Dwarf Muscle 5

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Six months have gone by since Randy moved in with me. We started working out together, or sort of, since I basically got my workout from loading and unloading all the plates for Randy's lifts. The short freaky monster moves some sick poundage. In fact, he caused such a distraction at the gym, the owner asked us if we would workout at night after closing. I convinced Randy that it was so he could use all the weights he wanted without interference, but really I think it was because everyone stopped and stared the whole time we lifted. I have to admit, he was quite a sight...at just under 3 feet tall, he weighed 266lbs of compact, tanked up muscle. His back was as broad as he was tall. He could curl with one hand what most the guys there could bench, and I think it was the time he jumped up on the bench to do it with some cocky big guy's 315lbs bar that got the owner to ask us to train late.

Once we started training at night alone, Randy decided I should start gaining more size too. At 5'11, 190lbs, I wasn't small, but was very happy to go for it. That was also when he shared with me that his doctor had him on a special hormone regiment, although I had sort of guessed that. Even though he was already 28 when the doctor started him on them, the hope was that a combo of GH and other growth accelerators would him to grow in height. So far though, all it had done was make him grow in width, thickness, and strength. Sometimes I couldn't believe he could still walk, his legs had gotten so massive. One night I mentioned to him that he might be getting too musclebound. He got mad at me, went and got my bowling ball, wrapping his quads around it and pinned it in there. "This look musclebound to you?" he asked me, and then he cracked the bowling ball in half. Then kept squeezing till it cracked into fourths. And kept rolling his huge quads around it till pieces crumbled out all around him. I never brought it up again. Testy little muscle dwarf.

It was about that time that he talked me into sharing his GH with him. "You won't believe the pumps," he said, flexing his biceps. His stumpy arms swelled up into intense peaks, like two baseballs each with a golfball stuck on top. I was sold. Within six weeks, I weighed 230, and, with Randy's training, was moving in on busting the 400lb mark on the bench. And the pumps, my god, the pumps. I was jacked up huge and feeling so goddam good.

Randy, on the other hand, was getting frustrated. He wanted to gain some height so bad he could taste it. It got especially bad after the night we stopped at a bar on our way home from the gym. A group of powerlifters, all of them half in the bag, started mocking Randy, calling him names and shit. That is until he snapped the leg off the pool table, and started going at their knees with it. Once they were down to his level, he went at them. Believe me, you don't ever want a jacked-up musclebound angry dwarf coming at you like a pissed off pitbull. He will pound the crap out of you with all that pent-up frustration. He will come at you with a rage like you've never seen before, and when that rage is backed up by some superhuman strength and weight, watch out. Some of those dudes are still in the hospital, and that was after Randy let me pull him off them and head out of the place.

The next day, Randy decided to attack his height issue head on. He bought a heavy-duty chin-up bar for the house, and set it up in the basement. He borrowed one of those weight belts with the chain on it, and some olympic plates from the gym. Every day, he would put on the weighted belt and hang from the bar, hoping to stretch out his spine. Sometimes he would hang for an hour, after which he would be soaked in sweat and aching to the bone. He was used to the aches and pains though, it sort of goes with the territory of being a dwarf, especially one that lifts heavy amounts of weights. His doctor didn't seem to think that the bar hanging idea would aid Randy's growth any, but Randy kept at it, never missing an opportunity to hang for a while. Then, after three weeks of it, he suddenly gained an inch in height.

At first I thought I had just measured him wrong, tending to believe the doctor's assessment of the whole plan. But Randy knew he had grown, and now that the tape measurer backed it up, he was stoked.

He decided that the weighted belt wasn't enough, and that what he needed now was some active tension to get him growing even more. That's when he enlisted my help. He called me down in the basement that night.

"Wrap your arms around my waist," he said, as I came down the steps. He was already hanging from the bar. He'd stripped down to a pair of posers he liked to wear while lifting. He'd been hanging for awhile already, and was glistening with sweat. His gut was bloated out but still ridged with muscle. I wrapped my arms around his thick torso. "Lock your hands with your wrists," he told me, so I did. "Now," he said, "hold onto me and lift your feet off the ground."

"Are you crazy, man, no, I'm not doing that, you could get hurt."

