growth Damn Dionysus! Part 2: Frustration

[goremeridian]

Damn Dionysus!

Part 2: Frustration

 

Basking in the afterglow by the now-placid pool, Martin watched as a tiny red beetle with yellow stripes on its wings fluttered down and landed on his deflating cock, antennae twitching. It crawled up the foreskin on its pin-thin legs, sending a delightful tickle all the way to Martin’s spent balls.

 

To think, Martin mused, peering closer at the teeny creature, that I almost managed to convince myself that first night that Sam wasn’t changing. Stealing desperate glances, trying to control my libido. He smirked. Trying to be rational. It was a pleasurable memory. Though one weighed down with an unhealthy amount of pain too. His smirk faltered a little. Especially considering what happened afterwards.

 

The bug poked its miniscule, arrow-shaped head into the forest of his moist pubic hair.

 

Tickle, tickle.  

 

And yet now I know that some day soon…I’ll be no bigger to Sam than this bug is to me. Even if he doesn’t.

 

He couldn’t help it. His cock began to fill with blood again, and all bad thoughts left him.

 

Oh, all right. Just one more quick one to make up for lost time, Martin assured himself with the odd smile still on his face, reaching for his swelling member, his libido on fire again. The insect buzzed away, forgotten. Then I’ll head back down.

 

*

 

“I don’t get it. What exactly are you asking me?”

 

Sam’s bass voice sounded very loud on the quiet beach. They lay side by side before the small fire. It had been a long first day and sleepiness was beginning to tug at their fraying conversation, steadily unravelling it.

 

“Uh.” Martin glanced down at the bodybuilder’s pecs, stretching out magnificently from his frame, slicing into a mass of steely bronzed striations with every breath the stud took. Surely he was aware that those brawny hillocks had swollen with muscle since this morning? Martin had mapped the man’s physique to his mind (it was a talent he had picked up from his intense study of all those freakishly morphed bodybuilders – who says masturbation doesn’t teach you any useful skills?) and was nearly 75% sure that Sam’s musculature had gotten steadily bigger over the course of the day.

 

He tried to recall his train of thought.

 

“I just asked…you know, seeing as you’re a bodybuilder…how big do you want to get?” It was a question he had always imagined asking the muscle freaks from his whack-off sessions. He’d even read a few stories on The Evolution Forum – whilst waiting for far more important posts to be uploaded, such as new morphs of freakishly huge bodybuilders – where characters had asked this of each other. “I mean, if you could grow your muscle mass by any amount, would there be a limit?”

 

Sam was quiet for a moment.

 

Was it a weird question, Martin wondered, for one man to ask another? The bodybuilders in his mind had always been quick to answer that there were no limits, that they wanted to get as big as possible, that there was no such thing as too big…

 

Martin felt, for the first time in his life in front of another man, his cock stir in his pyjamas.

 

Unlike Sam, with his knee-length shorts, Martin hadn’t been wearing proper clothes when the ship had gone down. He didn’t mind the stripy bedtime attire though. The material kept the sun off his back (shirtless Sam’s shoulders were already a glowing red) and was light enough to keep him cool at all times except for the very middle of the day.

 

The pyjama bottoms were also baggy enough to effectively hide his aroused penis. This was something he would come to be very thankful for in the days to come.

 

“Dude…Martin…” Sam began, hesitantly. “We’re stuck on a deserted island together…it might be ages before we’re rescued…and you’re asking me about muscles? Isn’t that…a bit odd? Shouldn’t we be thinking about survival?”

 

“Just figured you might want to talk about it,” Martin replied. His voice sounded clipped, terse, in his ears. What’s happening to me? He wondered. I’ve got to stop acting like we’re in one of my fantasies. Bodybuilders don’t talk about their muscles swelling infinitely huge. Not in real life, anyway. He tried to control his breathing. That might help. Is Sam even growing? Or have I imagined that too? God, it feels like my balls are on fire with horniness. I can’t even think straight.

