Scott was scarred – his self-worth damaged by G. Scott Danforth, one of D.C.’s big-dick attorneys, purveyors of public opinion, and Scott’s father. Scott lived his life waiting on G. Scott’s judgments and praise. G. Scott poured hate on Scott’s homosexuality like Morton’s table salt on a raw, red wound. “My fucking fatass son gay!?… Scott you’ve got to be the fattest fag boy on the hill! I know the velvet power club, Scotty, they like steel hard ass on their bottom boys. How’re ya gonna satisfy ‘em!? But I guess I should be relieved that my homo son will always be a virgin. You be a faggot if you have to son – but you fucking keep your fucking in your bedroom. Don’t ever show a hint you’re a gay. Don’t ever go looking like a faggot” “Yea Dad. You’re right, Dad. I will never cross you like that Dad.”

Scott liked me because I was gentle in life, but a man in the sheets – I used my big 9 inches to hurt him in ways he’d never imagined, in ways his not-quite-four inches just couldn’t hurt back. In return for my plowing, Scott gave me a life – access to friends I could never have created for myself. With our mutual needs and dependencies, we clung together and we bonded in a way both needy and authentic.

At 21, we bolted for freedom. We arrived in New York with a trunkful of possessions, each other, and Nick. Nick had been Scott’s best friend since the age of 5, especially when both turned out gay. Nick was Scott’s lifeline. Nick was the Adonis that Scott and I were not. Nick soothed Scott and encouraged Scott and protected Scott emotionally from the onslaught of his hard old man.

G. Scott’s response to Scott’s departure was a cell phone call, “Cunt, don’t show your face in this town again.”

The departure was dramatic and it worked. Scott and Nick got teaching jobs in a challenging Upper East Side school. I got a job with an old-line investment bank – a job that engrossed me – the analytics, the assessments, the pressure to conform – it all fit a guy who was drilled in serving and showing off his brain.

Honest to God, our life in New York looked golden. Teaching was tough, especially for Scott – the kids’ parents, in some cruel twist of fate, were confrontational – calling Scott “fatass” and “fag”. However, with Nick’s support Scott pushed on. And outside work, Nick made friends quickly and included us in the plans with his new crowd. Scott was grateful for Nick’s presence in life and working together everyday.

In April of the following year, Nick collapsed in his classroom – his student’s witnessed a progressive slurring through his morning classes until his 6th period class where they saw a shaky Nick turn a sudden fear-inducing white before he slumped against the board and slid to the ground. By the time he arrived at Bellevue Emergency Care, Nick was already dead of a massive and unexplained brain hemorrhage. Scott had rode beside Nick for all 40 blocks in the ambulance – the siren wailing Scott’s grief. Scott didn’t talk for three days.

Mournful doesn’t begin to be the right word for Scott’s state. The trip to northern Virginia was short and sad. The wake and burial were moving beyond words but were brief due to a longer memorial planned for that summer. Scott lived in a haze, his life colorless – his only brief reprieve was my fucking his loose ass, plunging my tool to its hilt in his flabby buttocks. I fucked him and fucked him hard, yearning to get rough enough to numb his mind and let his dick takeover.

In late June, Scott and I went to Nick’s memorial in D.C. Before leaving, Scott went to see G. Scott. “What!? Your fucking faggot friend’s pushing the daisies and now you want to see me!? I told you not to live a homo life, you jack OFF! Come here, homo boy. I’ll Show you ‘FAGGOT’!” G. Scott grappled Scott to the floor of his oak-paneled K street office, pushing Scott’s face into the umbers and wines of the knotted Persian. G. Scott raped Scott, forcing first a pointer, then a paper weight, and then his own cock up his son’s ass. “You’re not a faggot, Scott!! You’re not a fucking faggot. We’re not fucking HOMO’s in this family you poor, worthless PIECE of crap. You fucking NEVER be a faggot – don’t you EVER go be a faggot – I DON’T ever want to see FOR A SECOND you begin to look like a FAGGOT. You STAY a doughy lump of LARD you poor excuse for a FAGGOT.” Raging and stumbling, he collapsed before cumming. Scott fought his way free.

I took Scott back to New York at a loss of how to help him – how to do what Nick would have done. Scott was incommunicative, frozen almost. Then one morning he got up. “I’m going for a run.” Scott running!? He’d never run a step in his life. “I went two miles – I needed that.” Scott was in his preppy khakis and a pair of loafers – he’d never had athletic gear in his life. The next day he went again and then went and bought some trainers.

The adjustment back to school was brutal but somehow the numb pain of parents calling him “fatass” and “faggot” fit his general state of misery. The friends that Nick had connected us to were all gone. The looks-conscious New York crowd didn’t have time for timid boys and fat boys. Scott remained withdrawn and kept running – running like he was hunted. By December, he’d lost 25 lbs. By January, he was down by 35 lbs. By February 40, Scott looked empty, haunted. By the end of school, Scott had shed 68 lbs. He now weighed 168 on his tallish frame. It was pathetic to hear the kids tease him for melting away –his kids wanted to know where the “jolly belly” had gone.

Continually, I fucked Scott deep and hard. He looked at me detachedly while I pushed my 9” up his chute and would just repeat over and over, “Please, more. Please harder.” His hands laying immobile at his sides, yet his dick still self-triggered his cum across his lower abdomen

When that school year ended Scott came to me, “I want to join a gym.” So we began going together doing a mix of weights, yoga, and cardio.

When fall came, I stopped. My job at the investment bank didn’t afford me the hours to pursue the gym. And more so, the pressure to conform pushed me to hide myself and try to disappear at work – to not do anything that would set me apart.

