The Entity and Stephen Lewis Part 7

[JP71]

[COLOR=#808080]THE ENTITY &[/COLOR]
[COLOR=#808080]STEPHEN LEWIS[/COLOR]
[COLOR=gray]By JP71[/COLOR]
[COLOR=gray]Part 7[/COLOR]

[COLOR=#d5d5d5]Part 1[/COLOR]
[COLOR=#d5d5d5]Part 2[/COLOR]
[COLOR=#d5d5d5]Part 3[/COLOR]
[COLOR=#d5d5d5]Part 4[/COLOR]
[COLOR=#d5d5d5]Part 5[/COLOR]
[COLOR=#d5d5d5]Part 6[/COLOR]

Author’s Note: The last chapter was a little heavy on story and short on muscle. So hopefully I’ve made up for it with this latest chapter. Expect lots of sexy muscle-growth, flexing, and cocky muscle-hunk behaviour throughout. Please enjoy, and *please* comment. Your comments really encourage me to keep going with this.







Ray wanted to stick around for a bit; probably out of some new sense of attachment to me (I supposed I couldn't blame him). And so he accompanied me back to Xavier Heights. I'd missed out on a day's workout, but in retrospect I like to think that a greater good had been served. I know, that really doesn't sound like me whatsoever.

To be blatantly honest, I now knew that I could channel Marek at will, and it was out of an extreme hunger to grow my muscle-bod even bigger and more powerful that I assumed I'd need Ray present to provide his services as a catalyst. I had no intentions of raping him since I'd had time to better understand and control my new drives and passions, but I now knew that Marek preferred only myself present in that bed during a manifestation. Don't ask me how I knew. I just knew.

Besides, I deserved a regular boyfriend, finally. And I really wanted something romantic to happen between the two of us. It was pretty late by the time we arrived back at the apartment, and we were both ravenous to a fault. Fortunately I had enough tuna and haddock casserole left over from the evening before, and I was easily able to stretch it out with some oven-warmed soda bread.

“Sorry about the leftovers, but waste not, want not, I always say.” For a second there I sounded like my mother. I guess I wasn’t used to cooking for guests. I hoped to change that from now on.

"It’s totally fine... really delicious," said Ray as he wolfed his way through the food, heaping huge forkfuls into his handsome mouth as quickly as he could butter more bread. I smiled appreciatively at him, thinking to myself just how much more handsome he looked, now that we were getting to know one another better.


"That's bodybuilding home cooking for you," I said proudly. "If you're not careful it'll put muscles on you." In order to illustrate my point I made a muscle of my right arm for Ray to swoon over. The bicep firmed up massively to its fully-flexed 22” circumference, forming into a beautiful boulder of proud proportion. The veins of my forearm burst outwards from my papery skin, so pronounced and defined were they. The Lacoste polo shirt I'd since changed into upon my arrival home was a little tight in the sleeves, and I feigned a sort of comic surprise when the snapping of threads could be easily heard by us both. Ray's eyes widened in awe of my minor muscle-feat, and I imagined another part of him was also in the process of expansion. I wanted to reach under the table and find out for myself. But I needed to be mindful of my appetites, now that I was well on my way to becoming a very strong man, if not for myself, then for the sake of the smaller man who would readily succumb to my ever-burgeoning strength.


"Your body is amazing, Stephen," Ray enthusiastically admitted, and I silently whooped for joy when he finally got my name right. "Damned if you weren't the biggest guy at the gym today."



I automatically bounced my weighty pecs and made a little green crocodile dance. I could almost hear Ray’s cock straining against the confines of the jockstrap you could tell he had on beneath his tight black leggings. I reached a mighty mitt across the kitchen table so that I could gently take his hand in my own. As our eyes properly locked gazes for the first time since our initial meeting at the bar on the night of my birthday, I felt the quickening of my heartbeat, and I struggled to find the right words to say.


"I'm sorry for acting so forcefully today. That was really quite uncharacteristic of me." I’d never been a man known for his apologies. But I needed to be mature and thoughtful about my behaviour earlier.

"That's alright. No one should have to die alone. I think Sean knew I was there, too. I felt him squeeze my hand when I took his in mine."

I nodded appreciatively and squeezed Ray's hand more firmly.

When we finished our food, I wanted to get intimate with Ray, although it seemed as though my libido had suddenly adopted an agenda entirely its own. But Ray had other ideas. He yawned, but not quite in an "Oh my, would you look at the time" kind of way.

"I'd better be off. Thanks for the late dinner." He got up from the table and I found myself matching his movements.


"You're more than welcome to stay the night," I said, perhaps sounding a tad desperate. I felt a nervous twitch in one corner of my mouth as I fought to maintain a pleasant and somewhat composed smile. I bounced my pecs, more energetically now, hoping this would be enough to convince him to crash. The tent growing out of his spandex was impossible to ignore. The one happening in my cargoes threatened any second now to rampage through the fabric with the force of a battering ram.

"The guys in the band are renting a place. They're letting me use their loft as a bedsit. Trying to gel with them, y'know?"


