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Hello all. I've been around the forum for some time, and regularly post pictures, but this is my first actual story I've written for the forums. I've chatted on Skype and Discord about freakishly, inhumanly, conditioned bodybuilders and those chats have inspired me to write this (I’ve also posted some of those chat logs here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/9851-extreme-conditioningfreakishly-lean-chat-logs/) I’ve decided to write a contest prep journal of sorts. Following the main character from the start of prep at 16 weeks out up to the competition and immediately after (for those unfamiliar with bodybuilding contest prep, 16 weeks is the standard time you diet for to get ready for a show). Since prep usually starts out slow I move through the beginning quickly and become more detailed the closer he gets. In standard muscle fiction style though, this is no ordinary bodybuilder and no ordinary prep as he ends up becoming the leanest, most inhumanly conditioned bodybuilder anyone has ever seen. I hope people enjoy it. Special thanks to @ShreddedFreaksLoverfor his Jeff stories and the inspiration they have provided, and to all those shred and vascularity lovers I’ve chatted with over the years for the material to draw from. Also thanks to @muscledlust for inspiring me to share some of my rants on conditioning and to all those I've chatted with over the years. The main character’s name is Sven, he’s competed in bodybuilding once before. He also has a day job as an engineer and professor at a university. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 16 Weeks Out Here we go again. It’s been four years since I last competed. My first, last, glorious failure on the stage. Why am I doing this again? After all that pain? After I swore I’d never step on stage again? I get angry just thinking about it. That stupid so called friend and training partner who said he’d help me prep. The feeling of abandonment and disillusionment I felt after the show, of being kicked by the curb and forgotten. Why? Who knows. It’s a world I’ve never fit in. Never been “one of the guys”. Perhaps that’s good though. Most the people I’ve meet in this sport are self-centered, shallow, assholes. Maybe it’s better I’ve never quite fit. I was so angry after that show. Angry at him, angry at all the people I knew at that gym, angry at myself. No, angry isn’t right, disappointed. I had serious potential. I could have won. I had been training for years. Obsessed with muscle and bodybuilding ever since I was a little kid. I remember the first time I saw a bodybuilder, or, at least highly muscular man. Thank god for Soloflex commercials and ESPN. I didn’t even know what I was looking at. All I knew was it was power and masculinity at a level I had never seen. Wearing only a stripped black and yellow spandex singlet, muscles exploding through the fabric. Huge, monstrous, unbelievable muscles. Bowling ball sized biceps, perfectly round and split. A ripped eight pack clearly visible through the fabric. Thighs so big they pushed their legs apart threatening to rip the singlet apart at the seams. Capped with an impossibly massive set of shoulders. So wide and round it looked like he had stuffed football shoulder pads under his skin. Absolute power and strength in human form. I wanted that. I wanted to be that. I was hooked. Anything with muscle, it didn’t matter what kind. Gymnasts, football players, strongmen, bicyclists (big thighs and calves), exercise videos, workout machine commercials, adds for weight lifting sets in Boys Life, muscular actors on TV, and of course the holy grail, bodybuilding books and magazines (this was before the internet). But always in secret. I knew such interests would not sit well with my family, they wouldn’t understand. I was a geek. A young, awkward, probably slightly aspergers, engineer and band geek from a family of academics. We simply didn’t do football, or weightlifting, or “manly” sports. We cross country skied and ran. I hate running. Secretly, at night, I would stuff clothes under my sweatshirt and flex in the mirror a-la Hans and Franz from Saturday Night Live. Wishing I had muscles like those men I so admired. I was always fascinated by american football shoulder pads. Not because I wanted to play football, but because I love the illusion of size and width they gave. Seeing those massive men with mountain range wide capped shoulders and lycra encased tree trunk legs was all I ever cared about with that game. I'd also sneak into my parents closet and steal my dads spandex cycling shorts and bibs. The connection between muscle and compression wear was always apparent to me and I loved the way it felt. Powerful, masculine, strong. In high school, as soon as I was old enough, I started to train, quietly, slowly, under the radar. Some friends and I started lifting at the local YMCA. It was a 45 minute bus ride, one way, and not the most glamorous of places. This was no LA Fitness. The gym was in the old pool (literally). No windows, all tile walls, no AC. I was in heaven. My friends lasted 3 weeks, I never stopped. Despite being a geek and never playing any sports I was always strong for my size. I took quite naturally to lifting. I had no trainer, no guide, and relied on books and articles, but I made good progress. The start of the journey from 140 lb band geek to 230 lb wall of muscle. I love training. Being in the gym is home to me. I'm absolutely addicted. Training your ass off to get bigger and stronger. The mental and physical discipline required. The meticulous diet, every bite engineered not for enjoyment but to fuel and develop your muscles even further. Getting in the gym and working harder than anyone else around you. Pushing beyond what is normal and human, past pain, past weakness, and training like a fucking animal. Your every move, every thought and action dedicated to one goal, one purpose, to transform yourself from a normal, undisciplined, weak, human into a walking god of muscle and power. Unrecognizable from your previous state. No other sport can do that. Turn a man into a god. The longer I trained the more I became obsessed not only with muscle, the size and the power, but with conditioning. Seeing a bodybuilder with obscene road map vascularity, razor sharp cuts, paper thin, grotesque skin, and the most magnificent and shocking off all, striated, alien walnut glutes. It all made the muscle all that more intense and primal. The bodybuilder no longer looked human. No longer a mortal man, but now transformed into a being of raw muscle and fiber. I remember way back when Rich Gaspari freaked everyone out when he walked on stage for the first time with striated glutes. No one had ever seen anything like it before or even imagined it for that matter. It stunned the entire crowd. Now straited glutes are standard, almost required. I love how bodybuilders keep pushing the envelope of what people think the human body is capable of. Evolving into more and more perfected forms. To me the pinnacle of that evolution is conditioning. Zero percent bodyfat, veins covering every inch of skin, cuts so deep you can lose your finger in them, and saran wrap thin transparent skin. Conditioning is the great equalizer. It doesn't matter if your huge roided up bodybuilder or a men's physique guy, conditioning wins, period. It separates the amateurs from the complete freaks who have taken their sport and dedication to the next level. You could have 50 lb more muscle on you than another guy but if he is peeled to the bone without an ounce of fat or water, he wins. Everyone else on stage looks fat in comparison. That is why I love bodybuilding. The transformation from normal human to inhuman, god like, perfection. Through absolute discipline, an insane work ethic, and relentless effort the pinnacle of the evolution of male physique can be achieved. It’s beautiful because it is so rare and difficult. Only the most dedicated ever get close. Seeing how far it can be taken. Seeing how perfected and absolutely fat, water, and skin free the body can become. Becoming a walking anatomy chart that makes people puke and look away when they see it. To me that is the ultimate goal. Let the mass freaks have their day, I vote for the beyond shredded competitor every time. I've been around bodybuilding contests and bodybuilders for a long time. It's insane when you see someone in person with that truly contest ready, obscene, level of conditioning. You can't look away. Every movement is like a cascade of alien muscle and fibers. It's unreal. Nothing about the person looks human. Everything on their body is ripped beyond belief, not just the normal bodybuilding muscles. Their face, hands, feet, everything. Not to mention those gorgeous, walnut like, striated glutes. You don't count as ripped in my book unless your ass looks alien and your face has striations. One of my favorite parts is the face. That sunken in, skinless, skelator diet face you get when you've really achieved anatomy chart status. You can see the jaw muscle fibers and every disgusting cut and insertion on their face. One of the hottest looks I've ever seen. I love the thought of people being able to know you're that ripped just by seeing your face. Fully clothed and you know there’s an inhuman freak underneath, just from one look. I have fantasies about what being that lean must be like. Walking around knowing no one else around you comes even close to the level of perfection you've achieved. Going to the gym and taking your shirt off in the locker room to change and people just stare in awe and disgust. Not so much a freak as a superior man (which can sound bad, but I don't mean it that way). Knowing that you've developed your physique to a level of size and conditioning most will never approach. Perfected and carved like a masterpiece. Knowing you put in the hard work, diet, and training to obtain the physique you want while most others just dream of it. Seeing how others react when they see what a human body can really look like. What it can achieve, compared to their pathetic, fat, weak bodies. The unwavering discipline that you have that they don't. Ultimate alpha status. Wearing normal clothes, knowing that under your shirt is the most insane, grotesque, beyond humanly ripped physique anyone has ever seen, or even dreamed of for that matter. Being at work and knowing you’re an absolute freak. Under your shirt is a dry and skinless eight pack, crawling with veins. Your quads are disgusting road maps with inch deep cuts, and your glutes are so shredded you leave ridges in chairs when you sit on them. You eat chicken and broccoli while everyone else eats doughnuts and hot pockets. You fuel your body and goals, never wavering in your discipline, they don’t. People stare at your face when you walk by, talking behind your back about how "gross" it looks. Your hands covered with hundreds of veins, the skin so thin it gets sucked between each finger. Looking down, lifting up your shirt, and revealing the most grotesque, alien, vein covered abs anyone has ever seen. People around you gasp and stagger back at the sight. It's so unreal, so mutated and alien, people can't even comprehend what they're seeing. You've pushed your body and your conditioning to such an extreme level you no longer even resemble a normal human. The ultimate goal of any bodybuilder, to become so freakish people can't even comprehend what they see. To push what it means to be human to entirely new levels of size, development, and conditioning. Waking up in the morning and seeing your reflection in the bathroom mirror. Barely even able to recognize yourself. Living your life as a fucking freak. Looking down and seeing this skinless, vein covered mutant. Even touching your own body feels alien. All your hard work reflected in that body. Moving your paper-thin skin around your abs and watching how it forces the veins to move. Flexing your pecs and being able to count the sinews and feel each ridge and valley. Knowing you want more. Seeing how your skin could be thinner, the sinews in your chest ever deeper. Waking up every morning knowing that your leaner and freakier than the day before. In bed feeling that your abs are that bit tighter, skin that bit thinner, a new vein in your quad. It feels incredible. You can see the transformation before your eyes almost. That pushes to you work even harder. To be even more strict and disciplined. To push it to the next level and then the next. It becomes addicting. Wanting that feeling every morning. Not being able to wait to see what the mirror tells you you've become. What new level of beyond human conditioning you’ve achieved. I also sometimes wonder if their cocks also get just as freaky and vascular. I love the idea of this shredded as fuck, vein covered, muscular cock to go with that body. So lean even the head has a web of veins popping out. Rock hard, pulsing with garden hose thick veins. The perfected cock for the perfected human body. I think they’d be able to work out their cocks just like they work their muscles. Training them and getting some unreal muscle tissue and development. Bringing the definition of dick skin shreddedness to a whole new level. Crafting this muscular, alien, beast cock. So muscular and strong it can lift weights just like any other muscle. Hold up a man with their cock alone. The true definition of dick skin. Becoming so shredded your entire body is one giant muscular, inhuman, cock of muscle. My ideal cock would be that. Huge, angry, and just as grotesque as the body of the man who possessed it. You could see it bulging angrily against my shorts, so massive and thick you can see its veins through the fabric. Pulsing with blood and power. Trained and perfected just like my muscles. I'm able to exert absolute control over it, flexing and pumping it like a muscle. Able to make it rock hard on command, leaking pre-cum on command. Fed from my massive freak balls. Trained to produce limitless amounts of pre and cum. My cock able to orgasm over and over without ever getting soft. No limit to what it can do. Thicker than a beer can and over a foot long hard. Almost a being all its own. Developed to such a point it’s no longer a just a cock but an embodiment of pure muscle and power. Men see it and instantly try and look away but cannot. They stare at it. Massive and red, angry with power and size. An obscene web of veins crawling over the shaft, wrapping around it, feeding its power. The massive bright red pulsing head. So bloated and developed the fibers running along its surface flex and twitch at my command making the head resemble two huge striated pecs. I watch in horror as I flex and turn my cock head into a symphony of striations and cuts. The massive slit running down the middle, endlessly leaking pre like a fountain. I imagine curling plates with it. The shaft pumping up and flexing growing an even more intense red. It's as if my cock is on fire, burning with uncontainable power and desire. The huge veins explode causing the shaft to transform into an alien roadmap of pulsing, squirming, mountains feeding my cock with more blood, forcing it bigger and bigger. I can see it growing right before my eyes. No longer a remotely human cock, but a grotesque mutation of muscle and testosterone. The true cock of the beyond human, shredded, and skinless god who I’ve become. The ultimate cock for the ultimate physique. All of this which brings me back to that competition. I was big, 250-260 lb offseaon at that time. Fluffy. I had never competed before, so I had some weight to lose to compete. Like most newer guys size was always more important to me than conditioning. Eat, lift, grow, eat, lift, grow, screw cardio. I had no idea how to prep for a show, so I asked a friend from the gym to help me. Long story short, things went south. My so called friend disappeared 5 weeks before the show, I lost my discipline and motivation, and everything feel apart. I came in soft, I didn’t place well, and I was disappointed and angry. I swore I’d never compete again. But it’s always there. Always nagging at me. That desire to try again. To do it right. To show all those so-called friends I had had what a freak I could really be. To set the record straight and prove to myself I could do it. I want to wipe the stage with their pathetic physiques. Win the contest without even hitting one pose. And I feel like I could now. I have the support of my new husband, I’m more stable and secure, and I know what I want. So, being an engineer, I went full OCD, turned on research mode, and came up with a plan. One of my all-time favorite freaks is John Meadows. His conditioning is always fucking unreal. His skin is so dry and thin it's just this grainy, disgusting, paper thin layer holding in an obscene amount of muscles and veins. Just looking at him almost makes you turn in disgust. Cut with veins cover every inch in such number you can barely see anything but vein and muscle. Plus he always touts the most awesome death face and just mutated appearance. Fucking love him. Old man grainy dick skin to an entirely new level. The freaky as fuck thing is that he stays almost that conditioned all year round. It's insane. I read every book he wrote, every training article I could get my hands on, watched every video. I attended seminars with him and learned all I could about contest prep and how to achieve his inhuman level of conditioning. I did this with other bodybuilders too. Frank McGrath, Dorian Yates, Miha Zupan, Helmut Strebl, Alessandro Galli and Carlton Loth among others. Every shredded to the bone, ripped beyond humanity bodybuilder I could find. I learned all I could. I also researched penis enhancement and training literature. Not only did I want to bring the most inhumanly shredded physique the world had ever seen to the stage, I wanted the freak muscle cock to go with it. I developed a training plan and drug regiment aimed at turning my modestly sized cock into a grotesque freak of nature. I’ve already started on this part. A year ago, I started pumping my cock religiously. First just the shaft, and then moving to the entire package. It felt incredible. At first, I couldn’t pump it up much, but over time my ligaments loosened and my cock became accustomed to the routine. Now in a marathon session I can pump it to over 10 inches in length, thicker than a beer can, bright red and pulsing with pre-cum. My balls the size of grapefruit. A true monster cock. I love the feeling of it between my legs. So massive and heavy. The massive mushroom head has become super sensitive and the slit leaks pre almost constantly. I’ve also gained greater control over my cock due to the pumping. My cum volume has markedly increased and I can generate an almost non-stop stream of pre-cum. I can get rock hard on command and my cock is more sensitive than ever. It’s almost like having your cock edged all day. Constant arousal and pleasure. I’m always at least semi-hard. It’s incredible walking around with it pumped, though it took some getting used to. Going to the gym and seeing it bulge through my shorts. Seeing others look, unsure of what they see, unsure if they want to see what they see. The feeling of absolute male power it gives me. Knowing I have a bigger cock than anyone else around. Silly I know, but nothing says alpha male like a giant leaking cock. But it’s not enough. I don’t just want a big pumped cock, nice as it is. I want a massive, shredded, muscular beast cock. Something so obscene men gag at the sight. Something no longer human. The pumping was just the first stage. Getting it used to being huge, being stretched and pumped. Now it was time to start stage two. I planned to train and supplement my cock just like a muscle. Take its now massive pumped state and transform it into a grotesque muscle cock. Now contest prep starts. It’s time to get revenge for my past. To set things straight. I want to walk on that stage the most conditioned, most inhumanly shredded freak of nature the world has ever seen. An absolutely skinless, walking anatomy chart, god of muscle without a single ounce of fat, water, or skin on my body. No longer remotely human. I will be the next Rich Gaspari. The next bodybuilder to shock the world with an unimaginable level of conditioning. Something never before seen or even dreamed of. But that’s not enough. Bodybuilders to this point have neglected their cocks. The perfect bodybuilder would have a cock to match their physique. Hell, some are even ashamed of the bulge in their posing suits. They try to hide it! I will treat it just as any other muscle. I will walk on that stage with a true muscle cock worthy of my perfected, skinless, physique. Bulging obscenely against my poser. The massive shaft and garden hose thick veins clearly visible through the fabric. Leaking an ever growing wet spot of pre. Flexing bigger and harder with every pose I strike. That will be my gift to the world of bodybuilding. Absolute development and perfection of the human body. A new state of masculinity and power. So that’s the plan. Start prep now, enter the contest, and fucking destroy everyone. I want to win without even hitting a pose. Win just taking off my shirt backstage. Hell, win just by letting them see my grotesque and peeled face. Have people puking and gagging just at the sight of me. Unable to even comprehend the skinless, vein covered, mass of fibers and striations in front of them. Wondering how such a person can even exist and, secretly, wanting it. Seeing their faces drop as they realize the have no chance of winning against the freak I've become. They may as well just quit now and save themselves the embarrassment of standing next to me on stage. Of going through their routine pretending that they could even compare, even begin compete against what I've achieved. Standing in witness to the next evolution of bodybuilding. It all starts now… To be continued.
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Host: Hello everyone and welcome to another season of "Gainers". I am your host Freddi Fit and you may remember me from becoming the muscle alpha I am today on our very first season just three years ago. *Freddi Fit raises a double bicep flex, stretching his button down short sleeves to their limit. "After all, who can forgot that glorious moment when I was voted to steal everything from Hank The Tank who had been growing massive all season. It was a major upset and the audience was ready to see a new alpha show that brute a lesson. Since then I've been living the dreams as America's hunkiest bodybuilder. Well tonight this dream begins once again with 8 brand new contestants. After twelve weeks, one of them will be left with a hulking body while the others leave smaller than they came. And like always, every week you the audience will decide who gets what. Now let's not waste any time here and meet our contestants. Screen switches to contestant video number one. A nineteen year old college wrestler named Cam. "Hey everyone! The name is Cameron, or Cam for short. I've been wrestling for six years and I can't wait to show the other men who the real jock is gonna be. Maybe if you're lucky you might even see me put some of them in headlocks and drain the muscle from them." Screen switches to contestant video number two. A 39 year old college professor who has been working out for many years. "Hello everyone, it Max here. I've been a health science teach for about 10 years and have always wanted more in life. I'm hoping to win and become the next leading model for muscle god magazine. Either way, I'm hoping to teach the other men a thing or two about what it means to be blessed with muscle." Screen switches to contestant number 3. A 24 year old ex fire fighter who recently begun a modeling career. "If you thought fighting fires was hot, wait till you see me on nothing but my suspenders. Hey everyone my names chad. Make sure you vote for me this season so I can become the muscular flame that makes you sweat." Screen switches to contestant number 4. A 31 year old cop from NYC. "Hey. It's Stu. I've been lifting ever since becoming a cop, but to keep the streets safe, I'm going to need your help to grow my guns and have the fire power needed to intimidate the bad guys and fight crime." Screen switches to contestant number 5. A 27 year old businessman. "Hello everyone, being a businessman keeps me quite busy. So I'm going to need your help building these muscles as big as they can get so I can really fill out my suites nicely! By the way, the name is Dominique." Screen switches to contestant number 6. A 42 year old father. "Hello everyone. My name Ken. Before I had children I was in pretty good shape. However since then I've begun to get out of shape. I need your help to be bigger and better than I was when I was younger." Screen switches to contestant number 7. A 21 year old college graduated pursuing a career in acting. "Hey y'all. Zac here. I've been trying to make it big as an actor but you know they are looking for muscular guys these days. Help me become a jacked up actor." Screen switches to contestant number 8. A 25 year old man living in his parents house. "Hi everyone. I'm Tony, and I've been having a really hard time finding a job. Can you help me you help me out and give me the chance to pursue a career in fitness and get the hell out of my parents house. They'd really appreciate it as well!" Tony is clearly the smallest guy. Although he still has slight hints of muscle, there isn't much for the others to take. Host: "Well don't we just have a great batch this year. The group will be entering the growth cell now where they will spend the next 12 weeks changing. Go online now to vote for your top 4 favorite guys who will receive a special serum boost tomorrow night to start off the game. And don't forget to send in your nicknames for each dude. The most votes will decide what we call each contestant from here on. Anyways. Goodnight Gainer fans! Freddi Fit signing off!" *Freddie fit solutes the camera and transitions in to an archer pose as the credits roll.*
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"Too big,” they’d said. Lose about 25 lbs and you’d place a lot higher. Tighten it up and come in smaller and more toned, and you’d have a good shot at winning. Those were the judges critiques at last year’s Olympia. It was a shame that women’s bodybuilding was so...so.... lame? Wasn’t the point of bodybuilding to get BIGGER muscles? Why have a heavyweight division if they’re only going to say I’m TOO BIG? Wasn’t that why they created bikini and physique? For those cute little muscle Barbies? Not for us musclebound women intent on being the best. And oh boy, do I intend on being the BEST, the BIGGEST, the MOST MUSCULAR woman alive... Screw the IFBB and everyone at the Olympia. I don’t need them or their contests to know who I am. “Too big.” You’re damn straight. They had no idea just how right they were.. I’ll show them too big alright, just wait until they get a load of this bulky muscle monster now! When I placed at that very bottom last year, I admit...I became deeply depressed. All the hard work, all the blood sweat and tears for naught. Did the judges not know how hard I lifted? How insanely strict my diet was? Did they not appreciate my time and dedication? So much of my life was devoted to winning, only to find out that I was the absolute worst competitor in their eyes? Well screw them! I built muscle so easily. I’d always tried to my hardest to be lean and well proportioned. But screw that, not anymore! My new goal is to gain as much muscle as possible. And let me tell ya, nobody packs it on like me! I am a muscle-building MACHINE! Heck, at 18 years old I had 18 inch biceps, 20 inches at 21, and at last year’s Olympia my arms were 23 inches. I was 33 then...I’ll be turning 34 the day before the next Olympia. Trust me when I say, my arms will be AT LEAST 34 inches. But is that my ultimate goal? NAH! My goals are so much loftier now than they have ever been- impossible for any other man or woman, even with drugs. Am I insane? Am I insane to want this, to add so much muscle? Yes. Yes I am. My entire life has been a balance between my family and my passion for bodybuilding. My husband and daughter are my number one priority. And they always will be. They both could see how devastated I was. I didn’t eat right, or lift at all for 3 months. I was sleeping 15 hours a day. My husband told me to do whatever it takes to feel myself again. Whatever it takes to get my revenge. Thank God for that man. He is so supportive (although we all know he's a muscle-lover so it's a win win for him). I won’t let them down. It was 3 months ago I decided to get absolutely massive. It only took a month to get back to where I was before the loss. Another month to get to my current 350 lbs of rock hard muscle. Like I said, I gain muscle so easily. I still have 6 months before the next Olympia. Over the course of 1 month I went from 200 lbs to 220 lbs. I went from 220 lbs to 350 lbs in the span of 2 months. And still 6 more months to go? Yikes. They said I was too big. Just wait. It was 3 months out from Olympia when my husband purposed steroids. I've never done drugs in my life. Hell, I barley even drank alcohol. We both shared a passion for a healthy lifestyle. I scoffed initially, but kept the idea in the back of my mind. Would it really be so bad if started doping? Everyone else did it, and it was a point of pride for me that I never did. But this was about revenge. This was about getting even, settling the score. Showing them JUST how big TOO BIG really was... Two months out. Last week I had broke the smith machine in my house. I'd been doing seated military presses, just some volume work, light weight- high reps, when my daughter snuck up behind me and started tickling me. I inadvertently pressed up on the 500 lbs too quickly and bent the whole machine. When my husband came running in to investigate the awful noise, I just shrugged my gargantuan basketball-sized shoulders and grinned sheepishly. There really wasn't enough weight in my home gym to challenge me anymore, so no biggie! My brother was in the Navy and had managed to procure some anchor chains from a battleship. An early birthday present he'd said. I was initially nervous, I didn't want him to get in trouble! But he just pretended to zip his lips and rolled his eyes. He's a goofball but I love him. Ironically he did end up in trouble when he returned back to his ship. His superiors weren't happy when he told them he broke three ribs in a "fight." I might have hugged him a tad too tightly. Anyway...back to my workouts. My husband had found an old warehouse his company owned, and combined with the chains and some construction equipment we bought, I was really able to let loose! What were already unheard of gains were now well past inhuman, and they were only increasing more and more. My body was a temple of pure muscle mass and strength. I'd also started pills and injections. An old friend who was a doctor had moved to Brazil, and he’d designed a new muscle-building cocktail specifically tailored to my genetic profile. No negative side-effects: no hair-growth, no acne, no voice changes or facial changes of any kind. It did however greatly increase my aggression. One day, a neighbor had come snooping around to investigate why there was loud banging and rumbling coming from a supposedly-abandoned warehouse. I had barreled across the warehouse, knocking over equipment and flinging anything in my path. My neck veins popped as I ripped the door right off its hinges and tore it in half, spit flying in his face as I roared at him for interrupting. Luckily my husband was there to calm me down. Because I was about to run straight through the concrete wall and go tear the guys house off its foundation. Rampage adverted! Today is the day. The day I take revenge on those ignorant judges. The day I take my rightful place as the best bodybuilder the world has ever know. I entered the auditorium from the rear, just as all the puny contestants were being called out. The main door would attract to much attention...not that I was worried about THAT, I just wanted to scare everyone at once. The fire exit was locked, but I made quick work of it with one quick inward push from my 42 inch forearms. The door was much too narrow- my traps alone wouldn't fit through the standard 32-inch width door. The crowd was cheering so loud they must not have heard the noise as I barged straight through the wall with my obscenely muscle-packed delts. Or the noise and shaking as I rumbled down the hallway. I had been wider than I was tall for weeks. Not hard when you're only 5'3". My 8 foot wide shoulders smashed up against either side. My legs were so massively thick, pumped and musclebound that I had to swing my whole body around to move, causing my shoulders and arms to gouge into the walls and absolutely demolish them. When I got to the stage entrance, a big burly security guard spotted me and tried to stop me. Now, a 6'6" 300 lbs man's size would normally intimidate most people. Haha! I was double his weight...TWO MONTHS AGO. I was easily tipping 950 lbs at this point and growing every minute. Those roids had done wonders! Doing one arm curls with a multi-hundred pound anchor chain attached to a Ford Escort had pushed my arms well beyond 120" and they were freakishly cut and vascular. When the guard put his hand on my chest to stop me, I simply lost it. Anger turned to pure rage as I started clenching my fists- how dare he try and stop me, the ULTIMATE beefcake from her destiny. Freaky veins turned nightmarish as all the steroids began to mix with my hatred for all things Olympia. The 300lb man didn't stand a chance as I walked right through him. The impact of my bulldozer-benching pectorals effortlessly sent the guard flying 15 feet out onto the brightly lit stage. He landed on top of the contestants, knocking a few to their feet. The commotion silenced the cheering crowd. As the MC turned to see the disturbance he nearly fainted at the sight of my giga-mass. My extreme tan contrasted perfectly with my bright white Nike Shox, red bikini top and booty shorts. I looked like a UFC ring-girl who absorbed the Hulk and then overdosed on Human Growth Hormone. Contestants eyed me with both awe and fear. The judges called for more security- two men similar to the first came rushing towards me. Something primal in me snapped as I grabbed each man by the throat and quickly threw them into the crowd below me. I stomped to the edge of the stage and leered down at the judges with a sadistic grin and evil glint in my smoky eyes. My heart began to race as steroid-filled blood coursed through my veins, compounding with my intense rage for the biggest pump of my life. "Look at me now! Am I too big for you now?" I roared, cranking down into THE most muscular pose. I reached down a hoisted up two of the judges by their shirt collars. Spit flying in their faces, I roared, "Look at the monster you've created, this is all thanks to you!" I obsessively began doing bicep curls with their pathetic bodies, pumping my biceps faster and faster. Their weight was far too light and only added to my intense need to make them feel my wrath! Both judges wet their pants and lost consciousness. Angered even more, I hurled the two bodies out into the stands, the impact surely crippling the judges. Seeing them lying their motionless fueled my lust for revenge, for more dominance and violence! Glaring out at the world over my multi-foot deep pectoral cleavage, I grabbed the microphone stand next to me and pulled from either end. The stretched metal sheared in half from the brute power and strength of my bare hands. Audience members and contestants screamed and ran. "Yes! Run! Be scared! Be VERY SCARED!!! You are about to witness the rise of a goddess! The rise of a MUSCLE MONSTER! I am a massively pumped-up muscle building powerhouse, and I. WILL. HAVE. MY. REVENGE!" Swinging my behemoth body I hurled the twisted metal shards at the rear exits, shattering windows and creating more chaos in the audience as they struggled to exit. With an earthshaking rumble, I leaped down from the stage- my now 1,200+ lbs weight cracking the concrete floor like egg shells and sending tremors that registered on the Richter scale. With an animalistic grunt, I overturned the judges table like it was cardboard, sending it careening end over end. Eyeing the carnage and destruction with equal parts glee and fury, my attention fell on my ultimate prize: the stage. Who knows how heavy a full stage is? No seriously...I want to know. There had to have been at least a full ton just in the weight of the dozen or so competitors still on stage. Punching my hands through the wood paneling, I found grip on a metal I-beam running the length of the stage. Roaring like a possessed demon, I began to lift the stage. Nothing. How dare this sorry excuse of human engineering defy me! Tensing my monolithic arms, shoulders and legs, I funneled even more horrific power into my insane musclebound body and began to heave up on the structure. Ever so slowly, more and more cracking could be heard and I redoubled my efforts- pouring even MORE god-shaming , titanic, monstrous strength into my incredibly pumped and still-growing muscles. "You thought I was too big before? HA!!! You think I'm big now? Well just wait, I'm only getting started! Mama Pump is here to show you all true power and mass!" With a horrible shearing noise, a large piece of stage splintered and broke off in my hands. After all, it wasn't built to be picked up in one piece...even if someone was actually strong enough to do so. "Pathetic! So weak!" With a maniacal laugh I beat my chest like King Kong and screamed at the futility of fragile steel. My muscles bloating and expanding and pumping bigger and bigger with every huff and puff. Fleeing audience members tripped as the auditoriums foundation shook from the force of my massively overpowered arms slamming into my wrecking-ball sized pecs. They had said I was too big. There was no such thing. A monster had been born, and I was going to keep pumping and growing until every single one of them regretted ever crossing me.
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NOTE: THIS STORY IS GONNA' BE VIOLENT. STOP NOW IF THAT TURNS YOU OFF. When Krishna was a child, he was, for the most part, normal. He always had an unnaturally beautiful face, one that could go on the cover of a magazine without any Photoshop. And he always was strong for his size, and loved playing rough. But nobody could have expected him to become the monster he is today. Once he hit puberty, Krishna’s growth skyrocketed past all human records. Krishna's metabolism was flawless - he never seemed to lose his pump, instead growing bigger and stronger after every workout. His body reacted explosively to even the slightest exertion, pumping up as huge and hard in fifteen minutes as a normal athlete would in an hour. He would eat at least eight times a day - a full meal every two hours - but only seemed to gain muscle, never fat. He could eat ten buckets of Blue Bell and still be as lean and ripped as Mr. Olympia. His heart pumped with enough force to kill an elephant, and his senses were so developed that he could see an ant and hear its footsteps from twenty feet away. His body naturally produced and utilized ten times more growth hormone than an average Olympic gold medalist. But despite experiencing a hyper-puberty that pumped his muscles with enough testosterone to swamp a high school locker room, Krishna never experienced any of the downsides of adolescence. His face seemed to evolve almost overnight from the sweet, effeminate innocence of a child to the seductive, masculine eroticism of an adult. He never once experienced a single pimple or an awkward voice crack. His voice dropped almost instantaneously into a deep, sexual rumble that made Barry White sound like a pipsqueak. His earth-shaking tones were so powerful that he gave straight men boners just by saying his name. He could hardly go through a day at school without giving at least one teacher a standing orgasm. By the time Krishna was a sophomore in high school, he had the body of Mr. Olympia and strength that surpassed any powerlifter. He destroyed the competition on the football field and the wrestling mat. He could shoot with perfect accuracy from anywhere on the basketball court. He ran cross-country with speed that would make Usain Bolt green with envy. And there was a genius brain behind that pretty face with a hunky body - by the end of his freshman year Krishna had already earned a perfect score on the SAT. His brain created neural connections so fast that he could read through entire graduate-level textbooks in a single afternoon. Krishna first learned of his love for violence when he was 15 years old. He was playing a game of football when he saw the kid. There was something about him Krishna hated - maybe it was his ugly smirk, or his nasally voice, or his obnoxious strut. But whatever it was, Krishna decided that he wanted to take the faggot down. He made it look like an accident. Krishna ran straight into him - a tackle so forceful that the man's spine, ribcage, and skull cracked. The boy hit the ground, breathless. After that, it was decided that Krisnha was too dangerous for sports. But Krishna discovered that killing that kid was way more fun than playing football. Later that night, Krishna went to his neighbor's house, an old pervert that was always ogling the hot young teen. Krishna showed up at the door wearing nothing more than a pair of black briefs, which were stressed and strained to the max by the boy's enormous manhood. The homo dropped to his knees, his eyes so wide that they might have popped out, his heart beating so loud that Krishna could actually hear it. The man rubbed his small, weak hands all over Krishna's quads and calves and ass, unable to believe such perfect musculature existed, unable to believe this was really happening, unable to believe that the hottest man in his sad little closeted gay life was standing right in front of him. Krishna pulled out his jawbreaking penis and shoved it in the man's inadequately sized mouth, tearing apart the sides of his lips and dislocating his fragile jaw. When Krishna was done facefucking him, the man was nothing more than a bloody stain on the dirty carpet. Krishna started sneaking out to the city after his parents fell asleep. He would find some skinny boy in an isolated part of the local college campus. Krishna would lead the poor sucker into a dark alley and give him a kiss with his full juicy lips. The guy would be so turned on, never having experienced such an amazing kiss in his boring suburban life, and he would cream his pants with his pitiful seed. Then Krishna would give the closet case a hug, and the poor sap would cream himself again, never imagining that he could ever be surrounded by so much dark,powerful, manly teenage muscle. But then he would squeal and beg for Krishna to let go. But Krishna wouldn't. He would keep tightening and tightening his death hug until the boy chest caved in and his spine shattered. Sometimes Krishna found a couple making out in the corner of a deserted parking lot. Krishna would make eye contact with the male, and the man's erection would grow bigger and harder than any woman could ever make him grow. Then Krishna would grab the woman and fuck her like a jackhammer as her boyfriend watched, his sex so mind-blowing that each and every thrust bringing forth a new orgasm from both the man and woman. Krishna's stamina was so great that he could fuck for hours without stopping. Eventually, the man's heart would give out, unable to handle so much sexual pleasure, and the woman's body would simply fall apart under Krishna's pussy-destroying cock. Once, a cop stepped in on one of Krishna's kills. Krishna started walking towards the cop, and the cop, panicking, drew a gun and emptied his barrel. Krishna dodged the bullets without even looking at them, his lightning-fast reflexes making the superhuman task easy for his overdeveloped body. When he was in arm's reach of the officer, he grabbed the officer by the head and crotch and forced the man’s skull backwards. The officer screamed as his spine cracked and his abs ruptured, Krishna forcing the head back further and further until his torso was bent in half and his head was shoved inside his ass. Then Krishna grabbed the man's arms and legs and ripped them off - Krishna's arms were so strong that the man's muscles and bones tore apart like paper in his hands. Krishna left the man to die - he didn't know whether he would die of blood loss or suffocation first, and he didn't care. The death of the officer was discovered the next day, and the headlines shocked the country. People were horrified of the photo of a muscular, middle-aged cop bent in half, head-in-ass, limbless and bleeding. When Krishna saw that photo, he masturbated to it for six hours. Krishna's career began when he was working out at a gym one day. A bald, tall man approached him. He was nearly as tall as Krishna himself, and would have looked muscular had he been standing next to anybody else. “Hey kid. You a bodybuilder? Powerlifter, maybe?” Krishna looked over at him. He had a confident smile on his face, despite the raging boner in his perfectly ironed dress pants and his nervously shaking hands. Krishna casually bounced his pecs, and chuckled at the way the man's dick jumped with them. “Why do you want to know?” The man strategically adjusted his hands to cover the growing wet spot at his crotch. “I'm an agent for bodybuilders and powerlifters. You're the most promising young man I've ever seen. I can provide you with tons of sponsors. Normally, getting to Mr. Olympia is a lifelong endeavor, but with a body like yours, I'm sure we can…” “Not interested.” Krishna interrupted. “I'm not interested in fame.” As Krishna walked away, the man frantically chased after him, an obvious trail of jism spurting from his pant legs. “Wait! It's not just fame. It's money too! Our sponsors can provide you with food, clothing. You'll be able to grow bigger, stronger. You'll be able to destroy your competition on stage in front of a huge audience. We'll give you all the…” “Destroy.” Krishna growled. The man stopped, practically holding his dick now, trying to stop himself from coming as he took in Krishna's impossibly beautiful body and sonorous, sexual voice. “Destroying the competition… I like the sound of that.” The man nodded vigorously. Now he was frothing at the mouth, his hips bucking, gargling incomprehensibly. “Give me your company's number. Write it down right here - I'll call them later.” The man grabbed the pen and erratically wrote the number down. The handwriting was barely legible, but Krishna was able to make it out. The man pounced on Krishna's relaxed arm, which hung lazily down his side. “Please,” the agent mumbled his last words, “flex it for me.” Krishna smiled, and slowly brought his arm to a horizontal. Then, with a casual flex and a sudden BOOM, the man died, his hands tightly grasping Krishna's literally heart-stopping bicep as he shot seed all over himself. Krishna soon made a name for himself when he broke every major weightlifting record ever set. He could bench and squat over a ton without assistance, for reps. He used weight for one-armed bicep curls that champions used for deadlifts. He became known as “The Last Lifter” because nobody else could ever hope to break a lifting record ever again. There were accusations of steroids, but doctors found nothing but natural teenage hormones flowing through Krishna's bloodstream. When Krishna stepped on the Mr. Olympia stage at 18 years old, he didn't even look like he was the same species as the competition. He stood over a foot and a half taller than the average competitor, with wasplike proportions - his powerful shoulders twice as wide as the biggest competitor, his miniscule waist narrow as a female supermodel. His muscles were unfathomable, so massive and monstrous individually yet so balanced and beautiful in unison. Every single man on stage had the largest erection they had ever experienced in their lives, yet their manhood was still dwarfed by the teen’s mouth-watering flaccidity. One of the judges had a heart attack. The others forgot where they were, so amazed were they by Krishna's unprecedented routine, bedazzled by his gloriously flexing biceps, his shirt-tearing triceps, his eye-popping chest, his tree-like quads. One of the competitors started crying halfway through, and soon, they all were. They weren't just crying that they lost the competition. They were crying that they would never be able to win. Crying that their bodies had no chance of attaining Krishna's size and power and perfection. Crying that not even the strongest performance-enhancing drugs could give them Krishna's body. Crying that their children and their children's children would still look like twigs compared to Krishna. They were crying from Krishna's beauty, his handsome face, his perfect smile, his flawless lips, his gorgeous eyes. Then they came, one by one, an entire stage of full-grown alpha males from around the world cumming at the sight and smell and thought of a single teenage boy, only barely legal but stronger and hotter than every one of them put together. Krishna took his trophy graciously and left the room, walking through a sticky mess of cum and jizz and pussyjuice covering the dead and dying bodies spasming across the floor.
