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Found 3 results

  1. Broody

    POP, part 5 added 3/MAR

    Trying something a little different here. Basic synopsis: A powerful, dominant serial killer is murdering massive bodybuilders with his bare hands, and a police detective (himself a massive bodybuilder) must track him down while fighting his own lustful attraction to the uber-masculine perpetrator.] Warnings: Snuff, Gore, Horror POP “You’re supposed to wear a coverall, like me,” said Dr Stain, the medical examiner, who in his white head-to-toe gear, contrasted sharply with the slimy red gore that covered the entire apartment. “And look like a cumshot in a uterus, like you?” said Detective Carnitas. “Not likely, chum. ‘Sides, they didn’t have one in my size.” “They don’t have doors in your size, Detective.” “True. Guess I’m just too much man for this world.” Carnitas did have to turn sideways to fit his 6’6” 450 lbs of swollen muscles through the door of this crime-scene-cum-abattoir. “This guy was too. Now literally, I guess. So be careful what you wish for.” The giant detective looked at the body. It looked like a skeleton wrapped in a bag of oversized skin. “What the fuck are you on about? This was a fat dude that had some kind of weight-loss surgery.” “Very sudden weight-loss surgery.” The doctor extended a pair of stainless steel forceps and pulled up the skin of the ragged corpse’s chest. “Weird.” Carnitas grabbed the second tool offered by the pathologist and together they raised the pec skin, which had enough area to cover a 60 inch chest. “And this surgeon needs to sharpen his scalpel, look here.” Jagged rends broke the skin at the top and sides of the chest. “It’s like the fat just burst outta him,” said the dumbfounded cop. “Not fat.” The doc pointed at the ceiling, walls and windows. “Look around at all this tissue, it’s pure red meat, no adipose.” “Are you telling me some perp exploded an Olympia-sized, fully-conditioned bodybuilder in his own apartment? What kind of weapon could do that? There’s no grenade shrapnel or burns.” Det. Carnitas felt his heart racing. “No weapon.” “So he took it with him.” “Nope.” Carnitas looked askance at the doctor. “No need to tax your brain overmuch, Detective. There’s video.” The doctor stood and crossed to a desktop computer with a webcam and used his gloved hand to wipe gore off the screen. Carnitas took a sharp breath. It was a freeze-frame shot of a red explosion that was surely the moment of death. But the red burst had a milky-white center. He found himself holding his breath, his heart fluttering as he looked closer. It was a man’s back. Though the man was half the size of the victim, he had the most densely muscled back Carnitas had ever seen. The groove of the spinal erectors in his Christmas tree was deep enough to trap a man’s fingers up to the third knuckle. His lats looked like twin wine barrels tucked under his brawny arms. His massive, tenticular traps formed a monstrous Kraken that seemed to pin Carnitas’ brown eyes with a burning glare. “What the fuck?” The doctor grabbed the mouse to click the symbol to back the vid up ten seconds. Carnitas gasped when primal sounds erupted from a fully equipped stereo system. The video showed a bloated mega-heavyweight bodybuilder who could have been Carnitas’ twin, held aloft and practically vibrating with lust in the concrete arms of the muscular perp. A high-pitched sexual whine ululated out of the bodybuilder’s cum-covered lips as the perps lats spread to eclipse their view of the vic’s mid-torso. The dominating bear-hug compressed the middle of the massive victim’s physique, swelling the top half of his pecs so much they pushed up into his chin, forcing his neck back til his whole head was obscured by deformed pec-meat blistered with stretch marks. Beastly basso-profundo grunts shot out of the subwoofer as that inhuman back rippled and flexed with incalculable strength. “Fucking hell.” Carnitas was finding it hard to breathe. The grunts got longer, louder and deeper, a counterpoint to the rising tone of the vic’s squeal, which sounded like air leaking out of a balloon. “No…” burbled the helpless vic, just as his body became a crimson supernova. Red flesh burst in all directions out of distressed skin as muscles built over years of obsessive workouts splattered like bugs on a windshield against vastly superior brawn. Carnitas was shocked and bewildered, but what happened next truly turned his world upside down. The perps wordless grunts slid into consonants and vowels as a long lingering… “FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK YEEEEEEEAAAAAAHHHH!!!!” … vibrated the floorboards. The sheer manly amplitude of the perp’s ultra-deep voice traveled the distance to where Carnitas stood, thundered up his shins, crossed in an X across his 38” quads and locked his groin in a vice. He couldn’t have taken his eyes off of the screen if he wanted to, as the perp turned to the side. The massive arms dropped casually to his sides, and the crushed torso slumped, but still clung goo-like to granite pecs shaped like Atlas stones that now filled the vic’s ribcage where vital organs once pulsed. A pec bounce jiggled the deformed corpse like a macabre marionette, which the perp found amusing. “HUH-HUH-HUH.” His lewd, rumbly chuckle reached out to Carnitas’ bloated prick and blasted the cum out of it like toothpaste from a tube crushed by a fist. Another pec bounce loosened the vacuum of the vic’s collapsed lungs and the sodden necrotic mess slid to the floor. As those insanely pumped, veiny boulder pecs approached the camera, the perp wiped the victim’s blood from their curvature, revealing a massive chest-and-abs tatt that penetrated the bodybuilder cop’s brain like an ice pick: GONNA POP U BITCH Carnitas blacked out as he heard the perp’s final words: “WHO’S NEXT?”
