jwood Posted December 17, 2022 Share Posted December 17, 2022 (edited) They're not gonna get much work done around the bakery if Mason grows again, are they? Edited December 19, 2022 by jwood typo 4 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
TQuintA Posted December 21, 2022 Author Share Posted December 21, 2022 Chapter 28 “Dalton was cursed?” Mason asked. “You said he cursed me.” “At the time, I thought he had. But what makes more sense to you: one man gets cursed three times, or one curse goes unchecked for over a month?” Mason nodded. “Okay. Occam’s razor. One curse makes more sense than three, but there’s just been too much witch stuff going on for me to accept that logic so simply.” “We know for a fact you aren’t cursed right now, nor is it a ripple,” I assuaged him. “How do we know that?” Mason asked, getting a little impatient. “Melody put that warning spell on you. It didn’t go off. You’re fine.” “You don’t trust her,” Mason reminded me. Rolling my eyes, I raised my hand to curse Mason, a generic unspecified curse, one of the few I could do well. “What are you doing?” Mason asked. As I was about to start talking, a loud klaxon sounded, and a spinning ball of red light pulsed over Mason’s head. Mason looked around for the source of the danger; Zack dropped to the floor and covered his head. I dropped my hand, no longer intending to curse Mason. The alarm ended, and the light went away. “What the fuck was that?” Zack asked, standing back up unsteadily. “The warning spell,” I answered. “I started to curse you, and all that happened.” “You were going to curse me?” Mason asked, a little hurt. “Not really, but the spell couldn’t tell the difference.” I put my hand on his shoulder and started rubbing. He was impossibly hard and warm and immense. “I’ll do the egg test if you insist,” I said, “but that’s just a waste of an egg.” “What’s going on here?” Mason said forcefully, shoving my hand off his shoulder and demanding an explanation. He wasn’t angry. He was confused. “Explain it to us like we’re five,” Zack said. “The first time Mason grew, it was just after we posted our engagement announcement on Instagram. Dalton deleted his social media the next day. The second time Mason grew, it was after he confronted Dalton in the gym. This third time Mason grew, it was after Dalton’s father gave him an ultimatum that specifically mentioned your name.” I waved my hands as if saying, “Ta-da!” “That explains nothing,” Zack said. “Every time Mason made Dalton feel inferior, Mason grew. He felt inferior when I agreed to marry Mason instead of him. He felt inferior when I wouldn’t cheat on Mason with him. He feels inferior that his father is letting Mason rent his restaurant.” “Then what’s the curse?” Mason asked. “An Insecurity Circumflex,” I said decidedly. “It’s one of Gramps’s go-to curses. It was my first guess when I saw Gramps had cursed somebody. It allows the insecurities of whoever you curse to pick the shape of their punishment. Gramps says his victim’s subconscious is more creative than he ever could be. Mason, you make Dalton feel insecure. You did that at one-third this size. Now, every time you make him feel like less of a man, you become more of a man.” I paused, then clarified, “At least, more of a man by Dalton’s limited conception of what a man is.” “Muscle and cock,” Zack said. “Be glad he’s always been shorter than you, or you’d likely be twenty feet tall by now.” Mason gasped; Zack contemplated it lustfully. I continued. “This curse has Gramps written all over it. He didn’t like how Dalton was treating you, but he was impressed with how you put Dalton in his place. So, he cursed Dalton as punishment.” “He cursed Dalton for me?” Mason asked. “An Insecurity Circumflex is a harmless curse,” I said, comforting Mason. “It’s usually as annoying as a buzzing fly or as harmful as a papercut. Gramps is a he-witch, but he’s an upstanding citizen.” I pointed to Mason’s massive physique. “Dalton clearly has some sort of inferiority complex to get results this extreme.” “Gramps cursed Dalton for me?” Mason repeated, putting especial emphasis on the last two words. I shrugged. “It’s his way of saying, ‘Welcome to the family.’” Mason chuckled, causing his massive chest to quake. “In the future, I’d prefer a fruit basket.” “Are you kidding me?” I asked, still salivating at the sight of Mason’s inhuman thickness. “This is way better than a fruit basket.” Mason was unmoved. “Growing bigger and bigger like this? Melody warned me…” I interrupted him. “Melody is a clever woman, but she doesn’t know curses. I know Insecurity Circumflexes. I know them. I’ve seen dozens. I’ve even successfully cast one. The curse only works if the punishment makes the cursed person feel more insecure. How insecure could you make him feel if you were dead?” Mason looked at me from the corner of his eye. “You seem oddly confident.” “I finally know what the fuck is happening here. I feel kind of dumb that I didn’t figure it out sooner.” “Yeah, you’re a dumb-dumb alright,” Mason said sarcastically. I could tell from his tone of voice and body language that he was calming down. “In my defense, Dalton has some twisted and specific insecurities. It’s probably why he’s always losing his temper.” “Roy, I was teasing. You figured it out after three bouts of growth. You saw a pattern where I never would.” “So…” I said puckishly, “can I fuck you in the storage room now?” “After I go to the doctor to