Joan's Morning Routine

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Joan Pradells groaned softly, stirring in bed like a mountain of muscle. At 5’11” and weighing about 500 pounds, every ounce of his weight was pure, overly inflated muscle. The bodybuilding world had long declared him unclassifiable—no category to fit him into, leading him to pursue his true dream, his obsession: to become a wall of muscle mass, thickness, and size; to grow beyond any possible limits.

Even in sleep, Joan’s body seemed to grow—each muscle group fighting for space and pressing outward in defiance of anatomical limits.

Lying on his back, his chest slowly rose and fell. His pectorals were gigantic—two hyper-developed slabs of muscle that towered over his collarbone, pressing into the bottom of his jaw and pushing his head slightly back, with the word “obsessive” tattooed on the left one. They cast shadows over his slightly distended abs, accentuating the shape of each block of muscle and the slight curve of his middle.

His lats flared beneath him like the armored wings of a mythical beast, raising his torso off the mattress. His arms couldn’t lie at his sides; they floated outward instead, supported by the immense width of his musculature. His triceps had grown so swollen and rounded that they fought for space against his back and delts. His biceps looked flexed even when resting passively, connected to thickened forearms, and showcasing oversized peaks adorned with a map of veins.

His boxer briefs clung to him like a second skin. The fabric outlined the staggering size of his cock—thick and heavy even at rest, draped downward, straining the fabric almost to the bursting point. His balls were round and plump, like oversized plums, visibly pushing outward against the front. Lower down, the material was drawn tight around his thighs, which were nearly as thick as barrels, pressed so close together they barely allowed space for light between them.

His butt was another feat of containment. Each cheek pushed outward like a massive ball of flesh, round and unnaturally dense. The briefs attempted to cradle them, but the overmatched fabric rode into the crevice between them, caught between two marble boulders. The slightest shift in his posture caused his ass to jiggle subtly, making it look juicy and delicious.

He grunted as he blinked open his eyes. “Unnnh... morning, big guy,” he whispered to himself as a cocky smile appeared on his lips.

He tilted his neck as much as his traps and pecs allowed and attempted to sit up. The bed immediately protested. First, he pushed down with his elbows against the mattress, making his arms ripple with inhumanly thick muscle. His triceps flared like stacked ridges of granite. His biceps swelled, exploding into enormous peaks stretching his skin as he slowly pushed himself into a half-sitting position. He was too heavy, too thick with meat, to do it quickly.

His pecs bunched and jiggled as he leaned forward, then he brought one massive thigh upward. The limb alone looked like a regular-sized person’s torso, and moving it took coordination and focus. Finally, with a series of deep breaths and a flex of his ass, he managed to swing his legs over the edge of the bed. He paused to look at his reflection in the full-body mirror across the room.

Joan smirked. “Still the biggest freak in town,” he said with a wink to his reflection. His pecs bounced slightly from the shift in posture. He flexed one bicep, watching it rise like an overinflated balloon.

The sight was incredible, but it was time to get up. Joan stood, with a grunt and a flex of every major muscle group. His quads ballooned outward, forcing his legs into a slightly spread stance. The boxer briefs strained even more around the immensity of his butt and manhood, softly creaking at the seams with each movement.

He waddled to the bathroom. But before stepping into the oversized walk-in shower, he reached for the waistband of his briefs. It took a moment of tugging, but he finally removed the fabric, revealing his naked form in all its monstrous glory.

“Whew... gonna need to get a bigger pair,” he chuckled.

Joan stepped into the shower, which barely contained him, even with the extra space. The tiled walls framed him like a colossus squeezed into a glass case. He turned the water on and moaned as it coursed down the deep crevices of his chest, flowing like rivers through a stone canyon.

He reached for one of the pump soap bottles and loaded up his long-handled sponge, beginning with his neck and shoulders. Lathering himself required calculated movements, as every square inch of skin hid behind mountains of muscle that fought for dominance. When he reached under his pecs, he winced. That lower region had become tender lately with so much mass packed tightly.

“Ooof, easy there,” he moaned, gently scrubbing beneath the shelf of his chest, careful around the swollen underside.

Then, scrubbing his back took a multi-stage plan. First, he turned sideways, twisting his torso until his traps rippled like coiled cables. He pressed against the wall-mounted loofah panel, grinding slowly back and forth with awkward precision. Even that required pauses and made him grunt.

Then, getting between his ass cheeks was another challenge. He retrieved a silicone wand from a shelf and skillfully maneuvered it, pressing the length between the cheeks with a huff. He couldn’t help but moan loudly at the sensation. It wasn’t ideal to clean himself like that, but his size made it necessary. Deep down, he thought it looked more like he was fucking himself with a soapy dildo, but it worked—and was indeed intoxicatingly pleasurable.

