Dr Z. Mesmer's Dynamic Body Program Pt. 02

Synopsis: After an unfortunate encounter with a bully on the beach, nerdy student Ford finds an old fitness program left on his front doorstep. By following its strangely compelling instructions Ford discovers you can never take body building too far. The dark, dark journey of a nice young man becoming a hulking brute and taking the young women around him along for the ride.

SATURDAY: Growing Pains.

Lysiane awoke to the smells of a fry-up breakfast wafting through the house. Coming downstairs she found Beaford in the kitchen stacking rashes of bacon onto a serving tray. It was lined with paper towels that were already sodden with grease. Alongside the towering stack of fried pork was a dozen boiled eggs and enough sausage to feed a family of three. There was a lot of food for just the two of them...

"Good morning Lysiane." Beaford chirped, turning at the sound of her soft footsteps on the linoleum floor. He had a pan in his hand, was chewing on a piece of brown toast and wearing a chef's apron over a tight pair of running shorts.

That was all he was wearing.

Lysiane was wearing a soft pink cami top and a small, matching pair of comfortable cotton shorts tied loosely at the front. The sleepwear pulled too much across her large chest and left too much of her thick thighs exposed for her comfort.

...but California summer nights were much warmer than her hometowns and compared to Beaford she was practically overdressed.

His skin looked wet, shiny with perspiration and--pale as he was from so much time spent indoors--he had something of a fresh glow about him this morning.

"Beaford? What is all this?" She asked cautiously, waving first at the mountain of food and then at him in his state of déshabiller.

"Oh, ummm... breakfast." He rubbed the back of his neck looking sheepish. The gesture pulled the front of the apron tight across the lean muscles of his otherwise bare chest.

Muscles?

"Sorry, I know it's a lot but I was up late... working out." Beaford laughed awkwardly as though embarrassed to actually use the term before continuing, "I think I woke up with a bottomless pit where my stomach used to be. Can I make you anything?"

Make her anything... Lysiane blinked rapidly at the inference that Beaford planned to eat all the prepared food by himself before spotting the instructional pamphlet open on the kitchen table before an open brown glass pill bottle.

"Beaford, your clothes... where are..." she tried to protest before her eyes were drawn back to the booklet like they were magnets. Hungry to admire the bare masculine forms pressed within its pages like so many beautiful dried flowers.

Muscles...

"Oh yeah, they were a sweaty mess so I dropped them in the laundry hamper. I'll take a shower after I eat." He said, sitting down at the table and biting into a crispy slice of bacon with a loud crunch. "Mmmph, so good... take care of them for me, will you?"

Take care of what? Beaford's laundry?

Lysiane's head swam as she tried to focus on the growing young man systematically working his way through his enormous meal. She was nobody's washer-woman! She was a modern, independant... the smells in the kitchen were delicious and making her feel like her skull was being slowly stuffed with cotton wool.

The smells of sizzling meat and dripping fat and... Beaford? There was a thought-blunting animal musk underlying everything else.

Was that him?

"Oui, Beaford." She said meekly looking down at the table. From beneath demurely lowered lashes she watched him eat, feeling an unexpected flutter of excitement.

She didn't note the brief lapse back into her mother tongue, she was busy watching Beaford eat.

Beaford was eating like a Man.

________________

Lysiane listened to the shower running as she crouched outside the bathroom door with Beaford's dirty laundry in hand and Dr Zeus Mesmer's Dynamic Body Program open on the hallway floor in front of her.

This was wrong, so terribly wrong but she couldn't put a finger on precisely why that was. Why was she here, huddling outside the bathroom like some sort of sick voyeur? Her eyes were drawn to the images of the naked, posing men again and she was falling.

Falling into the hypnotic lines of their flexing muscles, their strong, jutting chins, the rugged smell of their manly sweat...

"Lysiane?"

Her eyes shot upwards and found she had Beaford's soiled clothes bunched up under her face. The smell and taste of his musky sweat saturated her olfactory. Her thick thighs were pressed hard together trying to smother the rising heat between them as Beaford stood over her with only a bath-towel around his waist and an expression of puzzled amusement on his face.

