Hunter: B.A.B.Y. (musc mc ap)

Disclaimer: All names, characters, and situations in the Hunter stories (and all of my stories, for that matter) are pure fiction, and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is TRULY coincidental.

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“I’m just not good at this.”

“You don’t have to be good at it, you just have to know it. You just need to pass.”

“I’m really trying, I really am.” Heath heaved a sigh. “The only percentage I can figure is that I’m 100% bad at precalc.”

“Ha ha ha. Too bad this isn’t percentages, it’s vectors. Okay, let’s start with this again. We’ve only got fifteen minutes before study hall is over. See, in the book, it’s displayed as AB with that line—Heath. Heath.” Bruce poked his pupil. “Hey, Heath!”

“Look! It’s Henry’s brother. And…wow! They’re all here!” Heath Bienkowski’s eyes were fixed across the school library on the dominant force that had just entered.

There had been rumors that the town’s most famous couple, Hunter and Katie Hardy, would be nesting for a few weeks in Sean Hardy’s estate, getting some much-needed privacy and peace. Mel and Katie were close to eight months pregnant, and it was speculated that once it was time, they’d both get a low-key birth in the hospital with the town’s best doctor, Max Rogers. Hunter would jet back and forth between training and his pregnant wife, but both his Mom and Katie’s were thrilled to have them in town for a while. And Neil’s mother was absolutely ecstatic.

But so far, nothing had been confirmed. And now, without warning, the high school was abuzz. It had been Hunter’s idea to show up at his alma mater and surprise his brother for lunch, but then Katie tagged along, and then Neil suggested taking Mel to show her where they’d all went to school, and a mini-publicity storm was born. Some of their teachers had retired, including Hunter’s beloved football coach, but some were still there.

“LOOK at you all! Gorgeous as always!” Mrs. Noll, the stalwart school librarian, said as she rushed up to the quartet. “Oh, Neil, precious Neil.” He crouched down for a hug and she kissed his cheek. “I still remember how smart you were,” Mrs. Noll said, and then she leaned over to Mel, as if telling a secret. “Your husband would sit behind that bookshelf back there,” she motioned, “so that girls wouldn’t see the mighty Neil Blue studying like a bookworm.”

Hunter and Katie both laughed, Neil turned red and Mel smiled so sweetly. Mrs. Noll lightly touched Mel’s belly, “And now he’s a Daddy! And I know you have a little one…” And as if on cue, Lachlan shyly peeked out from behind Neil’s legs. “Ohhhh, my goodness, hello handsome! How old are you?”

Neil lifted up his son into his arms. “Lachlan? Can you tell Mrs. Noll how old you are?”

Lachlan held up five fingers and shyly turned the same shade his father had moments before. Mrs. Noll clasped her hands together under her chin and looked at Neil and his son. “Oh,” she cooed, “I love it when students grow up. He’s precious, and he looks just like you, except,” she said, turning to Mel, “that hair, that mouth – that’s all you, dear. You have a wonderful husband. I congratulate you. That’s hard to find nowadays, y’know!”

Mel beamed. “Thank you, and I agree.”

“And I didn’t mean to ignore you both,” the librarian said, turning to Hunter and Katie, who held hands and smiled. “I think of you two all the time – and you’re here all the time, but in the magazine rack! Come here, my dear,” she said as she hugged Katie. “So beautiful, still. And you, Mr. Man! I would pinch your cheek but I can’t reach it!”

Hunter leaned down, just like Neil, to receive a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Ohhhh, I feel like this could be my grandchild,” Mrs. Noll said as she touched Katie’s tummy. “Who’s due first?”

“I am,” Katie smiled. “By a week.”

“We’re hoping they don’t come on the exact same day,” Hunter said, “Because that would get…complicated.”

“I’ll say,” Noll agreed. “Have you gone in to see Dr. Mattingly? Mrs. Law?”

Hunter nodded. “Yes and yes, they actually came down to meet us. You know who we haven’t see, though, is--”

“HUNTER!” A tall blur attacked Hunter from behind and wrapped his arms around him. “Bro! My big bro!”

Henry and Hunter stood, embraced, for a good long while; their tall muscular frames locked together. Henry Hardy was, by now, his brother’s doppelganger. Their thick black hair and handsome faces sat atop very broad shoulders and bodies well-developed from years of athletics. Henry stood at six-four and looked, as always, like a slightly younger version of his brother. His face’s roundness had dissipated into the Hardy bone structure, though his teenaged body had yet to reach Hunter’s fully-grown musculature; still, Henry Hardy was the best-looking and buffest boy in school. Girls swooned over his confidence, his well-proportioned muscles, his perfect smile, his sparkling green eyes. Guys envied his natural athletic ability, his swagger, his effortless coolness. The fact that he was a good person both aided, and annoyed. It wasn’t a party unless Henry Hardy was there. And the only person who could show Henry Hardy up, and give him a run in the looks department, was now hugging him.

