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  1. PART 1: The Season Opener I swallowed hard. The time had almost come, just another minute to go. I was sweating bullets as I waited behind the archway for my cue. The sound of the crowd out there was almost deafening, even back here behind the soundproof walls. I don't think I've ever been this excited or nervous before in my life. It was time for my very first match! An incredibly important one at that; the big opening match of the season. After months of anticipation, it was finally time to see if all those extreme stretches and stress tests were worth the effort. This match-up was going to push me to my limits. I was going up against the second biggest guy in the league right out the gate. It was a hell of a surprise for a first-time rookie like myself. Most guys in my position are lucky to book a match with an opponent at the lower end of the size rankings, maybe a mid-tier. My dinky little boner throbbed in my singlet just thinking about how gargantuan this guy was gonna be. I couldn't wait for him to crush me flatter than a pancake. "Ladiiiiiiies and gentlemen," I heard the announcer start. "We here at the C.W.L. hope you're ready for an explosive evening of heavy slamming, hard blasting, ultra intense, and extra imbalanced mayhem!" Deep breaths, Jeremy, deep breaths. Here we go... "And now, without further ado: In this corner, standing at mere 4 foot, 9 inches and weighing in at a measly 90 lbs, your Jobber for this evening: Jeremyyyyyy 'The Doormat' Smallwood." Right on cue, I walk through the entryway and began my first ever walk to the ring. Fireworks streamed out along the pathway, spunky theme music pumped through the speakers, and the crowd was cheering with ravenous anticipation. The intense wall of sound hit my ears like a freight train, but the overwhelming cacophany jazzed me up for what was ahead. It took me a hot minute to journey down the lengthy path, climb the daunting stairs, and awkwardly clamber to my corner. I took a moment to soak in the sight of the sprawling expanse of empty mat and the towering turnbuckles looming overhead. The ring here had to be extra, extra enormous since this league's wrestlers were- *THOOM* *BOOM* *THOOM* A mighty and imposing form had slowly stomped its way to the entryway opposite mine, waiting in the shadows for his cue to come out next. I could barely see his outline with all the overwhelming lights, lasers, and fog machines blasting everywhere, but my opponent was ready. I swallowed hard again, shaking like a leaf in anticipation. He was even bigger than I had anticipated. Hell yeah. "In this corner, standing at an incredible 24 feet, 11 inches and weighing a staggering 45,550 lbs, your Colossus for the evening: Apollooooo 'The Apocalypse' Rexford." *BOOM* *THOOM* *DOOM* *FOOM* Thunderous footfalls made the entire stadium shake intensely as Apollo slowly stomped his way to the ring. The league didn't typically bother playing theme music for the big boys; the booms generated by their every step were more than enough to raise the crowd's excitement. It was like the thumping of drums from a barbarian warship, signaling the arival of an unstoppable force. The cheers from the crowd when they saw me paled in comparison to how loudly they screamed for Apollo. I bit my lip as I watched him make his way toward the ring, his head rising higher and higher while simultaneously filling more and more of my horizonal view. He was a towering, impossible wall of muscles on muscles on muscles on MUSCLES even wider than he was tall. It took all of my concentration not to cream my singlet right then and there just from the quaking vibrations his mammoth feet. I'd saved up all week for this, and I wasn't about to let it go to waste. You may be wondering why a minuscule shrimp like me is being matched up against a man 500 times his weight and five times his height. Seems a little bit one-sided for a wrestling match, right? Absolutely! That's how things have always been in the Colossus Wrestling League. In the C.W.L. it's always a tiny resilient wimp against a hulking multi-ton bully. My job isn't to actually wrestle this monstrous man, goodness no. That would be silly. My job is to be his personal plaything, punching bag, and boy toy for the next few hours while an adoring horny adult audience enjoys the spectacle. That's the life of a professional jobber in this miraculous age. We jobbers are few and far between; an extremely rare mutation of human that is almost entirely immune to direct physical damage or injury. We're naturally small and scrawny in build, but you can crush us, squish us, slam us, bend us, stretch us, twist us - whatever really. We'll always end up springing back to normal soon enough like a rubbery cartoon prop. And on top of that, we're also highly resistant to pain. Being smooshed like a grape certainly feels intense, even overwhelming and uncomfortable at times, but it doesn't particularly hurt. If anything, for me at least, it's the ultimate turn-on. On the opposite end of the spectrum, but no less rare, are the colossi. While jobbers are tiny and resistant, they're gargantuan and tough. All colossi are ridiculously tall and naturally bursting at the seams with inhuman muscles. Even if a colossus never lifted a weight in his life he