TQuintA Posted June 27, 2023 Author Share Posted June 27, 2023 Chapter 17 The week was progressing normally: lifting, fucking, eating, medicating. The Vibrall was making it all light and easy, even a little fun. I didn’t need to crash into bed after my last appointment anymore. As Slate promised. I was sleeping less and feeling more refreshed. With the new addition to my stack (and my upped doses), I would have to go to the pharmacist every five days to have my regulator refilled, but it was worth it, and the little guy liked my visits. On Wednesday night after dinner, I was at my one-on-one session with Adam. He’d just explosively cum twice in twenty minutes from my energetic fucking, so we were lying on the bed as he ran his fingers through my furry chest and marveled at the size of my muscles. “I am bigger than anyone who has ever held my job, heavier than I’ve ever been, packed with dense beef,” he said, mystified, “and you make me look so small and delicate. Your arm is as big as my head, your thigh is about the size of my chest. You can lift me one-handed.” I bounced my pecs, sending his hand up and down in their stochastic rhythm. “I do what I can to please my clients.” “I’m sure all your clients love this new carpet,” he said, tugging on my chest hair forcefully but playfully. Then, he ran his hand over my face. “Why do you still shave off your beard?” “A shave is cheaper than a trim,” I said simply. “What?” “I have my own razor,” I responded. “If I wanted a neatly manicured beard, I’d have to have it done at the salon, or I’d end up with a disheveled mountain man beard. I already pay to have my hair trimmed once a week.” “You could trim your own beard,” Adam suggested. “Like they’d let a pleasure boy own his own scissors. They’re classified as a weapon.” “And a razor isn’t?” “The type of safety razor they let us have is such a wimpy, ineffective thing that most guys pay to have the salon shave them rather than struggle with the frustration of using the house-approved models. I’m a cheap, persistent bugger.” “Won’t you get in trouble for talking this openly about money?” Adam asked. “Won’t it sound like soliciting tips?” “I didn’t ask for any money,” I reminded him. “But still, couldn’t it be taken the wrong way?” “I have broken no rules. But, you could get me in trouble if you wanted to.” I took a deep breath and explained. “If a client complains about a pleasure boy, the house always takes the client’s side, even if the client is obviously lying. If you really wanted me in trouble, you could file a complaint, saying I was asking for money,” I said flatly. I grabbed his ass and squeezed affectionately. “But you wouldn’t do that, now would you?” Adam shook his head vehemently. Then, he stroked my cheek again. “If I paid for the maintenance, would you grow a beard for me?” If he was willing to pay for my salon visits, I should press my luck. “Wouldn’t you prefer I start dying my hair again?” “Nope. I like you grey. I’d like you even better bearded and grey.” “A beard it is,” I said. Adam let out a yawn. “Sorry, but the workout regime you have me on is exhausting. If I doze off, just hold me until our hour is over.” “It would be my pleasure,” I said. But he didn’t fall asleep. We just held each other like that until our hour was up. As I walked back to my room, I realized I was still wide awake. Normally, by 9 PM, I was ready to sleep for a thousand years, but these past few days as I adjusted to the Vibrall, I wouldn’t go to bed until 10 or 11. Today, even after an overly busy day, I was fine. Not wired or wide awake—just fine. Especially as I had been sleeping less these last few days, I knew I was experiencing a new normal. I stopped by Tony’s office, hoping he’d still be at work. If it had been regular business hours, his receptionist would’ve announced my presence, but there was no one sitting at the desk in front of his office. I contemplated writing a note and leaving it on his receptionist’s desk, but I could see Tony’s light was on through the crack under the door. “Knock knock,” I said, opening his door without waiting for a response. “Nile,” he said when he saw me. “What brings you here, my boy? And at such a late hour?” “I want to add some availabilities to my schedule. I was thinking 9-10 and 10-11.” “Really?” Tony said dubiously, dropping his work tablet and staring at me. “For years, Mom tried to get you to add extra sessions, despite your always having a full schedule, because of the high demand for your services.” She had indeed. “And since you’ve become a Herculean version of Nile, your demand has only gone up.” He scrutinized me up and down. “You’re already fully booked with 8 or 9 clients a day. Why add more sessions?” He was confused. “I’ve