daddy muscle Ollie’s New Daddy Muscle God - Ch 60

[TubokuZumuru]

Chapter 1

The night sky erupted in a blinding flash, followed by an earth-shattering boom. Ollie's world spun violently as the car careened off the road, metal screeching against asphalt.

 

"Mom! Dad!" Ollie cried out, his voice hoarse with panic. The acrid smell of smoke filled his nostrils as he struggled to move. "I can't... I can't feel my legs!" Suddenly, a deep voice cut through the chaos.

 

"Hey! Can you hear me? I'm coming to get you out!" Brock's muscular form appeared at the shattered window, his open flannel shirt revealing a glimpse of his impressive chest beneath a tight tank top. With a grunt, he wrenched the door open.

 

"Easy now, kid. I've got you," Brock said, his strong arms wrapping around Ollie's slender frame. "What's your name?" "O-Ollie," he stammered, wincing as Brock pulled him free.

 

"My parents... they're still inside!" Brock's eyes darted to the front of the car, assessing the situation. "I'll get them. Just stay put, alright?" As Brock turned back toward the wreckage, a deafening explosion rocked the night. Flames engulfed the vehicle, the heat searing against their skin. "No!" Ollie screamed, trying to lunge forward despite his immobile legs.

 

Brock caught him, holding him back. "I'm sorry, kid. I'm so sorry," Brock's voice cracked with genuine anguish. He fumbled for his phone, dialing quickly. "This is Dr. Brock Steele. I need emergency services on Route 7, about 10 miles outside of Millbrook. Car explosion, two fatalities, one injured teenager."

 

Ollie sobbed against Brock's chest, leaving streaks of blood on the white tank top. Brock's arm tightened around him protectively. "Listen, Ollie," Brock said, his tone urgent but gentle. "The ambulance might take a while to get here. I'm going to drive you to the hospital myself, okay? We need to get you checked out."

"But my parents..." Ollie choked out. Brock's face was a mask of sympathy and determination. "There's nothing we can do for them now. We need to focus on you. Can you trust me?" Ollie looked up, meeting Brock's intense gaze.

 

Despite the horror of the situation, he felt an inexplicable sense of safety in this stranger's arms. He nodded weakly. "That's good, kid. You're being real brave," Brock said, scooping Ollie up as if he weighed nothing. "My car's just up the road. We'll get you help, I promise."

 

As Brock carried him away from the burning wreckage, Ollie caught another glimpse of the man's muscular chest, peeking out from his partially unbuttoned shirt. Even in his grief-stricken state, Ollie couldn't help but notice the strength and warmth radiating from Brock's body.

 

"Stay with me, Ollie," Brock's deep voice rumbled. "Keep talking. Tell me about yourself." As they made their way to Brock's car, Ollie's world narrowed to the sound of that voice and the feeling of those strong arms around him, a lifeline in the midst of unimaginable tragedy.

 

Ollie's voice trembled as he spoke, his words punctuated by quiet sobs. "I... I just graduated high school. Was supposed to start college in the fall."

 

Brock carefully maneuvered Ollie into the passenger seat of his car, his strong hands gentle as he buckled the seatbelt around the injured teen. "That's great, Ollie. What were you planning to study?" "Medicine," Ollie replied, his voice distant. "My dad... he was a doctor too. Always wanted me to follow in his footsteps."

 

Brock's heart clenched at the pain in Ollie's voice. He reached over, giving the young man's shoulder a comforting squeeze. "I'm sure he was very proud of you." As Brock sped towards the hospital, Ollie stared blankly out the window, tears streaming down his face. "I can't believe they're gone. What am I supposed to do now?"

 

"One step at a time, kid," Brock said softly. "Right now, we focus on getting you better. The rest... we'll figure it out." They pulled up to the ER entrance, Brock jumping out and rushing to Ollie's side. He scooped the teen into his arms once more, carrying him through the automatic doors.

 

"I need help here!" Brock called out, his voice commanding attention. Nurses and doctors swarmed around them, peppering Brock with questions. "Car accident. Possible spinal injury, multiple lacerations and contusions. Parents DOA at the scene," Brock rattled off, his tone professional despite the urgency.

 

Ollie found himself being transferred to a gurney, the bright lights of the ER ceiling flashing above him. He reached out, his hand grasping for Brock. "Don't leave me," he pleaded, his voice small and frightened. Brock caught Ollie's hand, giving it a firm squeeze. "I'm not going anywhere, Ollie. I'll be right here." As the medical team wheeled Ollie away, Brock's reassuring presence never wavered. Even as doctors and nurses worked to assess his injuries, Ollie's eyes remained locked on Brock, clinging to the strength and comfort the man provided.

 

Hours later, Ollie lay in a hospital bed, his body bandaged and his heart heavy with grief. Brock sat beside him, still wearing his blood-stained tank top, his flannel shirt discarded somewhere along the way. "Why did you stay?" Ollie asked, his voice hoarse from crying. Brock leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "Because you needed someone. And because... I know what it's like to lose everything in a single moment."

 

Ollie's eyes widened, a flicker of understanding passing between them. In that instant, he felt a connection to Brock that went beyond mere gratitude. "Thank you," Ollie whispered, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks. "For saving me. For being here." Brock reached out, gently brushing a tear from Ollie's face. "You're not alone, Ollie. I promise you that."

 

As Ollie lay in the hospital bed, his eyes drifted to Brock, taking in the man's appearance. Despite the blood stains on his white tank top, Brock's muscular physique was impossible to ignore. The fabric stretched taut across his broad chest, hinting at the powerful pectorals beneath. His shoulders and arms were equally impressive, the muscles flexing with each small movement.

 

Even in his grief-stricken state, Ollie couldn't help but notice Brock's rugged handsomeness. The man's chiseled jawline, strong features, and kind eyes created a striking combination. However, given the tragedy that had just unfolded, Ollie felt no stirrings of arousal, only a deep appreciation for Brock's presence and support.

 

Brock's appearance exudes raw masculinity and mature allure. His face is chiseled and handsome, with strong, defined features that hint at his 42 years. Dark, expressive eyebrows frame intense eyes that seem to hold depths of experience. His jawline is sharp and masculine, covered in a light dusting of stubble that accentuates his rugged appeal. Fine lines around his eyes and mouth add character, speaking to a life lived fully. His hair is short and neatly styled, dark and thick, cut close on the sides with a bit more length on top. It's the kind of no-nonsense cut that requires minimal maintenance but always looks put-together. Brock's body is a testament to his dedication as both a scientist and personal trainer. His frame is large and imposing, with broad shoulders tapering down to a solid core. His chest is expansive and well-developed, straining against the fabric of his shirts. His arms are thick and powerful, veins visible beneath the skin, speaking to both strength and vascularity.

 

How I imagine what Brock would look like at this point of story, but less muscular, no abs, less body hair

Model reference https://www.instagram.com/sergey.nyzhnyk/

 

 

A knock at the door drew their attention as a nurse and doctor entered the room. "Hello, Ollie," the doctor said gently, glancing at his chart. "I'm Dr. Patel, and this is Nurse Johnson. We're here to check on your injuries and get you started on treatment." Ollie nodded weakly, wincing as the nurse began to carefully remove the temporary bandages applied in the ER. Dr. Patel examined each wound, her skilled hands probing gently for signs of deeper damage. "The lacerations are fairly superficial," she noted, "but we'll need to clean and stitch a few of the deeper ones. Any pain or discomfort, Ollie?"

 

"My legs," Ollie said, his voice strained. "I still can't feel them properly." Dr. Patel's expression turned serious. "We'll need to run some tests to assess the extent of the spinal injury. An MRI and CT scan will give us a better idea of what we're dealing with." As the doctor continued her examination, Nurse Johnson began cleaning and dressing Ollie's wounds.

 

Brock watched, his brow furrowed with concern. "Is there anything I can do to help?" he asked, his deep voice filled with genuine care. Nurse Johnson glanced up, offering Brock a small smile. "Just being here is helping, sir. Support from loved ones is crucial in the healing process." Brock nodded, his eyes meeting Ollie's. In that moment, an unspoken understanding passed between them - Brock would be the support Ollie needed, even if they had only just met.

 

Dr. Patel finished her assessment, making notes on Ollie's chart. "We'll get you scheduled for those scans as soon as possible. In the meantime, try to rest. Your body has been through a lot."

As the medical team left the room, Brock moved closer to Ollie's bedside. "You heard the doc, kid. Rest up. I'll be right here if you need anything." Ollie managed a small nod, his eyelids growing heavy. The emotional and physical exhaustion of the night's events finally caught up with him, pulling him into a deep, dreamless sleep.

 

Brock settled into the chair beside Ollie's bed, his muscular form seeming to dwarf the small hospital furniture. He watched over the young man, a silent guardian ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead. In that quiet moment, a bond began to form between them, a connection forged in the crucible of shared tragedy and unexpected compassion.

 

As the day progressed, Ollie found himself being wheeled through the hospital corridors, the sterile walls and fluorescent lights blurring together. Brock walked alongside the gurney, his presence a constant comfort in the unfamiliar surroundings. "We're taking you for the CT scan now, Ollie," Nurse Johnson explained gently. "It's a painless procedure, but it's important for us to get a clear picture of your spinal injury." Ollie nodded, his hands gripping the sides of the gurney. The fear of the unknown weighed heavily on his mind, compounded by the grief that still consumed him.

 

Brock seemed to sense Ollie's anxiety. He placed a large, comforting hand on the young man's shoulder. "You've got this, kid. I'll be waiting for you when you're done." Ollie managed a weak smile, drawing strength from Brock's unwavering support. As he was positioned on the CT scanner, he closed his eyes, trying to focus on the warmth of Brock's hand rather than the cold, clinical atmosphere.

 

 The scan seemed to take an eternity, the whirring and clicking of the machine filling Ollie's ears. When it was finally over, he was returned to his room, exhausted and emotionally drained. Brock was there, just as he had promised. He helped the nurses settle Ollie back into bed, his strong arms gentle and reassuring. Dr. Patel arrived shortly after, her expression serious as she reviewed the scan results.

 

"Ollie, the CT scan shows significant swelling around your spinal cord. While there's no evidence of a complete spinal cord injury, the swelling is putting pressure on the nerves, which is likely causing the numbness and weakness in your legs." Ollie felt a wave of fear wash over him. "Will I... will I be able to walk again?" Dr. Patel met his gaze, her eyes filled with compassion. "It's too early to say for certain. Spinal injuries can be unpredictable. But we'll be starting you on high-dose corticosteroids to reduce the swelling, and we'll be monitoring your condition closely."

 

Brock stepped forward, his brow furrowed with concern. "What's the next step, doc?" "We'll be admitting Ollie to the hospital for further treatment and observation," Dr. Patel explained. "He'll need intensive physical therapy and rehabilitation to give him the best chance at recovery." Ollie felt tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, the weight of his situation crashing down on him.

 

Not only had he lost his parents, but now he faced the possibility of never walking again. Brock seemed to sense Ollie's distress. He sat on the edge of the bed, his muscular frame dipping the mattress as he took Ollie's hand in his own. "Hey, look at me, Ollie. You're not facing this alone. I'll be with you every step of the way." Ollie met Brock's gaze, finding strength and comfort in those intense eyes. He nodded, swallowing back his tears.

