Witch Hunt 3: The Exercise-ist, Chapter 3

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3. Bruce and Rodney

Peter hastily replaced the lock on the last gym locker and breathed a sigh of relief. His plan was now in action. The tingle of his spell still ran down his fingertips and he felt a giddy euphoria. He has just enough time to get back to Eddie's office before the first dominos began to fall.

"It's done," he panted

Eddie looked up from his salad and "InTOUCH" magazine, "What?"

"The spell," Peter sighed exasperatedly.

"Oh," He shrugged. He seemed distracted by some kind of REAL HOUSEWIVES headline but was quickly interrupted by...


Bruce stormed into Eddie's office in a flourish of indignation. Eddie and Peter stared at him with bemused shock.

Bruce was wearing the bulky sweat suit that Rodney usually sported. His pudgy and lanky frame was hidden in the folds of greying and frayed fabric. He looked comical in the circus tent of the other man's workout clothes. The big peeling letters of "train like a freak" were hidden in baggy folds.

"That's a good look for you," Eddie murmured. "It covers up that pot-belly."

Bruce's mass of wet, unstyled hipster hair matted against his scowl, "I went to my locker after my shower AND THIS!!!" He yelled. "Was all that was in there!" He plucked at the clothing in extreme disgust. "WHERE ARE MY CLOTHES??"

"Beats me," Eddie shrugged. "Maybe Rodney has them."

"You're going to feel "Beat", if, you don't find my fucking clothes! I'm going to fucking sue your fucking pretty ass into the Stone Age." His heavy glasses shook in indignation.

Eddie gave him the lazy gaze of a panther. "Sue? Over what? 40 bucks worth of thrift store rags? Please let me know when you find a lawyer who'll do that."

"Listen here queen, you might rule a weight floor and a dance floor but I'm a fucking business man. My firm handles every major account in this fucking city. I could ruin you like that!" He said snapping his fingers pugnaciously.


"I can fucking kill your little Neanderthal circus with three fucking emails. NOW! I want you to find that mouth-breathing dinosaur and get him to give me back my clothes!"

"Are you quite through?"

"NO! If that moron doesn't give me my things back in perfect condition, I want that steroid abusing cretin fired! I want him gone faster than his fucking Brontosaurus ancestors." The heavy framed glasses vibrated with indignation.

Eddie stood up from behind his desk, revealing the intimidating power of his muscled body. "These threats might frighten the little "slave boys" you play with online and your piss-poor brat-itude may terrify the temps down at your office," he thumped his fists on his desk, displaying the lines of his triceps. "It won't work on me."

"You listen here you pumped up idiot," The hipster web designer fumed.

"No, I've listened to you long enough. I've spent the best years of my life being the boot boy to a REAL man. Watching you bully and nitpick all day, then go down to the leather bar and play at being alpha top makes me sick. You're not an alpha. You're not a Dom. You're just a poorly behaved toddler with a MEAN streak."

"Yeah, everybody knows, " he sneered. "You act like a queen in here... but you go home and Jarod has you collared and spanked like the bitch you are," Bruce spat.

"Ha. Is that how you think a real S/M relationship works? I bet you do." Peter's eyes ogled in shock as Eddie suddenly whipped out his shaved dick and displayed the heavy ring that dissected the tip. Bruce was caught speechless as well. "You bet Jarod has me on a leash. He ties it right to this ring he made me get to show him my devotion." Eddie flopped the dick crudely, "This is the kind of loyalty a real Leather Daddy gets. Not the sloppy, pathetic, one-night stands that YOU end up with. Not drunk losers with low self-esteem." Eddie lathered on the venom. "You're playing a man's game and you need to grow the fuck up."

"You're a fucking muscle bound whore," Bruce said.

"Yup," Eddie nodded, "but it just kills you that this is as close to real muscle that you'll ever get."

"Am I supposed to be impressed." The bratty techie scoffed. "You think I'm here trying to turn myself into a Roided out trainwreck, like you?" He poured venom and hate all over Eddie's Office. "You guys are too dumb for real jobs, and you've spent your whole life pumping and bloating your idiot muscles..." He spat at Eddie, "...Because you have tiny little dicks. It's a fucking fact." He grabbed his obviously overstuffed junk. His hands cupped the size of his genitals lewdly. "I don't need muscles and steroids. I got a huge fucking dick."

"No Bruce. You ARE a huge fucking dick." Eddie smiled sweetly.

Bruce punched the desk in rage, "When I get back to my office, I'm going to saturate this city with social media ripping this place to shreds. You'll be closed in 3 weeks."

"Oh!" Peter interrupted. "I almost forgot, with Eddie showing off his cock jewelry and all..." He gave Bruce a lascivious grin, "your office called. They couldn't reach you on your cell. They said that "your presentation is password protected and your assistant can't access it for the 5 o'clock pitch meeting."

Bruce's face froze and he pushed back his shaggy hipster mane in anxiety, "SHIT!"

Eddie was still scowling, "Guess you don't have time to wait for the ‘dinosaur'."

"Fuck him. Fuck you and fuck this gym." Bruce snarled. "This isn't OVER!" He bellowed as he hurried to get back to his office.

As he stormed out, Niko was storming in.

Bruce balked at the sight of the macho bodybuilder.

He was bursting out of what looked like Romi's expensive athletic outfit.

They collided into one another: The tall, chubby hipster in his tent of a sweatsuit, and the buff swollen bodybuilder in his girly unitard.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Niko yelped. Then scowled at his apology. "Watch where you're going faggot."

"Fuck you JuiceBox." Bruce yelled.

Niko turned and looked ready to hit him, but seemed to trip over the tight outfit. The outfit was way too small and was restraining his monstrously muscled form. Niko growled in frustration and then sauntered off, rolling his big bodybuilder legs like a show-girl. He was walking toe to heel all the way into Eddie's office, shaking saucily.

