IronandGold Posted August 22, 2023 Share Posted August 22, 2023 Well, that’s a surprise. Thinking back, I know the hints were there. But I never put them together. I was as oblivious as Nile. 2 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Popular Post TQuintA Posted August 22, 2023 Author Popular Post Share Posted August 22, 2023 Chapter 49 The last two weeks of the contest were a whirlwind, especially since everyone in the house could feel a change in Tony. He was still unmistakably Tony, but he was a little more lenient with the rules and a little more open to critique and change. A little. Some things never change, though. Lifting, fucking, eating, medicating. Onyx and Slate were getting worried that they each hadn’t had a session with their third secret shopper, especially since most of the boys had, and had shifted gears to maintaining their size, rather than augmenting it. Since there was nothing more they could do to secure their positions in the house, they had begun saving up their tips in case they were dismissed. A lot of dimefidone-stiff dicks returned to their flaccidity, albeit augmented. In turn, Onyx and Slate stepped up their workouts, trying to get as big as possible before their final session with their remaining secret shopper. “I wish the house expense fees would end already,” Slate complained. “With the extra money, I could buy some fancier duds.” At that utterance, Onyx was suddenly struck by a realization. “You know,” he said, “the date the fees are ending lines up with when the competition is ending. The boys will think their tips got bigger because we went niche.” “Only if we let them believe that,” I said. Lifting, fucking, eating, medicating. On Thursday morning, I was surprised to see I had a session with Mark Foster. “I thought you wouldn’t have sex with a prisoner,” I said. “I won’t,” he replied. “Gavin sends his love and asked me to give you this.” He handed me a book of love poetry. “Gavin?” “He spoke at my fundraiser party. It was Charlie’s idea.” “Gavin sent me this?” Mark nodded. “It came out a few years ago. He’s read it twenty times because it reminds him of you.” I marveled at the book in my hand as Mark kept talking. “They won’t let you keep it, but I could sit here and enjoy your company while you read. I have a screenplay about the tragic life of a pleasure boy to finish. It’s loosely based on Charlie’s life.” He sat down on the bed and pulled out his tablet. “At the end of the hour, I’ll take the book back and tip you exorbitantly.” That may have been my favorite session ever. Lifting, fucking, eating, medicating. At my next session with Fred, he said, “If you want, I have a proposition for you. The second you’re not a pleasure boy, I know some sports companies who will sponsor you, even without a legacy. They’d sponsor you now, but the money would all go to Tony.” “Food for thought,” I said as I took off my pants. “For now, daddy’s cock isn’t going to worship itself, little boy.” Lifting, fucking, eating, medicating. On Wednesday night, my last session was, surprisingly, with Dr. Mowbray. “I didn’t expect to ever see you here,” I admitted. “I’m not here to have sex with you. I just needed to talk to you in a place where Tony or his spies couldn’t hear.” He looked me up and down, awed by my increased muscularity. “I met with Mr. Rierdon. He sends a message. It’s only two words.” “What is it?” I asked eagerly. “Max out,” he answered. “And that means?” “Hit your full growth potential. He wants every part of you as big as possible. I’ll help you get to 100/100. I’ve already written an academic paper on you, and I’d love to write a follow-up. I explored your miraculous growth for a medical journal. My article is doing a lot to challenge what we think about sports legacies. My wife loves you now because you’re making us a vast fortune. Consider my tip a commission.” I’d already planned on maxing out my muscle, but it was nice to know that that Gavin wanted me to max out my cock too. “I’d appreciate any help I can get.” “I’ll see you at the clinic tomorrow morning before the house doctor shows up. I’ll assess how close you are to maxed out,” Dr. Mowbray said. “For now,” he handed me a piece of paper, “here are some new hormone combinations I recommend as you near your full potential. They’re unique to your blood chemistry, which I’ve become extremely familiar with while studying you.” “I can’t keep this,” I said. “Sure you can,” he responded, shoving it in my front pocket with his massive right hand while the left one inadvertently grazed my cock