Description General Pinckney discovers that a mysterious “Program Dundee” has been running under his responsibility for years and has recently made an alarming breakthrough.
|Updated||02 Feb 2019|
Major General Pinckney was in the middle of a bad day. Nothing this week had been going as he had planned, and it felt as if everyone was playing a joke on him—he couldn’t stand for that.
Firstly, there had been that call, from the governor, informing him that the bill that would’ve added much-needed money to Fort Carson’s budget had failed to pass. The governor had told him a million times this would pass easily; it didn’t, because the congress was on the verge of putting the country into default again, over some ludicrous quarrel between Democrats and Republicans.
But this hasn’t been enough. He had then received another call from Colonel Butterfield at Los Alamos Demolition Army Base—of which he was co-responsible, mainly supervising the poor souls that had landed here without any technical assignment. Apparently, he was to urgently come to check the progress on some so-called “super-soldier” experiments that had supposedly come to fruition.
Now, there were two issues with that: not only does this sound like a bad joke from a cliché movie, but he was certainly not in charge of any kind of experiments at the Los Alamos base; in fact he was in charge of nothing even remotely close anywhere. While this base was indeed partly a research center, they mainly worked on explosives and nuclear deterrence.
Still enraged by the failure of the bill he had told the Colonel to go take his fairy stories to someone else and that he never wanted to hear about it again. Still, he had his aide, St Clair, look into it for him. That boy was highly competent—working with him had been a delight—and he quickly found some documents relating to a “Dundee Program”, that the general had indeed approved two years ago. At the time, it had surely been another paper to sign on his table.
His aide had tried to gather further information, but it was either non-existent or so classified the various departments he had contacted could not even confirm the existence of said information. He had only gathered that the project was about improving human performances, mainly through some cocktails of chemicals he had only heard the name in some doping case.
But he wouldn’t get out of that thing so easily. Two days later, he received some calls from a no name at the white house inviting him strongly to go check for himself. He thought he was going to snap at the guy on the other of the line—he had much better thing to do than to attend to this. What he was going to be seeing anyway, some guy breaking the army record for the 100m sprint? Perhaps they would even have the guy bench press some weight in front of him to show off how strong he was. Nonsense.
He was having none of that science circle-jerk. Not only was it surely entirely bullshit, but he had much more important matter to attend at Fort Carson, white house or not. He thus sent his aide to the base, asking him to report anything out of the ordinary and to prepare some notes on it.
St Clair did go, driving the whole 600 miles return by himself, and, much to Pinckney’s dismay, he did have some serious stuff to report on. This was two days ago. He remembered clearly getting a panicked St Clair on the phone, in the middle of the day, while he should have been boring his ass off attending to the scientists’ show. “General, I think… I think it’s better if you come check it yourself.” The words were still echoing in his head, making him boil inside.
Now, would it have been someone less competent than St Clair, he would’ve just lost it on the spot. But there was something unusual in his aide’s voice—he couldn’t pin it at first, thinking he was just unsure of whether or not to make that call, but he eventually understood it was fear. Fear of what this Dundee program was.
Reading the report and looking at the picture brought back by his aide, he would later learn that night that the project had been an overwhelming success, with Private James Sadowski growing close to an unprecedented thirty feet tall.
Yes, thirty feet. He had to read that line multiple times, as well as check the enclosed pictures under many angles to make sure they were not fake. This was no less than five grown men stacked up. And that James was built, not an once of fat on him; his strength and resilience were apparently extraordinary.
St Clair reported that they shot at him using first an M4 carbine with standard NATO ammunition and then a 500 MILLS shotgun—showing just how out-of-date that base was—, every time barely leaving a scratch on his skin. He even lifted a fully equipped military Jeep without breaking a sweat—this was supernatural, as would state Pinckney’s aide himself.
Still, this felt like an elaborate joke to him. He had little knowledge of human’s physiology, but he knew for a fact thirty feet humans were not something possible. It felt weird, perhaps almost impossible, that St Clair would be playing a part in the trick, but this was the only logical answer—and if there was anything he had learnt from serving the army for more than 20 years, it was that the simplest and most rational answer always prevailed. Scientists had succeeded in making a man grow five times in height? Nope, it was surely the colonel and others playing a pulling on him.
And now here he was, having been stuck in a bumpy car ride for nearly five hours, finally approaching the base. It would be minutes—unless the Colonel wanted to tease him more—before he would have a definite answer.
He was not looking forward to it. If they had tricked him into losing most of his week-end to that bullshit thing, there was going to be blood on the floor. This was unacceptable.
If it was true… Well. He was responsible for that crazy experiment. They had been doing these things under his authority for two years and he had heard nothing of it. Couldn’t they have warned him when the kid had broken eight feet tall perhaps? That would’ve been enough to convince him.
Now, he was picturing the administrative hell through which he would have to go through if this was real. Forget about warning the secretary of defense or the White House, this was the President that he would need on the phone. And God, if it had been a success for that kid, what about other failures? Had soldiers under his responsibility been hurt? His mind was made-up: unless they had some really good reason for not updating him earlier, the scientists behind that were going to have to face his wrath before the congratulations of other higher-ups.
Finally, they were reaching the gates of the compound. Pinckney noticed they didn’t even have the honor of going through the main entrance; they were taking the back entrance. At least it would avoid them the drive through the dozens test facilities that made up the base.
This part of the site was not exactly state-of-the-art compared to the rest. The buildings were old and somewhat decrepit, made of the cheapest materials possible. Adding a small group of army men to this base had been an afterthought, for its purpose was mainly for research on explosives. Seldom did the general visit here, even though it was under his responsibility.
They passed the gate and went straight for the small command building, a few thousand feet away. On his right were small brick hangars with a metal roof hosting the dozen or so of vehicles belonging to this group as well as some weapons and equipment storage. On the left were the barracks and the limited facilities offered by the base.
The command building stood two-stories tall—the only building that tall here—and looked more like a crappy roadside hotel than an army facility. Pinckney doubted the walls were even reinforced; though it was not as if this part of the based hosted anything that could serve as a prime military target.
