A skinny researcher’s muscle growth experiments on himself make for impressive changes. Then he tries them out on his friend, who’s already muscular.
The Change, #1 5 parts Added Feb 2009 Updated 18 Apr 2020 31k views (#297) 5.0 stars (5 votes) 6,368 words
You may be looking for the following similarly named stories: Change for the better
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Before the Change, my favorite bodybuilder was Mike Francois. The man was totally fucking freaky. Blond hair, blue eyes, clean-cut All American, yes, but at 5’8½ inches tall he competed at 242 pounds of solid, hulking muscle and in the off season he swelled to an awe-inspiring 270 pounds. In person, even in street clothes, he looked as wide as he was tall, which wasn’t too surprising given his 57-inch chest, 21-inch biceps, and 31-inch thighs. But that was before the Change. Now that it’s over, I make Mike Francois look like a piece of spaghetti.
What happened? Angelo DiGirolamo, that’s what happened.
DiGirolamo, as we all know now, was a precocious genetic engineer—and gay. Following up on research showing that gay American men differed from their straight brothers in having larger corpus callosi (the bridge between the two lobes of the brain), DiGirolamo found a gay man’s corpus callosum was larger because of a hitherto undiscovered growth hormone, which Angelo named Agent X—and then began a series of experiments to discover whether Agent X had any other growth enhancing properties. Early experiments with white lab rats were disappointing, until, that is, one day Angelo happened to notice two of his lab rats, Fuzzy and Snuffy, copulating in their cage. He wouldn’t have thought much of it—except that Fuzzy and Snuffy were both male lab rats! The light bulb went on inside Angelo’s prodigious brain. He injected Fuzzy and Snuffy with Agent X. The results were spectacular. In less than a week, Fuzzy and Snuffy both doubled in size and weight.
Angelo then violated every code of experimental research ethics—and common sense. He injected himself with Agent X, then left his Atlanta lab to go to his cabin in the north Georgia mountains. You have to understand that at the outset Angelo was a fairly petite man. No more than 5’8” tall, Angelo had never topped 140 pounds in his life. He was muscular, well-defined, exceptionally well-conditioned and quite thoroughly attractive. But despite years of diet supplements and protein powders and just plain gorging, he never gained any weight. That is, until he injected himself with Agent X. In one week, Angelo grew six inches taller and doubled his bodyweight. Returning to Atlanta, he was recognized by no one, which isn’t surprising: At 6’2” tall, he weighed 280 pounds of solid, spectacular muscle—and bore only the vaguest resemblance to the man who had left his lab a week earlier. Needless to say, Angelo left the lab and never returned. In fact, he all but went into hiding as he worked to determine whether his results could be duplicated.
As it turns out, I was the second person to undergo the Change, also not too surprising, considering that Angelo and I had been best friends since college. We spent a year as roommates at Emory before we ever came out to each other, then found out we each had a crush on the other—and then realized that despite definite physical, emotional and intellectual attractions, we really weren’t right for each other. That we remained friends despite that disappointing realization always seemed to me proof that we were just brothers separated at birth—we were meant to be in each other’s life, just not as lovers. Unlike Angelo, I tended toward the brawny. By the time he discovered Agent X, we were both in our late 20s. At 5’11 I was a couple of inches taller than Angelo and at 205 pounds of solid muscle I was definitely prime beef: 48-inch chest, 32-inch waist, and 18-inch biceps. Even so, despite my best efforts, I was still light-years away (it seemed to me) from being in the league of Mike Francois or any of the other big boys. I was the first person Angelo called when he returned from his cabin.
“Hey, Bryan,” he said when I answered the phone. “You gotta come over right away, okay?”
“Who is this…?” I asked, not immediately recognizing the deep resonant voice on the other end. “Angelo…? You got a cold or something, bud?”
“Nah, not a cold,” he continued, chuckling, “but I still need to talk to you. Can you come over?”
I looked at my watch, then stared at the ceiling—plenty of time to go by Angelo’s for a quick bite before chorus rehearsal at 8 p.m.
“I’ll be there in 10 minutes,” I said.
“I’ll be in the shower,” he answered, “so let yourself in.”
