rewarded effort

[vitruvian3]

some background: 

i've been lurking this site for over a decade, trying to work up the courage to post something one day. i guess today's that day. this is a relatively short snippet but i'm planning on eventually adding to it. i guess it's my thanks to all of you for providing stuff for me to lurk at for all those years. 

---

It had been a long year.

Trapped inside for most of it, languishing away, Jacob could feel his mind and body withering. Sure, it'd been fun for the first couple weeks- out of work with nothing to do, expenses taken care of by his employer's robust severance cheque... but after he'd beaten his favourite video games for the third or fourth time it had grown quickly stale. And without his friends coming by, well. Bored was putting his mental state lightly.

See, Jacob had been a social guy. A real butterfly, as it were. He was cute, was the main reason- though if you asked him he'd probably have a few more choice adjectives to use. Narrative honesty requires that we stick mostly to "cute" here; he was classic twink, not so much skinny as just un-toned, smooth, more pretty than handsome. Looks that got him laid, sure, and pleasurably so. And looks that were definitely not getting him laid anymore: he idly opened Grindr for the third time that morning and was greeted not with invitations but with the silence of an app laid waste by quarantine. God damn it, he thought. It hadn't been the first time he'd had that thought that morning. 

The thing though that had made quarantine especially grating on poor Jacob's psyche wasn't even the tumbleweeds rolling across the wide road of his sex life. No; it was more troubling. You see, Jacob had been giving himself quite a bit of introspective time. Considering his options, as it were, and what he wanted out of life. And he'd touched upon something he found... worrying.

Jacob wanted to be big. 

Not-- not huge, he told himself. But maybe if he could, you know, get some serious workouts in, really dial in his calorie intake, do a "dirty bulk" or whatever they called it, it'd be nice to have a little meat on his frame. A lot of meat on his frame. Four-plate squat meat on his frame. And the rest of the body to go with it-- thick and powerful and hard and so, so strong. 

This wanting turned, shall we say, a little more intense. Soon he was fantasizing about himself as an emerging musclebear, hairy and huge and exuding a masculinity that wasn't so much powerful as undeniable. The kind of guy he'd find himself transfixed by at the bars, but the kind of guy whose attention in turn was fixated on those like him. He spent hours browsing sites, looking at powerlifters, at offseason bodybuilders, at a (maybe not so) shocking amount of porn, building his idea of what he wanted to become bit by bit. Reading about how to achieve it, first balking at the requirements, then gradually embracing them. He had all the information he needed. He had a goal. He had the resources. He just needed to put his plan into work.

It took a suprisingly long time for him to get up the gumption. Jacob may have been a flirt, but he was shy; changing his body like this would immediately make him the centre of attention in any group. But the yearning was stronger than his self-consciousness. It grew, and grew, and one day-- he woke, stood, looked at himself in the mirror, and decided to start.

Was it difficult? Of course it was. Having no access to an outside gym, Jacob started with bodyweight. Squats, pushups, wall-sits, dead bugs, crunches, planks-- he ran through the beginner's gauntlet for as many reps as he could stand. The first day he went through it once, the second day twice. By the end of the month it was easy as breathing. He chalked the progress up to the monstrous amount of food he'd begun to consume; in the mirror, his frame looked slightly broader, his muscles more tight. But not larger. Not yet. 

The second month, he bit the bullet and began to order weights. An olympic bar and bench came first, some bumper plates next. He began to deadlift, to squat, to press. Dumbbells followed shortly after, and with them curls, extensions, any movement he could come up with. He scoured the internet for more. He ate like a starving man. He ordered more weight. 

