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(A SECRET MILITARY FACILITY ON THE 11TH MOON OF THE PLANET HACLYON)

Lieutenant Andrew Wright had nearly cried when his platoon received the Satellite Installation-11 assignment. The last thing he wanted to do was babysit the geeky scientists while they did whatever top secret crap they were supposed to do. He knew it involved some new breed of soldier, but his level of clearance wasn't high enough to get him much else. And due to the secretive nature of their project the rest of the habitable moon was... uninhabited, with a dropship coming in every month with resupplies. The geeks themselves were worst. None of them had any vices. No drinks, no gambling, no stimpacks. Wright had to lay out a fabulous plan that would land a different muscular soldier's ass in his bed each night until every one of them had a turn with their very big, very buff commander. But even had lost its appeal after a mere two months of having absolutely nothing to do besides fucking, eating, and sleeping.

And then a saint on Haclyon sent them Gunther. Wright had no idea what his last name was, he was just Gunther the university intern. Gunther, who had an open face and bright pink hair and a titillating scent that drove him (and his men) wild! Not to mention the powerful muscles that belied his slim frame. It had come as quite a shock to Wright, who was expecting a delicious, muscle worshipping twink when Gunther accepted the invitation to his bed. Truthfully he had been suspicious when he had scooped up the broad shouldered intern in his arms. He must have been what, 5'7? Yet he felt like a 156 pound weight. Finally the baggy shirt had come off and Wright swore he would have mistaken the little intern for a soldier if not for his bright pink crown.

Oh lord in heaven! Wright practically salivated at the thought of his little pink friend. Their first night had been epic. Gunther wasn't just strong and buff and pink. He was incredibly skilled. Wright had only lasted one minute in his mouth, and a second, more explosive orgasm followed a minute later. Wright had pulled out the big guns that night at Gunther's behest. He had gone to his stash of stimpacks and pressed one of the devices against the back of his neck. The stimpack had hissed as it delivered its cocktail of performance enhancing drugs into his system. Gunther had squealed as Wright's muscles got pumped on the stims. He had fucked Gunther against the wall that night, with his cock getting bigger, stronger and harder with each trust. Gunther couldn't keep his hands off the soldier's big body as his body continued to hulk out on the stims. That had been the best night of Wrights life in this scientific dump. Gunther practically slept in his bed now, except on the days the scientists dragged him away to do whatever secret shit they were supposed to do. Wright had even given Gunther a pile of stimpacks from his own stash so Gunther could 'ambush' him whenever he felt lonely.

Unfortunately for Wright, now wasn't such a time, though that did not stop him from 'forgetting' to put on a shirt, just in case Gunther decided to sneak up on him with a stimpack in hand. He let out a sigh as he ran the polishing cloth over his gauss rifle; the damned thing had been cleaned so many times it practically glowed in the dark. Wright had spent so many hours in this sort of mind shredding boredom that his mind had begun playing tricks on him from the second week on. And it did so now; Wright could hear javelin missiles being fired from dozens of planet-side aircrafts. In fact, the mind trick was so good this time he could almost hear the whirl of the turbo fans that held the tactical strike aircrafts up in the air.

Then an earth shaking boom tossed him of his bed and onto the cold floor of his bunk.

***

Sergeant Gunther, intern, soldier and spy, seized the sides of the metal sink to keep from falling over. The signal had been sent, the troops had been mobilised, and now the secret facility rattled from the rebel onslaught that would soon break through the surface defences. Gunther wasn't the least bit worried. Judging by the amount of information he had extracted from that meathead, Lieutenant Wright, the rebels probably knew more about the defensive matrix than the security troopers themselves.

But how the anti-air missile turrets were going to be destroyed did not bother Gunther, he had other orders, and he was going to carry them out. Gunther fumbled as the facility continued to rock, but managed to chuck his lab clothing and slip into his standard military khakis and combat boots.

Excitement burned through Gunther as he retrieved one of Wright's stimpacks. Stimpacks were terribly difficult to get hold of outside the Haclyon military, and Gunther was saving the bulk of them to use as bribes back on the Sweetie Pie, the headquarters and capital ship of the Umagon Rebel Forces.

The stimpack hissed as Gunther pressed it against the back of his neck and soothing warmth burst forth, spreading across his back and shoulders like warm honey. Gunther's heart began to pound, his breathing began to accelerate, and his body tensing as pure power flowed into his system.

"FUCK! YES!"

