Cyrill's Second Journey

[6 word request: Ancient Spring Drains Bodybuilders' Muscles, Cocks]

Cyrill approached the river knowing exactly what he was about to walk into--Gregg bathing in the nude, as he did every morning--but was sure to step lightly so he didn’t disturb the young American with sounds of his approach. He held his breath and twisted branches out of the way as he peered on the sight of the powerfully built blonde man rubbing river water over his full, ample muscles. Cyrill’s breath caught as the bodybuilder raised an arm and lathered the deep crevice of his armpit.

When they’d first met, Gregg had been totally hairless. When they began on this journey, Gregg would often take off his shirt, allowing his tanned muscles to take in the sun as they formed a light sheen of sweat. They’d been smooth, as if they’d been polished, when the two had first set out, but now a smattering of blonde hairs gently wisped along his wide pecs, both along their broad upper shelf and down into the deep crevice between. At night, by the fire, Cyrill had made a game out of staring at the light fuzz coating Gregg’s triceps and prickling along the space where his back muscles crowded the dense thickness of his neck.

Suddenly Gregg stood up from the river and Cyrill started--had he been seen?--but Gregg turned, unaware he had an audience, and ran a soapy hand along the rock-hard bulges of his buttocks. Cyrill felt his mouth go dry as Gregg’s fingers slipped between the hard cheeks, seeming to dig deep.

As a guide, pledged to respect these woods, Cyrill would have warned anyone else of the harsh effect of their body washes in the river. For this herculean mass of muscle, Cyrill was willing to compromise.

“Yo, Cyrill!” Gregg boomed out into the woods. The guide paused; he couldn’t just emerge at tha moment! He quietly backed into the woods and pretended to approach from a nearby trail. “Cyrill!”

“Great news!” Cyrill said as he approached. He paused, feigning surprise at Gregg’s nudity. THe powerfully built man didn’t even flinch, probably so at home in the massive body he’d spent years cultivating that he no doubt had no qualms about displaying its perfection. “Oh, my apologies--should I come back?”

Gregg chuckled, his right pec twitching. As he’d done so many times since their journey had begun, Cyrill pretended not to have noticed. “Toss me my clothes,” he said as he stepped from the river, water pouring off his form. His thick cock swung back and forth.

Cyrill, who only came up to the large man’s nipple (a perfect vantage point, he had decided miles back), handed his god-like companion the garments he found along the riverbed. “What’s the news?”

“I think we’re close,” Cyrill said. In reality, while Gregg had slept, Cyrill had forged ahead. The moon had been full, and Cyrill was able to venture far without a light source. Their goal, the fabled Spring of Sthenos, was barely a mile away. He knew that once they reached the spring, his time with this fantasy man would be over, so he was savoring the moments.

“I thought you said you’d been there before?” Gregg said, raising an eyebrow as he ran his hands through his curly blonde hair, matted down by river water.

“As a child,” Cyrill said, remembering the last time he’d made this journey over 30 years before. “These woods look as different now as I do.”

Gregg shrugged, a move Cyrill always loved as Gregg’s large upper-body mass squeezed together, accentuating the man’s sheer bulk. “Think we can be there within a day?”

“I certainly hope so,” Cyrill said as the two headed back to their camp. “Because if we don’t, it may be a difficult trip back to my village. We’ve just barely got enough rations… in fact, you may have to skip a meal or two.”

Gregg, already digging through their bags for some food, shook his head. “I told you before we left that I eat a lot,” he explained as he found one of his sticky protein bars and unwrapped it. “As it is, I’m sure I’ve lost some mass.” He looked down at himself and flexed his arms, one at a time and then together. Cyrill paused; was Gregg asking his opinion? He would have loved to share it, but Gregg moved on.

“But then again, if this spring is everything I was told it was, once we get out there…” He smiled. “How big do you think it’ll make me?”

Cyrill motioned to the trail. “Let’s get started, and I’ll think about it.”