and my balls as he endeavored to negotiate my epic proportions. “They don’t pat you down after sessions.” I smiled contentedly. “And with that,” he handed me a book of short fiction, encompassing the 50 best short stories published in the last 50 years. “It’s from Mr. Rierdon. This I can’t let you keep, but I can entertain myself for the rest of the hour while you read as much of it as you can.” Lifting, fucking, eating, medicating. At the end of week seven of the fourth round, Slate was a mouthwatering 408 pounds with an ass-defying 17.5 inches. “I am a god among gods,” Slate said, flexing his massive pecs. He surveyed the room around him. Everyone was big, burly, and buff, and he handily outsized all but two of us. Onyx stepped onto the scale to have it register 506 pounds. “Welcome to the 500-club,” Slate said. “You lucky fuck.” “My cock is only 12 and a half inches,” Onyx reminded him. I rubbed my ass. “Don’t remind me. You’ve gotten unbearably thick.” I stepped on the scale. 607 pounds. “Of course you start the 600-pound club,” Slate grumbled. “And I’m up to 15 and a quarter,” I taunted, stepping down from the scale. While I had gotten too big to visually survey my own genitalia, I could still feel the dense, meaty weight dangling from my groin, thickening to red-hot steely hardness when I was erect. “You said you stopped taking dimefidone,” Slade said, deflated. “Gavin wants me to max out my growth potential,” I explained. “You spoil that man,” Slate replied. “You’ll ruin him.” “I plan on it,” I agreed, grabbing the massive bulge my massive thighs forced forward. Lifting, fucking, eating, medicating. At my next session with Adam and Edward, Adam launched into the air and tackled me with hugs and kisses the second the door to the suite was closed. Having a 220-pound muscle brute leap on you would cause most men to fall down. I, however, caught him easily and held him aloft. “Good to see you too,” I said, gently putting him down. “As you can probably guess,” Edward said, “he won.” “I won!” Adam repeated with lightning in his eyes. “The election?” I didn’t know when it was, so I didn’t want to presume. “No, the apple pie bake-off at the county fair,” Adam said dismissively. “Of course, the election. I only got about 1/5 of the legacy vote, but I got near 100% of the non-legacy vote, and they turned out in droves. Droves. 60% voter turnout from a demographic that usually is within a rounding error of zero.” “Well, when you represent the people,” I said, “the people vote for you.” “No one’s ever thought to cater to the non-legacy vote,” Adam said with a laugh. “There’s no such thing as a vote that doesn’t matter,” I replied. “Aren’t you even slightly taxed by my weight?” Adam asked, realizing I was still holding him up. “I could hold you here all day, baby,” I informed him. “It’s not because you’re light. I just have the strength of a god.” Adam indicated he wanted me to put him down, then went over to the bed and flopped on it, a look of delight illuminating his face. Edward joined him, adding “He technically didn’t cater to the legacy vote, but, it works out to essentially the same thing. He vied for policies they wanted.” “Wanna get fucked by a seven-term senator?” Adam asked, waggling his eyebrows. “It would be my pleasure.” Lifting, fucking, eating, medicating. At my next session with Quentin, he closed the door and handed me a book. “Political Science?” I asked, reading the title on the cover. “It’s a primer,” he explained. “A textbook. Philosophy, history, practical civics. Stuff like that.” “Political Science?” I asked again. “Your fiancé wanted me to give you some sci-fi mystery ghost story or whatever, but this is more important,” he said gruffly. “Political Science?” I asked a third time. “We have to sharpen that mind of yours. You’ve got insight and instincts and intellect. Paul has been a stellar right-hand man; I don’t know how I ever lived without him. He’s been so stellar in fact, that I’ve decided to add a permanent non-legacy member to my cabinet. I want you to fill the slot the second you’re out of this place.” He was kidding, right? Like an excited child, he continued, “And my next campaign, I want that staffed by half non-legacy members. It’s not just pleasure houses. We have to reform the military and the labor forces too. At least, as much as I can within the state. And if you take to political science like I know you will, I want you to run my campaign. Expect to have more sessions with me where we hit the books hard.” “You don’t want to have sex?” I asked. “As