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Twelve Steps Back
|No one really questioned Ian's excuse for missing a day of work. No one
believed his was sick, either. Rumor had spread that Ian was treading
near the path that Tucker Forrest and Larry Littleman had taken, or something
like that. Matthew had told a couple of guys to check Ian out when he
returned, and men and women alike were curious if it could be true.
Ian felt like days had passed in a matter of blurred, cum-soaked, muscle-clenching hours, and he could hardly believe he had to go back to work, but, in some strange and very exciting way, he didn't mind. How long had it been since his almost frenzied drive to Troy's office, since that needle had plunged into both of his testicles, changing him profoundly, forever, though the changes had only just begun? The hours had been a montage of sweat, internal fire, passion, mounting erotic sensation, and sex. He'd had sex with Troy--magnificent, drop-dead good looking doctor that had sent him into orbit, where he still spun out of control. They had devoured each other, starving for the masculine power each felt growing in them, and making them grow. They clawed and grabbed and pounded at thick, hard, dense muscle, feeling it grow, and giving themselves to the meat between their legs that weighed heavier and heavier on their groins and on their minds. There became room in Ian's mind for little other than sex, muscle, cock, and all of that mostly his own. Troy was great, as would be any hung muscle stud, especially one able to work Troy's magic, but he, himself, was enough to keep himself sexually charged to the point of insane desire, and he stood in front of Troy, or the mirror, and loved himself totally.
By the time he'd left to drive home, it was early morning, people were on the streets, having their morning walks or runs, in their cars going to work, kids on their way to school, and Ian, his Littleman's shorts and T shirt hugging impossibly hot muscle and meat, was nowhere near ready for sleep. His mind rac ed. Was it possible he'd ever had second thoughts about going this route, taking on the outrageous proportions and overdeveloped masculinity that marked all the Littleman's guys? Was is possible he'd ever thought that male sexual bonding could be anything but amazingly hot? As he made his way through town, his nearly-ten-inch cock, thick and heavy, lay across his thigh, hard, insistent, driving his brain as though it were the seat of his consciousness. In fact, it seemed, since the needle-penetration of the source of his maleness, his testicles had become increasingly the center of his being, all thought and sensation coming from there in floods of mind-and-body-altering, genetically mutated hormones.
He thought of those hours with Troy, not with an emotional attachment, but with the physical sense-memory of pure sexual sensation. Touching, feeling such thick, hard muscle, the mutual arousing of cocks that both of them found irresistibly attractive, not just on each other, but each his own, like a child discovering his organs for the first time, an adolescent discovering sexual arousal, each moment was discovery of size, weight, and pure maleness, the total, ultimate guy-ness of their bodies, alone, in front of each other, with each other.
And now, alone in his car, those same feelings were no less intense. Maybe there were also women and girls on the streets, but all he saw was the guys. The persistent erection that strained at the stretchable material of his shorts was as involuntary and natural as breathing, and every guy he saw stirred it in some way, aroused him more. He found himself amazed at seeing how many of those guys were showing the effects of the spread of the Littleman's influence. He'd noticed, before this, a few guys here and there, in the gym, like that Brett guy, or even in the mall or grocery store, getting the heavily muscled and endowed look that the Littleman's style, the look, favored with its tight, minimal, show-all clothing line. Hell, he'd been influenced enough to get him here. But now, it seemed, they were everywhere. A dad, running on the sidewalk pushing one of those large-wheeled baby carriages that so many young breeders were using (which always made Ian think of rickshaws in some old movie about China), dressed in the low-on-the-hips, high-on-the-thighs running shorts and the short, ribbed, skintight tank right out of the catalog, bounced his thick rounded pecs as he ran, his oversized package showing that he was in the program. Ian wondered how his wife was handling it. He chuckled and his dick got harder.
A group of kids heading to the high school all sported the look, all wore longer legged shorts, mid-thigh, what would have once been running shorts or hot shorts but were now the "in" look for everyday wear, extra low on the hips to show as much of the hard, flat bellies and the spreading hair that decorated them, even on guys as young as these, and the T shirts that barely capped their delts, showing the juncture of deltoids, bis, and tris, all bulging and cut w hile totally relaxed, as the boys walked along teasing each other about their muscular bodies, punching, flexing, showing off, like budding young bodybuilders, their packages in proud display, dicks clearly outlined, showing the rims of their cockheads, their balls, all pulled up forward and settled into the stretch fabric in the Littleman's display package style that the cool guys, obviously more and more, were emulating from the pages of the catalog. Ian could even tell which of them were circumcised and which weren't. They couldn't have been more than fifteen or sixteen, which meant they had to have had their parents permission to get the formula and enter the program, and yet they sported the stubble, strutted the masculinity, walked with the muscled-up walk of LGs in the making. Ian felt his cock strain harder and begin the tingle that would lead to inevitable ejaculation. Then one of the guys spotted him driving by. He jabbed his buddies and said something, and they all turned to look at Ian. He hadn't realized he'd been driving so slowly. One of the boys, bigger than the others, ahead of them by a treatment or two, gave Ian the thumb-out-first-finger-up "L" sign that recognized another Littleman's guy and acknowledged his coolness, and flexed an arm for him. Ian flexed back for the kid, and when he did, even he was amazed and turned on by how thickly his arm mounded up and peaked. He felt huge and he loved the feeling. The boys began to bone up at the sight of his arm, none of them caring that they were showing their teenage arousal right there on the street, one of them even pointing at another's stiffening dick and laughing. The sight of that, and the attention to his own muscle, gave Ian such an erotic rush that his cock spontaneously, uncontrollably, began to pump out yet another huge load of thick, warm cream, staining his shorts and turning him on even more, just to be cumming in his car while these teenaged LGs boned up over his muscle.