"You're calling ME? A faggot?" Bruce shook his head in disgust and ran to the curb. He needed a cab ASAP.


He didn't have his credit cards...

Dammit. He'd just have to charge it to the office when he got there.

He stood in the baggy sweat stained gym clothes and waved like a madman for a cab. Bruce fidgeted uncomfortably as he shook. That fucking roid beast had an XXL in everything but his damn jock. Bruce wasn't even going to put the damn grimey jock on, but his big dick was way too obvious when he free-balled it. Now, the tiny jock was cutting of his fucking circulation.

He finally got a taxi to stop and climbed into the back. "I need to get to the Horizon Office suites, NOW!" He barked.

The driver recognized the attitude of a real charmer and quietly sped off.

Bruce stewed and roiled in the back seat, itching under the heavy voluminous fabric of that gym joke's clothing. He bent over to tie the aged laces of Rodney's ancient wrestling style high-tops. Dammit. That retard dressed like a fucking Russian immigrant. He was bent over and fighting with the laces when he heard a loud RRRRRIIIPPPPP...

He sat up, bumping his elbows on the door. He inspected the sweatshirt. The fucking thing ripped! Right under the armpits, and... it seemed like it was getting stiff around him. It was starching up and solidifying. Bruce fought the urge to retch. The goddamn, sweat-soaked, meat wrap was drying into a solid mass.

Damn, it was making it hard to move. He felt like a little kid in an inflexible snowsuit. God dammit!

He tried to inspect the armpit rips closer, but the stiffness of his top made that impossible. He bumped his knee against the back of the front seat. "Dammit!" He swore.

"Easy big guy. We're almost there," the cab driver said.

"Shut the fuck up and drive," Bruce snarled.

"Whatever you say."

"Damn right." How dare that gym queen talk to him like that?

How dare this goddamn cab driver talk to him.... God everyone was so damn... impert.... Impu... ....

Dammit they were all just wrong.

Big old wrong headed assholes...

...that were wrong. He bumped his elbow on the door again. "Goddammit."

"Alright boss, we're here."

Bruce slid awkwardly out of the cab like a bloated starfish. "Hey! You didn't pay."

Bruce looked at the cab driver, "Go to the receptionist and tell her..."

Hmmmm, what was the guy supposed to say?

He needed to get paid.

Bruce couldn't pay him.

Fear leapt into his throat.

He couldn't pay!

Oh wait.

He had a plan.

Yeah he had a plan!


What was the plan?

"Tell her, that she should... she should charge the fare to me.... I have an expensive account... an expert... an X..." He growled in frustration, "I mean an expense account."

The cabbie nodded timidly and Bruce scrambled toward his office.

He heard another loud ripppppppp...

The elastic around his ankles had torn, leaving the sweats to flare out stupidly around his legs. DAMMIT! These fucking worn ass sweats were falling apart! He heaved himself inflexibly into an elevator. Strangely, everyone was acting like he was taking up all the room and got off.

"Fuck them," he muttered.

Bruce fidgeted uncomfortably and lumbered toward his cubicle. The raggedy old sweats were now constricting his movements and making every step laborious. His legs were inflexibly akimbo, forcing him to shamble from side to side. His butt was constricted and felt heavy in his seat. His stride was little more than a waddle.

The wet fabric of the sweatshirt had tightened around his armpits and was forcing him to hunch forward awkwardly. His chest was pulling his body weight toward the floor. Every step was a trudge of deliberate movement.

He started to enter his little office-box but his rigid arms swung too wide. He knocked it over with one clumsy sweep of his width. It tumbled down. Then the one next to it tumbled down. Then another...and another... until all his co-workers stood, shocked and angry.

"Ohhhh... Shit..." Bruce swore, in a slow thick slur. "Sorry..."

His Tech manager angrily approached him. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Bruce tried to put his hands behind his back, but found he couldn't manage to do it, the sweats were restricting his motion so ridiculously. As he battled with the sweats, he accidently knocked over everything on his desk.

The manager fumed. "Listen, I don't know who you are, but I just called security. So, you should get out of here before they come, Kong."

"I'm not Kong." Bruce told him flatly. "I am Bruce."

"I don't care! Get out!"

"I ... work here!" Bruce roared. His neck pulsed and his whole rigid body trembled with rage.

The tech manager cowered and shrieked, "No you don't!"

Bruce was confused and everyone was staring.

It was weird.

He didn't like it.

Everyone looked at him like he had done something bad.

He hadn't meant to do something bad.

He didn't like feeling bad.

The little guy told him he didn't work here.

But he knew he did.

He did work here.

This is where he worked....



Didn't that little guy say something about security?

Security was bad.

That meant he had done something really bad.

Bruce was embarrassed.

He looked around and all his coworkers were staring at him.

He didn't like feeling embarrassed.

So, he decided to leave.

It was so hard to think.

He had to get out of there.

Maybe get home and sleep... then call work.

Cause he knew he worked here.

That little guy was dumb.

As Bruce tried to lumber away, his sweatpant encased thighs bumped over two computers. "Ohhhh... Shit...!" Bruce groaned.

"JESUS! Just get out!" The little guy yelled from behind a desk, "Before you break something else."

Bruce nodded in baboonish agreement, "Yeah, that's a good idea. Thanks little fella." He gave the little tech manager a friendly pat on the back, and set him flying into the wall.

"Ohhhhh Shit...." Bruce quickened the pace of his severe gait and hobbled toward the elevators as fast as he could manage.

He broke out unto the open street in a huff. He was heaving and wheezing. Damn, he must really be slacking on the cardio, or these damn sweats were weighing him down.

He was slowly getting his bearings, but his slow recalibration was interrupted by the cab driver. "Hey buddy!" The little guy was timidly approaching him, "That girl said you have to sign for the expense." He held out a pen in what looked like terror.

Bruce groaned in frustration, why was everything so difficult today?

