Hunter: N.Y.P.D. (mc musc AP)

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“He’s got it! He’s GOT IT! A WORLD RECORD AND A GOLD MEDAL FOR NEIL BLUE! His fourth of each at these Games!”

The video screen showed a jubilant Neil shooting up out of the water, the water pouring off of his muscled body as he pumped his fist and tore off his swimming cap to expose his head of wet blonde hair. He hopped out of the water and roared as the cameras flashed. Tomorrow, pictures of his buff body, with every muscle popping, would be on the front page of every newspaper, ready to be cut out and put up in the rooms of horny teen girls.

Across the arena, Hunter Hardy screamed his approval. “YEAHHHH! Neil did it! He did it!” He planted a celebratory deep kiss on Katie and hugged every person around him.

Katie pulled on his shirt. “Babe! Let’s go, let’s meet him at the gate! Come on.”

They held hands, his large mitt wrapped around her petite one. The cool diamond inset in her huge engagement ring was pressed into Hunter’s palm. She led him through the arena and wandered back.

“Mr. Hardy, what a surprise.” A security guard grinned and waved the lovebirds on.

Katie spotted Neil first, doing an interview at the side of the pool.

The interviewer, a forty-something woman with a brunette bob, held her microphone up to Neil’s shapely mouth.

Hunter and Katie listened to his last quote: “Yeah, you know, I’m just pinching myself every day. I can’t believe I’m swimming in these Olympics, next to all these incredible swimmers…I can’t believe I’m here!”

The newswoman smiled. “Humble words from an overwhelmed Neil Blue. Thanks, Neil.”

As he thanked the newswoman and walked away, Katie let out an excited shriek. “NEIL! Neil!”

Neil grinned as soon as he heard her voice. She left Hunter in the dust and ran forward, beaming with pride, and leapt into her friend’s arms. Neil’s big arms wrapped around her slim torso and held her tight and high off the ground. “I’m so proud of you! You killed it!”

She kissed him on the cheek and he set her down.

Hunter caught up to his fiancé and wrapped his arms around his best friend. “Look at you, you crazy motherfucker! You’re the best swimmer in the world! I told you this would happen!”

“You’re gonna make me cry!” Neil laughed, then whispered in his friend’s ear, “Thank you, once again. Can’t say it enough.”

The hug lasted a long time, long enough to get a ton of cameras on them. The three friends screamed and jumped and cried, totally jubilant at Neil’s success.

“Four golds, man. Four in four days!”

“I just can’t believe it, guys!” Neil sucked in air and flicked water off his hair. “I can’t even think straight right now.” He laughed.

“No more swims today to think about, so don’t worry. Just go get your gold, dude!” Hunter slapped Neil’s back and Katie hugged them both.

“I’ll see you after the ceremony, after I get cleaned up, okay? You’re going to Mel’s prelims tonight, yeah?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Katie said. Hunter smiled and put his arm around her. “We’ll be there right next to you, bud.”

“Cool. Great.” Neil shook his blonde locks once more. “I’ll see you in a few.” He waved and walked away, followed by his posse of photographers.

For commoners, a trip across New York is annoying enough, but during the Olympics, it is damn near impossible. However, when a Heisman Trophy-winning Florida QB and his Victoria’s Secret model girlfriend want to get across New York City to see their friend compete in her gymnastics preliminaries, they can do it. Hunter and Katie were the youngest superstar couple in pop culture, both just 21 years old but practically household names. The media adored them and their double dates with best friends Neil Blue and Mirela Szabo. What were the chances that Neil, Katie and Hunter would all go to the same high school?

“Oh my God! The Hardys, the Hardys!”

Katie and Hunter were spotted going into one of the gymnastics arena’s back entrances by an autograph-seeking fan. She reached into her purse and pulled out her “Most Beautiful” issue of People Magazine, flipping it to a dog-eared page. The picture was of Neil, Katie, Mel and Hunter. They sat in a wooden sauna, lounging casually, their sculpted bodies glistening with sweat (or whatever it was that had been sprayed on them by the make-up artist.) It was a racy picture, especially for People. Katie’s bust was covered by Hunter’s muscled forearm, her leg casually in-between his to cover his genitalia. Mel leaned her back against Neil’s torso, his hands wrapped around her breasts and his large thigh wrapped around hers as he nuzzled her statuesque neck. Some groups labeled the picture as soft-core porn, especially Mel’s and Neil’s pose, which looked almost like anal sex.

