My office was dimly lit by my banker’s lamp on my desk. I was reading an anthology of H. G. Wells’ short stories on my Kindle (I never pass up a free book, so long as it’s any good) in the golden light, but I was not getting very far. I kept rereading the same few sentences over and over again. My mind was unable to focus.
A knock on my door roused me from the repetitive strain of failing to read. It had to be Darnell. I saw the silhouette of an average-built man through the frosted glass inscribed with “H. Himura, Private Investigator.”
“Come in,” I said, with a little trepidation. Not that I was afraid of anything—my job had made me unphased to many situations that would frighten other people—I was just anxious because this might amount to nothing.
You see, business has been slow as of late. When Darnell called that afternoon, I was on my computer, going over my expenses; it did not look like I would be able to afford to rent the office much longer. The call had excited me at first, but something was fishy about it.
“You charge by the hour?” his suspicious voice inquired.
“Only if I get results,” I insisted.
“Are you good at following—at tracking people?”
“Sir,” I answered, “that’s most of my business.”
It was true. Most of what I do is not glamorous crime-solving, but finding the whereabouts of cheating partners.
“And you can be discrete? I don’t need any unwanted attention.”
“Discretion is my middle name.”
That’s not true.
“I need you to follow—to track someone for me.”
“Let me guess, your wife—your girlfriend?” (he sounded a little young to be married).
There was a short pause and I heard the ambient white noise of the line before he said, “Something like that.”
“Well, lucky for you, that’s practically my specialty.”
Another pause: “It’s my boyfriend.”
He let that sink in. I gave the moment some time to breath, but for his sake, not mine. It was no big deal in this day and age—besides, I was quite partial to the company of men myself.
He refused to give me any identifying information beyond his first name and would not let slip any details of his situation over the phone. He was being very paranoid for someone calling about infidelity; I have dealt with people afraid to say things over the phone before, but usually that was because it involved some illegal activity like insurance fraud or petty theft that they wished to go unnoticed by the authorities. He agreed to meet me at my office, but only at 8:30 pm—way later than I usually stay there.
But I obliged. Have I mentioned I’m kind of desperate for work?
Flash forward to that night. I switched off my Kindle’s screen and stowed it in the top drawer of my desk. The door swung open, creaking a bit (I really needed to take care of that). Into my office stepped a very good looking man with tanned skin and strong facial features. I guessed he was half-Black, based on his skin tone. I have a good sense for deciphering people’s heritages—I’m a quarter Japanese myself. It works almost like gaydar—somehow I can identify other biracial/mixed people. And not just the continent—I determined my best friend Jane’s pedigree down to the countries (German, Polish, and Czech).
“Darnell?” I asked.
He did not answer, but turned around to make sure the hallway was empty and closed the door. I winced, slightly embarrassed, as it creaked even louder on its way shut. He took one of the two folding chairs I placed out for clients and sat down, facing me with sharp, hazel eyes. He wore a dark blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and if the veins on his forearms were any indication, he was in good shape.
After an awkward moment I cleared my throat to break the tension. This prompted him to finally introduce himself.
“Hudson. Darnell Hudson,” he said, “I’d rather not give my full name but I think you will need all the information you can get.”
He was smart. I was getting a little turned on by this mystery man.
“And your boyfriend’s name?”
I got out my yellow legal pad and jotted Darnell’s name down.
Over the next few minutes I learned about Darnell and Sam’s relationship. Darnell was 24 and studying as a grad student at the city university. Sam was a senior. They had met while Darnell was assisting in Sam’s anatomy class.
I opened up my laptop and started Googling Sam. The first hit was a social network profile.
“Does Mr. Roth have a Facebook?” I asked.
“I’m not paying you to sit around Googling my boyfriend,” he said indignantly.
I smirked. I probably should have waited to research my target, but I wanted to find a picture of him and confirm it was the correct Samuel Roth.
“You didn’t bring me a picture, so is this him?” I said, turning my laptop screen so that Darnell could see it.
“Yeah. That’s him.”
Sam was an athletic kid, with sandy blond hair and a nose that indicated some sort of Semitic ancestry. He was easy on the eyes, though not in the same league as his boyfriend; if he was looking for something else on the side, he was a fool.
I explained my billing rates to Darnell and he went to leave.
Before he opened the door, he turned back and said, “I appreciate your help with this, Mr. Himura. This is something very dear to me.”
“Please,” I said with a smile, “call me Henry.”
He left and I mentally kicked myself for not coming up with anything cleverer. I know I should have been all business, but a part of me sincerely hoped that once he discovered the extent of Sam’s infidelity, he would be open to dating someone else.
The next day I got to work, looking into whatever leads I could find. Most of Sam’s Facebook profile was private, but his ‘Likes’ were public, so I was immediately able to see that he was a fan of Molimen’s Gym on Maple Avenue.
The gym was fairly crowded when I arrived around four in the afternoon, under the guise of a prospective member touring the facilities. One of the trainers, an Irish-looking redhead with the body of a fitness model, showed me around the various rooms populated mainly by college students—I guessed that Darnell probably worked out here as well. Not everyone was in the best shape, but all of the young bodies started to make me feel old. I am only 28, but I still felt like the odd one out.
The trainer (Rich, I think his name was) finished showing me around and told me that I had a day to evaluate the place. Anticipating this, I had brought a bag of gym clothes. A few minutes later, I had changed into dark green basketball shorts and a loose white V-neck.
The gym was mostly a large open area with machines filling the bulk of the space and free weights along one side. I made my way to a separate room to do some cardio, taking in the gym patrons around me. No one in particular caught my eye as suspicious or out of place. And I guess I was able to blend in okay, myself (I was thin, though not very lean).
Unable to gather any information, I went to leave, but the trainer stopped me and asked if there was anything he could do to convince me to join. I told him that giving me a free week might work, and he obliged. I suspected that going back at a different time when other people were there might yield better results.
When he asked me if anyone had recommended the gym, I saw an opportunity to get some information; I told him that Sam Roth had suggested I start working out.
“Sam?” said the trainer, “he hasn’t been a member here for a few months.”
Now there was something interesting.
The next place I checked out was Sam’s place of work, a small pizza place with very thin crust and watered down sauce. By asking a few questions to the girl running the register, I was able to learn that Sam had been repeatedly late to work and outright called off the past few times he was scheduled. Darnell had made no mention of this, so the picture forming in my mind was pretty simple: Sam was telling Darnell that he was at work when he was fooling around.
A couple of days later I decided to check out the gym around one in the morning. So far it was only substantial lead I had. The gym was quiet, except for the top-40 music pumping out of the speakers and the occasional clang as one of the handful of nighttime patrons re-racked a weight.
One guy caught my eye immediately. He was bulky, like a powerlifter. He looked Italian and had so much chest hair that it peeked up over his shirt collar. There was something intriguing about him as he set up a bar with heavy weights to squat, something that drew me to him, almost like animal magnetism.
I proceeded to make a fool out of myself, doing some basic bicep curls—pretty much the only free weight exercise I knew—keeping an eye on the guy all the time. I picked relatively light weights, but after a while my arms were burning from the constant effort.
After one of the other people there left for the cardio room, the man approached me, sauntering over with a masculine swagger that threatened to make me weak at the knees. What was it about him that was so appealing? I usually went for guys closer to my own size.
“I see you’re new at this,” he said in a gruff voice.
“How could you tell?”
“You’ve been doing the same exercise for twenty minutes. And watching me, no?”
I felt myself blush a little. I needed something to say quick: “Well, I’m very impressed by you. I don’t suppose you have any tips for an eager beginner?”
He looked around to make sure we were alone and leaned in to talk softly to me. I could smell his sweat. Normally I hate the smell of sweat, but there was something almost… alluring. In fact, I could somehow tell that his smell was what was making me attracted to him.
“If you wanna’ make some real gains,” he said, “meet me in the locker room after the guy on the treadmill leaves.”
Once a college kid had left the cardio room, and entered and left the locker room to go home, we were almost completely alone. Only an older man remained, using the machines. I went to the locker room and a few moments later, the hairy man arrived.
“Roger knows to keep his mouth shut, so we’re safe,” he said, putting his hand on my shoulder, sending a jolt of sensation through me. I felt myself getting stiff. He continued, “you want the stuff, you gotta’ help me out with something first. Quid pro quo, ya’ know?”
“Alright—” I played along. I did not know what I was getting into, but part of me was willing roll with whatever this man wanted.
