A sequel to “Primal Attraction.” Ian is a short twink who wants to be a monster. Years in the gym have only given modest results. Then, one fall, things start to change. He’s finally growing, but he’s in denial for some reason as the changes accumulate. Worse, it feels like something is stalking him...
Primal Attraction, #2 5,864 words Added Dec 2022 7,601 views 4.9 stars (19 votes)
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Ian wanted to be a monster.
He was a 27-year-old twink from the Midwest, a graduate student in molecular biology. All his life he was sensitive about his short stature and slim build. People expected him to be passive and submissive, and he wasn’t. But when he tried to assert himself, people thought it was cute. And sure, he definitely was cute—big blue eyes, ski-jump nose, full lips, clear skin. But he didn’t want to be cute. It wasn’t even that he wanted respect and power; no, that would be easy enough to understand, easy enough to explain to the few boyfriends he’d had, those short-lived relationships in his early twenties. No, Ian wanted shock, disgust, fear. He couldn’t even say why, and he got flustered and incoherent every time he tried.
He was too shy and anxious to do much about it through his teens and early twenties, though. Around the time he began his Ph.D., he gave up on dating—he was sick of attracting guys who couldn’t understand him, and he was sick of trying to explain himself to them, sick of them not getting it. Instead, he dedicated himself to the gym. If he couldn’t explain what he wanted, maybe he could show them instead.
The demands of his doctoral program made his efforts to bulk up difficult, though. Long nights in the lab, crushing deadlines to turn in reports and papers. Plus being surrounded by nerds who didn’t understand or respect his quest to add some real quality muscle to his frame. They viewed it as a waste of time, energy, and resources, an unfortunate eccentricity.
But Ian persisted. Tupperwares of chicken and rice and broccoli, going to the campus gym late at night, or early in the morning, whatever his schedule demanded. He’d moved away from family for grad school, and he hadn’t made any friends, so at least there were no other demands on his time, no baffled loved ones to concern-troll him. His research and his efforts to transform himself into the freak he always wanted to be consumed all of his time, and he wanted it that way.
People always said short guys add muscle easily. After three years, Ian was ready to scoff at that and discard the hypothesis. Yes, he understood that shorter limbs meant less volume of muscle looked bigger than it would on longer limbs, just as a mechanical principle. But he’d been working his ass off, and at best he’d shifted from twink to twunk. People still thought he was cute. People still acted like he was a yapping chihuahua if he didn’t roll over and beg whenever a bigger guy cocked his finger or raised an eyebrow at him. He tried hooking up and dating again, a little bit, but it was next to impossible—either they wanted him to play a role he had no interest in playing, or they listened to his attempts to express his desires and then treated him how he wanted.
That latter option sounded pretty good on paper, except his brain could only ever read it as pretend. They were indulging him. It was condescending. Ian longed to feel genuinely powerful, massive, brawny—for someone to treat him that way without being told to do so first. He wanted to scare people just with his physical presence. Not to have an ethical fantasist pretend he was scary to make him feel better about himself.
Ian would get lost in daydreams. His imagination was his greatest gift and biggest curse. More than once he had to start an experiment over because he got so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t hear a timer beep, missing the window to add a reagent or take a measurement.
When he was a kid, he’d fantasize about comic book muscle... Wolverine, Bane, Venom… nothing in his real life was remotely like that. Why would he settle for less when his own brain was better than the reality surrounding him? He could build realities in his mind that were just… better to spend time in than the existence he was living.
It was the fall of his fourth year at grad school when the nature of his daydreams began changing.
It was hard for him to put the change into words, even to himself. It’s not like he told anyone about it. He had no confidantes. He was friendly, but not close, with the other people in his lab, and between his graduate program and his attempts at bodybuilding, he didn’t really have time for a social life.
But if he had to find some way to phrase it, he would have said his imagination was… getting stronger. More specific. And his daydreams were… it was like they were trying to bleed over into reality.
