Seven Days of Growth (Patreon)

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For a few years, Rick had thought of himself as finished. At fifty‑two, his body still worked, more or less, but it no longer surprised him. He always stretched slowly—careful to avoid cramps. He still had muscle—old and stubborn—but it lived under a thin softness, as if it had decided to retire right alongside him.

He’d been sturdy once—thick arms and a chest that filled T‑shirts without trying. The kind of guy people assumed could lift things just because of how he stood. Time hadn’t erased that; it had just dulled it.

Rick’s boyfriend, 40-year-old Evan, hadn’t seen him that way, though.

Evan still looked at Rick as if the years were hiding something powerful. He still ran his hands over Rick’s arms and said things like, “You know, there’s a lot of you in here,” squeezing firmly and teasing the older man. It always made Rick laugh.

For Evan, Rick was perfect as he was. But still, when he saw an article about a trial that could help Rick’s self-esteem, he didn’t hesitate to bring it up over dinner.

“It’s not steroids,” Evan said. “It’s not that. It’s about reactivating natural testosterone production. Like rebooting a system that got put to sleep.”

Rick laughed at first. “I’m not trying to be twenty again,” he said.

“I know,” Evan replied. “I just want you to feel good in your body. See yourself as great as I see you. Big and strong.”

Rick didn’t answer right away. He looked down at his body instead, scanning the shapes, the hills, and the valleys that were visible even under his t-shirt, noticing how they weren’t as outstanding as they used to be. The trial didn’t sound risky, and a tiny boost wouldn’t be so bad.

Two weeks later, Rick was sitting in a clean white clinic room, taking the first dose of something that was supposed to make his body peak again.

The doctor smiled, clearly pleased as he explained the possible effects. “Most men report increased energy, improved mood, and modest muscle response if they exercise. Nothing dramatic,” he said. “Though most participants do report an increased libido.

Rick blushed and nodded.

He went to bed that night thinking that maybe he’d wake up feeling a little less tired. Surprisingly, he woke up heavier. It was the first thing he noticed when he rolled onto his side—the mattress compressed more deeply beneath him, slower to rebound. There was pressure in his chest, like his lungs were inflating against something fuller than before. When he sat up, he paused, waiting for the dizziness that never came.

His feet hit the floor and felt solid.

In the bathroom, he stared at himself longer than usual. The changes were subtle, but once he noticed them, it was impossible to ignore them. His shoulders sat a little higher. His chest pushed forward a fraction more. The line of his arms looked rounder. He pressed his hand against his pec, and it felt tight and swollen, like a muscle halfway through a pump.

By afternoon, the sensation hadn’t faded. If anything, it had deepened. Rick’s shirt felt snug across his upper back, resting against him instead of hanging loose. When Evan came home and wrapped him in a hug, he paused.

“Okay,” Evan said, pulling back slightly. “Either I’m imagining things, or you feel bigger.”

Rick laughed, but it came out uncertain. “I feel a little swollen,” he said.

That night, Evan couldn’t stop touching, and before they realized how far it had gone, Rick was on top, pounding hard into a moaning Evan, who would’ve sworn Rick was possessed.

By the second morning, the reflection in the mirror was less subtle. Rick stood there in his underwear, smirking but a bit confused. His arms had changed shape overnight. His biceps sat higher and fuller, with a gentle curve that hadn’t been there before, and veins traced faint lines along his forearms, darker than yesterday. His chest looked heavier, not only broader but also thicker. The space between the nipples and shoulders felt packed tight, like muscle had been poured in and left to set.

When he pulled on his favorite work shirt, the fabric resisted. Sleeves climbed his arms without permission, stopping inches higher than usual. Buttons lay flat but tense over his chest, like they were concentrating very hard.

On the street, people looked at him differently. Not staring but glancing. Double‑takes. A man stepping aside without realizing why. By midday, his calves burned pleasantly just from walking. His thighs brushed when he stood, not enough to chafe, but enough to be noticeable.

That night, Evan couldn’t stop touching him again. The more he caressed, the more addicted he got to Rick’s mass. And the easier it became for him to surrender again.

“Oh, fuck!” Evan moaned, barely conscious as Rick slammed hard into his hole like a jackhammer. “Yes! Yes! Rick! Ugh!”

Rick only smirked and kept going until Evan passed out from pure, intense pleasure.

The third morning started with Rick swearing out loud at the scale. 298 pounds.

He stepped off, then stepped back on and saw the same number. His back felt like it had been rebuilt overnight—thick and wider. His traps crowded his neck, lifting his shoulders and forcing his posture upright. Sitting felt different because his ass filled the chair.

At work, a coworker stopped mid‑sentence. “Have you been working out?” she asked.

Rick smiled weakly. “Something like that.”

His pants were tight now. Not uncomfortable—strained. The fabric pulled hard across his thighs, every step stretching it further. When he bent to pick something up, he heard the seams at the back protesting. It was risky, but it made him smile.

