Monday, August 3, 2009
MADE-TO-ORDER - chapter 1
By: Mr. Shhh
Brian sat in front of his computer staring at a flashy website. The splash page read "made-to-order-muscle.com - your muscle fantasy brought to life." A looping soundtrack of erotic moans, grunts and clanking weights got his blood pumping. The page itself was littered with dozens of impossibly gorgeous female bodybuilders, each a sexy super-model packed with sweaty, pumped-up muscles.
A block of text explained the site's concept.
Made-to-order-muscle employs thousands of beautiful, muscular women from across the country to cater to every taste. Each girl is available for posing sessions, private workouts, or whatever your heart desires. Take the time to assemble your perfect body from our detailed list of options and prepare to live your female muscle fantasy.
Further down, Brian found a large button marked "specifications". He clicked it and a new screen opened with a series of questions.
Age: 18-21. 22-30. 31-45. 45-60.
He clicked on 22-30. Younger might have been sexier, but he wanted someone who had put in some serious time in the gym.
Type: White. White. Black. Asian. Hispanic. Indian. Mix.
Brian paused to think. Some of his favourite bodybuilders were from outside of North America. He really liked small Asian girls, especially when they were bulging bulldozers. Black girls often had the best genetics and great, broad shoulders. Still, for his first time out he figured he'd go for old-fashioned American – the kind built like a battleship. He clicked "white".
Eyes: Blue. Green. Brown. Grey.
Hair color: Blonde. Brunette. Red-head. Gray. Other.
Hair length: Shaved. Short. Shoulder-length. Long.
He clicked "green", "brunette", and "short" in quick succession.
Tan: None. Light. Medium. Heavy. Baked.
This one was easy. Brian loved super-deep tans. "Baked" was a no-brainer.
Facial beauty: Ugly. Plain. Cute. Beautiful. Gorgeous. Jaw-dropping.
Brian laughed out loud. Were they serious? What kind of idiot would choose "ugly"? He clicked "jaw-dropping" and imagined a ripped Megan Fox with 20-inch biceps.
Type: Fitness. Light weight BB. Mid-weight BB. Heavy weight BB. Extreme.
Here was the first real challenge. Brian liked all kinds of muscular physiques so long as they were cut to ribbons. Still, it was the "extreme" option that really intrigued him. He had fantasized for years about a fbb so built that she could out-muscle a stage full of men. With a devilish grin, he decided to put the site to the test.
As he clicked "extreme" a warning appeared.
"You are entering the extreme section of made-to-order-muscle. Do you wish to turn back?"
He clicked "no".
Another red screen appeared.
"Are you sure you want to continue?"
Brian groaned and clicked "yes".
Suddenly, a whole new set of choices unfolded before him.
Breast size: Small. Medium. Large. Huge. Super-huge. None.
This was easy. Even though he'd describe himself as a breast man, he was determined to build a relentless mountain of muscularity. That meant nothing but meaty man-pecs. He clicked "none".
Muscle size: Heavy weight female BB. Heavy weight male BB. Extreme.
Once again, Brian chose extreme. A new disclaimer appeared.
"You have chosen a specification that may involve the use of performance enhancing drugs, growth hormones and other chemicals.. Do you wish to continue?"
Brian sat up in his seat. His eyes tightened as he read the disclaimer. Things had suddenly taken a very interesting turn. 'Roids weren't really his thing, mainly because he liked girls with soft voices and smooth skin. On the other hand, if he wanted an eye-popping she-stallion with muscles on top of muscles, then steroids were a no brainer. He clicked to continue.
Dozens of new questions appeared.
Conditioning: Off-season. Contest ready. Extreme. Hyper-extreme. Freakish. Hyper-freakish.
Whoa - the choices were starting to get crazy. Was "contest ready" really the 2nd choice out of 6? For a guy who loved the contest look, this section was a dream come true. He smiled and clicked "hyper-freakish", picturing a sexy beefcake shredded within an inch of her life.
A slider appeared below a CG representation of a well-muscled arm. As Brian moved the slider, a layer of pronounced vascularity appeared. The further he moved the slider, the more swollen the veins became, until the arm was virtually consumed by them. Pushing the slider to the maximum, Brian was astounded at the massively excessive veinage it created. Maximum was a no-brainer.
More sliders followed. It was like a “create a character” screen in a videogame. The number of options was overwhelming. He could do anything!
One slider controlled the thickness of the neck. At the minimum setting, the image showed an impressive tree-stump. Clicking with excited glee, Brian dragged the slider until the neck was twice the width of the head. A second slider increased the definition of her tendons. Brian pushed it to the end.
He continued through endless sliders maxing each and every one. He eventually reached the end of nearly a hundred options. Exhausted, he clicked "review my choices".
Brian scanned the specifications he'd made. It read like the laundry list of a mad-scientist. For a brief moment he was frightened at the Frankenstein he had created. A final message followed with an open form.
"Please add any additional details below."
After a half-hour of meticulous crafting, Brian wasn’t sure what else he could add. He decided to let his mind spill-out unchecked and type whatever words or phrases he could conjure up.