seen your tips—you’re not hurting for money, even after the clothing fiasco.” Then, he got up and came over, standing inappropriately near me and looking closely in my face. “Your face looks a little gaunt. Sexy gaunt, but gaunt. You’ve lost some fat.” Then, like a bolt out of the blue, the realization hit him. “You’ve started taking Vibrall!” “You hit the nail on the head,” I said. “I only need about four or five hours a night to reap the rewards.” I flexed both biceps to emphasize what I meant by “rewards.” “Why not make some more tips?” With a defiant and haughty look on his face, he informed me, “If I add these openings to your schedule, you have to commit to them for the rest of your time here.” His words might have had the veneer of professionalism, but his tone was anything but. Tony sounded like a spoiled child. He might as well have said, “No takesies-backsies.” “I understand,” I answered. “Well, alright then,” he said, pleased. “Glad to see you stepping up and being a good role model for the other boys.” “I’m bored, Tony,” I responded bluntly. “All the on-campus stores—even the gym—close at 8. Except for fucking, there’s nothing to do here after dinner. There hasn’t been since your grandmother destroyed the library.” “What library?” he asked genuinely. “Oh, that’s right. It was before you were born. The yoga studio used to be a library.” Still only inches away from me, he said, delightedly, “That explains a lot. Granny was right to tear that thing down. But a yoga studio was the wrong call. I’m turning it into a second gym, one the clients can pay to visit during their sessions, watch their pleasure boys work out and lift heavy things in skimpy clothes. It should be ready by the fourth round.” He returned back to his seat and sat down happily. “Well, if you’re bored,” he laid a special emphasis on the word “bored” to indicate he didn’t believe me, “sure, I can add some later appointments to your schedule. Might as well make use of that mighty appendage while it’s still mine.” He said that while pointing at my crotch. He was about to pick up his tablet to add my availabilities, but instead he stared more intensely at my crotch. “You’re bigger,” he said. “You finally noticed,” I responded, pivoting on my hips to make my sizable bulge sway under its own impressive weight. “Good night, Tony,” I responded. “Night, Nile,” he replied. On my way back to my room, I stopped to fuck two janitors (each by himself) and two security guards (together). I was hoping it would take me all the way until midnight, but I still had an hour to kill when I got back to my room. After a self-indulgently long shower (and wank session), it was finally time for midnight snack. Onyx was surprised to find me awake and idly playing with myself, but he was too pleased to really care or ask any questions. After we ate, I won the thumb wrestle, and so I rode Onyx like a bucking bronco. I had all this energy to burn off. I wanted to do something to tire myself out, so I pulled out all the stops and did every high-energy-fuck maneuver I could think of. My first orgasm did nothing to make me sleepy, so I decided to pick him up and fuck him like the old days. “Seriously, Nile! Twice?” Onyx cried in the middle of his next orgasm. His feet hadn’t touched the floor in ten minutes, and I was starting to feel the workout of holding a 200+ pound man in the air—especially in my arms and shoulders. “What has gotten into you these past few days?” So, I told him about Vibrall, and he said, “Good to know.” After all of that, I was tired at last, so I crawled into bed. I was asleep more quickly than I thought. The dream started simply enough. Onyx and I were in the gym, fucking. Only, details were wrong. The lighting was wrong. The carpet was wrong. The walls were the wrong color. Also, Onyx wasn’t his current size: he was the size he was at the start of the competition. The same went for me. I was as small as I was at the start of the competition too—and my hair was deep black. For the first half of the dream, every time I lifted my eyes to look at Onyx’s face, I never got higher than his neck; I was transfixed by his chest. He was fucking me thoroughly, my prostate singing at the attention it was getting. So, I wrapped my arms tightly around him. This was a confident cock. A cock that knew what I wanted and probed me deeply and assuredly. I was nowhere close to orgasm, and I was already in so much pleasure that I never wanted it to end. In the logic of dreams, I decided it was time to ask Onyx when the gym had been painted, so I finally looked up at his face. He laughed thoroughly and deeply. He laughed so hard that his face cracked in two, revealing another face underneath. And then I realized