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Timothy Ryan was your average guy. He was funny and polite. People generally liked him when they noticed him. The problem was that didn’t happen often. For one thing, he was somewhat shy, for another he was about 70 lbs overweight. All throughout high school, he struggled with eating healthy and felt self conscious about going to the gym, making it difficult to change anything. Still he had his core group friends and he was relatively happy with that. Unfortunately for Timothy, going off to college would mean leaving those friends behind. His freshman year was a struggle. It’s not that people actively disliked him, they just didn’t notice him. It’s very difficult to be surrounded by thousands of people your age and feeling completely invisible. That’s when he decided things had to change. In the first 18 months of college, he practically reinvented himself. He started lifting weights, counting calories, jogging, and swimming. He lost 85 pounds, gained a six pack, and started introducing himself as Tim. He went from chubby to toned and suddenly people started noticing him. The people in his dorm asked him if he had just transferred at the beginning of his sophomore year even though he’d been living there for a year. He got invited to parties and guys started talking to him on grindr. Tim found he enjoyed the attention quite a bit. So he started posting pictures of himself shirtless on facebook. He got the usual likes and comments from his friends and crushes but he wanted more. So he got an instagram account and started posting pictures of himself. Yet, for someone hooked on attention, the process of racking up followers was painfully slow. That is, until he met Scott. He didn’t know Scott in person but when this gorgeous muscular hunk wanted to friend him and DM, Tim was quick to accept. They chatted quite a bit, exchanged pics and developed an online friendship to the point where Tim would tell him just about anything. “Fuck man, you’ve got hundreds of thousands of followers,” Tim messaged one day. “I wish I could have that.” “You don’t think 500 is enough?” Scott replied. Tim furrowed his brow. Obviously it wasn’t, but Scott looked like a sports model. As much as Tim liked showing off his new body, he felt he didn’t measure up to someone like Scott and he felt like that would never happen. “I just want everyone to notice me. I’ve gone my entire life being ignored and I guess I think it’s my time to shine.” “You’re pretty cute,” Scott said. “I’m sure you’ll get plenty of followers in time.” “Not fast enough,” said Tim. “Well… there is a way you can speed things up,” said Scott. “There’s a program that you can use on your pics to make them stand out more but you can only get it on the dark web, so I don’t know if it’s for you.” “What does it do?” Tim asked, instantly curious about anything that would help his stuff get likes. “It makes you more… noticeable,” said Scott. “It’s hard to explain. But if you’re interested I can show you how to get it.” Tim immediately agreed and Scott told him what he had to do. The websites he had to go to in order to find it were pretty sketchy and he couldn’t imagine all of the viruses he was risking but he was desperate. Once he had the program he opened it and a black box appeared. “Ok, now what do I do?” Tim asked. “Drag and drop a picture into it.” Scott replied. “Pick a good one, it only takes one.” Tim searched through his selfies and selected a locker room pic that made him look the most “swole”. Then he dragged it over to the black box. Suddenly the screen went blue and his computer crashed. “FUCK!” he shouted. He had nothing to worry about. Everything started back up without any trouble but the program he downloaded was gone. “Jesus that thing was probably a virus! Glad my computer got rid of it.” But he noticed a new picture file on his desktop. He opened it and it was the same locker room picture from before but with a little wink emoji in the corner. “Wait… that’s it? It’s the same stupid picture.” “Scott… what was that?” He DM’ed. “I went through all of that work, my computer crashed, and all that happened was it put an emoji on my picture. That’s so dumb.” “Just upload it.” Was Scott’s only reply. Tim thought for a minute and decided “Why not?” And it was done. Then he realized it was 2 am and he had class in the morning. So without even saying goodnight, he jacked off, closed his laptop, and went to bed. He felt like he’d only been asleep for five minutes when the alarm went off. Half asleep, threw on a pair of workout shorts, grabbed a towel and his toiletries and went out into the hall to the bathroom. He hopped into one of the showers, washed up, then wrapped the towel around his waist and started brushing his teeth without looking in the mirror. It was always fogged over in the morning. “Hey Timmy, been hitting the gym a little hard.” His friend John said slapping him on the shoulder. “Huh?” Tim said in a stupor. “Thanks man.” He continued brushing his teeth, a little more awake after the compliment when several other people came in and noticed he’d been working out too. This was bizarre. He saw these people every morning as he got ready. Maybe he looked extra pumped today. He wanted to know. Waiting until no one was around he whipped off his towel and used it to wipe off the mirror and gasped. His pecs were several inches bigger than they had been. His biceps were swollen too. He had gone from thin and athletic to almost beefy overnight. He stood there gaping at himself. Then he noticed his cock was an inch or two longer as well. “What the fuck...” “Hey Timmy, you mind wrapping up? You can stare at yourself in your room. I need the sink!” John said, stepping out from the shower. “I uh… yeah… sorry… I just… sorry man.” Tim said grabbing his things and wrapping the towel around his waist before heading back to his room. He skipped class that morning. As he looked through the pictures on his phone. He took selfies almost every day. How could he not have noticed how big he was getting? But when he looked at the pictures he’d taken of himself that week, none of them matched what he saw in the mirror. He stepped on the scale he kept in his room, it read 180 lbs. He’d gained 20 pounds over night. Then he noticed his Instagram was blowing up. Opening it, he saw that he’d gotten five hundred likes on that picture he had posted the night before and a bunch of new followers. Not only that, the picture now matched his current physique. The emoji had changed to a surprise face. “What the…?” Then he noticed the new message from Scott. “Morning. I see you tried out the new Instagram filter.” “What are you talking about?” Tim wrote back. “That program you downloaded,” said Scott. “It’s an Instagram filter that changes you instead of the picture. The more likes, comments and attention it gets, the more you change. The more you change, the more people notice you and the more attention you get. Then the picture is updated to reflect what you look like.” “But my computer deleted that program!” “Deleted it? You just downloaded it into your body.” “How is that even possible?” “Iunno, but look at yourself in a mirror and tell me it isn’t true.” Scott replied. “Jesus, WHAT DO I DO!?” Tim wrote. “Umm… enjoy it… jeeze you were just complaining about not getting any attention. Now you can get all kinds of attention. Also, didn’t you say you had an exam today, I think I’d be getting ready for that.” “Oh god… the exam...” Tim said out loud. He looked at the clock. He had 15 minutes to get to class before they shut the doors. He hunted around for clothes that would fit him properly. He had been accustomed to wearing tight fitting things before and none of those shirts would go past his shoulders. Eventually he settled on a pair of workout shorts and a button up that his mother had gotten him for Christmas. He had rarely worn it before because it fit somewhat loosely on it. But it fit his chest perfectly now. He ran across campus just in time to take his seat. The exam was 10 pages long and he tried to concentrate on his work but he kept thinking about what was happening to his body. Then, as he turned to page four of the exam his phone started to vibrate. What was going on. Suddenly his chest felt like it was getting tighter and he realized. The phone was giving him notifications that people were liking and commenting on his picture. Someone with a ton of followers must have shared it. The vibrations came in so continuously that they were beginning to disturb people nearby. But more disturbing for Tim was that his arms were beginning to get tight in his button up. His pecs started to stretch the shirt as his growing delts made it difficult to maneuver in. Tim unbuttoned his top buttons to relieve some of the strain but the phone kept vibrating away and his body continued to quietly swell right there in an auditorium filled with hundreds of students and he was sitting close to the front row. He felt an extreme tightness in his briefs. His nuts began to hurt as they strained against the tight fabric. His swelling bubble butt was stretching the seems. Tim was starting to question why he always had to go for that sexy tight underwear. Everything was getting skin tight. His pecs and back strained against his button down shirt. He tried to get up to leave but he heard a ripping sound when he moved causing him to freeze in terror as nervous sweat soaked into to every fabric and his phone continued to vibrate with a frenzy of instagram activity. Then he realized something to his horror. If he was getting more buff, the picture was getting more buff. More people were going to like it. Without warning a button popped from his shirt like a cork from a bottle of champagne. It pinged against the front podium causing the professor to look up to see what had made the noise. Tim tried to get up to leave but his thighs were larger than he remembered and getting out of the tight desk was difficult. The movements caused his shirt to give way into loud rips as more buttons went flying. The elastic snapped on his briefs inside of his gym shorts which were thankfully holding together but all eyes were on him as he made his way up the stairs and his chest burst through his shirt. He didn’t stop to see anyone’s reaction as he ran out of the room, down the hall, and out the door where he shed his shirt in a nearby trash can. As he made his way back to his dorm he felt the torn remnants of his briefs fall out from his gym shorts. He didn’t stop to pick them up even though people stopped and stared at what was happening. He had a body now that everybody noticed. He could no longer blend into the crowd. Suddenly he pulled up the picture on his phone. It had 10,000 likes and he had nearly double that number of followers. Scott had just shared the photo with all of his followers thirty minutes ago with comment, “Check out my hot friend” and the activity he was getting from it was insane. Then suddenly he realized there was a way to get this to stop. He deleted the photo from his account. The growth slowed just in time to keep his ass from ripping his gym shorts. No sooner had he done this then a voice broke his concentration. “Tim!? Tim Ryan?! Whoah dude I haven’t seen you six months. You’ve been busy.” Tim looked and say to his dismay two faces he knew, Zack and Rachael. Zack was a hot lacrosse player and Rachael was his best friend. They had been the only people in his dorm who made any effort to befriend him in his freshman year. Zack had been hopelessly out of his league but he appreciated the friendship. Still they were attractive, popular, and busy and when they moved into a house together with some friends Tim hadn’t seen them since. “Uhhh hey guys...” Tim said, blushing. “Ha! It IS you!” Rachael said. “Zack didn’t believe me!” “You’ve really changed man, congrats on all the progress you’ve made. That new diet and workout routine you started last year really paid off.” Zack said. Although as he said it Tim could see him looking at him in a new way. Zack was actually thirsty for him. “Just on a side note though…” Rachael said lowering her voice to be discrete. “You might want to wear underwear with those shorts.” Tim looked down at his bulge, he could see his fat 10’’ soft cock resting on a pair of lemon sized nuts as his junk pressed against the fabric. “Oh god...” he moaned to himself as he turned bright red. “Hey guys! I gotta run! Catch you around?” He said taking off without waiting for a reply. “Shoot me a text!” Zack shouted after him. He got back to his dorm, passing the RA in the hall. She just stared at his hulking mass, clearly not recognizing him. People who hadn’t seen him in months might believe he’d bulked up but the RA had just seen him that morning before all the changes. There was no way she would believe it was Tim. She was about to ask him who he was and who he was there to visit when he put his key card up to the door and walked in. Leaving her confused in the hall. He walked around his room and then sat down on the bed. How was he going to explain this to people. He could explain away 20 extra pounds but this? The gym shorts started to bother him so he pulled them off and gawked at his enormous junk. Even soft his dick was massive. He glanced over at the scale, did he dare weigh himself? A few minutes later he stood trembling before the scale. One foot after the other he stepped on it and was shocked, he weighed over 280 lbs. He’d gained 100 lbs in a few hours. He stood there stunned for a minute before he realized something. The number was flickering between 280 and 281. He stood there breathless as the scale popped up to 282 a minute later. He was still growing! In a flash he opened up instagram and messaged Scott. “I thought you said I’d only grow if people liked or interacted with that picture! I’ve deleted it! Why am I still growing?” “Don’t you know that nothing is ever deleted from the internet?” Scott replied. “People copied the photo off of instagram. Right now people are posting the photo on tumbler, using it to cat fish people, and so forth and so on. Go on, open the file on your desktop, it’s still growing.” Tim opened the file and sure enough the locker room pic was massive. Suddenly his cock started to throb. “Uh oh, looks like one of those fake accounts is taking off.” Scott replied as Tim’s cock began to grow and expand. Soon it was pressing up against his growing pecs. His balls had swollen to the size of grape fruits. Then came the knock at the door. The RA wanted to know what was going on. “SCOTT! The RA is here! How do I fix this? I can’t explain what’s happened! She’s going to think I’m someone else in the dorm and call the cops! I don’t even have any clothes that fit!” Scott’s only reply was “Grab a towel mate.” Tim grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist. He opened the door just a crack and poked his head out. “Yes?” “You clearly don’t live here, I need to know why you have one of our keys!” As she was talking, Tim’s cock was beginning to grow out from behind the towel but it was still shielded by the door. “I… uh...” He thought for a moment. “Wait… your face… you look just like Tim. Are you guys twins?” “Yeah… sorry for the confusion. I’m just here visiting but he’s in class right now. So he gave me his key.” He said, holding his 18’’ cock behind the door. His nuts looked like softballs dangling below it. “Wow you even sound like him. Well if you want to stay the night with him there are some forms you need to fill out.” Tim looked down at his unconcealable cock. There was no way she could come into the room. “Yeah that sounds great… I’m just changing at the moment, can we do this later today?” Said Tim. “Sure no problem. I’m in room 405. I’ll be there until 3.” She said leaving. He closed the door and dropped the towel. Measuring himself against the door frame he realized he was getting taller too. He looked at his discarded shorts on the bed. There is no way his expanding ass and enormous junk could fit into his workout shorts again. Then he had a thought. “That pic was taken in those gym shorts. What does it look like now?” He opened his laptop and the emoji had moved from the corner to cover his groin. It had grown and become a blushing face. The picture now appeared to be naked. He was now 6’ 5’’ and 350 lbs. “Scott help!” He typed frantically. “My life is falling apart here! I can’t go on as me if I keep changing like this!” “Do you really want my help?” Scott wrote back. “Yes of course!” Tim wrote back. “You know a lot of the ‘muscle morphs’ you see online are just guys like you who downloaded the program. I could give you a job and a place to stay just like I do for them.” “What?” Scott sent a link which lead to a porn site where everyone was impossibly massive. Many of them made Tim look skinny. There were guys with cocks so huge they were practically immobile. “People pay a lot of money to see guys like you fuck around with each other. Why not join us? You never have to wear clothes again and every day more people hand over their money just to look at you. All the attention you ever wanted.” “But… I can’t fuck in front of a camera!” Tim whined. “Trust me, with balls that massive you’ll be so horny that’s all you’ll ever want to do, no matter who’s watching… I just happen to have some guys out there in a van to pick you up. But you better decide fast. If you wait until that RA comes back you might be too big to get out of there. It’s your choice.”

The Orgone Accumulator - Prologue - "And how may I help you?" The voice of the psychoanalyst -- if that was the correct word -- was soft and assuring. The client reclined in the sofa, gazing into the ceiling. The client -- a young man, perhaps in his early twenties -- cleared his throat. He had left his rather modern, but not too modern, jacket on the back of the chair close to the desk, and he had loosened the knot of his narrow, modern tie in some synthetic fabric. Unlike the considerably older analyst, the client didn't wear any vest, as these were falling out of fashion: It was the goddamn 1960's after all. The crown of the analyst's head was bald, but a wreath of grey hair reached from his temples to the back of the bespectacled older man's head. "Do you mind if I smoke?" "If that helps you to talk more freely, you are free to do so." The young client rose, approached his woolen jacket, fumbled with a package of cigarettes and a Zippo, and returned to his reclining posture at the hard sofa, holding a burning cigarette between his fingers. Afternoon sunlight filtered into the office between the blinds. Absentmindedly, the young client checked the parting of his hair with his fingertips, as if he doubted the perfection of his conservative male hairdo. He glanced at his wristwatch. "Don't worry about time. I'll keep track of time." The analyst fell silent again, allowing the client the time needed to open up. The walls surrounding the sofa lacked any paintings or photographs, in order to allow the thoughts of the clients to wander -- unlike the other walls, which were covered by black-and-white photographs from the 40s and 50s and some old-fashioned artwork in art deco style. The client cleared his throat. His cheeks and ears became rosy. "I ... I ... There is something wrong with me, Doctor Witt. I seek your help, because ..." The client fell silent again. "Take your time, son. No hurry. Take deep breaths if that helps you." A fly emitted a buzzing sound somewhere behind the blinds. "Sometimes ... Sometimes, during high school I felt attracted to team members of the football team." The client blushed and fell silent. "What does it mean, Doctor Witt? Do you think, there's a medicine, that may help me?" "You left high school a few years ago, didn't you? Have you ever had any similar thoughts after that?" The client blushed again. "When I go to theatre. Movies about the Wild West. Something stir inside me. It's embarrassing. And when there was a re-run of The Wild One on TV." "Stir inside you?" "It's like ... It's like I want to be the hero ... But I also want to ... Um ... I also want to hug the hero. Or the anti-hero ... "Anti-hero" is a word, isn't it? This is unnatural isn't it, Doctor Witt? Is there a cure? Psychoanalysis is all about unrepressed healthy sexuality adapted to societal norms, isn't it?" "Before we continue this session, you have to know, that I don't follow the orthodox methods, as it were, of Doctor Sigmund Freud. My work, and the work of my associates, is mainly based on the methods of one of his disciples, Doctor Wilhelm Reich. In my experience, Reichian therapy is much more efficient." "I wouldn't know the difference. A friend talked me into consulting you, but he don't know about this ... this secret. I may not have got a college degree, but this office work pays the rent. I think, that I could afford your therapy, at least if it doesn't go on and on for years. Lots of people consult analysts today, don't they? I just want to be normal. To feel normal. I don't even know, what this feeling is supposed to mean: I can't be a fag, can I, Doc? Fags are all supposed to be girly and limp-wristed, aren't they? I don't ... I don't feel girly, and I don't feel anything for unmanly men, so what is all this supposed to mean? Isn't opposites supposed to attract? Is there a diagnosis, Doc?" "I will need some time to understand your condition. Why don't you keep one hour a week free for our therapy sessions, will you?" "I probably will." "And if you have the opportunity, I think, that spending a week or two at a treatment center I know of would have a beneficial effect on you." "Treatment center? Like a vacation?" "Something similar to a vacation, in sunny California, outside San Francisco." "Some sun wouldn't harm, would it?" At the time, none of the men would have presaged what was set into motion. The story continues in: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/18476-the-orgone-accumulator-part-one/

Hey, This story of mine is experimental. Im still learning english so forgive me If they are any wrong grammars and spelling. Please enjoy this short story I made on the whim. Calhoun has come online. Calhoun: yo bro, you wake? Bane has come online. Bane: what 'sup, its in the middle of the night, whats wrong? Calhoun: Im feelin sick tnight Bane: I can tell, youre literally reducing letters in your sentences. Calhoun: whatevs, havnt talked to my colleagues in a while, ever since this stupd business trip. Bane: you need something bro? I can book a flight and stay with you if you're feeling lonely. Calhoun: no thanks, want to be lone. Calhoun: god my skins burning. Bane: feeling hot? Calhoun: fuck ye I am, my workout has finally paid off Calhoun: I finally got my six pack that I was obsessing about, my beautiful biceps finally teared through all of my sleeved shrts, now I finally have a reason to buy tank tops. Im hot as a superman yo. Bane: guess you talk all you want. Calhoun: hm strange Bane: what Calhoun: im so shredded that my sleeves got teared through without even flexing these guns. My shirt feels tighter tonight. Bane: calhoun, what day is it Calhoun: too lazyyyy to check, but its full moon tnight. Bane: oh no Calhoun: oh my god holy fucking shit Bane: calhoun Calhoun: my fucking six pack suddenly Calhoun: oh fvuck it feels so goooood Calhoun: my six pack suddenly turned into an eight pack holy fucking shit this feels so amazing, I just saw it in my own eyes that my abs just grew big! Holy svhit Bane: Cal just calm down Calhoun: shit these abs feel like theyre rocks what the hell is happening to me Calhoun: bane my biceps! They grew big! They just grew suddenly big oh god it feels good! Calhoun: theyre tearing through my sleeves, theyre veiny big thick strong and theyre GORGEOUS Calhoun: somethings wrong with me but im flexing these guns bro Calhoun: im sleeveless beast with two big n strong biceps and an eight pack abs Calhou: bane why is there hair growing all over my body Bane: it'll all be over by sunrise cal, just Bane: bear it Calhoun: bane my body suddenly grew big, bane help me, my muscles Calhoun: bane they just wont stop growing big it suddenly feels painful Calhoun: bane what is happening to me, im becoming shredded like a muscle monster, muscles all over my body are tearin through my clothes Calhoun: bane I grew a furry tail Calhoun: my fac Bane: it'll all be over soon cal Calhoun: bane what are you sayn Calhoun: help me please im feelin sick Calhoun: im fckinh big now cant type vry well bigarms bigbicps Calhoun: bane my best friend Calhoun: help m ... Bane: calhoun I cant help you, please bear it until sunrise, my best friend I reslly want to help you but I really cant Calhoun: hello babe. Bane: oh god you again Calhoun: I feel fucking great, that transformation was smooth Bane: im going to bed Calhoun: no you're not, say my muscles feel denser, did little cally had a workout? Calhoun: say where am I, where the hell is this place. Bane: calhoun im going to bed im tired Calhoun: oh my little Bane, if you were a different person comparing me to that weak dumbass, your head may be long gone.... Calhoun: im BETTER that Calhoun, you know that right boyfriend? Bane: im not your boyfriend. Calhoun: aww dont be like that Calhoun: hey now! My bitch calhoun has actually been working out hard Calhoun: no fat on my skin at all, fuck yea Im a living muscle anatomy, you can see all the jacked af muscle under the skin Calhoun: im gonna do a howl, text me if you can hear my majestic howl! Bane: I wont, youre in an another state Calhoun: aww thats too bad Calhoun: man I really want to seduce the shit out of you. My wolf instincts are kicking in. Bane: calhoun, I beg of you, do NOT seduce any men there! Do not even the slightest bit of the R word! Calhoun: my name is NOT CALHOUN!! I am the monster under his own skin. Im better in every way, I got more muscle, and im cooler. Calhoun: oh I just cant wait to turn you into a beast like me, a majestic shredded as fuck werewolf. Bane: DO NOT EVEN GO THERE Bane: I will never EVER, become a muscle headed monster like you. Bane: you will never lay a single scratch on me Calhoun: aww babe youre cute when youre angry Calhoun: I took a selfie, Ill show you how being a werewolf will bring out the best inside every feeble humans. Calhoun sent a photo. Bane: I dont CARE about muscles, I am not gay like you. Calhoun: oh you should be if you wanna feel these rock hard babies Bane: besides you only come out twice a month Calhoun: not for long Bane: what Calhoun: I had a hunch Bane: a hunch? Calhoun: heheheh Calhoun: I found a way how to make this form permanent. Bane: WHAT? Calhoun: HAHAHA Calhoun: you will never see scrawny Calhoun ever again. Ya know, if you didnt cling to calhoun too much and didnt built up my jealousy. This conclusion may never happen. Bane: dont do this! It isnt fair! Calhoun: it PAINS me that I get to only see my boyfriend only twice, TWICE A WEEK BANE Calhoun: even if bitch Calhoun still controls this body on non full moons, every thing he does, every single word, action, vision, every thought he makes. I can see ALL OF IT! Calhoun: Calhoun plans a trip with you to Japan and have, guess what, some FUN TIMES AND SHIT Calhoun: NO BANE Calhoun: my LIFE ISNT FAIR, MY ENTIRE EXISTENCE IS NOT FAIR. Calhoun: Its not fair that you two get to spend more time together while a monster like me sits in his own subconsious waiting for the next full moon to take over Calhoun: seeing you two having some fun under the sun. Bane: calhoun, please, listen to me, dont do this please, we Bane: we can work this out Calhoun: do you had the power to allow us to transform into a werewolf at will? Calhoun: no you cant, all I want is to spend time with you, lots of time Calhoun: a whole night isnt enough Calhoun: this whole room is an eyesore, maybe because it owns by bitch calhoun Calhoun: im gonna trash this shitty palace and break this phone, im going back home to you after the ritual is complete Bane: ritual?? Calhoun: last full moon, I was absent most of that night, right bane? Bane: yes? Calhoun: I encountered a witch doctor, he was a werewolf too, a werewolf witch doctor which is cool Calhoun: he taught me how to "perfect" the werewolfism Calhoun: not only it will make me ten times stronger and sexier Calhoun: Itll also make it permanent, though the ritual is not easy so I never bothered to do it Calhoun: not until this very predicament where I finally crossed a line Bane: calhoun please Calhoun: calhoun will be gone soon, itll be his turn to be stuck in the subconscious shit hole. Calhoun: say your prayers bane, because tomorrow, ill have my puppy soon. Bane: calhoun please dont do this Calhoun: if you dont like me then maybe your WOLF SIDE will... Bane: please! Calhoun: see you tomorrow my soon-to-be pet/boyfriend werewolf. Heheheheh Calhoun has abruptly disconnected. "SHIT, I have to find him ASAP!!"

