VIRUS part 1

[itamuscle66]

VIRUS – Part 1 complete

A pickup truck slides along the dark road; the man at the steering wheel looks at his right and silently stares: next to him, legs wide spread, hands behind the nape of the head, quietly sits someone barely human. He is smoking a cigar planted in his mouth and looks into the darkness ahead with a grin of anticipation.

The sight would not be appealing to most, but it is to the driving man. It is very much to him and it has been for some others in the recent past.
The driver enjoys details and scans the passenger for long silent moments: the clipped dark beard covering the sharp jaw of the passenger, kept longer on the chin and above the upper lip to create a goatee, the tuft of hair emerging from the collar of the white t-shirt and its fabric that seems to be almost unable to contain the explosive contours of his torso, the shape of a ring piercing the left nipple.

The driver stares at the passenger’s body as if he is looking at a familiar land: territories he’s been to many times before and that he has made them change, grow, expand, and mutate into something unseen before.
The passenger continues looking into the darkness, but the driver knows he is aware - and pleased - by the silent inspection, and that a reward will soon be provided. The passenger takes a puff out of his cigar, slowly breathes in, while ripping sounds start to fill the air. He tilts his head backwards: a smile on his face, eyes closing in ecstasy: he does not move, but he slowly expands, in all directions. But it is not just the muscle: as his facial features become more prominent, his beard grows thicker, denser and longer, dark elaborate tattoos start forming and running along the arms surrounding the exploding biceps with elaborate decorations and symbols: one last puff at the cigar, a deep growl – almost orgasmic – and the brute adjusts himself into its last transformation.

The driver is proud of the passenger sitting next to him: he is his companion, his friend, his pupil, his creature, and – at times – his pup. The driving man smiles as his companion slouches down on the seat with a moan, and as the t-shirt allows the new sight of his massive abs covered by tattoos and a thick dark treasure trail that now disappears inside his trousers. Familiar lands: the driver knows the route as he scans the passenger’s massive legs compressed by the jeans and his gaze lingers over his sexual organ resting in its thickness half way along the whole length of the thigh.
The sight brings memories to the driver, like flashes: he has seen this man and his body becoming what they are today, he has witnessed this creature’s awareness developing through time, his powers unfolding, his physical growth exploding like a volcano.
As if the passenger could read the driver’s mind, he brings one hand down to his genitals and slowly caressing them in silence, he then turns his head toward the driver and smiles back, with his piercing blue eyes, scratching his thick beard.

The driver has a reason to be proud: the man sitting next to him is bigger and more powerful than any bodybuilder on earth, his body a living monument of hyper masculinity, his sexual appetites and needs insatiable: his abnormal beauty unsurpassed.
Unsurpassed except by one other man: the driver himself.


The pickup truck slides along the dark road; the man on the passenger seat is silently smoking a cigar while briefly scanning at his own body. Powerful muscles pressing against the fabric oh his clothes give him a sense of unlimited power and confidence. He scratches his beard, dense, dark and thick, then runs his hand along his torso feeling the hard roundness of his hairy pecs, lingers tickling his pierced nipple for a brief moment, enjoys the contour of the mounds of his abs. He then slowly reaches his genitals, cupping his overgrown testicles to enjoy their radiating warmness. Finally his hand runs along the full length of his sexual organ, resting along his thigh: there is a special feeling caressing it, watching it react and respond as it immediately starts to grow under the tight fabric. Warm blood filling the shaft while the head starts pushing – almost painfully - finding its route all the way down toward the knee.

The passenger then slowly turns to his right, and smiles at the driver.
Behind the wheel sits a monster. A monster of unique and distorted beauty, which seems to respond to the aesthetical canons of a mysterious cult: the shaman of a subterranean but immensely powerful forgotten religion. And it is not just the muscles, it’s his bones, his white hair, his powerful jaw crowned by a salt and pepper goatee and thick sideburns, his smell. The driver seems to be lost in his own thoughts: one hand on the steering wheel the other massaging his own pecs and abs under the loose shirt. He seems to be pleased by the feeling of his own fingers caressing the dense layer of hair covering his torso.

The passenger is well aware of that feeling: he’s been there many times before, even when those muscles were not as powerful as they look now, when – back then - the monster just looked like an average man – nothing more, nothing less. But things have changed, and for good. The driver looks back, and the passenger sees the gaze of his god, his father, his creator and – sometimes – his brutal and demanding master. It is a gaze of pride, but also that of a wild animal ready to ask for more, to stretch the limits of the passenger into newer and unexplored territories.

Worshipping his creator is what crosses the mind of the passenger: being fed by the shaman, and ultimately become like him. Something beyond human possibilities: the passenger looks down – almost automatically – to the ultimate idol. The monster’s sexual organ resting covered by the overall trousers, the source of their growth, the passenger’s daily bread, the reason why he is what he is today.

Without a word, the passenger flexes his arms searching for approval, while the driver watches in silence almost as a creator would watch his favorite creature. Something moves in between his gigantic legs, which are slowly spreading apart. The monster nods briefly and the passengers now knows what to do: the idol needs to be worshipped, and the believer needs to be fed.

End of part 1

[rabiyya]

Hot, beautiful, quietly intense. Keep going...

[MAZIVKAROLY]

W O O me some more. Nice beginning. Please do keep us rising along with you.

[itamuscle66]

This is just some sort of prologue to the real story.
More tomorrow.

[Terrylee Long]

Man you got our 6969ing equipment working now. PLEASE do not keep us waiting to long. THIS IS HOT.