“I’ve missed you, bro,” Henry said, in a voice similar to Hunter’s timbre. “I heard you were here from some girls in the hall, so I just followed the noise! Hi, Kate.” He hugged his sister-in-law, her pregnant belly awkwardly in between them. “I can’t believe you guys are having a baby, I can’t fathom it. Hi, little one,” Henry whispered downward, a glimpse of tenderness cracking through the confident jock façade. “Can’t wait to meet you.”

“Henry Hardy, c’mere, you little jock,” Neil said, shaking hands with his best friend’s little brother. “I’m not used to being at eye level with you! No matter how big you get, you’ll always be that round little eight-year-old I knew way back when, remember that.”

“I’ll remember, I’ll remember!” Henry laughed as Neil tousled his hair. “Hi, Mel. And this must be Lachlan, it’s been a while, buddy. Hi, I’m Henry.”

Lachlan waved and smiled bashfully. “Hi, Henry.”

Henry extended his hand and Lachlan shook it with his small one. “Just a little shy, huh?”

Neil nodded. “He’s a little quiet, yeah. I think he gets that from me. I was really shy when I was little,” Neil said, and with a knowing look to Hunter, “I got more confident later on. I’m sure he’ll grow up to be a ladykiller just like you Hardys.”

The bell rang. “Ooogh, already? Study hall’s over,” Henry sighed. “Are you here just to visit teachers or are you--”

“You’re coming out to lunch with us, silly,” Katie smiled. “Your Mom excused you this morning!”

Henry pumped his fist. “I was hoping! I can’t miss a whole class because I have baseball tonight, but I can leave for lunch and maybe be a little late…” His eyes twinkled. “I’m gonna drop my backpack off in my locker.”

Henry turned and collided, minorly, with a gawking Heath and Bruce, who were moving by at a snail’s pace to fully take in the celebrity tableau in front of them.

“Whoo-o-aa, sorry, Bean, didn’t notice you creepin’!” Henry good-naturedly patted a blushing Heath on the back, addressing him by his nickname. “And – I’m sorry, I don’t know you…”

“I’m Bruce Hill, I’m new,” Bruce said hastily and breathlessly.

They were all sixteen, but all wildly contrasted with each other. Henry was six-four, tall and handsome and tan, wearing a shirt and tie for game day and looking quite dashing. The light bounced off him nicely, illuminating his teeth and eyes; like every Hardy before him, he looked modelesque.

Heath Bienkowski was an average guy except for his height – he was six-five, and lanky as could be, from his long face to his long fingers and big feet. A really nice kid who always tried hard but never distinguished himself. He had a few friends, but wasn’t anything special, from his average grades to his average appearance. He’d been on a peewee football team with Henry and all the jocks when they were younger, earning him his nickname Bean, partly from his last name and partly from a legendary play where he reached up to catch the football and instead got nailed in the face with it. He’d liked the team, but he never felt up to it, and quit – which, in retrospect, he regretted. He’d look at the boys he’d grown up with – aside from Henry, who everyone knew was always destined for greatness – and see how they had bloomed into confident, assured young men. He wanted that. Heath was good at appearing confident and assured, but deep down, he wasn’t. And he really didn’t right now, with Henry Hardy and his ultra-famous relatives all staring at him. They had perfect…well, everything was perfect about them.

And then, there was Bruce Hill, who had been relocated by the foster system once more and was in another new school. He met people by tutoring them in math – by being a nerd, basically. Bruce, with a big round face and dull black hair, was short and stocky, especially when compared to Heath and Henry. His old plaid shirt hung on his sloping shoulders and round belly, his jeans slung around a wide waist, and he became visibly nervous in the sight of such physical perfection. He took off down the hall and turned the corner without a word after meeting Henry.

“That was weird,” Heath shrugged, desperately trying to appear cool.

“Is he your friend?”

“Kind of, I guess…not really though. That sounds mean. I just met him last week, is what I mean. He’s my math tutor – he’s in AP Calc BC, and I can barely pass Pre-Calc. My teacher hooked us up.”

“Here, walk with me, Bean. I’m going to my locker.” Henry smiled kindly and Heath’s face lit up.

As they watched them walk away, Hunter squeezed Katie’s hand harder. “Do you think this is a good way to let him in on it?”

She smiled. “Definitely. The world could use more…y’know…” And then, Katie subtly nodded over to Neil, who had his arm around his wife as he showed her his bookcase.

“What about Neil?” Hunter asked innocently.

“Sweetie, I’m not stupid. I figured it out.” She kissed him. “And I love you all the more for it, and I know he does too. And so does Mel, unwittingly. And so does Lachlan, and the new baby, too.” Another kiss. “Ya done good.”

He pulled her in. “I am so glad I married you.”

Lunch was not sitting well with Heath Bienkowski. He’d been all worked up after seeing two of the world’s most famous athletes, and their hot, equally famous wives, and then Henry being so nice and genuine was just icing on the cake. He’d always wanted to be Henry’s friend, and that was the first time since grade school that they’d really talked one-on-one. It was great.

