The Recruit

Part 1

At 20 I was 5'10" tall and a lean, well-proportioned 160 lbs. I would have been much happier being bigger but as an enlistee in the good old U.S. Army I was too busy running by my ass off for people like Sgt. Riker to get any bigger. I figured someday I'd be out of the Army and in the gym full-time where I belonged, piling on the carbs, cutting back on the carbs, and generally bulking up.

"Then I'll show Riker a thing or two," I muttered to myself.


Sgt. Riker was there in my face, snapping me out of my afternoon reverie. He'd given us a 15 minute break from the trench we'd been digging all day and I was taking it under one of the sprawling live oaks of Camp De Soto.

Of course, if he'd just grimaced or even scrunched his eyebrows I still would have jumped. Sgt. Riker was that kind of guy. At 35 years old, he stood 6'2" tall and weighed in at 260 lbs., with not an ounce of fat on him. He had piercing blue eyes, buzzed salt-n-pepper hair, and thick black curls covering every square inch of his body. He outweighed the biggest of his recruits by 50 lbs. and he made the average guy like me look like a piece of spaghetti. It didn't help that the basket he was carrying looked just as threatening as the rest of him. The sarge had some major meat!

Yep, in other words, my nice thick dick wanted to get hard every time I thought about him, let alone looked at him, which was a pretty sorry situation in today's "Don't ask, Don't tell" Army.

"Corcoran, I want you to get over to the infirmary on the double, y'hear?" Riker bellowed at me.

"Infirmary? Uh, what the...?"


"Uh, yes, sir, Sgt. Riker, on the double sir!"

I couldn't for the life of me figure out what was up. Of all Riker's recruits I was the only one who hadn't called in sick a single day of our time together. Not that I hadn't wanted to do so a time or two, but I was just ridiculously healthy.

"So you'll be Corcoran, eh?" the doc at the infirmary said, glancing up from his laptop. "Sgt. Riker said we could expect you to volunteer."

"Yes, sir, Corcoran, sir!" I said briskly. "Uh, volunteer for what, sir?"

"He didn't tell you?" asked the doc, raising his eyebrow quizically. "He must be very sure of you."

And then he told me. The Army was working on an experimental human growth formula. It worked like steroids or human growth hormone, only faster and without the side effects.

"It's all about enhancing human performance," the doc said. "That and the fact that most recruits like you are fairly young and hard as we work you all you don't really have the time to grow the way you would if you were a bit older. We figure we pack an extra 50 lbs. of muscle on anyone who takes part in the experiment. The only requirement we have is that participants be motivated and exceptionally healthy."

I grinned.

"That'ud be me, sir! I haven't had a single sick day and when I'm not on duty I'm in the gym. I just don't have time to eat enough!"

I felt my dick hardening but I was standing with my crotch to the infirmary counter so I didn't worry about it too much.

"That's the deal," the doc said. "If you're serious, sign here and report back at 0800 hours tomorrow."

* * *

Afterwards, I reported back to Sgt. Riker.

"Thanks for the referral, Sarge!"

"Don't get all mushy on me, Corcoran," he bit back. "I'm not doing this for your sake. Now get your skinny ass over to the gym..."

I did so and before too long I was surprised to see Sgt. Riker joining me. I always figured he worked out off post since he was never at the gym. He was wearing sweatpants that bulged and strained to accommodate his massive thighs and a skimpy tank top that clung to his incredibly developed torso. I was doing biceps curls with the 45 lb. bar and a couple of 25 lb. plates on each end -- pretty damned good for a guy my size -- and he went to the next station, loading the bar with six 45 lb. plates.

I figured he was going to do some squats or maybe some deadlifts but then he easily lifted the bar down and started churning out biceps curls, one right after the other, with 315 lbs. I figured he might do four or five but he did eight without catching his breath and didn't break a sweat until he'd do 12. By the time he finished, having done 20 reps, he was breathing hard and the sweat was pouring off his body. I wanted to lick it off of him and my dick was hard as a rock.

