Home From College — Part 5

[tekuno]

Okay, my houseguests are gone now, so I had time to work on this some more.

Edit: This story is now complete. Enjoy!

Musclegod300's Original Parts

[One] | [Two] | [Three]

My Continuation

[Four] | [Five] | [Six]

Home From College
Part 5

*****

Since Dad didn't kick me out, and was too absorbed in his workout to pay much attention to me, I stayed and watched. Hell, I even thought about taking out my cell phone to record him, his workout was so incredible.

After pumping away at the lat pulldowns for a while, he got up, cranked the adjustable dumbbells to some weight — I didn't like to get too close, in case he noticed I was still there and completely hard — and cranked out curls. His arms swelled up as the pump took hold. I heard him mutter something every so often.

He tossed the dumbbells aside, and marched over to the bench. He loaded up 450 pounds — plus whatever the bar weighed — and started cranking out presses like there was no tomorrow. With every move his pecs seemed to flex just a little larger. In between puffs of air, he continued to mutter.

Next it was leg presses. I couldn't see him very well inside the machine, not without moving around and drawing attention, but I could see his swollen legs push up the sled and then relax down again, and the muttering kept coming.

Finally he pushed out of the machine and started doing triceps extensions, muttering the whole while. After the first one, he let go of the bar and moved the pin to the bottom of the weight stack. The whole stack went up and down, crashing into the base each time, and in between he muttered.

When he finally stopped, he stood staring into the mirror for a few minutes, muttering. Then he dropped to the floor and started doing pushups. At the top of each one, he would spring off the floor and clap his hands. Since he was facing the door, I could hear what he was saying now.

"...biggest man in the whole fucking world... gonna blow past those fucking little pukes like they were pre-school girls... big fucking muscles... biggest in the world... biggest fucking stud..."


He got up off the floor after 50 pushups. (I know because I counted every single one.) His entire body was flushed red, and beads of sweat stood out, and he walked over to me. He looked at me, but not like he recognized me at all — he gave me an arrogant frown and grabbed my head in one massive hand, and pulled me in, rubbing my head against a pec.

"What do you think of my fucking muscles? I'm so goddamn huge!"

Suddenly he pulled me around and put me in a headlock.

"Dad! Dad! Stop!."

"Huh? Oh, sorry." He let me go, and I fell to the floor. He loomed over me. I could have sworn he looked bigger than before. A lot bigger. If this was what he was like on stage, with a real pump, then he was going to win. Possibly by intimidating all the other contestants off the stage. His gut had shrunk down, back to it's new "normal" state, at least. "It feels so damn good when I'm burning calories into muscle. God, I feel so fucking strong right now! Gonna pulverize the competition!"

He flexed again, and reached down and pulled me to my feet. As my head moved up, I got to see that he was hard again... in fact, his erection looked bigger than before. Then I got another surprise.

"Dad, are you... taller than yesterday?"

Dad held me with one hand on each shoulder, so we were both standing straight, and looked down at me.

"Hmm. Maybe I'm just standing straighter than usual. Or you're hunched over. Never mind that now, we have to get to the show. There's no such thing as early to the prejudging, Harris says."

Dad dragged me out into the hall. The pull was irresistible, and I practically fell over trying to keep up with him, as the floor creaked under his bulk. On the way through the door he accidentally banged into the doorframe, and there was a splintering sound as the decorative trim split where his massive delt hit it.

"Haha, the house can't stand up to me any more." He left me at the top of the stairs and marched into his bedroom. After a few moments, he came out, barely crammed into shorts and a t-shirt. "Someday, I'm gonna be too big to fit through the doors any more. Tear 'em out when I walk through. Grrrrrr!"

He pulled me down the stairs and pushed me into the garage. I got in the truck, and he pulled himself into the driver's seat. It was a tight fit, and he only barely managed to squeeze in.

"Outgrowing the truck already! Yeah! Good sign! Gonna be the biggest man on the stage!"