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My Bodybuilder Roommate - a twink turning into a muscle monster
Hapjtakker posted a topic in Story Archive
My best friend was always quite a weakling-he was really tall, 6 foot 5, but never weighed more than 165lbs Until he made some changes... I think it all started some years ago. He just turned 16. At this time My body was already quite well developed. My arms were at 15.75 inches, my legs were big and I had some abs and noticeable pecs. That was when I started working out. I often picked on my friend and fun wrestled him as he had no chance against me (I was 6 feet tall- almost 6 inches shorter than him but weighed 170lbs). It was so funny to see him trying to get out of a headscissor or a headlock by using all his strenght. He someday told me not to humiliate him any longer because he’d feel extremely sad and weak... So when he turned 17 he started hitting the gym too. His first half year transformation was insane! He put on 33lbs! From 165 to 198 lbs. His arms swell like nothing I had ever seen, he probably had 13inch arms but now they were at 15.75! (Mine were 17in at this time.) His legs started to show some muscles and his pecs were already as big as mine. He started to show some abs too. So today, 3.5 years later he’s 20 and took going to the gym quite serious - primarily because he wanted to become a better Football player. We ALWAYS went to the gym together but he gained much faster than I did. He pretty soon was able to deadlift 440lbs several times and benchpress 330lbs once. His legs are at 30inches and his chest at 47inches circumference. His arms don’t look like arms anymore- they passed the 19 inch mark as mine rested only at 18. His abs were fucking ripped and his bulging obliques formed an awesome V-line. He weighed 245lbs and had bulging abs. Just imagine that. People were afraid of him, for example when we went out partying and someone was in his way, they immediately apologised. Also tons of girls felt up his arms and pecs as he bounced them well visible under his tshirt in the middle of the dance floor. One day we were at our flat in the city and had some friends over. We were all quite drunk and made fun of each other. I somehow said something stupid about him. He stood up and “fun wrestled” me. But what was fun for him was hell for me. He grabbed my arms, wrapped them around me, threw me onto the couch, sat down on me, wrapped only one of his huge hands around my throat and said:,, Never disrespect me again in front of everyone else” I was shocked. He was fucking strong. Not even I could have finished him that fast three years ago. He could have killed me in less than 15 seconds if he wanted to... As everyone left he came to me. I thought he’d say sorry or something but instead he just said:,, Now I’m the stronger one of us -,,SHRIMP“! The FAR stronger one! It’s my time to humiliate you now!” I was shook. At that point I was really afraid of him, towering in front of me with his huge muscles. I just said ok, and took some steps away from him, turned around and started going to my room. When he just silently said:,,Now is the time to humiliate YOU...” I turned around and saw how he took off his shirt, uncovering his huuuge pecs and ripped abs. I could almost see the blood rushing through the veins on his chest and arms. I was really afraid at this moment. He threw his shirt to me. “Smell it!” “No, why should i?”, I said “Because I am the alpha now! Sooner or later you’ll smell on it!” He ran to me, grabbed my neck from behind and rubbed his shirt into my face. “But why just smell my shirt, if you could smell... ME!” He turned me around and flexed his arm. “Kiss this biceps.” I just looked at him. “KISS IT!” He pushed my head against his peak and flexed it intermittently. He dragged my head from his biceps over his armpit to his pecs and gave me a bearhug. “Stop! You’re hurting me!” I screamed. He just laughed:,, Hahaha! So what?! That’s not even 50% of my strenght!” He tightened the bearhug even more and bounced his meaty, massive, naked pecs into my face. I got really hard and just hoped that he didn’t notice. My trousers were quite loose and that’s when he noticed. “What have we got here? Lil’ omega boy is aroused by some real steel muscles overpowering him?”, he said as he let go of the bearhug. He dropped me onto the couch. He had me in a headlock immediately. He wrapped his huge biceps around my... my.... mouth?! He really was playing with me... as I wanted to bite his biceps he flexed it, laughed and said: ,,Watch out for your teeth, weakling!” He wrapped his arms around my neck now- totally cutting off my air supply. The only thing that didn’t make me pass out was the fact that he flexed and bounced his 19 inch bicepspeak intermittently. But as he stopped I had to tap. He totally let go of me. I was stunned. It could have been that easy?! His arms were almost half way back at him as he wrapped them around y neck again, layed on my back and said:,, Only weaklings tap...” and he made me pass out. I woke up again. All I saw were his massive calves because he put me in a headscissor while I was knocked out. First thing I noticed were all those veins running down his super hairless tree trunk legs. Wait. What was that? He only took off his shirt before?! And he wore a long blue Jean just before he sent me to sleep... Does that mean that he’s... naked...? ,,Ah, so you’re back, twink! Now you get to feel how it is to be totally humiliated.After tensing his massive quads a few times he somehow turned me around so that now my neck was just a bit above his knee I was facing towards his... cock. I could see his massive, vascular 30inch tree trunk legs. But what impressed me at least as much as his muscles was that cock. It was limp, but really thick and already quite long. It was waaay bigger than mine... actually I‘ve never seen such a massive prick, not even in porn He shove it up my throat and I felt it growing in my mouth.... It filled out the whole space in my mouth as it grew bigger and bigger. It was crazy how big it actually was. Because of his massive tree tunk legs and his overall massive frame his dick was much bigger than it seemed. It already almost filled out my mouth as it was limp. But as it got hard I felt it growing down my throat. Inch by inch. I tried to bend my head backwards but his huge quads were in my way. I gagged and nearly suffocated again because I didn’t know what cut off my airway more, his leg muscles which he flexed all the time or his giant cock... As he got fully erected he started talking to me:,, So, lil weakling! U remember when u were the stronger one of us? Those times are over now and will never come back again! I am the alpha now! No, I’m more than alpha... I’m a god!” He grabbed my hair and moved my head, so that I was giving him a blowjob right now. ,,Well twink, just accept it, I am way stronger than you are.” He started moving his hips. ,,I could easily break you into pieces, just look at my arms, man! They are way bigger than yours! Hmm, if I am a muscle god, u should also treat me like one!” He took my left hand and laid it onto his pec. He started bouncing it. After a while he slid my hand over his rock hard abs. Up and down, up and down with his cock still deep down in my throat. I could feel all his masculinity rush through his cock and his pulse beating in those massive muscles. He then loosened the legscissors and slowly moved my head back from his cock. It looked like it never wanted to end. He pulled out and pulled out, i was really amazed that all that fit inside my mouth. It must have been at least 9inches long... I was totally out of breath as he got up to kneel in front of me on the couch. It was so impressive... he started flexing all his muscles. He did a double biceps pose, flexed his rocky abs, bounced his pecs, tensed his traps. Totally naked. ,,Don’t you get it?!”, he shouted at me as he again reached out for my neck and pulled my face to his chest. He rubbed my face all over those gorgeous pecs and abs. ,,You are my little bitch by now! You are supposed to do everything I command you! I mean, you could try to resist but in the end there’s nothing you could do against me...!”, he said. ,,You should clean up my muscles. Too bad I didn’t sweat by wrestling with u... guess I’d have to work out with you now to get started.” He commanded me to get naked too. He then told me to get on his shoulders to do some pullups. My cock was rock hard all the time and pressing against his lower back. As he went down to do some pushups he told me to get on his back. I did so. He started pushing. It still seemed very easy for him. And then I noticed something. I was in the perfect position to get him in a headlock. Should I really dare to do this? It the only way I could show him that I’m not that weak as he says. I slowly moved my arm under his throat, pulled it back to me And locked it with my other arm. I had him. I had this muscle monster in a real headlock- HIS throat against MY biceps. But what was that? Quite unimpressed he just stood up and started running backwards into the wall. He really bumped me in quite hard but I still had him. I could feel him loose his breath and he started to panic a bit. Now he took together all his left over strength and bowed over, throwing me over his head with my back hitting the floor. Fuck. I probably gonna be dead now. He stood up from his kneeling position and what I saw was frightening. His legs and arms as well as his lower abs and chest were totally covered in veins. They were bulging on his totally pumped muscles. He was breathing very hard and heavy. ,,You really shouldn’t have done that! You know what I gotta do now!!!”, he said really angry. He ran over to me, just like a fucking tank, his pecs were jumping with every step. His massive limp dick was bouncing too. He punched me in my stomach making me go to the ground. Then he wrapped his 19inch arms around my neck, adjusted them a bit an flexed them. I was really afraid that he was going to kill me now... I tapped but passed out again... I came back... I wasn’t dead?! I opened my eyes and saw him towering over me. His massive 30inch legs, his huge cock, those swelling ripped abs, his crazy arms and everything was still covered in those thick veins. He truly looked like an animal. ,,I don’t know why you don’t get it weakling! I am the alpha now, I’m almost twice your size, you stand no chance against me!!”, he said. He wrapped both his big muscular long fingers around my neck and lifted me up with his bare hands- choking me at the same time. I was some inches above the ground, just so that my eyes were on the same level as his. He stared into my eyes like a wild beast right before breaking the neck of it’s prey. In a matter of no time he dropped me and held me in a bearhug. I could feel his massive chest and ripped abs on my limp and weakened body... My cock grew rock hard and pressed against his upper quad. ,,U like that?!”, he said as he squeezed me harder. I wanted to say something but I just wasn’t able anymore. I had no air, no strength and was totally done... ,,Awww, lil boy is so exhausted he can’t speak no more... HAHAHAH WHAT A WEAKLING!”, he screamed and tightened the bearhug even more. I felt his monster cock grow bigger and bigger too-pressing against my (much less ripped) abs. He made me pass out again... I wasn’t even aware that a bearhug could make you pass out... As I regained my consciousness I found myself still in his arms. ,,It’s so easy to overpower you. Guess how easy it would be to kill you! But then I’d have nobody to worship my muscles. Well except all those girls...”, he said. He dropped me on the floor and I was amazed by what I saw... A ripped monster with huge bulging muscles all covered in veins - jerking a huge cock... ,,I sweat just a little, twink. But enough for you to clean me up.” He hit a double biceps pose and made me stand up. I didn’t have enough energy to ask or even just say something anymore. I got his point. He was so submissive... I should have done all this three years ago with him... Back when I was able to do that... ,,LICK THEM!”, he said flexing his biceps. I did so. And I loved it. The salty taste of his testosterone loaded sweat. The form of his arms with all those veins... I cleaned his hole body. From his armpit to his massive chest. He bounced it so his pecs would jump a few inches what made it hard to keep my tongue on his skin. I caught a lot of “underboob sweat”. He grabbed my head and lead it around while I licked his washboard abs. I knew that it’s not gonna be enough for him... he pressed me downwards even more. Now my mouth was at those big balls. They smelled really manly. He didn’t even have to command me. I sucked up all his sweat and started swallowing his massive prick. I wanted to give him the best blowjob he ever received... I felt up his muscles with my hands. As I run my fingers down his abs with one hand and worshipped the inside of his huge thighs he came. ,,Mhhhhh... Now you know your place. I don’t allow you to spit it out! Eat it- it’s extra protein for you!” I really loved his taste. I chewed on it and I hope that his testosterone loaded load will give me a boost in strength... I’ll probably suck him off more often, perhaps I’m gonna become as big as him some day....- 2 replies
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This is a story I wrote years ago for my "Muscle Addicts Inc" blog. I've been going over it and making a few tweaks here and there and thought I'd share it here as I work on it. It's far from perfect but some of you guys might like it, or parts of it anyway! CHARLIE’S SECRET One My name is Charlie Steatham and I have a secret. It’s not a secret because it’s something I’m ashamed of. On the contrary, it’s something I love having. A part of me I wouldn’t ever want to change. It’s just not the kind of thing that would really be appropriate to tell a person in most given situations, or the kind of thing the majority of people would really understand even if I did. Let me tell you how I came to discover I even had this secret to keep. It was one Saturday afternoon back in England. I was home alone and innocently flicking through a magazine my parents bought weekly, which specialised in, of all things, radio and television listings. I wasn’t really reading it, just half heartedly turning the pages, stopping every now and then to linger on the odd thing which caught my attention, unbeknownst to me that I was about to stumble on to something which would have the strangest, and most incredible effect on me. An effect like nothing had ever had on me before. Something which would lead me to a world I never even knew existed. I remember feeling my eyes physically widening when I first saw the picture, and how it felt like my heart actually stopped beating for just a millisecond of time. Staring at it, I couldn’t quite get my head around what I was seeing, and why it seemed to have me so completely transfixed. Staring up at me from the page, was the most grotesquely muscular man I had ever seen. Every single one of his body parts was enormous. From the neck up he just looked like an ordinary man, he was handsome for sure, with nothing particularly special about his features, except for the fact his skin was a dark bronzed colour with an oily shine, but from the neck down, his whole body was a mass of gigantically huge, almost cartoon-like balloons of hard, smooth, muscle, bulging so much they looked as if they were about to burst. Every muscle was deeply separated, and most had a number of thick, wiry veins running across them. I had seen muscular guys before. Movie stars and athletes with six packs and tight, hard toned bodies, but the man in this image was something else entirely. He didn’t even look like a human being. He looked like a new superior species of the human race. A sick experiment gone wrong. Some kind of otherworldly creature, computer generated for a superhero film. As this monstrously massive muscle freak of nature, completely naked except for a small, shiny, green pouch covering his genitals, his hands resting on the top of his enormously thick legs, biting down on his lower lip and his face contorted into an almost arrogant but hugely proud expression, like he was having a whale of a time simply just possessing that freakishly huge, anatomy chart like body, stared up at me from the pages of this incredibly ordinary magazine in the living room of my parents incredibly ordinary house, I was completely and utterly hypnotised. My heart was pounding, my mind was racing, and for some reason, my penis was rock hard, twitching and pushing against the material of my boxers and jeans which were now struggling to contain it. This thing which had unexpectedly intruded on me from another world seemed to have this incredible hold and power over me, and I had now idea why. It didn’t feel wrong, but I knew that whatever this effect it was having on me was, it definitely wasn’t of the ordinary. After staring at the image for what seemed like hours, I forced myself out of my muscle obsessed trance, and tried to focus my mind on something else, but I couldn’t. My mind had been invaded, and my thoughts completely taken over by the image of that freakishly huge mountain of enormous muscle. I needed to see it again. I took the magazine into my bedroom and lay on my side on the bed, my upper body perched up by my elbow, the magazine next to me, flat on the bed. I flicked through the pages to try and find the image, and when I did, it was like I was seeing it for the first time all over again. I had no idea what was happening to me, all I knew was that in front of me was something so amazing and special. I had never desired anything more than this specimen of extreme muscle mass. This huge, hulking mountain of thick, superhuman muscle with his air of incredible power, extreme arrogance and hyper masculinity was the most beautiful and sexually provocative thing I had ever laid eyes on. I reached for my throbbing hard on, bulging and straining through my jeans, gently squeezed and started tugging. Soon enough I was popping open the buttons of my jeans and my white cotton boxer encased hard on was sticking out. I tugged and wanked, all the time staring at the muscle freak before me. Staring at the huge mounds of croquet ball shaped muscles which popped from his arms and fought for space with his perfectly smooth and insatiably thick chest, which looked like it was made of marble, but had tiny, wiry veins spread across the upper half. Staring at how his deeply carved shoulders ballooned like two watermelons trapped under bronzed tinted skin, which tightly stretched across the enormous, smooth muscle and looked unhealthily thin. Staring at his six beautifully shaped stomach muscles which looked like they had been carved with a knife. Staring at the incredible mass of lines and ripples etched into his tremendously large, hard looking leg muscles, and while staring at this presumably once ordinary sized man who’d built and moulded his entire body to extreme proportions and made himself look like a member of an entirely new, superior species, who looked up at me from my bed with an expression of complete and utter self satisfaction, and his air of incredible power and arrogance, my entire body seemingly shook, the most pleasurable sensation I’d ever had consumed my entire body, I let out a loud groan of ecstasy and my boxers filled up with a wet creamy liquid. Staring at a picture of, who I later found out was one of the top professional American bodybuilders of the time, hitting a most muscular pose on stage at a bodybuilding competition in probably the best condition of his career, I’d masturbated and made myself cum for the first time in my life. From that moment on, I’ve been completely obsessed with huge, freaky muscle. Nothing turns me on more than the image of competition ready, monstrously muscular, indecently shredded bodybuilders who live and breathe for being huge, who love nothing more than to climb into small, brightly coloured posing trunks, made of the shiniest material imaginable, and to stand in front of a camera, or an audience, and flex, tense and squeeze their cartoonishly big, deliciously carved, deeply separated balloons of thick, hardcore muscle mass, looking both impossibly beautiful and inhumanly grotesque in equal measures, loving every single moment of showing off their phenomenally built, superhero-worthy, circus sideshow freak-like bodies. As one can imagine, it’s a fantasy that stubbornly stays at that; a fantasy. How many ripped and peeled competitive bodybuilders sporting biceps bigger than the size of the average man’s head do you see walking round your local supermarket? None. And how many jacked and shredded muscle freaks one week away from competing at their fourth bodybuilding show of the year do you see on a Friday night at the local pub? Absolutely zero. Of course, there have been some very rare, and exceptionally brilliant moments where I’ve encountered fairly big guys sporting some pretty decently sized muscle, one or two of whom could have easily stepped onto a bodybuilding stage at some point, at various places, and of course, those moments will probably be forever etched into my memory, but for the most part, genuinely huge muscle guys, and certainly bodybuilders like the one in the magazine I found all those years ago, and the ones I have spent countless hours watching and viewing ever since, still remain an extremely elusive and rare breed. The world of extreme bodybuilding is an exceptionally small one, to which I have no ties or belonging to. Except for finding the courage to attend a bodybuilding show which I’ve yet to do, it’s a world I didn’t think there was much chance I would ever step into. That was, until today. Or to be more precise, two Tuesday’s ago, when Professor Walsh (officially my favourite lecturer from the university in California I’m temporarily studying at for a term) presented myself and my fellow students from my Video and Audio Production Techniques class with a list of the options for the first, one day work experience placement of the semester. This is a day where every student on the course has the opportunity to participate in the filming of various types of film, television and video productions. Every student has to select three options, and the Professor tries her best to assign the student to one of their choices. This is not always possible though because, as you can imagine, some of the options are more popular than others and there are only so many students allowed on each placement. Some of the students, usually the louder, more extroverted ones, were intent on getting the big gigs like production on the set of a film, and popular television talk shows. Personally, I was happy with anything that would give me some experience. Copies of the list were passed around to raised voices and excited chatter. I scanned the list to see, sure enough, a well known television talk show, work on an independent film, the set of a fairly well known cop show from cable who were filming in the area, work for a local news television station, and some more fairly obscure productions. Although nothing was particularly standing out as something I had a real desire to do, it all sounded pretty exciting. And then, as my eyes steered down to the bottom of the page, they suddenly widened, my heart leaped into my throat, and I almost couldn’t believe what I saw written on the last line, as the very last option; Filming Backstage at a Local Bodybuilding Competition. My head was spinning. Was this really happening? Was the universe finally providing me with an entry into this world I never thought I would enter? I kept checking the list, looking at the words again, just to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating, and sure enough, there it was. My opportunity to be at, and take part in the filming of an actual bodybuilding competition. I suddenly pictured myself backstage at a bodybuilding competition, in a space packed full of massive, bronzed painted muscle men wearing nothing but tiny sized, thinly strapped posing trunks, each pair shinier and brighter than the next. Every single superhuman muscle brute of a man intensely pumping up his shockingly huge muscles, grunting and huffing with every lift as their huge slabs of man meat strain and bulge through their completely hairless, drum tight skin, and me, standing next to a cameraman, closely filming every single pump of a massive, competition conditioned All American muscle freak, mere inches away from his blown up balloons of bulging, rippling muscle. The fact that I was looking at the opportunity to be in the presence of the kind of muscle bulls I’d been wanking off over for years and to see their enormous, freaky muscle up close in person was mind blowing. However, it terrified me just as much as it excited me. The two days which followed were spent agonising over what to do with this opportunity I’d been unexpectedly faced with. My mind was completely split in half. It felt like two voices had invaded my head, one voice saying, “You have to do this. This is a rare, once in a lifetime opportunity and you will never get this again. It will absolutely amazing, it will blow your mind and you’ll get to see real life, genuine muscle freaks pumping, flexing and posing close up. Deep down you know you want to do this, and if you don’t, you will always regret it.” Meanwhile, the other voice was shouting, “Don’t be stupid, you can’t do this. You will make a fool of yourself. You will feel uncomfortable and nervous. People will look at you and think you are strange. And how will you explain your reason for wanting to do this to your classmates, and Professor Walsh?” One minute, a certain voice would sound clearer than the other, and I would make what I thought was my final decision. But then, out of nowhere, the other voice would suddenly shout up again, and I’d start to doubt my decision again. Even on the day of handing in our choices, sitting in Professor Walsh’s class, with five minutes to spare before the lesson came to a close, I still hadn’t made my final decision. I also knew that if I selected the bodybuilding competition, there was a very good chance I would get the placement. I couldn’t say for definite, but I knew it was fairly unlikely that any of my other classmates would select it as an option. There were a couple of guys in my class with a little bit of muscle on them who clearly went to the gym, but I would have been highly surprised if any of them had a genuine interest in bodybuilding. It was, without a doubt, one of those obscure placements to make up the numbers which nobody wanted to end up on. Well, almost nobody. Professor Walsh was wrapping up the lesson. “OK, class, you might have noticed this red box at the front of my desk.” This was it. My time was up. “By now I presume you’ve all made your three choices for next weekend’s work experience placement,” Professor Walsh continued. “If you’d like to place your completed sheets into the box as you leave. Please keep in mind, you are not guaranteed a place on any of your choices. We will do our best to assign you to one of your choices, but due to limited spaces on each placement, in some cases this will not be possible.” My classmates had started to shift and while everyone was getting out their sheets and gathering their bags in order to leave, I was staring at my sheet with my pen anxiously hovering over it. Two of my choices had been ticked, which just left one. The words “Bodybuilding Competition” leered up at me, testing my every nerve and ounce of bravery. My pen was wavering from the tick box next to it, to the box next to the option of “Production on a Music Video.” The voices in my head both clearer and more frantic than ever, one in battle with the other. Bodybuilding Competition Charlie, you HAVE to do this! Music Video Don’t be stupid. You will make a fool of yourself. Bodybuilding Competition Just imagine it! Real life, genuine muscle freaks pumping, flexing and posing close up! Music Video You will feel uncomfortable and nervous. People will look at you, and think you are strange! Bodybuilding Competition Deep down you know you want to do this, and if you don’t, you know you will ALWAYS regret it! And with one quick motion, I ticked the box next to my third and final option, and my fate was sealed. My heart was pounding as I approached the box on Professor Walsh’s desk, and my hands were shaking slightly as I dropped the sheet in. The second after, I glanced up to see Professor Walsh looking at me behind her desk. A friendly smile was trying to mask an expression of curiosity and slight confusion. She had clearly noticed my anxiety and I felt a sharp, brief pinch that I might have been rumbled. The incident quickly faded from memory, and as I left the classroom and walked along the corridor, the strongest emotion of elation, sheer pride and an overwhelming feeling that I had just done something amazing came over me. I had just taken one step closer to that crazy, amazing world of huge, freaky muscle I never thought I would ever be able to enter.
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Nine Three days had gone since Jeremy had taken the beating from Ted. His heavily muscled, 265 pound body felt better with every passing hour; his recuperation working overtime to repair the damage. He actually felt capable of getting up from the mattress for the first time since his confrontation with the teen beast. A faint sound made him look aside and he saw his smaller former rival, now trainer awake. Chris opened his eyes and looked straight at the huge bodybuilder on the mattress next to his. A faint smile highlighted the muscle god's face and he asked: "How do you feel today, Jeremy?". "Way better, man. My body has nearly recovered", Jeremy replied and sat up. "Is it true that you stole my muscles?", Chris asked as he got up, walked over to the other mattress and sat down, facing the 100 pound heavier man. Jeremy stared down to avoid his former rival's gaze. "I… ehm…", he mumbled. "Is it?", Chris asked again as he put his hand under the muscle god's chin and gently lifted up his head to make eye contact. "Yes", Jeremy muttered ashamed. "Why?", Chris inquired. "I… I was tired of coming in second behind you. I mean, you're a year younger than me and still outclassed me during our competitions. I tried bulking up but lacked the vascularity to even face you in the final. Roids weren't an option. I found a website about voodoo, with a spell to realize my greatest desire: grow freaking huge. You were the only one that stood between me and dominating the sport…", Jeremy told. "And what about my cousin?", Chris interjected. "I needed some body fluid for the spell. Your cousin wanted to get back on you and needed a clean urine sample to get his gym membership. So we made a deal: he would get me a sweat drenched shirt of you and I would hand him one of my urine samples.", Jeremy continued. "That's why he wanted to arm wrestle. And why he stretched the struggle on purpose", Chris shouted in his higher pitched voice. Jeremy nodded. "You know what happened then: I used the spell and grew huge on your size. I even gain muscle more easily from my workouts now." "You probably stole my good genetics too", Chris added, "I always hated working out, but my muscles responded insanely fast. I only train twice a week and got this body. Well, not this one, but you know what I mean". "Can you forgive me, Chris?", Jeremy asked softly. "Off course, man. I no longer have to work out any more. And your body looks way better than mine ever did. Drives me mad just to look at you", Chris said and kissed the muscle god on his lips. The kiss surprised Jeremy, but he instinctively returned it, making his strong tongue snake into the smaller guy's mouth. He put his hands underneath his lover's ass to lift him up but felt the small guy shiver. "What's wrong? I'm not going to hurt you", he said as he broke the kiss. "I know", Chris replied, "It's my cousin. He's been raping my ass the past days. He made me chose between him beating you up every day or dominating me." "You let him rape you just to protect me? He's 200 pounds heavier than you. I'll protect you from now on", Jeremy said and took his smaller lover gently in his arms in a protective reflex. "Would you dare to take him on again?", Chris asked and let his frail hands roam the thick muscles of the wide torso he was pressed against. "I wouldn't stand a chance, but to protect you, yes", Jeremy said, enjoying the feeling of his muscles being groped. "And what if we would even the odds a bit?", Chris stated and wormed himself free from his bigger lover's hold. "How?", Jeremy asked and watched the smaller guy walk over to his own mattress. "My cousin left the papers with your voodoo stuff in here to make me see how you stole my muscles", Chris said as he took the papers from underneath his mattress, "but he forgot to take out the page with the spell on it. I've read and reread the entire text. As I get it, the spell is still active in me but apparently your current size is what you want to be". "I don't want to take any more muscle from you. Not after everything you did for me", Jeremy replied abruptly. "Not what's left of my muscle, I like my current size too. Not having to bother to go to the gym anymore", Chris stated, "But I could use the spell to take tom's muscle and pass them to you through me." "Why not your cousin's muscles? I'ld be freaking massive!", Jeremy asked. "He's too big to control him during the transfer. He would beat you up before you could match him. You're already bigger than Tom so you can easily dominate him. Then you'll be big enough to take on my cousin", Chris said. "Off to the gym", Ted boomed in his deep baritone voice. He roughly pulled Tom's head from his cock and shoved the 205 pound bodybuilder away. He got dressed and strutted out off the bathroom. Tom waited to get up from the tilled floor until he heard the door slam shut and the beastly teen's car race off. He wiped the sticky remnants of the teen beast's orgasm from his face and wrapped a towel around his muscular waist. He walked through the hallway on his way to grab some breakfast when the small Chris emerged from his room. "You have to see this, man", Chris said to the 40 pounds heavier bodybuilder and went back in his room. "What?", Tom asked and stepped inside. "ME!", Jeremy boomed and grabbed the bodybuilder's wrists. Tom struggled with all his might but his opponent outsized him by 60 pounds of pure muscle. He tried resisting but the bigger god head-butted him and he crashed down. "Put him on the bed", Chris said to his huge lover. Jeremy did as he was told and swiftly tossed the knocked out bodybuilder atop his mattress. "Now strip", Chris said. He pulled away Tom's towel and took off his own clothes. He looked at how the nude Tom eclipsed him completely. He looked up and stared at the naked, muscular perfection as Jeremy stood next to the bed and dwarfed the other bodybuilder. "Go stand at the end of the mattress", he said to Jeremy as he laid down and put his head against the naked Tom. Jeremy moved as instructed and looked down on the two smaller men lying on the mattress, his dick plump at the thought of growing even bigger. "What are you waiting for, big guy? Get your cock in me. I want to feel you grow massive", Chris said. Jeremy blinked at the remark but noticed the determined look in his smaller lover's eyes. He slowly sat down on his knees at the end of the mattress and pulled the smaller guy toward him. He gently eased his now fully hard 7 incher inside his lover without removing his gaze from the smaller guy's blue eyes. "Fuck ", Chris grunted in pleasure as he felt the huge bodybuilder's pubes brush against his ass. His back arched up in sheer bliss and he fell back down, his head touching the knocked out Tom's torso. "Ready to grow beastly?", he asked and looked into his already huge lover's eyes. Jeremy nodded, his lust as strong as his smaller lover's one. "Here we go", Chris said, " Gargak Profundis atque venerabilis, Ggrrtjzaku dzedzikoirku! Translatio vigoris mei et essentiae meae, Ggrrtjzaku dzedzikoirku!". A surge of power shot through his 159 pound body as a wave of hotness flowed from the knocked out bodybuilder into him. At the same time a coldish weakness formed in his stomach and a draining feeling formed in his ass. "Yeah", Jeremy grunted as he felt a jolt of hotness tingle along his rock-hard 7 incher and flow into him. The feeling spread across his 265 pound physique. He closed his eyes and threw back his head in pleasure. The mixed feelings of warmth and cold, strength and weakness whirled through Chris. His lust for turning his lover into beastly perfection intensified the spell and he felt the power flowing from his ass into the throbbing cock inside him. Jeremy's eyes were still closed in pleasure as he felt a warm pump flow from his rock-hard 7 incher into his stomach and spreading across his thickly muscled frame. "Mugh", he groaned as he felt his steely muscles harden all over his godly body. . His body surged with growth, powered by Tom's muscles and Chris' desire to make him colossal. Chris' eyes widened in lust and admiration as he stared at the unbelievably hot scene unfolding in front of him: his huge lover evolved into sheer, colossal muscular perfection. Veins exploded across the growing masses of hard, meaty muscles as the 265 pound bodybuilder swelled beyond huge. His already broad shoulders doubled in width as his delts turned into cannonballs; his meaty pecs tripled in size, forming half-watermelon-sized slabs of beef that made his nipples point straight down and formed a rack that obscured half of his developing six-pack; his six-pack evolved accordingly and his abs grew into cobblestone-sized, hard bricks and turned into an armor-hard eight-pack; his 22 inch arms ballooned to 35 inches in mere seconds, turning his thick arms into meaty hams hanging at his sides; his heavily muscled quads that were positioned beside Chris' torso, thickened into tree-sized pillars of muscle and pushed into the smaller guy's sides. Chris' legs, wrapped around his swelling lover's torso, were pushed open as the strong lower back broadened and overpowered them. His ass, stretched tight around the growing cock deep inside it, was pulled up as the huge bodybuilder also grew in height. The sight and feeling of his heavily muscled lover growing in front and inside of him was too much for Chris. His own throbbing 7 incher twitched and smacked against the corrugated landscape that was the beastly eight-pack. "Jeremy!", he yelled out in lust as he exploded against the cobblestone-sized abs, his meager load squirting into the deep ridges between the thick, hard muscles. Jeremy opened his eyes as he felt the liquid rub against his stomach and heard his former rival groan his name. He gazed down and noted how childishly small His lover looked next to him. A grin spread across his face as an idea crossed his mind. "Wrap your legs around me. tight", he rumbled in his deepened baritone. The muscle god's deep voice vibrated in Chris' body and made him blow another load against the steely eight-pack. Instinctively, he did as he was told and tightened his legs around the marble-like hard torso. Jeremy felt the legs tighten against his more-than-hard lower back. He then stood up in a swift motion, his tree-sized quads flexing in the process. With his ham-like arms hanging at his sides, he supported the small guy's weight with his rock-hard cock. The pleasure combined with the look of utter reverence in the small guy's eyes sent him over the edge. He grabbed hold of his lover with his right paw, covering half his torso as his cock exploded hard and violently inside the tight ass. He saw his lover's stomach bloat as load after load of his thick spunk blasted in him. After ten heavy shots, his orgasm cooled down and he slowly pulled the small guy from his cock. His eyes widened as inch after inch of thick, meaty cock appeared from the frail ass. "Like it? I thought your cock should match your colossal muscle. So I adapted the spell a bit", Chris said with a grin and let his hands roam the stony mass of the muscle god's 35 inch right arm. Jeremy simply stared at his now 15 incher that protruded proudly in front of his majestic body. "Yeah! Huge like Ted!", he boomed in his deepened voice and put his lover gently down on the mattress. "But way better looking. Your proportions are perfect. Seems like you grew taller to match your new size", Chris said in utter amazement. Unlike his bulky looking cousin, Jeremy still maintained his perfect symmetry, looking like a colossal, yet capable-of-swift-movements athlete. Jeremy simply looked contest ready: his paper-thin skin was wrapped tightly around his bulging muscles; striations were visible on every mound of hard beef even though he stood fully relaxed. Jeremy threw a few poses to showcase his new physique, his skin stretching to accommodate the new girth of his massive, vein-decorated muscles. "Fuck! Look at my bi's! Boulders of beef!, he said as he raised his arms in a double bicep pose, making the meaty mounds swell into their now 35 inches. He lowered his arms and bounced his pecs. The protruding rack of muscles danced atop his chest, striations and veins undulating across the half watermelons crammed under his stretched skin. He shook his tree-sized left leg, making the incredible mass of his quads role from left to right, and flexed it: deep canyons exploded aside the thick heads of muscle fed by veins snaking over them. His slowly deflating, still half-hard cock jolted and smacked against the steely hard leg. "Thanks man", he said as he relaxed his leg and looked down at his small lover on the mattress, "you made my bigger beyond my wildest dreams. Even after I stole your size. How can I ever repay you?". He gently grabbed hold of the smaller guy's armpits and lifted him off the mattress. "We'll figure something out, big guy", Chris said, enjoying the feeling of being hoisted up by the most beautiful man he'd ever seen. He wrapped his arm around the muscle god, or tried to. His huge lover's back was so wide that his arms didn't make it past the massive, cannonball-sized delts: his frail hands grabbed the meaty mass of the rear delt, unable to dent the hard surface. He leaned into the massive body, the protruding rack of pecs pleasurably pressing against his own weak chest, and kissed the muscle god's lips. Jeremy returned his smaller lover's kiss. He wrapped one anaconda-like arm gently around the 159 pound guy to support him, his free paw grabbed the back of the guy's head and pulled him in; at the same time, his tongue invaded his lover's mouth. Chris was overwhelmed with pleasure and his cock raced back to hardness between his own softened abs and the concrete-like eight-pack. Black dots began dancing before his eyes as the muscle god kept kissing him. He tapped the rear delts with all his might to make clear he was in need of air. Jeremy grumbled at the soft tickles of his small lover against his shoulders. He opened his eyes and noticed the dark red color of the guy's face, realizing he was suffocating. He broke the kiss. Chris inhaled deeply as he let his body rest against the hot, hard surface of the now colossal Jeremy. The sound of the back door slam shut signaled Ted's return. "Yo, Tom!", the beastly teen boomed as he tossed his gym bag on the floor. "Where ya hidding, ya runt?", he yelled as he took a gallon of milk from the fridge, mixed it with an insane amount of protein powder and gulped down the impossibly large drink in three long gulps. "My cousin's bony ass will have to do", he said to himself and strutted out off the kitchen. The sound of the heavy footsteps slowly climbing the stairs vibrated through the house as the teen beast went up. Chris jumped up on his mattress as the door of his room was ripped open violently. He instinctively crawled back against the wall as his massive cousin swaggered inside. A smug grin formed on Ted's lips at his weak cousin's reaction and at the look of fear in his eyes. He slowly walked toward the mattress against the furthest wall of the room. His cock twitched in anticipation inside his boxers. Despite having jerked three times in the shower after his workout, he was ready for another round. "STOP TIGHT THERE!" A deep, booming command filled the room, rolled against the walls and rattled the windows. Ted turned around in surprise. The grin disappeared from his face as a huge man worked his way through the door. "Who the fuck…?", he asked without taking his eyes off the colossal bodybuilder. "Don't you recognize me?", Jeremy asked and stood still just inside the room, "I did get a little bigger since our last meeting". He clenched his right fist, making his forearm ripple with strength as its corded muscles tensed and his upper arm harden in the process. Ted's eyes glistened as he recognized Jeremy. He scanned the massive muscles on the guy's bare torso and noticed he was wearing a pair of his sweatpants that were nicely filled out by his legs. "Let's ditch this", Jeremy said and moved toward the teen beast with one long stride. He grabbed the guy's shirt and tore if off his beastly body in a swift motion, exposing the other giant's torso. Standing 6 feet tall, Ted had to look up to look in the now massive Jeremy's eyes. He took an instinctive step backward. Chris stared at the two giant's. At 6'5, Jeremy towered above his cousin, but the beastly teen's muscles looked bigger on his more compact frame. Coming direct from the gym, his cousin's shoulders and arms were still pumped. "No longer the biggest stud", Jeremy said to Ted and bounced his pecs as he spoke, "Let's go and don't bother us ever again!". Ted looked at the half watermelons dance atop the other giant's chest. He closed his right paw in a fist, pulled back his massive arm and slammed it with all his might into the deeply grooved eight-pack in front of him. Jeremy blinked in surprise: the sledgehammer-like fist had hit his cobblestone-sized abs at full force with a loud smack but the punch had bounced off the steely hard surface without even denting it. "That all you got?", he asked mockingly and returned the favor. Ted couldn't believe that his devastating blow hadn't done any damage. Before he could react, the other giant slammed his own fist into his six-pack. He grunted faintly as he felt his strong abs give in slightly. He threw another punch against the eight-pack, but Jeremy clenched his abs just in time, making the punch bounce off once more. Jeremy saw the look of disbelieve on the beastly teen's face and hit the guy's six-pack a second time. This time his fist encountered a fully flexed brick-like wall, not giving in the slightest. Ted didn't give the huge bodybuilder any time to pull back his thick arm: he grabbed hold of the guy's massive shoulders and pulled him down. Chris saw the two giants slump down and continue their fight on the floor. It was a pile of heaving, sweaty muscle that rolled back and forth, paws locked into each other and straining as the two muscle gods fought for dominance. Ted somehow ended up on top and threw a hard punch in Jeremy's face, bruising his left cheek as the bodybuilder turned his head to avoid the punch. Ted grabbed hold of Jeremy's clawing arms and pushed them down to the floor behind the guy's head. "Not so tough after all", he grunted as he tried to bring down the massive arms completely. Jeremy fought back and managed to block the teen beast's advance. His tree-sized arms shook with effort against the inhumane strength of his opponent. He suddenly gave in and pulled with all his force, making the beastly teen lose his balance and fall forward over him. Ted rolled over the other giant and quickly jumped back on his feet. He turned around and saw Jeremy charge at him. He braced his 367 pound body for the impact but the momentum of the bodybuilder's 365 pound body threw him backward against the wall. The wall cracked with a loud sound and in a cloud of dust, the two giants knocked through it and crashed into the master bedroom. Ted blinked his eyes in mild pain: his back ached a bit from breaking through the wall. He looked around and a hard punch slammed into his six-pack. "Ugh", he grunted as some air was forced out of him and his abs dented in. "Get up!", Jeremy groaned as he withdrew his fist and took a step back. Ted stared up at his colossal opponent. He closed his paw around a thick, wooden beam between the debris from the wall. He sprang up and smacked the beam hard against the massive Jeremy's protruding chest, shattering it to shreds as it made contact with the slabs of muscle. "ugh", Jeremy grunted in surprise and pain at the impact. He stumbled back a bit, more in surprise than in pain. Ted moved in and punched the huge bodybuilder's lower back, hitting him in the kidneys. "Ugh", Jeremy groaned a bit louder and sank down on one knee as a second sucker punch hit him in the kidneys. He felt the beastly teen's hands pass underneath his armpits to take him in a full nelson. He leaned forward, pulling the teen beast off balance. Ted released his grip to regain his balance and his opponent was up in a flash. He reached for the massive Jeremy but the guy made the same move and their hands locked together. Chris didn't dare to move. He followed the fight by the sounds coming from the other room. He knew the two giants would crush him, even by accident, if he got in their way. Jeremy and Ted stood fighting to get the upper hand, their huge anaconda-sized arms straining and bulging from the effort and their hands moving back and forth. Ted threw everything he got into the fight, but the other muscle god did the same. Their faces were red from the effort, their chests heaving and their mounds of muscles pumped with blood. Ted felt his strength fading slightly: he'd worn out his muscles in the gym earlier. His legs started to shake slightly as he summoned more power to stand his ground. Jeremy noticed the hardening strain on the beastly teen's face and felt the faint quiver go through the guy's 35 inch arms. He suddenly stopped pushing. Ted was taken by surprise by the other muscle god's maneuver: he lost his balance and fell forward, smacking into the massive torso in front of him. Jeremy had anticipated this and unlocked his hands from the other bodybuilder's. He wrapped his arms around the beastly teen's torso and applied a bone crushing bear hug. Ted squirmed in the vice-like grasp. He clenched his fist to make his arms swell and harden. He summoned every ounce of strength and managed to loosen the hold. Jeremy felt his hands slide apart as the beastly teen squirmed and flexed in his grasp. The 367 pound guy's power couldn't be denied and he had to release his bear hug. Ted inhaled deeply to refill his lungs with oxygen. He didn't allow his opponent to recover: he quickly wrapped his own 35 inch arms around the bodybuilder's torso and pressed with all his remaining strength. "Ugh", Jeremy grunted more in surprise than pain. Despite the beastly teen's efforts, his own muscles withstood the attack. He could even feel the 367 pound guy's power wear off. "YEAH!", he roared deeply as he broke free from the hold and shoved the teen beast back hard. Ted was caught by surprise as he was overpowered for the first time in years. "No", he blurted in disbelief and fell backward. It felt like juvy all over again: for an instant he was once again the wimpy, skinny boy being picked on by the bigger guys. Jeremy moved in: het grabbed the beastly teen's sweatpants and lifted the 367 pound guy up. "Now leave us alone!", he roared and threw the teen beast through the door, sending him crashing into the bathroom. He felt all powerful after taking down his colossal opponent and began flexing his superb physique in the large mirrors against the furthest wall. Ted shook his head and blinked his eyes. He was lying in the middle of the bathroom along with the contents of the cupboard he'd knocked down when he flew in. He noticed a familiar, black, little box amidst the heap. He opened it with shaking hands and 6 doses of the new designer steroids he was on, rolled in his paw. He grabbed an empty syringe and filled it with three doses. He lowered his skintight sweatpants and overstuffed boxers and injected the thick fluid in his left testicle. He repeated the process for his right testicle. A rush of warmth, energy and adrenaline radiated from his balls into his body. He pulled his boxers and pants back up and got up. He turned around and saw the other colossal bodybuilder flexing in the lengthy mirror inside the master bedroom. Jeremy ogled his majestic physique in the mirror: he couldn't wait to get on stage and crush his puny competitors. He couldn't even call them 'rivals': he would outclass them in every way possible. He closed his eyes as feelings of dominance and victory filled his mind. A hard blow on his lower back made him come back to reality. A second one knocked the wind from him and made him slump down on one knee. In the mirror he saw Ted standing there. "Didn't have enough?", he asked as he got up. Two heavy punches on his upper back made him sink back down. Ted saw the look of pain on the massive Jeremy's face and stepped back, motioning him to get up. Jeremy got up and turned to face the beastly teen. He moved in and once more, their hands locked into each other to fight for dominance. His 35 inch arms bulged and shook as he pushed with all his might. His pumped muscles started to burn from the earlier fight. Ted 's equally meaty arms shivered also but he could feel the designer steroid doing its work: the massive dose injected into his balls was forcing them to produce testosterone beyond human levels. He felt his arms pulse with power as the tremendous amount of testosterone began releasing into his bloodstream. Jeremy felt fatigue and cramp spreading slowly across his bulging arms. He would swear that the beastly teen's resistance was stronger than before he'd beaten the guy and seemed to get stronger with every passing second. Ted saw the increased strain on his huge opponent's face and felt the mild, but now steady shiver go through the 365 pound bodybuilder's massive arms. More energy flowed into his own anaconda-like arms with every surge of testosterone his balls released into his bloodstream. He felt his own strength increasing and the resistance in his grasp grow weaker and weaker. Jeremy couldn't prevent the shaking of his mighty arms: fatigue and cramps tormented his bulging biceps and corded forearms. Sweat was rolling from his forehead over his cheeks from the effort. He flexed his tree-sized quads, his legs hardening into an impressive sight, to summon every bit of strength left inside him. Ted felt the increased power of his opponent against his grasp, but his freshly energized and continually fed arms repelled the attack. Jeremy's entire body was starting to tremble as he fought with everything he had against the beastly teen. He suddenly stopped pushing and pulled to throw the teen beast off balance. Ted's colossal body didn't budge an inch as the 365 pound bodybuilder tried pulling him in. Jeremy knew he was in trouble as his maneuver failed: spasms and cramps shot through his body as he felt his strength waning further and further. "My turn", Ted said in a somehow deeper voice and yanked at his opponent's hands. Jeremy instantly lost his balance and smacked against the rock-hard torso of the teen beast. His head shot back and he groaned in pain as the beastly teen's meaty arms closed around his own hyper-muscled torso. Ted didn't flex his arms or clench them together: he simply held the 365 pound bodybuilder in his steely grasp. By now, the testosterone was flowing rapidly into his muscles, making them swell and harden. Jeremy tried squirming free, but his fatigued muscles protested. He knew he had to let them recover and pretended he passed out to fool his opponent. He felt the steely grasp tighten and harden with every passing second. He inhaled deeply and made his move. He summoned every ounce of strength he could scrape together in his 365 pound body and squirmed with everything he had. Ted felt the massive Jeremy's resistance, but it was no use: it felt feeble and didn't budge his hardening arms a bit. The testosterone coursing through his body and now flooding his muscles had totally refreshed his energy levels. The time Jeremy had taken to make his own muscles recover, Ted had grown 20 pounds heavier. Jeremy opened his eyes and a look of pure horror filled his face: the beastly teen that held him tightly secured in his grasp was clearly growing. He tried resisting, but his own majestic body didn't move an inch inside the vice-like hold. An evil grin spread across Ted's lips at the look on the huge bodybuilder's face. It felt like the guy was getting lighter and lighter in his grasp, but he knew it was his own body that grew beastlier with every passing second. His once 35 inch arms were rounding the 40 inch mark as he felt his growth slowdown. His body now matched Jeremy's exactly in height, but he outsized the 365 pound muscle god by 50 pounds of pure, hard muscle. Jeremy howled in pain as the teen beast hardened his biceps and made the stony boulders dig into his own heavily muscled flanks. "Let's end this once and for all", Ted growled in an insanely deep baritone that rattled the windows and hardened his flex. Jeremy flexed with all his remaining might to withstand the crushing power but it was no use: he passed out as his ribs gave in with a sickening, cracking sound. "Yeah!", Ted boomed as he crushed the 365 pound bodybuilder's ribs. He pulled back his right arm, made a huge fist and smacked it hard into the muscle god's face. The stony fist sank deep into the once epitome of male beauty and now bloody mess that was Jeremy's face. "NO!" The weak cry made the beyond colossal Ted turn around. He saw his puny cousin standing in the opening of the shattered wall. He tossed the now lifeless Jeremy hard on the floor and moved toward his childish-looking cousin. "Ya're next!"… The end?
