krispykollection

[krispykollection]

You know, a lot of people would tell me that I was holding myself back with Men's Physique. That I had the right genetics. With some more intensity and a lot more 💉💉💉 I could really pack on sculpted mass.

For years I dismissed their remarks, taking them as a dig on my physique, but eventually I came around to their true intent. They just wanted to see me reach my full potential and as you can see... they were right 💪

I stand here now twice my old competition stage weight and yet all I want, no all I need, is more. Sure, it may have taken a toll on my youthful good looks, but for size like this, anything is a worthy trade.

[krispykollection]

Chasing the dragon

Muscle is the only high that doesn't go away. Every flex a hit. Every gym session a bender. And every day you wake up to it in your face. A constant physical reminder of your addiction, but a pleasant one, at least for awhile.

Though the results are ever present, just like all drugs, over time the high diminishes leaving you chasing more and more. What's a single additional inch on your arms when they're already thirty-two? Over time the numbers lose their meaning. Who can conceptualize a 170" chest? You barely can and you're living it.

You turn to other, more comprehensible cues… your arms being so overladen with muscle wider than it is long that they barely function anymore, your quads being so large you spend most of your days planted in the same spot. You can walk, technically, but it's a slow and painful experience, and definitely out of the question after a leg day.

That's right, leg day. Even as they're nearing immobility, you just can't help yourself from growing them even more. Admit it, there was a time in your life where you would have been scared by the thought of immobility. Heck, there were other times before that, sirens to slow down and level out, but you stubbornly plowed through them all.

When you get to your size, immobility is the only goal left. You're already far too large to take part in any facet of normal life. There's no coming back from the ways you've distorted your body to cultivate mass. Why should you anyway? You're obviously made for it, so why not take it to its apex?

You fantasize about the day soon when you'll wake up to the sensation of every muscle on your body pushing up against each other. Every tense sending ripples through them but producing no movement. It's a dream that'll be a reality soon. You're so close these days that you feel a preview of what's to come from your most vicious pumps.

It won't come like a switch of course, it'll build over time. The range of mobility regained between pumps lessening each time, until finally the day comes when one of your muscle groups reach their limit, then the next, then the next, until all you're able to do is wiggle your fingers and toes. Which will it be first? Your quads certainly have a head start, but when was the last time you tried to bend down? Can those abs even crunch anymore? What about those arms? Have their friends delt and lat cemented them in place yet?

I say this like there will be an end once you've made your last move. But that's the thing about drugs, no matter how much control you think you have over them, they always get what they want. Muscle is selfish and self indulgent, constantly calling for more of itself. So you indulge, make it feel good, so it makes you feel good. You admire your mass. The never before seen shapes it takes on a body never meant to be more than a small fraction of its current size. Self destructively relishing in everything it has in turn taken away.

No, once you reach that summit of muscular devotion that won't be the end. I'm sure you'll find some next target to grow to and a way to do it. Perhaps a return to cold hard numbers? Or how crazy would it be to bury your head fully in your own mass, instead of just mostly? Ehh, you'll figure it out, I mean besides, what else are you gonna do?

[krispykollection]

19 going on 40

Most of his friends don't recognize him anymore. The ones that do only ever look on from afar in shock and pity at what he's done to himself, struggling to remember the version they knew while taking in his current image.

Strangers assume he's twenty years older than he actually is. It makes sense really, just take one look at his gruff features, the sheer amount of size he has amassed, and his hair that near fully zapped away all the way back in his first cycle.

And what cycles he runs, always adding never subtracting in juice and mass. His cock is left in a near constant state of arousal by the sheer amount of hormones running through his veins daily. Only ever tamping down to a semi-hard state. Every time it does settling distinctly thicker and girthier than the last time.

There's only one way he's able to satisfy the monster in his tight posers these days. Masturbation had long ago reached a point of diminishing returns. Not that he doesn't, still cranking himself out multiple times a day, but only one thing can truly satisfy. Hot… Raw… Sex.

And there's only one category of people that handle him, other massive men like him. He wouldn't have classified himself as gay before his started stacking mass, but he probably still wouldn't now either. Gay, straight, it's not that simple. He's a junkie for muscle. In all the forms it can take.

He's just as aroused looking over his pecs at a male cobra back tense and writhe as he pounds deep past their cushy glutes as he would be with a female, but people like him skew heavily to the former. He's just as happy to receive, often using the opportunity to admire himself, flexing the bicep twice the size of his glistening dome in his face while riding to another touch free orgasm.

It's a good thing he's mastered that art, with mobility at an ever increasing premium. The day will come soon where he couldn't reach his own cock even if he wanted to. The sheer thought thrusting forth an orgasm in its own whenever it pops into his head.

He waddles through doors and hallways sideways. His legs are perpetually forced wide or set askew, one slightly in front of the other, when he needs to adjust the strain on his overladen hips. His head, the delirious driver of this walking science experiment of a body, outclassed by his neck and cradled by his ascending traps almost gets lost in the assortment of various other bulging bumps that make up his frame.

Even a blind man could clock him. His scent is otherworldly, an ever present mix of sweat, musk, and gas. Constantly blenching or ripping ass from the onslaught of protein packed food required to keep him going. His movements are audible. Making noise by routinely bumping into things… walls, furniture, himself, or by his deep labored breaths as he trods along.