Hey all, this is the first story I've actually bothered to see finished in a long time. It's been difficult writing, lately, and I don't expect this to be as well-received as some of my previous stories. But, I'm just happy to have finally finished something! So, let me know what you think. I hope it's at least somewhat enjoyable. OH! Also, this is a college story. No one is under 18. And of course it's entirely fictional, based on no real person or place. _______________________________________________________ He stood in front of us, visibly upset, breathing heavily, his chest and shoulders rising with his deep breaths. "You all think you're so smart, huh?" he said, the venom clear in his voice. "Well, maybe one day you'll see that not everyone is born to be your victim. Not everyone will take your shit lying down." "Dude, calm down, it was a joke," one of my friends said. And it really was just a joke, at his expense, of course, but a joke nevertheless. They... or I should say technically we just made fun of his thin size. Oh and we made several comments about him having a small dick. He really did have a small dick, though. Several of us had seen him naked in the shower. But this is what dudes do! We make fun of each other, give each other shit. We did to him nothing that we haven't done to each other. I was honestly confused why he was taking it so personally. Maybe he was far more insecure than he let on? "It's only a--ughh--joke if what you're saying isn't--rnnngg--true!" He had his hands clenched into fists, arms arched a bit, still breathing heavily. "But you know what? You'll see I'm a grower not a shower. Watch this." And then, to our uncomfortable horror, he put his hand on his crotch and began rubbing it. I say "horror," when really it was just one of those really weird and awkward situations where you have no clue what to do with yourself. Do you respond? Try to diffuse the situation? Look away? Walk away? My own mind was a tangled mess of nothingness. I felt the urge to look away but my eyes remained fixed on him, particularly his crotch where we could all see him rubbing himself with an intensity we're all surely familiar with. I mean, we all jerk off, no doubt. But here he was doing it in front of us. "Dude we've seen you hard, too. You're not that big then either so--" "Sam, dude, shut the fuck up!" I snapped. Apparently he was too dense to realize this wasn't a time to be an asshole. "Let him talk shit, it's okay. Mmmmyeahhhh..." I looked back at him and his crotch had a definite tent there. He was wrapping his hand around it and squeezing and rubbing it, and he looked like he was enjoying it. I felt myself starting to get a little hard, too. "Ready? Mmmm yeah... Watch." I noticed that none of us had turned away, averted our eyes, or anything. As uncomfortable of a situation this was, it seemed that we were all more curious about what he was trying to prove than anything else. But I'll admit I was enjoying watching him jerk off, even though he was still fully clothed. Something about it was enticing. I suddenly wondered, though... what was it that made him get hard? It almost seemed as though he willed it to happen. But then he took his hand away from his crotch and just stood there, eyes closed, head tilted back a little. He had a little grin on his face, and I suppose he truly was enjoying this, whatever it was. But then I looked back at his crotch, and his tent was super prominent. There was no mistaking he was hard. Wait... yeah, he was definitely clearly hard, but... why was I able to tell that? We all were a bunch of douchebags and pointed out how small he was. We've seen his hard dick. It would barely create a bump in his shorts. Now it's a prominent tent. "I see Jake's figured out what's happening," he said, thrusting his chin at me. "Uhhh..." I gulped. "We're... mere seconds away from seeing indecent exposure?" I tried to say it sarcastically, but I suddenly realized I was super nervous. Why was I nervous? I really ought to be repulsed by watching a dude make himself get a boner and partially jerk himself off. He flexed his dick and I couldn't believe what I saw. The tent bulged out farther. I heard some of the other guys gasp and a single "What the fuck..." Now I definitely was nervous. "Ohhhh yeah..." he moaned slightly, his hand moving toward his tent. But then he jerked it away, as though he's trying to restrain his impulse to touch himself. I guess we all know, as dudes, how it is, to want to jerk off when you're hard. "Fuck yes!" he suddenly cried. "It's happening! Are you guys watching?" We were all definitely watching. I think at first we were all sort of annoyed with his seemingly whiny outburst, but now we can all see there's a lot more to this than just whining. I think he may have wanted any excuse to do this, to be honest. "Mmmmm fuck," he moaned again, and we all watched the tent push out farther, and I heard a slight groan. It was his fucking shorts! His tent had grown so much, he was finally straining the front of his shorts! "Here we go... Unnnghhhh!" He clenched his fists, and... "POP!" A large, thick cock popped out of the front of his shorts. At first only the head was visible, but the cloth of the shorts receded and his dick became more and more exposed. He was pretty fucking big, now. He took his hand and pulled at the front of his shorts so more of his dick would be visible. He flexed it again, and yes, it grew even bigger, right before our eyes. "FUCK yes! Still think I'm tiny now?" And even as he said those words, his cock was ever so slightly still growing, and I realized I was staring at it intently. Protruding from the front of his shorts was his hard, throbbing, growing bigger dick. What the hell was happening? No one responded to his question. Did he actually want an answer? "Well?" I guess he did. "N-no, you're not t-tiny," I managed to squeak out. Why did I answer? Why? "What's with the stuttering?" he grinned. "I wouldn't think such a weak, small-dicked 'baby' would make you nervous, Jake." I cringed. He was using my own words. I'd actually called him that one time. It was forever ago, and he remembered. "I'm not... n-nervous..." I couldn't stop stuttering. But why was I nervous? I mean, yeah, this is very off-putting. But he just proved he's definitely a grower. So what if he has a bigger dick than we all thought? He probably took some Viagra and just had to prove us all wrong about his dick. He was still a skinny, weak dude. He simply laughed. "Well, whatever dude, I don't care." He looked down at his own dick for a few moments and flexed it again, and it bounced a bit and grew some more. FUCK! "Ohhhh yeah, it's coming. Are you watching? I can feel it." Some of us looked at each other, and I'm guessing we all were thinking 'what the fuck does he mean?' He wasn't about to cum, was he? He reached his hands down and started to stroke his big throbbing veiny dick. Yes, he needed both hands to cover it. He was lovingly rubbing his dick, back and forward his hands went, slowly. "Unnngghhh" he moaned. His movements were hypnotic, and I couldn't avert my eyes as I watched a dude jerk himself off. I suddenly realized I was harder than steel, myself. "It's happening. Ohhh yeahhhhhh..." he closed his eyes, moaning, and we all finally saw what he meant. What was happening. His entire body was growing. At first I thought I was imagining it, or maybe he was rising up on his toes, but he was definitely getting taller. Slowly but surely. His hands never stopped moving, and he continued growing taller, and he'd grown maybe three or four inches in height before I realized something else. His chest had begun to push out. "Holy sh--" I involuntarily spoke in a hushed voice, stopping myself just before getting the entire word out, not that it mattered since there was no hiding what was going to be said. "Yeah, just watch," he said. His arms had some veins snaking around them now, and I could see his forearms thickening, too. He was growing muscles! FUCK! How was this happening? My dick throbbed in my shorts, and I was immediately brought to realization that I was genuinely enjoying the show. Still growing taller, his arms thickening, his chest pushing out, I also noticed his calves were bulging, too. And his dick was still growing! His shoulders had begun to broaden as well, and I suddenly realized his shirts was getting tighter and tighter, and it was at this point I finally noticed his biceps. They were wrapped in the cloth of his t-shirt, when before the sleeves were loose with plenty of space to spare. "Fuck yeah, keep--unghh--watching..." he said, as he continued to stroke himself, his hands wrapped tightly around his throbbing rod. I watched as those sleeves got tighter and tighter, his arms growing with each stroke of his now huge dick. His traps were rising up, too, and soon that shirt was painted on his body, and he looked like he practically lived in the campus gym. "Oh fuck, fuck... fuck..." his stroking was becoming more rapid, speeding up, and so was his growth. It was like the faster he stroked his dick, the faster he grew. I glanced down and saw his calves were now fucking enormous, bulging out, making it clear he never skipped leg day. Wait, can I even say that? But then more groaning sounds came from his shorts, and I realized his quads and hamstrings had been growing, too. His shorts were tightly wrapped around his muscled legs, and thanks to his new height, we could even see the heads of his quads right above his knees. "Here it--unghh gunnnghhh-- oh it's coming!" His stroking was fevered and wild now, full-on jerking off. His shirt was so tight I couldn't believe it was still holding on. "It's coming!! I'M CUMING!" And he did cum. Oh did he cum. We could literally hear the first burst of cum shoot from his huge dick. It hit my friend David right in the face. "RIIIIIIIIIP!" His shirt finally tore down the middle, his heaving pecs protruding from the tattered cloth, and his biceps ripped the sleeves, a rend going all the way up to his cannon-ball shoulders. "POP! POP!" His legs exploded out of his shorts, each leg ripping up to his belt. More cum was still shooting from his dick, his muscles throbbing as he shot each blast of cum. He was deliberately aiming for us with his cum, hitting not just David before, but two of my other friends as well. Actually, he somehow missed me entirely, but got everyone else. And then his dick was simply dribbling cum, still very hard, though. Cum was dripping down his shaft, onto the hand still holding his dick, and dripping onto the grass. "You like that? HUH?!" He had a wild, somewhat evil grin on his face. "Who's fucking small and weak, now?!" His free hand not holding his dick rose into the air and flexed into a mind-shattering bicep peak, his shirt ripping further, all the way up to his collar until "SNAP!" it too ripped off, leaving the entire one side of his shirt to fall into tattered cloth dangling from what was left on the other side. And then came his other arm, finally releasing his dick, still semi-hard and staying aloft on its own, rising into the air and flexing into yet another huge bicep peak, destroying what was left of his sleeves on that side. His entire shirt fell, revealing what none of us could see to this point. A perfect set of 8-pack abs. Clenching and unclenching with his breaths, washboard enough to actually literally wash clothes on. "WHO'S FUCKING SMALL AND WEAK NOW?!" he asked again, and I guess he was looking for a real answer. It wasn't until now that I finally realized he was towering over us, too. He had a good foot of height over me, at least, and I know I was taller than most of my other friends. He was sure as fuck stronger than any one of us, now, too. Probably stronger than all of us put together. He started to walk towards us, his still semi-hard dick bouncing with his steps, and with each step, more small rips could be heard from his shorts as they struggled to hold on. "What? Y'ALL SUDDENLY GOT NOTHING TO SAY?!" "W-w-we are...?" David actually managed to respond, and I saw he was literally shaking. Was I shaking, too? I couldn't even find my own thoughts, much less feel my own body. "IS THAT A FUCKING QUESTION?!" He reached down and picked David up by the front of his shirt and tossed him across the grass a good ten to fifteen feet. David quickly scrambled to his feet and ran, clearly not caring in what direction since his dorm was in another direction. "GET. THE FUCK. OUT. OF HERE!!" he shouted to the rest of us, and I didn't need to be told twice. I was somehow surprised I'd managed to stick around this long. "OHHhh no, where the fuck do you think you're going?!" he half shouted, grabbing me by the front of my shirt and lifting me off the ground like David, his bulging biceps flexing into gigantic relief from his massive arm. I closed my eyes, bracing myself, prepared to be tossed away. "You're fucking retarded, you know that?" he said, still holding me in the air. I opened an eye, only one eye, and saw his scowling face looking up into mine. Was this another question he wanted answered? How could I fucking know? "Such an asshole," he continued, "Can't see what's in front of you. I've been in love with you for ages now, and you're so concerned with keeping appearances you've never let yourself realize you're fucking gay." He reached out with his other hand and grabbed my crotch which was, yes, still hard, and leaking, too, apparently. "So now what do I do with you?" he asked. I honestly had no clue how to answer that question, even if I could muster the strength to.

Mommy Muscle Growth Episode One - “Power Corrupts” Part 1 ***************************** Authors Note: for all the “geektofreek” fans out there. an attempt at a FMG version. ***************************** My best friend, Brian, called me before the big game. “Getting stoned with everyone... Where you at, bud?” He asked repeatedly. But even I couldn’t tell him what was going on that night. “Yeah, dude. I’ll be leaving in a few minutes.” I lied with a small gulp. Because you see the real truth was, I had already made much bigger plans that night... “Oh god, Mom... it’s 18 inches!” Weeping with utter amazement as I feasted upon, what must have been, one of the worlds biggest female biceps. “Ohh yeah!” Mom, groaned with excitement. With a cute giggle I might add. Pumping up and down this entirely massive bowling ball of womanly strength. Right up against the measuring tape. Right up against my own shrinking two hands. “It feels like I’m still growing too!” She exclaimed. Having curiously consumed over half of Dads muscle growth pills last night. Making us both take pause to watch her peaking arm muscle rumble even bigger with each flex. “18.1... 18.2... 18.3...” Mom, announced out loud. Pumping both her arms over and over and over. Not stopping until they reached 18.5 inces! “Jesus, Mom! Pretty soon you’ll be just as big as, Dad!” I just had to say it. Making a lightbulb go off in her head from the look of things. “Oh god, could you just imagine it...” Mom, said lustfully. Looking down at her already massive mommy physique with a smirk. The idea was crazy, unthinkable. I mean, Dad, really was this big muscle guy. With these colossal 23-inch arms. 30-inch thighs. The biggest door wide backside you could ever conceive on a man. Yet that still didn’t want to seem to stop her. “The growth would have to be tremendous...” As, Mom, giggled a bit. Shamelessly fantasizing. Almost as if I wasn’t even there. “More muscle then ever before achieved by another woman...” She continued. Feeling up her two blimp-sized power breast. The fat diamond cut muscle-nips. Playfully lifting up her shirt up. Making my drop my jaw drop to the floor. As she rubbed her pretty pink painted nails all over these silky smooth monster looking abs. A full fucking 12-pack! With this deep cut v-line. “Not just bigger then all the woman, but MOST of the MEN too!” She still continued. So unbelievably power drunk. “I had no idea you wanted to be SO BIG, Mom!” The whole situation made me gasp for breath. “Well of course...” Mom giggled a bit. “What girl doesn’t want to be Queen!?” She, said with a lustful groan. Eventually reaching down to the bottom of her ready-to-burst gym shorts. Peeling them up chiseled layers of strength like some slow strip tease. Devilishly chuckling as she revealed the most massive mommy muscle thighs on the planet. “A muscle queen?” I weeped under my breath. Making my knees just tremble and shake. *RIIPPP* *RIIIPPPPPPPP* And then that’s when the unthinkable began to happen. “Oh god, Mom... Your clothes...” ****************************** LMK what you guys think of Part 1 by commenting below. Hope you enjoyed.

Hey, just a set up part, no real action yet, that's to come! We all had a dream when we were younger right? We all wanted that one thing we wanted to be or to see or to do? When we were younger it was my brothers dream to be a scientist, he is now doing a scholarship in science at university. When I was at school my mates wanted to be professional football players and play for the big teams like Man Utd etc. Mmmmmm seeing there fit toned bodies running round getting sweaty in tight kit is all that filled my mind back then and still does 8 yrs later! Sadly non of them made it professionally but still play in local leagues so the eye candy is still there for me to see. Ok, I’m digressing slightly here, no, seeing them naked and sweaty was not my dream, although it would be nice! Look I’m off again, right pull yourself together Mike! I’ve not mentioned my dream yet, mine is quite different from my mates and brother, both of which are generic everyday childhood dreams, mine? Well, let’s just say I’m yet to live that dream because it requires me to go somewhere I would never have thought I would ever tread....... the Gym! The dream? Well let me flesh out the details....... I’m one of those gays who hate the gym but love the sight of huge muscle all pumped to buggery and i like many other things that branch off from that tree, strength, masculinity etc. But one of the more obscure branches I wandered across came from reading a fiction story about a 18yr old guy who was beaten to within an inch of his life just for laughs, ending any chance of him being a sports star. He got quite a substantial amount of money from the court hearings, which was used to buy the most cutting edge steroids on the market. Hired top coaches, in the space of 4 month he went from a lowly 100lb to a staggering 440lb , 28in arms, 70in chest, 50in thighs. This guy could squat 1000lb for fun, such was his strength and size. He went on a revenge mission and slaughtered the 6 guys who nearly killed him, caving one guys face in itself with just 2 punches and using his pecs to crush another guys skull, FUCK I’m as hard now as I was then! And that’s when my dream was born, not so much the revenge stuff but being freaky huge and immensely strong with it. But, as mentioned this requires me to join a gym, which I have signed up for and have a taster session with one of the personal trainers later today. Too say I’m bricking it is a understatement, I am nervous as hell, my gym knowledge is next to 0 so this guy is gonna have his work cut out! Hmmm, just thought, I’ve not really introduced myself properly, all you have on me so far is I’m a raging muscle queen who loves big muscle and enjoys seeing his fit mates running round getting sweaty! Paint a portrait from that if you can hahahahahaha! Incase you can't, then hello I’m Mike, I’m 22 and live in northern England by myself in a flat! I have a 9-5 office job, no boyfriend. Really selling it arent I? I’m not fit but I’m not unfit, I’m in that middle ground where I jog every now n then and the odd kick about with my mates on a Wednesday night, so not a couch potato more a runner bean! It’s not long till I leave for the gym, I’m getting myself mentally prepared as best I can! No staring at the totty, no bulge watch or bubble butt watch, concentrate on what the (undoubtedly fit) PT has to tell you! Beep beep, beep beep. Oh that’s my message tone let’s have a look: “ hi Mike, its Luke, I’m the guy who’s going to be showing you around the gym later, can you bring with you a list of the foods you eat and any activities that you do please, just so I have a rough idea of your daily routine etc, I’ll meet you in the cafe area, look forward to meeting you.” Ahh that’s nice of him to get in touch, I’ll send a reply.......... Done. Right, the list wont be too hard, I’m not a crap eater, but dont eat to the levels and healthiness that will no doubt be required if I want to fulfill my dream. Activities is easy just jogging and football, right so list is done, I suppose I better eat something before I leave eh, what do I have in, hmmm uncle Ben’s microwave rice, cooked chicken and a egg. Not too shabby I suppose. Mmmm that was delicious if I say so myself, right, tshirt on, shorts on, list in hand, let’s go to my first ever gym session, wish me luck! I approach the gym entrance like a student in trouble approaching the headmasters office, fear and trepidation! What fate wait before me through those doors! I’m slightly early, I walk into the reception area, it’s very quiet, it feels like the deep breath before the plunge. I tell the receptionist about my 2pm trail, she tells me to take a seat and Luke wont be long. And long i did not have to wait, striding towards the table was a guy who has a penchant for tight fitting clothing, a fine fine specimen of a man he was, the adorable face, the short fade cut brown hair, the body, my God the body! Not quite fiction guy size but, he was built! My eyes were still taking in this bull of a man when he finally got to the table, he extended his left meaty arm and offered a handshake, my hand went up as quick as my erection, fast! He grapsed my hand, yikes , quite a hand shake! ( crush my bones mmmmmm) “ hi you must be Mike? “ He let go, my poor hand! “ yeah, hi Luke, how are you.?” (“ I’m pumped to huge magnificence for your viewing pleasure! ) Behave Mike! That smile!!! “ I’m very well thanks Mike, well shall we get going, we'll talk about your goals and aspirations first and then I’ll show you the equipment and machines.” Considering what I’ve said earlier, I think I’m gonna enjoy this........

