Adam Ponyboy


By QuoteTheRaven

It was in the fourth week that Adam had the opportunity to place his arm over Trib’s shoulder to get the touch he’d thought about since the first day. The contact demonstrated immediately the fragility of his own arm against the bedding that muscled Trib’s shoulder globe.

How’s it going for me, Trib? he asked feeling weak and like the over-estrogened prep-boy who four weeks ago had barely ever spent a night away from the cookie-cutter predictability of Maple Brook Circle. Adam drank in Trib. Trib had slabbed so much muscle onto his pinch-thonged corpus and Adam was touching it, getting to put his arm on what ‘til now he’d only seen.

Trib smirked at him and his breastplates pumped bigger ever obedient to Trib's cocky desire to show-off their size. It was amazing how Trib’s physique could surface such extreme separations at the most hair-triggered demand of Trib’s will. With an easy clench, Trib scissored his steel muscle fibers and the papered surface of his skin erupted like a bodybuilder who had gained the ability to show veined glory without ever needing to cut and diet and shrink down to the size that would be exhibited on the day of a show.

Don’t you know how it’s going for you? Trib laughed and handed Adam a shake. Let’s go in here. Trib pushed Adam onto the scale, while Adam’s wandering, workout-exhausted mind drifted to a hoped for fantasy far away. Hop on.

Adam mounted. He watched the dial swing beneath the needle. The needle stopped. He was expecting to see a reading of a pound or two. Instead, his blood rose. It was 8 pounds. He had already been made into 129 lbs.

It was a feeling he couldn’t shake. All afternoon he mooned over the feat. His lankiness crossed itself and his hands suspended his head. 129. He wouldn’t have felt it at all – couldn’t detect it with his hands. But it was a number to be proud of. To think, he weighed 8 pounds more.

He wished the intense aching in his body could fade, but knew that if it did the thing that would afford him to change would be stalled. He had to continue – it didn’t matter.

A week and a half later, the lunch line was long with Adam at its back. He was 132 lbs and smiled, loving the feeling that he was working to add weight. Yet, he almost hated the feeling he got from eating the quantity they told him was demanded to grow.

He stood in the line and already felt uncomfortable. The late breakfast he’d eaten – the 2nd meal of the day – still seemed to sit in him making his intestines feel full and robbing him of an appetite. He’d suggested waiting until his hunger had begun to grow again, but Trib and Dennon had demanded he go up for more. You must gorge, and then we want you to gorge some more. Cut between meal-times they pressed. Adding a seventh meal was the cruel goal they were working on now.

He looked at his slim belly. It’s tough for you isn’t it fellow, he said in his mind, but still there’s a job to do. The discomfort and dread made it hard for him not to hate the need to load mouthfuls upon mouthfuls of food down.

His thoughts swirled and the metal-barred labyrinth of a line he was following approached a reverse and he shuffled around its wind. The u-turn pointed him toward those who had been standing behind. There was a sight that wrenched his mind away from his eating concerns. Two back was a blond. It was incredible whoever he was, what he had done.

His dirty face drilled blue through eyes set near against his nose. The throbber had cheekbones that sheltered hollows of blood-rich rose. It was a powerful visage, but even more overwhelming was what was below. On the bod, the baseball-player limbs had been pumped-up to a dais-boy’s dream. The chest stretched the tattered shirt into two cotton-suctioned domes.

Adam’s cock tingled immediately and buzzed a jolt down its length and back up. He leered at the player’s heavy groin. Frick, the thighs widened from a crushed waist to 29 or 30 inches wide. The things were torpedoes turned upside down.

The caloric indifference which moments ago muddled Adam’s mood evaporated now. He knew he wanted to pack it in, wanted now to let the stuff make him grotesquely full. He couldn’t give an F--- how uncomfortable it would make him feel.

At the front of the line, Adam unrecognizably demanded seconds and thirds on the side.

We’re going to make you bench with these 25’s, Dennon said. Adam looked at the plates. Then at his arms. They were 3/8ths inch bigger now but so frickin’ puke thin. His chest was the flat yard of a Kansas farm.

He bounced up on his toes and wrapped himself hand in hand. He wanted it, had no idea how weak he still was. eFF FF F! Barked out of his mouth, trying to drive him into a more aggressive mode.

