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Gym Addict

With a crash and a grunt Mateo had finally finished his last grueling set of the day. Leg day. He admires the pump in his legs before getting up from the leg press. His quads have always been his favorite. Despite the fact that no matter what he tried he couldn't seem to get them as big as he'd like.

Mateo was a gym addict. There's no way around it. Almost all of his life is spent in his temple of strength and brawn. Some people may joke about living at the gym, but few had actually tried to broach the subject with their gym's owner. Sadly, there was convincing him no matter how much he explained how serious he was about the request. In fact, the owner suggested he spend a little less time there. 'What does he know,' Mateo thought, 'isn't he supposed to be running a business?'

Regardless, Mateo found himself there every possible hour they were open. Feverishly straining to pack more mass onto his small frame. From the outside looking in you could see that this was no hobby or lifestyle, this was an addiction. It's like he was desperate for more muscle, the constant feeling of being unfulfilled in his quest, nevertheless Mateo was blind to this.

He gets up from the press with another loud grunt. Grabbing his phone, he heads over to the mirrored wall, ready to document his progress. The veins crisscrossing his worked quads pulse, almost threatening to rip through his skin. 'I may not have the size, but I do have the definition,' Mateo muses to himself.

He takes in his body in while snapping a selfie, letting out a little sigh as he laments how far he is from his goal.

'Maybe one day I’ll be big...'

Gift of Gab

He catches your eye from across the gym while in the middle of a set on the chest press. A good base you think to yourself while estimating his stats in your head. At least 200lbs, you think, perfectly proportioned musculature all covered in dark chocolate skin. You watch the sweat drip down and off his pumped up pecs barely being covered only by his navy blue stringer top. Thoughts of what you would do to that plush man meat rush into your head, cementing your decision.

You walk over and strike up a conversation just as he finishes his last set. He immediately replies as if talking to an old friend, even though in reality you have just met. You can get anyone talking though, people often remarking on your gift of gab. That, however, is not the only gift you possess.

His name is Caleb, you learn while exchanging details and compliments about his routine. He rattles off his stats and the highlights of his fitness career. "202lbs this morning," he says, 'Damn, I'm good,' you think to yourself due to the accuracy of your guess, "which is perfect for Classic Physique." The end of his sentence causing you to sigh internally.

The conversation continues, but you're momentarily lost in your thoughts. See it's just something you can't understand. Why so many guys like Caleb here, genetically superior muscle building machines, decide to hold themselves back from their full potential. Their muscles, so obviously screaming out for more, to be more, to be so much. They shouldn't be limiting themselves to anything but the nastiest, biggest, most obscene realms of bodybuilding. Far past what would be considered normal, to surpass humanity.

'What would he look like with another 100lbs?' you think to yourself as your bright blue eyes start illuminating. Caleb stares deeply into them, transfixed, the conversation stopping in its tracks.

Your desires begin to take shape on his body. His already pumped pecs begin inflating with more dense muscle. Wildly they expand out and up. A heaving chest is only the beginning as his delts surge and round out, his torso taking on impressive width. Between them, traps rise up, nearly grazing the bottoms of his ears. All together they create dense craters atop his ample cleavage. To the sides, his arms burst with size, surpassing the size of his own head. They're pressed out by their girth and his rapidly expanding lats.

Caleb's already bubbly abdominals increase their cuts, a new bottom row popping into existence forming a blocky, solid, 8-pack flanked by juicy obliques. His stringer previously having hung loosely is now shrink-wrapped to his midsection.

His similarly loose-fitting gym shorts were in a similar predicament. His perkier glutes fill up their space, the synthetic material being stretched tightly between his cheeks. Though Caleb was already blessed with a respectable 8" member you threw a few more inches on seeing no reason not to upgrade everything. Don't want an empty poser up on stage do we? You clearly watch it creep down his leg under the pulled-tight fabric of his shorts, his now barrel-like thighs threatening to rip them open at any moment, your own hole hungers to be dominated by it.

The trance fades away, but Caleb is still under your spell. Seeing no reason to question his dramatic weight gain, sitting happily on the bench waiting for direction on what to do next. "So, your place?" you cheekily ask already knowing the answer. "Sure, I'm just around the corner!," he excitedly jumps up, with a loud rrrriiiiip as his shorts lose their battle. His perky globes and juicy hamstrings on display through their tatters as he leads the way.

Strutting his new muscle like he was born with it you're confident in your decision. 302lbs was perfect for him... a perfect start at least...

The Wishing App

The day he first noticed the app on his phone, he didn't think much of it. 'Just some random bloatware,' Jace thought. "Your Wish" sounded so scammy, but curiosity got the best of him. Against his better judgement he tapped on the colorful icon. Immediately it began by asking to use his microphone, which he allowed and then... promptly crashed. 'Huh, figures.'

Jace slid his phone back into his pocket as he walked into his gym, focused on making the best of his latest endeavor. He had been going again for a few months after starting and stopping a few times in the past, usually getting frustrated at his perceived lack of progress and calling it quits.

He had decent looks and a body to match, but it wasn't the body he wanted. Making his way to the gym floor he yearns to have a body like the gymbro alphas that surround him. Despite the fact that they intimidate him, he is drawn in by their energetic, cocky auras. Strutting around the gym in their stringer tops. Somehow always in peak condition. Cuts like diamonds covered in paper-thin skin.

Jace quietly makes his way to a chest press trying his best to not draw attention to himself. His featureless body aiding in the effort. He's really committing himself this time around. Doing everything right, he thinks, but just like the last few times, he fails to see the progress he desires. In the corner of his vision, he spots one of the regulars in the midst of his daily mirror selfies. He pulls up his top to show off his tight abs and gives the camera the look the says "you wish you were me" tongue out and all.

With a sigh, Jace quietly mutters to himself "gosh, I wish my body would just grow muscle." *PING* He pulls out his phone to check the notification, but nothing was there. In fact, though he didn't realize it, it was less than nothing as the mysterious app had disappeared. Thinking nothing of it, he starts his set.

Over the course of his visit, Jace's attitude brightens up as he starts having the best gym day of his life. Every set he starts breaking his own personal records without breaking a sweat. And the pump, oh my god the pump, for the first time ever he was starting to see the smallest hints of something growing under his skin. He gave it his all for every exercise, for once not caring what the others around him were thinking.

Unlike his normal routine, he stops by the mirrored wall on his way to the locker room and checks himself out. Jace doesn't know what has suddenly gotten into him, but he feels like superman. He's drenched in sweat from his workout, his skin glistening to highlight the fruits of his labor. It was the same old him, he thought, but for some reason, he looked and felt a little firmer.

Things only got better from Jace's perspective over the next few days. He couldn't wait to get back in the gym every day. It was quickly becoming his main focus and for good reason. The results. It's like he had finally hit a tipping point. Every day he seemed to illogically be getting bulkier and leaner at the same time. He was ecstatic at his progress, enough to not make him question how he's growing so much and so quick.

Jace nearly shot a load on the gym floor the first time he lifted his shirt and saw a set of abs. His dream was finally becoming true and his attitude was reflecting that.

As his muscles swelled, his confidence and cockiness did as well. Inversely, his clothing shrunk. The only thing Jace would dare be seen in now is the most revealing or tight clothing. His wardrobe was filled with the latest from Gymshark, Vanquish, or Jed North. All designed and tapered to show of the perfect aesthetic douchebro physique. A physique, which only a month later, he was rapidly approaching.

At his latest post-workout mirror session Jace sizes himself up with his former idols realizing how similar his physique has gotten to their own. Thick, but firm, pecs give way to softball delts. Beneath, his shredded six pack has only been getting deeper and tighter since that first day they appeared.

His arms rest on his tapered lats, juicy and pumped. He loves tracing the network of veins up his forearm and across his bicep. He swears he can see it pulsing to feed the engorged muscle. Not one to neglect his legs, especially in the short-shorts he likes to sport most days now, his quads and calves are solid and proportionally built. Say it with me kids "this is aesthetics."

Another alpha walks up next to Jace to follow suit in his own self-gratification session. He and Jace trade knowing glances that only two alphas can. Non-verbally acknowledging the feeling only they can know. The feeling of inhabiting a true musclegod body like theirs.

He's finally on their level, the feeling of acceptance and pure manliness washes over him. Jace makes a note to switch up his routine to maintain his new body of his dreams.

