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Four Weeks Later
|It's been kind of slow here lately, so I put my pent-up sexual
frustration to some use. The story's not exactly a happy ending type
(depending on what you consider a happy ending), and it's a little
rough: I wrote it in a few spare hours and didn't do much editing, so
This is possibly the start of a longer story, but don't hold your breath (assuming you like it anyway)...I haven't written a Muscle Growth story in years (The Deal, The Trail, etc), and I have no reason to believe that I'll have the time to write a continuation of this. We'll see.
And lastly, this is based on a pretty good horror movie I saw this summer. See if you can guess which one.
Standard disclaimers apply.
|The streets were dead quiet, but Cory knew that could be deceiving.
He held his breath, peering out of the subway entrance, his eyes wide and searching for any sign of movement, knowing that he was wasting precious minutes by hesitating like this, but he couldn't make himself move. Too many times he'd thought he was safe, only to lose friends to the Virus, to the Lust, almost losing himself. And now there was just him.
"Okay. Okay. Just across the street, into the store, and then back here." He said to himself quietly. He steeled himself, tensing the muscles in his slender legs, feeling the tension build between his narrow shoulders. He looked up the street, then down. The only movement came from a plastic bag as it was volleyed about by an errant wind.
"Now!" He whispered through gritted teeth, and forced himself to move.
As quietly as he could, as quickly as he could, he darted across the street, wincing at how his sneakered footfalls echoed back from the blank-faced sky scrapers around him. Seconds later, he was at the storefront, and he ducked inside, quickly getting his bearings, making sure one of Them wasn't inside.
It seemed safe. He didn't feel he had more than a few seconds to make sure. If there was one in the back, he would just have to hope it was sleeping or…or doing the other thing they did.
Quickly, he slid the backpack off his shoulder, ripping it open and going straight to the canned goods. The last twenty-eight days had left the shelves almost empty, but there were still a few treasures: canned beans and vegetables, a couple small bags of chips, a bottle of water that had fallen off a shelf and half-rolled underneath a shopping cart.
This was how he'd been living for the last four weeks, scouting out small stores and robbing them of what they offered. If he was lucky, they'd hold enough food for more than one or two trips. The last store had had two boxes of protein bars, a cornucopia for his new existence. Eric had been with him then.
Don't think of him. He scolded himself as he piled a few small cans of corn into his backpack.
It was getting easier to stop thinking about things. After that first chaotic week, when the virus was spreading from person to person so quickly that most hadn't even realized what was happening, he'd had to learn a lot about survival.
He was reaching for a can of powdered drink on a high shelf when he froze. A loud, heavy clunk had just come from the back room, like someone knocking over a heavy barrel. Shit. He cursed silently, not daring to move. His ears strained, attempting to hear past the suffocating silence around him.
He heard a footstep, just beyond the staff doors that lead to the backroom.
The infected could move fast, faster than Cory could. His only hope would be to get out of the store before he was discovered, to get back into the subway terminal, where he'd already secured a home base behind a security door. For some reason, the infected didn't like going below ground anyway…once he made it that far, he'd be safe.
If he made it that far.
He left behind the can, pulling his arm back, not daring to even touch the shelf, not daring to spare more than a glance behind him. The door was still closed, but he could almost hear breathing behind it.
Carefully, he turned, setting his feet down with utter care with every step he took. He heard meaty fingers scrape along the door, but it stayed closed as he passed the checkout counter, scarcely daring to breathe. He had no idea how acute their hearing was, but he didn't want to take any chances. He was almost to the door.
He peered outside, aware that he hadn't much time left, and looked up and down the street, seeing no movement. Almost there. He thought with something close to relief. He turned partway, looked at the staff door across the store. Still closed. He just might make it.
He took a step, felt an odd tugging at his back, but before he realized what it was, the candy display that had caught on his backpack was already falling over with a crash. His heart stopped.
A rage-filled roar filled the store, and he heard the door behind him crash open, could hear frenzied, panting breath – a monster in heat – and that was all it took to break his sudden paralysis.
Cory didn't even spare a glance behind him; he knew what the Infected looked like. His legs pounded into the pavement, his eyes locked on the Subway entrance, his arms pumping beside him, all the while the lumbering scrabble of over-grown feet following him, getting louder.
He was maybe ten feet from safety when his feet slid out from under him, sending him scraping against the pavement. He'd barely even let out a groan when he felt massive weight on top of him, the naked flesh burning against his cool skin. He also felt something large and hard against his ass.
