You're a man of muscle of muscle and sex. You are your cock. You are your muscles. You are driven by your sexuality. You need nothing else. You want nothing else. You need to grow. You are a total expression of your masculinity. You can let go of everything else. Let go. Grow. You want your cock to be huge, masculine, powerful. It is everything. Your testicles rule your mind, make you grow. You need to be huge, to excite, to let go of everything but your sexuality. You want nothing else. Let go. Grow.

The same words, over and over, for days now. And whatever they put into the drinks they shoved through the opening in the kitchen wall that made them feel so groggy, that they knew were to lower their resistance, make them more and more compliant, until they would go along and give themselves the shots that would transform them into the sex-slaves that all the young men were being turned into. Such a humiliating kind of defeat. At first, before they'd been locked up for refusing to comply, he'd seen some of his friends turned into those freaks, their minds able to focus only on their grotesquely huge muscles and absurdly gigantic sexual organs. Bigger than the biggest bodybuilders. Lumbering sex toys for the new masters. No way. Not these two!

At least he had Craig to fight it with. And fighting it, no matter how solid their resolve, was getting more difficult every day. They had to eat, or rather, drink what they were given just to stay alive, and they couldn't fight the effects of whatever drug was in those drinks. He could feel himself almost wondering if it wouldn't be easier just to give in. The constant suggestions playing without cease, especially while they slept, crept into their brains like a fog they couldn't repel, and the pictures, the videos playing on all the screens, guys like them but grown massive with glistening, hard muscle, hairy everywhere but their backs, cocks like fire hoses, balls like fucking grapefruits, feeling themselves like they were in love with their bodies, jacking off right in front of each other, no shame, total exhibitionists acting like they existed only for the pleasure of their bodies, freaks, taking huge cock-shaped toys up their butts and panting with what looked like an ecstasy of pain, pictures that, repulsive as they were, as frightening as they looked, thinking of regular, intelligent guys like him and Craig being turned into such creatures for the amusement of their captors, somehow fascinated him. Each time he woke up, he found he was a little more receptive to the words, and, resist though he might, a little more turned on by the pictures.

He remembered, now, how the night before, after their evening drinks, even though they'd kept talking to each other to drown out the tapes, talking about resisting, staying normal, not going along, they'd both got hard-ons. They couldn't help it. They'd said, well, a guy can only go so long. And there was no private place in this apartment/cell. And they'd jacked off together, just to relieve the tension. It had almost scared him, how good it felt, not just shooting a too-long-held-back load, but doing it with Craig, with his buddy. As he came more awake, he realized he was boned again. Then he wondered about Craig, and before he opened his eyes to look, knowing those pictures would be there, those guys all getting off, he heard, beside the programming drone of the taped voice, the sound of heavy breathing. Craig must be awake, and it sounded like he was . . . well, so what? If Craig was hard, too, when he woke up, so what if he'd already started to jack off again. But Craig was the shy one, and it somehow didn't seem right.

Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked across the room to the hard bed where Craig slept, where the sounds were coming from. Brett felt a kind of revulsion at the sudden awareness that seeing Craig jacking off turned him on, that he actually found himself hoping he would, and that he could join him again. Instead, what he saw made him feel like he was plunging down the highest, steepest dip of a coaster.

Craig was jacking off. He was sitting on his bed, his legs spread, staring at the screen in front of him, and slowly stroking his cock. His eyes were wide, fixed on the screen, his mouth slack, and lying next to him on the bed was

an empty syringe. He'd done it. He'd given himself the shot. He'd given in, and already, his muscles were larger, his balls hung over the edge of the bed, full, swollen, and his cock was thick and long in his hand.

Brett pushed himself up to sitting position. Craig turned and looked at him and smiled.

"I had to do it, dude. I gotta get big. It feels so fucking hot."

He turned back to look at the screen, to watch three immensely muscular freaks playing with their gigantic tools.

Brett felt his heart hit bottom, but when it did, instead of panic, he realized he was feeling something more like jealousy. It was so hard to resist,

now. They'd heard all the other guys being taken away, down the halls outside their room, their animal grunts and moans of constant arousal announcing that a couple more had given in, until there were no more that they could hear. They'd been the last two, as far as they knew, and now Brett was alone, and his buddy was already starting to change right in front of his eyes, and where he should be feeling panic, in his gut, in his groin, he felt a dizzying desire instead. There was no reason to keep fighting it. The other syringe, his, lay alone on the counter. They'd been told they would have to do it of their own free will, even if their will was being manipulated by the brainwashing they'd been getting, and he could barely find any fight left in him. He'd wanted to jack off with Craig. Well, he still could, but would it be the same? Would it still be just two dudes getting off together? He saw Craig feeling his chest and stomach, and he knew that, already, Craig was feeling aroused by his own body, just like the tapes said. And he looked like he didn't mind. He actually looked like he was enjoying it.