Which I did. Sitting on the sofa, I picked up the latest issue of “Muscle & Fitness,” shaking my head at Angelo’s determination, and then glanced in a puzzled fashion at the torn clothes on the lounge chair. What the hell? The shower stopped, I called out a “hello,” and kept reading as Angelo dried himself off and ventured into the living room. I didn’t bother to glance up, at first, knowing that he would be wrapped in his light terry robe.And then I did look up…and my jaw hit the floor.
Angelo had dispensed with the terry robe—it was no longer big enough—and instead wore nothing more than a white towel around his waist. I had never seen anything like it up close and personal.
“My God,” I gasped. “What happened?”
“Do you like it?” he asked, smiling mischievously.
Now, I ask you, what kind of question is that? Angelo had turned into a virtual Paul Dillett—his chest was mountainous, his shoulders were as wide as the bathroom door, his arms were the size of my thighs, his thighs were bigger than a normal man’s waist. And apparently not an ounce of extra body fat.
“Jeezus!” I breathed, racing to him and beginning to run my fingers across the massive expanse of muscle that his body had become.
He was looking down at me for the first time we had known each other and I realized, with a start, that there might be some implications for our relationship, which he acted upon immediately, quickly reaching his newly massive hand down to my shirt front and gently lifting me off the ground and into the air above his head.
“Well, that answers one question,” I snorted, putting my hands on my hips. “You’re obviously as strong as you are big. What about the rest of you, huh, big boy?”
He’s eyes twinkled again…The towel dropped to the floor.
Afterwards I asked Angelo what it had been like growing six inches taller and gaining 140 pounds of solid muscle in a single week…
“I was hungry all the time and I ate all the time and when I wasn’t eating I was sleeping,” Angelo said. “It was like having a lifetime of bodybuilding crammed in a single week.”
He yawned and stretched his massive frame. I quivered at the sight of so much rippling man-flesh, the contraction of his awesome 24-inch biceps and the heaving expanse of his vast 60-inch chest.
“I didn’t realize how much I had grown until the morning after I arrived,” he continued. “I tried putting on my robe and it wouldn’t fit. Then I looked at myself in the mirror and my eyes nearly bugged out. I hopped on the bathroom scales and saw that I had gained 20 pounds overnight. It kept up the whole time I was there.”
I shook my head. “But what did you do about food?”
He laughed.
“The first day I had groceries delivered—three different times. Gallons of milk, loaves of bread, jars of peanut butter, steaks for days—it was ludicrous, I ate all of it the first night,” Angelo explained, his new deep bass voice rumbling with every word. “Finally, though, I just called a wholesaler who agreed to bring a whole truckload and park it out back where my parents normally keep their RV—it’s all gone now…”
The towel dropped to the floor and Angelo gently lowered my 205-pound bulk as if I were a puppy. Given the new discrepancy in our heights, Angelo’s crotch was now at my waist level—and his raging cock stood proudly before me, a lion rampant. I nearly swooned at the sight…
You have to understand that while Angelo had never been short-changed he’d never exactly been terrifically endowed before—nor had I for that matter. Angelo’s was a decent 7½ inches, tending to be long even when flaccid and getting only marginally thicker when hard. Unlike Angelo, I was a grower, not a shower. Flaccid, my cock was tiny. Hard, it was no more than 6 inches in length but at 6 inches around it had a definitely brawny appearance. But now Angelo, thanks to Agent X, had gone through the Change…He had grown six inches taller and doubled his weight. At the same time, it turned out, his cock had grown six inches and doubled in girth! At 6’2, Angelo carried 280 pounds of solid muscle and it looked like about 40 pounds of it resided in his newly huge, 13 x 8 inch cock.
“Sweet fucking Jesus,” I murmured when I finally caught my breath again.
“You like it?” he asked, chuckling. “I’m not altogether sure what I’m gonna be able to do with it. ‘Cept for me, nobody’s touched it yet…”
I looked up into his deep brown eyes, twinkling with delight.
“Uh, well, gee, Angelo, I’d sure like to be the first to give it a workout!” I volunteered eagerly.
He reached his massive hand down and picked me up again, lifting me so that we could see eye to eye.
“You realize that it doesn’t really matter what you want,” he pointed out. “If I decide to take you, there’s not a damn thing you can do about it, little man. I could split your head open like a ripe watermelon, I could ream your insides out, and you wouldn’t have a chance.”
I burst out laughing.