Acknowledgement at the gym is one thing, but just being in public is another when you possess a shredded, lustful body like Jace. The best part are the stares. Some from the corner of someone's eyes and some not even trying to hide it. Can you blame them? His body is a sight to see, enhanced even more by his flashy wardrobe. Let's face it, everyone wants to be him, be in him, or have him in them. To Jace, the high is absolutely intoxicating.

Jace finds difficulty switching up his routine in the gym as intended. He has the perfect body, now all he wants to do is maintain, but that's easier said than done apparently. No matter what he tries in the gym the next few days, he still finds himself giving it 110% and packing on even more lean mass.

He tries first to lower the weight, to tone instead of build, but somehow finds himself upping the weight back up past his previous high. Searching his mind, he can't even recall changing the weight, but nonetheless he finds himself cooling down after a beastly set with the peg firmly stuck higher in the stack than he started. The same goes for trying to lower the reps or sets. It's like his body is on autopilot, pushing through the heavy workouts only snapping back into reality when they're done.

Jace decides to switch up tactics and skip the gym entirely. He hoped that would allow him to clear his head and chill out. Chilling was unfortunately not on the agenda as he found himself again at the gym, questioning how he even got there. He takes stock of his body at his now compulsory post-workout mirror session. His designer athletic clothes are now looking absolutely sucked to his frame, his muscular trajectory not slowing down despite his efforts.

He was clearly graduating from aesthetics to classic physique. It's bigger than anything he could have ever desired, he thought, but the proportions were still there. Everything had taken on considerable girth. Especially his pillowy pecs threatening to rip through his Jed North compression top at the slightest flex. He tries to convince himself that he's okay with his latest developments, but even if that were true he still has the nagging thought in the back of his mind of when this will stop.

He thinks it over the next few days, in between his mandatory gym sessions. Wracking his brain during his moments of clarity at the gym watching his muscles inflate even larger. It dawns on him while he takes a breather on the weight bench. 'It's almost as if my body is just growing muscle and taking over no matter what.' That thought rattles in his head as he remembers... the app! and his seemingly benign wish.

Jace scours his phone while at home later, predictably unable to stop the flow of the workout earlier despite his eagerness to find an end to his current situation. He can't find the app anywhere. He searches online for hours to find anything about it, but comes up dry. His search only stopping in his tracks as he feels the desire to get back to the gym build up in him. He gives in, feeling powerless to do anything else.

A few months later a shockingly massive man is waddling down the street to his third gym session of the day. It's Jace, not that anyone who knew him mere months before could tell you. He's nearly unrecognizable with the amount of muscle amassed on his frame.

His wardrobe has changed up again out of necessity, now a constant rotation of only the largest gym-branded t-shirts or tanks and the baggiest shorts he could squeeze his inhuman quads and glutes into. Despite the increase in fabric, the amount of skin he now has on display 24/7 has only increased.

It's a different feeling being in public as a waddling meat parade. The stares are still there, but it's no longer lust behind them. For most passerby it's a mix of shock and disgust. He's sure many are questioning why someone would do this to themselves, sacrificing any vestige of normalcy in pursuit of more and more muscle and how he could be so shameless about showing it off to the world. He wishes he could tell them he didn't want it either, but his actions paint an opposing picture.

Squeezing through the gym doors Jace receives a similar reception to even the muscle-obsessed gym goers. He looks around at his former idols turned former equals, now souring to his ever-increasing size. Even to them, there's a limit and he blew past that over 100lbs ago.

His mirror sessions are now an event for the gym. Not out of admiration however, more like rubber-necking the scene of a car crash. He waddles over to the mirrored wall with even less mobility than when he got there with his muscles pumped so full, smatterings of red and purple bruising highlighting the beating he just put them through.

Anyone else posing quickly clears out, not wanting to be a passenger in the impending display. From afar, their eyes don't leave Jace's figure though. The entire gym could do nothing but look on as the sweaty pile of muscles began his routine.

Jace's body starts by stripping off his drenched tank and shorts. A process that takes minutes and many failed attempts to grasp at the clothing with his stiff, engorged muscles colliding with each other. He stands there in only his boxers, looking more like some skimpy briefs with his bulging quads pushing them up so much and his glutes stretching them so thin.

His audience stands in awe at the uncovered sight, not that there was much left to the imagination with his outfit before. Regardless seeing the complete picture will leave anyone speechless.

He stands, dripping in sweat, and grainy, veiny, dense muscle. You can watch his whole body pulse wildly through his paper-thin skin, his heart racing blood through his brutalized muscles. Just watching his chest and abs heave to fill his lungs with air can put you in a trance. Muscles dancing in sync from the simple motion.

His body raises his arms info a front double bi, sucking in his stomach with his powerful abs. His pecs threaten to suffocate him being pulled so tightly against his chin. Jace's already expansive width exaggerated by the unearthly mass he calls his arms, rock hard and flexed. Next, he moves down into a rear lat spread or whatever he can best attempt with his arms struggling to meet his waist. He can only slightly see his lats flare out from the front, mostly being obstructed by his bloated appendages. The real show is going on behind for the whole gym to see. A mountain range building and firming up on his back, supported by the most biggest and most striated glutes anyone has ever seen. The thought of running your hands over them providing some the most orgasmic pleasure, while leaving most with the bitter taste of disgust.

The show is capped off when his body moves into a most-muscular. He plants his feet down firmly to flex his quads, almost losing balance while shifting his stance to accommodate his hardening sequoia-like legs. His abs crunch wildly while his biceps inflate with sickening size. Throughout all of this, Jace is inside merely as a passenger.

Upon release of the pose, Jace fades back in. The monster quietly redresses and waddles out of the gym without saying a word. Without acknowledging the traumatizing display he just released onto the normal gym-goers. Most won't admit it, but they've gotten used to it. He'll be back in a few hours anyway.

Jace sits down at the leg press and begins pumping his already massive quads. As he begins, his facial expression scrunches. It could easily be written off as normal pain from an incomprehensible workout performed by a mass-obsessed muscle monster, but there's something else there to the keen eye. It's Jace... screaming internally for this to stop already. He had no interest in being this caricature of a bodybuilder, far surpassing what anyone could have thought the human body is capable of... You'd never know that from the outside looking in though. His careless wish would make sure of that.

Desires

He had already packed so much muscle onto his short frame. 300lbs is a lot for anyone, especially so for his 5' 6" body, but nothing was gonna stop him from his relentless pursuit for more. No matter the fact that he couldn't cross his arms due to his bloated stubby biceps colliding with his massive juicy pecs, nor his persistent waddle caused by his otherworldly quads.

Day by day, as his muscles swell his mobility declines. His muscle-obsessed helper stands out of frame ready to help him with seemingly simple tasks like getting undressed and reaching the areas of his body he no longer can. Which these days is turning into a longer list than what he can.

Many struggle to understand, but it's clear as day in his mind. There's no limit to his desire, there's no stopping his plan, not the least until he can't move a single finger. That's when he will finally have his desires met, at least for now...

“Can you guess my favorite muscle group?” he jokes to his friends and admirers in the pre-show hotel room.

He pulls up his specially-tailored boxer briefs to unveil the obvious answer, seemingly taking ages to uncover their expansive mass.

His body is impressively muscled, but his glutes are otherworldly. Juicy and plump, but also firm and just one flex away from a turning into a topographical map of corded muscle and veins.

Are they impractical? Sure. His wardrobe budget is out of control and he hasn’t been able to squeeze through a normal sized door frame in years without much difficulty. But here’s the real questions you should be asking, are they unbelievably sexy? Yup. Will he pump them even bigger? You bet.

His bodybuilding coaches keep warning him that his proportions are going to drag his score down. But he’s not here for the scores. No, he’s here for the looks, the stares, the lust. He can spot his new admirers from the crowd with ease, their eyes locked onto his planetary globes until he walks off stage.

The hotel room at his next show will undoubtedly be even more packed with his lustful little ass-istants. That, however, will not be the only thing that has grown.

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.

Ryu

Would you believe me if I told you that moments before this photo Ryu and his bros were all sporting the same build? Well believe it, and it was no accident. That wasn't just any camera app on his phone, no this one was special. It allowed our dear Ryu to take traits from any other subject in the photo. So of course he decided to try it out on his four best gym-bros.

They were always in contention for the best physique, and Ryu not above taking shortcuts devilishly thought that this was his ticket to the top. In a flash, most of his buddies muscle mass was transferred to his frame, taking his already aesthetic af doucebro physique straight to god status.

