Claymation

[MarcN]

This is my first story here. It's not my usual fantasy, but I was inspired by a RP with member Stoker to think of this. In his honor I'm giving one of the characters his name.

I'm dividing this into quite short chapters. The first few are ready, and I'll be posting them regularly as I continue to work on the rest of the story.

I know that I lack descriptive text, but I hope that the theme and the plot will make it worth your while to read.


CLAYMATION, chapter 1

I had met Stoker when he worked as a model for the life sculpting class I taught at the local art school. My day job was as an industrial designer, but I loved fine arts and teaching sculpting was a good way to keep my hand in.

Many of the models had nice physiques. I was of course more ?interested? in the male models, who were often athletic young students from the nearby university. Stoker was particularly well built, a 6ft 220lb football player, smooth with medium long blond hair and green eyes. When he disrobed I had difficulty concentrating on giving him his instructions for posing for the class. He was not a huge competition bodybuilder, but his overall development was pleasingly symmetrical.

Over the rest of the year I was only able to use him one more time, because the rule was to vary the models for the benefit of the students. I was very keen to see him more, and managed to hire him for private sessions at my personal studio over the summer. I made many studies of him in clay and even finished a piece in stone. He enjoyed seeing my work progress, and I enjoyed ? was ecstatic in fact ? to have this beautiful young piece of living sculpture nude in front of me.

And it went beyond his physical beauty. He was a charming young man full of projects and ambition, and over the summer we had many stimulating conversations as he modeled for me.

[vga518]

Very nice and well written first story. Very interesting and different concept, I look forward to the next chapters.

[MarcN]

As often happens, artist and model began a romantic relationship. He took the first step one evening when I took out my wallet to pay him.

Stoker: ?You know, Mr Peters, I'd do this for free.?
Me: ?Don't be silly Stoker: this is your job. It's normal for models to be paid.?
Stoker: ?I love coming here. Seeing you. Knowing you're looking at me. No one looks at me that way, so intensely.?
I blushed.
Me: ?Well, I need to look at you in order to sculpt you.?
Stoker: ?Is that all??
Me: ?Well... you are very attractive.?
Stoker: ?I'm glad you think so, because I find you very attractive, too.?
I began to tremble. This beautiful young man was coming on to me. I was good looking enough, and the gray at my temples gave me a look of mature wisdom, I guess, but the chances of him being into guys, and into someone older and not really in his league were so small that I had never imagined him having any interest. And yet...

The robe he had put on dropped from his broad shoulders. He took my wrists and placed my hands on his smooth broad chest. I began to caress them, to knead the thick firm muscle. He moaned...

[brutus]

I'm starting to really like this story & I'm excited to see where it goes. I also like the short chapters: they are easily readable.

[MarcN]

Flash forward one year.

Stoker is living with me. He's finished his bachelor's degree and at my suggestion has taken a gap year to focus on his lifting. He's put on 20 pounds and has entered two bodybuilding contests.

He is more beautiful than ever, and I am in heaven, living and loving a god who every day gets more beautiful. When he wins his second competition I'm ecstatic: I am invited on stage to present him with the trophy, a sculpture commissioned by the contest promoter, cast in bronze. The model of course was Stoker himself, and represented an idealized version of him. The sculptor, the model, and the sculpture, all on stage in front of hundreds of appreciative fans... when I got Stoker home that night and he had had his pizza and ice cream, we had a night of passion to beat all others.

[MarcN]

Note: This is the last "chapter" of the set up... the fun starts soon.



Fast forward two years. Stoker and I are still together, and very happy. He loves lifting and competing, but he's an ambitious young man, and after his gap year, has found a job at a financial services company. He fills out his suit quite well, and spends a lot of time in it, working the long hours it takes to move up the ranks in the firm.

He continues to train, but less often, less long, less intensely. His work schedule interferes with training and diet. And although he still talks about competing again, it just never seems to happen.

