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.

Alex sat in his buddy’s office at the University, fidgeting. He was lucky that his old undergraduate roommate, Adi, had gone on to a career in genetic research, and that he had a few favours to turn in. To be honest, Alex didn’t know where else to turn.

Adi told him it’d take at least five or six hours to analyze the sample and bring back any useful information. Plenty of time for Alex to go home and come back. But he didn’t want to go home. Images flashed through his head of what was waiting for him back there. It was pretty disturbing when he left this morning. He shivered to think what was waiting for him by this point. He knew the longer he put it off, the worse it would be. He knew Tom was alone, probably scared, probably suffering. It was cruel of Alex to leave him by himself. But he just couldn’t face what his roommate was transforming into.

The office door opened and a tired-looking Adi stepped in. “Well?!” Alex said, knowing he was being rude, not caring. The last week had his nerves rubbed raw.

Adi looked at his old roommate. “I give you these results, and you delete those pictures of me, right?”

Alex nodded hastily. “Yes, yes, god yes. Have mercy, man, tell me what you found.”

Adi shut the door firmly, strode to his desk, and let his body collapse into his office chair. He exhaled long and slow. “Alex, to be blunt: your friend is totally fucked.”

Bodybuilders began showing up heavier and larger at competitions. Not the incremental size increases that the last few decades had shown—we’re talking Olympia contenders slabbing on 40, 50, even 60 pounds of mass between last year’s competition and this one. 300 pounds on the contest stage wasn’t an anomaly anymore—it was the new normal. Then, a year later, 350 pounds.

It was a secret, for a little while, how this was happening. But where there’s desire, there’s a market, and where there’s a market.... Soon, boutique genetic modification for bodybuilders was de rigeur for elites—and for hobbyists who could afford the steep price-tag.

“We don’t delete the genes that prompt the body to produce myostatin,” one youtube advertisement claimed. “We moderate those genes, gradually reduce their activity, so muscle growth can continue far beyond natural limits, but in a way that doesn’t threaten your health or long-term longevity.”

It cost a lot of money. Several years of growth hormone levels of “a lot.” A new car, and a nice one at that. But when Big Ramy showed up at the 2024 Olympia weighing 435 pounds... it was hard to argue with results.

And when there’s a service in high demand, with a high price, scammers and charlatans will gather in the shadows to feast.

Tom heard good things about the clinic in Mexico. They’d do the myostatin modification for a cut rate—about 1/10th of what it cost to have it done in California. Dudes who had it done posted before and afters on the forums he frequented. He knew they could be faked, an orchestrated army of pretend satisfied customers. But he wanted to believe.

He had been trying to muscle up for several years now. Any sensible person would believe he had succeeded. He had been a cute 150-pound twink. Three years later, he was 205 pounds of beef, leaner, broader, wider, arms pushing toward 17”. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t fast enough. He had already done three steroid cycles, was now committed to the blast and cruise lifestyle, had tried human growth hormone, had dabbled in insulin.... Everyone told him he was big. He didn’t think so. To him, big was... well, it was Big Ramy. It was the other Olympians. It was the fever dreams he had that turned his cock to a steel rod, men even bigger than that, almost too over-muscled to move, frames overwhelmed, drowning in their own meat. Room-filling roided up beef heaps.

Tom wanted to get huge.

So he contacted the cheap Mexican clinic, made an appointment, got his passport, and headed for the border. It wasn’t even an overnight stay.

Adi pinched the bridge of his nose. The poor guy’s DNA was a mess. A real hatchet job. Whoever had done this was more butcher than scientist or doctor.

“What do you mean, he’s fucked?!”

“I mean, the genes meant to modulate his growth, keep it from just... being permanently stuck in overdrive.... They’re gone. They’re not modified, they’ve just been clumsily hacked out. His poor DNA is ripped apart. And that’s why he’s... in the condition he’s in.”

“Is it going to stop?”

