Warren and Dean watched from the stands as their friend Oliver pulverized yet another opponent on the mat on the floor below. Cheers resounded from the rafters and fellow students pounded on the bleachers with their feet, creating a thundering cacophony as the referee lifted Oliver’s burly arm above him, signifying another intimidating rout.
“Fuck yeah, Oliver!” shouted Warren.
“Way to go, man!” yelled Dean.
Of course, neither of them were audible above the hundreds of other fans crowded into the gymnasium at Hunt University. They could only watch, grinning, as Oliver traipsed off the mat and received pats on the back and few swipes at his ass, which he caught and turned, smirking, smacking the other guys’ asses. Athletic camaraderie at its finest, of course.
“Fuck, man,” said Dean, “This mean’s Oliver’s ranked, what, number 3 for next year, I’ll bet.”
“He was #5 this year,” replied Warren. “Fifth in the fucking country. Now that’s impressive.”
“Let’s go meet up with him in the locker room,” said Dean.
“Perfect. Let’s go.”
As they made their way up the bleachers, they watched as Oliver received some more pats on the back while he put on his sweatpants over the red and gold uniform—the school colors of Hunt University. The kid was caked in sweat and he was tired. He had earned that victory.
“You think he’s down here already?” asked Warren at the door to the locker room.
“He’s got to be,” answered Dean. “Not like he was going to be up there grandstanding forever. Oliver’s not an asshole like that.”
Sure enough, Oliver was right there, changing back into his street clothes. He was pulling his jeans on as Dean and Warren came around the locker bank. Oliver had the sort of build you’d expect from a wrestler of his weight class (170): not too lean, not too bulky either. At 5’10”, he was a good average height for taking on all sorts of foes. It’s why he was so good. His quasi-Greek ancestry gave him a great olive tint to his skin, with dark nipples and a great, hairless torso. Dean and Warren, both skinny but nowhere near what you’d call muscular, envied him of that body.
“You want to go out and eat after this or something?” Dean asked Oliver.
“Yeah. Fuck, I’m starved.”
“What, you gonna carbo load again before tomorrow?” asked Warren.
“Yeah,” said Oliver. “Two meets, two nights. A real bitch, but after tonight, I think I can take ‘em. Oh,” he added, taking a bottle of pills out of his pocket. “Some guy I know from Dawes College gave these to me tonight. He told me to throw down two before I go on a carbo load. It’s supposed to cause advanced muscle growth and increase metabolism, or so it says on the bottle.”
“Dude,” said Warren, “Do you trust that guy?”
“Of course. I’ve known him a while. We’ve wrestled against each other.”
“But he could be trying to sabotage you,” said Dean.
“Then he’ll be kicked out of college so quick it’ll make his head spin. Which isn’t to say I’m a not little wary… because I am. Hey guys, would you just… I dunno… Take them with me? I’m going to be eating a lot of food tonight and you guys can have some. I mean, as friends. It’ll make me feel less nervous about it.”
“Sure!” said Warren quickly.
“I dunno,” said Dean.
But eventually they were able to persuade Dean, and with a hearty “bottoms up,” they took two pills each and headed off in Warren’s car for the Italian restaurant by the freeway. As the three of them pulled up into the parking lot, each of them became acutely aware that they were starving. Nobody said anything, but each one separately knew that he’d be eating a lot of food tonight.
They started out with bread rolls, and those were gone in seconds. When their pasta finally came, they ate it so fast that they were out of breath by the end of it. They kept ordering food and gorging, not saying anything to the other, just stuffing their faces full of sauce, meatballs, pasta, cheese, and bread.
“Jesus Christ, we’re really hungry tonight!” Oliver finally remarked.
“Good! I thought it was just me,” said Dean.
Warren was too busy eating, but he gave a nod. They laughed and then went right back into scarfing down all of the food in the restaurant. They spent three times what they should have and ate about five times what they were planning on. And yet at the end, they didn’t even feel that full. They just knew that they couldn’t spend anymore, so they tipped the waiter, got in the car, and went back to Oliver’s house to chill in the basement. It’s what they always did late on fall nights.
As they flumped down on the couches and started to shoot the shit, Oliver started feeling a little uncomfortable. At first, he couldn’t put his finger on it, but then he realized that his shoes were feeling really tight. So he untied his shoes and kicked them into the middle of the floor. His feet looked bigger, wider than they had before. But Oliver just shrugged it off.
Around the same time, Dean started to feel an odd tightness in his stomach and back. He got up and went to the bathroom, thinking he was going to be sick—he had eaten all that food, after all—but when he got out of the room, he felt all right except for a little pinch around his waist. He loosened his belt by a notch or two—attributing it to all the food—and then walked right back into the living room.
Warren, however, was feeling really constricted by his shirt. He always wore shirts that were a little small for him—it looked good on him, made him look pretty cool. But he felt it really tight across his shoulders, and since it was sweltering in Oliver’s basement tonight, he casually peeled his t-shirt off his body and threw it over a chair.
“Hey, Warren,” said Dean, coming back into the room, “What, you’ve been working out and want to brag about it a little?”
