oscar.

They quickly stripped three of the unconscious can-canners of their hot pants and shoes and cute little leather waistcoats, one of which Todd hastily reworked into a bikini top to support his ample bosoms. One of the can-canners had been wearing high heels and they fitted Todd perfectly, although he stumbled a bit trying to walk in them.

“Wait a sec,” he said after a moment, when something dawned on him. “We’re still the same sizes as before right? These are just illusions your power has tricked us and others into seeing, right Zach?”

Zach nodded. “Yeah, so what?”

“So how come these clothes fit us perfectly? I mean, Hugeman shouldn’t have been able to get his pinky through those shorts, let alone his legs. What gives?”

“Yeah, he’s right, Zach. Care to explain that?” said Luis Hugeman.

Jism Boy Walton looked as stumped as the others. “Er, maybe it’s like in that movie Shallow Hal, when Gwyneth Paltrow stripped out of her sexy knickers in that scene in the bedroom with Jack Black, they were small when she took them off, but when they hit Jack Black in the face, they were several times larger.”

“Hmm, that’s as good a theory as any. Some kind of space-folding phenomena must be responsible. At least it’s working on our side, for now anyway,” said Hugeman. Then to Todd: “So then, Morgan Toddchild, where to now, seeing as you were here before?”

“Hmm, I seem to remember a nightclub. There are about a hundred of them here on Analtopia alone. But I think the one I was taken to was called Spermatration. We could try there.”

And so the superheroes, in their minor-celebrity disguises, set off through the rainy streets of Analtopia. As they went they passed many gay men caught up in the throes of street-sex and shopping. Some were even having sex whilst shopping. It was everywhere: carnal activity at its most horny. It seemed like the very air itself was charged with so much sexual energy. “Wow, this is really turning me on,” said Hugeman, feeling his now psychically smaller dick twitching to attention in his stolen hot pants. Likewise, Zach’s schlong was also quivering excitedly. As for Todd: “I think I’m getting my period. Either that or Morgan Fairchild had lousy hygiene standards back in her youth.”

There was a long line outside the club called Spermatration. At the door, two mini-Hulks checked names on lists they held in their big and clumsy hulk hands. They were both dressed in purple tuxedos which seemed way too tight on them. Both seemed to be in a state between full-blown Hulk and normal human bodybuilder.

“No prizes for guessing where you were changed, Todd,” said Hugeman as they took their place in the line. The rain had gotten heavier but fortunately there was a portico outside the club under which to shelter. After an hour they finally made it to the Hulks at the door.

“Hulk says it’s regulars only. Hulk not see you three before,” said Hulk number one. He stood more than a head taller than the three heroes and looked like he could bench press an oil truck.

“He obviously never heard of basic cable,” Todd humorously whispered to Zach.

“Um... maybe we’re on the VIP list,” Hugeman suggested.

The second Hulk had the VIP list and checked it at once. “It have only Erik Estrada and Pamela Sue Martin on VIP list. Hulk thinks you three not Erik Estrada or Pamela Sue Martin. Hulk not let you in.”

Hugeman had to think fast, but it was difficult now that he couldn’t flex. Still though:

“But I’m Luis from Sesame Street. I went to school with Erik Estrada. We’re old buddies. I even let him audition for the role of Frank Poncherello in Chips. That should have been me, but I had a cold that morning. I eventually got the Sesame Street gig, though. Look, I can prove it: AGUA!”

“Nice one, Mike... keep it up. I think the Hulks are stupid enough to fall for this,” Zach whispered to the Hugeman.

“You need to let us in because I offered to pay Erik’s tab. He’s fallen on hard times, y’see,” Mike added.

“Hmmm, Hulk not sure.... hmmm... what about friends? What excuse they have?” the second Hulk asked.

“Er... I’m pregnant with Erik Estrada’s love child,” said Todd.

“And, er... I supplied half of the sperm in said pregnancy,” said Zach, hoping this would work and not incite the Hulks to SMASH!

Both Hulks scratched their green heads and struggled to make sense of it all. Finally:

“Hulk let you all in. Pay Erik Estrada’s tab so Hulks get paid tonight!” And so the green behemoths parted to allow Mike, Zach and Todd into the nightclub called Spermatration. What awaited them inside had yet to be fathomed.

Meanwhile, several layers below Analtopia, a multi-cocked evil villain sat in his big robotic cock-throne and watched events unfold through many, many camera links he had placed across the sprawling cocktropolis that was Analtopia.

“And so the three little wasps disguised as three little flies move ever closer to my sticky, inescapable web. Ha ha ha... everything is falling into place. Doctor Cocktapus shall prevail tonight, for he’s about to make a meal out of the three little flies. Wooo hoooo hoooo, haaaar haaaar haaaar!”

End of Episode 8

The series was not continued except for a related one-off teaser that will be in the following post in this thread . . .

