hyper muscle My Dad the Hulk

[Spandexmuscle]

Yes please! Wanna see the boy hulk out like his dad. Maybe in his wrestling singlet after practice making the spandex stretch as he grows... mmm

[Spandexmuscle]

Just read my comment and got excited that someone else was thinking the same thing as me, then realised it was me- duh. Anyway- more please!

[Musxav]

I need more of this story !!!

when is the next chapter gonna come out ?

[Giulmir]

I will patiently wait all the necessary time,  always quality over the quantity 

[Bodicontak]

I check at least once a week to see if the next chapter has been posted.  Hope it is soon!

[Artizek]

PART FOUR

 

(Four years later.)

 

I wake up on several mattresses strewn about the basement floor of my fraternity. Some of the biggest athletes on campus surround me, most of them completely nude with the morning sunbeams illuminating a valley of curves and bulges. No one has showered since our “cardio session” last night, least of all me, and the place is pretty rank. Jerrod, a running back and my current boyfriend, clings to me with his face resting on my chest. His morning wood presses into my leg. I lost track of how many times I came last night--I recall two brothers licking each side of my cock, railing Jerrod’s thick ass, and giving a few others a facial--but still my rod is diamond hard this morning.

Carefully, I pull myself from the tangle of arms and legs and walk off to the shower. 

The frat house is not your typical converted home with narrow staircases and a single tiny bathroom. That would never do for the brothers who live here: the hugest, strongest athletes on campus. Half the football and wrestling teams make their home here. We’re not well known for our parties and our grades aren’t the best, but between the fraternities we win every contest whether it’s a relay or a hotdog eating contest. In fact there’s a weight limit and a strength test to get in. You must bench your own body weight at least once. Like I said, that’s the minimum.

I believe the building was once a hostel. In any case, the brothers appreciate the wide doors and the community showers, where I’m pumping out the first load of the day, praying I don’t clog the drains this time. 

I don’t mean to brag, but I’m the biggest one here. Though still just a junior, I’m often mistaken for a grad student, campus security, or a coach. I’m 6’11” and I expect to be 7 feet by the end of the year. That said, I’m no spindly basketball player. At my last weigh in, I nearly crushed the scale at 760 lbs. You heard me. 

As I beat off, I look in the mirror to see what parts need work. The muscles of my arm ripple as I beat my meat, all the way from my Christmas ham forearms to my 90 inch biceps and then my delts, which could be three watermelons crushed together. The veins pop with the slightest motion. I turn to get a look at my triceps: a horseshoe a Clydesdale would envy. My bullish shoulders and traps rise like bags of concrete. Even my neck is thick and sinewy. My pecs are my pride and joy: two gargantuan slabs of marble that grind against my lantern jaw when I flex. My plump, sensitive nipples point to my toes, and I have to clench my chest to get them to face anyone. I have a generous coat of chest hair that Jerrod and his fuck buddies love to feel. It even trails down my eight-pack to my pubes. I’ve given up trying to shave it. 

My lats are like a cobra’s hood, forcing my arms up and giving me that bodybuilder swagger. They taper to a narrow Adonis belt and then come my oak tree-thick quads, each wider around than many of my brothers’ chests. Even my calves are enormous though they’re a mere 30 inches around each. I guess that’ll be my focus at the gym today. I turn around and struggle to look over my traps to see my barn door wide back. The lats and traps fight for room as I roll my shoulders and flex. I wish my ass were a little fuller. Right now it’s got that kidney bean shape but I want it big enough to rest not just a beer but a whole case on. I add squats to the checklist. Maybe today I can beat my 3,500 lb record. 

I clench my teeth, feeling myself getting close. My huge, calloused hands wrestle with my 20-inch python, nearly as fat as my forearm. My watermelon-sized balls slap noisily against my leg as a familiar tingling floods my loins. Both my hands are a blur on my cock. The head is practically purple now, pre drips onto my toes by the cup. My chin disappears into my pecs as I cum. Load after load splatters the tile floor, running over my feet. Were it not for my guttural snarls, you could probably hear the volume of each spurt from across the room. Through the intense pleasure, I force myself to concentrate on the direction I shoot. I won’t hit the ceiling this time. I won’t take out a light. My glutes clench along with my legs as I thrust into the air. Briefly, a vision of a 12-foot-tall titan flashes in my mind: a monumentally muscled brute, the man I love and want to be. I imagine my feeble body transforming into his, adding literal tons of sheer muscle, while I squeeze the last drops from my cock.