Adi looked at his old room-mate. “You’re smarter than that, Alex. You know the answer to that. I don’t know how to help this poor man. He’s likely to just.... Continue growing until his skin rips apart, or his organs fail, his bones are crushed, or something else. I’m very sorry. If you can convince him to stick to a very calorie-limited diet and to avoid all exercise, the growth will slow to a crawl, but there’s no stopping it. And from the pictures you showed me… I don’t know how much time he has left. All I can think to do is to make him comfortable. Take him to the hospital. Dope him up until the inevitable end”

Alex swallowed hard. He had trouble accepting what his friend was telling him. But it all made sense. “... Okay. Thank you, Adi.” He got up, collected his things, fumbled with his jacket, realizing his vision was blurring.

“And those photos of me.”

“What?”

“Those photos. You know the ones. They’re deleted, right? I have a family, Alex.”

“Christ, Adi. Yes. They’re deleted.”

“Good.”

The weeks after Tom received the treatment were unreal. He loved it. He was blowing up like a meat balloon, adding several pounds a day. Each trip to the gym he was substantially stronger. Every few days he outgrew another article of clothing. He was always hungry. It was like it was impossible for his body to get too much fuel. He would gorge himself in the evenings, eating until it hurt, until his hard, ab-cobbled stomach stuck out like he was pregnant. He always woke up with it flat again, a tight 32 inches. He knew all that food was turning to muscle. It made him want to eat even more the next night. It made him want to stuff his face every waking moment he wasn’t in the gym. Every workout was an event. He felt people staring. Everyone knew it wasn’t natural, what was happening to him.

He hit 225 pounds so fast he barely even noticed it. But his roommate, Alex, noticed it.

“Fuck, Tom, you’re... really blowing up.” Tom hadn’t told anyone about the procedure. To be honest, he was a little private about it. A little embarrassed. But he figured people would realize something was up soon enough....

“I had that procedure done,” he said.

“What?”

“The muscle growth gene hack that all the pros are getting. It’s gonna be the key to really freaky size.”

“Wow. Like.... How big....?”

Tom smirked, feeling his dick stir in his pants. This was turning him on. He grabbed his phone and flipped through his photo stash of extreme bodybuilders. He found a video of Derek Lunsford so grossly overgrown his head seemed to be trapped between his pecs, traps, and delts, on the verge of being swallowed up. The poor guy could barely waddle—no, totter—around, turning himself sideways to get through a door, pecs and lats scraping the frame regardless.

“That big, if I’m lucky.”

“Holy fuck, Tom!”

“Yeah, I know. Intense, right?”

“You want that?”

“Hell yeah, man. I want it more than anything. That’s why I went and had it done, after all.”

“Jesus. That’s... that’s a lot.”

“Heh. Well. Get used to it. Soon enough, you’re gonna be living with a beast, man.”

Alex heard the shout from the bathroom. “What happened?! Are you okay?!”

“I’m better than okay, dude, I’m 350 fucking pounds!”

Alex couldn’t believe his eyes. Even though he’d been living with Tom as he’d rapidly inflated with mass, he hadn’t seen him like this. Ass about to explode out of a tortured pair of briefs that might have fit 80 pounds ago. Veins the size of copper pipes, looking like they might rip out of his skin if he flexed too hard. Every movement slow, awkward. Tom looked like he was about to pop. He had the biggest grin on his face, like a kid on Christmas. He raised his arms, grotesque globs of bicep and tricep hanging under their own weight, skin criss-crossed with stretch marks, and he flexed. His biceps balled up towards his fists. His triceps battled uneasily with his lats for space.

“Fuck! Don’t do that!” Alex yelped, flinching.

Tom laughed and flexed harder. “Hahaha, too much for you, little guy?” His dick was clearly hardening rapidly, the briefs straining tighter around his watermelon glutes. Tom laughed again and flexed, flexed, flexed. “I’m not even pumped,” he grunted.

“Dude...”

“I can’t wait to get even bigger man, this is so addictive.” Flex. Flex.

“Dude....”

“I bet I can hit 400 by Christmas, fuck yeah, grrrr.” Flex. Flex.

“Dude!”

“Fuck, chill out. What?”

“You’re.... You’re bleeding, buddy.”

“What?”

Alex pointed. The thickest, darkest, angriest stretch mark, the one at Tom’s pec-delt tie in, a stretch mark thicker than a thumb, was oozing dark blood. Just a little bit.