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Hi everyone. This is a follow up to Alex Films the Pump Room. It's about a professional naked bodybuilding contest. Alex Films the Contest Alex followed the single-file line of professional bodybuilders down a narrow hallway leading out of the pump room. He kept the camera low to highlight the V shaped backs of pulsing muscularity as the men walked. None of them were wearing posing trunks, and all of them had rounded, shredded glutes which flexed rhythmically as they walked. Because their legs were so big, their feet were far apart as they walked, causing the characteristic bodybuilder gait. The hallway turned, and the group was in a darkened room behind the main stage. A short staircase led up to the stage, where there were blinding lights and a booming announcer's voice. The men formed a group and waited for their instructions. As he focused in on the competitor's square-jawed faces, Alex reflected how much bodybuilding had changed during his career as a photographer. The hyper-masculinity that the athletes and their audiences craved had continued to push to new levels. The essence of a man was strength and potency, and bodybuilders showed off that essence through the largest and most beautiful muscles possible. Why not show off the largest and most beautiful genitals as well? The magazine publishers and contest organizers eventually decided that the culture was ready for it, and after calculating how much could be made from selling a whole new line of supplements, they created the first naked bodybuilding contests. At first not every bodybuilder was willing to bare it all, but in time they went where the sponsors wanted. And the supplements and training programs worked. Specialized growth hormones targeted the genitals, and by incorporating naked training into their programs, bodybuilders gained more control and confidence over their penises. However, any overt indication of homosexuality was still not allowed. Just as it has been before bodybuilding went naked, the competitors maintained a stoicism about their sport both on stage and off. The message was clear: bodybuilding was still about manliness and strength - and any funny business was behind the scenes. Alex positioned himself so he could film the posing routines from his backstage vantage point and give his viewers a more personal look at the contest. Big Ramy was the first to be called up, and he sprang energetically up the stairs, strode to the center of the stage, and began his routine with a front double bicep. The huge muscles on his arms bulged. Ramy was not the most graceful poser, but he more than made up for it with his grinning attitude and playful behavior. He continued his routine, his cock semi-hard and swinging obscenely as he pivoted between poses. He had somewhat of a roidgut this year, which the judges did not like but many of the fans in the audience approved of. After his routine was complete he returned towards Alex, whose camera centered in on the enormous man's phallus, now almost completely erect from the passion of the posing routine. Next on the stage was Akim Williams. Akim's physique was similar to Ramy's except his pecs were incredibly rounded and heavy, as many people commented on. Akim's testicles were absolutely gigantic, and they pushed his engorged yet still flaccid penis up and away from his body, which made it look even larger that it already was. Akim was outspoken about his practice of withholding his semen for months before the contest, which no doubt helped his testicles grow to be larger than his fists. By the time Akim's routine was done, the obvious side effect of his practice was shown, as a long white string of precum drooled from the tip of his prick and trailed on the floor. The audience was roaring with appreciation for the spectacle of total muscularity and manliness. As the contest went on, Alex observed the various ways that the men used their dicks to complement their individual physiques. Some entered the stage flaccid and worked themselves (and the audience, thought Alex) to a full erection before exiting the stage at the height of arousal. Some started their routine fully hard, and used their jutting cocks to complement their profiles, like in a side bicep pose. Steve Kuclo seemed to be a fan favorite as he flexed his right bicep and then lowered it to the tip of his oozing cock, then spurted a small amount of precum onto the rounded bicep peak. Many of the men had an extra glisten on their sweeping quads by the end of their routine, as their movements caused their dicks to slap around and leave trails. The last competitor was a man Alex didn't recognize, which was unusual since he spent time following the industry. He was shorter than most, but very densely muscular. He had a bald head relatively fair skin, and huge traps and neck muscles which threatened to swallow his head. He charged up the stairs to the stage aggressively, baring his teeth with every pose. He flexed a most muscular, showing his freakish traps and the sheer size of his chest as his nipples disappeared below his lower pecs. He shifted to a front double bicep, opening up the front of his body and letting his huge penis, fully erect and already drooling, fly free as he showed his big guns to the crowd. He pivoted to a side chest, demonstrating the roundness in his steroid-infused bicep and pec, the unbelievable width of his leg, and the majestic curve of his manhood as it arched from his pelvis almost up to his lower pecs. He swung around to the back and flared his lats, bulging with veins and sweat. Drops of precum hit the floor. Finally he turned back towards Alex, who was shocked to see an expression on his face which combined the passion of the moment with an overwhelming, mindless aggression. The bodybuilder charged towards the stairs to descend off-stage, and as he did so, a man in sweats and hoodie who was sitting behind Alex calmly stood up. The charging bodybuilder leapt down the stairs towards the man in sweats, who dropped to his knees as if he were expecting it. Dripping with sweat, his over-pumped cock pulsing and throbbing, the bodybuilding placed a muscular hand on either side of the man's head and shoved his penis deep down the man's throat. The man in sweats took the bodybuilder's engorged cock without a flinch, and began to pump his head back and forth to milk it. Alex realized that the man in sweats was the bodybuilder's coach, that he had teased and primed his athlete to within an inch of explosion, and was providing the much-needed relief now that the routine was successfully over. Alex zoomed his camera in on the coach's face which was totally expressionless as he received a hostile face-fucking from a champion bodybuilder who was out of his mind on steroids and muscle passion. It was only a few more seconds before hot white semen was erupting from the edges of the coach's mouth. Grunting ferociously and gnashing his teeth, the unnamed bodybuilder deposited what looked like a full pint of seed into his coach's face. Alex moved his camera around the pair, capturing multiple angles. He noticed that the other competitors had gathered in a circle to look on, some with rather awed expressions on their faces. He began to capture their reactions too, but a stagehand appeared and began to herd the naked bodybuilders back towards the pump room.
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Okay, here's the start of something new. Let me know if you want me to carry on! What you need to understand is that Harry and I had been friends all our lives, or nearly. When we were in playgroup, I chewed on his toy car. When we went to school together, we taught one another to read. If a teacher asked me what my name was, I’d say: “Max and Harry.” For years, right up till we went to university, people would call us Maxandharry or Harryandmax. Even at Uni, him studying Biological Sciences and me doing Business Studies, we texted nearly every day. For a while, after celebrating our Friendversary, we even changed our Faceboook names to MaxandharryandharryandmaX, till he pointed out it looked a bit gay. I felt a bit sad changing it, but my girlfriend of the time told me he was right. In the years since then, of course, we drifted apart a bit. We were both in London but we would only meet for a drink every couple of months. I guess he slowly started noticing a change in me about summer 2019 when I had made a special effort to get #BeachBodyReady. ‘Shit, mate, you really do have a gym membership, don’t you?’ he said. ‘When are Men’s Health ringing you for a cover feature?’ I was in a short sleeved shirt and I was feeling pretty good about myself back then, but still I knew he was talking shit. ‘Bro, have you seen the guys on Love Island? All I’ve done so far is lose a bit weight really.’ ‘Impressive though,’ he said, sinking the last of his pint. ‘I don’t think so,’ I said. ‘Not yet.’ ‘Well, I reckon Niamh would think so,’ he said. I cuffed his shoulder. ‘She’s not superficial like other ho’s,’ I said. ‘Girls like that sort of thing, though,’ he said. He looked down at himself. ‘They can’t help themselves.’ ‘They like to see we’re taking care of ourselves,’ I told him. ‘Anyway, you’re far from overweight, dude.’ ‘Underweight, if anything,’ he said. ‘I do my heavy lifting with this.’ He tapped his brow, and we both laughed. ‘Mind you don’t go impairing it with two many hipster beers, then,’ I said, getting up to fetch another round. ‘If you promise not to go crazy with this gym stuff,’ he said. ‘You’re fine as you are.’ But I knew he was wrong. By the time we met to toast Christmas, he couldn’t resist squeezing my arm. ‘Holy shit!’ he said, eyes wide. ‘I thought you just had a big jumper on under that coat. You’re huge!’ ‘Not as big as I’d like,’ I couldn’t help saying, blushing. ‘Still a way to go.’ ‘What do you weight though…?’ ‘About 70kg,’ I said, automatically. ‘Roughly 150lbs.’ ‘Whoa,’ he said, ‘I didn’t expect you to actually know. You must be taking this seriously.’ I shrugged. ‘It’s fun too.’ ‘Bet you’re not drinking tonight.’ ‘Maybe just the one. My body fat’s down to 7%.’ I sipped my orange juice. ‘It feels great, though. I’m so alive, so capable. And, bro, let me tell you, the girls are hanging round me like flies around shit.’ God, it felt good.. Harry didn’t seem to feel so, though. ‘Mate, I didn’t need to have another reason to feel inferior,’ he sighed. His mouth was proper down-turned. ‘Niamh,’ I said, testingly. He nodded glumly. ‘I wasn't enough for her, it seems.’ ‘You were too good for her, anyway,’ I said, although I wasn’t sure how true it was. There he sat, a weedy little guy with glasses, maybe half my size. He couldn’t have lifted a weight above his head, let alone bench-pressed what I was doing. He looked pretty pathetic. ‘Maybe you should join my gym. Just to cheer yourself up.’ ‘Can’t think of anything worse,’ he said. ‘Come off it, mate,’ I said. ‘Build a bit of muscle and you’ll feel amazing. Imagine if Niamh sees you on the beach next summer with your shirt off, biceps bulging, pecs rippling…’ I tailed off, thinking how ridiculous this sounded. Even if I could persuade him to take some exercise, I thought, it probably wouldn’t be a good idea for him to take his shirt off on camera. He was still as lean and hairless as when we both set off for University. I wondered, was I naturally superior to him? Niamh would certainly have picked me over him for a mate: law of the jungle. I’ve have shown her a better time, as well. I didn’t like to think how embarrassing Harry must have been in bed. I shook my head to clear it. Harry had been talking to me and all the time I’d been thinking about banging his girlfriend, cucking him in his own bed. Crazy thinking. I interrupted him: ‘I don’t want to hear any shit, mate, you’re coming with me to the gym tomorrow and that’s that.’ He sat back in surprise, held up his hands. ‘Fine. Fine!’ There was a long pause. Finally he laughed and got up to go to the bar. ‘Better get a round in while I’m still allowed, then!’ ‘Skip the crisps this time, okay,’ I laughed back. ‘2020’s going to be your year.’ And to be fair to him, he turned up. He obeyed me, as if I was in control of him. He did the exercises I told him to do. He changed his diet. It became quite fun, turning up to see him at the gym – maybe not as often as I would be there, but at least a couple of times a week. He didn’t enjoy it but he worked hard. At the end of January, he had actually lost a bit of weight – but sadly, he hadn’t put on a single shred of muscle. We stood looking at one another in the mirror. ‘I can’t fucking believe it,’ he said. ‘I’m actually smaller than before.’ ‘I’ve just grown bigger,’ I said, ‘that’s all, mate.’ ‘Bullshit,’ he said. ‘Yes, you’re bigger but look at me. I’m a shrimp. Nobody would guess we were the same age.’ ‘You’re a week younger,’ I told him, shrugging off my sweaty vest. ‘Maybe you’ll always be…’ Again, I didn’t want to say the truth. ‘What?’ he demanded. ‘What were you going to say? Weaker? Smaller? Inferior?’ ‘But only to me,’ I told him. ‘You might put on some muscle by summer. You won’t be strong but you’ll be fit.’ ‘That’s really what you think of me,’ he said, eyes wide. Furious. He looked like he wanted to pick a fight with me, but something rational was stopping him. He’d be mullered in a second. Instead, he ran away. Just grabbed his bag and stormed out. I should have run after him, but I was meeting this girl for dinner. He had told me on Tinder that she wanted me to fuck her like an animal, and I was still wondering how best to do that. I was too distracted. That was half my trouble. MaxandharryandharryandmaX was in trouble for the first time in history. An unshakeable bond, broken by the gym. Or maybe more, I thought. Maybe by masculinity and testosterone. Maybe by alpha male power. It could never be equal again now that I had begun to dominate. February slipped past, and I thought about him every day. I dreamt about him. I dreamt he was watching while I effortlessly fucked Niamh. I was pumped and bigger than ever while I worked at her tight snatch, and he got smaller while he watched me. In March, I finally sent him a message. ‘Miss lifting weights with you. Miss lifting pints even more.’ He replied almost straight away. ‘Maybe we should resume one of those activities. Guess which one.’ ‘Gym’s open longer hours,’ I replied, with a emoji to show I wasn’t serious. ‘Mate,’ he texted back, ‘I wouldn’t go there right now.’ ‘Why?’ I asked, expecting a joke. And so, Harry was the first person to tell me about coronavirus. I thought it was just him making an excuse about not exercising. I don’t follow the news, don’t really do social media; in fact, I was pretty buried in work and working out. I suppose, I also didn’t want it to be true. I was in full denial. And so, inevitably, I caught it. I’m strong. I’m healthy. I don’t even take roids, so no strain on my heart. So I guess I was well prepared for it. Even so, it knocked me out for longer than I expected. Those were some crazy weeks. Maybe the weeks that followed were even stranger. Apart from work, Harry was the main person I was in contact with during lockdown. At first we talked a bit about fitness: my gym had closed. I tried to buy gym equipment online, but there was none available. ‘I must have got the last set,’ Harry told me. He told me it was the one good thing in his life now. It was hard for him - he was still so weak - so I sent him tips over email, links to videos and online advice. He asked me questions about diets and supplements and steroids. I told him to do it all clean, which disappointed him, being the biology scientist – he wanted to make himself into his own experiment. But it was a good thing. It was like we were the same person after all, just slightly out of phase. Except I couldn’t work out, not properly. I did some bodyweight stuff and started running. The muscle just melted away. I ended up looking as lean as a stick of celery. ‘You’re going to end up as my trainer,’ he said, when we talked about it. I didn’t like that. What if he caught me up? So we didn’t talk about it. And the lockdown rolled by. The lockdown was raised. Life began to return to normal. It was September when we arranged to meet again. A few drinks in the same old pub we used to frequent – but first, we would work out together, side by side. It struck me, as I walked towards the bench press: we were equals at last. MaxandharryandharryandmaX had been brought closer together by the quarantine. We had both realised something: his innate power, my humility. At last, we would be best friends once again. The only problem was, he didn’t appear to have showed up. The gym was pretty much empty, and the only person hanging around our agreed meeting spot was a big guy. Proper monster. Shaved head. Lats out to here, waist in here, a real triangle. He looked nearly a foot taller than me and I was worried for a second. In an empty gym, it’s pretty bad etiquette to stand waiting for a piece of equipment. I didn’t want him to think I was trying anything on; he could have ripped me apart. He turned around and the light glinted off his glasses. He smiled. ‘Hey, Max, you made it!’ ‘Harry?!’ I couldn’t believe it. I thought it was a wind-up. He opened his arms inviting me for a hug. Each arm was as big as both of mine put together. The muscle was thick and pumped as if he had just completed a workout, not spent months in quarantine. ‘Harry,’ I said, looking up at him. ‘This is insane. You’re a fucking beast.’ ‘I used the lockdown well,’ he said seriously. His voice had grown deeper. It was like talking to a different man with my friend’s face, one who towered over me. ‘All this came from working out?’ ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I see you went the other way.’ I looked down at myself, blushing. ‘Yes, I’m pretty small these days.’ ‘How big were you before the lockdown?’ he asked me. ‘Let’s not talk about it,’ I said. ‘Maybe we should –’ ‘Cut the crap,’ he said. ‘I asked you a question.’ ‘About 75kg,’ I told him. ‘165lbs.’ He shook his head in disbelief. ‘You used to seem so big,’ he said. He ran his hands over the huge globes of his chest and the hard, thick ripples of his abdominals, lightly brushing his fingers across the giant vascular boulders of his biceps and the vast shoulder-muscles that framed his firm chin. ‘I’m about 270lbs. 125kg.’ ‘It’s not possible,’ I said. ‘Feel it,’ he said. ‘Then you’ll know how possible it is.’ I laughed and held up my hands. ‘That’s fine, I’ll believe you.’ ‘What is the problem with you?’ he said. He didn’t raise his voice but the authority was clear. ‘I told you to feel it, you little bitch.’ ‘Are you okay?’ I asked him. He shook his head for a second. ‘Sorry, bro. It’s the testosterone. Sometimes I lose control. I mean, it’s true that you’re little. And you’re being a bitch.’ He put a hand over his mouth and blushed. The redness spread down his huge neck where it got lost at the tops of his pecs. ‘Jesus. Just bants, mate. Just bants!’ ‘Will it help you if I – if I feel your muscle?’ I said, putting my hands on his physique. ‘Be careful,’ he said. ‘I’m like a loaded gun nowadays.’ ‘More like a cannon,’ I said, feeling his might. ‘The Incredible Hulk has nothing on you. So you went for the steroids after all?’ ‘No way, you little cunt,’ he said, breathing heavily. ‘Ah, I’m sorry, Max. But no – not steroids, exactly. I did some research. With some friends online. Other biology academics into weightlifting. I was looking for short cuts, and they were looking for ways to build size and strength. I think between us we tapped into something that did both. Workouts combined with certain hormones and particular herbs. It’s all perfectly safe, just a few side-effects.’ ‘Like the anger management issues,’ I suggested. ‘And all this fur.’ I ran a hand through the pelt on his monstrous chest. ‘You really are becoming a beast.’ ‘Fuck!’ he gasped. ‘You touched it! I should have warned you – but I thought it would sound gay.’ ‘Touched what?’ I snatched my hand away but he caught it in a giant fist. ‘You touched my nipple. Fucking sensitive nowadays.’ ‘So what – what does that mean?’ ‘It means,’ he said, ‘either I need to fuck a woman in the next ten minutes or…’ ‘Or what?’ Harry looked toward the changing room door. ‘Or, old friend, you’ll have to milk the cum from my big swinging balls…’ TO BE CONTINUED…
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Encore une petite bêtise ----------------------- Et enfin le voilà! Enfin le voilà mon cher Michel, plus de deux heures que nous l'espérions, deux heures quarante exactement Oui Jean-Luc, le moment que nous attendions tant, et vous aussi chers téléspectateurs, ce palpitant direct, ce grand évènement suivi par toutes les télévisions du monde, il culmine à cet instant, encore quelques secondes avant que le scène ne s'anime. Oui Michel, c'est l'évènement tant attendu, la compétition sportive la plus célébrée au monde, le plus prestigieux trophée du plus prestigieux des sports, et je parle bien entendu du Bodybuilding, Voici enfin le début du spectacle ! Oui cher Jean-Luc, cela va enfin pouvoir commencer, l'élection du MOST EXTREMELY MUSCULAR SUPERHUMAN ULTRAGIGAWEIGHT SUPREME BODYBUILDER OF THE UNIVERSE V. Et oui déjà la cinquième année de cette compétition, ce qui est à la fois peu et beaucoup considérant le statut légendaire qu'elle a si rapidement acquise. Et à juste titre. La foule est en délire alors que sur la scène les pans du décor s'écartent, dans un tumulte de fumée, de lumière et de clameurs Cette année encore on a droit à du grand spectacle, l'organisation n'a pas reculé devant les moyens ! Et voici Frank Lefort qui entre en scène, Ô mon Dieu il est plus spectaculaire que jamais ! Et ce n'est rien de le dire! Le stade tout entier est estomaqué. Et pour l'instant nous n'apercevons que sa silhouette ! Oui le jeu de lumières est très habile, nous tenant en haleine tout en laissant deviner la fabuleuse énormité du physique de ce géant de deux mètres quarante sept ! Mais voici qu'il avance un pied dans la lumière ! Les écrans géants montre ce pied en gros plan, il faut bien dire que les immenses pieds de Frank Lefort, parfaitement bardés de muscles, sont adorés par ses fans. Fans qui sont bien évidemment en nombre ce soir ! Absolument cher Michel, et ils le font savoir, ils l'acclament si fort que je vous entends à peine dans mon casque ! Et cela dure, Jean-Luc, cela dure... Manifestement notre Frank Lefort national attend qu'un peu de calme revienne pour révéler son physique. Ah il faut dire qu'il sait ménager ses effets - enfin dans la mesure du possible ! Mais il semblerait qu'il... BORDEL DE MERDE ! ... Oui pardon Michel, et je m'excuse auprès de nos auditeurs, mais... Oh Jean-Luc je crois que vous avez plus ou moins reflété l'opinion générale, même si votre verbe n'était pas trop chatié, ha ha. Pour ma part je suis resté sans voix. Et pour cause ! Oui, un moment historique, tout bonnement incroyable. Quand la lumière a progressivement révélé ces deux gigantesques pectoraux, je veux dire, il nous avait habitué à l'exceptionnel depuis bien longtemps, mais là, les deux montgolfières de muscle jaillissant de son poitrail ont atteint une taille ahurissante. Tout à fait Michel, Frank Lefort nous présente des pectoraux d'une épaisseur, d'un volume si délirant, qu'ils pendent quasiment jusqu'à sa taille. Sa sangle abdominale toute entière est dissimulée par cette avalanche de muscle mammaire. Mais attendez, oui... Ah mais oui, il fait entrer en bandaison ses deux gros seins, non mais regardez-moi cette folie, on dirait qu'il va décoller, et cette débauche de striations, on peut voir apparaître chaque fibre musculaire Encore et toujours Michel, notre Frank parvient à faire rimer quantité et qualité. Mais c'est sa tête qui disparaît par contre ! Mais oui Jean-Luc, effectivement, l'érection de ses pectoraux est si puissante, que leur volume les fait dépasser la hauteur de son crâne. C'est impensable. Il faut le voir pour le croire. D'autant qu'il n'a pas adopté de pose particulière, il fait ça comme s'il faisait juste rouler ses pectorauoooOOH! Il fait danser ses pectoraux désormais ! La foule est en délire. Des centaines de kilos de muscles qui bondissent et jaillissent de son torse selon son bon vouloir, un phénomène absolument stupéfiant. Attendez Michel, il bloque ses pectoraux en contraction à nouveau. Que... Mais regardez ses abdominaux ! Quelle maîtrise, Il joue se chaque muscle abdominal avec une précision sidérante. Et regardez comme ils sont volumineux, définis et parfaitement symétriques, tous les 10. Mais que faites-vous Michel... Oh il s'est levé pour applaudir, je vais en faire autant Voilà nous reprenons l'antenne, Jean-Luc et moi sommes en nage, pétris d'émotion, Frank Lefort vient de mettre fin à cette "symphonie abdominale", à laquelle ses obliques se sont joint sur la fin, maintenant il a fait retomber ses lourds pectoraux, et reprend sa respiration, comme vous l'entendez le public l'applaudit à tout rompre. Et le spectacle ne fait que commencer. Frank reprend son souffle, en position de détente toujours, son sourire éclatant balayant l'auditoire, ton torse ruisselant de sueur. Vous l'entendez, la foule scande son nom, et... ça devait arriver, le chant des supporters, "Frankie, tu es fort, tu es maître, tu es Dieu, nous t'aimons..." Ca va durer un moment cette affaire. Oui Jean-Luc, l'occasion de commenter sur le choix vestimentaire de M. Lefort, qui n'est pas innocent, cette année il a opté pour un maillot aux couleurs de l'arc-en-ciel, ce qui ne saute pas aux yeux car c'est tout au mieux un cache-sexe, contenant autant que faire se peut son imposant appareil génital. L'athlète nous a habitué à ses maillots de "posing" les plus minuscules possibles, mais aujourd'hui son choix semble inhabituellement politique, certainement une prise de position contre la féroce oppression subie par les homosexuels dans certains pays du Moyen-Orient actuellement ; possiblement aussi, un clin d'oeil à ses innombrables fans dans la communauté gay, envers qui il a toujours manifesté une affection particulière. Attendez Michel, regardez il lève lentement ses bras de part et d'autre, on sait ce qui arrive, oh le stade est en feu. Ses bras atteignent l'horizontale, c'est fou comme il a le sens du spectacle, il fait vraiment vivre des émotions en montagne russes à tous ces gens, et à nous aussi, et à vous aussi sans doute chez vous... Il ferme lentement ses poings... Oh Jean-Luc cette fois-ci c'est mon tour PUTAIN DE BORDEL DE MERDE ! Wow Michel, je crois que... Mais taisez-vous, regardez-moi ça ! Regardez ces planètes ! Regardez ces miracles ! C'est... C'est... Oui clairement, Frank Lefort vient de bander ses biceps, un double biceps, et... le résultat est tout bonnement... pharamineux, devant nous... C'est... C'est... Comment dire, au moment où il a contracté ses bras, Frank Lefort a matérialisé deux entités gigantesques, ses biceps, déjà colossalement énormes au repos, se sont transformés en monticules de muscle d'une taille improbable, dont je serais bien incapable d'estimer les dimensions... C'est... C'est.... ... et, et... qui s'étend non seulement haut vers le ciel, mais également sur les côtés, de toutes parts, des protubérances qui... il règne un silence implacable dans le stade, on peut juste entendre... Je ne sais pas si vous l'entendez, mais Frank Lefort hurle furieusement de joie en contemplant tour à tour ses biceps qu'il bande frénétiquement, comme s'il voulait voir leurs veines exploser, je vois beaucoup de gens qui s'évanouissent dans l'auditoire, et moi-même... C'est... C'est... Je pense que Michel et moi ne sommes plus en état de commenter les images pour le moment, nous vous prions de nous en excuser, mais je pense que le les images qui vont suivre se passeront de tout commentaire, (...) Nous... avons passé une soirée intense. Vous pouvez le dire Jean-Luc. Nous espérons que vous nous pardonnerez le manque de professionnalisme dont nous avons fait preuve ce soir, comme vous le voyez Frank Lefort est à nouveau couronné du titre suprême, encore cette année il était seul compétiteur. Comme chaque année depuis la création de ce concours. Effectivement.