God damn it! It still won’t go down! How am I gonna work out with this monster busting my shorts? I hear someone clearing their throat, look over, and see Jerrod and his friends admiring my output. Several are naked and all visibly hard. I smirk and point to my still throbbing cock. In a gravelly baritone I say, “I warmed the beast up for you. Now who’s gonna stop staring and finish the job?”

 

I’m supposed to be studying biological engineering here--after all it has the best program in the country--but I always feel awkward in the classes. I tower over everyone and have to sit in the very back of the lecture hall so I don’t block the view. Whenever I’m teamed up with other students for a lab, they’re terrified of me. I love the attention my muscles command, but I hate making others uncomfortable. If I can attend virtually, I always take the option. I’m more at home in the gym or on the gridiron or at the cafeteria, where I have ten meal plans all at once. 

But no matter what I do, I’ll always stand out. And not just because of my immense stature. You see, I’m something of a celebrity on campus. Many students here weren’t accepted because of their grades or admissions essays. They got in because of their dads. It’s the same in my case, though not quite. This university helped develop the serum that grew my dad to such mind-blowing proportions, so when I started taking the serum as well, they offered me a full scholarship so long as they could study me. Once a month, a team of professors look on as interns take blood and semen samples, measure my body, and test my strength while I wear a hundred little sensors. I was terrified the first few sessions, but now I look forward to them. I love seeing the astonishment on their faces as I pack inches on my chest or squat an additional 1000 pounds. I’ve gotten several phone numbers that way.

The coaches often show. Mr. Brenton, the wrestling coach, never misses a session, particularly the strength training part. The man has had eyes on me since he saw me moving in as a freshman, shirt off and already bigger than many of the seniors, carrying an entire couch over one shoulder. He always found excuses to keep me another hour at practice or to feel my muscles while spotting me. I didn’t mind. Even though he was in his 50s with a little bald spot, Mr. Brenton was still quite a powerhouse. He had a generous belly but that couldn’t detract from his powerlifter arms and legs and his thick, succulent ass. I made no attempt to hide my erection when he crawled on top of me to demonstrate wrestling moves. 

I can’t remember what was said, but at some point we ended up in his office. I still get hard remembering how I bent him over his desk, slapped my erection on his cheeks, and railed him with such force the desk collapsed under us. Mr. Brenton is still the only man on campus who can take me balls deep. There were a few who could take me freshman year, one or two sophomore year, but now I have to put a rubber band around my cock to remind myself how much my partner can take. 

After that first encounter with Mr. Brenton, he brought his assistant coach, a hulking Southern boy with freckles, and eventually the football coach. Thus, once a week after practice, I go to one of their houses and stand in just a jockstrap as they cling to my forearms and I lift them over my head. Or they take bets one who can suck me off the fastest. I love calling these men half my age things like “shrimp” or “little man,” and they can’t get enough of it. I admit I’ve always been drawn to older men: their confidence, their self-control, their body hair. But while the coaches are a blast, all of them combined really can’t hold a candle to the biggest and hottest man in my life. The one I long to impress and emulate and feel and kiss and love. My own father. 

You could say I’m pretty spoiled. I have a godlike body and devilish libido, a full ride at university, and the biggest and hottest of men throwing themselves at me. But sometimes late at night after all the sex and partying, I feel so alone. I’m just a wall of meat to them. No one asks how I’m doing, just how much I’ve gained or what I’m benching. Everyone sees me--how can they not?--but no one knows what I’m going through. I’m growing so fast. I love it, but it worries me sometimes. What if my body can’t take this much muscle? What if I end up living the rest of my life in a lab. The only person who understands this is my dad. 

It’s a six-hour car ride home. I’d go home every weekend that first semester, but sports, homework, and frat life soon chipped away at that. We do video chats all the time. Dad is growing at faster rate than even me, and when I start the stream I usually see a blurry patch of his furry abs before he steps back a dozen paces to reveal his entire body, usually with another 50 pounds gained since last week’s call. I have to convince myself it’s not a filter or a deepfake. I’ve been crushed in those arms wider than my shoulders. My face has rubbed against his pecs bigger than some mattresses. He is undeniably real. 

We chat about my classes and the renovations he’s making on the house, but the subject inevitably drifts to our bodies. Ever the supportive dad, he can’t help but compliment how my shoulders are filling out or the split in my pecs, visible even when relaxed. Of course, that’s if I don’t start the chat by shouting something like, “Jesus Christ, dad! Have you been bathing in gamma rays? Your traps are about to pop your head like a grape!” He chuckles rich and deep, causing his massive pecs to bounce and we’re soon talking about gains. Then comes the flexing. Dad uses the same camera set-up that he does for his livestreamed workouts and porn shoots, so it’s easy for him to lean back, grab a barbell loaded up with dozens of tons and demonstrate a personal record for me. The shirts come off and then the shorts. I grab my camera and run it up and down my naked body, lingering at my bubble butt, Dad’s favorite part. 