I understood the need to fit in, to belong to a clique. Besides, this was Ray's livelihood, and I had to respect that. I said: "I'd like very much if we could see each other, on a regular basis, like."


He then came around to my side of the table and placed his arms snugly around my rock hard, superbly-developed waist. "I think that's a dead cert, muscle man." He made the sexiest of grins before bringing his lips to mine so that we could share a dragged-out, sensual kiss. His hands roamed downward, finding my meaty glutes and they lingered there for a time, his fingers trying their damnedest to dent the rock-hard muscle my arse had an abundance of. I playfully tensed and relaxed the muscles there, much to Ray's delight, and the swelling in my crotch had stretched the fabric of my cargoes to bursting point. My hardon threw a tantrum in defiance of its imprisonment. Must this end here?

“Please stay,” I pressed, my voice having dwindled to a seductive rasp.


"Maybe at the weekend," he decided, and I could tell that his enthusiasm was hardly on the wane. I decided not to push him, and let him go. But I wanted him back by the weekend. I offered to drive him to his new address, but he wouldn't hear of it. We exchanged good-nights and I was once again alone. Well, not quite alone. Now that I'd been touched by the exceptional id of the late Sean McInerney, I was suddenly aware of an ethereal presence as it hung perpetually on the air around me. This was something additional to the residue left by Marek, something that felt strangely... ancient?


But how could I possibly know that?


"I should go to the basement," I resolved, making up my mind there and then. But what had changed me, and specifically my situation, that would culminate in me gaining access to the darkest secret from the bowels of Xavier Heights? One of the theories I was eager to test with a new aptitude and sensitivity towards all things paranormal was that Marek's stolen ashes were somewhere in that basement and that they were acting like a lodestone, allowing Marek to manifest here upon occasion. But if Agniezka and I were truly correct, that the ashes were in the basement, then why did that key seem hell-bent on keeping me out? There was a very good chance that I would turn out to be incorrect in my assumptions about what was really going on here. After all, Celestine Xavier had committed suicide in that basement, his former church. Despite my newfound awareness, I was still short of piecing together this mystery and throwing light into all of its darkest recesses.


The knowledge that Sean had enabled me to inherit whilst our minds were locked in that highly arousing, albeit phantasmagorical union was now instinctive to me. This meant that I couldn't just wilfully decide how best to act, but rather it was a case of me knowing what to do when the time was right. It unnerved me slightly to think that I was no longer fully in control of the choices I needed to make, but one thing was certain: I needed to see this through to the end, if indeed an end was in sight.

The key looked completely innocuous where it sat in the saucer on the coffee table. It had been there ever since I'd swiped it from its keyhole partner on the day that Lance became a murderous monster. Since the re-tuning of my mind earlier, I was now sensitive to the lines of psychic energy that criss-crossed my apartment like some unearthly alternative to a spaghetti junction. I simply had to pick up the key and step into a spot in the room where no lines intersected, and the key remained totally inert, in essence just a harmless piece of metal with a plastic tag attached.

But when I went to leave my apartment...

Marek was there to stop me. My muscles tingled as the fine hairs on the back of my trunk-like neck stood immediately on end as the temperature in the apartment suddenly dipped down to near-freezing. He seemed more completely human-looking, this time, although his body was the size of a ten-year-old child’s, and he shimmered in scintillating electric blue. He had a bodybuilders build, like he'd had in life, but due to him being spectrally translucent, I couldn't make out the individual muscle groups due to lack of definition..

His eyes burned bright like miniature halogen lamps, and I found myself unable to avoid their portentous fire. And yet I felt that the entity meant me no harm. Rather, he was here not only to warn me against treading dangerously into unknown and ominous territories, but to bring something to my attention, something I hadn't been aware of... until now.

Incapable of speech, or even the merest sound, Marek ghosted across the living room, hovering about two feet over the floor, before vanishing right through the door to my bedroom. I suddenly began to tremble with excitement. Was he going to grow me some more? I hoped so. I quickly followed him into the room, expecting to find him hovering over the bed. Instead I watched him misting towards the veranda, where he stopped and just floated on the cold air his presence had brought in tandem with his arrival. He stretched out an arm and pointed towards the parking lot of Mass Central. Before I even made it outside onto the veranda, I knew what – or rather who – this was about.

Gary was in the parking lot, naked except for a tight pair of knee length blue spandex shorts. I was shrouded in enough darkness to risk using my binoculars, and Gary was in enough of a rage with Cynthia for his voice to easily get carried as far as Xavier Heights. Still though, I had to really concentrate to make out most of the tirade exchanged between the two bodybuilders...


“... that’s right, go on back to Shay The Man... the fucker’s a waster and a scrounger and a fucking runt compared to me,” Gary hollered at the somewhat androgynous-looking Cynthia as she angrily climbed into her brand new jeep (she’d really overdone it with the testosterone pills). Hmm, I thought, how can her ex-bf be a scrounger when he drove an SUV? Oh well, I supposed he was one of the millions of people in this country that lived far beyond their means. It really was none of my business, but I found myself unable to tear myself away from the scene as it unfolded further.

