Jump to content

Recommended Posts

Once again, with the author's permission, I am reposting a story he wrote for the old forum and later deleted.  Fortunately, I saved a copy.  Some of the pop culture references may be a little dated, especially for younger readers, but that shouldn't get in the way.  There are two parts to the original story and a sequel called David's End of Days.  I will post all of those in this thread.  Enjoy!

David's Day by LORUS

Part 1 of 2 

7:00 am:
The alarm always went off at 7am. David Driscoll, like every morning would awaken to the 1979 disco hit “Born to be Alive”, by Patrick Hernandez. The song was his personal anthem, and he just loved life, although he would have preferred to have been a teen back in the 1970s. He loved that decade, the decade of polyester, which wasn’t always flattering on people, unless of course, they had a body like David Driscoll. He dressed, seventies-style, every day of his life, sometimes mixing and matching the loudest of shirts with the most ludicrous of pants, the wider the bells on the bottoms the better. He was THE biggest bodybuilder in the world, and so young, too. He was so beautiful that he could get away with wearing just about anything, or sometimes very little at all. It depended on the mood he was in at the time.

So it was Friday morning, on his 18th birthday and he always performed a little show for himself in front of his bedroom mirror, as Patrick Hernandez belted out his catchy disco hit. Standing totally naked he would assess himself in minute detail, but for no longer than fifteen minutes. There was just so much for him to do and achieve today.

“Bam.... best fucking arms ever, but they need more size,” he declared, curling his forearms up to a vertical position on either side of his handsome head, squeezing thick mass into his bis, and gasping in mock-surprise at how the peaks pushed upwards as if they were miniature mountains rising out of the land, a pure herculean feat that would forever go unrivalled.

“First thing today... eat a huge, power-packed breakfast, and kiss your mom, in that order, trying to look as though you don’t already know about the Ferrari F430 she bought you for your 18th.” He flexed his rippling, deeply cut abs and sucked them in with expert control, as he fanned his upper body out to the biggest full-lat-spread he’d ever seen, and this was before today’s massive upper body workout, which, he’d planned to make the most productive one of his life so far. He had a plan for today, now that he was old enough to drink and go to bars. There was a new gay bar and nightclub opened in town and he planned to be the center of attention by the onset of evening.

“Gotta work these muscle-titties up to their most bulgerific, oh yeah!” His mouth and chin disappeared into a mattress of super-strong, almost obscenely developed pec-cleavage. He flexed the slabs huger – hefting them higher – and causing rippling striations to blast across their corpulent surfaces. Nipples that pointed straight down now stood out perpendicular to the floor, each one pushing out in support of the pushing out happening further down.

“Ha ha ha.... no one will ever come close to being as huge as me... yeah... huge in every place where it goddam fuckin’ counts.”

Yeah, he was cocky to a fault, but he was entitled to be. He hefted the massive snake of his cock in his hands, shocked in a “not-surprised” kinda way, when it felt longer, thicker, and heavier to him than it had the day before. He always knew that he would grow amazingly on his 18th birthday. How he knew this he couldn’t say... he just, well, knew.

“Gotta weigh myself.... must have hit 500lbs by now, aw yeah!” His cock snapped fully erect at the thought of weighing this much. Lately he’d been bodybuilding like crazy, even dropping out of school to devote as much time in each day to bulking up his body to even more massive proportions. Hell, he didn’t need to be academically achieved to sail through life. He already had everything handed to him on a silver platter, given that he came from one of the world’s wealthiest families. His parents were divorced, his father based in South America where he spent most of his time adventuring in the rain forest in search of ancient relics (yawn). His mother was a complete socialite, given to throwing gala parties at the drop of a hat. Today David would inherit a trust fund amounting to fifty million dollars, so what did he need school for? He had looks, muscles, vast wealth, and from today onwards... complete and utter independence.

One thing he vowed not to have by the end of the day and night was his virginity.

He stood on the scale in his personal bathroom whilst his manservant, Carmichael, stood in attendance. “I’ll take it the Sir is pleased by the number on the readout,” said Carmichael, in the fakest British brogue you will ever hear. But he was good-looking and although in his forties, looked a good ten years younger. David often thought about fucking him, but he knew that Carmichael was straight, and he respected that.

“Damn, only 496,” David angrily snapped, stomping his foot in Hulk-like fashion, flattening the expensive scale beneath. As well as being monstrously muscular, the teen was immensely strong.

“I will clean that up immediately and have a replacement scale within the hour, Sir,” Carmichael droned, as if disinterested.

“Damn, I wanted to be 500 on my birthday. But I know I can grow so much today. I can feel it in my blood, Carmichael. By the way, does my cock look bigger to you?” Completely unashamed of his nakedness – in fact he loved to be naked as often as circumstances allowed – David squeezed his cock so hard that the mushroom head swelled to the size of a man’s fist.

“Longer than my forearm, Sir. The Sir must be very proud to sport such a magnificent member,” Carmichael replied, tonelessly.

“Yeah, and it’s going to see plenty of action this evening. But I need to bulk up to my hugest ever. Tonight has to be special, Carmichael. I need to be goddam fucking HUUUGE,” David roared, and flexed out a most-muscular that caused every bulb of muscle on his upper body to tautly explode with size and definition.

“Ha ha ha... is that a little spot of precum I see staining the front of your pants, Carmichael?” David was becoming playful now, and so very lusty.

“Yes, Sir, but I’m thinking about making love to Missus Carmichael later this evening, so please do not think that my sudden... ahem... display is in any way directed at you,” the servant politely stated.

“Damn.... seven-fifteen. I need to get food into me before my cardio. Wow, it’s a sunny morning. Think I’ll go for a shirtless run, get these pec-melons of mine bouncing like crazy. Damn but they weigh a ton. Feels like they’re gonna drop off under their own weight at any second. Fuckin’ bones me.”


David needed to fuck badly. He’d never done it with anyone before, respecting his mother’s wishes not to lose his virginity whilst living in the same mansion as her. Besides, bodybuilding left David with very little time for socializing, let alone pursuing a relationship. Since quitting high school a full year before graduation, he’d put the extra time to very good use, bulking up from 335 lbs. at just seventeen, to almost 500 in less than a year. But it was never enough for him. He had to be huger.

“Need to be HUGE! Not HUGE enough. This bodybuilder is gonna get MASSIVE beyond belief!”

He continued to flex the huge muscles across his mighty six-foot-eight frame. He felt as though he was done with growing in height, but if he happened to gain another couple of inches before his bones were done with growing, he figured he could live with it. Besides, as far as his bones were concerned, he still wanted his shoulders to widen and his rib cage to expand even further. The better the foundation, the bigger the muscles he could pack on to it.

Carmichael laid out his clothing for that morning, a tan-colored pair of low-rise, butt-n-crotch-hugging running shorts that barely covered the top of his dark pubes or the top of his butt-crack. The curved cleft between his bubbled glutes was deep and dark, with just a small puff of hair poking out. Any sweat running down the deep channel of his back formed by the immense sheets of convoluted muscle on either side would collect in that tuft, two scents mixing to form his ultra-musk. He liked to build up this musk, and with tonight being an adventure of unprecedented proportions, David vowed to enter the nightclub reeking of musk, manly and over-comely, altogether dripping with seduction.

David pulled on the shorts, taking great effort to do so, but being careful not to pop the button-fly as he struggled to pack his meat inside. He never wore a jockstrap or any kind of underwear under his shorts when running. He also never wore the same pair twice. Once done with the shorts, Carmichael, his devoted manservant, would (with the aid of a gas mask) package them up and sell them on eBay, but not before cooking them in a sauna for a few days, to get them really pungent. A pair of David Driscoll’s unwashed running shorts would usually go for upwards of $3000.00 lately, not that he needed the money, but it was fun to watching the furious bidding that took place on eBay for the much-coveted shorts.

“Ha ha ha... the best thing is though, that my shorts get muskier the bigger I get. Better watch out, Carmichael, I may soon be sooooo musky, so manly-flavored, that even you won’t be able to resist me.” That was another of David’s plans, to seduce and fuck as many straight guys as possible. He was going to fuck the world....aw yeah!

“Remind me to stock up on clothes-pins, Sir,” Carmichael responded, his droll tone dripping with the driest sarcasm. He helped his master on with his running shoes. That was the downside of being enormously muscled; putting on shoes was damn-near impossible when you had so much titanic muscle clogging up the space between your neck and your shins. But David wasn’t immobile, far from it. He was getting stronger and fitter as he got bigger, but any problems he had with dressing only served to make him even more proud about his burgeoning body. He was nearly ready, but for one more thing: Glisten Mist, the spray-on moisturizing oil and anti-burn factor, developed by one of his father’s many companies. The mist would coat his muscles evenly, buffing them up to a glistening shine whilst helping to lock in moisture and protect his beautiful, tanned skin from UV damage.
“How do I look,” asked David, knowing full and well how amazing he looked. He posed some more in his mirror, aghast at how the mist-sheen brought out the beauty, mammoth size, and sheer mind-blowing magnificence of his bulging body. He flexed an arm, hooking it down before him, and a melon-sized ball-bicep morphed into being.

“Gonna get these beauties twice as big today,” he vowed, with a manly snigger.

“Um, the Sir might want to become less “excited” before going downstairs to greet his mother,” said Carmichael, drawing David’s attention to the huge cock-bulge in the front of his shorts. The visible button-fly strained and groaned in defiance of the pressure put against it, and the waistband, already ridiculously low and challenging the nudity regulations of California, was pushed out further from his ab-wall so that more of his pubic bush poked upwards. Already musk was forming there, the smell of the scent enough by itself to get David really horny.

“Shit, I’ll have to cum first, Carmichael. Damn, I won’t even make it to the bathroom.” Frantically, furiously, David undid his shorts and expanded his cock to its complete length of twenty-something inches. It thickened considerably, the mushroom-head seeming to grow even further, his ball-sack bulging up like the throat-sac of a horny bullfrog. Fortunately, Carmichael always carried a fold-up umbrella in his inside pocket, in case of emergencies such as this. He just about got the umbrella up, using it as a shield before him, in time to not get showered.

7:32 am:
David came and came.... then came some more. His milking went on for six minutes, bringing the time to 7:32 am, and he still had to leave his bedroom.

“Aww...fucking horny. Huge bodybuilding mega-stud that I am... cum everywhere.”

He coated every surface of everything in the room, and soon Carmichael’s umbrella was coated in thick, opaque splashes of viscid cream. He finished by licking off as much of the cum from his mirror, which completely covered it. When he could once again see his awesome reflection, he crabbed into a most-muscular, growling with such intensity that the mirror shattered right in front of him.

“Fuck yeah!”

When he arrived downstairs, Consuela the cook had his breakfast ready. David wolfed down twelve chicken fillets, four bowls of oatmeal, a pound of lean ground beef, and washed it down with three quarts of gainer shake (his own special recipe prepped to max for ultimate results in growth and conditioning). It was more food in one sitting than what three super-heavyweight pro bodybuilders would be able to get through. David was banned from competing for the simple reason that posing in front of a crowd got him so boned, he would come out in a massive erection every time. Fuck it: he knew he was the best. Besides, he would win every time, thus ruining the competition for everyone else.


It was a lot of food to take in before a run. But David’s metabolism was truly exceptional. It was as though he had a nuclear reactor for a stomach. As soon as food entered his system it was broken down far more rapidly than a mundane human body could do. And he could eat anything he liked, too, once he had the sensible breakfast out of the way. Lunch would be pizza at the gym. His family owned most of the gyms in America, so his rules were different than those for everyone else. He was allowed to send out for 8 massive pizzas to help him through his workouts, and only David was allowed to train shirtless. His body was an example to everyone else working out at the gym... they would never match its perfection.

His mother hardly noticed him as she glided into the massive kitchen, struggling with one of her earrings, her outfit the latest Versace two-piece, her makeup and hair done to perfection courtesy of her live-in stylists.

“I’m jetting off to Milan, sweetie. Kiss kiss. Happy birthday. The keys to your present are on the countertop. Love you lots, daaaarling.” And that was it. Monique (real name Maud) barely had time for her extraordinary son, these days, not since hooking up with the wealthy Italian oil magnate, Rubio Andretticalzoni.

“Huh, so much for my surprise party later on,” said David, a little despondently. But he’d mostly been raised by the servants since he was little, his parents far too important and jet-setter-ish to spare much time for their only son and heir. Even when he started to gain absurdly huge amounts of muscle, his parents hardly noticed. But David didn’t care. He only cared about himself and his body. He was too rich to have strong family ties beyond what his blood entitled him to in the way of inheritance.

7:51 am:
He left on his run, charging through the mega-rich suburb, passing other rich-folk, musicians, movie-stars etc. He nodded a good morning to Vin Diesel who was out walking his poodle, the little toy-dog’s curly fur tinted pink in places.

“It’s my girlfriend’s pooch,” the star of the Riddick movies explained, somewhat shakily, to the hulking Adonis that passed him, his eyes rapt on the seething bounce of David’s weighty pecs as he jogged.

“Sure it is, Vin. Sure it is,” said David, winking.

He blew a kiss at Lenny Kravitz who was out collecting mail from his mailbox. Kravitz gave him the finger but asked him where he got his pants from.

“House of Trione, and you’d have a problem filling them out, hot stuff,” David blurted out as he quickly put distance between himself and the musician.

He turned the head of every person he passed, the rich and the famous, although not one of them could ever match David’s size and beauty. Movie Director Louis Leterrier who, like many directors, had property in Santa Barbara, had seen David before, and was always trying to grab his attention. Sometimes David liked to tease him a little.


“The offer still stands, David. The studio will pay you twenty million dollars to play the Hulk in HULK 3. The CGI hulks just haven’t been working out,” said Leterrier as he tended to his rose bushes.


