The takeover

by Flex Luthor   

An alien race employs sleek advertisement to turn Earth's top athletes into a horde of docile bodies in tubes, being pumped of their cum to create an army of supermasculine studs.

The row of tanks stretched deeply into the cavernous recesses of the warehouse. In each tank, imposing bodies hung suspended in a transparent liquid, each one seemingly larger and more impressive than the last. The man in each tank appeared as yet another perfect specimen of athleticism, vascularity, and dominance.

Indeed, this was as it should be, as Professional Solutions specialized in taking men at peak physical condition and improving them so much that the reputation of their three-month intensive program of suspended animation conditioning was known to most athletes in the world and many professional sports teams had sent their top players to the secretive, state of the art facility which no one really knew the exact location of unless they went into the program.

Dr. Moravian knew that most of his “boys” returned to their home teams as H.A.M.—Huge Alpha Monsters. He had reported all his findings to his alien overlords. He was always rewarded for obeying their orders. They gave him what he desired, what he lusted after: power. If they wanted him to be their dog on a leash, he was happy to do it, so long as he exercised absolute control over his “boys”.

He had reported the increased vascularity, size, strength and power, but above all their increased performance on the field. Football players, once top dog on their teams, were now almost literally machines, utterly focused on their gains and their game. Wrestlers appeared in tune with their opponent and excelled in dominating them, mentally and physically. Their shockingly bulging muscles helped. And they certainly helped PS, whose fame spread around the world as quickly as you could say “this time, you’re gonna swallow.”

The overlords approved and prepared their takeover.

The plan consisted in releasing a substance containing tiny parasites with swarm consciousness into the bloodstreams of its thousands of grade A athletes and champions, turning them slowly into little else than docile, cum producing muscle bodies, whose cum contained tiny copies of the parasite, which quickly reproduced a clone of the host except more completely bound to the swarm.

Moravian was also bound to the parasites, having been the first “victim” (though as he liked to see it, the parasites “released” him from bondage). This meant the overlords could reward him in more direct ways, as well. Moravian, it turned out, had one of the largest cocks of any man in the world, and it was attached to a body that was impressively emblematic of the ethos of PS.

As he filed the latest updates, just such a “direct reward” was initiated. Moravian’s gargantuan cock slithered from between his lab coat and, as if predestined, snaked its way forward into a receptacle directly under the terminal he was updating his “boys’” information on. The bulbous tip at the tube’s entrance gave way, and the grand cock continued fill the warm, wet tube, the spongy surface of which continually sucked him further in. A prick on his steely shaft told Moravian the procedure was underway. This prick ensured that his parasite levels were of the absolute highest grade: his “boys” always needed him at the top of his game!

His muscles bulged even wider, his cock grew larger and longer with the increased parasite load.

At the same time, there was a familiar sensation—a gentle nudging at the lip of his cockhead. Moravian spread his arms behind his neck as the tube entered his dick. It crawled slowly down into his scrotum where, as soon as it reached its designated point, a remote program initiated Moravian’s orgasm. His parasite-laden spunk was taken up by the hose and drawn to the individual tanks where it entered into the nutritional devices secured to each athlete.

As they put this plan into motion and watched on their screens, the muscle flesh bodies occupying the tanks began slowly spasming and releasing blobs out of their dicks. These quickly grew into translucent balls and were picked up by small roving cranes, who moved them to an adjacent room to incubate. Here they quickly grew appendages, and quickly became fully-fledged, yet pliant, musclebound beefcakes. It only took about fifteen minutes.

These new ultramasculine creations were put to various tasks, depending on their particular host’s qualities. The lighter ones, swimmers, gymnasts, soccer players were put to work assisting in the reproduction facility (i.e., the cum-draining facility) whereas the bulkier ones set about establishing the foundation upon which the total takeover of the planet would occur. Some went about constructing the facilities which would be used to create further reproduction centers. Others donned uniforms and prepared for a war against humanity.

After 48 hours, an army of 10,000 was already in place. After a week, the army was larger than any force in the world—larger in more ways than one. The plan was ready to implement…

The Steelers’ state of the art gym was packed. The team’s starting wide receiver, Rodney Vasquez, was finishing up a set of lethal squats when he noticed a crowd gathering near his station. He removed his headphones, silencing the pumping in his ear. He walked over to the crowd, and saw a rather humongous figure at the center of it. Whoever this was, he was huge! As Rodney approached the crowd, he tried to squeeze his way forward to get a better look, which his overdeveloped legs easily allowed him. When he got to the front, he was presented with literally one of the largest and most impressive specimens of masculinity he’d ever seen.

