Big Doug

Big Doug

A work of gay erotic fiction by Ventrego

It was just another Tuesday. I was in my living room, working on my computer when there was a knock at the front door. I’ve had people come by every few weeks since I got my own place and word got out. I pulled on a tee-shirt and wondered who was darkening my doorstep this time.

I looked him over: several inches shorter than me, big shoulders; hell, big everywhere. His pecs, shoulders, and biceps bulged beneath his shirt. His jeans swelled around a powerful backside. Those thighs and calves were twice as thick as mine, and I’m pretty in-shape myself. I had no doubt the guy could squat a lot of weight on the bar. His short-croppped beard was dark and dense. That voice was a deep baritone, not an under-the-staff bass, but something that could rumble or hold a melody depending on the situation.

His looks grabbed my interest. It was what he said that kept it.

“I understand you can help me get bigger.”

I couldn’t stifle a grin. I could lose myself in those dark brown eyes, but I wasn’t the one who was about to lose himself. “Yeah, I can help you with that. Come in and sit down.”

He came in and I offered him a beer. I made the mandatory chitchat to put him at ease. Dear lord, he was a talker. Sports, men, trucks, and another beer. The bad decisions all his buddies were making, how his job sucked - ‘but doesn’t everybody’s, right?’ - and another beer. I was beginning to wonder if he’d go through a whole six-pack before I had chance to get a word in edgewise. But I kept getting the right signals, every so often. The smiles - lots of smiles as he looked at me, looked around my place, and looked into his drink. Something about me must have worked for him; he was so damn happy to be talking!

A rather burly, cheery, chatty man had just settled into my home, and there wasn’t a hint of sex in the offering. I would fix all of that.

I cut off a diatribe about the opposing sports team with a wave of my hand. “Well, since you’re here, you talked to one of my clients. Outside of these walls, I maintain complete confidentiality. But inside, it’s important that I know who’s sending business my way. And how they’re doing.”

Doug grinned again. It was all I could do not to roll my eyes, but he said, “Richard Nelson. I don’t know what you did to him, but man! One day he and his friends are skinny kids just getting out of their teens, the next day they’re built like truck drivers: wide, round, and heavy. I swear, I didn’t believe it was him for a couple of days. That guy’s as big around as he is tall. Seems happy enough, I suppose. I told him he should watch the carbs, get some cardio in...”

I had to hand-wave my way into the conversation again. “I’m sure he’s aware of his situation. He made his own requests, after all. That’s why he came to me.”

“Big Rich said it was something like that.”

“Big Rich, huh? I like that. Good for him.”

“Just started happening. Although he’s not as big as he used to be. Tall, I mean. He’s plenty big around! He said it had something to do with buying clothes. And the way he and his friends hang on each other now, you can tell they’re sleeping together. Sometimes it’s just obvious.”

I gripped my beer a little tighter. “Something wrong with friends sleeping together?”

He looked me straight in the eyes. “Doesn’t bother me. Hey, a hole’s a hole, right?”

“Hmm. Let’s get to the point. What, specifically, do you want me to do?”

“Well.” Doug stood up. He was almost half a head shorter than me. “I’ve been working hard to make myself big. I eat big. I lift big. And I dare say I’ve done a pretty good job. Why, this waitress a the restaurant the other day grabbed my pecs and ...”

“So you’d like to be taller.”

He frowned for the first time since he stepped through my door. “It’s not fair. It’s the only thing I can’t change. No amount of lifting or eating or vitamins will ever let me tower over people the way my buddies do. The way Big Rich used to.”

“So you’d like to tower over people. I don’t think that will be a problem.”

“Fuck yeah.” Doug downed half a beer in a shot. “But tall people get all skinny and stretched-out looking. Like basketball players. That’s no good. I’ve worked hard to be as swole as I am.” He looked down at himself and bounced his pecs.

I wanted to jump on him right then, but it was going to be oh, so much better in a few minutes. “Well, then, Doug, here’s how this works. Anything I can convince you of, I can do. That means a lot of talking, to get you in the right state of mind. Once I have you believing, anything I want happens. If you want to be taller, I promise you’ll get that, and more. Do you agree?”

