No sooner had the growth tapered off than Pascal was confronted with his first real-world problem: he had no clothes that fit him at all anymore. His hands were shaking so badly that it took him several tries to get into the back of his car. As he started fishing for the extra pants and muscle shirts in his other gym bag, the sky tore open and it began pouring rain. Big drops started rushing down his broad, naked back. There was no cover in the gym parking lot: he had to find something to wear, and soon.
“Fuck,” Pascal muttered. His pecs were so big that even just seeing over them into his car was a challenge. He tried pushing his pecs to the side to look around them, but they were too thick to budge. He had to work by feel to find some old shorts and a T-shirt. He had to get them on quickly, before anyone saw him.
He tried to jump into the tiny pair of shorts. His body was so heavy now that the effort rattled the chassis of his car. The concrete rumbled under his big feet. His entire body jiggled, the sounds of his body colliding against itself loud enough to reverberate back to him off the surrounding cars. A quick glimpse of his reflection in the car window made the situation clear: the shorts were never going to fit. For the first time, the reality of his situation began to dawn.
“This can’t be real,” he whispered. He became aware of the weight of his massive package, down there in the blind spot beyond his pecs. The shorts were stuck halfway up his superhuman legs, unable to cope with the mass of his flexing ass on one side, and on the other, a package bigger than any clothes were designed to withstand.
Pascal had always been working with an impressive set of equipment. 7 and a half inches soft, and even bigger hard, draped over an impressive pair of balls big enough to make any man jealous, he’d been more than happy. But the ordnance he was packing now was on another level, more than twice as big as what he’d had. It was way too much, but it was hard not to enjoy the feeling of so much manhood hanging from his loins. “Come on, come on,” he whispered aggressively again and again in the half-dark.
He would have to give up on the shorts. Ultimately, he just let his package hang there outside them as he tried the shirt. Getting that over his head was no problem, but getting it over his vastly-enhanced shoulders, and especially his pillow-like pecs, was impossible. Pascal shivered. The shirt was already soaked from the rain. Pascal pulled harder, and the fabric started to move. He kept pulling, even though he could hear the threads beginning to give way. Eventually, he just shoved his pecs right into the shirt with his free hand. It actually held itself in place once he’d gotten his bulging nipples in there. When he was done, the hem didn’t even reach his belly button. This can’t be happening, he thought.
He tried to squeeze into his car to escape, but that mission failed even quicker than the clothes. Pascal’s ass still fit into the seat, barely, but his upper body was too wide to get through the door. He pulled again and again, trying different angles, but only succeeding in crushing his overstuffed chest muscles against his face.
Pascal conceded defeat. There was no getting around it: he had outgrown the car.
He walked home alone in the rain. Five years went by.
It wasn’t easy, adjusting to his new reality. Growing from 6’4’’ to 7’7”, becoming a giant overnight, had plenty of downsides. Beds, clothes, any kind of transportation—all a nightmare. But no one could say being a 7’7’’ behemoth didn’t have its perks, either. He’d always liked being big, and getting a certain amount of attention for it, and there was no shortage of that now. He was a masculine force of nature: big, wide, uncontrollable in his size. For better or worse, he was impossible to ignore.
He still doesn’t know what happened, but after five years, he’s learned to live with the consequences—more or less. What choice did he have?
He hadn’t grown anymore in the intervening five years. He’d never returned to the gym, either, superstitiously worried that somehow a visit might trigger another growth spurt. He knew he couldn’t afford to get any bigger if he wanted to keep living any kind of a normal life.
He was still working in used car sales. Not at the same place—he’d had to switch jobs a few times. Dealership owners didn’t love employees who accidentally damaged the merchandise.
But it wasn’t Pascal’s fault he didn’t fit most of the vehicles. Cars just weren’t built with men like him in mind; there wasn’t enough room between the seat and the steering wheel. His height alone would have been enough to make it impossible, but it was probably the weight of enormous chest that pushed the cars’ suspensions past their breaking point. Even in their completely unpumped state, at their plumpest and softest, his pecs were big enough to smother a more normal-sized bodybuilder. Pressing his huge arms backward, crowding his neck and shoulders, they tested every shirt to its absolute limit. It was hard to focus on daily tasks with those mammoth pecs bouncing up and down in his peripheral vision all day. In the beginning, Pascal hadn’t been sure if he liked his over-enhanced chest or not. They were in the way pretty much all the time—but on the other hand, they felt incredible. Sometimes a little too incredible. The slightest breeze on his skin was enough to send him over the edge. And if someone made the mistake of touching his areolas or nipples, it was game over.
