The Bet 4: The Muscle Brains (musc hypno)
by Jaypat
Mark had been right. The worst part about the brain operation had been getting my head shaved, watching all my beautiful blond hair fluttering to the ground. After that, it had been just like taking a nap. Except when I woke up from this nap, I had an insane amount of energy. The brain guy kept me around a day for observation, but then he let me go home.
I had told my mom I was going on an overnight school fieldtrip and when I got home I stole Mark’s hair-on-fire story to explain my baldness. HOLY CRAP, I WAS BALD!!!!!! I can’t tell you how many times I tried to toss my hair, but there was nothing there. It was totally freaking me out. I stood there looking at myself in the mirror, just trying to process the lack of hair. I looked ridiculous. My cuteness had been reduced by at least 50 percent—ok, we’ll maybe not that much. My face was pretty damn amazing. But there had been at least 30 percent cuteness reduction. It was pretty hard to handle.
And my body didn’t look any different at all, still the same old flat chest and stomach, slender arms and plain old bony shoulders. No signs of any muscle monster there. But I felt completely different, like I’d never be tired again. But when I tried to sleep, bam, I’d drop right off. It was weird.
My first day back at school, I went early. I couldn’t wait to hit the weight room. I had so much energy; I felt if I didn’t lift something heavy my body would explode. When I got to the weight room the other guys were already there. They were all working out shirtless. Man, there were only five of them, but they were so huge they seemed to pack the room with wall to wall muscle. As soon as I walked in I got a round of applause. I guess the dead giveaway was the shaved head (oh my god I was bald!) and the bright white bandage. I had taken the final step.
“Hey, Brandon,” said Mark. Christ, he had to be over seven feet tall. His eight brick-like abs were bursting from his gut. His pecs were soccer balls and his shoulders were cannonballs. It looked like he was curling 380 pounds with his massive pumped arms.
“Jeeze, it took you long enough,” said Nick. I was looking up at Nick now. He had definitely hit six feet and had grown shoulders about twice as broad as the geek I tried to buy the computer from.
“Hoo, hoo, hoo,” said Jim. “Brandon’s gonna get big.” And Jim was even bigger than Nick. Crap, he used to be such a little shrimp. Now he had biceps to rival the biggest line backer on the football team, and he was probably taller than him, too.
There was a four-station weight machine in the corner and Derek had been over there shirtless doing dead lifts with the entire apparatus. When I came in he had dropped it with a room shaking crash. I could hardly believe what I was seeing. Derek almost didn’t look human. Bulging, ripped, gargantuan muscles just erupted out all over him everywhere you looked from head to foot. The skinny gamer kid was almost completely gone. All that was left was his face, grinning down at me from the top of an immense body, an unbelievably tightly woven configuration of incredibly massive muscles. He was definitely a freak of nature, but the kind of freak we all wish we could be. It was impossible to see him and not be awed. He was about seven feet tall now, and about five feet wide at the shoulders, with huge thick mountainous traps dwarfing his fire plug neck and brushing the back of his skull. He had gigantic, satiated wrecking ball delts that split into three distinct massive muscle groups, each one of them bigger than a professional body builder’s entire shoulder. And they were all sitting on top of enormous, veined wrapped upper arms that looked like four overinflated footballs pushed together. His forearms were as thick around as my waste. His chest was two beach balls except hard, solid and ripped.
His abs… I could count eight concrete slabs of muscle leading down to his workout shorts, but I suspected there might be another two hidden below the waste band. I’d have to try and convince him to show me later. And there was obviously something else hidden by his workout shorts pulling them tight, something that had also enjoyed a healthy growth spurt.
And his legs, crap, his thighs were so big around, I doubted I could wrap my arms around one of them, and I could see each and every gigantic leg muscle bulge and ripple under his skin as he shifted his weight from foot to foot.
“Hey, Brandon,” he said. “Glad you finally made it.”
“Jesus, Derek” I said. “Look at you. If you got any bigger you’d attract satellites.”
“You like,” he said flexing and unbelievably causing his titanic body to bulge up even larger. “You want a body like this, Brandon?”
“No, Derek,” I said grinning back, “bigger.”
“That’s the attitude,” said Derek, “Cause pretty soon now you’re going to have one.” He picked me up and hugged me, crushing me in a sea of rock hard, rippling muscle. I was pretty much in heaven. Then he set me down and said, “Guess I won’t be able to do that for long.” And the other guys started chuckling. Thunder might have been softer; it was definitely higher in pitch.
Derek was defiantly the biggest but I’d say Mark and Frank were vying for the number two spot. Mark was by far the tallest of all of them, being at least two inches taller than Derek, but not as wide, broad or thick. Frank had an almost inhuman thickness to him, but he had not hit the seven foot mark, being only about six nine or so. The other two seemed like striplings. Of course, they were much newer members and still had a lot of growing to do. Jim, the former fat shrimp, was about six two with huge ripped-to-hell muscles—at least for a regular guy—and if it hadn’t been for the three monstrous guys I just mentioned, he might have been the biggest guy in school. And Nick, well Nick hadn’t hit six feet yet. He looked like a regular sized football jock. But he was a far cry from the pudgy five eight butterball he’d been just two weeks ago.