But Scott kept going. He went three times a week. He lifted each time. It was like therapy and a physical outlet. Through all his weight loss and now his toning, I suddenly realized how attractive Scott was; I never realized how delicate and handsome Scott was with his now angular face and his lean, practically carved 168lbs. I fucked Scott good and hard as often as I could – enjoying his lithe body and active twisting and enjoying the fact that he seemed to be returning to life and sometimes a happy bottom again.

“Keep going, Scott. It looks good on you.” “You think I should, Nate?” “Completely… it lets off energy you need to let off and your good looks make me hard, baby.”

At Christmas, among the half-dozen presents Scott got me, I found one was a photo book of gorgeous male bodybuilders. “Geez, thanks Scott, what’s this mean?” “Dunno… I guess I think… well I dunno – is it sexy? Oh, probably not – I can take it back easily – I just felt pressure to get my ‘boyfriend’ something racy… you know. Yea, that’s right – and that book BULGE was the first thing I saw I guess.” I was embarrassed at my plumpening cock. “Oh yeah, a lot of guys like these muscle men. I’ll have to check it out. Hey open this zen garden I got you!” Later, when I fucked Scott over our pile of presents, my cock erupted while my eyes lingered on the swollen mass of a flexing goliath gloriously spread across BULGE.

Several weeks later, Scott came to me. “Nate, I feel confused, so much has happened to me… will I ever get better!? Ever feel secure again!?” “Yes, Scott, yes you will.” “Sometimes I wonder.” “Well your job is going well, we have each other, you’re looking after your health and getting exercise…” “Nate, No! I go to the gym and I feel intimated… Jesus, do you know they look at me the whole time I’m working out!? And who am I to waste my time there? Each hour I’m there I know I should be thinking of the kids or being a better boyfriend to you or helping little old ladies.” “Huh?” “I can’t go without feeling guilty and telling myself I’m not going back and then a couple of days pass and I want to go again – I can’t resist it, Nate.” “What do you mean, Scott?” “I mean I want to go – I hope that someone will come over to me and take me and start training me – start changing my life – start making me into someone other than Scott Buttoc Danforth. Make me into someone who’s strong – who doesn’t need to be afraid of anything. Someone who’s bigger than the pain I feel, Scott.” “No.. that’s cool Scott – I understand.” I said, but my mind was racing and my blood. I had never thought of the possibility of Scott working out – but the idea of him working out was creating an excitement in me – an excitement I was trying to resist so that I could be supportive. “You should accept your feelings, Scott. Don’t fight them, just try to understand and accept them.” I wrapped Scott in my long, thin arms and we snuggled on the couch for awhile before I reached down and with my two hands parted Scott’s cheeks, pushed my length into his tight glory hole, and delivered a creamy burst of boy sauce that gave new meaning to the term acceptance.

For Valentine’s day, Scott opened my red-papered packages with a look of pure relief and appreciation. In them were a book on basic bodybuilding and a set of personal training sessions at a gym near our apartment – it was a hardcore gym. “Scott, you don’t need to be afraid. Fight back against life, and if you need to be big to do it, I’m here to back you up.” And then I couldn’t resist, “back you up… AND bone you up! Now let me see that tight little body in something sexy.” I threw a red thong pouch to my lover. He didn’t fill it out the way some might, but we both enjoyed the pounding his ass took that night.

Scott felt safe in the hands of the trainer, and supported by me. He felt like he could go to the gym more frequently. He felt like he could follow a routine – one to increase his strength and increase the weights he could lift over time. He actually started to put on weight – not much, just 4 or 5lbs.

One day, Scott came home with information on bulking. “Nate, I grabbed this stuff from the info rack at Pump – what the heck am I doing, Nate!? Why the hell did I grab this stuff – what the hell am I supposed to do with this – am I gonna go on a bulking diet, Nate? Am I really gonna do something designed to make me bigger?” Yes, I thought, yes I want that for you... for you to be healed – to leave your wounds behind and yes because I want to feel muscles on your body. “Yea, Scott, sure you’re gonna do this. Just so you’re not so skinny. Don’t be afraid Scott it’s not like you’ll be a monster – you’ll just look healthy and strong.” With that, I turned him away from me, pulled his silky shorts off his buttocks and proceeded to slide inch after inch of my javelin slowly into his sweaty channel where I pumped his rounding ass heatedly, injecting a brimming load of incentive deep into his sexy hole.

Scott increased his diet –he added a fourth meal and an extra protein shake each day and ate 3 healthy, square meals a day. Because of his youth, his hormones, his being a new lifter this worked great for Scott. By the end of the school year, Scott had put on 12 lbs. Scott looked healthy, energetic even. Scott’s definition made me stiff – the definition around his bicep, his lower back, his abs. I loved to say “Look! You’re growing washboard abs… I have some washing I want to rub against them!” – I’d dry hump my cock up and back over his ridges spilling my cream on his flat stomach and then lapping it up. Sometimes during sex, Scott would want to know whether I thought he “looked better” than when he “was fat?” I said “of course” and then would put my cock in his ass and pound him to oblivion.

We started to venture out again. At a small party, we met James. James sported buff arms and a pumped chest. James hadn’t noticed us, but he mesmerized Scott. Scott stared at his round chest and 16” arms. Scott journeyed to him. “You have a build that I can’t get out of my mind – just so you know if I could ever look like you my life would never be the same.” Scott was looking handsome now. James replied, “Why don’t you come work out with me and we’ll see how different you can make that life.”