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Hello all, Part 2 of Adverse Reaction. I hope you enjoy, will need ideas for my next story, so please feel free to message me with suggestions. For the next few days, Nick avoided me wherever he could. I didn’t see him for several days initially following the unusual events that took place in the gym shower. I had continued to grow all the way back from the gym at a much slower rate; it seemed over the next few days that I also continued to grow increasingly more powerful in the gym. My lifts were going up and up and so was every part of me. I couldn’t believe how strong I was getting, it was like a dream come true. However, despite clearly trying to avoid each other it was inevitable that we would bump into each other in such a small flat. That day came almost 8 days after the shower incident. I was struggling to squeeze myself into my old clothes. My slender jeans and slim fit tops were now discarded in the back of my wardrobe as they split when I put them on. Either that or they fought with pecs for space or dug into my arms and shoulders with incredible discomfort. Now I had to settle for baggy jeans or baggy shorts and my old hoodies or sports jerseys. Unfortunately I owned very few, and all my shirts now, began to stink of man after about 4 hours of wear. Apparently whatever my body was now kicking out, it smelled strong and powerful, just like the rest of me. I waited for a day when Nick wasn’t in. It was a plan that required patience, but I found that my new persona was hungry for a change in the dynamic at home. I grinned as my phone chirped. I looked down and opened up the grindr profile, I had paid extra to have the full app and get the notifications, because it was all part of the major plan. My grin was because, some new pics of me had sent my sexual appeal into the stratosphere and I was enjoying my new found appeal by fucking tight ass like a man in a desert, drinking water, for the first time in months. One new revelation out of all of this, was an increasingly dominant and slight sadistic streak in the bedroom, which had proceed to have grown only stronger in keeping with my outward appearance. I loved to watch down over my newly minted pectorals to see them suck me off, their eyes fixed on mine. The power of it. I knew I was getting hooked on it as a sensation. However, I also knew my plan involved me having to put that to one side, to achieve what I wanted. Knowing what I liked as a dominant in the bedroom, I began to talking to fellow dominant muscle guys. Guys who could gift me the very thing I craved. More power. Posing as a fit, athletic submissive, I found it tough to find the right dominant. Until today. I knew my housemate was out. The timing was perfect. This guy was just right. Arrogant and rude. Older by 15 years. Married with kids. Bulging with muscle and hung to fuck. I couldn’t steal from a guy like me, I had to take it from someone with ego, someone who looked down on me. Someone who only saw me as an inferior male specimen. The phone chirped again. As was the plan, he was coming right over from the gym. I had to be ready for him, on my knees, wearing a sports vest and a jockstrap. I looked over at the bedside table. There waiting for him, fresh from the gym, was an ice-cold, orange coloured protein shake. As I heard the handle of the front door turn, I was on my knees, I picked up the protein shake and held it out in front of me. If this worked, well… This was going to be amazing. He entered. He said nothing, but snatched the shake and kicked me backwards onto the floor from my kneeling position. I dulled the malevolent look in my eyes and watched as he drank the post-workout shake as I had offered to have ready for his arrival. If it tasted of anything, he did not express it. I watched his thick, powerful arms hold the shaker aloft. Sweat streaked his huge physique, he wore only a black string vest and some loose red gym shorts. He kicked off his shoes and stepped towards me. I could smell his fresh, fierce gym scent. My face in line with his crotch, I could smell his uncut cock. Suddenly it kicked in the light polyester shorts. It surged towards me, huge. Bigger than Sam. He growled as I massaged his legs, the organ pulsing to life, growing hard and thick. Moments later, he had lost control, grabbed me by the vest and the jock, shouldered his way into the bedroom and dumped me on the bed. Only, this was Nick’s room. I didn’t have time to correct things, as this guy was on me. Using me for his own pleasure. His cock pulsed down the length of my back, he grabbed me by the neck and I felt the searing pain of his cock enter me. It was brutally painful and I grunted, but he stifled it with one big sweaty palm over my face. He rammed my face into the bed, forcing my ass up. My hands gripped the edge of the mattress and I was forced to breath in my housemates acrid stink, which would have previously made my own cock harden. But I was becoming a different creature now. I wanted to fight back and push this asshole off me. But I wanted to grow. I had to be right, it had to be this luminous orange shit Sam had been necking everyday. The guy behind me, grunted and laughed at my apparent pain. His organ really was monsterous and he was damn strong. I could hear the wooden bedframe, creak, that unmistakeable sound of wood splitting as he ploughed me. Nick’s furniture moved across the floor between each, titanic thrust. Then it happened, I felt his cock thicken, and then thicken again, straining my hole. I felt him began to fire round after round into me. The change, was immediate. I felt it inside me. Like a spark to a freestanding pool of diesel. I ignited. My head rose up. “Oh fuck yes… FUCK…. YES….” Was about all I could utter as it ripped through me. Energy, masculine energy suffused my limbs. I felt my ass kick back, my thighs bulge with new mass. Fuck, I felt strong. My back cracked and I lengthened up the bed. I grinned as it hit my shoulders. I was no longer able to hold onto the roleplay fantasy as I felt my shoulders undulate and widen, lats surging in power. “Yes… I’m g-growing… This is fucking amazing…” I felt the softening cock slip out from me. I rolled over and saw the expression in his face. It was a face I had not seen before, a mixture of revulsion and desire. He loathed watching me grow but desired it for himself. He was torn, he felt drained, he wanted to leave, but he needed to know how too. I extended my longer legs over the bed, sprung forward with my strengthening arms and stood in front of him. I grinned at him only now slightly less tall than him, but in a split second, the margin vanished. I growled again. My pecs surged and thread of my vest creaked and split at the shoulder. I inhaled deeply and the split widened into a tear, revealing the bulging mass beneath the fabric. Another tear, this time from below. He looked down and went pale. His prior former glory, soft and hanging limp, looked smaller than he had every seen it. It’s mass, very obviously being siphoned into its opposite number as my small jock was being shredded by the growing mound of my package. I laughed as it tore open the jock at my right hip and my newly grown organ fell forwards, thick, large and pointing menacingly at him before it pulsed larger again. My nuts beneath, not left out from the transformation. I brought my arms up and flexed, they bulged with power. My features refining, my masculinity surging as he, went the other way. His previous bulging ripped physique, was still big, but much softer. He was shorter, looked less masculine but I mostly seemed to have drained him of his cock, which looked woefully average now. He looked between my taught biceps and his own softer upper arms as I flexed, I was captivated my their shape and bulge, a big thick vein now across the surface of my left bicep. I looked back at him. “Now fuck off, or I’ll take more…” His trainers made a plastic squeal as he made for the door, stumbling twice over his now, too large shoes. I grinned, turned to Nick’s mirror and flexed. This was amazing. It would be several more days before I could take this new found ability and turn it back against Nick. Had I felt any pang of morality about going through with it, it seemed to evapourate with my last growth. I considered, I was becoming no better than Nick or the asshole who just saw me as a convenient hole, but somehow, I didn’t seem to mind. ********* It was on the day when I had no more clean sports jerseys to wear that I squeezed my newly bolstered frame into the biggest tee I had. Instead of looking ridiculous, I looked incredible. I was never going to hide myself again I snickered, watching myself in the bathroom mirror, my biceps straining the sleeves, chunky veins emerging from beneath the cuffs and my new enhanced pectoral shelf straining the shirt. Just looking at myself made the sleeping organ in my jeans pulse. As I was about to flex in the t-shirt, I heard the door to the bathroom swing open and Nick stepped in. He was dressed only in a towel. “I need a shower” “Yeah, I’m nearly done Nick, you can wait 2 minutes” My blood burned as it pumped through me. I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I had stood up to Nick, this was incredible. He looked at me malevolently. As I finished tusseling my hair with wax in the mirror, I gazed admiringly as my biceps swelled at bulged as my hands worked on my coarse, thicker hair. I glanced across in the mirror, Nick was watching my arms too as our eyes never met. “Right, all yours bro…” I grunted and exited the shower, smiling at the unmistakable hardening of Nick’s thick organ against his towel. He would never before have gotten aroused by me, but I couldn’t be sure if it was his protein that caused it, or whether Nick had always been secretly attracted to muscular jocks. As I walked out of the bathroom, it dawned of me that Nick would be in there for some time. His room would be unguarded. Checking over my shoulder, I crept into his room. The scent of his room more familiar now that my own bedroom was developing its own masculine scent. A quick glance across the counters and floors, did reveal that Nick had been entertaining Jenna recently. He left the very thing that I wanted, just lying there. I grinned and got to work. I traced the edge of my water bottle with a finger through the car ride, its precious cargo the only thing I could think about. Nick’s malicious gaze continued to drift from the traffic ahead onto my swollen arms, the size and obvious power, stretching the sleeves of my previously baggy t-shirt, whereas his underarmour hid what he had clearly lost very well. He had managed however, to quite easily convince himself, he was no less of a man than he was the previous week. As we arrived at the gym, as we exited the car I took my first gulp of my water bottle, the lemon juice not really disguising the digusting taste of his ejaculate. I loved the feeling of pure energy as it burned down my throat before setting a raging fire within my gut. More suddenly than I expected I began to feel myself grow as we crossed the car park, I could feel the arms of my t-shirt dig into hardening biceps, my burgeoning arm reached down to readjust my package which was becoming rather uncomfortable in my new jock, I bought to replace the previous one. “Stop playing with yourself…” Nick scolded his voice breaking as he did so. I loved the feeling, watching him wilt as I grew stronger and stronger. It was hard to avoid the temptation to drink all of the contents of my shake, but I resisted. I walked over to an empty weight bench, the agreed exercise to be shoulder press. After a quick warm up, I grabbed his usual working weight and hefted it over to him. He looked a little anxiously at the large imposing dumbbells before turning his face into a snarl. He hardened the look as he got his arms into the perfect start position with a little help. I stood back and took another big swig of the potent protein shake. On his second rep and his arms visibly twinged as his muscle thinned, his face strained as his arms struggled. “Bro…” he struggled growing red in the face As his face glowed so the change rocketed through me, I could feel my chest swell outwards. My tee was now edging towards dangerously snug. The end of my shorts were now rubbing the top of my knee and not the top of my calf as the flourishing muscle and elongating limbs, pulled them vertically. I positioned myself behind him, and applied a very firm pressure from beneath his elbows to help with the weight, but he still struggled, the contours of his elbows feeling flatter and softer. His weakening arms inched upwards a little more before stopping, as his muscle ebbed, it felt like I was draining it right out of him. Nick’s arms collapsed and the heavy dumbells came clattering to the floor, he leaned forwards onto his knees totally spent. Before we switched seats I took another big swig of the shake. My weight was less than Nick’s but much more than I would normally throw around. I hefted the weight into position, getting one up with the help of a quad, as the undeniable cracking of the hem of my shorts resounded in the air of the gym. I pressed the weight, from my stance I could feel the bulge in my underwear swell, the feeling of wellness and masculine power bolt through me as I pressed the weight, after the second rep, it felt light. It felt like the worlds best pump. But I knew better, I was growing still. I racked the weight, and grinning, watched Nick’s face fall as I grabbed more weight. I restarted shoulder pressing the heavier dumbells, now matching Nick’s weight, it was tough at first but it got slowly easier as I felt my growth continue but at a slower pace. The delts fought back hard against the taught fabric, the power of the muscle winning out on the fifth rep, as two seams cracked. The protuberant muscle tearing the fabric apart. I grinned at Nick who looked white with shock. The sixth rep, forced the muscle to bulge larger again, the stronger, harder, steely muscle tearing more of the seam like a knife through butter. I felt the pressure around that shoulder relax and I grunted a lewd moan, feeling the sinew burst from its cloth prison. “Oh fuck yeah… growing…” I grunted. I turned to the mirror, bringing both my arms up displaying their new expanded form. As I gently flexed, more cracking was audible. I drank in my new form, whilst openly taking long stares at Nick, he seemed weaker by the second where as I was empowered. My skin seemed to glow with vitality, my features more masculine and edgy and my eyes sparkled. I couldn’t remember, ever feeling this good. I think, looking back on it now, objectively, this would probably have been enough to address the power balance in the flat, to bring things back to an even keel, but something inside me had grown stronger too. I felt that “evens” wasn’t enough, I didn’t even wrestle with the desire, I simply gave into it, to the temptation to take more, to feel the power course through me again. I chugged some more protein shake and suggested some lateral raises. Nick for the first time, seemed almost defeated but agreed. I watched as we moved over to the smaller free weights. I watched Nick gingerly pick up the 8kg. “Shoulder injury…” he coughed, by way of an excuse for not using his normal weight. I watched as he began the exercise, his weakened musculature, struggling with the small weight. His arms shook and sweat seemed to pour out of him. I grabbed heavier weights and began exercising next to him. My eyes firmly locked onto the powerful body I barely recognised in the mirror, Nick looked on, watching striations burst out of my skin into prominence. Exhausted he let the weights hang by his side as I grabbed heavier ones. By now, I could feel others in the gym watch as my shoulders swelled and veins pulsed over the surface. I wracked the dumbells and brought my arms up into a flex. The swollen arms and shoulders, openly tearing the arms of my vest with audible cracks. “YEAH!” I roared, totally absorbed in this power, not caring how the transformation was affecting not just my body, my whole personality. On reflection, how many of us could be in this situation and not take it all, how many of us would turn down the opportunity to be elevated above others. Maybe, the old me could have turned back on it, but the testosterone tearing through my body, urged me on, pressing me to turn the knife in Nicks wound. At least, I tell myself it was that. Before I could pose again, Nick was gone. I glanced over to see him slip back into the changing rooms. I grinned, casually following him, sauntering through the gym, as other guys eyed my new form, probably the first time they’ve ever noticed me over my flatmate. In the changing rooms, Nick stripped and hurried into the shower. I could barely stop myself from grinning as my ruined workout shirt hung off my surging frame. I gently peeled the remains off, letting it drop to the floor as my chest caught my eye. Not only was it distended with muscle, but a fine coat of hair was now generously coating it, only adding to overstate the power and evolutional masculinity behind such a display. My thickened legs were swelling as I padded from foot to looking in the mirror, eagerly flexing my now bulgy and rounded biceps, the forearms crammed with veins and distended with a sickeningly thick spread. I chugged down the last of the precious shake. My eager guzzling causing the odd drip to land haphardly on my swollen pectoral shelf. Even as my left hand casually quested for it, I felt it absorb into my skin. It was like my body was adapting to Nick as a source of food. With my legs rolling over each other, I made for the shower. I knew Nick would want to once again try and put me in my place, with the only advantage he still had. I deliberately entered the shower, facing an opposite shower head to Nick. I felt the familiar surge within me, the change was coming, and this would be a big one. I knew Nick had his back to the shower head, as he always did, any excuse to show off his almighty package to anyone who would glance at it. I glanced out of the corner of my eye, his once proud muscle, softened, his hard look now distinctly puffier and flatter. His once thick neck, now looking thinner and less impressive. His typically rounded biceps looking more fusiform and slender. Yet, I was still aware his package had remained large. In his rush to get into the shower, he hadn’t appeared to notice the other changes to his body. “You think that I wouldn’t notice Sam?” He said suddenly, as I felt my back begin to furtively thicken. “Notice what bro…?” I asked innocently, turning halfway to face him. “You stealing my protein powder… It’s really good stuff bro, but I’ve hidden it now. I’m not sharing anymore with you, so enjoy the growth, because believe me, when I get back on it, I’m gonna make your life pure hell” He grinned at me his features malevolent. His hand reaching down and palming his thick, long piece of meat, grabbing the base, he gave it two quick tugs. If he registered that it didn’t seem as big, or as long as usual, his face didn’t reflect that. “However big you get, you’ll never be bigger than me where it really counts” He said laughing. But his laughter died away when I turned to face him. He drank in the image, watching, as my muscles seemed to bulge bigger. His mouth moved wordlessly as if trying to speak but unable. I felt the dragon roar up within me as power streamed through my body. I felt my legs lengthen, taking my growing profile in higher, I couldn’t believe how strong, how powerful I felt. “Alright fine…” I said finally, breaking the silence “But… I think you’ll find Nick… that I’m the one bigger where it counts and if I’m bigger, you have to suck it…” I continued Nick, his eyes darting between my chest, abs and, what was now a bigger than average flaccid cock. “Heh, I’m still bigger bro, you got yourself a deal. And if I’m bigger I guess that means you have to suck mine!” he grinned. “well… alright then…” I said feeling my growth slacken off again He began massaging his cock, it would have been impressive by anyone’s standards, of course, anyone that hadn’t seen Nick before this week. Now as I played with my own thicker, longer tool, it felt great as it engorged and grew hard as steel, the whole throbbing pole feel amazing in my hand, better than ever before. What I presume Nick used to feel. My bigger, swollen balls, pulsed with energy, my skin on fire. To my surprise, Nicks cock thickened obscenely, hanging lower and lower as he caressed it with a fist, soon it grew harder and began rising up, pointing straight at me. My sword rising to meet the opponent, like the calm before a joust or fencing tournament. He stepped forward, my eyes angled downward to meet his, I was growing taller. Again if he registered this, he chose to ignore it. Instead, he grabbed my big thickening pole and pulled me in closer toward him. But I grinned as I felt his purple, engorged cock head jab into my abdomen. My own cock, falling just a few millimetres short to do the same to him. I watched Nick return the smug, arrogant look plaster all over his face again. “Heh, you know, I’m gonna enjoy this…” he smiled, placing a hand on my thickened and bulging shoulder. I tried to look dismayed as I sank to my knees, the flexion making my quads bulge and distend. I’m not certain if Nick noticed much of what was happening, but glint in his eye suggested that somehow he was oblivious. I gazed upward, with as much of an innocent intent as I could muster, made all the easier as he gently slapped his cock against my mouth. I didn’t even have to time react as he bucked his now seemingly slender hips forward and penetrated my mouth with his thick organ. I concentrated on supressing my gap reflex and kneading the rigid shaft with the breadth of my tongue as he firmly handled the sides of my head for his own pleasure. As he thrust in, I could feel the last of the effects of the tainted protein shake start to slacken, but things were already accelerating toward my eventual victory as I watched Nick sneer, his legs buckle and toes curl. His insistent and powerful thrusting increased in intensity but weakened in power. I could take his cock more manageably in my mouth; I knew my grip on his legs strengthened as those very legs diminished. Then I felt it, before he knew about it, before even the tidal wave of his cum hit me. I felt the spark of power deep within me, grow hot and brighter with every passing second. I focussed on feeding that sensation and sucked hard on his cock and it felt like the dam burst within him as his cock pulsed and rope after rope of his thick white ejaculate launched into my mouth. I felt like I had the energy to run a marathon or move boulders, as I continued to suck hard on his organ. Within seconds, my thickened musculature began to grow again as I took everything Nick had to offer. I glanced up at Nick, his head back, totally gripped in pleasure, his eyes half closed. I watched as I saw his chest weaken, his abs lose definition, and his thighs lose the impressive thickness. I knew his cock was shrinking too as my mouth now held his whole length easily. I also knew exactly where it was going. On my knees, my now impressive slab of meat between my legs was hanging over a bigger pair of bull balls and grazing the wet tile beneath my legs, with every passing second, I felt it reel out and rest on the tile like a python. I couldn’t physically wait to see the new me, but I could feel myself growing larger and stronger by the second. The feeling was indescribable, save for the undeniable and unassailable power that coursed through every inch of my body. As pleasure washed over him, he placed a hand on my shoulder. I looked up, as he looked down, curious about the sheer size and breadth of the rugged, rock hard shelf he had gripped on to. As our eyes met, I licked the head of his cock clean and pulled the much shorter, dare I even say small, cock from my mouth and grinned up from the floor at him. He said nothing, as his eyes darted around my newly enhanced body. In a split second, his cock bucked and he came again, only managing two single ropes this time as it shot out and hit my chest. He watched as it absorbed into my skin and my pecs swelled even more freakishly than before. My shoulders widened and a involuntarily growl escaped my throat as I grew again. He fearfully stepped back, that’s when he noticed his transformation, in the opposite direction. “Whu- you… you took it?” “You gave it…” “No… I would never give it…” His voice sounding hollow and almost childlike “How…?” he ventured “I think it’s your protein, it’s nothing I’ve done” I said flatly I rose to my feet. I had grown so large, I put my final height at maybe 6’4, maybe more, my muscle, huge, thick, maybe 250/260lbs easily, eager and desperate to be used. I looked down at him, gone were the protuberances of his muscle, the towering, masculine height. His cock limp and shrunken. Despite this, his wolfish good looks remained, and the innocence in his face made his eyes sparkle even more. There was little more to say. He took one last look at what used to be his before turning and running. By the time I had gotten back to the flat that night, he was already gone. His stuff was mostly packed, he’d left most of his clothes, since they no longer fit him but he’d packed the important stuff. He left the weights and the bench. But I suspected that now they would be too light for me. I walked into the kitchen, not unhappy with my current situation. I wore only a pair of sweat pants, my big, muscled physique clearly on display, my obscene bulge displayed through the thick cotton fabric. I smiled as realised Nick left all his food, kitchen supplies and his vast array of supplements. But, on closer inspection, there was a gap above the refrigerator, my new vantage could show me that there was a footprint where something used to be. Nick had taken the experimental protein shake with him.
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He threw the trophy to the floor. The muscular head cracked off the figure and the plastic plinth it stood on smashed into pieces. “Second place? Second fucking place” - he knew he’d been robbed. Years of hard work, early mornings in the gym, the diet, the sacrifices ... the roids. He knew he was worth more than second place. He stood in the bathroom backstage, his body pumped, vascular and as big as it had ever been. Wearing only his deep red posing trunks which struggled to hold his leviathan back, he scanned his body. His pecs were full, round and a huge deep crevice between them dripped with sweat. Quads were massive, smooth and pushed his cock forward making it seem even bigger than it was. He looked good and he knew it. Ever since he’d taken up bodybuilding, he’d become sexually aroused by his growth. With every new growth spurt, it had sexually charged him, pushing him to want to add more size. He’d no need of a partner because looking at his bull like reflection turned him on - self worship was all he needed. He lifted his hulking arms up into a double bicep. The veins bulged like newly laid cables. He couldn’t resist - his tongue found the peak and it explored every inch. Next - down into a most muscular. “Fuck” he thought - “I’m a fucking GOD”. With that, the leviathan awoke. Uncurling itself from its sleep, his bulge grew bigger and bigger “yes, fuck - look at how big I’ve become” he roared. Now at full mast, the posing trunks could hardly contain the granite structure it held. His fingers and thumb felt along the elastic strap of the trunks, it was stretched to its capacity. His thumbs now under the strap hardly needed any help as he pulled them away from his body. The elastic gave way and his monstrous cock smashed against his abs. The posing trunks fell to the floor, ripped and ruined. Now totally naked he could explore his body further. His left hand slid down across his ridged steel abs to where his fingers could cup his avocado sized balls while his thumb stroked the heaving sack. His right hand grabbed the shaft and it began rhythmically stroking his member. His fingers rubbing the ridge of his mushroom while his thumb coaxed the precum from the slit. His body was tanned, huge and he knew he should have come first. He didn’t even notice the door to the bathroom close - he was too intent on worshipping his body. “What the fuck are you doing mate” - a voice called from behind him “This is a public bathroom - you fucking freak” - the voice continued. He couldn’t hear him - his body was all he could focus on. The voice came closer “Hey mate fucking stop that - that’s ..” But that’s as much as the voice said His left elbow smashed backwards into the guys jaw - momentarily leaving the comfort of his ball sack. The trophy the guy was carrying fell to the floor. He turned, naked, pumped and a mix of horny and angry. “Why the fuck they gave you first place ill never know” he said With that, his right hand stoped the rhythmic pumping of his cock and now in a fist - it hit him on the guys right cheekbone making a cracking sound as it did. Almost defiantly crushing the eye socket. The guy fell to the floor, catching his posing trunks on a door handle as he went, tearing them from his body. Writhing in pain, blood pouring from his cheek and nose, the guy was now naked and unable to move. “And that’s what you call an excuse for a dick?” He said staring at what looked like a prepubescent cock. “I’m bigger, I’m stronger and my dick is superior to yours” He stood over the guy in a most muscular pose, a string of precum from his abs to his cock. His right hand in a first again and this time it landed square in his already damaged jaw, cracking it as it came down. The guys tongue lolled out of his mouth, unable to speak, half dazed, half dead. The mighty bodybuilder was slain. He knelt down next to him, his throbbing cock in need of fulfilment. He took the guys head in one hand and with the other, fed his snake of a cock into the guys mouth. Now in a squat position and his member in place, both hands took control of the guys head. He forced it into and out of the guys mouth. Thrusting it with immense power and strength. Feeling the broken jaw cracking and being in control of such a huge muscular man, turned him on. His dick swelled with pleasure, knowing he’d now had taken out his opposition. The guy gagged and feebly tried to stop the rhythmic movement of his cock - but failed. He turned and looked in the mirror. Seeing the guy slumped on the floor and how his massive body had conquered it made his balls tighten - he was ready to unload. As if sensing it, the guy made a final attempt to stop him from ravaging his mouth - but failed. A hot stream of protein and roid cum pumped into the guys mouth. The guy began to choke. but this only spurred him on. Deeper he thrust his member, making sure the guy got one final and privileged protein shake before he died. Anabolic cum spewed into the guys throat and he was unable to resist. The guy inhaled and began to choke. With one final spurt it was over. He withdrew his satisfied cock and wiped the remainder of his cum on the guys cheek. He stood up and placed one foot on the guys chest. With a deep roar he pushed his foot down, his arms in a double bicep pose - the guys ribs cracked under his immense size and strength. The guy was finished, he’d taken his last breath. He looked in the mirror. He was victorious at last - as it should always have been. He walked over and picked the guys trophy up from the floor - it was his now and now the competition had been taken out - nobody else could stand in his way. He was the ultimate human being, a superior bodybuilder, a true muscle god.
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wrestling "The Twenty" - Chapter 12: Part 2 Casey vs. Karim Abdul: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match
Guest posted a topic in Stories
Back to the first part of this chapter.... "The Twenty" Chapter 12, Part 1: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match Finally, another chapter.....a group of the boys are heading off for muscle worship in LA! Part 1. Sorry it has taken me so long to continue. ENJOY! Comments welcome... Updated 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 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 24 - Further Encounters 5: Sam and Casey Again, and Moster and the Cadets Precis: Valhalla Labs is a remote mountaintop Northern California military facility, overseen by genius muscle growth scientist Dr. Ira Zaftig and CO Staff Sergeant Rod Moster, a 7'-0" ripped and hung 395-pound black muscle giant. There, 18 extraordinary bodybuilder-soldiers live, train, and play together, overseen by Moster's strict rules and brutal regimen for muscular perfection. Known as Project Herculaneum, the men serve as Dr. Zaftig's lab rats, receiving regular injections of P-21, a specially developed enzyme that facilitates muscle and strength growth in the very few bodybuilders whose systems can withstand it. The goal: to create an army of supermen, whose strength, size, and combat skills are unparalleled in the modern military. Unfortunately for the Project, the soldiers' enhanced strength and dramatically increased muscular size is accompanied by a corresponding increase in priapic size as well, along with a rapidly diminishing sense of social restraint and inhibitions. And along the way, the men's extraordinary physiques prompt their own extreme muscle fantasies into a daily acting-out sexual reality. Into the mix comes young Casey Rockland, a lonely, handsome, super-hung 18-year old bodybuilding giant. Inducted by Dr. Zaftig into the top-secret government muscle strength and growth project, Casey comes to learn the ropes amongst the muscle giants, whose hunger for hardcore training is matched only by their sexual appetites and growing fantasies, including their insatiable need to receive muscle worship. Casey's innocence, simplicity, and his growing need to receive both love and muscle worship threaten the very core of the decade-long Project, itself only now approaching its full potential. Chapter 12: Part 2 Casey vs. Karim Abdul: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match Casey and Abdul shook hands and almost immediately crashed into each other like sumo wrestlers. Moving with confident skill, Abdul wrapped his arms around Casey’s chest and slid them up underneath his armpits. He gained leverage, letting out a massive grunt as he heaved the big muscleboy up off his feet. Casey moaned as Abdul slammed him down to the mat. “Awesome,” breathed Lang. “That was fast,” said Waring. “He’s not done yet,” said Alvarez. The men leaned in to watch closer. The wrestlers’ gigantic muscles rippled with pumping, vascular power on the mat. Casey managed to break free for a second, but found himself in Abdul’s guard. Abdul was already going for a triangle choke. Casey was slippery enough to wiggle free for a moment, but Abdul climbed onto his back and sunk in a chokehold, rocking Casey backwards as he tried to shove his hands underneath his rippling forearm. It was no use. Superior experience took the moment from Casey. Abdul reached behind him and grabbed Casey’s asscheeks. “Let’s keep it clean, keep it clean,” said Moster, circling. “Think you’re tough, punk?” Abdul snarled into Casey’s ear. “I know I am,” said Casey. He struggled to wriggle himself free. Sweat began to pour down his body, further drenching the mat. Abdul stretched him out as the other guys watched. They slid in the growing pool of oil and sweat. As he dug his hands in, he caught Casey’s posers with his heel. Casey could feel them sliding down his quads the harder he squeezed. The elastic band stretched until is slipped under the pouch. For a flash, Casey felt humiliated and helpless, almost half naked and groaning as Abdul dominated him. Then he retaliated. Snapping one hand onto Abdul’s pecs, he managed to push him back and deliver a powerful backhand blow across Abdul’s face. Abdul’s face whipped to one side. “Fuck Turkish rules. Keep the posers on,” Casey snarled. Moster said nothing. Mouths dropped open. Abdul released the posers, smiled back, as Casey pulled them back into place. Casey looked back at him, and Abdul smiled - and returned a powerful backhand blow of his own across Casey’s face. Casey’s head whipped to the right. He looked back slowly and nodded. “We’re even.” Welts began to appear on the faces of both men. All of sudden, Abdul shot out, gutwrenching Casey’s face into his lap. “No. Now we’re even.” He tried to shoot a takedown, but Casey suddenly sprawled flat, flipped him, and got a tight front headlock on Abdul. He went down on one knee and flipped him over with a fireman’s carry. Before Abdul knew what hit him, he was on his back. Casey felt his arm between his legs as he attempted a cradle. He was close to scoring. Abdul, his face now puffing up, struggled in the sweaty pool of muscle. Casey locked up his hands and rocked him back. The tide of battle changed. Somehow Abdul got to his feet, grabbing hold of Casey’s hips and now shooting for a second takedown, bending over him now and reaching down his broad back. Casey, surprised, tried to sprawl but Abdul guided his hands up again toward the straps of his posers and made him almost sit on his hands. Casey tried to bridge, but Abdul clamped onto him. Saliva sprayed from his mouth and onto the back of Casey’s neck. Abdul flipped him, crashed onto him with his full body weight. It was no use. Casey gave up and collapsed. Sweat poured off Abdul’s face right into Casey’s eyes. Casey slapped the mat to make it stop and Abdul let him go. Body odor wafted from sweaty armpits as the men applauded Abdul’s round one victory over Casey. “Want to go again?” Abdul asked. He was breathing hard. In spite of his win, the kid had been a lot tougher than he anticipated. His eye was swelling shut and his mouth was bleeding a little. “I can take it,” said Casey. His thin skin was red with mat burns, head was throbbing. Was this really him? It was as if he couldn’t control the truth coming out of his mouth. It all felt right. He could take it. He loved the pain, in fact. Loved it. But didn't really want to think about it for the moment. Abdul nodded, stepped back, retired to the corner of the ring. Pedro was there, pouring more oil. “Don’t need that. Massage my shoulders.” Pedro looked at him a little helplessly, his light kitchen fingers not nearly meaty enough to knead the dense muscle mass that was Abdul’s traps, but he tried. After a few seconds, Abdul brushed him away, irritated. “Never mind,” he barked. Pedro’s eyes flashed hurt, and Abdul brought himself up to smile at him slightly. “You tried.” He patted the handsome boy’s face heavily with thick oily fingers, leaving a gleaming handprint on Pedro’s cheek. Pedro beamed ecstatically. He so hoped he could suck his god’s cock later, but didn’t dare to ask. Abdul turned back into the ring. He called to Schumacher. "Get your ass over here and massage my shoulders," Schumacher grunted and went to work on him, kneading the bunched masses with his thick, powerful fingers. Casey was still center, dancing from foot to foot, not caring that his massive tool was bobbing out of his posers. “Lookin’ good, Case,” yelled Obatu from the sidelines. He turned to Washington, sitting next to him. “Know him from Raw Weight.” “Yeah, Miles’ place. Gotta get there again soon.” “Good workouts.” He winked. “A little cash to be made, too.” “Yeah? Doin’ what?” “You know. Trainin’. Getting’ big. Growing. Flexing. Getting your dick sucked. You know.” “Oh, yeah.” Casey didn't know. But he forgot about it in a moment. The whistle blew. “Round two!” announced Moster. Casey and Abdul stepped towards each other, circled, each more wary. On the sidelines, Alvarez glanced over at Lang. Lang’s pants were open, his zipper down, his cock tumbling out of his khakis. He happily worked his long, extra-thick shaft. He glanced up at Alvarez and shrugged. “It’s hot,” he said. Alvarez had to acknowledge it was. “So why not?” Alvarez nodded agreement, opened his fly, with some difficulty pulled out his own already-stiff, mammoth member, and began to chug up and down the shaft with practiced, heavily calloused fingers. Lang looked down, grinned, licked his lips, winked at Alvarez. “Pose and approve later?” “We’ll see.” Lang knew there would be. This was too hot not to follow up with a long pose and approve session and some good butt fucking. But for now, both musclemen turned back to the match and standing side by side, together worked their cocks in silent unison. Their fists plunging up and down. A moment later, Waring, Duncan, and McIntyre had joined them. “Oh, yeah,” said McIntyre. squish squish squish squish squish squish squish squish And a moment after that, Hension, Chad, Meyer and Gunst had pulled their heavy cocks from their khakis and were applying basic spank the monkey techniques. squish squish squish squish squish squish squish squish Moster heard the squishing sounds of numerous big cocks being worked by powerful, pumping fists, looked up, glancing askance at the group. “Begging your pardon sir!” yelled out Hension. “We’re masturbating, sir!” “And why not?” said Moster, but he kept his cock in his pants. Still, out it poled. “Bring it, bitch!” yelled Casey as the two faced off in the center of the mat. “C’mon dude, we wrestlin’ or dancin’? Take a shot!” Abdul taunted. Both men seemed either oblivious to or uninterested in the fact that all around them, every man on the muscle squad was now actively jerking off. Casey shot out a lightning fast single leg. Abdul hopped over it and tried to pivot as Casey dove in, wrapped meaty arms around Abdul’s waist, and brought him violently down to the mat. Somehow Abdul flipped to his belly and Casey applied a painful hammerlock with one hand as he grabbed the back of his head with the other and rubbed his face in the mat. “How’s that mat taste?” Casey asked as Abdul grunted, struggling to turn his head to the side. On the sidelines, Pedro was frantic, seeing his big man suddenly so disgraced, however momentarily. Abdul tried to get off his stomach, but Casey slid his bulging quads down inside Abdul’s and drove his arm underneath his chin. Casey rolled onto his side and poured on the pressure. “Arrgghhhh!” Abdul groaned as Casey stretched him out. Pedro looked on, helpless with worry. “Ya like that, tough guy? Want some more?” Casey murmured between clenched teeth said as he pulled up harder on his chin, Casey totally wrapped around him. Abdul was completely immobilized. He groaned. “C’mon Abdul, you can take this!” Schumacher yelled. He too was now playing with himself freely. Lang, firing away on his stiff-as-iron cock, was laughing. “Put him on his back, Case! Finish him off.” Casey’s posers crept deep into his ass crack as he locked his legs around Abdul’s left leg. His rock hard glutes squeezed together as he wore the huge Turk down. Abdul tried to get free of Casey’s chin lock, but it was no use. He panted and groaned as Casey pulled his head down. “Got some lube?” asked Chad from the second row. The source was surprising. “Here,” said Schumacher, passing around tubes of the prime VALHALLA LABS signature cock-pumping oil. “Gift from the house.” “When did we start making this stuff?” asked Hension, looking down at the tube as he squeezed the warm lubricant onto his thick cockshaft. “Shut the fuck up,” said Lefevre, but he grinned good-naturedly, clapping Hension lightly on the back of the head. On the mat, Abdul suddenly switched it all out. He pried Casey’s hands from the chin lock and sank his arm around Casey’s neck, pulling him down to the mat and now choking him out. His drove his ankles down deep into Casey’s quads and he began to constrict his hold around his neck. Sweat poured off both men. The strong smells of perspiration, olive oil and butt wafted up into the overhead lights. It was now Casey’s turn again to groan in pain. Abdul’s powerful forearm was wrapped around his thick neck. Moster jumped into the ring, sticking his head into his face and asked Casey if he was ready to give up. Casey was grunting and struggling to breathe. Casey was unable to say the words I give. “Too soon,” he breathed out from under Abdul’s body mass. “Loosen up, man,” Moster said to Abdul, who nodded. Abdul loosened the hold so Casey could breathe, but he wasn’t done. Casey tried to get up, but Abdul still was controlling him. Then Abdul reached down and once again slid his hand down into Casey’s now-ripped posers. Casey looked angered as Abdul grabbed onto his thick cock. He handed off the poser to his foot, and peeled Casey’s poser down revealing the muscleboy’s huge penis. “In Turkish oil wrestling rules, the match is now over,” muttered Gunst from the sidelines, watching the mass of slippery muscle tumble on the mats. He rubbed the bulge in his pants, and glanced down. Straight up and out, past the belt line, up into his t-shirt, poling up above his belly. He unzipped and released his mass. “We done?” breathed Abdul. “No!” yelled Casey, now naked. “Naw, it’s way better than Turkish wrestling,” whispered Blankenship, now fondling his own stiff penis, still sheathed in khaki. Gunst looked him quizzically. “I like how it feels in my pants.” “Oh. Oh, yeah. Me too. Sometimes.” Gunst began pumping. “But not now.” Around the ring, all cocks were pumped a little more fiercely as the match intensified. “Okay then. We go for a pin.” Abdul moved his hand up to Casey’s head, rubbing it in his hair to get some sweat for lubricant. Then he came back rubbing Casey’s cock until it was rock solid. Out it poled, 12 inches and more. “Whatcha gonna do about it this time?” he sneered. The 17 bodybuilders were now all leaning in and pumping hard cocks, watching the sweaty jumble of muscle on the mat. Even Schumacher was now pumping furiously. As was Tiffany. For once the self-possessed little muscleboy let his guard down. He worked his cock ferociously, watching the dark match. “They’re pretty even,” said Warning. “Yeah,” said Chad. Next to him on the left, Obatu and Washington looked as if they were about to get up. A light flickered in Lang’s eye. Hension looked wildly around him. He was going to cum soon. Moster directed them all warningly, knowing where they were likely to go next. “Stay where you are, gents. No cumming. Men can hold it.” General moans. The men did as they were told. The wrestling room was silent except for the grunts of Casey and Abdul, the near-silent whirring of Dr. Irving’s video cam, the blue-balled moans and groans of the fleet of masturbating muscle giants, with the squeaky wet regular tattoo of lubricated palms working big cocks. Squish squish squish GRUNT GROANNNN squish squish squish squish squish squish “I SAID, DO NOT CUM!” Moster shouted suddenly. All jumped in their seats. “A man can withstand it!” All sat. 17 monster muscle cocks with nowhere to go but into calloused palms. For now. Up and down. Up and down. “Hey, Chad!” whispered Bogarde loudly. “Squeeze my nips!” Chad reached over to his right with his free hand (the other feverishly pumping his cock) and began violently tweaking Bogarde’s huge, downward-pointing think nipples. “Yeah, make me hurt, man!” Bogarde pleaded, working his cock. “You got it, man.” Squish squish squish UGH GROANNNN UGH UGH GROAN…. squish squish squish squish squish squish UGH UGH UGH GROAN…. Suddenly Abdul flipped, keeping his hold on Casey, who squirmed below. Casey was on his back now with Abdul on top, now in the north-south position. All Casey could see was Abdul’s bulging balls and the red singlet outline of his rigid cockshaft. Abdul lowered his balls onto Casey’s face and caught his head in between his legs. But Casey somehow spread his legs and reclamped behind Abdul’s neck. The two muscle monsters squeezed each other tight, rubbing crotches in each other’s face. Casey’s enormous penis brushed Abdul’s scratchy beard. “Ouch!” Casey cried. Finally Abdul broke the hold and swung around to face Casey, getting him in one of his killer headlocks. Once again, Casey was in trouble. But he managed to dig an elbow into Abdul’s groin. Abdul shouted and Casey pried himself free, stood, and turned. He lunged full weight at Abdul. Abdul was ready for him, grabbing his shoulders and shoving Casey’s face right into his and applying a submission hold. For a moment, they looked into each other’s eyes. Then Abdul drove Casey’s shoulders into the mat. “Ughhhh,” Casey moaned. Abdul had mounted him and was driving his elbow into his head. It was momentary. Casey flopped in his own sweat a moment, and then, with surprising swiftness, changed course, wrapping his hands behind Abdul’s neck and pulling him in toward his chest. He wrapped his legs tight around Abdul’s body and grunted as he started to gain control. Abdul and Casey slid around the mat, slipping out of each other holds as they tried desperately to get a submission out of each other. Suddenly, Casey managed to climb on Abdul’s back and slip his arm under his chin. His