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  1. Links to previous Scotty stories: Scotty Scotty 2.0 Scotty Takes Control Scotty’s Family Trouble Matt powered up the bar, grunting, on his last rep. “We’ve been over this, dude,” I told him, my hands under the bar and ready to spot the weight. “I just don’t see why I gotta wait,” Matt grumbled, for about the hundredth time. I watched him rack the bar and let out a huge sigh. “Too much growth in too many people would look suspicious,” interjected Rich, standing there watching Matt and I, and looking exasperated. “Besides, you’re already coming along. Look how much you’re benching.” Matt just lay on the bench looking up at me like I’d knocked him down. The four hundred pounds on the big Olympic bar hung in the air above his head. I’d given him his fourth pill already, and his pecs were looking pumped and swole. The pills were obviously having their desired effect and his strength gains were through the roof if that last set was anything to go by. My own gains in the last four weeks had continued to be epic too of course, especially with the cocktail of pills and gear that I’d been taking. I picked up the bar in my grip, testing its weight, and started cranking out one bicep curl after the other. “’Sides, bro,” I told Matty, “This weight is too light for you now. You didn’t even need me to spot you. If you want to grow, you gotta put more pounds on.” I didn’t stop repping until I’d hit twenty. I felt my guns swollen slightly with the effort, even though I’d been training chest. Finally, I re-racked the bar with a clang. “See it’s you doing shit like that, man, that makes me jealous.” “Yeah, it was kind of light too,” I informed him, adding insult to injury. “C’mon, brah.” I nodded towards the locker room and reached my massive fist down to give Matt a hand up. I practically pulled him off the bench with one hand. Matt had finally broken two hundred pounds with the third pill but he still felt light to me. I pushed his sorry ass towards the locker room. “Scotty and I both grew before too many people had seen us,” Rich lectured as he followed behind, in a tone like one of our high school teachers might use. “It helped minimize the impact of the growth. But if suddenly everyone starts hulking out it will bring entirely the wrong kind of attention.” Something about what he said made me look around the gym. The other dudes at Big Mike’s had gotten used to the sight of us two hulks over the last two months since school started, as Rich and I had been pounding out unearthly amounts of weight. Adding Matty to the training mix hadn’t raised too many eyebrows yet. But like Rich said, he seemed to be growing at a relatively reasonable pace. Still, I had a moment of pause wondering if we shouldn’t somehow be more discreet. But how could I ever be discreet? I was meant to be larger than life. Little did all these dudes know but Big Mike’s, for all its massive weights, was barely able to even give me a real pump these days. “Listen to the Dweeb, dude,” I told Matty, with a sideways grin. “He’s smarter than us two knuckleheads put together. Hell, anyway I thought you wanted to be a fitness model.” “Fuck you,” was the only reply I got. It was spoken half in jest and whole in earnest, as my momma would have said. But I could tell from his grin that even though he was frustrated, he would be okay with the pace of change. Anyway, neither Rich nor I were willing to give him any other choice. * * * It was Saturday afternoon, and after we’d hit the showers, we headed back to our respective homes. I couldn’t quite get my mind off how at least one other gym goer had been watching us that day. Blake Moran. He was the captain of the football team at the school across town. I figured he was a roid head like me, and I could see when he lifted at Big Mike’s that he was strong to boot. You had to be a serious lifter to go to Big Mike’s in the first place. But he was also a rich boy. His daddy owned a bunch of car dealerships and I figured he could afford the good stuff. The kinda stuff that Uncle Gio gave to me at the discounted rate. I was just a poor boy from the other side of the railroad tracks. Literally. And I need to earn my coin the hard way. I’d moved my stuff down to the basement a couple weeks ago. I needed the room to spread out and it had been a good space to start my new career as a webcam muscle god. Also, it was where I kept the pills in a lock box hidden in a crawl space behind some shelves. The same place I kept my gear from prying eyes around the house. I’d retrieved another couple bottles of Dr Wenk’s miracle pills when I got home. I was taking a pill a day at this point. It wasn’t making me grow as much, but I was still getting stronger and stronger. Like I said, Big Mike’s wasn’t big enough anymore. I needed a greater challenge. In the last few weeks I’d started looking further afield to get the heft of weight I needed for squats, benching, and deadlifts. And I had a plan. I was gonna create a sort of home gym. I’d found an abandoned warehouse a few miles out of town that might be a good spot for it. The old brick building had started life as an old mill, and expanded somewhat over a hundred years of operation. However, the benefit for us: the building had stood vacant for at least fifty years. The Dweeb and I had discussed some possibilities and were batting around ideas of what we might be able to do with it. I was pretty sure the Dweeb would be outgrowing Big Mike’s soon too and we’d need somewhere else to train. But first I had to work on raising some cash to pay for it all. I flipped on the cam and fired up my chat. “How you skinny bitches doing?” I said cockily into the camera as I saw them all eagerly start to come online, giving some shout outs to all my regular viewers when they appeared. I’d never really thought of webcamming to earn cash before I got huge. I mean some of the bigger dudes I’d worked construction with this past summer had joked about fags who’d pay cash to watch them jerk off or fuck pussy. And those were two things I did a lot. So, I’d looked around and saw that there were indeed a few guys who seemed to do