Gains Times Three

[April story request: Nick Walker's tank top allows a man to mimic all of Nick's physique gains threefold]

Back when Terrence was 18 years old, he spent some time crossing paths with the big roided out bodybuilder in his gym named Trent. He was massive and terrifying, but word was he sold steroids, so Terrence just knew he had to score some.

Sure, Terrence was a 6’5” beanpole desperate to get bigger, but the roids weren’t for him; they were for Terrence’s hero. Steroids were the only thing Terrence hadn’t yet offered his massive idol.

It had started with a small cash donation. “Maybe this will help fund you getting huge,” Terrence had written--his fiftieth draft, after conceiving of many other messages he deemed to hokey or stupid to attach to a gift to his hero. He was shocked when he an envelope actually came back to him containing pictures of Nick posing. Terrence melted as he looked at the note left by the incredibly gifted athlete: “Thanks for the support; I hit these poses extra hard, just for you.”

They were the same age, and Nick was just getting his start in bodybuilding, but the Jersey-born stud was already built like a superhero. Terrence had seen him at a local bodybuilding show and couldn’t stop thinking about the thickly built brute ever since he marched out in his bright red posers and wowed the crowd with his 18 year old physique. He only lived a few towns over at the time, and a simple google search had produced his address. He’d worried “the Mutant” (as Nick was already being called) would have bristled at the idea of a fan tracking him down, but clearly he didn’t mind the gifts.

A few months later, he followed up with another tribute. “Here’s some creatine and glutamine, since you said you needed some,” Terrence wrote in his note as he sealed the box with duct tape and slapped the shipping label on the side. A week later, he got a return package from Nick: a pair of ankle socks.

Terrence turned the crumpled fabric around in his hand several times before reading the note. “Wore these fuckers during a brutal set of squats. Figured they might bring you some luck too!” Terrence couldn’t believe his good fortune. Somehow, Nick knew exactly what he wanted! As he held the socks to his face and took a sniff, getting a lungful of Nick’s delicious musk, he pictured the musclestud growling as he squatted down, the bar bending over his thick back as his ass nearly touched his heels--then letting out a roar as he fought gravity with all his brutal might. Terrence pictured sweat pouring down the beasts back, dripping off his face, cascading down his legs… and collecting in the socks Terrence had pressed against his face at that moment.

It turned out Terrence had a knack for getting in good with massive bodybuilders. It didn’t take long for Terrence’s compliment-slinging and vocal admiration of Trent to have the big beefsteak juicemonkey offering him some of his wares. “I’ll take a couple Tren, a couple Masteron,” Terrence asked as Trent eyed up his physique.

“Buddy, do we need to talk dosing?” Trent said as he nodded at Terrence’s skinny legs. “I mean, I just gave you a pretty vicious cycle and you didn’t gain a pound.”

“Oh, it’s not for me,” Terrence said with a smirk.

He packed the roids in protein powder containers. “While I’m at it, I might as well feed the big guy too, right?” he thought as he buried the bagged ampoules of strong hormones in the chocolate-flavored powder. As he packed up the bounty, he glanced at the last package Nick had sent to him: photos of Nick before a spray tan wearing only a sock over his cock. He almost started to salivate as he studied the big bull’s nearly nude form. He couldn’t believe Nick was so comfortable nearly flashing his junk to a fan!

“But I’m not just any fan, am I, Nick?” Terrence thought as he sealed the boxes. He glanced at his own scrawny frame in the mirror and sighed. “I just don’t have the genetics, Nick,” he said sadly, affixing the shipping labels with a forlorn sigh. “You’ll just have to get huge for both of us.”

As it was his biggest tribute yet, Terrence was nearly desperate to find out exactly what Nick had in store to thank him. His eyes lit up the day the package arrived. He tore it open and pulled out a neon pink stringer tank. “Fuck!” Terrence said, yanking out his phone and tapping furiously for the Youtube app. A video of Nick benching 405 pounds appeared. As the beast’s massive pecs bloated even more gigantic with their monstrous pump, the big chest muscles were stretching a neon pink tank top to its limit.

Terrence breathed the sweaty funk of his hero from the tank top, imagining that the fabric had once clung to the most perfect pecs in the world. “Fuck, this is his sweat, too,” he said, rubbing the tank over his face, hoping to absorb some of what made Nick exactly what he was.

“To my biggest fan,” read the accompanying card. “Thanks for helping me get huge. I hope this makes your dreams come true.” Without hesitation, Terrence tossed his own size medium t-shirt aside and slipped the stringer tank on. It was ludicrously large on him, but as he stared into the mirror, he imagined his perpetually skimpy muscles swelling huge enough to fill it out.