It was true. Dad really seemed bigger. I looked at him out of the corner of my eye, and his thighs were definitely rubbing against the wheel and the steering column. His right arm encroached into my space a bit, and he seemed to be having problems with his left. His pecs were squeezed together to keep his hands on the wheel.

The whole way there he kept talking about how big he was getting, and how he was going to win the contest. He kept asking me to look at his arm, or his shoulder, or his leg, and he would flex.

He was pulling into the parking space when it suddenly dawned on me that his head was brushing against the ceiling of the truck. Was it doing that the day before? I couldn't remember for sure.

"Dad, did your head—"

Dad grinned at me. "Hey, sorry, but I really have to run. Here." He grabbed a packet of papers which was wedged against the seat, and pulled out a crumpled ticket, and then fished his cell phone out of his pocket. "Can't have the cell with me on stage anyway. Take some pictures of me, will you? The audience entrance is that way."

He jogged off. Watching the masses of muscle jump as he bounced along would have had me hard if I hadn't already been. I shrugged, and headed off the way he had pointed to wait for the contest to start. Much to my disgust, it was going to be a three-hour wait. I ended up pretending to play games on my phone while surreptitiously checking out the other people in the audience.

They actually made me feel small — moreso than the jocks at college, who were at least explicitly jocks. For the first time I really consciously realized that bodybuilding fans tended to be pretty fit, themselves. I stood out like a sore thumb. Practically everyone seated near me was bigger than I was, even the women. Only a couple of children and an older woman looked smaller than me, and a few of the other people gave me looks of contempt. I could tell they were thinking "why is he even here?" But I knew that Dad would give them a shock, and just sat tight as the hours ticked away.

I was right. The competitors started filing in, looking demoralized, and I heard a guy two rows behind me talking about how it was such a shame that this show was just a local one, so it didn't have any real super-heavyweight competitors showing up. And then Dad walked on the stage, and he shut up really fast. The minute Dad stepped onto the stage there was an audible reaction from the audience — some of them gasped, some exclaimed... I think a few even moaned. And no wonder, either, because he was the tallest, biggest, thickest man on the stage. Every one of the guys who was on the stage already looked tiny by comparison.

I thought Dad wouldn't have any serious competition, he was so jacked and shredded, but there was another guy who was kind of close. He wasn't as defined as Dad, but he had similar mass — and he posed much more fluidly than Dad. I had tended to shy away from bodybuilding competitions in the past — too much opportunity to meet someone who wouldn't appreciate my appreciation of themselves — but even I could tell that, of the two, the other guy was much more comfortable posing. He had perfect posture, and moved gracefully. There was no question in my mind that Dad would have mopped the floor with the guy in a fight, or that of the two, Dad was the more attractive, and the crowd quickly agreed with me. But still, the other guy was obviously a contest veteran, where Dad was just as obviously (in context) just a beginner.

After a few minutes, the crowd was eating out of Dad's hand. They cheered whenever he flexed, and as the judges ran through the competitors asking for mandatory poses, he gave his own little show whenever he wasn't on call himself. It was clear pretty quickly that nobody in the audience was paying attention to anyone else. I had Dad's phone out to record video as much as I could, and tried to take pictures with my own, although using both phones at once was tricky.

There was a break before the individual posing routines, and about half the audience got up and headed for the bathrooms, trying to look casual, but every single guy had a bulge in his pants and some of the women had damp spots there. There was a buzz of conversation, and I could hear Dad's name and number being spoken by nearly everyone. I grinned, and decided to see if I could head backstage.

It took a long time to convince the guy guarding the competitor entrance that I was Dad's son. He had seen Dad. But between the fact that Dad's cell phone number (which was on his paperwork) called a phone I was holding, and the fact that my driver's license had the same last name as Dad, I finally got in.

It was easy to pick out Dad in the backstage area. I couldn't see the other big guy anywhere, and so he and Harris were easily the biggest guys in the room, and right in the center, in fact.

