He picked out a tattersall shirt and a simple geometric patterned tie. Simple and so perfectly, subtly whispering success. When had spending $325 dollars on a tie become normal? But with thousand dollar shoes and four thousand dollar suits, anything less would be cheap. David was anything but cheap. Success had come easily. It usually did to the gifted, the brilliant, and the attractive, and David was all that, and more.
In front of the mirror, adjusting the collar over the tie, he had to pause again. Earlier, shaving naked in front of the mirror, he'd thought that whatever it was that strange, musclebound guy at the gym had given him, it must have been more than mineral water. It had seemed that his body was a little more cut, showed a little bit more muscle size. It just felt like more of a change than any single workout, even a long, hard one, had ever delivered before. He'd felt his pecs, flexed his arms. Hard to tell, really, for sure, but he definitely was looking exceptionally good this morning.
There was really nothing about David, at least in his own perception, that distracted from his self-admiration. Hell, he even liked himself for the fact that he recognized how lucky he was, blessed with such remarkable attributes, and that he was still able to remain humble, to be just a regular guy. But when he was alone, he did love to admire his own physical perfection. Building his body to match the generous endowment he enjoyed, and his stunningly chiseled face, was never a matter of fitness. He liked that added benefit. It made him feel even better about himself. But it was really only about his looks.
David loved his looks. He knew that they opened doors for him, and, unfair as that might be, he accepted the advantage with gratitude. He loved his coloring, a true golden guy, his darkish whiskers making a perfectly shaped, if not very heavy, shadow on his jaw and neck and dimpled chin, the dark roots of his thick, straight hair naturally bleaching out at they grew, brown to gold to almost white, each hair ombred dark to light, so that a pale straw blond thatch fell onto his tanned skin—except when he was going out at night, and he gelled and messily spiked it into that studied movietown casual look he wore so well.
He'd looked at himself in the mirror as he ran his hands through it, laying it back, giving it a shake, seeing it fall into place as though a stylist had spent an hour on it. That was when he noticed that his biceps seemed a little fuller. And his pecs. He felt something like a shiver of excitement at the thought that his heavy workout with that guy might have actually beefed him up a little so quickly. If it wasn't just his waking-up horned-up imagination. And horned he was, too. His fat, cut cock rapidly hardened up to its fully spring-loaded nearly eight inches, and he'd jacked it with unprecedented enthusiasm.
Now, adjusting the lengths of tie, he noticed his pecs again. The loose cotton broadcloth showed definite squared off shadows where his pecs interrupted the drop of the material. He started to bone again, the sensation of his cock stretching his boxer briefs making him smile. But he had to get to work, so he finished dressing and left.
Speeding down the freeway, top down on his Mercedes, he kept thinking about how great he looked. He'd been stupid to put off that guy for so long in the gym every time he'd tried to work in on a machine. He'd seemed like such a dumb fuck jock, but there was a kind of rough magnetism about him, and David hated to seem like a snob. He didn't mind being one, he just hated to seem like one. So he'd relented and let the guy work in on the pec deck.
Conversation had been less than sparkling, but the guy had managed, while pushing David to work out harder and heavier than he ever had before, to slide in some compliments, going straight for David's Achilles' heel, the comments about his muscular body driving him to match what the guy was demanding, to push the weight, to go for his max. One thing David could never resist was someone, anyone remotely hot, being attracted to him. And while he was basically straight, and had a girlfriend, he saw no reason to deny his masculine perfection to the occasional hot guy. Guys also knew how to work a guy's body, and he liked that. Who wouldn't? So the promise of some adoration from this guy with a body like a competitive bodybuilder could be hot. And the guy seemed to love his body. At least he kept talking about it, about how symmetrical his muscle shape was, how great he would build up.
There was something about the simplistic, almost dumb animal way the guy was so into his body that David found exciting. But to his surprise and, he had to admit, disappointment, the guy hadn't put the move on him. He'd teased him, David realized, complimented him, got him to talk about his body in a way he never had before. The guy had talked about shots he took that were way better than steroids, only great side effects, like amplifying those masculine traits that the male hormones were made to create. He'd even offered to give him a sample sometime. But, after finishing a slightly bitter sparkling water (he'd rather have had a beer, but they were, after all, being muscle jocks, body as temple, all that shit), the guy said, “Well, great to finally get to know you. See you tomorrow, maybe? We can work together more. I'd love to see you realize your potential, maybe even push it past its natural limits,” and David found himself on his way home, alone, wondering how it could have possibly have happened that someone, anyone, had resisted his irresistible charms.
Anyway, if the way he'd pushed David had made a difference that David could already see, well, that was one for the body over brains camp. He realized he had boned up again thinking about it, and he didn't want to walk into the office with a spot of precum on his gabardine slacks. He tried to think of something else, anything—the meeting he had at 10:00, the numbers he needed to run, projection vs. delivery, how much he'd have to manipulate the numbers to justify the shortfall to the client. But when he pictured the meeting, or even just sitting at the desk at the computer, he kept seeing how good he looked, how hot he felt about the way his chest showed in his dress shirt, how the client wouldn't be able to help noticing his pecs. His boner wouldn't go away.