He drove on, in no hurry to change out of his cum-soaked shorts. In fact, there was something almost surreal about how turned on he was feeling, even about that. He rubbed the wet spot, wetting his fingers, and licked the salty-sweet-bitter taste of himself. A few more blocks, and he was passing close enough to the middle school to see a couple of even younger teens showing the signs, wearing the look. It was even penetrating that young. God, that was so hot, that such young guys were doing it, and getting that ultra male maturity as casually as changing a hairstyle. They must have just recently entered puberty, and already the couple of guys he saw, walking along with others still in their long, baggy shorts, were carrying the muscle of serious young weightlifting jocks, and the packages of well endowed guys of any age, and unlike their buddies, who could probably not grow a decent sideburn or goatee or mustache yet, these two kids had almost a full beard of stubble on their young faces. Ian wondered what else was growing inside those shorts, under their tees.
He couldn't believe how hard he still was. He must have cum twenty, maybe thirty times since Troy shot up his balls, and since then, his cock had softened up maybe half way a few times, but as soon as he even thought about his cock--fuck, it was already getting so big, and was going to get so much bigger so fast--or his muscles--they already felt the surge of growth inside them, making him thicker and bigger and hotter, so much hotter--he would bone up totally again, and if he didn't jack off or have Troy to fuck or suck him off, he would just cum from the complete turn-on this new mode of treatment had thrown him into. He had only hoped, never really believed, when he'd begged Troy for a faster route, that they would go along with it. That they did, that he did, that it was happening, even as he drove home in his car, was like a total fantasy, a sexual dream. He'd never been so horny in his life. He'd never felt so hot in his life. Even in his imagination, even after double-dosing on the old formula, he'd never imagined it could be like this, and he loved it with a fervor that bordered on insane.
Near his building, he passed a guy out working on his yard, obviously well into his first phase, getting sun on his incredibly perfect muscled body and wearing a pair of the Littleman's bikini trunks that barely covered anything, pulling so low with his bulging package that his nest of dark pubic hair was mostly exposed, running upward, blending into a thick trail that ran up his carved abs to his heavy pecs and spread out again in swirls out to his armpits and up to his shoulders. Ian swallowed hard as he felt a strong surge of hormone-activated blood heat his body and bone him even harder. When had body hair like that on a guy become such an intense turn-on? Even as it grew on his own body, it got him hot, but seeing this guy, out here, just showing it all . . .
He drove by slowly enough that the guy noticed and nodded at him with a smile, as if to say, "Like what you see? Yeah I know. So do I." Ian knew the feeling. He wished right then that he was that guy, out there in those tiny trunks, showing his masculine beauty to the world. But soon he would be so much better, and then he would show it. Yeah, he would show it all the time.
He turned the corner and drove around the block to get another look, just to see how this whole thing, this new way for guys to be, was getting to be popular enough that a guy could get away with being out in his yard like that. As he approached, slowly, the guy had moved down to the patch of lawn by the curb, and when he saw Ian's car coming around again, he stopped, grinned, and nodded again. Ian slowed to a crawl.
"Morning," the guy said, leaning down to look into Ian's car window and flashing the "L" sign as a greeting.
Ian stopped at the curb. "Morning," he said, returning the sign. He realized the guy could see how totally boned he was and the big cum stain on his shorts, and he not only didn't care, he felt all that much more turned on. "Lookin' good."
"Thanks." The guy looked around his yard. "I try to keep it up. Like being outside."
"Yeah, I can see. But I didn't mean the yard."
"Oh, yeah? Thanks. Been doin' it for almost two months. How about you, man? Talk about lookin' good."
The guy's cock started to push the bulge out and down, exposing more of his pubes, and he made no attempt to cover it up.
"Thanks," Ian said, looking the guy over, lusting for his body, and turned on still harder by his admiration. He knew he was looking hot. He knew he was fucking gorgeous. "Just started a new program, faster, more intense. Got me so horned."
"I can see. Wanna come up for a minute? Let me open the garage, you can just pull in."
The guy walked up to his garage, opened the door, and waited just inside for Ian to pull in. When he turned around, his cock was pushing down on the briefs so hard that a good two inches of it was bared, and the guy stood there letting it bone, stroking his abs up and down his hairy trail. Ian pulled into the shadows of the garage. The door closed.
