Kyle Landry never expected to meet a guy just like himself, and especially not in the gym of the athletic department at the small university where he'd enrolled to get his degree in physiology and physical education. Derek Stivers never thought that he'd find his dreams near home at school. Most people don't expect to run into their destinies on a normal September afternoon. Most people don't recognize their destinies until they've played out. Kyle and Derek were no exception. They were also not most people.
Kyle and Derek grew up only a few miles but two suburbs apart. If they'd played sports, they probably would have met up at some game or other. But each of them devoted his athletic pursuits to the individual perfection of his own body. Being buff was everything. They'd both worked out, swam, and run since they'd hit puberty, and, since they were both also, coincidentally, from well-to-do families and strikingly good looking, they had developed into the muscle boy ideal, each in his own small world. Popular, but more or less loners, they enjoyed the fawning admiration of their A-list peers and yet remained apart, willing, happy to be adored, but not to take away from their individual pursuits of physical perfection.
The gym was crowded with students that afternoon, but, through the crowd, they noticed each other. Until then, their appreciation of their attainments at each stage of development had been pretty much limited to whatever mirror they stood in front of, privately, flexing, seeing the definition of their sleek bodies and cut muscles slowly improve and a pattern of body hair sprout, little by little, starting shortly after their first pubes had appeared, then a few bellybutton hairs becoming treasure trails, a few hairs on their chests sprouting and spreading until each had become, by their senior years, the hairiest guys in their respective schools, a fact that had developed, along with the spread of the hair, from modest embarrassment to acceptance to a certain pride. Combined with one other unusual attribute they had in common, each grew into a confidence in his masculinity, even bordering on cockiness. No other guys in their schools were as good looking, as beautifully built, as hairy, or had such unusually large cocks—an attribute easily flaunted in the locker room but nearly as obvious bulging in their clothes, packaged up purposefully in low-cut briefs or jocks in their gym shorts.
Suddenly, across the rows of benches and machines, past the sea of young, sweaty bodies, they saw themselves in another person.
Several weeks passed. They each seemed to have the same workout schedule, and soon, a nod of recognition was exchanged. Then a “hey” as they passed. Finally, Kyle asked Derek to spot him on the bench, and from that point on, they were workout partners, and, soon, best buddies.
They presented quite a sight, Kyle and Derek, at eighteen looking like models for the fitness magazines, going everywhere together, dressing to show their hard work, in the style of campus jocks. They double-dated, when they had time to date, but often they coordinated studying together, or going to a movie, or whatever, to work around and within their schedule of workouts.
Thus, they passed their freshman year. Best friends, pushing each other toward their goals, they grew to realize they had more in common than they at first realized. Or, perhaps, their commonality grew as they realized they shared the same goals, or dreams, or, possibly, fantasies. They would have the same major, with the same goal: they would become licensed trainers with expertise in physiology and sports nutrition. That way they could turn what was becoming their increasing passion into their livelihoods as well. It also gave them an explainable reason to be so obsessively captivated by the cultivation of their bodies.
In high school, they had both gotten reputations as muscle guys. There were others, of course—football players, mostly, and wrestlers. Some of the others had been bigger, a few even steroid-augmented. But Kyle and Derek had been the gold standard. They had grown into sleek, trim, sculptured teens, happy to flex a biceps and show themselves to be muscle boys, but always the model type, the most cut, the most defined, the most refined, despite—or including, depending on who was looking—their overly generous packages and the body hair that usually got shaved away by most models. Now, in their first year of college, they had pushed each other farther in that same direction and could have, by summer, competed for full-color pages in any of the top national fitness magazines, probably in the “building muscle for teens” section.
Their sophomore year was more of the same. Even their course work merged, and they shared another commonality. They studied together, worked out together, took the same classes, and found, when all that was accomplished, that they preferred to spend what little time they had left to relax together, talking about their goals, which meshed as well as everything else. They dated infrequently, preferring to spend more and more time in the gym together, pushing each other to stretch, break through boundaries and plateaus, admiring their work not just on themselves any longer, but also on each other, as though each were sculpting the other into a paradigm of male physical excellence. It was in their junior year that their goal began to change. They decided that, as much time as they spent together, they should get an off-campus apartment or small house together and be roommates. The place would large enough for a workout room so that they could hit the weights any time they wanted. They would continue their regular schedule at the school gym, but they'd be able to really devote themselves to their shared passion, to live the life, they said, talk the talk, walk the walk. They wouldn't have to hide fitness magazines from their roommates. They could talk about their bodies, measure their growth, check out their progress as much as they wanted. From getting the house, it was a short step to working out in their briefs and buying up all the muscle magazines to lay around the house, “for inspiration.”