Well. There was that Dundee program. But from what he could see, no trace of it around here—and it should be easy to spot, a 30-foot soldier would be taller than any building around here. That program wasn’t exactly supposed to produce a discrete and stealthy warrior. Perhaps that Sadowski was behind the trees, over there? No, he knew that behind was a detonation test bed.
There were a few out of place details that the general barely noticed; details that were a clear indication things were running amok here. Parts of the road and pavements were heavily fissured, as if they had been hit locally by some super-heavy object. He put that on the account of the lack of maintenance. The flag pole was absent; the rock bed surrounding it a mess. Maybe the weather, Pinckney thought. However, the pole had not been downed by the weather—as would attest its dead frame hidden behind the command building, seriously bent in a way that no storm could.
The general got out of the car, asking for his driver to stay here and wait for him—he wasn’t planning on staying here more than half an hour, and hoped he could still come back early enough tonight. The fact that this whole Dundee thing could be—and must be in fact—a reality still hasn’t downed on him, even though he had received copious amount of pictures and a first-hand report from St Clair.
Still, making one of his soldiers grow to thirty feet tall in some kind of ridiculous science experiment was not something that had happened. He was not having it.
The colonel overseeing operations here walked out of the command building. Pinckney was alone. He had sent his aide on a flight to Washington to meet with the Secretary of Defense should all of this not be some vast trickery. He would help coordinate a long-distance meeting with the Secretary—Pinckney had insisted this was not necessary, but St Clair told him this was a national security issue, and protocol would be to immediately alert the Secretary.
This had seriously hurt the joke hypothesis in the general’s mind; still. If that was not a farce, surely it was something else than this super-soldier story. Maybe his aide had gone haywire…
“Good afternoon major general.”
“Colonel. At ease.” The colonel looked seriously sleep-deprived, though there was some excitement in his eyes. Pinckney decided to wait for a bit before tearing him apart—the car drive had bored him enough to tame his anger a bit… Though it would come back with a vengeance soon, he expected.
Butterfield led him to some place on the first floor, a small meeting room where an army specialist was waiting for him. “General, this is Specialist Kingsley, he has been doing the bulk of the science on the Dundee program.” They exchanged a handshake and the general sat, the two other men facing him on the other side of the table.
They started garbling about the details of the project: the chemicals involved, the complex logistic, etc. Pinckney barely listened to them, before finally interrupting: “Listen up. I have no idea what is going on around here.” The two men froze in their track. “This week you called me to tell me that some experiment of yours had reached conclusion. An experiment I had never heard of before, mind you—”
“You did approve the papers and funding many times,” interrupted the colonel.
The general’s harsh gaze was enough to make him understand not to interrupt him a second time. “Maybe, just maybe, you could have made it a bit clearer and made it stand out a little more that you were planning on making one of my guys thirty feet tall—if that’s even true. Is it?”
“Yes. 39 feet as a matter of fact, measured an hour ago.” It was the specialist speaking, in a very matter-of-fact tone. He seemed more comfortable with the situation than the colonel. “We’re sorry we couldn’t make the situation clearer to you. I will have to admit we got… Overwhelmed with the whole situation.”
“Overwhelmed… You got overwhelmed… Well, if any of your claims are true, you will have to keep these explanations for the secretary of state. I am to meet with him in two hours, so please, spare me the technical details and move on to some more sizable proof.”
“Of course major general. Please follow us.”
They promptly got out of the building again, walking toward the entrance gate and then in an alley between two storage units. This part of the base was small enough it could be traveled on foot entirely. It supposedly held a regiment, but it was barely big enough to be qualified as such. As much as he had hated him this week, Pinckney had to admit: Colonel Butterfield had gotten a short straw when getting assigned to this place.
A dozen men in uniform were waiting for them. They were all very low-rank and the general had to wonder what they were doing here. “This is Sergeant Sadowski’s men, general. They are available should you have any question to them.”
“And Sadowski is…?”
“The subject of the Dundee experiment sir.”
The men saluted him while he inspected them quickly. Their faces oddly reminded him of Colonel Butterfield: they looked tired, yet there was a sense of excitement and wonder in their eyes. He had rarely seen that before—scratch that, he had never seen it before. There was something else too; it was stronger in the men’s gazes than in the colonel… It was hard to pinpoint but… Was it anxiety? Terror? Fear? Fear it was. Definitely—he recognized the look from his years deployed in Afghanistan. These men were terrified, controlled by something.
He pondered about asking them questions—he had lots of them after all—but decided this would wait for his report to the secretary of state. The watch of the colonel biped. “Sergeant Sadowski should be joining us presently, his feeding time has finished.” The general waited, wondering what he was exactly expecting to happen—this was all ludicrous. For a second, he thought about just leaving on the spot; but Kingsley interrupted his train of thought.
“The sergeant’s diet has him eating close to two million calories a day; nearly as much as a thousand men. His needs have overwhelmed the base’s capacity. It’s, as you can imagine, a logistical nightmare.” This made very little sense for Pinckney: these were all meaningless numbers until he would finally have his eyes on the prize.
That would happen soon enough. He heard some rumble coming from all the way over at the command building—was it that giant Sadowski coming? He tried to eye over the building next to them but could not.
He heard more heavy echoes, loud thumps coming from the road between the command center and the gated entrance. By now, he almost felt as if the ground was shaking with each massive step. The general felt a need to rush out of the alley to see more; but this wouldn’t be very professional.
All of the soldiers looked super excited, some of them even shaking. The colonel and the specialist were watching him carefully, awaiting for a reaction. He tried to keep his countenance, but he had to admit: this was quite freaky. He was starting to better understand the words of St Clair… Perhaps even envy his position, in a plane to Washington—he surely had landed by now.
The general was suddenly taken out of his thought as a massive foot stepped over the entrance of the alley. God! This foot was bigger than a king-size bed, he thought. He emitted a yelp of shock, hoping no one heard it. Man, were these feet impossibly large… They stretched longer than a grown adult, the toes going on and on and on. This was defying the general’s comprehension.
