Hunter: I.F.B.B. (musc mc ap)
by Aardvark
There are some interesting developments coming up soon, but this is a pretty straightforward chapter that I hope you all will enjoy.
FYI, IFBB stands for International Federation of BodyBuilders.
They sat in a private airport lounge, the only two passengers in the place. Katie’s assistant and Aaron had given them some privacy before their planes took off, at Hunter’s request.
He had held her hand for the past five minutes as tears lightly coursed down his face. She had sat there, quietly stroking his hand with her thumb, knowing he wanted to tell her something but was working up to it.
“Kate.” Hunter looked up and put his large hand up against her porcelain-doll face, the way he always did. “Katie, it’s really hard for me to tell you this. I want you to promise not to panic. I want you to trust me.”
He saw her eyes cloud, but she didn’t flinch. “I promise.”
And suddenly, she remembered what he’d told her before, the memories of the prior week flooding back in. She began to cry, too.
“Hunter, I still don’t understand. But I really, really…I want to understand you.”
“What do you want to know?”
And he explained everything. He explained his past, he explained Sean, he told her about fixing Henry’s spine, about Max Rogers and Grant Brewer and Lance Ridge and Mike DeSanto, about Stone Morrison and Drew Carver and Arnie at Halloween. It was especially hard to tell her about Tyrell, but he did. Katie really loved Tyrell. It was cathartic, the whole thing – cathartic, a huge release. He cried and she cried and he was open, raw and uninhibited. She listened. Katie Snow was an excellent listener.
The one person he didn’t mention was Neil. He figured if Neil wanted that information out, then he could give it as he pleased.
“Kate, I never wanted to hide from you, or from anyone. I was afraid. I was…I’m weak.” He could barely talk anymore, he was so exhausted from the exertion of baring his soul. She looked at him, his broad shoulders hunched. He did not broadcast his usual power and dominance – he looked beaten and tired. “Please, Katie, please…please don’t leave me. It would kill me. I need you.”
She kissed him on the lips and tasted his tears. “Hunter, look at me. LOOK.”
Their eyes locked.
“I love you and I will never leave you. One day, I will understand what you can do.” She breathed deeply and held back tears. “I love that you were honest with me.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you…” He knelt down and placed his head in her lap. “You are the one with the power, not me. You are my head and my heart. I don’t deserve you.”
“You’ve been saying that since high school, Hunter. Don’t sell yourself short. You are the best man I have ever met. I would never, ever be with a man who didn’t deserve me.” The sides of her mouth slyly curled upward. “I know what I’m worth. Trust.”
“I’ll never change anything again if you don’t want me to.”
She sighed and blinked back more tears before another smile broke through. “You have my blessing. You’re a smart guy, but don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
-----
“I love you.”
It felt Casablanca-esque, Katie and Hunter each standing at their side-by-side gates, making out not so discretely. She was off to Los Angeles, he, Las Vegas.
“I’ll call you when I land, sweetie.”
“Please do. I’ll say hi to Tyrell when I see him.”
She smiled. “I hope he wins this year. Maybe you could give him a little extra boost…”
“Well, look at you already coming up with ideas, you smart girl. But remember those other bodybuilders worked hard too.” Hunter pulled her in and they played a little more tonsil hockey. She pulled away, finally. “I have to go!,” she laughed. “The plane’s going to take off without me. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
Katie and her assistant boarded. Hunter went and waited at the gate, smiling slightly as he heard the usual murmurs. Aaron James walked up next to him and handed Hunter his ticket.
Aaron slipped off his blazer. He was wearing the tightest of V-neck tees and designer jeans to show off his gym-sculpted form. As always, he was immaculate – not a hair out of place, manicured from head to toe. If he hadn’t been standing next to Hunter, he would have been the sexiest man in the gate. As always, he would have to settle for second best.
Aaron rolled his eyes at the chatter around them. “See, Hunter, this is why I always want to charter a plane. No gawkers, although I’m sure everyone enjoyed the show you and Katie just gave.”
“Shut up. No small planes.” Hunter shuddered at the thought. “I’d rather sign a couple autographs than die.”
“99.9% of celebrities don’t die on charter planes.”
“Feel free to become one, and then you can charter planes every fuckin’ day.” Hunter grinned and slapped Aaron’s back.
Aaron smirked. “Touche, asshole.”