He put the bar back, then leaned down and grabbed his ankles, rolling his massive shoulders, then straightening up. He did a couple of side biceps shots, then hit the classic double biceps pose. I'd never asked him how big they were but it was pretty clear they were just about the same size as his head, big, full, hard and perfectly defined.

"Shee-it," I muttered under my breath.

"Caught your eye, eh, private?" Riker spoke clearly and distinctly but so softly that no one would have heard him but me. He never took his eyes off the mirror. "You want some guns like these some day, kid?"

I gulped.

"I know you do, Corcoran. The evidence is ample."

Aaaargh! One of the problems of having a nine inch dick is that when it gets hard, it's REALLY noticeable, especially if you're wearing a pair or skimpy workout shorts. Where we were standing no one else in the gym could see the tent there but Riker could.

"I know the feeling," he added, chuckling.

I glanced down and saw in the mirror something I'd been hoping to see for many months -- the threatening bulge in Riker's sweatpants was now an absolute monster, making the tent in my shorts seem insubstantial by comparison.

I licked my lips.

"Uh, Sarge, could I ask you a personal question?"

He nodded imperceptibly, now flexing his hulking 57 inch chest. "You can ask me anything you like, Corcoran, so long as it's not the wrong question. In which case, you're deadmeat."

"How big are your biceps?"

His lips twitched. I'd guessed right.

"Twenty-three inches, private," he answered. "Not regulation, y'know, they're always getting on my case when it's time for my physical. On the other hand, how many other sergeants can bench press 700 lbs. and run a 10K without breaking a sweat?"

"Uh, sergeant..." I started again, no longer able to keep my eyes off the portion of the mirror where the python-like bulge in his pants was twitching.

"That'ud be 13 inches, private, and that's not regulation either. No more questions but come see me after you get out of the infirmary, got that?"

I headed to the showers...


Part 2

The next morning I reported to the infirmary promptly at 0800 hours.

The doc who had me sign the release form the day before told me that it would be one simple injection, which would probably make me sleepy and possibly hungry. I'd have a room with a bunk and access to the infirmary's small but well-stocked kitchen, as well as the small but choice paperback collection the doc had built up for his patients.

"Ready?" he asked, finally.

"You betcha!" I replied.

It turned out to be a big ass hypodermic full of a brilliantly blue liquid. The doc had no trouble finding a vein -- I've always been lean and vascular -- and though there was no sting going in I felt a flush as he slowly, slowly pumped in the liquid.

"How do you feel?"

"A little hot, but otherwise fine," I replied. "In fact, I feel really good..."

He nodded and escorted me to my room. By the time we got there I was beginning to yawn and by the time I'd stored my gear and put on the required hosptial gown ("You gotta be kidding, right?" He just shook his head...) I was feeling very droopy. And heavy, for that matter. My arms and legs felt quite leaden, but also full and tingly, as if I had a good pump going.

I think I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

When I awoke the light coming through the mini blinds told me it was well-past noon. Checking the kitchen clock I saw I'd slept damned near eight hours in what seemed like the wink of an eye. And I was ravenous...

The doc was right about it being a well-stocked kitchen. There was milk and bread and eggs and bacon and fruit and vegetables for 10 people. Fortunately, my momma'd taught me how to cook when I was a kid so I just pulled out the pots, the pans, the condiments and the spices and had at it.

For four hours.

By the time I finished, there was no bread, no milk, no bacon, no eggs, no fruit, no vegetables. You'd have thought I'd be sleepy after that particular repast but the fact is I felt totally wired. I was longing for the gym -- by that time it had been 24 hours and it was rare than I went more than that without going to the gym -- so I started doing some bodyweight exercises instead: push ups, sit ups, handstands, dips, there was even a chin up bar in the doorway.

I'd been going at it for about an hour when the doc came by to check on me. By that time I'd shed my hospital gown, which was totally soaked with sweat, and replaced it with a big, fluffy bath towel.

The doc seemed a bit agitated at the sight of me.

"So, Corcoran, how long have you been going at it like that?" he asked.