make sure I’m healthy at this size.” I pouted. “I am going to have my doctor check me out,” Mason insisted. “I trust you, I trust Gramps, but I don’t trust Dalton’s insecurities.” “That makes sense,” I said, but I couldn’t hide my disappointment. “I can wait until you come back from the doctor’s.” “And after you take the curse off Dalton,” Mason added, his low, rumbling voice profoundly authoritative. I was about to protest, but I knew that look on Mason’s face. Granted, I knew it when it wasn’t being made by mountain of muscle, but I knew it. I relented. “I suppose that’s only fair.” Then, I realized something. “Dalton hates me.” “He doesn’t hate you,” Mason assured. Unconvinced, I pressed on. “Not as much as he hates you, sure, but he hates me. And even with all my new muscles, he’s bigger than me by 50 pounds easy. Taking the curse off him is going to be hard. I might have to somehow hold him down while I crack an egg on his head. And then somehow convince him to wash it off.” “You crack an egg on someone’s head, they’re going to wash it off. That last part takes care of itself,” Mason pointed out. “It’s the first part that’s hard.” Zack, who had regained self-control some time ago, cleared his throat and pointed at Mason. “Mason can hold Dalton down, no problem. And if that’s not enough, I’ll call Sammy. You can use our handcuffs.” “You have handcuffs?” Mason asked. “Variety is the spice of marriage, my soon-to-be-wed friend.” “No go,” I said. “If Mason physically restrains Dalton, he’ll likely feel emasculated.” Mason chuckled. “Yeah. I’d end up 675 pounds of muscular colossus with a 30-inch cock.” Zack and I pitched simultaneous tents. “Down, boys. Down,” Mason said, pointing at our erections. “I’m plenty big.” He looked down to try to see himself through our eyes, and his chin crashed right into his pecs. He made a sound of surprise and said, “I can’t see anything below my pecs. My pecs are so big they obscure my vision. 450 is big enough.” “Big enough to manhandle Dalton,” Zack agreed, adjusting himself so his boner didn’t point straight ahead, I sighed, tucking my own boner away. “I can’t handcuff him.” “Why not?” Zack asked, sounding genuinely disappointed. “For all parties involved,” I said, “I want to do this without further riling up Dalton’s insecurities. I’ll just have to talk him into it.” I then added, “And we still need a time and a place Dalton is going to be so I can do that.” Zack’s phone rang. He answered, nodded three times, said, “Thank you very much,” and hung up. “Sammy?” I asked. “Mr. Brooks. He’s couriering the paperwork over to your bakery this afternoon. He’d love to have you as tenants.” Zack tapped his phone against his head again, just as he had before. “We’ve got a new problem with Dalton.” “Is he on his way over here?” Mason asked, instinctively backing up. “Unlikely.” Zack stopped playing with his phone. “Mr. Brooks called me from Dalton’s apartment. It’s completely empty, and no one’s seen him for a week. Mr. Brooks has only been able to speak with him over the phone.” “I guess it makes sense he’d go into hiding,” I said. “He doesn’t know he’s cursed. If this is what’s happened to Mason, who knows what’s happening to everyone else who makes Dalton feel insecure? He’s a deeply insecure individual.” I shook my head. “Doesn’t change the plan, though. Now there’s just the extra step of finding him,” I added, pointing out the obvious. Zack raised a finger, telling us to wait. He tapped his phone with the thumb of his other hand a few times and then held it next to his ear. When the other person answered, he put his finger down. “Hey, Sammy. You know that guy Dalton Brooks from your gym, right?” He stood silently while Sammy spoke. “That’s him. Listen, you know all the gossip at the gym, right?” He paused while Sammy responded. “Then, all your friends already knew he was in hiding? Do you know where?” He paused again, listening. “No one does? Hm.” Zack thought for a second. “Can you use your web of informants to track him down?” Zack smiled lasciviously. “Okay. You do this for me, I’ll do that for you. Call me back when you’re handcuffed to the bed.” He paused. “That’s part of the challenge.” He paused. “Love you more.” He hung up and looked at us. “Sammy’s like a truffle pig when it comes to closely-guarded personal secrets. Dalton’s not the brightest bulb. This should be a piece of cake for my Sammy.” “How’s he supposed to call you back if he’s handcuffed?” Mason asked, genuinely confused. "Sammy asked the same thing,” Zack said, smiling. “Are you sure he can do this quickly?” I asked. Zack turned to me and reassured, “Once I pay my little gossip monger, he’ll find Dalton in a day or two.” “He’s fine just tracking down some random guy from the gym?” I asked. “He lives for this stuff,” Zack said, patting me on the back. “Now, you two should get back to the bakery. A courier is on his way. And I need to carbo-load to do to my husband what he’s asked.” 18 1 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