He stepped toward the cabbie and his stupid wrestling boots caught the frayed sweats. He tripped clumsily and fell into the cabbie. The cab driver screeched in terror as Bruce flattened him to the ground. "Shit... sorry..."

The cabbie scampered away like a small woodland creature. "Forget about it man! Nevermind!" He wailed as he ran off to the cab, clutching his hand in pain.

God damn these sweats. Bruce felt a surge of irritation. He grabbed the spilt ends of the sweatpants and tore them both right off.

There, no more tripping, good.

Shit and while he was at it...

He gripped the arms of the sweats and ripped them off at the armpit, giving him a blessed feeling of freedom.

He felt like he could move again!!!

Ah, thank god.

As an afterthought, he tugged on the suffocating neckline, causing a big tear down the center.

Fucking perfect.

He turned proudly toward the steel and glass surface of the office building to inspect his work.

The sweats ended abruptly above the massive tear drop of gargantuan Quad and left the stretch of his bloated calf exposed.

Wait.... What?

His colossal corded arms hung like tree trunks from his massive torso, their veiny and bulging enormity dangled heavily under his giant shoulders.

His giant...

The rip in the shirt left his giant pumped slabs of pec visible and only the word FREAK could be read as it stretched precariously across the preposterous width.

What the fuck?

The late afternoon glass reflected back a 6'3 ogre with Bruce's face. Bruce stared uncomprehendingly at the grotesque mutation of his reflection.

His first slow thought of understanding was, "Wow, that bodybuilder's wearing the same thing I am."

Then it was...


Then it was....

This is Un-possible!

Then it was.

Oh Shit.





To look into your reflection and see a stranger staring back would probably break most people into slobbering, gibbering madness. Most men would be dumbstruck and panic stricken. In Bruce's case... he was just dumb struck... and struck hard.

Bruce flexed a big arm and tested the weight of his body. He gazed at the foreign and strange appearance. He turned and mimed at the glass, unable to fully process what was happening.

Two kids slunk by and laughed to each other, "What the fuck is that Juice Head doing?" One whispered. The two teenagers wore skinny jeans, ironic t-shirts, big belts and heavy skull-caps.

The other one laughed, "They say Gorilla's will stare at their reflection for hours... cause they think it's another gorilla."

"Dumb-ass thinks he's got a friend." The other joked.

Bruce gave them a confused look... "That's not me!" He explained to them, but must have gotten to excited. The kids shrank away from his looming presence and the two trendy teenagers made a quick retreat.


The grotesquely muscled man again tried to comprehend his appearance.

It was his face... But it looked smaller... tiny in the expanse of his huge head. No matter how much his gut bulged, he had always had a lean ratty face... but now... his forehead was wide and stretched down all the way to his bath tub sized jowl... it looked like his jaw was even muscular...

...HGH side effect, he thought absently.

His cheeks were bloated and framed his pointed nose in a broad expanse of flat space. His mouth hung low on his face and the weight of his chin made it look like it was open enough to catch flies. His eyes glittered behind heavy folds of forehead and brow...

...Side effect of the steroids... fat deposits in strange places... Like the back of his neck... that big swell of tire thick flesh, at the back of his skull...

Bruce examined his devolved and mutated features, with detached admission he did look very Simian. The huge gauges that were dragging his earlobes down, only accentuated the cartoonish goon visage.

His neck seemed to swallow the Gauges and head in a pillar of pure unbending muscle. His thick throat looked more like a man's leg. The big tree stump was framed by bizarrely developed trap muscles...

From all those Shrugs and Barbell Rows... Fuck dumbells... they never felt heavy enough.

His upper body was exaggerated by the torn sweatshirt and made his over-generous heft seem more grandiose. Bruce tentatively touched the protruding mantelpiece of his chest.

Wow. It was fucking solid mass. Too much flat bench press, going to have to throw in some decline... he mused.

His bulky and cumbersome shoulders looked like he had a book shelf under his taunt skin. They lead into two ridiculously enlarged arms. His biceps were the size of footballs and his triceps were absurdly large.

...Heh... curling 145...not good for def but fucking great for growth...

The shirt strained against the size of his BAT signal sized Lats. He absolutely had a brick wall for a back, and it moved as agilely. He couldn't real turn his head or twist... so he had to keep rotating his whole body to gain a better view, like he was a flat barrier of muscle...

Well almost... Flat...

Bruce felt a little pang of detached disappointment when he thumbed a callus hand against his gut. It was still pretty big and protruded over his groin...

....but...shit... this wasn't flab!

....... This was solid cobbled mass! Bruce's Chub had hardened like cement and he was now a muscular bowling bowl of over-developed Ab knots...

......Roid Gut... everybody gets it... he thought.

Looking down over the galactic terrain of his Maleness, he could barely see the bottoms of his ripped shorts. The slopes of his enormous quads appeared with elephantine enormity from the apron of his roid gut.

Wow. Big legs.

With his height that was fucking hard...

Lots of chemistry and hours on a leg press to get that to happen... ha his quads probably looked like swiss cheese from all the needle pricks... He loved how the wrestling boots made his misshapen calves look like ham-hocks as they sprang from the battered shoes.

... lots of pricks there too...

... but shit...

...REAL BODYBUILDERS did legs...

... and lunges...

... and deadlifts...

...Speaking of pricks... his felt rock hard from the inspection of his Muscle God bod. He couldn't see it, cause of the big gut and put an anxious paw into the strap of the dirty jock with a 13 year olds giddy desire.

"Hey Freak! Get a Fucking room!" Someone yelled.

Bruce froze like a kid getting caught shoplifting. He tried to put his hands behind his gargantuan back, but no longer had the dexterity to do so. Instead, he grabbed his forearms apologetically. His pec's Bulged and the word "FREAK" undulated on his chest, as if to reaffirm what he was.

He struggled to avoid the stiffness of his throbbing dick, and try to reason out what was happening.

