Right now though, not so much. You’re standing in line at the recruitment center, your previously average body now microscopic compared to the muscle meatheads standing around you, laughing about something stupid to relieve the tension. You begin to wonder: is this a big mistake?
But then they call your name. You stumble up to the desk, hand the man your papers, and wait impatiently as he looks them over, a look of disinterest and disappointment on his face. Without a word, he ushers you back into one of the examination rooms.
Once inside, you take a seat on the table. It’s not like your normal doctor’s office. The walls lack the shitty drug-store art that always kept you company, and the table is cold and metal instead of covered in cushions.
The door opens, and you look up. “So,” a voice says from across the room, “have you always wanted to serve your country?”
The voice, booming and loud, comes from a doctor. Or, at least, his coat says he is a doctor. Everything else about him feels almost inhumanly masculine; his square jaw, his flat-top hair. And his muscles. Jesus, you think to yourself, trying to imagine how much of a chore it must have been just to get those behemoth arms into that tight white coat.
The words catch in your throat. “I… yes.”
“You speak to your father like that, private?”
You clear your throat. “Yes sir.”
“Good.” He slams his clipboard down. “Take off your clothes. All of them.” As if this couldn’t get more uncomfortable. Reluctantly, yet dignantly, you take off your shoes, your socks, your jacket and shirt, and your pants. He looks up, his cold blue eyes scanning your shivering figure.
“I said all of them.”
It takes all of your will not to explode with embarrassment. Of course this would have to be part of the bargain if you wanted to join the army, but standing in-front of this monster of a man, you feel so dwarfed, so insignificant.
But you obey. You drop your boxers and shake as a cold wind brushes up against your legs and the shaft of your penis. You refuse to look at the doctor as he looks you over, as if inspecting a piece of meat. Finally, after what feels like three hours, he clears his throat.
“Private, are you willing to do anything, and I mean anything to protect and serve the United States of America?”
“Y-yes sir.”
He opens the door. “Then follow me. And leave the clothes.”
It’s like walking on ice, your bare feet clapping against the tile floor as the doctor leads you down a long hallway towards a big steel door. The doctor swipes a card and theres a loud buzz. The door swings open, and suddenly, its as if you’re in a different world. The tile has turned to concrete, the walls to steel themselves and all around, there are soldiers and doctors of equal stature. Unlike the guys in the lobby, these men are huge, stoic, their gargantuan bodies locked in upright positions, like G. I. Joe action figures. They salute the doctor as he walks by, and you can feel their cold, judgmental stares as you continue to walk naked towards a room at the end of the hall.
Another door. Another card swipe. And when the steel swings open, you are greeted by a large metal operating table, with metal straps on for hands and feet.
No. This is not what you signed up for. You turn to run, but the soldiers are already standing in the door way. One of them grabs you and forces you back towards the table. You scream: “HELP! NO, this is not what I asked for!”
“You asked to serve your country, didn’t you? Well,” he continues as the soldiers strap you into the table, “the US Government is testing out a new super soldier serum. It accelerates muscle growth, and we’ve been looking for a recruit with little enough muscle for the serum to have an effect. You fit the bill just fine.”
You try and speak, but the soldiers have placed a gag in your mouth. “It shouldn’t hurt too bad,” the doctor says, “but I must warn you, the serum also has a mental effect. It makes you more compliant, takes away unnecessary emotions, makes it easier to follow orders. Don’t resist this change, it will make the process run smoother.”
You shake your head, but the table is reclining. The florescent lights up above are blinding, and you can only just barely make out the outline of several machines, syringes filled with blue liquid on their arms, make their way towards your violently shaking body.
“See you on the other side private,” the doctors voice echoes. You close your eyes, expecting the absolute worst. A small prick and then… nothing. Nothing. You open up. You’re still on the table and still strapped in, but the machines are receding, their syringes now empty. Is it over? you think.
And then, it begins.
Your body explodes with heat. Sweat starts to gush out of your pours at an alarming rate, and the immense heat forces you to moan against the rubber in your mouth. You squeeze your eyes shut as the heat gives way to pain as you writhe against the metal restraints. Your body has seemed to take on a mind of its own, your arms wriggling, your feet kicking, and your head thrashing. The pain pulsates between sharp and dull, hitting you in waves as you refuse to look at the body you know is changing beneath you.
But you can no longer resist. You look down. It has just been a few minutes, and your muscles are already as big as the doctors. No, bigger. Your body is a fucking boulder, skin thick with sweat, and heaving up and down as the serum makes its way through your veins. It inflates your muscles, re-arranges your bones, and extends your bones. You can feel yourself getting taller, suddenly unable to thrash against the restraints because your arms and legs are so large.
The pain has increased, but it doesn’t matter. You are enamored with this body of yours, this study physique that seems to grow more and more ridiculously big by the second. To think just a few minutes ago, you were short, tiny even. Boring. Normal. Now, you’re a beast. You’re a muscle monster, and a super soldier.
You feel the serum enter your brain. You feel it start to re-arrange your thoughts, making you more obedient, more like the meat-heads who forced you onto the table. More like the doctor, who you now feel an immense attraction to. Just like the attraction you feel to yourself, your body, and the country that gave it to you.
Suddenly, you’re aware that you’re naked. You’re aware of the massive body still writhing under the metal, aware of your cock, which is standing upright and spewing semen in all directions. You should feel embarrassed, you know, but you don’t. You’re dick is a weapon, just like the guns exploding off your arms, like your glutes, thick enough to crush a can. Your pecs, like a shelf of meat above your abs, and your face. Your square jaw and your new flat-top hair.
The writhing stops. The table moves back up as the doctor enters the room, fresh clothes in his hand. “Damn son,” the doctor says with the first smile he’s made all day, “you grew more than both of our last subjects combined! Not to mention that python of yours.” He motions to your dick as the restrains come undone. If there is any of the old you in there, you’d strange the doctor right then and there. It’s not like you can’t, you’re a giant next to him. Hell, you could knock him out with your cock alone.
But that’s not you now, isn’t it? You’re just another soldier stud. You exist to serve your country and follow orders. And as you put on that uniform (the parts of it that fit), all you can think about is fighting, fucking, and getting bigger. Welcome to your new life, private.
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