would have a bod so impossibly powerful and pumped he'd make the Incredible Hulk feel scrawny. But a big bod comes with hefty needs for fuel and relief; colossi have infamously massive appetites and sex drives to match their muscle. With the C.W.L. footing all their members' sky-high food bills and providing willing toys like me, most are more than happy to sign up as wrestlers and entertain the horny masses. And so, here we are. The big match. After many quake-inducing steps, Apollo had made it to the ring. My eyes widened as nearly 23 tons of bulk effortlessly stepped over the lofty ropes and made the specially-built, highly reinforced wrestling mat sag noticeably. His muscles, glistening under the lights with a perpetual cascade of sweat, were even more magnificent close up. Every obscenely disproportionate muscle group battled ferociously with one another for space at the tiniest of movements while an awe-inspiring tangle of thick, undulating vascularity snaked across every rippling surface. I once more bit my lip, overwhelmed by, not just the sight of him, but also his smell. Apollo, like most colossi, radiated a naturally intoxicating pheromone-heavy masculine musk. Few were immune to its enticing effects, and the bigger the colossus, the more potent his reek. I took a deep, deep inhale while my eyes were busy drinking in as many visual details of the beautiful he-man who would be flattening me tonight as they possibly could. Frick, he was absurdly handsome. Apollo's face seemed just as excessively macho as his body, with rugged features that looked like they had been carved from granite. That hard square chin. Those razor sharp cheekbones. That flawless stubble. Those full kissable lips. Long flowing locks of gorgeous golden hair flowed down from his head to the base of his 'neck.' Although, honestly, his neck was so thick with bulging meat that it barely resembled a neck at all any more. In fact, all of Apollo's extreme beef threatened to engulf his lovely face entirely from just about every direction. As if 25 feet of brute height wasn't enough, his trapezius muscles towered over his head by several additional feet. His massive deltoids, spread what felt like a mile apart, looked bigger than sedans. His prodigious powerful pectorals seemed like they'd dwarf small blimps. Both beef zeppelins pressed up intensely at his chin while jutting forward so unbelievably far that I'm honestly surprised the shelf's weight didn't topple him over. A dozen people could've been swallowed whole in the dark abyss between those tiddies. I certainly hoped I could go spelunking in those caverns eventually. His mile-wide upper body cinched down rapidly to create the most extreme, exaggerated hour-glass figure you can imagine. His long, hard 18-pack abs and rippling obliques tensed with densely-packed power as they worked overtime to keep his immense upper body balanced. The valleys between each pair of abs was also impressively deep; I bet if he did sit-ups you could crush coal into diamonds. To my surprise given the infamous nature of colossus dongs, there wasn't much of, if any, bulge to speak of in the front of his skin-tight sapphire blue speedo. I ever-so briefly experienced the one tiny twinge of disappointment I would feel that night... right up until I lowered my gaze a little further. Apollo's lower body immediately exploded back outward from his lean waist. His monstrous rippling pillars of quad muscle were as wide as his shoulders. There was NO space between them - it was quad vs quad in the ultimate battle for supremacy. You'd probably need to sit way back in the arena's nosebleed seats to observe all his hyper-developed leg meat at once. His calves were no less impressive, the fat carved diamonds were bulging like meat mattresses from carrying all that sheer tonnage. And then, at the very bottom, below his perfectly sculpted ankles, were his feet. Holy shit, those feet. Even for a man of his size and extreme dimensions they seemed disproportionately huge and muscly. Outside the ring Apollo normally wore specialized shoes made of an advanced shock-absorbing material so he didn't destroy every surface he stepped on. But here in the wrestling ring I got to see them in all their beautiful bare glory: perfectly smooth, immaculately clean, and flawlessly pedicured. In fact, every inch of my massive opponent from head to toe was flawlessly well-kept, since the colossi were pampered like royalty behind the scenes. The jobbers were treated fairly well too, but we didn't require quite as much upkeep as the men whose nails outsize trashcan lids. It took noticeable effort for him to do so, but Apollo managed to press his big burly chin down low enough into his obscuring tit meat to look at me directly. He licked his lips, a hungry and flirtatious smile spreading over his face. He let out a low, deep, velvety baritone grunt of desire that seemed to ripple through his muscles and vibrate from there throughout the entire arena. I once more came dangerously close to blasting in my load, but managed to hold on. Judging by some moans I heard in the crowd, several people weren't able to hold back as effectively. "Oh yeah..." he growled low, drinking in the audience's lust as he stared me down. "I'm gonna have fun with you, little man." Apollo began to raise up his