Samson and Diego Rising

Prescripts and Postscripts


By QuoteTheRaven

APPENDIX A – POSTSCRIPT: LIVES OF DESTINY=========================

MARIA THERESA While Maria Theresa never walked, she and Samson married and lived in the hills around Barcelona and in town homes through Europe. They had 11 children, and later 37 grandchildren (including those from three gay sons).

Maria Theresa was well-known throughout Europe as the founder and 34-year leader of “Our Heritage Languages”. The program had preserved the teaching of languages and cultures in a Europe grown more integrated throughout her lifetime. At 83, Brussels awarded her the “Star of the Order of Europe” for her contributions to society. Until her death at 95, she was known as Lady Maria Theresa Pitt.

SAMSON More modeled than any male in history, Samson spent 9 years on top of the fashion world earning $830 million. In 2014, he gave it up and began work with Bono on world equality and need. 147 trips took him to Sudan, Dafur, Uruguay, North Korea and to other areas– he negotiated and, when needed, overpowered those who resisted resolution. A bullet in his leg driving in Estonia, and 5 bullets in his torso in a field in Finland had only catalyzed the effects on his deified body; he had grown larger with both violent attacks.

In 2029, Samson became the U.N. Deputy Secretary General for Human Governance. He held the position for 17 years, being the most decorated UN officer of the period.

Samson, a patriarch, a writer, a philosopher, and a diplomat, lived until he was 105. He died with the muscles of a 28-year-old on his body. The Eulogy at the Cathedral of St. Catherine The Benefactress in the center of Barcelona was delivered by Diego to the sea of mourners who crowded the pews.

DIEGO Matthias never gained the size and trust of Diego again. They went their own ways.

Diego’s phenomenal male divinity changed the world. He held sway with such domination that he sat atop the bodybuilding world for 44 years – even as genetic therapies began to create creatures 400 lbs big. Competition standards changed to include the suppleness of skin, the luster of eyes, the cascade of the hair. Diego’s ability to charismatically inspire fevered devotion never staled or flagged.

When Diego turned 31 as a 5-time Mr. God-Olympia, Spain’s Crown Prince Rainier, wooed him. Seven years Diego’s junior, and a mere 180-lb mortal, he nonetheless showed the grace and steady handedness of nobility. Their first date was arranged by royal secretaries and Rainier came to Diego’s 8,000 sq ft training facility and complimented him with a 14-course dinner lit by 900 candles and decorated with 4,000 roses.

A Royal Wedding joined Diego and Rainier in 2017. Public opinion polls put Diego at 97.3% approval the day his 3,000 lbs majestied down the cathedral aisle carved in nothing but a bikini of pure chainmail gold that swaddled his poetic groin. The gilded ceiling over the great Nave had nothing on the auric beauty that was the magnificent protrusion from his greyhounded waist.

Through genetic engineering, Diego and Rainier had 4 children, all male, their combined offspring. They were slight, boyish men, until at the age of 24 over a period of 2 years each fuckingly swelled into a massive dream god, 425lbs with 23” arms and 29” waists and penises 18 inches long. From non-European continents, each married a woman who many said suggested the young Lady Maria Theresa Pitt. Diego and Rainier’s offspring each gave 4 sons; and those grandsons each gave 4 sons; 4 sons from each great grandson gave 256 more sons, and on. Every male descendant gave 4 male offspring. Each Val’Daran lived hungry and lean as a skinny beauty until on his 24th birthday he would go through penis-totemed growth, fucking and benching all kinds of things in sight until they were massive, sculptured mass-hulked beauties. The grandsons grew to 500 lbs, the great grandsons to 650, until seven generations later there were an army of swollen Davidian masterpieces 2500 lbs and 2700 lbs massive to be adored.

In 2029, Ranier ascended the Throne of Spain.

In 2058, Diego’s lifelong love passed away in a villa on the Mediterranean looking over the sea. The public’s sense of loss was immense, and in a move by Parliament, Diego was elevated to King.

Diego lived another 72 years until his eventual death at the age of 141. It was a reign unexpected and unequaled -- Spain growing into the greatest, most dominant nation on earth, surpassing the United States as the world’s leading Superpower and economic powerhouse.

It was a 20-year-old courtier – with blond hair on his neck, model good-looks, and a 148 lb. body whose patrol through the bedroom suites found the deceased king’s 28-year-like indescribably muscular body sculpted naked like the fantastical statue of a renaissance master. The lean courtier’s tears mixed with a lake of penile fluid that pooled in the valleys of Diego’s abs. The courtier scooped his hand into the cream and as he raised the strange and beautiful fluid, a string of the juice still stretched back to the tip of the royal member. The indescribably pretty youth touched the pearlescent wash to his lips and something forced him to taste it, and then drink it, and then wolf like a dog every drop from the rippling body of his liege and suck like a ravenous gayboy every molecule from the massive cock.