“Yeah? Well at least he’s not rubbing shoulders with the drug squad, Gary. You’re slipping up, making mistakes. Sooner or later the cops are gonna haul you in, and you ain’t gonna incriminate me as an accessory to your shenanigans. You bought the gym out from under me... well it’ll crash and burn with you holding the reins, mark my words!”

Cynthia slammed the door to her car and started it up in a trice. I watched, fascinated, as she attempted to roll it out of the parking lot, but Gary the Behemoth got in front of it and pressed down hard on the front of the vehicle, enough to not only dent the front grille inwards, but also to stop it from moving an inch. The four-wheel drive screeched in defiance of this assault, the tyres sending vast plumes of rubber-scented smoke into the night air. Gary, it seemed, was throwing yet another temper tantrum. He growled, Hulk-like, and applied more force, this time enough to send the car into reverse. The engine churned and seethed, but Cynthia could not escape without easing off the accelerator and putting the car into reverse. She then shot away from Gary, and managed to pull an about-turn before scorching an escape route around the massive muscle-giant as she aimed her motor for the main road beyond the parking lot’s perimeter. He gave chase for a few seconds, but eventually dropped to his knees in defeat. Cynthia sped off in her slightly-damaged jeep.

“Hmm, so he’s bought the gym out from under her,” I mused. I wondered if Zombie Guy who worked the main desk would ever see the tenner Cynthia had left him short in his wages from months back. With Gary in charge I seriously doubted that. I’m glad that Marek had opted to point this out to me, although to be perfectly honest, I reckoned I’d have heard this commotion without intervention from my favourite entity. I turned to again acknowledge the dead bodybuilder:

“Why did you want me to see this?” I wished the afterlife had retained his power of speech, but I supposed I had to be thankful that he was capable of some form of interaction with me... the muscle-growth kind.

“Are you going to help me grow some more, Marek? I really want to get so much bigger than this.”

Alas, Marek did not react to my words whatsoever, but continued to point across to the gym’s parking lot where Gary was slowly getting up to walk back to his new “permanent residence”. I now knew how he was funding his lifestyle (and then some), able to afford to live beyond his life working in Inbound Calls at the credit card company. He was dealing juice. Could this be how he was growing so huge? Wait, something looked different about Gary. I wished the binoculars had a higher magnification so that I could take in his finer details.

“Fuck... he looks smaller than when I last saw him.” I briefly turned back to face Marek, who nodded once and even formed the merest wisp of a smile. Was Gary... shrinking? He was still massive – don’t get me wrong – but his muscles didn’t appear as full or as pumped as when I’d last spied on him working out. Could this be the reason for his uncontrollable outbursts? I watched, even more fascinated than before, as he went inside the gym, completely ignoring Zombie Guy whose face was buried in a magazine or something, and climbed the stairs to the weight room. He vanished out of sight for a couple of minutes, but soon came into view again over at the squat rack. He was now wearing a weight belt around his taut waist. I guess he was angry enough to work his quads and hamstrings and get them back to their former hugeness.

And so he loaded the bar up to his desired weight, which in his case had to be close to a tonne (just a guess, but I’d never seen so much weight on a rack before, and I myself was only managing 750 for 8 reps.)

He stooped below the bar, and then brought his shoulders up to touch it, positioning his feet and hands the right distance apart. I was already out of my cargoes and leaking copious amounts of precum as I watched how confident he looked beneath the humongous weight. He was alone on the floor, and completely the master of all he now owned. My cock had sprung up to its full length and thickness, but for some reason – and this was completely a first for me where Gary was concerned – I didn’t feel that he would completely do it for me this time. Weird or what?

But then... when he took the strain, or tried to... it was a complete disaster. His knuckles whitened against the hard iron, tendons standing out everywhere on him. His neck seemed to thicken to twice its circumference, his skin darkening to an aggressive shade of purple. His legs wobbled precariously beneath him before his body completely buckled as the massive weight pushed him down until his bubble-butt was almost touching the floor. There was no way he had the strength to push the weight. But, I tried to mentally reason, I’d seen him pushing this much weight efore, mastering the lift and conquering yet another personal best. This didn’t seem right.

He didn’t give up, but I watched as he attempted to compose himself, stretching his muscles a little before returning to the same position beneath the squat rack as before. He went through the motions of attempting a second lift. This time he couldn’t even take the strain of the bar, and he struggled dangerously to get out from underneath it. I suddenly panicked. I’d read about bodybuilders fucking up their knees by trying to press too much weight in a squat. I feared for his safety, knowing full and well that he more than likely didn’t give a shit about me.

And that’s when I felt my latest growth spurt. As Gary grew ever weaker, just a couple of hundred or so yards away, I, in contrast, began to fill out and expand, in just about every direction of the compass. Marek’s floating wisp-form had faded somewhat, melting into the dark recesses of my room where no light could reach, as if to give me room to grow. Was he expecting my biggest growth spurt so far? Oh my God, just how big was I about to get?