The other day, he’d been smooth-talking a client when he’d gotten distracted. He was giving the guy a tour of his best-selling SUV—a big, matte-black monster, ready to conquer the road. The customer seemed slightly nervous around him, which wasn’t surprising—most people were a little afraid of Pascal, given that he was three times their size. But he sensed he was only minutes away from a sale.
In order to demonstrate the car’s most popular feature, the rotating seats in the middle row, Pascal needed to lean forward into the back seat. Pushing his torso through the doorway, he was suddenly aware of his pecs hanging there, heavy in his sweaty shirt, straining the buttons to the limit. He found the lever that rotated the seat 180 degrees. The customer was duly impressed, and didn’t notice Pascal panting from the exertion, the first drops of sweat starting to run down his forehead.
The client clambered excitedly into the driver’s seat. Pascal wiped his forehead. He grabbed his gallon water jug, a relic from his gym days, and started chugging it. He was so hot all the time these days! The customer was playing with the radio when he suddenly became aware of the big muscle gut, straining in its tight shirt, pushing ominously through the driver-side window. The sphere was growing in front of him, making him even more nervous. Who was this guy? Why was he so big? And why was his gut actually getting bigger as he watched?
“Ahhhhhhh.” Pascal lowered the bottle, realizing that he had drained it in just a few gulps. When he noticed his gut pressing against the open window, the buttons already stretched to the max, he sheepishly stepped back. He leaned down to focus on his customer, pointing out the console’s newest features, trying not to be distracted by his own sloshing gut.
Between sentences, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the car’s polished exterior. Even after five years, it was still hard to grasp that this mountain of a man was him. Fuck, he was tall enough to put his protruding bulge right through the car’s open window! His belly and pecs were fighting extra hard for space in his shirt today, he noticed. He tried not to get too aroused by the sensation.
The voice of his client snapped him back to reality. He pushed the mental image away and began his final sales pitch.
Half an hour later, the guy had signed the contract and Pascal was finally able to get lunch. He left the dealership and headed for the Italian place across the street. Since he’d been working at this place, Pascal had gone there almost every day. It took a lot of calories and carbs to keep the big engine running smoothly.
With the kind of money he’d been spending there, Pascal was family at the pizza place. There was actually a big photo of him and the owners hanging on the wall up front, showing a cute family and Pascal towering over them all by at least a foot.
Pascal bent his head down and turned his shoulders sideways to get through the door, sucking in so that his pecs and belly pressed against each other. Even once inside, the ceiling was so low that his head was almost touching it.
Giovanni already had the menu at his table waiting for him. He got a seat close to the large picture windows, plunked his wide ass down, put two napkins on his jutting chest, and began to eat. A big, family-size bowl filled with creamy pasta, a variety of salads, three Sicilian pizzas, tons of bread with olive oil, and a jug of water so big it was more like a bucket. These people knew how to treat a big man right!
When he ate now, he went into a sort of fugue state, not coming to until he’d inhaled every ounce of food within reach, leaving no trace of the meal but the little bits and pieces that fell onto his pec shelf. His belly hurt, in a good way, when he was fully stuffed, pressing up against his chest pillows so that they rode even higher into his field of vision than usual. When Pascal woke up, his top two buttons had popped open, allowing everyone a glimpse of the deep cleavage between his pecs. They felt so round and heavy today. His tightening shirt caused them to press against each other even harder. He had to admit it: he loved showing off his muscles in the tightest clothes possible. They didn’t really make clothes big enough for him to have much choice. If he was honest, since he’d grown, the impossibility of hiding his bulk had become one of his biggest turn-ons.
Pascal’s attention was suddenly drawn to a tiny little sound, his first warning that today’s feast might have unusual consequences: r-r-r-rip! Damn, had he eaten too much again?! He peered into his reflection in the windows, trying to assess the damage he’d done with his mindless stuffing.
His areolas were impossible to miss, purple against the perfectly white fabric of his overtaxed shirt. They had definitely at least tripled in size during the growth spurt five years ago, but they stretched even wider when Pascal had just had a good meal, or was horny—or both.
