Make a Man of Him - Part 2

[tekuno]

Turned out that the activities I had been planning today were cancelled. So instead of doing something useful or productive, I wrote part 2. I can't decide whether to write the whole rest of the story as part 3, or split it up. I guess you'll just have to wait and see.

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Make a Man of Him
Part 2

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Part 1

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Josh pushed me back with one massive hand; I staggered several yards back under the pressure, but it seemed to take almost no effort on his part. Then he squeezed through the door -- this involved him turning sideways and ducking; the doors were nearly 7 feet tall, and he was significantly taller than that.

In the light of the entryway, I could see all of him for the first time. He was wearing combat boots in a size so large they would have looked like clown shoes on any other man. It was impossible to tell whether he was wearing very large shorts or simply very stretchy small pants; either way, they only came to just above his knees. His calves bulged out massively below the even larger masses of his thighs, and I realized that even his calves were noticeably bigger around than my arms, and more vascular as well. Meanwhile, his thighs stretched the fabric of his shorts/pants so tightly that they might as well have been painted on. The bulge in the center was ridiculously huge, and I found myself licking my dry lips just thinking about what must have been inside.

My gaze travelled upward, across his exposed abs to his chest. My god, what a torso; I had never seen anything like it. His pecs bulged out through the cloth, and were visible through a tear which was forming in the middle of the neck of the shirt. Shoulders like soccer balls made of muscle sprouted to the sides, straining the shirt even further, and two unbelievably huge arms hung down, each one thicker than my waist -- maybe even my chest. One of his enormous hands held the drawstring of a duffle bag which was hanging over his back. The bag was packed so tightly that it looked bigger than me, but even so the cord didn't even make a dent in the vast traps which swelled up, swallowing his neck entirely.

Perched on top was his head. Josh's hair had been shaved off; nothing but stubble remained. His eyes were still intense and beautiful, but now they stared out below a heavy brow. His cheekbones were still visible, and still sexy as hell, but between the thick cords of his neck and the now-well-developed muscles of his jaw, the effect was no longer of a willowy young man but of a cruel musclebound stud.

I suddenly realized I had been standing with my mouth open, staring at him. He sneered down at me.

"Huh. No hug, puny little faggot?"

He dropped his bag on the floor and stomped off into the house. I blinked for a few moments and then followed.

He had headed straight for the kitchen, and was standing in front of the refrigerator.

"Fucking hell, Paul, there's nothing in the fucking fridge. No wonder you're so fucking small, if you aren't eating."

He pulled out a gallon of milk -- not by the handle; his hand was so big he picked it up directly. He lifted it to his face and bit the lid off, spat it out, then chugged the entire thing at once. He tossed the empty carton in the direction of the trash, and let out a loud belch.

"Don't you have anything worth eating around here? I'm fucking hungry." Josh then essentially ate everything in the fridge except the condiments and a bag of radishes. Then he started going through cabinets. I was treated to the spectacle of him squeezing cans open and dumping their contents into his mouth, which I had always thought was only possible in cartoons. Eventually, he found a couple of tubs of protein powder, stuck them under the tap, ran water until they were half-full, then clamped down the lids, shook them up, and chugged the contents. Throughout this performance, he swore under his breath and occasionally let out further belches.

His stomach didn't distend in the slightest from all this; by my calculations, he had eaten something like 50 pounds of food at a minimum, but the only visible change seemed to be that the bulge in his pants was beginning to swell. When he was finished eating, he stared at me as he stuck one hand into his pants and gave it a rub.

"Huh. Got any comments, runt?"

I stammered for a moment, and finally managed a coherent statement. "Josh, you're huge!"

Josh's sneer became a leering grin. He pulled his hand out of his pants and did a double biceps pose. It was too much for his shirt, which ripped in various places as Josh's muscles bulged outwards, until all that was left was tatters hanging from a ring of cloth just below his pecs, which then fell downwards until it caught on his thighs. Josh's torso was left exposed; it was utterly magnificent. Every inch seemed to be covered in striations or veins, and he had a deep and perfect tan. Here and there, traces of stubble suggested that the lack of body hair was due to shaving, not genetics.

"Yeah, I'm fucking massive." Without even realizing I was doing it, I stepped forward and started to caress Josh's huge pecs. Josh gave them a bounce, then lowered his arms and grabbed me by the shoulders. I realized what I had been doing at about the same moment that I realized I was looking Josh in the eye while he was sitting down.

"Not tonight, runt. I need some sleep." He moved me a couple of feet to the side -- I might as well have been a ballon for all the effort it took -- and then got up, looming over me, and stomped out of the room.

