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Roth = Mass
|Clay shoved open the double doors to the university gym, or "Roth" as
everyone knew it was called. Ask anyone around campus and they would
say Roth is the jocks' gym. Only athletes who played for our school
or seriously big dudes dared to work out there. As the doors opened,
the unfamiliar scent of sweat and iron filled my nose, almost
"Home sweet home," Clay muttered approvingly.
I had never stepped foot in Roth, had never even dared to think of it. As Clay's wide, rippling back moved ahead, the gym came into full view. It was a dizzying array of towering metal structures, weight plates, barbells, and dumbbells. I could recognize only a few pieces of equipment from the pictures I had seen in bodybuilding magazines. Otherwise, I felt completely out of place. Roth was far from home for me.
As we approached the front desk, Clay whipped out his student ID card and handed it to a bored-looking jock at the desk. He was flipping through a Flex magazine. I glanced briefly at the guy behind the desk. He looked as one might expect: a strong jaw, fresh buzzed haircut, thick neck, and wearing a tanktop that simply said "Roth = Mass" with the univeristy logo. The tanktop straps strained to cover his freakish traps, broad shoulders and developed pecs. My mouth went a little dry at the sight. This kid probably wore a tanktop every day without second thought, as if showing off his muscles were a natural part of who he was. There was something hot about that.
"Thanks bro," Clay nodded as he took back his ID card. The stud at the desk perfunctorily nodded, scribbled something on a notepad, and went back to his Flex magazine. Clay walked through a turnstile, turning his massive shoulders slightly to walk through at an angle – his gargantuan thighs probably didn't fit in the turnstile together.
Expectantly, I looked at the desk stud. He didn't seem to notice I was even there – had Clay's massive body blocked me from view? I coughed quietly and managed to say, "Uh, hey."
The stud looked up mechanically, but he looked up too high as if he expected someone much taller. Then his eyes flicked down and looked somewhat surprised. "You here to workout?" he asked in a gruff voice.
I stole a quick glance at Clay, who simply winked at me and smiled. "Uh, yeah, I'm here with Clay." I said in lower-than-usual voice, hoping to match the stud's gruff tone. I held out my student ID card.
The stud turned his head to look at Clay, then snorted loudly as if he didn't believe it. Wordlessly, he took my ID card, swiped the card reader, and handed it back. "Have a good one," he said, obviously uninterested.
Clay watched me walk through the turnstile and grinned, his perfect teeth set against that strong, tough jaw he had used to roughly kiss me the day before. Somehow that kiss had set my heart afire, more so than when Clay had pumped me in our new dorm room – that was just raw sex, but the kiss was affectionate, almost loving.
"All right, Brad, welcome to Roth! This will be your new home, and these guys are your family. Ah, hey Nate – lookin big today!" Clay greeted a tall blond-haired stud with a coordinated slap of the palms. Nate was a bit taller than Clay but lacked Clay's immense width and thickness. Instead of a power-packed football build, Nate's build had the look of a basketball player who spent most of his free time in the weight room. The two studs talked animatedly about their teams and how they expected to do this season. I tried to follow their conversation but got lost among all the names and sports terms.
"Oh hey Nate, this here is Brad, my roommate," Clay introduced us.
Nate stretched out a long-limbed arm and shook my hand politely. "What's goin on?" he stated more than asked. "That shirt looks a little small on you, bro."
I reached up and felt my new pecs under my shirt. "Yeah, looks like I'm growing out of it real soon huh?"
Nate smiled, then slapped Clay on the shoulder and went on with his workout. Then Clay turned to me, his naked, awesomely developed torso in full view. Those thick pecs dominated my view so I had to look up past them to see into Clay's crisp eyes. "You're lookin damn hot in that shirt, Brad. Come on, let's get to work."
As I followed Clay over to some benches, I noticed a gym policy sign that read, "Shirts, shorts, and shoes required at all times." Apparently nobody bothered Clay about that – who would, considering how his upper body was the ultimate display of brute male power.
"Now I don't want to hear any whining, you understand? We're going to blast every muscle in your body and make you grow like a fuckin weed." He looked at me sternly, his prominent brow set hard, his eyes fixed on mine.
"Yes, sir!" I yelled. I felt my new hard pecs under my shirt once more and couldn't wait to get out of the constricting t-shirt.
Clay forced me through grueling workouts, more than I had ever imagined possible. We hit every angle of my chest with inclines and declines, flyes and dips, and all during the workout my shirt became tighter, the "Warriors Football" logo stretching grotesquely. I seemed to become stronger with each new rep; I lifted heavier and heavier weights. My chest was on fire, and every time I went to feel it with my hands it seemed harder, thicker, and fuller than before. After a certain point, I couldn't even put my hand under my shirt to feel my pecs – I had to be satisfied with feeling them through the taut fabric.