impressive as your body is,” he said, “I value your political acumen more. Now, let’s start our lesson. We’ve only got an hour.” I would’ve preferred the sci-fi mystery ghost story. Lifting, fucking, eating, medicating. When Slate had his last session with the secret shopper, he told me, “Thanks for letting me know Strawberry was into feet. I spent half the session with him on the floor, my foot pressing down into his face.” Lifting, fucking, eating, medicating. When Onyx had his last session with the secret shopper, he told me, “Hook is obsessed with you. He had me cum in his face, give him a blow job, and then fondled and punched my abs for half an hour. Which is just duplicating what he did with you. The whole time, he said I was almost as good as you.” “Take the compliment,” I said, nodding. “You are my protégé.” At the end of the final week of competition, Slate weighed in at a dizzying 414.5 pounds, with a constantly erect 18-inch dick. He had eclipsed any idea of what I ever thought Slate could look like. If he looked incredible at 300 pounds, he redefined “sexy” at 400. His face was symmetrical with vibrant and alluring brown eyes, an enticingly prominent brow ridge, impossibly sharp cheekbones, kissably soft lips, a prominent jaw, a beastly thick neck, and a near-permanent 5 o’clock shadow he could never really eliminate, no matter how frequently he shaved. His pecs were shapely, full, hard, and hairy—he only shaved those at a regular’s request, and even then only if he was a big tipper. His shoulders broadened his already broad body into an impossible breadth, capped with round and striated deltoids. His biceps and triceps were a duet of masculine thickness; both lobes of the biceps were clearly visible when he flexed. The bulge reached seemingly to his ear, and an alluring vein trekked over each mound as they cascaded from his shoulders, down his thick forearms, terminating in his meaty hands. His waist was still impossibly tight, with his dazzling 8-pack and wet-dream inducing Adonis belt even more distinct than ever. His thighs and ass had exploded in girth and definition as they had increasingly more man-mass to carry around the house. Of course, every last inch of him was shredded to the bone, his vascularity and low-body fat percentage being record-breaking and iconic. His cock and balls—the largest in the house by far—were so thick and engorged that they perilously swung and bounced with even the slightest movement, announcing their heft and weight. His cock had been erect for so long now that it had started trickling a continuous stream of pre, even if he wasn’t aroused. Of course, he was always aroused because he’d begun turning himself on. He was so enamored of his body, he wore as little clothing as possible so he could admire it, totally enraptured with his own form. If he could go everywhere naked, he would. “I can’t tell you how much I get off on being so fucking huge,” he said, stepping down from the scale. “Your stiffy speaks volumes,” Onyx said, getting on the scale. He weighed in at 516 pounds. “Still sitting pretty all alone in the 500-club,” he boasted. “And my cock is almost 13 inches: 12 and three quarters.” His muscles had a vitality and brutality that hummed with virility. His legs were impossibly heavy, brawny columns of muscle and mass. Each leg by itself was a surplus of strength, and he had two of them. His ass was juicy, round, and thick, but vascular, striated, and dense with muscle. He could—somehow—still take all of me when even my most capacious clients no longer could. It was a tight fit, but it was a fit—that’s just how big his ass was. Then again, all of him was big. His pecs were so round as to suggest spheres of strength and power jutting from his chest. His arms, equally bulging with an excess of brawn and beef, collided into his pecs even when at rest. With the width and thickness of his shoulders and lats, his muscles crashed into each other even as he stayed still. And when he moved, they erupted in an avalanche of flexing and bulging and expanding—especially when he was on top of me, fucking me with his thick tool. I could only take half of it, but I was so glad I could take that much. I could stare at his massive frame and look up to catch snapshots of his angelic, youthful, yet masculine and rugged face. His dark eyes pierced with intensity, and I could see how turned on by my mass he was. His hair was always disheveled sexily. His beard was savage and carefree. And yet, when he smiled, he lit up a room and showed how soft and sensitive he was inside. He was a duality of opposing forces that settled into one erotic display of manhood. It was my turn with the scale. 