He watched Craig as the tape played again and again.

You're a man of muscle of muscle and sex. You are your cock. You are your muscles. You are driven by your sexuality. You need nothing else. You want nothing else. You need to grow. You are a total expression of your masculinity. You can let go of everything else. Let go. Grow. You want your cock to be huge, masculine, powerful. It is everything. Your testicles rule your mind, make you grow. You need to be huge, to excite, to let go of everything but your sexuality. You want nothing else. Let go. Grow.

"Dude," he said, "does it really feel cool? I mean, fuck, man, it's okay? You feel hot?"

Craig looked over at him again, stopped stroking his cock and wagged it, rock hard and veiny, as if to show Brett how it was already bigger, how hot it did feel. He grinned, an almost stupid grin of pure sexual pleasure. "What you think, man? Look at those guys. Gotta get huge, man."

Fuck. Fuck, Brett thought. He was alone, now. All the guys were giving in to it. He knew he'd have to eventually, and suddenly, he didn't want to be left alone. He got up, went to the counter, picked up the syringe, and came back to his cot. He unsheathed the needle and looked at it. How hard could it be? Just stick himself, and it would be done. Even if he didn't want to do it, he knew that doing it would release him from his fear, from the hard work of

fighting it, of resisting. His stomach lurched. He'd have to do it fast, before he changed his mind, before he could stop himself. He looked at Craig. He already looked so buff that it did look hot. He looked at the guys on the screens. They didn't look like they minded. They didn't look like their minds even grasped anything of what freaks they were except the pure erotic pleasure of it. Well, fuck, if even Craig was going to be one of them, now, too . . .

The needle hardly hurt at all. There was a burning sting as he emptied the dose into his thigh. He sat, waited to feel something. One breath. Another. He heard his heart pounding. And then he felt it. A warmth spread fast over his entire body, like the rush from niacin, and almost immediately, it settled into his groin. He could feel it, like a burning in his balls, his prostate, even his asshole. It was as though the whole lower part of his torso suddenly came alive, drawing his awareness to it. He felt a kind of throbbing, pul sing, each heartbeat pushing whatever it was into him, through him. It did feel hot. He felt hot as shit.

"Aww, fuck, man," he said, to Craig, to himself. He looked at his cock in his hand. Fuck, he loved his cock. With his other hand, he hoisted his balls while he slowly stroked his cock. Fuck, he loved his balls. He wanted to feel them grow, now. He wanted to feel his cock get huge, to feel it getting huge, growing. Fuck, he felt so hot.

"Yeah," Craig said back. "Fuckin' hot, dude."

Craig nodded his head toward the screen he was watching, and when Brett looked at it, the guys that had looked like freaks now looked so hot, he felt a powerful, overwhelming hunger to be like them, free, massive, total expressions of their incredible, hot masculinity, so totally sexual. It was the masculinity he felt--deep, strong, exciting--his own, theirs, even Craig's. Especially Craig's, now. His buddy sat there, buff, totally into himself, his body, his masculinity, wanting to grow huge, to be a freak like those guys. He'd given in, let go, and suddenly Brett understood letting go, being swept over the edge into a whole new existence, and becoming, being a freak like that seemed so

hot that Brett felt a driving need for it, and a need to feel it, to feel it in Craig.

As if Craig had read what he was thinking, as Brett's mind sank into the pictures in front of his eyes and now in his head, suddenly Craig was sitting next to him on the cot running a hand up the inside of Brett's thigh until it collided with the hand that Brett was holding his balls with. Brett turned to look at Craig, and Craig's lust shone in his eyes. He wrapped his hand around Brett's balls and the base of his cock and squeezed while he leaned in, took Brett's head in his other hand, pulled it toward him, and planted his mouth over

Brett's, pushing his tongue into Brett's mouth. Brett hungrily accepted it, pushed back with his own tongue, and, responding to the rush he felt from his buddy squeezing his cock and balls, grabbed at Craig's muscle, his pecs, his arms, the ridges of his stomach, rubbing hard, squeezing, slapping the muscle. This was something beyond hot. This was more than a couple buddies getting off together. This was men, males expressing their maleness together. Brett realized he had no inhibitions about it, he felt no guilt, no shyness, nothing but hunger for maleness, more maleness, bigger, harder, rough, intensely masculine.