I followed again. Josh may have been entirely different from what I was expecting, but he was still immensely attractive, if terrifying. When I reached the door of his room, he was standing in front of the mirror on his closet door, looking at what he could see of himself (the mirror was nowhere big enough for him to see everything at once) and nodding appreciatively.

"Fuck, yeah. This is what a real man looks like." He started to pose, occasionally grunting. I actually came in my pants spontaneously from the show -- he didn't seem to notice, but as his muscles flexed and bulged, he seemed to be getting a slight pump. Gradually, his pants tore up the sides. I was waiting for him to pull them off, but before he could do that his cock burst through the material. When that happened, he paused and tore the pants -- and the remains of his shirt -- away, and stood admiring his naked body. His tan was perfect and uniform; even his cock was browned. It stood nearly upright, pressing its head (which looked to be the size of my fist) into his massive pecs.

After a few moments, he reached down with both hands and began to masturbate. It didn't take long before he came, shooting out an impressive amount of cum. Not long after that, he noticed me for the first time.

"What's up, faggot, see something you like?" He blew me an ironic kiss, and stared for a moment. Then he grunted and turned towards the bed. "Fucking faggot..." he tossed his huge body onto the bed, which, predictably, collapsed. "Fucking puny furniture. Need something for real men... Fuck..." with amazing rapidity, Josh fell asleep.

I went to bed almost immediately -- but it took me longer to drop off. First I absolutely couldn't resist jacking off, but then I started to wonder what, exactly, had happened to the beautiful young man I had left behind to turn him into the hulk in the other room?

There was no mistaking it when Josh woke up. That's because he stomped into my room, slamming the door so hard the hinges almost snapped. He was still naked, except for the boots, and his erection was back. If anything, he looked even bigger than he had by artificial light. The patches of body hair which had been stubble the night before were already visibly lengthened, which made him look even more intimidating. Josh had never been a hairy guy, but his enormous chest was obviously going to turn into a forest, and his forearms, legs, and abs were following along.

"Okay, runt, it's breakfast time. There's no more food--" this with a leer "--so you're going to go do some grocery shopping for me. Us."

I got out of bed under Josh's critical eye, as he slowly stroked his cock. "Morning wood, faggot. Maybe you've fucking heard of it?" I felt like a scrawny kid next to Josh, and hurried into clothing. I could hear Josh bellow as he reached orgasm while I went out the door.

I bought vast amounts of food -- enough to get stares from nearly everyone. I couldn't decide whether to be scared of Josh or turned on, but if he was going to eat like he had the night before, I was actually worried that this wouldn't be enough.

When I reached the house, Josh was waiting for me. His bag was no longer in the hallway, and he was wearing a pair of mesh shorts which were apparently tailored for someone of his size, but which did nothing to hide the size of his crotch, and a spaghetti-string tank-top which escaped being destroyed by his torso by basically not covering anything above his nipples, thus avoiding the wider and more-likely-to-enlarge-on-flexing part of his upper body completely.

As I carried in the bags of groceries, Josh grunted approval, and deigned to assist -- at least until he caught sight of the portrait of his grandparents which Dad, ever the optimist, had insisted that Stepmom keep around. He dropped the bags he was carrying, reached out, and smashed the portrait flat with his fist.

"Fucking assholes. I'm going to pay them a little visit, later, and thank them for their fucking kindness."

Oddly enough, even though Josh ate with grunts and belches and swearing, he seemed to be nowhere near as hungry as he had been the night before. It was something of a relief. Of course, we both ate quite a bit, but a couple of dozen eggs, a block of cheese, and a loaf of bread seemed to be all that was really needed. That was hardly anything, compared with what I had bought.

With another belch, Josh sat back, causing his chair to make ominous creaking sounds. "Well, runt? Anything to say?"

Where to start? I was searching for an opening which didn't make me sound like a moron, when Josh grunted and shifted slightly in his chair. The fabric of his shorts started to stretch. "Huh. Looks like I need to go take care of this. Hang on, faggot."

Josh clomped out of the room. I sat, numb, for a few minutes until I heard "fuck, yeah!" come from the direction of the bathroom. The Josh came back in, smiling lewdly, and dropped into his chair.

"Okay, all done. For a while, anyway."

He stared over at me, looking defiant and contemptuous. Before I could work up the courage to speak, he asked me a question.

"What are you doing today, faggot? Still got that weight set in the basement?"

All I could do was nod.