stiff cock slapped against his abs. “Shit!” Abdul yelled as Casey secured the choke. Casey squeezed harder. Suddenly Abdul was struggling to breathe. His face was beet red. And suddenly, it was over. Abdul slapped the mat furiously and Casey released his grip. He let out a whoop. He grabbed Abdul by the hair and lifted his head up, using his other arm to flex his biceps. Fast as a flash, Abdul grabbed his hand and twisted his wrist, ensuring Casey’s victory was a brief one – but it was too late. The image had been captured in the men’s brains. “Aweesummmm,” breathed Hension, once again, and to no one in particular. “Wait till I call it!” yelled Moster. “Fuck you,” said Abdul. He hunched back on his knees and locked Casey up in a kneeling position, pressing his slippery forehead into his and looking into his eyes. They panted for breath. Once again, as if alerted by a bugle charge, both suddenly sprang once again into action. Abdul managed to get a headlock on Casey and threw him to the mat. His cock slapped against his leg as Casey tried to turn to avoid getting pinned. Both were so sweaty and slick with the now hot oil that neither could get a good hold. The mat was an ocean of steaming sweat and oil, both men sliding in the mass of liquid. In the circle of chairs around the wrestling ring, the bodybuilders pumped their blood-engorged cocks feverishly. On the mat, Casey freed a hand and ripped Abdul’s singlet wide open. The Turk was enraged. His cock spilled onto the mat. Pedro leaned forward now openly licking his lips. “Please let us cum, sir!” pleaded Hension. “Okay…..guess I’ll play, too,” said Moster, studiedly lazily. He advanced into the center of the ring where the two muscle monsters lay, locked in sinew, sweat, and bronzed oil, their huge cocks flailing openly. “Men, why don’t you join me?” Moster smiled. He only had to ask once. In a heartbeat the 17 bodybuilders bolted from the chairs, clambering over one another and the rings to get to the center of the ring. Still, they waited breathlessly, cocks in hand, no one daring to make a further move. Abdul shot a look of helpless rage up to Moster, but Casey was holding him firm. Neither man could budge. squish squish squish squish GOOSH squish squish UGH UGH UGH GROAN…. And Moster unzipped. The largest black cock in the world poured out of his pants, flopping down to his knees. FLOPppp… In a second it was poled high, reaching nipple level. Moster grabbed it with his fist and slid his hands down it just three times. squish squish squish squish GOOSH squish squish UGH UGH UGH GROAN…. “I’m ready,” he said quietly. The bodybuilders circled the wrestlers, side by side. Casey stared at the huge, pendulous looming cocks above him, heavy dew drops of precum beginning to drip, oozing into the mass of mat liquid in which the two musclemen lolled in their struggles. It was as if it was the first time he had even noticed what the men were up to. “What are they doing??” he cried out to Moster. “What’s it look like, punk?” growled Abdul in his ear. Moster ignored him. “Pedro,” Moster invited graciously, “why don’t you get over here and join us?” Pedro didn’t have to be asked twice. He scampered gleefully into the circle, a little beautiful brown spot of handsome teenhood amidst a turbulent ocean of masturbating musclemen. He pulled out his own pretty little cock and began to pump fiercely, gleefully, staring hungrily at the huge muscle and looming penises all around him. After only a moment, he couldn’t stand being surrounded by the sea of cock without getting to his knees and starting to suck his way around the circle, feverishly. He started with Gunst, his pretty little mouth enveloping the massive organ. From the sidelines Dr. Irving began to walk rapidly behind the circle of men, panning his cam across the landscape of their solid glutes, huge, hard and round, squeezing and relaxing in tense, pumping cannonballs of butt muscle as they pumped their cocks feverishly. Backs of heads. Batwing lat spreads of knitted boulders of muscle. Delts touching. Hamstrings pounding with thick rivers of veins. Butts pumping. Irving got it all on cam. Someday he knew this video would be worth thousands….hundreds of thousands. He captured it all. From the mat below, Casey gazed up, exhausted and confused, bewildered and amazed at a sea of musclecock held high above him. Abdul merely growled. In a few seconds the waterfalls of cum would begin. He couldn’t admit to himself that he had wanted something like this to happen. “What’re they gonna do?” asked Casey, fearfully, muffled. Hmmmm, thought Moster as he pumped his organ. The white cap is wearing off. Probably from the match. If it was still in him, he’d have no problem. Still, it didn’t stop anything. The bodybuilders were groaning loudly now, pumping and flexing, rocking ball-toe-heel, their magnificently bodies undulating rhythmically. “Let ‘er rip!” Moster, now pumping furiously, looked to Dr. Irving, who had never stopped the video, nor moved. “You getting it all?” “Of course,” said Irving, irritated, shocked, perplexed and baffled as always - but never daring to shut down the cam. He could never understand what all this had to do with science, but never mind. He was well paid. “Muthafucker!” Hension screamed. “You boys about ready to shoot?” Moster asked. “Hang on. They ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” said Abdul. He squeezed Casey’s head as hard as he could. It wasn’t too long before Casey wriggled out of it and was on his hands and knees facing him. He came in at Abdul and tried to push him over onto his back, but the muscle Turk reached behind him and sunk his fingers right into Casey’s exposed anus. “WHAT THE FUCK!” Casey cried as Abdul used his rectum as a handle to flip him over. He slammed on his back on the mat. An ocean spray of sweat and oil sloshed into the air. And around them the squishing sounds of muscle jerking grew more frantic. “Oh, maaaaa—aaaan,” said Hension. “Hold off, men!” shouted Moster. "Santa mierda de Dios,” breathed Pedro, now frantically licking Obatu’s cock up and down its 12-inch length. Obatu’s pumping fist was punching him repeatedly in the nose. He didn’t care. He held the cock between his lips and sucked hard. Precum began to spurt down his throat. Squish squish squish UGH GROANNNN UGH UGH GROAN…. GOOOsh squish squish GOOOsh groannnn Ugh unnnghh squish squish squish squish squish squish UGH UGH UGH GROAN…. Casey and Abdul were in a mad final scramble now. Both knew the match was coming to an end. Abdul was enraged he somehow didn’t have the conditioning to go a full hour with Casey; it had only been 12 to 15 minutes in the ring, and no more – and he was wiped out. For his part, Casey was panting deeply and hot as a furnace, pushed to the max. And yet. And yet. Abdul knew Casey could outlast him. Casey, however much he might be forever on the bottom tonight, yet had a couple of hours of strength to go. It was only that he lacked the fighting technique Abdul had hard earned over the years. And this enraged the Turk. Abdul got behind Casey and sunk his arms between his legs, locking onto his other arm and driving his biceps into Casey’s balls. Abdul’s forearm pressed painfully against his thick penis. Casey couldn’t take it. He had to move, giving him enough space to maneuver. Dirty Turkish wrestling. Casey managed to get a “Fuck you”, but he was outclassed, totally helpless and defeated. “I gotta suck cock!” Lang shouted, and dove down in front of Alvarez. In a flash Alvarez’s meat was in his mouth, sluicing juicily down his throat. “Me too,” muttered Hension, who dropped down in front of Gunst. He bobbed and weaved with the mighty strokes Gunst was applying to his huge cock, ducking his head, trying to get his mouth around it. “Shit,” said Gunst. With his right hand he backhandedly smacked Hension’s face hard, grabbed the back of his head, clenched a handful of hair; with his left hand he clutched his cock and rammed it down Hension’s throat. Hension began to violently suck muscle giant’s firehouse cock while working his own and never taking his eyes off the grappling musclemen on the mat. Abdul had Casey’s legs now, lifting him up so Casey was upside down, sliding down Abdul’s back till his head hit the mat and he was facing his ass. His nose went right into Abdul’s exposed ass crack for a minute while the Turk kept tilting his head back to put pressure on Casey’s balls. But Casey rallied. Groaning, straining, working hard, he trapped Abdul’s head in a figure 4, squeezing his face right into his balls as he pinned him. “Yer so eager to see my cock, so get an eyeful of it now,” he hissed. Abdul tried to snarl back, but he could only groan. He was getting tired. And the muscleboy had hours of energy ahead of him. He could feel it. Moster had a hard time seeing if the Turk was pinned or not, the men were so wrapped up in an oily mass of muscled quads, rippling traps, batwing lats, boulder biceps, brick-like abs, pounding glutes, pounding feet, pounding fists, and bulging balls. But it wasn’t looking so good for the Turk. UGH UGH UGH GROAN…. The squad, now in deep sex frenzy, was by now beyond observing the details of combat. Blankenship and Waring had each dropped to their knees, sucking the heavy, veiny cocks of Chad and Washington. Schumacher grabbed Meyer, flipped him around, pulled down his khakis, and plunged his cock mercilessly into his welcoming butthole as the handsome deaf mute played gleefully with his engorged manhood. He began to fuck him with deep and powerful strokes. Meyer smiling ecstatically and waved his mighty butt under the cock blows. He reached back and pried his buttcheeks wide. His asshole was as open as he could get it. He spread his legs. Schumacher’s thick cock was in action, driving, pounding, fucking. Squish squish squish fuckfuckfuck UGH GROANNNN UGH UGH GROAN…. Moster could see where it was headed on the mat. Abdul had taken the first two pins. But Casey was just getting started. He was mad now. The effect of the white caps was weaving in and out, true, and Casey was responding as if he was on mushrooms. But his huge muscles were gleaming with power. Every vein was bursting. Sweat was pouring off both men. And Abdul was breathing hard. But he still had the upper hand. Still, Moster pumped harder. He had to admit: this was pretty hot. Pedro looked at him adoringly, moved to take Moster’s cock in his mouth. Moster pushed him back roughly. “Get away, son,” he barked. Pedro looked frightened and abashed. Moster smiled slightly, an eyebrow arched. “You being a bad boy? Might have to tan your hide later,” he murmured. Pedro looked hopeful but the fear still glistened slightly. He glanced down at Moster’s powerful fist, now stroking his massive meat up and down, up and down. “Your hand could kill my butt!” he squeaked. “Not your butt, little boy. Not yours. Now get out of my way. Go suck Private Duncan’s cock.” Moster tossed a glance at Duncan, who was busily working his dick. Pedro scampered away, ran to Duncan, and knelt before him. “The C.O. says I have to suck your cock,” he cried out, and gathered the mighty pole into his mouth. Duncan was startled. “Okay,” he said. “Don’t mind.” Pedro knelt and went right to work on Duncan’s massive tool. He was particularly excited by the latticework of heavy veins surrounding the muscleman’s member. He began to trace his finger along the thick rivers of vascularity as he sucked. Duncan spread his legs wide. He grabbed Pedro’s black hair in his fist and began to steadily pump his hips into the boy’s face. On the mat, more spent than he wanted to admit, Casey stared up at the circle of musclemen above and around him. Four of the musclemen were sucking musclecock now. The little Mexican teenager was scampering about sucking musclecocks as they were freed up. Schumacher was fucking the cute little muscleguy’s awesome glutes. The other 7 musclemen were straddling the mat edges now, massive quads akimbo, pumping serious cock. And the CO Sergeant Moster had his cock out, too. It was the biggest penis Casey had ever seen in his life. Even bigger than his own. Which was huge. As he stared, he lost focus. And in a flash, Abdul had flipped him again and was straddling his pecs with his own huge body and pressing for an advantage. Casey couldn’t move. The sounds of musclesex filled the wrestling room. On the sidelines, Dr. Irving was capturing it all on video. GOOOsh squish slurp suck suck slurp squish GOOOsh groannnn SUCKSUCK LICK SLURP fuckkkk Casey grunted. A surge of energy hit him. He tried a duck under, but Abdul kept the upper hand. As he went down to his knees on the mat, Casey kept his left arm welded to the Turk’s shoulder, pulling out to his side and anchoring his right hand deep in his anus. “Turkish rules, right?” Casey snarled into Abdul’s ear, beginning to chew on the lobe. He was back in control again. The Turk let out a short gasp as he felt Casey’s index finger work up into his asshole, a big grin on his face. Abdul wanted to smash those perfect teeth in, but he was too busy trying to pry the muscle giant kid’s finger out of his butthole. With a sudden rush of White Cap adrenaline, Casey moved his right arm around Abdul’s waist, mounted him and broke him down so his belly was flat on the mat. He managed a gut wrench and turned him over once, but he was too tough and was able to counter Casey’s leverage with his strength. Moster knew he had to step in. He couldn’t afford to have Abdul so badly defeated. Not yet. Not at the outset of Casey’s career. Sure, Casey Rockland was a muscle outlier. There may never have been a muscleman like him before, and there may not be another again. But it was too soon for the legend to emerge. For the good of the program, Casey had to lose tonight. And it didn’t look as if he was going to. So Moster did the one thing he could do, to save Abdul’s neck. Moster blew the whistle and reached in. He grabbed them both by the scruffs of their necks and powerfully brought them up to their knees. Casey was stunned, dizzy, swirling with confusion and excitement and pain and frenzy all at once. Abdul’s rage was huge but not huge enough to allow his own massive tool to go limp. Both muscle monsters were sporting huge erections. And the men around them were pumping and sucking and fucking furiously. Ugh unnnghh groan moan slurp suck squish squish squish slurp suck suck squish squish squish AH AHH AHHHHHH yeah yeah yeah UNNNGHHHH AAAAHHHHHH!!!! Moster stepped forward, grabbed his mighty cock, knelt down next to the knotted figures of muscle, and began to shoot cum in the Turk’s face. SPURT! BLAST!! AAAHHH YEAH!!! Gallons of gobs of white creamy cum shot maniacally from his deeply creased piss slit. And the biggest cock in the world, on the biggest bodybuilder in the world, began to throb and spurt hot liquid rivers of jism onto the Turk’s face. “FUCKING HELL!” roared Abdul. ‘GODDAMN YOU MOSTER!!!” And the cum spilled, coating his roaring face, filling his mouth and nostrils, dripping down his chin. Moster was aiming it, like a firehose. “On the Turk, men!” he shouted. And with that…all hell let loose.- 29 replies
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Hello, all...here is the long-awaited Wrestling Chapter......to catch up where you were before, I highly recommend you look at the other chapters first..... Links to other chapters: "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 / A Brief History of Casey Rockland / Miles Donovan's Gym "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 6 - Casey is Discovered at Miles Donovan's Gym "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapters 7, 8 - Hardcore Training, Pt. 1 / Tiffany's Talent "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapters 9, 10 - Good for Morale, Continued / The Men Hit the Showers "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 11 - Casey Meets the Muscle Squad Precis: Valhalla Labs is a remote mountaintop Northern California military facility, overseen by genius muscle growth scientist Dr. Ira Zaftig and CO Staff Sergeant Rod Moster, a 7'-0" ripped and hung 395-pound black muscle giant. There, 18 extraordinary bodybuilder-soldiers live, train, and play together, overseen by Moster's strict rules and brutal regimen for muscular perfection. Known as Project Herculaneum, the men serve as Dr. Zaftig's lab rats, receiving regular injections of P-21, a specially developed enzyme that facilitates muscle and strength growth in the very few bodybuilders whose systems can withstand it. The goal: to create an army of supermen, whose strength, size, and combat skills are unparalleled in the modern military. Unfortunately for the Project, the soldiers' enhanced strength and dramatically increased muscular size is accompanied by a corresponding increase in priapic size as well, along with a rapidly diminishing sense of social restraint and inhibitions. And along the way, the men's extraordinary physiques prompt their own extreme muscle fantasies into a daily acting-out sexual reality. Into the mix comes young Casey Rockland, a lonely, handsome, super-hung 18-year old bodybuilding giant. Inducted by Dr. Zaftig into the top-secret government muscle strength and growth project, Casey comes to learn the ropes amongst the muscle giants, whose hunger for hardcore training is matched only by their sexual appetites and growing fantasies, including their insatiable need to receive muscle worship. Casey's innocence, simplicity, and his growing need to receive both love and muscle worship threaten the very core of the decade-long Project, itself only now approaching its full potential. THE TWENTY A Government Issue Adult Cartoon -XXX- Muscle Fantasy By Joey Silverado This book is dedicated to Tiny Yokum – and to all his fans, past, present, and future. Chapter 12: Part 1 Casey vs. Karim Abdul: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match Five minutes later, Karim Abdul was striding down the corridor, pecs bouncing, headed for the wrestling room. Still carrying his clothes from Casey’s presentation, he was now dressed only in his red Lycra wrestling singlet. His step was deliberate, his gait powerful. As he walked he grumbled to himself, ignoring the low clamor of the rest of muscle squad, who followed eagerly behind. His cock, loose in the singlet, swayed heavily from side to side as he walked, his balls pushed forward. “Asswipe kid.” The rest of his thoughts were a little too vague for words. Thoughtlessly he grabbed his cock and got it momentarily out of the way of his quads, pumping as he walked. Most of the squad was keeping a good 20 yards of distance between themselves and Karim Abdul. No one wanted to be on the receiving end of a wild Abdul punch at this moment. Even Schumacher, McIntyre, and Duncan, men who could well defend themselves and were used to Abdul’s occasional wild swings, were keeping themselves at a cautious distance. Karim knew he had to mark his territory. Now, tonight, and fast. No questions asked. Leaving nothing to second-guessing. After all, even he had to admit it - this kid was fucking unbelievable. He was huge, he was cut, he was raw, he was handsome, he was young, he was unbelievably hung. And at only 18 years of age, he was still growing. Karim wouldn’t rest until he’d smashed the kid’s handsome face into the mat. And maybe pissed in his mouth, too. Something. Something like that. Yeah. Show him who was in charge. But - it was all – well, a little unformed. Even to him. He passed the door leading to the back of the kitchen. He bashed the door open with his fist, smashing the frame and cracking the thick glass. Inside, Pedro, Abdul’s handsome little kitchen cocksucking buttboy, was sweeping up. “Your ass in the wrestling room. Bring that 10-pound canister of olive oil. MOVE!!! NOW!” commanded Abdul. Pedro jumped a mile. Then Abdul was gone, continuing on down the corridor. Pedro immediately put the broom away, washed his hands - his musclegod demanded clean fingernails - climbed up a little ladder to one of the shelf larders, and grabbed a 10 gallon jug of olive oil. Carrying it with some difficulty, he nevertheless darted out the door and ran excitedly after Abdul. "Wait for me!" the eager boy squeaked. He was about to get an awesome muscle show. Maybe suck some massive cock. Wow! Further ahead, Abdul was a man on a mission. And coming up behind him and running by was Private Tiffany. Abdul didn’t like that asswipe, either. Great glutes, though. Perfect glutes. Big, hard, striated boulders. Yeah. Fuckable. Most inviting. He’d fuck the little asswipe’s butt one day and then push his face in the toilet. Yeah. He continued on, paying little notice, though he did allow himself a quick, cool glance at the muscleboy’s rolling, muscular boybutt as he scampered by. From the corridor somewhere behind Abdul, Schumacher was shouting to Tiffany. “Where you going?” he demanded to know. “Getting Dr. Irving!” “Who?” Tiffany turned back, running backwards, explaining patiently as if to a child. “The dude with the camera. Ever notice him? Probably not…” He waved Schumacher off with easy, grinning contempt, turned back and scooted happily up the corridor towards Dr. Irving’s office. Schumacher swore to himself. He had to acknowledge he had no idea who Tiffany was talking about. He rarely noticed the lab workers or other doctors, barely paying attention to even Dr. Zaftig himself. He returned his gaze to Karim, striding purposefully up the hall ahead of him. Karim Abdul’s rocky man glutes rumbled darkly as he walked, and Schumacher gazed into the impenetrable deep butt crack outlined in the red Lycra. Excepting only the cloaked, anonymous butt fucking nights, no one other than powerfucker Schumacher had yet penetrated Karim’s magnificent asshole. Ever. “At least I have that much,” Schumacher muttered. By now he was passing the open office door. Tiffany, his back to the corridor, was hurriedly explaining to some geeky lab coat doctor who Schumacher had never noticed before, saying something about Get the camera out, asshole, and Come with me now…. Schumacher paused for a moment in the office doorway to admire Tiffany’s butt sweep in his tight regulation khakis. His full, hard, rounded glutes were a most enticing display in his slacks, the rear pockets rounded with the curvature of pure muscle, promising the pleasures that lay beneath. Joe Tiffany Now there was a butt to fuck. He grunted and continued down the corridor, following Karim. In truth he didn’t know why he was heading off with the others to the wrestling ring, and especially at this hour. He should be headed off to bed, a quick JO instant replay of the group shower suck / group butt lick he’d enjoyed just 40 minutes earlier, and then plenty of shuteye for another brutal workout tomorrow. That was the life. And another day to plan on getting into Tiffany’s butt. Another day to strategize some deep cock / muscleboybutt frottage sessions. Another day to – “Hey, Schumacher.” It was McIntyre. “Where you going? This way.” He’d walked right past the wrestling room door. “Oh.” He retraced his steps. As he came back, a little sheepishly, Alvarez and Lang were in the doorway. Lang’s tongue was practically lolling out of his head in anticipation, and even cool customer Alvarez had an excited gleam in his eye. “What do you assholes think is gonna happen?” snarled Schumacher as he strode by, pushing past them into the wrestling room. Alvarez put his hands up in mock defensiveness. “Oh, nothing, nothing. We just thought we might want to watch.” “Yeah, we wanna watch nothing happen,” smirked Lang. Both men mockingly bowed as Schumacher went by, Alvarez of course taking the lead, with puppydog Lang following suit. Schumacher glanced down at their packed flies bulging out of their khakis as he strode by. “You both sure got big enough hard-ons, just to watch nothing happen.” Lang looked defensive. Alvarez just laughed, and gently patted Lang’s growing bulge. “Yeah, guess we do.” He nodded and winked, and went inside the wrestling room. Lang followed, and even had the temerity to wink at Schumacher as he went by. Alvarez threw his arm around Lang and playfully squeezed his ass. Faggots, thought Schumacher. His own cock roared to life in his pants and was soon poling straight out and upward. He glanced back down the corridor. Moster and Casey were rounding the corner. Moster had changed out of his sweats, and was now in the regulation Valhalla Labs green t-shirt and tight khakis. Casey still had only his micro posing trunks on. Behind them scurried Dr. Irving, carrying Casey’s sweats and his video equipment. He was babbling on his cellphone. Probably talking to the insane dude who ran the place. Zaftig. Moster noted the ruined kitchen door and sighed. “Another door,” he grumbled. These dudes, when they got pissed off. It’s not like Valhalla Labs was a bottomless money source. Close, but not bottomless. He nodded at Schumacher and gestured briefly for him to go into the wrestling room ahead of them. Schumacher scowled, but did as he was directed. “Dr. Irving?” “Yes, Sergeant Moster?” Irving scurried to catch up to them. “Do you have a white cap on you?” “Why…yes….” Moster knew he would. The little doctor had long since learned that anything could happen when the men gathered, and he made it a point to carry extra medication with him at all times. And there was no sense in irritating Moster with a “Why, no.” He wouldn’t put it past the giant black muscle monster to deck him with one mighty punch in the nose if displeased, which would no doubt kill him. He scrambled and produced a small medication bottle. Moster turned to Casey, struggling a little to keep up, halfway between a walk and a run, his black shiny micro poser barely covering his steadily bobbing cock as he ran. “Here,” said Moster. “Take this.” “Hunh?” Casey stopped full. “Take it. Don’t ask questions.” “What—what is it?” “Extra confidence.” “Drugs?” Casey was momentarily stumped. He remembered that the boys in the Home were always experimenting. It made them silly and weak. He wanted no part of it. “I don’t do drugs.” Moster motioned to Irving. “Go on and set up, we’ll meet you there.” He turned to Casey. “It’s not a drug. Not like you think.” “I don’t do no steroids, neither.” “Not a ‘roid. There is no man in this facility on the juice. We have to do something about your grammar, by the way.” “Then how –“ “Shut up and take it. I will explain later. You will be fine.” Casey gulped, put his faith in Moster, and did as he was told. He popped the pill in his mouth, and smiled with weak subservience at Moster. “Okay, sir.” “What was that?” “I..I mean, Yes, Sir!” “That’s better.” Moster turned and continued down the corridor, Casey scampering after him. Good thing the men still do what I tell them to do, thought Moster. And how long is that gonna last with this boy? Once he finds his power? Moster tucked that thought away. “Let’s go watch you wrestle. You do wrestle, you said?” “Yeah, but I’m scared…” “No need to be.” “…no..…scared I’ll hurt him. I always do….” Except, of course, Ramon Ramon, the much smaller wrestler at Raw Weight Gym who never failed to thoroughly pin the muscleboy. But of course, that was a long time ago. Inside the wrestling room Karim had already snapped on the overhead lights and was doing deep knee bends in the middle of the 20 sq foot wrestling ring, which dominated the center of the room. The thick blue mat of the ring gleamed in the overhead lights, with the VALHALLA LABS logo in the center. Around the ring on two raised platforms were about 40 folding chairs, all affording perfect, elevated views of any wrestling action. Pedro stood eagerly on the side, now holding towels and a water bottle. “Getting limbered up to better meet the kid?” called out Blankenship. He had already grabbed his ringside seat, he too adjusting his crotch as he sat. “Shut the fuck up,” said Karim, squatting. To Pedro he shot out, “Where the fuck is the oil? Get the oil.” Pedro shot off into a storage room and returned with a 5-gallon jug of olive oil. “Goin’ for Turkish wrestling, hunh, Karim?” Chad was grabbing a seat ringside. He nudged Waring. “This is gonna be good.” No answer from Karim. “The kid’s got an iron grip, I’m told,” called out Waring, nudging Eli Meyer’s ribs as he took a seat next to him. Meyer’s mouth hung open in a perennial smile. He pointed to his mouth so Meyer could read his lips. “I said, Casey Rockland’s got an iron grip.” “I heard you.” Obatu was next, leaning against the ropes. “And those quads be killers. He gets you in a lock hold, you gonna be dead in the water. What’re ya gonna do about that, Mr. Abdul, sir?” Karim didn’t answer, regarding them all stonily. Obatu lazily returned his gaze, smiling, unintimidated. Blankenship had started this. But Blankenship had easily dodged the intended receiving end of a few near-miss wild roundhouse punches in the past. He was too fast and too alert to be caught unawares, and Karim Abdul had learned not to waste his energy on him. So Karim suffered the men’s ready comments stoically. “This kid got veins like this?” he asked, flexing his 25-inch biceps, showing off half-inch thick rivers of veins, pulsing with power. “Yeah, I think, actually, he does,” said Blankenship with a smile. “Here he is now. Let’s see. Kid, you got veins like his?” Moster and Casey had appeared at the opposite door, the darkened end of the wrestling room. Both giants approached, in black silhouette against the framed light from the corridor, getting larger as they quietly walked toward the ring. Casey looked up quizzically at the question. “Flex your biceps,” whispered Moster. “Hunh?” “Flex, man. Don’t ask stupid questions. Flex it up. Now.” “ ’kay.” Casey stopped and hammered out a front double bi. 25 inches of his own, in response to Abdul. As always, he felt compelled to go on, adding side chest, front lats, quads, and sent a hand probingly down rippled, hardrock abs. “That good?” “Good, good,” muttered Moster. “You catch on fast. You ever compete, kid?” “Uh…..no……should I? Other guys are so much bigger than me….” Moster smiled. They all think that, at the beginning. “Get over here, plebe,” Abdul called out from the center of the ring. Pedro was standing on a stool, pouring the olive oil over his massive physique, worshipfully slathering him up. Casey in Silhouette Casey stared. “What’s all that….?” he stammered. Moster noted that the white cap hadn’t taken effect yet, but then it had only been a few minutes. “Now, Karim,” said Moster patiently, coming into the light as they approached the ring. “You know Casey is not a plebe.” Abdul started to speak. “Nor is he a cadet. He is now one of you. He makes us The Twenty. You need to accept this,” he continued, walking and speaking easily now as he pulled up the ropes and stepped into the wrestling ring. He approached the angry giant muscle Arab. “And he isn’t threatening you. Casey isn’t going to pull your power away from you.” “That’s not what this is about.” “Bullshit,” one of the men yelled. The others laughed. Abdul glared at them and went on. “Whatever you say, Sergeant Moster, sir,” said Abdul. “I just want to make sure he’s going to be worth my time to train with.” He smiled easily. “That’s all.” The oil was dripping off him onto the mat. Moster said nothing. Casey was now visibly nervous. Still outside the ropes, he leaned in to Moster. “They gonna reject me?” he whispered loudly. “I mean, now?” “No one’s rejecting you,” said Moster loudly. He then turned to the waiting group of musclemen. “Are you, boys?” Something about that ‘boys’ rankled Abdul even further, though Alvarez and Gunst just smiled. The others looked perplexed. “Since when are we boys?” squealed Hension. “Shut up, Hension,” said Chad. “You ever wrestle, boy?” Abdul called out. “His name is Casey. Or Private Rockland.” “I asked you a question, boy. Ever wrestled? Get your butt into the ring.” “You really want all this oil?” sighed Moster. “We’re gonna wrestle Turkish style.” “It’s messy.” “I’ll clean it up, sir!” squeaked Pedro. “Bet your ass you will.” “Yeah, you don’t want a spanking, now, do you?” yelled Lang. He adjusted in his chair, his glutes still smarting from the paddling he’d received earlier that evening. Moster’s cock twitched a little at the suggestion of paddling handsome young Pedro’s hard, receiving little boybutt, a pleasure he had not yet allowed himself, although the teenage boy’s firm little butt cheeks had always been particularly inviting in his kitchen whites. He ignored it for now, however. Later, he thought. Casey shot a look at Moster. “What’s this about spankings?” he asked. Moster ignored the question. “Get in there.” “Yes, sir.” Casey climbed obediently into the ring. Moster watched him closely. The white cap should be taking effect in a moment…. “Oil him up,” commanded Abdul. Pedro ran over to him with the stool and the olive oil, climbed up, and began to pour it all over Casey’s massive physique. The sheer size and beauty of his muscles was overwhelming to the little Mexican, and his own powerful little cock began to bulge in his pants. After a moment, Casey was drenched in the shiny, thick liquid. The two musclemen stood face to face, Abdul in his tight singlet, fearsome muscles gleaming in the light, looming with threatening power. Casey was still in his micro, bulging posers, wet now with slick oil, the top 6 inches of his massive, meaty cockshaft fully exposed, blond tendrils of pubic hair curling with thick radiance. He was embarrassed, humiliated that his huge penis was twitching outwards in anticipation of what-was-coming-next. But then he noticed – Abdul’s oily, pylon-thick tool was also clearly coming to life in the thin singlet. “Good. Now, you got some mighty fancy muscles. But that doesn’t mean much here. We all got fancy muscles.” “You’re not being very polite, Corporal Abdul, “ said Moster, moving to the sidelines. “I think the men ought to introduce themselves before we get into any personal demonstrations of our manhood. Don’t you agree?” Even the ever-present log in lying against Moster’s pants leg was firmly outlined and appeared to be twitching a little, and the thin khaki fabric of his slacks covering it was now smooth and tight. Slowly the 17 others bodybuilders rose from their seats around the ring, one by one. 38 pairs of eyes stared at Casey intently. He glanced at the cocky little Joe Tiffany, and then over at Corporal Schumacher, who was now looking at him expectantly. “Okay, now, boy. This is Turkish wrestling. There are clear rules, but they’re different from American collegiate.” “Hang on,” said Moster. “We’ll get to the Turkish rules of wrestling in a moment. He stepped into the ring and approached Casey, now thick and dripping with oil. The men were now gathered on two sides of the ring, leaning on the ropes, leaning in to see what was coming next. For any other cadet introduced into the ranks, Sergeant Moster would have generally proceeded to paddle Casey’s hard young butt as the formal ritual of initiation. Last had been Private Tiffany receiving the red-hot butt cheek welcome, which he had borne stoically and proudly, displaying the twin globes of burnt-cherry perfection under the paddling. And after all, they had all gone through it, excepting Abdul, of course. Even Schumacher had known the firm, unrelenting hand of Moster on his butt. Hazing was hazing. But tonight, that didn’t seem to be happening. Abdul’s interesting wrestling challenge has precluded that. All were watchful. “Men, introduce yourselves. I was going to do this tomorrow, at Casey’s first workout, but now seems as good a time as any.” He turned to Casey and smiled. “Don’t worry, you won’t have to remember all their names just yet,” he added. “That’s good. I’m not very good with names.” “You’ll know them all, in time.” One by one, each man introduced himself. “My name is Private Leo Jin,” said the Asian man. “I’m 25 and from San Diego. I have been in the Project 8 years. My best bodypart is my forearms.” To prove it, the handsome Asian brought his beefy, fetchingly oversized forearms, walloping with solid muscle and veins, and squeezed the muscles hard. “I’m Private Dan Gunst, and until today, I had the biggest biceps here – except for Sergeant Moster’s.” Gunst flexed his mighty guns and then gave Casey a half-cocked smile. “Guess yours are bigger,” he proffered, respectfully. “I saw that this afternoon.” Moster glanced at him questioningly. “Oh, yeah,” he added. “I’m from Milwaukee, I’m 27, and I have been in the program 3 years. Hi, Casey. Welcome again.” “Hi, Dan!” Gunst sat back down. Moster eyed Casey carefully, wondering when the little capsule might take effect. Casey seemed cheerful and happy. Around the circle they went, each muscleman getting to his feet, politely introducing himself, offering basic information, and then showing him his best bodypart. “I’m Steve Waring, and my best bodypart is my traps.” Bulge. Flex. Steve Waring “I’m Rene LeFevre, and my best bodypart are my pecs.” Surge. Bloom. Bulge. “I’m David Duncan, and my best bodypart are my triceps.” Rip. Bulge. Bloom. Flex. “I’m Schumacher.” He said nothing else but grudgingly offered a front lat spread. Casey nodded without expression. This guy was not to be messed with. Eli Meyer signed with ASL. Casey nodded, showing some intelligence. Moster was pleased. Then Meyer turned around, bent over, grabbed his ankles, and showed off his hams, bulging through the khakis. He turned back and Casey gave him the OK and thumbs up sign. “I’m Chris Hension, and my best bodypart – “ “Is my FACE!” shouted Corporal LeFevre. “I’m a refugee from a lost episode of ’21 Jump Street’!” “Smack me around a little and I’ll follow you forever!” added Chad. “He’s our little boyband musclepup,” explained Blankenship. “Shut up,” yelled Hension, visibly embarrassed once again to be labeled the squad pretty boy. All the men were laughing now. “My best body part is my quads.” He started to rotate them. “And my baby blue eyes,” shouted LeFevre again. Hension was confused and humiliated but continued to show his quads, blooming in his tight khakis. “I think it’s his butt!” said Waring. “It’s okay, Chris,” said Casey. “Your quads are awesome.” Hension looked up, hopefully, and Casey felt compelled to go on. “And I think you’re very handsome indeed.” Hension smiled hugely at Casey, his heart beating a little faster. Gee, he thought. Wow. He gazed at Casey, who was now turning his attention to Private Waring. “I’m Private Ryan Waring, and my best bodypart are my delts.” He extended a powerful arm and began to rotate it. Suddenly Hension spoke up again. “I’m 22,” he blurted out, “and I’m from Toledo!” The men laughed again, and Hension hung his head a little and stuck out his lower lip. Next to him, Chad patted his thigh comfortingly. Casey saw him wink at Hension, who straightened up a little and smiled weakly. Casey’s head was spinning. He was inspired past all understanding by the mind-boggling panorama of muscle before him. And he was part of it. About then, he noticed that the room seemed to be getting a little brighter and a little hotter. He was staring again at Moster’s leg log. “Private Lang,” said Lang. “I’m 28, I’m from Lansing, Michigan, and….” He looked a little helplessly at Alvarez, sitting next to him. “My best body part is……um….” “Your back. Your lats are your best body part,” said Alvarez with quiet encouragement. “Yeah, I guess it’s my lats.” He turned and flared his lats wide. Alvarez clapped him approvingly on his butt. Lang smiled and sat, and Alvarez got up. “I’m Corporal Julio Alvarez, I’m 32, I’m from El Paso, and my best bodypart are my biceps.” He flexed. “Gunst’s are bigger but mine have sick peaks.” He popped them back and forth. “See?” Casey was indeed impressed. “Nice. Sick.” Gunst yelled in good-humored protest and flexed his own guns. Casey looked between Alvarez and Lang. Alvarez glanced over at Lang. “No, we’re not related,” he said. “They’re just joined at the wrist and ankles,” called out Gunst. “More like mouth and cock,” muttered Blankenship loudly, winking at Casey. It was Private Tiffany’s turn. “Casey and I will be meeting privately soon,” he boasted, and made a show of wiping the corner of his lips with his index finger. The men laughed knowingly – all but Corporal Schumacher, who looked down into his lap and seethed a little. Moster watched him intently. Something has to be done about Tiffany. But he didn’t worry. Though Tiffany didn’t know it yet, something was already happening. Casey felt a touch flushed, but his head was suddenly amazingly clear. Suddenly he spoke. “And what’s your best bodypart?” he asked. The stammer was gone, but only Moster noticed it. “What do you think?” Joe Tiffany turned around, bent over and grabbed his ankles. He pulled his gym shorts tight at the crack of his butt and proudly displayed his magnificent bodybuilder glutes. “Cupcakes!” said Gunst gleefully. The men howled. Schumacher made a show of laughing, but all he could do was glare. “Wow,” said Casey calmly. “Very pretty.” Tiffany's Butt after Squats Moster smiled inwardly. Good. He’s responded. And this boy responds well to White Caps, he thought. “No one’s had it yet,” said Tiffany confidingly as he straightened up and turned around, tucking his t-shirt back into his shorts. Then he winked. “Except in group.” “Group?” Casey was obviously perplexed. The men shouted with laughter, which died down sheepishly as, looking around the room, each man eventually shrugged and acknowledged it was probably true. None of them had had Tiffany yet. “I haven’t, anyway,” grumbled Schumacher, and the men laughed again. Tiffany sat back down and ignored Schumacher’s look. “Too bad,” said Casey. “Shame to waste such a pretty little behind.” The laughter died down and the men stared at Casey. No one knew what to say. “What’s ‘group’?” repeated Casey. Silence. On the sidelines, Alvarez raised his head a little. He exchanged looks with Moster. White cap? he mouthed. Moster looked away. Alvarez smiled and leaned in. He nudged Lang in the ribs. “Ow,” said Lang. “This is gonna be good,” said Alvarez in a low voice. “And I’m Karim Abdul. My best bodypart? My whole fucking physique is my best bodypart. As you are about to find out.” He flexed, whipping through pose after pose, his heavy cock bulge, dripping with oil, whipping left to right in his wrestling singlet. Snap. Snap. Snap. Casey could hear it slapping against his thighs through the man’s singlet. “All very impressive,” said Casey, looking pointedly at it. Moster smiled again. The cap had taken effect. “Okay. Turkish wrestling. Rules. One: there are few rules.” Abdul ticked off the rules on his fingers. “Submission: the “crush.” A fighter can get his opponent onto his stomach and then trap him by sprawling on top. If I can keep you down with your face, I can then turn you on a half-nelson for a pin.” “What if you can’t do it?” asked Casey bluntly. “If I can’t crush you, the referee has to begin us again from a standing position.” He ticked off another finger and looked Casey right in the eye. “I am not restricted from placing my hands inside my opponent’s kispet…” “Hunh?” “Your poser. I can also use the waistband to hold you in place. If I yank your poser so far below your hips that you are exposed, I win. Okay. If I can lift you entirely off the ground … “Fat fucking chance.” “Whoa,” breathed Hension. The temperature in the room seemed to raise 15º. Abdul paused, tense, and continued. “…and carry you five paces in any direction, that is a “carrying” pin. Got it?” “Yep.” “Okay.” Abdul looked at Casey. “You wanna go?” “What are we waiting for?” “Let’s wrestle,” said Abdul. He clapped his hands together and strode into the center of the ring. Ever since the mention of ‘group’, Abdul had been a touch shaky – or so Moster thought. Still can’t acknowledge how much he likes musclebutt. To say nothing of getting pissed on,” thought Moster. “Sure thing,” Casey answered, slick with oil and now quietly confident. Pedro scampered to the side of the ring and squatted eagerly to watch. Abdul began to bounce around, heel-toe, heel-toe, flexing his fingers, stretching his arms behind his head, limbering up. “Let’s go, man.” “You got it, man.” Casey hunkered down. “Center of the ring, gents,” said Moster. The men began to circle one another. “You wrestle till one of you gets a pin,” Moster instructed, now in the ring and getting between them. Casey flexed his biceps. “Big peaks, man. Like ‘em?” “Seen bigger,” said Abdul. He crunched forward, did a most muscular, his veins popping like railroad tracks. “How ‘bout you? Like what you see, faggot?” he asked. Casey just smiled, hunkered lower. Abdul palmed the crotch of his singlet. Casey smiled and refused to look down. He grabbed his own crotch, pendulously looming in his bulging posers. “Big handful, man.” “Watch it, boys,” said Moster. “This is a friendly get-to-know-you match.” “I already know him,” said Abdul. Moster snapped his fingers to Dr. Irving, now on the unpopulated side of the mat and with his ever-present video camera whirring. He dug in the pocket of his white lab jacket, wordlessly tossing him a whistle. Casey and Abdul met each other in the center of the mat and stared one another down. Their noses touched. Abdul grinned, ear to ear. Casey followed suit. Both began to gleam with anticipatory sweat. “Wow…..” breathed Hension. His hand shot down into his pants and he began massaging his stiffening tool. Moster pushed the two apart and blew his whistle to start the match. “And……wrestle!!” CLICK HERE FOR PART 2!
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Hey guys, thanks to everyone that voted in the first round which was Lat Spread, it was a very very close contest between our 2 gorgeous hunks, Dan shaved it by one vote! I've got a feeling this is going to be a very close contest overall! So now we come to one of my favourite poses, the side chest, both Dan and Regan have huge mass to show and these poses did not disappoint as you will see shortly. Pretty much every upper body muscle has chance to shine in this pose, balloon like pecs, thick boulder shoulders and incredible arms. Just to remind you , your voting for the guy you want to win the chance to be the guy who uses our new super growth serum. Again along with your choice please give an explanation as to why you chose either Dan or Regan. So here we go with Round 2: DAN We believe Dan has some of the best pecs on the planet, so this pic was an easy choice. The roundness and thickness is mindblowing! The pic also shows the quality of his delts and huge biceps. REGAN We chose this pic as it shows Regans incredible size, was nearly 300lb in this pic and still holding in to some decent definition. Big juicy pecs and colossal arms made this pic the perfect choice. So guys, get voting, who wins it for you, Dan or Regan?
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Hey guys, for those of you that read my stories in the now sadly departed unfiltered section, you'll be aware that I liked to experiment with my stories and not just do plain old stories , the story I'm now doing will firstly be split Into a few short parts , eventually leading to a much bigger final story later down the line. Your fictional or real replies will have some say towards the final story. So here goes............... So after weeks and weeks of auditions and many many photo shoots at competitions and at gyms we are now finally down to our last 2 Candidates and you the online audience are gonna help us decide which candidate we pick for our brand new growth serum, now as you have seen over the many weeks we haven't gone for your typical skinny guy wanting to get huge! We decided to pick guys who were already fucking huge and wanting to get even bigger! We all sorts of candidates of fitness models right upto competitive athletes and bodybuilders, some just came along for the ride but the bulk of them were deadly serious. It was that that made the decision even harder but I think we have chosen the right 2 people. So how are you going to help us pick the ONE? Well each week we are going to post a picture we took of the candidates doing various poses in different environments, now we know that each persons genetics are different, so we have tried our best to get each pose as similar as each other even though weights and heights maybe slightly different. All you need to do is pick your favourite based on the poses and leave your selection in the comments section with a little explanation as to why you picked that candidate. So without further ado let's meet our final 2. The first pose off you need to chose from is rear lat spread. Candidate 1: Regan , 24, Canadian. We chose this picture as it shows Regans impressive width and thickness off very well. We love the thick slabs of muscles last racking out of his sides and the thickness of his lower back too. Candidate 2, Dan, Romanian. I think it's quite clear why we chose Dan, we all think that back is freakishly impressive, the thickness and width is mindblowing and the definition is crazy for that mass! So, there you have it guys, Regan or Dan Pt 1 , it's over to you!