 

"Thank you, Brock. I don't... I don't know what I would do without you." Brock smiled softly, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on the back of Ollie's hand. "You don't have to worry about that, kid. I'm not going anywhere." As the hospital staff bustled around them, making preparations for Ollie's admission, the young man clung to Brock's presence like a lifeline. The road ahead was uncertain and filled with challenges, but with Brock by his side, Ollie felt a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness.

 

Ollie lay in his hospital bed, his mind began to wander. The trauma of the day mixed with the strong painkillers, creating a hazy state where reality blurred with fantasy. He found himself imagining Brock as the muscular daddy figure he'd always secretly dreamed about. In his mind's eye, Ollie saw Brock's powerful arms wrapping around him protectively, those broad pecs pressed against his back. He imagined Brock's deep voice whispering words of comfort and love, calling him "son" in a way that sent shivers down his spine.

 

Ollie's cheeks flushed with a mix of shame and desire. Here he was, in the midst of tragedy, entertaining these forbidden thoughts about the man who had saved his life. He tried to push the images away, but they clung to the edges of his consciousness, a tempting escape from the harsh reality of his situation.

[TubokuZumuru]

Chapter 2

Suddenly, the door to his room swung open, jolting Ollie from his reverie. A stunningly beautiful woman with flowing blonde hair and an impressive figure strode in, her eyes immediately locking onto Brock. "Oh, honey!" she exclaimed, rushing to Brock's side. "I came as soon as I got your message. Are you okay?" Brock stood, enveloping the woman in a tight embrace. "I'm fine, Sarah. Just a little shaken up."

 

Ollie felt his heart sink as he watched the interaction. The way Sarah's hand rested on Brock's chest, the intimate way they looked at each other – it was clear this was Brock's girlfriend.

 

"And this must be Ollie," Sarah said, turning to the bed with a sympathetic smile. "Brock told me what happened. I'm so sorry for your loss, sweetie."

 

Ollie managed a weak nod, unable to find his voice. He watched as Sarah's hand intertwined with Brock's, their fingers fitting together perfectly. "I brought you a change of clothes," Sarah said to Brock, holding up a bag. "Why don't you go freshen up? I'll keep Ollie company for a bit."

 

Brock hesitated, glancing at Ollie with concern. "You okay with that, kid?" Ollie forced a smile. "Yeah, of course. Go ahead."

 

As Brock left the room, Ollie felt a wave of disappointment wash over him. His fantasies crumbled in the face of reality. Brock was straight, in a committed relationship with a gorgeous woman. The idea of Brock being his "muscular daddy" was nothing more than a foolish dream.

 

Sarah pulled up a chair, her voice gentle as she spoke to Ollie about his condition and offered words of encouragement. But Ollie found it hard to focus on her words. His mind was reeling, grappling with the loss of not just his parents, but also the fleeting hope of a different kind of connection with Brock.

 

When Brock returned, freshly changed and looking more put-together, Ollie felt a pang in his chest. He watched as Brock wrapped an arm around Sarah's waist, the picture of a perfect heterosexual couple.

 

"How are you feeling, Ollie?" Brock asked, his voice filled with genuine concern. Ollie swallowed hard, pushing down the complicated emotions swirling inside him. "I'm okay," he lied, forcing another smile. "Just tired."

 

As Brock and Sarah continued to talk, discussing Ollie's care and what needed to be done, Ollie retreated into himself. He closed his eyes, pretending to drift off to sleep, while inside, he mourned not just for his parents, but for the loss of a fantasy he had barely allowed himself to entertain.

[TubokuZumuru]

Chapter 3

As night fell, Brock excused himself from Ollie's hospital room, his mind racing with plans. He kissed Sarah goodbye, promising to return soon, and headed out into the darkness. "I've got to check on something at the accident site," he told the nurse at the station, flashing his most charming smile. "Won't be long."

 

The country road was deserted when Brock arrived, the acrid smell of burnt metal still hanging in the air. He parked his car a safe distance away and approached the crash site on foot, his muscular form moving with surprising stealth for a man his size. The meteor's impact had left a sizeable crater in the asphalt, surrounded by debris from both the celestial object and the tragic collision.

 

Brock's eyes darted around, ensuring he was alone before kneeling at the crater's edge. "Holy shit," he whispered, examining the strange, otherworldly material. The meteor fragments seemed to pulse with an eerie, internal light. Brock pulled on a pair of heavy-duty gloves and began carefully collecting the larger chunks, his scientist's mind already whirring with possibilities.

 

He worked quickly, efficiently, stuffing the fragments into a reinforced duffel bag he'd brought for this purpose. As he worked, Brock's tank top rode up, revealing his taut abdomen. Sweat glistened on his skin, highlighting the subtle definition of his muscles. He grunted with effort as he lifted a particularly large piece, his biceps bulging against the fabric of his shirt.

 

"This could change everything," Brock muttered to himself, zipping up the bag. The weight of the meteor fragments was considerable, but he hefted it easily onto his shoulder. Just as he was about to leave, Brock heard the distant wail of sirens. His heart raced as he sprinted back to his car, tossing the bag into the trunk and peeling away from the scene.

 

The drive to his house was tense, Brock constantly checking his rearview mirror for any signs of pursuit. When he finally pulled into his driveway, he let out a long, shaky breath. Inside his home, Brock headed straight for his basement laboratory. He carefully unloaded the meteor fragments onto a reinforced workbench, his eyes gleaming with excitement and a hint of something darker.

 

"Alright," he said to himself, cracking his knuckles. "Let's see what you're made of." As Brock began setting up his equipment for analysis, his mind drifted back to Ollie. The young man's vulnerability, his loss, and the strange connection Brock felt to him all swirled together in his thoughts.

 

"This is for you, kid," Brock murmured, his large hands moving deftly over the alien material. "You have no idea what's coming." The basement lab hummed to life, machines whirring as Brock began his clandestine research. Outside, the night grew deeper, concealing the first steps of a journey that would change both Brock and Ollie's lives forever.

 

Over the next few weeks, Brock fell into a new routine. After his shifts at the lab, he would head straight to the hospital, spending hours by Ollie's bedside. The young man's condition was slowly improving, but the emotional scars of the tragedy ran deep. Brock did his best to keep Ollie's spirits up, regaling him with stories from his own life, discussing the latest scientific breakthroughs, and even sneaking in the occasional contraband snack.

 

Ollie seemed to light up whenever Brock was around, the weight of his grief momentarily lifted by the older man's presence.

 

However, Brock's personal life was taking a turn for the worse. He'd noticed Sarah growing distant, her excuses for missed dates and unanswered calls becoming more frequent. Suspicion gnawed at him, but he tried to push it aside, focusing instead on his work and his growing bond with Ollie.

 

It all came to a head one evening when Brock decided to surprise Sarah at her apartment. Using his spare key, he let himself in, only to be greeted by a sight that shattered his heart.

 

Sarah was in bed with another man – a younger, more muscular specimen with chiseled features and a physique that put Brock's to shame. The air reeked of sex and sweat, leaving no doubt as to what had transpired.

 

The man was a Greek god made flesh, his chiseled features and perfectly sculpted muscles glistening with a sheen of sweat. He had the face of an Adonis, all sharp angles and full, sensual lips curled into a smug grin. His eyes, a piercing blue, locked onto Brock's, a challenge sparkling in their depths.

 

"Well, well, well," the man drawled, his voice deep and rich like aged whiskey. "You must be Brock. Sarah's told me all about you." Brock stood frozen, his eyes drinking in the details he wished he could unsee. The man's physique was a work of art, each muscle group more defined and bulging than the last. His arms were like tree trunks, his pecs so thick they cast shadows on his rippling eight-pack abs. And there, between his legs, was a cock that put Brock's to shame - long, thick, and still semi-hard from recent use.

Sarah scrambled to cover herself, her face flushed with a mix of shame and satisfaction. "Brock, I... I can explain..." But the man - Marcus, Brock would later learn - just laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that echoed in the room.

 

"What's there to explain, babe? You needed a real man, someone who could satisfy you in ways this old dog never could." Marcus rose from the bed, unashamed of his nudity. He strutted towards Brock, his massive cock swinging heavily with each step.

 

"Look at you," he sneered, his eyes raking over Brock's body with disdain. "You're past your prime, buddy. Soft. Weak. No wonder Sarah came running to me." He flexed his arms, his biceps bulging obscenely. "See these? These are what a real man's muscles look like. Not like those sad little lumps you're sporting."

 

Brock felt his face burn with humiliation, his hands trembling at his sides. He wanted to fight back, to defend his honor, but the evidence of his inadequacy was right there, naked and proud.

 

Marcus smirked, his hand reaching down to stroke his enormous cock. "And this? This is what a real man's dick looks like. Thick, long, and always ready to go. I bet you can't even get it up half the time, can you, old man?"

 

Tears stung Brock's eyes. Rage consumed Brock, his vision blurring red as he lunged at Marcus. "You fucking piece of shit!" he roared, swinging wildly. Marcus easily sidestepped, his muscular frame moving with fluid grace.

 

"Oh, you want to dance, old man?" he taunted, his eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. Brock's fist connected with Marcus's jaw, but it was like hitting a brick wall. Marcus barely flinched, while pain shot through Brock's hand. "That all you got?" Marcus laughed, before unleashing a devastating right hook.

 

The punch caught Brock square in the face, sending him stumbling back. Blood spurted from his nose, splattering his shirt. "Brock, stop!" Sarah cried, but her voice was distant, drowned out by the roaring in Brock's ears. Marcus advanced, his massive frame looming over Brock. "You're pathetic," he spat. "Can't even throw a proper punch."

 

Brock tried to rally, but Marcus was too quick, too strong. A flurry of blows rained down on him, each impact highlighting the vast difference in their physical capabilities. Finally, Brock crumpled to the floor, his body aching, blood trickling from his split lip and nose.

 

Marcus stood over him, not even breathing hard. "Stay down, you sad fuck. And don't come back." Humiliated and broken, Brock staggered to his feet and stumbled out of the apartment.

 

As he drove away, his phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number. It was Marcus, twisting the knife further. The text contained a series of measurements, each one a stark reminder of Brock's inadequacy:

Age: 28 

Height: 193 cm

Weight: 115 kg 

Chest: 52 inches 

Waist: 32 inches 

Biceps: 21 inches 

Thighs: 30 inches 

Shoulders: 58 inches 

Forearm: 16 inches 

Calf: 20 inches 

Body Fat: 8% 

Chest Thickness: 4 cm 

Abs Thickness: 1.5 cm 

Abs count: 8 

Penis (Flaccid): 6 inches 

Penis (Erect): 10 inches 

Girth (Erect): 7 inches 

Girth (Flaccid): 5 inches 

Testicle size in volume: 25 ml

 

The message was followed by a series of flexing photos, each one showcasing Marcus's godlike physique.

 

A final text came through: "This is what a real fucking man looks like, you limp-dicked loser. Sarah's in good hands now. Don't worry, I'll take REAL good care of her. "

 

Brock's hands shook as he gripped the steering wheel, tears of rage and humiliation streaming down his face. He'd never felt so small, so inadequate in his entire life.