The two of them were going crazy posing with each other. Harris was wearing a tank top and shorts, and Dad was, of course, still in his posers, which were being pushed outward by his erection, which looked bigger than ever. All the other competitors in the room, looking kind of pathetic, and their trainers and family and so on, were sitting or leaning against walls. Every single one of them was hard, and more than one was actually drooling.

I decided to record some of this action on video. I "forgot" and used my own phone instead of Dad's — I could always send him a copy later — just to make sure I'd get to keep this for myself. The two of them were totally hot and hard, and it was almost like they were flirting with each other, the way they kept feeling each other up. I wanted so much to join in, every inch of Dad's body was rock solid, just like Harris. The two kept breaking off into headlocks, or trying to outflex each other, or half-worshipping each other. There were occasional moans from around the room, and more than one other competitor got up and left, usually with a wet spot on their posers.

I was really into the eroticism of the whole thing, and the two of them were in motion, so it took me a little while to realize the significance of something I had seen right away: Dad and Harris were the same size. Yesterday, Dad had been a couple of inches shorter than Harris — and noticeably smaller. Now, it was like Harris magically had a slightly younger twin brother. Dad's thighs were as big as Harris' legs, Dad's mammoth pectorals were just as big and full as Harris' pecs, Dad's arms were... actually a little bigger than Harris' arms. I watched as Dad pulled a most-muscular and realized I really wasn't sure his pecs weren't bigger, too. His back flared out in the most outrageous "V" I had ever seen.

Aside from the fact that Dad seemed to have somehow surpassed Harris by a small margin, there were only a few differences. They had the same massive bodies, the same arrogant confidence... but Harris' hair was slightly grayed, and his body hair was pepper-and-salt with gray, where only Dad's beard had started graying (which was why he kept it shaved off now). And, it was becoming obvious, Dad was better-hung. Harris was fully erect, but Dad's posers were threatening to get pushed out of the way by his massive prick, and at the same time Dad's balls were pulling them down.

I couldn't help it, Dad or not, my mouth was watering. I swallowed and walked up to them.

"Great job, Dad!"

He turned around with a ferocious grin. "Scott! Yeah, I'm feeling it, today! Gonna blow these little wimps—" he swept his hand around at all the other competitors in the room "—out of the water! Biggest fucking guy on the stage! Did you hear all that cheering?"

"Yeah, and I got video like you asked." He grabbed his phone from my hand and started looking.

"Haha, look at this! Harris, look! There's no comparison! Geez, I'm so fucking huge!"

Harris frowned. "What about that guy? Number 14?"

Dad sneered. "That loser? Yeah, he's got some mass, but come on! Look at me!" He pulled another most-muscular, and I swear his traps got just a little thicker. Not by much, not enough for anyone who wasn't watching for it from up close to notice, but it happened.

Harris wasn't convinced. "Yeah, but look at his posing. He's really good at showing off what he's got."

"What do you think I'm doing?" Dad grinned. "Gotta be the biggest guy out there. Fucking massive! I'm a fucking freak, and that loser... is gonna lose!" He flexed his biceps, and I think they got just a touch larger.

Dad turned to me. "Break's almost over. Make sure you get my posing routine, okay?"

He tossed his phone to me, and I just barely caught it. He stalked off to where a harassed-looking man was trying to organize the competitors to go back on stage in the right order. I looked at his huge back, then looked over at Harris, who was watching him and seemed to be making up his mind.

"Is it just me or is Dad—"

"I think it may time to cut back the dosage," Harris muttered, and then he looked down at me. "Oh, sorry, Scott. Your dad's in for a shock, I think. That other guy may not have quite the... confidence he has, and he's not as cut, but he's big, and he knows his shit. It would be hard to pick, but I think I know which one I'd give the award to if I were a judge. Happens, sometimes. Sergio Oliva lost a pro contest, once, because his posing routine wasn't good enough, and he even beat Arnold Schwarzenegger."

"Yeah, but he's—"

Harris suddenly seemed anxious to reassure me. "Getting cocky? Don't worry about it. Cocky is good for a competing bodybuilder. It may not always help with the judging, but you never know. And confidence makes for better posing. He might beat that guy yet."