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Previous chapter: Casey's First Interview with Sergeant Moster Chapter 16: Hardcore Training Part 2: Casey’s First Herculaneum Workout, and What Happened After Casey’s first workout demonstration for The Nineteen that afternoon promised to be brutal – and awesome - as he had hoped it would be. He knew he would love every moment of it. He knew it would almost make up for the confusion and fear he had felt the night before. He would be as strong as a god, sailing through every lift, every rep, every set with strength he didn’t know he had. Almost make up for it. Not quite. But maybe afterwards, he could pose for them? Just a little? In the locker room, alone, and about to go before these crazy huge guys once again, he ruminated. He was, if he admitted it to himself, not a little leery about these guys. After all, he had a big black eye. And just about 12 hours ago, thick, creamy jets of cum had shot from18 firehose cocks and plopped down on him while he lay tangled in a sweaty muscle mass mess with Karim Abdul, both of them with swelling black eyes and bloody noses. Kind of a strange introduction to the world of supreme muscle he had been looking forward to for two years – and had been fantasizing about for far longer. “I wonder what Miles would say,” he thought to himself. He had glanced at his black eye in the mirror in the locker room. It was fully open, not bloodshot, just rimmed with black and blue. Not too bad. Actually, it looked fucking hot. He quickly did a side chest. Bam. Nips high. Rivers of striations. Yeah. Lookin good. He was hot. He knew it, too. Or, rather, was beginning to know it. He found his old sweats, thoughtfully hanging up and waiting for him in a large locker with his name on it, which he assumed was his. He noted that the lockers themselves were almost like storage units, not the shameful, small individual skinny things most gyms had. He looked up, slightly startled. Musclemen Gunst and Obatu were suddenly there at the end of the locker row, waiting for them. At first he barely noticed what they were wearing. But then he saw. “What the fuck?” “You ready?” “Uh. Yeah.” “Let’s go, then.” He stripped down fast, found his old jock in the locker, and grabbing his huge cock and balls, shoveled his heavy machine into the pouch. As always, it sagged heavily, groaning softly from the weight of his manhood. He glanced down the row. Gunst and Obatu were blankfaced. Casey threw his sweats on. “Now?” “…..yeah.” Casey slammed the door and waddled towards them, throwing a bathsheet towel over his broad shoulders. “Let’s go lift.” Gunst and Obatu brought Casey onto the workout floor. All of the musclemen in the squad were in attendance, naturally wanting to see how much weight the pretty muscle boy Casey could handle. After all, he may be huge, and all realized he was pretty fucking strong in the ring. He could move fast, and his mandatory poses last night were impressive. But could the dude lift? Could he train?? Dr. Irving stood by with the video camera, fussily taking his precise notes. And Zaftig was there, of course, hanging back, saying nothing, just watching, watching. And now, at least, Casey could remember the dude’s name. Dr. Zaftig. After all, this was the dude who was going to make him huge. He nodded shyly to him. “Good afternoon, Dr. Zaftig.” “Good afternoon, Casey. Welcome to Valhalla.” “Thank you…” “Let’s get going, Casey,” said Sergeant Moster. “You’re keeping us waiting. Again.” “I’m sorry,” Casey said. Moster frowned. No signs of reaction to all the White Caps swimming around in his bloodstream. There were, inevitably, more moments of muscle awkwardness to be had first. First off, Casey was entirely unprepared for the men’s workout gear. His usual workout clothes fully covered him, a ripped and worn outfit of dirty, sweaty baggies, a sloppy oversized sweatshirt that seemed to have been made for a man of 600 pounds, and full-length sweatpants, ragged and much the worse for wear. Even in these baggies, his bulge loomed heavily, swaying from side to side as he came onto the floor. Moster had changed into his full-dress spotlessly clean green uniform slacks, boots, and a skin-tight regulation t-shirt. His mammoth black muscles gleamed with ferocious power, and his crisp, clinging t-shirt outlined every peak, valley, cut, bulge, thick vein and crevice of his astonishing physique. Casey tried not to stare at him. He was oddly drawn to this black mountain of muscle. “I wanna be as big as you someday,” he said softly to himself. The squad, on the other hand, he nervously noted, were all dressed in White Cap Night Valhalla regulation gym gear: ripped, torn and ragged wife-beaters with muscles bulging every which way. Dripping sweat, muscles red and inflamed, their workouts over. No shorts, Army boots, heavy cable socks, and sweaty, swollen, looming Army-green mesh jocks. Bulging packages protruded, looming cocks, also swaying heavily with each muscleman movement, all around the gym floor. “This is how you guys dress to work out?” asked Casey timidly. Okay, so it was still weird. His question was ignored. There was a lot of barely sheathed bulging heavy duty muscleman dick on this gym floor. His own was more modestly covered. If just as bulging. And just as evident. And no one’s on the floor appeared to be as big as Moster’s. Once again he stared for a moment at the man’s obviously huge, looming penis, outlined clearly in his green trousers. He could see the penis corona, even the deep piss slit through the thick dark khaki fabric. Moster sure wasn’t ashamed of his cock. So maybe Casey shouldn’t be ashamed, either. And what Casey couldn’t know is that the men, just having finished their workouts, were delaying their shower sports. White Caps racing in their bloodstreams. And holding back. Not 10 minutes before Moster had sternly separated Blankenship and Lang from some foreplay, giving each man a quick spanking on their bare bottoms before all the other men. Afterward Alvarez pulled Lang back and eyed him dangerously. There would be words between them tonight. Lang was staring at the floor. Blankenship, of course, was grinning. Toothlessly. “How about starting off with some incline flyes?” said Moster. “You need a warm-up set?” “I wanna stretch first,” said Casey. Miles had always taught him the necessity of proper technique. Light warm-ups were part of that, though once he actually started lifting, what constituted a warm-up for Casey might be a final blasted set for another man. “Always smart.” The men stood watching Casey intently. “Don’t you guys wanna go workout somewhere?” he blurted out. “We’re done,” said Alvarez. “We’re waiting for you.” Abdul was staring at him with undisguised hatred. Tiffany was smiling sweetly, butter not melting in his mouth. Schumacher was blank-faced, and all the scarier for it. The others were intent, if blank-faced. Even Hension, whose thoughts were usually betrayed on his handsome face, wasn’t reacting much. He just was staring. They were all staring. Casey shuffled off to a corner of the Marley mat and began his stretch routine, arms swinging, legs kicking, gentle but firm. The men watched him. “He’s bow-legged!” whispered Hension. Loudly. “Yes, we see that,” said Alvarez, mocking the whisper. “I think that’s so hot….!” Casey heard a resounding smack! echoing through the room. “Ow!” Someone had hit Hension again. Casey, his face turned away, had to smile. Apparently the pretty boy got hit a lot. “Um. This takes 20 minutes,” Casey said. Suddenly he didn’t care what they thought. He was going to stretch. He started torso turns, his hands behind his head. Moster spoke. “Casey, we don’t have all day.” Casey turned back to him and repeated himself firmly. “This takes 20 minutes. I stretch for 20 minutes. If you don’t want to watch, don’t.” And he turned back, cupping his big hands together, continuing his torso turns. Moster smiled slightly. Good. The White Caps had obviously kicked in after all. It seems Casey required more White Caps for an effect, and the societal restrictions weren’t so easily abandoned. But the boy was asserting himself, and quite naturally. Zaftig was suddenly next to Moster. “He’s not so easily bullied,” he whispered. “Not like your other men. You won’t have your way with him so easily.” “You don’t think so?” “No, I don’t.” “Well, we’ll see, then, won’t we?” Zaftig frowned. Clearly, Moster wasn’t concerned about Casey digging in his heels at his first workout, doing it his way, defying the Sergeant. “What do you know?” Zaftig hissed at Moster. Moster, never taking his eyes off the teen muscle giant now doing rapid pushups, turned to Zaftig, laid his cards on the table. “The kid has never been worshipped before. He wants it, he needs it. He needs someone to tell him how amazing he is. And he needs musclesex. Badly. He doesn’t know how much.” “I see. It’s your musclesex thing again. Goddammit, Sergeant. This project is about youth and strength and creating the most fearsome army the planet has ever seen. It’s not about sex. It never was. It was about creating the perfect physical specimen. The most extraordinary physiques the world has ever known.” Moster smiled sardonically. “You’ve forgotten, Dr. Zaftig, or perhaps you never knew. Even when you were a young man. Were you ever young?” Zaftig smiled. “Amazing to consider, isn’t it?” Moster continued. “Everything for men is about sex. And bodybuilders? Even more so. And for these bodybuilders? All that times about 200. 500. All these guys want is to be admired. Worshipped. Sucked off. Felt up. Fuck. And, I might add, get fucked. Train, lift, eat, sleep, shit, fight, suck, get sucked, fuck, train some more, fight some more, fuck some more, suck some more, eat, shit, sleep. And,” he added sweetly, “…that’s about it.” “Fuck you, Sergeant.” But now Zaftig was smiling. He knew there was more to it. Wasn’t there? Moster sighed. “I’m sorry, Dr. Zaftig. But that’s what you’ve created here. Millions of dollars poured into fucking machines. But look at the bright side.” He leaned in. “It’s going to make you millions, as well. All of us.” “I already have millions. I don’t care.” “Well, I don’t, and I do.” “By the way, how did the boy get that black eye?” “Looks pretty hot, don’t it?” “Less than 24 hours in the compound and already someone’s slugged him.” “Don’t look too closely at Abdul or Blankenship.” Zaftig glanced over at Abdul, sporting a shiner of his own, and noted the missing teeth of the blond bomber beauty Blankenship. Zaftig groaned inwardly. Another trip to the dentist. He hated having to take the men off the mountain. But there was a dentist in San Jose who fixed up the men regularly, regular hygiene, capping, replaced teeth, crowns, implants, the works, and charged nothing, content merely with big biceps flexed in his face while he sat in the chair playing with his tiny dentist dick. Then, Moster to Casey, “You about done there, boy?” “No, sir.” “All right, then.” The men were getting restless, shifting from foot to foot, now staring at Zaftig and the ever-cool Moster. Alvarez was the only man on the squad who seemed calm and in control of himself. A fact not unnoticed by Moster. Or Casey, for that matter, now secretly watching all this play out for himself. He was beginning to catch on that there was even more to these big dudes than just training, taking this crazy drug, and spanking their monkeys. “Men, time for some biceps curls,” Moster announced. “All of you go do 15 sets of light reps. 25 reps per set per arm. No ball busting, now. Get to it. No more than 25 pounds. I mean it.” He turned back and smiled at Casey. “We’ll wait until The Boy is ready.” Okay, so he was The Boy again. Zaftig wasn’t done. “In a few months the Joint Chiefs will be here for review. I want Casey ready and I want the men at their sharpest, and no funny business. Intensify their training.” He turned away. “You leaving?” Zaftig turned back. “Hell, no” he smiled. “I want to see my latest boy wipe your men all over the floor. Maybe you’ll listen to me then.” Moster nodded. Inwardly he had to admit he respected Zaftig deeply. The man may have been a puny genius with no body, but he wasn’t dishonest, and he was clearly unafraid of Moster. He had no personal need for muscle worship, and never bothered the men. He was, at the end of the day, a partner Moster could trust, if never take advantage of. He admired that. Moreover, Zaftig had never indicated another other than scientific curiosity about Moster’s treetrunk tool. That was a plus on his side, too. Moster turned to Casey and called out. “Okay, you’re done,” he said, brooking no denial. “What’s your starting weight for inclines?” “Um…..180?” Hension, 20 feet away and now doing the ordered biceps curls, stared at Casey. “Damn!” he squeaked. He put the dumbbell down and scratched his barely covered balls. “180?? To start?” Casey looked away, trying not to notice. That boy certainly was pretty. A perfect face. Without realizing it, Casey licked his lips, staring a little at Hension, who, gawking at the muscle monster, inadvertently smiled back, absently scratching his balls. The exchange did not go unnoticed. Lang nudged Alvarez, who nodded sagely. “180 it is. Let’s see what you got.” Moster strode to the bench, grabbed two 180-pound dumbbells as if they were sacks of feathers, and handed them to Casey. Casey took them without a blink, two sacks of feathers. And so the workout began. One by one, the men re-racked their light weights, approached the bench where the giant Casey lay, ready to lift. Casey’s perfect technique was evident from the start. He smoothly lowered his huge bulk onto an incline bench. He raised his arms into position, the two dumbbells easily held aloft overhead. In no time he reeled off twenty reps of perfectly calibrated incline flyes, then peeling off into overhead presses, gently touching the dumbbells one another, then down to the tips of his big brown nipples, outlined in his oversized sweats. His chest bloomed, rivers of sweaty muscle flowed, the pumped pecs seemed to reach to the ceiling as he pumped. “Pow, pow, pow, pow,” he breathed to himself with each rep. Light stains of pec milk appeared on his sweats. “Wow….” breathed Hension. “Do you see that??” “What’s next?” “Do it again.” “Okay.” He reeled off another set. The men watched him stonily, now all gathered around the bench. More pec milk appeared. “Now?” “Do another.” “Sure.” He did another set. Finishing, he clanged the weights to the floor. “Can I work with something heavy now?” Moster smiled. The White Caps had taken effect. He shot a look over at Zaftig, who merely raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Certainly, boy. Take it to 220.” So he was still Boy. “Anyone have gloves?” “Sure, Case!” Lang reached into his bag and tossed a pair to Casey. Casey smiled a little, hearing Lang call him by the same nickname the cadets down the mountain did. “Thanks.” He caught the gloves and slipped them on. Everyone was watching now. The red light of the video cam continued to blink. Standing next to Lang, Alvarez was blank-faced, but not unapproving. In the corner, Dr. Zaftig now had his head tilted back, musing. This boy will go the limit, he thought. No matter what Moster says about what the men really want. This boy is different. He’s pure muscle, and nothing else. No, that was not right. He was muscle, cock, and butt. This boy would be worth millions. And very, very soon. An uncommon sex machine of the first power. Innocent Casey, unaware of the plans being made around him, rose, took the two 180 pound dumbbells, and re-racked them, two sacks of feathers back to the their featherbed. He strode down the line and grabbed two 220s, returned to the incline, lowered his bulk, and reeled off another set of 20 reps, grunting loudly and blowing out air with each rep. More milk flecks appeared on his shirt. He blew sweat and spit, began to groan mightily. “ugh, ugh, ugh, ugh….” When he was finished he set the dumbbells down gently on the marley floor, and looked up at Moster. Absently he wiped the milk away from his nipples with thumb and forefinger. “Nicely done, boy,” said Moster. He spoke loudly to the group. “Notice that Casey does not drop the weights.” He looked pointedly at Jin, who was famous for throwing the weights to the floor after the punishing final set of any lift he did, excepting squats – where he re-racked as noisily as possible, all while screaming. Jin looked back, defiant. “Why do you do it that way, boy?” Casey shrugged. “Way that Miles taught me, I guess. It’s harder.” “Miles?” “Miles Donovan, Raw Weight Gym.” So that was it, thought Gunst. Miles Donovan. He should have known. Donovan was a biceps freak, and hosted many others in his gym, taking their pay-offs for private posing from men who liked to blast big guns in the faces of the hapless, endlessly paying schmoes. No doubt Casey had been a major revenue stream for the notorious Donovan gym, he reasoned to himself. Of course he had to have huge guns. Miles would have seen to it. Blankenship grinned, a front tooth missing and looking all the hotter for it. “Yeah, makes sense, he came from that old horn dog Donovan’s gym. You worked out on the 3rd floor yet?” Casey looked at Blankenship a little blankly. “Um. No.” Obatu spoke up. “Casey is still too young and green for the 3rd floor. Besides, he has been training at the cadet gym down the mountain for the last several months. Haven’t you, Casey?” “Yeah, I guess. What’s next?” “You flat bench?” “Sure. How much weight?” “Let’s see what you can do.” The squad backed away a little as Casey, gripping each elbow and stretching his arms over his head, walked towards a row of flat benches. Gunst despaired a little. He was wrong. Casey wasn’t posing and being paid for it at Donovan’s. Which meant he’d built those mountainous biceps on his own. “Lose the shirt!” squawked Hension. “I want to see your nips milk!” “’Kay,” said Casey. He stopped, slipping out of his sweatshirt, folding it up carefully. Underneath he wore a baggy green t-shirt, which may probably have been at one time a pup tent. “My nipples always make a little milk when I train,” he explained. “See?” He reached under his soaked t-shirt to a nipple, gathered some white liquid, held out a finger dripping with milk droplets. “But it looks like I’m making a little more today.” In spite of himself, Moster was touched by Casey’s innocent neatness with his sweatshirt. And his explanation. “T-shirt too,” said Waring. “Not yet,” said Casey. Moster’s eyebrow raised a little. He glanced over at Zaftig, who nodded. Good. Good. It was all good. The White Caps were claiming his ego. Casey was showing signs he could stand up on his own. “Load up a starting weight of 360 pounds,” directed Moster. “You can handle 300, can’t you, Casey?” “Sure, easy.” Casey laid his bulk down on the flat bench while Waring and Lang placed eight 45-pound plates on either end of the bar. He began to suck in air in preparation. “Hey, can someone wrap my elbows?” he suddenly asked. “Sure. Washington, grab some heavy wraps for Cadet Rockland. Get to it. The man has to lift.” He lifted the bar off the bench and began to bench, pumping his enormous pecs. Now he was working his hardest. He was now more determined than ever to fit in with these huge men. He was going to show them now. The workout continued. Flat bench, declines, more flyes. All pecs stuff. More milk. Throughout the workout Hension, Lang, Jin, Bogarde, Washington, Meyer, Waring, Duncan, Chad, and Corporal Blankenship were cheerful and approving. They howled their encouragement and counted the reps. “10! 11! 12! 13! 14! 15!" Throw the weights, Casey!” "Okay to throw them?" Casey asked Moster, holding 600 pounds aloft, just about to bring it down to his milky nipples. He was calm. "If the men want. This time. Throw it when you're done." "Okay." He finished pumping, and instead of reracking... Clang! Casey threw the weight on the floor, sat up, grabbed the plastic bottle and chugged a half-gallon of water. Water poured from the side of his mouth onto his shirt. The men whooped and hollered. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand and strode forcefully to the next weight. Immediately the men were counting again. “10! 11! 12! 13! 14! 15!” Clang! Wipe. “YEAHHHH….!” And on it went for 45 minutes of grueling, punishing lifting. Corporals Schumacher, Obatu, LeFevre, and Alvarez and Private McIntyre seemed more reserved. Corporal Abdul just grunted. But he was impressed, in spite of himself. The boy was training harder than he had ever seen. His muscles were blooming, seeming to grow as he watched. Gunst was quiet and watchful. Zaftig was beaming with professional pride. Moster remained aloof and keenly observant. And all the while, Dr. Irving followed every move with the video cam. The cocksure little Private Joe Tiffany cheered him on just as loudly. Casey pretended not to see the evil glint in the muscleboy’s eyes, but he couldn’t help it. He’d learned at the Home how to read signals. The Home…..hmmm. A memory appeared dimly, and, just as quickly, was gone. While resting between two punishing sets, Casey was still silently agog at the size of Moster’s muscles. Occasionally he found himself staring at the improbably large mound resting atop his CO’s left quad. The tip of the mound reached to just above the giant’s knee. He noted the other men seemed to be avoiding looking directly at Moster’s leg. Even though they all seemed to be sporting packages of similar size. Damn, their dicks are big, Casey thought. Are they real? And deep inside Casey, a little voice proudly squeaked…..”Wait until they see MINE…” Then he remembered – …..oh yeah.... They’d already seen it. And he had seen theirs, too. Sorta. Between his half-closed black eye. His hand went up, and he rubbed the black eye. Looked at Abdul, and his black eye. Adbul was smiling a little now. Not friendly, but hard - but still, a smile. Casey grinned wearily as he finally finished up with the last set of triceps pulldowns. Private Meyer, a big toothy grinning lighting up his handsome, beaming face, burst forward from the group, and pumped the newcomer’s hand. “Thanks,” said Casey. Meyer nodded enthusiastically. “He can’t hear you,” said Private Waring. Casey looked at Meyer, stricken for having forgotten that Meyer was a deaf mute. “It’s okay, he doesn’t mind.” Casey, touched, shook Meyer’s hand vigorously. Meyer shook his head cheerfully, touching his lips, and shrugged his shoulders to show that indeed he didn’t care that he couldn’t speak. Then he stepped back and proudly flexed his own powerful, round right biceps, smacking them with his left hand, and reached down to grab Casey’s wrists. He pulled his arms up encouragingly and Casey, getting the message, proudly brought his huge guns up and flexed mightily. “Mother fucker!” yelled Lang and Hension simultaneously. The men roared with laughter, and Casey colored a deep red, smiling sheepishly. Alvarez clamped that affectionate paw of his around Lang’s shoulders and hugged him close. But he looked worried. Something was on his mind. Behind them Hension eyed them both steadily, with longing. Meyer kept his hands on Casey’s obliques as if he was rotating his upper body for all to see. “It’s okay, plebe,” said Jin, laughing. “You’ll get to know us all.” While all through the devastating workout he had been stronger than he could ever remember, now he felt – well, almost frail – as if something, suddenly, was missing. “All right, men,” said Moster calmly. “Rec room in 15 minutes. Casey, shower up.” “Yes, sir.” “Men, file out. Casey, come here a moment first.” He glanced at the men, who leaned in, curious as to what Moster might be saying. “Well, Cadet Casey, it looks as if you’ve made it.” Moster spoke quietly. Casey looked up at him, and grinned wearily. “Thanks, Sergeant Moster.” The men gave him a round of applause, Casey noted that even Corporal Schumacher seemed to approve. He lowered his head, modestly grateful. Then Moster turned back to the group. They were still applauding. Casey was embarrassed, turning to go. He didn’t see Moster’s stone face shift into a slight smile. “Men, get dressed. Shower up. No play time. Get to it. I expect you all in uniform, neat and clean, in the rec room, in 10 minutes. Hop to it. Get a move on.” Then, to Casey, “Casey, use my private locker room to shower.” He pointed to a door across the floor. “You’ll find clean sweats in there. They’ll fit. Grab them after you shower. And no jerking off, boy.” Casey, embarrassed that Moster seemed to be reading his mind, nodded dumbly and headed to the door. He was worried again. He had only masturbated once today so far, and on a day like today, he needed a lot more….especially after that worship session with the cadets this morning. He was discovering….something….and his huge cock wanted to know more. But he went, dutifully, into the private locker room, showered, and changed into the clean sweats he found there. Before he left, he checked his guns and his pecs in the full length mirror. Flexing, he breathed to himself. “Damn. I’m fucking awesome.” And with the capsules still not in apparent full-force effect, dressed in baggy trunks and a clean, white light tee, he stumbled his way to the rec room. For what, he couldn’t tell. Probably more weirdness. But now, he was ready. Dr. Irving was there ahead of them all. He had set up chairs for all the bodybuilders in a semi-circle, with the inevitable video cam set up. There was a chair in the center, obviously meant for him. He glanced over at Moster, who nodded and gestured towards the chair. Casey waddled with his bodybuilder’s walk towards it slowly and sat. He looked around with anticipation. “So now what?” he asked. Zaftig took Moster aside. “This boy is gentle. We don’t want to break his spirit. He’s had a tough time and he just wants to make friends. Go easy on him.” Moster’s shoulders stiffened. The veins in his neck popped a little. He looked Zaftig dead in the eye, and said, “Being sweet to him now will kill him later. Is that what you want?” “No.” “Then let me handle it. I know what is best.” “Did you at least give him a capsule?” “Sure,” answered Moster. “He’ll be just fine.” “Doesn’t seem to have taken effect yet.” “He’s a big boy. Blood volume and all. It takes time.” “Fuck you, Moster.” Moster’s eyebrows raised slightly, but he knew not to protest. Zaftig was properly proud of his discovery. “You know fucking well that White Caps P-21 take effect immediately regardless of ‘blood volume’, if you want to put it that way.” “Dr. Zaftig, it’s my turn now.” “It’s always your turn.” Zaftig turned on his heel and left the rec room without further comment. Moster watched him go. The men were sitting impatiently. “All right, men. Let’s get to it.” He turned to Casey. “All right, Casey. Welcome. You’re one of the group now. We’re now….The Twenty.” “Yeah, baby!” “Bout fucking time.” “Tell him what that really means….” said Alvarez. “Spank him!” yelled Hension, and then, before Chad, sitting next to him, could swat him, he said, “Don’t you fucking hit me!” Chad did anyway. “Ow!” yelled Hension. Casey chuckled. “That’s gotta hurt. These dudes seem to hit you a lot.” “You will too, in time,” said Waring. “What did …he….”….um…” “Alvarez,” said Alvarez. “What did Alvarez – sorry – mean – when he said “tell him what that really means?” Silence. Casey continued. “I mean, what does it mean to be one of The Twenty?” Moster smiled. “Yes, let’s talk about that, Casey. Men, why don’t we show Casey what it’s all about?” Then he paused a moment. Casey wasn't reacting. He was just sitting quietly, albeit with great body tension. His muscles were hugely pumped, and Moster could see the fabric shifting as Casey's enormous cock began to uncoil in his sweats. Soon he would be hard. But the boy wasn't moving. Odd. Quietly, he asked, leaning in, “Casey, level with me.” He looked the teen in the eye. Casey couldn’t look away. Inwardly he was stammering. He was looking at Moster's crotch. “No, look me in the eye. Look up. Not down there. Up. How many White Caps have you taken?” “White Caps?” “The capsules. The pills. How many?” He gazed at him levelly. A pause. “Four, I think. Five?” He shrugged, weakly. "i don't remember." "Where did you get them? I gave you one...." "Uh..." Casey didn't want to indict the men on his first day. Weirdness notwithstanding. “Never mind. I can guess." Moster looked back at the group, all standing still, attentive, neatly dressed in their uniforms. And every cock seeming at attention, poling out hugely in their khakis. The men were ready to play. Past ready. Mmmmm. Not much effect on Casey, though, for 5 White Caps. A few moments of assertiveness and a powerful workout, but…..not much. "Are you feeling anything…unusual?” “Well….” Casey paused and looked away. He found himself staring at the men and their looming erections. Jesus. Here it came. Strong societal blockers, Moster thought. "Do you want to have sex? Like now?" No answer. Casey just stared at the cocks in the room. The men were deadly quiet. Then it hit Moster. Of course. “Casey, are you hypoglycemic?” Not so much to his surprise, even the dimwitted Casey knew exactly what that meant. Still staring the the men's rocket crotches, he spoke softly. “......I need oranges or candy bars sometimes.....” “They told you this when you were growing up?” “They told me in the Boys Home. My blood sugar. I have problems.” Of course. That was it. It happened sometimes. He reminded himself he had to mention it to Zaftig. It was the same for Obatu when he first checked in, and then, years later, for Eli Meyer. Since Meyer could neither speak nor hear and his sign language didn't encompass the subject of hypoglycemia, it took them a few days to realize that a cup of chocolate milk worked wonders on the tight glutes of the hot little muscle fuckee Meyer. Give the boy some cocoa and he'd take massive tool after tool up his butt for hours. He called over his shoulder. “Dr. Irving, please step into my office and get an orange. You’ll find a bowl of fruit on my conference table.” He turned back to Casey and smiled a little. “It’ll be just a moment. Then we’ll tell you what The Twenty is all about.” Irving left the room, used to being invisible except when ordered about. Moster stood up, in front of Casey. "It will only be a minute now." The men, behind him, were now pawing the floor like racehorses, ready to rock and roll. Casey, sitting, was now eye-to-crotch to Moster, in front of him. He stared openly at Moster’s enormous bulge in the fly of his uniform khakis, a thick pylon of sheathed cock snaking heavily along the edge of huge quad muscle, and gulped, looking up. Though Moster was the only man in the room without an erection, his penis yet appeared to be the biggest. “Yes, sir,” he stammered. And stared again. His heart was pounding. Moster put a hand on Casey’s beefy shoulder, kneading his fingers slightly into the thick muscle. “Hang on. It won’t be long now.” He turned to the men behind him. “Men? Drop trou.” Zippers unzipped, belts slipped out of belt loops and went to the floor, as the 18 bodybuilders – even Abdul – dropped their uniform slacks to their ankles. Pants down. Around the room. Now all the men were in micro posers. Those massive bulges were unleashed. Looming, heavy, hard, all already pointing straight out. Their cocks almost fully exposed except for the bulging, straining fabric barely covering cockheads. Some of the posers were ready to snap. Casey stared at them all. "Wow...." he breathed. "Men why don't you do some posing for Casey? You've seen his muscles. I don't think he's had the opportunity to see yours." "You, too, Sergeant," said Abdul. Moster looked at him. He paused. "All right, then." He unbuttoned his bulging dress shirt and slipped it off. Casey could almost imagine he could hear the groan of relief of the fabric, suddenly relieved of the need to stretch over the man's massive muscles. But he wasn't prepared for the massive musculature of Moster. Cocks and balls bulged forth, each man spilling half a foot of visible cock into barely sheathed pouches. Casey felt a dribble of precum shooting in his posers. “Arms behind backs!” barked Moster, clearly now the leader of the group. He turned to Casey and became one with his men. The Nineteen placed their hands behind their lower backs. “Spread legs!” All spread their legs wide, shooting their right legs out in choreographed unison. “Prepare!” Fists clenched, crammed in solid obliques. “Front double biceps!” All arms slowly rose. And 40 cannonballs of enormous power ball biceps snapped into ungodly peaks. The men faced straight ahead, all eyes high and level, as if gazing into infinity. “Jesus,” breathed Casey. He fumbled with his crotch a moment. His head was spinning. The lineup of 19 men stood before him, all flexing with massive front double biceps power. The black muscle god brought his arms down strode slowly across the room back to Casey. As he moved, his half-covered organ swayed heavily from side to side in his posing pouch. Behind him, the lineup of men continued to flex without wavering. He stood next to Casey, and impossibly, appeared to tower over even him. Dr. Irving returned with the orange. “Chow down on this, Casey,” said Moster as Irving handed it to him wordlessly. "Men, drop the biceps pose." The men relaxed. Hension snickered. "Yeah, chow down, Casey." Then, warning Chad...."Don't you hit me...." “Dr. Irving, would you get back to your camera, please?” Dr. Irving went back to the video cam, checking his clipboard, and began to tape. The men circled around Casey as he took a big bite out of the orange, and then another, and then another. A moment passed. Casey began to flush, a deep crimson red – and then, just as quickly – the flush faded. He looked up at Moster, and smiled. Broadly. “I’m fine now,” he said. “Casey,” asked Moster evenly, “have you ever sucked cock before?” “No, sir.” “Would you like to?” “Yes, sir. I think I would.” Snap! Snap! Gunst's and Blankenship's posers snapped. Their cocks bloomed free, swaying heavily, ready for service. Gunst stepped forward, but Blankenship elbowed him heavily out of the way. Gunst looked at him threateningly, raised his fist, ready to punch face. Moster stood back. "Easy, men. There's time for everyone. Who should he start with?” he asked the group. “I think he starts with ME,” said Abdul, striding forward, his hands on the straps of his bulging posers. The 14 inch shaft was fully exposed, the tendrils of Abdul's thick pubic hair shining in the rec room light. “Fine with me,” Casey said, still smiling. “How do I do this?” “Don’t worry. It’ll come naturally. Just let it happen.” Abdul took his position in front of Casey and pushed out his powerful hips. As Casey leaned in, Abdul roughly cupped the back of the teen’s head, and pulled him in close. "Get to work, boy..." Casey open his mouth. Wide. "Sorry about last night, " he said up to Abdul, who loomed over him, taking his mammoth cock out of his posers and aiming it. "Wider," said Abdul. "Can I pose for you guys later?" Casey asked. "Sure thing!" squeaked Hension. Smack!! "Ow! What did I say??" "I said OPEN WIDER," commanded Abdul. "Sure thing," said Casey. He opened his mouth wider. "Let's go." And so.... it began. **** Want to read "The Twenty" from the start? 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 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 24 - Further Encounters 5: Sam and Casey Again, and Moster and the Cadets
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muscle-posing "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 17 - The Presentation