it wasn’t Onyx I was fucking. It was Hawk. Only, he wasn’t the rail thin Hawk who’d left the house a few weeks ago. He had the height and musculature of Onyx, but Hawk’s face. The god-tier fucking continued as the Hawk/Onyx hybrid began tweaking my nipples and delicately stroking the back of my neck—two moves that always excited my nerve-endings. While we continued to fuck, I asked Hawk when he had come back to the house, and he laughed at me too. He laughed so hard that his face also cracked. Suddenly, I was being given the fuck of my lifetime by a man who had Onyx’s pre-contest body, but Tony’s face—that blond hair and politician’s smile. He greasily said, “About time I finally fucked you, boy.” Revulsed, I wanted to stop fucking, but the pleasure was just too intense. Then, much to my relief, Tony’s face cracked again, and became Adam’s. “I love you so much,” he said, but there was something wrong with his voice. This was the voice of a jazz singer in a smooth, textured, and rich bass, not Adam’s practiced politician’s phonetics in a steady baritone. He kept fucking me, my prostate on fire with ecstasy, my nipples alive with sensation, all of me consumed by this man. Then, his face cracked again and became Edward’s. “I love you with every part of me.” Still in that wrong voice. Edward’s face then became Pelée’s. Then Krakatoa’s. Then Raptor’s. Then Slate’s. Then mine. Then the face of my first client ever—I’d forgotten his name years ago. Then the man I’d lost my virginity to, years before I ever entered the pleasure house. Then, strangest of all, this man, who was still fucking me, still taking me to heights of pleasure I’d never known, suddenly had no face. It was as if his face was hidden behind a thick green cloud or surrounded by impenetrable viridescent smoke, or maybe behind gauzy emerald fabric floating in midair just in front of his face. That was when I realized the body wasn’t Onyx’s. It had never been Onyx’s even when it had his face. “I recognize your body,” I said, trying to fully remember whose it was through the fog of my dream. The faceless man kept fucking me. “I love you.” Then, he picked me up and carried me over to the stationary bikes, fucking me the entire time. Even though he was smaller than me, he had to prove how much he loved me by carrying me across the room, fucking me the entire time. When we got to the stationary bikes, his arms could no longer support me, so we tumbled to the ground. When we landed, he thrust so deeply inside me that we climaxed simultaneously. “I love you,” he said again. “I love you too.” I woke up. It was morning. I had a girder-thick, steel-hard erection, and a copious amount of semen pooling in my abs. 26 1 2 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
arpeejay Posted June 27, 2023 Share Posted June 27, 2023 Very hot and... If people aren't reading this as a commentary on American capitalism in the first quarter of the 21st Century, they're not paying attention. (Which may or may not be what TQuintA has intended but it serves that purpose, even so...) 3 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Popular Post TQuintA Posted June 28, 2023 Author Popular Post Share Posted June 28, 2023 Chapter 18 As had become custom, the morning following my bizarre dream, I had breakfast with Onyx, Slate, and Krakatoa, all of whom were looking buffer and thicker. Slate and Krakatoa also had persistent erections, likely dimefidone-induced. “What do you think it means?” I asked after recounting my dream. “I think it means you have unresolved feelings for me,” Onyx said. “The dream did start with you fucking me.” “I think it means you’re taking Vibrall,” Slate offered. “I told you that you would have some fucked-up dreams.” “I think it means you’ve fucked a lot of dudes,” Krakatoa tried. “Your brain couldn’t pick just one because there were too many to choose from. “I have fucked a lot of dudes,” I said to Krakatoa, seizing on the answer that felt the most correct to me. “Over the last half-century, I’ve had hundreds, perhaps thousands, of clients, seduced nearly a third of the male staff, and fucked every pleasure boy who’s into men. Gay, bi, pan—hell, even a lot of the straight ones. It’s why I still have hope in fucking Slate.” “You couldn’t afford me, old man,” Slate said, turning his hips so his boner swiveled away from me. “I’d never pay for it,” I replied. “I’m insulted,” Krakatoa said gruffly. “You’ve never even tried to have sex with me.” “You’re not straight?” I asked. “No, I am,” he responded. “A fella just likes to be asked.” “Nile thinks I’m hotter than you,” Slate crowed. He wasn’t wrong. The competition was sculpting Slate into a mountain of sexy man-muscle with a bulging, permanent