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This is my first story. I like to think that my writing gets better as the story unfolds. Of course there are always misses and hits, but please continue to read, and give me your feedback. Authors live for your feedback. The Wall I’m a successful Wall Street executive. My life is good. In fact, sometimes I think it is too good. I don't complain. My office is in the city, and I have a nice home on Long Island from which I commute to work every day. My work days are long and sometimes stressful, but I enjoy the challenges, and I decompress by obsessively working out in the gym and working in my garden. The garden is beautiful, but I always thought that it was lacking a few defining structures; so, when the idea hit me that a beautiful stone wall would create the backdrop it deserved, I hired a reputable landscape contractor who could make my ideas into reality. I was so excited. Monday was to be the start of the new wall project, and I had been thinking of little else for weeks. Unfortunately, the garden, where usually I love to entertain, was about to become a construction zone. So, the weekend before, I decided to invite my friends John and Ernie over for lunch by the pool and an afternoon swim. They accepted and had asked if they could bring couple of their friends along that they thought I would enjoy. You see, John and Ernie are toned and attractive enough, but they know I what really like is muscle -- lots of it. I get off on big, beefy, masculine men - physical men who enjoy rough housing and showing off. Nothing turns me on like a big man who’s willing to rip off his shirt, wrestle me into a bear hug and show me that he’s at least a strong as me. I work out a lot myself, and at 6’2” and 245 lbs, I make a worthy competitor. I like feeling the strength of other men, and I love being tested and felt up and appreciated by big men even more. I had left a note on the front door for Ernie and John and their friends to let themselves in and meet me on the terrace by the pool. They arrived single file down the garden path - first John with a big hug and a whistle, and then Ernie with pat on my rump and a tousle of my hair. Then, Ernie made his hands into fists and started pounding on my pecs. “Someone’s been working out!” Another whistle. Then with a squeeze, “You’re gonna need a binder for these things if they get any bigger, Max.” Then Ernie doubled back for grope of my arm and said, “Oh wow! I can’t get my hands around it. You may be getting too big, or is there such a thing?” Now Ernie and John know I love a little admiration and that I don’t really have a limit for too big; so, I knew they were up to something when they started fawning over me and teasing. I also know that Ernie and John are aware that throwing a little admiration my way goes straight to my dick, and I was just starting to chub up a bit when their two friend showed up next, sending me straight to full mast steel in seconds flat. John said, “Maxie, if you’re not careful, you may get as big as our friends Eric and Lars here.” Gulp... “Max, meet Eric and Lars. Boys, this is our host Max.” Oh my God. Two men of my dreams, Eric and Lars were big and tall and looked like superheroes in shorts and polo shirts. Eric was fair skinned and dark haired, and Lars was golden all over – hair, skin and eyes - like a lion. I was slack jawed and salivating, and they looked pretty hungry for me as well. With a firm squeeze of my rump Ernie said, “Well, isn’t anybody going to say anything? Hellowwww? Gentlemen…?” Knocking on the top of my head, “Hellowwww... Is anybody in home? ... Earth to Max!” Startled back into civility, I offered my greeting to both Eric and Lars, and we said our polite hellos while continuing to survey each other’s physiques like hungry wolves eyeing fatted lambs (or in our case, like other hungry wolves. I couldn’t stop staring, and I couldn’t seem to maneuver my hardon into a less obvious position. It was straight up, hard as a rock and going nowhere. The attraction was so strong, that I think it was actually uncomfortable for Ernie and John, although, Ernie could always come up with a quip or a bitchy remark to lighten the tone. “OMG, you three! get a room! Or should I just jerk you off right here so we can get that lunch we were invited for today. AND DRINKS! I'm sure we were promised DRINKS!” Then nodding to the iced pitcher by the grill, “Maxie, my dear, get it in gear. Those margaritas are not going to serve themselves!” Long story short, the afternoon was fantastic. Besides being absolutely gorgeous hunks of prime muscle beef, Eric and Lars were also interesting and witty and delightful. They were just so damn sexy that I couldn’t stop staring and fantasizing. Every hearty laugh expanded a massive chest. Every lift of a fork flexed bulging biceps. A twist and stretch near the end of the meal made Eric’s shirt rise up above his navel, exposing the base of a rippling 6 pack. I stayed hard for 2 hours. When lunch was through, I offered the pool to my guests and indicated a changing room just off the deck. Eric and Lars acknowledged acceptance with a nod and set off to get changed, but John and Ernie declined, saying that they had eaten and drunk too much and needed a nap instead and would just head home early if I didn’t mind entertaining Eric and Lars for the afternoon. John gave me a wink and a peck on the cheek, while Ernie just groped me in the crotch and said, “I’m sure you three can find something fun to do without us,” and then, “I hear Lars is quite flexible.” A few minutes later, Eric and Lars emerged from the pool house, and I didn’t know if I would pass out right there or just cum in my shorts. My God, those boys could fill out their speedos. And talk about perfection, each in his own way the definition of what manliness should be. Eric was fair with a swirling pattern of dark hair on his chest, a defined trail down the middle of his abdomen, with more abundant hair over his thickly muscled legs. Lars was golden all over, with honey colored skin and a light dusting of golden hair all over his chest, forearms and legs that shimmered in the sunlight, making him look like a salted caramel ready to be sampled. Both of them were hugely built. Eric had absolutely enormous legs, butt, back and arms. Lars had the biggest pecs hanging over the tightest abs and most defined atlas belt I had ever seen. I was slack jawed, and they were all grins. I think Ernie and John must have alerted them ahead of the game that they could have some fun with me, and when they dropped their towels on the chaises and started rubbing suntan oil onto each other, then I had to get in on the action. I walked over, and Lars started flexing his pecs, bouncing the huge slabs up and down and saying, “Hey, Eric, have you noticed how Max can’t stop staring at my pecs. I think he might be a chest man. What do you say, Max? Do you want to help Eric put some sunscreen on my chest?” Before I could reply, Eric said, “No, Lars, I think he’s an arm man. Look how his dick twitches in his pants when I flex like this.” Eric flexed a huge arm in front of my face, and true to form, my dick twitched and pumped out some precum that made a wet spot on the front of my shorts. Lars then said, “You know, I think John and Ernie said that more than anything else, Max would like to flex for us. I could definitely go for that. Why don’t we get him out of those clothes and see what he’s got. From the tent in the front of his shorts, I don’t think we’ll be disappointed.” Eric then grabbed my shirt by the hem and pulled it up over my head while Lars unbuttoned/unzipped my shorts and pulled them to my feet. It happened so fast I could hardly react, but my dick responded, all nine inches of it, throbbing straight up toward my pecs and leaking copious precum as my guests made their inspections. Eric let out a low whistle and moved close behind me, pushing his own hardon up against my butt while reaching around me to rub sunscreen onto my chest and shoulders. “Hey, Lars, his chest is almost as big as yours, but I think you should get closer so that we can more easily compare.” Lars nuzzled up front, grinding his still speedo-covered erection into my hardon while flexing his pecs and his abs. “Hey Eric, he does have an amazing rack, but I think I’ve still got him beat. What about his arms? They look pretty big. Why don’t you each flex a biceps for me so I can decide who’s is bigger?” Eric’s right arm appeared in my peripheral vision and flexed into an enormous peak just beside my right cheek. I couldn’t help but turn my head and begin licking it, and I thought I might cum right then. Lars interrupted, “No! No! No! Do not cum yet. You may not cum until the comparison is through. Okay, Max, flex that big arm for me and let me see how yours feels compared to Eric’s.” I flexed with all my might, turned on like I had never been before and somehow willing myself not to come until permitted. “Oh, man, Max, your arm is as big as Eric’s, but I think his peak is still higher." My dick was shuddering like crazy, and the precum was leaking in a continuous stream. "Yeh, big man, you and Eric are close in the arm department, but his back and ass are like nothing you’ve ever seen and can't be beat by anyone. Turn around, and Eric can drop his trunks and you’ll see what I mean.” With that, still sandwiched between the two musclemen, I turned around and then watched as Eric took a step back, turned around and raised his arms into a double biceps. My hands were instinctively all over his arms and shoulders, and my cock was shuddering but somehow still under control. “Rear lat spread,” commanded Lars, and Eric complied, lowering his fists to his waist and forcing the wings of his back to spread as wide as any back I had ever seen. Then, while Eric was still flexing, Lars reached around and pulled Eric’s speedo to the ground. That ass was magnificent. High, tight and covered with a light dusting of hair. As Eric shifted weight from one foot to the other, the landscape of his gluteus muscles flexed and rolled. I could see some glistening sweat and a tuft of slightly thicker hair at the base of his spine, disappearing into the top of his ass crack, and I nearly blew my load again. I had never seen and ass that beefy and beautiful before. I needed to be inside that ass, and I needed it right then. Seeming to sense my need, or maybe revealing his own, Eric leaned over and grabbed his ankles. Then Lars grabbled a glob of precum from my dick and lubed Eric’s hole. Then Lars commanded me to flex my own double biceps pose while he positioned my dick at Eric’s hole. He then shoved his own 8-inches into me, which in turn forced me to enter Eric with a single thrust. Mphggh! It was pleasure beyond anything I had ever dreamed. With Lars fucking me and squeezing my biceps while I was fucking Eric and feeling his big muscle ass, I finally came, buckling over Eric at the same time that Lars came and buckled into me, and Eric came and nearly buckled to the ground. I must have pumped a gallon of cum into Eric. Lars was still feeling my arms and my pecs and ramming my ass, and I just kept cumming and cumming, worshipping Eric’s huge muscled body from behind while myself being worshipped the same. Finally, we were done and exhausted and laughing and lightly wrestling and flexing and feeling and then doing it all over again in the opposite direction and several different combinations. Eric and Lars stayed for the night and most of the following day. Then we said our farewells, and they were gone. Like I said, the weekend was relaxing. Now it was Sunday evening, and I needed to get ready for the week. Let me know if you enjoy the story so far. I can continue it if you like.

Joe's Perspective I fell in to this line of work quite innocently. I mean, I'm not innocent nor devoid of what's called "a past" but I didn't seek out turning tricks. I'm good at it. That's probably what sent me down this path. One after another lover, one night stand and boyfriend told me I could charge. So did the women. It's not just the size of my cock - ample, extremely hard and bulbous when I am visually stimulated - but as a former dancer, I can move my hips in ways many others only admire. And stamina...that was my nickname amongst a tight group of swingers I enjoyed through college. I'm Joe. I'm a gigolo. I'm bisexual. I'm doing well for myself. In my early thirties, I'm just a year or three into playing with a pretty exclusive clientele. I have a handler that watches my back, checks out the Johns and takes a chunk. But I'm worth a lot, so it is of no consequence to share a cut. What he does is useful. Being relatively fresh in the game - I'm still desirous to many, a regular repeat to some and experienced by enough. I've learned how to read a client, man or woman. I can make them crazy with the heat, as it were, no matter their base tastes or unique fetishes. I qualify as a stud to anyone that likes orgasms. True, dark brunette Superman curl hair with that all-so-playable length that tousles perfectly as I command and looks excellent wherever it lands. It can't ever look dirty it's so healthy. The kind of thickness that belies my age and will never thin.A face that is handsome, but not devastating. Kind eyes that I use to kill, which is ironic. I have a deep, five o'clock shadow by noon, but look baby smooth right after shaving. You feel like you can look at me and admire without having to be jealous. Really, despite my incredible body, this face is my secret weapon. I've worked hard for a competition level physique. I maintain a degree of strength that surpasses even the size of my muscles. My pecs are perfectly hairy, though trimmed to model status. They are full, jut, and feel pillowy when relaxed but change species and show every striation when I flex. They bunch, practically growl, roll bottom to top and all but pull up the surface of my midsection. That core has all the trimmings...eight cobblestones, obliques before a crunch, a beautiful little outie and the belt Adonis bequeathed me when he died. Arm with all three heads in the triceps and both heads in the biceps. If one can see that clearly with the slightest flex - I don't need to describe any more. I'm clearly strong but apparently agile and capable. Rather than arms that are over built and definition-less, they are arms of work and talent and so, so usable. Many a John has blown in the crook of the biceps and forearm and many a Jane has been slightly penetrated by the flexed peak while I lift her, flex into her and let her ride to bliss. Suffice it to say I have wheels to match. All of it. Great hair pattern and length, no skimping on muscle, but really more of rugby size than no fat. Large feet, but not ridiculous. Obviously, an ass that not only has seen a squat rack, but makes it my bitch with sometimes hours of pounding. I found, long ago, that nothing takes my stress away like sweaty hours in the squat rack until sweat runs rivulets down my troughed back into the deep cavern said squats are creating by building mounds of ass. You might not believe more women than men get in that ass. They LOVE it. I oblige. Most men hire me as top because of my clear alpha look. Truth is - - I like everything. Anything that gives pleasure is in my toolbox. I use all the tools and enjoy them all. Variety is one of the things that drew me into this world. As much as I like to receive pleasure, I relish giving it. Nothing makes my civilian life happier than knowing that after a solid glance with a nod or wink, a slight flex or bounce, a hearty laugh in a crowd or a moment to bend over or push my curls back that several people in any group use me as masturbation fodder that night. Some, even sooner in a stall. Delights me. Use me, I say. John's Perspective The craving has been building for months. I want a man. A big man. One who knows he is stunning, but is kind about it. One who could crush most anyone. One who knows his way around the male anatomy. Despite searching in the usual places, I'm failing at achieving a moment with a stud. It is hard for me to attract a man. There are barriers most men don't experience. Even as I've gotten a few men to commit to time in the sack with me, it is usually brief. I'm interested in several turns. I want to give and receive. I want to be manhandled. I NEED to be manhandled. After faltering so many times in the past year, I'm ready to take the plunge. Spend some big bucks on a professional. I'm willing to shell out for a great experience. I have saved a specific sum to do so. It has taken time to find the right man. And now that I've seen him, I can hardly breathe thinking about - - imagining what we might do together. I'm building up quite the expectation level based on his reviews, some inside information and those God damned pictures floating around of him. Joe. God...yum. Professional black and white head shots showing a face you want to have rather than just look at. A face that can sell anything from cologne (and you KNOW how chiseled those mugs have to be) to flannel draped paper towels. Lips and mouth that ask for a kiss. Ears that are perfectly grabbable from under a mane of hair that is all at once styled and free. I've seen him bearded. Perfectly so. No space, but so smooth when shaved. Colorful, full motion shots from athletic endeavors. Rather than the standard workout pics, or even more mundane, the pic in the mirror after the workout, Joe has multiple photos of him in action in varying sports. Always appropriately clothed. Always filling those fucking clothes to the brim without looking like they bought a kit way too small to show off. He's just a lot of man. I'm a sports junkie and I'm telling you he looks like he knows what he's doing in every shot. A powerful swing of a golf club with a twist clearly driving the ball while his polo just sticks to everything. A big leap from the floor with huge Jordans, legs too thick for ball and a jersey that rides up to show a lower torso that appears photo shopped and arms reaching the ball to the rim exposing these dark, deep, muscle surrounded pits that are only overshadowed when you realize he's near the rim and not that far from the ground. And he is going to stuff it in that hole! Damn. You know - those kinds of sports shots. Eye candy. He wears his fucking clothes, too. They always look good enough to buy because you believe they'll look as good on you. Picture after picture. But I can't find video of him. He must be very careful about that. And I haven't seen a single shirtless pic. Nothing gratuitous, really. For a quick second I wonder if he is maybe not equipped for a weekend like I'm planning. He has to be willing to reciprocate completely. He has to be ready to pitch and catch. Oh - did I mention his ass in the baseball pics? What if the lack of this kind of evidence means he can't make me believe he wants me? I need him to make me believe he wants me. Joe's Preparation My handler has secured a lucrative weekend for me. I'm to arrive midday Friday at a popular and expensive resort on the outer banks of Carolina. Strange place for a higher priced meeting. The closeted red, middle coastal states don't exactly welcome free sexual expression and though there are boys there with some of my height and a little of my strength, I haven't seen one that isn't just there for school from out of state that is anywhere close to the shape I'm in. I'll stand out for sure. But that just gave me a semi. I make myself fully available to the gentleman, who requires the promise of privacy by remaining device free until Monday morning. That's a L O N G time and I hope he is playful and fun. The rich usually have a lower chance of that. But I always rock their world. I feel like I'm sounding super cocky. Ha - I just said cock. I can actually be very youthful and silly, too. Rather than cocky, I am confident and powerful in my self. That includes being able to take a step back and give others the lead. I've been told to be prepared for a surprise. This gentleman doesn't have the regular physical abilities of others and I have strict instructions to treat him like every other person and not acknowledge his limitations. I've actually been in similar situations and I'm sure I can handle it well. I've been asked to pack for a round of golf, time by the pool, time at the beach, nice dinner out and to bring workout clothes. Specific mention of no pajamas, which is adorable. I plan to arrive having shaved on the plane so I'm smooth and ready and freshly scrubbed from a morning HIIT workout that will make all my muscles and veins standout. Those workouts also make me very horny. I'll be ready. John's Preparation I've decided to meet Joe at a hotel resort about thirty minutes from where I live. I've never hired for a weekend. I'm really blowing a wad for him and hope to blow many more, as it were. I dream of his huge arms around me. I dream of my face close to his. I imagine his breath sweet. I want those eyes locked on mine, though from my seated position he'll have to angle. I want him to touch me everywhere, even where I might not feel it. I want him to undress me because he wants to undress me. I'll need his help, of course, too. My friends tell me not to get my hopes up. I only have a couple of close friends since my situation is off-putting to many. Folks just get uncomfortable when they don't understand what life is like. They gawk, they turn away when I look at them, they whisper. And it has happened for as long as I can remember. But this weekend promises to be my escape. It WILL be great because I'm determined for it to be so. Hopefully the money will help Joe comply with all my wishes. Perhaps the awkwardness will not touch us because of our arrangement. I want it to feel authentic. It's really time for something to feel authentic... Even if it isn't.

The first sounds of wood cracking make the mouths of each man drop open in shock. They had known it was coming, but there was something in the deep recesses of their brains that made them want to doubt it – to build up the excitement. They liked to think I might not be able to do it. This increases the thrill of it all. A few small slivers of wood sprinkle down to the floor as the sound of splintering continues. The sturdy piece of sports equipment being totally defenseless in this battle. It’s just a wooden bat and two hands. But it’s what those two hands are doing to the bat that makes the small group gasp. It’s not held over a knee or an extra padded head – no, the bat is held straight out by two hands keeping it even with the six pairs of watching eyes. Watching without blinking. Who would want to miss a thing. Wood can be so loud as it is slowly destroyed. I smile – making the men moan, for they realize how easy this is for me. Suddenly, the side of the bat snaps open and jagged shards of wood fan out in protest at being so brutally broken. The six do not breathe . . . time stands still for all of them. It’s a mixture of pure adoration of the strength feat displayed before them and a desire to not let their body give in to the need for release that has been building. My strong hands twist the bat at the same time that I pull – wood struggling loudly to still hold on. It’s no use, though. The bat has lost. Chunks of wood fall to the ground as the once strong piece of gear, and sometimes weapon, is completely ripped in two. The ease with which this has all been done astounds the onlookers. I am happy we still have six dry crotches. I like it when the fun lasts a long time. I like the idea of grown men’s balls turning blue from willing their bodies to not ejaculate. I love that they, too, want to wait. Shocked looks of disbelief and soft, incoherent mumblings of doubt as I put the two shattered pieces of wood together pleases me even more. Each man is now completely oblivious to the fact that there are six of them watching. They feel as if they are alone with me. They are the only one beholding this special show of power. Everyone knows the most important rule of this unusual treat – there is to be no touching of private parts unless the okay is given. A side thrill for myself – controlling them in this way. I can tell it is actually painful to abstain from groping, stroking, or yanking – yet, every man obeys as if his life depended on it. Even in the midst of agony, they want to delay gratification. My record is five spewing at the same time. It always seems that there is one man with almost superhuman resolve to hold out longer than anyone else. However, there has never been anyone to last our entire time together without shooting. The record of actual number of orgasms during a session was set by a husky college football player – he offered four loads in the span of our three hours together. No one has come close to beating – forgive the pun – that display of manly virility and endurance. He had to be carried from the room – even hours later, however, his body was just to wrecked to move on its own. When the two halves of the bat begin to splinter in my powerful grasp, the men begin to comprehend the full extent of my power. I watch as I become much more to them than a showman . . . they begin to view me as almost god-like. My chest has swollen to an unfathomable size as the doubled wood begins to crack apart. They want desperately to touch me . . . but that is also something that is forbidden. Imagining what my hard muscles feel like, I know, doesn’t come close to the real thing – but someone might get hurt if their arm was near the splintering wood. I also believe no one would be able to prevent themselves from spewing if they felt my marbleized body. Since I am already pumped with adrenaline and warmed up from breaking the bat in two, destroying the two combined pieces comes even easier. Moans of lustful pleasure erupt from the group as two pieces become four – the bat now a pile of kindling at my feet. The explosion of sound as wood succumbed to my power was deafening, but the grunts of approval echo even louder in the room when I am done. My expanded pecs are now heaving – lightly covered in sweat that sparkles within the heavy fur that cascades over the bulging mounds. My nipples jut out invitingly, causing all six men to wet their lips with their tongues over and over. Each man had been able to hold the bat prior to the show. Watching their minds verify the thing’s density, weight, and supposed strength was part of what I liked most about these events. It made the reality of what I was going to do for them that much more exciting – and they remembered how indestructible the bat had felt in their hands as they looked at the scraps now on the floor. It takes them a while to catch up, to fully understand what my bulging arms – now jacked from the display of power – had done. I always give the men a few minutes to let the severity of my strength sink in – and to give their crotches a much-needed rest. I am the consummate showman – having learned exactly how to edge a guy to the brink of explosion and then giving him the chance to let the excitement recede like a wave going back out into the ocean. Prolonged release was my middle name. I controlled cocks as easily as I destroyed wood. Everyone’s eyes bounced in time with my chest – heaving up and down. It took a lot of strength to demolish the bat, but I also made it much more dramatic than it actually was – as a way of increasing the inner build-up within each man. I promised the kind of earth-shattering splatter that made grown men become dizzy and need to lie down – and never had I not delivered. No man looked me in the eye, they were too mesmerized by my mammoth pecs. I grabbed the metal bar – the length of a pool cue and as thick as a rolling pin – that was leaning against the wall. The surprise, doubt, and lustful excitement doubled on each face. A baseball bat was child’s play compared to this chunk of steel and every man knew it. My grin got bigger and slightly more devilish than before. I watched as each guy seriously questioned what my actions insinuated I was going to do. Surely there was no way, they all thought, which was exactly what I wanted. Wood was one thing, but hard thick metal was made specifically not to be easily manhandled. I was viewed as way too cocky if I thought I was going to do damage to the substantial bar in my hands. Again, the thing was held out for the men to hold – the six of them taking it in their hands and me watching the bar dip downward as they took on the weight. What I held easily, would have been almost impossible for one of them, alone, and was still a strain for all six. I grabbed the bar back – my hands about the same distance apart on the thing as if I were breaking a baguette in two. The ends of the long thing stuck out as wide as the combined shoulders of the men. Sometimes, I wore an old, tighter-than-hell t-shirt as I did my next feat – just to let the thing be ripped to shreds as my body ballooned from the effort of what I was doing. Today, however, I had decided this particular audience was more interested in thick veins popping up all over my body and seeing my wet matted fur darken as I displayed my strength. I had made the right choice – I saw that I had a little group of fur-lovers. Wood, being ripped in two, screams loudly as it’s broken, but the high-pitched screeching of metal being manipulated in ways that it was never intended to move is definitely much more of a thrill. To many men, the destruction of wood by a man’s big arms is feasible, but the destruction of really thick steel – something that is used to keep skyscraper’s standing – in the same manner is the stuff of superhero movies. This time, there is much more doubt in the eyes staring at me. This makes me extremely happy as my arm muscles explode and my face starts to darken from exertion. The first loud sound the steel emits sends the room into chaos. Hands desperately want to tweak nipples, clamp down on balls, or start moving up and down on hard cocks. There’s also a sudden fear that envelopes the group – grown men realizing they are in the midst of someone much more powerful than them, even put together. It’s that slight nervous panic that gets my juices flowing the hardest – and even makes my strength increase. These men are starting to wonder if they have bitten off more than they can chew. They sense that I could do some serious damage to them if I wanted to – and even in the midst of that dread, they get even more excited. There’s the possibility of much more destruction and that turns them on. All of this intense contemplation, however, stops as soon as the metal bar starts to bend. The men have no idea where to stare – the growing arms, biceps becoming insanely big from tension, the bulging pecs growing massive right in front of them, or the middle of the metal bar as it starts to bump upward because it can no longer withstand the power in my grip. The room is filled with the shrieking of metal having to do what it does not want to do. Six uncovered cocks quiver back and forth from the shrill sound and the sight of steel being weaker than my monstrous biceps. It’s clear, suddenly, that one poor guy will not last. The volcano that is the tip of his cock erupts, his eyes roll up into his head, and his body – stiffened like a board – falls over like a tall tree falling in the forest. His body convulses on the floor as his orgasm continues, even though he is now unconscious. Not one of the other men stops to check on or even look at the downed soldier. They don’t want to miss a thing and they know that each of them will go the path of their overwhelmed comrade at some point. The man just couldn’t take it anymore, that was clear from his deep short moan – ending in a loud gasp – and intense vacuum stomach as his balls blasted juice out his cannon like a Las Vegas fountain. Another rule is that every man must be totally nude. I like to see what my show is doing to their body and it’s a lot more pleasurable if they’re totally uncovered. At first, every guy that partakes of my show is embarrassed and self-conscious of his nudity and that of the other guests. That, however, dissipates as soon as I remove my shirt and reveal my bulging, cut-from-marble body. You can’t be self-conscious when you are so turned on by another guy’s body that you forget your own. Each man certainly feels inadequate and small, but that goes away, too, as soon as I start showing off my strength. I look down to affirm that my first victim is still breathing – can’t have a reputation of causing heart failure or cardiac arrest. He’s certainly still alive, still ejaculating, and has the biggest grin on his face – all, even while unconscious. I am constantly amazed how weak most men are when it comes to holding back an orgasm. The dick definitely controls a man’s body, however. It’s not the brain and it’s certainly not the heart. It’s the thing that can make a man’s eyes disappear in his head and his body shake uncontrollably. It’s the one thing – the cock - that can’t be controlled no matter how hard one tries. I love a guy that thinks he won’t get hard during one of my shows. That man is usually the one that shoots rigid the fastest. But even if, by some miracle, a guy doesn’t get a boner just from seeing my huge muscled torso, I can always count on that snapping of wood, as I destroy the bat, to make his cock stand at attention. It’s just the way of the world – strength displays electrify men. That’s why we love the Hulk and Thor. It’s why movies and television shows about Hercules are always so popular. It’s even why we loved Lurch on The Addams Family and Herman Munster – they were super strong and they didn’t even know it. Power demands attention . . . applause – and that’s what a hard-on basically is, your body saying thank you. It’s a man’s way of saying he really, really likes something. My buddy on the floor is now lying in a fetal position and is clearly dreaming of me, by the look on his face. I’m glad I could make his day. When the two sides of the metal bar come together I feel the kind of exuberant satisfaction a normal guy might feel doing something as simple as hitting a homerun. I’ve bent metal like it was nothing more than string cheese. I can tell that two more admirers are about to explode. I know just what will send them over the edge, too. Two massive arms making steel do their bidding is hot as hell, but then when those two arms twist the steel together – making the two ends into one, well that is a whole other level of excitement. I made it look like I was simply twisting a tie that holds the container of a loaf of bread in place. Metal being squeezed together and turned so it looked like only yarn being twirled together. No one in the room was breathing. The metal bar was still screaming from the abuse I was handing out. And, as planned, it became too much for the two guys who had been teetering on the edge of detonation for a while. I love it when I can cause an onlooker to shoot so hard that his cum hits my body – across the room. Sticky white man-milk splattered against my hard abs as one man screamed with the power of his orgasm. He sent semen missiles so hard across the empty space between us that it sounded like fists hitting a punching bag when they landed. I was duly impressed by his pecker power. The man’s face turned a deep purple as three huge volleys of cum blasted at me. The other man’s cock was sticking straight up, so his man-honey sprayed across his own chest, hitting his chin because of his thrusting power. It was easy to see that both men were going to collapse as soon as they were done squirting. The one guy shooting the length of the room made a thick noticeable path of fresh cum on the floor between his body and mine – like an arrow pointing to what had caused his explosion. It was almost sweet to see both men crumple happily to the floor at the same time – smiles of pure bliss on each of their faces and their arms around each other. They were sound asleep in seconds. Three sets of eyes still watched every big muscle on me move. The remaining men had pleading looks on their faces and I couldn’t tell if they wanted me to put them out of their misery and do something to make them explode, or if they wanted me to prolong their agony even more. I knew some men loved to be edged to the point where they could no longer feel their balls or cock – everything down there was just some numb raw exposed nerve too overwhelmed to respond. I was still twisting metal into a spiral, but I knew if I took a step forward with my big body one, two, or all three of them would erupt like matching volcanoes. I was twice the size of each of them. My flexed gun made their heads look like something as small as bottle caps. They were each glued to watching my thick, strong fingers messing up metal as if it were just warm clay. Every now and then their eyes would move to the bulging mass of either biceps fueling the destruction. The screeching of the metal was only equaled by the heavier breathing coming from the now smaller group of admirers. If they had been dogs, their tongues would have been hanging out, saliva would have been dripping to the floor, and their tails would have been wagging hard. As it was, each man’s dick was leaking pre-cum in big white, milky globs. I had simply built up too much pressure in their balls for their cocks to not let off some steam. I looked at the cocks displayed in front of me as I continued to easily twist metal. I realized it was a good thing that I kept my jeans on, for if I had unveiled the giant log between my legs the feeling of inadequacy it would have caused in each of the men might have completely deflated their hard-ons. Men will often deny that they compare the size of their penis to others, but they’d be lying. It is something all men do. It’s like guys that make discouraging remarks about the freakishly big arms of some bodybuilder just to hide the fact that they immediately feel their own arms as fragile and tiny. I’ve found it’s true with every muscle – not just arms. I especially find men staring at my giant hands and seeing in their eyes a mixture of jealousy and a feeling of being less than. Most guys, when I’m around, put their hands behind their backs so no one near will compare the sizes. What they say about big hands is true – just look at the bulge in my jeans, which the small group of men keep doing. It’s like they’re trying to see if the thing is for real. I can’t help but feeling a little more powerful – even more than I already do – when I see that my fat log of a cock is three times, maybe four, bigger than the largest one in front of me – and that’s before I’m even hard. My jeans really don’t hide a thing, but it helps to prevent the guys from feeling too small. I’m done twisting the metal bar. It looks like one huge scary corkscrew. I think how nice it would be to have a bottle of wine large enough for this newly, man-made, specific tool. A big bottle for a big man – yeah, as it should be. I look at the three men in front of me and smile. They seem to get nervous and I realize it’s because I possibly look like I might do them harm. That is not my intent. I merely want to let them know that I am having as much fun as they are, but my smile might come across as a little devious. Showing my strength off for guys is like the most orgasmic experience I can have without actually cumming. I thump the twisted metal in my palm loudly – like a teacher might swat a ruler. It’s time to make the steel bar into nothing but a big metal blob. I grab both ends and, with great ease, quickly bring them together – the thing screaming because it has no power to say no. I keep grabbing ends and bending them together – even when the bar is now four and five layers thick. Soon, there is simply a mass of twisted metal compressed together into something the size of a milk carton. I keep squeezing and pressing until two things happen. First, my body has ballooned into a freakish morph of the hugeness I was to begin with. The strength it has taken to destroy the bar has tensed every muscle on my upper body. I am a bulging mass of perfection. Secondly, the metal is now compressed into a round mass the size of a softball. Grunts of determination let me know one of my remaining admirers is ready to give in to his impending orgasm. I look up – having previously been entranced by what my own hands had done to the metal, since I could tell it was getting easier, and find the largest of the six men with a forehead popping with veins and a body almost as tensed as mine. He is huffing and puffing loudly as he fights to keep from shooting. His arms are still behind him – not daring to grab himself since those were the rules. His cock is throbbing up and down, uncontrollably, as it openly fights the man’s desire to not explode. The poor guy – his body desperately wanted release, but he also wanted to prolong the inevitable ecstasy for many more minutes. He was struggling something awful to not let his cock win – but we all knew the ending of this story. As usual, a man’s tool controlled everything. The bellow that came from his mouth as he dumped his substantial load into a pool on the floor was deafening. He looked like some Italian fountain spewing forth. I kind of thought it would be fun to have some coins to throw into the puddle of juice and make a wish. The dude came for quite a long time. Even the remaining two guys turned to admire how much spunk the guy shot from his body. He was the true definition of a ‘gusher.’ Soon, however, his crotch continued to buck forward, but nothing came out of his cannon. He was just jerking blanks by this point. This continued for a while, however – his body still too excited to quit. The guy was just staring at my arms and convulsing, completely upright. And then he just suddenly stopped and crumpled to the floor. A pile of spent, happy manhood – dreaming of my muscle and what it could do. I dropped the destroyed metal blob on the floor and it didn’t bounce or roll away. It just hit with a heavy thud and sat there. I wished one of the remaining two guys would have tried to pick it up, so they’d see just how heavy it was, but they were too busy watching my heaving chest. Their heads bouncing up and down along with my monstrous pecs – as if in time with some unheard tune. I flexed the huge things in a roll that started from the bottom and went up. Their eyes followed suit. So, six little men came to see the muscle show and now there were just two. The remaining guys seemed in pretty good shape, like they could have a few extra bits thrown into my routine and still last until the finale. I raised my arms slowly – both men gasping as they realized what was happening. I made my biceps swell enormously as I flexed them hard. Eyes widened, tongues hung out, drool dropped to the floor, and two hard cocks leaked more pre-cum. Muscled peaks reaching for the ceiling were just such a big turn on for most men. It was mainly because these two had seen what my arms could do, but it was also because the sight of huge, hard, bulging arms was so synonymous with manliness. I had the kind of guns that made shirtsleeves panic and even heavy material look really scared. I had been doing an unscientific study on what the connection between massive guns and hard dicks must be. The two little ones in front of me had followed the pattern of my observations with perfection. My flexed arms made them whimper like dogs waiting for a treat. Seeing huge biceps caused a need to touch themselves even more than when I was destroying metal. There was just something about giant flexed peaks that made normal, rational men become completely submissive and desperately want to grope, kiss, lick, and feel the hardness. My entire colossal body enthralled them, but it was my arms that made them go mad the most. I, of course, got off on it even more than them. I could see how their small, stick-like limbs were but a fraction of the size of mine. That more-than-obvious size difference – that show of tremendous power even when just standing in front of them and not flexing – was enough to make my balls ache with a need to dominate them. And I could dominate without touching them or saying a word – that was the cool thing. My size put them in their rightful place – it was that simple. They had to turn their heads upward to look at me and their gaze could not take in all of my wide expanse unless they turned their heads side to side. Being this immense demanded submission without a need for rough talk or physical intimidation. They metaphorically handed over their lunch money simply because they couldn’t see my face over the thickness of my pecs if they had been standing close to me. I showed off purely by being, just by standing there – and that gave me much pleasure. My big guns were still flexed and the guys were still whimpering. I dropped my arms and shook them out a little, just to let the un-tensed hard thickness bounce a little. Eyes never left my giant mounds. These two fellas were doing quite well, I was impressed. Their cocks were loaded and ready for firing, but both men were ready for the next part of my show. I knew we were about to enter the failsafe part of the evening. No man had ever made it through the next phase without losing total control of his body. I knew the limitations of my admirers. I knew how to make a cock spew even if its owner didn’t. I was the master of making balls offer me their thick adoring juice even if a guy fully intended to hold it all in. This body was built for milking dudes completely – emptying them until their eyes screamed ‘thank you’ in response to the pleasure I bestowed. I took a few steps forward. As I did, I reached up with both hands and pinched my already hard nubs, poking deliciously out like thick sausages. Daddy needed some loving. It was time for them to physically become part of the act. I knew, more than likely, the thrill for me would be short-lived. Most men couldn’t last very long once they actually came in contact with what they’d been worshipping from a distance for so long. To look at enormous muscle was one thing, but to feel it – to know how hard and thick it was on an extremely personal level – became too much for even most veteran muscle worshippers. I continued to twist my nipples hard as I towered over the two men – having to lean my head forward a little to look at them. Neither guy had grabbed his cock so far – usually me bringing my body this close made a guy finally give up and start pounding his meat for release. There was just something about the heat, the aroma, the beast-like presence my body gave off when a guy was close to it. I could sneak up behind a guy, quietly, and within seconds – if not instantly – he was aware that something gigantic and over-the-top masculine had suddenly moved close. It’s like your body knowing when a dark cloud takes away the sun for a few seconds or when you stand near a skyscraper and sense how tall it really is. My size permeated a room like an elephant had just entered. Both men seemed to realize what I was about to offer. Their faces were full of gratitude, lust, and sheer awe-struck fear from my immense bulk being this close to them. I pinched harder and pulled my nips outward – stretching them, painfully, just to offer a little more warmth to the nubs as I let go. I wrapped my big hands around the back of their smaller-than-my-palms heads and pulled them forward. Lips parted, breathing ceased, tongues came out, and faces lit up like Christmas trees as my areolas inched toward them. I was a king bestowing a huge reward to two peasants. I was the candy maker offering the entire warehouse full of treats to two children. I was the muscle god offering a taste of his immensity to his adoring worshippers. The entire reason I didn’t offer bodily contact early on in the show was reinforced as soon as mouths latched onto my humongous pecs. It proved to be instantly too much for one of my remaining fans. His face had not expected my muscle to feel like concrete. He had also not expected to immediately feel so small and weak. I was simply too enormous to take when a guy got this close. The dude’s hands pressed against my cobblestoned abs – his first mistake. His eyes looked upward over the massive ballooning of my pec and beheld the furry stubble across the bottom of my face. And his lips, the doors of breath, sucked in air as the tight marble-like skin re-emphasized what he already knew – I was powerful beyond his wildest imagination. I was Superman and he was the adoring Jimmy Olsen – small, weak, unable to fully grasp the strength of the being in front of him. The realization that I had worked out for many years to build the kind of body that could destroy baseball bats and metal bars so easily became complete, fully understood, and much more of a known fact as soon as his lips and hands met my body. My obvious power made him instantly feel weak and small, but, at the same time, it released a raging storm of emotion and jubilation within him. He pushed his hard cock against my bulging, rock-like thigh and rubbed ever-so-slightly against my tight jeans. That was all she wrote for him. Hot, gooey, dense cum jetted from his dickhead and covered my giant thigh – making it look like someone had poured a gallon of cream down my leg. Since he was basically pressed up against my immovable body, the guy didn’t flop around that much as he ejaculated. His body just pushed into mine harder and harder as he came – making him shoot even more as he realized I didn’t move and my muscles didn’t even indent a little where he pounded me. It was like light paper meeting concrete – it was easy to see which would bounce away. I felt his body banging against me, but it was the same annoying feeling a fly might cause. I smiled down at him over my enormous pec. I wanted his last thoughts before sleep to be my handsome face and my hard body. Suddenly, he stopped. His eyes stayed open, his mouth was still latched on to my nip, and he remained upright. I could tell, however, that he was out like a light. He had gone to muscle heaven with the four other guys on the floor. Meanwhile, my last admirer was still sucking away on my other nipple, like a baby that’s just woken up from a long night and is hungry like a wolf. I reached up and put my hand on the back of the head of the guy that was passed out. I squeezed a little and pulled back, loving the popping sound as his mouth left my pec. I moved my arm out, so the dude was positioned over two of the other guys and then I let go. He fell slowly down onto the pile of men, immediately curling up, happily. And now we were down to just one muscle worshipper. I could tell he was a little firecracker – built like a fireplug, short and stocky. He was actually standing on his tip-toes so his mouth could reach my nipple. I put an arm around his body and lifted him up, so he didn’t have to stretch so much. He moaned in appreciation without taking his mouth away. The guy’s hands caressed and punched my abs as he sucked away. He knew that touching me was fair game – now that I had latched his mouth onto my pec. He had his eyes tightly closed and I could tell he was willing himself to not spew any time soon. It was amazing that he could feel so much of my hard-muscled body and not lose control. I was duly impressed. I’m sure he realized I could make him squirt any time I wanted to, but we both wanted this to last. I’m sure he was very grateful that I was allowing things to go on his body’s timeline. How could I not, I was loving the fact that he could hold out this long. It was amazing that I knew so much about this guy and, yet, we never exchanged a word. I could just easily sense all that he was thinking and feeling. He was loving the fact that I was holding his body against mine – with his feet off the ground. He was over the moon excited about getting to suck on my hairy, thick nipple. And finally, even though he still didn’t touch himself, he could rub his hard cock against my giant muscled thigh to edge himself on even more. Now that it was just one guy, my immense body seemed to dwarf him even much more than it really did. The dude looked tiny and so breakable surrounded by my big arm. I squeezed him tightly, just to make sure he was real and not some kind of large doll. He moaned in response and my cock thickened as I marveled at how small he looked compared to just my biceps. He was still sucking away, as if that was the only way he could get his sustenance. I compressed my big gun again – loving how the action automatically caused the same response in the guy, a big moan every single time. I felt his little hard-on rubbing up and down against my tensed thigh, with its striations, veins, and hardness. His fists kept smacking into my abs every now and then, a loud noise echoing through the room. I felt the punches, but they seemed more like child’s play than a grown man hitting me. I could tell this last dude was a strength pig. He got off on my body’s ability to withstand him belting me. I knew he loved the muscles, but he loved what they could do a lot more. That made me like him the most. I was a strength pig, too. Only, I was the one with the power. I was the one getting off on the fact that my strength made this guy crazy – crazy enough to throw punches until his knuckles were bruised. And through it all, he just kept on sucking on my teat like it was the fountain of youth and he was nearing one-hundred years of age. It was crazy. The dude was clearly a lot older than me. That should have made him the boss, the dominant one, the leader – but I was simply three times his size and made him forfeit any claim of being in charge. He yielded his power to the muscle boy who was easily holding him in the air. He would have sensed the alpha-ness in me even if I had been in the next room. My size and bulk seemed to fill any void long before I arrived. It’s as if the ground and walls shook as I moved. I was very much aware of how my massiveness caused rooms to feel claustrophobic and how people gave me a wider berth when I approached. It was as if they were all little row-boats and I was an ocean liner in the same harbor. It was important to stay out of my path . . . or my wake. I looked at his tiny hand pressed against the pec he wasn’t sucking on – taking a break from punches. My own hand could cover his two or three times. That realization thrilled me very much and I squeezed his body tighter and longer than before. His moan lasted until I lessened the hug. And, still, the guy slurped loudly at my pec. My nipple registered pleasure, which pulsed down to my dick, as well. The crotch of my jeans was getting tight as I started hardening huge. I contemplated freaking the guy out by undoing my pants and letting my monster cock free, but I quickly realized he wouldn’t have left my pec long enough to notice my enormous dong. He was too busy trying to somehow suck some of my DNA into his body – so he might grow a little. I already radiated so much testosterone that I knew it emboldened him and made him much braver in his actions – hence the earlier pounding of his fist into my abs. It’s like some of my masculinity could be breathed in by him just from being so near. I got off on being so much bigger than the man, there was no secret to that. But I also loved how my size made him lose control. I bet he was some kind of corporate boss, used to ordering men around and expecting everyone to jump any time he told them to. But in this room, he was a little puppy submitting to the alpha who toyed with him easily. I could make him cower if I wanted to – with nothing more than a growl and an intense flex of my huge body. Knowing that fact was good enough, though. I didn’t need to do it. I would let the man have as much fun as he wanted – he deserved it. All of the men did. I looked over at the five still happily in slumber-mode on the floor. Everyone in this room was happy, especially me. Soon I would have caused six explosive orgasms – making a group of men happy beyond their wildest dreams. That’s what I was made to do. That’s why I had pumped enough iron over the years to probably have moved a small mountain. I made muscle fantasies come true. I also got off by showing off. I’d certainly be the seventh orgasm of the night – that was for sure. And I’d make sure to cover them with my hot, thick, fire-hose-like spray so when they woke up they would realize the big man had exploded, too. That would make them hard again, instantly. They would also be upset that they had missed it. All of this was yet to come, however, for I still had a guy presently latched onto my nipple – still sucking like there wouldn’t be a tomorrow. I was pretty sure his jaw must have been pretty sore by this point, but it was clear he had no intention of stopping. I appreciated a guy that could make my man-tits feel good. I also got the pleasurable feeling that this dude’s sucking skills would be amazing somewhere else, too. As great as that sounded, however, we were not here for my benefit – although that was always a by-product of all that I did. I was here to do one thing and do it well – get this guy to have an explosive, mind-blowing orgasm. I knew exactly what my little strength pig needed to get him off. He was definitely into my power, but he had held out through the bat and the metal bar. I instinctively knew what that meant. He needed my next display to include him. He needed to be on the receiving end of whatever it was I did to show off what my huge body could do. He wanted to be fully dominated and feel powerless. He needed me to remind him that someone as enormous as I could easily take care of someone like him – in any way I wanted. He really dreamed of being twisted like the bar of metal or cracked apart like the bat, but we both knew I wouldn’t do that. Besides not being into that kind of rough stuff, I was already hoping this little guy would be a repeat fan. I had a feeling the more we got to know each other the longer he’d be able to hold out and that was always fun. The longer the edging, the bigger the explosion was my motto. Some of my greatest online reviews mentioned how I caused the most intense ejaculations guys had ever experienced. That was the best compliment. I moved my arm away from the guy and he started to slide down my hard body – his mouth staying connected to my pec as long as it could. I was beginning to think he was suctioned on there for good, but he finally dropped to the floor and he looked up at me with the most disappointed face I had ever seen. I simply smiled at him with a look that said everything I wanted to and more. I was smiling, but it wasn’t a friendly smile – it was more of a grin that told the guy he was now my plaything. If it made him nervous at all, his joyous anticipation of what was about to come hid it completely. He realized the time for his orgasm had arrived. The muscled monster in front of him had deemed it so and there was nothing he could do to stop it. I moved toward him, inhaling deeply to expand my chest out even further – pressing my pecs into him. I continued to move, forcing him to step backwards as I turned us both and finally pinned him between my chest and the wall. I pressed in – causing him to moan louder than he ever had before. He couldn’t have escaped even if he wanted to. I tensed my body – just to show him how weak and fragile the wall behind him truly was. He got the message and, again, moaned appropriately. After a few seconds of flattening him like a pancake I stepped back from the wall. I knew exactly what he wanted – what would make him explode. He had given me permission – in his eyes, in his moans, and in his fist pounding appreciation of my strength. He actually begged me to cause his enormous release with dominating power that emphasized my strength as it reminded him of his own weakness. I was only a dominator when I was begged for it. I placed my huge hand around his small neck, so delicate. My v-shaped grip made him moan with so much pleasure that I actually leaked some pre-cum, myself. That was a first. My hand almost reached completely around him. I pressed forward and lifted at the same time – carefully, slowly, and deliberately. His face was full of gratitude, pleasure, and anticipation of what I was about to cause in his body. This man craved release, but not just release through orgasm. He wanted me to take away his need to control everything. He wanted to give up being the boss completely. He wanted me to be so totally in charge of the moment that he’d become insignificant . . . no one begging him for answers, directions, or needing him to make decisions. He wanted the only thing in the world that existed to be my strength . . . my power. His eyes pleaded with me to make him weak. I had never felt so powerful. I had never felt so huge. I had never known such joy – his and mine. He knew how easy this was going to be for me. I lifted his body off the ground, pressing him against the wall as he moved upward. He reached with his small hands to hold onto my wrist, struggling uselessly to try and pry my fingers from his neck. We both knew he was faking and we both knew he was in no real danger, I could drop him any time I wanted. But the thrill of the power in my one arm was still there – still rendering him defenseless. His addiction to being in control and powerful was suddenly thrown out the window as the muscleman in front of him reduced him nothing more than a useless sack in his huge hand. The threat of true damage was always there. I had his body as high as my chest when his cock started to gush his appreciation. I had never wanted a man to ejaculate so much to my strength as I did at this moment. He stared at me with so much joy and incredible gratitude as he shot hot, milky juice all over my body - I almost felt like crying. I had never known such pleasure . . . such dominance. I stopped lifting him when he was even with my face. His body emptied all the pent-up pressure of the last few hours . . . or was it years. Finally, his body was finished . . . completely spent. I squeezed his neck a little tighter, to wring out a few more drops from his dick. And yet, his eyes stared at me. And yet, he smiled. He did not pass out – another first for me. I lowered his shaky body to the floor and kept my hand at his chest, so he wouldn’t fall to the floor. He looked everywhere – at my huge biceps, my bewildered face, my heaving chest, and deep into my eyes. I realized he had never had an experience like this . . . but, if I were being completely honest, neither had I. He wasn’t unconscious. He wasn’t so depleted that he was asleep. And he was still fully hard. It was then that I noticed his gorgeous dark hair with flecks of silver strewn throughout. I also noticed his cobalt blue eyes – like some lagoon that beckoned me to swim nude. It’s also when I saw that he was, indeed, a short, muscled fireplug – much more fit than I had been aware of, at first. He was different from my other admirers – still sound asleep on the floor. This guy was the real deal – a true muscle worshipper who could go the distance with me. There was no telling what he’d encourage me to do in a private session – bend bars tightly around his body, toss him across the room, smash him breathless against the wall with my huge muscles, squeeze him so hard that he was forced to shoot his load just from my hug . . . these were all things that popped into my head as I stared at the grateful man. I was so turned on by all that had just happened I was not fully aware of the fact that the man had unzipped my pants and tugged them down, slightly – the things needing a lot stronger pulling to get over my huge thighs. That was not his goal, however. He just wanted to release my huge throbbing cock, which he did and immediately started pumping it with his small, but very strong, hand. My head tilted back a little, my eyelids closed slightly, and I moaned loudly from his groping. So many of my rules were being broken in this moment, but I didn’t care. This muscled plug of a man – who had let me dominate him in such a thrilling way – wanted to give me something in return. I could tell he also wanted to be bathed in my hot juice. He wanted to have muscle man-jizz rain down all over him. I could tell he had been pleasantly surprised and a little taken aback by the size of my cock. There had been only a slight hesitation, though, as his hand realized it wouldn’t be able to fit completely around the thing. He’d simply have to squeeze harder, which he did. In return, I braced my hands against the wall above his head. I was so incredibly jacked by this time – in so many ways – I decided to please him even more, but at the same time I would be satisfied, too. I pressed my crotch into him – hard. It shoved his body against the wall. His hand pulled away from my cock – both to brace himself against the wall, but also because he knew what was coming. I started thrusting my huge cock against his body – his stomach, his own crotch, his chest – pushing against him hard. I was going to use him the same way a horny teenager might use a pillow to get off. Dry humping his tight body immediately made my juices boil even more within my huge frame. I shoved forward with my dick and he banged against the wall. His moans of pleasure were even louder than mine. I bent my knees slightly and pressed into him at the same time. When I straightened my legs, his feet came off the floor – carried into the air briefly by the power of my hard dick’s thrusting. I looked down at the man and smiled at him being cock-handled so easily. It was magnificent and he was loving every second of it. For the first time in my life, I realized I was completely out of control. I wanted to see his body flop against the wall more, so I humped my cock into him with great abandon. I also knew I couldn’t have stopped my impending orgasm even if my life had depended on it. Suddenly, I smashed my crotch against the dude, pinning him tightly against the wall. I pressed in hard, knowing it made my bubbled ass bulge with tightened muscle. The dude reached around to grab my cheeks and he gasped at their hardness. I then growled deeply and released a river of semen, which actually flowed upward over the small guy’s torso. I pushed into him harder with each gush of my milky man-honey. I knew the dude was going to have some bruises tomorrow, but I also knew he would get hard every time he looked at them. Soon, it was like someone had squirted a gallon of masculine super glue between our bodies. There was a sticky mess sealing us and I continued to smash his body against the wall. As I finally pulled away, he came with me – the drying semen almost cementing us together. He was thankful to be able to finally take deep breaths again – having been compacted and flattened by my huge body. It took us both a few minutes to calm ourselves down and even longer for us to pull our skin apart. He had his hands on my chest, running his thumbs across my large jutting nipples and staring up into my face. I looked back at him, smiling – satisfied beyond what I had ever known before and sensing, deep in my being, that he felt the same. Silently, I brought my face down to his and we kissed. The biggest rule being broken. It was a long, passionate, hard, knowing kiss – that kept us both excited and already wanting much more. I finally pulled my face away from his and stared at him. He slowly nodded – aware of all I conveyed without even saying a word. I reached down, wrapped a hand around his body, and lifted him into the air. We both glanced at his fellow worshippers – still sound asleep on the floor – and then I carried my new little special muscle worshipper from the room.