Maybe he should make an appointment with a counsellor… no, no, he’s fine, he’s just stressed out and his mind is reacting with an increased draw to escapism. What good would talking to a counsellor do?
Sitting on the bus to campus, his quads aching, his glutes making their presence known. DOMs from the brutal leg day he’d had yesterday. If only you’d do more than just get sore; if only you’d grow, you motherfuckers, he thought at his legs. Then a weird shiver went through his body, and his mind was briefly falling through darkness, the bus disappearing for just a flash.
Something’s coming.
He couldn’t explain the thought. It was just the sense of… something approaching.
He shivered again. He couldn’t say how it made him feel. Scared, yet also full of… anticipation?
The ache in his quads and ass was worse. He shifted uncomfortably, not looking forward to having to stand up and descend the bus steps like an old man with bad knees. This was his stop, though, right outside the Science Building.
Halfway to the bus door, he dropped his phone. Clumsy, he chided himself, bending to pick it up.
Ripppppp.
Ian straightened abruptly. No way. Had that been… yep. That was his pants. Tearing right across the seat. His butt had just split the seams of his pants right there on the crowded bus.
…. They’re old pants, don’t get too excited, he thought to himself. Blushing, he tottered off the bus and made his way into the Science Building. What else could he do? He had a full day of work ahead of him, there was no chance to go home. And the campus was out in the woods, away from the small town that serviced it; it wasn’t like there was a mall close by where he could pop in and buy some new pants.
Damn, he really wanted a coffee, but could he really just stand in the Starbucks line with his ass hanging out, underwear on full display, like it was normal? Suddenly, a brainwave. Why didn’t I think of this right away? It wasn’t the most professional option, but it was better than giving all of his colleagues and the rest of campus an eyeful of his underwear. Ian ducked into the men’s room and pulled his gym sweatpants out of his bag, thankful that he had randomly selected sweats and not shorts to stuff in there this morning. He tossed the ruined pants into the trash and wiggled into the sweats.
Damn, they’re kinda tight too… I’ve gotta be careful not to burst out of these as well. Must have had the dryer on ‘hot’ by accident…
Then, the feeling hit him again. Something was coming. Something was approaching. Not here yet. Won’t be here for a few days. Ten days, two weeks maybe. But it’s coming…
His body shivered, his sweatpants tightened just a little bit more. He shook his head, trying to dispel these foolish delusions, and went to join the Starbucks lineup, not noticing the lustful stares he drew as he waddled across the spacious lobby in his tight grey sweats, big muscle butt, thick muscle quads, fat dick bulge. Ian was a hunk.
Stop daydreaming!
Every day the feeling got stronger, but Ian never was able to describe it any better. But in the night, as he fell asleep, or in the morning, in that hazy half-awake period right before his alarm went off, he began to see things. Not visions of hyper-muscular bodybuilders, muscles swelling like rising bread dough—no, those erotic visions he’d had since puberty, they weren’t unusual or new. But now, instead of that, he saw something stranger, more difficult to explain.
He saw a field of darkness, like the night sky, with many pinpricks of light. He somehow knew that each light represented a person, the other people in his apartment complex, the apartment across the street… and then, very distant, yet discernible for how bright and hot they burned, two larger points of light moving against the mostly static background.
Wandering stars. Getting closer and closer. Collision course.
Ian accidentally burst out of two shirts and a pair of gym shorts that week, as well as his school pants on the bus that first day. He didn’t have a lot of money, replacing them wasn’t easy. But at this rate he wouldn’t have any clothes to wear at all well before Christmas. He made plans to go to the mall that weekend, still somehow not resolving the cognitive dissonance, not registering the rapid changes in his body. The clothes were old and ready to fail, it had nothing to do with his physique. Nothing to do with these weird flashes of premonition, the shivers that followed each one.
It took another grad student in his lab to knock him into reality.