“Oh, stop it, Angelo,” I said, giggling. “You know damn well that that’s always been my favorite fantasy. And I know damn well that no matter how fucking big you get you’re constitutionally incapable of hurting a fly!”
He let me drop with a thud, then let out a big sigh.
“Goddamit,” he said, “why do you know me so well?”
I ran my hand across the dark, silky fur covering Angelo’s now perfectly formed, diamond-hard abs, then up into the wiry tangle in the spectacular cleft between his two enormous pecs.
“Because I know you want to be worshipped, that’s why,” I replied softly. “And you know that nobody is better able to do it than I am….”
He looked down at me again, this time softly—a gentle smile playing on his full-lipped, sensuous looking, perfectly shaped mouth.
“Oh yeah…?” he asked.
“Oh yeah,” I said. And I proceeded to show him how.
Angelo swept me up into his massive arms as if I were a rag doll and quickly strolled to the bedroom where he deposited me on the queen-sized bed in one swift, gentle motion. Exploring his body was like mountain climbing—it was vast, huge, hard. I was used to thinking of myself as a big guy—48-inch chest, 26-inch thighs, 17-inch biceps, the whole works—but the newly massive Angelo made me look like a piece of spaghetti. His arms were nearly the size of my thighs, his thighs bigger than my waist, his chest broader than my wide, powerful shoulders. It made me very, very hot—and judging by the twitching of his now awesome cock, that 13 x 8-inch salami—it was making Angelo very hot as well.
“You’re so fucking huge, Angelo,” I murmured as I ran my hands across his mountainous pecs, “and so fucking hard.”
“And so fucking strong,” he answered, pulling my arms down to his sides as if I were no stronger than a butterfly, despite the fact I benched more than 300 pounds at the time. Then he wrapped his tremendous arms around me and squeezed ever so gently. I gasped, knowing that my life was literally in Angelo’s hands, that he could crush it out of me without exerting himself.
I went down on him then, clasping the shaft of his massive, raging cock with both hand, unable to get one hand all the way around. I’d never been the world’s greatest cocksucker but somehow I found a way to open my mouth and my throat as I’d never done before. Slowly, surely, gently, I took him all the way in. I’d always admired Angelo’s big, square hands, appreciating the masculine connotations of their width and strength. Now they were more than twice as big, twice as thick, and much more muscular. Feeling his bear-paw on the back of my head intensified my own raging hard-on and caused me to redouble my efforts at Angelo’s fountainhead. I could feel the orgasm building from the moment my mouth touched his member but especially as it throbbed inside the my mouth and throat, getting ever harder and longer, Angelo guiding my head up and down with his hand, slowly and surely at first, then ever more rapidly and intensely.
Finally, he began to groan, the low bellowing of a bull, and I knew it was almost time. His herculean chest began to heave, to drip with sweat, and his gargantuan legs began to shake as the massive muscles therein flexed and contorted. I was almost thrown, so intense was his reaction. And then it happened. I tried to keep my head in place, wanting desperately (albeit stupidly) to feel his cum in my throat, but he pushed my head away as if I were a moth. He fountained all across his magnificent torso, the cum landing mostly on his incredibly chiseled abs and pecs, a good bit of it shooting over his herculean shoulders and hitting the bedroom wall. Then he took my cock in the tremendous meat-hook that his own right hand had become and jerked me off in three short, swift movements, and then it was my turn to gush all over Angelo, my friend and former lover, this newfound god.
When I finally caught my breath, I raised myself up and, leaning on my elbows, asked Angelo the question:
“When do I get to try it?”
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“When do I get to try it?” I asked again, when we had somewhat recuperated.
I was straddling his narrow hips, feeling his gargantuan thighs twitch and ripple beneath my butt, running my strong, square hands over the chiseled perfection of his abs, the mountainous expanse of his pecs. He yawned and stretched, flexing 24-inch biceps and 20 forearms, a sight to set me panting all over again, then he took my hands and pulled me down to him, at once incredibly strong and tremendously gentle. He wrapped his arms around me, arms that could crush a grizzly, and rolled us on our sides, so that we were nose to nose, hip to hip—I felt like a child next to him…
“Whenever you want,” he answered, finally, “but keep in mind we need to make some preparations. If your experience is like mine, you’ll be out of commission for a week or so. And we need to have food on hand—lots of it!”
