"Get in here, Giles," you grunt. You love your mirror, almost as much as you love yourself; only because it gives you the best view of yourself, always showing you your best side -which is every side. You notice the door opening a smidge, a lithe fox dressed smartly standing at attention. You insisted your parents find a guy named Giles to be your butler and the little waif-like shrimp you got was the only guy that fit the bill. He's adequate, a little young, maybe your age; a little odd considering he came highly qualified.
"Dress me," you command. You see the little fox sigh with discontent before moving his way to your wardrobe. You snarl at his insolence and he gets the message, yipping and picking up the pace.
"What would Master Pennington like to wear today?" Giles croaks, his voice so boyish it aggravates you.
"Get me my workout clothes, Giles. I have an appointment with Stan this morning," you say casually, still admiring your handsome face and bouncing your pecs for yourself in the mirror. You don't give a damn that you're naked in front of your butler, after all, who cares what a lesser being thinks? You'd make him into your personal foot rest if you could, but labour laws prevented you from doing so; you hired a lawyer just to investigate to what extent you could abuse your little fox.
Giles comes to your side, your clothes in hand. With deft hands he gets your jock on, the cup distending obscenely from your crotch, just another legacy of your superior bloodline. He pulls up your lycra shorts, the stretchy fabric barely able to contain the masterfully sculpted grooves of your thighs, the quads balanced to perfection with your thick hamstrings. Not to mention, you have the most perfect ass if you said so yourself. Next, the small fox brings a step ladder just so he can reach up to put on your tanktop, the little guy a full foot shorter than your impressive 6'5''. You love the way the fabric rolls over your thick chest and how the top is even tight around your waist. You're just simply massive all over.
"All ready, Master Pennington," the fox drones.
"Good, call Stan," you say, not even noticing the fox bowing and making his leave.
"Very well, Master Pennington."
***
The smell of your home gym, hundreds of thousands of dollars spent to build the perfect setting for you, reeks of your stench - there's nothing more fitting. The room is perfectly air-conditioned to your tastes. After all, it's yours, and yours alone.
You spot your personal trainer, a ferret built like a brick shithouse. "Mornin' Stan," you boom as you wave at him.
"Good morning, Aaron," the ferret replies with a curt smile. "How's your-" The big guy pauses mid sentence as he feels you grabbing his ass. You can't help it if you like what you see. And when you see something you like, you get it. Isn't that the way the world works? "-progress coming along?" he finishes, staring daggers at you. You smirk in response, he could leave, he could turn his back on you, but you know you're the only thing keeping him away from being homeless, you pay his bills. He's your puppet, one very hot, sexy, puppet with an ass you'd like to plow. You'll break him eventually.
"Why don't you see for yourself?" you jibe. You bring up your arm in his face and stifle a wanton roar. Flexing always made you loose it a bit, you were damned hot after all. "Got these babies to 20'', gonna make 'em bigger than yours. Flex 'em, bro." Stan rolls his eyes, but complies. You watch as the mountains of his biceps peak, making your mouth water. You couldn't wait until your arms were that big. You feel yourself getting a little aroused. All that power, you couldn't wait until it was all yours.
"Are we going to get started?" the ferret says, more than just a little annoyed.
"Yeah," you grunt. You make your way to the preacher curl bench and load up the bar with over a 100lbs. Stan just shakes his head.
"You don't have to show off," he says as he takes some of the plates off and puts the pins in. He crosses his arms and looks at you expectantly.
You get into position and begin to belt out the reps. You hear a moan of displeasure coming from Stan's mouth, By the time you've finished the set and racked the bar, the ferret has his head in his hands. "That was awful. Absolutely no form," he groans. He gets you to do it again, this time making sure to isolate all the motion in your arms. You smirk to yourself, of course you knew how to curl properly, you just wanted the stud to be touching your arms. He had his paw on your bicep and you blasted a curl, making sure to hit the peak.