Looking at them standing there, I think I felt worse about my skinny frame than ever. But I had a boiling energy inside me, and I was ready to start using it. Luckily for me I had the equivalent of five big brothers—way big brothers—who’d all been through this before and could show me what to do. And that’s kinda what we were, a brotherhood, six guys so obsessed with getting huge that we’d had our brains operated on. Muscle Brains, that’s what we were, and that’s what we started calling ourselves.
Derek put together a complete routine for me, and I started right in. I couldn’t believe how much I loved it. My body screamed with pleasure each time I used it to move some weight, and the more weight I used the better it liked it. I kept doing set after set, pushing my body until it just wouldn’t move anymore. But I recovered so fast that in a couple of hours I was ready to do it again. Ok, not just ready, anxious. I couldn’t wait to do it again. I worked out like that three times on Monday, before school, during lunch and after school, working different body parts on each occasion. And I don’t think I stopped eating for more than five minutes. I just couldn’t get enough food. I had to carry it with me from class to class. And when I got home that night, I stood there staring at myself in the mirror. I couldn’t believe it. Holy crap, I was bigger already.
My arms were a little thicker and I swear I could see a vein beginning to protrude and run over my bicep. My shoulders seemed to have grown tiny little caps of muscle that never used to be there and just below my rib cage I could see a couple of bumps that had to be my upper abdominals. I poked them just to be sure and they seemed pretty tough. It was amazing. I mean I still pretty much looked like me (a less cute, bald me), and, if I were wearing a shirt, no one else would notice any difference. But holy crap, I was starting to change and it scared and excited me at the same time. And something else weird happened. I felt my little soldier coming to attention, as I stared at my new swelling muscles. This was a first for me. I’d never been turned on by my own body before, and I tried to decide if this was a perversion or just a tremendous convenience. Either way, I hauled him out and engaged him in battle.
The funniest thing was Peter. On days I had a free period I could use for my midday workouts, I still met with Derek and Peter for lunch. Poor Peter, throughout the whole fall, he hadn’t had a clue what was happening to Derek, but he wasn’t stupid. He was a muscle watcher. By this time he knew what the bald head and bandage meant. And when I showed up hairless, he seemed to guess right off.
“Oh no, not you, too,” he said, patting the top of his head.
“Oh, the hair,” I said. “I’m trying this new fashion—”
“Don’t, just don’t,” said Peter, cutting me off. “I don’t want to hear about the freak accident or the practical joke, or even a new fashion statement. I’ve heard all the excuses, and I was hoping you at least would tell me the truth.”
I glanced over at Derek, but he slowly shook his head no.
“You mean you don’t think bald is my look, either?” I said to Peter.
He raised his eyebrows and paused before saying, “Now that’s an established scientific fact. Come on, you’ve got to tell me what’s going on.”
“I think we’re through with this conversation,” said Derek, and there was no mistaking the command in his voice. Peter shut up at once. I mean how do you argue with a seven foot behemoth?
After school in the weight room, I asked Derek about Peter. “Maybe we should let him in,” I said. “I know he can’t get the programming but he could still have the operation.”
“He’d never do it without the programming,” said Derek. “I mean, you had the programming and even then you almost didn’t do it.”
It turned out it was too late anyway. A couple of days later the brain guy was the victim of an FBI sting and was now in jail. It had been all over the news. Apparently he didn’t keep records on his patients, and the police were asking for his “victims” to come forward. For some reason, none of us really felt like it. I guess our brotherhood was as big as it was ever going to get—numbers-wise anyway.
I didn’t think about it much, because I was too distracted by what was happening to my body. I mean, there hadn’t been any substantial changes in it in the last few years—you know, ever since puberty had finished transforming me into the stunning young man everyone knew and loved—and now suddenly everything was changing again. I was starting to feel so different. It was like my body was tightening up and getting harder and growing bigger all at the same time.
In a week, I watched those little caps of shoulder muscle develop into definite bumps. My flat chest was now two distinct mounds. And I was stunned as my stomach slowly grew tighter and my abs popped up and formed a solid six pack. Day by day my biceps grew larger. It was like they were bigger every time I looked, and I looked a lot. I got the feeling I was always growing. In almost no time they were about the size of tennis balls. Holy crap, look at those suckers! I’d always liked big guns and almost couldn’t believe I was starting to grow a pair of my own. I had endless fun flexing my arms and feeling the hard muscle ball up against my forearms. It was kind of unreal.
And just going to bed became an amazing experience. I would lay there at night, constantly changing positions so I could feel my new hard muscles bulging up between me and the mattress. And if I lay very still and quite, I was almost positive I could feel myself growing, each muscle slowly getting thicker, expanding under my skin millimeter by millimeter, pulling it ever so slightly tighter. And then my hand would reach under the covers and find my little soldier, who was incidentally engaged in growth games of his own, and put him through his paces.
On Wednesday my shirt began to feel tight. And on Friday I started to get stares, mostly from the girls, but hey, what are you going to do?
