A Lucid Account - Part 8 (The End)

[tekuno]

Content warnings and description appear at the beginning of part 1.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

Notice: I am considering doing my next multipart story (to be titled Some Assembly Required) in a format other than straight text. (I won't be starting it until all three of the current stories have finished.) For various reasons, I am a bit doubtful about the whole thing. So I put up a poll. If you haven't already done so, go read the thread, and then vote. (The poll will close approximately 20 hours from now, since this is the end of this story.)

And now, the ending. I hope you like it. (I've been waiting for this for ages now...)

-----

A Lucid Account
Part 8

As the cameras recorded, I sat down on the bench and flexed my pecs. I was wearing a pair of shorts and a t-shirt under my singlet, all of it clinging to my massive, hairy body.

This was my third time setting weight records. The first time, I had set the world record for the bench press, by lifting nearly 1400 pounds, beating the previous record by nearly 300. The second time, two months later, I deadlifted 400 pounds more than that, blowing the previous record completely out of the water. I basically single-handedly put an end to all competition for records for at least a generation -- nobody else was even close to duplicating my lifts, let alone exceeding them.

It wasn't really all that difficult. To tell the truth, those weren't actually my maximums. The bigger and stronger I became, the faster my rate of growth seemed to be. By the time the recordkeepers managed to get the weights together, with proper recordkeeping certifications, and arranged for documentation, and all the rest of it, my strength had increased again and the weight was trivial to lift.

This time, I had planned ahead. I had Mark plot the amount of weight I was lifting in our gym, and find a curve to fit the points. We waited a few weeks to see whether I lived up to it, and I did. (It practically drove my harem crazy with lust, the way my strength seemed to be endless, and growing at an ever-faster rate.) I had Mark predict my maximums in several different exercises, and we had set the date in advance. Strictly speaking, I had never actually lifted the amounts Mark had predicted, although I was on track to do so.

I had a surprise up my sleeve, though, which not even Mark knew about.

Mark and a pair of my harem were spotting me. My sexual partners were the only men in the world large enough to cope with weights on my level, even in this capacity; I strongly suspected that absorbing so much of my cum was forcing them to grow as well, although I suppose it could simply have been the lifestyle. But Mark was now just over seven feet tall, an increase of several inches, which suggested something deeper was at work.

Most of the rest of my harem were waiting in the wings, for the celebratory fucking afterwards. If I had vanished into thin air, any one of them would have been able to take the "world's strongest" title over competitors from the outside, although Mark would have beaten them all, being second-in-command. I almost didn't have time to fuck all 60 of them every day, although so far I was still keeping up with the schedule.

As he watched me get into place, Marc looked over at the special weights, counting. Suddenly he yelled "Hey!"

I put my hands on the bar.

"That's 3000 pounds!"

I took a deep breath.

"We only said 2500!"

I started to press.

"What are you doing?"

I pushed harder.

"What the hell is going on?"

I gulped in some more air, and pushed.

"This is... oh, holy fuck!"

I took the bar off the rack, and forced it up until my arms locked.

"You can't... this is..."

My arms shuddered as I lowered the bar to my chest.

"Oh, fuck."

I gulped down more air.

"Daaaaaamn."

With a roar, I pushed the bar up. My triceps and pecs stood out from my body. My elbows locked.

"Shut the fuck up! I can lift any fucking weight! I am the strongest fucking man in the world!"

Mark moaned; at the edge of my vision, I could see that his crotch was bulging outward, and a wet spot was spreading.

I grinned and held the weight up... and then I slowly lowered it, and raised it, and lowered it, and raised it. After about 20 reps, each one faster and easier than the last, I finally set the weight carefully on the rack, which groaned under the load.

Then I sat up and flexed. My chest burst out of the shirt; the material of the singlet barely managed to keep containing the enormous curves of my body.

My pecs had actually grown a couple of inches as I lifted, as had my triceps and delts. There was a collective moan from all the observers, and my grin got even wider.

Then I sauntered over to the deadlift setup; there, I once again beat Mark's projections by 500 pounds; now that I was upright, I could see that all the men, not just my harem, were hard and damp at the crotch. A few of the weaker ones actually passed out when my thighs and forearms bulged at the end, bursting my shorts. They missed out -- my traps didn't quite grow as much, and so the shoulder straps of my singlet didn't break until after they were unconscious.

