Brandon Twice
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Getting on the "Juice"
🕑 Added 2023-08-09 22:01:20 +0000 UTC[blueberry tf, muscle growth, immobilization]
Sammy had told Art not to worry if the gym’s alarm sensors wouldn’t arm at the end of the night. The “Motion Detected!” error message usually just meant that air conditioning was blowing around a pull-down handle or a cable. It happened often enough that Sammy just said to lock up and shut out the lights. Their branch of Global Gym was in a quiet enough part of town that they never had trouble anyway.
Normally Art just ignored the error message and left, but that night he had a nagging feeling he should investigate. Especially since his promotion to Assistant Manager, he felt that it was now his responsibility to take his duties seriously, and that meant resolving whatever “motion” kept the alarm from activating properly.
(He assured himself that the fact that the error message had triggered in the Elite Sector of the gym, the private back area he wasn’t even allowed in when the gym was open, had nothing to do with his decision to look into it.)
The Elite Sector was locked, but Art had the keys to the entire gym now. He held the key fob up to the scanner at the heavy metal door at the back of the gym and smiled as he heard the locks disengage. “Just a quick peek, and then–” he started to say to himself, but he froze when he realized the lights in the Elite Sector were still on.
“Elite Members take care of themselves,” Sammy had always told Art. “We have a special cleaning crew that takes care of it, too. You stay up front, deal with the regular guests, and don’t worry what the Elites are all up to.” Despite his curiosity, Art obeyed Sammy’s edict and avoided the rear of the gym entirely. He didn’t, however, avoid the security cameras of that area. After some quick glimpses he hoped to disguise as accidents in case Sammy ever saw him checking the black-and-white surveillance monitors back there, Art saw MASSIVE men lifting incredible amounts of weights. These guys had to be over 300 pounds of pure muscle–which alone would have been amazing. However, as he watched the men lifting massive amounts of weight, he watched them blow up with size DURING their workout. It seemed impossible, and although he knew Sammy would flip if he investigated further, he tried to push it out of his mind.
“Lights on in the ‘Elite Sector’ after close,” seemed like a feasible reason to step back there. No way Sammy would be angry for Art looking after their facility, right? As Assistant Manager, wasn’t it his DUTY to find out if someone was trespassing in the gym’s Elite Sector after hours?
The man training in this off-limits area of the gym didn’t even react when Art entered, giving the newly-promoted manager a moment of pause: were Elite Members allowed to access the private gym whenever they wanted? Sammy had never mentioned it either way. Art approached, trying to formulate the most diplomatic way to approach this twice-Art’s-size muscle monster. He froze–not only because he recognized the meteor of muscle as Reinhold Schwartz, a guy he had gone to high school with, but also because Reinhold’s skin had taken on a deep purple hue.
Reinhold benched 400 pounds with ease as his dark violet pecs plumped with size. Art (whose skinny chest was as big around as one of Reinhold’s calves) waited until the large brute racked the titanic weight before he spoke up. “Uh… Reinhold? Is that you?” The big man started wiping the sweat from his chest and shoulders with a bulky towel. The sweat had a bluish hue.
“--the fuck?” Reinhold said, suddenly snapping out of a fugue. He still had the same rugged good-looks he’d always had, the same crew-cut on top, and the same boxy-frame, but all of him looked like it had been inflated with air. His face looked almost pudgy with muscle, his body swollen, each of his muscles full and round. If he waddled out on a competitive bodybuilding stage, he would easily have been the largest man there, despite being far too plump and bulky to win any awards. Reinhold sipped from his water bottle and regarded Art as if he were a pest (which was not unlike the way he used to treat Art in high school).
“Sorry, man, I was just… did you know I was Assistant Manager here? Yeah, I am, and I was locking up the front. I know you guys kind of have your own thing going on back here–I didn’t realize you were an elite member though, good for you… you’ve put on some SERIOUS size, man!--but I just have to, y’know… lock up. And the pesky alarms won’t arm with someone else in here, so…”
Reinhold sipped from his water bottle and continuously checked his phone while Art rambled. He breathed in–already massive chest swelling up with air–then let out a LONG sigh. Art couldn’t help but notice that Reinhold seemed to be bigger after the major exhalation–seemed to be growing every moment!