TQuintA Posted December 21, 2022 Author Share Posted December 21, 2022 Chapter 29 The rest of the afternoon, I buried myself in work because I had too much on my mind. Even just the prospect of opening up another bakery was enough to overcrowd my mind. But, on top of that, I had to find Dalton and figure out a way to convince him to let me take the curse off. As if that wasn’t enough, my soon-to-be husband was a giant mountain of a behemoth of a muscle monster of a man. Any of those thoughts was enough to drive me to distraction. When Mason texted me that he’d likely be at the doctor’s until dinner time, I tried to keep up my normal schedule as much as a diversion as anything else. I might have overdone it on my workout, though. I lost track of how many times I had healed myself after. I’d meant to only do a three-times workout. But, if the clock is to be trusted, I must have done my workout four times over. More likely five. It was chest and arms day, and my upper body was so swollen, full, and pumped that when I got home from the gym, I spent a good ten minutes just feeling myself up in the shower, feeling the hardness and fullness of my own chest, the water swirling through my chest hair, darkening it. I was no Mason, but my arms were mighty. And my favorite shirt, my most comfy and relaxing work shirt, was uncomfortably tight. It had always been baggy and several sizes too big, but between my recent gains and my current muscle bloat, it was slightly too small. That was a heady trip. I was just handing back a customer their receipt when I saw Mason outside the bakery, waving me to come upstairs with him. I could see he had the slightest sheen of sweat on his forehead, and his face was plastered with a dopy grin. I informed Danny that I was leaving and ducked out of the store. Following Mason up the stairs to our apartment was enough of a thrill to have me popping a stiffy. Not only was the scent of his musk slightly wafting down the stairs to tickle my nose, but the sight was erotic all on its own. We both used to be able to fit on one step together. Now, all by himself, the outer curve of Mason’s triceps was just shy of grazing each wall. And his ass. Oh, his ass. As he climbed up the stair, each cheek of his ass contracted and expanded, a mighty mass of muscle bulging with power, straining the corduroy pants. It was so round and juicy and firm that I just had to feel it and caress it and slap it. When I did slap it, though, Mason just giggled. Of course, his voice had recently gotten so deep, masculine, and full-throated that his giggle sounded more like a thunder’s rumble. “You’re going to have to do better than that to get a reaction out of me.” Taking the challenge, I pulled my arm back, and struck his meaty ass like I was spiking a volleyball. Mason involuntarily shivered. “Well, I’m glad you can still do that.” When we got to our apartment door, Mason had to turn to the side to enter. Even just his shoulders were too wide to walk through it normally, never mind how much width his lats and arms added to him. Once we were inside, I spun around him and attacked him with a deep, passionate kiss. Between my pumped pecs and Mason’s ridiculous mass, I felt so far away from his face, but it was perhaps the best kiss of our relationship. Feeling the thick, hard, denseness of my own mass pressed up against the impossibly thicker, harder, denser mass of his muscles had my erection leaking liberally. Mason broke off the kiss and had me sit down at the living room couch. “Slow your roll, honey. There will be plenty of time for that soon.” “I am going slow. I’ve wanted to fuck you senseless for hours.” “Don’t you want to know how the doctor’s visit went?” “I know how the doctor’s visit went. You’re healthy as a horse.” Mason shook his head. “The trip was more than just the medical data,” Mason said, settling into his seat. “I’m going to tell you everything, starting from when we parted company. Since our doctor’s office is fifteen miles from here, after you said goodbye, I went to my car, and it looked like a toy.” “You do have a small car,” I agreed. “But this looked like a Barbie Dream Car or something like that.” “I’m sure you can squeeze in,” I assured him. “I thought so too. But when I went to get into the car, I couldn’t easily get in the driver’s seat—my thighs were too big to fit under the steering wheel, and between my chest and my back, I was too thick to get in. I raised the steering wheel and pushed the seat all the way back, thinking those would help. I mean, I haven’t driven since I weighed 200, so the proportions and positions were all out of whack. Once I resituated everything, there was enough room for me to cram myself uncomfortably into the driver’s seat. But, when I went to close the door, my thigh and shoulder stuck out so far that the door didn’t want to close. I decided to slam the door, to wedge myself in. And when I pulled the door really hard, this happened.” Mason tossed me a lump of metal he’d had with him. "What's this?" "The door handle. I ripped it clean off. The door did slam shut, trapping me inside, but the force also cracked the windows.” “Which one?” I asked, impressed. “You didn’t hear me. Windows. Plural. My driver’s side window, the window for the seat behind me, and the windshield. They all cracked because I overzealously closed a door.” “I’m taking it, then, that you didn’t drive.” He shook his head again. “I did not. If I couldn’t be trusted to close a door without destroying property, I figured best not press down on an accelerator or brake pedal until I have more finesse over my own strength.” “Wise. I would’ve driven you if you’d sent up a flare.” “Of course, you would’ve. But, at that moment, it would have made me feel like oversized cargo, or a zoo beast. Not a man.” “I get it. You had to solve the problem yourself.” “You know me so well. I turned on the