Beyond Sexy

[zangetsu]

I've been on his forum for a while, but I've never really posted anything. A good chunk of my favorite stories are unfinished. Instead waiting around for the author continue their stories, I decided to write my own. MuscleHintz's thread, So sexy that it hurts, caught my eye when it was first posted. It was bumped recently and it got me going. I stared coming up with ideas and then I typed them up. I don't think that I will give specific numbers about the main character, because unless I have a reference point numbers don't mean much to me. Plus its more fun to imagine what the guy looks like, going off massive and bulging, and other more descriptive wording. Hopefully I can turn this into a series. Any ways read and post what you think.


Part 1

Beep-beep. Beep-beep. Beep-beep.

I wake up to the sound of my alarm clock. I lift up my left arm to press the reset button, but just before hitting it, I stop. I tense my arm, I don't want to ruin another alarm clock or table. Relaxing my arm, I very gently I press the reset button. I lay in bed for a few seconds, before getting up.

I swing my legs so that my feet touch the floor and lift my torso so that I am sitting on the bed. I yawn and instinctively my arms raise themselves up and stretch behind my back. This action causes my white shirt be stretched over my expansive chest. I relax my arms, then push off with my legs to stand up. Slowly I walk over to the door; in order to pass through I have to duck and turn sideways. I nearly bump my shoulder into the wall,as I straighten by body. I catch myself before it is too late, and continue walk through the hall, it seems small. The hall is narrow; no that's not exactly right. For any body else, the hall would provide adequate space. However, my shoulders are very wide, they occupy most of the length of the hall. I walk past my living room and into my kitchen.

I grab a pan, off the wall mounted pot and pan rack, and set it on the stove. I turn on the stove and place the pan on the front burner to heat up. I walk to my refrigerator and take out four eggs, and some butter, and set everything on my table. Then I open a cabinet and take out a bowl and plate. I crack the eggs into the bowl and discard the shells into the trash. From a drawer, I get a fork and start whisking together the eggs. It is a simple action, beating eggs, but my muscles respond to the simplest stimulus. Flicking my right wrist triggers a wave of moment that causes the muscles in my arm and chest to respond. My body fat is so low that the movements of my muscle issue are readily visible. I watch as my muscles tighten and relax, compress and stretch. Sometimes even I get memorized by their size and definition. I will myself to stop admiring my arm, and throw some butter on the pan now that it is hot. I swirl it around, as it melts I add my egg mixture. I grab a plastic spatula off the rack and begin to stir the egg mixture. My stirring is more vigorous this time around, so I grab the hand of the pot with my free hand. As I shape my omelet, again I take notice the muscles in my arms and chest. The left side of my torso is lightly flexed form grabbing the handle, the right side is much more alive. The muscles seem to dance on their own accord. They bulge and contract, bulge and contract. My body is covered striations and prominent veins. Everything seems to jump out at the simplest task. The display isn't long, after all, I'm just making one omelet. I dump the omelet onto the plate, and season it with salt and pepper. From another cabinet I take out a tall glass, and I fill it with milk from a carton.
That's my breakfast, it's surprisingly little for someone my size, but it usually carries me several hours. Using another fork I eat my omelet ignoring the movement of my muscles as I bring the food into my mouth, and as I raise the glass to drink. When I'm done I place everything in the sink and begin washing all the items I used to prepare and eat my meal. I leave everything upside down to dry.

Before leaving the kitchen, I open the sink cabinet and take out some dog bowls. I fill two with tap water and another two with dog food I keep in a large plastic container next to a stack of dog bowls. I'm an early riser, earlier than my dogs;most days I don't see them in the morning.

I move towards my bedroom, but I decide to stop, in the living room, and watch TV instead. I tap the power button my TV and walk backwards to my couch. When my calves touch the base the couch I gently lower my self to the cushion. The couch groans as I add my immense weigh to it. I stretch my arms along the very top of the couch. They are long enough that my palms are able to touch the left and right sides of the couch. My back is perpendicular to the cushion, and by butt compresses the cushion to its absolute smallest. My knees are uncomfortably high, so I extend and stretch them wide. The TV finally cuts on to the weather man finishing the weekly forecast. He makes a quip about the week ahead and passes the camera to a news anchor. The anchor a tall blonde man, rather handsome, thanks the weatherman and begins reading from the prompter. I listen to few stories; I don't really like the news, but I think it's good to stay informed. After about fifteen minutes, I decide that I've watched enough. As I get up, my couch makes a noise almost as if its relieved to be free of my weight. I power off my TV and make my way to my room. In my bedroom, I straighten the sheets, smooth the cover, and fluff the pillows. Then I walk over to my dresser and pick up my clothes for the day, I always pick out the next days' clothes before bed. A door way separates my bedroom from my bathroom, I really hate doing so much ducking and turning as I move from one room to the other.

The bathroom actually by regular definitions, moderately large, but to me its almost as bad as the hall. The shower used to have glass doors, but I couldn't properly clean myself so I removed the doors and now I just mop up any resulting mess. I place my clothes in the bathroom closet. I grab the hem of my shirt, and begin lifting it up, as I do I can't help but look at my reflection. My baggy shirts is partially lifted, revealing my lower abdomen. I'm kind of like a partially clothed bodybuilder or mannequin, or statue. Weird, right?

Picture a bodybuilder or mannequin, built with large muscles, wearing a really loose shirt. It is apparent that it is big. The thickness of the shoulders is always a give away. So is the way the shirt is draped over the pectoral muscles and then falls straight down. There is all this empty space between the shirt and the abdomen. You can imagine what they look, and you can, on a mannequin, even go over and lift up the shirt. You can compare your imagination to the real thing. Or what about seeing a bodybuilder, fitness model, or mannequin in a skin tight shirt. Then almost nothing is left up to the imagination. You've probably seen people wear shirts that are one or two times too small to emphasis their muscles and when they take off their shirt, it still impressive. You can see finer details, more veins, more striations.

There are couple of problems with me wearing "skin tight" clothes. For one thing, I don't see how its possible for me to get off the rack shirts large enough to pass over my massive shoulders and still somehow hug my lower body. Plus if my clothes really were "skin tight" inhaling, lifting my arms, probably just twitching my muscles would cause any article of clothing to explode off my body, and if by some chance my clothing didn't tear, while I went about my daily routine, how would I take anything off? I'd have to rip everything off, and constantly buy new clothes. Then there is the real problem.

Every time I do wear something that baggy, everyone stares, and I mean everyone. The gap between fantasy and reality works in my favor. In my baggy clothes it's obvious I'm muscular, but no matter how much you imagine my naked torso you can't get close to what is really looks like. But when I wear something tight it becomes more like a sexual frenzy. People see the unbelievable, and loose what ever shred of self control they have. They are filled with an overpowering sexual energy, in an instant, and that energy can't be contained by their mortal bodies. They orgasm, and experience unrivaled joy. My naked body is even worse. They experience the same overpowering sexual energy, but on a higher scale. Instead of having one orgasm, they have multiple. My body, flexed muscles, my smile, and even the intensity of my eyes surpass reality. These revelations cause anyone who witnesses them to lose control of their bodies. I need to dress in order to prevent such occurrences from happening. It is better to have everyone stare, than to orgasm uncontrollably.

My shirts are custom made so that they will pass over my shoulders without leaving my bottom torso looking like I'm wearing a skirt. They are stretchy, loose, and comfortable, at least for the time being. So anyways as I lift my arms above my head, I notice how my arms bulge out. I can't see my full reflection in the mirror, but I can see my biceps and triceps, so round, so full, so sensual.

When I was really into myself I remember kissing them constantly, hell people paid to kiss and/or touch them. Hundreds, thousands, I could have gotten millions from the people that could afford it and from the people that couldn't. At a time when I was high in demand, people were getting loans to pay to worship me. I think some declared bankruptcy. One guy spent his trust fund, another stole money from his company, but the most extreme was this billionaire couple. Mary and Troy. They offered millions, but by the time they reached me I had discovered that money was something I didn't need. No, apparently just being me is more than enough to get by. Walking, talking, flexing, or even just staring gets me anything I wanted.

They persisted, begged, cried, and eventually won, not really. Instead of taking their money, directly at least, I went to live with them. They took care of me so to speak. Whatever I wanted. I got. The three of us lived in a massive mansions, in the woods, on the beach and in the mountains. Anyone else is a similar situation would have been terrified to lose such a position, but not me. I made the couple dismiss their house staff, that is why we were alone. When I wanted something, the man or woman personally took care of it. Sometimes when I ejaculated, I told them not to wash it off and to go to work drenched in my semen. I basically enslaved two of the richest and most powerful people in the planet. To me they were my slaves. They worshiped me, gave me everything I demanded, and in exchange I nearly ruined them. They are one of the reasons I decided to turn my life around.

I stare at my shirtless body. I can understand why Mary, Troy, and damn near every other person in the world wants me. My biceps demand to be adored and glorified. They want attention, to be showered in kisses and praise as they flex and pose. They want the world to stare at their perfection, at their size and marvel that they can still improve and grow. Maybe, deep down I miss all that, the attention. The power of knowing that I if walk in a room, every single person will want me, and that I can literally do anything I want.

I force myself to ignore such thoughts and continue undressing. I should step away from the mirror, but today I don't seem have the self control to stop looking. As I remove my sweatpants, I can see how my pectoral muscles react when my hands lower my sweats and briefs. My penis and testicles are in proportion to my body, and as my body grows so do they. I throw off my socks, and wad up my night clothes into a ball and toss it into the laundry hamper.

Before stepping in the shower, I turn on the water so that it will be warm. Once the water is ready I step into the rub. I duck so that my hair can be get wet, and I begin shampooing. The warm water is running down the front of my body. As I shampoo I enjoy the feel of the water as it hits my up abdomen and flows down my body. Once I'm satisfied with my shampooing I wash off the shampoo from my head and repeat the process. As I rinse my hair, I need to turn my body side ways, otherwise my shoulder touches the wall and I have to lean at an angel to rinse my hair.

I use body wash instead of soap, because I find that soap bars are too small for me, and I very quickly run through them. I squirt some body wash on my hands and proceed to lather my body. I bend my knees and rotate my body so that water washes over me. It is very uncomfortable, and time consuming. As I run my hands along my body, I feel everything. Every bump, every ridge, every crevice. Everything. The hardness of my body, combined with my body heat, and the warm water, make me feel like a made of living metal.My muscles are so fluid, so graceful, but at the same time they are hard and unyielding. I'm not fully immune to my own body. I should be, but I'm not. Every once in a while I worship myself. Today is one of those days.

I flex my arms, no matter how I describe them, there is nothing like seeing them in person. I don't know too much anatomy, yet, but I can see the distinct muscle groups. I can see the short and long heads of my biceps forming two separate mountains. They raise higher and higher, the world largest biceps become increasingly larger. My deltoids bulge, my triceps expand to what should be inhumanly possible to obtain. My pectorals are covered with striations, and absolutely massive. They are like two bronze pillows, except they harder than titanium. I run my hands along my abdomen, each ab is so unbelievably thick and pronounced. Sometimes I can't believe my size, I'm so massive, I'm the biggest most muscular human to ever exist, and yet I know that I'm not done growing.

I record my height, weight, and the circumference of various body parts, and I can tell you that every week my numbers increase. I have been recording these values for years, and not once have any of the measurements decreased in the slightest. I'm big and getting bigger. Period. This fact, this absolute indisputable fact, gets me hard. In an instant my penis fill with blood and it reaches its fully erect size. It hits my torso with a thud. Just like the rest of my body, it is a sight to be hold. It puts horses to shame, the girth is unearthly, the shear magnitude is beyond words like the rest of my body.

It always takes me at least thirty minutes to have an orgasm. I work quickly, I firmly grab my penis and massage the head. I can give my self a blow job, but I don't want to risk slipping, so I settle for masturbating to myself. As I do so, an immense pressure builds up inside my body. My gargantuan body, my titanic penis, everything about about me is just so incredible. I give myself more pleasure than any single person or group of people has ever given me. I stand in my shower applying pressure to my penis in a way that only I am able to. Only I'm strong enough to really satisfy it. My pleasure builds until, I let out a roar that shakes the whole house and my penis explodes with semen. I try to aim toward the drain, but I still hit the wall in front of me and the ceiling. I unleash several shot of cum, so many that it seems like an eternity has passed by the time I stop.

As I recover I shut off the hot water, and turn on the cold water full blast. I don't need another repeat. Standing in the cold freezing water, I fully recover my senses. I look at the state of my bath. Even though most of my cum went down the drain, there is some cum dripping down from the ceiling and there's also quite a bit splattered on the wall. I compose myself. Stepping out of the shower, I go to get my shirt out of the laundry hamper. I put some shampoo on it, wet it with some water and I begin cleaning up my mess.

I can easily reach the ceiling, I barely have to stretch. When the cum is off the wall and ceiling, I wash my cum covered shirt with some shampoo. I ring it dry and toss it in the sink. I get back to my shower to finish cleaning myself. I'm hesitant to clean my penis, I don't have another 30 minutes to kill. I start to think about the most unappealing things and get to work.

The water is colder in my house than in most other houses, I had the water deportment make it so that I receive extra cold water. I tremble as I continue to shower, but I don't want to be a slave to my own body so I endure and continue. When I am satisfied with my cleanliness, I shut off the freezing water and reach for my towel. It is far enough to not get wet, but still easily with in my reach. I very quickly dry myself off, then I walk to get my clothes out of the bathroom closet. My solid red long sleeved-shirt is rather expensive, nothing fancy just over sized. I have to be careful, because if my pull down my shirt too hard I may tear it. I put in one arm at a time and pull the hem down, no problem. My jeans are blue and very basic. I can't seem to get jeans that are able to go over my massive legs and conceal my endowment, without being loose on my waist but it's okay because I can always wear a belt.My waist is the only about me that is small. It is smaller than the average waist for males. I need some really big socks to go over my humongous feet. I slip them into shoes, that are comically large. After clothing myself, I find that I am comfortable. I'm careful not to look at my reflection. I don't need any more excitement today.

I pull out a mop from the closet and clean up the mess on the floor from the water hitting and bouncing off my body. I ring the mop in the tub. Then I pick up the shirt from the sink and I throw it in the hamper. I gather my things to leave the bathroom. I take the mop out side and leave it again the house. I walk back to my bathroom to brush my teeth, all the while smelling trace amounts of cum. The room smells like sex. I don't want to deal with it now, so I leave.

Briskly I walk through my room, through the hallway and into the living room. On a table near the front door I left a stack of notebooks, and a pencil box. Next to those items is a bowl with my wallet and keys. I grab my stuff and step out. I lock the door behind me. The sun is just barely coming out. It's a new day and I try to be optimistic about what is in store for me.

[Mdlftr]

So what's "Beyond" sexy, ----to the sexiest guy in the world?

I guess we'll find out!

Good start, intriguing premise!

Can't wait to see where this goes!

Mdlftr

[portamivia]

Ooooh... You just made me very happy!

[zangetsu]

Hopefully this part has less typos.

Part 2: The Drive

I walk along the path to the drive way, where I meet my beast of a truck. Tinted windows, a dark green body, like the forest. The seats are made of a super fine leather, extra leather was used to make a jumbo sized driver's seat. I don't really know much about the engine. The purpose of the truck isn't to show off by revving the engine or even to tow heavy things. No, it's purpose is to give me comfort. I spend so much time ducking and turning to fit into my own house and pretty much every building I enter, that I decided I needed one thing that I could be comfortable in. I can sit up straight and even stretch my arms out wide. Entering and exiting isn't a problem. I don't have to worry about getting stuck, or about my weight damaging the vehicle. My truck was built for me, it handles my body well.

I unlock my door, place my notebooks and pencil box on the passenger seat. I place my wallet in one of the cup holders. Then I enter the truck. My body weighs the truck down, but not much. My weight would cause most cars and some vans to be lowered down so much that they are constant danger of hitting the pavement. However, right now that isn't the case. I'm proud to own a vehicle that can sustain the weight of my body without buckling or breaking down. Unfortunately this comes with a steep price, literally. I'm low on fuel.

"Fuck" I said.

As much as I love my truck, those damn gas prices are killing me. I know, I know, I said that money wasn't a problem for me. However, nowadays I live without taking everything I want. Since I don't use my raw sexuality to get free gas, I need to pay for it. I can get any job I want, the problem is keep said job. Most jobs for people my age are out of the question. Fast food and retail are out. Drumming up business isn't a problem for someone like me, keeping it going is. Most people can't really talk to me, without getting caught in my eyes or my muscles. I can't really interact with people. They always seem to get into some state of sexual arousal, and that's the ones the are easy to deal with. Others just flat out start masturbating and some even have orgasms without touching themselves, despite me wearing loose clothing. Most manual labor is also out; laboring can be dangerous under regular circumstances, but imagine a work site where everyone has an erection. A bunch of horny construction workers, and an unbelievably huge and handsome mountain of muscle don't mix well. I decided to work odd jobs for money. People call me, I go out, they stare, but a few minutes later I'm working. Working for my keep is satisfying, even if the client is secretly getting off to me. I don't have too many options that don't end with somebody releasing bodily fluids.