shows, some for free and some for money. A little research and I was in business. I was the right age to keep it legal and let’s face it: twenty dollars is twenty dollars. As much food as I eat is eye wateringly expensive. Not to mention my supplements that Gio gets me. Even at the discounted rate it burns a hole in the wallet. At least Dr Wenk took his payment in kind. My business of webcamming started slow, but I found my reputation spread pretty quickly and I wasn’t shy. Soon I was giving shows for individuals and bigger audiences. “Just trained chest,” I told the guys, leaning back in my chair. “And I’m swole as fuck.” I was wearing a new shirt and a pair of jeans, and I put my right arm up, hand behind my head. My tri was like a side of beef, thick and juicy, and I could hear the threads in the sleeve start popping. Hopefully so could my audience. “Fuck, dudes,” I panted, leaning over to lick the massive swell of my right gun. “I just bought this shirt, but I’m not sure it’s gonna last until this evening.” I bounced my pecs, feeling the tightness as they pushed against the fabric. “I just benched a ton at the gym earlier.” Even thinking about it made me uncomfortably tight in my jeans. I always told my audience the truth. A small fraction of them might believe it was true. Some might merely hope it was true, so they could live their fantasies as they stroked their little dicks watching me. But I knew most of them would think it was all hyperbole. Just some massive dude putting on a show for the audience jerking off on the other side of the lens. My left hand tugged unconsciously at the collar of my shirt. I hadn’t lied either. I had just bought this shirt yesterday and worn it for the first time today. I’d figured it’d be plenty big for a while. Guess I was wrong. I flexed again. The pump right now was fucking amazing. Well it was most days after the gym, to be honest. Arnold hadn’t been lying about that in Pumping Iron. It was like cumming. Maybe not quite as good, but still it was pretty damn good. Yeah, I felt the size of my pecs swell as I stoked the fire. Each squeeze mighty. I flexed my left arm, marveling at its size myself. The other night I’d pulled a ham my mom had bought out of the freezer and held it up against my guns in full view of the cam, just so my audience could see how big I really was. And my upper arm was definitely bigger than that ham. The cash had been coming in thick and fast that night. Tonight, I flexed those same arms again. Once, twice, and riiiiiiip. That motherfucker let out a satisfying sound as my arm burst out along the seam. “You want more little dudes, you know what to do. This muthafucka don’t come free.” I could hear the cha-ching even as I watched the cash come in. Fuck, the internet was marvelous. Well as I earned enough for my next round of gear from Gio, I guess the boys had earned their reward. “Okay, you little fuckers, get ready…” I was at full mast and I knew my bulge would be apparent. I pushed my chair back to give them a good view of everything. The lighting could have been better of course. I wasn’t as sophisticated as I could be and maybe I could get one of the geeks who took broadcast courses at the community college to help me light it all better. Whatever that could wait until another day. Leaning back, I brought my arm up and squeezed my massive double biceps. BOOM. BOOM. Those fuckers were so big they had their own center of gravity. Then I started squeezing my pecs. Bringing my arms up and down like I was doing a set of reps on a pec deck. Feeling the ache and burning as I grunted on each flex. The shirt was tight around my throat. It was tight around my back. And my pecs looked like a mountain range of shifting tectonics underneath. As the pump grew the audience and I both focused on the rise and fall of the muscles. Each flex brought the rise a little higher, the fall a little higher too. Even I felt the excitement building, not quite believing that I was pushing so much. Showing these worshippers what kind of god they were watching. “Fuck, yeah! Dudes!” I hollered. “You seeing this shit?” Slowly, but picking up pace, I could feel the tears happening all over. That cotton was not able to contain me as it split, up the sides where my lats forced their way through and the neck where one thread after another snapped against the thick cords of muscle. The symphony coming to a crescendo as the valley of my pecs was deeply exposed and the fabric ripped apart. “OOOOHHHHHH YEEEAAAHHHH!!!!” The shirt split right down the center, torn open from collar down to the massive blocks I called a ten pack. Tiny bits of shirt clinging to me around my shoulders as I sat there. Fuck, I was stoked. I stood up, pulling the tattered remains of my shirt away and flexed a massive most muscular into the webcam. Grinning from ear to ear. “Did you see that, you tiny little boys? Did ya? That was a 6XL. I just tore through a shirt made for a 70 inch chest. Did you hear that, 70 fucking inches? That’s nearly six feet of muscle! Torn apart by just my pump!” My excitement reached a fever pitch as I flexed those massive slabs, in a move that could crush a car, and I could feel my cock pressing, swollen, leaking. I took a step back. I groaned, shuddering, as I felt the button at top of my jeans pop open, the zipper unable to contain me any longer, tearing through, tearing apart, pulling my tight jockstrap until the waistband of the jock could no longer withstand the power of that cannon and snapped. My cock rose up like a tower finally free from all containment. I sat back down, my hand pulling on my cock as I moaned, audience forgotten. I felt sweat on my chest, one hand on my cock, the other on my massive hairy pecs. Like it sometimes did with the pills, I felt the pump moving through me. Mostly just from my upper body, but down further and further still to my quads and calves. The seams of denim of my jeans, much stronger than the cotton, strained as well. A quick tear down the center where the material had been stretched to its furthest relieved not just the pressure, but exposed my massive wheels to my audience as well. I leaned my head back, so fucking long