Apollyon: Part 25 -- "The Strongman"

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"We needed another freak. Ronnie couldn't handle the load by himself - there was just too much demand. Unfortunately, the only other person even willing to go through the extreme transformation at that time was Palumbo, and somethin' went wrong with him, wrong in his head. He became TOO aggressive, started beating up clients, started raping the little, fey businessmen - and not for fun. I mean, he started to do some real damage. Ultimately, they had to remove him from the general catalogue. He only gets the, uh, special-interest clients now. And me? Well..." Woody paused for a moment, kneeling there before me on the living room floor. He licked his lips - probably would've shrugged if I'd allowed him upper-body movement, but I'd ordered him to simply kneel there with his hands behind his back and tell me everything, specifically, why ME? Why had I been selected for all this? Why had they turned me into a three-hundred twenty-five pound muscle-freak? (I'd weighed myself on Woody's scale.)

And now that I'd dominated Woody and fucked him into obedience, he had no choice but to do what I ordered. So he knelt there on the living room floor and told me everything - the plots, the plans, the motives, the selling of flesh - how they'd recruited me, manipulated me, intended to make me a mindless, hyper-muscled sex-toy. Another Ronnie. Another SUCCESSFUL Ronnie.

But now there was a crimp in their plans.

"And me?" Woody droned on. "Well, they certainly got me up to the right size, but um... then they discovered that I was really a bottom at heart, not just a repressed top with self-image issues, like you. And that's not what they needed. They didn't need me, and they didn't think I was worth the effort to re-condition." He actually looked a little teary-eyed as he said that, as if he were actually disappointed that they hadn't been able to turn him into a muscle-slave like Ronnie.

I took his chin in my hand and gently raised his head 'til he was looking me in the eye. "You have great worth, Woody," I said, pretending to be sensitive to him. It was easier that way - he obeyed me more quickly when he thought I cared. "I'm sorry you're not able to be a freak."

He sighed. "You've gotten so big," he said. "Freakin' huge!"

I released his chin and threw him a quick flex. "And you love it, don't you Woody?" I looked him in the eye. "You love me?"

His erection gave him away. Of course he loved me - I'd ordered him to.

"Yes," he whispered desperately. "Oh my God, yes!"

"Good," I said, stepping away from him. "There's a lot to do, Woody, and little time. First of all, do you have any clothes that might fit me?"

He nodded. "Yes, SIR. Some over-sized tees, that sort of thing. They might fit."

"Get them," I said. "Prove you want to serve by getting them quickly. If you're lucky, I'll let you dress me."

Released from his hold, Woody bounded to his bedroom, eager and speedy. It was fun to see someone so large move so quickly - like a lineman scurrying for the fastest forty. It was especially gratifying to see the man who'd treated me like a slave reduced to the same fate, himself. Don't THINK I wasn't getting off on that angle.

He came back with a selection of three things: a red, spaghetti-strap muscle-shirt with the Apollyon logo on the front; a XXXL camouflage t-shirt that read "You can't see me" (Cena's familiar war-chant in the wrestling ring - that shirt was probably a left-over from his training); and a short-sleeve, button-front baseball shirt, plain white with washed-out, three-quarter length purple sleeves.

I would've picked the muscle-shirt, but for the Apollyon logo - I didn't want to be that easy to identify. Fear of attention right now, as I was trying to slip out of town, was a common theme, which was why I didn't take the cammie shirt, either. I mean, even though we didn't look much alike, what if people THOUGHT I was Cena, however unlikely, especially given how much BIGGER than him I was. No, I settled on the baseball shirt, allowing Woody to slip it up on me - because I don't think I could've done it for myself - sliding it up my arms and over my shoulders. He lovingly buttoned the buttons, one by one, working his way down.

When he got to the bottom, without releasing eye-contact, he reached under the base of the shirt and tightened the laces on my football shorts, then he knelt before me and gently kissed my package. "Thank you," he whispered into my crotch. "Thank you for giving me my fantasy."

I held his head in my hands and hugged it, gently pressing him further into my lace-front balls, feeling his hot exhalations through the material, and said - truthfully - "You've given me mine, too. I appreciate that. I hope one goodbye fuck was worth it."

"'Goodbye'?" he asked, leaning back to look up at me. "What do you mean, goodbye?"

"I told you: I win, I walk out of here. That was the agreement, right? So I'm walkin' out, Woody. And I'm gonna keep walkin' straight out of this city - maybe even out of the country."

"But you can't..." he protested, starting to rise.

