Recruit, The


By Richard Jasper

Doc gave Sarge a rundown on the changes:

2 inch increase in height

50 lb. increase in weight

Obvious increases in muscle size and density

No apparent change in bodyfat ratio (it was in the mid single digits to start with)

Measurably significant increases in strength and stamina

"All that from one injection?"

Doc scratched his head.

"Well, that plus he's eating us out of house and home and he spent most of yesterday lifting nonstop."

Sarge rubbed his big strong jaw.

"Give him another one."

Doc took a deep breath.

"Don't argue with me, Doc. You know the protocol calls for it."

"Yeah," Doc replied, "but these results are off the charts. I'm not sure."

"Not sure of what? Whether our recruit is happy with the results? What about it, Corcoran? 50 lbs. of extra muscle too much for you to handle? Think we ought to give up now?"

I snapped to attention.

"With permission, sir! Hell no, sir!"

Riker looked at the doc.

"You heard the recruit, doctor."

The next injection was no different from the first although my erection was instantaneous this time. There was something about having Riker watch that, well, EXCITED me. And not just because he was such a fucking stud. It was because I felt like I was turning into a fucking stud myself. HIS fucking stud. I liked that idea. I liked it a lot!

"Ahem," Doc interjected primly.

"I think it's time you took a nap, recruit. You look like you're about to fall over -- and I don't want to be the one to carry you back to your room!"

I nodded and headed toward the door.

"And Corcoran -- don't forget the cup!"

Riker cast a quizzical glance at the physician, then figured it out instantly when he saw my sheepish grin.

"All in the name of science, soldier, do your duty!"

* * *

At 1200 Riker came and bounced my ass out of bed, his handsome mug an inch from my nose, bellowing at me to "Wake up, goddammit!"

Not what I had expected but as he hustled me to the base gym Riker explained that he wanted to give me a REAL workout and neither doc nor the infirmary exercise area cut it, from his point of view.

"We've got it to ourselves for the rest of the day," Riker pointed out.

I glanced at him.

"But what about...?"

He snorted.

"They'll live," he said in reply. "Besides, I've arranged a convenient plumbing crisis. The gym will officially 're-open' tomorrow morning."

Once in the gym Riker pounded my ass (well, don't I wish?) like there was NO tomorrow. We worked every body part, 10 sets per exercise, 10 exercises per body part, each set more weight than the last, then we'd start over again.

Every 45 minutes or so we'd stop and I'd eat. Well, FEED might be more like it. After half an hour Riker would cut me off in mid-gobble or mid-gulp and we'd get back to it. I was only vaguely aware of the dirty looks I was getting from the mess crew as they came back time after time.

It went on like this for 12 hours. Through the day my sweats -- baggy when I put them on that morning -- grew increasingly tighter. At first they were just a little less baggy, then they were snug, then the fabric was straining and in serious danger of limiting my range of motion. Likewise, as the day went on more and more of my tube socks showed between the top of the sneakers and the cuff of my sweatpants, there was more and more of a gap between my waistband and the bottom of my sweatshirt.

Just before 0000 we finished up with a set of barbell curls, three plates on each end of the 45 lb. bar, a total of 315 lbs. I cranked out 10 reps, then 20. Only after 30 did I start to feel it and at 40 I broke into a sweat. I slammed the bar back on the rack at the end of the 50th rep.

Only then did it hit me...

Two days previously I'd stood in awe watching Riker crank out barbell curls with the same weight -- and he stopped at 20 reps, less than half of what I'd just done.

"Corcoran," Riker barked, his voice husk and raw, "take off your clothes."

With some difficulty I complied, then stood at attention, facing Riker -- and realizing that I was staring STRAIGHT into the eyes of a man who had been four inches taller than I just 48 hours earlier.

"Corcoran, how tall would you say you are now?"

I gulped.

"It looks like I'm as tall as you are, sir."

"That'ud make you 6'2, recruit."

I nodded.

"Flex your right bicep, Corcoran."

I did so - and Sarge did the same.

"See any difference there, Corcoran?"

I shook my head.

"Me neither, soldier, so congratulations -- it looks like you've got yourself a 23 inch bicep."

I licked my lips, feeling the beginnings of the mother of all hardons.

"Profile shot next, Corcoran. That's right, now INHALE."

Riker turned so that we were standing side by side.

"I'm guessing that's about 58 inches, Corcoran, same as me."

It was all I could do NOT to touch my dick, Riker, anything at all.

"So I'm guessing you're the same weight, too, which should put you right about 260 lbs."

I was getting dangerously close.

"And then there's this," Riker said, grabbing my massive, dripping meat with his huger bearpaw.

I moaned. "Oh, shit, Sarge!"

He licked his lips, then pulled down his own sweats. The cock I'd dreamed of was there in all its raging glory, not just huge but totally fucking beautiful, perfectly shaped and smooth and hard and glistening.

"Look at it Corcoran."

"It's the same size?"

"Thirteen fucking inches, recruit."

My dick exploded. Yesterday's eruption was a like a firecracker next to this volcanic torrent.

My knees buckled.

Riker caught me as I lost consciousness. •

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