633 pounds and a 15.5 inch dick. I was so massive I could only perceive myself in snatches and odd angles. I overfilled every mirror I had access to, so I could never take all of me in at once. And although I could frame the whole of my face in any reflective surface, it was like staring at the sun. I never thought I could be so sexually handsome, and my attractiveness had somehow surpassed my own human faculties to perceive it. Looking down, all I could see was an imposing shelf of fur-covered mass. When I brought my arm to my face, all I could see was sinew and striations—my arm had gotten too big for me to discern a shape while looking at it. Even when I flexed, all I could perceive was hardness and muscle, not the parabolic swoop I associated with muscular arms. I knew my ass was twin moons of power—I could feel them jutting from my quilted, muscular back, but I was too big to turn around and witness them myself. When I caught the faintest glimpse of them, all I saw was more mass, impossibly big mass. My walk was so exaggerated, slow, and labored, there were few words to describe it, and they all fell short. “Waddle” was too graceless; “lumber” was too quiet; “parade” was too weak; “thunder” was too lithe. Words like “swagger,” “stalk,” “saunter,” and “strut” came closer, but each was too small. I powered through the world, an unignorable force of nature. And thanks to the visit from Dr. Mowbray at the clinic, I knew I hadn’t entirely maxed out yet. I was close, but close wasn’t maxed out. The contest had reached the morning of its final moments. All throughout breakfast, boys speculated on who would win and who would be dismissed. It was a tizzy of conversation. I just sat and ate peacefully. Even if I didn’t win, I wouldn’t be dismissed. At the morning meeting, Tony had some very important announcements. The room thrummed with fear and anticipation. I, however, was distracted by the other person onstage: Olivia Hascombe. “What’s she doing here?” I asked. “My readers want to know who wins,” she explained. Tony added, “And I wanted her here for all the announcements so she could be balanced and thorough in her next article, not just vomit up her usual muckraking.” I took my seat, satisfied enough with that answer. I could tell his subtext more plainly: he was going to make a promise about relaxing the regulations a little bit, and he wanted me to see an outside party witness it so I wouldn’t tell anyone about the half of the genes he got from me. Tony cleared his throat. “Before I announce the top ten, I have made an important decision. The five of you who will not be staying here will be relocated to one of my other houses if each so chooses. And I hope they do, because we’re going to need someone to replace Nile when he retires in five months.” A murmur of relief went through the crowd, and Miss Hascombe typed up some quick notes. “And,” Tony decreed, “starting at the end of this meeting, you will be allowed to keep a small number of personal effects in your rooms. All must meet my approval, but no reasonable request will be denied.” The boys were excited by that one. Tony wasn’t finished yet. “And, more importantly, you will be able to refer to yourselves by your real names in your off hours as long as you only use your house names in front of clients.” “That’s lovely,” Slate shouted impatiently. “Who won already?” “The five boys who failed to make it through the fourth round are Triton, Hornet, Shark, Tiger, and Etna. You’ve all proven you’re excellent, top-tier pleasure boys, and I expect your regulars will follow you to any house. After the meeting, we’ll discuss which of my houses, if any, you will be transferred to. You will have your pick of any location I own.” The boys looked reassured by that. “So, who won?” Slate repeated. “The decision was unanimous among the secret shoppers,” Tony pontificated. “They only had one negative thing to say about this pleasure boy.” He cleared his throat and explained, “One of the shoppers didn’t like how often this pleasure boy called himself ‘daddy.’” “Does that mean?” Olivia asked excitedly. “Congratulations, Nile,” Tony said. “You earned your victory.” Double pension. I had just won a double pension. I didn’t have to worry about money for the rest of my life. My tips were about to double, and I had a guaranteed double pension for the rest of my life. Without holding for applause or any period of reflection from the