“Hey Derek. Dude, whatta you think it'd be like, man, looking like one of these guys?” Kyle thumbed through a copy of Flex. “Whatta you think it'd feel like?”
It was late winter, and they'd been pushing each other with intensity to get ready for spring and shorts and swimsuit weather.
“Let me see who you're looking at.” Derek leaned over the sofa to view pictures of the current crop of heavyweight contenders for the Olympia, standing around a pump room in their posers. “Whoa, dude. Those guys are fuckin' monsters, man. I don't know.”
“Yeah,” Kyle answered, flipping the pages. “Probably be kinda weird. Feel like freaks, man, everyone starin' at you all the time.”
“Yeah, probably,” Derek answered. He turned away and went to the kitchen before his cock got totally hard. He wondered if Kyle was boning underneath the magazine in his lap. They were both in just their whities, the way they usually hung out around the house. By the time he got back with a bottle of water, Kyle had gone to the bathroom. Muscle and Fitness lay on the coffee table, but Flex was gone. Derek smiled. Wouldn't be surprised to see a couple pages stuck together next time he thumbed through it. It seemed they had another thing in common.
A new football coach had started that fall, and he often worked out in the gym when Derek and Kyle were there. He'd come from another local university, and it was pretty cool that such a young coach had joined the faculty in their department and also worked out as much, it seemed, as they did. He was friendly, asking for a spot now and then, wondering why guys built like they were didn't play football. When he got that they weren't interested in team sports, just in body culture, Coach McKittrick began to encourage them in their bodybuilding and in doing some modeling. He told them about a photographer who was pretty well-known nationally and worked out of the area. He said he drew a lot of his models from one of the local gyms, known in the small local clique of bodybuilders as the only real gym in town. Small, grungy looking, but clean and well equipped for the hardcore bodybuilder.
“Looks like you two are headed in that direction,” he said one evening. “Am I right?”
Kyle and Derek looked at each other.
“Nah,” Derek said quickly. “Just into staying buffed.”
At exactly the same time, Kyle answered, “Well, sort of.”
The coach looked from one to the other, grinning. He'd caught them on the cusp of decision.
“Well,” he said, “which is it? Yes or no? Sort of is no answer. You either are committed to bodybuilding or not. There's no 'sort of.' Anyway,” he said, not giving them a chance to answer, “Give this guy a call.” He wrote down a name and number on a slip of paper. “I know the kind of guys he shoots.
You both have the looks and the builds for it. You guys could make some good extra money modeling for him. And you'd probably enjoy it. Meet some other guys like you, you know. Have some fun, and profit from your work. See you guys later.” And he headed for the showers.
They didn't talk about the conversation until they got home. Flopping on the sofa, Derek picked up Flex. “Dude, can you believe that coach said it looks like we're heading in that direction, man?”
“What?” Kyle answered from the kitchen. “You want a beer?”
“Yeah, cool. Bodybuilders, man.”
“Oh. Yeah.” He handed Derek a beer. “You know, what, man? I heard some chick say that to some guy the other day.”
“I didn't hear the whole thing, but I heard her say '… bodybuilders, like those guys,' and she was talking about you and me, man.” He flopped on the sofa next to Derek.
“True, dude. And you know what? It made me start to bone, man. Swear to God. I felt kinda hot, being looked at like that. Like tonight, too. When the coach said that. Come on, man. You can't tell me you weren't turned on a little, being called a bodybuilder.”
“Maybe.” Derek picked up Muscle and Fitness and started thumbing the pages.
“Dude, you think we should call that guy? I mean, it would be cool to make some money just letting some guy take our pictures. Some famous guy, too.”
“Yeah, maybe man. You think he'd make us shave?”
“Who cares, man? I think it'd be cool.”
