Twelve Steps Back IV: Full Circle
"If you're going to work with us, be a starting distributing doctor, you have to experience what you're going to be administering."
The senior administrator sat behind his desk, his lab coat caressing the overdeveloped muscle that filled the white cotton to capacity, both hiding and revealing a body that seemed incongruous on this corporate/scientist/researcher type of guy, probably fortyish, moderately good looking but with an aura of stunning masculinity that made Troy Adams almost forget his reluctance to follow anywhere close to the footsteps of his old college friend, Larry Littleman.
"Don't worry about turning into a freak like your buddy. We've worked the formula since then, changed the delivery system. With the modifications, it's controllable now. And, I can tell you, your only regret will be that we have to limit how much you can do, because, ultimately, we need you to remain useful to the project."
Troy knew he was looking at someone who had tasted the elixir that he was to be administering to guys they would bring into this project. The way they'd presented it to him, this was something that would be huge, that would change things in a monumental way, and he'd be one of several young doctors who would be the originators. Eventually, they would open up channels of distribution to make this formula available to any guy who wanted it, but for now, Troy would be one of the few, and this magnetically hot muscle dude across from him made the decision an easy one.
"I understand," Troy answered. "So what do we do?"
"Well, I'm going to explain how the formula is given by giving you a taste. We inject a controlled amount near the gonads where it can rapidly effect the changes, since it's all about male sexuality, physically expressed, and that's as near as we can get to the source without injecting directly into the testicles." As he spoke, he filled a syringe. "This is going to be a heavier dose than we'll give out, since we want to keep the changes slower and more controllable with the general populace. But we think you need to know in a more emphatic way what it does, how it feels, how it changes a guy. We need to make you an example, although not an extreme one, of what we're going to do for guys. I did it, as you can probably tell, and I can tell you that it's pretty extreme. But, I promise, no regrets. Drop your pants for me, please. By the way, you're not gay, are you?"
"Uh, no" Troy said, unbuckling his belt, letting his pants drop, pulling down his underwear, and seating himself again with his clothes around his ankles.
"Just wondered." The muscular scientist came around with the syringe, knelt in front of Troy, and explained the procedure, his arms filling the lab coat to capacity as he bent them to clinically push aside Troy's balls and dick and plunge the needle into the sensitive spot.
Troy winced. The shot hurt, and he felt a sore tenderness between his legs as he pulled back on his clothes. By the time he was headed back to his apart ment, he started feeling stoned with some kind of supercharged energy. This was stronger than the coke or crystal or ecstasy he had tasted a couple times in school, and much more sensuous. He laughed, it felt so good. He just threw back his head and laughed. His cock stiffened up in his pants, pushing against the material like it might erupt. God, this was downright erotic. Before he could get into the parking garage, his skin felt alive, tingling, itching, and his muscles were suddenly deeply sore but felt fantastic. His cock was lying horizontal in his briefs and it was so hard there would no way to mask his arousal, should he run into anyone on his way up. He remembered a box of books he'd been hauling around in his trunk, and thought now would be a good time to take them up, holding them in front of his crotch all the way. What he didn't expect was how that weight pressing against his insanely aroused dick would excite him, rubbing as he walked. Some guy he didn't know got into the elevator at the lobby, and between there and the third floor where the guy got off, Troy shot a load so hard he was amazed the guy didn't see him spasm, tense, and jerk. Troy held his breath as he creamed his pants, and it felt so unbelievably hot he almost wished the guy would turn around.
Now there was a weird thought.
But Troy didn't dwell on it for a second. Now he was on fire, and he rushed to his apartment and took off his clothes as fast as he could. Cumming didn't leave him softening up, and he was so hard he felt like he'd never known what horny meant until now. Even as he dropped his clothes, he felt and then saw that the changes had begun. His stomach felt clenched in steel, his chest and arms, his legs, his back, all thicker. His arms and legs were covered with fine dark blond hairs. So was his stomach, and his chest. His cock was so hard it pointed up along his abs and now he saw that it reached his belly button and was smearing the hair there, the trail, where he had been smooth as a baby's ass this morning, with oozing precum.