He unlocked a locker and pulled out a small black bag. It looked like a fabric lunch box—the kind I took to high school. Inside, nestled among light blue icepacks, were skinny rectangular boxes. He opened one of the boxes to reveal a neat row of plastic vials, filled with some opaque liquid.
I’m no square, but I draw the line at synthetic drugs. But part of me was compelled to go with the flow; I really felt like I wanted to please this guy.
He unscrewed the black cap on a vial and gently tapped a viscous drop of the substance onto the tip of his index finger. He motioned for me to come closer, and I obeyed. I know what you’re thinking—this is stupid. Why would I do this? It’s hard to explain, really. I wish I could say I was willing to take risks for my investigation, but honestly, I was just very in the moment and very attracted to the big guy.
I opened my mouth and he slowly smeared his finger on my tongue. There was not enough of the liquid for me to lock onto a particular taste, but something did seem familiar about it.
What happened next is a blur. Not because I was high. The most accurate way I can think to describe it is that I was turned on. It was a state of heightened sexual energy. My body felt electric and my partially hard penis sprung to attention. I remember the hairy man smiling, then taking off his clothes. His hair—he had so much hair, thick and curly on his torso, and on his arms, and on his legs. I was intoxicated with lust. I do not remember everything that we did, but I do recall that I was eager to do everything. At some point my hands grasped the thickest dick I had ever seen in person while my mouth worked on the hot, engorged head. I was so into it that when he came, I also blew my load without touching myself.
A short time later, I was leaving the gym with a grin and a pocket of three small vials.
I woke up to a painful, throbbing erection. All I could think about was relieving myself, so I set to work stroking my member, slowly then faster and faster until I came into my left hand. There was a lot of ejaculate—so much that the cum was dripping out of my palm and onto my legs.
Gradually, my intense morning wood softened and I got up and went to the bathroom. In the mirror I was surprised to see a layer of stubble growing on my jaw. I’ve got a pretty nice face—old ladies on the bus often compliment my cheekbones—but I can never grow a full beard and I only shave once a week or so. But, running my hand across my face, I felt gritty resistance, like I was touching sandpaper.
My cock bobbed up against my lower torso. The erection would not go away, no matter how many slow, deep breaths I took. So masturbated for the second time in half an hour and found that I cummed just as much as before.
Now that’s impressive, I thought.
I spent the first part of the day researching any drugs that could be responsible for the sexual euphoria I experienced the night before. I had a few contacts in the club scene and knew a couple of dealers from my investigations, and I reached out to them over the phone, asking if they had heard of an aphrodisiac that came in vials. Neither of the dealers knew anything, but a few of the club kids did. All the while, I kept thinking back to my intense experience the night before and my double dose of pleasure in the morning. In fact, I found myself hoping I would be off the phone soon, so that I could try jacking off for a third time.
“You mean Hard-T?” my informant asked over the phone, “Like what the bodybuilders use?”
There was something interesting.
“I got some from a guy at a gym, actually—” I said.
“What’d you pay for the stuff?”
I thought back to my eager cock sucking and decided to leave that part out of the conversation.
“Nothing, the guy was practically giving the stuff away.”
“That’s strong shit, man,” he said, “they don’t charge at first because they know you’ll be back.”
This sent a chill down my spine—could I have ingested something addictive? I really was stupid that night… But no, I was no addict. Though I did find myself wondering what more than a drop of something so potent would do.
I did not find out much more (only that it lasted less than a day without refrigeration), but by the afternoon my curiosity had a hold on my mind. I had to know what more of Hard-T would do—what more of it would feel like. Knowing I would regret it, I grabbed one of the vials from my green shorts and unscrewed the cap. I brought it to my nose, sniffing experimentally and nearly exclaimed “a ha!” out loud when I recognized the smell.
It was semen.
Now things made even less sense. Some people might go crazy for the stuff, but no one went crazy because of it. If something as commonplace as cum was an effective aphrodisiac, surely everyone would know. Maybe there was some sort of placebo effect going on, I wondered.
I would have questioned more, but I found myself agitated at the prospect of trying to figure things out. I wanted to try the rest now. I tilted the vial back and swallowed the mouthful of the stuff.
Instantly, I was in a trance. My senses were not dulled; they were heightened. My first action was to take off my clothes and start masturbating. It felt incredible. It was like I was orgasming and all I was doing was stroking my cock. I came quickly, and it felt stupendous—like it was my first time. I am normally quiet when I jack off, but an audible groan escaped my mouth as I shot load after load into my hands, the cum overflowing.
After some time I came down to Earth, but I remained very horny. Also, I was starving. Instead of following more leads, I spent the rest of the day in an orgy of eating nearly everything in my fridge, breaking only to jack off every few hours. Each time felt as good as the first.
I was just thinking about hitting the club myself and taking home a nice boy when I remembered something. The stuff would only last a day without refrigeration, and the other two vials were just sitting in my discarded gym shorts. I could not let them go to waste. Not something that made me feel this incredible.
I went and fished the vials out of my shorts, feeling weird as I walked by the mirror in my bedroom—I was completely naked and sporting a hard on. I had just spent hours consuming as much food as I could get my hands on without wearing anything. And all because I drank some strange semen? It just did not add up.
I reached the fridge, ready to put the vials in so I could preserve them. I could send them to a woman I knew who worked at a chemical research facility—she ran tests on the side using the equipment after hours. But I never put them in the fridge. My body shivered and I recalled the intensity of my orgasms. Before I could think about it, I was slurping down both vials and entering a state of arousal unlike anything I had ever experienced.
I came, all over the floor and the fridge, as soon as the stuff hit my stomach. And it was amazing.
There’s not much to tell about the rest of the night, except to say that I basically fucked myself to sleep.
I awoke in the early morning, stiff and sore. I turned on the light, moaning as I reached with my tender arm, and found myself naked on top of my bed, sheets torn off the mattress and twisted around my legs. I was covered in sticky, dried cum. It was kind of disgusting, but part of me was turned on, all the same.
I felt my dick stiffen when I saw the dried cum matted in my short, sparse chest hair. I immediately set to work giving myself a full release. Only in the glow of my orgasm did a thought strike my mind: I do not have chest hair.
My upper body has always been smooth, without even a bit on my stomach. But running to the mirror, I was astonished to see that I had a covering of dark hairs on my chest and a trail leading from my abs to my pubic hair. My abs? My abs! I had a six pack!
Overnight, my whole body seemed to have subtly transformed into something more… manly? In addition to the body hair and the abdominals, my chest was noticeably thicker than my midsection, and my arms bulged slightly, with a vein running along the peak of each bicep when I triumphantly flexed them in the mirror. I smiled and realized that I had a short beard, as well. Turning slightly, I admired how my ass stuck out farther. I got hard again and jacked off to my own, masculine reflection, splattering the mirror when I finished.
Hard-T was not just an aphrodisiac—it was a fucking wonder drug! And I had just used the last of what I had.
I had various things to do that day, but it was hard to concentrate on anything for very long—I kept thinking about Hard-T: what it had done to me, what more could do to me. Throughout the day, I found myself getting boned up thinking about it. It took a lot of restraint to avoid lying in bed all day, playing with myself.
I was in for a treat when I finally got dressed for the day. I pulled on my slacks, reveling in how they flowed over my thicker thighs. When I zipped up my fly, I notice that the bulge in my boxerbriefs was protruding more than normal. I had to manually tuck my aching balls into my pants before the zipper would go up. Had I gotten bigger there, too? My balls were certainly swollen.
Putting on my shirt was interesting as well. I put on a white V-neck, first, and loved how it hugged the new contours of my upper body. It even felt a little snug around my back, lats, and chest. Sparse chest hair revealed itself in the exposed V and it took a great deal of self-control to not jack off right in my slacks. The button down shirt I put on over it was tighter around the chest as well as the shoulders, and the sleeves seemed to bunch a bit around my elbows, pushed out slightly by my biceps.
I shaved my scruff, noticing how bristly it was compared to normal. I guess I could grow a real beard now.
I had a meeting coming up with Darnell that day. I had to report on my findings so far, slim as they were. At one o’clock he stepped into my office, this time wearing an expensive-looking graphic T-shirt and red chinos. Both showed off his swimmer’s build very well.
“If I’m being completely honest,” I admitted, “I haven’t found much, but I don’t think there’s much to find in this situation.”