Lysiane was mortified. How was he done showering so soon? Her eyes roamed over his bare chest and trim abdomen, his firm flesh glistening clean and so warm she could feel his heat radiating off him. She licked her parted lips, unconscious of the action.

"Beaford... your body." She squeaked, feeling so small kneeling on the floor with him seeming to tower over her.

Lysiane knew Beaford was not tall for a boy, just as she knew Beaford was a thin and reedy youth.

But the Beaford standing before her had all the lean physicality of a star soccer player.

"You noticed. Talk about gains, right?" He smiled as he looked down at his toned belly and defined chest before looking a bit embarrassed again. "Did you need anything? I was going to take my supplement and work-out some more."

Lysiane looked down at the seductive pages open on the carpet before her again and felt a new wave of warmth suffuse her as she looked from the pictures than back up at Beaford.

A quickly growing Beaford, a fast changing Beaford... what was the next part?

Step Two: Implementation.

"May I join you?" She asked with a small, nervous smile. "I can hold the book for you, if you like."

________________

Ford was back in that strange empty, emotionless "Zone".

It felt amazing.

His legs pumped like pistons through squats, lunges and presses. His arms and shoulders rolled like foothills through curls, lifts and holds. His back was as straight and unyielding as a steel column as he flowed like water from one form to the next, always in that fascinating fugue state that left his mind empty and free to roam as his body took command.

The pills were definitely having an effect. He had woken up tired and sore this morning, his fatigued body had felt tied into knots from the extreme amount of high-intensity exercise he had subjected himself to the night before.

One pill plus an usually large breakfast later and here he was; Ford was feeling better than ever. The aches and pains had evaporated like cool mists on a warm, sunny day. He was renewed, refreshed and left like liquid vigor coursed through his entire vascular system. His heart didn't race anymore as he exerted himself but beat with the steady, unwavering rhythm of a ticking metronome.

Wait. That wasn't right, was it?

Shouldn't he be pushing himself for best results? He had to work harder, hard-work had never been a roadblock for Ford.

"Next Page."

It wasn't a request. Lysiane had been standing there like a mannequin all morning holding the book open in front of her large chest staring at him as he worked out. Her big, baby-blue eyes barely seemed to blink as they tracked his motions. Her lips parted a fraction as she licked them far too frequently. Surely she could make herself more helpful than simply standing there in her tight little pajamas acting like a human bookstand?

He needed a spur. A goad. He needed to visualize something he could work towards.

Wasn't that one of the three steps?

"My phone." He grunted as he bent and lifted the four gallon paint tin he was using as a kettlebell. "Open Instagram."

Bend, lift, hold, lower, repeat.

His arms felt like steel cables as Lysiane looked about to find and then open his phone as he asked. She kept the booklet raised and open towards him as she did. Ford let the calm emptiness take him while he waited.

Lysiane finally held the phone up beside the worn pages open to the only profile he followed. She had a towel thrown over her shoulder she was using to wipe him down between reps. Good girl.

Though she did keep lifting her shoulder and bending her neck to rub the side of her face against the sweaty terry cloth. Whatever.

Bend, lift, hold, lower, repeat.

His eyes flicked over to the screen and his brow furrowed. Marina's profile still showed the lithe brunette in her scanty outfits, plenty of long legs and perfect young cleavage on display but several images were missing.

[Removed by user.]

The few images of them together. The pictures of Marina with her arms wrapped adoringly around his, hugging with more affection than she had ever displayed off-camera. The pictures she had staged at the library or in study hall after primping and grooming him like a ken doll. The pictures always hash-tagged with #GeekGirl and #NerdLife...

All gone like they had never existed.

A trickle of anger seeped into the serene head-space Ford occupied. His breath hitched and his heart rate rose.

Bend, lift, hold, lower, repeat.

Step Two: Implementation.

He let himself drop into that newer, more turbulent mental Zone. His teeth were grinding as fresh sweat beaded at the tip of his nose.

"Don't even bother, little boy."

It wasn't the image Ford had been seeking but if the carrot wasn't available he would accept the stick instead.

Bend, lift, hold, lower, repeat.

"Next Page." Ford commanded as his body heated and the distant thunder of his blood filled his ears.

Lysiane almost dropped his phone as she tried to juggle both it and the booklet but finally managed to turn the next page. Why was she breathing so hard? He was the one doing all the work.