Feeling like he was about to puke wasn’t so great. He quickly dumped the rest of his lunch tray and scooted out of the commons. The men’s staff bathroom was closest and was a single stall, so there was no chance of anyone else hearing him ralph, provided it was unoccupied – and it was! Heath sighed in thanks, darted in and locked the door.

Ahhh, sweet relief. After he puked, he felt better. But as soon as he stood up, he felt really lightheaded. Lightly touching his forehead revealed how much he was sweating, and how hot he was. Heath groaned in discomfort, feeling like his skin was on fire. Before he knew it, he was tugging on his clothes and teetering side-to-side. He pulled and tugged and finally ripped his shirt off with a loud, guttural groan to punctuate it. He expected his skin to be orange, because it was so hot, but it still looked pale.

One look, though, was all it took to notice his chest. He could feel the muscles inside of it stretching, and with what seemed like an internal pop, two breast-like mounds appeared on his chest.

“Ahhhh! Ah, ohhh…” The shock caused him to fall against the stall. The heat didn’t stop. In fact, it got worse. “Stooooooppppp,” he whimpered, completely defeated. The pectoral sensation did not oblige. Slowly, the tissue began to harden. He flicked it with his hand and felt it stiffen at his very touch. Soon, they didn’t look like breasts at all – they were pecs, and they were getting bigger. Much bigger. Two big, square rocks on his chest, as developed on top as on the bottom, where the nipples were stretched across the rock-solid muscle. His ribs, once protruding, had disappeared into the etchings of his abdominal muscles. He ran his fingers down the washboard indentations and saw the tight, flawless torso of an athlete.

Heath was absolutely drenched in sweat. His shirt, on the floor, was soaked, and his jeans were many shades darker due to the perspiration. He thrashed back and forth, squealing silently, praying that whatever was happening would pass. He was too scared to leave.

Suddenly, instead of a stretch, he felt a compression. He sucked in air in a deep gulp, puffing out his new muscular chest, gritting his teeth and growling through them. His legs hurt. Denim puddled around his Cons – did he just shrink a little?

Looking wildly around the stall, he instantly knew he had. Ill-at-ease with his height since, well, ever, Heath was always aware of how leggy and gawky he looked. He was still tall, but the excess fabric didn’t lie – he was certainly not six-foot-five anymore. The new dimensions made his chest look wider and his waist look tinier, and he looked side-to-side to see a very powerful set of shoulders, nicely broad for a sixteen-year-old kid, with clear indents between the swooping traps and rounded delts. They ran down perfectly into his big, meaty pecs, and when he moved his arms, he suddenly felt a big bicep press against the side of his pectoral. “Noooo way…”

Heath threw up a double bi and collapsed against the stall again as every muscle in his arm cramped, then bulked outward. Clearly defined triceps and biceps were chiseled into his upper arms, stretching his skin to veiny translucency.

Heath wasn’t sure if he was having trouble breathing because he was panicking, or vice versa, but both things were for sure. “Who…” He grabbed the big muscles he suddenly had, and became erect instantly at their chiseled definition. And when his dick got hard, he felt it shoot straight out in his pants, tenting much longer than it ever had before. A churning in his balls let him know that they had gotten much bigger as well.

By now, Heath was so confused that he leaned his head against the stall and squeezed tears out of his eyes from the pure terror. He was completely resigned to the familiar sensations now being in his legs, and when he heard his jeans began to rip, he pulled them off without the slightest provocation, leaving a pair of boxers that had once been baggy but now were so tight, they dug into the oblique muscles and clung to his thick thighs, and were utterly constricting on his now-huge dong. He had never really had leg muscles, so this hurt more; he bit his forearm to conceal his scream.

He pulled off his shoes and felt his bare feet touch liquid. “Holy shit,” he muttered, realizing he was in a puddle of sweat. The pain whooshed out of him and suddenly he was wracked with pleasure; he felt his dick blow out the most cum he’d ever felt himself expel. He had bigger hands now, but even when they grabbed his equipment, they couldn’t quite hold it. “Damn.”

He stood there, panting, watching his chest heave up and down. Heath was amazed at the beauty of his body. It was a youthful body but perfect for its age, and perfectly proportioned. His muscles were round and full of blood, pumped up, primal. And his cock – it was like a Coke bottle, but thicker. He didn’t appreciate how big it was until he’d cum – even flaccid, it was enormous, one step below inconvenience.

Still quivering with pleasure and pain, Heath picked up his clothes and slowly opened the door to the stall. Tears still coursed down his face, as he was wondering how he was going to get out of this jam, wondering if he could get home.

The clothes hit the floor when he looked in the mirror. “Noooooooooooo.” He began to hyperventilate. Heath had noticed his body’s metamorphosis but until now, had not thought about his face. And he had a new one.

