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Hi everyone. First time poster here. My story is inspired by works like "A is for Alpha and Antoine" by Londonboy, "The man who saved me" by Guest(?), and "My roommate is a god" by Omnipotence. Like them I am a lover of super powerful, super muscle men. I'm going to try and upload a chapter or two every weekend. A lot of world building is going to go into this. Hope everyone enjoys! The Olympian chronicles: Ivan Chapter 1: Who I am… The air felt good on my bare torso as I flew through the sky. The feel of the wind as it whipped over my magnificent physique: bulbous pecs, titanium abs (six-pack), concrete biceps and triceps, and a back that rippled with muscular curvature. Complemented by light coating of vascularity here and there. Overall I looked like a being the Greek Gods themselves would’ve aspired to be. I came to a rest about thirty thousand feet above my home suburb. My superhuman vision able to see the ground below in perfect detail. Not one square inch I couldn’t easily make out. I simply hovered there. I continued to enjoy the air as it now brushed lightly on my impenetrable skin. I closed my eyes and felt the power that coursed through me, and marvelled at how only a month ago I was human. I opened my eyes and observed the setting sun in the distance. I looked down to see how it illuminated my spectacular body. Every part of me was muscle. Every part of me huge, strong, defined, beautiful, and blemish-free. Always clean, always perfectly groomed, and always with a light tan that only accentuated the curves and solidness of the muscles. I am Ivan, and I am an Olympian. So what is an Olympian exactly? Nobody knows what causes the phenomenon, nor why it ever began in the first place. But Olympians were a part of our reality, and have been so for the last one-hundred and seventy-nine years. Almost every year, without any prior warning, one to four young men (usually one or two, rarely more) will, upon turning twenty, suddenly and dramatically change. In the space of just a few seconds they will, regardless of prior body-type or lifestyle, suddenly transform into massive, immaculate, beautiful, and flawless bodybuilders on the spot. And if that wasn’t enough, they will also possess a plethora of superhuman abilities that extend far beyond what even the likes of Superman, Thor, or even Dr. Manhattan could ever dream of having. To name BUT A FEW: · Superhuman strength (to the point of moving planets effortlessly) · Invulnerability (to date, there is no known way of harming an Olympian) · Superhuman speed (beyond the speed of light of course) · Superhuman senses (all senses) · Superhuman agility, reflexes, coordination, and muscle control · Flight · Heat vision · X-ray vision · Freeze breath (and the ability to blow gale-force winds with ease) · Telekinesis (which breaks down into loads of additional abilities) · Telepathy Again, nobody knows why this happens; it just does. Oh, and before I forget, yes: Olympians are also immortal. The first ones to appear are still looking as though they are twenty years old, despite almost pushing two hundred! Naturally I didn’t take long for the humans who stayed being human to realise that there were now all-powerful, unstoppable gods walking amongst them. Thankfully for them, all Olympians to date have proven to be kind, just, and principled in a positive way. And so, since the dawn of Olympians, human civilisation all over has changed dramatically. The life of a human now revolves around worshipping Olympians, along with living an otherwise normal day-to-day life. But more on that later. So anyway, I’m Ivan. And one month ago to the day I transformed into an Olympian. One second I was an ordinary, unremarkable college student in the middle of a college lecture on psychology, and the next minute I was floating in mid-air above my fellow classmates with a physique that the world’s top bodybuilders spend their whole lives trying to achieve. All around me my classmates, along with the professor, all immediately dropped to their knees and began to bow to me. They fervently whispered prayers, while those closest to me reached for my hover feet and diamond calves in the hopes of being able to feel them. This was followed by every man in the hall pulling out an erect cock and jerking off to the sight of me, while every woman reached a few fingers down their underwear. Overwhelmed, I clumsily shot upwards through the roof and out into the sky. I was a bit panicked by being up so high, and so when I tried to land I ended up creating a crater in the middle of campus. Thankfully no one was hurt. I was also completely naked, as my clothes had been shredded by my rapidly expanding body during the transformation. Once again, every human who could see me began kneeling, bowing, jerking off, fingering themselves, and in general crying out how amazing I was; all because I was an Olympian. Fast forward a month, and here I am levitating thousands of feet above my home. I had largely taught myself how to control most of my main abilities, like flight and strength. I had also given up on wearing clothes for the most part. I was wearing boxer shorts and jeans at the moment, but other than that, I couldn’t find tops that would fit me. Not that it was a problem; Olympians were allowed to be naked in public if they wanted to be. The one change that I was struggling with was how people reacted to me. It’s too much to take in quickly. One minute you’re a scrawny, nerdy, weak little man who’s never played sport, and is still a virgin. The suddenly people are actually bowing to you. Total strangers and people you’ve known your whole life now kneel when you enter a room, or walk (or float) by them on the street. You’re walking around without a shirt, fully aware of it, yet now you have a physique like Arnold or Ronnie Coleman, and not a skinny, acne-covered torso and stick-arms. Now you’re handsome beyond description, and not well below average. People are openly pleasuring themselves to your image, in front of you, and because it’s law no less! It’s just…a lot to come to terms with. I began my descent and soon landed gently in the back garden. Certainly a lot better than the first time I landed here. Let’s just say my dad had to hire a landscaping company to fix the damage. I still live with my dad by the way. He’s been so supportive of me throughout all of this. All the while trying not to give in to his “mortal instincts”. Which is a term used to describe every human’s inherent desire to worship Olympians. “Dad, I’m home” I say, as I close the sliding door behind me. My big bare feet pat loudly as I walk across the tiled floor of the kitchen. I have to keep ducking down as I walk through doorways. 5’7’’ to 6’8’’ is quite the difference. I find my dad in the living room, already kneeling. No doubt doing so the second he heard my voice. “Come on dad, you don’t have to do that. Not for me” I say, feeling a little embarrassed by his display of reverence. “Of course son” says my dad, hastily getting to his feet, “whatever you say”. He’s smiling, somewhat nervously, and constantly looking back and forth over my body, trying to pick a muscle group to settle on. He’s still just standing there. “You can go about your business” I say, “I just came in to say hi. I’m going up to my room for a bit”. “Of…of course” says Dad, “Is there anything you want me to do?” he asks. He nods enthusiastically, excited at the idea of being able to directly obey an Olympian, even if it’s his own son. “Nope. Just go back to whatever it was you were doing”, I say, trying to smile sweetly at him, and ignore the absurdity of the situation. And with that I quickly leave the room. At speeds that no human could ever hope to move at, I shot from the living room to my bedroom upstairs. I promptly took off my jeans and stood there in just my boxers, enjoying the coolness that now caressed my muscular legs. I turned my attention to my full-body dressing mirror and decided to treat myself to another posing show. BOOM! Biceps that easily exceed thirty inched, with a proud vein on each that rested on them like crowns. And my pecs! Hello!!! Bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce. Up and down they went in turn. The entire rest of my being as still as a statue while my magnificent pecs bounced, vibrated, and jiggled in exquisite detail. I stopped the bounce and flexed them both. Their size expanded, and they looked far more like two massive slabs of concrete. I raised my arms again so as to admire my lats and obliques; still in disbelief that I actually had those muscles. On me! On my body! And that’s not to mention the abs. Oh my Olympian! My abs. Like six cobble-stones that made steel feel soft by comparison. I only just managed to master the art of rolling my abs, making waves glide up or down. One minute I could contort them and mush them about by flexing alone, and the next I could tense them into a wall of pure power and strength. Next up were my legs. Quads of the gods, as I liked to call them. Even when I wasn’t tensing or flexing they were still formidably rock-solid. I liked to run my fingers over them, just to feel the different ridges and boundaries of muscle. Next I turned my attention to my calves. Diamonds by shape, yet so much harder, and so much stronger. I shoved an SUV the other day with my foot, and the corresponding calve generated enough power to send it sailing out towards the horizon. I was only trying to dislodge if from a ditch the driver had accidently driven it into. Amusingly though, he wasn’t mad. He immediately bowed and thanked me for displaying my strength to him. He cried for joy when he asked to touch my calves and I said yes. I can still feel his delicate little finger tips tracing lines on them. He came a few times without either of us ever touching his dick. I left him after that. I…I’m not ready to be a god to people just yet. The thought robbed me of my enthusiasm for more flexing. Instead I slumped down onto my bed. This is my life now. This is who I’m going to be. I should be happier (which I am when I’m flexing for myself, jerking off with my new 10’’ cock, or effortlessly curling train engines), but the thought of ruling humans, and being celebrated as superior is still…I don’t know. It’s a big change. There was a knock at the door. “Come in” I said. I telekinetically opened the door to find Dad standing in a somewhat cowered position on the other side. Telekinesis was weird. It’s like I could feel the door with my brain. “Hi son” he said, in a polite tone and with a nervous smile. I knew he had only come up here so that he could be around me, look at me more, and maybe even touch me if I allowed it. It was instinctual in humans to want to worship Olympians and be close to them. Not to mention obey them without question. “Hey Dad, what’s up?” I said, smiling sweetly at him, trying to put him at ease. “Just came to see how my big man is! What did you get up to today?” he said, and kneeled down in front of me while trying to maintain eye contact and not look at some other part of me. I doubt he even noticed that he kneeled. “Not much. Just flew around the city a few times. I really want to perfect my flight power before travelling any farther” I said. Dad nodded energetically, with his mouth hanging open a little. It was kind of amusing. “Well I know you don’t need to eat anymore, but the…eh…the dinner will be there…I mean ready, in a few minutes, if you want…you know” he said, struggling to maintain composure around his literal god of a son. “Great!” I said, smiling all the while to keep the atmosphere friendly. A minute of silence passed. Dad was still kneeling, now looking down at my feet. I rolled my eyes. “Dad” I said. He immediately looked up at my face. “Do you want to…touch my muscles?” I said, weirded out by the thought. Of course, Dad wasn’t. As a human he couldn’t think clearly in the presence of an Olympian. “Yes! Oh yes please son! You are so…so incredibly beautiful now!” he said suddenly, and began running a hand across my pecs. “Wow! So powerful” he whispered, as he examined the finer details of my godly chest. He poked them, trying to make a dent, but to no avail. I have to admit: I liked seeing him so happy. I bounced my pecs a little for him, and he ended up drooling a small bit. I chuckled. “Alright” I said, standing up and towering over him. He gulped at the sight of me, and whimpered a small bit too. “Dinner time” I said, indicating that it was alright for him to stand up too. He did so, but still only came up to the base of my pecs. I patted him gently on the head. “I love you Dad, no matter what I’ve become” I said, trying to get some of that pre-Olympian father-son relationship back. “I love you too son” he said, looking up past my pecs at me. “And I’m so proud of what you’ve become. I look forward to seeing an even more powerful version of you when you return from Mercury after god-school” he said. Oh, that’s right. I forgot to mention. All newly born Olympians are expected to attend “god-school” on the planet Mercury for a few months, after which they will have developed to their fullest potential. Basically, the way I am now doesn’t even measure up to the level of power I’ll have in a few months. I am expected to begin god-school in a few days. It is decreed by one of the laws of David, the first Olympian. Who’s he? Right, there’s still so much about this version of reality that you don’t know…
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My contribution to the forum however I never wrote it. It was something I found on my computer. Some FanTCMan/FanTCDude wrote it. Let's just say I never make it to the end of the story Hope you guys enjoy! Mr. Tucker Forrest had every reason to think that he was as powerful as his position. His company had remained small by ad industry standards, but by specializing in sports related accounts, and landing several of the largest, T. Forrest Inc. had become a significant player. His select staff were all sports devotees of one kind or another, and knew better than most just how to service their accounts. One area that Tucker had not yet locked up was sports nutrition and supplements, but he thought he was about to nail that one, too, with the help of one of his top account execs, Larry Littleman. Tucker had hired Larry based on the fact that he was a personal fitness trainer with serious qualifications in physical therapy, nutritional therapy and non-traditional supplements. Larry also had the outgoing personality and the looks to be successful as an AE. Tucker had, in fact, secured Larry's services not only as an AE, but also as his own personal trainer. Tucker was strikingly handsome and well built and he had every intention of maximizing those attributes professionally. After several months, Tucker discovered that Larry was not just into maintaining a fit, toned, cut physique. Larry was really more into bodybuilding. Eventually he told Tucker he didn't care at all about competing as a professional bodybuilder, but he did have a personal goal of building himself up to where he could. Tucker wasn't about to let himself be pushed in that direction, and he wasn't sure how that kind of body would be received on one of his AEs. When Tucker hired Larry, even before he saw him in workout clothes, he could tell he was built, but having a great looking staff of athletes was what he wanted. Larry was one of those guys who would drive women crazy. He had the face of a daytime soap opera star and a head of thick, dark blond hair to go with the face. Even in business clothes, he had the posture of a man proud of his body. His loose fitting slacks showed a great butt, and his dress shirts showed a pair of nicely developed pecs and arms that pretty much filled his sleeves. When, in their talks about workout goals, Forrest realized that Larry was serious about building himself up to the proportions of a bodybuilder, he felt he needed to say something. He thought that Larry's credibility as an AE might be compromised if people thought he was becoming some kind of freak. But Larry said, very respectfully, that he felt that how he developed himself was his business, and that it shouldn't get in the way of his effectiveness. In fact, he told Tucker, he was working on landing an account that could become huge. Tucker was intrigued. Larry told him that some new bodybuilding supplement had been developed, and the inventors were looking for test subjects and an agency to represent their product. T. Forrest was a natural, and they had sought out Larry to get to Tucker. Larry told Tucker that they needed to complete just a couple more tests, and they'd be ready to go to market. He also told him that he, himself, was to be a test subject. Tucker immediately thought about having his own in-house testimonial, if this supplement worked. Larry told him he was scheduled to meet with them that night and would report back the next day. These guys were anxious to get moving and get rich. The next day Larry called in to say he couldn't come in that morning. He told Tucker that he'd taken their stuff the night before, and it did work. In fact it worked so fast and so well, he had to get some new clothes to wear. He said that the prospective clients had asked to meet with him, Tucker, at lunch to discuss plans for a media launch of the product. Larry said he'd meet him there, and named one of the top restaurants in town. Larry thought about it all morning. Would he be able to see a difference on Larry? He knew, if it worked, the market for this kind of thing could be vast. When he walked into the restaurant, escorted to the table by the maitre d', his mouth dropped open. Facing him was Larry, flanked by two men he assumed to be the clients by their extraordinary physiques, obvious even in business suits. Larry was grinning with pride as he stood to greet Tucker, the source of his pride clearly manifested. Tucker openly stared at Larry. So did almost everyone else in the restaurant. He was not wearing a jacket; just dress slacks, shirt and tie. He was huge. His arms more than filled the sleeves and strained the material of the extra large shirt. His back was so wide Tucker could see from the front how his lats flared thickly, pulling the fabric tight, causing it to cling to the huge pectoral muscles that sat broad and massive on his chest. Larry apologized for not wearing a jacket, saying that when he tried to get into his this morning, he couldn't get his arms into the sleeves. But, he said to Tucker, who cares when it's obvious that the product works. He acted overjoyed, showing Tucker how dramatically it had worked on him since about five thirty the night before, flexing one of his huge arms so that the shirt looked about to split open from the strain. And, he told his boss, it's still working. It takes twenty four hours to do its complete job. And it feels absolutely wonderful. Tucker's emotions bounced around as he sat discussing ideas for a campaign, convinced by what he saw that the potential for the product was huge, but not convinced that a physique like Larry's, or even these clients', would go over with the average guy. In fact, he felt a little embarrassed by Larry's size and his uninhibited display. Larry, meanwhile, maintained an infectious level of enthusiasm about the results he was experiencing and how he felt. He said he could almost feel his clothes getting tighter. As Tucker listened, he couldn't help but imagine what that must feel like, to have such massive muscles that they could be too big to be contained by a shirt, even an extra large tent of a shirt like Larry was wearing. They all laughed about various scenarios of guys using the product and growing huge in different situations, like at the beach or during an airplane flight. Or sitting in a fancy restaurant at lunch. Imagine some guy in his business suit suddenly getting too big for his britches. Tucker laughed, but his imagination was working too effectively all of a sudden. He could imagine how strange that would feel, the trousers becoming tight on the legs, tight in the crotch. Or the jacket sleeves feeling too tight when bending the arms to lift a bite of food or a glass. His imagination was producing such vivid pictures that he could actually feel what that would be like. He could imagine his reactions, a combination of panic and exhilaration. Suddenly the restaurant felt stuffy and hot. Just thinking about that made him feel jittery. His skin was itching. Just a little, when he first noticed it, then growing stronger, like he had hives creeping up his arms and legs, then all over his groin, then spreading from his groin all up his stomach and chest. He couldn't let himself sit there and scratch or sweat in front of these new clients, and he felt embarrassed that his reaction to thinking about what this product could do was so strong. He excused himself and went to the bathroom. When Tucker got into the bathroom, the mirrors gave him evidence that those sensations of his clothes feeling tighter were not just his imagination. As soon as he was inside the door, he frantically scratched the raging itching of his chest and stomach, and he thought, strangely, that his pecs felt bigger to him. He looked at his reflection and saw that his jacket looked too small, too snug. Maybe he just hadn't noticed this morning. After all, he had been building up with Larry's training routine. The itching was feeling out of control. He scratched all down his arms to the back of his hands. He looked at them in shock. The backs of his hands were covered with short, dark hair, hair that hadn't been there before. He unbuttoned his cuff, pushed up his sleeve, and saw the same kind of dark hair growing on his forearm. This couldn't really be happening! He quickly unbuttoned the front of his shirt. All that itching was being caused by dark hair sprouting thickly all over his chest and stomach. He looked just like one of those hairy guys who shaves and lets it grow back It was short and lay flat on his skin, but already he could see the swirls and pattern it was making. It wasn't his imagination at all. And it wasn't his imagination that his clothes were getting tighter. His arm muscles were bigger, and so were his pecs. They must have slipped him some of their product. He pulled himself together, buttoned his shirt, which was now almost tight across his chest, and returned to the table. There, he asked them what was going on. Larry told him that they had all felt the best way for him to understand the product was to experience it himself. Tucker tried to hold back his panic. He asked how much they had given him, and one of the clients, Jake, told him they had given him a basic, full dose, like Larry had taken. Now Tucker stared at Larry with a new and different kind of interest. Panic subsided and curiosity set in. His mind could barely grasp the fact that he could soon be as massively built as Larry. He looked at the way Larry's arms, at rest, strained the material of his huge sleeves, filling them up tight and full, and bulging insanely when he lifted or bent his arms at all. Across his gigantic chest his pecs stood out like pillows filled with steel, straining the fabric, pulling the buttons. He noticed that, at his collar where he had loosened his tie, there was hair creeping up and out over the collar. Tucker knew that Larry had had a completely hairless torso. It looked good, he thought. What a strange thought to cross his mind, that hairon a guy's chest would look good. Or not. But it did look good to him, kind of darkly masculine and sexy. Tucker felt himself sweating as the conversation at the table continued as if nothing strange were happening. His itching had not abated, and he guessed that he was feeling hair continuing to grow. Strange, but suddenly he found the idea growing of body hair very hot. He wished he could look. He tried to act casual and continue to eat and talk and drink, but every time he lifted something to his mouth, he could feel his arm a little bigger inside his sleeve. Soon, even the arm at rest began to swell against the fabric of his shirt and jacket. His clothes were becoming uncomfortably tight. He felt his slacks becoming tighter and tighter. At first he just felt the tightness in his thighs, but soon he could feel his calves filling the fabric. At the same time, the material grew tighter around his hips, and he figured his glutes must be getting bigger, too. And he also realized, to his astonishment, that the crotch of his slacks had started to constrict him in his groin, crowding his genitals. With the hand in his lap, he felt himself, confirming his most outrageous suspicion. What was inside the crotch of his pants was also growing bigger, and with his thighs pulling his pants tight, his dick and balls had no place to fall, and suddenly, there was his meat making bulges in his slacks. His meat! How big was it getting? He could feel that there was more there, crowded, sensitive, even his balls making their own bulges with their swollen size. He began to feel extremely self conscious and, at the same time, extremely turned on by what he felt. He felt his dick starting to swell and grow hard in his pants. With his hand, he could feel the size of its head and it didn't feel real as it crawled, growing bigger and harder, along the side of his groin, over his thigh toward his hip bone. He couldn't stand up now without showing the whole restaurant the effects this transformation was having on him. He wanted to be angry. He couldn't believe they had done this without telling him first, and he told them so. Larry asked if he would have gone along with it. He said probably not, and Larry said that's why they hadn't asked. But his anger was being quickly swallowed up by his growing feeling of excitement. Strange, he thought, but even as he was sitting there, he knew that something was changing, not just in his body, but in his head, too. He had been on Larry's case about getting too big, with his bodybuilding, to keep his place as an acceptable ad man, and now, suddenly, he was looking at Larry's enormous size and finding it exciting, even desirable. In fact, he was sure he could see Larry getting even thicker and more massive as they sat there, his shirt tighter, more revealing, causing increasingly strong waves of erotic stimulation to radiate through him. His collar grew tight and he felt hot. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned the collar button, and when he did, he felt hair growing at the base of his throat out of his collar. The waiter cleared their plates and brought coffee while Larry and the other two discussed the incredible potential of their product, once its ability to transform was made public. The one called Ted joked that they seemed to be making it public right now. Larry sat up tall in his chair, grinning, swelling his chest, replying that they sure were. His huge muscles strained the fabric of his shirt. He was enormous and Tucker couldn't believe his eyes. But he knew that they didn't mean just Larry when they talked about going public. He could barely move his arms, the back of his jacket pulled so snugly against his back and shoulders. It felt as though he were wearing a child's jacket and slacks. The sleeves were so tight with his arms relaxed, that he couldn't bend them without the material straining like a leather restraint belt. The top several buttons on his shirt, over his chest, were pulling, straining, about to pop. Tucker was filled with a confusion of emotions. He wished he were any place but a public restaurant. He could no more hide what was happening to his body than Larry could. He knew he must be starting to look ridiculous in his clothes. People around the restaurant were looking at them, commenting in whispers to each other. But he also felt a certain envy at how Larry seemed to be inviting the stares, how he not only didn't seem to care, but looked proud to display his transformation, his increasingly massive size. Oddly, he realized, he sort of felt that way, too. He felt like some deeply hidden desire, some drive he had never acknowledged, was being forced into his reality, and he had no choice but to accept and embrace it. There was no sense fighting what was happening, since it was happening for all to see. A growing sense of enjoyment, an intense, profound, erotic satisfaction crept through his consciousness as he began to admit to himself how hot he felt, his muscles growing big and hard, becoming like those of a real bodybuilder. Tucker reached for his coffee, and felt the seam down the side of the jacket under his arm, where his lats were swelling beyond the jacket's capacity to hold them, start to rip open. When he bent his arm to lift the cup, the seam down the back of the sleeve also began to give way with a tearing of the threads. If he didn't get out of the jacket right now, he would be treating the other diners, who were already watching, to the sight of his clothes splitting open before their eyes. He asked one of the men to help him get out of the jacket. He struggled his arms out of their confines, and when he twisted to hang the jacket on the back of the chair, the second button of his shirt gave in to the strain of his mounding pecs and popped off. He had to loosen his tie more, and since it was obvious to him that the other buttons over his pecs would soon give way as well, he unbuttoned them down to below his chest, where his lats angled in to his hard, slender abdomen, and the buttons had room to hold. The shirt spread itself open over his pecs, the tie covering only part of his exposed chest. He saw the thickness of his pecs dive into a deep crease of cleavage, dark hair covering the skin. His dick reflexed against his groin with the sudden thrill of what he saw. He could no longer deny that he was extremely turned on by what was happening to him. He felt wave after wave of intense erotic stimulation flood his body and his brain. He had never felt so horny in his life, so hot, so sexy, with a totally new, powerful sensation of maleness. This was making him feel deeply, intensely masculine in a way so overpowering that he had never imagined possible. He was beginning to understand Larry's pride. How could he have thought that being massive and freaky would be weird and embarrassing. He wondered briefly what his girlfriend would think if she could see him now, but he realized he didn't really care. He wanted to feel another person touching his muscles, but it wasn't his girlfriend. He looked across the table at Larry. His account executive was saying to the two clients that it looked like both he and his boss were about to grow out of their clothes, and that they should probably be getting out of here and going to someplace more private while they completed their transformations. Tucker stared at Larry, and he realized that the sight of his friend's massive muscles almost exploding inside his shirt was making his cock throb. He had never felt the slightest sexual attraction for another man before, but now, when Larry said they should get to someplace more private, his mind flooded with images of Larry taking off his clothes, of seeing all of his incredible body, of touching it, feeling those massive muscles. What would the hair on his body look like? How big would his cock and his balls be? And what about his own? He couldn't wait to see what he looked like, too, to see himself packed with muscle, hairy, amazingly hung. The thought of them naked, together, made him so much hornier he thought he might come, uncontrollably, right there in the restaurant. His hand reached under the table again to feel his crotch, and he realized that his cock, jerking with his erotic thoughts, rock hard and straining the material of his slacks, now extended past his hip bone and felt thicker than a giant cucumber. It was growing bigger still. How could he get up and leave? The other two said that Larry was probably right. They would pick up the check and get in touch later. They said everyone would have a clearer picture of just what they would be marketing and how to use Larry and Tucker as spokesmen for the product. If respected advertising executives could transform themselves and enjoy their new look, why not the average Joe on the street. Go home, they said, enjoy the rest, and call tomorrow when it's all finished. Tucker held his jacket in front of himself as they left the restaurant. Walking was a revelation. He could feel the size of his ass in his slacks, the mass of his legs. His slacks were tight as skin. His thighs not only rubbed together, they forced his legs to move around each other with each step, the way he had seen bodybuilders walk. He could feel the material of his shirt stretched so tight across his back that his lats felt pressed and crowded. The sleeves clung tight to the mass of his arms. He knew that the people in the restaurant must be watching them as they left. He certainly didn't look like this when he came in. But he didn't care now; he found it kind of exciting. Wait, he thought, till they went public about what those people had just witnessed. They decided, waiting for their cars, to go to Larry's place. It was close. Larry drove ahead and Tucker followed in his Jag. On the way over, to his shock and growing excitement, Tucker felt the seam in the back of his slacks and on the legs start to split open. For one brief second, he thought about his suit being ruined, but he realized he would never be able to get into it again, and his uncontrollable arousal only increased with the idea that he was growing so big so fast as to rend the fabric of his old image. His shirt sleeves had become uncomfortably tight, and he bent first one arm, then the other, flexing his biceps until the sleeves burst, ripping open and exposing the massive peaks of his hard, swelling guns. Oh, yeah, he thought. This was too hot. He flexed his lats and felt the sides and back of his shirt rip open. It was as though he was being released, his muscles unbound. His lats felt so thick and wide under his arms, and his arms felt so dense and huge resting on the swelling, hard cushions of his lats. He looked down at his chest, pulled off his tie, felt his pecs with one hand. They were becoming absolutely huge now. The front of his unbuttoned shirt had pulled apart even more to expose a broad expanse of his bare chest. The plates of his pecs were becoming so thick that the crease of cleavage between them could swallow his fingers up to the second knuckles. And they were becoming truly hairy. Just the kind of hair, if he had grown up with body hair, that he would have wanted to have. It had become much denser since his trip to the bathroom, but it still was not too long, and it lay flat on his skin, silky and dark. He ran his hand under his shirt feeling how the hair grew all the way over to the broad sides of his pecs and down to the deeply