"Uh, hmm, well, now that I think about it, I guess a coupla hours or so," I replied. "Whatever that was you gave me sure gave me a helluva energy boost, doc. That was my fourth set of chin ups." "How many reps did you do?"

"That's the other funny thing," I answered. "I did 150 the first set, 250 the second set, and 350 these past two sets. And I really can't say that I feel it much..."

"How about giving me some pushups?"

I dropped to the floor and started cranking them out, in perfect form, taking my time. Ten minutes later, when I passed 500, he stopped me.

"How many other sets have you done thus far?"

I counted backwards.

"Five, I guess. And, uh, yeah, I guess I did the same number of reps for each set."

"How many was that?"

I frowned. It was finally beginning to sink in.

"Same number as I just did for you..."

The doc let out a whoosh, then scratched his head and looked around like he wasn't quite sure what to do next.

"Well, Corcoran, I think you're a bright enough fella to do the math. What you're telling me is that in the past hour you've done about 3000 push ups and more than 1000 pushups in the past hour. That's pretty amazing. What else have you been up, too?"

I blushed and glanced at the kitchen counter, which was a wreck.

I didn't think his eyes could get any wider but they did.

"Is there anything left?"

I shook my head.

"OK, then," he said, "I guess we'll need to restock. In the meantime, let's go check your vitals..."

He took my temperature, blood pressure and pulse rate, all of which were normal, then he had me peel and step on the scale. First he checked my height, then my weight, but I didn't pay any attention -- my energy burst was wearing off and I was beginning to feel sleepy again.

The doc frowned, checked his chart, then made me do it again. "Aww, doc..." I mumbled, comlaining.

What he told me next made my jaw drop:

"Just wanted to be sure. 5'11", 185 lbs. Corcoran, you've grown an inch taller and added 25 lbs., apparently all muscle, in less than 24 hours. I think it's about time for you to shower and get back to bed. I'll see you again at 0800..."

He snapped his clipboard shut and walked out.

Like he told me, I headed to the shower. I spent a long time under the warm water, half dazed, partly because of the workout I'd just put my body through, partly because of what he'd told me.

I rubbed the soap across my chest, my tight abs, my arms, my hard butt cheeks and I knew what he told me was true -- I *was* bigger dammit, and even harder than I was before.

Thinking about it all made that other part of me hard, too, and as I wrapped my thick, pumped hand around it I had another startling revelation...


Part 3

So when DOES your dick stop growing? At 14 or 15? I guess it depends on the guy. For me it was about then, certainly no later than 15, which is when I reached my full height. By that time I was 5'10" tall and my dick was already its man-sized 9 x 6 (a lotta meat for a 15 y.o.!) Now though.

Could it really be bigger? It wasn't really hard but it felt nearly as big and thick as when fully erect. I wondered what it would be like to have a 13-inch monster like Riker's, which got me thinking about his performance in the gym the day before, and "well, I'll be goddamned," I blurted, looking down at my now raging cock. It *was* bigger! If only I had a tape measure!

I went back to my room in the infirmary and whacked off, a process which took all of two minutes to achieve -- and another two minutes to complete! Despite the big, fat dick, I've never been a shooter, so I yelped when the first volley hit me in the eye, and the second round went over my shoulder and *splatted* against the wall. Then my eyes rolled up in my head as the spasms went on and on and I succumbed to the waves of pleasure. How many spasms? 20 or 30? I lost count after 10 and it went on for a long time after that.

I think I was asleep before I ever finished. I woke up hours later feeling sticky. I got up to take a leak and clean myself up, was asleep again the moment my head hit the pillow.

I woke up 10 minute before my 0800 appointment with the doc, staggered to the john where stood peeing for what seemed like five minutes, grabbed a pair of baggy sweats, and then raced down the hall.

Doc looked me up and down, frowning.

"So, how'd it go?" he asked finally.

"Last night? I slept like a baby, doc. Crashed early and didn't wake up except once to use the john, then not again 'til 15 minutes ago."

