The Officials At The Booth Didnt Know What To Think Or Say When They Saw This Russian Beast Making His

The officials at the booth didn’t know what to think or say when they saw this Russian beast making his way towards them. While already surrounded with competition bodybuilders all day, they had never encountered anything like this.

One of them shyly points him over to the scale. He squeezes his legs as close as he can as he hops on. The weight climbs rapidly... 250... 300...350... 400... 450... then ERROR followed with clouds of smoke and sparks. The scale was toast.

He looks up and in a thick accent mischievously bellows “looks like I’m in my own weight class...”

Nick’s appearance was a turning point for the sport. His obscene body the product of a gamble with a man and a vile filled with an experimental concoction that promised to triple his mass just moments before he planned to step on the stage at an already eye-popping 250lbs.

Despite his freakish mass, like many bodybuilders, his insatiable hunger for more could not be satisfied. It had all sounded so insane. Regardless, the only insanity left was his hulking body. The judges and bodybuilding world at large couldn’t have possibly been prepared for the spectacle they were about to see. All save for one issue, how to get through the hotel room door.

Progress Pic

Kristopher lumbers heavily through the gym to find the best light for his latest progress photo. His untenable quads rolling past each other taking extra care to not trip himself up with his globular calves as his hips scream out from over-extension. One leg alone weighing more than a seasoned bodybuilder it's a slow, calculated waddle.

The quest for enough light to adequately show off his massive form ironically leads him to the cardio area where he would never be found otherwise. Being triple, perhaps even quadruple the weight limit of the machines being one reason he skips this portion of the gym, the myth of cardio stifling gains another, while the most relevant reason being that simply existing for him is a cardiovascular workout.

His body is a shining paradox, at once being so full of strength while also being nearly incapacitated. The power of his bulk crippled by space and the sheer energy it takes to keep it alive. It's the product of a severe addiction left unchecked. He's given everything to fuel his growth... time... money... family... independence... humility... and any other feature of a normal life.

Moving past the aisle of stationary bikes, he threatens to topple them over with one of his arms swinging wildly out to keep his fragile balance. Resting high at a perfect 90 degree angle atop his flared overgrown lats locked nearly in place in the crevice between them and his ballooned pecs.

Finding his way to his favorite spot he prepares for the photo to be taken by one of his harem of muscle-obsessed boy toys. They assist him with the day-to-day needs of a musclebound monster. Dressing him in his typical sparse attire of posing trunks as it's surprisingly hard to find clothing that fits around his misshapen body without either being too tight and binding up in his folds of muscle or so big that they're a circus tent mess. They bathe him, feed him, act as spotters when he's moving, and of course service his very respectable rod (at least as it would be considered on a normal man's body).

Carefully maneuvering his biceps out of their temporary prison, just barely hooking them around his pecs, he turns them up readying for a front double bicep. Raising them up, muscle fights against muscle. Delts, traps, and pecs exploding completely encasing his head. His ham-hock forearms almost immediately colliding with his planetary biceps that peak higher than he can reach.

Mustering all his remaining strength he takes a deep breath and sucks in his cinder block abs completing the pose. From the side, his vacuum still over twice as thick as the last Mr. O at rest. His freakish mass would send any rational gym-goers mind reeling, that is if they can even recognize him as a human at a glance. Of all the questions they could think up, why would anyone do this to themselves? how? what is the endgame? there's only one answer and thought that rings true repeating over and over in his head... MORE.

Thick thighs, skinny waist.

Ismael

Fuck, can’t fit in the mirror, even sideways, for a proper selfie...

Am I getting too big?

...or is it time for a bigger mirror?