He was right, of course. In the week after he had injected himself with Agent X, Angelo had added six inches to his height and doubled his bodyweight, ballooning from a lean and muscular yet relatively small 5’8” and 140 pounds into the 6’2, 280-pound mountain of muscle I now found myself with. Having me undergo The Change would require some careful laying of groundwork.
“Let’s get on with it, shall we?” I suggested, eyes glittering with anticipation.
“But maybe we should get it on first?” he countered.
I fell on top of him again…
A week later we were ready and I made some additional discoveries, including:
1. The fact that despite his newfound size, Angelo had enough stamina and aerobic capacity to keep any 10 men happy. To my delight, his supply seemed to be inexhaustible.
2. He was still growing!
We didn’t really notice the latter until the day I was to receive my injection. We decided for the sake of scientific accuracy that I should be weighed and measured so that we would have before and after records for comparison. As expected I came in right at 5’10½ inches tall and 205 pounds. Then we decided to measure Angelo to see whether everything still appeared to be on track. The results, though, surprised us: 6’ 2½” and 290 pounds, a half-inch taller and 10 pounds heavier than he had been the week before.
“At this rate…” he began.
“At this rate you’ll be 6’3 and 300 pounds in another week,” I said. “Who do you suppose will be bigger then?”
We were about to find out…
The injection didn’t hurt but I instantly felt my body beginning to grow. It was if I had had a cable attached to my body and it was beginning to draw electrical current. But the longer it lasted the “fuzzier” I felt; I became less and less aware of my surroundings, focusing only on the fact that I was overwhelmingly hungry and overwhelmingly sleepy. Angelo said later that it seemed like I had turned into a hibernating bear; he didn’t speak to me unless to give me a direct order, which I generally obeyed without thinking about it at all. In the end, it turned out that The Change was even more dramatic for me than it was for Angelo. I had been taller than Angelo to begin with but after his Change he overtopped me by a good four inches. About halfway through the week I realized I was looking him right in the eye.
“Congratulations,” he said, his voice to me sounding as if it were emanating from the bottom of a well, “you’re growing even faster than I did.”
That’s when I realized that I was also bigger than Angelo—by a lot!
“Uh,” I said fuzzily, “any idea about how…?”
“About how big you are?” Angelo grinned. “I’m guessing right at 325 pounds.—I think you’re just about 30 pounds heavier than I am now.”
Which turned out to be an accurate guess, but it was just the beginning.
A week after I had received the injection, I awoke in the morning and realized I no longer felt muzzy—and that the “current” I had felt in my body was no longer pulsing as strongly. I experienced a momentary letdown, then “felt” the current again, realizing that it was still there, just not as strong.
“Hi, there, monster man,” Angelo said, bringing me a breakfast tray that could feed the Chicago Bears. “Are you back with me?”
I sat up and stretched—and saw Angelo’s eyes widen in surprise.
“Well, yes, come to think of it, I guess I am,” I said, hopping out of the bed—and feeling the hardwood floor beneath me thwonging under the impact. I pulled myself up to my full height and turned to face Angelo.
“Oh!” I exclaimed…
“Oh, indeed,” he echoed, sardonically. “You’re just now figuring it out, aren’t you?”
I looked down across my new body and suddenly realized I had grown even more than Angelo had done—taller, wider, heavier, stronger, it was all there.
“Face it, guy,” Angelo said, all 6’3 and 300 pounds of him (he had continued growing, of course.). “Now you make me look like a piece of spaghetti!”
We went to the new gym he had installed in his home to measure. He was right, of course, I realized as I looked at the two of us in the mirror—I did make him look like a piece of spaghetti. Still, I was not prepared for what the tape and the scales had to say:
“Six feet six inches tall,” Angelo called out, “and 400 pounds.”
I couldn’t believe it myself: 78-inch chest, 39-inch waist, 40-inch thighs, 32-inch biceps, 27-inch forearms—I reached out when I saw those and very easily, very gently hoisted Angelo, all 300 pounds of him, into the air with one hand.
“Easy does it, big boy,” Angelo said. “You may be the biggest thing anyone’s ever seen but you’re still dealing with a full-grown ox here.”