Best part is? They're totally unaware. To them he's always been miles ahead in their training. They look up to him as the god he is constantly trying to prove themselves worthy, including in service to his now ruler-eclipsing soft cock coiled and waiting in his overburdened, overfilled workout shorts.

The worship was surprisingly not a direct effect of the app, but what else are they going to do with their own diminished members. Some of them weren't packing much to begin with. No one, man, woman, or otherwise are going to want anything to do with their tiny toys especially in deflated comparison to their otherwise great body. Besides, in the presence of a body like his, Ryu quickly finds that anyone and everyone is ready and willing to please him.

It would appear that he wasn't totally cruel, he left them all with some mass. This was not out of empathy however, but to make sure they still have a good base that they can build back up for his next snap. Might need to take some height next time too, all this mass crammed onto his short frame is really giving definition to the word musclebound.

The increased testosterone flowing through his body has him getting rock hard at the end of each set. His willing worshipers clamor to present themselves to be used. Accepting his pulsing member into any hole he pleases.

He grabs one of their heads and leads it to his eager dick forcing it deep down their throat as they look up at him with a waiting stare while working the length of his shaft. With his free arm he flexes his powerful bicep and crunches his abs, the closeup sight being too much, their dicklet leaks an embarrassingly small amount of seed. The tiny dribble sends Ryu into completion over the pure display of alpha dominance, dumping ropes of cum down their throat, the powerful force backfiring some into their overstretched mouth as it dribbles down their chin. Without a word he removes himself from his former friend and he falls almost limp to the floor, still in shock and bliss of the supremely erotic experience. And so the cycle will continue, Ryu draining his worshipers as they breathlessly drain him.

Now what was the name of that app again?

The empty and brightly downwardly lit aerobics room was the perfect place for Kenan to snap a quick pic. While walking over to the mirror he smoothly removes his shirt, like the seasoned thirst trap he is, to pose for his few thousand followers.

He makes up for his short stature with an impressively toned body. His chocolate skin radiates in the light with cuts deepened by the harsh angle of it. As confident as he comes off online, he is insecure just like anyone else, knowing that his small size will keep him from his real goal. Sure being shredded is nice, but what he really desires is mass. Regardless, no matter how hard he pushes himself with his diet and training, he struggles to put on pounds, destined forever to be small, tight, and toned.

Kenan’s self-reflection is interrupted when he spies a thin gold chain hanging on a railing nearby. Picking it up he assumes that someone must have forgotten it. Upon inspecting it closer he notices a word engraved in the links near the clasp... PRODIGY. He thinks to pocket it and turn it into lost in found, but hesitates as he feels a deep desire to put it on. Thinking it will look good on him anyway, he indulges in the strange draw.

Without a second thought, he slips the chain over his head as he readies his phone. However, the second it falls into place, Kenan feels strange. His entire body starts to tingle like analog TV static. Still staring through his phone’s screen he watches in awe as his body starts to grow, the thin chain turning his body into anything but.

It starts with his pecs as they pout out taking on a pillowy, but dense shape. Underneath his tight abs pop out like cobblestones. The growth radiating outwards, his lats spread out wildly pushing his arms out. They continue their outward trajectory as they take on their own size, thick and conditioned biceps and forearms capped off with bowling ball delts.

His traps in turn rise up. The cold metal of the magical chain brushes up against his ear as his neck becomes a casualty of their vertical growth. Below, his lats continue their expansion, wide and thick, practically dripping off his back. Lats give way to his perky glutes as they round out with the muscles in front of them.

Kenan unknowingly adjusts his stance as he makes room for his quads and calves to take shape. Taking on a circumference over double what his waist used to be. His pants grow with him, still tightly clung to his legs though, as would anything on someone packing this much muscle.

He snaps the pic and within an instant the world changes around him to complete his transformation. The image ready to go out to his millions of followers, no filters necessary for a body like his. He’s still Kenan, but he’s known to most by his nickname, The Prodigy, bestowed onto him due to his limitless ability to pack on thick, toned muscle. He easily outclasses men with more than a foot of height on him and at 25, he’s only just started.

X Men

I know what you're thinking, no not those X-men... but it wouldn't be out of line to call them mutants...

Let's take a step back first though. All the way back to the 1990's, what the bodybuilding world at large would become known as the beginning of the "Mass Monsters." Pushed by advancements in science and knowledge of the human body, the sport of bodybuilding started its slow progression of pushing the bodies of those who participate further and further.

There were of course landmarks along the way. Like the first time Ronnie Coleman stepped on stage at a mind-boggling 300lbs of conditioned muscle, but overall the changes went only passively noticed, like the enlarging sizes of your fast food combo meal. A super-heavyweight of the early 00's wouldn't look out of place in what is considered Men's Physique these days.

Even so, the increased weight classes were not enough up keep up with the bodybuilder's inflating physiques, so new classes needed to be added to keep up. First came ultra-heavyweight, for men 450lbs+, followed by the lovingly named mass monster class for men 600lbs+, harkening back in name to the trend that started it all.

A spectator of the sport back in the day would be astonished to see these men and the figures that make up their physiques. At the highest level, arms larger around than the quads of former Mr. Olympias, quads larger around than their chests, chests... well you get my drift. These men were impressive sure, but that came at a cost that was becoming more and more apparent to the athletes and audience alike. That cost was mobility.

The harsh truth is that bodybuilding has never had a great reputation when it comes to health. The open secret of steroids, in combination with a market full of unregulated supplements ensured to increase your gains had created an attitude of trying whatever possible to get you to your goal. Shake in a healthy pinch of the social media reality filter and you end up where we are today. Young people pushing better judgement aside to get as big or bigger than their online idols in what some may consider a depraved focus. The multi-million dollar bodybuilding industry and greedy "coaches" ready to take advantage of their flawed judgement backing them up.

That's how you get a group of men in ages ranging from their mid-twenties to late thirties shuffling their mind-blowing physiques onto stage for the aforementioned mass monster category. Their procession onstage is slower than some of the previous classes due to the focus and constant calculations required to move their godly muscles out of the way of one another to produce the needed forward momentum. The poses for this category are light, mainly due to the fact that the expansive size of most of the competitor's muscles left them unable to complete many of those classic poses.

The impracticality of the bodies these men had built started to get some in the community to think twice about the charted course of the sport. Sure they look absolutely astounding onstage, but once they waddle off, they don't immediately drop down to a more manageable weight, in fact quite the opposite. They live their daily lives in these 600lb+ bodies. Bodies that can't perform basic daily tasks unassisted like washing, dressing, or eating, something nearly constantly required. Bodies that can't see over their own bloated mass leaving them clumsy and prone to colliding with people or anything else in their way. Bodies living in a world not made for them, furniture and doors too small, cars that make them feel like they're packed in like a can of sardines. Despite these obvious challenges, many of them just see this as a badge of honor rather than a detriment. A clear sign that they have ascended past normalcy, into the upper echelon of what humanity can produce.

One of those men was Brad.

Brad had a meteoric rise in the bodybuilding world. Influenced by his collection of massive bodybuilders from current and past eras, he stepped onto stage at 21 to compete in his first show at just under 300lbs, a weight which these days is basically the bare minimum of what you need to get your foot in the door, even in the lower classes. He came out of absolutely nowhere and cleaned up, earning his first title.

From there, his career and mass skyrocketed. Making his way up the subsequent weight classes, pulling down titles in an effortless manner, all the way up to his show today. He was the youngest person ever to compete in the mass monster class at 24 years old. Just like any other time, him and his now 647lb physique cleaned up, waddling home with the highest title possible in his beloved sport.

People of course asked him what's next, having completed his fevered race to win it all. A question which from the outside seemed to spark an inner turmoil. Most people who take home the title naturally become the face of the sport over the following year, going into media overdrive to further the sport. Brad however fell off the face of the earth. Weeks went by, then months and his social media was dark. No appearances for interviews or guest posing at other competitions as is usual. People started to speculate that something horrible happened to him, potentially even that he died. He wouldn't be the first mass monster to succumb to that fate and he for sure wouldn't be the last, if so. Blurry photos supposedly of him working out at random gyms like people tracking Sasquatch did little to dispel the rumors.

When next year's Olympia rolled around and Brad didn't resurface even then, people solidified their dire assumptions. Just another casualty to the sport that puts more above all else. Over the following few years people started to forget about him as other guys bubbled up to the top. That was until a post went out across his dead socials, just weeks before Olympia 2041. It simply and cryptically read "I'm back and I've got something BIG to show you..."