“Sammy said we got no disruptions back here,” he said, leaning back on the bench as if Art had been a prolonged interruption during his break between sets. “So get the fuck out. Or get Sammy in here to explain why the fuck you’re slowing down my lift.”
Art sighed as he watched Reinhold pressing the massive weights, his pecs swelling larger with each rep. His mounds of chest meat seemed so high that they got in the way for the last few reps, the bar coming to rest on the juicy pec meat. His skin-tone grew more deeply purple as his body blew up.
“Okay, I guess I’ll just… sorry for interrupting you…”
“WAIT,” Reinhold barked as Art approached the door. “Got a favor to ask.”
Art spun on his heel, returning to his former bully. He remembered seeing the bigger man bouncing part-time at a bar after Reinhold’s first year of college (just after Art started his third menial job after High School). He’d been compact but solid, quick but strong. That night, Reinhold had quickly subdued a drunken man twice his size, nimbly grabbing him around the waist and hoisting overhead.
Reinhold had since lost the quickness of his dense body, expanding out into an X-shape like most bodybuilders his height. He’d looked like a champion muscleman, the type to strut out on a stage in little trunks before winning a little gold trophy shaped just like him. Even since Art had come in, his body seemed to have filled out even more. Now his back muscles had pressed out so much that his arms refused to sit at his sides. Curling his arm past his inflating bicep to bring his water bottle to his mouth was starting to get difficult. His rippling abdomen had popped out, making the stud look six months pregnant despite still being clearly rock-hard.
“Whatever you need, my friend!” Art said, suddenly conscious he was blushing. Reinhold still had the ability to make Art humiliate himself; some things never changed.
“You know how to use the juicing machine?”
Art raised an eyebrow, resisting the urge to pretend he knew exactly what Reinhold was talking about.
“Fucking normies,” Reinhold said, shaking his head. “There’s a thing under that tarp over there. You hook it up to nipples, cock, switch it on… it drains all this juice.” Reinhold slapped the protruding swell of his chest. The muscle jiggled. Until that moment, Art had never considered how much Reinhold resembled a ripening blueberry. “Real easy. Just hook up the nozzles, flip the switch. Sammy never showed you this stuff?”
Art shrugged, his dense thoughts turning over all this information slowly. “Oh, he, uh… I wasn’t sure YOU knew what it was, so I didn’t want to, uh…”
Reinhold rolled his eyes, clearly not believing the ruse, and thumbed at the tarp. “Roll it over here. I’m gonna do a few sets of dumbbell flyes. Probably gonna get too big before I’m done, but I really want to reap the benefits of all this juice as long as I can. When I tell you, you juice me. Got it?”
He wasn’t asking if Art was willing, but if he understood. Obedience was assumed. But Art suddenly realized what was in those blue tubes Sammy kept locked in the back safe, the ones Art had been forbidden to touch.
Art gasped as he uncovered the strange device, all shiny chrome with plastic tubes attached to a canister the size of a keg. It was obvious that the two small round pumps were intended for nipples, with the bell-shaped third pump was meant for–holy shit, is Reinhold gonna let me touch his cock? The idea thrilled Art in a way that made him feel immediately guilty. It wasn’t everyday his quiet masturbation fantasies came to life.
By the time Art had rolled the juicing machine back, Reinhold had thickened even more. It truly seemed like he was an inflating waterbed. His human-shape was being overtaken by roundness. His gym clothes had burst, lying in scraps on the floor. Only Reinhold’s jockstrap remained, and it seemed to be holding on for dear life, threads popping as Reinhold’s triple-sized junk filled out its basket.
For the last few reps, his chest and stomach had bowed out so much that there was no way Reinhold could even see Art past them. His arms were fat, his fingers thick sausages, his traps so big and powerful there was no way Reinhold would be able to move his head.