On Sunday afternoon, Scott lifted with James. He returned home walking stiffly. “Nate, I worked out today.” “Yeah, I know… with that guy James.” “No, I mean I worked out today. It was like I had never been to the gym before. James is really into working out. It’s almost like he doesn’t care what people think and he wants to push himself…. Push himself because he feels like he’s not big enough that he wants to get bigger. He was pushing me that hard.” My cock was stiffening in my suit pants – James had been hot and the idea of James pumping himself up excited me. The idea of him pushing Scott excited me too. “Yeah, aannnndddd?” “And, he pushed me… and was vocal about it… ‘push it, man… one more rep… think big… gonna get big… gonna get big, Scott’. I did squats – but really did squats… each time just when I thought I needed to lighten the weight, James dumped on another plate and ordered me to lift.” Damn, that was hot – my hard rod escaped the leg of my boxers and caught in the fabric of my suit pocket causing my length to torque outward and make a large bulge. “Sounds cool” “No.. no.. no Nate.. it’s not cool – I felt like such a freak. Each set I knew people were looking at me thinking ‘what the heck’s that guy pretendin’ to be!? Some frickin’ bodybuilder!???’ It was ridiculous… and in each set when I was past my ability to do another rep, James would bark in my ear and touch me just so.. and without knowing how I would do that next rep. What the fuck, am I doing?!! What the fuck am I doing, Nate?” “Didn’t it feel good?” “That’s just the thing… It felt more than good…It hurt like hell… my muscles were so sore and then blood flowed into them and they felt all tight… it’s almost like I can’t tell you whether it was good or bad… Even now I feel a sensation radiating through my legs.” “So that’s good…right!?” “But, jesus, Nate, working out?? Bodybuilding??? I’m going to a gym and working out like some freaking gym boy– I’m so embarrassed!” I don’t know why, but my hard-on was throbbing – more even, my meat was oozing precum creating a moist circle expanding through my suit leg. “No, Scott go for it!” I was breathing hard. “Definitely, just go for it. You’re just doing this to get fit – no, I’ll be honest for both of us, you’re doing this to just get a little bit buff, Scott! You deserve it; you’ve been looking so handsome – so just go for it. Work with James for the next level – you’re just doing this to get a little more so that you get recognition for what you’ve already done……… Now put that beautiful ass in the air!”

So, Scott lifted with James for the summer. And by the time school started, James had pushed Scott – added 10lbs to Scott’s frame – built Scott up to 190lbs – left Scott looking a level of buff that was noticeable. Scott’s “skinny guy” clothes now pulled tautly across his build. He stood taller, his head held higher. Scott looked quite striking and handsome.

It was clear that James had given Scott something else as well that summer… his gym boy cock to suck off! And I could tell Scott liked it. But with what Scott had been through, I knew I was the real thing and anything else going on was just to make Scott feel better about himself.

Scott grew prouder of himself. He had gained 10 summer lbs. And he knew he looked good. He did look good – his angular face was extremely handsome and his body cut and sleek. “Nate, how do I look? I feel like I’ve changed. I feel like for the first time in my life, people look at me and want me – for my body – for my physique.” “Scott you look like a star – you define sexy, stud. I look at your body and my rod goes stiff just remembering the fat ass you were and now I see you with a dream body that I’ve yanked myself to a zillion times in the steamy magazine ads. You’re gorgeous.” “Yea!? You think, Nate!? I feel so good, Nate. Tell me I’m beautiful – you could even show me what you think of this hot body.” My cock was rock hard and I pulled Scott’s lean physique on top of me. As his taut ripples pressed against my skin and bones, I slid my tongue into his mouth and explored his teeth and lips. I pulled his hardness closer to me and then spread open my legs, allowing his hips and cock to drop down near my ready hole. I pushed Scott’s torso back and away, and let my soaring cock spring to attention between us. “Do me, muscle boy.” Scott fucked me – me on my back with his cock stroking my ass and his two hands gripped, end-to-end on my long, hard pole – his load oozed out of my hole when he was done.

Six weeks into school, Scott made an announcement. “Nate, you ever thought about changing your hair?” “Not really.” “Nate, I think I need to change mine – it seems ridiculous, but then I think why not!?” Scott dyed his hair goldenrod blond highlighting it with glimmers of melded white. It grew out until it flowed down his neck, feathering just above his shoulders. His hair was luxurious, lustrous sexiness. Instead of his old chinos and rumpled button-downs, Scott bought new clothes, bringing home pants and fitted shirts. When Scott pulled on his pants, they stretched over the curve of his seat; When he donned his shirts, the firmness of his pecs and the small bulges of his arms stretched the fabric. Scott wore them to school turning heads in the hallways and the classroom.

Nine weeks into school, a young colleague of Scott’s came on to him. In a private meeting, in his classroom he told Scott how good he was looking, rubbed his shoulders, asked him if he was working out, suggested that Scott join he and some of his friends at the steam baths sometime.

“Jesus, Nate, today Danny Ryberg, that teacher who plays hockey every weekend, came on to me. Am I looking that good!?” I rubbed my hard dick between his taut ass cheeks and tongued the silky hair behind his left ear to indicate I agreed. “Yea, oh yeah, Scott, you’re looking that good. You look gorgeous, boy, and your schools got enough enlightened people to enjoy you. A gym boy at my conservative office would be committing career suicide – ‘giving it all up’ as they say.” “Nate, for the first time in my life I feel beautiful. Look at the tight muscles that cover me, Nate. They feel incredible! The way each muscle stretches and ripples across my build, I can’t get enough of it.” I reached around Scott’s tight waist and rubbed my hands up and down his firm abs and hard chest. I squeezed one pec in each hand and let my forearms rub against Scott’s handsome lats. “But, Nate, I look at myself and I’m scared. I could lose this so easily. I lived my whole life as a fat pig and what if I lose the only hot body I’ll ever have.” “Baby, you’re not gonna lose this. You’re hard and buff and you’re every one of those teachers’ wet dreams – not just Danny Ryberg’s. You’re not gonna lose it.” “If I could only get bigger, Nate. If I could go for real size. Almost be a real bodybuilder, Nate. But, what a freakin’ twisted mutant I would be – only freaks want to get big.” Jesus, Scott being a freaking bodybuilding muscle boy – cum leaked from my large equipment. “Scott! Only freaks stop themselves from doing what they want – from giving themselves what they want. Only freaks don’t want to get BIG. Only freaks deny themselves what it would feel like to grow– to let themselves go. Don’t give up, Scott. You CAN be a bodybuilder, Scott. You CAN go there. GO THERE! Each day, my Scott, you’re just gonna get bigger and bigger and more beautiful.” “Oh shit, oh shit. Oh you fucking made me hard, Nate.” he said, “That’s hot talk – let’s screw – but I only wish I could go for it, Nate. I know I fucking never will.” I slid my rod in Scott’s ass and unloaded a juicy load of white man lust.