The officials at the show confirmed that he did reach out to confirm the legitimacy of the post, adding that he will be competing in a new category which will be announced live at the climax of the show. Bodybuilding media was on fire speculating on what kind of package Brad was going to triumphantly return to present, knowing the trajectory he was on when he fell off the face of the earth. Some saying he could break 1,000lbs, while others guessing more conservative. There technically wasn't a limit to the mass monster class as it was becoming clear that we may be reaching a new plateau of development, the largest competitors just managing to touch the low 700's even with the most insane training regiments, so the speculation ran rampant.

It was almost unfair to all the other competitors that year as everyone seemed to rush through the ceremony and judging almost as a formality while awaiting the big reveal. Even what should have been impressive wins, like Chadwick Johnson topping the scales at a record-breaking 718lbs, were almost ignored. Just as the medal was placed over his thick neck/traps before it even fully landed within the deep crevice between his pecs, the stage lights went dark and he, along with the others, were shooed offstage.

The only lights left illuminating the auditorium were the ones backstage, meant to silhouette the competitors as they made their way out from the doorway center stage. Above the stage, the video screen clicked on and displayed a large white X. Fog billowed out of the doorway as a figure slowly moved in from the side. As it moved into place it blocked the lights, shrouding the crowd in darkness again like a lunar eclipse.

A faint whirring could be heard as it became clear the figure was moving forward now, small shards of light making it out behind it confirming the movement. The announcer started "Ladies and gentlemen... the moment we've all been waiting for... welcome back to the stage Brad Jackson... the first official member of the new "X" weight class." At the word X, the lights shot back on.

No one was prepared for what they saw. The crowd, officials, everyone were completely silent as they all tried to process what they were seeing. It was Brad alright, but he had obviously been hard at work during his absence.

His body was absolute insanity. Muscles exploding in every possible direction coming into finer focus as the source of the whirring, a motorized platform that would not look out of place in a warehouse, moving around heavy pallets of equipment, finished its slow crawl to the front of the stage. This was of course due to the fact that his hypertrophied muscles, though filled with raw power, had left Brad completely immobilized. A fact you could easily glean at first glance. They pressed up against each other wildly simply leaving no space for movement and giving his body the X shape the weight class came to be associated with.

He was covered in a glimmering sheen that accentuated his musculature, regardless of that fact that he needed no help looking impressive. It could easily be mistaken for posing oil, but in reality was something else, sweat. His body sweat 24/7, the consequence of having so much thermal mass, one of the many drawbacks of pushing your body to nearly a ton. He was dressed in a pair a bright red posers, the garment being utilized in name only as it was obvious there was no posing to be had today. We'd have confirmation shortly that nothing of the fact would even be required for this new class of bodybuilder, much to do with the fact that men who reach this size physically cannot.

It was hard not to feverishly dart around Brad's body trying to make sense of everything. Quads wider than they were tall pressed together so firmly that no man, much less Brad himself, could separate them. Along with his calves, they splayed his legs so far out that his feet couldn't get closer than 6ft apart, making walking nigh impossible. That's even if he could negotiate them around each other.

Above, his cinder block abs were flanked by lats wider than a cargo van. His midsection bloated not just from muscle, but from his distended stomach and intestines as they worked to process the constant stream of nutrients needed to maintain and grow his body, being overworked just as much as his muscles. His pecs puffed out wildly and sagged above the top row of abdominals, rock hard nips pointing down to the floor. To the sides of them, his arms jutted out, resting high on his lats, pressed for space behind his wide pecs and above by his boulder-like delts.

Forearms wider than a normal man's chest pressed up against biceps and triceps that vastly outweighed that same man's entire body. Finally leading down to Brad's face, locked in place in a sea of bunched up delts, traps, and pecs. The lower half of his face and what's left of what could be called his neck obscured by the latter.

Honing in on his face, lost in a sea of overblown muscle mass, was a sobering realization for some of the crowd. A realization of how far we've pushed these men. Turning them into a slab of meat only meant for others to enjoy. Stripping them of all humanity and locking them away behind a pair of eyes looking on longingly from behind a wall of their own creation. Brad and the X Men to come were a divisive moment in the sport, with many sharing these thoughts, while the others viewing this as the pinnacle of the sport. The ultimate expression of the art of bodybuilding.

Let's be honest though, even if you're in camp downerville, it takes only a second to realize that it wasn't their fault, neither the community at large, nor the science that brought us to this point. The reality was that these men would have gotten here themselves anyway. It takes a special person to embody the dedication and sacrifice required to achieve what Brad had and those people will seize any opportunity possible for more. If it wasn't obscured by his pecs, you wouldn't have seen a solemn face, you'd have seen him beaming with happiness and pride at what he had done to himself.

Back onstage, the platform started to rotate. The sudden movement almost threw off Brad's fragile balance, but he managed to keep it together. During the turn the audience briefly took in the thickness of his body. From the side, his core was wider than Ronnie at his prime straight on, pecs extending far out over his midsection, planetary glutes pushing out below his cushy lats. Completing its turn, the absence of what could be seen of his head from the front made it difficult to register what you were looking at as a human body. It was more of a collection of bloated mountain ranges from top to bottom covered only slightly by the back of the posers sucked tightly between his cheeks.

The platform completed its 360 as a microphone lowered down from the stage rafters to meet Brad's face in the cavern of his own muscles. The announcer came back on "Welcome back to the stage Brad, it's a big honor to be the first in this new class of competitors, what do you have to say?" Brad responded in short simple sentences muffled by pecs directly in front of his mouth "Next year..." "BIGGER."

His stomach let out a ferocious growl signaling that the show was over. He'd been off his feeding tube far too long and his body was absolutely ravished. The platform wheeled him offstage leaving the crowd to process what they just saw. Brad, only in his late twenties by now, had pushed his body so far that it was barely functional, a captive to his own muscles, and yet he still wanted more. What did this mean for his future? The future of bodybuilding? Heck, the future of humanity in general? But most of all, why did it make them all so aroused?

Brad was the first of the X Men, but he wouldn't be the last. The cat was out the bag and soon enough he'd have others on his tail. But if there was one thing you could always count on with Brad Jackson, against all odds and limits of the human body, the next time you saw him he'd be even bigger.

Zach and Steven

Zach couldn't believe he had let Steven convince him to accompany him to his bodybuilding show. They had been friends since grade school, but had obviously taken vastly different paths in life. While Steven found pleasure and dedication in the gym pretty early in his teens, Zach found comfort in his room at his desk or lazing around on his bed playing video games, snacks always within his tired arm's reach.

Zach's body was a testament to that lackadaisical lifestyle. In his early twenties and already marching towards an excessively hefty 500lbs. He constantly compared his weak obese body to Steven's rippling, toned, and strong body, sighing internally, but never putting forth the effort to change things. The prospect of surrounding himself with not just Steven, but a whole convention center of these peak male specimens filled Zach with a deep sense of dread and embarrassment. Not to mention the embarrassment of traveling anywhere as a girthy man like him. Huffing through any walk of a meaningful distance, squeezing into airplane seats made for a normal sized human being, the list goes on and on.

They had predictably been drifting apart over the last few years. The last remnants of common interests dwindling as time went on putting strain on their friendship. Steven sold the weekend as a chance to reconnect, show Zach the world that he spends so much time in, and ultimately cheer on his oldest friend as he attempted to wipe the stage with his physique.

The walk through the airport and from the shuttle to their hotel room had left Zach out of breath and profusely sweating. He was an absolute mess in public, his dread and shame hitting an all time high, but when he looked over to Steven he was sporting a huge grin, not acknowledging the sorry excuse for a body his friend had created for himself over the years of excess.

Once in the room, Zach started undressing to change into a dry pair of clothes while Steven was in the bathroom. He tried to move as quickly as his slow cumbersome body would in an effort to ensure Steven didn't see any of his bloated form, but he wasn't fast enough. Steven practically jumped out of the bathroom with his phone in hand ready to take a picture of Zach's nearly naked form. Zach didn't even have a chance to react before *snap* the photo was taken.

Zach stood there frozen with a blank look on his face, however, not just simply out of shock. It wasn't just an ordinary picture and Steven wasn't using any ordinary app. Steven tapped away on his phone as Zach stood there in silence. A few taps later and his expansive bulk disappeared in an instant, his skin sucking into his now lithe body like the excess poundage was never there.

