The President 2

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The President told his secretary to send in the research doctor. When he walked into the oval office, the doctor was carrying a small black satchel, like doctors used to use for making house calls, only this one was embossed with the seal of the United States, and the handle was handcuffed to the doctor's wrist. The doctor stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the President, who was still shirtless from his encounter with the freshman senator. The President's torso V'd from his waist to his shoulders dramatically, like that of an Olympic gymnast, yet the President's muscles rippled with much more density and hardness than those young men ever developed. His 8pac looked like marble covered with skin. He held his arms slightly outward, in a "relaxed" pose of a champion bodybuilder on stage.

"So," he said to the doctor, "what do you think of my progress?"

"Sir...." said the doctor, but he was speechless after that. The transformation from an average middle aged man's build to this superman before him had happened so fast, it was astounding. The President smirked at him, then flexed his pecs. It was like watching two plates of steel rolling.

"Get out the works, doc, I'm ready for stage two."

"Sir," stammered the doctor, "I don't think I can do that. The change has been so fast, we don't know what else it might be doing. We should do some more testing."

The President frowned. He put one finger on his big mahogany desk, and pushed it aside, clearing a pathway between him and the doctor, who swallowed deeply and stepped back, almost tripping over the busted up wingback chair.

"Open up the bag, and give me the goods," the President said darkly.

The doctor shook his head no. "It's too soon, Sir, and it's seems to be affecting your behavior as well as your body." Although the doctor was worried, he was secretly amazed at the President's transformation. And the tests they had run on him, just two weeks after starting the serum, he had the cardiovascular level of a 20 year old marathon runner, and the physical strength of a 30 year old powerlifter. His bodyfat had gone from 17% to 4%. There had to be a price to pay for that rapid of a change.

The President walked up to him and grabbed him under his jaw with one hand. The doctor's eyes grew wide as the President's powerful fingers clamped on like a steel vice.

"Sir, stop," he choked out. "I can't....I won't..."

The President slowly pushed him up until his feet were dangling. Then, with his other hand, the Commander-in-Chief opened up the bag, and pulled out a heavy metal box. The box had a 5-numbered keypad on top, and could only be opened by entering the right sequence. The President snorted, and began squeezing the box in his hand. The metal warped under the pressure of his fingers, and then popped open.

"Not very secure," said the President. He tossed the doctor down onto a couch. The box contained a pre-loaded syringe. The President pulled it out. The greenish liquid in the syringe almost glowed. The President held it to the light and flicked it a few times. Then he brought it down and jammed it into the back of his pants and into his glute. He pushed on the plunger.

"Not the whole thing!" protested the doctor."Sir, that's five doses worth!"

But the President kept on pushing, forcing the oily serum into his glute. His lips curled up and his nostrils flared. His eyes nearly rolled back into his head. He felt a burning sensation spreading through his muscle, as he emptied the syringe. He pulled the needle out of his pants and tossed it aside, then rubbed his ass cheek to help disperse the serum.

"Damn, that was good," said the President. "Now I feel like a workout." He went over to his desk and picked up the phone. He punched a couple of numbers, then waited. "General," he said,"Good, you're there. I need you to send six of your biggest, toughest marines over right away. I've got a special assignment for them." He hung up and walked over to the doctor, who was still on the couch. "I feel like crushing a rogue nation," said the President, as he flexed into a most muscular pose. So much muscle popped out everywhere that the doctor blanched. "You ever been completely dominated by a superpower, doc?" the President asked, leaning into the doctor, who's mind was whirling somewhere between panic and total awe. The President crunched his abs, and a wall of eight bricks bulged out. "You want to touch them, don't you, doc? Go ahead and touch."

The doctor reached out tentatively and lightly laid his fingers on the President's rockhard abs. The President grabbed the doctor's hand and pushed it hard against his ab wall.

"If you're gonna feel it, then feel it good, man," said the President, rubbing the doctor's hand up and down his powerful torso. "Feel the strength coursing through me. I have the strength of ten men now, maybe twenty." The doctor didn't doubt it. He'd never felt such dense hard muscularity. And the President's body heat felt like it was about 110 degrees. Every bodypart was flushed a deep red, almost purple, as the serum flooded his every muscle fiber, and his brain. The President let go of the doctor's hand, and turned to his desk. The doctor stared in awe at his back, which was an amazing display of rugged, craggy, mountain range muscle, leading up to a neck that had become a sheer column of steel power.

The President picked up the phone. "Connie," he said, "I'm going down to my workout room. Tell the marines to meet me there when they arrive." As he hung up the phone, his tremendous hand strength crushed it into pieces. "Damn," he said, " guess I don't know my own strength." He walked back over to the doctor. "Come down with me, I'll show you what real power is." He reached down, grabbed the doctor by his belt and curled him off the couch. "By the way, little man, don't ever, ever try and tell me what to do again. I like you, doc, but I'd be forced to put you into a world of hurt if you did that again." The President put him down and they headed for his gym.

Once they got there, the President changed into a longsleeved UnderArmor shirt that highlighted every fiber of his intense muscularity. As his strength had increased, he had had special equipment made, so that, along with 45lb and 100lb plates, his gym also had 250lb olympic plates. The dumbbell rack went up to 500lbers. There were also heavy duty bars, pulleys, benches, and a leg press. He had even had the floor reinforced.

He went over to a bench and loaded the bar with two 250lb plates. The doctor knew that the special bar also weighed 250lbs.

"Sir," he said, "shouldn't you wait for the marines to get here. If you bench that and get stuck, I won't be any help."

"Stuck?" said the President with a quizzical look. "This is my warm-up." He layed down on the bench and started pressing out slow steady reps. The doctor was stunned. The President pumped out 40 reps with 750lbs. Then he stood up. He flexed his mounded pecs back and forth. "Ah, doc," he said, "you have no idea how good this feels." The serum flooded into his pecs at a cellular level, multiplying his strength by directly reorganizing his DNA structure. The intense burn he was getting in his chest would have made a normal man crumble, but now the President just wanted more. He loaded up the bar with two more 250lb plates.

"Sir..." stammered the doctor, "that's... half a ton!"

The President didn't seem to hear him. He layed back down and lift the bar smoothly off the rack, then started benching. Slow and steady. Total control. Twenty reps. He put the bar back and stood up. "Needs more weight," he grunted, and the doctor noticed that his voice had gotten deeper. He was slamming on two more 250's when a voice came over the intercom.

"Mr President? Those soldiers you asked for are here."

"OK then," he said, "send in the Marines!"

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