  2. Monday June 1 I’d only been in this office job since March when the boss named me Employee of the Month. It was a sports betting company and the 30 or so employees were almost all straight men. Mr. Sartorius was a tall, handsome silver fox with a taste for well cut suits and a sexy Dutch accent that made me smile as I listened to him make the announcement at the monthly all-staff meeting. “…And Jeffrey’s selection is especially appropriate considering June is… Pride Month!” My smile froze into an embarrassed rictus. I hadn’t come out to anybody in the office. And I certainly hadn’t in the interview. An awkward silence came over the conference room where everyone was packed in standing room only. I looked out at the sea of faces, all masculine former jocks, and stretched my smile into what probably looked like a crazed serial killer grin. Mr Sartorius looked at me with such oblivious sincerity, then back out at the staff expectantly. Several people looked at their feet. Someone coughed. Then Banner, a young ex-soldier with arms like ham hocks, pumped his fist in the air. “Pride month!” he yelled. “HOOAH!” Mr Sartorius was super pleased at this and slapped me on the back with a hand the size of a shovel. I tried to mask my wince of pain. “FUCK YEAH Pride Month!!” Someone else boomed. The boss furrowed his brow and the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees. Mr Sartorius didn’t like swears. “All right everyone. Back to work. You can all congratulate Jeffrey personally when you have the chance.” I shook his hand and thanked him before fleeing back to my desk. It felt like I had 30 pairs of eyes boring into the back of my head. I plopped down on my cubicle desk chair, relieved. Almost immediately, Banner filled my cubicle entrance. His bowling ball deltoids stretched the maroon fabric of his polo shirt as his jacked Army-honed physique made me throw major wood in my dress slacks. I’d never been this close to him before. He smelled crazy good, like Mennen Speed Stick and spearmint gum. “Jeffy,” he said, a nickname I hated but would let Banner call me forever. “Pride month. That’s the gay month, right?” I full-on blushed and stammered “Uh, uh, uh.” Oh my God. So hot. So dumb. I turned from him and wildly yanked on the sliding platform that allowed my keyboard to be tucked in just below the desk’s surface. It jammed with a squeak. “I got you, Jeffy, this used to be my cube. I know the trick.” Banner reached down between my legs and palmed the bottom of the platform. His cheek brushed mine and the feel of his stubble sent an electric shock straight to my cock. His thick, bare muscular arm stretched out in front of me and as I saw the tension in the tendons and muscles grow I could see clearly what was about to happen but I was a deer caught in the headlights. Banner pulled and his biceps exploded into a breath-taking rippling gourd of veiny power; his forearm then twisted and a second peak pushed out of the muscle like it was giving birth to a baby. I instantly came in my pants. He froze and looked down wide eyed at the wet spot and bulge in my crotch. “Jeffy,” was all he had time to say before suddenly Mr Sartorius was standing next to him. He stood up straight and actually saluted, his eyes practically popping out of his skull. “At ease, soldier,” he chuckled warmly. “I’m glad to see your enthusiasm for your co-worker, Banner, I hope you will encourage your colleagues to be similarly charitable this month.” Banner looked wildly about, confused. “Charitable, Mr S?” “Yes, charitable.” “Sir, yes, sir!” Banner huffed. “Good. Well, carry on.” Banner disappeared so fast he might have vapourized. I grinned stupidly up at the boss, my hands in my lap. He looked at me oddly and sniffed, then shook his head, the pleased smile returning. “So glad you are getting on well here, Jeffrey,” he said, placing his hand on my shoulder. “We really appreciate you.” “Thank you sir,” I burbled, trying for the first time ever to NOT appreciate how nicely thick he was through the chest. Please go down, boner! He turned away and I finally managed to pull out my keyboard. I typed away for the painful last hour before quitting time. As I rushed out to leave, I saw Banner still moving from man to man, whispering in each colleagues’ ear as he alternately pointed at me, and at the boss’ office door. Oh shit. Cont.
  3. Tilhur