car long enough to roll down the power windows. I opened the door from the outside—gingerly. When I got out of the car, the front driver's side bounded up, relieved to have me out of the driver’s seat.” Unable to stop myself, I said, “Wow,” below my breath. Mason continued his story. “Considering I was still worried about my heart exploding, I wasn’t going to run or jog or even walk to the doctor’s office, so I caught the bus.” “You fit on the bus?” I asked in shock. “I’m not that big,” he protested. “I meant, you fit through the bus doors?” “The rear one for wheelchairs I did. The narrow one up front—that would have never happened.” My eyes widened—I wish I had seen him try. “It wasn’t until I got on the bus that I fully understood how inhumanly huge I was.” “Nearly destroying your car didn’t do that?” “It’s different when you see it on other people’s faces. The only normal-sized people I’d interacted with since my most recent transformation were you and Zack. You’re a big guy yourself, and you two both know about witchcraft. Seeing the half dozen or so people on the bus gawk and wonder at me—the sheer awe in their eyes. I thought people stared when I was 300. This was outright staring-contest-level stares. I could see the question “How?” flood their brains. And some people treat you very, very differently. When I take the bus, I’m used to the bus driver saying hi and being friendly. This one… flirted with me. Past the point of common decency.” “I’m sure he wasn’t…” “She,” Mason said, interrupting me. “She leered at me, licked her lips, and undid the top three buttons of her uniform so she could flash me her cleavage while making eye contact with me in the mirror.” “Okay, she was definitely flirting with you.” “I ignored her and took a seat. One of the ones on the side that face the middle of the bus. I didn’t try to get into one of the rows of seats that face forward. I’m glad the bus was practically empty. I took up three seats, Roy. Three.” “Well, you are three times a normal man.” “My ass is three times as wide as a normal man’s ass.” “A fact I plan on taking advantage of.” Ignoring me, Mason continued. “I apologized to the woman sitting next to me for taking up so much space and told her I would scrunch in if she needed me too. I didn’t want her scared of me. She had a baby with her, this adorable little chubby ball of a baby. We struck up a conversation. Her name was Melissa Reiner, and her baby’s name was Sullivan. She told me about her car being in the shop for the next two weeks, her husband Arthur’s job as an architect, and her two other sons. Joey wants to be an animator, and Elijah came in third place in his school’s spelling bee. She was very friendly, and I promised her 10% off the birthday cake for Joey, her eldest son, since his birthday was only two weeks away.” “Only you could make friends with a stranger while on a bus trip to the doctor to make sure your heart wasn’t exploding.” “I’m a people person,” Mason said. “Make fun of me if you will, but I felt normal again after that conversation.” “I expect so.” “While Melissa and I were talking, baby Sullivan was fussing and fidgeting. He was a squirmy worm. She told me that he was just overtired because it was past his naptime. If she’d had her car, he would’ve been home in his crib already. She thought that maybe this one special toy might calm him down, so she asked me to hold him while she found it in the diaper bag. He must’ve weighed around 30 pounds, but he felt so light I didn’t really register I was holding anything. With one arm, I held him up against my shoulder. The baby curled up, practically all of him on top of my pec, and he fell asleep in five seconds.” Mason pulled out his phone and showed me. The baby was indeed perched almost completely on just one pec shelf, his head on Mason’s shoulder. “She thought he was a bother, but the baby weighed nothing. He stayed there for the next 20 minutes until she got off at her stop.” “That’s adorable,” I said. “It was more than that. I made the baby feel safe. I know he was overtired and about to drop off at any second, but it felt like on some primal, visceral level, the baby knew I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to him.” “Some nap,” I responded. “It was.” Mason took in a wistful breath, and then continued. “The stop before I got off, this twinky 20-something with bright pink hair got on with a group of friends, and his eyes laser locked onto my crotch bulge. He left his friends behind, came over to me, and complimented my shirt, pointing out that it matched his hair. It didn’t. My shirt is pale pink; his hair was a purply neon pink, but it was just an excuse to initiate contact. He then went into a recitation of all the colors his hair had been, the whole time staring intently at my crotch. I cleared my throat to get his attention, and when he looked up, I showed him my engagement ring. He then promised me he could keep a secret, and, thankfully, that’s when we reached my stop.” “That boy is going to masturbate to the memory of you for years.” I chuckled. “He will be a wizened old rainbow-haired man on his death bed having pleasant memories of the hung stud he sat next to on the bus for those two minutes.” “I know, right?” Mason shifted in his seat, and the chair groaned a little. “Since I didn’t have an appointment, I went up to talk to the tall flirty receptionist, but he was on a phone call. When he saw me, he stood up and dropped the receiver. I didn’t realize it, but because I had scratched a stray itch on my stomach, my shirt had ridden up a little bit, and the bottom two rows of my abs were on full display. He stared at them as he asked me for the purpose of my visit. I pulled my shirt down, which drew his attention to my arms. Like it had a mind of its own, his hand was on my bicep, feeling it, trying to dig his fingers into it. I explained why I was there, and apologized for not making an appointment. He handed me a clipboard with forms for me to fill out, emphasizing which line I should put my phone number on. Then, he said he’d squeeze me in if they had time” “I bet he emphasized the ‘squeeze.’ He is such a shameless flirt.” “I went into the waiting room to fill out my forms. I didn’t fit in any of the chairs in the waiting room. Not one. Tall McFlirty offered me this metal folding chair, but I assured him I would crush it, so I just sat on the floor to do my paperwork. I left my weight blank because it was just your best guess that I was 450 pounds. So, he escorted me to a bariatric scale they have in the back and had me step on. 451.2 pounds. He fainted. The tall receptionist was so shocked at my mass that he fainted.” “It’s getting so I can’t take you out in public,” I joked. “After he fainted, a nurse escorted me into one of the exam rooms so I wouldn’t be a distraction anymore. My doctor came in two minutes later. She remarked that I was bigger, but she was calm and professional.” “Completely unlike a bus driver,” I added. Mason nodded. “She even made sure she had a blood pressure cuff big enough to fit me as even the big-sized cuff likely would’ve been too small for me.” He flexed his bicep. “They had one that fit, thankfully. Now, I’ve always had a steady heart and good blood pressure, all that stuff. I wasn’t excessively fit, but I was healthy. The appointment took so long because she was shocked by my vitals. My resting heart rate, my blood pressure, everything, was what they’d expect from an Olympic bicyclist at the peak of his career, not an impossibly huge mass of muscle. They drew blood, took a urine sample, made me run on a treadmill, do a cardiac stress test, stuff like that. I know my urine won’t turn up any drugs, and my blood tests were for their peace of mind—not mine—so I am satisfied. I am in the best shape of my life.” “Like I said, the curse plays on Dalton’s insecurities. You can’t make him insecure if you have congestive heart failure or wheeze when you take five steps.” “I could run a marathon with this body,” Mason marveled. “You could win a marathon with that body.” He laughed. “Once I learn how to run again. I wanted to run home from the doctor’s office in celebration of m vibrant health, but my body got in its own way the whole time. Once I master these tree trunks,” he said, patting his immense, unwieldy thighs, “I’ll be unstoppable. I had to take the bus home.” “Let me guess, you got the same scandalous driver home.” “I did. She’d put on perfume, lipstick, and mascara.” I rolled my eyes. “The only other person on the bus with me was this old guy wearing cataract glasses, so the ride home was uneventful.” “If you took the bus home, why were you sweaty when you got here?” “Halfway between the bus stop and here, someone had gotten a flat, but didn’t have a jack, and the tow truck gave her a wait time of two hours.” “You didn’t.” “I held up the car while she replaced their tire.” “A little sedan?” “SUV.” “Show-off.” “I didn’t lift the whole car—three of the wheels stayed on the ground the whole time.” “No less impressive.” Mason smiled, flattered by my remark. “The woman driving it was all-business, but I know for a fact her teenage son is gay. He was standing on the sidewalk, watching me hold the car up, my arms flexing, a little sweat trickling on my forehead, and then I heard him whimper, and a wet spot formed on the front of his pants.” “The poor boy.” I chuckled. “His mother was still distracted, so I beckoned him over to me with a turn of my head and asked if his mother knew he was gay. He covered the wet spot and shook his head no, so I assured him I wouldn’t tell, and he smiled, relieved.” “That’s another one who’s going to masturbate to memories of you for years.” “When I put down the car, I bounced my pecs for him a few times.” He bounced his pecs for me a few times too. I smiled. “Fun story. Now can we fuck? Please?” “I have a question first.” “Shoot,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “I had some time to think while I was on the treadmill, on the bus ride home, and holding up that car. And it gave me a question. What would happen if you ate the Jell-O too?” “Pardon?” I asked. “The stuff you make me once a week so I don’t lose any mass. What if you ate it too?” “Then I wouldn’t have to work out or eat like a horse to maintain my muscle, same as you.” “You misunderstand me,” Mason said, leaning in conspiratorially. “What if you ate it in addition to your working out, eating big, and blessing your supplements?” I contemplated that. “Would it all cancel out, and just be a waste? Or would it…” Mason trailed off leadingly. “I think it would cancel out,” I admitted. “There’s no actual nutrition in the Jell-O. It’s just a potion to prevent you from losing weight.” “Is there any witchy way you could put on mass even faster? Blessing your food, a different version of the Jell-O, something like that?” There was an expectant look in