erection. Every part of him, especially his cock, looked rock hard. We were both burning so much fat that I’d asked him privately if we needed to worry about that with the Vibrall. He assured me I was just reaching a new equilibrium, nothing to worry about. “You’re both pretty,” Onyx said to ease the tension I’d created between Slate and Krakatoa. And the week fell back into its predictable pattern: lifting, fucking, eating, medicating. Thanks to the Vibrall and my new schedule, there was a lot more of all of them. I was lifting like a man possessed. I was so energetic in the gym that I was now leaving Onyx exhausted and gasping for breath—after our fuck sessions too. I was fucking two or three extra clients a day, depending on if any of them brought their husbands. I was eating five meals a day. I absolutely loved the midnight snacks and didn’t miss the distended stomach pains. And, I was medicating practically twice a week. Just a few months ago, it had been once every two weeks. It was invigorating to have so many body-enhancing chemicals surging through me. No matter how full my days were, though, I couldn’t shake the dream. It haunted me. Every time I thought about that faceless stranger, I filled with a longing I couldn’t name, and my genitals warmed and tingled. Despite my distraction, the rest of the house was sharply focused. We were squarely in the third week of the second round, and everyone was taking it seriously. Everyone slabbed on muscle. Seeing the direction the competition was headed, every boy was trying to put on more than the minimum 20 pounds. And they looked it. Krakatoa was riddled with vein-covered brawn and sinew, especially his pecs. Krakatoa’s best feature had always been his pecs, so he put a little more work into them to keep up their beauty. He looked like an erotic artist’s rendering of an ancient gladiator. Slate looked like a serious gym rat, especially his abs. Now that he’d lost all the extra weight, he was giving special attention to his abs, achieving an impressive six pack. He looked like a fitness model who’d packed fifteen or so pounds of quality beef. Onyx was big and only getting bigger, especially his arms—his crowning glories. He looked like the king of bodybuilders. I outclassed them all. My pecs were thicker and juicier than Krakatoa’s. My abs were more carved and defined than Slate’s. My arms were bigger and stronger than Onyx’s. All of me was covered in a larger quantity of harder, more shredded, higher quality muscle. I made them all look small. My ass, especially, was my biggest achievement. And I do mean biggest. It was so thick and meaty that I was having trouble squeezing into the salon chair. But all of me was having difficulty finding space. When I took a deep breath, my pecs threatened the buttons of even the largest shirt I owned. My shoulders were so round and broad that I had to turn slightly sideways to fit through the narrower doors. My thighs were so thick and massive that my walk was taking on a rolling gait that made my ass waggle in defiance as I strutted past. My neck had gotten so thick that I no longer bothered buttoning the top button of any of my shirts because it just wouldn’t stay buttoned, which had the added benefit of giving everyone a scintillating peek of my chest hair. My lats and biceps were so thick and big that they fought for space with each other. And my dick and balls were accreting more size and mass, suffocating for room in my pants as all of my burgeoned larger. Onyx loved it. My clients loved it. So I kept growing. When Sunday morning’s weigh-in came, Onyx practically fell on the scale, winded and wiped from our workout. As soon as he saw the number, though, all of his youth and vitality returned to him. “249,” he said. “One pound shy of 250, but up another 10 pounds.” If my math was correct, that made Onyx the second biggest guy in the house now. Only by a pound or two, but maybe his growing ego would add a few ounces. “Get up here, big guy,” he said, coaxing me on to the scale. I felt my incredible weight settle, and my thighs fought to both stay on the scale. Before I even registered the number, Onyx shouted it out to the whole gym. “302.5,” Onyx said. “We have our first member of the 300-club.” “But I expect not the last,” Tony said, coming into the room. He looked me up and down, his tablet in his hand like a religious tome. “And your body fat percentage is down to 7.5%. Just two weeks ago, it was 9%. You were already razor sharp, and a drop that big in two weeks is an impressive one.” Everyone could see what he meant. I was constantly chugging water, but I looked dry as a bone. My skin was paper-thin, my muscles showing in full relief as new sinews and fibers popped into