Pecs Files, The

«1»

By Rad Rx

This story is a spin-off of a couple of early muscle growth stories entitled 'Essay.'

As a member of the FBI department of anomalous reports, I was accustomed to some pretty weird shit. Sure, we had our share of attention grabbers just like all the rest, but in our area, we were required to treat them all as legit until proven otherwise -- no matter how bizarre the circumstances. I was skeptical about the newest file to cross my desk, but I wanted to go through the motions before I had the pleasure of releasing it to the archives.

I had been assigned to investigate the disappearance of a local youth, a male in his mid-twenties. He was described by acquaintances as being in very good shape, so the thought of abduction seemed unlikely. He was last seen at a bodybuilding competition the night of a near-meltdown at a nuclear power plant. There had been so much commotion at the sudden loss of power to the area that no one really noticed his absence until several days later.

Then I get a call from a charge nurse at the hospital, it seems the winner of the bodybuilding contest had been screwing around after his victory and managed to blow up a warehouse. Classic case of shell shock from the explosion, she said, but that he had mentioned the missing kid's name in the few lucid moments allowed by the heavy sedation he was put on. I wasn't expecting much, but I checked it out to be safe. My first look at the guy and my jaw dropped. He had to have been 6'4" and well over 380 pounds. I can't imagine how much they were putting into him to keep him down. My first, and rather unprofessional, impulse was to run my hand across his chest and down his arm. Damn, none of my workout buddies from the secret service had anything on this guy. My brief fantasy was brought to an end when he suddenly came to. I then realized the reason for the heavy sedation; this guy's facial expression had wild-eyed look of a class- A lunatic. Add that to the power of his physique and you've got a very bad combination.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

"Agent Bulger, FBI," I replied, "I'm looking for a young man that you may have been the last to see." I filled him in on the particulars.

"I met him, the night of the contest. Classic myophile, you know, a muscleslut."

"I am familiar with the phrase," I replied calmly. Professional detachment kept me from revealing the same little fact about myself, although most bodybuilders can generally tell by the looks they get from other people, especially other men.

"I took him back to my place afterward. I had no idea that it would happen. He just wanted more. I tried to stop him, I did, but by then he had taken too much. He just kept going." His voice was loosing its coherence. He was clinging to me as he sobbed out "NO.

NO. I'm pulling the plug." I couldn't get much more out of him, so I decided to mull over what he'd said on my way to the destroyed warehouse.

One thing was certain; the huge man whom I'd just left had seen the missing boy. His speech indicated that the kid had taken something that was apparently harmful. Drugs? That made no sense. One: there was nothing of that sort found in the debris of the warehouse.

Two: the odds of overdosing on anabolics (the only thing I could imagine a bodybuilder having much of) in one evening seem pretty far- fetched. Maybe I could learn a little more from the warehouse.

The place was a shambles. The roof was completely blown off. I would need to call in some forensic guys to be sure, but the only indication of an explosion was a fried electrical box on one wall.

And even I knew that certainly wasn't enough to do this to a building. Some searching turned up a video camera in the workout area. I took the liberty of removing the tape. Guy probably used it to record posing routines, and I could 'review' it for potential leads later this evening. The only other item that struck me as out of sync was an odd piece of machinery, or rather, electrical equipment. It was close enough to the fuse box to have been scorched beyond identification. The only piece not fused with the rest looked like a bad science fiction weapon. I wrenched it free and took it to the car as well. It took up most of the backseat, and since this was a solo, low-budget op it wouldn't matter where I studied it.

I made it back to the motel just in time to order room service before the restaurant closed for the night. They took their time, so I unpacked the car. Munching down the burger, I popped the video in to check it out. Much of the film quality was washed out, and I figured it was due to the electrical shock. The pieces that did come through made my dick stand at attention. It showed Ed and the kid, but the angles were really screwed up. How much zoom was on this thing that could make them look so close; aside from that, their proportions were unbelievable. From this angle it appeared that the missing youth was actually larger than the monster of muscle I had just visited in the hospital. None of the reports indicated anything even close to that. This tape had to have been tampered with. But by whom? Ed had been zonked with elephant tranqs since the accident, and no one's seen the kid.