-----
“This is unbelievable.”
Hunter strolled into the Las Vegas Convention Center, wearing a very tight Jets t-shirt and a pair of well-fitting jeans. Aaron checked his hair in the mirror before Hunter pulled him aside. “Look at this, Aaron! The Pump Expo is over there, but across the way…” Hunter pointed to a huge banner hung adjacent to the PumpUp entrance.
“A comic book convention. Interesting,” Aaron shrugged before he went back to checking himself out.
Hunter sighed and began to miss Neil. He’d understand what an exciting prospect this was – and now, Katie would too. That realization filled him with joy.
Aaron and he entered the Expo. For one of the first times in his life, he didn’t stand out. Almost everyone was tall, handsome or muscled here – although few were all three, like Hunter. The Jets logo stretched taut over his huge pectorals was a perfect indication that he was exactly who they all thought. No need to ask if he was Hunter Hardy.
He was The Man here. People went ape over him. Hunter had gone to help promote Hardy Health Clubs and was also going to do a Q&A, but a man of his stature, size and beauty was worshipped even at the Expo. He could barely move an inch without signing an autograph or posing. People noticed different things here – instead of somebody complimenting the masculine perfection of his manly face, they would compliment his waist-to-shoulder ratio, or the way his bicep vein crawled out of the sleeve of his tight tee. “You’re a god,” they’d say. He’d smile and take it in stride.
Hunter had grown into his perfection and was now every inch his father’s son, as handsome and well-endowed and buff as Sean ever was. He had a long conversation with some older builders about his father – who they knew. They said talking with him was like being in a time warp, like talking to a young Sean. They complimented his flawless physique and said that Sean had obviously raised his boy well, then they talked about the other five Hardy males rising through the ranks. Before they knew it, a half hour had passed and it was time for lunch.
His phone buzzed and there was a picture message from Katie. “This is all you get to see :-),” it read, and there was a picture of his soon-to-be wife, her shoulders bare with blonde hair cascading down them like a waterfall. The top of an extravagantly beaded bodice, with a hint of cleavage, was visible at the bottom of the screen – her wedding dress.
“You drive me crazy,” he texted back.
A quick response. “I know. That’s the point.”
He sighed and smiled as he wandered out of the convention center. Aaron was nowhere to be found – but apparently, it was lunchtime at the comic-book convention too. Hilariously, almost all of them wandered past Hunter without a clue as to who he was, dismissing him as another hunk who would mock them.
A quartet of guys wandered into the hallway, freshly nourished. Three were well below six-feet and knew it, displayed by their matching black t-shirts that read “Ewok Brigade,” and one was awkwardly tall and skinny, probably six-four or six-five. He, too, wore an Ewok Brigade shirt. It looked as good on him as it did on the rest of them.
Hunter’s smile got even bigger.
“Excuse me, guys?” He walked up to them and they all turned, awestruck at his form, the way his muscles rippled underneath the thin tee. He could sense their jealousy. As much as he hated to admit it, it was kind of fun.
“I’m not from around here,” Hunter continued, flashing his pearly-white smile. “I was wondering if you four could recommend a place to grab some grub?”
There was a long pause. Why was this stud talking to them? Why hadn’t he asked somebody at his convention? He was like three times each of their size. And muscley and buff. And good-looking. Really, really ridiculously good-looking, actually.
“Uh…there’s a Subway around the corner,” the Asian guy of the four muttered.
“A Subway.” Hunter smiled. “Any other options?”
“I’m sorry,” a short, pimply-faced guy said, “but you look so familiar. I know your face somehow and I know you aren’t an actor. Or are you?”
“Not an actor. I’m Hunter Hardy, I’m the quarterback for the New York Jets. I’m just kind of…around. Did the cover of Men’s Health a month ago, won the Heisman in college at Florida.”
They nodded blankly.
“Hmmm…Katie Snow is my fiancée?”
“OHHHHH!” All four reacted. “Yeah! Way to go!” There were high-fives offered.
“’Ewok Brigade’? What’s that mean?” Hunter crossed his arms and sized up the four men who did not know what was coming to them.
“The Ewoks are those fuzzy little creatures in ‘Return of the Jedi,’ they live on Endor. They’re really short, and the three of us are really short. And then we met Steve here online and added him to our group at the last convention. He’s a little taller.”