Suddenly, the huge figure locked eyes with Rodney, smiled and shouted his name. At this point, he recognized the basso profundo as a deeper and indelibly richer toned version of his friend Stanley McMichaels, a linebacker who had some months ago been transferred to a training program none of the teammates knew much about, but which they’d all heard amazing things about. And here, in front of them, stood a testament to the wonders the program worked. Stanley was now by far the largest and most impressive player on the team, and his wide girth, huge legs and arms as if cut from granite in fact hid his slightly taller stature. Rodney suddenly felt a huge wave of elation at seeing his friend in such amazing condition. He went to hug Stanley, and as the two commenced sizing another up, Rodney noticed a strange dullness in Stanley’s eyes. He didn’t have long to consider it, though, as the sense of elation he’d initially felt transformed quickly to euphoria. Rodney felt incredibly horny, and his cock quickly expanded in his jock. As he started losing self consciousness, he noticed he was cumming. The cum, much more than normal, quickly dribbled down his legs and formed a puddle between his feet. The puddle morphed into a sphere, and the sphere began rolling towards the trainer’s office. As he looked around in horror, he saw the crowd around him at various points of arousal, many experiencing earth-shattering orgasms as extreme as his own. Stains and puddles were forming all around, and one of his last recollections before becoming a permanent cum dispensary for improved and more muscular versions of himself was that he was growing

The Steelers facility was soon complete, and built according to the blueprints of the alien overlords. The stadium was turned into a breeding ground, with tanks housing all the original players, their trainers, coaches and even some of the male cheerleaders producing a steady flow of mutant muscle-zombies to feed the growing army. The improved copy of Stanley McMichaels sent to convert the facility looked on in approval. As the huge muscular bodies in the tank churned out more and more cum, he flexed into the heavens. His huge back, traps and lats condensed into an intimidating display of power, and a remote signal sent from the overlords caused his stiff 11 inch member to visibly lengthen. As it did, it stretched upward between his rock hard abs, eventually sidling between his deep pec cleft. As it continued to grow upward, a bead appeared on the head of it. Stanley took his cock head in his mouth as he continued to flex for the heavens. Instantly, his enormous balls began filling his mouth with a delicious sauce that the clone swallowed down. He immediately began to grow, all of his musculature swelling obscenely, until he was nearly twelve feet tall and six feet wide.

He continued suckling and growing, greedily receiving his reward from the alien overlords for a conversion complete. His muscles bulged outward,, impossibly dense. As his now 2 foot long cock plopped out of his big mouth, he let out an animalistic roar that could be heard for miles.

The city would never know what hit it.

Greg Morrison was a competitive bodybuilder who took the “competitive” in his title very seriously. He had dedicated himself without abandon to his craft for over thirteen years, perfecting a technique that was without parallel. At least,until recently. A certain challenger by the name of Pedro Gonzales had appeared at Greg’s local gym, and had, within a few months, busted all of Greg’s old records on the benchpress, squats and anything else Pedro could get his hands, legs or other appendages around. The feeling of being scuttled from alpha dog to just beta enraged Greg, and so it was with a delicious air of inevitability that he latched onto the offer for a “three month intensive muscle conditioning program” that he’d seen an obscure flyer for in the changing room at the gym, at another one of his defeating sessions trying to keep up with Pedro.

So Greg had signed up, and in a few weeks he packed his duffel bag full of creams, vitamins, supplements and a few hours’ worth of chicken breast and rice, as he made his way on the train to the location of this “muscle conditioning program”. The prices were outrageous, but he’d heard so many swooning about the supposed results that his envy of Pedro overcame any cost-benefit analysis in this case. His cock was hard the whole way and he rubbed it through his sweatpants, looking idly out the window at the landscape lolling past. He thought of himself being larger and more impressive than Pedro, and this thought pushed all other reservations away for the time being. Once or twice he got awe-inspired stares as other passengers passed by the seemingly dazed muscle man in permanent arousal, overlarge member straining the loose material.

Eventually the train arrived, and he called a taxi to bring him to the address he’d been given. Once there, he looked for, and found an entrance, and rang the bell. Two of the most impressive specimens he’d ever seen, much bigger than either Pedro or himself, and yet cut to insane levels of perfection, greeted him. Their faces were chiselled, yet the magazine good looks did nothing to hide the dullness in their eyes. There wasn’t much going on up there, and it was obvious the two spent most of their focus on sculpting an insane physique, and he wouldn’t be surprised if the had trouble spelling “deltoid”. They both wore a “uniform” of what looked like a tight-fitting lycra shirt and compression pants, that did little to hide bulges worth writing home about. The two smiled stupidly at each other and at him, seemingly seeking approval that they were, in fact, “good boys” for having less fat on their bones than a low-calorie yogurt.

“Hi!” said the one. “You must be Greg!”

Greg nodded and the stud was obviously pleased at his discovery, the cords in his neck bulged and his cock stirred a little in its dugout.

