Mister Alpha by LORUS

[FallenAway]

With the author's permission I am reposting stories that were written for the old forum and were later deleted.  Fortunately, I saved copies for myself because I like his work very much.

This is a single-episode short story that might be referred to as a "one-shot," but the number of times you shoot while reading the story is entirely up to you. 

MISTER ALPHA

by LORUS

Lane Huntington took up most of the king-size bed at the Forbes Plaza Hotel, where he’d been staying at the expense of his mysterious benefactor, Ward Melchior. He had yet to meet the man in person, but already the enigmatic billionaire’s lavish hospitality had given the young bodybuilder a taste of what it was like to live a five-star penthouse suite kind of existence. Lane liked it. He liked it a lot... and he wanted it all.

Stud-A stirred in his sleep to his left, whilst Stud-B, to his right, adjusted his position somewhat, feeling up the powerful bags of muscle that formed Lane’s impressively sculpted chest, but not entirely waking up. Lane loved every moment of it. The twinks were both Brazilian and tremendously beautiful, each one endowed with superstar looks, although Lane’s features – from head-to-toe – completely overshadowed them in just about every way.

He’d just won the Mister Alpha Muscle Pageant, staged only that previous night, at the Forbes Plaza which was just one of a multitude of hotels owned by Melchior. The billionaire, it seemed, had a thing for musclemen... the bigger the better. Well... they didn’t come bigger than Lane Huntington. He was horny as fuck, although he’d milked both Studs dry several times during last night’s steamiest of bedroom romps. They were depleted and wouldn’t be of any use to him for hours yet. Melchior had insisted, over the phone, that part of the prize for winning the pageant was that he could order anything he wanted... room-service being only too happy to oblige. Lane was stiff as a board, now, and gazed down at his beautiful and super-ripped muscle-bod as he ran his fingers down along his rock-hard flesh, not a hair in sight, except for the thick, dark bush of his pubes. Elsewhere he was smooth and taut, and oh... how his muscles looked so beautiful... for they seemed to get bigger and better with each passing day. His fingers played, for a time, with his fully erect pole, and he gasped, constantly overwhelmed by its mammoth size.

“Fourteen inches hard. Awww I can barely close my fingers around it at its thickest point. So much blood going into it.... heh... makes me light-headed.” He needed to fuck.... badly. Stud-A and B were sleeping off the ecstasy he delivered into them both via his huge fuck-rod, their rectal passages stretched beyond anything they could ever have put into themselves in the past. “Room-service,” he called aloud. Immediately a computer-generated woman appeared as a life-sized holographic display, projected from an orb set into the ceiling. There was one in every room. State-of-the-art technology... the best money could buy.

“You called, Mister Huntington? How may I be of service,” the voice, a sample of that of actress Sharon Stone, politely inquired. “Bring me breakfast. I’m starving. I want eggs over easy, hash browns, bacon and mushrooms, coffee, orange juice and some bran muffins. And send up the two studly runners-up in the Pageant I so deserved to win. They’re gonna get so goddam fucked they’ll be singin’ like Shirley Temple for the rest of their lives.” Being the Alpha Male made Lane ever so cocky. He loved to be arrogant and self-obsessed. It boned him just thinking of words like that which so accurately described him.

“Right away, Mister Huntington. Will there be anything else,” the cyber-Sharon inquired, as per her programming. Lane thought about it for a moment. “Yeah, tell me something I want to hear, bitch,” he growled, now jerking lightly on his rod just to get the precum flowing.

“You are the sexiest... hugest... most well-endowed... motherfuckin’ sex-god, not only staying at the hotel, but in the entire world, Mister Huntington,” the hologram replied, smiling her polygonal smile, implying emotions she didn’t really have.

“Yeah, you better believe it,” he snorted gruffly, bouncing his pecs to get the blood flowing better.

“Thank you for choosing Forbes Plaza, Mister Huntington. Your room-service will arrive shortly.” And Sharon blinked-out in a trice.