“Steve, right? Hunter. Pleased to meet you.” Hunter shook gangly Steve’s bony hand.
“I’m Bryant,” the Asian offered. Pointing to the acne-faced one with greasy hair, he said, “That’s Dustin, and he--”, motioning to the shortest and shyest of the group, “—is Luke.”
“Luke, huh? Appropriate for a Star Wars fan.”
Luke smiled shyly, blushed and looked downward. Not the most social guy, apparently, thought Hunter.
“So,” Hunter offered, “I take it you guys are going to the comic book con?”
“What, as opposed to the Fitness Expo over there?” Bryant, who was emerging as the spokesperson of the group, laughed. “Right, as if.”
Dustin looked at the entrance, filled with chattering muscleheads. “We wish.”
“Oh, do you?” Hunter smirked and slowly slid his large hand over an equally proportioned bicep, tracing the line of his large vein.
Steve smiled, his long-face splitting open to show a gummy smile. “Yeah!”
There was an awkward silence afterward. Steve’s grin faded and the four stood there, unsure of what to say in Hunter’s presence. Dustin started to offer the names of other restaurants he’d noticed around the conventions, but Hunter held up his hands and said he would manage.
“Well, I hope you guys accomplish everything that you want to this weekend,” Hunter said. “Don’t let your imaginations hold you down. Nice meeting you all.”
He turned and walked away. The quartet looked at each other with confusion. “That was crazy,” Luke muttered, finally able to speak again but still meek. At five-four, with a head of wavy auburn hair and coke-bottle glasses, he was completely free of confidence.
Dustin nodded toward the convention entrance. “Let’s go back in.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, fellas.” A convention official stopped them as they walked in. “I dunno where you think you’re headed, but it’s not gonna be in here.”
Bryant held up his lanyard. “Why not?”
“Because that pass isn’t for in here. You guys are supposed to be across the way.” The man gestured toward the entrance of the fitness convention.
“B-but that doesn’t…” They all looked down at the lanyards around their necks. No trace of the Frank Miller work on it – it was a gold-illuminated muscleman in a double-bicep pose, with the fitness logo emblazoned across it.
They looked at each other and stumbled back into the hall. “Whuuuuuh?”
Steve scratched his head vigorously and grimaced. “I feel weird.”
“Yeah, me too. Lunch must have had something b-bad. Ahhh, jeeeez…” Bryant crossed his hands across his tummy and rubbed it. His little paunch, fed by Cheetos and Red Bull during epic X-Box Live sessions, gurgled accordingly.
“Hey, Dustin…” Luke murmured. “Dustin, why are you taller?”
“Taller?” Dustin looked down, down the front of his body, down to the floor. It did seem farther away… “My jeans fit though. But I--” He looked at Steve and noticed how similar their levels were. “Luke, check the size of my jeans.”
Luke flipped the waist down and looked at the measurements. “Dude, this says 30x32.”
“What the hell?” Dustin spun around but couldn’t see. “That’s not right at all. I’m a 34x30.”
“Wait, your waist is smaller? Let me see.” Bryant tugged up Dustin’s shirt before Dustin could stop him. Dustin suddenly moaned with pleasure and the four watched as eight cobblestone abs pushed out on his flat, ripped stomach. With another moan, Dustin’s lower abs got veiny and thicker, clearly defined from the two deep obliques disappearing into the waist of his pants.
“I…” Dustin’s eyes got big, but not as big as the other three, who watched in complete confusion. “I don’t know what just happened.”
He looked different already, they could all tell. He was healthy – more than healthy, he was fit - with a trim, narrow waist that tapered into a wider back and chest and broad shoulders. His legs were long and the bulge in his jeans was much more noticeable.
When he looked up, eyes widened in panic, they all gasped. Bryant took a step back. “Holy shit, Dustin, your face…”
“What? What is it? Something wrong?” Dustin reached up and touched his cheekbones, which felt slightly sharper, but what he noticed instantly was how smooth and soft his skin was. No acne. “Oh, Gooooddddd, something’s really happening here.”
They all stared, mesmerized. Dustin’s metamorphosis was getting increasingly noticeable – his greasy hair was shiny now, short and spiky instead of long and stringy. With every breath, he changed. Two round pecs began to distort the t-shirt’s collar shape right as his arms grew too large for the sleeves. He lifted up his shirt again and his abs were even better now, so ripped and carved that it was nearly impossible to believe. There was a stirring in his cock and it shot out longer in his pants, and with a grunt his voice dropped. Two thick, dark brows grew, low and shapely, above his wide eyes.
