The Benefactor

by Proteus

The Benefactor bestows favor on those he deems worthy, whether they like it or not.

Added: 11 Jan 2020 Updated: 24 Apr 2021 15,351 words 22,300 views 4.7 stars (14 votes)

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T
The Benefactor passed over thousands of souls before he selected a prospect in a small midwestern city.

Dominic Sacco waited in line at the coffee shop. He was 31, with short, sharp stubble that encircled a bald spot and merged with his facial scruff. Despite being only 5’7”, he was nearing 200 pounds.

Dom had worked over a decade to get this far, but the hardcore gym where he built his body was over an hour from his new home. Things were getting serious with his girlfriend, and she had to move for work. 200 pounds looked a little farther away, but Steph was the only thing he loved more than lifting.

He took two black coffees to his girlfriend, smirking like he always did. Dom’s long-sleeved t-shirt, gray with black sleeves, tugged and stretched over his chest and his upper arms as he sat down. He sipped his coffee, admiring Steph while she checked her phone.

Goddamn, he was going to miss his gym. She was worth it, but still…

The Benefactor read Dom’s heart. He would show him favor.

The lights flickered. Every sophisticated electronic device in the room crashed or lost power.

Dom shifted in his seat, barely noticing. He felt the reassuring way his shirt clung to his back. He was big, dammit, and he’d be big no matter where he worked out! He slouched a bit as his shoulders began to test the shirt, smirking at how much smaller it was than when he bought it.

“Dom, are you listening?” asked Steph. “My phone is dead—everything just shut down. It’s creepy.”

“…Yeah,” he said, more concerned with the sudden tightness in his briefs.

He readjusted and went to take a sip. His arm looked bigger; the sleeve hugged his bicep and tricep tighter than usual. It was great, but—but? His concern was overshadowed by his stiff cock shifting in his baggy pants.

Steph gave up on rebooting her phone and looked up at Dom. “Jesus Christ!” she said. Her boyfriend had packed on 20 pounds of muscle in a matter of seconds.

Dom didn’t react. His dick throbbed and his mind focused only on his body. Ignoring his surroundings, Dom held out his arms and watched veins rise under the thin fabric. He was compelled to bring both arms up and flex. His biceps split open his sleeves while the cuffs were pulled halfway up his thickening forearms. He grinned, feeling a pump in every muscle.

His shirt started snapping at the seams as his torso thickened. He stood up and felt his glutes pull his briefs tight until they snapped and his junk flopped forward in his pants. Dom gleefully assumed a most muscular pose. His engorging deltoids pulled the top of his shirt apart and his hairy chest and back burst through the rest of the material.

He was ecstatic, thinking only of his monstrous, growing body. His feet burst through his sneakers so painfully that he groaned, “Shit!” almost returning to his senses. Almost.

Dom grew past 6 feet tall. His pants wrapped tightly around his ass and thighs, bunching at the knees and stuck as they tried to ride up his chunky calves. His hamstrings and quads tore open his pants—first on the right leg, then the left. The fabric on his forearms and calves shredded. All that remained were scraps hanging from his waist. His entire frame grew. He maintained a V taper, but as he pushed past 400 pounds the waistband snapped. Dom’s 9-inch cock rose up, 3 inches longer than when he woke up.

Dom cycled through poses, his body acting automatically. He loved every new pound—he was bigger than any pro! His biceps grew bigger than his legs used to be and his legs put his old chest to shame. His pecs outgrew watermelons.

Forcing his godly body into another most muscular, Dom crunched his swollen muscles, flexing again and again. It got harder to hit poses as his mobility declined, beer keg arms against pecs and lats, gait widened by his titanic thighs. Even at his old height he would be a freak with these obscene proportions. Dom smirked at the thought. His footlong cock drooled precum on the floor tiles and his balls surpassed oranges.

As his body edged closer to climax, Dom became aware of his surroundings—the shouts of panic, the sight of his girlfriend backing away, so much smaller than a minute ago.

Fuck—oh fuck i’m sorry!” he shouted, trembling as he continued to grow heavier and taller. His voice was deep—his Adam’s apple was the size of an actual apple. His muscles continued to rub and push against each other, hard and bulging. “Steph, I—”

Dom’s plea was cut short by an explosion of cum. Every muscle spasmed as he drenched a group of cowering customers. His body settled at 7 feet tall and 552 pounds. He fell to his knees, cracking the tile.

The Benefactor sipped his latte outside, smiling. He’d missed this. He vanished, leaving behind an empty coffee cup.

Hours later, Agent Oscar Guerra arrived on the scene. Inspecting the damage, something subtle stirred inside him. The Benefactor took notice.
Agent Oscar Guerra parked a dark blue sedan in the garage on 2nd Street. He exchanged looks with his partner, Agent Jared McKee. Dressed in black suits, they walked through Downtown under a pre-dawn sky. For fly-over country, the city wasn’t half-bad.

Oscar didn’t expect to find anything. In five years of investigating the unexplained, Oscar had made one legitimate discovery: jackalopes, of all fucking things. Other than that, nothing—no ghosts or psychics or aliens. He suspected that other agents had better luck, but Oscar and Jared were in the lowest tier of the Agency.

“5:30 pm, the whole block lost power for a second,” said Jared.

“Then some bodybuilder jacked off,” Oscar said dismissively. “The pearl-clutching customers had nothing better to do than make up some bullshit.”

Jared held up his phone. “Headquarters just updated us. Every computer and mobile device inside went dark, all at once. The surveillance footage is just static.”

Oscar ran a hand over his short hair as he incorporated that information.

The owner of the coffee shop showed them the damage—broken chairs and shelves—but it was hard to focus on anything but the cum. It was caked on the wall, thick enough that Oscar found a gummy sample to collect. Flaky residue outlined dried puddles the size of dinner plates. It was more than any one man could produce in a month, let alone five minutes.

Something subtle stirred inside Oscar.

It was hard to find witnesses who provided more insight than, “he got big,” or, in the case of one man, “it was so hot I almost came.” Eventually they found a woman who claimed to be in the “splash zone.” She knew the girlfriend of the man alleged to have bulked up and gave a street name. Jared updated headquarters as they drove out to the suburbs, unsure of what they’d uncover.

Stephanie Cole’s house was easy to find. The door had a plastic grocery bag taped over the spot where the knob should be. There were dents in the wood and parts of the frame were splintered. Oscar hesitated (the lowest tier of Agency didn’t carry sidearms), then knocked.

Stephanie answered, addressing them as “officers.” The Agency wasn’t part of the government, but they looked the part. They flashed fake badges and talked their way into Stephanie’s living room.

“So, you haven’t seen your boyfriend for 36 hours?” asked Oscar, raising an eyebrow.

“At least five people claim you were there during Mr. Sacco’s, uh, episode,” said Jared.

She sighed. “I don’t want anything to happen to him. You can take me to the station—or whatever. I don’t know where he went.”

The agents avoided exchanging glances. Dominic Sacco was definitely in this house. Jared asked Stephanie where she last saw Dominic to distract her long enough for Oscar to start walking into the next room.

“Wait,” she said, following him, “you don’t understand it! It wasn’t his fault.”

Oscar didn’t have to search long. A door in the kitchen was banged up pretty bad, the top of the frame crushed. He opened the door just as the other two caught up, smelling cum for the second time today.

Jesus Christ!“ he shouted while Jared said, “Fuck!”

Inside the garage was the largest man Oscar had ever seen. He was at least 7 feet tall with a wide, rippling back half-lit by bare lightbulbs overhead. He was flexing his arms, smirking as he stared at the right one that looked as thick as thick as Oscar’s body. He saw Oscar and immediately turned and backed away, eyes wide and fearful.

“I’m sorry,” he grumbled in a voice that Oscar could feel in his chest. These people really felt like they’d done something awful. Oscar slowly entered the garage, hoping to put the enormous man at ease.

Dominic wasn’t just tall and muscular; his entire body was too big. His head was larger than it should be and the stubble bristling around his face and bald spot looked thicker than normal hairs. The more details Oscar took in, the more he started to regret stepping in the room.

The man’s cock was gigantic—bigger than if you just enlarged it like his other features, unless he had already been hung. Stiff and slick with viscous fluid, the foot-long cock bobbed with every movement Dominic made. It was beyond obscene, but overshadowed by his ridiculous muscles.

Dominic suddenly brought his arms up and flexed his biceps. The giant could barely make a right angle with his elbows—his arms were too thick!

“I can’t help it,” Dominic said. “It just feels so good to flex.” He dropped his arms, though his lats kept them away from his sides. He wasn’t able to stand normally, because his mammoth legs kept his feet apart. He slumped his shoulders—barely, but you could tell what it would look like if he had a greater range of motion. “Sorry about this,” he said, looking at his erect penis and orange-size balls. He seemed sincere.

“It just… happened,” said Stephanie.

A rope of cum drizzled from his cockhead. “That’s just the post-cum,” he explained, sheepishly.

Oscar spied a wet splatter on the wall. There were also outlines of dried puddles, like in the coffeeshop.

“Is all of this from…” Oscar tried to construct a sensible sentence. “Did all of this happen after Mr. Sacco’s incident last night?

“It did,” Dominic said. He exhaled in frustration, strong enough that Oscar felt the warm air on his face.