Chapter 1 is found here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/18685-descent-into-growth-part-1/ Descent into growth Part 2 You reclined on the training bench, sweating profusely and pushing the dumbbells above you in a dumbbell press exercise. You weren't devoted to the gym the way Nate was, or even the way Mr. Vanderwesthuisen obviously was, but since your move to Mr. Vanderwesthuisen's island you had returned to your hobby from university days, exercising at least two times a week – three times some weeks. Anger boiled inside you: A wave of heat causing your body to shudder, and you let it out through the exercise, pressing the dumbbells upwards, controlling their weight on their way down. You were the one responsible for research. You were the one responsible for the health and safety of Nate. You were the one responsible for the health and safety of everyone at the compound if the lab equipment ever malfunctioned. But Mr. Vanderwesthuisen had been tampering with the Lab in subtle ways, and less subtle, without consulting you. The interior lighting inside the Test Chamber was a minor matter, and rather childish, but when Mr. Vanderwesthuisen's engineers visited the Lab, and installed the unknown equipment, you had had an argument with your employer. "You are not the only expert I have employed, Doc. You don't need to know his name, but an expert in subliminals has designed this sound equipment and the program attached. It can't hurt, to program the test subject's mind just as his body." "I would prefer to keep each of these experiments separate. This opens up for unexpected consequences." "And I prefer to keep these experiments together. Remember who you are talking to. I appreciate your knowledge and your work, but it is my money and my project. I can't wait to see what will happen to young Nate." And then there was the recruitment of little Rob. You had mentioned the need for a lab assistant, but you had expected to interview the candidates and pick the most suitable one. Mr. Vanderwesthuisen had other ideas: One day little Rob was suddenly there, picked by Mr. Vanderwesthuisen, and there wasn't anything you could do to change that fact. You could feel your anger abate, or rather transmute into control of the weights ... transmute into blood rushing to your chest muscles, making them hard – The Pecs as Nate used to say. In control of the weights. The weights causing your chest to work. The exercise caused anger to be replaced by serenity and the feeling of being bodily present. Present. At peace. * * * It would have been unwise to take your frustration out on little Rob. Whatever he lacked in experience, your lab assistant compensated in kindness and helpfulness. Rob was just out of university after a Bachelor in biochemistry (You would have preferred someone with a Masters or a Doctorate), so he was very young. There was a hint of pudginess under Rob's t-shirt, but he lacked the stoutness that sometimes came with pudginess: His arms were scrawny, and his shoulders were narrow. Kindness shone in his blue eyes, and his platinum blond hair was styled in some modern manner. "We will use blood samples from normal men for comparison, and the test subject's blood samples will be tested regularly before, during and after each stage of the project." "Normal men?" "In order to keep it simple, we could take blood samples of each other once a week, and put them in this refrigerator. It could also be a good safety precaution, in case the equipment would begin to leak power or radiation, which it shouldn't." "That would be dangerous, wouldn't it?" "Not in small amounts, but it would be dangerous to expose unprepared organisms to higher amounts. Without the serum, an organism would react unpredictably to the treatment." "Would the serum be enough to cause a change?" "The serum alone would cause someone dedicated to physical exercise to increase the outcome of his exercise over the time of 6-12 months, but the idea is, to combine the serum, the DNA-altering virus, the morphogenetic fields, the anabolic radiation and the hypertrophic power. And the gas, of course." "The gas?" "In the past, test subjects had to float in a certain solution, but there were complications because of that, and – I think – two cases of drowning. The illegal equipment, that circulates under the radar, doesn't fill the chamber with anything at all, and that might be one of the reasons why the illegal equipment backfires so often. By filling the chamber with a mix of oxygen and a hormone-stimulating gas, we will give the hypertrophic power a medium through which to transmit to the test subject, but we have removed the risk of drowning. Anabolic radiation doesn't need any medium, of course." Nate entered the Lab. "Oh, Nate. The day before the big experiment! How do you feel?" "Good. I have recovered from that virus you pumped into me a few days ago. I'm eating again. Couldn't stomach anything while I lay sick." "Yes, I'm sorry for that, but the virus is the carrier of the enhanced DNA. From now on, your DNA will be engineered to produce more muscles and higher levels of hormones." "I feel hornier than usual. Is that normal?" "You probably produce higher levels of testosterone now. We'll see. Time for your blood sample, again." Little Rob took several test tubes of blood from Nate. "One of these samples will be used in order to produce a highly customised version of the serum, uniquely tailored to your individual DNA. We do it in the machine over there." You waved in the direction of a workbench with equipment. "Nervous?" Nates brown eyes didn't look nervous. Rather, they sparked of enthusiasm. "I wouldn't call it nervous. I trust your work, Doc. Your work and Rob, here. And Mr. Vanderwesthuisen. But I look forward to it. When Mr. Vanderwesthuisen first told me about the possibilities ... I couldn't believe it was true. I'm good at MMA in my own weight-class, but I always felt too small. If I could become bigger, perhaps taller, I could take up Strongman competitions instead. I ... I look forward to the big experiment." You noticed how little Rob's glance moved to Nate's tracksuit bottoms. The talk about the experiment obviously caused Nate to tent inside the tracksuit. * * * Part 3 is found: here.

Descent into growth Part 1 You lifted the receiver from the old-fashioned stationary telephone. Not all equipment on the island had been updated. Your legs were shaky after the flu, and you felt exhausted. You dialled 112. Silence. "Hello? Anyone there? Can anyone hear me?" You felt a BIG warm presence behind you, and a BIG powerful hand pulled the receiver out of your hand, restoring it to its place, while a deep voice – a both pleasantly and threateningly deep voice – growled behind you: "What did I say about contacting authorities? Remember, I pay your rent, but don't worry: Welcome back from the sickbed. You are needed in the Lab." You turned around. It was him, and he was bigger now. * * * It had been a bad time for you and your colleagues specialising in the field of research about anabolic radiation, hypertrophic power, alteration of DNA and related areas. Although the unfinished versions of the treatments had been put to good use by international armed forces in repulsing the space invasion a few years ago, in peacetime the governments of the world had found the process "unreliable, potentially dangerous and in breach of ethical standards", as one of the official reports put it. A series of hushed-down, unfortunate (and, in some cases, horrifying) accidents had dotted any attempts to re-activate research in the field. Not even the potential of improving the conditions of patients suffering from muscular dystrophy could convince the international consensus, that research ought to be re-activated in a careful and benevolent way. You had got your degree, you had got an area of expertise, but you had not got any lasting employment within your field. When Mr. Vanderwesthuisen contacted you, it had seemed like a godsend. "I've heard, that you are knowledgeable in a rare interdisciplinary field, combining physics and medicine, is that correct?" The man was affluent, and seemed to expect his coworkers to obey him. That will always have a certain effect on a man's behaviour and charisma. It would have been difficult to say no to Mr. Vanderwesthuisen, but since he offered you money and a legal way to undertake what you liked to do – research – you had no reasons to contravene him. One week later, you found yourself in luxurious living quarters at a private island outside the territorial waters of any sovereign country. Under your supervision, a very expensive lab-equipment was assembled, but all the tedious business with the – not entirely legal – acquisition of the components and biochemicals involved was taken care of by your new employer. Mr. Vanderwesthuisen visited you once a month, in order to follow your experiments. * * * After sixteen months, you were ready to switch from lab animals to human test-subjects, but just barely. The dining room was as luxurious as the rest of the complex. The air conditioner worked hard to keep the indoors climate refreshing, and, by the look of Mr. Vanderwesthuisen's and the newcomer's tan, it seemed like they had spent their first hours on the island outdoors on the beach. You were an ill-matched trio: Mr. Vanderwesthuisen was wearing an expensive suit and tie. You were in a habit of dressing formally when needed, but dressing down at your leisure time. The newcomer seemed to be considerably younger than Mr. Vanderwesthuisen, probably between the age of 20 and 30, and he was wearing trainers, Adidas tracksuit bottoms and a tight elastic t-shirt with the logo of Under Armour. He had kept his cap on his head, the peak turned backwards, but this ostentatious disregard of table manners didn't seem to disturb your employer at all. "Doc, meet Nate. Nate, this is Doc. I expect both of you to help each other's talents to blossom." You shook Nate's hand, and, although he was shorter than you, his firm handshake caused you some pain. Nate was short, but very wiry. His Under Armour-shirt revealed the outline of his chest and abdomen. With a commanding gesture, Mr. Vanderwesthuisen invited you to the table. The three of you took your seats. "As you will probably hear from himself soon, Nate is practicing Mixed Martial Arts, but decided to join our little project. Doc is an expert on the lamentably suppressed research on hypertrophic power. I pay him to not suppress it anymore." Nate's face shone up in youthful enthusiasm and curiosity: "Is it true what they say, that science actually know how to grow men's muscles into Hulk-size?" "I wouldn't compare reality to fiction ...", you began, but Nate continued his trail of thought: "Have you heard the rumours, that some criminals, bodybuilders and strongmen have got their hands on secret equipment, that turned them MASSIVE? Is it true?" You turned your head to face Mr. Vanderwesthuisen: "What am I allowed to say?" Mr. Vanderwesthuisen smiled inscrutably, swallowed a forkful of fish, and answered: "You asked for a human test subject. Nate hasn't formally signed any contract, yet, but he has been very enthusiastic about the possibilities. Tell him everything you deem suitable." That was fast. You had briefly mentioned human test-subjects to you employer, but, for the sake of safety, you would take your time, until the time was ripe. "Well, ehr, Nate, do you mind if I call you Nate? Illegal beta-test equipment from an earlier stage of research is circulating. That sort of equipment is unreliable, and has caused unpredictable results like death, deformity or insanity among some of those who dared to try it out. Some did grow: You might have heard exaggerated accounts about those who were lucky. There is a reason, why the research was put to a halt. The equipment I use has been adjusted, and it is built from tested high-quality components. Our Lab only use lab-grade high-quality chemicals, so most of the dangers have been minimized. We will probably be ready to begin experiments on you within a month." Mr. Vanderwesthuisen's face changed expression: "I was under the assumption, that we could begin earlier than that?" "Well, there are some safety precautions ..." He cut you in the middle of your sentence: "Nonsense. I have read your reports. The equipment is ready. You are ready. Nate is surely ready, aren't you, Nate?" Nate's cheeks were blushing for some reason: "To hulk out? Yeah, I'm ready to hulk out, Mr. Vanderwesthuisen, just as you told me. Promise me, that you will cause me to hulk out, Doc!" * * * Part 2 is found here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/18694-descent-into-growth-part-2/

Teddy Meets the Symbiote Author Note: This is a quick nerd to jock story, where a young guy accidentally bonds with the symbiote. He fights it at first, until his mind turns to relish the symbiote as he gains its strength and powers. I wanted to focus just on the TF for this story, so I didn't include the aftermath. If anyone wants to write a sequel or anything, just DM me. I can move it to the continuous stories or collaborate on a sequel. Every Friday I had to do PE. It was the worst class of my whole schedule, it was two hours of stretching, running, then playing some lame sport that I sucked at. I tried to get out of it because I was so nonathletic. But the school wouldn't let me. Even though I tried to play a couple of sports and even did an summer camp, I was never any good at them. I didn't dare try football, those guys were monsters and they would have pummeled me for sure. That was the other problem with PE, and with my high school in general: the jocks were total show-offs, they wanted everyone to know just how awesome, athletic, and aggressive they were. They relished in their success as athletes and formed such tight cliques that they were only friends with other jocks. The football players were the worst. Not only were they stupidly proud and vain, but they were also the toughest bullies. The school even facilitated their meanness by not punishing them! The guys had won state championships for the past ten years, parents and fans were way more interested in them getting their way and winning than standing up for losers like me. Maybe that's why I always considered myself a loser. If I wasn't in the in crowd then I guess I was just a nerd whose role it was to be a punching bag for the football jocks. About half of my class was football jocks, another quarter jocks from other sports, but primarily wrestling and baseball, and the last quarter were those of us who were outsiders. But I was by far the worst of the group. Today was basketball day, the only thing I was good at was getting tripped over by the bullies. Josh and Jeremy were two offensive linemen in the football team who were usually knocking me down. "Watch it, Teddy!" Jeremy would say as he brushed past me. My buddy Sam pulled me up by the forearm and gave me an encouraging push to keep playing. We both knew it was almost over. The football quarterback, Derek, landed another dunk as his buddies congratulated them. The only reason our team won today was because I had Derek on my team. I was picked last of course, but since he happened to be on my team this week, he won. Coach blew his whistle and we all gathered around. "Alright men, that's enough for today. If you're man enough to clean up, hit the showers. Those who are panseies and too afraid to get naked can jog laps for ten minutes." Only the jocks hit the showers. The rest of us probably could have and would have been man enough to do it, but every time one of us tried, we got bullied in the showers. Last time that Sam tried it the bullies stole his towel and locked his locker until he did twenty naked pushups with all the jocks laughing at him and weighing him down with his feet. When we tried to complain to coach, he said it wasn't true. "See ya later, ladies," Jeremy said as he walked toward the locker room. The rest of us standing there like losers as we watched the jocks start to strip even in the gym, pulling their sweaty shirts off and high-fiving each other. I tried to let my mind wonder during the cool down jog, trying to think of what my future would be like outside of this place, with people I could actually be friends with, with a life that meant more than praising jocks for simply being jocks. I secretly always wished I could have been one of the jocks. Even though most of them were dumber than dog shit, I would have liked that camaraderie. That feeling of working together to win a big athletic event, and to have the popularity and love from everyone around them. But I guess it wasn't my calling. Sam and I headed toward our lockers. "You know, fuck this," he said, stripping down to his compression shorts. "I'm smelly, I'm taking a fucking shower." He grabbed a towel off a rack and pulled off his shorts, tossing them into his locker and walking toward the showers as confidently as possible. The jocks, now out of the showers themselves, paid him no mind. I sighed. I would have liked to do the same, but I was sure a jock would catch me. I hung my shirt in my locker and kicked off my shoes and socks. I started to towel the sweat off of me when I heard murmuring from the rows of lockers behind me. I knew a few of the football jocks took those lockers, and they were normally annoyingly loud. But for some reason they were trying to remain as quiet as they could today. I couldn't help myself, I had to hear. As I turned the corner, I could tell that Jeremy was whispering. "Listen, I overheard my dad on the phone last night, he was telling his colleagues that the alien specimen that they collected was maturing, and that it soon would be strong enough for testing!" "What the fuck are you talking about?" Derek answered. "You always say you have some cool new drug that you've stolen from your dad's lab, but nothing that you've tried has worked." "No dude!" Jeremy said back. "This is different. This isn't a drug. This is an alien, a live creature, they had it sent to them from the government, and they let my dad break quarantine to keep an enemy nation from stealing it. He wouldn't have brought it home but for the fact that the military keeps getting raided by spies!" I too had heard Jeremy come up with quack-job ideas on how to get more buff and athletic, but this idea really interested me. It seemed impossible but I was strangely attracted to it. "Then fuckin' show us, dude!" said Josh. "If this thing is all that you say it is, show us what it's capable of." I couldn't believe the idiot stole the item then actually brought it to school. But I could hear the sound of metallic sliding against glass and two glasses "clinking" each other. "It's right here," said Jeremy. "Look, it actually moves." "Woah," I could hear both Josh and Derek whispering. It must have been. "You have to get naked to let it bond with you," Jeremy said. "I'm gonna try it." I couldn't believe the jock was actually going to try it in the locker room! I worked up the muster to turn my head where I saw the three jocks turned away from me, looking down at something that Jeremy's nearly-naked body was blocking. Both Derek and Josh flanked him on either side, so mesmerized by whatever was in Jeremy's hand that they didn't see me. All three of them were in towels, but Jeremy wasn't for long. He put his hand to the waist and unhooked the towel, letting it fall around his feet. Of course we had seen the jocks naked before, but I hadn't seen him this close. His ass was perfectly sculpted outward, a rock-hard bubble with dark hair curled over the sides and back of his cheeks. His legs were equally bulked. I gulped in astonishment. The jock didn't even care that he was butt naked! He was so comfortable with it and in front of his jock friends, and so entranced by the jar he was holding, that it didn't seem to faze him. Jeremy turned just enough to let me see the glass, holding it in front of his crotch. He unscrewed the metallic top and pulled out the glass tube. It was big, probably at least a half a pint, and inside it slushed around a thick, black liquid, moving of its own accord, stretching tendrils out trying to break the rubber stopper that was sealing it in. "I just gotta get it onto me," Jeremy said, trying unsuccessfully to pull off the stopper. Just then, Josh's eyes pulled up from the vial and toward me, now only about fifteen feet away from them. "Hey dipshit!" he said, "get the fuck out of here!" Jeremy too looked up, and took a step forward to shove me back. "Yeah you little twerp!" he said, his long dick flapping against him as he took a step toward me. But as he did, Josh's hand went backwards and knocked the vial right out of Jeremy's hand. "Oh fuck!" Josh said, admitting his carelessness. I couldn't help but stare. Jeremy tried to catch it but he lost his grip as the vial hit the ground, one sharp glass "CRACK" sound made as it started rolling faster and faster toward my feet. "Shit!" said Jeremy, now starting to run toward me. The glass rolled itself right to my foot and rested, and the black goo immediately started to claw itself out of the single crack on the vial. "Oh shit," I whispered, completely mesmerized by the mass as it started to pool on my feet. "NO!" Jeremy said. "It's mine!" But the second the vial touched my feet I gained a stamina and confidence that I had never felt before. I shoved the naked jock back right as he approached me, but I quickly turned to fear as the aggressive goo now pooled onto both of my feet and held me stuck there. It quickly started pulling itself up my legs. "FUCK GET IT OFF OF ME!" I shouted, trying to claw it off my legs, my ankles now completely immobilized. Jeremy too tried to grab it, but this time the goo seemed to shove him back. It didn't want him, it wanted me! As it hit my thighs I felt my confidence grow even more. I was even getting excited by it! Could this stuff really do what Jeremy said it would do? Turn me into a muscle-studded jock? The thought of it was intoxicating, and I felt even more confident about it as I saw brown hair start to grow over my thighs, feeling the masculinity of having more hair sprout on my legs combined with the confidence the symbiote was giving me. "Holy shit!" I said, cracking my first smile as I let go of the symbiote, feeling it now dragging itself up my legs and under my shorts and compressions. As it hit my clothing I could feel it heating it up, baking it and my legs until it started to tatter. I convulsed to the left as my thighs started to explode with muscle. "Oh shit!" I said again as my thighs started to grow like footballs, building hefty weight of muscle as fine contours of sinew pushed my shin into a sculpted state. my shorts ripped from the acid-burn of the symbiote and fell onto the ground and my compressions started to tatter, ripping apart at the seams as they made further contact with the black goo. I convulsively bent my back forward and clenched my fists as I felt the goo push through my compressions and onto my crotch. I could feel it climb onto the tip of my pecker as if it was examining me, seeing if I was somehow worthy of it. I cupped my hands over my package but I didn't want to scrape it off. It felt way too good. I could also tell for the first time that it had a life of its own, it was deciding if it wanted to share itself with me. It was all happening so fast, I barely had time to think before I heard a faint whisper. "Yes," it said. "You are the one, the one I've been waiting for. I've wanted a human who was victim to too many others, and will be able and fit to get his revenge on his captors. You are the one. We are to merge. Relish in me, human!" My compressions finally snapped as I bent my back back up. My dick started to grow as it drank in the symbiote. It crawled its way into my dick and soaked itself into my testicles, merging my DNA with its own identity. As it did, I started to feel the pure strength that the symbiote was to give me. "We shall be Venom!" It said, now wrapping itself onto my butt, clawing its tendrils into my asshole and feeling itself up and into my body. "YES!" I shouted out loud. "This is it! HAHAHAHA I am the one, Jeremy! Watch me transform, watch me become that which you wished you could be!" A newfound confidence and aggression exploded in me as my smile widened, watching Jeremy as I towered over him. My loins started to expand and lock in muscle as a deep, well-grooved adonis emerged on my body. My pubes sprouted aggressively over my adoinis and up my belly button as six new abs emerged from deep within, pushing the sinew out. As the symbiote climbed into my body so too did it start to run up my skin following me as my pecs flattened and hardened, pushing outward, my shoulders broadened, and my biceps and triceps folded over on themselves to create thick, hard, muscles. I felt my height increase as well, growing from my measly 5 foot 5 inch frame to six, then six and a half, then seven feet. I stretched my arms out as the symbiote climbed over my now hairy forearms, down to my hands, and relished in it climbing over my bulked neck, up my face, then up the back of my hair. I felt my tongue elongate as my face grew in great dimensions outward and upward. "YES!" I shouted again even louder, now towering over the lockers and seeing my half-dressed classmates staring up at me in fear. "FEAR ME YOU HUMANS! I AM VENOM!" My teeth tripled and grew into razor-sharp fangs as the symbiote settled over my body. My pecs expanded further as my shoulders doubled their size and weight. As we continued to merge I felt myself growing even larger, feeling my package continue to become engulfed by the goo, pushing itself out further and further, my balls growing heavier as they dropped further down. My stamina must have increased 100 fold. I no longer felt the need to breathe, I was no longer tired. I had what I thought to be infinite amounts of energy. My voice deepened as I laughed louder and louder. I examined both of my arms as they bulked further out, veins popping under my suit. "FUCK YEAH! WATCH ME GROW!" I commanded, looking down at the tiny naked Jeremy, a tear falling from his face, seeing the slave finally become the master. As the suit settled over my body, I felt my inhibitions push to the back of my mind. I was the hottest shit around. I was finally the jock. I was finally the one who could say and do whatever the fuck he wanted. I was now the shit. I was not going to hold back. I reached my arm down and commanded the symbiote to grab Jeremy by the waist. I felt myself wrap my venom around his body, feeling his flaccid dick and hard butt, and pulled him toward me. "I want to eat you!" I said, licking his face as he finally began sobbing in fear. "A human would make a tasty morsel." I said. I looked around and noticed the entirety of the class was now watching me. My dick started stirring behind my suit too, and I proudly let it pop up, letting my erection grow as it pushed itself hard against my suit, growing to almost three feet in length. Now was my moment. I could have my way with him and everyone else for sure. Or I could turn back into a muscle-studded human and finally become a head alpha, a jock leader, take the role as an offensive lineman or even a quarterback. The opportunities were endless.