"No, no," I interrupted. "Stay on your knees." Obeying almost as quickly as I'd said the words, Woody resumed his position of attention, hands behind his back, thrusting that huge, gorgeous chest forward. I continued. "I HAVE to, Woody," I said, walking slowly around him as I talked. "See, I LIKE being what I am right now. I LIKE being a three-hundred twenty-five pound muscle-freak. But I want to be a three-hundred twenty-five pound muscle-freak with a mind of my own. And that's not gonna happen if I stay around here. Dr. V will trap me somehow. I got to get away, at least until I can figure out how to break his mental controls."

"You can't," Woody said, almost crying, slowly shaking his head. "It's impossible. We've all tried. But you can't - he's in there too deep. Worse, he'll make you think you like it - he'll make you think you want even MORE of it. You're not gonna get away, Strong. No one's been able to, and we've all tried. Sooner or later, Dr. V will get you. A phone call, a chance-meeting in a restroom, a voice behind you in the dark of the movie theatre, you can't run forever."

"So I should just give in?" I asked him. "Is that what you're saying? I should just give in to the man trying to make me into a muscle-slave?"

This time, Woody shrugged. Quietly, he asked, "Isn't that YOUR fantasy?"

Silence. Too much to contemplate. Finally, I broke the moment and said, "I have to go."

"Please fuck me one more time," he said, tears forming in his eyes. "Please. It's never been like that before. Please..."

I shook my head. "I can't, Woody. I've got to get moving."

"I'm gonna call him the minute you leave! Don't you understand that? I HAVE to! I don't have a choice. I have to obey him!"

I grunted. "Okay," I mumbled. "I think I know how I can fix that..."

Ten minutes later, I had the doorman hail me a cab, putting me outside in public view for only seconds. It was a little after 3pm and I was meeting Prince at 4, so I had a bit of a window. Everything was comfortable - except my fit in the backseat of the cab. I felt like my mass was stuffed into a too small box. Even the cabbie noticed it.

"You are too big for being comfortable, yes?"

I snorted, but didn't respond. Lost in my own thoughts.

It'd been nothing more than a couple of orders, but it would stay with me for the rest of my life, leaving Woody like that. In a way, though, I was happy about feeling guilt - no matter how deserved his fate. At least feeling guilt meant that I was still having human feelings - no muscle-slave sex-robot for me!

I'd made him kneel there in the living room, staring at the clock I'd retrieved from his bedroom. The orders had been simple: "See this clock, Woody? I need you to kneel here and stare at it until midnight. I don't want you to move - you won't hear the phone, or anyone knocking on the door. Nothing will distract you from staring at the clock. Until midnight, THEN you can move. Stare at the clock, Woody, and think of me. Think about how much you love me. Think about how much you loved being overpowered and fucked by me. You're probably going to orgasm - maybe as often as three of four times an hour, thinking of me, and how much you loved being dominated by me. But you can't touch yourself, Woody. Keep you hands behind your back, keep your eyes on the clock, and think of me. Until midnight."

I'd stayed there long enough to watch him get an erection before I'd left. He didn't see me go, so intent on the clock, a look of lust growing on his face - and I doubt he could've heard me anyway. Still, sentimentally, I'd said, "See you, Woody" and shut the door to the sound of his first uncontrolled orgasm. Riding the elevator to the ground floor, I'd been surprised by the feelings of guilt, especially after all Woody'd done to me. Even if he'd been under Dr. V's control, he was still no angel.

By the time I'd handed the stunned doorman his tip for hailing a cab - the guy'd practically stammered as he'd stared at my magnificent build - I'd been in an unexpected funk. Here I was in the body of my dreams feeling badly, why? Because I'd defeated an enemy? Because I'd turned the tables on someone? Or because I'd left him there, abandoned him? Well, at least that had proved my humanity was still in place - I was still capable of feeling bad. I wasn't yet one of those brain-dead muscle-slaves.

And if I had my way, I never would be.

By the time I got back to my apartment, it was nearly three-thirty. I had about a half hour before Prince arrived. And even as anxious and nervous as I was, I still took the time to check myself out in the bedroom mirror. Three-hundred twenty-five pounds. C'mon, how could I not?

I was able to get the baseball shirt off, most likely because it was button-front, but I left the shorts on. As much as I would've liked to have been naked, I had to be prepared in case I had to get out quickly. I didn't know what was going to happen, or what to expect, but I knew it was dangerous regardless. I even left my shoes on.

That didn't stop me from appreciating my body. I looked at a me in the mirror that had never seemed possible, even in my wildest fantasies. I was a freak - and it was beautiful.