I turn on the engine and pull out of the driveway. Once out I switch into drive and begin turning the wheel, and head to the nearest gas station. Luckily that gas station also happens to be the cheapest. The streets are empty, I lower my windows and enjoy the fresh air. I love fresh air.

I'm coming up to the gas station, it's empty. That's good. I pull up to the sixth slot since it is the easiest to enter from the road I'm on. I don't see anyone at the cash register. I come here regularly, so the employees know how to deal with me, somewhat. Rolling up the windows, I exit my truck. As I walk, I can't help but notice that no one has appeared at the register. I grab the handles of both doors, and pull. That way I only need to duck to enter the store. I walk up to the register, pull out my wallet and take out a hundred and fifty dollars. A few feet behind the register, there is a door, and from that door walks out man, texting on his phone. He is about six feet tall, well built, light hair, green eyes, he is actually rather handsome. He looks to be somewhere around 22. I've never seen this guy, this is going to be trouble.

Casually he says, "Good mourning."

He hasn't looked at me yet. With his looks and body, I can tell that he thinks very highly of himself and that he gets alot of action. He is an attractive man to women and other men. If he is gay then he is a total top.

I try to raise my voice an octave. "Good morning," I say, "I'd like a 150 dollars on number six."

If you're guessing that I have a low voice, you are right. I've been told that my voice is so low and intense that is vibrates in the chest of any one who hears it. It resonates with the air and is carried far and wide. The effect is godly, like I'm somehow talking from everywhere at once. Even at the higher octave, the man begins to shake slightly. He takes a direct look at me, and drops his very expensive phone on the ground.

He stands there slack jawed by the sight of my massive body, and handsome face. Never before, and most likely never again will he see anybody similar to me. I wait a few seconds hoping that he will snap out of his trance, but he doesn't. He stands there with his eyes bulging, his breathing increasing, I can tell that he is aroused. Honestly, if I can't fight the effects of my body, how can I expect someone else to? However, we both need to move past this stage.

I repeat, "I'd like a 150 dollars on number six."

Nothing. So again I repeat myself louder.

"I'd like a 150 dollars on number six."

This guy is deep in trance. I'm starting to get irritated.

"I'd like a 150 dollars on number six." This time I say it louder still, and at my normal octave.

He breaks out of his trance, yes. I raise my hand to give my man the money; he watches intently. He gazes at my massive striated bicep, covered by my sleeve. My elbow is bent, so my bicep contracts. It bulges slightly. On most people this action isn't observable, but on mountainous arms the movement is awe inspiring. He probably thinks I'm flexing to show off. My giant vein covered watermelon is so large, he thinks it can't possibly get any bigger. He thinks I'm flaunting my muscles in a display of dominance or arrogance, or both; everyone thinks this at first. His breathing increases still further, I can see his chest rise and fall. He starts to sweat.

"Uh.. oh yeah. Right.", he says.

Hesitantly, he takes the money from my hand. His hand lingers around mine. I can't help but notice the stark contrast between our hands. His hand is peach colored, kind of hairy, and there are few veins that stick out. It looks like he works out or at least engages in intense activity, there are callouses on his palm. His hand is impressive, like the rest of his physique. My hand is bronze, hairless, and covered in veins and striations. It is much larger, so large that I could easily cover the guys entire head if I wanted to.

He takes the money. I retract my hand, he watches and instinctively realizes in shock that I wasn't flexing. My arm is at my side, relaxed and covered by a large red sleeve. He can tell that earlier when my arm was extended toward him, by bicep wasn't flexed it was just contracted slightly. He wants to see the real thing. What he saw was a lie, he wants to see my bicep expand into my mountain it truly is. I can see it in his eyes; lust.

"Is there a problem?" I ask knowing full well issue.

The man continues to stare at the flesh covered watermelon that I call a bicep. He bites his lip. I'm getting frustrated.

"Can we please continue?" I say, much harsher tone than I intended to.

Suddenly he looks unsure, he doesn't know whether to be further aroused or afraid of my sudden change in tone. Eventually he hits some buttons and places the three 50 dollar bills I have him in the register. He didn't even check to see if they were counterfeits.

"A..anything else I c...can do for you?", He asks. His face is deep red, and his breathing is short and cut. He is sweating through his clothes.

"No, thank you." I reply.

"Have a good day", he says.

"Like wise." I say.

He desperately wants me to stay, but I turn and leave. I can feel the man staring at body, especially at my butt. He is imagining what I look like undressed. With ridiculously tight clothes, it would appear to leave very little to the imagination. Every single muscle in my body would be visible to an observer. But with my loose clothes I wear, they can't see everything. Their imagination can take them to the edge of no return, but more often than not it just leaves them really horny. They have just enough self control to not masturbate in public. My nude bulging arm can put a stop to that. One flex is enough to send everyone within view into a state of euphoria, and when it passes, leave them with spent bodies and bodily fluids running down their legs and fingers. That's why I leave it up to the imagination, to get through my days. That is also why I don't smile or look people in the eyes.

I make it to the pump, I can feel that the employee is still staring at me. I'm a little angry that the manager didn't warn him about my my visits. I've been coming to this station station for months, and it took a long amount of time to get the manager and the other employees with this particular shift to get somewhat used to me.

If they don't recognize my tinted dark green ruck, they do recognize my heavy foot steps as I walk into the store. That is what I like about this place, the people glance at my lower body so they aren't too distracted. The exchange of money for gas is quick and easy, and if they want to stare they do so as a I leave. This must sound pretty bad, but try to picture yourself in my shoes. I don't want all this attention. Wouldn't you be pissed, if you went through what I just did every time you went to get gas?

Once I'm at my truck, I lift the nozzle from the pump and open he gas tank. The employee is staring right at me. He watches as my bicep tightens and bulges as my arm moves to remove the nozzle from the pump. He stared as the massive tricep expanded during the sequence. Out of the corner of my eye I can see that he is fumbling with is pants. He whips out his penis, I'd guess the thing is about 8 or 9 inches. He is a lucky man, to be in such good shape and to be well endowed. He begins furiously masturbating, I wish he had the self control not to due such a thing, and then it happens. From a distance of at least thirty feet, we make eye contact.

For some reason, I look right into his eyes. His body becomes rigid and then he shoots his massive load into the air and it lands on the counter. When he finishes he falls forward and lands in a pool of his own cum. I don't know why I looked. It was an accident, I tell myself it was an accident. I want to help the guy, but not matter what I do I know that I can't help.

As I stand there not knowing what to do, my truck finishes refueling. I place the nozzle back in the gas pump, and I get in my truck. As I pull out of the lot, I can't help but look back inside the store. He is up again, and once again furiously beating off. As I drive off, out of my rear view mirror, another truck enter the gas station. That this going to be really awkward, but seriously what I'm I supposed to do about it? I just hope the guy doesn't get anything too rough.

I continue to drive for a few miles, until I come up to my university. I'm a freshman, just a few months out of high school.

[Kit Werecat]

HA!

I was expecting something like that last line, but I wasn't sure when it would be dropped, or how "heavy" the hit would be. It of course, was the mention of the pencil box in the last chapter, that had tipped me off.

The problem was, I had no way of knowing how big the surprise would be. Since this is a fantasy, and he had not as of yet shown us that he drove, I was prepared for the guy to have just entered as a Freshman in High School, let alone college.

What's this guy's story? Was he in a random experiment as a baby somewhere? Made the right wish at the right moment? A product of alien encounters? Or is he just a kid born with very fortunate, screwed-up genetics. Or is it totally a McGuffin, and he's really like this, simply because the story needed him like this to tell it?


NOW the point of the story is having its effect on me, as a reader. I'm instinctively beginning to covet, get lustful for, and jealous of this big Lug, all at the same time.

That's exactly what you were shooting for I imagine, so.. Well Done.

You hit on every envious point in the book except one, which you just punched with YOUTH, so there's another Gold Star.

This is going to be a fun ride.

I await your next chapter.

I noticed you appended to this same thread, instead of starting a new one for additional chapters. So I'll turn on the thread Notification to keep me aware of the new postings.

[MuscleHintz]

Wow, Zangetsu! You are a wonderful writer! Not only is your style excellent, but you do an amazing job weaving erotic moments into the most simple daily activities. Great job on your first story. I'm glad that my thread inspired you to start writing.

My favorite part was when the protagonist made the rich couple into his slaves. Could we get some more flashbacks on some more of his, ah, exploits, please?

[zangetsu]

Thanks for your comments. To address your question, Kit Werecat, the guy in the story was born with very, very fortunate but screwed up genetics. Details will be given in a later chapters as part of a research project that is occurring in universe. The idea for the rich couple came to me after I finished part 2, but i I threw it in because I thought the idea was so hot. They will appear later on in the story. I may throw in a few bits and pieces about them before they make an actual appearance.

[nnnrg]

If you feel the urge to fix more typos later, please find the places where you spell "lose" with five letters. "Loose" refers to our protagonist's shirt and pants around the waist, to the slackness of the jaws of the people staring gawp-eyed at him, and to the sudden state of the morals of the people who find themselves uncontrollably aroused.

"Lose" refers to what happens to their cool, as in, lose their cool; it also refers to our protagonist's temper as people continue to be entranced, as he loses it for an instant, yelling at the gas station attendant.

The two words aren't even homonyms.

Why do I ask this? Because, after seeing it misspelled so often, I find that sometimes I type it wrong myself, and I lose my temper and cut loose with a torrent of abusive words.

Oh, by the way, I rather like the story. Setting it in first person draws the reader's self-identification into it as well, which is always fun.

[iceman75]

I love this story, awesome stuff, having a man being so awesomely muscular, handsome, strong, and studly that straight men can't help but get erections for him, even lesbian women probably worship him mentally and physically. And he's only a freshman in college, 18 years old, awesome to have such size, strength and just overall an overload of complete superior masculinity at such a young age. I too would love to see more hints to how he grew up, when he became such an incredible specimen. Maybe if he lived with his parents, did they come onto him, his incredible beauty overcoming any familial bonds. You got me really interested in this story, can't wait to see more!

[zangetsu]

Part 3: A Day in Class

The university is very large and located on a forested hilly area. The buildings are all well kept and modernized. I continue to drive until I reach the social sciences parking lot, which is on a hill Only professors are allowed to park there, but I convinced campus security that it was in everyone's best if I could make my way to class without too many people seeing me. There aren't too many cars in the lot; I choose a space and turn off my engine. Grabbing my stuff in one hand, I exit my truck. It looks almost comically big, because there aren't many large vehicles in the parking lot. The next largest vehicle is a subaru forester.

From the parking lot I make my way to the rear door, take out my key card and swipe it through the card lock. With my usual process of bending and turning, I enter the building. The first room has a staircase that leads up to the third floor,a staircase that leads down to the first floor, and a door to the rest of the second floor. I take the stairs down to the first floor, and using my key card I open the first door on the left. The classroom is big, along the far side of the class there is a row of large windows overlooking some trees; I walk over and open half of them. The classroom has six rows of tables, with five tables in each row, and under each table are two seats. At the very back of the classroom, there is one table about a foot higher than the rest, with a seat that is constructed out of a tough metal alloy, so it doesn't bend or break. I take my seat. My special seating arrangement allows my quadriceps plenty of room.

This is my only physical class, the others are online. I chose this university because it has a great online programs as well as several award winning research departments. High school taught me alot of things, including that I can't be cooped up for long periods of time with hormonal teenagers, that is why I am enrolled in four online classes. However, I really wanted to take this human behavior class, and it is only offered in person. Luckily only four other people decided to enroll in a class that starts at 8 in the morning on a Monday; I had to convinced the department head and the dean not to cancel the class.

About fifteen minutes after I arrived, one of the other students shows up, a male. I can feel guy take a pause as he enters the room. He stares a me, some guy about the size of a car sitting at the very back of the class. I keep my head down, so all he sees is my wavy hair, and my shoulders that are wider than some people are tall. Actually he sees quite a bit more. Humongous sleeves hiding massive arms, pectorals that sit high above the table top. My enormous legs that can't fit under regular tables, and my huge feet. He is aroused, but he isn't going to masturbate, because he doesn't understand the magnitude of what is hidden under my clothes.

In order to prevent myself from really distracting the other students I have to sit as far back as possible and they sit at the very front. Over the next ten minutes the other three students and the professor show up. Lecture begins and I lift up my head. I always catch the others stealing looks at me; I'm careful never to look back. The professor, Dr. Roberts, is a woman, about forty, and she also is a licensed therapist. She adds general examples from her career in the field, I'd like to ask questions over the topics but I'm afraid of the repercussions. About an hour into class, I notice that there is alot of stirring in the front row, I also noticed that instead of standing the professor has decided to sit down. She usually always stands.

This is why I came to this particular university. Dr. Roberts is the only one a view of my body, but I have avoided eye contact and keep silent. Yes, I'm attractive, but why is she reacting now? Why not earlier? The other students have been stealing glances at me, but why are they getting turned on, about an hour into the lecture?

The gas station guy became aroused because he saw me up close at first, and later ejaculated when we made eye contact. These guys all saw me from across the room and I haven't even looked at them. Yet I can see that that two of the three guys in the class are rubbing their crotches, and it looks like girl is doing the same with her vagina. I write down these observations in one of my notebooks.

I think I may have an answer to my question. Besides being the titanic incarnation of sexuality, I must release some kind of pheromone that causes everyone to become sexually aroused. On the first day of class the windows were closed, and we basically followed this exact procedure of sitting down and listening to the lecture. I mean yeah, they took more frequent glances, but for the most part every thing was the same. About twenty or twenty five minutes later, they were rubbing themselves. After another five minutes, most of them had climaxed. I apologized for my body and their ruined clothes, then I suggested they bring extra clothes and some wet wipes for the future. After listening to my voice most of them climaxed a second time. My pheromones, or whatever I am producing must have filled the room and started affecting their behavior. They orgasmed because of some chemical my body produces the first time, but the second time it was because of my voice. My sexual near omnipotent voice.

By opening the windows, my pheromones can escape. That way it takes longer to fill up the classroom, and if the wind is blowing, the pheromones are carried away and it takes even longer for the room to fill. Today he wind is calm, my pheromones are still escaping outside, but I am producing them faster than they can escape the room. I've turned on the others. I need to further test my hypothesis. I get up walk up to the windows, careful to do so in a way that doesn't allow anyone to see my face. I open the other half of the windows and I stand by the last one, with my back to the class. If I'm right everyone should regain control of their senses. My pheromones should leave faster now that there are more windows open.
As I wait, I can hear soft moans, then suddenly I hear the unmistakable sound of two guys ejaculating.

Ten minutes later I take a look at the results. Two of the guys have big wet spots on the front of their shorts, but the third guy doesn't. He is the last one to have entered the room, he's had the least exposure to me. The girl and Roberts came in together shortly before him. All three look aroused but they have stopped rubbing themselves. It may be just a theory, but it looks like I have solid evidence. Now I need to conduct research. I'll have no shortage of volunteers, but I'll need advisers. To get these advisers means talking to professors in the chemistry and biology departments, I'll need their knowledge to unlock the secrets of my body. Why am I so big? Why don't I emit body odor, but I instead an aphrodisiac? Or is that my body odor?

I have so many questions. Maybe I can come up with something to neutralize this chemical. Yeah, I'll still be a giant muscleman with a face and eyes that make people climax on sight, but still. Now I have a reason for why orgies seem to occur if I'm in a room for too long, or why people love the smell of my clothes, even though they don't actually smell.

When the lecture is over, the professor excuses the class. The two guys look too embarrassed to move. I'm sure they have spare clothes and will put them on when we leave the room. As I exit the room, a hallway of people stares at my immense body, but only for a second because I rush to the stairs and exit the building. Once back in my truck, I pull out of the drive way and head toward the library.

Once in the rear library parking lot, I repeat my process of entering the building. My this time I can't avoid the other students. They always stop and stare at me. I look at the floor as I make my way to my personal study room and swipe my key card to open the lock. The room is actually a conference room, but it has been set aside for me. There is a giant table along the wall, a specially designed chair, and a massive keyboard hooked up to a computer tower and a ceiling mounted projector. Next to the table is a bookshelf with various textbooks. There are no windows so I have privacy, but the room is not sound proof. In addition to my insane body, my eye sight and hearing are unusually sharp. Now that everyone has gotten over their initial shock, I can hear all kinds of comments.

"That's the guy from all the porn videos."

