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|I wasn’t the best-built guy at my gym, but I was no slouch either. I’d been working out hard for the last 4 years, 4 days a week, and dieting like hell to get the ripped muscled look I saw in the magazines. I figured, short of winning the lottery, that was the shortest route to attracting the kind of women I wanted. It was paying off – I now sported a 31” waist, 45” chest, 16” arms and a visible 6-pack – nothing to be ashamed of. In fact I enjoyed checking myself out in the wall-to-wall mirrors in the free weights area from time to time – no harm in appreciating my own hard work, right? And to prove that it was working, my current girlfriend was a true babe.
Maybe I was getting a reputation for narcissism or something, because one day after a punishing leg workout, I returned to my locker to find something draped over the hook on the outside. From a distance I thought it was a pair of women’s panties – a practical joke? – but as I got closer I saw it was a pair of those lycra bodybuilding briefs you see on the hulked-out muscle dudes in the magazines. Posers, they call them. I had always been mildly disgusted by the blatant exhibitionism of the guys who stuffed themselves into these things – and anyway, it made it obvious how much the steroids shrank their equipment away to almost nothing, with their pathetic little bulges in front. I felt sorry for them, at least on that count.
I laughed to myself – somebody must think my head was getting too big, leaving me this as a joke – and I reached up and grabbed the flimsy strap, getting ready to toss it back in whoever’s laughing face was about to come around the corner. Something odd happened as soon as I touched it, though: it gave me a strange, soft tingling feeling in my hand. I looked down at it: two laughably small triangles of medium-blue lycra (I wasn’t even sure which was the front and which was the back) held together by string-like side straps. The fabric was thin and silky, and I saw as I moved it around in my palm that the fabric shimmered and changed color subtly, in a way I had never seen fabric do before. And that tingle – it was weird. It felt good in my hand.
I looked around. No snickering buddies made themselves apparent – in fact the locker room was eerily quiet. No one showering, no blow driers going, just the sound of my own breathing. I raised the posers to my face and sniffed – I’m not sure why. No scent. But when the fabric brushed my nose for an instant, I felt the same tingling sensation there. A pleasant, low-grade buzz of sensation. I looked down at the posing suit again, perplexed.
It took me about one second to realize that if that tingle could transfer to my nose, it could probably transfer to… anywhere on my body. And given the parts of the body this little garment was meant to hold…
I dropped the posers on the floor. This was too weird. Shaking my head, I stripped out of my shorts, jock and tee and dropped them in a sweaty pile on top of the mysterious gift. I grabbed my towel and went to shower… but now I was alarmed by the sudden heft and weight of my cock as it swung between my legs. I had a definite soft-on… damn it, why had that thought occurred to me? I didn’t want any skimpy bodybuilding outfit, even if it did make my cock feel good… but now I couldn’t get the stupid thought out of my mind.
I fought my erection during the whole shower. It seemed like just the act of soaping my body made me extra aware of the tactile sensations – my slicked hands sliding over my muscles, my plumped cock dripping suds from its expanding tip. I was terrified I’d get fully hard and someone else would walk in – but the shower room stayed mercifully empty.
I cut the shower as short as I could and dried myself walking back to my locker. Reaching in, I pulled out my boxers and bent to step into them… but something, curiosity or horniness, stopped me. I looked down at the pile of sweaty gear at my feet, knowing that the blue strap was buried underneath them. Could it hurt to just try them on?
I dopped the boxers and dug under my stuff to hook the strap on my finger. I lifted it up and marveled again at the thrum it sent through the knuckle it hung from up into my hand. It was so tiny – how could anyone really fit into this? “Fuck it,” I said under my breath, and bent to put them on. I guessed that the slightly bigger triangle of lycra was the seat, even though neither the front or the back looked big enough to cover anything adequately. I stepped into the posers and started to draw them up.
Immediately, I could feel the tingle touching, tickling, teasing my skin where the strap happened to brush my legs on the way up. As I got them past my knees, the contact became constant as the leg holes stretched around my quads. The feeling seemed to become more intense as I pulled them higher and higher.