crowd, Tony then stated, “That concludes the competition. Congratulations to the top 10. Business resumes as normal,” Tony explained. “There will be press phots taken over the course of the next week to advertise the winners, and renovations to the dorm will be done within the month, though other renovations to the house as a whole will continue over the next 18 months. Once the upgraded dorm is finished, you can all move into your new, larger rooms, each with a window with a view, carpeting, and a deluxe bed.” He was only being so generous because he thought I was blackmailing him, and I was never going to correct his misconception. Tony wrapped up the meeting: “I expect you all to make me proud. With that, the meeting is over. You five,” he gestured to the boys who’d lost the fourth round, “come with me.” Tony, the five disqualified pleasure boys, and Olivia all left the meeting room. Once they were gone, I turned to my right and said, “Congratulations, Hugh. Congratulations, Lev.” “Congratulations to you too,” Lev said. “Nile,” Hugh asked impatiently, “what’s your real name?” I smiled. “Gavin and I were bedded next to each other in the training dorm because our real last names followed alphabetically,” I explained. “My name came right before his. He’s Gavin Rierdon, and I’m Gavin Pursar.” “Your name’s Gavin too?” Hugh asked. “People are going to call you the Gavins. That’s too cutesy.” With a wry chuckle, I added, “I might take his last name while I’m at it.” 22 7 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
DawnFire98 Posted August 22, 2023 Share Posted August 22, 2023 ARGH! I am so happy for all of them. Nile, you lucky son of a gun, you did! Wow...what a great tale. Bravo! @TQuintA, you outdid yourself with this masterpiece. The plot, the characters, the twists, and (of course) the musclegrowth! 100 points on every front. Thank you for taking us readers on this hot and steamy, yet deep and touching story of this growing pleasure guy. I can't wait for the wedding and honeymoon. 5 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
DawnFire98 Posted August 22, 2023 Share Posted August 22, 2023 P. S. Wrote you a quick, little message @TQuintA 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
arpeejay Posted August 22, 2023 Share Posted August 22, 2023 3 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Mdlftr Posted August 22, 2023 Share Posted August 22, 2023 Wonderful end to the competition, but.....? That's it? No revolution? No blood and muscle in the streets? It's all over?!? Wha...? 2 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
HawkShark Posted August 22, 2023 Share Posted August 22, 2023 8 minutes ago, Mdlftr said: Wonderful end to the competition, but.....? That's it? No revolution? No blood and muscle in the streets? It's all over?!? Wha...? As someone who believes that incremental change is overall better and more lasting than revolutionary change I found this to be a very satisfying ending @TQuintA. But who knows @Mdlftr, we've been promised an epilogue. Maybe you'll get your chapter on the brigade 600 pounders storming the capitol building and instituting a muscle utopia 3 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
ploder4 Posted August 22, 2023 Share Posted August 22, 2023 1 hour ago, HawkShark said: As someone who believes that incremental change is overall better and more lasting than revolutionary change I found this to be a very satisfying ending @TQuintA. But who knows @Mdlftr, we've been promised an epilogue. Maybe you'll get your chapter on the brigade 600 pounders storming the capitol building and instituting a muscle utopia I wonder how much medicating each non legacy laborer had done. How well had the pharmaceutical companies had fared since they were still providing body enhancing drugs despite being banned and how big the labor class grew physically as a whole. I can still imagine a rich guy uncovering a secret affair between his wife and his plumber who grew into a hulking behemoth who might be over 5 times his size. 3 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
arpeejay Posted August 22, 2023 Share Posted August 22, 2023 Just a reminder: Part 4 is complete but TQuintA has a history of epilogues! 6 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Ro20316 Posted August 23, 2023 Share Posted August 23, 2023 10 hours ago, TQuintA said: “My name came right before his. He’s Gavin Rierdon, and I’m Gavin Pursar.” 2 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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