 

He took a long, deep breath, then, listening to his heart and urging it carefully to stop beating quite so fast, exhaled slowly.

 

I have to snap out of this crazy horniness – get my head screwed on right again.

 

The trouble was, his brain had already begun to spin images of the bodybuilder ravaging him, forcing that huge mantool deep inside him as he got bigger and bigger, smothering him with his titanic musculature, and despite Martin’s attempts to quell his raging emotions, his cock continued to get harder in his pyjama bottoms.

 

The muscleman was talking in a more placatory tone: “It’s just…everything’s so surreal, you know? This time last night I was pissed up on vodka and Red Bull fucking the hell out of some twink wearing a tutu and coconut bra in the men’s toilets of a luxury cruise ship…and tonight…I’m a shipwreck survivor.” He shook his head. “Surreal,” he said again.

 

Martin quivered on the cooling sand.

 

Sam had no idea that inches away from him was a man who was desperately trying to curb his laviscious thoughts and get his libido under control. No idea that the man was crying out silently for the ripped bodybuilder to hug him, squeeze him against his muscles, force him to swallow as much of his cock as he could, punish him, flex for him, dominate him with his superior size and strength, all the while getting freaking massively huge… No idea that the man could barely breathe with lust.

 

For Sam’s own thoughts were quite different indeed. His brain buzzed with the grim memory of the dead that didn’t make it. Of the nightmarish screams in the dark, and the haunting image of the cruise ship’s stern being swallowed by the cruel waters. And above all, with the thought that, whatever happened, he and Martin had to survive this, no matter what.

 

Martin let out a small moan that Sam must have taken for acquiescence, for he went on:

 

“Anyway. It’s been a long day, Martin, and I think we’re both a little…I don’t know, mad or something.” He cleared his throat. “Probably shock. It’ll be better tomorrow, you’ll see. We’ll survive this yet.”

 

Martin waited, hoping, praying like a drug addict begging for a fix, that Sam would extend a hand across in comfort.

 

If he does, if I feel his hot, calloused palm, if he closes his hand around mine, grasping my fingers in that big, strong man’s paw, I’ll lose it, Martin thought. I will totally lose it.

 

He wriggled on the sand, horribly uncomfortable, almost afraid to breathe lest he miss the sound of the big man’s arm scraping across the sand towards him.

 

He waited five minutes. Ten.

 

Then he heard the sound of Sam snoring. His cock jerked again, spasming in the folds of his pyjama bottoms. Such a deep, manly sound, rising from the bodybuilder’s mammoth chest.

 

God, I’m so swept up in this fantasy that even the sound of his snores is an aphrodisiac, Martin practically wept as he began to move his little fingers back and forth over his erection. I have to cum. I have to do it…I can’t sleep, I can’t think of anything but his – oh God – his muscle, ugh, his cock, ugh. The fervent strokes of his fapping increased in vigour. He felt his eyes roll back in his head. So much muscle, so fucking huge, but judging by how much he’s already grown in the space of one day, he’s going to get so fucking insanely MASSIVE, ugh, ugh….thought was beyond him now. Lust burned his skin. It was like every cell in his body had blossomed into a tiny ear, drinking in the sound of the hulking Sam’s manly snores. You’re gonna get so BIG, so fucking BIG, ugh, ugh, so much MUSCLE, fuuuuuuuck –

 

“What are you doing?” Sam’s voice ripped him out of his libido-soaked dream.

 

Martin froze, hand on cock. He was nothing but an instrument of lust now. He couldn’t have formed a coherent sentence if he had tried.

 

“Martin. I asked what you were doing. I’m a light sleeper and it sounded like you were…” he paused, the words hanging heavily in the night between them. “Well DON’T, ok? Just don’t.”

 

Then the big guy rolled over, his back to Martin.

 

And that was that.