Bulletproof “You know you could wind up pretty much bulletproof?” Geoff asked me. We were about three weeks into the process of slapdash gene-editing at that point. Alchemy, with Geoff as the wizard and me as, I don’t know, a toad perhaps. Before we began, the anticipation — the idea of me emerging from it with the kind of strength that had fueled my fantasies all through childhood — just imagining that gave me the wildest pleasure I had ever known. Geoff’s work was kind of sub rosa, and I was surprised I had actually managed to connect with him and that he was willing to take me as a subject. Willing? Hell, he was happy like a clam, and I was happier than that. True, I had lost all interest in sex with partners, because for me nothing could compete with the sexual rush I got imagining how strong I was getting. Bending steel bars? Punching through walls? Hand me that mirror and close the door on your way out. Of course, that initial euphoria was tempered after the first couple of weeks. It struck me like getting married: Mundane questions come up, possible complications arise. Bulletproof? “I don’t want to develop some hide, like a rhino,” I said. “Is that what’s going to happen?” “Not sure. You know it’s too late to do anything about how that kind of adaptation might play out, right?” He said this kind of thing repeatedly, any time I expressed concern. Too late to do anything, the die is cast, we won’t know until the process is complete, et cetera. “Anyway, it’s not about your skin. It’s about the tissues underneath.” He had done some experiments not in the human genetics lab where he worked, but in an art studio, using ballistic clay, which contains lead, iron and acrylic clay. It can stop bullets, or majorly bog them down. Geoff does a surprising amount of work at the art studio attached to the MFA program in the fine arts building at a major university — I’m not supposed to say where, but you may have read about one of the MFA students who hired him to clone some frogs to create a kind of froggy chorus line, with electrodes attached to their legs. It didn’t work out as planned, and she got picketed besides. “Will my skin turn grey? I don't want to have grey skin, like an elephant.” Is it Ogden Nash I was thinking of? I shoot the hippopotamus / with bullets made of platinum / because if I use leaden ones / his hide is sure to flatten ‘em… Truth be told, I would have liked to stop the process right there. I had grown taller and broader and was totally ripped. I was feeling like a dynamo and eating for two or three linebackers. Yes, my skin had begun to change, but not in a bad way, and my body hair was falling out, with just itchy stubble left. That was going away, too, and I was also losing the hair on my head, so I might wind up totally bald. Not a bad look, but I’d need to get cooler glasses, or maybe contacts. I could usually recapture my initial euphoria just by slipping my hand under my shirt and feeling my chest. The emphatic division between my pecs. For all my working out, it was never like that before. And rock-hard, as they say. Even the stubble was kind of a turn-on. Geoff wanted me to find inconspicuous ways of using my strength to get used to it, and I had a new trick. “Hey, Geoff, regardez,” I said, and fell forward with my body board-straight, stopping myself with my hands so that I was in push-up position. Then, keeping my body straight, I reversed the motion using only my wrists and hands, back into standing position. “Cool,” he said. “Like showing the movie backwards.” I don’t know what other gene-splicing projects Geoff worked on before I found him, but apparently they can get pretty bizarre, because it was the very ordinariness of what I wanted that attracted him. These people go around in secret, or so it is said. There are street rumors about people wanting to plug themselves in to store electricity like electric eels, or deflect laser energy from satellites in the Strategic Defense Initiative that probably don’t exist anyway. The most popular story is basically about “beam me up, Scotty,” people who wanted to teleport or walk through walls or under closed doors. “Just strength?” he kept asking me. “Nothing else?” I told him that having a fabulous, muscular build would be great, but that strength was the primary criterion for success. He indicated that this would be much easier than some of his projects had been. But when he actually started working, the amount of research seemed huge. For me it was mostly a matter of waiting; for him it was drudgery, doing genetic sequencing not just of human DNA, but of animals you’d think had nothing to do with it — gorillas, rhinos. Mountain goats? Yes, mountain goats were crucial. When matters of judgment came up, he would not consult me, even though it was my body. One day he snapped at me, saying “The heart and the diaphragm are muscles too, you know,” as if I had denied it. Then out of the blue he said “You're looking pretty fantastic, you know.” Not his kind of comment. “Let’s get your shirt off and have a look.” He looked my torso up and down, and then said “give me one of these,” indicated a bicep flex. I obliged. “Holy shit,” he said. “You're like a fucking comic book. I did that. Me and my little viruses. I wonder how strong you’ll wind up being. How strong are you now?” “Don't know.” Geoff started knocking on me like a used car. “We should have thought about measuring your development. That was an oversight.” “I went to my old gym yesterday to get an idea,” I said. “It didn't go too well.” “What happened?” “What happened was the guy at the desk didn't recognize me, which was fine, and he gave me a tour, also fine, but when I thought I’d play around with him, he — well, there was a racked bar that had about three hundred pounds on it, and I hefted it with one hand, and he was nothing but annoyed. ‘I don't know if that’s some kind of illusion or if you’re some kind of freak’ is what he said. Not how I imagined that would go.” “How was lifting three hundred pounds with one hand?” “Pretty easy, actually. In the weight room I picked up a twenty-pound plate and just broke it. Like a cookie. Also not what I expected, somehow. The guy just asked me to leave.” “And I am having pretty much the opposite reaction,” he said. “The idea that you are actually real is seeming pretty incredible to me just now. I wish I had a twenty-pound plate for you to break. What is there for you to break around here?” “Everything. Everything is looking fragile to me lately,” I said. "You look fucking indestructible," he said. “You could punch me if you like. Nothing hurts very much anymore, at least nothing I’ve encountered yet.” Geoff ran at me and punched me in the gut, or I should say, in my abs, which were looking pretty great. He was wincing but he had a goony grin on his face. And me, I wish I could describe the feeling — it not only didn’t hurt, but the fact that it didn't hurt made it fun. I loved seeing the effort in Geoff’s face, the fact that he hurt his hand. “You're incredible,” he said. “It’s like you're made of…I don’t know what. That didn't hurt?” “It felt kind of good, actually.” Under the terms of our agreement I had three more weeks to spend at Geoff’s apartment. Gene-hackers, as they've come to be known, are doing better than you might think, judging from Geoff’s digs — very luxurious. I imagined the conditions would be Spartan, but then, do the math: I agreed to pay thirty thousand plus expenses, and he can do a fair number of these a year, and I've noticed that he also does consulting work and has his lab job. But it’s all very secret. There are serious legal risks, and they’re mostly on his side. After the gym, I had kept an appointment with the lawyer who handled my father's will. I asked him questions I said were hypothetical about gene-hackers. I wasn’t fooling him, and I knew it, and he knew that I knew it. “The laws on cloning and genetic modification are aimed at the practitioners, not the subjects of experimentation or the modified organisms,” he droned. “Then the subject in an experiment would be in the clear?” “Not necessarily,” he said. “Let’s say a subject approached a practitioner of genetic modification and paid him or her to convert him into a genetic superman.” He didn't have to put it that way; he knew it and I knew it. “The subject then facilitates the crime by making himself available. And if he pays for it, even more so.” Gene hackers, according to this guy, will soon be as dangerous and as costly to society as computer hackers. I was confident there was no legal exposure for Geoff or me. Our deal was based on a handshake. The artist with the frogs was hassled and her show was shut down, but the case had been settled in her favor as a free speech issue: artistic expression. And after three weeks of his dour moods, Geoff's sudden appreciation was just what I needed. He was looking at the shirtless me like a new and astonishing specimen. “You don’t just look like an athlete or a bodybuilder,” he said. “You look more special than that.” “Special,” I said, “is that some technical scientific term?” “Like you’re going to explode,” he said. “Like you're exploding with latent power. I can’t explain it.” “Hit me again,” I said, this time with both arms raised and biceps flexed. He ran at me and then just kind of pounded my chest, then started to climb onto me. I grabbed him by the belt and just tossed him in the air, catching him like a baby. “I’ve already got so much power I don't know what to do with it. How much more before it levels off?” “I know, right? What a problem. We’re going to have to think of some strength adventures for you.” “You have any debts you need collected? Someone you want to intimidate?” “You’re joking,” he said, “but I do.” “Really? I’m your guy. Figure it out and let me know. Nothing illegal, please.” “No time like the present, right? Come on, let’s go right now. Just follow my lead and don’t kill the guy. I don’t think you’ll have to touch him.” And so Geoff and I were off on my first muscle adventure, to a lab where we had to show our IDs and get buzzed in and follow a maze of corridors. Geoff stuck his head in a door and called out “Hey, Dr. H.” He sounded friendly rather than pissed. A bush-haired guy emerged, fifty-ish, wire-rims. “Ah, look what the cat dragged in,” he said. “And I see you brought a mouse with you.” We entered a lab with such powerful ventilation that you had to speak up. “Yes,” Geoff said. “A lab mouse, an experimental mouse. You should have a look at him. Take your shirt off, mouse.” I could feel the airflow, and it felt great. But after a minute, I slipped my shirt back on. “Jesus fucking Christ,” said Dr. H. “That’s amazing. How long did that take you?” “Couple of months is all,” said Geoff. The guy turned to me. “And this was your idea? You’re a paying customer?” “No,” said Geoff, “he had nothing to do with it. I figured now that I’m getting entrepreneurial, it might be handy to have an enforcer. Considering how crazy some of my clients are. Present company included. You know, better safe than…isn’t that right, Bruno? You know, Dr. H. is a client of ours. Research staff. Day job.” “Got it, boss,” I said. “Bruno’s not his real name,” Geoff told Dr. H. “That’s what I call him. His professional name, you might say.” Dr. H came over to me. “Shame,” he said. “That name suits you.” “That’s why I picked it. I was thinking that I wanted to change up our working relationship a little bit, stay a little lower profile. I don’t want my name on any future articles. But I’d like to keep my staff position plus an equity stake. I was thinking seven percent. And Bruno agrees. He wants to make sure I get what I deserve.” “Do you, Bruno?” asked Dr. H. He was looking at me the whole time Geoff was speaking. “You agree? Geoff, I think I need a better look at this lab mouse. He may need to be medically monitored as time goes on. Would you mind, Bruno,” he said, gesturing at his own shirt. “Not at all,” I said. I saw where this was going. I whipped my shirt off again. And this time, I handed it to Dr. H. “Unbe-fucking-lievable,” said Dr. H. Is he as strong as he looks?” “Stronger,” said Geoff. “Stronger than you can imagine. One of my best. He’s still developing, but already — ” “Bruno,” Dr. H. interrupted, “I have a thought…I’ve been trying to get that specimen freezer moved for weeks. Could you oblige?” He indicated a stainless steel console that looked smaller than a kitchen refrigerator. “It’s heavier than it looks. Extremely cold temp, you know, thirty below, special compressor, dedicated power supply…could I impose? It would be so helpful. We've cleared it out but we can't turn it off.” I smiled and nodded, but when I started to put my shirt back on, he said “I think you might find it easier if you leave that off.” Okay, so that was how it was. For me, the freezer itself was like nothing. If it hadn’t been an awkward shape, I’d have done it with one arm. Geoff went with me down the hall and we repositioned the fridge in another lab. Dr. H. stayed where he was, and Geoff gave him a couple of minutes alone before we returned. “You seem to have made quite an impression on Dr. H,” Geoff told me. “I didn’t realize he was of that particular persuasion, whatever it is. Sorry about that.” “You mean, turned on by my muscles?” “Yeah. He’s married, actually. To a woman.” “Well, whatever. You weren’t that interested muscles either, until you got a look at me lately.” “Yeah, well, shut my mouth,” said Geoff, and we walked back to Dr. H.’s lab. “So. Gents.” He asked. “How did it go?” “Cake,” I said, and gave him a bicep flex. Right arm. Seeing this, he came over to me and caressed it, unabashed. He was all over it. He actually put his chin on it, then his lips. I was a little embarrassed, but not much. “Christ,” he said. That’s not a bicep, it’s a cannonball.” He paused in a way that seemed wistful. “You know, if you were so inclined…” “Thanks,” I said, “but it wouldn’t work. The price of strength. I would pulverize you in the first five seconds.” Then he looked at Geoff. “Be that as it may,” he said, “I can understand your wanting to keep a lower profile, and we can keep your name out of the journals if you like, though if you have a staff position with the company…anyway, an equity position is certainly not inappropriate, I’ve been thinking we should work that out. We don’t want to lose you while the firm is still aborning. And I am so pleased to welcome Bruno into the fold. Bruno, I’m sure we’ll find a way to win each other’s mutual loyalty. Shall we say three and a half percent for each of you?” I was horrified — I wanted no part of whatever this was — but Geoff gave me the high sign, and later explained that we could work out a separate agreement between ourselves. And so it was that the entire cost of his work with me, the research, the surreptitious use of the CRISPR, the viral engineering, the special diet, the three days of induced coma for an invented emergency, the seclusion under controlled conditions, the thirty grand in fees plus untold expenses, all of it wound up costing me nothing; Geoff basically gave me a full refund for services rendered, and I have this body to show for it. Of course, Geoff stands to become a millionaire if all goes well with Dr. H.'s startup. But as for my plans, so far they’ve gone better than I could have imagined. We’ll just have to see where it leads.

The phone rang again— a telemarketer. Max slammed the phone down and let out a grunt of frustration. He didn’t have the time for this and he knew it. He was a goddamn corporate manager, not some secretary with enough energy to spare to answer spam phone calls. Weren’t they supposed to filter those out anyway? Max let out a deep breath through his nose as he looked over at the framed picture on his desk. There he was, in his cap and gown, graduation from university. He still had a bright smile then, so full of hope, still optimistic. His smooth brown hair was all tousled from wearing that dumb graduation cap, yet it still looked like it was meant that way, like it was going with the flow. His entire personality fit it well. Back in his college days, Max was known to be a chill guy. He did whatever he liked and usually got it when he asked, his striking eyes and toned body were impossible to ignore. But times have changed. Things are different. What was once a six pack was now a beer belly. Beautifully styled hair was neglected in a greasy mess. He had money, sure, but he wanted his vitality back. He wanted to be powerful. The job wasn’t too bad. He had power, sure, but it wasn’t the same. Power to tell people what to do had its limits. It had its laws. But human strength, that was something he craved. Nobody could control his own body. Max stood up and stretched, pulling his arms over his head and twisting his back. “Nobody could control his body” was right. He could decide when to move or what to do; so he took a walk around the office with a stack of papers in his hands. They weren’t actual important papers, mind you, but they allowed him to move without question. Nobody asked what you were doing when you had a stack of papers in your hands. Max opened the office door and picked up his random stack on the desk parallel to his glass office wall. “Hey, Max!” Phoebe interrupted from a cubicle nearby. Although neither of them could see each other, she knew the sound of his door opening and she took her chance at his attention. “Can I get some help with this invoice? There’s some inconsistencies and—“ Max interrupted. “Sorry Phoebe I’m busy right now. Ask someone around you.” He abruptly turned to the right and strolled along the gray corridors, glancing at the posters framed on the bland walls. “Big Action Protein Powder!” “Mega Large Testosterone Booster for Men!!” ”Giant XXX Hormone Set Extreme!!!” over and over masculinity was shoved in his face. Overseeing a “men’s fitness” company was cool at first, but he was no longer 21. He was what the gay men called “daddy,” which both stung and aroused him. Unfortunately, he had been so busy with work that no men had been calling him at all for months. “Maxie! Come over here, will ya?” a voice called, this one not immediately recognizable. It was a male voice, but lower pitched than he was used to. Maybe it was a new intern. Hopefully not, however, because someone new shouldn’t be calling him nicknames already. But before Max could object, he continued. “It’s the research department! They’re having major issues.” the research department. That explained it. He nearly never had business there since it wasn’t in his jurisdiction really. He only worked on the sales floor. Nevertheless, his walk would have to wait, so he set the stack of assorted papers down on the floor and went into the elevator where the voice came from. Luckily, it wasn’t far away and the papers were out of foot traffic, so he’d be okay leaving them behind. When Max emerged from the office hideaway and through the metallic elevator doors, he nearly knocked over a poor scrawny man half his height. He must have been a little under five feet tall, and he probably weighed as much as Max’s beefy arms. His face, however, was still round and childish, defying the thinness of the rest of his body. When Max looked down, all he could really see was his cheeks and his wiry gray hair that fell past his forehead. He must have been one of those young people who were into looking like grandparents. Gray was not his color. “I’m sorry about that,” Max apologized. “What’s the problem?” the man didn’t look up but took a step back to give him more room. Then, still not responding, he leaned across the floor and pressed the bottom button on the elevator, sending it down. “You see,” he began. “Marcy had some troubles with a new supplement because the male subjects got ill at the same time and the women refuse to test it.” Max nodded along, but secretly, he had no idea who Marcy was. “Furthermore, I’ll allergic to one of the components. It’s supposed to help your...” he paused, glancing up only briefly. “Your male parts.” Max had to hold in a laugh. They worked at a male enhancing company and this man refused to say penis. “I understand sir. What do you need me for then?” ”Well,” he said. “We just need a quick trial test and then it’ll be over...” ”Fuck no. I’m not insured for this stuff! I’m not going to be stupid and agree to take whatever it is!” the man tried to stutter his way to goading him, but Max refused. When the elevator doors opened, he closed them and pressed the button to go back to sales. What he didn’t do, however, is look down at the man slipping a small piece of tape onto his black work pants. The man scuttled away into research and Max went back upstairs, picking up his papers, and finishing his walk with relative ease. He set the stack back on his desk and walked inside his office, turning the blinds so he can get some privacy, and opening up his computer. Emails. Spam. Bills. It was all the same. He looked at the clock. 5:13. Almost 45 minutes until he could leave. He shifted in his cushy black office chair and rearranged his legs. “Fuck I need to get that AC fixed,” Max complained. It was getting hotter. He shifted again in his seat and tried to get comfortable. For some reason, his balls kept on getting in the way. No matter which way he moved, they blocked him from comfort. After minutes of trying, he stood up, rearranged himself, and tried to sit back down. His chair was a gift from his ex boyfriend. It was about four feet tall, rolled well, and was always comfortable when he laid his arms on the armrests. The same armrests which refused to let his ass slip through all of a sudden. Max grunted and tried to squeeze in, but the harder he pushed, the tighter it got. He was just in it a second ago! How could it be? He started to sweat, small pools forming at his armpits, spreading along the white button up shirt like someone left a hose on. He took off his navy suit jacket and set it on his wooden desk while he tried to cool down, but it was still too hot. Taking off his black tie didn’t help either. Neither did unbuttoning his top button. Max kept shoving himself into that seat over and over again until he heard a loud rip. Slowly, he stood back up and grazed his hand across the back, anticipating the worst. To his dismay, there it was, a giant rip in the back of his pants, exposing the bright blue Lycra underwear he had on. “It’s okay,” he repeated to himself. Over and over he whispered this as he reached for his suit jacket to tie around his waist. But as he grabbed it, he heard another rip coming from his shoulder. Then when he stood up, his shirt untucked itself from underneath his pants and his belt. Max looked around helplessly, trying to figure out what was going on. Research department. It had to be. His body started warming up even more, but he couldn’t leave before he fixed his wardrobe. There was no way he’d let himself be seen with a ripped shirt AND ripped pants. A jacket couldn’t cover it all. So, with no other options, he looked around for a blanket or sheet he could use. Rummaging around a tiny office didn’t help much because he knew where everything was. There was no blanket. No sheet. Just stupid papers and knickknacks he stashed away. If he had the time, he would have looked at them a bit longer, but he was in a hurry. It was getting hotter. Max stripped off his shoes and socks and threw them against the wall with a loud bang as he resumed scrambling for anything to hide himself until he stopped growing. “Max? You okay dear? We heard a thumpy sound.” fuck. He couldn’t let anyone see him like this. “Y-Yeah! Dropped my stapler. Thank you for checking. I’m alright!” he heard footsteps dissipate into nothingness, and he let out a sigh of relief. He had more time. Or so he thought. Suddenly, without any warning, one thought , and one thought only, entered his mind— sex. It was orgasmic. His pants became tighter and tighter as he felt his bulge start to balloon, his cock pushing against the fabric as it got harder and harder. Then, with a burst of size, another rip, this time from the front. He let his gargantuan cock hang loose in his Lycra briefs, the sensation of cool finally taking over the exasperating heat. His bulge had to be the size of a basketball now, way too big for anything natural. He was a freak, but God, his dick commanded him to love every second of it. It was like the feeling of masterbation multiplying over every inch as his cock grew larger and larger. He stumbled backwards in joy, but his giant ass cushioned his fall. He had no clue how his briefs stayed on for so long. He had a basketball in front and beach balls in the back. But that wasn’t the only thing growing. His legs started to press against each other, growing so wide that they had nowhere else to grow. Of course, this turn of events led pants to be obsolete. His legs were past XXXL now, bigger than he’s ever seen on a bodybuilder. With awe, he rubbed his hands against them and felt the sheer hardness of his body. It was unbelievable. If he wasn’t so fucking horny he would have been upset at his size. But as he grew larger, so did his appetite for more. His chest puffed outwards, slowly at first, but gaining in speed as time passed. It was hardly noticeable at first over the feelings of his lower body, but as his second most top button flew across the room and his the glass, he couldn’t help but see. Max took his big hands and squeezed his pecs, ogling how they looked like the men he advertised on poster. But they didn’t stop there. Eventually they became like the WOMEN he saw on advertisements. And then even more as his chest popped another button down the line. And suddenly, another. Then one more. Another. Another again. Over and over until his pecs covered his vision. Max let out a mighty roar as he flexed his biceps, tearing out of the cotton shirt like it was paper. His arms bulged and swelled with power as they peaked above his head and kept rising towards the ceiling at an alarming rate. They grew in every direction, his arms expanding both up and down with muscle until he could hardly move them anymore. More and more he gained, until the floor started to bend. Someone outside of his office screamed “earthquake!” And everyone yelled and ran. But not Max. Max stayed put. That is, until the floor caved in and he crashed down, his giant ass once again cushioning his fall. His briefs were long gone now. Max was a being of pure mass, tons of concentrated muscle in one spot. The building couldn’t handle it. As he inches bigger and bigger, he fell down another floor. Then another. His cock couldn’t handle the sensations. He kept it growing. What was once a rather pitiful 4 inches became 4 feet. Then 8. 10. 20. 50. 100. 1000. It stretched across the building and onto the one next to it. Fuck he would have felt awful. Max would have been traumatized. But he couldn’t. All he felt was lust as he outgrew his very office building. Over ten stories high, international news reports told of the Monster of California, wreaking havoc over the west coast. Which, luckily for Max, he outgrew in a few minutes. His cock stretched across the Midwest. His balls sunk into the Pacific Ocean. His biceps scraped the ozone layer. And God, was Max happy. “More!” Was all he could chant. And that’s what he got. Never ending, never slowing. Each time he demanded it, he got it. But hey, it wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t insured for this type of thing