I nodded my head, then set him down…
“Speaking of oxen,” he continued, “or maybe bulls or stallions, have you, uh, checked out the other equipment…?”
I looked down quickly at those words, then looked back up just as quickly, utterly surprised.
“You’ve gotta be kidding,” I told Angelo. “Surely it’s not real…?”
He snorted, then laughed.
“Maybe we should try it out?” he inquired.
“Maybe…” I replied.
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After the Change, I found there were a lot of things I had to get used to. In the week since Angelo had injected me with Agent X, I had grown nearly 8 inches taller and doubled in weight. At 6’6” tall and 400 pounds of solid muscle, I was a monster, and I was beginning to find out what it was like to go through life as a monster.
Doorways, for example. They were a problem. Most doorways in apartments and house are about 30-36 inches wide. My shoulders were 40 inches wide, which meant I had to hunch them or turn sideways to get through a door. And the bathtub and shower were even worse. Dropping the soap, for example, was a no-no, because there was no way I could bend over to get it in such a cramped space! Getting into the bathroom was pretty important, too, at least for the first couple of days. It had been a year or two since I’d worn a full beard and I was used to just having a goatee. My facial hair grew pretty slowly and I could go three-four days at a time without needing a trim. Now, though, I was shaving twice a day just to keep up with the stubble, which was darker and thicker than my beard had ever been. After a day or two I gave up and just let it grow; within two days I had a glorious full-beard—dark, thick, and perfectly shaped.
In addition to doorways, there was furniture. My mother always complained about the fact that I tended to flop on the sofa or into a chair; somehow, no matter how many times I’d seen Hermione Gingold instruct Leslie Caron in Gigi, I’d never managed to learn how to ascend and descend in a graceful fashion. It really didn’t much matter when I was just a big old beefy 205-pound Musclebear, but at 400 pounds it made a big (if you’ll pardon the pun) difference. The first time I dropped down on one of the wooden Windsor-back kitchen chairs it literally splintered under me and I landed on the floor. That afternoon I forgot and pulled the same stunt with the sofa—the sleeper mechanism is jammed to this day!
And then there was clothing. Nothing I owned fit me anymore. For that matter, none of the new clothes that Angelo had bought to fit his massive frame, all 6’3” and 300 pounds of it, worked either. It wasn’t just a case of them being obscenely tight—I really had no modesty before I got the body of my dreams, much less afterwards. But the few oversized items tried to put on stretched and stretched and stretched and still wound up splitting at the seams. Angelo went out and bought some fabric and we made me a new set of clothes, concentrating on tank tops and loose-fitting sweat pants. He also bought me a pair of sandals, after scouring every shoe store in town. I could barely get a toe in the 10-wides I had worn previously. After lots of searching he found a pair of Size 15 triple-wides that looked like they’d been designed for some circus giant—but, then, that’s what I had become.
Finally, I was ready to go out and face the world.
“What do you think?” I asked Angelo, modeling my new outfit, which consisted of sandals, a jet black form fitting tank top, and baggy camouflage pants.
“I think it looks good, but the pants are fucking obscene,” he replied, yawning and scratching his immense furry chest. I still marveled that little dweebish Angelo was now a 6 foot 3-inch, 300-pound he-man. He was soooo fucking hot!
I turned sideways and looked in the mirror.
“Oh, yeah,” I replied. “I guess you’re right.”
My stuff, even when it was very average sized, had always tended to thrust forward, so people usually thought I had a bigger box than I did. False advertising, I suppose, but I didn’t design it that way. But now I had stuff that would put a porn star to shame. Fully hard, it was now 15 inches long and 10 inches around and flaccid the monster was still easily 11 inches long. Even though Angelo had made the pants extra baggy in the crotch, my gigantic thighs thrust all of my manhood forward in such a way that the fabric stretched taut across them. And standing there looking at Angelo wasn’t helping matter any.
“Well, nothing I can do about it, I suppose,” I said, grinning ear to ear.
“Yeah,” Angelo replied, “just try not to get any wet spots, okay?”
That evening we decided it was time for an outing and where other than the local gay gym? We piled into Angelo’s bright red Jeep and headed over to Bigger Bodies, the most popular health club in Midtown. Along the way, we had to keep dodging cars whose drivers were mesmerized by the sight of two huge, incredibly muscular guys, apparently a couple of pro football players, literally crammed into a big butch Jeep (sporting rainbow flags front and back, of course) and virtually overflowing it.
