No reason

by Alakazam1988

 At the gym, Pascal notices that not only is are his pecs getting huge, but his nips are showing under his hoodie more than they should.

Added: Jan 2017 Updated: 17 Sep 2022 7,638 words 36,104 views 4.8 stars (23 votes)


Pascal slammed the gym door open. The guy behind the counter was greeting him, but he didn’t even hear it. A B-side Christmas song was blaring over the radio, but Pascal couldn’t hear that either. His eyes were glued to the locker room door. Maybe Pascal was breathing heavily because of the stairs—the gym was on the third floor of the old town’s market building. Or maybe because he was wearing not one but two hoodies. His already overblown physique was even more prominent now, and he could feel the eyes of the men on the gym floor following him as he entered the locker room. Pascal was pretty well-built, buff even, but in the last few months, he had really been packing on the pounds. He was still pretty astonishing to look at, but a bit rounder these days, and the two hoodies didn’t help.

The door of the locker room swung open and Pascal entered the scene with a distracted look on his face and sweat dripping from his nose and chin. He glanced through the rows of lockers and his mood lifted as he realized that he was the only one there. Finding the most private corner of the locker room, he threw his gym bag on the floor and paused for a second to listen—but no, there was only silence between the rows of lockers.

He was still panting, even though the stairs were far behind him now. Pascal looked at the full-length mirror on the wall and wondered what was going on. His face was red and glistening with sweat. His thick eyebrows rose a little when he saw his intimidating build in the mirror. Everything just screamed “huge!”: his size 13.5 US shoes, his grizzly-bear hands, his unbelievably wide back, his 6’4” height.

He touched his pecs and released them. The hoodies masked them pretty well, but he had added way more pounds than he’d thought. His bulking phase had ended three weeks ago, but obviously his body wasn’t finished gaining size. He tried cutting his calorie intake, lifting harder, doing more cardio—but none of it was working. The contest was only 8 weeks away, and it would be pretty hard to get his shredded body back in that short time. And then there was…this other thing.

Pascal doffed his first hoodie and the problem immediately became visible. Again, he looked around nervously, but no one was watching. There were two shadows visible on his chest in the weak light of the locker room.

“Fuck,” he thought. He looked down and touched his round, newly-enlarged pecs again.

“Normal-sized nipples wouldn’t be visible through a shirt and a hoodie,” a voice whispered inside Pascal’s head. He had first discovered them this morning in the bathroom of his cramped apartment. He knew that his pecs had been looking magnificent the last few weeks, and that his areolas in turn had become bigger too, but when he’d seen his nipples this morning, he’d known that something was off.

He read about something like that as a result of steroid abuse. Something complicated about the rise of estrogen in the male body as a reaction to the higher testosterone level, resulting in a man ending up with boob-shaped breasts.

Pascal pulled off his second hoodie, leaving only his t-shirt. His pecs, luckily, were still muscular and definitely looked masculine, even though he had to admit that they had become rounder. Much rounder, now that he looked at them in detail. His engorged nipples were alarmingly prominent now, like two thimbles hidden under the dark blue cotton fabric of his shirt. He pulled that off too and stared in awe. Pascal had never seen pecs that huge in real life. He let them jump a few times and felt how heavy and wide they were. He could actually hear the contraction of the muscle fibers under the skin.

“This is nice,” he thought to himself, and rubbed his huge nipples, which in no time became hard and slightly bigger. “But I have to do something about it. This size…” he stared at the enlarged nipples between his fingers, “is insane.”

A shiver went down his spine, and for a second it felt like there was no air in the room anymore. Pascal had gently caressed his right pec, and the moment he touched his nipple it happened again.

“Fuck…that’s intense,” he said dreamily, still looking down at his chest. “Focus!”

The wooden bench cracked under his weight and he dropped the rest of his clothes. It was hard work peeling the skinny jeans from his swollen thighs, but after three tries he got them off. He slipped inside his skin-tight gym pants (his bulge looked really fine in them, he noticed, even though his balls were still recovering from the steroid cycle) and into a 4XL tank top that was so loose that his nipples weren’t visible through the fabric. He left the locker room, water bottle in one hand, towel in the other, waddling slightly because of his massive thighs.

Pascal tried to act confident, but it was hard not to feel like everyone was staring at his magnificent chest and his puffy nipples.