People will look from the outside and criticize his life. Citing all the drawbacks and reasons they think it's wrong. Unable to wrap their heads around the brutal regimen of working out, eating, fucking, sleeping all for a result such as this. Sure it's hard work, and it's definitely not for everyone. But for those few that really get it, when the payoff is being this…

…easy to say it's all worth it.

[krispykollection]

Peanut Butter

Part 1: Anjay

"Seriously Anjay you're eating more of that stuff? Look at yourself, do you really think you need more? You're practically bursting out of your skin already."

Gosh, I almost can't even believe how we got here. If you had asked me if I'd be standing backstage at a local bodybuilding show with a hulked out and glistening version of my best friend Anjay, I'd have for sure thought I were hallucinating off some bad lunch… Funny how close to truth that would end up to be.

It all started 3 days ago when an unannounced package appeared on our doorstep addressed to Anjay. Not only was he not expecting anything, the contents were even stranger. Pulling off the packing paper revealed contents not immediately familiar to two skinny young men like us.

To the left a shimmery pile of purple blueish fabric. Anjay held it up cautiously as it unfurled. The garment presented itself as a bikini, the sight of it filling both of us with an awkward embarrassment of being in possession of such an obscene object.

Anjay quickly dropped it on the table before turning his attention back to the box. I had to lean in closer to make out the next object of mystery. A brown bottle of… tanning oil? "What kind of crazed sex fetish shit is this, David?" Anjay turned to me and questioned.

I didn't know what to say, so I just looked back down at what's left. The remaining item, while on the one hand familiar, only served to confuse further. It was a container of plain old peanut butter. At least something normal, but what on earth did it have to do with any of this? As I picked it up to examine it closer a final item was revealed underneath, and with it an explanation.

"Ohhh" we remarked in unison with the kind of trailing off that makes it clear we're still skeptical. It was a pass for what appeared to be a local bodybuilding show and not just any kind of pass, one for a competitor. That well explained the first two items, not a bikini, but a pair of posers, and not just any tanning oil, the kind used to cake a fake shimmering bronze sheen onto huge muscle heads so they can show off their freakish masses onstage.

The peanut butter could be reasoned to be just a backstage snack for a lunk like the probable intended recipient, but that's where the last mystery comes into play. The name on the badge, it was Anjay's. Realizing the same, he flipped the top flap of the box back to check the address on the shipping label, sure enough it was ours. "Hmph…" he said defeatedly.

In an effort to put a quick and tidy end to the strange past few minutes we had found ourselves in, I offered up a solution. "I guess there must be some other Anjay Bajwa in the area, the show probably just got the wrong address."

Anjay tacitly agreed. I'm sure we both knew the obvious holes in that explanation, our town isn't all that big, and being solidly in the midwest of the united states, Anjay Bajwa was not exactly a common name.

"This guy probably wants this… stuff, right? Should we, uh, try to find him?" Anjay weakly questioned.

I conjured up the image of the intended recipient. Some roided out freak standing wider than a doorway with arms bigger than my head ready to crush someone like me in a single moment. A rush of fear ran down my spine. With a similar picture playing out in Anjay's head, we turned to face each other and in unison uttered "Nah…"

Anjay put the items back in the box and loosely closed the flaps. He tossed it in the corner of the room to hopefully forget about, at least for a awhile.

I wish I could say the strangeness ended there, in fact that was almost true, all the way up to this morning.

I woke up before Anjay. The apartment was bare so I decided to head out early, grab a coffee and a bite, and run some errands. When I got back in the late morning I could sense something was off even before I opened our front door.

Through the opening door I spotted not Anjay, but a nearly naked yoked out freak. I stood frozen for a moment. He was thankfully facing away from me admiring himself in the small mirror hanging on the wall. I spied something familiar, the colorful posers. That's when it hit me, this must be the other Anjay looking for his package. A rush of fear shot down my spine, what if he's pissed we had it? Just look at those fucking arms, that back, he could pulverize me without breaking a sweat.

I stood there long enough for the creature to take notice. As he turned to face me, my fear took it's place as a side dish, with a main course of bewilderment. It was Anjay, my Anjay, from neck up at least, or what's left of it. Finally I broke my silence exclaiming "What the hell, man?!"

"Dave! I'm soo glad you're home! Bro, drop that stuff but hold onto your keys, we gotta hurry!" I instinctively stepped out of the way as he came powering towards me. In another second he was out the door, a gust of wind cast from his wide torso the only remnant by the time I had spun around. He was halfway down the hallway by the time I made it out the door. I was astonished he could move so fast with how big his legs had gotten, they clashed with every step yet he was practically sprinting to the parking lot. Still he was clad in nothing but those posers, but passerby's opted to say nothing, either terrified by the sight in front of them or insanely aroused.

Thankfully I hadn't locked my car doors, otherwise Anjay might have ripped the door clear off the hinges. The shocks of my late model sub compact protested as he slammed his weight into my passenger seat. Jeez, how much does he, does Anjay weigh now? Following his lead, I quickly hopped into the car myself. As I got in though, I slammed into what felt like cement, but turned out to be Anjay's arm.

"Huh, sorry bro, not used to my new width." Did he always say bro so much?

"Where exactly are we going in such a hurry?" I ask. That's when he pulled out another familiar item, the badge, pointing at it and exclaiming "Remember this? The expo center!"