At BB’s, jaws literally hit the floor as we walked in. Working the front desk was Toby, a former Mr. Hotlanta. At 6 ft and 225 pounds. Toby looked like a little boy next to Angelo and he was positively tiny compared to me. Toby’s not one to be impressed by anyone other than himself but this time his eyes were as big as saucers.
We headed over to the squat rack where Big Dave Andrews was just finishing up a really intense set. Looking at Dave gave my stuff something to twitch about—always had and it was worse now! At 6’1” tall and 260 pounds of solid muscle, Dave had been a major lust object for me for a long time; he was as good looking as he was big, as personable as he was built. Now, of course, instead of looking up at him and wondering what it would be like to be that big, I just stood behind him and waited for him to notice. Dave was squatting very heavy, eight 45-pound plates on each side of the 45-pound bar, for a total of 765 pounds. When he finished his last rep, he slid the bar back onto its supports, then hung his head down for a minute or so, catching his breath. Then he looked up—and saw me in the mirror. Dave whipped around fast and just stood there staring at me, awestruck. I could see him taking in the fact that my chest was as wide or wider than his powerful shoulders, that my arms were easily the size of his thighs. He looked like he’d never seen anything like it, and, well, he hadn’t!
After a minute or so, I broke the silence.
“Mind if I get in a set?” I asked in my new basso profundo.
He shook his head, like he was trying to shake off a fog. He moved to take of the plates and it was time for me to shake my head.
“Leave ‘em, that’s okay,” I told him gently.
Another little sigh went around the room. It was obvious that I was much bigger and probably immensely stronger than Big Dave but nobody else in the gym could squat as much as he could.
I approached the bar and took hold of it in my immense paw-like, hands. Running my hands back and forth across the cold steel, I could feel the current in my body again, the current that Angelo’s secret formula had activated. It felt like my soul was flowing through the bar. I put my hands in the standard position for squatting but rather than placing my massive shoulders under the bar I pushed it straight up over my head where I held it for a good 10 seconds before I began letting it descend. Gasps and shouts went up as I lowered the bar and began cranking out biceps curls, one after another until I had done an even dozen. By the time I was finished, the veins in my gigantic, 32-inch biceps were writhing like snakes and sweat was drenching my fur-covered body. When I once more heaved the bar into the air and let it gently down on its supports, the whole gym rang out with cheers.
After that Angelo and I spent a good half hour talking and chatting and signing autographs for the 50 or 60 men in the gym that evening. Eventually, we told them, “Enough, let us work out,” and they gave us room. Still, all eyes were on us for every exercise we did that evening. We had thought to shower at the gym after our workout but it was pretty obvious that doing so would cause a riot. Heading out to the Jeep, Dave offered to carry our gym bags.
“Why, Dave, what a sweet thing to offer,” Angelo said, putting his massive 25-inch arm around Dave’s broad shoulders. I could see that Big Dave was bigger in more than just one way; I’d never seen his cock out of his gym pants but it was pretty obvious from the bulge in his sweats that he was carrying at least 8 inches.
When we got to the Jeep, Dave hoisted the bags in the seat, then turned to leave, but I was blocking his way. Reaching over Dave I gripped the roll bar behind his hand with both my gargantuan arms (each bigger than his massive, powerful thighs); they nearly rested on his shoulders and I could see that he was having trouble keeping things—not just his dick, but his breathing—under control. I asked him whether he wanted to go back to our place for a shower and pasta.
“Not that there’s room for all three of us in the shower, unfortunately,” I said, laughing and scratching my brick-like fur-covered abs. “Hell, there’s barely room for one of us in the shower anymore, much less two or three people like us.”
He couldn’t do more than grin ear to ear but that was enough. Taking his tight ass in my massive hand I easily popped him into the front seat of the Jeep next to Angelo and then I hopped into the rear. The engine roared and we headed for home.
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Back at Angelo’s place, I stood in the back of the jeep, causing the rear struts to sag significantly, then did a perfect, high backwards somersault, landing flawlessly on the pavement behind me. Dave and Angelo stared at me in slack-jawed amazement—it’s not every day that you see a 6’6”, 400-pound musclegod doing acrobatics with the same skill and grace typical of those ponytailed, 15-year-old Olympians who are 5 ft. tall and all of 90 pounds.