Finally, he pulled off the freeway and took a road into the hills where there was no traffic. As soon as he could, he undid and unzipped his pants, took the windshield-cleaning rag out of the glove compartment, and wrapped it around his cock before he got anything on his slacks. It felt big and thick. Just squeezing it, feeling it, thinking how big and thick it felt, suddenly aroused him so completely that he shot a huge load into the rag like he hadn't cum in a week. He did manage to keep his slacks cum free. He'd pulled them wide open. Now, when he knew he really had to get moving, he couldn't. He found himself fixated, staring at his bared crotch, his cock flopped against his hard stomach, softening, yet still looking so big against that thick bush of brown-gold hair. God it looked hot. It crossed his mind that the feelings he was having this morning were a little strange. Not that they were really unusual, just stronger and more persistent. It wasn't often he paid such attention to what a hot looking groin he was blessed with. All just part of the total package. But right now, his cock looked particularly juicy, fat and full, major masculine, lying against his full, thick bush, across the Speedo line just above his pubes where his white skin turned tan. Fuck. He was getting hard again. Well, no one was around up here. He leaned back in the shade of the eucalyptus and watched his cock stiffen up, admiring it as it grew hard, and, finally, he wrapped the cum soaked cloth around it again and closed his eyes to focus on the sweet, sexual sensations building steadily, arousing him, rushing him to the point of orgasm, just because he felt so hot about himself. He didn't even jack it. Didn't have to. He knew it was going to go all the way again. He felt that completely turned on. He felt the sensations grow stronger, deeper, coil inside his groin, curl his toes, and spontaneously erupt once more.
Only after he finished and was getting his shirt and slacks done up again did he realize that he'd just pulled off the road, overcome by the intense sexual arousal of … of … himself, his own body, and cum twice—after already cumming before he left home. Whoa. What a horndog he was today.
He got back on the freeway and sped to the office, but more than once he realized his hand was rubbing across his abs. More than once, he looked down at how his pecs looked in his shirt. More than once he thought about meeting up with that guy and working out like that again.
David made it through the work day almost by rote. He ran his figures, got through the meetings, and only a couple times did his colleagues have to call his attention back to the room where he was sitting. He noticed the women in the office staring at him as he walked by, and while that was not unusual, and he was quite used to it (he'd often joked about being looked at as a sex object), he felt it more today. He was sure he overheard comments about how good he was looking. But his thoughts kept drifting, either back to standing in front of the mirror, noticing how pumped his body looked, or ahead, to the gym, to finding that guy who would work him out like that again. It was a great feeling, he realized, how his body had turned him on, how it seemed to be having that effect on everyone else. Some deep, driving longing in him wanted to make that feeling stronger.
When he got to the gym, David found his new “friend” waiting in the lounge area where they'd had their chat over that sparkling water the last time. Now the guy, Larry, was standing at the service bar, and when he saw David, he waved him over and offered him a glass of sparkling water again. David took it, wondered about the bitter flavor, readily drinking it, thinking only about getting into the gym with the guy and getting pumped. Larry asked if he was ready for a heavy workout, and David, of course, assured him he was, downing the drink and hiking his gym bag over his shoulder again. But Larry handed him a card, winked, and said, “Great. Have a good one. Go as heavy as you can handle. Push out those reps. Go two more when you think you can't. When you're done, if you want, give me a buzz. If you like that,” he nodded toward the empty glass, “I've got something you might really love.” And he turned and left David standing there.
David was puzzled at first, then hurt, then angry, and finally he just figured the guy must have had something else to do. The world didn't revolve around him, after all, although it usually seemed to. And he did invite him over after his workout. He tucked the card into a pocket of his bag and went to work out.
He found he hadn't forgotten anything the guy had told him. He could almost hear him as he pushed himself. He felt incredible, a humming machine whose sole purpose was muscle, building it, getting deep into the fibers, punishing them into growth, feeling his muscle grow, watching it, looking at it. His focus was so total, he couldn't even think beyond it. All that existed was his body, masculine power and beauty to be made more powerful, stronger, bigger, more beautiful. It was amazing how just thinking that way made him feel so strong, so aware of each muscle he worked. He didn't need a spotter to push out the extra reps. He only needed to think of the muscle he was working, picture it, see it bigger, thicker. That was enough spark to push past his limit, to get deep, to feel the fibers, to make them grow. He stopped between sets and flexed, more than he ever had before, looking in the mirrors at his beautiful muscle. He loved looking at his muscle, and the thought of making it grow big—really big—he could definitely see it—turned him on so much he felt his cock stir in his jock. He was aware of being stared at. He knew they were thinking what a huge ego he had, showing off his muscle, parading his looks, but he didn't care. Not at all. He couldn't blame them. Who wouldn't be jealous? Or attracted? He was looking fucking amazing. As he checked out his body, he grinned to think that the pump he was getting could actually be making him look more handsome. It was sure as hell making him feel like that. Who wouldn't look? He was fucking gorgeous!
He took his time in the shower. One stud in particular had followed him in to the locker room and couldn't take his eyes off him. Normally, he would have let this guy gratify them both, but now he just enjoyed the attention, letting his hefty meat plump for the guy just for the pure, raw pleasure of teasing. His dick felt so big and heavy as he soaped it up slowly, deliberately. God, he felt sexy. But it was Larry he wanted.