He looked at me for a moment. “Do it.”

“And with that formality out of the way ...” I stood and tossed him another beer. “Let’s start by talking about sports.”

He grinned. “I like sports. Just last week, my team...”

I pursed my lips but kept my voice even. “I’m sure your team did very well and you’re very proud of them. But you’re not really watching for the teams, are you? You cheer on individuals.”

“Well...”

“Admit it, Doug. You notice the players sometimes. A lot of the time. That well-built quarterback. The muscular center. That pitcher with those arms that stretch his sleeves.”

“Well, yeah everybody does...”

“But for you, Doug, it’s more than that. You put up with the scores and the referees, but it’s really all just kind of noise, isn’t it? It’s not some rule book that gives you a charge when you’re watching a game. It’s seeing those men, those powerful, bulked-up men, running around on your television screen.”

“Yeah, I guess so...”

“In fact, you don’t care so much about the game. The points, the balls, the goals. They’re all just a reason to get a bunch of burly men playing together, slamming against each other.”

“Heh.” He leaned back and took another pull from his beer.

“And sometimes you think about them in the locker room, don’t you? Hell, you’ve been in plenty of gym locker rooms yourself. After a great workout, when you feel all pumped and raring to go, like you could lift the world and fuck it at the same time. And it has to be even better for them. You want to be there, too. To feel that good. With them.”

“Well, yeah...” His voice was a little unsteady but his eyes were closed.

“So you’re not going to mention women again in my house. Or ever, really. Not sexually. Because it’s men you like. Big, bulging, hairy, sweaty men. They’re who you want to hang out with. They’re who you want to have sex with. Lots of them. All the time.”

He sat back, head back, eyes closed, grinning broadly, hand cupping his crotch. “Yeah.”

It was time to wipe that grin off his face. “But you’re not always satisfied, are you? Not always so happy. Probably because you always need to get off. Your balls are swollen and heavy and pumping testosterone into you all the time, even when you’re asleep. You’re always on the edge of blue balls, feeling sore and pent up, and unless someone else helps you unload, it’s just not enough. When you take care of yourself, even after you’ve cum, you still need to go. So it’s hard some days. It’s all you can do to keep from barking orders at people. Picking fights. Even watching games is a kind of enjoyable torture, because you want to jump half the guys on the field, but instead you’re stuck in the stands, stuffing foot-longs into your face.”

He started to sit up. “Hey now.”

I put my hands firmly on his flexing shoulders, squeezed a little - it was like kneading a steak - and pressed him back down into the chair. “Shut up and let me work.”

“Hmm.” He settled his muscular self back down on my couch.

“So, when you fuck a guy, or get fucked, that’s the only time the pressure lets off. And then, it feels wonderful, doesn’t it? You’re all smiles and happiness for a couple hours. But then the pressure returns. An afternoon, a cuddly night at the most, and once again you’re full of more spunk than you know what to do with.”

“Heh.” But his smile had faded; he looked serious, now.

“That’s why you’re angry, edgy, all the time. You intimidate the hell out of people, don’t you? Even without trying. Because you’re swimming in testosterone all day, every day. And you’re always on the look for the next fuck that will drain some of it out of you.”

“Yeah.” He grabbed and popped open another beer without looking. His next drink was strong and purposeful.

“So, you’ve got your hand on your crotch. You tell me I’m right. You’re sore, aren’t you? Pent up? Balls ready to blow?”

His hand went to his package and cupped it. He groaned. “For days. They even feel bigger.”

“Oh, they are. They’ve grown. They got bigger while I was talking to you. While you were thinking about the men on your team.”

I actually saw the bulge in his jeans shift and swell visibly. I love it when they’re willing. Doug groaned.

“And that’s why you’ve been spending so much time at the gym. Pushing yourself hard. Long, punishing workouts. So hard your body grows for days afterwards. You can feel it, can’t you? How massive your chest and arms are. How pumped your legs have gotten. Those big glutes that could crack walnuts. Admit it, your shirts have been getting really tight lately, haven’t they? It’s time to go up a size or two on the jeans?”