and thick. This needed two hands, and in my two massive fists the head of my cock still rose over and above, triumphant. For an ordinary man it would have taken at least three hands for the same coverage. My voice came from the back of my throat, glutaral, like a wolf, growling, deep, reverberating. As I beat it off. Massive. Thick. I looked up at the screen. “Watch this you little fucks. You can see what a real man can do.” All sense of time was lost, I could have been at it for a few minutes or a few hours, but that thought sent me over the edge and the white-hot fluid fired out and up. “OH, YEAH. OH, FUCK, YEAH!” The first shot launched well over my head. The second even further. The third and the fourth near my head. The fifth on the stubble of my chin. And as I kept firing I felt the burn on my pecs and abs until by the twenty-first shot of cum the fluid became more of a slow pouring of liquid lava, pooling on my fist and I pulled my hand away letting it ooze out and onto my big hairy balls. “Fuck, dudes.” I shook my hand, cum flying off and onto the basement floor. “Guess I got a little excited. Good thing the floor down here is cement, huh?” I laughed a few more times and did some more gratuitous flexing, cum still dripping. I was still hard, and I knew I could get myself worked up again pretty easily. Hell, I could cum nine or ten times without even going soft. But always keep them wanting more, right? “Thanks for watching as always, little guys. If you want to catch this big Italian stud again, you know what to do.” I gave them my best cheeky grin and a wink, and turned off the cam. I looked around and grabbed a roll of paper towel I’d started leaving down here for just such occasions. I went looking for the first shot and realized it had hit one of the ceiling beams about ten feet behind my head. The rest took me about ten minutes to clean up. The clothes were a total write off. Maybe I could charge all these torn clothes as a business expense, I thought? Not that I planned on paying taxes. Even the jeans were beyond any further use as garments. I guess mom could make them into dust rags or whatever. There was a knock at the door, and I hollered “What!?!” Quickly covering myself up in case someone decided to poke their head in. “Patrice needs some help!” shouted my mother. Patrice was the slut my brother Ricky was shacked up with. He’d knocked her up his senior year of high school and they’d been living together since graduation. Although my mother never spoke ill of anyone, she always got a certain look in her eye when Patrice’s name was mentioned. And Ricky was already a constant embarrassment to my father. “What’s the matter?” I yelled up. “She’s got a flat and your brother is at work. Can you give her a hand?” “Yeah, no problem! Tell her I’ll be there in a minute.” Just my luck. * * * I’d pulled on a muscle shirt that was open at the sides, ‘cause I didn’t think I had anything else in my wardrobe that would fit anyway. My lats were already too wide for a lot of my shirts. My truck pulled into my brother’s gravel driveway and I got out. Patrice was waiting for me on the step to their porch. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Is that you, Scotty?” I had to give a chuckle. I keep forgetting that so many people hadn’t seen me since I put on all this new muscle. “Yeah, girl. It’s all me.” “Damn, boy. You’ve grown some.” Patrice was only a couple years older than me and was looking me up and down like a bitch in heat. “So, where’s my sweet niece?” I asked, trying to change the subject. This was my bro’s girl after all – whether or not she really was a slut. “Maddy’s off with my mother and sister, so she can spend some time with her cousins. I was gonna run some errands, but you can see for yourself. Patrice had a car of her own, and it was parked in a shady spot further up the driveway. I walked up and had a look. The tire was pretty flat, no doubt about it. “My AAA membership is expired,” she said coming up behind me. I turned and looked at her squarely. I doubt she or my brother ever had a AAA membership in their lives. That’s what big, burly male relatives were for in Patrice’s book. “No problem. I’ll have this fixed in a minute.” I found the spare easily enough. Trouble was, there was no jack. “Where’s the jack?” I asked. “What’s a jack?” She genuinely looked like she had no idea. I bit my lip. It wasn’t that I minded showing off, but hell. There was showing off and there was showing off. “Do you need a jack?” “Most men would.” “Well you’re big and strong.” I walked back and grabbed the tire with my free hand. It was a Toyota Camry, and I figured it wasn’t weighing any more than I was deadlifting these days. “Stand back,” I told her. I took a look around and couldn’t see anyone watching, so I squatted down and reached under the carriage of the car. “Scotty, I was joking. Don’t try and lift my car.” Taking a deep breath, I heaved the weight up. I could feel the tremor run through my muscles, biceps flexed and quads tensed. The car rose, and then even to my own surprise I was standing there, holding onto the car in one hand. Patrice’s car didn’t have hub caps, and I reached down and started unscrewing the old rusty lug nuts with my fingers. There weren’t that many. As quick as a wink, I had the old tire off and the new tire on, as good as new. My arm was getting tired at this stage and I happily let the car back down onto the ground, massaging my fingers that had become impressed into the undercarriage of her car by now. I turned to look at Patrice and she was standing there, slack jawed. “Holy fuck!” “It wasn’t that heavy.” “Holy fuck! Scotty!” She looked ready to faint, and I moved to grab her just as her legs collapsed. Great. I picked her up, and took her into the house. I had to turn slightly sideways to get through their front door. My brother and Patrice lived modestly, even by my standards. She wasn’t heavy but I set her on their well-used sofa in the living and went into the kitchen to get her a drink of water. “Wake up.” I really wasn’t sure what the proper protocol was in this instance. Finally, after a few moments, she started to come to. “That