Star Player, The


By Berserker

Kent sat opposite Tristan, watching him eat. Over the last couple of weeks, Tristan’s body had exploded in size and mass even faster than before, just when Kent thought that he was slowing down. Tristan had gained over thirty pounds since the last time they weighed him, bringing him to over 310 pounds, and there was no end in sight. He was bigger than many bodybuilders now, a hulking mass of muscle and strength, but still ripped and cut in a way many could only dream about. Thick cords of veins ran down his trunk-like arms, and his biceps swelled and shifted with a life of their own whenever he brought food to his mouth. His pecs were huge, almost bloated, hanging over his abs heavily, such that his large, dark nipples pointed to the ground. Kent wondered if they would one day obscure Tristan’s view of his feet, so large that all he could see where two massive spheres of muscle. Kent could also see Tristan’s overdeveloped lats flaring out under his arms. When Tristan stood up and let his arms hang down, his lats held them up, giving him that special bodybuilder walk—especially since Tristan’s thighs were way too large for him to walk without them rolling and rubbing against each other.

Kent had given up trying to buy new clothes for him—at this rate, he’d need large clothes every other day. Tristan spent most of the time in the room anyway, trying to hide his freakish muscle development from others. Perhaps the other reason was that Tristan’s penis and balls had grown to obscene proportions. No pair of briefs or shorts could contain them. For a few days, Tristan tried to preserve some semblance of decency by tying a towel around his waist, but it prove useless against his frequent erections which simply tore the towel away. He went about in the nude now. After all, only Kent was there to see him. They were both seated cross legged on the floor, and Kent could see Tristan’s monstrous genitals resting on the floor. His balls, dusted with blond pubes, were grapefruit-sized, so swollen they seemed to stretch his scrotum paper thin. His penis was at least 10 inches soft, nearly as thick as a beer can. For a while, the two friends had joked about Tristan getting a career in bodybuilding, but a quick reality-check told them that no posing brief would be able to contain that monster, and the last thing Tristan wanted to was burst out of too-tight posers right in front of the judges!

They had become much closer since the day they kissed. Sometimes, they just lay together at night, side by side, holding each other—a single bed was a tight squeeze with Tristan in it, so they would pull both mattresses down and put them together, forming a large bed where the two boys could sleep comfortably. They did not kiss again, however.

Kent watched his friend quietly. Was it possible that somehow Tristan was getting even better looking than before? It seemed a strangely attractive: Tristan’s boyishly good-looking face on top of a bodybuilder’s massive neck and torso. His golden fringe dipped lightly over his eyes. He was so beautiful. Kent felt a surging in his pants, and quickly shifted himself so Tristan would not notice. But Tristan looked up and saw Kent staring at him. Kent looked away, blushing.

“What’re you looking at?” asked Tristan, smiling. Kent’s heart skipped a beat , as he felt himself consumed by that wonderful, warm smile.

“N-nothing,” stammered Kent.

“Come here,” said Tristan. “Sit right here.” He patted his huge thighs.

“No! I’m fine here,” said Kent. He moved to get up, embarassed by his growing erection. “I need to go to the bathroom. Be right back.” He covered his crotch with his hands.

“Hey! Come back here!” cried Tristan. He leaned forward and grabbed hold of Kent with both arms with a swiftness and agility unexpected from a guy of his size. Lifting Kent up easily, Tristan hoisted him into his lap. “There.”

“Put me down you damn gorilla!” shouted Kent, but he couldn’t help laughing also. “You can’t just carry me around like that!” Feeling Tristan’s meaty pecs pushed against his back, and the soft fleshiness of his dick right below Kent’s ass, proved too much of a challenge for him, and the front of Kent’s boxers stuck out like a tent. Tristan wrapped his big arms around Kent. “What’s this huh?” He swatted Kent’s crotch playfully. “Is that a gun or are you just happy to see me?”

Kent blushed even more furiously. He struggled. “Lemme go!” and tried half-hearted to wriggle free, but Tristan’s incredible grip was way too strong.

“Let’s see what we have here.” Tristan reached into Kent’s boxers.

“No! Stop!” cried Kent. He felt Tristan’s large, warm hand wrapping itself around his engorged penis. “Aah!”

“Say, Kent, that’s some gun you’ve got there.” Tristan moved his hand up and down Kent’s dick, slowly and leisurely, feeling the veins, the foreskin, the swollen head. “I always knew you’d like this.”

“What?” said Kent, through gritted teeth. It was all he could do to stop himself from exploding in cum right then and there. Already precum had formed a wet patch in his shorts.

“The first day we met? When we were moving into this dorm? I remember you, skinny little you—“

“Shut up, you brute.”

“—Trying so hard not to get caught staring at me when I changed.”

“I did not!”

“Yeah you used to sit facing the mirror and stare at me through that, thinking I wouldn’t realise.” Kent knew that was true. Shit! “And when I walked in on you stealing my jockstrap from the laundry?”

“I told you, I thought I mixed up something of mine with yours!”

“Yeah, yeah. So mixed up, my jockstrap found its way under your pillor, huh?” Tristan smiled, tousling Kent’s hair. “And those times you jerked off in the shower, saying ‘Tristan! Fuck me!’ I could hear you, you know. I wasn’t asleep.”

“I did not!” protested Kent. “You arrogant ape!” Kent twisted himself around and faced Tristan, straddling Tristan’s massive torso between his legs. He put his hands on Tristan’s shoulders. God, they were truly huge, and hard. Not shoulders, but shelves of muscle you could seat a man on. “Listen, you overgrown little snot,” growled Kent in his most threatening voice, “I’m not a some swishy gay faggot!” Immediately after saying that, he could not help but break out snickering, “Or at least, I don’t think so!”

Tristan smiled. “Fag, fag, fag. Wait till I tell your ex-girlfriends.” He paused. “Like that loud broad? Shelly? Won’t she freak out if she knew her darling Kent who screwed her every night was thinking of his roommate while he fucked her?”

Kent felt something stir below him. Shit! Was Tristan getting one of his erections? They had given it a nickname, already—the Empire States Building—because when Tristan woke up in the morning with a woody, it stuck straight out like a fucking national landmark! Kent could now feel the slow but steady swell pressing against his butt. Tristan smiled, a twinkle in his eye. “All this talk of fucking,” he whispered into Kent’s ear, “Is giving me ideas.”

He got up, lifting Kent with him, and set him down on one of the beds. He reached for Kent’s boxers, and with a swift motion, ripped them off.

“Hey! My Calvins!” cried Kent. Tristan ignored him. He got onto the bed, looming over Kent; enormous, strong, and full of desire. Kent lay back, almost trembling with the thought of what all this meant, all the fulfillment of his dreams coming to this. Kent felt the head of Tristan's enormous penis resting heavily against his stomach, nearly reaching his chest. Precum oozed out of it in hungry anticipation, flowing down the side of Kent's body. Tristan kissed Kent lightly on the forehead, and lowered himself slowly down. •

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