Second Prime - Part 5 (Patreon)

The week after Logan’s second appointment felt different from the first two. Before, every morning felt like a pleasant but familiar surprise, as if he were getting back another little piece of himself. But as he continued taking Dr. Wright’s formula, things stopped feeling like recovery because they started intensifying. Logan felt the difference in his body, but the changes were more obvious to the eye with each passing day—his shoulders filled his shirts some more, his chest looked fuller, and his pants were tighter around his thighs and butt.

Adrian had allowed him to take two cups a day since it seemed to be his effective dose, and Logan took that permission seriously—probably a little too seriously.

The first evening after the appointment, he came home, pulled the larger container from where he hid it, and poured 2 servings without hesitation. He watched the thick white formula settle into the glass with the same excitement as the first few days, drank the first serving, then poured the next one immediately. The familiar tingling spread through his core and chest before moving into his arms and legs. He stood in the kitchen, breathing a little heavier, and smiled because he loved what the formula was doing.

“Two,” Logan whispered to himself. “Doctor’s orders,” he said, and his grin widened.

It only took him another day to escalate those orders to a whole new level. Logan had spent most of that afternoon at a job site, moving equipment, checking the crew’s progress and helping with a delivery when one of the younger men struggled to maneuver a heavy load into position. He had stepped in to help and ended up carrying it himself. The work should have exhausted him, but it left him buzzing instead.

By the time he returned home, his shirt was dark with sweat along his back and armpits, and his chest was pushing firmly against the damp fabric. He ate an enormous dinner, then stood in front of the refrigerator afterward, still feeling hungry. He reached for the formula container and quickly poured two servings, but after he had emptied the glass for a second time, he stood there, looking down at his pumped muscles.

“Occasionally,” he whispered, remembering Adrian’s answer about a third dose a day. “Well, today seems pretty ‘occasional,’” he said, pouring a third serving of the thick formula. He knew the excuse was terrible, but he still emptied the glass once again in a blink.

The third serving hit him harder than the first two. The sensation came faster, and he let out a low whistle, rolling his shoulders. He took a deep breath, lifting his chest more and loving how they felt against his sweaty shirt. His arms seemed heavy and ready to keep working instead of worn out as an almost pleasant sensation spread beneath his skin.

He went to bed convinced he could already feel a difference, and the following morning confirmed it. Logan woke before sunrise because he was so hungry that his stomach had growled and pulled him out of sleep. He opened his eyes in confusion, lay there for a second, then groaned when he realized what had happened.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said, slowly sitting up.

He immediately noticed the change in how his body moved. His chest felt heavier, his shoulders felt broader, and when he got on his feet, he noticed how his thighs brushed more firmly than they had the night before. There was a tightness across his upper back that didn’t feel like soreness but more like the stretching pressure someone got after a heavy back-focused workout at the gym. He took a few seconds to stretch and process how each muscle group felt before heading to the bathroom.

The reflection in the bathroom mirror made everything more exciting. His pecs looked thicker—not enormous but definitely fuller. His shoulders were rounding outward more firmly, and the line from his neck into his traps looked shorter because the traps themselves had thickened. He lifted one arm, and the bicep peaked higher this time.

Logan stared at it for a second before slowly grinning. “That third cup did something.”

By the middle of the week, “occasionally” had started losing its meaning. Two cups were his regular, but after a hard workday, the third one felt almost like a reward. Then, it became part of the routine after a particularly large dinner because he still felt hungry. By Thursday, Logan poured the third serving without even building an argument around it. And even when Dr. Wright’s voice passed through his memory, he only looked at the glass and shrugged.

“Yeah, well,” he said, smiling. “I’m getting results.” He drank it.

The growth accelerated, bringing the first real problem: clothes. A work shirt he had worn comfortably on Monday was too tight by Wednesday. The sleeves dug into his upper arms every time he bent his elbows, bunching tightly against the thicker triceps. His chest pulled the front so much that the buttons looked ready to pop between stretched sections of fabric.

