Brad's Fanclub

[Commission request: Muscular man grows based on idolization (Brad Hollibaugh)]

Jerrod’s face fell when the door opened. The bald man who opened the door had a shadow of stubble on his chiseled face and a smoldering sneer. He eyed Jerrod dispassionately as he answered, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah?” he asked.

“Uh, I’m looking for… Uh, Brad Hollibaugh? I’m Jerrod Rankin,” Jerrod sputtered. The man nodded and pulled the door open, gesturing down the hallway. Jerrod’s eyes fell to the man’s arm. It was cut, sure, impeccably shaped and lean; it was clear this guy worked out, but he was expecting a massive 26 inch cannon with a mind-blowing peak.

In the kitchen, Jerrod eyed the sink full of dishes; mostly tupperware and protein shakers. The house had a faint musk to it, as if a large sweaty man had been in the room recently. Jerrod looked around, expecting someone else to join them. The man escorting Jerrod through the house could have been Brad’s brother, but he had the same small-but-ripped build as Jerrod! (No, Jerrod noticed; he was BIGGER than this guy!)

Still silently led by this man, Jerrod walked out a sliding glass door to a porch with cheap plastic chairs arranged around a table. He had a seat while the man headed into the kitchen, returning with a shaker he’d rinsed and tossed a few scoops of protein in. While he shook, he had a seat across from Jerrod and stared at him blankly.

After seconds of silence, Jerrod began. “So, uh, I’m a representative of Global Gym. We just opened up a branch about 15 minutes from here, actually, and…”

“You looking for trainers?” the bald man asked. He chugged his shake and slammed the shaker down. He let out a burp and wiped some spatter from his lower lip.

“Well, what we’re looking for,” Jerrod began, but then he paused. “So, I’m sorry… I’m looking for… Brad Hollibaugh.”

The man chuckled. “Well, you got him,” he said, patting his stomach. Jerrod’s eyes sank to the flat abdomen. He’d been hoping for a roided out turtle shell of a gut.

“So, you’re…” Jerrod started.

“I’m Brad, and I’m getting pretty damned impatient to be honest. I got shit to do,” he said. “So make your offer or pound sand, buddy.”

“I’m really sorry,” Jerrod said as he fished out his phone, “but… I’m looking for the guy in these photos.” He presented a series of shots of a massive bodybuilder--a pile of bloated muscles, exuding masculinity--hoisting a skinny man from the ground and using him as a barbell for squats and curls, then locking him in a headlock with his massive biceps crushing the little guy’s neck.

“Brad” chuckled as he saw the photos. “That guy’s a good kid,” he said. “Can take a beating too.”

“I was under the impression that these pictures were taken recently,” Jerrod said, eyeing the bulging freak in the photos, then the lean man in front of him.

“Two days ago,” Brad said. Then he smirked. “Oh, you’re wondering why I’m not all…” He puffed up his chest and held his arms out as if invisible lats kept him from putting them down.

Trying to be professional, Jerrod still let a half-smile form on his lips. “The position we had in mind sort of… relies on a big, imposing guy with… impressive musculature--not that you’re not in unbelievable shape, mind you!”

“Brad” rolled his eyes. He cocked his head to the side. “Get over here.”

Jerrod blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Get. The fuck. Over here. And get on your fucking KNEES.” Brad barked with a level of authority Jerrod couldn’t deny. He stood up and walked clumsily around the plastic table. Brad suddenly leapt to his feet and shoved Jerrod’s shoulders down. “THERE. For fuck’s sake.”

Jerrod considered leaving at that, but suddenly the ripped man grabbed him by the back of his head and shoved a little bicep in his face.

“Kiss it.” Jerrod blinked, but couldn’t deny there was something coming off this man--a magnetism he couldn’t deny. Despite the fact that he wasn’t the beast Jerrod had expected, the situation was an incredible turn on. Jerrod closed his eyes and kissed the muscle.

“Lick it,” came the next command, and Jerrod did as he was asked. When he opened his eyes, he was shocked to see that the arm had swollen slightly.