“Damn... I won’t be able to wait for shortly to arrive,” he growled, stiffening every part of him as he lay between the dreaming twinks. Precum drizzled down his dick in copious, sticky rivulets. His fingers were coated in it. And so, he licked each one clean, the taste intensifying his burgeoning lust. “The only gay in the competition that I know of, and I fuckin’ outmuscled every one of ‘em. Fuck yeah!” He couldn’t stop himself from turning Stud-B over on the bed and then straddling him, so worked-up into a lather of lust, that he must relieve himself into the exhausted, sleeping twenty-year-old from Sao Paolo. He entered the young man, his precum gushing out of him, now, adding to the manly soils already making the mattress damp. Stud-B winced and came awake with a start. “Unnnngh,” was all he could say (neither spoke a word of English anyway).

“Take all these hunky, fuckin’ hot inches of my horny weapon....grrrrr!” Lane’s lust got lustier as he took the twink, ploughing so much length, so much wet, sticky cock into his tight-but-serviceable bubble butt. Stud-B moaned out of sheer bliss, clawing at the pillow that now engulfed his face, pressing his butt upwards with every ounce of his strength, pushing against Lane’s monstrous invasion, but the bodybuilding hunk’s power was too great. Stud-B passed out once more, utterly exhausted, but Lane, a master when it came to controlling his passions, held off from cumming, but momentarily swam through the reverie created by his ever-rising sense of bliss. He wanted more, however.... he wanted to mega-fuck.

Room service arrived in the form of a very cute, quite well-built hotel porter, and he filled-out his uniform more than adequately. The youth, no more than nineteen or maybe twenty, was very beautiful and immediately Lane found himself drawn to him. Behind the porter, Max Mason, and Alfredo Desoto, first and second runners-up in the Mister Alpha Muscle Pageant, stood in just their posing suits from the night before. Glistening and rippling, the hunks seemed a little nervous, knowing what their fates had in store for them this day. But they had to comply. Ward Melchior would have it no other way.

Lane made a bolt for the food trolley, but he noticed the bulge in the front of the porter’s workpants, deciding that right now the lad probably loved his job more than anything because he got to witness events of this magnitude: standing in a room with three huge bodybuilders and two unconscious Brazilian hunks. The smell of manly musk formed of precum, sweat and spunk, hung heavily in the air. Anyone caught in its miasma immediately grew hard, even Max and Alfredo, both of whom were happily married with wives and kids. Weren’t they all staying at the hotel? Lane didn’t care about such things. He only cared about himself and getting what he wanted.

Lane gorged on the food as the porter stood next to the trolley, his brow dappled with the kind of sweat that suggested he was uncomfortable. “You gay?” Lane enquired, between mouthfuls of breakfast. He slurped his orange juice noisily. Despite that he was the most gorgeous man in the world, his eating habits easily tied with those of your average farmyard pig. “Uh, no sir,” the porter replied with a somewhat evident tremor to his voice. “Bet you do gay webcam, Sean Cody kinda stuff, to get yourself through med-school, though, or something like that. Bellboy wages can’t pay your bills alone.”

“Unngh...I...er... have done stuff in the pa––”  

Before the lad could finish: “Get that sexy body of yours naked... by the time I count to five, or I’ll fuckin’ tear that uniform off you,” Lane, now done with eating, commanded as the Alpha that he was. No man would be able to resist him. He flexed a double-biceps pose whilst still seated at the edge of the bed. Massive upright peaks of rock-hard muscle exploded upwards, pressing against his thick forearms so that the pressure against the spaghetti-network of veins on his arms caused the blood within to flow even faster. The extra pressure made his veins bulge even more, and his hungry muscles gorged on the blood, fueling themselves to grow bigger and harder. Behind the porter, Max and Alfredo, confirmed heterosexuals both, balked at the idea of being dominated by Huntington, but when they saw how much bigger his biceps looked this morning – compared with last night on stage – primordial lusts awakened in them, and their cocks soon became too big for their tight, sexy posers.  