Another foot soon stepped into the picture, the giant sergeant blocking the alley—it downed on the general that they had nowhere to run, the muscular super-soldier blocking the only exit. This was a strange place to be introduced to him… For the first time in many years, Pinckney was experiencing fear again.
“Sergeant Sadowski, this is General Pinckney, he is here to review your staggering progress,” commented the specialist, shouting so as to be heard nearly 40 feet higher. The general was not really paying attention: he looked up, and up, and up, in complete disbelief.
Although Sadowski was barefooted, he wore usual army khaki pants, a gigantic belt securing his pants around his tight waist. Pinckney noticed that the waist of the soldier actually came higher than the level of the two storage hangars surrounding them—the man really was as tall as they had claimed! His green t-shirt was loose around his abs, but stretched tighter and tighter as it ran along his muscular torso, his flared lats and his boulder-sized shoulders. Veins ran like roads on a map on his biceps and forearms.
Exchanging a gaze with the giant, the general quickly understood who was in command here. Although he outranked him by many orders, there was no doubt this sergeant was the real boss, commanding more power in his body than the entire regiment hosted. Pinckney slowly understood the meaning of the words St Clara had reported… “Seeing, but not believing…” he commented in a muffled voice.
“Aye, sir!” shouted Sadowski, moving into a military salute. His voice was unbelievably strong, rambling through the bones of Pinckney’s body. It commanded respect and devotion. As he moved his hand to his head, his biceps bulged, a ball of muscle that could surely crush any living soul on Earth effortlessly. Project Denton had not only made Sadowski super tall: he was incredibly shredded too, not an ounce of fat on his magnificent body. Standing straight doing the salute like he was now all of the muscles in his body were tensed, ready to jump into action. He could probably reduce this puny base to dust in a matter of minutes.
The movement also revealed a damp patch on his shirt, around his armpit; the general’s mind wandered for a second, losing its gaze in it… It was oddly… Oddly… Attr—that wasn’t a thought he should have, not in this position. His mind slowly shifted back into gear, avoiding the terrifying gaze of the sergeant.
“At ease, son,” uttered the general at last. Sadowski relaxed, unable to hide a small smirk on his face as he looked down upon the trio below and his men. What was now filling their eyes was lust; they were ready to act at any of his command, hoping to please the giant. He knew the colonel feared him—the general would soon too. He could not help himself but get aroused over the staggering size difference—these were fully-grown army men below, and he could crush them on a whim, reducing them to paste!
The general started moving hesitantly toward him, Sadowski’s eyes following him. Pinckney was inspecting him, not knowing where to put his gaze—there was just so much to look at!
While the giant’s pants were quite loose overall, his thighs and butt somewhat tested their stretch. The general could only imagine the power withheld into Sadowski’s quads—enough to crush entire trucks, no doubt about that. Perhaps even tanks. There was simply no telling how powerful that man truly was.
Even relaxed, his muscles were still stretching the upper part of his shirt, his pecs heaving with every breath he took. His deltoids were popping through, surrounding his bull-like neck.
As the general got closer, he felt more and more overwhelmed by the sergeant’s presence. He was barely coming high enough to be midway up his shin, and he had to crane his neck to be able to discern Sadowski’s sharp facial features. He almost felt in trance, his entire body on autopilot, his mind subjugated by what he was seeing.
All worries about the experiment had by now been pushed far away into a forgotten corner of his mind; one and only one thing was filling up his thoughts, much like it filled his field of vision right now, and it was the sergeant’s impossible frame. His mind was buzzing with possibilities, and as he drew closer to his feet, he couldn’t keep his unimpressed about everything game anymore.
“I… I…” He stumbled for his first few words, not quite knowing where to start. “I must say I am impressed, sergeant.”
Sadowski smiled, soaking in the praise. “Thanks sir.” Pinckney continued his tour, coming up close to the feet of the giant. They had somewhat of a stench, but the general surprisingly didn’t mind—he was too much in awe. Still, this prompted a question.
“Why no shoes?”
“They stopped making me shoes a week ago, I have been growing out of them too fast sir.” He wiggled his toes as if to demonstrate. Pinckney’s gaze couldn’t get away from the sergeant’s magnificent feet; he was now up close to them, and the smell was stronger than ever. It was virile and unnerving; he felt almost compelled to touch Sadowski’s feet, but controlled himself. How would he look doing that? He would later learn that worship of the sergeant’s growing body had become common across the base, men begging to get some time with him.
“In fact even my shirt is getting tight…” commented Sadowski, flaring his lat to further his point. The general looked up, and thought he could see the muscle fibers tensing up under the shirt’s overstretched fabric. He was packing on some serious size.
As the general now got beyond the ankle of Sadowski, he stared up at the wall of muscle that was his back. It was larger at its widest point than the alley, and it looked as if it was made of some impossibly strong material. Even through the shirt, he could clearly discern the striations of his knotty back. His lats were so large that they flaunted against his defined biceps, the total width of his shoulders being nearly three times as large as his waist.
The sergeant finally relaxed the pose, feeling the shirt almost tearing up. The general was coming back up to him, ending his tour. “How much do you weigh, sergeant?
“I’m 57,000 pounds, all muscle, for 39 feet sir, but I am still growing.” The number came out of his mouth automatically—he knew them by heart, for it was his pride. The general did some math in his head; this was nearly 30 metric tons of muscle the sergeant was carrying—heavier than two light tanks put together. Power simply untold.
“Tell me more about your growth,” enquired the general, fascinated by Sadowski and enthralled by his soothing baritone. He joined the other men simultaneously.
“I was twenty feet a bit more than a week ago. The week before, I had barely broken the seven-foot barrier after two weeks of trials.” The general was impressed, almost terrified by the numbers. He had hundreds of questions, but many he wouldn’t dare asking the colossus himself. This would have to wait for him to be in private with the supervisors of the project.
“Are there others like you?” but before Sadowski could speak, Kingsley interrupted him and answered the general’s question. This last one inferred that the sergeant was certainly not aware of all of the details of the project. “We administered the same treatment to forty others, with no response beyond increased muscle growth—but not much more than under a similar dose of steroids and growth hormones. This is the only time we’ve had… that kind of result.”
