Going Niche (Complete Story) [Bonus Material Added 8/29/23]

[TQuintA]

Chapter 11

            The following morning, I awoke to a knock on my door.  Onyx never knocked, and the custodial staff waited until we were at breakfast to clean.  I’d never had anything delivered to my room (as Tony promised my new clothes would be), so I assumed that’s what this was.

            The sun wasn’t up yet, but in the pale glow of the pre-dawn morning, I could see the mountainous bulge my morning wood made—all 9 thick inches of it.  I threw off the covers and trudged (still naked) to the door.  I wasn’t yet used to how ploddingly slow and heavy my body was at this size, but with my erection cutting a swath through the moonlight, it was a shockingly erotic experience.

            I opened the door, expecting to find a delivery person hoping for a tip, not that I could give one, unless he accepted sex.  Or maybe it was a houseworker who’d been tasked with dropping off my clothes who was hoping for a peek at my magnificence.  Or maybe it was a clothes store worker who needed a thumbprint or some other sort of indemnification of receipt.

            Instead, I found Hawk.

            “Can I come in?” he asked.

            “Of course,” I said, opening the door wider to let him enter.

            “Close the door,” he instructed, sitting on my bed.

            I did as he wanted and then joined him on the bed.

            “What’s this about?” I asked.  In his 30 years of being a pleasure boy, Hawk had never visited me.  Not once.  We’d occasionally chat in the cafeteria or lobby.  We used to gossip during the morning meetings, but we hadn’t done that in at least five years.  We said hello to each other in the common areas.  But he’d never even been in my room.  What could have inspired him to come here, now, before sunrise no less?

            “I’m throwing in the towel,” he said simply.

            “What do you mean?”

            “I’m leaving the house,” he clarified.  “I’ve already served my 25, so they can’t take my half-pension away from me.”

            “No, they can’t,” I agreed, “but you’re still 20 years away from a full pension.”

            “I’ve got a decent nest egg in my account.  With that and a half-pension, I can retire and not need to enter the labor forces.  As long as I’m careful with money, that is.  It helps that my sister is willing to let me live with her and her husband as long as I pull my weight.  I can have their daughter’s room, now that she’s grown up and married.”

            “You don’t…” I started, but Hawk interrupted me.

            “They’ve been begging me to retire since I served my 25.  Every year on Visitors’ Day, they beg me to leave.  My own foolish pride kept me here.”

            I put my hand on his shoulder to comfort him.  As if on cue, the sun started to crest over the horizon and more light flooded the room.  It was then I saw just how small he actually was.  My arm was thick and cabled with brawn; his was thin and spindly.  My chest stuck out proudly and fully from my chest; his was practically sunken.  My legs were so massive and beefy that they collided into each other when I walked; his legs together were smaller than one of mine.  With all my muscle, I was easily twice his size.

            “There’s still a week left,” I reminded him. “You could always make it through to the second round.”

            “I’ve put on 10 pounds in 7 weeks.  I can’t double that in one week.  Not unless I hit the purple poison, and we both know what that did to Raptor.”

            I silently and solemnly agreed.  After a few seconds of quiet, I asked, “Why didn’t you come to me earlier?”  I wouldn’t have helped him as much as I’d helped Onyx, but I would’ve helped him.  I felt a tribal kinship with him.  We were the old guard; we owed it to each other.  “I would’ve given you some tips.”

            Hawk shook his head.  “I’m ashamed how much of my savings I already ate into just putting on these 10 pounds.  I’m done.”  He looked up at me.  He didn’t look sad or defeated.  He looked liberated.  “I don’t belong here anymore.  You do.  You always have.  I can go home and be with my people.”  He sighed in pleasure. 

            “You can’t give up that easily,” I insisted.  “That’s not the Hawk I know.”

            He shook his head dismissively.  “Let’s say I pull off a miracle and make it through to the second round.  Do you seriously think I can survive three more rounds?  And then another two decades on top of that?”

            I was about to give an encouraging response, when Hawk said, “Answer honestly.”

            I shook my head no.