The issue, of course, was one of the best-selling of the year.

Katie held up her big engagement ring and smiled as she took the Sharpie. “Not a Hardy quite yet, Ma’am.”

She handed the pen to Hunter, who scribbled. “Although she would be already, if I had anything to say about it.” He winked at Katie. The autograph seeker almost swooned.

“Hunter! Hunter! Where’s Neil?”

Hunter and Katie turned to see a slim young man, clad in a white short-sleeved button-down and very old jeans. He was wiry little guy, five-seven and probably 120 pounds, with an unthreateningly nasal voice. Katie went pale. “Shit, Hunter, it’s him.” She leaned in and Hunter wrapped his strong arm around her.

Neil had warned them of his stalker, but they didn’t expect to see him without Neil there. This creepy guy had started following Neil everywhere – talk shows, events – and eventually got so bad that he had a restraining order against him. They didn’t know if he was mentally ill, or what he wanted. Since the order was granted, he had stayed away from Neil. But he could get as close as he wanted to Hunter and Katie.

“Where’s Neil, Hunter? I want to give him a present. Can you give him something for me?”

Hunter felt his polo bunch in Katie’s fist as she pulled tighter.

Hunter shot his gaze toward the man and curled his lips in. No one was scarier than Hunter Hardy when he was pissed off. “No, man. No. Stay away.” Hunter pulled Katie along as they headed for the back entrance.

Finally spotting someone, Hunter made eye contact with a security guy and nodded his head, and the man headed over. When the stalker saw the action, he took off.

“Everything alright, Mr. Hardy?” The man was obviously a volunteer, but pretty big nonetheless.

“We’re okay now, yeah. Thanks.”

Hunter and Katie filed into their seats in the arena, causing a minor sensation as they did so. If the Olympics had been in a foreign city, they would have been able to be a little more understated. But America, land of the Excess, had gotten the Games, and New York City was packed to the brim with people who wanted to see the Fab Four. Hunter and Katie’s arrival also signified that Neil Blue would soon be there, sitting next to them, watching his girlfriend compete.

Mirela Szabo – Mel, to her friends and family – was causing as much of a commotion in the gymnastics world as Neil, Hunter and Katie were doing in their respective industries. She was often referred to as “the Pretty Petite” in the media. Pictures of her and her three friends out on the town showed a significant height difference from six-six Hunter, six-four Neil and five-ten Katie. But at five-four, Mel was actually pretty tall for a gymnast. Her legs took up what looked to be eighty percent of her body. Her parents had emigrated to the US from Romania and raised Mel and her brother in their gymnasium. Mel’s brother had since retired from the sport due to injury, started a family and opened a gym of his own. But Mel, at 20, had ruled women’s gymnastics for three years, storming every championship in the process. Her slim, beautiful frame was graceful and ballet-like.

Her beauty was undeniable. She had a gorgeous face, looking as much a model as Katie Snow. Her brow was shapely and her eyes beautifully dark. Her bone structure was flawless, and her mouth was curved into a sexy shape that hinted at mischief. Two years before, she had been on the set of a Vanity Fair photo shoot that focused on up-and-coming athletes when the most beautiful man she had ever seen walked in, wearing only a tiny racing Speedo.

They made an odd pair, Mel and Neil. She was small, skinny and had classically dark, beautiful Romanian features. Her boyfriend was a full foot taller, with a head full of thick blonde hair. His face lit up when he laughed and his blue eyes were sparkling like his blindingly white teeth. She had that smoky Eastern European sexiness; he looked like a cute, slightly innocent All-American hunk.

