The Roommate, Part VIII

[Xyggurat]

Since starting posting--a whole, what, two days ago?--I've found that I like to preface these things. Somehow, I doubt that people really want to read my random comments, but that's cool with me. I mean, you have to at least scroll past this part to see what I've written, right?

This next chapter of the roommate is something of an interlude. No growth is present among any of the parties, but we do get to turn the focus back onto Phil and Dane, who still remain the main characters.

This isn't the end of Jason. I want to reemphasize that this story isn't going to abruptly end with Phil snuffing Dane, or anyone growing to 700 feet tall and assaulting Tokyo with radioactive breath. The next few chapters might extend a bit more heavily into some stuff that I need to establish. I don't know exactly where I'm going at this point, but there will definitely be more growth, more plot, and more of what people want to see.

I really appreciate the comments that have been coming into my in-box. They're--as a whole--constructive, I'll almost definitely reply to each and every one, and they'll continue to help me tailor the future chapters to what others want as well as that which I am already planning to produce.

One person asked, so I might as well address it here. The first six chapters are under the thread "The Roommate, Preface." The seventh is under (gasp) "The Roommate, Part VII."

The eighth is here.

So, without further ado...

X

[Xyggurat]

After Jason was done, I cleaned myself off, feeling pretty drenched and miserable by the torrent of his post-growth leavings. To my relief, the stuff had not had any adverse effects on me, other than making me feel utterly humiliated by the experience. Jason was larger than I had been at my peak, built like a fitness model and hung like a horse. I watched him with deep envy as he replaced his clothes with my own, each bounce of tendon, muscle, and bone another nail in the coffin of my hopes. I felt violated, as if more of me had been stripped away, but I was thankfully unchanged in my physique and height.

I knew I was still not short: 5'9 was well within the realms of average. I was aware that I was not 6'1 any more, not even 5'11 any more. It was still a strange and disquieting experience to see a man standing five inches taller than me. To the ghost of my old sense of self, Jason was a 6'6 muscle freak. I kept worrying, as he zipped up my jeans and threw on one of my sweaters, that he was going to hurt me, or take more from me and make my perceptions of him as a giant into an absolute reality.

He didn't, apparently thinking that he had gained enough muscle in one day. My clothes fit him like a glove. The sweater was unable to conceal his upper body's muscular development. The cashmere's thickness only blunted, but did not shroud, the mass and rounding of his biceps. His pecs were distinctly separated and visible, and his abs were almost deep enough to show their stark outlines pressing against the too-tight fabric. If the sweater was revealing, the jeans looked like a second skin. They were sized to be worn long, which meant that they were a perfect length for his extended legs. The growth really manifested itself in his thighs, which strained the denim precariously, and his crotch. Even completely soft, Jason's bulge was very pronounced. I estimated him to be about six inches soft, with balls close in size to small oranges. That was a lot of meat in the little space provided by his too-tight boxers and denim trousers. Hard, he was about nine and a half inches. The stalk of his dick pushed down away from his groin, almost as thick as my shrunken wrist and barely fettered by the cloth in which it was encased.

"How do I look?" asked Jason, smirking at Phil.

"Like a total jock," my roommate replied, leaning back in his computer chair, still unclothed except for my silk boxers. "I guess people are going to notice. Tell them that you hit a late growth spurt, you've been working out, act incredulous or something. If they still don't believe you, tell me about it and I'll take care of them."

Jason nodded his acquiescence, as if he really had a choice in the matter. "What should we do now?" he asked of Phil.

Phil shrugged his shoulders, making a series of striations leap out over his deltoids. "It was a good show, but I'm a bit bored." He waved his hand dismissively. "You're going to go away and do something. Get laid, maybe. Have some confidence in yourself and no one will resist the new you. I want some alone time with my roommate."

Jason complied, not even bothering to say goodbye. I was struck by the massiveness of his form silhouetted against the doorway. I knew it was mostly my perception, but his back looked so much like I used to that I almost thought I was seeing my old self. The envy in me flared higher, but was struck down by Phil's next spoken order: "Relax."