In a moment of simple cartoonish inspiration, he took of his heavy glasses and cleaned them cumbersomely on his sweats... then put them back on...


Still a Giant muscle Freak...


He looked bigger than Jay Cutler at the 2010 Olympian.

But Cutler was only 5'9.

Bruce was 6'3.

That was taller.

...and bigger.

His Lats were wider than Ronnie Coleman's at the Northwest off season Posedown...

...and Coleman was black too... It was hard to look thicker than a black competitor.

But damn, his sheer fucking mass was bigger then Branch Warren's... and Branch was real short...

Damn he was probably the tallest guy on the circuit now...


Who the fuck were all those people?

Jay... who?

What circuit?

What was all that shit about Bench pressing?

And where did that shit about "hgh?" and steroids come from? The only Steroids he knew about was the shit he took for allergies.

He didn't know anything about D-bol or Deca... Or Test... but test sucked... only if you got Andro test... but that usually didn't last.... The classics were always the best...

It was like he was Processed...

No Possessed...


He was Confused.

He was worried.

But god...

He was huge.

A Huge God!

A muscle GOD!

...God's needed to be worshipped.

His mind completely skipped passed shock, disbelief, and terror. It went right toward unbridled lust.


Bruce's balls churned with childlike excitement.

He had to get down to the leather bar.


He had to go Now.

Damn, nobody was gonna pass up a night with a huge hulking bodybuilder. All those fucking guys who turned him down were gonna fucking beg for his attention NOW!

Oh yeah. It was gonna be so righteous. It was gonna be real far out. His meaty, hard-to-maneuver hand scratched his itchy mustache in agitated anticipation.


Bruce struggled to reason out something...

He had a mustache?

He never had a mustache.... No ...

The fact that had magically transformed from an out-of-shape 24-year old into a giant 285lb muscle-bound Rhino didn't seem to register with him.

It should have made him freak out.

But it just made him happy.

Happy was good.

He was going to show those leather guys who was the boss.

It was going to be groovy.

He'd figure out how it happened later.

But the mustache was weird, it kinda tickled. A slow thought broke his concentration, "Bet it'll tickle whatever asshole I eat tonight!" He mooed a deep chuckle and began to lumber further downtown, happily thinking of the awe and worship he was about to bath in.

As he trudged downtown, he realized that his glasses were making him see things all funny.

When he took them off, he could see better.

He didn't need them.

That was weird.

He didn't even flinch as he tossed the costly designer glasses in a gutter.

The bar was a short walk from his office, but it took him a really long time to get there, mostly cause he got lost a couple times.

People were staring at him and when he noticed he flexed his huge guns on them. It was great!

It was just after happy hour and the club was setting up for the night crowd when he lumbered up to the big door guy. Well, he used to think the guy was big, but now he seemed like a tiny little mini-guy. Bruce had spent months lusting after the large, shaven headed goon, but now, with his new perceptive...

The guy obviously only did bench press. His pecs were wide but had no depth. And his traps were puny. The waist was too heavy for a real V, and Bruce suspected that his diet was garbage. The legs might have some potential but the way his hamstrings were just molding into his ass,... well he was skipping squats

No one should ever skip squats.

The door man gave him a look of pure invitation. Bruce just shook his head in a "Shame-on you" manner and walked passed him.

It was jockstrap night!

This, Bruce thought slowly, was the greatest day of his life.

The old Bruce might have been chubby, but he did have one super impressive appendage. His dick was at least 9 in hard and hung low. It was his fucking pride and joy.

Giant muscles.

Giant cock.

He was fucking floating. He was his own wet dream.

Now, time to cream all over these dudes.


He strode to the coat rack and languidly stripped of the tiny sweat-rags, giving the whole bar a little posedown show.

The bartender, Who Bruce had always thought was a total porn star smiled at him. Porn Star? Not really. He just had good genetics and probably played some ball in college... his muscle bellies were large but it looked like he hadn't been really training in years. Bruce sighed, he hated to see a frame go to waste... maybe if the bartender did a little more resistance training he might be able to tone some of that size...

"Can I get you a beer, Herculeas?" The bartender asked, with lust in his lolling tongue.

Bruce felt his stomach grumble in thirsty anticipation, "No. Alchohol inhibits Testosterone production," He was shocked at the robotic way he repeated that. Like he had memorized it from a book, "Beer makes you produce estrogen. That's what women need." He told the guy with overstated earnestness. "Men need testosterone." His voice was solemen, like he was giving the Bartender secret advice.

The guy rolled his eyes, "So what can I get you?"

Bruce thought about it for awhile... then remembered why he had come in here...

... and remembered why he was only wearing a jockstrap...

"I think I can get what I want," He told the bartender with a very uncool, and unsubtle wink.

He twanged the jock strap arrogantly and sauntered up to a crowd of regulars.

"Holy shit."

There was a moment of awe inspiring shock and appreciation.

Then uncomfortable shifting.

Then anxious small talk.

Then they all retreated from the muscle god, like a flock of birds escaping.

"Where you going?" Bruce bleated, confused.

"Jesus man, you intimidated them." A big bear that Bruce thought he remembered came up and gave him an appraising and adoring look.

The guy was young, with a thick gut and a heavy black beard. He was wearing a harness over his hairy and pudgy body. Bruce flinched. This guy never did a bench press in his life.

"I don't want to get intimate yet, I just wanted to say hi." Bruce whined.

"Intimidate," the bear corrected.

"Intimate." Bruce failed again.

"It means you scared them big guy." The bear explained, rolling his eyes.

"Oh, well I didn't mean to."

"Guess they can't handle all that muscle." The bear grinned, "but I can."

Now! This was the attention that Bruce was salivating for, "You want ta get fucked by the muscle god?"

The bear almost laughed! He almost fucking laughed!

Instead of getting mad however, Bruce felt slighted and like he had said something wrong.

"Did I say something wrong?" Bruce asked, genuinely worried.