He was still frowning.

"Nothing out of the ordinary?"

I blushed.

"C'mon, private, I'm a professional. Don't get all prissy on me."

I cleared my throat, then told him briefly, haltingly, about my jack off experience.

"Can't that's TOO surprising," he chuckled. "The increase in testosterone levels is only to be expected."

The next thing he said made ME chuckle.

"Save your spooge, soldier! And, no, I don't mean deny yourself. COLLECT it, OK? There's a specimen cup in your room. Use it!"

I nodded.

"OK," he continued. "Now strip!"

I complied and was taken aback by his sharp intake of breath.

"Uh, everything OK, Doc?"

The researcher took off his glasses and polished them on his lab coat, then put them back on, and looked me up and down again. His mouth hung open.

"Jesus, Corcoran," he said finally, "have you looked at yourself?"

He pointed to the full-length mirror in the alcove behind me. Standing there buck naked, I turned and got my first full glimpse of the nw me.

"Shee-it, Doc! How's that possible?"

You see, I was BIGGER. Not just a little bit bigger, but just as much bigger as I had gotten the day before.

"All I did was sleep!"

He nodded.

"Let's measure."

The results were amazing. I was another inch taller, another 25 lbs. heavier. I was now 6 feet tall and 210 lbs. Before I was a lean, lithe but basically skinny recruit. Now I was a beefy stud, as big as any jock -- save Sgt Riker -- in the unit.

I'd had only ONE injection.

"So how's my recruit?"

Riker strode into the examining room, then stopped dead in his tracks as I turned to face him, wearing nothing but my birthday suit and a big, shit eating grin.

"Corcoran, is that YOU?"


Part 4

Doc gave Sarge a rundown on the changes:

2 inch increase in height

50 lb. increase in weight

Obvious increases in muscle size and density

No apparent change in bodyfat ratio (it was in the mid single digits to start with)

Measurably significant increases in strength and stamina

"All that from one injection?"

Doc scratched his head.

"Well, that plus he's eating us out of house and home and he spent most of yesterday lifting nonstop."

Sarge rubbed his big strong jaw.

"Give him another one."

Doc took a deep breath.

"Don't argue with me, Doc. You know the protocol calls for it."

"Yeah," Doc replied, "but these results are off the charts. I'm not sure."

"Not sure of what? Whether our recruit is happy with the results? What about it, Corcoran? 50 lbs. of extra muscle too much for you to handle? Think we ought to give up now?"

I snapped to attention.

"With permission, sir! Hell no, sir!"

Riker looked at the doc.

"You heard the recruit, doctor."

The next injection was no different from the first although my erection was instantaneous this time. There was something about having Riker watch that, well, EXCITED me. And not just because he was such a fucking stud. It was because I felt like I was turning into a fucking stud myself. HIS fucking stud. I liked that idea. I liked it a lot!

"Ahem," Doc interjected primly.

"I think it's time you took a nap, recruit. You look like you're about to fall over -- and I don't want to be the one to carry you back to your room!"

I nodded and headed toward the door.

"And Corcoran -- don't forget the cup!"

Riker cast a quizzical glance at the physician, then figured it out instantly when he saw my sheepish grin.

"All in the name of science, soldier, do your duty!"

* * *

At 1200 Riker came and bounced my ass out of bed, his handsome mug an inch from my nose, bellowing at me to "Wake up, goddammit!"

Not what I had expected but as he hustled me to the base gym Riker explained that he wanted to give me a REAL workout and neither doc nor the infirmary exercise area cut it, from his point of view.

"We've got it to ourselves for the rest of the day," Riker pointed out.

I glanced at him.

"But what about...?"

He snorted.

"They'll live," he said in reply. "Besides, I've arranged a convenient plumbing crisis. The gym will officially 're-open' tomorrow morning."

Once in the gym Riker pounded my ass (well, don't I wish?) like there was NO tomorrow. We worked every body part, 10 sets per exercise, 10 exercises per body part, each set more weight than the last, then we'd start over again.