    Gunnar: The Office Flexer

    *** Hello :)) I write a lot, but I have never shared any of my writing with anyone. I have trouble pacing the plot and whatnot, but I decided to post one finally. Any feedback would be great.*** I saw him as soon as I walked in the door. Gigantic beef wrapped up in a suit and tie. Even clothed, it was easy to see he was muscular. His pecs were round and prominent, and his abs were visible through the white button-up. Everything about him was perfection. I watched as he roamed the office throughout the day. It was clear that he enjoyed being huge as much as I enjoyed watching it. Every chance he got, he flexed for himself. In the breakroom, he had his sleeve pulled up, slowly pumping his arm up and down. Veins snaked all over his massive forearm. Using his other hand, he felt the bicep. He wrapped his fingers around it and slowly massaged it. Soon, he brought it up to his mouth and began to slowly, and sensually, make love to the muscle. He licked and kissed it gently as he rubbed the tricep. After several minutes, he rolled the sleeve back down and continued to eat his lunch. In the bathroom, I heard groans and grunts. I slowly poked my head in and saw him with his shirt unbuttoned, punching his abs. With every punch, there was a hard thud, as if he had punched the wall next to him. He would grunt, but because of the pain in his hand, not his abdominals. He hit them a few more times, before he reached up and grabbed his pecs. He bounced them around in his hand as he threw his head back in satisfaction. He rubbed his thumbs around his nipples, obviously getting hard from the sensation. Then, he growled and hunched over, flexing them hard. Striations appeared all over the heavily muscled chest. They hardened like rock, and he began to test them like he had done to his abs. His grunts were primal and almost animal-like. After a few seconds of that, however, he buttoned his shirt back up and washed his hands. His shows weren’t always private. He loved making everyone in the office uncomfortable by flexing around them or showing his godly strength. Our boss had needed some paperwork and came over to his cubicle to collect it. Naturally, the perfect man got it and began to organize it all in order to be stappled. He brought the stapler up to the paper and slowly, thoughtfully pressed it. His entire forearm exploded with muscular, manly veins. The gigantic mass began to push through his shirt. His bicep tensed into its mountainous shape. As he did this demonstration, he stared into the boss’ eyes. The boss, however, was focused only on the growing mounds of muscle in front of him. “Oh no.” he said, dropping the stapler to reveal it was bent out of shape and ruined. “I think I’m going to need a new one…” “I- Yes, I’m sure… we can arrange that.” Quickly, the boss ran to his office, obviously to relieve himself. At the very end of the day, however, was his most impressive feat. Most of our coworkers had left, leaving the two of us alone. I was determined not to leave until he did. I glanced over at his cubicle, finally taking note of the name: Gunnar. What a fitting name for a man with such a monstrous body. I was staring through the reflection of a picture in my desk when he suddenly stood up and stretched. He reached upwards, causing his professionally fitted shirt to untuck. “Hey kid.” I was for sure older than him, but I didn’t care too much. “You don’t mind if my attire gets a little more comfortable, do you?” Of course, I didn’t. In fact, I would give anything to ensure that it happened. I turned to view him. He had already begun fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. “No of course not.” I smiled. He looked up at me from his concentration. “God these f---ing buttons have been giving me problems all day. Come over here and undo them for me.” I was a little stunned. I hadn’t been able to get that close to him all day and now I was expected to assist in de-shirting him? It was almost too much handle. I got up, shaking a little as I walked over. I immediately could smell his manly musk. His shoulders were more than three times as wide as mine and his pecs extended over his shredded torso perfectly. I reached up to begin, but he grabbed my arm with his big hand and stopped me. “Start from the bottom.” He let go of me, and I readjusted myself. His bottom button was a little lower than my chin, so it was easily accessible. His height only added to his perfection. As I unbuttoned each one, slowly his eight pack was revealed. It was like staring into a brick wall. Each ab was laid on top of the next to form a mountainous region of muscle. I brushed my hand over them slowly, taking in the feeling of pure, thick, manly athleticism. “Screw this.” His tone was angry, but not with me. “I don’t even like this shirt.” With that, he hunched over into a most muscular and growled loudly at me. His traps rose like volcanos, ripping through the top of the shirt with ease. His biceps protruded through the sleeves, shredding them to pieces. His pecs blasted open the last few buttons. As the pieces of fabric fell gently to the floor, he stood back up and stared at me. I was in awe.
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