"Well buddy, I'm not trying ta piss you off, but I don't think you're equipped to fuck anyone, "deep and long"." He gave Bruce's jock a contemptuous smile.

Bruce obediently followed his gaze. The jock pouch barely stood out from the expanse of his huge roid gut, but as Bruce inspected it with tentative paws. He felt the BIGGEST change all night. "MY DICK SHRANK!" He looked at the bear in stunned surprise. "I have a tiny dick!"

The bear laughed, "Don't worry daddy, you still have an ass built for hard use."

"Daddy?!" Bruce rumbled, "I'm not a daddy...!"

"Ha sure you're not, you're a Silverback bro," his leather buddy laughed.

Bruce scowled in frustration, what did that little twerp mean? He turned and caught his reflection in the bar mirror and his big jowls gaped in shock.

His stache was a salt and pepper grey that bathed his face gruff older masculinity. His short hair was obviously receding and gave him a high crowning forehead; his skull was visible under the thin threads of ash blonde. His huge uncomprehending eyes were wide with simple thought.

Yet, they were surrounded by crinkled crow's feet and heavy brow-lines that made him look perpetually confused.

His cheeks were puffy with weight. His skin was tight and leathery around the edges of his thick face. His slim lips worked in wordless horror, "I'm...I'm...older..." He turned to the leather buddy and announced stupidly, "I got BIG and OLD!"

"Yeah, buddy, maybe you shouldn't have any more to drink."

Bruce stared at the freak in the mirror, trying to figure out what it was. "But... But I'm only 24..." he stammered, bringing cumbersome leathery and callused hands toward his face. He traced the sexy age lines of weathered masculinity that surrounded his mouth.

"Buddy...HA! 24?" The guy laughed, "You're fucking 40 if you're a goddamn day."

"Ohhh no..." Bruce glowered. "This is all wrong... This isn't right..." He sulked angrily and stared at his big sexy muscles.

The random leather bear noticed Bruce's confusion and decided to take advantage of the giant moron's puzzlement.

The Bear groped the vast expanse of his chest, "Damn your huge, I can't believe how big you are." He guided the distracted ogre into a back room. Bruce was so occupied with his desperate slow thought that he just let himself be lead.

The other guy probably knew better anyway.

A part of Bruce was relieved that someone else was in charge.

It gave him time to try and figure stuff out.

"Here big guy." The bear grinned. "Sit down. Jesus, you're so big."

Bruce obediently followed the suggestion and felt his whole massive frame fall into a sling.

Bruce struggled in the sling and his giant gorilla arms flexed and strained against the straps as he tried to steady himself. "I'm really big," Bruce agreed in a frightened drawl.

Lecherous hands tapped his pecs. "Shit! Look how big these bitch tits are..." He rubbed his leather clad bulge, "it's fucking sexy..."

"Bitch tits?" Bruce asked. "I don't have tits..."

The stranger laughed, "Sure ya don't." The bear laughed flicking Bruce's nipples. "You're all natural huh?"

"I'm Bruce." He repeated.

"That's a silly name for a fucking piece like you," the bear said ominously. "So, you like comic books? Don't you, Bruce?" The dark haired man asked, tracing the art on his meaty body. "Your tattoos all have superheros in them."

Bruce swiveled his head and said "No, they're villains cause ... I'm an evil genius." Bruce burped.

"HAHAHA! " The bear yelled, "Ya body, you're a regular Lex Luther, only after a head trauma." He traced Bruce's tattooed arms. "Looks like all incredible Hulk tats to me, buddy."

Bruce strained his swollen neck and caught glimpses of green brutes in purple shorts clinging up his bulging arms. "I GOT HULKS!" He said in much the same matter-of-fact tone that other men would exclaim "I GOT FLEAS!"

"Bet you got a super power," the bear smirked. "Bet you can swallow whole fists in a single bound." He tickled Bruce's unprotected asshole with a brutal finger. Bruce's huge body was splayed in the sling like a buffalo for slaughter, huge and helpless.

Bruce involuntarily flexed and pulsed his glutes and used his bloated clumsy thighs to bounce up and down, desperately trying to give the finger deeper access to his fat hole, "Ya! Comic's are...oh....ow....oh... comics are cool." The bovine voice mooed.

"Excellent." The man agreed and continued fingering his man-hole, "Well then from now on, we'll just call you Hulk... okay?" He thrust his finger in deep. Then he stood, and positioned himself at the base of the man mountain. "You don't look like a Bruce. You look like a Hulk." The guys tone got mean. He slipped more finger's roughly into Bruce's sweaty ass. "Big dumb Hulk ready to Hulk out on my dick."

"No...ohhhh AHHHHH... that's not my name."

The bear reached between the massive striated girth of the roid beast's ass cheeks and flicked his petite erection with a playful hand. "I'll make you a wager. If you can spell your name, then we won't call you Hulk. But if you can't big guy, well then, you really are just a giant muscle bound hulk."

Bruce noticed that the other leather men had gathered to watch the scene. The flicking continued, the fingers pounded his thick ass. "Go on Hulk spell your real name."

Bruce squirmed like an agitated building. He drooled dumbly from the onslaught of sensation. He struggled with every fiber of his fleeting intellect to grasp ahold of his concentration, "...Bruce.... It's spelled..." The guy was ramming him now. His pecs were flexing and bouncing. He could hear the sling creak under his ridiculous weight.

His superhuman calves were on fire from flexing and tensing...and oh god his thick muscled ass felt so full...

"It's Bruce... it's spelled... B - ARGH... Ewwwww.......ohhhh....OHHHHH....OHHHHH... OHHHH MY GOD..... OH MY FUCKING GOD."

There was a gale of riotous laughter from the man and the small crowd of leather men that had gathered to watch. "I'm sorry, Hulk." The dark haired man said insincerely. "That's wrong, there's no ‘Argh' in Bruce... nor are there that many O's." The crowd laughed again. "But that was a good try Hulk."