was amazing.” She still looked a bit breathless. She took the water from my hand and took a drink, pushing her hair out of her eyes. “I never knew you were that strong.” “Yeah, well I work out.” I flex my gun for her. “And I’m really fucking strong.” She stood up and walked over to me, reaching out to feel my arm. She even tried to squeeze it, but my muscle was like hot steel. “Ricky ain’t that strong.” “Well I’m not Ricky.” “No kidding.” She grabbed my dick right through my shorts. “You’re a whole lot bigger.” “Fuck!” I groaned. This was my brother’s baby momma. And I was filling up in her hand. However, I was still a man. And Patrice may not be a model, but she was not unattractive either. I’d never quite understood what she saw in my brother anyway. “Big. All. Over.” “Don’t be starting something unless you expect to finish it,” I let her know. Her hands responded by rubbing over my pecs. “How strong are you?” she wondered. I walked back into the kitchen where I’d seen a big cast iron skillet sitting on the stove. I picked it up by the handle. “Stronger than this.” With a firm grip of the pan, I started to roll it up like it was a piece of paper. Soon there wasn’t anything left but a long thin piece of metal, pretty much unrecognizable as a skillet. I folded that rolled up piece again, and then I started to squeeze. I felt the veins in my forearms pulse and I compressed the metal of the pan until it was about as tight as it could get. Patrice shuddered, and I saw a wet spot on her shorts. “I guess that turns you on.” She looked like she might faint again, so I tossed the metal to the side and grabbed her in my arms. I leaned down and kissed her, long and hard. I pulled her up to me as she couldn’t reach my lips from the floor, I was so much taller. Our bodies were together, hers pressed against my hard, unyielding muscles. As our mouths came together, tongues meeting, and in a fog of testosterone and lust I forgot everything but the feeling of her hands traveling up and down my body. I tore my shirt off, grunting as I pushed down my shorts. I didn’t wait for her to undress, just picked her up and pulled her cheeks apart, tearing open the fabric and feeling my god cock rip into her. There was nothing for it but to hold on for the ride. I began to thrust. Slowly at first, but quickly gaining speed and momentum. I thought about my crushing power, and the ease with which I had lifted her car. I felt all the cockiness of my own size and massive strength. I got harder and harder inside Patrice, and she moaned with pleasure as I pumped into her. Fuck, I had so much power. Unbridled. What couldn’t I do? I thrust into her deep and hard, lifting her into the air with only the strength of my dick. I pumped and pumped and pumped with every thought of my own growing muscle power. Then I came inside Patrice, feeling her shudder with orgasm after orgasm, as I emptied my seed insider her. “Oh my God, that was amazing!” she cried out. “I’m only just getting started,” I told her. And that was the truth. * * * Later that night I came downstairs from taking a shower. I had smelled badly of sex and sweat, all my errands forgotten as I’d spent the afternoon buried in my brother’s girlfriend’s hole. When I came home earlier my dad had just looked at me and nodded his head. He was proud of his son, although he might not have felt that way if he’d known who I was fucking. I stopped by the kitchen, wrapped in nothing but a towel, and found my older brother Ricky sitting there at the table eating out of a tray of lasagna mom had made for me earlier. “You better not be eating my dinner,” I told him. “Fuck me,” he whistled. “You’re looking bigger every time I see you.” “Well you’re looking skinnier than ever.” “We can’t all be 300 pound studs like you.” “350 pounds,” I let him know. At least that’s what I told people who asked. Truth was the truck scales Rich and I used last time told me I was almost twice as heavy. I reached over and grabbed the tray of lasagna, pulling it out of his reach. He’d only had a couple small bites before I’d arrived. I held out my hand and waited patiently for him to give me the fork. With a long sigh he put it in my hand. “Jesus Christ,” growled our father, walking into the kitchen. “Look at you two bastards, eating me out of house and home.” Saying my dad was burly was putting it mildly. When I was a kid, I used to think there wasn’t anyone bigger. And back then my dad could and did put most other men to shame. Even now, at the age of 38 he could have won any amateur bodybuilding contest that he set out to enter. He’d always been one big motherfucker. “Awww, Pop,” I said between bites of lasagna. “I’ll give some money to mom tomorrow for the food.” He looked satisfied with my answer. Scotty could pay his own way. “And what about you, you skinny fuck.” He turned to my brother. I managed not to chuckle at my dad’s use of the descriptor, even though it was merited. “That baby momma of yours forget how to feed you?” “We had another fight, Pop.” “What’s the matter now?” He opened the fridge and grabbed a beer, sitting down at the kitchen table next to me. “I think she’s cheatin’ on me, Pop.” “What? How do you know?” “I just know.” I looked at them both. This cut a little too close to home, considering where I’d spent my afternoon. That is to say in the same hole my brother used. Cheating indeed. Ricky had a hangdog expression. My dad’s face was angry. “Why can’t you be more like your brother, Scotty?” he asked. “You don’t see him knocking up sluts and whining about some sad piece of ass.” This was not an unfamiliar line of commentary around the house. Ricky had just never been much like our dad. He wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, and working on the docks was probably the best he could ever hope for. Dad prided himself on masculinity. And Ricky hadn’t quite measured up in that department either, unfortunately. Both the men from mom’s and dad’s sides of the family were big and pretty manly in all the traditional ways. Ricky just wasn’t an alpha male. And it was still a little early to tell with our younger brother, Johnny. Although I figured my trip to the juvenile