Soon the guys were featured on a website of the photographer's work and the response to their photos sent the site's hits soaring. Orders for photo sets rolled in, and the guys were back in the studio, doing shoots with some other guys as well as together and on their own. They began to make friends with some of the other models, guys who, to them, did look like bodybuilders, and one in particular, an older guy who owned the local gym they'd heard about, took a special interest in them. It was not lost on the two of them that some of these guys, as into their muscle bods as much as they were, made no effort to shy away from the sexual nature of bodybuilding, proudly wearing their pumped muscle as evidence of their masculine sexuality. And they seemed to enjoy it as much amongst each other as they did with the ladies.
Spring came, and Kyle and Derek, at Spring break, alone, in their rented home, decided that they would, after all, declare themselves as bodybuilders.
“Dude,” Derek said one afternoon as they drank a beer together before going out for a run, “Everybody already thinks we're bodybuilders, man. So why not just fuckin' do it, man?”
“We are doing it, aren't we?”
“Yeah, but Kyle, man, I mean really fuckin' go for it. Like those guys, man. Those huge fuckers. Dude, they totally rock, man. So fuckin', you know, hot, bro. I know you think the same thing, man. I've seen you bone talking about it.”
“Yeah, man. I admit it. It's sexy, bro. Shit, Kyle, getting bigger feels hot. Can you imagine what it'd feel like to be really huge, man? It would be so totally fuckin' hot.”
“Yeah, that's what I mean, man. So, whatta you say? You want to make a pact, man? Be total muscle bros together? Push each other? Neither one lets the other one slack. Okay, man?” As they talked, drinking their beers, standing there in their briefs, the excitement of such a commitment was undeniable. They no longer tried to hide their mutual arousal, and, stepping close, daring to touch body to body, bulge to bulge, they declared themselves partners and best buddies forever. Their first kiss held all the passion of a too-long denial, and by summer, for anyone who knew them or cared to hear it, even to their families, they outed themselves as full-on bodybuilders and sexual partners. They didn't go so far as to come out as gay. In this Midwestern city, declaring themselves openly bisexual was enough, though females had, in truth, long since fallen off their radar. They were liberated. They redoubled their workouts with a new kind of intensity. And that summer, they took the gym owner, Mike, up on his offer to join his gym for free and have him, personally, as their trainer.
Kyle and Derek didn't know, of course, that Mike had, long ago, told the photographer that if he ever came across a couple guys that seemed just the right type, his ultimate fantasy was to create himself a couple of drop-dead, off-the-map muscle boys of his own, to be trainers at his gym, to draw in members and serve as walking advertisements. What could be better than these guys whose goals were to be trainers, who had the draw of their extraordinary looks, and who, once he took them over, would be the perfect living ads for the Steelworks Gym.
“Okay, pretty boys,” Mike said on their first day of training. “I know some guys are calling you bodybuilders. I say bullshit. You're a couple of pretty boy gym rats. Oh, you're built, for sure, and you got the potential. You got the genetics, both of you. But you look like a couple a rich boy wimps. I gotta know you want it and want it bad. I gotta know you're ready to be real bodybuilders. Hardcore.”
They stammered, but Mike demanded, and demanded that they not only say yes, that they shout it out, declare it “loud and clear.”
“SIR, YES, SIR. FUCK YES, I AM A BODYBUILDER. FUCK YES, I AM COMMITTED TO GETTING AS HUGE AS I CAN. FUCK YES, I WANT MIKE TO TURN ME INTO A MONSTER. SIR, YES, SIR. I AM YOURS TO MOLD. I WANT YOU TO MAKE ME HUGE. I NEED TO BE HUGE. I DEDICATE MYSELF TO BECOMING THE BIGGEST AND THE BEST. I WILL DO WHAT YOU SAY AND GROW AS HUGE AS YOU SEE FIT. I AM YOUR BODYBUILDER. I AM YOUR MUSCLE BOY. I AM YOUR CLAY TO MOLD. MAKE ME HOW YOU WANT ME. SIR, YES, SIR.”
They memorized the oath and shouted it out at the beginning of each workout, six days a week, at 5 o'clock every morning before the gym opened to anyone else. Then he would train them hard until 7. Since the gym opened at 6, members came to watch the new guys work out. By now, at 20, the guys' bodies were long primed to receive the advanced training they were getting, and their development took a leap forward. By the summer, there was no mistaking them for anything less than serious bodybuilders. And Mike began to insist that they start to reflect who they were in how they dressed. They were Mike's boys, Steelworks men, and they would set themselves apart as such. Wifebeater tanks, sleeveless muscle shirts, Lycra or Spandex shorts began replacing much of their old wardrobe. In the gym, they wore only what displayed their bodies in glorious detail. For photo sessions they moved from Speedos to posers, and, on occasion, Mike would insist they worked out in posers as well.