“If only I could get big as easily as Nick does,” Terrence thought, his heart yearning to know what it was like to have that size. He took another sniff of the sweat-saturated cloth before turning back to his phone. Nick usually started livecasting his workout at 4 PM, and it was ten past. As he tapped his phone screen, a tingling spread across his skin. He got goosebumps all over.

While the video took nearly ten seconds to buffer, Terrence looked down at his arms. His biceps were twitching and jumping almost on the own. “What the fuck?” he wondered aloud--his arms were getting a pump. His heart pounded as he watched his scrawny limps filling up with blood, looking thicker by the moment, as if he’d just done ten sets of curls!

Then the video started. Terrence looked down at his phone in awe as he saw the massive Mutant curling 75 pound dumbbells like they were cupcakes. He moaned as he felt lactic acid flowing into his own arms, so intense he had to breathe through his nose to distract himself from the pain. When Nick threw down the dumbbells, the ache stopped.

“How the fuck…” Terrence wondered. “I feel like I just curled those dumbbells!” he said to the phone, as if the image of Nick would turn around and respond. Nick picked up the weights for a second set and Terrence felt sweat forming on his brow. Just standing there in his living room, Terrence was out of breath, his arms screaming--and he wasn’t even holding anything! Even after Terrence stripped off the tank top, the throbbing in his arms, like he’d just suffered through a mindblowing workout, remained.

It wasn’t the incapacitating soreness of the next day that made him wonder about the properties of the gifted garment; rather, it was the following week, when he flexed arms that looked like they belonged to someone else. The tape measure read 15”, a whole inch larger than a few days ago, when he’d last measured them.

“Rock fucking hard, too,” he said, barely able to pinch the skin on the suddenly huger--well, there was no other way to describe the newly sprouted muscles: GUNS. “And I didn’t even do arms this week!” He’d barely been able to lift his arms enough to wash his hair, let alone wipe his ass. And still, he had serious gains like he’d crushed an amazing workout followed by a syringe full of steroids.

He had an idea what was going on, but it seemed insane. Things like that didn’t actually happen! But when he slipped the tank top back on to test the theory, he suddenly felt rocked off his feet. His legs twitched and throbbed; Terrence moaned and pounded the ground as he felt his quads burning harder than his most aggressive leg day (which, admittedly, had never been an impressive workout for Terrence). As sweat poured off Terrence’s body, he watched his meager quad muscles pump up. The pain was nearly excruciating, but Terrence knew he could ride it out.

When it was over, Terrence checked Instagram to see that Nick had, in fact, had a brutal leg day. Terrence marveled at the walking lunges Nick did in his gym’s parking lot with a stacked barbell on his back. “Fuck!” he said aloud. “I fucking felt those!” There was no doubt in his mind that he had.

Despite the fact that Terrence had never left his house, he could barely walk in the subsequent days. The first morning he was able to put weight on his legs without wobbling like a newborn foal was a whole four days later--and even more amazing than the lack of debilitating soreness was the added thickness to Terrence’s legs. He could see the individual parts of his leg muscles for the first time in his life! He pulled on some jeans and groaned as he realized how much tighter they were.

That day was a Thursday, and Terrence was fairly certain Nick was lifting back that day--maybe at that exact minute! (He’d never had the guts to actually visit Nick’s gym, despite it being only an hour away, but through social media he’d been able to memorize Nick’s training schedule.) “Without his tank top, I feel nothing,” Terrence said aloud.

Then he slipped the tank top on. “Holy fuck!” he shouted as he doubled over, feeling his back being blasted by an unimaginable workout. Fifty miles away, Nick was blasting through massive rows and deadlifting giant weights from the floor, and here Terrence was, feeling the intensity of every second of it. He was tempted to take the tank top off, to find some relief, but he held on. When it was over, the floor was drenched in sweat and he was exhausted. He stumbled to his kitchen and started eating sandwich meat right out of the package, washing it down with a gallon of milk.

Trent couldn’t believe his eyes when Terrence sauntered into the gym a month later, his body inflated with about twenty extra pounds of muscle. “Look at you!” Trent marvelled. It was the first time the massive bodybuilder actually approached Terrence rather than the other way around.

“Just putting those roids to good work!” Terrence said with a wink.

“That tank top looks like it could use a wash,” Trent said, fanning the air in front of his face. “Hey, you wanna lift?” Terrence couldn’t believe it! Trent, the biggest guy at his gym, was inviting him to work out! But he knew he had to pass. It wouldn’t be long before Nick started to work out, and Terrence wanted to be at home, alone, when he experienced that devastation. He had only stopped by the gym to show off his newfound muscles.