 

As he drove towards the hospital, towards Ollie, a dark determination began to form in Brock's mind. He thought of the meteor fragments hidden in his lab, of their strange, pulsing energy.

 

"Fuck you, Marcus," he muttered, his voice thick with emotion and resolve. "This isn't over. Not by a long shot."

 

Brock stumbled into Ollie's hospital room, his face a mess of blood and bruises. Ollie's eyes widened in shock, his book falling forgotten to the floor. "Jesus Christ, Brock! What the fuck happened to you?" Ollie exclaimed, struggling to sit up straighter in his bed. His heart raced at the sight of Brock's battered form, a mix of concern and something deeper, more primal.

 

Brock winced, closing the door behind him. "Got into a... disagreement with Sarah's new boyfriend," he muttered, his voice thick with pain and humiliation. "Fucker was built like a tank. Made me look like a goddamn weakling."

 

Without thinking, Brock began stripping off his blood-stained shirt, revealing his muscular torso. Despite the bruises blooming across his skin, his physique was still impressive - broad shoulders tapering to a solid waist, thick pecs heaving with each labored breath. His stomach, while not sporting defined abs, was flat and strong, a trail of dark hair leading down from his navel and disappearing into his jeans.

Brock body stats:

Height: 188 cm (6'2")

Weight: 80 kg

Chest: 42 inches

Waist: 34 inches

Biceps: 15 inches

Thighs: 24 inches

Shoulders: 48 inches

Forearms: 14 inches

Calves: 16 inches

Body Fat: 16%

Chest Thickness: 2.5 cm

Abs Thickness: 0.1 cm

Penis (Flaccid): 4 inches length, 4 inches girth

Penis (Erect): 7 inches length, 5.5 inches girth

Testicle size: 18 ml each

Nipple Diameter: 2 cm

Areola protrusion: 0.2 cm

Nipple protrusion (relaxed): 0.1 cm

Nipple protrusion (stimulated): 0.3 cm

 

Ollie's breath caught in his throat, his eyes roaming over Brock's exposed flesh. He drank in every detail, from the curve of Brock's biceps to the tantalizing V of his hips. Brock noticed the young man's gaze lingering, a faint blush creeping into Ollie's cheeks.

 

"Kid, I hate to ask, but could you help me clean up?" Brock said, kicking off his shoes and unbuckling his belt. "I can't see all the damage."

 

Ollie nodded eagerly, perhaps a bit too eagerly. "Of course, anything you need." His voice was breathy, his pupils dilated with a mix of concern and barely-concealed desire. Brock shimmied out of his jeans, leaving him in just his boxer briefs. The fabric strained against his sizable bulge, and Ollie's eyes flickered down before quickly darting away, his face turning an even deeper shade of red.

 

"There should be a first aid kit in the bathroom," Brock said, pretending not to notice Ollie's reaction. "Could you grab it for me?" As Ollie wheeled himself to the bathroom, Brock caught sight of his reflection in the window. He looked like hell, but he couldn't help noticing how Ollie had been watching him. The kid was definitely interested, even if he was too shy to act on it.

 

Ollie returned with the kit, his hands shaking slightly as Brock sat on the edge of the bed. "Where should I start?" he asked, voice trembling with a mix of nerves and anticipation. "My back took a beating," Brock said, turning to give Ollie access. "Just clean the cuts and put some antiseptic on the bruises. Don't be afraid to really get in there - I can take it."

 

Ollie's touch was gentle as he began tending to Brock's wounds. His fingers traced the contours of Brock's muscular back, lingering perhaps longer than necessary on each cut and bruise. Brock could feel the heat of Ollie's hands, the way they trembled slightly as they explored his skin.

 

"That feels good, kid," Brock murmured, feeling Ollie's hands pause at his words. "You've got a gentle touch. It's nice." Ollie swallowed audibly, his breath coming faster. "Thanks. I... I'm glad I can help. I want to make you feel better."

 

As Ollie worked, Brock could sense the young man's desire to explore further. His hands would drift towards Brock's pecs before quickly retreating, as if afraid to cross an invisible line. The air between them was charged with tension, a crackling energy that made Brock's skin tingle.

 

"You can check my chest too," Brock said softly, turning to face Ollie. "I took a few hits there as well. Don't be shy - I trust you."

 

Ollie's eyes widened, his gaze locked on Brock's meaty pectorals. "Are... are you sure? I don't want to hurt you." Brock nodded, fighting back a smirk.

 

"Go ahead, kid. I'm tougher than I look." With trembling hands, Ollie began to clean a cut on Brock's chest. His fingers brushed against the firm muscle, and Brock could hear Ollie's breath hitch. The young man's touch was electric, sending shivers down Brock's spine.

 

"You're doing great," Brock encouraged, watching Ollie's face closely. The young man's pupils were dilated, his cheeks flushed, his lips parted slightly as he focused on his task.

 

As Ollie's hand drifted lower, towards Brock's abs, he suddenly pulled back. "I think that's all the wounds," he said quickly, his voice strained. "I don't want to... to overstep."

 

Brock nodded, standing up. "Thanks, kid. You're a lifesaver. I don't know what I'd do without you." He stretched, making a show of flexing his muscles. Ollie's eyes roamed over Brock's body, drinking in every detail, his gaze lingering on the bulge in Brock's boxer briefs.

 

"I should probably get cleaned up," Brock said, reluctantly reaching for his clothes. "Mind if I use your shower? I don't want to drip blood all over the place."

 

Ollie nodded, his expression a mix of disappointment and longing. "Of course, go ahead. There are towels in the cabinet. Take as long as you need."

 

As Brock headed to the bathroom, he could feel Ollie's eyes on him, burning into his skin. The tension between them was palpable, a living thing that seemed to fill the room. Under the hot spray of the shower, Brock let his mind wander. He thought of Ollie's gentle hands, the way the young man had looked at him with such hunger and reverence. It was a balm to his battered ego, a reminder that he was still desirable, still powerful.

 

When he emerged, clean and refreshed, Brock found Ollie dozing in his bed. The young man looked peaceful, his dark lashes fanning out over his pale cheeks. Not wanting to disturb him, Brock settled onto the small sofa in the corner of the room. He pulled on a clean shirt from his gym bag, the fabric stretching taut over his muscular frame.

 

 As he lay back, his eyes drifted to Ollie's sleeping form. The young man stirred, murmuring something unintelligible, and Brock felt a surge of protectiveness wash over him. "Sweet dreams, kid," he whispered, letting his own eyes close. With that, Brock drifted off to sleep, his mind filled with thoughts of Ollie, of the meteor, and of the strange, exciting future that lay ahead. Whatever happened next, he knew one thing for certain - he wasn't going to let anyone, especially not some steroid-fueled pretty boy, make him feel weak again. He was Brock fucking Steele, and he was going to come out on top, no matter what it took.

[TubokuZumuru]

Chapter 4

The morning sun crept through the hospital window, casting a warm glow over Ollie's sleeping form. Brock stirred on the small sofa, his muscular frame cramped and aching from the uncomfortable position. He stood, stretching his arms overhead, his shirt riding up to reveal a sliver of his toned stomach.

 

With a last glance at Ollie, Brock quietly slipped out of the room. He had work to do, and the meteor samples waiting in his lab seemed to call to him like a siren's song.

 

At the lab, Brock pored over his notes, his brow furrowed in concentration. The meteor's composition was unlike anything he'd ever seen - a complex matrix of organic compounds and unknown elements that seemed to vibrate with latent energy.

 

As he ran test after test, a pattern began to emerge. The meteor's essence, when properly extracted and concentrated, exhibited remarkable regenerative properties. Brock's mind raced with the implications - if he could harness this power, the possibilities were endless.

 

But there was a catch. The essence, in its purest form, was too potent for the human body to absorb through conventional means. Brock's calculations indicated that the most effective method of assimilation would be through the rectum, where the rich network of blood vessels and lymphatic tissue could rapidly distribute the essence throughout the body.

 

Brock leaned back in his chair, his mind whirring. If he could inject the essence into himself, infuse his very cells with its regenerative power... The thought was intoxicating, a heady rush of potential that made his heart race.

 

But he couldn't rush into this blindly. His current physique, while impressive, was not optimized for the process. To maximize the essence's effects and minimize the risks, he would need to become stronger, more muscular. He would need to sculpt his body into a temple worthy of housing such cosmic power.

 

And then there was Ollie. The young man's role in all of this was still unclear, but Brock knew he was the key. The essence, once assimilated, would imbue Brock's bodily fluids with regenerative properties. If he could transfer those fluids to Ollie, through the most intimate of acts... It could heal the young man's spinal injury, restore his ability to walk.

 

But would Ollie be receptive? Brock had seen the way the young man looked at him, the hunger in his eyes when he thought Brock wasn't watching. But there was a difference between attraction and willingness, between fantasy and reality.

 

No, if Brock was going to seduce Ollie, to convince him to be a part of this grand experiment, he would need to be irresistible. He would need to become the embodiment of masculine perfection, a walking wet dream that no red-blooded man could deny.

 

And if he succeeded? If Ollie took his essence, let it heal him from the inside out? The possibilities were staggering. Ollie's body, once infused with the meteor's power, would produce regenerative compounds of its own. His cum would become a feedback loop, a potent elixir that, when combined with the meteor essence, could push Brock's evolution even further.

 

Muscle growth, enhanced virility, perhaps even eternal youth - it was all within reach, a tantalizing future that danced just beyond his fingertips.

 

Brock stood abruptly, his chair clattering to the floor behind him. He knew what he had to do. It would take time, dedication, and no small amount of risk. But the rewards... The rewards would be beyond his wildest dreams.

 

With a determined set to his jaw, Brock began to plan. He would need to increase his training regimen, push his body to its limits and beyond. He would need to refine the essence extraction process, ensure its purity and potency.

 

And he would need to court Ollie, to build trust and desire until the young man was begging for his touch, his essence. It would be a delicate dance, a seduction of both body and mind.

 

But Brock was up for the challenge. He had always been a man who got what he wanted, and what he wanted now was nothing less than godhood. And if Ollie was the key to unlocking that power, then Brock would stop at nothing to make the young man his.

 

With a fierce grin, Brock rolled up his sleeves and got to work. The future was waiting, and he was ready to seize it, one bulging muscle and earth-shattering orgasm at a time.

Over the course of several intense months, Brock is transforming his body with a punishing regimen of workouts, supplements, and cutting-edge treatments.

 

At the skin clinic, Brock underwent a series of advanced treatments. Micro-needling sessions stimulated collagen production, reducing fine lines and improving skin texture. Chemical peels removed dead skin cells, revealing a fresher, more youthful complexion. Laser treatments targeted sun damage and uneven pigmentation, giving his skin a healthy, radiant glow.

 

The results were remarkable. Brock's face looked years younger, with a smoothness and vitality that belied his age. His jawline appeared more defined, his cheekbones more pronounced. The overall effect was a perfect blend of maturity and youthfulness, exuding both wisdom and virility.