“Get used to it, boys,” he said. “Be proud. Show your pride.”
Summer passed and they spent most of their time at the gym. Mike pushed and they grew and developed. No one who saw them, dressed or in any stage of undress, would, for a moment, doubt that they were two bodybuilders. They began to develop the walk, the way of moving, and they liked the way people increasingly noticed them. When they went back to their senior year, everyone knew them as “those bodybuilder guys, Kyle and Derek.” If they'd been afraid that being noticed that way would make them feel embarrassed, now they found the stares they got suited them just fine.
Then, just before Christmas, Mike invited them for dinner, and when they'd all gotten good and drunk on beer and vodka shots, he threw out the proposal that would change their lives completely.
“I know you boys are looking to become personal trainers and you know I've got the gym that could serve as your base. I'm small, as a business, and I want to continue to cater to the serious guys, like you, like the others, real lifters, builders. I could use some real help around here and increase the business. But I don't just want you to be trainers for me. I've got something a lot bigger in mind.”
He took a swig of beer and looked at them. Their interest showed as they leaned forward in their chairs.
“I'm proposing to give you two guys an interest in the business, say, 49%, make you partners. Of course, I'll retain controlling interest.” He grinned, winked. “Wow, man, are you serious?” Kyle's eyes widened.
“Totally serious. But I'm not offering a free ride. That's what I'll give. Here's what I have in mind for you two. Let me tell you about a dream I've had for a long time.”
He told them about the photographer, about his muscle boy fantasy, about the call he'd gotten when they showed up that first day.
“But,” he said, “when I say I retain control, I mean complete control, just like you say in your oath every day. I'll train you as I see fit. I'll grow you how I want to see you grow. And I hope you know, I mean huge. You'll do what I say, eat what I tell you, take what I give you. Understood? There's no going back on this. You balk in the slightest, and the deal's off. You're out. Got it?”
“Well, yeah,” Derek said, “but I'm having a hard time thinking of why we would? What's the down side?”
“None, if you're prepared to be my total muscle boys. Are you? I'm gonna give you till after the Christmas break to think about it, tell your family, whatever. Then, when you come back, if you're in, we'll get you started. I've got something very special to introduce you to, and you boys are gonna start growing for real.”
“You mean steroids?” Kyle asked, his voice breaking with either nervous fear or excitement, or both.
“Something like that,” Mike said.
They drove back to their house almost in silence. Almost.
“Damn.” Kyle shook his head as he drove. “Shit.”
Another few minutes, another few gulps later, Derek looked at him. “Dude?”
“Nothing. Man, are you as boned as I am, man?”
Kyle laughed. “Fuck no, Derek. That's just a fucking banana I shoved in my pants, bro.”
So, that Christmas, both Derek and Kyle told their families about the proposal, and how, to keep their side of the bargain, they would have to be really putting on serious muscle size. They both found their families weren't all that surprised, and even though they didn't understand the desire to be muscle-bound, if it was what they wanted, it did sound like a great opportunity for them.
So, come January, as snow swirled outside the gym at 5 0'clock in the morning, Mike accepted their pledge. He told them he'd have the papers drawn up, but, in the meantime, the deal was on as of that morning. He escorted them to his private office and pulled out a vial and two syringes.
“I told you I had something special,” he said, as he filled the syringes with the clear fluid. “You asked about steroids. My friends, boys, this is what will make steroids as we've known them obsolete.” He tapped out the air bubbles. “This is the next step in the evolution of body-enhancing drugs. It does everything steroids do, but without the negative side effects. Its side effects, in fact, I'm told, are quite the opposite. This will enable you to grow past the genetic limits that would have held you back and do it in record time. It's been tested, so you don't have to worry, but you'll be among the first to show the world what can be achieved through the miracles of bioengineering and good old modern chemistry. Stand up. Give me a cheek.”
And he shot each guy with the contents of a syringe.