Later that day, when he went to visit the doctor to check on the results, even the doctor was surprised by the evident changes.

“We didn’t anticipate this level of response,” the doctor admitted, and his smile tightened slightly. “This is highly unusual.”

Rick smirked again, taking a deep breath to inflate his chest with pride.

Then, his shirt didn’t survive the fourth day.

Rick had felt it coming all morning—a tightness, a pressure like his torso was inflating from the inside. His chest pushed outward and downward, pecs hanging heavy and full, packed with dense muscle that made his ribcage feel too small.

At home, he reached up to stretch and heard fabric tear—a sharp rip across the back, followed by another as the sleeves split.

Evan froze. “What was that?” he breathed. “Rick—”

Rick laughed out loud. “I think I outgrew it.”

By evening, nothing fit. Pants refused to slide past Rick’s thighs. A borrowed hoodie split at the seams when he shrugged.

Outside, people stared openly now. Rick felt his heart pounding, as if it was enjoying the extra work, because he was loving the extra attention.

Day five came with another outstanding revelation on the scale. 387 pounds.

Rick’s muscles felt like stone wrapped in warm skin. Every movement sent ripples through his body—pecs shifting, arms swelling and settling, thighs flexing with terrifying strength, and a massive bubble butt swaying hypnotically. Chairs bent under him, and a park bench creaked dangerously when he sat with Evan after a short walk.

Evan looked at him as if he were seeing a miracle. “You’re incredible,” he said softly, moving his hand over Rick’s chest.

“I’ll show you how incredible I really am once we’re back home,” Rick whispered, winking at Evan, hinting at how hard he would fuck the younger man later.

By the sixth day, the world felt smaller.

Doorways seemed narrower. Frames that had never mattered before suddenly brushed his shoulders. Sidewalks felt thin, like they hadn’t been built with someone his size in mind.

Rick started turning sideways without thinking about it, angling his body through spaces he’d walked straight through his entire life. His shoulders were massive, stretching everything around them, and claiming space just by existing. He could feel them shift when he moved, and people noticed—all the time.

They stepped back instinctively, only to give him room. Conversations stalled, eyes lifted from phones, and heads tilted everywhere he went. People weren’t afraid. If anything, they were impressed and curious. Like they weren’t sure what they were looking at, only that it was big, solid, and very real.

Rick loved the looks and the space opening up around him, and it sent a satisfied warmth through his chest. He moved more slowly now, not because he had to, but because it felt right. Every step landed heavily, and the ground responded to his weight with a dull certainty. His thighs flexed, and calves tightened. His torso stayed rock‑steady, like nothing could knock him off balance—nothing really could.

And through it all, Evan was more and more entranced by the changes. He was eager to have some private time with Rick every night, feeling not only all that mass atop him but also the cock stretching him more than before—almost as if it had grown along with the rest of him.

Then, day seven came with a ridiculous number on the scale. 450 pounds.

Rick stood naked in front of the mirror, unashamed, and for a long moment, he just stared. His body wasn’t only big; it was overwhelming. It filled the reflection from edge to edge, an impossible structure of muscle stacked on muscle, thick slabs and rounded bulges flowing into each other with no wasted space. He looked engineered rather than grown, as if someone had taken the idea of strength and kept turning the dial long past reasonable.

His chest was massive and heavy, an armor of muscle that pushed outward and downward, visibly weighted by its density. When he breathed, his pecs shifted and lifted slowly, like they were too solid to move quickly. The skin across them stretched smoothly, with veins faintly visible, pulsing in time with his heartbeat.

His arms were ridiculous. They didn’t only hang at his sides—they crowded the space around his torso. His biceps and triceps were so swollen and rounded that they curved outward even when he was relaxed. Each arm was bigger than his old thighs had ever been, thicker than Evan’s waist, and packed tight with muscle that looked like it could barely be contained by skin.

The shoulders were mountains. Broad, capped, and heavy, stretching so wide they made Rick’s head look small by comparison. His traps rose thickly into his neck, giving him a powerful silhouette.

Below that, his torso was a wall. Rick’s abs weren’t flat or pretty—they were dense and thick, stacked muscle pressing outward, making his entire midsection feel immovable. When he ran a hand over his middle, it felt unyielding, like knocking on a door made of stone. His legs were unreal, with thighs so thick they brushed even when he stood still, packed with immense mass. His quads bulged forward like steel, and his calves were heavy and round, carrying his massive frame without a hint of strain.

Rick grinned at his reflection, proud of how he looked now. Then, he felt Evan’s hands wrapping around his torso from behind and pressing his face into Rick’s back, laughing softly.

“I never thought you’d get this big,” Evan said. “But I love it so much.”

You convinced me to do this,” Rick said. “So you’d better be ready for everything that comes with it,” he said, turning to look at Evan before lifting him up to go back to bed.

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PS: Plot submitted by a Support-tier member as part of the tier's benefits; along with this gif.