“Damn, Ian, all that chicken and rice is really doing the trick,” he said, reaching over to squeeze Ian’s exposed bicep. Ian suddenly realized his classmate’s hand felt… small on his arm.
“Huh… thanks….” Ian said, blushing, not sure how else to respond. They’re normies, they don’t know what big actually looks like, they’re easily impressed, don’t let it get to your head…
“Seriously, man, whatever you’re doing this fall, it’s really been showing this last little while.” The classmate’s voice dropped into a conspiratorial tone. “Is it gear, man? You can tell me, I won’t judge.”
“N-no…,” Ian said, not wanting to tell the guy that he’d already done a couple of steroid cycles, but he currently wasn’t running anything more than a very modest TRT dose. If only gear worked like these guys thought it did!
The guy looked skeptical. “Well, whatever you’re doing, keep it up, man. You’re getting freaky.”
The little exchange stuck with Ian all day, and when he got home that night he stepped on the scale for the first time in weeks. He’d been avoiding it for months, since the information it gave rarely changed, and that could get depressing. He’d been hovering around 160 pounds for ages, which at 5’5” and fairly lean isn’t at all bad, but isn’t the jaw-dropping freak beef he wanted.
Ian stepped on the scale and looked down.
The red numbers blazing up at him threw his entire mind into disarray.
195 pounds.
It’s the end of the day, you’re full of food and water and…
I did not eat 30 pounds of food today.
I can’t weigh that much… can I?
Ian stepped off and stepped back on twice more. The numbers were always within 0.2 pounds of each other.
He looked into the mirror. Tried his best to look past his dysphoria, his self-criticism, his self-effacement, his doubt…
Fuck. He really was 195 pounds of lean bulging beef. He looked big. More than big. On his short frame? 195 pounds on someone just 5’5” is a lot of muscle. He flexed a double bicep and gasped as a softball-sized ball mounded up. No wonder his labmate had been pawing at his arm. Stretchmarks decorated the peak as Ian flexed even harder. His cock pulsed in his underwear. He pulled it out, watching how his pecs bunched together as he began jacking off.
“Fuck… fuck yeah… can’t believe that… it’s finally happening… fuck me…. Grow… more… bigger…. MORE....” Ian chanted to himself, flexing and using his powerful visual imagination to project his growth into the future, seeing, in his mind’s eye, a steadily swelling muscle freak slowly filling the condo bathroom with straining flexing meat. Too big to fit through the door. Shoulders pressing against the walls, traps pressing against the ceiling, the floor collapsing beneath his weight…
Then, just as he was about to cum, the sensation surged back, more powerful than ever.
They’re coming.
Ian came, his body shivering and convulsing, muscles visibly swelling in the mirror, gasping and groaning as he felt spurt after spurt after spurt leave his body through his rock-hard dick, his mind kaleidoscopic.
They’re here. They’re here. They’re here.
Ian snarled into the mirror, shocking himself with the sound. It was inhuman, raw, deep. His body shivered as he snarled, and he added another couple of pounds of raw lean meat right there. He could actually see his muscles pulse and swell in the mirror.
“Holy fuck,” he breathed to himself as the orgasm faded, the sink full of cum, his legs shaking, his skin feeling… oddly tight.
He smells like one of yours
I agree. One of mine.
That means you get dibs. You want to close for the kill and I intercept when he bolts?
That sounds like an excellent plan.
Hehe.
What’s so funny?
Gonna be a lot of pathetic little monkeys around. They’re gonna get a show. Neither of us can really ‘pass’ anymore, you know?
We’re not trying to apply for passports, Jonas. We’re hunting one of our own.
Oh, I know. I’m not complaining. I’m enjoying. I’m hungry, too. Let’s hunt.