overlapping cuts beneath them. His pecs were growing, not just massively thick, but broad and square, and they were almost totally covered with hair. His dick was throbbing inside what was left of his slacks, and a dark, wet spot of precum was growing by its enormous head. He let his hand continue to feel the hair that was growing down his abs. They were dense and hard as bricks, and their ridges and valleys were growing more extreme, harder, deeper, and the hair that converged down their center felt unbearably hot. With a reflex that never passed through his conscious mind, he grabbed his shirt, which had remained buttoned and intact where his waist was still tight and small, and he yanked it open, popping the buttons off, tearing it out of the waistbandof his slacks so he could see more of his hard, increasingly sexy hairy stomach. Between the awesome growth of his muscles and body hair, he felt an unexpected sensation, a deep, intense, overwhelming explosion of masculinity, a powerful building of raw erotic animal maleness. He was about to pull open his slacks, to grab his cock and bring himself to the relief that he felt himself relentlessly building toward. He was so hot he had to come. He had to come NOW. But just then Larry pulled into a driveway and into his garage. Tucker followed. Larry jumped out of his car and came around to Tucker. His own clothes, while still intact, were straining to the point of giving way. He was unbuttoning his shirt. He opened Tucker's door, saying he had to get out of his clothes, and he laughed when he saw how far out of his Tucker already was. Tucker followed Larry inside. By the time he had reached the living room, he was out of his shirt and had undone his pants. Tucker followed suit, getting out of his own shirt and undoing his belt and zipper. He didn't even care that his cock was hard and huge and obvious for Larry to see. So was Larry's, now, and he didn't seem to give a fuck. Larry had Tucker help him pull off his pants, the thighs were so tight. His bikini underwear came off with them. He jumped to his feet, spread his arms and legs, then flexed every muscle on his body as he moved slowly and deliberately into a double biceps, enjoying the freedom of his gigantic muscles being released from the restrictions of his clothes. His cock projected straight out from the dense big bush of his pubic hair, thicker than his wrist, and longer than his forearm. His balls hung almost halfway to his knees and looked the size of large oranges. His arms, his legs, his pecs, his abs, and his groin were covered with short, silky, dense hair that swirled and plunged in patterns that emphasized the size and shape of his body, his muscles, his exaggerated male equipment. Tucker looked in awe. Was this what would happen to him? Larry was bigger that any professional bodybuilder Tucker had ever seen. Noticeably bigger. Everything about him was insanely massive. Somewhere deep in his brain a faint thought of panic, or fear, or possible regret flitted by, but it was fast submerged in an tsunami of deep, intense, profoundly erotic arousal. He had never seen anything that turned him on so much as the sight of Larry and the thought that the same thing was happening to him. With a few violent rips and tugs, and some help from Larry, Tucker released himself from what was left of his clothes. in front of a full length mirror in Larry's bathroom, he saw the mind-blowing sight of his own reflection for the first time. He was magnificent. With Larry standing beside him, he could see how much farther he had to grow before he would be done. His mind reeled. He was big like the bodybuilders that he never let himself think about becoming. It wouldn't have been the right thing for a big ad exec. The thought made him laugh. And now he was that big, and he didn't give a fuck if people thought it was strange. Not only that big, but he had body hair that looked like a porno illustration. Where the line of hair had disappeared into his pants, now he saw it continue, spread thicker, and merge with his pubes which had spread on his groin, a major thick, dark tangle of luxuriant growth. It grew up his belly to where he knew that anything low cut that he wore would show groin hair. It spread out onto his upper thighs and joined uninterrupted with the hair that covered his massive legs. And from that sexy bush hung a pair of balls the size of lemons surmounted by his rod, a stiff, jerking, throbbing rod of veiny flesh at least a foot in length and so thick he could barely get his hand around it. He grabbed it hard with one hand while he stroked his unbelievably hot bod with the other, across his full, gorgeous, hairy tits, and down the furry peaks and valleys of his abs. Next to him, he saw Larry grab his own cock with both hands. He saw how Larry had to reach around his humongous pecs to get hold of his dick, how it made his pecs mound up with insanely thick mass. He noticed the beyond-human flare of Larry's back, the wide-spread stance of his tree trunk legs. He thought how much hotter Larry looked with his even more perfect, outrageous body hair, and the size of his equipment. He was out of control with the thrill of what he saw and what was happening. He couldn't wait to get like Larry. He couldn't wait. And suddenly, without a stroke, his groin exploded with the start of an orgasm that radiated through his body, contacting him into a total body spasm that traveled back into his groin, down the length of his wonderful cock and finally rocketed him into space, a space he never even imagined possible. He thought his joints would fly apart as he shot volley after volley of hot, thick cream, jerking with ecstasy as it hit the mirror so hard it splashed all over him and Larry. And it just kept coming, and coming, pumping up from some place so deep he didn't know it existed. It hit him in the face and all over his chest and stomach. He saw it hitting Larry, matting the hair on his gargantuan chest, plastering it down as it ran down his abs. Finally, after what must have been more than a minute of full ejaculation, it slowed and stopped. Larry was laughing, rubbing the cum into his hair, massaging his tits with its slippery lubrication. Tucker did the same, taking his lead from the hunk beside him. He felt so good, his body felt so good under his hands. His cock was still hard, still, to his amazement, throbbing, wanting more sex. Then Larry reached for him, pulled him over, and began to massage the sticky fluid into his pecs and all the way down his abs. As soon as Larry touched him, he knew he had waited his whole life for this. He sucked in his breath and Larry leaned forward and placed his mouth on Tucker's. The feel of a firm mouth surrounded by stiff, scratchy whiskers made him suck his breath in again, almost to the point of fainting with passion, and he felt Larry's tongue press in to explore. He let himself lean hard into Larry's body to hold himself up, felt his pecs press against the hard, enormous mass of Larry's. He felt Larry's huge cock find his abs and start to work up them as they moved closer together. Then his own cock touched Larry's pubic hair and the base of his dick. Larry pulled him closer until both their cocks were pressed between their rock hard bellies, rubbing against each other, stimulated by the hair on their bellies. Tucker felt almost weak, swept into a tide of erotic, male passion. Larry kissed him hard, moving from his mouth and pressing his lips and tongue into the soft flesh under Tucker's jaw line, his chin, sucking on the cleft in his chin, working it with his tongue, then down his throat to his chest, where he buried his face in Tucker chest hair, licking deep into his cleavage and cuts, sucking and nipping at his nipples. He grabbed Tucker's hard, round butt and pulled him closer still, pushing their groins hard together. Then, before Tucker knew what was happening, Larry had wet his fingers with Tucker's spunk and was working it between his buns and into his asshole. Tucker realized what Larry intended to do, and there was no way he could make himself want to stop him. He was so hot and so horny that he wanted more of everything, wanted to do, to know everything that could be done with and to the male body. He worked on Larry's pecs, massaged them hard, pressed the heels of his palms into their dense mass, lifting their incredible weight. He couldn't believe his own would soon be this massive, and he couldn't wait to feel it on himself. Larry turned him around, reached under his arms, around his lats, and grabbed his pecs to pull him close from behind. Tucker felt the head of Larry's cock against his butt, pushing between his buns, separating them with its fist-sized head. He was so hot he didn't care how much it hurt; he wanted to feel Larry deep inside him. Larry was telling him how hot he was getting , how big. He told Tucker to flex for him, and Tucker felt hot and powerful as he raised his arms in a double biceps. His arms were getting huge. He looked in disbelief at the size of his biceps, how they peaked. He heard Tucker saying what great fucking arms, what great fucking tits, as he massaged his pecs harder. And then, with a slow, deliberate thrust, Larrywas inside him. He slid the entire length of his cock in, slowly, filling him, deeper, deeper, until Tucker felt himself stop against the dense hair and hard flesh of Larry's groin. He closed his eyes and a groan escaped his lips. Larry held him there for a minute, not moving, just pressing himself hard into Tucker. Tucker felt the fullness of Larry in him. Then Larry slowly moved his hands down Tucker's torso, across his swelling, growing muscles, until he had taken Tucker's cock in his hands. As he slowly began to stroke the length of Tucker's cock, he withdrew himself and pressed himself back inside Tucker in the same rhythm. He gradually increased his tempo, withdrawing himself slightly more each time, until he was pulling out past the rim of his cockhead, feeling the flaring edge pop out and back in again, slamming Tucker's hard ass each time he rammed himself in to its full length. Tucker felt the heat increase until he felt white hot. His moans became open mouthed groans, increasing in volume and intensity with Larry's pounding rhythm. He felt Larry's breath, hot against his neck. He was nearing orgasm. He could feel it building in him until he felt himself rocked by another nuclear explosion, like before but stronger, squeezing him to the center of his cells, his body alive with pulsing, shocking, jolting sexual electricity. And as he watched thick streams of white cream jet out of his cockhead he felt Larry inside him jerking hard, convulsing with his own release, filling him with hot juice. He felt himself fill up until Larry's cum was leaking out and running down his butt and dripping off his balls. When their convulsions finally subsided, they both collapsed on the floor in the pools of their cum, laughing, rubbing handsful of it onto each other, plastering down their hair, slipping and sliding their hands over each other's incredible muscles. Larry suggested a swim in the pool, and they went out to his patio. Tucker felt magnificent. He could feel himself still steadily swelling bigger, harder, denser, his body hair filling in, his dick and balls growing more and more like Larry's. Then, suddenly, he felt his muscles start to cramp. Deep in his bowels, where he had taken Larry's load, he felt heat building and radiating. It felt kind of good, kind of sexy, but it also felt strange. He felt his muscles draw into themselves in a deep, but not a painful cramp, and then relax for a second or two, and then draw up again, almost like mild convulsions. He told Larry how he felt, and he went to the side of the pool where he could stand and lean against something for support. He laughed at himself for reacting, but the feeling of convulsing grew stronger, even though he was not outwardly convulsing. He looked at Larry watching him, and he saw amazement, maybe fear in his friend's eyes. And then he knew what was happening. Somehow, taking Larry's cum must have increased the activity of whatever was causing his transformation. The rate had increased. He was growing so fast he could see it, and so could Larry. He could feel it. Suddenly he was on a rocket. He could feel his arms getting thicker and heavier, even as his lats flared and pushed them out, up. His pecs were ballooning inside his skin, broader, thicker. They were growing so big so fast he thought his skin would split. He could hardly see over them. He could feel his butt, where he was leaning, growing bigger, thicker, harder, literally pushing away from the side of the pool. His thighs pushed away from each other as they grew bigger and bigger, until he had to bend his knees to stand. His cock throbbed, reaching a spontaneous orgasm again, spraying his cream into the pool. He heard himself saying Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God! over and over again. And his orgasm didn't stop; he just kept shooting spurt after spurt, and his cock kept growing, bigger than Larry's. He could feel the weight of his balls against his thighs, almost to his knees. He had to see. It was hard to get his arms around the mass of his torso to reach them, but he lifted them and they were bigger than Larry's, too. They were the size of softballs. He wished he could get to a mirror. He knew he was bigger than Larry all over, and he was still swelling, exploding with mass. Christ! This was incredible! Would he be able to walk? Did he care? Larry was voicing his amazement. As Tucker continued to grow, his mass swelling, adding to itself, his orgasm going on and on, Larry could see that Tucker was lost in the sensations of what was taking place. No wonder. He could tell that Tucker was in a place beyond ecstasy, that he was flying on an orgasmic rocket. His traps threatened to engulf his head and his delts surpassed the size of bowling balls. Larry wanted him, wanted his muscle, his unbelievable display of manhood. Tucker seemed not to be able to stop feeling his own muscle as it grew thicker and denser. Larry stepped up to him and began to join his monster friend in feeling, massaging the gigantic boulders of hairy muscle hanging on his incredibly broad and growing chest. He grabbed the throbbing, spraying cock. There was no way he could get his hand around it and it had to be over two feet long now. He heard Tucker breathlessly crying for him to take it, take it. He held the gigantic head to his face, then licked around the spouting slit. His lust and hunger overtook him, and he drank as much of Tucker's cum as he could, and when he was full and still crazy with desire, he turned and positioned himself asshole to cockhead and began to push back onto Tucker's rod. As soon as he made contact, he felt Tucker grab his waist and thrust hard. He was sure he screamed. It felt like he was being impaled on someone's leg, but his lust was so intense that the very size of the gigantic tool inside him was driving to the heart of his insatiable need for more. Tucker was still pouring cum out of his cock, and he held Larry tight against him as he flooded his gut. Even when Larry had been filled to the point that he could feel his belly distending and cum running out of him and down his legs, Tucker held him hard against him. The more Larry felt filling inside him, the more he wanted it. There was no way he could get enough. Until he began to feel the heat in his own belly and the convulsing in his muscles begin. Tucker could barely catch a breath from the relentless orgasm he was having. It didn't seem to matter how much he came. He just felt himself getting more and more turned on, hornier, constantly more erotically charged. Even as he pumped a steady stream of his juice into Larry he could feel himself growing bigger, thicker, heavier. He was so in love with the feeling of his muscles growing so much more massive so fast that there was no way now that he could have enough of the feeling, no way he could ever get big enough. It seemed like the juice he had taken from Larry was even more concentrated in its effect than the original dose he had been given. It was incredible. If only he could get more. And then, when he saw Larry, still impaled on his churning cock, begin so show the signs of convulsing, he knew that they were each producing a more concentrated version of the formula by its very action within them. No wonder it was such an intense sexual sensation and experience. The whole thing was sexual in its most basic nature. The muscles, the body hair, the amazing growth of their genitals, all of it was the expression by the body of an unleashing of the deepest essence of physical male sexuality. Even as those thoughts were crowding in on his consciousness, he saw them confirmed. Larry began contracting, his already huge glutes squeezing Tucker's cock so hard he thought he might burst, if it didn't feel so good. Tucker saw, immediately, that Larry's lats and delts were swelling again. From his position behind him, Tucker couldn't believe how Larry's back began to flare like a cobra's hood, how his bowling ball delts began to look more like basketballs. He put his hands on Larry's butt to slide himself out, and he could feel the iron pulsing of those glutes swelling into larger boulders. When he pulled his cock out, he was shocked at how much it had grown inside his friend. He turned him around. Larry was grinning, his eyes rolling up into his head with the extreme ecstasy he was feeling. He could only keep saying how incredible he felt, how unbelievable this was. He was massaging his own pecs, feeling their hard, swelling contours, pressing the heels of his hands hard into their sides, pushing against them as he felt them pushing out, broadening, thickening. They were beyond enormous. His arms were so huge it was difficult to bent them very far before his forearms were stopped by the ham-like biceps bursting on his upper arms. His lats had pushed them above forty-five degrees. His thighs forced his legs farther apart even though his quads firmly pressed against each other almost to his knees, to where his balls rested now, two very large grapefruits churning with his sex. His cock projected straight out from his increasingly hairy groin, more than two feet of thick, veiny manhood, and as his cries of ecstasy increased, he began to shoot, just like Tucker. Now both of them were standing in the pool, Tucker bigger than the biggest bodybuilder, and Larry bigger than him by half, both of them still swelling, and both of them shooting non-stop volleys of heavy cream. They laughed and they moaned with constant, growing erotic animal pleasure. They shot all over each other. They rubbed the slippery cum into the hair that was still growing thicker on each other's torsos, enjoying the feel of their mass, their deep cuts, the mounds and boulders of harder, denser, bigger muscles. After a few more minutes, when Tucker saw how enormous Larry was becoming, still swelling, veins popping all over his body, his skin thinner and thinner as the muscle beneath stretched it like tissue, He realized that Larry's growth was even more extreme than his after he had taken a belly full of Larry's juice. So the combination of the original dose plus Larry's cum had magnified the strength of the process in him, and what he gave to Larry had been that much stronger. That meant that what Larry was shooting out of his cock now would probably be stronger still by that much more concentration. He looked at Larry's cock, which was like the thick end of a baseball bat and nearly a yard long, he guessed. Could he take it? He wanted to. He wanted it bad. He playfully forced it down below the water, feeling how it was so stiff that it felt spring-loaded, and let it go. It sprang up, to their delight, with a thwack hitting Larry in the face. Tucker reached up, took its frighteningly huge head and brought it down as he turned around to his own huge, hard bubble butt. He pushed back onto it, felt it stretch him until he thought his flesh would tear. But something about this transformation also seemed to increase his capacity to open and accommodate such a tool, because he felt Larry's hands on his waist, then the pressure of his friend pulling his back as he thrust forward, and with a blinding flash of hot, erotic pain, he felt himself fill with Larry's hot flesh. He could feel the juice pumping into him. It was so hot that he tried to stand still and just experience the sensation. His own cock was still ejaculating. He had been ejaculating for at least an hour, and he couldn't believe he wasn't exhausted, but the intensity of the orgasm kept growing stronger and energizing him. He would let Larry fill him for as long as he could stand it. If he could, he would stay on this giant cock until he felt himself growing more, growing faster. The water in the pool was becoming cloudy with their cum. Tucker had no ideas how long he had stayed on Larry's cock. He remembered that when his arms were resting almost straight out to his sides and had grown bigger than a bodybuilder's legs, Larry had been forceful about having another turn himself. He vaguely remembered that they each took several more turns. He remembered that, no matter how big their cocks had grown, they seemed to be able to stretch to take them in, even when they were much too long to take more than half their lengths. He remembered, at one point, that they were going to get out of the pool and try to pose for each other, but they found that they were so heavy that it was almost impossible to balance themselves and stand up without the help of the buoyancy of the water. So they had stayed in the pool. Their cocks grew too long to reach the throbbing, insistent cockheads themselves, but that was not problem since they couldn't get enough of doing it for each other. They didn't give a fuck about the consequences when they realized their dicks extended over their heads; it was just too fucking hot having such gigantic cocks. They completely lost any sense of time as the night wore on and they took turns impregnating each other with stronger and stronger doses of the growth factor, and getting more and more lost in the intensity of the erotic sensations of their growing mass. They never even heard Larry's phone ring, late the next morning, when they hadn't shown up at the office. About ten o'clock, Sean Gallagher came to check. The new potential clients had shown up for a nine o'clock appointment. Sean had first checked at Tucker's house and found no one home. So he came to Larry's. He found them in the pool. Sean was in shock at what he saw. He had talked to Larry about the new product, and had known more than Tucker about what these guys were up to. He had even been kind of excited to see how it worked on Larry, because, deep, secret truth be known, he had always wanted to have a body like a bodybuilder without having to do all the work to get it. But in his wildest imaginings, he had never conceived of anything like what he saw that morning. The two of them were oblivious to him when he walked onto the patio. They were facing each other, leaning against the side of the pool for support. They stood there, the two most grotesquely, monstrously muscular men ever conceived in the brain of the most obsessed muscle freak, massaging, caressing, feeling each other's bodies, lost in the sensations. Projecting from the groin of each of them, resting on the shoulder of the other like a pair of crossed swords, lay their cocks, projecting above and beyond their heads, spurting thick, heavy cream like fountains into the water. Sean didn't know what to do. He was terrified. He called their names. When they finally took notice of him, they said he would have to help them out of the pool. They obviously wouldn't be getting dressed and coming into the office. Sean noticed they weren't at all upset about the freaks they had become. He didn't know what to do about getting them out of the pool, since he was wearing his suit. Tucker told him to just take his clothes off. He'd need to take a fast shower anyway, since the pool water was a swamp of milky juice, a layer almost coagulated on the surface. Sean was mildly disgusted by the prospect, but he couldn't leave them there, so he laid his clothes neatly on a chaise. He also felt a little, dark thrill at the sight of these two hairy muscle monsters with their monster dicks. As he tried to help them move out of the water, they got him laughing at the difficulty of maneuvering such mass. He was immediately slippery, too, with the juice surrounding him. They slid around, Sean having to grab their immense muscles as he tried to help them balance. It was impossible to stay out of the way of the fountains of spunk that were still spurting into the pool. He was soon so covered, in his flailing attempts, that he had to accept getting some in his mouth. He didn't swallow much, but the concentration level had increased so much that it didn't take very much before he felt a strange heat in his belly. To be continued....
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This is a new story I've been working on (a similar size and length to my last big story Deano, Again) which centres around a group of bodybuilders sharing a flat in Manchester. Unlike my last few stories, this one features completely new characters and has no connection to the Muscle University/Deano series. However, as with most of my stories, there are a couple of nods and references to past stories and characters. This story doesn't stray too far from what people know me for. However, unlike my previous stories which were all told from the point of view of just one character, this one features multiple points of view with the chapters mostly alternating between two of the flatmates. On a final note - this first chapter is the longest of the story so if you're slightly put off by the length I promise you that most of the follow-up chapters are considerably shorter! MUSCLE LADS, INC. ONE NICK My heart is pounding as I approach the big red brick building with green framed windows Google Maps has been guiding me towards for the last twenty minutes. This is ridiculous. Why am I so nervous? Okay - that’s a stupid question. I KNOW why I’m nervous. I know why my stomach’s currently doing somersaults and why my heart feels like it’s in my throat. Because I’m about to meet Alfie Winters and Danny King. Two of the best young amateur bodybuilders in Manchester. Probably in the whole country, for that matter. Two bodybuilders I’ve admired and followed on Instagram for years. I couldn’t believe it when I saw Alfie’s Instagram Story this morning. It almost felt too good to be true. Maybe it actually is? And obviously, I was nervous when I sent him that DM telling him I was interested. I doubted whether I should. But I knew that if I didn’t take a chance and send him that message, I’d end up regretting it. And then Alfie sent me a reply which was SO fucking friendly and my head has been spinning with all of these thoughts and hopes and fantasies ever since. And yet - as I stand at the front door of the building Alfie and Danny live in and scan the buzzer for flat number seventeen, all I can think is - what the hell are these two incredible bodybuilders going to think when they open the door to an average sized, awkward looking, nerdy guy in glasses? Okay, so “average-sized” is a bit misleading. I’ve actually done two bodybuilding competitions. The first one was last summer after I’d finished university. And the second one was just last weekend. I came fourth in the junior category of a local show back home in Leicester. Which explains why I'm currently abnormally tanned and have been getting weird looks from people on the street for the past week. But despite the still shredded abs and leg striations currently hiding under my hoodie and jeans, it still feels a little weird to describe myself as a bodybuilder. Like if I actually said to someone, “I’m a bodybuilder”, there’s a very good chance they’d look me up and down and screw up their face in confusion. Maybe I’m being a bit hard on myself. Because, while I’m definitely no bull-necked Montgomery University-type tank struggling to fit through doorways by the time they’re twenty-one, I have got quite a bit of muscle on my six-foot frame. My arms are pretty thick for a start. Enough for heads to turn when I walk down the street wearing a t-shirt or vest during the summer. But by bodybuilding measures, I’m still pretty lean. I guess I’m one of those guys who looks pretty average and then shocks everyone by lifting up his t-shirt to reveal a set of shredded fucking abs. Hopefully, all of that will change in the next few years. That’s the goal anyway. To pack on more size. To keep learning. To keep growing. To keep getting better. So that one day I can proudly say “I’m a bodybuilder” with conviction and without fear of being laughed at. To be just as good as the two bodybuilders whose doorstep I’m now standing on and whose flat I’m now buzzing as my heart hammers in my chest. To maybe even be on the same bodybuilding stage as one or both of them one day competing alongside them. A deep voice comes through the intercom saying hello. I think it might be Alfie rather than Danny but I can’t quite say for sure. “Ummm. Hi,” I say back, awkwardly. “It’s Nick. To see the room?” The voice says something I can’t quite catch, a buzzing noise comes through the speaker and I hear the click of the front door opening. At this point, my nerves are off the charts. And they only get worse when I climb the stairs to the third floor. They only really start to ease when I’m suddenly faced with the image of Alife Winters filling up the door frame to his and Danny King’s flat. His big, round shoulders and jacked arms are bulging out of an Army-like olive green vest to a ridiculous degree. And the top of his thick pecs is spilling out of the material. Wow. I mean - seriously wow. He’s much bigger in the flesh. Is this guy really only a couple of years older than me? A wave of inferiority sweeps through me. Maybe I shouldn’t have worn this bloody hoodie so Alfie and Danny could see my impressively thick and still bronzed arms? Something flickers across Alfie’s face when he spots me. I don't know if it’s surprise or disappointment or something else. Maybe I look bigger in my pictures on Instagram? But then his face transforms into a welcoming smile which relaxes me instantly. “Nick, yeah?” “Yep!” I reply, smiling back. Partly to be friendly. Partly because it’s pretty hard not to smile at the image of a jacked up muscle plug of a short-arsed bodybuilder spilling out of his vest who’s not entirely unattractive face-wise and who’s standing in front of you ready to welcome you into your flat. I also can’t help thinking how considerate it is that he decided to wait for me this way to save me from wandering the halls looking for the flat number. “You found it all right, then?” Alfie asks. “Yep. Just about!” I have no idea why I said that because I had no trouble finding the flat at all. “Jesus,” Alfie says, looking up at me as I follow him through the doorway and enter the flat. “How tall are you?” “Ummm. Six foot,” I reply, suddenly becoming very aware of the height difference between us. He must only be about five foot seven at the most. “I knew I should have put a height restriction on the ad,” Alfie jokes, as we enter a room made up of a living room on one side and a kitchen area on the other. “So this is the lounge. Kitchen's over there,” Alfie says. “The TV’s mine. But, you know … use it as much as you want. We’ve got Netflix.” The room is bright, spacious and modern with big comfy-looking blue sofas and a huge television. The far back wall has exposed bricks. I think property agents and landlords would probably market this as a New York style apartment. I’ve seen a couple of similar flats described as such in my search for a place to live in Manchester over the past few days. The only clue that bodybuilders live here is a big poster of Mitchell “The Machine” Murray squeezing out a brutal crab most muscular with his mouth wide open stuck to the wall above one of the sofas. Muscle exploding. Veins everywhere. Attitude through the roof. I wonder what my parents will say about that when they drop me off. IF they drop me off here. That’s a big if. “You a fan?” Alfie asks, looking from me to the poster of Mitchell Murray. He’s got an almost teasing smirk on his face which makes me feel instantly nervous. I swear my cheeks are getting flushed. “Mmmm,” I say, looking away from Alfie and back to the grotesque muscle screaming for my attention from the wall of the living space. “Isn’t everyone?” I look back at Alfie Winters who’s giving me this big, warm grin. Did I mention the fact that Alfie Winters is kind of cute? Okay - more than just kind of. He’s got these small boyish features. A button nose. Nicely styled brunette hair. I wonder if he’s ever felt self-conscious about his ears. It’s not that they’re big. But they’re quirky-shaped and kind of stick out. They’re like little pixie ears. Somehow they just make him more attractive though. I’m suddenly pulled from my thoughts and my insides tighten. Because the other bodybuilder who lives here has just walked into the room. A bodybuilder who’s even bigger and more well-known than Alfie Winters. Unlike Alfie though, Danny King is covered up by a black hoodie with the words Panther’s Gym written on the front. No guesses as to which of the two most hardcore bodybuilding gyms in Manchester Danny attends. But even though he’s covered up, he looks like a right fucking tank. I know exactly what’s hiding under that hoodie. Thick slabs of hard, shredded meat. Gorgeous thick pecs. Blocky abs. Big, boulder shoulders. How twenty-five year old Danny King is still an amateur is anyone’s guess. It can't be long before he gets his pro card. There are so many contrasts between Alfie and Danny. Danny’s much taller. I'd say about the same height as I am. And where Alfie’s cute and boyish-looking, Danny’s kind of rough around the edges, but still handsome. Really handsome actually. He’s got brunette hair which is shaved at the sides and medium length on top. A strong jaw. He looks like a bit of a lad’s lad, I guess. The type of guy who I'd never have been friends with at school. I know I only just met the guy, but I’m also not getting the same warm, friendly vibes that I get from Alfie. There’s something about him which is kind of intimidating. Okay - very intimidating. “Danny, mate - this is Nick,” Alfie says. “The guy about the room?” Danny King gives me a half-hearted nod and mumbles, “All right,” with an unimpressed look on his face. My heart sinks to the pit of my fucking stomach as Danny turns away and heads into the kitchen area. I think I now know why someone coined the phrase ‘never meet your idols’. “I’ll show you the