He liked to row as a warm-up, but when he got into the seat of the machine, everything felt tight and not built for his size. There was barely room for his ass, his thighs were crammed against each other, and his bulge (pressed outward by all that muscle mass) looked even bigger than before. Anyway. He grabbed the handle and started to row.

It felt easy, like child’s play, and Pascal wondered if this was a machine for newbies. He moved the pin and began rowing at the machine’s hardest level. Confidence surged through him, and his doubts about his appearance and his bodybuilding career were suddenly blown away. He rowed harder, his breath becoming shorter and his grunts louder. Sweat was dripping onto his muscle gut and his swollen thighs. His puffing and blowing became louder with every pull, and Pascal could feel his triceps, back, and chest swelling in pleasurable pain. Especially his chest felt sore and flaming hot. He looked down and saw in horror that it had grown bigger, and that both of his nipples had not only grown but worked their way out of his tank top and were now visible to the world.

He lost his grip on the bar and the weights smashed back to the ground. He jumped up and tried to fold his arms to hide his enormous chest, but he had trouble. His once-loose tank top seemed to have shrunk and now looked even more painted on than his gym pants. Pascal waddled back to the locker room and stared into the mirror with shock. He pulled his top down and exposed his now inch-long dark nipples. What was going on here?

“It’s just the workout! The muscle is warm and full of blood. Hell! I’m a monster of a man and all I have to do is lose these extra pounds.”

He put his first hoodie back on, and even though it felt tighter now, especially around his gut, he left the locker room.

Pascal filled his water bottle and drank it in a rush. Then he filled it again and waddled to the room where the real bodybuilding action happened, full of sweating men working hard on their dream bodies. Pascal could feel the water churning in his stomach as he started to lift.

The tightness of his hoodie felt quite good at the beginning, but the more he lifted, the more worried Pascal became about it. He glanced in the mirror now and then, but he was nervous about what he was seeing there.

His gut looked bloated as hell under the fabric. “Just the water!” he told himself.

His pecs were even bigger now, and soon they would touch his chin without his having to look down. “Just the pump from the training!”

Even his bulge looked bigger now, and because his hoodie pulled up every time he stretched, it was pretty much always on display, and he imagined that everyone was looking at it. “That’s…nothing. Just the lighting in here!”

Same for his more and more obviously puffy nipples. “WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE?” he thought.

But none of these thoughts were visible outside of his mind. He just kept his cool and pulled his hoodie back down over his growing gut. It was exposed again in a matter of seconds.

Pascal thought long and hard about whether or not he should train his chest. But it couldn’t get any bigger than it already was, right? And he had to activate the muscle there to burn some fat. Maybe…maybe later.

He sat and grabbed some dumbbells to go on with the workout. With every rep, the hoodie felt like it was getting a bit tighter. The seams were already stretched to the limit and close to tearing. Pascal looked down at his left biceps, his chin nearly pressing against his chest, and he had to admit that it looked stunning. His arms were bulging immensely, beyond anything he had seen before. The hoodie, meanwhile, was saturated with sweat and clinging even more tightly to his furtively growing body. Watching himself in the wall mirror, a sudden warmth flooded through his body, and with growing angst he could feel it concentrating in his pecs and especially in his nipples. Immediately, he dropped the dumbbells, looked around to see if someone was watching (no one was), and drank another liter of water. It was the only way he could fight this fire inside of him.

*Glug, glug, glug* He dropped the bottle but felt still hot after drinking it dry. He touched the underside of his more and more prominent muscle gut—it looked like a bear belly now, but with insane abs. The surface of it was hard as stone and Pascal could feel the water inside of it.

He’d never felt so heavy, so big, or so powerful. Every muscle of his body was blown up to the human limit. Walking was becoming harder because of his tree trunk thighs and his obscene package; looking down was becoming harder because of his insane pecs. His arms stuck out from his body. He was a waddling muscle god on steroids.

Pascal could have lived with all of that. The pump, the size and even the strange, public growth of his cock and balls (at least, that’s how it felt)—but not with these insane and still feverishly growing nips. They got his attention after poking hard into the sweaty fabric of his hoodie. Even though his mobility was starting to decrease (not to an alarming level…yet), he grabbed the bottom of his pullover and lifted it, like a big-breasted girl at a very drunken festival, to see what was happening to him. His pecs were so big now that they actually drooped a little after he got the shirt off of them.