Of course the guy who stared the most was Peter. But every time he started to say something, Derek would shut him up with a glare. I have to admit that I got an enormous amount of satisfaction that Friday when I stood up and noticed that I was now a half inch taller than he was. The look on his face was classic.
“This just isn’t fair,” he said. “Why won’t you guys tell me what’s happening?”
“Maybe we’re just having growth spurts,” I said. “It’s perfectly natural, happens all the time. It’s an established scientific fact.”
“There is nothing natural about this,” said Peter.
I looked up at Derek and said, “I have to tell him.”
“No,” said Derek.
“Come on, he’s our best friend. We can’t leave him completely out of this.”
Derek just stayed quiet and I decided to interpret his silence as permission. “Peter,” I said, trying my best to make it all clear, “Using my amazing computer skills I sent Derek a really clever subliminally programmed message to love muscle. But he interpreted it all wrong and decided he needed to grow it. So, he had his brain altered to trigger a massive growth spurt. Then he liked it so much he forced me to be subliminally programmed just the way he was, and then of course I had to have my brain altered, too. So now I’m having a growth spurt just like his.” As I finished I held my breath to see his reaction. I didn’t have to wait long.
“Oh for Christ’s sake,” shouted Peter, “do I look like a complete moron? Who would buy that? I ask a simple question and all I get is more of your exquisite bullshit. Jeeze, Brandon, if you’re going to lie to me, at least come up something better than that! Had your brains altered, my ass!” And then he stormed away.
We both stood there stunned for a second before Derek said, “I thought you put that very well.”
“Thank you,” I replied.
But Monday at lunch, despite everything, Peter sat down with Derek and me again. I could see him looking me over carefully. I didn’t blame him. I had grown almost an inch taller over the weekend and put on another 15 pounds. I was starting to grow some awesome looking muscles. I felt heavier, more substantial and I was looking pretty good—except for the hair. The hair was still a big problem.
Peter scowled at me and for a second I thought he was going to pick up where he’d left off on Friday. But instead all he said was, “We’re going to need a bigger table.”
And it was becoming pretty obvious I was going to need bigger clothes. I could feel my new hard muscles stretching my shirt to the tearing point. So now I only had to decide if I wanted to go the showy route like Derek did, not buying anything new so everyone could see my massive expanding sinews as they slowly ripped their way out of my clothing. Or did I want to go more conservative like Mark had done, just buying ever larger new clothes, to keep pace with my growing body. I couldn’t decide at first.
But on Wednesday morning, as I was reaching up to rub the stubble that currently passed for my hair, my bicep just blew out of my shirt sleeve. It caught me completely by surprise. Suddenly I was standing there staring at that beautifully shaped orb bulging up on my arm with the shreds of cloth still clinging to it and I had a spontaneous orgasm. That decided it. I just couldn’t hide the new me from the world. It wouldn’t be fair. Showy it was.
I proceeded to rip both sleeves off my shirt and wore it to school just like it was. As I expected the stare factor multiplied by a factor of at least 4. Too right it did. Check out these guns. I even got a double take from Chad when I passed him in the hall. Moments like that made my humble life worth living.
Of course, that was for school. At home it was a different matter. I’d bought myself a couple of very large baggy sweaters, and I would wear one of them whenever mom was around. So far they had hidden things pretty well. I was still struggling with how I was going to explain this to her. Mom wasn’t the most observant of women, but even she might eventually notice once I got to be seven feet tall and five feet wide.
But that Friday everything came to a head. I was feeling particularly like celebrating. I’d hit a few landmarks that day. I was now six feet tall, a height that only a few weeks ago I would never have dreamed I’d reach. I weighed two hundred and forty pounds, which meant I’d gained exactly one hundred pounds since the operation, and I’d squatted about ten reps of five hundred pounds that morning. I was smiling remembering how my ripped granite quads had responded so enthusiastically to the demands I had placed on them, and how they had practically vibrated with joy as they moved the substantial weight I had balanced on my shoulders. I started to get hard thinking about it and couldn’t wait to get home to my room where I could express my excitement a little more physically. I was feeling so good that of course something had to go horribly wrong.
No sooner did I get home than I heard a muffled call from the garage. I went out there only discover those freakin‘ shelves had fallen over again and this time they’d pinned my poor mother underneath. If it hadn’t been for that engine block on the floor, mom would probably have been crushed.
“Mom!” I cried.
“Brandon,” she said when she saw me. “Quick, run and get Mr. Miller, and the two of you can get these shelves off of me.”
“Are you all right?”
“I think so. Just hurry up and get Mr. Miller.”
“Oh, I don’t think we’ll be needing Mr. Miller,” I said, and I pulled off my sweater. I didn’t want to get it dirty.
“My God, Brandon, what happened to you?” she gasped when she saw me and my 17 inch biceps in my torn sleeveless t.
“I’ve been working out—a lot,” I said. That was no lie. “I’ll have you out of there in no time.”
“Are you sure you can handle it?”
“Mom, please,” I said as I knelt down and grabbed the large metal shelf unit in about the center. I lifted it—mostly with my legs (God, I loved my legs)—and I gotta tell you even I was surprised at how easy it was. I could remember struggling just to budge them with my mom helping me, and now lifting them smoothly was no trouble at all. And when I got them up I even did a quick military press with them for good measure. Man, they were nothing, and my hard-on was screaming for attention.