“Scary-huge girl-beast. So ripped, she always looks flexed. Crazy for muscles. Impossible to be too big. Skin ready to rip. Pumped to the max all the time. Bigger than a man. Out of control veins.”
With a cathartic sense of satisfaction, he hit “order”. He was asked for his credit card information to pay for a $500 charge. He choked at the price, but at he was dying to see what kind of girl they would send.
After authorizing the payment, the site told him to expect an email from his girl. He was spat back out to the front page.
Brian heard his inbox chime. Rushing over to his computer, he discovered an email from “Monstra”. The subject read “Hello, Brian.” Opening the message, he found a brief body of text.
Before we get down to business, we should find out if I’m your type. I’ll be at the address below at 11am tomorrow. Don’t be late J. I’ve attached a picture of myself below. -Monstra.
Her name was “Monstra”? Brian instantly pictured some fugly eastern-European weightlifter. He opened the attached jpeg and felt his jaw hit the floor.
The photo showed an unbelievably muscular heart-stopper smiling and flexing her gigantic arms. To his absolute astonishment, she was as big as a top-tier male heavyweight, yet still capped with the dainty head of a beautiful girl. Each of her biceps was as a grapefruit and her shoulders and chest were even bigger. More insane was her bone-dry, razor sharp conditioning. She was a roadmap of striations flexing beneath skin as thin as onion paper. Her abs and thighs showed painful feathering and hugely engorged vascularity. He easily decided that she was the most muscular female he had ever seen.
Amazingly, the girl remained extremely beautiful in spite of possessing the brutish mass of a Nordic strong-man. She was extremely erotic, with fat, swollen lips and lusty eyes. Her face was tight and sharp from an athlete’s diet, yet sexy as hell.
Brian wasted no time typing a response to the message. He'd be there to meet her come hell or high water.
Brian was at the cafe a half hour early. He was fairly calm until he realized that he’d never actually met a flesh and blood bodybuilder. What should he say? Should he mention her muscles? Would he become a drooling vegetable at the mere sight of her? He kept thinking back to her picture and how ripped and sexy she was.
About 5 minutes to 11, he started hearing gasps of disgust all around him. Turning around, he saw some kind of gargantuan flesh mountain coming up the street. The building-thick abomination spotted him and came his way. As it arrived, the human hulk's massive size blotted-out the sun like a block of granite.
"Brian?" It asked in the madly inappropriate voice of a young female. "I'm Monstra."
Brian suddenly couldn't speak. His mind locked-up at the concept that the outrageous assault of bursting muscle-meat in front of him was somehow... female!
The other customers on the patio were in complete shock. A few of them got up and rushed to the washroom. Others went ghost-white. One woman fainted into her chair.
Brian scanned the living testosterone nightmare from head to toe. She was wearing a tight blazer that was seconds away from vaporizing. It was like baby's clothes pulled over a rhinoceros. Buttons were stretched to the max and creaking with each breath - rips were growing in her shoulder seams where her muscles were ready to burst through. Her scandalous miniskirt had tears so large that it was almost totally separated into 2 distinct flaps of cloth. It would have been a clear view to her panties had her blown-up thighs not consumed all the space between her legs.
The girl's mutant size was almost more than his mind could process. For reasons too twisted to comprehend, the genderless muscle-furnace packed the combined weight of any four Mr. Olympia's. Her neck was like twin fire hydrants flanked by traps that resembled king-sized pillows. Her shoulders were three or four basketballs crammed beneath her skin. Arms as thick as old-growth trees rippled uncontrollably and bent almost completely outward from a pumped-up torso that couldn't possibly fit them.
But what really drew Brian’s eyes was the girl's humungous chest. Brain's request for masculine pectorals had come through loud and clear. Monstra didn't just have pecs, she had raging, 34-inch televisions. Her absurdly inadequate coat barely contained each 100 pound pit-bull as they tensed and rippled like caged animals. Brian could easily see dozens of veins clogging the notched center of her sternum before they joined the engorged networks that blanketed her flesh.
Almost buried beneath it all, her tiny head seemed like a mistake on her monumental body. Amazingly, everything Brian had asked was accounted for - short boyish hair, emerald eyes and insane chestnut tan. Her face, on the other hand, was as far from jaw-dropping as he could possibly imagine. At first glance, she barely resembled the photo she had sent, or even a girl at all. Where that woman had been a lean beauty queen, this one had the scary, mummified appearance of a steroid heavyweight starved down to pure sinew. Her frightening lack of body fat made her eyes bug out and her chin and cheekbones punch through her skin. Straining veins surged up her neck in throbbing masses and joined a spaghetti network of ugly vascularity popping through every bit of her face. Her forehead was capped with surging veinage so intense that it virtually covered her features.
"Y-you're.. Monstra?" Brian stammered. "B-But your picture...?"
The beastly bodybuilder smiled lightly causing thick veins around her nose to snarl.
"I’m sorry, but I'm afraid that photo was taken when I was 17 years old. My arms were only about 22 inches back then.”
