Never Coach Your Heroes [weight gain, fat drain]

Clark thought the original missive was a catfish. Someone using the name of ex-pro bodybuilder Grant Grunson sent him an email asking for his coaching services. Clark ignored it at first until the second message came through: “It’s a rare thing when I ask someone something twice. I never come back to ask a third time.” Clark thought it was a bold tone for a catfisher to take, but matched with what he’d heard about Grant’s personality. He e-mailed back, discussed rates, and was shocked to find an instant funds transfer into his account from someone under the name “massbuilder_GG”--which still didn’t convince him, but at the very least, he was getting paid.

Clark hadn’t seen or heard from Grant Grunson in years, ever since the freakish bodybuilding phenom came in fourth at the Olympia almost a decade before. Back then, Clark was just starting to hit the gym, a dreamy-eyed empty-headed fitness wannabe. He had been at that Olympia, alight with inspiration as Grant stomped the stage in bright pink posers. He hadn’t known much about bodybuilding back then, but he felt that Grant had been robbed. Clearly Grant had, too. He quit the sport and disappeared.

Grant was shocked when he arrived at the gym Monday morning and saw a massive man with thick blonde locks sitting in a chair by the door. Jimmy, the front desk clerk, pointed at the big man and said, “Hey, Clark, this guy’s been waiting for you.” The man stood. Clark’s mouth went dry when he stared up at the refrigerator-sized brute. It was clearly Grant, although his body had filled out quite a bit since his Olympia showing. The chiseled face Clark had memorized was now round and soft, his broad torso covered with a pillowy softness and an expansive gut. The extra weight just made him seem all the more massive. Clark’s voice cracked when he finally spoke after shaking the monster’s hand.

“I’m–” He cleared his throat and tried again. “I’m a big fan, Mr. Grunson,” he said. Grant winked at him, making Clark’s heart skip a beat. What the fuck, Clark? He chided himself. Get your shit together! This could be huge for your career!

“Yeah, well, I don’t need a fan,” Grant said. “What I need is someone to help get me into shape for my return to bodybuilding.” He gave Clark an appraising glare. “You look good. Little on the skimpy side. What you need to do is a massive bulking cycle. Just blow the fuck up, make massive gains, gain a ton of water weight, eat like a hippo and lift fucking mac trucks. Could really make a big difference in that physique of yours.”

Clark bristled at the criticism but tried to remain professional. “Well, I believe in clean reverse-dieting in the offseason,” he said, trying to make his tone more authoritative. It was difficult to accomplish in the shadow of this wall of mass. “When it’s contest time, I believe in putting more effort into refinement than shedding unnecessary mass, and that all starts in the kitchen.”

Grant nodded, wide-eyed, with a smirk that felt patronizing. “Sure thing, ‘coach,’” he said with a dismissive tone. “Kind of sounds like everything wrong with today’s bodybuilders, though.”

That attitude will change when he wins his show under my coaching, Clark told himself. “Let’s get you into an assessment phase, if you’re ready to start working with me,” he said, gesturing toward the gym. “Let’s get you out there and see what you can do.” He felt like he was following a massive gorilla as he walked behind the lumbering man. For the first time in his professional life, Clark was intimidated by a client.

“So, what’s your diet and training like?” Clark said as he hit a light set of bench press to warm up. Clark rolled his eyes at the measly single plates on the side of each bar and loaded up 315 total pounds before pressing it for five clean reps.

“I eat how I want,” Grant said, “train how I want, I’m strong as fuck, and I’m loving my life.”

Eager to keep up, Clark benched Grant’s weight for five reps before racking it. He was a bit out of breath as he hopped off the bench. Grant was already loading more weight on.

“You seem a little spent there, ‘coach,’” Grant chuckled. “You sure you can handle lifting like this?”

“Well, in all honesty, I don’t believe more weight means more results,” Clark tried to reason. “I can accomplish far more beneficial states of hypertrophy with less weight, meaning we spare your joints and tendons and really prolong your shelf-life as an athlete.”

Grant let out a hearty laugh, putting a big paw against his beefy chest. “Yeah, well, I accomplish more by lifting heavy-ass weight. Bodybuilding is supposed to fucking hurt.”

It was clear to Clark by the end of the frustrating session–during which Grant ignored Clark’s every recommendation, while the coach struggled to keep up with the most grueling lift of his life–that this was going to be a massive battle. But the money… good god is he paying me a lot.

Clark left the gym feeling a little defeated, wondering how long Grant would tolerate his coaching before firing him and doing his own thing. Even if he sees it through and wins his show, is he even going to give me any credit?

He was shocked when Grant rolled down the driver’s side window of his truck and leaned his massive torso out, winking at Clark. “Need a ride, ‘Coach’?”

“Nah, I’m parked over here,” Clark said.

“Fucking dense, aren’t you?” Grant said, licking his lips. “Been throwing heat at you this whole time and you’re either ignoring it or too dumb to see that your hero has a thing for you.”

Clark’s knees went weak. This was literally a dream come true–but could he compromise his professional code of ethics like this? “That’s not appropriate,” he said, his mouth so dry his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. “I mean… that’s unprofessional. Crosses a line.”

“You’re off the clock now, ‘coach,’” Grant said. He flexed a massive bicep–that thing had to be 24 inches, and Clark was mesmerized by the vein snaking through its peak–and opened his passenger side door. “You took me through a workout in there, now I want to take you through a workout of my own.”