"Like that, Stan?" you roar. Your trainer puts on a disgusted look and retracts his paw. He blushes, common sense would tell you it's because you duped him, but your narcissism tells you it's because he likes it.
You continue to work out, getting Stan to touch your hard body, to show him just how big you're getting. You keep telling him how hot this is making you feel and he just keeps rolling his eyes. You make multiple attempts to grab at his basket, with him just pulling away in the nick of time. One of these days you'll get him.
***
You soap yourself up, enjoying the way the water cascades down your body. The best part is getting to feel your muscles, all taught and sore after a good workout. You bouce your chest, moaning at the sight of the slabs of meat you call your pecs bundle with raw power. It's moments like these you live for, just admiring yourself. You feel your rod getting stiff and you let your shaft crash into your stomach. With a deft hand you begin to massage yourself, chest with one hand and dick with the other. You're beautiful, oh so beautiful, what other man could compare to your big muscle and cock?
Well, there's Stan... Ever since you were fifteen, ever since you started this journey to turn yourself into the perfect specimen on a lion, you've had a thing for him. Sure he might be five years your senior, but you don't care. And everyday, since you were a scrawny little thing to the huge mountain you are now, you've thought of surpassing him. Big just simply isn't big enough. You have to be huge. It's been five years since you've started, and you don't care if it takes you another five to reach your goals. You're going to be a fucking god!
You grunt and begin to unload into the sterile white stall, your thick ten inch pecker could make anyone scream, though you had your sights on one ferret in particular. When you're finished relieving your tension you begin to walk out of the steamy shower and await your customary towel off. However, Giles isn't there to greet your majesty when you come out. Where the hell could he be? With an angry tick you begin to make your way out back into the gym.
That's when you see him, the little twerp of a fox... sitting on Stan's lap! You feel your temper rising, but you can't make yourself known just yet. Your eyes narrow in as you listen to what they say.
"I can't stand him Reed," the ferret says. "I don't understand how you can put up with him."
"You get used to it," the fox sighs, cuddling into the bigger ferret.
"You know I only continue to train him so I can see you," Stan coos, gently playing with Giles' headfur.
"I know, one of the only upsides to this job," the fox chuckles. You see him pat the ferret on the shoulder and stand up. "Well, Master Douche should be done his shower soon, I better get going." With that, the fox pecks the ferret on the cheek and begins to make his way towards you.
You quickly hide and pretend to be just coming out of the shower.
"Master Penningtion," Giles says, hurriedly making his way to your side to towel your magnificent body. You resist the urge to swipe at him, instead swiping the towel from him.
"Get out, Reed, Master Douche can take care of himself," you snarl. The little fox's ears fold back, realizing you've overheard his conversation with Stan. It looks like he's trying to fumble his way through with an apology, but you don't give a damn. "Get out, now!" you bellow. The fox scampers his way without another word.
You slam a fist into a locker, why you had a locker room installed will forever be a mystery, seeing as how you're the only one who uses this space... Stan was supposed to be yours and that little shit of a fox thinks he can take him? How dare Stan choose... choose that over this?! You're perfect!
You're breathing hard, almost delusional. You open a locker, greeted by the faint blue glow coming from a vial of liquid. You've been on this stuff for a month now, some experimental supplement. And it's been making you fucking strong. Your lifts have gone through the roof, your size explosive. But apparently, it's not enough. No, it's never enough.
"Just a few drops, eh?" you chuckle, on the verge of a mental breakdown. If someone could see you, they'd say you're psychotic. There's a fine line between mad and genius, and you like to think yourself the latter. You're going to make Stan want you. All you have to do is become bigger. More powerful, then he can't resist. You'll crush little Reed Giles like the bug he is...
You rip the lid off the vial and down the whole thing, cackling all the way. You can feel it course through your veins, the power thundering through you. "YES!" you roar into the empty room. You can feel everything changing; this is power at any cost!
Little did you know...
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