All the way to the address on the card, he thought about that bodybuilder muscle that guy carried, how hot it looked, how he would seduce him for sure, now, the way he was looking. And he was very curious about what the guy meant about having something he would love. He assumed it was the steroid stuff he'd mentioned. Before now, he would have hesitated to even try something like that, to chance danger just for his body, his looks, his vanity, but hell, if it would build him up, make him feel even sexier, well, he was liking this feeling so much …
Sure enough, not long after he got there, Larry turned the conversation to “the stuff.” Larry had answered the door in just a pair of boxer briefs, and the whole time he was getting David a drink, beer this time, and sitting down to chat, he'd been touching his own muscles in obvious appreciation of his own body, and maybe, David thought, to tease him. If that were the case, it was unnecessary, but it was working. And then the guy went straight for it when he said, “So, David, I'm guessing, since you came by, that you are pretty seriously into muscle.” He absentmindedly felt the heavily protruding edges of one of his massive pecs.
“Yeah, I guess I am. More than I even realized.” David felt as though his mouth was talking without consulting his brain. Why did he tell him that? His physical arousal was taking over his whole head. He couldn't even find the David inside him who would have played it cool and close to the vest, nor did he much care to try.
“Just in the past couple days, right?”
“Yeah. Since the other night. You put something in that mineral water?”
“Aww, you guessed,” Larry teased. “Just a very diluted sample of what I was telling you about. To get the full effect, you gotta shoot it up, though.”
“Yeah?” David felt nervous about that. Nervous and excited. His breathing he realized, was shallow and fast, matching his heartbeat.
“Yeah. But I'm guessing you're enough in love with your looks to take a chance, if it means looking even hotter than you already do. Which is pretty fuckin' movie-star already. But movie-stars don't have huge muscle, do they? And I think that's something you'd like to experience, isn't it?”
“I wouldn't mind seeing what it feels like. You look good.” His voice was almost shaky with nerves.
“Thanks, man. Yeah, I could tell you liked it. I saw you checking out the muscle.” He flexed an arm and gripped his own boulder biceps with his other hand, feeling its dense, hard mass, but watching David as he did it.
“So,” David said, “how much?”
Larry laughed. “Oh, don't worry about that now, dude. It's a gift. Just to see a buddy like you go through the change. Another thing I should warn you about. Remember I told you about side effects? It's gonna make other things grow, too. It's gonna make you extremely horny and turned on to your own body, but you already had a taste of that, didn't you? Bet you been jackin' that dick a lot today,” and he winked.
David just smiled back.
“Yeah, well. Get ready, man. So. You want to try it?”
“Yeah,” David jumped on the offer before he could change his mind. Already he could see himself, looking so good, feeling so sexy.
Larry must have been prepared, because he went to the kitchen and got a prepared syringe. He came back, without saying anything, and motioned for David to take off his shirt. Larry pushed David back in the chair and jabbed the needle into his stomach. Just a little sting. David looked up at Larry, who was smiling down at him and sporting a big boner in his boxer briefs, and before he could say a word, the room spun, once, very fast.
David had no memory of passing time, no feeling of falling, no sense of swooning, but, in what seemed like the next breath, he found himself sitting in the same chair but completely nude with the hardest erection he'd ever felt in his life. He felt confused but very comfortable. He could not have felt more natural about sitting, naked and hard, opposite the musclebound bodybuilder who was just staring at him in silence.
“Welcome back,” Larry said. “You've been out for almost an hour. Had a hell of a time getting you out of those clothes before you started to react. Nobody told me the first time, and I just fuckin' ruined my clothes.”
David wondered what Larry meant. Slowly, he realized something must have happened after the shot, yeah, the shot. He looked down at himself. He had the feeling that he was inhabiting a different body. Or dreaming. His cock, standing straight up, pointing to the ceiling, was at least an inch bigger, and his pubic hair and belly were soaked with cum. His abs looked so cut, so carved. The swell of his pecs seemed more pronounced and felt wider. His reactions still felt groggy, but those thoughts, those realizations swiftly swept his body with a rush as completely erotic as some sex drug, and he watched, consumed by sensation but mentally removed, as milky, thick cum started to spurt from his cock and flow down onto his groin like lava flow from a volcano.
When he finally quit cumming, when the eruption finally slowed to a trickle,, stopping as it had started, of its own accord, he just looked up at Larry.
“Fuck,” he said.
“Yeah,” Larry said, “I know. Pretty fuckin' hot, huh.”
David felt his pecs. Was it a dream? His hands verified what his eyes saw.
“Better get you dressed. I gotta get me some shut-eye. Early workout tomorrow. And you're gonna need your sleep tonight, pretty boy.”
David stood up, slowly. A little disoriented but physically fine, he felt so horny it was like his whole body was in deep need. He looked at Larry and all he could focus on was all that muscle, so hard, swollen, cut, so totally masculine. He reached for Larry's chest, just to feel those huge, thick pecs, and Larry let him feel them … for about ten seconds. Then he gently pushed David's hands down.
“Not yet. You gotta wait for it, pretty boy. Here,” he held out David's clothes, “come back tomorrow. That is, if you want to continue.”