Oh, well, they'd be able to watch the videos later.

Next I curled half a ton -- 250 pounds more than Mark expected -- and burst my way out of the sleeves of my shirt, which were still hanging on.

Then I did some squats with 3600, which beat Mark's prediction by 600 pounds. When I stood up after that one, the combination of my cock pulling one way and my glutes pushing out the other blew out what remained of my shorts and turned the remains of my singlet into a band around my waist, both top and bottom hanging torn. That managed to knock out even a few of my harem. Maybe they were scared -- my cock had grown, too, and every single damn one of them was going to take it later, whether they wanted to or not.

I did a short posing routing for the crowd, but even though they were cheering -- the silent awe had finally ended -- I didn't spend much time on it. My cock was throbbing and nobody with power like mine should have to wait for sexual release.

Soon I was waist-deep in naked musclemen, who I towered over and outclassed in every way. Some of the cameras might still have been running; I no longer cared. I was the biggest, strongest, manliest stud in the world and anyone who wanted to know might as well have proof. I fucked one after another; some of them passed out afterwards from sheer sensory overload. I was cuddling Mark, though, holding him above the turbulent motion below with both my bulging arms as we kissed. His cock remained constantly hard, even though he had now come six times (to my 20, I smirked mentally), and he moaned as I sucked and nuzzled and licked. His turn on my enormous fuck rod would come soon enough; in the meantime I wanted to reward him for his support.

My life was so perfect; I was the pinnacle of masculine perfection, and I couldn't get enough. I even seemed to be looking slightly younger recently -- tighter, fresher skin, brighter eyes, and of course my continually increasing energy. It felt like I could go on growing forever.

-----

I lingered outside the doctor's building. Did I really want to go through with this? My other self was, well, turning into a godlike being, basically. Each night over the weekend I had become even bigger, stronger, taller, harder... I was willing myself larger, growing into a masculine figure beyond belief. I was positively astonished at the twists my subconscious seemed to be taking. As I passed 100 inches in height, ever man in my harem began to get taller as well, becoming smaller versions of myself. Our sexual ecstasy grew greater and greater -- some of them seemed to be developing harems of smaller men for themselves. Life was a round of ever-greater strength and ever-more-intense sex. When I was awake it seemed like I was forgetting some of the intensity of the experience, like my mind couldn't even hold such a thing in reality; I vaguely remembered my whole body beginning to be as sensitive and as sexual as my cock.

On the other hand, I was in serious danger, and I knew it. There was another competent employee in my department now, and it wouldn't be long before the CEO found that out. Even though hiring her had helped me enormously, it also made me vulnerable to replacement for the first time. After two investigations, I would be lucky to remain employed at all.

I paced the pavement as the hour of my appointment approached. Could I really live life without my other self? I just couldn't manage this decision. I needed more time! No, I needed to make a decision now!

...and in the back of my mind, the mantra still hummed: taller, stronger, bigger muscles, bigger penis. It was now so much a part of me, it was even starting to rise to the surface of my thoughts now...

These dreams had to end. They were holding me back, perhaps putting me in jeopardy. At long last, I could get rid of them. I had the opportunity just in time.

I marched into the building, into the doctor's suite, into the office.

Doctor Lee-Pudsley sat looking at me serenely. "Good afternoon. I'm pleased that you are on time. Given the results last time, this treatment may take up the entire afternoon. But are you really sure--"

"These dreams have got to end. Now!" I glared at the doctor. "Do you understand? I can't let this continue!"

The doctor nodded. "Very well. Just lie back and relax.

"Watch the pendant.

"Relax.

"I will now count to ten. When I reach ten, you will be in a trance state.

"One.

"Two.

"Three...

-----

I awoke.

I stared at the ceiling for a few moments, thinking.

Two nights, now, with no more dreams.

I rolled over and woke Mark.

"Hmmmuh?"

I grabbed him, flipped him over, and fucked him within an inch of his life.

Fortunately, he was used to it by now, and his ass was, if anything, becoming even tighter and more fuckable than before.

When I was done, he rolled over and started jacking off. I jumped off the bed and started flexing, doing pushups, crushing minor pieces of furniture, for Mark's stimulation (and my own; my monster 3-foot cock was now never soft).

"Jesus, you're hyped up this morning... holy shit, I think you actually grew three inches in your sleep! And I... whoa! You made me bigger again, too! Damn! Look at these arms!"

