Pump Up the Volume


By ihbmb

Tim looked at his watch for the fourth time in ten minutes. Dan didn't seem to be coming after all.

It had been a long, hot summer, and the two friends often met up in the afternoon and played frisbee -- usually in the park, but today was especially warm and Dan had suggested the beach. So Tim had turned up in his t-shirt and khaki shorts, with a speedo underneath just in case they went swimming. He'd strolled up and down the sand for half an hour now and their was no sign of his friend. He leant back against the breakwater and considered what to do.

There were a couple of dozen people along the beach: playing ball, soaking up the sun or reading, and it was pleasant enough to stand here for a while and watch the world go by, especially as there were a fair number of guys here who didn't mind showing off what they'd got from all those hours in the gym. Tim had a pretty average bod in fact: not fat but a little flabby, and a bit hairy too -- hardly what you'd call athletic. Not that he was bad-looking: some of those gym-guys might have returned his looks if he hadn't been too shy to let them catch him watching them.

But he could hardly stop himself from looking when he saw the three guys who'd just arrived. They were perhaps in their mid-twenties, with golden skin and sun-bleached hair, and their t-shirts did little to hide the fact that they were all extremely big guys. Tim's attention was drawn to one in particular, carrying some sort of poles, whose arms seeming to be bursting out of his shirt, and whose smooth, muscular legs rippled as his quads and calves tensed and relaxed with each step. Could they be serious bodybuilders, he wondered?

The guy with the pole, and another one carrying a bright orange bundle of netting, stopped and started to assemble them into what must be a volleyball net. And sure enough, the third boy, dressed similarly but wearing a walkman, was carrying a ball... and looking around, as if scanning the horizon for something lost. For a moment he looked directly at Tim, slightly quizzically, and Tim, realising he'd been staring openly at the three guys, glanced away and pretended to be getting sand out of his flip-flops.

It didn't work. Shit, the guy was coming over -- Tim felt nervous, intimidated by the guy's size: his throat felt tight, as if he'd hardly be able to speak.

"Hey man," the guy began, tossing the ball back to his friends and taking off his headphones, "we were planning to play volleyball, but my teammate hasn't shown up, so I was wondering... you seem to be on your own -- would you like to join us?"

Tim swallowed. Up close this guy was even more amazing: his pecs were clearly visible under his shirt, nipples and all. His biceps were too big for the sleeves, which he'd roughly bunched up over his broad shoulders. Tim caught himself staring, and stammered: "Oh... I... uh... yeah, I would l-love to.... but.... that is... I mean, I've played a little, but surely I'm not in your league?

He smiled disarmingly: "Ah, don't worry about that, we don't take it too seriously. C'mon, it'll be fun. Hey, I'm Rich, by the way."

"Oh, er... yeah... Tim. Nice to meet you." But Tim's attention was drawn to the two other guys, who'd finished putting up the net, and proceeded to peel off their shirts, and their shorts too. Underneath they were wearing square-cut swim suits that left little to the imagination. They stood there for a moment, displaying their muscular bodies to the world, then began to warm up, punching the ball back and forth. With each step, jump or bend of an arm, muscles bulged and rippled across their smooth bodies.

Tim's eyes were nearly popping out of their sockets. He'd seen some fit guys on the beach before, but never anything like this. From what he could see Rich was built the same way as the others... Tim felt himself getting hard at the idea of his new teammate stripping off too. Fortunately his own speedo (which considering his relatively small body he rather hoped he wouldn't be required to strip to) was tight enough to stop the bulge getting too obvious. But could these boys really want to play with him? It didn't make any sense!

Rich noticed his reluctance, and also his interest: "Yeah we do like to show off a bit I guess. Look... Tim, I understand you might feel a bit shy... but here, listen to this." He handed his headphones to Tim, and quickly replaced the tape in the walkman by another from his pocket. "If I'm not mistaken it'll give you a little confidence boost." Then he smiled slyly at Tim and winked, "Well, actually, not so little."

At first Tim couldn't hear anything, but then the music began to slowly fade in. For a few bars it was a swirl of mysterious, floating chords: amorphous but intriguing. Then the beat kicked in: pulsing, throbbing, infectious. This wasn't the kind of music Tim would normally listen to, but he felt himself being immersed in it. A high melody started to fold itself around him, and in the background he thought he could hear some kind of hypnotic, whispered vocal, words repeating over and over again, too indistinct to make out clearly.