With a blank canvas to start with, Steven scrolled through some different templates that app offered to start, picking the heavyweight bodybuilder as a good starting point. Just as quickly, weight started returning to Zach's body, but this time in the form of wide burgeoning pecs, strong defined arms, traps that reached towards the ceiling, a sturdy core, and juicy tapered quads.

Not satisfied with just the template, Steven moved on adjusting specific areas of Zach's body like a real life muscle morph, adding on more muscle than he even had himself. By the end of it Zach would be standing there nearly touching his previous weight, but obviously distributed in a much more powerful and delicious way. He'd still have trouble fitting in those airplane seats, but now due to his wide shoulders and tree trunk quads instead of a pendulous gut.

Putting on some finishing touches he added some ink to his forearms and gave him a stylish haircut that screamed 'I live in the gym.' With that Steven hit complete to seal the changes and release his transformed friend.

"It's good to have you back, bro," he said to Zach. "Back? Bro, you were only in the bathroom for a minute, we practically live together," Zach replied in mild confusion. "Sure, haha just a joke," Steven concluded with a mischievous smirk.

Zach asked to see the picture Steven had taken, never once passing up an opportunity to admire the impressive physique he has built for himself. "I told you the lighting in here was great. You're lucky I'm not competing with you this year bro, I'd absolutely cream you!"

Both of their memories of the old Zach were quickly fading away. Steven tried to put up a fight to Zach's comment gesturing to his smaller but deliciously cut and prepped physique, but he knew he was the smaller one, he always had been. "Come on, get dressed so we can hit the convention floor," Steven suggested while holding out the stretchy tent-like top and bottom that would soon be sucked to his friend's frame. This was going to be a weekend they would never forget.

Full Potential

WARNING: This one is pretty dark. If you’re not into that, you may just want to stick to the morph.

Jax stood there and took in the sight of his latest creation. He was constantly in awe of his size and the fact that there was more of it every day. 'The biggest one yet' he internally remarked to himself. He was for sure a far cry from the 100lb twink he picked up at the bar all those months ago.

It was not just by chance that they crossed paths that fateful night. Jax was there with a purpose. To find a man just like him. A man that he can help. He watched him dancing alone in the corner, clothed only in a tight pair of metallic undies and a mesh crop top. His skinny lithe body gyrated with the music lost in his own world.

Jax sat at the bar, casually sipping his drink as he waited for the dancer's eyes to lock onto him. He was impressively built, his tight clothing doing nothing to hide his bulging mass especially his pecs and abs as they popped out of his black t-shirt. He knew once he caught a glance of him that it'd be a done deal. It always does with men like him.

A few drinks later and the dancer is on his way home with Jax for a one night stand. Unbeknownst to his soon-to-be lover, he wasn't just any ordinary man, a fact that would be revealed as they neared his home. What a home it was. Simply put, Jax was loaded. He was a tech billionaire wunderkind. The kind that was already retired in his early 30s. He led what he thought of as the perfect life. Anything he ever wanted he had due to his endless resources and unlike some of his celebrity colleagues of the industry, outside of certain circles he was relatively unknown. A perfect mix for him to pursue his true life's work. Helping men like dancer boi reach their full potential. And to Jax full potential meant one thing, mass and a lot of it.

He could tell his passenger was getting nervous as they pulled up to the opulent circle drive in front of his home. He should be. His life was about to change whether he liked it or not. He was about to push himself in ways he never wanted nor thought possible. Jax and the regime he has been perfecting would make sure of it. Just as his vast fortune would ensure that he was able to keep pushing the bounds of science, legality, and humanity.

Attached to the sprawling complex he called his home was a highly advanced private gym outfitted with every piece of exercise tech you could think of and even some that have never been seen before. Products of his dedicated research and development team like electromagnetically active weights that not only far surpassed the limits of weights provided by standard metals but also adjusted based on feedback gathered from individual using them. Combined with a controlled diet and hypodermic assistance, they allowed for explosive growth.

It was a utopia for any man wanting to put on some serious mass, but not for dancer boi. His face dropped when Jax opened the door. The reveal of the sprawling gym not meeting his expectations of seeing Jax's opulent bedroom, the smell of stale sweat causing him to recoil slightly. Jax looks on a chuckles. It always starts like this with them. That's why he's here, to help them dig down and understand their primal manly needs, something he has come to accomplish with a little light brainwashing... okay heavy brainwashing.

His company had specialized in VR tech, so it was an easy enough proposition. Strapped in the specialized system, he flooded the dancer's mind with images of bodybuilders intermixed with his own physique, combined with stimuli and experimental drugs to seal in the effect. With the mental beating complete, dancer boi took to the workouts and the needle like wildfire. Jax chocked the ease of conditioning and his progress up to either his feeble mind or the potential that he was already secretly primed for growth. His process was so effective that it was hard to tell.

The boi barely even registered anything the first few weeks. By the time he did, he had already put on some serious mass, looking like a jacked fitness model. The mental work done to him left him in no position to put up a fuss, but honestly looking at himself in the mirror now he didn't have a reason to. In fact, he actually kinda liked it, the fullness, the power, but most of all he liked the satisfaction of seeing his captor satisfied in his progress. He felt deeply compelled to keep him satisfied. His devotion and the cocktail of drugs constantly rushing through his system kept results coming that made sure of that.

Just shy of two years later and we're back to where we started, with Jax looking on at his ultimate creation. His body was a work of art and a scientific miracle. He stands there sweating, panting, and red after his most recent workout.

He chuckles as he thinks of what his subject's former self would think of him now if he saw what he would become. He'd surely run away in tears. His boyish face perched on top of his insanely muscled body looked almost out of place, though even it had morphed some with the transformation. He has a dull look on it as he waits for Jax to instruct him on what to do next, both ignoring the elephant (trunk) in the room of his raging hard-on, as is common almost constantly as a side effect of the testosterone and drugs coursing through his veins.

"Flex" Jax commands.

With that he raises his arms first into an explosive double-bi, his muscles vibrating as he pushes his already tired body to the limit to put on the most impressive pose possible for Jax. Moving to a front lat spread, Jax saunters up and takes advantage of the limited field of view he has over his pecs in this pose to sneakily grab his throbbing member and begin stroking. A deep, short moan emanating from above the crest of his chest.

He continues his poses careful not to disturb Jax as he pumps away lest he upset him or put a stop to the euphoria he was feeling. He stops and holds on a vacuum, knowing it's Jax's favorite. As he reaches climax, his breathing gets short and his muscles tense up even more, changing from marble, to granite, to diamond. Sensing he is close, Jax increases his speed and he swings his head back in response as far as his traps would let him. Edging closer, closer, and closer until... *POP*

...The pop however did not come from his cock. No that was rapidly deflating in Jax's hand. The pop came from up higher, deep from within his wall of pecs. It was his heart. All of it simply being too much for it to handle, the mass, the drugs, the workout, and not to mention the hand-job. His limp member is pulled out of Jax's loosened grip as his body begins its fall to the floor. Landing with an earth shattering thud as the weights all around rattle in response.

Jax looks over the ludicrous body he had created, at the man he had just killed. A man that he never even bothered to learn the name of. Past his pecs, he can see his calm face, beaming with happiness, as it always will be. 'Tsk, he was the biggest one yet, it's really a shame,' being his immediate thought. Without a second even beginning to enter his mind, he turns away and walks to the door, wasting no time in heading out to find his next man to help. His staff will ensure the bloated body is gone before he returns, just like they always have, just like they had mere hours before dancer boi arrived, and just like they would next time.

So tell me. Do you need some help reaching your full potential?

Just look at the size of this fucker in front of you. You've never seen anyone with this much developed mass in real life. You'd swear you were looking at a photo morph if he wasn't standing there in front of you. Is this even real life? Where is he? Where are you?...

Judging by his sparse attire and complexion you reason that he's getting tanned up before heading onstage. This is all so weird, but it's a fantasy come to life for a muscle fetishist like yourself. You feel so strange, but at home at the same time due to your vast voyeuristic appreciation of the sport. Even so, there's never been anyone like him.

His traps almost completely envelop his head flowing down to juicy wide lats, in turn, propping his superhuman arms up high. From forearm to forearm you reason that he is as wide as he is tall. Perched above his delts rise up and explode outward adding width to his profile along with his most impressive feature... his glutes. They were simply massive. Flexed like they were, the striated muscle looking powerful enough to pulverize anything that comes between them.