The Prologue is found here The preceeding chapter is found here Preface The song Little Boxes was written and composed by Malvina Reynolds in 1962, which is hereby recognised. It became a hit in 1963, when Peter Seger released a cover version, and it remained popular in the entire 1960s. The inclusion of of quotes from that song in this story is for non-profit literary purposes, in the belief that this is fair use. Please let me know, if anyone want the quotes removed, and I will happily oblige. The Orgone Accumulator: Part Five John unpacked his bags at his hotel room in San Francisco. He had just finished his phone call to Jim, and the time difference had become painfully real. Jim! His heart felt warm. He had thought, that it would be just a single night's innocent fun, no strings attached, but they had both considered, that it could be something more than that, when they woke up the next day. It had never occurred to John, that he would be able to enjoy the vanilla-version of BDSM, but the New Yorker was so incredibly playful and happy and incredibly hot ... Jim had guided John through some soft games with boots and handcuffs, but the props were just icing on the real cake: Jim was an incredibly warm and caring man. John missed the seven year older man. Older — slightly older — but they both belonged to those years in-between young adulthood and the real middle-age. John hadn't expected himself to warm up to the leather scene: His book had begun as an entirely dispassionate journalistic matter -- no personal taste involved. And now he was here for a one-week course, supposed to lead him closer to the whereabouts of the man he wanted to interview. "Improve your life holistically!" The New-Age-speak didn't appeal to him, but, according to the folder and the website, there were separate courses running for straight men, straight women, lesbians and "men-who-have-sex-with-men". He wasn't used to the latter moniker, but it made sense that it included both gay men and bisexual men. From what he could gather from the vague description, most of the course would take place somewhere in the Californian countryside, and the participants would leave San Francisco by the same bus. A therapy session in downtown San Francisco was included, as a preparation for the course. Therapy session? He wouldn't need any therapy session, and the words on the website didn't mean anything to him: "... combine the best methods from client-centered, Reichian and post-Jungian therapy". The labels "rainbow-friendly", "contact with your inner nature" and "in the company of real men" sounded assuring, but slightly cheesy. Some of his friends in Portland wouldn't agree with the latter label: "Who had the right tell another person what masculinity is supposed to be, or assume another person's gender?" Jim knew which sort of masculinity he felt grounded in, and he had explained how the leather scene, or parts thereof, was playing with exaggerations. "Relax. Have fun. Don't take everything too seriously. Go with the flow. Later on, you might discover things about yourself, but, for now: Have fun." Jim would probably upset some of his Portland friends, if they ever met. Which was unlikely. For now. Jim. Confident. For a few seconds, John felt a lack of confidence, and then the crack closed again. * * * The young man unpacked his bags at his cottage at the premises of The Foundation in California. He had just finished his phone call to his mother, and the time difference had become painfully real. He left the black bakelite telephone on the floor in the, otherwise empty, hallway. He wouldn’t have dreamt of this a few months ago. Now it seemed to be the beginning of a new life. Free from the shackles of his childhood town. Nice wage for his new work as an office clerk at The Foundation — the doctors weren’t good with the administrative side of things, and they had needed an office clerk for some time now. An anonymous benefactor had payed his cost for moving, but the young man guessed it might be The Businessman. When they had met the second time he stayed at The Foundation, The Businessman had noticed The Change. ”Did you listen to that advice of mine about joining a boxing club, son? You carry yourself in a more confident manner, than last time we met.” ”No, Sir, but I have spent some time on exercise on my own.” ”Listen, if you have any expenses for that exercise, I’m willing to pay.” ”I didn’t have any expenses, Sir. I’m using my own bodyweight. I don’t think there are any boxing-clubs in my town. They prefer football and baseball there. It’s a rather small place. I was surprised to even find a psychoanalyst there.” ”Do you consider yourself to be a smalltown boy?” ”For ever? No, Sir. If I had the means, I would probably move somewhere bigger.” He returned to the present. There were not much furniture there to speak of. One of the psychoanalysts had donated an armchair and a standard lamp to the cottage, and he had bought a transistor radio on his way there. The former occupant had left the old immovable wardrobe. The vanload of his old furniture would arrive later that day: A kitchen table with a fancy modern plastic surface with the reputation of withstanding all scratches, four simple wooden chairs, a bed, his grammophone, his vinyl records, the low teak table for the telephone in the hallway, his black-and-white television set and his sofa. He had returned the table — also teak — he had borrowed from his mother. He supposed he had to buy a new one, an expensive one to demonstrate his step upwards, if that sort of demonstrations weren’t futile. His therapy sessions had gradually led him to question some habits his older relatives — and some of his old classmates — took for granted. What was success — real success? And did you need to show it in any way? Why? Mirroring his thoughts, his transistor radio began to blare one of those contemporary protest songs: He put a few shirts on hangers, and put them in the wardrobe. He put his suit on one of the hangers, and put it in the wardrobe. One of his faces. His workplace face. Not his real self. He wouldn’t look the same as anyone else. Not his uncles. Not his classmates. Not the other employees at The Foundation. Not the guests. He would be himself. He would become himself. Continue to reshape his body. Constinue to reshape his mind. Reshape himself. He went into the bathroom and watched himself in the mirror. Already different. Blue denim jeans. White cotton t-shirt. The outline of his chest through the fabric. He took a comb and some pomada. That parting had to go. Go with his old life. Go with his hometomwn. Shed himself. After a few seconds he looked different. Less like your standard office clerk. He looked younger. But not like the hippies. Like the opposite of the hippies. Also like the opposite of those mindless patriots spluttering pre-fabricated slogans. Also like the opposite of those doctors and lawyers and business executives, who look all the same. Not the newest style, perhaps — it had been around for some time now — but the style of a rebel. Yeah: rebel. He felt how he became hard. He allowed the thought to return: Rebel. He became harder. He placed his left hand on his right biceps and clenched it. He became harder. Reshape himself. Become himself. * * * Next chapter is found here.

The Prologue is found here The preceeding chapter is found here The Orgone Accumulator: Part Four It was evening. He was back at The Foundation, and all the guests (and the analysts) were eating dinner in the dining room. Snippets of conversation reached his ears, but he found it hard to follow, for several reasons. "... and then I told him, that the meditation room was entirely unnecessary, and that the money could have been spent on improved massage benches. And there was no reason to include a lot of Carl Jung and Carl Rogers in the library. All that money on Eranos yearbook was mis-spent, in my opinion. It is supposed to be a Reichian collection." "By the sound of it, you seem to be obsessed by some sort of Reichian purity. I'm interested in psychological methods that really works, not in any attempt at doctrinal Gleichschaltung. Do you forget the entire work on liberation from authoritarian ethics? An authoritarian person will never reach full orgastic potency ..." "... very nice potatoes. Did you read those news about the dangers of pesticides? Who could have known? In retrospect, I think it was the right decision to farm The Foundation's own vegetables. And this sauce! So delicious ..." "... will watch TV with me in the TV room tonight? There will be a new episode of Perry Mason. I never miss ..." "... as Camus put it: 'The Soviet Union isn't really socialist, and the United States aren't really liberal', and by that he attempted to say ..." "... a new car, a mint-green one with large fins, and then she said ..." "... not the same since Dr. Witt returned from his sabbatical at the Esalen Institute, but I do not complain: If clients become healthier and more liberated by mixing Reich with other methods, the aim of The Foundation will be reached ..." "... opinions about the Vietnam War?" "Well, it is complicated. We can't allow the Communists to trample another country, but on the other hand, I'm not entirely sure if war is the best method to ..." "... listened to a lecture by Alan Watts a few months ago. Zen Buddhism is fascinating." "I don't know anything about Zen, though I read The Dharma Bums once. In my opinion ..." "... the new masseur? Isn't he a dream?" The young man didn't listen. He had spent most of the afternoon and the early evening in San Francisco with The Businessman. It was much bigger, than his hometown, of course --- he had expected it to be -- but it was not just the number of inhabitants: People were individuals there, at least some of them. Of course, there were lots of men hiding who they were by wearing identical suits and ties, but there were also young people in colourful clothes, young men with long hair and beards -- beards! It looked ridiculous, of course, but at least they had made a decision to stick out from the crowd -- from other crowds than their own one. The Businessman had bought him a milkshake at a milk bar, and there had been two bikers at a table nearby. He couldn't forget the bikers. Their hairstyle. Their tight denim jeans. Their posture. Confident. Faces. Laughing. Happy. Their leather jackets and boots. Black. Glossy. For a moment, he had felt like The Businessman was reading his thoughts, and he had felt very embarrassed, but The Businessman continued talking. Telling stories about The War. The young man had used the word 'war hero', but that had only caused The Businessman to sound irritated. "Terrible things happen in war. There is nothing heroic about it, most of the time. I've seen atrocities. But what would have happened, if we had allowed Hitler to win? It was necessary. There were good things about that time, though. I have never, before or after, had better friends than I had when I served in The Army. Friends from all walks of life." The Businessman fell silent and finished his coffee. The bikers left the milk bar, and started their motorbikes. Legs wide. Boots. Black. Glossy. Confident men. Riding their bikes. The speed. The Businessman watched them, too, through the large window. "Enjoying their life, I guess. More than some people do." He didn't continue that line of thought. Instead, he asked the young man about his home town, family, work. About how Dad left. How Mom was still working at a bakery. That college was not even a thought. About working at an office. "Do you find psychoanalysis helpful? You don't have to answer, son. I've no right to intrude." "I'm glad, that Dr. Witt listen to me, Sir. The massage is nice. Dr. Witt told me, that I have inhibations, and that a wounded soul cause tensions in the body. Dr. Witt repeatedly tells me, that man is both body and soul. I think, the analysis help me to become comfortable with that." "Did you ever enjoy sports?" "Not particularly. Some of my friends were recruited to the football team, but I wasn't." "What about tennis? I played tennis in my youth, but for some reason I never continued doing so." "I don't know, Sir. I think tennis is not widely popular in my town." "Have you considered boxing? You look like you could toughen up, son." The young man blushed. "No, I haven't considered boxing, Sir. Work at the office by day and going to the theatre some nights is what my life consist of." "You are young. You have life before you. Don't waste your youth. I'm not telling you to mismanage your work. I'm just telling you to have fun when you don't work. Society is changing -- I don't understand exactly what happens, to be honest -- and the world is changing. They send spacecrafts into space, and they are able to cure diseases thought incurable. The colonies are free now, and young people in the free world are enjoying life." He shook his head, and continued: "By 1990 they will probably have flying cars. Don't waste this first step of mankind's modern progress by feeling sad. I like to watch young people enjoy life -- even those strange incomprehensible beatniks." "Thanks for your encouragement, Sir. And thanks for the milkshake." On their way home in The Businessman's big fancy car, they had bought some cigarettes, fruits, candy and magazines. Among the newspapers and magazines in the newsstand, the young man had found magazines he had never seen before: They seemingly were all about physical exercise. A jolt went through his spine. He had to swallow. The hair on his head bristled, and he felt blood rush to his still boyish cheeks. The drawings of men on the covers. So built. Impossibly big muscles. A muscular biker talking to a muscular man from The Navy on one of the covers. A big man on a beach on the other. On the back cover there was an advert for Charles Atlas' correspondence course about physical exercise. He bought two of the magazines, and hoped, that The Businessman didn't notice his choice of reading material. On his way home, he hid the magazines in the brown paperbag, where he had put his fruits, candy and cigarettes. Next morning, he began his day by doing push-ups at his room at The Foundation. * * * Next chapter is found here.

As soon as Mr. Alpha asked which guy was Rubio, the group of men parted like the sea before Moses and revealed a large muscled man wearing Ray Bans and tight-fitting fatigues at the back. Antoine was immediately impressed with the size and muscularity of the boss-man, but was disappointed that the guerillas had so quickly turned over their leader. He had hoped there would be more fighting, so he could show off for longer. He figured the bad guys had finally gotten it through their head that there was no way for them to win this fight. Bullets bouncing off a mostly nude humongous body had finally registered as something pretty powerful. Antoine thought he might egg them on – in hopes for on last battle. “What gives fellas? No Spartacus moment where you all claim to be Rubio to save your boss? That would have been epic. It’s like you’re leading the lamb to slaughter or something. What kind of bad guys are…” When you are a superhero you didn’t get surprised that often. As a matter of fact, it never happened. That’s why the big fist seemed to come out of nowhere to Antoine. Suddenly, the big man felt a blow to his stomach and registered a little abs discomfort as he was knocked off his feet and flew through the wall of the plane behind him. His body burst another giant hole in the machine as he rocketed another fifty yards or so and landed hard on the ground. The superhero was stunned a little and disoriented. He’d never felt a punch before. It was a little disconcerting. He looked up to see the massive Rubio – truly a lot bigger than he had seemed when sitting down – stepping through the hole Antoine’s flying body had just made. It took a few seconds for the giant muscled hero to figure out what had happened. Rubio had come flying off the floor of the plane so fast that Antoine had not been prepared for the oncoming fist that punched him off his feet. Rubio’s body had some super power, too. Antoine’s head stopped spinning as the other big man spoke. “My men tell you who I am because they know I am strong like you. They fear me more than you, Mr. Alpha.” Destroying a tank had excited Antoine. Ripping out an entire wall of a humongous vault had really turned him on. Destroying an army made A400M ‘Grizzly’ had made him leak pre-cum. But the idea of taking on someone that seemed to be as strong as him sent the guy into the realm of ecstasy reserved only for your first time of ever having multiple orgasms or the first time you fucked the engine of a semi. The big man’s tiny posers finally gave up the battle of the bulge and seemed to instantly disintegrate as Antoine’s massive member raced to be fully hard – actually harder than the superhero had ever remembered it being before. He actually had to pause for a few seconds until the throbbing pain, caused by how quickly it inflated, subsided. Antoine had no idea he could actually be this turned on. It felt like he needed to plow the side of a mountain. But then he thought about fighting Rubio and that was even better. The superhero’s temporary immobility, caused by all his super testosterone-filled blood rushing to his big rod, made him not notice the huge shadow appearing around him until it was too late. Suddenly, the giant ‘Grizzly’ was slammed on top of him as if it had been a mega mallet and Antoine was the waiting target in a giant Whack-a-Mole game. As the superhero’s feet sunk into the ground up to his knees and his body, yet again, plunged through the steel of the plane, he realized with total glee that Rubio had actually picked up the freaking thing with his bare hands and hammered Antoine’s head with hit. The bad guy had hit the nail on the head, so to speak. Slightly dazed, Antoine glanced out one of the side windows and saw the pilots and other guerillas frantically running across the airfield – clearly thankful they had escaped before Rubio had decided to do some pounding. Antoine spoke to himself as he began to free his feet from the earth. “Fucking hell, he’s strong! This is going to be fun! I’ll be leaking my Antoine-seed throughout this entire fight – I can feel it.” Suddenly, there was bright sunlight as the plane went back into the air. It took Antoine’s eyes a few seconds to adjust but then he was rewarded with the sight of the giant Ecuadorian muscleman holding the ‘Grizzly’ by its tail end and the monstrous thing sticking up in the air like a giant caveman club. The superhero paused to take in the sight – marveling at the other guy’s strength. He was definitely the kind of guy that could appreciate power, even if it was in his opponent. Antoine could have kicked himself for getting caught up in the moment, though, for that gave Rubio time to bring the already demolished body of the plane back down on top of him. Antoine’s body made yet another hole in the side of the plane and he was pushed further into the ground. At this rate, he’d be buried up to his neck after just a few more hammered blows. The muscled hero had to get his mojo back. He wasn’t one of the bad guys who never learned anything. Enough of this ‘being blown away by another guy’s strength.’ Antoine needed to be Mr. Alpha again. Where’s the thrill in having someone who matches your strength to fight with if you don’t get up and take him on. The idea of actually getting to use a full fist to punch a guy instead of just thumping him slightly with your finger made Antoine’s dick throb with excitement. It was time to kick some Rubio muscled ass. “Get ready to meet Mr. Alpha, Rubio! Otherwise known as Mr. Pain.” Antoine’s muscles definitely swelled bigger just from the fact that he was ready to rumble. Blood was pumping through his body like millions of bullet trains shooting testosterone to every corner of his huge frame. The superhero could actually feel the fur covering his pecs, arms, legs, and face sprouting out longer in reaction to the powerful raw masculinity propelling his muscles to bulge even more. The idea of completely letting loose with his full strength made him grow. Antoine kicked slightly and the ground surrounding his legs exploded as if a ton of TNT had been ignited. At the same time, he reached down and grabbed hold of the plane around the hole his body had made. He quickly and easily lifted the ‘Grizzly’ into the air above his head, noticing that he took an unsuspecting Rubio into the air with it. The bad guy was still holding on to the tail end. The naked superhero shook the frame of the plane with enough force to bring down all the buildings of a few city blocks. This caused Rubio’s unprepared body to flap around violently and finally fall to the ground – the guy couldn’t hold on because of the tremendous earthquake-like shaking. Immediately, Antoine brought his arms back and then thrust them forward with tremendous force, slamming the end of the plane into the still-wobbling big chest of his opponent. Rubio’s big body was sent flying backwards across the airfield like a rock being ejected from a slingshot. The guy landed with a huge thud near a clump of trees on the edge of the field – skidding and digging up a mound of earth the size of a small house. “Rubio eight ball – corner pocket. And Mr. Alpha sinks it for the win. Haaaaaaaahhhhhh! The crowd goes wild. God, I love superhuman extreme sports. Come back to papa, big guy, it’s time for some Rubio baseball.” True to his villainous nature, Rubio was back on his feet and running towards Antoine at full speed – not really having a plan, just thinking his moving bulk could do some damage. Mr. Alpha, however, had already anticipated this stupid move. With the same kind of effort it might take a normal guy to open an umbrella, the superhero flicked the big plane up in the air so the tail end came down into his waiting hand. Antoine dug his fingers into the steel so he could grip the big thing tightly and at the same time he swung it out to the side like he was a little-league slugger at the batting range. “Batter, batter, batter, swing batter!” Antoine immediately knew it was going to be a homerun – out of the park, as they say. The bulk of the plane connected with Rubio’s oncoming body so hard that the bad guy didn’t have a chance in hell to not be sent flying far away. Antoine’s follow-through was perfect and his man-ball shot out across the length of the field, over the big house, and into the distance somewhere far, far away. Antoine listened for the loud noise when Rubio hit the ground and made a huge crater. The boom was worth the wait. Antoine dropped the big plane to the ground and turned to Jose, throwing his hands up in the air in a victory pose. Jose was clapping hard. “I’d run the bases, but there’s no need. Besides, he’ll be back. A good superhero is always prepared,” he said to himself and then he cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled up to Jose, “Get ready for the disgruntled bad guy to throw some toys, my little sidekick. He’s really upset because I’m so strong.” Jose made a thumbs-up gesture. Sure enough, at that exact moment a jeep came sailing over the house above Jose’s head aimed perfectly toward the superhero. Antoine was impressed – both by the choice of object thrown and the accuracy of the toss. Clearly Rubio was, indeed, very upset. The jeep was in horrible shape – obviously the bad guy had taken out some of his Antoine-induced frustration on the poor vehicle. It looked to be beaten into an almost unrecognizable big metal blob. Mr. Alpha waited until almost the last possible second and then leapt into the air, causing the jeep to miss him completely, hit the ground hard enough to send huge clods of earth into the air, and then it bounced across the field like some kind of giant deformed ball. A mangled jeep – Antoine was impressed. Not bad for the guy’s first throw. The superhero quickly guessed what was coming next as he landed back down on the ground and a glance upward confirmed that he was right. A huge boulder – the size of a small house – was careening through the air with the same spot-on aim as the jeep. Antoine braced himself and quickly flexed his left monstrous biceps – just to piss off the villain even more. When the boulder was within striking distance, Mr. Alpha’s right fist came flying up and connected with the rock with the force of one hundred missiles. The massive thing exploded into millions of small pieces of gravel upon impact with the much more powerful fist – which then rained down around the superhero like a light summer shower. Punching into dense solid rock and disintegrating it upon connection would never get old or boring for Antoine. He thought it was one of the most muscle show-off things a big guy could do. The cheers from his sidekick, Jose, up on the balcony of the house, confirmed this, as well. “What’s next, dear Rubio. I’m having a blast.” Antoine was surprised and impressed that the next thing to come sailing through the air towards him was Rubio, himself. This seemed much more logical and creative than most villains would have chosen. Antoine’s own immense legs quickly bent and powered his body into the air – the two speeding massive objects made impact even with Jose’s gaze, so he was able to see the entire thing up close and personal. Antoine’s blast from the ground had intentionally been more muscled than he’d ever leapt before. He wanted to test the limits of himself and those of his newfound nemesis. Unfortunately, Rubio had blasted into the air with equal power. When they met it was like two meteorites zooming into each other in outer space. There was something just slightly less than a sonic boom that shook the entire neighboring countryside and both men bounced off the other in a way that guaranteed much destruction. Antoine slammed back into the ground and that caused a cavernous hole so deep, if filled with water, it could have been listed as a giant lake. Rubio bulleted uncontrollably back through the western wing of the house and took out a major chunk of three stories, slamming into the driveway on the other side. He made a giant hole, too. Luckily, Jose was on the other wing and crossed himself three times to say thank you as he gazed at the damage done to the other side. It looked like the place had been bombed. Both big men were unaccustomed to being stopped so violently. It took a few seconds for each of them to shake the stunned feeling that rocked their bodies. Antoine’s cock throbbed harder than before as he joyously experienced discomfort like he had never known. He had used enough force he could have propelled his body through a mountain and, yet, this Rubio – this villain – had stopped his trajectory mid-air. Antoine was turned on because he realized he was now ready to do what he had always longed to do. He was being given permission to use his full super powers. He didn’t have to hold back. He didn’t have to worry about hurting or killing someone. He was about to test his abilities completely. Something he had thought he would never be able to do. He shot out of his deep hole as he let out an earsplitting battle cry and leaked copious amounts of pre-cum. “Come on Rubio! Let’s jack this fight up a few notches. Show papa Antoine what you can really do!”