his eye. “I could increase my workouts from triple workouts to quadruple or even quintuple workouts. With the healing spells, there’s no overtraining, no fatigue.” “Faster than that, even.” I hadn’t memorized my mother’s book. There might be something in there. “I can’t say for certain, but it’s sure as fuck worth a try.” “Excellent,” Mason said. “Because I plan on keeping my 450 pounds of bulk, and I want you bigger.” “Bigger?” I asked. “Bigger,” he repeated tauntingly. “Bigger than you?” I asked. “I still want to be the bigger man,” Mason said, flexing his arms in front of him one by one. “You like your men bigger than you, and I’ve come to like being the bigger man. And I think 213 pounds on you looks brilliant. But 350 would look so much better.” “350?” My mouth was going dry. “For a start.” He shrugged, his massive shoulders rising like mountains, his traps kissing his ears. “You wanted to get big for the wedding.” “There’s big, and then there’s big.” I felt my head spinning at the possibilities. “My dream stats had me at 250, 260 tops.” “Dream big, honey,” Mason beckoned. “With me this gigantic, you can get so much bigger than that, and I’ll still be the bigger man.” I stammered through some incoherent syllables, trying to respond. Mason continued. “Use the next day or two to figure out a plan. By then, Sammy will have found Dalton. You take the curse off him. Then, give Kayla control of our bakery for two weeks. Tell her it’s a test to see how she’ll do at running the new bakery. Give her the power to hire and fire, the whole megillah. Use those two weeks to dedicate entirely to getting as big as possible.” My cock twitched. “But… Dalton,” I said. “I’m still not sure how I’ll…” Mason interrupted. “I’m not worried about Dalton. Not after my visit to the doctor.” “We have to take the curse off him. An Insecurity Circumflex isn’t supposed to have as disproportionate effects as it’s having.” “Once we know where he is, that will take half an hour. You have my full confidence.” He stood up and slowly moved over to where I was sitting. His legs had to roll around each other, giving his walk a half-strut half-waddle. When he got to me, he leaned over me and put his hand on the back of my chair. His massive pecs were inches from my lips, his bicep pressed firmly into the side of my face. “I want you bigger, and I want that to be your first priority.” “I need to fuck you right now,” I commanded. “Gladly,” Mason said, standing back up and sauntering to our bedroom. 26 2 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Popular Post TQuintA Posted December 21, 2022 Author Popular Post Share Posted December 21, 2022 Chapter 30 Before I could even get into the room, Mason had stripped naked and was kneeling on the bed. His massive muscles called out to me, huge and hirsute, every inch of him filled with beef and sinew. I hadn’t gotten a full look at him naked since he had gained the last 150 pounds, and the sight of him was beyond erotic. His abs were tight and defined, eight bulging cobblestones that drew his midsection in delightfully. In his kneeling position, his thighs were thick and flexed, each thigh easily as big as a normal man’s torso. From the front, I could still see his ass, so round and inviting, peeking out from behind him. His lats and shoulders were wide and thick, pulling him out to the sides. His chest pushed gloriously forward, brawn hanging in midair, defying gravity. His nipples were hard and distended with sexual anticipation, each begging to be sucked. His arms were raised above his head, his wrists meeting at the top. His biceps were so large and bulbous that, in his current posture, his head was swallowed in muscle: pecs, traps, deltoids, and biceps. I couldn’t see his neck, and the bottom tip of his chin was obscured. Forests of hair grew throughout the mountain ranges of his body. His chest was covered with a thick, brown carpet thick enough to grab a handful of. His arms and legs were blanketed in fur. The ridges of his abs were tauntingly filled with hair made darker by the shadows in the valleys. The two fullest thickets burst from his armpits, which were impossibly deep and hollow with his latest growth. And if he was vascular and defined at 300, he was freakishly so now. Veins, thick and powerful, riddled his body, especially the lowlands of his abs, the swollen hams of his forearms, and the rivers that flowed from his shoulders to his biceps. The individual fibers of muscle could be seen through the hair from a distance. His body was packed with brawn, the skin pulled up tight against it, his heaving musculature vacuum-sealed into place. His crowning glory pointed out to me, 20 forthright inches of cock that jutted from his body rigidly. It twitched with each beat of his heart. The head glistened with dripping pre. The shaft burnished red as his excitement grew. It looked hot as embers and steely hard. It was so thick, in fact, that even though I knew his balls were boulders in their own right, as he kneeled there, his cock obscured the balls underneath. As if summoned to my god, I was at the foot of the bed, worshipping his cock. I couldn’t fit the head in my mouth anymore, but I could kiss and lick and suck it, all down its length, and back up, paying special attention to the glans, teasing it with my tongue, lips, fingers, hands—I even dragged my chest hair across the sensitive area. His cock twitched in appreciation, and Mason’s breathing