I shrugged out of my Lacoste shirt as all of my muscles began to grow simultaneously. In no particular order, my already fleshy and weighty pecs blew up, like as if an air hose had been taken to a pair of soccer balls. They inflated way larger than nature had ever intended them to be. Cords of thick muscle fleshed against one another beneath my skin, and then pushed apart, as if one fibre was responsible for stimulating the growth of its neighbours on either side. My pecs thickened, widened, deepened, over-powering my chest and leaving little room for any other muscles to grow around them. But defiantly they grew, my deltoids exploding into new rippling masses, even as I felt my bones re-structure and provide greater support for my burgeoning musculature. The muscles of my thighs ballooned like never before, throwing shadows over my knees and pushing my sack of nuts along with its snake-like best mate further outward from my body. My cock was also getting larger, lengthening and thickening simultaneously, and erupting with even more veins as a new network was laid down over an older less-efficient one. The glans expanded like a mushroom caught in the lens of a time-lapse camera, and the prevalent precum glistened as it reflected the lights from the concourse beyond my balcony.

I felt my bubble-butt expanding and dimpling further, and I moaned in bliss at the feeling of even more massive growth happening all over my body. I had to widen my stance to allow new leg muscles the room to grow. They grew hugely – impossibly – thick and I didn’t want the feeling to ever end. My lats swelled up to five times their original mass, forcing my thickening arms out further from my body. My biceps, triceps and forearms bulged out massively, the veins of the latter more prominent than on any bodybuilder I’d ever seen before. I growled in triumph as I continued to grow, belting out a double-biceps pose even as my biceps continued to transform into muscle-versions of Thor’s Hammer. Each bicep swelled massively and split into two parts, out of which a third part – the delicious secondary peak – finally was awarded to each. I couldn’t wait to have my new muscles measured, and I knew that Ray would be the man for the job, and that he’d jump at the chance, too. I felt my back spreading wider and wider, and my waist seemed tauter still, further emphasising the deliciously sexy and masculine “V-taper” that every bodybuilder tries his best to maximise.

I didn’t stop to think about how I would be received at the office, or even how I’d look in the clothes I currently owned. One thing was certain, I’d need to go shopping tomorrow and find the best tailor money could employ. Turning up at work wearing only a thread-snapping jock-strap struggling to contain my colossal junk, was not an option. Two more ab-bellies added to the ones already in abundance (AB-undance even?). My eight-pack was now totally devoid of fat, and I felt my arousal intensifying as I probed the new valleys between my mid-section’s brickwork. But I felt sorry for the new abs, for the deep crescent-moon shadows cast by my magnificently prominent pec-meats would forever shroud them in darkness. Maybe you could grab a peek at them once in a while if I bounced my pecs up and down. Yeah, I reckoned I’d be “palpitating” my pecs a lot more in the future, now that I had monster-sized ones.

My neck thickened ridiculously and I said goodbye to my 21” collars forever. I expected my new tailor-made ones would fit a 26” neck a little better. My traps “wedged out” on either side of my neck, finally giving me that Cardassian look I’d always found sexy (and I’m sure I’m not the only guy who sometimes “fapped off” to some of the better-looking “Cardies” of Deep Space 9 back in his teens). My transformation felt as though it lasted a small eternity. In my mind I saw myself as having grown larger than I had in reality (would I ever be satisfied with what Marek had given me, not to mention grateful?).

I felt a melon-sized bicep with my free hand and immediately a huge gob of cum shot like a geyser from my upwardly-pointing cock. It splashed me in the face, but this only made me feel even hornier. I couldn’t wait to pose in front of the mirror, try on any clothes that might just about fit me before flexing out of them and turning them to shreds, and then masturbating myself into a mini-coma. I was huge, having left behind the dimensions of your average variety of professionally-competing bodybuilder. Although I still had to rival Gary in size and weight, I was now truly a supersized muscleman, having now gone where no pro-superheavyweight could ever dream of following.


But what of Gary? As I gradually snapped out of my sexually-cloying reverie – my fluids expended, and my arousal lessened – I wiped my face clean and stooped to retrieve the binoculars I couldn’t remember dropping. I scanned all visible sections of the gym’s glass frontage, and eventually found him sitting on a bench, his face buried in his hands. Was he... crying? I gasped when I saw how much muscle had been shed from him... muscle Marek had stolen from him to give to me. I felt sorry for him, aye, but no way was he getting this muscle back, even if the process of a re-transference were possible. It was my turn to live the bodybuilding dream, considering he’d fucked his up and turned to crime to fuel his progression. But what were the entity’s reasons for doing this? Wasn’t it a simple answer? Atonement. This was his way of making it up to me for that cruel day years ago, the day he almost made a ghost out of me.

I couldn’t really tell through the binocs, but I reckoned only a couple of hundred pounds of muscle now differentiated Gary’s body from mine. He was still the bigger man, but if I were to stake I guess, I’d say that he’d lost about two hundred pounds of solid muscle mass. He looked so sad, sitting there like that. I thought about going to him, but as if Marek could read my mind (and he probably could), he ghosted in front of me and shot me with a phantom’s frown of disapproval.

