Barasyte: Chapter 1

Barasyte: Chapter 1 by Pragmaton

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(Make sure to read “Barasyte: Prologue” for best reading experience)

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Andre Zielinski was feeling good. REALLY good.

He had just come back from the gym after lifting with his old college buddy Bray, and was feeling the euphoric pump that came with having a great workout.

His biceps and back burned, and he could feel the constant ripple and twitching of every fiber of those hypersensitive, swollen bulges that smothered and strangled his entire body.

For his diminutive 5'8'' frame, his body made use of every possible inch where he could put on mass. The Polish genes for height had skipped him, but more than made up for in weight gain. He was a chubby kid, but once he reached high school and was ravaged by a subsequent testosterone blast during puberty, his baby fat melted away as his body swelled with muscle, pumping him outward into a mini Polish panzer tank.

After freshman year, the rest of his high school experience was flush with sports that made use of his thick frame, whether it be defensive tackle in football or goalie in soccer. He'd never play professionally due to his height, but there was no doubt he wanted to go to a college that had a few good teams for him to look into.

He ended up finding a good university known for its pride in sports and competitions. In his first year, he would try out for teams between classes. He had no luck, but during the football tryout, he made fast friends with a 6'3'' bulk of a young man named Bray. The tall, well-rounded man of African descent was a former high school defensive tackle like Andre, except his muscles were overshadowed by an ample helping of hefty gut. His old high school jersey strained to contain a 60 inch spare tire that most older, veteran beer drinkers did not have, and it had only grown larger during the down season in the Summer before college.

Neither of them had made the football team, Andre being in great shape but too short in stature, Bray being large but a little too slow and out of breath compared to the other participants of his height.

Through their mutual team tryout failure, the two bonded and became good college buddies, both choosing Kinesiology as their majors and even taking the same general education classes. Taking their time and enjoying college, both young men were on the 5-year graduation plan. Currently in their Senior "Senior" year, both men were in their early twenties at this point, making sure to use the gym facilities on campus and grabbing regular meals together.

For Andre and Bray, what was typically the "freshman 15lbs" turned out to be the freshman 40lbs and 70lbs, respectfully. Andre's already substantial lats and trapezius muscles steadily bulked outward, forcing his pulsing biceps and upper arms away from his body. His hamhock forearms were stitched with vascular webbing, large enough to make his hands appear smaller than they actually were. His cut sixpack that he had since highschool pushed out with more muscle, his already small frame struggling to find any possible crevice to put on more bulk. His belly button

as well as the cuts in his six-pack became shallow as his bubbled set of abs quivered with every breath, visibly bulging outward. They were topped by monstrous twitching pecs for such a small frame, nipples pushed to the furthest opposite corners of each other, pointing nearly downward. His bulbous thighs stuck out in front of him, demanding attention in their own right, making it difficult sometimes to walk without getting the dreaded "muscle rub" rash within his straining pants. The mass of twin muscles wobbled and involuntarily flexed with every stompish waddle Andre took, as if he had XXL water balloons strapped to his upper legs.

Bray had bulked in his own right, though not in the same way as his friend. He had the look of an offseason powerlifter, his shoulders and upper back bunching up like massive boulders upon his neck and his equally massive frame. His pecs were meaty pillows, strong but jiggly when relaxed, peppered with small patches of ultra curly black hair leading to large, plump dark nipples. His lower body was developed like a sumo's; tree trunk legs and blimp-sized calves on full display, bunching his sweat pants above them while on the squat press at the gym. Often, other gym goers would stop what they were doing to stare at him while he squatted absurd amounts of weight. Of course, they could also have been staring at the globe-like ass cheeks flexing and jiggling with every rep, inflated gratuitously with both muscle and fat, looking like two halves of the same exercise ball. Often, one could hear a subtle creaking of stitching while he squatted, both cheeks threatening to free themselves of their cotton prison.

But! Back to Andre. He unlocked the door to the simple two bed, one bathroom apartment he and Bray lived in off campus. They were able to afford it while studying due to Bray being a shift manager at the school gym and Andre working part time at a car dealership. Which reminded him: he needed a size up on his company workshirt. The polo was tight enough as it was, but he suspected his coworkers didn't mind the sight.

He dropped his gym bag in the living room and stripped off his tanktop, tossing it on the couch. His sweat had since dried off, but his body still had a strong leftover funk from his workout. He would have to take a shower later. He took a swig from his gallon jug of water, which he refilled earlier at the gym and admired his reflection in the bathroom mirror as he entered it.