They had originally met in lust, running off set at the photo shoot for a marathon fuck at Neil’s suite back at the hotel. But the more they talked, they connected. They understood each other and what each was doing for their sport. Neil was not intimidated by her beauty, but he still had a real quality to him. They had been raised out of the spotlight and then thrust into it by the force of their own talent and beauty. He appreciated who he was, but not as much as he appreciated her. She liked that. She loved that.

Mel Szabo was in fine form at preliminaries. Her first event was floor and it was one of her best, showcasing her grace and style. She received the highest score of the day, qualifying for the event finals in the process.

Neil sat down next to Katie. “How’s she doing, Kate?”

“She looks great.”

“I knew it. I knew she would.” He smiled and stared onto the floor of the arena.

Katie and Hunter shared a quick glance and grinned. God, Neil was pussy-whipped.

Mel didn’t yet know that Neil had won again. After receiving her score, she headed over to the vault, which was closest to her three friends.

Hunter counted off. “1, 2, 3!” They cheered in unison. “GO MEL!”

Her head popped up and she peered into the stands. They saw her face light up when she caught sight of them, and she did a quick wave before looking at Neil. Resplendent in his tight blue polo, Neil stood and revealed a gold medal in his hands.

Mel clapped her hands together and put them in front of her smiling mouth. She blew Neil a kiss, then walked to her bench by her coach and sat to focus and prepare.

The television cameras picked up Neil, Katie and Hunter and held a shot on them. Neil and Hunter were both wearing very tight polos, their large pecs and biceps bulging out of the fabric. Their hair was perfectly tousled, their square jaws locked in position as they watched Mel. Hunter’s jaw was stubbly; Neil, of course, was clean-shaven. Katie’s blond hair was pulled cascading down her back in waves, her beautiful breasts peeking out of her low-cut camisole. They made a beautiful trio.

As much as the media wanted the four to go out clubbing, it was the Olympics. Neil and Mel both had the next day off but they nonetheless needed to focus.

Still, they all had to eat, right?

Paparazzi crept as the four dined at Le Cirque. The zoom lenses captured them as they emerged, arm in arm. All four were dressed to the nines, the men in open-necked designer shirts that showed off every inch of their beautifully muscled physiques, the women in low-cut dresses that accentuated their busts and slim waists. They climbed into the waiting limo and zoomed back to the hotel.

Neil and Mel were staying in the Olympic Village, but since they had an off-day, they decided they would stay late in Hunter and Katie’s suite and head back a little later, since they had eaten early.

“Hey dude?” Hunter addressed the driver. “Can you drop the four of us off at Duane Reade? We can walk from there. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Sure thing, sir.”

The limo pulled over and the four emerged from the door and stepped onto the streets of New York.

They wandered to the back and grabbed necessities like lube and magazines. Shoppers gawked, as did the cashier. Hunter Hardy was hard to miss, six-foot-six with his wide shoulders and masculine face and beautifully tailored clothes. Then they would see Neil, a Beckham-in-training, his shirt open to show the top of his pectorals and his hair carefully styled. Every part of the men was gorgeous. The women, in their little black dresses, looked as stunning as the men. It was a never-ending parade of beauty in a Manhattan pharmacy.

They strode down the streets of New York and whisked by stunned onlookers.

Their hotel was one of the most lavish in New York, and fully booked for the Olympics. Nobody expected them to be walking around on the street, and nobody noticed as they ducked around the back to enter. Security was waiting and expected them to enter from the front.

Hunter reached to swipe his key card for entry by the inconspicuous, windowless door when all four of them heard a voice. It dripped with sickening adoration.

“Neil? Neil!”

It was Neil’s stalker.

Neil and Hunter, instinctively and without thinking, spun around to shield and protect Katie and Mel. They didn’t have time to get out of there. There was nowhere to go. Why hadn’t they seen this guy?

Hunter slowly and deliberately, out of the man’s view, slipped the key into Katie’s quivering hand. He barely made a sound, but Katie could make out one word: “Go. GO.”

Hunter and Neil were two of the best athletes in the world, and built flawlessly. With their wide shoulders and broad chests, they easily blocked the door. Mel was white as a sheet, so Katie grabbed her hand and swiped the key. The women darted into the door and took off running to get security. Neil jumped back and slammed it shut with his right shoulder.