"You've got to be kidding me!" too much had happened, too much had changed, it's all I could blurt out. "Look at me Dave, I'm gonna clean up bro!" Okay, that's a bro every sentence. "C'mon, we're gonna be late!" I took a second to sit and process as he sat by anxiously… "Okay, fine we'll go, but you gotta tell me what the hell happened to you."

Anjay was more than happy to tell the story of his morning. He started before I could even shift into reverse.

"Bro! oh my god bro, you won't believe it! So I woke up and there was like nothing in the house, but then I remembered that peanut butter from the other day. I grabbed a big ol' spoonful and plopped my ass on the couch."

As he spoke I found it hard to pay attention to the road, he was so animated, only exaggerated by his newly huge muscles, they were bulging everywhere at the slightest movement.

"A few minutes later, I started feeling this fuzzy feeling, I didn't know what it was, but it felt good. Bro that's when I noticed something else, my body was moving under my clothes, I lifted up my shirt and I had abs, abs bro!"

He took the opportunity to point at his obvious abs, flexing as he did.

"Once I connected the dots I practically ran back to the tub and dug back in… and before I knew it I looked and it was half gone! I knew I had fucked up, so I ran to the bathroom to check out the damage."

"My clothes were pulling apart at the seams, huge fucking peaks ripping through the arms, pecs busting out the front." He flexed each muscle group as he called it out. "Fuckin' delts, abs, quads, lats, traps, my god bro, you have no idea how good it felt, how good I feel!"

I recognized some of those words as he said them, using his obvious context clues for the ones I didn't. I had no idea Anjay was so knowledgeable about muscle.

"I didn't want to completely freak you out." Mission decidedly not accomplished. "So I tried to find something to wear, but the only thing that would fit were those posers… when I slipped them on bro oh shit, they felt so good, I looked so good, but then something else happened. My mind started filling with all this new knowledge… muscle groups, workout routines, diets, supplements, cycles, poses! Before I knew it I was a champion bodybuilder, through and through!"

"Yeah, you can say that again…" I said acknowledging the physical embodiment of his statement. "I'm worried those posers might of sucked some knowledge out of you Anjay, since when do you use bro as a punctuation mark?"

"Haha, don't be silly bro, I've always talked like this… and call me AJ."

AJ? I sat there just wishing for my friend Anjay back, not this beefed up bro'd out version of him. Hesitantly I continued, "Ok… AJ, I just didn't know you were so into muscle?"

"I wasn't…" he paused "at least I think I wasn't, but I mean look at me bro, who wouldn't want this?" With that he raised both of his arms up to flex. As he did his lats? flared out and brushed my shoulder. "Shit, I didn't even know you could even have muscles there."

"Bro I got muscles everywhere and then some. Look at the class on my badge, super heavyweight… damn right! Fuck, I'm so pumped, I'm gonna crush it!"

Anjay… I mean AJ, had his bare foot on the ground before I had even come to a full stop upon arriving. Again I followed in tow. Unlike at the apartment, the sight of a muscleman clothed only in a shiny pair of posers was of shock to no one inside. It's what they're all here to see, what I was here to see I guess?

He led us straight backstage, scattered around were other men and their own companions all getting ready for their time onstage. Looking around I was shocked to realize that AJ was the biggest of any of them.

"Bro, take this," he handed me the bottle of tanning oil "you gotta help me tan up."

I was taken aback "I uhh… well I mean, I don't uhh." I looked around, elsewhere many men were doing the same, but I couldn't I mean, we're friends, but I.

"Fine," he grabbed the bottle back "I'll get started."

He dotted the bronze tan across his chest and started rubbing it in, following it up with his legs and arms. If you thought he looked insane before, with the shimmery coat of tan his new freakish form really popped. Halfway through, I heard his gut grumble, he turned back to grab something else, the peanut butter.

---

"Seriously Anjay you're eating more of that stuff? Look at yourself, do you really think you need more? You're practically bursting out of your skin already."

"I told you bro, call me AJ. Anjay sounds so… formal. As for this," he says as he gulps down a spoonful "I'm lickin' this baby clean…" "Now, I've done as much as I can, I need your help buddy, I can't reach my back." He contorts his arms up and over or behind and up showing just how far he is from reaching.

"I guess there's one downside to all those shiny new muscles," I quip.

"I wouldn't call it a downside, not when I have a bro like you…" with that he made a little pouty face unbecoming of his brutal form. I relent and swallow my awkwardness. "Hand me the bottle." His eyes light up.

I walk around AJ, and I mean around, and find myself staring at the contrasted light patch of his wide back. Man, I really wish I had gloves for this, I lament as I squirt a dollop into my palm. Distributing it between my hands I took a deep breath… here goes nothing.

I feel a jolt of electricity run though me as I make contact. Something's changed, something's flipped. I watch myself as I spread the bronze coating. The back in front of me is the same, but the interpretation has changed. It's not shocking, nor disgusting, it's a thing of beauty. I zoom out in my head, my god, the whole thing is, he is, AJ is. I feel my hands gliding over the many ridges of his back, turning perfection into more perfection. That's when I notice something else, the effects from the latest bite of peanut butter… he's growing. I can see his flesh expanding between my fingers, I can feel it press ever so slightly more against my hands. I've never felt so connected to AJ and I know he can feel it too. The world around us taking a backseat to our own shared reality.