The gigantic man suddenly leaned forward and flexed his arms in. His biceps fought for room with his massive chest, covered in abnormally thick strands of hair. His traps, also hairy, swelled higher than his ears. Dominic squeezed his muscles as far as they would go, but his physique didn’t leave much room. Even if he wasn’t abnormally tall he would have been huge. As he straightened his back, it was clear that his proportions were more extreme than any bodybuilder.

“It’s just so right…” Dominic grunted, seemingly compelled against his will to plant his left foot forward. Oscar felt the floor shake. He looked at Jared, who was too overwhelmed to exchange glances. The muscle monster tensed a thigh bigger either agent and repeated the action with his right leg, causing another tremor.

He stood up again, drew a large breath, and tried to turn his abdomen at an angle. He only managed to twist 15 degrees. His waist was small compared to the rest of his body, but it was still 50 inches of solid abs. Dominic pulled one arm back, just a little, and was trying to grab his wrist behind his back. His thick back and horseshoe triceps made it completely impossible. He flexed his watermelon pecs, panting from the effort of positioning his godly body. His dick remained hard the whole time, pointing straight out with a wet head.

“He needs to work through it,” Stephanie said, quietly.

Dominic did the double biceps pose again, but more vigorous. He was shaking as he tried to flex his arms past a right angle. He must have been in pain, but Dominic was smirking. His chest heaved up and down—fast enough that Oscar worried he would pass out.

As he trembled in pain—and pleasure—Dominic’s cock jerked with each breath. It was bigger than before. Oscar was about to ask if he was okay when Dominic blasted the agents with a gallon of cum. He moaned like a beast.

“Oh God,” said Stephanie, “I’m so sorry. It just…”

The giant let out a groan of anguish. He was trying to hold his head in his hands but he could barely touch his face with his fingers.

The agents left after showering, in Dominic’s old clothes. Jared assured Stephanie that nothing bad would happen to Dominic, but in reality, he didn’t know.

“What are we putting in the report?” Oscar asked when they got in the car.

“I don’t know,” said Jared, wearing a baggy sports jersey, “but he definitely broke the laws of physics. We might go up a tier because of this.”

“We could call it something like, violation of conservation of mass through muscular hypertrophy and spontaneous cellular engorgement, if we want to keep it clinical,” Oscar ventured. Inside Dominic’s old cargo shorts, his cock twitched.

Ben needed a new car, but money was tight. He was driving on the highway Saturday afternoon when his engine rumbled and all of the dash lights went out. He hated this piece of shit. He pulled over immediately. As soon as he shifted into park, the radio made a sound like a dial-up modem and shut off.

The Benefactor knew Ben desired a new vehicle. It was time to get rid of the old one.

Ben shivered, even though it was a nice day. His clothes felt tight and he shifted around in the seat, trying to get comfortable. At 150 pounds, medium shirts were an easy fit, but his shirt felt smaller with each breath. His pants were strangling his legs and his arms were clearly growing thicker. Ben gasped, aware that his whole body was bulking up, stretching the fabric of his t-shirt.

He immediately unbuckled himself, knowing that whatever was happening, he didn’t want to get stuck in his seat. Then the growth really kicked in. Before he could open the door, Ben’s thighs and calves split open the seams in his jeans. His upper body swelled at an alarming rate, tearing out of his shirt in less than a second. He passed 300 pounds, surpassing most bodybuilders. Ben was uncomfortable in the shrinking space but was too shocked to do anything. His movement became restricted. His back pressed into the seat while his knees jammed under the wheel. His shoulders grew wider than the seat and his 25-inch arm pushed against the door. His chest grew so large and round that his pecs hit the horn, which only made things seem crazier. The larger his muscles grew, the harder it became to move.

Nobody stopped to help. There weren’t many cars on the road and every driver was distracted by their dials behaving erratically as they passed through the Benefactor’s Presence. None of them heard the blaring horn over the sudden squeals of their radios.

Ben’s head inched toward the ceiling—he was still 5’8”, but his ass was getting thicker. His abs, swollen larger than bricks, push against the bottom of the steering wheel. A second later, his pecs crushed the wheel against the dash, silencing the horn. Everything was getting tight enough to hurt. Ben’s legs locked with his foot on the gas pedal, revving the engine. With his left arm denting the inside of the door, Ben’s body leaned to the right, elbow plowing through the center console. Even if he had stopped panicking it was too late to escape. His arms rubbed against his lats and the side of his chest. Shoulders and traps bunched against his ears. His underwear shredded as his cock and balls were lodged between his legs and his stomach. They grinded against each other, inducing a painfully hard erection.

His chest and gut pushed against each other, straightening his thickening back, which forced the seat into a reclining position. His thighs, completely filling the leg room, snapped the mechanism under the seat and shoved Ben 6 inches backwards. Now on his back, his body surged. His hamstrings flattened what was left of the driver’s seat. Ben’s foot slipped from the pedal and his right leg crashed through the dashboard, forcing him farther back. The right side of his body destroyed the passenger’s seat. His upper back shifted on the back seat, smashing it.

His arms, too swollen to bend, were locked in place by his lats and deltoids. 600 pounds of muscle turned to 650, then 700, then 750 then… The suspension, which was already in bad shape, started to give. His chest grew so enormous that his engorged pecs brushed the fabric ceiling.

As he filled the interior, his abs and his quads crowded around his junk again, which remained normal sized. Aroused by his body rubbing his dick, Ben came, hot cum seeping in the crevices between body parts. He heaved his chest, bowing the top of the car. The car’s frame hit the ground as the growth stopped, leaving him sandwiched between the flattened seats and the ceiling.

Across the road, the Benefactor chuckled. Now Ben had to get a new car.

Oscar and Jared were sent to investigate a new case the day after they returned to Headquarters. They weren’t given any details until they were on a cramped jet to Michigan. The reason: another inexplicably growing man.

Emergency services had rescued a man trapped in a car on a rural stretch of highway. After freeing him with the jaws of life, he was recorded as “obese” with a clarifying note: “Man is too large to have entered car. Claims to have grown.” When the Agency detected the initial report, personnel assumed the appearance of specialized medical responders and moved the man to a secure facility. The real paramedics couldn’t get him into an ambulance, anyway.

The agents were to interrogate the man—now identified as Benjamin Smith—and determine any possible connections to the incident involving Dominic Sacco.

“They’re picking us up at the airport and driving us straight to the facility,” said Jared, adjusting his black tie.

Jared was an average-sized man with wavy, brown hair and an innocent face. From time to time, Oscar had lusted after his partner, but Jared was straight. Probably for the best—Oscar had slept with enough of his fellow agents to know that it was a dicey proposition.

Oscar asked, “Odds of this being related to Sacco?”

“That depends on the odds of it being real,” said Jared. “I have no fucking clue.”

At the airfield, a black car rolled up to meet them. Oscar studied his reflection in the tinted windows. Tan skin, dark features and a decent body—he wore the hell out of his suit. Jared’s loss, really…

The Great Lakes Facility was like Headquarters: bright lights and minimalist walls, solid white with the occasional colorful marker to denote the department. The agents went through a door with a yellow stripe, then stopped in their tracks.

Oscar had expected a hospital room. Even someone the size of Sacco would have been in a reinforced bed, but this mass of engorged flesh rested on padding on the floor. The man occupied the center of the room, which felt small in comparison. It took Oscar a moment to recognize the man’s position—he was laying on his back.

The agents stood before two enormous legs, each bigger than both of their bodies combined. The legs were bent—just a little—unable to go farther because Smith’s calves and hamstrings were pressed against each other. His kneecaps were impossible to find under his thick quads. Two feet dangled at the ends. They were normal length, but swollen, only able to wiggle at the ankles.

“Agents?” A woman in a white coat emerged from behind a windowed partition—the room must have housed an x-ray until recently. “Come around and you can interview Mr. Smith.”

Oscar and Jared exchanged uneasy glances. They walked around the heap of meat, which flexed and bulged. The man moaned in a normal voice, unlike Sacco, whose vocal cords had grown. Oscar stared at what should have been a waist, but was instead a point of struggle between Smith’s upper thighs and his distended gut of segmented abs. Presumably there was a penis somewhere in there. His gigantic ass was partially hidden by lat muscles that spread the whole way down his side, thick protruding bulges that no longer resembled the inverted triangle of mortal men.

Smith’s pectoral muscles projected so high that Oscar couldn’t quite see the top of the titanic chest—the man’s torso was at least six feet deep. Each pec was like a hairy boulder, blocky and solid with round edges. The collision of his chest, back, and arms made him spread eagle, but his shoulders were so massive that he couldn’t bring his arms all the way up. His biceps and triceps bundled around paralyzed arms that had to be thicker than they were long—it was hard to tell for sure. The forearms abruptly narrowed to wrists that were still as wide as a roll of toilet paper. His hands fidgeted uselessly, normal length, but inarticulate mits of overdeveloped muscle.

The agents rounded the rest of the immobile monster, meeting the woman at the top end of Smith’s body. His face was barely visible from this angle, sunken between slowly heaving pecs, deltoids bigger than medicine balls, and traps that swelled higher than his head.