Once, while speaking with a young man at the construction site, he took a deep breath and heard a tiny sound from the middle of his shirt. He stopped when he noticed the foreman’s reaction. Both men looked down and saw that one of the buttons had slipped free.

The younger man stared at it for half a second, then burst out laughing. “Boss, you’re gonna start tearing through shirts if you keep this up.”

Logan looked down at himself, flexing his chest more firmly and making the opening grow wider. He laughed, shaking his head, and fastening it again. “Keep your eyes on the framing, not my wardrobe.”

“Hard not to notice when your wardrobe’s surrendering,” the young man replied.

Logan walked away grinning, making a mental note to buy new shirts that evening.

By Saturday, even the new ones were getting tight. His jeans were worse. His waist had barely changed, perhaps even tightened slightly, but everything below it had expanded. His ass filled the back of the pants so much that pulling denim over them had become a small morning struggle. His thighs crowded the legs, straining the seams almost to their limit when he walked and making the issue even worse when he bent or squatted.

Even something as simple as drawing felt different. One afternoon he stopped and stared at the space between his chest and the wheel. “That’s ridiculous,” he said, adjusting the seat backward to give his body more room to move.

At night, sleepwear got annoying. His old shorts left not much room for his thighs to move. His T-shirts twisted around his chest and shoulders whenever he rolled over. Even loose underwear felt crowded and made him change his position in bed constantly. Eventually, he stopped wearing anything to sleep because it was much easier.

Meanwhile, his appetite had reached comical proportions. Breakfast got bigger each morning: eggs, meat, potatoes, toast, fruit, coffee, and then something else because 20 minutes later he would feel like he had skipped half of it. He started carrying protein-heavy snacks in the truck because ordinary lunches didn’t last through the afternoon.

At a grocery store, he loaded the cart with enough food to feed a family.

The cashier looked from the cart to Logan. “Big weekend?” She said kindly.

“Something like that.” Logan looked down at everything. “Mostly me, to be honest.”

She looked back at him, taking a second to scan his powerful body, then laughing, assuming it was a joke.

By the end of the week, he started getting curious about his weight. After getting dressed Saturday morning and realizing another pair of pants barely made it over his thighs, curiosity won. He stopped at a pharmacy on the way to Michael’s house and used one of the heavy-duty digital scales near the health section. He stared in surprise when the numbers settled.

“269.6,” he whispered, stepping off before getting back on. The number was the same, making him smile. “Damn it, a lot more than I expected.”

He was essentially Cory’s weight. The difference was that Cory carried his 260 pounds on a 6’6” frame. Logan was 2 inches shorter than Michael and 5 inches shorter than Cory but had somehow compressed almost the same total mass into his 6’1” frame. No wonder everything felt tighter. No wonder people stared.

He couldn’t stop thinking about those numbers all the way to Michael’s house—to enjoy a family barbecue. As soon as he arrived, Logan heard Lucas’s voice before he walked into the backyard, and a smile spread across his face.

“Dad?” Michael said the moment he saw Logan getting closer. “What happened?”

The young man was near the grill in shorts and a fitted T-shirt, turning burgers with one hand while talking to Laura. They stared at Logan for a second, visibly stunned.

Logan kept walking. “What?”

“You know what.” Michael looked him up and down.

Logan laughed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come on.” Michael pointed the spatula at him. “That shirt’s new.”

Logan looked down at it. “So?”

Michael shook his head. “Some buttons are about to give up.”

The shirt was tight even though Logan had bought it a couple of days earlier.

Laura approached with a dish in her hands, looking him over with curiosity. “You definitely got bigger.”

“Thank you,” Logan said.

She laughed. “I wasn’t sure that was a compliment.”

Logan chuckled and heard Lucas running his way.

“Grandpa!” The boy shouted.

Logan reached forward and caught him, scooping him up and lifting him so quickly that the boy squealed. “Hey kiddo!”

Lucas laughed harder as his grandpa tossed him upward.

Laura’s eyes widened. “Careful!”