The sixteen-year-old boy looking into the mirror was undeniably beautiful, in a way Heath had never even imagined. His skin was perfect and ruddy. Cliff-like cheekbones jutted out and were accented by youthful, rosy cheeks that were in mid-blush. His eyes were big and sparkling, much larger than they had been before, and now green instead of brown. Two thick and shapely brows hovered right above the emerald saucers. His lips were red and sensual and pouty, with the tips curling into a natural smile. A diamond-sharp jawline, perfectly V-shaped, ran down into his muscular neck. He moved his head from side to side and saw the tendons in his jaw move with it. And, to top it off, his hair was now almost platinum-blond. The light hitting it made it practically white. It was neatly styled, and short. Cute, of course.

The beautiful eyebrows lifted up and his eyes brimmed with tears. “Who is that?”, he murmured softly. “Wh-who are you?” He was like an A&F model, but without the inherent douchebag element; his face was so tight and beautiful that it segued into being adorable, and the tears didn’t help matters. It was a masculine, youthful face, with the perfect dollop of feminine beauty. He accepted that it was him, but still barely believed it. “I’m so cute.” Heath’s new face drove himself wild, he couldn’t imagine what would happen when others saw it.

He was unsurprised that the clothes at his feet were different now; if the bathroom had transformed into Bora Bora, he wouldn’t have been shocked. He buttoned up a white shirt and pulled on a pair of khaki slacks, then put on a tailored vest, a red necktie and a pair of black shoes. Hipster formal prep, and it fit perfectly, showing off the youthful vigor of his muscular, powerful body. The red tie brought out the tan ruddiness of his complexion.

His backpack was the same, and its contents were too. It was just his body that had changed. Composing himself was proving to be a mammoth task. “God, give me strength.” He looked in the mirror at the broad shoulders, at the muscles rippling underneath the tight white fabric. “I mean strength on the inside. Thanks for the outside, too.”

He drew in a breath and walked out into the crowded hallway. Lunch was over and people were going to class.

People walked by and talked to him. “Hey, Bean.”

“Bean, the man!” One of the jocks gave him a high-five, not noticing Heath’s stark confusion.

“You’re so cute!” Two girls walked past and giggled, and Heath heard his new voice mutter, in complete seriousness, “I am?”

“Heath Bienkowski, you should go out with me because I know how to pronounce your last name.”

“Bean, killer look, you’re stylin’. Good to know you’re keeping in shape for next semester.”

Heath’s gorgeous face got more confused with each sentence thrown at him. Everyone knew him as Heath Bienkowksi, as Bean. It was like they recognized his soul – but he didn’t know these people. Was he…popular?

The halls slowly began to clear, but Heath stood still, trying to maintain his composure. “I’m a man, I’m a man,” he repeated internally. “Don’t cry. Be a man.”

Henry Hardy felt like he’d had a bomb dropped on him.

Lunch had been fantastic. He loved his brother and his sister-in-law, and Neil and Mel. Spending time with them was rare, and he relished it. But the car ride back to school was insane. Neil and Mel had left separately and it was just the Hardys, and suddenly, Hunter was saying all this crazy stuff – and proving it.

He changed people. He had fixed Henry’s legs after the accident that Henry thought was just a minor knee injury. And he had just improved Heath Bienkowski. Henry was having trouble processing it all. Bean was a nice guy, but he was just...Bean. Scrawny, gawky Bean. For some reason, Hunter thought that the new Bean and Henry would be best friends. Henry wasn’t so sure. Henry didn’t really have a best friend; people were too busy admiring him to think of him as an equal. His best friends were his brothers, he reasoned. They were the only people as perfect as he was; the only people not distracted by his beauty…not that he was complaining.

Henry walked into the school, waving a final goodbye to Hunter and Katie. The halls were empty. He was excused to be late, so he moved unhurriedly; he’d get there when he got there.

The hall with his locker was empty, save for one person. The back of a well-built blond male was facing him, dressed like some J. Crew-Hollister hybrid model. Henry thought he knew all the jocks in the school – and he did – but this was obviously a student and obviously someone who was in excellent shape. The blond guy turned a beautiful tear-stained face and his mouth dropped open slightly He looked like he’d been crying.


The lightbulb finally went off for Henry. He rushed over to the school’s newest stud. “Bean. Bean! Oh my God, it’s you.” He placed his hands on Heath’s shoulders and sized him up. “Look at you.”

“You remember!” Heath’s voice cracked. “Henry, wh-what…what happened to me?”

Henry was sworn to secrecy. “I don’t know, but I remember the old you.” Heath collapsed into Henry’s arms. “I know you’re scared, but I…I’m the only one who knows the real you, now.” The last statement was a realization, and directed more to Henry himself than anyone else.

“You look great, Bean. Better than great. Look at me.” Heath made eye contact with Henry.

“I look like a puppy dog, don’t I?”

“Yeah,” Henry agreed. “You really do. Girls are going to want to pinch your cheekbones.” Heath wiped his tears with his sleeves. “Stop crying, man. You’re studly. Today’s gonna be weird, but you’re still’re improved, I guess.”

“Henry, why am I dressed up?”