The woman introduced herself as Dr. Eliza Witmore. “Mr. Smith,” she said to the man’s engorged upper back, “you have visitors.” After a moment, she said, “Ben, I need your attention.”

Smith’s entire body contracted and relaxed with a moan.

“What do you want?’ he said, his regular-sized head nearly swallowed by his muscles.

“Mr. Smith,” said Oscar, “we need you to tell us about your incident.”

“I’ve told you people this a thousand times!” he protested.

“A thousand and one, then,” said Jared.

Smith’s body convulsed in waves, his body parts only able to move by inches. He moaned again. Was that pain or pleasure? Sacco certainly enjoyed his enlarged body. Sacco also had the luxury of a growing frame to fit all that muscle on. Smith was still 5’8” (5’11” at his traps).

The impossibly muscled man sighed and told his story. While Jared asked questions, Oscar took notes on his Agency phone. He was especially intrigued by the way Smith’s car had malfunctioned at the start of his transformation. There were no connections between the two victims, other than being male. The agents thanked Smith for his time. He did his best to nod his head, but his chin was lodged against his chest.

In a conference room, Eliza shared measurements and recordings, as well as interviews with dumbfounded paramedics. She was pretty, with blond hair that reminded Oscar of the last agent he slept with, Anne. That didn’t end well, as usual. He wondered if the doctor could be attracted to the naked Smith in his preposterous condition, which aroused him a little. Did she say whether he still had a cock? Sex would entail explorations of every bulge and crevice, now that he thought about it.

“Guerra?” Jared asked. “Oscar?”

“Sorry,” said Oscar, setting aside images of past sexual partners trying to fuck Smith.

“I was explaining to Dr. Witmore that Mr. Sacco breached the laws of physics when he grew.”

“Mr. Smith was too big to get into his vehicle,” said Eliza. “He grew after he was inside.”

“Is he… comfortable in his current state?” asked Oscar.

“No,” she said. “Occasionally aroused from physical stimulation, but not comfortable.”

Oscar had to steady himself. What was so captivating about this to him? He forced himself to focus on the job. “We have two violations of conservation of mass in two days. No previous connection between the victims. Neither claim the transformations were intentional.”

“Do—do you think there will be more cases of this?” asked Jared.

The three of them stared at the table in silence.

When Oscar and Jared returned to Headquarters, their boss was waiting. The assistant director smiled and said, “Welcome to Tier 4, boys!” He shook their hands. “Before you ask, Bigfoot’s real—or was. Poor fella…” He patted Oscar on the shoulder and walked away.

The agents exchanged glances.

The Benefactor came upon a shopping mall, oozing desire and insecurity.

Steven sighed at the fitting room mirror. No matter what he tried on, he hated how he looked. Passing giant images of lean, gorgeous models didn’t help. His muffin top spilled over the slim pants and the grey heather T-shirt was tight in all the wrong places. He knew his boyfriend wouldn’t care, but he was still embarrassed.

The light above him flickered.

The clothes were too tight. He could practically see them getting tighter.

Steven suppressed a yelp as he felt the fabric slide along his skin. He could feel his body changing shape. The sleeves of the medium T-shirt pulled up his enlarging arms while the bottom of the pants crept up from his ankles.

The shirt stretched across his pecs, which pumped up enough that he could feel their weight. The sleeves became uncomfortably tight as his arms and shoulders thickened. Steven brought up both his guns to flex and felt his dick get hard. The sleeves ripped open. His face became more angular, lips pouting a little. He did something he always dreamed of, grabbing the shirt collar and tearing away the thin fabric.

He had a fucking eight-pack! His whole body was toned and firm. The growth stopped, leaving him built like a juiced fitness model. The pants fit perfectly around his waist, but the fabric around his legs was painful. He couldn’t pull them off of his 26-inch quads.

“Rob?” he called to his boyfriend, trying to sound as normal as possible. “Could you take a look at this?”

“I’m sure it looks grea—” Rob gasped when Steven opened the door. “Jesus fucking Christ!

Steven used his new strength to yank his boyfriend into the fitting room. Rob took a moment to recover from shock and lust; his boyfriend was taller, more gorgeous, and looked like he never skipped chest day. Steven and Rob tried their best to remove the pants—Rob ended up on his knees, eye level with Steven’s bulge. Steven finally decided to rip apart the pants with his hands, leaving Rob to peel the scraps from his calves.

All that was left were stretched socks and boxers that were several sizes too small. Steven saw his hard cock poking down the left leg, 11 inches long. He came immediately. Rob had never been more turned on and set to work kissing and caressing Steven’s divine body. Steven got down on his knees and sucked Rob’s cock. Rob gripped Steven’s wide shoulders, holding in a moan as his transformed boyfriend brought him to oragasm.

Steven couldn’t walk out like this, so Rob found larger clothes for him. After they made sure the clothes covered him, Steven asked Rob to buy them and bring them back. Before he could undress, he had another growth spurt, growing an inch taller and gaining 30 more pounds. The new shirt was as snug as a compression top and the new pants were tight enough to restrict his movement.

The Benefactor grinned.

“I can’t take these off without ripping them,” Steven said, getting aroused again.

The cashier covered her mouth when they approached the checkout. Next to a normal man was an adonis wearing a sweater stretched skintight across his huge chest and 21-inch arms. A large bulge ran down the leg of his very tight pants, which were cinched around his slim waist. A spot of precum seeped through the material.

“He’s wearing this out,” said Rob.

“Our—our system is down…” she stammered.

Rob smacked all of their cash on the counter.

“Sorry. This is also for the other clothes and the… cleanup.”

They hurried out, eager to get home and fuck.

The Benefactor ambled through the mall until he felt someone familiar arrive.

Oscar tensed his abdomen and exhaled roughly, bringing his arm up for one last curl. He dropped the dumbbells, panting. In the mirrored wall of the Agency gym, he saw veins on his pumped biceps. When he changed out of his sleeveless shirt, he noticed that he had abs if he flexed his stomach. He’d been in good shape for years, but he was pushing himself harder—with visible results.

Later that day, a Tier 6 agent briefed Oscar and Jared on their new responsibilities in Tier 4. The woman revealed a number of real phenomena, including telekinesis. The agent went on to explain that abnormal physical events, like those that affected Dominic Sacco and Benjamin Smith, could be extreme cases of mind over matter.

“I doubt they both developed that kind of ridiculous power,” said Oscar.

“We believe a third party is involved,” she said.

“Someone else is doing this?” asked Jared.

“Yes. There are several unconfirmed reports from the Midwest. Someone or something supernatural is transforming men. We believe we can catch the next event.”

The Agency had a far reaching, arguably unethical surveillance system. Its computers monitored every security camera in the country. The plan was to examine the feeds in the vicinity of any cameras that went down for unexplained reasons and spot anyone who appeared radically different than when they entered the area.

They only had to wait two days for the first hit.

“The guy left the mall a foot taller…” Jared said, parking the green sedan.

“We might have a hard time finding him,” said Oscar. “Nobody reported anything to the police.”

“I don’t think he had an audience like Sacco did.”

They got out and walked through the sea of cars and SUVs.

Oscar readjusted his dress shirt—if he kept it up in the gym, he might go up a size. “We need to find someone who saw it happen. This has to go better than the Sacco case.”

The Agency, despite its vast resources, had lost Sacco.

The only person inside the store was a girl at the checkout, who started to tell them that she couldn’t ring up any purchases, but stopped when the agents flashed their fake badges.

“Would you tell us about the…” Oscar thought about how to word his request. “Did you see anyone unusual when your system went down?”

The girl leaned in, like she was telling them a secret. “There was a guy who looked, well, normal. But, I think he was gay.” Oscar tried not to sigh. “I’m just telling you what happened.”

“Keep going, please,” said Jared.

“The lights went out and the system crashed. Then he and another guy—I think his boyfriend—came out from a fitting room and he was big. Like, so much bigger.”

“And you’re sure it was the same man?” Jared asked.

“Maybe his brother? It was him, but hot. I know it sounds crazy…”

“Yes it does,” said Oscar, curtly. “Thank you for your time.”

Jared cut in. “Can you show us the fitting room?”

The agents found tattered clothes, splashed with dried cum. When they asked why she hadn’t cleaned up, she shrugged and said, “It’s gross.” Oscar briefly imagined the scene and decided she was wrong.

The agents sat on a bench near the fountain in the middle of the mall, their conversation masked by the sound.

“We’re looking for someone so obsessed with size that he could influence other people,” Oscar said narrowing his eyes.

“Definitely a man,” said Jared. “Women tend to be less obsessed with masculinity.”

Oscar’s gaze followed men who passed the fountain: a slim, cute guy; an old man in a business suit; a decent-looking guy in Chuck Taylors. Then, a meathead. Oscar pointed out the guy to Jared.

“He is in Under Armour,” said Jared.

“And he’s jacked.”

They quickly walked down the concourse. Oscar cut in front of the guy, who looked like he could bench 300 pounds.

“Watch it, buddy!” he said when Oscar stopped in front of him.

Oscar turned and put his hand on the guy’s big shoulder, saying, “You look tired.”

From the side, Jared jabbed the guy with a syringe disguised as a pen—standard for Tier 4. The jock looked dazed. Oscar pulled the guy aside. He was stupefied by the drug, totally compliant.