When he groaned this time, I got to watch his whole body swell. His neck thickened until it was as big around as my thighs. His biceps mounded into peaks; his triceps and forearms got thick and meaty. The shirt stretched around his bulging pecs and rode up his powerful stomach. His jeans pulled and shifted, his lower body growing until it was barely contained. I even heard his shoes creak.

I pondered, briefly. I could make him swell into a bloated chunk of muscle, trapped on my couch, horny and unable to move. I’ll admit, I wanted to, badly. But that wasn’t where we were going, so I told my dick to settle down and moved on to the next stage.

“So, to sum up: you’re horny, quiet, a little grumpy, and full of jizz. You’re a man’s man’s man. a testosterone-fueled man-beast, Doug, looking to unload and get unloaded onto, into. You’re swole and your tough and you’re always ready to deliver. If you’re onboard with me so far, just say yes and get undressed, everything but the underwear.”

His eyes snapped open. “Fuck yeah!”

It was a lot of fun to watch him all but rip off his clothes. He had to reach around his newly-bulked up frame, his shirt got caught on his chest, then his shoulders, then his arms! Bending down to his shoes was a new challenge: he settled for kicking them off feet grown a half-size wider. His jeans plummeted to the carpet, leaving me with a view of a rather sizeable full pouch in his white briefs. I could see both his bulging man-seeds clearly outlined in well-filled fabric. His penis was still a little below average, but I think of these things ahead, and didn’t call attention to it.

“All, right, Doug. It’s time to do what you came here for. Time to get taller.”

He flexed his arms and chest at me. “Do it!”

I paced around him as a spoke, my steps carrying me behind him. “I want you to picture what it feels like, getting taller. A little stiff. A little sore, maybe. Your body is pushing itself bigger, a little at a time.”

He twisted his head and swung his arms back and forth. I grinned as I passed his pert backside

.

“So feel it. Your feet spreading out over a little more carpet. Your calves stretching and bulging like they’ve had a really good workout. Your thighs, a little higher off the ground than before, and pushing your hips up a little higher yet.”

I swear I saw him nudge up a half-inch right then. I was going to have to be careful that I didn’t end up with giant feet and legs with a regular-size person on top.

“Your hips and abdomen get a little fuller, a little bigger. Your spine stretches and your rib cage arches. Your pecs bulge, your shoulders spread, your arms swell and pull at the same time. Your fingers and toes ache a little as they take up more room. Hell, you’ve probably got a bit of a headache, even your skull has to grow to keep up with the rest of you.”

It turned around and faced him squarely. He was barely an inch shorter than me, now. “But you’re growing, Doug, you’re fucking growing, and it’s worth it.”

“Yeah?” He looked at me.

I blinked. Normally they don’t look at me. They’re too taken by what’s happening to them; I just get to fade into the background. But no, he was standing there, aching tense, and probably ten percent bigger than when he walked into my house, and he was watching me.

Oh, this was going to be fun. I began to make my way around him again.

“It’s getting worse, Doug. It’s getting worse because you’re getting bigger. Everything’s growing. Heart, lungs, cock, brain, beard. You’re getting more of everything Doug, and it’s forcing you to get taller, more massive.”

I enjoyed listening to him grunt and groan, and watching him swell. By the time I was back in front of him again, he was almost four inches taller than me. Suddenly I had a creditable all-around former college jock in my living room. I nudged him to stand up straight and looked up into his eyes.

“This was what you had in mind, wasn’t it?”

He looked from side to side, at the room that seemed to have grown smaller around him. Then back down at me. He squared his shoulders, making his chest stand out impressively. “YES! Want to worship me, little man?”

I leaned towards him and put my hands on his pecs. He grinned at the contact, flexed a little. My cock jumped in my pants. It was like grabbing a couple of top round roasts at the market. I wanted to ride him then and there, but I knew I could do better.