Pascal giggled. The stubble on his chin was tickling his pec pillows. Every inhale raised his pecs to almost chin level now. He suddenly arched his back, pressing his chest forward, and another button on his shirt popped open with a soft peng.
His areolas were nice, dark and thick, but since he’d grown it was his nipples that had stolen the show. He’d had to learn to live with not really being able to cover them up. In that growth spurt five years ago, Pascal had sprouted some insane nipple cocks: big tubes of flesh, more sensitive than any other part of his body. Usually he could just wear a thick hoodie that concealed them somewhat, but in the summer that wasn’t an option—he had to just live with the Red Bull can-sized dongs protruding from his chest.
He had hoped his monstrous new chest cocks would subside a little bit when his growth spurt ended, but they’d stayed as big as everything else. Hell, they got even bigger in the summers, when the humidity climbed. But that wasn’t the biggest problem. Bringing his nipples into a well-air conditioned room was…well, that was another reason he didn’t go to the gym anymore. The cold made his nips erect in an instant, and then they were really impossible not to notice, no matter what Pascal was wearing. The agony of his nipples getting hard wasn’t something Pascal could have described to anyone. It was torment and pure bliss at the same time. All he wanted to do was touch his protruding nipple cocks, but he knew the chaos that followed would get him banned from any public space.
For the longest time, he had wondered about his size. Why was he not only massive in height, but also endowed with insane muscles, disproportionate pecs capped by basically a second and third cock for nipples, big enough to slap his chest while running?
He had to thank God every day that he hadn’t gotten any bigger since.
Back in the restaurant, he could still feel his clothes getting tighter. Clearly he still wasn’t finished digesting his enormous meal he’d just devoured. And yet, he could still feel thirst tickling the inside of his belly again. It was an almost omnipresent feeling these days. The heat called for water, so he kept drinking more and more, only to feel a flaming desire for more seconds later. Still—he had to hydrate!
Glug, glug, glug. A rivulet ran down his thick neck, landing somewhere in his cleavage. In seconds the jug was empty.
He took stock. His shirt, once neatly tucked in, was no longer anywhere near his pants. It had receded to reveal a good few inches of his hairy midsection. Bloated, he slugged down the dregs of the water and punctuated it with an ear-splitting burp. But when he removed the napkins from his chest, he made a fatal mistake. He accidentally brushed one of his soft nips for a second. Mhhh. God, no! He bit his lip, but it was already too late.
“Everything good today, sir?” the young waiter asked.
Pascal had already broken into a cold sweat. He needed to get out now! He sent his compliments to the chef and quickly waddled to the bathroom. On the way, another button popped, more of his pecs tumbling out, exposing more skin to the chilled air of the restaurant. Fuck, that feels so good. What is happening?
Inside the cozy restroom, he immediately saw what was going on. His nipples were pressing hard against his white shirt, creating two pointy, leaky bulges that were only going to grow bigger and fatter. He popped open the remaining few buttons of his shirt to free his midsection. A massive belly, big and round but still graced with a bulging twelve-pack, ballooned into sight. His waistband, pressed downward by the size of his package, legs and ass, was already revealing the first few inches of his horse cock. He caressed his hairy midsection, then let his hands explore further north. Pascal only needed to give his pecs the lightest touch for pure electricity to go coursing through his body. He shivered, lifting his muscle tits up to the big mirrors. His chest muscles were even heavier than they looked and they overfilled his hands with mass, overflowing on all sides. They always started to inflate with heft after a good meal, but today they looked even bigger and softer than usual. They wouldn’t be soft for long, though, he knew. He shook his muscle tits and heard the familiar sloshing starting inside. Fuck. I knew I should have milked them this morning. Fuck, how often am I gonna need to do this?! They’re so big!
They were pressing against his belly and arms now; his face would be next. Fueled by the meal and the tub of water he’d drunk, they were swelling bigger by the second, while his nipples, not to be outdone, joined in on the growth and stretched bigger and harder still, peeking through the curtain of his open shirt. Pascal leaned down, letting his pecs fill the sink, almost overflowing the cold porcelain basin, until his mouth reached the tap and he could drink enough to calm the fire inside his body. Glug, glug, glug. His midsection was swelling even bigger now, pushing out his abdominal muscles even more. It seemed like he could never drink enough.