“That’s impossible … how is this possible?”

His pecs were way beyond melon size now, and his nipples were exactly as big as his thumbs. They had changed their appearance too, looking more like a pair of small erect cocks glued to his enormous areolas. They each had a clearly visible head and a thin shaft with veins. Pascal dropped his hoodie, his growing concern turning into panic. They were clearly visible through multiple layers of clothing—what would people think when they saw these freaky inhuman appendages?

He ran as quickly as he could back to the lockers. He didn’t acknowledge the stares he got from the employee behind the counter or the other gym members, and he even didn’t even notice when he had to duck to get into the locker room.

A quick look around…no one was there. He dropped his clothes and gave himself a look in the mirror. Pascal stopped breathing when he saw his body. His pecs were glistening with sweat and radiating a steady, growing heat. His nips looked even fatter now even than they had just a few seconds ago. His ass looked inflated; so did his still-sloshing gut, and under that slept his overgrown alpha package. Balls as big as avocados and as full as his gut. A cock so fat that it could only be held with two hands. It was soft at the moment, but the glans began getting bigger as soon as his shaking hands started touching it. From base to tip it was probably eight inches long, covered in pumping veins. Pascal dropped it and stared at his full reflection, mouth open. He grabbed his pecs and felt the muscle mass shifting under the skin. There was barely a gram of fat on them, and yet they were unimaginably big and round and heavy, and oh, god, touching them felt so intensely good. Sweat dripped from his 2.5-inch nipples, their heads bigger as ever.

Pascal’s mind was on fire. Nothing made sense: he had stopped taking steroids weeks ago. The water he drank was just plain fucking water. He didn’t eat anything special, didn’t do anything special—nothing. And yet here he stood in front of the mirror, watching himself grow even bigger without doing anything.

It was only then that he realized he had to duck to see his whole body in the mirror. He looked around to see his body in comparison to the room and his stomach twisted as he realized that he was already at least seven feet tall, maybe more.

It seemed like the only way out was forward. It didn’t matter how low his body fat percentage was—that had to be the cause of all the trouble, Pascal told himself despairingly. “I have to finish my workout before anyone notices I’m a freak!”

He tried covering up his gigantic frame, but his clothes seemed to have shrunk since he’d taken them off. He had trouble fitting his package back inside his gym pants. It had grown even more and was now so tight in his clothes that the base of his fat cock would soon be fully on display. His ankles and most of his calves weren’t covered by the pants anymore.

Pascal had trouble fitting the tank top over his head; his pecs and arms were so big that he’d lost some of the mobility he needed to do it. He tried covering his obscene nipples, but they immediately sprang out of his top again, glistening in the weak light. He muscled on the first, already sweat-soaked hoodie, and Pascal could hear it ripping under his arms. He raised his unbelievably heavy arm and stared at the huge hole that now exposed his hairy armpit. His nipples were still clearly visible, his pecs so overblown that cleavage had formed between them. He put the second hoodie on over the first, but it only made it more obvious how much he had changed. The new hoodie was already close to tearing around his round, bulging muscle gut, which fully exposed his belly button and his lower back, not to mention his stunning ass, now forcing its way out of his gym pants. The pants weren’t going to hold much longer either.

“I have to hurry, before it’s too late.”

Running was becoming harder and harder with every new pound his body added. The other gymgoers couldn’t believe their eyes when they saw Pascal returning. He paid them no attention.

He loaded up a bar, lay on a bench, and started to bench press more than he ever had before. The bar was actually bending from the weight, but Pascal wasn’t going to waste time thinking about that. As he pressed the weights up and down and up again, he kept his gaze focused on his pecs. He didn’t notice at first, but it soon became clear that his solution to the problem was actually making it worse at an even faster rate. He finished a set of ten reps, his arms shaking, his torso shuddering, and his pecs so big he couldn’t see beyond them. And on the top of them, packed and compressed, lay his nipples.