I got very close to the mirror and stared into the depths of my own eyes, hoping to see, what? A way to break what Dr. V had done to me? Or maybe... maybe the truth to the secret that Woody had so casually exposed?

Was "giving in" my fantasy?

I was horrified to find myself getting an erection thinking about it. No! No, it couldn't be...

Escape. Think about escape. Get away. Take Prince - fall in love - run away together. Live happily ever after.

Haven't I had ENOUGH of a fantasy come true? Aren't the muscles enough?

There was nothing to pack, really - toiletries and the like. I mean, none of my clothes would fit - I also reminded myself to empty my bank accounts BEFORE I left the city. I didn't want them tracing me through my debit card. Bad enough that physically we'll be so obvious, I didn't need to drop bread crumbs behind me, too. I hardly took anything. The lighter we traveled, I figured, the faster we'd travel.

I'd have to leave a lot of Jeff Strong behind. Oh well, new body, new life. Besides, I remembered how they'd reacted to me at my old gym LAST time I went - and that was a hundred pounds ago - two days - I could only imagine how they'd take me now.

No. Jeff Strong was pretty much a thing of the past.

No time to have considered that further because there was a knock at the door. My first reaction was to look at the clock - ten of four. Was Prince early? Had Woody escaped?

At my size, it was difficult to sneak up to use the peephole, but I tried. When I put my hands on either side of the doorframe to lean in, the wood creaked under the burden of my weight. Yeah... subtle.

Through the distorted lens, I saw my beautiful Prince, dressed in a sleeveless t-shirt, gym pants and a baseball cap pulled low on his forehead, the little patch of auburn fuzz on his chin, the severe tattoos on his forearms. Gorgeous!

It'd had only been three days since I'd seen him, but so much had happened that it felt like so much longer! Yet there he was, finally! My Prince had come.

I tore the door open with enough force that I was lucky I hadn't ripped it from the hinges. I kept forgetting my new strength. The last time Prince had seen me, I'd barely tipped the scale at two-hundred pounds. Now there was an additional hundred and twenty-five pounds of muscle on my frame. I was a completely different man.

Prince stared slack-jawed at me for a moment, trying to take me in. I smiled and opened my arms to him. "Prince!" I said, inviting him into a hug.

"Holy... shit," he mumbled, a smile slowly curling the corners of his mouth.

"So, what do you think? You like it?"

He dropped his suitcase and stepped into my arms.

We kissed.

Deeply and passionately, hungrily and lovingly, we kissed as old lovers getting to know each other for the first time. He ran his hands over my magnificent torso, feeling the bulk of the muscle, the rock-hard cuts and the over-sized proportions. When his hands slipped beneath the waistband of my football shorts, I broke the kiss, saying, "No, no."

"Hmm?" he murmured as I gently stopped his hands.

"Last time we were together, you wore shorts like these," I said, smirking. "And you didn't let me use my hands."

That same evil grin forming on his own face, he knelt purposefully before me, taking the door out of my hand and shutting it as he leaned into my crotch - the same position Woody had been in only an hour or so ago. Skillfully, Prince started unlacing my shorts using only his mouth.

"I'm not sure we have time for this, Prince," I said. "We need to get moving."

"Make time," he mumbled, pulling the stings loose.

Ah, what the fuck. The trains leave every half hour - and he'd come early, anyway.

We had a window.

"Bedroom?" I asked. "There's better mirrors in there."

He chuckled, standing and kissing me again. "Bedroom," he said, looking me in the eye.

As we walked through the living room - I'd barely adjusted to the new stride my thighs forced me to adopt - Prince said, "You're fucking huge, Strong. I can't believe it."

I walked backwards into the bedroom, talking to him. "Three twenty-five, and that's just the beginning of what's happened to me." I inadvertently grabbed the cock that I was just beginning to learn to use, giving him the impression that something had happened there, too.

And then, in the spirit of my life as Jeff Strong, the physical comedy ensued. The bed collapsed under our combined weight. As we began kissing and leaned back, wham! The frame gave way, the box spring and the mattress slammed into the floor, and we lay there laughing. Understandable - there was almost six-hundred pounds of muscle weighing it down.

How naturally he leaned back and let me take the top's position, how instinctively he gave in to his own submission, how easily I took him. The kissing, the licking, the mutual worship - his incredible legs, my heavy pecs, his horseshoe triceps, my abdominal rack. Muscle fantasy.