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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 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 24 - Further Encounters 5: Sam and Casey Again, and Moster and the Cadets Chapter 17: The Presentation February 10th, 2018 2000 Hours “Rose, dim the lights, and please – please leave us alone. Lock the auditorium doors behind you when you leave so we won’t be disturbed. Does everything have everything they need? Wi-Fi connection good? And Rose….tell Dr. Irving to bring the men upstairs to the lab. We’ll be ready for them in about 30 minutes.” A crisp response in the affirmative. The auditorium lights dimmed. There was a tapping of sensible heels, and the double doors at the back of the Valhalla Laboratories Assembly Hall opened and shut quietly. The lock clicked. Dr. Ira Zaftig cleared his throat, took a drink of water, and looked out serenely at his audience. He clicked his remote. The screen lit up, the light spilling out into the chrome and concrete bunker auditorium. “Are we ready, Gentlemen? Good evening. Welcome to Valhalla Labs.” The Valhalla logo glowed on the 20’ screen. Zaftig’s calm voice echoed darkly into the far regions of the room. “Gentlemen, I know you’ve had a long day. Flying in from Washington, checking into your quarters, touring the facility grounds, and now, after that splendid dinner, I know you’re curious to see the results of our mutual contract with the United States military and the Joint Chiefs. The unveiling, in fact, of our great 15-year initiative.” The five Officers in the front row murmured quietly. Out of courtesy, one or two nodded. Admiral Walrus, the Joint Chief Chair and Committee head, was seated dead center. He said nothing. He waited. Well behind the officers in the half-light sat a row of junior officers and young aides in attendance to the brass. “We here at Valhalla Labs know that we have achieved stunning success. We’re proud to be able to share it with you tonight.” Zaftig spoke easily, confidently. He clicked the remote again, and the first slide came into view. In their swivel chairs, the five Pentagon Officers sat back and turned their attention to the image on the screen. And then they stared. “Jesus, Zaftig, what the hell is this?” demanded Admiral Walrus. “Gentlemen, I give you Prototype 1-A of Project Herculaneum, Specimen Casey: Mr. Casey Rockland.” The image of an impossibly huge, muscled behemoth of a young man was on the screen, presented in four views: front, left, right, and rear. He was squared-jawed, thick-necked, blue-eyed, and handsome, with a deeply cleft chin and full, luscious lips. His arms hung at his side, and his legs were spread confidently well apart. His gaze was centered straight ahead, his jaw set firm with business-like grimness, his head erect. His waist was impossibly slender, given the mass above and below, perhaps 29 inches. His cobblestone abs rippled insanely. His posture was that of a classic anatomy chart. Every vein, every muscle appeared to pulse right off the screen. The young man was clean-shaven. He had a short blond military crew cut, but his eyebrows were thick, dark black, and lustrous. The left brow was slightly elevated with cocky arrogance. His face set him at about 19 years, but the muscle density of his enormous physique made it difficult to precisely age him. Seated in the dark behind the officers, Ensign Sam Victor, Admiral Walrus’ coolly handsome young personal aide de camp, looked evenly up at the screen and took in the image of the young muscleman with cool calm. The muscle boy’s skin – for he was, with his angelic face, little more than a boy, at least in years - was shrink-wrapped over the most astonishing display of musculature Sam had ever seen. Every muscle group, every vein, every cut, every separation stood prominently sculpted, in separate relief from the adjacent muscle group. He wore only the briefest of posing trunks, which sagged deeply to expose the gently curving, then plummeting, upper 6 inches of his tawny-colored, vein-lined penis. His oversized ball sac bulged ferociously in the heavy pouch. The Joints Chiefs were stunned. In the front-view image on the far left, subject Casey Rockland displayed hugely rounded, shining, mountainous pectoral muscles, gleaming with powerful deep furrows of striations, punctuated with thick dark brown, 3-inch sand dollar-sized nipples, poutily pointing downward. His broad shoulders, thick powerful traps and heavy delts looked as if the boy could easily carry a 600 pound bull around a corral. His lats spread almost horizontally behind him like the outspread wings of an eagle. The mighty 3-headed biceps were triple slabs of muscle on each arm, huge beyond all reasoning, the forearms laced with networks of half and quarter-inch iron thick veins. The boy held his enormous hands at his sides, his heavy fingers and thick thumbs crooked slyly inward towards his bulging crotch. Smokestack quads rippled and burst with muscle, and he was supported by a set of calves that ballooned behind him. His feet were enormous, with large thick toes and perfectly groomed nails. His tanned skin glowed with health. Sam assumed the subject’s teeth were probably perfect, too, but for the moment his gaze was leveled just below Casey’ rippling midsection. Well, well, he thought. Let’s just look you over, now. Just who are you, buddy? Superman? Captain America? Tiny Yokum? Johnny Holmes? Naw. This was no cartoon character. No porn star. But no superfreak that Sam had ever encountered before – and he had known many – could boast the cock this boy had. Between his legs in the front view hung a monster penis, less than half covered by the straining, flimsy Spandex posing trunks. The top half of Casey’s shaft was plainly visible. The trunks loomed heavily with the outlined round bulge and piss slit of his cock head. The generals were now murmuring loudly in shocked disapproval. Admiral Walrus just sat and stared. Behind them in the darkness, most of the aides and junior officers avoided one another’s glances. A few men gazed meekly down into their laps, looking up only furtively with appreciative eyes. A few stared outright. “This specimen, gentlemen,” intoned Zaftig’s voice out of the dark, “or, if you prefer, Private 1st Class Casey Rockland, is at present only one the world’s most perfectly-developed men. There are, of course, 19 other specimens.” Sam let out a low whistle. Ensign Tyler, to his immediate left, caught it. “There are 20 of these dudes?” Sam murmured to Tyler. “There’s a challenge for you, Sam. Never known you to turn your back on a challenge.” Tyler responded. “Shut the fuck up, Tyler, or no play time later.” Tyler smiled sardonically but said no more. Sam leaned back to enjoy the view. His brought his big hands behind his head, and leaned back in his seat to contemplate. He focused on the image of Casey’s crotch and allowed himself to dream, if just a little. Casey’s testicles bulged heavy and full in the sac of white Spandex, and the top quarter of the shaft of the penis spilled out and curved visibly downward before being enmeshed in the barely restraining pouch. The cock appeared flaccid, but no matter: the thickness was like tube of a flashlight, and the cock head bulged and pointed down with insistent heaviness. Under the thin sheath of Spandex, Sam could make out the long, curling, resting shaft, the rim of the bulbous cock head, the bulging cock head itself, the inviting piss slit, and the 2-softball scrotum. Curled tufts of iron black pubic hair spilled out from beneath the poser’s tightly hemmed edges. The poser straps strained mid-hips, threatening to burst from the weight. In the left and right side views, thick horseshoe triceps rippled along the battlefield-ready arms, their huge round sweep arcing backward. His pecs bloomed mightily, those taut brown nipples still tantalizingly pointing down. Lower, brick-like washboard abdominal muscles tapered into that impossibly slender yet powerful, vascular waistline. His obliques curved up and outward with menacing power. The roundness of the hard butt and the sweep of Casey’s hamstrings jutted past the back of the line of his head. In the rear view, his deltoids upended mightily blending into mountainous traps, soaring into a thick network of back muscle. His legs were spread wide. Two tight globes of thick, oblong gluteus muscle curved below a rock-solid butt shelf of power. His rocky butt glistened with sweat and oil: a blissfully full, solid, fatless furnace of power. Each splendidly ripped butt cheek appeared to be glancing slightly to the side, barely opening the center spread. Mr. Rockland’s poser was as inadequate going as it was coming, and unable to hide the deep red cherry butthole, which glowed invitingly around the right edge of the tight thin strap that traveled and sank into deep, darkened buttcrack. Below, the exponentially huge, shaped and separated hamstrings exploded, supported by freaky split calf muscles. Get a grip, Victor, Sam thought to himself. It’s just a picture. In his loose white Navy uniform slacks, Sam felt his own cock twitch longingly. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and reaching down surreptitiously beneath his regulation belt, his slipped his hand into his rapidly knotting underwear. He rearranged his package. Next to him, Tyler was doing the same thing. They caught each other’s eyes, and in spite of themselves had to suppress immediate blasts of explosive mirth. “Quiet, back there!” barked Walrus. Then: “We came here tonight to see a fucking muscleman?” he said dangerously to Zaftig. Tyler was suddenly seized with a fit of coughing, and Sam busied himself with his laptop, seemingly taking serious notes. Lucky he thought to bring it, he mused. It was covering a fierce erection, now pushing protestingly out of his tight uniform trousers. “I think you’ll find all the men interesting, Admiral Walrus. This specimen, Casey Rockland is 19 years old. He is 6’- 7” tall,” said Zaftig, now in full control. “He weighs 335 pounds. Casey was enrolled in the project formally only a few months ago, when he was just 18. Already he has made extraordinary gains.” Sam noted that the men on either side of him seemed to be breathing more heavily. His cock stirred heavily in his pants, and Tyler was still fooling around with something in his lap. He glanced down the line. Even in the half-light of auditorium he could see that all of the men were beginning to sprout fierce trouser trouts. Even the straight men. “Hmmm,” he thought to himself. “I wonder…” Zaftig continued. “Casey has 1.5% bodyfat. He’s in splendid health, his heart very slightly enlarged perhaps, but his blood pressure holds at an even 130/80. Casey’s lungs are clear. To our knowledge, he has never in his life smoked a cigarette. He can run almost 30 miles per hour for 2 to 3 hours at a stretch. He bench-presses 800 pounds, and can easily perform single arm curls at 160 pounds. He squats easily with 500 pounds, and has been known to do deadlifts of 600 pounds in a set of 25 repetitions.” Zaftig coughed modestly. “Casey is also an accomplished gymnast, and can hold an iron cross on the rings without moving for 5 minutes. His extreme flexibility enables him to land from a flying dismount into a full 180 degree split.” Baby, breathed Sam to himself. Come to daddy. He licked his lips just a little. Tyler was taking short, shallow breaths, as if he was hyperventilating. “Calm down,” Sam chuckled to Tyler, who was trying in vain to appear neutral. Tyler elbowed him sharply. “You calm down…” he muttered, shifting uncomfortably. Sam smiled and ignored him. “Go, man, go!” came a breathless voice from down at the end of the row. Clearly Sam and Tyler weren’t the only men excited by what they were seeing. Zaftig clicked his remote. A new slide appeared with Casey holding a front double biceps pose. “Casey has 26 inch biceps,” Zaftig continued. “His waistline measures 30” after a heavy meal. His quadriceps are 32 inches, and his chest, when expanded, measures a rather staggering 69 inches. His calves and his forearms are, respectively, 20 inches and 25 inches.” Yes, I was going to ask about Casey’s dimensions, Sam thought wickedly. He glanced right and left and observed his colleagues were probably wondering, with various degrees of personal interest, the same thing. “He eats 8 times a day, about 15,000 calories daily, a special diet of lean meat protein, clean animal fat, and low carbs. He drinks between 5 to 8 gallons of water during the course of a normal day. He trains 4 days a week, and the other three days he is required to remain at full body rest and in meditation, so that his body may fully recover and continue the growth process. His workouts are not shade less than brutal. Still, we are very careful not to overtrain any of the men, but because of Casey’s particular passion for heavy bodybuilding, in his case, we have to be unusually strict and watchful. He’d be in the gym day and night if we allowed it. Fortunately, over the years, we’ve learned better.” “I’ll bet you have,” thought Sam. “Casey’s also a black belt in karate and could be a champion extreme fighter – that is, if I ever let him out of the lab.” Zaftig smiled devilishly. “He has a mean left hook,” he added. “He can knock a 250 pound man unconscious with a single punch. His vision far better than 20/5 – what you can see at 5 feet, he can see at 20. Casey doesn’t drink or do drugs. And he has never in the three years we have worked with him here at Valhalla had so much as a gram of processed sugar. In short, gentlemen, Casey Rockland is a perfectly-developed male specimen.” One of the 1-star generals on the Committee blurted out. “Doesn’t do drugs,” General Needling echoed, as if appalled. “That’s a steroided physique if I ever I saw one!” he shouted. Walrus frowned. Another officer, General Wampum, added his harsh agreement. “He’s Ahhh-nold,” came a deep voice from somewhere in the junior officer row. “I’ll beeee beck.” Some chuckles, immediately silenced when Walrus, without turning around, sharply lifted an index finger to one ear. The men were clearly covering their growing excitement with feeble jokes. Zaftig continued. “On the contrary, gentlemen, there are no contraband controlled substances anywhere in Casey’s bloodstream. He’d test negative for any drug. No growth hormone, no insulin, no pain blockers. Nothing synthetic. I assure you there have never been any sort of street drug protocols at any time in Casey’s extraordinary development. Casey receives nightly injections of P-21, Valhalla Labs patented muscle-building enzyme, painstakingly developed by our technicians a decade ago, and unavailable to the general public. All of Project Herculaneum’s subjects receive nightly injections. There are no negative side-effects of any kind to P-21.” He paused for effect. “And it is not a steroid.” Zaftig let that sink in. Admiral Walrus snorted. He didn’t believe a word of this crap. He’d had enough, and the meeting wasn’t 3 minutes old. “What the hell are you talking about, Zaftig?” demanded Walrus. “Is this how you’ve been spending your Pentagon contract? Is this what you’ve brought us across the country from D.C. to see? A muscleman?! Some gym freak? Goddamn it, man!” “Admiral Walrus, sir, “ said Zaftig, his voice lowered to easy familiarity, “let’s just look at the facts. Casey Rockland is no ‘gym freak.’ He’s not simply “a muscleman.” Casey is the result of years of pain-staking research, protocols, hard-core training, and delicate systemic honing. He and the other 19 men we are presenting to you tonight are uniquely developed physically perfect beings. They are trained to exert control in all situations, and to follow orders to the letter. To the letter, I might repeat.” I can think of a few orders I could issue, thought Sam, shifting in his seat. Once again, his twitching cock was beginning to bind in his shorts. He mused if such wishful thinking might indeed have a payoff. The Generals murmured in low tones to Walrus, who nodded fiercely. “He looks – what did you call it?” Needling whispered again to Walrus. “He looks Photoshopped! How do we know this is real? No man looks like this!” Zaftig turned and faced the group. “Gentlemen, I assure you, there’s no trickery here,” he confided with a touch of theatricality. “Zaftig, this is a waste of our time.” Walrus started to get up as if to leave. The other officers stirred, hesitating. Zaftig resumed pacing. “Gentlemen, I confess, I’m disappointed. In fact, I’m speechless. You think this is all pure speculation?” He gestured at the figure on the screen. “Theory? Scientifically uncertain? Wish fulfillment, perhaps? Photoshop?” He paused for effect, and turned to a tall, lanky, owl-like man hovering at the end of the first row. “Dr. Shaft? Perhaps you might confirm to the Admiral…..?” He waited smugly. The Joint Chiefs personal physician, Dr. Shaft, was invariably called in as a paid expert on any matter remotely medical, for which service he balanced his time between coasts, living half his life with his annoying socialite wife of 35 years in an impressive Chevy Chase McMansion near the Washington, D.C. beltway, the other in a smaller, more secluded ocean-front home off the Pacific Palisades. Shaft had remained silent and withdrawn up to now. He turned meekly to Admiral Walrus, cleared his throat and spoke nervously. “Admiral Walrus….requesting your indulgence, sir, but Dr. Zaftig is quite correct. Casey – and the other 19 muscle specimens – does indeed exist. And his specifications and dimensions are just as Dr. Zaftig is presenting them to be tonight.” Walrus grunted. “After all, Admiral Walrus,” said Zaftig smoothly, “Dr. Shaft is your own representative in Project Herculaneum.” “And they’re all living here in this compound?” he demanded. “Now? Tonight?” “Yes, sir. They’re all in residence here at Valhalla Labs. You can see them for yourself in a few minutes, if you wish. In fact, we have planned on it.” A moment passed. Walrus resumed. “Get on with it, then,” he muttered. “It’s a waste of my time, but get on with it.” He snorted. “Admiral Walrus, sir,” said Dr. Shaft, placating him with superior charm. “Dr. Zaftig and the team at Valhalla are indeed introducing a species of super-beings. I have had the opportunity to personally review them myself in the not-too-distant past.” For years, Dr. Shaft had upon occasion enjoyed the discreet company of out of town young male visitors from Venice, California in his West Coast home, whose ‘careers’ on the bodybuilding competition stage he had generously funded. When Zaftig’s informant, one retired pro bodybuilder by the name of Miles Donovan, revealed Shaft’s little secret, Zaftig knew he had an ally, if an unwilling one, amongst the Joint Chiefs. He’d played his cards right, and covertly brought Shaft in months before for an unofficial unveiling. Shaft had been stunned into fawning speechlessness, and gratefully accepted a deal in exchange for support. Zaftig found the man useful but repugnant. And now - review the men? Is that what he calls it? “Let’s not exaggerate, Dr. Shaft. I haven’t created a species. After all, I’m not Victor Frankenstein,” Zaftig said humorously. “Aren’t you?” asked Dr. Shaft. “Who are they? Where did they come from?” asked General Wampum, glaring at Shaft. “They all came to me on their own at different times during the last 18 years,” replied Dr. Zaftig. “On their own, they were already splendid specimens, ranging in age from 18 to 40. Though I searched them all out personally, no one was recruited. Moreover, their dedication to this project is unquestioned.” Zaftig’s audience began to murmur. “This is crazy,” said Wampum. “Crazy?” Zaftig responded, his voice raising. “Crazy, you say? I assure you, General Wampum, these men are real and at the height of their development.” The officers all seemed to speak at once. “Perhaps, to satisfy your doubts, I might pause and take some of your questions now.” “They’re volunteers?” “Are they soldiers or civilians?” “What are their backgrounds?” “How about their general health? Are they medical freaks?” “Are they even Americans?” Walrus demanded to know. “Are they even human?” asked Wampum. “Dr. Zaftig, I have a question.” Sam raised his hand. Walrus half turned, but nodded, permitting the question. Ensign Victor may look like just a pretty boy, but he has brains and guts, Walrus thought. His gesture silenced the group, and he allowed the Ensign the floor with a slight nod of his head. “You haven’t mentioned I.Q. How sharp is Casey’s intellect?” For the first time so far that evening, Zaftig seemed to hesitate. He recovered instantly, but Sam caught momentary crack in the façade. “Casey has the normal requirements of intelligence for a gifted soldier,” he answered. Aha. “This man’s a soldier? He’s enlisted in the US Army?” demanded Admiral Walrus. General Wampum preened a little. “Casey Rockland holds the rank of Private 1st Class in the US Army,” repeated Zaftig, but offered no more information. “Dammit, Wampum, why didn’t you know this?” Walrus demanded. General Wampum stopped preening and slumped in his seat. General Needling came to his defense. “We didn’t know any more about this than you did, Walrus,” he growled. Zaftig turned back to the image of flexing Casey, resuming his presentation as if nothing had happened. He brought his pointer up, lightly touching the tip to the biceps of the left arm. “Note the triple biceps head,” he continued. “The unusually separated deltoids, and the dynamically thick trapezius muscles.” His pointer lightly tapped each muscle group as he spoke. “You see the unusually dense vascularity. Also, pay special attention to Casey’s thin skin. Men with this low bodyfat are often cold, their own bodies incapable of supplying sufficient heat, and their skin can be fragile. Casey is never cold. His metabolism prevents it. And his skin is as tough as rawhide.” I’ll just bet, thought Sam. Zaftig clicked through a series of images showing Casey stripped down in different posing straps, in a various array of training room shots and routines. He lingered on a final image of Casey in a deep leg squat, a barbell of several hundred pounds weight resting easily on his shoulders. His hams were so thick they almost touched the floor. Behind him his butt curved powerfully upward. Far from grimacing at the colossal weight, Casey’s handsome face appeared serene. The auditorium pinged with tense silence. The officers stared hard at Dr. Zaftig. Zaftig gazed calmly back, his mouth now a thin line of determination. Behind him at the head of the table, the screen was frozen with Casey in deep squat suspension, the only light in the dimmed room. Zaftig resumed airily. “Casey Rockland and the other 19 perfectly-developed specimens not only are living and training full time in this very facility, they’re thriving. Within this very complex, these 20 perfect men completed their second shift in another day’s hard training protocol 30 minutes ago. They’ve showered and changed two levels below us while we’ve been talking. In fact, they’re not more than 100 feet away from where you’re sitting now.” Sam’s ears perked up. Zaftig placed his palms on the dais table and leaned in towards the uniformed officers. “I am ready to present them to you now, if you wish.” He let the statement sink in for impact, and pushed away from the table. Behind the Generals and Admiral Walrus, the Junior Officers shifted uncomfortably in their chairs. All except Sam. This is getting interesting, he thought. “Perhaps I should do just that,” Dr. Zaftig said, “We might amend the agenda tonight. I think we need to break a little early. You all probably want to see the results for yourselves. Only then can you make an informed determination for your report.” He crossed toward the stage apron and turned to the group. “If you will all will be so good as to accompany me into the lab?” Confusion. The officers look dumbly at one another. Even Walrus said nothing. No one moved. Zaftig clicked his remote again, and the screen rose. “Dr. Irving?” he called out, climbing the stairs to the stage. “We’re coming into the lab now. Get the men ready.” He flicked some switches on a panel and the stage lights came up. At the back of the stage, a white-coated lab technician appeared, opening double doors. Beyond, the white glare of Valhalla Laboratories was revealed. “Admiral Walrus, Dr. Shaft, General Needling, Gentlemen: if you’ll all follow me.” Zaftig turned without a backward glance and crossed the stage to the opened lab doors. He turned and beckoned the group to follow him. A moment later the group rose, and with some uncomfortable putting away of laptops which had been hiding bulges, and with embarrassing shifting of slacks and trousers, which told the telltale signs of arousal, they crossed the stage and entered the lab. And with the notable exceptions of Walrus and Wampum, Zaftig noted with some satisfaction, that every man in uniform was sporting a straight-ahead trouser trout bulge. ******* Click below for the next chapter! "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 18 - Inside Zaftig's Lab: The Musclemen Revealed- 6 replies
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Part One "Yeah, come on, coach, you've got this in the bag!" James was not the only one cheering at the small, but powerfully built men on stage in the over 60's class of his local bodybuilding contest, but he was certainly the loudest, and with good reason. His coach, Larry, was almost certain to win his fifth regional title in as many years and as he finished off his routine with a most muscular that defied his size, he smiled, bowed to the audience and strode off back stage where his student picked him up and grunted "You may only be ten stone, but this is how much I want to congratulate you!" As he placed Larry on the ground a few seconds later, Larry just smiled and said "Remember, this time last year you couldn't even pick me up, but I thank you. It's nice to get some positive feedback from a student" and with that they went off to prepare Larry for the presentation. Larry and James really couldn't have been more different if they tried. Larry was 69 years old, had been training since his 14th birthday and although only standing 5ft 2 tall and weighing 138lbs, his 38½ inch chest, 33½ inch waist, 13 inch biceps, 21 inch quads and 14½ inch calves looked hewn from granite. James, on the other hand, was not only ten inches taller, but worlds apart. He weighed 220lbs, but with a 46 inch chest, 45 in waist, 13 inch biceps, 23 inch quads and 14½ inch calves, it was obvious that he had a long way to go to match his coach, but that did not dampen his enthusiasm for his coach and what he lacked in muscle, he more than made up for in cleverness. Indeed, it was his idea to create a social media account for his coach's bodybuilding exploits, accounts which were regularly shared by the stars of bodybuilding although James made quite sure that everyone realised that Larry's muscle development was following the "PHS method" of training which Larry explained as the "Porthos, Hercules and Samson" method of training until he couldn't do anymore and without any drugs whatsoever. That evening as the two drove home, James nursing the trophy like a baby, he looked at it and said "Larry, did you really mean what you said last year when I joined your gym. That in the space of three years I could win one of these myself!" Larry chuckled "Of course I did, I mean look at your progress. Your bench, squat and deadlift have increased exponentially from nothing to 104lbs, 94lbs and 84lbs respectively, you can pick me up for at least thirty seconds when you couldn't managed it before, and might I note that you've become more confident as well" and with that smiled at him. "Yes" smiled James, "my naked posing sessions after we train" and with that added, "I can't help myself, I say. After I train I feel, well, like, like the biggest and strongest man in the world, I want to rip off my posing suit and flex, flex, flex" "Tell you what then" smiled Larry, "special treat this evening. Before I tuck into my post contest ice cream, we'll pose down together, naked, and you can show me what poses I should do for my next guest posing session next weekend, Deal?" "Deal!" nodded James, frantically.
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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 "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 20 Pose and Approve: Further Encounters, Part 2 February 10th, 2022 2050 Hours Alvarez, already shirtless and oiling himself up, answered the knock on his door. Naturally, it was Lang. “Right on time. Come on in,” he said. Lang came in, babbling with his usual over-the-top excitement that preceded every Pose and Approve session. “So what do you think the brass thought?” he asked eagerly as he pulled off his t-shirt. Alvarez tossed a bottle of heated mineral oil to his buddy, who uncapped it and began to smear oil onto his muscles as well. “Did you see that old Admiral Whatsisname? Jesus, he looked awesomely p i s s e d o f f, man! And what about all those other dudes? Didja hear them? Didja hear them groaning?? Dude! D’ya think they all creamed their pants?” “Of course they did. They always do. It’s the guaranteed effect.” Alvarez sighed, oiling his triceps, shaking his head. "It's why we're here, man. It's the only reason." Lang laughed excitedly, working the oil into his muscles. “Man, those dudes ain’t never seen muscle like ours before, right? Right?” He flexed powerful biceps and nodded into one of the room’s full-length mirrors with a frowning sneer. “Asshole dudes never seen guns like these, right? pow! bam!!” “Oh, shut the fuck up,” muttered Alvarez. Lang stared. He was suddenly quiet. Alvarez continued to oil himself up. He looked worried. “What’d I say, dude?” Lang asked plaintively, his arms outstretched. Alvarez walked over to him and stood nose to nose before him, the bulges in Alvarez’s jeans and Lang’s posers just touching. He reached around Lang to the back of his head and, guiding his face close, planted a deep kiss onto his perfect lips. He worked his tongue into Lang’s mouth, who responded deeply. Then he pulled back and gazed long and hard into Lang’s deep brown eyes. “I’m sorry. Forget them,” he said reassuringly. “Let’s pose.” “Yeah! Pose and approve!” shouted Lang, and then giggled apologetically, clamping his hand over his mouth in response to Alvarez’s stern look. “Shut up. We don’t want everyone in here.” “Sorry, dude.” “Tonight is just us.” “Sorry, dude! Let’s rock!” Both turned and looked at their reflection in Alvarez’s three-paneled mirror. Excepting Alvarez’s mustache, the two powerful musclemen were almost exact duplicates of one another: tall, dark, and handsome, with deep brown eyes, taut cheekbones and shiny black hair. Their ripped, 285-pound physiques were perfect symphonies of bulging muscle. Lang nodded and forgot all about the brass. He did a crab crunch into the mirror. “Freakkkkyyy…” he muttered. “Swole. So swole.” His veins exploded with throbbing power. Alvarez was undoing his belt, unzipping his zipper, working his tight jeans gradually down his ripped quads. “Pose and approve time, man,” he said to Lang. “Pose and approve.” He picked up a remote and lowered the room’s lights, bringing up the glare of the overhead spotlight focused on the 15' posing dais in front of the mirrors. “Yeah, man, let’s get to it!” Lang ripped off his clothes and stepped up onto the dais as Alvarez kicked away his jeans. Both men were now only barely covered with skimpy royal blue competition posing trunks with hundreds of bright spangles sewn onto the extra-large pouches. The spangles caught the light and glistened like small sapphires. Alvarez stood before him. “You go first.” For an instant, Lang was honored to be going first, as the unspoken law between them during their nightly mutual muscle worship sessions was that Alvarez always got to pose before he did. Tonight was apparently different; even so, Lang was instantly caught up in the sheer joy of his own reflection of muscular near-perfection, and he forgot it right away. The muscleman stood quietly, his heavy arms around his back, his hands clasped. He waited. His ripped abs seemed to extend forever, cobbled fatless bricks laced with thick veins. His cock poled out in his posers. But still he waited. Alvarez was always in charge of Pose and Approve. “Go.” “I’m fucking ….. awesummmmm…..” Lang moaned, loving himself. He slowly curled his huge body into a side biceps pose and turned his head to cockily grin at his reflection. Then he glanced uncertainly at Alvarez in the mirror. “Talk to me,” he demanded, but Alvarez knew he was really begging. “Tell me I’m huge.” Alvarez was not about to let him down. “Yeah, you’re huge, man,” whispered Alvarez with warm smoothness, and he shifted his weight, smoothing the small pools of oil onto his delts. “Those guns of yours look to be about 23 inches. Check out your fist. Motherfucking huge. You could seriously do some serious bare knuckle damage with a fist like that.” His muscles were now gleaming with oil. Lang laughed joyfully. “I have, man! I’ve cleared a few barrooms in my day!” “Punching out ba-a-a-d dudes with those fists?” “Yeah, punching out the bad dudes! Check out these veins, man! They’re like super highways, man! Pumping, buddy. Pumpin’ it up for ya, man.” Lang pumped and flexed. Alvarez capped the bottle, set it down, and turned back, rubbing his hands together. “Oh, yeah, man. That’s good. Nice. Big old motherfucking biceps. Flex those guns for me, man.” “I’m flexing these guns for ya, bro. BOOM. Big muscle in the house,” he cried out joyfully. “Yeah, I see you, man. Nice. Nice big muscles. Biggest muscleman on earth, man.” “’Cept for you, bro. You’re bigger,” said Lang. Alvarez stepped onto the dais under the spotlight, and standing between Lang and the mirror, smoothed hot oil onto Lang’s glistening pecs, stroking his muscles appreciatively. They stood nose-to-nose, not six inches apart. Lang flexed powerful biceps. “Don’t know about that.” Alvarez smoothly applied oil to the granite softballs of Lang’s peaks. Lang stared at himself, transfixed. In his posing trunks his heavy cock was already pointing straight ahead. Alvarez clapped Lang’s huge biceps in his palms. “Like fucking rocks.” “Yeah, man, like fucking boulders, I know. Feel ‘em, man. Feel my muscles.” His eyes took in the mirror reflection of Alvarez’s awesome glutes. “I’m there, man, doing your muscles for you, man.” Alvarez licked his pecs, kissed each bulging biceps, and lightly bit Lang’s nipples. Then he knelt, leaned in and whispered again, his face now level to Lang’s bulging crotch. His breath softly exploded onto Lang’s stiffening cockshaft appearing as his posing trunks poled heavily outward. “You’re big, man. Real big.” “I’m big, hunh?” asked Lang. Now that Alvarez was on his knees and not blocking his upper body reflection, he was gazing at himself with hypnotic eagerness. “Motherfucking huge muscleman, dude.” Lang could feel Alvarez’s breath lightly exploding onto his junk. Still, he never looked away from his own reflection. “So reward me, man. Reward me for my muscles. Reward me for this pose.” “You got it, man. Here comes your reward.” “Thanks, bro,” purred Lang, gazing now in rapture at the pointing peaks of his biceps, his tongue slightly hanging out. His buddy approved. He was in heaven. He’d taken first place in the show running in his head. He and his buddy. “Just keep posing, man.” Alvarez gently opened his mouth and tenderly began to suck Lang’s big cock through his posing trunks. Lang glided into his next pose, a side-chest. And then a front lat spread. His pelvis pushed forward. His poser straining with cock. The pose and approve ritual always began with each man wearing his posing trunks for as long as he could manage to keep them on. They mentally pictured themselves on a competition stage, posing for overwhelmed judges and an audience of thousands of screaming fans, while under the lights, they were really posing only for each other, taking turns kneeling and occasionally bending and sucking each other’s erect cocks through their trunks. They fantasized no one else would be allowed to touch them. They’d turn and punch the lights out of anyone who dared. But the reality was that anyone who wanted to suck their cocks could do so. With just a little begging. After all, big musclemen deserve to get their cocks sucked. Now Alvarez was licking the bobbing cockhead through the straining cloth, running his tongue up and down Lang’s piss slit. Then he deep-throated him, holding the giant cock tenderly in his warm mouth. He held it for 30 seconds. Above him, Lang gulped and continued to pose. Then Alvarez slowly slid his lips off the big dick. The bulging fabric of the bursting poser was wet with saliva. He looked up and winked at the grateful Lang. “Big musclemen like you work hard,” he said with a quiet smile. “You pump those awesome muscles into unbelievable size. When you flex those muscles, it’s mind-blowing. You deserve a reward for all that hard work. You deserve to get your big cock sucked.” “Thanks, man.” “Don’t mention it, bro.” Alvarez ran his hands smoothly up and down Lang’s obliques, smacking his firm sides. He nodded, then looked up. “You got a lat spread you want to show me, man?” He licked his buddy’s abs and waited. “Comin’ up, “Lang breathed, and with a small explosion of breath, he grabbed the straps of his posers, pulled them taut, planted his fists into his obliques, and pumped his rocky pecs into their full mass. He spread his legs wide, the pouch of his posing trunks bulging forward with his fully erect 10-inch penis. Alvarez, still licking the washboard abs, stroked the cock with his thick fingers, glanced up and nodded. “Good lat spread. Great pecs. Lemme see you bounce ‘em. Show me, now.” “Okay.” Lang began to bounce his flexing pecs back and forth in dance of perfect machine gun muscle rhythm. “Yeah, man. Doin’ some serious pec dancing for you now. Boom. Boom. Boom. Watch ‘em, now. Watch these pecs of mine do their thing.” “Do that pec dance thing for me, baby,” said Alvarez. He watched Lang’s bouncing pecs for a full minute. Then he leaned in and licked the cockhead, again through the posers. “I approve. Here’s your reward.” Alvarez once again opened his mouth wide, and with a quick fleck of his tongue against his lips, took the bulging pouch of Lang’s posers full down his throat. Lang, his pecs still dancing, began to slowly pump his hips, fucking face. Bursts of warm precum began to stain the poser fabric, blooming into a widening pool of moisture. Alvarez could see the giant slit of Lang’s big penis head, and licked respectfully. After a minute, he released another small explosion of breath to signify to the bodybuilder kneeling before him that he was going to change his pose again. “Front double biceps,” he announced, and swung his arms up into mighty peaks. Alvarez pulled back slightly, licked the cockhead again, and rocked back on his heels. In his own posing trunks his cock was now full 11 inches erect and poling above the waistband, slap tight against his abs. “Lookin’ good. Now hold that for two minutes. No, three. Hold that pose solid without moving for three minutes. Then you’ll get your reward.” It was agony. Lang loved it. He fiercely held the mountainous peaks of his 23-inch biceps for three full minutes. Sweat began pouring down his face. “Flexing for ya, man!” He bared his lips and gritted his teeth into a grimace. His veins exploded down his neck. The veins in his forearms were like cables of steel wire. He raised one biceps, then the other, again dancing them back and forth. The baseball peaks of his guns gleamed in the spotlight. On his knees before him, Alvarez gazed up worshipfully, pumping his own cock right out of his posing trunks, but not touching Lang. “It’s been more than three minutes,” Lang finally said through his gritted teeth. “So reward me, man! Suck my cock, man!” “Think you deserve a reward?” Alvarez teased, now stroking Lang’s cock tenderly with his tongue. “For these guns? You bet, baby. Take that big cock of mine down your throat now!” “You got it, man.” Alvarez fell forward onto his knees again, his mouth wide open, and landed bulls-eye onto the giant pole bursting in Lang’s posing trunks, taking it all into his mouth. For three minutes, he sucked cock, up and down, licking, spitting, back and forth, deep sucking. Lang gazed down at him, relaxed his biceps a few seconds, and then resumed the pose. He was rock hard. “Dig these guns, man, and suck my cock. Suck your approval. Pose and approve me. Pose and approve.” “Yeah, you like it when I suck your cock while you’re posing?” breathed Alvarez. He licked the mammoth bulge in Lang’s posing trunks. “I can see you onstage, man. Flexing for all those asshole judges. Blowing them all away. Never seen biceps as big as yours. Never seen a cock as big as yours. Poling out in your posing trunks. Big old heavy bulge. Big cocks need to get sucked.” “Yeah? Well, man, I like it when you suck my cock. I like it when you suck my cock while I’m posing for those assholes.” Greedily, Alvarez licked the cloth covering Lang’s heavy testicles. “Lickin’ your balls now, man, licking your balls.” “Put ‘em in your mouth, man. Put my balls in your mouth.” Still flexing, he looked down and eyed Alvarez’s cock hungrily. Alvarez was pumping it now with both hands. It looked like a firehose. Suddenly Lang wanted to suck it. But he didn’t want Alvarez to stop. He dropped to his knees. Alvarez lowered with him, knowing what he wanted. As he watched, Lang flexed his right biceps one more time; Alvarez nodded approval; then Lang leaned in to Alvarez’s cock. He pulled the posing trunks over the cockhead onto Alvarez’s balls, and brought it into his mouth. Alvarez kept sucking. Together the two bodybuilders slowly lowered their huge bodies onto the posing dais under the spotlight and began to service each other with a full-body 69 grapple. Their arm muscles rippled against each other as each man gripped the other’s hard glutes, thick fingers gripping slabs of butt muscle. Each man ecstatically sucked his muscle buddy’s gigantic rod, their balls both still barely covered by their straining posing trunks. After 18 minutes of violent 69 sucking, their posing trunks finally tore from the strain. Rrr-i-i-i-i-pp! Their bullish balls burst free in unison, and each man eagerly licked the other’s heavy testicles passionately. “Next time, you pose first,” whispered Lang, and Alvarez looked over at him, grinned, and flexed a biceps. Lang nodded seriously. “I approve,” he said, “now here’s your reward,” and he bent in, sucking cock. The slurping, moaning, sucking sounds echoed down the corridor. In his room, Private Chris Hension, lying naked in bed, covered with sweat, his pole rising stiffly towards the ceiling, finally couldn’t take it any more. He jumped out of bed, grabbed a robe and a pair of purple spangly posers, stepped into them, fitting his huge member into the pouch with some difficulty, and tore out of his room. He ran down the hallway, his half-tumescent, half-sheathed cock waggling in the breeze, and stopped at Alvarez’s door. He waited an instant – and was about to knock – but, what the hell. He banged on the door, threw it open, and walked in. He knew it would be unlocked. Somehow instinctively he knew they were waiting for him. And so they were. The two musclemen lay on the dais, sucking each other’s cocks, their mammoth physiques coated with a glistening layer of sweat. Without removing dick from mouth, each man slowed for a moment and gazed up at Hension questioningly. “Were we making too much noise?” asked Alvarez, his speech garbled by Lang’s cock. “Yeah. I’d say,” said Hension. He threw his robe to the floor and stood before them in his favorite posing strap, his own erection poling straight ahead. He slammed the door behind him and stepped forward, whipping his arms up into a front double biceps. “Check me out,” he commanded, but there was a note of hopefulness in his voice. Of desperation, Alvarez quietly noted to himself. Good, good, all to the good. “Damn. He’s a pretty little muscleboy, ain’t he?” said Alvarez, momentarily releasing Lang’s cock. “He sure is,” said Lang, doing the same. “You see me every day, guys. I ain’t so little,” said Hension, flexing. “Maybe we’ve never noticed you before.” “Fuck you both.” “Oh, sorry. Maybe you should leave?” “NO! I wanna play too!” Hension flexed feverishly. “Okay. We’ll think about it.” Alvarez licked Lang’s dick a few times and lolled his head back towards Hension. Lang, however, appeared to take no more interest, turning his full attention to sucking his buddy’s dick. He bent in and deep-throated Alvarez’s stiff penis a few times, gagging slightly, and then resumed his gentle, steady sucking and licking. “You sure are pretty. Big biceps. Big. Good quads. Turn around.” Hension turned around, did a rear lat spread, pointing his shapely round glutes to the ceiling. “Nice. Awesome hams. Lang, you see those hams?” …..Suck suck suck suck suck…. “No? Hmmm. Guess he’s busy. Come on over here and flex for us while we suck some cock.” And Alvarez turned back to Lang’s quivering member, appearing indifferent. “I’ll show you guys,” muttered Hension, stepping onto the dais. He was ready. He’d been waiting a long time for this. And he’d been kidded, slapped, punched, and pushed around too long to not grab the moment. His moment. “I’m gonna flex now, and you’re gonna watch me!” he shouted. From the floor of the dais, Alvarez and Lang turned and looked up at him. There was a pause. “So go ahead,” said Alvarez. “Let’s see what you got.” He paused. “Boy,” he added.