The next evening, Ian was at the gym. He’d been in a daze all day. He didn’t have anyone to tell about what was happening to him, and anyway, even if he did, would they believe him? Well, they could see with their eyes but… the weird visions, the sense that something was coming for him…
But even the muscle growth, alone. It didn’t make sense. It was faster than steroids could do, even if he had been on a massive cycle, which he wasn’t. He was a molecular biologist, he knew what was happening to him defied scientific orthodoxy. Yet the evidence of his senses was impossible to ignore. He was bigger. Much bigger.
The shivers were coming more frequently, each one leaving him larger. Each one accompanied by the sense that whatever had been approaching all fall was now on top of him. He’d had four more episodes over the course of the day, each one swelling him a few pounds bigger. After the last one he had just about exploded out of the only set of clothes he could still barely squeeze himself into.
His labmates were staring at him. The guy who had squeezed his bicep and given him compliments was now staring in open lust. He overheard two girls whispering—why would anyone do that to themselves? As he used lab equipment, Ian felt his muscles moving against each other, making simple tasks more awkward. He was on his feet a lot that day, and they hurt by the end of it, unused to bearing so much weight.
Somehow, he made it through the day and headed to the gym around 8 pm that evening.
There, in the middle of the gym floor, Ian scratched at his arms violently. His skin was so itchy, too. Coarse dark hairs were forcing their way through his delicate pale skin. He’d always been hairless, but his body was rapidly growing an all-over pelt. He glanced at his watch. Almost time to start the next set. Stop thinking about stupid shit like your hair and lift the fucking weight.
He grabbed the pull-down bar early, too amped up to wait the last twenty seconds. He started pulling it down, chest up to meet the metal, his lats burning by the third rep. Ian was merciless. More fire. More pain. Another rep. Another, another, another. He was snarling, flecks of spittle flying from the rictus of his mouth. The thick coarse hairs forcing out through his tortured skin another millimetre or two. The cells of his body freaking out, transforming. Sweat pouring off him. Heat radiating. If someone stuck a thermometer in his mouth, it would be beeping in moments, registering a frighteningly high temperature. But this fever was no disease. It was something else. The white-hot crucible of a supernatural transformation, accelerated to a punishing pace.
The set ended. Chest heaving, Ian stood, ears buzzing, mind dazed, his body at the limit of what it could endure. He’d forced another two or three pounds of muscle onto his lats just with that set. His arms were stuck awkwardly up into the air, unable to be lowered.
He saw the screen of his phone light up with a notification. An email from the lab. He grabbed his phone, awkward, barely able to bring his hands together close enough to hold it. It refused to recognize his face. He typed in the code to open it, grunting with annoyance. Stupid thing hadn’t recognized his face all day. He desperately wanted to shirk all his responsibilities and give in to the ever-growing animal inside him. Just lift and eat and fuck and sleep for all eternity. But if he had to go back to the lab after the workout, which wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, he wanted to know now.
It was a mass email from the director to everyone in the lab, frustrated that a bunch of recent samples had been tainted with canine DNA, informing them they had to redo the most recent round of experiments because of it. Chiding the people in the lab for their carelessness. Then, another email, also from the director, just to him. It was gentler in tone, probably to make the criticism easier to swallow.
All the ruined samples were from Ian. Apparently dog hair and dog saliva had somehow gotten into his work these last few weeks. The director talked about the importance of keeping laboratory clothing separate from home clothes, making sure to be careful when handling samples, all that stuff…
Ian didn’t have a dog.
You might be curious to know that your pet is actually part wolf. You should bring some photos in to share with everyone. The genome is actually unlike any I’ve seen before, really. I’m curious what he even looks like.
Ian looked up from his phone, feeling a weird agitation take hold of him. He saw himself in the mirror. Fuck, he was huge. Muscles bulging out of his too-small tank-top and shorts; he hadn’t replaced his gym clothes because he’d been in denial about what was happening to him. But he was a fireplug. No, more than that. He was a short muscle roidfreak. He was veiny and hairy and huge. It looked like he was on so much tren that it had replaced his blood. The other guys in the weight room smelled like they were naturally deferring to him, eager to please him, eager to avoid his displeasure.