He stood in front of his bathroom mirror and suddenly understood everything. He knew exactly how his friend Larry and that Tucker guy had gone to such extremes. He had always had a casual attitude about his looks--handsome but no knockout, athletic but no superjock, a guy's guy. Now he was in love with the image in the mirror, and it was everything masculine about him that made him lust for himself. He was beautiful, handsome, muscular, hung. The hair appearing all over him was so hot looking and made him feel his masculinity in the same way his swelling muscles and throbbing, growing dick did. Christ, his dick was growing.
Troy watched himself grow, stuck in front of the mirror with far more than fascination and extreme arousal. To be sure, he came several times without jacking off, but simply from watching himself grow more sexually expressive of his own exploding feelings of maleness, a masculinity that was moving deep in his cells, suffusing his brain, mind, thought. What he felt was changing him, and the stronger the feelings, the greater the changes, or was it that the more he changed the hotter he felt? Who cared? As he watched, transfixed, he saw his face grow more handsome, the hint of a dimple in his chin become a cleft in a sharp, square jaw heavily stubbled with a thick, dark blond beard. His body became that of a muscular gym rat, and, as he flexed, admiring the virile strength, he thought of the scientist filling that lab coat with bulging, hard muscle, and, clenching spasm by clenching spasm, as his mind filled with the consuming desire for that kind of muscle, he saw it grow on him, filling his skin, veins popping to the surface, and the man in the mirror was a muscle guy, a bodybuilder, thick and hot and beautiful. And the feelings were so sexual that it seemed natural that his cock was so hard, so unbelievably hard, that it was pushing out of its own skin limits, becoming thicker and longer, his balls swelling and hanging lower. He could easily keep going like this until he was just like his friend Larry Littleman.
Troy never slept that first night, unable to break away from the thrilling fascination of seeing himself change into a musclebound hunk with a huge, thick cock that boned upward toward his thick, cut pecs, slabs of male muscle that wouldn't allow his cock to get soft, hair in the most perfect masculine pattern of hairiness, not too long and thick to hide his bodybuilder body, but thick and swirling and decorative, emphasizing his muscle and his masculinity. And balls that hung and the cock that stood proud from his groin were beyond his imagination, thick, throbbing fourteen inches of virile power topping a pair of egg-sized 'nads that were pumping out so much maleness that he couldn't imagine now wanting anything else.
So this is what he would be giving to the guys that came to see him. This would be his gift. This feeling, this kind of sexuality, this totally new and consuming sense of maleness to show to the world, to share with . . . with . . . with others like him. Troy realized he wanted contact with others like him. Male contact. Muscle contact. He wanted to feel muscle. He wanted to feel hair on that muscle. He wanted to know the feeling of maleness like the incredible meat he had grown, that hung from his hairy groin demanding contact. He wanted to feel it, man meat like his, to touch it with every part of himself. And he would be creating this. He would be giving this gift to young guys, older guys, guys like him, guys that had been geeks or jocks or lawyers or just dads, and they would all feel like he was feeling, all want what he was wanting.
"So," the scientist said, the next day when Troy went in to begin his training, "what do you think? Let's see you."
And without hesitation, he walked over to Troy and began to undress him. Troy had only been able to fit into a tee, which had been big and baggy and now fit like a muscle shirt, and some baggy drawstring pants, that fit like they had been painted on. He lifted his arms as the white-coated muscle guy pulled his tee up and off.
"Yeah," he said, feeling the mass of Troy's pecs, delts, guns, "I knew you'd turn out hot. But then, everyone does."