I love him of course, but miss the days when I could see him growing, getting even more beautiful each day. I think I could have stood it if he stayed the same, but instead, each day he loses a little bit of muscle, gains a bit of fat. My beautiful model was slowly but inexhorably disappearing. I tried to convince him to train more. I prepared healthier meals. But he was devoted to his career, and however much he said he wanted to improve his physique, it just wasn't the priority.

[MarcN]

I had resigned myself to this state of affairs. I couldn't say I was unhappy as such. I did love him, and even a fatter less muscular Stoker was still well above average, and above what I could have hoped to have as a lover.

But then I met Mireille.

Mireille was a student in my art class. She was a tall slim black woman with striking white hair, whose age I would be unable to begin to guess. She spoke with an exotic accent and her bright black eyes seemed to swallow up everything she looked at. She was talented as a sculptor, so I was surprised that she said no to my invitation that she be part of the spring show of student art.

She told me that she was not studying to be an artist. When I asked why, she explained quite matter of factly that she was a witch, a Haitian witch. I laughed of course. She insisted it was true. She practiced voodoo, and she was studying with me to improve her skills in making voodoo dolls.

Me: “I thought that voodoo dolls were just symbols, abstract impressions of a body.”
Mireille: “Yes, that is true. But I practice a special voodoo. Let's say it's a sort of voodoo plastic surgery.”
She laughed, and pointed to the small sculpture of a man she was working on. She took a small ball of clay and rolled it between her fingers into a cylinder, which she placed on the figurine's crotch.
Mireille: “My clients are ladies who are unhappy with the endowments of their husbands.”
She laugh again, with her laugh, something between bells ringing and the cackle of a crow.

I smiled. Of course this was nonsense, but it wasn't for me to discourage a paying student. And I thought nothing more about the conversation. But I did start to dream of it Strange dreams, that came more and more often. They were hazy and unclear, more disturbing than frightening. And I figured the only way to stop dreaming about Mireille and her dolls was to actually try it and prove to my subconscious that this was nonsense.

[brutus]

It's getting so good. Don't stop NOW!!!

[vga518]

Originally Posted by brutus

It's getting so good. Don't stop NOW!!!

I must whole heartedly agree!

[MarcN]

I found Mireille's phone number in the student records, and she told me to come to her “office”, a small storefront in a strip mall. According to the signs in the window, she was a medium, witch, astrologer and faith healer. One stop shopping, I guess. She had told me what to bring.

As it happened, I had managed to get Stoker to model for me over the last few weeks. I had hoped that seeing the difference between the latest sculpture and previous ones would motivate him to return to serious training, but had little hope. In any case, it was an opportunity to admire my lovers naked body, still a very beautiful one. The work was almost complete, a 2-foot tall clay sculpture of him standing, perfectly suited to what Mireille had said was needed.

After helping me carry the piece from the van, she joined me in removing the side panels.

She admired the work.
Mireille: “This is one fine young man. And I don't think he needs my special plastic surgery.” She smirked as she fondled the figure's substantial (and realistic) cock.
Me: “No, there are no problems there. I, um, also brought the other thing.”
She had told me that for this powerful voodoo the typical lock of hair or a nail clipping was not enough. She needed a bodily fluid. And so I removed a condom still filled with his cum from the previous evening. Mireille told me to return in one week, after she had done her “work”.

I tried not to think about it. I had even decided to let the whole matter drop, but I did want to get the sculpture back. It was a nice piece of work. And so I returned. Mireille explained that I could “play” with the figure as I liked, but that the magic would work only on the day before and the day after the full moon.

I paid the not-insignificant sum she charged, thanked her for her trouble, and left with the sculpture, ruing the money I had wasted on this silliness.

[MarcN]

The full moon was the next day. I took the sculpture back to my studio and covered it with a cloth. I would add the final touches as soon as I had some free time.

I busied myself with some other work for my day job (just how many iPhone cases does the world really need?) but however much I tried to concentrate, I kept seeing the shrouded statue from the corner of my eye. Well, I might as well finish it now and get it out of the way.