The general had lost all the invective thoughts he had regarded project Dundee—he was fully sold, amazed by the results obtained with Sergeant Sadowski. Funny how fast his mind had switched… He even had difficulties understanding the doubts and worries lifted by St Clair.
Still, he had that meeting with the secretary soon—this had to come to an end, as much as he wanted to spend more time with the giant. Perhaps was he going to stay on base for a while… He decided to ask one last question before ending this first meeting. “Are you happy with your growth, sergeant?”
It took a second for Sadowski to process the question; his face froze for a second. This whole thing had been so natural to him, so obvious that he should thrive for more and more size, that he had never considered it. A big smile appeared on his face. “Yes sir, I am more than contempt with the experiment.” He had to watch his language—his answer would have naturally been more along the line of “Fuck yeah.” And while he would not have made that effort with the colonel—he cared little about him—he kind of liked the old general. He could sense he had respect and wonder for him, while the colonel only had fear.
“Good,” commented Pinckney, ready to leave.
But Sadowski continued, “In fact, I can’t wait to grow even bigger and to put those muscles to work in the field sir.”
“We do have something more to show, general,” added Kingsley after the giant had finished. He was actually unsure how Pinckney would take Sadowski’s last comment—he wanted to move on, quick. No need for unnecessary fear mongering—the sergeant had a tendency to make terrifying claims about his future growth.
“I would be pleased to see it.” Kingsley couldn’t help but notice now how the general attitude had changed. When he had first seen him, he thought he was going to get a second butthole ripped on today. But now, he was much calmer, and much happier to extend his stay. Sadowski had worked his magic on him, like he had on so many others.
People responded in three different ways to his presence, Kingsley had written in his journal a few days ago. The first two groups felt a compulsive need to serve and please the giant; one group because they feared him, the other because they admired him. Both groups were filled with equal lust, but the behavior of the fear group was much more akin to that of slaves—they became the giant’s mindless drones. The third group was made of people that reacted in what was, he supposed, a more logical way. He estimated, from statistics on base, that more than ninety percent of people fell in the first group, and fewer than one percent in the last one. The general was surely lucky enough to be in the second group. His aide, on the contrary, was a definite third one.
“You see, we’ve been inducing growth in Sergeant Sadowski in two different modes.” Sadowski would not admit it, but he hated Kingsley and the way he talked about his growth, the guy felt like he was playing God whereas the real God was under his eyes, towering above him.
“There is continuous growth, that happen on a day to day basis, at a rather slow rate, albeit much higher than in a normal human being, obviously. Then, we can also induce spurts, by loading him with the serum in the morning and having him trigger it in the afternoon. It is how we have achieved such incredible progress.”
The general understood—at least partly. “Would you like to see one of these bursts?”
“Surely.” Pinckney could not believe the opportunity. Had he been told a few hours ago by the colonel he would see a live human grow from 40 feet to whatever size they were planning, he would’ve simply fired him on the spot—this was such an outlandish claim! But now, he wanted nothing more than that.
There was a beaming smile on Sadowski’s face. Growing bigger was his favorite part of the entire experiment—along with blowing the scientists estimates out of the water every time. He was gonna put on an incredible show for the general, one he would never forget. More than that, he wanted to put back in his place that Kingsley prick.
Pinckney expected some convoluted contraptions to be brought in to trigger the growth, but nothing of that happened. Kingsley kept on commenting about the process, while the colonel remained silent. “Today, we expect to bring him up to a size of 50 feet roughly, our final target for this experiment.” The target had always been seven to eight feet, but Sadowski had pushed way beyond that. This was simply the last spurt planned—Kingsley truly had no idea where this was leading. Sadowski knew and his smile morphed slowly into a smirk; 50 feet my ass! He wouldn’t stop unless he wanted too, knowing this was perhaps his last opportunity—although he had no doubt the general would approve for more.
The general was still in the dark about the entire process. He couldn’t really picture it happening in his mind: was it going to be slow, fast, maybe even instantaneous? What would it look like, while the sergeant would expand to a new record height? It was simply out of the scope of his imagination.
“Now, Sergeant Sadowski, if you may begin.” And with that, Kingsley took a step back, looking up at the bulk of the giant. The real fun was about to begin.
The sergeant shifted his position, facing the alleyway fully. Although all this looked like a mystery to the general, Sadowski had it all figured out. They would give him every morning some of the treatment through an injection—at first in his glutes, but when it had become too hard, through a vein on his forearm, but even that had technical complexities by now, due to the stiffness of his skin. On days of growth burst, they would inject him with a larger dose, both in the morning and at lunch, and feed him twice to thrice his usual caloric input.
They—more like he—had discovered these bursts by mistake, back when he could still fit through a door. He had realized that after exerting himself intensively, his growth rate would skyrocket; so much that he could sometimes feel it happening live. The protocol for burst was then derived from this experience. But Sadowski needed not exert himself anymore now; he had a much better control of the process and could trigger it with relative ease.
He closed his eyes, letting his body relax, focusing on his respiration. As he slowed down his breathing, he could slowly feel every muscle fiber in his chest coming alive; he could sense them precisely. The sensation radiated progressively through his body, as he gained full knowledge of every pound of muscle that made up his massive frame. He felt absolutely gigantic, and although he couldn’t see them, he could feel the little people below, them being nothing but toys next to him.
The process was akin to meditation, at least in some ways. Slowing down his breathing further, he gained even more control and sensation over his body; he could feel his own presence radiating in the base, his monstrous muscles twitching with every breath he took. He kept on focusing on getting to know every fiber in his body for a minute or so, slowly feeling his muscles filling-up with energy…
To the shrimps below him, it was as if the world had felt silent. There was only his distant breathing, and it seemed as if his body was completely relaxed. The general watched in awe, eager to see what would follow.