“You’re right. The shock of seeing me like this will only blow his mind. And he’s probably not in his right mind right now.” Besides, I couldn’t wait to spend hours ogling myself in the mirror, and to hell with whatever time it was. Marek smiled tepidly and then it was his time to once again leave me. This time, however, I saw to where he ghosted off. And this caused my mouth to once again form one of its now-famous aghast “Os”.

Marek’s ghost floated upwards and outwards beyond the boundaries of Xavier Heights, languishing for a time over the road where only a few weeks ago a bodybuilder had been tragically murdered. It seemed to look back at me for a second, before finally shooting towards Mass Central like a falling star. And where did Marek fall? It looked as though he went right into Gary. But that didn’t make any sense. Through the binocs, however, I think I finally understood. The entity hadn’t gone into Gary at all, rather into something on his person. Was it... could it be... a pendant of some sort? I really couldn’t tell from this distance. But something around Gary’s neck seemed to glow with the same light as Marek’s ghostly form, if only for a few seconds before blinking out completely.

After about three or four minutes Gary disappeared from view. And I would not be seeing him for the rest of the night. I reckoned he was living in some backroom in the gym, now that he’d nowhere else to go. I wondered why he hadn’t come over here in search of accommodation, but I reckoned Lance’s behaviour had soured the place, and I already knew from Lance’s bragging and rants that there had been a bitter rivalry between them. But my mind was over-analysing again, and so I stopped there and then. If Gary wanted to live at the gym then more power to him.

I pec-bounced my way from room to room, throwing on every light in the place even though it was past midnight. I even considered calling Ray, getting him up from his attic mattress (no doubt) and demanding he get his sexy arse over here to worship all the new muscles in adornment of me. But when I caught sight of my now fully naked new self, all thoughts of having anyone share in this was dropped.

I looked INCREDIBLE!!!!

At a guess I had to be at least 450 now, which meant that my body had gained more than 280 lbs of awesome muscle in less than four months. This also meant that almost two-thirds of my body – of the building material that made me a new, more powerful person – was pure, rippling muscle. I stepped on my scale to make sure that I was indeed 450 or more, but my weight crushed the thing flat. I smiled and got horny again, leaving precum snake-trails on the floor as I moved from room to room.

I shot pose after pose in front of my mirror, now an expert at doing all of the movements, and of holding the poses long enough to blast every muscle into murderous relief. My proportions were totally insane, my genitalia exaggerated beyond all extremity. I doubted that Ray had a mouth big enough to effectively service my meat, and this worried me, but only for a moment. Fuck it, we could experiment and find new ways to pleasure one another.

I gasped when I formed my upper-half into a full-lat spread. My torso bulged hugely, and all my muscles seemed to push upwards, so that my windpipe felt restricted by so much pec-flesh hulking up hugely around my neck and chin. As the still-bigger man, I wondered how Gary managed this without asphyxiating himself. My muscles were warm as they heaved, and my face felt the manly, musky heat rising out of the crest of my pec-shelf. I inhaled my own smell deeply, and it boned me still further. I was now a muscle-/sex-dynamo. And I knew there were even more growth delights to come. Marek’s work here, it seemed, had yet to reach its crescendo.

I hulked out a most-muscular pose, and my upper body’s muscles, especially my traps heaved hugely with new, thick, mind-blowing hunk-flesh. My vascular relief was astounding, and I had no visible body fat whatsoever. As my body began to sweat from the effort of my flexing, so my muscles were laved to a reflective glisten that seemed to add more density and shadow to them. This boned me further, because it looked as though the more effort I applied to my flexing, the better I looked overall.

Each time I blasted out the same most-muscular pose over and over, so my muscles seemed to grow even more vascular and defined. I made Craig Golias look like a chipmunk, and there wasn’t a part of my body right now, top or bottom, that wasn’t a crazy mesh-work of super-prominent veins. But I wanted more veins, bigger veins on even bigger, heavier, more hulking muscles. This was nowhere near the point that would have me say “Yeah... I’m big enough, probably even a little too big!” GRRRR... as far as I was concerned, there was no such thing as “... a little too big!”

I could never be big enough. NEVER!!!

I posed for hours, literally. I wasn’t a bit tired; in fact my body had never felt more alive, more powerful. I was now one of the biggest, heaviest and strongest bodybuilders alive. But seeing me like this only made me hungrier for even more muscle... more humongous inches blasting out from every corner of me.

By 5am of a new day (what day was it? I didn’t care), I was already having fun with my wardrobe. Most of the things I owned in the way of clothing wouldn’t go near me, but I still managed to play with some pants and shirts that I could just about get into and ludicrously fasten. By this time I’d set up a webcam to show myself off to the world of muscle-hungry YouTubers. I made several videos, some of me just posing from the waist up (so as not to get censored), others showing me hulking out of very tight shirts, the buttons pinging and threads separating as I applied the most minimal of flexing pressure.