“Kid, I can’t wait to taste your pucker again,” he practically growls. He makes a few exaggerating kissing sounds as I clench my cheeks for him. The cocks come out. Without fail, every Zoom call ends like this, even if we’re just lying on our beds and beating off while discussing the weather. I remember Dad applauding as I managed to suck myself for the first time. Then he showed how a pro does it, only his glans is several times bigger than his actual head at this point. All he could do is clench his pecs around it and lick. This was a year ago, though. His cock is past his head at this point. Today he grips his oak tree of a cock and even with both hands, he can’t reach around the girth. His herculean arms ripple and the veins of his shaft bulge as he milks himself. 

Even through my crappy laptop speaker I can hear the pre hitting the gym floor. His colossal torso glistens with the stuff. I grab a stolen jockstrap from a ziploc bag and drape it across my face, huffing his smell as I beat off. He laughs seeing it.

“What a pig my boy is. Addicted to the stench of his dad’s big, heavy balls. I’ll send ya a care package of old socks and the stringer tee I just ripped down the middle. I bet it could wrap you and all your fuck buddies up nice and snug.”

“No Dad, your smell is all for me,” I groan.

“I just love hearing that.”

I pause. There’s something I’ve wanted to tell him for a while.

“Dad, Spring Break is coming up.”

“You’re gonna have so much fun,” he says, his face beaming. “Send me some pics of you and the boys on the beach.”

“Actually I was thinking...could I...If you’re not doing anything, could I come home instead?” I sound like a little boy again. Dad’s expression softens.

“Is everything okay?”

I lie back against the wall, afraid I’ve killed the mood. 

“Hey,” Dad says, “we don’t have to talk about it now. We can talk about it at home. You know you’re always welcome.”

“Thanks, dad.” 

I spread out Dad’s jock, which could fit around my massive torso. The stretched cotton pouch still reveals the shape of his manhood and half the fabric is stiff from dried pre. 

“I appreciate the clothes you send, but they never live up to the source. I guess I just miss your smell and my laptop really doesn’t do your voice justice. Your growling has almost blown out the speakers.”

A booming laugh makes Dad’s pecs and shoulders ripple. The camera doesn’t know where to focus. With a devilish grin, he gives me a whole soundscape of growls, snarls, and grunts, somewhere between the world’s biggest bear and The Incredible Hulk. I have hours of it recorded and few things get me off faster. Some days he calls up just to give me a few snarls and it takes all my willpower not to burst through my shorts.

“Come home and I’ll do this all day, son. I know how much you crave my dirty talks. Hang on…”

“What is it?” I ask, worried by the shock in his eyes.

“My serum dose. I get the injection the Thursday before Spring Break.”

In the silence that follows, I remember the days after injections. In my boyhood, he’d disappear all week as his body accepted the surge of hormones, the days of prolonged growth, and the unparalleled sexual rampage. As I grew older and we gave in to our love for one another, Dad returned earlier, letting me see more of his bestial state. Last year, he’d spent three days in the lab beating his meat. Not eating nor sleeping. Just flooding the facilities over and over again. Not that you’d know that. When he arrived home (800 lbs bigger and gaining 100 more every day for two weeks), I don’t think his cock shrunk an inch. Even after filling the pool with a ten-minute load, he was still diamond hard. 

By day two, I had to check myself into a hotel so I could sleep. I hadn’t had a single moment’s rest with the earth shaking and Dad roaring so intensely. Stupidly, I thought I could keep up with him, but the serum had transformed my father from a man into a force of nature. It might as well try to satisfy a tornado. Now a year later my strength and stamina had increased, but Dad’s gains and the subsequent frenzy would be exponentially greater. I wasn’t going home to see my Dad. I was signing up for a marathon. 

“Dad,” I said. “I’ll be there Friday night.”

 

 

[kramberry]

Fantastic story so far, I'm beyond excited for the next part!

[LeatherGryphon]

"90 inch biceps"!

Hmmm... divide by pi to get approx. 34 inches diameter.  That's bigger than the diameter of a 55 gallon drum!  Damn man what's his legs look like?  

[Artizek]

On 6/4/2021 at 6:24 AM, LeatherGryphon said:

"90 inch biceps"!

Hmmm... divide by pi to get approx. 34 inches diameter.  That's bigger than the diameter of a 55 gallon drum!  Damn man what's his legs look like?  

How about 120!

[sssska]

keep going please