"Clay, I need to take this shirt off, I wanna see these pecs..." I grumbled. My chest was now so pumped, the bottom of my shirt had crept up halfway up my smooth stomach. I stared at my reflection and almost laughed at the sight of such monstrous pecs on an otherwise un-muscular body. I looked around to see if anyone else noticed, but there were only a few other guys in the gym and they were preoccupied with their intense lifting.
Clay grinned. "No, not yet. We're gonna grow those muscles and break you out of that shirt like a cocoon. Come on, just a few more sets."
After we had completed all of Clay's chest routine, I felt completely invincible. I felt I could lift anything, no matter how heavy. Yet my shirt still hadn't ripped yet. I looked at Clay pleadingly. "When will I get out of this shirt?"
Clay flexed his own pecs for me, squeezing both mounds of solid muscle simultaneously in a slow motion flex. I almost forgot about my own pecs at the sight. "Just wait... about now I think. If I remember right, the growth usually happens after an intense workout."
Trembling in anticipation, I turned to the mirror to watch my transformation. With Clay standing next to me, I looked like a young teenager and he a grown man. His towering height, doorway wide shoulders, and unbelievable thickness made him seem superior in every way. I studied my reflection carefully and waited.
Within a few seconds, I could hear quiet pops, like popcorn in the microwave. They started off slowly, one after the other, but then they began to speed up and I heard multiple pops. That's when I saw the growth. My chest expanded before my eyes, lifting up my shirt even higher, my pecs bulging in all directions – getting thicker, wider, denser. The pain was excruciating but I knew this was good pain. I kept watching in wonder and admiration.
"Fuck yeah!" Clay boomed and moved behind me so his wide bulk outlined my entire body in our reflection.
I realized the pops I heard were small threads in the t-shirt stretching and snapping, unable to contain my burgeoning chest. Within a minute, the pops were fairly audible and the "Warriors Football" logo was completely unreadable.
"This is it, fucker. Come on, let's see those pecs!" Clay said in a low voice behind my ear, watching the growth in the mirror with me. Considering his height, he easily reached his arms over my shoulders and palmed my pecs in his large hands. "Oh yeah... fuckin GROW."
I couldn't help but being completely hard. With Clay's massive body directly behind me, his hands massaging my growing pecs, my shirt now just a half-shirt covering my pecs, and the faint popping sounds that assured me the growth was real, it was the hottest thing to happen yet.
Then all of a sudden - CRRRRCCKK!! My shirt burst all at once down the center of my pecs, forming a tear in the shirt that exposed the raw, engorged muscle underneath. I couldn't believe the sight – my chest looked incredible through the ripped shirt. My chest was thick and full, with a deep valley running between my pecs.
Clay reached a hand through the newly formed rip in my shirt and began to massage the muscle with his calloused hand. It felt so fuckin good. "Come on stud, flex em. Flex em for me," Clay whispered.
I stood there watching us in the mirror, Clay's muscled body almost enveloping mine, forming a protective shell around my body. Carefully, I tried to mentally picture doing my last rep, as Clay had instructed. My new huge chest responded so easily I almost creamed right there. The feeling was incredible, like squeezing something between your hands without moving a single part of your body. I could feel Clay's hand grab harder, which in turn made me flex even more for him.
"Yeah, stud, this is the chest you've always wanted, am I right?" Clay muttered and looked at me through the mirror.
I responded by flexing my left pec, then my right, then both at once – like Clay had done for me so many times. The flexing was surprisingly easy and felt so fuckin good. No wonder Clay flexed his chest so much. Looking down at my powerful chest, I thought, "With this much muscle, it's hard to resist."
I felt Clay's fingers dig into the valley between my pecs and explore my new growth. Playfully, I tried to trap his thick fingers by flexing hard. My chest responded dutifully. The muscles bunched up and squeezed his fingers, but he was able to pull them out with ease. Clay chuckled. "You aren't big enough to handle me like that, little man."
With that said, Clay pulled his hand out of my ripped shirt, placed his hands firmly under my armpits, and hoisted me up in the air. Fuck, I loved the way he still manhandled me. Clay then draped me over his boulder-like shoulder and walked over to the other side of the gym.
"Everyone, get the fuck OUT!" he yelled through the gym. "This one is mine!" At this, several people, including the basketball player Nate, chuckled under their breath. Clay had me hanging over his shoulder, my new pecs hidden behind his massive back. They probably guessed that Clay was going to have his way with me. Apparently it wasn't unusual at all, since all the guys cleared out respectfully and one even said, "Have fun, big guy."