I heard the door shut, but suddenly I was calm, cool and focused only on Phil. He looked at me, pale eyes sparkling. I could tell he was plotting what next to do with me. We sat there, both bared to the waist, staring at each other for a long moment. Then, his lips curled into a smug, mocking sneer.

"You know, I used to think you were the hottest thing I'd ever seen," he told me. "But look at you now. Where's your will, your strength? Was it all just in your arms? You can't fight me even now, while you're stronger than me. What's going to happen a few weeks from now, when I?m as big as you?"

I didn't answer. I didn't have an answer to that. His questions sparked a hundred of my own, the most important being: "What am I becoming?" With this new discovery of Phil's, he could turn me into a battery for any number of his friends. I would have to sit through that, time after time, and all the while Phil would keep getting bigger and taller, surpassing me in every way. There was nothing I could do. Helplessness and frustration welled up, but were banished by Phil's voice.

"I want to see you fight me," said Phil. He pointed to the table in the center of our dorm room, walked over and pulled out a chair. "We're going to armwrestle, and I'm going to see if I can beat the big, muscled jock."

Unthinkingly, I sat down in the opposite chair, and Phil took his own place. We placed our elbows on the hard plane of the table and locked grips. I probably shouldn't have been surprised by the steely strength of Phil's grip. His biceps exploded out of his arm, and mine followed suit a moment later. It began.

Tendons threatened to burst forth from the twinned columns of skin, his pale golden, mine darkly tanned. The snaking veins that exploded from our struggling arms were like arcs of electricity, charging our struggle with their muted blue-grey pulses. My biceps and Phil's, mirroring each other, bulged from our arms alarmingly, sending their central veins popping out of the skin's surface. Our forearms were locked into their combat, muscle leaping and flexing as strength fought against strength.

Pain was burning down the length of my entire arm, and the contest showed no signs of stopping. Phil's face was a mask of crimson pain, a vein in his forehead throbbing with the fury of a pounding drum. He let out a sudden gasp, a groan, and I felt our arms shift. Only at that moment did I look away from his the roiling madness in his eyes.

I was winning. I felt him pushing against my arm with all of his strength, but the point where we were on equal footing had passed. Slowly at first, and with growing speed, I forced his arm down to the table. I was mindful of the fact that this would have been no contest a few weeks ago, but it was a victory nonetheless. The sound as his flesh hit the tabletop was a silver trumpet's fanfare to me.

Then I saw the look in his eyes as he stood up, stroking himself to hardness with his other hand. Smoldering hatred, commingled with malevolent glee, and quiet motes of pleasure. His breathing was already fast-paced and short from our contest, but now he was gasping for breath to feed his lungs through the clenching and shuddering of his autoerotic ecstasy. My heart seized up, and I began to back away, knowing what was to come. I tripped and fell over one of my 30 pound weights, landing hard on my backside. I couldn't take my eyes off of my roommate.

He stood there, shadowed and ominous by the waning daylight filtering in through our shuttered windows. Suddenly, Phil stopped stroking. I tensed in expectation.

A wild laugh bubbled up on my roommate's lips, and he thrust his cock back into his boxers. Shaking his head, he reaffirmed his earlier decision: "I like you at this size for now. Besides, it's just a matter of time before I make you regret what you just did." He shrugged, and a broad and benevolent smile blossomed on his face.

"Enjoy it while it lasts," he said, the glacial tone cutting at my heart.

With that, he turned and marched off into the bathroom, leaving me to await the inevitable.

[sixpacked]

You are doing an awesome job...great story!
Excellent detailed description...
Please keep up the good work.

[hecad84]

This is one of the hottest multi-part stories I've read in a long time! I have no comments to make concerning ways to make your writting better, I just know that I am LOVING reading this fantastic tale!! Personally, muscle theft has never been my thing. I'd much rather see everyone growing rather than someone losing his muscle, but what can I say, I love this story! The way that you have set Dane up to give muscle growth to everyone else is so full of possibilities. I eagerly look forward to all future chapters!