 

Brock also incorporated High-Intensity Focused Electromagnetic (HIFEM) technology into his regimen. These non-invasive treatments stimulated muscle contractions far beyond what was possible through voluntary effort, leading to increased muscle density and improved tone, particularly in his abs and glutes.

 

The hormone therapy was a game-changer. Under careful medical supervision, Brock underwent growth hormone and testosterone treatments. The increased hormone levels supercharged his muscle growth, enhanced his recovery time, and boosted his libido to unprecedented levels. His body responded with a vigor that surpassed even his wildest expectations.

 

Brock's new hair and beard:

Brock's once neatly trimmed hair now sported a more rugged, yet stylish look. He'd grown it out slightly on top, allowing for a textured, tousled style that gave him a more youthful appearance. The sides remained short but not buzzed, creating a perfect blend of sophistication and masculinity. The color was rich and vibrant, any hints of grey artfully concealed with subtle highlights that added depth and dimension.

 

His beard, once a light stubble, had been cultivated into a well-groomed, short beard. It was thick enough to accentuate his strong jawline, but trimmed close to maintain a clean, professional look. The beard was shaped to complement his face structure, with crisp lines along his cheeks and neck. Like his hair, the beard was expertly colored to match his youthful appearance, with any grey hairs blended seamlessly into the overall look.

 

The combination of his new hairstyle and beard added an air of maturity and sex appeal, making him look both more distinguished and more virile. The overall effect was striking - a perfect balance of rugged masculinity and refined attractiveness that was sure to catch Ollie's eye.

 

Each day, Brock meticulously documented his progress, taking nude photos from various angles to capture every new curve and bulge of muscle. He measured himself obsessively, noting each fraction of an inch gained, each gram of fat lost. His photo collection became a testament to his transformation, a digital chronicle of his journey from mere mortal to something approaching godhood.

 

The use of a penis pump became a daily ritual, Brock dedicating time each evening to gradually increase his length and girth. The results were noticeable not just in size, but in the firmness and vascularity of his erections. His cock had become a true tool of pleasure and power, a weapon in his seduction arsenal.

 

Nipple pumping sessions added another dimension to his chest development. The increased sensitivity and prominence of his nipples gave his pecs an even more erotic quality, the deep cleavage between them now framed by more pronounced, responsive nipples.

 

Brock also made the decision to let his chest and abs hair grow slightly. The light dusting of hair accentuated his musculature, adding a raw, masculine edge to his appearance. It was just enough to highlight the cut of his abs and the curve of his pecs without obscuring the definition he'd worked so hard to achieve.

 

When visiting Ollie, Brock concealed his transformed physique beneath loose sweatshirts, biding his time. He knew the impact would be all the greater when he finally revealed his new body, imagining Ollie's wide-eyed reaction, the hunger that would surely ignite in the young man's gaze.

 

As Brock's body changed, so did his confidence. He carried himself with a new swagger, an animal magnetism that drew eyes wherever he went. But he saved the full force of his charm for Ollie, slowly ramping up the flirtation, the casual touches, building a simmering tension between them.

 

In quiet moments, Brock would catch Ollie looking at him with a mix of admiration and longing. The young man's gaze would linger on Brock's arms, his chest, his hands, before quickly darting away, a blush coloring his cheeks. Each of these moments fueled Brock's determination, confirming that his plan was working.

 

Soon, Brock knew, it would be time to put his plan into action. To seduce Ollie, to heal him, to unlock the full potential of the meteor's power. And when that moment came, Brock would be ready - a god among men, irresistible and unstoppable.

 

As he stood before the mirror, admiring his transformed body, Brock felt a surge of power and anticipation. He was no longer just a man - he was becoming something more, something transcendent. And Ollie, sweet, vulnerable Ollie, would be the key to unlocking his true potential.

 

With a predatory smile, Brock flexed his muscles, watching the play of light and shadow across his chiseled form. Soon, he thought. Soon, Ollie would be his, and together, they would rewrite the very laws of nature.

[TubokuZumuru]

Chapter 5

The autumn wind whispered through the cemetery, carrying with it the scent of decay and loss. Ollie sat in his wheelchair, his eyes fixed on the twin headstones before him, tears streaming down his face.

 

Brock stood beside him, a silent pillar of strength in a perfectly tailored black suit that seemed to strain against his growing musculature.

 

"Mom... Dad..." Ollie choked out, his body wracked with sobs. "I'm so sorry. I should have... I should have done something." Brock knelt beside the wheelchair, his hand coming to rest on Ollie's trembling shoulder.

 

"It wasn't your fault, kid. There was nothing you could have done." Ollie turned to Brock, his face a mask of anguish. "But I'm still here, and they're gone. It's not fair. I can't... I can't do this without them."

 

Unable to bear the young man's pain any longer, Brock pulled Ollie into a tight embrace. His strong arms enveloped Ollie, pressing the young man's face against his broad chest. Ollie clung to Brock, his fingers digging into the older man's back as he sobbed uncontrollably.

 

"Let it out, Ollie," Brock murmured, his deep voice rumbling through his chest. "I've got you. You're not alone." As Ollie's tears soaked through Brock's shirt, he became acutely aware of the solid warmth of the older man's body.

 

Even through his grief, Ollie couldn't help but notice the firmness of Brock's chest, the way his biceps bulged as he held him close. The scent of Brock's cologne mixed with something uniquely masculine – sweat, maybe, or pheromones – filled Ollie's senses, making his head spin.

 

Slowly, Ollie's sobs subsided, replaced by hiccupping breaths. He pulled back slightly, suddenly self-conscious about the wet spot he'd left on Brock's shirt.

 

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, wiping at his eyes. "I didn't mean to fall apart like that." Brock's hand cupped Ollie's cheek, gently wiping away a stray tear with his thumb. "Never apologize for feeling, kid. It's what makes us human."

 

Ollie looked up, his gaze tracing the lines of Brock's face. There was something different about him, something Ollie couldn't quite put his finger on. The older man's jawline seemed sharper, his skin more vibrant. And beneath the crisp white shirt and fitted jacket, Ollie could swear Brock's chest and arms looked fuller, more defined.

 

A blush crept into Ollie's cheeks as he realized he was staring. He wanted to ask if Brock had been working out more, if he'd changed his routine somehow. But the words stuck in his throat, held back by a mix of shyness and the lingering weight of his grief.

 

"You look... different," Ollie said hesitantly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Have you been...?" He trailed off, unable to finish the question. Brock chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down Ollie's spine. "Just trying to take better care of myself, that's all. Gotta keep up with you young guys, right?"

 

As Brock stood, helping Ollie back into his wheelchair, Ollie couldn't help but notice how the fabric of Brock's pants stretched across his thighs and rear. Had Brock always been this... impressive?

 

The wind picked up, carrying with it the scent of earth and decay. Ollie shivered, and Brock immediately shrugged off his jacket, draping it over the young man's shoulders. "Here, can't have you catching cold," Brock said, his voice gentle. Ollie pulled the jacket tighter around himself, inhaling deeply. The lingering warmth and scent of Brock enveloped him, providing a strange comfort in the midst of his sorrow.

 

"Thank you," Ollie murmured, looking up at Brock through tear-dampened lashes. "For everything. I don't know what I'd do without you." Brock's expression softened, and for a moment, Ollie thought he saw something flicker in the older man's eyes – a hunger, quickly masked.

 

"That's what I'm here for, kid. Whatever you need." As they prepared to leave the cemetery, Brock wheeled Ollie back towards the car. Ollie couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted between them, a new tension crackling in the air. He stole glances at Brock's strong hands on the wheelchair handles, imagining how they might feel on his skin.

 

Ollie's mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions – grief for his parents, gratitude for Brock's support, and a growing, confusing attraction to the older man. He felt guilty for even noticing Brock's physique on such a somber day, but he couldn't help it. There was something magnetic about Brock, something that drew Ollie in despite his best efforts to resist.

 

As Brock helped Ollie into the car, their bodies brushed against each other. Ollie gasped softly at the contact, his cheeks flushing. Brock pretended not to notice, but inwardly, he smiled. The seeds of desire had been planted. Now, it was only a matter of time before they blossomed into something truly extraordinary.

 

On the drive back to the hospital, Ollie couldn't help but notice how Brock's tight funeral suit seemed to strain against his increasingly muscular frame. The fabric stretched across his chest and arms, hinting at the impressive physique beneath. Even Brock's face appeared smoother, more youthful, though Ollie chalked it up to the somber lighting of the overcast day.

 

Once they arrived back at the hospital room, an unexpected sight greeted Ollie. In the corner stood an acoustic guitar, its polished wood gleaming in the fluorescent light.

 

"I didn't know you played, Brock," Ollie said, his voice still thick with emotion from the day's events.

 

Brock's smile was gentle, understanding. "There's a lot you don't know about me yet, kid. But I thought... well, I thought some music might help."

 

He picked up the guitar, his large hands looking almost comically oversized against the instrument's neck. Yet when he began to play, his fingers moved with surprising grace and dexterity.

 

The opening chords of "Supermarket Flowers" filled the room, and Ollie felt his breath catch in his throat. Brock's voice, deeper and richer than Ollie had ever heard it, began to sing:

 

"I took the supermarket flowers from the windows

I threw the day-old tea from the cup

Packed up the photo album Matthew had made

Memories of a life that's been loved..."

 

As the song progressed, Ollie felt tears welling up in his eyes. The lyrics spoke to the raw grief of losing a parent, of the small, mundane acts that come with saying goodbye. Brock's voice carried the emotion perfectly, each word imbued with a depth of feeling that resonated deep within Ollie's soul.

 

When the final notes faded away, there was a moment of profound silence. Ollie wiped his eyes, feeling both drained and oddly comforted.

 

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

 

Brock nodded, understanding in his eyes. "I've got one more for you, kid. This one's a bit different, but I think you'll appreciate the message."

 

His fingers found new chords, and the opening of "See You Again" filled the air. As Brock sang, his voice took on a more hopeful tone:

 

"It's been a long day without you, my friend

And I'll tell you all about it when I see you again

We've come a long way from where we began

Oh, I'll tell you all about it when I see you again

When I see you again..."

 

The song's message of enduring friendship and the hope of reunion struck a chord with Ollie. He found himself smiling through his tears, imagining his parents watching over him, waiting for the day they'd be together again.

 

As the final chorus faded away, Brock set the guitar aside and moved to sit next to Ollie on the bed. His large frame seemed to envelop Ollie, offering silent comfort and support.

 

"They'd be proud of you, you know," Brock said softly, his arm around Ollie's shoulders. "For staying strong, for pushing forward. And I'm proud of you too, kid."

 

Ollie leaned into Brock's embrace, feeling safe and protected. "Thank you, Brock. For everything. I don't know how I'd get through this without you."

 

As they sat there in comfortable silence, Ollie felt a mix of emotions swirling within him - grief for his parents, gratitude for Brock's support, and a growing affection for this man who had become such an important part of his life. Whatever the future held, he knew he wouldn't have to face it alone.