“I didn’t know you were into gymnastics,” Angelo said, finally.
“I didn’t either,” I replied, grinning, then deftly one-armed Dave out of his seat, pausing a moment to hold him high above me, then slowly lowering him to the ground in front of me. “I guess it just comes with the territory.”
Dave sagged against me slightly, looking simultaneously out of breath and very, very excited. I wrapped one of my tremendous 32-inch arms around his neck and with my other massive paw gently tilted his chin so he could look up at me.
“We’re very glad you could join us, y’know,” I said, as Angelo came up beside him, “aren’t we, Angelo?”
Angelo wrapped one of his 26-inch guns around Dave’s shoulders and squeezed, gently, but enough even so that I saw Dave wince slightly.
“I, I, well, gee, I just don’t know what to say,” Dave blurted, finally. “You guys are just amazing.”
I chuckled, then quickly tucked each one under my arms and bounded up the long, steep stairs going to the house, taking them four-steps at a time, as quick and sure footed as a mountain goat. At the top I set them down so that Angelo could get out his key, then turned and stretched, bending over to grab my ankles and shrug my impossibly broad shoulders.
“You carried us like we were rag dolls,” Dave pointed out, still flustered looking.
I grinned at him.
“But I weigh 260 pounds!” he pointed out, “and Angelo…”
“…outweighs you by about 40 pounds,” I answered. “That’s right.”
Dave frowned slightly, thinking.
“Just how big…?”
“We can talk about that later,” I told him. “Let’s eat first…”
In the kitchen, Angelo pulled out a 1-pound package of angel hair pasta and held it up to Dave, who was leaning against the sink, the veins on his massive 22-inch biceps popping out in a way that was getting my meat hard.
“How many of these can you eat at a time?” Angelo asked. “One or two?”
Dave started.
“Jeez, thanks for asking! One is plenty!”
Angelo pulled out four double-sized dutch ovens, filled each with water, and set them upon the stove. While we were waiting for the water to come to a boil, Dave perused Angelo’s mammoth CD collection, finally settling for some classic Annie Lenox. In the meantime, I stretched out on the floor and started doing push-ups. Dave watched me do 50 and then got down and started doing the same, his face directly in front of mine, pacing me for each rep. After he’d done his first 50—by which time I’d done a hundred—he started slowing down but I just kept cranking them out. By the time Dave had done 50 more reps—and I’d done 75 more—his face was a mask of pain, his massive traps and delts and pecs bright red from the engorging blood, sweat pouring off his body. At that point Angelo, all 300 pounds of him, came and stood squarely on my back while I did 175 more reps. Dave was sitting cross-legged, his powerful forearms sagging against his massive quads, dripping sweat, awestruck, his sizeable cock making a quite noticeable tent in his gym shorts.
“I’m guessing about nine inches, right?” I asked, pointing at the bulge.
He shook his head, as if coming out of a daze, then nodded.
“Yep, right about that,” he agreed, grinning.
As Angelo hopped off me and headed for the kitchen, I stood and stretched yet again, this time shirtless, my 78-inch chest and 32-inch biceps mercilessly pumped and vascular, although I’d only barely begun to sweat, despite having done 350 pushups, half of them with a 300-pound hulk on my back. Push-ups had always made me horny and that set was no exception; my man meat had gotten semi-hard and it was going toward full hard.
“Jesus God!” Dave exclaimed. “What the hell do you have in there? A python?”
I answered by pulling my pants down and letting it flop out. By this time it was fully hard and totally mindboggling, 15 inches long, 10 inches around, a throbbing, pulsating battering ram.
Dave looked stunned, his eyes wide, his hand slowly reaching out toward it, then stopping short. Angelo responded by dropping his shorts, letting his own thick, foot-long rod stand at attention. He moved between me and Dave, kissing the smaller man full and deeply, then turning to take my huge schlong and ponderous balls in his hand.
“I think it’s time we went upstairs,” Angelo said, as I folded Dave in my arms, the entire length of my massive cock pressing against his abs.
“That’s a good idea,” Dave mumbled before I stuck my tongue down his throat.
We headed to the staircase.
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For the rest of the story, see "The Change Continues".
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