Luke and Bryant were so transfixed with Dustin’s changes that they failed to notice Steve stumble back, moan and drop to his knees. As Dustin’s broad shoulders grew thick with muscle, Steve’s did too. As Dustin grew to a tall six-foot-two, Steve shrank to a manageable five-foot-eleven, leaving excess denim to hang around his flailing feet. As Dustin sprouted a silky five o’clock shadow, the same shade as dark chocolate, Steve grew a goatee with ginger-red bristles. As Dustin’s skin darkened to a beautiful California tan, Steve’s got pale white and dotted itself with fiery freckles. It wasn’t until Steve moaned so loudly that he came in his jeans – which were feeling wicked tight – that the other three noticed his changes.
“STEVE?”
The person that had once been tall, awkward Steve was bloating into something completely different. Steve released a guttural yell and they all heard his belt explode off his waist, denim tatters flying into the air as he grew outward. His stomach puffed out into a high, rock-solid belly, and before he had time to think, he had delts and pecs that were all each the size of his own head. He looked ten feet wide, a suddenly-massive mountain of a man, completely changed from the scrawny geek he had been. Every yelp was deeper, every growl more gravelly. Steve couldn’t see that his hairline had receded a full inch, the now-ginger buzz thinning out as his goatee grew thicker. He moaned at the way his face filled out, becoming craggier and older, lips thinning and nose growing until Steve had the face of a 50-year-old. His shoulders, so huge that he appeared to have no neck whatsoever, bulked moreso as his back creaked its way into bear-dom.
It was hard for Steve to lift his arms, they were growing so thick so fast, until the black t-shirt sleeves ripped apart to reveal more black fabric underneath. His fingers were now sausage-thick and his wrists were almost as thick as his palms, and he pulled at his collar and began to tear off his Ewok Brigade shirt, revealing a tight-fitting black polo underneath. Hairs from his chest pelt curled through the open, unbuttoned collar, and Steve felt his jeans grow so uncomfortably tight that they seemed to be made of paper. But they didn’t rip, they changed size as he did, becoming tight-fitting and accentuating his large manhood. He bounced one beefy pec, then the other, then both at once as he felt his jiggly mass ripple. He wasn’t even noticing the way his black polo was changing color, the way it got lighter until it was a seafoam green, the way his jeans were now khakis and the cum he had blown into them was cleaned away. Steve wasn’t noticing anything different about himself, really.
Steve looked at Dustin, Dustin at Steve. The bear and the beefcake. Everything still felt weird…
“Bryant, you’re changing…” Luke squeaked, as he watched the jet-black hair on Bryant’s head lighten impossibly to a golden yellow blond. “Stop changing, Bryant.”
Bryant turned to face Luke, just in time for Luke to watch the almond-shaped hooded eyes grow wide and round, and blue, until Bryant wasn’t Asian at all. “Bryant, stop it, y-you gotta stop it.”
Bryant’s adjusting features began to fit each other – plumper, curvy lips, a straight nose, a square chin. Two beautiful brows dipped symmetrically into the sweet curve of his nose, matched by the upturned tips of his lips and the light dimples in his cheeks. He smiled softly. “No, Luke, I like it.”
“You like it?” Luke backed away as Bryant slowly grew taller, his slim stature growing upward and athletic, shoulders and chest and arms and butt all suddenly apparent.
“Yeah,” the burgeoning hunk chuckled, in a deeper voice. “It feels…it feels…oh GOD – have you ever had sex, Luke? Real sex? You haven’t. I know you haven’t, but this is what it feels like. I feel like, like, UUUNGH…like I’m getting fucked stupid.”
Luke could do nothing but stare as Bryant began to passionately tug at his ill-fitting clothes to reveal the developing body underneath. The white-blond hairs on his arms popped against his darkly tanned skin, just like his ice-blue eyes. The paunch sucked inward quickly. Eight abs, symmetrically stacked one on top of the other, glistened like wet bricks on his completely flat stomach. Two large, square pecs inflated on his chest, quickly matched by shapely delts and a large, curved back, leading down into a slim waist. A quick flex, followed by a cocky sneer, showed off his now-large biceps. “Like that, Luke?”