focus all week. My face looked viciously hollow—as did Slate’s, come to think of it. “And that cock,” Tony said, suggestively. “He’s up to 9 and three quarters inches,” Onyx bragged. I felt it. My cock felt thick and heavy, my balls large and swollen—even freshly drained. “And I’ve grown to 7 and three eighths,” Onyx reassured Tony in a whisper. “Keep at it, boys,” Tony said. He had a cryptic look on his face as he walked out the door. It momentarily reminded me of the one that had been on his face in that fucked-up dream, but only momentarily. The rest of my day flew by until I burst into Adam’s suite. When I walked in, I hoisted him up into the air. “My goodness, Nile,” he said. “You are a gigantic beast.” Edward crept up to me while I was still holding his husband aloft. “Adam’s up to 189.5.” He showed me the body comp chart. “We did it. He hit his goal weight.” “Really?” I asked. “You do look big, my man.” And he did, too. His pecs were prominent and proud, thicker and riper than last week. His legs were strangled by his pants. His waist was tight and waspish, accentuating just how big and boulder-like his shoulders had gotten. His arms bulged forth—his biceps and triceps swooping outward in complementary parabolic curves of manly flesh. And his ass—I don’t think he could sit in these pants his ass was so muscular and pert. “Thanks, but you’ve got, what, 80 pounds on me?” “Over 100,” I said, switching him over to just one arm, flexing the other into full relief. As he dangled there from my hand, I saw his cock lengthen and stiffen. Edward’s was at full mast, and he was breathing heavily from my display of strength. “I feel unbelievably heavy, and you’re practically curling me.” “Good idea,” I said, and started curling him. “If it boosts your ego, I feel your weight. It’s not a strenuous challenge, but you’re not insubstantial.” “Glad to hear it,” Adam said sarcastically, twitching in my grasp, vainly trying to overpower me. When that proved futile, he went slack and said, “Last week you said something about a maintenance dose.” “Ah,” I said, delicately putting him down. “Hand me your phone,” I instructed Adam. “Not Edward’s?” he asked, handing me his device. “If I tried to entrust this to Edward, he’d keep pumping you full of growth chemicals, engorging your body with more and more mass until he had himself a prize bull.” Edward blushed, but I saw his dick twitch at the thought. When I finished typing the changes, I handed Adam his phone back. “Read the workout and diet notes too. It becomes a delicate balancing act at this point. Even if you do everything right, you’re likely to fluctuate a little above and little below 190.” Then, I unzipped his pants and saw his hard, throbbing, leaking cock. “What’s the batting order, today, boys?” 28 2 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
garg315a Posted June 28, 2023 Share Posted June 28, 2023 Please continue. Great story! 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Ro20316 Posted June 28, 2023 Share Posted June 28, 2023 It looks like all the treatments work better on Nile. He is an old guy and he is outclass the youngest on that house. He is getting all the perks and more and he loves it and WE love it but Im waiting for the other show to drop. Tony has been passive agressive torwards Niles and he knows he is the best but he will do something to fuck Nile's chances up. And now we have a lost lover. Who would that be and i wonder if he will ever meet that guy again...Mayvbe it was when he tried to join the army or from his youth but i hope Nile gets his happy ending. He deserves it 2 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
arpeejay Posted June 29, 2023 Share Posted June 29, 2023 Ooh! 10 lbs. in one week plus probably an extra 4 when we factor in the bodyfat reduction! 14 lbs. a week and Nile will be 350 lickety split! 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
TQuintA Posted June 29, 2023 Author Share Posted June 29, 2023 Chapter 19 That week, for the most part, was pleasant and familiar. Lifting, fucking, eating, medicating. There were two noteworthy exceptions, though. The first exception was unfamiliar, though somewhat pleasant. I still couldn’t shake that weird dream. It felt like it meant something, even though it was only a dream and Slate was doing a good job convincing me it was Vibrall-induced. However, I’d find myself thinking about it in the middle of a workout or, worse yet, a session with a client. Most clients couldn’t handle the full force of my behemoth thrusts, so I had to go gentle with them. And yet, whenever that dream and the faceless man thoroughly fucking me flitted through my mind, I got really aroused and started picking up steam. I had a (very) small handful of clients ask me to be less rough. The weirdest was when Onyx was goading me about taking too long at breakfast because I was chatting too much with Slate and Krakatoa. “Fine,” he said. “I’m not waiting for you.” That was a perfectly reasonable thing to say to get me to vamoose, but I was suddenly back in the dream. Worse yet, I wanted to cry, and I didn’t know why. I didn’t cry, but the urge was real. The second exception was familiar but very unpleasant. Ever since I’d added some extra availabilities, Tony had started spying on me. I suppose, to some extent, the house has always spied on all of us, but Tony was doing it personally and overtly. I would find him following me. Staring at me. Taking notes on his work tablet. Waiting and hiding somewhere nearby after a session. He didn’t say anything, but it was creepy, threatening behavior. Again, minus those two exceptions, the rest of the week was splendid. The men around me were getting bigger and thicker with each passing day, in their cocks as well as their physiques. The gym fairly reeked of sweat, testosterone, and muscle. My crew, especially, was leading the pack. Krakatoa, the least muscular of us four, was starting to look like pure muscle, especially with his overinflated pecs. When he’d seen me lick my own pecs, he wanted to be able to do that too. He now could, easily, and was often found entertaining himself or his clients by popping and licking his pecs. His cock wasn’t up to snuff yet, but I could see it creep closer every day. He let me know how much his tips had gone up since he started enlarging his equipment. By his own report, he was well on the way to 7 inches, and likely to surpass it by the round’s end. Slate was looking downright sexsome. Not that I would ever order a pleasure boy, but if I did, I’d want him to look like Slate. He was handsome in a somehow boy-next-door way, but absolutely slathered in hard, dense, defined muscle with a sickening six-pack and a perma-boner that was growing larger every day. At the same time, he could be sweet as pie with caring eyes and soft, gentle touches. He’d told me that, ever since he’d gotten as big as he had (he was easily one of the five biggest guys now), he’d gone back to giving the boyfriend experience. A lot of men will pay to believe a guy who looked like Slate would be their boyfriends, even if only for an hour. Of course, around me, he could be contentious, aggressive, and assertive in a way that I absolutely loved. He was becoming the perfect storm of things I found appealing in men. Onyx was looking like an absolute beast. He stopped wearing shirts with sleeves to show off his massive, defined guns, and his pecs were so big that every breath made them heave mightily. His clients all wanted to be dominated, and he had the big, beefy body to do it. I, of course, was leaving them all in the dust. I was lifting weights I thought I’d never be able to. There were vanishingly few weights in the gym that wouldn’t rise when I commanded them with my brawn. Onyx had commented that Tony was going to buy heavier weights (for both gyms) to keep challenging me. My strength was noticeable in other ways, too. When I had a session with a couple, I would now routinely (and easily) lift them both at the same time, one in each arm. When I had a solo session, I could lift my clients so high that I could blow them while dangling them in the air, often one-handed. Some clients had me do feats like lifting the bed (with them on it), and I’d oblige. Everyday objects were feeling insubstantially light, and I more than once had to move a fellow pleasure boy out of my way because he was blocking my path while staring at me. Some, I think, obstructed me on purpose just so I’d lift them. None of them, no matter how big, were a challenge for me. On top of the strength, I was cut and shredded in a way that I never thought possible, especially in my 60s. I was looking downright grainy. I was an anatomy chart of veins and striations, muscles bursting from my body in all directions. Onyx assured me that my back and ass were as striated as the front of me, if not more so given how large and overdeveloped my ass was. I’d have to take his word for it. I was so wide that I couldn’t look at my back in the mirror anymore. Adam was shocked I didn’t have stretch marks because my paper-thin skin was wrapped so tightly it looked like it would explode from my massiveness at any moment (and volunteered to by me more vitamin E supplements, etc., to keep my skin looking beautiful). My waist was staying impossibly trim despite my increasingly bulk. I could tell my waist had gotten larger because of my belt usage, but it had barely gotten bigger at all, all things