I grinned. Mark was powerful enough now that he could take my screwing continuously. I could have dismissed the harem, if we both didn't enjoy fucking them all so much.

"Yep. I was having these weird nightmares which were holding me back for a long time. But I finally managed to use lucid dreaming to stop them and I think they're gone for good now."

[convolution]

Great story, with a good twist .
And then they lived hugely ever after

[anglekindle]

Nice twist haha.

[rododoro3]

Now you reminded why I disliked Inception's ending.
You have two possibilities. One, the narrator actually was having a nightmare.
This is the ending most everyone wants to be true. Huge muscles, huge dick, tons of sex and happy fun times all around.
Two, the narrator is now trapped in the dream (*cough*) in a semi or fully unconscious state, possibly even dead.
This is the ending almost everybody shies away from, but deep down, we all have a sneaking suspicion that it's the real ending because real life is a big mess. There are no happy endings. The handsome prince didn't fuck the other handsome prince for ever and ever, they had marital issues, decided they weren't compatible for each other, and got a divorce.
Oh wait, gay marriage is a fairy tale in most of the States.
And I'm going to stop before I get righteously indignant about gay rights.



(Too late... Rant incoming, complete with all caps rage. Batteries sold separately.

YOU'RE MILITANT AGAINST RACIAL AND SEXUAL INEQUALITY BUT STILL TREAT A MINORITY OF YOUR POPULATION DIFFERENTLY BECAUSE OF RELIGIOUS BELIEFS WHICH THEY MAY OR MAY NOT HAVE? WHAT THE METAPHORICAL FUCK?! THIS ISN'T RELIGIOUS FREEDOM, THIS IS RELIGIOUS TYRANNY.

And yes, I realize these forums don't need me arguing for gay rights, and I'm not implying everyone is gay here when I say that, but I like to blurt out random relevant things. Also, it's been a long day. Sorry.)



The formatting trick? Classy.
I'm rooting for ending 1 because I like happy fun times.
Thanks for another great work of literature which actually makes me think with my brain.
Yes. I realize the implications of that statement.
Keep us all entertained please

[tekuno]

Originally Posted by rododoro3

Now you reminded why I disliked Inception's ending.
You have two possibilities. One, the narrator actually was having a nightmare.
This is the ending most everyone wants to be true. Huge muscles, huge dick, tons of sex and happy fun times all around.
Two, the narrator is now trapped in the dream (*cough*) in a semi or fully unconscious state, possibly even dead.

Well, speaking as the author, and therefore the person who can say what's canon or not, it's #1. The whole point of the story was just to obfuscate which life was the real one.

YOU'RE MILITANT AGAINST RACIAL AND SEXUAL INEQUALITY BUT STILL TREAT A MINORITY OF YOUR POPULATION DIFFERENTLY BECAUSE OF RELIGIOUS BELIEFS WHICH THEY MAY OR MAY NOT HAVE? WHAT THE METAPHORICAL FUCK?! THIS ISN'T RELIGIOUS FREEDOM, THIS IS RELIGIOUS TYRANNY.

Well, considering that women are still paid, on average, only ~70% of what men are, plus they almost always get blamed for being raped (look at Steubenville -- seriously, folks? The idiot jocks raped an unconscious girl and you're claiming they're innocent children who deserve our pity? Every guy at that party ought to be thrown into prison forever, without appeal or parole. And the coach they thought would help them keep it quiet, too. And that's the civilized, calm option.) And although black people make up ~14% of the population, they are arrested/stopped by cops vastly more often than whites (New York's controversial stop-and-frisk program has "stopped" ~90% black/brown people*), get sent to prison more often and for longer sentences for the same offenses, make less money, and on average have less assets by a factor of something like 30. Oh, and let's not even talk about the attitudes towards gun deaths. (Oh, hey, Trayvon Martin, what's new?) White people by and large can't even bring themselves to be polite (talking about you, Paula Deen). So the "militant against racial and sexual inequality" thing is largely illusional. There's a thin veneer of tolerance overlying an a deep-down hatred.

*I don't know why people are so critical of Chicago police right now when New York's police have been the front line of jackbooted thuggishness for over a decade. They're basically just another street gang, except that they can throw you in prison.

[chocomus]

this was a great ending!!!!