I had achieved pro bodybuilder size and competition quality. My skin was tan and paper-thin. A fine web of veins was visible over most of my massive muscles. My chest was huge with two big plates of ripped granite muscle. My shoulders were like cannon balls. My neck and traps were thick with muscles like cords of steel cable. My back was a half a mile wide and tapered down, way down, to my still tiny waist. The growth of my back and lats was nothing short of incredible. I couldn't put my arms to my side; there just wasn't room. My waist was still small, but it was all muscle. My abs were like, I don't know, river rocks: round and hard as stone, chiseled into a ten pack that made Poindexter cry. My arms were great big slabs of pure grade "A" beef. When I flexed my biceps, they split into twin peaks: mountains of pure strength. My quads were like freaking tree trunks. They were now visibly bigger than my waist. Every muscle was swollen with power. I was practically a living anatomy chart. I was a huge muscle man and I really liked that. My calves were bigger than footballs; the split in the diamond shaped muscle was clear as day, even when they were completely relaxed.

As massive as my muscles were, I wasn't muscle bound and had no problems moving around. Mind you, I had to swing my legs out around each other when I walked like any other serious bodybuilder, and my arms had been pushed up some by my thick plank like lats. But that was no problem to me. These things just made me look bigger. And I liked that.

In the first week of October I went to see Poindexter for my monthly shot of magic. It had been a full six months since we'd started this experiment. I was ecstatic with the results. Getting this big only made me want to get bigger to become a muscle freak. I wanted to be a muscle freak like no comic book artist had ever imagined.

We went thru our now usual routine. I stripped naked. He stripped naked. He shook his head in wonder and took pictures. Then he measured me. Now I was 5'-9" tall and weighed in at 250 lbs. Now I was taller than Poindexter and outweighed him by at least 75 lbs. of muscle. He'd been hitting the gym hard, and was now about 175 lbs. of lean muscle himself. But he had nothing on me. My chest was 54" and tapered down to my tiny but powerful 29" waist. That's a difference of 25 inches! Most bodybuilders, even the guys on the juice only have a difference, they call it a "drop", of maybe 22 or 23 inches and that's usually on a much taller man than 5'-9". My taper was extraordinary. My quads taped a wild 36". Six months ago my freaking chest was 36"! I was like a Tom Platz or something. Baby, my calves were 20" and my arms taped 20-1/2" cold. And I was still lean and vascular with 6% body fat.

I loved my bodybuilder physique. It is so awesome to be this big and strong. And I really loved my freakish quads and my extreme "V" taper. These were the kinds of physical characteristics I'd always dreamed of having.

The desire to be big and muscular had been an overriding passion when I started the treatments. Now it was the only thing I could think about. I had a bodybuilder's dream physique. I could have given any Mr. Olympia a run for his money. I loved having all this muscle.

I still remembered being skinny and light. I remembered what that felt like. The weight of all my new mounds of muscle felt just incredible in comparison. The mass of it changed the way I stood, the way I walked they way I moved. I felt powerful and desirable all the time. Everybody stared at me now. Some would pretend they weren't staring, but I could see them watching me from the corners of their eyes. I loved it, loved it, loved it. That feeling was intoxicating, addictive even. I wanted to feel what it would be like to be even bigger, to pack even more raw muscle on my frame to be even heavier with pure muscle mass. I wanted to be a freak!

Poindexter wanted to stop the experiment. He thought I was big enough. I was stunned. I begged him to keep giving me the shots. He said "no". I pleaded with him. I tried to tell him how much I wanted to be bigger. He said I'd be a freak. Yes! Exactly! That's what I wanted. I wanted to be a huge freaking muscle hulk! I begged for about a half an hour before he relented. Measuring me, his cock had gotten semi-hard. But when I was begging, his cock stood at full attention. As he gave me the shot, that glorious pinprick of power, he said, "see, I still have some power over you".

Now, that pissed me off. That's what this had been about? Freaking power games? Was he that jealous of my muscle growth and all the confidence that came with it that he had to play power games? He'd been working out hard through the summer and like I said had packed on a good 10 lbs. of lean muscle. He was looking good by conventional standards. Damn good. But obviously he didn't like the power shift that had gone on during the summer.

The bigger I'd gotten, the more confident I'd become. Now I was taller than him and could man handle him like a little kid. I'd started refusing to let him fuck me. I had made him watch as I posed my increasingly strong muscular body for him until finally he couldn't stand it and would come and hang on my arms and worship this ever bigger muscle man. The last time we'd gotten together, I had fucked him for the first time with my newly enhanced 10" erection. And I had fucked him good and long and cum twice in his tight juicy ass. Apparently he didn't like that.

I didn't know exactly what to do. If he didn't like doing what I wanted to do, obviously he could stop giving me the shots. Shit, to be so close to becoming the freak I wanted to be and then have it pulled out from under me! That's what I was facing. So I reluctantly made the decision not to make him worship me and not to fuck his brains out the way I wanted to. I'd let him fuck me with his puny 7" dick if that was how I could keep getting the shots.

