Jack's lover, the one he calls “my old lady” behind his back, sent him to Gelson's for some fresh adzuki beans for the salad. Ross and Hunter were coming over for dinner and Arnie wanted everything perfect. The way it always is, a fucking post-card for Better Queers and Gardens. Jack parked and was strolling in when he saw this hustler at the corner of the b uilding.
Th e hustler was built. Thick pecs pressed through a straining mesh muscle shirt and arms no sleeve could contain, bulging in both directions PLUS sideways. Yet the shirt, cut to gather at the waist, still hung loose; a glimmer of cobblestone abs peeked out through the shadows cast by mammoth nipples. The guy was leaning his ass against the wall, and when he stood up he was over six and a half feet. Jack felt like a little boy.
“What you come here for.”
“You called me over,” said Jack, trying not choke on his drool. He could barely look the guy in the eyes, so busy was he tracing the netting of thick veins that mocked the skin of his forearms.
“The store, you dope.” The hustler looked over Jack's head with an expression of satisfied contempt.
“Uh, b-beans. Adzuki beans. They have them here,” Jack fumbled.
“How much money you got.” The hustler's eyes twinkled, enrapturing Jack in an instant fantasy of mind-numbing sex until dawn.
“A hundred.” Jack started to faint but a hand the size of a Virginia ham clamped on his bony shoulder and electricity shot through his body.
“Hand it over.” The hustler's voice commanded him. Jack dropped his wallet, then tangled his fingers over the bills. He slid them into the hustler's hand. In broad daylight, the hustler placed them between his biceps and forearm and flexed. “Try and pull them out.”
Jack turned bright red but reached up and tried to pull the bills. The best he could do would be to tear the bills but they were too thick. He could hear Andy Jackson screaming in agony.
The hustler laughed as Jack's fingers brushed his hot biceps and the knotted cords of his forearm. He grabbed Jack's hand and pressed three large white beans into his palm.
“Eat these one day at a time. Your problems will be solved.” Jack looked at the beans in his hand; when he looked up, the hustler was gone.
He went back and sat in his car. What was he going to do? He didn't have his ATM card and now he had no money for the adzukis. Arnie was going to kill him.
He looked again at the beans and put one his mouth. It was hard; he was afraid to break a tooth. So he gulped it down and drove home.
Arnie hit the roof. “Thanks a fucking lot. I don't even know why I stay with you. You're such a fucking loser.” Arnie threw some pots around for added noise. Jack shook with anger, as he always did, but said nothing. He went to clean up and picked up a frying pan. His hands shook and he felt a surge of power. Suddenly he saw the pan dimple in his fingers, and feeling his forearms bulge he started rolling up the $200 Calphalon pan. As the metal gave and curled beneath his kneading fingers he heard small rips: he looked down his sleeves were split on both sides where his biceps and triceps forced their way through the cotton. The buttons at his wrists pinged off. He stared in amazement at the thick vein at the peak his biceps. He looked up at Arnie, who stared in amazement.
“What happened to you?”
Jack's body filled with feral pleasure. “I've changed. My mind about you. Get out.”
“But it's my lease!” Arnie started to yell.
Jack raised his biceps and the peaks shredded the fabric. His shoulders savaged the shirt that desperately tried to conceal his body. Buttons flew at Arnie, who covered his face, as thick pecs rolled and flexed inches out from his sternum. Jack looked down to see his wool slacks gaping with half a dozen rents around his thighs as they gathered down, falling off his shrinking waist. The rode up his calves and split open not just from the swelling muscle but from the added height: Jack had put on a good four inches in the last ten minutes. His veined hands pulled the remnants of his shirt off and Arnie fell to his knees.
“You're a fucking god, Jack! What happened, tell me, share it with me!”
“The only thing I'm sharing with you is the front door. From this side.”
He picked Arnie up effortlessly in one hand, his biceps ballooning to take Arnie's dumpy weight, and he carried him to the front door and deposited him in the hallway. “Be gone before Ross and Hunter get here or I'll kill you.”
Hunter and Ross got there about half an hour later, but dinner was ruined. Jack had just turned everything off and had eaten all four steaks raw. They guys marvelled at Jack.
“You've been working out!” said Ross.
“Naw. I just got me some beans. Now why don't you climb up my beanstalk and face the giant.”
Jack was a full foot taller now. His slacks hung in rags around his oaken thighs and he pulled them off effortlessly, snapping the leather belt like it was string. His cock hung low in his Calvins: and started to heat up. Jack posed for the awe-struck boys, flashing his lats that grew wider and wider with each spread, sprouting veins that throbbed to feed the muscle. His traps blew up beside his thick neck and he made his pecs dance faster and faster with absolute control. His muscles had stopped growing—for now—but with each flex they hardened, consuming every scrap of fat in his body until his skin shrink-wrapped under and around and beneath the full hard fuck-feast of strength that was his body.
He went into the kitched and got more of Arnie's overpriced cookware. A turkey roaster he smashed between his hands and crumpled into a wad of iron. Thick aluminum Calphalon pots he crammed into his elbows and worked his biceps against the sides: they caved and warped beneath his power. Ross and Hunter were trying to jerk off through their pants.
Jack's cock stretch further and further out. His balls forced their way through a leghole and the fabric ripped. His arched cockhead pulled the waistband four, five, six inches out from his rippling steel abs until the Calvins exploded apart. His cock throbbed as thick as Hunter's forearm, reaching for them as it continued to grow, and straighten up. It stopped growing at 14 inches and rose up at a 70 degree angle, dripping cum. Jack bent his head down and licked the cum off, letting it drool from his tongue down onto his chin.
“Fuck me!” screamed Ross, tearing the clothes from his humpy gym body that now, even after 10 years hard labor, looked like a miniature version of Jack's giant physique.
“I'll fuck you both. You know I've always wanted to. But I was never good enough. Now I'm too good for you. But I'm horny so what the hell.”
Hunter started licking around the length of the shaft, tasting the salty sweat, and struggled to get the huge fruit-like balls into his mouth. Ross paled. “Wait, I can't take that. You're too big!”
“Then relax.” Jack reached out a brawny arm and secured Ross, stripping his underwear off and thrusting his cock deep into Ross's body. Ross screamed at first from pain, then pleasure overwhelmed him as the power of Jack's manmeat drained all resistance from him, eating it like power. He pumped until the come splooged into Ross's guts and pulled out, still pumping come. Ross whimpered and twitched on the floor, a huge smile on his face, as his ass sucked air. Hunter drank at the come that spewed from Jack's cock but Jack had other ideas. Using the still-spurting cream as lube he whipped Hunter around, pried apart his muscle buns and plowed him until his eyes rolled up in his head. His orgasm continued for minute after minute and the froth flying from Hunter's head as he shook it in overwhelming joy looked almost like Jack's dickspit. He pulled out, dropping Hunter on top of Ross, and the two convulsed for another moment before falling asleep.
Jack sat down on the sofa and it cracked under his weight. Gazing at the two used muscleboys on the floor, feeling the black leather sofa cringing beneath his hard ass, he got horny again and started stroking. Less than five minutes after his last ten-minute jizfest his cock was ready to start again, and he started sucking on it himself, coaxing and teasing the come up from his balls into his own mouth. Feeding off of himself. And wondering when it would be time to eat that next magic bean.
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