Logan caught Lucas against his chest without a problem. “It’s okay. I can handle it.”

The boy was delighted. “Again!”

“No,” Laura said, still in shock. “Do not encourage him,” he said, looking at Logan.

The man nodded, but Lucas was already trying to climb higher. Then, the twins saw the action and wanted in. Trent came first, toddling over with both arms raised, and Noah followed half a second later. Logan looked at Michael, as if waiting for permission.

Michael stared back. “Go ahead if you think you can, Dad,” he said. “Apparently gravity doesn’t apply to you anymore.”

Logan bent smoothly, caught Trent with his free arm, then lowered himself again and helped Noah climb against his side. For a moment, he was carrying all three kids. Lucas clung around his shoulders while the twins settled against either side of his torso. Logan stood completely upright—no strain, no pain, and no issues. Right there, he remembered that a few weeks earlier one toddler had been enough to make him struggle.

Michael noticed. “You really do feel better, don’t you?” he asked.

Logan looked down at the kids, then back at him. “I do.”

“Grandpa’s huge and strong.” Lucas reached across Logan’s chest with both hands as though inspecting him. “Are you turning into a superhero?”

Everyone laughed, and Lucas looked confused by their reaction.

“That depends, buddy.” Logan looked at him seriously. “If you eat vegetables with me, then probably I am turning into a superhero. What do you say?” he said, winking at the boy.

“Yeah!” Lucas shouted. “I’ll eat vegetables with Grandpa.”

A while later, Lucas was fulfilling his promise, and Logan was eating an almost embarrassing amount of food. He finished one plate, then another, and reached for a third.

Michael watched him go back toward the table. “Seriously?”

Logan looked down at his plate. “What?”

“That’s number three,” the young man responded.

“Technically four,” Laura corrected from beside the grill.

Logan looked offended. “Who’s counting?”

Laura pointed at herself. “I am.”

Logan only laughed and continued filling his plate without shame.

Then, Cory arrived halfway through the afternoon. He came through the gate smiling and carrying some drinks under one arm. “Sorry I’m late, traffic was—” He stopped when he saw Logan. “Oh, what the hell?”

Logan laughed.

Cory dropped the drinks onto the table and walked straight toward his dad. He still towered over everyone, but standing in front of Logan, the young man didn’t look as enormous as before. He was taller, but Logan was thicker.

Cory grabbed Logan’s upper arm without asking and squeezed. “Damn it, old man.”

“Language,” Logan said.

“Where were you hiding this?” Cory squeezed again, with eyes wide open, and then looked at Michael. “You seeing this?”

“I’ve been seeing it,” Michael said, nodding slowly. “Insane.”

Cory moved around Logan as though inspecting a new truck. “Chest is bigger.”

Logan lifted his chin. “Been working out. No big deal.”

Cory stared at him, then burst out laughing. “No big deal? You’ve got to be kidding me?”

Logan laughed with him, and Cory stepped closer, standing shoulder to shoulder. Cory still had the enormous height advantage, but Logan’s chest looked dense beside him. His shoulders sat lower but packed wider through the middle. His arms no longer looked like the arms of an aging construction owner beside his college-athlete son. They looked competitive, and Cory seemed thrilled.

“Dad,” he said, grabbing Logan around the ribs, “how much do you weigh now?”

Logan realized what was about to happen a second before Cory tried to lift him. It had been effortless last time, but not now. Cory tightened his arms and lifted, and Logan’s heels came off the ground, but only barely.

“Oh, fuck.” Cory groaned, putting Logan down. He reset his grip. “Hold on.”

Logan was laughing hard. “Problem?”

“Shut up.” Cory held him properly, bent his knees, and lifted again.

This time Logan came off the ground cleanly, but Cory had to work for it. His arms tightened around his father’s torso, and his thighs flexed as he straightened.

When he set Logan down, Cory stared at him. “What the hell do you weigh?”

Logan folded his arms. “About 270.”

Cory’s mouth dropped open, Michael turned away from the grill, and Laura stopped what she was doing. Logan enjoyed the silence for a second.