It exploded in him and for the remainder of his life, there was noone who was huger, more sculpted, more arrestingly beautiful than the 3,000 lb monster he’d grown into in the moments that followed that drink. The courtier remembered forever the gift he had received and carried Diego’s spirit within him for 123 years as he fucked 1,400 worshipful men throughout his life.

APPENDIX B – PRESCRIPT: THE DREAMS OF DIEGO ==========================

Diego killed time while he waited for Samson to come home. He lay his skin-and-bones on his bed and posters covered his wall. Man he loved the posters – 20-year-old and 30-year-old muscle hulks – the posing straps on these great beasts obscene. Nothing like the builders of several years ago, the European muscle men of the day transformed themselves, the poser straps etching into rutted cuts furrowed deep around pump-swollen legs and lump-dense torsos. If only he didn't have his genetic disorder and could try to become one.

He knew that in cities in Europe every day, guys that you'd disregard that you would never fucking notice started taking stuff that you’d never think they’d take. A year later, they’d come from their bedrooms with bodies that had been pumped bigger, with physiques that they’d made 50 or 90 lbs or 100 lbs heavier and dense and forced sex-weighted. Needing it so bad now, they’d lift and fuck and do so much, as much as they wanted. They’d keep dosing, would keep heaving iron, would keep doing themselves – winstrol and dianabol… test… and hgh – driving themselves big, as big as fucking they cared to, as huge as men could become… taking it… whatever it took. They fucked to see bodies that had been so puny mangled with muscle 19 inches deep.

Ten lb dumbbells had been intimidating to them when they’d started. They’d thought of how people looked at them and how weak they were. Now they heaved barbells that they loaded with plates; they’d add 45er after 45er to force their own massing – their getting huge – heavier and more mighty, loving what it was to have preposterous, seedy thick muscles – knowing that once a plate was a struggle, but now 10 times that was nothing. These juans and phillipes, miguels and arnims and nicolas’s piled plates and meloned rep upon grin-fucking rep - their cocks sausaging in their revealing groins. They swelled and fucking showed it – poser-trunked under the weights, naked showering and exposing their dongs, and net-shirted at dance clubs letting guys and girls suck their great tits.

The people in their lives looked at what had been regular guys and now saw conqueringly massive studs who’d flex any way they wanted and looked so overwhelming virile that they smiled magnificently like the big carved monsters they were.

One boy, who’d ridden to the market with his mom at 16, 2 and a half years later, flexed 19” arms and a 47” chest. He got a French hard-on in his scant bikini flexing in his open yard, and told the photographer to keep shooting him. He rubbed his rod through the dick-hammock and posed again until his bone came out from the lycra and he ejaculated it all over the camera man. The woman who had born him sat parked up the street on the hill and looked down at the teenager bulging his beauty. She touched herself under her skirt until the breath escaped her lips and her legs were sopping wet.

A sensitive Greek guy, 155-lb slender and quiet at 26, gave up women’s advocacy pro-bono cases to live with a Ukrainian weightlifter he met. She put her muscular body on his face and made him eat her 40-lbs larger mass. 3 years later, at 29, he was the one to mount onto her mannish body with 245 lbs that he had changed his life for. He glowed as he forced her into taking his 9-inch dick. He didn’t practice law now, but lifted 400 lbs reps, and kept hulking. He always had a boner and when he saw dudes at the gym sprouting in return, he’d take them to the dark of the sauna and make them get fucked. But always he’d come back to Maktrina and fuck her Ukrainian She-Hulk cunt.

Gregorius had been the beauty on the team. He missed the alumni game for three years, before showing up tellingly huge – he had made his shoulders and chest pumped and thick, and his legs quaded out of his shorts, shorts that packed his crotch. He seam-stretched the silkies he’d worn 3 years before and looked more movie-star chiseled than he ever had. He kicked the ball toward the goal, and watched with a free-cocking gum-grin as the checkered sphere wood-cracked the post. He laughed and tore the tight shirt and pushed down the endowment-shorts so that he stood showing the swell of changed, bloated muscle.

