THUNDER (Patreon)

A short story I'd written some time ago, never published. With wrasslers, muscle showoffs and GROWTH...

Read on. Hope you enjoy.

The auditorium was packed with big men : college athletes and off-duty construction workers as well as many teens and couples. Two men, however, athough as impressively husky as any in the crowd, seemed out of place. A percepticve eye might have identified them as military. But when the lights dimmed and smoke and sparkler effects blazed into life, the two strangers stood and cheered with the rest of the crowd.  

"Ladies and gentlemen!" shouted a man in the center of the eight-sided ring. "He's back to defend his title of King of the Ring...give it up for...THUNDERRRR!!!"

From a huge cloud of smoke backlit by flares, a towering figure bounded down the runway toward the ring. The man was a colossus, massive arms hanging from doorway-busting shoulders. His lats flared up and out into wings that 4 or 5 men could disappear behind. On legs resembling tree trunks, he stood in his corner of the steel mesh-enclosed ring and grinned at the crowd, his white teeth framed by a thick fu manchu mustache. Then he lifted those huge arms and slowly, dramatically, struck a double biceps pose that brought the crowd to its feet again. He turned from one side to the other, his face glowing with pride as he displayed his mountainous biceps.

"YEAH!" he bellowed. "LARGEST ARMS IN THE WORLD!! GONNA SHOW THE POWER OF THESE PEAKS!! WHO WANTS TO CLIMB THESE MOUNTAINS?" As the crowd roared, he kissed each bicep, then lowered his weapons to his side. He stood basking in the crowd's screams, smiling, and rolled his huge pecs.

"BRING ON THE WIMPS!! COME GET YOUR BUTTS KICKED!!" he yelled. His booming voice, so powerful it hardly needed a microphone to be heard anywhere in the auditorium, rattled the upper decks like..well, thunder.

"And in this corner...the challenger...ju jitsu fighter MATT "DESTRUCTION" JONES!" From the other side of the ring, to a pounding soundtrack, strode a big man wearing a hooded sweatshirt. He peeled off his shirt to reveal a muscled, tattooed body.

"Damn, they're all gorillas," said one of the two strangers. "Maybe we should get all of 'em on the ..." His companion's steely glare reminded him of the need for secrecy. "...in the program", he finished. 

"Thunder is the one we want", said the second man. Then, a powerful roar drew their attention to the ring again...

The two fighters had charged each other and locked arms, and then Thunder tossed the smaller man away with a laugh. "Destruction" Jones bounded back to attempt a take down, but Thunder's huge legs were immovable. Jones sprung to his feet and swung jab after jab at Thunder's midsection. The giant fighter grinned down over his heaving chest.

"DON"T BREAK YOUR FISTS ON MY EIGHT PACK, LITTLE MAN!" Thunder laughed. His infuriated opponent swung at Thunder's jaw, but the giant had toyed with him long enough. He caught the punch in one huge palm and closed his huge fingers around the other man's hand, and forced him to his knees. "HAHAHAH!" Roared the gigantic fighter. "TOO EASY!" He grabbed the struggling wrestler by the throat and shorts, and hoisted him effortlessly over his head. Thunder strutted around the ring, basking in the crowd's screams and cheers, and with a bellow tossed his opponent into the mesh surrounding the ring. He then strode over to the wire and, grabbing the mesh in each hand, ripped it loose from the posts and began wrapping it around the other man's straining body. Jones attempted to tap out while his arms and body were pinned in the wire, but Thunder didn't stop. The referee ran to the two men, pounding on Thunder's wide back, loudly declaring him the winner. The ref lifted Thunder's monstrous arm in victory, then suddenly was raised off his feet as Thunder's massive hand gripped his and hoisted him in the air. The giant strode around the ring dangling the ref - no small guy himself - and roared with pride.

The crowd wentr wild.

As the two men approached Thunder's locker room, shouts coud be heard. "Too easy, man, too easy," boomed the fighter's voice. "I need a challenge! Lemme crush 20 men. A hundred. Bring in some metal for me to crush - cars, tanks, I don't care! Lemme show 'em what I can do!!"