Hey there. I posted this years ago, but I think it's been deleted. Thought you might enjoy it. Back then, some people wanted me to write more about these characters - let me know if so! ‘Done your homework already, baby?’ Issy’s eyes didn’t move from the television screen. ‘Give up smoking already, Dad?’ was her dry response. ‘Hey, don’t compare two random things,’ Arnold groaned, settling onto the sofa next to her. ‘Giving up the fags is a once in a life-time event, not a routine duty that will help you pass exams. Once it’s done, it’s done.’ ‘But not done yet,’ his daughter said, with a little smile, still focused on the TV. ‘Unless my nose deceives me.’ Arnold delved guiltily in his pocket for minty gum. ‘Do I disappoint you, my child?’ he said, bowing his head like a defrocked cardinal. ‘Not in any serious manner. As a physical specimen, you’re pretty laughable, but as a parent you’re just about as good as can be expected.’ ‘Wow, faint praise indeed.’ ‘Dad,’ said Issy, ‘I am trying to watch this documentary on eco-tourism. And I don’t want to embarrass you. I do love you, after all.’ ‘Well in that case, I’ll settle for being as good as your expectations,’ he said, smiling in spite of himself. ‘I’m off out in a bit. Won’t be long.’ ‘Huh?’ She looked at him for the first time. ‘Where?’ ‘I bought something from a guy on a local forum. Just need to drive over and pick it up.’ ‘He can’t post it?’ ‘Nah,’ he laughed, getting up. ‘Not this he can’t. I’ll be half an hour.’ She muted the TV. ‘Not a drum kit, Dad. Mum always said there were no if’s, but’s or maybe’s about a drum kit.’ ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘but in case you hadn’t noticed, she’s not around nowadays to keep me under her thumb.’ ‘And you want to make absolutely positive she never comes back.’ Arnold rolled his eyes and ran his fingers through his messy black hair. Why did people always ride over him like this? It wasn’t a big secret, but he didn’t want to talk about it. Why couldn’t people respect that kind of thing? ‘It’s not a drum kit, okay? But I could have one if I wanted, I just don’t right now. Actually, I might still get one. Just because your Mum is going out with some great new guy doesn’t make her right about everything.’ ‘Fine,’ she said, ‘so what is it?’ ‘I’ll show you later if you’re interested. Watch your BBC4 thing.’ ‘Why are you being so secretive? Do you think I’ll disapprove?’ He closed his eyes in defeat. ‘It’s weights, okay?’ She laughed – stopped herself, probably because it sounded rude of her – then burst out with it again. ‘Weights? As in a set of weights.’ ‘Yes.’ ‘For exercise.’ ‘Lots of people use them,’ he said, folding his arms. ‘Lots of people can,’ she said. ‘Some people have trouble lifting their suitcase off the baggage carousel at Gatwick.’ He sighed irritably. ‘That was a one-off.’ ‘Maybe a two-off or three-off. You struggle with carrying shopping to the car. Come on, Dad, you’re the bookish type, not the – manly type.’ ‘Well, maybe I’m tired of that being who I am,’ he said, unfolding and refolding his arms, feeling so aware of how skinny they were. ‘And you want to be, what Daniel Craig?’ ‘What’s wrong with Daniel Craig? You didn’t live through the Pearce Brosnan era. You know nothing.’ ‘You’re not Daniel Craig,’ she smiled. ‘Believe me. You’re Ben Whishaw’s older brother.’ ‘That’s not who I am,’ he said. ‘And it’s not how I want to look and feel. Weaky, skinny, gay, seriously unattractive…’ ‘So it is about getting Mum back.’ ‘No,’ he said, serious now. ‘I don’t. It’s not. Maybe it’s about getting someone, yes. It’s been too long. Women don’t go for – well, like you said. Ben Whishaw’s older brother. They don’t want a weedy librarian type in a Smiths t-shirt. It turns out.’ Issy sensed his seriousness. ‘Personality-wise, Dad, you’re okay for most people. And you’re handsome, according to my friends. Stop worrying.’ ‘I’m sure I’m okay,’ he said, getting up and going to door. ‘But I want to be more.’ He didn’t mean to slam it behind him, so he opened it politely suggested her homework be underway by the time he came back. Outside it was raining. Arnold had to jog to the car and by the time he made it he was soaked and dejected. He would have lit up a fag if it wasn’t for the weather. Anyway, he shouldn’t be smoking now if he was getting fit. Smoking had kept down his weight for years and he wanted to put on mass now, not keep it off. He sat at the steering-wheel, feeling damp and weak, put the key in the ignition and turned on the lights, just to watch the raindrops falling through them and melting away, inconsequentially. His daughter, whose honesty he appreciated, had only confirmed what his own inner voice had been saying for the past week. You’re a weed. A library-type. Weak. You’re never going to be anything else. Don’t try. What do you see in those guys anyway? They’re all poofs and bullies. You’re the guy they laugh at and push around. That’s how the world gets divided up. Fit guys and guys like you, and it doesn’t do to imagine becoming something other than that. So it’s impossible to change? he asked himself. You got it, Arnold. So what about my so-called wife? Arnold’s inner voice went quiet at that. If she could find a new lease of life, change who she was, so could her pathetic ex-husband. Maybe he could even become a little less pathetic. He drove off into the rain. The satnav took him to the street in Battersea. Not unlike his own street, a line of ordinary terraced houses with red slate roofs all dark and glossy in the rain. Who would live in a house like this? Arnold tried not to imagine the man who was coming to the door, but it was almost impossible to put a lid on his imagination. All week he’d been thinking about him. Big, tall, athletic, strong, masculine, smelling all musky and bitter. A bully type, no doubt. Someone who’d laugh in Arnold’s face as soon as he saw him. Superman in lycra, or Sylvester Stallone stripped to the waist. What if the guy’s wife was there to see the handover? That would be truly humiliating. He forced himself to imagine a guy exactly like him, exactly his build, who had bought the weights for the same reason as Arnold and never got around to using them, just the way Arnold’s inner voice told him he’d never be able to do it. Someone smoking a fag and eating a pizza and whose wife had left him six months before. Dripping wet as he was, it made him chuckle and warmed his heart a little bit. He walked up the path, brushing past a big bush of wet privet and getting even damper. He thought once again about having a fag. Then he stabbed a thumb angrily onto the doorbell. When the door opened, he let out a huge sigh of relief which he had to disguise with a wheezy smoker’s cough. It was exactly as he had envisioned and couldn’t be more perfect: like looking in the mirror, or nearly. Right down to the baggy band t-shirt. Goodness, he thought to himself, is that how weedy I look? And yet, not so bad, not so unmanly. Just a down-to-earth guy who wasn’t a muscle-head. Did that mean using the weights wouldn’t actually get him anywhere? Did that mean he was stuck looking and feeling like this forever? ‘Alright, mate?’ he said, with a smile. ‘How do you do…?’ The guy was looking at him blankly. That should have been a clue, he realised later. ‘Seb? It’s Arnold. I’m here about the, uh, you know…’ ‘Ah,’ said the man at the door. ‘You want my son.’ ‘I do?’ ‘Yeah, Sebastian’s the fitness nut,’ said Seb’s Dad, turning and bellowing his son’s name up the stairs with so little warning that Arnold’s heart began to race. Or was it fear? ‘Couple of years ago for his sixteenth, I bought him a set. He was already doing swimming, football and that, but he wanted to build a bit of strength. Impress the ladies, know what I mean?’ He flashed Arnold a knowing smile, turned away and yelled again. ‘Sebastian! It’s your friend about the weights set! Are you coming down?’ ‘I don’t have to – I mean, I can come back,’ Arnold cringed, looking back out at the rain with a kind of longing. There was something about Seb that he didn’t want to see. ‘You can’t go out in that,’ said Seb’s Dad. ‘It’s the first on the left at the top of the stairs. He’ll have his headphones in no doubt.’ ‘Cheers,’ said Arnold, stepping inside and closing the door behind him, and swallowing nervously. He stared up the stairs, clenching fists as if to gird up his courage. ‘They’re a good set,’ said Seb’s Dad. ‘You’re getting a great deal. Seb’s got a lot out of them. You’ll see for yourself. Looks amazing. The ladies certainly sat up and took notice, from what I’ve seen passing through this house. Gorgeous, some of them. Reminds me of my lost youth, know what I mean?’ ‘No – I mean, I don’t know,’ said Arnold. ‘I mean, I was never all that popular with the girls. Just the one steady girlfriend for twenty-odd years.’ ‘That’s nice,’ said the Dad, walking back to the living room. ‘Still with her, too?’ ‘Yeah,’ Arnold, in spite of himself, and then, ‘No, not since, uh…’ ‘Sorry,’ said the Dad, ‘it’s just this great documentary on eco-tourism, I’m missing it. Like I said, he’s first on the left at the top of the stairs.’ ‘Right. Okay. Yeah.’ Come on Arnold, what are you afraid of? That he’s going to beat you up? Or just laugh at you? What is it about seeing this guy that has you feeling all weak-kneed? Just go upstairs, give him the money and get out of here. You could even tell him you don’t want the weights set. I mean, maybe you don’t. Maybe that’s not a side of yourself you want to explore? Top of the stairs, first on the left, he went to knock on the door and then something inside him said, Don’t be such a fucking pussy, Arnold, and he grabbed the door handle and turned it and stuck his head inside. Just get on with, get it over and done with and – oh fuck, he’s having a wank. The teenager – who was eighteen, but looked on the way to twenty-one by the size of him – was stretched out on the bed in what looked like a school uniform three sizes too small for him. He didn’t see Arnold immediately because he was scrolling through something on his phone. His heavily muscled right arm was moving industriously up and down: he was obviously close to cumming. Arnold ducked back into the hall and stood there, breathing quick. Had he been spotted? He decided the only thing to do was knock at the bedroom door as if nothing had happened, which was strange, because as soon as he’d done it he was thinking that the only thing to do was run down the stairs and out of the house and get back in his car and drive away. ‘Hey.’ The voice was surprisingly casual. ‘Come in.’ When Arnold went in the second time, Seb looked just like any other eighteen- year old with gelled blonde hair, serious expression, phone in hand. Trousers zipped up, he lay on his side, still scrolling. Arnold could almost believe he had imagined the scene before, or perhaps misread it. The pumping fist, the thick pink cock, the faint breathless grunt from the corner of the boy’s handsome mouth. Could he have imagined it and if so where did the thought come from? He decided to distract himself, cleared his throat and said, as gruffly as possible. ‘Seb? Arnold.’ ‘What? Oh, the guy from the forum,’ he said, smiling the broadest smile. His voice was low, cultured, resonant: almost a feline purr. Bizarre in an eighteen year-old. ‘Come to take away my prized possessions, brah?’ He pocketed his phone and got off the bed in a single movement to shake Arnold’s hand. Arnold found himself looking at the muscle in Seb’s proffered arm and only afterwards did he think where the hand had been. Surreptitiously he took a small sniff. There was a familiar whiff – the smell of his own hands too often these days at bedtime. Seb was on his knees now, swinging out a set of weights from under the bed. There had been no suggestion so far that Arnold was just not the right guy for such tools, no laughter, nothing. They had passed across an invisible division that Arnold had thought would lead to catastrophe of one kind or another. He knelt to look at the stuff with Seb. ‘There’s instructions in here, paper ones,’ said the lad, ‘but nothing very useful. You mainly want to focus on how to fix these bad boys’ – he indicated the huge grey discs of various weights – ‘to these fuckers.’ The fuckers were long or short metal bars. ‘Everything beyond that, you need to read a book or two.’ ‘Yeah. There’s, err, these Youtube videos…’ ‘Well…’ Seb let out a sigh, a surprisingly adult sound from an eighteen year-old. ‘You can use those. Of course you can. Especially the really sick ones. I mean, the most professional ones, you know.’ ‘You sound like there’s a problem somewhere.’ ‘No, it’s just you need to get right into the science of these things,’ replied the young man, looking at him intently. ‘Diet, rest, macros…’ ‘Sounds…’ Arnold didn’t want to say anything negative. ‘Sounds like you know what you’re talking about.’ ‘I learnt the hard way,’ Seb replied. ‘Spent ages just messing about, eating randomly, resting whenever I liked.’ ‘But you look…’ Arnold hesitated again. ‘I mean,’ he said, ‘you look, uh…’ Seb laughed shyly, looking down at his bulk. ‘Thanks, man,’ he said. ‘Takes a lot of commitment if you want to build something, you know – exceptional.’ ‘It paid off, mate.’ Still kneeling, Seb flexed first one and then both biceps. It looked bizarrely like it took concentration. His face was screwed up, almost like he had looked when Arnold walked in the first time. He grabbed his left bicep with his right hand. Then he grabbed Arnold’s hand and put it on the hard muscle: he flexed it and Arnold could feel how it strained at the shirt fabric. There was even the sharp ‘click’ of a thread in the shirt’s shoulder busting. ‘Do you want that?’ asked Seb. Arnold froze. ‘Want what?’ ‘To build something big. Shredded. Like I say: exceptional.’ Arnold wasn’t sure what to say. He ran his finger and thumb over the peak of the bicep: Seb looked unconcerned, like this was only what he had expected. Arnold tried to encircle the entire arm which his hand, which was naturally impossible: he tried it again at the fore-arm and it still felt ridiculous. ‘Like you, you mean,’ he said. Seb laughed, dropping his hands to rest on the cardboard packaging of the weights kit. ‘I’m not big, man.’ Arnold grinned. ‘I beg to differ.’ ‘Not properly big,’ said Seb. ‘Not yet. Bigger than you, obviously. Bigger than my Dad, yeah. Bigger than any of the guys at school, even the gym freaks. Check. Bigger than some guys – some of them – at the gym, yeah. Bigger than all the guys at the gym? No way.’ ‘Isn’t that enough? That’d be enough for me,’ said Arnold. ‘Stupid, skinny, pathetic me.’ ‘Hey,’ said Seb, ‘Don’t say that. There’s nothing pathetic about being weak.’ ‘Isn’t that a contradiction in terms?’ ‘Not really,’ said Seb, with a laugh. ‘Look, you’ve got looks, man. And brains, I’m sure, from the way you talk. Getting big isn’t about being better than others. It’s about being the best. The best you can be.’ ‘I’ve got a long way to go.’ ‘You say that like it’s a bad thing,’ said the teenager. ‘You’re going to get strong. Shredded. Why be something you don’t want to be? I mean, fuck being soft. Fuck being small. Fuck being normal.’ He said the words so steadily, so aggressively, that Arnold couldn’t but assume it was some sort of mantra. Something Seb said as he cranked out his reps, or posed in front of his mirror. Bam, bam, bam… ‘What do your friends think?’ asked Arnold. Seb didn’t answer the question. ‘Want to see more?’ he asked instead. It felt rude to refuse. Seb pulled up his shirt to show off his hard abs. ‘Like that?’ ‘Of course. I’d love to have something that.’ ‘Only a four-pack so far,’ said Seb, dismissively. He stood up so that he was towering over Arnold, the older man’s head level with the groin that he had so recently seen in the flesh. He balled up his fists, leant forward slightly, flexed again. Again the shirt fabric bulged and even gave out the noise of quiet ripping. ‘How are the triceps?’ ‘Impressive.’ ‘I could get them up a few more inches, definitely. And there’s the body fat.’ ‘What body fat?’ ‘I just get hooked on bulking. I’ve been cutting lately, but obviously I’m not what I should be.’ ‘You look amazing now.’ Arnold found that he was more relaxed than he had been in ages. It felt so good to be talking about the male body without someone laughing. To talk in an aspirational way, too. All this before him could be his. ‘Show off your – what are they called, your back muscles.’ ‘Your lats. My lats, rather.’ He put his hands behind his head and the muscle flared like two great wings of flesh. ‘How’s that?’ ‘Your shirt’s getting pretty torn,’ Arnold said. ‘Why don’t you just take it off for a minute?’ ‘I’d love that,’ said Seb, unknotting his tie and throwing it on the floor. ‘I heard the doorbell ring and thought it might be you, so I just put on the first thing I could find in my wardrobe – but as you can see, it doesn’t really fit me anymore.’ His hands fumbled with the buttons. ‘Sorry – bit shy, I think.’ ‘Don’t be,’ said Arnold, sitting on the bed. ‘Why don’t you help me out,’ said the teenager. ‘Take that t-shirt off so we can compare.’ ‘Oh, I don’t know –’ ‘Who even are Belle and Sebastian anyway? A singing duo?’ ‘I’m still a bit shy about, you know, showing off my –’ ‘Just take it off,’ said Seb, firmly. ‘Fuck, I’ve already ripped this at the shoulder and I’ve pulled a fucking button off now…’ ‘Don’t worry,’ said Arnold, undressing. ‘Looks like the kind of shirt you won’t be wearing at University.’ Seb smiled. ‘Good point,’ he said, and just ripped the shirt off his body. It was already torn, and one good yank saw it reduced to a white rag. His body underneath it was flushed, smelling slightly of perspiration and Lynx deodorant. ‘Oh, that feels so much better. This is what you want, brah?’ ‘Oh yeah,’ said Arnold, looking down at his scrawny hairy chest. ‘I’d love that.’ ‘You could have it,’ said Seb. ‘A bit of research, a bit of hard work. Ah, let me show you my bi’s again, properly. Stand in front of me and do yours.’ ‘Is that really necessary?’ ‘Do it,’ said Seb, in the same voice of authority. ‘Alright…’ Arnold got up and did as he was told. ‘Fuck, I feel so small.’ ‘That’s why I look big to you,’ said the hulking teenager before him, the picture of strength. ‘I must look like a giant.’ Exceptional, is the word he had used before. Arnold could almost imagine the words tattooed across the lad’s belly. ‘You do,’ he said. ‘A real life giant.’ ‘But really I’m fucking small, man,’ said Seb, grabbing Arnold’s forearm in his big fist. ‘Can’t you see how much bigger I could get?’ Arnold looked at the hot hand on his arm. ‘Not trying to compensate for something, are you?’ Seb released Arnold in something like surprise. ‘You want to compare those too?’ ‘No,’ said Arnold instantly, almost nervously. Seb smiled a wicked smile. ‘Afraid you’re going to lose out?’ ‘No,’ said Arnold, ‘it just feels a bit…’ He left the unspoken word hanging in the air. The pair of them looked at one another awkwardly, conscious now of their closeness, their half-nakedness, their excitement. ‘Your Dad won’t come in, will he?’ said Arnold. ‘He always knocks,’ said Seb. ‘Even so,’ said Arnold. 'Let's leave that sort of thing to the gays, right?' Seb laughed. 'Dude, I wasn't being serious.' Arnold forced a laugh too. 'I knew that.' He sat down on the bed again. The duvet was warm from where Seb had been sitting, just ten minutes ago, happily wanking away. Arnold found himself thinking longingly back to that glimpse, trying to get a proper image of it clear in his head. He noticed that his own cock was hard in his jeans. Fuck, he thought, this is nuts. Where’s that t-shirt? ‘I’ll, uh, make you a mix-CD of Belle and Sebastian,’ he said, getting dressed again. ‘Sure,’ said Seb. ‘You could bring it round sometime and I’ll check your progression.’ ‘That would be great,’ said Arnold. ‘Actually, if you want to come round to ours and show me how to – I don’t know, exercise and stuff…’ ‘That would be cool,’ said Seb. ‘And update me on your progression,’ said Arnold. ‘I want to know how much bigger you can get.’ ‘Right.’ Seb picked up a white t-shirt of his own off the floor, and pulled it on over his huge physique. ‘Need a hand carrying these out to your car?’ Of course Arnold did. In fact, Seb ended up carrying the thing himself single-handed – well, with both big arms scooping it up – which of course meant that he had to jog up the street to the corner and Arnold’s car, when the rain was coming down even harder than it had all day. You couldn’t even see individual drops. It was a shower, a waterfall. It made the real world distort like a dream. The houses of the street looked remote. Seb shoved the weights on the floor in the back of the car, and sat inside looking past Arnold at the weather. ‘Give me a second to get my breath,’ he said. Arnold slipped in next to him and closed the door. They were both sitting on the backseat, like Seb’s Dad was going to come out in a minute and drive them somewhere. Arnold was conscious of the wet shirt sticking to his own slender body, his narrow back, skinny arms. He was more than conscious of the wet white-t-shirt fabric adhering similarly to his new friend. It made him look even more extraordinarily defined than in the house, even bigger, stronger, sexier. His nipples stood out like little studs in the semi-transparent material. Without thinking, Arnold reached out and brushed his thumb over one. It was hard under his touch. It made Seb’s eyes turn up in their sockets. ‘Fuck,’ he said, in that low bass purr of his. ‘Again.’ The thumb brushed back the other way. Water droplets oozed between his touch and the solid, resistant pectorals beneath. ‘Oh, that feels good, man. Try your mouth now.’ ‘Through the –’ ‘Don’t ask questions, yeah?’ said Seb. ‘We don’t have time. Don’t want Dad checking up on us.’ Arnold had to experiment. First he dragged his lower lip over the hard point, the bubbling wetness and the ridge of the chest muscle. Soft, then hard, back and forth, then sucking, but it was hard to get purchase. It was different to sucking his ex-wife’s tit. He went in quickly with the teeth. They slid on the fabric too, but it seemed to work right. Seb let out a noisy breath. ‘Keep doing that, man.’ Arnold felt stupid just tonguing the left nipple, so reached to touch the other, but Seb grabbed his hand and put it down by his side. Shit, he was fucking this up! What was he even doing? But oh, the nipple was so erect under his mouth, the left pectoral growing so warm, and Arnold was so into this. He detached, took a deep breath and began to suck and nibble the right one now, hoping that was okay. ‘That’s good,’ said Seb steadily. His pecs actually jumped with excitement under Arnold’s mouth. Arnold thought how much more flesh there was with Seb for him to stimulate and arouse. Unthinkingly, he reached up with both hands to feel the size of Seb’s arms again. He froze, remembering the command from earlier, but this time there was no reaction. Seb must like this. He squeezed the upper arms, the shoulders, then the forearms, the huge wrists. There was a sigh and a ‘Fuck,’ from the back of Seb’s throat. Then he was pushing Arnold away again. Was something wrong? He was scooting back on the car-seat, filling the narrow space. His head went back against the left-hand door handle. His eyes were on Arnold, and he looked almost angry. ‘Sorry,’ Arnold said, ‘I don’t know what I –’ ‘Shh,’ said Seb, unbuttoning and then unzipping his trousers, shucking them down to his knees revealing huge, muscular haunches, then following it up with his jockey shorts, crisp, white and nicely ironed. His cock sprang free, hard, solid and pink. Rain pounded hard on the car roof. It should have been cold in the car, but their combined body heat made it bearable. Still, the older man was trembling. He turned his eyes away from the hard cock to Arnold’s angry eyes. He was about to say he hadn’t done this before, to say about the thirty-odd years with his loving wife, when he remembered Seb’s terse words before. There wasn’t time to talk. The taste reminded him vaguely of his wife, but the solidity of the flesh, the rigidity, the heft of it, were unlike anything he had tasted before. It was amazing to think that he was in charge of this young giant’s pleasure, like being the inspiration for a number one chart hit that was sweeping the nation. He felt every sweep of his tongue over the hard, shiny head echoed through stirrings in the bulk of Seb. He gobbled up the whole length of it and heard the low sigh move from the depths of that solid abdomen, through the hard mass of the chest, up the throat of that wide neck, out of that handsome mouth. A grunt like the one he had heard for a second before, when he interrupted the lad while he was lying on his bed. Was that intentional? Had he prepared the old school uniform? Had he rehearsed the scene upstairs? Had Arnold been seduced? At his age? ‘Oh god,’ said Seb. ‘I feel bigger than ever.’ Arnold felt the huge, hard thighs while his face was bobbing up and down on Seb’s cock. Every time Seb felt truly aroused, he would tense fleetingly, and the flesh would become like steel under Arnold’s fingers. He searched further, feeling the arse: more solid than an arse had any right to be, but almost as he touched it, it hardened to granite. Arnold experimented again. His fingers were still wet from the rain: he slid them into the younger man’s hot crack. Yes: granite, and a throaty snarl. It should have been impossible for Arnold to know what to do, but Seb’s body told him everything he needed to know. He let the cock pop out of his mouth and rest on his chin. ‘Exceptional,’ he breathed, quoting Seb back to him. Seb almost smiled. ‘You,’ he said, wanking his own dick now. ‘Me?’ ‘Brah,’ said Seb, ‘come up here and let me suck your cock.’ It was awkward in the small space of the car. Arnold had to put one foot down on top of the weights. (Mine now, he thought. I’m going to follow you, mate.) He unzipped his jeans and let his long dick stick out before thrusting it into Seb’s face. Thank god, he thought, the windows are fully misted up. I know where I am with this, he thought, and could almost imagine it was his ex-wife going down on him. Except that in between mouthfuls Seb growled, ‘Tell me how much bigger I am than you.’ Which made Arnold feel like his dick was pulsing harder than it had been since he was a teenager himself. ‘You’re like a Greek statue,’ he said, ‘only inflated. You look so strong.’ ‘More.’ ‘You could pin me down with one hand.’ ‘Oh! More, man.’ ‘Your triceps are huge. Your abdominal muscles look sculpted.’ ‘Tell me,’ said the teenager, spluttering on the older man’s hard dick, ‘More.’ ‘You’re about four times the size of me,’ said Arnold. ‘And I love it. Next to you I’m so soft.’ The words slurred around as the pleasure of the blowjob travelled through his heart. ‘Yes,’ said Seb. ‘Fuck soft.’ Arnold froze. ‘You want me to fuck you?’ Can I do that? he wondered. Probably, said his inner voice. You’ve got history. There was a pause. ‘Can you do that?’ said Seb. ‘It’s not what I meant, but yeah, I do.’ ‘Don’t you want to fuck me instead?’ said Arnold. ‘I mean, you’re the big guy.’ ‘And you’re the straight guy. Besides which, it’s my arse. Trust me, brah,’ drawled Seb, ‘you don’t get confused about this shit.’ It meant more shifting around in the back seat, but finally they arranged it so that Arnold was sat in the middle, and Seb lowered himself deliciously onto his erection. His thighs worked like pistons, and just as effortlessly. All the power melted from his face. He was helpless on Arnold’s hard dick. He began wanking himself again, his pecs bouncing in the wet t-shirt almost directly in Arnold’s eye-line. ‘Tell me,’ he said breathlessly. ‘Tell me more.’ ‘I’m so small,’ Arnold said, looking down at his fat chest to the bush of his pubes, where Seb was bobbing up and down on his hard, rather longer (but he wouldn’t mention that now) prick. ‘Go back to the start,’ said Seb. Arnold raked his fingers over the lad’s chest. ‘I’m so soft,’ he said, which was patently untrue in a significant way. ‘Fuck soft,’ moaned Seb. ‘I’m so small,’ ‘Fuck small,’ groaned Seb from deep in his belly, wanking his dick harder than ever. Arnold stared up at the handsome young face, contorted with pleasure. ‘I’m so normal,’ he gasped. ‘Fuck normal,’ said Seb. ‘Fuck – fuck – fuck…’ ‘Don’t get it on my car seats!’ gasped Arnold, losing control himself. For a few minutes they were both moaning with pleasure, chuckling, drawing breath. Then they were coughing and spluttering and gasping and trying to stand up. Arnold banged his head on the ceiling, as did Seb. There was a strange atmosphere between them now. Pleasure flooding through Arnold, the heat of his body and the cold rain-wet clothes. Cum running in splashes down his thighs. ‘Exceptional,’ he said, doing up his fly. Then his foot went in something sticky. ‘Oh, typical,’ he groaned. ‘Seb, you’ve only cum all over the fucking weights.’ ‘Wouldn’t be the first time,’ the teenager smiled. ‘And as for the bars you thread the weights onto – well, there’s a reason they’re called fuckers, brah. All perfectly clean now, I assure you.’ He was poised in the doorway. Outside, the rain was just beginning to ease off. ‘I haven’t even paid you for them,’ said Arnold. ‘Oh,’ said Seb, ‘you’ve done fine.’ ‘You’ll need cash if you’re off to University in the autumn.’ ‘I’ll survive. But –’ ‘What?’ Seb opened the door and stepped outside. ‘I’ll be in touch about coming over for some tuition. With the weights, I mean. Plenty of exercises still to try.’ ‘I’ll make you that CD,’ grinned Arnold. But his new young friend had already closed the door and was off up the street, getting smaller and smaller as he vanished into the distance, but still pretty much the biggest thing in view. Fuck soft. Fuck small. Fuck normal, thought Arnold, lighting up a cigarette. Fuck!

Hi, My name is Ken Austin (Instagram: ken_austin_fitness). I am a young jock guy into fitness and have very healthy lifestyle. Bodybuilding is my passion, but I am only interested of building a perfect body the natural way. I talked with a lot of worshiper in my life. I met Jeff by Instagram. we talked a lot during those few days of Coronavirus. We life far away but we want to meet one day to realise our muscle worship fantasies. Today’s story will be a fantasy that I imagined with him. Jeff is sitting in the living room. I joined him on the coach with a bowl of fruit, oat, and protein. I am wearing my pyjamas, a tank top as usual. I always needs to see my arms and my beautiful chest that I work hard on it. He is looking at me and say, Jeff: “We just had diner, why are you still eating”. Instantly, I flex my left arms to show him my biceps and add Ken: “To build bigger arms like this”. Jeff was always excited to watch me flexing and showing off. He gave me a look of excitement. I put the fruit bow on the table and gave him a double bicep flex. Instantly he starts putting his hands on both of my biceps and start caressing them. I gave him my superman biceps flex; I am flexing my right biceps and my left arms is pointing on the air. Jeff was touching me; we were both getting very excited. Ken: “Let’s go into the posing room” Jeff: “fuck yeah, you mad me horny” We go into the posing room. There is a 2 big mirror, side by side and very warm lights to be able to pose and show every muscle in their best advantage. Ken: “Sit there, behind the mirror and let’s practice my poses” Jeff love watching me striping and posing. I am purely exhibitionist and have this needs to show off a lot, sometimes too much. Too much would be like last time we went at the restaurant and I was bouncing my pecs to turn him on and check his hard on under the table with my foot. Let us go back to the story. I slowly start getting rid of my tank top and my pant. Once I am naked, I am dressing up with the poser. We both love to watch me posing with my poser like a real bodybuilder. I start oiling my self. Usually jeff love to oil me while I am flexing but today, I want him to watch first. I oil up all my body with a LOT of coconut oil as I like. Jeff is obviously getting excited and cannot stop looking at me. He have a major hard on in his pants. Same for me in my poser but I want to stay focus. I start posing, double biceps front, from the back, most muscular, side chest, etc. Jeff always correct my pose. We both wants me to show my muscles in their best advantage. We are both very horny right now. I workout my chest today while he was at work and I workout very hard as always to get worship. Muscle Worship is like candy for me. As always, I really need to be worshipped. I got rid of the poser. I place myself just in front of Jeff. Ken: “get on your knee and start worshipping my chest!” Jeff quickly executes. He starts caressing my chest slowly and sensually. I can see my big chest all pumped from posing getting worship. The sensation of the oil on my chest and those hands moving always drive me insane. I am slowly jerking off, edging. Ken: “Come on boy, you like my big pecs? Worship it! They are so perfect, right?” Jeff: “they are the best pecs I have ever touch, they are my muscles, they are my everything” Ken:” come on worship me, I am half-human, half-god, am I right? I deserve it!” Jeff: “you are my god, you are my everything, your pecs have all power over me. I need your big muscles for coming. Without them I cannot cum for real” I always been into this verbal muscle thing. Love to talk about my own muscles and being dominant. I am edging and I am getting very close. Ken: “Fuck my pecs are so fucking pump and big right now, keeps rubbing them, keeps rubbing my big fucking jock pecs, fucks I’m cumin!” I come watching my whole body all oil up, my beautiful face and my pecs with 2 small hands compare to my chest rubbing it. Right after I finished coming, Jeff let his dick out of his pants, start jerking off. I bend over and put my chest right on his face. He instantly come and I felt his come splashing on my body. I kiss his face all oil up. Ken:” tomorrow it’s an arm day”

Metal muscle part two breaking and entering Samuel Fornes woke up from the sounds of his wife Grace Fornes screaming. Causing Samuel to send up, he might be Old, but no one will hurt his Grace. Samuel saw three pairs of malevolent red eyes and suddenly he knew fear. Before he could muster up the strength to act, he was grabbed and yanked off of his bed. The vice like grip on his shoulder hurt like hell, as he felt a huge cold hand grab his left arm crushing it. Samuel cried out after felt his bones from his left lower arm break. His shoulder was not spared as well as he heard the snapping sound. He heard deep grunts of laughter at his pain. Samuel thought what kind of monsters have invaded my home. Then he felt two hands grab both of his legs, slowly crushing them. Samuel screaming in pain as his bones were being crushed, nearly passed out when he felt a jolt. Then he was lifted up by two arms, belly facing the ceiling and his back facing the floor, failing to use his good arm to escape. When he felt himself crashing down on his assailant’s knee breaking his back with a loud snap. Grace started to scream when she heard her husband’s back being broken. She couldn’t see anything as she tried reaching for the lamp, only to find that the lamp did not turn on when she twisted the knob. Then suddenly she a felt a big hand grab the back of her neck lifting her off her bed, she could barely breathe. Then slowly the room began to light up as the monster who was holding the back of her neck and her lifted up in the air had a glowing lightbulb and its other hand. She saw two huge extremely muscular metal skin man with red eyes completely bald and had wicked grins on their strong faces. Then she saw a broken Samuel on the floor ignoring the fact that the metallic skin men’s huge cocks were erect. To her horror she saw metal slowly covering her husband’s skin. When the metal completely covered Samuels skin he began to grow with metallic muscles. First his body became more defined and trim melting away his jelly belly. Then he began to swell all over with muscle causing his nightgown to tighten and stretch showing off the growing muscles beneath. Eventually his nightgown began to tear showing off his new metal muscular back, then his pants legs showing off some of his huge muscular thighs. Then his striped nightshirt’s sleeves completely burst off showing off his huge veiny biceps as he slowly got up from the floor. With a deep roar he completely destroyed his favorite nightgown. When he turned around Grace saw her husband was now 8 feet tall had, huge beefy pecs, was erect, had Mental skin and had glowing red eyes with a strong square jaw. Samuel walked slowly towards his wife reaching out with his new huge metallic right hand cupping her right cheek. Samuel saw that she was scared with tears in her eyes and a look of pleading hope for her husband to recognize her. Samuel gave her a warm smile and a look of recognition. Grace calm down a little at the site of her husband’s signature smile but her face turned to horror as she felt herself getting stabbed by Samuel whose left hand form into a giant mental knife. Rather than bleed to death she felt metal slowly crept all over her body devouring her and slowly flowing back into Samuel. When Samuel was done consuming his wife, he felt powerful. His hand returned to normal and as one of his new brother who is holding the ones glowing lightbulb crushed it with one hand. The three sons of maximum came up to Samuel and began to feel his new huge metal muscle body. Closing his eyes, he felt his body being fondled. He felt every lick, every squeeze and he liked it. He loved the look in grace’s eyes as he stabbed her. He loved how his bones were broken and reformed. he going to love breaking the bodies men with his muscular arms and legs and see them be reborn as the sons of maximum. He began to masturbate grabbing his huge hard metal cock with his huge right hand and began to rub it. Moaning and grunting at all of the worship of his new metal muscular body. He felt a thick tongue on his muscular back, his huge thigh and left flexing bicep. Eventually he came shooting his thick metallic cum from his huge fat veiny cock. Then all of them heard the voice of the Crystal heart.” They are four more men around to the east of here. Conquer in the name of Emperor maximum.” All four of them could see in the dark all four them could sense life in the unchanged.