I reapply and venture my hands further down south ensuring that his colossal glutes get the attention they deserve. I pull down his posers, ensuring every inch gets covered. Before I know it my fingers found themselves deep inside as I gently tease his hole. Electricity shoots through me again as I watch him squirm.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a figure coming in hot to our left. Fuck, we're busted, I think, followed up quickly by a different thought, wait, what the fuck am I doing?

The figure comes into focus, it's a frantic respectfully beefed up man in an official looking polo.

"There you are!" he yells out to us as I casually snap AJ's poser back into place. "You missed check-in, you better come with me right now if you don't wanna get DQ'd."

Not allowing for any protest he grabs AJ's hand to lead him away, muttering under his breath as he does, "These lunks, the big ones can't hold a thought in their head outside of their next rep…"

AJ grabs the peanut butter as he stumbles, then walks away. In between bites he shouts back "Grab a seat bro, I'll be lookin' for ya!"

With nowhere else to go I follow his instructions and find a seat in the amphitheater. In the relative calm I have a moment to process the events of the past few hours. Here I am, sitting at a bodybuilding competition waiting for my best friend to walk onstage and show off his insane muscles. I thought about how I feel about that, I have a vague recollection of being scared and confused, but now it seems clear. AJ's got muscles, he's a bodybuilder, of course we're at a bodybuilding competition. The only thing I feel now is anticipation.

I flash back to backstage as I sit and wait. I can't get the image out of my head. His muscles… so big, so hot, muscles are hot, AJ is hot, fuck! AJ is hot! I can't wait to see him again, to touch, I shiver. Almost on command the lights in the amphitheater lower to signal the start of the show.

Competitors start marching onstage, they all have nothing on AJ, I think, only confirming more as they continue to appear. The stage slowly fills as each hits their mark. Still no sign of AJ. I briefly worry something happened to him.

But then, the backlights of the stage are snubbed out by a hulking figure. It steps out under the stage lights. It's unlike any other man up onstage, it's hard to believe it's man at all. It's AJ.

A hush washes over the amphitheater. You couldn't just see, but you could feel his movements, you could hear him coming. The thuds of his footsteps, the stretch of his posers trying to hold back the mass he's become.

He hasn't even flexed a muscle yet but all eyes were on him. I had no idea a man could be so beautiful. He is absolutely bursting with muscle. Every limb, every surface stacked with veiny glistening meat. I find myself getting hard. I stroke my cock through my shorts and make note of many other men in the audience doing the same.

AJ is wearing a cocky smile confirming that he is aware of all our gazes. He coyly takes his place in the lineup, pretending that there's any possible way the show will go on as planned now that everyone has seen him.

To their credit, they did attempt to run though a few poses, but even those onstage found it hard to hold form when their attention was quickly snapping back to their muscled colleague. Noticing this, AJ steps forward to give everyone what they wanted, his juicy up body, up close and personal.

AJ goes through an entire routine like he's spent ages perfecting every pose. His front double bi threatens to encase his head in delt and bicep meat. His ab and thigh positively does. And those thighs, wide sweeping drops of muscle, transforming into carved marble columns as he stomps down.

He turns around to face the other competitors, winking at their astonished faces as he does. It's time to give everyone else the a view of what they've been seeing. His lat spread seems to just go wider and wider without any sign of stopping. And his glutes, my god, they're absolutely planetary.

Spinning back around, AJ playfully takes a customary bow indicating the end of the show. It was indeed the end of the show and he needn't move from that spot on center stage. Not wanting to keep the godlike figure waiting, officials rush out and crown him champion.

There's no lineup. Second, third, who cares, everyone else is a blur. He's first, second, and third both in size and perfection. Medals in hand, AJ turns and leaves the stage, leaving the crowd to reflect on what they just witnessed.

I find AJ backstage, swarmed by all types, attendees, officials, media, competitors, they all couldn't get enough of him, couldn't get close enough to him. He sees me and pushes his wide body through the crowd like it's nothing. He doesn't even skip a beat as he scoops me up and carries me out of the room.

I can tell I weigh nothing to him. I'm a warmup weight. Even without being terribly stressed, his muscles were putting on a show for me. I watch his biceps and pecs bulge to hold me, just taking in the sensation of being cradled by muscle. We lock eyes and smile knowingly.

AJ whisks us away into a side room away from the crowd and gently sets me down in front of him. The room is bare aside from us and the plastic taped on walls and floor for tan smearing muscle beasts like AJ. Not exactly what you'd call ambiance, but it didn't matter. We have all we need.

Without saying a word I step forward and place my hands on his chest. He flexes in approval. I feel a jolt run though me as I feel his pecs shift from beautiful pillows to striated boulders. I lean down and press my cheek against his cobblestone abs. I linger just feeling the motion of his gut contracting and expanding with every breath.

I bring my hands down to his posers and slip them down, his dick pleasingly flops out already semi-hard. As he comes to full mast I realize it's larger than I remember. It didn't grow as much as everything else, but it's still impressive. A stiff golden rod setting itself out from his dark bronzed quads.

I wrap my lips briefly around just the tip before taking it in deep with a skill like I had done this hundreds of times before. I'm in ecstasy as I feel AJ fill me so completely, as I hear him moan with pleasure while I hit all the right spots, as I watch his quads twitch up close and personal with every suck. His movements and breaths become sharply staccato as I take him to climax.