Troy was already boned and felt no wish, no desire, no need to hide it. This was the contact he'd been jonesing for. It was as natural as anything he'd ever done to reach over and unbutton that lab coat and feel the thick, hard, muscle under it. And then, total contact, mouth to mouth, mouth to muscle, mouth to cock. Oh, God, he felt like the universe shifted at that moment, and a new reality was being born, and it was all muscle and cock and the hard, rough, hot feeling of total maleness, blatant, right out there, exposed, exhibited, paraded, shown, openly enjoyed with no reservation, timidity, hesitation, or inhibition. In this man's hands, he melted, and at the same time was forged into something new, something bold, powerfully, massively muscular, something deeply, completely masculine.
Soon, Troy was set up with his own offices, and, soon, the guys started coming to him. First there were those chosen to be the first group, the prototypes, the models. The process was slow--much slower than the rocket he'd ridden,but there was something deeply satisfying about seeing how profoundly the first subtle changes affected the young guys as they changed. By their second visits they would have begun the transformation and their emerging taste for maleness would show itself in how they walked, how they stared with desire at his own muscular body, and the inevitable erections and ejaculations that would accompany their shots.
Of those early ones, his own favorite was a guy named Jarrod, probably because he came in as such a geek, the guy he would have teased in high school, and his transformation was so much more dramatic, seeing him come into his own, his confidence growing into pride as he donned the new Littleman's line of show-all clothes and grew as sexually aggressive and hot as he was massive and hung. He especially remembered the day, after he'd completed his first six-month cycle and the subsequent six-month waiting period, when he came in to get his vial of the formula to begin the second phase. He'd attended the summer "camp" at the campus out near Malibu, modeled for the catalogs, grown into himself as his body and mind adjusted to that first phase of the treatment, and he was past ready to begin the phase that would take him from looking like a bodybuilder with big meat stretching the display basket of his skintight shorts to one of the prototypes of the new kind of male, beyond bodybuilder, beyond the limits of muscle mass that nature had previously set. The genetic barriers had been broken, and he would be one of the first, since the Forest-Littleman experiment, to literally grow, as the public watched, to embody the new paradigm of masculinity.
"Aww, fuck, Doctor Troy." He pulled off his shorts, although he hadn't been asked, sat on the table and spread his legs. "I want you to do it to me, man. Fucking shoot me up, man, start me off."
"My pleasure, Jarrod."
There were no rules against fraternizing. In fact, it was accepted as part of the process and as natural as breathing and cumming. Troy had given enough of these shots that he could find the spot without looking. He stood in front of Jarrod, close, aware of his own muscular body filling his lab coat the way the guy that had brought him in had, aware of Jarrod looking at him, his cock jutting up against his hard, cobbled, hairy abs, and filled the syringe.
"Ready to hulk out, Jarrod? Ready to turn into a total freak?"
He snapped a finger on the syringe to tap out the air bubbles.
"Yeah, fuck yeah, man."
Troy stepped closer, pushed aside Jarrod's balls, lifting them out of the way with the back of his hand.
"Make this cock grow twice as big. You like that, Jarrod? Fucking huge cock filling that display basket, showing everyone what being a Littleman's dude is all about?"
"Aww, fuck yeah, Doc. Do me. Come on."
"Do you know what a hot fuck you are, Jarrod? Do you know how hot you're gonna be?"
Troy leaned forward, his lips parted, and Jarrod leaned into Troy's face, the two meeting mouth to mouth, tongues darting, as Troy sank the needle into the sweet spot between Jarrod's legs and slowly emptied the syringe. Jarrod moaned with ecstasy into Troy's mouth, and as the syringe emptied, Jarrod's cock began to spurt its hot cream onto his hairy groin.
Jarrod and the others grew, their masculine beauty meeting and exceeding the company's expectations, and soon the Littleman's catalogs were the hottest in the business, and the Littleman's look became the desire of every guy, from middle school boys who could get their parents' permission, to college guys, young professionals, then the dads, the middle-aged men who dared reach for this fountain of youth and virility. It spread like an epidemic. The only perceived negative, once the conservative critics of the blatant sexuality of it were silenced by the majority, or just ignored, was that the men who underwent the transformation lost all interest in women. To address that, the company was developing a formula that would do the same for women. Meanwhile, word go around that it felt so hot, and the look became so desirable, that guys just jumped past that hurdle, knowing that after their first shot, they wouldn't care.