Gasping, he stood, a proud smile was playing along his lips as he admired his reflection. He was the biggest fucker the world had ever seen, with pecs bigger than king size pillows, nipple cocks big as small water bottles, a perfect roid gut he could inflate as much as he wanted to, and a bulging package. He opened his pants and freed his massive soft cock—another thing that had stayed big after his big spurt.
The following flexing session in front of the mirror made his pecs look even bigger than they were already, and his nipples were waiting for his command to shoot. Seeing his body like that, all pumped and ready to work, he suddenly missed the gym. He missed flaunting his big body in front of everyone, seeing their awed faces, wearing only the skimpiest clothes to show off in, letting everyone dream of sucking or fucking him all night, of being fucked by this mountain of testosterone and mass.
Fuck, he hadn’t realized how horny he was. His nipples had started leaking, dripping onto his big thighs.
“Not yet,” he said with clenched teeth. “Bigger. Fuck, always bigger. I mean…fuck, what am I doing here? I have to get back to work!...But this feels so good. Even better than usual. Fuck, I’m so big! Why did I get so huge?!”
Before his meal, his pecs had been soft, like big water balloons. Now, in their engorged state, ready to be milked, they were hard, perky, and more massive than ever. Veins covered the sides and the areas around his nipples, which were now standing at attention.
He grabbed his soft 13-incher, the big cock that created that obscene bulge in his pants all day every day, and slapped it against his belly. The noise it made was loud and slightly wet. Thirteen grew into fifteen, and then eighteen inches in a matter of seconds.
Pascal’s breath was heaving like he’d run a marathon. He locked the door, then removed his shirt, boots and pants, until he was naked in front of the mirror.
“If I could, I’d fuck myself,” he growled. What had happened to him? When he’d first grown, he’d been so scared. Now he was a giant in love with his body, and there was so much to love! He gave himself another killer cocky smile.
Pascal took his rigid monster cock and tucked it into the valley between his sensitive pecs. It was hard to do because of the roundness of his gut. Tight as a real good hole, he loved fucking his own mass. He pushed his hips forward, nudging his cock further in between his pillows.
Fuuuuuuck. I bet I’m the only guy out there who can fuck himself like this. Never fucked any ass as good as my own muscle tits! Holy shit! I think…the only thing that might feel even better…as if they were bigger. Fuck!
He could feel the wetness of his dick roughly pushing his pecs apart. Pascal’s knees shook and his breath heaved. He grabbed hold of his erect nipple cocks, which immediately started shooting white milky liquid, splashing hard against the mirror. God, his nipples fit perfectly into his fists. He moaned loudly as he started to jerk them, making his pecs inflate with even more heft. Pascal’s head was now also caught in the valley of his own muscle tits.
“I can barely see anything anymore, fuck! Gotta cum so motherfucking hard. Unghhh!” His deep voice was muffled by his own chest.
Horny and increasingly out of control, he fucked his pecs harder, sliding deeper and deeper in between them. But when his cockhead appeared at the top of his mega inflated muscle tits, only an inch from his mouth, Pascal paused.
That…that’s never happened before. My cock isn’t that big, is it? Fuck! Fucking stallion cock right in front of my nose! I’m such a beast! Come here!
He jerked his pecs harder, opened wide, and took his own cock into his mouth. Almost instantaneously, fresh cum started to fill him, and he could barely swallow fast enough. For the first time, he felt his insane thirst begin to ease, as his belly filled even fuller.
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! his mind repeated. No one’s as big as me. I’m a giant, the biggest ever! Nipples bigger than most guys’ cocks! Holy fuck, I never wanna stop cumming. More, more, more!
He was shooting hard out of both pecs now. He pressed his arms together to milk every single drop, giving his cock an even tighter squeeze. The sink in front of him was filling up with hot muscle milk.
When it was over, he came to himself on the floor of the bathroom, his half-hard cock still wedged there between his pecs. Pascal rubbed his taut belly and his big ballsack, letting his hands wander all over his body, lazily rediscovering every bit of roundness.
God. He had become a bloated mess, too big to see the floor beneath his own feet, good only for sucking and fucking himself. But he had an even bigger problem: he no longer cared. It had taken five years, but he’d finally grown to love his body. He had learned to enjoy the gifts he’d been given for no reason.
Maybe he was ready to hit the gym again.