Suddenly I was scared. This was not normal. And my cock had taken on a will of its own, now hanging thickly at half-mast from my body, in anticipation of being wrapped in that warm tingle. I stopped pulling the posers up, leaving them stretched midway up my quads. I looked down at them stretched between my thighs, the shimmering blue pouch beckoning to my curious equipment.
At that moment, I heard voices coming into the locker room. It was Benny and Judd, two of my lifting buddies (I had suspected Judd of planting this on my locker in the first place). I was suddenly presented with a split-second decision: shuck the posers and try to hide my embarrassing hard-on from my friends, or quickly pull them all the way on to hopefully corral my growing cock. At least my hard-on wouldn’t be as obvious that way, except that I would have to explain why I was wearing a faggy-looking pair of blue lycra panties to my friends.
Something told me I would regret greeting my friends with a naked hard-on – so I chose the second option. I yanked the posers up and stuffed my pulsing but still-flexible soft-on head-downward into the surprisingly stretchy pouch, trying to minimize the bulge. As soon as I had done it, though, I realized my mistake. The vibrating thrum wrapped my cock and balls in a liquid glove of pleasure, unlike anything I had ever felt. The pouch seemed to form some kind of vacuum seal on my groin, sucking tightly against my cock and balls, leaving no square millimeter of skin uncontacted, and showing every ridge and vein of what was underneath. My dick jumped to the next level of stiffness, but now it was trapped head down under the thin, stretchy fabric. And instead of flattening the bulge as I had hoped, these fuckers seemed to actually accentuate it. As my cock kicked out against the pouch at the incredible sensations it was enveloped in, the pouch seemed to stretch and lift everything forward and out.
My buddies rounded the corner talking about something, but the second they saw me they both fell into silence. I looked at them helplessly, my face beet-red.
After a few seconds, Judd said, “Well, look who’s trying on his lingerie.”
“I was just, ah,” I stammered, “ah, trying these on. They’re for shows, you know, bodybuilding, ah, posers.” Fuck, the tingle felt good. It was like these posers were sucking me off with some kind of superhuman tongue. My dick twitched again, trying to extend against the tight, yet stretchy confines it was wrapped in. The involuntary contractions made the whole obscene package jerk and bounce lewdly suspended helplessly in front of my pelvis. I had never been so embarrassed in my life.
“Whoa, buddy,” said Benny. “Looks like you’re enjoying that a little too much.”
I was starting to sweat. My heart rate was high and I was breathing harder. Somethng else was happening: The tingle was starting to spread. My knees buckled and I fell back against the lockers, resting on my upper back. I had to plant my feet wide apart to keep from falling down. “Fuuuuck, this feels good,” I groaned, and started to palm my thick lycra-covered package right in front of them. I was mortified, but I couldn’t help it. I let my hands wander over the smooth silky surface, again picking up the tingle that my cock and balls were now enwrapped tightly in. My hardening meat was hot just below the surface, and it felt incredibly good to touch my cock through the fabric – wherever I touched, the tingle became more intense on both my cock and on my fingers.
But that wasn’t all. The warm tingle continued to spread through my body, radiating upward across my abs and downward through my legs. I could literally feel the edges of the tingle advancing across my frame – and as it did, something incredible happened. Looking down, breathing hard as I pawed my thick protruding package, I saw the tingle draw the skin tight against my abs, as my waist actually seemed to tighten to 30 inches or less. Deep muscular cuts appeared between the individual abs that had never been there before. My obliques popped into a heavy, roped vee, pointing toward my pulsing, swelling package. As the tingle spread higher, my lats suddenly widened as though I were sprouting wings, and my sides were latticed from the bottom up with hard-etched intercostals. I felt the thickness of my back suddenly increase, pushing me physically farther from the locker I was leaning against, as it became armored in a thick layer of fatless muscle.
