Funhouse pt. 6

Funhouse Epilogue

by *inflatedmuscle

Funhouse Epilogue

The muscle bound freak waddled down a short hall lined with windows looking into the cells that held the muscled men who made up the collection. The tight spandex "Joker" suit he wore dug into his meaty shoulders and ass as it squeezed his body on all fronts. He hated it but had no choice… nothing else around the place fit his over blown body. The man spent most of his days in the hall when he could, looking in on the muscle collection and taking note of their constant changes. He hated his existence and wondered what he had ever done in his life that justified the reality that he found himself trapped in.

The man stopped before Cam's window. Well it wasn't really Cam's solely; there were several other muscle freaks of his size living there including the handsome Italian looking teen, Mark. The room was actually the weight room that Cam had gotten stuck in that first night. It was state of the art and filled with bigger than normal weights and machines. It needed to be to fit the overblown and wildly strong freaks that used it. Cam had joined the ranks of the muscle zombies now. He lived in a fog as the others did, lifting weights a couple times a day and serving his master as he saw fit. Cam was huge though not nearly as big as the night he had lost the game against his buddies. The clown freak had no real reason to keep the boys as wildly blown up as that night for once they were put into their mental fog their size no longer had an effect on them. They could be blown up as big as a barn and would plod through their day in the same mindless haze. The fun of the game for the crazy man was watching the effect the transformations had on the un-medicated minds… the fear, the panic, and the desperation that over took their senses.

That's not to say that Cam wasn't massively muscled… he was ridiculously so. He had taken Mark's place as the pride of the collection. His frame was packed with solid muscle that would have dwarfed even Mitch in his prime. The man watched the zombies work out. The hulks pushed incredible amounts of weight; bench presses over 700 for reps, squats where 1000 pounds were part of the warm up. The zombies went through the workouts without emotion as if they were machines. The man watched as new records were reached and broken by sweating hulks that lifted iron with the emotion of robots. He wondered about the response Cam would have shown had he repped so much weight at his old gym or by the people he knew there.

The man caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass. His greasy hair was standing on end. The makeup he wore was thin and streaked over his thick lips. He hated looking at his reflection. He looked down at his makeup stained hands. He hated everything about it. His shoe was untied. He slowly lifted his foot up on a nearby stool and re-tied his green wrestler high-tops. All his movements were slow thanks to the great bulk of muscle he now carried. He always hated that his feet were so small. His Dad had been tall but he took after his mother's side. Didn't matter how much muscle he carried he always felt like a shrimp. This was just as true today as when he was twelve years old.

The man waddled over to the window that looked into Mitch's cell. He could watch Mitch for hours. Mitch was now easily the biggest freak in the collection if not the world. He too had lost that Stay Puff muscle freak look though was massively built thanks to the myostatin inhibitors he was now given that overrode his natural limits to growing muscle. Mitch was no more than a muscle building bull now, who did nothing but lift massive amounts of weights, eat and grow. If he wasn't doing one or the other the man was asleep thanks to drugs pumped into his system as his body recovered from the ramped up regiment. It was all automated…a science project really. The bodybuilder wore a thin rubber skinned suit that sealed him into a perfect muscle building environment. The black suit looked to be made of spandex and fit his body like a second layer of skin. There was almost a rubber plate that surrounded his bull neck from which his handsome head rose; otherwise he was completely covered up by the suit even down to his rubber soled feet. The man wore a feed tube strapped to his head through which his frequent muscle building meals and water were pumped. The feed tube wasn't the only hose hanging off the big man. There was one that was fed through a hole over his ass hole and another that was attached a tube over his cock and balls. The suit took care of life's most basic functions as hoses down below took care of his bodily functions. It even cleaned the muscle monster as twice a day warm soapy water would be forced into the suit, stretching his rubber skin by several inches. For a few minutes the water would be swirl over his muscle bound body before being sucked out of the suit leaving the hulk cleaned and refreshed. Then a layer of J-lube was forced into the suit easing movement as the hulk worked out. Mitch would lean back during this process as if he was being massaged. The amazing suit only missed a helmet that would make him look like some muscle bound space traveler as he waddled around his room dragging his umbilical cords.