David barely remembered getting home. He drove on automatic pilot. He had flashes of memories, mostly dressing and finding his clothes didn't fit right. Or maybe more right than they ever had. Larry had laughed when he'd pulled on his shorts, squeezed into his T shirt, and flexed almost automatically when he saw that the loose sleeves now hugged his delts and laid bare his bis and tris. He had still had a raging hard-on when he was fully dressed, in just cotton gym shorts and T-shirt, and he remembered Larry laughing at his persistent boner, and then saying something about giving a show, reaching up, and ripping his T-shirt from the neck all the way down the front. He'd had to drive home shirtless. Just the shorts. Totally boned. In fact, thinking about it, he remembered some guys in another car making comments about his being some kind of muscle stud, totally turning him on, so much he just spontaneously ejaculated again, soaking his shorts. Did he really do that? He reached down before he got out of the car. Soaked all right. Jesus, that stuff really did fry him. But it felt SO fucking good.
No one was in the parking garage, and he took the stairs up the six floors to his condo. He wasn't embarrassed in the slightest, but he didn't want to run into anyone right then, considering his shorts were hugely stained in front with cum, and his cock was still mostly hard. He got into his place and fell on the bed. He didn't even pull down the covers. And then it was morning.
David had a hard time shaking off the sleep in his head. Even after he realized he was so hard his cock ached, and he got himself into the bathroom, he couldn't really shake the grogginess. Like a hangover. Coffee would help. But first, this unbelievable pole of total arousal. He couldn't even take a piss until he jacked off; he was just too hard. So he stepped in front of the mirror.
For a minute he just stood there and grinned. Not long ago, in a bar with a bunch of the guys, someone had asked who believed in love at first sight. One of David's good friends had teased that David did, from the first time he'd stepped in front of a mirror. Well, at this moment, that was definitely true.
His sleepy eyes shone turquoise in the lights. His face wore a day's stubble that was heavier and, somehow, much sexier than yesterday. His angles appeared more angular, his curves more defined, his hair thicker. And his body. His fucking body. Could that shot work so fast? The stuff in the drink had worked fast, but this, this was some kind of fantasy. He saw looking back at him, moving when he moved, the most beautiful, muscular body he'd ever seen on a man. Not the biggest, but perfect in proportion, shape, and complete masculinity, and definitely musclebound by anyone's standards. His cock was huge, at least an inch and half bigger. He'd have to remember to measure it. His pubes seemed to have sprouted upward and out and climbed in a thick line up past his navel. Veins decorated the plates of muscle. He felt a rush that was the closest thing to falling completely in love that he'd ever experienced. And it wasn't just the looks, although he was stunned by his own beauty. It was the force of masculinity he saw standing there and felt, at the same time, inside him, like a fire in his gut, or his balls. He lifted his balls in his left hand. The source of all that is masculine. He loved them. They were bigger, too—quite a bit bigger, in fact—but that wasn't it. It was the masculinity they embodied that he saw and felt so strongly. He could kiss God on the lips for making him male. He loved being a guy, having the feelings, the sensations, the body of a guy. Fuck, he loved his body, his muscles. Who wouldn't? He wanted to be seen like this, looked at, touched, felt. He flexed both arms and just stared at himself, feeling, again, the electricity of orgasm rise like a relentless tide in his groin, his whole body, rising, rising, and then, finally, like crashing like waves on the beach, explode from his huge, gorgeous man pole. He watched it shoot, throw out volley after volley against the mirror, until it slowly, deliciously played out. Then, at last, he could take a leak.
He jacked off again in the shower, unable to stop worshiping his own masculine beauty, and when he got out, he tried not to look at himself again so that he could get dressed. He drank coffee while he dressed, but it didn't seem to clear his head. He didn't have a headache. It wasn't that kind of hangover. But it had to be some kind. He tried on several pairs of slacks. They all seemed tight in the legs and butt, although the waist fit well on all of them. He finally chose a pair, not because they didn't fit tighter, like the others, but because, after looking at himself in so many, he finally decided these looked the best on him, the sexiest. He actually kind of liked how his quads filled the material when he moved and how they clung to his ass. He had a great ass. A great fucking ass.
The same routine went with his shirts, but he only put on a couple before deciding he loved how his body looked, showing its muscle inside the fabric, forcing it to conform to the wide slabs of his chest, the flair of his back, the wide stretch of his shoulders, and the long, thick muscle of his upper arms, which pulled the material tight when he bent his arms to button the shirt. Only a guy could look like that, could feel like that.
He looked at the clock. He was going to be late to work. What did he have to do today, anyway? He got out a tie, tucked it under the collar, and started to fold one end over, over, no, wait, under … He flipped the loose ends one way and another, but for some reason, he could not get it tied. He couldn't even get it started, really, couldn't quite pull it together in his head, how you tie a tie. Huh, he thought, some hangover. He felt kind of dull, somehow, slow, although he felt so good at the same time, he didn't much care. He didn't panic, or think too much about it. He looked at himself in the mirror, grinned, said aloud, “Big fuckin' hung-over dumbass muscle stud,” as he pulled off the tie and threw it on the bed, “but you sure as fuck are one gorgeous hunk.” He buttoned down the collar points and thought, fuck it, it was a good day to go without a tie, anyway. He packed up his gym bag and headed for the car.