“N-now,” Reinhold said as he dropped the weights. He gurgled, purple juice spewing from his mouth and dribbling down his protruding jaw. Art gingerly set the pump cups on Reinhold’s fat nipples; they suctioned on automatically. He wondered how he was going to remove the jockstrap to get access to Reinhold’s cock, but before he came up with a plan, the fabric exploded, his gigantic cock and massive balls flopping out.
Art’s heart fluttered as he grabbed the big cock, placing the pump on the end. His hand hovered over the power button–but he paused.
“Push… button… go… now!” It was clear the pressure building in Reinhold’s big body was so much that he could barely speak. The bench creaked as his body pulsed. Art took a breath and stepped back.
“Just… just wait a second,” he said, jogging back to the office. He couldn’t believe he was even considering this, but the idea had occurred to him: what would have happened if nobody had been there to pump the juice out of Art?
The cameras had recorded Art entering the off-limits Elite area, silently recorded his conversation with Reinhold, and even now captured Reinhold’s body popping out into a nearly perfect sphere. The bench he was on quivered before collapsing under his massive weight. The overgrown brute could only flap and wriggle as he teetered, his hands, feet and massive cock acting as speedbumps to prevent him from rolling around uncontrollably.
But, with one yank of a cord, Art knew he could erase all of the saved footage while shutting down every camera. It had happened before; Sammy had done it twice the previous week just relaxing in the office eating a sandwich. Plus, power-surges had caused a number of glitches in the security system. Sammy still hadn’t called in the IT guy to get that all fixed.
Art couldn’t believe what he was considering, his hand seeming to move on its own as he disabled the security cameras. He sat there, shocked, then accepted that it was done and returned to his bully.
He couldn’t believe the elasticity of this man’s body! Reinhold was now a perfect ball except for the slight protrusions of his hands, feet, cock and head. His cheeks were so full it was clear he couldn’t open his mouth, only able to whimper. He had doubled in size in all directions, now so tall his swinging balls were right at Art’s eye-level.
“What a weird method for building muscle,” Art said. He reached up and gave Reinhold a push. The bully groaned as he started to roll slowly across the floor. Art chuckled as his head tilted down until it was in line with Art’s head (albeit upside down). “So many flaws in the plan, too. Sammy REALLY should have locked this place down so some gung-ho musclefreak didn’t get a little too overzealous and go further than was safe. Clearly, whatever it is pumping you up with juice is doing WAY more than a human being can reasonably handle.”
Art poked Reinhold’s taut body and gave it a rough shove, hearing the juices sloshing around inside. He chuckled as Reinhold’s fingers twitched, the bully whimpering. Art had never felt so in control before! He paused as one of Reinhold’s nipples rolled low enough for Art to grab. “Did you know I had a crush on you, big boy? Did you know how badly I always wanted to play with these–”
Art gave the nipple a tweak, then gasped as a blast of indigo-colored juice spewed forth. The torrent went up Art’s nose and down his throat in an instant. He coughed and sputtered as he realized he had swallowed whatever had come out of the big man.
“Oh, fuck,” Art said as he felt a tingling all over. “Oh… fuck!” His skin took on a light lavender hue immediately, but deep within, Art felt something else. While he knew he should go to that juicing machine, hook himself immediately and purge this substance from his system, he couldn’t help but marvel at the burgeoning little muscles in his arms.
YEARS of working out hard, staring jealously at the Greek gods around him, but Art had never seen his body like this before! He actually had pecs–real pecs that bounced when he jumped! His legs thickened, bulging just like all the big hunks Art had jerked his dick to his whole life. Behind him, Reinhold barely even seemed human, just a rumbling ball threatening to explode at any moment. While Art knew he had to do something to obscure his involvement in Reinhold’s fate, he also knew he had been given a rare opportunity.
It seemed crazy, but one quick workout before pumping himself clean wouldn’t hurt, would it? Art’s brain was too addled by the mysterious juice’s effects to even consider what a dangerous line of thought that was.