When the first pair of proper plates came in, it'd been three months. When the second pair arrived, it'd only taken two weeks for him to work up to them. He had gone from lifting twice a day to spending his waking hours either eating or lifting. It's not like he had much else to do, he reasoned. And the rush he felt when he looked in the mirror--

He had changed, dear reader. Jacob had taken to lifting like a fish to water. He was lean, not bodybuilder levels, but hadn't had a lot of fat on him to start with. This only made the muscle he'd put on more stark. His legs were thick, quads becoming more clearly separated by the day, his calves hard and heart-shaped. His ass had tightened, risen, round and hard-- every time he saw it over his shoulder in the mirror, he longed for more. His back had widened, the wings of his lats apparent, his traps beginning to rise. His shoulders were rounded, beginning to separate more fully. His chest- he'd worked hard on it, and his pecs had blossomed into hard, gorgeous mounds of muscle. He'd find himself flexing them alternately throughout the day, whenever he was bored; it'd become a hobby of sorts. His arms were incredible, for someone so new to lifting. Thick, hard, and with just the faintest beginning of a vein curving over the peak of his bicep. 

The real standout, though, were his abs. Jacob had been merciless to them, even when he was doing only bodyweight exercises, and his sadist streak towards torturing his stomach hadn't ceased. His efforts were rewarded with a near-freakishly tight midsection, his abs showing through in a clear six-pack despite his relatively high body fat. His obliques were steel-hard, cascading down his sides and connecting to form a flawless Adonis' belt, an arrow of muscle straight to his dick. He knew how strong these muscles were-- could do a five minute plank without breaking a sweat, had begun to do weighted sit-ups holding two plates on his chest -- but something in the back of his mind still stirred.

He wasn't satisfied. 

More weight was ordered. More food. Jacob began to research supplements, first the ordinary, then when he'd exhausted that endeavour began to dip his toe into the more intense, esoteric, dubiously legal. It only took another month of intense, unrelenting lifting before he plunged deeper. 

He didn't want to cycle. No, he wanted to cruise; wanted the slow build of his body putting on more mass, becoming more and more intensely hard and strong and masculine with every day he woke. The day he got what he'd ordered, he regarded himself in the mirror before his first injection. He looked good, by anyone's measure; veins had begun to emerge in his arms, which had ballooned from set after superset of curls and extensions. His pecs had grown thicker, deeper, the seperation between them stark. His legs were thick, quads fully obviously separated even unflexed, the muscle heavy and like steel. His ass had become something out of myth, round, high, and tight. It was getting hard for him to find anything to wear that didn't make him look cartoonishly pornographic; if pants fit around his massive thighs and rock-hard ass, they would inevitably bag around his comparatively tiny waist.

Speaking of. He had focused even harder on his abs, incorporating ever more torturously long weighted static holds and hundreds of reps of every movement he could devise. Ten minute planks with 150 pounds on his back. Bicycle crunches with punishingly heavy ankle weights. He'd get his ab roller out and spend a few hours before bed performing thousands of reps, unsatisfied until he'd pushed the muscles to failure, and then finish off his day doing crunches until he couldn't move. He'd wake up on the mat, still in his workout clothes, and run his hands down his stomach: like hot steel, his abs tightened with every breath into something even he lacked the words to describe. Four pairs of bricks ran down his stomach, protruding a solid inch unflexed. Obliques beyond description - so hard they didn't feel human - flanked them. 

When he prepped his shot, pressed the plunger down, and took his first step towards something he couldn't truly even picture, he looked at his reflection and almost came. Not thinking of what he was, already near-Adonis-like in his muscularity, but what he was going to be. 

[DennisFLL]

Liking it!   Time for Jacob to strut his stuff outside a little now?

[Ro20316]

Jacob too his time and turn himself into the man he want to be and im sure he is not sattisfied. He will be more than that.

[vitruvian3]

another part. a bit haphazard but that's what i get for being spontaneous.

--

To say the reaction Jacob got when he bellied up to the bar that night was dramatic was to undersell it. It was like he'd tapped a glass for attention, as if Priape on a Friday night was a dinner party and not the most raucous gay club in the Village. It made sense, he told himself, waiting for the bartender to stop gaping at him, considering his transformation over the last little while. A year indoors had affected many of the men he knew. Some he recognized in his peripheral vision, eyes wide. More, he didn't. They reacted just the same. 