"But—"

"Scott, listen, I need to go check on something in my car. You head on out and make sure to capture your Dad's posing routine. The video will help him practice — he can correct mistakes in his poses." Harris walked off.

I shrugged. If nobody was going to pay any attention to me, I wasn't exactly obligated to force them. And, honestly, on the whole I liked the way my Dad looked. And the confidence was promising, sort of — it meant he was probably over Denise... maybe? I looked at him again (he was at least 3 inches taller than everyone behind him in line), sighed, and headed back out to the auditorium.

The posing routines were mostly boring, frankly. Dad was late in the lineup, and except for number 14, the other competitors were practically stick figures by comparison. It was obvious that the whole contest was basically Dad versus that one other guy. I spent most of the time watching and rewatching my video of Dad and Harris, and wishing I could wank off right there.

Dad's number finally came up, and the auditorium came alive. There were cheers at every motion he made, and it was easy to see why — I had been looking at my video, and he was definitely pumped up even bigger now. Knowing what I knew, I wondered whether it was actual growth, or just a pump. Dad's posing was incredible — and only slightly removed from porn, because his posers were definitely losing ground. He even had to reach down and pull them up once (the crowd variously moaned, cheered, and gave catcalls). And then, all too soon, he was off, and another little guy was out on stage trying desperately to pretend that he had a chance of winning.

I finally got sick of waiting for the parade of men to end — I had never thought I'd think that, but Dad and Harris were redefining things for me pretty rapidly — and so I decided to head to the back, so I could be there to congratulate Dad when he won.

Dad and Harris were continuing their... whatever it was. Dad was definitely in charge, now. He kept getting Harris in wrestling holds and saying "feel those arms!", or getting behind him and pulling him up in the air, with a grunt — Harris' face went a funny color when Dad's cock was against his ass — and just generally showing off his size and strength. And he really was huge, now. He was sweating, and his skin was flushed, and his veins stood out more than ever, pulsing with blood as he showed off his body.

I noticed several people taking pictures, this time, and a few enterprising people had paperwork in front of their crotches, fooling nobody with their other hands down their pants. I didn't have that problem — I had a worse one. Between watching my videos and seeing this, I actually came in my pants as I walked in the door. I stopped for a minute, but the damage was done. It was kind of a relief, actually.

Dad saw me approaching. "Hey, Scott!" he boomed. "How'd I do? Did you hear the audience?" I couldn't help but notice that his body now sported stubble on his chest, arms, legs, and stomach, in addition to his face.

I tried to match Dad's grin. Remember, he was just dumped. Keep things positive. "Yeah, you did great."

"Gotta figure out where to put the trophy! Grrr!" He flexed again. I tried to convince myself that his arms didn't just pulse a little bigger. "Ah, fuck, when are they going to announce the results?" He put Harris in a headlock again and gave him a noogie. "Why didn't you tell me this would be so fucking boring? Oh, there we go." Dad let go of Harris and strode off confidently, without looking back at us.

Harris and I looked at each other, and wandered over to watch the awards from the sidelines. I swallowed hard when I looked out. Dad was now definitely, noticeably bigger than number 14.

The judges announced the awards. Dad openly sneered at all the smaller people who won the lower tiers. Finally, they got to the heavyweight class, which was the maximum at this show. (I was somewhat surprised to realize that he and number 14, whatever the guy's name was, weren't the only ones in it, but they actually had enough people to start with fifth place, apparently.)

Harris wasn't anywhere near as surprised as me — or, to judge by the gasps and boos, the crowd — when Dad was announced to be in second place. Dad himself was just thunderstruck. His jaw literally dropped. He was dumbfounded long enough for them to declare number 14 the winner, but that, as they say, is when things began to go wrong for the judges.

Dad stepped forward. "What the fuck kind of bullshit is this?" He roared. He was louder, all by himself, than the head judge on a microphone. He grabbed number 14 by the arm and yanked him forward. "You're telling me this shithead loser is better than me?" The crowd certainly seemed to agree with him.