Once mom was back on her feet, she gave me a good look up and down and said. “I thought you were a little old for growth spurts.”
“Me too, but I’m having a lulu.”
“You can say that again. Wow, you must be getting laid every night.”
“Mom!”
“Sorry, I know, I know, forbidden subject. I’m just glad I don’t have to worry about you getting anyone pregnant.”
“Can we please change the subject?”
“Just tell me you’re using condoms.”
“Oh, for God’s sake!”
Mom finally gave me permission to get rid of the shelves and their heavy greasy contents, but suddenly I wasn’t sure I wanted to do it. I kept thinking some of that stuff might be fun to test myself on as I got bigger. I was staring at my large, veiny biceps and thinking about bending large metal items and suddenly my cock just erupted in my pants. Thank God mom had already gone inside.
And I just kept getting bigger. By the end of the third week, I had out grown all my old clothes and I was having serious lust issues with my own body. And not without reason. I was amazing. Every muscle I had was bulging out of me. I felt so hard and heavy and powerful. So this is why jocks had all that attitude. I never dreamed muscles could feel so good. My body felt completely different from the way it did when I was five nine and skinny. If I’d known it would be like this, I’d have started working out years ago. And my body looked incredible, too. It got so I hated to cover it up at all. I went sleeveless just about all of the time, and sometimes I would find myself sitting in class nursing a hard on by simply staring at my bugling bicep as I flexed it over and over. It had passed large and was approaching huge and it just felt awesome on my arm.
And then there was the way people treated me. They spoke to me very respectfully. No one ever called me “that blond” any more. Now I was “that ape.” That was an improvement, right? And no more pushing my way down the corridors. Now when they saw me coming, they got out of my way. I was pretty sure I could get used to that.
By this time, I’d hit six feet two inches, I weighed 290 pounds and I felt like I was still too small. It bothered me. And it bothered me that it bothered me. And it bothered me that it bothered me that it bothered me. I’d gotten huge. Enormous muscles had just erupted out all over me, even in places I didn’t know I had muscles. And I was taller than most of the other guys at school, and yet for some reason I didn’t feel big enough. It didn’t make sense. Before my programming, I never used to think about my size much at all. I was perfectly content being five nine and skinny. Could ten minutes of those subliminal messages really have changed me that much? It couldn’t think of anything I’d written anything in those messages that could possibly have had—if you’ll excuse the term—such a huge effect.
Then one day, I was passing the gym on my way to Greek History class when I happened to look in through the door and see a basketball game in progress. Derek was there. His growth hadn’t quite stopped, but it had definitely slowed. He was about seven foot one now and weighed somewhere near 600 pounds. Derek wasn’t allowed to run and jump in gym anymore. The building was getting kind of old and they were afraid the floor wouldn’t take it. So he would just stand there by the basket. Someone would throw him the ball and he would put it through the hoop. I watched him standing by the basket while all the other guys ran around him. They looked like kids playing around a mighty oak. Derek was so massive. Of course his gym shirt didn’t have sleeves. His upper arms were now bigger than most of the other guy’s torsos. What sleeve could contain them? And his shirt was also way too tight and way too short. His rippling midriff was completely exposed. I think each of his abs was about the size of a regular kid’s head. And his pecs dwarfed the basket ball. He almost didn’t look real. He looked like a morph. Then it hit me. Derek looked almost exactly like my morph of Butch, the one I had put into the malware to flash subliminally at Derek and awaken his interest in muscle. That was it. My ridiculously exaggerated image of a body builder subliminally etched into my brain was what was behind the drive to become inhumanly gigantic. But knowing this did nothing to make the desire go away. In fact, if anything, I wanted it more. To think that one day I might out grow Butch was an incredibly hot thought and it just made me want to cum on the spot.
It was sometime around Valentine’s Day, I was six five and about three hundred and fifty pounds. I was going through my closet getting rid of all my old clothes, pausing occasionally to flex out of one of my old shirts—that never got old—when I came across a wadded up lump of cloth way in the back. It was Chad’s football jersey. Seeing it brought back a wave of painful memories of being used and tossed aside. I was just about to toss the shirt aside and into the box with the rest of my discarded clothes, when an impulse hit me and I put it on instead.
I remembered the last time I’d worn it the night of the Halloween party. It had been so big on me, I’d almost gotten lost in its folds. Now it was tight. I stood there staring at my reflection for several minuets looking at how my huge pecs were distorting the number in front, grinning at how my mammoth shoulders were stretching cloth meant to hold thick padding, seeing how my mountainous traps were pushing their way out through the extra wide neck. I flexed and watch my monstrous twenty-three inch bicep explode out of my arm, and thought, with a satisfactory grin, how much bigger I was than Chad now. And then I got a thought, a truly wonderful, evil thought, and the next day I wore Chad’s shirt to school.
By this time I was used to getting stares, but the stares I got that day were of an entirely different quality. These came with muted whispers. I couldn’t make out most of what was said, but I definitely caught Chad’s name on more than one occasion.