Gunther's shirt tightened around him suddenly, triggering an orgasmic seizure as his entire body swelled explosively and his cock surged in his underwear. Gunther saw his chest rising and falling; only it never fell back as far as it rose. Two heaving moulds of muscle filled out the front of his shirt like chiselled slabs of meat. The shirt tightened further as his shoulders expanded and his lats blew out behind him.

"Aww fuck yeah! Grow! Grow!"

His arms were next. Gunther growled as muscle fibres exploded from his toned arms, they felt so fucking awesome, so fucking strong! He could see the shape of his bulging biceps, triceps and forearms surging through the fabric as the stims took effect. Opening and closing his fists made the muscles jump, visible under the sleeve.

"Oh YES!! More! MORE!"

His boots almost hurt as his legs caught up with his upper body. His trousers filled up so dramatically Gunther had to adjust his footing to avoid falling over; the pants legs were so fucking tight, so painfully constricting the monstrous quads that were growing underneath. That was when the Gunther's hands remembered their function and reached out to admire his temporary new strength. Somehow, groping his own rippling pecs, feeling his own striated glutes, and admiring his developed six-pack somehow made it sink it. And that realisation got him an instant full blown erection. Gunther's knees buckled under the awesome sensation and he fell on his rippling ass muscles, he was harder than he had ever been. No he wasn't just harder, he was bigger! Longer! Larger! And even now he could feel it growing, thickening against his underwear, the sensitive head spewing out globs of precum as it fought against his clothing.

Clothing. Oh god he felt so fucking hot in this tight shirt. A moment was spent trying to relieve himself of his tight garments, but soon something inside Gunther snapped, and he found himself ripping his khaki shirt in a bid to get it off his rippling muscles. The pants were trickier due to the boots, so he simply shredded them and threw the fabric into the air. That was when he looked down, and saw a fucking monster in his underwear. Gunther flexed an inner muscle to move it, and nine inches of solid musclecock shoved against his maddeningly tight undies, causing an electrical explosion in his nerve receptors. He did it again, and his elbows gave way, leaving him sprawled on the floor naked save for a monstrous tentage and boots.

"Ohh god yes!" Gunther moaned as he thrust his cock into the air, rubbing it against his underwear until the fabric wrenched his orgasm straight from his swollen balls.

"OHH FUCK! YES! OH GOD YES! YES!"

Gunther arced away from the floor as his climax exploded through the stretched fabric like a volcanic eruption. Load upon load of hot, sweet jism shot out, drenching his veiny shaft and soaking his underwear, several more powerful shots even made it onto his abs. Gunther simply immersed himself in his euphoria, cumming and cumming until his orgasm subsided and his body relaxed.

Then memories of the mission rushed back into his head, as if filling a void left by his orgasm. Gunther's eyes snapped open and he threw himself onto his feet, fuck, he could have screwed up the operation by now. A quick glance at the cloak outside the lavatory relieved him slightly; he still had 15 minutes to meet up with the boys so they could snatch the goods and drag it to the incoming dropship.

Man he was still so fucking hard and horny! 15 minutes was a long time. Gunther fought a private war in his head. His rock hard cock was demanding his attention, perhaps he could whack off again before meeting the boys? But he was in danger of being late! Fucking hell! He wanted to lift something, to feel his own strength! He wanted to press his cock between his six-pack and a wall and whack off like that.

Gunther shook his head to steel his thoughts. No, the mission had to come first.

And so Gunther, buff, horny, and pink, threw himself and his raging hardon from the lavatory and sped to his comrades.

***

Private Gabe Yates had nearly panicked when klaxons started to wail all over the place. Then explosions had gone off and he really panicked. Yates had only signed on into the Haclyon Marines due to the fat credit bonuses that were given out to entice citizens to enlist against the bloodthirsty terrorist group from the planet Umagon, and thus had been extremely satisfied when they were assigned the task to protect an installation so close to the home world. Surely the rebels wouldn't dare mount a raid this close to the mighty planet of Haclyon.

Lieutenant Wright crashed into the mess hall just as another explosion exploded somewhere and began barking orders. Good god the Lieutenant was hot! He reminded Yates of the old time action classics preserved from Old Earth, where muscular, shirtless soldiers charged into combat oozing testosterone and masculinity.

"BROCK! ANDREWS! HARNACK! YATES!" Yates snapped to attention at the mention of his name, "STATIS CHAMBER 7. NOW! THE REST OF YOU, WITH ME! MOVE!"

Thankfully, training overwrote Yate's panic and the small squad, led by Sergeant Brock, seized their weapons and sped down one of the undamaged hallways, their steel toed leather boots thumping against the hallway as they ran.