The man was still in his outfit from earlier – short-sleeved button-down, old jeans, old sneakers. He was advancing slowly, deliberately. Hunter and Neil didn’t show fear.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Neil. Or them. I just want to be friends with you. You won’t listen to me!”

Hunter had never seen Neil seethe as much as he was at that moment. His ice-blue eyes were ferociously set, his mouth curled into a fighting sneer. There was no trace of the fat kid who had once been Neil Blue. Now, he was tall, magnificent, protective and confident.

Neil’s voice was lower than usual, dripping with disgust. He was almost growling. “I don’t want anything to do with you. You threatened Mel.”

The man was taken aback. “I just said that because I wanted you to pay attention to me. I didn’t mean it. Honest!”

And suddenly, the stalker darted forward.

Hunter was there in a flash, all 260 pounds slamming the man into the alley’s wall.

“I’m not armed! Help! I didn’t do anything!” The man thrashed helplessly but was completely pinned. Hunter’s jaw was set, and he popped his neck from side to side. The muscles in his neck pulsed out and the striation of his pecs quivered. The stalker couldn’t help but notice.

“Wow, you’re as beautiful as Neil is. It’s not possible. But you…my God…”


“You can’t hurt me.” The man almost laughed, but his eyes betrayed his fear. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Neil, incredulous, said, “Except violate your restraining order. Shit, man.”

“What’s your name?” Hunter almost purred the question.

Neil and the stalker answered at the same time. “Mike.”

Hunter’s green eyes sparkled. “See, Mike? Neil knows who you are.”

Mike’s whole creepy visage lit up. “You do! You know me!”

“Got any family, Mike?”


Hunter looked back at Neil and winked. Neil backed up in wonder, then leaned his large, buff frame against the door. Hunter turned back to face Mike, who was grimacing under Hunter’s vice like grip. His legs kicked slightly, but he was held fast.

“Mike, you need to learn some respect for the law and for people. You need a family to keep you in check, just like the rest of us.”

“Parents are dead, I’m an only child. I don’t…” He sucked in a big breath, then wheezed. He didn’t feel fully in control of his body. It felt like there was a hand inside his chest and it was pulling at him and stopping the air. “…don’t have any family.”

“Sure you do, Mike. You got a wife and three kids in Brooklyn.”

Mike’s eyes were cloudy. His mouth was dropped slightly open, stupidly, and his face seemed confused. He looked up to the heavens and his throat constricted as he gasped for air.

Hunter had seen this confusion before. Neil, amazed, had not.

“What are you…what…whaaaa…whuuuuuu…”

Mike’s legs stopped shaking, and he stopped resisting. Hunter pulled up his arms and Mike slumped to the dank pavement, sputtering like a dying automobile.

Hunter crouched down. “Remember, Mikey boy? Your boys look just like you. And your daughter, well, isn’t she just a Daddy’s girl. You have a wife you love, just like Neil and I have our own special ladies.” Hunter looked at the blade that had fallen out of Mike’s pocket. “Not armed, huh? Were you going to stab me?” Mike looked at the blade and didn’t seem to recognize it. “I just…I had that by accident. It was from work.”

“Where do you work?”

Mike tried to answer, but he couldn’t remember. He couldn’t think at all.

Hunter’s voice was low and secretive. “Guess what, Mike? I DO have a family. I got a Mom, a Dad, five brothers and a sister on the way. I got a fiancée. Neil’s probably gonna be engaged soon too, and his Mom depends on him. Did you want to take that from us?” Hunter stood to his full height and spat in front of the quivering nut in front of him. “Go home to your wife and kids. Love them. Frankly, sir, you have better things to focus on than following poor Neil around. Stop bothering us.”

"Wait, wait." Neil shook his head. "Your Mom is having a girl?"

Hunter held up his index finger without turning. "I'll tell you in a second."

Mike’s face was covered in sweat. He stared up at Hunter, terrified.