His little cock dangled underneath his heavy roid gut, and it ached with a fiery need. His ass felt so pummeled and raw but it felt so good. "Fuck you," he groaned. The crowd roared in applause. The attention and praise washed over him like a flood of joy.

He loved the attention and applause.

What was happening to him?

The bear was jubilant in smug victory. His fingers continued to rape the muscle hole, and his other hand began to smack Bruce's giant ass cruelly. "Oh no HULK, we're gonna fuck YOU! We're gonna rip that dumb roid ass open and get you all loose. You big dumb shit."

"No please... don't, STOP!" Bruce yelped and began to struggle against the ropes of the sling.


"Get the fuck off of him!!!"


Suddenly the crowd of greedy leather men parted. A dark haired man with a sense of authority put his hand on the bear's shoulder, "Get the fuck out of here now."

"Who the fuck are you?" The bear grumbled ignoring him.

"Leave now," the dark hair man commanded. "Or else I will systematically break every bone and opposable joint in your hand and then stuff it up your sloppy, fat hole." There was no threat in the man's voice. Just simple conviction.

The bear whimpered in fear and ran from the backroom. His clan of buddies moved to follow. "Wait!" the stranger ordered. "You two, help me get him down."

The stranger and two of the bears struggled to help the Hulk disengage from the sling and help him to a nearby bench. The stranger gave them a thankful but dismissive nod. They fled.

Hulk was still really disoriented but he placed his heels on the ground (like he always did when he was going to do a deep squat or deadlift) and tried to steady himself. The stranger was looking at him impassively and suddenly began to pat his gargantuan back. Hulk felt a swell of impossible comfort and gratitude. "Thank you. They weren't being very nice to me."

"It was my responsibility," the stranger said again with conviction.

Hulk felt like that was an odd thing to say but couldn't really reason out why. He sized up the guy who had stopped the crowd of worshippers from treating him like a freak.

The man was about his height... fuck... what was his height... oh yeah 6'3.

The guy was 6'

That was close right?

Only three inches...

Only three inches... like his fucking micro-dick was only three inches...

His savior's muscles were smaller. (but everyone was smaller than him, he thought with a secretive smug smile.)

The stranger was obviously a lifter though!


His muscles were heavy and serious.

Maybe a powerlifter?

His shoulders were wide and thick. His chest was broad and low, the weight stretched his tight black t-shirt to make him look like he was wearing football shoulder-pads beneath it. His arms were sinewy and covered with brightly colored tattoo's. Hulk recognized some of them as ones he had once had himself, comic book art mixed with tribal, lots of brightly colored 60's pop Batman images in between thorns and gears. Hulk could see the Tat's spread all the way up to his neck, ending just beneath the man's big chin.

The t-shirt bulged at his firm round gut, the sexy lived in paunch of a fit man who lived well. Hulk felt his jock jump in curiosity.

Maybe that big gut was tatt'd too? Or hairy or...

The man caught him staring and spread his legs with a smile. His legs were definitely a power lifter's. They were wide, cumbersome with muscle and heavy with fat. They strained his dark jean shorts like inflated denim balloons. A heavy wallet chain hung at his side and guided attention to his obscenely stuffed crotch

... between his keg thighs, was...

"You got a huge cock!" Hulk blurted out in amazement.

The stranger nodded, thumbing at the sheer immensity of his straining bulge.

"I used to have one..." Hulk sulked. "But not, not... not now... now I got big muscles and a tiny dick." He gave the guy a sturdy look, "I used to have a big dick and tiny muscles... I don't know how that..."

"Look at me." The command was gentle, but broached no disagreement.

Hulk lifted his head from his inspection of the dude's junk and looked it into his intense brown eyes. "Don't you recognize me?"

Hulk studied the powerful plump face. His big cheeks were covered in furry mutton chops that were flecked with white. His short ponytail sported white streaks. He looked surprisingly young for the white hair, and his eyes were an intense brown that bore right into him. He was very handsome. He made Hulk feel like he wanted to show off. He wanted to flex for this man. He wanted this handsome furry man to like him and his big muscles.


"I'm Rodney." The man said, and put a strong firm hand directly onto Hulk's lap. He groped his own leviathan schlong with the other hand. "Although now... now I think just "ROD." Is more appropriate."

"You got a big rod, Rod." Hulk chortled appreciatively. Unfortunately, He turned his smile into a big frown, "I don't."

The giant bodybuilder felt all 290lbs of intimidating bulk shiver and tingle at the vigorous stroking of his dick. The tattooed guy leaned in close, keeping his lips tight on Hulk's tiny ears, "The juice makes your balls shrink and it can be difficult to bust a nut." He licked hulk's ear. He soothed the Olympian fondly, "Just relax."

Hulk robotically obeyed and forced his massive biceps up to grasp the bench. The leather man continued to stroke him furiously. Hulk struggled to keep his balance.

The other...guy was Rod...

It was Rod...


That guy who had his dick and his clothes...

It was that old bodybuilder from the gym, only now he looked like he was YOUNGER and his muscles weren't so extreme. Now he looked like a former linebacker with prodigious labor-fat.

SHIT! He looked so powerful- rugged and masculine, like a fireman or lumberjack, only all inked-up with a gigantic schlong...

"I don't juice," Hulk whimpered.

"Oh, you do now big guy. Shit, you're going to be obsessed with it. You have no idea how much getting bigger and bigger and bigger is going to dominate your tiny little muscle brain."

"I'm too big..." Bruce groaned.

"Oh no big man, you'll never be big ENOUGH."

Bruce considered the statement and a part of him agreed fanatically, "Never be big enough?"

"No, I'm going to help you too. We're going to get you up to 320lbs, you're going to fucking swell like a damn tick." The man's denim clad cock burst free and was slapping it's heavy head out.