He blew me long enough to get me wet, but still insisted on lube before I fucked him. I was cool with that, but didn't have any - my old life hardly required it. Fortunately, he was prepared - he knew how to pack like a bottom. "I got some in my gym bag," he said, pulling himself up out of bed. "Besides, I don't like it sittin' out there in the hallway anyway."

He stood next to the broken bed, this handsome, naked bodybuilder, sporting a heavy hard-on and a lusty expression, and said, indicating my own erection, which I lightly played with, "I'll be right back. Don't lose that rod. I want it inside me."

I smiled. "All I gotta do is look at you to get it back," I said, as I watched his muscular ass duck out of the room.

Absently stroking my torso, pulling on my semi-hard dick, I heard Prince open the front door and retrieve his gym-bag, then close and lock it before he came back.

He stepped back into the room with the bag over his shoulder, his cock seemed even harder, MORE erect than it had when he'd left, a dizzy smile on his face. Then he said, "Hey, look who was out there!"

Following him into the room came Dr. V, resplendent and well-dressed in a silk t-shirt and dress pants, darkly handsome and manicured, gold hoops in his ears, rings on his fingers, heavy gold chains and bracelets accenting his well-trained, tanned physique. "Hello, Strong," he said, his baritone voice musical and round. He smiled. "Surprise!"

I was so shocked, I almost didn't react. But I stood, hopping out of bed, in the corner furthest from the good doctor, my eyes darting back and forth between them. "How...?" I asked. "What's going on?"

"I had to tell him, Strong," Prince said, lightly masturbating himself. "I didn't have a choice. I called him right after I talked to you this morning. I HAD to. Listen, don't be angry. If you stay, we can still be together. Dr. V says so."

It all dissolved. All my hopes, all my fantasies of flight and happiness. All my visions of escape and happily-ever-afters. It all melted into a small pool on the floor. Why didn't I figure that Prince would be under the same mental commands as Woody, or any of the others? Was I so desperate I let love blind me?

"Yeah," I said to him, dejectedly. "Yeah, we'll be together. But it won't be us, really."

"Actually," said Dr. V, "it'll be more you than ever before." He motioned to the bed. "You obviously see that you're not going to be able to go back to your old life. You HAVE had that thought, yes?"

I nodded. No reason NOT to be honest. "Yeah," I admitted. "I have."

"I'm not going to make you into something you're not, Strong," the doctor said, taking a step toward me. I tried not to look at him. "I'm helping you be the thing you've always wanted to be. I'm releasing you from what stopped you. I'm showing you the truth hidden behind the inhibition. Isn't that what you want? Isn't that what every man wants, the fulfillment of personal fantasy?"

There was no argument. I was defeated. "Yeah," I said. "Yeah, I suppose so."

He was so close, he spoke in my ear. "And your fantasy is simply to give in," he said. "And I can make that fantasy come true easily. It's all tied up in one word, my insecure friend - your name."

"What?" I whispered. Name? What's in a name? Jeff Strong? "What are you talking about?"

"You're not Jeff Strong anymore. You've out-grown it. You see how useless it is. Your problem is, you just don't know who you are NOW. But I do. I can tell you your NEW name. I can give you your new identity. Your new life. The fulfillment of your greatest fantasy. Isn't that what you want?"

"I don't understand," I said. "How?"

"I've been programming you since Day One, Jeff, since the day I looked inside you and learned all your secrets, all your wants and desires, all your fantasies. You sat there in my office on that first day and told me everything. And in less than one week, I've made all of those dreams come true. And the last one, the greatest miracle of all - your ACCEPTANCE of those gifts - that'll happen the minute I tell you your new name. Your new PROFESSIONAL name." He smiled. "Now... do you want to know what it is?"

What could I do? What could I do...

I looked him in the eye, and with finality, I said. "Tell me."

He laughed, triumphant again, as he'd been time after muscular time, man after testosterone-bloated man - Prince, Woody, Palumbo, all of them. I was about to join their freakish brotherhood.

And it turned me on like nothing before in my life!

"Listen," he said. "Listen and hear your new name. Accept the new life that comes along with it. Forget Jeff Strong - he no longer exists. From now on, you'll be known as - THE STRONGMAN."

The Strongman...

The Strongman...

Images of the circus, bald men with thick moustaches in animal-skin singlets pushing barbells above their heads, virile and powerful and well-hung, dripping with masculinity.

The Strongman... with my face...

That was ME! I was the Strongman!

ME! Overwhelmingly me.

I blacked out, collapsing securely into the knowledge that it all made sense.

I was finally who I was meant to be.

As I trailed into unconsciousness, I felt the internal wiring change.

I became the Strongman.

And I couldn't have been happier.

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