Before their workouts, he measured up the twenty-one year olds. Derek, at six feet, two-hundred twenty pounds, had an inch of height and ten pounds on Kyle, but they measured very much the same. Their arms had reached 18.5 inches, their chests had passed 48, their thighs nearly 27, and their waists a solid 31. There were variations in the shape of their bodies, but they shared the genetic blessing of long muscle bellies, naturally thick physiques, broad, full, square-shaped pectorals, and small, narrow-hipped midsections, which dramatized the V of their torsos and flare of their legs. As he measured them, wearing only posers, the serum began to take effect, and the guys began to feel a powerful need to do something, to move, to lift, to pump iron. They felt their hearts speed up, their blood flow faster, and Mike's measuring was exciting. Within minutes, both felt themselves boning, right in front of Mike, nothing they could do about it.
“Ah, good. I see it's working. I'll have to remember to do you up without the trunks from now on. It has this initial effect.”
As he continued to jot down measurements, Kyle and Derek felt the surge of orgasm building. Mike acted as if nothing unusual were going on, but they couldn't hold it back, and he wasn't dismissing them to do anything about it. With the arousal came an erotic euphoria, and the two just stared at each other as the spurting began in their trunks, staring as though they could kiss without touching, just by knowing what the other felt. Mike rocked back on his haunches and watched them fuck each other with their eyes, their suits darkening with wet jizz until it dripped through the fabric to the floor.
“Well, better get you two a change of uniform,” Mike said when they were finally done.
Once a week, after that, they would receive their doses and wait for the inevitable spontaneous orgasm. Then they would push iron. For hours, they would lift. Feeling the weight, rep after rep, working deep in their fibers, always filled with an overpowering need to get deeper, go heavier, punish the muscle, make it scream. Mike pushed them and they pushed each other, even when they weren't actually lifting.
At home, they flexed and admired their muscle. Keeping their minds on their studies became increasingly difficult, but their concentration seemed sharper, and they could absorb more, faster, giving them that much more time to spend on fulfilling their bargain. As winter turned to spring, heavy clothing gave way to less and less. Now they found themselves relishing the stares they got as they walked the campus, their arms soon hitting 20 inches, their legs pushing hard apart at 29, their pecs straining their tee shirts or beaters at 52.
“Dude, I fuckin' love how huge you're getting, man,” Derek would say to Kyle. “You're looking like a fucking hairy muscle god, man. A hung musclefuck. Dude, I need to fuck your ass.” And he'd kiss Kyle and feel his massive muscles and rub his boner against his buddy's big, hard cock.
“Yeah? You want to fuck my ass, muscle boy? Well, maybe I'll let you, if you promise to grow bigger for me, man. Damn, dude. You're a fuckin' ape, man. You're fucking hot. Yeah, you can fuck my ass, then you can suck my dick. How about that, muscle pig?”
By summer, with school behind them, they could concentrate completely on their own workouts, and Mike had them begin taking on clients to train. The group that had always worked out at Steelworks had spread the word about Mike's muscle boys, and guys came from miles away to sign up, to watch the show that was Kyle and Derek. And the boys, at Mike's insistence, never failed to deliver. Meanwhile, the money was rolling in. Derek and Kyle's notoriety grew as their photographer friend made videos of them posing, flexing, showing off their masculine superiority. They were hired out for private appearances at parties, sometimes large, and sometimes very intimate. But always whatever Mike wanted them to do. And somehow, the papers never got signed. Kyle and Derek discussed it, but they weren't particularly worried, since they were bringing in the money, but that partnership still hung out there unfulfilled. They were upholding their part of the agreement. By their twenty-second birthdays, both had acquired the look of hardcore juice junkies, their bodies exploding with massive muscle, their necks thick, their jaws heavily squared, but without the usual fleshy bloat that goes with steroid use. They took their shots, they performed as desired, their bodies toys for erotic pleasure of other muscle men and men who love muscle boys, temples of power, strength, and unfettered masculine sexuality. Now they wanted to know that their stake was secure, and they decided to approach Mike.
“So, are you worried?” Mike taunted them. “I keep my word, just like you keep yours. You're getting close to the kind of muscle boys I want. We'll talk about the papers then.”
“Close?” Kyle shouted. “Close?” He flexed an arm. “Twenty-two and a half fucking inch guns, here, man. You call that close?”
“Okay, boys,” Mike sneered, “if you think this is all I had in mind …
You're just getting there. You're just starting to be the kind of muscle boys I had in mind. But maybe I should just stop giving you your shots, if you want to back out.”