By breakfast time later that morning, I’d had hundreds of hits, and the same in comments, including some private messages from YouTube’s on-going muscle-flexing studs. They all wanted to know my secret. Many of them wanted to do insanely sordid things to me and my muscles, and a great many of them cited steroids in their comments, or accused me of using special effects to look like this. Ha ha, this was all tremendous fun. I also made some X-Tube videos, showing my fully naked form, flexing and wanking until I’d cum in huge loads at a time. I received mostly favourable comments here, things like:

“You’ve the biggest cock I’ve ever seen”,

“Wanna drown in your cum, sexy”, and my favourite one of all:

“Your muscles are huge and I wanna fuck every one of their separations”.

I made no effort to hide my face. Why bother? I was a muscle-god now. No one could bring me down whatsoever.

Or so I thought at the time. There was a storm coming my way, and the winds were already gaining momentum.

After a huge, satisfying breakfast of white omelettes, porridge and chicken and tuna steaks, I decided to phone Shirley to see how work was going. I had a feeling she’d have most of the work done, and I’d probably have to spend half a morning on the phone to the finance companies and insurers. To my complete surprise Shirley had cleared my itinerary for the day.

“You owe me big for this. How about a raise? Liam’s feet grew another inch. He needs sneakers for his gym class."

“He goes to a gym now?” I tried not to sound surprised. But that kid had amazing potential for bodybuilding. He was already bigger than most lads his age and he had a great frame on which to pack on some serious muscle. Obviously all that time he was spending with his well-built friend Kyle (according this his mother), was finally paying off. Maybe I could mentor them both in the future. It was just a crazy passing thought. Still though... can't a guy dream?

“For school, you bastard. Dammit you really have muscle on the brain, boss. Well no way my Liam is turning into a freak like y---” She didn’t manage to silence herself in time to hurt my feelings.

“Shit boss, I’m sorry. That didn’t come out right.”

“It’s alright,” I replied, softly. I was a little hurt by her remark, but more so worried at how I’d be received when next I muscle-strutted into the office.

“Just so you know in advance, I’ve bulked up massively in the last few days.” I didn’t want to tell her that my transformation had only taken minutes.

“You did what? Stephen, please don’t tell me something we’ll both regret. If you get fired I’ll be given over to Prescott, or Janssen, and you know how I dread being anywhere near those eejits.”

I don’t know why I told her the following, but somehow it felt like the best thing to do.

“I have a channel on YouTube now. It’s called “MuscleGodSteve-O”, all one word, except there’s a hyphen before the “O” on the end.”

“You’re shittin’ me.”

“Go onto it. See for yourself.”

Shirley hung up, but phoned me back less than ten minutes later.

“How the fuck is this possible?” She sounded very upset and confused all at once. “This kind of change is not possible in so short a time, Stephen. Not fucking possible at all. The Board are going to have your head for this.”

“What business is it of theirs what I do in my own time? It’s not affecting my work standard, is it?”

“Actually...,” she said after a brief pause, “... I caught a glimpse of your up and coming appraisal from Estelle. The silly cunt left a file open on her computer, and I was sort of just... er... sauntering past her desk looking to borrow a nail file.”

“And?”

“It’s not good. And Stephen, to be honest with you, I found myself agreeing with nearly all of it. Your standard of work has dropped since this bodybuilding craze took you over.”

“It’s not a craze,” I tersely defended.

“Well it’s certainly not fucking natural. Jesus, boss... I only watched the first video, the one of you bursting out of that shirt. My God, you’re almost twice as big as you were last Friday. You’re like one of the characters from your stories now.”

“That’ all I’ve ever wanted to be, bitch. Now I’m living my dream. You could at least be supportive.”

“Sorry, but I can’t support this... this... I don’t know what to call it.”

“I’ll see you next week then. Thanks for picking up the slack, bitch.”

“And I suppose by next week you’ll be twice as big again?”

“I don’t know,” I said, shrugging my behemoth’s shoulders. Muscles bunched and heaved with the slightest of body movements. I was hard again in an instant. Then I added: “But I hope to be.”

“You sound as though it’s not just up to you,” said Shirley, somewhat suspiciously. “Who’s helping you with this?”

She’d never have believed me had I opted to tell her everything. Then, somewhat resignedly, she let out a long, drawn-out sigh, and regained something of the old Shirley I’d grown to love and respect over the years. “Take down this number.”

“What is it?” I scrambled for a pen. Finding no paper anywhere, the back of my hand would have to suffice. Shirley called out the landline number and then had me repeat it back.

“He’s a friend of Gary’s. Chris Saul. I met him a couple of times. He makes or alters all of Gary’s clothes. I think he’d be happy to take you on as a client.”

“Is he hot?” I grew rather excited. Although I had plans for Ray McInerney, there was no harm in a little flirtation with as many guys as possible, specifically the hot variety.