My hard-on still raging from the visuals, I decided to call it a night and call for some action rather than take things into my own hand. Leafing through a local rag, I spotted an escort ad that seemed to fit the bill:

Looking to hook up with some serious muscle? Get Link'd and see what you've been missing. Page Link at 555.1435. Serious inquiries only.

The stats listed were impressive for the boondocks, although his height was a bit lacking. At this point, anything built would have to do. I made the necessary contact, caught a catnap, and tidied up a bit prior to hearing a soft knock on the door.

We had discussed rates and limits on the phone, so he was ready to begin as soon as I was. He had a very decent physique showing nicely through a pair of tight jeans and a black T-shirt. The only piece of jewelry was some type of new age crystal pendant hanging on a chain around his neck.

He checked out the room, and asked what was under the sheet on the dresser.

"Something I'm working on," I replied figuring he was just trying to make himself appear interested.

"May I?" he asked. Since I had no idea what it was I figured what the heck.

"HOLY SHIT! This is it!" he cried after removing the cover.

"This is what?" I asked. "You actually know what this does?"

"I should I helped build and test it before that asshole Ed took off with it," he replied. "By hiring me, you're getting some of the early results of this little baby."

Figuring I needed to hear what he was about to say, I settled in for the usual 'listen and nod' routine of an investigator. He ranted for about 30 minutes about the conceptualization and design, various failed attempts, and the culmination of their efforts to build whatever was sitting on in front of us.

"Anyway, long story short," he said.

"Too late," I thought halfway to catatonia.

"This thing was designed to transform men basically make them more muscular. Once Ed found out that it worked, he ditched me, used it for himself to get huge and successful, and I've been trying to find out where he's had it all this time."

Well, this helped explain the video, but not the disappearance. "Does it still work?" I asked.

"There's only one way to tell," he replied. Without even asking for permission, he hoisted the thing onto the floor and chocked it into place with various items from about the room. The whole thing looked like it would fall over at the slightest shudder, but I let him go.

He set about hot-wiring a power source and adjusting several of the fried wires.

"It looks like much of the control array is toast, but lucky for me I built a manual back-up." With that he removed his crystal pendant and inserted it into an aperture on the side of the machine. With the first adjustment, a blue beam shot out of the 'firing' end and struck the door. I jumped up to turn it off, but he pushed me away. "Relax, it only affects biologicals. The place isn't going to burn down." Mentally revisiting the warehouse, I confirmed that his statement was correct. "Besides, you called for muscle, and you're about to get more than you ever hoped for." Standing up he walked over and stood in the path of the beam.

I saw his body rock with impact when he crossed the beam's path.

With the angle of the machine on the floor, it hit him in the area just above his navel. It quickly spread around his body suffusing his entire frame with a pale blue aura. He didn't appear to be enduring any pain. If anything, he looked more like an addict experiencing a long, overdue hit. His moaning expletives further supported this notion.

With all the weird lighting effects and shadows playing on the wall behind him, it was difficult to tell how effective his transformations were. Any ambiguity in this area, however, was soon deserted when he asked me to give the key a quarter turn to the right. I did so, and immediately saw the results.

His black T started immediately tightening and climbing higher on his arms as his shoulders widened. He flexed one arm and then the other to satisfy that both were becoming large enough to stretch the sleeves. Not that it mattered, at the rate he was going the shirt would soon be history. Massaging a forearm and biceps, he flexed harder to see his hand lose in its attempt to cover the expanding sphere of muscle below.

Inhaling deeply, he smiled and brought his arms up into a smug double biceps pose. The shirt was climbing steadily north, and his navel was revealed nestled into a group of cobbled abs. It was also apparent that he was getting taller as well, since the focus of the beam had already dropped below this point and his jeans had become highwaters over his ankles.

Dropping his arms, I could see the tight shirt gather in small puckers under the protrusion of his pecs. He looked down over them and flexed them in undulating wave patterns. He asked for another turn of the key, and I complied.

The machine replied by giving off a strained, high-pitch whining.

Regardless of how much it sounded like it needed a break, Link had no intention of giving in to it. His ecstatic moans competed with the volume of the machine and were frequently winning. Several deep inhalations and the shirt's seams gave exposing an imposing set of traps and delts. Crossing his arms at the wrist, he paused (whether for dramatic emphasis or no I am uncertain), smiled and reacquainted himself with a tremendously massive set of arms. He pumped harder at the top to further tear away the underseams with pounds of thick lats.

