|« PREV||INDEX||NEXT »|
|It was the 23rd week and things had continued to change. He was loving the journey. He felt like he’d only just begun, but already couldn’t look at himself without getting a charge at what he saw. How awesome it was.
At breakfast now, he swallowed fifteen eggs, a bowl of oatmeal, a pound of soy-lard mash. It stretched his stomach. He looked down and could see the bulge where his belly pudged out with what he’d shoved into it. He finished with a small dose of yogurt and some bean-o pills in an effort to control the gas that built up inside with a diet that was so intense.
At second breakfast at 10:45, he worked his way through four oatmeals and then 11 eggs more. He leered when he was so stuffed that he almost felt sick. Then he went ahead and ate a three egg and bacon roll.
Now it was 1:15 and he smiled, high that he could even imagine eating again, pumped that he was willing to keep gorging even when the effort literally hurt.
He contemplated the choices for this first lunch. The ham looked like greasy, over-building fuel. The turkey looked moist and he knew the calories would be intense. He asked for both and scooped up broccoli stalks and spinach besides.
He looked at himself – in continual recurring realization at the actuality of his 194 enlargened pounds. They were pounds that 5 and a half months ago he could never have dreamed he’d now have.
Fuck though – this size was still just too missable. He wanted more – more than this was giving him. He wanted to be huge. He wanted muscle to hulk all over his frame. The fanatic thought pushed any sense of discomfort aside – blew away the resistance even though the pain in his gut sometimes made him groan when he sat in a chair or walked or even lay trying to let the food absorb. The desire pushed aside any discomfort that tried to throw barriers in his way.
Comeon horse man, he said to himself, Bull-gorge… carcass build this body like the king of the beasts needing to dominate his violent Pride. He held the plate back out to the server, Put five times as much on.
Adam held out the massage oil he wanted Trib to use, and then watched the slippery liquid spread across Trib’s hands. Adam lay his 199lbs face down on the bed loving the way the amount of weight on his body now sank into the mattress, loving the double indentations his chest pressed into the springs.
His half-open eye watched Trib. Trib was admiring the modest shape across his back. Muscles smoothly sculpted him now across adolescent lats – he knew from the hours he’d spent staring at himself in mirrors wherever he could find them. He couldn’t get enough of how he was beginning to look as he’d twist over his shoulder drinking in his hot boy ass or his jockish reverse. Whether it was a t-shirt and jeans or wrapped in a towel or standing stark posing nude, he loved to follow the silhouette that was rising out of what he’d once so sadly lacked.
Trib slowly rubbed and Ponyboy could feel Trib’s hands move from his belmont nape to the traipse of his lat. He enjoyed how Trib’s fingers seemed to appreciate the firm elegant curve he was able to offer them.
This is the last sub-200 feel you’ll ever get off me, Trib, Adam said, Remember this… remember what I was before I hulk up to a size neither of us will be able to believe.
Sure, Adam. Sure, I will. Trib told him. There’s Test in this stuff, Pone. It’s more than we should do, but fuck it… we do what we need to get huge, Pone, don’t we… You know you'll get as much as you say.
Give it to me, Trib… There’s no need to show any sense of f’ing reserve.
The grease covered Adam’s skin. The chemicals passed through the surface of his post-teen smoothness and saturated his blood. Drool escaped Adam’s lips into the pillow’s folds. Trib could feel one tight knot and with a dig dispensed it roughly and quickly.
There was something daddyish about Trib's taking care of a younger guy’s needs – maybe that was the reason for the complicating attraction Adam sensed that Trib had started to feel. Adam’s face was so beasty, but since Adam’s body had begun to change it had become something that was so arousing for himself and for Trib.
Frick Adam thought to himself, I’ll give you something to really get you aroused, hulking Trib.
It would be unmistakable that what he was about to do would be done consciously, that he’d be plainly continuing to telegraph the increasing demonstration of his f’ed up horny young-guy wants.
Fucking give it to me. Make me monster huge. Adam said and smiled close-eyed letting the foam of the pillow caress his equine mien. He gestured to Trib with a thumbs up, and then pushed his hips on his organ ensuring that 14 inches of sausage would thrust back into “accidental” show.
The dial on the scale swung to a stop at 201. Adam blasted and threw his biceps into a 15 ½” double pose. Go-Nads, that is nice growth. He smiled at the light symmetry that the changes of the steroids were making so fucking fast. It was nothing much more than he’d been a day and a half before. But, it was such a fucking boner to see "IT" – to see the actual number cross the double-hundred score.
He put his tank on and let it stretch to cover this hard beautifully sized and trimmed body.
You stud pig, he said to himself. He picked up his wrist bands and walked back to the weight room, ready to return his hands to the dead-row bar for countless grueling hours more.
What do you think, Adam? Romiano asked, how does it go? Romiano prodded Ponyboy and tugged at the fabric that gripped around Adam's side. Romiano rested his hands on the young-bulked raised chest. Adam smiled arrogantly in a way that went with the 214 lbs that he’d reached in just the last 11 or 12 days.