room,” Alfie says, seemingly unfazed by Danny’s less-than-friendly welcome towards me. As I follow him, I can’t help taking a sneaky look back at Danny, who’s now got his broad back to me, making himself a shake in the kitchen. The big cushions that make up his arse bulging underneath and stretching the material of his black joggers. I’m not being funny - but if a potential new flatmate is coming around to view a room in your flat, shouldn’t you at least make a bit of an effort with him? Is it me? Did Danny and Alfie discuss what type of flatmate they wanted beforehand and decided an absolute must was that he had to be a seasoned bodybuilder? And then I showed up with my two bodybuilding trophies and barely there calves? I’m tempted to ask Alfie if Danny is okay but it feels like it would be a weird question considering I literally just met the guy. As I follow him into the room, my eyes go down to the thick arse cheeks nestled into Alfie’s grey shorts, then further down to the thick calf muscles bulging off the back of his lower legs, then further down to the bright yellow socks he’s wearing which are patterned with little watermelons. I bite my lip to cover up my smile. Alfie Winters does this thing on Instagram where he poses in his (always shiny and hot as fuck) trunks and a pair of novelty socks pulled up to his ankles. It’s a sort of quirky little thing he’s known for doing. And people go mad for Alfie Winter’s novelty socks. Me included. Even if I’m not that vocal about it. “So where do you live at the moment, mate?” Alfie asks me as I scan the bright, decent-sized bedroom I can definitely see myself living in. “Oh, erm … with my parents in Leicester. That’s where I’m from,” I explain, turning around to see Alfie with his short thick arms folded across his chest. Must. Not. Stare. (Is drooling okay though?) “So why Manchester?” “Ummm. Well, my best friend lives here. I used to come and visit her when she was at uni and … I just kinda love it here, I guess. I’ve already got an internship here.” “Oh cool. What doing?” “Digital Marketing. It’s working for an agency.” “That sounds pretty mint,” Alfie enthusiastically replies in his cute Mancunian accent. “You can give me some tips for Instagram,” he adds with a grin so cute I’m now wondering how sensible it is to move in which a lad you’re probably going to fall in love with in the space of a week. “You’re, erm … a personal trainer, aren’t you?” As soon as the question escapes my lips I feel a sharp panic. I don’t want Alfie Winters to think I’ve been stalking him on Instagram or anything. Something flickers across his face and his lips briefly curl into an ominous little grin which makes me feel like I’ve just been rumbled. “Yeah. Just one of the high street gyms. And I’ve got a few sponsors too. So … are you gonna be a Muscle Factory boy when you move here?” he asks with a teasing look. I fail not to smirk back and nod. “Yeah. I think so!” Alfie playfully squints at me. “Yeah - I don’t really see you as a Panthers guy,” he teases. Before I have a chance to reply, Alfie shoots me another question. “You’re a Classic Physique guy, yeah?” I feel like I’ve just been winded. I know for a fact my face just dropped. “Ummm. Nah. Bodybuilding.” Alfie’s expression flickers like he’s realised what he’s said and he awkwardly nods. “I’ve just done, like, a few shows,” I explain. “Nothing major.” “And now you’re moving to Manchester to train at The Muscle Factory and become a shredded monster?” he teases with a cheeky smirk, redeeming himself for his earlier blunder. I bite my lip and grin back, feeling a little sheepish all of a sudden. We drift back into the living room and I feel both nervous and excited at the prospect of facing Danny King again. He’s sitting on one of the sofas with his face buried in his phone. He looks like such a monster just casually sitting there in his hoodie and joggers. With his veiny hands and his annoyingly good looks. He doesn’t even look up when we sit on the other sofa. Which feels kind of rude. “So, ummm … have you got many people looking at the room?” I ask. Alfie looks at Danny, who still isn’t looking up. “Just another guy later, but … you messaged us first, so …” I feel a jolt of excitement. But that quickly vanishes. Because NOW Danny looks up. He gives Alfie a pointed look, his eyebrows furrowed. As if he strongly disagrees with the suggestion that the room is mine just because I messaged Alfie first. And now I know that it’s definitely me. That this guy clearly has some kind of problem with me. Then Danny looks at me, not smiling. Just … looking at me. This kind of unnerving stare. Like he’s properly checking me out for the first time now that it's been suggested that I may actually be moving into the flat. And now I don't know what the hell to think. “Any more questions, mate?” Alfie asks. Danny’s still glaring at me. I suddenly feel like I want this sofa to swallow me up. I have no idea what’s going through Danny King’s head, but I’m sure it’s not good. I DO have questions. A few of them, in fact. Are the rumours that you’re bisexual true, Alfie? Why does Danny King seem to hate so much? And would I be getting the same unnerving glares and cold reception if I were some Montgomery University graduated monster and not just some geeky-looking guy in specs from Leicester who has all but two bodybuilding shows under his belt? There's no world in which any of those questions are appropriate to ask. So I just meekly shake my head instead and decide to get the hell out of this flat as quickly as possible with no goodbye or acknowledgement from my new best friend, Danny King. As I say bye to Alfie and make my way to exit the building, all of my hopes and wild fantasies of living and becoming friends with two of Manchester’s best amateur bodybuilders shrink and disappear into nothing. Later that night I’m standing in the queue for Utopia - a big once-a-month queer club night at one of the city’s biggest club venues, huddled together with my best friend Liv, who I’m currently staying with and her very gay flatmate, Benji, who’s made no secret of the fact that he fancies me. “I don’t know why don’t you just move in with us,” Benji quips. “We’ll split the rent three ways.” “Excuse me - I’m not having my living room turned into a bedroom,” Liv retorts. “It’s not just YOUR living room,” Benji grumbles. “Mmmm. I kinda need my own room,” I tell him. “You could always just share my room,” Benji teases, wrapping his arm around mine so they’re linked. Liv makes an audible groan and I fail not to smile at Benji’s flirting. And maybe even blush a little. Benji is actually a really sweet guy. I mean - he’s not my type at all. He’s camp as Christmas for a start. Plus - I guess you could say he’s missing a few physical attributes that I normally go for. But I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought about what would happen if I gave in to Benji’s flirting. How he’d react if I lunged my face towards his and snogged his admittedly cute face off. I didn’t go into too much detail about what happened at the room viewing with Liv and Benji. I imagine the conversation that went down between Alfie and Danny when I left the flat. Alfie saying that I seemed nice. Danny pulling a face and saying they should wait for the next guy to show up. And then some super confident muscle bull of a bodybuilder who’s been competing for years and who Danny recognises from Panthers showing up to view the room and the decision being promptly made that he’s the flatmate for them and not that awkward nerd who came around earlier. Will Alfie Winters even get back to me to tell me the news or will he be too embarrassed after his blunder of implying the room was mine just because I messaged him first, which I have to say, feels like a bit stupid to me? I guess whatever happens I’ll be seeing Alfie Winters at The Muscle Factory when I eventually get my room sorted and move here. I can’t imagine him not even giving me a friendly hello. “Don't you think we’d make a good couple though?” Benji says, tightening his grip on my arm. “The big beefy himbo and the small geek.” A laugh escapes my lips. I’m tempted to ask, “Which one am I?” but I stop myself. If Benji thinks I’m big and beefy, what would he think of the two mini muscle bulls of junior bodybuilders I met earlier today? One of the guys standing in the queue in front of us glances around and quickly looks at me. Then his eyes go down to my arms. I guess my biceps do look pretty great in this tight-fitted blue t-shirt. Two seconds later he turns around again and gives me a shy little smile. I imagine that took a bit of courage. It’s kind of adorable. And the guy’s actually really handsome. And it would be so easy for me to pull him. But - ugh - I don't know if this makes me sound really shallow, but I know that what I REALLY want isn’t just a regular-sized guy. No matter how nice and cute and handsome he happens to be. We lose my new admirer once we get inside the club. I’ve never been to Utopia before and I didn’t really know what to expect but this place is pretty amazing. A huge high-ceilinged club with thumping uplifting house music full of all types of people all here to have an amazing night. It’s like a wonderland of queerness. Me, Liv and Benji make our way to the bar, passing people dressed in crazy club kid outfits, drag queens who look incredible and a few other people who stick out from the mass of clubbers. And I’m just here wearing skinny jeans and a tight blue t-shirt. And yet - I feel quite a few eyes on me. Hot guys smile at me. One guy even reaches out and places a hand on my back. It’s uninvited, but I’m flattered. All because I look pretty buff in the tight blue t-shirt I'm wearing. I can’t help but wonder what kind of reaction possibly bisexual Alfie Winters would get if he strolled in wearing that olive green vest he was wearing earlier today. Arms, pecs and shoulders bulging. And now I’m wondering - would Alfie Winters come to a place like Utopia? Would Danny King come to a place like Utopia? I think I already know the answer to the latter. “So, Mr Malone …” Benji begins with a mischievous look on his face when the three of us are standing at the bar. “I have a little present for you!” Before I have a chance to ask him what, he’s putting something into the palm of my left hand. “Ummm. What is it?” I ask, looking at the little round yellow pill now resting in between my fingers. “What’s going on?” Liv asks, leaning into us. I show her Benji’s “present”. “Oh great - so you guys are gonna be off your faces?” she says, rolling her eyes. “I’ve got one for you too, Olivia.” “What does it do?” I ask. Benji laughs. “God, he’s adorable!” he says to Liv, before turning back to me. “How can someone who looks like you be so innocent?” “Why don’t you just do half?” Liv suggests. Benji groans. “He’s a big boy. He’ll be able to handle it. Do the whole thing, Nick.” I suddenly like feel I’m in a cartoon. Benji is the little devil on my left shoulder and Liv’s the angel on the right. I look at the little yellow pill again between my fingers. I’ve never really done recreational drugs before. But this club. The people. The atmosphere. I’m suddenly feeling reckless. Without too much more deliberation, I put the whole thing in my mouth and wince at the bitter taste of swallowing it, to a grinning and excited-looking Benji. Who’s strangely never looked cuter. Half an hour later and me, Liv and Benji are huddled together dancing. Or at least I'm trying to. I don't think I’m actually moving that much. If I’m being honest I feel like a bit of a twat. Am I doing this dancing right or do I just look like a knob? I don’t think I’ll be going clubbing much when I move to Manchester. I think I’ll just stick to trying to become a muscle beast at The Muscle Factory and desperately trying to befriend Alfie Winters. Recreational drugs are also way overrated. I mean - yes, I feel a bit of a buzz. But is this really what everybody raves about? I leave Liv and Benji and escape to the toilets. I check my phone in a cubicle to find no text messages from Alfie. My insides tighten in anticipation when I open up Instagram. Because maybe he's DM’ed me there instead. But my heart soon drops. Because there’s no notification to tell me I have a message. I start to type in a name in the search bar, but something stops me when I’m halfway through. I don't think looking at the Instagram of a bodybuilder who clearly didn't think that much of me despite me hardly saying two words to him is a particularly healthy thing to do. So I type in another name instead. And now I’m smiling into my phone because I’m looking at a picture of a bronzed and shredded Alfie Winters hitting a front lat spread in what I presume is his bedroom in a pair of shiny purple posing trunks (to be fair, Alfie’s trunks are never NOT shiny) with a pair of Stranger Things socks pulled right up to his shins. I know this was taken around the time of his last competition a few weeks ago because he’s posted a couple of similar ones since then. I let out a little laugh and bite my lip as I read the caption Alfie has written to accompany the picture. Sorry, folks. These trunks aren't for sale. (I know some of you will DM me to ask anyway!) Will I ever be brave enough to post a caption as outrageous as that? Will I ever have random guys messaging me on Instagram asking to buy my used posing trunks? Right now, I’m not even brave enough to post pictures of myself in competition for fear of what people might say and think. For being judged, I guess. Which I know makes me sound completely pathetic. I put my phone away and head back out to my friends. But as I’m walking through the crowd of clubbers, something starts to happen. My arms suddenly feel light and airy. There’s this tingling sensation going up and down them. Which spreads to my whole body. And then … as I reach Liv and Benji, out of nowhere, this intense rush sweeps through me and takes over my body. “Are you okay?” my best friend asks as she grabs both of my arms. I’m not sure if I AM okay. Because I’ve never felt like this before. I guess this is what happens when you decide to be reckless and neck little yellow pill’s given to you by your mate’s flirty flatmate. “Just relax!” Liv instructs. Relax. Okay - I can do that. Because yes, I’m a little freaked out, but I know that I’m safe with Liv. And even though I don't actually know him that well, I know I’m in good company with Benji too. And so I take Liv's advice. I try to relax. I try to stop freaking out. And when I do, all of a sudden, I’m in the middle of having what is probably one of the best fucking nights out of my life. I love this place. I love this club. I love Liv. And I kinda love Benji too. Cute, sweet Benji, who is now tugging on the bottom of my t-shirt and trying to coax me into taking it off. Which really doesn’t take much doing. As soon as I peel my bright blue t-shirt off my torso, it’s like an instant reaction. And it’s not just because Benji is staring at my bumpy shredded abs with his mouth hung open. It feels like all eyes are suddenly on me. And man - it’s such a fucking rush! I never display my torso in public like this. I close my eyes and feel the heady rush of the chemicals. And now - there are hands on me. Planted on my waist. I open my eyes to see Benji giving me this dreamy little smile. Benji - who’s not my type at all but who’s sweet and funny and cute. Benji - who’s gripping my waist. Benji - whose face is now inching towards mine. Benji - who I’m now kissing. And it’s nice. And kind of horny. But when we part lips, he’s giving me this look that makes my chest tighten. Still gripping onto my waist, Benji leans into my ear. “I really like you!” I feel a sharp panic. I look at Liv behind Benji, who’s giving me this look. Like she’s warning me. Don’t mess around with Benji. Don’t break Benji’s heart. (Like I’ve ever broken anyone’s heart before!) He’s got this look in his eyes. This look of hope, I guess. And I know I need to stop what I’m doing. I know that doing anything more than just kissing Benji will be a mistake. “Ummm … I’ll be back in a bit!” I say to him, suddenly feeling like I need to escape. And quickly. “Okay!” he says, looking at me with those big eyes full of hope and desperation. I start to walk away from Benji and Liv and through the crowd of sweaty clubbers with my t-shirt tucked into the waistband of my jeans. Most of them are looking at me. Some of them smiling at me. Some of them even touching me. Because I’m pretty sure I’m the most shredded guy in this club. I'm pretty sure I'm the only guy here who can call himself a bodybuilder. Until I’m suddenly not. Because standing in front of me right now looking just as surprised and awestruck as I imagine I do is another shirtless bodybuilder. And God he’s sexy. Holy fucking hell he’s sexy. I almost can’t believe what I’m seeing. Is this a mirage? Or am I having some kind of drug-induced hallucination? This guy is about five inches shorter than me. I’m guessing late thirties. Maybe even early forties. He’s completely bald. Has piercing blue-grey eyes. Handsome, smouldering looks. And these sticky-out ears. And there’s a big sexy vein zigzagging across the right side of his head. As for the body. Holy fuck. Okay, so he’s not like a mass monster or anything. He actually has quite a small frame. But the amount and sheer quality of muscle he’s managed to pack onto that frame is incredible. He has these perfectly round shoulders. Thick, tanned arms. These hot-as-fuck wavy-lined abs. And the pecs. Fuck ME the pecs. They’re like bunched up balloons of muscle fighting for space on his chest. The kind of pecs that twitch and dance with the slightest of movements. Even the silver chain buried in his neckline and running across the top of his thick pecs is unspeakably hot. “Oh my God!” he says to me. We’re both just staring at each other. And then this beyond hot bonafide muscle daddy before me curls his mouth into the most fuck-off sexy grin. “Where did YOU come from?” he asks like he can’t quite believe what’s standing in front of him. “Ummm, Leicester!” I tell him, leaning closer to his ear. As soon the words escape my mouth I realise how fucking stupid they sounded. He wasn't actually asking me where I was from! I swear - sometimes I’m such a social retard. Sometimes when people speak to me or ask me a question, it’s like my brain goes into a panic. And I can’t think of my reply quickly enough. And I end up just sprouting this verbal diarrhoea. Or saying something completely stupid. Like I did just then. But my mystery silver chain-wearing muscle daddy of a bodybuilder doesn’t seem to care. In fact, his smile gets even bigger (and sexier). Like maybe he found what I just said sort of cute? His hand goes on my waist and he moves his lips closer to my ear. “Have you taken something?” I bite my lip and nod. His hand is not moving from my waist. And I feel so much. Chemistry. Electricity. Between me and this bald, veiny-headed, slightly sweaty muscle daddy. His thick, balloon-like pecs right there. His crazily thick shoulders. It’s like there’s an incredible hotness radiating from his body. “Do you wanna come back to mine?” I can’t think of anything I want more. I nod at the muscle daddy. He smirks at me, reaches for my hand with his, wraps his fingers around mine and leads me out of the club. So many people are staring as I’m led out of the club and across the street to a taxi by the short, jacked bodybuilder I met literally two minutes ago. It might be the fact that we’re two male bodybuilders holding hands in public. And the fact that we’re both fucking shirtless. I can’t quite believe this is happening. And I can’t quite believe how hot this mystery muscle daddy is. “Didn’t you have a t-shirt?” I ask him as we approach the taxi. Mine’s still tucked into the waistband of my jeans but his is nowhere to be seen. He shrugs and pulls a face like he doesn't care before smirking at me. We get into the back of the taxi and he tells the driver the place where we’re heading which I don't recognise at all. Then he wraps his big, meaty, slightly furry forearm around my leg, his fingers gripping my inner thigh and my cock forcefully throbs in my jeans. I can see the thick veins pulsing under the hair of his forearm. “What’s your name?” I ask him. But the muscle daddy doesn’t reply. Instead, he lunges his face towards mine and starts kissing me hard. His tongue in my mouth. His huge bare sweaty shoulder pressed up against mine. The taste of his mouth. The feel of his hard sweaty muscle. Even his scent. It’s all just so intoxicating. Almost unbearably horny. He stops kissing me. And now I’m just looking into those gorgeous blue-grey eyes. Every single fucking thing about this guy is sexy. The face. The body. The silver chain. That zigzagging vein on the side of his bald head. He’s like the epitome of masculinity. The ultimate muscle daddy. I feel like totally submitting to this guy. Letting him do whatever the fuck he wants to do to me. “My name’s Nick,” I tell him. His mouth curls into a big, sexy grin. Like he maybe thinks I’m cute or something. His grip gets tighter on my thigh. “I’m Mason,” he tells me. Even his voice is hot. Deep, masculine and surprisingly well-spoken. “But you can call me Sir,” he says, straight-faced. I don’t know if it’s the chemicals in my body. I don't know if I’d have had a different reaction to what Mason just said if I hadn't taken whatever Benji gave me back at Utopia. Whether I would have thought it was weird. Or just laughed. But I don’t even deliberate over what to do next. “Yes, Sir!” I say, feeling an unexpected rush. “Good boy!” he replies in an assertive tone. Why is hearing Mason calling me that so hot? Sir. Good boy. This is completely new territory for me. But I'm totally into it. Maybe it’s the chemicals, but right now, I’m completely prepared to do whatever this insanely hot muscle daddy wants. As soon as we’re out of the taxi Mason grabs my hand with his. And he doesn’t let go until we’re at the door to his flat. Hand in hand with his bald sweaty shirtless bodybuilder. All the time I’m rock fucking hard. I should have guessed that the moment we stepped inside his flat I’d be pushed up against the wall with Mason kissing me hard. His thick balloon-like pecs pushed against my toned chest. His wavy-lined turtle tummy abs against my little, narrow bumpy ones. “What gym do you train at?” I ask Mason as I fall back on his bed. I really want to know whether he’s a Muscle Factory bodybuilder or a Panthers guy. But he doesn’t reply. He just yanks down my jeans and boxers with determination. All the time with this insanely sexy look on his face. And now his lips are around my cock. My hands are running around over his bald veiny head. I’m gripping onto his sticky-out ears. He’s sucking me hard and fast. I feel like I'm fucking transcending. Mason frees his lips and looks up at me. The sexiest fucking grin on his face. “Wanna fuck me, boy?” “Yeah!” I reply, gripping onto his shoulder blades. His eyebrows rise up in a stern expression. “Yes, Sir.” “Good boy!” Mason says, sitting up straight and climbing on top of my legs and mounting me. My hands grip onto his thick hard legs as he grips my cock and positions himself over it. What. A. Fucking. Image. This smoulderingly handsome bald-headed mature bodybuilder with his thick pillow-like pecs and wavy lined abs sitting on top of me. Towering over me. Dominating me. And then he sits down and … fuuuuck. I’m inside Mason. My cock is inside of him. He’s riding me. I’m fucking this hot bald muscle daddy bodybuilder I know barely anything about. This hot bald muscle daddy bodybuilder who’s bringing his arms up into a front double biceps pose. He’s flexing while I’m fucking him. His eyes go to the gloriously pumped balls of muscle bulging from his upper arm and he arrogantly purses his lips. Like he’s admiring his own flexed muscle. Like he’s proud of it. Like he’s totally getting off on the fact that he’s a bodybuilder. My hands run up his stomach. Feeling his rock hard, slightly bloated abs. He looks down at me, still flexing his biceps, still with that smug fucking look on his face. His lips arrogantly pursed. And then his mouth curls into the sexiest smirk. Still the epitome of masculinity. Still the ultimate muscle daddy. When my hands reach Mason’s chest, he brings his arms down and squeezes so his pecs tense and flex and the muscle explodes under my fingers. His arms now by his side, he brings his right forearm up and clenches his fist into another flex and my hands slip to the biceps muscles now bulging off his upper arm. I’m squeezing Mason’s rock hard, marble-to-the-touch biceps muscles. Worshipping the freaky biceps of a hot bald muscle daddy bodybuilder who’s riding my fucking cock. “Want me to pose, boy?” Mason barks. “Yes, Sir!” He puts his fists on his waist and manoeuvres his upper body into a front lat spread. Lips pursed, he lets out a hot grunt as he reaches the peak of the pose. My hands run over his arms. His pecs. Down to his lats now peaking out under his armpits. All the time he’s riding me. All the time I’m fucking him. He then throws his arms behind his head and as he sits down on my cock, his big abs crunch and pop before my eyes. The hard, bloated abs of a roided-up daddy. Crunching and flexing before me. Just as I put my hands on his crunched abs he brings his arms down and with his fists pushed together squeezes out a most muscular pose with a cocky, animalistic, “YEAH!” My hands run over every muscle. Everything hard and squeezed and flexed. The look on Mason's face. The attitude. The dominance. The sheer fucking power. He grunts again as he continues to flex and ride my cock. All the time still riding me. All the time still fucking him. I’m fucking this hot bald muscle daddy bodybuilder while feeling his thick biceps and squeezed pecs. I’m worshipping him. I’m quivering in his presence. I know how lucky I am. To be with him. To be inside him. To be fucking him. He may as well as well be the hottest and biggest bodybuilder on the planet. Right now he is. Right now he’s hotter than any other muscle freak in the world. He starts riding my cock faster. I’m fucking him harder. How can anything be hotter than this? Two bodybuilders fucking each other. My dick deep inside this daddy with his freakish biceps and God-tier tits. I’m consumed by his muscle. By his mass. By his everything. He’s riding me faster. Flexing harder. Grunting louder. Two sweaty bodybuilders fucking. Mason's flexing. I feel like I’m gonna cum. He’s grunting. I’m really gonna cum. The hot muscle daddy riding my cock unleashes this loud, powerful groan as he bounces on my cock. Thick ropes of cum erupt from his cock and shower my toned pecs and shredded bumpy abs as the most intense pleasure courses through my body and consumes every part of me. And now I’m groaning. Screaming loudly. My whole body is on fire. My whole body feels like it’s exploding. Because I’m cumming. I’m cumming inside this hot jacked muscle daddy bodybuilder who’s now lying flat on top of me, laughing and catching his breath. “Fuuuuck!” Mason cries dramatically. I laugh as he grins at me wildly. Looking as sexy as ever. Perhaps even more so. We stay like that for a few moments. Him on top of me. Me clinging onto his warm sticky back. A sweaty mass of thick muscle pinning me to the bed. Jesus. Fucking. Christ. I’m on such a high. Are all my nights out in Manchester going to end like this? Mason sighs and looks me in the eye. Like he’s studying my face. “Are all the muscle lads in Leicester as hot as you?” he asks, his lip curling into a fuck-off sexy smirk. I grin back, still gripping onto him. Right now it doesn’t feel like anything matters but me being here with him. Me and Mason the Hot Muscle Daddy might as well be the only two people in the world. “I’m actually moving to Manchester,” I tell him. Something flickers across Mason’s face. Just for a second. It’s almost like I just delivered him bad news. Did I imagine that? “Awesome!” he says, his face softening. And now he looks genuinely pleased. “Mmmm. I’m trying to get my room sorted.” I suddenly have a crazy fantasy whereby Mason makes me an offer to stay here in his flat. To live here with him. “Do you go to Utopia a lot?” I ask him. He pulls a face. “Every now and then.” “Do you get many bodybuilders in there?” Mason grins. “No. Although I did take a straight bodybuilder mate there once. He loved all the attention he got.” He grips my waist hard. “You are definitely a find!” he purrs. God those eyes. God that face. God that everything. “So do you go to The Muscle Factory?” Mason mischievously grins. He pauses before answering. Am I asking too many questions? Is this not okay? “I train at Panthers. The Muscle Factory’s a bit showy-offy for me. Too many posers.” I nod and furrow my eyebrows. “Oh right. Just … you kind of seemed to like posing earlier!” I say, smirking at him. Mason lets out a little laugh. “You know what I mean. Panthers is purely about the bodybuilding. No one cares who’s there or … who MIGHT be there. Or who’s looking at them.” Huh. I had my heart set on training at The Muscle Factory. It’s pretty much the most famous gym in Manchester, after all. One of the most famous bodybuilding gyms in the country, for that matter. From what I’ve seen and heard it’s a big, clean gym, which is kind of flashy with tons of modern machines and multiple rooms and areas. Loads of famous bodybuilders have trained there. It also homes some of the best and most well-known personal trainers in Manchester. Panthers, on the other hand, is an old-school hardcore dungeon gym which is anything but flashy. In fact, it looks like a bit of a shithole from the pictures I’ve seen on the Internet. It’s a no-frills gym with old scruffy weight machines which haven’t been updated for decades. It’s almost the complete opposite of The Muscle Factory. I never really pictured myself training there. But hearing Mason comparing the two gyms, I actually quite like what I’m hearing about Panthers. I’m definitely more intrigued if nothing else. “I think you’d like it,” Mason says, with an ominous little smirk and an arched eyebrow. My chest starts to pulse with excitement. Is that some kind of invitation? Is that him saying that he wants to see me again? I’m suddenly picturing Mason taking me on my first visit to Panther’s Gym. Looking after me. Holding my hand. You know. That sort of thing. “I don't think you’d turn as many heads in there as you did tonight, though!” I suddenly feel sheepish and smile, while looking down at Mason's arms. The thick furry slightly tanned arms of a mature bodybuilder. Is it possible to pause time and stay lying in this bed forever? That’s pretty much how I feel right now. “So … do you know Danny King?” I ask him, feeling weirdly nervous all of a sudden and picturing Danny in his black Panthers hoodie yesterday afternoon. “Of course! Everyone knows Danny.” “What’s he like?” I ask, gripping a little tighter onto Mason’s back. “Mmmm. Nice guy. Doesn’t really talk much. Well … not at the gym, anyway. Keeps himself to himself. Some people think he’s a bit arrogant but … I don't think he is.” I nod. I’m tempted to tell him that I actually met Danny King yesterday and my general impression of him wasn’t hugely positive, but I decide to keep that information to myself. “Why? You got a little thing for Danny?” Mason asks, with a teasing smirk. I screw my face up. “Nah.” Mason smirks like he doesn’t believes me. “Wouldn’t blame you if you did. He’s a hot little fucker.” He squeezes my waist again. “Like you!” he purrs. He slips his hand down my body, grabs my cock in his hand and squeezes. I’m swelling instantly. He makes an “Mmmm!” sound as he squeezes my swelling cock harder while bringing his lips to mine and kissing me again. This time softer and more gentle than before. Here we go again. I have no idea what time we finally drift off to sleep. Or what time it is when we both eventually wake up. My body aches like I've run a fucking marathon. I feel more self-conscious in the light of day. I have no idea what I look like. But I get the sense that I definitely don’t look my best. If it’s anything like the way my body feels right now. But I’m still buzzing from last night. From everything that happened with Mason. Meeting him. Coming back here. Having amazingly hot sex. He seems just as into me this morning too as he was last night. Touching me. Kissing me. I really could stay here all day if he asked me to. When he leaves me alone and heads to the bathroom, I step out of his bed and dig out my phone from the pocket of my jeans lying crumpled up on Mason’s bedroom floor. I have two missed calls from Liv and a text asking where I am. I suddenly have a flashback to last night of kissing Benji in the club. That look of hope and desperation on his face. Him leaning into me and saying, “I really like you.” I take my phone back to Mason’s bed and go into the Instagram app. The little red icon is showing, telling me there’s a DM waiting for me. I don’t think anything of it, but when I see who it’s from, my chest tightens sharply and I suddenly sit up straight. Because Alfie Winters has sent me a message. Hey, Nick. Thanks for coming around yesterday. The room is yours if you want it! Holy fucking - what?! I got the room? Is this a joke? I stare at the message. Trying to make sense of the words. I got the room. They want me to live with them. Alfie Winters and Danny King want me to be their flatmate. And now I’m thinking back to yesterday. The way Danny was with me. Kind of cold and rude. And that look he gave Alfie when he suggested the room was mine. I wonder what happened after I left. Maybe Alfie managed to talk Danny around. Maybe the other guy who was viewing the room didn’t show up. Maybe he was even less of a bodybuilder than I am. Who the fuck knows. But I got the room. I’m actually going to be living with them. Mason comes back into the bedroom. He looks at me suspiciously. Like he knows something’s going down. “Everything okay?” he asks, climbing back into bed and putting his arm around my waist, his body pushed right up against my side. I drop my phone, tell him yeah and grip onto one of his thick arms, grinning and feeling like I want to melt into his skin. “Mmmm. You are so fucking cute,” he purrs. My grin gets bigger as I grip tighter. “Like a hot little sexy muscle nerd!” Before I can answer, he’s kissing me again. The minty taste of toothpaste filling up my mouth. His hand slips down and grips my cock again. “Mmmm. I reckon you’ve got at least one more load in you,” he teases. “Wanna cum again?” “Yeah!” I say, gripping his thick arm tight and looking into his piercing blue-grey eyes. He arches an eyebrow. “Are you forgetting something? Yes …?” I smirk like crazy. “Yes, Sir!” Mason smirks back at me. So. Fucking. Sexy. “Good boy!” he purrs, giving my cock another hard squeeze. Here we go again.