"Holy fucking shit!!! He's real."

"Did you see how big he is."

"...a million bodybuilders rolled up into one."

"Too handsome to be human"

"I need to fu..."

"Oh god, oh..."

"Dude we should watch the video where he fucks all those porn stars."

"Which one, there's like a million of those?"

"No, lets watch the one where he bench presses a truck."

"My favorite is the one with Mary and Troy Holdings."

"I'm so jealous that got they tongue lick his giant balls and horse cock."

"I'd let him do anything to me."

The videos are from when I was a wild child. I've tried taking legal action to remove the videos, but someone always reposts them. They always become the highest viewed and the highest rated. Some of the videos have views going into the billions. Unfortunately I'm very well recognized, but thankfully no one has the guts to disturb my study. I always worry about what I will see when I'm finished studying. I'm assuming that some people are watching my videos because I can hear zippers falling and moaning. I sit at my table and try to ignore their voices and other various sounds. I use the extra large type board to sign into my student account; the screen is projected on the wall by the projector. I only come to the library because I don't have an appropriate computer at home.

I grab a chemistry textbook off the shelf and follow the lecture videos that my chemistry professor has posted. My brain isn't quite as impressive as my body, but it does allow me to understand the material the first time around. After listening to the lecture views I do the homework assignments. I usually get hundreds on my assignments and on my tests. When I'm done with chemistry I do the same for biology, then for calculus, and I decide to hold off from doing any freshman composition today. Its been several hours and I'm starting to get hungry.

I log off my account. I tear out a page from my one of my notebooks, and write down that I want an IT person to bring over the equipment in the room to my house and to set it up. I include directions to my house and leave the note on the table. I exit the room and walk as quickly as possible to the rear door. During my walk, I smell semen. I get into my truck and drive off campus back to my house.

[iceman75]

I'm interested in these porn movies that he has filmed? Did he make them before he was 18? If so, how could they legally be seen? Was he so enticing even as a young teen that special laws were made or no one enforced the laws when it came to him, simply because he was so strong, muscular, masculine and arousing that no one could really look at him than anything less than a full grown man, even if he was chronologically only 13-17. Not that I mind that, I'm always into seeing boys become much more than men at a younger age like that. It wouldn't make sense to me that he would make the videos within a year of being at school, that he could've matured that much, so to me, I personally would not be offended that he performed in movies like that as a younger man (I don't think he could have been considered a boy for many a year.)

Also, it appears that his brain power is almost on level with his bodies power, which is something that piques my interest, and I will certainly be looking forward to much more of this incredible man!

[zangetsu]

For anyone wondering about the videos mentioned in the previous part, I decided to address them in a latter part of the story. Basically the idea is that while he was underage, all the videos related to the guy were lifting, walking around shirtless, swimming, and other daily activities. Everyone wanted a sex tape, but he was such a tease that he refused to film anything until this eighteenth birthday. Then a few days after turning eighteen, he uploaded a several day long marathon of stretching out dozens of famous asses, vaginas, and mouths.

Part 4: Working Man

When I open my house door I am immediately greeted by my two dogs. Ryder, a Great Dane, and Admiral, a Doberman. I love animals because they don't react to me in the same way people do. Most of them treat me like a normal person, except some of the more territorial ones. The territorial ones sometimes get threatened by my presence.

I found them one day when I was walking through some woods around my house. Ryder had a nasty gash on one of his legs. When I first tried to approach, Admiral tried to bite me. I had to hold down is jaws, because I didn't want him hurting his teeth against my muscles. When I finally let him go, he treated with Ryder into the woods. I spent days trying to get their trust, and when they finally gave it to me, I felt all warm and fuzzy. I gave them names, and eventually took them home. A few days later, I took them to the vet for a check up and to get Ryder's leg treated. I figured they were abandoned so I never posted any pictures or notices about lost dogs. I never saw anything about a Great Dane or a Doberman either.

I pet their heads as they attempt to jump up and lick my face. Finally, I take a knee and allow my dogs to give me a proper hello. When they finish, I send them outside to play so I can make myself lunch. I set down my stuff on the table next to the door, and walk to the kitchen to clean my face in the sink.

I place a cast iron skillet with some oil on the stove up. I turn on a burner, and take out two chicken breasts as the skillet heats up. I wash and season the chicken; when the skillet is nice and hot I set the chicken breasts on the iron. While the chicken is cooking, I chop up some lettuce and other vegetables to make a salad. I always use generous amounts of my favorite dressing. From one of the drawers I pull out a list of odd jobs for the day. As I eat my lunch, I go through the list.

First up, cleaning Mrs. Thompson's garage, she is a new client. Then I need to chop up some wood for Miss Robinson and her family. Afterwards I need to mow Miss Laurence's lawn, dispose of a refrigerator for Mr. Williams, and a dozen or so other things. All simple things. I finish eating, and wash the dishes. I head to the garage and load a lawn mower, some axes, some bungee cords, and a couple other things into the back of my truck and drive a couple miles to Mrs. Thompson's house.

She owns a beautiful two story Midwestern style house. Good strong wood, a large green lawn and backyard. I pull into the drive way, exit the truck and walk to the door. Before I can knock on the door, Mrs. Thompson opens it. She must have been waiting for me to arrive.

"H...h...hello."

She is talking to my abdomen and rubbing her legs together. The doorway cuts off my most of my body. I try to raise my voice by and octave or so.

"Hello, Mrs. Thompson. I'd like to get started if that's alright."

She continues to stand at the door way. As we stand there, a strong wind blows past us. She breaks out of her spell and stands aside.

"Great."

I turn and bend to enter her house. Everything is nice and neat. The furniture looks like it was taken right out some expensive showroom. There are some pictures on the wall; several with her husband, I assume. The man is handsome, about a head taller than his wife. In the pictures, they look like fitness models, mid-twenties maybe. Scrupled abs and toned arms, most people would die for. He actually looks a little heavy on the muscle side, like he can switch up his routine and compete as a bodybuilder. I'm actually jealous of the guy. From the pictures I can tell that he exudes confidence and is very comfortable with himself.

Now that I have a clear view of her, I can see that the pictures due her body justice. She is wearing small workout shorts, and a sports bra that is struggling to contain her double Ds. Her outfit exposes world class abs, and nipples that have hardened and are now poking through the bra. The confident and sexy face from the pictures is nowhere to be seen. Instead, she is flushed and shaking. She is still attractive, very attractive.

"Could you show me to the garage?" I ask.

Mrs. Thompson walks ahead of me. I follow and note the way her firm round butt is moving up and down awkwardly. She is trying to be sexy, but is failing kind of hard. The garage is a stark contrast to the living room. There are bins and boxes practically piled up to the ceiling, all kinds of tools are lying on the floor, clothes thrown about, and all sorts of other things litter the walls. I think cleaning the garage may just be an excuse to have me over. Most of the boxes are unopened, all the tools and clothes look new, there isn't a scratch or dent on anything in view, but the biggest clue is the shiny BMW in the middle. Despite the apparent messiness of the garage, there is nothing cluttering the area around the BMW.

Without looking at her I ask, "Can I move the car? I'll need a bit more room to be able to properly clean this room."

"Th..the b...battery for the garage door is dead."

As she talks her voice dies down to a whisper. If my hearing wasn't so good, I won't be able to hear her.

I try to speak at an even higher octave, "Oh. I'll just do it manually then."

I walk over to the garage door and grab the handle. Gently I pull up, and the door is raised along the track until there is a click. Then I get into my truck and drive back to the edge of the driveway.

"Mrs. Thompson, I'm going to need to move your car now."

I walk over to the front of her car, and push it outside. She doesn't say anything in protest, she just watches intently. I would have asked her to move the car, but she is already so close to the edge that the vibrations of the car may take her over it. After the car is outside, I begin sorting through the "mess." As I do so, I can feel the Mrs. Thompson staring at my immense body, hunched over sorting all kinds of tools and clothes into bins. The boxes have alot of kitchen appliances, workout gear, supplement, and other things. As I work I can hear her intense breathing, and some soft moaning. During the whole time, she stands there, watching me. I half expect her to jump me. When I finish I look at Mrs. Thompson's legs, as I try to avoid eye contact.

There is some liquid running down her legs and pooling on the floor. Her face is bright red, and her nipples are protruding obscenely from her breasts. There is a layer of sweat on her body, all her muscles are highlighted. Normally, any man would be lucky to be the recipient of her affections. They'd go to hell and back just to be with her. However, I am not one of those men. A few months ago I would have fucked her and her husband, I'd probably have placed them on a strict diet of my protein shake, but not these days.

As I ignored her, she became increasingly aroused, and without touching herself she achieved several orgasms. She's been having silent orgasms this whole time. I never noticed, I thought she was simply enjoying the show, if you can call it that.

"Mrs. Thompson, I'm done with the cleaning."

Gingerly, she reaches in her breasts and pulls out a wad of hundreds. I'd be dumfounded, if this hadn't happened dozens of times before. It's too much money for just cleaning a garage; some of the bills are moist with perspiration. I take a hundred dollars and try to return the rest to her. She stands there, continuing to have orgasm after orgasm. So I pull on her bra and drop the money inside. Unfortunately she faints from the close proximity. I catch her limp body, before she hits the ground and take her to the bathroom. I leave her in the tub. Then I go outside, push her car back into the garage and lower the garage door. I get into my truck and drive off, making a note not to go back. Its fairly obvious that Mrs. Thompson, had either watched too many of my videos or heard too many stories and decided she wanted to seduce me. I lose alot of potential clients that way.

The drive to my second client for the day isn't too far off, just a few miles away. Miss Robinson lives a large wooden house, with large windows. It reminds me of my own house, except my windows are tinted. I met the Robinson family when I fist moved into the area. I captivated the entire family: husband, wife, son and two daughters. I'd typically stay away from this kind of situation, but the family always stares from a distance, They don't openly linger or stare too much, so I decided to keep them as clients. I can see that there a truck and an SUV in driveway. Miss Robinson and her son are in their house, he is probably skipping school. The dad is working, and the girls went away to other states once classes started. I park near the house, from the bed of my truck, I take out three axes; each nice and sharp.

I make my way to Robinson's backyard, where I am greeted by a mountain of logs, different sizes and of different trees, that need to be split. I lay down two of my axes, and start splitting the logs on the earth. I can't use tree stumps because I always end up destroying them, so I use the earth and take out massive chunks of dirt every time my axes hits the ground. As I work, I can feel two sets of eyes on my back.

You know the feeling you get when you are at a red light and someone is staring at you? I almost always have that feeling, especially here. Every time I look back at the house, I don't see any sign of movement or hear a sound, but I know that I am being watched. About halfway through, my axe hits a log and causes it to explode. Looking at the metal head of the axe, I can see that it has deformed.

Unfortunately, I don't always know my own strength. When splitting wood, I tend to go through axes pretty quickly. I grab another axe and continue working. After I finish, I take all the split logs and stack them along the Robinson's house, then using my feet, I fill in all the holes I made with dirt. I walk to the front door to find two fifty dollar bill, well over my charge of twenty per hour. Still, I take the money and leave.

Mr. Williams' house is on route to Miss Laurence's. Drake Williams used to be one of my teachers in high school, he taught calculus and coached baseball. I mercilessly teased him during my senior year, when I actually bothered to show up for class. His partner, Craig, is a former marine. I constantly asked Mr. Williams if he preferred my body. I would always casually flex my arms with the intention of getting Williams hot and bothered in front of his students. It worked, but no body ever paid any attention to him, with a titanic muscle god flexing in the middle of the classroom.

One day, I dominated Craig while Williams watched. It wasn't anything that was supposed to be sexual, it was more of a "you're max is my warm up" kind of thing taken to the extreme. I had Craig load up his max deadlift, and then I very causally started curling the bar in one hand. I tossed it in the air and caught it with my other hand and continued to do so for several minutes. Then I ordered them to wrap their bodies around the weights; even with the increased weight I continued doing one armed curls and throwing the bar around. They left humiliated, or so I thought. The two are still together, apparently I made them grow closer together and even encouraged Craig to work out more. By "pure coincidence" they ended up living a few miles from me. Still, I feel guilty about all I put them through, so I occasionally do odd jobs for free.

I get out of the truck and knock on the door to their house. A 6'3'' former marine, current bodybuilder opens the door. I can tell that this is a guy who was bullied alot as a kid, so he went to the military to toughen up, despite the whole don't ask don't tell thing. The guy is an absolute tank. The sleeves of his shirt rest right above his twenty something inch arms, a gigantic bull neck, a chest wide enough to intimidate pro wrestlers, and quads so big he can't put his feet together. This guy is a total alpha. He is close, if not, 300lbs of solid muscle, he has very little fat. I'd guess his body fat percentage is in the high single digits or low double digits. The beast stares at my lower chest, a very large mound starts to form in his pants. He tries to say something, but only a high pitched sound can escape his manly chest. He lowers his head and moves aside. I step past him and wander into the kitchen. I can't help, but wonder what effect I have on this guy in particular.

With his super tight shirt and musclebound body he can stop traffic. He is ruggedly good looking, I remember women and gay men fawning over him. He has won several bodybuilding competitions, and he received several awards for his military accomplishments. I don't know the exact details, other than that he was deployed several times to combat areas. He must have endured all kinds of crazy mental and physical training in the marines, but for some reason he is standing behind me, head down, unable to talk. He was like this way when I first met him. I wish that someone possessing his level of discipline, and a body worthy to play Hercules, could talk to me, but that isn't the case.

There is a large stainless steel refrigerator unplugged in the middle of the kitchen. I open the sliding widow glass doors and push the refrigerator outside, to a patio area. Once outside, I grab an edge of the refrigerator with one hand and hoist it onto my shoulder. As walk away, I hear a loud thud, and the entire house shakes. I drop the refrigerator and turn around to see that Craig had collapsed on the kitchen floor. The tiles around his head are broken, but I don't see any blood. His jeans are a complete mess. The button on his jeans snapped and a mighty foot long erection tore through some wet briefs. He starts to stir and sits up. We make eye contact, and again he shoots a load again. His entire body is twitching like crazy, all his muscles bulge and flex. He hits the ceiling several of times, before the size of his shots start to diminish. There is a trail of semen from his penis to the glass doors.

For some reason, men are able to constantly achieve erections as long as I am near, and they can also shoot bigger loads, but this guy is something else. Most men tend to ejaculate, go flaccid, and then become erect again. However this guy didn't go flaccid; he is going on a third ejaculation off one erection. Not wanting to witness another round, I use both hands to grab the refrigerator and carry it out to my truck.

I don't bother opening the gate, to the bed of the truck. Instead I throw the refrigerator over the gate, and catch it before it can land. Using bungee cords, I tie the thing down, get back in my truck and drive off. I can do every day stuff fine, but then come those days that require actual labor. Part of the reason I made the log explode earlier is because I didn't know how much strength to put in each swing. I more or less guessed how much energy was needed for the first log. After it split, and I based every other swing on that first swing. Some of the swings had far more energy than splitting a log requires, but I just kept swing away, oblivious to the deformations of the axe. I didn't know how much effort to put into lifting the refrigerator, with someone watching. I could have lifted the thing in the palm of my hand and balanced it, but was obviously overkill, so I went with a more appropriate method. Unfortunately that was still overkill. Hopefully the next job will go smoother.

Without even bothering to let Miss Laurence know I arrived, I start mowing the lawn with my lawn mower. I make quick work of the lawn, and put way the mower. Then I go to collect my pay. Unfortunately, I knock far too hard and nearly tore the door off its hinges. An elderly woman opens the door to find a massive red shirt covering her field of vision.

In the highest voice I can muster I say, "Miss Laurence, I already mowed your lawn."

She stares for several seconds. Her eyes bulge out of her head. She's trembling with excitement.

"Miss Laurence."

"Oh right," she stammers.

She leaves the doorway. I can't see her house on the account of my height, but I can hear something vibrating. She reappears a few minutes later with some money in hand. Much more money that I should get for mowing an averaged sized lawn. I don't want to stay around, so I just take the money. I leave and continue my work.

I mow a few more lawns and pick up some old appliances. I drive to a recycling center. After the day I've had I decide to just toss everything over the fence instead of going through the proper line. A refrigerator, a stove, a drier, and a washing machine all go over the fence and crash with a loud bang. I drive off before any of the employees decide to check out the source of the sounds.

I have one last job. Some guy and his wife want me to break up their concrete. They live in a cul-de-sac. I spot a house with any empty driveway, there are two cars parked by the sidewalk. I park on the opposite side of the street. After getting out of my truck, I grab a sledgehammer from the bed of my truck and walk to the front door. I knock and a short middle aged woman opens the door.

"I'm here to breakup your driveway."