He let go of the bar and took me down to the hard cement of the basement floor.

"You think you could hurt this?" he said, flexing his entire body against me as he held me down like a bad puppy. Even at 230, jacked up on GH, I couldn't budge him with all my strength. "Now," he said with restrained softness, "you're either gonna help me stretch out, or you're gonna spend the next two hours down here wrestling me. You have any idea how many times I could pin you in two hours?"

"As many times as you wanted?" I said.

"Ah, yes," he said, grabbing my crotch and squeezing my already hardening dick. "So maybe we'll get to that after you help me out here, huh, bud?"

"Ok, ok, ya freak. Get off me then."

Randy stood up, chuckling, then leapt up like a panther, grabbing onto the bar with his thick powerful fingers with a thump. I wrapped my arms tightly around his Gh gut, then lifted my feet. It didn't take long before I heard his spine popping, as my added weight stretched out his cord. He grunted at first, but soon got used to it, and then actually started doing chin-ups. I could feel his strong muscle rippling and tightening against my face. I breathed in his musclescent, as thick and strong as he was. He pumped out twenty chin-ups, then stopped. He hung that way for a minute, but then let go with one arm. He held us in the air like a freaking orangutan, swinging us back and forth. I heard his arm and shoulder joints making sickening popping sounds. He switched to the other arm and did the same thing.

"Now, drop down to my leg."

I slid down to his big calf and held on. His leg joints made the same sick sounds as his arms. I heard him gritting his teeth hard.

"Now bounce up and down some," he said through clenched teeth. So I bounced. Up and down, jerking the heavy powerful leg hard as I could. Then I switched to the other leg and did the same, his body making odd cracking sounds the whole time. We repeated the whole process until I dropped off of him in exhaustion. The floor under us was puddled in sweat. Randy dropped off the bar, but this time his knees buckled underneath him. He laid out flat, his thick muscle twitching up and down his body. He was in tremendous pain, but said nothing. I got on top of him and massaged him, digging hard into his gnarly, knotted up sinew.

When we went to bed that night, he slept in the guest room. Ever since he'd started this stretching out process, he would get spasms in the night, and start flailing around. The last thing I wanted to do was get nailed by one of his wild pitching fists. That night, though was the first time I'd heard him through the walls, groaning in stifled moans. I planned on telling him in the morning that I wouldn't do that with him again. Except that in the morning, he had grown. Four inches. We both stood looking at the tape in amazement.

"YEAH," he bellowed, as he grabbed me and pressed me over his head like a barbell. "Daddy's gonna get HUGE!"

We continued with the stretching.

By the end of the first two weeks, Randy had grown by a foot. The doctor took X-rays, and decided, because his body was becoming not only taller but more proportional, that the hormone treatments must have stimulated his bones to start growing again. "Yeah, right," said Randy cynically, "the hormone treatments." Then he grabbed me and deep kissed me right there in the dude's office.

We upped his stretching sessions to two a day. His nighttime spasms has caused him to pretty much tear the guest bedroom apart, including fist-sized holes in the walls, but during the day they weren't so bad, so I couldn't complain. Besides, he was so psyched up, we were fucking each others' brains out three to four times a day, two jacked up muscleheads going at it so hard we tore up the main bedroom too.

By the end of the month, Randy stood at 5'2". And weighed 280. I was up to 245. We had to buy a heavy duty chin-up bar, since the old one was sagging and had finger indents from his crushing grip. He entered a powerlifting contest, which he won, and met two lifters who were both 5'3". And no one snickered behind his back.

Finally the day came that I never thought would, but Randy must have. He woke up one morning and thumped down the hallway, naked, from the guest room. I measured him out. At 5'11". We looked at each other... eye to eye. He stepped into me until we were nose to nose. Our breathing deepened. He grabbed me by the arms and lifted me off the ground.

"Look what you've done to me," he said, grinning like a little kid. His face still had the dwarf features of the heavy brow and deep-set eyes, balanced perfectly by his bull neck and traps. His fingers were still stumpy, but so thick and strong they dug into my arms like vises.

"Finally, we can stop with the sessions," I said.

"Stop?" he said, frowning. "Not until I'm at least six five, little man." He flipped me over his shoulder and carried me into the bedroom.