Now Craig's hands were all over him, too, and he felt the warmth in his muscles, so strong he knew it was making them grow. He could feel his pecs in Craig's hands, and they had a thickness that felt so hot. As he bent his arms, his biceps bulged. He wanted to look at himself. He wanted to look at Craig, to see the muscle. He stood up and pulled Craig up with him. Craig's pecs were so thick already, now, and hair was sprouting all over them, dark, flat, swirling, looking so hot. Already, Craig almost totally looked like a hard-core

bodybuilder. Brett grabbed Craig's pecs hard, pounded them with his fist, slapped them, found the big hard nipples almost buried in the hair and twisted them, making Craig arch his back to give up his pecs totally to Brett, making him moan with erotic pleasure.

"Fuck. So hot," he said. He wanted to say more, something about how much he loved the muscle, the hair, but the words weren't there. Just the feelings. Craig grunted back and reached behind him to clutch Brett's ass cheeks in his hands. Yeah, pulling him into his groin, their hot cocks rubbing against their hard stomachs. Brett's abs had never felt so hard. Their groins were both so hairy, now, the hair rubbed together, and pure erotic waves of maleness swept over him, flooded him. His cock felt heavy, big. He felt his balls against his thighs, and he knew they were growing, big, heavy. His muscle felt so hot, getting so thick. He had to flex. Brett felt his flexed arms, his pecs. His pecs were getting huge, and now he saw the hair sprouting all over them. Craig grabbed harder at his ass, shoving in a finger, two fingers, four. He wanted it. He wanted more. He pushed Craig down on the cot. Fuck, he looked like a total, massive bodybuilder, now, and his cock was huge, and he wanted it in him, deep. He straddled his buddy and sat down on the huge, thick rod, feeling the fat, flaring head penetrate his ass. It hurt, but the pain was ecstasy, just like the sounds they'd heard from all those other guys. He went down as hard as he could, got Craig inside him as deep as he could while Craig thrust, pushed in hard, deep, but it wasn't enough. He wanted Craig's cock to grow, he wanted it bigger, he wanted it huge inside him. He rode him hard, bouncing on Craig's thrusting hips, feeling it grow as they fucked until Craig arced his back and moaned loud as a scream as he shot his hot load inside him, filling him with his man-juice, running out and down his thighs.

When he lifted himself off Craig, the cock that he pulled out of him was inches bigger than what he'd sat on. His own was bigger, too. Must be almost a

foot, at least, and not nearly as big as Craig's. But it would be. And he wanted to put it into Craig, to feel the depths of Craig's own masculine body, to fuck his maleness. He lifted Craig's legs over his shoulders so he could look at Craig's muscle while he fucked him. He shoved his cock into his buddy, using his cum as lubricant, smearing it on his groin and into his hairy, hard muscle ass before he shoved himself in. His cock felt so hot. Fuck, he loved his cock. He loved this muscle. His legs felt so thick and hard, his chest was so big it bunched when he reached down to feel the massive pecs that sat mounded on his buddy's chest, so hairy, so male. He felt the thickness of his cock in the man, the length of it, reaching deep, deep into his masculinity, growing inside him, his own maleness growing, growing, harder, bigger, more. When his body began to quiver with the waves of nearing orgasm, coiling inside his groin, his balls churning with the power of his maleness ready to explode, he pumped harder, faster, deeper, until Craig was moaning, screaming with each thrust. Or was that his voice, or both? He could barely get his arms together, now, his back and chest were so thick, his arms so massive, but he didn't care. It felt so good, he just wanted more, bigger still. He pulled out his cock, both of them panting, their hands frenzied on each other's muscles, and his cock must have been at least eighteen inches. But he wasn't thinking in terms of inches. Just size. Big. Want more. Bigger. Feel so hot. He lay on top of the mass of muscle that was his buddy, each feeling the other's size, thickness, kissing roughly, biting the rough whiskered jaws of each other, men whose only thoughts were of their bodies, their muscle, their cocks and balls, their sex, their sexuality, growing, wanting more.

They didn't even notice the door open when they came to take them away. •