Freshman Roommate (Part 4)

[countmuscle]

 

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

 

Part 4:

As soon as I started cycling, lifting and eating with Frank, my body responded better than I could have hoped. 

 

The night I first agreed to take steroids, I was 18 years old, 5’9, 155 pounds. I was in good shape from swimming and running, and knew I was pretty handsome, but I looked nothing like the muscle freaks I had jerked off to since adolescence. 

 

Being roommates with Frank pushed me to the extreme faster than I could have ever gotten there on my own. Once I committed, Frank viewed me as his special project, somewhere between a mentee and a ward. He saw my mass-building as equally important to his own.

 

To supplement my diet, Frank would bring me endless, unvarying food from the dining hall (where, as a football player, he got unlimited meals). Our mini-fridge was so full of chicken breasts and ground beef that we had to buy another one and stack it right on top. He taught me to look at food as a source of fuel, not pleasure, and once I made this accommodation, it amazed me how much I could pack away each day. My intake accelerated until I was eating 500 grams of protein daily.

 

Frank not-very-gradually ramped me up to a high dose of tren. Not as extreme as his, of course, but enough for my already-healthy libido to shoot through the roof. Luckily, I didn't experience any of the stuff I feared: acne, mood swings, shrinking balls, etc. All the side effects I had were, frankly, very sexy. My voice deepened noticeably; dark hair started to sprout on my chest and forearms; I woke up each morning, nuzzled in Frank's pecs, with an erection so hard it was almost intolerable.

 

Of course, the most valuable part of Frank's tutelage was in the school gym. 

 

Two brutal, grueling sessions per day, every day, except Sunday ("rest day" -- more like 120 minutes of cardio). 

 

The first time we went to work out together, I was a panicked mess, insecure to even be seen next to Frank in his gym clothes. 

 

I remember the first lift we did together. 

 

Barbell bench press. 

 

"Watch what I'm doing," Frank said, voice deeper than Vin Diesel -- but he didn't need to tell anyone to watch him. Every eye in the gym followed Frank anywhere he went. 

 

He added five 45-pound plates on each side, 495 pounds, and knocked out 8 perfect reps. You could actually see the bar bending under the weight. He was even speaking to me as he did reps, calling attention to his form. ("See my grip?" he said through gritted teeth, nipples popping out of his tank top.) 

 

Then it was my turn. We spent two minutes removing plates, then I struggled to do a single rep with one 45 on each side. My arms gave out, and Frank spotted me with one hand.

 

At the gym, the insecurities that I'd always nursed came out in full force. All of Frank's over-the-top horniness would disappear when we got in the gym: He became cool, composed, professional. 

 

We looked bizarre working out together. I'd watch Frank curl a 260-pound bar as a warmup, his veiny, 24-inch arms so swollen they looked like they might pop. Then he'd turn around and show me how to properly curl two 15-pound dumbbells, gently correcting me if I tried to go heavier than I was able to.

 

The gym made me realize how exceptional Frank really was. I knew he was strong, but didn't know -- until working out with him -- that he was lifting heavier weights than the Mr. Olympias I jerked off to. There was a reason he looked like this.

 

"Hey. You know that guy?" a hulking frat boy asked me one time, after Frank had stepped away.

 

"Yeah, he's my roommate."

 

"Your roommate?" The frat boy was confused and, I could tell, annoyed. He was a senior, one of the most juicy, muscle-bound jocks at our college. Probably 6'0", 260 pounds. Absent Frank, he would have been my sexual obsession, the campus muscle god. Now Frank, a mere freshman, had stolen his thunder, and to make matters worse, Frank was lifting with me every day.

 

"Yes, my roommate."

 

"Well, you realize he's squatting 840 pounds? For reps? He could be in the Olympics."

 

I kept asking myself: How could Frank, this fucking monster, be attracted to a weakling like me? Wasn't he impatient, showing me how to do shoulder presses with 20-pound dumbbells? 

 

Yet I soon realized that all of my fears were unfounded. Frank was an incredible trainer. His patience was endless. And his professional demeanor -- which I took as diminished attraction to me, upon seeing how weak I was -- was just how he acted in the gym. Aside from eating, lifting was just about the only time Frank could focus and not let his libido take over. The only time his dick wouldn't get hard at the drop of a hat. 

 

Within days, I was growing stronger, and I could see the pride in Frank's eyes when I improved my form or hit a new PR. 

 

My grades plummeted. I studied weight training more than my textbooks. I did the bare minimum to not get expelled, less for academic reasons than to remain on campus with Frank as long as possible. 

 

-- 

 

Five pounds of muscle a week. 

 

That's how much Frank said I'd grow.

 

And you know what? That's exactly what happened. 

 

One week of grueling lifting and nauseating eating, and I was 160. Up five pounds exactly. And the next week, I was 165, and two weeks later I was 175. I had gained 20 pounds of muscle in one month. I was incredulous.

 

After this initial pop, my progress slowed, of course, but it didn't stop. The next month, I gained 10 pounds. Frank doubled my tren.