AJ grunts with gorilla-like intensity as he rockets three hot, huge, loads down my throat. I stand up and wipe my lips as AJ comes back down to earth. Once he does, he chooses to finally break the silence with, "It's your turn now, bro." His voice booms deeper than I remember, the statement hitting me like a ton of bricks. He turns around and fully drops his posers, struggling briefly against his quad meat as he does.

My already erect member twitches even harder at the sight of his uncovered ass. Even more so when he leans forward and his massive cheeks split. I hastily drop my pants and am practically pulled in like a vortex. I place my soft hands on AJ's granite glutes before inserting my cock into his waiting hole. I'm glad I went in so deep with the tan earlier, it serving as rudimentary lube.

As I begin to thrust, I watch the dancing mountainous landscape of AJ's back in front of me. His ass is magnificent, so firm and tight. Every few strokes he squeezes his mighty glutes ever so little sending pleasure rocketing through me and also reminding me that he could crush my dick to smithereens in a single flex if he wanted to, this only serving to rile me even more. Regardless, it's clear who is in control in this moment, he wants this just as bad as I do.

I collapse forward onto AJ's back as I cum. We both stay in this position for a few seconds while we catch our breath. Standing back up, we make ourselves as decent as we can. AJ pulling his skimpy poser back into place and me pulling my pants back up and trying and failing to wipe the stripes of bronzer now all over my skin and clothes.

I laugh as I look up at AJ. "What?" he asks.

"Sorry, I wore a spot out on your tan, haha."

AJ chuckles to himself as he turns to face me. "Oh shit bro, but look at you" I'm practically covered in splotches of bronzer. "Honestly, doesn't look to bad on ya, have you ever considered bodybuilding?" AJ heartily boasts. We both chuckle with the silly question serving to encapsulate the wild ride we both have been on.

"Something tells me there's a lot more of this to come, but first… this tank bro" AJ slaps his bloated muscle gut, "she's gonna need a lot more than peanut butter to fill 'er up."

With that we head back out together in search of what I assume is an ungodly amount of food to fill up my hulking best friend… boyfriend? possibly.

We're a total mess, anyone looking at us would have no trouble putting together what we just did. We hold our heads high regardless, because who gives a fuck, like you wouldn't if you could. But you can't, so might as well flaunt what's mine. Besides in reality no one is giving me a second glance next to him.

---

In that first stroll together as an item out in the world, AJ and David find themselves in a place of pure joy and contentment, ecstatic about their budding new reality and relationship. Little did they know what was coming next.

Waiting innocently on their doorstep… another package… Wonder who it's addressed to?

[krispykollection]

You know the best part about committing yourself to becoming a roided out freak? There's no off switch. Your tireless work in the gym putting your ridiculous muscles to the test, growing them larger and larger, is with you always. Turning everyday scenes into an erotic feast for the eyes. Something as simple as taking a load off is accentuated and expanded by your absurd mass. Look at those legs, peeled, covered in pencil-thick veins, fit to burst, just like the appendage in your pouch. How does it feel to have the sight of your resting body be enough to cream not just yourself, but for everyone else around you? Well, there's only one way to find out... 💉

[krispykollection]

Doc said the only thing that'll help with my hip pain is dropping some weight... yea, right... lose muscle. He said I had way too much mass for my small frame. Shit... who's he callin' small? Besides, I ain't no lardass. This... GRRRR... huff... mmmphh... is hard, pumping, muscle.

I just need a minute. Load up that squat rack. Leg day's just gettin' started.

[krispykollection]

Have your fill

"Here's the deal," the attendant started off while you settled into the mysterious white room, "you can have as much as you want but this is a one time offer, when you step out that door," he muttered something under his breath "if you can," "that's it, so make sure you have your fill."

With that two unremarkable assistants slammed two cases of naked silver cans on the table in front of you. The man continued, "Each of these cans are expected to permanently increase your muscle mass by 10lbs, with an average activation time of only a few minutes. Drink cans one at a time waiting for the full effect before consuming another, simultaneous consumption has not yet been tested. You may monitor your progress via the readout on the wall."

You glance up at the red 4-digit readout displaying 135. In the momentary silence you feel a cold rush through your thin body as your senses finally have a chance to process your naked self, clad only in a pair of excessively baggy stretchy white shorts provided by the facility.

"If you need any more…" 'More?!' quick math says there's hundreds upon hundreds, possibly even 1000 pounds of potential muscle mass on the table in front of you if their claims are accurate, 'how could anyone need more?' He gestures to the door "…or experience any other problems, use the intercom. However, when you are satisfied, simply press the red button on your table and you'll be taken to the outpatient center for evaluation and reintegration."

"So, any questions?"

You were stupefied, unable to process your current situation even in this stripped down environment with just you, these cans, and three, wait, three buttons? "What's that other button by the door?" you ask.

"Don't worry about that, that one will only activate for lab staff such as myself," he remarks wiggling the fingers on his raised hand to illustrate his point. "Now, if there isn't anything else, I will let you get to it."

It took you a number of minutes to do anything after he left you alone in the room. You just sat frozen staring out in front of you. Finally, once you caught up to reality, you slowly reach out for a can. You feel it in your hand, it's warm, room temperature maybe. You had expected it to be cold despite not having any reason to think that. Perhaps it's the fact that you normally guzzle cold energy drinks out of such cans. You look down at yourself, taking note of your featureless body before taking a hard gulp. "Well, here goes nothing."