Now Scott was looking really good. He had gained another 3 lbs since the start of school, and 193 on his tallish frame looked athletic and it looked sexy, in fact very sexy. Scott added tight lycra muscle boy shirts to his school wardrobe. They were not fit for school, but Scott wore them anyway, with a fuck you attitude. The boys in school suffered more than one teenage boner seeing the tight shirt stretch over Scott’s growing body.

Some old acquaintances came up from D.C. and didn’t recognize him. In fact one guy at the bar grabbed Scott not knowing it was his old friend and shoved Scott’s hand down his cords to touch his hard dick. Scott flexed himself and leaned in real close and said “fuck off – you don’t even recognize your old friend Scott – I’m not a porker anymore and you missed your chance – I used to think you were a muscle boy but fuck you. I’m gonna be the muscle boy now!!!” Went we came home Scott asked me to use my “power tool” to “stroke his ass for a while” After 10 minutes, Scott climbed on top of me so that he could mount my sensitive rear. “Nate, I need it! I need it, Nate. I have to go for it….i have to Grow.. I don’t want to stop – I DO want to grow – I don’t know how big…. I don’t know how big – but big, big with muscle, Nate. I need it – Look at me and see me be huge.” He grunted, as he pushed his dick repeatedly into my hole insistently. “I look at that dickwad from tonight, I look at what I once was and what I might have remained and I just need to show people how wrong they were about me.” Scott’s thrusts grew stronger. “unh unh Unh UN…Show people Unhh I can actually uNHH be musc-u- lar unnNHHH.” Scott threw himself fully on top of me giving a last thrust and spilled his seed on my waiting ass cheeks. He threw himself on the bed and dropped his legs wide. “Finish yourself off, Nate.” I climbed on top of Scott and pistoned his ass until I unleashed my pent up load and made him come again.

Scott hit the weights – now lifting daily. His diet grew stricter, cutting out no-no’s, siccing himself on asparagus, broiled chicken breasts, meat and protein in all shapes and sizes. Pound by pound, Scott grew. His shoulders no longer just looked square – they were meaty with a layer of flesh around his shoulder cap, his upper chest, across his upper back, and up into his trapezium. Scott’s arms filled out, building measure by measure on his muscle peak. Scott hit his legs hard and the squats transformed the shape and hardness of his ass as well as the girth of his thighs. My hard-ons raged larger and harder and longer as I grappled with Scott’s new muscle meat.

Scott called James to go pump. Scott now had the build that James had. They were a couple of buff gym boys. They showed off what they had, needing attention for their growing bulks. Scott had a half-dozen ribbed-tanks and hit the gym with them pulled over his growing torso – they stretched over his chest, the ribs spreading as they tried to cover his wide pecs. His shoulders bulged out beyond the straps, his arms looked muscle-y and defined. He fell far short of the big boys, but in the tank he looked like a muscle hound ready to get huge.

Eight weeks and Scott hit 210. Scott turned into a bull – rolling through the apartment lifting the armchair, heaving the refigerator into the air, curling a dining room chair in his hand. His cock was at steely erection. Sex took 3 hours. Scott posed and flexed each growing muscle and then dipped his 4” in me repeatedly, stopping short of orgasming to take my pole and let it just sit in his ass while he flexed in our front hall. Then I popped my pole out of Scott’s iron tight ass and we hit the shower, steamy water spilling over Scott’s muscles. Scott tried to block the full shower spray with his widening back. He leaned his beef-laden shoulder into my undefined abs, put his two hands on my hips and lifted me into the air. He spun me across his shoulders setting me upside down. Scott took my swinging endowment, mouthing it, forcing his head down on it, making my cocktip stroke a foot into his throat. Oh the fuck, that was hot. While his cum jetted against my inverted chest and dripped onto my chin, I erupted tablespoons of flowing boy magma into my hulk-to-be muscle boy.

As the school year progressed, Scott’s growth changed him. He was commanding and proud. His kids were awed and worshipful of his increasing size. His fellow teachers came on to Scott – copping feels of his pecs, his ass, or bicep. The administration was solicitous of their muscular young male teacher – clearly envious of his growing size and strength. It was a world of difference from the kind of gay-bashing, gym-goer condescension I lived with at the conservative wall street investment bank.

Scott didn’t pause. He had nice sized muscles evenly across his body and looked better than 95% of the guys out there – but when he saw himself in a mirror he had not yet grown “big enough”. When he threw on his clothes they didn’t stretch “tight enough”. “Why would I stop!? I haven’t even begun to get big!” Scott pushed on pushing himself away from the puny, weak Scott he’d once been – the one who’d been fucked by his father, lost his one true friend, and been shunned by the people who now fawned over him. Now he had a body. And friends. And attention. At parties, people circled Scott admiring his growth, and touching him as he explained some lift or diet.