Henry shrugged. “I’d assume the same reason as I am.”

“Are you saying baseball? Do I play baseball?”

“I guess you do now. You look like you do.”

“To stay in shape for football season?”

“Yeah. I do it for that, plus I like sports.”

“I think I’m going to like sports too. Now.” Heath wiped away the last of his tears. “Will you…will you help me be cool?”, he asked, softly.

Henry realized this is what Hunter meant. This is how he would bond. Heath had just gotten a gift from Hunter Hardy, but the gift was really for Henry.

“I’d love to help you, Bean.”

Bruce Hill did not have a loving family to go home to like Heath Bienkowski always would. He barely had a home, period, after bouncing around to a different school and foster situation practically every school year. He would stay after school and work on math by himself, for hours, figuring out theorems and secretly wishing he wasn’t so good at it.

He sat in the library, alone, stood up by his next pupil. That was okay, the guy who didn’t come was some Goth weirdo and Bruce didn’t like him much, and he didn’t feel like tutoring right now much anyway. In fact, he felt frustrated, and almost…angry. He wasn’t sure why, but it felt like a boil simmering within him, as if he were about to blow. Bruce was a usual wallflower kind of guy, totally simpering, never one to rock the boat. But right now, he wanted to stand up on the library table and scream until his lungs burst.

And Bruce was sweating. He was used to perspiring, since he was overweight, but it was unusual to be sweating so much since he was just sitting. His head felt really cold, though, that was the weird part. He reached up and got the shock of his life – the feeling of his skin and not his hair. “What the…” He rubbed it. The bald spot was huge, covering nearly his entire crown. He still had some stringy hair over his eyes, and on the back, but the more he rubbed it the more scarce it became. “Huuuhhh?”

Bruce’s face seemed almost frozen in a shocked, surprised expression. His mind seemed to be atrophying. He almost felt like he was floating, or asleep, but in a furnace. His head rolled around on his neck, trying to find a body part to fixate on, but they were all so hot. He heard his chair start to creak, and then a snap. Bruce popped up onto his feet before the old wooden chair broke.

The perspective seemed different. If Bruce’s mind weren’t racing at a thousand miles a second, he would have realized that he was a good eight inches taller than before - a solid six-three. The new stature redistributed the fat pockets and pulled his skin tight and taut over longer bones and ligaments. His stomach was flat, if undefined, and his waist and cock were no longer covered by a big paunch.

Bruce stood dumbly, eyes hooded and breathing shallow, barely noticing what was happening to him. He slowly reached up and undid the button around his neck, not giving a thought as to why it was suddenly so tight he could barely breathe. It just needed to be undone, so he undid it, simple as that.

Bruce couldn’t see how thick his neck was. The veins and tendons stood out from a neck that looked like a tree trunk leading up to a smaller head. Only a few inches of neck was visible, as his shoulders bulked up and out, beginning to create tears in the old plaid fabric of his shirt. His traps jutted out from the bulky wrestler’s neck he now had, and his deltoids enlarged to the size of huge cantaloupes. It looked like he had two mountains on his shoulders, with a valley in between the traps and delts.

“Whuh….what. Whuuuuut,” Bruce murmured. His tongue rolled around his mouth and he muttered dumbstruck syllables that made little to no sense. And he just kept rubbing his head, now bald as a cue ball. The light bounced off of it as the very last greasy black hairs disappeared and he was left with a gleaming, hairless dome.

Bruce was nearly three times as wide as he had been before. His rib cage widened as his torso re-proportioned itself. He felt a push against the fabric on his chest and reached up to scratch it, feeling the two buttons pop open. He began to pull on the plaid fabric, and feeling it give, yanked it off.

He didn’t remember putting on such an ugly plaid shirt in the morning. He looked down and saw the hunter green polo sitting loose across a burgeoning chest, and scratched a pec with growing acceptance. His pecs pushed out further, billowing outward as if being inflated by an air pump. First, they grew outward, then further out to the sides, pushing his arms apart, and then downward, until he had one of the largest chests he’d ever seen. Bruce just stared. These were Double-D pecs, if not bigger. He could see his nipples pushing out against the nearly-translucent fabric; the high school’s embroidered mascot sitting on the underside of his massive left pec. These suckers would turn corners before the rest of his body.

What was surprising about the polo was that it was XXXL up on top, but with a seemingly medium waist. His stomach was so washboard and ripped-up that it pushed outward, slightly, like a tiny ab-gut, showing eight clear delineations in the polo’s fabric. His breathing was so visible because of the shirt’s tightness.

Bruce’s mouth twitched and he straightened his spine, feeling it suddenly be embraced by what seemed like hundreds of muscles on his back. Lats unfurled like a dragon’s wings as his arms were forced out even further, widening him past regulation doorway-size. The huge traps and pulled the fabric of his shirt even tighter, and he began to wonder how he was going to take off the skin-tight polo. His high, squeaky moans were now low, animalistic grunts. He couldn’t see the wispy, boyish hairs around his mouth begin to harden into wiry whiskers. “Muggh.”