“Growing too fast for my skin....” Tom said breathlessly, eyes full of wonder. His cock visibly throbbed in his about-to-explode underwear. Pulse. Pulse. Pulse. There was the sound of ripping fabric, and his thick seven incher burst free, the underwear disintegrating. Alex was stunned. Tom.... Tom was getting off on this.

Tom shook his head, grabbed a few squares of toilet paper, and tried to dab the blood away from his tearing-apart stretch mark, his exposed cock starting to drool pre.

He couldn’t reach.

“Fuck, dude.... Little help?”

Alex reluctantly took the toilet paper and started dabbing away the dark blood. He felt a strange combination of nausea, fear, and... fuck, dare he admit it? Was it desire? He could practically see Tom growing in front of him. Alex stopped dabbing the blood away and laid his hand on Tom’s trap. His fucking trap... it was bigger than a fucking quad. It was too thick for him to span it with his fingers outstretched. It reached up to Tom’s fucking ear. It was hot to the touch.

“Fuck dude.... I’m unstoppable. I’m just going to keep growing and growing and growing....” Tom groaned, then, leaned forward, grabbed the sink with his bloated, muscular hand, veins pulsing like they were fit to burst. Alex reached his other hand around, gripped Tom’s cock, slowly and tortuously pulled the tight foreskin back and forth. Tom grunted, panted. “Can’t stop… growing…” he muttered, staring at his freakish muscle-bloated form in the mirror, his roommate jacking him off. “500 pounds… 600 pounds… more….” Alex tightened his grip. Tom groaned again and then, without warning, he came, cock spasming helplessly, fountaining, filling the sink, a trickle of dark blood slowly tracing a curving pattern over the rounded shelf of his pec.

Alex felt Tom before he heard or saw him. The vibrations of his heavy footfalls as he approached the front door. They shook the house. He fumbled unlocking it, unable to see the lock in order to fit the key. When he finally succeeded, he had to turn fully sideways to fit through the wide open door, and even then it was tight. Alex could have hopped up to help him, but he enjoyed watching the big man struggle.

Tom was angry today, though. “They kicked me out of the gym! Cancelled my membership!”

“What?! Why?”

Tom’s walk was such an extreme waddle, it set every part of his overmuscled body quivering and shaking, the specialty-sized tanktop and shorts doing nothing to disguise the grotesque blobs of meat overcrowding his body. The room shook with each footfall.

“Bleeding on the equipment. They said it’s unsanitary.”

Alex tried to sound mild and gentle. “I mean… they have a point.”

Tom grunted. “I can’t help it that I’m growing so fast that my skin can’t keep up, and that I get such crazy pumps! They should make allowances for a beast like me.” He tried to pull the custom-made tent of a tanktop off his body, but he was just too helplessly huge to manage it. Alex jumped up to help.

As the shirt came off, his terrifyingly huge body came into full sight. It was heartstopping. No one had ever been this huge before. No one. His torso was a crazy jumble of heavy stone-like blobs, criss-crossed with disturbingly large veins and frightening stretch marks. There were bandages at the usual points of dermal failure—the pec-delt tie in, the peak of the bicep, the crest of the lat.

Tom grunted. “At least they patched me up before cancelling my membership.”

In wonder and fear, Alex traced his hands over Tom’s body. It felt hot to the touch. His muscles were almost visibly throbbing, their continued growth almost perceptible in the moment. No one was this huge. No one. Not even the IFBB freaks who had the same gene hack procedure that Tom had. None of them were… slowly exploding out of their skin. As hot as the new sexual dimension of their relationship was, Alex had to honour the fear he felt. This couldn’t be healthy. This had to be leading to a very, very bad outcome.

“Maybe… maybe it’s a sign you should ease off, give your body a chance to get used to all this size? Ripping out of your skin every time you get a pump can’t be healthy for you.”

Tom growled dangerously. “I’ll stop when I’m dead,” he said flatly. “Now, I was 498 pounds this morning. I want to see at least 500 tomorrow. Who do I have to blow to get fed around here?” He grinned, grabbing Alex by the wrist and leading him, slowly and awkwardly, toward his bedroom.

