Group, The

By WideJohnny

I wrote this over a weekend and had a great time doing so. The main character never gets a name, and there isn't any dialogue in the story - mostly because I suck at writing believable dialogue. There's no sex, no mention of a cock, or anything like that, but I think it ends up being hotter because of that. Anyway, give it a read and let me know what you think.

I'd stumbled upon Yahoo! Groups by accident when clicking around on the homepage of this gay guy I was flirting with online. When I realized what I had found, I immediately began searching out anything and everything related to muscle. Photos of bodybuilders, strong man discussions, steroid info groups...everything.

Then, I found THE GROUP. A group that spoke to my innermost desires: "MuscleGrowthStories". I couldn't click "Join this group" fast enough.

As soon as I had joined, I began pouring through the posts on the group, starting with the earliest and moving forward. The messages began as one would expect: introductions, banter, and a few solid stories. Each story excited me far more than any photograph could. My dreams were written out a dozen times over, detailing the growth, the extreme changes, that I so wanted for myself.

After a few pages of messages, the subject matter gradually changed from relaying prewritten stories to some sort of role playing. Each of the guys on the group wrote in, talking about their awesome growth and sexual escapades. It was, by far, the hottest role playing game I'd ever witnessed, incredible in its detail and intensity.

After reading only a few messages, I came fiercely. Exhausted, I cleaned up, shut off the computer, and lumbered off to bed.


The next morning at work, I checked my home e-mail account and found the usual - a dozen pieces of junk mail, a couple of letters from buddies, and a subscription confirmation from the MuscleGrowthStories moderator. As I opened the confirmation, I was startled to see my monitor flash brightly for five or so seconds then return to normal. I swore to myself, figuring that I had just encountered a new virus. I quickly deleted the message and ran my antivirus software to check for infections.

I sat patiently while the program slowly crawled the hard drive for bugs. I forced myself to recall the flashing patterns that had popped onto the screen, thinking that being able to describe these patterns may help the system administrators in identifying the virus. Step by step, I reimaged the patterns within my mind: blue background with a white plus sign, white with grey stripes, red with a purple oval, black and white squares, and a few other symbols that I hadn't recognized.

Again and again I ran through this sequence. In fact, I could hardly think of anything else. I barely noticed as my computer finished the antivirus test with a large green "System OK" message. Rather, the sequence cycled within my brain, increasing its speed, the symbols flashing past so quickly I was unable to distinguish them.

My vision of the office surrounding me blurred into nothingness. I felt my stomach sinking, as if I was strapped to a roller coaster. My hands went numb. My face went flush. I was about to be sick.


I pulled together enough strength and concentration to make it to the office restroom. I ran in and locked the door behind me. Kneeling at the toilet, I instantly realized that I didn't feel ill. I felt...odd.

I stood up and turned around, looking into the large mirror on the wall. My face was beet red and my pupils were dilated to an extreme. What the fuck was happening? My body tingling, sweating profusely, numb but strangely grounded. I stared carefully at the image in the mirror, watching my chest heaving as I gasped for air.

Then I felt it. An unusual snugness at the waist of my pants. Tightness around my hips. Confinement at my shoulders. And a choking sensation at my collar.

I watched in terror as my neck swelled before my eyes, straining viciously at my shirt's collar. I was struggling to breathe and realized that my tie was quickly becoming my noose. I fought off panic as I undid the necktie, struggling against the self- tightening knot. All the while my neck continued to swell, spilling over the starched collar as the fabric dug into my skin. I pulled off the tie in time to watch the topmost button of the shirt shoot off towards the mirror. My lungs pulled in oxygen with a gasp.

Pain at my waist as the leather belt creaked under pressure. I used all my strength to pull lose the buckle and watched as the belt fell to the tile floor. Instantly my waist filled up the empty space in my pants. I could hear the faint sound of the button's threads ripping apart, and soon that button, too, was gone.

I peered into the mirror, staring at the changing man before me. His neck was square and taught, his shoulders wide, his torso thick, leading into solid legs. I turned to observe his side profile. A large, high ass growing quickly, a chest beginning to make its presence known, arms rapidly running out of shirt to contain them.

Turning back to face the mirror, I watched in elation as my thighs finally encountered the limits of the pant legs, slowly ripping apart the wool slacks at their inseams. The thighs continued to expand, and soon I felt the skin on my legs touching. My ass grew larger and tighter, filling my seat with muscle. Each glute fought for its share of fabric to cover it, pulling the pants up, back, and out, and ripping the seam cleanly.

My torso, meanwhile, was continuing its tug-of-war with my shirt. I found my chest testing the fabric as it inflated with muscle. The top button already blown off, I watched as the next three were quickly ripped out by my rapidly swelling pecs, forcing the Oxford dress shirt open to the top of my abs. The skin across my pecs was shiny, so tightly stretched over the mounds of muscle newly planted on my chest. This new breathing room was still insufficient for my lats which had been quietly making their presence known and now were plainly visible, even from this fronton view. I heard and felt the cotton fabric ripping down the center of my back as the wings continued to reveal their full expanse.