His soft, flabby arms were no more, replaced with pumping pistons. His upper arms were the size of huge, plump watermelons, all veiny and hard. The shape of the tricep and bicep created an almost perfect circle, running directly into the incredible deltoids. The hair on his arms grew thicker, along with his wrists, and his hands and fingers reformed into large leathery mitts, covered fingertip to palm with coarse calluses. He couldn’t put his arms to his sides, he was so musclebound. He reached up to itch his shoulder but was blocked by a bicep that appeared to be two feet around, running into a pec that seemed to jut out several inches from its base.

Bruce’s mouth tightened from soft, quivering lips into a tight, straight line. The whiskers around his mouth were now salt-and-pepper and carefully shaven into a rectangular mustache-and-goatee. The rest of his beard was as clean-shaven as his head, but the caterpillar-thick eyebrows hinted a propensity of hair on his body. His lower arms were certainly dark with the same salt-and-pepper texture. His forehead was much larger, and flatter, than it had been, and his face appeared to widen slowly, a U-shaped lantern jaw pushing out from the muscled neck.

His ass was still huge, but with large round glutes instead of a fat pear-shape. It stuck out like a shelf from his carved lower-back, beginning to stretch the old jeans he wore. But where tears would normally appear, there was instead a khaki fabric. His small needledick grew into a huge fruitbasket, with nuts the size of oranges and a shaft like a cucumber. The fabric in his crotch also puckered into khaki, and responded in the same fashion as his hamstrings and quads thickened wider than his small waist, as his calves pushed out like two grapefruits were stuffed underneath the skin in each one. Old size-7 Nikes snapped apart to reveal black work shoes, twice the old size. He looked down to see the outline of his rock-hard shaft halfway down his thigh. “Like a baby holding an apple,” he thought, a smirk on his mouth.

His jaw widened into a square jutting from his bull-thick neck. All softness left his face, as years of sun soaked into it, leaving attractive creases in an utterly masculine mug. He itched his goatee. He felt his nose snap to the side, and remembered breaking it four times his sophomore year. Yeah, that had been a rough year. He’d been tutoring people in this very school and then decided to join the football team, because he was tired of being a fat math nerd, and it was tough. Real tough. But he’d stuck with it, and he grew. He grew big. He grew in height, and weight, the fat went away and became muscle, until he was the biggest guy on the team with the lowest body-fat. The next year, he wrestled, and by senior year he was state champion in that. Bruce smiled as he remembered how obsessed he became with weights, an obsession he carried to this day. It distracted him from home. He remembered the satisfaction of going up one shirt size at a time. He loved having to get all of his clothes tailored, like this tight-as-shit polo stretched across his godlike body. He loved how people stared at his masculinity. He remembered Brawlin’ Bruce in college, tearin’ through the line the same way he tore through everything else in life. He remembered the construction jobs and how everything he did was to keep his body at its peak – he was a muscle monster. Drove his ex-wife crazy, but she just couldn’t understand a man’s body – his boys did, though, all three of them.

He had an unbelievable body for a 25-year-old in his prime, let alone the 48-year-old man he was. He was obscenely proud of his mass. He cupped his bulge, making sure Old Lady Noll didn’t see. He loved his big muscles and his big cock. Not only had it given him three sons and thankfully no girls, but it had given him a life of pleasurable fucking, and a constant motivation to keep his body’s size to match the God-given mass of his dick. Plus, as the school’s wrestling coach and strength coach, he had a duty to be the biggest man that the boys would see. Give ‘em some motivation, something to aspire to.

Where was Evan? Kid had left his supplements at home and Bruce was meeting him to give him extras after lunch, so he could take them on a full stomach. He was as gruff and strict with his boys as he was with his players, but he loved them, and they knew that. He was a good father, but he didn’t coddle them like their mother did. Bruce’s childhood had been abominable, and he just wanted them to be tough, to not get their hearts broken like he had so many times when he was their age. That’s why he got them into sports early, manly sports like wrestling and football, where they had constant motivation. They loved it. They loved him for it, down to the wrestling matches on the kitchen floor. And as they got bigger, he grew bigger with them.

Bruce looked down and smiled at his unbelievable mass and size. He’d known his whole life of dedication had been worth it once he had to start turning sideways to walk through doors because his shoulders were so wide. Women and men admired him daily. He could get a lay every night, if he wanted, and he didn’t know many 48-year-olds like that. Not only was his body unreal, but he was really handsome, in that tough guy way. The shaved head and trimmed goatee only added to the unbridled masculinity of his face. He only wished it was football season, but spring was important too – workouts, wrestling, baseball. It was all a base for a winning season.

This Goth kid rounded the corner, black hair down to his chest, wearing a dog collar and all that black shit.

Bruce’s thick eyebrows pressed downward. “Evan?! What the hell is this?”

The Goth kid sneered and stepped back from Coach Hill. “Who the hell are you?”