“But what have you found?” he shot me a look with his sharp eyes that was almost… enticing?
“Well, Darnell, it looks like Mr. Roth may be unfaithful to you—”
He did not so much as blink. Clearly this was no revelation to him. He did lean forward, though.
I continued: “He has been absent at work lately and he stopped going to the gym a few months ago—”
“—Switched. He switched gyms a few months ago.”
“You seem to know a lot about this already.”
“Oh, I know where Sam—where Samuel is going,” he said, “I just need to gather some information about what he’s involved in.”
So Darnell had not been completely honest when he hired me. Not exceptionally rare in my business, but it did not make my job any easier. Now I had to get him to admit to what he actually wanted to know about.
“So Mr. Roth is not having an affair, I take it?”
“He may be, in fact,” Darnell’s eyes darted down and he sighed, “but I’m far more interested the activities at his new haunt.”
“Which would be—?”
“You don’t know already? That’s a little disappointing.” Strangely, he smiled as he said that. “He frequents the gym in the Rutherford Building on Sixth Street. It’s in the basement—no markings on the door.”
“You know,” I said, “it would make this whole process go much smoother if you were more upfront with your intentions.”
“More upfront?” he said, rising from his chair, his half-hard cock pressing against the chinos.
Ordinarily I like to think of myself as someone very in control of my faculties. But there was something going on with me this week—something that made me much more… “receptive to such offers. It was, of course, the effect of the Hard-T.
I was very horny and a beautiful man was coming on to me. It only took half a minute for me to get out of my seat and clear my desk. Darnell came over to me and slowly started unbuttoning my shirt, showing my meatier, slightly hairy chest. In turn, I tugged his shirt up over his body, revealing shredded abs—he was so ripped he even had obliques!
Once both of our clothes were off (he had gotten to the bulge in my underwear and gave me a grin as he pulled them down), I leaned back on my desk. He eagerly placed himself on my lap, just below my dick, and grasped it firmly. It was a short matter of time before a surprising amount of precum seeped from the tip. There was enough that Darnell was actually able to use it as lube as stroked me.
Soon, a comparably small amount of precum appeared on the tip of his cock, and I spurted actual cum. I had not come yet, but almost in anticipation of an orgasm, some was slipping out. Darnell deemed my cock to be slick enough and carefully inserted it into himself. I held on as long as I could, but I must have come less than ten seconds later. It was, of course, incredible, to the point that I grunted out loud, and to my delight, I saw him climax around the same time, ejaculate coating his impressive abs.
After, while we were cleaning up, he leaned over to me, breathed in deeply, and whispered, “I want you to find the source.”
After my encounter with Darnell, everything picked up its pace. I had a better idea of what he actually wanted me to find out, so I was no longer idly casting out feelers, looking for leads in a million different directions. On top of that I was driven—driven by a desire to gain access to more Hard-T.
That very night, I found myself parking across Sixth Street from the Rutherford Building, which supposedly housed the clandestine gym that Sam was going to. It was supposed to be a mecca of sorts for Hard-T users.
I had run the location by one of my sources, who paused on the phone before asking how I found out about the place.
“No one’s supposed to know about it. It’s where all the guys who want Hard-T get their stuff,” he said.
It seemed like I was the only one who did not know about the gym, but then again, I had only known about Hard-T for less than a week.
The front of the building was an entrance to several businesses (most prominently, a dental clinic), but around the left side, down a dimly lit alley, was a nondescript grey door. I opened it—to my surprise it was unlocked—and descended a flight of stairs under buzzing fluorescent lights. I reached another door, this one with a small black pad on the right. A small red light glowed on the pad. Some sort of RFID or NFC system, perhaps? I recalled a similar setup at a hotel where you could hold the cardkey up to the door and it would unlock.
Having reached this barrier, I did the only thing I could; I knocked. A few minutes passed and I knocked again. This time, I heard something behind the door, and I backed away as it swept open. A burly man in a tight, faded, black AC/DC shirt stood in the doorway.
He eyed me suspiciously for a second, eventually asking, “Yes?”
“I’m a—I’m looking to—to,” I was a little unnerved by the man’s size. “I’m here for some Hard-T,” I finally said.
He looked me up and down. I noticed his short, dark beard just sort of faded on his neck until it blended with his substantial body hair, which showed above his collar. At last, he laughed at me and said, “You and every other guy. Come on in.”
Inside the Sixth Street gym was a world away from Molimen’s. Hard rock blared in the background, punctuated by groans, grunts, and the sound of heavy things dropping. The scent of sweat, which reminded me of the guy who gave me the Hard-T, mingled with a metallic odor. The burly man led me into a small room off the main hallway, which he unlocked with a metal key. Inside was a small table and the walls were lined with ratty binders and clipboards. Bookkeeping for Hard-T distribution, no doubt.
The burly man looked me up and down. “Your shirt,” he commanded, “unbutton your shirt.”
I did as he requested, hoping to stay in his good graces. I had to effectively infiltrate this place, not just score some vials, much as I would have been happy to do just that. He poked a thick finger with hairy knuckles into the flesh of my chest exposed by my V-neck, as though inspecting a piece of meat.
“Where’d you get your first hit?” he asked, fingering my chest hair before pulling back.
I told him about the guy at Molimen’s and he nodded, smiling.
“Jack gets a lot of firs’ timers started. You blow him?”
I was taken aback, but I answered him truthfully.
“Yeah, I mean, I sort of couldn’t help myself.”
“That’s the stuff. Hard-T will do that to a non-user. You got pheremone’d, bitch.”
I think he meant it as a term of endearment, but I was intimidated nonetheless. At least I had an explanation for what happened that night—and, I realized with some disappointment, Darnell’s willingness to hook up with me earlier in the day.
“I’d ask if you wanted just enough for getting lucky, but looking at ya’, I can tell it’s more than that,” he said, opening a binder and jotting down something. “Let me guess: you didn’t have that chest fur before? And if Jack gave you a few vials, then, jeeze, you must have been a scrawny little shit.”
I felt my cheeks turn rosy. Still, I had to focus on getting into this place.
“I’m interested in more than that,” I said, “much more.”
“Ah, full membership, eh? Lemme’ grab Mo and he’ll give you the tour. If you meet his specifications, that is.”
He earmarked a page in the binder and closed it, ushering me back into the hallway and making sure to lock the door behind him. We walked down the hallway and the music pumped louder while the scents became stronger.
We turned a corner and were in an open area with low (maybe eight foot?) ceilings and lots of free weights and racks. There were a couple of machines (though most seemed to use round weights instead of a pulley system) and no treadmills, ellipticals, or bikes to be seen. All around the room were guys—big guys. Their swollen bodies were contained in tight T-shirts and muscle shirts that revealed thick coats of body hair, though just as often as not, the guys were half-naked. Sweat glistened on hairy forearms that bunched as they grabbed bars. The grunts that issued from their mouths were almost animalistic. Everyone was taller than me (and I am of average height) in addition to being much wider than me. Some of the men were bloated with the bellies that professional bodybuilders have while others were cut and defined with tapered waists, but all of them were large.
We approached a massive man who was bench pressing without a spotter. He moaned, seemingly in ecstasy with every push upwards of the loaded bar. After a few reps, he stopped, gasped for breath, and sat up. I nearly backed up when this happened; he was almost as tall as I was and he was sitting down!
He was a Middle Eastern man (Iraqi, possibly) barely covered by a seemingly shrunken blue wife beater. His thick, heavy pectorals heaved with every deep breath he took, and sweat ran in streaks down his scruffy face and through the thick, curly hair of his chest. He looked like he was ready to burst from the wife beater at any moment—he had only to breath deep enough. His large nipples pointed through the material.
“Mo, we got a new member here,” said my guide, “Provided you think he’s man enough, that is.”
Mo got to his feet, his massive thighs flexing beneath the grey fabric of his sweatpants. He must have been over seven feet tall; the top of his head was near the ceiling! When he was standing, I could see a trail of dark wet spots running from his bulging crotch down his right pant leg. The smell of his cum, while strong, was more appealing than I would have expected.
“Let’s see,” he said.
He grabbed my shoulders with his meaty paws and squeezed tight, hurting me. I tried not to flinch too much. He felt up my chest, next, taking note of my chest hair. I found myself getting hard as he continued his inspection, prodding different body parts, until he reached my groin.
“Strip,” he commanded.
I dared not hesitate, even with so many other people there. This was a man who could probably snap my neck with a flick of his wrist. I removed my clothes, though I left my boxerbriefs on.