And when I sat down at lunch, I got the same kind of stares from Derek and Peter.
“Dude, what the fuck’s with the shirt?” asked Peter, genuinely alarmed.
“I’m trying to get someone’s attention,” I said.
“Looks like you got it,” said Derek.
I looked over at the football jock’s table and I could see there were several animated conversations going on. It looked like Chad was getting an earful. I could tell he was going with either the I-lost-it or he-stole-it defense. And I could equally tell his buddies were egging him on to do something about it. But I was pretty sure he wasn’t going to come over to our table—not with both Derek and me there. Derek, alone, would intimidate half the team.
So, I decided to mosey on up to the lunch counter and see what else they might have to offer, you know just to put a little distance between myself and Mount Derek, and give Chad a chance to get me alone. See, I told you I had an incredibly devious mind.
It worked. Chad took the bait.
“Hey, dude, that’s my shirt,” I heard his voice loud and blustering behind me.
I tuned and looked at him and was instantly struck by how small he looked. Suddenly I was trying to remember what had attracted me to this smallish pudgy guy. “No, Chad,” I said equally loud, “I think it’s my shirt since you gave it to me.”
Ok, that put an end to his loud blustering. His voice dropped almost to a whisper as he asked, “Jesus, what happened to you?”
“I got big,” I said flexing my twenty-three-incher. “Don’t you like me big? I like me big.” I looked down at Chad’s relatively smaller body and for the first time got a real feel for just how much fucking bigger and stronger I was than him and I felt this weird kind of buzz run through me. I’m not sure what happened next, I guess my testosterone must have been spiking because I reached over, grabbed him under the arms and lifted him off the ground. Christ, he wasn’t heavy at all, and I felt so all-fucking-powerful effortlessly holding him up helpless in front of me, my huge arms just bulging with rock hard sinew against which he had no chance.
And then I remembered how he’d threatened me at the Halloween party and I got a teensy bit mad.
“You said you’d kick the shit out of me if I wore your shirt,” I said, ginning evilly. “Well, I’m wearing it. Start kicking.”
Suddenly a half dozen of his football buddies leapt to their feet to come to his aid. But Derek stood up and then all four of the other Muscle Brains rose up like mountains, towering over everyone and everything in the cafeteria, completely dominating the room, and practically blotting out the light from the windows with their wide, thick, outrageously muscular bodies. That took the wind out of the jock’s sails and they sat back down again. We’d made one thing clear, the football team was no longer the biggest, baddest thing at our school; we were, and now everyone knew it.
Chad’s expression was a combination of shock, fear… and something else. I looked down. Yup, he was tenting. All I had to do was yank down his trousers and that would be the end of Chad Sikowski, football player, and we could add another gay student to the ranks.
But was that really what I wanted to do? No, it wasn’t. I dropped him.
“Go away, Chad,” I said.
“Not without my shirt,” he said. Then he nailed me in the gut with his fist.
“Oomph,” I said as a little air escaped me. But that’s all he got, and he wouldn’t have gotten that much if I’d been prepared. He didn’t do as well, though. He was obviously hurting, shaking his hand up and down. Fuck I remembered seeing him punch a dent in a locker door and the same punch now barley even fazed me. My body was so fucking strong now, I was practically unstoppable. I put my hand on my stomach, and through the shirt, it was easy to feel the eight huge muscle-bricks rising out of my abdomen. This was going to be fun.
“The trouble with you, Chad,” I said “is that you never had any abs. I don’t happen to have that problem.” I lifted up my shirt and displayed my bulging stone-like abdominals. I loved looking at them, the way they fit in with each other in a beautiful pattern, like an ornamental brick wall of power. I ran my hand over them. I loved the feel, so hard, so strong. It looked like Chad was about to start drooling. “What to try again?” I asked. “I’ll let you.” I pulled my shirt up all the way, exposing my entire muscle saturated lower torso to him, right up to the bottom of my bowling ball pecs.
“I want my shirt back,” he said, but he didn’t try to hit me.
“Ok,” I said, dropping the shirt. “I’m feeling generous. I’ll give you your shirt back at the end of the week. But I’m going to wear it everyday until then and I don’t want to hear anymore about it from you. Got that?”
He nodded weakly. “Yeah.”
“Good.” I had a little surprise in mind for him on Friday, but his shirt was already tight on me and I wasn’t sure it would last until then.
“What the fuck was that about?” asked Peter when I got back to the table. The cat was pretty much out of the bag so I told them everything.
Peter was shocked. “I can’t believe you never told me,” he said.
“I had my reasons,” I said.
“Like the reason you won’t tell my why you’re suddenly so incredibly hot.”
“You think I’m incredibly hot?” I asked smiling.
“Oh, dude, you know you are. And when you manhandled that football player you shot straight up to an eleven on the one-to-ten hotness scale.”
“You think I’m an eleven?”
“Dude, once you hair grows all the way in, you’ll be so hot you’ll be burning down buildings.”
“Do I make you hot?”
“You have no idea.”
“Well, why don’t you come over tonight and explain it to me.” And just like that Peter and I were back together again.
Poor Derek. I could see it didn’t make him happy, but he’d had his chance. Besides, I didn’t like the way he found me completely resistible.