It's not unlike your familiar drinks, the potent flavor likely covering up other more acrid notes just like their energy-inducing counterparts. It feels weightless in your stomach, your body eagerly soaking up the contents of the can like a sponge. You sit for what feels like an eternity waiting for the promised effects to materialize, in reality waiting just a few minutes as promised for them to do so.

All over your body you feel a fizzy eagerness as your muscles show themselves for the first time in your life. A faint outline of pecs is joined by the top row of a six pack as your limbs take on similar definition. "Holy shit," is all you can utter. Fearing a hallucination you glance up at the readout pleased to see it confirm your visions, now displaying 145. Without hesitation you grab another and in just another moment you're bigger yet, already starting to look like a gym rat. During the next can you take a different tactic, instead watching the readout with burning intensity as it crept up. This cycle continues for another half hour, not that you can tell for sure, only being able to measure passage in increased pounds, not minutes.

As the display lands neatly on 225lbs, you realize that glued to the readout, you haven't even glanced down once in five or six cans. When you do… my god. 'Who is this bodybuilder sitting in this chair and how am I looking out at the view of such a physique?' you playfully think to yourself. You bring your bulging arms up in front of your chest and flex, in a flash bringing them and your pecs alive with tension. You moan in pleasure, joking to yourself, "Good thing these shorts are white." Speaking of, your quads are starting to take up ample space in the once comically baggy shorts.

Coming to grips with your already wildly transformed body, you glance over at the still mostly full case of cans and its full companion, and ponder for the first time just how far you want to take this. Honestly, you thought this trial was all a big joke, but you could walk out of here now to a completely different life. But do you want more?… do you need more?

Anything more would surely be outrageous, a much different life even yet. Your recluse life would surely be out the window with you carrying any more muscle than you already are… but heck, even now you're past that, 'people will be noticing this,' you think as you give yourself a quick flex 'and honestly the reason for noticing ain't at all bad.'

With a renewed fervor you decide to dive back in and let yourself feel out a stopping point. You soon find yourself falling back into the same cycle, its predicable outcome leading you into a stupor. You make adjustments here and there as you feel your range of motion change as your muscles swell, but unrelenting mass filling up your view does not trigger any sort of reaction. The numbers on the readout steadily tick up but soon lose their meaning. Only when you go to grab another can from the first case and come up empty are you drawn out of your trance.

Twisting your mighty chest, you peer over your pecs to stare in shock at the pile of cans on the floor to your left. You turn back to the readout… 615. For a moment you're speechless. Your eyes, darting down to realize exactly what that number meant on you, are immediately met by… not much, but so so much at the same time. Dominating your lower vision is a pair of pecs larger than you've ever seen capped to the sides by a pair of equally awe-inspiring deltoids. You're scared and frustrated by not being able to see anything else. "A muscle-growth factory like this can't spring for a mirror?" you lightheartedly, but also annoyingly, remark to yourself making note of your sexy new bass as it rumbles through your chest. You raise your monolithic arms to a double-bicep hoping to at least catch a glance of them. Though not as easily as you'd have hoped with your delts crashing into your face via the pose, you're rewarded with the sight of massive biceps each out-sizing your head twice over covered in a network of pulsing veins.

The last vestige of your rational mind for a moment returned your focus to that number… 615. That's batshit insane, what on earth have you done? You feel the weight of your unseen mass pressing on and out of you at every moment. You slowly writhe your arms and legs feeling just how much you've limited your movements. Your hands and feet have less of a chance of meeting at this point than an all too obvious catfish and their mark. 'Surely this is enough?' you think as your eyes drift to the red button.

But yet, mere inches away, the other case. Against all reason, you reach for another, ready to be once again whisked away into muscled lust.

The test being well over a couple hours in, the attendant takes this moment to check in. He's pleased by what he sees. "Well, well, well, looks like our little muscle pig is well on his way… hmm he's starting to have a little trouble drinking." He notes that his biceps and pecs are starting to restrict his ability to reach his mouth before continuing, "to be seen if he'll tap out or adapt. Session continues, 3h 13m and 29s." With that he flips the monitor back off and continues about his work.

This time you're snapped back by a splash of the precious drink hitting your face. As it snakes down your cleavage you take a beat to figure out what just happened. Preparing again for a glug you feel your tilting head firmly stopped short as it hits your overgrown traps. Attempting to counteract by bringing the can closer is stopped by a paradoxical meeting of your muscles as your attempt to push closer is only met with the opposite outcome. The can is stopped firmly once your arm is fully flexed, causing yet another splash to dribble out.

Shifting your attention, the numbers on the wall come into focus… 775. This time though, there's no reflection or doubt. Instead your mind is filled with another concern. There's so many more cans, but at this rate you're not going to be able to reach many more to your waiting lips. Your one track mind resolves to slam as many as possible in an attempt to beat the pace of the growth. Lowering your grip on the can you down it, following it up with another in your left hand. Over and over, continuing to adjust your grip as the growth kicks in until you can't even reach only pinched between your index finger and thumb.