His swollen balls had become another challenge. Walking caused them to sway heavily, so he gave them careful, soapy attention under the hot stream. The softball-sized orbs were too sensitive to rush, so he couldn’t help but moan loudly at the slightest touch. They were plump with cum—it sloshed inside, making the touch even more exciting.

He gently cupped and lifted them, grinning proudly. “I’m still growing down there, huh? Can’t leave you out.”

Then, his cock stirred in reaction to the warm water and his touch. Joan smirked but exhaled heavily through his nose, feeling the thick shaft swell to its 14-inch length. He leaned forward slightly, bracing one massive forearm against the tile while his other hand slid slowly down.

“Alright, big guy, you better calm down before I try to sneak into clothes,” he said, wrapping his hand around the girthy base of his cock as much as he could since his fingers didn’t meet around it.

His hand met the pulse of his cock, and he gave it a firm stroke, forcing a low grunt from deep in his chest. The friction, even against his soapy hand, was exquisite. His swollen balls bobbed with each movement, and their weight tugged downward, demanding release.

Joan’s breath quickened. His pecs heaved and flexed with each rhythmic movement. His thighs shifted for balance as his strokes grew faster. His hips bucked instinctively against his hand. “Nnngh... c’mon! I need to cum so bad!” He said, closing his eyes and tightening his jaw.

The buildup was fast. With a final series of quick, desperate strokes, Joan’s body tensed all at once, every muscle contracted in unison, and his cock throbbed, spasming in his grip. He groaned loudly as thick ropes of cum erupted from the tip, splattering against the tile wall in forceful bursts—more than he thought was possible. Joan’s knees buckled slightly as he gasped for air, and his free hand gripped the wall to stay upright.

He kept cumming for what felt like an eternity, until finally, with one last twitch, his body began to ease. He leaned against the wall, panting, letting the water wash it all away.

“Whew… I needed that,” Joan said as his lips curled into a lopsided grin.

Joan returned to the bedroom after nearly twenty minutes of careful maneuvering, rinsing, and drying with two oversized towels. He opened the drawer of boxer briefs. He sat on a reinforced bench near his bed, bending enough to step into the leg hole, and making his abs ripple and compress beneath the crush of his pecs.

He slipped one foot in, then the other, and pulled the fabric upward. The briefs clung to his body and refused to budge. He leaned back slightly, letting gravity help, and began to rock gently from side to side, using the sway to inch them higher.

His quads resisted every inch. “C’mon! Let’s cooperate this morning,” he said, chuckling.

Then came the most challenging part: hoisting them over the horizon of his butt. Joan stood and leaned forward, shifting his stance wide to allow his thighs more space. He grabbed the waistband with both hands and firmly tugged, alternating sides. After each pull came a bounce of his massive ass, which jiggled before settling back into their granite firmness.

When the waistband finally cleared the shelf of his butt, the briefs snapped into place with a muffled pop. The fabric outlined every detail of his cock, hugging it tightly against his body, and cupping his tender balls with the supportive contour of the pouch.

“And they said I couldn’t get bigger,” he said, looking at his reflection again and giving his pecs a solid smack, which barely made them wobble. His cock twitched from the jostle, but he ignored it with a smirk.

Next, the shorts. Joan picked a mint-green pair from a chair. The waistband stretched like it was resisting its fate. He stepped in, bracing on the dresser for balance. Getting the shorts over his calves and quads was one thing—getting them past his ass was another. He bent again, grunting and lifting one cheek at a time while tugging the fabric higher, inch by slow inch. The shorts bunched and creaked with strain as they climbed the impossible terrain of his backside. The seam down the middle felt like it might split at any moment.

“Almost there. You can do it,” Joan whispered to the fabric like a coach to an athlete. With one final yank, the waistband snapped into place. The shorts molded to his frame, showcasing every swell, every groove, and every hard-earned inch of his lower body.

He turned around and checked himself in the mirror, biting his lower lip and nodding slowly. “Yeah. I look great. Now, let’s feed the beast,” he said, heading for the kitchen.

Joan waddled due to the width of his thighs. The fridge groaned when he opened it to get the ingredients for his hearty breakfast. He cracked a dozen eggs, barely pausing, then tossed in sausage patties, four slices of rye, two scoops of protein powder in a blender, and a small mountain of grilled veggies. As he moved around the kitchen, his muscles occasionally bumped against furniture, making him laugh.

Joan flipped patties at the stove as his immense pecs jiggled from the motion. His forearms looked like tree trunks under tension as he gripped the spatula. The smells of sizzling meat filled the air.

“Bigger than yesterday,” he said, absently flexing one pec. “But not as big as tomorrow. I have to eat big to get bigger,” he added, grinning as his eyes sparkled with dumb, happy pride. Today would be another day of fuel, flexing, and gaining mass.

********

Scenario based on a muscle morph I did of Joan Pradells.