That night, my mom was going out to play bridge. I know, it was total 50’s sitcom but that’s what she liked to do. So, when Peter came over we had the house to ourselves.
We went up to my room, he sat on my bed and I proceeded to pull off my t shirt—not nearly as basic and straight forward as it sounded. My biceps were so big now and my back so broad, it was hard to get my arms to bend enough to grab hold of it. I imagined I get the hang of it eventually, but being this big was still pretty new to me, and I was having a little trouble with it. When I finally got hold of the shirt and began to pull, it didn’t come off smoothly. It was kind of tight on me and I wound up having to kind of peel it up. First I could feet the cool air against my brick wall abs and then I peeled it up over my torso releasing my mammoth pecs and lats.
“Oh fuck,” I heard Peter whisper, just as I freed my head from the cloth. I looked down at him and saw a wet spot forming at his crotch.
“You came?” I asked.
He nodded. “Sorry.”
“I only pulled off my shirt.”
“Dude, there was no “only” about that. I could watch you pull of your shirt over and over again for the rest of my life—just that and nothing else for my whole life—and die perfectly happy and contented.”
“Really,” I said. “Maybe I should leave the pants on. I don’t want you going into a coma or anything.”
“Don’t you fucking dare,” he said. And I didn’t.
I had never been worshiped before. It was a new thing for me, and judging from Peter’s over eager and awkward tongue work, it was new for him too. But what he lacked in experience he more than made up for with enthusiasm, and it shortly became a night to remember.
Afterwards while we were lying there, he looked up at me and asked, “Are you going to get any bigger?”
“Peter, I’m already bigger,” I said. “I’m bigger than I was this morning. I’m even bigger than I was when you got here. I’m always growing.”
He swallowed and I could feel him getting hard again against my thigh. “How big are you going to get?” he asked. “Big as Derek?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe bigger.” His cock was rock hard now, for what, the fifth or sixth time?
“I hope you get bigger than Derek,” he said.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I hope you get much, much bigger.”
“Would you like that,” I asked. “Would you like me to be eight feet tall and a thousand pounds of massive ripped muscle?”
“Oh yeah, hell yeah,” he gasped, and I felt him dousing my leg in his warm, sticky cum.
“Then I’ll see what I can do.”
Friday rolled around and as I suspected I had to squeeze myself into Chad’s shirt. I felt incredibly huge, that is until I got to the weight room for my morning work out. In that room, I was still the little guy. Nick and Jim were the closest to me, each at six eight and around four hundred pounds.
Jim was a little upset because even though he’d had the operation weeks ahead of Nick, his friend had completely caught up with him. Each of them had biceps the size of soccer balls and they were currently kneeling on the floor, arms on a bench, locked together in an arm wrestling match to the death. They were each turning three shades of red, and they struggled against each other, massive arms bulging out beyond reason beneath finger-thick veins. I could hear the bench groan under the strain seconds before there was a loud crack as the bench broke in two sending the two goliaths sprawling on the floor.
“Ok, that’s enough of that,” said Frank. “Some of us still have to work out here.” Frank was only an inch taller than them, but he was inhumanly thick, weighing close to six hundred pounds. You hear jokes about people who are as wide as they are tall. In Frank’s case I’m not sure it was an exaggeration. Derek was still seven one, and a just a monster. Mark had hit seven four, he still didn’t quite have Derek’s bulk, but if the two of them ever arm wrestled, I’d expect it to leave a crater.
Lunch time came almost before I knew it and the moment I’d been planning for had arrived. I’d been working my upper body extra hard all week just to get ready for this. I got up and swaggered over to Chad’s table. He looked up as he saw me coming and the look on his face was perfect. He obviously had no idea what I was going to do, but whatever he thought it was, I don’t think he was looking forward to it. He was no fool.
I stood there looking down on him for a minute. Man, he looked so small now. Then I said, “Chad, you still want your shirt back?”
He nodded.
“Then let me just get it off.” I pulled a most muscular. I felt my stone like body explode with mass, thrusting out against the shirt. The back was immediately blown apart by my monstrous lats. Then my meteorite-like delts exploded out of the shoulders at almost the same time my giant striated pecs tore out the front. The decimated shirt scraps slid past my rippling, heaving brick wall of a stomach and fluttered to the ground right at Chad’s feet. I stood there in front of him with the full glory of my muscular torso revealed to him, forcing each sinew to bulge out to it’s max. I couldn’t help but notice the wet spot at his crotch. Damn, that was the second time this week, I’d made a guy cum just by removing my shirt. I’d have to flex out of something for Peter. I bet he’d like that. Yeah, I bet he’d like that a lot.
I slowly turned and walked back to my seat where Derek, Peter and a fresh shirt were waiting for me. It was kind of funny, but as soon as I destroyed Chad’s shirt, I felt myself released from any interest in him at all. I was free to go on with my life and I confess I almost never thought of him again.
It was a few weeks after that that I stopped being human. Seriously, that’s exactly what it felt like. I mean I was six foot ten and I weighed four hundred and eighty pounds. I came down the stairs to breakfast one morning only to find my Mom hiding under the table.