When he got to his car, he realized he'd remembered his gym bag but not his briefcase. Well, what the fuck. He guessed that pretty much showed where his priorities lay. He pulled out of the garage, headed the car toward the gym, and called his buddy, Perry, at the office. Perry also happened to be his immediate supervisor, and they both had covered for each other from time to time, so he told Perry he'd been up half the night with stomach flu, their code for being seriously hung over and needing a recovery day. Perry said, fine, go get yourself laid and you'll feel much better. With that off his mind, although it had hardly weighed heavily, he pulled into the gym with a sudden urgent need to pump up his muscle and pump it hard.
His thoughts turned to Larry. That huge body. God, he wanted that. He would pump up so fucking hard, go so heavy. Yeah. That's what he wanted. That was all he wanted. How much more of a stud could he get to be? Something in him knew the bigger he became the more masculinity he would radiate, like pheromones to his own libido. Just walking into the gym made him feel aroused. The place to build muscle, to be a guy among guys, all making what was masculine about them more so, hanging out, being nude, loving being guys, being male, having that meat hanging between their legs from those masculine bushes of pubic hair. God, he hated that some guys trimmed theirs so close they looked like boys. It should be full, thick, manly. It was a guy thing. Like pit hair. Like muscle.
He took his time dressing, noticing how much he was being stared at, and casually, purposefully, letting them look all they wanted. He could feel his heavy cock and balls, and he knew how big they must look. He adjusted himself in his jock so they could all see him arrange his bulge. Then he headed for the gym floor.
“David,” Larry's voice called.
Larry was standing by an open locker.
“Dude,” Larry said, motioning David over, “no work today? Why am I not surprised? Couldn't think of anything but those muscles, I bet. Gotta feed that meat, eh, man? Here, have some mineral water.”
David was surprised, for a second, and then not at all. Had Larry said he'd be here? Anyway, he knew what that mineral water was all about now, and he took it and gulped it down. He was glad Larry was here. Larry would push him like before. Larry would make him into what he wanted to be. Larry wanted it, too. Somehow he knew that. He knew that Larry had a special interest in him now. And that was fine.
Larry did push him, and push him hard, but David felt the water kick in some of that feeling, and he found he loved the push and could keep up, no problem. He felt his muscles fill with the pump, burn, recover, burn again, and swell, hard. It felt incredible, exhilarating. When Larry had him flex, flex hard, harder, looking at the swell of the muscle in the mirror and seeing guys all over the gym looking at him, he felt himself getting higher and higher on the rush. They worked for over three hours, and then they showered. Larry kept telling David how good he was looking already, how fast the stuff was working on him, and David knew it was true. In the showers, with guys watching him and knowing how incredible he had to look to them, he boned up so totally that his cock pointed up toward his pecs. He knew that wasn't real common, here, but he couldn't help it, and he didn't care much, even when he heard some guys laugh.
Larry said, “Don't mind my boy, here. He's just ragin' outta control. Goin' for total freakdom.”
Suddenly, David felt strangely, totally cool, even good, about it. Ragin' outta control. Yeah, he was. Total freakdom. Fuck. Yeah. That was what he wanted. He'd never realized it so strongly before. He also got a funny feeling when Larry called him his boy. Larry's boy. Larry was in control, here. He realized that, too. And he wanted that just as much. Larry's boy. Larry was making him freaky. Larry would have him standing around all boned up like he couldn't help it, like it was just cool and natural. And he couldn't help it. He was so fucking hard, and being looked at made him harder. Fuck. Larry's boy. Larry's freak. Total freakdom.
Then they were back at Larry's place. Must have put more into that mineral water. David didn't even remember getting naked, but he was looking at himself in the mirror, a huge, freaky, total musclehead bodybuilder looking back at him. Flying. Whoa, rushing so hard. Guns measure almost twenty already. Quads almost thirty, same as his waist. Feeling that cloth tape around his thick muscles. So hard, so in love with that body in the mirror, feeling it. Big muscle body, getting so huge. Huge fucking cock, huge balls. Getting so freaky. Feeling so fucking hot.
Larry took him back to the living room and had him sit on the sofa. He had no desire to be anywhere else, do anything else. Larry said he would take care of everything after this, after he took David all the way, and David dimly understood what Larry intended, before he jabbed him again in the stomach with the needle. This time David was ready for the blackout. He leaned back and let it come. And then he was sitting up again, awake, and his chest was heavy with muscle and wet with cum. His hard cock was so heavy it lay, hard and hot as sun-baked stone, on his abs, the big, flaring head lying just below the confluence of abs and pecs, spurting its man juice up the valley between his swollen pecs to fill the hollow at the base of his throat. Some even hit his face, and what fell on his lips, he licked to taste his own manhood.
“Pretty soon, you'll be able to suck it right out of yourself. You're gonna like that, aren't you David?”
David looked up to see Larry, also naked, sitting next to him. Larry's boy. He nodded. He would like that. He would be able to suck his own cock. He would have that big a cock. Fuck.
“Yeah, I know you will, freak boy. I got some buddies'll love to watch you too. You gonna have some fun with my buddies, aren't you, David?”
Like in the showers, David thought. Looking at him. Touching him, feeling his muscles, making him cum. He loved to cum. Cumming felt so good. So strong. Like him. He was so strong, so big. He flexed an arm and it was huge, bigger than Larry's, and it felt so exciting. He licked it. He loved his muscles. He nodded again. Yeah, he would like it.