 

Note to readers, this is Brock 1/3 transformation progress

*   Weight: 83 kg (up from 80 kg)

*   Chest: 43.5 inches (up from 42 inches)

*   Waist: 33 inches (down from 34 inches)

*   Biceps: 16 inches (up from 15 inches)

*   Thighs: 25 inches (up from 24 inches)

*   Shoulders: 49 inches (up from 48 inches)

*   Forearms: 14.5 inches (up from 14 inches)

*   Calves: 16.5 inches (up from 16 inches)

*   Body Fat: 14% (down from 16%)

*   Chest Thickness: 2.8 cm (up from 2.5 cm)

*   Abs Thickness: 0.4 cm (up from 0.1 cm)

*   Penis (Flaccid): 4.3 inches (up from 4 inches)

*   Penis (Erect): 7.3 inches (up from 7 inches)

*   Girth (Erect): 5.7 inches (up from 5.5 inches)

*   Girth (Flaccid): 4.2 inches (up from 4 inches)

*   Testicle size: 19 ml (up from 18 ml)

Brock's improved nipples at 1/3 progress:

*   Diameter: 2.2 cm (up from 2 cm)

*   Areola protrusion: 0.3 cm (up from 0.2 cm)

*   Nipple protrusion (relaxed): 0.2 cm (up from 0.1 cm)

*   Nipple protrusion (stimulated): 0.5 cm (up from 0.3 cm)

 

Chapter 5.1

 

Late that night in his home lab, Brock sat at his computer, scrolling through Ollie's social media presence. His muscular frame hunched over the keyboard, brow furrowed in concentration as he dug deeper into Ollie's digital footprint.

 

"Let's see what you're hiding, kid," Brock muttered, clicking through Ollie's main Facebook profile. Posts about academic achievements, family photos, normal teenage life. But something caught his eye - several aggressive comments from users with gym selfie profile pictures, taunting Ollie with homophobic slurs.

 

"Fucking meathead bullies," Brock growled, his fists clenching as he read the cruel comments. He remembered seeing Ollie quickly swipe away notifications from an account named "Nathan Collins" whenever they popped up on his phone. The way Ollie's cheeks would flush with embarrassment, how he'd quickly pocket his phone...

 

"Nathan Collins... that's got to be your alter ego, isn't it?" Brock smirked, typing the name into Facebook's search bar. The profile that appeared made his eyebrows rise - no profile picture, but the public activity told him everything he needed to know.

 

Nathan Collins had liked dozens of muscle-worship pages:

 

"Alpha Muscle Gods"

"Daddy's Bulge Haven"

"Massive Muscle Growth"

"Bodybuilder Transformation Journey"

"Muscle Daddy Dating"

 

The comment history was even more revealing. On a photo of a muscular older man in a tight white tank top:

 

Nathan Collins: "Those pecs stretching that fabric... perfect daddy material "

On a progress comparison photo showing a dramatic muscle transformation

 

Nathan Collins: "Goals... wish I could grow huge like this "

On a video of a bodybuilder doing pec bouncing

 

Nathan Collins: "The way those muscles move... hypnotic "

 

Brock scrolled through more comments:

 

"That bulge outline... impossible to hide "

"Daddy's arms look so powerful in that tight shirt "

"The way his lats spread that dress shirt... unf"

"Those veins... so alpha "

 

"Oh Ollie," Brock chuckled darkly, leaning back in his chair. "You've got quite the muscle daddy fixation, don't you? All those likes on growth morphs and transformation timelines..."

 

He flexed his bicep, watching the fabric of his shirt strain. "Just wait until you see what I'm becoming, kid. I'll make all those muscle daddy fantasies of yours look tame in comparison."

 

The account had shared dozens of muscle transformation posts, each one showing dramatic before and after photos. Progress pics of men growing from average to massive, morphed images of explosive muscle growth, time-lapse videos of bodybuilders transforming.

 

"Fascinating," Brock mused, noting how many posts focused on chest and arm development specifically. "You love watching them grow, don't you? The way their shirts get tighter, how the buttons strain..."

 

He spent hours analyzing the patterns in Ollie's secret account activity:

 

Particular interest in older muscular men 35-50

Focus on visible muscle through clothing rather than complete nudity

Obsession with gradual transformation and growth

Strong attraction to chest and arm development

Fascination with bulges visible through pants

 

"This is perfect," Brock whispered, his growing muscles flexing unconsciously as he plotted. "I know exactly what triggers you now, Ollie. Every fantasy, every secret desire..."

 

He clicked through more liked photos:

 

A businessman's dress shirt straining across developed pecs

A daddy type's arms filling out a polo sleeve

Progress photos showing gradually tightening clothes

Transformation Tuesday posts highlighting muscle growth

Videos of pec bouncing through tight shirts

 

"You want a big, strong daddy to grow for you, don't you?" Brock growled softly, his hand absently stroking his thickening chest. "Someone to protect you, to show off for you..."

 

The secret account's most recent activity was liking a series of "muscle growth story" pages and transformation artwork. The common theme was clear - young men being mentored and transformed by older, muscular father figures.

 

"Oh, this is too perfect," Brock laughed, closing the browser. "You're practically writing the script for me, kid. And I'm going to give you everything you've been dreaming about... and so much more."

[TubokuZumuru]

Chapter 6

 

Brock's measurements at 2/3 of his transformation progress:

Weight: 87 kg (up from 80 kg)

Chest: 45 inches (up from 42 inches)

Waist: 32.5 inches (down from 34 inches)

Biceps: 17 inches (up from 15 inches)

Thighs: 26 inches (up from 24 inches)

Shoulders: 50.5 inches (up from 48 inches)

Forearms: 14.7 inches (up from 14 inches)

Calves: 17.5 inches (up from 16 inches)

Body Fat: 12% (down from 16%)

Chest Thickness: 3.2 cm (up from 2.5 cm)

Abs Thickness: visible 6 pack abs 0.7 cm (up from 0.1 cm)

Penis (Flaccid): 4.7 inches (up from 4 inches)

Penis (Erect): 7.7 inches (up from 7 inches)

Girth (Erect): 5.8 inches (up from 5.5 inches)

Girth (Flaccid): 4.3 inches (up from 4 inches)

Testicle size: 20 ml (up from 18 ml)

 

Brock's improved nipples at 2/3 progress:

Diameter: 2.3 cm (up from 2 cm)

Areola protrusion: 0.35 cm (up from 0.2 cm)

Nipple protrusion (relaxed): 0.25 cm (up from 0.1 cm)

Nipple protrusion (stimulated): 0.7 cm (up from 0.3 cm)

 

The hospital's physical therapy room buzzed with quiet activity as Brock guided Ollie through his exercises. Brock's presence was commanding, his muscular frame barely contained by the tight dress shirt he wore.

 

"That's it, Ollie. Just a few more reps," Brock encouraged, his hands supporting Ollie's back as the young man struggled to lift his legs.

 

Ollie grunted with effort, sweat beading on his forehead. He couldn't help but notice how Brock's biceps bulged as he assisted, the fabric of his shirt straining against the muscle. Through the white material, Ollie could see hints of abs, a tantalizing suggestion of the power beneath.

 

"It's... it's too hard," Ollie panted, collapsing back onto the mat.

 

Brock knelt beside him, his proximity sending a jolt through Ollie's body. "You're doing great, kid. But maybe we should take a break."

 

As Brock helped Ollie sit up, he made a show of tugging at his collar. "Whew, is it hot in here or is it just me?" With deliberate slowness, Brock unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt, revealing a generous expanse of chest and a light dusting of hair.

 

Ollie's eyes widened, his gaze fixed on the exposed skin. He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry.

 

"Mind if I roll up my sleeves?" Brock asked, already pushing the fabric up his forearms. "This shirt's getting a bit tight. Must've shrunk in the wash."

 

Ollie nodded mutely, watching as Brock's muscular forearms came into view. The veins stood out prominently, a roadmap of power that made Ollie's heart race.

 

"Alright, let's try some upper body work now," Brock suggested, helping Ollie onto a nearby bench. "We need to keep your arms strong for when you're ready to use crutches."

 

Brock positioned himself behind Ollie, his broad chest pressing against the young man's back as he guided him through a series of arm exercises. Ollie could feel the heat radiating from Brock's body, smell the intoxicating mix of his cologne and clean sweat.

 

"Good, now resist against me," Brock instructed, his strong hands gripping Ollie's wrists. As Ollie pushed back, he couldn't help but marvel at Brock's strength. It was like trying to move a mountain.

 

Their faces were close now, Brock's breath hot on Ollie's ear as he murmured encouragement. Ollie's skin tingled where they touched, every point of contact sending sparks through his body.

 

"Let's work on your core now," Brock said, moving to face Ollie. He placed his hands on Ollie's shoulders, steadying him. "Try to sit up straight without my help."

 

Ollie strained, his abdominal muscles quivering with effort. As he struggled, Brock's hands slid down to his waist, ostensibly to support him. But the touch felt electric, Brock's strong fingers pressing into Ollie's flesh.

 

"That's it, engage your core," Brock encouraged, his voice low and husky. "Feel those muscles working?"

 

Ollie nodded, breathless. He was acutely aware of every inch of his body, especially the parts in contact with Brock. As he leaned back, exhausted, he found himself falling against Brock's solid chest.

 

"Whoa there, I've got you," Brock chuckled, his arms wrapping around Ollie to steady him. The embrace lasted a moment longer than necessary, Ollie's back pressed firmly against Brock's torso.

 

As Brock leaned in to adjust Ollie's position for the next exercise, Ollie became acutely aware of a growing problem. To his horror and embarrassment, he felt his penis stiffen, tenting the loose fabric of his workout shorts.

 

Brock noticed too, his eyes flickering down before meeting Ollie's panicked gaze. A knowing smirk played at the corners of his mouth.

 

"Don't worry about it, kid," Brock chuckled, his voice low and husky. "It's a normal physical response. Nothing to be ashamed of."

 

Ollie's face burned with embarrassment, but he couldn't deny the thrill that ran through him at Brock's words. The older man's casual acceptance, the hint of approval in his tone, only fueled Ollie's arousal.

 

"I think that's enough for today," Brock said, helping Ollie into his wheelchair. "Let's get you back to your room."

 

As they made their way down the hospital corridor, Ollie couldn't stop stealing glances at Brock. The partially unbuttoned shirt, the rolled-up sleeves, the way his muscles moved beneath the fabric - it was all too much.

 

Back in Ollie's room, Brock helped the young man into bed, his strong hands lingering perhaps a moment longer than necessary. "Get some rest, Ollie. You did good today."

 

Ollie nodded, his voice barely a whisper. "Thanks, Brock. For everything."

 

Brock smiled, running a hand through his hair. "No problem, kid. Listen, I worked up quite a sweat too. Mind if I use your shower? I've got a change of clothes in my gym bag."

 

Ollie's eyes widened, his mind immediately conjuring images of Brock naked, water cascading down his muscular form. "S-sure," he stammered. "Go ahead."

 

As Brock gathered his things and headed to the bathroom, Ollie caught one last glimpse of his powerful back, the shirt stretched tight across his broad shoulders.

 

The door closed, and moments later, Ollie heard the sound of running water. Ollie's mind raced with vivid images of Brock in the shower. He couldn't help but wonder about the changes he'd noticed in the older man's physique. Did Brock have abs now? His chest certainly seemed bigger, more defined, and definitely hairier. The memory of that exposed chest, the tantalizing glimpse of dark hair, made Ollie's breath catch in his throat.