"Mike", a weaker voice pleaded, "I don't know if the people are ready for that –"

The argument continued, and the strangers only caught some of the words. Finally, the door opened and a heavyset man, big enough to intimidate anyone but the giant inside the locker room, exited. He stopped at the sight of the two men.  

"If you're Thunder's manager," began one of the men, "we'd like to speak to–"

"Autographs were done before the show," the manager said brusquely, relishing the chance to exert authority over someone after his exchange with the fighter.

The second man held out a wallet with a badge in the manager's face, then closed it. "Sir, we're not here for autographs. We just want..."

"Shit," the heavyset man said, eyes wide. "I don't know anything about any trouble, I just pay these guys to fight –"

"No one's in any trouble.  We want to talk to Thunder. To ask his assistance, you might say."

"Well –" he knocked on the door, then opened it and yelled inside.  "Mike! Some fans here to see you." With that he motioned them forward.

The room was cluttered with iron plates and bars. A bench was in one corner. The fighter sat there, curling a huge dumbell, pumping his gargantuan biceps.

"Howdy," the huge man said in that booming voice.

He grinned at them through a thick, bristling fu manchu mustache. His eyes were bright blue under heavy brow ridges. "Kinda old for the fan club, ain't cha?" He laughed. "You look like you lift, I imagine you want advice on getting big, huh?"

One of the men stepped forward. "Getting big is just what we're here about, Mr. –"

"Mike Hawk's my name," the muscleman said, tossing the weight to the floor with a clang and standing to his full height, which the startled agent siently estimated to be around 6' 10". Maybe more. "My wrestlin' name's Thunder, but call me Mike." He stepped forward, obviously enjoying the effect his size had on anyone around him. He extended a huge hand. "Now, what's this about gettin' big?"

The second agent cleared his throat. "Mike, we represent a little-known division of the Department of Defense. Some time ago, we tested local athletes and strongmen for steroid use..."

"Hey!" the huge fighter growled. "I don't NEED that shit. Never did. I'm a natural freak. This –" he raised one arm up and flexed his cantalope-sized bicep – "is all ME. Damn! Look at that peak! Scare myself sometimes." He grinned proudly at his muscle, rolled his thick pecs, then turned back to the two agents.  

"The tests," continued the agent, "weren't really to find steroid traces. That was the cover story. We were looking at DNA and certain predispostions –"

The other agent decided to cut to the chase. "Mike, would you like to get bigger? REALLY bigger?"

Mike's reaction wasn't entirely unexpected, as the agent stepped backwards to avoid being trampled. "BIGGER? " He bellowed. "FUCK YEAH!!" Almost on top of the two men, he stared down at them under heavy, menacing brows. "There ain't nothin' I want more! How MUCH bigger?"

The agent smiled. "How big would you like to get?"

Mike grinned his most sinister, sexy smile under the heavy 'stache. He looked around the room, at the walls and ceiling. "Big as a damn house. Big enough to bust through this roof. Hell yeah!" He raised both huge arms in a double bicep.

"I wanna get started. NOW."

In the limo – the back seat was cramped with Mike's nearly 7 foot frame – agent Kelly explained the project as Mike watched the presentation on a laptop. "When the human genome was decoded, many gene sequences were found that were seeminlgy junk. Inactive. Some of these dormant genes controlled growth. Now, for our earliest mammalian ancestors, after the kind of disaster that killed off the dinosaurs, maybe size was a disadvantage. What's the use of being the size of a Tyrannosaurus when food is scarce, hmm? The sequences are still there, however, and we are able to reactivate them..." Kelly stopped, wondering how much this lunkhead would understand.  

The huge man caught the agent's thought, however.

"I'm not stupid," he growled. "Gotta degree in exercise physiology. Don't talk down to me."

"Point taken. So, when we floodi the body with certain compounds that reactive those genes, we have seen amazing growth in animals, as much as 4, 5 times bodyweight within days. Maybe in prehistoric times it was necessary to grow that fast to avoid becoming prey..."

"And in humans?" grunted the huge muscleman.  