The panic that set into both guys revealed the depth of their addiction. They could no more say okay than they could think about stopping. They craved size, mass, muscle, adoration, and sex, and they knew it.
But later, they came up with a plan.
“Derek, man, he's as addicted as we are. Dude, he's not gonna stop till he's got us to like 350 pounds or something. Fuck, dude. Can you imagine having like 26 inch guns? I'd give anything to get that big. Even bigger if it's possible. I'd fuckin' love to see you that big too, man. To feel your fuckin' huge monster muscles. But you know what? So would he. As much as we do, man. And I bet he'd do it himself if we pushed him, bro. If he had a good taste of what this feels like, man, we could turn the tables on him.”
Derek flexed while he played with his twelve inch boner. “Yeah? You want to see me that huge, man? Fuck yeah.”
“Yeah, bro. I do. But listen. Let's get him to do it with us, man. Get him started, and he'll be as addicted as us. Then we'll let him know we'll walk out and start our own thing without him. What do you think is the chance he'll let that happen? No way. He'll get us those papers.”
So that July, Mike announced that they would be making their first real public appearance, not just for the gym guys, but at a party that drew a huge crowd of straights, gays, people from every walk of life who, every summer, came to a certain gay couple's compound to experience an evening of gaudy excess and decadence. They would be the evening's highlight act. There would be drag queens and dancers performing, a cookout dinner catered by a local restaurant. Even city officials would be there. And Mike would present Derek and Kyle as “his” muscle boys, the first public display of this new kind of body enhancing drug. They would be cocktail servers, moving among the crowd, their bodies the touchable evidence of the powerful new style of body achievement. They would begin the evening, after dinner, in soft cotton/Lycra hot shorts and wifebeater tanks. Then, about 11 o'clock, they'd lose the tops. They would flex when asked, and touching would be allowed, even encouraged. They would show the crowd what a muscle guy could be. At midnight, they would change into their tiniest, skimpiest posers to finish out the evening. And they would be shot up just before going, to make sure their sex drive, their need to display, was at full throttle.
Mike brought them into the room. The syringes were prepared.
“I gotta warn ya,” he said. “This is double what you usually get. I want you boys performing tonight, no holds barred. I want them all to see what I've created. Damn, you boys are hot.”
But as he turned to pick up the first syringe, Kyle grabbed him. Mike hadn't thought that the power he'd given them could turned against him, but he was easily overwhelmed, his own thirty-four year old muscle bod no match for the young behemoths he'd created. Derek took the syringe from Mike's pinned hand.
“I know you've sampled your own medicine, but you've never really taken the ride, have you?” Derek smirked as he held up the needle. “Well, come, on, man. We want you to join us. Get huge with us, man. See how hot it feels. I think you're in for a big surprise.”
He jabbed it into Mike's thigh and emptied it.
“There you go, big guy,” Derek said. “You're going to enjoy this party tonight a whole lot more than you thought you would, I guarantee.” He patted Mike on the head like a puppy.
For an instant, there was panic in Mike's eyes, but it was quickly replaced by the glaze of euphoria, and the tension in his body stopped struggling and turned inward as his muscles began to feel the need to work. Kyle picked up the second syringe. He held it up and looking at the gauge lines of the cylinder.
“Just so we know what we'll need for ourselves. Ten CCs, huh? That is a lot. So five is a normal dose. Wonder what twenty would do to a guy?” He grinned, waving the syringe in front of Mike's widened eyes.
“Aw, come on, man. That's way too much. Awww, fuck man.” And the front of his shorts bulged sharply, his hips jerked, and a dark stain spread from his groin.
“Yeah, you're probably right. And this should be just about enough to show you how much you're going to need it. To need muscle. You like this muscle, Mike?” Kyle flexed his arm in Mike's face. “Kiss it, fucker. You know you need it.” And he jabbed his own thigh and emptied the second syringe. “I said kiss it.”
Mike couldn't resist and leaned toward the flexed arm, but Kyle pulled it away.
“Nah. Not yet. When you're good and hungry for it. Meanwhile, let's get a dose into Derek, and then we'll all go have a good time. Fuck, dude. It's gonna be wild to see you start to really mass up. Big fucker already, man.”