"Let's go look at that." He got up and clomped towards the basement stairs, looking back at me from the door. "Come on, runt. I haven't got all fucking day."

With that I followed him.

Our basement wasn't built with the same clearance as the first floor, and Josh was now nearly too tall for it. If he had had hair, it would brushed against the ceiling. As it was, he made the whole space seem tiny and claustrophobic. I remembered measuring the height when I had managed to save up enough for some better equipment and had to see if it would fit: 93 inches. And Josh was nearly that tall... I found myself staring at his back muscles as he stalked across the floor. They were, like everything else about him, impossibly huge and perfect, covered with his glowing tan. I wondered again what he could possibly have done to build a physique like that -- my little home gym wasn't going to challenge him in the slightest, and actually I doubted that anything provided under the heading of "fitness equipment" ever would. Just given how much strength he had already shown himself to have, I had visions of him lifting cars... or maybe buses or trucks.

We arrived at my weight set. That was kind of a misnomer; for a home gym setup, it was pretty extensive. I had a professional-class adjustable bench, with a separate rack, an olympic bar, and weight plates, a rack of dumbbells from 10 to 100, one of those multi-exercise home gym machines, and a few other bits and pieces. It was basically where all the money I earned during high school had gone, and I had worked hard. It was possible to get in a very good workout indeed using my "weight set" -- or at least, it was possible for me.

Josh looked down at the weight rack blankly. He bent over and took a 45-pound plate, almost gingerly. In his huge hands it looked tiny, and he manipulated it like it weighed nothing at all. After a few seconds, he grinned.

"Huh. Is this all the weight you have, faggot? Not enough to challenge a real man."

With surprising speed, Josh put all four of my 100-pound plates on the bar, and filled the rest of the bar with 45-pound plates. With the bar, I was looking at 715 pounds. The bar sagged slightly, and I swallowed -- I had never gone in for one-rep maximums, but according to the calculator systems I had seen, on a good day I might have been able to manage 525 or so.

Josh maneuvered onto the bench, took a deep breath, and... lifted the weight. It was almost an anticlimax; he made it seem easy, and cranked out 20 reps with increasing speed and confidence before reracking the weight and sitting up. His sneer at me seemed entirely justified, but then he got an idea.

Naturally, having established that he was my superior (as if there were any doubt!) he proceeded (metaphorically, thank goodness) to trample me into the ground; he got up, kicked the bench out of the way, and proceeded to curl the bar. I was dumbfounded -- benching 715 was pretty startling, but plausible. Curling 715? I had never even heard of anyone who came close to that. I had the biggest erection I could remember having, ever, at the sight of Josh's huge, perfect muscles flexing. And Josh wasn't even getting tired. After 20 reps, he turned around, still holding the bar, and proceeded to, well, crumple it up.

As I stared, he folded the metal in on itself, bar and plates alike, until it was just a ball of junk metal.

"Fuck, runt, couldn't you even get decent weights? These are fucking crap."

Then he held the ball in one mammoth hand, like you would hold a ball of wadded-up paper, and squeezed. I actually sank to my knees as his fingers squashed the iron until it pressed out through the gaps between them.

As an encore, he crushed all my gym equipment, turning it into one huge dense block, pushed his hands in effortlessly, like you would push your hands into a pile of leaves -- and then curled the whole thing, again with no apparent effort. The part of my brain which wasn't holding up my erection tried to form a rough estimate of how much weight he was holding up. It got as far as two tons for the weights before my mind fused.

As Josh lifted his makeshift weight, his erection was again growing in his shorts. When he finally dropped it on the floor -- remarkably gently, considering everything, but it still made a huge crash -- he stood back. He was perspiring just lightly.

"That wasn't a bad warmup, runt, but we're going to need something heavier for me to lift." He put his head on one side for a moment, a sure sign that he was thinking. When he had been a slim young man, it had been charming; now it was almost sinister.

Sure enough, he broke into a wolfish grin. "Measure me."

"What?" I squeaked.

"You heard me, you fucking faggot! Measure me!"

I got to my feet and ran to where I had left my measuring tape, and returned. My hands were actually trembling as I held it up to his upper arm.

"Well, runt?"

"F-forty-nine inches, Josh." I almost called him "master", but I was afraid he might like that and then I'd be stuck calling him that.

Before I could move on to the next measurement, he stopped me. "Hang on, runt. I know I'm bigger than you, but I want to know how much bigger I am. Measure your arm now."

I flexed my biceps -- a day earlier, I would have described them as huge! -- and brought the tape to 24 inches.