“Hmm,” said David, considering the offer. He’d seen both Hulk movies. And the Hulks looked terribly unrealistic, although there were significant visual improvements made to the Hulk in the second film. But twenty million dollars was now mere pocket change to David.

“Of course, to use you as a live-action Hulk, I’d need you to bulk up by another three hundred pounds before we start shooting in mid-2011,” the director added.

“I could easily get that big, Louis, but location shooting away from my base of operations could be problematic. It would eat into my training schedule far too much. But you might be able to change my mind, say, for forty million dollars plus merchandising rights for use of my likeness.”

Smug and over-confident, his body glinting blindingly in the Californian sunshine, David flexed a most muscular, pushing all his weight and power into it. Several car alarms went off suddenly. Leterrier almost tripped over his tongue when he saw the muscles standing out so much.

“Forget forty million, David. Your asking price is too high. Looks like it’s CGI for HULK 3, so.” Obviously the world wasn’t ready for a teenage Hulk. The director sighed and went back to pruning his roses. David continued jogging.

8.25 am:
He decided to not turn back for home, but continued jogging, leaving the ‘burbs altogether and heading for downtown. He stopped plenty of traffic as he jogged, his muscles, especially his enormous pec slabs, caused guys passing to pop erections (whether they were straight or not) and grown women to start fingering themselves in the street. A cop car flashed its lights as a warning to him, but by the time David passed the vehicle, a quick flex and lick of his bicep was enough to overwhelm the two cops and they started to undo each other’s flies. David had an astounding and exceptional effect on people. It seemed that any laws that existed to keep mundane society in check simply didn’t apply to David.

“Fuck, I’m gonna jog shirtless to the gym every day from now on,” he vowed, reckoning it would give him an extra thirty minutes to work on the weights if he didn’t have to go home first and shower, obviously driving to the gym after that. That meant that he could lift longer and get huger because of it. It made sense.

“Grrrr, why didn’t I think of that sooner? I could be hundreds of pounds heavier by now.”

He got to the gym, leaving in his wake a trail of orgasming Santa Barbarians. He stopped to catch his breath, which only took seconds. His body was glistening beneath a coat of shining, liquid beads, and his slutty shorts were sodden with his musky sweat. In fact, he entered the gym that morning and immediately Alan behind the desk, himself a huge bodybuilding hunk of 24, caught a sniff of David’s reek and instantly shot a messy load in his own shorts.

“Unnnngh.... you’re so fuckin’ hot, Driscoll. Unnngh, how about you and I get jiggy in the showers later,” Alan moaned, now stroking his not-inconsiderable cock, caring little if his employers caught him on camera. Not to worry, David would fix everything, considering his family owned the gym.

“I might take you up on that offer, sexy. Better start re-filling those nuts of yours. ‘Cos your cum is all mine. But for now, I gotta fucking lift. Gotta get so fucking, incredibly fucking HUUUUUGE!!!!!” He flexed his enormous biceps, screaming to get his blood flowing so that his muscles could bulge even larger. Alan immediately shot another massive load, blowing a huge stream of thick cum into the air. It splashed all over David’s biceps and he quickly licked each of them clean of every drop.

8:51 am:
To hell with warming up. Jogging at 496 lbs. – his body saturated with massive muscle-flesh – was a warm-up enough by itself. Today he was concentrating on chest, arms, delts, and shoulders. Yeah, he could work all those groups by 5pm, his cut-off point. He needed to have his upper body looking immense before hitting the town later. It wasn’t even 9am and already there was a small crowd forming around David as he took his position on his favorite bench. It was chest first, aw fuck, he had to get it up past one hundred and eight inches. The other bodybuilders present, every one of them totally into themselves and their training, unless in the presence of David, began to egg him on, chanting in unison so that he could break through the pain threshold and break his personal bests. This morning he was benching 1100 lbs. on the bar, the bar itself bending dangerously from the massive weight.

He cranked out a staggering thirty reps at this weight. Arteries begat new veins and veins begat a myriad of new capillaries as his circulatory system transformed to cope with the increase in his mass and the punishment he gave it. His body erupted with newfound bulges and vascularity as he managed a further twenty reps before returning the bar to its resting position. He didn’t need help doing it either. He sat up on the bench and bunched his pec muscles together. Even sweatier than he was when he arrived, he playfully raised his arms up high to expose the thick, twin bushes of his dark armpits, spraying every guy present with his sopping-wet perfume.
 

“Aww David, you dirty cunt,” one of them cried, a tall muscle-hunk named Barry Watts, his sudden erection shredding his shorts at the front. The entire retinue of David-worshippers, straight, gay, and bi, began to go at themselves or else go at each other; such was the effect of being around the supercharged eighteen-year-old. “

I’ve come of age now, guys, so you’d better all watch out. I’m going to get huger than this.... way fuckin’ huger, and by the end of the day, you all will be walking home with smoke cummin’ outta yer butts. David has arrived, and David will CUMMMMM!!!!”

The air-conditioning failed, causing the temperature to shoot up in the gym. David’s musk got stronger still, his once tan-colored shorts now dyed a dark brown from saturated moisture. His musk dripped down his legs and coated so many surfaces. Cockily he commanded some of his worshippers to load up the bar with another 100 lbs. The bar sagged even further on either end, but still held. He settled back beneath it and took the strain.

“Unnnnngh!!!!” He was slow to start pumping reps, but as he commanded more strength from his ever-developing muscles, the bar soon began to feel lighter and lighter. Within twenty seconds David was pumping the 1200 lb. bar with ease. The fact it was getting lighter and easier to lift as he progressed, made him mad.... very mad!

“48... 49... 54... 60... 68... 71... 150... 399...680...1397....,” the congregation chanted.

David couldn’t stop pressing the bar. He was locked into the activity, doing away with sets altogether. There was now just constant pumping, ceaseless repetition, whilst around him, grown men in various degrees of muscular development continued to get off to the massive muscle-god named David.

10:00 am:
Finally, after an hour, somewhere around his 2000th rep at 1200 lbs., David returned the bar to its rests, boned by the fact it was hot from friction, each overloaded end drooping like melting ice cream. He sat up, his musk now billowing around him. He looked around. Up to fifty gym-goers were locked in a ceaseless orgy around him. He got so very horny looking at them writhing in a seemingly endless rippling ocean of muscle and male beauty.

He looked down at his pecs and was amazed to see that they were twice as huge as before. “Aw fuck... look at me. So huuuge. But not huge enough, not by a long shot.”

He flexed his massive pecs, delighting at how much heavier they felt, the cuts deeper, the cleft between each pec-melon now richly dark and leaking his scent as abundantly as his boned cock dripped cupsful of precum at a time. So much moisture was leaving him, at an astonishing rate. He was thirsty, but not for water. He needed to test a theory. He’d had a dream once where he was milking other bodybuilders of their juices, drinking them in, leaving them dehydrated and unconscious. Strangely Carmichael was there, just for a second, but winking at him, as if he knew something that David didn’t. And in the dream, having drunk the bodybuilders of their nut-nectar, David bulked up far huger and huger. Could this be the secret to his exceptional muscle growth? The men at his feet were totally in his power, now.

He started with Barry Watts, tearing every shred of clothing from him as he easily lifted him up with both hands. Barry was about two-eighty, bulking in his off-season, but he felt totally weightless to the monster that David’s muscles had made of him.


“Mmmm, nice little pecker you have there, Baz,” David remarked, before closing his lips around Barry’s porn-worthy ten-incher. He sucked him for exactly nine seconds before the groaning, enraptured Barry blew another load and a blast of hot, salty crème gushed down David’s throat. David swallowed hard, savoring every drop. He drank Barry to the last, then pushed him aside and started on another, Guy Colette, whose balls were the size of tennis balls. David got him off and sucked him dry. He did this to every boned bodybuilder in his retinue.  David grew. Aw fuck, he grew and grew.... like fucking never before.
 

10:33am:
His perfume radiated outwards into the street, causing passers-by old enough to react to it to stop what they were doing and pile into the gym en masse. Some people had never seen the inside of a gym in their lives, but David’s reek was intoxicating and addictive. Soon a huge throng of people from all walks of life had gathered around him on the weight room floor as he underwent a most remarkable transformation. Considering he’d only intended to train some of his muscles on this day, he was completely boned to discover that sucking off the other bodybuilders had caused all his muscles to grow.

His traps gorged on free space, pushing upwards and outwards, shortening the distance between his shoulders and neck. Veins, thickly throbbing, erupted across the triangular wedges, sticking out ferociously whilst the cords and pipes of his neck bulged and thickened, which sent further chemical power spreading to other muscle groups. His deltoids swelled larger, deeper, and thicker than... oh fuck... thicker than his goddam pecs had been just minutes before. A dozen inches or more was added to the colossal spread of his shoulders, providing the most perfect framework from which his now beach-ball balloons for pecs hung weightily, the under-swell of each pec-belly deep, round, so very thick and capable of casting a shadow under each hemisphere, dark enough to hide his top two cantaloupe-sized abs from view. His nips pointed down once more but grew intensely into cigar-butt-sized domes, each one ultra-sensitive and inviting of many a hungry, eager set of lips.

His arms thickened massively, thicker and wider than the entire torsos of some of the skinny dudes his reek had drawn in from the street. One brave guy stepped forwards, stripping himself naked as he went, urged by, of all people, his girlfriend who was herself so turned on by the spectacle of the ever-developing mega-expanding young bodybuilder. He stood beside the giant so that everyone else could compare his width to that of David’s augmenting upper arms.

“Hot dude, your arms are as thick as all of me,” the skinny fucker declared.

“Oh really?” With a wink to his audience and the smuggest of smirks, David curled his forearm towards him, smiling out of the corner of his mouth, and immediately his biceps DOUBLED in circumference. The ball was gigantic, easily eighty inches or more, hopefully more, David hoped... a lot more.

“Guess you’re going to have to start working out, stickman. You’re just half as thick as one of my arms now. Tsk tsk tsk,” said David, teasingly showing off, now, and loving every moment of it. Hearing this made stickman start to cum. David lifted him up with one hand and caught every drop of his spunk, draining him to the point of dehydration.

In contrast to the swelling of his incredible upper torso, David’s waist seemed to tighten and become denser. It went in by an inch, giving him the most incredible difference in the ratio of size between his shoulders and waist. The ratio was easily 4:1 in favor of his shoulders. He also grew two inches taller, and his bones cracked and shifted in order to adjust to the extra muscle mass. David sucked off dozens of men, whilst their wives or girlfriends saw to their own “needs” watching David make fags out of their partners.

One guy sauntered up to David and began to inhale David’s dripping, steaming musk.  The gigantic muscle-teen lifted him up, sucked him dry, and added him to the pile of dehydrated stickmen gathering at his feet.  He grew and grew and grew, sucking off any guy overpowered enough by his reek enough to throw themselves at him. He sucked on bodybuilder after bodybuilder as they began arriving from other gyms. He drank of the city police force, construction workers, in short, every gay man who was overpowered by David’s reek and just HAD to get to the gym. This went on until lunchtime, when traffic became deadlocked and complete sexual anarchy ran riot across the Santa Barbara coast. Finally, David could grow no more.


1:04 pm:
Though his belly should have been glutted on man’s creamy ambrosia, David was ravenous. He looked down at the sleeping multitude of Californian folk: some naked, others half-in, half-out of uniforms, everything from police officers, dentists, paramedics, and even the odd man of the cloth (who would really have to question their faith after this). He smirked smugly at the sight of an Asian pizza delivery guy hogging the shredded remains of David’s slut-shorts, rubbing their reek all over his bare torso, intending to coat all of his parts with a stench he would never want to ever wash off.

“Hey dude, where’s your van? I’m starving for pizza,” the now almost seven-footer bellowed anxiously. He could barely see much of the pizza boy who writhed on the floor amidst so much soil and reek, for his pecs were now monstrously huge and jutted out from him by more than four feet. His lats were so massive that they forced his elbows outward so that David could barely lower his arms. But with a little effort he could still get his hands around his lithe but solid hips. He flared a lat spread and any space between his bent arms and his waist was filled with lat muscles.

He walked back a couple of meters to get a better look at the Asian cutie, his legs, beyond elephantine girth, rippling and flexing with the slightest of movement. His muscle-thighs were now so big that there was no room for his cock and balls to hang downward and in between. Pushed outward, they made his profile look even more dynamic. And... fuck... but his cock was thicker and longer than ever, longer than the distance from the top of his thigh to his knees. It slapped loudly against his thighs as he walked, and the feeling sent ripples of further arousal around his body.

The Asian barely acknowledged him, caught up in the throes of his own masturbatory lust, but managed to point in the direction of his truck. The monster bodybuilder stepped over many sleeping folk, all of them sated to the last, and ventured out of the gym in search of the pizza wagon.

He found it and got to its delicious cargo easily enough, ripping the rear door right off the vehicle and tossing it aside with hardly any effort. Just as he was about to get his handsome chops around the first pepperoni and cheese delight, a not-unattractive man, clad in a designer suit, hurried across the street towards the behemoth.

“Stop right there, big fella. That’s a corporate order. I was watching for the van from the lobby of my building. That pizza is for the Board of Directors.” The guy looked pissed off but somewhat bemused by David’s size.

“What’s the name of the company, pipsqueak?” David didn’t look away from his gorging. Fuck, but that was mighty good pizza.

“Brody, Brody, and Marshall. Best law firm in Calif – heeey!!!” The thirty-ish-looking exec took exception to David reaching down to snatch his cell phone from his inside jacket pocket, which he then used to dial a familiar number.