Maybe he should put her to work too if she had nothing better to do than stare at him all morning. He was sure he could think of some way to make proper use of her.

Bend, lift, hold, lower, repeat.

Step Three: Supplementation.

His eyes fell on the little brown pill bottle sitting amongst the scattered tools of a workbench.

It wasn't very big, only holding a dozen or so capsules but suddenly one a day didn't seem like enough...

________________

Lysiane felt light-headed, dizzy as she pillaged the kitchen pantry. She had a deep-seeded feeling that something wasn't right with Beaford. That he was changing in some fundamental way that had nothing to do with his new obsession with an ancient out-of-date exercise regiment.

His shirt had been discarded sometime around lunch. The tightly stretched cotton had been restricting his movement too much. It hung loosely around Lysiane's neck now like some sweat-sodden bib. His smell filled her nose and needled at her brain, making her soft flesh warm and her flushed skin tingle. She had fled with it after Beaford had turned his increasingly stormy expression on him and uttered a single word.

"Food."

It had come out of his mouth as a steely command that brooked no argument. That had to be a mistake, didn't it? Her Beaford was a sensitive, gentle soul who treated people with respect but Lysiane couldn't deny the thrill that had flashed through her when he ordered her around with such firm authority.

Her hands and scant sleepwear were caked with flour. A humongous ball of pale dough lay on the polished timber countertop before her surrounded by broken egg shells, snowdrifts of spilled sugar and puddles of milk. Was she trying to bake something?

Lysiane didn't know how to bake. What was she doing?

Taking in a deep breath to steady herself she just got another heady noseful of his scent. Beaford's big, strong, manly scent. It made the thoughts in her head bubble and collide. A small animal whine left her throat as she looked about in a sudden panic.

She didn't know how to cook! She was just a silly little girl who spent too much time looking at useless books. She wanted to be looking at Beaford again.

All he had been wearing were his running shorts and even those were over-taxed as he dipped deep into a back squat with a greasy rear-axle assembly held across his broad shoulders. It fascinated her when she watched his whole body flex and relax, flex and relax. Though each time he released the tension in his bulging muscles, they didn't return to quite the same shape as before. They would have swelled just a fraction larger.

It was like watching a balloon being inflated with sweet, agonizing slowness.

She smeared more flour across her cheeks as she raised his dirty shirt to her face to huff more of him into her heaving lungs. A molten heat simmered in her core, tugging at her to return to Beaford. To wipe the sweat from his rippling body, to lick the perspiration from his glowing skin, to touch herself as she breathed in more of his masculine miasma...

Abandoning her messy attempts at cookery she looked at the fridge where Beaford's parents had thoughtfully left the details of the family's UberEats account pinned to the door with a magnet.

________________

Ford ate the burger--a double bacon and cheese deluxe with an extra beef patty--in three large bites and reached into the paper bag for another. It would be his fifth in half as many minutes. He was ravenous but with all the work he had been putting into building his new Dynamic Body it wasn't surprising.

Dr Zeus Mesmer was a true genius Ford mused as he sat on the smooth wooden bench he and his father had built together last summer out of reclaimed boat wood. In his free hand he curled a spare tire effortlessly as he chewed mindlessly and watched a bicep the size of a softball tighten then release. The visualization techniques and exercise plan were both fantastic but those little brown pills were the real deal.

Every time he started to flag or fail, every time he felt like he was hitting that proverbial wall, he just popped another miracle pill.

Nothing to it.

Then he was right back at it, working his way through the instructional booklet--and wasn't that a real page turner!--carefully following each mapped out movement and motion like the perfect training automaton.

The coffee coloured capsules always made him hungry though... so fucking hungry.

He wiped sauce off his chin then stuffed a fistful of luke-warm, salty french fries into his mouth looking down at Lizzie.

He knew she didn't like the overly familiar abbreviation of her first name anymore than she did his own but he didn't care.

She sat draped across the cold concrete floor, her arms wrapped around his bulging calf, rubbing her pretty face against his knee like a happy kitten. Her thick, full tits pressed into his rocky flesh through her sheer singlet top and he could feel the tight peaks of her puffy nipples grazing his burning skin through the thin fabric.