“I’m going for 250, Nate. 210’s not good enough anymore. I just wanted you to know.” I was feeling strange. Excited? Yes.. Way YES. But also panicked. “Jesus, Scott, that gives me the world’s hardest boner. To imagine your beastly body rolling through your high school with every teacher springing a woody in their tweed pants and every school boy’s penis stretched down his jean’s leg. I can tell you such a sight would cause heart attacks at my firm. Scott, I love putting my bone up your hard ass – your steely, tight ass and just wait until you get my inches up a 250lb monster! I can’t wait until I am…. I mean you are huge!”

With those words, I fell quiet. I had never realized how I’d felt before. Here I had been fucking and feeling growing muscle for a year and it had never occurred to me why my cock was getting so hard – that I myself had wanted and more so longed for the same thing. But even as I realized this desire, I knew emotionally I couldn’t act on it. I couldn’t go where Scott was going. I was afraid of my job, and my life. I couldn’t let go of my repressions and become what Scott was becoming. I needed to take care of Scott who’d been through so much and needed to stay the responsible one for all of our needs.

So I kept it to myself – I walled that awareness away. But I started putting up distance between me and Scott. “Alright go for it. But if you’re spending your time on that, I’ll need to develop time for other people – people who have lives other than working out” “OK” “But, Scott, I just mean platonically for other friends… I’ll still fuck you senseless.” “Oh, yeah, maybe I’ll fuck you.”

Scott hungered for the mass of 250 – “you look great just as you are” I told him. He didn’t care for that crap anymore. “No, Nate, you don’t dream the way I dream. I dream to be huge to have my muscles roll against each other in mind-blowing girth as they squeeze and bulge with every little move I make with my massive body. Fuck me or fucking get out of my way, little boy.” But I did dream the way Scott dreamed, but I couldn’t go for it – I was being left behind as my man became massive and muscular.

Our sex life changed – increasing in intensity because of an aloofness that showed in Scott. Scott deigned not kiss nor caress me, the growing man instead mauled my big tool – handling it with roughness, tongueing it, throating it, taking it up his rounding, hardening ass. My ball sac sucked into a dense pouch, my cock throbbed in excitement, my load exploded at the trigger of Scott’s arrogant treatment.

Scott was not big enough at 215. At the gym, one of the big boys toweling his massive muscles hit Scott with a pamphlet from 6 lockers down – “Get serious, girl, you don’t even look like your trying.” Scott burned – his anger like tinder igniting a conflagaration of desire. The pamphlet said lift titanically. Scott lifted – he was a exerted every last effort of force on increasing weights. Scott heaved plates. Scott staggered in from the gym every inch of his body spent. Scott’s skin flushed deep red, blood gorged his veins, his vessels, each capillary pumping Scott to sizes he was seeing for the first time. The pamphlet said eat insatiably. Scott pushed shakes, egg whites, tinned tuna, and chicken down his yawning gullet – whatever would bulk him up and push him to the next stage.

Scott was growing and becoming beautiful. People were beginning to muscle worship Scott. Infatuants from the gym invited Scott to Jones Beach. “Oh yeah,” Scott told me, “we have a beach invite – I wanted us to look good.” He handed me two speedos – mine 29” inch waisted, obviously for my skinny frame, his 32” ready to swathe his muscular waist and ass.

We got attention. Nine inches in my speedo made the boys drool. But, when Scott fucking stripped, the worship boys swooned. By that July, Scott was 220 and sizzled –his full, muscled legs rippled as he shifted his weight, his hard ass stretched his tight bikini – each seam near rupture. Scott’s wheels bulged with size and power. Scott’s torso curved up from his waist, meaty with first layers of muscle mantling his frame – not massive, but pumped up with pecs, rippling abs, and tight muscles along his waist pulling into his hips and disappearing in his tight lycra suit. Scott’s shoulders bulged – his arms were easily at 17 ½”. In his speedo, a strategic navy panel over his bulge contrasted the gleaming all-white of hips and seat. With this arrangement, Scott looked like he was packing large meat. Late in the day, I boned my big boyfriend in the dunes – his speedo pulled just off his ass, my speedo pulled under my balls, and my column unloading prodigious amounts of cum into his enlargening Chelsea-boy body.

At 220, Scott was stuck. He was agitated and pissed, his heavy lifts were actually weaker than earlier. Scott quit his job, broke things off with James who had not kept up with his growth, and then disappeared for two months. When Scott reappeared, he brought Rod in tow. Rod was 235lbs of beef from Scott’s gym. Shorter than Scott, his greater muscles and 15lbs pushed him to a different level – he had the look of a knotted bodybuilder and in spite of his rough sallow skin and lopsided features was sexy just for his bulging physique. Rod was built, even in his street clothes, I could see his muscles bunching and flexing, his v-shaped torso, and his meaty legs.

Both builders were in taut, over-small t-shirts, wet with their stinky sweat and showing ripples, nipples, you name it. Scott wanted to show Rod his pamphlet. “Do I have what I need?” “Yeah, this one’s right – but you’re missing one that goes with this. This is no good without a little pharmaceuticals. You’ll just wear yourself out – you’ll make yourself weaker trying too hard. I have one word for you Scotty Boy… JUICE.”

So at 220, Scott started plunging a hypo in his ass – flooding his body with the steroids and juice he hungered for to grow. I no longer saw Scott during the day or on the weekend – I stayed away burning endless hours in the calm, hardness of the firm. I was praying to escape the inferno – not get sucked down with Scott. I would come home from work and find syringes empty. Or new bottles of pills in the back of Scott’s drawer. Or small, rank posing briefs in new colors under the other clothes in the laundry. But, I didn’t say anything.