According to Gregg, he’d first heard of the spring from a gargantuan brute who’d happened into his gym in America. “This fucker could only barely squeeze through doors,” Gregg had said, his eyes lighting up at the idea of being so cumbersome. The idea that an enchanted spring had granted him all that muscle had seemed ludicrous, but after failing to win a career-defining competition, Gregg sought an edge.

“Tell me about when you first came out here,” Gregg said. Cyrill loved how eager the young man was--25 years old, achingly beautiful and powerful on a level little Cyrill could barely conceive of, but still yearning for more.

Over the course of their weeks-long journey, Cyrill had learned that Gregg barely spoke with his family and had no relationships. He was obsessed with his body, in a way Cyrill could understand. He remembered, in his youth, finding it so easy to put on muscle. It was a seductive skill; as he grew, he thirsted for more growth, the way he knew Gregg must as well. But that was a long time ago, and Cyrill’s reedy little body no longer held the potential for strength or size.

“So the stories of the Spring,” Cyrill began, “as I’ve told you before, are considered fact by our village. It’s not lore. We believe the spring is alive, that it yearns for us, that it needs us as much as we need it. They say if the journey to the Spring is easy, that’s because the Spring knows you are coming. It wants you to find it.”

Gregg, hacking away at trees with his machete, paused to reflect. “I’d say our journey’s been pretty easy, wouldn’t you?”

Cyrill continued without answering: “You wouldn’t recognize the man I was when I first ventured out this way.”

“A lot younger?” Gregg offered.

“Taller, for one,” Cyrill said. He remembered sprouting up long before the other boys in the village his age. He remembered growing strong as a man long before he was one, how the adults in the village feared and respected him for his size. “The first time I sought out the Spring, I didn’t believe in it. But that didn’t matter. It believed in me.”

Gregg paused. “What do you mean, ‘taller’?” he asked.

Cyrill paused. He pointed straight ahead. The land sloped downward. As the two cleared some trees, they saw in a sunken area of these dense woods was a clear pool laden within brightly colored flowers.

“No fucking way,” Gregg said. “Is that it?” His powerful form flexed with anticipation.

Cyrill nodded. The big man bounded down the hill, only pausing momentarily to reflect on the brilliant purples, pinks and blues of the massive flowers glistening all around the Spring. The sight gave Cyrill a chill. He was slow to join his companion.

Gregg kicked off his shoes and tore off his shirt before wading into the water. A moment later he became transfixed by something he saw in its surface. “Holy… Holy shit!”

Cyrill, at the edge of the spring, gazed at its surface. Gregg’s reflection was a powerful behemoth with a tiny head, veiny, overblown muscles so plump they looked ready to burst piled in a vaguely humanoid shape. As Gregg flexed his biceps, the beast in the reflection did so as well. What was reflected was monstrous, without a trace of the raw masculine beauty that seemed to define Gregg as Cyrill knew him.

“How do I… How do I get like that?” Gregg said, pointing into the water. He scooped up the spring in his hands and slurped at it.

“The flowers in the center,” Cyrill said, pointing at some huge white flowers with droopy petals. “They drink of the Spring, and produce their nectar… the nectar is where the power lies.”

Gregg approached the flowers and snatched one, snapping it from its vine. Cyrill winced at the act, remembering doing exactly that decades before. He tilted the flower and drank deeply. A golden light poured into the man’s mouth, glittering down his neck and spreading through his body. “It’s… it’s amazing!” Gregg said. He looked down at himself, no doubt expecting a change, but while he remained physically the same, something was definitely happening to him. He moaned and bucked, his head tilting to the side. Suddenly he couldn’t keep his hands off himself.

“I feel…” But before Gregg could verbalize what was happening to, he seemed overcome by something. He through his shoulders back and roared, bucking his hips.