I grinned at him. “Good. But you still feel it, don’t you? You’re growing again. It’s not enough to just be taller than me, or taller than some people, no. You want to be big like a quarterback or a lineman. You’re going to be a head taller than crowds. You’re going to have to duck through doorways. Your muscles are growing into huge, hungry slabs of meat. And you can feel every bit of you piling on your frame.”

I watched him shift and fidget and flex. His pecs bulged under my hands even as they rose to eye level. It was a lot of fun feeling the heat come off him, warming up my living room and my crotch. Soon I was face-to-face with a guy who could have played for the NFL, although he was clearly on more of a bodybuilding routine, the way he bulged, and bulged, and bulged everywhere I looked.

He flexed and grinned down at me smugly. I couldn’t help smirking back at him. He flexed his arms for me, showed off his pits, kissed biceps half as big as my head. “You don’t mind if I take these off, do you?” He stripped off his briefs one-handed, a motion that showed of his strong stomach and thighs as big as smaller men’s waists. His package bounced freely in the air in front of him. It caught my attention for several long moments.

The look on his face said it all - he thought I was putty in his hands. He was right, but he had it the wrong way around.

“Very nice, very, very nice,” I said appreciatively as I began to circle him once. more. “I have to admit, it’s been a while since I had a guy of your caliber in here.”

He grinned proudly and did a double-biceps pose, as much for his benefit as for mine. I could have hung off him like he was a tree. But... “But you’re not done.”

He blinked and looked at me. “What?” A corner of his mouth quirked up.

I pointed straight up. “These ceilings are eight feet tall. I think your head should be up there, don’t you?”

Doug looked up. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“You can feel it already, Doug. You’re growing bigger, faster. Really pushing. And it’s not going to stop until your head bumps plaster.”

He really groaned at that, stretching and bouncing in place, inching bigger all the while. He had to spread his legs, shift his shoulders. I enjoyed the view as those rising-bread-dough pecs bulged out more even as they slid past eye level. His broad-and-growing torso blocked my view with a wall of muscle. His powerful, flexible feet passed extra-wide basketball sizes as he swelled until the top of his scalp nudged my ceiling.

Soon I had a bona-fide giant in my living room. I was staring at his powerful stomach, a chest, shoulders, and head almost twice as big as they had any right to be, occupying the middle of my living room like an oversized display model of hairy masculinity.

He groaned and cupped balls the size of lemons. His free hand roamed over his chest and torso. His elbow bumped the ceiling, hard. “Ffffuck, I’m huge.”

I looked up at him - way up. My smile was every bit as wide as you’d think. “What’s that?” I said loudly. “I’m going to grow so huge my dick smacks you right in the face?”

He looked down at me, wide-eyed. “You wouldn’t dare.”

I just grinned.

“Gooooh!” He groaned like he’d just been taken from behind. His basser-than-bass voice shook the walls. His head was forced forward as his shoulders slammed against the plaster, sending white bits raining down across a wide swath of carpet.

He stumbled forward awkwardly, knocking me down, with nowhere else to go as his legs swelled like pine trees, his torso ballooned above me like an inflating sofa, and his shoulders blocked a quarter of my ceiling. Soon I stood underneath a gigantic arch of hairy muscle-man, on all fours in my living room. Above me hovered pecs that could have cushioned an overstuffed sofa. I stood under a strong stomach that could crush small cars. And when I stepped forward towards a man-sack filled with two tennis balls, my cheek bumped against it, right at face level.

His cock, rather bigger than my thumb, twitched in response.

“Enough”, he gasped, leaning onto his elbows and shifting in the tight space. “Enough.”

I looked around the chunk of hairy man-meat in front of, above, and behind me. It took some doing. “You know, bent over, you’ve got a good six or seven inches of free space. Grow into it.”

“Fucker,” he growled, but I got to watch him expand, his back and butt rising higher, until he was every bit as big as he could be and still fit in my living room. My smile could have split my face. I wanted to start giving him a tongue-bath right there. It would have taken hours.

His enormous, bearded face loomed at me. In this position, his head was upside-down. “Wh...why?”