Cory pointed at himself. “I’m 260. And you’re shorter than me.”

“I know,” Logan said casually.

Cory looked delighted rather than threatened. “That is awesome.”

Michael was still visibly shocked. “Dad, weren’t you like 220 a month ago?”

“218,” Logan said. “3 weeks ago, to be accurate.”

Michael stared at him, and Logan realized he had answered too precisely.

Laura’s eyes widened. “That’s 50 pounds in 3 weeks. Is that even possible?”

Logan reached for another piece of meat. “Apparently I was just underfed.”

The conversation could have turned serious, but Cory rescued it by suddenly putting his elbow on the patio table. “Arm wrestle.”

Michael groaned. “No.”

“Not you.” Cory looked directly at Logan.

Logan stared at the offered hand. “You really want to lose in front of your nephews?”

Michael laughed. “Oh, now he’s cocky.”

Cory’s grin widened. “You’re the one losing in front of your grandsons.”

Michael moved beside them. “Wait. If we’re doing this, I’m going first.”

Cory stepped back as Logan sat down and Michael took the opposite chair. They clasped hands. Even before they started, Logan noticed the difference—his whole arm looked bigger than Michael’s even though it had been the opposite only a few weeks ago.

“Ready?” Cory leaned over them as the older brother and the dad nodded. “Go.”

Michael hit hard, just as Logan expected, but the effort it took for the older man to handle it was surprisingly low. His arm moved perhaps two inches before locking, and Michael’s expression changed. Logan felt the force coming through his son’s hand, but his body absorbed it. A grin started forming on his lips as his muscles tightened.

Michael saw it, and Logan pushed slowly. The younger man resisted, and Cory started laughing. He fought harder, but Logan felt his bicep swelling against his sleeve and the thick line of his forearm hardening as he leaned slightly forward. Then, Michael’s hand touched the table, and for a second, nobody said anything.

Michael looked at his hand, then at Logan. “No way.”

Logan grinned. “Well.”

Cory immediately pushed Michael out of the chair. “My turn.”

Logan looked up at him. “You sure about it, son?”

“This is a bad idea,” Laura warned playfully.

Cory offered his hand, and Logan took it. The difference in leverage was obvious because Cory’s arm was longer, his shoulder higher, and his hand slightly larger. But Logan had never felt stronger as they set their elbows and got in position.

Michael moved back. “I’m not refereeing this.”

“You’re bitter,” Cory said, and looked at Logan. “Ready, old man?”

Logan smiled. “Try me.”

They started, and the force was different. Cory hit hard enough that Logan’s arm flexed more firmly to stop it before the motion reached halfway. Cory’s grin disappeared into concentration as Logan’s whole upper body tightened. The table creaked as Cory pushed harder and their hands moved back toward the center.

Laura moved forward. “Enough,” she said, and both men looked at her. “I am not explaining to the kids why Grandpa and Uncle Cory destroyed the patio table.”

Cory relaxed and laughed as Logan released the grip. “Rematch,” he said.

Logan leaned back in the chair. “Anytime.”

Cory looked delighted.

By the time Logan left that evening, the sun had gone down, and the kids were getting tired. Lucas hugged him around one leg, and the twins were half asleep against Laura and Michael. Meanwhile, Cory was still curious about how much his dad had grown.

“Seriously, Dad. Whatever you’re doing?” Cory asked, squeezing Logan’s arm. “Keep doing it. You’re looking great.”

“Maybe don’t encourage him until we know what he’s doing.” Michael sighed. “I hope it’s nothing illegal, is it, Dad?”

“I promise it is not. Don’t worry, son.” Logan smiled and waved them off.

When Logan entered his house that night, he could still remember Cory struggling to lift him, Michael’s surprise when he lost the arm wrestle, and Laura’s expression when she realized how much weight Logan had gained. He couldn’t stop smiling, aware that people were seeing him differently and his family had noticed the changes.

