|Spread your legs. Open them, Ad-dumm. Oh, won't you do it for me?, Romiano coddled the boy who gave himself. He savored this lad so turned on imagining muscles and size.
Rom-ee watched Adam pull out his dick and then watched as the kid in the 6-foot-2ed body timidly tapped stains onto Romiano’s acne'd abs. Adam was beggarly. Rom-ee tugged the loop around Adam’s balls. The kid’s pipe hung, thick, against narrow bare-adolescent thighs. What a prig.
Yeah. You’ve got yourself a great big dong. Romee said. But nothing else. Romiano laughed and disrespect escaped from his mouth.
Romiano edged the legs apart. Oh, these things are sensitive - aren't they - sensitive... . Adam flinched as Romiano's nails nicked his thighs. Adam’s nasaled caverns moaned.
Romee navigated his way past the 12-inchers to 9 inches from Adam’s groin. Rom-ee’s wrist brushed the dick lip of the kid’s big member. You like that, Ad-dum? He pulled the straps around Adam’s wrists. You like the pleasure, Ad-dum? You wan't the pain?
Romee switched to the other leg and re-approached the disproportionate groin. As he neared the intersection, he bent double. How’s this, fay lover?, he stretched his mouth wide. Oh how hot it was that stretching wide was what this cock caused.
He finished and then he lisped, his voice gurgling because of the liquid left in his throat, It’s getting near, Ad-dum. Then, Rom-ee pinned Adam’s sandy-haired head against the roughness of concrete and whispered [b]HugE, fKIN PunY FcK[/b]. He dildo-slid the flab of Adam's ass with a happiness and continued past the groans of pain. When it was over, Adam huddled on the floor. He could feel the damage of his bruised anus but down his front was the second cum puddle where it dripped all over his front.
It's the pain you will know Ad-dum... It's the pleasure you will gain - just imagine it a hundred times that good, Ad-dum... Imagine yourself three times the size. Adam's rod grew hard again.
Romee flitted his hands everywhere on Adam’s flesh. You've already told them you'd move. Call them now and tell them it's time for you to change.
His hand ran again and again through Adam's innocent's hair.
The regimen was set on him. Limping into the gym, drinking it in; inhaling the oily smell of steel, the unfresh stain of sweat and the lingering assault of saturated b.o. He looked at the shlubs and a scarce studhunk or two. He didn’t know what most of these guys were getting out of this world. But he knew what he was going to make it give him – something his Anne-and-Bob parents wouldn’t have guessed he’d wanted or needed to become.
They had him do 5 lbers, and the beginner pushups on his knees. The fluorescent light emptied the hollows around his mouth. And they could see him puffing his breath. His eyes would drift from focus as he tried to sustain his attention for stuff that was too new. The pool-less pupils of black would extend and it would get haunting as they spread.
His bones moved in the sweatpants standing on the rubber-covered floor. His knees knobbed uncomfortably dealing with the iron or steel. With what he could tell were mis-breaths, he lifted the little dumbbells to his chest seeing in the mirror that his attempts were too much like a dorks.
Oh, feller, Rom-ee’s funny that he’s given us the task of making Samson out of you, they said. You’re a homely, horse-y one. The over-carved hulks watched over him.
He didn’t respond.
His weakness turned out to be more than they’d have guessed. He’d ejaculated so many times with Romiano that he’d betrayed to them how much being something more turned him on. He wanted to be something more than the skinny fellow. He stood in front of them in his tan, picnic shorts and a t-shirt that looked like a sail. His arms came from the empty sleeves like two poles.
They treated him with some support but also condescension as well. What a priggish background he had and now he was thinking that he’d somehow make himself what they had become. They hulked their beastly muscles and sniggered at him even as they liked him and wanted to help.
You’re a cute ugly one, Ponyboy, they’d say, it’s so nice to have a pet. They’d laugh and give him a pat.
Adam could feel the mixed hostility – the cooperativeness but some thread of resentment too. It was intimidating. He felt so unsteady. There was something that was pressing on him giving him a sense that he ought to give up. But, he’d catch himself in the mirror and fantasize about what the others couldn’t see. From his reflected face and neck he would project the expanded massiveness that was the hulk he so clearly swore he would become.
They were crocked not see it, to not to try to imagine what he could force himself to do, to not already surprise themselves with a flash of foreshadow about what one day must be true.
The lifting was threading agony. He was weak. He was a girl held down on her brother’s bed. But, he didn’t care at the pain. He'd endure it in order to go on. Squats were paramount to making the change, so Adam tried so hard and trembled even though even he realized how hopeless it must seem that he didn't even squat one unloaded bar.
The swellmuscles who tended him absently held either end of the bar. As Adam ditto’ed the motion of dropping down and coming up again, he dollishly persisted, until he couldn’t go any more. For the already transformed hulks, with their arm peaks and hump-straining shoulders, this was nothing. Their fingers were showy in the lightening of the weight with only their fingertips as their hips slung cockily in posers and their eyes cast appreciatively across their own packed groins. For Adam, it was gaspably all he could do. He could feel that it was so little, could feel how doubtful it would appear to be. He already wanted to believe in some promise of muscles, in what they could be, in what they'd eventually do. Don’t use your fingers this time, he said in futility. He was trapped as he tried to free himself from his squatted down clumsiness, confronted by a stupid empty bar and by the deficit of strength to make it move.
It was insane. He could only realize then the endless steps that he’d be sentenced to strain in day after inexorable day. In that moment his world changed. He knew he wasn't free. His dreams were to make him a slave of what he would become.
Willingly, he'd induct himself into the unending years that would change him ounce by ounce, that would measure him inch by inch. He’d take whatever he could too to make that sentence as short as it could be… to unnaturally erupt earlier than would otherwise be his due.
Perhaps most others would have seen that future and, dejected, would have let their dreams fade. Or perhaps others would have used ignorant denial to let them pretend that daily “Susie” lifts and “Mary” squats was the same as the work that would actually make them huge.
Those chumps would wake up 10 years from now and have a body like any "Todd" or "Ron". They would never have realized how much more had been required to sear the sculpted muscle of a master onto their frames; wouldn’t have admitted how much a deal with the devil was the price to pay for the glorying massivity of a God.
Adam didn’t cave to his desperate feelings, he saw truth – he could persevere the journey that was so much more the reality - so much more intense because of his slow erotic change. He’d monotonously conquer what was his to become. His intensity would bring it inexorably, the lion upon the Griffin’s wings.
Like an iron trap he’d do all that he needed to do. He’d lift. And the next day he’d lift what was more. In three months, he’d lift for that day heavier still. In two years, he’d lift what now he couldn’t move. He didn’t care if he had to lift 4 years or 4000. He didn’t care if he had to summit Kilimanjaro pulling himself up with a spoon. He would endure – his insane continuity would cause him to eventually become a heaving, colossal man.
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