Metal muscle part one The crystal heart Theodore Copper and his friends/roommate Jackson Stars were just returning home with their nerdy friend, Miles Towers with a heavy chest, that they found in the woods. Once they made room on their table. All three of them lifted the heavy chest onto the table and as they did the old rusty lock fell apart, allowing them access to its contents. Jackson out of blatant curiosity open the chest, to the exhausted protests of Theodore and Miles. Inside the chest was a red crystal heart, not a crystal in a 2-D heart-shaped, it was a literal crystal in the shape of a human heart with veins. The beauty of this crystal heart enthralled, all three of them, who simply stare at it, even while it started to glow and beat, and as it did their hearts began to beat and rhythm with it. Every second Theodore, Jackson and Miles began to feel their hearts crystallize. Each of them falling on to the floor as blood no longer flew through their veins. Then like magic, there newly crystallize hearts began to beat and as it did a metal substance began to flow in their bodies. There veins darkened as the magic of Emperor Maximum started to change them into his metal men, his soldiers, his servants, his children. All three of their souls were heated, crushed and remade, in the image of Emperor Maximum. Every beat of the crystal heart pump liquid metal in their veins, which eventually led into their internal organs. Anything that the liquid metal blood touched became living metal. When it reached their bodies muscle system then the magic started to kick into gear. Each of their right pec was the first to swell with new growth as the skin slowly turned into a type of flexible silver metal. Each beat of their hearts causes them to grow with metal muscle. There shirts and pants started to become tight as patches of skin turned into metal. Each of them grew taller until they each reached 8 feet. Their bodies widening and growing to compensate for the new growth. There once flat chest began to balloon with muscle. There left pec quickly caught up to the growing right pec as both kept growing with size and girth. All three of their bellies began to develop abs, but Miles belly was already fat, so it simply ballooned out. While Theodore and Jackson’s belly developed a hard eight pack abs of steel while Miles was developing a metal muscle gut. Their legs and arms were already started to tone as their wastes widen and trimmed. There thighs swell with muscle like growing tree trunks. Their strain clothes began to rip and tier, revealing their swelling muscular metal skin. There shoes burst from their huge growing metal feet as their shredded shirts and pants completely fell off of their huge hard muscular metal bodies. With Veins full of liquid metal pumping into the huge biceps and lower arms, making them grow freakishly huge. Eventually their metallic blood reached their cock and balls, causing their cocks to become hard, as its swell with girth as liquid metal covered their cocks and growing balls. Their jaws squared out; their noses became more blunt, there eyebrows became more pronounced, and their faces became more harder. All their hair was gone, and their eye became red and the white of their eyes turned black. The three son the maximum got up from the floor using their new strength. Each of them trying to remember who they are. “Is that you Miles” Theodore said as he began to walk towards the changed Miles, who was now huge, like a heavyweight bodybuilder with a case of muscle gut. Theodore placed his right huge metal hand on one of Miles huge muscular metal shoulder. Miles shoulder felt strangely soft, hard, firm and strong. Theodore came closer to Miles as he so did, so he begin to fondle miles huge metallic pecs. Meanwhile, Jackson began to walk towards Theodore’s huge muscular metallic back, with swagger. Miles love the feeling of Theodore rubbing his huge pecs. He loved it when Theodore started touching and rubbing his metal nipples. Miles hands drifted towards the sides of Theodore’s huge thighs, eventually drifting towards Theodore’s muscular metal ass. Jackson began to feel Theodore strong back, feeling all of crevices of Theodore’s back muscles. Theodore stopped fondling miles pecs as miles began to fondle Theodore’s huge metallic arms starting with his shoulders. Miles,” with those metal guns you can properly bend metal.” “More like breaks some bones.” Theodore said with an evil grin eyes glowing red. Miles had a look of concern for a second then his eyes glowed as well, and then he had an evil smile, he said.” With this tool,” Miles pointed to his thick hard metallic cock. “I could spit roast a man to death. Better yet I could break his back with a thrust of my cock, and with my balls, I could smash a person’s ass to dust.” All three of them stopped and looked confused. Their actions didn’t feel normal or like themselves. But as the influence of Emperor maximum grew their attitudes change. Jackson did a double bicep pose and said. “With these guns, I bet I could probably rip a man’s arms off all by myself.” Theodore with enthusiasm said,” I could probably rip a man in half, with mine,”. Miles grabbed his hard metal cock and began to rub it in pleasure at the thought of his masculinity at the thought of crushing things with his huge metallic muscles at the thought of men being broken by his muscles. Living, dead and broken men will become the sons of maximum. This world will belong to Emperor maximum. Theodore and Jackson also began to masturbate. As the thoughts of Emperor maximum completely took hold over all three of them. Eventually miles came, then Theodore and finally Jackson spilling their hot metallic seed everywhere. The thoughts of conquest on their minds.

Like many of you, I'm social distancing, and had a little time to write. This Coronavirus pandemic inspired me to write a series of short stories, each with muscle-obsessed characters having a little fun (or maybe not, in the case of one), while the pandemic rages in the larger world around them. There are 5 stories that all take place in the same un-named New York neighborhood. Growth: Scott and James are two friends, bored out of their minds while in isolation. When they decide to workout to pass the time, James reveals a new supplement that promises miraculous results. Sex: Seamus is Gay and obsessed with his huge alpha-male friend, Jamie. The only problem: Jamie is straight. But luckily for Seamus, Jamie's girlfriend, Carmen, has a surprise request for both of them. Theft: Nick is young, buff, and hot. His life couldn't get any better. But it could get worst. Does the sexy MILF, Grace, want to fuck him or does she want something else. Strength: Nathan is a skinny, lazy teen, stuck at home with his annoying kid sister. Suddenly, life get's interesting when he sees the size of his neighbor's two friends, and the things they can do. Domination: Little Wayne is a slave to his demanding 330-lb boyfriend, Connor, whom he calls master. Master wants to have some fun! Read all the stories or only the one that piques your interest the choice is yours. These are: "Corona Tales" Growth “What the fuck are we gonna do, Scott?” James said. “Nothing’s open except the grocery store and they’re pretty much empty.” “We have Netflix,” I said. James let out a grunt of disapproval. “This is a boredom not even Netflix can solve. I can’t believe we have 2 weeks of this shit. No movie theaters. No clubs. No parades, concerts, restaurants!” He grabbed his hair and pulled dramatically, letting his head fall back onto the couch cushion. I shook my head and smiled sympathetically. The governor had shut down the state due to a viral pandemic that was sweeping the globe. With 20,000 reported cases and 1500 deaths in New York alone it was too little too late, but oh well. Honestly, I didn’t mind being shut in. I was a homebody anyway. My roommate, James, however had to be out doing something. He liked to be around people. I just liked being around him. To put it plainly: James was hot, a total package. While my looks were average, he was an 11 out of 10. It was really no wonder that he enjoyed being around people. Wherever he went he was the center of attention, like a great celestial body pulling everything around him into his gravitational field. James had dark hair, ‘styled’ messy and olive skin that belied his Mediterranean roots. His jaw was square and peppered with a five-o clock shadow and his eyes were honey brown. And don’t get me started on his body, a sight I was blessed to see on several occasions. He liked to work out. and it showed in how he filled out a shirt, bulging in all the right places. I worked out as well so I looked fit, but James had the genetics of a top-level physique competitor. He’d rival any pro if only he were bigger. Now that was a thought. If only he were bigger. My eyes wondered over his body as he sat their staring blankly at the TV. If only he were bigger… Let me stop and tell you I’m not gay. You may think I am, with the way I’m obsessing over James right now, but trust me I’m bisexual. I actually lean towards woman more often than not, but James could make even a straight man question himself. “Hello. Earth to Scott. What are you staring at?” James asked. I blinked. I was imagining you growing, every muscle on you swelling with size and power until your clothes couldn’t take it anymore and they burst at the seams. Your swelling form set free from the prison of those confining threads to expand ever outward with lean, hard, striated, veiny muscle. Your body growing so large it would never ever again be contained by clothes, not only because no clothes would fit you, but because it would be a disservice to mankind to cover you god-like magnificence with clothing ever again. “Nothing dude. I just spaced out for a minute,” I said. Then I had an idea. The apartment had a gym in the basement. It was pretty well stocked, for an apartment gym, and always empty. Maybe I could get him to develop a pump and that would satisfy my desire to see him grow. My cock grew stiff at the thought. “I know what we can do.” I said, smiling. “Let’s go down to the gym and do a full body workout.” James stared at me, tilting his beautiful head, obviously considering it deeply. He shrugged his shoulders and said “Fuck it. It’s better than sitting around doing nothing.” “Great!” “There’s a new supplement I just got that I’ve been meaning to try anyway,” James said. “New supplement?” I raised my eyebrows. “Yeah,” He pushed himself up and darted into his room. He returned with a small grey container in hand, and passed it to me. “Superpump,” I read aloud. The rest of it was in a foreign language. “What language is this.” “Not really sure. Maybe Russian or some other language in that family. I think it’s Russian, though, because it was that huge ass Russian guy at our gym that told me about it one day. You know who I’m talking about?” I nodded, my eyes still fixed on the container. There was a picture of a grotesquely sexy muscle man on the label, who had to be photoshopped because h looked bigger than Greg Golias. “The dude said this stuff works like magic. One scoop in a shake before working out and you’ll be amazed. Those were his exact words. You’ll be amazed. I whipped my phone out and ordered right on the spot.” “Cool.” I nodded. “Let’s see if it works.” The Russian guy James was talking about was the largest man I had ever seen outside of the Olympia. His arms had to be over 25 inches. And the dude seemed to grow consistently all year without ever putting on fat. We changed into out workout clothes: tanks, sweatpants, and sneakers. James mixed up a protein shake and added one heaping scoop of the Superpump. He poured a little into a glass for me, but he drank the lion’s share of it straight from the blender. The stuff didn’t taste bad. “Ready to get pumped!” I exclaimed, psyching him up. “Fuck yeah!” He slapped his hands down on my shoulders. “Let’s go!” We grabbed a couple of water bottles and James did a most muscular pose before we headed out the door. The second he turned around I adjusted my swelling cock. This was going to be an awkward workout. It’s so difficult to hide a hardon in sweats. We found the gym empty, as expected. After a quick stretch and a warmup with light weights, we got straight to work. James grabbed two 60 lb. dumb-bells, sat on a weight bench and began pumping out rep after rep of shoulder presses. I was doing standing curls with 40 lbs. in each hand, while stealing glances at James. The cords of muscle in his arms rippled beneath the skin, contracting with each rep. His arms were a thing of beauty. Each muscle group was clearly defined, from the upside-down teardrops that formed his delts, to the croissant-like triceps. He let out guttural grunts on his final reps as he strained to finish his set. I always loved how hard he pushed himself when working out. “Yah!” He called out in pain and satisfaction as his arms fell to his sides and he dropped the weights to the mat. He leaned forward, shoulders pumped and glistening with sebum and sweat. I put my dumb-bells back on the rack, and felt the telltale tightness of a pump in my own arms. “Feels good doesn’t it?” James asked, between breaths. “What?” “Getting a pump.” “Yeah, man. It does.” I flexed my biceps, knowing that he would do the same. James bought his arms up into a double bicep pose, forming two perfect peaks wrapped in a near symmetrical network of blue veins. He was so symmetrical it was like an artist had painted half of him and while the paint was still wet, folded the paper in two, to form the other half. “I don’t know why you don’t compete,” I said. “I’m not big enough for that.” I impulsively reached out and squeezed his bicep. A quick, playful squeeze between bros. Just long enough to feel it hardness in my hand. “You’re big enough for a local show,” I said. Though I agree, you should be bigger. “I’ll think about it.” He grinned. “Who knows, if this Superpump works as good as the Russian says I might just do it.” We continued our workout, moving from exercise to exercising with no real order, just having fun and passing time. Throughout the workout James’ pump went from the normal to the insane. Every muscle was swollen. I had developed a pump as well, but nothing like what I was witnessing on James. I was doing lateral raises while James was laying on the bench doing dumb-bell presses with 100 lbs. in each hand. As I watched the mounds of meat that were his pecs contract It seemed the cleavage between them was growing deeper with each rep. The slabs of muscle widened as well, right before my eyes, pushing his nipples out from behind the straps of his tank. Impossible. This was no ordinary pump. Looking down at my own body, I could see changes as well. I looked a little bigger here and there, but James was flat out inflating. He seemed oblivious to it. It had to be the Superpump. James had taken more of it than I did, so he was getting a greater effect. Combine that with his superior muscle building genetics and… James let the weight fall and sat up on the bench. “God! This fucking pump is unbelievable! And I feel like I could lift all night!” My cock sprung to attention. It was the fasted boner I had ever had, going from flaccid to turgid in the time it took James to utter his sentence. I quickly adjusted it, hoping he hadn’t seen the pitched tent in my sweats. “You know, I’m not sure that’s a normal pump.” “What do you mean?” James looked at me expectantly. “I think that Superpump is making you physically grow.” “Get the fuck outta here.” He laughed. “You can’t physically grow more mass by a noticeable amount in less than an hour. There’s laws of physics and shit.” “Didn’t the Russian say it worked like magic?” “Figure of speech,” James said, dismissively. “How much did you weigh this morning?” “190.” He said. “There’s a scale over there. Weigh yourself.” He stared blankly at me, then shook his head. “Ok, just to prove you wrong.” He rose, and I could see his cobra back was pushing his arms away from his side. He stepped on the scale and his eyes nearly popped out of his skull. “210!” “210!” I repeated. “A full 20 pounds more.” “No way!” He hopped off the scale and began looking himself over in the mirror, flexing, poking, and rubbing. Then he peeled off his sweat soaked tank, revealing the divine sight of his brick-like abs. “Fuuck!” I said aloud. My hardon was painful, stretched to its limits, rising above my waistband onto my stomach. “Fuck is right, dude. The Russian said that stuff was like magic and he wasn’t lying. This is incredible.” James was clearly infatuated with his own body. He nipples had swollen, looking like hard little pacifiers, pushed downward by the bulk of his pecs. A bulge was growing in his sweats, snaking down his left thigh, thick as a toilet paper tube. God! Everything about him was perfect! Then a though struck me. “James, It’s obviously the working out that’s activating the Superpump. So how about we keep going and see just how big you can get?” “I like the way you think, man.” And so, James continued lifting, more and more reps with more and more weights, until he had maxed out every machine and lifted the heaviest dumb-bells. Several times I caught myself absentmindedly stroking my raging hardon through my sweats, but James was so focused on his own growth that he never seemed to notice. After an hour of intense pumping James’ body was nearly unrecognizable. Just mounds upon mounds of striated veiny muscle fighting for space on his frame. His legs had grown so large his sweats now looked like legging stretched tight across his shelf-like glutes and quads like loafs of bread pressed together. The growth had stopped and I suggested he weigh himself. He was all too eager. He swaggered over to the scale and stepped on it. 260 lbs. of solid beef. I nearly fainted. James began flexing, smiling widely as I looked him over. The finest specimen of a man I had ever laid eyes upon. “Well come on dude and have a feel,” James said. “And not like you grabbed my bicep before. Really feel me up. I know you want to.” “Whaa?” I temporarily lost the ability to speak. “I’ve got two working eyes you know. You’ve been eyeing my muscles, practically salivating, for the longest time, even before we got down here. And that hardon! Dude, you know if they last this long your supposed to call a doctor.” He laughed. I blushed. “Are you asking me to worship your muscles?” “It’s what you want isn’t it?” Jason grabbed his sweats and with one quick yank pulled them off revealing his stunning legs. He tossed the torn fabric aside. “It’s alright.” I placed a hand on each pec. He bounced them. The vibration of those thick slabs of meat was enough to send waves of pleasure through me. The size. The power. It was all so much and it was all in my grasp. My fantasy had come to life by way of some magic. As the world outside descended into chaos my world in here was perfect. My hands wandered to the mounds of his shoulders and squeezed the hard muscle. “I’m so fucking horny,” James said. “Suck my nipples.” I did, taking his tender nipples into my mouth, tasting his salty skin, caressing his pecs with my tongue. He moaned in pleasure. His strong arms enveloped me. “We’ve got two weeks of quarantine,” James said. “Just you and me and the rest of that container of Superpump. I think I finally know what we’re gonna be doing.”

This is a short story I've written inspired by the "self worship" thread (https://muscle-growth.org/topic/7756-self-worship/) - all about guys who are turned on by worshipping their own muscle bods. Check out this forum member's instagram who is the "Ken" of the story: https://www.instagram.com/ken_austin_fitness/. Ken Ken stood in front of the locker room mirror, his body covered in sweat and his pecs still heaving from the heavy work out. He couldn’t help pulling his pumped arms up into a double biceps pose. “Mmmm….FUCK!” he grunted as river-like veins popped up over his mounds of rock hard muscle. He held the pose, flexing harder and harder as more and more veins exploded under his skin, revelling in the power coursing through him. Soon, his arms were screaming in agony but still he held the flex, pushing himself, almost willing his muscles to grow even bigger. Just as he was about to pass out from the sensation Ken relaxed, letting his arms fall down by his side. A second later though he had pulled down the front of his vest, exposing his striated pecs which he then started to flex and bounce. “Look at these pecs,” he murmured under his breath as he hit each one in turn over and over, enjoying the feeling of the unyielding muscle under his fists. The sweat-soaked stringer vest had to come off. It was like Ken was in a trance as he pealed the vest up his torso and over his head before chucking it carelessly on the floor. He was lost in total self-worship of his amazing muscle body. Next Ken ran a hand up and down his cobbled 6 pack abs, flexing them hard under his fingers. “I’m a muscle God,” he moaned sexually as began to caress various muscle groups in turn – biceps…pecs…shoulders…abs…over and over, his hands continuously moving, his pumped body performing the most amazing muscle dance under his exploring fingers. He started to moan. Totally subconsciously. Lost. His cock was swelling. And swelling. Pressing out against his skin-tight gym shorts. Ken loved his body. He’d worked hard at it for this very reason. He loved being a ripped muscle God. Not caring that someone could walk in at any moment (‘Let them’, a subconscious part of his brain thought), he slipped his fingers into the waistband of his gym shorts and started to ease them down over the colossal mass of his thick tree-trunk-like quadriceps. This was some undertaking and Ken loved seeing the fabric stretch around the huge muscle bulk of his upper legs. Soon though he had them down and kicked off to somewhere on the other side of the locker room. Standing in front of the mirror still, he was now only wearing a jockstrap which failed to conceal the growing bulge of his thick muscle cock. “Look at these quads,” Ken growled as he flexed each one in turn. He loved the diamond shape which adorned the front of them and how they touched in the middle at the top of his legs, pushing his sizeable package forwards. This was why he lifted. This was why he wanted to grow and grow. “Total BEAST!” he roared, each of his muscles jumping out as his animalistic cry echoed around the locker room. He couldn’t wait any longer – the jock strap had to come off too. Ken nearly ripped it in his excitement, eager to be totally naked, everything on display. Soon his hand was wrapped around his growing cock as it quickly swelled to its full length and thickness. He started slowing jerking it, a now continuous stream of groans and moans escaping his lips. Ken’s other hand continued to explore his sweaty, pumped body, lingering over each sweaty striation, every rock-hard mound. “I LOVE MY MUSCLE BODY!” he roared. Surely people in the gym would hear him. Fuck it. Ken jerked his massive cock faster and faster. His moans were getting louder. He was a muscle animal, appreciating his own body. “Look at these massive pecs,” he groaned. His free hand kept coming back to them. Ken loved his pecs. He bounced them over and over under his exploring fingers. “Yes…SO STRONG…SO BIG!” he screamed as his cock erupted. Rivers of cum shot across the mirror, running down to the floor as Ken collapsed in a heap of pumped, sweaty Muscle God.

Hey Everyone, With the new forum rules, I decided to consolidate "The Muscle Sandwich" and add a new chapter to the story! Let me know what you think The Muscle Sandwich: Part 1 Alex sat nervously on his bed eager with anticipation knowing that what he was about to experience would change his life forever. Alex had always been a short guy growing up and once he reached 5’1”, he just stopped growing. In addition to this he had always been pretty frail and couldn’t surpass 100lbs no matter how hard he tried. Never the less, Alex had just finished university and started working in a pretty decent job when he heard the horrible news, his uncle had passed away. His uncle John and him had always been pretty close and they would often spend time together when Alex was growing up. John had no kids and was the first person that Alex had opened up to about being gay. John admitted to Alex shortly after that he was gay as well and they found comfort in the bond they shared. When John passed away, Alex was pretty devastated and it took a while for him to get back in to the swing of things in his own life. A few weeks after John’s death, his lawyer had called to let Alex know that John had a left a sizeable amount of money in his will to Alex with special note from John. After the money had been transferred, John’s lawyer delivered the note to Alex in addition to the paperwork. Once Alex had calmed himself down he began to read note, “Dear Alex, To you I leave this modest sum of money in the hopes that you will spend it on yourself and truly enjoy it. I know you have been busy with work and school and haven’t allowed yourself much time to enjoy some of the finer things in life so I hope this sum of money will grant you that. I know you mentioned to me that you had always fantasized about having a wild time partying but just couldn’t bring yourself to do it. So as my final words I implore you to take a bite out of life and experience something unreal.” Alex had started to cry about half way through the short note but vowed to himself that he would honour his uncle’s wishes and do something amazing with the money. A few weeks later, Alex was looking at different all-inclusive trips to tropical locations online but nothing seemed to really stand out at him as a ‘once in a lifetime’ experience. Sighing with his unsuccessful searches, he busted out his cock and began to search for some porn online. Alex had always been in to really big and muscular guys and would often jerk off to porn featuring them. His favourite scenes included ones where the big, muscular, dominant top would absolutely ravage the small bottom in all positions. He also really enjoyed muscle-worshipping videos where men would kiss, grope, touch, and feel bodybuilder’s muscles and get off on them. Surprisingly enough, he had never found a video or website which did a really good job of combining both of those fantasies but he supposed it was very niche. While searching for a suitable video to wank off with he came across an ad on his favourite muscle-worshipping website. It read, “Tired of jerking off to the same old thing? Want to have a truly unforgettable experience? Try the real thing with a bodybuilder escort!” Never the one to click on online ads, Alex just couldn’t resist and clicked anyways. He was intrigued to learn more about what the ad was talking about with real muscle worship. The ad took Alex to a bodybuilder escort website which featured a whole host of very large muscular men who were available for sex, muscle worshiping, feats of strength, and more. As Alex read on he got more and more excited at the prospect of living out his fantasies with a huge muscular man. He started looking at all of the profiles of the bodybuilders before he had stumbled upon the largest man on the site. The profile read: Name: Colt Height: 6’10” Weight: 400lbs, all muscle Cock Size: 12 inches Favourite position: You, in my arms with your ankles over my shoulders while I stand and use you like a fleshlight to jerk off my huge cock. Into: Muscle worshipping, feats of strength, wrestling, fucking Special: Try me with my hot friend Ox, my gym buddy and some say ‘twin’ for a truly unforgettable experience. The profile did not have any pictures and very little information outside of the original description. Alex was absolutely convinced that this is what he needed in his life. He has just gotten out of a pretty bad relationship and was ready to use his uncle’s money to hire Colt and live out his fantasies. The contact form on the website was blinking at Alex and had the words “HIRE ME!” With a shaking hand and a much anticipation Alex filled out his contact information and with a moment of hesitation, mentioned that he would like to also hire Ox. He poured all of his fantasies and desires on the page and hoped he didn’t seem like a lunatic to the two. This was by far the most expensive option on the website but Alex had made a promise to himself and to his uncle that he would have an unforgettable time. After closing his eyes and hitting the ‘submit’ button, he was told by the website that he would be contacted by the escort shortly. The next week Alex was a nervous wreck. He spent that time being extremely anxious at work and second-guessing his decision. On a few occasions, he very nearly tried to call the whole thing off and was unconvinced if Colt and Ox had even existed. After all, there were no pictures in the profile and Alex had never heard of bodybuilders that were as large as they claimed. After a week Alex received an email from Colt. He immediately stopped everything he was doing at work to read the email which had a simple note “Is this what you want?” Alex was confused until he saw that there was a picture attached and when he opened it he very nearly creamed his pants on the spot. It showed what he guessed were Colt and Ox standing close together facing one another. They were both very tall and extremely muscular in what he guessed to be someone’s house as it looked like their heads were nearly scraping the ceiling. Then Alex took a double take and noticed something sandwiched between the two. In the center of this pair was what looked to be an average sized man, his feet dangling a foot off the floor and his whole body nearly obscured by the muscle squeezing together to hold him up. Neither Ox nor Colt were holding on to this unnamed man, he was just being held up by their two immense bodies coming together. Alex completely lost it at this point and involuntarily came on the spot. He responded as quickly as his fingers could type, “Yes Sir, I want to worship Ox and yourself and have you use and abuse me. Please fuck the ever-loving shit out of me and never let my feet touch the floor. Yours faithfully, Alex.” He hit reply and a response came shortly afterwards. They were directions for Alex from Colt, which read: You will take the next week off to prep yourself both mentally and physically. You will fly Ox and I out to your place at the end of the week. You will have the greatest 3-day weekend of your entire life. You will continue to be a slave for muscle for the rest of your natural born life. After this email, Alex made all of the necessary preparations. He made sure he was neatly groomed, had enough food in the house to feed these two gigantic men, and just waited with nervous anticipation. Finally the day had come. Colt and Ox were flying in, in the morning and were being transported by a prepaid limo to Alex’s house. As he sat nervously on the bed he heard a car roll up in to his driveway and made his way to the door to answer the resounding knock on the door. When Alex opened the door he was at a loss for words. Before him stood two of the biggest Muscle Gods he had ever seen, both in real life and online, in his entire life. Colt and Ox both smiled like the Cheshire cat. Looking way down at Alex’s 5’1” self the one in front said in a very deep and masculine voice, “This is going to be good.” He then proceeded to effortlessly lift Alex up with his hands underneath his armpits and walk through the threshold of the entrance. Alex’s mouth was agape and quietly said a prayer to his uncle John. This was going to be unforgettable.

Dylan’s Muscle Growth BY LORUS My name is Dylan. Dylan Mass. Can you actually believe that’s my surname? What were my parents thinking? My dad took part in some secret government experiment back in the early ‘90s and changed his surname from ‘Grady’ to ‘Mass’ in anticipation of “big changes” to come. Alas, the experiment was a failure. Or so the powers-that-be initially thought. One hundred men signed up for the trial of this serum connected to Area 51, or some shit like that. I don’t have all the details, as all records of the program were destroyed when the secret facility “accidentally” burned down. My dad, along with ninety-nine other suckers, were told their bodies would be transformed into supermen: Metazoans, to be exact. But it never happened. The 100 men went their separate ways and everything was forgotten over time. Until I and several dozen others were born some years later. And now most of us are in our late teens or early twenties, and things were very different for us. Before I continue my story, let me explain what Metazoans are. We’re super-HUGE bodybuilders, one and all. Of coure, we’re not all exactly the same. This is determined by when our genetic gifts passed on by our gay fathers – yup, you heard me – actually kick in. The guys who develop early into puberty have all that extra adolescent growth hormone to help them grow not only massive muscles, but reach huge heights, too. There’s one guy in America, Ronny Fortuna, who is over 12-feet tall, and weighs over 5000 lbs. He’s the biggest documented Metazoan in the world. Huge, yes, but it’s not just about height versus weight and the overall distribution of muscle mass around the body. It’s got to do with muscle density. That’s what all we growth-freaks focus on with our eating and training, as well as how much Metazenic activity is happening in our bodies’ cells. The lucky ones – like me and only two others in the world – were late bloomers. Sure, we went through adolescence like any other bloke, but we knew we were special because we were naturally big and athletic from late childhood onwards. But our heights developed more or less just beyond the natural threshold, so all three of us are pretty much of equal height . And, like all Metazoans, we were encouraged – with help from the Cyrus Redfern Institute of Metazenic Research – to bodybuild like fucking crazy, so that when our Metazenic genes finally kicked in post-puberty, our muscle gains would be crazy. I stopped gaining height when I turned 18. 6 feet 6 inches is really a terrific height for a bodybuilder. I may not be anywhere near Ronny Fortuna’s weight. But I’m half the height he is and, well... let me start at the beginning. Lots of good stuff here. And it’ll have you cumming like a fucking rutting bull, I guarantee it. So back then I stopped gaining height at 18. Which was fine. It meant that I could concentrate on packing on as much muscle as possible, which to guys like me, really is to grow without limit. The feeling of my muscles getting bigger and bigger and bigger with no end in sight, makes me want to jizz just by thinking about it. Oh man, if only you normals could live my life. Once the height increases stopped, I really began to fill out. I celebrated my 18th birthday at a special ceremony hosted by the good folks at the Redfern Institute. Cyrus Redfern came out of hiding three years before this, when the government approached him to not exactly re-initiate the program he’d designed that everyone thought had utterly failed, but to create a facility where the gay sons of the gay men who partook of the original experiment could now be monitored and studied. But it’s not like we’re lab rats or anything. We’re not locked in cages and prodded with sticks or nothing. We actually have every luxury afforded to us. Redfern and his team are particularly interested in me and the other two who no longer gain height, but seem to grow bigger, stronger and denser muscles as if by mental will alone. Daniel – from Sweden – weighs about the same as I did back then, but my pecs are way­ bigger than Daniel’s, which got him miffed every so often, when I’d beat his bench press record, sometimes with just one arm, heh heh heh. I will admit to being an upper-body growth freak, and although my legs are pretty well-developed, I tend to concentrate on growing my upper body as much as possible. I’m the bustiest bodybuilder on the planet, even “out-peccing” the 7- and 8-footers, who continue to gain height proportionate to their increases in mass, so it looks like they’re not really filling out as much as myself, Daniel and Flex. Flex is the baby of the three. 18 years-old now, but stopped gaining height when he was fifteen, reaching a respectable 6 feet 3 inches. He was bodybuilding near-constantly, even dropping out of school. There was no need for us to get smart. Everything we’d ever need monetarily would be provided by the Redfern Institute, so we could concentrate on being big dumb muscle-jocks building our bodies to godlike prortions and beyond. Flex doesn’t have the mass of me or Daniel, but his cock is fucking enormous. I love to get fucked by it as much as possible, because being fucked helps me to concentrate on training harder and getting huge beyond belief. In fact, Flex spends more time fucking us other “hugies” – sometimes even during our training sessions – than actually concentrating 500% on his own bodybuilding. Musky muscle-sex in a Redfern-facilitated gym is one of the best things ever. Even my gorgeous male model boyfriend Cole gets in on the action. He’s not a bodybuilder, and has no plans to ever take it up. He’s not Metazenic, but is a respectable 6 feet tall and a slender 145 lbs. His weight tends to fluctuate, though. And that’s my fault. But I’ll get to that later. A week after my 18th birthday, I noticed that I wasn’t gaining further muscle mass. I’d been recently measured, in awe of my 48-inch arms, 103-inch chest, taut 34 waist, mammoth 60-inch thighs and 32-inch calves. The Institute developed some amazing new training equipment as a present for my birthday, plus refinements to the Enerflex serum originally given to our fathers, only it didn’t work on them but instead passed into their semen, so that when they impregnated our mothers... well you get the idea. Enerflex helps us to grow in the same way steroids work on regular 'mortal' bodybuilders. Except with us the growth is more dramatic. Enerflex used to work pretty fast, actually increasing our mass in just minutes. But that led to uncomfortable skin-tightening – and in extreme but rare cases – actual tearing. The formula was refined and now it’s a slow-release metabolic catalyst. It also makes our skin more elastic, so we don’t get stretch marks or tearing. Redfern provided me a decent dose of Enerflex for my birthday, so I could put the new machines to the test. Using powerful electromagnets to provide the resistance where normal gym iron simply couldn’t give muscle-gods like us the workouts we deserved, I soon had their gears grinding and wailing as I pushed the machines to their limit. I broke all of my lifting records and grew ENORMOUS in just two hours, bursting out of my gym clothes until I was fuckin’ naked in front of my parents, younger step-brothers (non-Metazoans), as well as the onlooking team of understudies under Redfern’s tuition. It’s fine. My parents are really open-minded about this sort of thing because they accept and encourage me to become an even more exceptional son. My step-bros, whom my step-mum had prior to marrying my father are just typical averagely-built teenagers. Bud, the youngest, is into video-games and nothing but. He has no interest in getting a girlfriend, whereas Stevie is a bit of a slut and goes through girls like tenpins, which is his thing. Even though we’re not related, he has the same blonde hair, blue eyes, and angelic dimples as I do, so we could pass as biological brothers. Only I’m fifteen times his bodyweight, and it’s all fuckin’ muscle. I love my family, but enough about them. I packed on 150+ lbs of muscle, that day, much to my delight. I was a massive, bulging jock of hugeness. My veins looked like they were going to burst out of my skin as I flexed and growled and cockily displayed my massive size to all those staring in shock at my growth. “Well done, Dylan,” said Doctor Redfern, but he didn’t mind us calling him Uncle Cyrus. “That’s your most impessive growth spurt yet. And on your 18th birthday, too.” Laser scanners built into the gym-cum-lab took my measurements with ease. My fuckin’ gorgeously ballooning muscle-chest, had increased in part thanks to my birthday workout from 103 mind-blowing inches, to 116 inches. I was huge, but it simply wasn’t enough. I growled like the hulk, flexing my muscles harder and harder, my 16-inch cock swelling and hardening with every pose I struck. One of Redfern’s team was there with a vial to collect my precum for analysis, but Uncle Cyrus regularly drank the fluids of his muscle-god progeny, as it kept him feeling young and vital and full of vigor. My dad also took it in capsule form, as it helped him grow back his receding hairline, overcome impotency, and get my step-mum up the duff at 39 with a new half-sibling. I guess I’m a walking Wellbeing Clinic. Back to my growth spurt: “It’s impressive, yeah. But I want more. Much more. Can’t you give me a fuckin’ overdose of that Enerflex, Uncle Cyrus? I really want to grow my muscles bigger than Ronny Fortuna’s. Imagine me outmuscling the biggest Metazenic muscle-giant on planet Earth, actually weighing more than he does, but at only half his height? I’d be fucking amazing!” “You’re amazing already, son,” my dad assured me. I got my amazing good looks from him. Pity the Metazoan stuff from days long gone hadn’t worked on him. Turned out that of the 100 participants, only the gay ones actually produced the exceptional offspring. The reason for this is still being searched for and Redfern is confident he’ll nail it, one day. My dad is gay, but also pansexual, so pretty much anything with a pulse will turn him on, so long as it’s human. He’s very happy with his missus. Of course, all Metazenic bodybuilders like me are engineered to be gay. This was initially introduced to keep our numbers low and not turn the entire human race into massively muscled mega-hunks. Also, the serum only works on the Y-chromosomes, so women aren’t affected. Sorry girls, but all this muscle is for the guys. “You should both start drinking my jizz,” I’d often say to my step-bros. They’d yet to take me up on this, but if they took it in capsule form, like my dad, then what was there to be grossed about? It’d lenghten their lives and improve their overall fitness. I often drink my own, just for fun, and mostly after workouts. I hate wasting protein. In fact, I can’t get enough. I ate 24 chicken breast pizzas at my birthday along with a dozen massively protein-infused muscle shakes. Combined with the workout and the Enerflex, I should have grown more muscle on my birthday. “I’m not about to hand out Enerflex freely, Dylan. It’s hard to produce and slow to quicken. There is a batch in development, but it’ll be a week at least before it’s ready. For now continue to bodybuild as you normally would, by lifting fast and lifting heavy, getting plenty of sleep, and eating plenty of protein-rich foods. You can also try different steroid combinations, but we don’t provide them here. Just stick to trustworthy sources,” Redfern advised, Daniel once got hold of some sinister shit on the dark web that made him grow huge, but it also gave him the worst urinary infection in history, and he spent nine days in hospital. We all learned from that one. “So in a week, can I have a MASSIVE dose? I want to get fuckin’ gigantic, Uncle Cyrus,” and to demonstrate my rampant hunger to bodybuild and bodybuild and bodybuild beyond all sane thought, I exploded into a massive upper body lat-spread flex, puffing out my ribcage and inflating my muscle-boobs until you could barely see my head. I actually got out of breath doing this. Some of the research team got erections and wet stains in their pants, but that was to be expected. My body seemed to grow, but it was only just the muscles flexing with extra blood powered by my increased heart rate and adrenal gland going into overdrive. I soon came bucketloads, which, of course, was collected for study and consumption. I drank some of my own jizz back mixed with a protein shake, then worked out until long after my family had gone home. I spent a lot of time at the Institute, because I was too strong to live at home and was forever breaking things and putting my elbows through the walls and stuff. I could easily lift up the family car and toss it about fifty feet by this stage of my growth. I was even stronger after my growth spurt, so I could probably benchpress a fire truck now. On the night my birthday ended, I lay restless in my modified bed in my modified room at the Institute. I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to get bigger. These are the thoughts that ran through my head, chanted as a personal mantra to help me grow... huger and huger and huger... When I go to the gym, I don’t go to hang out, or to be seen, or to socialize. I go for one reason only: to BODYBUILD. This is reason for being. My only reason to exist. I exist solely to bodybuild. I am a bodybuilder. I need to grow my body bigger and stronger. And I will gain more and more freakish muscle as I enhance my BODYBUILDING progress in order to get so much bigger. So while the ‘normals’ of this world are showing off their enhanced pics on Instagram and doing shitty workouts with shitty weights, just for show and to grab more and more followers, THIS huge fucker is BODYBUILDING and BODYBUILDING, and BODY-FUCKING-BUILDING, GRRRRRRRR, bigger than he’s ever been. I AM A BODYBUILDER. AND I AM GOING TO GROW. AND GROW. AND GROW. I am the best built bodybuilder. I am the biggest and densest bodybuilder relative to my height. Gotta bodybuild and do so much more bodybuilding, so I can bodybuild and bodybuild and bodybuild huger than ever I AM A BODYBULDER. Aw fuck yeah!!! Watch me grow huge... into a huge bodybuilder. So huge from bodybuilding to be bodybuilt with the body of a massive bodybuilder. THIS is what bodybuilding is. It’s what it is to be a gigantic bodybuilder. I will bodybuild more. And when it seems like my bodybuilder’s body can’t grow any more, I will do more and more bodybuilding, breaking new ground, bodybuilding and bodybuilding and BODY-FUCKING-BUILDING MORE AND MORE AND GRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!! But the next week was hell. Because I didn’t gain another pound of muscle. And that pissed me off a great deal.