Smirking and doing a cursory bicep pose with his other arm, he set the jug down on the sink counter and stepped over to the toilet to take a piss. His modestly hefty package was overshadowed by the thickly corded and bloated thigh muscles pushing his ballsack and dick forward. His only regret about having such large muscular legs was that they overshadowed his decently endowed cock and balls, which would have looked pretty good on any other guy his height. In his case, they looked almost small surrounded by such large muscles. Often he'd see an initial flicker of disappointment with any girls he got past the dating stage. They would still have a good time, and his reputation would remain intact, but damn, the expectations that every part of his body be big just because he had a muscular physique was pretty messed up. He was already being shortchanged in the height department; he was just making the most of what he had to work with.

He pondered this as he let his urine stream fly. He sighed in relief; he needed to drink a lot of water to keep his body mass hydrated and primed for recovery and growth.

Suddenly, he felt a quick, sharp pain jolt from the tip of his cock through the length of his dick.

"OW! What the fuck?" he said, snapping out of his reverie and looking down. He saw a sputtering in his urine stream, even though he had not completely emptied his bladder. Try as he might, he suddenly could not

squeeze the remainder of the piss out, rewarding him with only a dull ache. He studied his dick, unsure what to make of it. Nothing seemed wrong, everything looked normal. As typical of someone with no medical expertise discovering something wrong with his body, Andre's mind raced with the possibilities. An STD? Cancer?

He frantically checked his balls to see if there was any soreness or odd protrusions, but they seemed normal, albeit a bit swollen. It had been a day since he jacked off, after all.

"What the hell?" he muttered. That was odd. Even stranger, he suddenly did not feel like peeing anymore. Just a minute ago he was over halfway through a satisfying, post workout piss, and now he felt as if he didn't need to anymore. Weird.

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Dr. Erin Grafis, Record Log Number 1143

The parasite thrives on the water of its host. It cannot merely subsist on the water around it such as the ocean or the sewers, otherwise we would be neck deep in the things.

It requires a biological system to filter the water through. We suspect that this could be a defense mechanism. The PAL needs an indigenous fauna with natural immunities to the pathogens and potential diseases in the water and in our species. Evidence supporting this is that the PAL has a natural protective coating that can shed once it bonds to the host. This

coating repels all microscopic bacterium and other pathogens as it travels through our planet's waterstreams.

When it bonds, the PAL merges with the host's cell tissues, instantaneously adopting genetic makeup, of which the PAL has none of its own. My colleagues and I witnessed this phenomenon first hand when one of our scientists became infected from using a compromised restroom. We suspect there may have been foul play involved, but it was too late for an investigation.

Our former colleague agreed for us to run some tests and place him under observation, before he could become a thrall under the parasite's control. He did ask for a glass of water, to which we reluctantly agreed. Why delay the inevitable? We couldn't deny him water, for Christ's sake!

In the X-rays, we discovered that the thrall's cells and the man's cells had interwoven. The PAL had thinned itself out, translucent flesh flattening against the walls of his urethra, foreign tendrils of nerves spreading around his prostate, as well as his testicles, penis and bladder.

This was before we had given him the glass of water. What I saw next made my blood run cold.

End of Log

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Andre was suddenly feeling exhausted. His muscles felt sore, even more so than usual. He usually did everything he could to prevent such a whiplash. Pre-workout, protein powder, creatine, staying hydrated. His body ached and his mouth felt a little dry.

Was he dehydrated? He drank a full half-gallon earlier, there was no way. However, his creaking muscles told a different story. He felt like collapsing on his bed and sleeping until the next day.

"What the hell…why do I feel so tired?" he said aloud. He just had a typical workout…well, what HE considered a typical workout, at least. He went back to the bathroom and grabbed his almost-full gallon jug and brought it with him to his bedroom.

He sat on the edge of his bed, screwed off the cap and took a drink. Oddly enough, that seemed to be just what his body needed. As soon as it hit his lips and tongue, the room-temperature water might as well have been cool mountain spring water. It tasted fresh and delicious; his parched mouth could not get it down fast enough.

He chugged the bottle for a solid minute, feeling a little disappointed when the last drop hit his tongue. He dropped the bottle, feeling a little bloated as he let out a low belch. His stomach protruded a couple inches and rounded somewhat over his waistband, containing a gallon of water that was meant to last several hours. He still felt a little thirsty, but that would have to do for now. He was exhausted.