Another try, because he didn’t know what else to do. Ten reps later they were even bigger, now definitely pressing against his chin. He stopped, breathed in and out, and covered his eyes, trying to ignore the feeling of his biceps pressing against his own monstrous pecs. For a moment he just lay there on the bench—it seemed like there was nothing left to do but accept what was happening to him. Pascal took another deep breath, making his pecs grow even bigger, and the outer hoodie ripped, right down the cleavage. Another breath—even though he didn’t want to—and the other hoodie tore under his arms, exposing his pits. The remains of the tank top looked ridiculous, barely covering anything of his upper body. He looked in the mirror, and against all odds, Pascal started to laugh. He couldn’t fight what was happening to his magnificent body—he was helpless. The reflection in the mirror showed a monster, 7’4”, sweat dripping from his insane nipples onto his round bulging gut, the base of his cock exposed to the world.

More and more people started watching him as he continued to work out in spite of himself.

“What’s happening to this guy?”

“Is he okay?”

“No way. Look at him! That can’t be normal.”

“Never seen something like this.”

Pascal could hear them. He was sitting in the seat of a butterfly machine, starting the next phase of his chest workout. His cock pressed tightly against the leather seat; it wouldn’t be long before it burst free. Pascal grabbed both handles, arms high, and tried pressing them together in front of him, but his pecs were so monstrously big that it was just impossible. He tried harder and harder, his face turning red, pressing the air out of his lungs as though it were his last breath.

“Is he growing?” asked someone from the crowd, but no one answered him.

Pascal screamed after 20 reps and stood up, sweat dripping to the ground, his pecs now seriously pressing against his chin. He flexed them a few times, making his body shake because his chest was such a big part of it now. He grabbed his exposed nipples like dicks and started to jerk them.

Most of the people had left the gym by now, unable to handle what was happening to this freaky stranger. When the guy from the counter came over, he couldn’t say anything at first, awed by the spectacle at the weights in front of him.

“Bring me a shake. The biggest you have, little fella!”

His voice was like rolling thunder, and the man obeyed. A few minutes later he was back with a thick four-liter shake.

“Just what I needed.”

The moment Pascal started drinking it, he started to get even bigger, hitting the 7’6” mark in no time. The employee was hypnotized—this man was the god of his late-night dreams. While Pascal was still busy drinking and grunting, the other man started to caress his new friend’s enormous breasts. The muscle monster had bigger nipples than his own long, hard cock. They were veiny, as thick as a small bottle of water, and at least 8’’ long. He started jerking and sucking them and Pascal cried out in joy, dripping some of the shake over his chest and belly.

“Don’t you dare stop, little guy!” he ordered, and drank the rest of his delicious shake. The tiny man was working hard at his new job, and Pascal’s heart rate was rising. His whole body trembled, sweat dripping and breath shuddering.

“Not so fast, little fella. This can’t be good.”

But the man didn’t stop.

“No, no, no! This is too much,” Pascal cried. Something was building inside his pecs, and they were ballooning at a speed and pressure Pascal had never seen before. At the same time, he could feel his dick was finally free, and hard as a rock. It grew to its new maximum until it was pressing against the underside of his still-inflating chest.

The shake had worked wonders. Pascal fell to the ground, his frame so massive that he was unable to stand anymore. The tank top had long since torn to shreds. His legs were splayed out, and between them rested a pair of enormous, full and hairy testicles. He lay on his back, unable to see anything but his pecs, slowly obscuring his vision.

A final cry broke the silence, and Pascal came against his partner’s back in eight huge fountains of cum. Shortly after that, his nipples did the same, and even more white-hot gold shot out of them both simultaneously. Pascal screamed in joy, and the small guy didn’t stop until Pascal was empty as a drum.

When it was over, he lay there, out of breath again, his pecs and nipples slightly deflated but still unbelievably huge, wondering what had happened in the last couple of hours.

“So…how…how did you do that?” the other man wanted to know, and the only thing Pascal could answer in his baffled state was “Merry Christmas.”

He took his ripped hoodies from his locker and left the gym sprinting.

As he ran through the night, he wondered how his life was going to change, and if this was going to happen again. It really shouldn’t, and yet here he was, 7’7” tall, and there had never been a reason.

No sooner had the growth tapered off than Pascal was confronted with his first real-world problem: he had no clothes that fit him at all anymore. His hands were shaking so badly that it took him several tries to get into the back of his car. As he started fishing for the extra pants and muscle shirts in his other gym bag, the sky tore open and it began pouring rain. Big drops started rushing down his broad, naked back. There was no cover in the gym parking lot: he had to find something to wear, and soon.