“Carmichael it’s David... yeah, training is going swell.... I’m fuckin’ huge. Listen, do me a favor and buy Brody, Brody, and Marshall... that’s right, the law firm on Main St. Across from the gym, exactly. Great. Oh, and one more thing...” Another question to the stupefied exec: “What’s your name, dude?”


“Er... em... Alistair Marshall, junior vice-president. My father is treasurer and Ch––” But before he could finish:

“And see to it that Alistair Marshall is promoted to Chairman of the Board, with a $500,000 bonus. Great. See you later.” David closed the phone and politely popped it back inside Alistair Marshall’s inside pocket. He patted him cheekily on the head before returning to his eating. It was David’s birthday, after all, and he was feeling generous.

1:57 pm:
So much growing had worn David out. He decided he could use a nap. He bounded upstairs and evicted Ray the manager from his office, knowing he had a bed in there, a sizeable one, too, which Ray used to bone many a hot chick as was his wont in life. While he slept, he had a dream, but it was the strangest dream he’d ever had in his life. His dad was in it, and so was Patrick Hernandez. Both were sat around a blazing fire in some enclosed village community central to some lush, dense forest. David Driscoll Sr was staring beyond the flames, as if caught in some inner journey that only his mind could experience, whilst Patrick Hernandez feverishly scribbled down lyrics into a pad, his sequel to “Born to be Alive” probably.

“Dad, what the hell is going on? Where are we?”

There was little to glean from the dreamscape except from the immediacy of the surroundings: the campfire blazing high and brightly, the flames crackling and popping as resin from the burning wood was exposed to them. Beyond that the surrounding environment seemed to be smudged out of focus in the way that dreams can sometimes be to save writers from having to waste an entire paragraph describing it.

“I’m afraid, son, that I’m dead. This is the afterlife, based on where I died and how I died,” David’s father lamented as he tossed more wood on the fire. The flames roared up higher, causing shadows to dance skittishly across the sprawling landscape of David’s enormously pumped muscles.

“I see you’ve been doing some growing, son... and on your 18th birthday also. Just as I predicted.” David Sr smiled broadly at his son, the son he hardly ever saw, and yet was still proud of.

“Whoa, wait a sec... before we get into anything else. You’re telling me that you’re dead?” Now this was a dream that David could really do with waking up from. But there was something about how it was presented to him, and the fact that it felt so much more than a dream, that piqued David’s curiosity.

“Yes, it was all part of the bargain I made with, Old Nick here,” said David Sr, and slapped the back of Patrick Hernandez as if they were old buddies. Which, in fact, they were. The Devil looked up from his scribbling and flashed a mouthful of pearly whites at David. They were all pristinely bright, except for one bad one that ruined what would otherwise have been a perfect smile.

“You made a deal... with the devil?” David looked horrified and began to back away from the glow of the fire.

“Of course, we go way back, him and me. We both got our business degree together. Nick and the males of this family go right back to your great, great, great, great grandfather Efram Driscoll, who began this family corporation, which is now worth twenty million, billion dollars. We practically own two thirds of the free world,” said David senior, proudly.

“You mean that Efram made the first deal with the Devil, a tradition that carried down all the way to.... shit... me?” David had never considered himself religious in any way, but if this dream was real, then there was some hot shit going down... shit that was hotter than Hell. Old Nick Hernandez put down his writing pad and began to roll a joint. He was a man of very few words, it seemed.

“Yes, our forefathers all wished for great wealth and influence over the masses, and that sustained the family, and shall continue to through future generations, provided you don’t stay gay all your life and beget a son and heir. You need to pass on the tradition, you see. It was the nature of the first deal made by old Efram. By the time it was my turn, I didn’t need anything in the world whatsoever, cos I was set for life. When you were born, and we saw just how scrawny you were, I thought “Jeez, he’s a runt and a half. He’s a weak link in a long line of strong links in our exceptional family chain. I said to Nick that you should be big... really big. And that was meant to come to fruition on your 18th birthday.”

“Fuck... that’s deep, Dad. I don’t know what to say. So now Satan has come to collect... your soul, obviously, and drag you down to hell?” Suddenly David felt bad. He hadn’t seen much of his father, growing up, and now he was never going to see him ever again after this dream. Life for David, it seemed, had just hit a fork in the road.

“It won’t be like that at all, Davey,” Satan Hernandez said, finally speaking, now that he was puffing away contentedly on his huge spliff. He drew slowly and deeply, before passing the weed to David’s father. “Your Dad and I are old friends. Why, he’s been to hell many, many times. Even got beach-front property there, next to the golf course and spa. Hell is very misunderstood, not like the Hell people imagine thanks to Dante Alighieri, that allegorical ass. Damaged my public image for centuries, he did. Hell’s not a bad place at all. But that’s the rules. Souls are like tax in Hell. Your Dad gets to live there forever, but he has to pay his dues, too.”

Silence washed through the dream for what seemed like a long time. Finally, David was the one to break it:

“What about me? I have to make a deal, too? But I can’t think of anything. I’m too young to make such a big decision.” He turned to focus squarely on his father: “What am I supposed to do now?”

David Driscoll toked on the spliff for a long moment and considered all options. He finally came up with: “You could sacrifice some of your size. Lose, say, 60 percent of it. You’d still be huge, but not like you are now. What are you now, easily 2000 lbs. or more?”


“2666,” Satan interjected jovially, liking so much about that number.

“But... but... I like being this huge,” David looked down at his magnificent muscles, each one swollen and bulging beyond all extremity. He was ravenous for muscle-growth, but a deal had to be hammered out before this dream came to an end.

“Tell you what,” said Satan, taking out a harmonica for no reason. He began to play his rendition of “Devil in a blue dress”. It was a most horrendous version.

“I will take off 666 pounds of muscle and convert it into your soul tax. You get to live out your life as before, but your size will be frozen at 2000 lbs. Also, to secure future deals with your bloodline, you have to produce a son and heir. Artificial insemination will suffice, so long as the little tyke is born and has a soul, which he will have, obviously.”

More silence ensued. David didn’t know what to think. Finally, though, as the flames began to shrink and die, casting the immediate area into a spreading dimness, he reluctantly agreed to get smaller.

“Great, kid. You won’t regret it,” said Satan, pulling out a contract which David had to sign in blood. The deal was done. David would be the first of the Driscolls since before Efram to avoid spending eternity in hell. He said goodbye to his father and shook hands with Satan, before...


... he awakened with a start and saw that he was in Ray’s fuck bed. What time was it? How long had he been asleep?  He quickly got out of bed, only to find Carmichael standing over him, a clean set of clothes draped over his forearms.

“I trust everything is now clear with the Sir?” Carmichael had never smiled in all the years he’d served the Driscoll family. Now, for the first time, he smiled broadly, displaying a mouthful of pearly whites, their perfection marred solely by a single bad tooth... the very same one as...

“It’s you. That dream was real. What the hell?”

“What the Hell indeed, Sir. You should get dressed. It’s after 5pm. You were asleep for most of the afternoon.” Carmichael began to lay out the master’s clothes for the evening.

“Wait, how small am I?” David raced downstairs to the weight room to check himself over. The place was deserted, unusual for this time of day... all evidence of the calamity his growing had resulted in had been washed clean. Everything was mundane and without any reverberation of events.

“Hmmm, I’m still pretty fuckin’ huge,” he exclaimed, gawping at the hyper-muscularity that occupied almost inch of his hulking bod. He’d come out of this deal better than he expected. He was four times as huge as he had been at 7:00 am that morning. He flexed a humongous, freaky double biceps pose, and his arm cannons did a 21-gun salute to his hugeness. He flared his lats, and they became engorged on blood, hulking out his mass to insane levels. He bounced the heaviest pecs in all creation, whilst flexing his mammoth quads, one after the other. He became lost to his pec-bouncing and almost passed out when he felt so much manly pec-meat heaving up and down on his chest. His pecs alone must have weighed about two hundred pounds apiece. His measurements were totally off the scale.

“I will always be the hugest, strongest monster bodybuilder on Earth,” he exclaimed, somewhat proudly, bunching his torso into a most-muscular pose, leaning all his weight into it to maximize the flexing and the size it generated.

“But I can never get bigger than I am now. Not now, not ever.” It was a sobering thought. He returned to Ray’s office to get dressed, his body somehow clean of soil, but with just enough of his musk on him to make the night ahead be the best one of his life so far.

The oddly supernatural Carmichael had brought a most splendid outfit for David to wear. And despite that the birthday boy had grown by 400%, somehow the manservant had found an outfit that fit him perfectly. David started by rolling on the pants. He always put on pants like any lesser man puts on a condom, for the material of this clothes always hugged his muscles so tightly. The pants were mustard colored, a spandex and polyester mix that looked like a second skin as it clung to his parts, showing every striation and separation of each massive muscle. His cock and balls were truly enormous, and David had a bit of trouble squeezing his junk-load into the crotch of the pants. But he finally did it, the doing up of each visible button of the five-button fly a miniature triumph. The pants had very wide bell-bottoms, but even the bells clung to his huge calves at their widest points.

Being of an early seventies design, the exposed button-fly wasn’t the only feature that nodded back to the retro-fashion era; the front square pockets of the pants were square-cut and dark brown in color, the same as the pockets on the back. And his bubble butt looked so beautiful and shapely in the pants, his crack sucking in the central seam and drenching it in musk.

Next he put on the most stretchy, clingiest disco-style button-front shirt he’d ever worn. The material was semi-transparent, save for the pattern on the material, which was comprised of so many crescent moons and shooting star motifs. The flyaway collar was high and broad, settling well over his massive traps, but, like the pants, David had trouble doing up some of the buttons, specifically the ones behind which the most bulging pair of pecs ever built sat squarely on the widest chest ever sported by a man. He decided to leave a few buttons open to show off the fine brown hair speckling his pec-mounds. He finished off the ensemble with a gold chain around his bull’s neck, sporting a medallion in the shape of a tiny bodybuilder frozen in a perpetual full-lat spread. Similarly, the buckle of his belt showed a bodybuilder flexing a double biceps.

Carmichael brought stylists into the gym to cut and style the hunky David’s hair into a sexy seventies look. They lightened it to a coppery blonde and cut it tight at the back but left a long, flowing fringe framed on either side by manly sideburns which didn’t overpower his looks. Finally, when he was fully dressed, he stepped back to admire himself. “Pure 1973,” he remarked, posing and flexing for all he was worth, testing the strength of the shirt, especially the buttons, in case they started to ping. They held, although some threads snapped in the shirt’s arms when David flexed his biceps.

“How do I look from the back, Carmichael?”

“Stunning, Sir. The width of your shoulders compared to the absurdly small taper of your waist spans far wider in the relaxed position than even the biggest superheavyweight is capable of when pulling a rear lat-spread. Your back is a “W” up top, but a lower-case “v” at its bottom, diminished still further by the massive and globular swell of your rectal area, making the button-flap pockets of the pants sit way more horizontally than vertically.”

Carmichael was good at describing stuff. David could easily picture how his pants looked from behind. He flexed his glutes to their fullest, causing the buttons on the pockets to strain as their endurance was tested.


David turned to the side, to take in his incredible profile. He noticed that the ball-shaped form of his biceps and triceps had stretched the shirt sleeves to near-bursting point... and... oh god... his upper arms were thicker than his waist, thicker by loads. The huge bulge in the front of his button-flies was extremely prominent, and so David played around with his meat, adjusting it inside the pants so that the bulge stuck out as far as it would go, whilst still flaccid. The distance between the apex of his crotch bulge, and the farthest point of his bubble butt at its most flexed, was a mind-blowing four feet. But that was easily dwarfed by the distance between his nipples when his pecs were most flexed and the middle of his back. He was so big, his muscles primed and pumped, traps, delts, bis, tris, pecs, abs, serratus, glutes, quads, hamstrings, and calves... maxed out and bulging beyond belief.

“I guess I will have to get used to being stuck like this, never to grow ever again. But I’m certain of one thing... this shirt will be shredded before the night is out.” It was David’s holiest vow to himself on his 18th birthday.

“Come, Sir, the car is waiting. I have you booked in for dinner at the Fangucci Bistro for 7pm sharp. You’re at Elizabeth Hurley’s table. I... er... arranged for her to come down with a twenty-four-hour strain of sweaty-cheese-minge syndrome. You know how hard it is to get a table there.” Carmichael, the devil that he was, was such a cool guy to know.

“Do I have a dinner date for the evening, too?” David was starting to get horny again. He would love to get to know the son of Consuela the cook, the hunky Manuel who took over at weekends from the regular gardener to the Driscoll Palatial Estate. He saw him in his mind, now, stripped down to his jeans, his Mexican body toasted a healthy brown in the afternoon sun, cooling down under the hose he used to water the plants, his manly flesh modest but evident in the visible cuts between his work-hardened muscles.

“You’re getting boned, Sir. Might I remind you to be careful regarding the pinging of buttons? And your dinner date is Manuel, the son of the cook, if you must know.” Carmichael had a devilish glint in his eye now. Had he read David’s mind?

End of Part 1

  • Like 5
  • Upvote 1
Link to comment
Share on other sites

David's Day by Lorus

Part 2 of 2

7:00 pm:
Fangucci’s Bistro was where it was all happening. It was so good of Carmichael to make the reservation, considering David hadn’t factored into his evening a slap-up meal at one of Santa Barbara’s plushest restaurants.

Manuel was already there, patiently awaiting the god-like focus of his ultimate gay fantasies: David Driscoll, who was, in a way, his boss. The gorgeous Tijuana hunk was dressed rather conservatively, looking smoldering in a smart black suit and pants, and with a red satin tie above a plain white shirt that simply emphasized his tanned skin, dark designer stubble and overall Latino hotness. If Ben Affleck and Antonio Banderas managed to get gene-spliced together into their own offspring, then Manuel would be the result. He hadn’t seen David for a few days, and the last time he caught sight of him muscle-strutting in just the tiniest white poser imaginable out to the mailbox (probably just to show off and little else), he had been one quarter the size he was now.