The Prologue is found here The preceeding chapter is found here The Orgone Accumulator: Part Three The young man stood leaning on the balustrade, admiring the scenery from the terrace, which ran in front of the facade of the main building. The white-painted concrete must have been considered avant-garde thirty years ago, but The Foundation hadn't been able to maintain the building the way it deserved, and the white paint fell from the facade like unmelting flakes in the wind. Smoke rose from the cigarette in the corner of his mouth, a pillar of smoke spiralling upwards, disappearing. The road. Valleys of trees. Vineyards. Forests. Perhaps a hint of glittering sea, far, far away between some of the hills, but it was also possible, that he imagined the glitter of waves, because he knew it must be somewhere over there, westward. Sunny California, indeed. Not like his wintery home-town. Useful? Yes, useful therapy, to an extent, but none of the other guests at The Foundation were of his age, and the garden, atelier, library and meditation room felt suffocatingly still and lifeless. The Businessman approached, wearing his expensive costume tailored to look dull. The Businessman's actual name sounded fancy, but the young man hadn't yet been able to associate it with that famous company. "Do you mind if I join you when I smoke, young man?" He must have been more than fifty years old. By his look, he must be living a very successful life. What was he and his pearl-decked wife doing at The Foundation? Were rich people really supposed to be in need of therapy? Couldn't they buy happiness? America. The land of opportunities, as his grandparents had used to say, when they immigrated in another century. "Of course not, Sir. I hope, that I don't trouble you." "Not at all, son. I have attended The Foundation together with Julia for years, and I always appreciate when some guests are somewhat younger than we are. It enlivens the place. Julia and I don't have any children of our own." The Businessman lit his own cigarette, and looked thoughtful, as he seemed to take the natural scenery in. "How old is this place, Sir?" "The main building was built in the style of early modernism in the 1920s by a German-American architect, but most of the smaller buildings were added in the 1940s, when Dr. Witt founded The Foundation. Dr. Reich visited several times in the beginning, but then the unpleasant business happened in 1956." "Unpleasant business?" "You haven't heard? Dr. Reich spent his last two years in prison, and died just a few days before being able to obtain a parole." "What for?" "The Food and Drug Administration didn't approve of some of his inventions. They believed his methods were fraudulent." "But he was a doctor, wasn't he?" "He was a psychoanalyst, but his methods differed from Sigmund Freud. Have you heard about Freud?" "Dr. Witt explained about him, when I began analysis, an I think, I'd read something about him in newspapers before analysis began. What do you think? You wouldn't come here, if you didn't trust Dr. Reich's ideas, would you, Sir?" "Talking to someone -- a priest or a rabbi or a psychoanalyst or someone else bound to not gossip -- wont hurt. I don't think highly of the navel-gazing. The massage is nice. I've eaten worse food than this, but I am not entirely sure what to make of The Orgone Accumulator. To be honest, I mainly come here, because Julia believe in Reich's theories." "Orgone Accumulator?" "They haven't prescribed it to you, yet? Fair enough. I suppose Dr. Witt -- you are one of Dr. Witt's clients aren't you, not a client of one of the others? -- will give you the treatment after some initial cycles of analysis and massage. Did Dr. Witt ever mention Orgone?" "Yes. Dr. Reich theorized, that there is some sort of life-force in every living being, but Dr. Witt never explained any details." "It's the details I distrust, not the basic idea. He even attempted to draw Orgone from the clouds with some sort of antenna. The American authorities burned his books in 1956, which I think is a shame: In a free country, all citizens are free to present their thoughts freely, and if they contain bogus, they will be exposed as such in a free debate, not by censorship. A shame, really." They fell silent a little while. "Do you have any analysis or massage booked for today?" "Not this afternoon. I had a therapy session with Dr. Witt early this morning." "I'm going into the city. Want a ride?" "Thank you, Sir. It's not like I dislike the fresh air out here, but I wouldn't say no to a few hours away from The Foundation." * * * Next chapter is found here

Note, Just a quick and dirty one shot that I typed up on my phone to get back into the swing of writing. Enjoy! Dream Body I woke up feeling completely strange. Was it because I apparently passed out in my computer chair? No. Stretching the sleep away, my undershirt felt weird. I felt really heavy too and the chair groaned audibly as I moved. That was when I noticed my forearm. It was smooth and, more importantly, thickly muscled. I fell over as I leapt up in a panic. Looking at my legs, I could see why. They were absurdly thicker! My boxer briefs were stretched beyond belief. I swear I could see the beginnings of tears at the edges. Panning up, my undershirt was in a similar situation. Large, full pecs pushed the fabric away from the rest of my body, allowing me to see down the deep valley between them. My meaty hands followed the taut straps of the undershirt up to a pair of mountainous traps. "What the fuck…" escaped my lips in a voice that wasn't mine, but that I was immediately familiar with. It was a deep, gruff voice that just oozed confidence and power. It was Rex. Looking at the body, now that I was slowly able to stand, I realized it was his too. My hands finding a rugged beard all but confirmed it. I remembered chatting late into the night and getting to see Rex on cam, but everything after was a blur, aside from it being clear I passed out in my chair. A rhythmic pulsing in my underwear drew my attention downward. While partly obscured by pecs, I could see his dick throbbing for attention in my boxer briefs. My throat went immediately dry. His throat. Fuck was it confusing. My mind raced. It was his body. I couldn't, no, shouldn't touch it, right? A thick bead of pre soaked into the end of what looked like at least a thick 8 inches. Shaking his head, I snapped out of my growing lust. Going there would be wrong, but I could enjoy other things. Looking at his arm, I flexed the softball sized bicep. I made sure to do so as slowly as I could. The fibers bundled and bunched as the peak ascended. Once it hit full flex, I placed the free hand on it. Warmth. A powerful and inviting warmth radiated from the iron ball of muscle that was his bicep. I carefully darted over to a box of old clothes I had collected to donate. Clothes flew farther than intended as I tossed them aside. The strength was something I had barely any grasp of how to control. "How does he manage this body?" I questioned as I continued to rummage. Eventually, an old button up shirt came into view. It was from when I wore mediums and had long been snug in all the wrong places. Without a second thought, I did my best to cram his super soldier like body into the shirt. Even just getting the forearms in was a struggle and the sleeve came full stop once it got past the elbow. "Fuck you shirt. This is happening," I barked as I slowly but surely inched in. Once one arm was in, I attempted the second only to find that the shoulders of the shirt weren't wide enough. With a groan of annoyance, I hunched forward long enough to allow the uncovered arm to find the open sleeve. With great difficulty, I managed to get both arms in. Standing, I could feel the shirt already pulled near skin tight across the back. I slowly began to button the shirt up and could hear the fabric threatening to rip. Each flex of his back and arms ushered in the soft shredding of cotton fibers. I was lucky the shirt was still as stretchy as it was. I managed to get the bottom 3 buttons on, leaving the shirt spread wide open from the bottom chest up. The ample overhang of the pecs pressed down into the fabric, exaggerating the spread even further. “If I button any more, it’s going to rip before I can have my fun…” I rumbled. The fabric hugged every muscular conture, as if it was spandex. Rolling his beefy shoulders back, I spread his chest wide, the shirt opening even wider and threatening to undo the lower buttons, before doing my best to go into a lat spread. I moved slowly at first, but the moment I heard the shirt giving way, I popped straight into the flex. Cool air kissed his back as the shirt split straight down the back. Extending his right arm, the tricep shot through the back of the sleeve. On the opposite side, I once again curled up slowly. As each fiber of the biceps pressed against it, the fibers of the shirt gave way. In moments, the iron ball of muscle punch through the shirt. Licking his lips I thought of what to do next. I had no way to really test this bodies strength. It had to be amazing. With no other options, I opted to drop to the floor and begin doing push ups. Fifty reps in, I realized that I would be able to keep this going for an absurd amount of time. I barely felt any resistance as I rose up and down. If anything, it felt like I might push myself off the floor and into the ceiling if I went too quickly. Even switching to one arm barely proved any more difficult, though feeling every muscle transform from rock solid to steel hard with each rep quickly brought my attention back to the one gifted area I had refused to look at. Fabric fluttered to the floor as I stood back up. It was then that I noticed my undershirt had also fallen victim to the powerhouse that was Rex’s body. I looked down at the looming package. It was still throbbing, almost violently so. What had been a small bead at the end had grown to a sizable wet spot. “I mean, it is Rex’s body. If it was him, he would take care of this and not just let it be. For all I know, this might be my body now. I should get used to all of it, right,” I reasoned aloud. Hearing that deep voice sent even more shivers down my body. I used my rough, gym forged paw of a hand to stroke my thick beard. The body belonged to me and I was ready to take it for a real ride. With a blink, sudden pain rushed through my side. I was on the floor near my chair. Once again, something immediately felt different. There was no hefty weight. I couldn’t feel the weight of my chest heaving up and down with every breath. I couldn’t feel what felt like the power of multiple men in just one body. Looking over my body, I was normal me again. I was in my chair, which had tipped over with me in it. Rex’s body was gone. The only thing that remained was a desperate boner. Not a massive pillar of manhood, but my old standard model. I hadn’t even gotten to see it. All I could do is shake my head and mutter a solemn and regretful, “Fucking damn it.” A loud alert ping chimed from my computer. A message box from Rex had popped. Maybe my luck wasn’t all bad.

Omniman, the beginning Bea Research Co. was always a top of the line center for technological innovations, but this new invention certainly takes the cake. As a breakthrough emerged in molecular rearranging, the top scientists at the headquarters took heed in creating a solution to world hunger. The kitchen kit, as it’s aptly named, can rearrange any molecules through the nozzle and can turn it into food. Although untested, it already showed promising results in the individual parts mechanics operations. Standing at the same size as a cardboard box, this new contraption is all you’ll ever need for the rest of your life! And furthermore, it uses the breaking apart of molecules as its energy source. The more you use it, the more energy it has! It works very easily. First, you strap the hose to your mouth and secure it comfortably. Second, you turn on the machine and whatever object you desire can be put into the hole to be turned into food. Anything at all can be used, although typically, carbon based things taste best. Even old, rotten, or toxic foods can be put inside and eaten again. There’s even different settings depending on diet! Keto? No problem! Want to lose weight? The body customization menu has a wide variety of options! There’s nothing you can’t do with the Kitchen Kit! Only $199.99! Wild was a white-haired young man studying graphic design. Not too exceptional in talent to the naked eye, but with every layer removed, he was more and more amazing. He was ideal for this. He was sweet and kind and unsuspecting (and incredibly attractive too). Which made him the perfect candidate for trial testing. He was a tad on the short side, coming in around 5’4, but his tight body made up for his lack of height when it came to conventional standards. It gave him the confidence necessary for the adventure he was about to embark on. Wild saw the note up on the bulletin board. $100 for human test subject for new Kitchen Kit. Visit this address for more information xxxxx xxxx rd. So, like any broke student, he took the paper. He was just glad that he was the first to see it. He drove over to the location and went inside carelessly. It was a giant white building immaculately cleaned and polished. It was charmingly sparkly. He walked to the information desk and showed the receptionist the flyer. The man was on the phone, but pointed him over to the sign on the wall. Wild followed it to the lab room, where he walked inside and was greeted by an older woman with a lab coat and a clip board. “Oh. Goodness. You’re here for the testing?” She asked. “Y-Yeah! I am! There was a $100 promise?” She frowned a wrinkly frown. “I’m sorry dear, but we’re all done with the testing. But to make it worth your time, you can take one of the prototypes. The central unit was removed so it’s no longer functional. But if the product picks up, then it may be worth some dough later on!” Wild didn’t know what to do, but not wanting to confront the kind old lady, he took the machine and went home to me, his loving roommate, who wasn’t with him officially, but who had a cute relationship together. Little did they know when he walked through the door that it would end in world annihilation “Hey baby! You’re back! How was the test?” I asked, my enthusiasm evident. Wild smiled and walked inside. “It was okay. I didnt get the money, but they gave me a non-functioning prototype.” “Awww, it doesn’t work? That’s lame. They should have just given you the cash like they promised.” “It’s alright cutie. We can still open it up and take a look!” I laughed. “Hell yeah babe! Sounds fun!” So with screwdrivers in hand, we took that damn thing apart and studied it and put it back together again. It was a really fun time despite some annoying moments with the mechanics. “You know,” Wild began, “this thing looks pretty functional to me.” “Yeah,” I agreed. “It does. Do you want to...try it out?” Wild looked at me with glee and nodded his head. “Easier than cooking dinner, I guess.” I opened up the menu on the screen of the blank white box while Wild set up the tube and the funnel. It was just like a phone screen. There were many different options, but the one that stood out to me first was the diet option. So I opened it up. And, to my surprise, I found a shit ton of sub levels and folders to choose from. Everything from weight to muscle to hair growth to even sex drive were all accounted for. “Hey babe, I’m gonna try to do every option I can do at once. See how far this thing can go!” Wild looked at me and smiled sheepishly. “Well, we don’t want to break it. But I suppose it isn’t supposed to work anyway. So go ahead!” I laughed with apparent thrill and pressed all the buttons I could. Then, with a sparkle in my eye, I strapped the hose over my mouth and gave a thumbs up The machine began to whirr. Wild started to look around for something to put inside, but the Kitchen Kit began to make food anyway. It wasn’t needing any input! It was taking the air and turning it into calories! A thick gray liquid began pouring into the hose and down my mouth. It tasted like nothing before, as if engineered to be the best food for my own tastes. I didnt even need to chew and swallow. The warm liquid just went right down. And I was loving every second of it. Wild was watching in awe. He already saw the effects begin to take place. My shirt began stretching outwards as my belly expanded and I put on twenty pounds in mere seconds. The machine worked, alright. There must have been a mistake. But Wild wouldn’t stop it. And I didnt want him to. I felt the food hit my body with a warm embrace, but at the same time, it didn’t relinquish my hunger. I felt bloated. I felt big. But big was always a good feeling. It was powerful! But the power wouldn’t end there. Like blowing up a balloon, my stomach continued to grow and grow until my shirt climbed its way up to my chin like I was wearing a scarf. Then I felt a grumble. My belly’s expansion slowed down and wild sighed with relief. It was over now. He touched my giant gut and couldn’t help squeezing it tightly like a bean bag. It was so hot to him. It was to both of us. But then something else happened. My stomach wasn’t the only thing growing. As Wild caressed my belly, something knocked him over from under his feet with a giant ripping sound and plopped him onto my gut. As he looked up, he saw my face glowing red with sexual pleasure. And looking down, he saw a cock the size of a pirate cannon with balls bigger than beach balls. He could feel the cum churning underneath my belly. And it continued pumping. My gut was rising. Blowing up even more as more food came into my mouth. But my balls were growing now too. And my cock was only getting longer and longer. Thicker and thicker. But once again, that wasn’t all. A muffled gasp of sexual joy bubbled from beneath my mask. Then, with a rise of my arms, I flexed my two gigantic arms and instantly ripped whatever was left of my clothes right off. It was like I was made of rubber and helium. The food kept pouring in at faster and faster rates until Wild felt his butt hit the ceiling. My pecs collided with him at the same time, my gut no longer the biggest thing on me. My cock stretched outside of the garage and into the street. The distant sound of screams kept coming. But there was still way more to go Wild let out a moan and grabbed his hard cock. He became squished between my giant pecs, engulfed in hot mass. There was nothing else he could even think about. He stripped everything off and grabbed his smoking hot cock with his hand and started jerking off like never before. Then, as if in sync, both Wild and I orgasmed and spewed cum all over. For him, it ended up on his cute sexy body, but for me, it wiped out half the country. But the machine liked that. As soon as it came out and flooded America, it went right back in through the machine and pumped exponentially more. Pump after pump, muscle on top of muscle, it was all too much for anyone besides us two. Crushing and demolishing the nation was an easy feat for the Omniman and his beautiful servant, Wild. I flexed my biceps again and again as my arms grew taller than I was and nearly as wide across. It looked like pool floats were on my arms, except those floats were bigger than Texas. But then Texas was too small. America. Then that was too small too. Every part of me grew bigger and bigger as my throat expanded and made way for cosmic portions. But Wild still wasn’t satisfied. He came again. This time, soaking his face. And feeling this orgasm, I came again too. And it went right back in after flooding the planet. But unfortunately, there wasn’t anything left to vacuum, right? After all, all the air was gone! But that wasn’t true in the slightest. Slowly, the entire earth began to tremble as the machine began to suck it in with the force of a black hole, every molecule fueling its acceleration. Wild felt my growth slow down a lot, but he didn’t see the stuff going down in the back. I rolled my eyes to the back of my head and tried not to scream with pleasure. In addition to each and every rolling galaxy of muscle, was an ass about to rip open space itself. Then, almost instantly, both Wild and I were blasted from behind as my ass grew so big it hit the end of the universe and pushed us along as speeds that shouldn’t have been possible. Luckily for us, my rapidly expanding pecs cushioned us forward and my biceps kept us stable as they pushed against the ceiling. This time, not of a house, but of the entire universe. There was no beginning and no end. My legs were wider than even I could feel. My ass crushed everything behind us and my balls and my pecs crushed everything in front. My arms crushed everything to the sides. Only he was safe. “Wild, I know you can hear me. Do you...want me bigger?” I mustered. Wild didn’t know what to say. He wanted more. But what was there even more of to have? He was in heaven. He came three more times in that last growth spurt, and he felt another coming. But he knew what I wanted. “Yes! Always more, Omni!” “Then cum for me, babe. Aim your cock to my voice. If you cum, I’ll have just enough power to break the bonds of everything. Ill truly be Omniman if you do that!” And he didn’t even have to try. Wild instantly shot a load when he heard my booming cosmic voice. And, like I planned, it was just enough. My body began to rumble. Every single crack left in the universe began full with a final pump. But then, a giant rip emerged in the fabric of space as my cock tore through everything there ever was. Upon encountering new universes, the machine kept going, expanding me more and more exponentially, my gut and my muscle pulsating with power. We broke universe after universe, absorbing everything there was. And it kept speeding up. After a while, I couldnt even keep track of it. I had reached infinity. I was Onmiman, and Wild were the man who got me there. And he’d be with me forever and ever.