 

*

 

Martin didn’t sleep well that first night. The object of his desires had thrown cold cement into the bubbling stirrings of his lust and the two were curdling unpleasantly in his stomach. His skin itched with frustrated desire. His eyes ached, as though the images he had conjured forth from his brain were writhing in painful death-throes behind his pupils. He had to get away…he had to wank or he’d go mad…he had to…

 

“Morning, sleepyhead – how’d you sleep?”

 

Martin gulped, swallowing everything – his dreams, his lust, his fury, the sudden, incredible sense of hopeless melancholy that had seized him – along with the saliva, and forced it into the pit of his stomach where it sat like a cold, heavy stone. He opened his eyes, looked up at the huge man gazing down at him, grinning, shining like a god in the morning sunlight as he stretched his muscles.

 

Sae was definitely bigger than the night before.

 

My God, he had to be over 300lbs now.

 

“Um. F-fine,” he replied, sickened with the untruth, the horrid untruth of it all. And then it just came out: “But Sam…you’re BIGGER!”

 

The bodybuilder frowned.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“You’re…” Martin came shakily to his feet. He was groggy from insomnia. Whereas the day before his eyes had been level with Sam’s chin, now they were staring at his Adam’s apple. “You’re bigger. Taller. More muscular.” All his muscles looked pumped, as though he had been working them out furiously while Martin had been dozing.

 

Surely Sam could see it…it was impossible that he hadn’t noticed or at least felt something…

 

“Just picking up where you left off last night, huh?” Sam sighed. His tone was cold.

 

Martin didn’t know how to reply.

 

“Dude, we’re shipwrecked. Think with your brain, not your cock. We’re stuck on this island together…no other land in sight. We don’t even know if we’ve got enough food to survive – and you want to talk about my muscles?”

 

Martin’s face fell. But even as the shame stabbed pins and needles into the skin of his face, his yo-yo like thoughts sprang back to Sam’s musculature. He couldn’t help it. All his life he had dreamed of meeting a growing bodybuilder who turned into a ripped freak of titan-like proportions…it was like his dreams were finally solidifying, becoming reality…

 

“Rule one of survival,” Sam growled. He gestured down at Martin’s erection, poking above the waistband of his pyjama bottoms. When the hell had that happened? “That stops, as of now. You think I don’t have needs too? But I’m putting one need above all of the others.” He looked Martin right in the eyes. “The need to survive. You with me? Because we won’t survive unless you’re with me all the way.”

 

Martin wanted to turn away with embarrassment but found himself nodding.

 

Inside, his guts were writhing. Didn’t Sam know how long Martin had lusted for this moment? It wasn’t like the 35 year-old threw himself at every hot guy who came along. He had been waiting from the moment he had come out as a gay man for The One. For that perfect, size-obsessed bodybuilder who was going to swell bigger and bigger, more and more massive before him, becoming a god of muscle growth.

 

Only, now he had finally found him, The One didn’t seem to care much about that muscle growth at all.

 

*

 

And so it continued. By that afternoon Sam had swollen up, adding inches of mass to his muscles and at least half an inch to his height.

 

The next day he was even bigger.

 

The next, bigger still.

 

Growing up and out like some mountain of muscle, Sam’s physique filled more and more of Martin’s world even as it filled more and more of his imagination. He only had to close his eyes to picture the stud’s muscles swelling beyond comprehension, while Sam screamed “Not enough! I want MORE muscle! Need to get BIGGER!”

 

But there was no privacy on the island. Nowhere for Martin to relieve himself. In those rare occasions when he was able to lose sight of Sam’s monstrous form for a moment and even get a stroke or two in, Sam was always only seconds away, and he was forced to whip his hand away as though his fingers had been burned. Sometimes he was too slow to withdraw his twitching digits, and Sam’s furious gaze would bore into him, radiating disgust and disappointment. “You want to survive? You want to LIVE? Then give it a rest, Martin…or so help me…”

 

He now walked around with a permanent erection. Thankfully, he had learnt, through careful trial and error, how to arrange his baggy pyjama bottoms so that it wasn’t so noticeable.