Without waiting for a reply; I turn and walk away. I raise the sledgehammer above my head, and using the full force of my musclebound body I swing the 30lb hammer down to release all my pent up frustration. The sound is deafening, the concrete completely shatters. Bits and pieces go off flying into the air. Some of the driveway is actually powderized. I hit the concrete again, and again. Each time, I send massive chunks everywhere and the air fills with powdered concrete. I continue to pound away at the driveway until the head of my hammer shatters.

When the powdery dust clears, I'm standing there with a broken sledgehammer in hand. The entire driveway is covered in craters, there chunks of concrete on the homeowner's lawn and on the neighbor's lawn. The garage door has several holes in it, they are pretty large. I don't see any fragments from my hammer, they may have went through the garage door. I'm not exhausted, but my massive chest is rising and falling. My muscles are pumped, my upper torso fills my shirt. I finally feel relaxed after my shitty day. I start walking over to my truck to get a tarp for cleaning up the driveway, when I notice that there are several adults surrounding the area. A good two thirds of them are unconscious in the street or on the lawns. The ones that aren't unconscious are on their knees and quickly falling over. I take a pause, and notice how my chest is expanding.

My shirt is supposed to be about two sizes too large, but my pump has changed that. As I inhale, my pumped up chest actually stretches the material exposing two pectorals the size of a table. The veins and striations are visible to any one still conscious. The sleeves are now snug against my upper arms. My deltoids seem to want to match my head in terms of height. I can feel all the extra blood flooding through my torso and arms. I feel hot. My penis starts to react; I feel a pulse. It travels throughout my body and makes my muscles twitch. Every single muscle fiber in my body is now twitching in anticipation of an orgasm.

The last thing I need is to make everything worse by standing there for half an hour and unleashing a load in plain view. I close my eyes and inhale. My chest expands father still. I hear a faint tearing sound before exhaling. I continue inhaling and exhaling for a good five minutes. My muscles stop twitching, the pulsing in my penis stops. I open my eyes, and see that not a single person is standing. There is still a job to finish, but first I pick up every person on the street and place them on a lawn. Some are grinding their hips and moaning, others are fondling themselves. Since the entire cul-de-sac appears to be knocked out, I take a tarp from my truck and begin collecting concrete pieces. The process isn't very long, but as I work the tear in my shirt becomes larger. When I finish, I decide to leave a note.

I'm sorry about the scene earlier. Please send me the bill for the garage door and any other damage I caused.

I sign the note and include my address, then drop it through their mail slot. As I walk back to my truck, carrying a tarp with several hundred pounds on concrete in one hand and a broken sledgehammer in the other, I can't help but wonder, "What if I got the wrong house?" I don't think I could comeback. The embarrassment, the uneasy silence, the sexual tension, and the whole demolishing the wrong driveway thing; I'd actually die. I really hope that isn't the case.

I drive to the town dump, to get rid of several hundred pounds of concrete, a broken sledge hammer, and a deformed axe. Since the dump is closed, I tie up the corners of the tarp and throw it over the wooden fence, then I throw over the hammer and the axe. Not the safest thing in the world, but nobody is in the dump. I think.

I can't see too much past the top of my pecs, so I bend my upper body slightly to examine the damage to my shirt. there is a large tear exposing my bottom pecs. I grab the hem and take off the shirt. My chest is exposed to the cool air. I can see all kinds of crazy veins and striations running along my pecs. They are so big right now, that if I lay down its actually possible to use my pecs as a table. I lift up right hand and try to dent my right pec. The muscle is so thick, I can only slightly dent it. I try harder, but the action causes my pec to flex and become even difficult to dent. I got to say, that after wearing such conservative clothing all day it is nice to feel fresh air against my skin. I smile, throw the shirt in my truck hoping I can get it fixed and drive off.

The rest of the day is uneventful; I make dinner, watch tv, shower, lay out tomorrows clothes, and go to bed.

[iceman75]

Man, I almost feel sorry for this guy, having the perfect body, the perfect face, have people react to them the way they do, and it's been happening so often that he can't enjoy it at all anymore, he just considers it a burden to almost be hated. But man, I could only guess what would happen if he just decided to let go and experience some real pleasure, I'm sure just like everything else on him, the orgasms he must achieve would be mind blowing by anyone's standards. I look forward to finding more about his past, that's always a favorite thing of mind. Was he born this way, what was his childhood like, if only in passing it would fascinate me to see the genesis of a God come to Earth. Anyway, excellent story, you had me hooked from the beginning!

[Kit Werecat]

I almost feel sorry for this guy.. he's so frail and vulnerable...

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiigghhhhtt.

The ultimate fantasy would be that someday they can master genetics to the point where they could deliberately CREATE a God on Earth like this. Maybe in 10-20 more years... What an absolutely mind-boggling thought.

I know you are making a real point of not doing so, but maybe when you post the last chapter of this story, you could post a postscript giving us some of this monster's stats. His height, chest, waist, hips, arms, and oh yes.. endowment.

I mean this isn't torture enough. I want to feel COMPLETELY inadequate.


But seriously, I DO feel a bit sorry for him.

Is there never a way he can appreciate a lover, other than just masturbating? Isn't there at least a way he can totally release himself? I don't know.. renting a private island somewhere, where he can strip naked for a few weeks and find SOME WAY to get absolutely unrestricted sexual bliss?

He really seems like a wonderful guy to get to know. I mean seriously. Maybe he can have challenging conversations with a blind guy or something. Of course, even blind, the other guy would have to take something for those pheromones..

This guy has missed a golden job opportunity. He should be charging for demolishing buildings!


I have one question.. is there going to be some place in this story when he really, REALLY loses it? The driveway was a nice tease, but even there, I could see he was holding back. Experiencing this guy really, really PISSED would be a cross between the most jaw-dropping and scariest experience in a person's entire life.

Wonderful story. I thought this idea would get old really fast. But it doesn't. It's as mesmerizing as he himself must be.

Please keep going.

[zangetsu]

When I started writing the story I set it in mind not to give any specific measurements about the guy. I'm not every good with numerical dimensions for one thing and for another, I thought that bit with Craig was really intense. A 6'3" man manages to be only be eye level with the monster's lower chest. That really got me going.

I've outlined the story so that it will cover one or two more regular days, then it will skip a few weeks or months. After which, the guy will start gathering professors for his research project. Once the project starts, I'll post some flashbacks to serve as back story. I've already started the one with the billionaires. Some other ideas are:

1. Flexing in class, or dominating the school faculty.
2. This eighteenth birthday, he decides that he has teased the world enough and begins his short, but every notable porn career.
3. Testing his body/strength, lifting heavy stuff or maybe by knocking down buildings.
4. Messing with the law.
5. Crushing the egos of arrogant people.
6. A simple, but descriptive account of his growth to the present.

If you have any ideas post them in the comments or on my profile. Kit Werecat, I haven't decided were, but your idea for guy getting really pissed is going to somehow find its way into the flashbacks or into one of the next few chapters.

I'm going to try to hit some genetics hard. The research will reveal some already obvious things, a few new things, and there will be a twist, or what I hope counts as a twist. Definitely the genetic god among men concept will be important.

[iceman75]

I agree with that list, I especially love the idea of him fucking noticeable stars, both men and women, not just porn people, but famous people who lust after him, watching him fuck say, Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt at the same time, that would be an incredible thing to read. It would also be wild to see him messing around with police officers, knowing that even as he commits illegal acts, what could they do to him, he would never fit in a police car, police cuffs couldn't fit around his wrists, and most likely he'd be bulletproof, and a taser would only tickle him. Every single one of those points pretty much have my stamp of approval (Not that you need that, just saying that I love how you have outlined this story and look forward to seeing you come through on each and every one of those points.) Like I said, a report of his past history, his childhood, is on my list of what I really, really want to see, whether it's detailed or just made into one paragraph, seeing him in his preteen years to his young teen years would really make me happy.

Thanks a lot for writing this story and taking our suggestions to heart, Zangetu, you rule, bro!

[zangetsu]

This may be my last post for a while, I'm not going to have a much free time soon. I'll continue writing when I can, maybe post shorter sections.

Part Five: Another Day

My alarm goes off at 4:00 in the morning. Carefully I hit the reset bottom, and follow my usual morning procedure, minus the breakfast. Today, I'm wearing a massive green long sleeved t-shirt and humongous black slacks held up a regular belt. Without the belt the pants won't fall or anything. They can't get past my large bubble butt, or my inhumanly massive quads. I catch my reflection on the way out; my green eyes seem to glow in contrast against my radiant bronze skin.

It's 4:45 by the time I'm driving to the grocery store. After all my interactions from yesterday, you can imagine why I don't shop during more conventional hours. I arrive at one of those large national chain super stories. Nice wide isles, open 24/7, and most importantly, self checkouts. Including mine, there are twenty vehicles in the parking lot, most are parked near the produce entrance. I exit my truck and grab a cart from the return cart rack and enter the store. The inside is very bright and very spacious. There isn't a single soul near the entrance or in the produce section.

Maneuvering the cart up and down the produce section, I grab several vegetables and fruits. Onions, carrots, corn, potatoes, lettuce, tomatoes, avocados, apples, oranges, and a watermelon. As I hold the watermelon, I can't help but smile and compare it to my biceps. On my left palm sits a large ripe watermelon. It is so big and around, and of course smooth. Despite, my better judgement, I flex my right arm, and marvel at my right bicep. It too is big and round, however it is not smooth. My green sleeve reveals massive veins and deep striations snaking their way around my muscle. My bicep is also so much harder.

If you hit a watermelon with a sledgehammer, you can easily break the watermelon. However, if you hit my bicep with the same hammer, you won't the same reaction. It is too hard to be hurt, instead you will end up on the floor in agony. Not by me, directly at least, but by the backslash of hitting an immovable object. There are some videos of me testing out the inertia of my biceps. Hammers, metal bars, and even bullets; name it, I've most likely tried using it to test my endurance.

Luckily, the produce section is still seemingly empty and I don't hear anything other than the air conditioning. It's a good sign, I guess. I continue my trip through the store, passing through the isles for bread, chips, cookies, juices, sodas, and a couple other unhealthy foods. I can eat chocolate cake and drink beer, but never gain any fat. Gaining fat can be a little problematic, but the real problem is that I seem to have a limit on how many calories I can consume in one day.

A few years ago, I was trying to gain a little weight. My coaches kept saying that because I was so vascular my chances of breaking a bone were rather high, unlikely but high if the proper amount of force was applied. They didn't want to take any chances, so they ordered me to fatten up a bit. I was always one of the tallest kids, and I was definitely the most vascular, but was I never the biggest eater. One day after eating a particularly large meal in perpetration for football season, I threw up. After getting full I just couldn't push myself to eat any more. I wasn't small by any means, I had the opposite problem. As a big kid, I had a target on my back. Opposing teams needed two or more players to really get me down. The bigger guys, especially seemed to have it in for me. They wanted to show that they weren't intimidated by my size or strength. So they grouped up and really tried to give me hell.

I suffered what should have been pretty nasty injuries, but I never broke anything. I sprained my ankle once, but that was because I turned too quickly, not because someone hit me. I stopped playing most sports about midway through my sophomore year, because a lot of opposing players and parents complained that I was way too big. There were also complaints by fellow teammates during practice. Some of the other players suffered broken bones, at my hands. I was always careful, but sometimes it just wasn't enough and other times I got really mad.

I didn't think it was my fault. There would have been less injuries if the other coaches didn't encourage two, three, or sometimes four of their biggest players to go after me, I won't have gotten angry and hit back harder. For the seniors on any team, it is important to be in shape and healthy. Most of them wanted to play college ball, and then go on to the NFL. Some of them were good, good enough to make it. Others didn't plan on going to the NFL, they just wanted college scholarships. Unfortunately because I broke a lot of bones, some really good players missed the chance to play for a recruiter. They didn't get the scholarships they worked so hard for, and as a result didn't go to college. At the time I didn't care about them, I was just angry about being forced to stop playing. Every few people took my side, they ogled and praised my body at every turn, but they had enough sense to draw a line somewhere. Deep down I knew they were right, but it didn't stop me from reminding the football team and the wrestling team how much smaller their biggest players were compared to me.

Since mellowing out and questioning my body a bit, I've found that my limit on calories is about 3300. I never eat that much so it isn't a problem, but still it makes me wonder.

I continue going through the seemingly empty store to the meat section, where I choose out some beef, pork, and chicken. Afterwards I make my way to the dairy section for milk, butter, eggs, cheese, and yogurt. As I walk to the self-check out isles, a group of college students walks in the opposite direction. Most of them stare, except this one obnoxious looking guy. He is texting on his phone and crashes into two of his friends, causing a domino effect. He gets up, swearing. Then he angrily notices that his friends aren't paying any attention to him, and he looks at the direction of their stare.

He finally sees me. As I walk past them, I look straight ahead. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a small tent appear very quickly, followed by some sticky looking fluid, then the tent disappears, just as I pass by. I can tell that this guy is the confrontational type, but he just stands there amid his friends.

I can hear footsteps. and a muffled voice ask, "Are you kids alright?"

That's Andy, the store manager. The employees and some of the customers like to hide and watch me as I shop from afar. At first I was a little uncomfortable with the experience, but I soon grew to accept it. Its actually a pretty good move on their part. They get to watch me, and I get to shop in peace, of course there are occasional disruptions. College kids, parents with sick children, or just random people that decide to shop at five in the morning. Still the system works for now, and I continue to return to this store.

I never have any problems with the self check out, just scan, bag, and pay. I take my brown paper bags and exit the store, all in all, it was a good trip. Not any interactions and only one incident. I load all my bags into the back of my truck and return the cart back to metal rack. Then I drive off.

At my house I unload the fist round of groceries onto the front steps. As I walk back to the truck, I see what appears to be a 300lb bodybuilder and his roughly 180lb husband walking past my house. The size difference is kind of funny; awkwardly I wave. They see me. Williams starts running and Craig does what is akin to running for a man his size. I'm glad Craig is alright. I take the groceries inside and put them in their designated places. Quickly, I whip up a simple breakfast, and wash the dishes. Then I put out some food for my dogs.

Afterwards, I go over to my answering machine, notepad and pen in hand, and start listening to the voice messages. I have a hundred and fifty six messages, all from yesterday. I half expect the Watts to call, and say I demolished the wrong driveway. I go through most of them pretty quickly. Anyone that just pants repeatedly is deleted, I'm not into muscle worship sessions or prostituting myself. The fetish stuff is also out, so is stripping, sperm donation, massages, photo sessions, guest appearances, drug trials, and couple of other things. In the end, I call back twenty people with actual work available.

My phone is custom made, the numbers on the dial pad are giant, so my massive fingers don't hit two keys at once. An old friend modified the phone, so my voice sounds higher. Of course it is still very low and seductive to the human ear, but I can talk to clients without turning them on, too much. I spend about forty minutes arranging dates, times, and to an extent wages. I almost always get more money than is agreed to, which can be a perk. With the latest batch of clients, I am booked solid through the month. I won't take on any more jobs until, I get through the ones on the list. The Watts didn't call, that doesn't put me completely out of the woods.

I put my arms behind my head, my biceps swell, and close my eyes for a few minutes. As I sit on the couch relaxing, I can't help but feel my body. Not physically, but mentally. I can tell that I'm bigger than yesterday, the difference is subtle, just barely noticeable to me. My biceps and triceps bulge out a little more, my traps are closer to my head, my abdomen is tighter. The muscles on my legs push out farther in all directions, and the weight of my genitals is greater than it was yesterday. Sometimes I think I can actually feel my body grow, I can feel all kinds of shift occurring in my muscle tissues as my cells continue to grow. Suddenly I hear barking. I rush outside to find Ryder and Admiral barking at a guy in a large white van with the university logo on the side. The driver is a young, just a few years older than I am.

Firmly I say, "Rider. Admiral, stop. Come here."

I rub their heads, they are very protective of me; I appreciate that. They keep our home free of pesky intruders, but today they scared the crap out of the IT guy.

"Go play in the backyard."

They look back at the van, but they run off. I walk over to the van and look inside. The guy looks pretty scared. I lean away so that I am out of view.

In my highest voice I ask, "Are you alright?"

The IT guy replies, "Yes I'm fine, thank you. I'm really sorry for disturbing you."

My dogs nearly attack the guy and he apologizes to me; he hasn't even seen me yet.

"I'm the one that should be apologizing."

Still thinking he is at fault, "No really it's my fault. I should have called ahead. The university even told me so, but I forgot. I'm hear to install the projector."

I can hear him shifting through some stuff in the passenger seat. I had completely forgotten that I wanted the equipment installed in my house.

"Oh, right. Come inside, they won't bother you anymore."