Troy wished, as he spent much of the summer at the campus with the models, Jarrod and his companions, that he could join them. He fought the constant craving to do more, to grow more. But the company was strict about their doctors maintaining at a functioning level. Along with more formula, more growth, they all knew, would go more drive for constant sexual activity, and that would hamper their effectiveness as doctors. So Troy sublimated that desire and got off all that much more on turning all the different guys who came to him into Littleman's guys.
Brett was a guy he'd enjoyed doing for the sheer pleasure of seeing someone so devoutly straight into a man hungry muscle sex pig. He'd come to him as a gym rat, would-be bodybuilder, who was uptight about going that route because of what so many people thought about bodybuilders. Two shots into "just trying out how it feels," he was sucking on Troy's pecs and cock and sending other guys in to get the treatment.
A subculture was forming, and certain clubs began to cater to the Littleman's guys, with the owners and managers joining the process, and soon parties, or, more accurately, private orgies in these clubs became ritualized, as new guys, after a couple treatments, when they had changed, transformed enough to wear the Littleman's look, were brought to the club to be "initiated" into the Littleman's lifestyle, which consisted of the total sexual enjoyment of the bodies and minds that they were transforming into. It was becoming a worldwide fraternity, and Troy was lucky enough to be at the epicenter.
When he heard that this incredibly good looking guy, an account executive with Littleman's own ad company, and a recovering addict, was coming in, he thought this would be an interesting test, of what he wasn't sure. He knew the power of the formula over the minds of the guys that took it. Christ, he still jonesed for more. How could this guy be trusted to regulate his dosage, as all the guys did? And then he saw Ian Larkin for the first time.
The man was stunning. He almost took Troy's breath away. And at the same time, Troy could see the guy looking at him, at his muscle bulging in his lab coat, with more than idle curiosity. When the guy came in for his second treatment, when Troy held the guy's rigid cock and kissed him as he came in his hand, he felt a powerful attraction unlike any he'd experienced. He knew it wasn't love. It was this guy's unbelievable beauty, and the idea of what he would transform into.
And then came Ian's initiation.
The minute he walked into the club, strutting his growing body and male assets in such an intense display of sexual overdrive, Troy knew that Ian had to have double-dosed himself. So he couldn't be trusted. But, Holy God was he hot. He was so obviously into the whole thing, this handsome-beyond-belief ad exec thrusting around his big cock, glorying in his growing and already beautiful muscle, and giving new meaning to the concept of sexual abandon. This guy was a total pig, trashmouth, dirty, do-anything muscle slut, and Troy's attraction kicked into the same gear as Ian the gorgeous. Of course, everyone in the club, including the humongous Jarrod, newbie Matthew, Brett, all of the others, wanted as much of Ian as they could have. But Troy had something none of them had. He had the key, the magic, the elixir. And so Ian came on to him as a supplicant to his master.
If Troy ever wanted to do more, to give up his position and just go for the whole thing, it was then, with Ian.
"Fuck, man," Ian was whispering in his ear as he bit his neck and earlobe, pushing his cock against Troy's, crushing his pecs, rubbing his abs, "you are so fucking hot, man. I fuckin' love you dude, what you've given me. You like my muscle, man? Fuck yeah, I know you do. You like my cock? Fuck, you're the one makin' it big, man. So hot. God, fuck my ass, Doc. Do me good, man."
But at the same time, Troy knew it was his position that had this most beautiful of men eating out of his hand. Other guys were bigger, more developed. But he was the wizard. And with that, he had responsibility.
"You double-dosed yourself, didn't you?"
"Why, man? Okay, yeah. I couldn't help it. It's so fuckin' good, man. Look at me, man. Isn't it worth it? Who cares?"