Hey guys! I'm new here, and this is my first foray into erotica, specifically muscle worship erotica. Anyway, this is one of my biggest fantasies. Enjoy, and constructive feedback is appreciated. Thank you!!! THE GRIND Okay, here goes nothing. It was a sweltering hot summer day, and I couldn’t really be bothered to do anything. Well - didn’t want to, but had to. I had work that morning as a waiter at Moe’s Diner, and it kind of insanely sucked. Not that it was the worst gig - I could be outside in the humidity and hellish heat, but really, when you have a ton of plates to carry and Mr. Crotchety-as-Fuck Senior screams at you because his ice cream is too cold, you kind of wish you were somewhere else. Somewhere where they actually give you a livable paycheck and don’t breathe down your neck all the time. Anyway, my shift was over at noon, and I hurriedly punched out, but not before my boss Dick gave me one more gentle reminder to close out the day. “And remember, Thomas, the customer is always right.” he lilted condescendingly. “Sure thing, Dick” I replied, brushing past him on my way out the back door. “That’s Mr. Lawson to you. And furthermore,” he continued unwaveringly, “Give people what they ordered next time.” “Yes sir,” I replied hastily, before the door shut behind me. ‘Or I could give them my middle finger, how about that’ I thought to myself as I mounted my bike for the ride back to my apartment. I rode out of the parking lot of Moe’s onto the street next to the city park. The combination of the scent of trees, laughing kids on the playground, their parents talking, the warm summer breeze… it all felt wonderful, relieving after a day of work. I began to pedal faster and faster, feeling my lips curve upward into a grin. I was testing myself, seeing just how fast I could go. Maybe not the best idea, considering I was on a road with actual traffic, but I was having too much fun to think about slowing down. I turned the corner onto the final stretch that led to my apartment. ‘Just a little faster. Just a little faster and we’re-OH SHIT!’ WHAM! I was vaguely aware of an impact, of flying off my bike and onto the back of the parked red car I hit. My cheek slammed into the rear windshield. Not breaking it, luckily, but the impact was hard enough to knock the wind out of me. I rolled off the windshield onto the sidewalk. Another impact, this time, sending a sharp pain through my foot as my weight fell on it. As I lay there in a dazed stupor on the sun baked pavement, blood seeping from a scrape on my elbow, I heard a car door open, a pair of feet scramble toward me, and a concerned, deep voice question me. “Are you okay man?” the voice asked me again. I slowly sat up to address its owner and- I stopped dead in my tracks, my mouth unable to formulate words. Did I mention I’m gay as hell? He was beautiful. In a masculine, rugged way. Ripped, cut muscle. The first thing I registered were his bare, tan shoulders, strong-looking and broad under his tight black tank top. Vascular, bulging arms hung down from them. Developed triceps and powerful biceps, roadmap veins, all covered in a soft dusting of golden hair. So much muscle. “I….I… I’m okay-ish,” I answered, trying to collect my wits, my head spinning. The man extended one of his brawny arms out to me to help me up. I grasped his thick, warm hand, and he pulled me to my feet. “Ah shit shit shit,” I yelped as my right foot immediately protested weight being put on it. He held my waist with both his hands. So warm. I instinctively grabbed his brawny shoulder for support. It was flexed and hard from him holding me. If I wasn’t in pain, I’d be so turned on right now. “I’m so sorry about that! I was just riding from work and I got carried away. I’ll pay for the damage! I’ll-”I stammered, looking at the scratches, the bent rear bumper, the twisted mess of my bike. “Woah, take it easy. I think we’ve got bigger problems right now,” the man replied smoothly with a slight Southern accent, gesturing to my foot and my general condition. He continued to hold me up, and had me count backwards from ten, tell him what my workplace was, and how old I was, in order to assess whether there was brain damage. But aside from being shaken, being minorly scraped up, and my foot hurting, I felt relatively okay. And a bit breathless from being in such close proximity to this physical wonder. “I’m Mark, by the way,” the man said kindly. “Thomas,” I replied. “Nice to meet you Thomas, though I wish it were under better circumstances,” said Mark. I managed a laugh, trying to calm myself down. “Hey, tell you what. If it’s okay with you, why don’t I drive you to my place, and I’ll get you patched up, and take a look at your foot.” spoke Mark kindly. “Okay, sure” I replied unsuredly. “Don’t worry, I’m EMT certified,” said Mark, and upon noticing my hesitance, added, “I’m also not a crazy serial killer”. This time, my laugh was genuine. Mark helped me into the passenger’s seat of his car, carefully loaded my bike into his back seat, and got in on the driver’s side. As he drove, we chatted a bit about our lives. I told him about my shitty job at Moe’s, and he talked about his shifts as an EMT. ‘A sexy EMT, saving me’ I thought, as I admired his body. While he told me about some of the injuries he’d witnessed on call, I admired the way his right forearm tensed and bulged as he gripped the steering wheel. I followed it up his ripped shoulder and to his large pectorals. Straining against the black fabric of his tank top. And finally up to his face, where his deep blue eyes focused on the road ahead of us. His silky, Southern voice. The tuft of short blonde hair sticking out of the dark blue baseball cap he wore backwards. His golden stubble on his square, manly chin. I felt myself beginning to get hard looking at him. I nodded and responded at appropriate places, keeping the conversation going as best I could. Really, Mark was a nice guy. And I tried to only take furtive glances at most, so that I didn’t make him uncomfortable by staring at him. Harder still. Plus, maybe he was homophobic. Unlikely, from how easygoing he seemed to be, but not impossible. I kept up my light banter with Mark/secret admiration of his perfect body until we pulled up into the driveway of his house. Mark wrapped a muscular arm around me for assistance, and we walk/limped up the pavement to his front door. I relished the feeling of his sturdy arm flexing and radiating heat into my back and waist, and I limped slightly slower to draw out the sensation as much as possible. Once inside, I basically collapsed on his couch, basking in the cool air and sinking into the plush cushions. Mark gave me a warning, and then pulled off my right shoe and sock as carefully and quickly as he could. I hissed and winced in pain as he probed my ankle with dexterous, knowing hands. “Ankle sprain, Tommy,” he announced. Tommy. No one’s called me that in years. I like that. He says it so casually. “I’ll be right back, I’ve got some compression bandages in the medicine cabinet. Just sit tight, man,” said Mark, before he rushed off. I found myself admiring a framed picture of him in his college football days, when he returned with the compression bandages, some antiseptic and bandaids for my scrapes, and a glass of ice water. I accepted the water gratefully and distracted myself with it while Mark wrapped my ankle in the bandages and cleaned up my various wounds. Talk about Southern hospitality. “Looks like you might be here for a bit” said Mark. “That’s honestly okay,” I replied, “I’ve got literally nothing going on today.” And it’s true, I don’t. “Hey, listen, I’m doing some metalwork in my garage today. I could give you some headphones so you don’t have to listen when it gets loud,” Mark offered. Metalwork. Him. His hot body. I’m intrigued. “No, that’s fine, man. Actually, do you mind if I accompany you?” I asked, beginning to get hard again at the thought of his body and the physical labor of tools. “Not at all,” Mark responded. As I began to get up, Mark ordered me to stop. Oh right. My ankle. No walking for me. “I’ll carry you. Piggyback style,” said Mark cheekily, with a wink and a smile. My hardon jolted at the thought of Mark carrying me with his gorgeous muscular body. My heart began to race excitedly. I started to breathe heavily. “Um, sure,” I replied, secretly contemplating how much I was going to enjoy this “Hop on!” exclaimed Mark, turning around and bending over so I could mount myself on his hard, rippling back. I took one long look at the bulge of his shoulders and delts, tapering down to the small of his waist, the large groove down the center of his back, even visible through his tight black tank. Then, I gripped his hard boulder shoulders tightly, jumped as best I could, wrapped my arms around his thick neck and delts and he caught my thighs with his large hands. Mark was so strong, easily lifting me onto his mountain of a back. I could feel his shoulders, delts, and lats rippling and flexing underneath my apparently light weight. I wasn’t small, but Mark carried me like a child with his Herculean strength. As he walked, my dick ground into his powerful back. I was hard instantly. As we made our way to his garage, I found myself tempted to reach my hand down and grip his rock hard pecs. I restrained myself, though, and once we reached his garage, he set me down on an old green cloth couch. Mark turned to me, towering above the couch. I felt like I was the David to his Goliath. “Now man,” started Mark. “I noticed you giving me some looks earlier, in my car.” Oh shit. He noticed. Mark seemed to perceive my panic, and stepping in to reassure me, said “I want to make sure you’re comfortable here, and I want you to feel good. Because that would make me feel good,” he said suggestively. I was speechless. My cock throbbed in my shorts. “How would you feel, if I flexed my bicep for you?” He asked, a devilish glint in his eye. “I would very much like that,” I answered. “Wonderful, because I would very much like that as well,” Mark replied, smirking. Looking me right in the eye with those piercing blue orbs, Mark knelt down to my level and slowly began to pump his right bicep. On the third pump, he let out a soft, sexy grunt and held the pose. “Touch it. If you want.” He whispered overly seductively, giving me his best incubus wink. “Oh my. Why I don’t know if I can take it,” I replied in my best Southern belle accent. He stared amusedly at me, grinning briefly with perfect white teeth. I returned the smile. And then I reached out and gripped his cannonball bicep. When they say rock-hard muscle, they literally mean rock-hard muscle. Because it felt like there was marble under his stretched skin. I could not make a dent in it, no matter how hard I tried. I cupped both my hands around his bicep and tricep, and I could not fit my fingers fully around them. My cock strained against my shorts as I felt the power of his arm. “How big are they,” I asked, breathless. “Nineteen inches cold, and they can get to twenty when pumped,” Mark replied coolly. “Damn,” was all I could say in response. Mark then mounted the couch on his knees, careful not to disturb my ankle, before bringing both his arms up in a double bicep pose. My heart (and dick) leapt, as I continued to rub the bulging, ripped balls of muscle. I squeezed both his biceps in my hands, and could not get them to budge. They were so smooth, and hard, and warm. So warm. “So, Tommy boy, what else do you wanna see? The choice is yours,” Mark whispered in my ear. The choice is mine. This godly titan of a man is mine. “Pecs. Pecs and abs,” I stammered. “What was that, my boy?” he urged me. “I want to feel your pecs and abs,” I got out, my voice unwavering. “Feel you want? Then feel you shall,” he purred. I reached out tentatively for his left pec, but instead, he trapped my hand inside his bigger, more meaty one. He shook his head with a mock pout, and let go of my hand, which fell to rest on the couch. Crossing his monstrous arms, I watched his forearms bulge as he peeled off his tank top and tossed it to the side. I let out a gasp as I admired this titan’s physique. Two voluminous, hard pecs, separated by a deep ridge. And below it, eight hard abdominal muscles. Valleys and ridges separating each individual ripple of muscle. My dick throbbed agitatedly, desperate for release. Mark watched my amazement intently. I locked eyes with him, staring straight into those piercing blue orbs. He grinned mischievously. Almost mysteriously. “What are you-?” I began. “C’mere,” he husked. Suddenly, he lurched forward, his bulky form coming to eclipse my smaller one. His massive thighs straddled both sides of my body, and he wrapped his large arms around me. It was a loving bearhug, and I was surrounded by the smell of sweat, light cologne, and man musk. And pecs. Huge pecs. And that’s when I noticed just how hard his penis was through the fabric in his trainers. “Feel my power” he declared gutturally, the vibrations from his tremulous voice sending goosebumps down my arms. He began to bounce his pecs against my face. Feeling the rock hard muscle release to firm and contract again, my dick ached for release. Pulling back, Mark looked down at me. At seeing my newfound ecstasy, he threw his head back and laughed. A deep, sexy laugh that made his beautiful eyes crinkle. “God, you’re so cute, Tommy boy,” he confessed. I beamed proudly at his affectionate, adorable nickname for me. “Come on, indulge in these abs. I can’t make any promises that I won’t smother you again, though,” said Mark. “Surprise me with that. I wanna feel you against me,” I replied breathlessly. “Sure thing,” retorted Mark, grabbing my right hand. He lead it over to his abs, and began to run it up and down them extremely fast, creating a loud slapping noise. It was incredible how bumpy, hard, and rippled they were. Mark let go of my hand, and I traversed the grooves of his abs on my own. I marveled at how one’s stomach could be developed to the point that hard muscles bulged and rippled out of it like this. “Mark, you’re so fucking sexy,” I said breathlessly up at him. “As are you, my boy,” he said in return. Mark moved his large hands from the back of the couch, where they were resting, to cup my chin and cheeks, before swooping down and kissing me on the lips with his own soft, warm pair. I gasped, and pressed back against his lips, embracing his large frame. My cheeks burned with a fiery blush. We stayed like that for a while, just kissing and embracing each other, enjoying our touch, our cocks grinding against each other through the fabric. Eventually, Mark pulled away, but still straddled me. “That was fucking incredible,” I rasped. “I know. I’m glad,” replied Mark. “Anyway, bud, I’ve really gotta get this work done,” Mark began. My face fell in slight disappointment. “Feel free to distract me at anytime though,” he offered cheekily. As Mark grabbed his tank and put it back on, I became curious. “Mark, what work do you have to do specifically?” “Oh, nothing much. Just a bit of angle grinding some metal parts for a bedframe I’m building. Why do you ask?” Angle grinding. Holy shit. That was one of my biggest fantasies. I’d always lusted after construction workers, and often searched pictures on the internet of bodybuilders angle grinding shirtless or naked. Something about it oozed power. How tough they were. How they didn’t care when stray metal sparks bounced off their bare muscles. Almost like it energized them. “Can I tell you something?” I asked. Mark gave me a suspicious look. “Go ahead” he replied deviously. “I have this fantasy,” I began, “this fantasy where I stumble upon a shirtless, bodybuilder construction worker, and he’s grinding metal or welding, and he’s unfazed by the sparks and the light and the loud noise, and I just think that’s so sexy. They just look so powerful doing it… I was wondering if… maybe … you were willing to-” Mark cut me off. “Hell yeah Tommy boy,” Mark answered enthusiastically. My cock jolted again. And with that, he grabbed his tank by the collar, and tore it off right down the middle, clean off his defined frame. “Won’t be needing this anymore,” Mark remarked, throwing the shirt in a trash bin. “I’m gonna give you the show of your life, Tommy boy,” said Mark. He donned a pair of thick safety gloves, and walked over to the garage door, where a large, rectangular metal frame stood. He lifted it easily, his monstrous biceps flexing, and placed it on his work table, directly in front of the couch I was seated on. Making sure that it was secure, Mark strode over to a cabinet, and pulled out two pairs of plastic safety glasses. He put one on, and handed the other to me. “Safety first,” he said. I put them on, and continued to watch intently. With that, he opened a drawer attached to the worktable and extracted a five inch angle grinder. He plugged it in, and then grabbed the tool, ready to begin to use it. Mark looked at me, flashing his devilish grin. He flexed a bicep for me, before returning his hand to the machine. He pulled the trigger twice, causing the grinder to start its loud whine a couple of times. “You ready for this?” asked Mark. “Fuck yeah,” I replied, amazed at what was about to happen Mark chuckled good-naturedly at my excited response, before triggering the angle grinder. The blade began to spin, and the saw gave a loud, whining whir. He gave me one last eyebrow wiggle, before lowering the blade to the metal. The sight was mesmerising. Metal sparks immediately burst from the frame where the grinder made contact and showered over Mark’s amazingly ripped body. The buzz was deafening, but so, so sexy. Mark was unfazed by the hot sparks bouncing off his muscular body. He couldn't care less. They didn’t hurt him. He was too powerful. I began to massage my penis, while viewing this sensual, erotic light show. Mark lifted the blade from the metal, let out a low, sexy growl, and began to grind the metal again while still growling. My cock throbbed. I was so close to cumming. So close. “Mark!” I yelled above the buzz. Mark nodded his head at me, still focusing on the work at hand. “I’m gonna cum!” I exclaimed. “FUCK YEAH. DO IT BOY!” He roared. With a loud, booming yell he brought the grinder above his head, and brought it back against the metal. The sparks blew against his body once more as he thundered his war cry. I moaned, and my back arched. I could feel the cum soaking my underwear, going right to my shorts. This absolute hunk of a man who was so willing to play out my fantasy for me, was giving me the most mind-numbingly intense orgasm of my life. I was in heaven, and wouldn't have it any other way. END OF PART ONE

"The Twenty" - Excerpt from Chapter 23 Field Trips, Part 2 – Casey Rediscovers Muscle Worship, And Makes a New Friend December 5th, 2021 Los Angeles: 2100 Hours The bus pulled up the drive at 9 PM, the first stop of the evening. It was a large cliff side home high in the Hollywood Hills, lavish and dark, with a glimmering Olympic-sized pool in the back and fountains quietly spraying gallons of illegal water. Zaftig’s longtime off campus associate, the puny weasel Dr. Shaft, would be waiting inside, in attendance with a group of 9 investors, all quite anxious to see the young gods in action. The bodybuilders filed off the bus in the dark. “Golly, who lives here?” asked Hension, awestruck by the size of the house. “Some Hollywood dude movie producer,” muttered Lang. “Who cares? Time to FLEX.” Casey barely noticed. He was eager, for soon he’d be headed back to his private muscle planet, the place he first visited on the morning his cadet buddies came to say goodbye and stayed a little to admire his muscles. He was all ready to flex for these dudes. He neither knew nor cared who they were. Moster, who had gotten off the bus first, quietly barked orders in the large circular drive. Far below them the lights of the city twinkled, the magnificent blue mountains glowing in the coming dark of night. “Inspection. Strip down, men,” he commanded. “I don’t want to keep our hosts waiting.” The ten musclemen hopped and danced in the half light, removing slacks, baggies, t-shirts, jeans, shorts, underwear, jock straps, thongs, and boots as poor long-suffering Dr. Irving ran from man to man, frantically gathering up discarded clothing, quickly organizing as to owner, and distributing the proper poser to the proper man. Each poser was personally assigned, custom-tailored to cut across inches south of the lower abs, reveal generous slices of meaty glutes in back, and with frontal sag sufficient to generously reveal the top six inches of root and thick, plunging shaft of each man. The side straps, while thin, were strong to hold even at top erection. “Oil up, men.” Bottles of mineral oil were passed around. The men dutifully slathered the thick liquid onto their gleaming muscles. Soon they were ready, their muscles glowing fiercely in the night. “Line up, squad,” said Moster. “Adjust your posers. When you pull your slacks down, I want these dudes to see your top six inches of root and cockshaft.” He had stripped down himself and was now rubbing his own oil in to his mountainous black muscles. “I know with some of you that still leaves another 6 inches or more covered up. Right, Casey?” “More,” said Casey. Still, in the dark Casey turned deep red, still immediately shamed by the thoughts of his huge, unhideable cock. He still wasn’t quite over those years of taunting. Which always flashed his thoughts quickly to Tiffany. Good thing the ginger-haired terror wasn’t with them tonight. Casey always performed better when that boy was nowhere near. “Waring, get over here and do my back.” Waring went to Moster, dutifully pouring oil onto his calloused palms, mixing them back and forth as if he was tossing a muscle salad, and smacked Moster’s broad back hard, rubbing thick oil deep into Moster’s wide lats. The Sergeant felt the man’s rough blisters on his back and smiled. “You’ve been working, Private.” “Yes, sir, I sure have, sir.” The men fell into line, and awaited inspection. Moster paced in front of the muscle lineup and critically appraised his special forces team: Alvarez, Lang, Hension, Schumacher, and Waring. Washington, Abdul, Obatu, Gunst and Rockland. Muscle gods all. He nodded his satisfaction. “Line up according to height. Shortest man first. Private Hension, that’s you.” Hension was pushed to the head of the line. “Put the pretty boy first,” guffawed Obatu. Hension colored deeply, embarrassed as always to be referred to as the group ‘pretty boy’, but obeyed orders. “Dr. Irving, distribute White Caps,” Moster ordered. Irving passed the ration of capsules to the group. “It’s going that be that kind of showing, hunh?” chuckled Obatu. He popped a capsule and within seconds began to envision his powerful sexual fantasies come to life. He tugged slightly on his poser and glanced down to make sure the prominent, pulsing thick veins of his mighty dipping cockshaft were showing. He nudged Washington. “Check it out,” he said. Washington nodded. “Suckable,” he said, busily squeezing his own nipples into pointy hardness. Moster crossed behind the men and walked along, surveyed the lineup of rolling, hard, powerful glutes. He nodded. Huge mountains of gleaming, perfect, rock hard butt. “Butthole inspection,” he announced. Corporal Karim wished he had his butt plug with him, but didn’t betray himself with even a flicker across his stern face. He scowled, but even so, Moster knew what the man wanted. He glanced down at Karim’s tantalizingly firm, up-pointing glutes, round orbs of massive twin man muscle. “You clean, Corporal?” he asked. “Yes, sir.” “Good.” Moster knelt, lowered the man’s posers to his bulging hamstrings, and quickly inserted his thick fist deeply inside the man’s butthole, up to his wrist. Karim never flinched. Moster rotated his fist, and just as quickly withdrew, with a butthole POP!, noting to his satisfaction that the Corporal was indeed clean. “Keep your concentration.” He wiped his fist with anti-bacterial lube and moved on to the next man. The handsome muscleboy Hension was looking dreamy. Moster approached him. “Bend over.” “Yes, sir!” Hension bent over, showing his twin glutes of extreme hardness, shape and striation. Moster lowered the muscleboy’s posers, made a fist, and once again plunged his fist up to his wrist up Hension’s taut butthole, twisting, probing and turning. Like Abdul, Hension never even raised an eyebrow as his welcoming rosebud enveloped the powerful fist. He was excited about lay ahead. His cock began its 12-inch journey to solid stiffness. He pulled his posers back up with some difficulty and wrapped the taut cloth as best he could around his growing engine. Alvarez appeared serene. He knew a good Pose and Approve session was ahead. Lang glanced at him and smiled. Alvarez was best with an audience. An admiring audience. His cock twitched in anticipation. Moster was quick with Alvarez, nodding approval, quickly inserting a probing fist, and moving on to Lang, doing the same. Up the drive at the house, a curtain fluttered. Someone was watching. Alvarez nudged Lang. “What?” asked Lang, clueless. “You see that?” “See what?” Alvarez smiled. “This is gonna be fun.” He stood “Let’s see those biceps, Gunst,” Moster commanded. Gunst complied, and flexed his meaty guns. “26 inches this morning, sir.” “Excellent. Turn around and bend over.” Gunst complied and Moster’s fist entered his butthole. He nodded satisfaction. Moster continued down the line of musclemen, inspecting pecs, nipples, hard abs, and ending with each man by inserting a giant fist up an eager butthole. Finally it was Casey’s turn. “Ever been fisted before?” Moster asked crisply. Casey had to admit it. “Yes, sir.” He turned around and bent over, his perfect butt now in Moster’s face, his fists buried in his obliques, jutting out his butt. It was an incredible ass. Two round globes of muscular golden flesh, perfect, hard-as-nails ovals of sleek construction. Powerful, huge, an incredible human loading dock of rounded power. Inside the darkened buttcrack Moster could see close-up the throbbing, inviting deep of Casey’s perfect rosebud butthole. Moster plunged his fist in, deep and to the wrist, and turned it, pulling it out again after a minute. Clean as a whistle. “Good work, Rockland. “ Casey stood, turned and smiled. “I think you’re ready.” He turned to the driver, standing by the bus, impassively staring. “Ferdinand, Dr. Irving, come back in an hour. We should be done by then.” Then, quietly, he asked Irving, “Did the money come in yet?” “This afternoon, sir,” answered Irving. “$35,000.” “Good.” Moster took his place at the end of the line. “Dr. Shaft here yet?” “Inside, Sir.” Dr. Irving fiddled with his phone, getting frantic texts from Dr. Shaft. “Good. Give the men back their clothes. Men, get dressed.” Much fumbling and hopping about in the dark. “Move out, men.” The musclemen marched into the entranceway of the one-story cliff side glass house and, single file, marched into the brightly lit living room. ******* Click here to read the full chapter!

Chapter 9: Good for Morale, Continued October 20th, 2021 1930 Hours Oral was hardly uncommon in the compound. In fact, Moster encouraged it. And Zaftig was fascinated by the men’s hunger for it, though he never took part. Not long after starting a P21 protocol, each man had developed insatiable an insatiable need to suck and be sucked. Cocksucking was therefore more than just a healthy release for the men: it was now mandatory. And though none of them would acknowledge themselves to be 100% gay, part of their acceptance into the program relied on each man’s private original tendencies towards pansexuality, boosted as they were by the behavioral blockers of P21. Over the years, each of the bodybuilders in Project Herculaneum had at one time or another sucked every other bodybuilder’s cock to full release many dozens of times. Often it happened in the showers after training, but sometimes it was after meals, as well. And as all were superlatively endowed with astonishing penises of uncommon weight, size, length, beauty and girth, no one was disappointed. Even Abdul Karim took part, much to the surprise of everyone. Though he never talked about it, even appearing bored, the more observant men noted a gleam in his eye each time he bent to service Gunst. Oral was against the rules on rest days. By the time training days came around again, the musclemen were already laughing, slapping each other on the backs during meals, and smacking their lips in anticipation. Fucking was another matter. All the men had been vaccinated against the virulent STDs that had long ravaged the world, and were now immune to any infection, their antibodies remorselessly attacking any invader. Butt fucking was an art. The soldiers were all equipped with powerful machines, all endowed with superb glutes, and all highly in touch with the pure waves of pleasure broadcast by their sensitive prostates. Good muscle butt fucking was serious stuff. As all the men were huge, heavy, and powerfully strong, it was like heavy lifting crossed with pure animal pleasure: one bull fucking another bull. Vigorously. Group fucks of spirited, high-energy muscle daisy chains were a once-a-month event, seriously organized and generally preserved on video for the records. Wearing full black leather masks in order to remain as anonymous as possible, and with deep black satin robes covering their individually distinctive bodies, the men gathered in the dimmed mess hall and connected their dicks to the next asshole in a line-up deliberately arranged by Moster. Muscle worship was not part of the evening. The point was prostate manipulation and bonding. Still, private fucking was not discouraged. A few of the men had distinct preferences for one another as fuck buddy, even as the cocksucking was group-wide and free-for-all. Of course, Schumacher had been fucking them all for years – except for Karim, of course. Apart from the daisy-chain sessions, no one dared to even approach Killer Karim from the rear - if he valued his teeth, that is. But so far, as far as he knew, no one man in particular had privately fucked Joe Tiffany – apart from the scheduled group daisy-chain fucks, where Moster was careful to make sure that the connections varied from session to session. Schumacher had fucked him just once in a group session, although as always as always he was masked and gowned. He could see through Tiffany’s mask that his eyes were rolling back in his head in pleasure, and Schumacher wasn’t sure Tiffany knew who he was. He knew it was Joe Tiffany’s muscular rear he was fucking, however, sliding up and down his supercharged big cock. That butt was pure, beautiful gold, a magically shaped combination of warm skin and raw, ripped power that was mind-boggling in its balance and tireless in its energy. Tiffany had taken charge of the fucking, as he gave it to the taller muscleman in the chain ahead of him, powerfully blasting forward into the glutes ahead of him, and, in perfect timing, also pumping his animal butt up and down on Schumacher’s cock with furiously blind energy. For his part, Tiffany knew full well whose cock had impaled his perfect butt that night. He didn’t share this information. From that night, he had a plan. Another plan, that is. In reality, all of the men were deeply aware of whose butts they were servicing, and who was manfully plugging his own from behind. The men had spent too many hours together in the rec room, on the workout floor, in classes and in the showers, not to be able to instantly recognize and distinguish each of his buddies. The wearing of the robes was nothing but a farce, but still they conceded, secretly further aroused by the spectacle of the volumes of black fabric draped with alluring mystery over each man’s rippling physique. Still, from that night on, Joe Tiffany knew that Herman Schumacher was just the man to regularly plow his supple, needy, bodybuilder-cupcakes behind. All he had to do was train him just a little bit over the following few months to ensure that he was captive, obedient, and would always be on call whenever Tiffany was of a mind to be mindlessly fucked. In the mean time, at night in his quarters his oversized dildo was getting the workout he bought it to do during one of his rare trips to town. He would energetically shove it deep into his butthole, rear his head back, close his eyes, and dream of Schumacher’s likely powerful thrusts. And, as Moster always said to Dr. Zaftig, who wasn’t entirely comfortable with the ritual behind the group fucks, “They need more sex than ordinary men. A lot more sex. Their metabolisms demand it. Besides – “ And Zaftig would say with him, in unison, “It’s good for morale. ” ******* Click here to read the full chapter....

Excerpt fro "The Twenty" Chapter 7: Training Night 1: Good for Morale October 20th, 2021 1900 Hours The gym floor was buzzing with activity. Each man had a 5-gallon aluminum jug of water from which he regularly took enormous gulps, occasionally pausing to drench both himself and his training partners as needed to stave off the effects of the heat. All wore specially designed army green jockstraps. Regulation jocks were hardly adequate for their needs, and all 19 men (and especially Sergeant Moster) required XXX-large custom-fit pouches. Pendulously bulging, sweat, cum, and piss-stained, even these firm-gripping supersized mesh pouches could barely contain the musclemen’s super-sized genitalia. Gently curving cock shafts plunged from heavily veined, thin-skinned pelvic girdles on each man, leading to jaw-breaking cockheads. The jocks hugged the men’s cocks tightly, providing only barely adequate covering. The men’s powerful, over-developed glutes were fully exposed in back. Moster’s policy was that shorts and sweatpants were unnecessarily encumbering, and all around the room, as the men moved from weight to weight, their mountainous packages swayed freely back and forth. On most of the men, the top 5 to 6 inches of their veiny cocks were visible, plunging into their over-burdened pouches. Colorful do-rags, thick cable socks and black army boots completed their attire. On the floor, workout buddies Private Dan Gunst and Private Steve Waring were spotting each other through a sixth set of murderous curls. 24, 6'-10", 375 pounds, blond, huge, sporting a severe crew cut, and with a big nose and oversized hands, Gunst was a decidedly homely muscle giant, packed with imposing hardcore brawn. His bullish traps sloped massively from his 24” neck. The man’s 27-3/4 inch biceps were second only in girth and mass to Sgt. Moster’s, though he hadn’t yet attained the shapely cannonball peaks of Corporals Schumacher, Obatu, Blankenship and Alvarez. At 3. 8% bodyfat he tended towards a thin coat of luminous bloat in his 375-pound physique; he was all the same, super-humanly powerful, and during his training sessions the bloat seemed to melt into a latticework of shrink-wrapped vascularity. His partner, the 26-year old Steve Waring, was uncommonly good-looking, if not as big as Gunst at a mere 276 pounds of raw muscle. He was the far more ripped bodybuilder, having been in the program 2 years longer. Square-jawed, dimpled and brown-eyed, he always had a neatly groomed 2-day beard. As expected for a leaner man, Waring’s particular beauty lay in his batwing lat spread and chiseled abs, which tapered radically into a mere 29” waist. Now Waring was up. He tied on a pair of dirty wristbands and cinched them tightly, licked his lips, approached the 160-pound weight, and looked up at Gunst with a half smile. “What’re you waitin’ for? C’mon, get moving,” said Gunst impatiently. “It’s my third set. ” “I know. C’mon, man, you’re stalling. ” “You know what I want. ” Waring winked and grinned, and his dimples broadened deeply. Gunst rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Jesus. You and your third set mantras. ” He leaned into Waring, cupped his palm, and roughly took the jock pouch bearing his partner’s heavy balls into his calloused hand. He flicked Waring’s leathery testicles with his thick thumb and with strong fingers stroked the curling cock shaft tucked into the jock. Waring closed his eyes and exploded breath. Gunst fondled the cock, feeling where the 11” flaccid shaft coiled into a sagging downward-pointing firehose U-shape. His own cock began to stiffen as the pouch bearing Waring’s junk began to expand under his touch. He gave a last thumb flick and stepped back. “Yeah!” shouted Waring, and he squatted, grabbed the weight, stood, and reeled off 15 perfectly executed curls. The veins in his biceps expanded and contracted powerfully, eddying currents of blood in a river of muscle. 40 feet away at the incline bench press, Privates Aja Jin, Reed Bogarde and Derek Washington were taking turns doing dumbbell flyes with 125 pound weights. Ginger-haired Bogarde was up, while black muscle giant Private Washington spotted him, and the Asian Private Jin muttered hyper-masculine, mono-syllabic bon mots of encouragement. "C'mon. Get big. Get huge. C'mon man. Push. We're right here. " The three heavyweights were generally together. If they weren’t closely supervised, they’d spend more time than absolutely necessary on pec workouts. A year before they had petitioned Moster to be allowed to wear their prized brass chained nipple clamps during their training. Moster had refused at first, but after they appealed to Dr. Zaftig, he finally relented. “The pain inspires them,” Zaftig told him. Moster had to agree that this one time, he had been wrong to withhold his approval. And once again, it was good for morale. The chain to Bogarde’s clamps was draped over the t-shirt and lay across his mammoth, boyishly freckled pecs. He’d completed 11 reps seamlessly, but was now pausing, his arms open wide, the dumbbells held aloft. “Do, it, man,” he growled, and as Moster watched, Private Jin reached over and with gentle, adroit firmness, tugged slightly on the chain. Bogarde’s face contorted with pain. "Push, asswipe!" screamed Jin. Bogarde completed the set. “Thanks, buddy,” he breathed, as he slammed the weights to the floor and sat up. “Privates!” Moster called out. “Remember I want to see you remove those clamps every 10 minutes for an exact period of 20 more minutes!” “Yes, sir,” said Washington, about to take his seat on the bench for his set. “By my watch, it has been more than 11 minutes. Those clamps come off. Now. ” “Shit,” muttered Washington, but he duly turned to Private Jin. “Take care of this for me, and I’ll do for you. ” “Okay,” said Jin. He lifted Washington’s t-shirt, and gently unscrewed the clamp on the left nipple. Instantly Washington’s face contorted with pain. Jin leaned in and tenderly licked the swelling brown nipple with his tongue for a few moments. Washington nodded, and Jin repeated it for the right nipple. “I’m good,” he said. Jin lifted his shirt and Washington returned the favor, caressing Jin’s nipples with his tongue as he removed each biting clamp. “Hey, what about me?” Bogarde grinned, slipping off his t-shirt. His large nipples pointed heavily downward, with lusciously round, perfect aureoles. He pumped his 58” ripped chest fully, fists at his side, and stood smiling expectantly as his two muscle buddies moved into his side, their heads to Bogarde’s chest, each manning a clamped nipple. For Private Bogarde, the only good thing about the unclamping was the minute of stimulation he received from his buddies to keep the excruciating pain he so adored from making him instantly cum into his overstuffed jockstrap. Once he came, his partners knew the chest workout would be effectively derailed for a good 15 minutes, and so to prevent such time wasting, both men were inclined to be extra attentive. Over time, they developed a routine. Together the two bodybuilders carefully unscrewed the clamps, and swiftly leaned in to kiss, lick, bite, stroke, and caress Bogarde’s freed, erect nipples. Bogarde moaned, his eyes rolling to the ceiling, his cock now swelling threateningly in his jockstrap. “Shit,” he moaned, and his buddies glanced down at the straining pouch. His mushroom-round penis head poked heavily over the top and began to climb up his abs. Jin and Washington knew that he might shoot his load at any moment. The two double-timed their nipple licks. After a minute, their tender administrations allowed him to regain control. He nodded – he was okay – and they backed away. Satisfied, Bogarde pumped his pecs to their fullest size and inspected them both closely, nodding with serious, unsmiling self-approval. Wet with spit, his stiffened nipples bloomed. “Freaky,” he breathed. His buddies nodded. “Awesome pecs,” said Jin. “Awesome. ” Bogarde stuffed his receding cock back into his jock, and winked at Moster. Moster watched. When it was clear Private Bogarde was past danger, he called out again. “Back to your work. You have twenty more minutes before you can put those damn clamps on again. ” The men nodded dutifully. Washington sat, grabbed a dumbbell in each hand, hoisted them to his knees, leaned back, and effortlessly pushed them both to the ceiling. His chest expanded mightily. Bogarde shouted the count. “1! 2! 3!” Jin spotted, his powerful hands lightly meeting Washington’s elbows with each rep. For a moment, Bogarde fondled his smarting nipples tenderly. He caught Moster’s stern eye and, still counting Washington’s reps, nodded sheepishly and slipped back into his sopping t-shirt. ****** Click here to read the full chapter!

Excerpt from "The Twenty" Chapter 6: Casey Is Discovered 2014 The day that Casey Rockland first set foot inside a gym, he was a shy, tongue-tied, lonely, oversized 12-year old. He stood, frightened and abashed, at the front desk of Raw Weight. He had walked around the block for an hour before he found the courage to walk through the dark-glass swinging doors. Miles stood behind the desk. “Yes, son?” he asked after a moment. God, this kid has potential, he thought. Gosh, he’s handsome, Casey thought. He gawked at the huge, veiny arms that poured from the short sleeves of Miles’ sports shirt. The hugely rolling biceps made his dick twitch a little. From the moment Casey first laid eyes on Miles Donovan, he thought he was the handsomest, smartest, most masculine, most muscular man he had ever met in his life. Just the sight of Miles’ hardcore physique, casually displayed in loose-fitting slacks and a navy blue sports shirt boasting the Raw Weight logo, made Casey’s well-hidden, oversized teenage member leap to attention. It was love at first sight. Which was not lost on Miles. “C-can I join?” Casey finally stammered out. “You want to train here?” “Yes, sir.” “How old are you, son?” “Twelve,” answered Casey honestly. Miles paused, and then asked kindly, “Where do you live?” “San Jose Boys’ Home.” Aha, thought Miles. His heart went out to the beautiful, over-sized, sad-faced kid. “Of course you can join. Ever trained before?” Casey’s heart leapt. “No, sir!” “How much can you pay?” Casey’s mind was racing. How could he pay for this? He needed it so bad. “I can work for you, sir!” he blurted. “I can clean the locker rooms, and the toilets, and take out the garbage, and paint the walls, and – “ If Miles had allowed himself, a tear would have come into his eye. Besides, this kid had overwhelming genetic promise. He held up a hand. Casey fell silent, hopeful, tense, waiting. “No need for all that. Of course you can train here. We’ll discuss money some other time. Let’s get you started.” Casey’s heart leapt for joy. “Do you have workout clothes?” “N-no, sir.” “Okay, well, let’s get you fitted out. Come on along with me. Sid, take the desk,” Miles shot to the flirting young muscleboy trainer who was chatting up one of the wide-eyed fitness babes who trolled the workout floor, looking for available young muscle studs.“ And try to keep your mind on your work.” Back to Casey. “What’s your name, son?” “Casey Rockland.” “Well, Casey Rockland, I think you might have found your new home. Let’s see what you got. ” He moved out from behind the desk and approached Casey. Casey’s heart was still leaping. Miles Donovan was an astonishing man. Casey had never dreamed that such a huge, handsome, masculine, muscular man would ever take notice of him. Like an eager puppy, he fell into step behind Miles, who was leading him out onto the workout floor. There, dozens of men and women of various sizes, states, dress, and degrees of sweat were toiling away at nameless, complicated activities involving weights, machines, benches, bars, cables, racks, mats, balls, rings, and rope. One or two looked up curiously at Miles and the gawky big kid trotting behind him. William Obatu was one of those who looked up. Already in enrolled in Project Herculaneum, the handsome black African muscle monster Obatu was allowed to steal away from the compound to his home front of Raw Weight (with occasional forays to the 3rd floor, where he regularly held personal worship sessions). “Who’s that big kid?” he asked Miles one evening a few weeks later on the 3rd floor. He was working arms, doing slow concentration curls, generally ignoring the rich twinky boy on his knees before him, begging to worship the bulging cannonball biceps. “What kid?” asked Miles innocently, walking by. Obatu continued doing curls and feigned the same indifference that Miles was displaying. “You know. The big kid. Downstairs. He ever come up here to 3?” “Naw. Too young. ” “Pleeeeeaazzze…. . ” begged the handsome kneeling twink on his knees, reaching up in hopes to get a quick fingertip brush of iron muscles. Obatu glanced down, a little impatiently, and reracked the weight. “Whatchu want?” he demanded, and slapped the kid’s face. “Some ‘a’ this?” He flexed his biceps. The kid moaned gratefully. “Shut up, fuckface,” he commanded. Flexxxxxx… “Boom,” he said. “25 inches. Feel ‘em. ” Back to Miles. “Saving him for yourself?” “Nope. Saving him for your boss. And your commanding officer. Is Tyrone any good?” Obatu was perplexed. “Who’s Tyrone?” He continued flexing, gazing admiringly at his peaks. Miles pointed down at the kid who now was both reaching in vain to touch the iron biceps while feverishly licking the heavy downward-pointing bulge in Obatu’s tiny, heavily packed posers. Obatu shuddered with pleasure but covered. “These posers are too damn small. ” “You must be used to it by now. ” “You never get used to it. ” “I repeat, is Tyrone any good?” “What do you care? I’m paying $5,000 a month to be up here,” mumbled Tyrone, his mouth now scooping up the thick black muscle cock that tumbled from Obatu’s straining posers. Obatu glanced up. “Trust fund kid,” Miles explained. “Oh. ” He looked back down again and flexed his biceps again, a little more respectfully. “Hope you’re enjoying yourself. ”Tyrone moaned passionately and sucked vigorously. After a moment, Miles spoke. “Looks like fun. Mind if I join you?” “Oh, if you’re gonna make a party of it, be my guest,” said Obatu, stepping aside. Miles, still dressed, stepped in and unzipped his pants. His big cock poured out. In an instant the nebbishy rich boyTyrone had both big bodybuilders’ cocks in his mouth. His cheeks bloomed with the pressing pressure of double cockheads. “Flex for him. He likes it,” said Obatu. Miles flexed his powerful silver daddy 23-inch biceps. A slight tearing sound was heard. “Damn. Another shirt. ” He decided to take it out on Tyrone. He plucked the cock from his mouth and slapped his handsome smooth young cheeks vigorously with the now hard-as-steel shaft. “Nice move,” said Obatu. “Let me try that. Hey, asswipe. Over here.” And he smacked Tyrone’s face with his black cock. Soon Tyrone’s head was whipping from side to side, back and forth, his face being buffeted by heavy cock slaps. "Take us both, boy. One after the other," ordered Miles. Tyrone went into a frenzy, first sucking Obatu's cock, then twisting his head and sucking Miles' cock, back and forth. "Yeah, good boy," crooned Miles. A few minutes later the musclemen both shot, coating Tyrone's face with heavy layers of thick, creamy cum. Tyrone moaned as thick spurt after thick spurt emerged from each man's pisshole, painting his face, covering him with cum. “That was fun,” said Obatu. “Yeah, let’s do it again some time,” said Miles, walking away. "Clean that up, boy," he ordered as he strode away, squatting slightly as a zipped up his pants, putting his heavy, dripping cock away. Obatu resumed his workout, Miles headed back towards his office. Tyrone lay on a bench, ecstatically spent. “Now!” called out Miles, without looking back. “And use your tongue.” Tyrone leapt eagerly to the matted floor and did as he was told. ***** Click here to read the full chapter!