 

By April, I was 200 pounds. ("What do you mean you can't come home for spring break?" "Sorry, Dad, I really need to stay here and study.")

 

By June, I was north of 220 pounds. I had put on 65 pounds of muscle in six months.

 

I looked like a different person. 

 

My shoulders had made the most shocking improvement. They turned into these hairy, bulging, flat-topped melons, jutting out even from behind, making every t-shirt tight around the sleeves. A perky shelf of pecs had grown in between them, even larger and plumper than my delts, and my nips had sprouted dark hair and pointed straight down under their weight. 

 

My back exploded in size. I became double-wide. I looked absolutely absurd, with my still-boyish face atop ultra-roided, superhero-like traps, wearing shirts that became so tight they left my midriff bare. After countless hours of punishing leg workouts, my quads, ass and hamstrings were spectacular to look at. My glutes stuck out like a capital P. I grew the diamond-shaped quads I'd always fetishized.

 

I had to beg my parents to send me money so I could buy all-new clothes, vague on the reason why. (They assumed I was getting fat, "freshman 15," etc.) Not a single thing I owned fit me anymore, but I wasn't big enough for Frank's XXL hand-me-downs either.

 

I didn't look so ridiculous working out with Frank anymore. 

 

To say that Frank liked my transformation was an understatement. My juiced-up physique made him even more insatiable, horny for me day and night. 

 

If I wasn't eating or lifting, I was having indescribable, balls-to-the-walls sex with Frank, almost hourly -- five times per day at least. Our sexual connection didn't lose its spark. It was like a roaring inferno, consuming everything else in our lives (except for bodybuilding and, for Frank, football), and the tren was like pouring gasoline on top.

 

--

 

Impressive as my own growth was, during this same period, Frank had entered his most extreme phase of bodybuilding yet. 

 

"5-5-5," he called it. "Gonna increase tren, calories and weights 5% each week for five months." 

 

As the weeks compounded, his intake of food and steroids -- already remarkable -- became completely unhinged. By the end of his five-month sprint, he was eating 30 chicken breasts per day. One every 30 minutes. He was benching 620 pounds for reps. His tren dosage was as high as he could "safely push it" (his words), according to the Reddit threads where he got most of his information about steroids.

 

He grew even faster than me. Up 10 pounds in January, 12 pounds in February, 16 pounds in March. 

 

When Frank hit 390 pounds, our scale broke. Even the one in the football training center couldn't weigh him. 

 

We had to order a new scale, specially made in Germany for the morbidly obese. It arrived seven long weeks later, and the anticipation of weighing ourselves was one of my hottest memories from this time. 

 

In solidarity, I had held off weighing myself during that stretch, so we could both learn our progress at the same time. We knew it was going to be shocking. 

 

The scale finally arrived one week before summer break.

 

In our little room (a disaster, a cum dump, it looked like ten horny bodybuilders had been squatting in it), we got everything ready. We both stripped off all our clothes, not that we ever wore more than jocks or tight white Calvin Klein briefs stretched to tatters by our growing muscles.

 

I went first.

 

"225.1"

 

Both our cocks shot up at the same time.

 

"Oh fuck dude... Holy shit bro...So much fuckin' muscle bro...Oh fuck, oh fuck," Frank said, his eyes going blurry. He started kneading his fingers through my perfect pecs, sniffing my pits. He stuck his powerful tongue down my throat. "Fuck James, oh my god James, you're so fucking hot..." he mumbled with his tongue in my mouth. I pushed him away.

 

"C'mon, Frank -- now it's your turn!"

 

Frank took a gulp and stepped on the scale. The sheer magnificence of his body standing there was too much for me. I was stroking my cock, trying hard not to cum, as the digital scale processed his weight. The screen blinked WAIT, WAIT, WAIT. The seconds felt like minutes. Then finally, STEP OFF.

 

"429.9"

 

We both gasped. 

 

Frank's boner started quivering and leaking pre-cum. His face went flush. We both turned and faced the full-length mirror. 

 

Suddenly, he saw himself in a new light. He realized the size that he had packed on. 

 

"Whoa...Oh my god dude...Oh my god...Oh my god bro..." Frank said, stunned by his own reflection. "UNNHHH!"

 

We both came without touching our cocks. I still remember how our loads shot off at the exact same moment, flew 4 feet across the room, and hit the mirror with a splash. As cum dripped down the looking glass, we stared in awe of the two unstoppable, handsome, horned-up freaks gazing back at us.

[Lifter09]

Amazing new chapter

[rannen]

Every chapter of this has been incredible so far.

[chris9b]

I‘m so glad you turned an amazing one-shot story into an on-going epic that‘s quickly becoming one of my favourite offerings on this site. Please continue for a LONG time with this gem!

[MrMuscleWorship]

Awesome story!!!

[Freak88]

Love the way you write their reactions to when they think about growth or they realize their own growth.  Can’t wait for the next part!

[countmuscle]

New chapter added here!