Edited June 19, 2022 by FallenAway
Title changed to Mike Hugeman Super-Powered Muscle Whore by Lorus (Episodes 7 and 8 plus Prison teaser added June 19th)

[FallenAway]

HUGEMAN: ONE-OFF PRISON SPECIAL (Teaser)

by Lorus

This is a short side-stepping from the main series because I want to explore Mike's fetish for getting thrown into prison. It's got a darker "Dark Knight meets Midnight Express" kind of mood to it. Here is a teaser of the forthcoming full story. Hope you enjoy. I welcome comments and suggestions for this one. Feel free to throw some ideas at me!

WARNING: Sadomasochistic scenes may offend some readers.

***

He awakened in a dark, foul-smelling place, as though he’d been swallowed up by a living sewer. Naked – but that was nothing new to the colossal muscle-monster that he was – Mike Hugeman groped himself in total darkness in search of reasons for the pain he felt.

“Cuh-can’t be.... I... I’ve been.... injured!” It was too much to take in. His memory of the last few hours of his life had been fogged over... his place in reality no longer fixed due to grogginess and the inability to think that came with it. The ribs on his right side hurt like hell. There was a stabbing pain in his neck when he tried to move it. He inadvertently flexed his left bicep and an electrifying pain almost split it in two.

He yelled out, a grating, chilling yell that would surely make grown men faint within earshot. The muscle whore, despite being heavily and hugely super-powered, crawled around in this rank, dark place, in search of a door. He collapsed under his own weight before he could get further than two feet in a single direction.

The halogen light snapped on almost ferociously, transfixing him with its all-revealing ray-beam light. The true extent of Hugeman’s degradation could now be fully realized.

“Jesus,” he whined, his throat as arid as a desert, “forty shades o’shit....kuh-kicked out of me.” His body was a tapestry of abuse and ruin. Now he could see his surroundings, although there was little yet to see beyond the sudden blinding sting felt in each of his eyes as the halogen beam raped them of their functionality. But he found something of resilience against his turmoil. He looked around for a door to bash through, thus revealing his captors, but the four nitre-slicked walls bore no such portal. It was then, as he struggled to focus beyond the gnawing of the overhead beam, that he saw that the room did, indeed, have a door. But it was beyond his reach, high up in a ceiling that must have been thirty feet above him.

“What do you want from me,” he growled at his invisible captors. He tried to get to his feet, but his legs felt weak and wobbly. He managed to inch his way backwards until he could rest his back against a slimy wall. Something small, dark, and fast cut a brief silhouette across the invasive beam. Soon it was followed by three more scuttling beasts. Rats, however, were the least of Mike’s problems.

“You have been judged, Hugeman,” a deep, electronically altered, masculine voice replied, leaking out of a speaker somewhere above. Its timbre was that of an apathetic man, with, perhaps, a faint undertone of enmity directed towards the massively muscled captive. “Society has deemed you too dangerous to be allowed to exist outside of these walls... and I have been elected to execute your condemnation.”

“I duh...don’t understand,” said Mike, wincing against new pain that continued to besiege his magnificent body.

“You have the term of your natural life to grow acquainted with the concept of your – how shall I put it – ‘fall from grace?’”

“I didn’t do anything to deserve this,” Hugeman argued, some power returning to his voice, although it still sounded dry, strained, and forced.

“Others do not see it that way. Consider this pit a waiting room, of sorts... for there are places other than this in which your ruination shall fester further.”

“I will KILL you,” the giant bodybuilder vowed.

“Doubtlessly,” the voice quickly replied. Then, a pause, as if in contemplation before, “I would very much like to see you try.”

“You’re a fucking madman,” Hugeman growled, anger now fueling him as it gorged on all other emotion.

Another voice joined the first, also sounding robotic and distorted: “His psych-profile is fully loaded. We can commence at any moment.”

“Very good.... begin psychotropic stimulation phase alpha immediately,” said the voice of Hugeman’s captor.

The gas quickly filled the pit and soon Hugeman was under its influence. His perceptions were altered... a new scenario commenced:

He found himself suddenly free of injury, in a prison cell with two others, both huge, massive bodybuilders, each BIGGER than he was. One was black, his head shaved, an eye-patch over one eye, his body a tapestry of tattoos depicting all manner of masochistic scenes of utter depravity. His shirtless body was dark and glistening in the moonlight that filtered through a small rectangular grid in the heavily fortified wall above his head. Titanic, thick, and heavy pecs flexed and popped as he breathed and grunted his muscle-lust. The other man was Caucasian, blonde-haired, the look of a California surfer, only one whose body had been blown up to massive proportions. Unlike his black “partner” the blonde Adonis wore the simple uniformed standard of the prison collective: a sleeveless denim shirt that seemed way too tight for the muscles it struggled to contain.