arms, preparing to flex for his adoring public. The two monoliths were so incredibly thick they may well have put even his pecs and quads to shame. His forearms were so fat with bulging meat I was earnestly surprised he had as much mobility as he did. The preposterous pythons throbbed with macho power, bunching up and battling with themselves from just this simple lifting motion, and hovered tangelizingly out to each side. A hush came over the crowd in anticipation of the coming display. I was drooling a little. *BOOM* A shockwave of air rippled out from each peak as Apollo performed a front double-bicep pose. Each arm muscle blasted upward, forming a perfectly split peak that reached up to his clenched fists. The audience once more erupted with cheers, but he wasn't done just yet. With clenched teeth and a primal grunt he flexed his arms harder, willing more mass to spill out as his veins engorged with blood. Through this Herculean efforts both biceps rapidly rose, releasing another shockwave while the peaks reached the same astounding height as his traps. Not to be outdone, his triceps had simultaneously erupted in the opposite direction, becoming so large that their beautifully absurd forms slammed into the wrestling mat below. The mini-earthquake this created made me fall over, and I whimpered as I once more struggled not to pop off before the match even started. I wanted to worship this man with every fiber of my being. He was a grotesque monument to pure unhindered muscularity, and I wanted to lick every inch of him. As he bounced both bodacious biceps rhythmically, Apollo's audience showered him with yet more cheers and adoration. He beamed with satisfaction. The rhythmic bounces sent his abundant arm sweat spritzing out into the audience, splashing a lucky handful. After a minute or so of this pumped peacock display he finally relaxed his flex, his tremendous arms shrinking down to their smaller, though still awe-inspiring, size. I couldn't wait to see if his other muscles were capable of such extreme explosions of excess bulk. "Listen up, all you pathetic little PIPSQUEAKS!" Apollo commanded to his captivated audience. His neck meat clenched intensely whenever he raised his voice for emphasis. There was no need for microphones with colossi since their deep booming voices usually filled the arena with relatively little effort. "It's the first match of the season. A BIG event! And BIG events featuring dudes as BIG as me need big BIG surprises. So for a long while now I've been brewing an extra special gift for whichever miniscule, microscopic, scrawny little piece of fresh meat I eventually got paired with today." He pointed to me with a ravenous smirk. My heart was aflutter. "You know us big guys, we are a HORNY bunch. Most of us can't go more than a couple hours without pumping out one of our infamous monster loads. But, y'know what? You know what, weaklings? While you impatient bugs were out there beating off daily to my perfectly sculpted muscles," He did a small (for him at least) side-chest pose for emphasis. From where I was standing I could actually hear his muscle fibers groan. "I haven't let loose even once since the last season ended. Not. One. Single. Time." The audience let out a collective gasp. A colossus going one day without a release was one thing, maybe a week if they had the willpower... but several months? Utterly unheard of. "That's right, you PUNY JOBBER RUNT," he gleefully barked, turning his attention back to me. "I hope you're ready for the ride of your little life because I am PENT," With an audible lurching throb, the previously lacking bulge in Apollo's blue speedo surged outward, a mound bigger than my entire body throbbing from nowhere under the fabric. "-the FUCK," It lurched again harder, rapidly multiplying in erect mass. His previously non-existant balls suddenly rivaled small mini-vans in size, spilling out from the the impossibly stretched spandex, which somehow managed to retain its shape around the increasingly large hardening dick. The two multi-ton mounds hit the ground hard enough to cause another quake. "-UP!!" With one last monumental surge Apollo's rock-hard, heavily-veined schlong was towering above me at almost 15 feet long. I'm pretty sure it was twice as thick in circumference as my entire body. It was nothing short of a scientific miracle that his speedo was still intact. It was stretched comically thin and tight, leaving most of him exposed and rendering it a little bit superfluous. His mighty balls were now comparible to his pecs in rounded size, visibly churning with the countless gallons upon gallons of spunk he had been saving up those many months and somehow kept secret until mere moments ago. The visible skin of his dick throbbed crimson as globs of pre the size of my head dripped down like a leaky faucet through the soaked fabric at the tip. It looked, for lack of a better word, ANGRY. This thing was pissed off about holding back for so long, and it was looking to let out its pent-up aggression on someone small, wimpy, and conveniantly invulnerable to damage. As I salivated silently over this latest erogenous display of hypermasculinity and battled once more to keep my loins calm... the bell suddenly rang. Time for the match to begin.
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