He tried to struggle free, but powerful arms held him in place. He could smell the infection in the creature's sweat, smelling like old sex, a humid, cloying smell. The creature started thrusting against him, and with a shock Cory realized his struggles were only exciting the infected, that the creature, judging from his hurried grunts, was getting close to cumming.
Cory struggled against the pavement, his fingers scrabbling for purchase, trying to get out from under the rutting beast that was once an ordinary guy like him, but it was no use. He was as good as dead.
Suddenly, there was a crash of glass breaking and heat exploded from nearby, a flash of light and Cory looked to see flames sprouting up just a few feet away. The monster on top of him froze, its hard cock still throbbing against Cory's backside, twitching, just moments away from orgasm. The creature let out a strange cry and leapt off of Cory's back. Cory scrambled away, trying to put the flame between himself and the monster.
But the creature – Cory could see it clearly now – had no more interest in him. It stood up, its huge muscles flexing. Cory had never been this close to one of them before, not for so long. He was amazed at the almost inhuman size of it, all of it. The creature was naked, it's cock, still hard, stuck out from its groin nearly a foot long, thicker than a beer can (it wanted to stick that in me!), its massive chest heaving with breath, its shoulders, wide as mountains rising and falling. Only its face looked human, and that only barely, its eyes blank of all thought and reason, filled only with lust and, now, fear. Before Cory could blink, the creature turned on its mammoth legs, legs so large they forced its cock and balls forward, allowed only for the most rolling of movement, and then the creature was running, powerful legs propelling it to safety.
"Did it cum?" A voice asked, and Cory turned to look, slowly getting to his feet.
"Um…no. I don't think so." He answered, in shock. He turned to see a slender figure – someone even skinnier than he was – silhouetted against the flame.
"Good. You should be safe. No need to thank me." The stranger turned to walk away.
"Wait!" Cory exclaimed. He hadn't spoken with another human in days, he was almost desperate for more. The stranger turned, looking back.
"If you're still okay tomorrow, I'll find you." The stranger said, and then kept walking. "Better get someplace safe."
Cory watched the young man walk away, still trying to figure out what had just happened, but before he could follow, he heard a distant cry, another of the Infected, and Cory decided to go back to his home base.
* * *
It was when he got home that he realized he was horny.
This was the worst part of living with the Virus. He was human, he still had human needs, and one of those was sex. Most times he barely even thought about it – getting off often takes a back seat to survival – but he'd found that after tense moments he was almost always horny. The first few times it had freaked him out – the first symptom of the Lust was, well, lust – and even while he told himself that getting a hard on every now and then was perfectly normal, it always gave him a sense of unease.
"Home" was a small room, probably where the transit staff had kept the bus fare until the bank could collect it. The door was solid steel, there was only a small window near the ceiling, and there was a small bathroom that still had water in the form of a filled sink and an unflushed toilet. He hadn't done much to personalize it, as he didn't expect to be here longer than a few more days. There was just his sleeping bag, his large flashlight, and his backpack, which he now tossed aside.
He sat down on the floor to maybe play some cards, but it looked like his dick was going to be insistent tonight. And why not? This had been the closest he'd been to getting infected by the Lust, he could still feel the adrenaline pumping through him. It wasn't like he got turned on by near-death (or near-whatever happens to you when you catch the Virus), and he'd decided that it was just a physical reaction, maybe evolution's way of turning a close call into a chance to send his genes into the next generation. Evolution would be disappointed today, he thought with a smile, unless evolution wanted to supply a woman, too.
He'd learned that the best way to get rid of the jitters was to deal with it right away. He would cum and by the time he'd cleaned up he'd realize that once again, it wasn't the Lust, it was just plain old lust.
So, he sat against the cold wall, unzipping his pants and pulling them down around his knees. His cock instantly sprang up in front of him, hard and insistent. Without giving it much thought, he reached out and started stroking it.
"…god…" he gasped with pleasure. It was rare that beating off brought this much sensation, but not unheard of. He stroked the cock, enjoying the feel, letting waves of pleasure wash over him, leaning his head back. He wasn't infected, he rationalized. You had to get their cum in you. Contact with bodily fluids.
Just enjoy it. He told himself, and he did. He felt pleasure crest in him, building to orgasm, reaching that point of delicious abandon, he was going to cum….