“That looks good, bud,” Dustin said as he wrapped his arms around Bryant from behind.
“Yeah, it does,” Bryant laughed, showing the straight white teeth behind his pink lips. “Fuck, my cock, feel it Dustin…” Dustin ran his large hand down the ridges and rises of Bryant’s perfect torso, wrapping his fingers around Bryant’s large bulge. “Fuck, I feel it getting bigger in my hand.” He began to massage the tender meat and Bryant leaned his head back, neck muscles popping out as he did, to release a shot of cum. “FFUUUCCK.”
Bryant Jung, the Asian nerd, was becoming Bryant Young, one of those cornfed Iowa boys who move to LA to model and make their money by posing for jock pictures and stripping.
Dustin’s beautiful lips curled into a dangerous smile. “Bryant, you’re cut, but you're not big enough. Make yourself bigger.”
Bryant nodded and looked down at his body. “Yeah, bigger…I wanna be bigger.” He shut his eyes and felt the warmth sweep over him. “BIGGER. BUFFER.” With a shudder, he packed on another fifteen pounds of muscle, his blond hair spiking into tips as his face squared completely into pretty-boy jock features. The tight jeans fit around his long, muscled legs perfectly, and his tight white tank top perfectly accentuated the curve of his pecs and flatness of his abs. He had a cobra back, and large, proud shoulders that were connected to two perfect arms. When he turned around to face Dustin, he noticed that Dustin wore the exact same pair of jeans, same distressed wash with holes in the knees. Made their asses look great, yeah, they fit so well. Dustin’s black tank top clung to him as tightly as Bryant’s white one. Fuck, two pretty-boy muscleheads, yeah…
A voice broke their fervor. “You guys are always ditching me!”
All three new men, panting with sexual frustration, turned to face Luke. The short, soft-spoken pipsqueak was quivering with rage. “You ALWAYS leave me behind! I’m sick of it! YOU HEAR ME? SICK! YOU…ungh…you always go ahead and this is no d-different, you’re all hot now and I’m still a fucking Poindexter! It’s all your fault! ALL OF YOU!”
Steve laughed, his big muscle-gut bouncing into his quivering pecs. “Leaving you behind, brother? Do you even hear yourself?”
Luke doubled over and massaged his temples. “H-hear myself?”
“Your voice dropped two octaves in the time it took to make that speech.” Steve rubbed his red whiskers. “And you’re getting a lot wider, but you can’t see that. But the three of us can, can’t we boys?”
“Yeah, Steve,” Dustin smirked. Steve walked over and slapped his hands on Luke’s broadening back, then began to massage it with his huge hands. “Relax, brother.”
Luke shook himself free and stumbled back, mumbling profanities as he grew taller. Dustin, Bryant and Steve just stood and watched, laughing fraternally as Luke changed. Bryant grinned his big, pearly-white grin. “So, you don’t wanna be little nancyboy Luke anymore? Why dontcha make yourself a bodybuilder? Make yourself your fantasy man, like Dustin and Steve and I did.” Bryant began to rub his large, denim-covered bulge as he watched Luke grunt and grumble his way into muscledom. “Yeahhh, look at you, you’re getting big. Stand up – yeah, fuck, you’re over six feet now. You’re my height, you’re six-two.” Bryant’s chiseled face brightened as he felt himself begin to cum. “Luke, you’re doin’ it, you’re getting BIG.”
And Luke was. He began to desperately throw his head around, trying to see every part of his body that he could; awkwardly pulling on his clothes and shifting his weight as if a battle were raging inside of him. The newly six-foot-two frame began to distort, slowly, he appeared to inflate like a balloon. “I feel funny,” Luke rumbled in the bass that didn’t match his meek demeanor. “I don’t feel right. Mmmmmph.” He flexed, throwing his arms in front of him and feeling muscles he’d never had bulge. There were pops as he flexed, shoulders and triceps and chest all slowly ripping the seams of his straining shirt. The words across his chest stretched and tore as he grew big muscle tits, then the collar burst, unable to contain the thick neck and heaving, empowered shoulders. “SHHHIIITTT…”
With every contortion, Luke grew. The heat blasted through his body and fundamentally transformed him. Huge pecs became positively colossal, already-big shoulders doubled in size again. The vast, sweeping expanse of his back curved toward his sides, as his arms were forced out in front of him and he watched them contort and grow. It looked like he was smuggling watermelons in his biceps, as huge veins wrapped around the gigantic muscles. Luke reeled from the pain. “I feel like I’m gonna burst outta my fuckin’ skin! FUUUCKKK!”