Hugeman stared, aghast at their immense sizes. The black dude had muscle unlike anything previously encountered by Mike. The dude flexed his pecs for Mike, although grinning as if with intent... but intent to do what? He was massive beyond belief, 300 lbs. bigger than Mike, who himself seemed forever locked into a 702 lb. body. Undoing the flies of his jeans, the black dude seemed only too eager to release the dark-skinned python that lived inside. An enormous dick was revealed, and he hefted it in a hand, marveling at its weight, before allowing it to hang down past his knees. Mike stared, open-mouthed, as the massive member began to twitch and thicken and rise under its own power.

But if the black dude was huge, the biggest bodybuilder ever seen... his blonde-haired partner was huger still. And that shirt across what could easily be an eight-foot wide chest began to strain tighter and tighter as the Adonis super-hunk could no longer contain his muscles, or his lust. Both men, each over seven feet tall, began to flex. The black dude’s cock thickened, stiffened, grew into a most massive thirty-incher. Hugeman, fortunately, still had a good two inches on the other’s monster cock when fully erect. Although this could have made for a most stimulating encounter, the fear of uncertainty, of sensing forthcoming dangers, kept his own cock twitching at less than half-mast.

Blonde Adonis smiled an almost wicked smile at Hugeman as he flexed his biceps hugely, forming them into twin mammoth mountain-peaks. They seemed to acquire more and more mass as he pumped them. Neither of the seven-footers said a word as they pumped up before Mike’s astonished eyes.

Suddenly there came the sound of denim beginning to give up and come apart. Minute tears became large rips as the sides of the shirt gave in to the massive growing taking place, as the Adonis’s lats thickened and heaved outwards, impossible mass adding to their already incredible size and density. Now it was time for the blonde to make a sound... a masculine, throaty growl that helped him to heave huger and flex out of the shirt entirely. The buttons pinged off like bullets as a beautifully smooth pec-shelf hulked out... deeply muscled.... gorgeously formed... with the biggest, hardest nipple-studs Mike had ever seen.

“Ever had a double anal?” The blonde had such a sexy voice, laced with manly, carnal intent.

“Whoah... back off, both of you, or I’ll...” backed into a corner of the less-than-capacious cell, Hugeman wasn’t allowed to finish.

“Or you’ll whut?” This time it was the black dude who spoke. His accent had a Southern drawl to it. His dick bobbed bigger and bigger before him as the seconds ticked by. Mike couldn’t answer, for once in his life totally lost for words. He tried to flex in order to clear his head and think clearly, but the black dude was upon him before he could pop a single pose.

“Name’s Matthew,” he snarled, grabbing Hugeman around the back of his neck with one hand, his left wrist with the other. His strength was incredible, his grip like a vice. He easily flipped Hugeman around so that his backside faced outward.

“And I’m Eli,” said the blonde, his voice strangely soft and boyish. “Matthew, hold him in place while I prepare.” Still growing at an astonishing rate, Eli’s body filled out with massive mounds of swollen muscle-flesh, rippling, cutting outward in all directions, densely packing, impossibly hulking. A forty-inch dick burst out of his pants and sprang quickly erect, its bore easily twenty or more inches in thickness. It continued to thicken and bulge with each passing second.

Now completely free of prison attire, blonde Adonis Eli flexed a mammoth most muscular, his body glistening in the moonlight, white-hot blobs of light on his muscles contrasting with the deep, dark pits that separated every single muscle-belly from its bulging neighbors.

“Gotta get bigger.....WAY bigger than this,” Eli growled.

Hugeman was now completely hard, his own monster-dick throbbing up and around his taut, terror-tensed pecs. The wall felt cold next to his dick, as Matthew pressed him against the wall with enough force to near-crush his balls against it.

“Mmmmm, that’s a mighty fine muscle-butt you got on ya,” smiled Matthew, his lust becoming difficult to control.

“You gonna put two dicks in me.... simultaneously? Well go ahead, you big bastards. THIS muscle whore can take it,” snarled Hugeman, suddenly finding confidence, as his lust began to give in to the circumstances of the moment. At that moment a third figure appeared, this time outside the bars of the cell. He was the most massive, hugest bodybuilder so far seen in this somewhat surreal setting. Totally clad from head to toe in the almost fascist cut of a fetishist’s uniform of muscle-hugging leather, he looked like he’d just stepped out of a “Tom of Finland” drawing.

“No one ever takes a double anal in this place, BITCH,” the prison guard barked at Hugeman through the bars. Then he gripped the bars with confident hands and easily tore them free as though they’d been made of tinfoil. He stepped into the cell with all the confidence of one who had been granted ultimate power, the bulge in his leather-wrapped pants now tenting out to impossible proportions. He was massively muscled, easily fifteen hundred pounds or more, his neck alone thicker than Hugeman’s 34.5-inch waist.

“Here in the Prison of Swole County, we all prefer a three-course meal. And for you, Hugeman.... it’s feedin’ time!”

(End of teaser.  As far as I know, the story was never written.)