detention facility the other day had taken care of that. I’d even heard my dad tell one of his buddies once that he wondered if Ricky was even his. Although he couldn’t believe mom would ever cheat on him. It was just such a tough comparison since I’d obviously taken after dad for sure, and now that I’d grown, he found an even greater respect for me. To be cheated on by your wife was about as low as you could go with my father. If you couldn’t keep your woman happy, you weren’t a man. And a man should be the one servicing more than one woman. My dad sighed, and stood up. Ricky’s head was hung in shame. “I’m not sure how you ever managed to father that child in the first place. It’s probably not even yours.” He stomped off into the other room. “Don’t mind him,” I told Ricky, finishing the lasagna. “Naw, bro, he’s right. You’re both right. I am just a skinny little fuck.” “So how do you know she’s banging someone?” “I found the condom in the garbage. Next to our fucking bed. The bitch didn’t even bother to hide it.” I looked away suddenly, and breathed a sigh of relief. I’d cum in her a lot today, but I hadn’t worn a condom once. But then I had another thought. Fuck, this was worse than I thought. Patrice really was a slut. “She threw me out when I got home tonight. Told me I wasn’t even half a man.” Okay, that probably was my fault. “Look, man,” I wondered. “If she’s such a slut, why do you stay with her then?” “I love her man.” Well I couldn’t argue with that, even if I thought he was being a stupid shit. Let the bitch go. There was plenty pussy. Ricky was gonna get himself hurt if he kept on like this. But my heart skipped a beat watching my brother’s suffering. And maybe I felt, I dunno, a tiny bit guilty. “Why don’t you stay here tonight?” I said, suddenly struck by an idea. “We’ll figure this out in the morning. And I’m going to take you to the gym tomorrow. You don’t have to be a skinny fuck you know. And I won’t hear any excuses.” “Thanks, bro.” “No problem.” We sat there in silence for a few minutes. “Scotty?” “Yeah?” “Why don’t you go put on some pants?” “Fuck you, bro. Fuck you.” The End (for now)
  2. This was inspired by a 3d picture created by Pratev. Enjoy. The entire base was absolutely dumbstruck. They knew Sean was strong, but this... this was unreal. They stood there, all ten of them including their commanding officer, as the mohawked titan lifted the tank into the air with nothing but his massive cock. Having seen him reduce one to a ball of mangled steel the size of a basketball should've allowed them to believe that he was strong enough for something like this, but they were still flabbergasted. A low growl, like a large animal in heat that's eager to mate, issued from Sean's chest, a sign of his building lust. Everyone that knew him knew how much he was into strength, muscle, and the utter domination of those around him. It's why he joined the army's super-soldier program. The military higher-ups accounted for the likely increase in libido that would come with giving a man the strength of 1,000 men, but they never imagined that his lust would be nigh-insatiable. He'd been jerking off the entire night before, drifting seamlessly from one orgasm to the next until he filled a hole ten feet in diameter and eight feet deep with cum. "Fuck, dude," Sean rumbled, his voice like thunder. "I feel like a god. I could fire this thing off my cock just from cumming." Most of the base stood there awestruck, their cocks weeping pre at the sight of this monster--no, this demigod of power. At last, one spoke up. "Please, sir. Could you? I'm pretty sure I speak for everyone when I say that we'd love to witness your might." That was all it took to get his cannon going. Throwing his head back, he let out a mighty roar as his ram-rod erupted like a geyser, firing what seemed like gallons of cum with enough force to launch the tank the length of five football fields with just one salvo. Sean was awash in lust, flexing and caressing his godlike muscles in the throes of his orgasm, reveling in his apotheosis. He felt like, at that moment, he had ascended to something more than human. With that single display, he had become a muscle-god.
  3. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person (don't we all wish), living or dead, is purely coincidental. Yes, fictitious animals were harmed in the writing of this book. I am devastated that I was not able to secure certification from the ASPCA due to this fact. Have your pets spayed and neutered. Original version of Feats Of Strength Copyright 1996 © by Ray Wilder. All Rights Reserved. Revised version of Feats Of Strength - The Intense Edition Copyright 2020 © by Ray Wilder. All Rights Reserved The original had a little bit of sexy stuff in the opening scene then calmed down and became a pretty normal, run-of-the-mill-show-it-on-Saturday-morning-television-sword-and-sandals-kinda-feats-of-strength story (if you’d like to see that version, I believe it still resides at nifty). This here is definitely not your grandma’s Feats Of Strength. Not anymore, me bucko. In “The Intense Edition” our hero gets his nut, big time! m/self; m/horses; m/multiple m's; m/big ass trucks; m/I don't want to ruin the surprise; m/mountain NSFW Just warning you. R.W. ================================================================================ When I was young I would wait with great anticipation for the old Muscle Man films to come on television on Saturday mornings. Every once in a while no one else would be home, so I'd take off all my clothes except for my underpants and lay on my back in front of the television with my head on a pillow so I didn't have to hold my head up. On either side of me was a large, over-stuffed armchair with fat, wooden legs. Invariably, someone (usually a woman who obviously had the hots for Muscle Man’s muscles…and other supposed attributes) would try to persuade Muscle Man to do something he didn't want to do. This persuasion usually, but not always, took the form of the Muscle Man being tied between two sets of horses or chariots or the like, sometimes with his friends buried in the dirt so they would be trampled if Muscle Man