“I…sorry? I just…wanted…I want. Want. Wa, wa…wa? Fuuuuuckkk.” Mike eased up to his feet, stumbling. “I dunno what’s WRONG…with…mmmmm. Mmmmm.” He rubbed his head and dried his face, then his arms fell by his side, feeling tight.

Even though he was almost a foot shorter, Mike tried to swing at Hunter. His arm suddenly felt heavier than it ever had, and he cramped all the way up and down his right arm. His fingers bounced pathetically into the shirt wrapped around Hunter’s unbelievable physique, the fingers digging slightly into the fabric.

His head was pounding. His whole body felt like hell. Mike barely knew where he was. The alley spun, he saw Hunter, then Neil – who stared, dumbstruck – and then back at Hunter. His mouth was dry as a bone. He couldn’t speak. He was helpless.

But his cock, his cock wasn’t dry. He could feel it pulsing with life. The more he stared at Hunter, his muscles popping out his shirt, his beautiful face streaked with anger, the more he wanted to cum.

His dick was hard now, staring at Hunter. When Mike looked at Neil, he began to leak cum. Neil’s blue eyes were wide, and his shirt looked tighter than ever. He looked so sexy! Sexy! Fuck, fuck...

So tight - if only his shirts fit like Neil’s…

“Uunnghhhhh, noooo…”

Neil and Hunter watched a wet spot appear in the crotch of Mike’s jeans. Mike leaned his head back, weakly, and shot another little load of man-seed. “Fuck, fuck.” The delineation of the penis in his jeans was getting bigger. It lengthened, tenting, out of his crotch, then the zipper began to split. The cock pushed to the side, against Mike’s right thigh, getting longer and thicker. It was a much bigger cock than a few moments before. The balls pushed out and got bigger, dropping lower, growing in size and strength and depth. His jeans began to tear from the force of the growing package he had. He needed special underwear to hold in his porn-star equipment. They got bigger and harder, and suddenly, his cock and balls had torn through the old, ratty denim. The waist of the jeans was intact, leaving fluttery tatters of denim and white cotton hanging around his now-huge dick.

Another spurt of cum shot across his leg. It was a much bigger load this time. His capacity for semen had grown.

His whole body creaked and he squealed in pain. Mike felt like he was being torn apart. He heard a sharp crack and he screamed again, and he watched as Hunter’s big pecs got farther away. He felt his legs stretch, and he moaned, his confused mind unable to focus on the fact that he was getting much taller. His form elongated, then adjusted, as his arms and legs and torso became the length of a six-foot-three man rather than a five-foot-seven one.

“Lookin’ good, Legs McGee.” Hunter watched Mike wildly caress his new long form, trying to figure out the source of his growth.

Mike grit his teeth. He wanted to ask for help, but he didn’t know what was going on. He couldn’t explain his predicament. His eyes popped open and he was now staring Hunter in the face. He looked at the two men, more glorious and godlike than ever before, their built bodies straining, pushing at their clothes. He tried to imagine how it would feel to not wear clothes, but be encased in them, to have your huge muscles be on show 24/7.

Soft cotton pushing at your thighs, tearing as it became unbearably tight, as your bigass quads and hamstrings tore through because you trained them to competition standards…

Mike was giggling and cumming at his imagination, but what he was imagining was real, and he was too out of it to realize. His once-tiny thighs began to rub against each other, and then the force became too much and he had to widen his stance to make way for the now-thunderous muscles on his legs. They bulged and widened, and suddenly he felt a sharp snap in his calves as the muscles popped out and pushed against the alley wall.

Oh God, his dick…his fuckin’ thighs, man! And his calves, they were some big motherfuckers; some builders had to get implants because their calves wouldn’t grow, but his were so wide and plump that they pushed out against his pant legs…

He blew another wad of cum, this stream unbearably long, so long that his body was wracked by the orgasm. Man, he could cum for days.

His feet creaked and pushed out of the old sneakers, and he felt his toes go into a damp puddle in the alley. His feet got wider and longer, the wisps of blonde hair falling off as the top of his feet became smooth and veined. He felt a sharp pain in his hands and felt his fingers crack and reform. He tried to hold them up to his face to see what was happening, but his arms were still to heavy. His neck wouldn’t move, he was frozen staring into Hunter’s face, then back at Neil’s, then Hunter’s again.