"The company cares. You've got to stay with the program. What I gave you has to last for four weekly treatments. You've used up two now, so you'll have to go one without any. Can you do that? See what I mean? You'll have to skip next week, or, if you don't, you'll have to wait a week before I can give you any more."
"Aww, but man, why? Why does it have to take so long? Wouldn't you love to just do me, man?"
"Dude," Troy answered as he lifted Ian's legs and rammed his cock into Ian's perfect ass, just starting to get some fur, so fucking hot, "you have no idea."
Troy knew it didn't have to take so long. He thought about the dose they'd given him, how he'd transformed totally to the way he was now, big as any bodybuilder, in just one night. But he wasn't about to jeopardize his position. He liked it too much.
"I just can't," he said. "But if there was anyone I would," he stroked Ian's cock as he pummeled his ass, felt his pecs, stomach, imagined him growing huge, fast, "it would be you, man. You are so fucking beautiful?"
"Yeah? Oh, God, yeah. Aww, fuck, man, for a fuckin' doctor, you are so hot. Do me, man."
Troy was about to explode. He had the hottest man he'd ever seen begging him.
"Aww, please, man. Do me. Fuckin' do me, man."
They both came, and the explosion rocked the room. Everyone watched, everyone applauded, cheered.
A week later, Ian showed up at Troy's office. His eyes were glazed and crazed, and he was amped to the point of pacing. He'd gained probably ten, maybe fifteen more pounds of muscle and the bulge in his Littleman's shorts showed noticeably more heft.
"I can't wait, man. You gotta give me more."
"You double-dosed again, didn't you? Look at you, man."
"Yeah, look at me. Fuckin' look at me, man. It's too fuckin' good, man. You gotta give me more."
"You're not supposed to get another vial for two more weeks. I told you about using it up like that."
Ian paced. His cock, only half hard when he walked in, was stiffening laterally, riding the top of his thick thigh as he paced, stimulating himself.
"Okay, listen," he said, "I was thinking, man. You know how that adman in the story and his buddies like totally Tuckered out in one night. Well, so, it has to be possible to do this faster. I want you to do me, man. I don't want to take two fuckin' years to get like those guys at the club, but I don't need to totally Tucker out, either. I was just thinking," his cock got harder as he paced and talked, "maybe you could do me in, like, six weeks or something. You know, like fix the doses so you could make me like that guy, Jarrod, in six weeks. That a decent length of time, don't you think?" He didn't wait for an answer. "I know you could do it. Come on, man. I'll do anything."
He suddenly stopped right in front of Troy, kissed him, put both hands on Troy's pecs, slid down to his knees and pulled Troy's cock out of his pants.
He started to suck.
Troy closed his eyes, let his head roll back. He could imagine doing that. He would love to do that, to put this guy through the whole transformation in six weeks. Why not? What a concept. Other guys would want to do it that fast, too, if they knew one guy, especially this one, had.
"You're still an addict, man. I couldn't give you that kind of dosage. You would Tucker out, man."
Ian stood up, held Troy's saliva-slicked dick, kissed him, and said, "Yeah, I know. So you could do me. That's what I want, man. You do me. Every week, you do me, man. It'd be so hot, man, you know it would. Come on. Fuck man. You got me flyin', dude. This is so fuckin' good. Can you just ask? Maybe they'd like to try it. I'll be the guinea pig. Come on, man."
Troy put his hands on Ian's chest. He could imagine making him grow, almost literally being able to watch, to feel these pecs grow in his hands, to see his cock inches bigger every week. Six weeks. Incredible. God, would he love to do that. Even now, this minute, he'd love to give him more, turn him on more, make him his muscle sex slave, at least for a while, however long that might be.
"Okay, you fucking maniac. I'll ask. I'll have to make a proposal to the company, but I'll ask."
"And make me fuckin' huge, man? You'd like that, too, wouldn't you?"