Alex couldn’t help it. He was addicted to the muscle sex. He knew, in just a few moments, his legs would be on Tom’s freaky huge pecs, elevated high above the mattress, and his hands would be planted just above Tom’s perilously high-rising traps, and he’d be face-fucking the meat balloon, pistoning his cock in and out of his greedy mouth, that too-small almost-muscle-buried face, until he shot his load, his brain feverishly imagining Tom’s bloated muscles expanding with each burst of cum until he filled the goddamn room.

498 pounds. 500 tomorrow. Who knows how big in a month, in two months. No one was that big. No one.

It was so hot. But Alex’s fears were growing almost as fast as Tom’s muscles.

When Alex got home from the University, he reluctantly told Tom what Adi had said. How he was, in a world, fucked. That, if he severely restricted calories, avoided all exercise, he might be able to buy himself some time, but that he was on a one way ticket, and the end of the line was approaching.

Tom had been quiet in recent days, dealing with the pain of his overwhelmed joints and his skin, which tore more and more often, with less and less reason. He was almost utterly helpless, now. They’d bought a special scale for obese people, with a capacity of 700 pounds, with a wall-mounted display. Tom could still totter over to it, arms propped up on lats that reached almost to his wrists, chin planted between his pecs, steps so short because his legs had grown so huge that it was not possible to swing one around the other. Like walking a fridge down a sidewalk, a tottering back and forth motion.

652 pounds, the display had said that morning.

Tom had gone to the hack in Mexico just thirteen months ago, and he had more than tripled his weight in that time.

Alex thought—he hoped—that maybe, finally, the practical and long-term downsides of his insane explosion in size were finally coming clear to Tom. The pain of his joints experiencing a degree of force they were never designed to endure. His skin failing, more and more. The strain of his heart and lungs trying to oxygenate such a freakish, unnaturally huge body. He had to feel all of it.

“... Okay,” Tom said, and Alex breathed a heavy sigh of relief. Finally. Finally the game of chicken was over. Well, it wasn’t over. But there was time now… if Tom’s genes could be ripped apart to make his body relentlessly add muscle tissue, then there must be some other way to… fix it. Find some old hair on a comb and get a whole, unaltered genome from that. Create a virus to go and patch up Tom’s DNA before the man literally grew to death. Adi said there was no hope of a cure, but Alex just didn’t accept that. If DNA can be changed in one direction, there’s no reason it can’t be changed back, right?

And now, he might have time to try and do that. Save Tom’s life.

Frankly, so much of Tom’s feeding and care was down to Alex at this point, Alex could probably have just… gone ahead with the plan anyway, put him on a starvation diet. But it was best to have Tom on board, for lots of reasons. Alex could decide how much Tom ate and when, but Tom could still flex and strain to stimulate muscle growth, he could still, for a little while longer at least, very awkwardly and messily feed himself if he made a determined effort… best that they were agreed on a plan of action.

“Let me make you more comfortable,” Alex said, fetching some vitamin e oil and painkillers. Who knew how much time he had just bought them? He hoped it would be enough.

The days that followed were tough. Tom was hungry all the time, and in a bad mood because he was so hungry, and because he no longer had the passionate goal of growing his muscles ever-larger to focus on. Alex tried to be patient—it was a lot for him, after all. He had to give up on his dream and endure a brutal crash diet at the same time. Tom just sat there all day, taking up 90% of the couch, watching TV or wasting time on his phone. Alex wanted to be there to keep him company, but he had to work—rent wouldn’t pay itself and he was taking on the added burden of being Tom’s caretaker. Tom still contributed to household expenses, and Alex didn’t ask where the money came from—savings, he guessed, or maybe he had online benefactors?—but still. Alex was the breadwinner.

Their sex life continued, but there was a new chill between them. Tom’s out of control growth had been the fuel for their sexual fires, what brought them together and kept them hot for each other. Now, they were actively trying to starve that flame, neither of them seemed able to fully enter the shared headspace of sexual play without making Tom’s growth the point of entry.

Still, they tried. On the fateful night, Alex was on top of Tom, hands planted on his beachball pecs, thrusting his dick in and out of the tight lubed valley between them. Tom was lightly flexing, to create more resistance, but knew he should not do any more than that, lest he stimulate growth.