I uncovered it and my hands began to work some fresh clay. I touched the sculpture, feeling the muscles, comparing the sensation with the touch of my lover's body, his own muscles. I of course was used to the comparison, but it felt a bit strange today. It was hard for me to know what I was touching... warm flesh or cold clay.

Without thinking, I took a bit of clay and added it to his chest. They were the first of his muscles I had felt, and I missed seeing them grow. I added just enough to bring his pecs close to the largest they had ever been in the past. They did look good. I bent forward and kissed the figurine's chest in a daze, my cock raging, my head spinning.

I shook my head. This was crazy. Enough! I covered the piece, removed my smock, washed my hands and left for my office.

[MarcN]

Note: I misnumbered my chapters and had two 8s, and of course posted the second one. Thanks for GTLifter for noting that something (important) was missing!

Here is the correct chapter 8.


That night, Stoker barely slept. He was thrashing in bed, awoken each time he fell asleep by a bad dream. He had a bit of a fever, but insisted on going to work.

He came home late that evening. He said he had gone to the gym, something he usually now did only on the weekend.

I asked what he had worked. He told me he had trained his chest, and had got a great pump. As usual, he had taken work home, and when he opened his brief case, empty protein bar wrappers fell out. He explained he had been hungry all day, so had bought some bars from the drugstore on the corner.

After dinner he went upstairs for his shower. When I followed him to get ready for bed, he was still there. He called me in.
Stoker: “Man, look at these. Never had a pump like this, not one that lasted so long.”
He was fondling his pecs, which did seem bigger, heavier. I was drawn to them. I removed my robe and stepped into the shower to worship his engorged slabs. He moaned...

Over the next few days he continued to work his pecs every day, much more intensely than he had been training for the last year. He had a healthy appetite, and his pecs continued to grow. I was a connoisseur of his body, and I could tell that over a week he had grown to look exactly like the sculpture.

Damn. Three weeks to wait for the next full moon.

[cutlerfan]

I just started reading this story and I like it! I had an idea like this a few years ago but never put it down on paper. Thanks for your postings...I am looking forward to much more growth!

[GTlifter]

I feel like you skipped some or the flow was lost, I don't want to be negative it is really good man

[MarcN]

Originally Posted by GTlifter

I feel like you skipped some or the flow was lost, I don't want to be negative it is really good man

You're right! Thanks for noting this. I had two chapter 8s.

I've edited the original post.

[MarcN]

Note: this was posted in error earlier as chapter 8. See the correct chapter 8 above. Here is the original post, corrected to chapter 9.


I could barely wait. Why was the moon so slow!?

Although I loved his bigger pecs, the mission this month ? if it worked ? would be to restore his symmetry. The day before the full moon I went to work, adding the muscle... well, the clay, that would, perhaps, transform him in a matter of hours. By the time I had finished, he looked just about like he had when he stopped serious competition training. The amount of clay I had added the first time to his chest was about the size of my index finger. This time I had added several times that amount to every body part except his chest.

That night he again had troubled sleep, waking several times covered in sweat. He said he must have caught a bug. I felt for him: I loved Stoker and hated to see him suffer, but it was just one night, in exchange for... well, I'd have to wait to see.

[GTlifter]

Originally Posted by MarcN

You're right! Thanks for noting this. I had two chapter 8s.

I've edited the original post.

Oh no problem, not a writer in the least but I know you guys are usually working on different pieces at a time and something can easily get mislabeled with MSWord

[racecar]

This is a fun read. Neat concept, good flow. Looking forward to the rest!

[MarcN]

Stoker had gotten into the habit of having just a coffee, yoghurt, and piece of fruit for breakfast, but was happy this morning with the three-egg omelet I had made for him. Before he closed his briefcase I chucked in some protein bars, telling him that I worried about him staying at his desk for lunch. He smiled and said he thought he would make sure he had a real meal today, but he thanked me for thinking about him as he kissed me goodbye.

Our offices aren't far from each other and very rarely he would have time for us to have lunch together. I called him at about 11 to see if he was free. Mostly I was boiling with curiosity. His appetite indicated the voodoo was working again. But what else was happening?