“Those, too,” he said.
However, before I could take them off, he grabbed the waistband with his fat fingers and tore my underwear clear off!
Mo took off his own clothes, though his back was so wide that he needed the other guy’s assistance with his shirt. He took off his pants, revealing the cum matted in his leg hair. And something else—something huge. He was wearing a tortured pair of white briefs, stained with cum and soaked with sweat. They were made were a fat person, so they were loose at the waist, resting on top of the gargantuan shelf of his ass and the front of his mammoth quadriceps. They were tight, however, around the leg holes, clearly cutting into his ass cheeks and thighs. The tightest part, however, was the fabric stretched across the front of his crotch. It was clear that his penis was at least seven or eight inches soft and his testicles, which weighed down the front of the briefs, were almost as big as oranges!
He pulled down the briefs with some effort, confirming my estimates of his junk, and gave a look behind me. I turned back and saw the other guy returning, apparently having gone to fetch two vials of Hard-T while I was engrossed with Mo. Mo stepped up to me, so close that his big dick pressed its sticky head into my abs. My own cock rose higher, brushing up against the bottom of his substantial balls.
He looked down at me from between his massive, hairy pectorals and said, “Okay, now we’re going to see how well you react to the stuff. If you pass, you’re in. If not—”
He didn’t finish, but instead grabbed the two vials from the AC/DC guy and gave one to me.
“Bottoms up?” I said, trying to diffuse some of the tension.
Mo grumbled in his deep voice before tilting his head back and drinking all of the Hard-T in a single gulp. I drank mine in a couple of swallows, and then it began.
Instantly we both cummed, my larger-than-usual amount suddenly seeming very modest in comparison to Mo’s torrent of cum that plastered my stomach and my chest. His cock was a hard fourteen inches, throbbing forcefully into the space where the bottom of my pectorals met. He kept climaxing, as his swollen balls churned out more and more of the hot, sticky fluid. Soon, my face was coated as well, and feeling the frenzy of the Hard-T, I licked around my lips, devouring the cum.
Immediately following this, he wrapped one broad hand around my dick and started jerking me off. While he did this, he grasped at my chest hair with his left hand. I went down on his enormous cock, though its girth was so great that I could only suck on the bulbous head. I do not know how much time passed while I was in that state of bliss, but we both came again. He jizzed so much that I gagged as it filled my cheeks and leaked out of the corners of my mouth. After he slurped my cum from his hand, he went to town on his own dick—it was long enough that he could bend over and lick it!
I knew I needed to impress him, so I gently touched him on one of his horseshoe shaped triceps. He looked up from his cock, a strange, wry look in his eyes. I ran my left hand through his chest hair, tantalizingly circling his right nipple. Next, I bent over and licked up the shaft of his veiny cock. He closed his eyes in an expression of pleasure. I returned to his nipples, tweaking them gently. Mo was definitely enjoying himself, judging by the cum streaming from his giant cock. I knew from my experience earlier in the day that this was merely the prelude for an orgasm, and wrapped both of my hands around his shaft, suddenly feeling even smaller. The cum made the big dick slippery and my hands worked their way up and down. I jerked him off and he roared when he blasted my body with cum.
After we both calmed down, I realized that all other activity in the gym had stopped, and everyone was watching us. All of the men were sporting massive hard ons and many were stroking themselves quickly. Even the AC/DC guy had clearly cummed in his pants.
“You’re in,” was all Mo said.
My head was still reeling from the erotic experience when a man handed me a towel. I cleaned myself off and got dressed. I had to “go commando” in my slacks since Mo had torn my boxerbriefs apart. I was decent, but I was embarrassed that so many people had just watched me get off with someone. Mo, however, did not seem to care in the slightest. Still naked, he began giving me a tour of the facility.
“That’s quite a mess there,” I said, as we walked away from the puddle of cum on the floor.
“Someone will take care of that with a mop,” he said, “It’s not that uncommon of a thing around here.”
After showing me the weight lifting stations around the main room, he lead me back into the hallway, sauntering as his hirsute thighs rolled over each other. His massive penis and testicles hung proudly, pushed forward by the bulk of his legs. He led me to a Spartan office, with little more than a desk and some chairs under a single bare bulb. With only a single light source in the room, his body took on a new dimension, shadows running over all the curves, bumps, and contours of his muscles. He sat down slowly in a chair that groaned under his weight—he had to weigh four or five hundred pounds, after all!
Mo gestured with his meaty arms for me to sit down. I found the chair more than able to support my average weight.
“Do you know why I accepted you—?”
“—Henry,” I answered. “Not entirely.”
“It was your generosity that you displayed in our little session back there. Most guys get hopped up on the stuff and lose all semblance of respect. But you were smart, you decided to pleasure me after the initial boughts. You showed me the respect I deserve if you are to be under me in this gym.”
I nodded. I am sure someone could write a thesis on the displays of dominance and submission that were apparently crucial to maintain order in this gym.
“Now, you want the full membership, which also sets you apart. Most of our customers are guys looking to get off a few drops at a time, but you went for it all.”
I was not sure how much of this was actually due my actions. Hard-T was, by all accounts incredibly addictive. The only reason I could think that someone would stick to small doses would be that they did not know there were any other effects beyond the sexual performance.
“I just took what I was given at another gym,” I said.
“Well, Jack must have seen some potential in you to give you enough to start the transformation.” He smiled and continued, “It’s powerful stuff, what we deal. Back when we started, sixth months ago, I was a measly 265. Only six feet tall, too.”
He moaned slightly, using his hands to adjust his large member behind the desk.
“I’ve come a long way. And you can, too,” he said.
We talked for a few more minutes and he explained how Hard-T worked: It contained plenty of hormones that accounted for the heightened sexual state, but over a longer period of time, it actually boosted the user’s production of their own testosterone. Men—and only men—who took it grew body hair, gained muscle, had enlarged genitals, and even got taller. Exercise was not necessary, but greatly multiplied the muscle growth. They secreted more pheromones than usual, though this did not seem to affect other users.
After we discussed the issue of price, Mo got up and opened the door. He would lead me to another man who handled the distribution.
Before we left, he noted that, “Most of us got to where we are with one vial a week.”
“I’ll be taking three,” I said.
A bit of cum leaked out of Mo’s cock head when he heard that.
After securing my purchase of three vials (they only gave a week’s worth out a time, since it took too much self-discipline for users to ration it for themselves), I stayed at the gym to poke around for clues to how the operation worked.
I entered the locker room, and immediately heard a commotion. In the showers, a man with a protruding muscle gut was pounding a smaller, but still muscular, guy with tribal tattoos in clear view. I was taken aback, but I was starting to understand that this sort of thing was a common occurrence.
I turned to leave, but found myself facing a broad chest covered in golden hair. I stepped back before I actually made contact, and looked up to see who I had nearly run into. The guy was hulking, with a wide build and wore only a pair of gym shorts that strained to contain his thick legs, full ass, and bulging package. I was just assessing that he was vaguely Semitic when it hit me. I was staring at Samuel Roth. He was completely transformed from the athletic kid in his Facebook photo. He had to be at least a hundred pounds heavier!
“Hey there, little man,” he said in a friendly voice. “I was impressed by the respect you showed Mo out there. You were really hot for a small guy—”
“Thanks—” I said, not knowing what else was appropriate to say after someone watched you perform sexual acts in front of them. In the background, I heard the continuing moans and grunts of the two men having sex.
“Would you want to try some more moves with me?” he asked like he was requesting something as mundane as borrowing a pencil.
He put one arm up against the wall and leaned his bulk in towards me. I noticed a large wet spot on the front of his shorts.
I have to admit, it was enticing. My libido was still supercharged from the vial I had earlier and despite having cummed more times than I could remember that day, I was ready to go. But it felt wrong. He was my client’s boyfriend. And having had sex with Darnell made the whole situation even more complicated.
As politely as I could, I said, “I’m sorry, but I have to leave for something—I’m already late for it, actually—”
I hoped I had not upset someone large enough to beat the shit out of me without breaking a sweat. However, other than a slight frown, Sam seemed unfazed. He stepped aside for me to leave.
As I exited the locker room, I heard him address the two guys fucking: “Room for one more?”
My dick became painfully hard as I resisted the urge to go back and be a voyeur… or a participant.