“Fuck,” Pascal muttered. His pecs were so big that even just seeing over them into his car was a challenge. He tried pushing his pecs to the side to look around them, but they were too thick to budge. He had to work by feel to find some old shorts and a T-shirt. He had to get them on quickly, before anyone saw him.

He tried to jump into the tiny pair of shorts. His body was so heavy now that the effort rattled the chassis of his car. The concrete rumbled under his big feet. His entire body jiggled, the sounds of his body colliding against itself loud enough to reverberate back to him off the surrounding cars. A quick glimpse of his reflection in the car window made the situation clear: the shorts were never going to fit. For the first time, the reality of his situation began to dawn.

“This can’t be real,” he whispered. He became aware of the weight of his massive package, down there in the blind spot beyond his pecs. The shorts were stuck halfway up his superhuman legs, unable to cope with the mass of his flexing ass on one side, and on the other, a package bigger than any clothes were designed to withstand.

Pascal had always been working with an impressive set of equipment. 7 and a half inches soft, and even bigger hard, draped over an impressive pair of balls big enough to make any man jealous, he’d been more than happy. But the ordnance he was packing now was on another level, more than twice as big as what he’d had. It was way too much, but it was hard not to enjoy the feeling of so much manhood hanging from his loins. “Come on, come on,” he whispered aggressively again and again in the half-dark.

He would have to give up on the shorts. Ultimately, he just let his package hang there outside them as he tried the shirt. Getting that over his head was no problem, but getting it over his vastly-enhanced shoulders, and especially his pillow-like pecs, was impossible. Pascal shivered. The shirt was already soaked from the rain. Pascal pulled harder, and the fabric started to move. He kept pulling, even though he could hear the threads beginning to give way. Eventually, he just shoved his pecs right into the shirt with his free hand. It actually held itself in place once he’d gotten his bulging nipples in there. When he was done, the hem didn’t even reach his belly button. This can’t be happening, he thought.

He tried to squeeze into his car to escape, but that mission failed even quicker than the clothes. Pascal’s ass still fit into the seat, barely, but his upper body was too wide to get through the door. He pulled again and again, trying different angles, but only succeeding in crushing his overstuffed chest muscles against his face.

Pascal conceded defeat. There was no getting around it: he had outgrown the car.

He walked home alone in the rain. Five years went by.

It wasn’t easy, adjusting to his new reality. Growing from 6’4’’ to 7’7”, becoming a giant overnight, had plenty of downsides. Beds, clothes, any kind of transportation—all a nightmare. But no one could say being a 7’7’’ behemoth didn’t have its perks, either. He’d always liked being big, and getting a certain amount of attention for it, and there was no shortage of that now. He was a masculine force of nature: big, wide, uncontrollable in his size. For better or worse, he was impossible to ignore.

He still doesn’t know what happened, but after five years, he’s learned to live with the consequences—more or less. What choice did he have?

He hadn’t grown anymore in the intervening five years. He’d never returned to the gym, either, superstitiously worried that somehow a visit might trigger another growth spurt. He knew he couldn’t afford to get any bigger if he wanted to keep living any kind of a normal life.

He was still working in used car sales. Not at the same place—he’d had to switch jobs a few times. Dealership owners didn’t love employees who accidentally damaged the merchandise.

But it wasn’t Pascal’s fault he didn’t fit most of the vehicles. Cars just weren’t built with men like him in mind; there wasn’t enough room between the seat and the steering wheel. His height alone would have been enough to make it impossible, but it was probably the weight of enormous chest that pushed the cars’ suspensions past their breaking point. Even in their completely unpumped state, at their plumpest and softest, his pecs were big enough to smother a more normal-sized bodybuilder. Pressing his huge arms backward, crowding his neck and shoulders, they tested every shirt to its absolute limit. It was hard to focus on daily tasks with those mammoth pecs bouncing up and down in his peripheral vision all day. In the beginning, Pascal hadn’t been sure if he liked his over-enhanced chest or not. They were in the way pretty much all the time—but on the other hand, they felt incredible. Sometimes a little too incredible. The slightest breeze on his skin was enough to send him over the edge. And if someone made the mistake of touching his areolas or nipples, it was game over.