Ronan, a 16-year-old who’d admired Simon from afar, went to St. Mary Saxon College in permanent press shirt and clip-on tie weighing 133 lbs at 5’10”. Thinner and 2-years-younger than his classmates, the gym was a guilty refuge. He lingered quiet and yearning, watching a fear of regret at what he would never do. But one day when they left, he did their moves – oblivious to his stirring response. In his room, after the lights were out, his neighbors heard breathing. Ronan did pushups and situps in the dark. His body got firm, but he wanted more. So, he took a job in the mess hall serving early and started to steal things from the returned trays and took things from the plates, filling his pocket with a yam or wet chicken… protein and fuel. He went to the gym now – but steeled himself to show what he was after and he was no different than the rest – except he was – there was something that they saw in the set of his face and the grimness of his eyes. In his room, he ate parceled portions. Every 2.5 hours he shoveled his mouth with a 16 oz dose of some tray-pilfered fuel. During the day, he popped pills and more. He slept in the back of the classroom and sometimes even on the corner of the weight room floor. With the napping and the 7 hours he slept each night, he got a total always of 13 per day – recovering and pushing and in the end changing. He did change. The impact on his metabolism would have to have been expected. In a year he’d increased 19 pounds and weighed 152. Another shy guy at the gym made a pass at him. The guy fucked him once and only once, but Ronand decided he didn't care what it took to get huge. The first stuff he tried was crap – he realized that later even as he appreciated the pin pricks in his ass. But now he was serious. Even as artificial as it was – it managed to drive him to 157, a threshold that brought him against a realization he’d never mulled. The five pounds made his ass and thighs tighten to a degree in his catholic pants that something snapped, something made him aggressive for so much more that he could never go back. In February, in Manchester, he spent $5700 on what he could only dream about. What he obtained filled a structured rack he’d prepared for the year. It was funny that even the act of taking his already 24 lb heavier body to the bank to withdraw the cash for this purchase had boned him such a hard rod. Fuck the doses that he immediately took so recklessly heavy, that was the glory of becoming what he knew he’d become. He’d sit in his bathroom and look at himself and stroke. He’d shoot the syringe up into his balls and put the juice where the sperm had just been. Sometimes he'd even dose the syringe again. The first 20 lbs that he gained felt awesome. The attention he got was fawning and stupid – people touching his muscles and him acting unknowing to the press of his groin. Lay off 3 or 4 months he told himself – but he stripped naked and masturbated and realized that he couldn’t do anything but become more. When 40 lbs more packed on his body, he realized that he was really just starting to lift iron– he pushed 4 plates per side and blew cum just straining them from the bench. Those fucks had to know what he had become and when he showered down in the gym, he ripped the curtain from the rod and stroked his fat cock hosing it so they all could see. Once he’d gotten a 220 lb body, he lounged for hours in the common room dressed in only white-cut briefs. Around campus, he fucked like an dog, bedding tender women and their dudes as well. The transformation before his eyes was prantopyc. He loved it and made it more and more – seeing how he responded. The summer before senior year he worked pouring concrete in the afternoon. He’d break concrete blocks against his back. At night, he buffed and fucked for a porn review. In the morning, he dumped a huge steroid shot into his lat or ass or pec and then lifted 100s of pounds of squats and pressed 440 from the bench at the gym. Through it all, there was the constant juice – the sting of the needle, the oily taste of the pill. And the doubled unsafe quantities. It was fucking efficacious and when he’d come back to St. Mary’s, he’d added 40 pounds and stood in the center of campus like a collegiate bull - Mr. Olympia created in a royal blue squarecut and glistening boy-clear skin, but weighing 260 lbs. He was such a beefing hulk that he couldn’t believe how he’d ever been before. He liked to look at the school uniform in his closet and hold the small shirt up against his mammoth coveted vee. He liked to put his striated quad the quarter-way that it would go into the wool school-boy pants and then flex the fuck out of it – holding off the day that he’d rip the garment to shreds on his monstrous body. He’d throw the clothes back in the closet, and lower himself onto the bed where he’d fuck himself off against the mattress while in the mirror he watched the massive European-huge bodybuilder he’d created. Lying wet, he’d sometimes let his handsome roommate lick and tongue his thick, bulled-up balls and muscular ass and back. He sent a letter, and Simon came. When Simon entered the room, Ronan stood behind the door and swung it closed, looking at the still boyish Irish youth. In the locked room, Ronan came up behind Simon and brushed his hand into the catholic boy’s ass. He brought his bulging gun around Simon from behind, and let his gargantuan mass nakedly press against the choirboy who no longer knew him.

Diego looked at his own body. His legs stuck straight out from his hip joints – narrow and model boy soft. His arms extended from his shoulders as long slender pipes. He rubbed on his tiny joystick and let his eyes return to the mounded hulks above him. Fuck. Each steroid-endowed once-boy lorded every centimeter of their grotesquely pharmaceutical-throbbed mass in scanty pose-briefs that shined around slink-wrapped dick. Diego yearned to one day be one – to impossibly have the thrill of showing all that he had become.

APPENDIX C – MID-SCRIPT: DRINKING ===================================

Diego scooped the steel barrel into the near-empty swamp. He had 98 gallons in the 100-gallon vessel, sealed it, and put it down. He stripped his 430lbs naked. His triangled, soaring physique couldn’t feel more mighty and dominant. He pushed his powerful, swollen muscles into the remaining foot of swamp goop, and lowered his mouth and started to drink even as his growing body sucked greedily through his papered skin.

He passed out and when he woke 24 hours later the pool bed was entirely dry. •

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