I passed through the main space on my way out and glimpsed a strange sight: a man was doing overhead presses with loaded barbells… bottomless. He wore a tight T-shirt, but no pants of any kind. His hard cock stuck out in front of their hairy legs, perpendicular to his body. With every push up of the barbell, a little spurt of cum escaped. A small puddle was forming on the floor.
A thought occurred to me; I asked the nearest guy, who was resting between sets, “Is that Hard-T?” pointing to the cum on the floor.
“Nah,” he said, “If that was the case, Mo’d be out of business.”
What was different about Hard-T that gave it such powers?
For the next month, I lived and breathed the world of Hard-T. The first effect was, of course, the heightened state of arousal. Even before they began to swell in size, my balls ached and I had to jack off three or four times a day just to think straight. Well, on most days. On the days I ingested the stuff, it was more like five or six.
I did have an outlet for my sexual energy. Darnell had taken an interest in me that seemed to extend beyond the simple attraction attributed to my amped up pheromones. He would come over to my apartment a couple of times a week and really go at me, practically worshiping my increasingly masculine body. I would have asked whether he was still technically seeing Sam, but I thought better of it and decided to just enjoy things as they came to me. There was also the occasional tryst with some of the jacked guys at the gym.
Speaking of my body, the changes were amazing. I estimated that I had put on about ten pounds with my first dose of Hard-T, in addition to the new body hair. Now that I began working out at the Sixth Street gym, that growth went into overdrive! The first week I gained twenty pounds. By the time I entered the second week, my biceps measured 17 inches! This was unreal. I bought a few shirts that fit my new, rugged physique, but kept all the old ones. Around my place, I would wear the too-small clothes and love how my body stretched them out in all the right places.
Speaking of stretching in the right places, my cock was huge! I think I was just under six inches long before my investigation began, and now it is close to seven plump inches!
All over, my body hair has become thicker and coarser, especially in the crevice between my pectorals and the trail running along my cobblestone abs.
The other three weeks are a haze of lifting, sex, and eating. Sure, I worked on my investigation, but I determined the best way to find the source was to imbed myself as deeply into the gym’s culture as possible. Well, that, and the Hard-T lifestyle was incredible!
Nearing a month as a user, I weighed over 260 pounds—over one hundred pounds of muscle more than I started with—and to my delight, grew three inches to reach six feet in height! I was rocking the body of a bodybuilder—surely one of the most manly bodybuilders.
Exactly one month after I first tried Hard-T, I woke up in my bed. My abundant hair on my torso, dark curly, was sticky and matted with a copious amount of cum from the night before—getting myself off had become part of my nightly routine. Well, part of several routines, including my morning one, I recalled as I set to work, grasping my firm dick with my powerful hand. My cock was nearing eleven mind-blowing inches. In a matter of weeks, I would join the foot-long club at the gym. Not many of the guys were in the foot-long club, but then again, I was growing at a rate higher than most of the guys.
After ejaculating precum (more than I used to cum!), my rod was slick and ready to take me over the edge. I felt up my body with both my hands, spending a longer time on my veiny biceps and thick, powerful chest, running my fingers through my dense body hair. Soon, my cock was spewing a fair amount of cum, and it felt wonderful—but I had not reached my climax yet. Returning my right hand to the wide shaft, I used my left hand to grab my balls, which were the size of ripe plums. I squeezed gently with my left hand and ran my right hand up and down slowly, trying to last longer, but it was hard to edge with a penis this sensitive. Within seconds, I came, the cum shooting up like a geyser, and my muscular body was covered in a fresh coat of cum.
Having taken care of that pleasant business, I readied myself for the day. I got dressed in a super tight black V-neck—I had been swimming in it when I bought it a few weeks ago—and absent mindedly toyed with my exposed chest hair. The XL boxerbriefs I bought the other day fit snuggly around my muscled legs, but the waistband sagged in the front from the sheer weight of my enormous package. I was nearly as big soft as I had been hard before. The gym shorts I wore—which had also been too loose when I bought them—cupped my fine ass and rode halfway up my hairy thighs and my cock made the front protrude a couple of noticeable inches.
I held my keycard up to the pad next to the door, which unlocked with a beep. As I strolled down the familiar hallway, my large legs and thick lats giving me a swagger, I breathed in the welcoming scent of my brothers as they put themselves to work, making themselves as big and masculine as possible. I was, truly, one of the guys, having outgrown several of them.
After a sweaty, exhilarating turn benching more than I would have thought humanly possible before, I went to the locker room where I removed my underwear (which was wet with cum leaking from my overfilled balls with every rep), jerked off to maintain my composure, and changed into a fresh pair, aware that they too would be soaking and cum stained by the end of the day.
Next I went to take a breather in the lounge area before I began pumping my triceps. The lounge was a small room with a few round tables and seemed even smaller due to the size of the men inside of it. I gave a quick pat on the ass to Ron, a brown-haired man with a scruffy beard who had to weigh in excess of 300 pounds. He gasped and made a growl ass he cummed a little in his pants, surprised by the sudden arousal of the pat.
“Sorry, buddy,” I said, smiling as I watched the wet spot grow on his sweats.
All around the walls of the lounge were pictures of the members from their old lives. They served as a reminder of how far each of us had progressed, and some of us got horny just from seeing them and comparing the normal looking men to their current, inhumanly proportioned bodies. Surprisingly, a fair number of the pictures contained the arms and partially cropped bodies of girlfriends and wives. Hard-T, I learned, did not turn you gay, but it did make you more open to all sources of sexual stimuli. It just happened that the other men at the gym were the most convenient and willing people to get you off.
Not that romances didn’t form there. Several couples had emerged from the sexual free-for-all. One of them was the insanely large 350 pound man with a muscle gut and comparatively smaller 290 pound man I saw in the locker room my first day there.
The gym had its fair share of fights, as well. That much testosterone created something akin to roid rage, but far worse. I had noticed it in myself whenever someone like a grocery store clerk would annoy me—I would feel my face turning red and it took restraint not to pummel the guy. Usually I just settled for intimidating people with my size. But at the gym, everyone was huge (save for a couple of new guys). Anytime a dispute would happen, it would give way to a physical fight. Watching two burly men go at it was kind of hot, to be honest, and many of the altercations ended with conciliatory sex acts.
Before continuing my workout, I knocked on Mo’s office door.
“Come in,” rumbled his deep voice.
Mo was even larger than when I first met him, having grown two inches and gained almost 50 pounds. He took to the stuff like no one else. Only a few other guys came close to rate of growth he achieved—me being among them.
We exchanged pleasantries and talked about the general affairs of the gym. Then, we began talking about the details of the Hard-T distribution and sales. I had, on account of my incredible progress and respect for the other guys, quickly become part of Mo’s inner circle of men he trusted most. He mentioned that they would be picking up another order of the stuff tonight, and I tried my best to hide my intense interest.
“Do you need anyone else to come and pick it up?” I asked, as plainly as possible.
“Perhaps it’s time you started making yourself useful in that way,” Mo said.
The waxing moon hung overhead as I walked down Sixth Street to the gym. When I entered it was nearly empty—not unusual for this time of night. Only a few big guys were working out. One of them, to the delight of my gaze, was completely naked while he curled a barbell loaded with weight. With every rep, a trickle of cum leaked from his foot long cock.
I met Mo in the records room. He was jotting down some reminders in a binder and going over the chart of how much Hard-T he had sold this week. With every movement of his thick, hairy arm it looked like the strained sleeves of his shirt would burst.
“Are you ready to go on your inaugural delivery run?” he asked.
“Of course,” I said, “anything to help out the gym.”
“You’ll be running this errand with Ron and Sam. You know them, right?”
“Yeah,” I answered, though I had been intentionally avoiding Sam.
Mo handed me a piece of paper with a string of random numbers and letters written neatly on it, telling me, “you’ll need this code to get into to the warehouse. I’m counting on you to keep it safe. Do not share it with anyone, not even other gym members. This is crucial.”
“That’s my man. The others should be getting ready to head out from the lounge now. I’ll be here when you get back.”
In the lounge, my two accomplices waited. Ron wore a stretched out sweatshirt, tugged around his protruding gut, and a pair of jeans that looked ready to rip from his massive quads. Sam was taller, but thinner, and his broad shoulders strained the short sleeves of a grey T-shirt. Both of them weighed close to 400 pounds.
“Henry!” Ron greeted me jovially.
The brown-bearded man was of my closest gym buddies. We had even jerked off together a few times, though he always finished first. That guy came at the drop of a hat.