The other day, he’d been smooth-talking a client when he’d gotten distracted. He was giving the guy a tour of his best-selling SUV—a big, matte-black monster, ready to conquer the road. The customer seemed slightly nervous around him, which wasn’t surprising—most people were a little afraid of Pascal, given that he was three times their size. But he sensed he was only minutes away from a sale.

In order to demonstrate the car’s most popular feature, the rotating seats in the middle row, Pascal needed to lean forward into the back seat. Pushing his torso through the doorway, he was suddenly aware of his pecs hanging there, heavy in his sweaty shirt, straining the buttons to the limit. He found the lever that rotated the seat 180 degrees. The customer was duly impressed, and didn’t notice Pascal panting from the exertion, the first drops of sweat starting to run down his forehead.

The client clambered excitedly into the driver’s seat. Pascal wiped his forehead. He grabbed his gallon water jug, a relic from his gym days, and started chugging it. He was so hot all the time these days! The customer was playing with the radio when he suddenly became aware of the big muscle gut, straining in its tight shirt, pushing ominously through the driver-side window. The sphere was growing in front of him, making him even more nervous. Who was this guy? Why was he so big? And why was his gut actually getting bigger as he watched?

“Ahhhhhhh.” Pascal lowered the bottle, realizing that he had drained it in just a few gulps. When he noticed his gut pressing against the open window, the buttons already stretched to the max, he sheepishly stepped back. He leaned down to focus on his customer, pointing out the console’s newest features, trying not to be distracted by his own sloshing gut.

Between sentences, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the car’s polished exterior. Even after five years, it was still hard to grasp that this mountain of a man was him. Fuck, he was tall enough to put his protruding bulge right through the car’s open window! His belly and pecs were fighting extra hard for space in his shirt today, he noticed. He tried not to get too aroused by the sensation.

The voice of his client snapped him back to reality. He pushed the mental image away and began his final sales pitch.

Half an hour later, the guy had signed the contract and Pascal was finally able to get lunch. He left the dealership and headed for the Italian place across the street. Since he’d been working at this place, Pascal had gone there almost every day. It took a lot of calories and carbs to keep the big engine running smoothly.

With the kind of money he’d been spending there, Pascal was family at the pizza place. There was actually a big photo of him and the owners hanging on the wall up front, showing a cute family and Pascal towering over them all by at least a foot.

Pascal bent his head down and turned his shoulders sideways to get through the door, sucking in so that his pecs and belly pressed against each other. Even once inside, the ceiling was so low that his head was almost touching it.

Giovanni already had the menu at his table waiting for him. He got a seat close to the large picture windows, plunked his wide ass down, put two napkins on his jutting chest, and began to eat. A big, family-size bowl filled with creamy pasta, a variety of salads, three Sicilian pizzas, tons of bread with olive oil, and a jug of water so big it was more like a bucket. These people knew how to treat a big man right!

When he ate now, he went into a sort of fugue state, not coming to until he’d inhaled every ounce of food within reach, leaving no trace of the meal but the little bits and pieces that fell onto his pec shelf. His belly hurt, in a good way, when he was fully stuffed, pressing up against his chest pillows so that they rode even higher into his field of vision than usual. When Pascal woke up, his top two buttons had popped open, allowing everyone a glimpse of the deep cleavage between his pecs. They felt so round and heavy today. His tightening shirt caused them to press against each other even harder. He had to admit it: he loved showing off his muscles in the tightest clothes possible. They didn’t really make clothes big enough for him to have much choice. If he was honest, since he’d grown, the impossibility of hiding his bulk had become one of his biggest turn-ons.

Pascal’s attention was suddenly drawn to a tiny little sound, his first warning that today’s feast might have unusual consequences: r-r-r-rip! Damn, had he eaten too much again?! He peered into his reflection in the windows, trying to assess the damage he’d done with his mindless stuffing.

His areolas were impossible to miss, purple against the perfectly white fabric of his overtaxed shirt. They had definitely at least tripled in size during the growth spurt five years ago, but they stretched even wider when Pascal had just had a good meal, or was horny—or both.