            “That’s why I came to your room.  I wanted to say goodbye to you alone, in person, before the kid came in here for his morning fuck.”  Hawk leaned in conspiratorially.  In a hushed tone, he said, “I also wanted to tell you that there’s a target on your back.  They think it’s unfair that an old man with one foot in the grave is taking a spot in this house from a young guy who really needs it.”

            Angrily, I responded, “If those brats think I don’t deserve it, they can just beat me in the competition.  And then they can fuck themselves.”

            Hawk laughed.  It was full of a melody of genuine joy.  “That’s what I told them you’d say.”  He pat my thigh like a brother might.  “Win this fucking thing, Nile.  Don’t let them defeat you.  You’ve earned that full pension.  Don’t let them tell you otherwise.”

            Defiantly, I took his hand off my thigh.  “Isn’t there any way I can convince you to stay and fight, Hawk?”

            “Charlie.  Call me Charlie.  It’s my real name, and I plan on taking it back.”

            If he was calling himself Charlie, he was truly and thoroughly leaving the house.  It was very, very, very against the rules to refer to yourself as anything other than your house name.  Just by telling me his name, Charlie had killed and buried Hawk.

            “Well then, Charlie,” I said, extending my hand.  “It was a delight working with you these last 30 years.”

            Charlie took my hand and shook it.  “Goodbye…” he started, and then, in the same hushed tone, asked, “Can I know your real name?  I swear I won’t narc on you.”

            “I forget my real name,” I said honestly.

            “Then, I’m doubly glad I’m going—while I still know who I am.”  Still shaking my hand, he stroked the back of my hand with his free hand affectionately.  “You were my best friend in the house.”

            With that, Charlie left, and I never saw him again.

            Once I was alone in the room, I asked myself, “I was his best friend?”

[TQuintA]

Chapter 12

            The last week progressed as I expected it would.  A lot of fucking (most of it with Onyx), a lot of working out, a lot of eating.

            The gym now looked full of dedicated gym rats.  Granted, some of them had started at different levels of physical fitness.  But if a guy hadn’t just quit, if he’d reached this last week of the first round, he’d put on nearly 20 pounds.  All but the last three slots had been taken, so the gym was littered with men ranging from fit to huge—with me at the apex, supreme alpha daddy of the lesser men.

            At the start of week 7, Krakatoa had finally earned his spot in the second round.  He looked full and thick—meaty.  But Pelée and Slate were among the stragglers still slugging it out for their spots.  I was pretty sure Slate was gonna make it, but Pelée had spent the first three weeks faffing about, not fully committed.  And he’d skipped a lot of meals just to not be in the cafeteria with me.

            That last week, though, Pelée ballooned up like magic.  His muscles looked big and round, constantly pumped as if he was somehow sneaking extra meals and getting in more gym time than any of us saw.  I was wondering how he was doing it… until I smelled it.

            That rubbery, sulfurous smell.

            He was on the purple stuff.

            I pulled him aside, practically pushing him up against the wall.  I watched as his bigger pecs bounced up and down, like they were full of water or oil—maybe air.  Whatever they were full of, it wasn’t meat.

            “How much purple stuff have you taken?” I asked, concerned.

            “Scared, old man?” he responded, his voice metallic and shrill.  I was a full seven inches taller and easily had 75 pounds of mass on him, and he still thought he could intimidate me.

            “Yes.  But I’m scared for you.  Please tell me it was just one can.”

            “I bought a six pack on Tuesday,” he said arrogantly, the arrogance undercut by the high pitch of his voice.  “I’m only halfway through it.  I’ve put on fifteen pounds just this week.  I qualified for the second round this morning.  There’s only two spots left.  I’m aiming for thirty more pounds by the end of next week.”  He was drenched in sweat, and his skin was bright red, more telltale signs he was abusing this crap. 

            “Did they tell you how much the next six pack was going to cost?  I know how cheap the purple stuff is, but it doesn’t stay that cheap.”

            Smiling cockily, he added, “The bigger I get, the more clients I get.  I can afford it.  I’ll always be able to afford it.”

            “Can you afford the side effects?”  I recited all of them, loudly.  He displayed every last one.

            “So, I can’t stop taking it and I need to wear more cologne.  It’s worth it.  At this rate, I’ll be bigger than you in no time.” 

            “At this rate,” I said, “you’re going to bankrupt yourself.”