You let out a thunderous belch as you throw the empty can to the ground. In the distance the numbers on the readout creep up, this time faster than before. The fizzy feeling amplified exponentially. Feeling a sudden urge to know what's coming you lean forward in an attempt to see over your pecs to count how many cans are left, but your abs and quads aren't giving you much range. The far end of the case comes into view as you see them, only two cans left. Just then, the admittedly formidable chair you were still perched atop finally gave up the ghost. As you slam to the floor, the once sturdy metal frame is neatly flattened by your 825lb-and-climbing twitching muscle mass of a body.

Shaking off the shock, mostly metaphorically at this point, you struggle to process the simple math, putting more focus into simple subtraction and multiplication than you did in the 2nd grade. '48 minus 2, minus 16… 30 cans… times 10… 300! plus 775…' "One-thousand and seventy-five!" you yelled to no one. "But it could be ninety-five," you say as you lock eyes with the last two cans. Your new lower seating position left you with an ever so slight chance of being able to reach them, but your vision was quickly being enveloped fully by your burgeoning pecs. Blindly you flail around, rocking the table with your powerful movements, hoping to reach one.

At this moment the attendant decides to tune back in. "Oh my, seems like someone has overindulged!" he quipped to himself, "what's wrong big guy, can't reach the button?" taking pleasure in another subject's unchecked desires overwhelming them. On his assumption he started making his way back to the room to come to his aid and assist in discharging the 1000lb+ mass of a man.

Opening the door he starts "It looks like someone needs some…" but he's not met with the sight he was expecting. There you are, against all odds with a can in each of your sturdy hands. Raising them up you stop short more than a foot above your head. Effortlessly you crush them simultaneously as the last drops of the miracle elixir trail down your face, ricocheting off the trough between your pecs, down to your buried mouth. In a frenzy of snorts and coughs, you suck it all down, letting out a guttural roar when finished.

"My bad, seems I've misjudged… and that you've defied the rules." Lightly stepping further into the room, his smile only grows as he speaks, "Well I suppose I should tell you, I did fib on that one, we have tested that little feature of our formula and found that it triggers two-fold… I don't imagine that was the first time you double-fisted today, so where are we, about 1,500lbs?"

Expecting a reply, you try your darndest to do a final bit of math, at his point peeved to be taking your attention away from you still expanding body. 'If the last cans double up… that means…' "1,395" you declare, your mighty bass muffled by your growing pecs, marking the last words to pass out your lips unimpeded.

"My, my, quite the glow up, or shall we say blow up?"

All you could do now was sit as mobility quickly finished escaping you. The feeling of the mass that you were, the mass you were still to become was overwhelming. Just above the crest of your pecs you watch the readout continue to click up. To your sides, your arms are now perpetually in your periphery propped up high not by their incalculable might, but by plain lack of space. You can't see, but you can feel the sheer area your glues and quads were taking up on the floor, the latter splayed far apart by the girth of themselves and by your growing gut, itself just now meeting the ground, your bottom set of abs feeling the cold tile. Buried deep below, your cock lets out an endless spring of cum fueled by the testosterone flowing through every inch of you. Wracked in pleasure, you finally let go of the remains of the crushed cans, falling, they bounce off your forearms on the way down.

"I must say. That was quite a display of dedication. I don't think we've ever seen someone get so creative with their consumption. I take it that you'll be wanting some more, hmm?"

He didn't wait for a reply.

"Well then, let's move onto the next phase then."

With that, he presses the third button. Like in a movie, you watch as the roof of the room lifts up and the walls fall to their sides, revealing a much larger, warehouse-sized room just as sparse and brightly lit as before, if not more. The table and mess of empty cans are whisked away as a machine tips you forward to remove the remnants of the chair and long-tattered shorts from your powerful cheeks.

"I honestly wasn't pegging you for one of our more advanced applicants, kudos!" he said feeding a flexible plastic tube through your pec valley to your mouth. "Now, just like before… just say when." With a flick, the tube filled with that same fizzy serum.

"Oh, almost forgot!"

He places a headset over your eyes. The image flickers on and at first you don't recognize the unusual shape. But then it dawns, it's you! Finally you can see yourself, and what a sight you are. But before you're able to really appreciate, the image zooms out to the full size of the room. 'Oh no, I'm so small!' you suck harder on the hose.

"Phase 2 initiation successful. Subject growth limit: undetermined. Shifting to in-person observation."

You feel his hand make contact with your 135" thigh as he increases the flow to meet your pace.

[krispykollection]

They said he couldn't win the Olympia... then he did. They said he couldn't cram 300lbs of competition-ready meat on his 5'6" frame, then he did... with another 100 coming the year after that. 500lbs was practically expected this year... and he sure wasn't going to disappoint.

[krispykollection]

Even on a good day he's miles away from reaching his back with the relentless musculature he's packed onto himself. Especially so when he's rocking a pump like he has now. Thankfully he's always surrounded by his bros ready to help him with whatever his increasing mass makes difficult. Soon enough he'll need help with just about everything, once his muscles are so inflated he can't even move an inch, at least that's the plan. With bros like this, there's no doubt that plan will come to fruition.

[krispykollection]

"I want a muscular body built to compete" Mike said confidently to the djinn, ready to learn the most important lesson when dealing with the magical sort, specificity. Coming to him in the middle of the gym floor assumed would give enough context clues to the request, but that's the thing about djinns, it's not that they don't understand context, they just don't care.