“Ehh…..it feels really weird, is that supposed to happen?” Thomas looks at the medical assistant as they pull the syringe out of the opening to the needle that is in his left arm. He looks like he is going to be sick as he starts sweating a bit. Arliss turns back around in his chair and tells Cliff that he better get back in there because he can tell that Thom is going to have a bad reaction to the serum. The mentor jumps from his seat and rushes back into the medical area to stay with his young client. Arliss starts talking to Steve again. “I sent Cliff back in there because sometimes the serums can make the guys sick. It almost always happens to the smaller ones. Thomas’s body is not able to handle the rapid muscle tearing so he will probably vomit a few times before he gets used to the whole process. Don’t worry he will be okay, he just needs a little bit of reassurance from Cliff.” Steve seems okay with the whole scenario as Arliss stands up and turns to look at the guys in the back. “Guys, I need all of you to leave the area and go watch this in the viewing room. I know some of you will be critical of him and I don’t want him to get overworked any more than he already has. His body is going to obviously take quite a beating so be courteous.” There are several groans as the men stand up and shuffle out and into the viewing area located just a few feet away. Arliss sits back down with Steve as they watch Cliff retrieves a bucket from one of the medical assistants to put it in front of Thomas’s face and torso. It is obvious now that the young man is going to lose whatever he ate earlier that morning. He looks at his mentor and is very scared. “I feel like I am going to die Cliff. Are you sure this is safe?” “You will be sick for a few minutes Thomas. This is normal. Your body has not experienced something this extreme before. You will get through this and after the first dosage kicks in, you will be feeling a lot different.” One of the medical assistants attaches the IV bag back to Thomas’s right arm again to make sure he is hydrated after he vomits. After a few minutes, he throws up twice and is feeling a bit weak. Cliff rubs his back and can tell that the young man’s body is getting ready to change. Leathery sounds are heard coming from Thom’s body as he tries to relax for a few seconds. Cliff runs his hands along his client’s sensitive muscle fibers down his back as they slowly swell beneath his skin. His breathing is a bit compromised but he is starting to feel a bit better. “You’re right Cliff. I am feeling better although I can’t seem to feel my arms and legs anymore.” The hunky personal coach notices that Thomas’s arms are twitching and are involuntarily flexing as well. He seems to be unaware of the loud popping that is radiating from his biceps and triceps as they lose the flat look that they used to have before the serum was introduced. The veins and muscles in his forearms are starting to bulge just ever so slightly as the growth moves down to his quads and calves as well. Cliff’s eyes immediate lock on to Thom’s crotch as he watches his client’s cock stretch down his left leg. The shy young man can certainly feel what is happening in that area because he is gripping the arm rests tightly. It is a surprisingly large bulge as it stops halfway down his fairly-developed calf, which has veins and a nice dusting a hair that he previously didn’t have before. It leaves a small wet spot at the end of his cockhead as Cliff takes one of his hands and places it just underneath it. Thomas’s face is looking a bit firmer as two well-pronounced dimples form in his cheeks. His glasses are now slightly stretched as his head expands a couple of inches. His flat chest has miraculously formed two very firm pectoral muscles that seems like they came out of nowhere to fill in a bit of the gap that was in the sides of his tank top. His abs do the same from the inside his body everyone can now see the indentations of an eight-pack in his midsection from underneath the top. Thomas is looking at Cliff and looks as if he is a bit drunk from the formula’s dosage. His mentor smiles back at him, while rubbing his back with one hand and caressing the cockhead in his pants with the other. “It appears to be working Thomas. You look like you have been working out quite a bit now. That was just the first dosage as well because this was supposed to jumpstart your muscles.” The medical assistant that injected the first dosage into him is now checking both of the needles to see if they need to be moved around or not because it appears as if his upper body is absorbing the solution more than his calves and quads are. His 15” biceps keep tensing which is creating a slight issue. Cliff is aware that Thomas is starting to enjoy what is happening to him because he keeps leaning his head over to the sides to rub his stubbly face on his bigger round shoulders. At the moment, Thomas has probably grown to around a very athletic 165-175 pound range and that is only after the first dose. After a couple of adjustments to the needles in his arms, the serum bag is removed and the medical assistant is ready to put the second serum in. Before they do though, the man from earlier gets on to speak through the intercom system. “Congratulations Mr. Mangold on getting through the hardest part of your transformation. Your body is now prepared for the more appropriate doses it will be exposed to. The body you have now is normally where our clients begin in their metamorphosis. We anticipate that you will probably gain a fair amount of muscle in the next cycle so you will probably be feeling a considerable amount of pressure coming from every square inch of your frame. Mr. Byutov, I will need you to set up the bigger chair that is found in our primary medical area and then have the young man get up from the one he is in. Mr. Mangold, your mentor will help you over to the big boy seat because you are going to need it. Our medical personnel will follow you over there so don’t worry about the needles leaving your arms.” The previously shy Canadian man is now bouncing his cock in his pants as it drips precum down his leg and onto the floor. “I am now craving it Cliff. I didn’t feel this way just a couple of minutes ago, but now it is all I think about.” “Try to keep your emotions in check Thomas. We have had some issues in the past with a few guys who ended up completely losing their minds over this. They eventually calmed down after the transformations were complete, but it was very scary at first. I will need to leave for a few minutes so try to behave yourself.” He points over Thomas’s right shoulder to show him where it is and leaves. As Cliff does, Arliss gets up from his seat and tells Steve to follow the other men into the back area so he can watch on the monitors. They don’t want there to be any major distractions since it appears that this is going to be a more complicated procedure. He walks into the medical area and watches as the medical personnel undo his grips and hold on to the tubes attached to his syringes as he is helped up by the huge supervisor. Arliss wraps his right arm around the young stud’s waist and lifts him up slowly to get him out of the chair. The formerly gawky nerd is now looking a bit better with the extra bulk. There are veins pulsing in his head against his stretched glasses. The older man is now trying to move him over to the chair fairly quickly to keep the entire process moving along. He helps him up into the chair where Cliff is setting the straps up to be wrapped around the horny muscle nerd’s arms and legs so he is tightly secured without any kind of movement. The medical personnel that are with him are now setting his IV syringes in place. The stronger serum is going to be administered strictly to his right arm this time. He will be fed an IV solution into his left arm because his body is going to need considerably more nutrients when the process is completed. Arliss is now standing in front of the fit man and is watching him closely. His cock is peeking out the bottom of his shorts now. Thomas sighs as he relaxes his body in the chair and leans back. The sweat is pouring profusely from all of his orifices now. He looks at Arliss and seems to be in a really good mood now. Cliff is wrapping the straps around Thomas’s arms and legs and making sure they are as tight as possible. The serum hasn’t even been administered to him yet and yet the veins in his body are already looking as if they are going to blow up. Now Cliff is standing with Arliss in front of the stressed muscle nerd. “Look at me Thomas. Stay relaxed and let the serum consume you. Your body is craving it so much that I am afraid you might stop breathing or your heart will stop.” Cliff looks at Arliss for assistance. “I think he will be fine actually. This is probably going to be an incredible success when it is all said and done. I wonder if we should remove his glasses or not? *smirks at Cliff* Hmm, maybe not. I may actually cum in my pants watching him destroy them.” Both men nod their heads at the medical doctors as they attach the serum to his right arm. It starts to flow into his body after a few seconds. He is gripping the chair tightly, feeling it reach his mind as his breathing gets noticeably heavier. His cock is spilling even more precum now. Thomas is moaning as the serum starts to expand his cock. The huge vein that is visible from beneath his shorts is swelling to the point that it is slowly starting to rip the fabric. Cliff and Arliss look on in amazement. Their cocks are bouncing wildly in their pants now. Thomas was already quite endowed to begin with, but the fact that it has expanded even further especially when it is powerful enough to tear through fabric is shocking the men that have already went through the same process. Cliff decides to speak to Thomas to see if he is coherent enough to talk. “Uhh…..How are you doing Thomas? *tries not to look at his huge 12” shaft* I think you are enjoying yourself immensely, am I right?” Thomas laughs as his voice goes down about two more octaves. He notices the difference immediately as his eyes dilate and he feels his balls destroying his underwear. They are now stretching the front of his shorts to its limits. He is close to shooting a load already since he has never felt such sheer ecstasy in his entire life. “Mmm god Cliff, I thought I would hate this, but I was stupid for ever thinking otherwise. Mmm yes……YES…..I can feel my muscles begging for it. AHHH…..can’t…..talk…..anymore…..I must feel EVERY…..SINGLE…..FIBER…..GROWING……” The young Canadian begins grunting as his legs and torso are now reacting to the serum. His shorts are struggling to stay intact as his quads and glutes begin to separate the seams. Arliss is staring at Thomas’s growing toes as the arches of his feet elongate and thicken. His calves are squeaking as they widen and part to form hardened upside-down hearts. The fur on his legs is also thickening to create a cover for his swelling lower half. Once his shorts surrender to the power that is emerging from within them, his cock and balls flop a few times. He shoots a few ropes of cum into the air and it hits Cliff in the face. The shocked man rubs his fingers on his face and slowly licks them. The taste is so good, that he feels it surge through his body. His cock reacts as it spills a load of its own down his legs. At the same time, Thomas can feel his arms reacting to the serum as he feels an incredible amount of pressure welling up from inside both forearms. He can’t take his eyes off of them as the muscles from within stretch and swell, expanding beneath the straps and fighting to break free. The young Canadian is smiling as his eyes scan past his arms midpoint and as he watches his biceps and triceps swelling and bulging bigger than he ever imagined possible on his formerly small frame. The glasses on his face are unable to take anymore as the rims snap off his face and fall into his lap. The veins swell and bulge even more than before as the hair on top of his head falls off. He is growing a thick beard on his chin and it feels amazing to him. He doesn’t know where to look next as he looks down to watch his pecs and abs transform beneath his white tee. The sensations coming from all over his body is making him produce more testosterone which naturally results in more cum being spilled as he launches a few more jets in front of him. Both Cliff and Arliss are beyond boned as they both try to catch his spunk on their faces, laughing in the process. Since it is full of extra charged hormones, they are feeling it hit their own crotches, prompting more spillage. They look at each other and decide to strip down to just their thongs, which is not distracting Thomas at all. Arliss is grunting feeling a huge load building up in his ballsac while Cliff caresses his thickly-muscled hairy body with his hands and is dripping onto the floor through his thong. End of Part 5

Long time lurker - finally got my fingers down to write a story, and hopefully many more to come. Posted in WarpMyMind (leejhaw) and MuscleGrowth.org (shawnkid). -Chapter 1- Meet Charles "Sup," my roommate nonchalantly greeted me as he walked out his room. My eyes almost fell out of its socket. The reason is apparent - my body-conscious roommate is walking around half naked. Beneath his grey sweatpants, his VPL proves that he's freeballing too. That could only mean one thing - it worked. What I did actually work! It's true - some of us are more susceptive to hypnosis. And it comes in many forms, you have the usual suspects: binaural, subliminal, and the trance, which opens up a wide array of possibilities, especially for a closeted gay man like me. It's financially impossible to live in the city nowadays, especially when the rental is through the roof. Since I'm the only occupant in the one-room studio, it's natural to resort to renting out the room to another person to offset the cost to enjoy the convenience of the centrally-located apartment in the city. The first time I met Charles, he wasn't much of a looker. I blame it on his hair, which is in need of serious professional help. He was wearing an oversized t-shirt that did not do justice to a man of his size. He works at the local coffee shop down the road, which explains the coffee scent in his hair whenever he walked past me. I reckoned he's around 25 years old, though I did not actually ask. He promised to clean the entire place once a week, I couldn't be any happier. Truth to be told, I was kind of desperate, and he looked decent enough - at least he has a job - so we shook on a deal. When I stumbled upon the whole new concept of hypnosis, I was thrilled. But, how would I know if it truly worked if I have done so on myself? It wouldn't take anyone much to consider the case of convenience, right under the same roof. I went to the local hardware shop and bought some speakers and downloaded some audio software on my computer. It wasn't easy to get this figure out, but I was really eager to try. When Charles left for work at 7 am, I set my plan in motion. I equipped his room with speakers over the plastic ceiling and wired it across my working desk. So, it would play whatever I needed it to play for an extended period of time, albeit needing to run in and out just to check if the volume is optimal for subliminal tracks to play without causing any distress and potential fallout before the plan see the day of light. I move quickly, knowing that he will come back in the evening after dinner. And the rest will happen throughout the night. My moral conscience would reprimand me if I ruin one's life for my own pleasure. So I decided to start off my experiment with something light. After going through tons of hypnosis books, I attempted to write a hypnosis track that focuses on confidence and preferences. Charles would sleep naked because it's more energy efficient as such - less laundry and less electricity needed to keep cool. He would be more comfortable with his own body, and perhaps begin pay attention to his body more. That should be relatively fine and not qualified as manipulative? I have my doubts, especially on my ever-changing standards. Heh - oh well. I let the track run for a week until one faithful morning - I see my roommate walking out of his room with nothing over his bare torso. I must say, he definitely look better with his shirt off. Why would he hide his toned body over all the baggy shirts - and that would be the next thing to go. And now I know my proof of concept works. I sat back down on my computer and prepared the next script for my dearest roommate, Charles.

Chapter 3: The competition It was a packed auditorium for the Leeward Islands classic bodybuilding competition. Fans were eagerly awaiting the Men’s heavyweight class to take the stage. Among the close to 500 spectators sat my girlfriend Katie. She giddily looked from side to side taking in the faces of all the people seated around her, sure that their minds were about to be all blown. I was the most muscular human any of them had ever seen, and I would soon step onto the stage. Katie had dropped me off backstage only 40 minutes prior, mere minutes before the judges were due to finish the weigh-ins. We had wanted to make my presence a secret until the last minute, and so we timed our arrival to be as late as possible. I was ushered to the scale and told to strip down to only my posing suit. I could already feel a dozen sets of eyes looking at me, other heavyweight guys in my class, some of the figure women who’d just come off stage, and some judges. They saw me walk in wearing my loose fitting sweat suit and likely thought I was some strong man competitor, wanting to make a go of bodybuilding. Some fat, overfed and out of shape guy who didn’t belong here. After all, it looked like I must have weighed 400 pounds! Keen to prove them all wrong, I pulled off my sweatshirt. I think one of the figure girls and at least 2 of my fellow heavyweight competitors gasped. I stepped onto the scale, and my weight was recorded: 408 pounds. I’d put on a few more pounds of muscle just since I’d gotten to the Island. When my class was announced, I was at the back of the line walking on stage. Finally after the other 8 competitors had strode under the lights, I made my appearance from behind the curtain. The buzz in the auditorium rose to a bit of a roar and people began to stand up and jockey around to get a better view of me. At least a couple hundred people ignored the ban on cell phone photography and started to snap furious pictures and videos of me. I honestly felt like my muscles could sense all the attention and they literally seemed like they were swelling right then and there as I was walking. That made me strut just a little bit prouder until I took my place at Stage right. At 6’4” tall I already stood above the rest of the guys in my field, and I must have outweighed the next heaviest competitor by 150 pounds. This was an amateur competition after all. All the other guys stepped back a few steps to give me a spot at the centre of the stage right under all the bright lights. The judges started to call the mandatory poses: “Front double biceps.” I bring my colossal arms up to the side, then flex them intensely. Mounds of muscle form a perfect bicep peak. My arms are bigger than the next biggest guys quads. “Side Chest.” From the side, my Pecs jut out from my body by 6 inches, and I simultaneously flex my glutes so the side of my ass in also on display. “Back lat spread.” Turning my back to the crowd, my flexed back is so developed that the different muscle groups look like they were chiselled out of granite. My tiny posing suit can barely contain my enormous tight glutes, and even my hamstrings and calf muscles are bulging at this point. The judges narrowed the field down to 3 of us, and we performed some more off the cuff poses for the crowd. The audience really roared when I gave a “most muscular” for them. And after what must have been the shortest deliberation in the history of bodybuilding, I was announced the winner. Second place wasn’t even close. After the post competition fervor died down, and I’d finished giving interviews and getting my photo taken by the various media outlets who were there, it was time for Katie and I to head back to the resort. We met up backstage where she literally ran and jumped onto me, putting her legs around my waist. She jammed her tongue into my mouth and kissed me like never before. We kissed like this for a while, then Katie whispered into my ear. “You are unlike any other man on this planet. You’ve left mankind in the dust. Humanity is all in awe of you and your muscles. I AM IN AWE OF YOU AND YOUR MUSCLES. You’re a conqueror, so take me, like I’m your prize. I want you to go medieval with me tonight, you’re the king and I’m your subject. I am here to serve you and your muscles.” I wasn’t going to turn down an offer like that! I didn’t even bother going to look for my sweat suit that I’d changed out of when I arrived at the auditorium. Fuck that, I looked so good, I didn’t care about modesty. So still oiled up from the show, and still only wearing my Red spandex posing suit, I took Katie, threw her over my shoulder and out we went from the auditorium. When we got outside, a black Masserati was waiting there. A driver and the manager from our resort were standing there and waived us down. “Excusez-moi monsieur. In honour of your victory, we would like to chauffeur you back to the resort, where your room has been upgraded to the presidential suite. Perhaps tomorrow you can perform a posing session for the rest of our guests on the beach?” “Yes, tomorrow. Certainly” I answered. “But right now, please take us back to the resort.” I gently placed Katie into the car’s back seat. On the short drive we made out furiously. Katie was normally quite an active sexual partner, but I could tell she had a different attitude tonight. She was being submissive, and almost begging for me to touch her, kiss her, run her hand over my abs. I had thought the whole “conqueror/master” thing she had whispered was just a ruse to get me turned on, but maybe she was actually as hypnotized by my muscles as everyone else had seemed to be at the show. When we got to the front of the resort, I got out of the car and threw Katie back over my shoulder. My posing suit was now bulging a little obscenely in the front from my dick which was now at half mast from making out with Katie on the drive. But I didn’t care. And neither did the couple hundred people all watching us arrive from the lobby. The Hotel manager led us to our new suite, and I swiftly closed the door. Our new room was 2200 square feet, with a loft, and huge sitting area. Along one wall, there was a 8’x8’ mirror. “What do you want from me? Ask anything and it’s yours.” Katie pleaded to me as soon as the door was shut. “Show these muscles some love. Starting with my biceps” I stated. Katie jumped up on the bed so she was standing level with my arms and immediately started devouring my bicep with her tongue. She was making out with the indent between the two heads of my bicep, flicking her tongue in and out. Simultaneously her right hand was groping my rock hard glute, and her left was going over and over my abs. I was getting pretty turned on, but there was something else I wanted to try that I figured would drive Katie nuts. I lowered down on to my knees. “Katie, get that dress and those panties off and come here.” I extended my right arm and flexed my bicep. “Now come grind your pussy on this.” Katie took the hint and dropped her dripping wet pussy onto my 26” bicep. Her vagina couldn’t even come close to taking something that massive, but she got her clit involved in the motion and within a minute had an orgasm, leaking pussy juice all over my arm. After her gasping and panting died down a few moments later, Katie got an idea. “Steven, your muscles turn me on so much, but I think we need to let you enjoy them as much as I do. Come over here.” Katie led me to the wall with the 8 foot mirror. “Now, flex as hard as you can.” I performed my front double bicep pose and the sight was my fantasy come true. I was the biggest, bulgiest, most obscenely muscled human to have ever lived. My biceps were enormous, my Pecs were gigantic, my abs were so perfectly chiselled they looked fake, my shoulders and traps were so huge and freaky they almost went up to my ears. Not an inch of my body was undeveloped. I was so turned on by the sight of my muscles that I immediately felt my posing suit being stretched by my growing hard on. Katie got down to her knees, and put her mouth up against my crotch. Sensually putting her mouth against the outside of the tightly stretched lycra of my posing trunks, she began to kiss my erect dick through the fabric. In between kisses, she started talking dirty to me and my muscles. “Steven, look at yourself. You’re huge.” And then back to work on my crotch. She removes her mouth to take a breath “That bicep of yours is perfection. If you were any bigger you wouldn’t fit in that 8x8’ foot mirror.” More kisses on my dick which is now so hard that it is sticking up out of my posing suit. “Everyone who sees your massive size must fantasize about getting to feel up your muscles. I know I would if I didn’t have them all to myself.” She takes my posing suit off, then starts sucking my shaft in earnest. But every few strokes she comes off and continues to talk me up: “Come on baby, come for me. Explode with pleasure at the sight of your perfect muscles. They are a wonder of the world.” I’m close to orgasming now, Katie is giving me the best blow job of my life. And Katie’s comments are the exact thing I want to hear. This is all I’ve ever wanted, to be the biggest, most muscular person on the planet. Not just so other people would stare at me, but so I could stare at MYSELF. Because there is nothing hotter than muscle. And I have the most muscle in the world! With those thoughts, and my reflection in the mirror running through my head I come like I’ve never come before. I shoot an enormous load into Katie’s mouth and she swallows the whole thing like a champ. She then stands up, places her arms around me (well actually her arms won’t wrap all the way around me because my back is too big) and we embrace. The two of us are as happy as we’ve ever been. Thankful that I’ve been blessed with this gift of muscle, and thankful that we’ve found each other. The two of us then go to bed, Katie’s head resting on my massive Pecs. Right before we fall asleep, Katie whispers “and to think, you’re only just getting started…” I fall asleep with a hard on.

So I am putting a disclaimer here before anyone reads this. If it gets complaints, I will move it to the Member+ Section. This new series involves a 16 year old. There is sex in the later parts, but there is also Age Progression, so this teen becomes an ADULT. Just a Warning and a Precaution I wanted to take. This is also based on an RP I am currently working on with Nostson. It is still not complete but we are making sure it gets to completion so this amazing EPIC can be told in full. Currently Have enough for 4 parts... and TWO of them are already written. Anyways... Please Enjoy this twisted piece of fucked up fiction for your jerking pleasures... INFINITY BREAKERS Part 1 The Alpha The Alpha, the Universe’s only sole Guardian, is out patrolling his local city. It’s a daily thing and if he didn’t do it, well it just left it up to the local authorities. What set him apart was he had powers normal heroes didn’t have. Strength 10 times a normal human. And Super Speed. Everyone loved him, he was an all-around Hero that everyone wished they were him as well. After he just stopped another bank robbery, heading out to his next location to patrol, he noticed a teen, 16 years of age. Sizing him up 5’3” 140lbs. A nice athletic build. He was a fine specimen that in a few years when he was truly a man, He’d be one hell of a stud. The Alpha’s inner mentality made his stomach churn a bit. You see, The Alpha wasn’t always this 6’6” 345lb shredded beef of muscle. He used to be just as small as this teen, but we will get to that later. The Alpha flew in low, landing right behind the teen, pressing his first up along the wall above his head. “How’s it going sport?” He tried sounding cool, flirting in his own way as best as he could. He looked down at the teen over his pecs, as the teen looked up from his phone, giving the kid his hero’s smile. The teen watched as the fist actually punched a hole into the side of the building, bits of debris fell at their feet, a couple of pebbles and dust landed in his hair. All he could do was gawk at the massive body so close to him, eventually he saw the handsome face, smiling back. “H-hello sir!” he couldn’t find the words, his Hero was right in front of him, larger then life. “I-I’m doing fine! What are you doing here?” The Alpha placed his large hand on the teen’s shoulder, his palm fully enclosing it as he made his way to the other side of the teen’s body, bending down a bit so they were eye level. “I just finished up here, when my eye caught you! You’re a pretty handsome kid!” He took a second to adjust himself before giving him a wink and a grin. “How would you like to come back to The Alpha’s home?” The Alpha kept smiling as he brushed the dust off of the top of the teen’s hair, but in reality it was just an excuse for him to get another touch of this kid he had a crush on. The teen gasped a bit from the touch, his own hand coming up to brush against his hero’s forearm, feeling the raw power of his real life champions thick and veiny muscle. He blushed from the words, even more that this muscled powerhouse had any interest in him, and even stopping by to give him a smile and a wink. “W-why thank you, sir! You’re the most handsome guy around though! W-why would you invite me?! I-I mean, yes! Of course I want to come!” The teen continued to get flustered as he was given this once in a lifetime opportunity. The Alpha took that as his OK. In one quick sweep he spun the teen around, lifting him off his feet and scooping him into his arms. “Sorry, Sport!” He pulled a cloth out of his back pocket, tying it around the teen’s. “I can’t let you see where home is right now. So where this as a precaution and we will get there safely!” In seconds, The Alpha lifted off the ground, and took off, holding the teen close to his body, making sure even with breaking the sound barrier, the teen was safe. In mere minutes later, they slow down as The Alpha comes in for a landing, He places the teen on a chair, “Security System: Lock Down!” removing the blindfold from the teen’s eyes as giant metal shutters began closing around the entire room. “VOICE RECOGNITION COMPLETE!” the animatronic voice echoed throughout the giant room as the last shutters slid over the windows, blocking the sun completely from their views. *CLAP-CLAP* Light’s begin to turn on and illuminate the building. The teen look’s around. High Ceilings, lots of computers and electronics, even all the new and latest gaming gadgets. His hero was a gamer too! On one side of the room sat a kitchen. The other a bedroom, with a very large bed, much bigger than a King. “Wow… this is like… the room of my dreams! But why do you have all this stuff? Aren’t you busy being a hero?” The Alpha slowly pulls his gloves off, tossing them aside, followed by pulling the spandex top off his upper body. His chest glistened with sweat as he took a seat at the foot of the bed, looking over at the teen. The teens jaw dropping again from the site of his pumped body. “H-Holy fuck…” he mumbled as his body faced the hero. The Alpha pats the spot next to him on the bed as he lifts his leg up, pulling his booted foot into his lap and removing the boot, exposing his large size 15 foot. He does the same with the other boot, tossing it aside. “A hero has to have fun every now and then, doesn’t he? It gets lonely some times. The teen stepped closer, his knees threatening to give out as he approached the hero, looking away from his face, glancing down to see those massive feet and legs. He almost ended up stumbling over the massive discarded boots from not paying attention, stepping over them and making eye contact just before he was right in front of him. “Is that why you invited me then?” “Come closer, stud! I don’t bite!” He makes a chomping sound with his pearly whites. “Unless you want me to?” He winks before letting out a hardy heroic laugh. The teen backs up a bit as the hero leaned forward and pretended to bite, blushing in embarrassment as he heard the deep laugh. He slowly moves closer towards The Alpha again, sitting on the spot he initially patted, looking over at this large, muscle man’s body, seeing the thickness of his pecs and even his abs from this angle. “I-I think I’ll pass on the biting…” he was slightly confused. The hero turned to face the teen a bit. “Don’t be shy! I was once small like you! You have no need to be embarrassed in front of me.” The hero noticed the teen checking him out. Taking in everything that made him the hero. He lifted his arm up, flexed it. The bicep peaked up, perfect symmetry. “Go ahead. Touch it!” The Alpha gently takes the teen’s hand into his own, placing it on the warm rounded surface. He gives it a little flex, making it harder. “What’s your name, kid?” The teen can’t really believe what his hero was saying… he was once small like him? He watched as his hero moved his hand along his bicep. His own hand shaking a bit, but he slowly calmed down after he felt how gentle the large man was. He tried gripping the bicep, squeezing it a bit harder. Moving his second hand up on that one massive peak of hard flesh. “Oh god… I can’t even budge your arms!” He shouted excitedly, and got even more excited as his hero raised his other arm into a double bicep pose. “M-My name is Johnathan, sir! And what do you mean you were once small like me?” The Alpha watched as Johnathan continued to feel up his arms with his hands… It’s practically a worship session, which he had not hand in quite a long time, especially not from someone so HOT to him either. His own cock, stirring a bit as he got lost in the feeling. “Mmmm… A guy doesn’t just get to be like how I am, Johnny Boy… Powers… this much strength… I’m the only one like me in the entire Universe…” The Alpha lifted Johnathan up, spun him around and pulled him into his chest. “I used to be just like you a few years ago. Hell, I was even a teen! 16 to be exact…” getting lost in the feel, The Alpha ran his beard against Johnathan’s neck. His breathe warm. Pecs heaving on Johnathan’s back as he wrapped his arms around him in an embrace. “Will you be mine, Johnathan?” Johnathan blushed again as his hero gave him such a cute nickname, then snapped back to reality as hid idol he just met told him all this stuff about himself. “W-WHAT?” stammered out before he was man handled and forced into the hero’s lap. “I mean, how can I say no to you, sir?” he was being overwhelmed by everything that was happening so quick. He tried to clear his mind for a second. Thinking back to what The Alpha had told him. “You were once 16, like me. H-How did you become so…. So massive? So Powerful? So…” he took a second to swallow his fear of what he was about to ask. “S-Sexy?” Johnathan blushed as he reached up to rub his hands along the massive forearms, knowing even if he didn’t want to be there, in his heroes arms, there was no way he could move the arms holding him with his strength alone. “My power was inherited, little one…” The Alpha continued his story, kissing the teen’s neck, reaching his hand into his sexy young stud’s shorts. Johnathan blushed a bit, letting out a light moan as the large hand moved down his core and into his pants, his hands gripping onto The Alpha’s wrist as things began to move faster, not sure where things were going to go as he had never done this before with anyone, his own cock beginning to grow erect. “I mean one day the world was in complete chaos, the next I show up… seems kind of ironic don’t you think but I did clean up the mess…” His hand gripped around the shaft, 4 inches, getting harder. “Mmmm, fuck… bigger then mine used to be… and the same age.” The Alpha was lost in his own thoughts. “Fuck !&@&*$&(!*&#*(!)!*&!” The word made no sense, but the next moment changed everything. The Alpha began to breathe hard, trying to catch his breath. *THUMP* A large ball falls onto the floor, rolling away from them. “WhAt HaVe I dOnE…” The Alpha’s voice was slowly changing pitch. His shadow looming over Johnathan was beginning to shrink, and the teen felt it too. Johnathan’s back begun to sink back into the hero more. The pec’s that were once supporting him began to retract. *THUMP* Another ball… *THUMP* *THUMP* Multiple ones all bounced to different corners of the room. All different colors and some of different sizes. Johnathon snaps back to reality as he heard that strange word and the balls start to bounce. He felt movement from behind him and the higher pitch voice was beginning to worry him. “What the…” not even sure it was the same man behind him anymore, he holds the arm in front of him tighter, suddenly realizing that they are much smaller and not holding him as tightly. Johnathan turned around, just in time to see The Alpha’s body falling back onto the bed, one more ball rolls around the bed as his heroes body writhers and shrinks to even smaller sizes. “Oh my god, what’s happening to you?!” Johnathan hops over the hero’s body, leaning in over him. The hero continuing to lose size as the teen stares down. His limbs retracting inward. His torso and spine compacting. His muscles deflating. Johnathan watched as the hair on his exposed chest retreated back into his skin. All of the hero’s manly appeal wasted away and reverted back to a more boyish charm as he devolved and shrank. His body reaching Johnathan’s size, before slipping even smaller as he returned to his original 16 year old self. His super hero tights were now loose, his cock no longer bulging outward as it had also returned to its old 3 inch pencil dick size. The Alpha gave one final *GASP* as his memories of the things he had done stayed, but his genius intellect pushed his way out of his head, creating a large jawbreaker, that rolled itself right into Johnathan’s hand that was still watching in utter amazement as his hero became a 5ft 120lb wimp… To Be Continued…