How was he smelling them? How was it he knew how they felt because of their scent? Ian’s head was spinning.
He stared into the mirror. His eyes were ice blue. They were always blue, but this was… this was different. These were so pale they were disturbing. Like a Siberian Husky. Or a wolf.
Ian heard a dark chuckle. He spun around. Just all the college bros. They smelled scared, now, that sawtooth odour of fear. They could sense Ian’s agitation. He was so much bigger than them. Oozing testosterone. Radiating power. A snarling wolf barely restrained by a meagre chain.
The chuckle again.
A voice in his head. You know what’s happening to you, you just don’t want to accept it yet.
He couldn’t even tell if that was his thought or a thought from… whatever had been stalking him all fall. It was here. It was here. It was right fucking here. Ian waddled out of the gym, workout abandoned. He didn’t even get his coat and bag from the locker room.
Somehow, the cold November air didn’t bother him, clad only in a too-small tank-top and shorts, glistening with sweat.
The thing was in the shadows across the street, on the margin of the trees where Ian had sometimes seen deer grazing while waiting for his bus. The campus was surrounded by woods.
The thing that had been approaching all semester.
Heart hammering, Ian stepped closer. “Who are you?” he asked.
The largest man Ian had ever seen stepped into the pool of light under the streetlamp. Harsh shadows cast across the impossible shapes of his body. He was at least seven feet tall, and if Ian had to guess at least 500 pounds of pure muscle. Maybe 600. Maybe more. It was hard to say, with him being so tall. He was hulking. Primal. Condensed, distilled masculine power. He was naked but somehow that didn’t even register; the man’s presence was so overwhelming, who would even notice what he was wearing, if he wore anything?
Ian felt his mouth go dry.
“My name’s Devon,” the beast said, in the deepest, roughest voice Ian had ever heard. “You’re Ian.”
“Who… what…”
“You know why I’m here. You know what’s happening to you. Don’t fight it.” The man grinned wickedly. “Or do fight it. Honestly. It’s a lot more fun if you run,” he said. He shook his head, fur sprouting, muscles pulsing and bulging. He snarled as his mouth elongated, fangs sprouting, crowding for room; he hunched, toe-claws digging into the turf.
Primal terror. The thing wasn’t human. It knew his name. It had somehow drawn Ian to him. It was what he’d been sensing all fall. What was it?! Ian was running before he even knew he was running. Running for his life from this monster that wanted to devour him.
He could hear the thing make bloodcurdling inhuman sounds as it finished its transformation, the sickening noise of bones reshaping, of skin stretching, the animal howls of agony, mixed with… with pleasure. He liked this. ‘Devon,’ if that was his name, enjoyed the feeling of his body twisting and warping into… whatever he was. Ian didn’t look back to see. He just ran, heart hammering, lungs burning. He had gained 40 pounds in the last three months and at least 15 more on top of that over the last 24 hours. He hadn’t kept up with his cardio.
He needed help. Maybe the monster wouldn’t follow him if he was around other humans. Maybe he would disappear like a nightmare, and he was only real when Ian was alone. After all, he’d heard Devon chuckle in his head back in the weightroom, but he had only physically appeared when Ian was alone.
Ian burst into the student center. It wasn’t that late, there were still people in the food court eating late fast food suppers, knots of students here and there doing group study, working on projects, friends just fucking around and relaxing on campus before heading back to the dorms or catching the bus back to town.
They all stared at him. The short freaky underdressed bodybuilder panting like he’s about to have a heart attack, eyes as big as saucers, nervous as a squirrel on cocaine. He was clearly in distress.
None of them seemed to know what to do. Ian felt a weird pang of embarrassment. But then a freakishly muscular man, quads bursting out of his ripped jeans, eyes hidden behind reflective aviator sunglasses, neatly groomed black hair, stepped toward him. Ian had never seen him on campus before. He oozed masculine confidence, raw sexuality. “Ian,” he said smoothly, and Ian felt his knees weaken, his spine shiver, his cock rocket to full hardness despite his terror. The man stepped closer, grinning.
