The Trainer 5
by AKA
The third week with Jove is harder than the previous, which was harder than the first - but so am I.
Harder. Bigger. Stronger.
My old clothes don’t fit. I am rarely in them, anyway. Two hours every day here at Atlas. Working from home, now, because work has become a struggle. Not for me. I own that place. But for those I have been with, and those who want to be with me.
I am approached by my addicts, junkies of the drug of me - the men I encounter whose dreams I fulfill - looking for more. I get little done, and though I am not embarrassed, others seem to have trouble dealing with my size and power.
I overwhelm them, clearly. I can sit in a meeting and all discussion will cease. I will walk down a hallway and jaws drop open and cocks grow hard. I am a distraction, I am told, and free to telecommute. I agree immediately, looking forward to the ability to exist in the nude in worship of my growing strength and size.
My cock is insatiable. I literally cannot satisfy it. Its hunger rules me, like some master demanding my enslavement to its whims and desires. But the only true nourishment that feeds its hunger is this - the iron and steel. The strain and sweat. The growth and size and strength of my muscles. When I grow, it is happy. When I lift, it rewards me.
Jove is as Jove ever is. Watching. Pushing. Praising in meager proportion to my gains, but his words are a balm to my pain. What magic does he know that keeps me growing? Inches of raw brawn swell on my arms. My chest bulges forward, deepening the valley between my pecs. I can see the muscle develop on a daily basis. I see new muscle swelling up under my skin - fibers and cables and wedges of muscle, blooming outward.
“Good,” he says. A single word, but it fills me with light. “Now, legs.”
I do not moan. I do not complain. I replace the dumbbells in the rack, my arms pulse with power, my biceps flexed to their limit, and walk naked toward the next rack, lead by my 10-inch boner wagging like a metronome. We load a bar with weight until it bends. The rack itself begins to complain, echoing metallic whispers under the load.
I position myself under the bar, feeling its cold metal pressing against the hard meat mounted across my mammoth shoulders. I bend my knees. My hands grip the bar and I lift it from its moorings, until its full weight - 900 pounds - rests on me.
I lower the weight. My legs scream. My face grimaces. I grind my teeth together. Everything hurts.
And I press.
Up.
It feels like my muscles are going to burst through my skin. It feels like the weight will force me through the floor, through the earth, straight into the heat of hell itself. The scream my throat cannot form is manifest in every fiber of muscle.
One.
“Again.”
Days like this. The iron and the strain. Meager praise and reminders that I must dominate. Dominate those around me. Dominate my muscles. Dominate my pain and my pride and my growing power.
We complete the circuit. My muscles are pumped - quite literally pumped up - and I feel the heat of growth and the strain of power that sings in every fiber of my sinew and brawn. Veins, some as thick as fingers, swell along my muscle. Sweat drips down the crevices between the bulging heads of my muscle. I feel it trickle over my sensitive skin.
My cock is steel. As hard as everything else. Pumped up, somehow, and bloated with need. The head is a red, glassy cap. The eye is dilated, weeping honey.
Jove watches me drink my third bottle of nectar. I feel the warm, thick liquid branching out to my fingertips and toes, suffusing my muscle, leaching its power into the core of my body. It fulfills and feeds my need for growth. It sustains and fortifies. It builds me from the inside.
I swallow thick gulps with a hunger that only the nectar can satisfy. It coats my tongue and teeth with its spicy, salty pungency. I only want more.
Jove is smiling as he looks at me. His work of art. His perfect prize. His perfection.
I return home, driving naked. I have trouble, now, getting into my small sedan. My cock stays hard, though I do not touch it. I steer through the morning gloom and park in the garage and walk up the stairs, naked. I enter my apartment and smell myself there. I fit through my doorway, thinking how much I have grown. My shoulders now brush the edges of the frame. My hand overwhelms the doorknob. I have taken the nectar into my body, and it sates my hunger for the day.
It must be pure, concentrated muscle, to make me grow like this. I look down at my arm, my hand on the knob, and look at the swollen cables of brawn. I twist my wrist, watching the muscle flex and swell. I lift my arm and look at it - at the beauty of muscle.
Twisting my forearm makes the biceps bulge. I watch the head of the muscle split into its components. That is me, I tell myself. That is all me.