 

That wasn’t the only straining flesh that he had to put up with, though. Sam’s muscles, always on display, looked ready to burst from the tan skin at any point. He was pumped beyond pumped, covered with thick veins that fed hot blood to every twitching, tensed inch of the swelling, striated, steely mass of man. Sometimes Martin thought he could see Sam growing right in front of his eyes. And yet – he couldn’t touch the muscles. Couldn’t masturbate about them. Was forbidden from even discussing them.

 

But Martin couldn’t stop thinking about them. It felt like his whole body was a giant erection…like he needed to explode, or he’d go mad. He felt deliriously light headed and weighed down with horrible sickness as well. Every glance at the bodybuilder was agony. Though some part of him – some sadistic, twisted facet of his brain – still thrilled at every glimpse of a carved up tricep, or a stretch of budding obliques.

 

It’s like a drug that fills you with ecstasy even as it poisons you, Martin thought. And it will kill me. I’ll die of a brain aneurism or a heart attack or…maybe I’ll just explode in a shower of blood and pent up cum or something.

 

He couldn’t bring it up with the bodybuilder either. Any attempt, no matter how subtle, was met with an angry frown that quickly caused Martin to change the subject or, as was becoming more and more common, to simply slip into a submissive silence.

 

It wasn’t as though he didn’t at least try to think about survival. It was just that Sam’s insane, swollen muscles, getting more and more MASSIVE every day, just made any contemplation of the island, of surviving…of anything not directly associated with muscle or masturbation…seem irrelevant in comparison.

 

*

 

By their sixth day there, the two men knew the island like the back of their hands. They had tallied the berry bushes, had carved some rudimentary spears for fishing, and had even dug up a makeshift latrine. If Martin had wished, he could have walked around the place with his eyes closed. But closing his eyes was dangerous – because then all he would see was Sam’s hulking form, swelling bigger and bigger before him.

 

At least with his eyes open he could avert his gaze (however much pain it caused him to do so.)

 

Sam was, at this stage, HUGE.

 

At 580 lbs of man, Sam was bigger than any pro bodybuilder. His muscles seemed to remain permanently tensed, even when he wasn’t flexing them. Martin swore the ground shook a little under that mass whenever Sam strode across the beach. And stride he did, the swollen teardrop muscles of his thighs propelling his striated hugeness forward with a powerful gait. More and more often Martin found himself struggling to keep up with the muscleman as they sloshed through the warm sea, spears in hand, looking for fish. His lack of protein didn’t help. He just felt so weak all of the time in his half-delirious, lusty state, blue balls aching in the raging sunshine as he trotted after the bodybuilder like some loyal trained puppy.  

 

It was a small island, and Sam’s odour now permeated the entire place – sweat and testosterone. The musk of MAN was in Martin’s nostrils and on his tongue from the moment he woke up to the moment he fell into an exhausted sleep. As though the sight of Sam’s grotesquely pumped muscles or the sound of his beach-quaking snores weren’t enough, he had now lost two further senses, taste and smell, in his battle to focus on something other than the freakish bodybuilder’s insane growth. Touch – the one thing he could never do – was his only ally left. Though the struggle to keep that particular sense from betraying him, the struggle not simply throw himself at the swollen behemoth, tiny hands reached out desperately to squeeze and caress every inch of Sam’s flexing, titanium musculature, was Sisyphean.

 

Every second of life on the island was hell. Wonderful, terrible hell.