“What’s your name, kid?” Lane repeatedly bounced his pecs before the porter, his taut but pouting nipples pointing perfectly downward, each one somewhat blurred by the very crescent-shaped shadow cast by the jutting, bulbous under-swell of each pec-mound. “Unnngh.... Steve, sir... Steve Highway,” the lad answered, as he began to shrug off his clothing.  

“Nice name... but you’re too fucking slow,” growled Lane, and he shot off the bed, knocking over the breakfast trolley as he went, bounding towards Steve, almost with furious intent, his muscles seething, shifting as if in metamorphosis.  

With one tug he ripped through Steve’s uniform and gasped, smiling, at the sight of his thickly muscled, impressively shredded bodybuilder’s physique now on show. He was blonde-haired, and so he had a light dusting of fine blonde hairs across his thickly fleshed pec-rack. He shuddered against Lane’s sudden advances, and every muscle across his upper body flexed simultaneously.  

“Jeezus... you should have competed with me last night, not that you’d have won against me. But you might’ve finished sixth place, maybe fifth.”

“Suh-sir.... please.... I have to get back to wo....mmmphfffff!” Steve’s ability to speak was silenced as Lane Huntington fucked his face with a tongue that would put a horse’s to shame.

“I always get what I want mmmmmmm,” Lane boasted and sucked on Steve so hard, he could have cut off his air-supply, rendering him unconscious. But the lad was strong... and could be huge if he put his mind to it, so Lane thought. Lane now worked feverishly at Steve’s cock, delighting – gasping – at how it pulsed hugely in his grasp, filling out, thickening to a massive size.

“Whoa... what you got down there.... unngh... ten inches, beer-can-thick?” Lane’s lust had him dripping cups of precum at a time. The carpet upon which he stood was soon sodden.

“Mmmmpfff....gasp.... more like.... unngh... twelve, suh-sir.... eight and a half thick... oh god!!”

“Well, you’re about to... unngh... feel what fourteen inches feels like.... fuck yeah.... I’m the fucking biggest in every fucking body-part.... unngh yeah!!!!” Lane blasted a full lat-spread right in front of Steve. Being three inches taller than the blonde six-footer, Lane hefted up his gloriously striated pectorals and his usually downward-pointing nipples shot into an outward-jutting position. The top of his pecs flexed so high, why... he could comfortably rub the tip of his nose against them. Beneath his nose, a dirty sex-mad tongue massaged drool all over his heaved pecs. Steve, overwhelmed by lust, began to suck on his nipples, firstly the one on the left, whilst pinching the one on the right between fingers that had so obviously performed this ritual before. He made his fingers to journey across the amazing topography of Lane’s back, tracing invisible lines along the bumps and valleys which his back’s musculature consisted of. The divisions between each muscle were deep enough to hide coins in. In fact, Lane Huntington’s striations could probably hide a couple of hundred bucks worth of change.

“Alfredo, you pipsqueak... get behind Steve. Start working him from behind,” Lane snapped an order. Then, to Max: “Fuckwad... kneel on the bed behind me and stick that long tongue of yours you love to wag onstage to the audience, stick it far up my ass. Don’t stop tonguing me until I say you can. Grrrrrrrr.... get to it!!!!!” The runners-up to Mister Alpha Muscle, both stared blankly at one another, and quickly removed their wedding rings before carrying out Lane’s instructions.

“Mmmm.... you’re the best fucking thing to come out of this,” Lane moaned, kissing Steve so hard, over and over, whilst the college student worked his hands all over the massive bodybuilder’s incredible physique. His muscles were beyond comparison. Secretly Steve wished he could get this big one day. Certainly, being with Lane, now, like this, heightened a muscle-lust Steve didn’t know he had. “From now on... forget whoring it online with your inferior fuckbuddies... forget any big-tittied-bitch you might have for a girlfriend. You belong to me now, Stevie... you got it?” Lane blasted out another insanely peaked double biceps, and Steve cupped each bi with hands he considered to be bigger than average. Still, though, he had trouble getting his fingers around the apex of each bi. They were huge, over thirty inches each, easily putting his (moderate by comparison) twenty-one-inch guns to shame.  