The man’s grin revealed something disturbing: his teeth were razor-sharp. “Iiaaaann,” he said, slower, rolling the name over his tongue like he enjoyed its taste. Ian felt charmed, yet he also felt… a sickly pit of panic and despair in his stomach. This thing approaching him… it was the other of the two lights he’d been seeing all fall. The other beast. Maybe worse than the first one.
The un-man lowered his sunglasses and made direct eye contact. His eyes were abyssal, blacker than moonless nights. Two points of pale blue flame where his pupils ought to be. Ian whimpered as he felt his cock twitch and pump involuntarily, gasping like a gutted fish on a table as he felt his muscles flex and swell, felt his hard dick angle out over his hip as it gained inch after inch in length. The freak held eye-contact, smirking. He was forcing Ian’s transformation to get even faster, even more extreme. The sound of ripping fabric as Ian outgrew his comically tight gym clothes. He looked unreal, like some sick photoshop job by the most extreme fetishist. And still he grew as the man-beast pinned him to the spot with his demonic gaze, chuckling.
“He told you to run, did he? Heh. Better give him what he wants. Well?”
Another student approached, a would-be hero of a frat bro, backwards ballcap, oversized sweatshirt. He knew something was off about this encounter, not seeing the un-man’s glistening fangs or his freakish eyes, not registering Ian’s rapid muscular expansion. Or maybe he did, but he thought Ian was having some medical emergency, gasping and sweating, shaking, pale, swelling as if having some sort of allergic reaction, maybe. “What’s going on here?”
The un-man gave an unearthly low growl that reverberated around the food court. It made Ian’s hackles stand, and silenced every ongoing conversation. The monster spun to face the interloper, flinging his hand out. The student’s body jerked backwards and rose into the air, head back, limbs dangling, a gurgling sound coming from his mouth as his clothing was flayed off him, leaving him naked. His cock rapidly filled with blood and pointed toward the ceiling.
The un-man turned his head to look back at Ian, his wicked grin widening. Two bony points forced their way through the skin of his temples, blood trickling down his face as they split the skin, making his appearance even more ghoulish. The points grew, extended into horns, as the un-man’s body began to swell and transform, much like Devon’s had, but different. A thick muscular tail, ridged with wicked spines, lashed out behind him violently, swelling and pulsing with muscle as the beast grew and morphed, less and less human, more and more terrifying.
At the same moment, there was the crash of glass and metal. With difficulty, Ian turned to see an enormous lupine figure burst through the entry. At least twelve feet tall, thick fur unable to disguise the skin-splitting muscle underneath, huge clawed hands, digitigrade feet, claws ripping into the cement floor. The beast crouched, looked at Ian, either not noticing the demon standing next to him and the naked student dangling in the air to their left, or noticing them but not caring, focused solely on his prey.
The crowd in the student center was screaming, had been screaming since the demon revealed himself so dramatically. Chaos was erupting like gasoline catching flame, the air itself firey with it.
The enormous demon smirked at Ian. “Well, shouldn’t you be running?” he said mockingly, his voice low and distorted by huge jutting fangs, muscular prehensile tail twitching. He then returned his attention to the other student, paralyzed, as if being held aloft by the most powerful erection of his life, his cock straining as if trying to touch the ceiling.
The giant wolf-thing snarled in agreement. Run, little rabbit, Ian heard the voice in his head again. Amused.
