|My name is Titan.
Not really. I'm not a marketing genius, okay? It wasn't even my idea in the first place to start this whole business, but what the hell? As long as I have this special talent, I might as well use it, right?
My real name is Ted. Pretty normal. But who's going to pay for a Ted when they can get a Titan, right? And it seems to work out okay, mostly.
I'm writing this down because I'm not sure what will happen next. I've been told what's happening to me and why but I'm no doctor so all I can do is write it down as far as I understand it, which isn't very far. It seems I am genetically gifted or something like that. Normally the new procedures take pretty easily and guys who want to get bigger can do so, only it's pretty painful and "actual mileage may vary." But my body, luckily for me, seems to adjust really well to all these things and so far that's been a pretty big benefit.
At first, all I wanted was to be bigger. More muscular. I mean, as long as I can have it, why not get it? I'd been working out all my life, pretty much, so I was already pretty big. That should have given me a clue that I'd be able to get really big since the weightlifting worked so well. Not to brag but I was a huge dude. By the time I was 19 – I'm 23 now, I guess I should mention – when I was 19 I weighed 240 and had 5% body fat. That was most of the time. I was 6'3" and looked pretty hot, if I do say so myself. But all I wanted was to get bigger. That was my goal. I loved seeing my arms swelling, watching my chest getting huge, feeling the tight, hard power all through my body. So when I was approached by The Club to take the injections, I said yes.
I should explain The Club. The Club is a place where lots of Auggies, as Augments like me are sometimes called, are employed. Then others who are into watching Auggies – or other stuff which I probably don't have to go into – pay to come to The Club and, depending on what they want to do, how far they want to go, etc., they have to pay more. So The Club is always on the lookout for likely new candidates, which is how I came to be where I am.
There's no way I could afford the treatments on my own. They cost a hell of a lot and I spent most of my time at the gym, so there wasn't too much money coming in. Just enough to keep my membership up and feed my need with protein shakes and meal bars and anything else I could pour into my body to get bigger and stronger. Don't get me wrong, I didn't do the dangerous stuff, and I sure had my doubts about the treatments until I met Rob and he put my fears to rest.
Rob was already an Auggie at The Club. Rob was, and is, a huge motherfucker. Everywhere. When I walked into The Club that day two years ago he stood out even among all the other huge motherfuckers. Like me, his body accepted the effects of the augmentation drugs more readily and with more noticeable results than most other guys. He had gained not only muscle, but also a few inches of height and a few inches of dick as well. More than a few inches, actually. He was packed good and tight into his pants, let me tell you. He didn't have a basket, he had a bucket. He had a bathtub. He had a fucking silo. He walked with the ambling stride of a guy whose thighs were so big they had move around each other. His heavy arms swung with full, thick bellies of veined monsters that looked pumped to perfection even when he wasn't. And when he was, it was a wonder the guy could move at all.
I asked him about side effects and he said, yeah, at first there was some pain. Growing pains, he called it. Everyone had them. They might last days or they might last months, it all depended on how quickly your body adapted to and absorbed the chemicals they injected. He said I was bigger as I was then than he was when he got started, which was why I was there. The Club was always looking for new candidates. I asked how many guys were recruited and he said there were about three dozen Auggies on staff. Some of them, most of them, were waiters and bartenders. Everyone had to be big to work there.
Only the truly amazing men were performers, as he called them. The stories were that this was less like Chippendale's and more like The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas. I asked him point blank about that and he said, yeah, sure, some guys do that. It's where the big money comes from. But no one had to do anything they didn't want to. If I started taking the treatments and didn't like it, I could stop. If I went all the way and all I wanted to do was pose, that was okay too – assuming I got huge enough to be a performer.
What was a performer, I wondered? Do they just strut and pose, or was more involved? He invited me to see the show that night and I could find out for myself.
I asked him if he was still okay, otherwise. Like, could he fuck? Did his appetite change? Any other weird things happening to his body? He showed himself off, bending his arms to pump those massive bi's into watermelons, puffed up his monster chest until the nips poked against the material so tight I thought they'd cut right through and then pulled his shirt up to show off an 8-pack of abs so tight and hard and round and fine that he looked less like a man and more like a god. He goes, do I look like I'm suffering? I was starting to spring some wood just looking at all that meat – massive muscle, even my own, always gets me off – and all I wanted then was to be as big, or bigger, than Rob.
That night I watched the show, and the performances were varied to say the least. Usually it was a combination of a strip show and bodybuilder exhibition and weird, erotic dance routine. The guys got progressively bigger as the night progressed, and there were some who had extra large body parts and others who I guess you could call balanced, meaning they were just huge all over. I got a few passing glances from the clientele even without the juice, but I was wearing my tightest pair of Calvins and a mesh shirt that showed me off well so I was used to that.
But by the time Rob came out, no one was looking at me. I have to say the guy was fucking impressive. He came out in this sort of one-piece spandex thing that made him look like a super hero from your best wet dream, assuming you're into muscle. He'd pumped up and was bigger – he looked a lot bigger in fact, but maybe it was lighting that was showing off his massive cuts and the deep definition of his muscles. He was a monster, and when he smiled and looked directly at me I felt a jolt in my jeans I can still feel today.
If I was worried about those masses of muscle making a guy all stiff and awkward, Rob's routine cleared that up quick. He was bending over backwards, I shit you not. He peeled himself slowly out of that slick suit and stood up there swiveling his hips and twisting that massive body to some techno shit like he had lube in his joints. He bent down and sucked on his own dick. Probably helped that it was so big that he didn't have to lean over too far, but when he deep throated himself and that hard, red meat came out all slick with his spit and glistening in the light I knew what I wanted more than ever.
I started the treatments the very next day. They warned me that I wouldn't be able to workout during the process. I asked if that meant I shouldn't, and the tech said no one ever did, they were in too much pain as the muscle started developing. Working the muscle while they were growing would prove too painful.
As they say, no pain no gain.
It did hurt at first. But because of how my body was reacting, the pain rarely lasted more than a day. Usually I'd lose a night's sleep but feel fine the next day. So I'd go to the gym nearly all day, everyday, because The Club was paying my expenses during the process. It was all part of the deal. I would be like an indentured servent until I paid them back, so it was in my best interest to get as big as possible so I could perform, and then to "perform" according to the customer's wishes – all their wishes – in order to bring in enough cash to pay off the debt faster. So I figured if I wanted to get the most out of this, I'd need to put a lot into it.
At first the gains were little better than I'd gotten taking the more mundane supplements. The first month I was wondering if anything was happening at all. Then, all the sudden, everything started swelling.
And I mean everything.
The treatments usually take six months. I finished mine in half the time – and started again. A double dose. I couldn't help myself, I was growing so fucking fast and getting so fucking strong that it was all I wanted. Inches of muscle were growing on my arms. My chest was swollen with fat cables of power. My legs were tree trunks. And my dick had doubled its length, going from an underwhelming, though average, 4 inches to just under 8. I could bench 750 lbs. and curl 200. My body also grew another 6 inches taller.
The second treatments improved the results dramatically – and it was during them that I started realizing some very odd and interesting side effects. See, no one is supposed to take two treatments.
After I was done, I had three.
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