Clark couldn't believe himself when he tossed his bag in the back of Grant’s truck and actually got in. As Grant reached across the cab and squeezed Clark’s quad, the coach thought he was going to pass out with absolute ecstasy. How many times had he jerked off to this amazing freak of nature, and now he was not only right in front of him, he was also begging him to fuck around with him!I

The ride was silent, with Grant massaging his own cock through his sweatpants while slapping Clark’s hand away from his own uncomfortably hard member. With a screech of brakes, Grant parked outside his little house and headed inside. Clark stumbled after dreamily. He would regret this the next morning, he knew, but he had no will to fight it now. He had to follow those massive glutes bouncing along in Grant’s pants.

Inside Grant’s house, the big former athlete cracked open a beer. “You want one, Coach?” he said with a wink. Clark took one, then stared at the open bottle without drinking it.

“We really shouldn’t have these empty carbs,” he said meekly. “We should have instead–”

Grant pulled him close, kissing him quiet. As the powerful man held the much smaller coach in his thick hands, Clark felt his knees go weak. He knew he would collapse to the floor if Grant let him go.

“Did you really want me as your coach?” Clark asked as the thickly built man stared into his eyes, savoring Clark’s taste.

“You’re gonna help me get into competition shape,” Grant said. He leaned in for another kiss but paused a centimeter from contact, exhaling heavily, his open lips curling into a smile.

“When is your competition?” Clark asked, his voice wavering.

“Saturday,” Grant said.

Clark gave a weak laugh. “Saturday? Be real. When is it?”

Grant pulled off Clark’s tank top with one firm tug. “Look at you. Fucking shredded. Good genetics. Not huge, of course, but you could get there if someone lit a fire under your ass. You’re fucking perfect. What are you, like 9% bodyfat?”

“9.5%,” Clark rattled off. “205.”

“What are you, 5’7?”

“5’9”,” Clark corrected.

Grant pulled off his own shirt, grabbing his amble gut with both hands. He gave it a shake but the mass hardly moved. “You see this thing? I look nine months pregnant, don’t I?” He chuckled as he gave it a slap. The resounding thud spoke volumes about its incredible density. “You know I weigh 380 pounds? I might crush those little hips of yours if I rode your dick.”

Clark blushed at the idea of massive Grant bottoming for him. “Oh, I… I thought I’d…” His dick was hard as a steel pipe. Grant grabbed the back of Clark’s head with one hand, whipping out his leaking dick with the other. Clark was shocked at the size of it, though he shouldn’t have been surprised that the giant had ten thick inches.

“That’s right, coach, swallow that meat,” Grant said as he gently fucked Clark’s face. Clark couldn’t believe the ease with which he was swallowing all that cock. Something about the precum was making his throat tingle, making his head foggy. “Yeah, eat that meat. You gotta eat big to get big–eat big COCK, that is.”

Clark would have laughed if he wasn’t full to what felt like his ribs with Grant’s fat dick. The big man pumped away, playing with his balls with his free hand. God, Grant’s dick tasted so good… it was all Clark could think of it. The stink coming off this enormous man’s groin was intoxicating. Clark wanted to fill his lungs with it. He wanted to exude it from his own pores. God, he wanted to suck that cock forever! But he watched Grant’s pace quickening, saw the big man tense up, and felt a geyser of cum blast down his gullet.

Clark could barely understand what he was seeing as Grant came–distracted by his own hands-free orgasm, elicited only by the idea that his bodybuilding hero was pumping his load into him–but Grant’s gut seemed to recede with each spurt. It went from a burgeoning belly, to a turtle-shell roidgut, to an eight-pack.

Clark gasped as he felt his shorts suddenly getting tight. His hands went to his ass as he burst through them, his butt swelling out, a warm soft mass as opposed to the rock-hard glutes he’d expected to feel down there. As Grant’s body seemed to be magically shedding fat, Clark’s was expanding. His abs blew out to a pile of rolls, the definition of his quads filling in before his legs blossomed into a husky sides of beef.

Grant pulled his dick out of Clark’s mouth with a loud pop. Clark’s eyes went wide as he looked up at the massive man, now just as shredded as that day on the Olympia stage–only fifty pounds of muscle heavier! Grant was an impossible display of bodybuilding perfection that Clark had never seen before. Somehow, all of that flab had fired out of Grant’s cock, leaving behind only the slabs of mass he’d cultivated over all those years.

But now the flab was on Clark’s body.

“Damn, Coach,” Grant said, standing up. His sweatpants hung loosely around his reduced waist, although his mammoth quads held them in place. “Looks like you’re in the middle of a REAL dirty bulk!”

“How is this… possible…” Clark said, squeezing the soft rolls of his gut and sinking his fingers into the warm flesh of his pecs. His muscle was still there, but there was a layer of squish everywhere. Grant tossed him his shirt and he struggled to squeeze into it. As he stood, his jiggling ass burst through the remains of his shorts, leaving him naked. He couldn’t see his cock beneath his sagging gut. He had to widen his stance to accommodate his thicker thighs.

“Wonder how much of my weight I just dumped onto that body of yours,” Grant said, squeezing one of Clark’s now-chubby cheeks. “Don’t worry, coach. You can diet it all off. I know you can do it. In the meantime, I’m gonna DOMINATE on stage this weekend… and I owe it all to you!”