Links to chapters of "The Twenty": "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Precis, Introduction, Chapters 1 & 2 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 3, 4, 5 - White Cap Training / Hardcore Muscle / A Brief History of Casey Rockland "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 6 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 7, 8 - Hardcore Training, Part 1 / Tiffany's Talent "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapters 9, 10 - Good for Morale "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 11: Casey Meets the Muscle Squad "The Twenty" Chapter 12, Part 1: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 12: Part 2 Casey vs. Karim Abdul: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 13: After the Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 14: In Which Casey Discovers He Likes to Get Worshipped "The Twenty" - Chapter 15: Casey's First Interview with Sergeant Moster "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 16 - Hardcore Training Part 2: Casey’s First Herculaneum Workout, and What Happened After "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 17 - The Presentation "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 18 - The Musclemen Revealed: Inside Zaftig's Lab "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 19 - Further Encounters, Part 1 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 20 - Pose and Approve: Further Encounters, Part 2 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 21 - Sam and Casey "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 22 - Field Trips for Worship, Part 1 "The Twenty" - Chapter 23 - Field Trips, Part 2 – Casey Rediscovers Muscle Worship, and Makes a New Friend Chapter 24 Further Encounters 5: Sam and Casey Again, and Moster and the Cadets February 10th, 2022 2100 Hours Casey and Sam were close together now, each intent upon the other, Sam sitting calmly, Casey nervous, towering over him, his huge dick released from his trousers. lying on the table between them. “You …you don’t think I’m a freak?” “I think you’re beautiful,” said Sam. Casey stared at him, and then blurted it out. “Okay, well, then, would you mind, I mean, is it okay if you suck on this awhile?” He shifted back and forth on his feet nervously. This surprised even Sam. “What?” “I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, but, you see, I really need to get it sucked by someone new, someone from the outside, ‘cause when the guys here suck cock, we all do it together, you know, in a big room or the lab or the gym or the cafeteria or for Dr. Shaft at his house, or for investors…” “Investors?! Wait. This is a lot of information. Slow down.” “Sorry.” “You…. all suck cock here? Each other’s cocks?” “All the time. Daily. Once in the morning, once late at night. Sometimes after training. Sometimes at lunch. Sometimes before dinner. Sometimes after dinner. Sometimes during dinner.” He paused. The words were rushing out. “We suck cock a lot.” “Why?” Casey shrugged. “We like it. Don’t you?” Sam had to admit that he did. “And it’s good for cum production. We each shoot about three quarts a week.” “That’s impossible.” “Not for us. Yeah. We do. On slow weeks.” “Zaftig said you don’t have sex.” Casey snorted. “Yeah, right, dude, he would say that. Sex is what we’re made for.” “Come again?” “It’s what we’re made for.” “What does that mean?” “It means we’re made to fight, fight hard, win, and make our defeated enemies suck our cocks. Then we pose for them. Then we kill them.” He paused. “Or, we’re supposed to, anyway. In theory.” “Shit. Fight, win, get sucked, kill, pose?” “No. Fight, win, pose, get sucked…. kill. But we never have yet. Though we’ve come close. Sometimes we beat the investors up. A little. If they want it…” This was getting weird. Exciting, crazy, nuts, wild, but weird. “Okay, go back a second.” Casey shifted his weight again, and his heavy cock dragged audibly along the tabletop. Sam stared at it. “As I said, go back a little…. who are these investors?” But Casey had caught his look. He pointed to his dick, now lying flat and at rest on the tabletop, lying still like an enormous thick snake. “At least touch it. Put your hand on it. Touch it. Stroke it. Make it warm.” He took Sam’s hand and clapped it firmly on the massive round shaft. “Play with it. Make it hard.” He paused, then added, seeming to plea. “Please?” “Okay.” Sam stared a moment up at Casey. “Okay,” he said, after a moment. “If this is what you want.” He put his hand on the penis. It sure was big. Like a fleshy log. And warm. And very thick. And covered with veins. An amazing machine. “Please. Play with it. Play with my dick. Just for a minute.” Just for a minute? How about an hour? How about for the next ten years? This was going better than Sam had dared to dream. “Sure. But you gotta do something for me.” As if Casey wasn’t fulfilling every dream he’d ever had. “Flex for me.” He started to stroke the big cock lightly with the back of his fingers. Casey jumped a little at his first touch. Then Sam looked up at him, suddenly tense, ready, watching. “Wait. You make your opponent suck your cock, and then you kill him?” “Oh. Oh! Don’t worry!!” Casey extended his hands pleadingly. “We haven’t killed anyone. Yet. I mean, the dudes fight a lot. Karim hands out a lot of black eyes. But I wouldn’t hurt you. I wouldn’t want to hurt your little finger!” To prove his point, suddenly he gently grabbed the back of Sam’s head and pulled him towards him, planting a long passionate kiss on him. Sam couldn’t have been more surprised, but he kissed back. They locked lips and their tongues explored each other’s mouths. All the while, Sam kept gently stroking Casey’s penis. It grew stiff under his hand. Finally they parted, and Casey sat back, looking deeply into Sam’s green eyes, Sam’s hand resting gently on the thick barrel of penis on the table between them. “Look. See, I really wanted to meet you after I heard about you, I’ve wanted to meet you a long time, for more than a year, but I can never get a pass or get out alone, and I didn’t know you anyway, and you would have thought I was strange or something, and I didn’t know where you lived…” As the words tumbled out, his penis grew larger and stiffer under Sam’s probing, gentle fingers. Slowly it began to rise from the table surface. “You see, all the men said that you were the best cocksucker anywhere, and I knew if I could meet you first before they did, then you could suck my cock first, and for once I’d have something over them, and then maybe they wouldn’t fuck me so hard.” Sam was appalled. “Wait. WAIT. Slow down.” His mind reeled. What to ask first? “They fuck you? “ “Yeah. They all fuck me. They fuck me hard.” Casey’s penis was now poling towards the ceiling. “Where did you hear I was such a great cocksucker?” “Well, they all say that.” Sam had to acknowledge that this was probably true. He let it go. “What do you mean, you all suck cock for Dr. Shaft??!” “Once a month a couple of vans take us all to his house and we party awhile. Usually we wind up sucking cock while Shaft watches us and beats off.” “And they fuck YOU? “Yeah! They all get to fuck me. Me and now Tiffany, too. I changed that. I fucked him first.” Casey smiled, and an evil glint appeared in his eye as he recalled the night. Then he continued. “Sometimes the younger guys come along if I’m tired or something and they fuck them instead. But me, mostly me, I get it more than anyone. Everyone gets to fuck me – well, not the cadets, they’re not allowed to. And I don’t get to fuck anyone! I’m supposed to be buttboy! When we’re at Dr. Shaft’s first he sucks my cock. Then they all take turns and suck my cock – except the cadets, they don’t have the privilege yet, but I think a few of them get to suck Moster’s cock in his quarters sometimes. He really needs it. And when I shoot, they measure how much I cum. I’m not supposed to shoot until all 19 men have sucked me. Sometimes I cum early. When that happens,……” Casey paused. “What?” asked Sam, disbelieving. “…. . then they make me start over with Dr. Shaft again.” “Wow.” “Yeah, wow. I hate his cock. It’s so little! Someday I’m gonna beat the shit out of him. I would kill him with one punch. Pow!” “Easy.” “I’m sorry.” “No, I mean you would kill him easy.” “I would! It all pisses the shit out of me. Then they fuck me. Shaft watches. Two, three times each. My asshole hurts. It pisses me off!” He leaned in conspiratorially. “I’m gonna run away,” he confided. This was getting dangerous. Sam was on guard now. But he had to know. “Why do they fuck you?” he asked. “Why me?! I’ll show you why me!” He turned around and bent over, his perfect butt now in Sam’s face. He slid the jeans down his hams. He kicked them off and stood, his back to Sam, his fists buried in his obliques, jutting out his butt. It was an incredible ass. Two round globes of muscular golden flesh, perfect, hard-as-nails ovals of sleek construction. Powerful, huge, an incredible human loading dock of rounded power. Inside the darkened buttcrack Sam could see close-up the throbbing, inviting deep of Casey’s perfect butthole. It did, however, appear as if it could use a rest. And yet…. it also looked as if it might never get tired. Sam closed his eyes and for a moment he envisioned a lineup of 19 muscle men, each awaiting the business of the hard-pumping man at the head of the line, and in time, all taking their turn with this bodybuilder’s magnificent young ass. Fucking, fucking, fucking, shooting quarts of cum, the first man stepping aside, the next men stepping up and inserting his own stout pole into the welcoming red butthole. Fucking, fucking, fucking. Fucking muscle butt. “…. Do you enjoy it? ….” Casey considered a minute. He glanced back over his shoulder at Sam. He gulped - and then he went for it. He extended his arms straight ahead, bent over forward from the waist, and grabbed his ankles. “What do you think?” he asked sadly. *********** Meanwhile, down the corridor, Moster was addressing the muscular young cadets in his private compound suite. “Okay, men,” said Moster breezily, “suppose one of you tells me the real reason you’re here. Cadet Banks, you seem to be the spokesman. Suppose you talk.” The teen cadets stood shyly before Moster, their hands at ease behind their backs, their legs spread wide. He strode between them and inspected their supple young physiques. He was wear his black leather poser again, the top eight inches of his cockshaft fully exposed from the root, plunging down to the floor with pulsing veins, disappearing into black leather. His testicles filled the pouch to bursting. Taylor was trying hard not to stare. “You looking at my cock, cadet?” “No, sir.” “Bullshit.” “We just wanted to make sure you were not displeased, sir,” offered Banks. “Displeased? No, I am not displeased.” He walked around the young men silently for a moment, inspecting. Nice bottoms, he thought, cleanly outlined in tight khakis. Firm. Quite spankable. Very fuckable. “How old are you boys?” “18” said Banks. “I’m 17,” said Taylor. “Old enough to know better than disturb me in quarters.” Then he ordered again. “Let’s see what you boys got. Drop trou,” he commanded. The two teens unbuckled their belts swiftly, unzipped, pushed, and in unison, their khakis hit the tops of their boots. They were each wearing clean white jocks. Both teens were already excited enough to present full pouches, but not so erect as to be overtly disrespectful. “Flex.” They eagerly did so. Young, hard, muscleboy biceps swelled and popped. Banks went smoothly into a side chest pose, of which he was justifiably proud. His young nipples pointed low as his balloon pecs were rounded high and with pleasant hints of future deep striations to come – if one could see beneath the thick black mat of chest hair. Taylor turned and went into a rear lat spread. His wide young batwings opened to their fullest, and his glutes pointed round, hard, and high. “Impressive. Good, solid teen muscle. You must enjoy fucking the local girls. You boys are making definite gains. Banks, I see you don’t shave your body.” Moster sniffed. “And you’re still smoking.” “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” “Quit. Bad habit. All the same, good work. Okay. That will be all. Dismissed.” He turned away. The boys didn’t see his smile. The cadets dropped their poses, glanced at each other in alarm. Taylor gestured. “Ask him!” he mouthed furiously. Banks spoke again. “Sir, we were hoping…. that is….” “Yes, Banks?” Taylor blurted it out. “We were hoping you’d pose for us, sir.” Moster had to smile in spite of himself. The effrontery! Still, such a request in two such young men was not uninteresting. “You’d like me to pose for you. I see.” Banks smirked a little. Moster caught it, and his face went blank, the smile disappearing. “Why, I suppose I might spare a few minutes.” “…Are you certain you are not in need of….” Moster raised an eyebrow. “…. . releasing some personal tension, sir?” “I told you that I am not tense.” “Respectfully begging the CO’s pardon, sir, it would appear that you are, all the same, in need of some therapeutic stress reduction, sir.” “Are you being impertinent, cadet?” “No, sir! Sir, I……. sir…. .” Banks looked helpless for a moment. It was Taylor who finally spoke. “Sir, requesting permission to speak freely, sir.” “Well, what is it?” “Sir, we desire that you should spank us both, sir.” “Why would you want that?” “Sir, to make you feel better, sir. And after that, sir, we’d like to take turns sucking your dick.” “I see. This is for my benefit. This display of teen muscle and firm cadet butt. And I am to pose for you. After a good spanking. Right? That it? All right. Let’s get started, then. Banks, you’re up first.” Moster turned back and pulled out a solid blue steel low bench he reserved for the application of his sternest spankings. He sat, and adjusted his relaxed 14-inch black cock in the black leather so that it snaked heavily across the top of one thigh. He gazed at the boys, and raised both arms into a front double biceps. Pow. BAM. “Like what you see, boys?” “Yes, sir!” breathed Taylor. Moster laughed. “28 inches. Get your butts over here. Banks, you're up first.” Moster grinned with grim satisfaction. "I've been wanting to teach your greaser butt a lesson for some time now." Banks approached eagerly, and Moster ignored his obvious puppy dog joyousness at being initiated before his time. “Over my knee, cadet,” he ordered. “Yes, sir!” Banks flung himself over Moster’s powerful knees. He felt the CO’s heavy warm cock pressed thickly against his abs. He arched his back slightly and tilted his butt up to the ceiling all to better receive his punishment. Slowly Moster raised his powerful arm high and opened his hand wide. His palm itched. He checked out the healthy, firm jockbutt that lay submissively across his knees and nodded, satisfied. “Very good work, cadet,” he said, and lowered his hand with firm swiftness. SMACK! Taylor jumped. Banks moaned. “These glutes look good,” said Moster. “Thank you, sir!” Then, SMACK! again, and again, and again. “Powerful, ripe, and firm,” Moster praised the cadet. “OOOHHhhhh…” moaned Banks. SMACK! Moster paused a little. “Why, anything the matter, cadet?” “It hurts, sir!” “What hurts?” “My butt, sir! It stings, sir!” Moster’s palm was calloused and heavy from years of spanking the men. He raised his hand again and planted another stingingly loud smack onto Cadet Banks’ increasingly reddening firm young butt cheeks. “Of course it stings,” he said. “What did you expect?” …. Spank!……. Spank!. . . . . . . . . Spank!…. Some minutes later, it was Taylor’s turn to lie meekly over Moster’s knees. His legs dangled helplessly in the air. Moster reviewed the teen’s muscular butt with approval. “You boys have developed fine flanks for yourselves,” he opined, and began to spank. The blows feel on firm glutes again and again, achieving an even, unyielding, implacable rhythm. …. Spank!……. Spank!. . . . . . . . . Spank!…. Spank!. . . . . . …. Beneath his abs, Taylor felt Moster’s thick penis stiffening…. harder, larger, heavier, weightier…inconceivably big. After 20 spanks, Taylor stood, rubbing the red welts on his rear, tears in his eyes. He glanced at Banks. “You said this would be fun,” he hissed. “Well, ain’t it?” Banks gestured down at the seated CO. He pointed. “Just look at that!” Taylor turned and stared. Moster’s penis was enormous, an uncoiled black cobra lying half exposed, half enmeshed in his posers, atop an impossibly vascular, striated quadriceps. The mushroom-shaped head was the size of a ripe McIntosh apple, and the shaft as thick as a vein-lined fire hose. “Like what you see, cadets?” “Yes, sir!” said Banks. “Fuckin’ A,” said Taylor. “There will be time for you both to show your respect for my cock in a very few minutes. In the mean time, Banks, I believe it is your turn at bat?” Moster alternated spanking the two young cadets, back and forth, for several minutes. During Banks’s second turn over the CO’s knee, Taylor stood waiting respectfully in the corner, his hand rubbing the red welts on his smooth, bright red, hard ass cheeks. After Taylor came Banks again, and this time Moster disciplined him even harder for not shaving his buttcheeks, spanking tough boy Banks for a full three minutes longer than he spanked Taylor for his second turn. It was what Banks had hoped for. Tomorrow was leg day, and he planned on training his stinging glutes as hard as he could. Tonight was all about glute-building inspiration. Moster had been spanking the two men alternately for about 20 minutes. Spank! Spank! “Next time, think twice before banging on my door at ungodly hours,” he said firmly. Spank! Spank! SPANK!! Six minutes later he finished with Taylor, and pushed him off. Taylor rolled heavily onto the floor and brought both hands up tenderly to his stinging butt. He crawled away. Moster gestured impatiently for Banks to step forward and receive his fourth punishment. Banks hung back, apprehensive, in spite of himself. “Get your candyass little butt over here before I come over there and drag you by your hair, you fucking greaser.” Banks trotted over, his head bowed, his hands behind his back. He lay across Moster’s knees once again. His red butt throbbed painfully. Bright red handprints glowed on each buttcheek. “Spank me again, please, sir,” he said. Moster complied. He paddled Banks’ hard little butt stingingly for three solid minutes more. The sounds of his palm slapping the cadets’ hardened musclebutts echoed down the corridor. In his darkened quarters, Corporal Schumacher lay in his bed and listened intently, his shorts around his knees and his cock poling high to the ceiling. He jerked off hard at the sound. Moster sure was busy tonight. “Uuunnngh!” he roared, and he shot ropes of thick cum onto his abs, his gism leaping into the darkness and falling, splashing his abs. At the other end of the corridor, Alvarez, Lang and Hension were still feverishly posing, flexing, and sucking one another’s cocks, musically accompanied by the drumbeat of distant spanks. In his suite, Casey paused in his story to Sam. The loud spanks were echoing throughout the compound. Both looked towards the corridor door. “What’s that?” “Sergeant Moster is probably spanking some butt. He likes to do that.” “Oh.” Sam turned back to Casey, huge in his chair, hulking, self-conscious suddenly at his enormous size when sitting next to the handsome, lean-muscled Ensign. Sam spoke delicately. “Go on about that LA field trip. ” “Okay. We get worship sessions in San Francisco and LA. Some young tech stars and a few movie people. Dudes with money. Real money.” “They pay you to flex.” “Yeah. And, um, more, too.” All in all, Moster devoted 30 minutes to the firm paddling of cadet butts. At the end, Moster’s cock was just as hard as it had been 31 minutes before. His erection hadn’t wavered an instant, or by so much as a millimeter. He stood, pushing Banks off his knees and onto the floor, bent over and rolled Taylor over onto his back. Then he kicked Banks into position. Both men were now under him, and facing up. He lowered his posers in the back so that his magnificent rock hard glutes were exposed. He slowly lowered himself into a squat, hovering just a foot over Banks’ face. “This is an ass,” he announced, perhaps unnecessarily. Banks stared hungrily at the musclebutt suspended over him. He reached his tongue out and tried to lick, but Moster held it steadily above him. “This is big, black, big muscle ass,” Moster repeated, and he rotated his body until his ripped musclebutt was looming over Taylor’s face. "Hard as rock." Taylor, too, tried to lick, to no avail. For five minutes, Moster squatted over the heads of the cadets. He farted softly, breezily in their faces. They took it in. He bobbed. He swayed. He dipped. He pulled apart his ass cheeks. He showed them his pink, vibrating asshole. “And this is butthole,” he explained. “You want it?” “Yes, sir!” both men shouted. “Okay, then. Heads together.” The teens scrambled. He positioned himself firmly over their faces and lowered his magnificent butt closer. The teens breathed in the butt aroma deeply, licking the cheeks, lightly smacking and pawing. Moster sat down hard on their faces. The cadets paid no attention to the pain. Instead, they both groaned deeply in pleasure. Moster glanced up at the clock. “I will be sitting on each of your faces for five minutes.” “Yes, sir!” “Worship my ass.” The teens did so eagerly: licking, stroking, spitting, and kneading, lightly smacking Moster’s powerful glutes. “Incredible butt, sir!” “Awesome shape and size, sir!” “It’s hard as steel, sir!” “I know, men. Keep at it.” “Permission to jack off, sir!” they both cried out. “Permission granted. But make sure neither of you cum. Not yet.” In unison the teens popped their poling, stiff dicks free from their khakis and began pumping their hardened young manmeat. When five minutes of assplay were up, Moster rose slowly and pulled up his posers, covering the corona of his massive cockhead with the groaning poser pouch. He picked Taylor up wholly from the floor, and positioned him on his knees in front of his cock. “Hunh?” mumbled the confused Taylor. “Are we finished with your butt, sir?” “You are. You will now start on my cock.” Moster guided the young cadet’s face into his looming cockbulge. “Lick it,” he commanded. “You’re my plaything.” Taylor nodded eagerly and began to expertly glide his tongue over the bulging Spandex. Moster issued more commands to Banks, who was scrambling to his feet. “Get yourself hard and start fucking this boy’s butt,” he directed. “Sir, my dick is hard,” said Banks. “You call that hard? Work it. I want to see it hard.” Taylor, sucking deeply, moaned softly. Banks worked his stiff dick furiously. He reached out and probed the reddened muscle cheeks of Taylor’s magnificent young bottom. He could clearly make out Moster’s still bright-red handprints, striking nearly every time as he had on precisely the same surface of each buttcheek. He knew his own smarting butt looked the same. He pulled on his cock, bringing it out to its full 9-inch hardness. Once upon a time, he envisioned that he had a pretty big cock. But it was nothing compared to Moster’s. Or to Casey Rockland’s, dammit. It was big enough to do the job, though. He spit in his palm and rubbed it furiously on the tip of his cock two or three times. “Use the oil, cadet. Behind you.” Moster’s cock, still sheathed in dripping white Spandex, was plunging in and out of Taylor’s mouth. Moster was pumping evenly. “Get ready.” Banks found the oil and oiled up his penis. It looked pretty good at that, he thought, and remembered that in the real world, he had been the favorite all his young life of size queens everywhere. He waved it back and forth and approached Taylor’s rounded butt, pointing outward and ready to receive. He smacked it against the cadet’s rounded buttcheeks. Taylor was sucking feverishly. “Sir,” he breathed, “Permission to remove your posing trunks, sir.” “Permission denied. Banks, you ready yet?” “Sir, pleeeeasssee, sir…. . Taylor pleaded. “What did I say? Banks, you get yourself ready to fuck this young cadet. And be advised that once you’re done, you’re gonna face my dick, too, both front and back.” He looked down at Taylor. “You’ll get fucked last. And hardest.” “Sirrr……” Taylor moaned. “Expose your butthole, cadet.” “Yes, sir….” Taylor reached back and pulled the strap of his jock clear of his eager young asshole. It winked invitingly up at Banks, poised above. “Fuck that butt, cadet.” “Yes, sir!” In one stroke, Banks reared back and slid his dick deeply into Taylor’s not-so-cherry butthole. “AAAHHHH!!!” Taylor screamed. It was the moment Moster had been waiting for. His spandex suit ripped powerfully and tore away, and his fully erect 20-inch cock cannonballed past Taylor’s gently parting lips and crammed itself deeply down into his throat. “MMMGGGRRRRMMMAAACCCKPHH” Taylor groaned. “Let’s get busy, Cadet,” said Moster calmly. “Yes, sir,” said Banks. He spit on his dick and began to slowly fuck his buddy’s butt. Down the hall, six more of the musclemen of Project Herculaneum lay in their cots and listened to the commands, shouts and moans coming from Moster’s quarters, and jerked their pulsing rods furiously. Banks pumped Taylor’s butt powerfully while his buddy sucked Moster’s monster black cock. He was amazed at his own strength, and how big his own cock looked, gliding smoothly, expertly, in and out of muscleboy butthole. But Taylor was busy on his own, licking his CO’s leathery scrotum and sucking the huge shaft, tonguing the cockhead, playing with the pisshole and plunging ever deeper with full-throated sucking. He barely seemed to notice Bank’s steady plunges into his asshole. Moster’s mighty black cock plunged in and out of his mouth. Taylor felt his throat expand with each of the black muscleman’s powerful thrusts. It hurt like hell. He loved it. Every powerful plunge made him harder. Every buttstroke from Banks’ cock made him crazier. Taylor pulled back a little, and began licking Moster’s cock. “You sucking, there, Cadet?” asked Moster. “You sucking my cock? Biggest cock in the United States. Maybe the world. No bigger. Suck it all, now. Take it all in.” Sweat was pouring off the young Taylor, now almost sobbing with pain and pleasure. His mouth hurt with the powerful plunges of 20 inches of steel-stiff penis. Moster’s iron abs rippled and were like shiny armor. He flexed his mountainous biceps and expanded his pecs into iron-like straps of hard, round muscle. Taylor looked up at the gleaming muscle monster above him and sucked his cock feverishly. “Good work, Banks,” said Moster. “Fuck his butthole.” “Yes, sir!” Finally he looked up at Banks. “Now it’s your turn.” He pulled his penis out of Taylor’s mouth and lifted the weakened boy to his feet by his armpits. “Now you fuck him.” “Sir…. I can’t….” “What do you mean, you can’t? Banks, turn around. Show him your butt.” Banks turned obediently, bent over, and jutted his hard little butt out eagerly. He took ahold of each of his ripped buttcheeks and pulled them apart, exposing his pink butthole. Taylor drooled but didn’t dare move. Not yet. “See that beautiful ass? See that muscle ass? You can’t fuck that? What’s the matter with you, boy? Get to it! Now! That’s an order.” “Yes, sir!” said bottomboy Taylor, pleased that at last he’d have a chance to fuck some nice butt himself. He scrambled to his feet and spread his legs wide as Moster strode powerfully around them and shoved his cock into Banks’ mouth and down his wide-open throat. He began face fucking the handsome muscle greaser. Taylor slid his own painfully engorged cock into Banks’ butthole and began to fuck his tight, rockhard, hairy little rear manfully. “How does it feel, cadet?” “Sir, it feels great, sir!” Taylor shouted joyfully, fucking butt like a devil possessed, his teen cock sliding in and out of muscleboy bubblebutt. “Sir, just awesome!” “Good. Fuck that little hard butt of his. Banks, you keep sucking my cock like a good soldier. Fucking greaser, don’t you know you’re lucky to get my cock? Gobble it up, now.” The fucking and sucking went on for some minutes. Moster stepped back, lifted his gigantic arms into a double biceps pose and grinned. “Time to spit roast. Fast moves, boys. On your back, Banks, now! Taylor, don’t let your cock out of his butthole.” In a flash, Banks rolled over, his lips never leaving the Sergeant’s impossibly thick cockshaft. Taylor’s plunging cock, ever hard, stayed firm and deep inside muscular butt. Banks’ insanely beautiful ass tightened around Taylor’s cock, enveloping it, pulling it ever deeper inside. Glutes writhed with erotic ministrations as they were pounded by thick cockshaft, slowly, then more quickly, fucking Taylor with glorious swells and painful tightenings. “Good moves. I expect to see you both training hard tomorrow.” “Yes, sir! Aye aye, Sir!” both cadets shouted, though Banks’ reply was somewhat garbled, now on his back, his fully-stretched throat now receiving a relentlessly plunging 20 inches of rock-hard, vein-pumping, throbbing, leaping, black, pulsating, plundering penis. It was when Moster lifted his hands behind his head and the mammoth muscle man went into a hard, insanely powerful abdominal pose, his cock ever invading Banks’ throat, when both Tayor and Banks lost their loads. Their cannoned cocks launched dual fire hoses of cum at almost the same instant, arcing high to the ceiling, flying, and then descending, splashing their hot cream across the expansive broadness of Moster’s pecs and abs. Banks’ first blast was accompanied with a deep, guttural, loud yell. Taylor's enormous volume of jizz flew at Moster with a, “Fuck! Oh, fuuuuuuck!” Both cadets' faces scrunched with orgasmic bliss, and in seconds, Moster's muscles were dripping with muscleboy semen. Rivers of shiny, creamy white cum landed, splashed and ran down his massive body. Sprays continued until broad streaks of semen flowed over the various carved contours of trapezius, deltoids, pectorals, lats, obliques, and quads all receiving voluminous coatings of cadet cum. Moster smiled as he lowered his hands, still being showered with the adoring jizz that the muscular cadets were shooting at him. He chuckled, “Oh, that’s nice. Is all this cum for me? Very nice, gentlemen. I appreciate the compliment.” The cadets panted, continuing to spray Moster with uncontrollable ejaculations, apparently not paying much attention to Moster’s words. “My, my,” said Moster. “And you boys aren’t even on P-21 yet. Hmmmm…” Moster considered the possibilities, calmly watching globs of semen fly, land, and splash in creamy blobs on his physique. Finally, they were done. “Now watch,” Moster smiled. “Watch the master.” He looked down at his enormous cock, still encased in Banks’ lips. The veiny shaft throbbed with the first signs of the quarts of cum about to be produced. “Oh, no!.....” mumbled Banks, the cock now shaking violently in his mouth. Moster moaned, looked up at the ceiling, and tightened his whole body. His neck bulged with veins. His physique undulated with such potent and vigorous tightening that the two muscleboys could only stare. He lifted his arms into a fierce front double biceps pose. His penis, still deep inside Bank’s mouth, began to blast out shot after shot. The organ exploded like a dam—bursting with cum; its possessor now took it in powerful hands and, plucking from Banks’ lips, angled it away from himself just a bit, blasting its hot, thick liquid onto the two worshippers. He grinned and drenched the men with burst after violent burst of jizz. Within moments, each man was bathed in a white coat of thick, pure semen. Banks and Taylor, individually, had more cum on their body than Moster had, even though Moster had received the ejaculations of both muscleboys, and the cadets had each received only half of Moster’s, the other half down Banks’ throat and pouring from his mouth. The cadets panted to recover from their most violent orgasms; their astounding muscular physiques glistened with sweat and cum. Yet Moster looked as if he hadn’t exerted himself in the least. He smiled. “Ah… There we go. And both of you got quite a workout from all of this, didn’t you.” With a lone fingertip he lifted some of the men’s semen off his chest, and stuck it in his mouth. “Mmmm,” he smiled. He looked at Banks, obviously appreciating his superior officer’s glorious, still undulating physique, and said, “Cadet, you’ll need to report directly to my quarters at 1900 hours tomorrow night. I think you’ll need another spanking. And I’ll maraud your throat again. Right after my workout tomorrow night.” He paused, considering. “I think I’ll blast my biceps first in the gym. They should be at their fullest peaks by the time you get here. Is that satisfactory to you, cadet?” Banks panted. And as if to emphasize the point, he nodded enthusiastically, squirting one last shot of cum out of his pisshole as he mouthed, “Yes… sir.” Taylor looked disappointed. Moster smiled graciously. “Taylor, you may arrive at 2100 hours.” Taylor squirmed with joy, and he, too, shot a final small blast of cum. Moster looked at the wet torsos of the cadets, and then his own. “Gentlemen, now you must clean all of this semen up. You may start with your tongues on each other, and then proceed to me.” The handsome muscleboys hesitated, standing in awkward attention, glancing briefly at one another. It was Taylor who spoke (for, as it happened, Banks’ paralyzed throat rendered him incapable of speech for the next 12 hours). “Sir, if it’s all the same to you, I think we’d like to attend to you first.” Moster considered this. “As you prefer.” He went into a powerful front lat spread, his pecs now full and round and pointing to the ceiling, the semen dripping from his heavy, pouting brown nipples. “You may start with my chest.”

Links to other chapters: Links to chapters of "The Twenty": "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Precis, Introduction, Chapters 1 & 2 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 3, 4, 5 - White Cap Training / Hardcore Muscle / A Brief History of Casey Rockland "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 6 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 7, 8 - Hardcore Training, Part 1 / Tiffany's Talent "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapters 9, 10 - Good for Morale "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 11: Casey Meets the Muscle Squad "The Twenty" Chapter 12, Part 1: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 12: Part 2 Casey vs. Karim Abdul: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 13: After the Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 14: In Which Casey Discovers He Likes to Get Worshipped "The Twenty" - Chapter 15: Casey's First Interview with Sergeant Moster "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 16 - Hardcore Training Part 2: Casey’s First Herculaneum Workout, and What Happened After "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 17 - The Presentation "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 18 - The Musclemen Revealed: Inside Zaftig's Lab "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 19 - Further Encounters, Part 1 M/M "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 20 - Pose and Approve: Further Encounters, Part 2 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 21 - Sam and Casey "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 22 - Field Trips for Worship, Part 1 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 24 - Further Encounters 5: Sam and Casey Again, and Moster and the Cadets Chapter 23 Field Trips, Part 2 – Casey Rediscovers Muscle Worship, And Makes a New Friend February 10th, 2022 2110 Hours Casey knew he could trust Ensign Victor. Sam was, after all, a muscle worshipper. And Casey was close to the best there was. Casey had long dreamed of his very own muscle worshipper. The legend that bodybuilders are aloof and don’t want to be worshipped? Bullshit. Bodybuilders wanted their very own private worshippers just as much as muscle schmoes wanted bodybuilders. If Casey knew anything at all, he knew that. He’d learned it in LA. And now he was going to tell Sam all about it. And then tell Sam that he knew just exactly what he was. And Sam, of course, was all ears, all solicitation and comfort. Even as he felt his own excitement growing. He felt his cock, too, burgeoning in his trousers, until he didn’t think he could stand it much more. But of course, he’d have to stand it. At least until Casey was finished talking. And so, Sam listened. Patiently, as it happened. And Casey talked and talked. As Sam’s cock got stiffer and stiffer. “So talk about something else. Do you have friends?” “Well. The guys from the cadet dorm, I guess. But I don’t see them anymore. Guess I don’t get out as much as I’d like.” “No friends outside the compound?” “Naw.” “Are the men of The Twenty your friends?” “Well, I’m one of them….” Casey seemed uncomfortable, so Sam moved on. “Family?” Casey looked down, then looked back at Sam. “The Twenty are my family,” he said after a moment. He paused. ‘Guess we seem to be some kind of crazy cult, hunh?” “Kind of, yes.” Casey seemed to want to ask something. Sam half smiled, waiting. Finally he prompted. “Yes?” Casey was clearly embarrassed, but Sam could see determination in his eyes. “It’ll wait. What else?” “Well, how strong are you?” “Pretty strong. Maybe a little stronger than the others. I can bench 800 pounds. Easy. Curl 350. I run really, really fast, too. Oh, and I’m a good diver. I don’t know how that happened, but I am. I can do anything on a diving board. Don’t even think about it. And I look awesome in a Speedo. But I’m not as strong as Moster. Or Abdul. No one is. They could snap me in two.” Casey didn’t mention the Turkish wrestling night when they got covered in oil and he beat Karim Abdul. No sense in scaring Sam by acknowledging that maybe, yeah, just maybe, he was the strongest man there – and just 19. “I don’t believe that.” “Well, maybe not in two. But he could fuck me up pretty good if he wanted to. He’s an extreme fighter.” “I thought you were, too.” “Well, yeah…. .” “You got thrown out of school for fighting.” “Only once. I only fought once,” he said. “Some guy pissed you off?” Casey smiled. “18 guys pissed me off.” “Wow.” “Yeah, wow. I got ‘em all good, though.” “One after the other?” “All at once.” Casey grinned cockily. “I beat the shit out of all of them.” “Why?” “I got tired of them making fun of me.” “They made fun of you? Sounds dangerous.” “I wasn’t as big then.” “No, of course not. Why were they making fun of you?” Casey looked hard at Sam, and bit his lip. Then he shrugged his shoulders as if determined. He stood up, towering over the table. Sam watched him evenly. Casey reached down and unzipped the steel fly of his pants. He reached his hand in and pulled out his enormous, limp cock. He squatted so that his hips were even with the tabletop. It flopped heavily and noisily on the surface. Thwack. "…. And, boom… there it is,” said Casey. “There it is.” He looked up, shrugged and smiled shyly. “Yes, there it is.” “See, it’s really, really big.” Sam took in the tool’s impossible size for a moment, and whistled. “Yes, I see that. Nice,” he said sweetly. “It’s very big.” “It’s huge,” said Casey, with a sweet blend of sadness and pride. “It’s more than a 15 inches long. It’s like a fucking snake with a life of it’s own. I get hard all the time. I could never hide it in anything I wore. The kids at the home used to laugh at me, call me freak.” “They were jealous, no doubt.” “Probably, yeah, maybe, but fuck. But I got so sick of it.” He started to stuff it back into his jeans. “So one night, I beat them all up.” Sam reached out and lightly touched Casey’s hand. “It’s okay. Keep it out.” Casey looked up, hopefully. “You like it?” “I do.” Casey looked hard at him. He was suddenly shy. He wanted to tell Sam about the field trips for worship, and there was a lot more to tell, too. But he wasn’t certain how it would sound. Sam wanted to help him. “Was there a first time you were worshipped by ‘investors’? By a group of men you didn’t know before?” “Yeah…” “For money?” Pause. “Uh hunh.” Casey was clearly now afraid Sam would judge him. “A lot of money?” Casey didn’t quite know how to tell him exactly how much. “I’m not a prostitute.” “No, I know that. You’re not,” said Sam, looking pensively at Casey’s huge penis extending out of his open fly, lying quietly on the tabletop. “What you are is an uncommonly huge, sexual, handsome 19-year old bodybuilder with a need to show … what you have.” Casey looked at him gratefully. Now he knew he was falling in love with the calm young Navy officer. But even here, in the relative safety of his quarters at Valhalla Labs, and with the gym and training rooms and all the other men so close by, and especially after that wacky muscleshow earlier in the evening to the military brass, the sweet-natured muscle giant was suddenly seized with nervousness. But Sam seemed okay with it. And, indeed, he was. “And…how was it? The first time you were worshipped by strangers?” “Okay. I guess it was okay.” He paused, and his eyes flickered a bit. With excitement, at the memory. “Who were they?” “Some Hollywood dudes.” Sam suddenly recalled. Was that last year in LA the night that…? Oh, God! YES. It was briefly in the TMZ reports late last year, the latest conservative blast against the Hollywood Liberal Elite, some big party night that went south and required some hospitalizations and a lot of huge money. And then – silence on it. All stories withdrawn. No word on it. He’d googled it a few times. Nothing. But Casey remembered. In fact, it was incredible – all those fat old rich men schmoes, and then his new friend Mike later on privately swooning, licking his pecs and swooning over his big biceps and with his sweet little face in his hard butt and then closely inspecting with awe his mighty machine…. But he wasn’t quite sure about how all this would sound to Sam. There was a pause. Sam gazed at the muscle monster boy evenly a moment. “You can tell me all about it. I’m not here to judge.” Casey remembered the night. And his new friend, Mike. “I wonder how I’m gonna tell Sam about Mike?” he worried to himself. After a brief pause, Casey made his decision, and manfully, went on with his story. December 5th, 2021 Los Angeles: 2100 Hours The bus pulled up the drive at 9 PM, the first stop of the evening. It was a large cliff side home high in the Hollywood Hills, lavish and dark, with a glimmering Olympic-sized pool in the back and fountains quietly spraying gallons of illegal water. Beyond and far below, the glittering lights of LA shone in the far distance. Zaftig’s longtime off campus associate, the puny weasel Dr. Shaft, would be waiting inside, in attendance with a group of 9 investors, all quite anxious to see the young gods in action. The bodybuilders filed off the bus in the dark. “Golly, who lives here?” asked Hension, awestruck by the size of the house. “Some Hollywood dude movie producer,” muttered Lang. “Who cares? Time to FLEX.” Casey barely noticed. He was eager, for soon he’d be headed back to his private muscle planet, the place he first visited on the morning his cadet buddies came to say goodbye and stayed a little to admire his muscles. He was all ready to flex for these dudes. He neither knew nor cared who they were. Sergeant Moster, who had gotten off the bus first, quietly barked orders in the large circular drive. Moster, who had gotten off the bus first, quietly barked orders in the large circular drive. “Inspection. Strip down, men,” he commanded. “I don’t want to keep our hosts waiting.” The ten musclemen hopped and danced in the half light, removing slacks, baggies, t-shirts, jeans, shorts, underwear, jock straps, thongs, and boots as poor long-suffering Dr. Irving ran from man to man, frantically gathering up discarded clothing, quickly organizing as to owner, and distributing the proper poser to the proper man. Each poser was personally assigned, custom-tailored to cut across inches south of the lower abs, reveal generous slices of meaty glutes in back, and with frontal sag sufficient to generously reveal the top six inches of root and thick, plunging shaft of each man. The side straps, while thin, were sufficiently strong to hold even at top erection. “Oil up, men.” Bottles of mineral oil were passed around, and the men dutifully applied slathers of oil to their muscles. Finally they were ready, their muscles gleaming in the night. “Line up, squad,” said Moster. “Adjust your posers. When you pull your pants down, I want these dudes to see your top six inches of root and cockshaft.” He had stripped down himself and was now rubbing his own oil in to his mountainous black muscles. “I know with some of you that still leaves another 6 inches or more covered up. Right, Casey?” “More,” said Casey. Still, in the dark Casey turned deep red, still immediately shamed by the thoughts of his huge, unhideable cock. He still wasn’t quite over those years of taunting. Which always flashed his thoughts quickly to Tiffany. Good thing the ginger-haired terror wasn’t with them tonight. Casey always performed better when that boy was nowhere near. “Waring, get over here and do my back.” Waring went to Moster, dutifully pouring oil onto his calloused palms, mixing them back and forth as if he was tossing a muscle salad, and smacked Moster’s broad back hard, rubbing thick oil deep into Moster’s wide lats. The Sergeant felt the man’s rough blisters on his back and smiled. “You’ve been working, Private.” “Yes, sir, I sure have, sir.” The men fell into line, and awaited inspection. Moster paced in front of the muscle lineup and critically appraised his special forces team: Alvarez, Lang, Hension, Schumacher, and Waring. Washington, Abdul, Obatu, Gunst and Rockland. Muscle gods all. He nodded his satisfaction. “Line up according to height. Shortest man first. Private Hension, that’s you.” Hension was pushed to the head of the line. “Put the pretty boy first,” guffawed Obatu. Hension colored deeply, embarrassed as always to be referred to as the group ‘pretty boy’, but obeyed orders. “Dr. Irving, distribute White Caps,” Moster ordered. Irving passed the ration of capsules to the group. “It’s going that be that kind of showing, hunh?” chuckled Obatu. He popped a capsule and within seconds began to envision his powerful sexual fantasies come to life. He tugged slightly on his poser and glanced down to make sure the prominent, pulsing thick veins of his mighty dipping cockshaft were showing. He nudged Washington. “Check it out,” he said. Washington nodded. “Suckable,” he said, busily squeezing his own nipples into pointy hardness. Moster crossed behind the men and walked along, surveyed the lineup of rolling, hard, powerful glutes. He nodded. Huge mountains of gleaming, perfect, rock hard butt. “Butthole inspection,” he announced. Corporal Karim wished he had his butt plug with him, but didn’t betray himself with even a flicker across his stern face. He scowled, but even so Moster knew what the man wanted. He glanced down at Karim’s achingly firm glutes. “You clean, Corporal?” he asked. “Yes, sir.” “Good.” Moster knelt, lowered the man’s posers for a moment to quad height, and quickly inserted his thick fist deeply up inside the man’s butthole, up to his wrist. Karim never flinched. Moster rotated his fist, and just as quickly withdrew, with a butthole POP!, noting to his satisfaction that the Corporal was indeed clean. “Keep your concentration.” He wiped his fist with anti-bacterial lube and moved on to the next man. Hension was looking apprehensive. Moster approached him. “Any women inside?” Hension asked nervously. “Why do you ask, Private?” “Sir, for my best performance, sir, I like to get my face slapped first. And during. By a pretty girl with muscles.” “Not here tonight,” said Moster. “Bend over.” “Yes, sir!” Hension bent over, showing his twin glutes of extreme hardness, shape and striation. Moster lowered the muscleboy’s posers, made a fist, and once again plunged his fist up to his wrist up Hension’s taut butthole, twisting, probing and turning. Like Abdul, Hension never even raised an eyebrow as his welcoming rosebud enveloped the powerful fist. He was excited about lay ahead. His cock began its 12-inch journey to solid stiffness. He pulled his posers back up with some difficulty and wrapped the taut cloth as best he could around his growing engine. Alvarez appeared serene. He knew a good Pose and Approve session was ahead. Lang glanced at him and smiled. Alvarez was best with an audience. An admiring audience. His cock twitched in anticipation. Moster was quick with Alvarez, nodding approval, quickly inserting a probing fist, and moving on to Lang, doing the same. Up the drive at the house, a curtain fluttered. Someone was watching. Alvarez nudged Lang. “What?” asked Lang, clueless. “You see that?” “See what?” Alvarez smiled. “This is gonna be fun.” He stood “Let’s see those biceps, Gunst,” Moster commanded. Gunst complied, and flexed his meaty guns. “26 inches this morning, sir.” “Excellent. Turn around and bend over.” Gunst complied and Moster’s fist entered his butthole. He nodded satisfaction. Moster continued down the line of musclemen, inspecting pecs, nipples, hard abs, and ending with each man by inserting a giant fist up an eager butthole. Finally it was Casey’s turn. “Ever been fisted before?” Moster asked crisply. Casey had to admit it. “Yes, sir.” He turned around and bent over, his perfect butt now in Moster’s face, his fists buried in his obliques, jutting out his butt. It was an incredible ass. Two round globes of muscular golden flesh, perfect, hard-as-nails ovals of sleek construction. Powerful, huge, an incredible human loading dock of rounded power. Inside the darkened buttcrack Moster could see close-up the throbbing, inviting deep of Casey’s perfect butthole. Moster plunged his fist in, and turned it, pulling it out again after a minute. Clean as a whistle. “Good work, Rockland. “ Casey stood, turned and smiled. “I think you’re ready.” He turned to the driver, standing by the bus, impassively staring. “Ferdinand, Dr. Irving, come back in an hour. We should be done by then.” Then, quietly, he asked Irving, “Did the money come in yet?” “This afternoon, sir,” answered Irving. “$35,000.” “Good.” Moster took his place at the end of the line. “Shaft here yet?” “Inside, Sir.” Dr. Irving fiddled with his phone, getting frantic texts from Dr. Shaft. “Good. Give the men back their clothes. Men, get dressed.” Much fumbling and hopping about in the dark. Then - “Move out, men.” The musclemen marched into the entranceway of the one-story cliff side glass house and, single file, marched into the brightly lit living room. Inside, nine manicured, pampered, plumpish Hollywood movie execs, dressed in expensive Italian suits, ties down, were draped around the room, propped up on large plush sofas, drinks in hand, cellphones and Blackberries at the ready, waiting inside. Two or three were handsome enough to gain Alvarez’s slight interest. The smell of marijuana wafted through the air. They’d been drinking. And smoking. And snorting lines of coke. In fact, they all appeared smashed. And ready to see serious muscle. The tenth, a slender young man, sat separately, almost shyly, by himself, across the room on a smaller sofa, right before the vast picture window with the lights of LA twinkling in the distance. “Fucking finally! Bring on the talent!” one of the fat schmoes yelled as the men entered. But as the musclemen got into the room and turned, facing their clients, at full attention, the movie dudes were stunned into silence. “Holy shit…look at them!” "Fuckin' A..." For their part, the musclemen were themselves stunned into a moment silence by the lavishness of the room that extended before them, and the extraordinary view of the city through the plate glass windows, far, far below. The drapes had been opened. The moon shone full in the sky. “Wow,” breathed Lang. “Where the fuck are we?” "Fuckin' A is right," whispered Hension. There were a few moments on silence while everyone was amazed, albeit for different reasons. Sergeant Moster was first to retain his composure. "Gentlemen, thank you for inviting us for the evening. We think we have quite a show ready for your personal delectation..." Dr. Shaft rose from a white sofa. Even as familiar with the muscle in the room as he was, he was never less than stunned each time he saw more than three of the bodybuilders together. The sight of ten of them, including the impossibly giant Sergeant Moster, was enough to momentarily knock the air out of him. “Yes, thank you, and good evening, Sergeant Moster. Good evening, men.” He whispered to Moster. "I'll handle this." Dr. Shaft was excited. The men had not only arrived on time, they all looked….well, incredible. Beyond incredible, in fact. Unreal. Inhuman. The years of P-21 meshed with hardcore raw training had built magnificent muscle specimens unlike the world had ever seen before. No bodybuilding contest – and Shaft had attended hundreds – ever had the kind of raw muscular development that stood before them now. It was as if every muscle on every man had a muscle. Heaped pounds of raw lean man beef. It was staggering. Moster hid his irritation, already planning the next black eye he'd happily plaster on Shaft's face in their next private. “Good evening, Dr. Shaft. Men, you all know ....Dr. Shaft.” Hi, yeah, sure, hello, uh hunh, yeah we see him, etc etc, came from the musclemen. “May I introduce the men to their hosts?” asked Dr. Shaft ceremoniously And the lineup of musclemen turned to their agog clients. Hands at their sides, fists clenched, veins popping, tight white shirts wrapped around massive physiques. Legs spread wide. Quads bursting out of slacks. Biceps about to tear shirt sleeves. Fly bulges loomed to the floor. And the clients, schmoes all, stared back. Breathing. Panting. Disbelieving the universe of muscle they were seeing. Alvarez, Lang, Hension, Schumacher, and Waring. Washington, Abdul, Obatu, Gunst. And Casey Rockland. Team leader, the massive Sergeant Moster. The muscle team was here at last. The clients, schmoes all, stared back. Breathing. Panting. “Fuck, man. They’re fucking huge,” said one of the fattest men. He gulped. “Whatta they gonna do to us?” “You mean…what are they going to do for you,” said Sergeant Moster. “May I present…. nine of the most muscular men on the planet today.” He paused, glanced at his watch. “You have two hours.” He turned to the men. “Men, you may go to work.” The men moved into a line, first marching single file and then fanning out towards the edge of the broad staircase leading down to the sunken living room. At the top step they stopped, stood still, and displayed themselves proudly. Below them, the room of wealthy Hollywood elite schmoes fell into shocked silence, turned their heads, and stared agog at the massive muscle before them. The schmoes were seated together, as if for protection, on a heavy plush creamy white sofa, overloaded with soft, luxurious pillows, extending twenty-five feet across the room from the large picture window. It was a perfect setting for bodybuilder muscle worship. And there they stood. Calm. Blank faced. Each man handsomer than the next. Perfect tanned skin. Waistlines no larger than 32 inches on men each weighing up to 300 pounds – and more. It was going to be a insane night of muscle worship. And a profitable one, too. Shaft had been circulating rumors inside the Hollywood mill for years about this army of ungodly huge and handsome musclemen, and finally had assembled just the sample group of mega-rich movers and shakers that he needed for the initial private presentation. This meant big bucks in the future for Valhalla Labs. Sergeant Moster had delivered as promised, in spite of Dr Zaftig’s worry and misgivings back at the Valhalla Lab. But Shaft had faith. He knew these musclemen. He’d had too many private sessions to not know a little about them all by now. As long as they all behaved, that is, and no one got seriously hurt. They were hard to control, he knew, once they really started flexing and posing and showing it all off with feats of ungodly strength and their insatiable need to dominate. He knew all about his own tendency to wind up in the San Jose ER after particularly enthusiastic sessions with Moster. But, damn, he just couldn’t help it. Shaft had to admit the fantasy of Moster’s (relatively speaking) lightly damaging face punches and the spirited butt spankings he received as punishment for his own poor cock and body and his lame cocksucking was, well, just what he deserved, being the worm he was. And the fantasy memory of all that abuse kept him masturbating feverishly for months after. He hoped his Hollywood schmoes might fare a little lighter punishment than the stuff that he was now addicted to – unless of course they wanted the same treatment? But then, it might get picked up as a tasty little news item, all over TMZ. That couldn’t happen. Could it? It could rock the Hollywood establishment. Top studio heads beaten by massive, crazed bodybuilders in bizarre Hollywood Hills muscle showdown. No. That wouldn’t do. It was all pretty dangerous, but, what the hell. Shaft licked his lips with drooling anticipation and inspected the astounding male muscle display that confronted them all. The ten magnificent young men, plus the-even-huger-still Sergeant Moster, were now lined up, beefy shoulder to shoulder, round and perfect tri-headed delts touching massive delts. They stood in a perfect lineup of muscle on the steps leading from the 20’ ceilinged foyer down into the sunken living room. The entry way was a perfect dais for display, more than 40’ long, roomy enough for a panorama of beautiful beef and rippling vascularity unlike anything the staring schmoes down below had ever seen, or even imagined, before. And even fully dressed in tight, tight t-shirts and ferociously clinging tan slacks, the men were an unbelievable sight to behold. As if carefully posed, men all stood casually with their hands planted on powerful hips, legs spread wide. Muscles gleamed and bulged. Physiques rippled enticingly, displayed for delectation in the clinging super-wide white spandex t-shirts. Every vein, every muscular bulge, every pound of sinew, every cut, every hard-packed slab of fatless lean and bulging male beef was on display for the stunned, wealthy Hollywood insiders. “Jesus fucking Christ,” someone mumbled. “Look at them. They’re not human.” Muscle worship was what these muscle giants lived for. Shaft knew that. Well, it was one of the things they lived for. He was fairly certain they also lived for training, lifting, eating, sex with each other and as many partners, male or female, that they could find. And – of course- getting huger every day. But Shaft couldn’t be sure that muscle worship might not be even more important. And of course, it made sense. After all, weren’t they all getting bigger, handsomer, stronger, more muscular, and more aggressive just so they could be worshipped? It hardly mattered, no more than the original intent of Dr. Zaftig all those years ago when he first started research on creating the ultimate team of massive male bodybuilders. For there they were, eleven muscle gods, still and easy, unmoving, posed, both tense and calm, showcasing magnificent, perfect male muscularity. And there were nine others, just as huge, handsome, and hung as the men before them, back at the lab. The atmosphere in the room crackled. And Shaft could feel it now, could even see the musclemen’s eager anticipation of the impeding worship of their physiques. Their excitement was just beginning to show, starting to loom now, like a faint musky aroma, getting stronger, seeping into the room. They seemed to be getting bigger, to be growing before them. They were certainly measurably heavier in their tight slacks, their flies just beginning to bulge forward and droop down with pointed pushing, with throbbing penis weight, their erections about to bloom and show and push out and forward and up inside their tightening pants. And considering the price tag of upwards of $85,000 the Hollywood elite schmoes had laid out for this private muscle show, inwardly he was relieved that it had all started out without the slightest hitch. And the new man, Casey Whatever His Name was, was there, too, there on the end. The handsomest of all? Shaft wasn’t sure. And, per Zaftig’s regular reports, on his way to being the biggest? And only 19 years old, too. The promise that lay ahead. He’d better be, at a price tag of $15,000 just for his appearance. That shorter man was also improbably handsome. Shaft studied the impressively beautiful Chris Hension, with his perpetual half erection always looming in his pants, thick masculine dark brown nipples, devilish smile and darting eyes; he was certainly a square-jawed piece of eye candy. And then there was Alvarez, always with the thick-lipped handsome Lang nearby – moist lips, always slightly shiny, always recently licked, lips that Shaft just knew glided lightly and lovingly up and down, root to head, over the long, thick penis shaft of his muscle husband Alvarez during their after-hours Pose and Approve sessions. And the scary hairy Karim Abdul, glowering in the middle of the lineup, with the shorter beefslab hardass Schumacher right next to him – weren’t they each other’s nemesis? Maybe they got hard posing together? And that giant Gunst, he of the amazing nearly 28 inch biceps. Shaft hurried over to Moster, just stepping down into the sunken living room, extending a wet hand. “Sergeant Moster, we’re so glad to see you -- ” He was suddenly cut off. Suddenly, from that muscle dais above, came an outraged roar. “Are you who the fuck I think you are?!!!” It was Gunst. He was shouting now, pointing down at someone in the room, at one of the waiting shmoes. All stopped and turned, stunned into silence. On the sofa was sprawled a fat, unshaved, tall mass of slob schmoe, who looked up from his phone, startled and scared. “Yeah, YOU, You FUCKING ASSHOLE!” “Do I know you…?” the schmoe blubbered. “I know you! You fucking asshole! I know you! You preyed on my sister!” Gunst was roaring now. “Get that worthless worm over here!” Waring and Lang stepped down, as if on cue, striding manfully into the room, heading to the creamy white sofa, then grabbing and holding down the particularly fat and ugly Hollywood former studio head, now sprawling agog, to prevent him from bolting. “Never mind, I’ll fuck him up myself…. ” Striding forward, every muscle in his massive frame now quivering with rage, Gunst pushed past Waring and Lang and into the room. The man was an impressive, fearful sight, his veins throbbing, ripped muscle on a mission, his huge pecs roiling and bursting in his tight t-shirt, his piston-thick arms slabs of disciplined beef, his fists clenched and ready to do damage. Casey was stunned. His mouth open, agape. He’d never heard the normally gentle giant Gunst so angry before, never even envisioned it. And he seemed crazed, pointing down at the terrified schmoe, accusing, now standing wide-legged and in full aggressive mode. “You don’t know me!” he screamed. “I don’t know you, either! What is this??? Dr. Shaft??” Shaft came forward, frightened but trying to maintain control. “Corporal Gunst?...” he started. He suddenly felt Moster’s hand on his shoulders, stopping him, pulling him back. Shaft tripped and fell on the carpet. Moster helped him up, shot him a quick look and a little smile, and putting a finger to his lips, shook his head. He mouthed, “No no.” He smiled. Shaft froze and, regaining his balance, stepped back, and did as he was told. Gunst was now standing above the cowering, terrified schmoe, roaring, his legs spread wide, his thick fists plunged into his obliques, ripped intercostals bulging like bricks, htting a powerful front lat spread. He rotated on his heels to show his lats at different angles. His pecs soared to the ceiling, his nipples went taut and pointed downward to the floor, bulging in his t-shirt, the luscious brown areola outlined. “You wanna see muscles, you fucking asshole?? check out these muscles!!! FUCKING WORTHLESS WORM!!! I’M GONNA SHOW YOU WHAT THESE BIG MUSCLES CAN REALLY DO!!!” From the facing sofa by the picture window, the small pipsqueak pencil neck schmoe was seemingly ignoring it all. Transfixing, he was staring directly at Casey now, seemingly unaware of the threatening Gunst, who was apparently on the verge of beating the fat schmoe to death right across the room from him. Casey, ever sensitive, knew he was being stared at. He turned his head slightly and returned the pencilneck’s gaze. He smiled. The pencilneck smiled back, tentative, shy. Casey began to do a slow, subtle, bubbling pec dance in his t-shirt, his mammoth chest bouncing slightly, right to left, left to right, his nipples taut and pushing powerfully into the tight fabric. He smiled a little more broadly. “You like that?” he mouthed. The pencilneck stared and nodded slightly. He did like it. Gunst was now in full flex fury mode. He glided from his threatening front lat spread into an equally threatening front double biceps. POW! he shouted, Just Look at these fucking guns! BOOM! His monster biceps broiled with iron packed sinew, laced with mammoth, pulsing cephalic veins. BAM!!! he added, extending his meaty arms to their full length, working the fingers of his powerful fists before clenching them into furious fist-weapons. “These are muscles, asshole!” he shouted. “And they’re comin’ to get YOU!” And then he bent, slowly, inexorably, coming closer, this huge mass of muscle and rage, smashing his fist in his meaty palm, and grabbed the schmoe by the shirt front, pulling his terrified ugly face up to his spitting, furious mouth. “I’m gonna FUCK YOU UP. I’m gonna beat the shit out of you, and I’m not even gonna touch you with THESE fists. I’m JUST gonna do it with my pecs. And then with my dick. I’m gonna beat your face bloody with my pecs and my dick!” The schmoe was blubbering now. Casey regarded it all somewhat calmly. He’d seen such behavior before at the Home, of course, and the Twenty were always wild and crazy like this on the gym floor, particularly during White Cap workout nights. They often beat the shit out of each other, bounding back for more. Nothing new here. What’s more, he figured it was probably all an act. Gunst was probably being paid for this interesting little muscle play. It was all working, of course, because none of the other musclemen had moved, as if they knew what was coming. And if there had been any serious, real danger, Karim Abdul and Moster, whose combined strength couldn’t even be gauged, would have stepped in to pull Gunst back and subdue him. More to the point, now he realized he recognized the schmoe from online. Something about how he had abused women for 30 years or more, and was now out of the studio, nationally shamed. Some big fat slob who ruined women’s careers if they didn’t fuck him. But he was still super rich, and he’d profited off of his exploitation and cruelty. Now set adrift in the Hollywood community and unable to work ever again, he was still worth several hundred million, and was not feeling any pain. Until tonight, of course. Now he was gonna get what he deserved. Still, Casey was more interested in his potential new friend, who seemed sober, quiet, respectful, and agog at the size of his muscles. That was just the way Casey figured he’d like them. Quiet and worshipful. As he walked over to the distant sofa, his cock twitched heavily, rolled in his pants, and began to point and grow. His new little fan seemed to be the exception in the room. He sat alone on his sofa across the room, maybe 20 feet away from the group of fat schmoes on the long couch. He was just staring at Casey, longingly, neither talking nor texting. Standing before him now not six feet away, Casey smiled in a friendly way. The pipsqueak smiled back, staring at Casey’s physique and handsome face and his ever-growing crotch bulge, blooming in his tight slacks. Tentative, nervous, a little frightened, shaking. “Hi,” said Casey, friendly. He got closer and extended a huge paw. “I’m Casey.” “I know. I’m….I’m Mike.” Mike reached up to shake hands, frightened and brave, his soft little hand covered by Casey’s enormous mitt. He stared at the pumping forearms as Casey gently shook his hand. He was very careful not to crush the little guy’s fingers. The fat slob was screaming now. “Hey, I’m just here to see a little muscle! You want money? I got a lot of money! I'll give it to you. Leave me alone!! Don't hurt me!!!” Gunst laughed nastily. “You just wanted to see a little muscle??? How about FUCKING HUGE MUSCLE??” He started slapping the man lightly across the face, back and forth, little humiliating stinging slaps that popped and smacked in echoes bouncing across the vast living room. “Ouch. Ouch! Leave me alone….!” “You belong to ME, asshole.” Gunst scooped the fat man (who must have weighed 300 pounds or more) up from the deep, sheltering confines of the plush sofa cushions. Effortlessly swinging the screaming man wide above his head, the man’s legs and feet flying in a circle around the work, Gunst swept the slob high above his head and held him there. Carrying him from the room, he yelled back to Waring and Lang, “You boys can join me later when you’ve finished with this group. But for now - he’s mine!” He turned his head up to the impotently squirming producer and lowered him down to meet his face. He spat his words. “Come to think of it, I’m gonna start you out nice and easy. You like glutes? How about some world-class musclebutt? I sure hope so. Casue I’m gonna sit on your face for the next 45 minutes. You’ll get to see my muscleass up close and personal….” And then they were gone, down the corridor. Silence. The schmoes staring, transfixed. “What was all that about? Who is that guy?” Hension whispered loudly to Obatu. Obatu shrugged. “Some movie producer.” “So why did Gunst go off on him like that?” “Maybe he didn’t like his movies.” “Private client,” said Alvarez. “It’s a put-up job. Extra money.” “This guy is paying Gunst to park his muscle ass on him for 45 minutes?” “No.” Alvarez smiled and whispered back. “The dude’s wife. Extra credit for public humiliation.” “Are the bedrooms through here?” Gunst asked, in the distance, his voice now conversational. “Noooooo…!” screamed the fat man. Down the hall they could hear a door opened. “Would in here be good for you?” Gunst asked calmly. “It’s good for me.” The schmoe’s screams continued for a moment, even after the door was closed. And then, they stopped. Very suddenly. Replaced by another sound, that could only be described as “mmmmpppphhhllllfffffffff…!!!... ..uuummmmm…” Presumably Gunst had undone his belt, lowered his slacks, squatted down his naked perfect butt, and was now getting comfortable on the man’s face. “Let me know if you have trouble breathing,” they heard him say, as if he was asking to pass the salt. Mike had watched in silence, his face surprisingly unexpressive. Unfrightened by Gunst’s outrage. That was interesting. He was clearly more nervous about Casey’s unanticipated friendliness. Casey turned back to the roomful of rich Hollywood schmoes, now numbering eight. For schmoes was what they were, and now, Casey had a pretty good gut level understanding of what a schmoe actually was. A schmoe was a creepy, ugly, fat, rich guy who was clueless, mean, selfish, liked musclemen, and was willing to pay his pleasure, and assumed money was all he needed. That was a schmoe. Casey’s lip curled in contempt. And far from frightened or intimated by the display of alpha male dominance Gunst had just performed, effortlessly carrying a kicking and screaming man over his head and out of the room, the schmoes were now quietly giggling, texting, snorting coke and toking up. They seemed to have enjoyed what they just witnessed. Nasty fuckers, thought Casey. He turned back to little Mike. “You’re not like those other guys.” “No.” “Why are you here, then?” “…..well….it’s my house.” Holy Shit. The Jackpot. That was fast. “Really? This is your place?” Mike nodded. “Yes.” Casey went to the point. “You like big muscles?” Casey asked, excited now. No sense in wasting time with pleasantries, although truth to be told, Casey probably had never heard the word before. “Yes, I do.” “Okay, then, watch this. All for you.” Casey moved fast into a front lat spread, rotating from side to side. “See these fucking pecs? They’re huge. You like this?” Casey’s shirt stretched and seemingly groaned from the strain. “….Golly….” Mike was breathing heavily. “Will ya look at that…?” His hand involuntarily moved to his crotch. Casey winked at him, nodding and smiling, reeling off his obvious talents. “Obliques, intercostals, abs like bricks, pecs like cannonballs, all hard and solid. And that’s just for starters. Here’s a most muscular crab shot.” His shirt fabric began to tear as his muscles exploded with sinew, mass and popping veins. “How about big guns?” he asked, flexing his brutal biceps. “26 inches,” he whispered proudly. “These guns measure 26 inches. You wanna touch ‘em?” Mike nodded, dumbly, reached out with tentative fingers, as Casey bent down to offer a closer view of his huge guns. “Touch ‘em! Go ahead and feel ‘em. Stroke ‘em. Ever felt anything so hard?” Mike’s fingers lightly caressed Casey’s 26 inch right biceps. “Wow,” he breathed, and stared up into Casey’s eyes. “I got great glutes, too,” he said conspiratorially, bringing his face now close to Mike. “It’s the ass of death. You’ll see. You can see them later. Really awesome.” Hey, he thought. This guy was kinda good-looking. Maybe he only weighed about 135, but he was cute. And probably really rich. Casey got even closer, flexed that powerful biceps right under Mike’s nose. “See that vein? It’s like a snake, watch it now…go ahead, lick it. Yeah. That’s right. Lick…” “Casey,” warned Moster. “Not yet.” Casey turned back, straightened up. “Yes, sir,” Casey said. “Join us,” said Moster. Casey looked at Moster, nodded, “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” And then returned to look down at Mike for a second. “Just a moment. I’ll be right back. He wants us to flex for your buddies. Don’t be scared. It’s just an act.” Mike was nodding feverishly. Casey could see his fly was bulging, and the bulge was not bad. Not bad at all. Maybe he was hung a little? He hoped so. “Well, you shouldn’t be scared,” Casey added. “The guys may beat up those other assholes a little, but I’ll protect you. I’m strong. You won’t get too hurt. And I’ll flex for you, and you can suck my dick awhile, and play with my glutes, and I’ll suck your dick, too, and maybe I’ll even fuck you, if you can take it. You can fuck me! Your butthole big enough? We all good?” Mike nodded, breathless, staring. “Great!” Casey was excited. This was going to be fun. “I like being worshipped! It’ll be dope. Hang on. This’ll only take a second. You wait.” The words came in a rush. “I…can wait….sure.” “Awesome. I’ll be right back.” Casey bounded back and rejoined the team. He readied himself, changed his face, scowled, and looked mean. Moster hid his smile. He was mightily amused. He should have foreseen that Casey would somehow ferret out the one dude who was signing the checks. The other men of the Twenty were, at the end of the day, too narcissistic to note personalities, character, differences, subtleties. For them, it was only about dominating, posing, flexing, showing off muscle. And the schmoes? Like any muscle lovers who lived closeted, rich, narrow, spoiled lives, they were only in it for themselves. But Casey definitely had possibilities. Moster made a mental note. He must remember not to mention this to Dr. Zaftig. Then he spoke, and his voice brooked no dissent. “Gentlemen, you will now silence your devices. Per the agreement in our mutual contract, there are to be no pictures taken, no recorded video, no texting, no emails, Instagram, Facebook or tweets.” There was a pause. Mike pulled his phone from his pocket and switched it off, looked up at Casey, and smiled. The schmoes stared up at Moster, not moving. “I’m waiting.” Still nothing. “Boys?....” said Moster quietly. Together with Casey, the nine muscle giants took a step towards the big sofa, alert, ready hands at their sides. There was a tense pause. “I didn’t sign any agreement…” one of the schmoes started to protest.