Holding this specimen on peak musculature development up were the largest pair of beach ball quads you had ever seen. They looked so impractical, spreading his stance wide while pushed together as closely as possible, but also so undeniably hot. There's more muscle in just one of them than a normal man's body.

Of course, the only thing left to ogle are his razor sharp calves, but as you move your gaze down, you notice your view is blocked by two comparatively tanned mounds. Odd, what could those be? You think to yourself. For the first time you go to move your head to scan across the room you're in to make sense of the obstacle. You immediately notice how much stiffer your movements are, only able to move your head a few inches to either side. To your sides, the mounds taper off before other ones flanking them rise up, their resolve outside of the limited range of motion and vision you have.

You recenter and ponder... what could this be? They almost look flesh-like, kinda like... no, it couldn't be, pecs?... Your pecs? You flex your chest, expecting nothing to happen. However, the mounds permanently in your field of vision spring into life, hardening and pulling tight, their muscle fibers exploding with power and definition. Your heart skips a beat, that or it's the first time you've even noticed your heart this whole time. Quickly, a feeling of electricity washes over you as you suddenly become aware of the freakish mass you yourself contain. Despite being unable to see it yourself, you can feel your cobblestone core and wing-like lats. Your arms and quads taking a similar wide stance due to their mass, and to cap it off your own perky muscle ass just waiting to be worshiped. You don't know how you know it, but you're sure you have at least 100lbs on this guy. The thought of you looking even more freaky than him sending your mind reeling.

"Alright gentleman, this way for your final coat," a woman with a clipboard announces, breaking you of your thought. The man in front of you slowly begins waddling forward. His mass in motion a sight to see. Quads thunderously rolling around each other while his mighty glutes tighten and relax in relation. His lats twist and stretch while using his upper body to counterbalance his mighty legs. A few steps in, you realize it's your turn to move. Making note of his movements, you replicate them the best you can knowing your body can't move like it used to. After a tentative step, you're in motion, the symphony of muscles dancing as you move intoxicating you immediately. You still don't know where you are or how you got here, but you were born ready for this next huge chapter of your life.

Bodybuilder Costume

Jacob was second guessing his costume choice hard. He let his hormones get the best of him when he saw it hanging behind the clerk at the popup Halloween store that popped up at the old mall. Emblazoned in big bold letters it read CHAMPION BODYBUILDER. He nearly dropped the package when the clerk handed it over to him, nervously joking with him that he'd practically need to be a real bodybuilder to carry it home.

Later at home he eyed the costume from across the living room. His house was at least thankfully empty, the rest of his family already out with other Halloween activities. What was he thinking? This was going to be so embarrassing. Reluctantly Jacob slinked his thin frame over to the bag, pulling it open to examine the suit. Grabbing a handful of what looked like a meaty pec, he was surprised by the lifelike feel of the material. It's crazy, but it felt like real flesh, certainly had the real weight to it. Continuing to pull he marveled at the true to life looking cuts and veins of a real bodybuilder prepped to step on stage.

That's when he got to the posers. My god the posers. Their bright blue sequins glittering in the bright lights of the room. If Jacob wasn't already fully erect, he was now. To him, posers were one of the most erotic garments in the world and he had never seen a pair in real life. Even so, just like the rest of the suit, these appeared to be the real deal. Out of curiosity, Jacob pulled at the pouch to inspect if there was any embellishment underneath and to his surprise there was, the revelation of such causing his already leaking member to twitch with excitement.

Turning it around, he found the head portion of the suit draped over the back. Studying it for a minute, it appeared familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on it in its slumped state. Moving it out of the way, Jacob inspects the slit between the two powerful lats used for pulling the suit on, oddly there doesn't appear to be a zipper or anything to keep it shut, hopefully it'll make sense once he puts it on. Through the opening he spied that the enhanced poser meat isn't just there for show, impressions within the suit ready to accept his own comparatively smaller cock and balls. After a few more minutes of drooling over the lifelike bodybuilder suit he somehow stumbled across, Jacob tosses it aside as he frantically disrobes. He had no idea he'd be stripping down naked to put on this suit, but here he is.

Sitting on the couch he works his bony legs into the juicy quads and calves of the suit their mass making it a tiring effort. Figuring it'd be easiest to stand up for the next part, he hastily jumped to his feet almost falling over in the effort after realizing that he needed to widen his stance. Carefully he situated his twig and two berries and grabbed at the meaty obliques to pull up the glutes, falling into place with a satisfying *pop*. Afterwards, Jacob stands there for a minute to catch his breath. This suit was amazing, but it was also amazingly heavy, the effort to put it on so far a testament to that. He worries if he will be able to support its weight all night, but again his excitement of experiencing as close to what he can imagine a real life fantasy forced him to solider on.

With that he fishes his arms into the mighty biceps, triceps, and forearms, pulling each finger into place in their new veiny wide palmed homes. Taking a deep breath partly due to the exhaustion of now really carrying the full weight of the suit and partly in case he gets struggles with the head, he pulls it over and into place. Delightfully, once it was the back of the suit seemed to snap into place, the opening fading into the mountains and valleys of the wide back. Well alright, Jacob comments to himself, time to check myself out. If he were smart he would have done this in front of a mirror, he thinks to himself. The closest one being just down the hall by the foyer, he starts to walk over. He was clumsy at first, not used to moving with all of this extra dead weight sloshing around, but thankfully as he made his way down the hall, he found himself getting the hang of it. The suit itself seemed to lighten and tighten up as he moved, chocking this up to him getting used to it.

No Way!, Jacob exclaimed immediately recognizing the individual the suit was modeled after, REGAN FUCKING GRIMES!? It was one of his favorite bodybuilders and he looked like him to a T. Jacob's cock, which he managed to tamp down to get into the suit was again at full attention, and with the sleeve it was in, it looked even more massive. He wasn't sure how it would work with it in there, but he had to try. Grasping the rod he was surprised at how sensitive it felt through the material, like it wasn't even there. He started stroking, surprising himself with the power of his grip. He watched his arm has he stroked, the movement of the muscle looking so real, flexing in rhythm as he went. He brought his free arm up to his side and flexed, his bicep exploding with power, the sight enough for him to shoot his load, which came rocketing out of the suit like it were his own member.

Standing there panting from the erotic eruption he just experienced, woah, was all he could say. But that simple word caught Jacob off guard as it wasn't his voice that said it, rather a deeper one with a distinct GTA accent. Without another moment to process, Jacob soon found him being inundated with memories, but not of his own, of Regan's. They melded with his own, leaving him still in control but he knew he wasn't himself anymore, he was Regan, or the version of Regan the suit melded into his own. In a flash of energy, he felt as it rewrote collective history.

So ask yourself, what would you do with the fresh knowledge that you were now in fact the real life embodiment of one of your favorite bodybuilders? Flex of course. And that's what Jacob, err Regan did. He lost track of time watching his muscles flex and roll over each other, their raw, hot power showing through his tanned skin with harsh, depleted reliefs. He looked over at the clock to see it was 11:30, almost time to leave for the exclusive Halloween loft party Regan was invited to, sure to be full of other fitness influencers. One problem though, now that he WAS Regan, he no longer had a costume. Sure, he could show up to any other party simply in his posers, his bodybuilder physique being freaky enough to stand out as a costume in itself, but not this party. This one would be full of other shirtless influencers using the holiday as an excuse to show off their physique in elaborate getups. Luckily, the costume had another trick up its sleeve. It started to inflate.

Regan's muscles, already pumped from the own personal posing routine he just put on for himself, exploded with size, easily doubling, if not tripling his weight. He was enormous, bigger than any living or past bodybuilder. He brought his hands up to his sides as he went to hit a front lat spread. His lats spread wide, almost filling the wide door frame he was standing in while his pecs puffed up and eclipsed his face. His costume was finally finished, “Regan the Human Muscle Morph.” Still looking so real to life in his bloated state, he'll have everyone wondering if his added mass is real or not. Truthfully he'll be wondering too. Only time will tell if the costume has one last trick up its mutated sleeve.

🎃 HAPPY HALLOWEEN 🎃

500 Follower Celebration Re-morph!

Wow. Thank you all so much! I didn’t even know what I was starting on a little less than a year ago when I posted my first story and attempt at a morph after lurking in the community for years.