Mitch's workouts consisted of massively heavy weights for basic movements. As a result of all this science, Mitch's muscles grew bigger by the day. The man lifted according to a lighted instruction panel that hung on one wall that walked him through his workout with required poundage and reps for each exercise. Mitch had lost that off season bloated look in the first few days and now was just covered with massive thick muscles. His legs and ass were enormous now like women sometimes get when they carry all their body fat below the waist. Only Mitch had very little body fat. The freak's lower body was so bloated, his muscles looked inflated far beyond human necessity as if he had slipped on some rubber skinned muscle padded pants that tripled the size of his legs. His ass was huge and swelled out beneath his lower back like a hundred pound beach ball. The thing even bulged out to the sides when you looked at the man from the front. It looked to be sixteen inches thick and made up of quacking rippled muscle that shimmied with every step. His legs were so muscled that it interfered with his normal gate though there was little room to walk much in his weight filled cell. The size of all that competing muscle had reduced his squat range by about half what it had been in his old life but the crazy poundages he moved still ripped his muscles to shreds at every workout. Mitch's upper body was blown into some wicked proportions. The mass of his arms, shoulders, upper back, and chest had ballooned wildly under the new regiment until the freak looked as if he was constantly flexing his over blown muscles. His arms were now held wide from his sides as his swollen lats filled up the space under his arms. His upper body was several feet thick now; wider than standard doorframes and blistered with swollen muscles that looked ready to pop. Mitch's handsome head now somehow looked isolated a top a thickening upper body that kept growing by the day. There was no way the man could look down and see much of his own body now as the mass of his upper body swelled up toward his head. The room was filled with mirrors so that the man always had an easy look at what he was becoming. Mitch had a crazy v-taper that was covered with thick muscle armor and a muscled gut ball that seemed to be made of rubber as after a good feed would swell up like a beach ball but forty minutes later would have shrunk down to a solid but proportionate roid gut.

If the arrangements caused Mitch distress there was no signs as he lived in a fog now as did the others. If anything the wildly muscled man seemed the happiest of all the freaks. It was as if there was some extreme pleasure in his existence now. All the science had kicked the man's metabolism into over drive so that whatever he was fed would soon be absorbed by the muscle factory that was running on overdrive leaving the man frequently hungry. His feedings were sized as a reward for a good workout… a goal met or surpassed resulted in several more hundred calories of muscle fuel. This pushed the freak to work his body beyond all expectations and requirements. If Mitch was awake he was pushing weights in hopes of another meal.

There was another aspect to feed time that drove the man. The suit was milking the man of his semen as the fortified spew was used in supplements to feed the muscles of the others. When not lifting, Mitch reclined on a padded leather bench of sorts that tilted back to support his weight but still was almost upright. There was a padded saddle that he sat on between his legs. Mitch slept here between workouts. Once finished lifting the hulk would waddle over to his bench and lean back and wait for the muscle fuel to start flowing into his rumbling belly. As the massive meal started to flow into Mitch the suit over his cock would swell up as the milking began. The sleeve his cock lived in now would begin massaging the man's meat that had grown along with the rest of him. The red faced bodybuilder would lean back with a look of ecstasy on his face as he was satiated on all levels. All the hormones and fuel he was force fed had turned the man into a human bull producing quarts of sperm at each meal. The feeding/ jacking session would last until Mitch's gut ball was packed tight and the paint can- sized plastic cylinder that collected his spew was three quarters full. In this way the bodybuilder's every waking moment was geared to his next feeding/ milking session. It all got mixed up in his foggy mind until it was all Mitch could think of. The man was horny 24/7 now and almost always was dripping precum as he worked out. There was some sort of look of pleasure that came over his features at this time that said that Mitch's life now was not without some enjoyment even if the pleasure was turning into an addiction. The man watching him noticed that some times after feeding the fog would lift from the bull's eyes as he studied his reflection in the mirror. Mitch would often times step toward the mirror and begin flexing his giant muscles as if amazed at what he had become. The suit he wore also monitored every physical reading and if his heart rate rose indicating a growing consciousness, the freak would be pumped full of sedatives that would soon have him sleeping as he leaned back into his bench. The man watching noted that even these times, when Mitch flexed or waddled around the cell clear eyed he never seemed upset or agitated.

As with most afternoons, the man watching sat on a box outside Mitch's room with his forehead leaning against the glass. He was lonely. He wished he could talk to the others in the muscle collection but the mind warping meds they lived on prevented it. At times like this the man couldn't help but think of his family. He wondered what his wife and children were doing now and if they even thought of him after so long. How long had it been since he had seen them. He had trouble remembering. Forever it seemed. His daughter Lola would have just had her third birthday. It was spring now. It had to be spring now, the man figured but living underground it was hard to say. He forced his thoughts of his family out of his mind.