Jacob had bloomed in the embrace of his pursuit. Two hundred and seventy five pounds at a paltry ten or so percent bodyfat made up his frame. What was once lithe had hardened and grown. What was once delicate was impenetrable. He knew how he looked: had spent a frankly embarrassing amount of time earlier that day standing in front of his mirror, trying to make sense of what he'd done. His lats lifted his arms, even at rest. His quads were as big as his waist, if not bigger. His shoulders, round and huge and deeply striated, the fibres twitching with every movement. His pecs, so massive he'd finally achieved what seemed mythical- his nipples pointed to the floor. He could barely see them most days, only revealed when he flexed and his chest erupted into striated cords. His ass had grown and raised to the point where he could see it from the front, just peeking out over his hips. His arms, huge and peaked and veiny, near-emitting masculinity at a deafening roar. All this, he knew, was what the men in the bar were reacting to. And yet. He smiled, to himself. 

The bartender finally found his voice. "You, uh. Can I get you anything?"

"A pint of lager," said Jacob, as if the silence around him didn't exist. He pleasantly grinned at the bartender. The twink sitting at the barstool next to him looked like he was thirty seconds from fainting. 

At some point, as the bartender filled his glass, the DJ must have come to his senses. Music began to fill the room once more, and with it a sense of normalcy that got people talking again. Talking about him, thought Jacob, and shivered minutely. He may have been playing it off outwardly, but this kind of attention was so new that it shocked him. Not that it wasn't welcome, he thought. It was simply novel, and something he'd have to embrace as his work continued.

He paid for his beer, thanked the bartender, and scanned the room. People were still eyeing him out of their peripheries with a combination of fear and lust and awe that made his dick twitch, but he didn't see anything that drew him in. Yet.

And then- over by the stairs leading up to the patio- he saw him. 

Tall, broad, hairy, the classic bear's bear. A thick, even beard, short curly dark hair, an air around him that emenated power and confidence. The kind of man Jacob had always wanted, and could never get. He didn't let himself think about it, just sidled over. The man wasn't facing him; he was talking to someone else, maybe a friend. It didn't matter. "Hi," said Jacob, and left it at that.

His man turned around. "Wh- Oh. Hello." Jacob waited, patiently, for his gaze to take him all in. It sure took him a while these days to really note every inch of himself; given the previous reaction of most of the room, he figured he wasn't alone. "Well now. You're certainly a big boy." The man extended a palm. "Mike."

"Nice to meet you," said Jacob. "I'm Jacob, but I'd hope in a few hours you'll be calling me something else." He shook Mike's hand; left their palms together a little longer than was necessarily friendly. Sure he was laying it on thick, but who wasn't here- many men were out for the first time since quarantine, and the time away had sanded back the social norms to bare minimum. Mike didn't seem to mind. 

"Cheesy," he said, "but you're so god damn hot I can't get mad. What part of heaven'd you come from?"

"My house," said Jacob, and laughed.

---

They barely made it into the foyer before Jacob was on Mike, pushing him hard against the wall and kissing him with everything he had. The whole metro ride home they'd played it cool, just chatting about their lives, but the undercurrent of sexual tension was so thick it could've been cut with a knife. Jacob nearly couldn't bear it, the supplements he'd been taking having upped his libido to levels he'd never felt before, but had gritted his teeth and forced patience until- 
Until now, Mike moaning into his mouth, his calloused hands wrapped around Jacob's thick lats, squeezing and groping the muscle. "You like that?" Jacob asked, breaking the kiss. "You don't even know what you're in for," he growled, pressing closer. 

"Mmnh. Whaddya mean?" asked Mike. 

"I haven't even taken my fuckin' shirt off yet," he said, and bodied both of them through the hallway and into the bedroom. He muscled Mike over to the bed, kissing him with a passion so burning it was close to fury. "You ready?"