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Following on from my "Muscle University" story and the "Deano's Summer" spin-off, I've written a new eight-chapter novella length follow-up. Set four/five months after the last story ended, Deano goes back to his hometown of Brighton for the first time since the summer. DEANO’S WINTER (A MUSCLE UNIVERSITY STORY) One “Here he is. The famous Deano!” I smile awkwardly as Shaun’s dad strides up to me with his hand outstretched. A big warm smile on his handsome, rugged face. He’s like an older rougher version of Shaun with sandy blonde hair. He’s pretty built but he’s no bodybuilder. He shakes my hand and then grabs my shoulder. “Bloody hell!” he says as he feels my muscle, his eyes widening. I feel a flutter of excitement and can’t help but smirk. “Shaun wasn’t kidding,” he says, slapping and squeezing my shoulder. “You’re a right little tank!” Shaun pulls a face and rolls his eyes as he lifts his suitcase off his bed. “Well … not little. Only cause, you know …” and then he puts a flat hand above my head to highlight the fact that I’m such a short arse. “Fucking hell, dad!” Shaun says, with a big sigh. “Oi! Watch your language!” I roll my tongue around the inside of my cheek in an attempt to hide my smile at watching Shaun’s dad embarrass him. There’s another reason why I’m smiling too. Because it reminds me so much of how my own dad talks to me. And I know for a fact if he were here right now picking up to take me back home for the Christmas holidays he’d be embarrassing the fuck out of me in front of my roommate and best mate at Muscle University. “What time’s your train then, Deano?” “Eleven fifteen,” I tell Shaun’s dad as I zip my suitcase up. He looks at his watch. “Ahhh, we’ve got plenty of time.” Shaun has asked his dad if he’ll give me a lift to the train station in Glasgow. “Cheers for the lift by the way,” I say, feeling a little awkward. “No worries, fella,” he says. “Bit far for your old man to come and get you, from Brighton isn’t it?” I smile and nod, while thinking, “Thank fucking God.” Even if Shaun weren’t here, the chances are my dad would find some way to embarrass me if he were to come up here and pick me up from campus. And now I suddenly have an image in my head of trailing behind my dad as he storms down one of the corridors of Johnson Hall in a “Deano’s Gym” t-shirt barking at me at an unnecessary volume. “Come on. Get a bloody move on, you little shit! I haven’t got all bloody day!” Half of my fucking year watching the scene and sniggering at my expense. I put my black North Face jacket on over my favourite black Montgomery University hoodie which somehow makes me look like even more of a tank. “You lads ready then?” Mr Hudson says. “Yes, dad!” he whines, pulling a face, causing me to smirk again. As I lift my suitcase off my bed, I feel this strong sense of poignancy. Since our last lecture of the term ended yesterday I’ve felt this weird mix of nostalgia and sadness. That the term is over. And now I feel it more than ever as me, Shaun and his dad make our way out and I take my last look at our second-year Johnson Hall dorm room until the New Year. I’m probably just being overdramatic, but I can’t help it. This has honestly been the best term I’ve had since I started at the Montgomery University of Bodybuilding & Fitness. I don’t really know why. I think it’s a mixture of things. Being a second-year feels a bit more relaxed. It’s pretty cool knowing you’re not amongst the youngest and smallest students anymore. The lecturers seem to respect us a bit more. Even Johnny Hoxton, who I was convinced didn’t like me last year, now seems to have warmed to me a bit. I think. At least that’s the feeling I get. I guess I’ve calmed down a bit too since that first year. That’s probably helped. I’m less of a loud-mouthed twat now. I dunno. I don’t really feel the need to do any of that stuff anymore. Shout out in class. Act like a complete twat. And in turn, I’ve found myself making some new friends and hanging out with people I didn’t last year. There’s a little group of us who have started going to the Students’ Union Bar every Saturday. Me, Shaun, Eric Mafra (still the biggest dude in the year) and Ashley Mosaku who is an absolute fucking beast. Crazy quads. A massive arse. He’s a bit of a loudmouth actually. He’s kind of taken over my role. Cocky as hell. But he’s not annoying with it. I kind of just find it funny. He actually reminds me a bit of mad cunt Tony from back home in Brighton. Kind of like if Tony was a hot jacked tank of a bodybuilder from South London. I’m calling Ash hot (which he definitely is) but don’t worry, I’m not secretly pining after him or anything. I have no interest in ever pining after a fellow student again. Or a bodybuilder slash personal trainer who, oooh, I dunno, happens to work at my dad’s gym or something. No more pining. No more obsessively checking Instagram profiles. No more standing at the back of Posing Practice feeling a knot in my stomach wishing I was the person Sebastian Wood was standing next to and occasionally whispering to and grinning at (I’m not even in the same Posing Practice lesson as them this year). No more lying on my bed with my arm wrapped around my back wishing it belonged to someone else. I’m done with that shit. I’m really fucking done with it. About an hour later and I’m settling into my seat on the train. As I’m taking my jacket off, I notice two men walking through the carriage and towards me. The way they’re looking at me. Fuck. One turns his head and looks at the other (his boyfriend maybe?) and they exchange little knowing smirks. It makes me feel a bit nervous and awkward but at the same time, I dunno, it kind of gives me a little rush too. And now they’re past me and walking into the next carriage, I’m finding that I’m suddenly smiling to myself. I look at my reflection in the train window. I still have the same haircut I’ve had since I started university. Even though I told my dad I was thinking of changing it back in the summer after - well, after what happened, I didn’t. I think I kind of thought why should I change it? Just because - well, just because. This black hoodie used to fit me really well, but because I’ve packed on more size since September, it’s getting a bit tight around my upper arms. I’ll probably have to buy a bigger sized one soon (which will no doubt be way too long in the arms - the perks of being a short-arsed pocket rocket bodybuilder). I wonder if I flexed hard enough the seams on the arms would rip? I smirk at that thought. If I suggested that to Shaun and Ash at the SU bar when we’d been drinking they’d probably make me do it to see if the hoodie actually did rip. I like who I am when I’m with those lads. Even though they don’t know everything about me. Even though there’s this whole side to me they know nothing about. And might be surprised at. I don’t really feel like I’m lying to the lads. Nor do I feel like what they see of me is an act. They just see certain parts of me. And I think I’m maybe starting to enjoy the fact that I have this secret that not many people know about. That I don’t really get to act on or indulge in much up here at Muscle University. (Save for the time I was sitting on Sebastian Wood’s bed wearing nothing but my maroon red velvet posing trunks, pumped and sweaty from flexing and posing for him.) It feels kinda weird to be going back home. The further I get from Glasgow the more the last few months seem like a distant memory and the more I find my thoughts slipping to the last time I was home. I don’t really think about last summer too much. It felt so far away when I was at uni. But now, these memories keep coming back. Things I try not to think about. Even though I sometimes do. As my second train from London begins to approach Brighton, I get that familiar sense of poignancy I always do. I love the familiarity of home. The fact that nothing here changes. I know exactly what’s waiting for me here. My room will look the same as it did when I left. Josh will be the same old Josh he always is. Annoyingly carefree, occasionally hyper, even more annoyingly good looking. Dad will be the same old dad too. I don’t think he’ll ever change. I find myself smiling as I think about that. When I look at my phone I find a text from Tony asking me if I’m still up for going out tonight. Which I most definitely am. I can just imagine what my dad will say about that. I roll my tongue around the inside of my cheek to stop from smiling when I spot my dad’s black Land Rover outside the station. I don’t want him to think I’m, like, happy to see him or anything. “Come on!” he barks impatiently, followed by a loud sigh as I get in the passenger seat. The train was about ten minutes late getting in. “Nice to see you too, dad.” “Why was it so bloody late getting in?” I shrug. “I dunno!” He sighs loudly again and shakes his head. I smirk and turn my head to look out of the passenger window. Same old dad. He really never does change. I think about asking him how the gym is. But then I think better of it. As we drive towards the end of the road I see all of the Christmas decorations lit up in the streets. I’d totally forgotten about this. North Street is packed. There are people everywhere out shopping. It’s only now that I’m starting to realise just how much I’ve missed this town. “You’re erm …” my dad pauses and clears his throat, “not seeing those twat friends of yours tomorrow are you?” Why does he sound weird? I look at him suspiciously. “Why?!” He shoots me a stern look. I’m expecting him to bark something else at me, but he doesn’t. He turns back to face the road. “We’re going out.” “Where?!” I say, screwing my face up. Dad groans. “For lunch! Is that okay with you?” I shrug. “Suppose!” I can’t remember my dad ever taking me out to Sunday lunch before. “With mum and Gary?” “No.” “What - just you, me and Josh then?” He lets out another loud sigh. “When are you going back to uni?” Josh’s dance music is blaring from his bedroom when I get back home. “Do you have to have that music so bloody loud?” my dad barks as he walks into the kitchen and I’m hanging my jacket up. I walk into the kitchen and there he is. My big brother, Joshua, looking even more annoyingly good looking as ever. He’s wearing a tight fitted grey t-shirt. His modest pecs spilling out of the V neck collar. “Yo lil’ broski!” he says to me. “All right?” “Bloody hell. You look HUGE!” he says to me. I look down. Weirdly, I feel bigger than I normally do now that I’m back home with dad and Josh. Rather than on a university campus surrounded by bulging muscle lads. “I should bloody think so!” my dad says. Me and Josh exchange smirks. “What time’s dinner?” I ask my dad, sitting down at the table. “MY dinner’s in about an hour. I don’t know what you’re making yourself. There might be a frozen pizza in the freezer somewhere.” I pull a face and roll my eyes. “WHY?” my dad asks, suspiciously. I shrug. “Going out with Tony,” I casually say. “Fucking hell!” he groans. Yep. There it is. I look at Josh and we smile at each other. “Don’t you be getting into a bloody state for tomorrow!” “Why?!” My dad clears his throat. “Told you earlier,” he says, not looking at me, “we’re going out.” I screw my face up. “It’s only lunch.” Josh gives dad a look. This suspicious smirk on his face. He’s practically giddy. What the fuck is going on? “Haven’t you told D, yet?” he asks. Dad rolls his eyes and sits down opposite me, not making eye contact. “Told me what?” For some reason, my stomach clenches sharply. And I get this horrible feeling that I’m really not going to like whatever my brother’s about to say next. “Dad’s got a girlfriend!” *** And anyone who followed the original thread will have seen these already but I thought I'd include the below illustrations of Deano. The first was drawn by @brawnygods and the second by @Rayjacked - both incredibly talented artists who have profiles here.
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So those of you following my "Muscle University" thread will know that I've been working on this - a spin-off story featuring and told from the point of view of the Deano character. For anyone who needs a recap, Deano was the antagonist of that story who spent most of his time harassing Woody for things like flirting with gay dudes on Instagram and wearing pink trunks to Posing Practice 101. But while Woody was reluctantly falling for this new roommate Luke, it turned out Deano was secretly harbouring secret for Woody. This takes place over the summer following the lads' first year at Montgomery University of Bodybuilding & Fitness, where Deano goes back home to help out as his dad's infamous hardcore bodybuilding gym with Woody and Luke and the events of the first story very much still on his mind. I've also set up a Twitter account in Deano's name here and I've been posting and interacting with some lads from here as Deano. I'll also be tweeting the events of the story as I post chapters. Thought it would be a fun extra thing to do to go with the story! DEANO’S SUMMER (A MUSCLE UNIVERSITY STORY) One I can’t stop thinking about it. It just keeps going round and round in my head. The image of the two of them together. Why the FUCK did I go to the Watson House gym on the last day of term? I was doing fine before that. Honest I was. I hadn’t been thinking about him for half as much time as I used to. But now, as I’m on the train from London to Brighton - the last leg of my journey home, all I can think about is what I saw yesterday when I walked into my favourite gym at university. Sebastian fucking Wood in that black vest he always wears, playfully knocking his shoulder against Luke Henderson’s. I know it doesn’t sound like much. But it just did something to me. The way Woody was looking at him. (You should have seen the way he was looking at him.) The grin on his face. And the way Henderson was looking back at him. It’s like the image is ingrained in my memory. Every time I think about it, it feels like someone’s twisting all of my insides. I’m so fucking glad my first year of university is over. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve loved being a student at the Montgomery University of Bodybuilding & Fitness (or Muscle University as a lot of us call it). I get to train and study all things muscle-related with a whole school of fellow meatheads and bodybuilders. What the fuck’s not to love? The teachers are awesome (some more so than others). I get to hang out with other budding bodybuilders all day. And I’m one of the best lads in my year. At least top five anyway. But the last few months have been a bit weird if I’m being honest. There have even been times when I’ve found myself looking forward to the end of term. To going back home to Brighton for the summer. I guess it all started when Johnny Hoxton forced me to do an assignment for the end of term bodybuilding show with him. Sebastian Wood. With his big, thick pecs which hang over his perfect, blocky abs. And all of his shiny posing trunks. (Why does any bodybuilder need THAT many pairs of trunks?) And that smile. That jawline. And the way he’s just sickeningly good looking. Like he doesn’t even have to try. And the way he fucking struts around campus like he’s God’s gift. Mr fucking Perfect. The dude even smells amazing. And all of his twatty put-downs and one-liners which he thinks are SO fucking funny, when most of the time they’re not. Who the hell is Chris Hemsworth anyway? And while I’m thinking about it - what kind of twat name is Sebastian? What kind of twat name is WOODY? Sebastian “Woody” Wood. The bane of my Muscle University life. He didn’t even bother me that much to start with. Okay - I thought about him. Like, a lot. I even thought we might become friends at some point. I kept imagining how that would happen. Like, one day we’d suddenly start talking and just hit it off and that would be it. We’d be mates. We’d hang out. We’d go to the gym together. He’d come round to my dorm room. In that black vest, he always wears. And those skinny jeans which look painted on. His thighs bulging underneath the denim material. His big arse barely contained by it. But then he showed up. Luke Henderson. The biggest fucking joke to ever set foot on campus. I’ll never forget that first Posing Practice 101 when I first saw him. I couldn’t believe they’d let him into the uni. That was definitely Johnny Hoxton’s doing. There’s no way Mike Hancox would have let Henderson in. Hancox is definitely the best teacher at Montgomery. He used to compete in the nineties and early noughties and he’s basically a fucking legend. I can tell he doesn’t really like Woody either. Unlike Johnny Hoxton, who practically lives up his arse for some reason. Hancox’s face when Henderson rushed into that first lesson wearing that stupid Lego t-shirt was fucking hilarious. The dude looked like he’d barely seen the inside of a gym. Okay, maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration. He definitely had some muscle on him. But a student at a university for bodybuilders? What an absolute joke. He wasn’t even wearing posing trunks for fuck’s sake. The one and only requirement for Posing Practice 101. He had to do the whole lesson wearing his boxer shorts. And not just any old boxers either. Bright yellow Harry Potter boxers! The weird thing is, at the beginning, Woody seemed to have a real problem with him as well. Hancox forced Luke to do a pose off with another student and Woody volunteered. He really fucking showed him up. I think I started to like him even more after that. But then something even weirder happened. For some reason, they became friends. Woody and Henderson. I suppose it was because they were roommates. Spending all that time together. I sometimes wonder what would have happened if me and Woody had been roommates instead. Whether we would have become mates. Or maybe even something more. Anyway, everything changed after that. For some reason, the fact that they were friends really bothered me. And then I took the piss out of Henderson because he was trying to hit a most muscular in Posing Practice (I mean … you should have fucking seen him!) and Woody just flipped and went mental and pushed me really hard and we kind of had a bit of a fight. And then Johnny fucking Hoxton made us do that stupid joint assignment together for the end of term bodybuilding show (which I’m still pissed that I didn’t get to compete in) and that’s when things got kind of complicated. My train is slowing down on the approach to Brighton station. People around me are starting to shift in their seats, grabbing their bags and luggage and putting their jackets on. I always feel this kind of poignancy whenever I come back home. I guess I feel kind of safe here. Or at least safer than I do when I’m at Montgomery. In moments like this, when I’m looking out at all the buildings and houses and I know the sea is behind them, it’s easy to forget that things at home aren’t exactly perfect. I don’t know what it is about Brighton. There’s a sort of energy to the whole town that I’ve never felt anywhere else. I love the way all the lamp posts and railings on the seafront are painted green. And the way the streets and roads dip up and down. And the sound of the seagulls wherever you go. It feels like everyone is here because they really want to be. I feel strangely proud that I was born and raised in a place so many people seem to be drawn to. (To get an idea of what Brighton looks like… https://www.instagram.com/brighton/ ) I notice a few people looking at me as I walk through the train station. I suppose it’s not every day you see a tank sized junior bodybuilder casually walking (okay - it’s probably more like waddling) with a suitcase dragging behind him. I’m pretty decently dressed too. My body’s covered up by my favourite black Montgomery University hoodie, which I’m now regretting wearing, because I’m pretty fucking warm. Apparently it’s gonna get really hot this week so I guess I should get used to this kind of attention. I swear it would be worse if I wasn’t only five feet, five inches tall. Someone like Woody must get gawped at wherever he goes. Ugh. Fucking Woody. And now my insides are clenching again as I think about my fellow Montgomery classmate. What are the chances he and Henderson will decide to drop out and not return to Muscle University for our second year? God - that would just solve all of my fucking problems. There’s the usual line of taxis at the front of the station. I get this weird feeling when I spot my brother’s red Ford KA. Like I’m both comforted and guarded. I guess there’s a certain version of myself that I adopt when I come back home. Or more so, when I’m around my brother and my dad. I throw my suitcase in the back seat and then climb into the front. “Alright, twat face!” Josh says to me with a big grin. I smirk and do my belt up. “Managed to get through a whole term without getting suspended this time?” he jokes, as we pull away from the station. My chest tightens. I give him a fake sarcastic smile and look out of the side window. He blasts the radio up. Some dance tune is playing and he’s singing and bopping along. Josh never changes. He has this kind of larger than life energy about him. It’s like he only has one setting. And it’s always “on”. Sometimes it’s contagious and charming. Other times it's just bloody annoying. “You do know dad’s not gonna let you just bum around for the summer?” he says. He’s got this smug smirk on his face. Josh always seems to get some kind of satisfaction out of my misfortune. I pull a face. “What’s he expecting me to do?” “Help out at the gym!” For fuck’s sake. I guess that was a given. I hate how my dad just expects me to help out at his gym. It’s not the worst thing, to be honest. But … I don’t know. I guess I had thoughts of maybe doing something different this summer. “I was actually thinking of looking for a job,” I tell Josh. I don’t know why I’m nervous to confess that. I shouldn’t be nervous. Josh immediately screws his face up. Like it’s an absurd notion. Me actually getting a job and doing something away from him and dad. “Why? You know Dad’ll pay you!” Ugh. That’s really not the point. “I know that!” Josh still looks completely baffled by the idea. “Anyway, what would you do?! I mean … who’s gonna employ YOU?” he teases, with a smirk. I flash him another fake, sarcastic smile. “Maybe you could be one of those naked butler dudes?” Then he gasps. “Or a Dream Boy? Nah - you have to be good looking for that!” I shake my head and roll my eyes. “Now I could be a fucking Dream Boy!” I fold my arms and look out of the window again. My brother’s now crossed the line into “bloody annoying”. “Maybe one of those gay clubs on the seafront will hire you as a go-go boy?” My stomach clenches. I don’t respond or look at Josh. I just keep looking out of the window. “Jesus - what’s wrong with YOU?” he cries, hitting me on the shoulder. “I’m tired. And you’re annoying the FUCK out of me!” This big grin emerges on Josh’s face and I can’t help but smile back. Here’s the deal with my brother. I love him and everything, but … God - let’s just say it wasn’t easy growing up having Joshua Watkins as my older sibling. Josh was that guy at school that ALL the girls fancied. No matter what year they were in. He was like a fucking celebrity, for God’s sake. And he’s only gotten more handsome with age. He’s got this part bad boy, party pretty boy thing going on. A shaved head. A ring in his nose. And he’s got these big puppy dog eyes. He got those from our mum. He’d probably fit in in a boy band just as much as he’d fit in in prison. He’s done a few bodybuilding competitions too, so he’s pretty big, but he doesn’t take it as seriously as me and dad do. He’s too much of a party boy. I don’t know where he gets his height from. Me and dad are both short arses, but Josh is six foot tall. So yeah - I was pretty jealous of him growing up. The number of girls who were shocked when they found out we were brothers. I’ll never forget that one girl from the year above when I was in the school canteen that one time. “YOU’RE Josh Watkins’ brother?!” she cried, with her face screwed up. She obviously couldn't believe that demigod, boyband member worthy Josh could be related to me. “Oh - Smithy’s having a birthday thing tonight. You’re coming, right?” Ugh. “Mmmm. I dunno!” “WHAT?!” Josh cries. “Fucking YES - you’re coming!” Smithy is one of Josh’s old school mates. Something weird happened when I started going to the gym, packing on the mass and competing as a junior in bodybuilding competitions. Josh and his older mates all suddenly wanted me to hang around with them. I guess it was kind of cool being initiated into your older brother’s friend group. Most of them are decent lads. Some are pretty beefy too. Okay - most of them are pretty beefy. I think they respect me cause I’m Josh’s little brother. Oh - and I’m a tank sized pocket rocket bodybuilder with biceps bigger than ALL of theirs. Honestly - I like hanging around with them, but they’re all just so full on. I’m really not sure if I’m in the mood for that tonight. “I’ve just spent, like, eight hours on three different trains!” I protest. “Don’t be a fucking pussy. It’s your first night back.” Josh turns the music up. I roll my eyes, but this unexpected feeling of excitement rises up in my chest as I look out of the side window again and see the sea past a row of differently coloured houses in a street that feels like it could only be in Brighton. I mostly just want to go back home, collapse on my bed and watch TV all night. But there’s this other part of me that really wants to go out with Josh and his mates tonight. With anyone in fact. Maybe this is what I need. Maybe this will take my mind off Montgomery University. Make me forget what happened yesterday at the Watson House gym and what has been going through my mind over and over ever since. “Fuck it!” I say to Josh. “I’m in.” “Good lad!” he says, slapping my shoulder again and cranking the volume of the music up even more. I slump down in my seat and close my eyes. Taking the music in. The sound of seagulls in the distance. Thinking about tonight. Only tonight. And absolutely, unequivocally, not thinking about the way Sebastian Wood was smiling and looking at Luke Henderson in a way that no one has ever looked at me before.