No answer, but a few minutes later he called back. He wasn't at work in fact. He had, for the first time ever, taken the morning off. It turns out he had a real urge for a good workout. He said I should meet him at his gym at my lunch break.

[MarcN]

I left work as early as I dared and headed to Stoker's gym, where I found him in the middle of a series of squats. He was sweating, his white tshirt made translucent by the moisture, and stretched by his pumped shoulders and pecs. It had been months since Stoker had visible veins, but there they were criss crossing his swollen thighs.

He greeted me with an enthusiastic hug cut short by his realization that he was drenched in sweat. We went to the bar for him to have a protein shake... or four. He could not stop talking about the amazing workout he was having, the great pump, how energized he felt, and how hungry he was. And, as he leaned over and whispered, how horny he felt.

He told me to call my work to say I wouldn't be coming back. His workout was over for now, and all he wanted to do was fuck. Which we went home and did, several times, with me worshiping his engorged muscles, which put him in a frenzy of lust.

[MarcN]

Stoker returned to work the next day, only to leave at lunch for a workout. He was eating like a pig. A very health-minded pig. His business suits became tight, and he was finding it hard to focus on work. All he could think about was lifting, eating, and letting me enjoy his gains.

Just as the first time, the effect gradually wore off. By the end of the week he had returned to his regular working hours. He was still eating better, training more regularly. And he clearly enjoyed the gains he had made, and sharing them.

He even began training for a competition to be held in two months. There wasn't much time to train and diet, but the growth I had given him had reignited his interest in getting back on stage. I would have to make sure he came home a winner.

[MarcN]

Knowing how effective the voodoo was, I had a hard time restraining myself the following new moon. I didn't dare tell Stoker what I was doing. I had no idea how he would react. It didn't really seem like cheating: he was working out hard, eating right. The gains were his. Well, mostly his. But it's probably not good in a relationship when one party makes his partner get huge.

But he did seem really happy with his renewed interest in training. He used to love competing. Just a little more would help ensure a win at the competition and motivate him to continue without the voodoo.

So if last month's treatment had brought Stoker back to 100%, it would be good if I could just add a little bit. Let's say 105% for the winning edge.

As I modeled the clay, I kept taking out my scalpel to remove the excess. It didn't feel like excess in my fingers, it felt like heaven, but I managed to keep to my goal of 105%. Or 106%. Maybe 107% for the glutes. I loved Stoker's big muscle ass.

[MarcN]

The night was hard on Stoker. When he woke up, the need to train, and to eat, was even stronger. He wouldn't bother to pretend he was going to go to work this time and called in sick right away.

As he shoveled down the steak and eggs I had waiting for him he finally realized that there was a pattern here.

Stoker: ?It's like every month I have this great surge of energy to train.?
He looked at the weather report in the daily paper.
Stoker: ?And it's the full moon. Maybe I'm a werewolf or something.?
He laughed and did a pose like a hulking werewolf. As he did, his too-tight tshirt split open at the back.
Stoker: ?Oh fuck. Cooool.?

[MarcN]

Story is finished. I have been posting the mini chapters slowly because I didn't want to leave a huge gap while I wrote.

I'll be posting a bit more often, so all should be up by the end of the week.

[MarcN]

The workouts that day and the next few days were particularly intense, as was the growth. Stoker was bigger than he had ever been, and his growth was a turnon for him and for me. He would leave work early for a workout and come home to work on his posing with me. And each day he grew a little bit more, approaching my 105%.

At work he was getting a lot of stick. He was no longer putting in the long hours, and every month he had been calling in sick several days at a time. The straw that broke the camel's back however took place five days after the latest treatment.

He had been having more and more trouble fitting into his business suits. The fabric stretched and pulled, the dress shirts pulled across his chest, gaping behind his tie. On the day in question he was giving a presentation and as he bent over to pick up the laser pointer he heard the sound of the seam of his trousers finally giving way to the pressure of his enlarged glutes.

The CEO was present and was not amused. Along with his absenteism, this embarrassment was enough to make Stoker's boss fire him on the spot.