The agent smiled. "That's where you come in. We have seen incredible muscle growth and increases in strength. Our first test subjects grew from barely 5 feet to 6 and a half feet in a week. As you can imagine, we've had a lot of voulunteers - weightlifters, football players, strongmen - who would love to add that kind of size. The effect seems to be aided by a will to grow, a high level of testosterone, and a dominat personality - all alpha qualities our tests show you excel in."

"And the footballers and such? How big did they get?"

"Our 300 lb. lineman is now 600 lbs., at 7' 9". A strongman competitor is at 750 lbs, from 325, at a height of.."

Mike was frowning. Kelly could see that he did not like the idea of anyone bigger than him.  

Exactly as they'd planned.

"I wanna break 1000 lbs.," Mike said firmly. "Fuck, 2000. " His huge fists clenched. "3000! And ten fucking feet tall..."

The limo had reached a huge complex, a warehouse-like building with plain gray walls. The two agents walked alongside Mike, his lat spread nearly knocking them over.

"We have a gym here for you and the other men, Mike," Kelly said. "Plenty of iron to keep you happy. And challenged."

Mike turned his sinister grin on the agent. He flared his barn door lats and bounced his pecs, then pumped each gigantic arm, tensing the immense slabs of tricep and bowling ball biceps. Over the mountains and valleys of his muscle, veins snaked under a matt of dark hair.

"You think? We'll see about that," he laughed.

Kelly and the other agent stopped in front of a doorway. "Mike, we want you to see some of the test subjects," Kelly said. They entered a large room with huge cages.

In the first cage was a white rat the size of a Great Dane.

"Damn..." muttered Mike.

In the next enclosure, a dog the size of a horse chewed on an enormous bone.

"Fuckin' awesome! Now...the dudes?"

"We'll take you to the gym. They'll be lifting there."

As they walked down a corridor, the sound of metal clanking grew louder. Kelly reached to open a set of double doors, but Mike stepped in front of him, huge lats blocking the way. He swung open the doors with his mighty arms and strode into the room.

Among enormous iron plates and bars, a group of huge men sweated and trained.

"Yo! It's Thunder! I watched you fight all the time, man!" said one man, stepping forward and offering his hand. 

Mike gripped the other man's hand, for the first time looking up at another man. The other lifer tightened his grip, trying to crush Mike's hand. Mike felt the unexpected power and matched it - easily. He had never been beaten, and he didn't intend to start now.

The other men gathered around him, slapping his shoulders and back, flexing and showing off their newfound size and power. Mike surveyed all of them, anoting they although they stood an averge of a foot taller then him, he matched any of them in muscle mass. They'll be a good group of buddies, Mike thought, once they learn their place.

He turned to Kelly.

"Let's get started!"he boomed.

Mike stood naked while the scientists took his measurements. Kelly noted that Mike wasn't shy about his body; he enjoyed the amazement his muscles and size caused. He loved the attention. Another alpha characteristic they needed in their prime subject.

Kelly breathed harder as he studied Mike's physique. He looked like a superhero drawing come to life. Hairy chest, abs, traps, back - the man was a carpet. And my God, the dude was hung! Kelly felt his own cock straining against his pants and struggled to keep his composure.

"Height, 6' 10", " one of the researchers called out. "Neck, 26". Chest, 70". Biceps, 27". Waist, 44". Quads, 36". Calves, 26"..."

"And my dick," Mike said firmly. "That's gonna grow too, ain't it?"

A white-coated young man nervously measured Mike's cock, calling out "8 and a half inches. Soft." 

"And 12 inches hard! " Mike boomed.  

Kelly felt his knees buckle. Yes, that'll grow too, he thought.

Mike stepped on a huge scale and the number was read off.

"425 lbs," an awed scientist said.

Mike jumped off the scale and the white-coated men gathered around him. He bellowed, "LET'S GET STARTED!", and threw Kelly a wink. He curled a giant arm into a massive bicep pose, kissed the peak, then rippled the muscles in his huge forearm – the size of an average man's leg.

"Think you can find a vein?" he laughed.

END OF PART ONE