I turn and walk into the house. I can hear gasp, as he gazes at me for the first time, and a whimper when I bend and turn to enter the house. He shows up at my doorway, with his head down and a pair of massive ear muffs. I'm surprised, but I know that he didn't prepare well enough. It is not enough to advert your eyes and dampen my voice to be in my presence. There is so much more work that needs to be done.

Looking at his feet he starts talking, "The university told me to prepare for your appointment. In which room do you want the projector?"

"Any one of the empty bedrooms is fine."

The guy is of average height and build, with blonde hair and hazel eyes. He continues to look at his feet, but a tent begins to form in his khakis. He looks up, and sees my gigantic body. The tent in his pants reaches full size and begins to leak precum. I can tell that he is confused.

"There is a bathroom down the hall."

Taking another look at me, he rushes to the bathroom. I should have known. Since this is my house, it must be filled with my pheromones. It is still just a theory, but he may have just made it more credible. I open all the doors and windows in the house, then I turn on the air conditioner. I flap my massive arms in the air, generating air currents to push the pheromones outside. Besides the possible pheromones, there is another more obvious problem, my very presence.

The human brain in really impressive, it continuously makes observations using the five senses and stores that information away. My presence causes the brain to overload, so to speak. I've already described the effects to some extent. As people stare at my immense body, handsome face, and unearthly eyes they enter a trance. Their sense of sight literary causes their brain to shut off temporarily. Hearing my low and sexy voices causes the same response. The IT guy tried to avoid looking at my body once he entered by house, and used ear muffs to dampen my voice, but his other senses more than compensated.

It is hard to explain, but one of the purposes of the skin is to act like a sensor. The nerves can detect changes in air pressure, temperature, and all kinds of other things which are sent to the brain. When the IT entered the room, he knew there was something big inside. Something massive, occupying a large amount of space. Most people are naturally curious, the IT guy wanted to see the source of the distortion in the air. I don't know whether he looked up because of my presence or because of my pheromones, but I know that he didn't stand a chance against me. Someone with fully functional eyes can't help but look at me, and people without functional eyes have it worse.

I've tried talking to blind people, the result was cruel. One of the first was Tim, a friend of an old friend. From the moment I met him, Tim knew I was big. At first everything was fine, I wasn't so ridiculously massive or handsome. We could talk and stuff without him getting horny, but then something changed, as I continued to grow. Tim could feel a giant disrupting the air currents more and more, he could feel my body heat changing the temperature of the air around me, in a sense his skin allowed his brain to paint the picture of a titan. My causal breathing allowed him to pieced together that I wasn't a blob of fat occupying a massive amount of space. I was something else, something dense and hot. He started getting fidgety and impatient. Then he started trying to rub up against me and feel my body. He started ranting about my size, how I was fucking with him, how he needed to feel if I was real. He wanted to feel my body, to feel the truth because he couldn't see it. I felt bad, so I allowed him to touch me. That was a mistake.

His brain deduced that I was big, but it couldn't gauge at the magnitude. He gasped and moaned as his hands explored my large bulging muscles, he shot several loads in his pants. When he discovered I wasn't flexing, he passed out. After regaining consciousness, he started crying because he couldn't see my body. Feeling me wasn't enough, he wanted to see me in my full glory. I avoided him until I left town, it was just so awkward. Since then, I've met other blind people and they have the same reaction. It doesn't matter if we met in a large open room and they wear ear muffs to dampen my voice, because their brains alert them to my presence. My meetings with the blind always leave them raving mad to touch my body and cursing their blindness.

Two hours later he comes out of the bathroom still looking down and wearing the ear muffs, I can see from his name tag that his name is John. I step outside.

He says, "I'm sorry. I... I... I'm n...not gay. I have a girlfriend."

I call out, "It's fine. It happens all the time. Your probably dehydrated, get yourself something to drink out of the kitchen."

I hear him enter the kitchen, The ear muffs dampen my low and sexy voice, but as long as he has eyes, he will be tempted to look at me; I shouldn't be in the same room as him.

Walking back into the living room he asks, "S...sir where are you?"

I answer, "I think it is best if you avoid seeing me."

John relies, "Um...okay. I just need permission to drill a few holes in your ceiling."

"You have my permission to modify the house in any way you see fit. Also if you don't mind closing your eyes, I need to go inside to collect some things before heading out for work."

He replies, nervously, "Sir, I have have my eyes closed."

As I walk past him, I can see that he desperately wants to open them. I head to the garage, to grab my tools for the day, I return back outside and see that John is standing in the same place with his eyes closed. I load up my truck, with today's tools

Once I'm inside the truck, I lower the window, slightly, and say, "It's okay to open your eyes now."

Then I add, "How long will this take?"

"It shouldn't take long, the university told me to do whatever it takes to complete this task," he replies eagerly.

"Alright then,...if you need to relieve yourself the bathroom is open, all I ask is that you take care of any mess that occurs."

With that I exit the driveway to start another day's work. The first jobs is digging a hole fore Mr. Davis, a guy building his own house. When I arrive to the location, Mr. Davis is standing outside. I can see that the Victorian house is almost complete. It is beautiful, I'm amazed one guy can actually build such a thing. Mr. Davis is a stocky man in his forties, he appears to be in rather good shape. Over the phone he said that he is building the house with his inheritance and hopes that he can pass it on to his children.

As I step out of the truck, his eyes bulge out, he starts trembling, the usual stuff. I grab a couple custom made shovels from the back of the truck and approach Mr. Davis. He runs into the house. I stop, he must be scared. That usually doesn't happen. He comes back out with some papers, a textbook, and a pen in hand.

"Can I get your autograph?," he practically screams like a girl, "I'm a big fan. So is my wife, My parents loved you too. I'll pay anything you want."

I stare at his forehead, "I thought you called me to dig out a space for a septic tank, not sign autographs."

Now hell looks scared, like I'm going to leave. Frantically he cries out, "Yes, yes. I need the space dug, but once I saw you I just got carried away."

I sigh, and extend my hand. I've had worse encounters with clients and I need to pick my battles wisely. He eagerly gives me the materials in his hands. The papers are actually photos from when I was younger. The first shows me back when I sixteen or so. I'm standing next to a group of professional bodybuilders, heavy weights.

They look small and rather strange next to me. Bulging stomachs, disproportionate muscles, their skins are too stretched over their muscles, and overly tan faces. I completely dwarf the bodybuilders in terms of height and muscular development. Wide shoulders and a narrow waist, with all my muscles in perfect proportion to each other. My green eyes contrast with my naturally bronze skin, my face is radiant almost glowing, and my shirtless upper body glistening with a layer of sea water. Unlike the bodybuilders, my skin isn't stretched out oddly, it is tight over my muscles, but I have the appearance of someone who naturally grew to inhuman size, but instead of someone who modified their body with chemicals.

The second picture is me lifting a truck loaded with loaded with large house appliances. My arms are clearly visible; huge and coursing with power. Around me there is a crowd. They are all gasping at the size of my immense body and taking pictures.

A third picture shows me in a light blue shirt, with blue eyes. My eyes tend to change color depending on the lighting in the room. In the picture I am surrounded by super models, male and female. My muscles poke out through the shirt, the top buttons are unfastened exposing my pecs. Two large bronze colored stones, with a deep valley between. Several models are literally climbing on top of my body, clawing at my muscles.

The fourth and final picture shows me alone on the beach during sunset. The sky is red, orange, and beyond some clouds, purple. Waves crash down around me, as I stand in a wet shirt shirt. The shirt is completely see through, I might as well not be wearing anything. My pecs are completely flexed, in their glory they show dozens of veins and striations. So round, so big. My biceps are double their usual size and also covered with veins and striations, my abs are so tight and defined, like meaty bricks. The shirt has slipped into the crevices between each abs, those sections are hopelessly lost in the picture. Despite the glorious body, the real piece of art is the eyes. My eyes in the picture are gold, like a perfect sun. Everything, my muscles, my jaw, my skin, my hair, everything draws the attention to my eyes. Eyes that are hypnotic in nature, so powerful that you can't help but stare and fade into nothingness in those eyes.

I sign the pictures and give them to Mr. Davis. He takes me outback and gives the details for his plan of the septic tank. Basically I dig a really big rectangular hole and a couple of channels for the guy, while he watches from inside his house.

"I can't believe your done so quickly." He walks out of the house wearing different pants. He takes a good look at me and says, "You've grown so much since these pictures were taken."

He continues to stares at my body, but chooses focus on my pecs. I interrupt his thoughts, "Mr. Davis about my pay."

"Ah, right you are. We never settled on those autographs, how is 1000 per photo sound? I heard that your prices were rather high, but if money isn't what you want, certainly we can work out a deal."

"Mr. Davis, I don't know who told you this, but I'm not charging for the autographs. I'm talking about digging out space for your septic tank, remember we agreed on 500 dollars for the work."

"R...really," he stutters, "of course."

From his back pocket, he pulls out a massive wad of hundreds. From the wad, he quickly takes out seven bills and gives them to me. A 200 dollar tip, isn't out of the ordinary for me. I shouldn't take so much extra money, but since this guy was clearly prepared to give, I decide to just take it.

I need to clear up somethings, "Mr. Davis, I thank you for your business, but in the future please know that I will not sign any autographs for any price. Have a good day."

He looks crushed, almost as if he has an entire collection of photos he wants signed. I throw the shovels in the truck, and drive off. In the rear view mirror, I can see Mr. Davis pull down his pants and start fondling himself. It is a good thing that he doesn't have any neighbors.

The second and third jobs for the day are cutting down trees. The clients are neighbors and want ash trees cut down, turned into small logs, and split. The task takes longer than usual, because I use a chainsaw, provided by the clients, to cut down the trees instead of chopping them with an axe. As I work the clients watch me, for several minutes before retreating inside. While I split the logs, I run through an axe, and by the time I finish I nearly ruin a second. Besides excessive staring, I don't have any problems, with the clients. When I go to collect my pay, they give very generous tips, like Mr. Davis.

The fourth job in more of a display of strength than a job really. The client, Mr. Daily, wants me to demolish his old brick grill. I thought about canceling this job, because of my incident yesterday, but he has been waiting for a long time. I arrive at his house; it sticks out from the rest of the houses. It is large, and composed primarily of large white cubes and windows. Ordinary, on a house like this, the windows would be clear, but these are tinted. It's not ugly, but it looks alien among all the more traditional houses. From my truck, I can see that there are also several cameras on the front of the house. I think that is fairly unusual.

Mr. Daily walks through the front door. He is an daddy or something like that; suddenly the cameras make more sense. He looks to be in his sixties, silver haired, toned, and from the looks of it rich. As I step out of the truck, his eyes bulge and then narrow. A grin forms on his face, a face full of superiority and arrogance. I can see that he wants my body, and I see that he knows he will have it. A man like him doesn't think, he knows.

Composing himself he says, "Well look at you." As he moves toward me and starts walking around a circle with me in the center. "They must really grow em big where your from, eh big boy?"

His voice and attitude are a dead give away, this guy likes to have fun with college boys. He likes toys with young men. I know that I'm not his first, but I will be the last.

"I'd like to get to work." I say, trying to suppress my discomfort and distaste.

"I'll put you to work alright," he says, "follow me round back."

As he talks he licks his lips, and stares at my crotch. Then he turns around and begins walking to the backyard, going off about himself. His money and position of power, as state politician or something like that. I can feel that I am being watched by several lustful eyes. In my peripheral vision, I see shadows moving in the tinted windows. I get an ominous feeling, in the pit of my stomach; at this point I solidify my resolve.

The backyard is large, and green. There is a big swimming pool, shaped like a bean. Next to the house, is a patio section, and at the edge of the patio is a large red brick grill. It's going to be a shame to destroy such a lovely grill. Next to the grill, is a hammer, like from the comic book, Thor. I also notice a yellow stack of what appear to be clothes. He grabs the yellow stack and thrusts it into my hands.

"Alright boy, put them on."

I give the man a little smile to entice him, and unfold what turns out to be a construction uniform. So he likes his pups to undress and play games uh. I undo my belt, and pull the black slack past my quads. The slacks fall to the ground, exposing underwear concealing a salami and two cantaloupes. The old man whimpers and climaxes, I hear similar sounds from indoors. I kick off my shoes and slacks, actions that cause my overdeveloped leg muscles to flex and bulge, nearly causing a heart attack. I try getting the yellow pants on my legs, but they tear after I get them past my knees. I toss out them away.

I continue to stand in the patio and casually flexing my lower body. So casually, I make it an art form to stand and very subtly move the muscle tissues in my legs. I tense my right quad, just slightly, but a ripple of movement travels through my right leg. Every muscle is connected together, everything bulges and grows; my muscles fight for limited space and surge outward to accommodate themselves. They move farther and farther way from my body, closer to the old man who has long since passed out.

I step back into my black slacks and redress myself. I walk over to the silver haired daddy, and gently slap him until he wakes. The poor bastard is flustered, and red faced. He looks down at his ruined expensive pants, and then at me. I look away, so he doesn't climax again.

He tries to regain control of the situation, "B...boy. W...w....why aren't you d...dressed?"

I show him the remains of the uniform.

"You...you j...j...just goin' to have to w....work in your b...birthday uniform."

I grab the hem of my green shirt, and lift it a few inches, not enough to reveal anything. Then I stop and lower it. I inhale and exhale. My gigantic chest rises and falls. He stares intently at my pecs, and starts walking over to me, with another erection. He stands on his toes in an attempt to suck my nipples through the green shirt. I catch his head in my palm, and keep him away.

He sobs, "Please, please let me suck them. I'll do anything. I'll pay anything."

It looks like my job is almost complete.

In my normal voice, I start talking, "Mr. Davis, just from looking at you I can tell you find enjoyment in walking through the gyms and hunting prey. You find young muscular men and bring them here to humiliate and dominate them. I can tell that you especially like playing with straight guys, and convincing them they are gay. You like outing closeted college students for fun. You make all sorts of promises, and treat them with false affection.Then with your friends, you take turns fucking them, and when you are done, you toss aside your prey like trash. I'm here to stop you. If you have any current toys, they're free of you as of this moment. You've played your last game. If you want a relationship, do it like a normal person, enough sex games."

I'm nearly shouting by the end of my little rant. The muscles on my neck are sticking out, not in another tease show, but from anger. He can see my handsome face fill with rage. The hard muscles under my loose clothing become harder than diamonds. That this point he is equally scared and turned on. The new liquid ruining his pants isn't doesn't have any protein. I may have been too forceful, but just knowing about his games really pisses me off.

I used to do a similar thing, of finding and fucking anyone I liked, but I stopped once I realized the long term effects of my games. The man in front of me, is fully aware of his position and the vulnerability of the human male, and he exploits those vulnerabilities for his sex games. He knows the end results, but he doesn't care, so I have decided to stop him from ruining any more lives than he already has.

I walk over to the hammer, and pick it up in one hand. It's heavy, like 200 pounds heavy. I don't know they were able to get such a thing, but for me the weight is practically nothing. I place my other hand on the handle, and prepare to swing at the grill. I take a stance, legs spread wide apart, all my weight on my right leg. I move my right arm behind my right leg and keep my left forearm parallel to the ground. Then I swing.

If the first strike in the driveway was deafening, then this hit is ear shattering. The hammer connects against the grill with the force of a semi truck collision. The entire grill breaks apart. Pieces go flying in the direction of the applied force, through the fence that marks the end of Mr. Davis' property, and into some trees. A couple of trees actually break at the trunk and collapse. It looks like I left trail, at least a two hundred feet long, of broken bricks, cement, metal, and trees.

I look at the hammer, the sold metal head has deformed and even became hot. I applied enough force to actually generate a large amount of heat; I wonder exactly how I affected the air molecules. I turn to the house, the windows are shaking violently. Cracks start to appear, from the resulting vibrations in the windows and in the air. Suddenly the windows completely shatter, revealing a large group of older men. Their pants are down, and covered in bodily fluids. Most of the window fragments travel past the men and hit a wall. Only a few fragments from the bottom of the windows hit the old guys, but nothing too bad just a few cuts. After everything has died down, I look at Mr. Davis. He looks like he just shit is pants.

"Tell your friends that I said their fun is done. Also, if you have hidden cameras here, don't even try to upload the video, delete it."

I doubt he can hear me, but he got the message. I toss the hammer aside and leave, knowing he won't be causing any more problems. I highly doubt that he or his friends will continue with his games. Even if I hadn't demolished the grill, he'd obey my orders; it's impossible to defy me. Every one seems to want to please me, buy listening to my orders. I feel more comfortable, knowing that group of old men won't be harassing any more muscular town residents.

I arrive at my house to find the John's van is still there. I'm just about to enter my house when John sees me through the door. He runs to get out of my field of vision.

He quickly, almost apologetically say, "I'm sorry I took so long sir."

I reply, "It's fine."

"Please let me show you the projector."