"Only twenty-four inches? That's fucking less than half my size, runt!" Josh started to laugh; his booming deep voice made things rattle all over the house.

Suddenly, he stopped laughing, and looked down at me with an intense expression. Then he started to flex. Unlike the previous night, this time he was flexing hard. The enormous masses of muscle bulged and pulsed as he went through pose after pose, and I dropped to my knees again, my erection leaking precum into my pants.

As Josh flexed over and over again, he was grunting and muttering. "Fucking little faggot, gotta be huge! Bigger muscles! I'm a fucking real man now!" It wasn't long before he began to get a pump -- and that, in itself was unbelievable.

Naturally, the more muscle there is to get a pump, the more of a difference there will be in size. Josh seemed to grow before my eyes; he was already a giant, but he loomed over me, blotting out the ceiling lights as his muscles became larger and larger. I was unable to move -- almost unable to breathe -- as he bulged outward further. His shirt was finally forced to give up, and tore away, and I came in my pants.

Josh laughed again. "I made the faggot come without even touching him! I'm fucking incredible!" As he said this last word, his erection tore out of his shorts, slapping against his abs and bloated pecs, and began to leak precum.

Josh reached down with one arm and grabbed me by... well, if he had been a normal man, he would have had me by the neck. With the size of his hands, though, he was holding parts of my shoulder and chest and back as well. He lifted me as effortlessly -- probably even moreso -- as he had lifted the bar for curls, and shoved my face into the flexed bicep of his other arm. My nose rubbed slightly against the steel-hard surface of the muscle.

"Look, faggot, these are real muscles. You like that, don't you?" Before I could even think about giving a response, I was moved to his massive pectorals, staring into the cords of his neck. His pecs looked like bags stuffed full of meat and attached to his chest, huge and round like striated pillows, but as my chin was pressed into his cleavage I realized that they were as impossibly hard as his arm had been.

"Lick them, faggot!" I made some sort of interrogative noise in response. "I said lick them, you runt! Don't you like my fucking muscles?" I didn't have much of a choice -- I started to lick. The hair was still short enough to make the surface rough, and there was a salty, musky flavor from the sweat which Josh had flexed himself into. Gradually, Josh moved me around the broad surface of his chest, but in general there was a downward direction, and I felt Josh's cock pressing into my back harder and harder.

Finally, Josh roared "okay, faggot, time for the moment you've been waiting for!" His other hand reached out and ripped off my pants, and then he turned me around. "Yeah, faggot, you want my cock, don't you?" I could feel the tip of it start to push between the cheeks of my ass.

Suddenly the downward pressure increased, and there was a blinding pain from my ass. I screamed.

The pain stopped, and Josh tossed me away. I curled up into a ball, awaiting whatever punishment would be forthcoming.

Nothing happened. After a minute or so, I risked a look. Josh was staring down at me with a blank expression, like he had never seen me before in his life. Then he turned and walked out of the basement. I heard him doing something in his bedroom, and in a few minutes I heard him leave the house.

After making sure I wasn't in need of serious medical attention, I went upstairs with some caution, half-expecting to find the house trashed. Josh didn't seem to have done anything, though. Everything was still surprisingly normal, even the TV was still on.

I sat and tried to sort things out in my mind. What should I do? What could I do? There was no way I could stop Josh, even for an instant, if he decided to do anything to me, and he had a perfect legal right to live in the house; it had been left to both of us in equal shares. Could I flee? Would that even help if Josh chose to follow me? And how would I support myself if I suddenly had nowhere to live?

My head was still in a whirl an hour later, when my attention was drawn to the TV when a newscaster said "John and Amelia Harbison". Those were the names of Josh's grandparents, as I was well aware, and so I walked over and looked at the screen.

This was, apparently, a special bulletin. Sometime in the last hour or so, something horrible had happened; their trailer was basically destroyed. It had more or less been rolled up like a tube of toothpaste. Rescue workers were trying to determine whether anyone had been inside at the time. As the footage played, the newscaster interrupted himself to announce that it had been confirmed that the owners of the trailer had indeed been inside when... whatever had happened, had happened. And there was no doubt that they had perished. There was speculation that this had been caused by a defect in the manufacture of the trailer, but I could see as clear as day, on the side of the rolled-up surface of the trailer, the impressions of gigantic hands.

It was at that moment that a series of loud thumps began outside the house. They went quiet after a bit, but then the front door slammed open. "Paul, are you still here? It's me, Josh."

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Part 3 (End)

[2bored]

Stunning. Can't wait for more

[Reeza]

Wow! I love this kind of stuff. Instant hard-on.