Jared leaned close, knowing that one injection gave them about five minutes before someone that size regained all of his faculties. “Are you transforming other men?“ he asked.

The guy just blinked. He was big enough that one dose should’ve allowed him to answer.

The lights flickered. A few people yelled.

“It’s not him,” said Oscar.

The two of them split, scanning the crowd for anyone who looked like they were concentrating—or jacking off. No one seemed out of the ordinary. Then they heard glass breaking.

Staggering out of the movie theater was a naked, muscular man. He looked Middle Eastern, around 30, and tall—though not a giant. The man was extremely handsome with a strong, angular jaw. There was hunger in his eyes. Cum dripped from his short beard and broad, hairy chest. Wide lats pushed out his 25-inch arms. His abs bunched and shifted with each step, like there wasn’t enough room for them, and a dick the size of a 2-liter bottle swung half hard in front of his mammoth legs.

“UHHHHHHHHHH!” he groaned, mouth wide.

People were panicking, running away from the theater. A few women screamed. The commotion spread through the mall.

Fuck,” both Agents swore at the same time.

The man, who must have been over 350 pounds, waddled forward, his huge arms swinging with each step. His pecs squeezed together, fighting for space on his bulky frame. Body hair curled over his chest, abs, shoulders, arms, and legs, all of which bulged with bundles of muscle.

“FUUUUUUCK!” he roared, louder than Oscar and Jared combined.

The man locked eyes with one woman, who screamed in terror. Thankfully, she easily outran the lumbering man. Heading toward the scene, Oscar tried to calculate how many injections would pacify such a beast. Oscar shoved his way through the ring of people who were horrified, but unable to look away. He emerged in the no-man’s-land around the theater.

The man turned his wild eyes to Oscar and groaned, “UUUUUUNNNNGH!” as his cock swelled and smacked his abs with a wet slap. The cock, big enough to brush his pecs, sputtered cum, not in a fountain, but as a mess oozing down the shaft. His eyes stayed on Oscar, but he looked a little less ravenous. “FUUUCK ME!” he shouted. He lifted his arm to point, but had to turn a little so his chest didn’t block his bicep.

There was something incredibly arousing about it, but now was not the time.

Where the fuck was Jared? Oscar strafed carefully, keeping a few yards between himself and the slow-moving monster. His giant dick was only half hard after his orgasm, swaying in front of oversized hairy thighs and balls the size of grapefruit. Oscar needed a distraction.

He noticed his partner on the other side of the ring of people. He had his pen out, ready to jab the man. Something in Oscar’s reaction must have alerted the beast, because he turned around and grabbed Jared, pinning him against the wall. Dread washed over Oscar like ice water.

But the man just pressed his hardening cock up against the wall, rubbing Jared along it. Jared was safe—maybe—for the moment.

Oscar took his pen from his inside pocket and ran. He injected the man four times in his large ass. A deep rumble came from somewhere inside the thick torso. The man stumbled back, allowing Jared to escape. His entire right side was slimy with cum, but he wasn’t hurt.

“Call it in,” gasped Jared.

When reinforcements arrived, they guided the docile behemoth into the back of an armored transport disguised as a moving truck. The witnesses in the building were administered a memory agent and told that a bear had wandered into the mall. Most of the fleeing people were tracked down, and the electrical disturbance ensured there was no digital evidence.

The Agency managed to contain the situation. This time.

Getting some air in the parking lot, Oscar noticed the cute, slim guy he saw at the fountain.

“Hey,” said Oscar, not sure if he needed to stop him.

“Can’t talk,” he said. “I have to go.”

He held up a watch, blue with a strange symbol on the face, then vanished into thin air.

At Headquarters, the assistant director casually ate an apple as he listened to the agents.

“Based on your story,” he said, “we’re dealing with an Extra-Ambit.” He paused, as if daring them to ask what that meant, then tossed the apple core in the trash. “You’ll have a meeting with the other Tier 7s tomorrow morning.”

It was one hell of a promotion.

DOCUMENT ENT-DIV-00013

TIER 7 CLEARANCE

AGENCY studies of supernatural phenomena support the existence of multiple EXTRA-AMBIT ENTITIES. Such powers manifest as beings which have influenced the evolution and progress of the human species.

DIV-00013 is a being associated with a number of anomalous disfigurements of adult males in North America. Accounts believed to reference DIV-00013 have been found in Asia, Africa, and Europe beginning with an attestation in ancient Sumeria. DIV-00013 always appears male. Records typically depict the being as a “trickster” or “fertility” deity.

Rituals to interact with the being vary, but always involve sex acts. Associated names and titles include VELS, TRISC, and FASIN.

A SYMBOL is often associated with DIV-00013. It consists of a column of three (3) chevrons connected to a vertical line.

AGENCY directives mandate thorough study before any attempt at contact.

Jason sauntered through Franklin Hall. He was late for Calculus, which was fine, because he hated math. He was well built with short, light brown hair and a square face. To his dad’s dismay, he never got into football, preferring to lift heavy, eat clean, and grow his body for his own satisfaction. Anyone behind him would have gotten a nice view of his meaty ass filling his jeans. His shirt hugged his V-shaped torso, highlighting his lats and accentuating his chest. Jason’s friends teased him for wearing “smedium” shirts, but he enjoyed the snug fit of cotton spandex blends.

He wanted to get a little bigger, but putting himself through college meant he didn’t have much money to buy supplements or a ton of food.

The Benefactor blessed his new prospect.

With a click, all of the lights in the hallway went out. Jason noticed his sleeves clinging to his biceps, which was nice at first, then alarming. His arms pumped up, gaining 3 inches in a few seconds. His normally taught shirt stretched over his increasingly meaty chest, hard nipples pointing through the material. His jeans tightened as his legs thickened, ass growing in the seat of his pants. The lights turned back on.

Jason propped himself against the wall with one hand. He was hyperventilating, unable to understand what was happening. His sleeves cut into his 20-inch arms, but his attention was on his waist.

His abs were swelling into a belly, exposed to the air as his shirt rode up. Jason struggled to unbuckle his belt as his abdomen grew. The moment he unclasped it, his waist popped the fly button.

Jason’s muscles bloated, morphing him from a ripped jock into an off-season bodybuilder. His thighs pulled at the heavy denim of his jeans. His back, thicker and wider than ever, pulled at his shirt while his pecs inflated, complimenting his new gut. Seams started to pull apart while his muscle filled like water balloons, quivering with each movement.

When his sleeves tore open, Jason made for the bathroom, every step highlighting how massive he was. His waist broke the fly zipper just before his barrel legs ripped apart the jeans as they rolled around each other. Jason’s stretchy shirt clung to his chest, barely making it past his engorged pecs. A second later it burst off of him.

Even out of the jeans, he was hobbled by the size of his thighs. The sides of his boxer briefs split all the way up to the elastic band, which snapped like a rubber band as Jason’s cock pumped a load cum on the floor.

Jason waddled the last few steps into the bathroom. He tried to grip the sink with his sausage link fingers, but he couldn’t bring his arms together enough to grip the basin. His stomach pressed against the porcelain and his heavy pecs shifted and bulged with each movement, squeezed by arms bigger than his head. He couldn’t see much of his back, but when he raised his thick arms, his lats were wider than his gut. He flexed the wall of powerful abdominals just under a layer of fat, which nearly overshadowed his junk. He was still 5’8”, but had swollen from 165 pounds to 417. The mix of muscle and fat made it look like he’d been dirty bulking on an anabolic cocktail for years. He almost liked what he saw, but couldn’t get over how much definition he’d lost.

How the hell would he make it home like this?

Jason left before classes let out, encountering only a few people on campus. Most of them were too stunned to recognize him or comment on his enormous, naked body. Just walking was an ordeal—he was gasping from the short walk to his apartment. He had to turn sideways to get through the door. It was a tight squeeze—his pecs and back and gut and glutes brushed on the doorframe.

The Benefactor saw that his work was good.

Dante shared a cramped dorm room with Ken, who was considerably taller and no stranger to intimidation. On Tuesday night, the lights blinked off and on as his wireless headphones cut out.

The Benefactor was near.

“What the hell?” said Ken, furious at his dead laptop.

Dante kept his headphones on, pretending not to notice anything. He wasn’t in a hurry to enter a frustrating exchange that ended with Ken calling him a “black nerd.” It bothered him more than when Ken held him against the wall to highlight that he only came up to his chest. He wished he was the bigger one.

He stretched on his bed, enjoying the pleasant tension on his meager muscles. But the sensation persisted after he relaxed. He could see his chest filling in, pulling his white T-shirt taut across his chest for the first time in his life. This was fucking awesome! Dante felt himself get hard and glanced at his roommate, who was too focused on his laptop to notice.

His baggy gym shorts felt snug around his thighs and his ankles crept toward the foot of the bed. Dante sat up and tested his sleeves with his swollen biceps, mouth agape in euphoria. His chest thickened until the tight shirt ripped, dark skin emerging from white fabric as his body propelled him past 200 pounds.

Ken looked over when he heard the creaking bed and tearing fabric. He couldn’t believe it—that wimp was getting huge! Dante stood up and laughed, stretchy shorts riding up his legs. Ken watched in horror as a foot long cock poked down one leg. Dante moaned when he surged larger, quads tearing through his shorts. He had gained two feet of height and quadrupled his weight.

