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Ursa Major

By Luther

Orson stood outside the gym, overlooking the parking lot. He could easily find his car, it was one of the two or three left. He was always was one to visit late at night, the bear enjoyed being able to work out in relative peace. Now he had just finished another, the neon glow of the gym's sign bathed him and the cool night air was brisk against his freshly excited body. Muscles still ached but, to his dismay, were still unremarkable.

This particular ursine fellow had been going to the gym regularly for quite some time yet didn't see the progress he'd want. Not to say he would give up, however. That was not the kind of bear Orson was. But still, bears were supposed to be big, right? That's what he had thought and sought to correct the problem of his un-bigness.

On his way through his lonely walk back to the car, he looked up and saw the Ursa Major, the Great Bear. He laughed a little at the appropriateness. In the past, Orson had counted on it for inspiration and one day hoped to achieve its namesake as well. So far there was no such luck. But in his post-exercise stupor, his mind went to more whimsical places and found the will to humor such forces. Why not?

"I've been working hard, you know that much," he spoke directly to the constellation. "It would be nice to be as great as you." He thought for a moment before thinking to add: "please?"

He waited. Nothing happened. The bear chastised himself for such silliness and fished the keys from the pocket of his shorts. In a few moments, he was behind the wheel and headed back home on a normally uneventful drive. But of course, this one couldn't be uneventful, could it?

It was difficult to say exactly when it started but he began to notice it when things began to grow ill-fitting on him. The seatbelt started to dig into the fur on his neck a little more than usual. A quick readjustment and it was gone, for now. Soon knees and elbows seemed to run short of space. Just about everything felt more . . . compact to him. It was hard to describe. He tried to fix things as he could but, unwilling to take his eyes off the road, he didn't investigate much further.

About halfway on his trek, his fingers began to do more than touch on the wheel, they were overlapping more and more. That was what he couldn't deny, what he clearly saw in front of his face was a pair of paws too large to be his -and yet they were!

That was an eye-widener. He had to pull over, finding a wide shoulder of the road to do so and find out exactly what the hell was happening. He unfastened the belt and got out. Something of his snagged on the door frame, perhaps around the safety-lock. He felt his already tight shirt grow rapidly moreso, being pulled behind him. A loud ripping sound perked his rounded little ears but he reacted too late to save it. The bottom of his work shirt tore right off, leaving a great tattered piece trailing behind him. He went to grab it up when, once again, he was reminded of his larger paws that only fumbled over each other.

Then he saw himself. All of himself.

His relatively normal mind first tried to look at all the extra mass it saw and think "fat" but that just wasn't so. The evidence against that hypothesis quickly stacked against it until his brain had to accept what was happening.

What he saw exposed was astounding. In the moonlight and streetlamps he could see how much thicker he had inexplicably become. His paws rushed to tough his bare bear flesh, feeling the very solid and very hard wall of sinew beneath his thick fur. Definite and pronounced abdominal muscles were what he found there, riding like rolls baking, like rocks from the swell of a wave receding.

"Holy shit!" he cried aloud. "Is this me?"

His arms grabbed his attention next. Unable to describe them as anything other than 'burly', he grabbed at a bicep, even as it began to stress and strain the elastic knit of the shirt sleeve. His paws were huge, like small dinner plates with digits attached, and even they couldn't wrap around his arms. They didn't even come close! And with his paw clasped around it so, he could feel the corded muscle expanding beneath it.

He didn't just grow. He was still growing!

So many thoughts flashed through his head at once. Among them that he was crazy or had just fallen asleep on one of the machines back at the gym and this was all a dream. Then it was back to the constellation above, the answer being up there the whole time.

"No way. No fuckin' way!" he said in dismay, yet wearing a grin from ear to ear. It was too good to be true, yet everything screamed at him that this was actually happening. No pinch or slap could wake him from a dream that wasn't happening and every moment that passed added more and more mass to his growing frame.

He turned and looked over his car to the other side of the road, he looked down on the roof of his car. He was growing taller, wider, and thicker -in every direction. Yet his new height couldn't even out his proportions to what they were before and he wouldn't want it to. He was growing into something beastly and a deep-seated part of him loved it. His slab-like pectorals began to jut forward, a thick tuft of hair sprang out between them, standing above the rest of his fur.

Something akin to testosterone flooded his system and made him shake, making him feel flush yet alive with wondrous feeling! He so politely asked to be as great as the Great Bear. It would appear that was in more than one way.

Another copse of long fur came into being in a trail along his stomach, encircling his navel in a small forest before disappearing under the waistline of the shorts he still fought with. The bear's peripheral vision now included the tops of his chest muscle and, should he turn his head ever so slightly, his vastly broadened shoulders as well. As a bear, he was used to being a bit shaggy and it didn't at all phase him. It was an aspect he gladly welcomed and urged the remaining buttons on his upper shirt to pop off so that the mountainous musculature beneath would be revealed. Something this great should be neither contained nor hidden!