He was still cumming. He felt his hands wrap around his thighs and he bent forward, gritting his teeth. Mike felt his butt push at the other end of the denim, felt the muscle rise as he shifted his weight. It got higher on his back, and the denim began to painfully rise up into his ass-crack. It was a huge, plump and beautiful ass, one you could eat breakfast off of. With one loud RIP, the jeans gave way, leaving mere shreds holding the pants together. He tried to turn and felt his neck cramp up, but he knew he had a big muscle ass that matched his even bigger legs. Fuck, his cock hurt from all this shit.

“You’re looking different, big Mike. Real different.”

Mike could only respond with a tired moan, but his eyes betrayed his fear. Neil was breathless. “So this is what it looks like. Jesus.”

Mike felt his chest cramp, and then a tightness in his shirt. And his neck, too. Fuck. FUCK. This felt so good, this is what Hunter and Neil feel like all the time, with their muscles rubbing against their clothes. The muscle began to bunch in his weak chest, growing rapidly, as if two huge fists were pushing out his pecs from the inside. It got bigger and bulged out at once, spraying buttons onto the pavement. He had pecs now, big ones. They filled with muscle, like a balloon inflating. The protruding bones on his chest were invisible now, covered with huge mountains of muscle. Finally able to move his arms, Mike reached up and grabbed a big bunch of chest muscle with his hand. Size-wise, it was as if someone had slipped two rock-stuffed throw pillows into his chest. His nipples were rock hard, and pointing downward now. They weren’t pink anymore, but caramel, almost brown. The tufts of blonde hair from his chest were gone. Striation appeared between his big pecs as the muscles became perfectly formed.

He felt a crack in his rib cage and tried to shriek, but nothing came out aside from squeaks and air. His torso was getting wider, he could feel his shoulders pushing outward and his ribs snapping to make him looming. His abs popped out slowly, as if the fists had moved down and were pushing out his stomach. His stomach lost his flatness and bulged out with muscle and power, until his belly was swollen with abs. He wasn’t cut and defined like Neil, or ripped with muscle like Hunter – he was just thick and buff as hell, as if his skin couldn’t contain his mass.

“God, it’s like watching porn.” Neil was almost embarrassed. “Look at all that fuckin’ jizz, man.”

Hunter grinned. “You sympathize?”

“Sorta. Yeah.”

Mike’s neck looked like it was getting shorter, but his shoulders were actually just bulking, swallowing his collarbone and tearing the seams of his white shirt. Only one button remained of the tattered cotton shirt, wedged underneath his pecs, the tatters of cloth made transparent by Mike’s sweat. His skin was shimmering. In fact, it looked darker.

His shoulders were huge now, massive cannonball delts pushing out his sleeves. His very wrists became twice their original size and his biceps got longer on his arm as he turned from ectomorph to mesomorph, then his massive upper arms bulged out, bigger than his head, almost misproportionate to his body. His sleeves exploded as the veins snaked out and down to his forearms. His big hands balled into fists as he came again, feeling his forearms blow up with muscle, feeling the skin stretch tight.

"Lookin' great so far, Mike."


Mike really was darker now, his pasty white skin gone and replaced with a beautiful mocha. His wide blue eyes had changed to a sexy brown. He felt a sensation on his head and put his hands in his hair, feeling the textures change from silky to thick. He itched his scalp as the now-black tresses receded into his head, changing his side-part into a high-and-tight flat-top fade.

He felt a pulling above his eyes as his thin blonde eyebrows became black and bushy, the middle pushing up into an arch, setting off his beautifully brown eyes. Then, all at once, his face exploded with scratches as thousands of black whiskers burrowed out of his cheeks and chin, giving him a permanent five-o’clock shadow.