When you Bitch Upon a Star Absolutely nobody cheered. There wasn’t one smiling face in the audience. Everybody in Hemingway Conference Room D was disgusted at the way that Lucas acted on stage in front of all his coworkers. There he stood, slurring all his words at the podium and rambling about how Garrett from Corporate had a penis unlike any other. His short black hair was oily and ruffled. His freckled face was flushed with liquor. His tailored brown suit was ripping at the seams of his muscled frame. Anyone with eyes could see that he was drunk and disorderly, hence why the police arrived shortly to escort him back home. Lucas was raving. He thrashed with the officers and yelled at them to put him down. He wasn’t going to have any of their bullshit today. But he didn’t have much of a choice. When he entered the back seat of the police car, he passed out and slept the whole ride home. He awoke to being jostled by the bigger policeman. He had dark skin and darker sunglasses, making his silhouette look as if it was from a dream as the sun shone behind the man’s body. Unable to tell a dream from reality, Lucas didn’t respond to the man and remained limp. “Sir! Your boss, among many others of whom you offended, has agreed not to press charges for making sexual remarks during their meeting. However,” he continued, his gruff voice coming off harsh, “you’re suspended from work for an indefinite time. Please get out of the car and into your house before we have to force you” Lucas groggily slumped out of the car and leaned on the door to his city apartment, passing by the officers without passing a glance. “Lucky son of a bitch.” Lucas whipped his head around to see what they were talking about. “If that was our boss,” the main officer said, “we’d be fired on sight.” The other one chuckled, his voice less masculine and intimidating than the first. “If that was our boss, we’d be SHOT on sight!” The two men got in the car and laughed as they drove away, leaving Lucas on his own. He rustled for his keys and opened the door and walked up the stairs to his tiny little apartment he could barely afford. And now with his job gone, he’d likely be evicted any day now. There was no way that things could get any worse. So, to numb the pain, Lucas drank even more. He drank until his pain went away. He had nothing left to live for. His boyfriend, Jeremy, dumped him for a better-looking man four whole months ago and he still wasn’t over it. He worked out every single day to try to bulk up to match Jeremy’s new man. Then, when that didn’t work, he went to steroids. He bulked faster than anyone has ever seen. But when we asked for Jeremy back, he still said no. So he grew even more. And more. And more. Never stopping until he ran out of cash. But, like anything, his cash supply was finite. Jeremy still didn’t want him back. He was broke, jobless, and drunk. Lucas was a pathetic excuse of a man. People gawked at him on the street like he was a muscle-bound freak. His proportions were off. His biceps were too big. His waist was too small. And his ego was shattered. Every ounce of manhood he had left faded away along with his consciousness. When Lucas woke up again it was nighttime. His head pounded nails into his skull. His stomach churned up a storm. But nevertheless, he stood up and tried to walk outside for some fresh air, his suit feeling constricting on his sweaty body. He tumbled his way down the stairs and opened the front door to the outside world. City smog and the growling of raccoons greeted his unshaven face and he immediately turned around into an alley to avoid the shrieking noise of cars passing by. It was dark, gloomy, and dank, much like how he was feeling. So, like any hopeless man did, he sat down on the ground and leaned his back against the grimy brick wall. Lucas lifted his head up and watched the stars above. They twinkled in the midnight sky and put a small smile on his face. “I just wish that I could teach them all a lesson. I wish that I could be bigger than all of them combined, that I could finally let them know what a mistake they made fucking with me!” And with the final words, Lucas started to cry softly to himself. He felt powerless. But, little did he know that as soon as he slumped his head down, a shooting star went by and heard his plea for help. Lucas cried himself out and wiped his eyes when he was done. He wasn’t just going to sit around and wait for life to destroy him! He was going to get even! Lucas stood up and hailed a cab. The woman driving looked just as tired as he did, her long red hair puffing outwards with knots and her face drooping like a bag. He told her Jeremy’s address and waited for her to arrive, but on the ride there, he realized that he didn’t want to end the ride there. He had some more people to teach a lesson to. “Miss, can you wait for me outside his house? I need to go somewhere else after.” The lady grunted and shrugged her shoulders, not really caring what she did as long as she got paid for it. Lucas grinned maliciously and stepped outside Jeremy’s house. He rummaged through his pockets and took out his key ring. He never did get rid of Jeremy’s key. It was a memento. But now, he realized, it was literally the key to revenge. Lucas opened the door and barged inside, stepping over discarded beer cans and pizza boxes to go up to Jeremy’s bedroom on the second floor. His house was a mess. It was the perfect cover-up. All Lucas had to do was deny ever being there and the sheer mess of his house was a water-tight excuse. He’d say that Jeremy must have fallen and hurt himself or something. When he got to Jeremy’s door, he slammed it open with all his might. “Wake up, you little slut!” Lucas roared, his aggression only rising as he saw his ex-boyfriend sleeping in the same bed he slept in when they were still together. Jeremy fell off the frame and stood up, his tiny pale naked body wrapped completely in his sheets, his brown hair messed up from sleep. “Lucas! Get out of my fucking house! What the hell do you want?” Jeremy cried. Lucas stomped over to him, his six-foot frame overshadowing Jeremy. He then grabbed his neck and lifted him up in the air like the men he’d seen in movies do. Then he started to squeeze. “What do I want?!” Lucas bellowed. “I want you to go to hell!” Jeremy’s eyes went wide as he saw Lucas’s biceps begin to swell with power. His already-torn suit began to rip even more. One by one his muscles started to bulge outward and surge his body with strength. The sound of cotton ripping echoed around the room. Lucas didn’t notice. His rage was too uncontrollable. He just kept squeezing and squeezing Jeremy’s writhing body as his life began to drain away. “You made a fucking mistake dumping me for that slut, wherever he is! I’m gonna teach that bastard a lesson RIGHT after I finish you, you pathetic little ant!” Then with a final grip, Lucas smashed Jeremy’s neck and left his bloody body on the messy floor. There was no explaining that one to the cops, but he didn’t care. The power felt so good! He needed more! Lucas slammed open the door and heaved his way down the stairs, everything left of his clothes cutting off his air flow. He was huge. Even bigger than before. Now there was no denying that something wasn’t natural with him. He was bigger than any bodybuilder. Closer to the Incredible Hulk, really, except even bigger. Lucas opened the cab door outside and stepped in, having to lean down and squeeze into the middle in order to fit in the tiny vehicle. “Where to now, love?” The cab driver asked, not looking back at the monster before her. “Lamplight Insurance. It’s my office,” he replied. As they drove down to his old job, Lucas started to feel the adrenaline slow down. Then, with newfound clarity, he looked at himself in the rear-view mirror. He was fucking GIANT! His pecs extended at least a foot long. His arms bulged like beach balls. His legs looked like tree trunks. Even his bulge was noticeable through his pants, which were now completely torn off except for his pelvis line, making him look like he was wearing a speedo and a tank top. You could hardly even see his face behind his mountains of muscle. But if you did, you’d see it smiling with lust. The cab finally stopped outside and let him out, still not understanding why it felt like the drive had such heavy cargo inside. Lucas gave the lady all the money he had left and let her drive off. After all, he wasn’t going to need money anymore. He had much bigger plans. As the sun began to rise, Lucas smashed open the glass doors to his office and sauntered inside, not caring about the alarm blaring around him. With each pounding step, Lucas grew more and more. He felt each vein pumping more and more mass into his already giant body. But as he approached the elevators, he realized that he was too big to go up. And he was too wide to go through the staircase. That made him very upset. And with his anger came more growth. Lucas let out a fierce roar as his body bubbles up taller and wider than ever before. The vaulted ceiling wasn’t too high anymore compared to Lucas. And he loved every second of it. He would show them all! He would make them pay for mistreating him and getting him suspended! They would all pay! The sound of police cars joined the symphony of alarms. As Lucas heard the sound of doors slamming, his pecs overshadowed his face and he couldn’t see anything. But he felt the ceiling above him, his biceps pressing into the stone. “What the fuck is that?!” An officer yelled. “I don’t fucking know, man, but we have to fucking stop it!” Lucas heard gunshots, but only felt pebbles bouncing off of his naked skin. His clothes were obliterated. There he stood, a fifty-foot-tall mass of Lucas, his body filling up the lobby of his office building. But as he stopped rising, his muscles pressing into the ceiling, he started growing outwards. “Oh...fuck YES!” Lucas cried. His cock started to rumble. The pure pleasure of growing bigger than anything else was immeasurable. The ecstasy of becoming more powerful than modern weaponry was pure bliss to him! And it showed well. As Lucas started to moan, his cock began getting bigger. It stretched out with so much force that it barreled through whatever was left of the front entrance and started crashing through buildings. To Lucas it felt like the worlds biggest fleshlight. “More!! I need More!!” He yelled. He heard the officers call for backup. That was exactly what he wanted. He wanted to feel more bullets. He wanted to feel them TRY to stop him! “I’ve found a weak spot!” Someone cried out. Then Lucas heard dozens of men running around back past his swimming pool-sized balls and to his back. “Fire!” Lucas got an ass massage like no other. With the heaviest weapons they had, an estimate of a while police force laid raid to his bubble butt. But luckily for him, it only stimulated the growth more. He felt his ass begin to inflate like two giant balloons, crushing all the men underneath like mere insects. But the pleasure was too much. Lucas’s body responded too well. With the sound of cracking, the ceiling collapsed and Lucas exploded through the next few floors of the building, his growth only gaining momentum. “MORE!! FUCK YES! HERE’S YOUR MOTHERFUCKING OFFICE, OR WHATEVER’S LEFT OF IT! HAVE FUN IN HELL, BITCHES!” Lucas flexed his biceps and demolished the entire skyscraper in one go, each floor crashing onto his body. But with every stimulus that he got, he only grow exponentially more. His pecs soon covered the whole block. His biceps reached to the clouds above. His ass lifted him dozens of stories high. His legs practically grew into one as they expanded outward. His cock stretched all the way across the state. Then soon, all of that doubled. Like he was growing against sandpaper, hundreds of buildings were crushed by his weight almost instantaneously. Then hundreds became thousands. Millions. Billions. Then soon he felt the pull of the earth fade away. Slowly but surely he was outgrowing the whole planet. He was his own gravitational force. And as science states, gravity attracts things to large objects. Lucas felt giant objects start to squeeze onto him like magnets shot from a gun. With each new celestial body, Lucas’s body bursted with more muscle. His cock ripped through galaxies. His ass stopped black holes. His biceps hit the edge of the universe. Exponentially faster and faster Lucas grew until he no longer felt anything all all except his pure muscle. He was the biggest thing in existence. He was the whole universe. Even as he kept flexing, he felt his muscles start to grow into each other with nowhere else to grow. That was it for Lucas. He had to cum. As his muscle started growing around his cock, jerking it ever so slowly, Lucas let out a final roar and let out immeasurable loads of cum. Cosmic galaxies of sperm exploded and covered any remaining gap in the hot, white liquid. Lucas was going to be very happy. After all, nobody could stop him now. He was all power incarnate. And who wouldn’t wish for that?

The Prologue is found here: The Orgone Accumulator : Prologue The Orgone Accumulator: Part One He finished his three articles about Portland Waterfront Pride and sent them to the news-site editor per e-mail. Brad Taurus. He smiled. If your name is John Smith, and your occupation is freelance journalist and writer, you have to use some eye-catching alias to stick out in the crowd, even if it sounds silly. He scratched his hipster beard, took a sip of green tea, and clicked on one of the files that contained one of the chapters-to-be of his new book about the history of gay subcultures. Stud of Dakota ... One of the models of Robert Mapplethorpe's artistic black-and-white photographs back in the late 1970s and early 1980s. The guy had been huge and muscular long before working-out became fashionable. At a time, when other men allowed their hair to grow long like Peter Berlin did, Stud of Dakota went from a rockabilly hairstyle to a crewcut, like he had predicted the approaching fashion-changes of the 1980s. Stud was surrounded by urban legend: Had he lived among the San Francisco leather scene before it became publicly visible? Was he devoted to kinks too extreme to describe in words? Was his disappearance from the public eye in the mid-1980s caused by AIDS? No-one knew. The New York art scene was probably where to sneak around, if you wanted answers. Mr. Smith booked himself an airline ticket. His guilt-stricken conscience told him, that his travels would be bad to the environment, but the thought of a coast-to-coast railway journey caused him to shudder. He compensated his carbo-dioxide emissions with a click, and prepared to pack his bag. * * * It was days later. He had presumed, that he would enjoy New York, but he was wrong. The streets were sticky of some unknown dirt, the air smelled funny, the cabdrivers were impolite, and there were beggars or psychos in the streets. "Brad! Darling! So this is how you look in real life! I've wondered who the mysterious Mr. Taurus behind all those articles is. No-one told me, that you are a bear-cub." The Queen was overwhelming. The art dealer known as The Queen was in his eighties, and remembered the Stonewall riots and days long before these. His suit was luxurious, he wore androgynous wristbands, and his arms gestured in a manner reminding of someone's aunt, in a way that didn't feel natural, but seemed like a skilfully rehearsed act aimed at provoking bystanders, which it probably did. The comment surprised John, and it felt like it dissolved and evaporated all the polite stuff he had planned to say. Startled, he answered: "I'm not a cub, and 'Brad Taurus' is a pseudonym." "You don't say?", The Queen answered waspishly. "I would have guessed, that your inventive and creative parents came up with the name before your birth. You can never be too careful when you select your parents. My parents had the grace to bestow unto me independent means, and they tended to pretend not to understand, that the vagina business was way outside my comfort zone, just as the upper classes of their generation used to do." The elderly man's eyes glittered of mischief, and he gave the impression of being considerably younger, despite his silver hair. "Anyhow. Come in, come in, and let me give you something to drink. Something bubbly perhaps?" A few minutes later, John was sitting in a chair constructed to look artistic, but it wasn't particularly comfortable. In his hand, he was holding a flute of champagne. "So what brings you to the doorstep of my humble abode? Chin chin!", The Queen asked and toasted. "I mentioned my book about history ..." "Indeed you did, darling. Did I tell you, that those puppy eyes of your's suit you very well?" "One of the chapters will mention, how some gay men in the past behaved effeminate, in order to mock the prejudice of straight society ..." "Oh, honey! I have no idea what you are talking about!", The Queen shrieked in falsetto, but his eyes glittered of intense irony. "However, I ask for your advice about a different matter, since you are knowledgeable about the arts scene in the 1970s ..." The lustre in The Queen's eyes changed from flippant to businesslike. Even his gestures became more restrained, less studied. His body language went from a stereotype to a real person. "One of Mapplethorpe's models, the alias 'Stud of Dakota', disappeared in the 80s, and I don't even know his real name." The Queen let out a low whistling sound. "Those young boys were in an entirely different league than I or my late husband were. Beside being younger than me -- he must have been born some time in the 1940s, I guess -- Stud and his handsome friends hang out with an entirely different circle than mine: Nice to watch at a distance, but only watch, no touching! It doesn't probably come as much of a surprise, that most of my friends belong to old families with old money, but one of the benefits of moving in artistic circles is, that you encounter men from many ways of life, including some gorgeous working-class and lower middle-class men. I encountered them a few times when Mapplethorpe arranged something, but I don't know much about them -- neither Stud nor his friends." John's facial expression must have revealed the wave of disappointment, which began to well up inside him, because The Queen continued: "But have no fear. I have a fairly good idea which ones to ask. You'll have to ask the older patrons at The Eagle NYC." "The Eagle?" "A leather bar. Not my personal cup of tea, as you might guess, but the oldies over there would possibly know something. You wouldn't be able to enter dressed like that ..." The Queen evaluated John's hipsterish attire with critical eyes. "... but if you wear well-polished boots to those jeans, the men at the entrance could possibly sell you some suitable gear to wear at the bar. Better ask them first. It's not my type of place." * * * The story continues in The Orgone Accumulator : Part Two

There we were, sweating our asses off with Dominics veiny forearm on both our shoulders. "C'mon you can't leave so soon. The best part isnt even here yet." While he says that, I signaled Jacqui to look down at his pants to see of his dick is growing. She can see his dick print running down his leg. He's horny but he is clearly holding back. "Ay bruh, what you doing here?" I say with a concerned face. You dont like cars like i do. "I just thought if you could enter your car, i could enter my car in this car show" Dominics face is jolly, but i can tell he plottin. "Nigga your car isnt anything special" Jacqui says this is with a straight face, and it's so perfect that i couldnt help but snicker. "Whatever. But anyway have you been to the V8 stars section? The Dodge Challenger Demon looking rather fine today" "We can't" i say calmly. "There's something back at the house we got to take care of" "Like what?" Good question "Look bruh, we gotta bounce" "But hold on there's one thing I gotta show you" I look at Jacqui who then look down at dominics pants, who still has a dick print but slightly bigger and more veins. This isnt good. We go to the back corner where Italian designs are and see a 2006 lamborghini Gallardo in orange and my heart dropped. Lamborghini is my favorite Manufacturer of all times and the Gallardo is my favorite. It even has the orange. 5.0L V10 aint got shit on the V8. I start fangirling in front of a bunch of people, while Jacqui tries to calm me down. After my mental "breakdown" I start asking who's car that is so I could have a picture to post on Instagram. Cade being the little devil he is, He says "I know who it is, but its a surprise. Ungh..." Hol up, now i aint gonna act like I ain't just hear you moan. "Wait what you say?" I say in a concerning voice "I said it's a surprise. Unnggh." See he did it again. I signal Jacqui to check on his dick, but he's been bigger without us knowing. Italian designs are in a big tentand everybody left to go look at something else. While me and Jacqui were distracted by the Gallardo, all you hear is "Now!!" And the tent entrance is completely shut. No way in or out, what kind of bitch ass design is that? I see this and jacqui and I immediately starting sprinting for the entrance trying to get through but to no avail. And I left my pocket knife in my car,. Dominics sees this and says, "No no no, you can't leave yet! We waited so long for this!" "Wait we?" I say confusingly "Who the fuck is we?!" Jacqui screams. "He means us" a voice says. Except this voice was threatening and evil, but sounded familiar. And out of nowhere, Elliot comes down with nothing but his boxers and vans on, in a super saiyan pose with his dick out through the fly. And one by one, everybody else came out. Luis, Reece, Chase, etc. They all had no shirts on, dick through the fly of the boxers in a super saiyan pose, (You know the pose when they power up). Their muscles have been increased quite a bit with veins running through the biceps to the chest and even their abs. Their dicks has to be at least 20 inches long, and 7 of them staring at us with their evil grin and veiny dicks leaking pre. This doesn't look too good...

You don’t really answer right away. That thing about promising to do whatever they ask bothers you. But the waitress buys you a little time when she starts bringing plate after plate after plate of food for Mitch. “Those trials you were talking about?” you ask. “Yeah,” says Mitch. You figure you better get your questions in before he starts eating. “How long do they last?” you ask. “That depends entirely on you,” says Mitch. “Some guys get through them in just a few days. I took a few weeks. But I heard of one guy who took over a year! Seriously, I don’t know how anyone could stand that for a year!” “That bad?” “They are not fun,” says Mitch. “You will not enjoy them.” “When do they stop?” you ask. “They stop when you’re ready,” said Mitch. “When’s that?” you ask. “You’ll know,” Mitch says. “Sorry, that’s all I can tell you.” You take another look at Mitch’s amazing physique, his giant sculpted muscles and his bulging veins and you decide to go for it. After all, if Mitch could get through it, so can you. “I’m in,” you say. “You’re sure?” Mitch asks. “Remember, no turning back.” “Where do I sign,” you say. “A hand shake will do,” says Mitch. “It’s a bond of honor that will hold you, whether you want it to or not.” “I want it to,” you say. “Okay,” says Mitch and the two of you shake. “While I’m your mentor, I can’t be your friend,” says Mitch. “Why not?” you say, alarmed. “Because I’m going to have to be tough on you and do things a friend would never do.” “That sounds ominous,” you say. “But don’t worry about that now,” says Mitch. “Let’s go over to your place and have one last night of gaming. Then, tomorrow, meet me in the Downtown Fitness Center locker room at 6:30 am and we’ll get started.” “Sounds good,” you say and you sit there and watch Mitch devour a ridiculously large meal while you nibble on your cheese burger and fries and try to contain your excitement for tomorrow. That evening is awesome! It’s just like last summer all over again, except for Mitch’s humongous physique, which you can’t stop staring at. But Mitch doesn’t seem to mind. The next morning, you get up bright and early, pack your gym bag and head for the Downtown Fitness Center. You get there 10 minutes early. You figure its just enough time to change into your gym gear. Mitch shows up at 6:30 on the dot, but he’s dressed in his jeans, which his massive muscle pylon legs are stretching to their limit. “It’s 6:30 and you’re not ready,” you say, grinning. “We’re not here to work out,” says Mitch. “We’re not?” you say. “I hope you don’t hate me,” said Mitch. “Hate you?” you say. “It’s been bothering me,” says Mitch. “I hated my mentor, right up until my initiation. Now, I’m grateful to the guy. We’re good friends. And the thing is, I think he went easy on me a few times. I think if he hadn’t, I’d have gotten through the trials a lot quicker. “So, I’m not going easy on you, Jared. I’m going to be just as tough as I can be. And, well… I hope you don’t hate me.” “I don’t think I’m gong to hate you,” you say. “That’s what you say now,” says Mitch. “Come over here for a minute.” Mitch leads you to a spot just around the corner from the sinks. There’s one guy in there and he’s pretty big. “You see that guy?” says Mitch. “His name is John Stanton and he’s a total douche. He has a hot girlfriend called Sarah Gibbons who he is insanely possessive of…” Suddenly Mitch starts shouting. “And you wanna fuck her?! You wanna fuck Sarah Gibbons? Dude, she is so hot! And you think she looks like a total slut? You’re shittin me? Dude, I gotta hear all about this. I’ll be right back.” “What are you doing?” you say, genuinely alarmed. That John Stanton dude does not look amused and he is heading right toward you. “This is a joke, right? That guy is a friend of yours, maybe another member of the cult, right?” “Hold that thought,” says Mitch, “and stay here. I’ll be right back.” And Mitch leaves the locker room with amazing speed for someone so big. What the…? Where’s he going and at a time like this? “Hey Asshole!” comes a thundering voice from behind you. You turn around only to be confronted with a pissed off John Stanton, and… he’s even bigger up close. “John, right?” you say, offering your hand, but he does not stop mad dogging you for second. “Jerad,” you introduce yourself. I think there’s been a little misunders—” “You’re taking shit about my girl!” And with the first punch that hits you, you realize that this guy is not Mitch’s friend. And with the second, you start to wonder if you’re Mitch’s friend. And with the third… well, you stop counting with the third. When he’s done, John Stanton grabs his gear and storms out of the room. And then you look up, and, almost like magic, Mitch is back. “Welcome to the trials, Jerad,” he says. “I told you you wouldn’t like them.” “If that isn’t the understatement of the century!” you say. “What the fuck was that in aid of?” Mitch just shrugs and says, “The trials.” “What does that mean?” you say. “It means I can’t give you answers,” says Mitch. “Okay, International Man of Mystery, after due consideration, I don’t think this trial-thing is gonna be for me,” you say. “Too late, bro,” says Mitch. “You’re committed. I’m your mentor and you can walk away from me, but you can’t walk away from the trials. They will find you, now, wherever you are. Trust me, it’s better with a guide.” So, what do you do? Mitch says you can’t walk away from the trials, but you’re willing to give it a try. Do you tell Mitch what he can go do with himself? Or do you accept that what Mitch is telling you is true, that you’re stuck with these trial-things and that you’re better off with him than without him?

Me and Jacqui went to car show down at the pier that I convinced her to go with. She's not into cars like I am but she knows beauty when she sees it. Guess I raised her right We saw everything from JDMs to European supercars and hypercars, to even trucks and jeeps both lifted and lowered. I even entered the car show myself, with my pride and joy, but not my favorite. 2003 Lexus IS300. Jacqui even helped me build it, despite her not liking cars as much as i do. 2JZ twin turbo, RWD, who wouldnt want that? I wasnt trying to turn it into a Ferrari killer, but a fast and overall fun car to drive. We went our separate ways to explore the show. One thing that happened was a shocker but not a shocker at the time. Dominics 2013 Mercedes C63 AMG is here. She saw this and sprinted back to me. I was distracted by the Rocket bunny Nissan 240sx. "We have to go now" Jacqui said. I can feel the dread and worry in her voice "So soon?" I said confusingly. "We've only been here for 30 minutes" Jacqui: "Dominics Car is here, I noticed those scratched rims anywhere! WE have to go now!" She points to his car and my heart drops. That's definitely dominics car all right. I go to the registration counter to collect my keys when Dominic appears behind us and wraps us both with his arms. "Leaving so soon guys? The party just started!" Me and Jacqui look at each other sweating. Is this it? Is this where we get nutted on? In front of a thousand people?