 

“Well one of us is going to have to go up those rocks,” Sam was saying in that gruff, sexy voice as they sat in the shade of one of the palm trees. He gestured at the pile of black volcanic boulders, monstrous pecs tensing as he did so, swelling out into the space between them, causing Martin to lick his lips unconsciously. “Just to see if there’s anything at the top. Be a good place to look out for any ships, too. And it can’t be me. I’m not a climber. Heights…don’t agree with me. You’re pretty rangy though, Martin – I reckon you could do it.”

 

How could Sam not know how he felt?  How could he be so blind to the other man’s suffering? He was so calm, so placid, like a pile of rocks himself. Why did he not want to admit that his muscles were growing freakishly, insanely, sexily huge? Why did he not simply let Martin worship him over and over and over –

 

Martin was so caught up in his self-loathing he suddenly realised that Sam had been talking. Usually he suckled furiously on every syllable that came out of the big man’s mouth. He had let his mind wander.

 

Bad puppy.

 

“Uh…which rocks?” He replied, zombie-like.

 

Sam frowned.

 

Oh shit, thought Martin. He knows I’ve been thinking about muscle again. His mind span quickly.

 

“Um. Oh, those rocks,” he stammered as common sense filtered back through his haze of lust. There was an odd pile of black, volcanic rocks slightly out to sea, rising about 50 metres out of the breaking waves, with a small ring of trees at the top. They had skirted the rocks many times in their hunt for fish, but never actually talked about them before.

 

Or had they? Martin had been so busy trying to get through each day without slipping into muscle-lust delirium that he couldn’t remember.

 

He rose shakily to his feet.

 

“Wait – you don’t need to go now,” Sam protested. “I mean, finding out what’s up there may be important for our survival. But it’s the hottest part of the day.”

 

“I’ll go.” Martin’s voice had no tone in it, like all the energy had just been sucked out of him.

 

Good puppy.

 

*

 

It was only after he’d made that arduous, fifteen-minute climb and come to the tree-rimmed pool that he suddenly realised he was alone. Completely alone.

 

There was a pause while his heart stopped and he feared this might just be another daydream. Then –

 

Delirious with sudden joy he grasped his cock. That first time, it only took three tugs before he came. Sperm exploded from the tip, more than he had ever produced in his entire life, splashing out into the hot afternoon air and splattering into the pool amid the buzzing insects. In a fit of ecstasy he wept Sam’s name, thrilled beyond measure that the bodybuilder could not hear him.

 

His dick didn’t go down again until he had masturbated another four times.

 

The sun was setting when he finally started his slow descent, bathed in an afterglow. He couldn’t keep a smile from his face. He felt…human again. Still insanely in lust with the bodybuilder, still – his grin widened as he reached for the next handhold down in the warm rock face and felt his cock stirring once more – wanted more than anything for Sam to crush his small form against his much larger muscles, and slam him down on his godcock. So long as he could relieve himself like this a few times a day, however, he might be able to stave off the muscle madness that had started to infect him.

 

When he reached the bottom, the bodybuilder was waiting for him. “Well?”

 

Sam had been worried about his little friend. Martin had grown so despondent since that first night, Sam feared he was slipping into some kind of depression. A positive attitude was key to survival. Yet the man before him now seemed different…more confident…he might survive yet…

 

Martin had an answer ready. “There’s a pool up there. Where there’s water, there’s life…it’s swarming with insects…I reckon the birds might use it as a resting place. I just need to keep going up there to check – I’m sure I could catch one.”

 

The big guy grinned back. This was the most the little man had spoken in the last two days. “How often do you reckon you’ll need to check the pool?”

 

Martin thought about it. “Hmmm.” His eyes passed over his hunky friend’s massive form. The broad shoulders. The bunched valleys of his pecs. Those huge, solid-looking abs popping straining at the flesh of his stomach. The teardrops of his thighs. Those swollen, split peaks of his calves. Those arms, always tensing and untensing, swelling hugely and receding again like bronzed waves on a shore. And that perfect, huge piece of meat, hidden behind the flimsy material of his shorts. “Oh, I’d say…three or four times a day.”