Sculptor Masseuse

**The Sculptor’s Touch**

I had worked on plenty of athletes before, but none quite like Adrian. He lay stretched out on my massage table, the golden glow of his skin illuminated by the soft light of the room. His body was a masterpiece of hard-earned power—long, sinewy limbs carved from years of brutal training, his muscles sharp and defined like a marble statue chiseled to perfection.

I warmed the massage oil between my palms, the scent of eucalyptus rising into the air. As I smoothed my hands over his broad shoulders, I felt the fine tremor of tension in his body, the coiled stiffness of muscles pushed past their limit. His trapezius was like thick ropes knotted under his skin, dense and unyielding beneath my touch.

I pressed my thumbs in deeply, working slow, firm circles to loosen the fibers. Then, I felt it—his muscles shifting, expanding. The broad slope of his shoulders grew beneath my fingers, rounding out, becoming fuller, heavier. It was subtle at first, almost imperceptible, but then Adrian let out a deep, unguarded moan, and I saw it clearly—his body was growing.

"Ahh—" His breath hitched, a mix of relief and something deeper, more primal. He gripped the edge of the table, his fingers digging into the padded surface.

My breath caught in my throat. I wasn’t imagining it. His deltoids swelled, the perfect caps rounding out his upper arms, their definition sharpening like they were being sculpted in real-time. His traps, once tense and wiry, smoothed into thick ridges, his entire upper back widening beneath my touch.

“Jesus, Adrian…” I whispered, mesmerized.

He let out a low, satisfied groan. “God, that feels incredible…” His voice was deeper now, huskier.

I ran my hands down his back, gliding the oil along his lats. They flared under my touch, broadening, the once-streamlined V-shape of his torso thickening into something more powerful, more commanding. His skin was hot beneath my hands, as if his body was burning with new strength. I could feel every fiber of him tightening, expanding, sculpting itself into something beyond human.

Moving lower, I traced the deep grooves of his erector spinae, the twin ridges along his spine hardening under my fingers. His entire back was changing, every muscle responding like clay being shaped beneath an artist’s hands.

And then, my hands reached his glutes.

They were already firm—taut and sculpted from years of training—but as I kneaded into the deep muscle, they surged under my grip. The swell of them became fuller, rounder, thick muscle expanding with each slow, deliberate press of my palms. Adrian moaned again, his hips shifting slightly against the table, his body adjusting to the new weight of himself.

"Holy shit," he muttered, his voice dripping with pleasure and disbelief.

I bit my lip, trying to stay focused as I worked the oil into his hamstrings, feeling them lengthen and harden beneath my hands. His quads, already powerful, thickened into deep, striated columns of muscle, pressing against the table as if they were outgrowing the very space they occupied.

Everywhere I touched, he grew.

His calves bulged, the diamond-shaped gastrocnemius muscle becoming more pronounced with each stroke. His forearms swelled under my kneading fingers, the veins rising against his golden skin like rivers branching across a landscape.

Adrian groaned again, his breath shuddering. "I can feel it," he whispered. "Every stroke… it’s like you're molding me into something new."

I exhaled shakily, watching in awe as his entire body pulsed with raw, growing power beneath my hands. I didn’t know how or why this was happening, but as Adrian’s fingers clenched and his chest rose with each ragged breath, I knew one thing—he was loving every second of it.