was unsuccessful in his might. The horses would be whipped and they would attempt to run off in opposite directions and Muscle Man’s huge biceps and pectorals would bulge. He would grimace and groan as the horses tried to pull him apart but the mighty Muscle Man was always just too invincible for the poor animals. Also, invariably, the aforementioned horny queen or princess or high priestess or daughter of Evil Queen would be so impressed with Muscle Man’s prowess that he would be spared death by [fill in evil plot to defeat Muscle Man] and would either be re-imprisoned or put under some spell with a potion of some sort. And a good thing, too. Otherwise the movie was going to be unfortunately brief. After all, Muscle Man still had to kick butt and prove his might, usually by pulling down some temple. As the feat of strength commenced on the tv screen, I would grab a leg of each of the armchairs and begin to pull them towards me, relishing in the way the muscles on my arms and chest felt under the exertion. And I would get hard. Real hard. My cock would stick straight up through the hole in my underpants and the head would be throbbing, right in the line of sight with the television. During one of these movie episodes I noticed I was making progress with moving the armchairs. In fact, they got so close that I wasn't getting the feeling I normally did. I decided to lift up on the chairs instead. My own pecs suddenly jumped in size and an incredible feeling washed over my body. I was working these muscles harder than I ever had before. And there was this Muscle Man on the television moaning and groaning and pulling and bulging. And I started to moan and groan, but it wasn't because I was being pulled apart by horses, though I wished I were. I noticed a small amount of fluid beginning to seep out of the slit in the head of my cock. I pulled on the chairs even more. They began to actually lift off the floor. I had never really equated this kind of effort with the development of large muscles. But at that moment, something surprising happened. Just as the back legs of the chairs lifted off the carpet and my pecs were aching so much I thought they were going to split right through my skin, I achieved my first orgasm by shooting a wad so big that when it came back down and splattered on my chest, it covered my torso almost entirely. It was followed immediately by another one almost as big and then several others that drooled down my rock-hard cock and soaked into the fabric of my underwear. In that moment, my future was locked in place. I began to study the process of body building and the sexual enjoyment which physical exertion beyond the normal endurance of the body brought me. That was quite a few years ago. I kind of have to laugh because, as big as I thought those Muscle Men in the movies were, I am so much bigger than them now that I wonder what I could do with a couple of teams of horses. Or who needs horses? The desert sun shines down mercilessly as I lean against the weight I am pulling across the sands. Two massive chains with links four inches in diameter are attached to my waist. The other ends of the chains are attached to a huge sledge on which sits The Evil Queen and her entire entourage. I am pulling the shaded vehicle through the sand to the Place of Persuasion. This is the fourth time in four days I have been brought here. Or should I say, I have brought them here. Each time I have foiled The Evil Queen’s plans to induce me to become her sex slave. She hopes I will eventually give in, as each trip offers a more severe challenge than the previous one. The first was horses Four of them attached to each of my massive arms. The Evil Queen threatened me with this torture if I did not agree to satisfy her with my enormous cock. Not only did I not acquiesce to her demands, but I remained insultingly flaccid, silently daring her to give the signal to the horsemen. She waved her hand and the struggle began. Actually, I should say the struggle began for the horses, not for me. They pulled in the sand and I pulled back until all eight horses lay dead in the blistering heat. In the hot haze of the sun, I could see her gaze as she noticed I had not become the least bit erect. My cock hung loose between my mighty thighs, my heavy-hanging balls relaxed in their scrotum. The Evil Queen may have hoped I would beg for release from this exertion but instead, I gladly hauled the barge back to the palace with ease and spent that night in chains in my cell. She obviously did not realize how futile a gesture imprisoning me was. As days progressed, it would become more obvious. Much to her chagrin. The second was tug o’war I was again attached to the sliding platform and caused to drag it out to this place. Waiting for me this time were two groups of hugely muscled men. She must have completely drained every gym plus central casting. The enormous collection of beefcakes stood on either side of where I was to stand, each group holding a great length of rope. I took each rope by a loop and braced myself against the pull of dozens of men on either arm. Their muscles bulged but mine bulged larger. One of the thick ropes finally gave way. I could have been dragged through the sand by the men on the other side, but I held my ground, my huge leg muscles swelling until they pressed hard against themselves, thrusting my slightly hardening cock and pumped-up balls forward as if teasing The Evil Queen with a possibility. The Evil Queen ordered the men on the broken rope to grab hold of the rope on my other side and we pulled and tugged at each other until I found a huge rock to brace against. At that point, the battle was over. Half of the men collapsed in exhaustion. The rest were so overcome by my exhibition of strength they all succumbed to their own orgasms, either surrendering the rope of their own accord so they could jerk themselves off or simply spontaneously climaxing with such intensity they could no longer maintain. In this tug-of-war I was also victorious. She was not. This time, the barge was heavier on the return as it was also carrying all the men I had just bested. Most of them were still so