“What the fuck?” Jerrod blurted out. He looked up at the man holding his head. His physique had puffed up with a layer of muscle, like he’d just gotten a good pump at the gym--no, like someone had slapped steaks all over his body. Jerrod couldn’t get over how fucking hot it was to see the shirt, which had hung loosely when Jerrod showed up, now pulled tightly across a bigger, rock-hard physique. Jerrod was more than happy to lick the much bigger bicep--especially when he saw that his tongue seemed to blow up the muscle more. “Fuck, yeah,” Jerrod moaned, and he felt himself suddenly pushed away.

Jerrod’s last exultation had caused a sudden burst of growth. The man Jerrod was looking at wasn’t the size of the beast Jerrod had seen online, but he was on his way. His t-shirt had started to split on the sides. The shorts he wore were pulled tight over well-built quads, with a considerable bulge up front.

“How the… what’s happening?” Jerrod asked as his hands wandered. To verify that this wasn’t a trick (or at least, that’s what he told himself) he let his hands rest on the newly inflated pecs, giving them a squeeze. When they flexed, they were rock hard--and then, as the growing muscle beast grunted, they blew up, as did the rest of him, reducing the shirt to shreds.

“That’s how it works,” Brad grunted, tearing the rest of his shirt off with his hands. “All you gotta do is give this muscle attention and I blow up like a balloon. You want me to put on some real size? My pits could use some attention.”

Jerrod leapt to the opportunity, but Brad grabbed his face and pushed him back. “Wait. Before we get too into this, you said you had a job for me, right?”

Jerrod was shaking with desire, but he somehow lassoed himself in and tried to pull back to a professional stance. Jerrod stood on unsteadily legs and walked weakly back to his chair, unable to pull his eyes away from the bodybuilder that had literally sprouted before him--smaller than the photos by mere inches, but doubtlessly Brad Hollibaugh. “So, uh… the job is basically, you’ll be there to inspire our…” Jerrod adjusted himself, trying to hide his massive boner. Brad noticed. “...uh, our clientele. You’ll work out there, post on social media, make friends with clients… you can train, too, if you want, but it’s not required.”

Brad listened, then hopped to his feet. Jerrod hung back a moment, then followed. Brad was in his bathroom on a scale. “240!” he called out. “That’s less than what I compete at.”

“How big can you get?” Jerrod asked, wondering if Brad wanted some help putting on some pounds.

“I’ve gotten up near 400 before,” Brad said. He’d started to take a piss. “Not much I can do at that size. Makes a good video for guys who are freaks for hypermuscle, but that’s it.”

“Uh, so…” Jerrod rubbed the back of his head as Brad emptied out what seemed like gallons of piss. “So what do you think about the job?”

Brad chuckled as he walked out of the bathroom. “Let’s go check this gym out right now?”

On the drive over, Jerrod kept casting furtive glances in Brad’s direction. When he’d climbed into the passenger seat, his broad body had filled it amply, but he seemed to take up less and less space as they drove.

“Can’t keep your eyes off me can you?” Brad said. “How about you focus on the road until we get there.”

“No, it’s, uh…” Jerrod forced himself to stare straight ahead. “You said you were 240 at your house?”

Brad looked down at himself. He had changed into a spandex tee-shirt before they left (slightly baggy--more room to grow into) but it seemed to be billowing around him now. “Oh, what, you noticing I’m getting smaller?”

“Well, I mean… aren’t you?”

Brad smiled. “It happens. No attention, I drop pounds. Get down to a skinny little thing. I like it sometimes. I can move quicker. Walk around in public without being noticed. But I miss all the mass. I get one of my guys to come over and wrestle with me a little and I blow back up to where I’m supposed to be.”

Brad stomped into the gym at around 200 pounds, but with all the confidence and bravado of a man a hundred pounds heavier. He left his sunglasses on, his huge duffel bag slung over his shoulder, as he did a lap around the gym floor to get a feel of things.