"You're going to be thinking about getting bigger day and night, trust me." The 9 inch shaft jutted proudly in front of Bruce's face. His eyes crossed at the weight of its thick veiny shaft.

"How do you know?" Bruce mumbled, looking at the proud cock, thinking dimly that his own dick used to be so impressive.

The dark haired man laughed and the big dick bounced in mirth. "Because that's what "I" used to think about all the time," Bruce craned his thick bullneck to look at him. "Now, I can think of all sorts of things." His grin was seductive and pleased.

"Huh?" Bruce grunted. The dark haired man stood in front of him in full view framed perfectly between Bruce's massive dinosaur thighs and distended roid gut. The man slipped off his shirt and shrugged down the jeans. His chest was covered with a fine salt and pepper hair and his stomach was a smooth hairless ball of masculinity. He wore only a black jock that looked vaguely familiar to Bruce's addled brain. The man's legs and arms were covered in intricate tattoos in garish colors, creating sleeves and leggings of ink. His cock hung majestically along the jock's waistband, dangling lewdly. The hot tattooed stud got closer, brushing his cocktip at the new Hulk.

A tattooed hand reached out and brushed tentatively at the unimpressive swollen lump in Hulk's jock. He pulled back the white band to reveal the 4 inch curve of Bruce's deflated anatomy. "Oh yeah big guy, you got a lot of my problems." He chuckled.

"Who are you?" Bruce roared and bucked like a captured Minotaur.

He was ignored; instead the hand began to stroke him, again. Bruce mewed in fear and lust.

"Guess you were right, Bruce. Muscles are about compensation. Bodybuilders do have little dicks. I always did. That's why I was so obsessed with my muscles." He gripped his own cock with two hands, " I spent years punching heavy weight and juicing... to compensate for my lack of... well manhood..." He smiled reflectively, "Now I've got this huge dong, and I have time to be obsessed with OTHER men's muscles." He gave Bruce's roid gut a smack, "...your muscles... They turn me on." The guy whipped out his HUMONGOUS schlong and let its length fall heavily.

"That's my dick!" Bruce mooed. "You got my dick!"

"My dick," the tattooed man corrected. He flicked his short ponytail and scratched his dark mutton chops thoughtfully. "It's my dick now... but I'm gonna let you feel it... feel it deep...ya dumb fuck."

The intelligent man saw the light of realization dawn in the moron eyes. "I'm not dumb... You took my dick... You're Rodney... but you got my rod... and I got your giant muscles!" His mind was so thick and weak, he was near rage and near tears... so confused and angry...

Rod shrank back from Bruce's hysteria.

The hungry look in his dark eyes became concerned, "I'm sorry man. I got carried away. It's okay. It's okay. I just got carried away. Sometimes this dick is like..."

"It's got a mind of it's own." Bruce mumbled. It makes you feel like you should be in charge," Hulk pouted. "It made me feel like everybody should do what I want."

Rod agreed, fondling the giant shaft of masculinity. "Makes me feel dominant and entitled," he said with a smile.

"Made me feel that way."

He looked at Hulk curiously, "So...Your giant prick... was what made you a giant prick?"

Hulk laughed. "I guess so." He agreed feeling better.

"Well I'll have to keep that in mind. Try and facilitate a better way to express those primal instincts in a more character building structure."


"I'll be careful."

"Oh... and something else..." Hulk said straining for his insight. "I think I got your dumb." Hulk stated simply.

Rod balked, "You got my what?"

"Your dumb." The enormous sex beast repeated. "It's hard for me to think quick, and everything seems ... I don't know... simpler..."

"I'm sorry." Rod said sincerely. "I don't know how any of this happened. It's all so Kafka-esque." He mused.

"Ka- What?" Hulk asked, absently playing with his little dick.

"It's a short story about..." Rod looked into Hulk's uninterested eyes. "Nevermind buddy. I'm just sorry you're so miserable."

Hulk was silent. Then said quietly, "... I like it."


"I like it." He smiled immaturely. He bounced his pec's to demonstrate. "Everything is much easier in my head. I was so stressed out before and angry and impatient, always thinking bout what I had to do and how important my job was..."

"And now?"

"Now I'm thinking about my Bench Press. How this jock is gonna smell when I take it off... How much chicken I ate today... when I'm going to have to start doing cardio..." He smiled and flexed. He stood up, gave a Titan sized double bicep, "I LOVE MY FUCKING MUSCLES!" He felt an impossible rush of Freedom at his confession. His body swelled with pleasure at his confession, making him feel even BIGGER!!!

Rod laughed affectionately, "Well, I like it this way too. I wouldn't suppose I was smarter per-say, it just seems like things are clearer, crisper, more defined. My knowledge base is far more accessible and I feel as if my intellect is honed. My language as you may have noticed is far more verbose and my compre... I'm boring you... aren't I?"

Hulk nodded.

His weathered face smiled, "You know what I like a lot?" Hulk asked "I liked it a lot... when you were playing with my little bodybuilder cock." He said it flatly, with no irony. "I'd like it if I flexed while you did it."


"You like my muscles." Hulk asked slyly, wobbling a quad muscle proudly. "You said you did."

"I LOVE your muscles," Rod agreed, rubbing Hulk's Dump-truck thigh. "You know what else I liked?"


" I liked how you looked in that sling. There's something about this bar and all the leather gear," Rod admitted.


Rod un-clipped the heavy wallet chain he was wearing and hooked it around hulk's thick neck. "That looks better on you," he said. He waited for Hulk to Grin in agreement and then began to stroke Hulks' little jock-pouch.

Hulk rolled his looming shoulders in expectation. He reflexively grabbed the chain, and held it like a collar.

"You got to really work to get those little balls to churn out some spunk," he explained. Hulk groaned and held his collar tighter.