Cyrill watched as the plantlife surrounding the spring twisted and undulated. Vines seemed to come alive, wriggling through the water. Gregg, too overcome by his own physical bliss to notice, stood there helplessly as a serpentine flower snaked around his leg. Another formed a figure 8 around his hands before drawing tight, binding his hands behind him.

A purple flower pawed at Gregg’s abdomen. The bodybuilder, literally drooling, could only make guttural noises as the six-inch wide blossom tickled up his powerful torso, finally settling on his nipple where it clamped tightly.

Cyrill watched as the plants tightly bound the muscular man, who was too incapacitated by pleasure to fight back. Gregg was lifted into the air and turned upside down. Plants pulled his legs apart and a vine snaked between his beautiful glutes. Gregg’s big dick throbbed and pulsed, spewing gobs of precum, but every drop was caught by a hungry flower, snatching it from the surface of the spring.

Finally Gregg came, his whole body going rigid as he was wracked by what looked like an earth-shattering orgasm. With every throb of his big cock, Gregg’s big body deflated, as if he was literally spewing out his size with every spurt. His muscles deflated as a flower clamped down over his cock, gulping in every bit of the powerful man’s essence. It wasn’t long from there: in seconds Gregg was a foot shorter, his rock-hard physique softening as it dwindled away. Then he was shorter than Cyrill and emaciated, his skin tight over narrow bones.

When it was over, the flowers spat Gregg away. The massive man landed in the spring, face down. Cyrill leapt into action at this point, carefully stepping around the still animate plantlife as he hoisted Gregg’s impossibly light body overhead.

He set Gregg down on dry land and took a look at him. He was unconscious, babbling softly in his sleep. Cyrill raced the narrow ribcage with his finger, remembering the massive pectoral mounds he’d drooled over every night as he’d watched them heave with Gregg’s powerful breaths. He circled Gregg’s leg with his thumb and forefinger easily, with room to spare, and prodded at the withered little nub Gregg’s massive dick had become.

Cyrill turned to the spring, which had not settled down from its feeding. “I brought you what you wanted,” he said as he waded into its center. “Now it’s time to give back!” One of the blue flowers rose and rubbed its silky petals against Cyrill’s face before clamping over its mouth. Cyrill froze, afraid he was about to suffocate, but the huge flower seem to be blowing into him. He could taste Gregg’s manly musk, felt it filling to capacity. He heard his bones and tendons popping and cracking as they stretched. He felt the pleasant tingle of his skin expanding as hard muscles blew up all over him. When the flower finally pulled away Cyrill felt noodle-legged and dizzy.

His whole body felt so… heavy! He flexed thick fingers and stared down at an enormous chest--the one he would have had if the Spring hadn’t fed on him when he last visited. He made each pec flex, giggling as he ran his big hands along them. His chest was so big he couldnt even see his feet, but he reached down to find rock-hard abs. His fingers dug into the grooves between each cobbled muscle, tracing the veins.

At the edge of the Spring Cyrill tore off his ruined, tattered clothing and dressed himself in Gregg’s discarded garb, pleased to find that it was a little tight on his new body. Clearly the transfer hadn’t been one-to-one; the size the Spring gave him was more than it had taken from Gregg. Maybe he was getting back another hapless victim to the Spring as well, or maybe the muscles he’d lost there as a youth?

“It was the village elder who brought me out here when I was young,” Cyrill explained as he slung Gregg’s impossibly light body over his muscled shoulder. “He conned me into coming here the same way I did to you. And when we’re back, I’m venturing to America as well. Your career is over, but mine’s just beginning. And I can’t wait to tell the next thirsty young stud about the magical spring that could him just as powerful as it made me…” He glanced back to the Spring, which went dormant as they walked away, and took a look down at his 6’5” body. No doubt, Gregg would wake, and when he did, he would be angry--but what could he do? Cyrill could squash him with one hand now, and Gregg had no idea how to get back without him. Cyrill couldn’t wait to explore their reversed roles--to have little Gregg lathering up Cyrill’s huge powerful form, making the little guy explore the size he’d had stolen from him.