Jerrod was going to ask if Brad needed someone to give him a little attention so he could get a bit more sizable, but Brad had already tossed down his duffel bag, grabbing a set of 25 pound dumbbells and blasting out some curls about a foot away from another gymgoer curling 30s. Brad grunted with every rep, gritting his face intensely, cheering himself on: “Yeah. Fuck yeah. Yeah!”

The decently-built guy next to Brad turned to look at the spectacle, at first annoyed but increasingly fascinated with the show the bald stud put on. Then Brad slammed down the dumbbells and stomped around the gym. He leapt up to spot a guy struggling benching 315 pounds. “C’mon! Push that fucking weight!” Brad growled, and up it went--slowly. After racking it, Brad slapped the bigger man on the back and bumped chests with him. Then he turned toward the mirror and hit a double biceps pose, encouraging the bencher to do the same. After some flexing and pec bouncing, Brad moved on.

After a full revolution around the floor, Brad had swollen to fill up his clothes. Jerrod would have ballparked him at about 20 pounds over the biggest he got back at his house. “Fuck yeah!” Brad said. “This is when the fun begins.”

He scanned the room for a beefy looking powerlifter, then strutted over to him. With head nod, Brad asked the big fridge-sized guy if he could hop on Brad’s back for some pushups. It took some prodding, but finally Brad got him to acquiesce.

The first pushup was slow, but Brad roared through it, then pressed out another. A crowd was forming. When he got to 5 people started to count them out loud. By 10 he was pressing them faster than ever--and starting to split out of his clothes. Finally he put one hand behind his head, pressing out 5 with only one arm. Then he tilted his torso, dumping the powerlifter off.

When he hopped to his feet, he was splitting out of these clothes now. He and the powerlifter were the same size, although Brad’s body was rock hard, bulging in every direction. He gave the powerlifter a playful shove and the big guy was shocked when he fell back a few feet! Brad grinned and turned to the crowd, inviting them all to come up and give him a rub.

Jerrod had his phone out, videoing it for the social media pages. Hands reached out for Brad’s massive body and he leaned into the contact. As his body blew up, he flexed the crowd back. Some of the onlooking men fell to the floor, still grinning as they hopped up to get another hand on the man.

“Back up!” Brad finally roared. He looked to be around 300 pounds now--a swollen mass of dense muscle. The fluorescent gym lighting cast a shine over his smooth sweat-slicked skin. “That’s right. Give the big man some space to breathe!”

He strutted over to the squat racks, squaring up with a man who had far outweighed Brad when he’d first entered. “Mind if I work in?” he said with a grin, shoving the big guy out of the way (with no rebuttal!). Brad squatted the 405 pounds easily, then reracked it to flex his quads--decimating what was left of his shorts.

Now clad in only a jockstrap (stuffed to overflowing--his balls spilling out the bottom, his entire cockhead visible above the top), Brad stomped through the gym in Jerrod’s direction. “Hey, bossman,” Brad began, the only signal Jerrod had that Brad had accepted their offer, “is this a gay gym?”

“Well, our clientele is mostly--”

“It’s gonna be when I’m done with it…” Brad made his huge mounds of pec meat bounce and dance, much to the delight of the five men trailing behind him. “Who wants to watch me pose?” Jerrod felt the ground shake as Brad walked away, waiting for the jockstrap to blow off him at any minute.

Brad was leaving a trail of thick gym stink that Jerrod took a moment to really inhale. Good god, it was like aerosolized testosterone! Jerrod felt his nipples tingle just breathing it. He made a note to himself: “Maybe add a nudity clause to Brad’s contract…” It seemed like something they would be dealing with a lot; better to just take care of it at once.

“Who’s the biggest man in this gym?” Brad said, scanning the floor. From behind, Jerrod couldn’t help comparing Brad’s tree trunk legs and melon-size glutes to the men behind him--each leg was the thickness of one member of Brad’s new fan club!

Some of the crowd responded with exactly the name Jerrod would have given: Tony. The Italian superheavyweight bodybuilder was in the gym somewhere, but nearly everyone in the area had come out to watch Brad explode with size--where was Tony?