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Catch up: Precis: Valhalla Labs is a remote mountaintop Northern California military facility, overseen by genius muscle growth scientist Dr. Ira Zaftig and CO Staff Sergeant Rod Moster, a 7'-0" ripped and hung 395-pound black muscle giant. There, 18 extraordinary bodybuilder-soldiers live, train, and play together, overseen by Moster's strict rules and brutal regimen for muscular perfection. Known as Project Herculaneum, the men serve as Dr. Zaftig's lab rats, receiving regular injections of P-21, a specially developed enzyme that facilitates muscle and strength growth in the very few bodybuilders whose systems can withstand it. The goal: to create an army of supermen, whose strength, size, and combat skills are unparalleled in the modern military. Unfortunately for the Project, the soldiers' enhanced strength and dramatically increased muscular size is accompanied by a corresponding increase in penis size as well, along with a rapidly diminishing sense of social restraint and inhibitions. And along the way, the men's extraordinary physiques prompt their own extreme muscle fantasies into a daily acting-out sexual reality. Into the mix comes young Casey Rockland, a lonely, handsome, innocent, super-hung 18-year old bodybuilding giant. Inducted by Dr. Zaftig into the top-secret government muscle strength and growth project, Casey comes to learn the ropes amongst the muscle giants, whose hunger for hardcore training is matched only by their sexual appetites and growing fantasies, including their insatiable appetite to receive muscle worship. Casey's simplicity, and his ever-growing need to receive equal doses of both love and muscle worship threaten the very core of the decade-long Project, itself only now approaching its full potential. Links to previous 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 A Government Issue Adult Cartoon -XXX- Muscle Fantasy By Joey Silverado This book is dedicated to Tiny Yokum – and to all his fans, past, present, and future. Chapter 13: After the Match Casey lay on the wrestling mat, completely spent. His eye was swollen – he’d have a nice shiner tomorrow. His huge, tired muscles gleamed oily red with sweat and scratch and pressure marks from the match. Casey dripped with splotches of oil mixed with muscle cum. Lakes of cum oozed into the oil, painting his raw, vascular physique a creamy, drippy, white, gathering in little lakes in the deep cobblestones of his abs, rolling in thick tides down his lats and onto the mat. “What the fuck?” he asked plaintively. “What kinda place IS this?” He sniffed the air. Cum. Everything smelled of cum. Around and above him the men were zipping up, putting their cocks away, retrieving sweaty, torn clothing. Karim Abdul, the vanquished muscle monster, lay to his left. Enraged, cum-coated, growling. “I’ll get you, kid,” he threatened. He stood, rivulets of cum flowing down from his face onto his massive traps. He started off. He stopped when he got to Blankenship. Blankenship grinned toothily. It didn’t last long. POW!!! Blankenship flew about 20 feet into the air from the force of Abdul’s uppercut punch, his feet never touching the ground. A tooth, suddenly without a home, landed beside him. Out cold. “Where you going, Corporal?” Moster demanded, stuffing his massive, dripping cock back into his pants and zipping up with some difficulty over the bulge. Abdul ignored him, stalking out the room. "Come on, Pedro," he barked to the pretty little kitchen boy, who scampered eagerly after him. “Someone get Blankenship and put him to bed.” Moster sighed, knowing that the muscleman would demand a match of his own the next day. And on it would go, until he was forced once again into public bare-butt spankings to keep them in line. Funny how they’d deck one another but submit meekly to hard paddling on their razor sharp glutes. The men stared a little – though all had seen Moster’s cock before – in fact, all the men had at various points sucked it dry, and had their own faces coated with the steady, unrelenting stream of ropey gism that shot from his deep piss slit. But no one could remember a group scene quite like what had just occurred. Abdul stalked off to the showers, Schumacher and Obatu bent to pick up a groggy, moaning Blankenship. Moster took his clipboard to a desk in the corner of the wrestling room and lowered his rockhard muscle butt into the swivel chair, which sagged and groaned under his mass. Corporal Alvarez and Private Lang, who had called Casey a motherfucker, but somehow managed to make it sound good, turned to check out the new muscle kid last time as they passed through the door back to their quarters, where they planned to fuck butt all night. They knew Moster wouldn’t be paying attention. Not tonight. Casey caught their look, and they nodded briefly at him. Lang gave him a half smile. Then he winked. And then they were both gone. Schumacher didn’t leave right away, though. He handed Blankenship over to LeFevre and stood back, watching like a hawk as the others filed out. Then he walked boldly right up to Casey. He looked up at him. “Sergeant Moster has another little honorary initiation ritual on that I think you may find both interesting and rewarding.” He smiled. “We’d like the opportunity to take you through it tomorrow.” “I - I’ll be honored to be a part of it.” “Yes, you will.” “Get out of here, Schumacher,” said Moster with good-natured gruffness. Schumacher looked blankly at Moster, who hadn’t even looked up from his notes. “And it won’t be tomorrow. It won’t be any time soon.” He looked up. “For Casey, that is. However, I’d be happy to accommodate you at any time.” His hand twitched and Schumacher instinctively shot a hand down to protect his glutes. “Yes, sir.” Schumacher left the lab. “Sorry about that, Casey,” said Moster, as soon as he was gone. “Corporal Schumacher gets a bit riled over anything having to do with Private Tiffany. They all have their quirks. You’ll adjust. Those last two men? They were Private Robert Lang and Corporal Julio Alvarez. Those two specimens were brought into the facility only a year ago. Others have come, but not everyone makes it through, and if they fail, then Zaftig releases them back into the general population. In fact, only 1 in 50 make it as far as you have. Now, drop your posers. It’s time I inspected your penis more closely.” Casey slightly rolled his eyes. “Again, sir?” “I’m not going to say it twice.” Casey nodded, resigned. He understood. It was about his penis, after all. Not his muscles. His dong. His wang. His rod. His cock. His huge motherfucking penis. It was always about his huge motherfucking penis. Moster was watching him steadily, his eyes narrowing. “Is there a problem, cadet?” he asked quietly, after a moment. “No problem, at all, sir.” He slipped his fingers into the elastic band of his torn, micro posing trunks and pulled it out from his body, and slid it down over his quads. Pop….. Smack! His giant penis poured out and slapped down onto his quads just above his knees. Immediately it stiffened slightly. The bell-like cock head bobbed forward once or twice, and the pulsing veins in the shaft began to throb a little more rapidly. Casey was breathing hard now. He was beet red with embarrassment. Moster never stopped looking him in the eye. He strode forward and grabbed hold of his thick penis in his left hand, squeezing the shaft lightly. Casey’s eyes widened in profound surprise. It grew hard in the palm of his hand. His palm glided up and down the warm steely rod 2, 3 times, very slowly. It grew under his hand. “Impressive. How big is this machine of yours?” He stroked it with his fingers. “I see you didn’t cum during the match." He began to rub his heavy hands with practiced movements up and down the boy’s thick shaft. “I – I don’t know, sir.” Casey had begun to sweat. Moster remained cool. “No, I didn’t shoot.” He shuffled from side to side, and his penis slipped out of Moster’s palm. Moster looked up. He took hold of the cock firmly once again. “You seem agitated. You badly need some additional training. Part of what marks this troop is their ability to restrain their emotional responses. And it seems to me your cock is responding emotionally.” Moster continued to stroke Casey’s machine vigorously. “So since we’re going in that general direction, let’s take a few additional measurements. Private Tiffany!” he suddenly called out towards the open corridor door. No response, but Casey made out a figure in the darkened shadows of the corridor. “Private Joe Tiffany. I know you’re out there. Step in here now, Private.” Tiffany appeared in the doorway. The young bodybuilder had removed his t-shirt and stood stripped to the waist. His ripped muscles gleamed in the fluorescent light. He entered the lab and walked bow-legged, a coiled cobra, towards the two musclemen in the center of the room. “Take some additional measurements, Tiffany. You know what I am referring to.” Tiffany smiled. “Yes, sir, I know.” He approached Casey. Looking him squarely in the eyes, he knelt with business-like efficiency before him. When his eyes were level with Casey’s member, he looked squarely at it. “What is the diameter, Private Tiffany?” Moster reached again for the clipboard, all business. Tiffany opened his smiling mouth wide and moved towards Casey’s cock. Casey nearly jumped out of his skin. “What’s he doing?!” “Private Tiffany has an unusual talent. It’s like having perfect pitch. He can take exact measurements with his mouth. He’s never off by more than 1/64th of an inch. Go for it, Private. Enjoy yourself, Casey.” “Flex for me, dude,” cajoled Tiffany sweetly, his mouth hovering just above the head of Casey’s enormous penis. “Come on, man, let’s see those big rocky peaks.” He flicked his tongue out and lightly touched the corona. “Sir…” Casey started to say. “Cadet Rockland, Project Herculaneum soldiers do as they’re told. Private Tiffany will now suck your cock. If you have a problem with this, speak up now. We administer regular oral-stimulation sessions here at Valhalla Labs.” “But ….it’s so gay, sir.” Tiffany snickered. “You’re standing there covered with oil and cum and you’re complaining about this being gay?” Moster stepped forward and spoke evenly. “That’s enough, Tiffany,” Tiffany immediately shut up. Moster turned to Casey. “Muscle is its own sex. Some have posited over the years that sex is bad for bodybuilders. We know better here. Cocksucking is not only pleasurable, it stimulates the psyche. It clears out problems with the prostate. Done regularly and properly it enhances semen production. It sharpens the animal instincts, to say nothing of increasing testosterone production. It also serves to further bond the men.” “You mean everyone sucks dick here.” “Everyone who wants to remain in The Project get their cocks sucked. Not only that, they are expected to suck cocks themselves. Regularly. Is there an issue? Are you frightened?” “No….I…..what if he bites me?” Tiffany gave him a lopsided smile, which he meant to be charming. “I never bite too hard,” he said. “I assure you Private Tiffany knows what he is doing. Proceed, Private.” “Okay…..” said Casey, bewildered. “Let’s see those guns, cadet,” said Tiffany. Slowly, as if hypnotized, Casey raised his arms up into front double biceps. Joe Tiffany smiled like a little boy in a candy store. He flicked a little river of cum that followed a thick vein from the cannonball right biceps to the tri’s. Then he squatted on his handsome haunches. He glanced at the mammoth machine that hung before him, and spoke out of the side of his mouth. “This looks like a real jaw-breaker, sir.” “You’ve worked with mine. It’s far bigger. Get to work,” Sergeant Moster commanded, clipboard ready. “Yes, sir. Anything for the good old USA, sir.” Tiffany fingered his Adam’s apple. “Gotta limber up.” He opened his mouth as wide as he could, yawning it four or five times, retracting his teeth behind his lips. He pressed his palm to his jaw and tilted his head, then raised his hands and gently pried his own mouth open to its fullest expanse. He licked his lips until they dripped with spit. Casey watched him intently, still flexing his biceps. His brain was burning. Tiffany approached Casey’s fully erect manhood, gently guided it up to his mouth, parted his lips slightly, and tenderly extended his tongue to lightly flick the big cock head. Flick. Flick. Flick. Casey blinked. Tiffany ran his tongue along the piss slit and probed a little inside. He looked up again. “What’s your preliminary estimate, Private?” “I’d say it looks to be between 14 and 14 -1/2 inches in length, sir.” “Very good. Girth? “9 inches at least.” “Confirm it, please.” “Yes, sir.” Tiffany leaned in and oh so softly glided his lips smoothly over the head of Casey’s penis. He closed his mouth and gently held firm. He closed his eyes, as if concentrating. Inside his mouth, his tongue methodically caressed the cock head. Casey was blown away. He stared down at the cocky short muscleman whose mouth was now enveloping the head of his penis. No one had ever sucked his cock before, let alone a man, let alone a muscleman. He gulped. Shit, Casey thought. Shit. I’m gonna cum. “Sir, I’m gonna cum, sir!” he blurted out. “Not yet you’re not. No man in my outfit cums in 5 seconds. Control yourself, cadet. Tiffany, what’s your first assessment? How big is this cadet’s cock?” Tiffany, his mouth full of cockhead, tried to respond. He couldn’t. Even he was surprised at the girth of Casey’s member. “MMgghblrb,” he said. “Gaaggg…mmmmhyrpphhhglub……aaaaackk…” “I can’t understand you when you mumble, damn it. Speak plainly, Private.” Tiffany pulled back for a moment, giving the head a final appreciative lick as it popped out of his mouth. “Yes, sir!” He reported, “The corona, I’d say, has a circumference of 10 and 3/8s inches. That sound about right to you, boy?” he asked wickedly. “I…I dunno…” Casey was baffled. What's a corona? Did he mean his cock head? One thing was sure: he was gonna get this guy. He wants to suck my cock, does he? Okay, then. “Now for the shaft.” He smiled again and whispered up to Casey. “This is the fun part,” he said. “Go for it, faggot.” Casey muttered. Tiffany raised an amused eyebrow, then winked at him and plunged forward, his mouth taking in all of Casey’s massive organ. His lips slid easily over the thick shaft, and somehow – by an instinctive rearrangement of tonsils? and a replacement of his soft palate? his mouth glided smoothly down the full length of the erect penis. When he reached the base, once again he stopped. Inside his mouth his tongue stroked the thick, pulsing cock veins. The penis grew stiffer and began to throb insistently inside Tiffany’s mouth. Tiffany sucked Casey’s cock. Back and forth, up and down, tip to base, his lips glided smoothly over the engorged shaft. Threads of thick glistening saliva appeared along the pulsing veins with each plunge. After 10 deep sucks, 5 very appreciative full-length licks, and a little tongue-and-balls-dancing, he pulled back again a moment, and, his eyes dancing merrily up at Casey, he coated the heavy, hairy testicles three or four final times. “Very nice,” he whispered. “Too bad you’ll have to shave these babies.” Okay, thought Casey. Maybe this guy was an asshole, but he was beginning to enjoy this. Something came alive inside him for the first time in his life. Hey, he thought, I really like this. This feels really good. “How do you like it, cadet?” asked Moster, clearly amused. “I like it fine, sir.” Casey managed to get out. “Private Tiffany, resume sucking.” “Yes, sir.” Tiffany went back to work. He sucked deeply five more times, and then pulled back for what he thought was a final time. As Casey’s penis rolled out of his mouth, he wiped his lips with the back of his hand. He turned to Moster, ready to report. “The shaft circumference is unusually thick. I’d put at just over 9 inches. Length of the erect penis, 14 -1/4 inches from base to tip. Weight, maybe 7 pounds, a few ounces? Give or take.” “Your overall assessment?” Casey was staring, excited beyond words, and getting mad as hell. Why had he stopped? This was just getting good. His erect member lobbed back and forth in the air, protesting, next to Tiffany’s left ear, who had turned to face Moster. Tiffany felt the wind of it as it passed, and studied ignored the whooshing sounds. “Definitely a superior organ. I sense he has not used it much in sport yet, aside from masturbating, but I’d also guess he has to masturbate 4 or 5 times a day. Maybe more. There’s a lot of blood pumping here, and it throbs steadily throughout the sucking process. I’d guess this cock hasn’t been sucked very often before, if ever.” “That’s all you know,” said Casey. “Seems unlikely that such a big muscleboy hasn’t found suitable candidates eager to give him regular blowjobs. There’s lots of men out there who like to suck bodybuilder cock. I suppose women, too. Still, Zaftig said this boy is different. All right, then. You’re done for now. Dismissed. Back to your quarters.” “Yes, sir.” Tiffany got up and winked at Casey, wiping his mouth. “See you later,” he said smugly, and sauntered out of the room. Casey stood trembling. “Do you need to shoot, Cadet?” asked Moster, all business. “Yes, sir, I’m afraid I do, sir.” “Get to it, then.” Moster walked casually over to the main table of the lab, put down the clipboard, and surreptitiously picked up a 2-quart beaker. He approached Casey. Casey grabbed his engorged cock with both hands. His body shuddered. He was about to let loose with a mighty blast of gism. Moster was prepared. He strode forward and grabbed Casey’s cock, and in the moment he exploded, he had the beaker ready. He calmly forced the beaker over the cockhead. Casey was stunned, but couldn’t stop his semen from bursting into the jar. “UUUUNNNNGHHH!” he shouted, and his cum flowed heavily out of his shooting dick and began to fill the container with its milky white thick fluid. “UUUUUUUUNNNNNGGGGHHHHHHHHH!! uuunnnggHHHGGHH!!! YEAH! OH GOD YEAH MAN!” As Casey’s huge body shuddered with spurt after spurt, the cum level climbed, half filling the jar. “AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhUNHHH ARRRRGGGGGG hhhhhhhhhhhh hhhhh……” Three minutes later, with a last huge shrug, he was done. As he shuddered to a finish, Moster corked the beaker and held it aloft. He swirled the thick liquid in each and smiled. “Not bad, cadet,” he said calmly. “Close to a pint. Pretty good for a first shot. You’ll do better later.” Casey was meek and baffled and embarrassed. “Thank you, sir,” he said. “Dismissed. We’ll see you at the gym tomorrow at 0700 hours. Get some sleep, Casey. Good night.” He turned and marched out of the room. Casey wiped his dripping dick with the back of his hand. He picked up his clothes and dressed quickly, forcing his still-hard cock into his shorts. But he wasn’t done yet. Not by a long shot. “Shit,” he said. He stood alone in the center of the room, his ripped posing trunks stretched around his ankles, the pole of his mammoth cock weaving out of control in the air. He closed his eyes and scrunched up his face. He was going to shoot again. He grabbed his cock with both hands, and fired towards the ceiling. “UUUUNNNNNGGGGHHHH!” he shouted, and, as ropes of semen began once again to fly into the air, hitting the ceiling, painting the walls, and splashing onto the ground. As his cum shot out of his enormous cock head, he was thinking feverishly. He remembered the cum on Abdul’s handsome Arab face. And he had been accepted into The Nineteen. Would they now be known as The Twenty? Casey knew it to be true. He could now be considered one of the world’s finest bodybuilders, if Project Herculaneum wasn’t so top-secret, and he wasn’t even 20 years old yet. He was powerful. He had a future. He had promised. He was in the elite. The last of his cum geyser shot into the air, arced, and splashed heavily on the sopping marley floor beneath him. His shoulders slumped and he dropped his hands to his sides. So why was he still bothered by something he couldn’t quite figure out? And how come that evil little muscle boy Joe Tiffany looked so familiar to him. Who was he? And why couldn’t he put his finger on it? Casey bent to put what was left of his ripped and shredded posing trunks back on. They barely covered his cock, but he didn’t notice. He waddled to the door of the wrestling room to head back to his quarters for the night. Tomorrow he would move into his new room. He had a lot to think about. He’d have to think about it all.
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This is something I started working on today and thought I'd put it out there to see if anyone took to it. It's about a bodybuilding show with a difference and will just be a very short story if I get round to finishing it. Apologies if it's a little rough! THE SHOW “Here, buddie. Take this.” I reached out my right bronzed hand and Blake Woods popped a blue diamond shaped pill into the palm. I looked up at him in confusion. The left side of his mouth was curled into a devilish smirk. “I’m not saying you’ll need it. But it might help ... ease any nerves.” I looked at the mysterious pill and gulped. I’d come this far. What did I have left to lose? I popped the pill into my mouth and swallowed hard. “So, Luke King, are you nervous?” the staggeringly muscular male specimen standing in front of me asked. God YES. More nervous than I’ve been in my bloody life. “A little,” I lied. “You’ll be fine, bud,” Blake reassured me. His sickeningly handsome face softened, and there was genuine warmth in his expression. “Just think of it as a regular show. Don’t feel pressured or obliged to do anything you don’t want to.” I dutifully nodded at the muscle monster before me. Blake Woods. Twenty five years old and one of the biggest muscle freaks on the planet. His tits were humungous, his quads were obscene and all six of his abs seemed to be exploding through his belly in an attempt to escape. “You can just stand on stage and hit some poses if you like. And if you get bored, or you feel uncomfortable, just leave.” I wasn’t sure whether it was because a man as huge and God-like as Blake was being so nice to me, or whether his words were actually reassuring me, but I was starting to feel considerably more relaxed about the rather unique show I’d anxiously agreed to take part in. “Saying that, Luke,” he continued. “I, for one, would be sorry to see you leave.” Something fluttered in my chest. Was there any small hope that Blake Woods was flirting with me, or was he just this nice to everyone? “There’s erm ... just one thing left to do before we hit the stage,” Blake said. I was a little perplexed, but when he raised both eyebrows and signalled down to the one item of clothing I was wearing, a pair of impossibly shiny, blue posing trunks, I knew exactly what he meant. “As awesome as they are, dude,” he began, “you’ve gotta lose the posing trunks.” Oh God. There’s no going back now. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” he said, cheekily grinning. He then shook his head and released a short laugh. “God, that was cheesy!” he added. “Sorry, bud. Maybe I’m a bit nervous too.” 300 pounds All American muscle monster and obscenely cocky poser extraordinaire Blake Woods nervous? FUCK OFF! I looked down at his brilliantly purple posers. It wasn’t just his muscles that were big. Blake was fucking packing. Hands down he had the biggest bulge of any current pro bodybuilder, and I was about to see it in all its naked, trunk free glory. Blushing through my bronzed competition tan, I nervously reached for the straps of my bright blue trunks. As I peeled them down my mammoth sized, vein plastered quads, my dick escaped the confines of the trunk material for Blake, and everyone else in the room to see. I was a lot harder than I thought I was, and suddenly exposed, I seemed to be getting harder by the second. Blake, who was still notably wearing his trunks, had a mischievous smirk on his face as he admired my increasingly growing hard on. “I’m not sure you needed that pill after all!” he teasingly exclaimed, still grinning at me. He reached down and whipped off his own posers, all the time his eyes were fixed on mine. If this isn’t flirting then I have no idea what the fuck is. I couldn’t keep from turning my gaze down for long, and when I did, my eyeballs almost popped straight clean out of my skull and on to the pump room floor. Whoever said bodybuilders have small dicks had clearly never seen Blake Woods naked. Pointing right at me was the thickest, hardest cock I think I’d ever bared witness to. No wonder he always looks like he’s shoved something down the front of his posing trunks. Little Blake? Not so bleedin’ little! Not fucking little at all in fact. I couldn’t seem to tear my eyes away from his enormously thick, juddering cock. It wasn’t just the size and thickness that was impressive. The shape of it was magnificent too. So many of those muscle worshippers and admirers out there in the world who lost their loads to pictures and videos of Blake Woods on a regular bases, and they’d never, ever know that he was also the proud owner of the most perfect shaped and beautifully sized cock. From somewhere, I found enough bravery to make a flirty joke with the now fully naked, competition conditioned muscle bull before me. “You don’t look so nervous there either, mate!” Blake’s mouth curled into a devastatingly gorgeous grin in response. Before he had the chance to reply, a loud voice filled the pump room. “OK, guys, two minutes before it’s time to hit the stage.” My stomach suddenly tightened with nerves and I managed to tear myself away from the huge, gorgeous, fully naked muscle bull before me to glance around the room. Four other well known bodybuilders of various size, age and nationality filled up the pump room. Standing around, pumping up, and preparing themselves to head out on stage. It might not have been the most unusual sight if it weren’t for one small factor; every single bodybuilder was now completely naked. A few meters from where Blake and I were stood, 212 class pro bodybuilder Anth “The Tank” Tucker was pumping up his insatiably huge, balloon-like pecs. Almost as wide as he was tall, Anth’s entire, bull-like body looked like it was about to burst at any given moment. Brutally sized biceps, blocky abs which distended from his ever growing roid gut and an ass so magnificently big it left the room ten seconds after he did, were all much loved features on this phenomenally size, late thirty-something American bodybuilder. Just a short distance from Anth, stood German muscle daddy Jörg Roth was with his hands on his hips, his naked glutes looking even bigger than they did when they were half covered with posers, talking to young Canadian bodybuilder Cody Watson. It was unique pairing. Jörg’s tank-like physique was bursting with deliriously thick, solid beef, while Cody’s leaner, six foot frame was packed with gorgeously shredded muscle, not least of all his infamous stomach muscles, which included six of the most insanely shredded and beautifully abs in bodybuilding. Jörg’s masculine, handsome looks, smouldering eyes and devastatingly sexy smirk made him one of the most popular muscle daddies on the planet. Meanwhile, with his ridiculously gorgeous, boyish looks, Cody has earned himself a legion of muscle obsessed fans. Most bodybuilding fans would trip over themselves to be anywhere near either, or most probably both, of these two contrasting muscle freaks. And completing the line up was infamous Australian muscle beast Ritchie “2 Guns” Lee, who was applying a last minute spot of oil into his freakishly shredded quads and tight as fuck, tummy popping abdominals. His semi hard cock sticking out in front of him for the whole room to see. The more he rubbed oil into his muscles, the harder his cock seemed to become. Even though Ritchie Lee’s biceps weren’t flexed, I could still see exactly why they’d earned him his nickname. Both upper arms were ridiculously thick and bulged to an almost laughable degree. I couldn’t wait to see them flexed and blown up in all their freakish glory on stage. It wasn’t just his inhuman sized guns that Ritchie was famous for either. He was known for his loud, extroverted personality, and even louder stage presence. Not only did Ritchie pose in the craziest, cockiest and most animated manner, but he had a habit of loudly shouting and bellowing out with practically every pose he hit. Every single bodybuilder in the room was in incredible, jaw dropping condition, but looking around, it suddenly occurred to me that, behind my All American monster of a muscle mate Blake Woods, I was the second biggest bodybuilder in the line up. “You OK there, buddie?” Blake asked, putting his large sized hand on the side of my obscenely huge right upper arm. “I think so. I mean, yeah,” I replied. “You’ll be fine,” he assured me. “Just think of it as a regular bodybuilding show.” But it’s not. It’s not a normal bodybuilding show at all. One of the guys working at the show, the only average sized, and clothed man in the room suddenly made an announcement to the six naked muscle freaks before him. “OK, guys. It’s showtime!” All of the magnificent bodybuilders started to walk towards the stage like a herd of docile bulls being herded into a ring and my stomach suddenly flipped with fear. Blake Woods ushered me to follow him, and my fellow muscle freaks. “Stick with me, Luke,” he adorably said as I nervously took my first steps towards the stage. Now there’s an offer. As I trailer behind Blake, I almost gasped at the rear image of his physique. I’d literally never seen a back as monstrously wide as his. Pound upon pound of thick, superhuman mass spilled out from his frame. And then there was his ginormous sized ass, which looked big enough to feed a small third world country for a month. The sight of Blake’s excessive sized bum meat cause my exposed, hard cock to fiercely jolt and judder. My stomach was doing somersaults and I tried to think about what Blake had advised me earlier. “Just think of it as a regular bodybuilding show.” “Don’t feel pressured or obliged to do anything you don’t want to.” But I DO want to, Blake. I want to do EVERYTHING that I’ve heard happens at this show. Everything I’ve heard and MORE.
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Chapter One "Oh, you were able to come!" As Roger gave Henry the biggest hug ever recorded in history, his friend gasped "I'm not the Ultimate Musketeer" and as Roger let go he chuckled "Although I could be if you wanted me to!" "We'll save that for the masses!" smiled Roger and with that opened the doors to the SUV and as Henry and Roger piled in all the materials they would need for the Olympia, they jumped in and pointed in the direction of Las Vegas and said in unison "Olympia, HO!" and with that Roger gunned the engine and they were off *** "Your destination is 809 miles away" announced the sat nav as they left Fort Collins "and will take eleven hours and thirty five minutes!" "Wow!" exclaimed Henry, "you do realise that's the same as travelling from where I live to Aberdeen and about two thirds of the way back again. You were right when you said that America was a large country!" "A large country" smiled Roger, "with large men heading to a contest with even larger men!" and with that they both laughed before Roger said "So, how was the flight?" "Flight?" asked Henry, "what flight?" "The flight from the UK to here!" replied Roger "Really?" asked Henry raising an eyebrow, "why on earth would I want to waste money on a flight?" "You never!" gasped Roger to which Henry replied with a chuckle "I did" and with that stated his journey. "I left my home at midnight today" he started, "remembering of course that I'm seven hours ahead of you. I had my luggage with me and so wheeled it down to the beach where I live. Then, and considering it was now a quarter past midnight, I went to the beach hut I have and there I..." "Oh fuck!" moaned Roger, "you did, didn't you?" "...became the Ultimate Musketeer!" added Henry and as he did Roger roared "Oh, fuck, yeah. Go on, tell me what you did!" "Well, after wrapping the luggage onto my back, I dived into the Irish Sea and headed due south west until I got to the Azores a little after three in the morning my time!" "Oh fuck!" moaned Roger, "how fast were you going?" "I'm not sure, but give me a moment" and as he consulted his tablet he replied "About three times faster than an aeroplane, but then I always like to go full throttle when I start!" "And then where?" moaned Roger "Well, I took a right hand turn and headed towards the United States. I think I arrived in, oh, now what was it called?" and with that he looked at the map and said "Ah, yes, here we are, Beverly Beach in Maryland, and that was just about sunrise" "You swum the Atlantic in a little over twelve hours?" gasped Roger "Give or take, yes!" "Oh man, your heart must have been pumping!" "Two hundred and forty beats per minute" said Henry, "about the same as a brisk jog. And from there I ran all the way here" "How long?" moaned Roger, "or should I stop the car now and cum?" "Let's see" came the reply, "I arrived in Maryland at around seven in the morning eastern, so that's five in the morning mountain, we'd agreed to pick me up from the airport at eleven mountain so five hours!" As Roger moaned, he pulled the car over and started scrabbling for something. Pulling out what looked like a drinks bottle, he pulled out his eleven inch cock, thrust it into the bottle and moaned "Speed?" "Three hundred and thirty nine miles per hour" came the reply, "a little under half the speed of sound!" "OOOOOOHHHHHH, FFFFUUUUUCCCCCKKKK!" screamed Roger as he came into the bottle and as he orgasmed panted, "Tell Adam, the next time he visits, take the aeroplane. I don't think I'll be able to stand too many of his go it alone journeys!" "Hear that, Adam" said Henry tapping his head, "on the return journey we book a plane" to which Adam grumped in reply "That's not fair, you know I wanted to swim through the Panama Canal!"
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Part 1: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/1510-belly-down/ Part 2: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/1525-belly-down-part-2/ Part 3: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/1530-belly-down-part-3/ Part 4: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/3401-belly-down-part-4/ Part 5: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/7002-belly-down-part-5/ Part 6: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/7146-belly-down-part-6/ Part 7 “Good work, Hans, but watch yourself. 283” said Coach John as he confirmed the weight on the old scale. Normally, I would have stuffed my chest out at the proclamation of my name but, in all honesty, I was beside myself as I turned and aimed my big body toward the mats. No matter how much my big, veined arms pulsed or my rolling legs bulged or my abdominal muscles flexed, I still wasn’t truly satisfied. I wasn’t going to be satisfied until my training exceeded the progress I’d seen from the little red-headed pipsqueak. Speaking of the devil, I halted in my tracks as I nearly collided with something shorter than me but almost as wide. I scowled at the face not many inches below mine but quickly brushed past the owner as I continued my passage. Just as I left the exit, my minions in tow, I heard numbers I’d been dreading. “264, Kenny. Goddamn, you’ve gotten big.” “Yeah, sorry, Coach. I’ve been hungry for more like a beast” came the deep and booming voice of Kenny. I need to be stronger, more powerful, I thought with vigor. I grabbed my Powerade from one of the benches as I passed the doorway. “Hans, wait. That’s not yours! You had a red Powerade! That one’s—“ My comparatively tiny lackeys collided with my bulging back as I halted in my tracks. All it took was a single glare of my flaring blue eyes to halt them. They knew who was boss. No one beneath me was allowed to question my actions. Without breaking eye contact, I ripped the lid of the bottle and guzzled the blue liquid as if it were the victory I’d craved from my opponents. My chin dripped with the little I missed and trickled down my hulking bare chest like a river. Without thinking, I threw the now empty container at the trash can, uncaring of whether it made it or not, and pushed through the double doors to train. I am and will always be the best— “Ugh, Miststück” --- Kenny turned at the loud roar from behind him, turning from the coach. “Kenny! Attention!” Kenny quickly returned back to his standing position on the machine judging his weight. “You’ve got your info, you’re too big to shrink down to a lower class so you’re going in for heavyweight. Off my machine!” roared Coach John. Kenny leaped off, something that seemed pretty odd on someone with as much weight as he carried. It had only been a few months since he was a midget at almost less than 100 lbs. With 264 pounds on a 6’3 frame, he was definitely a big guy by most standards. The other team members often moved around him in fear of colliding with his meaty tonnage. The last person to do so slammed into him like a car collision and was sent to the floor 6 feet away. Proud of yourself? If half the things you thought were audio recorded, any Psychology class would think you’re a narcissist. We’ve got other things to deal with. Was that my imagination, I thought loudly. No, I felt that too. Something’s up. That felt….. familiar. What does that— Don’t worry about that, it’s late. We’ve got to go fight crime or else who will stop the meteor from hitting Tokyo?! Just shut up, Kenny said as he also left the room, his teammates still lined up to be weighed. Neither he nor Nick noticed the Powerade bottle, only the strange energy coming from the locker room’s exit. Had they noticed the bottle, they’d have noticed the strange coloring. Or the demonic energy coming off of it. Or the demonic ritual circle burned into the bottom. --- The gym was dark as the staff had left all but a few of the facilities open for one of the college athletes who’d insisted on remaining. Normally they would have insisted but it’s hard to deny 6 and a half foot giant like Hans. The German hulk of a man roared as he tumbled on the wrestling mat like a monster looking for prey. His mental imagery of his enemies was what pushed him through the grueling hours of training, his big sweaty body pulsing with strain and power. Each muscle was wrapped in tanned and bulging reddened skin that stretched the tight signlet with each movement. His proportions, especially for someone his size, exuded girth and power that most couldn’t acquire without as much genetic advantage and hard work as he coveted. Hans fell flat on his round butt cheeks as he exhausted himself practicing a grapple using a dummy the team liked to use for learning new moves. The plastic doll was mangled from use but definitely far more so after Hans exerted his power onto it. His thick knuckles squeezed and bent the object like a cobra. Hans had worked against the doll for hours, since the time his weight was recorded. Still he wasn’t satisfied. His eyes glazed over with the vision of Kenny taking down opponents over the months. The little wrestler had grown into a power house and rapidly chased Hans in strength and size. Hans had been doing his best to train against those weaker than him in his weight class but he was too strong for any one of them to be worth a challenge. His two lackey-friends were amongst those weaker members and, although they were good at throwing their weight around, both were easy to overpower with their bodies being mostly fat. Hans was against the wall now as all the odds were against his progression. He was too strong, too big, and too good for anyone to train with and the new rival to come out of his former bully target was fast approaching him. This frustration seemed to almost choke him and send tears to his eyes. His parents had sent him cards congratulating him no his success in America and hoping for him to continue to advance in the ranks until he was the best of the best. But he wasn’t just muscle, he used his brains like a scholar. He knew that, at the rate Kenny was going, he could and would approach his size. Where could this growth spurt have come from? He’d doubled in size and was quickly reaching the ceiling of weight class. Hans couldn’t afford to grow more than 2 pounds with the same restrictions. He wanted more power but his body was already giving him plenty and, with a few years, would give more but not at the speed he wanted. College was short and success was within reach. Hans sat up from his sprawled position, his veins bulging desperately to produce blood and his sweat dripping onto the mat. He lifted his hefty body up and quickly lunged for the dummy when something felt wrong. “Wha—“ I—Can—You------- Big------------ Hans’s brow wrinkled and his blurry, tear covered vision shook. Something was speaking into his mind like a voice over a radio. He hadn’t noticed his body was not only numb from the pain of training but from general lack of feeling. One moment he saw colors in view and the next, they all smoothened to over in blue, as if he put colored contact lenses on incorrectly. Hans roared a german swear word as his big pecs squeezed and his big biceps flexed and his hands reached as if grabbing a ball in the air. His body convulsed for a full minute and his face reddened with the strain before…… nothing. Hans felt as if he was between being awake and being asleep. He looked up at the ceiling, all of the color returned. He sat and looked down at his hands as if nothing had happened, his legs still entangled with the plastic dolls body. Suddenly, Hans felt his entire arm bulge and, as if a bomb were in his arm, his arm bulged out of proportion with the rest of his body. “What the—“ You don’t need to use another weird German swear for this, right? I honestly couldn’t handle it. Hans felt his body parts bulge in odd places as his portions distored to something other than human. The muscles grew like balloons, tightening against one another as each joint was quickly filled to capacity with power before being widened and stuffed again. You’re quite a specimen. I could just fill you full of muscles and you wouldn’t pop until you were tall enough to crush a freight train with your pinkie toe. Excellent! Hans couldn’t concentrate on what the suddenly loud and strangely proper voice said to him as he tried to control his body. The muscles coming into him were hot to the touch and filled him with as much power as there was weight. We’ll have to keep you on the minimal output for now though. You’ll get too big for belief at this rate. Then that red idiot will spot me instantly. I’ll have to take precautions to avoid his detection. Hans tried to scream but someone refused to allow him to do so as his muscles filled his huge body until even his height of 6 and a half feet tall was filled to the brim. It was only when his singlet tore down the middle of his chest and his now gigantic feet blew his shoes that the growing ended and he was able to breath again. Muscle filled his vision in almost all directions. His shoulders scrapped his ears and his traps pushed his head forward. Han’s square jaw couldn’t be lowered as two unnaturally round cinderblocks the size of watermelons swelled beneath and restricted his movement. He couldn’t see below but, feeling the difficulty moving his other limbs, he had grown terrifyingly big, too large for the clothes he’d recently bought at the Big & Tall store nearby. He felt power from his tight abdominals and round arm muscles that he’d never before felt. Every movement of his thick and colliding thighs was an orgasmic feeling of utter power unlike anything he’d ever experienced. His thick forearms were thicker than any bicep and were veined like an ant hill diagram. Just as he felt all the power and energy enter his brain, something long and thick slapped his stomach, both surfaces hard enough to make a thud audible throughout the gym. Hans gasped as he witness a big, drooling cock head glaring at him, the foreskin pulled back as it couldn’t contain such a leviathan. Don’t worry, I’ll make this ride equally enjoyable. Humans don’t have many needs. Sex and power, correct? Hans struggled to agree as the contact of skin made him moan and even moving his torso stroked the godly phallus. So, which do you think is appropriate to balance out this power? Take some power off the top or make you taller? Hans was close to orgasm as he felt his spine tingle and then snap as if it were stretching itself. To Be Continued…..
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This chapter's a little light but it's to make the next chapter more impressive Get ready for rapid narrator change Belly Down Part 6 “Go, Ken, Go!” “Go,Ken,Go!” I was watching intently with as much motivation as I could for Kenny but it was tough to focus on the match. It had taken him two months to grow into quite a celebrity. Kenny would see me every blue moon but I cant say I didn’t evade him intentionally. I could feel something about him change and, in tandum, change me. I used to love his shyness and his extra consideration and even his tight little frame. Then something changed before the break and nothing remained the same. For example— Suddenly, Kenny slammed his beefy opponent on the blue mat and there was a loud smack as the poor guy’s body collided with the soft material. The referee gave the count and an explosion set off in the audience. People who knew Kenny cheered loudly for him. Kenny jumped up and flexed confidently for the crowd and two thick biceps appeared on his arms. My cock shot down my leg as I saw his butt flex in the ridiculously tight spandex. The team ran up to him and group hugged him clumsily almost knocking the entire group down. Kenny was lifted on his team’s broad shoulders in victory. He’d been the last match and he’d devastated his opponent. The guy got up defeated and returned to his group but I saw him for what he was actually doing. Though not entirely, the man’s cock was hardened and poking forward in his hidden jockstrap and was a darker color towards the end. I felt pretty bad for him but it was overshadowed by my happiness for Kenny. I saw him coming towards be for my praise, a big grin on his face, and I almost pulled back. That feeling again. “How’d I do, Casey?” he asked excitedly, waiting for my personal view. I couldn’t take him down after all his work. “Great, buddy, you definitely sweeped him off his feet!” I said. He grinned and flexed a bicep. “He was pretty light for a guy at 189! I think he forgot to eat a few more protein bars!” I tried to keep my eyes to Kenny’s face and he was kind enough to aid. His face had gotten sharper and more masculine in the last two months. His eyes sparked more than before and flashed occasionally with a kind of inner light, making his eyes bluer. His freckles had reduced greatly and were fading two by two everyday. His cheekbones were stronger and higher. His brows were bigger and shapely, framed by his stronger brow. All of this was framed in a jaw line that flexed when he flexed anything. I dared not test him too much in fear his powerful jaw would flare at me. Wait, what? I suddenly thought. Why am I ‘afraid’ of that? Kenny was still pretty gentle although he was more social and more confident. Besides his growth from 5’9 to 5’11 and up to almost 200 pounds of striated meat, he was a teddy bear. “I just felt so much sudden power near the end! I felt so strong!” Kenny exclaimed excitedly, his face a ray of red-headed sunshine to me. I couldn’t be in a more equal form of excitement and hesitation. --- Casey and I were coming back from an early dinner when people started noticing me and I received a shower of cat calls. “Tearing ‘em apart, huh, Ken?!” one of the jocks from the swim team called. “Ken! Ken! Ken!” chanted some quirky looking computer club fans. I didn’t realize I was puffing out my chest as I walked down the street with Casey beside me. Seeming to grow with my own impressiveness as each individual fan passed by and gave me more praise. I looked over at Casey and couldn’t help getting kind of upset. He was still plenty big compared to be at 220 and 6’2 although he’d begun to lose a teeny bit definition, the veins becoming a little less visible, trying to gain a little weight for the upper weight classes. I on the other hand was starting to gain some real weight. My body pushed against my clothes tightly and I felt my butt press against the seat of my jeans, a new feeling but also kind of exciting. My back pushed my hoodie further than before, making the size pointless as my girth started to become noticeable. Why did I wear clothes anyway? I was practically naked at the last competition, after all. Coach was proud of me but he was starting to struggle upping the sizes for my uniforms and tea hoodie. Already the last replacement was pressing against my shoulders, chest, and back more than they did when he’d purchased them for a slightly smaller Kenny at 185 pounds two weeks ago. Plus, it didn’t help I was unsure how to respond to the looks I was getting. Left and right, people were starting to look at me in what I registered as ‘unnecessary’ glances. Sure, my clothes were kind of tight but not super noticeable, right? We turned the corner and I saw it again. A female math teacher whose class I went to last semester was eyeing me like I was a math problem she just HAD to solve. It was a little... uncomfortable for me. I tried to look back kindly and sincerely but it was hard. Everyone always gave me that look as if I wasn’t wearing any clothes at all. I saw Casey look at me too but that was different. I was a little embarrassed watching him look at me that way, making me almost wish my pants weren’t so tight and my legs weren’t so wide and my back didn’t show so much and my waist weren’t so tight and firm. The other side of me was different though. I wanted him to look. I wanted him to see how good I was starting to look and be proud of my accomplishments and show some sign he was interested. I just wish he’d do it where I could see him and not slightly behind me as we walked down the street. “Hey” Casey called. I immediately ignored every other person ogling my tight jeans and turned my neck and raised my eyes to show my attention. “Yeah?” I asked intently. I was clinging to his words and I didn’t know it. “Why does everyone call you that now? Ken?” he asked, looking away from me for some reason. Why wasn’t he making eye contact. The sunset was making his face look redder than usual so I couldn’t tell. Or… maybe it wasn’t the sun? “Uh… long story” I said, trying to brush off what had happened. “You wouldn’t want to hear the details to it.” He looked at me eye to eye now, though his eyes darted down to the ground occasionally. Was he always this shy or was this a new thing? “I liked it when you were still Kenny…” he said, trailing off near the end. I looked at him intently, trying to read his face. “What do you mean, I’m still Kenny” I tried to reassure him. He didn’t look at me when I said that. He passed me and sped up with his longer legs and didn’t say anything but I saw his lips move. Being the youngest and smallest of many brothers who were all much much taller than you, you became adept at reading lips from a distance without getting noticed. Did he say ‘Are you’? I asked inwardly. Nick didn’t say anything snappy this time. Almost as if he thought it would be more fun to let me squirm. --- “Done” said Nick from in my head as though he'd been cooking an egg inside, his voice decipherable but still like multiple of him speaking. I was in the shower again, wiping down my body from the day’s sweat out in the sunset in a hoodie. Spring wasn’t made for thick hoodies. I was rubbing my soap covered hand down my stomach, my abdominals flexing and bunching, the skin glistening as if it were tight to the skin. I’d only just started getting used to looking down and seeing my body, my meek personality giving birth to someone with more physical confidence. “Done?” I said with uncertainty. Nick sounding excited never led to anything good. “Oh, hush, This one’ll be fun” Nick said as he appeared in the reflection of the shower porcelain, his red eyes looking back at Nick. “Your body is barely passable now” he said as he also mimicked my rubbing my legs down but in a more seductive way. God, I wish he could act like my reflection for once. “That’s boring. Anyway, shush up. I have things to say” he said as he put his hands on my now muscular hips and grinned. “We’re going out tomorrow tonight.” “What? What does that mean?” “What does it sound like? Your body is durable enough to do the hero thing.” “Jumping off buildings??” “No, dumbass, I said BARELY passable. We need to let you do smaller things before we head up to that. Tonight’s my last night solo.” I still couldn’t fathom how Nick had tricked me into accepting the fact he was using me like a doll in my sleep. It wasn’t the fact that I was parading around as a super hero all night, my face was covered so no one saw. It was the fact that I was jumping off buildings and crushing cars and running into walls without any permission given. Somehow, we’d come to the agreement that, as long as I don’t get revealed, he could SAFELY have his fun. I wasn’t looking forward to giving him permission to do it. Or was I? "Uh oh, looks like your friend is awake again" Nick chimed. I looked down and frowned a little. My cock was getting harder to keep in check lately and it didnt help it had gotten another inch longer, the 9 inch length wagging with every movement of my hips. With no hesitation, I started rubbing up and down the length, my toes curling as I felt my body parts tingle with the mixed impacts of dropping water and pleasure. I didn't know what I would do if I didn't have two showers a day. --- “We’re here in the central plaza speaking to an individual citizens recognize as ‘The Red Menace’. Thanks to our chance encounter, we’re allowed an exclusive from none other than the super hero himself. Red Menace, what makes you want to come out here and save these people? How do you know when these things are going to happen? Government officials who call this their home town ask ‘aren’t your consistent appearances at these crime scenes a little too coincidental’?” The 5’7 reporting, red lipped, dark haired woman holding her microphone in a tight yellow skirt with her camera close behind her and focused on ‘The Red Menace’ held the silence and waited for the hero to speak. She looked at his lips and felt compelled to come close and touch them with her own. She was trying to hide it but she was already moist between the legs trying to talk to him. He grinned a handsome grin at the question and his eyes flashed a little. “Well Ms. Dare, I’m just an average man walking around like the rest of you. Well on roofs” he started, fueling the nearby crowd with laughter. “I just pass by these incidents, car chases, bank robbers, and crooks by accident. I don’t know what your sources say but I have nothing to do with these crimes. I just come and save people. If these ‘government officials’ really are that suspicious of me and this city, they might want to do a favor to the public and fix it themselves. Until then, I’m going to give you all a little hand. Cool?” With that, the Red Menace jumped up into the night sky towards a nearby 10 foot building and was gone in the blink of an eye. The reporter, Ms. Dare, looked off into the night, looking as though she wanted to chase after him but she pulled herself back. She looked back at the camera flustered but forced herself into one piece after her encounter with the hero. “Bb-Back to you Jeff” --- A single man in red suit leaned back in his comfy chair, his eyes on the television. His broad shoulders competed with the wide chair and his hair slicked back in a simple fashion. His angular and fierce features were more imposing in the dim lighting. The entire room’s theme of red made him fit right in with his sinisterly dark hair and his reddened, flashing eyes. He remained straightforward and didn’t react to the flashing of the large flat screen tv over his fireplace as he glared into it. “Bb-back to you Jeff” the screen said before he roared and made the tv crack and shatter with the overpowering sound. It was like a terrifying reach of death’s hand coming and yanking your mind out. “There’s no need for any further investigation, Musisin, your peer has gone astray” the man said as he turned around and faced a man on the opposite side of his desk. Unlike the rest of the room, the man on the opposite side seemed younger and didn’t match their surroundings with his blue tie, blue skin, and white hair. He looked petrified in his stance on the opposing side after watching his duke destroy the nearby television with merely a shout. He was too afraid of having his head sliced off by the man’s large and imposing frame. His red glare seemed to cut through him almost. “You have one job. Find him, kill his vessel, and collect him. I don’t know what type of experimental mess he’s creating now but I won’t have it without any kind of consensual request. Is that clear?” he boomed to the blue-ish man. “Sir, yes, sir” To Be Continued…….