The Nutritionist 3 (ap musc mc)
by Aardvark
Ken had been anticipating his time with little Clayton greatly. Having guided the rest of the Malones into hunkdom, it was only natural to make Clayton their best and brightest.
The door creaked open and Ken saw fat little Clayton, fast asleep. His dark blond shag was partially covering his face, and his big belly moved up and down, rhythmically. Ken sized him up. He was a big kid, real big. If he grew into his body right, he’d be a good football player anyway just because of his size. His skin was sweaty but unblemished due to his young age, and he looked a lot like Jack – the same sharp features, which would be so handsome if not covered by the round chubbiness.
“Wake up, Clay.”
The boy’s eyes fluttered open, revealing the ice-blue irises beneath. Of the four Malone boys, Clayton certainly had the most potential with which to work.
“Heyyy, Mr. Peavler,” Clayton muttered, with the diction of a recently awoken child.
“Stand up, kiddo.”
Clayton did, amidst grumbling.
“What are those noises?”
Ken listened to the grunts and moans coming from the next room and wondered just what, exactly, the Malones were getting into. Hopefully they were just lifting weights…as opposed to the nastier alternative.
Ken hesitated to answer the question. “Uhh… the heater.”
Clayton accepted this answer.
“Clayton, have you ever thought about playing football?”
“Dad said somethin’ about it once, maybe. I’m fat so I could probably do something like that. Why?”
“Because I can tell, you’re going to be great at it.”
“How?”
Snap.
Clayton slumped onto his bed, his belly pooling over the waistband of his jeans. His whole body was relaxed.
“Thank you for being relaxed, Clay. You’re going to go by Clay now. Clayton just seems too… formal.”
The syringes were unsheathed and filled as he spoke.
“You’ll go by Clayton in a few years, when you’re in the NFL. But for now – your high school years – you’re just Clay. Got that?”
Clay nodded. He breathed heavily, but that was the only sign of tension in his ultra-relaxed body.
“You’re going to age nine years now, Clay, and you’ll be a senior in high school. Your Dad entered you a year late in school so that you’d be bigger and stronger and faster than all the other players. You’re the quarterback, and you are.”
Clay nodded.
“So change, Clay.” The needles slipped in. “Change.”
Clay’s head rolled back and he slumped against the wall.
“Let’s mix things up a bit,” Ken muttered to himself, and he snapped.
Clay sat back up and looked around, dazed. “What’s going on? Where am… Jesus… aggghh…”
The door burst open, and all of the new hunks burst in.
Ken blasted out of his seat. “Christ! What in the hell? Why did you come in here?!”
Dallas tweaked his nipple. “We wanted to get Cla-what in the hell? Who’s that?”
The blond stud stared at the twitching, chubby mess cowering in the corner. “Who are you?”
Clay looked up, his body writhing. “I’m Clay, you dumbass. I’m just… nnnghhh… not good… shit!”
As Ken and the Malones watched, Clay began to change. He clawed at the wall, seeming to pull himself up as his torso got longer and longer. With the new height, his gut began to literally recede into his chest. His double-chin was disappearing.
“What the fuck?” Jack watched his son. “What in God’s name is going on here?”
“Clay accepted that it was time for him to join you all as Malones.”
Clay slammed his head against the wall, grimaced, then did it again. The bedsheets were twisted into balls in his tensed hands. “Graah!”
He was growing fast, his legs stretching and kicking out before him. The sound of the bones stretching didn’t bother any of the Malones, in fact, it almost sounded familiar. Clay’s voice, the squeaky, pre-pubescent one, was also changing. It was louder, and deeper; masculine. The tone of it reminded Ken, and all the men, of Reese’s voice, with a more youthful edge.
“Oh, there we go. I recognize him now.” Curtis looked at his little brother’s face, and watched it begin to age. The skin around Clay’s mouth rippled as the crooked teeth inside straightened out; the boy even spat out a few baby teeth that were pushed out by the growing adult ones underneath.
“God! SHIT!” The manly voice did not match the fat boy’s body at all.
The new Malone genetics began to take over. Clay’s thin lips filled out and the bridge of his nose straightened, his ears looked like they were shrinking but only because his head was, literally, getting bigger. The natural, dormant chubbiness was being sucked away. Clay’s jaw was reshaping, getting wider, getting rid of the round face of the boy and replacing with a sharp, square one. Clay’s maturity was shining through; in fact, he had naturally masculine features that made him look older than his nineteen years. He was the spitting image of Jack, now, as his brow thickened and his sideburns filled in. His hair was so black that it had an almost-blue sheen, it was short and wiry, semi-military and all jock. His chin sprouted a healthy tuft of the same black hair, the then tips crawled up in two points, coating the strong chin with a thick, black goatee but leaving above his lip hairless. He was hip, he was young.
Clay tore off the remainders of his shredded clothes, leaving his twisting, naked body exposed. His dick grew long and hard, and his balls dropped so low that no doubt was left of his maturity and masculinity. Clay was all man.
The feet cracked and grew along with his hands, and just like that, it was over. Ken’s work was done.
The six men stood in the room, motionless.
Clay looked around, his ripped torso flipping one way and the other. “Oh, fuckin’ shit… where’s my jock?”
He rummaged through the clothes and found one, slipping it on with false modesty.
There was an awkward silence.
“Well, gentlemen, uh…” Ken looked at the Malone family, built to the max. Beautiful faces, muscular bodies. Nothing hard to love here.
“It has been a privilege working for you all. If you need anything else, here’s my card.”
Dallas was closest and took the business card.
Ken calmly walked out to his Porsche and started loading it up. Jack followed him out, scratching his wide chest, looking every inch a football man.
“Thanks for all the help, Ken.” The men shook hands. “We’ll eat better now, because of you. My boys all love the game so much, and I think you gave us a longer time to play it.”
“Oh, with pleasure.” Ken slammed the trunk shut and got in the car. “Oh, and Jack…if anyone you know is in need of my services, definitely have them give me a call.”
“Will do.”
The nutritionist drove off.
END