“D-dude?” Ken stammered, ready to run for it.

Dante, still wearing his headphones, stared down at his chest-high roommate. “Who’s the small one, now?” he growled at the dumbstruck bully. He sneered as he stroked his cock, which was as long as his forearm. “Oh fuuck yess,” he moaned. His enlarging skull snapped apart the headphones.

Dante blocked the door and stuck his 30-inch dick into Ken’s chest, pinning him against the wall and soaking his shirt in precum.

“How do you like it?” he said, laughing in his increasingly deep voice.

His cock head swelled against his roommate. Dante had never felt better. Then his head bumped the 10-foot ceiling.

“Oh fuck! Oh fuck!” he bellowed at Ken, who backed into the corner. “It’s not stopping!”

Crouching, he looked around in a panic, as though anything in the shrinking room could stop his growth. Dante fell on his hands and knees, smashing Ken’s bed. His roommate trembled as his body expanded over him. After his back hit the ceiling, Dante rolled on his side, bending his muscular legs as he outgrew the 12’ x 12’ room.

Fuck. It won’t stop,” he yelled, just as his head rammed into the wall next to Ken.

Ken ducked under Dante’s 68-inch bicep, heading for the door. He froze when he was confronted with a dick bigger than he was, spewing a bucket of precum. The giant abs behind it shuddered as Dante groaned in voice that Ken could feel in his chest. Beyond Dante’s thighs, striated and thicker than the trees in the courtyard, was the exit. The door had been blown off its hinges by Dante’s knees.

Dante was curled in a ball of unbelievable muscle. He repositioned his legs as the room grew smaller, creating a temporary passage. With Dante’s ballooning arms and chest encroaching from behind, Ken ran for it. Dante’s cock was now throbbing, threatening to release enough cum to drown him. To squeeze through the closing gap, he had to shove aside Dante’s heavy, 6-foot-wide sack, which made the giant moan loud enough to shatter the window. Ken pulled himself out of the space just before the two titanic thighs smashed together.

By the time Ken escaped, a group of students gathered outside of the room. Nobody could make sense of the swelling flesh on the other side of the doorway. Most of them ran when Dante started grunting louder and louder, his rabid words incomprehensible.

The room quaked as Dante grew heavier. His absurdly muscular body parts fought each other for space, making it difficult to stay bunched up. His wrecking ball shoulders spanned ceiling to floor. Dante’s 12 foot cock throbbed against his chest, which was broader than a sofa. Just as his left shoulder breached the second floor, he climaxed, shooting so much cum that a 4-inch-high flood oozed into the hallway. Dante howled in pleasure.

The Benefactor had outdone himself.

Two men ran into the building, alerted by the noise and fleeing students. They exchanged glances when they found the contorted muscleman wedged inside the building.

Oscar watched the feed from the Great Lakes Facility, transfixed by the image of Ahmed Qadir fucking a mattress. The man was perpetually horny, desperate to cum at all times. He’d rubbed his dick along the sides of the room, smearing precum and semen on the walls. Having discovered the bed, he folded the foam mattress around his massive cock, jacking off until the cum-soaked padding fell apart.

The beast screamed, “Fuuuck me!”

Ahmed hunched forward and tensed every muscle at once. Pecs and abs and biceps and quads bulged, looking like they would pop. His body hair was matted with cum.

Jared greeted Oscar, fresh from decontamination. “He’s still going at it…” he observed. “Jesus.”

Oscar adjusted himself as inconspicuously as possible. Agents in Ohio were searching for the other transformed victim from the mall.

“This is our new beat, isn’t it?” asked Jared.

The agents cast nervous glances at each other.

In the week following the mall incident, Oscar’s workouts were more intense than ever. Each morning, he exited the Agency gym dripping sweat, muscles trembling. He finally bought larger shirts, but kept the same jacket so he could feel how tight it was every time he reached for something. As grotesque as the case victims were, the unreal imagery was motivational. It was also arousing, but Oscar tried not to think about that growing sexual preference.

In the lull between incidents, he had plenty of time to learn about the suspected Extra-Ambit Entity. For all intents and purposes, they were dealing with a god—or something like one. The designation “DIV-00013” was concerning. As Jared pointed out, “Those are too many zeroes for comfort.” How many entities could there be?

On Friday, a video of a ridiculously proportioned man appeared on the subreddit for a small university. “GIANT body builder cant walk XD” was greeted with comments crying fake, but it was definitely another incident.

In the portrait video, an inflated muscleman lumbered across a lawn, slightly out of focus like a roided sasquatch. A woman’s voice called, “Jason! What the hell?” but he kept hoofing over the grass, panting loudly. He was nude, with bulbous muscles that bounced as he painstakingly rolled his legs around each other.

Filtering college records allowed the Agency to identify the man as Jason Calhaun, who was half his current size in his social media posts. Oscar and Jared were on a jet before dinner.

“I don’t like the assistant director’s idea of a task force,” Oscar said as he drove them through rural Pennsylvania.

“It’s going to be overwhelming, soon,” said his partner. “What if there are multiple victims, again?”

Oscar sighed. He kept his eyes on the road, hoping Jared wouldn’t notice his erection. “If that happens,” he said, “we’ll comply.”

Jason lived just outside of campus. A few moments after Oscar knocked, the door opened a crack.

“Hello?” said a man, hidden in darkness.

“Mr. Calhaun,” said Jared, “we’re here to interview you about an incident.”

They flashed badges, but the door didn’t open.

“Mr. Calhaun, it’s illegal for you to resist our investigation,” Oscar lied.

Jason turned on the light and opened the door.

The man was swollen like a Belgian Blue bull. He was a little shorter than both agents, but well over 400 pounds. Jason’s face was blocky in photos, but now it was fuller, like an offseason bodybuilder.

A bed sheet was wrapped around his waist like a towel, his stomach hanging over some of the front. The student was, thankfully, not paralyzed like Benjamin Smith, but his muscles definitely limited his mobility. When he closed the door, the folds of his back shifted and bunched. His arms were propped out at a 45-degree angle. Jason was 20, but looked like he’d been lifting for decades.

Jason gestured to the couch, but didn’t sit down.

“I—uh—don’t think I can get up.” It was a fair concern.

Oscar and Jared sat on the ratty couch, watching Jason carefully lean against the opposite wall. His legs bent slightly, thigh muscles sliding over his kneecaps. His back was thick enough that he couldn’t touch the wall with his hands. When he breathed, his full pecs heaved out and big abs strained under his gut. He smiled at the agents with that heavy face engulfed by a neck thicker than a volleyball.

“Can you tell us how this happened?” said Jared.

“So, I’m walking to class and I felt my clothes getting tighter. I got heavy. It was scary, if I’m honest.” He sighed, flexing the separate heads of his shoulders in a sort-of shrug. “But I got home and—uh—I kinda like it…” Jason shifted his bulk side to side, displaying his inhuman proportions.

Oscar was glad that he was sitting down, because staring at the bloated beefcake in front of him made his dick hard.

Oscar cleared his throat. “Do you remember anything that happened before your transformation? Anything out of the ordinary?”

“No, but the lights went out for a second. I didn’t pay attention to other stuff when I started to blow up.”

They left, reassuring the muscle blimp that someone would follow-up. On their way to the car, a loud crash echoed through the night air. A group of students dashed out of a close building. Someone inside screamed. There was another crash, like a wrecking ball was demolishing the inside of the building.

Fuck,” they both said. Of course there would be another one!

In a hallway, they found a door blown off its hinges. There was a thick pool of cum flowing out of the room like lava. A few students watched from down the hallway.

The only thing they could see in the room was an expanse of dark flesh. Veins the size of pythons coursed over gigantic, twitching cords of muscle. Air rushed out into the hallway when the thing moaned. Oscar and Jared exchanged glances.


Dante Reynolds had started the day at 5’4”, but outgrew his room in minutes. When they surveyed Dante from the hole in the second floor, Jared estimated his size at around 20’ and “God knows how many tons.”

Despite his booming voice, the kid was shy—ashamed, even. He apologized multiple times at a volume loud enough to hurt Oscar’s ears. He kept asking about his roommate. The local agents would have to track him down.

A damage control crew arrived to clean up and transport Dante. The giant was eager to cooperate, carefully sliding himself out of the hole they cut in the side of the building. He stood up, presenting a glorious mountain of muscle and a flaccid penis that reached his knees. Oscar felt himself get dizzy when the tip, bigger than his own head, swung by at eye level.

A semi-truck pulled Dante away in a massive container with a “WIDE LOAD” sign. As the Agency crew altered the building to appear damaged from a “gas explosion,” Oscar and Jared took the students from the hallway to the library, which was empty except for one student studying.

There wasn’t much to learn from the kids, shaken as they were. All of them confirmed an electrical abnormality when the event began. They interviewed a timid, chubby kid last. He wore an oversized T-shirt, jeans, and blue sneakers.

“…and then the cum—it just spilled out,” he said, clearly uncomfortable. They would make sure he didn’t have to remember any of the incident.

“Do you know Mr. Reynolds well?” Oscar asked, feeling his phone buzz in his pocket.