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This is my new story I've been working on. As usual, I'll be posting it both here and on my "Muscle Addicts Inc" blog. It follows muscle addict, Noah Cook, who is back at his parents in the small town he grew up in over his summer break from uni. A few weeks in he bumps into his old school friend, AJ Jones, who is now a competitive juniour bodybuilder with ridiculously huge arms and massive muscle tits that bulge underneath his work shirt! The pair then start to rekindle their friendship over the course of the summer. This story references every bodybuilder from my "Charlie's Secret" story, so if anyone read that one, you might recognise a few names! I've also been working with a really amazing illustrator who's doing some illustrations of the characters and designs for the story. They're more for my blog, but I'll share here too when they're ready! ? AJ & NOAH Prologue I don’t think I’ll ever forget the first time I saw AJ Jones. It was the first day back at school after the summer holidays. There was a sense of excitement amongst my classmates. Not just because everyone was seeing their friends again, but because, for the first time ever, a new boy was joining our class. I spotted him standing in the middle of the playground looking completely lost. He was shorter and smaller than all of the other boys in my year group. He had brunette hair. Green eyes. And he was nervously chewing on the sleeve of his purple school jumper. I really didn’t know what it was about this boy, but I was transfixed. It felt like the whole world had turned to black and white and he was the only thing left in colour. I knew two things in that moment; that AJ Jones was special, and that I wanted to be his friend. I had no idea at the time just how special he’d end up being. One I've often wondered what goes through the mind of a bodybuilder when he’s standing on stage in competition. Thick slabs of muscle bulging off his frame in every conceivable direction. His obscenely developed body parts like balloons of muscle that have been pumped and blown up to an unreal degree. All shrink wrapped in dick thin skin which struggle to contain the sheer mass underneath. Each body part separated by lines, rips and cuts the majority of humans don’t see on their bodies in a lifetime. His whole body painted dark bronze and polished with oil. Not one single hair below his neckline. Completely naked except for a minuscule, thinly strapped, brightly coloured posing pouch. To some, the most grotesque and horrifying image in the world. To others, the most erotic. So erotic the mere thought, let alone the image, of is enough to cause ejaculation. What must it feel like to be one of the most muscular men on the planet? To look down and see nothing but excessively huge mass? To see two enormous plates of pec muscle hanging over thick, blocky abs which burst through your stomach? To see gigantic sized quads with muscle separation you’d normally only see on images of anatomy charts? And just how big of a rush would it be to flex and show off your superhuman slabs and mounds of muscle as an audience of hundreds before you ogle, marvel and stare at your freakiness? As I lay on my bed with my laptop open in the bedroom I’d grown up in, watching a video of Blaine Holton, one of the biggest and most well known professional bodybuilders in the last five years, flexing on stage in a guest posing spot, all of those questions were running through my mind. What did this absurdly handsome, square jawed, thirty-something American bodybuilder feel when he was standing at the edge of a stage flexing his impossibly huge biceps for a cheering audience of non muscle freaks? Pride at what he’d achieved by pushing his body to unspeakable limits and building his biceps to twenty plus inches? Power at the knowledge that he was the biggest and most muscular man in the room? “Noah …” And what did this two hundred and fifty plus pounds muscle bull think when he cranked out an abs and thighs pose on stage and looked down at his own inhuman physique? Was he freaked out by the mounds of crazily detailed mass staring back at him? Turned on, even, by the bronzed painted lumps and bumps of thick, freakish muscle and shiny, posing trunk covered bulge? Did he ever wonder whether he’d taken his physique too far? Or was he so accustomed to seeing the image of his own huge muscle that he felt absolutely no different to what the average built person saw when they looked down at their body? “No-aaaah …” And just what was going through the mind of one of the world’s best bodybuilders as he walked off the stage and made his way through the audience of fully clothed, average built spectators, hitting poses and flexing his muscles as they gawped and stared and frantically took pictures of the spectacle before them? Did he realise how many of them would have loved to be in his shoes, even for just one minute? Did he wonder how many of the audience members before him would have loved to get their hands on his ridiculously developed muscles? Was he drunk with power, basking in the glory of being a roided out muscle freak? Or was he dying to flee the theatre so he could be all alone and spend the night staring at his own freakish creation in the mirror, whilst squeezing, touching and worshipping every inch of his insanely shredded, beyond human slabs of muscle? “NOAH!” ARGHHHH!! I slammed down the lid of my laptop, sprung off my bed and opened my bedroom door. “WHAT?!” I yelled in frustration. Whenever I went back to my parents, I always resorted back to being a teenager. Wanking off to bodybuilders in my bedroom and shouting at my mother. Often for no, or very little reason. “I just want to ask you something! There’s no need to shout like that!” my mother said calmly from the bottom of the stairs. Five or so years ago I wouldn’t have felt any guilt about shouting at my mother for interrupting me watching a video of a flexing, roided muscle bull in my bedroom. Now, I felt like the world’s biggest dick. “I’m busy!” I replied, my tone deliberately lighter. “Ooooh, you’re always busy,” she groaned. “God knows what you do on that computer!” Hmmm. Wanking off to videos of bodybuilders on YouTube. Wanking off to pictures of bodybuilders on Instagram. Occasionally chatting to other like minded muscle addicts about wanking off to bodybuilders on Twitter. My mum asked me if I’d do her a favour and go to Tesco to pick up a few things for dinner because she had to go to and visit my nan. I said yes, partly because I felt guilty about snapping at her, but also because doing this favour gave me a reason to leave the house. A sense of purpose, even, for the afternoon, which made me feel completely pathetic. “Fancy shouting at your poor mother!” she said. Then she did a pretend sob which I couldn’t help but smile at, even though I was still annoyed that she’d interrupted me watching a video of Blaine Holton strutting through an audience in nothing but his shiny red posers, just as he was cranking out a brutal most muscular in the face of an extremely lucky audience member. I’ve always found it amazing how easily we forget things. And how our memories have a habit of only selecting the positive when thinking about a situation we’re no longer in. In all of the times I thought about spending the summer at my parents, I never once factored in the possibility that they might annoy me, or that I might grow bored. The irony was, I had been looking forward to being back home for a few months. But all I had wanted during those first few weeks of my summer break was to be back in London. Why is almost every place inherently more appealing when we’re not actually there? As I walked into my local Tesco a feeling of dread hit me. I had this sudden, strong intuition that I was going to bump into someone I knew. If it wasn’t someone shopping there, it would probably be one of the workers. When I was in sixth form, half of my year seemed to work there, including my best friend Naomi. Maybe if I tried to avoid eye contact with everyone in a blue Tesco work shirt I’d reduce the risk of having to make small talk with a classmate I never really liked who was also back from university for the summer. Or someone who hadn’t gone to university at all, and had spent the past two years working in a supermarket. Fifteen minutes and no familiar faces later, I was heading towards the self service checkout and that’s when I saw him. Every single secret lover of huge, freaky muscle will be familiar with the incredible rush that comes with seeing a real life bodybuilder in a public setting. It’s such an incredibly surreal and amazing experience. To be walking down the street, or boarding a tube, or even walking down the meat aisle of your local Tesco and be suddenly faced with an excessively built and muscular man. Or even a genuine, bona fide bodybuilder. Exactly like the one I’d suddenly spotted, with his back to me in an extraordinarily tight fitted blue Tesco polo shirt, conversing with a well to do looking elderly woman, who was gawping at the frighteningly muscular lad before her with a look of sheer horror. I couldn’t stop staring at him. Everything but his height was big. His shoulders ridiculously broad, his back absurdly wide and the rear of his upper arms indecently muscular. Even his perfectly round arse looked huge as it struggled to contain the material of his extremely tight, black work trousers. Fuck! I could tell he was young, even from the back. A mini muscle bull in the making. A potential juniour competitive bodybuilder. Working right here in my local fucking Tesco. Practically fucking bursting out of his work uniform. I didn’t think I’d ever been that sexually attracted to the rear image of anyone before. Even the back of his head was hot. With his short graded, light brown hair, which got thicker at the top. And his mini bull neck. GRRRRR! Ridiculously, my heart started to pound as I got closer to, surely, the beefiest shelf stacker in Tesco’s employment history. Once I’d walked past him, I’d be able to conspicuously turn around to catch a glimpse of him from the front. But I didn’t need to, because the woman he was talking to was walking away, and when I was barely a few metres away from him, the potential competitive juniour bodybuilder turned around, my heart leapt into my throat and my stomach violently lurched. Because standing in front of me, now a mini mountain of muscle in a tight fitted Tesco polo shirt, was my old school friend, AJ Jones. “Noah?!” FUCKING HELL! I felt like my legs were going to give way. My mind just couldn’t cope with what was happening. The walls of reality seemed to melting before me, because standing in front of me was a huge and insanely fucking cute bodybuilder with tits which strained through his polo shirt, and a pair of the most enormous and outrageously muscular arms I’d seen on any lad of any age in person. And that bodybuilder just so happened to be one of my old best friends from school. “It’s AJ!” he exclaimed. “Hi!” I nervously replied. “Sorry! I do recognise you. You just look … different!” About a hundred pounds of arms, tits and arse different! AJ smirked. A cocky, adorable and gorgeous grin. To match his oh so gorgeous face. Oh God. How can AJ Jones be gorgeous? How can AJ Jones be a fucking bodybuilder?! “I get that a lot,” he said, nodding and pursing his lips. “I think it’s the hair!” I laughed and he grinned back at me. A warm, nostalgic feeling came over me and, just for a moment, he wasn’t this ridiculously buff muscle boy whose arse I’d not long been checking out. He was AJ, my old friend from school, who I hadn’t spoken to since we’d drifted apart and found new, very different friend groups about seven or eight years ago. “What are you up to now?” AJ asked. “I’m at uni,” I replied, looking at the lucky Tesco name badge sat on his unfathomably thick chest. Ha! I win, I thought. And then immediately I hated myself for thinking that way. “Which uni?” “Goldsmiths, in London. I’m back home for the summer.” “Back in boring Little Denton!” AJ said, playfully rolling his eyes. Boring Little Denton. Where nothing ever happens. Except for the boy who used to eat Tipp-Ex at school growing up to be the type of obscenely muscular, roid munching bodybuilder you regularly blow loads over. Fuck. “Nothing changes much round here!” he added. It was such a ridiculous statement that I couldn’t refrain from making a joke. “No, you look exactly the same as you did at school!” Then it was AJ’s turn to laugh, which made me blush, and feel ever so slightly giddy, because I just made a bodybuilder laugh. A bodybuilder whose upper arms looked about twice as thick as mine. I tried not be obvious, but it was almost impossible to be in such close proximity to a guy that muscular without my eyes veering south of his face. How on Earth had Tesco found a t-shirt to fit AJ? Not that it had fit. One single most muscular and his tits would have probably ripped straight through the material. And his arms. Fucking hell those arms. What did those biceps look like flexed, either side of his absurdly cute face? He hadn’t stayed on for the sixth form, so I hadn’t seen him for four years. I hadn’t even heard about him. He definitely hadn’t been working at Tesco at the same time Naomi had because she would have mentioned it. What had AJ been doing in the past four years that had caused such an extreme transformation? Presumably, spending an enormous amount of time in the gym, consuming a shit load of calories and probably taking a course of steroids, or two. Maybe I hadn’t won after all. Because he looked like THAT, and I looked like, well, me. I had one physical advantage over AJ, though. The same one I’d always had, even when we were younger. I was about four inches taller in height than him. He’d always been short. Right from that very first time I’d spotted him in the school playground, right up until the time he’d left school at sixteen. Maybe he was on a mission to be as wide as he was tall? At this rate, he’d probably succeed. He’d be ripping up the stage with the likes of Tommy “The Tank” Foster and all of the other notoriously short but stacked 212 class competing bodybuilders in no time. AJ Jones. A flexing bodybuilder. Seriously, what kind of cosmic, fucked up shit was going on? “AJ! Can you jump on till seven please?” A hard faced and slightly scary looking woman had interrupted us. AJ pulled a face as she walked away. “I’d better go!” he said. My heart sank. This couldn’t be it. Surely, the universe wouldn’t give me something so mind bogglingly amazing and then just swipe it away from me less than five minutes later? “Good to see you again, mate!” AJ said, with a genuine warmth. Ask for his number! Just ask for his number, I thought. But I couldn’t. It didn’t feel appropriate. And so, I watched AJ Jones walk away with an ever so slight waddle, his thighs visibly thick under his work trousers, his back impossibly broad, and his arse so big and beefy it bordered on obscene. AJ Jones, the bodybuilder. AJ Jones, my old friend from school. AJ Jones, who used to eat fucking Tipp-Ex.
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Thought id write a quick story to get myself back into this before I continue "in league with satan" , but it turned into a to parter, so one more part of this to come As always very happy to hear criticisms and advice The Strongman By Shinji86 I don't usually go to events by myself, especially not porn expos, but there I was. When your two favourite pornstars are going to be there, and their porn is the closest thing you’ve come to a relationship in three years, you do funny things. Walking through the expo hall, stalls that had dragon-shaped dildos, shibiri classes and phallic-shaped cakes, I laugh to myself on how desperate I am to be here. I, looking to have two seconds and a picture with Jessie Lee and Angela White like it's gonna fulfil me or something. I waited an hour and a half, and my fleeting time with them ended in a heartbeat. I got the pictures on my phone to celebrate the occasion, but after looking at them I was starting to realise how lonely and in a mess I am. As I walk through the hall towards to exit I am in a complete stupor, seeing all these bbl, fake-tittied baddies and jacked men in these baths selling photos and signature dildos and pocket pussies I just want to crawl back into my bed, log onto PornHub and be in my safety bubble. My attention quickly gets hit by a sign in front of one the side rooms, which reads “XXX SIDESHOW- all the carny classics, with a spicy edge!!!”. This is the first thing that has tweaked my interest since seeing the fourth stall claiming to “keep you hard all night”. As I walk into the dimly lit room I can hear cheers and the verse of Cherry Pie by Warrant, a lil cliche but let's keep an open mind. As I make my way around the raised seating I am confronted but a busty Thai trans girl firing ping pong balls at targets at alarming speed. I stand semi shock, partly by the bright lights on the stage in contrast to the darkness of the rest of the room, and partly by the accuracy of each shot into targets metres away. “Excuse me sir” I hear taking me out of my stupor. “Oh sorry, what was that” I say not taking my eyes off the spectacle “I was saying that if you are going to stay for the show could you please take a seat in the stand please, you are in people's way” a twenty-something usher says to me in an annoyed tone “Oh ok, so sorry,” I say, quickly walking up the stairs to where I find a seat. As the final chorus rings out the ladyboy shoots a projectile the size of a wine bottle about five metres through a flaming hoop, popping the crowd, and receiving lots of applause. As she stands up, a tattooed-up blonde bimbo in a bikini, thigh-high boots and a top hat appears. “Please give it up to Cherry, the human cannon” the babe announces as Cherry takes her bow to a chorus of applause and cheers. “ And now for the final member of our squad, we have our strongman. Hailing from the eastern block, this man is one of the most powerful humans on the planet. Please welcome the Belarusian powerhouse, Alexi” she yells out, outlandish tits bouncing as she hypes the crowd up. A massive cloaked figure walks out to the soundtrack of Straus’ “Also Sprach Zarathustra”. He stops upon reaching the centre of the stage, and the stage lights dim to just a spotlight. As the song reaches the big crescendo he throws the robe off, revealing one of the most insanely developed bodies I've ever seen hitting one of the most impressive double bi poses in history. Alexi wears only army boots, leather wrist shackles and the most impossibly stretched-out black posing strap I have ever seen. It looks like he is smuggling the world's biggest cucumber down there. The crowd is in stunned silence at the pure size of this Belarusian god as he hits the most herculean front lad spread known to man. The continental plates you could call pecs striating slightly, abs vacuumed in, traps pushing his ears. The unreal-sized delts nearing the size of a normal mortal's head. His fingers latched and pulled up the tortured material around his manhood, which was being pushed forward by the freak show that is his quads. “Alexi stands at six foot four and weighs 210kg at around 10% body fat. His arms stretch the tape at a monstrous 28 inches, his chest a godly 65 inches, and quads that are an insane 44 inches, 4 inches bigger than his waist, but this is far from his most extreme body part” the slutty ring leader announces, “please Alexi show the people what they are here for” Alexi flexes the front lat spread, but this time his abs flex harder, and his posers start to stretch and distort more, then after a few seconds the fabric finally gives out, and the most developed cock you have ever seen in your life is out in all its glory, the crowd erupts. “Alexi has the world's biggest natural cock in the world and has used a secret Eastern European training method to get it there. As such has gained not only many inches in length and girth but also insane muscle control and strength in it and surrounding muscles” the busty ringmaster says, while devouring it with her eyes “13.5 inches in length, 8.5 inches in girth while soft, and this is just the beginning, this man is a grower” Nearly as soon as she finished the sentence Alexi starts flexing, striations showing all over his groin, bouncing the cock, pushing blood into the love muscle. Hands free his cock swells and rises, like the amazing monolith it is. Once it passed 90 degrees, the level of development becomes apparent, the separation between the different parts of the cock is incredible, together looking like a contest lean bodybuilder quad. As it rose inch by inch, the veins blowing up bigger, an intricate web of finger-thick vines wrapping the god cock. As the fist-sized head reaches in between his pecs, he flexes harder, getting the meat to meet his body with a satisfying thwack. Alexi lets out a deep guttural moan as a bead of pre cum leaks from the piss slit and rolls down the pillar, the crowd collectively gasp and moan at the same time, witnessing a true freak show. My cock is so fucking hard, as hard as I was meeting Jessie Lee an hour before. “Ohhh….oh…. I mean, give it up for Alexi everyone, 24 inches long and 17 inches in circumference. He brings a new meaning to being a grower” the bimbo moaned nearly drooling at the magnificent monolith. She wasn’t the only one mystified, as the crowd noticed what she had said, coming out of a trance and bursting into rawkus cheers, screams and whistles. It was about this time that I noticed I was hard as fuck, which has never happened to me before looking at a man, but this was a god, radiating pure sex and power. Now it was time for the real show to start. As the crowd quieted down the ringmaster got back on the mic. “Alexi is one of the strongest humans on earth, but this is a sex expo and a xxx show. No one is here to see or hear about deadlifts or squats. Let's get started” she exclaimed, seeming almost giddy. She approached Alexi, devouring him like a snack with her eyes. “Now you are about to witness the most unique strength display you’ll ever see. Alexi’s cock is stronger than 90% of men in this crowd, but before he can show it he needs a warm-up” she says, as she passes her mic to an assistant. What happened next was something I've only seen in drawings on Rule 34. Alexi, completely hands-free lowered his fuck stick til it was 90 degrees again, yet still completely engorged still. The ringmaster approached him, the assistant brought a small step ladder which she climbed up. Putting her hand on Alexi’s shoulder, she threw her leg over his cock like she was getting onto a motorbike. She sat on his fuck muscle with a small moan, eyes slightly rolling for a second. The cock did not waiver at all, taking the weight like she was nothing. My cock was now the hardest I've ever felt it. The Belarusian beast whispered something into her ear, and her nod prompted him to start lifting his monster up and down. My mouth went dry watching what was up to that point the most obscene and sexual thing I'd ever seen. The ring slut was enjoying the ride, which started in a smooth slow up and down, but as he started to raise the speed you could visibly see the cock getting a pump. The head flared more, veins pumping bigger, one of which went directly under the bimbo's pussy. She was moaning louder and louder as the speed picked up, all while Alexi showed no signs of exertion, bar a sly smile and a little glob of pre-starting to roll out the tip. The sounds of moans were loader and loader until the crescendo, where she started screaming “FUUUUCCCCK, FUUUUCCCKKKK, YOU BIG COCK MOTHER FUUUUUU I’M CUUUMMMMOINNNNGGG” and as she went limp for a second, having to grab on the head of his cock to stop her falling off. I now noticed that she wasn’t the only one moaning, the whole crowd where caught up in the sexist show of power they had ever witnessed. As the ringmaster started getting her wits about her, Alexi grabbed her around the waist, his hands nearly meeting and lifted her off the herculean rod, placed her on the ground, and gave her a deep kiss. “Oh my, uhhhh. Give it up for that ladies and gents” she said breathlessly. “As I said though, that was just a warm-up, you are in for the real show now” Other built men started bringing out a trolled that was loaded with plates, my mind an absolute wash, not quite digesting what I was witnessing. It was about this time that I had noticed I had cum in my pants, but I was still steel hard, anticipating what was to come.
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This is a new story I've been working on which I'll be posting here and on my Muscle Addicts Inc blog. It's written in diary format and sees a muscle addict called Oscar encounter a local bodybuilder. As you can probably guess from the title, there's a pretty heavy focus on posing trunks! HAVE YOU SEEN THESE POSING TRUNKS? Monday July 10th Dear Muscle Diary, Here are five things about muscle that drive me completely and utterly bonkers. #1. Biceps Big, granite hard, croquet ball shaped guns. Huge, freaky, vein encrusted peaks. Insanely pumped, thinly skinned, beyond human biceps. Guns that erupt to heart stopping proportions when blown up in an incredible front double bicep pose. Cannons that explode either side of (and look just as fucking big as!) the head of the muscle beast who owns them when rocking out a cheeky abs and thighs. Biceps that tense into a ball of rock hard, marble-like muscle mass and explode off the upper arm of a bodybuilder when he’s blasting out a massive side chest. FUCK YES! #2. Pecs Mammoth sized, patio slab tits. Absurdly developed, vein plastered chest pillows. Deliciously thick mounds of incredibly dense chest muscle. Pecs that hang off the torso of a jacked up muscle bull, begging to be squeezed, tensed and flexed. Chests that jump up like a cobra trying to attack the owner’s chin when he hits a front lat spread. Tits that bounce up and down like two puppies in a sack when the two hundred plus pounds muscle God they’re attached to decides to treat his adoring audience to a spot of pec bouncing. BOING! #3. Attitude/Cocky Posing For me, diary, the way a bodybuilder poses, and the attitude he adopts when he’s flexing, both on and off stage, has a huge part to play in how hot I find him. Nothing gets me going more than seeing a competition conditioned muscle freak stomping and strutting around a stage while displaying the most outrageously cocky, testosterone fuelled, power packed ‘tude! Ripped up muscle lads who really give it hell on stage, pulling all manner of shamelessly cocky facial expressions. Juiced up muscle pups who scrunch up their faces to absolute buggery and cheekily stick their tongues out as they squeeze their tan drenched mass. Roided up beef monsters who grunt, groan and yell as they crank out their poses with only mission on their minds; to make every audience member cream in their pants. FUCK YEAH LADS! #4. Glutes Obscenely developed, indecently muscular rumps. Enormous sized, gravity defying bottoms. Freakishly striated, line plastered glutes. Alien-like, shredded to buggery booties that explode with lines, details and striations when tensed and flexed on stage. Wafer thin skin encased arses so insanely conditioned you could grab a block of cheddar and use them as a fucking cheese grater. Gigantic orbs of ass meat that greedily gobble up the back of the tiny, shiny posing trunks of the owner. YOINK! #5. POSING TRUNKS! It’s not just the image of competition conditioned bodybuilders that drives me nuts. It’s also the outrageous clothing garments known as posing trunks they’re required on wear on stage. Yes diary ... I FUCKING LOVE POSING TRUNKS!! Brightly coloured, teenie weenie trunks so unbelievably shiny you need sunglasses to look directly at them. Micro sized posers whose stupidly thin straps get pulled up and yanked during a cheeky lat spread (YOINK)! Shiny as shit trunks which get plastered in greasy, golden tan and fucking drenched with the sweat of the muscle bull wearing them during competitions (SLURP)! Bright pink, glute hugging trunks. Glittery gold, bulge stretching trunks. TRUNKS, TRUNKS, TRUNKS! Yours, Oscar Grimes (self confessed, horn crazed muscle addict) Wednesday July 12th Dear Muscle Diary, Oh. My. Fucking. GOD!! You will not believe what has happened. Or what I'm now in possession of, and staring at, right at this very moment. FUCK!! OK, let me start at the beginning. So, tonight was washing night at my local launderette (whoop whoop). Wednesday's are not usually very busy but, for some reason, tonight all of the machines were being used. I was about to leave when I noticed that one had finished its cycle but, annoyingly, no one seemed to be taking their newly washed clothes out of the machine. I sat on the bench and started to read a book, in hope that the washing would be collected, or that another machine would be freed up shortly. Ten or so minutes into waiting (double fucking bugger) and I was seriously considering giving up and trying again for tomorrow night when, who should walk into the laundrette, but the man who owned the finished washing sitting in the machine. But not just any man. Oh no, diary. A fucking BODYBUILDER!! My jaw almost dropped to the floor when he walked in. Because of where I was sitting, I could only see him from the back initially. He was about six foot tall and built like a brick fucking shit house. A huge barn door back stretched out a black hoodie with the words "DEANO'S GYM" written on the back. Deano’s is a local hardcore bodybuilding gym. If a bodybuilder were to hail from Brighton, he'd almost be guaranteed to have trained there. Two gigantic orbs of ass meat were stretching his black shorts, making up one of the biggest and most perfectly round arses I have ever seen on a man. And on the lower part of his legs sat two ridiculously huge and developed calves. Every single person in the laundrette looked up at the sight of this monstrous bodybuilder waddling through the shop. When he was done throwing his washing into a bag, and finally freeing up the machine, he turned to head for the door, and that's when I managed to get a view of him from the front. Ho. Lee. Fucking. Shit! Well, my eyes went straight to the top of his enormous chest. Peeking out of the top of his gym hoodie zipper, I could just see the top of two plates of thick muscle, separated by a deep groove in between. Other than his shins and his thick bull neck, it was, sadly, the only glimpse of flesh I got to see. But something else more than made up for the that. Now able to see the muscle monster’s face, I could see that he was exceptionally fucking sexy in the looks department. Undeniably British and extremely masculine, but with a hint of boyish charm, I guessed he was no older than his early thirties. His hair was styled into a trendy quiff, but shaved really short at the sides. His complexion, while not quite competition bronzed, was more tanned than the average British man. Even for July. He strolled out of the door with his focus straight ahead, completely ignoring the gawps and stares of every average sized person in the launderette. The way he walked, the way he looked, everything about him just exuded this incredible confidence, that sat just below that fine line which crossed into arrogance. The whole scene was incredibly surreal, not to mention insanely horny. This ginormous sized, juiced up, muscle bull casually strolling through the run down launderette I frequented on an almost weekly bases. FUCK!! So, you're probably now thinking that that's the end of the story? The reason for my overexcitement at the beginning of this diary entry? An awesome and horny muscle sighting involving a huge, gorgeous bodybuilder?! WRONG!! So, with the washing machine previously used by the muscle beast now freed up, I dumped my clothes in there without really paying much attention to what I was doing; my mind still pre-occupied with thoughts of the absurdly sexy, big bummed gorilla I'd just unexpectedly encountered. An hour later, and still on a high from the muscle sighting, I was throwing my now washed clothes into one of the launderette 's tumble dryers when I suddenly noticed something tangled up in my washing which made my heart jump into my fucking throat! In amongst my wet towels and work shirts, I could see something foreign, blue, bright and shiny, and I knew, in an instant, exactly what it was. You know that scene in Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factory, where Charlie Bucket opens the bar of chocolate and gets a glimpse of the shiny golden ticket? Well now I know exactly how Charlie felt. I reached my hand into the dryer, and tentatively pulled on the blue, shiny fabric, just enough to confirm that, mixed up with my washing, was a pair of genuine bodybuilder’s posing trunks! FUCK!! I shut the dryer door, put the spin on and sat back down in the bench; grinning like crazy and barely able to contain my excitement. The gorgeous Deano’s Gym attending muscle bull had accidentally left a pair of his posing trunks in the machine, and I had clearly not noticed them when I'd popped my washing in after him. Of course, the right thing to do in this situation would have been to hand the stray garments in. And normally I would have. But this was no normal situation. And these were no ordinary garments. These were fucking posers! Actual posers from an actual fucking bodybuilder. The thing that turned me on, only second to the type of roided freaks and monsters who wore them on stage. My dick had started to stir and grow the second I clapped eyes on the blue material, and had grown further the moment my fingers had made contact with the fabric. Fuck! I'd actually touched a pair of shiny posers!! FUCK!! I was actually now potentially in possession of a pair for of shiny posers! Triple fucking FUCK! Unless the bodybuilder came back to retrieve them before the dryer stopped, of course. And then I had an image of the muscle bull storming back into the launderette, checking the machine, frantically looking around and approaching the old dear who worked there looking for his missing posing. But such an event did not occur and, before I knew it, my dryer had stopped and my washing was done. There was no way I was going to hand the trunks in, not least of all because I couldn't think of anything more embarrassing than handing a pair of bright blue posers to the lovely, but slightly batty, old woman working there. I could have left them in the dryer I guess. That would have been the second most moralistic thing to do. But I didn't. Because I knew that if I did, I would always regret it. So I did what any sane muscle addict with a rampant love for tiny, glute hugging posing trunks would have done. I scooped my washing from the dryer into my bag, making sure that no item had been left behind. Whilst heading to the door, a man sitting on the bench gave me a curious look, a little like I was a crazy person, because I couldn't wipe the smirk off my face or hide the elation I was feeling knowing that in my bag was a pair of the thinly stripped, super shiny posing trunks of a gorgeous, roid munching competitive bodybuilder. JESUS. FUCKING. CHRIST. The whole walk home I was absolutely buzzing. I kept thinking about what was in my bag at that precise moment, intertwined with my boxer shorts and t-shirts. I couldn't fucking wait to get home and examine the posers further. The moment that came and I was stood in my bedroom with my washing bag placed on the bed, my heart was pounding like crazy. It was madness! How could an item of clothing stir such intense feelings in me? I rummaged through the bag and, once again, my dick began to swell and my excitement grew when my fingers and eyes were met with the shiny blue posing trunk material. Retrieving the freshly washed trunks from the bag I held them up in front of me and just revelled in the horniness and amazingness of what I was holding in my hands. They looked even shinier than they had from the tumble dryer. It sounds crazy - I had seen so many pictures of videos of bodybuilders wearing posing trunks, but never, ever did I imagine that they'd be so shiny in real life. Or that the fabric would feel so good in my fingertips. I ran my hands over the thick, shiny pouch, my fingertips up and down the thin, wiry straps, flipped them around and felt the blue material which made up the back. I suddenly had an image of the muscle bull I'd so brilliantly seen earlier that day waddling towards me in the launderette, hitting a monstrous crab most muscular, tanned up to shit and wearing these very posers and my fully erect cock juddered furiously in my boxers. I don't know why I did what I did next. I bought the trunk pouch to my nose and, bringing the material to my face, I took a big sniff of the shiny fabric. Predictably, I was hit with the smell of fabric conditioner. But there was something else hidden there too - the incredibly horny scent of the material itself, which no doubt would have been stronger, sexier and more intense when the muscle bull had bought them brand new. I wanted more than anything to take my jeans and boxers off. To work the trunks up my regular sized, non muscular legs and nestle my throbbing cock into the shiny blue pouch. But something stopped me. The knowledge that they weren't really mine. Somehow, it just didn't feel right. Instead, I just I lay the trunks on my bed and marvelled at the beauty and all out fucking sexiness of them. A pair of bodybuilders posing trunks. Brighter, shinier and hornier than I could ever have imagined. Yours, Oscar Grimes (sort of proprietor of tiny, shiny posing trunks - FUCK!)