I have to say that the stuff worked like magic. Within 3 weeks, Scott was at 230 and looked stronger and as confident as I’d ever seen. At 230, his muscles were no longer just nice, they bulged. Scott was buying new clothes. He’d long outgrown the things he’d worn as a running 168lber. He’d outgrown the fat clothes that had fit him the day his father fucked him. Now at 24, pushing past 230, Scott had jeans that hugged his growing thighs and gorgeous bubble ass. Scott had a pull-over that stretched across his widening shoulders, clung to his inflating chest, and pulled around the girth of his bi’s and tri’s.

While I was no longer in his daily life, I was still hooked on our sex. I’d start us off by humping his hard ass while he stood watching his muscles lay relaxed on his body. With my right hand, I reached between his steely hard cheeks and smear generous quantities of slick lube on his puckering hole. I’d move my pole slowly lower until my cock head teased his tight sphincter, pushing it in between his muscular buttocks and then ramming my 9 inches into his resisting anus. Shoving my piston in and out, warming up my muscle boy until the moment Scott got strong and aggressive and would turn spilling me backward onto the bed where he’d spread my legs and butt fuck me while he flexed his muscles in the mirror behind my head. For half an hour, he’d pump me and then orgasm with a load spilling all over my ass and the sheets below. I rarely came there, but later would sneak to the bathroom and stroke myself to oblivion just thinking about it.

In November, I told Scott he needed to pay rent. He objected, “How can I on unemployment?” I pushed it, but he resisted. “But you’ve seen how happy I’ve been – I’m achieving what I want… what I need. I’m getting bigger – did you know I hit 240 today? Look at how fucking muscular I’m getting. You know I need to spend that unemployment on the gym, and my food, and my… well you know there are other costs. But look at the fucking huge muscles, NATE – fucking look at me!!!” He peeled his tight shirt off. His torso was massive and meaty. Each ab rolled deeply from one into the other. His pecs were broad on his chest spreading out towards his arm and up towards the far edge of his shoulder. They were inches deep, mounded on his hard body, deep cleavage plunging between the meat. Scott’s shoulders were softballs curving out from his body and back into his hammy arms.

“I still need your rent.” I said, “I’m not supporting you.”

Scott took a job as a trainer at the gym. And kept training and lifting with Rod and shooting up. Scott grew more massive, his strength increasing – benching 290, then 300, now pushing 315. Scott’s first leg lift had been a 25 pound leg extension. Scott’s once puny legs were now mammoth with muscle – squatting 450, then 500, and now pushing 525. Scott weighed 240, his muscles big and cut. His clothes, bought for a mere 218lb muscleboy, stretched across his titanic pecs outlining each ripple of his musculature. Scott’s jeans cut into his ass crack. Scott had purchased a rubber phallus and balls and now wore it packed over his own dick – the crotch of his jeans bulged with a massive package – the fake dick’s curves clearly seen.

Scott would come in late at night while I was sleeping, grab onto my pole for a while, put his ass against my stiff meat in my drowsiness, and then would manhandle and fuck me before disappearing back to the bedroom where he now slept.

After, alone in the bed, I’d flex my right bicep next to my head and with my left hand I’d jerk myself off – sweet images of mass feverish in my head.

At 245, Scott was massive with muscle. I couldn’t deny how crucifyingly hot it was. Scott was so fucking pumped and powerful.

When Scott was out I would sniff his jock and jerk off – or wear loosely the briefs that would have spent the previous day stretching across his mounded ass and around his gargantuan legs. If I found protein powder on the counter, I would lick it up. If I found a used syringe, I’d shake the oily remnants onto my hand and rub it into my nipples and pecs while I jerked off in the mirror. At work, I’d tie his posing briefs around my balls and pump myself to orgasm while hiding behind my desk.

Fuck he was hot. My dick swelled examining his bulk, thinking back on the chubby ass he had once been or the thin runner. My boner would get so hard at how fucking huge Scott was now. While my muscle boy slept, I’d lick his pumped up chest and touch all over his body with the tip of my erect penis. I’d tease his hole with my rod and then put my neck between his two tree trunk legs. Eventually, I would stand by the bed, my hips thrust forward so that my long, thick dick reached over his huge muscles. I would stroke myself, pulling my dick straight up just in time not to have him feel my steamy gism land on him – to feel my desperate yearning.

Scott worked Splash. Shirtless behind the bar, he served drinks while the bar-goers drooled, drooled like addicts, over his bulging torso – throwing money at him for tips. He’d come home at 4 or 5am a boy on his ass. The tricks collapsed at Scott’s wide planted feet, their hearts pounding in their throbbing cocks while Scott stripped himself, tearing the fabric from his bulging flesh until he towered powerfully over there wimpy frames clad tightly in nothing but a straining black bikini or ultra-tight white briefs packed with the huge, heavy bulge of his rubber dick and balls. Those girly boys creamed themselves worshiping –worshipping deep in prayer – to my sprouting muscleboy – and most tricks were fucking studs too – just nothing compared to my hulking Scott. When they’d leave, Scott would come into my room, handle my pole, and then fuck me hard. In the morning, I usually found a hundred or 200 on the kitchen table.

Later, a few media types took Scott to Rio. He lay by the pool in his tight pine-green speedo being massive and running his hands over 250lbs of hard curves. At night, he’d wear all white to their parties – loose white linen pants straining desperately across his young builders ass and stretched mercilessly around his massive thighs. His linen shirt draped from his bowling ball shoulders, hugged his huge guns, and fell between his massive pecs showing a deep, tanned canyon and the inner curve of his mounded chest.

At night, Scott muscle posed for the night’s chosen host and then let them fuck him. He’d spent the night pinning them under his bulk, while sleeping off sun, sand, and tropical drinks.

A muscle-worship film was made – a copy for Scott, and his hosts’ copies were sworn to their private use.