He slipped the phone out, glancing at the new message. It was from Jared.

“ENTITY SYMBOL ON SHOE”

Oscar felt light-headed. He tried to look down at the kid’s shoe without seeming obvious. There it was, the angular symbol he saw on the watch.

When Oscar looked back at the kid, he was grinning broadly enough to show his teeth.

“I am intimately familiar with Dante’s soul,” he said. “This is fun, isn’t it?”

DIV-00013 winked at the agents. The room went dark. When the lights came back on, he was gone.

Oscar tried to turn on his phone, but it kept crashing, the flickering image of the symbol replacing the startup animation. But that didn’t matter—someone else was about to transform! The agents ran through the stacks to the lone student in the study area. Oscar casually walked toward the kid.

“Hi,” he said, about to try something dumb, “were you always—um—this size?”

“What?” the kid asked.

“I think the thing was playing with us,” said Jared. “He said, ‘this is fun’, remember?”

Oscar pondered it for a moment. The entity was described as a trickster. If something else happened, the local office would take care of it.

Both agents were eager to have some food in them as soon as they returned to Headquarters, but they were occupied with a new development. The agents studying Benjamin Smith and Ahmed Qadir had found something in common. Under UV light, they were marked with DIV-00013’s symbol—Ben on his shoulder, Ahmed on one of his glutes.

“We’re going to see what we can find on the others,” Assistant Director Rett explained in his office. “Reynolds isn’t in a facility yet, but Calhoun and Sacco are being examined as we speak.”

Sacco?“ the two agents said together.

“And Calhoun,” he said. “Somebody should have briefed you, hold on…” The assistant director took out his Agency phone and pointed it at the monitor above his desk. “I think it was unit 573G…”

The image of a horrific horse-headed creature appeared, clawing at a wall with leathery wings.

“Sorry,” Rett said. “That’s not even the right department…”

He hit something on his phone and the monitor switched to a feed of Dominic Sacco, who was shooting a volley of cum from his cock. He was panting, body glistening with sweat, clearly distressed. Restrained on a table, he writhed, muscles flexing with each attempted movement. Techs moved their gloved hands across his body, placing ECG sensors amidst Dominic’s enlarged body hair.

Dominic was saying something—pleading, maybe—but there was no audio. One of the techs was scanning him with a black light, revealing splatters of cum on his skin. He moved to Dominic’s head; a ghostly symbol appeared on his bald spot, like it had been tattooed with invisible ink.

Dominic’s eyes rolled back and he shot another load just before the monitor turned off.

“Were you going to tell us?” asked Oscar.

Jared stammered, “How long have—?”

“Somebody did not get the memo on this one,” said Rett. “You two, I suppose.”

Oscar side-eyed Jared. They couldn’t mention the library kid, now. Jared must have agreed, because he said nothing. They stood there, feeling the blood drain from their skin.

“Boys, you look famished! You could both use a meal and a good night’s sleep.”

Neither of them slept much.

Brad fucking loved being a jock. Good looks, wavy blond hair, big muscles, and a bold personality made him the most popular guy in school. His over-aggressive performance on the football field even earned him a free ride to college. The 18-year-old spent the summer amped up, eager to play college ball and muscle his way into being the big man on campus—literally, if he could help it.

Brad was obsessed with weightlifting and had amazing genetics. By graduation, he was 6’2” and 242 pounds. His cock was average, but he knew how to use it, fucking girls until they couldn’t see straight.

Brad felt cool air hit his face as he walked inside a convenience store to buy a bottle of water. He spotted Halee, the girl who’d turned down his persistent advances during their senior year. He sauntered down the aisle, confident that he could convince her this time.

He flexed his pecs inside his tight pink shirt, which barely made it down to the waist of khaki shorts that hugged his ass. He sidled around Halee so he wouldn’t knock her over with his big arm. She glanced up at the straining shirt and rolled her eyes. He never had trouble fucking a girl before! He knew she was into guys, so what was the problem?

“Hey,” he said bluntly. When she laughed, he begged, “What do I have to do for you to go out with me?”

“I don’t know,” she said, sarcastically. “Maybe you should get bigger.”

The Benefactor was listening.

Brad grunted in frustration and walked away. As he grabbed a bottle from the drink cooler, the lights went out and the refrigerators stopped humming. His shirt felt tighter around his chest. Seeing his pecs push out an inch, he raised an arm and flexed, feeling his sleeve struggle to contain his bicep. His shorts were feeling tighter, too, and his underwear felt too small for his junk. Brad smiled, squeezing the water bottle until it burst. His heart fluttered. Something awesome was happening.

He held up his new 23 inch arms in a double bicep pose and flexed, feeling the firm balls of muscle swell, ripping open his sleeves. The flimsy shirt contracted around his jutting chest for a moment before it ruptured, exposing his sweaty, moderately hairy torso. As his shorts tightened their grip around his bulging glutes, the jock cried out, “Fuck yes!

The other customers turned to look at the blond stud as he stomped up the aisle, grinning like a madman. Half of them dashed out the door when Brad’s thighs split the sides of his shorts. Moments later, his sturdy core snapped his belt buckle, allowing the scraps to fall away.

Brad’s 11 inch dick, cradled in shrinking boxer briefs, throbbed as he yelled to Halee, “How’s this for you?!“ He puffed out his pecs and grinned as his chest hair grew dense, the prickly sensation hardening his nipples. The growth accelerated, packing on 20 pounds in a second and shredding his underwear. Brad gripped his cock, which was too big to get one veiny hand around. “Oh fuck!”

The remaining witnesses scrambled for the exit, realizing that Brad was also getting taller. His feet busted through his shoes, leaving athletic socks that thinned and snapped. Brad bounced his pecs, which were bigger than watermelons and still getting hairier.

AM I GOOD ENOUGH, NOW?!“ he shouted at Halee. She was the only other person left and regarded him not with fear, but disgust. “YES!” he said, squeezing his eyes tight as he grew to 7’1” and 600 pounds. His dick left a trail of precum on his hairy, rippling abs as it stretched 30 inches, pressing its grapefruit-sized head into Brad’s pec shelf. “IS THIS GOOD ENOUGH?“ he yelled, struggling to get his fingers around a cock thicker than a fire extinguisher. The young god swayed his body as he adjusted his 50-inch thighs to avoid crushing his bowling ball nuts, drizzling a Big Gulp’s worth of pre on the floor.

Brad lifted an arm crunched a bicep, showing off the division between the muscles that dwarfed most beach balls. He quickly passed 800 pounds.

Halee scoffed at the enlarging teen, then left the store.

“Fucking fine!” Brad said, reeling from a burst of hundreds of pounds. He could feel a climax building as his growth spurt tapered off at 8’4” and 1175 pounds. Brad stroked his 3 foot dick, which he could barely see under his colossal pecs. “FUCK… yes… so fucking big,” he grunted. “I’M A FUCKING MUSCLE GOD!

Brad came with so much force that it felt like he was holding onto his cock for dear life, uncontrollably bucking and crashing into shelves. He flooded two aisles, including the magazine section. A puny, 240 pound bodybuilder grimaced on the cum-drenched cover of one magazine. Brad bellowed, “FUCK YEAH!“, happier than he’d ever been in his life. Now that the growth spurt was finished, his body fell back to his teenage growth rate—for the next twenty years.

The investigation of DIV-00013 had expanded under the guidance of agent Claire Cooper. She brought her expertise from a previous entity, DIV-23737, which had claimed to be the goddess Demeter and submerged a small town in leathally sharp, 30 foot blades of grass. Other agents tackled a small number of mild transformations across the eastern US, but the Agency identified three notable cases in one day, in and around the midwestern city they first visited. Because they had the most experience, the Agency stationed Oscar and Jared near the wave of incidents. Before they left headquarters, Oscar urged the Agency to treat the victims humanely, knowing that any new investigations would add to the number of men in holding cells. Nobody in charge seemed sympathetic.

Oscar gazed out of the window in room 1225, watching small people stroll through the business plaza across Montgomery Street. The Atlas Hotel was a few blocks from the coffeeshop where Dominic Sacco became a behemoth. Before Jared could come over from room 1227 to ask if he was hungry, Oscar headed to the hotel fitness center.

Memories of altered men fueled Oscar’s daily workouts. The images of Jason Calhaun’s bloated muscles and Dominic’s involuntary posing were strong motivation, and he had managed to gain 10 pounds of muscle in a month. Strolling down the hotel hallway, he rubbed his hand on his abs under his shirt and made a soft moan. The fitness center was paltry, and Oscar made a note to ask the concierge about local gyms. He managed to put in a decent leg workout, using a machine to crank out a few sets of leg extensions and hamstring curls in the hour before they had to start investigating. His shorts rode up just a little as he climbed the stairs back up to the twelfth floor.

The agents took a sleek rental car to the suburbs, not far from where Dominic had lived. “Do you think we’ll run into his girlfriend again?” asked Jared. Oscar just drove.

18-year-old Bradley Walker transformed in the middle of a convenience store. Stories popped up online about a humongous, horny teenager, which the Agency quickly scrubbed from the web. The store’s surveillance system was wiped, but a security camera inside a bus caught something through the window. It wasn’t Brad, but a short man across the street. He wore a tight blue shirt and seemed to vanish when a window pane passed over him

Newly promoted to Tier 8, Oscar and Jared were equipped with memory-erasing drugs, which they employed after each interview with a witness. The bystanders barely believed their own accounts, but the agents found an 8-foot man easy to swallow after encountering a 20-foot-tall college student.