Every 45 minutes or so we'd stop and I'd eat. Well, FEED might be more like it. After half an hour Riker would cut me off in mid-gobble or mid-gulp and we'd get back to it. I was only vaguely aware of the dirty looks I was getting from the mess crew as they came back time after time.

It went on like this for 12 hours. Through the day my sweats -- baggy when I put them on that morning -- grew increasingly tighter. At first they were just a little less baggy, then they were snug, then the fabric was straining and in serious danger of limiting my range of motion. Likewise, as the day went on more and more of my tube socks showed between the top of the sneakers and the cuff of my sweatpants, there was more and more of a gap between my waistband and the bottom of my sweatshirt.

Just before 0000 we finished up with a set of barbell curls, three plates on each end of the 45 lb. bar, a total of 315 lbs. I cranked out 10 reps, then 20. Only after 30 did I start to feel it and at 40 I broke into a sweat. I slammed the bar back on the rack at the end of the 50th rep.

Only then did it hit me...

Two days previously I'd stood in awe watching Riker crank out barbell curls with the same weight -- and he stopped at 20 reps, less than half of what I'd just done.

"Corcoran," Riker barked, his voice husk and raw, "take off your clothes."

With some difficulty I complied, then stood at attention, facing Riker -- and realizing that I was staring STRAIGHT into the eyes of a man who had been four inches taller than I just 48 hours earlier.

"Corcoran, how tall would you say you are now?"

I gulped.

"It looks like I'm as tall as you are, sir."

"That'ud make you 6'2, recruit."

I nodded.

"Flex your right bicep, Corcoran."

I did so - and Sarge did the same.

"See any difference there, Corcoran?"

I shook my head.

"Me neither, soldier, so congratulations -- it looks like you've got yourself a 23 inch bicep."

I licked my lips, feeling the beginnings of the mother of all hardons.

"Profile shot next, Corcoran. That's right, now INHALE."

Riker turned so that we were standing side by side.

"I'm guessing that's about 58 inches, Corcoran, same as me."

It was all I could do NOT to touch my dick, Riker, anything at all.

"So I'm guessing you're the same weight, too, which should put you right about 260 lbs."

I was getting dangerously close.

"And then there's this," Riker said, grabbing my massive, dripping meat with his huger bearpaw.

I moaned. "Oh, shit, Sarge!"

He licked his lips, then pulled down his own sweats. The cock I'd dreamed of was there in all its raging glory, not just huge but totally fucking beautiful, perfectly shaped and smooth and hard and glistening.

"Look at it Corcoran."

"It's the same size?"

"Thirteen fucking inches, recruit."

My dick exploded. Yesterday's eruption was a like a firecracker next to this volcanic torrent.

My knees buckled.

Riker caught me as I lost consciousness.


Part 5

Doc looked like he'd been pole-axed. His eyes bugged, his jaw dropped.

"Jesus, Sarge," he exclaimed, "what did you do to this kid?"

Sarge chuckled, a sound rather like that of two boulders being tumbled in a industrial-sized clothes dryer.

"I took him to the gym, that's all. I was tired of having him pussy- foot around with the weenie stuff you got here."

Doc blinked.

"I don't believe it," he said finally. "No one can grow this fast. Even all the food you've been eating doesn't account for it, Corcoran. You're growing faster than you're eating. Where's it coming from?! Out of the air?"

I shrugged my now massive shoulders.

"What can I say? That's some heckuva formula you've got, Doc!"

Two shots, two days.

"But four inches taller? 100 lbs. of muscle? How…?"

"Like the kid said, Doc, that's one heckuva formula you've got."

Doc just shook his head.

"And it's time for the next shot."

"No!" Doc exclaimed. "I won't give him another one, I don't have a clue where this is going, I…"

Sarge nodded at me and I pulled out my massive meat. Within 2 seconds it was hard as granite, all 13 fucking glorious inches of it.

"Take a look at that, Doc," Sarge said. "What man wouldn't want more of that? I know YOU want it, you know I want it. It's your duty to take the next step."