He walks into one of the rooms. A room, which was formerly empty now has a ceiling mounted projector, a specially constructed desk and chair, a jumbo keyboard, a regular computer tower, and a projection screen. On one of he corners, there is a strange black box connected to the projector.

"Wow you really out did yourself. That stuff must have been heavy, I could have helped you with it."

Again he quickly replies, "NO, no,no. My boss was very clear with the instructions. I was to install the projector and set up the computer with your own private account. They loaded the desk and chair into the van, and told me to assemble for them for you. I noticed you didn't have internet, so I set up a network that will allow you to use the university's wifi, but the university will be unable to access any data, so privacy will not be an issue."

He continues for several minutes, before running to the bathroom to relieve himself yet again.

"I'm not sure I should be using school wifi as my internet source, wouldn't it be better if I had residential service?"

On one breath, "My boss was very clear on the instructions, he says that the university has decided to accommodate you as much as possible."

"Well alright then. So John how much do I owe you?"

He is flustered now, "How did you know my name?"

"It's on you name tag."

He is embarrassed and turns back into the bathroom. As I wait, I take out the day's money. When he reenters the room, I place the cash in his front pocket.

"You deserve something for your troubles, I won't take no for an answer. Take your girlfriend some place nice."

He thanks me and rushes back into the bathroom.

After John leaves, I can't help, but look up some of my old videos. The projector projects the screen, as a type in: muscle god lifts lifted truck. There are several results. I click the first link. The video has over five billion views. I start typing in other words. Muscle, hunk, stud, bodybuilder, penis, cock, handsome, male, giant, perfect. I'm the top result. All the of the videos have massive numbers of views, even the old ones that have been recently re-uploaded. It bothers me that the first thing I do, is look up myself. Well at least with a computer, I'll only have to go to the university for an hour and a half, twice a week.

I leave the room to eat lunch. A hastily made sandwich and a fruit salad. Then I look at my list of jobs. For the afternoon I have a dozen lined up, all with regular clients. That is a relief, at least I won't have to deal with anything too stressful for the rest of the day.

After eating, I head out to my afternoon clients. The first job is horse grooming, for an old southern family, the Bakers. Their family ranch is several hundred or thousand acres large, I love the open area and all the animals. Unfortunately, some of them don't return my love. When I arrive, there is a tall young lady waiting on the porch to a giant southern house. Emily Baker, a sweet if naive girl. She always stands outside waiting for me, but runs indoors the second I step out of my truck.

Today is no different. I take some brushes from the truck and head over to the stables. Emily and her family run a horse riding business on the side, sometimes when I show up the horse start freaking out, because they think I'm going to ride them. I walk over to them, and start calming the animals down. I reach out and stroke their snouts, gently I pat their heads. Once they calm down, I get to work grooming them. I don't do much other than brushing their hair. When I finish with all the females, I move on to the geldings, and then the stallions.

The stallions are tall and muscular. Really gorgeous, definitely high class breeding material. I don't know much about horse breeding, but I'm guessing that Mr. Baker makes a small fortune off his stallions. The stallions always seem to squirm around me. Maybe my size, intimates them or at least makes them uncomfortable. The first few times, a couple of the horses tried attacking me. I had to duck and dodge, and then hold them down, so they wouldn't hurt themselves. The Bakers were a angry at first, but after gazing at my face, they quickly forgave me. I ran into Mrs. Baker at the store once, she started talking about my horse taming skills and kept asking for me to return. I eventually gave in, and now I come every once and a while to groom the horses.

After finishing the grooming, I start walking to the front door. As I walk, I start to think about some stuff. I heard that horses make man more attractive and more impressive. A tall man on a tall horse, that is one of the reasons George Washington was so well liked. On romance novels, I see ruggedly handsome, shirtless men on horseback, ruggedly handsome men standing next to horses, all kinds of thing. I wonder what I look like. A ruggedly handsome man, wearing a loose green shirt, too large to ride a horse. If it somehow increases even my sex appeal, I'm surprised Emily can even leave her house.

I knock on the front door, "Miss Emily, I'm done grooming your horses."

I wait a few minutes, tapping my foot to a song. She opens the door, with her older brother Charles. He is tall, about a head taller than his sister. He has wide shoulders and powerful arms under a button down work shirt. I can tell that farm life as been kind to his body; he looks like he'd fit on the cover of a romance novel. Looking at my pecs, Charles hands me a white envelope. Emily whimpers as my arm moves to accept the envelop. My bicep contracts and bulges; rotating my hand causes all the muscles on the under side of my forearm to tense and ripple, the ripple travels all the way to my shoulder and into my right pec. The sleeve of my shirt hides the more minor details, but reveals enough to make Emily go red and Charles to drop his jaw.

"Alright, you have a good day now. Charles, Emily."

I get in my truck and drive off to do some less notable afternoon jobs. Raking leaves, washing windows, laundry for an elderly couple, cleaning the gutters. I can only clean the gutters of one story houses. I don't feel comfortable standing on a ladder, so I use a reenforced crate I keep in the truck, and doubles as storage. I do a few deliveries for small business owners. I try to limit the number of deliveries I make to a most of six a day. The business owners always get super excited for two reasons. The first is because of my appearance, obviously, the second is the increased business.

A few weeks after starting the my odd jobs business, almost all my jobs were delivery related. A lot of the business in town found out that I was the perfect delivery service/advisement. When I arrive in a building nobody pays attention to the delivery, instead they stare that me, and when I leave suddenly there is a package. Then everyone thinks 'Where did this come from.' They look at the logo, and continued ordering from the company to get a chance to see the super tall, titanic wall of muscle they briefly saw. Eventually I decided it was too much attention, so I cut back deliveries to one day a week, and only one per business. The business owners were rather upset, but they literally can't get angry with me.

My second to last job is delivering a cake downtown, to an office party. I arrive at Samantha's Eats and Sweets, to find a large crowd of people waiting for me. As I pull the door handle, they stare. As I turn and bend my body to enter the bakery, they gasp and praise my dimensions. They continue to stare, wide eyed at me until Samantha gives me a sheet of paper and a large box with her logo on the side. I tuck the box under my massive arm and exit the store.

Down town is always crowded at this hour, I rush to my truck so nobody gets a good view of me. Since everyone has a tendency to stare, I need to be move quickly to reduce the likelihood of someone getting in a wreck. Once in my truck I drive a couple miles to some building on the edge of town, there are no cars around. I get out and enter the building. The hallway is narrow, not narrow by my standards, but aurally narrow. My shoulders touch both sides of the hall. I continue walking down the hall until I reach door labeled, Employee Lounge.

I enter the lounge; inside there are at least twenty people. My presences dominates the room, immediately, I become the center. A couple of people drop their drinks; others stare with expressions of disbelief. It doesn't look like they are celebrating a birthday; it must be a company thing. There is table with lots of food: chips, dips, drinks, sandwiches, chicken-wings, and boxes of other things. I set the cake box down on the table, and pull out the sheet of paper.

"Can I get somebody to sign for this?"

Several people run over and offer. Once the paper is signed, I take it and fold it into my pants. One guy asks me to stay, but I decline. Then insists I take some food, again I decline, but he and he coworkers are persistent. After I accept their offer, they give me a box with chip bags, sodas, sandwiches, and all sorts of sweets. I thank the group, and leave. In the hallway I decide to walk sideways, so that I have more room. I drive back to Samantha's to give her the signed paper. The crowd in her restaurant is bigger this time. I get the same reaction as the first. My deliveries have become extremely popular.

My last job is changing the tire on a car. This client is Mr. Kingston, an elderly man. He lives alone, despite his daughter Eve, constantly telling him to move in with her. I arrive on the property at sunset, and knock on the door. I nearly give the man a heart attack, when he opens the door. After several minutes he give me the keys to his car. From the trunk of the car, I take out a spare tire and a lug wrench.

I don't need it, but I use a lug wrench to loosen the lug nuts on the car's tires, paying careful attention to the amount of torch applied to each one. Then I take the old tire out and replace it with a new one. Using the lug wrench again, I fasten the lug nuts back into place, using an equal amount of torque. I need to be especially careful when tightening the lug nuts, because if I use too much force I can grind away the edges. I inspect my work, and report to Mr. Kingston that everything is fine. I place the old tire in the trunk along with the wrench and give the man back his keys. Instead of paying ten dollars like we agreed, he pays a hundred dollars.

As I drive away, I can't help but wonder why everyone over pays. Sometimes, I feel bad about taking so much money for such mundane chores. Since I can't really talk to anyone, I just take the money most of the time. I do have bills, and tuition to pay, but still other people's money just seems to fall in my lap. I can walk into a bank, ask for money, and actually get it. I've done it before, several times. Forget the bank, I can go door to door collecting money, or jewels, or precious metals, or even property rights. It's hard not to take, when everything is so readily available.

I drive back home to make and eat dinner. Afterwards, I play with the dogs a bit, before watching some television. Nothing good is every on. I lay out my clothes for tomorrow and take a shower. I lay down on my soft, yet firm bed, ready for sleep. Just as my eye lids start to get heavy, a thought invades my head. Suddenly, I'm wide awake. I need to check the internet.

I walk into the room with the projector and keyboard. I log into my account and immediately open the browser to a video sharing website. Ten videos of me are trending. In the search bar I type in: sexy muscle wood chop. Without filtering the results, there it is, a video uploaded yesterday of me chopping wood. It already has over a 50000000 views. I continue searching, there are videos of me mowing lawns, cleaning pools, demolishing walls, delivering packages, grocery shopping, and so many more. Not all of them are from clients, some are from random people. They must taken videos when they saw me, and later decided to post them. I go to other video sharing sides; its the same on all of them. It's the same on all the image sharing sites; all the social media sites, in all countries. I haven't used the internet for recreational purposes in forever, so its no wonder I didn't know that the entire world is watching me.

[iceman75]

Again, just an awesome, awesome read, this being is so incredible in so many ways, it's really hard to qualify him as a man anymore, he's sort of like a demi-god, like Hercules or Samson. I'm so glad that you were able to include some of his younger days, when he was just starting out into his superiority, being in high school and showing right from the start that he was bigger and stronger than anyone, seemingly without trying. I loved how you basically had pictures of him showing how superior he was before he turned 18, the pictures of him posing with heavyweight bodybuilders at 16, making them look tiny, and of him lifting up a fully loaded truck with ease, so awesome! And of course, I have no doubt that his pictures and videos are among the most looked at and traded on the web, I mean a guy that turns lesbian women straight and straight guys gay, that turn on everyone from young teenagers to people well into their golden years, billions of people all over the World probably drive those numbers even higher than they already are, it's quite possible that every single person in the World, all 7 billion plus know him in some form, and there's very little doubt that every single one of those people have been turned on by him (barring those too young to be turned on and too old to still have those feelings.)

Once again, thank you for your writing, I know you have to take some time off, so thank you for putting so much into this chapter now before having to take off.

[Kit Werecat]

This really is a fascinating story to read.

And we are slowly getting a chance to see the big picture of this guy, pun not intentional.

Every door a funnel, every hallway a crawlspace. How he cannot even venture to use ladders, like the rest of us...

And so much for my bright idea of hooking him up with the blind. There really seems to be NO WAY on Earth he can just connect with someone to be his pal, his person to just talk to, is there? That must be so lonely and isolated for him. Someone really needs to hit him with an "Ugly Stick".

H.G. Wells once wrote an obscure story about a sighted man eventually wandering into a lost valley populated entirely with sightless people, and the strange disconnect that happened there.

Recently, I have often wondered about the concept of there being a duplicate of him, and upon confronting themselves, how the two would deal with each other? They would either have to desperately avoid each other, become extraordinary lovers, or kill each other.

This is only speculation; I know he is alone in his world. But imagine the hypothesis that the scientists that will eventually be studying him was successful in isolating the genetic anomaly, and replicated it, then infused it into two subjects. I think the shit would hit the fan then, in ways I'm still struggling to fathom.

Speaking of shit, it was fun and satisfying to watch Mr. Daily (which is far too respectful a name to refer this guy by) get the blowback of trying to take on this guy. And I loved the trail of devastation that resulted from it. It was a bit scary when the guy thinks to himself, "I know that I'm not his first, but I will be his last", and then "tightens his resolve". I really, REALLY wouldn't want that guy mad at me, on a number of levels.

I normally like to know the protagonist's name in a story to more closely identify with him. But after the first chapter, I realized that this was the whole point - it isn't possible for you to identify with him, he is working on an altogether different plane of existence than we Homo Sapiens. Never mentioning his name helps dramatically keep him enigmatic, distantly separate from us. That also is the reason why this story HAD to be written in First Person. It's a very clever idea, and very well played.

I suppose this guy can never get sick. Probably can't even get the retroviruses, like AIDS, etc. Probably would kill cancer cells, even if they were injected into him from another subject. Makes you wonder if his blood could be the basis for a miracle cure drug.

Flipping that thought, could you imagine getting a blood transfusion from him? But again, it probably wouldn't work. I imagine he's got an inhuman blood type, making him incompatible with virtually everyone else. Blood type X Positive. His blood would probably attack the cells of the human they injected it into, treating them as some lowly corrupted disease. Mind boggling.

Then I got to thinking, will this guy have to pay a price somehow in the long run? The old saying "A bulb that burns twice as brightly, lasts only half as long" came to mind.

Postulating ideas and speculations about this guy makes my head spin.


Finally, what about all those videos? Are ALL his clients, the nice old lady, and so on, ALL secretly betraying his trust, and videoing him... then POSTING them? I would suspect it was more likely he was being secretly followed, spied upon, and videoed. I certainly can understand the irresistible urge to video him - even I couldn't resist that. But the selfish deceitfulness to publicly POST them afterwards, when he's gone?

As a person that isn't even remotely interested in having a Facebook account, that urge seems to be pulling from an entirely different set of feelings, beyond the need to ogle and visually treat one's self by continually viewing this guy. I really cannot relate to it.


Zangetsu, I'll be sorry to have to wait a bit for a new chapter - this story is as addictive as drugs. But if it means you are going away for a while to enjoy yourself, or ease your every day routines in some way, then I am happy for you, and wish you only the best of all things.

[I<3Muscles]

MARVELOUS STORY!!! I haven't posted in the forum in quite a while, but I must say, this story is so good that I simply must express my delight! Please, please continue~!

Originally Posted by iceman75

it's quite possible that every single person in the World, all 7 billion plus know him in some form, and there's very little doubt that every single one of those people have been turned on by him (barring those too young to be turned on and too old to still have those feelings.)

You sure, iceman75? I'm sure our sexy protagonist here is powerful enough that he can cause orgasms even in men who haven't achieved erection in years

[iceman75]

Hehe, you could be right there. He would almost assuredly be the cause of spontaneous erections in nursing homes across the World if his picture was shown on the TV screens all at the same time. As sick as it is to think about, probably would lead to a lot of hook-ups between octogenarians who haven't slept together in that way for decades.

[zangetsu]

I should be focusing on other things, but I couldn't help myself, from writing another part six, and starting a massive flashback part. Continiously using "I" started getting irritating, so here an attempt to write without being so possessive. Let me know what you think.

Part Six: Observations

The alarm goes off.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Instead of shutting it off, I tap the little machine with my fingers; it goes off flying into the wall. Plastic and electronics bounce off the drywall, and fall in a series of drops. Thankfully, the alarm didn't have enough force to puncture the drywall. I lie in bed, for several minutes. The only sound is the hum of the refrigerator motor, and a lone heartbeat. Every five or six seconds the heartbeat overpowers the motor. In the calm silence, my body begins to invade my mind. Inhaling, the light tan shirt covering my pecs rises up like bread, completely blocking out the rest of my body from view. Exhaling, the bulge in my pajama bottoms becomes visible. Once again, I can feel the subtle, but definite growth.

Movement occurs deep in my body. Already large dense muscles are getting more extreme. The tissues expand and further mature; layer builds upon layer. It's not just the muscle tissues, it's all the tissues in my body. Supporting, so much extra mass, should be taxing for any organs, but I've never had any problems. In fact, actions like running or swimming for several hours aren't a problem. It's possible for my lungs to intake absurd quantities of air. Oxygen is then delivered my scarlet blood, pumped by my heart. Every test ever taken, shows normal liver and kidney function; I've never had any kind of internal pain or discomfort. My organs have adapted, or maybe were designed from the start, to support a gargantuan muscle dense frame.

Bones are useful structures for the ordinary human; they provide protection for internal organs and allow for muscle movement. However, mine are so much more. My bones are capable of supporting hundreds and hundreds of pounds of hard lean muscle. Some of the women I've slept with said, their large breasts cause discomfort and even pain if they sleep on their backs. I always sleep on my back, but have never felt any discomfort or pain, despite my chest being significantly larger and heavier than any women's breasts, real or fake. My ribs must be especially tough. The rest of my bones must be crazy strong too, like diamond or titanium. Super strong bones combined with muscles that dwarf comic book heroes, maybe I should up on tights and fight crime.