“Ahhhhh, FUCK me…” His clumsy fingers clawed at his face, which was rapidly changing. The non-descript Caucasian features gave way to distinctly Italian ones, as Mike turned into a real New York boy. His nose got longer and wider, sharper, sharper, then even more sharp and precise. His suddenly plumper lips curled into a sneer. He cursed again as his face literally widened, his jaw cracking to be stronger and wider than the rest of his head, almost cartoonish in its masculinity. He had the face of a Bruiser, one tough motherfucker. A scar formed above his right eyebrow. His teeth fixed themselves and straightened, slightly widening his jaw even more and popping with pure white against his deep, dark skin. His neck was as wide as his jaw and his head appeared to get smaller from there on up, aided by the short, tight hairdo.

His posture suddenly improved as his back muscles ballooned out and balanced out his mammoth chest. He scratched his ass and felt how hard it was, then ran his hand up, cumming as his big fingers dipped into the dimples above his butt and the muscle wrapped around his spin. His traps were almost even with his huge, bulging jawline; his delts and biceps were still almost as big as his head.

He felt his vocal cords stretch and his throat felt dry. He sucked in air and his chest heaved, and then he came again. “Fawck!”

His voice had deepened dramatically. “What da fuck is wrong wit’ me…” Mike’s old voice was gone, replaced with a shockingly deep and thickly accented growl.

His big brown eyes, peering out from the almost-frightening brow, darted around the alley. Nothing made sense right now…where the fuck was he? He felt something wrap around his head and reached up to feel a hat, with a hard brim. There was something on the front, too, something metal…an insignia, maybe?

The same wrapping sensation happened around his wrist and waist all at once. He was wearing a big black watch now, snapped around his very thick wrist. “Whut da fuck is dis?” Now, there was a gold chain wrapped around his wrist too. And his neck, yeah, it was really cold against his burning hot skin…

Was that a gun on his waist? He had to maneuver his body just write to see past his huge pecs and biceps. The waistband of his jeans was navy blue now, not denim anymore but another fabric, and wrapped through the belt loops was a thick black leather belt with a ton of stuff clipped to it. A gun was one of the items. He reached for it but noticed the rest of his torn his jeans were also blue now, soft and comfortable. The shards began to move around his hairless, tree-trunk legs. They met and attached themselves to each other, as navy blue pants formed. He felt his huge horse dick press against his thigh as tight briefs crawled around it, holding him solid, creating a very noticeable bulge in his navy-blue trousers. A baby blue stripe crawled up the outside of his new pants. The cloth clung to his thighs, calves, dick and butt like flies to flypaper.

There was a cool sensation on his left pec and he looked down to see a golden name tag and a big badge above it. They were pinned to his tattered, sweat-soaked shirt.

M. DESANTO, it said. All caps.

M. DeSanto? Was that him? Mike DeSanto. Michael Anthony DeSanto. Yeah, Big Mike, Big Mikey D. Mike DeSanto. Yeah…

The blue, the same color of his pants, swirled out from underneath the badge. The white cotton tatters turned navy he felt his muscles begin to push against the fabric once more. He felt constrained, suddenly. Wearing clothes fuckin’ sucked. He wanted to show his big muscles. He felt the cloth pull across his pecs and looked down to see his big ol’ nips pushing against the impossibly tight blue fabric. Two pockets flipped down, a pen was in one. He was wearing a full cop uniform now. He twisted his neck and saw the symbols on the sleeves that barely contained his delts. This uniform was so tight. Maybe the boys back at the station were right, he should cut back on the weights…nah, he was always a big guy, the weights and supplements were perfect. He would never quit bodybuilding. It sometimes made it a little harder to move, but he loved it.

Neil and Hunter saw the confusion across Mike’s butch face. He took a breath and looked down to see how big his chest looked in his tight NYPD uniform. Beads of sweat rolled down his thick pecs. The short-sleeved uniform looked unbelievable on him, this Italian stallion, showing off every inch of muscle on his body, clothed or not. The top two buttons were undone and the shirt stretched open to reveal as much skin as possible.

“I…I, uhh…”

His thick New Yawk accent was laced with confusion. He shook his head vigorously and looked at Neil and Hunter. He stared at them for what seemed like an eternity.

“You guys okay back he-uh?”