Here is chapter 2 of Steven's muscle building project. Again, I'm new at this so go easy on me! I really tried to focus on what life would be like for someone who achieves a truly massive size so I hope I paint a good picture of that fantasy coming true for our story's hero! Hope you enjoy. Chapter 2 Bliss. That was the only word I could use to describe my new life as a fulltime bodybuilder. Every day I got closer and closer to reaching my goal of becoming a mass monster, and I had found the most amazing girl in the world to call my girlfriend. Not only my girlfriend, but my number one fan, biggest support, personal trainer, financier and personal chef all in one! Our lives revolved around one thing and one thing only: making me bigger. The weeks ticked by and the two of us spent no time with anyone except each other, and of course Ilya when I went for my weekly injections. Not having to go to work and being able to concentrate only on bodybuilding had made my progress even more rapid. The more mass I put on, the more turned on Katie became by my muscles, and that in turn made her wish for me to become even bigger! Besides our nightly oilings/muscle worship sessions, Katie had requested that I pose for her at least once if not twice per day. I was all to happy to comply, as nothing got me off more than seeing her get turned on by my mass. I’d strip down naked and apply some lotion so my skin would shine, then while she lay on the bed rubbing her clit I’d go through a posing routine as if I was on stage at the Olympia. Not only was this a sexual exploit, but it had the added bonus of helping me to perfect my posing routine. It never took her more than a couple of minutes before the sight of my muscles drove her to orgasm. By the time she came, I’d be rock hard and all it took was a couple quick strokes of my own to bring me to an orgasm of my own. We’d then clean up, and get back to the business of making me bigger. June came, and one sunny evening after I’d eaten and trained and eaten some more, we decided to pretend we were normal people and did what normal people do: got a coffee and went for a walk by the waterfront. I was wearing the biggest jeans and T-shirt that I owned but they were being stretched to the limit by my size. I was bursting out of the T-shirt in every way imaginable, and my jeans looked like they were painted on. In fact, if I had attempted a squat in them, they would surely have ripped to shreds then and there. Lets just say, it wasn’t exactly hard to attract attention walking around like this. Katie and I noticed that virtually everyone, man or woman, who walked by turned their heads and stared. As the evening sun shone down on the glistening lake front, I began to notice dozens of people starting to take pictures of me. So I decided to put on a little show, and brought my arms up into a double biceps pose, then turned around to show off my incredibly wide back. Smart phones could be heard snapping photos all around me. I could tell Katie was incredibly turned on, and so was I. When the sun set, it was time to get back home for another feed, so off we rushed. As I was downing my 5 plates of supper, Katie did some quick social media searches to see if anyone had posted their photos of me. It turned out that I had become somewhat of a local phenomenon. Hundreds of people had posted pictures of me under hashtags like #muscle, #bodybuilder, #Torontomuscle, and #sexy. Katie grinned, knowing that I had made it into a couple hundred people’s so called “spank bank” but knowing that she had me all to herself. For my part, I felt validated knowing I was becoming a muscle sculpture that the world could gaze upon in wonder. “That was fun, I liked seeing everyone react to you. I don’t think most of them had ever seen anything like it. Let’s get you even bigger in secret, then next time do another reveal where you really blow their minds.” “Oh that sounds like fun” I replied. “in that case, why don’t you get me another plate of steak?” Katie smirked, then dutifully dished me up another 600grams of steak which she insisted on cutting up and sensually feeding to me one muscle building forkful at a time. The next day, I had my appointment with Ilya. He’d been on vacation for all of May so although I still received my injections (he’d given Katie instructions on how to inject me at home), we hadn’t performed any body size measurements in a month. So at my first appointment in early June, I was eager to see how I’d progressed. The moment I walked in the door, his mouth dropped open wide. “Steven, you’re massive!” he proclaimed. “It’s only been a month, how could you have put on so much size?” Grinning, I told him “when I dream of something, I really put my mind to it. Besides, I’m bodybuilding fulltime now and Katie has been a great support, not to mention motivator. But come on, you’re making me blush, I can’t be THAT much bigger, like you said it’s only been a month.” Ilya rushed me to his physicians weigh scale. When the scale was finally balanced, I glanced down to see where I was at. 285 it read. I weighed Two Hundred and Eighty-five Pounds! I had put on 105 pounds of muscle since I’d moved to Toronto, and 72 pounds in the 4 months since February! No wonder I’d gotten so many stares from everyone out in public the night before, I was now well and truly a world class bodybuilder. My other stats were just as impressive: 21” biceps, 4.5% bodyfat, 29”quads, 30” waist. “Steven, there’s really no denying it. If this progress continues, within a few more months you will have left the rest of humanity in the dust. Are you sure you want to continue?” “More than ever. I am becoming the man I was born to be. I want to become a freak, the likes of which have never been seen before!” I answered confidently. Smiling, Ilya replied “Okay, okay, yes, yes, yes. Of course. I simply wanted to give you some insight into how much progress you’ve made so far. But if you wish to continue, I too am eager to see how much bigger you can become. So let’s get you your injection so you can get out of here and get back to training, yes?” I was on cloud nine for the rest of that day. At this rate, by the end of June, I would have reached my original goal of 300 pounds. Which meant it was time to set my sights higher. Much higher. I trained for my customary 3 and a half hours, then got home to the sight of my lover cooking me dinner in her lace bra and thong. “Hey baby, get those muscles over to the table and get this food in you” she playfully told me. “Listen, Katie, I’ve got some news. You know how everyone was staring at me yesterday, do you know why?” “Well because you’re a muscle stud, that’s why. Is that what you were getting at?” Katie replied. “Yeah, but I don’t think we realized just HOW BIG I’ve become. We’ve been in our own little world for the last two months, and without realizing it I’ve hit 285 pounds!” Katie’s eyes went wide for a second. “Really? Wow… Soooo” she trailed off and then looked away. “What is it baby? What’s wrong?” I asked. “Well it’s just, your original goal was to hit 300 pounds, and you’re now only 15 pounds away. So at this rate, you’ll be all done in a couple weeks. And it’s just that, I’ve really enjoyed our journey so far. Me helping you train, and eat, and pose has been the most rewarding, most sexually gratifying experience of my life. And not only that, but I just LOVE spending time with you, you’re a great companion and having this goal to work towards has been the centrepiece of our relationship since we started dating. Without it, I don’t know what life would be like… Plus if I’m honest, as much as I love to worship and feel up your muscles, what REALLY turns me on isn’t what you look like today, but imagining what you’ll look like 6 months from now: even more impossibly huge, more ripped, leaner, more freaky! Without that, I’ll still love you, but my life will feel somewhat… diminished. But I know I have no right no force my desires on you, it’s your body, you should do with it what you feel is right.” By now, I was smiling warmly. I touched Katie’s cheek, and she turned to face me once again. “Katie. I don’t think you have to worry about a thing. 300 pounds was only my goal when I was just starting out. That was when I thought I’d have to fight tooth and nail to reach it, but now that I have you and Ilya helping me out, I think it’s time I dream bigger. I think it’s time WE dream bigger. I have some ideas of my own, but just how big do YOU want me to get? Because I have some deep, dark desires, and if you want me to, I can unleash them. But in order to go down that road, I want to know I’ll have you by my side the whole time. Because if I decide to truly explore my desires, I will have achieved a look and size that no one else has even come close to.” I was still holding Katie’s cheek in my hand, and as I said this I felt her shudder. She smiled mischievously. “Steven, I have an active imagination, and my deep dark desires have been unleashed ever since the first time I saw you. There is no limit to how big I want you to get. The day that moving becomes virtually impossible for you, and you can no longer fuck me, then we can start to consider stopping your growth, but until then I say the bigger the better.” “Well okay then. All this talk has made me crave getting even bigger. How about you come with me to the gym and I’ll go do another workout. I can feel my muscles craving to be pushed to the limit. I guess 3 and a half hours of weight training per day isn’t enough.” I led Katie by the hand and off we went, back to the gym. There was one thing weighing me down, however. I hadn’t seen my family back home since Christmas, and I’d put on about 85 pounds of muscle since then. My physique would be unrecognizable to them. Not only that, but Katie and I truly intended to push my growth to the limit in the months to come. I figured it was now or never to introduce Katie to my family, and show them the new me. Hopefully their freak out would be short lived, and I could tell them to expect more growth in the future. So at the end of June, with me weighing just under 300 pounds we booked 3 plane tickets back to my hometown. 1 ticket for Katie, and 2 for me. I didn’t really fit in a single seat anymore. On the flight, we came up with a rousing speech to give to my parents. It was half truth, half fiction. All intended to reduce their freak-out. I was going to tell them that my Window Washing job was incredibly physical and I had started to put on size just from the hard labour. Realizing that I had loved the idea of getting stronger I’d joined a gym and found I was a natural at weight training. At which point a scientist who saw me at the gym approached me and asked me to join a research study aimed at determining the maximum human potential with the goal of using my results to provide the medical field with potential medical breakthroughs in the future. And his treatments were why I had put on so much size. I would say that I wasn’t sure at first about getting bigger, but me and Katie had come to terms with it knowing that I was helping to find new medical breakthroughs that could help others in the future. We would neglect to tell them that in fact Katie and I were muscle crazed addicts, and that this whole venture had been my only reason for moving away. That I’d dreamed of this for years prior, and that Ilya’s treatments were accomplishing only one thing: growth. True though, I WAS a natural at weight training, and I WAS well on my way to determining the maximum human potential. And of course, I HAD been a Window Washer, but we’d leave out the fact that I had left my job a couple months before. When we met my parents, the meeting went as expected. Their jaws dropped, and they asked me a million questions. It was clear they disapproved. They didn’t even acknowledge Katie at first, they were so focused on my look. Katie smiled, and stepped away to go get our bags. I gave my fictitious explanation speech to my parents, and they warmed up a little bit. When Katie came back with our luggage, they greeted her warmly and apologized for not introducing themselves. Katie was warm, and bubbly and they took to her immediately. In fact, she melted their hearts with kindness and after a couple of days I think they were so happy to see me with a nice girl like Katie, they didn’t really care what else was going on in my life. After a 4 day visit (any longer and I feared that I’d start losing muscle. I couldn’t eat more than 7000 calories a day or go to the gym for more than 2 hours without arousing my family’s suspicion) we were back at the airport to fly home. I’d gotten a monkey off my back, introducing my family to the “new” me, and I had vaguely suggested that I “might” look a “little bigger” the next time they see me, but it wouldn’t be anything drastic. That was an out and out lie, but hey, memories can be blurry and perhaps the next time they saw me they’d find some way to justify it by saying “well I guess he was just bigger than we remembered him being.” When we got home, we decided to come up with a new “temporary goal” for us to work towards. I say “us” because lets face it, Katie was as invested in my growth as I was at this point. She asked me who was my IFBB idol. I mentioned that back when I was dreaming about becoming a bodybuilder, I really wanted to look like Gunter Schlierkamp. We pulled up his stats and at his peak he was 6’1”, 300 pounds when competition lean. This gave him an FFMI of 38. Using an FFMI calculator we plugged in my height to see what I’d need to weigh to look like him. The answer was 325 pounds! I was only 25 pounds away from being just as big as one of the biggest pro bodybuilders of all time! It only took until August 1 to reach my goal. I had now accomplished my lifelong dream: I was an ABSOLUTELY MASSIVE human, who could walk on stage and compete with the top bodybuilders in the world. And so, we revised our goal upwards: 400 pounds sounded like a nice round number. And when we reached that we would reward ourselves with two things: a trip, and entering me into a bodybuilding show. In order to keep the growth coming, Katie had to increase my calorie intake from 15,000 to 20,000 per day. 15,000 was simply what was required to MAINTAIN my current size. My muscles craved protein, and with every meal I could almost sense the food going straight to my muscles. We had to make some changes in our lifestyle to accommodate my size too. I no longer fit in the shower in our condo. Well, I fit, but there was no way for me to turn around, and since I took up so much room Katie couldn’t fit in there anymore to help wash or shave me. So she worked out an agreement where we would get access to my gym after hours and so after I was done working out, she would accompany me to the large 4 person shower where we’d get clean. I also no longer fit into my VW golf. The trusty steed had served me while so far, but now when we I got in, the suspension immediately bottomed out and the little car tilted to one side. Plus I was so wide I couldn’t really move my arms to shift gears or turn the steering wheel. So Katie got us a minivan. Seriously! She was now the designated driver, while I would take up the whole middle bench seat. This had the added bonus that now that I was no longer driving I could spend the time commuting to and from the gym eating to feed my muscles. None of the clothes I owned fit me anymore. To be honest, I’d actually gone and gotten a whole new set of clothes back when I was in the 260 pound range but now all of THOSE clothes were too small too. It didn’t really make sense to go and constantly buy new clothes that I’d soon grow out of, so I didn’t. I simply wore XXXL sweat pants and sweat shirts when I was out and about (which was basically only going to Ilya’s and to the gym anyways). And since I now worked out at the gym after hours, I took to wearing only a pair of lycra 4” inseam workout shorts. We had to go get a custom bed made because I was so heavy and wide for our King bed, that Katie just always rolled into me at night. Not that she didn’t want to spend the night cuddled in tight to my rippling mass, but there was starting to be a serious risk of our bed collapsing. So we had a custom mattress made that was 3 feet wider, with a bed frame made of 4x4 Douglas fir. By the 1 year anniversary of me starting my muscle building journey, I weighed 350 pounds. An increase of 170 pounds. It took until mid October to hit 400 pounds, and so Katie and I rewarded ourselves by booking our vacation. First we searched for somewhere warm that was hosting a bodybuilding contest. Having found one being hosted on the Luxurious Island of St Barts in the Caribbean the next weekend we then booked flights and hotels on the Island. “I’m going to have to do some shopping, I have nothing to wear for this vacation!” I complained to Katie a few days before we were ready to leave. “Well how about you let me take care of that? You need to focus on training and getting your posing routine ready for the competition. I’ll go out and find you a new wardrobe.” She was right, I had lots to do, so I agreed to let her do my packing for me. Travelling to the airport it was chilly, so I wore my customary XXXL sweat suit. Boarding the plane was quite a debacle as I had to stand sideways in order to fit through the narrow door to board the plane. I then had to shuffle sideways down the centre aisle leading to our seats in the back since when I tried to walk straight my arms, and my quads would get stuck between the seats on either side. We got settled in our seats, but shortly afterwards a flight attendant came to speak to me and said that the pilots had seen me boarding the plane and were worried that all my weight situated so far back would throw the planes centre of balance off, so they needed me to move further up to seats over the wings. I don’t know if I’ve even blushed so much: I was so big that I was causing a 737 to be thrown off balance! We arrived and I was anxious to get changed, since I was still wearing a sweat suit and we were now in the 30 degree heat. “Just wait until we get to the hotel, baby” she told me. Of course, Katie was wearing a sexy sun dress that clung tightly to her incredible figure. But I relented, and looking like a sweaty mess, we finally arrived in our room. “I didn’t want anyone to see how big you were. The competition is tomorrow and I want to take the place by storm! Imagine the gasps we’ll hear when you walk out on stage. No one will have seen anything like you! That’s why you need to keep wearing sweats until after the show. And then, I’ve got a whole new wardrobe for you. See look:” Katie opened up my suitcase. I laughed and then realized I should have expected something like this when I agreed to let Katie pack for me. There weren’t any normal clothes at all. Certainly no pants, and no shirts either. Zero. What WAS in there was dozens of pairs posing trunks, speedos, and short square cut swimsuits, in every colour and fabric imaginable. “Katie, don’t get me wrong I would love to wear all this, but don’t you think I’ll need to wear some fancy clothes when we go out? I can’t wear this skimpy stuff ALL DAY!” Katie was expecting that comment, so she knew exactly what to say to get me on her side “Steven, baby, after tomorrow, your body is going to be the only thing people on this Island are talking about. You will be performing a public service by putting it on display for them. I guarantee, you will look so natural in your posing trunks that you won’t want to wear anything else! And besides, it’s the French Caribbean: everybody wears skimpy swimsuits down here. Look, I brought thong bikins to wear myself!” She did have a point. And besides, there was something I hadn’t told Katie quite yet: I actually had quite a fetish for wearing posing suits. Half of the reason why I wanted to get into bodybuilding was so I could put myself up on stage wearing only the skimpiest, tightest, shiniest most glute hugging swimsuits imaginable. And now that I had the body of my dreams, it certainly made sense to indulge myself in this respect as well. “You sure got me a good selection. Are they all custom made?” Katie nodded. “Here let’s hang them all up.” The entire closet was filled with a colourful array of tiny swimsuits, and our hotel room was permeated with that new lycra smell. “Since you can’t go out in public just yet, we better order you room service.” Katie dialled the front desk “yes, in room 1222 we need 9 orders of your 3 egg breakfast omelette please.” I couldn’t help but laugh, they probably thought we were an entire family! No, just one massive bodybuilder! We picked out my posing suit for the next day. It was shiny red lycra. It was what you would call a “Brazil cut” covering only about half of my glutes, with minimal coverage in the front and ½” sides. It was definitely the smallest suit I could wear while still remaining decent. The next morning I pulled on my posing trunks. Katie applied bikini bite glue to keep my package in the ludicrously small front, then there was a knock on the door. She had hired someone to come to our room to apply my pro tan. Our plan was to arrive at the competition minutes before I was set to go on stage so that I could really surprise the competitors and the crowd. I was transformed into a bronzed god with the pro tan, and then Katie performed one final oiling so that I shone brilliantly. I then put my sweat suit back on and we headed to the auditorium.