Manuel saw.  Manuel gawped, his brown eyes waxing huge.  Manuel immediately shot a load in his shorts.

When David entered the restaurant, he immediately dominated it in every way imaginable. He was so fucking huge he damaged the frame to the main doors as he entered, smugly apologizing to the maître d', and feigning shock-surprise. He even puffed his upper body up to its fullest, pulling back his shoulders and inflating his pecs like the massive wattles of some proud, courting cock. He raised his arms to fully inflate his lats and to activate his reeking musk. The other diners immediately looked up from their eating, their brains sent into utter overload as they tried to make sense of the retro-clad mega-gigantic bodybuilder... such a young-faced head on an alarmingly enormous bodybuilder’s frame.

Erm... duh-do you huh-have a... (Gulp)... reservation, Sir,” the maître d' tentatively inquired as he fawned after David, looking dim and instantly forgettable beneath the shadow cast by the huge muscle-teen’s imposing size.

Sure I do, Tiny. Talk to my man Carmichael over there,” David gruffly answered. His voice had become so deep, so cocky, so imposing.

Everything about him commanded that he be worshipped and obsessed-over to the point of a severe cum-overload. David made a beeline for Manuel, but his size caused people to stand up from their seats and push their tables out of the way to give him more room to move. He weighed a ton and the restaurant trembled with every footfall. As he moved, he radiated musk everywhere. Men came in their pants immediately, some skipping off to the bathroom to yank themselves stupid and contemplate divorcing their wives simply because, after seeing David, they would be gay from here on in. Others jerked-off right at their tables, some to the horrors of their wives and girlfriends, but many joined by their female partners in a sudden show of self-stimulation.

The maître d' didn’t have time to be shocked, held utterly aghast by the sudden alteration of his restaurant’s ambiance, because he, too, had fallen under David’s intoxicating spell.

I’m not waiting for one of your waiters to get done with their jackin’-off so they can serve me, Tiny. I want you to bring ten of your best pizzas out to my table in the next fifteen minutes. Forget everyone else’s orders. I CUM first!” David had become so goddam cocky, and he liked it. He picked up the maître d' by his lapels and breathed his musk all over him.

Unnngh....yessir.... oh shit.... gonna cum,” he muttered. David expertly flexed his massive, rock-hard but utterly bulbous pec-meats, the strain of which opened another button on his tortured shirt (it really wasn’t going to last the evening), revealing a lot more of his chest, huge, heaving melons of muscle, between which a dark and hairy vertical canyon heated up and quickly released its dripping, overwhelming perfume. David pressed the maître d's face into the canyon and flexed and bounced his pecs, the motion of which soon had the head waiter’s face and hair sodden with musk.

But maybe I should have a little appetizer first, Tiny,” growled David, and, still with the maître d' held solely by his suit lapels, raised him even higher so that his already precum-soiled crotch drew level with his mouth.

Oh no.... please... no...,” Tiny gasped, his ‘no’s’ meaning ‘yes’. He barely got his flies open with fumbling fingers before David sucked on his spring-loaded meat and tensed every muscle in his huge body in reaction to the hot, salty treat that gushed into his mouth and down his throat. David’s musk-production suddenly doubled.

Huh?” He thought about this as he allowed the maître d' to flop down before him like a spineless ragdoll. The temperature in the restaurant began to soar, forced upwards by the rise in the body heat of so many men and women now masturbating around him. Even the waiters and kitchen staff stopped working as everyone fell victim to David’s intoxicating odor.

Curious... I drink cum, and my musk gets stronger,” David cried, beaming in delight at having arrived at this notion. Sodden patches of sweaty cum-induced wetness soon appeared under his arms, and down the center of the maddeningly massive delta-sprawl of his back. Dampness collected in the hairs of his ass, squeezed outwards by a few flexes of his butt-muscles. Musk rolled down his flesh inside of his clothes, making it quickly appear as though he’d just taken a shower with his clothes on. Beads of perfume collected on every fine hair across his body. The back of his head was suddenly drenched in it. His arousal shot up, the huge bulge in his crotch now straining harder against his pants buttons. Somehow they held, amazingly so.

He stood over his table, towering above Manuel as he stroked his rod feverishly and frantically as he tried to build up enough cum to blow once again. That was the thing about David.... the new improved 2000 lbs. David... just taking in his intoxicating aroma was enough to make any man want to cum over and over, Manuel being no exception. David decided that he preferred Manuel in his work clothes, which in the Mexican’s case, was a pair of denim cut-offs and a red bandana. But since he had neither with him, nakedness would have to suffice.

Take all your clothes off, Manuel. I want to wash you with my sexy cologne,” said David, meaning the musk that now issued from every pore of his skin. His body made more and more musk issue forth from his glands, and the glands themselves went into overdrive.

Si... unngh...  Señor Driscoll,” said Manuel, suddenly forgetting how to speak English. He quickly began to clumsily work his way out of his suit. Within two minutes his glistening, tanned flesh was exposed, his modest musculature taut and flexing as he leaned back in his chair, pivoting it on its rear-legs so he could further work on his meat. David grew increasingly hard, especially when he focused on the awesomely protruding nips of the Hispanic hunk. He wanted to cum and shred his beautiful 1973 semi-see-thru’ shirt and polyester pants... but NO! He had to maintain at least a modicum of control. The night was young, and he had a lot to do yet. Not far away, in a dim, inconspicuous corner of the restaurant, Carmichael watched events as they unfolded, neither taking pleasure from his observations nor passing judgement. He simply observed, quietly, and maintained the merest sliver of a grin.

David’s thoughts immediately reverted to pizza. There was time aplenty for Manuel yet. His eyes darted around the room. He had to have pizza... his stomach gnawing at him as his super body demanded refueling. A man can’t live on spunk alone, now can he?

Everyone present were still held aghast by the musk emanating from a myriad deep sources between the immense muscles of the hugest, most fucking awesome bodybuilder there was, which meant that so many recently served meals were forgotten. Many diners had been tucking into different types of pizza before David’s arrival. He smirked devilishly when an idea washed through his brain.

He went from table to table, pleased at the sight of quite a lot of uneaten pizza, every diner now buried in the throes of sexual ecstasy. At the first table he visited – his redwood-thick thighs displacing furniture and diners alike as he strutted – two surfer-douchebags had their shirts stripped off and their board-shorts down around their bronzed ankles, everything forgotten but for the furious pumping of their glistening cocks. They screamed as they inhaled deeply on David’s ever-strengthening musk, whilst he breathed in the scent of delicious pizza and precum.

Hey, surfer-douchebag, aim that hot cock of yours over your plate. I think that pizza is lookin’ a little dry,” David commanded, his Alpha-male bass-tone booming. The douchebag did as he was told. As a further incentive, David flexed down into a most-muscular pose that weakened shirt-threads around his upper arms, whilst causing his traps to shoot up and smother his super-thick neck in “faint-inducing” wads of triangular muscle. They bulged impossibly in sync with balled-biceps thicker than the douche-bag’s surfer-built chest. David growled and concentrated, forcing more blood and testosterone into his triceps, and immediately they burst forth in opposite directions, blasting outward and thickening the upper mass of his arms considerably.

Threads snapped in a sequential chorus. The shirt was losing a battle it was destined to lose. Although David’s weight couldn’t change, he could still flex his muscles thicker and huger, deepening every striation that set his muscles apart from one another, and thickening the already over-gorged veins that fed them the fuel they needed. He erupted into a mass-explosion of definition and mind-blowing vascularity, easily visible beneath the translucency of shirt material now stretched as thin as wet tissue paper. He snarled, baring two rows of perfect, white teeth, blowing the fringe out of his face as he flexed harder and harder.

His pecs got bigger, huger... heavier.... deeper cut...DENSER AAAARRRRGGGH......FUUUUCK!!!!!!! His face, neck and chest flared red from extra engorged blood, his heart pumping more strongly and efficiently than it ever had before. He got fitter and fitter, stronger and stronger, more beautiful with each passing second. His body spewed forth musk, drenching the now screaming dudes as they brought themselves to climax.  Their cum erupted over the table, garnishing all the pizza they no longer showed interest in.

Yeah, that’s what I like, you midgets. Empty both of your fucking sacks for super-huge David.... hungry-for-pizza David.... David your fucking mega-muscled master.... fuck yeah!!!!”

He began to gorge on the cum-drenched pizza, wolfing down slice after slice, savoring the new flavors that besieged his senses. He ate until there was nothing left on their plates. Then, even as the douche-bags – who up until coming to Fangucci’s this evening considered themselves the ultimate ladies' men – swam in the reverie of the best orgasms they’d ever given themselves, David picked them up one at a time and sucked yet more of their hot crème from them. The massive bulge in David’s buttoned-up crotch swelled huger, his balls thickening and gaining mass more than they ever had before. When the time came for the huge bodybuilder to blow... it would be... oh fuck... the Armageddon of cumming.

He was still hungry as he wiped cum-laced tomato sauce from the corner of his perfect mouth. He moved to another table. This time it was a fat man, dining alone, but with enough pizza on his table to feed a small army... or just one David Driscoll.

Cum for me, fat-man, if you can get your tiny dick out past your big belly. Add some seasoning to the fare,” growled David, far from repulsed by the jiggling horny mass of a man but intrigued by the fact that his pecs alone probably weighed as much as the obese gentleman’s entire gelatinous bod.

The fat man – in a feat that deserved only the highest of praise – managed to squirt a load of his salty sauce onto the food at his table. David gorged on the lot, not stopping until he’d licked the plates clean. Then he picked up the now naked fat man, holding him effortlessly, and allowed him to rest his huge beer-gut on the upper surface of his pec-shelf. David immediately began to flex his melons, heaving them upwards, “BOOM – BADDA – BOOM,” he chanted in time to the pec-bouncing rhythm, over and over, sending powerful tremors undulating throughout the fat man’s Jell-O-like body. This was too much for the fatty and he blasted another dirty load, this time sucked up and savored by David through lips that didn’t intend to quit.

Mmmm, nice cum, Tubby. Hope it doesn’t make me get fat like you,” said David, smirking and loving himself more than he ever had. “Then again,” he added, “my body is a living temple of super-huge muscle. Nothing can ever make me fat.” To emphasize this, he flexed a mighty single biceps out of his free arm, the bicep itself easily out-sizing the gross belly of the completely subservient and still-climaxing fat man. The bicep was huge, harder than diamond, and would have been smooth, but David concentrated further and squeezed his bicep and forearm into an even harder flex, and titan-thick veins heaved out of the muscles and challenged his paper-thin skin for supremacy. The fat man, still held aloft by David, fainted when threads came apart in the terribly stressed shirt sleeve and a mammoth peak – a testament to pure super-sexual Alpha-male supremacy – became exposed.

You’re all so weak,” David growled, grinning with self-adoration. He stood in the middle of the restaurant, kicking tables and chairs away from him to clear space. Most of the diners were now writhing about on the floor, an orgy of magnitude as David’s effects on folk began to adopt such a predictable air.

I have to flex further.... I have to open up my goddam huge muscles and flare every fucking inch of them,” he growled, vowing to augment his supremacy further. Everyone stopped what they were doing - cumming, giving anilingus male-to-male, hetero, female-to-female, or whatever sexual combo they were involved in as a result of inhaling David’s incredible musk – they ALL stopped, held their breath and the gasps at the backs of their throats. David slowly got into position, his coiled-up cock – resting on an ever-expanding duo of cum-charged gonads – pushing even harder against the inside of his pants as it ate up all the space it could to thicken and expand further.

He held his arms out straight on either side of him, his fists balled tight, eruptions of veins, like miniature walls snaking across his forearms and biceps. He stood with his feet as far apart as he could, although his inner thighs still pushed against one another, the muscles locked in a permanent battle to acquire space. He held his head high, chin pointing outward, as he slowly bent his arms, elbows outward, so that his knuckles could connect with the thickly corded muscles of his solid but trim waist. He slowly pumped up his chest, ribcage expanding as he pushed his elbows forwards, still with his fists to his waist on either side. Slowly, gradually, with minimal effort, his lats began to fan outward, flaring, thickening, gobbling up space like some augmenting amoeba.

It was his biggest, greatest upper-body flex ever. Even the quietly observant Carmichael, sitting cross-legged and satyr-fashion on a chair in a dimly lit corner, could not believe his eyes.

Aaaaarrrrrrgggggghhhhhhhh!” David screamed, urging newfound power into his body. To hell with the clothes lasting out the rest of the evening. He was so overcome with muscle-lust right now that he had to unleash the true fury of his posing power. And it was a power like no other. His body bulged greatly, but he needed something to lift, something really heavy in order to get a greater pump... and hold on to the pump. The buttons on his shirt miraculously held the garment together, although more and more fibers gave up their ghosts. It seemed that Carmichael had chosen the clothes well. David still couldn’t flex out of them. He got angrier and angrier, hornier and hornier.

Gotta lift something huge and heavy,” he growled, his entire body tingling with unrelenting energy. He needed to quickly channel that energy into a lifting activity, and soon, too.

Why not try the manager’s office. I’m sure there’s a rather large, freestanding safe up there, probably weighing as much as you do. You could have a little fun with that,” Carmichael suggested, an impish grin accompanying the mischievous glint in his eye.

