Caveman - Part 4

[tekuno]

I'm sorry to say that, once again, I'm going to be away from the Internet for a while. (This only seems to happen when I have a long story going... sorry!) This time, however, I won't necessarily be away from the computer, so I may be able to write while I'm away. Then again, maybe not. In either case: if there's no new part by Saturday afternoon, there won't be anything until at least Tuesday, maybe later. Sorry, that's just the way it goes, sometimes.

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Caveman
Part Four

This story has been completed. Content warnings and general description are included with part one, general commentary will be after part twenty.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen | Part Fifteen | Part Sixteen | Part Seventeen | Part Eighteen | Part Nineteen | Part Twenty

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"Height alone is not a very good predictor of weight."
"There's the effect of gender and genetics..."
"Don't forget the burrito factor!"

-- Larry Gonick & Woollcott Smith, The Cartoon Guide to Statistics

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I headed back to the kitchen and started munching away dutifully at another cylinder. Fortunately, apparently my jaws were getting enhanced along with the rest of me. I had to eat another seven cylinders -- between trips to the bathroom -- before I was satiated again. By this time, I was sufficiently resigned to the whole process that I managed to finish all of them in an hour and a half.

That seemed to satisfy my metabolism for a while. But this time I was thoroughly tired out. I went and lay back down on my bed, too tired even to look in the mirror, and almost immediately fell asleep.

When I woke up, it was nearly 8 at night. Mercifully, I wasn't hungry yet, although I spent a long time in the bathroom.

I went and looked in the mirror again; once again I was noticeably larger. My abs had, as predicted, become thicker and more defined. My pecs had passed from merely being defined to actually protruding from my torso. My arms were looking fantastic, too -- as good, as far as I could tell from memory, as any pair I had seen at school, and my shoulders had broadened even further than the degree which my general stockiness had produced. Best of all, I was taller again, although the difference was smaller this time than over the course of the morning. Well, that made sense -- just to keep my muscles looking the same proportional to my height while my height grew would have taken an increasing amount of mass, so if I was getting visibly more muscular then the majority of the food I was taking in must be going to my muscles. So if I was eating about the same amount each time, my height increases would get smaller each time unless I started eating even more.

Which, as I say, made sense, but was annoying. Although more muscle turned me on, what I really craved was height. It's human nature that, no matter how good things are, there's always something more to desire. In this case, I was at long last turning into not only an adult, physically, but an amazingly hot adult, so naturally I moved on to wishing I was taller as well. After all, Gary was both incredibly muscular and unusually tall, so I knew the combination could be pulled off.

Thinking about Gary got me hot and bothered again. I found myself having erotic daydreams, which gradually drifted into another wank session. This one was even better than the previous one -- this was shaping up to be a record-setting day, although I was hoping that the records would continue to break the next day.

No sooner did I finish when -- surprise, surprise -- the hunger started again. I went down to the kitchen and started choking down the cylinders as quickly as I could manage. I beat my previous record, managing a whole eleven of them. I even managed to eat all that in about 70 minutes.

After eating it all, I had an urge to exert myself. I decided to go use the fitness equipment Dad had installed years ago. It would have been covered with a thick layer of dust if there hadn't been a housekeeper -- Mom was not interested in exercise, Dad was hardly ever around (and didn't really go in for exercise either), and I had concluded long ago that my body wasn't going to change without some hormones. As it was, the equipment had a few signs of age -- rust spots wherever the paint had not been applied thickly enough to cover permanently, a little stiffness in the machine joints, and so on -- but it was all perfectly serviceable.

Basically, the whole thing was a waste of my time. Dad had purchased two large complementary multi-exercise machines, and a bunch of fixed-weight dumbbells. There wasn't a single exercise on the machines in which I couldn't use the full set of available plates without any effort, and as for the dumbbells, the largest of them was only 40 pounds. Just as an experiment, I put one of the 40-pound weights on my upper arm, and as I suspected I was able to "lift" it with the peak of my biceps as I flexed and relaxed my arm, no problem.