Dad pushed the other guy over, and he went sprawling across the stage. Dad jumped down from the stage to the judges' table. Suddenly the crowd was silent.

"What are you trying to pull, here? You think I'm not good enough to win your fucking award, you little punks?"

Dad slammed his fists down on the table, which broke under the impact. Every inch of Dad's skin was nearly flushed red, and his veins were pulsing. He was definitely larger than he had been a minute ago.

"Fuck you assholes! I'm better than that loser! Watch this!" Dad grabbed the table and lifted it overhead by the edge like it was made of cardboard. Papers went flying. He barely had to flex and it started to crumple; the top began to splinter and he mushed the metal frame up. In about 30 seconds he was holding a ball of metal with a few shards of fake wood sticking out. The judges weren't stupid enough to try and justify their decision — while Dad's attention was elsewhere, they ran. "GrrrrrrrRRRRAAAAAH!" He squeezed the ball and it compressed even further. I could see his muscles flex. Hair started to push out of his armpits.

Dad jumped back up to the stage — a standing vertical leap of about 5 feet. The other competitors backed away. He turned to face the crowd. "What do you think? Am I big?" There were a few ragged cheers, but most people were too shocked to respond.

He started to flex, hard, over and over again. "Look at this! Look at this body! I'm a fucking stud! That trophy belongs to me! Biggest fucking man on the stage!" Dad roared and growled. His body stretched larger and larger — and finally his posers gave out, and his cock sprang out. It had to be at least 10 inches now, maybe more. His body hair was nearly all visibly growing back now, and his cheeks and chin were covered in stubble. I could sense Harris tensing up, although I couldn't tear my eyes off Dad's body.

He looked around, and saw that number 14 was still sitting where he had been thrown. Like everyone else, the man was mesmerized by Dad — but number 14 was actually jacking off.

"See? This faggot knows what's going on!" Dad reached down and pulled the other man to his feet. "Feel these muscles, faggot!" Dad flexed some more. His body pulsed even thicker as the smaller man moaned and felt Dad's muscles grow. Finally Dad thrust his pelvis out — his cock was now around a foot long, and unbelievably thick, and his huge, hairy balls hung down about 8 inches — and ejaculated with a roar which echoed around the auditorium.

He looked around. "Fuck. That felt good! Did you like it, faggot?" Number 14 nodded. "Spend another ten years training and you'll be almost as fucking huge as me, haha!" Dad stomped across the stage towards the exit where Harris and I were standing.

As Dad came through, he stopped to look at Harris. Dad's massive chest was heaving up and down as he breathed, and he looked down at Harris — Dad now had a definite height advantage of about 3 inches — with contempt. He looked further down and saw Harris' erection.

"Like what you see, Harris?" Suddenly Dad grabbed Harris and kissed him. Harris instantly started groping Dad's muscles, and Dad started to push Harris back in an embrace. Dad's mammoth tool was hard again already, and it pushed between Harris' legs.

I thought they were going to have sex right then and there — if Dad had wanted it, I don't think anyone could have stopped them — but Dad suddenly straightened up and pushed Harris back so hard that he actually cracked some of the plaster in the wall.

"Fucking pussy."

Harris shook his head, and caught his balance. He pointed at Dad a little shakily. "That's it, I'm not letting you have even one more dose!"

Dad sneered. "Do I look like I fucking need any more doses? Did this—" Dad gave a most-muscular, and pretty nearly every muscle in his upper body enlarged visibly "—escape your fucking attention? Jackass." His arms and chest looked like he had a series of basketballs under his skin, flexing and growing, and his lats held his arms out in a massive half-circle. Dad's body hair was all back, now — and then some; his pecs were covered with it, it ran down his abs to a bush around the base of his big, hard dick (now 13 inches, it seemed to me), and coated the outer parts of his forearms. He stomped onward, and stopped at a row of lockers, considering them. He punched through a metal door and pulled out some sweatpants. They weren't really large enough for a man of his size, but he managed to get them over the masses of muscle which were his thighs. He paused, and turned back. I could see the obscene lump his genitals made in the crotch of the pants.