"Yo Sarge!" called Andrews as they turned a corner, "What's going on? We being attacked?"

"No shit we're being attacked Andrews!" snapped Brock, just as another explosion went off somewhere, "Now listen up, the stasis chamber is just around the next corner, I want you and Harnack to secure the hallways while Yates and I enter, then we'll cover your asses and you two come in. Got me boys?"

"YES SAR-"

The quartet skidded around the corner, and came face to face with a trio of men covered with assorted military armour and hardware. Rebels.

"FIRE AT WILL BOYS! FIRE!" Sergeant Brock screamed as he proceeded to unload his first magazines. Yates did just that, bringing his rifle up and filled the closest rebel with so much lead he was dead before he even hit the floor.

Their tiny squad had the element of surprise, and easily dispatched the rebels, two of whom were not even holding their guns. Sergeant Brock produced a card from somewhere and swiped it though the bloody card reader, there was a soft 'blip' and the hatchway opened. Soon enough, Harnack and Andrews had their weapons trained on the hallway while Yates accompanied his squad leader into Stasis Chamber 7.

An uneasy stillness settled over Yates as he entered the chamber. The room itself was small, cold, and covered with computers and strange machinery. Illumination came from a large cylindrical tank build into the wall, the tank itself was filled with a strange blue liquid and there seemed to be... something inside.

Or some one.

"Holy... shit." The exclamation came from Sergeant Brock, who had taken a step closer to examine the figure in the stasis tank.

Yates followed, and soon the pair had their sights upon the biggest bodybuilder either of them had ever seen. The figure dwarfed even the mighty Lieutenant Wright in just about everything, mass, height, definition, raw sex appeal, et cetera. Yates was a hopeless muscle worshipper, but this blew all his previous fantasies out of the water.

He was the wet dream of a wet dream, personified. Well over six feet tall, probably six eight if he guessed right, muscles everywhere, lean, powerful, gorgeous face, and an endowment that would take Yates's ability to walk. The wolf was asleep in the strange liquid; an oxygen mask that was connected to the top of the tank was clasped onto his face. There was another tube coming from the top of the tank, this one stretched all the way down to that massive, flaccid cock, seemingly suctioned onto the head. Flowing north of the spectacular endowment was a slim waist that held a twin column of ab muscles that took his breath away. Yate's couldn't help notice this guy had an eight pack, whereas Lieutenant Wright only had six. Above that fantastic waist, the bodybuilder's lats flared out like the wings of a manta ray. And those pecs! Oh god Yates could feel his knees weakening, they were so powerfully muscled and striated and rippled and meaty that they had pushed his nipples downward. They were so mesmerising Yates failed to see that the more-than-forty-inches-across shoulders lead to bugling, destroyer like arms that were probably twenty two inches around, nor the thick, bulging traps that supported a thick, muscular neck. The prisoner had strong, chiselled, manly features topped off with a head of blond gold. His hair was short at the sides and longer at the top, and hung oh so casually in the blue liquid.

They must have stood there for a minute, completely enthralled by the gorgeous hulk floating serenely in the blue tank. And then there was a terrible cry of pain, followed by an angry road, and then the unmistakeable sound of gunfire.

"SHIT!" Brock roared, spinning around and dashing toward the open doorway, "YATES! COME!"

Yates hastened to obey, only to be thrown off his feet as another explosion went off somewhere and landing painfully behind one of the computer terminals. He heard Brock recovering first and the sound of his boots thundering across the metal floor. The sound stopped abruptly, as if he had stopped to avoid colliding into someone. And then Brock spoke.

"You! What the fu-"

There was a soft whooshing sound, followed by the terrible crack of Brock's body armour breaking in two. Yates felt his face go white as Brock's limp body was tossed back the way it came, crashing against the wall and crumpling onto a heap on the floor.

Yates screamed as he threw himself from the floor and brought his weapon up, "Freeze!"

There was no one there.

Yates blinked, and then blinked again. There was no one there. Impossible! What the hell was going on?! Yates brought his weapon around and swept the room once, then twice. No one. Relaxing, he brought his weapon down, maybe whoever attacked Sergeant Brock failed to notice him and left. Yes that sounded logical, he should check on his squad leader. Yates relaxed, and turned around.

Only to stare, in horror, into the feral grin of a very buff, nearly naked, and extremely pink-haired Gunther the intern.

"You!" he cried.

The feral grin widened, "Yes, me."

There was a blur of moment, and Private Yates knew no more.