“Quick Brandon,” she said, “get in the doorway until the earthquake passes.”
I tried not to take these things personally. “That was just me, Mom.”
“No, seriously, the whole house was shaking.”
“That. Was. Just. Me. Mom.” And I raised my leg and tensing my massive quads only slightly, I stamped my foot in demonstration. The room shook. A couple of the cupboards flew open and their contents spilled out.
“Oh,” she said, “As she crawled out from under the table. “You want juice or coffee with your two dozen eggs?”
And that was just a sample. There was nothing normal about my life anymore. I didn’t even feel like the same species I used to be, and I didn’t look like the same species. My muscles were gigantic, huge, hard, bulging vein covered masses. There was a ridiculous amount of power in my slightest move. My upper arms were thirty two inches, which was wider than my waist used to be. I could pick up any engine part on those garage shelves and break it apart just by squeezing it with one hand. That old engine block we needed a forklift to move, I was using it as a door stop. It seemed ridiculously light to me now. Probably because my back was so wide you could project a movie on it. And my pecs… people were starting to joke, “Here comes Brandon’s pecs, and five minutes later, here comes Brandon.” I actually thought that was kind of funny.
My legs were just ridiculous. Each one took up about as much space walking down the corridor as one of the football players. Once, some jock wasn’t looking where he was going and blundered into one. It knocked him about ten yards down the corridor and into some lockers. But it wasn’t my fault. How was I supposed to see him down there? I was so tall now that I normally looked over the heads of almost every other human being I encountered; they seemed like little kids to me. Fortunately, the jock only suffered only a minor concussion. Ever since then I’ve been constantly aware of the enormous size, weight and power of my massive quads and hamstrings as I thundered down the halls, fully aware that a collision with me could mean serious injury. One guy joked that I should have turn signals installed with a light for the top of my head to warn airplanes.
One day I walked into Greek history and squeezed into my desk. Man, the seat was really small and incredibly uncomfortable beneath my massive rock hard glutes. It started creaking even worse than usual, and I think I might have even heard something snap.
Jack Benet, who sat behind me, and said in a flawless Scottish accent, “She canna take it, Captain. She’s gonna blow!”
“Apparently you’re completely unfamiliar with the rigorous scientific tests the school desks are put through,” I said twisting around to face him. “Each one is tested using the weight of an entire school of elephants.”
I turned back and my desk disintegrated. I mean it. Before I knew what happened I was picking myself off of the floor from underneath shards of wood and plastic. There wasn’t much left.
“An entire school of elephants?” said Jack. “That’s a lot of elephants. By the way, I see your hair’s growing back in, just as blond as ever.”
Why yes it was. And wasn’t it nice of him to notice.
From then on I had to use one of the cafeteria chairs. They were the only things that would safely hold me.
And it wasn’t just the desk. I was so freaking strong that I would frequently destroy things without even noticing. I opened my locker one day and then suddenly realized that I had forgotten to unlock it first. I had unintentionally just ripped the lock apart. And when I tried to force the door shut afterwards I just wound up crumpling it.
Peter loved that I kept accidentally tearing things apart. He called me distructo-boy and said I gave new meaning to the term blond bombshell. He always said the sweetest things.
Clothes were a real problem though. I was growing so fast, mom refused to buy me too many at once. For a while I was actually purchasing Mark’s hand me downs. His family had plenty of money so he had some nice clothes. He had this great pair of cotton pants that I was so excited to grow into. They were kind of thin and they hugged the quads in such a way that every head could be clearly seen beneath them. They were extremely hot. But the first time I wore them to school, I got hit by a car in the school parking lot by some kid who’d only had his license a week. Can you believe it? It knocked me over and tore a huge gash in the right pant leg. They were ruined! I was so mad. His insurance better cover this!
I leapt up and tried to glare at him inside the car, but I couldn’t because the whole front of the car was caved in and the hood had been bent up blocking the windshield. Not to mention all the steam issuing from the water-squirty-thing in the front. I tried to push the bent hood back down out of the way but the thing just popped off. I was so pissed I started to take it out on the hood. I began to feel it bend under the pressure from my hands. I loved the feel of it yielding to my insanely powerful arms. Teeth gritted and lips pulled back, I pushed further and harder and I think I might even have been growling a little. It felt great to vent my anger on it and I just kept mashing the hood, causing my massive rock hard biceps to bulge up to basketball size. There was an explosive ripping noise as they blew out my sleeves. Great. This day was just one clothing disaster after another. I slammed the wadded up hood on the ground where it became imbedded in the pavement.
The kid, for some reason, didn’t seem to want to get out of the car.
“Are you coming out here?” I shouted.
The kid just shook his head rapidly.
I tried to pull open the door and of course that ripped off, too. Piece of shit car.
“Come on out,” I said.
The kid finally stumbled out staring slack jawed at his car. “Oh my God, you totaled my car,” he said.
“Who cares about your crappy twenty-year-old Nissan?” I said. “Maybe you should have learned how to drive it before you pulled it out of the garage. Look what you did to my pants. I’ll never get another pair this nice. Do you know how expensive these are? They are irreplaceable, you understand, irreplaceable. They were custom tailored. Do you know how much cloth it takes to cover these quads?”