The energy Sadowski could visualize filling up and fueling his muscle didn’t feel scorchingly hot or even slightly warm; on the contrary, it was a deep cold that sent shiver down his spine. He had had difficulty controlling his reacting to it the first few times, but he had now learned to master it. As he felt fuller and fuller, he sensed himself ready to go over the edge, to capitalize onto that new found energy. He had butterflies in his stomach, but he resisted leaping from that ledge, knowing the longer he waited, the stronger the release would be…
His men had been silent the whole time, but now it was something else entirely; they seemed in a state of trance, their breathing synchronized with their idol. They felt ready for that historic moment, knowing full well what Sadowski was cooking inside of him. The general felt a shiver down his spine too; that peacefulness was disconcerting and he felt in the presence of something greater for a few seconds—this was only the calm before the storm.
Feeling that he was nearing full potential, Sadowski got ready for climax—this wasn’t unlike edging, except it was hundreds of thousands times stronger, and much harder to control himself, even with the experience he had gathered in a month.
Slowly, he started acting on every fiber that made up his muscles at once; he could sense everyone of them coming alive again, unlocking themselves from their frozen state, moving to their ready position. He was slowly flaring his lats, moving in for a spread that would fully show off the insane definition of his back.
He turned to face the command center, the general and the other shrimps below now facing the full glory of that knotty back. It was as if his full body had suddenly gotten a surreal pump, and a massive one. Veins were running like snakes on his forearms and biceps, and his butt was bulging out from his khakis. Sweat was starting to appear on his skin, and the wet patch on his t-shirt expanded steadily away from his armpit… He felt at the edge of climax.
He soon reached the full extent of his spread; the last of his lats locked into position, pushing hard against the shirt’s tight fabric. It had difficulties containing its large shoulders, even more so with his deltoids pressing hard on it. As the last of his back muscle reached full extension, he suddenly felt it.
It was like a bright light, a flood of power that suddenly poured into his body. The energy previously stored was suddenly unleashed into his muscles; and rather than stopping, his lat spread went on and on, his back extending, growing bigger by the second, while he was inching up too. To him, it felt only natural to keep on going with the movement, to flex harder and harder…
Pinckney had difficulty admitting it at first: “He… g-he is… gr—growing!” And there was no one to confirm his claim; all had fallen silent, watching the giant sergeant rise slowly into the air, his back stretching impossibly wide. Pinckney was seeing, but no believing—again.
“Urg…” he groaned, clenching his teeth, “I am feeling it baby… Come on…” In a matter of dozens of seconds, he had already grown of more than five feet—and this looked more like a beginning than an ending. His body was now glistening with sweat, an audible stretching sound coming from the shirt above. Every striation of his back was clearly visible, expanding at worrying speed. His boulder ass was popping out more and more, the khakis now stretching thin too.
Pinckney noticed Sadowski’s ankle was now revealed, and his gaze wandered to the sergeant’s feet: they were inching up bigger by the second, the stench strengthening here on the ground. The pavement under them was cracking, the decrepit road unable to sustain the pressure exerted by the giant.
It dawned onto Kingsley that he was by now seriously approaching the 50-foot barrier, the target for today, and was still growing steadily. In fact, from his experience, this was only the appetizer for the spectacle that was to come. He wanted to try to intervene, but standing here, under the towering and expanding giant, he felt powerless.
“Man…” Sadowski was still groaning, having difficulty to talk—truth was, he was focusing on controlling the flood happening in his body. He wanted to keep it going, to grow bigger and bigger endlessly; and for that he needed a serious build-up. But his mind was losing the impossible game, and he knew he couldn’t control himself for much longer.
His buttocks were now rising past the next building’s roof—he had passed today’s objective effortlessly—and he was still growing, his frame ballooning up in the sky. “Yo—You liking it down here general?”
“Hell yeah!” That answer came automatically; he did not even think of it. Some men let out a little laugh—this was not his usual mood to burst out like that, but he couldn’t hide how much he was enjoying himself. This was a blast.
“Good.” The growing marked a short pause—he knew how to be dramatic—and went on: “Because I have more for you!”
Pinckney’s eyes didn’t have time to fill up with envy and his mind to ponder his expectations. Sergeant Sadowski promptly moved up his left arm, gazing at it, and flexed his left biceps, losing all focus he had on controlling his growth. The flood-gates were opened.
His ball of biceps went on from the size of a small car to that of a full-size SUV and then beyond in a matter of seconds; his feet were creeping up on the ground at an astonishing pace, and the breeze overwhelmed the group below carrying feet funk and salty sweat. The shirt was now getting tight around his waist too, revealing his first row of abs and, from behind, the crack of his boulder-sized butt.
This was nothing like before. His body was packing on weight and height at a frightening rate. The stretching t-shirt finally gave off around his lats, a massive tear crossing his back. But it didn’t have enough time to burst in one or two pieces; his chest and deltoids further breached it open, while his widening shoulders just made the lateral seam give away. It was a rain of sweat soaked t-shirt debris below, and his full upper body was now revealed.
His glorious back was even more stunning bare; it was a wall of impossible resistance, that even a tank shell could not pass; it was glistening with sweat, casting a shadow over the rest of the base. It was just so impossibly large… Pinckney thought you could build a few bungalows on it. Forget that about that, you could build a house on that back!
Looking up, the group noticed they were now under his elbow; as the sergeant had grown bigger and bigger, the alley had stretched thinner. They had to take a few steps back, surrounded by pieces of smelly fabric from the teared-up shirt. The sergeant’s men, however, did not move. They were too stunned, and far too enthralled by his body to even think about distancing themselves from it.
He moved his second arm into a flex too, reaching a classic rear double biceps pose. They were two balls of dense muscle sitting on top of horseshoes triceps that were bigger than a heavy tank. They packed untold power, the firehose sized veins running along them a testament to how shredded the sergeant was.
The general pondered deploying him on the battlefield—a thought he would never have allowed himself to have moments ago, but the sergeant had worked his magic on him. Given that no weapons could pierce that thick skin, the enemy would have no choice but to run away—but run where? Sadowski could catch up with any of their vehicles easily, and he could waste any equipment they had just with his raw physical strength! They would stand no chance to even scratch the giant!
And forget about physical domination, their mind would simply be unable to process what would be happening to them and it would take minutes for them to surrender to their new God and leader, Sergeant Sadowski. There was simply no telling the extent of the influence he could have on others.