Well, now, I guess that makes a certain amount of sense. Unlike Sarge, Doc wasn't the sort of guy you'd look at and think, "oh, yeah, he's majorly into muscle." Very nicely put together, come to think of it, broad-shouldered, lean and well-toned, but more like a swimmer than a bodybuilder. But, yeah, now that I thought about it, why else would he be doing this experiment?

I began to realize that something not quite kosher was going on.

Meanwhile, Doc still had that "deer in the headlights" look on his face so I decided to change the subject.

"So how's it going with the other recruits, Doc?"

Doc gave himself a little shake and returned to reality.

"It's not going, Corcoran, thanks for asking anyway. Not that we haven't tried but thus far you're the only man out of six recruits who has shown any noticeable results. Oh, a couple of guys have gained a couple of pounds but I'm putting that down to placebo effect – they're wanting to grow and they're letting themselves do so."

Sarge snorted.

"But nothing like this."

Doc twitched.

"Sarge, as far as I know, nothing like this has ever occurred in the history of human science."

I moved in close to Doc, looking down (now) at his handsome face and lithe, swimmer's body. Two days ago he'd been two inches taller and 20 lbs. heavier than I was – and now I dwarfed him.

I gave my meat a little shake.

"Shouldn't we get going on this?"

As the needle went in, I felt my consciousness expanding. It was like I was looking down on the three of us from a great height.

"Oh, damn," I thought to myself.

Damn, damn, damn.

"This one's gonna be good."


Part 6

How often do you get to watch yourself grow?

Well, duh, yeah, I know. Unless we're talking about down there, it just doesn't happen.

Unless you're one of us.

I didn't realize it, then, but I was the first one. And even though in the first two days I'd grown four inches taller and gained 100 lbs. of solid muscle, nothing could have prepared me for the third day.

Unlike the first two shots, I wasn't sleepy this time, nor was I jazzed. Instead, I was calm, peaceful, almost bored.

I watched myself grow.

I sat at the table and ate and ate and ate, although not as much as the first day. It had become clear that I was going to grow regardless of whether I ate. The hunger pangs had been psychological as much as anything and now that I knew something else was afoot I really didn't notice them.

There was a large square mirror on wall opposite the table.

I could see myself getting broader, thicker, more massive.

I'd find myself holding onto my dick, which was never soft, and then I'd notice that it was getting bigger, too. Don't get me wrong, it had been nice and big to begin with, long and thick, before I ever had the first shot. Now though it was noticeably bigger than a double-hander and my hands – fuck, my hands were like concrete blocks – were twice the size they had been when I started.

That would get me excited and I'd whack off and the cum would be everywhere and then I'd sit there dazed for a few minutes and then I'd clean up and I'd go take a shower, realizing now that it was getting hard to get through the shower door, and then I'd dry off and go eat some more and…

I could see that not only was I getting broader, thicker, more massive, I was getting taller, too. Even sitting there in the chair I could tell I was taller, my head and shoulders further away from the top of the table, higher up in the mirror.

It was mind-blowing.

About four hours into, after my second or third shower, I noticed that there was a standard scale in the bathroom, so I decided to take a look. I slid the weights over to 260 but – clank! – it was obvious I'd already gotten much bigger. I kept tapping and tapping, no difference, until I moved the next weight over.

There it was.

300 lbs.

On the nose.

I'd gained 40 lbs. of solid muscle in 4 hours.

It kept up all evening. About midnight I tried the scale again but it only went up to 350 lbs. – I was obviously bigger than that!

Finally, I hit the sack, slept like a baby.

The next morning I got up to take a leak. I knew something was different as soon as my feet hit the floor

For one thing, my feet were fucking huge. I'd always had sorta big feet for my size (12 wide at 5'10 and 160 lbs. is somewhat above average) but now, damn, it was the same as with my hands. They seemed twice as big, twice as thick. My feet looked like they were on steroids.

I bumped into the doorframe going into the john, flipped the lid on the toilet, and then grabbed hold of my dick.