 “Yessir... I’m your boyfriend now... unngh,” moaned Steve, feeling the invasion of Alfredo’s rim job from behind, a new experience to them both. He returned his attention to Lane’s nipples and moaned in awe when Lane began to bounce each pec, so that Steve had to wrestle with his tongue to nip at each erect bud. Lane loved to have his nipples nipped at. He screamed out his bliss, which served to heighten the lusts of the others. Stud-A and B, now fully awake, began to fuck one another, enjoying the arousal of the orgy occurring before them. It went on like this for a long time, finally culminating in Lane Huntington blowing a massive load, so much warm, salty cream on tap for everyone present. Everyone showered in it and drank of it, for with balls that could swell to the size of touch footballs, Lane Huntington could produce a massive amount of spunk at a time. He fucked each one of them many times over, creaming again and again until it seemed he could never stop. His orgasm lasted for hours... it was unbelievable just how huge and sexually charged he had become.

Finally depleted, they each one and all collapsed into a mountainous muscle pile atop a spunk-wet mattress with Lane forming its super-solid base, Max, Alfredo and Steve in the middle, and the Brazilian studs clambering on top. The bed groaned to support the weight of six men, with Lane Huntington the heaviest of them all. Lane slept soundly, so pleased with who he was and what he was capable of doing. It was brilliant being Mister Alpha.  

Epilogue:

When he awoke, things were very different. He was alone in the hotel room, the bed immaculately fresh and clean. In fact, not a trace of the sex he’d had could be found anywhere. It had become a spunk-free zone.

“But... the fuckin’ room was drenched in the stuff,” he reasoned. Even the mess from the toppled breakfast trolley was nowhere to be found. The entire suite was clean as a whistle. The massive bodybuilder got off the bed and quad-waddled from room to room. Everything was neat and in place, all signs of his earlier company non-existent. Could he have dreamed it? No way, for it was too real. He had been the muscle master, so much in control... but now? He was alone. The silence was disquieting. He decided to call for Room Service. Immediately Sharon the Cyber-Babe appeared, shimmering in holographic hues that alternated between various blues and greens. She was beautiful, if you liked that sort of thing, he figured.

“Hello, Lane. How may I be of service?” Her voice was sensuous, soothing.... perhaps even hypnotic.

“Where are the others? What’s going on here?” He didn’t like feeling out of control, but something about his sudden situation made him feel helpless, far from at ease.

“They’ve gone, Lane. The average human can only take so much pleasure,” Sharon politely explained, grinning pleasantly, albeit artificially, “However, it could be argued that an Alpha like you was never average to begin with.”

“I want to speak with Ward Melchior. I won his fuckin’ pageant, so I get to live out all the pleasures I deserve,” Lane, his anger rising, exclaimed harshly.  

“You are speaking with her, Lane. My name is Ward Melchior,” the hologram’s smile seemed more animated now... certainly more human in its aspect.

“You.... you’re him? Buh-but....aw shit, this is fucked up.” He began to pace back and forth, gripping his temples as if to keep his skull from exploding as his brain struggled to make sense of what was suddenly going on.

“I will try to keep it simple, Lane,” Ward Melchior explained, her body fleshing out into a more earthly palette, firming up, solidifying, but still vaguely translucent.

“I’m all ears, lady,” Lane gruffly blurted.  

“You were in an accident. Your car went off the road and struck a tree. You happened to be near my research clinic when it happened and so the paramedics brought you to me. An ordinary man would have surely died, but as a bodybuilder you were afforded some protection. Alas, you couldn’t be saved. Fortunately, we specialize in preserving the human synapses and uploading them to our server, the Forbes Lowell Ethereal eXperience, or FLEX for short. Forbes Lowell was my father and founder of the clinic. He died two years ago, but he lives on as Steve Highway, the muscle-twink porter. Heh, he’d always hated his original name. Melchior is my name by marriage. I’m married to the world’s most renowned computer programmer who helped to build the FLEX server.” Ward paused speaking in order that Lane could digest what he was hearing. He found it difficult to get his head around it.