Logan showered, took three servings of the formula, ate again because somehow he was hungry, and then went upstairs. He didn’t bother dressing afterward and stretched out naked across the bed, with his back against the headboard. He looked down at his body and smiled even more. His chest looked thick, his abdomen firm, and his lower body was impressive to say the least. Even his cock and balls looked ridiculously pumped at their resting state.

Logan unlocked his phone and noticed that Laura had sent photographs from the barbecue. One showed him carrying Lucas and one of the twins, and another was of him standing beside Michael and Cory. His sons were taller, but Logan looked definitely denser.

He stared at the photograph for a moment, then his thumb moved through the phone until he found the one he was looking for: Adrian. Logan looked at it, and for a second he thought about putting the phone down. But he opened a conversation instead.

“Hey. You busy?” He typed and stared at it for several seconds before sending it.

Nothing happened right away, so he regretted it. He suddenly felt ridiculous, staring at the screen. “What the hell are you doing?” He said to himself.

He almost locked the phone, but then it buzzed with a notification. “Not particularly. Is everything okay?” Adrian replied.

Logan’s stomach tightened, but he quickly typed a response. He deleted it right away, and typed again, only to delete it again.

Finally, he came up with something that sounded reasonable. “Yeah. More than okay. Progress is getting pretty noticeable.”

The answer came faster this time. “I expected it would. How noticeable?”

Logan smiled, looking down at himself. He wasn’t sure how to explain the changes, so he opened the camera to let an image tell what words couldn’t. The first angle was terrible, so he adjusted himself against the headboard. He lifted one arm slightly, flexing without making it too obvious that he was posing. The image framed his chest, shoulders, arm, abdomen, and much of his lower body, making him look massive.

Logan stared at it, and his first instinct was pride. The second instinct should have been caution, but he sent it before he could lose his nerve. As soon as the message was delivered, he looked at the photograph again and noticed that his cock and balls were visible. He had focused so intently on his chest and arms that he barely registered how much of his naked body the angle included.

“Sorry, I didn’t—” He started typing, but a notification entered.

“Wow! Logan 😳🔥” Another message appeared right after. “You’ve grown a lot since I saw you last week.”

Logan stared at the message, blushing. He pulled part of the sheet over himself but realized how stupid that was since Adrian already had the picture.

Then another message came. “I’m not complaining.”

Logan laughed. “Of course you’re not. Why would you?” he whispered.

He stared at the screen again, and his embarrassment mixed with something far more exciting. His last visit to the clinic came back in fragments: Adrian’s hands checking the density in his chest and arms, then touching lower, and how his voice had stayed calm even when things between them stopped feeling entirely clinical.

Logan had spent years as the straight, divorced dad, grandfather, and construction guy, as simple as a man can be. Now he was lying naked in bed, about 50 pounds heavier than he had been 3 weeks earlier, staring at a message from another man and smiling like an idiot.

The phone buzzed again. “Are you managing all those changes by yourself?”

Logan’s smile faded slightly as he read the sentence twice.

Then another message appeared. “Or do you need some help with that new body?”

Logan stared at it, noticing that the wording was ambiguous. He could have taken the safe interpretation—medical help. But he knew what Adrian was doing and, more importantly, he knew what he wanted the doctor to be doing.

He typed carefully. “I think some help would be good.”

The reply came immediately. “Send me your address.”

Logan felt something tighten deep inside him. Things were moving fast—probably too fast. Three weeks earlier, he had been standing alone in the shower wondering why his body no longer listened to him. But as he typed the address and memories of Adrian flooded his mind, his cock slowly rose to full mast between his thighs.

He sent the address, and the reply came right away. “Got it. I’ll come by.”

Logan stared until the screen dimmed. He looked down at himself again, at the new mass spread across the bed—almost 270 pounds and still growing. He leaned back against the headboard and ran a hand over his pecs, feeling them tighten. Then he reached lower, gripping his cock as a smile spread on his face, thinking about Adrian walking into the bedroom.

...

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PS: AI Generated image only meant to illustrate the scene.