considered. My face was taking on a severe skull-like look—a hypermasculine severity. My clients loved it (as demonstrated by their tips, comments, and verbalizations during sex). I was starting to get worried that if my body fat dropped too low, I’d go into organ failure. Slate, who was also freakishly shredded, reassured me that once his body fat dropped to 5%, his body acclimated to the Vibrall. His body fat percentage leveled off, and it so far wasn’t dropping lower. “And I’m still taking the Vibrall,” he admitted. “I’ve dropped over 50 pounds of fat in three months. I’m afraid I’ll balloon back up if I stop. The bottle promises me that won’t happen, but I’m not taking any chances.” This all was a net good, I suppose, even if it was getting harder to recognize the grey-haired, bearded brute in the mirror every morning. With all these changes, I was feeling masculine as fuck. Aiding in that, I was also so hairy as to be accurately described as a furball. This was especially true now that my beard came in. I don’t know how, but I was hairier than I’d been in my younger days. Maybe it was just a normal part of aging, maybe it was how long I’d shaved my chest (so the extra hair was an illusion), or maybe it was all the testosterone I’d been pumping through my system all these decades, but I was covered in a pelt of thick, dense, hair. Some clients would grab fistfuls of my chest hair while they bucked like a bronco on my cock. Others would rub their faces against mine as we kissed, or in the hairy cleavage between my pecs, or in the forests of armpit hair in my cavernous pits, delighting in the carpet. Still others would rub their cocks and balls against my jaw and chest and abs, never ever making use of my mouth and ass, just getting off on my hair alone. When I saw how popular my body hair was, I began dressing accordingly, letting tufts poke out here and there to tease. When I was wet from the showers or a workout, my hair looked even thicker and fuller, matted up against my body. My increasing masculinity also increased with my size. Every part of me was unbelievably thick. My neck, which previously couldn’t abide buttons, now made collars altogether impossible. My shoulders were so wide that doorways were increasingly challenging. My arms were thicker around than most of my clients’ legs, and the peaks were supremely split and defined. My forearms were so thick—thicker than most of my clients’ biceps—that I gave up on shirts with cuffs, then shirts with long sleeves. Hell, if the clothing store hadn’t started stocking clothing from specialty designer who had a “muscular men’s line,” I wouldn’t fit into any shirt at all. My pecs jutted out perilously far over my cobblestone abs—divine in hardness and definition. My proportions were absurd. My legs were so thick that I now had to sit on a crate at the salon—my thighs didn’t fit his chair anymore. And my stride was so exaggeratedly broad to accommodate my quads that I felt bowlegged. And my ass. Seriously. My ass was so thick—muscular perfection—that some clients were afraid to fuck it for fear I’d crush them with the teeniest flex. They were right that I could, but I’d only hurt a client if he asked nicely and tipped well. Even my calves were ridiculously thick—by themselves they were starting to resemble tree trunks in thickness. And my cock and balls surged bigger every day. I’d asked Onyx to stop dosing my midnight snacks. To his credit, he had. But, he found some way of slipping me a dose of dimefidone every day. In a protein shake, in either one of my lunches, in my breakfast or dinner… he once snuck it into a bottle of water (that I chugged down before I realized it was chalky). “Gotta keep you hung huge,” he’d said by way of apology, ignoring the fact that I was already hung huge. As my cock and balls swelled larger, the weight sat differently. It tugged. It pulled. Every day, there was a persistent heaviness in my crotch, and every day it got a little more unignorable, despite my massive strength. The vein on my cock when erect was becoming more prominent, more akin to a hose than a vein. I produced a lot more pre—copious streams of it. And my balls were fuller, rounder. I’d stare at them in the mirror every night, and every night they looked bigger than I’d ever seen them, even though I was cumming a dozen times a day. A week passed, and it was Sunday morning once again. Onyx jumped on the scale just to watch the numbers have an aneurysm. “259,” he cheered. “Right on schedule.” Onyx was nearing the weight I was at the end of the first round. It either somehow sat more heavily on his taller frame, or 260 pounds looks fucking huge when it’s on someone else’s body. Of course, when I stood next to him, he looked comparatively small. I got on the scale, and Onyx read it for me. I was beginning to have trouble looking down over my pecs and didn’t want to do that dance while trying to keep both legs on the scale. “312.5,” Onyx announced. “And 5% body fat,” Tony announced from behind me—aggressively close behind me. “How big has his cock gotten?” he asked Onyx, likely intuiting I’d lie. “A full 10,” Onyx reported. “And you’re only at 7 and a half,” Tony said, a vagueness behind his words. Or was that disappointment? Why be disappointed? 