The past six months have otherwise been great. Better than great. Each month, each week, practically each and every day I was getting more and more muscle. Each month, each week, each and every day I was getting freakier. The muscles just got bigger and thicker and crowded onto my frame. More muscle fibers were forming. And each of those new fibers was expanding, fighting with its neighbors for space. Although I was getting taller and my skeleton was growing too, the bone genes didn't seem to be in hyper-drive the way my muscle genes were. Consequently my physique has been getting more and more extreme.

As I look back over the past year and the last six months especially, I can see now that my chest, back and thighs have grown more muscle, packing on slabs of ever bigger, harder bundles of strength and power. My waist remained narrow and hard even while my chest and thighs had exploded to truly superhuman size. The "V" taper that is so highly prized, is practically a "T" on me. My traps are huge, pumped up to my ears. My shoulders are like bowling balls, even bigger. My arms are bigger than you'll ever see on another man. These mega-arms are matched in size by my thick neck and freaky calves.

I've got a high-riding granite-hard striated bubble-butt that is matched only by my 10" flaccid cock that rides nicely over my super low hanging lemon sized balls. Those babies churn with testicular power and produce endless amounts of cum that's just gotta come out. When I get hard, my cock is a 12" beauty covered in veins, as big around as a beer can with a head that just begs to be taken in by hot mouths or moist cracks. Once, about a month ago, I smacked a guy with my semi-hard cock when he was trying to get it in his mouth and accidentally gave him a black eye!

None of my old clothes fit anymore. During this winter I was so turned on my by continuing muscle growth that I didn't want to cover up. I wanted to see every stage of my progression. The extra-extra- large tank tops were torn to shreds by my expanding chest about two months ago. There isn't a shirt big enough to contain my arms. And normal clothes can't accommodate these freakish quads of mine at all. Even the clothes I looked at in the Big and Tall shop don't exactly fit. They're all tailored for fat men, so when I tried on shirts to fit my chest, it looked like I was wearing a tent. When I tried on pants that fit my quads, There was so much fabric around my waist that it wasn't even practical to try and capture it with a belt.

I found a mail order place on the Internet that sells clothes for bodybuilders. These garments are like tailored for the proportions of pro bodybuilders. I buy the biggest shirts they make and they are stretched to the limit by my gargantuan chest. Their workout pants look painted on over my mammoth quads. I don't care though. I actually like it. I am a muscle freak. Muscle freaks are by definition too big for clothes, too big for even mere bodybuilder clothes.

But why cover up all this fabulous muscle? I got big because I wanted to have a muscle freak physique and to show it off. And I do, at every opportunity. Now that spring is here again, I go out in Lycra shorts, baring my magnificent chest and freakishly tiny waist. They barely fit over my thighs and are forced to bunch up at the joint where my quads taper in to my super narrow hips.

I like to strut my stuff. From a distance I'm a freak, but people think I'm really tall because of all my muscle. They just expect me to be like really really tall. But then they get up to me and can look me in the eye, or some even look down on me they are dumbfounded. Then my freakish size dawns on them and everybody stares and gawks. It is so satisfying to freak people out just by standing there. Then I'll move a little bit and my muscles will ripple and bulge pushing my paper thin skin over and around in a ballet of pure power and might. And then I'll flex a muscle hard and the chiseled mass of fibers will jump to life, practically leaping out of my skin. And I'll flex it harder and you can see every individual bundle of fiber bursting with strength.

The striations in my muscles when I flex blow people away. Its like looking at huge pulsing ropes, only hard as steel. And if I flex harder still the pump comes and the web of veins under my skin swell with blood and pop out all over like they're struggling to contain the muscle fibers that are about to explode!

There is no shortage of men who want me. There is no shortage of men who just want to be near me, to trace my pulsing python intercostals with their tongues, or feel my gargantuan biceps mountains. Men whimper with fear and desire when they see my flaccid cock. More than one man has scrambled from my bed in terror at the sight of my 12" erection slapping up against my brick wall of abs and poking into the crevice between my mounds of superhuman man breasts.

My pecs are so huge that my nipples don't point down, they point back in at my tiny muscled waist. Each of my pecs is like a concrete pillow cantilevered out from my torso. They hang heavy over the first row of my abs when they're relaxed, stretching my skin tight. But if I move my arms or flex just a bit they bounce way up and come close to hitting my chin. Men have begged to fuck my chest cleavage. Then they have begged to have their hard cocks released from the squeeze of my two great pecs when I've flexed these puppies just a moderate amount.

Big bodybuilders have wanted to be dominated by me, an even bigger muscle man. After spending years building their muscles to the point where they are bigger and stronger than 99% of the people around, they want to be topped. They are often desperate to be manhandled and fucked. I am only too happy to oblige. Imagine my dream come true. I am such a huge muscle freak that pro bodybuilders want to worship at my temple! One man, a huge mountain of a man half a foot taller than me with hard, defined slabs of beef on his Mr. Olympia frame, came to me and begged to be squashed in the vise grip of my two freaky quads. And this was like two months ago when I was 60 lbs. lighter.