He grabbed his breath and let go hard. Just you watch me f’ing have no problems with this, he said. Dennon and Trib smiled at each other approving of the attitude that was beginning to show. With 6 reps done, they watched and realized he wasn’t going to make it another. They finger-tipped the bar dismissively and made his muscles churn out 6 burning reps more.

Four weeks passed and Adam teetered on his bunk grinning at the moans he made in pain. 139 lbs balanced on the mattress’s edge and he fought to keep his cock from inflating right there and then. He re-squeezed the Ben-gay and worked it into his thigh and up into his groin. The cream brushed accidentally on his balls. UnngH itttburrnsittsssocold. It hurt, but god it felt good too. Next, the ointment went onto his bone-showing front where it evaporated into the featureless plain, the same way it had vanished into the twigs of his limbs. He let his breath sift through his skullish chambers.

Finished with the first aid, measuring now seemed foolish, but he circled his blocky fingers around his upper leg. He could tell nothing for sure.

He pulled the string from the bedpost. In life there’s a lot of time to do nothing and he’d spent his placing knots at intervals one inch apart. The 13th occurrence was black, darkened with a touch of ink. Journeys have starting points, and the 13 inches happened to be the one for his thigh. He looped the twine beneath his leg and overlapped the ends together on the top of the unremarkable skin of his quad. He lifted his foot from the floor and flexed hard. His muscle rounded ever so slightly but with no sign of a cut or ridge anywhere in sight. He cussed. He cinched the circle watching the knots slide past and his mood turned around. It was an inch and half of size that he’d added to his leg.

In the gym, Dennon and Trib pushed the rack to block the closed door. We’ll give you your freak show, Ponyboy, said Dennon. Adam watched, his blood rising. His envious desire thumped stronger than he wanted to let on. He coveted what they had, wanted their narcissistic exhibition of freakish fetished bods.

Dennon pulled off his sweatshirt and a 49-year-old’s gnarled bulk showed. It thickened with 264 lbs that knotted everywhere. You love it don’t you, puss? he grinned at Adam and swung his hard lumps from pose to pose. Don’t worry about your reaction, little one…. Go ahead… oh just let it stir. Adam resisted but still felt his heart thumping in his Penis’s soft vein. Dennon derided him and then turned to Trib. You show yours too, Adonis. He bammed his fist into Trib’s gut, crunching harmlessly against Trib’s college-marble wall. Ponyboy, did you know that two year’s ago this Hulk was a puny, nothing punk? He was pretty though. And then he grew. Now he’s massive like Hercules himself. Don’t you agree?

Adam looked at the unmeasured muscles on the 281 lb young male god. Adam’s eyes filled with the lust for what Trib was. His penis could no longer cling to its flaccid state and large piping thickened in his shorts.

Trib strained to separate his sweatshirt from his size and tore it, unable to more easily get free. He shoved his gripping pants off of his ass. His heave-boy traps lumbered on his neck and his torso hulked over his fuckman abs. Behind, his ass rounded in two gorgeously hard balls and in front, his bumpered wheels crowded in on his sucking-to-his-growth pouch.

Adam’s head craned hornily eying the sexed-up massive groin. Trib’s 27-year-old torso so overhung his teardropped legs that it should have been impossible that his cock still sausaged as though it was a pork-roll or a beer-can shoved into the skimpy garment’s small confines.

Hey, beasty, look back at me too. Dennon stretched his ‘trou’ down. His thighs gnarled with the width that was a shadow of the younger man’s mass. A jock and good size, Dennon said as though making a point – his index finger aimed at his groin. It was two degrees lesser than Trib’s superendowed pack. That was it, they could tell from Ponyboy’s panting face and his poling hose what their exhibitionistic show had done. Dennon started to pull the rack to free the door, but Trib turned quick from Dennon’s back and gave Ponyboy a last wonderful near-naked pose every muscle full and massive and veeing to his tight, suggestive poser – the poser that Trib pulled a few inches away, grinning cockily as he exposed inches of the cream-colored root of his 9-inch long dong.

Keep it going, kid, said Trib and Dennon. Then they had Ponyboy do four sets more, each with an additional fifteen pounds. This is just the start.

This collection was originally created as a compressed archive for personal offline viewing
and is not intended to be hosted online or presented in any commercial context.

Any webmaster choosing to host or mirror this archive online
does so at their sole discretion.

Archive Version 070326