The sheer mass of Luke’s upper body began to ripple down into his lower region. His long legs were suddenly knotted with thick muscle, calves blowing out until they looked as big as his thighs. Hamstrings got big fast, spurring on the glutes to rise until he had an ass like a planet, high and round and huge. The big, thick teardrops on Luke’s quads got so huge that it looked as if he could lift a truck with his thighs.
The shaking, shivering bodybuilder began to grow to competition levels, packing on more muscle and mass with every desperate breath. Last to grow was his little cock, with suddenly stretched out long and hard, flopping out of his destroyed boxers. Luke tried to cover himself but even his huge hands couldn’t conceal his manhood. He felt his balls drop low and get bigger, and he saw a blast of cum shoot across his right leg. He flexed his pecs upward and practically hit himself in the face with them. One profound breath was all it took to give him abs the size of cinderblocks, pushing his stomach outward, making abs that looked like a tractor could drive over them. With another push, they separated, an inch appearing in between the two stacks.
“Yeah, look at that big motherfucker,” Steve smirked, massaging his package. “Grow for me, Luke.”
“Oooookkaaayy,” the bovine voice uttered, as Luke began to awkwardly pose while still swelling past 270 pounds. A camera went off, then another. “Look, motherfucker, they’re taking your picture!,” Dustin shouted as a crowd of worshippers began to form around Luke. Luke turned, eyes full of confusion, and tried to strike bodybuilding poses for the onlookers.
“No, no, you’re doing it wrong. Let your sponsor show you,” Steve said as he began to move Luke’s arms and legs into the right positions to show maximum size.
“I gotta…” Luke muttered, so enamored with his own new huge body that he couldn’t feel the changes anymore. “I gotta get to the stage,” he said, starting to try to make his way through the crowd as his three friends followed.
The desire to compete began to grow, then rage inside of him, then consume him. Muscle. MUSCLE. That’s what he was now, a big walking barrier of muscle. As his thoughts turned to bodybuilding, he began to grow more confident, screaming for people to get out of his way as he shoved his way through the crowd. Every now and then, he would stop and pose, and his improvement was marked.
Luke was 300 pounds now, and looked it, every sinewy muscle bulging with anticipation to be flexed. He remembered that he still needed to work on his face, that shy little face.
His hair disappeared, replaced by a shiny bald dome. The thin eyebrows grew brown and thick as caterpillars above his squinting, masculine eyes. “That’s it, Luke,” he heard Steve whisper as they all forced their way toward the stage. “That’s it, make yourself one of those bodybuilders. You wanna be a bodybuilder, Luke, ya gotta look like one.”
“I know – ‘scuse me!,” Luke shouted as he forced his way past other bodybuilders, who gawked at his sheer strength and size. “Gotta get through!”
His grimace grew more profound as his face distorted into hyper-masculinized features, different from both the grizzled mug of his sponsor Steve and from those Cali hunks Bryant and Dustin. A strong forehead emerged from the soft tissue, pronounced, ape-like. His jaw grew large, sharp and pendulous, his nose straightening as the nostrils flared. His face squared, then grew longer, and as he morphed he was all the while forcing himself through the crowd, a very different man than had entered. Slowly, the confusion disappeared from his eyes, replaced with a steely determination. The stage beckoned him.
As he made his way to the front of the Expo, his underwear reformed into a pair of sparkling silver posers, stretched so thin that they looked as if they would explode any minute to expose his bubble ass. “Hold up there, cowboy,” Steve said, placing a strong hand on Luke’s huge left trap. “You’re not quite ready.”
Luke just grunted, trying to walk up onstage as Steve’s huge hands held him back. His skin immediately turned leathery, slightly wrinkled from excessive tanning. His face, so strong it looked as if had been blasted from granite by dynamite, aged well into his 30s, his eyes crinkling and his lips thinning. Looking down on the 300-pound gorilla he had transformed himself into made him want to cum in his posers, and suddenly he felt something different running down his leg. Oil…yeah, he was all oiled up. He ran a finger of the basketball texture of his left pec and saw the paint and slick oil rub off onto it. He sniffed the paint, now all over him, making his body shimmer an orange-gold glow. A smile revealed bleached white teeth. Telltale blemishes popped out around his chest and back but were covered by the burnt orange tan.