Pascal giggled. The stubble on his chin was tickling his pec pillows. Every inhale raised his pecs to almost chin level now. He suddenly arched his back, pressing his chest forward, and another button on his shirt popped open with a soft peng.

His areolas were nice, dark and thick, but since he’d grown it was his nipples that had stolen the show. He’d had to learn to live with not really being able to cover them up. In that growth spurt five years ago, Pascal had sprouted some insane nipple cocks: big tubes of flesh, more sensitive than any other part of his body. Usually he could just wear a thick hoodie that concealed them somewhat, but in the summer that wasn’t an option—he had to just live with the Red Bull can-sized dongs protruding from his chest.

He had hoped his monstrous new chest cocks would subside a little bit when his growth spurt ended, but they’d stayed as big as everything else. Hell, they got even bigger in the summers, when the humidity climbed. But that wasn’t the biggest problem. Bringing his nipples into a well-air conditioned room was…well, that was another reason he didn’t go to the gym anymore. The cold made his nips erect in an instant, and then they were really impossible not to notice, no matter what Pascal was wearing. The agony of his nipples getting hard wasn’t something Pascal could have described to anyone. It was torment and pure bliss at the same time. All he wanted to do was touch his protruding nipple cocks, but he knew the chaos that followed would get him banned from any public space.

For the longest time, he had wondered about his size. Why was he not only massive in height, but also endowed with insane muscles, disproportionate pecs capped by basically a second and third cock for nipples, big enough to slap his chest while running?

He had to thank God every day that he hadn’t gotten any bigger since.

Back in the restaurant, he could still feel his clothes getting tighter. Clearly he still wasn’t finished digesting his enormous meal he’d just devoured. And yet, he could still feel thirst tickling the inside of his belly again. It was an almost omnipresent feeling these days. The heat called for water, so he kept drinking more and more, only to feel a flaming desire for more seconds later. Still—he had to hydrate!

Glug, glug, glug. A rivulet ran down his thick neck, landing somewhere in his cleavage. In seconds the jug was empty.

He took stock. His shirt, once neatly tucked in, was no longer anywhere near his pants. It had receded to reveal a good few inches of his hairy midsection. Bloated, he slugged down the dregs of the water and punctuated it with an ear-splitting burp. But when he removed the napkins from his chest, he made a fatal mistake. He accidentally brushed one of his soft nips for a second. Mhhh. God, no! He bit his lip, but it was already too late.

“Everything good today, sir?” the young waiter asked.

Pascal had already broken into a cold sweat. He needed to get out now! He sent his compliments to the chef and quickly waddled to the bathroom. On the way, another button popped, more of his pecs tumbling out, exposing more skin to the chilled air of the restaurant. Fuck, that feels so good. What is happening?

Inside the cozy restroom, he immediately saw what was going on. His nipples were pressing hard against his white shirt, creating two pointy, leaky bulges that were only going to grow bigger and fatter. He popped open the remaining few buttons of his shirt to free his midsection. A massive belly, big and round but still graced with a bulging twelve-pack, ballooned into sight. His waistband, pressed downward by the size of his package, legs and ass, was already revealing the first few inches of his horse cock. He caressed his hairy midsection, then let his hands explore further north. Pascal only needed to give his pecs the lightest touch for pure electricity to go coursing through his body. He shivered, lifting his muscle tits up to the big mirrors. His chest muscles were even heavier than they looked and they overfilled his hands with mass, overflowing on all sides. They always started to inflate with heft after a good meal, but today they looked even bigger and softer than usual. They wouldn’t be soft for long, though, he knew. He shook his muscle tits and heard the familiar sloshing starting inside. Fuck. I knew I should have milked them this morning. Fuck, how often am I gonna need to do this?! They’re so big!

They were pressing against his belly and arms now; his face would be next. Fueled by the meal and the tub of water he’d drunk, they were swelling bigger by the second, while his nipples, not to be outdone, joined in on the growth and stretched bigger and harder still, peeking through the curtain of his open shirt. Pascal leaned down, letting his pecs fill the sink, almost overflowing the cold porcelain basin, until his mouth reached the tap and he could drink enough to calm the fire inside his body. Glug, glug, glug. His midsection was swelling even bigger now, pushing out his abdominal muscles even more. It seemed like he could never drink enough.