He called me on the way home. I arrived first, and saw him enter the place carrying his box of personal items enraged, slamming the door. I went to hug him.

Stoker: ?Who needs those assholes? I've got a show coming up anyway. Now I can focus on training for that. And I'm fucking sick of these suits.?

He began flexing in his too-tight work clothes. The shirt buttons popped. The shoulder seams of the jacket tore. The rear seam of the trousers opened even wider, while the side seams gave way under the pressure of his huge quads. He lifted me onto the kitchen counter and fucked me right there in his tattered suit.

As he rammed me with his powerful hips, all I could think was: ?What have I done? What have I done! Oh my god I love this boy so much.? And all I could say was: ?Fuck me! Fuck me harder!?

[MarcN]

Stoker began serious training, saying that he could look for a new job after the competition. Whether it was the remains of the voodoo or a new dedication, he continued to gain, while cutting to contest shape in record time.

When he won I thought I would explode. At his earlier competitions I had been very proud to be the partner of the magnificent athlete who stepped to top of the podium. Today, it was nearly unbearable, for not only was I his partner, I had made those ripped huge muscles that had destroyed the competition.

I looked forward to the victory celebration back home.

[MarcN]

Stoker never bothered to look for another job. He kept lifting, kept growing, and each month received a little boost.

In addition to adding a bit of clay to the statue, I began stretching it a bit. The first try freaked me out: after adding just a tiny fraction of height, Stoker awoke with agonizing pain in his bones. I told him it was probably a late growth spurt, provoked by his more intense training. I kept repeating the stretching nonetheless, because it would be easier to keep putting on more muscle on a bigger frame. The pain didn't last long, rarely more than a day.

[MarcN]

Over the year he had packed on 60 pounds of muscle and gained 3 inches in height. He changed federations, because he had been competing in a drug-free outfit, but had been asked to leave by the organization's chairman, who told him that even though Stoker was clean on every test, his gains made everyone doubt.

Stoker didn't mind. He was more than ready to face the big boys.

The state championship later that year took place in our town. Stoker won, of course. As his name was called, I started jumping up and down in excitement. I felt someone tap me on the shoulder.

It was Mireille.

Mireille: You done good work there!
I gulped.
Me: Well, yes. Thanks. I mean that*: it's thanks to you. I'm really grateful.
Mireille: From the look of his trunks, I'd say you've been working on him everywhere...
I blushed.
Me: Well, I wanted to keep things in proportion.
Mireille: We really should talk one of these days...

[MarcN]

Our business arrangement has worked out well. Stoker has a half dozen clients he trains. I suggested that he choose only promising young bodybuilders. It was easy enough to find sponsors for them to pay Stoker's fee, which was quite hefty. But his own physiqu was a living breathing ad for his services.

I quit my job and managed Stoker's affairs. We converted the house into a training center, converting the carriage house into a gym, with rooms for trainees above.

As part of the deal, along with before and after photos, I do before and after sculptures. Mireille does her stuff on them, of course. She doesn't even charge more, although she does work in a bonus. We send the boys to her for her 'healing massage' therapy. And if they find themselves feeling a burning hunger to sleep with her, who knows how that happens*?

[MarcN]

I know it would have been good to have some photos illustrating my story here. In fact, there are plenty available. As you've probably figured, Stoker is a nickname. You know his real name, at least if you follow the Mr Olympia contest. He's won a few times now. He had to stop when the judges kept calling him out on his glutes. Totally out of proportion, they said.

I don't know about that. They look (and feel) pretty good to me. So Stoker's retired now. But he keeps training young guys. You've probably seen some of them in the mags. One of them is just a few full moons away from entering Olympia...

THE END

[muscl4life]

Congratulations!

It was a very nice tale told in a different fashion, with shorter chapters frequently updated. I must say that I've enjoyed this realistic approach quite much, with just a bit of supernatural enhancement to build up the interest.

Whatever you decide to write now, whenever you feel like sharing will be most welcome, this forum needs more diversity because all kinds of sub-genres of the male muscle growth universe are appreciated.

Keep up the great work