“Big Rich should have warned you. When I make men, or things, big, I don’t go halfway.”

Doug rumbled, a thunder-sound that vibrated in my chest and rattled glasses in the kitchen. Then he began to laugh. “Heh. Heh. Heh.” He looked down at the expanse of himself. His legs were the size of pillars on a monument. His chest and stomach looked like some oversized gym billboard. His arms were like flexing tree-trunks, so round and meaty they pulsed with their own heat. His hands could easily lift cars; his feet could have covered my torso. After a few minutes, his gaze settled on his crotch. He rumbled again. “I want you to do one more thing.”

It was my turn to get wide-eyed. He was enormous, ass-up in my living room, and he was still trying to make demands. “Yeah?”

“You made my balls monsters,” he groaned. “Give me a dick to match.”

I followed his gaze. It was true, his balls were the size of grapefruits. His dick, while certainly not undersized, was kind of tucked up near the top of the jumbo sac. I grabbed the head, to give myself a sense of it’s jumbo-plum size, then looked across my living room into his enormous face. “You’re at least fifteen feet tall, so this thing will be almost fifteen inches long when hard. That’s starting to push horse territory. It’s going to be tough to find guys to take it as it is. You really want it bigger?”

When Doug shifted his weight to get a better view, the beams in my living room ceiling groaned loudly. He considered for a moment, then said, “Yeah.”

“All right, then, Big Doug. Feel your dick inflating, but it’s not getting hard, it’s growing permanently. You’re going to be a grower AND a shower. You’re going to be the guy they talk about in the locker room and at work and on the internet, for years. It’s going to flop around in your gym shorts, bulge down the leg of your pants, swing like a pendulum under your kilt.”

I watched it happen, his average-size meat hanging lower and fuller until it matched his overburdened balls. The man would have been a decent-sized porn star.

“Yeah?” He looked me in the eyes, begging me not to stop. So I didn’t.

“But that’s not enough for you, you dumb stud. Feel it get longer again, and longer, and longer still. Feel it get even thicker from the base, all the way up the shaft, to the head, then feel the head get a little bigger around yet.”

His head was hanging down near the bottom of his oversized man-sack, and the damn thing was nearly as thick as my wrist. But I’d spent a half-hour making him receptive; he wasn’t going to be this compliant ever again. I had to go for it.

“Feel it pushing its way longer, so big it flops around awkwardly when you walk. You’re not going to be able to wear short shorts because your dick hangs halfway out of them. When you’re in knee-length athletic wear, that monster is going to swing around like you’re smuggling a salami on the court. Or field. Whatever. Feel the head hanging lower than your scrote? Not enough. It’s got another third of its length to go even when soft. And it’s swelling into a big bloated piece of man-meat, the kind of grip-stretching width that keeps your thumb from ever meeting your fingers when you’re playing with yourself.”

“People are going to stare at you and know that everything about Doug is big. Big man, big muscles, big voice, big appetite, big needs, big balls, and a big, big, big dick.”

One hand reached for his overgrown package. He grunted in appreciation.

I grinned up at him. “You’re done. Get out of here.”

He looked down at me. His scowl could have darkened thunder clouds. “I need to get off!”

I put my hands on my hips. “Well, so do I, and I make it a policy not to sleep with clients. It’s bad for referrals.”

“FUCK!” he roared, flexing impressively. That cock was half as long as my forearm, and swelling fast. Oh, dear god, I wanted to. But I stayed firm.

“You’ll find it surprisingly easy to get out my front door. Although that’s the last door you’re going to find easy in a very long time.”

Watching him squeeze out my front door was an event in itself. And so I sent him packing, a naked muscular giant, out on the streets of the city. His boner was pointing ahead of him before he even stood up to his full height outdoors. I had a hunch he wouldn’t go far before he found willing volunteers to help him unload.

I sat down in my easy chair, grabbed a bottle of lube, and started checking the news for reports of a big heap of testosterone-fueled muscle doing not-safe-for-work things in public.

I didn’t have to wait long.