Gasping, he stood, a proud smile was playing along his lips as he admired his reflection. He was the biggest fucker the world had ever seen, with pecs bigger than king size pillows, nipple cocks big as small water bottles, a perfect roid gut he could inflate as much as he wanted to, and a bulging package. He opened his pants and freed his massive soft cock—another thing that had stayed big after his big spurt.

The following flexing session in front of the mirror made his pecs look even bigger than they were already, and his nipples were waiting for his command to shoot. Seeing his body like that, all pumped and ready to work, he suddenly missed the gym. He missed flaunting his big body in front of everyone, seeing their awed faces, wearing only the skimpiest clothes to show off in, letting everyone dream of sucking or fucking him all night, of being fucked by this mountain of testosterone and mass.

Fuck, he hadn’t realized how horny he was. His nipples had started leaking, dripping onto his big thighs.

“Not yet,” he said with clenched teeth. “Bigger. Fuck, always bigger. I mean…fuck, what am I doing here? I have to get back to work!...But this feels so good. Even better than usual. Fuck, I’m so big! Why did I get so huge?!”

Before his meal, his pecs had been soft, like big water balloons. Now, in their engorged state, ready to be milked, they were hard, perky, and more massive than ever. Veins covered the sides and the areas around his nipples, which were now standing at attention.

He grabbed his soft 13-incher, the big cock that created that obscene bulge in his pants all day every day, and slapped it against his belly. The noise it made was loud and slightly wet. Thirteen grew into fifteen, and then eighteen inches in a matter of seconds.

Pascal’s breath was heaving like he’d run a marathon. He locked the door, then removed his shirt, boots and pants, until he was naked in front of the mirror.

“If I could, I’d fuck myself,” he growled. What had happened to him? When he’d first grown, he’d been so scared. Now he was a giant in love with his body, and there was so much to love! He gave himself another killer cocky smile.

Pascal took his rigid monster cock and tucked it into the valley between his sensitive pecs. It was hard to do because of the roundness of his gut. Tight as a real good hole, he loved fucking his own mass. He pushed his hips forward, nudging his cock further in between his pillows.

Fuuuuuuck. I bet I’m the only guy out there who can fuck himself like this. Never fucked any ass as good as my own muscle tits! Holy shit! I think…the only thing that might feel even better…as if they were bigger. Fuck!

He could feel the wetness of his dick roughly pushing his pecs apart. Pascal’s knees shook and his breath heaved. He grabbed hold of his erect nipple cocks, which immediately started shooting white milky liquid, splashing hard against the mirror. God, his nipples fit perfectly into his fists. He moaned loudly as he started to jerk them, making his pecs inflate with even more heft. Pascal’s head was now also caught in the valley of his own muscle tits.

“I can barely see anything anymore, fuck! Gotta cum so motherfucking hard. Unghhh!” His deep voice was muffled by his own chest.

Horny and increasingly out of control, he fucked his pecs harder, sliding deeper and deeper in between them. But when his cockhead appeared at the top of his mega inflated muscle tits, only an inch from his mouth, Pascal paused.

That…that’s never happened before. My cock isn’t that big, is it? Fuck! Fucking stallion cock right in front of my nose! I’m such a beast! Come here!

He jerked his pecs harder, opened wide, and took his own cock into his mouth. Almost instantaneously, fresh cum started to fill him, and he could barely swallow fast enough. For the first time, he felt his insane thirst begin to ease, as his belly filled even fuller.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! his mind repeated. No one’s as big as me. I’m a giant, the biggest ever! Nipples bigger than most guys’ cocks! Holy fuck, I never wanna stop cumming. More, more, more!

He was shooting hard out of both pecs now. He pressed his arms together to milk every single drop, giving his cock an even tighter squeeze. The sink in front of him was filling up with hot muscle milk.

When it was over, he came to himself on the floor of the bathroom, his half-hard cock still wedged there between his pecs. Pascal rubbed his taut belly and his big ballsack, letting his hands wander all over his body, lazily rediscovering every bit of roundness.

God. He had become a bloated mess, too big to see the floor beneath his own feet, good only for sucking and fucking himself. But he had an even bigger problem: he no longer cared. It had taken five years, but he’d finally grown to love his body. He had learned to enjoy the gifts he’d been given for no reason.

Maybe he was ready to hit the gym again.


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