“You know Sam, right?”
Sam and I exchanged awkward glances before I nodded and mumbled, “Mmhm,” noting how my deepening voice rumbled in my throat.
We went out to the dental clinic’s parking lot behind the building, where a rusty green pickup waited. Its bed was strewn with a black tarp that would be used to cover the goods we would be delivering that night. After throwing a stuffed duffel bag in the bed, Ron edged into the driver’s seat (even with the seat all the way back, his muscle belly rubbed the steering wheel) and Sam pulled the passenger seat forward so I could get in the back.
“New guys always sit in the back,” he explained. “You’re the only ones that can fit.”
It was quite a squeeze, but Sam was kind enough to pull his seat forward a little, causing him to bend his long legs up like he was crouching. After a couple of false starts, the truck lurched forward and we were off. While we drove out of town, to the west, Ron explained the seating arrangement clearer: Two guys always got the shipments, and just two “full grown” guys could fit in the truck. Only when they were showing a newbie how to do the job did someone come along who could actually get into the back.
The trip took about 40 minutes. Sam and Ron talked most of the time, with Ron occasionally throwing the conversation back to me when it was appropriate. Once we got out of the city, we followed deserted back roads over rolling hills. Eventually we came to what appeared to be an industrial park in the dim light provided by a few orange gas lights on telephone poles.
We got out and Ron told Sam to grab the duffle bag and have it ready. We approached a large sliding door made of corrugated steel on the side of a warehouse. Ron knocked and it slid open about a foot, though it was too dark to see inside.
“Passcode?” asked a grizzled voice.
Sam nudged me and I realized that was my cue. I pulled the slip of paper Mo had given me out of my pocket and used the light from my phone to read the characters aloud.
“Checks out… Payment?”
Sam put the duffle bag down on the ground and unzipped it. In the dim lighting I could see thousands of dollars in twenties.
The door slid open the rest of the way and a big man in a dark hoodie walked out. I say big because even through the hoodie I could tell he was as large as a bodybuilder, but he was smaller than all of us. As he picked up the duffle bag, he stepped aside for a massive guy who dwarfed all of us to step out of the darkness carrying a large crate. He wore a white tank top so thin and stretched out that you could make out the thick hair underneath it, even in this lighting.
“You want this in the back?” he asked Ron in a deep voice. He spoke each word deliberately, as though he had a hard time talking too quickly.
The brute loaded the crate in pickup bed and lumbered back into the warehouse without saying another word. The man in the hoodie smiled, told us to say hi to Mo, and tossed a stack of twenties to each of us as a tip. I was an accessory to more things tonight than I was willing to admit.
After we got back to the gym and unloaded the stuff, Mo thanked us each. I learned that next week, I would be going with Ron and have front seat privileges.
Even though the night was over, when I got home, I was very excited. I pulled out my phone and texted Darnell, “I know where they keep it.”
Chances were low that the warehouse was just a distribution center; Hard-T had only been showing up on police reports in the city and the surrounding area. It was local and it was relatively new. However, there were plans to expand to other locations in the near future, once Mo found someone he could trust to run another gym (word was, I was one of the candidates). Whatever—or whoever—the source was, I was close.
The night I was to make my second delivery, I spent some time with Darnell in my apartment. He ran his hands all over my bulky, hairy body. At 292 pounds and 6’ 1” tall, I was bigger than most bodybuilders!
“You’re going to get the shipment tonight, then?” he asked, taking a break from playing with my nipples.
“Yes. I’m going to try and poke around the place this time.”
“That’s excellent! I knew I could count on you to find the source when I hired you—you have a very good reputation for following through things, and you’re commitment, well—”
He grabbed the slabs of muscle bulging on my chest and squeezed them, hardly making a dent in the solid, striated masses.
“It’s taken a while,” I said, “but I think I may be close to closing this case.”
At this he kissed me, which was a rare thing for Darnell. He was usually preoccupied with my twelve inch cock. We played around in bed for an hour or so, me admiring his tight athletic musculature while he worshiped my size. He must have been feeling particularly romantic this evening, because he even let me wrap my hand around his. It was strange, feeling the size difference, considering that when we first met, his hands were slightly larger than mine. Now, my meaty hand engulfed his.
Afterwards, while I drove to the gym, I found myself feeling down. There was a stirring inside me. I had a great amount of affection for Darnell, and he certainly seemed to like me, but clearly the relationship was lacking if the little things like kissing and holding hands were rare occurrences. I put it behind my mind when I arrived, however; I had a job to do.
Duffle bag of cash in the back, Ron and I set off in the green truck. Our conversation mostly concerned the gym, and eventually we talked about our gains.
“Yeah,” I said, “Mo tells me that my cock has grown faster than anyone else’s. At this rate—”
“—cut it, dude. I’m trying to drive here,” Ron said, feeling himself get aroused. “You know how I get when I come.”
Not only did Ron come easily, but he was distracted from everything else when he had an orgasm. Obviously this was not ideal with him stuffed behind the wheel.
“But, yeah,” I continued, changing the subject slightly, “I’m surprised Mo’s not taking three vials a week like me. He’d probably grow just as fast as—”
“—goddammit, dude, dial it back. I’m boning up—”
Ron was so turned on by the actual growth process that just talking about it was too much for him, apparently. I stopped and we continued the drive, listening to the radio. Other than another car driving behind us part of the way, we had the road to ourselves, as it had been the week before.
We arrived at the industrial park and got out of the vehicle. I knew they would be expecting two of us, but I had a plan to lose Ron quickly. We knocked and were greeted by the same guy, his hoodie a little tighter than last week.
After we showed him the money, I asked, “Can I step in for a minute? Mo wanted me to check up and report back about the operation.”
The guy thought about it and Ron looked at me, confused.
“What are you talking—?”
I cut him off with by reaching for his groin. I grabbed his hefty package through stretched sweatpants and instantly felt a release of cum.
“Ohhh shit, dude,” he said, shivering with pleasure.
He gasped a few times, then crouched down and began massaging his junk himself, caught up in the ecstasy.
“Your friend okay?” hoodie guy asked.
“Yeah, yeah… he just has these episodes sometimes because of the stuff. You know how it is, everyone reacts differently. Can I come in?”
“If that’s what Mo wants. Just tell him next time that he should come by himself.”
A wave of relief passed through me. That was easy enough. Now I just had to weasel my way a little further to the source. We entered the dark warehouse, leaving Ron stroking himself on the ground. I felt a little bad, but he seemed to be enjoying himself, even if he was temporarily incapacitated.
Inside, my eyes adjusted. There was some sort of large machinery standing still and unused, like dinosaur bones set up in a museum. Hoodie guy lead me past a stack of crates, where the brute was waiting.
“I’m taking this one downstairs to check things out, okay?” he said.
The massive man nodded silently.
“We’ll be back soon—then you can load up the stuff.”
At the far corner of the warehouse was a raised concrete platform with a trapdoor. The guy opened it, and I shielded my eyes for a second—bright white light spilled from a stairwell. We descended and entered a hallway with white walls and light gray doors. It looked like the inside of a medical facility, almost.
“Can I ask, what’s up with that guy?” I said.
The guy shook his head: “Billy had too much of the stuff at once. It dulls you, you see. That much testosterone—it takes over you. That’s why Mo’s so careful about his own dosage—he’s only so big because he was taking the stuff from the beginning.”
I felt a chill. Was I at risk because of how much of the stuff I was taking? I had just assumed all the side effects were positive, based on how everyone else reacted to it. How could I possibly wean myself down, though? And why was Mo okay with me taking that much? I had felt a real bond between us—that I was more than just another user looking to score to him.
We stopped at a door. Behind it, I heard the hum of machines—pumps, it sounded like. The guy opened the door.
What I saw made me gasp.
On the other side of the door was a large room, set up almost like an X-ray room: off to the right was a windowed observation area with computers controlling the various functions of the equipment in the room. To the left were the round ends of two large vats at least ten feet in diameter, extending back who knows how far. But the middle of the room was what made me gasp:
Lying on a padded floor was the largest man I had ever seen. I estimated he was over eight feet tall from head to toe and he was so wide and thick that he made massive Mo seem tiny. Hundreds (if not a thousand!) of pounds of mountainous muscle made up this man. His arms were easily thicker than many people’s entire bodies. His gut was distended from the sheer mass of his cinderblock abdominals, though it did not extend nearly as far as his enormous pecs, which stood in a couple of feet higher than his rib cage, rising and falling like shifting tectonic plates with every breath of the monster. His upper body was so huge that I could not see his head.