“Come in, dude!” said the other one, who introduced himself as Doug. The first one’s name was Matt, and the two had been old workout buddies who had joined the program together to advance their gains. The two had gained roughly 100 lbs of muscle in 3 months, they claimed, and flexed for Greg. Greg was especially impressed by Doug’s traps, which literally went to his ears., a huge pyramid to the only god in Doug’s life: muscle.

Greg, Matt and Doug joked around in the hallway for a few minutes until they heard a voice behind them:

“Boys, do bring Mr. Morrison to my office and don’t hold up his… progress.” The enormous man in the white coat introduced himself as Dr. Moravian, and he generously shook Greg’s hand. Dr. Moravian’s hands were strangely cold, but Greg shrugged it off. Either way, it matched his personality, which was certainly more chilled than the warmth that exuded from Matt and Doug, who resembled two overbuff lapdogs. Dr. Moravian led Greg to a small door on the corner of the hallway, with the wall of muscle following behind.

“As you can see from our boys here,” said Dr. Moravian, gesturing to the two muscleheads in the corner, “our results are dramatic and extraordinary. I’m sure these two have informed you of their gains while enrolled in the program?”

Greg nodded and the rest of the conversation went by in a blur. Greg agreed to enroll in the program, signing paperwork and nodding occasionally when questions were raised, but never taking his eyes off the delectable duo across from him. Dr. Moravian gave him a glass of something to drink, which he hardly heard him describe the nature of: something-something-electrolytes-something. He downed it, and was just about to put the glass down, when he froze. He couldn’t move! As if on cue, Doug moved over to his feet and began removing his sweatpants, revealing his jockstrap-covered bulge. Matt meanwhile moved over to his torso and applied pressure to his jaw, forcing his mouth open. While he felt something soft, hot and strangely wet on his asscheeks, Matt whipped his horse dick out of his compression pants and began slapping Greg in the face with it. While Doug was rimming Greg’s ass, preparing it for entry, Matt stuck his meat in Greg’s mouth and began pounding it, slowly at first, and then picking up speed.

Suddenly, his asshole was exposed, and in one motion, Greg felt himself being speared to the hilt. Strangely enough to him, it didn’t hurt so much as it filled a deep longing in him to have a cock there. Doug began rocking and Matt picked up his pace. The two high-fived each other as they fucked Greg from both ends. Greg felt strangely aroused from the whole experience of being fucked by two ridiculously muscled studs, and his arousal increased as the two neared orgasm. The two came in unison, filling him with a liquid that burned as it spread inside him. His cock stood on end suddenly, and his whole body buzzed. He felt like he had an incredible gym pump, and felt himself swelling a bit. At the same time, his cock erupted by itself, and a hot, translucent goop collected in his corrugated abs. He strangely kept coming, it was the most intense orgasm he’d ever experienced—he didn’t want it to end—and the goop began running down the table, collecting in a puddle on the floor. Unbeknownst to Greg, the puddle began forming into a blob, and the blob grew as he came more and more. Soon, a replica of Greg, identical in every way save for being much more densely muscled—and taller—and sporting a larger cock—stood beside him. Greg could still not move, and at this point, his improved twin was chatting with Matt and Doug:

“Hey, what’s up, dudes?”

“Not much, brah. About to strap this sucker in and take him to the tanks. Wanna come?”

“Hell yeah, brah. Count me in!”

Matt went over to a cabinet and retrieved some folded clothes, which Greg’s bulkier clone put on: the same tight-fitting stretch shirt and compression pants the other two dimwitted musclestuds wore. As Greg II was dressing, Matt and Doug began strapping Greg I to the table, which converted to a gurney, which they pushed down the hallway towards to large doubledoors, from which could be heard a loud mechanical buzzing.

They passed through the doors and Greg, still immobile, was presented with an enormous warehouse filled with huge tanks, in most of which huge, strapping musclemen hung suspended in a liquid resembling glass cleaner. Attached to each one were hoses to his face and mouth, and another to his cock, and a third snaked up their asses. All of the men were at peak physical condition and each seemed to spasm every few seconds. Greg was wheeled to one tank that was not yet occupied where he was unstrapped. A crane was activated that gently lifted the big man like a toy, and he was slowly lowered into the tank. The liquid felt warm, and it seemed to adjust itself to his body temperature. His facial mask lowered and attached itself to his head, and shortly thereafter he began feeling a strange sense of abandon and arousal. Just then, a tube snaked up his ass, which had been loosened earlier by Doug’s big python. It immediately began stimulating his prostate and injecting a special nutritional paste into his ass. He saw another device directing itself toward his cock and balls, and suddenly felt intense pleasure as it locked into place and began sucking him of his vital juices. Just then the parasites entered his mind via the special nutritional paste being injected into his ass and mouth, and he prepared to produce the second (of many) soldier offspring for the alien invasion.

Greg groaned in pleasure as he fed the tube what it wanted, bigger and more muscular than Pedro, finally…

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