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|Near the crown of my head, just off to the right, there is a hair. It was unique among the many on my head (still) because I think it was the only part of my body that wasn’t aching. Everything else was. Of that, I was sure.
Chuck had promised punishment for my trying to run away from him as he devoured the small country grocery and he had lived up to that promise. It began with him walking back to the grocery store, tossing me from hand to hand like I was a human Slinky. Each time I was caught, I felt the impact of stopping abruptly. I was sure that I had either bitten my tongue or my lip at least once and that a cut had opened, as I tasted blood. When we reached the store, he slammed me against a telephone pole, put his hand on my chest, and began to lean against the pole, and thus me. The pressure was overwhelming. I couldn’t get my lungs to expand and began coughing in a desperate attempt to get air in my lungs. Just before I passed out, he released his hand, allowing life-giving air to once again fill my body.
“Hmmm, what should I do to punish you”, he said rhetorically? “Should I squeeze your puny chest between my massive forearm and wall of a torso?”, he asked, and then did just that, dislocating some vertebrae in my back, but luckily not cracking a rib. “Should I get you in the most intense headlock you have ever felt?”, he asked, and his combination of bicep and forearm smothered my entire head. He released his other arm for support, causing me to use whatever strength I had in my arms to hang on to that same forearm or risk neck and spine damage. “Or should I just haul you high above my head…”, he said, performing the same, “and smash you down on the ground?” Seconds became hours as I hovered 18 feet or so in the air, waiting for all his power to ram me into the ground and instantly kill me or have me praying for a quick end.
That didn’t happen. “Nah”, he said, “I need to humiliate you some more, and I can’t do that if you are dead” Instead, what he had me do was much more clever, causing him pleasure while causing me greater and greater pain. Chuck instructed me to go into the store and find as much baby oil as they had. When I did, I came back outside from the partially demolished store to find him sitting on the ground. His great height became apparent to me once again as only now, with him sitting on the ground, was I able to look him face to face. He would lay down, and I was to give him a full body massage. He would tell me where to begin, he would tell me when and where to move, and only he would tell me when to end. I was now in my second hour of this massage.
It is one of life’s ironies that here I was, finally getting my wish, to see a real life muscle giant up close, experiencing his strength and power, and all I wanted to do was get away. My hands were cramping, my body ached, but I knew if I stopped I would suffer a fate that made this look easy.
I tried to focus on my work, on the magnificent specimen in below me. Abs that took for full weight of my body and all my pressure and didn’t give an inch. Valleys in-between the abs that grew black from lack of light as they were so deep. Pecs that rose up a full nine inches above the torso and the gap between the pecs so large that soon Chuck would be able to carry me between them if he kept growing like he did. When I was massaging his pecs, he made them dance, and for the first time, I knew what an earthquake felt like. While my whole body did not fit on one pec, it nearly did with his two. His lower arm was solid, his upper arm was a sight to behold. He moved even slightly and either biceps or triceps bulged out of his skin. His legs were so big and so packed I wondered if I would run out of lotion.
Throughout all this, Chuck was talking about himself. Most of it I had heard before, so tried to ignore. One part that caught my attention did so because it filled in yet another piece of the puzzle. He had mentioned that if his grandfather could see him now, he would really understand what had happened. I could not resist that part, so timidly I asked him what he meant. Chuck was happy to oblige because, well, he was talking.
It seems his grandfather was one of the soldiers who were part of the Army’s misguided experiments with atomic bombs in the 1950s. In those experiments, an atomic bomb would be exploded and very soon after, soldiers would be sent into the blast site. Many died later of cancer and other illnesses caused by radiation. Others, like Chuck’s grandfather, developed cell mutations, which was found out later in life.
Nothing much happened with Chuck’s grandfather with the exception that he seemed healthier than most. He took no special care of himself, at no special foods, and seemed to have a vigorous sex life well into old age. His grandfather did notice that he seemed healthier somehow after an episode of anger. He figured it was stress relief.
The mutation must have been passed down to Chuck’s father. Thinking back, Chuck said, he recalled a conversation that he overheard his father and mother have. It seems that when Chuck was born, his father was an even six foot tall. By the time Chuck was about to enter his teenage years, his father was six foot one. By the time Chuck turned 18, his father topped out at six foot five, probably due to all the father-son fights that fathers and sons have during puberty. His father, however, had never worked out, so there was no discernable bulk in mass.
His father was shocked that Chuck seemed to keep growing, eventually topping out at six foot nine, since Chuck had stopped growing for a while. Chuck reveled in calling his father ‘shorty’ and noted that eventually the ‘old man’ was no match for him with his every bulking body. “If the old man could see me now”, he muttered and then pulled me toward him, “but you will have to do”. With that he ordered me to stop the massage and to be ready for the next phase of my punishment. “It’s emptying time again”, he said.
Still laying down, he ordered me to gather the unused bottles of baby oil and place them on his abs, surrounding me. I was going to be his supplier, placing baby oil in his hand, so he could then apply it and…well…pleasure himself.
He went through bottle after bottle in jacking himself, going faster with each stoke, and with each stroke his body trembled more and more. His member was standing straight up, at least three feet tall. I had to physically hold on to his abs to keep from falling off with all the undulating he was doing. He was close. He was going to shoot, and if it were anything like last time, I would soon be covered. He grunted more and more, demanding more oil, moving in faster rhythm, growing larger and more engorged by the second. I could not move for fear of punishment and what he, in that state, would have done to me. I balled myself up as best possible to try to minimize the impact.
At the moment of ejaculation, he was able to bend his member enough so his fluid shot out at an angle, shooting straight across the road, covering the trees in gallons of semen. “Probably will help them grow”, Chuck said with a smile.
With that, his whole body rumbled again, and his head and feet seemed to get further away from me by the second. My body shifted and seemed to go lower. Looking down I saw why…I had actually sunk into his pec separation, which seemed to be engulfing me like quicksand. I waited for the ‘godquake’ to stop and pulled myself loose from the chasm. Seeing that Chuck was about to get up, I slid down his torso onto the ground, landing hard enough to remember that I was still in a great deal of pain.
Chuck sat up, then rose to his feet. I saw his face rise, then his chest, then his abs, then his now flaccid member, then his sac. That is where he stopped.
“How does it feel to be gazing upon someone who is now twice your size in height?”, he asked. He reached down. I tugged at my shirt, preparing it like so many times before for being grabbed and used to hoist me up. He no longer had to do that. I had forgotten that, though he grew overall, usually the body parts that were worked out were the ones that grew even further. While yes, THE body part that was worked out had grown, his hand also had done some vigorous exercise, thus had grown to enormous proportions.
Wrapping his hand around the front of me, he lifted me up like a GI Joe action figure. “I must be near thirteen feet tall now, little man. Your muscle god is a superstitious one, so he needs to grow larger. I think I know just the place.” With that, he positioned me on his now even more expansive back, tied my hands with the bar again, and took off at seemingly supersonic speeds. Where to? I had no idea.
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