"Besides, you just gave me two whole fucking bottles the other day, and I've only had one dose since then. Keep your damn pills. I'm gonna be the biggest fucking stud in the whole world without 'em." He started heading for the exit, and called over his shoulder: "Give Scott a ride home for me. I'm horny as hell. Gotta find some pussy to fuck. Or some ass. Doesn't matter. Goddamn, hope I still fit in the truck, haha!"

With that he was gone. Everyone blinked. Harris started to step forward, and fell over.

I looked around, but everyone was suddenly very busy with other things. You would have thought he had just graciously accepted second place and walked out calmly from the utter lack of reaction. The words "if we pretend that that didn't just happen, maybe nobody will start talking about drug testing" were almost visible in the air.

I managed to help Harris to his feet, and then to walk him out to his car. "Get in, Scott." I felt bad about accepting a ride from someone my Dad had just injured, but I did need a ride home... Once inside the car, Harris started talking.

"I guess there's no point in trying to be mysterious. Your Dad's on a drug. I'm part of the team who developed it."

I nodded. Given the way my Dad could have gotten so large, even before the events of the last 24 hours, the only thing surprising was the fact that Harris thought I hadn't realized drugs were involved.

"It was supposed to help people recover from injuries, but then it dawned on me that exercise is just a way of making tiny injuries to your muscles, so they heal by getting bigger. Damned if I wasn't right." He drove along in silence for a minute.

"Your Dad's body got more effect from the drug than anyone else. I wonder if it's psychosomatic... he was pretty damn cocky back there." Harris looked sideways at me. "I'm gonna need some help to stop him."

"Best of luck with that. I don't think you'll be able to stop him if he doesn't want to be stopped, short of killing him."

"But he's your father, isn't he? You need to help. We need to get him to come to the lab so we can figure out what's going on with his chemistry. Maybe you can talk him into it."

"And if he decides to just push me out of the way? He's got to be at least 350 pounds now."

"350? Geez, you're a crummy judge of weight, kid. He's got to be at least 400, maybe more."

"I'll take your word for it. Meanwhile, I'm not even a third of that. I'm not sure I'd survive hitting a wall like you did."

We were at Dad's house. The lights were off, and Dad's truck was nowhere to be seen. "Looks like he's not here." Harris looked at me. "You're a shrimp all right." He considered for a moment. "All right, Scott, here's what we'll do."

He opened the glove compartment and took out a bottle of pills. "You go inside there and wait for him to come home. He'll have to come home eventually. You take one of these pills about every eight hours, and it'll make you heal super-fast. He won't be able to hurt you seriously that way."

I rolled my eyes. "And if he hurts me in a vital spot?"

He shrugged. "Then you'll be dead whether you take the pills or not. They're just a backup. But we have to do something, right?"

I walked up to the house and let myself in. I wandered to the kitchen for a glass of water to wash down a pill. The mess Dad had left was still all over the counters. I looked at a tub of supplement blankly for a minute, and then smiled. I suddenly had a very interesting idea...

[Next Part]

[Kit Werecat]

Waiter.. I'll have what HE's having!!!

Tekuno, I LIKE it!!!

The ultimate 'Roid Rage!

At first, I thought, why couldn't I have a father like this. And that's a tribute to Musclegod300.

Now, of course, I'd kill to get my hands on those bottles of pills.

If your going where I think you're headed, this is going to just get better and better. At least for me.

I think I can see that you took a big left turn with this original idea (or maybe 'Roided it up a little?), but I know you conferred with Musclegod300 over it, and the torch was gracefully passed, so I think the new approaches are valid.

And I'm sorry. I'm just a sucker for this type of story. God. The Dad is a monster. What a neat fantasy to be his son. Only I couldn't have remained a wuss like him.

Maybe he won't either.

Great story.