“Woah,” said Warren, glancing down at his body. “I guess I have been putting on a little bit of weight. Good muscle weight.”
“Looks like it,” remarked Oliver. “Maybe those pills worked pretty good for you after all!”
“Wait,” said Dean. “What’s going on with Warren’s arms?”
Slowly before their eyes, they saw Warren’s biceps and triceps slowly growing with each heartbeat. It was like the muscle itself was breathing—throbbing, and with each throb, becoming bigger. Within the minute, Warren’s biceps were cut and magnificent, like two softballs on his arms. His pecs had grown, too, to a nice admirable shelf of muscle perched over a lean 8-pack, and his nipples had grown pretty large to complement his enlarged beefiness.
“Woah! I had no idea it would work so well!” said Oliver.
But Oliver himself hadn’t been paying attention to what was happening to him. Over the past minute, his own shoulders had bulked out, and his own pecs had inflated like balloons past where they had already been as a wrestler. Only now was he just becoming aware of the fact that his forearms were now enormous, the size of hams, and with one twist of his waist to get a better look at his transformation, his shirt ripped right up the front, shredded in two, and the two halves fell apart to reveal that Oliver had grown to 6’4, a full six inches taller—and that all of those inches had been in his abs! He now had not a six pack or an eight back, but a twelve pack: six pairs of abs right below the other, and his oblique muscles were as hard and regular as scale mail.
“OH GOD!” shouted out Dean, who suddenly began transforming. He immediately shot up about 6’8” and his muscles immediately inflated, striated with hard muscle. His pores began pouring out sweat and soon his t-shirt and shorts were drenched. Then, he doubled over, screaming at the top of his longs. Warren and Oliver wanted to help him, but they were too occupied with their own muscles, which were ballooning quickly. Soon Warren and Oliver had to contend with their pecs, which had swelled to the size of watermelons, and their nipples had become long, pointed, and dark, about three inches in length. They could only watch as Dean’s shorts ripped open at the ass and they saw a pair of magnificently muscled feet emerge from the rippling skin of his flawless ass. Those feet were attached to masterful diamond-muscled calves, which were in turn followed by a great pair of quads. Dean’s second pair of legs came in, beautiful and glistening in sweat and muscle. Soon, Dean stopped grunting and panting and stretched out his great boytaur legs and he felt the long horse-length cocks that hung between his two pairs of legs.
“Shit, Dean!” moaned Warren. “You’re… you’re… you’re hot!”
“I know, right?!” said Dean, admiring his new height and fantastic muscles. His abs were so cut that it was difficult to find his belly button amongst the deep grooves that cut his steel-hard stomach muscles. “I just wish I had those extra abs like you! I love the length around the waist, it makes you look like some sort of hot-ass man snake, Oliver!”
Oliver suddenly grunted in pleasure as his nipples began to leak cum. Warren, curious, came up and sucked on Oliver’s nipples, only to find that it was the sweetest cum in the world. Having never tasted cum before, he lapped it up and spread it over his body. It seemed to make his muscles even more cut and defined.
“Dude, guys,” said Oliver, looking off into space, “I don’t know how I know this, but I think I can do something really fucking awesome. Watch.”
Oliver pulled down his shorts to reveal an ample package—nothing special but a pair of lowhangers and an admirable uncut cock. But suddenly, Oliver began to concentrate and the cock stretched in length and got a great deal thicker, stretching up through the crack between his godly muscle tits to meet his mouth, and Oliver began to suck himself off. Dean trotted over on his four brilliant, muscular legs to suck hard on those beefy tits. He joined Warren at the pump, and they gulped down cum-on-tap while feeling each other’s hard, newly transformed muscle bodies, including their hard-ass boners, which were at full mast.
“Hey Oliver,” said Warren, flexing the muscletits of his own, “Let’s wrestle!”
He flung his arms around Oliver and attempted to wrestle him to the ground, but Oliver willed his big, bulging cock to find Warren’s ass and distract him. Warren moaned in ecstasy as Oliver’s hypercock penetrated his perfectly formed ass, and Warren’s own tits started leaking cum everywhere. Dean tried his best to keep up with both pairs of cumming nipples until Oliver’s cock hoisted Warren up and then pinned him on the ground.
“Man, we are fucking GODS, aren’t we?!” shouted Warren, jacking off with Oliver’s monstercock in his ass and the ludicrously long shaft pinning his hard-as-a-rock stomach and midsection to the floor. He came within seconds. And once he came, then Dean’s two cocks shot out cannons of cum, drenching the paralyzed Warren in muscleguy cum.
Finally, Oliver’s tits erupted in fountains of semen that drenched all of the boys and all of the furniture. Then his own mighty, godly dick came, filling Warren so full of cum that it came out of his mouth in a torrent, hitting Dean right in the small of his boytaur back. Warren cried cum for the rest of the night while they couldn’t keep their hands off of each other, rubbing each others new muscles and humongous, giant, godly muscle tits and cocks. Oliver was always the most powerful amongst them. Those pills had made sure his cock made them stay that way.