Amazed at how so many beefy guys heeded Clay's commands, I felt completely powerless resting on his shoulder. Clay was a fucking stud and everyone knew it. Whether he liked guys or girls, it didn't matter, I guess.
Clay set me down and laughed, a deep resonance filling the gym. "Now we got the gym all to ourselves, little man."
I stood up, my shirt front ripped but still intact. "Stop calling me that! Look at this chest! It's not little at all." I pointed at my pecs and bounced them. Damn, that feels good, I thought. So much thick muscle for me to flex anytime.
"You're right, but look at the rest of you... we need to keep workin. It's gonna be a long ass night."
Clay then put me to work on back exercises. Again, there were so many different movements, I could barely remember what I was doing. I just knew that Clay kept putting on more weight and demanded more reps. I began to sweat at the exertion, soaking my ripped t-shirt. During the workout, I kept looking at my reflection in the mirror, then at Clay's huge muscles. I kept focusing on how much I wanted to have a body like his, to be as freakishly muscular as him.
At the end of the back workouts, I was breathing heavily. "Not bad, not bad at all. You're getting fuckin strong!" Clay said approvingly. "Now let's wait a bit and see what happens to your shirt now."
Soon enough, I began to hear something. But instead of the pops, it was an odd groaning sound. My sweat-soaked shirt was being pulled apart by my growing back. It wasn't as easy to see the growth on my back through the mirror, but I definitely felt it. I felt my arms being pushed out and upwards, my shoulder blades moving farther apart to accomodate for the growing beef.
"Come here, you." Clay reached out and bear hugged me, my face pressed against his enormous pecs. The smell was intoxicating, and all I could do was enjoy my cheek resting on his thick, hard chest, which moved slightly as he breathed in and out. Clay groped my back with his hands, trying to squeeze his fingers under my shirt, but it was already halfway up my back and almost shrink-wrapped to my body. I heard Clay whisper, "This feels so fuckin hot... you're becoming a muscle stud, Brad. What I've always wanted for you since we were kids."
I reveled in the feeling of my own growth and being completely encircled in Clay's hard muscles. Then we both heard - CRRRRCCKK!! My back had grown so wide and thick it destroyed the back of my shirt, ripping it in two places.
"Fuck yeah!! You got a fuckin BACK now!" Clay yelled. I turned to see my back in the mirror. I could only see half of it, but I was floored by what I saw. My lats flared out past my shoulders, covered in bulging muscle, my lower back was a column of thick mass that looked bulletproof. Funny enough, my shirt still hung on to my massive body – my arms were still undeveloped as was my neck. The collar and sleeves were intact, but the rest of the shirt hung loosely over my swollen chest and immense back.
Clay grinned down at me. "How do you like the new you?"
I was fumbling for words. My back felt amazingly wide, and in combination with my huge chest, the entire sense of my "self" had expanded in three dimensions. I could FEEL my body's new size, breathing in the air, fighting for space in the gym. "I feel fuckin THICK," was all I could say.
"You ARE thick, you fucker. Come on, you know what we gotta do next."
Clay rolled me through neck, shoulders, abs and arms next, blasting set after heavy set, egging me on to be fuckin huge. "Don't you wanna grow!?" he'd yell when I grimaced with pain at the intense final rep. Once we were done, Clay clapped his hands together and flexed a most muscular.
"Soon, you can do this pose and look like a fuckin muscle freak!" Clay said excitedly. "This is so fuckin awesome, Brad. I knew you'd look hot as hell with muscles. Don't you FEEL fuckin hot?"
I drank in the sight of Clay's entire body, his over-the-top muscles, his perfectly studly face, the veins snaking all over his arms. Then I surveyed my own body. Not at Clay's level yet, I thought. I lacked the sheer size of Clay's monstrous physique. But hell, these muscles were incredible. I got turned on by the sight of my own chest; I flexed it playfully for myself, watching the muscles ripple obediently at my command. "Fuck yeah," I dared to say like Clay. I rarely said the word, but now it seemed almost natural. Who would tell me to stop?
Then I could feel it. The growth in my shoulders and arms began simultaneously. This time, instead of the mirror I was able to watch the growth on my own body. I reached my arms out in front of me and Clay's beefy hands immediately grabbed my upper arms. His hands completely encircled my upper arms.
"Here we go, get some fuckin PIPES!" Clay boomed.