David thought about it, smirking in his usual smug way. He thought it was a great idea. He found a flight of stairs through a door reserved for staff only. It was locked, but he tore it right out of its frame as though it were made of paper. “Getting so very strong,” he scoffed, full of pride and almost bestial lust. His massive frame got stuck on the tiny stairwell. Not to worry. He simply pushed with his hands against the walls on either side and widened this part of the building enough to accommodate him. “Better buy this restaurant in case I’m stuck with a lawsuit for damages,” he resolved. He found the office and destroyed another door getting inside. There was the safe, as wide and tall as he was, freestanding in one corner of the nicely furnished office.

Oh, this is gonna be so good,” he cried as he grabbed hold of the safe in a powerful bear hug. He strained to move it. It wouldn’t budge. “Hmm, must be bolted to the floor. Need to exert... unnngh... more muscle-power.... hnnng,” he grunted, willing more blood to course into his muscles, to make them stronger and stronger and stronger. He heaved on the safe again. Metal became fatigued, groaning and buckling as David’s brute strength proved too much for it.

Yesssssss,” he hissed, triumphantly, when the massive cuboid of thick iron came away from the floor, taking some floorboards with it. David maneuvered it in his grip so that he could press it over his head. A solid ton, easily eight hundred pounds heavier than the bar he’d lifted earlier that day at the gym. He began to press, his fingers digging into the iron to make rudimentary “grips”. Manuel, along with the surfer-douchebags, each one eager to cum more, staggered upstairs to the office. They were all naked as before, their sizeable dicks bobbing like divining rods before them, seeking out so much muscle and the cum-reward it promised.

David had an audience. Good. “Count my reps, insects,” he growled as he pumped the massive weight over and over, feeling it becoming less of an effort to do so as he worked his muscles to greater heights than ever before. His horny audience of three began to chant out the reps.

.....ten.... twenty....thirty....fifty....one hundred....two hundred..... five hundred....one thousand... aw man.....need to cum!”

You’ll all cum when I fucking say so.... no sooner. Now keep counting,” the muscle-lusting David screamed to the trio. His body was aflame with hot-blooded pumping exertion, the taut skin over his massively huge muscles now flared red from the lifting. But he was getting stronger and didn’t intend on quitting yet. Time sped by. He pumped more, harder and harder, faster and faster, the temperature in the room now as hot as a sauna, the steam of which came out of David’s musk as it continued to seep from his every pore.

He’d cranked out three thousand reps, all in one set, with a weight of two thousand pounds. He was more pumped than ever, but still his shirt and pants, despite the minor tear here and there, stayed intact. David didn’t feel any heavier. He had been 2666 lbs. before the Devil made his little deal. Damn, couldn’t the contract be altered if he asked Carmichael nicely enough? It was time for Manuel and the surfer-douchebags to cum again, for now they were writhing in the agony of having to suppress their orgasms – despite the musk in the room being stronger than ever – until their master gave the word.

Puh...pleeeese let us cum,” one of the surfer-douchebags pleaded, speaking for all three of them.

Not yet, ant,” David replied, addressing him directly. Then: “I still have my finale to perform.” He smirked smugly, and never taking his eyes off his audience for a second, hefted the safe over his head for one last rep. This time he gripped the safe on either end, rather than with the self-made handgrips indented into one of its sides.  He began to squeeze.

He was silent as he applied the pressure, showing little in the way of exertion, for the three thousand reps had pumped him to his strongest state ever. The iron began to groan and buckle. Then it began to deform inwards – concertinaing - its valuable contents being compressed along with the safe. David pressed harder and harder, his face and neck flaring red from mild strain. Still he made not a sound, and never took his eyes off the three gnats in his company. On either side of his head, biceps, easily three times its size and circumference, flexed huger, harder, as he demanded more power. His lats were like wings on either side of him and they thickened and bulged with extra power, so that threads where his sleeves joined with the main body of his shirt started to snap, one after the other. The bulge in his crotch got bigger still; it now looked as though David had stuffed a football down the front of his pants. The buttons on his fly-front miraculously held, although there were visible gaps in between, through which musky, sopping hair issued. His clothes were sodden with musk and sweat, every muscle and striation visible through the membranes his outfit had become.

The safe buckled inwards more and more, decreasing in length as he squeezed, but concertinaing upwards as metal softened and shifted upward. His shirt sleeves tore free of his shirt and immediately thick tufts of armpit hair, reeking with musk and sweat, pushed out of the holes and seemed to grow like weeds. David was still silent, still focused on his audience, as though the awesome feat of crushing the safe over his head was unimportant.

Need... to... cummm,” Manuel sobbed, remembering his English as tears flowed from his eyes and his balls looked set to burst from the pressure of holding in so much spunk. The surfer-douche-bags were in a similar state.

Not yet,” David whispered acerbically, the once six and a half feet high safe now a mere three feet in length. He squeezed further, harder and harder, pools of precum collecting at his feet, adding to his intoxicating perfume. He made the safe smaller and smaller. When it was small enough to be handled easily, he lowered his arms and held it before him. It was the size of a football.

Not finished yet,” said David, almost scheming. What was he planning? Carmichael ghosted into the room and seemed concerned for David’s welfare.

You’re not thinking of.... nah... please tell me I’m wrong. Although I’m never wrong,” said Carmichael as a look of shock mixed with intrigue flashed across his handsome face.

Contracts can be gotten around, Carmichael. You, the Prince of Lies, or whatever you like to be known as, should appreciate how sometimes greatness can be achieved by cheating,” said David, pressing the dense ball of iron into an even denser ball. He pressed and squeezed, achieving a feat never before seen by human and deific eyes. Carmichael was horrified now, knowing full and well what David was about to do.

Now you three can cum. I order you to cum like never before,” David snarled. Carmichael had to sidestep to avoid being showered in jets of warm jism. David held out the now egg-sized ball of iron in his hand. It still weighed the same but had been incredibly compressed by his equally incredible strength. The trio ejaculated for all they were worth, cum sizzling on the surface of the friction-hot iron ball in David’s hand. The heat didn’t burn him whatsoever, something to be thankful for. “Just a little seasoning before it goes down the hatch, Carmichael,” said David, winking at his satanic manservant. Then he stuffed the iron ball into his mouth and deftly swallowed it in one go. His nuclear-reactor stomach didn’t know what hit it. The iron began to slowly melt into a sludge of acid-mulched pizza.

As Manuel and the surfer-douchebags continued to cum and moan in throes of ecstasy like nothing before, David tore off his shirt sleeves, exposing his mammoth biceps which he seemed only too happy to flex. They seemed even bigger now that they were free of the sleeves. David’s hulking body pushed Carmichael until his back was to a wall. David breathed his musk all over him.

With this ball inside me I now weigh more than two tons, Carmichael. The contract you had me sign in my fucking dream applies to a two-thousand-pound man. David began to undress Carmichael, somewhat forcibly. He easily tore the suit jacket away from him, exposing a nicely built torso in a white shirt and tie underneath.

Suh-Sir, I must... puh-protest,” stammered Carmichael, as he tried to resist the potency of David’s musk. But swallowing the super-dense iron ball and tripled his output of musk, not to mention making it even more concentrated than ever before.

What’s this... the Devil Himself has got a stutter.... poor, poor Devil,” mocked David, dipping his head so that he could nibble on Carmichael’s lower lip with his teeth. David groped the front of Carmichael’s pants and felt his dick twitching and then throbbing.

Heh heh heh, what’s this? Missus Carmichael isn’t going to like this, now is she?”

David... pl––”

David lifted Carmichael about six inches off the floor and began to kiss him profoundly, barely giving him a chance to breathe. Carmichael didn’t resist as much as he probably should have. Soon his clothes were drenched in David’s musk.

Lift the cap on my muscle-growth, Carmichael. You own 666 lbs. of my former size, NOT my soul. I guess that makes me exempt from a lot of the small print, huh?”

I cuh-can lift it... buh-but from now on your growth will have to be from regular bodybuilding, not my... er.... magic... for want of a better word. And you suh-still have to beget an heir, otherwise I will have your soul.” Carmichael couldn’t believe that his body was reacting to David’s overpowering effects. But then again, in a mortal body, Satan was susceptible to a lot of human vices (don’t tell anyone I said that ;-).

But... but... Carmichael...it’s super-sexy David’s birthday today,” David said, now toying with the Devil to get his own way, “... aren’t you going to give David a little pwessie?” David hugged Carmichael tighter, subjecting him to progressive tongue thrusts, each one going further into his mouth and down his throat. David held him up with one hand, and went exploring with the other, finding Carmichael’s hot butt and playing with it for a time.  Your butt is sexy,” snarled David, lustily, his seduction of the Devil gaining more and more momentum.

We have.... have gyms in Hell, too, y’know,” Carmichael gasped, never once in all of eternity had he ever succumbed to the sexual charms of a man.

Nice... I would really like to fuck you.... but I think you should let me have a pwessie first, though... say.... another 1000 lbs. of ravishing muscle mass, whataya say?”

Carmichael thought about it. He reckoned it was in his power to bend his own rules a little, considering David had gotten away with quite a lot on a technicality. Oh, what the heck, it was his 18th birthday and they only come around once in a lifetime.

Okay... you can grow to 3000 lbs., David. Buh...but not yet... not now. I nuh-need time to compose myself. Muh-maybe if I were to accompany you to the club?”

Now THAT wasn’t a bad idea at all.

10:00 pm:

They’d gone for coffee and ice cream, something to kill time until the club opened at 10:00 pm. David loved strutting around Santa Barbara, now in a sleeveless shirt, more massively pumped than he’d ever been before. Everyone he passed who fell under his spell couldn’t get over the size of the muscle freak. He was, quite simply, the biggest, hugest, heaviest, most muscle-defined bodybuilder to ever walk the Earth. And David, before the night was out, would be even huger and more muscular than he was now. He simply couldn’t wait.

Getting into The Club was a little problematic at first. There was a line of gorgeous gay men, all in assorted attire designed to enhance what nature or the gym and given them. David, before the night was out, knew that he would have every one of them writhing at his feet. In fact, for his 18th birthday he would be the catalyst in the biggest ever gay orgy. To avoid causing pandemonium too early, Carmichael fixed it so that David’s musk glands went to sleep for a spell. He also freshened them both up prior to getting in line.

Gee, man, you’re HUGE,” said onlookers as they ogled the mega-titan that was David Driscoll. “How much can you bench?” someone asked.

About 2000 lbs. currently, but I’m workin’ on getting bigger and stronger, so who knows what I’ll be liftin’ in the future. I hope it’s a lot more. I just want to get bigger and bigger and bigger. And then after that, I will get even bigger and bigger. And then after that, huger than ever,” David boasted. Standing in line for The Club, even though his musk production had been temporarily switched off, David was still having an incredible effect on the gay men flocking around him. He realized that his boasting was a turn-on for people, and he got boned just talking about himself and how much bigger he planned to get.

Can I feel your muscles?” one cute guy asked as his eyes waxed hugely in their sockets simply trying to take in the vastness that was David. “Only if I can fuck you up your cute little ass,” was his reply. David flexed a little for his audience, churning out some double biceps, pec-bouncing, and side chest flexing. The audience responded with “Ooohs” and “Aaaahs”, and “God...gotta cum!” David flexed an even huger full lat-spread than earlier at the restaurant, causing another button to pop undone on his utterly disheveled shirt. His hairy chest flexed up hugely, burying most of his face beneath a mound of super-striated, bulbous pec-meat. His waist seemed to diminish further, creating the illusion of even further upper body mass. Several men had to quit standing in line to find a secluded alleyway in which to cum. A few wouldn’t make it and would soil themselves in the street.

The line moved gradually. David was getting pissed off. “Carmichael, do whatever it is you do and buy the fuck out of this place. David Driscoll doesn’t do lines.”

Very good, Sir,” said the Devil, now neatly dressed and playing the role of manservant once again. He flipped out his cell phone, speed dialed a number, and in less than a minute was able to respond with: “The deed to this licensed premises has been transferred to Driscoll Holdings. You are now the sole executor, Sir.”

Fuckin-A,” said David and began to push his way to the front of the line. He was stopped by two huge bodybuilders in tuxedos. Well, they were huge – the kings of their hill – in whatever gym it was they trained in. But next to David Driscoll, they were midgets. Neither of them looked like they were anywhere near 300 lbs. David was more than three times their weight COMBINED!

You need to be a member to join, big fella,” said one of the bouncers, clearly intimidated by David’s size, but like his colleague, tried not to show it.

I own this place, little fella,” David informed him with a cocky grin.

It’s true,” said the white-faced former manager of The Club when he appeared alongside the bouncers at the door. He’d just gotten the call from his lawyer to say that the Driscolls had bought him out.

Don’t fret, boys. I’m a mostly benevolent boss. Raises all around for everyone, and triple the Christmas bonus for all staff,” said David as he pushed his way into The Club. He stopped, however, to address the bouncers one last time: “You two can have free protein for life. You could really do with gaining some real size.” David flashed a pearly white smile, for he was so magnificently handsome, and bounced his massive pecs right in front of the bouncers, both of whom suddenly felt so very, very small. But hey, free protein, a raise, and a triple Christmas bonus? David may have been cocky, but he was generous to a fault.

10:27 pm:

David took over the VIP lounge and made himself comfortable. It was the perfect place for his planned orgy of extreme muscle-growth and worship. It was lit with subdued lighting glancing off mirror balls that threw speckles of light about the room as an accompaniment to the lava lamps that glowed and oozed like irradiated protozoa glowing under a microscope. There were soft leather couches all around, as well as bean bags and a private bar. It turned out, purely by chance, that Manuel worked here at night as a bartender. He’d managed to clean himself up after his antics at the restaurant earlier and was now behind the bar and wearing only a skin-tight pair of Levi’s 501s. In homage to his hulkingly huge and ultra-hunky teenage boss, Manuel had serviced his jeans, cutting away the panel of denim concealing the fly to expose the shiny metal buttons beneath. It was so International Male, but it got David’s approval and so he made a mental note to have every guy working at The Club do the same to their jeans.