 

Ollie's arousal, which had been simmering all day, now reached a fever pitch. His erection strained against his shorts, refusing to subside. Panicked at the thought of Brock catching him in this state, Ollie hastily grabbed a pillow and placed it over his lap, trying to hide the obvious bulge.

 

He tried to distract himself, to think of anything else, but his thoughts kept circling back to Brock. The way his muscles had bulged during their therapy session, the heat of his body as he stood close, the intoxicating scent of his sweat mixed with cologne. Ollie's fingers dug into the pillow, his hips shifting restlessly as he fought against the urge to touch himself.

 

Meanwhile, in the steamy confines of the bathroom, Brock stood under the hot spray, his hand wrapped around his thickening cock. His mind was filled with thoughts of his growing strength, the power coursing through his veins. He imagined Ollie's wide-eyed stare, the young man's obvious attraction, and it fueled his arousal.

 

Brock's hand moved faster, his grip tightening. "Fuck yeah," he growled, his voice low and husky. "Getting so fucking big... so strong..."

 

Outside, Ollie froze. He could hear Brock's voice, muffled by the shower but still audible. His face flushed hot with embarrassment and excitement. He knew he should try to block it out, to give Brock privacy, but he found himself straining to hear more.

 

In the shower, Brock's dirty talk grew more intense. "Gonna get so fucking huge... Muscles growing... Cock getting bigger... Gonna be a fucking god..."

 

Ollie's breath came in short gasps. He knew he shouldn't be listening, but he couldn't help himself. Each word from Brock's mouth sent jolts of electricity through his body. A damp spot appeared on his shorts as precum leaked from his aching cock.

 

Brock's moans grew louder, more urgent. "Fuck... Yes... Growing... So... Fucking... Big!" With a final, guttural groan, he came, his first load splattering against the shower wall.

 

But he wasn't done. Brock's enhanced stamina and libido kicked in, and he continued stroking his still-hard cock. "Round two, baby," he chuckled breathlessly. "Gonna be able to go all night long..."

 

Ollie whimpered softly, overwhelmed by the sounds and the images they conjured in his mind. He pressed the pillow harder against his lap, trying desperately to control himself. His hips moved of their own accord, seeking friction against the soft fabric.

 

Brock came again, and then a third time, each orgasm accompanied by more dirty talk about his growing body and sexual prowess. "Fuck... getting so strong... so hung... Gonna make them beg for it..."

 

After the final climax, he gathered his cum in his hand and licked it clean, savoring the taste and the power it represented. "Mmm... fucking delicious... Getting more potent every day..."

 

As the water shut off, Ollie quickly tried to compose himself, adjusting the pillow and willing his erection to subside. But it was no use. The memory of Brock's words, the knowledge of what had just happened in the shower, kept him achingly hard.

 

Ollie's mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Guilt at having listened in on such a private moment warred with an intense, overwhelming arousal. He'd never heard anything like that before, never imagined that Brock - strong, confident Brock - could sound so... primal.

 

In the bathroom, Brock dried off, a satisfied smirk on his face. He knew Ollie had heard him - the walls were thin, and he hadn't exactly been quiet. It was all part of the plan, another step in his seduction of the young man.

 

As he dressed in fresh clothes, Brock's mind was already racing with ideas for their next encounter. The tension between them was building, the attraction undeniable. Soon, very soon, he would make his move. And when he did, Ollie wouldn't stand a chance against the new and improved Brock.

 

With a final check in the mirror, Brock prepared to step back into the hospital room, ready to face Ollie with feigned innocence and barely concealed desire. But at the last moment, he had an idea. Why not push things a little further?

 

Brock wrapped the towel low around his hips, leaving his chest and abs exposed. He ran a hand through his damp hair, tousling it just so, and took a deep breath. It was time to give Ollie a real show.

 

The bathroom door opened, releasing a cloud of steam. Brock stepped out, water still glistening on his muscular frame. His chest hair was dark and damp, drawing attention to his pronounced pecs and the deep cleavage between them. His abs, now clearly visible, rippled with each movement.

 

"Sorry, kid," Brock said, his voice a low rumble. "Forgot my clothes out here. Hope you don't mind."

 

He moved across the room with deliberate slowness, giving Ollie ample time to drink in the sight of his near-naked body. The towel hung dangerously low on his hips, threatening to slip off with each step.

 

Ollie's eyes widened, his mouth going dry. He clutched the pillow tighter in his lap, praying that Brock wouldn't notice the effect he was having. But as Brock bent to retrieve his bag, the muscles in his back flexing impressively, Ollie couldn't suppress a small gasp.

 

Brock turned, catching Ollie's gaze. For a moment, they stared at each other, the air between them charged with unspoken desire. Brock's lips curved into a knowing smirk, and Ollie felt his face burn with embarrassment and arousal.

 

Without breaking eye contact, Brock reached into his bag and pulled out a pair of snug, black speedo underwear. He held them up, letting Ollie see them clearly. "Hope you don't mind if I change here," Brock said, his voice low and husky. "It's a bit steamy in the bathroom."

 

Before Ollie could respond, Brock slipped the speedo on under his towel, the fabric stretching taut over his muscular thighs and generous package. With a deliberate slowness, he then let the towel drop to the floor.

 

Ollie's breath caught in his throat. The speedo left little to the imagination, clinging to every curve and bulge of Brock's lower body. And what a bulge it was - even in its semi-erect state, Brock's cock strained against the fabric, creating an impressive outline that Ollie couldn't tear his eyes away from.

 

"Now for some post-shower skincare," Brock announced casually, as if he wasn't standing nearly naked in front of an increasingly flustered Ollie. He reached into his bag again, pulling out various bottles and tubes.

 

Starting with his chest, Brock began to apply the products, his large hands moving in slow, circular motions. He worked the lotion into his pecs, fingers trailing through the damp chest hair, occasionally brushing against his nipples. Ollie watched, mesmerized, as Brock's muscles flexed and relaxed with each movement.

 

Moving down to his abs, Brock's hands traced the defined ridges of his six-pack, the lotion making his skin glisten in the soft hospital lighting. He paid special attention to the V-shaped cut of his lower abs, his fingers dipping teasingly below the waistband of his speedo.

 

As Brock bent to apply lotion to his legs, Ollie's gaze was drawn once again to the impressive bulge. The change in position caused the fabric to stretch and shift, outlining Brock's cock even more clearly. Ollie could see it twitch and grow slightly, responding to Brock's touch.

 

A soft, involuntary moan escaped Ollie's lips, and he felt another surge of precum dampen his shorts. He prayed Brock hadn't heard, but the slight pause in the older man's movements suggested otherwise.

 

Brock straightened up, his eyes meeting Ollie's with an intensity that made the young man's heart race. "Hey, Ollie," he said, his voice rougher than before, "think you could help me with my back? Can't quite reach everything."

 

Ollie nodded mutely, his mouth too dry for words. He wheeled himself closer as Brock sat on the edge of the bed, presenting his broad, muscular back.

 

With trembling hands, Ollie took the lotion bottle. He squeezed a generous amount onto his palms, the cool gel a stark contrast to his feverish skin. Taking a deep breath, he placed his hands on Brock's shoulders.

 

The contact was electric. Brock's skin was warm and smooth, the muscles beneath solid and unyielding. Ollie began to move his hands, spreading the lotion across Brock's expansive back. He could feel every ridge and valley of muscle, every subtle shift as Brock breathed.

 

"That feels good, kid," Brock murmured, his voice sending shivers down Ollie's spine. "Don't be afraid to really work it in."

 

Encouraged, Ollie applied more pressure, his fingers kneading the thick muscles of Brock's upper back and shoulders. He worked his way down, tracing the curve of Brock's spine, feeling the latissimus muscles flare out towards his narrow waist.

 

As Ollie's hands moved lower, he became acutely aware of how close they were to the waistband of Brock's speedo. The rounded curves of Brock's glutes were just visible above the fabric, temptingly close.

 

Before he could decide whether to be daring or cautious, Brock stood up suddenly. The movement brought him close to Ollie, his impressive chest right at eye level. Without thinking, Ollie's hands came to rest on Brock's pecs, feeling the solid muscle beneath his palms.

 

For a moment, they stayed frozen like that, the air between them thick with tension. Ollie could feel Brock's heartbeat, strong and steady, beneath his hands. His fingers brushed against the coarse chest hair, and he felt Brock's nipples harden at the touch.

 

Then, almost reluctantly, Ollie let his hands drift down, tracing the ridges of Brock's abs. The muscles twitched under his touch, and he heard Brock's breath catch.

 

Just as quickly as it had begun, the moment ended. Brock stepped back, clearing his throat. "Thanks, kid. That did the trick."

 

Ollie watched, still dazed, as Brock pulled on a pair of shorts and a tank top. The clothes, which would have been loose on most men, clung to Brock's muscular frame like a second skin.

 

Brock settled himself on the bed next to Ollie, his muscular frame causing the mattress to dip. The closeness of his body sent a jolt of electricity through Ollie, who tried desperately to maintain his composure.

 

"So, kid," Brock began, his deep voice rumbling in his chest, "have you given any thought to what you want to do after you're discharged?"

 

Ollie swallowed hard, acutely aware of Brock's proximity. "I... I've been thinking about studying medicine, actually. I want to help people, you know? Maybe even find a way to help others with spinal injuries like mine."

 

Brock's eyes lit up, a smile spreading across his face. "That's fantastic, Ollie. You've got a good heart, and a sharp mind. You'd make a hell of a doctor."

 

As he spoke, Brock's hand drifted to the hem of his tank top. With a seemingly casual motion, he slipped his hand underneath, scratching at his abs. The movement caused the fabric to ride up, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of his chiseled midsection.

 

Ollie's eyes were drawn to the exposed skin, drinking in the sight of Brock's defined abs and the trail of dark hair leading down from his navel. He felt his breath catch in his throat, a fresh wave of arousal washing over him.

 

"You know," Brock continued, oblivious to Ollie's reaction, "I've been thinking. My place is pretty big, and it's got good accessibility. How would you feel about coming to live with me after you're discharged?"

 

Ollie's eyes widened in surprise. "Live with you? But... why would you want that?"

 

Brock's hand moved higher, now scratching at his pecs. The tank top rode up further, exposing more of his muscular torso. Ollie could see the swell of Brock's pectoral muscles, the dusting of chest hair, and even the edge of a nipple.

 

"Well, for one thing, I could help you out. Be a sort of... mentor. A daddy figure, if you will," Brock said, his voice taking on a husky quality. "I've got a lot of experience in medicine and science. I could tutor you, help you prepare for med school."

 

Ollie's mind reeled at Brock's words. The idea of Brock as a "daddy figure" sent a shiver down his spine, stirring feelings he wasn't quite ready to confront. And yet, the prospect of living with Brock, of being close to him every day...

 

"Plus," Brock added, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "I've been working on some research. Something that might help restore function to your spine. Help you walk again."

 

Ollie's heart raced at the possibility. "Really? You think that's possible?"