Strong talon-like claws punctured the fronts of his shoes like tissue paper, paving the way for his massive foot-paws to burst from them. Orson relished the feel of cool asphalt on his wide paws, shifting them this was and that as he struggled to find the ever-changing center of gravity. Orson kicked away the remains of shoe along with what pitiful scraps were left of his shirt. It was symbolism, maybe, or just as simple as trying to get them out of the way. He stumbled, arms flew out to catch himself and found himself against the car, leaning his weight against it. The vehicle gave a tortured groan of metal on metal, tilting dramatically under his touch and he quickly released it to rock and teeter abruptly back into position.

The pounding adrenaline, the rush of his quickening pulse and panting all worked him into a fervor. The bear's body grunted and groaned as he grew, some of the sound coming from his throat and some seemingly from the muscles themselves as they strained to make more room. More tearing broke the silence of the otherwise quiet night at the side of the road. There was yet one article of clothing that still stubbornly clung to his immensely thick legs.

"Ah, my shorts!" he exclaimed. The elastic waist was surrendering and breaking down, the rest quickly following suit. He actually was quite attached to that pair. He had already gotten those on sale, now they were more than half off!

He also got to hear his voice again. It was deeper now and surprised him with its pitch and timbre. He gasped and a hand went to cover his mouth reflexively, finding something new and sharp. His incisors had projected forward, exaggerating themselves to fang-like proportions, hugging a pair of wide and smiling lips.

With such a dramatic transformation, his focus kept being seized from one thing to another. It shifted back to his crotch, an easy thing to do now considering how great a bulge and pressure was forming there! At last, the front of his shorts exploded, unable to protest any longer. The zipper split like a tired seam and out leapt his more-than-overly generous cock, still soft and yet orders larger than he used to be hard. It was like a third leg, literally swinging free, bobbing and bouncing against a pair of billowing furred orbs before emerging fully and discarding what was left of the shorts. His swelling bearhood was so great that he'd need both hands to heft a single furry ball. He knew because he did just that, savoring exactly how heavy it was, pressing the turgid meat that was his pride between his washboard stomach and the gurgling pillows he held. The overly fat cockhead began to leak excitement, oozing out into the world in a thinly disguised analogy of his own overflowing joy.

As the ruined pair of shorts fell around his feet, they slid over a stately, wide rump that would appear to be chiseled from stone were it not covered in thick bear fur. No clothing could hope to handle such manhood let alone an ass of that fantastic magnitude!

Questing and curious hands went behind to pay homage to his newly reformed buttocks. His fingertips pressed inward but could hardly dig themselves into the incredibly firmness that was his ass. As he continued reaching back to grasp himself, the bear could feel the compounding muscle on his sides, under his arms, trying to push his arms' range of motion forward and pry them away. Eventually he relented to his own power and felt the veins push against his fur as he moved them back, huge things meant to feed and nourish such an incredible body.

From such a simple thing as movement he felt the thick fur move between his legs, his arms, along the ridges of his neck in coarse fashion. It was a perfect complement to his rough and sturdy build. He found himself grunting once more, an involuntary reaction, as fresh muscle bunched up around his shoulders, the fronts of his legs, his calves expanding fantastically to add to his collective thew.

The bear was past becoming a powerhouse, Orson was something else entirely now: the envy and monstrous dream of those who fantasize of wonderfully ludicrous musculature and strength. His skin felt pleasantly tight, maintaining just the hint of tautness but no matter how big he got. It was exactly how he imagined it felt, every action was deliberate and greeted him with a plethora of sensation. Bands of muscle crept over itself, tingled here, felt almost like rubber there, springy resistance wherever he or anything else pushed against his own body.

Returning to the present, he couldn't ignore that he felt more than big. Huge? Enormous? Powerful? Brobdingnagian? All of these words were too small and too weak to give what he felt justice. He was no cow yet packed far more beef than any bull he had ever seen. He was no horse but held more of an undercarriage than any mere stallion would hope to have.

He was simply Orson . . . and he stood above as a bear among bears, proudly violating dress codes and obscenity laws alike with the kind of bulk that may well leave people too flabbergasted or distracted to enforce them.

He looked down at himself, down at everything around him. Even with this much to brag and be proud of, whatever force that was responsible just kept feeding his body more and more. The bear's hyper-developed body literally quivered as it constantly became even greater in scope. Now in the nude, he dared to grant himself a teasing flex, just to taste what he carried with him. He tensed an arm, it bulged almost obscenely, chest and stomach followed and rippled in sheer beauty and, though he couldn't see it, he was certain his back had obtained a similar sublimity by the feel of how each group of muscles rolled against one another as he moved. And as he moved, he felt himself making the car shake a little, hearing a glass bottle shake in the cup-holder through the open window. He managed to impress himself once again!

It was everything he wanted and then some. Time passed and his growth slowed to a stop. The after moments were filled with deep and excited breaths, watching his new massive chest heave in front of him. Slowly, realism began to don upon him again and he looked to the cabin of his car, then to himself, and finally back to his car.

It looked like trying to force the square peg into a round hole or, more appropriately, a huge round peg into a smaller, tight hole. Nope, nothing sexual about that. He found that he had trouble escaping such randy thoughts. Perhaps it was an effect of the extreme change he had just undergone or mayhap it just came with the territory.

"And more importantly," he said aloud in his new gruff and orotund voice ". . . how the hell am I gonna get home?" Possibly this presented a new problem but it was a small price to pay for getting what he wanted.