grew more labored. He was deep in his body, his eyes shut tight in bliss. Seeing my opening, I straddled his cock. It was far too thick to fit inside me, but it was powerful enough for me to ride like a hobby horse. With each cheek of my ass pushed apart by his thickness, I began pulling myself up and down the length of his cock, applying pressure the whole way, squeezing at the head. When I was farthest away from his body, I would drink his beauty in with my eyes. When I was at the closest, I’d feel my muscular pecs press into his impossibly giant pecs, outclassing and dwarfing mine in every way. As I rocked up and down, I used my hands to tweak his nipples, pull fistfuls of chest hair, grope at his pecs, stroke the manly expanse of his back. With my mouth, I sucked passionately at his lips, licked his neck, cheeks, shoulders, arms. With every spare breath, I grunted and groaned, filthy words escaping my lips, unbidden. My cock ground against the steely firmness of his abs. His body hair sent my own cock head ablaze. It was such an aerobic workout that I was dripping sweat. The salty fluid acted as lubrication, making my journey up and down his shaft faster and more frequent. We fell into a rhythm. Mason was in ecstasy; I was a pleasure-providing machine. When Mason’s moans both deepened and shallowed, I knew he was near orgasm. I hopped off his cock and went back to administering solely to his cock head with my mouth and hands. As I drew my pinky around the enflamed head of his cock, Mason’s moans became rapid, short, and of a higher pitch. Knowing climax was imminent, I wanted to dodge out of the way, but his first ejaculation was so sudden, powerful, and forceful, that I was knocked backwards, like a firehose had sprayed my face. Mason began shouting in utter orgasmic delight as volley after volley, stream after stream, rope after rope of cum showered me. I lost count of the bursts that sprang from him. When Mason came down from his high, he found me on the floor, slathered in his seed. “How much of that is mine?” he panted. “All of it,” I informed him, a sly half-smile creeping up my face. “This is going to be a nightmare to clean up.” “Later,” I said. “I haven’t gotten off yet.” “How rude of me,” Mason said. He rose to his feet and lifted me to mine. “How can I be of service?” “I want you on top,” I said, flinging my sticky body onto the bed, my eager cock pointing straight up its full 8 inches. “Roy, honey. I don’t fit. I barely fit at 13 in inches, and that was 6 inches ago.” I shook my head. “I want you on top of me as that mighty ass rides my cock,” I said, the words practically slithering out of my mouth. “I’ll crush you.” “You’ll try,” I countered. “I want to feel all 450 pounds of you crash down on to me as my cock plows that mammoth, muscular mass of your ass.” I put my hands behind my head and smiled, expectantly. Dutifully, Mason got back on the bed. Facing me, he put one leg on each side of my body, kneeling. I could feel his body heat centimeters from my body, but he was holding himself up. “Are you sure?” he asked. I looked up at my Himalaya of a fiancé. From this angle, all his superhuman muscles looked even more gargantuan. I could barely see his face because his pecs were so big. His arms and lats made him look as wide as the room. Even his cock looked bigger, ending its length just below my chin. “I’m abso-fucking-lutely sure.” Mason rose up higher, his abs tightening and flexing as he did so. Then, he reached behind himself to maneuver my cock into his ass. The strength of his hand was obvious, even as he gingerly guided my cock. I felt the heat of his hole on the head of my cock, and Mason began lowering himself. His giant ass was a tight fit, but a delicious, velvety one. He lowered himself, and it seemed he’d made contact, I could feel his skin on my abs and thighs, but I could barely feel any weight. “Come on, sweetness,” I taunted. “Crush me. Let me feel every last ounce of you.” Nervously at first, but with increasing speed, Mason lowered himself up and down on my cock. Every time he bottomed out, I felt his weight come crushing down on me. Seeing all that man coming down on me was a dream come true. I was under an avalanche of muscle. He was impossibly heavy, painful in the best way possible. The force of his downward strokes set the pleasure centers of my brain on fire with overloaded circuitry. Up and down, pistoning with his full force, I felt like a street being jackhammered by a wrecking crew. With the teasing he’d put me through, it was mere minutes before I was exploding in a deep, grounded orgasm. I could feel my cock stretch that tiny bit further, my ass clench. A roar escaped me. Surprisingly, as my climax waned, Mason sped up. I looked at his cock and saw it twitching. He was about to cum again. I barely had time to close my eyes and hold my breath before Mason was covering me in a new coat of hot jizz. As he came, he continued pounding into me, unrestrained now in his efforts. Even though I had just cum, another, somehow larger orgasm tore out of me, screams of pleasure, pain, and pleasure wrapped in pain burst from me. This time, our climaxes ended together. Spent, Mason collapsed on top of me, smothering me with his near-quarter-ton of muscle. I could’ve stayed there forever, but breathing quickly became an issue, and I was suddenly aware of a sharp pain in my hip. I tapped him to let him know I needed him to move, and