Holy fucking mother of God.

I grabbed it at the top and kept reaching down and down and down – I was nearly doubled-over before I reached the end of it, 2/3rds of the way down to my knees. How fucking big was the thing? I'd have to ask Doc, obviously.

"And won't he have fun measuring it," I chuckled to myself.

* * *

As it turns out he DID have fun measuring it but first he fainted. His back was to me when I came into the room and when he turned around, he let out a little shriek and then, clunk, out he went.

I was on him in a flash – obviously this new mass wasn't slowing me down any – and had him on the exam table.

"Wakey, wakey, Doc, c'mon, it's OK," I crooned.

He came out of it, eventually, and no worse for wear. And then got down to the business of measuring.

"Clever me," he announced before he got started. "I had the vet lab send over the big animal scale yesterday afternoon while you were in isolation. I figured at the rate you were going you were going to be too big for the one I had."

My mind reeled as he read off the numbers…

"Height: 6 feet 6 inches."

"Weight: 500 lbs."

"Biceps: 40 inches"

"Neck: 38 inches"

"Chest: 100 inches"

"Waist: 48 inches, although it looks damned small compared to the rest of you…."

"Quads: 50 inches"

"Calves: 38 inches"

As soon as he'd checked my height I started getting hard and when we read my weight off the scale I went to full-mast.

"And, yeah, I guess I better check that, too."

About what I had guessed, it turned out.

"20 inches long, 12 inches in circumference…"

He looked up at me – waaaaaay up at me. I was now six inches taller than he was, nearly three times as heavy, and more than twice as broad.

"Uh, Corcoran…"

I looked down at him.

"Yes, Doc?"

He looked down at my massive tool, licked his lips, then lifted his eyes back up to mine.

"Doc, would you like to go for a little ride?"

He snorted, then laughed, then blushed.

I put my mammoth right hand on his right shoulder. It seemed so small, so fragile, by comparison, even though I knew it belonged to a highly-conditioned, well-muscled 180 lb. man.

I extended the pinky of my other hand and wrapped it around his belt buckle. Slowly – but with no apparent effort – I lifted Doc off the floor, first to eye-level with me and then up so that his head was brushing the ceiling, his feet dangling a bit in mid-air.

"Stand on it, Doc."

I lowered him back down and his thick black rubber-soled Army-issue doctor's shoes were standing on my dick.

"Hold onto the cabinet, there Doc, I'm gonna let go of you now…"

He did as he was told – all 180 lbs. of him was balanced on my cock.

"It's like fucking rebar," Doc said.

Then I twitched it.

"Upsie Daisy!"

He scrambled to hold onto the cabinet.

"Fuck it, Corcoran, next time warn me when you're gonna do that…"

I laughed.

"Consider yourself warned, Doc," I rumbled, then bounced it up and down 100 times in rapid succession.

"Jesus, Corcoran, give it a rest," he said, finally.

I took his wrists and lowered him so that his legs straddled my monster cock.

"It's like a fucking sawhorse," he said, and tried to wrap his arms around my enormous back.

"I can't reach," he mumbled into my armor-plated abs.

"It's OK, Doc," I said.

I had him.


Part 7

I looked down and realized that thanks to the mountainous size of my pecs I could barely see the top of Doc's head.

"Ya know, Doc, I'm not sure…"

That's when Doc found the top of my head – the one jutting out from my pelvis about 20 inches.

"Eeeyaaah, Doc, careful with those teeth, man!"

Between the sucking, slobbering noises, he managed to point out that "ith" very definitely "too bih" to go in his mouth. Which was fine. All that sucking and licking and even the teeth felt really damned good.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Doc, I don't think that's gonna work."

His pants were down around his ankles and he was trying to seat himself on my cockhead, a leaky, quivering, empurpled orb about the size of an Indian River grapefruit. I scooped him up in the palm of my tire-sized hand.

"I think you'd probably have more luck sitting on a fence post, Doc."