Ian knew it was hopeless. These… things… were faster than him. More powerful than him. All his life he’d wanted to be a monster. He’d wanted to inspire fear and awe in people who saw him. This must be some kind of ironic nightmare to teach him the error of those desires, to teach him to accept being meek and gentle and small and… and…
The wolf snarled again, angrier this time, and charged forward, toe claws ripping at the cement floor. Ian ran for his life, awkward and slow, overburdened with excess muscle. The demon’s laughter chased him across the room and down the hall just as surely as the hulking feral werewolf did. Ian was so slow and clumsy in his swollen body; after what the demon did to him, he must be pushing 300 pounds, still only 5’5”.
There were so many people in the way, and Ian didn’t want to hurt them, didn’t want to push and shove, but the beast pursuing him showed no such delicacy, and if he had any hope of surviving he had to be brutal. His fellow students weren’t people to him anymore, they were meat automata, pathetic little things to be forced out of his way as he fled.
He thought his heart would burst, it was beating so hard. He could hear the thing behind him, hear its panting breath, its growls and snarls. Hear the way its claws tore through the floor with each bounding leap, leaving ugly deep scars. Closer and closer.
It pounced. Ian felt hot rakes of pain down his back as he was pinned to the floor. Then, shockingly, the beast released him; Ian scrabbled forward just a foot before a powerful swat flipped him over; he was on his back now. The beast pinned him again. Leaned its powerful maw in close, as if to crush Ian’s skull; the hot stink of its breath, the thick stickiness of its saliva.
Ian was whimpering with fear.
The beast paused. Why aren’t you fighting back?
The thought in his head.
“I… I….”
Fight back.
Ian whimpered more, all the fresh muscle his body had grown seeming so meagre and useless in the face of this enormous monster.
FIGHT. BACK. I can see it in you. You know it’s in you. Let it free, god damn you!
The wolf leaned in closer, pushing Ian harder against the floor. It closed its jaws slightly. Ian felt the tip of its fangs penetrate under his jaw, felt the skin on his scalp split under its pressure. Hot blood flowing down his newly hairy skin from both wounds. Not enough to kill him, yet. But he would be dead if the beast exerted just a tiny bit more pressure; his head would pop like a grape in its jaws. He knew the wolf could do it. The wolf could do it in a heartbeat. Why was he waiting?
Ian’s vision flashed black. It was the void again. The tiny pinpricks of light that were the panicking, fleeing students. They were almost impossible to see with this blinding phosphorescence in front of him. Its twin blinding bonfire was a hundred feet back, still toying with the undergraduate he’d captured, Ian realized, milking his cock mercilessly as the frat boy dangled, paralyzed, simultaneously erased by more terror and more pleasure than a human mind can bear, his brain melting out his ears.
Then, a spear of light pushing out from the werewolf who held his head in its jaws, a spear of light pushing into… into Ian. A metaphysical cock of pure light. It delved deeper into Ian, touched a wildly pulsing orb of brightness within him, one he’d never seen before. Holy fuck. Was that him? This neutron star of potential, of force? Holy fuck.
The shaft of light from the werewolf touched the bundle of light inside Ian, and the world exploded. The black void shattered, every cell in his body revolted as Ian finally became what he had always wanted, what he had always secretly been.
Ian became a monster.
He gasped as if suddenly immersed in ice cold water. Before he could think, he was savagely attacking the wolf that held him in its jaws, snarling, pushing against its immense weight with all his might, like trying to bench press a Hummer when fuelled purely by spite. Hysterical strength, the dying echo of his old brain feebly offered as a logical excuse.
Fuck off, the beast thought. It’s all you. FIGHT ME, BROTHER. THIS IS YOUR BIRTHRIGHT. BORNE IN THE BLOOD. SHOW US WHO YOU ARE.
Ian was screaming, he realized. His throat hurt. His body was violently transforming. Muscles cramping, swelling. Hair pushing out. Limbs elongating, reforming. Jaw morphing. Stars danced in his vision. The pain was beyond mortal comprehension, yet it felt… good, in a way. Like waking up for the first time.
In shock, he realized he was beginning to match the wolf’s raw strength and power. The creature released its grip on his skull and growled in satisfaction as it became necessary to use its full strength to continue to contain what Ian was becoming. He had been toying with a weakling before. Now, now it would be a true battle of equals.