There was another surge as the tingle reached my chest: my formerly respectable pecs bloomed into thick, overhanging domes of muscle, twice or three times as heavy as before. As the swelling reached the apex of each hulked muscletit, my nipples popped out like spongy thimbles, each one alive to the sensation of the still-spreading tingle, rolling forward until they were almost pointing toward the floor as the muscle shelved heavily outward. My shoulders swelled next, bouldering up from my already decent-sized delts to melon-size, no, bowling-ball-size monsters, and my traps humped up to brush my earlobes. Almost instantly my bis and tris followed suit, hulking into what must have been 22-inch bonecrushers. Next my forearms flared into thick sides of beef, and finally my hands popped veins as my fingers thickened and lengthened. At the same time, the tingle spread downward. While my abs were being cobbled into muscle-god relief, my ass was doming out into twin boulders, jutting from my suddenly narrowed lower back. At the same time my pecs were being turned into heaving muscletits, the tingle was spreading down through my legs to trunk my quads and hams into deep-cut, muscle-roped monoliths – at least 36” around, and to pressure-swell my calves into diamond-cut trapezoidal blocks of stone. My bare feet spread from size 10’s to what must have been size 16’s -- my big toe alone must have been 3 inches long. At last I felt the tingle thicken my neck to bull-strength and re-sculpt my face with a deeper jaw, wide, high cheekbones, and a heavy, masculine brow.
Finally, the transformation stopped. It had lasted all of 90 seconds. As the tingle receded, retreating pleasurably back toward my bulging groin, I was suddenly aware again of my heavy breathing, and the way my newly massive chest rose and fell deeply with each breath. I must have been 6 inches taller and at least 100 pounds heavier – I had never seen a bodybuilder both as tall and as deeply, heavily muscular as I was now. I was covered in a sheen of sweat.
That was when I became acutely aware of what these insane posers had done to my cock. Now, forced obscenely but completely inside the miraculously stretchy hammock, I must have been packing several pounds of meat. My package jutted thickly from between my newly trunked-out thighs, held high and springy by the ingenious cut of the pouch. It was wide, and thick, and deep, and deeply in need of attention. The flared, slit-tipped helmet-head was clearly visible through the suctioned-on fabric, where it was wedged tip-down against the twin oranges of my balls. I couldn’t even come close to covering the lewd bulge with my hand – but I could touch it, palm it, stroke it, hold it from below in the gentle cup of my hand and show it to Benny and Judd. It was fucking magnificent.
Benny and Judd. I suddenly remembered that they had witnessed this whole insane spectacle, and must still be in the room. I peeled my eyes off of my newly hulked-out body and looked up to see them, kneeling on the floor in front of me. They both had their gym shorts shoved down and were helplessly jerking on their pathetic little dicks, staring at me, with an anxious, what-the-fuck-is-going-on look in their eyes.
The cognitive dissonance that this caused in my confused little mind was nothing short of complete. Here were my two lifting buddies, heretofore known to me only as straight t&a-loving frat boys, now jacking off in front of me. I could only conclude that I was the object of their lust. It defied explanation, but it was most definitely happening. And the really mind-fucking thing about it was that I liked it -- myself also, heretofore known only as a straight, pussy-loving hound dog. Hell, I guess it wasn’t that weird – I was totally fucking in lust with my own superhuman new body, wasn’t I? Why shouldn’t they be? Every square inch of me made me want to blast hot cum into these overstuffed posers. And I liked seeing the effect I had on my two formerly straight pals.
All of this occurred to me only subliminally – none of us, I suspect, were really capable of conscious thought at the time. There wasn’t time to really process what was going on; we were all just caught up in the throes of something we couldn’t understand. To see what would happen, I lifted my right arm. I kept my left hand cupped around the protruding bulge of my cock, gently kneading its turgid contents as I envisioned what I was about to do. My right arm was heavy as I lifted it -- I could feel the weight – but my new musculature brought it up easily into a tight curl. The way the ball of muscle exploded upward into a double-peaked mountain of granite was mindblowing, and I felt my heavy package jerk. “Bicep,” I whispered gutturally, turning my gaze from where my inward-turned fist grazed the top corner of the split peak, to look at Judd for his reaction. His eyes locked onto mine, his hand sped up on his cock, and with a choked yelp he came, his body stiffening with the force of his orgasm, his little splatters of cum raining on the tops of my feet.
Oh fuck, I thought. I like this.
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