A renewed stretching sound was starting to echo again throughout the base. Now, the previously loose military khakis had difficulty handling the sergeant’s ever-growing quads, the fabric stretched so much across his butt that the puny men below could start to discern some striations in his muscles. His belt was stretching thin too, the leather whitening in some place from the constraints it was submitted to. Not only that, but his pants barely covered midway up his shin.
The sergeant had by now broken the 60-foot barrier, and as Pinckney looked up, he realized the surrounding buildings were standing knee-high to the colossus. Sadowski’s feet were by now stretching bigger than a car, the pavement had caved in around them.
The general should have been frozen in fear, and there was some fear in his mind, but, if anything, he was excited to see Sadowski broke the specialist’s estimate.
Finally, the growth seemed to subside as the sergeant moved his two arms down and relaxed his lats. “Woooh!” he exclaimed, his voice louder than a jet engine. “That was some serious growing, don’t you think?” He turned back to face his audience, adjusting his stance.
The group of shrimps below fell silent. By now, they were barely taller than his ankle; if they had been incredibly small next to him before, they were now no bigger than toys—and certainly flimsier. In fact, if they were toys, the sergeant surely had outgrown them. For the first time, they could now gaze at his massive bare chest and abs, a sight to behold.
Beads of sweat were pouring down his entire upper-body, the seemingly effortless growth still having put a strain on his muscles. His abs were a defined six-pack, the canyons separating them enough to fit a fully-grown human sideway. The striations and patterns surrounding them were mesmerizing; Pinckney had seen some fit men in the army, some that would have been bulkier than Sadowski proportionally, but never had he seen someone that shredded to the bone. It was like an anatomy book, except blown up to impossible proportions.
Above his washboard abs ballooned two slabs of meat that were his pecs, heaving with every breath he was taking. Each one of them was larger than the dormitory room in which the soldiers used to live, and they were bursting out a few feet away from the rest of his upper-body, casting a shadow underneath. And then, to top it all, were his overdeveloped deltoids, each larger than any of the men below, supporting his thick neck. On his face, it was a look of happiness like the general had never so before.
The men still remained silent, in worship of that stunning body. Kingsley broke the silence, his voice hesitant and unassertive: “Pl … Ple—Please sergeant, th—that’s—”
“Well, general, who do you think? Impressed? Happy about the results?” He flexed one after another his muscles, hitting various classic poses, much to the delight of his audience. If he had already impressed the general before, now that last one was fully sold.
“I’m… I’m speechless,” barely articulated Pinckney. Sadowski raised an eyebrow, as if this was not enough. “I mean… That was … was … awesome!” Finally uttered the general, breaking from his usual shell of gravitas and severity. The giant sergeant smiled, warming the heart of the general. This last one wanted nothing more than to please him. “You… You truly are something else sergeant! You are the best! Our best soldier!”
This was music to Sadowski’s ears. Kingsley looked at the general with disapproval, but there was little he could do. He had felt for the past few weeks his control over the experiment disappearing, but now he had no doubt he was not in charge of anything anymore. And the colonel… Well… The colonel seemed to have lost it all: he was nothing more than a living zombie, a mindless drone. Kingsley doubted Butterfield could even speak to Sadowski without pissing his pants in fear.
The stretching sound made an unexpected comeback, although fainter this time. As the general looked up, he noticed a long and stretching bulge in the tight pants; it was the sergeant’s dick, growing harder and harder from arousal. His men let out a series of gasps; noticing the attention, Sadowski groped his package, furthering its growth—it stretched longer than any of them below already!
“What can I say, I have been growing BIG everywhere!” joked Sadowski, his laughter deafening. Butterfield wouldn’t have allowed that in front of the general; but he felt powerless to do anything. Similarly, the general would have fired the sergeant on the spot if that happened hours ago, and with him at a normal size; but now, the sergeant had all rights on him. He could do whatever he please, and the general would approve, eager to please him.
Sadowski sensed that almost immediately and decided it was time to move on to the last part of the plan he had concocted. He locked gaze with the ecstatic general underneath. In seconds, Pinckney could feel himself lost in the abyss of that deep-green gaze… The surrounding environment faded, and he felt as if the base and the other men were far away in the distance. One thing filled his mind and view: him, the giant sergeant, Sadowski, his new idol and commander.
“Do you like these biceps, general?” enquired the sergeant, flexing his rock solid guns.
“Y—Yeah sergeant! They are wonderful!” Sadowski went from pose to pose, showcasing his arms heavily. They were bulging with power and the size, each larger than a big Jeep, certainly larger from peak to peak than any soldier on this base. “They are the biggest, the best guns I have ever seen, sergeant!”
“And these abs… Do you like them too?” He flexed them harder, highlighting just how defined and hard they were. “Yes! They are beautiful, sergeant!” Pinckney was slowly losing it, mesmerized by the show the giant soldier was putting on for him. His abs were dancing in a mesmerizing fashion, swiftly moving from a vacuum to a full flex, drawing patterns of a staggering complexity. The general went on raving on, encouraging Sadowski for more. Kingsley felt he had lost the fight; there was nothing he could do, and he knew for a fact the next few weeks were gonna be much, much worse than today.
Sadowski hit pretty much all of his muscles that way, the general now shouting like a fan at a baseball game encouraging his favorite team. The sergeant’s men were in silent worship, some working up discreetly the bulge in their pants. Sadowski had been drinking every word of the general straight from the horse’s mouth, working up his dick through his skin-tight trousers. He felt aroused like never before, dominating that senior general so easily.
He wiggled his toes, still pinning the general under his gaze. “You like that too, don’t you?” The general felt uneasy for a second… He wanted to get closer to the giant feet, to be surrounded by their funk, to lick Sadowski’s salty soles… These were thoughts he had reprimanded before, but he felt as if he could barely contain them anymore. “Come on, you find them hot, uh? You want to lick them like your shrimp friends do every night, don’t you?”
His voice was echoing in Pinckney’s mind, piercing every mental protection he had. It was commanding and he felt the need to admit to his thoughts… “Y—Y … Yes, I want to.”