I’m so glad you’re here, Manuel. Hope I wasn’t too rough with you earlier,” said David when he went to the bar to get a drink. In the background the music was “West End Girls” by the Pet Shop Boys. The scene was just perfect.

It’s okay, Señor Driscoll,” the delicious Hispanic replied, somewhat ruefully. He blushed a little as he prepared a Manhattan for David, flushing his already tanned cheeks with delicious red splashes that seemed to glow in the dim almost psychedelic light of the VIP lounge. David accepted the drink and slurped it back in one go. “Mmmm, not bad. But it would taste a lot better with your cum in it.” Saying this caused Manuel’s button-fly to tent out in his jeans. David was back reeking musk again, only not as potent as before. But it was enough to cause Manuel to leap over the bar-top and lunge at his boss. David was only too keen to have this happen.

Manuel, his muscled chest already glistening with the oil all bartenders in The Club had to have rubbed into their shirtless torsos during work hours, sucked heavily on David’s lips, fucking his tongue as far into his mouth as he could. He gripped David around his huge neck, which was difficult given the width and depth of his chest that now rippled and flexed next to Manuel’s hot body. The Mexican easily got his denimed thighs around David’s compact but powerful waist and they sucked face like this for what seemed like an interminable moment.

Te amo,  Señor Driscoll,” said Manuel, having never said this to anyone before. David had no idea what that meant, but he could sense from Manuel that the Mexican was feeling nothing but love. Was David ready for a long-term relationship? He didn’t know. All of this was happening quite fast. Despite his great size and weight, the Manhattan had gone right to his head, making his thoughts swim on heady currents. It was a nice feeling and married well with the tingling he now felt in his hugely oversized balls.

David was now unbearably horny. But he had to resist temptation. Eventually he would take a boyfriend (and a woman at some stage to produce his heir), but for now he really loved being a muscle-slut. And speaking of muscle...

Carmichael was lurking in a corner as usual, sipping a dry sherry, his jacket off and tie loosened around his open shirt collar. He watched David making out with Manuel and thought about turning the Mexican into a slug and then stepping on him.

Am I... jealous?” Carmichael pondered the possibility in his mind. In mortal form he was as human as the next person and gave in to his body’s lusts quite easily. His boner throbbed in his pants, so he fondled it as he watched David set Manuel down and approach him.

It’s time for me to grow now. Soon this lounge will be filled with hot guys having the orgasms of their lives. I want my birthday present NOW!!!” David stood massively over Carmichael, for all intents and purposes a huge but spoilt American teenage brat, like those rich 16-year-old bitches off MTV that get everything they want for their birthdays.

I can’t even have a sherry in peace. Very well,” said Carmichael and did absolutely nothing.

Uh, I’m waiting,” said David, hands on hips, pecs bouncing, balls and dick pushing harder against his button-fly.

It’s done. What, were you expecting me to wiggle my nose or cry ‘Expecto Muscularionis’, hmm?” Carmichael sipped his sherry once again and crossed one leg over the other to better stay off his full-blown hardon.

David moved to the center of the lounge, “Born to be Alive” once again playing in the vicinity of the gigantic bodybuilder. David concentrated and willed his most pungent musk yet. It billowed out of him and soon got caught in the air conditioning. Within two minutes all the gay men and staff at The Club poured into the lounge, some nearly stepping over others to get near David. Once his audience was assembled, David concentrated harder. He had 1000 lbs. of growing to do. And that began right now.

He tilted his head back, outstretching his arms on either side, fists bunched tightly, his legs spread as wide as he could spread them. This was his stance from which the most muscle growth would be exploited. His horny audience of up to one hundred gorgeous, hot gay men formed a circle around him, giving the giant enough room to fill out further. They all gazed, amazed at what was happening right before them, communal lust rising to fever-pitch as David’s amazing perfume besieged their senses like a battering ram.

David’s arms, already way thicker than an average man at the shoulders, bulged huger, veins like snakes hulking upwards and outwards across his flesh. He shuddered at the sensation as his heart quickened and strengthened as mile after mile of new veins were laid down, vast capillary super-highways transporting metamorphic fluids to every fiber in his body. Biceps bulged, growing bigger and bigger, thicker and stronger. David growled insanely now, as everyone around him moaned and wailed in lust as they hurried to get out of their clothes.

David’s chest ballooned and ballooned, swelling up huge like some great gorging leeches, only beautifully so. Dozens of inches went onto his chest, massive girth like never seen before, never even comprehended by the most lustful of muscle fantasists. His shirt stretched impossibly, but it couldn’t fight the incredible pressure of muscles so huge. It came apart quite awesomely, the three buttons left holding the shirt fastened at his augmenting waist now pinging off in all directions. One hit a bottle of Jim Beam at the bar and the glass shattered, spilling the liquid. Now gigantic, ultra-cut ab-bellies pushed outward, bisected down the middle by the thickest, darkest, wettest treasure trail a man could ever sport. Bits of shirt floated in the air like confetti, drenched in wet musk, only to fall to the floor where muscle-hungry men now vied for them like a pack of hyenas fighting over the last bit of carrion.

David got huger and huger, shooting past the 3000 lbs. that Carmichael had set as the new cap. After all, the Devil could bend his own rules and it now amused him to see just how huge David could get before sheer bulk overwhelmed his aesthetics and he transformed into a shapeless blob of muscle.

More buttons pinged, this time from his pants as they finally disintegrated. Now his man-meat was exposed for everyone to see. It was HUUUUUGE, easily five feet long and at least three feet thick. Even an elephant couldn’t be fucked by that.

Hmmm, might be a bit too big in that department,” Carmichael mused as he filled up on more sherry, mild inebriation starting to take hold.

Unnnnngh, so huuuuge,” the gay men moaned as they writhed around on a floor now sodden with so much of David’s musk, sweat and precum. They bathed in it, sucking it into themselves out of the very tiles. A couple of men latched on to David’s ever-growing bone and marveled at how it lifted them up as it became more erect, travelling upward towards his enormously-jutting pec-juggernauts. David grew and grew, getting more and more muscular. The striations between the muscles on his thighs alone were deep enough to take dicks and so some men began to fuck the striations, burying their dicks all the way into the super-hard cleavage.  The head of his dick, easily bigger than his own head, drew level with the top of his pecs. David was deftly able to flex his pecs around the massive shaft of his dick, which totally boned him further, his lust rising to near-Armageddon intensity.

AW FUCK..... I’M HUUUUUUUGE!!!!!!” He flexed the hugest most muscular yet, and his glistening body heaved and bulged, new muscle flesh still forming, glistening with a mirror sheen, bloated, bulbous and spherical in definition, veins straining like thick ropes beneath his skin. He flexed and flexed and flexed and flexed, screaming, growling, barking with the intensity of his transformation. He tightened every muscle-bulb, straining it to the point of exploding, willing greater size and thickness, and deeper cuts from his muscles. They obeyed his every command. He got bigger and bigger and bigger still. The fucking hugest, godforsaken mega-muscled gigantic bodybuilder in all of creation... and he was still hungry to be bigger still.

Tell me what I am!!!” He screamed to his audience, each one on the verge of cumming.

You are the biggest bodybuilder. Your bodybuilding knows no boundary. No bodybuilder can ever compare to you, David,” they chanted, their lust forming them into a one-minded collective.

FUCKING HUGE BODYBUILDER.... HUGEST BODYBUILDER EVER. ARRRRRGGGGGHHHHHH!”

David was ready to erupt but he managed to contain it. With balls now larger than some of the beanbags in the lounge, and his height easily passing eight feet or more, David’s growth ceased, and it was impossible to gauge just how much he had grown. A guess would be nearly 4000 lbs., maybe a lot more.

A hundred gay men came in unison, aiming their streams high, aiming at their muscle master who would be the sole focus of their worship for the rest of their lives. David bathed in their cream, so much of it shooting at him from the front and the back. He fingered it off his abs and then licked his fingers clean. One by one he picked them up, for they were all so small to him now. Still ejaculating, he sucked them off to the last drop intending to fill up on so much delicious spunk. He kept Manuel until the end, savoring his juice over all others. He kissed him fondly after he emptied him of his liquid.

What do you think of the even huger me, Manuel? Reckon I’m too much for you to handle?” 

Before Manuel could even speak, David was kissing him repeatedly, holding him in both hands, whilst Manuel’s dick was squeezed between the biggest pectoral muscles on any living creature.

 I want you no matter how huge you get,  Señor Driscoll,” Manuel gasped in between kisses. David completely took his breath away. They kissed for ages, before Manuel finally passed out amidst the now exhausted and depleted orgy of David-worshippers. Soon David and Carmichael were the only ones conscious in the entire Club.

11:46 pm:

David towered above Carmichael, out-sizing him in every way imaginable. But David had yet to cum, and there were still fourteen minutes left of his birthday. He smirked roguishly down at his immortal manservant... the Devil of yore, of all people. Carmichael’s flies were undone, his cum-slicked dick flopping across him. He’d been masturbating the whole time, and seemed quite depleted, as well as more than tipsy from one too many sherries.

You’re my bitch, now, Carmichael,” David growled, and bent forwards to rip the clothing from the Devil’s body, exposing a deliciously buff body that he’d hid well in the penguin suits he wore whenever he attended to his rich master.

I look forward to it, Davy-boy,” he slurred, now obviously tired of the whole manservant act. He was Satan and he could be anyone he wanted to be, even Patrick Hernandez. He flexed his abs to push his lower half upwards, holding his legs upwards and as close to his chest as his supple self could manage. In this way he exposed his butt hole for David to see... his impossibly large butt hole.  There never was a Missus Carmichael,” the Devil confessed, now totally wanting to be fucked by David and no other.

Prince of fucking Lies,” growled David and got into position, holding Carmichael firmly by each ankle. He pushed five and a half feet of monster-dick into the Devil, who was, not surprisingly, able to take it to the last inch. David fucked him hard and fast, for he was only coming of age and nowhere near experienced at the art of anal intercourse. Still, not bad to fuck a supreme being in human form his first time out.

Back home I’m known as TARDIS-butt,” Carmichael admitted, finally giving in to his gay side and going with the flow.

That made David laugh, but it didn’t interfere with his cumming. He finally shot the biggest load of cum in history, a hundred liters of the stuff, and it took him more than half an hour to do it.

Carmichael was able to take all of it in. What happened to all that cum was a mystery, but David eventually fell backwards onto a beanbag with force enough to make the entire building shake. He lay there for a time, basking in the brilliance of his achievement, his massively muscular arms folded behind his head. He was enormous, so utterly, almost ridiculously beautiful. He was perfection at its most incredible.

He lay there and thought about the future and what the world would have in store for the 4000+ lb. bodybuilder. He drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

7:00 am:

The alarm went off as always and David awakened to find himself in his room at the family mansion. “Born to be Alive” came on as usual, but David found himself having to blink a few times, to work the sleep out of his head, and to focus on the sudden reality of his surroundings.

I don’t remember getting home,” he said aloud and quickly got out of his bed. There were mirrors everywhere in his room, on the walls and ceiling, in the bathroom, even in the ensuite sauna. David needed to look at himself often, to marvel at his amazing body. He gazed at himself, the events of last night somewhat hazy in his mind. He was fucking gigantic, a 4000 lb. mega-hunk of incredible bodybuilding magnificence.

Best birthday ever,” he declared, boning up on some posing before breakfast. He couldn’t wait to get to the gym to test his new strength, break all his previous lifting records, and simply be seen and marveled at by so many lusty men and women.

Carmichael? Carmichael!” David called and called, but his manservant did not come. Well, not Carmichael... but David’s new manservant soon made himself known.  David gazed at Manuel as he strutted into the bedroom, wearing only denim cut-offs and a red bandana.  David’s tongue almost fell out of his mouth.

You called me,  Señor?” Manuel was the new manservant to David Driscoll, and not only that, but Manuel was also his muscular equal. He was as big as David in just about every way. The denim shorts clung to him like a second skin, but his balls hung down past the cut-offs. Behind the button-fly a massive anaconda stirred.

Carmichael, you sneaky Devil,” laughed David, now realizing that this was the birthday present to end all birthday presents. Manuel began to flex for his master, bouncing his gigantic, tanned, oiled pecs and smiling a beautiful white smile that contrasted his tanned flesh so wonderfully.

Come to your Master, you sexy muscleman,” said David, and Manuel obeyed him instantly.

The two kissed for most of the morning, lusting after each other, and they fucked for hours after that, their huge and masculine muscle-butts easily able to accommodate such enormous pole-sized dicks.

And that was David’s day... a day in the life of the hugest bodybuilder in the world.

 

  • Like 8
  • Upvote 1
Link to comment
Share on other sites

David’s End of Days by Lorus

In the first story the world’s most gigantic and muscular 18-year-old, David Driscoll, heir to hundreds of millions of dollars, learned that his bloodline was touched by the Dark Prince, who would afford the Driscolls immense success and fortune in exchange for their souls. In David’s case, because his family wanted for nothing, his father chose to have his son grow huge and super-strong, culminating in the most massive growth-surge on his 18th birthday, the day David brought about the biggest mass-gay orgy of all time. With the Devil watching over the antics posing as David’s butler, eventually human vices got the better of him and he gave in to David’s demands to be even more muscular. Finally Old Nick left him, but not before augmenting David’s love interest, his Hispanic gardener (and part-time bartender) Manuel, turning the Mexican hunk into a bodybuilder as huge and as strong as David. The story ended with the two hyper-hunks locked together in sexual, massively muscular bliss. But could this bliss endure indefinitely, or was David’s paradise destined to become lost? 