The television was on across the room. The people on it were moving fast, talking fast. It was hard to catch what it was about, what they were doing, just confusing. But he didn't care. He didn't even really care about trying much. He looked down at his body again, sliding the slippery, sticky cum all over his chest and stomach, feeling how big his muscle was all over him. His arms bulged as he moved them, the hard mass of his lats and pecs under them, between them. He was all muscle, just like he wanted. He could be bigger, if Larry wanted him to be. Whatever Larry wanted.
“Come over here, freak boy.” Larry waved his erection in the air. “Sit on Larry's lap.”
“Come on,” Perry said, standing at the door of Larry's apartment, “are you going to let me talk to David, or what? I know David didn't write that resignation letter.”
“Oh, yeah, he did. And I'm afraid it took a lot of help to get it written.” Larry pulled the door open wearing very brief white underwear and nothing else. “Please, come in. Pardon how I'm dressed. Wasn't expecting company.”
Perry's Adam's apple bobbed, his involuntary gulp almost audible as he caught the full view of this massively built bodybuilder. He thought of himself as usually quite adept at hiding his interest in handsome or very well-built men. Even though he knew he wasn't gay, he didn't want to give the impression, inadvertently, that he might be. He'd convinced himself that his interest in great looking guys was just a typical buddy thing, or the wish he had never been able to deny, that he looked like the guys that turned his head—handsomer, better built, even muscular. And well-hung wouldn't be bad, either. He'd always given extra effort to fighting his impulse to stare in the showers at the gym. Now, however, the sight of this man, or at least his reaction to it, threatened to reveal things about himself even he didn't want to know. Or did he?
He'd experience a strange kind of excitement, actually arousal, though he fought admitting it to himself, the other day when David has appeared at work looking so different. He told himself that it was just surprise felt more strongly because of the special relationship he had with David, based on one night, after several straight-up martinis after work that led to David's apartment and some passionate physical exploration together. It never had to be mentioned again. They knew, and the “buddy” bond between them had grown stronger because of it. They covered for each other when they needed to. And, since Perry was David's supervisor, they spent quite a bit of time together on projects, often had a drink together after work, played handball, and sometimes worked out together. David had the natural physique of an athlete, and built up easily, Perry couldn't help but have noticed, which only encouraged his vanity and self-confidence. If Perry didn't like him so much, he could have been very jealous. But David must have found Perry a good companion, and Perry flattered himself that someone like David wouldn't hang with anyone that would bring down his reputation. Great looking people almost always, unfair as it might be, hang together. They were both babe magnets, although Perry often suspected it was David that brought them thronging. But he knew he was no slouch. His almost black, thick straight hair, dark shadow, ability to change his facial hair within a couple of days, currently displayed in thick, wide, perfect long sideburns, and clear sapphire eyes set with dark fringes of lashes and thick, heavy eyebrows gave him a darkly handsome face. He wouldn't mind if his lips were fuller, his jaw more square, maybe a dimple in his chin, but, standing in front of any mirror, he had to concede that, for a fairly skinny dude, he was pretty much a looker. And he did have great abs.
Still, when David came in that day looking so good, so muscular and handsome, Perry had been forced to work even harder at not staring at him or fawning over him, and once, had been forced to stay seated least he reveal, by standing, the boner he'd sprung imagining being built like that, or even, for that matter, just seeing David out of that shirt. But there'd also been something odd about David, his behavior. He seemed distracted, unable to concentrate. Perry had noticed him a few times feeling his arm muscles or his chest, unaware that he was doing it. And he'd almost seemed, strangely enough, for someone as bright as David, like he hadn't been able to get all the lights turned on that day. Probably really hung over, Perry thought. But it felt like something else.
Then came the phone call the next morning. If he hadn't recognized his voice, he would not have believed it was David. He couldn't say exactly what was off, but something was—way off. And then he'd dropped off the face of the earth, and a couple days later, the letter came, scrawled in a hand that looked like he imagined David's might have looked when he was first learning to write longhand. He'd left a message at David's asking what was going on, and had received a call from this Larry saying he was just there to pick up David's stuff, and he knew that Perry was David's friend, so he was just calling to let him know David was fine. Perry had pushed and finally got an address out of this Larry, who said that if he wanted to see David, come on over. The building was in an older part of town that was slowly coming back up from the decay it had fallen into after the general flight to suburbia a generation or two ago. Artists, musicians, and others of little means and a sense of adventure were making it a more desirable address, with a bit a danger adding to the aura of the neighborhood, adventurous, seedy, colorful, and darkly hip. Perry had checked twice to make sure his BMW 745i was locked up tight, and turned fast when he heard footsteps behind him, only to see a couple, young and pierced and hanging onto each other just to keep from falling down from whatever drug was keeping them in quiet giggles. Down here, you could get away with anything. You could get huge old apartments for the price of a closet in the “better” neighborhoods. And there were clubs that rocked all night.