“There we go. Get up there,” Steve ordered, shoving his protégé up onto the stage.
Luke sneered as he posed, as the crowd began to yell, as his muscles obeyed his every command. He looked down at Steve, smiling like a proud poppa, his white teeth glimpsed through the red whiskers, with his massive arms crossed over that barrel chest. He looked down at Bryant and Dustin, making out as their hunky cut bodies became oily, preparing them for the upcoming fitness competition.
Luke decided he didn’t want to be a nerd anymore right as Steve, Bryant and Dustin did the same. They all felt their stares toward one another as their minds contorted, facts about comics and movies leaking out as nutrition and exercise and sex was sifted in. Cum began to leak out of their big cocks, and with it, their shy demeanors were gone, replaced by cocky, aggressive studs.
“Mmmmrph,” Luke grit his teeth and flexed, eyebrows and beard area growing darker, veins criss-crossing across his head and neck, as the man finally took over mind, body and soul. With a final cum into his posers, Luke became the reigning Mr. Olympia, and Steve his partner-in-crime and sponsor, lifting with him to greatness. Luke had the genetics, Steve had the smarts. Bryant and Dustin wandered backstage, stripping down to posers and getting ready for their competition.
Hunter wandered into the Expo, drinking a Nalgene full of water. Just one look at the Hulk onstage and he knew that the Mr. Olympia was one of the quartet. “Now, the question is which one are you?”
He wandered over to the massive bear near the stage, the freckly guy who was obviously muscled but so round at the same time. Huge arms and chest and gut, about to burst through the seafoam polo. Hunter figured this was another one.
“Excuse me, sir?”
“Mr. Hardy! I heard you were here.” Steve extended his hand. “Name’s Steve Lohrenz.”
“Ah, Steve.” Go figure the skinniest one would want to really compensate.
“You his sponsor?” Hunter nodded up to the stage, where Luke was smirking and preening like a proud rooster. “He’s got the best symmetry I’ve ever seen.”
“Well, that’s why he’s got Olympia now – and ‘cause of me,” Steve bragged. “Yeah, Luke’s the best in the game.”
Oh, Luke. Okay. Guess he didn’t like being short, either.
“Listen, Steve, I’m actually looking for two guys named Bryant and Dustin. Would you know where they are? I have no idea what they look like.”
“Bryant Young? Dustin Nussbaum?”
Hunter shrugged. “Presumably.”
Steve’s belly rumbled, causing his muscle tits to quiver. “Probably off shaving their asses together, or getting eyebrow waxes or something,” he laughed, lightly hitting his hip. “Nah, I’m kiddin’. My bet would be the pump room. Those two kids are workin’ out if they ain’t makin’ out.”
When Hunter finally made it to the pump room – it was difficult to get there, signing autographs took up a lot of valuable time – he immediately could spot Bryant and Dustin. How could you not? They looked like Abercrombie bros, the most handsome men in the room. Only a changed man could make himself look that good. Every muscle popping with a fresh tan. A perfectly structured face with bright eyes and a straight smile. And not a trace of Asian ancestry…it was so fascinating to see what people “fixed.”
“Bryant Young? Dustin Nussbaum?” The two men responded to their names and grew excited at the sight of Hunter Hardy. “Dude, Hunter Hardy! NOO WAY!”
“You guys look like two winners. Which one is which? I was told I had to meet you both.”
The blond’s eyes twinkled when he smiled. “I’m Bryant, bro.”
The brunet with the brows and stubble raised his hand. “Which makes me Dustin.”
“Wow, impressive. You two obviously know exactly what you’re doing. Listen, my Dad is going to start work on an ad campaign for Hardy Health Clubs soon. If he needs two models, I’ll give him your guys’ names. If that’s okay, that is.”
“For sure, bro!” Bryant grinned even bigger. “That’d be rad.”
As Hunter made his departure, he looked back over his shoulder at the two peacocks, posing for each other. He couldn’t help but laugh at the sight.
Fantasies were strange things, weren’t they?
To be continued