 

Brock nodded, his hand finally emerging from his shirt. But instead of pulling the fabric back down, he left it bunched up around his chest, leaving his torso exposed. "I do. But it's still in the early stages. Having you close by would make it easier to monitor your progress, run tests, that sort of thing."

 

Ollie found it hard to concentrate on Brock's words. His eyes kept drifting to Brock's exposed body, taking in every detail. The deep grooves between his abs, the thick slabs of his pectoral muscles, the way his nipples had hardened in the cool air of the hospital room. Ollie thought he had never seen anything so sexy in his life.

 

A small whimper escaped Ollie's lips as he felt another surge of precum dampen his shorts. He prayed Brock hadn't noticed, but the slight quirk of the older man's eyebrow suggested otherwise.

 

"So what do you think, kid?" Brock asked, shifting his position on the bed. The movement brought him even closer to Ollie, their shoulders now touching. "Want to give it a shot?"

 

Before Ollie could respond, Brock casually draped his arm around Ollie's shoulders. The gesture seemed friendly, almost paternal, but the contact sent sparks through Ollie's body. He could feel the heat radiating from Brock's skin, smell the intoxicating mix of his cologne and natural musk.

 

Ollie's face was now mere inches from Brock's exposed chest. From this close, he could see every detail - the way Brock's chest hair curled slightly, the faint sheen of sweat on his skin, the subtle rise and fall of his breathing. And when Brock shifted again, Ollie caught a glimpse of his armpit, dark hair peeking out from the sleeve of his tank top.

 

The combination of visual stimuli and physical contact was almost too much for Ollie to bear. He felt dizzy with desire, his body thrumming with a need he didn't fully understand.

 

"I... I think I'd like that," Ollie finally managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper. "Living with you, I mean. If you're sure it wouldn't be too much trouble."

 

Brock's face broke into a wide grin. "No trouble at all, kid. It'll be good for both of us, I think."

 

As Brock spoke, his thumb began to trace small circles on Ollie's shoulder. The touch was gentle, almost absentminded, but it sent shockwaves through Ollie's body.

 

"We'll set you up in the guest room," Brock continued, seemingly unaware of the effect he was having on Ollie. "It's on the ground floor, easy access to everything. And I've got a home gym, so we can continue your physical therapy without having to come to the hospital all the time."

 

Ollie nodded, trying to focus on Brock's words and not on the feeling of the older man's body pressed against his side. But it was a losing battle. All he could think about was the expanse of Brock's chest, the strength of his arm around Ollie's shoulders, the intoxicating scent of his skin.

 

"And who knows," Brock added, his voice taking on a teasing tone, "maybe by the time you start med school, you'll be walking in on your own two feet."

 

The hope in Brock's voice, combined with the intimacy of their position, was Ollie's undoing. He felt another surge of arousal, stronger than before, and knew that this time, there was no way Brock could have missed it.

 

But if Brock noticed, he gave no sign. He simply continued talking, outlining plans for Ollie's care and rehabilitation as if nothing had happened. And yet, Ollie couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Brock's offer than simple kindness.

 

As the conversation wound down, Brock finally withdrew his arm from around Ollie's shoulders. The loss of contact left Ollie feeling bereft, even as a part of him was relieved to no longer be in such close proximity to Brock's overwhelming presence.

 

"Well, I should let you get some rest," Brock said, standing up from the bed. His tank top fell back into place, once again concealing his impressive physique. "Think about my offer, okay? No pressure, but I really think it could be good for you."

 

Ollie nodded, not trusting himself to speak. As Brock gathered his things and prepared to leave, Ollie's mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Excitement at the prospect of living with Brock, fear of the unknown, and an undeniable, overwhelming attraction that he wasn't sure how to handle.

 

At the door, Brock paused, looking back at Ollie with an expression that was both tender and intense. "Sweet dreams, kid. I'll see you tomorrow."

 

And with that, he was gone, leaving Ollie alone with his racing thoughts and aching desire. As the door clicked shut, Ollie let out a shaky breath, his body still thrumming with unfulfilled need.

 

Whatever was happening between them, whatever this tension was building towards, Ollie knew one thing for certain - his life was about to change in ways he could never have imagined. And despite his fears and uncertainties, a part of him couldn't wait to see what the future held.

[TubokuZumuru]

Chapter 7

As the night wore on, Ollie found himself unable to sleep, his mind replaying every moment of his interaction with Brock. The memory of Brock's exposed chest, the feeling of his strong arm around Ollie's shoulders, the intoxicating scent of his skin - it all swirled together in a heady mix of confusion and desire.

 

Unable to contain his thoughts any longer, Ollie reached for his phone. His fingers hovered over the screen, trembling slightly as he opened a new message to Brock. He began to type:

 

"Hey Brock, I can't stop thinking about earlier..."

 

No, too forward. He quickly deleted it and tried again:

 

"Thanks for the offer to live with you. I was wondering..."

 

Still not right. Ollie groaned in frustration, erasing the message once more. He took a deep breath and started over:

 

"Is there something going on between us? The way you were acting today..."

 

Too direct. Too risky. What if he was reading everything wrong? Ollie deleted the message, his heart racing. He tried a different approach:

 

"Your muscles are really impressive. Have you been working out more?"

 

Too obvious. Too thirsty. Ollie cringed, erasing the words as quickly as he'd typed them. He stared at the blank screen, willing the right words to come to him.

 

After several more attempts, each more awkward than the last, Ollie finally settled on what he thought was a safe, casual message:

 

"Hey Brock, just wanted to say thanks again for everything. You're really looking good lately. Must be all that working out. I couldn't help but notice how muscular you've gotten, especially when you kept pulling up your tank top while we were talking on the bed. It's kind of distracting, in a good way. You're like the perfect daddy figure. Is that weird to say? Anyway, just thinking about our conversation and wanted to reach out."

 

Ollie read over the message, his finger hovering over the send button. It was still too much, too revealing, but at least it wasn't as blatant as some of his earlier attempts. He decided to sleep on it, maybe revise it in the morning when he was thinking more clearly.

 

But as he moved to close the app, his finger slipped. To his horror, he saw the "Delivered" notification pop up beneath the message.

 

"No, no, no," Ollie muttered, frantically tapping at his phone. But it was too late. The message was sent, and there was no way to unsend it.

 

Panic set in as Ollie realized what he'd done. He'd just sent a rambling, borderline flirtatious message to Brock, exposing his attraction and confusion. What would Brock think? How would this affect their relationship?

 

Ollie's mind raced with possible scenarios, each more mortifying than the last. Would Brock be disgusted? Amused? Or worse, what if he was interested but now thought Ollie was some awkward, fumbling kid?

 

As the reality of the situation sank in, Ollie buried his face in his pillow, wishing he could disappear. All he could do now was wait for Brock's response - if he responded at all - and hope that somehow, this wouldn't ruin everything.

 

The night stretched on, each minute feeling like an eternity as Ollie waited, his phone clutched tightly in his hand, for any sign of a reply from Brock.

 

Ollie lay there, his heart pounding and his mind racing with worst-case scenarios, his phone suddenly buzzed. He nearly dropped it in his haste to check the message, his hands shaking as he unlocked the screen.

 

Brock's response read:

 

"Hey kid, no need to overthink things. I'm glad you're noticing the results of my workouts - it's nice to know the hard work is paying off! As for the tank top, it was just hot in the room, and I felt scratchy. Didn't mean to distract you. I'm happy you see me as a father figure. That's exactly what I want to be for you - someone you can trust and look up to. Get some rest, and I'll talk more about the living arrangements soon. Sweet dreams, Ollie."

 

Ollie read the message several times, relief washing over him in waves. Brock's response was casual, friendly, and completely devoid of any awkwardness or discomfort. He'd managed to address everything in Ollie's rambling text without making it weird.

 

The tension in Ollie's body began to ease. Maybe he hadn't ruined everything after all. Brock seemed to have taken his message in stride, interpreting it in the most innocent way possible. The word "father figure" stung a little, but Ollie told himself it was for the best. At least things wouldn't be awkward between them now.

 

With a sigh of relief, Ollie set his phone aside and settled back into his pillows. His mind was still buzzing with thoughts of Brock, but the panic had subsided. He closed his eyes, finally able to relax enough to drift towards sleep.

 

Meanwhile, across town in his spacious home, Brock sat on his couch, a triumphant grin spreading across his face as he reread Ollie's message for the tenth time.

 

"Gotcha, kid," he chuckled to himself, taking a swig of his protein shake. His plan was working even better than he'd hoped. Ollie was clearly attracted to him, confused by his feelings, and looking to Brock for guidance. It was the perfect setup.

 

Brock's mind raced with possibilities. He'd have to be careful, of course. Move slowly, build trust, let Ollie come to him. But with the young man living under his roof, exposed to his growing physique day in and day out, it was only a matter of time before Ollie's resistance crumbled completely.

 

As he stood to head to bed, Brock caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. He flexed, admiring the way his muscles bulged and rippled. Soon, he'd be even bigger, even more irresistible. And Ollie would be right there to witness every change, to worship every new inch of muscle.

 

"Sweet dreams indeed, Ollie," Brock murmured, a predatory glint in his eye. "You have no idea what's coming."

 

With that, Brock turned off the lights and headed to his bedroom, already planning his next move in the intricate dance of seduction he'd begun. The meteor's power thrummed through his veins, a promise of the incredible transformations yet to come. And Ollie, sweet, vulnerable Ollie, would be the key to unlocking it all.

 

The next morning, Ollie's phone buzzed incessantly with notifications. Still groggy from a restless night, he fumbled for the device, squinting at the screen. His eyes widened as he saw a flood of Instagram notifications, all centered around one person: Brock.

 

Curious and slightly apprehensive, Ollie opened the app. His breath caught in his throat as he was immediately greeted by a shirtless photo of Brock, fresh from a workout. Sweat glistened on his muscular torso, highlighting every curve and ridge of his impressive physique. The caption read: "Back in the gym and feeling stronger than ever. #NoExcuses #FitnessJourney"

 

Ollie's thumb hovered over the like button, his heart racing. He wanted to double-tap the screen so badly, but fear held him back. What if Brock thought he was weird for liking it? What if someone else noticed?

 

As he debated, more posts appeared. A video of Brock doing pull-ups, his back muscles rippling with each rep. A mirror selfie in a tank top so tight it looked painted on, Brock's biceps bulging as he struck a pose. A series of progress photos showing Brock's transformation over the past few months, each image more impressive than the last.

 

The comments section was on fire:

 

@FitnessFanatic23: "Damn, bro! Looking absolutely shredded!"

@GymBunny99: "Those arms should be illegal "

@MuscleWorshipper: "Goals AF. What's your secret?"

@HunkHunter: "Daddy? Sorry. Daddy? Sorry. Daddy? Sorry."

@BuffBro85: "Beast mode activated! Keep crushing it, man!"

 

Ollie felt a twinge of jealousy at the flood of admiration, even as he found himself agreeing with every comment. Brock did look incredible. More than incredible. He looked like a god made flesh.

 

Unable to resist any longer, Ollie locked his hospital room door. His hand slipped beneath the sheets, finding his already hard cock. As he stroked himself, he scrolled through Brock's feed, drinking in every image.