“What do you want to do exactly, general?
“I … I—Lick your feet.”
“Y—Your giant feet sergeant. I want to lick them.”
“Go ahead,” ordered Sadowski. His men opened a path to his massive feet; the colonel watched in dismay and Kingsley uttered a faint, “Don’t … don’t…” that the general didn’t hear—or didn’t choose to hear.
He could almost feel a ringing in his ears as he drew closer and closer to the giant. His massive frame grew in the view, and the others just watched him walking slowly toward his feet under his commanding gaze. For a second or so, the general wasn’t sure about what was to come; he felt he wanted it, but was it really true? Was it not fear driving him? Or something even deeper, something even more primal? He couldn’t tell—as the funk of the sergeant’s feet started entering his nostrils, his mind simply stopped working. He was stripped of any ability to make decision for his own or to question Sadowski’s will. In the realm of his stretching sole, he was a only a drone.
The python lurking in the sergeant’s pants was nearing full mast, almost ten feet in length, precum pouring at its end. Even for his gargantuan frame it was oversized, his pants barely able to hold it without splitting wide open. Every man watching felt emasculated, their tools meaningless pickles next to this glorious rod lurking under the fabric.
The general was finally within reach of the sergeant’s feet. The smell here was almost unbearable; a mix of feet funk with salty sweat forming a virile foul mixture that inhabited the general deeply, stripping him of any virility he might had left. And yet, he wanted only one thing: to bath in this stink, to lick thoroughly every square inch of the giant’s feet.
“Stop!” Sadowski commanded calmly. Pinckney froze in his tracks, terrified. He looked up and up and up until he met the giant gaze again. From here the 66-foot giant looked more than commanding; he was simply godly. His weight had nearly doubled with his last spurt, and he was by now tipping the scale at nearly 60 metric tons of raw muscle.
Under his might, the general could precisely discern the landscape of Sadowski’s massive body: the protruding bulging outline formed by his python cock, the ravines and mountains of his abs and the formidable cliffs of his pecs, hiding partially his face. The area surrounding his feet down there was a war zone, covered in pieces of the tattered shirt and moist with sweat.
Sadowski moved into a breathtaking abdominal pose, his triceps bulging to unfathomable size as he put both of his hands behind his neck. He looked more solid than anything any human had ever built from down there; nothing could take on that breathing wall of muscle.
“You like that one?” He enquired, the general answering in a Pavlovian reflex: “Y … yes!” The sergeant watched him with contempt, flexing harder for him. “You like these armpits too, don’t you? You dream of getting up close and personal with them, huh?” The general couldn’t utter a word, staring at the damp sweaty pits above. The thought had barely crossed his mind before, but it was now ubiquitous, echoing everywhere in his brain. He wanted to reach for them, to roll into this hairy damp and get himself soaked in Sadowski’s sweat.
“Come on little guy, admit it. They have all done it here, heck, I bet they are dying for it now!” He was right. His men below were beating it on his body, aroused by the thought of getting dominated in any way by the giant. They wanted badly to be put back in place, to be used by the sergeant—some even dreamed of being crushed under his soles, or in the forests of hair that were his armpits.
“I…” His words were hard to understand, his visage pale with anxiety, “I … I… Would ve—very much l—like it, sergeant.”
A beaming smile appeared on the sergeant’s face. “Huh. Isn’t that cute.” He relaxed the pose, happy with the results he had had. “You’ll get to it in time.” There was a sudden surge of happiness, one he wasn’t expecting, in the general. He felt almost giddy, anticipating that future moment very much.
“But for now… Lick my feet!” His voice was back at being commanding and Pinckney went to work immediately. He kneeled down and started massaging and licking that toe with a new found passion, one he had never had with any partner before. The skin felt harsh and salty on his tongue, but it was an addictive feeling, one he would never feel complete without now. His hands could barely put a dent in the toe, Sadowski’s body as solid as a rock. The surrounding heat felt comfortable and the general felt as if he could go on for hours—in fact, he wanted to.
Sadowski groaned loudly, “God, this is good!” He had never experienced something quite like it either; feeling that puny general licking hard his massive foot was the best thing he had ever experienced, and each renewed little lick sent shivers down his spine. He felt infinitely more powerful than anyone here, a true God to the men below… Groping his cock, he felt as if he couldn’t resist for much longer.
“Oh fuck yeah!” His booming voice was echoing throughout the entire base; perhaps even through parts of the city. By now, many of the men in this part of the base had gotten out to watch the show from the other side. No one laughed at the general’s demise or at his new found position as a little foot-licking fag—they were all jealous, eager to take part in the show too. The scientists on the other distant part had at first put the rambling and the regular bursts of noise as being part of another loud detonation experiment; by now, some were beginning to imagine the unthinkable.
“You like it too?” enquired an absent-minded Sadowski. Pinckney’s answer could not be heard through the licks—for nothing would he want to stop. But stopping he would have to soon… The sergeant focused again on his body, closing his eyes, entering a deep state of meditation. The General work down there was not hindering it; in fact, it made him even more aware of just how mighty big his body was. He could feel every pound of muscle that made him up slowly answering his call…
“You do understand who is fucking command here now, general,” said Sadowski, feeling his presence overwhelming the entire base, the thousands of men ready to serve him like docile little slaves—and he was on the verge of becoming even more mighty.
“You want more general?” His call remained unanswered, but by an increased intensity in licking. “Do you want more?” His voice was back to deafening levels, rattling windows throughout the base.
“Y—Yes… Yes!” uttered the general, never stopping his work.
“This one is for you general… You better get moving, fast. You are about…” He clenched his teeth, feeling the flood of power coming again. “To get…” There was no holding it this time; he was gonna let it go all at once, grow to new terrifying sizes, territories that the scientific team would have thought to remain uncharted forever. “A whole lot…” The general took a step back—he understood what was about to happen, and cheered on.
Kingsley uttered another of his “Pl … Pl-Please sergeant don’t—!” but it remained unanswered and unnoticed.