Andre slammed his substantial build onto the bed, laying his wide upper back and thick traps against an extra large pillow that he used specifically to support his head and upper musculature. He idly rested his thick hand

against his stomach, still quite full, as he almost immediately began to doze off.

Not ten minutes had passed before Andre had drifted asleep. He snored softly, already close to the edge of REM sleep. As soon as he passed that threshold, he began to dream.

It was a strange dream. He would barely remember it afterward, but the message would linger, laying just beneath his subconscious at all times, like a perverted souvenir.

He was in the ocean. He floated there, naked, surrounded by water. Except it wasn't water. It was slightly more viscous, more like a watery syrup. Every small movement he made would cause a rippling aftereffect underwater, syrupy liquid flowing across and against his bare body. The constant, calm waves would cause conflicting currents, seeming to converge right where his body was. The sensations were gentle, then rough, then gentle again.

But it was always constant. Like a hundred hands, touching him all over, giving him a full-body massage. The gentle currents seems to brush his nipples, while the rougher ones seemed to push against his asscheeks, sometimes at the precise angle needed to brush against his sphincter, causing it to spasm. Normally, he would not be comfortable with such a sensation, but in this case, he didn't mind it. Probably due in part that his groin was receiving the same treatment. The gentle currents brushed against his scrotum, causing him to shiver, which in turn caused his sphincter to spasm again, sooner this time. His cock felt like it was being brushed by a set of conflicting mini-currents, aimed at the head and spiraling down his shaft, unabating in the forceful, yet even pressure consuming his groin.

Unbeknownst to Andre, while he dreamed this, something odd was happening to his body.

The uncomfortable pressure from his waterlogged belly abated somewhat, becoming a more tolerable pressure. However, though that pressure was reduced, it only increased someplace else.

His cock was full mast against his tight briefs, throbbing angrily as it filled with more blood than usual. It continued to twitch, angle against his body becoming more acute with each throb. Within a minute it was sharply angled toward his stomach, purpling with effort, filled with nearly twice as much blood as usual. His underwear stretched to accommodate such an unconventional angle, as well as a cock that was nearly twice the thickness it was meant to be. The cotton stretched thin against his cock slit, stimulating his head, almost painfully.

This caused there to be less room for the bottom half of his groin. The cotton chafed slightly against his scrotum, which seemed unnaturally taut. It currently contained two bulging testicles that appeared to not have been emptied for a few days. Subtly, they pushed against the scrotum wall, becoming warmer as they began to vibrate. While he slept, Andre’s underwear struggled against both a straining cock and a ballsack containing a pair of testicles that looked like they hadn’t been emptied in a week. Several minutes later, they looked like they hadn’t been emptied in a few weeks, then a month, then several months. His perfectly oblong-shaped testes swelled into spheroid golf balls, hardened from the concentration of sperm rapidly filling them up with no signs of stopping.

Andre's face screwed up in discomfort, still deep asleep. Some of his snores changed into moans as he began experiencing a dull, aching pain. His balls strained against his scrotal sack as they throbbed, bulging atop of his muscled thighs like a water balloon slowly being filled in his underwear. Andre groaned as the skin of his scrotum was stretched thin, webbed veins visibly struggling to wrap around his fattened, jumbo-sized fuck fruit threatening to blow his underwear wide open.

Face flushed, Andre's breathing began to hitch in short gasps. In his dream, the currents of water were rocking more forcefully against him, becoming more erratic and intense against his nipples, anus, scrotum and most of all, his knife-hard cock.

In the waking world, his red-purple cockhead sputtered a sharp burst of pre-ejaculate, cutting through the paper thin cotton of the stretched out underwear outlining his cock head.

Andre's groans of pain slowly morphed into panting pleasure as his cock exploded, its slit forced wide by pressurized streams of cum jettisoning through his underwear fabric and onto his stomach and chest. His cock shot for nearly half a minute before the streams began to subside.

Though his upper body and chin had been struck with a veritable puddle of cum, not to mention that his underwear was a sticky mess, there was oddly no cum around his navel. Upon closer inspection, it almost seemed as if the viscous sperm fluid had flowed into his navel…

A tiny, translucent tail only a few centimeters long could be seen wiggling excitedly in the navel for a half-second, before disappearing into the fleshly divot.