overcome with the thought of my enormous strength they were unable to do anything but continue their masturbation all the way back to the castle. Chains awaited me once again in my cell, but I tired of standing as they were too short to allow me to lie down. I grabbed the lengths and pulled. My huge biceps swelled and my pecs swelled and my legs swelled and my cock began to swell and the walls of the cell gave way and the rings to which the chains were attached pulled loose. I lay down and slept, my partially engorged member sustaining the effect of my efforts of this day throughout the night. When the guards came to check on me, they were surprised to see the two gaping holes in the walls of the cell and me still laying there, still partially erect. Why didn’t I escape? Could it be my semi-turgid cock was indicating the level to which I am enjoying these challenges? The third was big-ass trucks I was fitted with a yoke made from a slab of granite. My arms were shackled to it with immense chains and then the barge harness was again attached to my waist. My enormous legs swelled with each step as I carried the stone and dragged the Evil Queen and her party the 5 miles back to the Place of Persuasion. I was surprised to see she was getting hi-tech on me. Waiting this time for my trial were eight large trucks. Each group of four was hitched to a chain harness which came back to were I would stand between them. I walked to the center and placed the shackles on my wrist myself, showing my disdain for her feeble attempts to conquer my strength. I stood proudly between the idling vehicles and waited for them to shift into gear. My huge body, relaxed and un-flexed, was still so enormous that the vehicles already seemed to be insufficient. I am huge. My 32" arms and 66" chest dwarf every man alive. My 48” thighs are so powerful that one kick could send one of these huge trucks flying. My back, so broad a normal person can barely reach across it from shoulder to shoulder, ripples with strength as I adjust myself in preparation for this trial. Huge plates of muscle dance on my chest with each movement. My deltoids are so massive they look like I'm wearing football helmets on my shoulders. The flare of my lats expands from my tight, muscular waist up to this incredible expanse of pure brute force. And I was just standing there. Engines idled. Engines gunned. The chain went taut and I was pulled off my feet for a second. I quickly regained my footing and began to pull against the 12,000 horsepower on each arm that The Evil Queen hopes will threaten to rip me apart. Surely no human body could withstand such a brutal attack on its integrity. She was so sure. Her nostrils flared with the anticipation of either my demise or surrender to her sexual demands. Either way, she would receive great satisfaction. Or so she thought. My enormous cock was semi-erect. She does not understand this. I should be so engulfed with fear for what I was about to experience that sexual arousal would be the last thing on my mind. She had no idea what, in reality, this was doing to me. The trucks engines revved, the tires spun and the air was filled with huge clouds of black smoke from the exhaust and the burning rubber of the tires. I swelled. I throbbed. I was huge and getting more so. My gigantic arms increased in size as I slowly bent them back together, dragging all eight trucks along with me. The air was filled with the sound of screeching transmissions and grinding gears. The drivers were trying to get some advantage but I was too much for all of them. One by one the engines overheated and failed. When the last one sputtered its final belch of smog, I remained standing between them, pumped, very pumped and very big. My huge chest had expanded to over 70" as I took great gasps of oxygen to feed my swollen physique. And my massive, semi-erect cock dripped in a way that signaled my intense reaction to what I had just experienced. I carried the granite yolk back to the castle, but the Evil Queen, for some reason, decided to make the slaves and truck drivers haul her barge back. I think I'm starting to get to her. The holes in the wall of my cell had not been repaired. I guess she figured that if I really wanted to escape, no stone wall would deter me. They were right. I overheard two of the guards speaking, probably for my benefit, that The Evil Queen was having some difficulty in the sexual satisfaction arena and they all hoped, for their own sakes, that I might be the solution to that. Otherwise, The Evil Queen was going to pop a cork, mentally, and drag everyone over the insanity ledge with her. I felt a slight sadness for everyone, but this was not what I was here for. No matter what The Evil Queen had planned for me the next day, I was going to blow this queendom…in more ways than one. The fourth was… So now here I am, back at the Place of Persuasion. Today the crowd on the barge I pull is extremely large. I believe I am hauling over 500 people, not to mention my granite yolk again. As I near the Place of Persuasion, I can see two large vehicles which seem to be sitting on some kind of track. The distance closes and the vehicles turn out to be diesel locomotives. They are facing away from each other and huge, two-meter long chains with links over 12" in diameter are attached to the rear of each one. This gal just doesn't give up. I drag the barge to within a few yards of the track. I want her to have a good view of my final victory. I then toss the granite yolk away like it's a small piece of fabric and again place myself between the two diesels. When I get there, I turn around and discover the Evil Queen has followed me. She says nothing to me. She just stands there and watches as I attach myself to the enormous shackles. I smile. I am ready. She raises her hand for a moment and then drops it. The locomotives come to life and begin to slowly move away from me. The huge chain which attaches these three behemoths, the two engines and myself, slowly lifts until it becomes taught. All by itself, each chain might weigh several tons. Just as my arms are stretched to the maximum, she signals again and the engines stop. I am held