I watched as my arms swelled then stopped, then swelled again, in time to my heartbeat. As they thickened with muscle, any trace of fat seemed to vanish as the veins underneath rose up like submarines in water, bulging above the surface of my skin. Veins began to appear all over my forearms and thick tubes rose over my biceps. Clay's hands tightened around my biceps, trying to contain the growth, but he stuggled to hold on. His own forearms bulged madly as he held his grip.
Soon I heard popping sounds again and I felt a choking sensation. The collar of the shirt was now being stretched out by my growing neck, traps, and shoulders. The combination was too much for the puny shirt, which gave way immediately in several places, the seams ripping to reveal bulging, ripped muscle underneath. Again, I felt the sense of "self" growing as my shoulders widened proudly, my neck forming a solid column of corded muscle, and my traps tugging at my back, rising and merging into my neck. I subconsciously FELT that I was thicker, wider, more beastly.
Clay's face turned red as he struggled to contain my growing arms. "Agghhh!" Clay finally let go and the sleeves of my shirt exploded. No longer held onto my body, the shirt fell uselessly to the floor. As if eager to grow now that the restriction was gone, my arms grew in double-time, the triceps forming a vicious horseshoe mass that hung from my upper arms, the biceps elongating and rearranging into double peaks of muscle, the forearms writhing and cording into separate muscles I never knew I had.
I felt a tight sensation in my stomach and looked down to see my smooth midsection begin to form cobblestones of muscle. The smoothness melted away and six beautiful, thick mounds mushroomed up, forming deep ridges between them and razor sharp intercostals. As I breathed in quickly, my new sixpack became more sharply defined as they hardened into an impenetrable wall of muscle.
Then I pulled my arms up into a double biceps pose and looked at my arms in turn. I could barely contain myself. Mixed feelings of satisfaction, absolute disbelief, and total arrogance filled me. I had fuckin MUSCLES now.
"Fuckin killer pythons there, bro," Clay said. "You now look like a fuckin muscle stud! Shit, you're way bigger than I was two years ago. Now all we gotta do is get those wheels some size."
"My wheels?" I asked, still flexing my arms, relishing the feeling of how much muscle bunched up when I flexed. My arms were so thick, I could feel the power as the muscles fought for space on my arm. I left go of the flex with one arm and began to finger the veins that adorned my other arm. They bulged furiously as I held the flex, fighting against the skin. They wanted OUT.
"Yeah, your wheels. Your fuckin legs!" Clay laughed. "Like these." And he pulled up his gym shorts to show off his massive quads and hams, veins snaking along their colossal size. He turned his legs this way and that to show off his diamond-peaked calves, their muscles bunching up putting even my arms to shame.
I stared down at my legs and had to laugh with Clay. I had no leg development at all.
Clay ran me through powerful lifts and squats, all with extremely heavy weight. Sweating profusely, I had been exerting myself so much I wondered why I wasn't tired yet. At times I asked him to lower the weight but he simply shook his head and said, "You're fuckin strong now, you hear me? Come on, this is easy!"
After the leg workout, I had to sit down on a bench to rest. As before, Clay's eyes looked hungry as he placed his hands on my thighs, ready to feel the growth. "All right, this is it. The final stage of growth. Show me what you've got!"
I waited impatiently for the growth. Clay's hands massaged my legs as I felt the warmth flow through my leg muscles. It felt as if I were pressing a ton, my thighs contracted violently and my legs began to twitch uncontrollably. My thighs ballooned and separated into groups of muscle, each proudly bulging out from my hips and knee joints. The shorts I wore began to bunch up, pushed aside by my irritated quads and hams, which wanted only one thing – space to grow. My calves tightened then exploded with growth, the muscle easily seen from the front of my leg, bulging outward with obvious thickness. Veins began to appear on my now-striated quads and calves. I playfully flexed each muscle in turn, marveling at their display of power.
"Fuck yeah, these wheels are smokin!" Clay massaged the now-hard muscles. "You now have a shit-kickin bod, Brad. Your entire life has changed and there's no going back. You're a fuckin muscle stud, like me, and we're gonna live it up like only muscle studs can, together!" Clay reached over, pulled me close, and passionately kissed me.
I could only respond by kissing him back. His rough mouth and tongue easily conquered mine and dictated the kiss. The sensation of my newly rock-hard body pressed against his was insanely hot. Clay began to grope my member as he kissed me, his other hand exploring my new engorged muscles. I moved my hands to Clay's body and noticed that my hands were bigger, with thick calloused fingers and angry veins on the back sides that connected to the network of veins on my forearms. They looked like a man's hand. No, I had to remind myself. It was my hand, and yes, I was a fuckin stud now.
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