Letting his arms fall, he laughed at the sight of his T-shirt. The arm cuffs now barely capped his shoulders and the underseams were separating further with each breath. It was expected that the expansion of his back would exceed its limits, but both sides of his pecs were also visible swelling and rounding out from the front. In fact, he could barely look down due to their increasing immensity.

Eager for a full-on view the situation, he attempted to reach for the tattered neckline. The mass of his arms and chest conspired to prevent him from reaching. The more he struggled the larger the competing muscle groups grew. Even his back had taken advantage of the brief absence of resistance to fill out so that he was unable to bring his arms to their original position. Giving up on that approach, he simply grabbed the hem of the remains where it crossed his upper abs and pulled down with both hands to separate the front and back of the shirt.

Convinced that he could clasp hands long enough, he roared out a crab pose. His heightened energy seemed to feed back to the device, which pitched higher as his entire body massified during this display.

Regaining his now substantial height, he stood motionless save for the heaving of his breathing torso. He then continued the recon of his developing body.

Nothing any less amazing had occurred below the waist, but he hadn't moved his legs much in order remain in the path of the light. His jeans had been reduced to their pre-sewn forms with the four panels of fabric appearing like some denim parody of a harem dancer's costume dangling from his waist. Thighs more than twice as wide as the fabric overlaying them tensed as he held his ground for more of the beam's energy. The pressure of his muscle-packed waistline finally pulled apart the waistband and belt allowing the fabric to fall freely.

With the energy from the beam crackling and surrounding his body, he stood reveling in the unnatural expansion of his entire physique. He was now tall enough that the beam was intersecting him at the level of his crotch. Although it did not appear to affect the area of direct impact more intensely, he began to grind his hips forward into its path. Stepping wide and adopting a forward hunched grappler's stance, he continued to dry hump the light as his cock started showing the exaggerated effects of transformation. His black boxer briefs pouched and pulled down and away from his waist, and he hefted and squeezed a handful of himself for good measure. This additional effort was all it took to further stimulate himself, and I watched as his cock stiffened and tore through the black cotton fabric. It throbbed visibly with his pulse and continued to harden along the path of the beam, tickled and teased to whatever its final size may be.

By now Link was breathing heavily at the effort of having sex with this machine. His rolled his head on his massive shoulders and flexed more for himself to assure that he was still making progress.

His rumbling quickened and increased in volume until he went rigid and began spewing out into the room. Several heavy volleys were shot hitting me, the bed, and the machine. He fought to hold onto the sensation, and the machine geared up again. I watched as his entire physique pulsed in time to his massive orgasm.

Without warning the machine sputtered and sparked giving out completely, and I was left facing a muscle escort of my wettest dreams. His head nearly touched the ceiling, and I had too look up in order to make eye contact. It was an odd sensation to have a view of muscle that normally required the camera to drop to the floor.

Looking down at me and smiling, he took two floor-shaking steps to place himself directly in front of me. Half-bouncing and half rolling his massive pecs in my face, his moaning became a beefy laugh. "Betcha even Ed would be coming at the sight of this much muscle. He never wanted to take it this far; he just wanted trophies and recognition. Me, I don't need contests -- just this," he said flexing a massive arm.

"Of course, the attention is also nice," he said and pinned my body to his with his other arm. "Go ahead," he offered. My hand roamed up, over and around his chest to reach for his flexed arm. He teased me by pulling his arm back and raising it so that his knuckles knocked against the ceiling, and I found myself half climbing onto his thigh in pursuit. He laughed and dropped his arm lower down my back. Lifting me higher he crushed me between his massive arm and torso, intentionally grinding me to the point of orgasm. Spent, I used my free hand to balance myself on the top of his chest and dared to kiss him on the neck.

I felt a small tremor from him at this and he dropped me onto the bed. Climbing over me, he trapped my head between his arms and forced my face into his chest. Getting into the actual business portion of the evening, I was glad to see that he wasn't a clock watcher as I continued to explore and massage him. After coming a couple more times (I had been coming frequently, but contributed comparitively little to the mess), he finally laid down on his side and pinning me under an arm, spooned me into a very deep sleep.

I must have been more exhausted than I thought, for he had managed to leave the bed without waking me, and when I woke up the following morning both he and the device were gone. •


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