Hunter looked back at Neil, who was dumbstruck. “Yessir, officer, we’re just fine.”

“Fuck! You’re Huntah Hawdy and Neil Blue! Mah boys love ya!”

With Neil still speechless against the wall, Hunter went right along with DeSanto. “Great! Lemme sign something for them.”

“Fuck yeah.” DeSanto’s big sausage fingers reached into his pocket and pulled out a notepad. “They love watchin’ ya. Killah pass in the BCS Title Game. I was screamin’ like a mothafucka, lemme tell ya.”

Hunter grinned and scribbled his name on the paper. “Thanks. What’re your boys names?”

“Paul and Mike Jr.”

Hunter personalized the signature and handed it off to Neil, who signed with one eye on DeSanto at all times, then handed it back without breaking eye contact. “H-Here you go, Officer.”

Hunter looked at Neil, who was so thoroughly confused that he had reverted back to his nervous, ugly-self habit of stuttering.

“Neil, you stuttered.” Hunter smacked Neil on the back.

“Sumthin’ wrong, kid? Nevah seen an NYPD officah before? Ya good?”

“Uh, yeah.” Neil shot Hunter a furious glare. “Yeah, I’m good. Thanks. Have a good night, officer.”

“Thank YOU, boys. Good luck wit’ swimmin’ and yo’ seniah ye-ah, Huntah.”

Hunter and Neil spoke in unison. “Thanks.”

Officer DeSanto swaggered down the alley, his huge bubble butt bobbing up and down, powered by his thick legs like an engine. He was silhouetted by a streetlamp, which showed his impossible width and the way his thick arms stuck out from his side at 45-degree angles.

Neil, dazed, swiped his key and he and Hunter walked into the empty corridor.

“Hunter, holy FUCK, dude. I didn’t know whether to blow my wad or piss my pants. That was some crazy-ass shit.”

“Yeah, well…” Hunter trailed off, smiling with pride. “I’m sure the NYPD will use a bodybuilding cop well. And you’re totally safe now.”

“Is he…still him? God. I just can’t believe it…”

“Yeah, he has all the same memories, tendencies – aside from the stalker one - just altered to be from Brooklyn now. He’s a cocky Italian cop version of himself, I guess. The new him. I didn’t, like, kill him or something. I improved him.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever get how it works.”

“Of course not. I mean, I don’t, so I don’t know how you would.”

Katie and Mel tore around the corner just then, with a cavalcade of security behind them.

“Jesus! Neil!” Mel sprinted forward and leapt into his arms, cuddling him. “Baby, baby, I love you. Why the FUCK did you stay out there?”

“I, uh…” Neil was cut off by a deep kiss. “Mel, Mel, you’re choking me. And that takes a lot of work.”

“Sorry, sorry.” She took his face in her tiny hands and stared into it, mesmerized by its beauty once more. Hunter dismissed the hotel security team as the lovers reunited. “Thanks, guys, a cop walked in right as it looked bad. Gotta love the NYPD.”

The four walked into the elevator. It had only been ten minutes since they left the drug store, but it felt like an eternity.

“You scared us shitless, you know.” Katie was staring bullets into the elevator door, looking pissed. “All four of us could have made it in before he did. What you did was stupid, Hunter. I know you’re like the fittest guy on the planet, but-”

“We knew we could talk some sense into him.” Hunter pulled her into his big body. “We’re fine. Neil and I are big guys, we coulda taken him.”

“I know. I know. But not if he had a gun or a knife or something.”

There was a pause. Neil and Hunter exchanged a knowing glance, and Neil spoke first. “He started to walk forward pretty fast, so Hunter held him against the wall and I checked him out. He didn’t have anything. A cop walked around, uh, just then, and recognized us and remembered my story. It was nothing. Really, Mel. Really, Katie.”

Hunter kissed Katie’s blonde head. “Let’s get some room service, unwind, ‘kay?”

Katie looked up into his green eyes. “Bubble bath?”

He grinned. “Sure.”

Mel looked at Neil, giggling. “Now THAT’S an idea.”

To be continued?