Thick, black, curly hair covered every inch of his body, but near the usual areas of body hair, like the chest, abs, forearms, groin, and legs, it was coarse and thick like wires. I could tell from the neat patterns that it had been trimmed, but it was still pretty long.
His legs were gargantuan, each one easily bigger than me. They were spread apart by their bulk, and on them rested the most impressive features of this man. His cock and balls were unlike anything I had ever seen! His testicles rivaled bowling balls in size and his shaft was at least three feet long and extremely thick, even for its length. Hooked up to the penis, engulfing the large head, was a clear tube which led to a flexible length of tubing. This led to a series of pipes that fed into the vat on the left. At a slow, steady rate (which I soon realized was the beast’s heartbeat), thick gobs of cum leaked from the engorged dick’s tip.
This was not the only tube on the gigantic body; there were IV’s coming from the ceiling that embedded themselves in fat veins on each arm, and as I walked around the mass, dumbstruck, I finally saw a thick feeding tube leading from the right vat to the monster’s mouth. He was asleep, I could see, breathing long, slow, breaths like a massive bellows. His features were manly, mature, and brutish—a strong brow, square jaw, high cheekbones, all jutting from the thick muscles on his head.
“This your first time seeing him?” asked a man about the same size of the hoodie guy, who emerged from the observation area in a lab coat. He looked to be of Spanish descent.
“Y-y-yes—” I stammered, overcome by awe and lust (my long cock started to harden along the length of my thigh, and I felt precum squirting out).
“A lot of guys have that reaction to him,” said the hoodie guy, noting the spot on my pants.
“This—this is the source?”
“In the flesh,” said the lab coat guy, “and that’s a considerable amount of flesh, even with all the myostatin we pump into him.”
Suddenly, there was a low rumbling. It took a moment for me to grasp that it was the giant moaning. The veins on his cock, thick as a person’s arm, swelled and muscles all over his body began to contract, bulging and flexing in an amazing display of power.
“What’s happening?” I asked, “Is he waking up?”
“Not quite,” explained the lab coat guy, “Normally, he’s kept under by big game tranquilizers, he pointed to the IVs, “but every once and while, the sheer pleasure he experiences is so intense that he rouses and climaxes.”
I watched, wide eyed as the moaning and flexing crescendoed. The great cock bulged and began pumping out a spectacular amount of cum. At first it flowed through the tubing easily, but soon there was so much that the tubing swelled and the pipes began to groan.
“Looks like we’re reaching full capacity tonight,” chuckled the hoodie guy, “You’ll be sure to report to Mo that we’re gonna need some more powerful equipment soon?”
I nodded, still speechless from the virile display before me. After a full minute of cumming, the monster finished, tossed himself from side to side, and resumed his drug-induced slumber.
At that moment, I heard the door open behind me. To my shock, it was Darnell, looking sweaty in a fitted polo shirt and dark, stylish jeans. He held a revolver and pointed it at the hoodie guy, then the lab coat guy.
“Alright,” he said, calmly, “the show is over. Time for you to leave.”
“Darnell,” I asked, “what are you—how did—?”
“I followed you part of the way. It was easy, since I tried to follow Sam once before.” He glared at the other two guys in the room, “Are you two going to leave, or what? I do not want to waste my night dealing with you.”
“You—you can’t do this,” said the hoodie guy.
“I don’t know what you think you’re going to do,” said the guy in the lab coat, “but you have no idea what forces you’re tampering with here, whoever you are.”
Darnell fired a shot into the wall next to him.
“Get the fuck out of my way! The next one won’t miss.”
“What’s gotten into you?” I asked.
The two guys were exiting nervously and he now he turned the gun to me. My heart rate would have doubled, were my blood pressure not already off the charts from being so turned on my the sleeping giant.
“You can stay, if you want, Henry. Just don’t interfere—I’ve been working up to this moment from the first time Sam came home to me, flushed from his first hit of Hard-T,” he said as he put one hand on the massive quad of the monster.
“What was your end goal here? Steal the source? Take over the operation?”
“Oh, I don’t care about the distribution. There’s more than enough Hard-T being produced to share,” he gestured to the large vat of semen being collected. “I’m just concerned about my own access.” He ran his hand along the bands of muscle that showed on the behemoth’s leg lustily. “When I learned about how it was controlled, how addictive it was, how there was only limited access for most users, I decided to go straight to the source for myself. Mo has a monopoly on the stuff only because he got in early. Like I said, I don’t care if he keeps selling it, but I’m no chump—I’ll be taking what I need for myself.”
“So what, you’re going to steal the Hard-T?” I said, slightly emboldened by the fact that he held the gun down.
“Better,” he said, approaching the tube suctioned onto the turgid cock, climbing up on top of the monstrous legs, “I’m going to take my dose straight from the source. No middleman for me.”
“Darnell,” I pleaded, “do you know what happens when you have too much at once?”
“I have my projections,” he dismissed me and flipped a valve on the tube, releasing the pressure and allowing the tube to slide off with some effort.
Darnell gently put his hand on the cock, feeling the immense heat and power radiating from it. Before I could say anything else, he was sliding his hand up and down the shaft, and the beast responded by giving a guttural growl. The cock swelled up with blood, engorged and pulsing with his heartbeat and the massive balls swelled and contracted. With barely any stimulation, the monster began to come.
He quickly bent over the head, awaiting the bountiful wonder drug. The beast tensed every rippling muscle and the first spray of cum gushed from the large piss slit. Darnell drank deeply, but could only catch a small portion of it in his mouth—the cock head was nearly as large as his head! As the giant continued jettisoning load after load, Darnell was covered in the stuff. It splashed everywhere: on the mammoth muscles coated in hair and on the floor. Some even landed on my arm.
It was strange, at first burning hot, then the sensation gave way to a euphoric tingling. I was surprised to see it immediately soak into my skin, giving me that high feeling of sexual energy I associated with the stuff. I got a little woozy before an electric sensation shot through my body, making all of my body hair stand on end. I cummed a little before I was able to ground myself and return to the reality of the unbelievable scene unfolding in front of me.
Darnell was greedily lapping up cum everywhere and the monster was still getting off, aided by Darnell’s continued stimulation of the giant sex organ.
“Oh fuck this is good,” Darnell shouted, “This is fucking amazing!”
He was trembling with pleasure. As some of the stuff on his face began to absorb into his skin, I saw to my surprise, stubble growing on his jaw. His eyes became bloodshot and he started uncontrollably flexing his muscles underneath his soaked clothes. Sweat began beading on his forehead. He got down from the muscular thighs and shot a cocky glance at me.
“OH FUCK,” he yelled, “I need more—”
With that, he began fiddling with the tubing until he found an emergency release valve. All of the sudden, gallons of Hard-T that had been stored in the vat began flooding the room. Most of it splattered on him, but after a few tries he successfully aimed the tube directly in his mouth, gulping without taking a break to breath. Even with him consuming all the stuff and absorbing the large amount that covered his body, a large sticky mess was forming on the floor between the large legs.
The monster had finally finished his impossibly long orgasm and returned to his still state, unaware of the maniacal man funneling his seed into his body. As more and more of the stuff entered Darnell, I saw his stomach start to bulge outward from the incredible volume. In a matter of seconds, his chiseled stomach inflated and rounded. As another layer of cum entered his skin, I saw something else; there was definitely more hair covering his forearms.
“FUCK! It feels so FUCKING GOOD!” he shouted after the pressure went down and the cum only trickled out of the tube.
Darnell removed the cum pipe from his face and glared at me. Then he smiled, patting his swollen stomach, and went over to the giant’s head. He removed the feeding tube, which only went partway down the thick throat, and shoved it down his own gullet. His stomach stretched out even farther, but something else was happening; Darnell was growing!
I noticed it first with his clothes. His shirt was pulling tighter and tighter across his chest, stomach, and shoulders. He turned to the side and I saw it stretching along with his widening back. His jeans were also bulging along with his thighs and calves. His head slowly inched up and he screamed in pain; his feet had expanded inside his shoes until the laces burst.
He roared in a deepened voice and even with the feeding tube stuffed down his throat, I could make out, “OH SHIT! OHHH FUCK!” followed by something that sounded a little like, “THIS IS INCREDIBLE!”