 Chapter 1: Three Days to Samael’s Tower

The Wasteland had long since lost its appeal. David had only been here a few days (assuming days flowing into nights could still be perceived as a passage of time), but already it felt like a small eternity.  

“Remember: You’re here for ETERNITY!” the poster had warned, the one he first laid eyes on as he watched the hole in the chain-link fence miraculously repair itself before his astonished eyes. The metal of the fence burned and hissed steamily as it turned a glowing red in color, but the poster that waxed upon it did not burn along with the fence as it sealed itself across the now repaired gape through which David had thrust himself to escape the demon wrath-beast. An ordinary doomed mortal would not have had the strength to rend the links apart and exact his escape from the Arena, but David Driscoll was no ordinary man. Carmichael, on the other hand...

“Here, it’s not great, barely a taste out of it... but it will sustain you,” said the ex-butler to David Driscoll, proffering him the carrion he’d rescued from a solitary lappet-faced vulture as it scavenged along a desolate but ravaged roadside. The handsome forty-three-year-old winced noticeably against the pain in his dislocated shoulder. He was battered and bruised, on the verge of giving up. But no man deserved to die in a place such as this.

David accepted the meat reluctantly, curling his nose up at its fetid stench, but at least grateful that his “nuclear-reactor” stomach would destroy any disease the meat carried as it hastily turned it into the barest of fuels for his incredible muscles.  

“I miss pizza,” he lamented, and thought about a sixteen-inch deep-pan filled with pineapple, cheese, bacon and tomato, accompanied by a wheelbarrow filled with french-fries. He forced down the filthy roadkill, opting to swallow it whole rather than suffer the gut-wrenching act of chewing.

“If memory serves, there’s a diner just over that hill, and about fifteen kilometers due south. But it’s owned by a demon called Splatter, and food hygiene was never his strong point,” said Carmichael, wishing all the memories left as a mental residue in his brain upon the departure of Old Nick from his soul would go away, for their weight in his mind caused him frequent headaches. Still, it was knowledge that had so far served them well in this place, the Wasteland surrounding the Ninth Layer of Non-Eden.

The two men were each sat on a sturdy boulder, in David’s case a boulder the size of a dinner-table, given that he weighed close to four and a half thousand pounds and stood top to toe at almost ten feet in height. He had continued to grow in the days and weeks following on from his 18th birthday, back when times with Manuel had been the most incredible of his life, before Manuel turned bad and bared his terrible secret. Above their heads, a red, sulfurous sky, host to occasional flurries of black lightning, turned callously, an impenetrable cap that roofed the Layer, cutting it off from its Eight successors.

“So is this diner the first inhabited zone beyond the Arena, or are there other places worth a visit? I refuse to accept that we’re here for eternity, Carmichael.” David picked up a boulder the size of a foot-stool and used it to pump out thirty reps of biceps curls. It was way too light. His ball-bicep flexed hugely, snapping its vein-network into view, prominent enough to almost split his grimy skin. But he felt nothing in the way of a gratifying pump. Outside of the Arena, he worried about where his next workout was coming from. Carmichael, somewhat crudely, read his mind (probably another leftover effect of the Devil using his mind and body for a time), causing him to point a finger high over the Mountains of Mourning in the East, over which a sun, in the shape of a great-burning skull, slowly descended, causing dark, oily, and oozing shadows to stretch across the unhallowed land. Was there a gym there?

“My knowledge is sketchy on a lot of things. I get flashes of information, based on the experiences of others... things the Devil collected over time, I guess. Because they’re not my own memories... I guess a lot of it just doesn’t make sense to me. I can say one thing with absolute certainty: the Devil has never visited the Ninth Layer of Non-Eden, “Carmichael shrugged, forgetting his shoulder was dislocated. He let out a yelp of pain.

“Come here, let me fix that,” the giant David requested, showing more tenderness than Carmichael could ever give him prior credit for. The ex-manservant trusted him and depended on him for protection... paramount to their combined survival. “Puh-please.... don’t be too strenuous on me,” Carmichael said worriedly, closing his eyes against the worst of what was to come. David offered him a finger to bite down on.  

“It won’t hurt me in the slightest. Trust me... this’ll only take a second.” David hugged the man to him, Carmichael finding solace from the proximity of David’s heaving pecs, so that he could firmly press his hand against the back of Carmichael’s sore shoulder. His hand formed a sturdy platform against which Carmichael would be supported. David then nudged his own humongous shoulder against Carmichael’s causing a most audible “snap” noise as the bones were forced back into place.

“Fuuunnnnngghh!” Carmichael bit down on the finger for all he was worth. David didn’t feel a thing. Then he kissed Carmichael on the top of his silvered head and placed him down on the ground, as a child would dismiss a cute puppy. Carmichael felt no more pain, but the dirty, disheveled gent looked upwards at the hulk who’d just treated him, a “Why’d you just kiss me?” quizzical look in his eye.

“I... uh... don’t... know why I did that. You can be mad if you want,” said David, lowering his head in shame as both were engulfed in darkling shade of encroaching Hell-night.

“It’s alright. It was kind of... nice. But next to you I’m child-sized, David. Even if I were gay, from a physical standpoint this could never work.”  

Both men now lowered their heads, as if to minimize the awkwardness of the moment. Carmichael’s foot played around with a clump of dislodged blood-red soil for no reason, whilst David crabbed out a most-muscular, focusing on the enormity of his muscles, quickly becoming lost to the ritual.

Carmichael had been vaguely aware of things happening whilst possessed by the Devil. He remembered the night of David’s 18th birthday orgy at the gay club they ended up in (and David ended up purchasing). Although Carmichael, barely present as a consciousness – pushed to one side by the more omnipresent effects of the Prince of Darkness – had shared the Devil’s sherry-induced intoxication, enough of his mental faculties still existed to process the sensation of being impaled by such a humongous, throbbing penis...

“You’re my bitch, now, Carmichael,” David growled, and bent forwards, to rip the clothing from the Devil’s body, exposing a deliciously buff body that he’d hid well in the penguin suits he wore whenever he attended to his rich master.  

“I look forward to it, Davy-boy,” he slurred, now obviously tired of the whole manservant act. He was Satan and he could be anyone he wanted to be, even Patrick Hernandez. He flexed his abs to push his lower half upwards, holding his legs upwards and as close to his chest as his supple self could manage. In this way he exposed his butthole for David to see... his impossibly large butthole.

“There never was a Missus Carmichael,” the Devil confessed, now totally desiring to be fucked by David and no other.

“Prince of fucking Lies,” growled David and got into position, holding Carmichael firmly by each ankle. He pushed five and a half feet of monster-dick into the Devil, who was, not surprisingly, able to take it to the last inch. David fucked him hard and fast, for he was only coming of age and nowhere near experienced at the art of anal intercourse. Still, not bad to fuck a supreme being in human form, his first time out.

“Maybe the Devil really DOES wear a blue dress,” Carmichael said, commenting aloud on his sudden unprovoked recollection… the memories of another, a supreme other.

“Huh?” David had no idea what he was on about.

“Never mind,” said Carmichael, suddenly shivering against the drop in temperature. Night was almost upon them. It would be their first night outside of the populated Arena, the place to where Manuel had cast them down upon their last meeting. It was a dangerous place, where you had to fight night after night so as not to lose your soul, but at least it had been warm… sometimes too warm.  

“We should make for Splatter’s Diner. It’s better than freezing to death out here.”

“You can ride on me, if you like. Sit on my shoulders. My body’s heat will easily keep you warm,” David suggested as he picked up the Aggressor Blade he’d won from his last match against Dementulak, a fifty-foot-tall half-demon half-tarantula… a particularly nasty and deranged construct of nightmare. The sword fit snugly into the scabbard strung across his vast back. He hated being dressed like an other-worldly excuse for a gladiator/S&M leather-man, although many spectators at the Arena, demon, low-devil or otherwise, had found his apparel to be most befitting of his boner-inducing musculature.

“What, ride on your shoulders like a little kid out for a Sunday stroll with his daddy? Forget it, David. You already diminish me in ways you can’t imagine,” said Carmichael, his mood suddenly taking a turn for the worst.

“I didn’t mean anything by it, Carmichael. It just makes sense to keep you warm, that’s all. I’m superhuman. I don’t feel the cold like you do.” David sounded apologetic. He really needed Carmichael to meet him half-way.

“Superhuman, maybe, but all because of the power of the Dark Prince. How does it feel to be a by-product of the Devil’s meddling?” An argumentative nature wasn’t becoming of Carmichael, but the last few days had really taken a toll on him. He was fed up being cast down, trapped in a private little corner of Armageddon. He missed being at home in his apartment, preparing his roster of activities for his next day of work at the Driscoll Mansion, laying out his suit and buffing his shoes up to a blistering shine. He missed dinners for one and jacking off to porn on the internet. He didn’t miss being possessed by the Devil, however, a being too vast to even acknowledge the existence of the Ninth Layer of Non-Eden.

David tried to keep his cool, but if Carmichael wasn’t careful, he was going to be responsible for David losing his temper. “The Devil is okay, as far as I’m concerned. He knows my father, and from what we both know, Hell is a very misunderstood place. It’s a damn sight better than this hole, that’s for sure.”

“Then why doesn’t he pop right back into my head and get us the fuck out of this place?” Carmichael angrily kicked a clump of soil into the air. It glanced harmlessly off the rippling quadricep of David’s right thigh.

“I don’t know. How could I? You were the one possessed by him, not me. But he’s never been to this place. So why should he come now?” David shrugged and bounced his pecs a few times, loving the heaviness of their weight. He snapped them into a hard flex and delighted when deep striations split them into half a dozen segments. He really wished they were bigger…. a LOT bigger. He just wasn’t massive enough. As far as he was concerned there simply was no upper limit to how big he could get. He felt it was his destiny to get to the Tower of Samael, where Manuel was purported to be “hanging out”. Carmichael didn’t respond with an answer. If David was to one day face Manuel again, how much bigger would the ex-gardener and bartender be, now that his body was the receptacle for a misanthropic plaything of a fallen archangel?  

Manuel’s “darkening” had begun as a pestilence within him, gradually turning him into something that shied away from all things human, whilst his beauty and masculinity only improved and intensified. Samael’s touch was merely supposition on Carmichael’s part, but people/demons they’d crossed paths with at the Arena agreed that the corruption of a “muscled one” such as Manuel, bore the hallmarks of Samael, or, in the least, one of his misshapen consorts. Since the Tower presided over everything in this lowest of Non-Eden Layers, as well as the Layers above, it didn’t take an Einstein to postulate that this was where David and Carmichael needed to be, if a showdown with Manuel was once again unavoidable.

“I guess arguing isn’t going to get us anywhere. Come on, let’s head for the diner. Stay close to me so my heat will keep you warm,” said David and began the trek towards the hill beyond which a diner was said to exist. Carmichael hastily followed, finding he had to quicken his pace to keep up with David’s larger, more powerful strides. Above them, high in an ever-darkening sky which quickly had taken on the tinge of thickly congealing blood, that same vulture from earlier grew, its eyes glazing over with hellfire as its razor bill grew rows of scythe-like teeth and its wingspan spread ever wider. In its crude mind it formed a message, which it hastily dispatched to its Lord and Master, for it was a minion no less of Lord Samael himself:  

“The pair are on the move, heading towards Splatter’s place, in the region where Marcus the Vain resides. Should I call my brothers to make difficult his passage?”

A quick reply soon boomed inside the vulture’s head, causing the creature to stumble in flight, losing touch with a vital warm air current keeping it aloft. It quickly began to plummet, but expertly regained its aerial worthiness before it could crash to the unforgiving Wasteland:  

“THE VAIN EXISTS BETWEEN LAYERS, THEREFORE I CANNOT EXACT CONTROL OVER HIM. BUT DRISCOLL AND HIS LAPDOG CANNOT RESIDE THERE FOR LONG, FOR THEIR FLESH WILL BURN AND MELT FROM THEIR BONES. HA HA HA, FOR NOW, VULTURE, BE MY EYES FROM A DISTANCE, NOTHING MORE. I WISH TO BE ENTERTAINED BY WHAT IS CERTAIN TO COME!”

 ~*~*~*~

 “Aw fuck… yeah!!! I’m too fuckin’ big for this place,” Marcus the Vain roared triumphantly as he flexed in front of the big, ornate mirror that dominated his living room. He was naked before the glass polished to a lackluster sheen, hulking out to impossible proportions as he picked up a barbell weighed down with seven seventy-pound plates on each end. 980 pounds of weight on the bar, merely a warm-up as he prepared for an evening of non-stop bodybuilding. It was an evening that would pass like every other as he endured a Purgatorial state between the Eighth and Ninth Layer of Non-Eden. For his pains, his less-than-faithful companion sat almost glassy-eyed at a neat-looking table and idly thumbed through the same “Boy Band” picture-book for the umpteenth time. Life here was Dullsville for Rudy Epstein, who dreamed of being back on the Earth, amongst the living, and clubbing the night away fueled on red wine and hits of Ecstasy.

“If I wasn’t already dead, I’d fuckin’ kill myself,” Rudy moaned as he tenderly pried apart two pages from the book that had become gummed together from his recently sprayed sauce. He managed to get Nick Lachey unstuck from Justin Timberlake and continued to thumb through the book that had absolutely no text beyond the names of the people it featured.

“We’re not fuckin’ dead, Rudy. I keep tellin’ ya. Nor are we entirely alive,” Marcus insisted when two demonic arms burst through a somewhat flimsy wall, both of which sported a balled fist. Marcus outstretched both of his arms: palms flattened out and turned down beneath the demon’s fists which immediately began to apply enormous downward pressure on the back of Marcus’ hands. He gritted his teeth, tensed every huge muscle in his body and used the strength of his arms alone to fight back against the demon fists. In this way his arms got an intense workout.  