When the door opened a crack, and the man he assumed was Larry peeked through, showing part of a bare shoulder, Perry had instinctively backed up a step. But the guy's voice was pleasant enough when he had said, “Yeah? Perry?” Perry felt confident enough to ask what was going on with David, and become a little impatient when this guy seemed to be putting him off, after coming all the way down here. Now, as he entered the Spartan living room, his heart raced with a mix of excitement and trepidation. This guy was a fantasy of muscle, and Perry couldn't miss the size of the bulge in that minimal underwear. He could also tear him apart.
“It's cool,” Perry answered as he entered the room. “So, where is he?”
“I'll get him in a minute. You want anything to drink? A beer? Anything?”
“Okay. So, you obviously care about your buddy a lot,” Larry said from the kitchen. “I mean, to come check on him, and all.” He came back in with a beer and flopped on a big leather chair, indicating that Perry should have a seat on the sofa.
“Yeah, of course. He's a good buddy. And he was acting a little strange the last time I saw him.”
“Yeah, the stuff he was trying does that to you. But you gotta know, if you're his good buddy, that he was way into his body, so what he did, he did voluntarily.”
“And exactly what did he do? Why has he dropped out of sight?”
“Well, see, there's this stuff. New stuff. Way better than roids for putting big muscle on a guy really fast. He wanted it. Tried it, a little, which is when you saw him, and then he just pretty much went with it all the way. But it's really new, and the effects are pretty extreme. Just thought you should know that.”
“Okay …” Perry said, waiting for the rest. The combination of this guy sitting spread legged in front of him, his muscle bulging every time he lifted his arm to sip his beer and the thought of David doing whatever he was talking about, something more extreme than roids, had him excited in a way he understood all too well. But there was something so weird about the way Larry was telling him, preparing him, that made him too nervous to be getting a boner. Or maybe not. He shifted in his seat.
“Well, your buddy is pretty different, that's all. You're probably going to be a little shocked.”
“What, he didn't want people to see that he's real muscular or something?”
Just asking that question speeded up Perry's heart rate, and the faster moving blood seemed to be suddenly flooding his crotch. Being as slender as he was, he'd always had a secret fantasy about taking huge doses of steroids just to see how it felt to be one of those freaky looking muscle guys. He jacked off sometimes looking at their pictures in bodybuilding magazines. But he didn't really want that. It was just great JO fantasy stuff. At least until now.
“Oh, I don't think he'd care. It's more what other people might think. See, muscle isn't the only thing it makes grow.” He casually rubbed the bulge in his briefs. “And those aren't the only changes it causes, either. But why don't I let you see for yourself?” He got up and went to a door in the short hallway, opened it a bit, and said, “David, why don't you come on out? There's someone here to see you.”
Larry left the door ajar and came back into the living room, across the room, close to the kitchen, where he could observe Perry's reaction.
Perry turned back to the hallway, and what he saw emerge from the room shocked him so profoundly he felt like he'd just been flipped upside down on a roller coaster. At first, the figure was back lit and in shadow, but Perry could tell that this guy was so massive that walking was difficult. He threw one leg around the mass of the other, his feet spaced so far apart that balance was tricky, and he lumbered one slow step at a time to maintain it, each leg quivering as it struck the ground and the muscle tightened to carry the load. And what a load it was. The mammoth legs flared from a narrow midsection, but above the hips, the shadowy figure flared out again, bat wing sides lifting out arms that looked more like legs attached at a point where the flare reversed itself in a low pyramid bracketed by shoulders that sat at the juncture like a matched pair of bowling balls. Atop the pyramid, the head. Even in the partial shadow, Perry could tell it wore David's face.
A few more careful steps, and the monster was in the room. It was David, all right. Handsomer than ever, that golden hair, longer now, hanging around the chiseled face, that wide smile. The rest was unreal. David's pecs protruded on his chest thick and heavy and wide, laying on his rib cage with so much mass that his nipples were almost engulfed in the deep crease of their overhang. Everything about his body was as if someone had taken David, the perfect form and proportion that Perry knew, and blew him up with mass until he had become as massive as the biggest bodybuilder Perry had ever seen in his magazines, and then, for good measure, increased that mass by another ten or twenty percent. Who could tell how much? No bloat, no puffiness, just huge, massive, cut, carved, shredded, veined muscle. Perry's head felt dizzy trying to take in what he was seeing, and not just his buddy with all that freaky muscle size. David was naked, and sticking out from his crotch, jutting at a forty-five degree angle upward, was the biggest cock Perry had ever seen. It had to be almost two feet long, and thicker than his wrist. It swayed back and forth with each step, the bulbous head at mid-pec level, even at that angle. From its root, where the trunk-like base of it sat planted in the bush of dark gold hair, hung a sack so full and heavy that it swung back and forth more than halfway down David's thighs like a produce bag carrying two mangoes or papayas or huge oranges. In the speeded-up whirl of Perry's mind, the thought for an instant of the absurdity that he was looking at what he was seeing and his brain was conjuring images of fruit. Well, they weren't as big as grapefruits.
“Holy fuck …”
Once in the room, David realized who was sitting on the sofa. His smile broadened.
“Hi, Perry,” he said. He sounded like a happily surprised child. A very young one. “Hi.”
He just stood there, grinning.
“Hi, David.” Perry turned and looked at Larry, who was just watching him, smiling, amused. He looked back at this beyond human freak that was his friend. “You sure, uh, look different.”