The kid stared down at the gigantic ripped masses that were my quads—they were clearly visible thorough the tear—and gulped. He just looked like he might be in shock. “I can’t believe I hit you so hard my car is totaled, and your just standing there like nothing happened.”
“Nothing happened? My favorite pants are now rags and you ‘re trying to tell me nothing happened?” The nerve of this kid.
But ordinary people just didn’t seem to get me anymore. I was really only comfortable with my fellow Muscle Brains—and Peter, of course. We had long since out grown the weight room and moved down to a local gym. I think the gym owner regretted selling us memberships because when we went there we kind of cleared the place out. Not because we were intimidating people, but simply because when we worked out we needed all the weights.
The rest of the school year seemed to fly by. Derek never got past seven one, but he looked incredible and he seemed happy with his size. His muscles were inhumanly huge and with them bulging out all over his giant frame, he never failed to get stares where ever he went. And he was right about the car alarm thing; he was setting them off left and right.
He did tell me once he was sorry it never worked out between us, but he never had trouble finding company when he wanted it. Of course, not the other Muscle Brains. They were all into girls, but, you know, there’s no accounting for taste.
Nick stopped at seven feet. He wasn’t quite as thick as Derek either, but he was incredibly strong. He’d started a new hobby. He loved to go out into the parking lot, pick up and drag cars from one parking spot to another, and then hang out after school to watch people try and find their vehicles. And then when they finally did, he loved to watch their faces as they tried to figue out how the car got where it was. He thought it was the funniest thing. He’d get caught occasionally but the car owners would just laugh good naturedly. What else were they going to do? He was a foot taller than most of them and his biceps were bigger and harder than most car tires.
Jim never got taller than six ten, but then he was the shortest of us to begin with. And among regular men, he was still truly immense. We did sort of give him the nick name shorty. But he didn’t seam to mind— at least when we called him that. Anyone else was taking their lives in their hands.
Only Frank was shorter than him, as he held steady at six nine, but he was still thicker than any of the others. He really had trouble getting through doors whether he twisted or not. His pec shelf and upper back combined were almost as deep as his shoulders were wide. Where as the rest of us enjoyed occasionally blowing out a shirt, he occasionally enjoyed blowing out a door frame. Just a little twist and CRACK, there it’d go. “Oops, sorry,” he’d say. But what were they going to do?
Mark was actually the tallest at seven four. His muscles were longer than anyone else’s, but he never developed Derek’s bulk. Derek was still the king in that department, or he would have been if it weren’t for me. I was just as bulky as he was, except I was seven one. I called it my revenge for him forcing the programming on me. But secretly I had wanted to be the biggest over all, and I wasn’t. I mentioned it to Derek once, and he pulled me aside.
“You may not be the tallest, or the strongest, or the thickest,” he said, “but with that face you are definitely the hottest.” Well, I guessed I could live with that.
So, there we were at graduation. All six of us had to have our gowns custom made. Good thing the school paid for it. My mom was sick and tired of constantly buying new clothes for me.
On my way to my seat for the ceremony, I ran into Chad. Actually I almost ran over him. I still hadn’t gotten that look-down-while-you’re-walking-thing right yet.
“Brandon,” he said looking up and gulping. Jeeze the guy was tenting right in front of me.
“Chad,” I said.
“I just wanted you to know I broke it off with Liz. I couldn’t go on lying to myself.”
“Good for you,” I said, just wishing he’d get out of my way so I could get to my seat without stepping on him.
“It’s just after you flexed out of my shirt, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Every time I closed my eyes, I’d see you standing there with all those muscles, bulging and heaving, ripping their way out of my shirt.”
Christ, the guy was breathing hard. Any second he was going to ruin his good pants.
“Chad, I think we need to get to our seats.”
“Sure. I was just wondering, if you know, after the ceremony…”
I cut him off with a laugh. It’s not like I was trying to be cruel, it just the entire situation genuinely struck me as funny. “Chad,” I said, “That ship has long since sailed. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a very different person from the one I used to be, and second, I’m already spoken for. Go out and find yourself a nice guy who’ll want you for what you are. I’m afraid you’ve just gotten a little too small for me.” Then I brushed by him, trying not to knock him down, but, you know, I didn’t actually succeed. Ouch. I hope he doesn’t need stitches.
So there I was sitting there in my red graduation gown and looking over at the other five red mountains interspersed throughout the crowd, and I remembered Peter’s and my little bet. Its true Derek never became the meat aficionado I had originally intended to make him, but there also was no question that he was entirely obsessed by muscle. So, did I win, or not?
After the ceremony Peter came up to me. “I guess I owe you two hundred dollars,” he said.
“Well,” I said, “Kinda, and kinda not. Derek is definitely obsessed by muscle, so I think you should pay me the two hundred dollars.” His face fell.
“But, since he’s not obsessed in the way we thought he’d be, you don’t have to pay me in cash,” I continued.
“Then how…?”
“There are all kinds of ways you can work off the debt, and they’ll all be much more fun than money,” I grinned. “It’s an established scientific fact.”
THE END