“Well he’s a bit on the skinny side, so you’ll be disappointed that he’s not in your ballpark. And he’s straight, so no getting any ideas. I would imagine that – having watched your video – you won’t have a stitch to wear come work on Monday. He’ll fix you right up. Probably even has some reserve suits for Gary that you might be able to avail of.”

“Thanks, bitch.” And I hung up. To be perfectly honest, I think Shirley knew as well as I did that my days as our company’s Chief Credit Controller were drawing to a close. Strangely I didn’t care. There was too much happening in my life for me to grow too concerned about one specific aspect of it (other than my muscle-growth, of course). I dialled the number she gave me. A rather sleepy, but quite passive male voice answered.

“Uh Hello, can I help you?” The brogue was North of England, Manchester most likely.

“Hi, is this Chris?”

“Yeah, what can I do for you?”

“Chris, my name’s Stephen Lewis. I’m Shirley Sullivan’s boss.”

“Shirley Sullivan?” He seemed puzzled at first. Then: “Oh yeah, her. What can I do for you?”

“Well, she gave me your number. It’s kind of urgent. I’m a bodybuilder and I n---”

“How big are you,” he somewhat curtly cut in over me. His tone of voice suggested to me that he was still too sleepy to care about a little business coming his way. I considered directing him to my YouTube channel. Actually, that wasn’t a bad idea. I gave him the name of the channel. To my complete surprise, he curtly cut me short again:

“Oh yeah, watched your vids about an hour ago. Dude, you’re fucking huge. Gary Shields is going to break you in half for even having the nerve to come anywhere near his size and weight.”

“You... you saw my vids?” Wow, go the power of the internet.

“Sure I did. I’ve gotten quite a bit of business from guys showing off on YouTube. I make really awesome muscle-wear, like nothing you’ll see anywhere else. And my cuts of suits are really flattering on a huge muscled body. Warning... I’m not cheap. If you can afford D&G or Prada Sport, you can probably afford me. Otherwise hang up now.”

“Uh, yeah,” I answered, now completely erect and shooting precum at a shockingly superhuman rate.

“Actually, I sent you a private message on YouTube, offering my services. Obviously you didn’t read it.” He sounded slightly dismayed.

“Er, I have about sixty messages since I posted the videos this morning. I only read a few of them. I was up all night posing.” I tried not to sound apologetic. My actions were my own business.

“Well now, aren’t you Mister Muscle Popularity 2011! I’m going back to bed. Rough night. Read my YouTube message. There’s a link in it to my website. There you’ll find directions on how to get to me. I’m out in the sticks. Kinda like the privacy. Oh and don’t think of disturbing me before 1pm. Adios.”

And he was gone.

“D&G? Holy shit.” I’d never worn anything so expensive in my life. Downside of growing so massively muscular: it was going to seriously deplete my savings.




It was quite a mild afternoon for April, with hardly a cold wind blowing, and so I managed to get away with wearing a pair of denim cargo-shorts beneath an insanely-stretched brown v-necked pullover. By the time I got the pullover on it looked like my muscles had been coated in fake tan. I was really going to turn heads as I went about my business in the high-streets of my adopted city. Although the weather was a far cry from summery, it was sunny for this time of year, and so mirrored sunglasses would help to make my outfit more complete. I’d grown about three inches, and my hands and feet had also expanded.

Sneakers felt tight on me, so I opted for a pair of flip-flops instead. I hadn’t worn them before now (they’d been an impulse-buy some weeks before). I decided that I had more pressing engagements than investigating the secrets of the basement, and so I put that off for another time. I really had to enjoy my new size even more, and to accomplish that I would have to go out of doors. I had groceries to get before driving out to Chris Saul’s residence (which was about eight miles outside of the city, according to the map jpeg on his website).

Getting into my car was more problematic than I’d originally conceived it would be. I drove a 2008 Toyota Avensis, which I’d bought second-hand in mid-2009 (one very careful driver and very little mileage on the clock). Due to new budget restrictions, no executive lower than the Directors were afforded a company car, so when I suddenly found it a little on the snug size, I shuddered at the thought of having to add a new mode of transport to my ever-diminishing budget. I guess I would have to eventually sell the car and buy a motorbike, just as Gary had when he outgrew his car.

I won’t go into much detail here, but I don’t know how I got my seatbelt on. My chest was massive, its dimensions as of yet unknown to me. I would soon know my complete measurements courtesy of Chris Saul’s expensive services. But if I were to gauge a guess, I reckoned it had to be in the 90s now. The extra inches added to my height meant that I had to bend my neck to get my head into the car. As I drove I eventually felt a painful stiffness happening in my neck, something I could’ve done without.