“MORE!” screamed the giant at full strength, car alarms suddenly echoing throughout the base, his voice even echoing inside the nearby city. And more did they get—that growth was nothing like the previous one, for there was no attempting to hold the flood-gates for later this time. This was the full deal, one that no one could handle… Oh, this was going to be a good one.
On the other side of the country, St Clair finally reached the White House. He did not, however, receive the welcoming he had expected. He immediately met with another aide, who hurried him to the situation room. When he entered, the room was filled with senior officials. The Secretary of Defense was here obviously, but there was also the Secretary of the Army, and some of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. The screens were filled with various video streams from the Los Alamos base, some even taken from an aerial source. Many depicted evacuation operations going on in the research facilities, hundreds of men hurrying to trucks and some more seniors to helicopters. But most depicted a whole other scene, one that St Clair needed no further explanations to understand.
There was no introductory period to that growth spurt; it immediately hit full-on, Sadowski not even thinking about trying to milk it; there would be no need. As the men below stepped back slowly from the quickly growing feet, there was a loud metallic sound above. The buckle of the custom-made belt had simply exploded, sent flying thousands of feet away. The heavy belt thus felt to the ground, followed by pieces of his khakis, which his ballooning quads had torn to pieces.
This revealed his tight white briefs, which his ever-growing rod was already stressing beyond capacity. The sergeant waited no time for a further reveal; he grabbed his cock with one hand and got it out of the brief, which effectively tore apart in the same motion and started stroking it.
“You all wish you could have one that big, eh,” he commented between groans, drops of precum falling on the ground below at an accelerating pace. All below let out a gasp, feeling stripped of their virility—that cock stretched easily beyond the ten feet mark and it outsized all of them. Some remembered fondly taking it up their ass or throat less than a few days ago—most in fact had serviced it more than a few times—a task that would be impossible now. How fast had the sergeant grown!
Sadowski was still holding that side chest and triceps pose he had started moments ago, only diverting from it to allow himself to stroke his cock—he was actually struggling with it, for it was so wide he could not get his gigantic hand to close around it and so long he would need his two hands free to really give it the stroking it needed.
Meanwhile, his upper body was bursting up to unthinkable proportions. The three rows of his abs alone were taller than the surrounding buildings, each slab of abs expanding past well past the size of a big family fridge. His pecs were heaving bigger and bigger by the seconds, the thick layers of muscle protecting his body against any thinkable attack. By now, he was packing on more strength than the general had under his command—and that strength could stretch a lot further than the power wielded by the general’s men. What’s more, he had more than doubled his original size from this morning, and was not in any mood to stop.
The sergeant moved to another pose, this time wanting to highlight his legs. He came back to that abs pose he had mesmerized Pinckney with before, focusing on his lower-body this time. As it tensed up, his quads expanded until they were the size of a small suburban house, and his bubble ass bulged along—a fully-grown man could get lost in the cave here! And he was growing bigger by the very second, strapping on size at an exhilarating rate…
To give his calves some work too, he drove one of his feet deeper into the concrete, grinding it easily, driving the edge of his foot deeper into it. These soles of his were by now beyond the sixteen feet mark and they were driven by legs that could smash or grind anything to a pulp; forget about men, even tanks would get flattened out under that much strength.
Even though he had stopped stroking it for a few seconds to hold the pose, his cock still stood at full mast, an obscene rod stretching far away from his body, as massive and oversized than the rest of his features. Veins were snaking on its surface, engorged with blood from the deep state of arousal the sergeant was in.
As he ended this pose, he broke through the 100 feet mark, having outweighed by more than a factor of 7 the largest dinosaur to have ever lived on Earth, and weighing soon more than a fully loaded Antonov plane—a weigh that no one would have believed possible for a terrestrial creature, even more so for a human.
He could feel his cock would not have it for much longer; it was a miracle he had hold out that long, a miracle that would not last. He moved on to one last pose, back to an incredible lat spread. They expanded larger and larger, blocking the sun on a good part of the base. He was by now so big that the alleyway was getting tight: his feet were nearly touching the building on their sides.
All men on base were now looking fearfully to the sky, his frame just bulging bigger and bigger. Some of his troops were beating it along with him, others were worshipping in silence. The general was the only one speaking, still shouting encouragement to the sergeant…
“Oh, here it comes! Ready yourself!” Towering over the entire base, he contemplated his surroundings one last time, no buildings even daring to reach midway up his shins. He felt all powerful watching the puny men below frozen in their tracks and worshipping him; he was a God to them by now, infinitely more powerful than they could ever dream of being…
His blew his load on the spot, his groans echoing throughout the base and the city. It was a massive load, and each shot went hundreds if not thousands of feet away, leaving a trail of thick cum behind. In seconds, the smell overtook the base, the men in worship almost all blowing it too simultaneously.
The general and the others below were copiously doused in his cum, more and more still coming out of that 20-foot-long cock. Unbelievably so, he was still growing, his biceps having expanded to the size of a truck by now and his back so wide that it could stretch the entire length of the alleyway. If he had been a colossus before, he was now a full-on giant, able to destroy buildings by simply stomping onto them. Kingsley doubted that by now even artillery could take him out; he was nearing invincibility, perhaps was he even already invincible.
As the last drop of cum exited his monstrous cock, his growth seemed to subside finally. He looked around at the diminished surroundings, himself unable to believe just how big he was. “God! I am huge!” he said, his voice like thunder. “I can’t believe it!” He flexed his biceps and inspected it, mesmerized by its size and the power it packed.
There was only one thing on his mind, and it was to test out that new body of his. He wanted to see how fast, how strong, how resilient he was. He wanted to make a statement to the world that there was no limit to his capacities—that he was a breathing God.
Thousands of miles away from Los Alamos, deep under the White House, the situation room was buzzing excitement, orders to military bases flashing left and right. None other than the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the Secretary of Homeland Security, the National and Homeland Security Advisors and the Director of National Intelligence had joined the emergency meeting, followed by dozens of other senior staff in other rooms.
But, suddenly, the activity halted to a stop. The President himself had entered the room, after watching footage of sergeant Sadowski’s growth live streamed on YouTube by a soldier on base. His eyes were wide, and no one knew what he would order next.