Derek Theler has big shoes to fill. Literally. The second he found out that he’d be playing Thor, he hit the gym hard. He had to work out seven days a week, twice a day, if he was ever going to achieve the physique of the god of thunder.
It was the Thursday day before the shoot, and Derek was sweating bullets. It was ab day, and he’d been holding the same plank for over five minutes.
“GAAAAAGH!” Derek growled, and dropped to the floor. Panting, he picked himself up and headed inside to rinse off. He grabbed a towel from the rack in the bathroom, and looked at himself in the mirror.
By all standards, Derek had the body of a god. The kind of body that could sell underwear. The kind of body you dreamed being on top of you every night.
But it wasn’t Thor’s body. His muscles weren’t big enough. His biceps not thick enough. Hell, he didn’t even have enough of a beard to play Thor.
He dropped his shorts and looked at his cock. Again, not a bad dick for a guy of his size. 7 inches, pretty girth-y. He wasn’t even going to have to show his dick on screen, and he was STILL insecure about it.
Thor doesn’t have a 7-inch dick, Derek thought to himself. Thor probably packs a 10-inch, uncut monster. A dick worthy of a Norse god. But there was nothing Derek could do about that.
He hoped in the shower. With the scorching water on his back, Derek tried to put himself in the mindset of the iconic hero.
He imagined the water being poured from a golden bucket. Instead of his hands, he imagined the hands of a dozen Asgardian women, scrubbing and washing his naked body. He imagined that he wasn’t in his house, but rather in the glorious halls of Valhalla, lounging in palaces of pleasure for all eternity.
The doorbell rang. Derek looked down. He was hard as a rock. “Damnit,” he cursed to himself as he turned the shower off and scrambled for a fresh towel. He tried to fill his mind with boring thoughts to get his erection down, to no avail.
It rang again. “COMING!” Derek shouted, stumbling out of the bathroom, his dick tenting the wet towel around his waist.
“Who is it?” Derek called out to the door, praying that it wasn’t someone important. But there was no reply; the ringing had ceased.
Cautious, Derek approached the door and swung it open. As expected, there was no one there. Only a large package sitting on the porch below his feet.
Right, he remembered. The production had mentioned that they were sending him something today. He took a huge sigh of relief, and brought the box inside.
Derek tore open the cardboard flaps. Inside where what appeared to be a suit of armor, a large beard, and a hammer. It was his Thor costume. On top of the pile of chores was a note:
Try this on, big guy.
Assuming the production just called their costume department “The Changing Room,” Derek shrugged and began to put on the outfit.
The armor was real metal. He shivered as he fitted the plate over his naked chest. Instead of pants, the armor had a leather skirt, each tendril adorned with golden studs. It sent a breeze across his wet, exposed nether regions as he pulled it up and began to fasten the straps on his boots.
I guess Thor doesn’t wear a whole lot, Derek thought to himself as he stared down at the box. All he had left was the wig and the hammer, and he felt underdressed. And yet, it was exhilarating. Primal. Why should the god of thunder wear peasant clothes?
Derek pulled the shaggy blond wig over his short copper hair, and fastened the fake beard around his chin. He looked in the mirror.
NOW he looked like Thor. Just the sight of the burly beard on Derek’s face sent him into a frenzy. His dick shot up, poking out from in between the leather skirt.
With one hand, he stroked. With the other, he rubbed his glistening muscles. It almost felt as if they were getting bigger under his touch, slowly swelling until the golden armor was practically bursting with his thick mounds.
He reached down and picked up the hammer—HIS hammer. Mjolnir. The second his hand touched the ancient Asgardian metal, he felt a rush of something powerful and electric, like lighting pulsing through his veins.
He felt another breeze. But this time, it was cool. The breeze became a gale, which became a hurricane, and before Derek knew it, he was in the air. He was flying.
The apartment around him disappeared into a mirage of lights and colors. A rainbow bridge, stretching across a thousand galaxies. Derek felt himself soar through the very fabric of space and time, and as he did, his body continued to change.
His frame stretched from 6’5’’ to a colossal 6’9’’, and his muscles expanded to match. Suddenly, the small leather straps that held the metal plate onto his body were straining against the force of his growing chest. Each individual ab grew to the size of a large rock, and every time Derek flexed, he could feel them bending the chest plate with unimaginable force.
The straps on his boots snapped and fluttered into the rainbow abyss, as his feet were so huge now, human footwear was out of the question. The growth shot up his legs, his calves turning from baseballs to footballs, his thighs from turkey legs to Christmas hams. His ass got so thick, the extra weight sent him wobbling on the rainbow bridge, forcing him to grip the hammer even tighter.
As he did, his arms—which were quite impressive to begin with—practically exploded with muscle, an unstoppable stream of growth that shot from his forearms, to his biceps, to his shoulders, and split off towards his back and chest. Within seconds, Derek had put on enough muscle weight to make a bodybuilder jealous. Through the rushing wind, he brought his arm up and gave it a hearty flex.
The feeling of his bicep, thick and curled and glistening with sweat, triggered a new wave of changes in Derek. This time starting at his dick, which instantly sprung up and shot a powerful load, growing a full inch with every pump of raw, god juice until it stood a full 10-inches. The sudden orgasm rocked his body like a bolt of lighting. There were “snaps” all over as he out-grew every piece of clothing on him, from the chest plate to the leather shirt.
Now fully nude, Derek could feel the wind caress every inch of his body. Actual lighting began to shoot out of his pores like sweat, and he let out a primal howl that rung through the universe like rolling thunder.
His face prickled. Not because the static that he was emitting, but because of the fake wig and beard, which were now fusing themselves to his face. It was his beard. This was his hair. He wasn’t playing Thor… he was Thor.
And with that, his final change begun. As the man perviously known as Derek Theler hurtled towards the gates of Valhalla, he forgot about all his petty time on earth. As an actor, as a model. As a human. Because now, he was more. He was Thor, the god of thunder. He’d watched over the nine realms for a millennia. He’d fought in countless battles against ancient enemies and triumphed over every one. He’d slept with thousands of men and women, all kneeling in worship at the sight of his legendary physique, and 10-inch uncut monster.
There was a loud BANG, and everything went black.
Thor awoke with a start.
He’d just had the strangest dream. He dreamt that he has been trapped on earth for 32 years. Forced to live the life of an… actor. What was his name? He couldn’t remember. It was, after all, just a strange dream. A long, strange dream.
He rose up out of his bed, taking in his surroundings. Around him were luscious halls of gold, arches that seemed to stretch deep into the sky. He was in Asgard. He was home.
Drenched in his own sweat, Thor walked over to the water basin by the balcony overlooking his father’s city. Walking now felt so foreign. His body lumbered awkwardly, as if his muscles were a brand new suit of armor. But this was foley; Thor had always been this beautiful… right?
As he washed off the sweat of a long, restless night, Thor was sure to stop and admire every one of his godly muscles. It was like he was feeling them for the very first time, like this body was his reward for making it through such an elaborate and troublesome dream.
He didn’t even notice his cock was hard. He reached down to stroke it, but stopped. There was no need to masterbate in Asgard. He had a line of men and women who could enter his bedchamber and please him with the snap of his fingers. He never had to please himself again.
Thor smirked, fancying the notion of staying in today. He’d given his hammer a workout last week when he’d fended off legions of monsters to protect the nine realms. Now, it was time to give his OTHER hammer some much needed attention.
Besides, he’d earned it. The universe could go one day without thunder.