He let Romee’s hands massage the once-plane that now showed the germination of growth-domes that would one day separate him from the mere men who wouldn’t fuck to give themselves what he was going to explode horiffically on this beautifully puny-jointed bod.
Ponyboy pulled Romiano’s hands more explicitly on to his body. Let them feel me, Rome… Let them explore what I’m becoming… What’s being done to me. What I’m making myself become.
Romiano’s fingertips roamed onto his neck, rebuffed slightly by the hardness and the mounting traps. Romiano’s palms travelled outward. They tremored at how the t-shirt’s shoulder seam didn’t bound Adam’s thickened flesh any longer. It was flesh that had now buried the shoulder that had once been protruding bone.
Romiano’s hands dropped to the 5 1/2 inches that had added to Ponyboy’s bi. His eyes lingered on his hand cuffing there. Do you feel it – having 80 lbs of muscle added to your frame?
A horny smile crossed Ponyboy’s glowing brow and he roughly said, Romiano, Oh Yeah.
Adam stepped from the smith rack. It felt good. So fucking incredibly good..
He moved before the empty room’s mirror and the six sets’ effort flushed his 219 lb body’s so far from once-narrow thighs – he knew that even guys other than Dennon and Trib would tell that these long, almost 27 ½ inch things were the kinds of things that only a serious iron-hound could build.
The fibers of his quads trembled as he pushed to show how much separation he could illicit with his effort; he already relished what he knew would be the impressive spasms that would come from the intensity he had staged.
He looked at his limbs and smiled. His rankness permeated his nostrils with a pervasive insistence and he was madly self-arrogant with how sweaty and rotten he could smell.
He could begin to see in the mirror what Romiano would launched his wad at, would one day launch his wad at even more – more quickly and more overwhelmed.
The lifting transforms one… really changes a priss into a gorgeous man, he said.
He could see the bright yellow of his shirt groveling the torso that had only just begun to vee-hang and muscle slightly forward over his build. The shirt was a ‘large’ admittedly, but still it thinned around his shoulders and divoted the pinched hold at his armpit where his body was more and more swelling around his 47-inch pumpers and their collision with his 19” arms.
He smiled and felt the blood filling his dick tube.
He looked back to his shirt. The front fell straight – his abs ironed so solidly that his ripped field was f'ing virtually concave. His tube-inflated further – shit he was gorgeous. And now he couldn’t believe that God had given him a bouldered ladder of not a pathetic 3 rungs but fricking 5 instead. No amount of heaving or dosing in the world would have given a man born with six abs the beautiful command of the 10 that he now saw was his. How unbelievably rigid it made his dick to see that that was what was emerging for him – porpoising all down his gut.
He laughed. It was the kind of pummeled rockfield that a lycra’d muscle shirt not a feeble t-shirt should soon be required to make brazenly clear.
The shorts, with no gesture toward modesty, looked changed. He turned and could see that the seat bubbled suggestive on his ass. The outside of each squatted cheek arced still shy of pornographism but still all-about-sex through the drape of the fabric. Man, his butt-fucked buttocks ached – they felt like they had been battered by some homo swinging a paddle a thousand times against his ass.
He ran his hand along the beef-squatted outline and smiled. These haunches… They’re really, one day, going to be incredibly, fucking grand.
His member thumped in his breeches, so he moved his hand away, backing off of the excitation, and turned back to his front.
He liked the sense of chest. The t-shirt sauntered a climb that telegraphed what would one day h-bomb erupt on his upper breast. He made his fingers draw from the outside along the lean line that blueprinted the intended deifiction. He wanted to resist leering at the thought but couldn’t avoid a heightened exhalation that turned into a blow venting from his proboscis. Ah, damn, Adam – it’s just good – really good.
He turned his pupil-dilated eyes to Dennon and Trib and saw that they didn’t care.
His eyes moved around his “fellow-you-have-to-check-again” 219 lbs, appreciating the pretty-boy 1970’s muscle builder shape that he already had, and imagining the changes yet to come.
He let his fingers move to the points of his nipples where he pinched them several times. Aah.
He moved his eyes to the area around his throat. He wanted it to be so different too. A hump intersected his slender neck, indicating a sinewed layer already soldering the word physique to his build. He rubbed his open palms against each other and then dropped them to his pants where he pressed their long flatness so they framed the horse-large masculinity that tubed the pants’ fabric thickly far out from his groin. He’d gone one step too far now and his reverie was interrupted by Dennon’s gruff call, Pretty beasts need to pump into huge beasts, Pony pune boy – or you’ll be getting rather than getting the humped up wrath of a swollen, over-bulging god.
Adam turned back to the squat bar and slid back for more, anxious to lift the 6 1/2 plates he’d put on either side. Fuck he was incredible and he made sure he held Trib’s steady stare as he let his ass sink deep so that his chest touched his thighs and his cock crunched in the squeeze of the sweat-fabric pouch.
|« PREV||INDEX||NEXT »|
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