He stayed standing upright, but felt the music relaxing him, vibrating throughout his body. He noticed that Rich had taken off his shirt and was standing watching him intently, arms crossed in a pose that accentuated his melon-sized pecs and pumped biceps -- but he was too comfortable, too relaxed to ask himself what exactly Rich was looking at.

Tim started to experience a kind of tingling, prickling feeling, starting in his fingertips and rapidly spreading along his arms. Not unpleasant like an itch, but more like the pleasant feeling of scratching an itch. He looked, and gasped as he saw the tiny hairs on his arms writhing around and... could they really be retracting? It seemed so: barely seconds later his forearms were completely smooth. Meanwhile the sensation had spread across his whole body: a light tingling on his chest and back, stronger on his legs, and strongest of all -- almost a burning feeling -- in his crotch and underarms. Tim saw the hair vanishing from his legs too, and felt the hairs pulling under his clothes as they retracted. He slipped a hand inside his waistband and felt his stomach, totally smooth even below the navel.

No sooner had the tingling subsided than the music stepped up a gear, modulating and becoming more insistent, more powerful. Tim felt he could almost make out the words, but as he strained to do so he became aware of something else: his shorts had slipped down an inch or two at his waist, exposing the top of his speedo, and were now sitting on his hips. Surely he hadn't stretched them somehow? And his previously baggy shirt was feeling smaller than usual, stretched tight across his chest. He put a hand to his chest, and realised that it was himself, his body, and not his clothes that were changing.

It was not only Tim's chest that was growing under his shirt, pressing against the light cotton fabric. He felt his shoulders swelling up too, and his biceps ballooning until the muscles stretched his sleeves super tight. Wide, wing-like lats were spreading out from his narrow waist up to his broad shoulders, pulling the material taut across his stomach. His khaki shorts may have been loose at the waist, but he felt the legs fill up as his quads developed too, and lower down he saw he his calves erupting into perfect diamonds of pure muscle.

The music continued its slow crescendo, and now Tim could hear the words plainly: "PUMP UP" it whispered, over and over again, and "ULTRAMUSCLE". And pump up he did. Rich watched with a huge grin as Tim's shirt sleeves struggled to contain him, and eventually gave way to the inhuman force of his expanding muscles, his pumped biceps and his cannonball-sized delts erupting through the material. His pecs too were still growing under the shirt: vast plates of pure muscle that pulled up the fabric, exposing Tim's smooth, rock-hard stomach and new-found 6-pack.

The others by now had stopped their warm-up and come over to watch. They stood there, gazing in awe at the transformation going on mere inches in front of them. Tim gazed back at their incredible bodies, and realised the three of them must all have been through this same experience. Perhaps they had felt, as he did now, their pecs growing more and more, their hard nipples starting to tear through their clothes, and their shirts splitting down the middle as their backs widened into a mass of knotted muscle. Tim's shirt, ripped to shreds by his exploding body, fell to the sand. Meanwhile the thick cords of muscle that were his quads continued to grow, reducing his shorts to tatters. Tim grabbed hold of the waistband and with a single sweep of his arm, ripped away what was left of his shorts. He stood proudly, naked except for his speedo, displaying his body: ultramuscular, ripped and entirely hairless. His torso rose in a perfect V-shape: lats flaring up from his narrow waist to impossibly wide shoulders topped with huge, round delts. His massive, sculpted, boulder-sized pecs jutted forwards several inches in front of the smooth, hard ridges of his chiselled abs. And his arms -- oh god, he thought, my arms! -- they were incredible: melon-sized biceps inhumanly pumped, and thick triceps snaking powerfully down to his forearms. His legs were no less impressive: two pistons of pure muscle with smooth quads that could have been carved out of marble, except that unlike marble they rippled and bulged, along with the rest of his body, at his every move.

Of course Tim was getting off on his own body. Just the thought of so much muscle was normally enough to make Tim hard... now that he actually had it, his cock felt as pumped as the rest of him. He reached down to feel his crotch, and realised that it had grown too, and the speedo was stretched tight, holding in his package in front and just managing to contain a tight new bubble-butt behind. He grinned to himself, and grinned again when he saw that the three guys all had unmistakable bulges in their swimsuits too.

The music had finished now, and Rich reached out and took back the headphones. "Hey," he said with a cheeky smile, "welcome to the club! Are you still on for that game of volleyball... or maybe we could go someplace else? Cody here lives nearby..."

Tim knew he'd follow these boys anywhere; Cody's place sounded fine. He couldn't wait to get his hands on all that muscle, or to share his new body with his new friends. And he made a promise to himself that somehow, somewhere along the way, he'd get a copy of that tape. •

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