At first glance, his dreams were reality, his wish had indeed given him the body he desired, but that vague request to compete would only reveal itself once he arrived back home. Taking his new body in, he suddenly felt a burning deep inside, emanating out of his stacked new rear. In tandem, the phone still in the pocket of the sweats he just dropped began blowing up with Grindr notifications ready to feed his eager hole.

Mike was competing alright, but not on a stage, more in the bedroom or even more accurately any private or public space. Competing for every hungry cock out there as a newly crowned lust-filled muscle power bottom. Such a shame his tight abs and juicy pecs don't get the attention they deserve, but the view of his cobra back and bubble butt more than make up for it as his countless partners rail him at all hours. Picking up the phone, he hastily arranges his first of many hookups of the day. It's a 24/7 job when you compete like him, hope he's ready for the commitment.

[krispykollection]

You read that right, results from just one session with yours truly. My client walked in mere hours ago with nigh a muscle showing through on his thin frame nor a single bit of muscle growing knowledge in his brain. Now he'll be waddling out not just looking like he's spent his lifetime in the gym, but training, posing, eating, and thinking as a growth obsessed bodybuilder thanks to some no-so-subtle mind control. In fact, he's decided to extend his package to a full week after seeing today's results, just think of what he's going to look like in another six days.

[krispykollection]

No one asks any more what you do when they meet you. Even as fully clothed as you can manage these days, one look and it's obvious you spend your entire life juicing at the gym or at home resting and slamming protein.

Your muscles define you, they are your life and your career all rolled into one. Your corporate ladder made of weight classes, yet despite being at the top you cram more and more on.

People don't see you anymore, they see shadow-casting pecs, head-crushing biceps, waddle-inducing thighs and an overall wideness unnatural to the human body.

You've engineered a body that exists solely to train and display your unstoppable gains, any other more pedestrian activity performed in the most clumsy matter, if at all. You were man, you are muscle, you wouldn't have it any other way.

[krispykollection]

Lumbering Meat—Muscles so thick he can no longer move normally. Throwing his legs around each other in an awkward waddle. Arms bouncing off cushy lats to balance his bloated bulk. He's on full display just like he likes it. People stare harshly questioning 'are you big enough yet?' The answer of course, no.

[krispykollection]

He used the smallest shaker possible to 'make him look huge' blissfully oblivious that no comparison was needed to demonstrate the fact.

[krispykollection]

#28 watched in shocked amazement as the man in front of him in line blew up rapidly. This was no ordinary backstage pump, the mysterious shot administered by one of the show organizers being the first indication before the all too obvious massive result.

The man dropped the performative resistance band before starting a slow waddle to the stage, his arms barely dropping an inch as he let go. #28's gawking stare was only broken by the sharp call out "NEXT."

[krispykollection]

“I’m hoping to finally put on some real mass this year 💪”

[krispykollection]

He hasn't been able to pull himself away from the morphed image of himself in his phone for the past 15 minutes. Endlessly tweaking here and there all the while growing it bigger and bigger and bigger.

He's sculpted a decent figure for himself, but he always fantasied of more. When this app started popping up on his usual haunts, he decided to give it a try after seeing some of the photos people have been posting with it.

So amazed by the realistic image his phone his able to create, he neglects to notice that it's more than just a technological trick, with every change having a very real effect on his body.

Not until he feels something brush his ear, what he would shortly come to realize being his swollen trap, is he snapped back into reality. In his shock and clumsiness due to his sudden mass, he drops his phone, but the sound of it shattering as it hit the ground was the least of his worries.

In the mirror ahead he comes to grips with his unwitting enhancements. He had imagined the feeling of such swollen muscles as he pumped them up in the app, but the real deal is something else. Bulging all over, it's all so hot, and fuck wouldn't more be even hotter? but no... it's... way, way too much, right? how is he supposed to do anything normal as a lumbering muscle beast like this.

With a grunt he bends over to pick up what's left of his phone, noting as he does of how much less he can bend due to his thick abs and quads. Through the shards of pixels still managing to display a picture he frantically taps around hoping in vain to land on a setting to dial back the changes.

He sees himself growing in the mirror again and in frustration brings up his other hand to reinforce his grip and refocus on the task, but when it's stopped short inches from the phone by his colliding pecs, biceps, and forearms, his phone once again goes tumbling down, this time across the locker room floor.

He rushes over to grab it once again, or at least he means to, but the growth has shifted into overdrive and his swelling quads are limiting him to the slowest waddle. Each step is more difficult than the last as he covers less and less ground between them. Despite his dwindling field of vision over his pecs and his arms getting pinned in the air further by the second, he's still holding out hope that he can do something to make it stop... until, *crunch*

The growth stops at the sound, the phone was toast. His frantic thoughts give way to a wave of acceptance, at least for the moment, as he calms down enough to take in just how much more he had grown in the last few seconds. He's shocked, bewildered, and aroused. In the mirror was a muscular starfish of a man, so bulging with muscle that he could do little more than wiggle his hands and feet. A size he had only fantasized about now oh so real after the series of bizarre events.

Having not planned to blow up into an immobile muscle blob today, all he could do now is wait for someone to find him and see what happens from there. As he passes the time by inspecting his heaving muscle frame he hopes that app had backed up to the cloud, cuz there's a few more areas that could use some more tweaking now that he's fully taken himself in.