            “You’re just afraid of the competition.”

            “If I thought the purple stuff was worth it, don’t you think I’d be on it?” I asked.  “Clearly everyone in this room is on PEDs.  I’m not on some moral high horse.”

            “Never thought you were,” he whined.  “Just thought you didn’t want to be dethroned.”

            “You weren’t here when Raptor was.”

            Pelée looked unmoved.

            I continued.  “He was the same pledge class as Hawk.  He’d only been here a year or two, and he wanted to get real big real quick.  He got hooked on the purple stuff.  Put on over 100 pounds of muscle in two months.  His second-to-last week here, he drank six cans and put on 50 more pounds.  In one week.  No client would fuck him because of the stench of rubber and the constant greasy sweat, and he was out of money.  He couldn’t afford another can, so all that muscle turned to fat.  All 150 pounds of it.  In one week without the purple stuff, the muscle melted off, and he became a ball of blubber.  Triple chins, giant belly, thunder thighs.  He looked horrible.”

            “You’re lying,” Pelée protested, trying to get away from me, but I was big enough to easily overpower him.

            I pointed to where Krakatoa was using a treadmill.  “Right over there.  There used to be stationary bikes there.  His last week here, he rode them like mad, trying to burn off the fat.  He didn’t have any clients, so he was always on the bikes—12 hours a day.  He skipped every meal and pedaled like a mad fiend.  He barely lost five pounds that week.  I was in the gym when Vera told him they were letting him go.  He cried and begged and pleaded to stay.  He had no money and knew that outside the house he had no chance to work off the weight and hold down a job.”

            Pelée was still trying to get free.

            I persisted.  “The purple stuff ruined him.  When they let him go, the look on his face was contorted and white, and he screamed so loudly the whole floor heard.”

            Pelée grunted.  He was going to require more.

            “His life was ruined, and Vera didn’t care.  I tried to use my influence on her to get her to stop selling it.  She didn’t.  She said, ‘People who are irresponsible get what’s coming to them.’  Word for word, that’s what she said.  I’ve noticed Tony hasn’t stopped selling it either, and I told him all of this years ago, hoping he’d talk some sense into his mother.”

            He was beginning to see things my way.  So, I added, “Raptor was 24.  He was 24, and in less than three months, his chances of a normal, happy life were gone.”

            It finally sunk in.

            “I can help you get big, but you’re not drinking one more can of that purple stuff.  Throw it out.  Dump it down a drain.  Set it on fire.”

            Pelée looked concerned.

            I finished with, “I would rather lose my spot in this house than see what happened to Raptor happen to another pleasure boy.”

            Pelée nodded.

            I realized the gym had fallen silent.  I turned to face the room.  “Did you all hear that?  I can’t stop them from selling it, but I can stop you from buying it.  No matter how stiff this competition gets, steer clear of the purple stuff.  If I find out another one of you has been abusing this stuff, I will beat you down.  If you’re in the hospital wing, you can’t drink anymore.”  If half of them are really afraid of me, maybe I could use it to knock some sense into them.

            The rest of the week progressed pleasantly.

            Slate just barely eked out his competition to be the 60^th man to make it through the first round.  I had to admit, he looked good.  He’d left normal behind and was looking big.

            As soon as Slate had been officially weighed, Tony announced, “I’ll announce the rules of the second round at Monday morning’s meeting.”

            At our weigh-in, Onyx was delighted to be 222 pounds.  More muscular than I was at the start of this insane competition.  I, right on schedule, was 274.  The new sizes all seemed to skew small, but I was once again able to squeeze into pants and shirts.  I felt incredibly heavy, and I knew I was just going to get heavier still as my body increasingly became more of an obstacle to itself.  Doorways felt smaller, clients felt smaller, clothes felt smaller.  The world was shrinking around me as I grew larger.

            When Adam saw me for his Sunday evening appointment, we both looked at each other stunned.  He was surprised by my vastness, but I was equally impressed by his.  He looked like Onyx did at the start of this journey—and I used to call Onyx a proto-jock.

            As Adam turned around and around slowly so I could take in his new dimensions, Edward said, “173 pounds.  Just shy of five pounds in one week.”