“There’s no damage to the door,” Oscar noted, when he and Jared found the Walker house.

A crash echoed from the backyard. The agents walked around the house, ready to enter a hazardous situation. They rounded the corner to witness a dented washing machine impact the ground next to a crushed dryer.

Beyond the damaged appliance was a teen—no, a man—more than 8 feet tall, holding a pair of massive arms up like he was celebrating a touchdown with traps that bunched higher than his head. Oscar and Jared had encountered larger victims, but none of them had been so stunning. Brad’s face was chiseled like a movie star, with a jaw anchored to his head by large muscles. His shoulders spanned nearly 5 feet, and he could only lower his wrecking-ball biceps to a 45 degree angle against dramatically flared lats. His jutting, hairy pectorals stretched with every deep breath, overshadowing abs stacked like rounded bricks, all of them sporting blond hair. Like Jason Calhaun, he wore a bed sheet like a towel, although his barely made it around his legs, bunching where his hamstrings joined his glutes. Brad’s meaty calves were huge, but Oscar was distracted by the bulge tenting the sheet—it looked like he was hiding a few bowling balls. A softball-sized wet spot darkened the bottom of it.

“Hi,” Brad rumbled in a smooth voice, flashing a toothy grin. He cocked an eyebrow and brought one arm up, groaning as he squeezed a 50-inch bicep. “It’s awesome, right?” he said to his new audience.

“Yes… Congratulations,” Jared offered.

“Who are you guys? Does the military want me? ‘Cause if they do—” Brad tensed his body, fattening the veins that fed his divine physique. He strutted to the damaged dryer and easily tossed it into the air, letting it smash on the ground. He smiled, but not much. These guys weren’t as intimidated as everyone else.

“We’re only here to make sure you’re okay,” said Jared, flashing a fake badge. “And we’d like to hear your story.”

“Walk us through it,” added Oscar, “in as much detail as you can remember.”

Brad enthusiastically recalled his episode, parading around the yard and emphasizing the growth of each muscle with a strenuous flex. He finished by tensing his legs, which nearly undid the bedsheet.

“And then there’s my dick,” he snickered. The agents exchanged glances as casually as possible. “It’s fucking huge. Like, I could split someone open, ha ha. The girls at State are going to have to get creative.” Brad’s sheet tightened as the wet spot grew. “Just thinking about it makes me bone up…”

Oscar’s own cock discharged a drop of precum. Brad was the hottest man they’d found yet—huge, handsome, and cocky.

“Do you remember any conversations you had before the event?” he asked, trying to remain professional.

Brad rolled his eyes. “Some chick hit on me.”

Jared held up his phone with the bus footage. “Did you see this man?”

The beast shook his head.

“Brad, what’s going on out there?” A middle aged man came out of the back door. He would have been buff compared to anyone but Brad. “Fuck, are you in trouble for this?”

“My dad’s freaked out,” boasted Brad. “Probably can’t handle how big I am.”

“He’s not in trouble,” said Jared.

“We’re here to help you adjust,” said Oscar, prying his eyes away from Brad’s hairy chest to look at the hunky, gray-haired man.

“Brad, change your sheet for God’s sake!” said his father.

“Sorry, Dad,” said Brad, “I’m just too much of a man to keep it in!” His hairy forearm rippled as he grabbed his cock through the sheet with a hand longer than a football.

Brad’s father shot him a look of annoyance, rather than intimidation.

“Our associates will come by later,” said Oscar. He felt his stomach sour. “Just—just sit tight and they’ll come to you.” He wanted to warn Brad’s father to take him and run.

“Cool,” said Brad. “I love showing off to new people.” A few ounces of pre seeped through the sheet, drizzling on the grass. He spread his enormous arms and laughed.

Oscar practically strangled the steering wheel on the drive back to the hotel.

“Do you want to talk about it?” asked Jared. He eyed the tight cords in his partner’s neck, which looked ready to pop his shirt collar.

“I just jetlagged. I need to sleep.”

Oscar matched with a girl on Tinder a few hours later. The moment he let her into his room, he pressed her to the wall and kissed her ravenously.

Fuck you’re eager!” she gasped, feeling up his body through his tight undershirt.

As they fucked, he grunted, feeling the pleasure build on the day’s arousal. But he couldn’t reach climax. It didn’t make sense—he’d been so horny over the last few weeks that he actually had a wet dream one night, and he had no trouble jacking off.

“You okay?” the girl asked after a few minutes.

“Can you get on the bathroom counter?” he asked.

She sat on the counter next to the sink as he thrust into her. When she closed her eyes, Oscar held up one arm and flexed it in the mirror, imagining what it felt like for Brad to squeeze a bicep as thick as a tree trunk. As his date groped his hairy chest, he came, hard and long.

“I don’t fuck scarecrows. Try stepping in a gym.”

For the fourth time tonight, Liam was rejected. He didn’t think he needed gross muscles to get laid, but the guys at Elusive weren’t impressed by his slender 5’10” body. It was a shitty night—the hot Latino bartender wasn’t even there—and he left the bar, alone. He headed to the bus stop, drunkenly browsing Grindr, hoping he could still find someone to fuck.

His phone suddenly glitched, erasing the grid of men. “Shit,” he swore, as the streetlights darkened, then resumed their normal glow. The Benefactor decided that Liam should meet the standards of the men he desired.

Liam felt his cock harden against his skinny blue chinos. He slipped into a narrow alley to keep his dick print out of sight until he calmed down. His 6-inch cock throbbed painfully, strangled by his tightening pants. Inexplicable sobriety raced through his mind as his heart thumped against his ribcage.

His chest and arms filled his fitted shirt, tugging on the buttons and sliding the cuffs up his forearms. His pant legs showed stress lines as he packed on muscle. Liam had barely started to panic when 100 pounds of muscle erupted from his body. Buttons sprayed from his bodybuilder chest. His back, biceps, and shoulders shredded the rest of his shirt as his chinos burst into scraps held around his waist by his belt.

No no no…” he gasped, disgusted by his swelling body.

Liam’s frame lurched a foot taller, causing him to yelp in surprise. His abs puffed up like rising bread, bursting his belt and waistband as they grew. Only Liam’s designer briefs clung painfully to his body; his foot long dick poked out of one side as the orange underwear stretched like a thong between his ass cheeks.

Liam edged past 7 feet, quickly outgrowing the largest bodybuilders by a couple hundred pounds. This was too awful to be real. He paced the alley, feeling his mammoth quads shift and bulge with every step. The spandex briefs snapped, allowing his hard cock to slap against his new roid gut. He adjusted his gait to avoid crushing testicles larger than softballs, realizing that his mobility was declining.

He had to lean against one side of the alley to avoid losing his balance when he reached 10 feet, because his head, hands, and feet—still in his Converse All Stars—hadn’t grown. He was already a hideous freak, when he blew up to a literal ton of pulsing muscles. He was gaining mass faster than he was growing tall, and things were speeding up. Fat bundles of muscle continued to grow everywhere. Liam couldn’t manage to stand with his legs far enough apart to prevent his calves from touching. His titanic pecs and traps and shoulders crowded around his helpless head.

Nooostop!” he wailed, horrified until a wave of lust rushed through him.

Liam groped under himself until he felt a man-sized cock. He could never hope to get his puny hands around the shaft, but he managed to rub his dick until he felt gallons of semen churning in his giant balls. His whole body bucked against the building as he blasted the alley with cum. It triggered a small surge of growth—just a few hundred pounds—and was so intense that it rewired a few neurons. Growth and pleasure were inexorably entwined, and he wanted more pleasure.

“More!” he gasped. Liam flexed his muscles and fumbled with his cock until he felt an orgasm build. He unleashed another torrent of cum, gaining a foot in height and packing on thousands of pounds of muscle.

He needed to feel it again.

Liam shouted, “More!” as he vigorously rubbed his cock. He came like a firehose and grew again. More and more and more! If he hadn’t been resting on the wall, he would have been flailing on his back. Each time he climaxed, the other side of the alley got closer. He couldn’t reach his penis, but he managed to rub it between the pavement and his distended gut. His massive balls pushed painfully against his enormous thighs. At last, his left shoulder and upper chest collided with the other wall. Liam attempted to scoot sideways, but he was wedged between buildings. His muscles had enclosed his head in a steep valley 3-feet deep, limiting his view to the dark sky. He was stuck shoulder-to-wall, grinding into the bricks with every labored breath.

More!” he bellowed.

Liam was 23 feet across—in every direction—with a rock hard 13-foot dick that bobbed over the street. The mammoth cock struggled to pull itself upward, but it was so heavy that it could barely rise a few feet. Liam barely had space to flex his rotund wall of tire-sized abs. He could no longer rub himself to cum. He struggled to move, immobilized between buildings and imprisoned in muscles that entirely obscured his miniscule head. Testicles 6 feet across splayed outside of the muscular chasm that led to his crotch, aching for release. His giant cockhead throbbed, splashing precum on the semen-covered pavement.