firm, but it is really only the weight of the chain which I am holding up. She walks up to me and rubs her hands over my huge chest and plays with the enormous shapes of my body. Her eyes drop to my groin as she takes in the spectacular sight of my length which hangs loosely between my sequoia-sized thighs. She tries to kiss me, but I let my mouth hang slack so all she gets is some loose lip. This offends her and she slaps my face. I laugh. Here I am, strung between two locomotives and she thinks a slap on the face is going to do something? She slaps me again and I laugh again. She doesn't know what this is doing to me. She doesn't know how much I revel in these feats of strength. My body was made to exert huge amounts of power. I long for the opportunity to use my massive muscles to their greatest advantage. Come on. Turn your puny engines loose on me. There is nothing this huge body can't do. The harder you make these magnificent muscles work, the bigger and stronger they get and the harder my cock grows. Let me have it. She is fuming at my insolence. She goes to spit in my face, then remembers we are not without an audience so I guess she figures that would be a very un-Evil-Queen-ly thing to do. I, on the other hand, am reveling in the fact that so many will see me at my greatest. Already, so many of the crowd assembled are driving themselves to the point of completion just seeing my massive dimensions standing so relaxed before them. Instead, she grabs my cock and begins to manipulate it, attempting to stimulate it to erection. I show no sign of stimulation, so she begins to squeeze. Nothing. She pulls and yanks and becomes more severe in her treatment of my cock as her frustration and fury rise. She reaches for my balls and begins to make them suffer, as well. I remain soft in a way that would seem impossible unless I was purposely signaling to her my disdain and total unconcern for what she has planned for me, should I not surrender. I glance down at her hand, cruelly manipulating my manhood. I laugh at her one last time. She gives my balls one final, brutal squeeze, releases them, causing them to swing pendulously behind my outrageously flaccid penis and then she signals to the engine drivers and steps away. This is it. The ultimate feat of strength. No one has ever been this strong. No one has ever been this mighty. I'm working my huge biceps and pecs and the locomotives’ stacks are billowing clouds of diesel smoke and their steel wheels are screeching on the metal track. I'm huge. And I'm strong. So strong. And I'm beating these machines. My hands are moving closer together and my huge pecs are pressing so hard against the inside of my skin they feel like their going to rip open. Huge muscles. Huge strength. And then, much to the frustration and dismay of my torturer, my huge cock now begins to thicken. And lengthen. And harden. And the juices from my overstimulated testicles begin pumping out a constant flow of pre-cum that pools and mixes with the sweat dripping into the sand between my massive thighs. Darker. Thicker. Harder. Rigid beyond anything I have ever experienced before. I can feel it pressing its massive length against the steel-like wall of my abdominal muscles. I am beyond any definition of horny. It has been several days (and nights) since I have blown a load, an interval I am not accustomed to. If it weren’t for the fact that I was proving a point to the Evil Queen, I would customarily have nutted multiple times each day (and night). My hands are shoulder-width apart. My biceps are growing. They are 34" by now. My hands are now two feet apart and I'm pulling with all my might and the power of my muscles is just radiating off me like some kind of glow or something. Everything is getting hot. The chain is hot. The track is hot. The engines are hot and getting hotter. And I am so hot I can't stand it. I have to scream with the joy of the effort. This is the best. This is what this huge body is all about. And my enormous cock begins to celebrate the effort I am enjoying. But rather than causing me to weaken from my explosive orgasm, it feeds my strength, giving me the unimaginable power to conquer the two mechanical monsters lashed to my colossal arms. I aim my thrusting pelvis directly at The Evil Queen and unload a spectacular spew on her. Joyous flights of cum launch from my magnificent cock. I shout in ecstasy at the unbounded pleasure of an orgasm stimulated by the massive exertion I am experiencing. Now the track under the locomotives is starting to warp and buckle. A drive wheel on one of the engines falls off. Then another. Then the other engine fails and now I'm standing between two huge wrecks, their diesels huffing their last breaths. I'm hot. I'm steaming. I'm ready to pulverize the world. I walk forward, dragging the huge chains behind me until they're taut again. I stretch myself forward, my arms bent back until they can bend no more. My pecs are still tectonic plates of strength. My biceps form colossal mountainous peaks, even as they are stretched backward to their limit. My cock hardens even more until it is aching with a pleasure/pain that matches the pleasure/pain I got from this physical exertion. I hold the tension for just a moment longer until I am about to explode. My balls cramp with a joy unbounded, then release one final massive eruption of my masculine, muscular essence, coating all the observers as I conquer this ultimate feat of strength. I flex my biceps and pecs and the two locomotives come flying off the tracks and land on the barge with all its observers. They are so covered with my spew, they never see the heaps of metal coming. I won't be dragging that damned thing back to the castle tonight. I won’t have to topple any puny temples tomorrow. I could. If I wanted to. Each of my wrists are still wearing the shackles and at least one of the massive links of chain that had temporarily bound me to the instruments of my torture and ultimate source of pleasure. There is nothing more for me to accomplish here. I head off into the desert. I need to find a mountain to beat up. The End
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