Regan's Mobility (Patreon)

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The glass door barely had time to close before the whole gym reacted to Regan’s arrival. Heads snapped up, and conversations cut off mid-word. Even those who tried to act casual had to admit that something changed in the air when the biggest man around entered the room. He wasn’t even trying to show off, but the reaction had to be expected when a body got so far past normal that people didn’t know where to look at first.

At 5’11” tall, Regan shouldn’t have looked like that—but height didn’t matter anymore. The immense muscle mass packed into his body made him look gigantic even next to people taller than him. Pushing close to 500 pounds, he looked denser, packed, and solid—like a true force of nature trying to be contained in a human body. There was no softness, no give, only layers of muscle stacked so thick it looked like his frame had been overfilled.

His shoulders alone were ridiculous—huge, rounded slabs that forced him to angle through the doorway as the straps of his tank stretched so tight over them they looked like they might snap if he moved too fast.

“Damn! Big man’s back,” someone said near the front desk, not even trying to hide it.

Regan smirked and rolled one shoulder as if settling into his own size. The movement made the whole delt ripple as thick muscle shifted under his tightly stretched skin. His massive pecs bounced involuntarily, reacting to the attention, packed tight and heavy under his tank top.

His lower body looked just as surreal. An enormous bubble butt filled out the back of his shorts, stretching them tightly and looking almost too heavy to move easily. His thighs were massive, pressed together even when he stood still as the huge slabs of muscle forced his stance wide to hold his balance. Lower down, his calves bulged hard and high, tightening with every shift of his weight—built to carry a ridiculous amount of mass.

Regan casually waved his hand at the people staring at him, as if he weren’t the biggest thing in the room by a mile.

He started moving deeper into the gym, and it wasn’t a normal walk—it couldn’t be. Every step was heavy and slow, as if his body needed a second to settle before the next one. It wasn’t because he was tired, but because there was too much of him to move. His weight sank into the floor with each step, not enough to shake anything, but enough that people nearby could feel it when he passed.

His thighs slammed into each other with every step, forcing his stance wide. His arms barely moved at all—they couldn’t. His lats flared too far out, his triceps pressed tight to his sides, and his biceps were so huge they kept his elbows pushed outward, locking his arms into a permanent, half-curled position like they were too big to hang normally anymore.

More people stared. Some tried to hide it, pretending to focus on their sets, but their eyes kept drifting back. Others didn’t even try. A couple of phones came up only a little too casually. Conversations stalled out mid-sentence.

Regan noticed all of it, and he grinned. “Yeah, yeah. Keep lookin’,” he said, loving the attention. “Ain’t seen a size like this before, huh?”

He reached the free weights and turned slightly—which took a bit of effort. His torso didn’t twist easily anymore. His core was thick, and his obliques pressed outward against his tank top. Even a simple rotation required attention. When he finally faced the rack, he adjusted his stance, shifting his feet until his balance felt right under all that mass.

He rolled his neck slowly, and the thick muscle there limited how far he could actually move. Then he flexed his fingers. His forearms tightened instantly, and veins bulged.

“Alright! Let’s get it,” he said firmly.

Warming up looked different for him.

Even lightweights had to move through layers of muscle that got in their own way. He picked up a pair of dumbbells most people would consider heavy and treated them like nothing. But as soon as he started lateral raises, the real limitation showed up.

His arms lifted outward, but not in a clean arc. His delts were so thick and round that they pressed into his upper arms as they moved, physically limiting how high he could go. His traps kicked in early, tightening along his neck, and his shoulders had to roll slightly forward to create space for the motion.

“C’mon!” he exhaled, smiling faintly. “Work with me here!”

The weights came up slowly as his body was fighting itself the whole way. Muscle pressed into muscle—his delts bunching, his chest getting in the way on the way down. Every inch of the movement looked tight and heavy, almost exaggerated, because it had to be. Each rep was slow, letting the tension build and spread through the muscle.

After a few sets, he lowered the weights with care and reached into his bag, pulling out a shaker bottle. The liquid inside was thick and cloudy, almost syrupy as it shifted. He stared at it for a second, then cracked the lid open with a slow twist.

“New stuff today,” he said. “Let’s see if you’re worth it.”

He took a long pull, tilting the bottle back. Even that looked like an effort as his thick neck tightened when he swallowed. His muscles shifted under his skin as the liquid went down. For a moment, nothing happened. Then he rolled his shoulders again and flexed his hands until his forearms tightened.

“Alright, yeah. That’s good,” Regan said, smiling.

He set the bottle down and reached for another pair of dumbbells. His fingers closed around the handles as if they were nothing, and he started with curls. It should’ve been easy work since the weights were light for him, almost laughable compared to what he could handle. But that had never really been the problem.