“He’s in the posing room!” someone offered, and with his half-dozen men caught in his orbit, Brad strutted with his newly sprouted mass in that direction. The posing room was all the way across the gym floor and through a hallway (the width of which Brad just barely cleared). Brad kicked the doors open and stomped in. Jerrod was in a slow hustle behind them. The rest of the gymgoers were either reporting the occurrence on social media, giving 200% to their workouts now that they had a massive man to compete with, or rushing to the bathrooms to “take care of tension.”

Tony was a shaven-headed behemoth, a meteor of muscle in tiny blue posing trunks. Brad was a little shorter but about as thick. He stomped up next to Tony, who had his arms behind the head mid-abdominal-thigh-shot, and let out a roar.

“Show me some posing, big man!” Brad growled, and Tony, intimidated but on the spot, hit a side chest. Brad did the same. Who won the pose-off was a difficult call. Next, Tony did a lat spread. When Brad did the same, the two bodybuilders became so wide they seemed to fill up the whole room. “That all you got big boy?” Brad said. “They tell me you’re the biggest here! But not for long, pal!”

Brad’s fanclub whistled and catcalled as Brad bumped the big Italian out of the way, hitting a front double biceps shot--Brad’s moneymaker. Each of his arms was bigger than his head, especially when flexed, and Tony couldn’t match. And as the men in the room (Jerrod included) cheered for Brad, the bodybuilder swelled up with size again. With a grunt, the stretched-to-capacity jockstrap finally blew open. SNAP! FLOP! Brad was suddenly naked, a new burst of musky fog rolling over them as his massive cock swung forward. Tony’s eyes went wide at the sight (the big Italian had very little tucked into his posers) and Brad’s fans cheered.

When Brad turned to shake Tony’s hand, he clearly outweighed him by at least 20 pounds--but he was also an inch taller.

“Where’s the showers at?” Brad said as he stooped to fit through the hallway back into the rest of the gym. He had to squeeze to fit through the double doors at the end, letting out a groan as he stepped through into the gym and stood up to his full height--which seemed about half a foot taller than when he walked in.

Jerrod examined the damage to the doorway as he hustled to keep up with Brad’s increasing strides. “Uh, showers are… up front, but, uh… You didn’t say anything about growing taller before!”

Brad stood up to his full, nude height and put his hands on his hips, surveying the gym like a giant monument come to life. “I’ve never grown taller before. Guess I’ve never had this many men desperate to get their hands on me!” He looked down at the men gathering, running their fingers along his massive quad sweep or along the grooves in his distended roidgut.

Worried that Brad was growing out of control, Jerrod opened his mouth to tell the men surrounding him to back off--but Brad was already headed to the locker rooms. “Careful of the door, Brad!” Jerrod said, but he heard the sound of rending metal as Brad squeezed himself through, his entourage right behind.

Jerrod wondered if this was all a mistake until he turned to the front desk. A small crowd had formed, and the employees were handing out clipboards with “new member” paperwork attached. Jerrod counted 18 men signing up. He could only imagine, with word that a nude muscular giant was on the loose, that membership fees would just start piling up.

Maybe the structural damage wasn’t that important.

Jerrod hustled into the locker room. A thick steam had rolled through, and Jerrod realized every shower head must have been on full blast. There was no one in the locker area, but a small mass of men were spilling out of the shower room. Jerrod ran up and peered in.

Brad seemed to have grown to 8 feet tall, forced to now have a seat as the men around him lathered up his huge body. He had his hands behind his head, bouncing his biceps as men struggled to wash them without getting battered around by the huge throbbing muscle. Four men had gathered at each leg, two scrubbing the quads, two scrubbing the calves. A crowd of six had gathered at Brad’s mammoth dick and huge balls, lovingly washing them like they were taking care of their Rolls Royce.

Brad noticed Jerrod standing at the door and winked at him. “Hey, bossman,” he said, the whole room rumbling from just his voice. “I’m thinking I may not fit in your ride. You think you could hire a Uhaul to take me home in?”