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|Most people don't believe in magic. I know better. Both my parents
practiced the mystic arts, helping the unfortunate and amassing wealth
and power for themselves. I was apprenticed to a family friend after
high school so I too could learn.
My master was the highest level mage. He taught me both the white arts and the black, sympathetic magic and nature's secrets. I served him for eight years, becoming a powerful mage myself, using my powers to repay his tutelage through my service. Though the master had other apprentices, I was the star pupil. I excelled in combining the various forms, a dangerous a difficult task. A single form of magic can be dangerous enough. Combining them can be catastrophic.
Now that my apprenticeship is done, I can turn my magics to my own benefit. Some mages want wealth, others power, still others eschew both in favor of service to humankind. I want power.
From my youngest memories, I have always been attracted to men. Not just any men, but bodybuilders and powerlifters. I love muscle. The bigger, the better. I fantasize about ripping out of clothes, or flexing so hard that steel chains cannot contain my strength. I would secret Muscle and Fittness and Flex into my bedroom and worship the pictures, making the men my fantasy lovers. In return, they would worship me as I grew larger and overpowered them.
Fantasy differs from reality. My body is not built for muscle. I'm five foot nine, but only 130 pounds. I have a sunken chest with my ribs clearly visible through the skin. I'm skinny with a small waist, but no ab muscles to speak of. My legs and arms are twigs. Now, I've decided to change it.
I've done research on transformation spells created by other mages, and none have succeeded or even tried what I am about to try. I intend to combine the dark arts power of selfish gain with sympathetic magic of transmutation. I will be a muscleman, or die trying.
I devise my spell carefully. The sympathetic magic requires the tools of exercise such as a barbell, the clothes of body worship like posing trunks and something physical from a bodybuilder such as body hair. These were easy to require. I purchase used, unwashed posing trunks from competitive bodybuilders on the internet. I only require one, but I buy ten from amateurs and pros alike.
The bodyhair was easy to acquire too. I found a pro, a Mr. Olympia competitor who made some extra money selling his body for bodyworship. I told him I had a fetish for shaving big guys. It was off-season, so he was hairy. He agreed. It cost me a grand, but I got an added bonus when he shot his load on top of the hair.
The dark arts are not as easy to satisfy. Personal gain requires sacrifice. My spell requires the ultimate sacrifice -- a man who died fulfilling his dream of muscle. I get lucky when I hear about a mass monster who died from steroid use. A shame too. The guy was 295 pounds of solid muscle. No body fat at all, though he had the big belly from abusing roids. I pose as a cleaning person sent by his family to pack his belongings and clean his apartment. I find empty syringes in the garbage and half-used bottles of test and HGH in the fridge. I also find some ephedra and other supplements. I take them all.
Finally, I rent a gym. This is where I cast my spell. There are thousands of pounds of free weights, machines, benches, treadmills and other exercise equipment. No better place for the sympathetic magic. I also perform the spell on the thirteenth day of the seventh month, exactly at midnight. I arrange the objects I have collected in a pentagram. I stand naked in the center. Of course, there is the mandatory candles and blood, burning the hair and the briefs and the remaining chemicals. I invoke Bumeral, Cista, and Dornoll, asking the dieties to grant me the power I seek. I plead with Lot, Grid, Pushti, Sthenias, Strenua and Urjani to make me mighty. I pray to Utlunta and Wagadu for prowess and strength. The spell takes all night, and I barely make it out before the gym opens at 5:30, but I know the gods have heard me and will grant my request. I am alive after all.
My spell was not an easy one, and I was drained for a week. I spent the time in my apartment, gathering my mystic powers to me and resting. Finally, it was time for the test.
Magic requires sacrifice to work. If the gods had granted my spell, it would require some token. That token is the worship of another. My spell will allow me to grow stronger and more muscular, but I need to be worshipped. I am now an altar to the gods, and anyone worshipping me is also worshipping them. I need men to want my body, to crave it, to feel it and love it. That physical worship will become my strength. The more I am worshipped, the stronger and bigger I will become.
I go to a local bath house for my test. I rent a room, and walk naked into the steam room. I'm skinny, but not ugly. And I am young. Certainly, some man will want me. It takes nearly an hour, but an older man approaches. We talk, and he tells me he finds me beautiful. We kiss a bit, then go to my room. As we begin the sexual act, I ask if he would talk to me. Tell me what he likes about me.
"Your body really turns me on. I love your skin, it is so soft," he begins. He kisses my lips, and moves down to my neck, chest and nipples. "I love your firm body." He licks me.
I hear him talk, but suddenly my mind is gone. I see the goddesses before me, circling me. They smile. Suddenly, I am back and my body is electric. I am on fire. I feel... I feel strong. The man is licking my navel and begins to suck my dick. I look at his head, and notice that my ribs weren't as visible as am use to. My stomach looks tighter, and my chest has a slight musculature to it. Am I growing?
He keeps talking, telling me how good I taste. The more he worships me, the better I feel. I pull him up and towards me, noticing a slight bulge on my arms. My arms are not as skinny as when we started. I now have a biceps that bulges noticeably as I pull him up. Small, yes, but it is there and it is growing.
As we make love, I can feel myself grow bigger. He watches me, and comments, "Wow, I didn't even notice how fit you are." The words hit me like lightning, and I feel stronger.
"I jog," I lied.
"Damn, look at how cut your legs are!" Each compliment makes me feel stronger and grow bigger. "Damn hot body. Damn hot..." I feel his cum on me. I cum too, not because of him, but because I have grown. I clean up, eager to get home and measure myself.
I have 16 inch arms now, 4 inches larger than before. My chest is 42, also a gain of 4 inches. My 20 inch thighs are now 25 inches of ripped muscles. I even have a mild six pack.
I flex and look at myself in the mirror. The muscles accentuate my good looks. I know this is only the beginning. There will be more men.
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