I place my hand on the muscle and feel its strength. My god, so hard. So much power, mounted on my arm. Even more on my legs.
I walk toward the bathroom and turn on the light. I look into the mirror.
Is that me? Do I look like that?
A thick beard grows on my chin and cheeks. My blue eyes sparkle with health. My face has an overwhelming masculine mien. I arch an eyebrow and smile at the sheer beauty of the simple gesture.
Then, downward. My neck, thick and powerful, as wide - no, wider than my head. Leading to bulging traps that reach towards my ears, stretching out towards my shoulders. The lobes of my delts, filled with fibers of each muscle head, swell out too thick for my hand to easily grasp.
Raising my arm across my chest to touch my shoulder, I watch the biceps swell majestically. The muscle shoves up under my skin and pushes against my pec.
I lower my arm and reveal that chest. Two massive pectoral globes, coated in the funky forest of fur scented with my masculine essence, pushing two fat nipples toward the ground. I move my hand onto one of my twin pecs, noting that it is so much larger, now, than the size of my entire hand. I grip the muscle and squeeze, tightening it with my newfound and effortless muscular control, and push back against that grip.
No one can hurt me. Not even me.
I raise both arms into a double-bi that would make the entire audience at the Mr. Olympia competition spontaneously cum. Everything swells with power. I suction in my ab wall and watch all the muscles on my torso appear under my paper-thin flesh. The internal and external obliques. The serratus anterior and the transverse abdominals. External intercostals. The iliac furrow, otherwise known as Apollo’s Belt, leading the eye unerringly downward like an arrow, pointing to the source of all masculine power.
My cock stands upright, pulsing dully, hard and bloated with desire. All this flexing, pushing my muscles to their swollen glory, forces a stream of honey from the eye that drains down the long, thick shaft. My cock throbs as my heart beats. My balls ache.
I grab myself and squeeze. The tendons along my forearm jump out. The muscle inflates. My cock grows red and shiny.
I spit on my prick and spread the slick warmth around its hard inches, slowly stroking myself as I look at my new body in the mirror. I bend my arm up and watch the muscle build higher and higher. The manly fur in the dark pit is wet with perspiration and I can smell myself, a powerful masculine musk, that stings my nostrils. I stick my nose into the dank sweat and inhale my power. The sweet stink sends a shock of erotic bliss through my huge frame, and my cock presses outward against my grip.
“Harder,” I whisper. “Bigger. Stronger.”
I tense the muscle, tightening my fist. It grows. My cock swells in my grip.
Harder, bigger, stronger.
I awaken.
The seventh day. My day of rest. I consider going to my old gym, if I cannot go to Atlas. I want to push the steel. I want to sweat. I want to grow.
It is dark in my room, because I awaken at 4am every day. I grow larger every night in my sleep. I can feel it, now. I can feel myself growing. I can feel my strength increasing, and my power developing.
My cock is hard. Always hard. Like I am. I reach down to caress myself, grabbing the firm heat of my erection in my powerful grip. A shock of bliss erupts down the thick inches and into my muscled frame. It travels everywhere, like water on a desert, soaking into the muscles of my body.
I rise from bed and greet the day, then I am outside, in the dark, naked. I am running, fast and far. I feel the muscle shift and settle. My cock slaps my thighs. My balls are a heavy weight, filled with cream I have yet to release. No one is on the streets to see my beauty and perfection. I run until my lungs burn and my heart is ready to burst, draining myself of fatigue and honing my body to its ultimate perfection.
Every muscle is highly defined and easy to delineate. All I am is muscle, and cock. And more of each every day. I pause in the morning gloom beneath a street lamp. The pale yellow light casts shadows into the deep valleys between every muscular mound. My 8-pack abs swell and recede as I breath. My skin is coated in sweat, lending my body a metallic appearance. Perhaps if anyone sees me, they will think me a god or an illusion - certainly no mere mortal looks as I do, now.
Grinning, I take off toward home. My cock wags and bounces. My muscles pulse with power. Blood rushes through my veins, hot and thick.
Naked, I enter my apartment again, smelling rank and filthy. “A shower,” I say aloud to myself, my new voice a rich, deep baritone. A hot shower will feel good.
The sun is rising outside. Pink hues color the sky. I stand at my open window surveying the world. My cock begins to rise.