Art experienced a decade of muscle growth in under an hour, and all he had to do was pushups, pullups and some light squats! No wonder these “Elite” bodybuilders were back here using crazy chemicals to blow up like blueberries. The whole experience was addicting, and must have had permanent effects–otherwise, why would these athletes be doing it?
Thanks to Art’s magically grown muscles, Reinhold was much easier to roll around a half-hour later, despite being three times Art’s height. “You big dumb asshole!” Art said. “You think it’s fair you keep this secret to yourself? You think you deserve to walk around like you’re better than everyone else when you’re CHEATING to get this big?”
Reinhold was so consumed by the pressure within that he didn’t seem to hear him. Art didn’t care; he had shed his shirt, shoes and pants when he experienced his first surge of growth, and as his glutes busted through his underwear he felt stupid for ever wanting to cover up his physique before. “I’m a fucking GOD!” he said, drunk on his size. “Even my cock is huge! How about that, Reinhold? You like how big my cock is?”
Art was waddling around now, his chest so thick he couldn’t see the cock he kept wagging back and forth. Movement was getting difficult. He knew he should juice himself soon, but he wanted to see how big he could get. Maybe he could tell Sammy to go fuck himself, start and Onlyfans flexing all his new bulk, or at least just hop on an app and fuck his way through the hottest guys on the list!
“Oh, shit,” Art grunted as he realized he could barely bend his arms. It was now hard to take a step. He glanced in the mirror, seeing that he was now more ball than bodybuilder. He waddled toward the machine, struggling to get the pumps attached to his nipples. There was no way he could get the cock pump attached.
“This’ll probably be enough,” Art said, giving one glance back at his body–as big as a fridge, dark as a plum, his head looking tiny between massive shoulders. His cock throbbed at the sight of himself!
That one glance cost him too much. His finger stopped an inch before touching the on-switch, the pressure building to the point where his arms popped out straight. “Shit,” he grunted. “Shit… SHIT!” Another burst of growth, and his arms and legs disappeared into the mass of his body. He was undergoing the same shocking transformation Reinhold had. A burst of juice spilled out of his mouth as he rolled backwards, his head ending up upside-down, his gaze fixed on that of Reinhold, who didn’t even resemble a human anymore.
Art blinked as his vision grayed out, his thoughts seeming to sink into the thick murk settling into his brain. Despite his fear, this felt GOOD. His worries about getting caught, about getting fired, or even about exploding faded away. The pressure within was GLORIOUS, like an oncoming orgasm that never seemed to crest, and Art felt locked into it.
Art had no idea how much time had passed when the loud slurping sound of the pumping machine snapped him into consciousness. He was still round, still the size of a smart car, still immobile, but he could feel the pressure within him subsiding. He felt an immense relief and even more pleasure–getting pumped was like the moments after an orgasm’s apex stretched out infinitely.
“Little fucker tried to blow me up!” It was Reinhold. Art blinked as he tried to look around, still unable to turn his head. Reinhold walked into Art’s view, shaking his head. Reinhold was back to his massively muscular human shape, his flesh its original hue. His crossed arms made his big pecs pop out even more though.
“I really should do more with the security back here.” It was Sammy. “But the truth is, I thought I could trust this little shit.”
“What are we gonna do? You fire him, he’s gonna rat on this whole operation!”
“Not gonna fire him,” old Sammy said, tapping Art’s pudgy blue face with a weathered hand. “See, I figure we can just leave him back here, keep him blown up, pump him slowly. He’ll make juice for all my Elite athletes, plus we’ll have ourselves a little mascot back here. Sound good, buddy?”
Sammy poked Art in a fat cheek. He could only gurgle a response, a splurt of purple running down his chin.
“Easy there, fella, Don’t waist the product! Seems we’ll be looking for a new Assistant Manager. But you got yourself a promotion! Mascot AND Juice Producer! Way more important than running the front desk. Plus, it feels good to get juiced, doesn’t it?”
Art couldn’t even nod his head. He blinked, his panic subsiding as the incredible feeling of getting drained overwhelmed him once again. He settled back into the bliss and sighed.