he rolled off of me. I gasped for air, my lungs filling with cold, fresh oxygen. I reached down to my hip, and immediately knew what was hurting. “Sorry,” Mason said meekly. “Sorry nothing. That was awesome,” I said. I tried to roll to the side, but was completely unable. Instead, I asked, “Can you go to the kitchen and get some butter?” “Sure,” he responded, getting up. “Why?” “You fucked my hip out of its socket.” “Sorry,” he said worriedly, scurrying to the kitchen as quickly as he could. “Sorry nothing,” I repeated. My voice conveyed how happy I was, but I was betrayed by the pained, weakened quality to it. “You fucked my hip out of its socket. That was some unbridled, god-tier fucking. I wish I had a diary so I could write about this. ‘Dear Diary, today my muscle monster of a fiancé fucked my hip out of its socket. He’s so dreamy.’ And I’d dot my I’s with hearts.” Mason came back into our room and handed me the butter. “Be as cute as you like, I seriously injured you with my bulk.” His eyebrows were knitted in concern. I did my little spell, and then bounced out of bed. “Serious schmerious. I’m right as rain.” I danced a little jig. “See?” “I could’ve shattered your pelvis.” He sounded more compassionate than panicked or self-blaming. “You underestimate my pelvis.” I kissed him on the cheek, my sticky face briefly adhering to his stubble. “And if you had shattered me with your manly massiveness, we’ve got yogurt and bok choy in the fridge. Thanks to mom, I can fix a broken bone like that”; I snapped simultaneously to show how little time it would take me. Reassured by my witchy wisdom, Mason surveyed the white, gloopy carnage. “And how are we going to clean this mess? And by we, I guess I mean me.” “Not so fast,” I said. I opened my nightstand and pulled out a heavy-duty garbage bag. “I’ve been practicing one of the few curses I can do,” I informed him. With focused concentration, I made all the cum in the room rise up and form a floating, globular ball of cum. I steered it into the bag, and let it go. The room and our bodies were now free from any jism; it was all in the bag. “I love being engaged to a he-witch,” Mason said. I waggled my eyebrows. “Garbage bag isn’t full yet. Wanna go for another round?” “So soon?” he asked, shocked. “I wouldn’t have even stopped after round two, but, well…” I tossed the garbage bag aside, “you fucked my hip out of its socket.” 38 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
ToolShedCub Posted December 21, 2022 Share Posted December 21, 2022 WOOF! i need this to happen to me. 3 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
DawnFire98 Posted December 21, 2022 Share Posted December 21, 2022 7 hours ago, TQuintA said: Mason nodded. “She even made sure she had a blood pressure cuff big enough to fit me as even the big-sized cuff likely would’ve been too small for me.” He flexed his bicep. “They had one that fit, thankfully. Now, I’ve always had a steady heart and good blood pressure, all that stuff. I wasn’t excessively fit, but I was healthy. The appointment took so long because she was shocked by my vitals. My resting heart rate, my blood pressure, everything, was what they’d expect from an Olympic bicyclist at the peak of his career, not an impossibly huge mass of muscle. They drew blood, took a urine sample, made me run on a treadmill, do a cardiac stress test, stuff like that. I know my urine won’t turn up any drugs, and my blood tests were for their peace of mind—not mine—so I am satisfied. I am in the best shape of my life.” “Like I said, the curse plays on Dalton’s insecurities. You can’t make him insecure if you have congestive heart failure or wheeze when you take five steps.” “I could run a marathon with this body,” Mason marveled. “You could win a marathon with that body.” He laughed. “Once I learn how to run again. I wanted to run home from the doctor’s office in celebration of m vibrant health, but my body got in its own way the whole time. Once I master these tree trunks,” he said, patting his immense, unwieldy thighs, “I’ll be unstoppable. 1) This part above is my favorite. Wonder, why... 2) The whole story Mason recounts is a perfect blend of funny, informative and hot as hell. I hope, I can write something as hot as this in the future, @TQuintA. 3 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Wrestlejock646 Posted December 22, 2022 Share Posted December 22, 2022 How cool would it be for Mason and Roy to somehow meet up with Gabriel and Auggie? Two awesome stories, four amazing characters...I love everything about both tales! 5 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
arpeejay Posted December 22, 2022 Share Posted December 22, 2022 Sigh. Thanks for pushing ALL of my buttons! xoxo Richard 2 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
arpeejay Posted December 23, 2022 Share Posted December 23, 2022 In the Richardverse, Mason, in addition to the 20 inch cock, has... Shoulders that are 4 1/2 feet across A 90 inch chest 45 inch waist 50 inch quads 38 inch biceps (cold, flexed( 32 inch forearms 36 inch neck 36 inch calves Just for funsies! 2 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
TQuintA Posted December 24, 2022 Author Share Posted December 24, 2022 6 hours ago, arpeejay said: A 90 inch chest I appreciate the stats--I have trouble with aspects like this. 3 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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