As buttons burst on his polo, I saw his stubble growing into scruff, and eventually a full, short beard. Even the hair on his head was getting a little shaggy. He raised his swelling arms, pumping them bigger and bigger with each flex. The sleeves were straining to contain his arms even though they had slid back to the base of his round delts. With a rip, they tore, giving him some breathing room. Caught up in what I can only describe as a joyous rage, he grabbed his shirt and ripped it off with little effort. His pecs pushed forward, free of the confining shirt, covered in new, curly hair.
I saw him bending down, testing the seams on his jeans, which were looking ready to pop, when he cried in agony, reaching for his crotch. A bulge was forming so quickly that his zipper popped open. His fly button followed shortly after as his gut grew, both from the massive amount of cum and nutrition and from the abdominal muscles expanding and fighting for space. His striped designer briefs bulged, soaked with cum, through the now open top of his pants.
His growth accelerated, and with a cry of anguish, he squatted and the sides of his jeans blew out, revealing his cut, powerful, hairy legs. By now he had gained a few inches in height and was nearing my size. His feet tore open his shoes. Only the tattered remains of his shirt hanging like a vest and the extremely stretched briefs remained on him. The briefs, saturated at this point, began leaking and cum started streaming down his thighs.
He screamed something ecstatically. It sounded like, “MORE!”
He lifted his gun, gripping it with a veiny, sinewy forearm and I ducked, but he was not aiming for me. Instead, he swung it around and fired twice at the vat of Hard-T before dropping the gun onto the sticky floor.
A first there was just two small streams of the stuff leaking from the holes, but they rapidly opened and more gushed out. I backed up against the wall as more gallons of cum washed into the room. Darnell took to bathing in it, soaking as much through his exposed skin as possible, grunting in ecstasy and pain as his body underwent changes. Somehow, in his flailing and flexing, he got the feeding tube tangled in the IVs and ripped them out to free himself.
Now his growth shifted into overdrive. He quickly passed 300 pounds and cast aside the remnants of his shirt into the growing pool of cum on the floor. His ass stretched the underwear more and more, while the waistband was pulled down in a V from his gigantic genitals. Threads snapped and he was completely naked, grapefruit-sized balls swelling and 16 inch cock spewing cum like a fountain, which mixed with the Hard-T.
“MMMMMMM!!!” he grunted, voice even deeper as he neared seven feet of masculine muscle.
Darnell’s increasingly hairy pecs ballooned in front of him, pointing nipples the size of bullets to the ground and surely blocking his view of the rest of his body. His lats flared and pushed growing triceps and biceps out at an angle as they sprouted more hair. He stroked his massive member with one hand as it approached twenty inches in length and increased its girth and used the other hand to feel up his unbelievable body as it grew. His gut, quilted with abs, was so distended it looked like he was going to blow any minute. It was quite a sight, and I could not help but come again.
His body kept on growing, larger and larger, until it slowed, pulsed with rope-like veins, and pushed out a few more bristly hairs. His beard had grown to the point that it blended with his body hair. Struggling at first, he pulled the feeding tube out of his mouth.
“AHHH FUCK!” he roared, “I’M OUT OF FOOD.”
He had finally stopped cumming and set to work lapping up every drop of cum on the floor. But without substantial mass to feed him, he was stuck at 7’8” and over 800 pounds of muscle.
“I need more—” he said under his breath, eying me up.
A thought occurred to me. Darnell had probably just determined that I was a viable source of meat. He snickered and began running towards me; I had no doubt that he would tear me limb from limb. If I could just get the gun, then—
My thoughts were interrupted by a deep bass rumbling the floor. Darnell stopped and turned to the monster. He was not sleeping any more.
“WHERE THE FUCK AM I?” grunted the lowest voice I have ever heard, shaking the observation windows.
The monster’s abs bunched up like boulders grinding together as he sat up. He took a quick look at both of us, then growled, flexing his giant, hairy pecs. The door opened to my left and I saw the guy in the lab coat peek in. The giant saw him and became enraged, pounding his fists into the floor with such force that the padding he was on ripped open and the concrete underneath cracked.
He got to his feet, crouched forward like a runner, and sprinted directly at the door. The door and a whole section of the wall exploded out as the behemoth crashed through. I saw the two guys running out in the hallway, and the monster chased them. He was so thick he seemed to fill up the entire hallway. He went out of sight and I heard another load crash, this one sounding like metal being crushed and twisted.
Darnell was even more dumbstruck than I, and I raced to the gun. It was covered in cum that tingled as it absorbed into my skin, but it was still a gun. I pointed it at Darnell. He turned around and smiled dismissively. Then he dashed out of the room, following the giant’s path of destruction.
Cautiously, I walked out into the hallway and looked to see where Darnell went. At the end of the hallway was what used to be an elevator door. The giant, and apparently Darnell, had exited that way. There was no sign of the hoodie guy or the lab coat guy.
I made my way up the stairs where I was confronted by the brute, who was wearing an extremely tight black Underarmor sleeveless shirt.
“What the hell is going on? What did you do?” he asked angrily.
I did not know how to begin to explain what had happened. But I was not in the mood to be beaten to a pulp, so I did the one thing I thought might get me out of the situation: I began massaging his large dick through his tight shorts.
“Oh fuck—” he gasped.
When he reached down to grasp it himself, I made a run for it.
Outside the warehouse, an exasperated Ron was waiting.
“What the hell just happened, dude!?” he asked, “Some guy came over and started waving a gun around at me and the big guy who loads the crates! Then I hear a commotion and later something huge burst out of the ground over there!”
“It’s a long story,” I said, “and I only have a moment before the big guy catches up, so start the truck and I’ll explain on the way back.”
I did my best to tell Ron what happened, though I left out the most of the details so he could concentrate on driving. He knew the basics, though, and agreed with me that we needed to talk to Mo immediately. The problem was, when we got back to the gym, Mo was gone.
With the source of Hard-T missing, the gym closed its doors in under a week. Many of the guys migrated to more conventional fitness centers in an effort to keep up their weight, but most avoided each other. Without the sex drive of Hard-T, the mostly straight members found it awkward to be near men they had performed sex acts with, and only one of the couples (the guy with gut and his smaller companion) remained together. Ron does not seem to want much to do with me these days, and when I tried calling his house, a woman answered.
As for the effects of not having Hard-T, it is kind of a downer. Despite continuing to work out, most guys slimmed down significantly or gained fat if they kept eating as much as they had. Most of us do not actually know much about weight training, since it took minimal effort and skill to gain mass on the stuff. Only a few of the professional bodybuilders managed to keep themselves at around 300 pounds.
I am down to 180, myself, but there are some things I got to keep. I am now over six feet tall (a fact that will be difficult to explain to my family when I see them on Thanksgiving) and kept enough muscle to be lean and toned. I even kept a little bit of the hair on my chest and stomach. By far, the part of my body I am most thankful to have kept is my cock. 12 inches is nothing to sneeze at. I may not be constantly horny, leaking cum throughout the day anymore, but I still blow a pretty big load due to my sizable balls. I wear pants that are a bit too big for me to accommodate my significant bulge.
Darnell never paid me more than an advance and the cost of the Hard-T. Going to court over it would prove useless as he is now a missing person. I am not sure I want him to be found, as much as I need the money.
No one knows what happened to Mo. Some say he went overseas. My best guess as to why he allowed me to have such high doses is that he wanted someone he could trust to obey him running the other locations. Three vials, thankfully, was not enough to make much of a dent on my intellect. The brute at the warehouse was supposedly drinking from the vat like it was tap water—and rumor is that he has recovered without it.
The best thing that came out of this whole affair, however, is Sam. After that night, I confronted Sam and asked him what he knew about Darnell’s plan. He told me that he had been after the source since Sam first tried the stuff.
“I wasn’t comfortable with the lengths he was willing to go to, you know?” he told me. “After he tried to follow me to the warehouse one night, I left him for good.”
I confessed to my affair with Darnell, and he took it surprisingly well.
“Mainly,” he said, “I just feel bad for you. You were used by him.”
We saw each other a few times in the days following Mo’s abdication, and eventually we realized that there was something growing between us.
I really like him. He may not weigh 400 pounds anymore, but he is pretty tall and retained his wide shoulders. I feel like I am in a real relationship when I am with him—we have not even had sex yet, but there is a connection unlike anything either of us felt with Darnell. We hold hands often and kiss more than enough.
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