There were sounds of someone at the heavy metal door that lead into the hall. "What now?" the man thought. The door swung open as the giggling clown leaped into the room. "Well there he is!"

Boomer looked up at the slobbering freak who grinned down at him. "Yep here I am." He said in a non-emotional tone he had learned to adopt when with the big man.

The clown freak said in his sing song 'happy' way, "Well come on Mini me, time to work out."

Boomer didn't know what he hated worse, being a sidekick and companion to the nut case or that he made him dress like a tiny version of himself. Boomer glanced over at a reflection of himself in the windows as he walked next to the chatting fool. He hardly recognized himself as he waddled along like a midget muscle blimp. He no longer saw anything resembling the man he once was. It was as if the crazy freak had been hit with a shrink ray. Boomer was the only one in the collection left with his own senses intact. He speculated it was to provide companionship to the crazy one… or maybe just to torture him… the short man didn't know for sure.

It had been a rough transformation that had left the man sometimes envying his buddies who now were mindless muscle drones. Boomer had fought back as best he could at first but there were always punishments. Usually some "coma" time when he was placed in a deep fog for weeks at a time. In the beginning, Boomer preferred to be knocked out. At least he didn't have to deal with the King of the Crazies but then he always woke up with some new alteration… a tattoo, a ring in the end of his cock. As much as he hated being around the man he didn't trust what he might do to him if the mood hit. The fascination the man had for turning Boomer into a smaller version of himself left the short hulk surprised that he hadn't yet fucked up Boomer's face permanently in a swollen copy of his own. Though hopes were fading, Boomer still hoped that some day he would be freed from this place and able to return to his old life. He didn't want to spend the rest of his life with a disfigured face.

Then there were the nanobites that now had bonded with every part of his being, altering his genes on a basic level. The mist that had hit the men the first night had introduced the germ sized machines into their systems that for one had made Boomer shrink to child size and his body able to blow up like a balloon. The freak could pretty much control any wanted effect with his tiny remote computer that he always carried.

Boomer walked along beside the clown as the man rambled on about his "business". The tiny muscle freak had long ago stopped listening to the clown as he slobbered and sputtered about his latest successful experiment or financial gain. The clown freak's lair actually was an experimental lab where he ran experiments on his muscle zombies. He was the mysterious scientist who was on the cutting edge of a muscle building empire. His myostatin work would bring revolutionary help with many crippling diseases. The nanobite systems would have a ground shaking effects on the medical field for another hundred years. The man fronted all this while never leaving the cave. He had a fully staffed company that had never met him in person or seen him for that matter as he ran his company via conference calls and such from a darkened office. All the staff knew was that the genius had been crippled in a mysterious lab accident and as a result chose to live apart from society. What they all knew the man was making them very rich. The mad owner of Acme Muscle Technologies was a wealthy man, which allowed him free rein in his subterranean world. Boomer was the only other living person who had the full view of the man's world and while he had no clue why he was given such access but long ago had stopped caring.

Boomer's mind wandered as they walked toward the clown genius's private weight room. He thought of Chris and wondered where he was now; fucking Chris who left here pledging his help to rescue his friends. For days, Boomer had waited for his pal to bust in with the cops. Days turned into weeks…and weeks into months but there had been no rescue. Boomer had come to hate the beefy biker almost as much as he did the crazy clown. Sure there were times when he feared that Chris might have come to some harm which would explain his complete abandonment but that would be too cruel a fate for them all for the freed man to have gotten lost in the huge forest never to be seen again or to have died in a fall as he wondered through the dark that fall night. No Boomer believed that Chris had abandoned his best friends… that more than likely once freed the man was too chicken to come back for them.

It took until the next spring before Mitch's pick up and the camp site was found. Within days of their disappearance, there had been missing person reports filled on the group. With no leads, there was little progress in the case and the group of missing friends had just become the latest victims of what was starting to be referred to as the Bermuda Triangle of the Midwest. The discovery of the truck by hikers the next spring brought renewed interest in the case but few answers. The hikers weren't the first to find the truck as it turned out. It was blocked up on rocks and logs and stripped of its wheels and anything else of value. The theft led officials to misclassify the missing person's case as a possible mass murder. For while it was considered a break through to find the truck, the fact that there was no sign of Chris's new motorcycle led officials to speculate that the mechanic might have been behind the disappearance and probable murder of his old pals. By now the biker could have been anywhere in the world.