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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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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)
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POSING WITH LOVE AND HEART ( or: A birthday gift from the heart) Hello, everyone! DawnFire98 here. Wrote a little something. What’s included? Heartbeats and muscular dudes, my two favorite things. This took way longer than I expected (might have been two years). It’s not perfect at all, but it’s done. Also: English isn’t my first language. So, if you guys have any tips (pertaining either the story or language like grammar, tense, or spelling) write me in the comments. Feedback/Constructive criticism is welcome. But without further ado: to the story! * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * “Come on, you’ve got this! Six more reps!” “ARGH!” “Again!” “URGH!” “One more!”, Milo encourages. Duke snarls and pulls the cables forward. Pecs explode into a writhing mass of veins and thick muscle fibers. “Three…two…one!” “Shit!”, yells Duke, and the weight stacks of the cable crossover machine crash down with a loud clang. Tipping his head back in exhaustion, the shirtless bodybuilder closes his eyes and gropes the burning slab of beef he calls “pec muscle”. His heart slams relentlessly against the palm of his hand. A smile forms on his lips. He loves it. The veins throbbing under his tight skin. Blood rushing through his ears. Sweat running down his back. And all that for his sweet honey pie Milo. This late evening, the two are alone in Duke’s home gym. Today was Milo’s 23rd birthday, so they threw a little birthday party with their best friends. After the guests left, Duke (older by one year) lured him into their little oasis of iron and announced, that he had a surprise for him. Now, “Big Bear” pumps himself up as part of his own personal gift. “Awesome job, man!”, applauds Milo and gives him a towel. “Fuck, that was a good workout!”, pants Duke and wipes the sweat off his face, his black buzz cut twinkling under the lights. The strawberry blond leans towards his boyfriend and rubs the giant’s shoulders. “And it was nice to look at, too.” Feeling the solid mass under his fingers makes his dick judder. With a hungry smile, Duke places his huge paws on the shorter guy’s butt. Pulling him closer, he growls: “What do you say? Ready for your gift?” “Yes…” Getting sucked into dark eyes, Milo hugs the big bear’s bulging traps and strokes his neck. It doesn’t matter that Duke is hot and sweaty or that his musk surrounds him like a cloud. Being so close to his massive hunk always sends him to cloud nine. Eager hands trail down a heaving, furry, barrel-like chest. One simple flex turns squishable beef into solid rock. Usually, Milo would bury his face in the big guy’s pec ravine and lick every inch of it. And yet, he knows something even hotter. Letting his fingers wander lower, he stops underneath the overhang of Dukes left pec, right between his ribs. And there he feels it: the big bear’s enormous heart, shaking his chest with each forceful beat. Sometimes, Milo wishes he possessed x-ray vision so he can see how the heart muscle works. But for now, his sense of touch would suffice. Duke leans down towards his lover’s ear and whispers: “If I hadn’t planned this surprise a few days ago I would do you right here on this bench.” Milo shudders as something long and thick rubs against his thigh. But before he can say anything, his lovely boyfriend heaves him over his boulder-shoulder. “Next stop: our bedroom!”, Duke exclaims, as he carries him through the door and upstairs. “Let me down, you goofball!”, Milo protests under laughter. “Sorry, but you’re just too cute”, the giant says after putting the birthday boy down, and kisses him. Milo presses his lips against Dukes. “So, what’s the big surprise?”, he asks and sits down on the edge of the bed. But Duke stays quiet and positions himself in front of it. With a sly grin, the beast of a man pulls a little, red disc out of his shorts. Two short black ribbons stick out on the sides. At first glance, you would mistake it for a watch or a toy. Milo’s jaw drops. Mesmerized, he watches how the off-season bodybuilder places the equipment under his left pec. “H-How did you…get this?”, he stammers. “Had a favor to cash in”, Duke answers absentmindedly while tapping away on his phone. The little red speaker next to him chimes. He looks up with a grin. His honey pie has no idea, what he’s about to get into. “You are so going to love this.” BA-DUMP, BA-DUMP, BA-DUMP, BA-DUMP. Loud and deep thumps echo through the room. Milo’s neck hair stands up at the sound. His eyes widen. “Fuck me sideways.” Duke chuckles, as he pulls down his black gym shorts to reveal night blue posing trunks. “Maybe later.” With a thick finger, he points towards Milo. “Happy birthday, my love. This is for you.” Slowly, the bodybuilder raises his arms and flexes. Monumental arms explode into beefy, hard mountains. The biceps? Solid rocks. Pencil-thick veins spread out across thick, hairy forearms like spiderwebs. One of the veins climbs up the right bicep peak before plunging into the bulging mass of the anterior delt. The red-blond pinches his wrist. No, this isn’t a dream – this is really happening. His most personal fantasy coming to life. To hear that bloodpump work in real-time is surreal. “What gave you the idea for this?”, Milo wants to know. Duke relaxes the pose. “Every time we watch bodybuilding competitions, your eyes light up”, he huffs. “So why not give you a personal show, one-on-one?” Accompanied by the constant thud of his heart, he sets his hands on his hips. As he takes in a deep breath, his chest shelf bumps against his chin. Solid lats stretch out further and further. It’s like watching a flower bloom. “You always say this is one of my best poses”, Duke comments. “It still is”, the redhead mutters under his breath with rosy cheeks and his dick throbs in agreement. Making a quarter turn to the right, Duke slides into his next pose: the Side Chest and Biceps Pose. He clenches his hands together next to his waist. Pecs don’t just flex; they blow up into mounds of hard beef. Lifting the heel of his foot? BAM! Calves hard as diamonds. Instantly, his heart thumps harder against his ribs. Looking down, he sees his left pec surging forward with every beat. BA-DUPP, BA-DUPP, BA-DUPP, BA-DUPP! “Fuck yeah!”, Duke hisses and throws a cheeky grin at his audience. But how can he tease him even more? Suddenly, his chest bounces in time with the massive ticker powering his whole body. The effect is immediate. “Ughn…SHIT!” Before Milo knows it, precum spills into his grey shorts. His mind goes back to the night he told Duke about his fetish. Third time they had sex, both of them in bed. To this point, the college student didn’t tell anyone about his fascination with buff guys and their gigantic, strong hearts. The fear of losing his newfound love wrecked him. But instead of being weirded out, Duke reacted understanding and enthusiastic. “UFFF!” A sharp exhale snaps Milo out of the memory. Burly hills and valleys spread out and transform into the hairy wall that is Duke’s back. Milo’s legs tense, ready to jump up. To carry him towards his Hercules, so he can run his hands over every inch of that godly body. But where would he even begin? Should he knead the traps first? Or massage his lats? How would the ginger even be able to walk with that boner? Not knowing what to do, he clenches the bed sheets. The dark-haired stud looks over his hulking shoulder. “Do you like your birthday gift so far?”, he purrs as he lifts his arm in a one-armed Rear Biceps Pose. Milo’s lips only let out a hoarse “Yes…”. Turning around and looking over towards his red-blonde Adonis, Duke notices him clenching the sheets. Once his eyes veer down further, the big bear’s smile widens. He made him do this! Knowing that sends a jolt of arousal through his dick. Placing his two bazookas behind his head, Duke crunches his body together in an Abs and Thighs Pose. Six cinderblocks, stacked on top of each other, fight their way through the slight layer of fat. Then, there are those legs. Those big, hairy legs. “Columns of power”, as Milo loves to call them. Teardrop-shaped quads bulge into all four directions. Even if they don’t possess the craziest definition, they’re overflowing with mass. “And now, for the big finale!”, Duke bellows. Roaring silently, the big man leans forward and squeezes his vein-covered arms together in front of his waist. Trap muscles rise but stop just two hairs short of tickling his ears. Pecs surge into a tsunami of muscle, while the core stays tight. Veins run over the kegs, that are Dukes quads and calves, like drops of beer over a cold glass. Meanwhile, the hard-working cardiac muscle gives its best performance. BADUPPBADUPPBADUPP! The muscles. The veins. The heartbeat. It’s all too much. Milo pulls his dick out of his shorts just in time, before he topples over the edge. “OH FUCK!” Everything goes white. Bursts of cum spray out of the birthday boy’s dick, as he convulses in euphoria. Sparks of pleasure light up his body, before he falls back on the bed. As he comes back to life, he pants: “Best birthday gift ever!” Duke laughs, his arms crossed over his chest. “Glad you enjoyed it. But now I need a shower.” He stops at the door, his hairy back glistening from the sweat. “Wanna come?” Milo looks down at his soaked shorts and blotches of cum on his tank top. “…Yup.” And so, the bear and his honey pie wander into the bathroom, as their night of lust comes to an end. THE END
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Following on from "Deano's Summer" and the short, eight-chapter novella-length "Deano's Winter" story, I've written a new/third story about Muscle University's most complex but loveable pocket rocket bodybuilder. This one is set mostly at Muscle University, where Deano is studying in his second year, but the characters go to some other places too. It's split into three parts, with a number of chapters per part. There are some new characters as well as lots of familiar names and returning characters from the first two Deano stories and the original "Muscle University" story, including Deano's roommate Shaun, who is a lot more fleshed out here. I also have a Twitter account where I post as Deano here which I set up for the first story where I'll be posting things related to the events of the story. DEANO, AGAIN: A MUSCLE UNIVERSITY STORY (DEANO STORY 3) PART ONE One “We’ll have to get you a suit when you come back for Easter,” my dad says to me from the driver’s seat of his Land Rover. “Huh?!” I say, screwing my face up. I know exactly what he’s talking about. I just feel like getting a rise out of him for one last time before he drops me off at the train station to go back to the Montgomery University of Bodybuilding & Fitness. “For your mum’s bloody wedding!” he barks. I roll my tongue around the inside of my mouth to try and cover up my smirk. My dad gives me a suspicious look. Like he knows I’m just trying to wind him up. Then he lets out a big sigh and turns back to the road. I swear he’s smirking a bit though. “God knows if we’ll find one that fits you!” And now I’m full-on smiling. Struggling to find a suit because I’m both a short-arse AND a jacked-up pocket rocket bodybuilder who’s getting bigger by the week at the only university in the world dedicated to turning its students into pro bodybuilders? I kinda love it. And then I have another thought. If all goes to plan I’ll be competing at the end of term bodybuilding show just before the Easter break. Which means, not only will I be jacked and shredded for mum’s wedding, I’ll also be dark and bronzed from the competition tan. I wonder what Gary’s relatives will think. And dad’s new girlfriend’s son, Archie. And now I’m suddenly picturing how he was with me when we met for the first time last week. All nervous and intimidated. Maybe I should ask mum if I can bring my roommate Shaun as a guest so the two of us can strip off and give Archie a full-on posedown. “Right, text me when you get back,” Dad says when he parks the car outside the station. “And watch what you’re doing!” I pull a face and nod sarcastically as I get out of his Land Rover, failing to smirk to myself as I drag my suitcase into the station. I’ll never admit to my dad how much I miss him when I’m at Muscle University. But then - he’ll never admit to how much he misses ME. On the train from Brighton to London I start thinking about Harry the Bouncer. Even though it all went to shit and ended up being a bit of a disaster, I don’t regret meeting him. And I definitely don’t regret the hot sex we had the day before Christmas Eve. And at least I made things right with him when I saw him on New Year’s Eve. Maybe I WILL go down to the pub he works at and say hi to him the next time I’m down at Easter. I did promise him I would after all. And it would be kinda nice to see him again. He’ll probably cum in his pants when he sees me bronzed and jacked from the end of term bodybuilding show. I keep wondering whether anything more might have happened between us if it hadn’t gone tits up. If I hadn’t seen Ryan North on Boxing Day and acted like a complete twat on that second date with Harry. Obviously, we would have had sex again. (Did I mention how hot the sex was?) But anything beyond that - I’m not really too sure. I mean, he lives back home for a start. And I’m up in Scotland for most of the year. How would things have ever worked? Plus there’s the obvious age difference. I mean, I can’t really imagine introducing ANY guy as my boyfriend to my mum and dad, but one practically twice my age? My roommate Shaun is already back and sitting on his bed in our dorm room with his head buried in his laptop when I (finally!) get back to Montgomery. That seven-hour bloody journey is never fun. I’ve given up on asking Dad if I can get a flight from Gatwick to Glasgow instead of the train. “Do you think I’m bloody made of money?!” is his usual response. Shaun says all right to me and we fist bump each other. He tells me he’s hanging really badly because he went out with his mates last night back home in Nottingham. He’s wearing that tight fitted light blue t-shirt he often wears that makes his arms look stacked. Shaun’s not one of the biggest lads in the year. He’s probably around somewhere in the middle in terms of size. He’s got a great physique though. Big shoulders, deep pecs and a tight waist. His torso has an awesome V shape. And his legs are decent too. He’s about five foot eleven so he’ll never be up against me in the 212 class. I actually wasn’t sure I’d like him on the first day I met him. I thought he’d be a bit too cocky and obnoxious for my liking. I feared he might love himself a bit too. Shaun’s a good looking guy. Blonde hair. Green eyes. He looks a bit like a posh boy, I guess. Like the kind of guy who went to Eton. He’s not like that at all though. Once he opens his mouth and starts talking you realise he’s just a bit of a lad. (And not posh. At all!) I’d be lying if I said I’d never had certain thoughts about him. Right at the start of our first year, I found myself checking him out every now and then. When he’d come out of the shower. In the gym. In Posing Practice 101. That stopped pretty quickly though once I got to know him and we became mates. Then he just became Shaun. Besides, I started having those thoughts about another certain cocky and annoyingly good looking classmate. “Not up for the SU bar tonight then?” I ask Shaun with a smirk as I unzip my suitcase. “Awww, mate. Fuck RIGHT off with that!” he cries dramatically, leaning back on his headboard and still clutching his laptop. Shaun doesn’t really ask me anything about my break. Not that I’d tell him anything about what happened with Harry the Bouncer. I’m mostly fine with not talking to Shaun about stuff like that. A part of me even likes the fact that I’ve got this secret none of the lads here know. But sometimes I have these fleeting moments where I fantasise about telling Shaun that I like lads. And in those moments, I can’t help thinking how nice it would be. To tell him all the stuff that I’ve been keeping from him. To let him know about that side of me. I sometimes think of it as like a rehearsal for when I’m a professional bodybuilder. I’m not exactly going to be an openly bisexual bodybuilder. I’ll be keeping that hidden from pretty much everyone. So me not telling Shaun and Ashley Mosaku and Eric Mafra is like a practice run. I can still be mates with them. They just don’t need to know that bodybuilders turn me on. That I like kissing lads. That one of those lads was Sebastian “Woody” Wood after obsessing about him for most of the first year. And they don’t need to know that last summer I got my heart broken by a guy called Ryan North. “All right, lads, settle down,” Hancox says to us as he walks into our first Advanced Posing Practice lesson of the term on Monday morning. I’m standing in my usual spot in the back of the room with Shaun and Ash (Mafra’s in Thursday’s lesson with Woody and Henderson). “Everyone have a good Christmas? Yes? Do I actually give a shit? Absolutely fucking not!” Hancox jokes. Ha! I love it. I look at Shaun and we exchange grins. Hancox is a total legend. Granted he’s a bit of a scary bastard. But then, I’m kind of used to being around older, scary-looking bald-headed ex-competitive bodybuilders who don’t take any shit. “Right - before you all start stripping off there’s something I’ve been asked to announce. Try not to spontaneously combust in your posing trunks.” I look at Shaun and we exchange confused looks. Hancox starts to tell us about a new thing the university is introducing this term called the “Future Pro’s Training Programme”. Apparently, a group of selected students will each get to train with one of the lecturers for an intense three-month training plan, leading up to the end of term bodybuilding show in April, which they will automatically qualify for. This is where Hancox really piques my interest. I’m determined to get a place on that end of term bodybuilding show after missing out last year. Granted, I stand a pretty good chance of getting a spot anyway, but the idea of it being both guaranteed and embarking on an intense training programme with one of the lecturers here is more than appealing. And then Hancox says something which not only further increases that interest, but sends an overwhelming jolt of excitement running through me. “As part of the programme, the selected students will get to go to the McCarthy Classic in the States to represent the university and guest pose.” Woah. What. The. Fuck? I look over at a wide-eyed Ash, then at Shaun. The McCarthy Classic? I can’t believe it. That’s fucking HUGE! Named after nineties bodybuilding legend Brad McCarthy, it’s one of the biggest IFBB shows on the calendar. Loads of the current top pros will be competing. And we get to guest pose! It would basically be a dream for any budding bodybuilder. And most of the students here at Montgomery University. Hancox carries on. Six students are apparently going to be chosen for the programme to represent the university. Three third years and three second years. It’s open to everyone to apply. Hancox hasn’t really specified what they’re looking for in applicants, but fuck - I REALLY think I have a shot at getting a spot here. I’m one of the best in the year after all. Surely that makes me a top contender? And when Hancox said the words “three-second years” I swear he even looked at me. Okay, that might have just been a coincidence. But I just have this feeling that it wasn’t. I can barely concentrate for the rest of Posing Practice. All I can think about is the prospect of getting a place on that programme. Going to America. Being at the McCarthy Classic in Chicago, surrounded by some of the best pro bodybuilders on the planet. I wonder if we’d actually get to meet them? And then guest posing. Being on the stage in front of the judges. The whole thing is just fucking insane. “McCarthy Classic? Fucking hell, lads!” Ash says to us as we were putting our clothes on at the end of the lesson. His marble-like abs popping through his skin and his big overhanging pes twitching. “You gonna apply, D?” Shaun asks as he covers up his torso with a tight white t-shirt. For some reason, I feel slightly nervous. “Yeah. Probably!” I say, maybe in at attempt to play the whole thing down. There’s an awkward pause. Do I ask the question back to Shaun? It would be kind of weird not to. “You?” I ask him, my voice sounding weird “Mmmm. Might do,” Shaun replies, picking up his backpack and not looking at me. Huh. More awkwardness. Here’s the thing. Shaun is a fucking great bodybuilder. There’s no arguing with that. But I think we both know he doesn’t really have much of a chance of getting a spot on the programme. There are only three places for second-years. Three students to step on stage at the McCarthy fucking Classic in America to “represent the university”. Surely the lecturers are going to choose the three best students in the year? And Shaun isn’t one of them. And then I have a thought which causes a sense of dread to wave through my body. Because if we’re talking about the best three students in our year, there are really only five contenders. Me, Ashley, Mafra, that Banksy dude I hardly speak to and the first guy I ever kissed. The guy who I outed last year which led to me getting suspended. The guy I spent ages obsessing over and then trying to GET over. The first guy I ever really, truly liked. Sebastian “Woody” Wood.
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With the permission of the author, I am reposting a short story he wrote for the old forum that I kept in my collection. The story wastes no time getting to the action. You might want to cover your things with a plastic tarp before you start reading . . . BOOM! by LORUS Alex rushed into the living-room where his boyfriend was watching some Sean Cody porn, his jeans around his ankles and his hand working his considerable rod with gusto. “Dude, check out the guy moving into the old Hanson place across the street,” Alex excitedly commanded Dwayne the constant-jacker. Cute Alex, clad only in white jogging shorts, was already leaking a LOT of precum, what – from just watching a guy from across the street? Now Dwayne’s curiosity was peaked. “Grrrr, no fucker is going to get you in that state and get away with it,” Dwayne resolved, already shooting a sizeable jet of cum into the air. It went up and then arced downward, splashing squarely across Alex’s chest, one he’d built up from swimming and push-ups. “Mmmm,” said Alex, amazed at the fact his boyfriend was constantly horny, constantly jacking-off, and would fuck him whenever he got the chance. Dwayne considered himself the horniest, sexiest super-stud in town. But today that opinion of himself would change forever. Both guys went to the window to watch the spectacle outside. “Holy shit.... he’s huge,” cried Dwayne, his already rock-hard bone getting denser, more ripped with size, adorned with thick veins. His cock was huge, and it throbbed hungrily, steaming with sexual heat. Standing behind his boyfriend but focused squarely on the massive bodybuilder across the street, Dwayne ripped down Alex’s white shorts, and loved how the cock-ring he wore seemed to make his ten-inch cock bulge more hugely. You’d think Alex would have loosened up in his anus, having been fucked so many times by sex-mad Dwayne, but not so. Alex’s hole was always nice and tight. The boys loved it like that, and Dwayne, his shaft dripping with his own precum, lashed into Alex’s wet hole, an organic version of a jackhammer... in and out with tremendous vigour, Dwayne’s fervour unrelenting. “Jeezus, he’s the biggest bodybuilder I’ve ever seen, even bigger than Mike Hugeman the Muscle Whore. He must be over 800 lbs.,” Alex gasped, pushing backward against Dwayne’s vigorous invasion to maximize the force of this stand-up-fuck. “Fuuuck, he’s lifting that piano out of the truck like it was made of feathers,” Dwayne – pounding Alex’s hole repeatedly – exclaimed as his lust got stronger and stronger. “Yeah, and the removal guys are... holy shit... he’s making them strip off their overalls.... nah ...they’re not gonna.... unngh .... that’s great..... harder you bastard.... fuck me to death,” enthused Alex, torn between focusing on the super-huge muscleman across the street – getting the delivery guys so turned on – and being ridden by Dwayne who suddenly discovered that he could focus on both actions, and believed that the arrival of the bodybuilder had intensified his need to fuck and cum. The heat suddenly generated by the voyeurs caused a nearby potted plant to wilt. “Yeah... he’s making them wank their dicks alright.... dayum .... I want him. He MUST get fucked by my massive cock. We could.... unngh.... have an orgy.... Omyfuckin’god.... he’s flexin’ right out of that sexy muscle shirt, lat-spreading like he’s spreadin’ wings to take off,” cried Dwayne, both men now so caught up in one of the best sexual moments of their relationship. Buttons pinged off the bodybuilder’s shredded shirt, flying in all directions with force enough to shatter windows nearby. “Mmmmm, he looks like Jay Cutler, and a bit like Craig Titus, only five times their combined sizes. Wow, look at the size of the bulge in his denim cut-offs. He’s a super-enormous, mega-muscled farm boy,” gasped Alex flexing his buttocks as hard as he could, tightening his hole against Dwayne’s meaty raping. “Awwww man, the delivery guys are hot too, they look like bodybuilders now that they’re naked in the street. Their cocks are big, too. God, they’re strokin’ em hard. Look at the bodybuilder’s lat-spread, awww, his size, soooo big. Man, he must be six feet across at the shoulders... no way... no way.... he’s goin’ for the truck... he’s gonna....aw fuuuuckkk,” Dwayne was lost for words as he pulverized Alex’s ass whilst the massive Adonis across the street began to lift the entire delivery truck in a muscle show of utter power for his cock-stroking naked four-man audience. “His...awwww.....unnngh.... muscles are bulging thicker.... unnnngh...as he takes....the....unnnngh....strain of the truck....awwww....so good, darling.....harder....fucking hurt me harder.....harder grrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!!” Dwayne, having just shot a load not three minutes ago, felt his balls filling up with fresh spunk, but he planned on holding onto it for as long as possible. Alex could also keep himself from cumming for ages and ages. They suspected the bodybuilder had more tricks to show them. He stood with tree-trunk legs akimbo and the huge truck’s weight not a problem for him as he hefted it above his blonde-haired head. His grunting was manly, guttural and the delivery guys caught onto the idea of fucking one another whilst watching this hunky hulk doing his thing. He began to pump out rep after rep, lifting a truck that easily weighed several tonnes. “Awwww.....he’s getting huuuger....no way.....awwww fuck...I’m gonna cum,” gasped Alex, trying his best to keep his load in. He spread his legs wider to better anchor himself, his hands high up and pushing against the wall on either side of the window. Dwayne kept on pounding, and he grew mean: “Don’t fucking cum until I tell you, y’fuckin’ sexy bastard,” he growled, wishing his cock could get bigger and bigger inside his boyfriend, so that he could give him the fuck of his life. Across the street the huge bodybuilder got huger and huger.....HUUUUGE by hundreds of pounds in just a few seconds. With every rep of the benched truck, his muscles ballooned many times over, biceps swelling bigger than the chests of his audience, lats rushing outward by a metre per minute on either side of him. He flexed his rock-hard abs, each one swelling larger than the pecs of an Olympian bodybuilder. “He’s fuckin’ beautiful....I wonder...unnnngh.... how big he can get.... aw fuck,” gasped Alex, hoping this moment would last and last and last. The delivery guys suddenly advanced on him as he continued to press the truck over his head, again and again. “Too fuckin’ light for Yuri,” Alex and Dwayne heard the giant bellow. He stamped down hard on the pavement and a spider-web of cracks spread out from the impact, seriously undermining the foundations of the surrounding properties. One of the delivery men was frantically working at the buttons on Yuri’s cut-offs, anxious to get a look at his burgeoning meat therein. The monster cock was a monster indeed, springing forth and the second delivery guy shot a massive load of cum as soon as he saw it. The cum shot out in a controlled jet right into the mouth of the huge bodybuilder. “Mmmmm tasty hot man juice.... moarrrrrrr!!!!!” Yuri slurped the treat, and his muscles grew larger still. He squatted down for a moment, and then, grunting maniacally, shot up suddenly, blasting the truck skyward. It went up and up and up, so high that he put the fucking thing in orbit. But he needed to flex more and more to get bigger and bigger, and he also needed to show off his ever-increasing super strength. “Jump on my fucking arms,” he growled to the cumming delivery men who somehow, in the presence of this giant, seemed capable of shooting inhuman amounts of cum, which Yuri lapped up, slurping intensely. “This is the....unnngh....hottest thing I’ve ever... gasp.... seen,” gasped Dwayne, still able to hold on to his juice. “Awwww need to shoot, Dwayne,” moaned Alex, his hole now red from the fucking it was getting. “Fuckin’ stay put....grrrr. You will shoot when I say you can,” roared Dwayne, and brutally-but-playfully nipped Alex’s earlobe as a reprimand. The biting alone nearly made Alex cum. The growing pressure in his balls was fast becoming unbearable. Across the street the delivery men clambered up the huge bodybuilder, using his enormous, metre-long dick as a step to get higher. He must have been over seven feet tall. The first delivery man was able to stand right up atop Yuri’s massive pec-shelf which jutted out by two whole feet over his abs, casting them into deep shadow. Each delivery man climbed onto one of Yuri’s arms, which he held out straight on either side, in typical crucifix fashion. “Position your sweet assholes on each of my biceps,” Yuri commanded. The smaller men obeyed instantly. “Awww....he’s gonna....unnnngh....fuck them with his.... biceps,” gasped Alex, managing to still hold on to his load. Dwayne kept hammering him, his chin resting on Alex’s shoulder so that he could watch the spectacle outside and across the street. “Fuckin’ mounds must be sixty inches or more right around....unnnngh....bigger....unnnngh... when he flexes them,” said Dwayne his lust ever-increasing beyond all extremity. His thick, massive cock continued to give Alex’s ass a battering. He could go on for hours if he wanted to. Sure enough, Yuri curled up his forearms, fists tightly bunched and sending ever-bulging veins ripping across his arms and body with near-seismic ferocity. The delivery men screamed, their bodies lurching upwards as titanic peaks of mountainous muscle tore into their asses and flexed upwards and outwards to fill every crevice of their cracks. Both men shot tonnes more cum, which again arced nicely into Yuri’s hungry mouth. He gulped and gorged on the thick milk and flexed harder and harder and harder. He alternated between levelling out his arms and bunching up his bicep-peaks, and in what was certain to be a balancing act to rival Cirque du Soleil, hammered those peaks repeatedly into the smaller men’s hungry asses. And as he drank of them, so he grew bigger still, his biceps rushing up to a maddening size altogether. He filled out all over, bicep-pumping the shit out of the delivery men, who screamed in bliss atop his biceps. Then he shot his load. A gush of cum, with fire-hose intensity, shot across the street, smashing right through Alex’s car’s windscreen and out the back window. It splashed up all over the more resilient house window, which didn’t break but instead opened inward, pushing both men back and drenching them in gallon after gallon of milky jizz. Alex shot his load in the process, as did Dwayne. They drank as much of Yuri’s cum as their stomachs could carry. And they also began to grow, piling on a thousand pounds of muscle each in just a few seconds. “Awwww.... this is incredible,” cried Alex, standing up in a room of cum and flexing his new muscles so hard that veins thick as rope flared all over him, his body flashing red from stretch-marks that came and went as his skin healed and adapted to the massive muscles it now covered. Dwayne was the same, but his growth was more centred on his gargantuan dick, the rod now swelled to more than six feet in length, the cock-ring now just metal dust. “Awwww.....we’re gods now. I need to shoot and shoot. But gonna rape that fucking bodybuilder across the street.” Dwayne stomped outside, taking the side off the house as he went. But he didn’t care, for he was beyond materialism, now that he was fuelled only by the lust of having muscles, massive ones, and needing to fuck and fuck and fuck like mad. The delivery men were now gorging on the still-torrential surge of Yuri’s magical cum, they, too, beginning to fill out and grow huge. Muscles bulged on muscles, pecs swelling like inflatable pillows, abs super-striating, biceps melon-balling, dicks thickening and shooting as they grew ever larger. The weight of these giants now began to destroy the street, but most people weren’t home anyway. But being a predominantly gay neighbourhood, those who were home rushed out to get in on the action. Massive muscles came to the street this day... and the fuck fest lasted until well after sundown. By nightfall there were twenty massive musclemen writhing around Yuri – and he the biggest of all – their homes in ruins, deep pools of cum everywhere. Yuri had swelled to fifty feet in height and still he pumped cum without end. He weighed thousands of pounds, every muscle super-striated, each striated segment capable of independent flexing. His pecs were as big as houses now, and when he flexed them they pushed against the air hard enough to create a sonic boom. Alex and Dwayne, both around twenty feet tall and weighing four tonnes each, worshipped their new master and continued to feed him their cum to make his muscles even bigger. The others from the street and the delivery men had passed out from exhaustion and slept around the Alpha-god Yuri who demanded more size, more strength. He just wanted to get bigger and bigger and bigger. He made Alex and Dwayne his chief seeders and fuck-buddies, and Dwayne, now the second sexiest super-stud, fell into line easily. They now lived to fuck and cum and eat each other’s spunk and grow huger and huger and huger. Yuri flexed the most massive lat-spread in all of creation, his heaving man-tits hulking upwards as if to swallow his head. Then he crabbed down into a most-muthafuckin’-massively huge and striated most muscular ever flexed. The shockwave tore up trees and ripped roofs off houses a mile away. “BOOM!” He screamed. The End