Scott comes out of the villa dressed in white wearing a lei. He strips down to a gorgeous white bikini that pulls across his narrow hips and heavy meat while his bulging body explodes out in both directions. The pink lei wraps his thick neck and spills down his huge pumped chest. Scott’s arms are gargantuan. At the side of the pool, Scott stretches up and then folds over wrapping his fingertips under the lip of the pool. His ass and legs expand like Olympian shafts. His hole is palpable through the shiny tight fabric clinging to his mounded muscular ass globes. Scott straightens and pulls the lei apart, eating it, then folds once more touching fingertips to the pool before launching himself muscularly into the air and then slamming into the water with a mighty pPPHSSHP. Powerful strokes take him to the far end where the camera picks him up huge and coming face first out of the water. His golden hair is wet against his head. Drops shimmer and fall off his massive body. The speedo, now see-through, reveals his thick member heavy in its lycra confines.

The rest of the movie goes on with other hot scenes. Scott, enormous in muscular size, butt-fucking the pool boy. Scott drinking a 48 oz. Shake. Scott wolfing a 19 oz. turkey burger, his mouth opening wide to take huge bites that stuff his cheeks. We watch him purposefully chew and then gulp down the fuel in big chunks. Scott working the weight rack – piling on plate after plate before benching 350lbs, curling with massive plates loaded on both bar ends. Scott squatting with 600 lbs while the leering media powerbrokers leer at his tiny yellow posing trunks. We watch Scott shoot his ass with steroids and then flex his muscles as he sucks in big breathes of air. Scott feels the juice coursing through his veins and literally pumps up as his excitement floods his massive bulges with blood.

Rod came over often. But at 255, Scott was now huger than his former superior. Scott’s meat, his full, bulking muscle made Rod’s mass puny and undeveloped. Scott’s mammoth suppleness bulged with juice-thickened fiber, it draped across his statuesque frame, swept down from his mile-wide shoulders to impossibly narrow hips, it flowed out again over his herculean thighs and brick-shaped calves. His muscle rippled and bunched with each slight move. His silver nylon tights pulled over his bulk and showed every shape of his godly physique. Contact-lenses gleamed blue in Scott’s haunting face, his gold-dyed hair flowed in neck-length locks behind his ears. One night before fucking in Rod’s hummer, Scott pumped the truck off the ground with the sheer power of his massive muscles. Scott pressed the ton of steel into the air with the strength of his iron shoulders and girth-defying bis and tris. In the bedroom, Scott with his mighty strength curled the king size bed and heavy steel frame with his immense biceps asking Rod which direction he wanted the bed facing for fucking that night.

Night after heaving night, the musclemen fucked and fucked muscularly before Rod, like a raging, bratty, pike-stabbed bull charged Scott as though he were a big-cocked latin boy swaddled in tight velvet-red pants. Rod pummeled hammy fists into unyielding hills of steely flesh, bashing gargantuan growth he yearned to have as his own. Scott fucked him twice as hard for that. When Rod left, Scott would come into my bed and collapse with his bulging gun draped over me.

I confronted Scott. “I need you – who is fucking Rod – why him?” “Nate, poor Nate. Fucking look at me. Look at the fucking god I’ve become. I am enormous with muscle. I lift whole weight racks at the gym. I bend steel with my bare hands! I lift 600 lbs over my fucking head. I fuck cause I can fuck – I fuck muscle because I love muscle. I fuck muscle, because you’re not enough Nate. Look at this mind-blowing, muscle-bound body, little Nate, and just cream yourself!” Scott flexed his swollen torso and mammoth legs, exploding his clothes so that he stood – the tatters of his tank top and legs of his worn jeans hanging off of his enormous bulk. “Behold me, Nate. Behold a fucking muscle god!”

Jesus… Oh fuck! My boner swelled to iron hard rigidity, nearly ripping the dun-colored fabric of my tight summer suit. With my mouth, I enveloped his erect nipples. I dragged my rough tongue over the crevices and rise of his gorgeous pecs. My hands cupped each bicep while I brought my hips forward and thrust my iron against his huge right thigh.

Scott put his left hand on my shoulder and with his right reached under my balls. With a smile and a low growl, he fucking pumped me above his head like a bag of feathers. Scott stalked into the bedroom, dropping me facedown onto the starchy white sheets. Scott’s 260lbs bore down on me, his hardon rubbing my ass through his skintight jeans and my khaki’ed ass. With his massive left gun, Scott pulled my hips off the mattress and wrapped his sinewy right python underneath me circling me with muscle. Scott unzipped me and with an angry tug sent the button from my chinos flying across the room slamming into the chrome floor lamp. My steely nine inches sprung free, jutting forward like a fucking diving board. While he jerked my ass back against his hardon, Scott roughly handled my meat, groping and probing its full length, pushing his fingers in my balls, manipulating them and then crushing my rod again in his mighty grip. He pumped his hand up and down my pole, still humping my ass with his nuclear-powered thrusts. Scott’s rhythm quickened and his lubed hand went bionic on my pulsating pole – faster and faster – harder and harder – until suddenly I exploded with a shouting groan spraying my cream widely over the bed. Scott, with both hulking arms, tore my khakis down off my ass, rending the fabric in his hands. Scott forced his fingers in my ass, loosening me up, and then put them into his tight waistband and pulled his jeans open with a pleading grunt. His cock free, Scott thrust his 4” into my naked ass. “JESUS! Scott – I came – I’m done – this is fucking hur..” Scott clamped his left paw against my mouth and thrust his 260 lbs heavily through his abdomen onto my lower back, fucking me harder. Each thrust was a heaving power rep, the bar sagging with weight into my hole. His pace was the insane pace of a bikini-clad muscle boy pumping himself huge for the first time before stepping into the sweltering showtime lights of the yearning, horny crowd. “FUCKING, FUCKING HUGE—NATE – WATCH ME FUCKING BECOME A HULKING, BULKING MONSTER.. . AARRRGGGHHHHHH!!!!” Scott’s climaxing orgasm flooded into my tortured hole and his 260 lb bulk collapsed on my lean frame. My fat, intimated, self-loathing boyfriend had become this ripped, powerful, unrestrained hulk.