As usual, I was behind the times. Now he was standing on my cock with those nice black rubber-soled army shoes, attacking my left nipple.


That felt good.

Then he lost his footing – but not his bite. That felt even better! It wouldn't have occurred to me that I'd get an erotic charge from having a hundred and eighty pound man hanging – by his teeth – from my nipple, but, hey? I was learning all sorts of new stuff.

"I think, Doc, maybe you need to calm down a minute and let's talk about where this is going…"

He dove for my cock again, only this time I jerked when he swooshed and – WHAM! – knocked him right in the kisser. He crumpled like a rag doll, which, come to think of it, isn't really any great surprise, considering the size and shape and heaviness of the member that did the knocking. There are blunt instruments and then there are telephone poles and mine was a doing a fair imitation of the latter.

I put Doc back on the exam table and bent down to find a cold compress to put on his rapidly swelling blackened eye. He started moaning as the door to the office began to open…

"What the fuck is going on here?!!" Sarge bellowed.

I turned to face him, stark naked. His gaze was like a blast furnace, consuming me.

"Jesus Fucking Christ," I heard him mumble and then he was in my arms. A quick swipe of my right hand ripped the shirt from his big, hairy body and then I held him up to eye level, plunging my tongue into his hot, sexy mouth. Another swipe and his pants were gone and his big tool was slapping against my impregnable abs.

"Is this what you wanted, Sarge?" I growled at him. "Someone who could manhandle you? Someone who could make a man mountain like you look like a little girl?"

He moaned.

"Fuck yeah, private, oh, Jesus, fuck yeah…"

I sucked and licked every inch of him, lifting him and turning him and tossing him and holding him sideways and upside down. Sometimes he'd struggle and then – CLAMP – I'd exert the tiniest amount of pressure and he couldn't move. Sometimes he'd grab my wrist or my ankle or my cock and try, fucking TRY, to move it this way or that, but no fucking deal.

I fingered his hot manhole with my wrench-sized finger, then sucked his tonsils `til I thought they'd pop out. I held him, all 260 lbs. of him, one handed against the ceiling for five minutes while I sucked his massive he-man dick, then relented after he begged me to let him suck my insanely engorged fuckpole.

He did a better job of it than Doc did, somehow stretching his mouth (and apparently dislocating his jaw) enough to get a little bit of me in.

"I'm gonna sit on it," he muttered, his dark eyes crazed with lust, and he did. Somehow I knew it would work; a space opened where no space could be, tighter than tight but accommodating me, rearranging Sarge's insides so that when I started pounding I wasn't just pounding his prostate, I was pounding his diaphragm, slaving his breathing to my pumping, his sternum rising and falling with each thrust.

When I finally came he nearly flew off my dick. Sarge's eyes rolled back in his head and for a brief moment he seemed to have stopped breathing. Then the cum was rolling out his ass and down my barrel- sized quads and I held his head on the mountain range of my chest, his drool mixing with my sweat.

I didn't pass out so much as I blissed out, moving into some zone of intense erotic satisfaction, sublimely conscious of the feel of my body, his body, his body against mine, the mixing of his cum and my cum and our sweat, the taste and smell and the feel of all of it.


I snapped back to reality. Sarge was still passed out, softly snoring on my chest. Doc, sporting one helluva shiner, standing over us, his nice Doc-dick looking ready to burst.

"Private, I think we need to wake Sarge up and do some talking, don't you?"

I grinned up at him. I stood up in one easy motion, lightly holding Sarge against my Herculean torso, as easily as if I'd been holding a newborn. Gently I laid him down on the examining table.

"Doc, I think the three of us have a lot to talk about but let's let him sleep a bit longer,"

I put my finger under Doc's chin and tilted his head so I could see the shiner in a better light.

"Damn, Doc, sorry about that, bud. That's gotta hurt."

He blushed, then stammered something about "his pride" being the only thing that got hurt.

"I'll do better next time," he said.

I grinned and squeezed his shoulder, then eased off when he winced.

"You did mighty fine, Doc. In fact…"

His good eye widened.