The last thought Ian understood before the frenzy of his first, most violent transformation temporarily erased his logical mind, the thought Ian would remember for the rest of his life among the monsters, Devon’s voice in his head, Jonas’s triumphant laugh echoing behind it:
Welcome.
Primal Attraction, #2 5,864 words Added Dec 2022 7,601 views 4.9 stars (19 votes)
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Gene hack by Mikeytron New gene therapies allow bodybuilders to grow larger than ever before. But beware if you opt for a cut-rate procedure instead. 4,337 words Added Oct 2022 9,906 views 4.9 stars (24 votes) No comments yet •Hyper Muscle•Pec Fucking•Immobility•Muscle Growth•Muscle Gut•Muscle/Strength•Gradual Change•Blood•Halloween•Complete •M/M
The Champion by Mikeytron A twist on the “be careful what you wish for” formula, regarding the history of an implausibly huge Mr. Olympia champion. 2 parts 10k words Added May 2021 Updated 22 May 2021 16k views 4.8 stars (38 votes) No comments yet •Hyper Muscle•Muscle Growth•Muscle/Strength•Demons•Supernatural•Complete •M/M
Molten wings by Mikeytron The old world is dying, and the new world struggles to be born; now is the time of monsters. 9,388 words Added Jun 2022 11k views 4.8 stars (67 votes) No comments yet •Cock Growth•Huge Cock•Hyper Cock•Other Mental Changes•Hyper Muscle•Muscle Growth•Muscle/Strength•Gradual Change•Nonconsensual change•Nonconsensual sex•Demons•Supernatural•Mind Control•Complete •M/M
Megabot, Pinto Roxo, and the Inventor’s superweapon by brazboy Megabot faces the muscle-serum-crazed Inventor—but the real challenge is figuring out how to deal with the villain’s secret superweapon. 3,175 words Added Aug 2022 4,971 views 5.0 stars (3 votes) No comments yet •Huge Cock•Hyper Muscle•Hyper Strength•Immobility•Muscle Growth•Size Increase•Nanotech•Androids/Cyborgs•Superhero/Supervillain •M/M
Watching my 12-legged husband compete by Dodeedo Loves Extras What happens when your irresistible multilegged husband competes in a bodybuilding competition? 1,254 words Added Oct 2023 2,272 views 5.0 stars (1 vote) No comments yet •Huge Cock•Hyper Cock•Cum inflation•Public Orgasm•Multicock•Lots of Legs•Multileg•Multilimb•Hyper Muscle•Muscle/Strength•Public Nudity •M/M•M/M/M/...
Shared looks by Badboola Seth is a freshman in college who is trying to reinvent his image and break out of his shell. Seth gradually learns that when he gives attention to men they grow, and when he gets attention then he gets to grow. Using his new abilities, Seth helps the men around him achieve their desires and help him have the confidence to hook up with his crush. 5 parts 32k words Added Apr 2024 Updated 27 Apr 2024 14k views 5.0 stars (25 votes) No comments yet •Cock Growth•Cock Pumping•Huge Balls•Ball Growth•Huge Cock•Hyper Cum•Hyper Muscle•Pec Fucking•Muscle Growth•Muscle/Strength•Muscle Worship•Man Scent•Butt Growth•Increased Libido•Gradual Change•Getting Taller•Size Increase•Lycra/Spandex •M/M
Titan video by Anonymous A talented admirer of extremely muscular men decides to start making videos featuring a few unsuspecting subjects. 2 parts 7,735 words Added Jul 2002 31k views 4.9 stars (15 votes) No comments yet •Cock Growth•Huge Balls•Huge Cock•Hyper Cock•Hyper Muscle•Immobility•Muscle Growth•Muscle/Strength•Getting Taller•Giants•Nonconsensual change •M/M
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