Brian didn't know what to say. The studly girl-jock before him looked like a terrifying Photoshop enhancement of her e-mail picture, which just yesterday had been the most muscular female he had ever seen. He'd arrived expecting a super-sized heavyweight, not a shaved-gorilla pumped full of growth hormones.
Monstra pulled over a chair and sat down. The metal groaned loudly.
"The agency sent me because you maxed-out the specs on their website. You requested the most muscular girl they have. Here I am. "
Monstra crossed her legs. Stitches snapped all the way up her skirt as her tremendous thighs transmogrified. Pulsing arterial highways snaked across her knees and up into her hips. Every muscle in her legs flared with amplified, harpsichord striations.
Brian felt his guts knotting up. She was so muscular that it was grotesque. All the hard, veiny madness stomped out any hint of feminine sexuality. She was too wide, heavy and masculine to even pretend to be female. Everything was jagged and butched-out, from her giant football pad shoulders to her flaring super-V. Her huge back was wide enough to be an airport runway and seemed to block the entire city behind her.
"Before we continue, there's something you should know." Monstra whispered, leaning over the table. “I’m actually bigger than the maximum specifications allow- quite a bit bigger. By my estimate I exceeded by them in college. I've also been permanently banned from any type of professional competition because I make the heavyweight men look like featherweight women. That’s why I started attaching that old picture to my emails. Even the craziest muscle admirers on the web can barely handle me anymore."
Brian noted an alarming hint of pride in Monstra’s voice. Did she actually enjoy being a gender-bending freak of nature? The notion sent an unexpected shock of excitement down his spine. The thought that this tsunami of hormonal abuse could do anything but horrify him was alarming, yet somehow logical. He'd been dreaming his whole life of a girl with the kind of body that could satisfy his seemingly insatiable muscle lust. Could this ridiculous she-behemoth be the one?
"I guess you could say that I'm checking you out the way you're checking me out. I've been searching for someone who lusts for ultra-hardcore muscularity and you filled out the most outrageous specifications I've ever seen. The girl you requested is the exact kind of physical specimen I dreamed of becoming my for entire life - at least until I got there and took it further."
Monstra bit her lip. Her own words seemed to be turning her on. She could barely contain her arousal as she continued .
"Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve lived for bodybuilding. While I was still in grade school, I was already working out longer and harder than anyone at my local gym. Every day I lifted poundages that would've broken a man twice my age. I loved the pain and pumped iron until there were tears pouring down my face. As I became more and more muscular, my body started to affect the way people looked at me. The more shocked they were, the more I liked it and the harder I hit the weights. I started taking steroids and growth hormones in grade 10. I drank, swallowed and shot anything I could get my hands on. I shovelled pills down my throat by the bottle. I worked out like a screaming, sobbing maniac 7 days a week. I lifted so heavy that I started breaking equipment. On the day I graduated high school, I was 100 pounds heavier than the reigning Mr. Olympia. Today I'm 28 years old."
Brian swallowed hard.
Monstra looked down at her hands. She began balling them into fists causing her sleeves to groan loudly. Heaving boulders of mass swelled beneath the material like rising mountains. Veins and sinew thickened and multiplied until her sleeves suddenly exploded in a symphony of staggering, super-twisted muscularity.
Brian's jaw hit the floor. Monstra's inhuman arms were ripped to a degree that he never thought possible. Even his most demented fantasies paled in comparison to the grotesque orgy of muscles she had packed on her body. Veins as thick as hotdogs pulsed beneath her creaking skin in ugly, surging masses. Her shoulders and triceps displayed the kind of tendon-deep chiselling usually seen in a total body flex. Her thick forearms were nothing but layered, knotted muscles conditioned into writhing suspension cables.
Bringing her hands together, she cupped them softly and pressed together. The buttons on her coat shot off like bullets. Her back tore open from her neck to her waist in a loud rip that caused nearby pedestrians to jump. Slabs of dark brown muscle meat poured outward and utterly destroyed her coat.
Brian sat there slack-jawed as Monstra literally doubled in size. Her lats became so dense that she appeared to grow wings. Only a few strips of cloth remained, caught between her clenching beefcake curves. She seemed to care less that she was otherwise topless in public before a cafe full of horrified eyes. They couldn't begin to explain the twisted Herculean muscle-thing that was hulking-out before them. Her snarling, body-covering veinage and exploding mega-bulges were so jacked that her own fleshed seemed in mortal danger.
Monstra's miniscule head sat buried somewhere between her ever-rising traps and tree-stump neck. Her smiling face betrayed the intense lust she had for her own body. She loved how totally insane she looked, yet she resisted the urge to flex for real. She could get much, much bigger, but she didn't want to give Brian a heart attack. Not yet anyway.
Relaxing her arms, Monstra allowed Brian to get a good, long look at her striated super-pecs. Naked in the late morning sun, they were huge, beastly masses almost too big to believe. Every little movement sent ripples like serrated blades through her bronzy-oak flesh. Veins rode the deep cuts and pumped oceans of blood straight into them.
"So..." Monstra continued with her weird, out of body girl-voice. "Why don't we go back to my place?"