“MOOOOOORRRE,” he screamed.

Liam exceeded the demands of the other men, and the Benefactor made sure he enjoyed it.

A stretch of 10th Street was blocked off for “construction.” The semen was cleared, but it looked like a wrecking ball bounced between the buildings. The damage control crew had to tunnel under Liam Scott in order to move him into an adjacent basement.

“This is going to be a bad one,” Jared said, right before the elevator door slid open.

Liam grew at least as tall as Dante Reynolds, but was far more massive. Dante had at least been human-shaped. Liam was a mass of dense muscle, with proportions more ridiculous than Ben Smith, who was literally immobile. Bulging formations of muscle dwarfed the small crew that paced around the colossal body, checking vitals and attending to a series of IV tubes leading from metal barrels.

“I can’t tell which way’s up,” said Jared.

It was difficult to tell from their perspective, but Liam was in an inclined position, resting on his glutes and hamstrings, with his shoulders and pecs cracking the ceiling. He couldn’t hope to bend enough to sit and standing was completely impossible, even if he had room. Oscar recognized an immense, blocky barrel as a leg that was at least a dozen feet thick, but only ten feet long. He wasn’t able to spot the man’s foot, which was somewhere at the far end of a giant, sloping calf. Over to the right, partially blocked by Liam’s segmented gut and distended lat, was an arm nearly as long as the leg and just as thick. At the end, a tiny hand was spread wide by girthy fingers.

An insane cock shuddered from behind the leg, nearly half as long as the bundled ball of muscle it emerged from. The dick was 4 feet across, with the head encompassed in a clear tube big enough to crawl through.

Oscar felt weak at the knees, but retained his composure with a few deep breaths.

“We have to keep him doped up,” explained one attendant, “or he’ll try to cum. All he does is yell ‘more!‘ and try to rub his dick.”

“Hence the—uh—tube?” ventured Jared.

“Yeah,” she explained. “He grows any time he manages to orgasm.”

Oscar imagined the muscle blimp wriggling like less-articulated Ahmed Qadir, constantly seeking release with an engorged cock that could stop a car and crying, “more!“ as his bloated flesh pumped up. Precum discharged from his own hard cock in his tight boxer briefs.

“How many people saw this?” asked Jared, doing his best to ignore Oscar’s obvious erection.

“It was near 2 a.m., so just a couple of civilians,” explained the attendant. “Nobody could connect a call to tell anyone. They’re being held in the building.”

“Where is Mr. Scott’s head?” asked Oscar. “The regular one.”

“Deep in a crevice up top.” She pointed at thin tubing that squeezed into a gap between Liam and the ceiling. “That’s to make sure he can breathe.”

The attendant motioned for the agents to follow her. Every time the giant inhaled, Oscar caught a glimpse of a hard, CD-sized nipple rubbing against an overblown abdominal muscle. After navigating around Liam’s arm, which rested on a humongous, boxy tricep, they came to a glacial mass of straining skin that must have been his rear deltoid. It was a few feet off the floor, along with a back like an overhang rock face. The deep folds on Liam’s back were packed so tightly that you couldn’t slip a hand between them, though Oscar was tempted to try.

“There’s an entity mark here.” The attendant indicated a section of the shoulder.

Oscar pulled a blacklight from his pocket and clicked it on. He found the mark, which wasn’t any larger than the 4-inch symbol on the other subjects. The warmth of Liam’s body pressed against his face. Before he could think better of it, Oscar placed his palm on the taut skin. The whole shoulder quivered, raising giant muscle fibers like strings plucked on a harp. Jared cleared his throat loudly; Oscar pulled back.


The agents didn’t learn anything useful from the witnesses, two college girls who were still grappling with what they saw. Back at the Atlas, Oscar asked the concierge, a trim guy named Devin, about the local gyms. Devin suggested a gym three blocks away. He looked a little flustered by the handsome, well-built agent. Oscar smiled at him, which only exasperated things.

Oscar and Jared ate lunch at a cafe in the ground floor of a building in the business plaza. Oscar fished around for the tomato in his salad, observing people through the window. Jared excused himself to the restroom, which was somewhere in the building’s lobby, as a man with a bright face entered the cafe. He displayed a tight runner’s body in a compression tank top. Oscar spied a prosthetic pole under the man’s shorts, which ended in a sneaker. The man eyed him, then approached.

“It’s fine to look,” the man said as he walked to the table. “I like to show it off.”

“Oh,” said Oscar, “I’m sorry, anyway.”

The runner smiled and nodded. Oscar leaned back to get a better view. It was metallic blue, wide under the knee and tapering down to a pole at the ankle. And on the side was DIV-00013’s symbol. He swallowed and looked back at the guy’s face. He wore the same smile, but it felt threatening, now.

“It’s nice to see you, again,” said the entity.

Oscar made a mental inventory of his equipment. All he had on him was the UV light and syringes of pacifying and memory-altering drugs, which he doubted would work on a god.

“Who are you? Why are you doing this?” he asked, voice shaking a little.

He pulled out Jared’s chair to join Oscar. “Mr. McKee might take a while,” he said. “This structure is poorly planned. Terrible from an aesthetic standard, as well.”

Oscar took a deep breath, waiting for someone to start convulsing or cumming. Maybe himself, he thought with an unexpected thrill.

“I’ve been away from this world for a long time. Someone was kind enough to bring me back—don’t worry, I rewarded him. You can refer to me as the Benefactor, if that pleases you.”

“It doesn’t, and people don’t enjoy your rewards,” said Oscar. He hoped Jared would be back soon, but he wasn’t sure that would make a difference. “Those men are suffering.”

“That’s the work of your Agency.” The Benefactor broke into a toothy grin. “I believe Mr. Walker proved you wrong yesterday. That remarkable specimen derives more pleasure from his current form than he has ever experienced. And I assure you, Mr. Scott wanted to further evolve my gift before you rendered him unconscious.

“Some of my prospects require more time to acclimate to their blessings. I bestow the favor that they desire and deserve. Take Mr. Roth, dissatisfied that he is a ‘hairless twink’.”

“Who’s Mr. Roth?”

The Benefactor pointed at the plaza. “That man with the mauve shirt and the brown bag.”

The lights went out. The entity was gone. Oscar would have called Jared, but he knew his phone was dead. He made his way out to the plaza, trying to look like he was hurrying to work and not to intercept a violation of physical law.

Roth was a slim man in a polo shirt with a messenger bag. He glanced around, then started to pick his steps carefully, like he was avoiding a flower bed. His slacks were already straining against his thickening legs when Oscar jabbed him with the syringe pen.

“Ow!” he yelped, instead of going limp. Roth turned to Oscar, confused and frightened by the sensations in his body. He had a young face and clenched his clean-shaven jaw as his inflating, hairy chest strained his open collar.

“I can help,” Oscar improvised. “Follow me and I’ll get you to safety.”

The man nodded, but kept his slow pace in an effort to conceal his erection. When his 20 inch biceps ripped open his sleeves, Oscar put one hand on his swelling shoulder and got him to move faster, explaining, “You don’t have the luxury of modesty.”

Oscar could feel new hair prickling under his hand. He had to get Roth out of sight and hope that he didn’t get too big.

Roth gasped, “F-f-f-fuck,” as his hairy legs tore open the sides of his pants.

Oscar put his hands on the messenger bag and forced the man forward. The man’s stomach must have grown, because his pants burst at the waist. A pair of woefully undersized boxers rode up his ass as Oscar stepped over the scraps. They were almost at a door when Roth’s chest jumped up to 50 inches, tearing apart the remains of his polo. Beneath Oscar’s hands, Roth’s olive skin stretched and rippled. Hair sprouted on the rear side of his lats. His underwear broke away as he waddled, hefty glutes bunching and sliding with each step.

Roth had to turn sideways to squeeze through the door into the darkened lobby of an insurance company. Inside, he gasped as he piled on 20 more pounds in an instant. Oscar jumped back, fearing an explosion of growth. Roth spewed half a pint of cum from a foot long dick. The growth was over.

Roth weighed over 400 pounds. The man was an overinflated muscle bear, with bulbous muscles and a hairy roidgut. He examined his unwieldy 30 inch arms and bloated pecs that were covered in new hair. A look of shock covered his rounder face, which sported several days’ worth of scruff. The strap of his bag ran through his deep chest cleavage, tight enough that the bag was held against the wavy terrain of his upper back.

Oscar was relieved, if turned on. Roth put his hands on his knees to catch his breath. The heft of his pecs squeezing together snapped the bag’s strap, which fell to the floor. He was small enough that Oscar managed to convince the receptionist that he was afflicted by a serious medical condition.

A minute later, Jared burst into the lobby. “You were already across the plaza by the time I got back to the cafe!”

“It’s all right. This was a minor event.” Oscar looked over to Roth, who was gripping his soft dick with wide eyes. Jared swiftly stuck the man with a syringe pen, who dropped his thick forearms and went slack jawed. “That didn’t work before,” said Oscar. “Not when he was growing.”

After the team monitoring Liam took Roth, Oscar and Jared had a few hours before the next investigation. Oscar blindly signed membership papers at the gym three blocks away and immediately hit the floor. He saw Roth’s powerful body every time he closed his eyes.

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