Chris loved his new bike as he sat on it and felt it rumble between his legs. The engine sent a tingle through his muscled body. The leather suited man felt foggy but he knew the feel of his prized bike between his legs. He felt dizzy as if the room was spinning. The room… Chris realized he was in a room … a show room. Why did this all seem familiar like he was wakening from a dream? He tried to focus his mind. He could hear the roar of his motorcycle but he wasn't moving. He was sitting on a round platform that was slowly turning. He could hear voices all around him. "Where am I", his foggy mind wondered. He tried to move… to raise his hand to his head but his arms felt stiff and heavy as if they weighed a ton. Panic hit him as he realized he couldn't move. Chris was paralyzed and yet he was sitting on his rumbling bike. None of this made sense and yet it seemed familiar. The hazy room was full of men. Some crowded around his platform but most ignored him as they milled around the huge space. The man figured he was at some sort of a motorcycle show as he could see another leather suited biker straddling a bike on a similar platform from time to time across the room as his platform slowly turned. Chris sat with one hand on his thigh and the other on the handle bar. He felt wind blowing through his long hair whipping it away from his face. There was no wind inside … it must be a fan. Why did this all seem so familiar?

The frozen man studied the other biker he saw above the heads around him. The fucker was huge. Mitch had nothing on this guy. The thought of Mitch made Chris's gut spin but he didn't know why. He watched the freak on the bike nearby. The hulk looked frozen too. His leather suit was blistered with bloated muscle. Chris guessed the man weighed well over three hundred pound. His bike was sweet. Chris's foggy mind had trouble focusing as he tried to get a good look to the big man's bike. Chris was amazed to realize that the freak rode the same bike as Chris. The frozen man had to wait for another revolution of his platform to get another look at the man. The motorcycle was just like Chris's even down to the custom details he had added. The confused man tried to get a better looked at the muscled freak who rode a bike so similar to his. He too had long hair that flowed around his head but something else caught his eye. There was a large fleshy appendage resting between the handles of his bike that was attached to his hips. The freak had a giant cock that was so long its head rested above the headlight of the bike and was damn near as fat around as a five gallon bucket. The sight horrified Chris as his platform turned away from the man.

Fear gripped his gut. Why did this all seem so familiar? The biker shifted his eyes down at his own body. He couldn't see much as bloated leather seemed to press up around his head. The man felt sick. Then he saw it …a large cock resting over the fuel tank of his bike. Chris's panicked eyes shifted back up as the platform brought him around toward the meaty biker in front of him. Chris looked at the hulk's face fearing what he would find. The man looked back at him with a matching look of horror in his eyes. The man facing him was Chris. The foggy man realized he was looking into a huge gold framed mirror. He had been looking at his own reflection. This all felt like some awful nightmare that kept playing over and over again in his mind.

Chris shifted his eyes and looked around the room. He wasn't in a show room. He was in the gay bar set where he had started the night. There weren't men milling about him but mannequins of muscled men locked in place as he was. As the biker's mind slowly woke up to the nightmare that was now his life, the platform that he sat on came to a stop. Then suddenly a huge figure jumped up beside him with a wild laugh. The crazed clown muscle freak stood beside the man shoving his face into Chris's. "How is my knight in leather?"

Chris was frozen in place unable to move or respond though his heart pounded in his chest.

"What's the matter cat got your tongue?" The crazed man slobbered. "No matter, time to grow for Daddy." The clown faced scientist raised a syringe before the biker's face that had no fewer than a dozen tiny needles rising from the end and jammed it into Chris's beefy neck. With a loud hiss the man felt the serum shoot into his system. Whatever it was, it burned like acid as it seemed to warm his whole body. The next thing Chris was aware of was the sound of stretching leather. The wild clown laughed and clapped as he watched the effect his injection had on his biker zombie.

Chris felt his muscles cramp all over his body. Then his muscles were swelling bigger and bigger to the sound of tortured leather. The biker shifted his eyes to the mirror. It looked as if he had been hooked up to and air tank as his body blew up. The 300 pound biker soon looked as though he had packed on a hundred pounds and still he inflated. His great mass was dwarfing his bike as he grew. Chris's mind raged while silently locked in his frozen body. Then he felt dizzy as the room began to spin. The clown's laughter rang in his ears as his eyesight faded on a nightmare that had no end.

THE END