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Once again, with the author's permission, I'm posting a story he wrote for the old forum and later deleted. I saved a copy on my hard drive and wanted to make this available to readers who might enjoy it as much as I do. This was written at a time when coin-operated public telephones were still widely available, so enjoy the trip back to the mid-00's, youngsters. Never Enough Muscle by LORUS Part 1 Dexter Rhodes was a bodybuilder. A very big one. He got this way mostly by acting as a guinea pig for his father’s experiments. At only nineteen years old he was 6’ 5” tall and weighed a solid 640lbs of eye-popping muscle. His upper arm circumference alone exceeded that of his waist by several inches. When he pumped and flexed his chest, he could make a table of his upper pecs. He could crush rocks to dust between his biceps and forearms when flexing. His legs were so big that he could no longer wear pants off the rack. Like all his clothes they had to be specially made. But he was so into the size of his body that he tried as often as possible to go around in the skimpiest of outfits. He was studying sports nutrition at college and money was tight since his father cut off his funding. Dex had to work to pay his tuition and fees, but he made enough money from stripping and doing cam-shows online. That was how he met his current boyfriend Sonny, over the internet during a cam-to-cam session. There was an instant mutual attraction. Sonny wasn’t a bodybuilder, but he still had enough muscle on his Eurasian physique to allow him to make a living as a fitness model. They’d been together for just under a year. They thought about a civil partnership to mark their one-year anniversary. They planned a honeymoon in the Greek islands, possibly Mykonos. Sonny was ripped all year around, thanks to great genetics and the perfect diet. But Dex was a size freak; he simply couldn’t get big enough, and he had to get bigger. He wanted to postpone the wedding and honeymoon until he was at least another couple of hundred pounds heavier. On that beach in Mykonos, he wanted jaws to drop and straight guys to get boners and question their sexuality just by looking at the muscle god. He was huge now, bigger than so many bodybuilders, professional or otherwise. But he needed more muscles on his incredible body before he felt that he truly deserved to be called a muscle god. This morning began like any other: angry, playful muscle worship followed by oral and anal sex. Sonny must’ve had reptilian blood in him, for his body was so supple and almost metamorphic, the way he could open his ass and take so much of his boyfriend’s enormous shlong, almost the entire length of the 12-inch shaft before screaming out in orgasmic ecstasy. And when Dexter made a cream pie out of that delicious ass, Sonny’s ass could take so much jizz before reaching its limit in terms of capacity. The young men were lying back in bed, their bodies laved in the sweat of their exertions, when there was a knock on the door. “That’s odd. It’s only eight-thirty. Who’d be calling at this hour?” Dex had no classes today. Sonny had a photo-shoot later, but they had hours to spare. The huge bodybuilder muscle-waddled out of bed and over to the apartment balcony. He liked to have a naked stretch and a flex in the morning, and because they lived in a predominantly gay part of town, many of the apartment complex’s residents were gay men. Dex liked to think he was providing a service. A lot of his neighbors were single and of different ages. Imagining the fapping that went on behind so many pairs of curtains, binoculars in one hand, dick in the other, made Dex smile from ear to ear. Haha, he also found it so amusing. There were occasions when he would step outside, if only to inhale the stench of freshly spewed cum wafting towards him from all directions. He loved that smell. But he loved the smell of his own muscles even more. He looked down into the courtyard and saw the mail carrier. Was he expecting a package? He couldn’t recall, but the guy looked cute, and he always loved to tease male callers (mail carriers, pizza delivery boys etc.) by answering the door in his birthday suit. Once he’d even answered the door with a full boner, his massive shlong dribbling precum at an inexhaustible rate. There was still semen dripping from his cock, now. Cool, he might convert this guy in a trice. The mail carrier was the same guy as before, a cute Hispanic dude who looked like he did some lifting himself. His uniform seemed a little tight for him, and there was an undeniable shape of meaty pecs impressed into that shirt, as well as nice, muscular legs filling out his sexy shorts. Dex made sure to pump his upper body to its max and bounce his pecs vigorously whilst addressing the mail guy. “Uh... registered letter, sir. You need to... er... sign for it,” said the mail guy, clearly captivated by the size of Dexter’s massive muscles. He blushed visibly and Dex bounced his pecs and flared his lats so much that he had to turn sideways to step out into the hall. His semi-erect cock wiped a sizeable precum stain across mail guy’s shorts. Both men instantly noticed this. “Shit, I got muscle-cum-juice on your sexy shorts, hot stuff. Maybe you can come in and have breakfast with me and my hot male model boyfriend and I can wash that stain out for you,” said Dex, boastfully. It sounded like something out of a bad porn movie. He flexed a single biceps pose, and his granite-peak cannonball firmed up, so huge and round. Still laved in sweat, his shiny bodybuilder’s skin reflected the light from an overhead light-fitting beautifully. Mail guy’s eyes widened with astonishment. Not only was Dex the biggest muscleman he’d ever seen, but he was also drop-dead gorgeous in the facial department. “Er...um...it’s fine, sir. I ruh-really got to guh-get going. The stain’s nuh-no problem.” The mail guy passed over the letter. Dex folded his arms, squeezing his muscle-tits together so that the cleavage created the perfect letter rack. Mail guy was visibly sweating, now, as he gingerly placed the letter between the two sweaty mounds of muscle. Dex then reluctantly signed for it. There was only one person from whom a registered letter would be sent to Dex’s address. Dexter Senior. “Hey, stop flirting with the mail man and come back to bed, big fella,” Sonny called from the bedroom. “Letter from the old man. I almost don’t want to open it. I know what he’s gonna say,” said Dex, his bottom lip trembling a little, a strange sight to behold on one so huge and strong. But it looked like his future depended on what his father had to say. “Want me to read it out to you?” asked Sonny, being supportive as always. “Nah, I need to do this. But thanks, Babe.” Dex nervously ripped open the envelope. In his father’s neat script, the words said simply: “In your dreams, Junior.” “Dammit!” Dex angrily ripped up the letter and then stomped around the apartment in search of something heavy and metallic to bend. Fortunately, he kept a toolbox full of crowbars for occasions such as this. He took out two together and bent them into pretzels. Then he picked up the toolbox and crushed it into a ball the size of an egg cup. He made it seem effortless. Sonny hated seeing his Adonis losing the head like this, but he had every right to be angry. Besides, his body got so super-vascular whenever he angrily bent something. His veins were on the verge of popping out of his skin at this moment. Sonny grew hard again and really wanted to kiss every one of the massive bodybuilder’s sexy veins. “What did it say, honey?” Sonny wanted to hold his boyfriend in that “It’s going to be all right” kind of way. But he knew better than to approach him while he was still at boiling point. When Dex had sufficiently calmed: “It’s a response to what I asked him at our last family reunion... Grandma’s funeral. Last time we talked.” “That was just before we met, yes?” Dex nodded. “You know a bit of the story. I asked him if there was a chance that we could reconcile, bury the hatchet, and I could get reinstated into the program.” Dex’s breathing was slowing as he became less enraged. That was a good thing. Sonny loved him very much, and although Dex would never physically harm him (unless it was a genuine accident), Sonny still knew when to give him enough space. He mentally resolved to visit a hardware store later to stock up on more crowbars. They were running dangerously low. “And it took him a whole year to get back to you? That’s pretty shit of him.” Dex nodded again. He bounced his pecs and they looked and felt so massive to him. They helped to distract him from his current emotional state. “So, what did the letter say?” Sonny now felt it was safe enough to approach Dexter. He put out a hand and Dexter took it in his own beefy mitt. Sonny then began to soothingly rub his 26” forearm. They were monstrously huge. Dex didn’t think so, however. “It was a no. What a fucker. It’s not like I set out to ruin him or anything. He’s made his fortune.” Dex let out a slow, defeatist sigh. He hated being in a bad mood. It wasn’t fair to Sonny. “I’d like to help. But I know very little about what happened with you and your father. Didn’t his research company cure that terrible virus that affected male muscle mass?” Dex nodded dolefully. He decided to tell Sonny the rest of the story. The virus had been nipped in the bud four years previously, before it became a pandemic. It was one of those ancient microbes that lay dormant in millennia-old ice floes which, due to global warming, were released back into the atmosphere by the receding ice caps. The virus mutated and started causing muscle depletion in infected males. Fortunately, there were less than one thousand cases worldwide, and Prof. Dexter Rhodes received the Nobel Prize as the architect of its eradication. Win-win scenario, right? Wrong. Dex had just started bodybuilding around the time the virus broke out. He made great advances in his training in the first year – a veritable teen prodigy – thanks primarily to a guy at the gym who liked Dex enough to take him under his wing and teach him all the techniques and tricks necessary to get really huge. Then Guy Roche went on a trip overseas – something to do with the reading of a will – and started showing signs of the virus shortly after returning. The bodybuilder lost thirty percent of his body weight in muscle shrinkage in just four months. Cases of this started cropping up in newspapers and television news reports. As with other viruses and flu outbreaks, the public panicked. Pharmaceutical companies and the world’s leading scientific minds in medical research rushed to find a cure as more and more men began to wither away. The virus was passed through the air, but only 3% of people exposed developed symptoms. Dex was tested and found to be a carrier, as he’d spent a lot of time breathing the same sweaty air in the gym as Guy Roche. Dexter Senior took no chances. He would use his teenage son to test various serums and anti-viral treatments he was developing. Less than two hundred men succumbed to the virus. Guy Roche, they say, was saved by his muscle mass. He’d been the only bodybuilder in the world to develop symptoms, but the virus liked to attack exterior muscle tissues before launching a final assault on internal organs. Heart failure was the outcome for someone exposed to the virus, but in Roche’s case, he was down to 137 lbs. by the time he began the treatments. He was weak, yes, but alive. In just eight months he’d lost more than half his body weight in muscle mass, mass it had taken him years to build. One month after being declared well once again, he was found hanging from a beam in his basement by a concerned neighbor with a spare key. Dex took his death badly, but his father had already adapted his treatment into an all-out muscle enhancer. In healthy men... especially bodybuilders, the anti-viral serum could help build astonishing amounts of muscle. Since Dex had acted as a guinea pig to his brilliant father’s efforts, it seemed logical to continue trials on him. One year after Guy Roche’s suicide, Dexter Rhodes had ballooned to over 300 lbs. of massive muscle. He was bigger and more muscular than the current Mr. Olympia at the time, and he’d won every bodybuilding contest he entered until he was banned from competing when the secret to his growth became public (as these things are sometimes wont to do). “So, your dad obviously ceased giving you treatments? But you continued to gain muscle, right?” Sonny couldn’t recall when this scandal hit the media. To be honest, he rarely read newspapers or watched television, even to this day. But what are scandals these days, anyway? Flashes in the pan? One day it’s a corrupt scientist growing his own son into a muscle freak. Next day that’s forgotten in favor of Lady Gaga’s latest shocking behavior on stage. “You know pretty much the rest of it. I became a whore for muscle-growth. I just wanted to get bigger and bigger. My dad put this down to hormonal instability. He stopped the treatments, and one night I lost it. I drove his Mercedes out to the nearest lake and then threw it right into the middle of the water. I’d picked up cars a couple of times before, but never to throw one two hundred feet. Pulled a couple of ligaments for my trouble, but I healed up soon after.” Sonny grew hard upon hearing of this massive feat of strength. “Why’d you never tell me all of this before?” Dex shrugged: “I don’t like to remember the shit times in my life, to be perfectly honest. Everything got better after I met you, darling.” He smiled lovingly. “And yet you still gained more muscle. Just from conventional bodybuilding techniques?” Sonny’s cock was now in precum overload. “I stole an entire year’s worth of serum from my father’s personal stock. The modified one, not the one that was made available worldwide. I tried to make it look like a break-in, but my father, already fearing I’d attempt something like this, had me tailed. Since he had to brush all this under the table, there was little he could do, legally, to get me to give back the treatments. And so, he cut me out of the will, my funding... everything. The treatments I stole turned me into the man you know and love today.” Although emphasis wasn’t required, Dex’s upper body burst into a massive full-lat spread, every muscle tensed and bulging beautifully. He was incredible to look at. Sonny wanted to jump him there and then. He thought about making some excuse to the photographer so that he could get out of the afternoon shoot. Just to spend an entire day with his bodybuilding boyfriend. “And now your supply is gone, eh? But you made some sweet gains in the year since we met. And that was after you’d run out of the treatments, right?” Sonny was finding it hard to set Dex’s story into a viable timeframe, he was that horny. “Yes, I have,” said Dex, forcing his upper body into a mind-melting most muscular. His muscles seemed to fill Sonny’s entire visual periphery. For a few seconds he could not breathe for fear he would be consumed and crushed by a massively mutating muscle amoeba. Then Dex added by way of a closing remark to the subject: “But they’re nothing compared to the gains I made when I was injecting. I have to get more... somehow.” Part 2 Sonny seemed lost to his own thoughts, as the hot lovers enjoyed yet another breakfast together. Coffee was a luxury they both allowed themselves only occasionally. Sonny cupped his mug and savored the aroma. Despite the great sex they'd shared earlier, he wasn't much in the mood for eating. In contrast Dexter's appetite was huge, and he was only too happy to polish off any leftovers. "I guess this is all my fault, everything that happened between my father and me," said Dex after some moments of silence. Smiling reassuringly, Sonny extended a hand across the breakfast table where it found Dex's to rest on. "You have a passion for growing muscle. Fate decided to smile fondly on you for a time. You saw an opportunity and took it. You tried to make amends to your father, but he chose not to meet you halfway. He's a jerk if you don't mind me saying." Sonny sipped on his coffee. Dex managed a half-smile. "The more it plays on my mind, the more I grow to accept that what I did was wrong. And now I'm the family black sheep because of a mistake I made." Sonny was quick to jump to his boyfriend's defense against his bitter self-judgment. "Your father started this. You finished it the only way you could, by satisfying an insatiable hunger inside you. A hunger for growth. It was your father's invention. He should have known how it would affect you ultimately." "I guess so," said Dex after some time. "Come to the shoot with me today. Alfonse would love to photograph you. Besides, we can always use the extra money. It'll be fun." Dexter considered it. "Not a lot in my wardrobe for a photo shoot. I really should sort out some new attire. I've just about outgrown everything." Somewhat cheered up, the bodybuilder could not mask his muscle pride. "Doesn't matter. It's a nice day outside. It's an underwear shoot anyway. Wear something tight and slutty," said Sonny as he set about clearing the table. "Everything I own is tight and slutty," Dex reminded his number one man. "Keep talking like that, hon, and I doubt either of us will get out of here today." *** The massive bodybuilder spent quite a while trying to find something to wear. Recently he'd returned from the gym far too many times in a state of extreme muscle lust, his pumps held for an impossibly long time. During these moments Dex would perform hulkouts as much for his own gratification as Sonny's. It had taken a severe toll on his wardrobe. He decided that after the events of the morning, some all-out muscle showcasing was the order of the day. He opted for a trashy mesh string top, which was literally falling apart. He managed to keep it on its last legs by holding it in place with a sturdy set of red suspenders, which he securely anchored to the skimpiest pair of trashed denim cut-offs no huge bodybuilder had any business being seen in. The cut-offs looked more like briefs than shorts, made to seem even more skimpy, given the fact that two enormous thighs blasted out of them, the vast swell of each muscle belly rippling thickly and with ridiculously deep striations in between. Each thigh tapered down to a solid knee which in turn was under siege from a surfeit of unfaltering, huge calf muscle. “You’ll be arrested if you go out like that,” said Sonny when it was time to give Dex the onceover. He was right, the outfit was ridiculously skimpy. Dex only had to sneeze, and that mesh string top would fly apart into so many useless strands. Sonny couldn’t conceal his boner and was so turned-on by how his boyfriend made items of clothing appear like they were about to disintegrate from the sheer pressure of so much huge muscle flexing and bulging beneath them. Sonny went to Dex’s closet and found a trashed denim jacket to go with the shorts. “Waste of time getting that out. I’ve gained about eighty pounds of muscle since I last wore that. My arms will never get through those sleeves,” Dex protested. His mood had brightened. He was well-known around the city, but there were always the tourists to shock with his enormousness. He really wanted to rape the entire city with his muscularity, figuratively speaking. “Not a problem,” said Sonny, who quickly got busy with a pair of scissors. He turned the jacket into a sleeveless vest-style, and because it was a little tight across Dex’s shoulder’s and back, it was impossible to fasten across his dynamic chest. After some further checking-out: “You look like an explosion in a Levi’s factory. But huge, and incredibly hot, darling.” “Not huge enough,” Dex growled, the coiled meat-monster inside the pouch of his jockstrap, slowly yawning awake and thickening as it stirred, pushing against four metal buttons with the potential to turn them into four bullets if he wasn’t careful. He blasted out pose after pose with utmost precision, his movements graceful, never awkward, but oh so masculine in their delivery. A wet stain had already formed in the front of Sonny’s cargo shorts. Some seams began to part down the sides of the jacket/vest as Dex flared his lats to delta-wing proportions. His muscle aesthetics were unmatchable, utterly flawless, and awesome to take in at a glance. Dex had grown too large for most cars, although neither of them owned a car. The walk to the tube station from the apartment was a little under two kilometers, plenty of distance in which to strut so much muscle as well as force it down the throats of as many jealous guys in passing as possible. Sonny was a good sport and always played along. It was so difficult doing anything with him – even the most mundane activities – without coming out in a boner. Sonny had had boyfriends prior to Dex, but only Dex could make him super horny like no guy ever had before. Near the tube station: "That guy over there... taking pictures with that big telephoto-lens camera. He looks familiar," Dex exclaimed, bouncing his pecs vigorously for the pleasure of two twinks who'd spotted in him their ultimate walking wet dream in passing. Sonny followed the giant's line of sight to the fountain in the square about fifty yards from where they stood. "So what? You've been snapped and filmed by just about every modern gadget between here and the apartment. What's so special about him?" "I think that's the same guy that... nah... can't be... can it?" "The same guy that did what?" Sonny was growing impatient. His stomach was rumbling, and it was now that he regretted not having solids for breakfast. A bagel would go down nicely just about now. He began to scan for a vendor. "The mail carrier from earlier, the one that brought the registered letter from my father. I'm nearly sure that's him," Dex explained. As if those words had carried power, the photographer by the fountain realized he'd been rumbled. "Dexter, darling, I wouldn't worry. You probably converted him this morning to Dexter's Temple of Muscle Infatuation. He's acting beyond his control, like so many men who fall under the spell of your massive muscles. Blast him with a double biceps. He'll cream himself, shoot off to find a bathroom, and we won't be late for our train." Sonny checked his watch. They would make the two-thirty train if they hurried. Alfonse was not known for his patience. "Hmmm, maybe," Dex mused, although something about this wasn't settling well with him. This day had quickly turned into something unexpected. And no amount of massive muscle fleshing your body out to near god-like status could ever prepare you for the unexpected. They made it to their platform, and Sonny got his bagel en route. There were two bodybuilders waiting for the same train. They were mid-twenties, one Caucasian, the other black. Both had been showing off and owning the platform, until a huge shadow appeared and swallowed up their own lesser ones like some omnipresent and sentient oil slick. They both, suddenly, felt quite inadequate, and they didn't like it one bit. One of them said: "Dude, you're a monster. That ain't natural at all. What shit you on?" Both were dressed in gym clothes, and they looked like they'd both had good workouts. Their bodies were pumped and rock hard, but neither of them looked heavier than 220 lbs. tops. Dexter, as if to demonstrate total muscle dominance, worked some tension out of his neck by tilting his head from side to side. The sound of shifting bones was drowned out, but only by a vagrant playing some sort of wind instrument further along the underground platform. Then Dexter drew back his shoulders, forced out his pecs, and flared his lats to further seam-splitting proportions. Mouths fell agape, not just those of the bodybuilders, but pretty much everyone within viewing distance. Further down the platform the vagrant stopped playing his pipe in favor of playing with something else. Dex moved to within pec-touching distance of the lesser bodybuilders. He was a head taller than one guy, and two thirds of a head taller than the other. He loved being the biggest... but he still had to grow way huger than his current size. He could never have enough muscle. "I'm not on any...shit...dude!!" The massive muscle teen gave the taller of the two a face full of mega-bicep. It peaked at a mind-blowing 36 inches. Some of the color drained out of both their faces when they observed the bulging muscle firm up to cannonball proportions. Probably hard as iron, too. Nearby, a middle-aged, suited gentleman, complete with stereotypical bowler hat, suddenly tugged uncomfortably at his pristinely starched shirt collar before scampering for the nearest public convenience, dropping his umbrella as he went and awkwardly covering up his "embarrassment" with his briefcase. It was time for Sonny to intervene lest Dexter Rhodes take exception to such a remark. "Fifty thousand and his secret's all yours. Not a penny less," Sonny said, stonily. "Fuck that shit. We don't have that kinda money, bitch," said the other bodybuilder. "'Sides, who'd want to get that huge? Dude, you a freak!" The first bodybuilder cracked knuckles with the other before "high-fiving" him. Dexter really hated all that bromance/hetero buddy-buddy shit. He now touched pecs with "Knuckles", and for the lesser bodybuilder it must've felt like he'd been hit by a muscle tsunami. "I think you both need to get another train. In fact, I must insist that you get another train," Dexter said calmly enough. His mind was still preoccupied with the familiar-looking photographer by the fountain from earlier. "Dude, we cool, okay? I didn't mean nuthin' by it, is all. We cool, man." The bodybuilders made a hasty retreat considering the moderately-impressive bulk they were carrying. Sonny's full attention was now back on his boyfriend. He was only three inches shorter than Dex, but he still often got a pain in his neck from staring up at him. He liked to call it his "Romantic Strain Injury". They both liked silly, soppy stuff like that. "They didn't upset you, did they?" "I'm still in my clothes, aren't I? Couple of jerks," Dex admitted. "You seem preoccupied. It's not the camera guy again, is it?" "First whiskey craving in over four years. Dammit why now?" Dex suddenly craved metal to bend. There was plenty of it around, but he wasn't a vandal. "Whiskey? What in the---" "Don't worry about it. I haven't touched a drop since I was fifteen. Bodybuilding helped me kick that particular habit." Trying not to look visibly upset, Sonny voiced his concerns: "Is there anything else you'd like to tell your boyfriend of almost one year? I thought we agreed ages ago not to keep secrets from one another. So, you were a teen alcoholic, and a thief. What other skeletons are rattling around inside that huge body of yours?" With voices raised, tempers grew frayed. More people began to leave the platform. "Take that back," Dex growled. His body began to expand, fueled by rising anger. Veins popped out all over his muscled form. More seams parted in the jacket, and parts of his mesh string top began to disintegrate due to the expanding flesh pushing against the flimsy fibers. Unbeknownst to them both, a youth nearby had his iPhone's camera trained on them. YouTube Gold was the order of the day, it seemed. No matter, Dex had found himself in YouTube videos more than a few times already. You just had to type in the right tag words and phrases and eventually he popped up (in more ways than one). "Why, what you gonna do, bend me into a crowbar-pretzel?" Sonny stood his ground, although he was at a loss for what to do. They'd bickered in the past before. What couple doesn't? But those minor tiffs were nothing like this. This was... getting bad. Anger caused Dex's blood to boil. His muscles became engorged, and his skimpy garb destabilized further. He decided to ditch the jacket, for it had become uncomfortably tight across his back and shoulders. Now all that barely concealed his super-huge, muscled torso were a few ounces of string and some visibly straining suspenders. The way they stretched over the curved swell of his pecs – the immense prominence of each muscle-tit creating several inches of space between his impregnable 8-pack and the elasticized straps – was a minor miracle in that the front and back clasps were still able to cling to their denim moorings. "The shit!!!" It was the youth with the iPhone, creaming himself but unable to do much about it, except to keep filming. Later he would break it off with his girlfriend of two years, Susan, in favor of a new lifestyle in need of exploring. She'd be devastated and blog about it on Facebook to her 1,567 girlfriends before deciding to become a nun. Happened all the time, that. "Enjoy your photo shoot. Fuck this crap!" The super-gorgeous muscle behemoth stormed off towards the stairwell back to ground level. Concerned and cautious commuters pushed close to the walls to give him a wide berth. A curious police officer, no more than a rookie, called it in and requested instructions on what to do. His superior advised him to "keep an eye on the situation", nothing more. Dexter hadn't done anything wrong. No one had complained about him (too scared to, most likely). He'd caused no damage and the altercation down on the platform had been a minor one, all things considered. He was scantily clad, but it was a warm day, and there were plenty of shirtless hard bodies around. The guy was a giant, but so far, he wasn't breaking any nudity laws. A little bit of denim around his junk and ass just about kept him from getting cuffed (not that any cuffs would hold him). When the train came Sonny made sure he was on it. He was upset by how the day was going, when it had started out with amazing sex and muscle worship. But their rent wasn't cheap, and Alfonse was a pain to work with, but at least he paid well. Time to focus on work for a while. *** A huge bodybuilder made his way out of the underground and across town. His movement was half-strut, half-waddle, made that way by the sheer immensity of his hugely bulbous thighs and the way they were intricately arranged... powerful muscles fighting against each other for space. As he went his torso continued to hemorrhage bits of shirt string. He made for the fountain, where earlier he'd seen the mail guy snapping him through a professional-looking camera. It had to be him, he thought. He liked to think that he never forgot a face. The craving for alcohol no longer niggled at him. He was meant to put it down in a diary, but for the life of him couldn't remember where that diary was now. "I crave size... more size... more massively huge size... more than anything else," he voiced aloud, something of a vow he was determined to honor. He stood looking at the fountain for a long moment. He closed his eyes. Dreamed of getting bigger, each muscle bloating upwards and outwards with so much more mass and power, skin stretched to wafer thin extremity across the ever-burgeoning bellies. He would make it happen. It had to happen. His mind filtered out all sounds of city life... all except one. The sound of a modest-sized coin hitting water with a discernible "plop" sound. It instantly brought him back to reality. A thin well-dressed gentleman – his hair snow-white and cropped tightly to a somewhat egg-shaped skull – stood next to him, the top of his head just about level with Dex's shoulder. Fairly slumped in posture and middling in stature, the man was respectable looking, but looked tired and somewhat older than his years. "You can have my wish," he said softly to the giant, without taking his eyes off the baroque cherubic scene carved into the fountain. "Huh, what did you say?" In truth Dexter had heard him perfectly, but he still had to come fully down from his angry time. "Have you never tossed a coin into a fountain and made a wish, Mister Rhodes?" The gentleman now moved to the lip of the capacious fountain bowl to take some weight off his feet. He took out a banana from the inside pocket of his light-grey suit and began to peel it with care and precision. He never once made eye contact with the giant muscleman before him. If he felt intimidated by the handsome super-hulk, then he certainly didn’t show it. "Uh, maybe... as a kid... I dunno. Wait a sec... how do you know my name?" The gentleman smiled a wan smile and paused with the peeled banana held before him in a hand that ever so slightly trembled. "I make it my business to learn all I can about the exceptional people with whom I share a troubled planet." He went to take first bite from the fruit. But he paused once again, only to add: "Something tells me you haven't been having the best of days." Well, he got that right. But Dex didn't like the idea of a complete stranger knowing his name. What else did the old codger know about him? Upon second glance the