He was so hungry. His stomach rumbled but the growing bulge fighting against the over-taxed material of his running shorts was also getting his attention.

Lizzie was pretty, not beautiful in the conventional sense like Marina was but unlike Marina, Lizzie hadn't dropped him like a hot pile of garbage.

Unlike Marina, Lizzie was supporting him like a good girl should.

Unlike Marina, Lizzie was here.

...and Ford was getting hard.

His dick was getting hard and pretty little Lizzie was here, the arithmetic wasn't difficult.

She seemed to sense it too; her nuzzling escalated to licking. Her soft pink tongue trailing lines fire across his overheated flesh. He watched her slowly work her way up his thigh, her nostrils flaring cavernously and her eyes squeezed tightly closed as she sucked in great lungfuls of his air.

His grip tightened around the metal rim of the sixty pound wheel but he steadily kept curling as she moaned and mewled at the taste of him. His arousal felt distant but no less urgent for it. Like the pounding of ocean waves far away it was a steady pulsing force making itself heard if not taking center stage in his immediate priorities.

Ford left his turgid length shift as it thickened, pushing itself down the leg of his straining shorts as if to meet Lizzy's questing mouth halfway. He returned to his eating and watching the hypnotic play of his new muscles as he lifted. Thick tangy sauce ran down his wrist as he demolished yet another burger and he reached down to casually wipe it clean in Lizzy's long strawberry locks.

He heard a gasp at the same time as he felt his bulging tip push it's way free of his tight pant leg and paused when he felt the warm wash of her breath against it.

"Mon Dieu, Beaford..." Lizzy whispered in reverent awe.

Then something warm and wet ran broadly across the head of his most sensitive flesh. It was slow, almost tentative but it brought him back to the present. His greasy fingers running through her messy locks tightened reflexively and his eyes snapped down to meet hers gazing back up at him excitedly with pupils the size of dinner plates.

The throbbing head of his tumescent shaft was pressed slowly between her pouting, puckered lips. The cute wash of freckles across the bridge of her button nose pronounced by the flush spreading across her milky complexion. Her expression was dazed and she looked sky-high as she suckled at his bulbous tip like a baby at the bottle.

It looked huge in her tiny mouth, had he always been so large? He must have been because above all it felt so right. His immense size, her servicing him in this moment, his taking possession of this buxom little woman between his spread legs.

"Good Girl, Lizzy. That's a Good Girl."

"Mmmmhmmmm!"

Her response was muffled as she fought to push his tight pants further up his massive thighs. To access more of him. To hungrily take him down into that sweet, Good Girl throat and swallow everything he had to give her. He dutifully obliged her by tearing his running shorts clean away from his broadened hips. The fabric parting like tissue paper beneath his large hands.

It gave Lizzy the room to work she desired. She shuffled on her bare knees up into his lap until her soft hands were gripping his muscular sides as she began to suck him down in earnest. Her head bobbed and twisted as she took him to the back of her throat, her tongue extended like a hot, wet spillway for his veiny underside to glide down.

She gagged a few times, unused to the brutal carnal intrusion so Ford took control. He used the grip on her hair to feed himself past her point of resistance and watched in dull interest as her slim neck visibly bulged, distended from the forced entry into her open esophagus.

"Good Girl, Lizzy. Good Girl..." He crooned as he pumped her reddening face up and down his steely immensity.

Her fists drummed at his sides but her mouth still worked him as her throat flexed and milked at his rocky flesh in ravenous constrictions.

He resumed his bicep curls. In one hand he lifted the large car tire into the air, in the other he pumped Lizzy's ardently bobbing head all the way down to his heavy balls. He found a deep satisfaction in the sweet syncopatic pace, the sound of Lizzy's avid gurgling and moaning was a welcome accompaniment to his body's working rhythm.

Then his eyes fell to his phone fixed upright in the workbench vice.

Marina was there, displayed on the screen in a skin-tight pair of yoga pants and a small orange t-shirt tied up under her perky, perfect breasts leaving her softly muscled belly exposed. His arms worked harder, thick veins lacing across the rigid muscles as he lifted the wheel higher and shoved Lizzy down harder onto his raging manhood.