Kyle rubbed a hand across Mike's massive chest. “Gonna be so hot totally hulked out, all fuckin' hairy like us. Yeah. “he laughed as he brushed Mike's rock hard erection, “Maybe when we come back, you can kiss this muscle then. Oh, and about those papers. We figure, by the time we get back, there's no way you're going to want to see us walk out and start our own thing without you. We're all in it together now, aren't we?” He kissed Mike, and Mike responded almost involuntarily, hungrily taking Kyle's tongue, feeling Kyle's arms as he did.
“So,” Kyle said, pulling just away far enough to feel Mike's breath and look steadily into his eyes, “if you want us around, we'll just be making it all legal. Like, tomorrow. Or, you know,” he taunted as he pulled the vials out of the refrigerator to fill a syringe for Derek's dose, “maybe we'll just have to cut off your supply. Come on stud,” he said to Derek. “We've got a party to work.”
Sometime after midnight, as they worked the crowd in their posers, flexing, allowing countless hands to feel the swollen, hard muscle, feeling the exhilaration of edging near orgasm for hours as the crowd delighted in their mass and the brash, uninhibited manner with which they displayed their sexuality for the enjoyment of all, being followed by some in hopes of later liaisons, choosing whoever they wanted to entice, tease, pleasure with a feel of their magnificence, seeing that, from the edge of the crowd, a high-flying Mike was watching their every move and hungering for their bodies, for the muscle boys of his dreams, his muscle fantasies, Derek and Kyle exchanged a smile of recognition. They'd done it.
The double doses kept them going all night. Mike had finally left to go back to his gym and lift weights. He had to. The drive was as primal as sex. Kyle and Derek continued to work the party after it ended, only more privately, and without the posers, for the benefit of a few well-chosen guests. Toward dawn, they all three found themselves in the gym, getting ready for a soak in the spa, in front of the mirrors, entranced, hypnotized by their bodies, their feelings, the intensity, the incredible sensation of extreme satisfaction and extreme hunger at the same time. By morning, each of the three had gained five pounds of pure, rock hard, shredded muscle mass. They also realized, as they flexed and fondled the muscle that had become their lives, that their desire, their hunger, had grown, too.
“Now you boys have done it,” Mike said, throwing a double bi and making himself hard again. “How am I going to stay in control of the business now? I gotta do more of this, man. I wonder what a triple dose would do, what it would feel like.”
Derek grinned at Kyle. “Easy,” he said to Mike, reaching for his hard cock with one hand and his mountainous biceps with the other. “You get us those papers, we sign, and we all three take care of the business. Then you can do more, we can be the muscle boys you want, you can be the main muscle dude, and maybe, some insane day, we can find out what a triple dose would feel like. Sound like a deal?”
Kyle flexed his arm again. “And then you can kiss this all you want.”
“Anything you guys want, man. I swear. I really didn't know how … Fuck it. You want to own a gym with this freak? Hang on.”
With his stiff boner wagging in front of him, he went to the office and came back with the papers and a pen.
“I've got it all here. I was just teasin' you. We'll go file them after we get dressed. Sign.”
And Derek and Kyle did sign. Mike put the papers away, and came back.
“Just show me those muscles again, now. Gonna make you so fuckin' much more huge. How'd you like those guns to hit 26”? Yeah, I know you would, because I would.”
Mike stood between Kyle and Derek, feeling their flexed arms, their massive, hairy chests, their boulder butts. “Fuckin' damn, man. My muscle boys. This is gonna be some team.” He kissed one, then the other, then led them to the spa where they all lay back, relaxed, and slowly, under the water, felt the muscle, stroked the meat of each other, their eyes glazing over.
“Would you boys do me a favor?” Mike said, when he knew they were all close to cumming. “Would you just go over there, to the other side, and let me watch my muscle boys be muscle boys together, finish each other off. This is really the start, isn't it? We're all getting our dreams, now.”
Kyle and Derek kissed, explored each other's massive contours, bringing each other to climax, slowly, their entire bodies responding to touch and kiss as sexual organs, alive, powerful, beyond their dreams. Lost in the moment, climax overtaking everything, orgasm becoming all of existence, brought to full, rocketing ecstasy by their worship of their own male magnificence, they knew this was their destiny.
“Aww, shee-it,” Mike roared, climaxing right along with them. “Yeah, we're all gettin' our dreams, now.”