It will be a good day.
I am fixing myself breakfast - six eggs scrambled - and percolating my morning cup of Joe when I hear a knock at my door. I am slightly surprised, because no one should be able to get into the building without being buzzed in at the lobby.
I look through the peep hole and see an unfamiliar face. It is a man’s face, and it is looking back at me. “Hello?” he says.
I open the door wide, allowing him to see that I am not only naked, but unashamed. My cock is plump, but not erect, but as I gaze on him I can feel my manhood start to throb and grow hot with fresh blood.
He is also naked. He is also beautiful, though not nearly as large and muscular as I am, now. He looks...like I used to look. His body is well-trained. Defined with brawn that settles under his skin with definition. A six-pack. Two broad pecs. Smooth, bronzed skin. Two fat nipples, both pierced with silver rings that make the nubs fat and lickable.
He looks into my eyes, and then his gaze drifts south. He is drinking me in, and I watch his reaction to my perfection by the sudden and very prominent growth occurring in his long, thin cock. The whole of it is visibly throbbing as the neck arches upward and grows thick with every heartbeat. “Hello,” I answer back, folding my arms over my new, gargantuan chest and leaning my bulk against the doorframe.
“I followed you,” he states, and now I see that his breath is short, making that six-pack swell and recede, and his tanned skin is coated in sweat.
I smile. “I see.”
“Couldn’t help myself,” he said.
“And the nakedness?”
His full lips quirk into a grin. “Couldn’t help that, either.”
He’s cute, rather than handsome. Not beautiful, like Mr. Perfect, but boyish and plainly eager. His cock is growing to amazing proportions, given its starting point. Clearly a grower and not a shower. He has eyes that change from blue to green, and a turned up nose like a doll might have. His hair is cropped short, and he needs a shave. “I’m Thomas,” I say by way of introduction, and offer my hand.
“Ken,” he answers, reaching forward, ignoring my hand and grabbing my cock. “May I come in?”
I look down as he strokes me. I grow firm in record-breaking time and my dick swells and reaches toward him, wanted his attention. “Yes,” I say.
He ‘steers’ me backwards, using my dick like some kind of aircraft stick, keeping his hand on my growing erection as I swell in response. We go into my kitchen and he presses his mouth to mine and kisses me while he strokes me. I can feel the heat of his prick between us, hotter than anything on his naked body. “Fuck, I’ve wanted to do that ever since I saw you on the road.”
I kiss him back, pushing my tongue into his mouth. Then I look down at him, because I am taller and broader and bigger than him in every way, and ask, “Have you always been this shy?” I reach my hand toward one of the rings attached to his nipple, grasping it lightly and pulling.
He bites his bottom lip and his eyes roll up into his head. “Fuck,” he whispers, grabbing my erection harder and squeezing with all his might. This only makes me harder, pressing back against his grip with my cock, swelling to ultimate glory.
I tug harder, unaccustomed to these things and uncertain how hard to pull. But he seems to like it and his cock is certainly responding fully, so I bend down and suck his tit into my mouth and play with the cold silver and fleshy nub. He swoons and grabs my ass as well as my dick and is pushing his fingers toward my wet, hot hole. I feel a surge of precum sizzle up my prick and spill over his fingers.
His touch is eager and talented. He smells me, digging his face into my neck and lapping at the salty sweat leaching from my huge, muscular form. He kisses and sucks against my skin, tasting me, drinking me inside his mouth.
I catch his nipple between my tongue and teeth, feeling the metal inside the flesh. He pushed his fingers inside me.
I bite down. He squeezes against me. My cock drools a fat gurgle of precum, a flow of hot honey coating his hand as he strokes and teases and rubs me all the right ways.
His body moves down my own, rubbing skin on skin as his mouth travels toward my throbbing prick. He licks and kisses me with worshipful attention, his hand grips the meat of my ass, his fingers push inside my heat.
Then his mouth is on my cock, surrounding my hardness with the wet heat of his tongue. I feel him intently, almost too keenly, driving my passion to overwhelming magnitudes, forcing my balls into overdrive, and sending me to some blissful paradise of perfect sexual release.
He takes control of me, or I willingly surrender it. There is nothing I can do, nor want to. My cock in his mouth, his hands on my ass, I am his.
It’s going to be a good day.