7.5 was big. Significantly big. That’s how big my erection was when I joined the pleasure house nearly 50 years ago, long enough to earn me the name Nile. Tony continued, at a low enough volume that only Onyx and I could hear him, “You know the dimefidone I buy you is supposed to be used by you.” Then, in a threatening tone, he added, “All of it.” There was menace in his voice. That explained the vagueness. “I promise,” Onyx said. “From here on out, it will be.” He sounded properly admonished like a schoolchild, so I was sure he meant it. I wasn’t disappointed. 10 inches was a good stopping point. The fabled double digit dick. I’d seen a few pleasure boys with bigger cocks than this over the years, but they were always somewhat spongy when erect and disappointingly thin. My cock, once aroused, was iron-hard and two-hand thick. I had the most impressive cock in the house’s history. No need to enlarge it any more. “Nile, my boy,” Tony said to me, his voice oozing feigned congeniality. “I thought you would’ve finished all four goals for this round already. And yet, you don’t have even one new regular client.” “I haven’t been pushing for regulars that hard,” I confessed. “I’m not worried. I’ve got four weeks left.” “Start pushing hard,” Tony demanded. His continued quietness indicated that he was talking to only me, not the whole room. “The boys follow your lead. You’ve put the effort into getting more muscular, more ripped, and more hung, so that’s where they’re putting their efforts.” “I’m not worried,” I repeated. “I could easily get five new regulars in a week.” “I need all my boys to start prioritizing regulars.” “That sounds like your problem,” I said glibly. Tony cleared his throat authoritatively. “Get a new regular client by the end of the day, or I will make it your problem,” he seethed. “There’s no need to hurry,” I insisted in a pleasant, jocular tone. Tony launched into a screed. “I don’t have to refurbish the gym with larger weights. I don’t have to stock the clothing store with sizes big enough to fit you while still flattering your physique. I don’t have to let you live next door to my Onyx. I don’t have to pay for your midnight snacks.” “Calm yourself, Tony,” I soothed. “I’ve got five new clients today on top of my regulars. I bet I could get all five new regular clients today.” I meant it as a harmless boast, but that’s not how Tony took it. Tony smirked, and then turned to the rest of the gym. “Attention, boys,” he said loudly. “Nile has just announced his goal of getting five new regular clients today. If he succeeds, I have a reward for him.” “And if he fails?” Krakatoa asked. “Then whoever gets five new regulars first will get his reward,” Tony promised. “What’s the reward?” Slate asked. “I have one vile of the Red Miracle left. I was holding it back for just such an occasion.” An excited clamor went up throughout the gym. Tony turned back to again face only me. Then, he slapped my ass and said, “Get hopping, old man. Can’t wait to watch you crash and burn.” 28 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
arpeejay Posted June 29, 2023 Share Posted June 29, 2023 I look forward to the day that Onyx trips Nile and the latter, all +350 lbs. of him, crash lands on top of Tony. 2 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Mdlftr Posted June 30, 2023 Share Posted June 30, 2023 On 6/27/2023 at 10:59 AM, arpeejay said: Very hot and... If people aren't reading this as a commentary on American capitalism in the first quarter of the 21st Century, they're not paying attention. (Which may or may not be what TQuintA has intended but it serves that purpose, even so...) Agreed - see my earlier comment in this string - 19th century capitalism on display! 2 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Mdlftr Posted June 30, 2023 Share Posted June 30, 2023 Something's up with Tony - either jealousy or anger or something - towards Nile. Maybe Nile is Tony's father? The ages would work out - and the past relationship with the house's owner also would work> Hmm?? Motivations? Gotta keep reading to find out! 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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