Getting in and out of the vehicle was a pain, and the car rocked feverishly on its springs as a man nearly three times the weight of an average male unfolded himself out of it. I was incredibly strong, now, so I had to be careful not to damage the door as I squeezed through its now modest portal. Once out of the car I caught a glimpse of myself in my windshield, and I hulked out a huge double-bi for my amusement, growling for fun and marvelling at how my boulder biceps pushed mountainously upwards, with just inches between their apexes and the tips of my downwardly-pointing thumbs. I lived for the day when my thumbs were easily able to scratch those sexy muscle-tops. Not far away, in another part of the multi-storey parking lot, a middle-aged bloke with the look of a college professor caught sight of me as he fumbled with his car keys, and almost tripped over his tongue. I smiled back at him with a cocky smirk, bounced my pecs inside my membranous pullover, and tried to flex and muscle-strut my way past him at the same time. This was the effect I would have on the general population from now on. I would get used to it, yes, but I would never get tired of it.


It was the same wherever I went. Had I been wearing an overcoat (had I owned one that fitted me), I might have blended in a little better. But not many guys were going without coats or jackets today, despite the sunshine. There was still a minor chill in the air, but to my surprise I hardly felt it. I bought some groceries and then playfully killed a little time browsing the various clothes shops, each time causing eyes from shoppers and clerks alike to almost pop out on stalks. I always made sure to look as bulked-up as possible, due to careful flexing, whenever eyes were upon me. I knew that there would be nothing in these shops that would come even remotely close to fitting over my vast musculature without me turning the garments to confetti, but it was fun and exciting when the clerks struggled to find my size, but then had to carefully and as politely as possible let me down as gently as possible, just in case I reacted badly and tore up the place. In response to their failures as clothing establishments, I’d say things like:

“Well I kinda figured this would happen. I mean look at me. What do you expect would happen?”, or better still: “Damn, shame you don’t have anything off the rack in my size. Guess I’m really gonna have problems when I get really huge.”

Of course, I’d emphasise the two “really”s by bouncing my pecs against each syllable. I made sure to drag out the sound of each word in order to maximise each bounce of my muscle-tits. Because I was really excited showing off like this, my cock was coiled somewhat stiffly inside my shorts, but I just about managed to keep them from tenting out too much, enough to be considered obscene, which might attract the attention of the Garda?. But I was lucky today. There were police in town, but mostly women officers, and I barely got more than a widening stare from them as I passed them by.

My nipples were a different story altogether. They’d grown considerably along with my muscles, and the buds were now bulbs of beautiful mass surrounded by areolas three times the size they were originally. With the brown stretch-material of my pullover looking like the faintest gauze across my bulging torso, my nipples and areolas looked dark, and made to look like they protruded more because of this effect. “I so have to get these fuckers pierced,” I resolved, and got really enamoured by the idea of strutting into a tattoo parlour to get some tats, and some metal put through a pair of the hottest man-nips in all of creation. I also decided there and then to get a haircut.

I could’ve gone to a common-or-garden barber shop, but I eventually found an upmarket salon on my iPhone and followed the GPS to its location. I wasn’t thinking about my dwindling budget at this time. I wanted to look more and more beautiful than I’d already become. I had a new body, so I wanted a new hairstyle to go along with it. Once again I made people trip over their disbelieving tongues as I ventured into the salon. Within an hour I’d lost my David Duchovny look, my hair now re-styled and dyed a platinum blonde. Combined with my designer stubble I looked really sensational. I could easily pass for a guy in his late-twenties and not his mid-thirties. When I left the salon I could easily tell that the guy who’d cut my hair was sorry to see me go. Throughout the session, I could tell he was taking his time, in order to lengthen the experience with me. And the amount of times he “accidentally” rubbed up against my titanic muscles was a joy in itself. I even allowed him to fake losing his balance so that the only thing to reach out to grab onto was my mammoth pec-cleavage.

The hair cost me one hundred and seventy Euros, plus I’d added a twenty Euro tip for my stylist onto the bill, which I paid for with my VISA. I also told him about my YouTube channel, and before leaving the salon I whispered into his ear: “You’ll be coming for days at a time when you see my videos.” Then I winked at him, returned my glasses to my face, and promptly pec-bounced out of the salon. I’d be leaving for Chris Saul’s place within an hour, which gave me time to visit my favourite restaurant. Being a huge bodybuilder was costly on calories. My simply strutting around the streets – going from shop to shop, and wearing the tightest of clothing – really worked up an appetite.

I wanted Paella, and so Little Caesar’s was my last port-of-call before the drive out to the country. And guess what? My waiter was none other than the human wine-stopper himself, Bruno, with the big upper body and average arse and legs, although his body looked a little fuller just about everywhere in the months since we'd last interacted like this. Over the course of him serving me we got to talking. Of course, he was so determined to find out all he could about my incredible bodybuilding regimen, and how I’d managed to grow so huge. I gave him my number and he wrote it down along with the address of my apartment. Ray wouldn’t mind a full-on orgy with this guy lusting over my muscles as the three of us got it on, would he?

I had so many amazing plans for this new body of mine. My muscle-bod’s potential was now limitless.


To Be Continued... Click HERE

[umlerian49]

Oh, my god, that was HOT!

I want to see Stephen get bigger, but you have me worried about the "storm" coming his way.

[philat99]

You've outdone yourself! Great chapter! Great twists and turns! Great descriptions!

[The Pecman]

Great writing! Can't wait to see where you go with this.