It was a strange dimension he’d found himself in, and things worked way-too-strangely at times, but often, as in this case, awesomely. Stuck between Layers, in a cozy house with all the mod-cons, demon-kind, forever hungry for human souls, couldn’t hurt Marcus or Rudy in any way. Henceforth Marcus worked this to his advantage, using the demons as equipment to further his insatiable hunger for all things bodybuilding.  

“C’mon you horn-headed pussy… more pressure. Put your fuckin’ back into it. Gotta get these arms up huger,” Marcus snarled at the arms sticking out of the wall. Beyond the bricks and mortar a creature wailed angrily, willing itself stronger. Sulfurous fumes emanated from the holes left in the wake of the demon withdrawing its arms. Five seconds later, two much larger, insanely muscular arms bashed larger holes in the wall, as the creature beyond rose to meet Marcus’ ever-increasing demands.  

“Ha-haaa, that's more like it, you girly-fuckwad,” Marcus exclaimed and resisted almost two tons of downward pressure exerted by the muscle-demon beyond the wall. He kept this up for ten minutes, his arms becoming enormously pumped, power from which was also transmitted to the rest of his muscles as he pushed back against the demon limbs. Of course, this only further enraged the monster, and it soon retracted its arms again in favor of bashing a heavily horned head through the drywall. The head resembled that of a ram, a typical depiction of a demonic entity, although it was covered in weeping boils and festering sores. It snorted and whinnied in its attempt to break through the wall and bite Marcus’ head off

“Oh no you don’t, Sheepy,” Marcus blurted out, before grabbing the monster by its horns and exerting immense force enough to twist its head violently to the right. There was a loud “SNAP!” and the creature instantly fell limp. Marcus pushed the head and neck out through the hole, allowing the wall to miraculously repair itself, right down to the restoration of the wallpaper covering it, but not before his reward for winning yet again floated through one of the holes in the form of a plate of somewhat moderately appetizing cookies.

“Ha-haaa, I’m fuckin’ HUGER than before,” Marcus triumphantly cried, flexing a double biceps that shot his arms up past the one-hundred-inch mark. He’d gained more than twenty inches on his arms in just one pump, plus so many, many inches to the rest of him, all of which deserved individual assessment.

“One of these days those demons will give you what for,” said Rudy, now done with the book and moving on to the cookies as the plate set itself down before him. Food was seldom fresh or enticing in this place, although it was constantly on tap. Not many people made it to the mini-Edens that sometimes existed between layers. But if you got to “live” there, you could just about manage a semi-decent existence. The rules of all Nine Layers didn’t exist here, sort of the Afterlife equivalent to International Waters of Earth.

“Let them come… then I’ll rape every fucking last one of them and make them choke on my cum!!!! Ha-haaa. I’m the biggest, strongest hulking muscle-dude in all of Creation.”

“You’re a fucking douche, Marcus. Why I let you buy me all that alcohol and get off with me before we were hit by that truck, I’ll never know. But here we are, stuck with each other for all Eternity.”

“But is that such a bad thing, Rudy? You get to spend it with hot n’ hunky me.” And as punctuation to his statement of the facts, Marcus the Vain began a muscle show he hoped Rudy Epstein would not soon forget.

“Sigh! Here we go again,” Rudy inattentively sighed.

Even as Marcus began to fan out into a generous lat-spread, his six-footer of a dick throbbed and thrashed almost spastically as blood and nutrients were diverted from his main-body and into the massive member in order to fuel its growth. It thickened exponentially, a veritable anaconda of length and girth, embossed with veins thicker than the wrists Rudy wished he had slashed years ago. As it bobbed ever upward, it splashed precum in all directions, drenching the plate of stale cookies, soon to make them an inedible sludge. Anchoring himself with legs akimbo, Marcus’ upper body exploded with muscular size and density as hundreds upon hundreds of fresh new pounds of muscle exploded on him all over. He was thousands of pounds in weight now, his true weight difficult to gauge. As he grew, so his skeleton reshaped itself to support the new muscle-growth. Bones snapped and were instantly repaired, a sound not unlike sap-sodden logs exploding in a fiery hearth. It was enough to make Rudy wince.

“Worship my fuckin’ muscles, Epstein. I fuckin’ demand it of you,” Marcus snarled as he hulked into a huge most muscular, followed by a lat-spread where pecs heaved upwards and outwards, seeming to swallow his head whole. He held the pose, willing further massive, humongous growth into his ever-swelling lats. They flared larger and larger, pushing impossibly against his biceps and arms, which fought back with a growth-assault of their own. In this way the sheer kinetic force of muscles colliding with muscles furthered their growth. His chest exceeded three-hundred inches, although his waist was only one seventh of that width. At a height of twelve feet, it seemed that he would outgrow the house, but the house grew with him, making Rudy feel so very, very small. As Marcus grew to ever-increasing titanic proportions, his muscles bulged out further in all directions, becoming fuller, deeper-cut and more defined because of it. But this wasn’t enough, even as his size expanded to fill the entire scope of the mirror, which, unlike the house wasn’t growing at all. His dick swelled to ten feet in length, fully erect, now and its bulb-head shot up way taller than the crown of his head as the massive shaft slammed against his chest with force enough to stagger him on his feet. In contrast, his sack-sized gonads became heavier and fuller, stretching his scrotum skin to bursting point. The balls alone weighed hundreds of pounds each and spread out across the floor like a rampaging B-Movie blob.

“You’re too big for me to have any effect on you whatsoever, you doofus. Don’t you get it? You’ve outgrown humanity a hundred times over. I’d rather get off to these lame cookies. Now fuck off and go play with yourself,” Rudy barked, absolutely fed up with the existence this place afforded him.

“Spoilsport cunt,” Marcus wailed and hulked out a most muscular that sent seismic ripples of muscularity coursing throughout his physique. He balled his biceps out before him, and the massive mounds swelled to two hundred inches around. He began to stagger around the room, destroying furniture and appliances, for his mighty erect dick completely clouded his vision. He bashed right through the front-facing of the house and into the Hellish night where dark lightning crackled across the coagulating sky and howling, inhuman things with many legs scuttled in all corners of the shadows. But Marcus was too boned, way too muscular and enormous to care about coming to harm by anything from the Wastelands on either side of his little Eden. Behind him the house repaired itself whilst inside, Rudy continued to snack on the stale cookies.

Marcus found he had to walk sideways so that he could see where he was going, all the while tensing and stroking his massive dick to stimulate himself to his fullest. All the new muscle he’d grown made walking difficult and now he found himself questioning his desire to get even bigger. Then he flexed his biceps and kissed and licked each one profusely, deciding he loved growing and wanted to outgrow the Nine Layers. Samael presided over all layers, although his base of operations was in the Lowest Layer of all. Whatever symbolism this might present was totally wasted on Marcus. He simply did not possess the trains of thought necessary to shoot off at any tangent that might steer him away from his only reason for living: BODYBUILDING!

“A built body is a happy body,” he chanted, his masturbatory movements rising to the beating of his heart and the racing of his blood and metamorphic fluids that rocketed around his system, carrying hormones and other growth-enhancing chemicals to every corner of his being. He wanted to be bigger and bigger…. fucking HUUUGE!!!! He just wasn’t huge enough, although he was currently struggling against the weight of his enormous ball-sack, which dragged behind him for several meters.  

“They need fuckin’ milking… getting too heavy for this mighty feller.”  

And so he thought about his body and about bodybuilding, and about his favorite earth-hewn bodybuilders who’d been his idols when first he came into the sport. His stroking intensified, his dick about to become a towering inferno.

“Unnngh, Jorge… you fuckin’ stud-muffin teen-sensation…. Flex for me…. Grrrrrr… bounce those pecs as you charge along South Beach…. Unnnnngh yeah, Betancourt, you fucking Puerto Rican hunk. Only 18? Unnngh, so much time to grow and grow. Want you sooooo much.”  

Precum now geysered out of the top of Marcus’s massive mushroom head as tremendous fantasy-driven tremors caused pressure to build up in his dick.

“Aw fuck…. Mike Dragna…. man, those posers on you are soooooo hot, thong-back pinched between such hot, hard, firm butt-bellies, awwww yeah…. Wanna see you bounce your mammoth pecs and pound each one with your fists. Unnnngh get huge for Marcus…. Fuck HUUUUGE!!!!!”

He was now sodden with his own precum and he swallowed as much as he could as it rained down on him, gallons of the stuff. His lust intensified, his jacking-off still rising in intensity. In the meantime, he waddled close to the energy barrier that separated the place he’d made home from the Ninth Layer of Non-Eden.

“Jeff Long…. Mark Alvisi…. Getting’ huger and huger…. Fuck yeah…. Trey Brewer…. Fuckin’ monster…. Get huge, man. Then Marcus Vain, the hugest of them all…. All you guys… fuckin’ gnats compared to my monstrous size and development. Aw…. Too much, gonna blow…. Gonna fucking burst my dick with cum!!!!!!”  

What came out of him at this point was like a dam breaking. It certainly made this little corner of lackluster paradise quake under the weight of the tumult that assaulted it.

 ~*~*~*~

 “What the hell was that?” Carmichael searched the dark sky above for the source of the tacky wetness that splashed onto his shoulder. He touched his soiled, torn shirt at the point of collision and his fingers came back slimy. More of the stuff rained down, and towering above him, David felt it splash onto his cheek. He touched the stuff and brought his finger to his tongue.

“It’s human cum,” he decided, knowing that taste immediately.

“As opposed to the non-human variety?” said Carmichael testily. Really, this place was completely and utterly testing his sexual tolerance to its limit. Oh, if only there’d been a Missus Carmichael in his life, would he even be here now, somewhere between Hell and the ass-end of the hereafter?

“Someone nearby must be having a whale of a time. C’mon,” said David, the taste and smell of man-juice now dominating his senses as torrents of the stuff began to shoot down from above. Soon the ground had become slippery and mushy, and Carmichael stumbled a few times, finally allowing himself to ride on David’s massive shoulders (who could easily get three or four consenting adult males up there at the same time). As they made it over the southern hills, now their eyes played host to a shimmering blue haze that seemed to hang from the ochre sky, completely blocking whatever it was lay beyond.

“That’s the energy barrier. We shouldn’t go any further. The diner isn’t in that direction anyway,” Carmichael cautioned as he clung tightly to his mighty protector, feeling like a six-year-old getting carried around a carnival house of horrors by his daddy.

“Fuck the diner…. Now this is nourishment,” said David, his over-long tongue extended outwards so that it could catch as much of the ambrosia from above as the sky was capable of spewing. He gulped on the tasty jism and instantly became boned. Suddenly his body’s musk-making power went into overdrive and all six-feet of his boner stood to attention. Four and a half thousand pounds of ultra-muscle now tensed across his body and his gonads throbbed and swelled in anticipation of what was to come.

“The cum… its source is beyond the barrier. I’m in charge of this operation, Carmichael. Therefore, we are going, got it?” David’s lust made him vehement, and being many, many times the size and weight of Carmichael, was the ex-manservant really in a position to argue?

“Fine,” said Carmichael, pulling a sulky face and crossing his arms across his modest chest whilst spunk from the sky continued to cover him. It slid down his face in lazy rivulets and collected in copious globs all over David’s hair. “We either get killed at the energy barrier, or else I turn gay in order to live on the cum, my only food source for ever after.”

“It’s an acquired taste, old man,” the eighteen-year-old mega-hulk of muscle remarked between guzzles of jism, the source of which he was determined to find out.  

Having left the hills for solid ground once again, the trek to the energy barrier took about a half hour to complete. In that time the spunk rain had petered out, its maker utterly spent of his glorious fluid. David found him lying face down on the other side of the barrier, barely discernible behind the shimmering blue curtain of fizzing, sizzling energy.

“Wow, he’s fucking huge… but unconscious from all that wanking. I’m not surprised. The same once happened to me. We should help him,” David resolved, but the barrier held him back.  

“Hmmm, there’s nothing in this bemused head of mine that can help us get past the barrier. It’s meant to keep people like us from slipping between the Layers,” Carmichael mused aloud, appearing to go into himself somewhat in search of answers.

“David, I really think this is a bad idea,” he said a moment later. He pointed off to the right. “Splatter’s Diner is not far now. Think of all that glorious pizza, as much as you can eat.”

“My belly is full of this dude’s spunk. I want to thank him personally for his generous bounty,” David returned. That said, caring little for the convoluted physics that bound everything together in this dimension beyond the Mortal Veil, David Driscoll approached the energy barrier, and before raising his ultra-strong fists above his head in typical Hulk fashion, gently placed Carmichael on the ground. The manservant wasted no time in running for the hills in case all existence as they knew it was wiped out in one mighty thump!

“Here goes nothing,” David growled and forced all his strength into this one unmerciful blow.

 BOOOOOM!!!!!!!!!

 To be continued….

(In fact, the story was not continued, so this is where it ends.)

  • Like 2
Link to comment
Share on other sites

Join the conversation

You can post now and register later. If you have an account, sign in now to post with your account.

Guest
Reply to this topic...

×   Pasted as rich text.   Paste as plain text instead

  Only 75 emoji are allowed.

×   Your link has been automatically embedded.   Display as a link instead

×   Your previous content has been restored.   Clear editor

×   You cannot paste images directly. Upload or insert images from URL.

×
×
  • Create New...

Important Information

By using this site, you agree to our Guidelines, Terms of Use, & Privacy Policy.
We have placed cookies on your device to help make this website better. You can adjust your cookie settings, otherwise we'll assume you're okay to continue..