 

There was Brock in a business suit, the fabric straining against his muscular frame. Brock at the beach, water droplets cascading down his chiseled abs. Brock in the gym, pumping iron with an intensity that made Ollie weak at the knees.

 

Ollie's hand moved faster, his breath coming in short gasps. He imagined Brock's strong hands on him, those powerful arms wrapping around him. In his mind, Brock's deep voice whispered encouragement, calling him a good boy, praising him for taking it so well.

 

With a muffled cry, Ollie came, his body shuddering with the intensity of his orgasm. As the waves of pleasure subsided, he realized he was still clutching his phone, Brock's image filling the screen.

 

In his post-orgasmic haze, Ollie's thumb slipped. To his horror, he saw the heart icon fill red as he accidentally liked the photo. Panic set in immediately, and he frantically unliked it, praying Brock hadn't noticed.

 

But across town, Brock's phone had already lit up with the notification. A slow, predatory smile spread across his face as he saw Ollie's name pop up, only to disappear moments later.

 

"Got you, kid," Brock murmured, chuckling to himself. He knew exactly what had happened, could picture Ollie's flustered reaction perfectly.

 

Deciding to push things a little further, Brock snapped a new photo. He was in the gym, his tank top discarded, a sheen of sweat making his muscles glisten. The angle was carefully chosen to highlight his bulging biceps and the deep cut of his abs, while a strategically placed towel drew attention to the impressive bulge in his shorts.

 

He sent the photo directly to Ollie with a simple message: "Special behind-the-scenes shot for my number one fan. Hope this helps motivate you for our next PT session. "

 

Back in his hospital room, Ollie's phone buzzed with the new message. As he opened it and saw the photo, he felt his spent cock twitch with renewed interest. His face burned with a mix of embarrassment and arousal. Brock had noticed his like. Brock had sent him this photo, this incredible, tantalizing photo, just for him.

 

Ollie's mind raced. What did it mean? Was Brock just being friendly? Was he teasing him? Or was there something more to it?

 

As he stared at the image, unable to look away, Ollie realized that his life had irrevocably changed. Whatever was developing between him and Brock, whatever this tension was building towards, it was only going to intensify once they were living under the same roof.

 

With trembling fingers, Ollie saved the photo to a hidden folder on his phone. He knew he'd be returning to it later, knew it would fuel his fantasies for days to come. And as he lay back in his hospital bed, his body still tingling from his earlier release, Ollie found himself both terrified and exhilarated by the possibilities that lay ahead.

[TubokuZumuru]

Chapter 8

 

Ollie stared at Brock's message for what felt like hours, his mind racing as he tried to formulate a response. Finally, with trembling fingers, he typed:

 

"Wow, thanks for the photo! You're looking really great. All that hard work is definitely paying off. Can't wait for our next PT session!"

 

He hit send before he could overthink it, then immediately buried his face in his pillow, groaning with embarrassment. Did that sound too eager? Too flirty? Not flirty enough?

 

Before he could spiral further, his phone buzzed with Brock's reply:

 

"Hey kid, I've got some bad news. I have to fly out to Switzerland tonight for work. It's a sudden thing, but I'll be gone for about three weeks. I'm really sorry I won't be able to do your PT sessions during that time. I'll make sure the hospital assigns you a good temporary therapist. Keep working hard, and I'll be back before you know it!"

 

Ollie felt a pang of disappointment mixed with relief. On one hand, he'd miss seeing Brock and the progress he was making. On the other, it would give him some time to sort out his confusing feelings without Brock's overwhelming presence.

 

"No problem, I understand," Ollie replied. "Good luck with work. I'll keep up with my exercises. Have a safe trip!"

 

Over the next three weeks, Ollie found himself constantly checking Brock's Instagram. But to his disappointment, there were no new shirtless gym selfies or workout videos. Instead, Brock posted picturesque views of Swiss mountains, plates of delicious-looking food, and the occasional shot of himself fully clothed against stunning backdrops.

 

What Ollie didn't know was that Brock's trip was far more than a simple work assignment. In a state-of-the-art lab hidden in the Swiss Alps, Brock met with Dr. Heinrich Schmidt, a brilliant but controversial scientist known for his cutting-edge work in human enhancement.

 

"The serum's composition is unlike anything I've ever seen," Dr. Schmidt marveled, examining the vials Brock had brought. "And you say this came from a meteor?"

 

Brock nodded, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Can you confirm it's safe for human use?"

 

Dr. Schmidt ran numerous tests, his excitement growing with each result. "It appears to be not only safe but potentially revolutionary. The cellular regeneration capabilities alone are astounding. But Brock, you must be cautious. The power this serum holds... it could change everything."

 

With Dr. Schmidt's approval, Brock threw himself into preparation. He worked out with a fervor that bordered on obsession, pushing his body to its limits and beyond. He took carefully calibrated supplements designed to maximize muscle growth and recovery. He spent hours using various pumps to enhance different parts of his body.

 

Between workouts and lab sessions, Brock visited high-end clinics for cutting-edge skincare treatments. Micro-needling, chemical peels, laser therapy - he spared no expense in his quest for physical perfection.

 

All the while, he maintained a careful social media presence. He posted just enough to keep Ollie interested without revealing the true extent of his transformation. Each photo was meticulously staged - a tight sweater here, a form-fitting suit there, always hinting at his growing physique without giving too much away.

 

He sent occasional messages to Ollie, checking in on his progress and offering encouragement. Each one was accompanied by a photo - Brock in a snug henley against a backdrop of snow-capped mountains, or wearing a tight dress shirt at a fancy Swiss restaurant. Just enough to keep Ollie intrigued, to stoke the flames of his desire.

 

Brock maintained a careful balance of teasing and restraint in his communications with Ollie. He sent a series of photos, each one carefully crafted to hint at his transformation without revealing too much.

 

Day 3:

Brock: "Morning workout with a view. Missing our PT sessions!"

[Photo: Brock in a tight, long-sleeved compression shirt, the fabric straining across his chest and arms. He's standing on a balcony with the Swiss Alps in the background.]

 

Ollie: "Wow, that view is incredible! And um... you're looking good too. Those Swiss workouts must be intense."

 

Day 7:

Brock: "Trying out some local cuisine. Gotta keep the protein intake up!"

[Photo: Brock seated at a restaurant, wearing a button-up shirt that's almost too tight across his shoulders and chest. A plate of food is in front of him, but the focus is clearly on how the shirt buttons seem ready to pop.]

 

Ollie: "That food looks delicious! And you... uh, you fill out that shirt really well. New one?"

 

Day 12:

Brock: "Quick break between meetings. This suit's getting a bit snug."

[Photo: Brock in a hotel mirror, adjusting his tie. The suit jacket is off, and his dress shirt and vest are hugging every curve of his muscular torso.]

 

Ollie: "Looking sharp! I think the suit fits you perfectly. Very... professional."

 

Day 18:

Brock: "Last hike before heading home. Can't wait to see you, kid."

[Photo: Brock on a mountain trail, wearing a thin, sweat-soaked t-shirt that clings to his body, outlining every muscle. His arms and shoulders look massive, and there's a hint of his abs visible through the damp fabric.]

 

Ollie: "Wow, Brock. You look... different. In a good way! That hike must have been intense. Safe travels home!"

 

Each time Ollie received a photo, his heart would race. He'd spend hours analyzing every detail, noting the changes in Brock's physique. He tried to keep his responses casual, but often found himself typing and retyping, trying to strike a balance between friendly and not too eager.

 

After each exchange, Ollie would save the photos to a hidden folder on his phone, returning to them late at night when he was alone with his thoughts and growing desires. He couldn't shake the feeling that Brock was teasing him intentionally, but he didn't dare hope that it meant anything more than friendly banter.

 

 

As the three weeks drew to a close, Brock stood before a full-length mirror in his hotel room, marveling at his transformation. The man who stared back at him was a far cry from the one who had arrived in Switzerland. He was bigger, more defined, exuding an aura of power and virility that was almost palpable.

 

Brock's new measurements at the completion of his transformation:

 

Weight: 95 kg (up from 80 kg)

Chest: 48 inches (up from 42 inches)

Waist: 31 inches (down from 34 inches)

Biceps: 19 inches (up from 15 inches)

Thighs: 28 inches (up from 24 inches)

Shoulders: 54 inches (up from 48 inches)

Forearms: 15.5 inches (up from 14 inches)

Calves: 19 inches (up from 16 inches)

Body Fat: 8% (down from 16%)

Chest Thickness: 4 cm (up from 2.5 cm)

Abs Thickness: 1.5 cm (up from 0.1 cm)

Penis (Flaccid): 5.5 inches (up from 4 inches)

Penis (Erect): 9 inches (up from 7 inches)

Girth (Erect): 6.5 inches (up from 5.5 inches)

Girth (Flaccid): 5 inches (up from 4 inches)

Testicle size: 24 ml (up from 18 ml)

 

His improved nipples:

 

Diameter: 2.8 cm (up from 2 cm)

Areola protrusion: 0.5 cm (up from 0.2 cm)

Nipple protrusion (relaxed): 0.4 cm (up from 0.1 cm)

Nipple protrusion (stimulated): 1 cm (up from 0.3 cm)

 

Brock flexed, watching his muscles ripple and bulge. His chest was massive, two slabs of muscle pushing against each other, creating a deep, shadowed cleavage. His abs were sharply defined, eight distinct blocks of muscle that seemed chiseled from stone. His arms were huge, veins snaking along their surface, speaking to both power and vascularity.

 

Even his face had changed, the skincare treatments and overall physical enhancement giving him a more youthful, vibrant appearance. His jaw seemed sharper, his cheekbones more pronounced, his eyes brighter and more intense.

 

As he admired his new body, Brock's mind turned to Ollie. He imagined the young man's reaction when he saw him for the first time, pictured the way Ollie's eyes would widen, his breath catching in his throat.

 

Brock smiled to himself, a predatory glint in his eye. The serum was ready. His body was primed. All that remained was to return home and put the final stages of his plan into action.

 

He picked up his phone, sending one last message to Ollie:

 

"Heading home tomorrow. Can't wait to see you and get back to our PT sessions. I've got a feeling things are about to get really interesting."

 

As he hit send, Brock felt a surge of anticipation. Soon, very soon, he would have everything he wanted. Power beyond imagination, a body that defied the laws of nature, and Ollie... sweet, innocent Ollie, who would be the key to unlocking it all.

 

With a satisfied smirk, Brock began to pack, already envisioning the look on Ollie's face when he walked into that hospital room, bigger and more impressive than ever before. The game was about to change, and Brock couldn't wait to make his next move.

 

As Brock's return date approached, Ollie found himself both excited and nervous. The photos had hinted at significant changes in Brock's body, and Ollie wasn't sure how he'd react when he saw him in person. All he knew was that the next PT session was going to be very, very interesting.

 

How I imagine Brock younger face and more muscular body at this transformation stage

Reference model: https://www.instagram.com/sergey.nyzhnyk/

[Muscleloverx]

I love this story its really good cant wait for more

[dredlifter]

Great start.  Great set up.  Excited to read more.