As I lie in bed thinking about my muscles, my penis starts to respond. The large flaccid organ releases a pulse. A wave of sexual incitement ripples through my body. One more pulse, one second later, my penis hardens so fast it tears through my pajama bottoms and hits my abdomen with a force strong enough to shake some windows. The exposed head is large and bulbous. Precum starts leaking out, enough to act as a lubricant and then some. I shift my body, so my butt rests on the edge of the bed. My pecs make it hard to see the whole head. What is visible, makes a mockery of gravity. A penis so large and thick shouldn't be able to become so erect, yet it points straight up at the ceiling, throbbing and spewing out precum. It shouldn't stand up so proudly, so arrogantly defying a fundamental force of nature.

I bend my core and plant a kiss on the large head. The precum is delicious, like honey. Using my tongue, I gently trace the perimeter of the slit for several seconds. Breathing in through my nostrils, I begin my descent into unrivaled bliss. My mouth envelops the giant dome shaped head of my throbbing penis. My lips stretch to accommodate the impossibly large invader. With my long muscular tongue, I begin playing with the sides of the invader. The nerves react, my brain begins releasing all kinds of pleasure chemicals. I work my way down to the frenulum, and begin moving the tip of my tongue in small tight circles. A sniffled moan fills the room.

One muscular hand begins massaging two large melon sized testicles. Testicles so big and full, they actually stretch the scrotum. The skin enveloping the testicles is rather smooth compared to other men's more wrinkly ball bag. Despite seeming to be disadvantageous, the quality and quantity of my sperm is not reduced in any manor. In fact, I believe my scrotum is more ascetically pleasing than the average male's. Long thick fingers make their way along the smooth skin, fondling the large melons gently, but firmly. The other muscular hand is expertly moving up and down the now lubricated shaft, a shaft harder than any steel pipe. The circumference is so large, most people need more than two hands to fully encompass the girth.

I continue playing with the nerves the under the shaft for several minutes, really getting a rhythm going. Pleasure continues to build, exponentially. I grip the shaft tighter, applying more strength. After several minutes I decide apply real pressure. With a hand capable of tearing metal sheets like tissue paper, I apply a vice grab to my shaft. Five dents appear on the shaft. It responses by throbbing violently, as blood rushes to the organ. The mouth invader pushes my fingers back as it grows in size and rigidity. My lips are pushed farther away from each other, my tongue suddenly has less play room. I take a moment to appreciate the appendage between my legs. The moment of appreciation is interrupted, by a hungry stomach. The sensation is so sudden, almost like my stomach wants cum. Using both hands, I squeeze harder a couple of times, until my arms and chest explode outwards with muscle. The feeling having an unbelievably large penis, and then making it grow larger through muscle strength adds to the pleasure accumulating in my body. Just before climaxing, with both hands, I tug on my balls firmly. The sudden tug ushers in the pinnacle of pleasure.

A thick, heavy cream forces its way through my urethra and into my warm waiting mouth. Hot liquid pummels the back of my throat. Most of the thick liquid falls down my esophagus, however a fraction of the thick liquid goo tries to overfill my mouth. It only takes seconds for the available space to fill with delicious cum. My cream is very sweet, almost like candy, and just a little bit salty. I love it, everyone that has ever had any, loves the taste. I can spend hours, or even days sucking myself off, and swallowing the tasty man cream. In the past, not only have I, but several individuals have dedicated entire days to milking my giant coconuts dry. It's an impossible task, as my testes are able to continuously reproduce sperm, and my seminal vesicles can continuously deliver the fructose necessary for the candy like flavor. We tried hard, to milk me, but never had any success. The attempts always ended with everyone, but me, gaining several pounds and bloated stomachs. Still after sending everyone away, I would continue with my fun. Sitting in the room and drinking my ejaculate for all eternity is definitely an attractive thought. For several minutes, as I gulp down my nectar, I actually ponder the possibility.

Long thick streams continue to bombard my throat. My stomach fills with tasty white gold, worth far more than regular gold. After an eternity the bombardment begins to slow, the fire hose like pressure becomes akin to a regular hose, and finally a water pistol. Swallowing the entire load, without spilling any, I promptly decide against the idea. As tasty as my man cream is, I'd rather eat real food and see the sunlight. Today with all the cum I swallowed, breakfast is out of the question, lunch too, maybe. Standing up my pajama bottoms fall off. I rip off my shirt and wad it together with the ruined bottoms, and throw them away.

I take my clothes from the dresser, and with my usual bending and turning enter the bathroom. Bending my knees to look at mirror, I see a few days worth of stubble. My hair is a little long, a haircut is soon due. I turn the hot and cold water knobs, to run some warm water. Stripping off my clothes I can't help but admire my body; posing just for a bit. Before the mouth invader can rise to attention again, I jump in the shower. Lathering body wash over my table sized pecs, I can't help but feel their increased size. Again the difference isn't much from yesterday, it's not even visible, but it's definitely there. The more I explore my hard soapy body, the more the changes are apparent. My traps are closer to my head, my calves are more diamond shaped, my torso is sharper, and the autofellatio proved my penis is larger, even though it's not a muscle.

Once finished with my shower, I reach over for my massive blue beach towel, taking notice of all the water on the floor. Thoroughly, I dry my muscles, taking time to focus on each group. Then I wrap the very wet large towel on my hips. Both quads bulge under the massive towel. I walk towards mirror, and witness one of the most obscene and erotic sights in the world. My quads push out my testicles, causing the two inhumanly large balls to jiggle. The jiggling motion, bumps up my penis and causes it to bounce and swing. There is so much jiggling and swinging; the sight of my junk is almost pornographic. I tear away my eyes from the sight, and only to stare at my abs. Eight meaty bricks, rubbing up against each other, fighting for space. I lightly flex them; they no longer have enough space. The bricks somehow jump out, almost as if trying to escape my body. I run my large fingers along the edges of each individual ab. A soft moan escapes my throat. A familiar organ release a pulse, I snap out of my spell. My eyes now stare at the stubble on my jaw and upper lip.

I grab a bottle of shaving cream and spray some of the blue gel on my left hand. With the large muscular palm I proceed to rub the gel on all over the lower half of my moist face. A white foamy beard appears on my jaw, upper lip, and neck. I grab my razor from the behind the medicine cabinet, and start shaving. Long firm strokes, running the razor under water in between. Raising the razor to my face, requires bending my elbow, which in turn contracts my bicep and expands my tricep. They take turns growing and demanding attention. My sexy collar bones pop out of my chest, my pecs flex lightly and bounce from the repeated motion. I have the strongest urge to kiss my bicep. It's so big and close to my face. Just a few inches away. So big, so fucking big. I bit my lip and continue shaving. I've never once cut myself, despite getting so easily distracted. When I'm done, I wash my face under warm water, and dry it with toilet paper. Then I clean the razor, and return it to the medicine cabinet.

From the cabinet, I pull out some toothpaste and mouthwash. I grab my toothbrush from its cup and squeeze out a large glob of toothpaste. My cum is very strong; good dental hygiene habits are needed to remove the smell. For several minutes I scrutinize my teeth and ravish my rogue with bristles and toothpaste. From the half full mouthwash bottle, I swallow a large amount of green minty liquid. Most days, dental hygiene really isn't that important. The bacteria responsible for bad breath don't seem to grow in my mouth. It's almost as if something is actively combating the unwanted bacteria. In fact, I could simply just wait for the combatant remove the sperm smell from my mouth, but I don't want to wait too long. I spit out the mouthwash, and look at my teeth. Strong white teeth shine brightly in the mirror, like white pearls.

I retrieve my clothes for the day, from the bathroom closet. A light blue button down shirt, a white undershirt, light brown slacks, boxer briefs, a belt, socks, and some brown slip-on-shoes. The briefs are strange, the front is disproportionally large compared to the sides and back. First I place my right leg in the right hole, then the left. Carefully I tug on the material, soft blue cotton travels up my expansive legs. I'm always amazed how so little material can stretch around my monstrous quads without tearing. As the boxers pass each barrel sized quad, I adjust my penis so it falls down the right side and cup my testicles together before gently setting them in the pouch. The waist band shrinks several times to hug my tight waist. The mirror reflects a pair of boxers briefs hugging my ass cheeks and sides, with a loose fluffy bulge around my junk. the pouch is enlarged to give my monster penis and melons breathing room. I repeat the process for my slacks, and run a belt through all the loops. The belt must be fastened several notches in, otherwise my slacks will hang off my bubble butt. The pants do an adequate job minimizing the bulge, still it's unreasonably big. A white shirt makes its way over my head, and onto my torso. It hugs my upper body, revealing high mountains and deep crevices. It would be a little looser, if I hadn't gotten pumped from vice gripping myself. It's not super small or tight enough to tear, so long as my muscles aren't further engorged. The button down is different; I put my gargantuan arms into the sleeves, and start buttoning from the bottom. The shirt is loose, hiding the mountains and crevices underneath. The front hangs from my pecs leaving several inches of space between the shirts. I can't fasten the top button; my neck is too bull like. Honestly at this point, bulls have necks similar to mine. Anyways, the very top of my bronze pecs and valley are kind of exposed. Most men's hands can easily fit into the massive valley and get lost. With my giant hand, I kind of push the ends of the collars together to conceal the exposed skin. I slip into my socks and shoes.

I take out a mop from the closet, and dry up the water on the floor. My hands then proceed to wring the mop dry. Applying more and more pressure, water is secreted from the fibers. The right hand twists forward and the left backward, until there is a tearing sound. In an instant, all the fibers are in two. I sigh, and take the now ruined mop to the trash can. The ruined fibers immediately go in the can, but the wooden pole needs to be broken. Effortlessly, I snap the wood into small pieces and throw them in the trash. Clothed and well fed, the only thing remaining is to leave food for Ryder and Admiral.

I leave out some food and water for them in the kitchen. Perhaps I should take them out during my afternoon jobs. They don't like people following or staring at me too much. Maybe the two can discourage, certain people from attempting to video tape me. I walk over to the front door, and collect school supplies, keys, and wallet. Once in the truck, I see it needs some more gas, not today, but tomorrow maybe. As I drive on the empty road, my mind begins to focus on the issue at hand.

I always knew there were videos of me online. In middle school and high school, students took videos and pictures of me flexing, and posted them all over the internet. Back then it wasn't too much of an issue, most people thought the pictures were morphs, and the videos somehow fake. Any content related to me, always trended and gained thousands of views. The more material posted, the less and less trolls commented. A few websites dedicated to me popped up, but I never felt like my privacy was violated. Or maybe it was, but I didn't care. I was too in the moment to care, in fact I enjoyed the attention. However, it's different now. Attention isn't my priority. I want to be left alone, to have privacy, but the world can't handle that.

Mrs. Robinson and her son each posted a video of me chopping wood, Miss Laurence posted several pictures of me mowing her lawn, and two or three other clients did the same thing. I can tell these clients to stop filming me, but that doesn't solve my problems. Most clients aren't filming, or if they are, they aren't posting. However, hundreds of videos and pictures were posted over the past few days of me preforming various tasks, from all sorts of angles and locations. I'm assuming that neighbors or random people are responsible for the high volume of traffic. A majority of the videos and pictures were taken either, from far away or from what appears to be a height equivalent to most two story houses.

In this old college town, nearly all the regular residents own large pieces of property, with houses spaced out generously. It probably isn't difficult for someone in a second story house to observe my body from one or two backyards away. Still, for these people to record me somebody, a client most likely, must have tipped them off. It's also possible that the aspiring "photographers" and "cameramen" are following me and then tipping off the neighbors or just helping themselves to a view. There are three videos of me entering Mrs. Thompson's house, each taken from several hundred feet away with very powerful cameras. A dozen videos showing me lifting the refrigerator at Craig and Mr. Williams' house; seven from far way at ground level, and five from second story houses. A couple even catch Craig shooting his load. Dozens more show me grooming horses, raking leaves, washing windows, cleaning gutters, delivering packages, and changing the wheel of Mr. Kingston's car.

Still, despite the violation of privacy, what strikes me the most is the clarity of the videos and photos. I've never taken a bad picture or even looked awkward; anything with my image is perfect, for lack of a better word. However, regular cameras shouldn't take such high resolution pictures. Everything looks rather professional. It's hard to tell whether regular people have professional grade equipment or if actual professionals are prodding around stealing my image. In either case I can find these people and tell them to stop. A direct order of mine can't be violated, it can't be twisted or distorted; it is more than any law. Yet I know that there are too many people, and too much footage on the internet.

Going through the websites I saw that the world has become addicted to me. I can tell every person in this town to stop stealing my image, but what about the next town or the next year's batch of students. It's not possible to personally tell everyone to stop recording or taking pictures. My body and face are the most desired objects in the world; no question about it. I can slow down new posts, but only until another eager "photographer" or "cameraman" begins uploading content. Or until the desire for my body overwrites my direct order to refrain from taking videos and pictures without my expressed permission. I can't stop new content, and I can't stop old content.

Years ago, my parents tried removing some footage of me that appeared on a various adult websites. It wasn't anything inappropriate, just lifting and some dancing. At first they were successful, but a couple days later the videos were re-posted. People were sued and taken to court, but the footage continued to make its way back onto the internet. Eventually my parents gave up, and instead told me to be more conservative about my body. I didn't listen.

There isn't even a point to prove by removing any of the content about me. There are files with billions of downloads; everyone already has the content. It can be re-uploaded at any time by any one. I can hire a lawyer or a team or lawyers, and shut down every single website, but new websites will pop up. It's impossible, I already know. The only way to end everything is to become a shut in or to live alone in the wild, but if I try, I know that I will be found eventually. I shudder at the thought. Dozens of thoughts flow in and out of my brain over the course of the drive, but nothing useful comes to mind.

I arrive at the social sciences building five minutes before class; Dr. Roberts is still not in the classroom. Walking past the other students, I open all the windows, before taking a seat. Roberts shows up a couple minutes later. The lecture goes by quickly, without any incident. The class is dismissed a few minutes late. The other students steal a couple last glances in my direction before running off. Remaining in my seat, I turn my head to face the windows. A few seconds later, the next class begins sluggishly filling the room. The first group of students enters the classroom and are immediately captivated by my presence. A second group snaps the first to attention, and then they fall under my spell. The process continues until an entire classroom of young adults, of every size, color, gender, and maybe sexual orientation, stares at me.


Sixty sets of eyes lock onto an impossibly large and handsome man, bathed in the morning sun, with brilliant blue eyes. All experience, stunned silence and disbelief. Time seems to slow down, as their brain's overload. The only sounds are heartbeats, and analog watches ticking away. Dozens of heartbeats and tics later, the environment of the room changes. Stunned silence becomes awe, and disbelief becomes reality. Sixty young adults recognize the face and body of man, whose entire being conflicts against reality. A man too prefect to exist. Such a man should be recorded in photos and videos.

Sixty adults pull out sixty smartphones; and began taking pictures. Clicks and snaps replace heartbeats and tics. A barrage of light and sound bombards the perfect face and body. Each flash, each click leads to a picture too perfect to be real. More flashes and more clicks continue to reveal perfection incarnate. After ten minutes, perfection incarnate stands; the flashes and clicks stop. Slowly, the giant walks to the exit. The class once again enters a frenzy to record such fluid motion; some switch to video. They are rewarded with the absurd footage of a man bending his knees and rotating his torso to exit the doorway.

On the other side of the door, the sixty-first pair of eyes lock onto the back of the impossibly large man. He steps out of the doorway, and straightens his tall body. A body so tall, it nearly reaches the ceiling. The sixty-first pair of eyes continue to stare as the man walks away. His impossibly large shoulder blades poke through an expansive blue shirt, further captivating the lone pair of eyes. The man leaves sixty-one eyes wide with shock, forty-three vaginas moist, and eighteen penises hard, but most importantly he leaves twenty crotches wet.


I leave the building feeling flustered and a bit guilty. I had only anticipated a handful of climaxing students, however at least a fourth of the class, had a physical reaction to seeing me. A one to four ratio is far too high, that many people shouldn't have climaxed. Maybe it's due to being in the room for so long, or the lighting, or because they are college students and naturally horny. I don't know. From now on, I need to pay more attention to my surroundings, and to the reactions of the people around me. Despite my physical appearance, I can't really imagine why people are so obsessed with taking pictures and video. There are literally billions of pictures and videos on the internet.That should be enough, but apparently it's not. I need to try to gauge just how many people are watching me.