“Don’t you talk to me that way, kid,” Bruce’s deep voice rumbled menacingly. He reached up and tore off the dog collar, revealing a thick wrestler’s neck underneath, just like Bruce’s.

“What the hell,” the Goth croaked, his voice suddenly dropping into a bass range. “Uhhhhhm,” he muttered, his eyes squeezing shut.

“What is this ugly shit?” Bruce demanded from the confused teen, who was now looking very different from the creepy kid who had entered. His entire body appeared to thicken – stick-thin, malnourished limbs grew outward with compact, youthful muscle, like a smaller version of Coach Hill’s Herculean body. The Goth’s height shot upward to six-one, a couple inches below Bruce, and his lilywhite complexion darkened to a ruddy spring tan. “Whaaaaaaaat?”

Bruce reached down to pull down the pants, all covered in straps and chains, but the Goth stepped backward and fell, his legs tangling in the criss-crossed straps behind his baggy pants. He wriggled his longer legs out of the black to reveal a nice pair of jeans covering a pair of thick, muscular legs. He saw the outline of a big dick bulge into fruition, the shaft lying hardpressed against his thick quad.

Bruce pulled the teen’s shirt up to reveal an American Eagle shirt underneath, and the thrashing teen stopped resisting. His chest thickened into a hard, muscular wrestler’s body, bulging with carved-out muscle. His shoulders were positively rounded with muscle, and broad like his father’s. The shirt slowly peeled off to unveil a new face – not the thin, pinched features of a Goth kid, but the square face of a powerful all-state wrestling teen framed by closely-cropped brown hair. His jaw was thickly square, with deep-set eyes and a strong nose, but his face had not yet hardened like his father’s had. He was, in all honesty, a very attractive young man.

“Evan! Stand up! What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry, Dad, I’m sorry.” Evan stood up and brushed off his jeans. “I tripped. I’m so big now that I can’t pop up like I used to.”

“You’re what, 215, 220?”

“220, yeah.”

“Good boy, keeping your weight steady. That’s my boy.” Bruce slipped the multivitamins and supplements into his son’s hand. “Why were you late?”

“I, uh, I honestly dunno,” Evan said with genuine confusion. “Lost track of time, I guess.”

“That’s a lameass excuse for a Hill. Don’t try to pull that shit during practice, you got that?”

Evan looked down, chastened. “Yes sir. And I’m sorry I forgot my supplements. Thanks, Dad.”

“See you after school, son.”

Labor for Katie Hardy, nee Snow, was an odd experience. Although Hunter could make her feel a lot less pain, she could still feel the same sensations, and was still able to genuinely scream, if more from discomfort than actual pain.

They’d checked into the hospital two days before. Dr. Rogers had said that the birth was imminent, and instead of having the panicked frenzy of going to the hospital and fending off cameras and onlookers, all while in labor, they decided to be preemptive.

The baby was really close, now. She’d been in labor for hours and was really, really ready to get this baby out. “Are you hurting?,” Hunter asked, his voice tender and soft in his ear. She gripped onto his hand, squeaking out monosyllabic noises and doing her breathing like she’d practiced. She shook her head no – because it was true – but labor was still scary, in a way. She looked up at Hunter, who had not slept well for the past few days. He smiled in a reassuring manner, although she could see the fear on his face. “I’m right here. I promise.” She’d known he was scared. For a minute, she wondered if they shouldn’t have reproduced.

“I know.”

She looked down at Dr. Rogers, who gave her a thumbs-up, and at the nurses helping him and her. “Alright, Katie, I’m going to need a big push from you, alright?”

“Okay. Okay.” She breathed in and out and grit her teeth and felt her fingers dig into Hunter’s large hand, to a point where she thought she was going to burst his calluses.

“C’mon, sweetheart, c’mon.” Hunter crouched down and nuzzled her while she pushed. “Only a few more minutes.”

“More like moments, actually,” Max Rogers smiled, his broad shoulders. “I wish my wife was in here to see this, it would be like practice. We’re having our first in two months. You’re doing great, Katie, you’re doing great.” His voice was calm and smooth, but he moved very swiftly. There was work to be done.

“You’re doing perfectly, honey.” She felt her husband’s whiskers brush against her face as he kissed her cheek. “I love you, no matter what.”

It was a sweet thing to say but she didn’t focus on it because every nerve in her body felt like it was exploding. She yelled gutturally and felt the baby crown, for the first time, and she was suddenly awash with joy.

She could feel Max’s hands helping it along, and she just looked up and stared into Hunter’s face as she squeezed out tears and pushed more. He looked down on her, tenderly, and stroked her hair.

And then they heard the most magical noise either one of them had ever heard – a big, loud, healthy cry, and they saw Max lift up what looked like the smallest blob of human tissue in the world.

“Ohhhh!” They both began to laugh and had a celebratory kiss. “I love you.”

The private waiting area was 100% Hardy/Snow. Hunter’s huge family – Sean, Wendy, Henry, Hank, Hugh, Harrison, Hudson and Hailey – all waited impatiently. Six-year-old Hailey sat on Henry’s lap. “If Hunter has a baby, what does that make me?”