“Fuck, you massive fucking freak…” Alex grunted as his pecfuck picked up pace, throwing caution to the wind, wanting to get off on Tom’s outrageous size. He had crept up a couple of pounds despite their best efforts, but at a snail’s pace compared to what it had been before. 654 pounds of freak beef.

“You like my size, huh?” Tom sneered at him. “Maybe I’ll just say fuck it and get bigger, then.” He flexed harder, straining, pecs heaving up, so spherical they almost threatened to rip off the bone. “Fucking tired of restraining myself, holding myself back. Maybe I’ll just unleash and fucking SWELL, you’d like that wouldn’t you? You wanna see me grow til I fucking pop, don’t you? You wanna see if I can make it to 1000 pounds without tearing myself apart at the seams first, don’t you?” Alex could feel Tom bucking his hips as best he was able as he monologued. He flexed his pecs harder and harder, the resistance around Alex’s cock more and more. Like fucking a hot stone.

Then there was the quiet ripping sound of skin tearing. Another stretchmark blowout. The first since they’d decided to try and stop, or at least slow, Tom’s impossible growth. Another rip. Another. They should stop. They had been reckless. This wasn’t safe. They should…

Alex couldn’t help it. He was already at the point of no return. He groaned, the sound dredged out of the depths of his belly, looking down at Tom’s face, head propped up on traps like pillows, chin nestled between pecs that didn’t stick out from his clavicle at a right angle. No, Tom’s pecs, as he flexed them with all his might, as his skin failed to hold in all his muscle, actually angled up from his clavicle, so that the peak of their rounded shape was level with his nose.

Alex came and came and came, and Tom flexed harder and harder and harder, every muscle on his body, allowing himself to finally feel his power, power so enormous that his human frame simply couldn’t contain it.

Alex whimpered, shaking, and collapsed onto the hot field of boulders that was Tom’s torso. He passed out.

When he woke, Tom was gone. He glanced blearily at the clock. Almost 3 am, he had been out for a few hours. He turned on the lights, unable to avoid noticing the bloodstains on the bedsheets from where Tom had newly ripped himself open, flexing for him.

Maybe Tom had gotten up to patch himself up? They had to be more careful. Even a few minutes of hard flexing in the bedroom counted as isometric exercise, would be enough to trigger a hypertrophic response in Tom’s already muscle-stuffed body.

But no. Tom couldn’t patch himself up. He couldn’t even reach most of his body. Hell, at this point, he had trouble navigating the house without Alex to help him.

Alex heard a strange rhythmic sound coming from the kitchen. He crawled out of bed, ignoring the slowly growing pit of dread in his belly. There was a trail of blood along the floor, he realized. Nothing too gorey. Droplets. Small splatters.

He followed it, the sound from the kitchen louder. Grunting. Rustling.

The sight was chaos. Empty food containers littered the counter and floor. The fridge, ransacked and empty, hung open, the light spilling out, providing sharp illumination of the crazy, unreal shapes of Tom’s body. He was a mess. Trickles of blood from his broken stretch marks. Crumbs and smears of food from his feeding frenzy. His feet splayed wide, the only stance he could manage because his thighs were so enormous. His ass the largest human muscle to ever exist on the planet, seeming to project almost a full yard behind him.

He was feeding.

Alex knew he could barely touch his own face—it was obvious Tom had gorged on every morsel of food in the house like a wild animal, or like a ravenous hog at a trough. His massive ab-gut bowed out like Alex had never seen it before, distended by the volume of food Tom had forced into it. His breathing was shallow, rapid, like the combined volume of muscle and food prevented his lungs from expanding fully. His overstuffed roidgut was webbed with thick veins, each ab protruding, like six big biceps; the whole mass rose and fell with each laboured breath.

He was unreal. His muscles were huger than any man’s before, huger than nature ever intended. He was all muscle.

And he was growing.

Tom saw him. Their eyes met. There was no shame or remorse in those eyes. They burned with determination, with desire, with some unholy fire that shook Alex, frightened him. Tom flexed, hard, only able to speak a couple of words at a time as he gasped and panted for air.

“I want…” he panted “...to get… BIGGER!”

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