“Wait... you’re telling me that I’m....DEAD? Buh-but, why the charade? Couldn't you have been a little more forthcoming with the truth?” A look of total perplexity washed across his handsome face.

“Physically you are dead, but your brain patterns have been uploaded into your cyber-self. In essence you are still mentally alive... and always will be. These scenarios, or charades, are essential to gradually ease you into your new experience, hence the hotel and bodybuilding pageant scenario. In addition, your cyber body is even better than the real thing. Look,” said Ward, and sidestepped to allow a mirror to form up in front of him.

Lane gazed.

Lane gasped.

“Jeezus.... I’m fuckin’ enormous,” he cried, completely shocked by his reflection.

“We thought you’d like the improvements we made to your physical parameters,” said Ward with a chuckle.

“It’s like that movie Vanilla Sky... the one with Tom Cruise in it,” said Lane, now posing like he’d never posed before. His body was “hulkingly” huge: easily three hundred pounds heavier than it had been when he’d been alive and competing at a shredded weight of 275. He massed into a bulging showcase.... a massive most muscular that flooded each muscle with humongous weight and definition. “Gonna pop,” he snarled, loving every moment of how he suddenly felt.

“Well, this program was around before that movie was even thought of. But the comparison you make is sound.” Then... after a moment to allow Lane to further enjoy his massively sculpted, super-bloated and altogether beautiful body, she added: “We... can make you even bigger than you are now, Lane.”

“Huh? How big?” He only half-heard her, so rapt was he on blasting out insane poses, muscles bunching ferociously, vascularity pushed beyond maximum, skin stretching snake-fashion to accommodate his muscular engorgement.... muscles climbing over muscles, smothered by their own combined mass.

“Beyond your imagination, Lane,” said Ward, and before Lane’s disbelieving eyes, she morphed into Steve Highway, only this time he was as hugely muscled as Lane was himself.

“Huh, I thought you said that Steve is your father. Jeezus, this is confusing.” Lane’s head began to swim from a combination of sensory overload and a sudden rush of blood southward, as his now twenty-inch cock sprung to attention at the site of the Steve Highway character displaying muscles as huge as Lane’s.

“We like to share this image, from time to time. I’m still alive and have commitments beyond the server, so when you’re with Steve it’ll mostly be my father. But he’s sleeping now, so I get to use the body.” Ward/Steve moved closer to her/his new boyfriend, a secret which she would keep to herself and not inform her techie husband, for she had ways of keeping him out of her affairs when she traversed the server in cyber-form.

“So your dad swings both ways, huh? I guess I’m okay with that.” Lane locked lips with Steve, their drooling tongues salivating with muscle-lust. Their huge, hulking muscle-bods became laved with musky sweat, their senses overwhelmed by their incredible, stunningly beautiful masses.

The kissed for ages, fucked intensely for even longer, time seeming to stand still on the server, their lusts ever rising. And as they fucked, they grew to titanic proportions, thousands of pounds of muscle seethed across them, their dicks and balls swelling ever larger to cope with the demands made of their burgeoning lusts.

“Don’t....gasp... let this end... not ever.... gonna cum.... gonna cum forever, fuck yeah!!!”

“That’s doable,” gasped Steve, and with the merest mental command, both men shot massive loads whilst tonguing each other, slurping up each other’s cum as quickly as it was issued. They drank and drank... came and came. Time was meaningless here.  

And they continued to grow in every way imaginable... or unimaginable. Their orgasms intensified, their muscles bulging ever larger.... way larger.... too fuckin’ large, but then not large enough.  

Alpha became Omega.  

The circle closed and was re-opened.

[Ro20316]

The twist. 

OMFG .

Muscle Growth fantasies meets Black Mirror.