https://muscle-growth.org/topic/12573-the-giant-football-coach-chapter-1-2/ https://muscle-growth.org/topic/12587-the-giant-football-coach-chapter-3/ https://muscle-growth.org/topic/12662-the-giant-football-coach-chapter-4/ https://muscle-growth.org/topic/12823-the-giant-football-coach-chapter-5/ https://muscle-growth.org/topic/13046-the-giant-football-coach-chapter-6/ https://muscle-growth.org/topic/13442-the-giant-football-coach-chapter-7/ Chapter 8: The Big Game The next morning my teammates and I awoke and made our way to the team's cafeteria for our typical pre-game breakfast. We noticed that strangely, most of the assistant coaches were not there enjoying breakfast with us. In fact, I saw a couple of assistants hustling quickly down the hallway as I walked into the cafeteria. I didn't think much of it, since, of course, this would be my first ever collegiate football game and being the first game of the season, I expected there to be some hectic surprises. The rest of the day the team hung out at the athletic center. As the game neared, I was becoming more and more nervous. Some of the upper-classmen noticed and did their best to give me pep talks and calm me down. Being just a freshmen, I appreciated the support, but it didn't calm my nerves much. Early in the afternoon we gathered in the players auditorium to run through our game plan with the assistant heat coach. Obviously, Coach Wood's massive leg wouldn't have fit in there, much less his entire impressive physique. Thus, Assistant Coach Harvey came in and led us through the game plan. At the end of the run through, Jamal asked. “Is Coach going to be on the sidelines with us?” Jamal and some others had also sensed some unease among the athletic staff throughout the day. Coach Harvey looked over the crowd of players, we could tell he was a little bit nervous, and spoke, “I'm positive he will be. I'll be frank with you all, The College Sports Association was offering some concerns about how to allow a man of Coach's size to be on the sidelines and it seems they attempted to force the school to disallow him to be on the sidelines.” A murmur wafted through the large crowd of amped-up young jocks. Coach Harvey quieted us and continued, “But, as our athletic staff has been researching, there's no rule against a giant man being on the sidelines so we don't see any reason why Coach won't be at the game. We are actively discussing with the Association and will confirm our stance with them. In the meantime, don't you worry about this matter. You young men have a huge opening game against our bitter rivals, the Monroe Mauraders. You focus on that, that's what Coach would want, got it!?” We all shook our heads and broke the meeting. After hanging out in the recreation room and eating another pregame meal fuel up, it was finally time to head to the locker rooms and get ready. The dozens of men around me began slipping into their pregame rituals. We had about 45 minutes before we had to be out on the field to warm up. Many of my now scantily clad teammates put in noise canceling headphones to zone out to their favorite warmup music. The jokesters of the group wandered around making fun to break the tension for those of us who were nervous. The Senior captains, clad only in football pants, their ripped upper torso's exposed, came around to quickly speak to each player and offer words of encouragement. The environment was brimming with amped-up testosterone waiting for competitive release on the gridiron. Soon we were suited up and ready to head out on the field. Assistant Coach Harvey came in to give us a little speech to pump us up some more. With and excited grin, he assured that our Giant Head Coach would be out there with us. This caused a raucous roar of approval from the team of young Brutes. Clad in our cleats, pants and undershirts, we each grabbed our shoulder pads and helmets and started for the exit of the locker room. The locker room wasn't directly connected to the stadium, we would have to cross a small, off-limits parking lot to enter the small stadium. The lot was specifically for the vising team busses, refs, and other College Sports Association (CSA) officials. As we headed for the door we felt a rumble on the ground. Jamal spoke up, “Awesome! The crowd must already be here, even for warmups! We don't usually feel the ground start to shake until the pregame show when the crowd is going nuts. Damn, I love our fans!” This further excited the rest of the team. We exited the door and began trotting down the soft carpet to the stadium entrance. We noticed it was a bright, beautiful, sunny, late summer day. I noticed we were bathed in shade, which was odd since there were no tall buildings or trees nearby. Then we heard some deep, deep rumblings that shook us to our core. I turned my head to my left, as did the rest of my team, and froze. My mouth hung open as I stared at the most magnificent, most awe-inspiring, yet terrifying sight I had ever seen. There, standing in the parking lot was Coach, clad in his normal outfit, sans shirt of course. Only he was bigger. Not just a little bigger. MUCH. MUCH. BIGGER. Whereas before the tallest members of our team reached the bottom of his tremendous diamond shaped calf muscles, now we didn't even clear the tops of his sneakers. The deep rumbling continued as we realized Coach was chuckling at us. The giant man leaned forward to address us. His upper torso was so muscular that he would have had to stand well back in order to see us over his monumental pecs without leaning forward. The monster muscle man opened his mouth and spoke. “HELLO DOWN THERE, BOYS. BOY, MY BIG STRONG BRUTE MEN SURE ARE LOOKING AWFULLY TINY LATELY! BUT DON'T WORRY, EVERYONE AND EVERYTHING LOOKS TINY TO ME LATELY, HEH HEH. WOW, YOU LITTLE GUYS DON'T BARELY REACH TO THE TOPS OF MY SNEAKERS, AND YOU ARE SOME OF THE BIGGEST MEN ON CAMPUS. YOU GUYS REALLY MAKE ME FEEL BIG!!!” Coach quickly stood straight up and reached HIGH into the sky. From our comparatively minuscule vantage point it looked like he could reach up and grab the sun. He then brought his arms down into a mind-blowing double-biceps pose. I'm sure the approaching fans got an amazing view. But, for us, he was so damn HUGE we could really only see the hulking triceps of his under arms, which were so pumped they hid his peaks from our eyes. He dropped the pose and again leaned forward, quickly adjusting his unavoidable bulge. “WHAT DO YOU THINK, BOYS? DO YOU THINK THERE WILL EVER BE A BRUTE AS HUGE AS ME!!” Myself and team began to overcome our natural fear and awe and happily shouted up our praise. A chorus of “No way, Coach!”, “You are the biggest Brute EVER!”, “A fuckin' MUSCLE GIANT!” and other similar platitudes emanated from my awestruck teammates. Coach grinned at us from far above. “SORRY I MISSED THE TEAM MEETINGS TODAY. I JUST COULDN'T FIT ALL THIS MASS IN THOSE TINY, ANT SIZED BUILDINGS.” He smirked down at us and continued, “YOU MAY HAVE NOTICED THE POWER WENT OUT LAST NIGHT. I WAS HEADED TO THE DEAN'S OFFICE WHEN I WALKED INTO SOME POWER LINES. DAMN THINGS ARE SO TINY TO ME DIDN'T EVEN SEE THEM AS MY LEGS CRASHED RIGHT INTO THEM. THE PHYSICS DOC SAID THE ENERGY WAS GREAT ENOUGH TO CAUSE ANOTHER GROWTH EPISODE. HE SAID I AGAIN DOUBLED IN HEIGHT! ISN'T THAT AWESOME, LITTLE MEN. YOUR COACH IS NOW A 100 FT COLOSSUS OF HUGE BODYBUILDER BEEF! GRRRRRRRR!!!” Coach growled and crunched into a most muscular pose above us, shielding us from the sun above and filling the entire team's vision with rippling, vascular, shredded, prodigious musculature. His growl was so ferociously loud we all shirked. Coach immediately noticed and quieted himself. “OOPS. SORRY LITTLE MEN. I'M SO HUGE THAT EVEN MY VOICE IS OVERPOWERING!” The players and myself began walking around Coach, examining his towering frame. Coach, pleased as peacock, simply stood still with his hands on his hips and with a bright handsome smile on his face as he looked down to us. We stood next to his sneakers, hardly able to comprehend the size of his footwear that were each the size of vans. We marveled that even at our highest reach our hands were far under the heavy sagging meat of his Fankhouser-esque calves. Jamal looked up and shouted up to our leader, “So glad you could be here, Coach. Coach Harvey said the CSA tried to keep you away.” Coach leered down to us with an ominous grin. “OH, THEY TRIED TO KEEP ME AWAY. A COUPLE OF GOVERNMENT GUYS CAME BY TOO AND TRIED TO GET ME TO GO WITH THEM. CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT? SOME TINY LITTLE "OFFICIAL" RUNTS TRYING TO TELL ME WHAT TO DO?” Coach leaned over, brought up his left arm and FLEXED his awe-inspiring biceps to full peak. Simultaneously, he reached over with his right arm and pointed at the boulder sized muscle. This time he angled himself forward so we could see the enormous mass bulge up from his arm. I remember how Coach had earlier said that he thought he was still growing slightly more muscular along with his sudden spurts of height and I could clearly see this in his arm. His astounding arm looked like it could've now been 26 or 27 inches around if he were at his previous mere moral height of six and a half feet. His biceps was so large that when he flexed, there was virtually no space between the mounded biceps muscle and thick elongated muscles of his forearm. “ALL I HAD TO DO WAS POINT AT THIS MUSCLE TO THEM KNOW WHO MAKES THE RULES. I TOLD THE LITTLE SHRIMPS THAT NO ONE IS GOING TO KEEP ME FROM COACHING MY BRUTES TO A VICTORY TODAY. AND THERE WAS NOTHING THEY COULD DO TO STOP ME. HELL, AT MY SIZE NO ONE COULD STOP ME FROM DOING ANYTHING IF I DON'T WANT THEM TO!” Coach sneered cockily as he relayed his story to us. It was impossible not to sense a bit of fear from his attitude. I imagined the CSA and government men pissing their pants as they tried in futility to tell the biggest, strongest, most powerful being on the planet what to do. Coach was an intimidating man at just 6 ft 6 inches tall. At 100 ft, that intimidation factor was magnified exponentially. Coach, sensing our unease, softened his expression. “SORRY IF I SCARED 'YA, LITTLE MEN. IT'S JUST THE THOUGHT OF NOT BEING ABLE TO COACH YOU MAKES ME VERY ANGRY.” Coach snickered and repeated that famous line from the Hulk franchise, “AND YOU WOULDN'T LIKE ME WHEN I'M ANGRY!” Coach then looked over his shoulder down at the parking lot. I wondered what he was searching for when I saw it. A small white sedan with the “CSA” logo painted on the side. Obviously the car used by the CSA officials to oversee the game. “THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN THEY MAKE ME ANGRY!!” Coach raised his huge left foot, the fibers of his exposed quads firing as he moved. He was so large that he just had to lean over a bit to his left where he let his colossal sneaker SMASH down on top of he doomed car. In a millisecond the car was flattened beyond recognition. Unlike when Coach slowly caved in the news van from a couple of days ago, with his newly doubled size his massive shoe completely covered and obliterated the small car. We all jumped back from the sudden show of power. After a couple of seconds of stunned silence, my teammates began to shout more cheers and praise up at him. “Damn, Coach Brute! That was awesome!” “Yeah, Coach, show them CSA pussies who is in charge!” “Man I'm sure glad you are our Coach! You are like a god to the little people!” “Haha you made smashing that car look easy! You are so fuckin' powerful!” “Nobody tells you what to you, BIG COACH BRUTE! Especially not those tiny government boys!” Coach beamed with pride as he heard us, feeding his ever growing, yet deserved ego. Even with the frightening display of masculine power we just witnessed, we knew it had only been brought out because some foolish officials were trying to keep him from coaching us today. With a 100 ft tall overdeveloped herculean man watching over us, nothing could take us out! “WELL BOYS, IT'S TIME YOU HEAD INSIDE THE STADIUM TO WARM UP. BECAUSE I'M SO DAMN HUGE AND MUSCULAR, I'M GOING TO STAND OUT HERE TO COACH. OTHERWISE, WITH MY HUGE LATS, HALF THE STADIUM BEHIND ME WOULDN'T GET TO SEE YOU GUYS KICK SOME ASS.” Coach punctuated this statement with a titanic lat spread. The wing-like lats under his arms spread out to what looked like 25 yards across...then 30...then 35!! Coach's lats were so magnificently built, that when it looked like he couldn't get any wider, his enormous back muscles unfurled even further. The v-shape he demonstrated as he expertly flexed was nearly incomprehensible, seemingly extending his upper torso to three times the width of his chiseled abdominals. Coach chuckled some more as we stared up at him, again in awestruck silence. He broke the pose, allowing our brains to regain function. “YOU BOYS KEEP STARING AT ME LIKE THAT AND IT'S GOING TO GIVE ME A BIG HEAD, HAHA. NOW GET OUT THERE AND GET WARMED UP! GO!” His sudden demand caused us all to hustle onto the field. As we entered the field it became clear that Jamal was right about one thing. Many of our fans had showed up early and even with 45 minutes to kickoff the stadium was about 75% full. The crowd cheered us on as we entered the field, but as soon as the cheering died down I noticed that all the spectators had turned their heads toward the South end of the stadium. The South end was adjacent to the maintenance parking lot and at only about 30 ft tall, was the lowest part of the stadium. Thus, everyone could see the magnificent bare-chested giant bodybuilder standing behind there behind. He clapped as we entered, each time his hands connected it sounded like a large firecracker exploding. After Coach's news conference it became clear that so many people arrived early so they see the largest man in history with their own eyes. A few minutes later the visiting team entered from the opposite end of the stadium. I chuckled as the entire visiting froze as soon as they caught sight of our coach. Once they had got their wits back, they filed onto the field and stretch as well. The visiting Marauder's head coach, Thomas Morton, a well-known portly man who was known for his bombastic attitude and arrogant demeanor, trotted out onto the field and too became paralyzed with awe. Coach, with his hands on his hips in a powerful stance, quickly spotted the overweight opposing coach at the other end of the field. “COACH MORTON! WELCOME TO OUR STADIUM. I'M EXCITED FOR A GOOD GAME BETWEEN OUR SQUADS. BUT I MUST SAY, COACH MORTON, YOU'VE REALLY LET YOURSELF GO! HOW CAN YOU BE AN INSPIRATION TO YOUR PLAYERS TO GET BIGGER AND STRONGER WHILE LOOKING LIKE THAT? ONE THE OTHER HAND...” Coach spread his arms out wide and looked cockily down at his own torso. He alternately turned each arm, admiring the size of the unflexed muscles covering each appendage. He bent down and felt up the massive individual muscles of his quadriceps and then looked back at Coach Morton, “...ON THE OTHER HAND, MY BOYS SEEING ALL THESE HUGE MUSCLES OF MINE EVERYDAY ONLY INSPIRES THEM TO LIFT HARDER AND GET BIGGER AND STRONGER THEMSELVES!” Coach Morton had never felt so emasculated in his life. He just stood there, frozen, looking like a man whose entire dignity had been stripped away. He lowered his head and headed over to his sideline, looking defeated before the game even began. Something Coach obviously saw as he continued to address Coach Morton. “AND DON'T THINK I DIDN'T SEE THAT PRESS CONFERENCE YOU GAVE LAST WEEK. HOW YOU SAID YOUR TEAM WAS GOING TO CRUSH OUR TEAM. HOW YOU WOULD SHOW NO MERCY AND HAVE NO HARD FEELINGS ABOUT RUNNING UP THE SCORE! HOW ABOUT I SHOW YOU WHAT A REAL 'CRUSHING' WILL LOOK LIKE!” Coach looked down and to his right and reached down with both hands and picked something up. As he rose it became clear that he was holding each end of Morton's bus. In his hands it was no bigger than a loaf of bread. And with no more strength than a normal man would required to squeeze that loaf of bread, our giant coach bared his teeth and CRUSHED the ends of the bus together like an accordion. The windows shattered and fell to the parking lot. Loud distinct pops could be heard as the tires blew. The high pitched squeal of twisting metal pierced the air. “THIS IS WHAT REAL CRUSHING IS. AND YOU WILL NEVER KNOW WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE THIS POWERFUL. IF YOU ARE GOING TO USE BIG THREATENING WORDS, PERHAPS YOU SHOULD HAVE THE MUSCLE TO BACK IT UP! HAHAHA!” Coached laughed and let the crumpled-up mass of metals crash to the parking bellow. Coach Morton gulped in fear at what he had just seen. “OH, AND COACH MORTON, I CAN TELL YOU AND YOUR BOYS ARE SCARED OF ME AND TO PLAY AGAINST MY MEN. MAYBE EVEN SO SCARED THAT YOU ARE AFRAID TO WANT TO BEAT MY TEAM. WELL, THAT IS EVEN IF YOU COULD BEAT MY TEAM. IT'S UNDERSTANDABLE, I'M A REALLY, REALLY BIG STRONG MAN. BUT TRUST ME, IF YOU GUYS SLOW PLAY THIS GAME AND DON'T TRY YOUR HARDEST, THEN I ASSURE YOU I WILL BE VERY, VERY ANGRY. I WANT TO SEE A GOOD COMPETITIVE GAME, FULL OF EFFORT FROM BOTH SIDES, GOT IT?” Coach finished his statement by ominously cracking his knuckles. Ever the sportsman, he did not want us to win simply due to the other team's fear of his imposing body. He wanted us to EARN the win against a worthy opponent. I shuddered to think what would happen if the other team just flat out gave up and didn't give us any fight. Coach Morton dramatically shook his head up and down, notifying our Coach of his understanding that he wouldn't hold his team back. Forty minutes later the game began. Obviously, our head Coach couldn't perform all the duties typical of a mortal-sized coach so Assistant Coach Harvey took over for that. Still, as we had many hand signals, he was able to communicate sufficiently with us what he wanted on defense. For the first half the game was relatively tight. We never led by more than 10 points and after a successful long touchdown pass, we went into halftime with a three point lead. I could easily tell why the other team was one of the top in the nation. They were very good, very big and very strong. Not to mention the fear of invoking OUR Coach's wrath likely had them playing harder than they ever had. The giant man behind the South stadium provided us with excellent calls, motivation and inspiration. There was nothing like seeing his huge jacked body and handsome smile beaming proudly down at us after we made a good play. While the visiting Morton team was good, they were still no match or our own superior skill, size and strength and we began to slowly overpower them. Early in the 4th quarter we were nursing a seven point lead. The Marauders had the ball and were driving the field against us with some trick plays that caught us off guard. They were only 15 yards away from the North end zone. Before the next play, I looked up to see Coach signaling an outside blitz from me and I relayed the play to the rest of our team. The Marauders snapped the ball and I broke and made a beeline to their QB. As I closed in on him, I could see the surprise in his eyes. I saw him cock back his arm and start to lob the ball over my head for a screen pass. In a flash I read the play and leaped straight up as high as I could. I saw the ball just above my head, reached up and snagged it out of the air. INTERCEPTION! I landed and took off sprinting towards the opposite South end zone. As I ran as fast as I could, I saw Coach waving his beefy arms to me in a “come here” motion. I had never seen him look so excited before. I made it to the 50 yard line, then the 40, then the 30, I could feel the defenders on my heels. As I kept running Coach started JUMPING UP and down! I could feel the tremors rumbling the ground as his muscular tonnage pounded the ground. His massive pectorals bounced hypnotically as he himself bounced on the ground. The tremors were strong enough I almost tripped up! But I kept my balance and finally made it the the end zone! It was an 85-yard, pick-six interception! In my first collegiate game! I was so excited as my teammates caught up and mobbed me from behind that I barely noticed how winded I was from sprinting 85 yards. As the team cleared away I looked skyward to see Coach beaming proudly at me. Remembering that day in the weight room, I smiled up to him and gave him my most imposing most muscular pose, clenching my fists together in front of my waist. His grin widened more and he laughed. He then smirked, hunched over and returned his own far more impressive most muscular pose with a cocky smile. The crowd went wild, not only from my touchdown, but from seeing Coach FLEX his titanic muscles. In one play, I had turned the game from a tight contest into a dominating win for us. I had never felt so proud of myself in my life. With the momentum on our side, we dominated the rest of the game and ended up winning by three touchdowns. As the teams left the field, Coach addressed Coach Morton. “GOOD GAME COACH. WE'LL SEE YOU AGAIN NEXT YEAR. OH YEAH, REMEMBER WHAT I SAID, YOU WOULD REALLY SHOULD GET YOURSELF INTO THE WEIGHT ROOM IF YOU WANT TO COMPETE WITH THE LIKES OF THIS! HAHAH!” Coach laughed as he flashed the opposing coach a quick double biceps pose. As we exited the stadium we gathered around Coach's shoes. I noticed the car sized lump of twisted metal that was formerly the Morton passenger bus nearby and could hardly comprehend the power it would take to do that. Coach grinned down at us. “YOU LITTLE BRUTES SURE MADE THIS BIG BRUTE VERY PROUD TODAY. THAT WAS A CHAMPIONSHIP EFFORT. NOW, THERE ARE STILL 11 MORE GAMES IN THE SEASON SO DON'T THINK YOUR WORK IS DONE. YOU ALL NEED TO KEEP PRACTICING HARD AND LIFTING HARD AND IF YOU DO YOU HAVE A GREAT SHOT TO MAKE IT TO THE CHAMPIONSHIP COME DECEMBER. NOW HIT THE SHOWERS. AND CAPTAINS, OLDEST TO YOUNGEST, MEET ME EVERY 15 MINUTES IN THE FIELD HOUSE FOR A POST-GAME DEBRIEFING STARTING ONE HOUR FROM NOW.” After showering up and enjoying a nice post game meal, I soon headed over to the field house. The sophomore captain was just exiting as I entered the building. I walked in and there was Coach, standing up, the top of his cap dangerously close to the rafters of the field house, filling my view with fuzzy, rippling, golden MUSCLE. “THERE'S MY STAR OF THE GAME!” He said excitedly as I entered, filling my heart with pride. “GREAT GAME, JACKSON. THAT LONG PICK-SIX BASICALLY SEALED THE GAME FOR US. I BELIEVE YOU ARE A STAR IN THE MAKING, YOUR READ THAT SCREEN PASS BEAUTIFULLY, JUMPED UP AND SNAGGED THE BALL AND RACED BACK TOWARD ME...MAN THAT AWESOME.” “I owe it all to you, Coach! You called that blitz for me, it was the perfect call! That QB never saw me coming!” “I GUESS WE MAKE QUITE THE TEAM, YOU AND I, MY LITTLE BRUTE!” “Yes we do, my BIG COACH BRUTE!” I lowered my voice and shouted, trying to sound big, Coach chuckled at my playfulness. Coach then slowly crouched and sat down on his big bulbous ass. He put his arms beside him, palms flat on the turf, triceps flaring, and stuck his LONG legs straight out, straddling me. On each side of me were the world's biggest and most muscular thighs and in front of me was the worlds most packed crotch, trapping me in a virtual cocoon of manhood. Even with him sitting slowly, a big tremor rumbled through the ground as his hulking tonnage rested on the field turf. “THERE, MUCH BETTER. YOU LITTLE GUYS ARE BASICALLY SHRINKING TO ME. I DON'T MIND STANDING UP AND TOWERING OVER THE OTHER PEOPLE, IT REMINDS HOW HUGE AND POWERFUL I AM. BUT I DON'T LIKE INTIMIDATING MY OWN LITTLE BRUTES, HEHE.” “It's ok Coach, you really can't help it! Haha, even with you sitting there your head is FIVE stories above mine. I could practically HIDE under your pecs even with you leaning back. Your massive quads are so huge I would need a rope to scale them, it's like I'm flanked by two massive, golden tanned beefy walls of POWER. And your crotch...Coach, your shorts are looking tighter and tighter!” Coach smirked with satisfaction as I praised him. “HEH HEH. JACKSON, YOU SURE KNOW HOW TO MAKE THIS BIG BRUTE FEEL GOOD. REALLLLLL GOOD...” Coach leaned forward and brought one hand forward and began to palm his crotch in front of me. “AND YOU ARE RIGHT. LIKE I SAID, ALONG WITH MY HEIGHT SPURTS, I SEEM TO BE SLOWLY GETTING BIGGER AND MORE MUSCULAR...” He smirked down into my eyes and added, “...AND MORE HUNG!” By now I was rock hard as well, watching the monster in Coach's packed shorts grow. “Wow, Coach I can see that. OH MY GOD COACH!” I shouted in surprise and his monster dick began to extend out PAST the leg of his khaki shorts, pressed up tight against his left inner-thigh. “YEAH, LITTLE GUY. LOOK AT THAT. THAT IS A REAL COCK RIGHT THERE.” In complete shock and awe, I could only nod in agreement. “JACKSON, I HAVEN'T TOLD ANYBODY ELSE YET, BUT I HAVE AGREED TO LET THOSE GOVERNMENT BOYS RUN SOME TESTS ON ME. THAT MEANS I WON'T BE HERE FOR PRACTICE FOR THE NEXT FEW DAYS.” My face fell as I looked up him disappointingly. “I KNOW, I KNOW. AND I KNOW I TELL YOU BOYS TO NEVER TAKE ANY GAME LIGHTLY, BUT YOUR NEXT GAME IS AGAINST A TEAM THAT WAS WINLESS LAST YEAR, SO I HAVE COMPLETE CONFIDENCE IN COACH HARVEY TO LEAD THE TEAM.” Coach's face turned stern, “AND TRUST ME, THERE IS NO WAY I'M GOING TO LET THEM KEEP ME AWAY FROM YOU GUYS FOR TOO LONG. IF THEY DO...THEY WILL REGRET IT.” Coach was so huge that it was easy to see all his muscles and tendons tighten and flex defensively, all his massive firehose-sized veins erupt as he considered what he would do if anyone tried to keep him away from us. “NOW, BEFORE I TAKE OFF TOMORROW...” Coach reached down his huge hand and began rubbing the now exposed cock head, “HOW ABOUT YOU JOIN ME IN ONE LAST BRUTE JACKING SESSION?” He grinned at me seductively, there was no way I could resist. I striped off my clothes and stood there naked and rock hard in between the giant man's legs. “OH YEAH, LOOK AT THE HOT JOCK STUD BODY. YOU LOOK SO GOOD, LITTLE BRUTE.” Coach's dick began to thicken and lengthen even more! Quickly I heard the unmistakable sounds of ripping. His cock was so huge and powerful, not to mention his now proportionally larger glutes and legs, that his khaki shorts could take to no more and began to tear at the inseam! Coach reached down, lifted his ass slightly off the turn and proceeded to finish TEARING his shorts off with a ear-piercing RRRRIIIIIPPPPPPP. He wasn't wearing underwear, and his rock hard cock sprang up like a trebuchet, thwacking his abdomen well above his navel. “AHHHH THAT FEELS SOOOOO MUCH BETTER. I OUTGREW MY UNDERWEAR A COUPLE OF DAYS AGO, IT'S NICE TO BE FREE OF THE LAST RESTRICTIVE PIECE OF CLOTHING! LET ME FINISH UNDRESSING LITTLE BUDDY!” Coach leaned way forward over me reaching his long arms behind me. He lightly bent his legs, reached forward and slipped off his shoes and socks. A warm smell of musky, jock feet crossed my nose. But it wasn't rank, just another pungent smell of ultimate masculinity. I looked straight up and saw each car-sized abdominal muscle hovering 30 feet above me. The valleys in between each ab was so deep they could've served as small canals. Coach leaned back and began to take off his hat and whistle. “Coach, wait!” I shouted. “Um...would...would yo mind leaving the hat and whistle on?” You look like such a huge jock muscle stud with them on!” Coach chuckled deeply. “YOU GOT IT, LITTLE MAN. TELL YOU WHAT, SINCE YOU WERE THE STAR OF THE GAME, WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO DO?” He asked with a smirk. I thought about it for a few exciting seconds. The possibilities I could dream up with him seemed endless. “Um, would you mind setting me on your belly, and then laying down with your hands clasped behind your head? I just want to explore your giant body, Coach!” “MMMMM JACKSON, I LIKE THE WAY YOU THINK.” He slowly reached forward and gently lifted me up with his incredible hands. Each finger was a long as I was. For a second I was worried he would accidentally crush me, no doubt he possessed the power to do so. But, he proved to be perfectly gentle, lifting me up with and depositing me on his titanic stomach, right now to the mushroom head of his monster cock. The massive beast had to be 15 feet long now and over four feet in diameter. He smiled as he leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head with a happy smile. His chest pulled up and his massive lats flared out, exposing his DEEP hairy armpits, again sending my sense of smell into overdrive as his sweaty musk permeated the air. Wow. Standing on his abs, I looked left, then right. There was SOOOO much super-developed man flesh spread out in front of me. I noted how his elbows were out so wide they were nearly brushing each side wall of the field house. I began to walk forward, noting the taught hard skin and enormou lumps of abs. I layed down on top of the upper most right side ab and just felt the hard, warm mass underneath me. I couldn't help it as I ground my hard cock into the taught, tough skin. “MMM EVEN THOUGH YOU ARE SO TINY I CAN FEEL THAT, JACKSON. FEELS GOOD.” I got back up and walk up to the shelf of his pecs. I traipsed over to his right nipple, the size of a beach ball and began to knead and punch it. Suddenly the ground below began to tremble. “OH DAMN, JACKSON, FUCK! MY NIPPLES ARE SO SENSITIVE. YOU'RE MAKING ME LEAK!” I glanced being me and sure enough, the huge cock head was dripping pre into a kiddle-pool sized puddle on his abs. After playing with his nipple I climbed up onto his pecs, now allowing me to see Coach's handsome face with his eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of a tiny man exploring him. “Wow, Coach, your pectorals are so massive I could build a house on each one! I can see each sinewy fiber under your tanned skin. Your chest hair is so soft, it's like walking through a wheat field. No one on earth has BIGGER or MORE MAGNIFICENT pecs than, you do, Coach!” I feel the ground rumble underneath me as he moaned deeply from his sternum. I made my way over to his right armpit. I had to step down of his huge pecs. Luckily, his lats were so huge they gave me more than enough shelf to safely walk on. I spread my arms out and let my entire body fall into the warm musky pit. His pit hairs were so soft and comfortable. I ground my face into this pit and again felt Coach moan from pleasure. I saw a shadow cross over me and noticed he had release his left harm from behind his head to reach down and rub his pipeline sized cock. After servicing his pit I climbed back out and up onto his arm. For a muscle lover there was just no way I couldn't explore that arm. The massive ball of biceps and huge meaty triceps. I simply layed down in the relativity small divot between the biceps and triceps on the side of his arm and marvelled at the muscles flanking each side of me. “Coach, no man on earth has biceps like you. There have been proportionally bigger arms in history, but those arms were bolstered by layers and layers of fat. There may have been more ripped biceps in history, but they belonged to skinny little weak men who had zero fat. But no man has the ultimate combination of ripped AND huge, freaky, massive peaked biceps, and feathered triceps like you do. These are the best arms in HISTORY!” Coach growled and the FLEXED his right arm with loud GROWL. The arm underneath me expanded, the skin underneath my body pulled tighter in each direction as it struggled to contain the growing muscle. I watch as his already mounded biceps began to push higher...and higher! At my tiny size the split in his peaks was big enough to rest my leg inside! “FUCKKKK YEAH JACKSON. LOOK AT THOSE COLLOSAL ARMS. ARMS SO HUGE THAT YOU TINY MEN COULD LIVE IN THEM. ARMS THAT COULD CURL AN AIRCRAFT CARRIER! BICEPS SO MASSIVE AND HARD THAT A WRECKING BALL WOULDN'T BE ABLE TO DENT THEM!” Coached moaned some more and jacked his cock with more fervor. I followed his lead and did the same. “UHHHH JACKSON, LET'S DO THIS. NOW YOU DO ME A FAVOR. STAND UP ON MY CHEST, RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME WHERE I CAN SEE YOU, AND GIVE THAT MOST MUSCULAR POSE LIKE YOU DID AT THE GAME!” I walk over and stood on his right pec facing him. His left pec was bunching and and bouncing like crazy as he used his left arm to masturbate. He tilted his handsome face up and opened his deep blue eyes to see me standing on his pec, rising and falling as he took deep breaths. I kept my stance wide to maintain balance. As soon as his eyed made contact with mine, I smirked cockily, back at him. “A most muscular pose, Coach. Like you taught me?” I teased. Coach moaned and jacked harder. I then crouched forward and FLEXED my abs, arms, traps, pecs and legs as hard as I could and GROWLED as loud as tiny man could. “GGGGRRAHHHH COACH! LOOK AT MY MUSCLES THAT YOU HELPED BUILD!” Coach's face scrunched as the loudest moan I had ever heard erupted from his gaping maw. Suddenly I felt a huge stream of wetness fall across my shoulders and back. Coach's massive dick was EXPLODING WITH ORGASM, coating me in his seed. I quickly brought my own hands down and jacked my own rock-hard tumescence, seeing and feeling jet after jet of white Coach jizz shower me and the massive chest surrounding me. I screamed and let out my own powerful orgasm, coating the square footage of his hairy muscle chest in front of me. As I finished, I fell to my knees, and then laid down on the wet, hairy expanse of pectoral in front of me, exhausted. Coach let his arms fall to the side and I fell myself rise as his pecs consequently plumped underneath me from the motion. “DAMN, JACKSON. THAT WAS THE BEST ONE YET. THERE IS NO WAY I'M LETTING THOSE GOVERNMENT BOYS KEEP ME AWAY FROM YOU!” He rumbled, chuckling. “DAMN, NOW I HAVE EVEN MORE OF A MESS TO CLEAN UP!” He joked and as I stood up and laughed with him. Epilogue: Coach did indeed return next week right before the game. Our team dominated the rest of the season and coach was at every game. In December, we brought home the school's very first national championship. There were challenges with a 100 ft Coach, especially for away games, but like any challenge facing him, he met it head on along with the rest of us and came away with full success. Coach, of course, became a national celebrity, using his size to help out wherever he could. Whether it be assisting the fireman or police in rescue missions, cleaning up verhicle accidents or his favorite, helping the city demolish condemned or unwanted buildings. An activity where we really got to show off his size and power to his adoring fans. The university supplied him with sustenance and clothes, although he rarely wore a shirt. His huge body was like a human radiator and even in winter he only required a light tank top to keep warm. The university constructed some living quarters for him off campus in the form of a handful of aircraft hanger size buildings, furnished of course. Along with a massive heated swimming pool to allow him to wash off. Of course, I continued to see Coach during “captain's meetings” throughout the year. Coach had promised that he would stick around to coach the team for at least the next three years, through the end of my playing career before he would decide what the future held for him. Even without being able to properly workout with weight, Coach continued to slowly grow in musculature, aided by his nearly naked body constantly absorbing energy from the sun and his daily workouts consisting of various body weight movements. The only question that remained, was Coach truly done growing, or was there a power source out there strong enough to cause another doubling of his size? Only the future could tell.

Previously: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/12573-the-giant-football-coach-chapter-1-2/ https://muscle-growth.org/topic/12587-the-giant-football-coach-chapter-3/ https://muscle-growth.org/topic/12662-the-giant-football-coach-chapter-4/ https://muscle-growth.org/topic/12823-the-giant-football-coach-chapter-5/ https://muscle-growth.org/topic/13046-the-giant-football-coach-chapter-6/ Chapter 7: Captain The next day, Friday, was our last day of preparation before the big game tomorrow. In order to allow our bodies to heal and rest up from the hard week of practices, the pre-game practice was more of a walkthrough in just our shorts, t-shirts and helmets. Coach towered over us all at center field, shirtless, explaining our game plan on offense and defense. His exposed torso was a point which Jamal, the big playful lineman, couldn't ignore. “Yo Coach, where is your tank top from yesterday? Or are you just trying to impress us with your jacked muscles?” A deep, rumbling chuckle could be felt in all our chests. “WELL JAMAL, IS IT WORKING?” Coach lifted up his left arm and clenched his fist, flexing his titanic biceps far above our heads and exposing his cave-like armpit. Whistles, hoots and appreciative hollers were voiced up toward the giant posing man. “HAHA, BOYS. JUST DIDN'T WANT TO GET ONE OF MY FEW SHIRTS SWEATY. A BIG MAN LIKE ME ONLY HAS SO MANY CLOTHES.” I noted that Coach's bare skin seemed even a slight shade darker than yesterday, as if the energy he was absorbing was not only making him bigger, but perfecting him in other ways too, giving his skin a deep bronzed glow underneath the light covering of body hair. Jamal shook his head and added, “Damn, Coach, I swear you are looking more swole than ever!” Coach grinned as he flexed and unflexed his cannon, pumping it up bigger. “I KNOW MY BODY, JAMAL, AND I AM DEFINITELY MORE “SWOLE” AS YOU KIDS SAY. IF I WAS STILL MY OLD SMALL, ORIGINAL HEIGHT, I'D VENTURE A GUESS THAT I'VE PUT ON AT LEAST A SOLID INCH ON MY ALREADY AWESOME ARMS. I CAN'T GET ENOUGH OF THE ENERGY FLOWING THROUGH ME, MAKING ME BIGGER AND STRONGER! I LOVE IT!” After Coach's self appraising speech, we ran through a few plays at half speed to make sure we were all on the same page. After a short 45 minute practice session we gathered literally at the feet of Coach for one final practice speech. As part of the speech, he also discussed the captains. Yesterday during film we all voted for two captains. Coach revealed proudly that, unsurprisingly, our starting senior quarterback and senior all-American linebacker were two of the captains as voted on by the rest of the team. We clapped for our team leaders as they stepped up in front of coach's massive sneakers and he commended them. As we stared up at his heaving pectorals, Coach then announced the additional three captains as chosen by the coaching staff. We applauded as he called up the Junior starting center and our up-and-coming star Sophomore defensive lineman. Coach then finished, “AND MY FELLOW BRUTES, CONGRATULATIONS TO TOMORROW'S STARTING SAFETY AND CAPTAIN, FRESHMAN MASON JACKSON!” My eyes went wide as I heard my name and saw my leader's gigantic, handsome eyes boring into mine, his face with a proud smile. The rest of the team hooted and hollered, those close to me patting my back as I made my way up to the front with the other captains. I was stunned and speechless. Here I was, being named not only a starter, but as a team captain, and I was only a Freshman. “BRUTES, THESE FINE MEN WILL BE YOUR ON-FIELD CAPTAINS. ONLY THEY ARE ALLOWED TO ADDRESS THE REFS ON THE FIELD. THEY WILL BE YOUR LEADERS ON THE FIELD, LISTEN TO THEM. AND CAPTAINS, MYSELF AND THE OTHER COACHES DO NOT TAKE LIGHTLY IN SELECTING YOU. YOU HAVE EARNED THE “C” ON YOUR JERSEYS, DO NOT LET US DOWN. NOW, THE REST OF YOU HIT THE SHOWERS AND THEN MAKE YOUR WAY TO THE FILM ROOM. OBVIOUSLY I WILL NOT BE ABLE TO JOIN AS I'M TOO BIG TO FIT IN THE FILM ROOM, BUT THE ASSISTANTS WILL TAKE YOU THROUGH THE SESSION. CAPTAINS, STICK AROUND, I WANT TO GO THROUGH A COUPLE MORE THINGS WITH YOU BEFORE YOU SHOWER UP.” After the rest of the team left the field, Coach got down on the one knee in an attempt to get closer to us and together we walked through the duties of the captains, including what we would need to do during the coin toss tomorrow. We discussed several scenarios, whether to defer or take the ball, which side of the field to choose, how to consider the wind and weather, etc. Coach then instructed each of us to visit with him one-on-one early this evening. He wanted to speak with each of his captains individually to further go over each of our respective responsibilities. Since I was the youngest captain, I would be the last to visit him at about 8:00pm tonight. Coach rose up off his knee to his full height, his abs and pecs rising like a hot air balloon above our heads, and dismissed us to shower. “THANK YOU MY BRUTE CAPTAINS. NOW GET READY FOR FILM SESSION AND PAY ATTENTION. YOU ARE THE NEXT IN THE CHAIN OF COMMAND AFTER THE ASSISTANT COACHES, SO ITS ALSO YOUR RESPONSIBILITY TO KEEP YOUR TEAMMATES IN CHECK AS WELL. I'M COUNTING YOU MEN. HIT THE SHOWERS!” Once cleaned up we joined our teammates and the assistants to watch film. The assistants also ran through tomorrow's agenda. Even though the game wasn't until 7:00pm tomorrow night, we were instructed to be at the athletic complex early in the morning for breakfast and we would remain there, isolated for the entire day to avoid distractions. After film I had one Friday afternoon class before I headed to the cafeteria to fuel up. I caught up on some studying until it was 7:45pm, when it was time to head to the field house for my meeting with Coach. As I was walking through the corridor to the field house I passed the starting quarterback. I was right on time. I opened the door and was again instantly overtaken by Coach's superhuman scent, causing my cock to twitch. Coach was sitting on his bench, shirtless with just a sheet wrapped around his waist, his head still a good 30 or so feet above the ground when he spotted me. “JACKSON! WELCOME MY LITTLE BRUTE CAPTAIN!” Coach shifted his butt down onto the turf to speak to me from a more equal level. “Thanks Coach. I'm honored and so surprised. I...I don't know what to say. I mean, I thought there would be several other guys who are better than me-” Coach cut me off, “DON'T YOU START DOUBTING YOURSELF, JACKSON. YOU EARNED YOUR CAPTAIN'S STATUS. THERE ARE OTHER MEN ON THE TEAM WHO MAY BE BETTER ATHLETES THAN YOU, BUT NONE OF THEM HAVE YOUR COMBINATION OF INTELLIGENCE TO GO WITH YOUR ATHLETICISM. YOU NEED BOTH BRAINS AND BRAWN TO SUCCEED AT THIS LEVEL AND YOU HAVE IT. YOU'VE BEEN WORKING YOUR TAIL OFF SINCE YOU GOT HERE.” Coach and I spent the next few minutes discussing what he expected of me as a captain. How he wanted me to be a leader on the field and speak up and make decisions for my teammates, even though I was younger than three-quarters of the team. How I would be one of the players who is allowed to speak the referees when a penalty occurs. It seemed like such a huge responsibility but with Coach encouraging me I had never been so excited to tackle a new task. “YOU HAVE A BRIGHT FUTURE. YOUR GROWTH SINCE I RECRUITED YOU HAS BEEN WONDERFUL TO WATCH, JACKSON. AND NOT JUST YOUR FOOTBALL SAVY, I'VE ALSO NOTICED THE MUSCLE YOU'VE PUT ON. HOW MUCH WEIGHT HAVE YOU GAINED SINCE THE BEGINNING OF THE SUMMER?” I smiled up at Coach, happy that he was seeing what I was also seeing in the mirror. “So far about 15 pounds!” “THOSE ARE SOME GREAT GAINS FOR A MAN YOUR SIZE. I CAN DEFINITELY SEE IT. AND I CAN SEE IT IS ALL MUSCLE. YOU'RE SHREDDED, AND SEEING YOUR ABS MAKES ME FEEL LIKE A FAT MAN!” We shared a laugh as Coach patted his mighty stomach. While my abs were small yet deeply etched, his were huge and powerful, like the rest of him. “Thanks Coach. Although my gains are nothing compared to yours in the past week!” “HAHA, I GUESS THAT'S TRUE JACKSON. I'VE HAD A BIT OF HELP TOO, BUT I'M NOT COMPLAINING!” Coach said as he looked down and bounced his pectorals, one by one. “Damn, Coach, your muscle control is insane!” “THANKS JACKSON. I'M SURE WITH YOUR GROWING BODY YOU ARE LEARNING TO DO FUN TRICKS LIKE THAT TOO. AND TRUST ME, THE LADIES LOVE IT!” Coach smirked wryly at me and added, “AND SO DO THE DUDES.” I grinned up at Coach and caught a sparkle in his eye. He then requested, “WELL JACKSON, STRIP OFF THAT TANK TOP. SHOW ME YOUR PROGRESS. YOU'VE SEEN MY BOD, LET'S SEE YOUR MUSCLES. SHOW ME A DOUBLE-BICEPS POSE.” I obeyed and whipped off my tank top and tossed it on the ground. Coach was still sitting on the ground with his back against his bench. He legs were splayed wide on each side of me as he watched me intently. I brought my arms out wide and slowly raised my fists upward and toward my head, flexing my biceps. “VERY NICE JACKSON. YOU HAVE SOME NICE PEAKS. GREAT SEPARATIONS. LET'S SEE YOUR CHEST.” I turned sideways and tried to mimic Coach's side chest flexes. “AGAIN, YOUR DEVELOPMENT IS GREAT FOR YOUR SIZE. NOW SHOW ME YOUR BACK.” I turned around and again brought up both biceps and gave Coach my best back-double biceps pose. “A NICE WIDE BACK TO GO WITH YOUR TINY WAIST. TREMENDOUS V-SHAPE. YOU'VE GOT A FRAME THAT COULD EASILY PUT ON PLENTY OF MUSCLE.” I turned around and beamed. “Thanks, Coach! Your weight training program has really helped. And you are such an inspiration, seeing your big bulging body every day.” I grinned and brought my arms up into another double-biceps flex and playfully crowed at Coach. “I would love to be a bodybuilder like you some day!” Coach chuckled and started to stand up. As he rose from the ground he grinned, “JACKSON. YOU ARE LOOKING GOOD AND YOU CERTAINLY GOT THE GENES. YOUR POSING NEEDS SOME WORK THOUGH. HERE, LET ME SHOW YOU WHAT A REAL POSING ROUTINE LOOKS LIKE!” I gasped at the what I was about to see. Coach slowly stood, reaching the pinnacle of his towering height, with me standing awestruck on the ground about 15 feet in front of his ankles. “THIS IS HOW YOU DO A PROPER DOUBLE-BICEPS POSE, LITTLE MAN.” Coach re-planted his feet so they were slowly pointed outward. This caused his mega-sized quad muscles to bulge even larger. He clenched his stomach muscles before he gracefully swayed both his arms out wide and up, where he paused for just a second, before locking the position of his elbows and then swinging his forearms upward while making a fist. Each of his biceps erupted from his arms. “POSING IS ALL ABOUT FORM AND GRACE,” he narrated as he unclenched and reclenched his fists, causing the wrecking ball size biceps muscles to rise and fall hypnotically. Coach then synchronously brought both arms down while rotating 90 degrees. He did so with the fluid motion of a ballet dancer. It was a side of Coach I had never seen. Not only was he immensely powerful, when he wanted to he could move with a beauty and grace that belied his rugged, supremely pumped body. He brought one arm to the side and while smiling down at me, puffed up his pecs and performed a perfect side chest pose. Even he was impressed with how we was looking, “WOW, JACKSON, YOU COULD PRACTICALLY BUILD A HOUSE ON THAT PEC SHELF, DON'T YOU THINK?” I nodded, dumbfounded at what I was having the pleasure of seeing. Coach then swung his arms out wide again and using their momentum to turn another 90 degrees to show me his back, which was loaded with mounds and mounds of thick, lenticular muscles. As I stared up 30 ft into the air I was greeted by the sight of Coach's two, thick erector muscle columns, no doubt overly developed from years of massive deadlifts. As my eyes drifted higher my own eyes had to refocus into wide angle lenses as his tanned, hairless lats suddenly jutted outward, even without flexing. Coach then reached both hands back and placed his fists near the top of his waist. As he faced away from me I heard, “IF YOU WANT TO WATCH A MOVIE SOMETIME, JACKSON, I KNOW WHERE YOU CAN FIND A WIDE SCREEN! HAHA!” As Coach joked he slowly unfurled his incredible lat muscles. Throwing his elbows out wider...and wider. He unfanned his lats and I was astounded. He looked to be 25 ft wide!! Saliva dripped from my open mouth as Coach presented me with an Olympia quality back lat spread. Somehow, I audibly emanated a “wow” and saw my hero's body bounce slightly as he chuckled at my verbal awe. From over his shoulder, Coach added with a cocky grin, “OF COURSE, HOW CAN I SHOW OFF MY HAMSTRINGS AND GLUTES WITH THIS BIG BAGGY SHEET?” I gasped as Coach undid the sheet and it fell to the ground. I again gasped as two of the most glorious ass muscles that ever existed loomed above me about 25 ft up in the air. His glutes were just as developed as the rest of him, sitting atop his ribbed hamstrings and presenting a tight crease where his hamstrings and glutes met. The old adage, 'you could bounce a quarter off that ass' was apt here, only in his case you could use a manhole cover instead! Coach adjusted his stance and really squeezed his glutes, which shockingly tightened even further revealing a clear concave dimple in each glute. I was certain that butt could squeeze coal in diamond. By this time, I was rock hard although I hadn't even noticed. The titanic man of muscle in front of me was just too much. Even slightly bigger, harder and more muscular than when I saw him in the pool the other day, and now seeing him in his full gigantic glory under the bright indoor lights had me at full mast, harder than I'd ever been in my life. And it was only going to get hotter as Coach slowly turned around to face me. As he turned I quickly spotted...it. Jutting far out past his his hip. Like me, his posing session had turned him on. Coach only had to twist his body by about 30 degrees before the enormous cock head came into view. He continued turning slowly around to face me, his battering ram making a wide arc out in front of him. Finally he was facing me with his hands on his hips and his erection jutting out directly above my head. With him being so huge his face was obscured from me by the pornstar-sized schlong. Coach chuckled and twisted his hips slightly, again exposing me to his handsome smiling face. “POSING ALWAYS GET'S ME EXCITED, HOPE YOU DON'T MIND, LITTLE BRUTE.” I saw his massive eyes drop slightly downward as he took notice of my own tenting shorts. “IT LOOKS LIKE MASSIVE MUSCLE FLEXING GETS YOU EXCITED TOO, JACKSON! WHY DON'T YOU LOSE THE SHORTS, AND JOIN ME IN POSING. PERHAPS I CAN GIVE YOU A COUPLE OF POINTERS.” I dropped my shorts and kicked them to the side as Coach Wood gave me a whistle. “YOU ARE ONE FINE SPECIMEN OF YOUNG SEXY BEEF, JACKSON,” he said as I felt myself go into a full body blush. “THOSE EXTRA 15 LBS OF MUSCLE ARE SUITING YOU VERY WELL. IT GOES WELL WITH THAT IMPRESSIVE COCK YOU'RE SPORTING THERE, LITTLE STUD.” I grinned up at Coach as he peered far down into my own relatively tiny eyes. “HOW ABOUT A MOST MUSCULAR? LIKE THIS!” Coach's chest tilted forward toward me and it felt like a wall was falling at me, causing me to flinch just slightly. He brought his fists together just above his waist and FLEXED every muscle of his torso down at me. His width seemingly doubled in size as each muscle tightened into frightening definition. The fibers snaking across the top of his chest looked to be as large as ropes to me as he smirked and growled and held the pose. I grinned up at him and mimicked his pose as best as I could, bringing my own hands together in front of me. Of course, being at a level 40-some feet below him I couldn't much hunch forward, but I did my best to crab my torso muscles and sneer up at coach. “OH YEAH, JACKSON. LOOKING POWERFUL. YOU'RE GOING TO GIVE ME A RUN FOR MY MONEY I SEE! ALL THE LITTLE GIRLS AND BOYS WILL BE ALL OVER YOUR BUFF BODY.” I reveled in his praise. “BUT...I DON'T THINK YOU CAN QUITE COMPETE WITH THIS!!!” Coach raised both his monstrous arms up and brought his hands together behind his head. His bulbous lats flared out like a the wings of a peacock. Each arm seemingly doubled in size as the muscles of the limbs fought for space and bunched against each other. Each biceps was so massive the peaks were pressing against his own temples. The exposed hairy armpits were so deep and cavernous due to his incredible pectorals and delts that I could've gone spelunking in them. He swung one massive leg out in front of himself and planted his foot, which was longer than I was tall, right in front of me. He growled down at me as he crunched his abs together and flexed his godly quadriceps, giving me the most amazing abs-and-thighs pose ever seen on this earth. From my vantage point just below his shins I was looking up at a tower of thick, powerful, bodybuilder muscle and manhood. Coach's own proportionally 13 inch cock, that is, 13 inches if he were still a 6 ft 6 mortal, loomed above me like a battering ram, flanked on each side by tons of warm, veiny, dense muscle. I broke my pose and just stared way up in awe, my own cock now leaking. I could barely speak. “So...so big...so huge...” I muttered and my hero smirked as he heard. “Coach Wood, you are amazing. Wow, I've never been so turned on by a man before. You are amazing, sir. No man on this earth could ever compete with you. Those muscles, that definition, that...that...monster cock. You make every man on this planet look like a...pathetic weakling! You are so...so hot!” He relaxed the pose and chuckled before giving me a warm smile. “THAT MAY BE TRUE JACKSON, BUT I DON'T WANT YOU OR ANY OF YOUR TEAMMATES TO EVER THINK OF YOURSELVES AS PATHETIC WEAKLINGS. I MAY BE IN A LEAGUE OF MY OWN, BUT YOU ARE MY PLAYERS AND I WANT YOU TO BE THE BEST MEN YOU CAN BE. YOU ARE A STUD, JACKSON. YOU'RE TALENTED, SMART, ATHLETIC, YOU'VE GOT A FANTASTIC BODY...” I noticed now that Coach was playing with his tumescent log. “...AND YOU ARE HANDSOME TO BOOT.” Coach sighed as his massive eyes bored holes into my own. I could feel the tension in the air. It was then that I realized I had been full on jacking my dick while talking with Coach. “YOU ARE SUCH A GOOD LOOKING YOUNG MAN. FUCK, I JUST CAN'T HELP IT!” Coach suddenly stooped over and reached his mighty right hand down and wrapped his fingers around me. I lurched up into the air as he picked me up. He moved me up to his waist where we sat me down straddling the magnificent caber that was his cock. I leaned back against his pelvis, his trimmed pubic hair scratching against my back. “JACK OFF WITH ME MR. MASON JACKSON, I HAVEN'T GOT OFF SINCE THAT EVENING IN THE POOL I'M SO PENT UP.” I stared forward and saw his monstrous hands work down and back on the mighty erection. The sequoia sized, sinewy forearms moving toward and away from me in rhythmic motion. I titled my head back and looked up and saw the underside of his gigantic pecs hiding his face from view. Each nipple pointed down toward me due to his herculean development. I joined him and began beating my own dick in the same rhythm as coach. After a few minutes of heavy mutual masturbation I could feel my body becoming warm and wet, dampened from my own sweat and my coach's. I could hear Coach's breathing picking up along with mine. He then again reached toward me and picked me up with his right hand. He lifted me up and held me in front of his sex-glazed eyes. “FEEL MY MUSCLES, JACKSON.” He then lifted his left arm and flexed. He maneuvered me over and laid me down on top of the flexed biceps muscle! My ass was sitting in the crook of his arm while I leaned forward and hugged the granite mound of flesh. Coach flexed and unflexed his arm and I felt myself rise and fall against it. The motion of the muscle fibers bunching and elongating against my groin caused stimulated me to start humping his muscle. Coach signed heavily, “OH YEAH JACKSON, THAT'S SO HOT. FUCK MY MONSTER BICEPS, MY LITTLE BRUTE!” My body was on fire as I leaned forward to lick the flexing mass underneath me. At his size, the split in his biceps was as big as the cleavage between a normal-sized bodybuilder's pecs. I continued to grind my rock hard cock against his arm. At one point I glanced to the side and down 25 ft or so to see coach using his free hand to furiously jack his own meat. “OOOOOOHHHH YEAH LITTLE BUDDY. LET'S BLOW TOGETHER!” Coach began to flex and unflex faster, bringing me to a fever pitch of muscular stimulation. Not 30 seconds later both of our bodies tightened. Coach flexed his biceps harder than ever, his forearms pressing against my back forcing my body into his boulder-sized muscle. We both groaned loudly and blew our loads in sync. I was only slightly disappointed that I didn't get to see his geyser, but unloading my balls on his biceps was more than enough to make up for it. As we calmed down Coach reached over and gently lifted me from his arm, his wet, jizz soaked fingers encircled my waist and he set me on the ground. I looked behind me to see various pools of white cum dotting the turf of the field house. I looked back up at Coach and saw one of the hottest things I had ever seen. Coached smirked down at me, again flexed his left biceps muscle and brought it toward his mouth. He stuck his tongue out and licked up my own load off the taught, titanic biceps. “MMMM, NOT ONLY ARE YOU A STUD, YOU TASTE GREAT TOO, JACKSON.” To clean up, we again snuck our way into the pool. Once we were clean Coach dismissed me for the night. “GET SOME REST, JACKSON. WE'VE GOT A BIG GAME TOMORROW. AND, I NEED TO GO BACK AND FIGURE OUT HOW I'M GOING TO CLEAN UP MY MESS IN THE FIELD HOUSE,” he chuckled. My roommate and I were hanging out as we prepared for bed. We talked excitedly about how our first game would go tomorrow. Suddenly the power went out, which was odd since there were no storms in the area. Luckily, since it was Friday night neither of us were in the middle of any homework assignments so no school work was lost. About 10 minutes later the power came back on. We watched some TV before settling in and drifting off to sleep, excited for the chance to play for our giant football coach the following day.