It is several nights later and the night of Scott’s and my 5th year anniversary. I need it. I need Scott’s mass and I need it for me. I am at the side of my bed my cock in my hand looking down at the hard, 275 lb, 25 year old hulk. I see what he once was – fat, hiding behind a façade of cheerfulness, truly self-loathing, girlish in his fat tits and fat rolls. Now, he is huge, hard-pumped, olympian. Scott’s once blubbery gut and flabby legs are mammoth tree trunks exploding out of a tight bikini-wrapped waist. His doughy ass is now enormous with mounding, iron-hard globes. His once fatty love handles have transformed into rippling abs that girdle Scott’s long frame. Scott’s wings obliterate his pear-shaped build – his lats literally splay from his slim hips to his titanic upper torso – bowling balls top each arm and crowd Scott’s sloping traps. His once sunken chest bulges with huge mounds of muscle that’s packed impossibly tight into humongous pecs. Where once there were puny sticks, huge guns now lie heavily on the bed – each hung with massive amounts of animal meat. Oh, what Scott has become. Strong and powerful with muscle. Doing what he wants and getting what he wants. Scott plows through the world turning heads with his muscular bulk and haughty aloofness. Scott’s young body ripples with huge muscle… more massive than any bodybuilder at steel gym – they lust after him and his beef – he’s fucked them all and left them behind – he’s willed himself to get bigger – to grow impossibly more massive – to fucking shoot his ass full of juice and devour gargantuan quantities of food – to have every fucking muscle pumped into bulging heaven.

My cock in my hand… our 5th year anniversary…. Standing over Scott… I suck in his muscles. I stroke my meat over his mass. I want to roar out with desire. My mind is racing. JESUS.. fucking… SCOTT.. jesus … fucking… SCOTT… Fucking LOOK AT YOU FUCKING HULK… how’d you FUCKING GET SO huge and fucking muscular…jesus CHRIST look at those MUSCLE-BOUND HAUNCHES… and those SWOLLEN FUCKING PECS… AND YOU fucking HUGE FUCK…. 23” FUCKING beastly ARMS…..arms so big you carry me in your big arms – and FUCKING toss me you FUCk… fuck… FUCK… Oh FUCK…. Oh Fuck your hardNESS your Iron fucking ABS disappearing into your tiny iron tight WAIST… and your FUCKING FLARING BACK… fuck….fuck….. fuck …..….Fuck………….FUCKKK!!

My throbbing cock explodes with a torrent of flowing hot cum …My rod not up fast enough, my seed pours all over Scott’s sleeping mass.. splashing his chest… his arms… his thighs… landing on his ass.. his balls… his dick… covering his FACE.

Scott stirs and looks at me – his expression calm and strong he licks up my cum. I look at him hungry and desperate.

“SCOTT,” I say, “HELP ME GET HUGE.”

EPILOGUE I’m 26 now and already 250. I wear Scott’s old clothes and they stretch across my massive chest. His old jeans bind my hard ass, my massive thighs, my big thick dick. At the gym, I pump 400 lbs like a powerful behemoth. I work splash two nights per week with Scott. Scott is massive at 290lbs. He gave up hanging with Rod who went off roids and shrunk up like a fucking girl. Most times, Scott and I bring home two tricks from Splash. I get $200 from mine. Scott gets $400 easy. Sometimes we tag team a trick. Scott poses for them and I bone their brains out. We don’t do that for less than $1000.

Scott’s fucking massive now every muscle is huger than belief… his mighty legs force his stance apart and his torso is more than massive and thick, more than bulging with muscle.

As for me, I fucking love the size and rippling strength. I fucking love my huge beastly arms, my broad massive chest, my lifter shoulders. I fucking love my titan legs… my shoulders of hercules, my fucking massive back of olympus… And I’m just starting. I’m going to get bigger. I fucking lust for the steroids and I’m not gonna stop. I’m getting huge – even on this cycle, I know I’ll get another 15… imagine Nate a fucking 265!? But that won’t be the end, fuckers, I’ll do more…lots more… I’ll lift and eat more and juice more and do what I have to so I can be MASSIVE, as massive as Scott, no fucking MORE MASSIVE… we’ll be two FUCKING MASSIVE 26 year old Fucks…plowing each other, picking up wannabes and fucking them brainless.. letting them worship our massive bodies and let them fucking dream about getting huge… let them fucking dream about the massive muscles they might have… they fucking never will… pussy boys…. But FOR ME it’s reality… I’m huge…FUCKING HUGE… and I’M JUST STARTING… See me HUGE and watch me fucking GROW… THAT’S Right GROW… I’M HUGE NOW… BUT THAT’s JUST THE FUCKING START…. I’ll GROW MASSIVE… FUCKING UNBELIEVABLY MASSIVE… Fuck YOU… I’m HUUUGEE… fucking big and big and big and HUUGGEE…FUCKING 350 POUNDS HUUGGE and MIGHTY…God fucking 400 POUNDS MASSIVE AND G*D damn FUCKING HUGE AND MIGHHTTYY… I’M GOING TO FUCKING BLOW UP…FUCKING PUMP UP… FUCKING BURST OPEN WITH BULGING BULGING FUCKING BULGING MASSIVE FUCKING MUSCLES you fucking scrawny fucking fuck. FUCKING WATCH ME!!!!!!!!!! •