I take the stairs down to the first floor, and walk through the halls of the building. The students still left in the halls, immediately fall into a trance. Instinctively, they move aside as my massive shoulders and arms make their way through the hall. The length of the building seems impossibly long; it takes an eternity to reach the front doors. I stand next to the sliding doors, then turn around to observe. Out of the twenty students in the hall, seven are taking pictures. The other thirteen continue to stare. I again turn around and exit the building.

A bright yellow sun smiles at me. The weather is warm, a slight breeze blows against my skin. At the base of some steps are several fast food wrappers and an empty paper coffee cup. Before my foot even touches the fist step, the wind picks up. The coffee cup and crumpled wrappers bounce against the floor, as the sudden gust caries them farther and farther away. I descend the steps, and step on the now clean path.Not sure where to go, my feet begin moving independent of my brain.

The front of the social sciences building faces the backs of three other buildings, each of a different size. Tables, benches, and/or vending machines are located by the front and rear of most academic buildings on campus. Nearly all the tables next to all four building are occupied, not full, some tables only have one person. I'm not sure if they started staring the moment I exited the building or when the wind blew away the trash, but right now at least 50 people are looking with glossy eyes in my direction. Three people have, what I hope is cold coffee, dripping on their legs from a sideways cup. A couple of cell phones lie either on the floor or on table tops.

As I move towards the smaller of the three buildings, most people continue to stare, others become for active. A dozen or so, begin taking pictures. I'm walking pretty slowly, but my long legs still allow me to cover large distances relatively quick. Right as I enter the area of tables near the small building, something rare happens. One guy, built like a swimmer, strips off his clothes to reveal a hard lean body, and a normal sized penis, throbbing so hard it actually looks painful. On the same table, a rather well-endowed girl also strips to reveal hard full nipples. They jump across the table to each other. He somehow penetrates her, while in mid air. A tangled heap of limbs falls on the table, with a loud crash. Immediately the guy starts thrusting his tight hips into her, and she gyrates into him. I'm so taken back from the display, I actually stare for a few seconds. The guy is really driving it into the girl, pounding her body onto the table; she is definitely going to bruise. Anyone taking pictures of me, also catches two college students practically eating each other's faces, and making a very unsanitary mess on the table. The guy and girl fucking on the table, must really care about each other. These two went straight for it, a rare sight, Usually when couples climax around me, they don't start fucking each other until after the first or second climax. I look away from the sight, and pull the handle on the rear door.

Naturally, I duck and turn sideways to enter the building. I need to be extra careful not to knock down the metal pole that divides the two doorways. The hallway is a tan color, and about a foot maybe two wider than the hall in my house. There is nobody inside. Actually the building is probably full, it's just that there is nobody in the building outside of a classroom. I walk through the empty hall, dragging my feet to reduce the amount of noise, On the other end of the building, is a student lounge, complete with dozens of couches and armchairs, and a half dozen students. I move to sit on an armchair. Staring down at the average cushion, I can see that my quads are too big. Fitting in between the arms is impossible with such large quads. If I sit with one leg over the other, my testicles will get squished against my hard legs, definitely not a worth a seat. Moving toward a large three cushion couch, the other students really take notice of my extreme size.

At my size the world can be an irritatingly small space. I bend and turn just to enter a doorway, brushing my teeth takes way too long because the toothbrush is small, and every day objects like: pots, pans, spoons, and knives, feel like toys. Axes, shovels, and lug wrenches aren't much better. My bed, truck, and toilet are some of the few things built to specifically support my body. The bed and truck are gifts from a Mary and Troy Holdings. They had the objects specially made with crazy strong materials to handle my size and occasional accidental displays of strength. The toilet, was something I had to use my charm to get. I can't use a public restroom. The urinals are too small; the force of my pee causes all kinds of splattering. There is absolutely no way in hell, for me to use a standard toilet. My penis is too long, my testicles too big, and my buttocks too muscular to fit. People like Craig must run into the same problems, though on a much lower magnitude. Honestly, I don't see why somebody would even want to be close to my size.

In the lobby, I refocus on the current issue. Taking out a pen, I start writing in an notebook. With a gusto, everything from my interaction with the earlier class to now is recorded. I extensively detail the incidents, the number students, the varying reactions, damaged electronics, split coffee, and especially the public sex. Looking up at a clock on the wall, I see that fifteen minutes have passed since entering the building. Taking notice of the other students, I see three muscular guys masturbating together in a half circle. All have three have blonde hair and blue eyes, but the one in the middle dwarfs the other two. His large mushroom head is leaking precum on his seemingly clumsy and inexperienced hands. The two guys on either side of him are different. Their hands are expertly maneuvering around their shafts and testicles. I get the feeling the middle guy is a real top and his two bottoms are responsible for getting him off, but not right now. On the far side of the lounge, another guy is rubbing penis through his pants. No wet spots have appeared, I'll try to leave before it's too late for him. A fifth guy is just staring slack jawed, from the opposite end of the lounge. In the corner is a small thin woman, about twenty. She keeps taking glances at me, and then drawing what looks like picture of my face. I write down all the observations and look at the wall clock again. It's 10:43, classes will start letting out soon. I close my notebook and leave.

Outside, the fucking couple is no longer present, but they did leave a mess to clean up. As I walk to the parking lot, again everyone stares. This time more people take pictures. I must be an idiot for not noticing sooner, but I do tend to rush when around other people. My long legs walk move fast now, faster than some people run. A handful of minutes later, I'm sitting in my truck, driving home. I haven't even looked over the english assignment from Monday; it's a good think I have my own computer now. However, fist I want to look up the number of uploads so far.

[iceman75]

Hehe, thanks so much for this newest chapter Zangetsu! This was another awesome reado of the incredibly huge, handsome teenage boy who seems to be an instant turn on to anyone who crosses his path, straight men, gay men, straight women, lesbian women, blind people, older people, everyone who has ever seen a picture or video of him probably orgasm within seconds and cum several times through out the day just thinking of him. I'm glad that he has decided to use this to his advantage by observing their reactions to him in a study of human behavior around someone who is just so much better than anyone else in all ways. Another great shout out to his past, talking about how his parents tried to block pictures and videos of him from the web a couple of years prior from adult websites, even if he was fully clothed, a young teen muscle god would be more of a turn on than most people are completely naked.

Keep up the great work!

Edit: Oh, and I almost buried the lead! Him being able to suck himself, and have his balls being never ending factories of sperm, always awesome to read, I'd love to know how much he can produce, can he fill a small swimming pool? An Olympian-sized swimming pool? A lake? Has he ever allowed himself to cum in a woman? If so did the sperm impregnate the egg or was it so powerful that it ate the egg and left her barren because the sperm stayed alive and ate every egg that she would ever produce? I know, going too far, but when a guy is this powerful, you expect everything that he produced to be just as powerful.

[Kit Werecat]

Whuff.

You have to sort of LAUGH at this guy, except...
1. Nobody would EVER dare laugh in his presence.
2. You couldn't laugh while being brain-locked, and busy masturbating.

But right from the beginning, with the alarm clock, he even hesitates, thinks about it, then CAREFULLY taps the alarm button.. and STILL the whole thing goes flying off to break into pieces anyway.. What was that, the third alarm clock THIS WEEK? And it's only Wednesday.. GOD!

Then he just looks in silence, falls back in bed and sighs.. What a poor soul he is.

I almost feel sorry for him... ALMOST. To have never suffered sickness or pain, apparently never even an injury.. He may have a miserable social life, but he's got perks beyond anything he can fathom.

The details of feeling himself EXIST... LIVE, breathe, FEEL.. even to the point where he feels his body growing. That's powerful imagery. And the autofelatio was of course, beyond awesome.

Constantly remembering everywhere he goes, all the twists and duckings he must perform at every door, the impossible problems of the furniture, even the problems of going to the bathroom. What a magnificently beautiful BRUTE of a male he is.


By the way, I really think I finally figured out how to solve his problems. Really.

All he has to do is just walk up to the White House, ask to see the President, then ask him to give him an island for himself somewhere. From what I'm seeing, who's going to refuse him?

If there had to be SOME sort of Quid Pro Quo, he can allow medical men to evaluate him one day a week, which is what he's wanting to do anyway. Everyone wins.

Your change of writing style was very subtle, and it didn't affect overall the feel of the narration. If anything, it added a little more personal touch to it. You felt our stud was TELLING these things to you, not itemizing them on a piece of paper he submitted. I think it's very affective, and you should keep going with that.

I wonder.. will you be able to ever give this guy a SURPRISE in his life? Everything that happens to him is met by a bored, almost regretful inevitability. Are you ever going to allow his mind to experience a moment of surprise and wonder? For his sake, I hope so.

I have to say, I almost feel protective of this guy, which is tragically comical. This being is more a fundamental truth in the universe than I ever hope to be, just passing through. Still, I wish I could do something for him..



I'm probably going to "weird" everyone out with these next couple of paragraphs.. So non-writers, avert your eyes..

Our story character, when stripped of the biological reality, is just like any one of us mentally, or so he appears. It seems the luck of the draw when you finally become self-aware, look around at the world about you, then take stock of your own physical self, and that eventually makes up who you are. The mind that found himself in that body was unbelievably blessed.

In a way, since a writer/creator of a being such as this almost experiences the same scenario, I have wondered.. Does it feel a bit unusual to creatively "wake up" as this character and move around as him in your story universe? Maybe this is too deep of stuff to be asking here. But I must confess I have found that some writers (myself included) often get into their worlds and characters in that way. This one is so unusual.. I have to wonder what the experience is like.

Of course, there are others where this sort of thing is simply a matter of structure and story mechanics.

As a writer, I'm kinda' curious on the approach you take. I don't know. Maybe I should be saving this sort of stuff for PMs...


At at rate, I had expected at least a small hiatus from the chapter submissions, after your last posting. I'm glad you're finding writing this story as fun and interesting as we are in reading it.


As always, I'm looking forward to the next chapter!

[Reeza]

I really like the tone of this story. Kind of sad, but understandably so. It's a fresh perspective on what it would be like to become everyone's fantasy man. I like stories that defy our usual expectations. You do a nice job of getting inside the guy's head.

[zangetsu]

I've decided to try and make part 7 longer than the other 6 parts. The desire for a sex scene popped into my mind; I won't have time to write the story for a while, but I thought maybe I could get some input. The focus isn't actually going to be on the sex, but rather on his penis fitting in such a tight hole or holes. Instead of making a new character I'd like to use either Charles from part 5 or Drake and Craig from Part 4.

I"m personally leaning towards using Charles, the straight rancher. He is a tall muscular man, with broad shoulders and narrow waist, and the most unbelievably tight round ass. Women and gay men constantly eye fuck his body, but fall for his sweet and honest nature. He is down to earth and just an all around nice guy. The experience won't turn him gay, because the main character is beyond gay or straight. However, the sex will change Charles. Once he goes back to women, he will be able to maintain longer erections, cum more, and experience a few more changes, although his personality won't change.

Drake and Craig love each other deeply, but haven't been able to forget the day the muscular titan easily curled Craig's max squat weight, plus their bodies. Since moving to the college town, the two have been running past the titan's house on a regular basis, wanting another display of strength or for the titan to fuck them. They are especially turned on by the thought of Craig being completely dwarfed in terms of muscle, height, and penis size. Again after the sex they will experience the same changes Charles would receive, longer erections, increases cum quantity, and among many others.

Or should another character be introduced, for the main character to have sex with? I'm thinking of throwing in one of the many seniors from his sophomore year, who suffered an injury at the main character's hands. The dean and board of trustees of his university also love him. One of his many clients. Then there is my final thought; in part 4, he did demolish the wrong driveway. So the homeowners contract him wanting sex or they will sue for property damages. Since nobody actually poses a threat, I don't see how they will be successful in extracting sex from him, unless it's the really angry brutal kind, which I'm not into. At first I didn't completely think it through too much, but I decided to include the idea.

If you read this post please please either post a comment or send me a private message with your expressing opinion.

[iceman75]

I'm liking the idea of this genetic marvel actually being able to make love to someone, I'm also thinking Charles may be the top pick for it, but if I may lend a machete to your intellectual thicket, how about a new woman, someone who thinks that she is the be all and end all, a sports model who is as fit as she is beautiful and who is so confident that she doesn't immediately fall for him. He sees this as a good sign and goes about seducing her, and it turns out that as good as she thinks she is, he is much, much more than any human being could possibly take.

[Kit Werecat]

Originally Posted by zangetsu

I've decided to try and make part 7 longer than the other 6 parts. The desire for a sex scene popped into my mind; I won't have time to write the story for a while, but I thought maybe I could get some input. The focus isn't actually going to be on the sex, but rather on his penis fitting in such a tight hole or holes. Instead of making a new character I'd like to use either Charles from part 5 or Drake and Craig from Part 4.

I think that this is a marvelous idea. To tell you the truth, you had built up such a mystique around the character, that I had begun to think that while sex was possible when he was younger, it became literally impossible to happen as he matured, and his "attributes" continued to develop and grow. I mean, for one thing, there was the size thing, but also, he was so damned sexy, a guy or gal would cum before they made it to the bed. Stopped before you started.

But if it CAN be possible, I am all for the idea. I don't like Drake and Craig, for the simple reason as there is conflict and Alpha competition deep-rooted there, and I'm not completely sure an average human male could just back that off, without some sort of delayed deep-rooted response. I would like this scene to be a positive for both partners.

I"m personally leaning towards using Charles, the straight rancher. He is a tall muscular man, with broad shoulders and narrow waist, and the most unbelievably tight round ass. Women and gay men constantly eye fuck his body, but fall for his sweet and honest nature. He is down to earth and just an all around nice guy. The experience won't turn him gay, because the main character is beyond gay or straight. However, the sex will change Charles. Once he goes back to women, he will be able to maintain longer erections, cum more, and experience a few more changes, although his personality won't change.

Charles came and went so fast and unmentioned, I actually had to review the story to see who you were talking about. But now that I have gone over it, he seems attractive, reasonably big and built, respectful (very important), and definitely trying to accommodate our stud as much as a mere mortal can. And the guy seemed to have a quiet unspoken respect for Charles, so it seems like something our guy would consider.

There is also the size thing. You don't want Big Stud with SuperBig Stud, because its not an interesting and unlikely match-up. With Charles, there's a bigger size differential, which is kind of what you were targeting for, and there won't be this underlying negative "Macho Stud War" which by nature is going to happen with two Alpha Males.

The fact that an experience with our stud improves Charles' bed prowess is also a super idea, which falls flat with Craig, and can only lead to more deep-seated jealousies with Drake.

So I vote for Charles.

Or should another character be introduced, for the main character to have sex with? I'm thinking of throwing in one of the many seniors from his sophomore year, who suffered an injury at the main character's hands.

Touching idea, but I think this would work only if the Senior had seriously lost a lot of his studliness because of the accident. I don't mean make him a wuss or anything, but it took a lot of cockiness out of the character, and an experience with our stud builds back that self-confidence, plus making our guy feel at least his world was tilted just that much more back the way it should be.

Then there is my final thought; in part 4, he did demolish the wrong driveway. So the homeowners contract him wanting sex or they will sue for property damages. Since nobody actually poses a threat, I don't see how they will be successful in extracting sex from him, unless it's the really angry brutal kind, which I'm not into. At first I didn't completely think it through too much, but I decided to include the idea.

Actually, I like this idea a lot, but I don't think it should be mixed with your idea above, but rather a counterpoint to it instead. The first shows sex with our boy done right, the second demonstrates how heaven for one can be HELL for another.

Some may pick up that I was for our guy getting mad. Now I'm voting for him to use his sex vindictively. No, I'm not a sadist. In fact I think true sex with any partner should be the most wonderful thing, and is how I see the thing with Charles going.

But these many chapters are primarily a series of acts, in which we see demonstration after demonstration of how patient and forgiving our protagonist is. We get that. But to break up the stories "metronome" and flow a bit, it's an interesting variety to see the guy use theses gifts in an altogether different way, even like a psychological "weapon", for example. It fleshes out the character, plus keeps reminding us the readers, that while this guy is perfect, the world he must live in, is not.

But I also agree with you in that the "vindictive" sex should NOT be brutal or abusive. But our protagonist wields such easy power at his disposal, that I could easily see him "Toying" with the lover, and be impishly evil in nature. I mean, him just keep going and going, like the Energizer Bunny, is certainly not brutal. In fact, it's your wet dream - until you actually experience it. Sort of a "be careful what you wish for" approach, rather than abusiveness. Plus being big, he can overdo just about anything in all "innocence", if it stuck him to do so.

Imagine for example, that his pheromones can be so powerful if he's intentionally wanting to, that it coats a person as a skunk coats a person in stink. It's so bad, you practically have to scrub yourself in tomato juice to get it off your skin. Imagine what that would do to a person if they were bathed in the stuff, and couldn't wash it off for a week? WHAT HELL that would be! Talk about "the gift that keeps on giving"!

Anyway, you get the idea.