But he didn't…the wave crested, crashed against his pleasure centers, started building again. He started stroking with more intensity, letting out a soft moan of pleasure. This was maybe the best jerking off session he's had in a long time, he realized. He hoped it would last.
He started to feel warm, his clothes restricting. With his free hand he reached up and lifted his shirt off of his body, letting out another groan of pleasure at the freedom. "Fuck, yeah…"
He kicked off his pants, now naked and free to just look at his body, to enjoy the nakedness. His new lifestyle had clearly had an effect on his body, he realized. It looked bigger, tougher. As he jacked his cock, he saw muscles bulge in his forearm, his biceps. His chest was bigger, too, with a cleft between his pecs, a straight line fading as it approached his cock. His big cock.
"Yeah…" he grunted again, looking at his big cock. It looked bigger, its head a bright red, his dick hot in his hand. He slowed his stroking a little, enjoying the sensation. Some precum dribbled at the tip, giving his hand some lubrication as he stroked.
His legs were bigger, too. He could make out the different parts of his quads, could see how weeks of running had given his calves a solid, diamond shape. It looked good, it felt good. He was getting the same shape as the Infected.
He stopped, his dick suddenly aching, demanding for attention, but for a brief second his arousal took second place to panic. He sat up, getting to his feet, his dick hard and heavy in front of him. He tried to look over his body, to see if it was different, but his brain felt cloudy. Was he infected? Did he have the virus? But…it wasn't possible. The monster hadn't cum, though he'd been close.
His hand went to his cock again, almost of its own will, as he tried to remember everything, feeling the inhuman weight of the Infected on him, that strong, warm body, rubbing against him, that large cock, so thick, rubbing against his clothes…
His clothes! He looked around, his hand still on his dick, getting more horny by the minute. A part of him just wanted to deal with his cock and worry about the rest later. Just close his eyes and go with the pleasure. A low moan at the possibility escaped his lips before he could stop it.
His pants were nearby, and he picked them up, absently noticing how his arm flexed as he did so (Is my arm bigger…?). The back of the fabric was covered with a clear fluid; the smell of it was unmistakable. He had the same type of viscous substance dripping from his own cock, sliding along his flesh as he continued to jerk off. Pre-cum. The monster'd been dripping from that huge cock, covering his body with the stuff.
He looked at his free hand with a start – there was a cut there, probably from when he tripped. If that cut had even touched a drop of the pre-cum…
"Nooo…." He said, his voice sounding just a little deeper. He could be infected! He ran to the small bathroom, looking in the mirror.
It was true. He was bigger. He ran his free hand against his chest, feeling the thick muscle that had grown there, probably in the last few minutes. The feeling gave him pleasure and he stroked his nipple even as his eyes widened in terror. He was no longer a slender man; he had the build of an athlete, a hockey player, verging on a football player. He was taller too, maybe by a couple of inches. And every inch of him seemed to vibrate with strength.
He looked down at his cock, seeing it jut out from his groin proudly. His hand kept stroking it, kept sending wave after wave of pleasure. It was bigger too, looking larger and thicker, shining brightly with slick precum. He could feel the weight of it, the power. It felt good.
"No!" he said, forcing his hand from his dick. "I….I sick…." He moaned. He couldn't think straight. He had to get out of here, hand to run.
He ran from the bathroom, struggled with the door. It was difficult to open, it was as if he couldn't quite understand the doorknob. A few panic stricken moments later, he managed to force his way free, using his new strength to pound the door down.
It was too dark down here, he needed to get up, into the fresh air. He ran across the abandoned subway station, running to where daylight streamed through the exit, his strong legs carrying him faster than he was used to. He felt his pecs bounce solidly, felt the curve of his arms against his widening back.
He took the steps three at a time, his dick bouncing in front of him, the weight reminding him every second of it's growth, of his growth.
He reached the sunshine and stopped, grateful for the freedom, breathing the air, taking it into his wide chest. His wide, hot chest. He reached up and stroked it with his left hand, his right hand went to his cock. It felt so good, so very good. He felt his powerful muscles flex as he came, and he let out a violent, guttural roar. Pleasure washed his brain free of any thought as he shot his load, spattering the pavement with more cum than he might have ever thought possible.
The creature that was Cory looked around. He was horny, so horny. He needed more sex. He took a sniff of the air, and followed the scent. There would be others like him.
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