By the time Ian got out, his ten inch boner raging in his shorts, the guy was standing by his door. As soon as Ian stood up, the guy pulled his tank over his head and leaned in to take a hard, tonguing kiss while he frantically felt Ian's chest and arms with one hand and pulled his cock out of his shorts with the other. Ian groped at the guy's body, pulling his cock out, and for a few minutes they leaned against Ian's car, groping each other, kissing.
"You're fucking gorgeous," the guy said, breaking free to pull off his trunks and then Ian's shorts.
"Yeah," Ian said, "fuckin' hot, man. You love my fuckin' body, dude?"
"Yeah, man, I do. I love your hairy muscles, bro. I love blond hair on a dude's muscle body, man."
"You love my body, too, man. You drove around the block."
"Yeah. You looked fuckin' hot out there, man, showing it all like that. You love getting huge, showing it all, don't you?"
"Fuck yeah, man. Don't you? Getting all hulked out, man. Feels so fuckin' hot."
That was all the conversation. Ian pushed the guy over the hood of his car, on his back, hoisted his legs up onto his shoulders, and slowly, so he could feel every thick inch, but with rough determination, pushed his way into the guy's furry butthole while he groped his muscled ridges and mounds, the cuts and veins, the hair and thick, dense muscle while the guy groped him back with one hand and jacked his thick dick with the other. In a few frenzied minutes, they came together, loud cries of release filling the garage. Then they wiped off, dressed, and Ian got back in his car. The guy opened the door, and Ian started to back out.
"Get fuckin' huge, man," he called to Ian.
"Yeah, dude," Ian answered. "Get fuckin' huge, man."
Ian could see the guy pulling his skimpy briefs back on as he backed down the drive.
That whole day he spent in front of the mirror. He called in sick, and then just flexed and jacked off all day. He was stunned by himself. He could feel how much more powerful this was. He felt his balls, swollen with masculine power and hormones, pumping all that into every cell, forcing him to change. He couldn't see drastic change from minute to minute, but he could feel it happening, and little by little, but constantly, he was aware that, even in relatively subtle degrees, he was bulking up, growing, changing, transforming. He couldn't get enough of himself. He kept looking at his face, his hair. He truly was so handsome he took his own breath away. The cut of his angular bones, his full lips, the straw-blond hair, thicker now than ever. He thought of Narcissus, and he understood.
The next morning, after a few hours of sleep, he awoke to feel his mass anew, and just getting out of bed felt like a fantasy made real. His cock and balls flopped heavily against his thick, deeply cut thighs, denser than before.
His arms rested thick and heavy on pylons of muscle that protruded even more under them. His pecs were the stuff of his dreams, the blond fur creeping up a little more, out a little more, more masculine, on the muscle so thick and wide and dense. His nipples were disappearing under the mound of hard flesh when he looked down, driving him to the mirror again.
He showered, soaping himself up in a ritual of self-adoration. He came four times before he could get out the door and to the office. He had no choice but to don a pair of his Littleman's shorts and a T shirt. He was too big for his old clothes now. But he had a feeling that word would have got around the office, anyway, and he wanted them all to look, to stare, to know.
He was right on all counts. Matthew was in his office within minutes of his arrival on the pretext of delivering the mail that had come in the day before, when he'd been out.
"Man." He just stared at Ian and instantly boned. "They told me to keep my eyes on you, man, but holy shit. The word on you spread to the mailroom like a tidal wave, dude. You should hear people talk. Fuck, man. You look like you put on at least ten pounds of muscle in three days."
"Fifteen," Ian said, leaning back in his chair, putting his hands behind his head, knowing how that would make his biceps flex up huge.
"Jarrod told me about doing it fast, almost like morphing, but I couldn't believe they could do that. Now, man . . . holy shit."
"Remember the adman, dude. He and Littleman did it in one night. Four more treatments, man. Just a little more than a month, and I'll be right there with Jarrod and those other original LGs, man."
"God, that's so hot. I want it, too, man. It must feel incredible."
Ian let his cock grow stiff inside the soft, stretchable material of his shorts. He didn't care who saw. He thought of those kids on the street, just boning up and laughing about it. Why shouldn't he? It was what they wanted. If he was being used as a test subject, that was way okay with him. He'd be the best test subject they could have picked. He grinned at the gaping mailroom stud, all muscular and bulging and showing his stuff, cute as shit, intensely masculine, and in awe over him for his muscle, his meat, his downright stunning handsomeness. Ian had studied himself in the mirror so hard, he could see his own chiseled, dimpled, scruffy, full-lipped, square-jawed, perfect face right now just as Matthew was seeing it. He was so turned on, so horned up, so full of animal lust. He loved what he was becoming. He wished he could rip off his clothes and make love to himself, but the next best thing would be to let Matthew do it.
"Close the door, muscle fag," he said, "and shut the blinds. I know what you want."
Matthew swallowed hard but quickly closed the door and the blinds.
"But what if someone . . ."
Ian was already standing in front of him and put his hand over Matthew's mouth to shut him up. He twisted the lock with his other hand, reaching around Matthew to do it, which put them in full body contact, his hard rod pushing against the stiff cock straining Matthew's shorts. As he locked the door, he whispered into Matthew's ear, just before biting it,
"Do you really care?"
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