“Huh huh,” David laughed, “yeah, I know. Look at my muscles, Perry. Look how big they are.” He raised both arms up above his head and pulled them down into a double biceps pose. They swelled into such mass that veins popped to their surface. Each arm looked nearly as big as his head. “I like my muscles, Perry. They feel really good. Do you want to feel my muscles?”
Perry didn't know what to say. He looked over at Larry. Larry shrugged. “Hey, whatever, man. It's cool. I'll just leave you guys alone for a bit.”
Perry watched Larry disappear into the kitchen and turned back to David, who was feeling his own arm, now.
“Don't you want to feel my muscles, Perry? The feel really good. I really like my muscles. Look at my cock. It's so big. Hey. I can even suck it myself. Wanna see?”
He pulled his cock toward his face and the head was right at mouth level. He sucked around the head a little, and then he looked up at Perry again, grinning.
Perry felt sick to him stomach. Pure overload. His friend was acting and talking like a five year old. He seemed more like a golden retriever than a successful executive. In fact—Perry's stomach lurched again—the executive, the babe magnet, the stud bud he knew was no longer there. But what was there, in front of him, inviting him to touch, was the most incredible fantasy of a male he'd ever seen, even in the fever of his occasionally drug induced jack-off fantasies. He felt like he would be violating a trust, betraying the friend he came to … to what? … save? Too late for that. If he grabbed him and ran, they wouldn't even get … No, he couldn't … He suddenly understood why David had disappeared. Where could he go? Who was that guy? What was that stuff? He had to answer David, though, to say something to him.
“Yeah, David. I see.” He spoke as he would to a kindergartner.
David flexed again, placing his biceps practically into Perry's face. “Larry feels my muscles all the time.”
This was all too weird. As badly as he felt, Perry knew he had to get out of there. But, not wanting to alarm this behemoth that used to be his buddy, and, oddly, powerfully curious just to see what that much muscle felt like, he reached up with both hands and felt the hard, warm mass in front of him. Whoa. He had an erection. Even with all this, it made him hard. He was just about to panic and run, as much from his own feelings as from the situation, the horror, when he saw the blur of Larry approaching him from behind and then, suddenly, a sting, like a bee, in the side of his neck. He turned to see Larry pull away a syringe, but he didn't even have time to react before the curtain fell on his consciousness.
Suddenly, Perry found himself sitting on the sofa. He swam up from the depths of unconsciousness through a thickness that felt like Jell-O, fighting to the surface of wakefulness. And yet, even when he opened his eyes and knew he was awake, he felt as though he were still fighting his way out of some thick goo in his head. He was naked. He was leaning back, and his cock was harder than he'd ever felt it—so hard it ached. His abs were covered with cum. He looked down, almost as though it were someone else's body he was waking up in. He tried to focus, but all he could wrap his head around was how horny he felt, and how sexy, sitting there. As he looked down at himself, he saw that his pecs were bigger, much bigger, wider, and thicker. His legs were bigger, too, and—he flexed an arm—his arms were more muscular. A lot more muscular. “Feel good?”
Larry sat across the room in the same chair as before. Now Perry remembered. David. The sting. He must have … Fuck. Oh, no … But it did feel good. It felt really good. He felt his pecs. He only dreamed of having muscle like this. It felt even better than he thought it would. So sexy. So masculine. So hot. He became so aroused, so fast, that he could only watch, his mouth hanging slack in dumbstruck erotic euphoria, as his cock began to spurt warm, thick, white cream, all over his stomach and groin again. Aww, fuck, it felt so good.
Then David's hand reached over from where he sat next to Perry. Perry hadn't even noticed. David rubbed the sticky, slippery cum all over Perry's stomach. “Feel good?” he parroted Larry.
Perry watched the hand on his abs. Fucking incredible abs. So cut and so hard. He looked at David. All that muscle. That huge cock. That must feel so fucking hot. His own cock was bigger, he could tell already, and he knew that the ache he felt in it was the ache of growth. He felt it in his whole body. He wanted to reach over and feel those pecs on David. Oh, God, all that thick, huge, beautiful muscle. So fucking what if David seemed like he was dumber than a cow? He was so hot. But wait. Struggling in the heavy fog in his head, a memory of needing to get out of there resurfaced. He tried to get up. God, he felt so much heavier. His arms swelled and bulged with the effort of trying to push himself up. It felt so good, the weight, the weight of the muscle on him. His cock flopped over onto his leg, and fuck, it felt big. The size of it made wave of pure erotic excitement surge over him. It was so fucking hot. But he had to get out while he could.
“I … have … to …” Jesus, it was even hard to get the words out, “… go.”
He hadn't even got to a full sitting-up position. He seemed to be moving so slowly. Everything was going so slowly. Fuck. He was so slow, and he had to …
“I don't think so, my friend,” Larry stood up and approached. “You know way too much now. And besides, you're pretty fucking handsome, and you're starting to look pretty fucking hot. Yeah, that's right,” Larry pushed him back on the sofa with one hand, “you'll make one gorgeous fuckboy, and you wouldn't want to leave your buddy, now, would you?” and, with the other, jabbed him in the stomach. He saw the syringe, but it was too late to fight it, and, in the second before he blacked out again, he realized, it felt too good to fight. He surrendered.