Regan started the first rep, and his body immediately got in the way. The weight came up, but his bicep swelled hard the second it engaged, and the thick muscle pressed straight into his forearm. His elbow stopped, cut short by the immense size packed into his arm.

“Ghh… damn.” He let out a rough groan.

He shifted his stance and pushed his elbows outward, forcing space where there wasn’t much left to find. The next rep came up a little higher, but it still wasn’t smooth. His bicep tightened into a tight, rounded mass so dense it looked like it was crowding the joint, trying to control it. The muscle itself was too big for the motion it was supposed to make.

“Light weight,” he said with a grin. “Just gotta get past myself first.”

He kept going, but every rep was the same fight. The battle wasn’t against the dumbbells but against his own size. His arms flexed and swelled, and muscles pressed into each other, limiting him more and more with every contraction.

His breathing started to deepen, and his breathing started getting heavier. His pecs shifted against each other with every inhale as thick muscle brushed and pressed in all directions. Sweat began to bead along his skin, making everything look even more pronounced, more defined, and more crowded.

Then something changed. Regan paused at the top of a rep, holding the weight there as his arm trembled slightly. His brow tightened as he tried to figure out what he was feeling. It wasn’t painful, but it wasn’t the usual burn either. It was pressure, as if something inside his chest was building, pushing outward from behind his ribs, filling space that already didn’t feel like it had any left. He gasped as he felt the tank top stretching tighter across his chest.

“Ngh… alright, what’s that—” he whispered.

He lowered the weight, slower now, then curled again with a more careful pull, as if testing the sensation. The pressure answered immediately, stronger this time. It didn’t only sit there—it spread across his chest, as if his pecs were being filled from the inside. His muscles tightened, then pushed outward, and the fabric stretched with them, pulled taut enough that it looked like it was struggling to keep up.

His pecs expanded right before his eyes. The pressure was intense as the muscle thickened, pushing forward in a heavy swell that made his already massive chest look fuller, rounder, and denser. The neckline of his tank dipped lower as the mass underneath forced it down, and the center line between his pecs deepened as they crowded harder into each other.

“Whoa—okay,” he let out. The words broke into a breathy laugh that quickly twisted into a strained groan. “That’s new—”

His arms trembled slightly as he lowered the weights, but he didn’t stop. If anything, that pushed him further. He curled his bicep again, and the sensation hit harder. His chest pushed forward even more, making everything feel heavier and harder to balance.

“Hhhnngh—!” the groan tore out of him as his head tipped back. “Oh damn—”

He could feel it everywhere in his upper body. His pecs pushed tighter together, pressing into his arms, and stealing even more of his already limited range. His elbows were forced wider to keep moving at all, and his arms locked into an even more restricted path. But he didn’t stop. There was no chance of that.

“Keep goin’…” he said, firmly. “C’mon… get bigger…”

Another rep, slower and heavier, and his biceps tightened again. The muscles thickened, pressing even harder into his forearms. His delts swelled, rounding further outward. Everything was getting tighter, more packed, and more extreme. His mobility dropped again, noticeably this time. He tried to curl higher, but his arms wouldn’t go. There wasn’t any space anymore.

“Hhh—hah…!” he groaned breathlessly, accompanied by an almost disbelieving laugh. “Yeah… yeah, that’s it…”

It felt like his entire upper body was filling past capacity, like there wasn’t enough room under his skin for all the muscle pressing outward. His lats flared wider, forcing his arms even farther out to the sides. His chest expanded again in another growth spurt, making him groan louder as the pressure built.

By now, people weren’t even pretending not to stare. He was changing right in front of them, getting bigger, thicker, and more extreme with every rep. Regan barely noticed as the most intense sensations he had ever experienced took over his body.

His lower body wasn’t staying the same either. His thighs tightened and thickened under his shorts, pressing together harder until he had to shift his stance even wider to stay balanced. His ass flexed and filled out the fabric even more, and his calves tightened and swelled as they adjusted to the increasing load of his weight.

Everything was growing. Everything was getting heavier. And every movement was getting harder, tighter, more restrictive. But Regan kept curling anyway, forcing each rep through a body that was quickly becoming too big for its own range of motion.

“Mobility’s overrated,” he said with a breathless grin, determined to grow beyond his wildest dreams. “As long as I keep growin’, who cares?”

Regan forced another rep, slower than before, and his arms strained against themselves. He laughed through it, loving every second and unwilling to stop anytime soon.

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Scenario based on a muscle morph I did of Regan Grimes. AI gifs were generated based on the mentioned morph.