            Adam looked it.  His ass was larger and rounder than I’d ever seen it, his legs were beginning to strain his fancy pants, his waist was taut, his pecs pushed out proudly, his arms were thick.

            "You did this," Adam said.

            “You did this,” I responded.  “You stuck to the diet, the workout plan.”

            Edward nodded, and Adam relented.

            Unbidden, I said, “You gorgeous man, you.”

            “I believe you now,” Adam replied.  “I actually think I’m a gorgeous man now.”

            I bent over the bed and got in position, and Adam thrusted to the hilt in one deft motion.  He was an out of control fuckpig that day.  He fucked me to climax three times (his climaxes; I only came once) in a blur of grunting and thrusting.  I could feel the extra mass and muscle Adam had built up, and I could sure as hell feel the extra acceleration and inertia.  He was beginning to fuck like Onyx had when we become fuckbuddies.  He was that forceful.  Edward watched from the side, incredibly turned on by the muscular, libidinous monster his husband had become.

            After the frenetic energy of the session, Adam held me close and, right into my right ear, said, “You know I love you, Nile.”

            Edward, who was also part of the spooning, leaned in to my left ear and said, “I love you too, Nile.”

[arpeejay]

For the record: 

I am 65 years old.

I am NOT Nile.

How fucking unFAIR is that?!?!

Fortunately, I live in an age of unlimited eye candy. And on very special occasions, I get to read stories by one of the best writers of Muscle Growth Fiction to ever grace these precincts, i.e., TQuintA.

Stories like this one.

Thank you!

[HawkShark]

Well, reading that in one sitting was an amazing experience! How many parts do you expect this one to be TQuintA? You're well known for your novel length works, so I'm hoping for a long ride on this one

[jwood]

If there's anything hotter than massive muscle men, it's massive muscle DADS woof

[TQuintA]

7 hours ago, HawkShark said:

How many parts do you expect this one to be

I currently have four parts planned and prewritten, one for each round; I expect each part to be about 10-15 chapters.  There will also be an epilogue, which I expect to be only one chapter.  This means I expect the final completed story to be 400 pages in my Microsoft Word doc (or about 120,000 words if you prefer a word count).   Details like chapter, page, and word counts notoriously change for me between prewriting and drafting, so these are just estimates.   

However, I expect my life to upend in the near future, so I decided to publish Part 1 in its entirety before I started even drafting Part 2.  Again,  all parts are prewritten, but I haven't written anything past Chapter 12 yet.

[Ro20316]

What an inetresting story.

I feel conflicted about Niles and what''s happening to him. This world you created made him not able to achieve what he wanted and had to find a way to go through his life. He is now 70 years old and hasnt had a "normal" life. His family is dead and outside work he has nobody to go to unless he considers Adam and Edward as those he can see himself with. 

He has great knowledge and if he were able to afford it he could create the best niche house filled with big guys there is but now Tony is playing with his retirement and fucking things up for him.

Niles is trying to help those he can but  only 11 are gonna be chosen and there is still a long road ahead.

[jwood]

Aside from the shared love of big muscle, TQuintA, I want to send you my best wishes and hopes for the health issue you recently shared with us.  As I have never dealt with something similar, I'm not sure I can comprehend the extent of everything you are going through right now, but please know that we love you and we are all rooting for you and good health!

[atomcell]

There is something really beautiful and sad about Chapter 11. I'm happy for Hawk/Charlie, leaving on his own terms, and sharing a moment of camaraderie with Nile, even if Nile didn't realize Hawk considered Nile a close friend. It's also a little sad that Nile has forgotten his original name, but to be fair this is his real identity and his only life. 

[arpeejay]

6 hours ago, Ro20316 said:

What an inetresting story.

I feel conflicted about Niles and what''s happening to him. This world you created made him not able to achieve what he wanted and had to find a way to go through his life. He is now 70 years old and hasnt had a "normal" life. His family is dead and outside work he has nobody to go to unless he considers Adam and Edward as those he can see himself with. 

He has great knowledge and if he were able to afford it he could create the best niche house filled with big guys there is but now Tony is playing with his retirement and fucking things up for him.

Niles is trying to help those he can but  only 11 are gonna be chosen and there is still a long road ahead.

Welcome to 21st Century American capitalism.