"Christ. Sure. Whatever you're givin I'm takin'," Mike shrugged, a grin on his face. 

So Jacob took his shirt off. 

See, at the club he'd been strategic. Black clothes don't cast shadows on themselves, which in a dark or starkly lit environment means that you can't really see how someone's shaped unless they turn a profile. This meant that sure, he looked (and was) huge, but the average onlooker couldn't really get a grasp of what was going on as far as, say, torso definition went. It was obvious the guy had a tight waist- his V-taper was insane- but beyond that it was anyone's guess.

Jacob had never stopped his fixation with his abs. Nearly two years of constant, unending, unrelenting torture had turned them into something nearly grotesque. That's how Mike thought of it, at least, trying to make sense of what he was seeing as Jacob peeled off the black T-shirt. First- two lower abs, bulging three inches outward yet so separated they didn't resemble your average turtleshell roid abs in the slightest. Veins, branching and snaking. Incredible striations, clear despite Jacob not looking nearly dieted-down enough to have them. 

The shirt rose. Two more abs. The obliques beside them, now more clear, unbelievably ripped and confusingly large. Mike didn't quite understand what he was seeing. The shirt rose further, a little more generously than before-- Jacob was getting impatient. Mike could see his whole stomach now, and sat there speechless.

A full, unimpeded, ten-pack sat on Jacob's stomach, razor sharp, muscle bellies stupidly plump and full. He wasn't even flexing; Mike realized that only because with every breath, each ab *would* flex for a split second, revealing even more grotesque definition. His serratus were so stark it was as if he didn't have skin. His abs were, at their thickest, five inches deep. "H-How?" was all Mike could say, unable to believe his eyes.

Jacob threw the shirt off, exposing his full pecs, and shrugged. "I could tell you but you wouldn't believe me."

"I don't care. I-- there's. How did you--"

"I spend six hours a day doing weighted hanging leg lifts. And vertical crunches. And Palloff presses. And-- I could list everything, but it'd take a while." He stretched his arms above his head, idly. "Do you want to touch me?"

"God. More than anything." Mike was up and in front of him before Jacob could even invite him to be, looking him up and down and nearly salivating. He put a hand on Jacob's abs and gasped. "Christ in heaven." He pushed. Jacob wasn't flexing, still, and could barely feel any force. "You're like-- steel isn't enough to describe it. Oh my god."

"Do you want me to flex?" he asked. He was trying to play this all as cool as he could, as if this was the sort of thing he did all the time, but the feeling of finally being worshipped-- of being a figure of awe-- was enough to make his dick swell and harden so rapidly it made him almost light-headed. 

"I might faint," said Mike, but it wasn't a no, so Jacob did. "Holy mother of God."

His abs doubled in size; the striations in them deeper than before, the veins surging up from his groin pumping fatter. His obliques cut sharper, his adonis' belt deeper, every part of his abdomen harder than marble and carved as deeply. Mike took a deep breath, overwhelmed. "I- I don't usually bottom. But- christ. I need you to fuck me."

[Ro20316]

Yas! It's great to read anotehr part from this.

Jacob changed his life for teh beeter and it's time to rip that gain

[Ozymandias]

Like this so far, thanks for writing!

Is Jacob satisfied yet?

[DennisFLL]

This was great.  Your timing is just right, and it's further enhanced with Jacob's camouflaging of his physique's exquisite muscularity by wearing black, for the then unveiling of it at home for Mike's gasp.  Very sexy, evidenced with "You don't even know what you're in for," he growled, pressing closer.  Loved the part when Jacob's ripped muscular development was so overwhelming to Mike that he needed to switch from a top to a bottom, needing Jacob to dominate him.  I could go on and on.   

vitruvian3, hope you reveal the next installment to us soon!  

[Pecslover21]

That was amazing! Jacob turned himself into a god! Can't wait for the next part!