“That makes you an aunt, Hay Hay.” Henry tousled his sister’s beautiful hair, the only blonde locks in the family. To say Hailey Hardy was doted on by her brothers was an understatement. She had six big – very big - brothers protecting her the moment she was born. They were an interesting lineup, waiting there. After tall, handsome Henry there were the twins, who seemed to look more alike every day. They were toned from years of soccer, with faces that resembled their mother but had the tight, athletic tones of their father, and big white smiles that had just started showing genuine charisma. Harrison, next in line, looked the least like the rest of them, his face broader and less chiseled. He was big, though, already almost as big as the twins despite being three years younger. His body was thick, his shoulders broad, his arms and legs strong. Sean had noticed his son’s powerful structure very early on and gotten Harrison started in wrestling to develop his body – it was not the refined, regal, chiseled muscle that Sean, Hunter and Henry had. It was a thick, powerful body, built for sheer power and size. Harry was going to be a very big man, possibly the tallest of all the Hardys, or at least as tall as Hunter. And, in direct contrast to Harrison, there was Hudson – at eight years old, he was smaller than the rest of his brothers had been at that age (although still a very healthy size and stature). But it was his face that stopped the show. Hudson Hardy was almost eerily beautiful. His face appeared to be almost perfectly symmetrical and was already showing the hollowed out contours and beautiful planes that signify a truly gorgeous man in the making. The structure of his bones, and the soft perfection of his features, had sparked many discussions with his parents. What happens to the son who is the least muscular but the most beautiful? All the Hardys were handsome, to an unbelievable degree – until you got to Hudson, who somehow trumped them all.

Neil sat next to Sean, one of the few men who could make him feel small. Sean Hardy’s thick hair had begun to gray at the temples, his face settling into middle-age that somehow made him even more attractive. He had was down to a more manageable 275 pounds, but his muscles were as plump and gorgeous as ever, and he had the body of a man half of his nearly 50 years, still with barely a trace of fat anywhere, only where it looked right. He looked at the waiting room, full of his children, and smiled broadly. A man is only as good as the legacy he leaves behind, and he had done well. His sons were handsome, tall, muscular, and most importantly kind and good people. They would make good husbands. One of them already had. And then Hailey, his little princess, whose dancing and singing around the house would light up his entire day. He looked at Henry, with his arm around his sister, and was proud of the way his children acted with each other. Almost never any fights, and always respectful. He and his wife had done well. He gripped Wendy’s hand and she gripped back.

Neil and Mel seemed almost as nervous as the rest of them. They were hoping their new baby would be the same sex as Hunter and Katie’s, and the impending announcement would give them something hope for – Neil knew the sex, but Mel didn’t and had sworn her husband to secrecy.

They heard a door open and slam and immediately every body in the place straightened in anticipation. A heavy tread was in the hall, one they all knew. Finally, Hunter rounded the corner, his large powerful body radiating joy.

He smiled a big, toothy grin. “Burke just decided to make his appearance.”

The room erupted in cheers once they heard the name Burke. Sean and Hunter hugged tightly, then Hunter embraced his mother, an embrace sweeter than she knew. “I love you, Mom.”

“Oh, I love you too. More than you know.”

“Thanks for the parenting lessons growing up.”

After Burke was cleaned and checked out, the family and Neil and Mel crowded into the hospital suite to see tiny Burke held in Katie’s arms. “Ohhhhh, look at him.”

“He’s so tiny. It’s always a surprise how little they truly are.” Sean reached down and caressed his grandson’s head, which fit completely into his palm. “Don’t get used to it,” he grinned.

Katie laughed. “We won’t.”

“I remember when all of you were that small. The best days of my life, when you each came into it.”

The visitors lasted well into the night until, finally, Hunter and Katie had some alone time with their son.

Katie sat in bed and watched her husband hold Burke, who fit snugly into the crook of Hunter’s thick right forearm, a big circular bicep brushing the infant’s head. Hunter lightly tickled the little boy, whose face crinkled into a little expression of…well, something…that still melted his father’s heart.

Hunter kissed the soft, malleable skin. “Please be good to me, buddy. Please do better than I did. I’m going to do the best I can for you,” he whispered. “I promise, I promise, but please. Please, don’t replace me.” He looked down at the small tufts of dark hair on Burke’s head. He thought about them becoming blonde, just as an experiment.

Nothing happened.

His eyes brimmed with tears when he realized what that meant. “You’re special, son. Be good. Please be good. I want to be here for you. I want to see you grow up.”

Katie dozed off for a bit but woke up to hear Hunter softly singing to the newborn, which she almost never heard. Hunter was not the singing type. She tried not to smile or show she was awake, because she didn’t want him to stop.

I’ll be loving you always,
with a love that’s true, always…
days may not be fair, always,
that’s when I’ll be there, always,
not for just an hour
not for just a day
not for just a year, but

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