Rod suddenly moved and enveloped one of Hulk's distended nipples in his gruff jaw. The other man engulfed the huge pec with a deep suck. He pulled insistently on the fleshy pocket of fat that surrounded the big nipple. He paused to lick the dangling meat of Hulk's giant chest. "Bitch tits... are a side effect too... Fat deposits on your pectoral... they're not good for competitions...but..." he licked the massive masculine mammary, "It makes your nipples SUPER sensitive. I had an Ex-wife who used to say that my bitch tit's made me whine like a real bitch." Above him Hulk whined like-a-bitch in agreement.

Rod suckled the thick man-tit while he deftly pumped the mushroom-headed cock stub. He held the tiny ball-sack away from the short staff. The big hairy mouth molested his muscles insatiably. "Are you close buddy? You gotta really concentrate. It ain't easy, but, if you work at it, it's like no fucking orgasm you've ever had. Hold on to that chain big man and focus."

Again Hulk obeyed.

He forced his bulbous arms up to awkwardly grab his chain, harder. He held them there in a semi-bicep pose and thumped his little dick into Rod's hand. He watched in rapt fascination as his hungry body bulked and flexed like an animal in response. He hung onto the chain with tense strength that almost choked his swollen neck. Primal lust shook his testosterone altered body.

It was strange and new...

IT felt like he was a volcano about to erupt...

It scared him.

"You're milking me," Hulk wailed. "You're fucking milking me like a big cow. Cause I'm a fucking animal." He bemoaned, almost near tears.

Rod gave him a direct look. "No buddy. You're beef. You're fucking Grade A fucking BEEF. A prize bull."

Hulk felt his cock spasm, desperate to shoot his tiny load.

It was hard.

Hulk furrowed his heavy brow, gritted his teeth, and thought about it like a really heavy deadlift...

or bench press...

or squat...

Damn! Why were all his thoughts bout lifting weights?!

He really had turned into a fucking giant...

A freak...

A fucking massive...

A useless roid for brains...

Tiny dicked...

Fucking body...

Fucking Body Buil..

Body Build- ....,"ARRRRRHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Hulk roared.

His thick cockhead only jerked twice, pitifully, but his whole body shook like an earthquake had just erupted between his gargantuan thighs.

"AHHHHHH!" He felt the tiniest trickle of cum, but his dick kept shuddering. He felt the crazy sensation of his dick shooting dry. It seizured and convulsed, but had no jizz to shoot. It was crazy fucking amazingly crazy.

Rod smiled. He brought his hand up to his mouth. He displayed the few drops of Hulk's seed. He licked the hand, "Not much... but fucking sweeter than honey." He offered the sparsely covered finger to Hulk. Hulk leaned in and sucked the digit gratefully. He suckled the other man's finger enthusiastically and tasted the sweet salty drops that his middle-aged, steroid-castrated, tiny Nads had managed to spit.

It was sweet.

Rod was soo right...

So fucking sweet!

In a burst of gratitude he pushed Rod against the wall and kissed him deeply. His cum was between both their lips as they kissed like animals.

Hulk broke the kiss and said with a hot heavy breath, "Ya know what else I liked...."

"What?" Rod asked catching his breath.

"Having something in my big hole," he admitted directly.

Rod started breathing very heavy again, "You want to be a good boy and get back in that sling?"

Hulk nodded slowly. "I want to be YOUR Good boy," he announced. He clambered his bulk into the sling and displayed his hole to the other man's engorged and huge erection.

Rod spit and slobbered lovingly onto his giant tool and guided it, two-handed, toward Hulks cavernous asshole. The tip plunged into the stretched ass like a thick pipe, and Rod felt himself lunge forward until he was balls deep in the Olympian ass. Feeling the weight of Hulk's distorted glute muscles suffocating the impossible length of the huge dick was an unbelievable shock. Rod gasped and the giant breeding stick blew his wad deep into the muscle beast after only one thrust. His whole body felt hot wired to the long fuck stick. He collapsed onto Hulk stunned.

"Holy fuck... I didn't know it would.... Shit...I'm sorry." He mumbled in embarrassment.

"Don't worry buddy. It's a fucking monster dick. It takes a while to train." Hulk said, then finished with perfectly flat honesty, "I'll help you train it."

With his fat schlong still plugging Hulk's hole, Rod leaned up and kissed him passionately. "We'll train each other." He tugged on the big bitch-tit fondly. "Yeah buddy. No more crazy ex-wives or stressful job. Just you and me and our love of muscle."

"Of muscles and your big cock." Hulk corrected. He gave Rod a sincere gaze, "I love that big cock. I want you to Fuck me more."

"I want to fuck you more." Rod agreed.

"But right now... Right now I'm HUNGRY AS FUCK."

They both laughed as the big dick helped the big muscles out of the sling.

Rod and Hulk left the Leather bar, strolling happily toward an all-night diner, looking to all the world like lifelong friends. The two men were re-imagined middle aged bodybuilding punks, out for a late night date.

The waitress's at the diner watched in numb fascination at the pair of Man-imals shoveling in food and laughing like best friends. The two late thirty bodybuilders woofed down steak and chicken and all manner of protein as they laughed louder than thunder and smiled affectionately at each other.

The one with long dark hair man would occasionally pat the giant brute's exposed striated quads. The Herculean monster would smile gratefully and bounce his distorted pecs, making the word "FREAK" jump up-and-down on his tattered shirt. The dark haired linebacker wiped crumbs from his friends' mustache and the big juice monster would suck on his fingers.

The greying Atlas complained about being cold, and the big ex-jock put a knit cap on the balding cranium.

When they got up to leave the meaty, aging Jock pulled the Juice monster by his heavy chain and kissed the brutish lips, possessively.

It was the most bizarre thing any of the women had ever seen.

But sweet...

In a really disturbing way...

They were a perfect fit:

The pony-tailed, thrift store attired, batman tattooed, firm and chunky Top and his massive, torn-sweat wearing, Incredible Hulk tattooed, Olympian sized, collared, and happy aging boy.

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