Then I had an inspiration; I went and found a mirror and brought it in, setting it so that it faced the machines. I took care not to look at myself before I had it in place.

I practically came at the first glance. I was huge. I couldn't be sure of my height from the reflection, although I was sure from the change in my point of view that I was taller again. But what had definitely changed was my bulk. I looked like I was as big as any two members of the school football team put together. My lat spread was hugely broad and deep, and my pecs stood out in front. I would have taken measurements, but I was fairly certain that there were no measuring tapes anywhere in the house. (At least, I couldn't picture either of my parents owning one.)

My arms were practically works of art in their own right, massive and thick and sexy. I caressed myself, watching the stud in the mirror do the same.

It suddenly dawned on me that my jeans were getting pretty tight. Watching carefully in the mirror, I flexed my quads. They didn't quite manage to burst the pants entirely, but they managed to form a long tear on one side and to break a seam on the other. I grinned and ripped them the rest of the way, and threw them into a corner.

Standing there in my underpants, I looked even sexier. The crotch was stretched way out of shape -- the amount of meat inside was larger than I could possibly have hoped, a day or two earlier, pulling out and down. I reached down and rubbed it softly, just once, and the incredible waves of pleasure were so strong that I came, hard.

I was almost disappointed; I had been hoping for a long, titillating session of flexing into the mirror, and it was already over -- or so I thought, until I looked in the mirror again. I could feel the arousal coming back. While watching myself, I went through a few of the exercises. They were pathetically easy for me now, but the sight of my own muscles tensing and bunching and flowing into new, huge shapes, over and over, outranked even Gary for erotic stimulation. I tore off my underpants, mopped my crotch clean with the remains, and tossed them over on top of my pants.

I pumped myself up, flexed, rubbed my nipples, caressed my beautiful, striated thighs, licked my biceps, and did all the rest of the erotic motions I could think of before coming a second time, all over the mirror.

I fell into a crouch on the floor, which was oddly comfortable, and relaxed. Just as my erection finally began to go down, my stomach rumbled yet again -- and it dawned on me that perhaps jacking off actually caused my body to release hormones, which in turn made me start growing, so I got hungry.

I considered this idea as I went to the kitchen. I didn't really know much about biology, beyond the rather feeble stuff we were taught at school, which avoided going into much detail. And who knows what was in Gary's shot, or the cylinders of stuff I was eating? (Other than Gary, of course.) But as far as the actual sequence of events went, it made sense.

I decided not to jack off this time. In fact, I wouldn't even look in the mirror, I would just go to the bathroom and then go to bed and sleep for a while. It was extremely tough to keep my resolve -- I could tell that I was getting taller as I ate, and I kept catching glimpses of my now-naked body which suggested that I was becoming even more perfect than I already had been. I finished my meal -- twelve cylinders this time! -- with an erection which tempted me unspeakably to jerk off right at the table.

But then I realized something which pushed all erotic thoughts right out of my head: there were only seven more cylinders in the bag. Gary had said there should be enough there for a week. There was something terribly wrong.

Next Part

[brutus]

Very hot: I love when things go terribly wrong!

[Rarity]

Shit's gonna get reeeeaaaal!

[dymondbolt]

Another great story, Man.
I just got back online and had to catch up.
Keep Writing.

dymondbolt
aka
MD

[Tundy]

Anticipation!!

[Rarity]

Originally Posted by Tundy

Anticipation!!

Exclamation!

Had to.

[HugestFuckGod]

ahh Cliff hangers, love them and hate them. I like your writing style, my one constructive critizim is that there is not nearly enough discriptive details (the is definitly descriptive details but I think there could be more)

[tekuno]

Originally Posted by HugestFuckGod

ahh Cliff hangers, love them and hate them. I like your writing style, my one constructive critizim is that there is not nearly enough discriptive details (the is definitly descriptive details but I think there could be more)

It's because I've had insomnia, and I kind of forced this part out while tired enough to just want it to be over with. The next part may be a little better -- at least, I felt better while writing it.