Antoine moved quickly toward the wall in the direction where the sound was coming from. He still held Jose with one hand – a grip of power at the back of the guy’s pants. As he neared the wall, Antoine threw out his free hand and punched hard when he was close enough for contact. The wall exploded as if ten wrecking balls was pummeling through it at the same time. Chunks of concrete shot out far and the opening he made was wide enough for a couple of Hummer’s to drive through together with no problem. Antoine’s massive moving mass didn’t slow down for a second – the wall had simply been a tiny blip in the way. It barely registered to the big man that he careened through solid thick concrete so easily. He wanted to reach Rubio as quickly as he could and through the side of the house seemed the fastest way. When Antoine and Jose finally stopped moving a short distance from the building, the muscleman’s posers became tighter from the excitement he got by what he beheld. “Oh hell yeah, Jose, Mr. Alpha’s got a new toy! My muscles get to play.” There was a makeshift airstrip down a slight embankment from the house and the motor sound filling the air was from a massive ‘Grizzly’ beginning to move on the ground a few yards away. This was the nickname given to the army’s Airbus A400M transport propeller plane because of its hulking design. Antoine knew a thing or two about army equipment since items made to withstand a lot of abuse were usually his favorite kind of toys to destroy. This thing was a beauty. It had four 11,000-shaft-horsepower engines and each engine had eight huge thick, powerful propellers. The things were built to carry infantry vehicles and a bunch of soldiers in its giant hold. And, finally, it’s twelve-wheel landing gear allowed it to land on and take off from soft airstrips, like the field beside the Ambassador’s huge residence. Antoine knew he had some time, since it took a lot of effort to get a big ‘Grizzly’ fired up and moving. He looked back at the house and saw that there was a huge balcony on the third floor – probably off the master bedroom. The big man immediately knew this would be a great spot for watching the show. There was a big blue umbrella over a table and chairs – a perfect way to shield Jose from the hot sun. With one powerful leap, Antoine carried the small man up to the balcony. He spoke as he placed his new sidekick in a chair. “Gotta keep you safe, little buddy. I have a feeling there’s going to be a lot of flying debris and probably a lot more gunfire. I need to keep you in one piece, but I don’t want you to miss any of the show, either. I think it’s going to be a good one. Sit up here and enjoy yourself while Mr. Alpha has some fun.” When he finished speaking, Antoine patted his small sidekick on top of the head and then leapt back down to the field below. Jose marveled at how leaping great distances was merely like taking a step to Mr. Alpha. The ‘Grizzly’ was now moving. The big man didn’t look, but he was pretty sure a certain part of his body was leaking from the anticipation of what was to come. Mr. Alpha didn’t just walk across the field; he sauntered with so much cockiness he looked like a muscle enhanced bullfighter waddling into an arena. His unclothed body glistened in the sun and he appeared even bigger than ever before. Of course, compared to the massive plane he looked small, but there was something about the way he carried himself – that, and the way his muscles bulged – that made him look as invincible as he truly was. Jose immediately felt sorry for the Airbus A400M. The machine had no idea it had met its match. The massive plane was mid-field and had started traveling toward the end so it could take off. Antoine confidently stepped in its path and placed his hands on his hips. The huge muscleman glanced up at the balcony and Jose could see that the guy was smiling like a kid in a candy store. The big man’s gaze turned back toward the plane and he locked eyes with the two determined pilots, who had clearly been given the order to mow the almost-naked huge man down and slice him into pieces. Antoine yelled out to taunt the drivers, even though he knew they couldn’t hear him – but he was sure they’d sense his cockiness. “Come to papa, boys! Big daddy wants to play.” For a moment, Antoine contemplated the fact that he knew this was a battle he could not lose. The machine didn’t have a chance. Some guys would let that fact allow the battle to be boring or unnecessary. Not Mr. Alpha – he loved showing off his power much more than the actual confrontation. He knew he was powerful beyond imagination. He knew he could make even a powerful army ‘Grizzly’ submit to his strength. That didn’t matter to him. He simply loved that the plane carried a boss-man, Rubio, who assumed, without a doubt, that he would escape. He also knew the pilots felt protected and safe in the big machine – who was this poser-clad beefy man who had a death wish. And he also knew the plane was probably loaded with a bunch of soldiers who had not heeded the frantic calls of their comrades who reported that there was only one freakishly huge man causing all the havoc to their supposed stronghold. Everyone on that plane probably assumed it was a massive army attacking them. And it was – a massive army of a man – Mr. Alpha. It was the thrill of knowing so many men were about to witness things they thought were impossible. They were also going to get mysteriously turned on by the power display – that was for sure. It was something that happened every time Antoine did something amazing with his strength. Guys just couldn’t help themselves – men simply love things that are powerful. The plane advanced dramatically toward the muscleman in the middle of the airstrip. “They think their machine slices and dices. Little do they know they won’t be going anywhere. It’s almost a shame to ruin such a beautiful aircraft. But showing off will be so much fun.” The motors of the plane were roaring so loudly that Antoine couldn’t even hear his own words. He simply stood there turned-on beyond belief and waiting for the impact. The certainty in the pilots’ faces was almost too much fun for Antoine to bear. These two men did not care they were supposedly about to chop a fellow into a million pieces. They were following the orders of a bad guy in the back of the plane and didn’t know any better. Antoine figured the two men actually looked forward to the anticipated bloodbath. He wondered if they’d be sad about losing their big machine. As the multiple propellers on the two right engines started hitting the unshakable hard body of Mr. Alpha, he tried to imagine the shock and disappointment the pilots would feel as their plan took a dramatically different turn. Powerful metal propellers traveling at those speeds merely shatter into pieces when they hit something so impenetrable – something so much stronger. Blades shattered into chunks of metal and broke off from the engines as soon as they came in contact with Antoine’s shatterproof skin. The plane continued moving forward as the man’s body totally destroyed the pilots’ intended weapon. Nothing remained of the propellers within thirty seconds. Pieces of metal flew hundreds of feet away and a big piece even got lodged into the glass of the cockpit’s window – sending the two pilots into the kind of amazed panic Antoine loved. “And now, to really ground this puppy!” Antoine jumped up and grabbed the edge of the giant wing before it passed over his head. With one semi-hard heave he snapped the long thing from the body of the plane. He simply broke the wing of an army A400M like it was nothing more than a popsicle stick he fractured in two. The propellers had felt like nothing more than an annoying fly as they battered against Antoine’s shoulder, head, and arm. The wing had ripped off the plane with barely a tug. Antoine was now back on the ground holding the long strip of metal above his head and he broke the thing in two like he would a cracker. He held the broken wing parts in his hands for a few seconds, marveling at how light they were and then he tossed them to he side, like a kid might throw a broken twig. To him, all of this had seemed so easy and effortless. He knew, however, to his friend, Jose, to the two unnerved pilots and to the other fearful faces now watching him from the plane, it had been amazing. Antoine figured it would take everyone a little while to process exactly what had happened – since it was beyond anything they could imagine. Jose had already seen Mr. Alpha do many astounding things, but that didn’t make this any easier to quickly comprehend. This kind of strength – this kind of power in one’s hands and body – was simply unimaginable – even in superhero fantasies. The planes two remaining engines were still chugging away, so the plane started to turn in a compact circle because of the imbalance. Antoine walked confidently up to the giant front tire and the thick metal bearing connecting it to the front of the plane. With one huge hand, the big man reached up and, realizing even his big paw was too small to reach around the thick cylinder of metal, he simply dug his fingers into the steel, gripping the long support strongly. The plane immediately stopped turning. With one tensed, massive arm Mr. Alpha was holding the huge ‘Grizzly’ in place – easily matching the power of the two remaining engines under the other wing. You could hear that the giant machine was freaking out because it couldn’t move – the engines had a high pitched scream. “Kind of like holding an umbrella in a slight breeze. I’m disappointed in the power of a ‘Grizzly’. I anticipated it would give me much more of a struggle. I guess I keep forgetting just how strong I really am. Time for a little nose dive, fellas.” Antoine pulled – just a simple tug, really – with his massive arm and the bearing and wheel ripped away from the plane. It broke apart easily – metal wrenched from metal. The loud scream of mangled steel could even be heard over the roar of the engines. For a second, the plane stayed in place – suspended in air, but then the nose of the plane fell to the ground with a loud smack. The power of the engines made the plane still turn and the nose dug up ground as it moved, finally stopping when the mound of dirt was too big to push. The weight of the engines – and the fact that Mr. Alpha no longer held the plane in place and upright – made the entire machine list to one side and the giant propellers cut into the field below and finally stopped moving as the engines hit the ground. Suddenly, the roar of the plane slowly stopped – the pilots finally getting smart enough to turn the thing off. It had become quite clear, even to them, that they weren’t going anywhere. Antoine had basically immobilized an entire army aircraft with his bare hands. The big man knew the shock of what he had done had still not sunk in completely for the passengers and crew on the plane. Antoine walked down the side of the plane. A stub of metal stuck out from where Mr. Alpha had ripped off the wing. He made it to the back wheels. “Hi, my name is Antoine. I’ll be your flight attendant, today, but I regret to inform you that this plane will not be going anywhere . . . well, unless I choose to lift it up and toss it in the air.” With those simple words, Antoine – again – easily ripped off the wheels from the back of the plane and the entire belly of the ‘Grizzly’ fell to rest on the ground below. The wild beast had been totally beaten. With two huge wheel bearings in both hands, Antoine walked back toward the middle of the plane. He squeezed the steel in his palms as he passed windows, making sure his onlookers could see his big paws crushing steel and making the long cylinders fold up on themselves in the center. He then tossed the wheels to the side. By now, he stood in the middle of the long body of the plane – not far from the front door. The big man looked at the supposed entranceway and laughed. “Doors are for sissies. Why rip off a flimsy door when I’ve got such a powerful noggin?” In a sudden and unexpected flash, Mr. Alpha pulled his upper body back and then sent his forehead slamming against the metal side of the plane. It felt like he was banging into tissue paper – bursting through the plane’s side easily. The hangar like cavern inside the plane echoed loudly from the big man’s head butt – sending the fifty some odd men inside into a frenzied panic. It wasn’t every day a handsome bearded face came plowing through thick steel. Antoine smiled broadly for his group of shocked onlookers. “Here’s Johnny! Annnnd cue gunfire.” Again, as if it were a golden rule of bad men, gangsters, and guerillas, the gentlemen pointed their guns in the direction of the intruding head and unloaded a barrage of bullets at the smiling face. It was as if machine guns made you stupid or so drunk with made-up power you didn’t think straight. This giant muscle man had just destroyed an army-grade airplane with his bare hands. They still somehow thought their gunfire would be something more than a gnat-like nuisance to that bearded mug resting on such a thick bull-neck. Pellets of metal hit Antoine’s cheeks, nose, eyes, and forehead and immediately flattened into coin-like flat blobs before falling to the ground. The guy opened his mouth – allowing a gob of bullets to fill it up, as if he had been pouring cereal from a box. The gunfire petered out – most of the men had used up all their ammunition or finally had a brilliant epiphany that their supposed powerful weapons weren’t doing a thing to the guy. Antoine chewed the bullets up making sure to smack his lips loudly and rudely, even leaving his mouth open. “Thanks fellas – you help me get my daily allotment of iron. I’m a growing muscle boy, you know, and I need my vitamins. Those bullets would go down better with a little salt, though. I also appreciate the facial – machine gun spray keeps the skin looking fresh, don’t you think. You fellas look like you’ve seen a ghost. A big muscled scantily-clad ghost, that is. The sound of thousands of bullets being compressed against my super strong skin kind of turns me on, gentlemen. You’ll have to forgive the imposing massive hard-on presently giving the triple reinforced material of my posers a battle it may not win. You think those weapons of yours are scary – wait until you see the giant rocket launcher I’m sporting if it rips through my undies. It could ram through the side of this plane as easily as my head did. But I digress, fellas. I’m here to shock and amaze you with my freakish strength – like the good superhero that I am. I’m going to show you that your life of crime has amounted to nothing, now that you’ve come in contact with Mr. Alpha. Let’s leave no man standing before I come in. How does that sound, tiny dudes with big weapons? You know what they say – if the plane’s a-rocking, don’t come a-knocking.” The muscled beast pulled his head back out of the hole it had made and put his massive hands against the side of the giant grounded body of the plane. A loud screeching sound filled the air as thick fingers easily dug into the metal siding – to give the smiling behemoth more leverage for his superhuman task and, actually, just to show off. With a simple tug - that actually equaled the force of a small earthquake - Antoine rocked the body of the plane like it was nothing more than a balloon he was playing with. He heard the sound of fifty or so men falling to the ground in one unified plop – the jerking of the plane had been too much for anyone to remain standing. Antoine stuck his head back in the hole, even as he continued to shake the plane. “Striiiiiike! Better than bowling, fellas . . . much better. It’s like you’ve all had too much to drink and can no longer remain vertical. I tend to knock a lotta guys to their knees and butts everywhere I go. I just have that kind of effect on people. It’s a gift. Time for me to come in, gents, so we can get to know each other on a more personal level – and you can see all my bulges up close. Let me show you how a muscleman makes an entrance.” When powerful hands easily rip apart flimsy cloth or cardboard it can still seem impressive or amazing. Imbedded fingers pulling apart the thick metal siding of an army plane – and making it seem like nothing more than cardboard – can cause a group of men to lose control of all bodily functions. Sunlight suddenly spilling into the dark cavern of the plane as Antoine’s hands pulled open a space the size of a large armoire was like watching a modern version of Samson bringing down the pillars of a temple. Mammoth bulging muscles filled the gaping hole as the superhero stepped through steel that had been peeled back as easily as a banana. Fifty so men stared at the muscled giant – each with eyes the size of dinner plates. From the aroma that filled the space it was clear that everyone had either pissed themselves or dumped a big Antoine induced cum-load in appreciation. Everyone on the plane was still on his ass, shell-shocked by the rippling muscled monster that had ripped through steel as if he had simply been parting a curtain. Antoine dropped his hands to his waist, to give the men his best superhero pose. “Geez, fellas, it smells like a sleazy sauna in here. I have a feeling there are a lot of sticky crotches causing that aroma – the best compliment or welcome a guy could ask for. And it’s clear I have caused quite a few full masts in this here plane. Couldn’t help yourselves when this big man pulverized the side of your big plane so easily, could you? Don’t worry, that kind of destruction turns me on, too. I see a bunch of you gazing at my before-mentioned mammoth tool with looks of awe and a few lustful licked lips. Can’t say as I blame you, gentlemen. I’m just too much to handle, aren’t I?” Suddenly, there was a loud cry from one of the guerillas, a big handsome guy with a macho seventies handlebar mustache. He jumped up, came running at Antoine, and slammed the butt of his heavy machine gun into the big man’s rippling muscled gut. The war-like yell ended as soon as the end of the gun met the immovable densely packed abs of the smiling he-man. Nothing was getting through that wall of muscle. The superhero and the guerilla both looked down at the butt of the gun up against Antoine’s corrugated stomach. The big muscled dude continued to stand there with his hands on his hips - smiling. Then, the two men finally looked at each other. Antoine shook his head in disbelief. “Really? Bullets bounced off of me like they were nothing more than tiny rain droplets and, yet, you thought your silly puny gun would hurt me? My forehead busted through the thick metal wall of your plane. These are abs of steel, dude, made for withstanding a lot stronger stuff than your little machine gun. Let me show you what it really means to crunch your ab muscles.” The wide metal rubber-covered end of the gun was suddenly engulfed by muscled ridges about the size of rolling pins. Antoine’s mid-section was suddenly tensed and immediately there was the sound of heavy crunching – like someone big walking over gravel. There was also a high-pitched screech, which could only come from steel being deformed by something much more powerful. The superhero’s stomach muscles were destroying the butt end of a machine gun. This was something that would not fully compute in the head of the guerilla staring as his weapon was demolished by abs more powerful than anything he had ever encountered. Antoine released the ‘crunch’ and the still-shocked guy in front of him raised the end of the gun to his face so he could see how a guy’s abs – only his abs – had crushed steel as if it had been nothing more than soft foam. The contours of Antoine’s rolling pins were forever indented into the butt. It was squeezed as thin a comic book. “Some guy’s get turned on by gut punches, dude – but I can actually get you off quicker by destroying a high-powered jackhammer being rammed up against my mega strong tummy. You should see it when these puppies take the blow from a speeding car and I don’t even budge – the poor vehicle ends up totaled and I haven’t even got a scratch. Let’s give you something to remember me by, dude.” Antoine reached out and grabbed the long gun from the guerilla. He then raised and lowered it quickly over the guy’s head. The big man grabbed the barrel with his other hand and wrapped it around the waist of his surprised onlooker. It was like he was dealing with nothing more than a wire hanger. Antoine’s powerful hands bent the steel of the machine gun around the guy’s stomach and squeezed both ends tightly together into something like a knob. It took mere seconds and the metal of the gun screamed loudly as it was easily manhandled. Antoine wasn’t sure how this thing would finally be removed without cutting the guy, but that wasn’t his concern. He then grabbed the twisted ends with one mighty hand and lifted the smaller man into the air so they could be eye to eye. At the same time, the muscled hero lifted his other arm into a massive biceps flex. “That’s a pretty impressive weapon, little man, but my humongous gun is a lot more powerful, don’t you think? I wouldn’t go eating a lot of food, if I were you, I didn’t leave much room for growth inside your machine gun belt. Who knows, it could become a new fashion trend. An Antoine original for rehabilitated bad men. Everyone will be wearing them and I’ll be the only man that can make them. Dream about that. Nighty night, mister.” Antoine brought his flexed arm down and thumped the chin of the guy – with just his index finger. The man’s head flew back as if it had been slammed with a battering ram and the dude was out cold in seconds – a lifeless blob wrapped up in a demolished gun. Antoine placed him gingerly on the floor of the plane and turned to the other men – loving all the mouths gaping open in astonishment. It was clear no one had ever seen a superhero before. “Which one of you is Rubio? It’s time to play.”

For the past 3 weeks they have been trying to cum on me and Jacqui to no avail. Why you ask? No idea. But they have literally tried EVERYTHING to cum on me. They even snuck into our house. C'mon now. Jacqui and I would've have killed them by now since we got AK's and other weapons stashed at the house, but their muscles are too hard (Pause) to penetrate (Pause again) Chase and Cade are the worst ones with it. Believe it or not, Chase is gay for me Cade Elliot and Dominic. (Got me fucked up) so he always wants me to get covered in his nut, and when he sees Cade grow his muscles, his cock gets like 25 more veins and gets harder and cums harder than a firehouse, and Cade since he is an sex addict, he's always horny, and has to cum at least 30 times a day. 27 of those times is aimed at me and Jacqui and the rest is aimed at the neighbors house across the street. Feel sorry for them. They all have tried and failed miserably, except this one time...

The bell rang at St Matthew's University to signal the end of another day. Lee O' Conner, in his 1st year at the uni quickly stuffs his pencil case and books in his bag and makes a quick exit to catch his bus home knowing if he misses it its another half hour wait till the next one. Lee couldn’t wait to get home so he could continue to use his older brothers gym setup they had in the basement of there house. Lee like his older brother had inherited some great family genetics/Genes, his brother was in there local towns rugby team and at 21 had one of the most enviable physiques in the team thanks in equal measure to his genetics and hard work and determination in the gym. Due to the gyms setup the weights were no longer a challenge for his older bro, who now uses a chain gym, so he said he would keep it there for Lee to use if he wanted. Lee who was 17 was no slouch, already broad shouldered and solid of chest and arms, although not a menacing sight as of yet, could probably still handle himself no problem. So Lee rushed out of university and headed for the bus stop which was around a 5 minute walk, the walk takes him down a tree lined passage, on approaching he could hear the sound of faint cheers and egging on, as he turned the corner he saw a group of older students gathered round in a kinda circle, every now then he'd hear the faint noise of something getting smashed together, Lee crept a little closer to try and get a better look without causing distraction. He eventually saw two final year students having a fight, well I say a fight, it was more a one sided beating, the guy dishing it out was a well built older student Lee had seen, although not huge like Lee's brother, he was still thick of chest and beefy strong looking arms, his opponent was a skinny guy who didn’t stand a chance. Punch after punch was getting played on this teens body, Lee could see the blood pouring from his nose and mouth. Now looking at this, most kids would feel sorry for the weak one and label the big guy as full on bully and then run away. But bizarrely a different feeling was filling Lees head, a feeling of ‘serves the kid right for being weak and skinny’. Lee couldn’t keep his eyes of the bully, watching him mercilessly pounding the other guy to a pulp, every now and then balling his hand to a fist and copying the bully's moves. Lee was enjoying watching this, he wanted some of this for himself. “ it’s time for a new bully in this place” he whispered to himself. Lee now had a evil look in his eyes, like he meant business. Lee eventually left and headed for home, now with a definitive purpose in his mind. Lee got home, his older brother not back from his rugby training yet , he headed upstairs and quickly got out of his uni stuff and into some training shorts, he decided to remain topless as his plan was to work his arse off and get sweaty as anything. He turned and looked in the mirror, his solid 17yr old body staring back at him, “ time to make me a mean bastard, wanna get big, wanna get strong and wanna get insanely bad!” he roared to himself. Lee made his way down to the basement, it was a basic gym setup, a bench press with plates upto 20kg, a selection of dumbbells up to 20kg and a standalone cable tower. In the corner of the room hung a punch bag, “ damn I forgot about that, yeeesssss, I’ll be giving that some treatment later!” he said out loud. Luke started with the weights first, he loaded the bench bar with 30g each side, so 80kg including bar weight. He managed a respectable 6 reps before racking it, he jumped up and started dancing around on the spot and let loose some shadow boxing, after a minute of that he loaded the bag with a further 10kg and went onto lift it 4 times, he would stick at that weight for now, and mix bench with shadow boxing. After a few sets of that he moved onto leg work, he grabbed a 20kg db and started some goblet squats, mixing just past parallel with ass to grass, for the last set he decided to use a 20kg db, with a 15kg plate ontop his genetics to thank he managed 8 solid reps, again he did a minute of shadow boxing all the time eyeing up the punch bag. Lee picked up a couple of 16kg dumbbells and started curling them he wanted a good pump on his arms so he did low weight high reps, each set consisted of around 25-30 reps. After those sets he dropped the weights and turned to face the mirror, he flexed his biceps, small peaks appeared on his arms, granted not as impressive as some of the other studs at his uni, but better than all the students in his year. His chest also looking pumped from the workout. Lee wasn't daft, he knew he would have to get a lot bigger and stronger if he wanted to rule the roost at uni , but every bully has to start somewhere right! He turned and eyed the punch bag. He strutted over with a new found belief, he walked round it a few times, danced up and down and hit a few shadow punches, then it began. Lee approached the bag and started pounding it left and right as hard as he could, Lee had quite a strong punch. The onslaught continued for 10 mins and he showed no signs of tiring, sweat was beginning to drip of him. He stopped momentarily to towel himself, then off he went again, this time mixing left/right with single jabs 5 per hand , this mix went on for 15 more minutes, by this time the sweat was pouring off him, aggression had taken over Luke's mind, he pictured in his mind a skinner kid pinned against a wall and him laying punch after punch an evil grin etched on his face. Lee continued to batter the bag for a further 30mins. His knuckles reddening and the bag getting permanent dents in it from the persistent pounding Lee was giving it. Lee’s thoughts were then interrupted by his older brother returning from rugby practice. “ Hey Lee you downstairs? “ his brother Dave called out. A part of Lee was annoyed that he was disturbed, and briefly thought about making him pay such was his aggression thought, but he quickly thought again as his bro was twice the size of him and would make mincemeat out of him without breaking sweat, he let out a muted grumble, “ grrrrr". “ hey bro, yes I’m down here, I’ve finally found a hobby to get into, come and see" Lee replied . His brother came down to the attic and straight away noticed his brothers sweaty pumped appearance and the battered punch bag. “ Boxing??” he replied. “ Yeah non of this football, rugby stuff etc, I’m really enjoying it!” Lee replied. Dave knows all about the physical aspect of sport with playing rugby so he kind of knew his little bro would do some sort of physical hobby but boxing never crossed his mind. Lee had no intention of taking up boxing, this was bully training. Lee wanted to put his training to the test as soon as he could and had made his mind up to do it after uni the next day. After the gym, Dave rustled them both up a protein rich meal of lean beef mince, sweet potato and veg. For the rest of the night, Lee was planning inside his head how to snare his first victim.