In celebration of this milestone and to honor my original subject with the skills that I have learned over this short amount of time, I present a re-morph of Nick Walker for my first story Too Much.

To go along with the theme, I tried to aim to make him 500lbs for 500 followers. How do you think I did? 😉

Thank you for your support and for sharing my work. It means the world to me.

And remember... there’s no such thing as too much.

- Krispy

Link to part 1

Continued...

As he moves to back up and turn around he is stiff and clumsy, not used to his new mass. His quads collide thunderously throwing off his balance. Instinctively he reaches his arm out to grab hold of the machine in front of him, finding that his thick bicep has to negotiate around his wide pecs. The solid steel bar of the machine crumples like tinfoil in his hand, but he is successful with steadying himself.

Realizing his quads now require a more thoughtful gate, Vlad carefully swings his right leg as far out as he can, the thick vein covered flesh never losing contact as it rolls past each other, the sensation sending shivers up his rolling landscape of a back. Repeating the motion, he finds himself slowly and carefully in motion. He’s amazed as his quads, calves, and glutes pump away, flexing and relaxing as they each carry the weight of his insane upper body, feeling both effortless and heavy at the same time knowing how much mass he is in control of.

Making it to the table, he finds he has to take a few steps back to see the top over the crest of his pecs. The muscles of his upper body leap into motion as he twists to reach for the syringe. Something else catches his eye. The vial. His mind races at the thought of what the full vial will do knowing the growth possible with just a small portion. Grabbing one in each hand, he quickly moves to transfer the remaining contents into the syringe but stops short by a few inches as his biceps and pecs collide. Determined to get his fix, he adjusts his grip and finds a delicate balance between pushing and relaxing to just make contact. His thick fingers nearly lack the dexterity to operate the plunger, but soon enough it was full, every last drop sucked out of the vial. Discarding it without another thought Vlad viciously stabs himself in his quad as he forces the mutant gear in. He begins to let out a deep moan before his pecs jut up and force his mouth shut. Silenced, he rides the wave of growth as it envelopes him, hoping it will never end.

Link to finale

It started with innocent passing comments about him putting on size with his new gym routine. Once he quickly shot past the level of musculature approved by society, the comments and jokes about steroids started coming, their tone taking on a more serious note as his growth continued. By the time he shot past the largest of the pros without the slightest inkling of slowing down, those around him were showing serious concern. Talking to him about slowing down was like talking to a brick wall, physically too. He barely said anything anymore, spending his days at the gym grunting away.

When his close friends next door to his home curiously found his front door torn off the hinges one day, they were shocked by what they found. It was their friend alright, but in body only, a body bursting at the seams with muscle. Behind it all an emotionless face staring off into space without so much as a thought rattling around. Calling out to him was no use, the words causing absolutely no reaction. Once in eyesight, he finally reacted, starting a posing routine without changing his expression nor gaze. It was a sickening display of grotesquely overgrown muscle, something never before seen to the plane jane couple.

When the routine finished, he returned to his relaxed uncaring pose, waiting, but for what? One of the pair finally built up the courage to walk up and touch him, hoping the physical contact could break him of his perceived trance. As he reservedly laid his hand on his massive arm he was taken aback by the sheer size of his bi's and tri's, his full grown adult hand looking like a toddlers as it came to rest between the ridges of bloated muscle. His touch immediately had an effect, but not at all what he expected. Their friend let out a deep moan as his member engorged out of his posers. They both adverted their gaze in embarrassment, quickly leaving the room to figure out what to do next to help him.

They did their best to explain the situation to the hospital, arranging to have a box truck transport him to the facility. His friends and paramedics staying with him during the ride listened as he continued to moan on the drive over due to the stimulation of the movement. Doctors were baffled, the brain scans showed absolutely no activity, yet he was still responding to some stimuli, excitedly so some may say. The MRI revealed the shocking true story. It was like no other brain they had ever seen, especially when compared to the normal scans he had from a head injury in his early teens. Unlike the hemispheres and folds of a normal looking brain, his was solid, straight, and corded, not unlike his inhuman bicep. If the doctors didn't know any better they'd say that's all it was, a dumb hunk of muscle, but it was still keeping him alive, still performing some function.

His actions seemed to be purely instinctual reactions. Put him around weights and he starts exercising, stopping far past failure, only when he physically can't continue. Place healthy protein and clean carbs in front of him and he wolfs it down. Touch him and, well we already know what happens, any contact longer than a few seconds causing a contactless eruption from his engorged cock. It became clear what he had turned into, just a heap of dumb muscle. Whatever he had done to himself to get to where he is obviously causing irreversible mutation of his brain, leaving only the necessary functions to fuel growth and pleasure. Unsure what else they could possibly do for him, the doctors surrounded him in an environment fit to fulfill those needs. They continue to monitor his progress as they take care of all of his other needs, genuinely curious just how big he will get.

They intended to study him until the end. They thankfully could due to the generous offers of people willing to volunteer their time to be caretakers for the beast and the offers of money from rich closeted muscle fetishists just spend time discreetly with him.

So that really only leaves one lingering question. Are you ready to follow in his footsteps?

Link to part 1

Link to part 2

Finale...

He stood there for what seemed like hours after the wave of growth finally wore off, staring at his obscene body in the mirrors that adorned the gym wall, his muscles filling them completely. Compelled to flex, he found himself clumsy and uncoordinated, muscle bashing up against muscle as he attempted even the most basic poses. His greed and muscle lust had really done a number on himself. The power he felt coursing through his body was in contrast to the real world fact that his hands couldn't get closer together than 6ft apart due to his bulging biceps, pecs, lats, and ham-hock forearms. Looking at his engorged legs, he wonders if he will be able to swing them around each other to at least attempt the most crude waddle. As he lifts one leg up, he is amazed by the synchronized perfection of his swollen quads.

Before landing that first step, he's startled by a sudden voice behind him... "I knew I could count on you," it said. "Who's there?" Vlad replied, his speech muffled by his scruffy chin rubbing against his inner pec meat, but he was met with silence. Unable to see anyone behind him in the mirror, he instinctively turns his head to look, only to be almost immediately confronted by a wall of trap and delt meat. He'll have to turn around, he realizes. As he awkwardly shuffles his overburdened feet to turn his massive body, he takes in the view of the gym around him, the slowly moving carousel of sights framed constantly by the pecs and delts swelled up around him. It's a sight he could get used to. From the outside, the mysterious man watches the curious sight. The bodybuilder blown up with such absurdly large muscles that he can barely move an inch, heaving in one solid mass as he turns around.

Making it a full 180° only after several minutes of struggling against himself, Vlad still doesn't see anyone, for a moment wondering if he simply walked away while he attempted to face him, but his confusion was cleared as the man took a few steps back to meet his gaze over his pecs. "Everyone told me I was crazy, that no one would would be willing to see just how far Formula X would take them. That they'd all get scared once they realize the drawbacks of living life past the previously understood limits of human muscular development, the limits that I am sure you are already becoming aware of..." he trailed off, casually gesturing at Vlad's massive frame with his free hand. "But I knew you were special. I knew it the second you went in for that second dose, the way you sucked the vial dry and unceremoniously rammed that needle into your thigh. So tell me, are you happy?"

Vlad attempted to take stock of the wild changes to his body and life that had taken course in the short time he had known that innocuous little vial. Doubts started to creep in again, but were quickly pushed down by the sensations beginning to rule his body. His muscles, even at rest, pulse with power, the thick veins are in sharp relief all over delivering the nutrients they need to sustain and grow. He's lost in the heaving of his mighty chest as he draws in air to meet the demands of the cords of muscle that make him. He simply nods in reply. Not wasting any time letting that answer sink in, the man quickly replies "But are you satisfied?"

The benign question rocked Vlad to the core. He had to be satisfied, right? Look at him, there simply wasn't anywhere he could pack on any more muscle. Especially if he wanted to keep any semblance of movement. He was already multiple times larger than he was when he walked through the gym doors. That had to be enough. Yeah it had to... had to... but it wasn't, and he knew it. The man stood there waiting Vlad's reply, but he already had the answer. He could feel and see his body shake and pulse for more. Unclasping the latches on the briefcase at his side, the mysterious man held it above his head so Vlad could see its contents. In it were three massive syringes, equipped with grips and wide needles, something you would see brought out for large animals, not humans. The thick barrels looked like they could each hold three vials worth of the transformational formula. Vlad lost it at the realization of what the man was offering, moaning at the thought.