So, it's April again and I'm turning 22 in a couple of days. Yesterday I went over to Poindexter's apartment for our monthly meeting. He isn't as blown away by my growth now, because it's been pretty constant. But I'm such a huge muscle freak; he gets like an instant erection when I come in the door. I was wearing a pair of my Lycra shorts and a shirt I'd gotten at the Big and Tall. Of course I'd had to do a little tailoring of my own to the shirt: I'd cut off the sleeves because no shirt was big enough to cover my massive arms. I couldn't button up the shirt, so it was open, showing off my gargantuan muscled chest and shredded ten-pack abdominals.

Poindexter has been pounding away at the weights in the last 6 months. I even suspect that he may have given himself a dose or two of his muscle growth potion. He's put on 25 or 30 lbs. of solid muscle since October. He's about an inch taller, at 5'-9" and is looking like a muscley physique model.

The usual routine. I stripped. He stripped. He took the pictures then he got to the measurements. You may not believe these numbers, because they sound so wild, but they are the truth. They are freaky wild and my dick leaps to attention just thinking about how big I've gotten over the past year. I'm now 6'-0" and weigh 394 lbs. of shredded raw muscle. In 12 months I've grown 6 inches taller and gained 269 lbs. I've more than tripled my weight and its all freaking muscle! My chest is an unbelievable 72" and my waist is still only 30". If you're into weird relationships, my chest is as big around as I am tall. My 42" drop is outta this world. Nobody can believe how big my chest is compared to how tiny my waist is. My lats are wings thick with muscle. My quads are 48" inch rock hard tree trunks. Poindexter's newly muscled chest isn't even that big! My 26" calves are as big as some men's waists. And now my biceps are as big as my waist was a year ago: 28 freaking inches of ripped muscle. Can you even imagine that? A year ago my waist was 28" and now my freaking arms are 28" cold. My 22" fore arms are now bigger than most bodybuilders' biceps. My body fat is a freakishly lean 3%.

Because my wrists, waist, knees and ankles haven't changed much, the sweep and swell of my freakish muscles is totally extreme. My body is more extremely muscled than any bodybuilder is. My body is more extremely muscled than any Marvel comic book character ever was. You can see every individual bundle of muscle fiber that makes up each muscle of my physique. Imagine, if you can, an anatomy chart, but with every single muscle blasted up 10 or 20 times as big, but still the same height.

My massive muscles ripple and bulge with astonishingly potent power. Dude, this is the most mind blowing thing! I am what I always wanted to be. I am bigger than any super-hero ever conceived. Twelve months ago I was a skinny hard-gainer. Nine months ago I was a buff athlete. Six months ago I was a Mr. Olympia contender. Three months ago I was a muscle freak. Now I am a super freak!

I had always wondered what it was like to go through the transformation from regular guy to muscle man. I had imagined it was great. I had imagined it made you feel confident and powerful. I had imagined that you could feel the muscles growing bigger and harder. But, damn, man, I had no idea how incredible it felt. Maybe it was going through the metamorphosis so quickly, or maybe it was because I had always wanted to be a freakish muscle monster.

This year has been totally awesome. As the year went by I felt increasingly confident, powerful and dominant. The way people looked at me changed from uninterested glances to admiring gazes to stupefied wonder. Not everybody finds a muscle man attractive, but a huge muscle monster freaks everybody out. Everybody wants to stare and touch and bow down to worship at your muscle temple.

The physical sensations I've experienced and their outer manifestations have been intensely erotic for this mega-muscle- desirer. I gained an average of about 5 lbs. of muscle every single week. It can take three months of serious weight training to gain that kind of muscle without juice. Dude, it feels so intense. Each week you're just a bit bigger. Your clothes are just that much tighter. Your skin is just that much tighter. Your strength is just that much greater.

In only six months I had gained a whole new me worth of pure muscle. My weight had doubled, man. Doubled! Because I was going through these changes so quickly, my body still remembered what it felt like to be a skinny 125 lbs. I woke up every day startled and amazed at how much bigger I was; how much heavier I was; how much more muscular I had become.

My passion became an obsession and my obsession became the only thing I could think about: getting bigger and freakishly muscular. I loved feeling my clothes getting tighter around my bursting muscles. I loved being able to hulk out of my clothes. I loved buying bigger and bigger sizes and being able to hulk out of every single size. I lived to display my developing physique. I lived to have men look and stare and desire this increasingly more muscled man. And it only got better and more intense as the months went by and my physique became more and more extremely muscled.

I'm practically twice the size of Poindexter now. And he's come around. As my muscles got bigger and more amazing and my chest exploded in size over my strong narrow waist, Poindexter came to see the beauty and wonder of my transformation. The very presence of my super-human body makes him weak in the knees. He developed an intense desire to be with his muscle creation. He became one of most enthusiastic worshipers. Yesterday he begged to be fucked by my huge cock. He begged to be fucked by the muscle freak he had made. I was only too happy to oblige.

Afterwards, when he'd been fucked into submission, we'd talked about what the next year might bring. I wonder how big I can get in the next twelve months? It's going to be fun to find out. •