[Mad Dog]

Keep going... :3

[michaelv2]

Awesome start. Dark, mysterious, sexy... and a pickup truck.

[itamuscle66]

part two of the first installment has been posted.
enjoy.
comments and criticism are welcome.
any ideas on where the story should lead?

[Terrylee Long]

You say that part 2 has been posted. I am having trouble finding it.
Can you tell me where?

[Generitrans]

Originally Posted by Terrylee Long

You say that part 2 has been posted. I am having trouble finding it.
Can you tell me where?

It's been edited in to the original post. It's the part that comes after "the driver himself".

[Freaker!!]

Tomorrow? Today is tomorrow. I write MG Stories too. But you are much better at it. There is a lot of my ID in this story. More please.

[xboy]

cool!

[vlad]

Holy shit that was hot. Love the cigar growth, love the parallel storytelling, love that they're both huge musclebears, love that it sounds like the daddy bear's cum is the key to growth. I love stories like that. I hotly anticipate more of this one!

[Freaker!!]

We all hope you had a good festive season. Now, can we have another suspense filled action?

[itamuscle66]

Planning on working on a new chapter later on tonight.
Cool stuff yet to come!

[itamuscle66]

Here is part two - as promised.
it's an on-going project: would love to hear your comments and read plot-suggestions.
Enjoy.

VIRUS PART TWO


Mack is the name of the man driving the truck.
Mack is smiling: the lights of the cars driving behind allow the vision of his own features reflected on the glass, and he likes what he sees. The brutal beauty of a beast, whose distorted proportions make him something truly unique.

He thinks of his past, of the man he used to be and how things have changed. The things that mattered then - money, TV, food ? and the things that matter now: muscle, growing and reproduce. Few and simple were those things then, if he thinks about it, but maybe even less are the things that matter now.

He remembers that morning, on his way to work at the police station, reading the newspaper. The empty seat next to him, and that cell phone left there. Was there someone sitting there before he had gotten on the train? He remembers it: holding it up in his hand and ? suddenly ? that little sting, and a drop of blood on his finger.
Mack recalls now with a smile he could not make it to work that morning: nausea, pain, anguish. Anguish overall. Sometimes he still tries to understand why that phone had been left there, who had left it, for what reason; but it really does not matter. Was it some sort of a booby trap, the result of a scientific experiment that needed a guinea pig, or a bait for a curious cat? Mack finds it irrelevant: what is relevant now is the hardness of his muscles as he caresses himself, the insatiable sexual appetite that makes him alive, and ? overall ? the constant crave for muscles: his and of the men he has taken with him on the journey.

He remembers that morning: his mind blurred and terrified, the physical pain, trying to get back home. Now Mack understands the nature of his pain and anguish: a part of himself was fighting ? helplessly ? against an invincible demon that was taking possession of his body and mind. His human nature losing a battle that was meant to be lost. From the very beginning.
Mack that morning made it home, and barely made it back to his bedroom. The house was empty - flat mate evidently still to finish his shift - but if someone had been there, observing, would have seen something quite unique. A middle aged man, cavorting in sweat-soaked bed sheets, slowly and unconsciously beginning his trip into something unseen before.

The process had been relatively slow ? an hour, maybe two? Mack does not remember. He remembers the changes: terrifying at the beginning, but immensely gratifying in retrospective. Certainly the growth had been physical too, but it had been extraordinarily mental, overall. As pain and anguish slowly receded, and as his body grew, a new awareness took control. Fear had turned into pleasure, pain into desire.

On his frantic way home Mack had ? unconsciously - already started his own transformation. His uniform had felt unusually tight even before he could unlock the house door, and the seams had ripped apart as he had touched his bed. Mack had closed his eyes, desperately trying to find any logical explanation, while his hands were frantically exploring his own body. Something: something under the skin was growing, pulsing, expanding. Body fat melting, veins like cables surfacing, new brawn emerging.
Clothes, in tatters already, had suddenly become a burden and Mack had ripped them apart in violent yanks. Reaching his own dick had then seemed almost natural, and jerking off the only way to get rid of the residues of Mack?s old self.
Mack had tilted his head backwards, eyes still closed: orgasm was violent, liberating. Almost immediate and something like nothing experienced before. At each contraction, waves of pleasure and ecstasy had invaded his brain ? for the real first time - as volleys of cum had covered his newly expanded body, reaching his face and his mouth. Mack had never tasted anything like that before, as a new awareness, a god-like tranquility had finally taken possession of his mind.

The creature that had opened his eyes in the messy bedroom of the empty apartment had very little in common with the man that Mack had used to be. Yes, ?monster? is the world that Mack himself likes to think of when he recalls the events of those early days. The monster had slowly risen from his bed, looking at the world surrounding himself as if it had been the first time. Flexing ? slowly and in complete silence ? had been Mack?s way of celebrating his own re-birth, and exploring and caressing himself the reward.

Mack has vivid memories of those hours, when what he now calls a virus was taking full possession of his body and mind, but there are details, nonetheless, that he cannot remember: he still cannot recall when his flat mate had come back to the apartment, and had actually opened the bedroom door. How long had he been watching Mack flexing, legs wide open in the middle of the room, caressing his own bulging muscles and stroking his newly grown dick? He can only vaguely remember the horror in his eyes, paralyzed in front of Mack?s massive new form.
Seemingly he cannot recall if infecting his friend had been an accident, or simply intentional.
Does Mack matter now?