"That's what I thought. Let's finish what we started."

The warm sand on his feet was a welcome change to what Micah become accustomed to in his old life, his feet more familiar to the cold and damp grounds of his Eastern European upbringing. In that life, early in his teens, he found the gym to be an escape from his otherwise harsh and monotonous life. He'd spend every hour he could there working out or taking tips from some of the gym's more developed members. He soon found himself fully immersed in the gym rat culture, complete with all its trappings... steroids and a physique to prove their effectiveness.

His body took so well to putting on mass. People would joke that he was a sponge for the roids soaking them in deeply while his muscles exploded outward in response. By only 24 he looked prime to step onstage at Olympia, but he also looked like the poster child of PED abuse, his insane body headed by a face that looked like 24 going 48 and a receding hairline to match. That's what roiding hard and heavy for the past decade will do to a young man's body, and that's only to mention the outward symptoms.

Unfortunately Micah realized the sacrifices he was making to leapfrog to the top of the heap much too late and felt powerless to stop. Like a drug addict, he always needed more. Heck, he was a drug addict, his drugs of choice? dianabol, trenbolone, deca, insulin, the list goes on... but most importantly, pure, uncut, muscle. The last one among them all constantly leaving him desperate for more. His addiction was ruling his life and his ever-growing muscles impeding it. His bulbous appendages always fighting for space, leaving him breathless just crossing the gym floor.

That's when he started planning his escape. Yearning for a simpler life untainted by the decisions and chemical dependencies of his own he trolled social media to find one, eventually landing on a profile of a hunky twink from Dubai, Sebastian. He had stalked him for weeks watching him along with his millions of other followers travel around the world from photoshoot to photoshoot while he himself spent his days with activities such as struggling to dab lotion on his stretch marked and needle pocked glutes.

He was sure of his decision once he was in his new body. The feeling of the warmth of the desert sun on his mostly naked chiseled body affirming it. As expected, Micah found several DMs from his old body as soon as he unlocked his phone. "Bro, what the fuck?" "Give me my body back" "This body is fucked" yada, yada, yada. A simple block without even as much as a reply taking care of that. Who's going to believe some drugged out muscle freak over a social media hunk like him? Besides, unless he has a stronger will than him, he'll be too busy back at the weight rack soon enough.

Micah's ease into life as Sebastian, Seb for short, was not as easy as planned. Though the chemical dependence was gone, the psychological need was still there. His new leisurely lifestyle helped quell it for the most part, as did the less intense gym routine he adopted to maintain his shape. It was during one of those gym visits many many months in later that curiosity and sentimentality got the best of him and he checked in on his former self. He had often wondered what Seb had been able to make of it.

One look and it was obvious that Seb had given in immediately to the muscular needs of his body even more-so than he had ever allowed himself. Unbeknownst to him, something clicked at the sight, looking down at his shirtless torso he felt a familiar emptiness reintroduce itself along with a familiar need for more.

Upping his sets and reintroducing many of his former favorite friends, though this time at doses and schedules based in hard learned lessons of his former life, he developed a well of untapped potential in his twunky body, packing on an impressive amount of mass while still retaining his boyishly good looks.

Predictably his follower count dropped drastically as his mass increased and his content stream shifted to one matching his renewed lifestyle of a hardcore gym rat, leaving comments on how he turned himself into a freak before they leave. But it doesn't matter to him, he had more than enough cash piled up to live comfortably, as far as he was concerned, the only two followers he cared about where his two fat glutes.

Olympia weekend. One of your favorite times of year when all of your muscular fantasies would trot their peak condition—hypertrophied, tanned, glistening bodies onstage for all the world to see. But after an 80 hour week, it was all you could do to pass out soon after arriving home, staying conscious only long enough to catch Nick Walker's Instagram story as he pumped up backstage. In your fatigued eyes he looked absolutely massive, noticeably bigger than even his one day out update, a likely case of your fantasies bleeding into reality as you drift to sleep.

You're awaken by the ping of a message from one of your fellow muscle lovers...

Bro, did you hear about Nick?! He exploded onstage last night!

Your mind flashes back to the video, your cock raising to attention at the sight and the thought of him shooting his load onstage simply from the sight of his own massive body.

Can't blame him. If I had a body like his I'd be creaming myself constantly...

No! He LITERALLY exploded onstage... It's fucking NUTS. People are saying he took some experimental shit before the show.

Excuse me what?

I was watching the live stream...

He waddled onto stage with a crazy look in his eyes that didn't even bother to acknowledge that he was easily 100lbs heaver than he started the day with.

By the posedown he was easily cresting 600lbs, everyone in the crowd was glued to Nick. Even everyone onstage, half hardheartedly posing while they watched him continue to flex and morph.

Bro, you've been reading too many muscle growth stories. Hot stuff though.

Seriously, look it up, the whole community is talking about it.

You swipe over to Google: Nick Walker Olympia. Pages upon pages of videos pop up, the stills showing Nick looking more like a gorilla in size than a man. It takes a few tries to find a link that isn't taken down before you finally find a grainy version on a shady video reposting site.

To your utter amazement the video plays out just as your friend said. Nick walking thunderously onstage, despite his larger than average starting size, obviously not used to his newly added size. As he mingled around the stage for the judges you could see him growing, first only if you focused in for a few seconds, but soon enough plainly obvious even if you were to look away... not that anyone was.

Near the end of the posedown his movements were becoming increasingly clumsy, himself tripping over his meaty limbs, just before being locked in place by his exponential growth. Muscles pushing up and out in every direction quickly swallowing his head, hands and feet. Stretch marks littering his skin as it struggled and failed to keep up, splits forming near the peaks of his fire hose-thick veins before... BOOM.

Just a pile of muscles...

Lucas wasn't even sure why he went to this gym sometimes. He picked it specifically due to the clientele it catered to—bodybuilders. Something Lucas clearly was not, but he had muscular aspirations like theirs and hoped being there would help him start his journey. Never stepping a foot in a gym before a few months ago, let alone one as serious as this, was tough but he treated it like exposure therapy to try to get over his initial anxiousness.

When he could get out of his head, the scenery around him was quite something to see while he worked out. The grungy room was filled with massive men mingling around between sets. Men twice and in some cases three times his size getting lost in their sets as they pump themselves larger and larger. Lucas cursed himself in his mind, 'why can't I be like them? just a big dumb pile of muscles?.' As soon as he uttered that phrase, the massive bodybuilder he was watching as he said it locked eyes with him.

Locked in his gaze, Lucas began to feel something building up inside him. If he were able to look down, he'd see pecs and abs pressing themselves into existence, spreading out, pushing his torso wide. He felt his arms expand as they were in turn propped up by his growing lats. He continued to stare into the other mans face as he shifted his legs to accommodate for his swelling quads. He could hardly believe it, but his body had taken on the shape of a hardcore bodybuilder, juiced with stage-ready cuts.

Feeling an end to his swelling, Lucas was puzzled to still be caught in the mans gaze. His puzzling turned to full on confusion, not just about his current situation, but about everything. Where was he? Who was he again? Wait... His body slumped to the floor as the last of Lucas' consciousness drifted into the ether. His wish had been granted, he was now nothing but an empty shell of muscles, a big dumb pile of them.

--

Jing didn't join the gym with the same intentions as Lucas. No, tiny little Jing knew his frame could never bulk up, but that didn't stop him from lusting after men that could. He was muscle obsessed through and through, enough for him to find himself here, voyeuristcially watching everything happen from the corner of the gym.

His heart raced as he watched Lucas' frame drop to the floor. Not out of concern mind you, no Jing knew a freshly transformed musclesuit when he saw one and this was his chance. It was so heavy, something he logically should have expected, but didn't. He struggled to slip it on at first, relieved that it began to guide him in once he was partway in. He felt a shiver run down his spine as the cushy lats joined together to seal him in.

Standing up with Jing surveys his suited up body. Glancing down, he brushes his calloused hand over his abs. They look so perfect, more akin to carved stone than muscles. He flexes them, not knowing that it was possible for flesh to become so solid. God it all feels so real... It all is so real... Of course it is. The product of a solid decade in this place grinding it out each and every day.

Big J doesn't pay much attention to the others at the gym anymore, he's instead glued to himself in the mirrors the entire time, making sure to take breaks to examine his body between sets. Every glance at himself filled what was left of Jing with unbridled happiness. All he knew was that he was born for this life and he loved every minute of it.