I was surprised to feel my midsection meet the limits of the still- buttoned bottom of my shirt. Looking down, I realized that I was not, in fact, growing a beer belly but was instead developing a thick, defined, ball of a muscle gut. I unfastened the last couple of buttons to save my shirt the agony and pulled the tatters off. I stripped off the remains of my slacks and boxers and looked up at myself in the mirror.

It seems impossible - as if any of this seems possible to begin with - but free of the restraints of clothing, my body's inflation process kicked into overdrive. I watched in amazement as my shoulders morphed into terrific caps of muscle on my frame. My biceps and triceps fought against each other for top billing on my upper arms as they ballooned into absurd balls of power. My forearms stepped past reality as the thick cords of tendons mingled with the plump muscle bellies, holding their own against my unheard of biceps.

I felt skin hit skin on my legs and looked down to see two calve heads pushing against each other. The calves barreled out on all sides of the leg, and would probably tape out better than my chest would have a half-hour prior. The drama continued on my thighs, as quads, hams, and all the bit players piled muscle upon muscle. My quads hung menacingly above my kneecaps, swooping up in a fierce, chunky teardrop. The hams rounded themselves into spheres, even in their relaxed state, but still sat in the shadow of my bulging shelf of an ass. By now, the thighs had grown too thick for me to maintain any sort of normal stance. I stood bowlegged to an extreme, feet a good four feet apart, and still my thighs pushed against each other.

A different battle for mass was being waged upon my upper body. My pecs had moved into another growth spurt, beefing up to the point of impossibility. Each pec had come as close to spherical shape as appeared possible, standing out several feet from my rib cage. The cleft between the pecs was amazingly deep, yet the force with which the muscles pressed against each other would make it nearly impossible to explore.

I was unable to see my feet or, for that matter, my abs with my line-of-sight disrupted by these mountains of flesh. In fact, I couldn't really do much but look straight ahead, partly due to the size of my pecs, and partly due to my thick neck and growing traps, which met my head at the middle of my ears and extended out a foot on each side before sinking into my delts. My neck no longer appeared to support my head, but instead surrounded my head, making my skull appear thick and wider at the bottom than at the top. The muscles in my jaw had also swollen to brutish proportions, giving me the look of part man, part bulldog. Turning my head was an exercise in futility - I could rotate my skull maybe forty-five degrees in either direction. So much for looking over my shoulder.

My lats hadn't given up expanding, and were, at this point, swooping out from just above my waist, stretching past the limits of my shoulders, and then tapering back in to meet up with my armpits. These lats were THICK, maybe a foot from front to back, and left absolutely no room for my arms. So the arms sat upon them, propped out at what was fast approaching a ninety- degree angle, parallel to the floor. My forearms, heavy with beef, were slightly less displaced, at maybe a forty-five-degree angle with the floor. The whole effect made me look like a marionette with too short of strings.

It felt like the growth was slowing, so I took time to pose for myself. It was quite difficult to move myself around, and most of the poses I wanted to try were impossible to complete due to the quantity of muscle I was packing. My half attempts at the double biceps, crab, and lat spread poses were nonetheless stunning, no matter how poorly they were executed. I could barely begin to bend over as a fight for space instantly began between my huge muscle gut and freakish pecs. I couldn't flex my arms because my biceps and forearms locked far from a ninety-degree angle. I was nearly immobile, a prisoner of my own fantastic beef. I stopped to simply stare at my image, a nearly grotesque ball of muscle with a heaving chest and sweat dripping from its skin. When less than an hour ago I was a slim, 170-pound 6-footer, I was now...five hundred, six hundred, pounds of muscle?

I was no longer human. I was a monster.


Even monsters have to deal with awkward situations at the office. Perhaps ESPECIALLY monsters. Luckily for me, it was just after 10:00 AM and most of my coworkers were buried in their work. I had to get out of this office quickly, so I wrapped my tattered pants around my waist to provide a temporary pair of boxers and, way across the hallway to the elevator without being seen.

Once in, I pressed the button for the underground parking garage and listened uncomfortably to the support cables squealing under the load. After the unusually quick descent to the garage, I stepped up out of the elevator - it had stopped about a foot below the floor - and made my way to my truck.

It's times like this that you thank yourself for having the good sense to buy a heavy-duty truck with a bench seat and an automatic transmission. I pushed back the bench as far as possible before attempting to climb in. Even still, my chest was threatening to honk the horn all of the way home. I was too wide to sit in what would be considered the driver's seat, so I instead sat with one leg on each side of the console. It was a bit unusual steering with only my left hand and doing all braking and accelerating with my left foot, but I got the hang of it pretty quickly.

So, after getting home without major incident, what are my plans? Well, I plan on exploring all that my new body has to offer. I plan on sharing my beef with others. And I think I may just try and track down that "virus" once again.

But what was the first thing I wanted to do? Well, contribute my story to that little "role-playing game" on the MuscleGrowthStories group, of course!

By the way, only being able to type with one hand at a time is a real pain. But I think I can deal with it. :) •

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