Terrence sent a letter to Nick to thank him, but it got returned. Nick had moved to Florida, and thus the gifts would stop. Part of Terrence was a bit hurt that his hero had left without a word, but he knew that whether Nick knew it or not, they would always have a connection.

As time went on, Terrence’s body reflected more and more of Nick’s progress. Terrence would smile as he watched his body inflated with watery bulk. The beautiful cuts of his body would fill in with extra mass and he knew, it was only because the big guy was bulking. Then, when it was time for a competition, Terrence would sit back as his bodyfat dropped. He could eat whatever he wanted, but as long as Nick dieted, he would shred up.

After a few years, Terrence had bloated into a MOUNTAIN of muscle. It took a lot of mass to fill out his tall frame, but as Kyle’s 5’7” frame packed on pounds, Terrence gained three times as much. Terrence never competed--it didn’t seem right, he knew--but once he outgrew Trent, he started getting offers from magazines for modeling offers. The last thing Terrence wanted was to attract attention to his frame--he didn’t want anyone figuring out the magical properties of his tank--so he tried to keep a low profile. Still, when he showed up to support Trent’s pro-card qualifying attempt, a small crowd formed around him. Terrence’s body had blown up to 380 pounds; he was so big he couldn’t fit in any of the stadium’s seats.

After the show, as Terrence lumbered back to congratulate Trent (who only came up to Terrence’s nipple, despite still being a super-heavyweight and the biggest competitor who stood on stage that day), the muscle magazines turned their cameras toward Terrence.

“Why didn’t you compete today?” they said, marveling at the giant’s conditioning. (Nick was one week out from a competition, so Terrence’s body reflected that conditioning thanks to the tank top.)

“Oh, I’m just in it for the lifestyle,” Terrence chuckled, hittind a double biceps pose as the cameras snapped.

“He’s a total freak!” Trent said, trying to get the attention back on him. “He doesn’t even lift!”

In the photos that hit the internet, Trent looked like a little teddybear next to the enormous Terrence, who was so tall the top of his head was cropped out of the photos.

As Terrence’s body ballooned up past 400 pounds, making him one of the hugest and strongest men alive, he yearned for a chance to thank his hero for the gift.

Terrence’s heart leapt the day he saw that Nick would be returning to his home state for a guest pose. “I wonder if he’ll even recognize this old thing,” he mused. At that point, the stringer tank was ripped to shreds, skin tight on Terrence’s massive, rippling body, only coming down past his lower pecs like a crop top. (Still, the magic remained.)

Nick was posing at a gym forty minutes away. Terrence chided himself for being late to the event (it took him three tries to get an Uber he could fit inside). When he arrived, he yanked the door open and waddled in, hearing the gasps from the crowd as he entered.

Nick was mid-pose, turned away, doing a lat spread when Terrence arrived. The massive muscular giant’s eyes lit up as he got to see his hero, the Mutant, in the flesh! Terrence ignoring the crowd as they ogled him, pushing past them to get a front row look at his idol. Nick, still facing away from Terrence, faltered in his posing as Terrence’s huge shadow passed over him.

“Hey, who’s blocking my light--” Nick said, turning around with a surly look on his face. His eyes went wide as he looked up at Terrence’s enormous, hulking frame.

Despite his size, Terrence was giddy to meet the athlete. Nick just stared at the massive freak, intimidated for the first time in years by someone’s whose enormous body actually dwarfed his own. Terrence could feel Nick’s gaze searching every inch of his rippling mass, darting from his massive arms to his impossibly wide legs, up to his jutting muscle pecs, on full display thanks to the nearly disintegrated tank top.

“Uh--I, uh…” Nick said, actually looking nervous--an emotion the big brute wasn’t used to feeling.

“Keep going!” Terrence said in his deep and rumbly voice. “You look amazing!” Nick blushed and continued his routine. When he was done, he hurried back to the locker rooms. Terrence waited patiently outside. When Nick walked out in a sweatsuit, Terrence felt himself stooping with reverence to the most incredible bodybuilder he’d ever seen.

“Do you--do you remember me?” Terrence said, his voice a gravelly roar despite his best efforts to seem like the beta to Nick’s alpha.

Nick searched the giant’s face, recognizing nothing of the behemoth, but his eyes paused at the tattered threads stretched over his body.

“It’s yours,” Terrence said, thumbing at the old shirt. “Or at least, it was. You see? I really am your biggest fan. Now, how can we help you get even bigger?” Terrence set down a duffel bag filled with dozens of amps of Trenbolone and growth hormone. Its contents clinked loudly as Terrence slid it over to his hero. Terrence was going to do anything in his power to make Nick even bigger--and who knows how big Terrence would get because of it?