banana-man didn't look all that old. Dex reckoned he could be anywhere between forty-five and seventy. By now several dozen people, mostly tourists and young adult males, had formed a ring around the huge bodybuilder. They gave Dex plenty of room, but nearly every one of them were recording his image in some fashion. Dex was used to it. His brain just filtered them out. It was human nature, driven to utter fascination by all things "different". "Are you spying on me? How much did you pay that paparazzo dude to take my photo and pose as a mail man?" Dex's muscles began to swell further as his anger surfaced once again. Miraculously his suspenders still held. "I don't employ photo-journalists as a rule, Dexter. May I call you Dexter?" "Fuck you, gramps," Dex barked before turning around to leave. The same police officer from earlier stood near the burgeoning crowd. He watched the scene intently. The people boundary began to disperse to give the muscle giant room to leave. "Please don't walk away from me, Dexter. I only wish to help. Why did you approach this fountain if you weren't made curious by the photographer earlier?" This grabbed Dex's attention and held it in a grip from which not even he could escape. He did a 180-degree turn and walked back part of the way towards the fountain. His chest heaved hugely, suspender straps straining against the rise of so much chest muscle. The string top was almost completely eradicated. He looked massive... beautiful, a sandy-haired Jesse Metcalfe crossed with Zac Efron. Such a facial mix set on a huge muscle-body was a one in a billion occurrence, several billion, even. But it still wasn't enough for him. Not by a mile. "So, he does work for you. You'd better fess up to what you're about, Mister, or you'll be eating a fire hydrant instead of that banana." Dex's body was flushed with anger which fueled an overall increase in muscle mass as blood and adrenaline swelled his muscle fibers to near-bursting point. People nearby gasped at the sight of such a big man swelling up with further muscle mass. "I mean you no harm, Dexter. Of that you can be assured. As to how I know you... well... for now let's just say that I have your best interests at heart. As you grow bigger... and I'm certain you will... the world will come to accept you less and less. Look around you at the gathering you've attracted. And a lone police constable, too. Unless you keep that temper of yours under control, this could easily turn into something best avoided." The man stood up again, but only to toss the uneaten banana into the nearest bin. "Turns out I'm allergic to potassium," he revealed by way of a comic aside to everyone but Dexter. Total pantomime stuff. Dex quickly grew tired of this. "I'm listening," Dex said simply. "Alas, I'm done talking... for now. Let me give you my card. I really must get to another appointment post haste." The man began to make his exit, across the street to a waiting limousine. The copper would run a check on the plates. Routine stuff. Everything would check out. Banana man was a ghost in the system, it seemed. "Wait a sec, I need to know what this is all about!" Dex's voice was a booming one. Pigeons nearby stopped picking at scraps in the street and took to the wing en masse. Elsewhere a kid's balloon popped, and a pregnant woman's waters broke. The woman's husband began to panic and called for assistance. Fortunately, the police officer, no longer interested in a giant nearly naked bodybuilder, was on hand to render assistance. A strange day, indeed. Dexter stared at Banana man's business card for far longer than he needed to. There was very little on it, just the initials "W L", followed by a phone number. He decided to go home, take a shower, then head to the gym. Nothing like a workout to preoccupy a troubled mind. He started walking... strutting muscle. People still stared in droves. They always stared. Part 3 It wasn’t the first time that his fob key had been rejected at a gym turnstile. He knew the drill. Stare hard enough at the desk clerk until question marks pop out of your head and steam shoots out of both ears. “I’m sorry, Dex. Rufus was pretty explicit about the instructions he left,” said Jeff the hunky clerk, hoping to high hell that the biggest bodybuilder ever to squeeze sideways through the doors to this particular muscle-building convenience wouldn’t take his frustrations out on the messenger. Jeff could bench 650lbs for 12 reps in a controlled situation, but it was a different matter altogether when 650lbs of hyper-muscle charged at you in a flying rage with intent to rearrange every bone in your body. “This can’t happen today. Not with the kind of day I’m having. Buzz me in, Jeff,” Dex insisted. Breathing faster than usual, his mighty chest heaved up and down, in and out, throwing extra inches his way. His suspenders would not hold for much longer. There was no one else in the gym lobby at this time. Maybe that was for the best, should those suspenders fly off suddenly in an erratic pattern with the potential to knock out eyeballs. “You owe Rufus a grand for the damage you did to the equipment last week. You’re too strong for the place now. He said not to let you in until he sees some green. So please, no trouble, yeah? I need this job, Dex.” Jeff cautiously placed a finger next to a panic button discreetly positioned where Dex couldn’t see it. He hoped he wouldn’t have to push it. “And I need a workout, Jeff. I’ll ask you one more time... buzz me the fuck in.” Dex’s voice had become a growl. His anger was about to boil again. It was becoming more and more difficult to keep his rage under control. Lifting weights helped a lot. But now he was denied even that privilege. “Sorry, Dex. I can’t go against the boss’s wishes. I can call him on the phone if you like.” Jeff was a very strong bodybuilder, but he was a dwarf compared to Dexter Rhodes. Anxiety began to take hold like a bitch. “Huh... forget it. He hasn’t even got the balls to be here when I call in. Fuckin’ wuss. I’ll see him in my own time. Thanks for nothing, Jeff!” With nothing more to say on the matter, Dex vacated the building, much to Jeff’s relief. Of course, Jeff would have to let his boss know that Dex had been in. What he didn’t know was that although Dex left the gym, he didn’t go very far. Dex waited almost an hour for Rufus’ SUV to pull into the parking lot. Rufus had been a champion bodybuilder in his day. Now in his sixties, he was still in great shape for his age. But it was no secret that he was selling all kinds of performance enhancers under the counter to help his ailing business stay afloat. Dex waited a few more minutes until he was sure that Rufus was in his office. Then he returned to the parking lot, specifically to the private corner of the lot reserved for staff vehicles. It was around the side of the building. Rufus always parked in the same spot, so that he could keep an eye on his beloved motor from the small window to his office. Dex wasn’t sure how much an SUV weighed, but it felt near weightless to him as he hefted it off the tarmac and pressed it effortlessly above his head until his arms locked straight. With a mighty grunt he tossed it with two hands as easily as a footballer would a soccer ball during a throw-in. Fortunately, Rufus was doing a little cocaine in the small bathroom off his office proper when the vehicle struck home, otherwise he’d have been killed instantly. The fright of the huge off-roader taking out an entire wall to his office and pretty much destroying everything within, however, caused him to inhale too much coke far too quickly. It triggered a seizure there and then. By the time the paramedics and police arrived, the ex-bodybuilding champ was already in a coma. By 5pm that evening an APB calling for Dexter Rhodes’ arrest meant that every cop in the city would be out looking for him. He couldn’t go home. He didn’t have a phone on him. Sonny would be worried as hell, despite their bad exchange of words earlier. “I should turn myself in,” he mouthed aloud from a safe vantage point atop an apartment block on the outskirts of the city. These days he could propel himself Hulk-style over inhuman distances. Scaling a twenty-story building took just a few leaps and bounds, using windowsills and extractor-fan casings as hand grips and footholds. On the top floor of this block of apartments, his friend and fellow stripper Giancarlo lived with his boyfriend Rafael. Both were currently out of town. Dexter knew this, and so gaining access to the apartment via the fire escape was no problem to a superhuman muscle-freak. He suddenly had a place in which to lay low. There was no phone in the apartment, but there was a payphone in the corridor directly outside. “I need a coin for the phone. Could you help me out?” Dexter standing in an apartment block corridor meant that anyone coming or going simply couldn’t pass unless he pressed himself against a wall. He spoke to a drag queen, half-in, half-out of his outfit for the evening. Was he going to work, or coming from? Did it really matter? “For you, handsome, you can have all the cookies you want... but the cream you gotta pay for,” said the queen. Now what in fuck did that mean? “Have you got a coin or not? I need to make an urgent phone call.” Dex ground his teeth and tried to keep calm. He didn’t have time to be toyed with. “Only if I can kiss all those enormous, beautiful muscles of yours, hombre.” The queen winked at Dex in that exaggerated way that queens sometimes do. He wasn’t very good at it. One wink and off came his stick-on eyelashes. “How about I bend you over so hard, you’ll be sucking your own dick for a week,” was Dex’s exasperated but somewhat colorful threat. The queen relented, took some coins out of her purse, and threw them at the bodybuilder. “I can already do that, bitch. Now go call yo’ mamma and tell her you missed out on the best blowjob you’ll never have.” The queen slinked off back to wherever it was she liked to slink to. Dex wasted no further time calling Sonny: “Hey... it’s m---” “Where the hell are you? The police were here, asking me questions. I didn’t know what to tell them. Fuck it Dex, you’re all over the news.” Sonny sounded frantic with worry. “I... um... lost control. Rufus barred me from the gym. The rage I felt, Sonny. I couldn’t help myself. Did the news reports say anything about... well... you know?” Dex felt that kind of dread we all do just before hearing something we’d be better off not knowing. His throat went dry as kindling. “The news didn’t say much. Just that the alleged target of your attack, gym owner Rufus Boyd, is in intensive care. He’s in a coma, Dex. Because of you. If he dies... well, I don’t have to spell it out for you.” An awkward silence passed between them for a few long seconds. “Where are you? Speak to me for fuck sake,” Sonny’s voice was cracked with emotion. He broke down, which was enough to set Dex off as well. His bottom lip quivered whilst his tear ducts began to swell. “If I tell you, you’ll have to tell the cops, Sonny. If you don’t know, then you have nothing more to tell them, right? I need to lay low while I figure out what to do next.” “How about turning yourself in? Where will you go? You’re wanted by the police as the main suspect in an attempted homicide. Where can a man that looks like you expect to hide anyway? Please, Dex... do the right thing and don’t prolong this and make things worse for yourself. I... I... love you... so much.” Another short silence. Then: “I love you too. I might see if my father is willing to help.” Dex wiped tears out of his eyes with the back of his hand, but one managed to evade him. It dripped off his masculine, chiseled chin and onto his enormous pec shelf, where it then proceeded to forge a path downward over the beautiful, swollen curvature of his left pectoral muscle. The muscle-tit immediately contracted, as though it had been touched by an electrical current. As if hewn from the flesh by a master sculptor’s chisel, deep striations were suddenly carved across both pecs, one of which rapidly sucked up the escaping teardrop. “Are you crazy? If he didn’t want to know you before... he’s hardly going to be interested in coming to your aid after what happened.” “I have to try. If anything, I’m going to need bail, and a good lawyer. I might get him to do the right thing.” “And if he doesn’t. Are you going to start tossing more cars?” “I love you, Sonny. More than life itself... more than bodybuilding,” said Dex, and hung up. Only part of that admission was true. At this moment in time, the greatly troubled behemoth didn’t know which part was. *** He worried that the drag queen from earlier might learn of his crime and report his whereabouts to the police. He had to get to his father, but home was on the other side of the country. “I’ll give muscle shows in exchange for places to hole up,” he decided, as he freshened up in Giancarlo and Rafael’s ridiculously small bathroom. Dex could hardly turn full circle in the cramped confines of the tiny room. Still, he just about managed to splash warm water from the sink all over his muscles and junk. Despite all that happened, he still got hard looking at himself in any mirror. The mirror over the sink was large enough to cater to an average-sized man’s needs, but because of Dex’s height and awesome upper-body width, his pecs completely filled the mirror. He bounced them vigorously, squeezing them with sheer will alone, until they broke into roughly similar-sized sections separated by striations deep enough to hide change in... a lot of change. “This isn’t how it should be playing out for me. Suddenly everything’s gone to shit. How can I grow my amazing muscle-bod if everything’s gone so wrong?” Dex grew super-hard when he tried to perform a double biceps pose, but there simply wasn’t enough room in the bathroom. He went into the bedroom where the couple had a decent-sized full-length mirror on the inside of a closet door. Completely naked, Dex began to blast out pose after pose, each movement designed to show him at his most muscular and beautiful. He was huge. A bodybuilder his size got horny far too much. His libido was hyper-charged, and even though he’d had sex only that morning, his balls felt like they had a months-worth of jism in them. Fully naked, and completely erect, Dex’s cock was the size of - if not longer and thicker than - an average man’s forearm. It slammed against the bricks of his ab wall with a most satisfying thud. The mushroom head was already shiny from precum that began to leak from it like resin from the wound of a tree. He touched the viscous bead with a finger, which he then brought to his lips to taste. The flavor of his raw manliness further excited him. He began to growl like a threatening wild animal. He brought fists to his sides and fanned out his lats into a vast spread, puffing up his chest and pecs simultaneously, and he marveled at how his upper body seemed to triple in size. Precum now began pouring down the shaft of his cock, and he wished that Sonny was here to collect it in his mouth, to hold it there before bringing his lips up to his lover’s so that the precum he’d saved could cement their kiss together with even greater degrees of man-lust. “Gotta get bigger. BIGGER!!!!!!!!! IT MUST HAPPEN!!!!!” ********************************** Clearly this story was meant to continue, but no further chapters were added. It's disappointing, but let's frame it as an opportunity to imagine where things would go from here. I'm sure Dex would find a way to continue his growth, and it would be magnificent. I'm torn between wanting him to get his anger under control vs. wanting to see him fuck shit up with his gigantic body and incredible strength. He's only nineteen, and life is a journey, right? It would be understandable if the power went to his head and he made a few more "mistakes" before getting himself under control with the help of his faithful lover, Sonny. ~ Fallen Away
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Here's another blast from the past written by Lorus for the old forum and saved in my private collection of erotic gems. I'm reposting it here with the author's permission. Mike Hugeman was mentioned in BOOM!, the short story I reposted earlier, so I thought it would be good for readers to know who he is. No one who meets the Hugeman ever forgets him. I certainly haven't. The story has eight episodes followed by a teaser for a sequel. I will post all of them in the same thread. MIKE HUGEMAN SUPER-POWERED MUSCLE WHORE by LORUS Episode 1 The room shook from the force of Ken Preston having the fuck pounded out of his cute bubble-ass. It was his birthday, this day, and he’d used the money he’d gotten from his parents to hire the Hugeman for an afternoon, rather than put it towards his new car. The greatest gay whore in the entire city of Stillbrook didn’t come cheap either, considering he charged five hundred dollars an hour. Not everyone could afford him, but Ken had been building up to this for an entire year of scrimping and saving, deciding that if he was going to lose his virginity, then he was going to do it in style, with the best dick in the world impaling him along its incredible length. “Oh God, this is fucking... ugh... amazing. Don’t...ugh... want it to stop!!!!” Ken was face down on the bed, knees dug into the sheets so that his angelic, heavily lubricated ass pointed upwards. Mike Hugeman, the most super-huge, awesomely massive mega-bodybuilder in the world, rode into the youth with all the experience his craft would ever provide him. He was super-hung, sporting a dick that was a solid eighteen inches long when fully hard. It was thick, too, thicker than a beer can. Given that this was Ken’s first time having sex of any kind, Mike was surprised at just how well he took his meat, imagining the kid probably practiced every day with dildos of ever-increasing dimensions. He loved his work, and was proud of his physical accomplishments, often posing and flexing his enormously pumped muscles during the fucking of his clients. He was versatile, too, and would often grant his customers many of the requests they made of him. Ken was new to this, sure. He would be exhausted afterward, which suited Mike. He had to get to the gym within the hour. It was leg day, and his wheels needed an intense workout. He’d already made the kid shoot his load just by bicep-flexing five minutes after arriving at the dilapidated hotel room. He was used to better surroundings, but reckoned the kid was on a tight budget. Besides, he’d had cockroaches for spectators before, and had fucked in worse places than this. The kid was inexperienced, but his balls were big and round and held a lot of jizz. He would bring him to another incredible orgasm before the hour was up, after which any sex Ken would ever have in his life after this would never match up to the ride he got from the Hugeman. “Take it all in... all of my massive muscle-meat, you little twinkster, yeah fuckin’ moan and scream the Hugeman’s name, ugh yeah!” The bed took as much of a pounding as Ken did, for it groaned under Mike’s huge weight, which was getting close to six hundred pounds, since he’d really thrown himself into his beloved bodybuilding. He loved lifting and he loved fucking. You could say that he lived for these pastimes and nothing else. He was well-known in his native Stillbrook and was totally out about his whoring and his desire to get bigger and stronger. No other gay whore in the city could make the kind of money Mike made, so it could be said that he was the king of his hill, with fuck all in the way of competition. But that was soon to change, along with his life, forever. Meantime, he brought the twinkster to a howling orgasm once again and flared his lats in triumph as his organ, gorged on blood and pumping for all it was worth, penetrated Ken over and over, hurting him in throes of awesome ecstasy from which the eighteen year old hoped he would never recover. Usually, Mike was wider than most doorframes, loving how he had to squeeze sideways just to get in and out of rooms. When he flared his lats it seemed like his body got wider still. Coupled with the rush of his orgasms, his energy levels would peak, and his muscles spring erect and huge. When he flared his lats during ejaculation, he was at his biggest and widest, and the skin across his back groaned in defiance of his increase in size, almost to the point of splitting apart and causing him injury. But it never did. He was strong as an ox... hell... he was strong as a dozen oxen. Ken’s time was almost up. Mike had been pacing himself and could have climaxed long before now. In truth he had a hyperactive sex drive and could easily be ready to orgasm again just two or three minutes after cumming, and his tennis-ball-sized gonads acted rapidly when it came to replenishing their jizz stocks. “Fuck me to death”, pleaded Ken, but Mike would never do that. Despite his ruggedly handsome looks and tough-guy persona, he was pretty much a nice 22-year old Italian American, with only an occasional short fuse, who still found time to visit his Sicilian mama for the best home-cooked pasta in all of Creation. He often joked to his friends that it was his mama’s cooking that was to blame for his enormous muscle-growth. In all honesty, the hunk had no idea why nature had singled him out with such an incredible ability to grow a huge, hulking muscle-bod. He loved getting larger, showing up at get-togethers and causing his friends to gawp in disbelief at how much larger he’d become since they’d last seen him. This got him thinking about the gym, now, and satisfying his other voracious appetites for the good things in life. It was time to blast the twinkster out of it. He gripped the sides of the bed as he gave one final lunge into Ken, his body tensing as it hardened into a seizure of ejaculation. A gushing torrent of creamy spunk erupted from Mike’s eighteen-incher, and he positively adored cumming inside his clients. He didn’t care about disease, for it was impossible to find condoms to fit his gigantic whore’s dick, and his doctor was astounded by the fact that having had unprotected sex with more than four thousand paying clients since he’d started out at just sixteen years of age, that he hadn’t once picked up an STD. He really was a superman in every sense of the word, with a superb immunity to disease that was unprecedented. Ken screamed his loudest as the Hugeman ravaged his hole, pumping a massive load of cum into his body. Even after pulling out of him Mike continued to spurt cum all over his newest client. More and more of the steaming cream soiled Ken and the bed they rode on. Mike then grabbed hold of Ken and firmly turned him around on the bed, so that he was facing up. The look of sheer pleasure on the youth’s face was a sight to behold, and his gaping mouth seemed hungry for Mike’s elixir. He did not disappoint and eagerly shot more and more cum, this time allowing Ken to swallow a great deal of it. “God, it seems I can cum more and more as I get bigger,” Mike bragged and allowed Ken to take his fill. Finally exhausted, Ken slipped into a satisfied slumber, spread-eagled on a grimy bed, and drenched in the Hugeman’s spunk. “My work here is done,” said Mike, and muscle-strutted into the ensuite bathroom to take a shower. The plumbing groaned and spluttered as he lathered himself up with the shower gel from his kit bag. As it was summer, he seldom wore a shirt when he was out in public because he simply loved to show off his gigantic muscle-bod. He was a regular sight on the streets, posing for all he was worth, sometimes allowing guys to come up and touch his thickly-veined muscles, but only if they had cold hard cash for the privilege. Mike Hugeman never gave anything away for free. It simply wasn’t his style. He decided to get ready for the gym here in the hotel room, which didn’t take long. He’d arrived wearing only stretch-denim jeans, his upper body glistening from a mixture of sun-tan lotion and baby oil. Now he placed the jeans in his kit bag and pulled on a sexy pair of black and blue striped spandex workout shorts that did little to tone down the massive bulge his cock and balls formed at their front. He couldn’t wait for it to be larger, too, for it seemed that his cock grew another inch for every fifty pounds of muscle he put on. “Fuckin’ HUGE,” he declared as he bounced the massive shelf of his pecs up and down for a couple of minutes as he dried his ravishing black hair with a hairdryer. He was completely beautiful and loved how his father’s looks married so well with the Italian in him. He’d once been told he looked like a cross between a young John Travolta and Robert Redford. He agreed with this comparison, but reckoned he was many times more handsome than the two actors in their youth. Mike got more and more beautiful with each passing day. He had sparkling blue eyes set beneath a confident brow that complimented his rugged, square jaw-line beautifully. He had full, pouting lips, the bottom larger than the top one, and when they parted to form a smile he had perfect white teeth. He always maintained thick, designer stubble which went well with the curly black hair on some of his chest, which he never shaved. He loved having a lot of hair on his front, and he especially loved how his chest hair tapered down to a fuzzy treasure trail that formed a pleasurable tongue’s highway between his chest hair and his thick but trimmed pubic tuft. At the special request of some of his regular customers, he never shaved his armpits, and the dark bushy growth he had in them was so beautiful, merely lifting his arms and flashing his pits was enough to drive some of his customers to complete, frenzied orgasm. It was time to leave. He sprayed himself with sexy cologne that enhanced his natural masculine musk and flexed some more in the mirror before helping himself to the cash the twinkster left beside the bed. There was a business card sticking halfway out of Ken’s wallet, not that it was any of Mike’s business. But curiosity got the better of him and so he looked at it. And then he got mad... very mad. Episode 2 The sensation that he was no longer asleep, but instead floating mid-air in a slight summer breeze, brought Ken Preston shrieking back to consciousness. He was no longer spread-eagled on a cum-sodden bed, or even in the hotel room, for that matter. Mike Hugeman had taken him up the fire escape to the roof of the hotel. Somewhat maliciously, the massive muscle-whore dangled him over the side, holding him only by his right wrist, like a small child would carelessly carry around a beaten-up old teddy. Beneath him was a twelve story drop that would surely kill him were the Hugeman to let go. “What are you doing to me?” Fear had caused Ken to urinate but thank goodness nothing else came out of him. This didn’t make sense. Why had Mike taken him up to the roof of the hotel? What had Ken done to deserve such a fate? The giant muscleman got to the point somewhat gruffly. “Why do you have an UltraZen business card in your wallet?” In the hands of the Hugeman, Ken Preston hardly weighed anything at all. He leaned out over the edge as far as he could extend his bull-strong arm, causing Ken to kick and dance in mid-air as he tried desperately to get closer to the roof. “I don’t... don’t know what that is, Mike. Puh-pleeeese, let me back in. I’ll pay you more money, I swear. I’ll cash in my college fund.... just please let me...” “That wasn’t the answer I expected, you little bastard. Shit, I think my fingers are losing’ their grip.” Mike feigned a worried look as he pretended to lose hold of the terrified teen. Then, ever so audaciously, Mike ripped off his spandex shorts, causing his dick to spring forth like a striking rattle snake. It instantly grew super-hard and began to ooze copious amounts of precum. He brought Ken in a bit, flipped him around and rammed his ass with his dick, but only halfway along its length. Then he stood perched on the edge of the roof, so that Ken was now once again dangling, held in place by the power of the Hugeman’s cock alone. “Look, mama, no hands,” Mike goofed, and imagined his dick growing bigger and bigger whilst impaling Ken and pushing him ever further from the edge of the roof. To emphasize just how in-control he was of this situation, Mike shot a massive bicep pose, cranking up his guns from their cold size of 32 inches around, to a staggering 42 inches. Whilst Ken quaked in fear on the end of his monster dick, the Hugeman kissed each of his biceps, flexing them harder and harder, forcing more and more blood to distend his veins, bulging them outwards like thick, ropy cables. “Pity you can’t see this from your position, twinkster. You’re missing one hell of a show,” Mike boasted, marveling at how monstrously huge and powerful his guns were becoming. Every day it seemed that he’d grown a little. He was constantly in awe of just how massive he was. But he was never satisfied with his gains. He wanted more and more size, strength, incredible beauty, and unbeatable power. He began to contract the muscles in his groin, causing his dick to bob upwards, still with the terrified young man impaled on it. “Hey this is a great workout for my dick muscles. You must weigh about one-fifty. Hell, I could perch two more of you on my hot super-cock, and still bounce it upwards. I’m just so goddam fucking huge and powerful. I’m so ultra-fucking-gorgeous. But I don’t like to be fucked with. I won’t ask you again, what the fuck is an UltraZen card doing in your wallet?” Sobbing fitfully, Ken was as truthful as he could be. “It’s my dad’s wallet... his spare one. I luh-lost my own a while buh-back... so he gave me his one. It muh-must be his cuh-card.” In the street below, a curious crowd had begun to gather. The Hugeman considered what Ken said, and after a minute decided to let him in. He placed the crying birthday boy down on the rooftop and stood towering over him, his body heaving with power in every sinew and fiber that made him so amazing. He flared his lats somewhat threateningly, but in truth posing helped him to think clearly. “Hmm, you could be telling the truth. You seem honest enough. But if your father works for those crooked bastards then I’m going to fuck him harder than I fucked you.” It was a vow which Mike promised to keep. He went to his kit bag and pulled out a spare pair of shorts which he quickly put on. They were grey in color and immediately a precum stain formed in them, but Mike didn’t care. He was just minutes away from causing so many guys in the locker room of Joel’s Gym on Church St to make with their own precum. “I hardly see my dad, ‘cos he’s always working. I think they may be clients of his. He’s in advertising. That’s all I know, Mike. I swear.” Ken was still crying. Mike suddenly felt bad. He pulled a clean towel out of his bag and gave it to Ken to dry his tears with. “Sorry about that. I guess I got carried away. UltraZen tried to recruit me into their organization a couple of years back. They offered me a free health assessment and free membership to their ultra-modern super-gym. But all they really wanted was a sample of my tissue to experiment with. They think I’m some kind of mutant, ‘cos I can grow so big. A mutant, can you fucking believe it?” Ken now understood why the Hugeman had flown off the handle. But the experience still had him rattled. “For what it’s worth, I wasn’t gonna drop you, twinkster. And even if I had, I could easily have leaped down to ground-level to catch you before you hit the concrete.” Smiling the most beautiful smile Ken had ever seen on any man, actor, supermodel, athlete or bodybuilder, Mike did a side chest pose and hefted up his medicine ball-sized pectorals, beefing them up to super-striated status. His chin immediately became lost in the meat of his upper pecs, creating the illusion that his head was about to be devoured by his muscle-tits. He couldn’t wait to inflate these babies through further workouts. He really was obsessed with his bodybuilding and obsessed with himself. “I deserve a free session for what you did, Mike. It was cruel of you.” Fear and upset rapidly began to give way to anger. Ken had every right to be angry. Mike thought about this. He guessed the kid was right. He dug into his bag to return his five hundred bucks. “No – keep the money. I meant another session, on the house, of course. Or I’ll tell the cops what you did to me.” “Hmmm, Hugeman in the State Pen for attempted murder. Lots of jailhouse ass for me to pound. Communal showers and I heard they’ve got one of the best gymnasiums in the state. I could get really fucking HUGE in jail, not that any cell could hold me.” Mike scratched his gorgeous stubbly chin as his mind set off to explore such a fantasy. In jail he could be worshipped far more intensively than in normal life. But on the other hand, he’d miss his mama’s pasta. Nah, it was best to keep on the right side of the law. “Blackmail doesn’t suit you, twinkster. But you’ve got yourself a deal. One free session it is. But not right now, ‘cos I have to get to the gym to beef up further. You can come by my place tonight at 9pm. I live at Pinewood Heights on Reginald and Main, Apartment 12, on the top floor. I promise not to dangle you from my balcony. I usually do webcam hulk-outs at that time, but tonight, for you, I’ll make an exception.” That said, the Hugeman leaped into the air and out from the edge of the rooftop. In a single bound he was across to the adjacent building, coming down heavily with a mighty stomp powerful enough to loosen every tile on the ceiling of the rooms below. He chuckled to himself, delighting at how huge and hulking he was. Suddenly the unexpected happened. The force of his connection with the second rooftop was enough to jar the body of the peeping Tom who’d been observing his antics through binoculars. The guy was dressed in combat fatigues, but he seemed too fat to be a real soldier. He staggered drunk-fashion out from behind an extractor fan assembly and puked up his McDonald’s lunch all over his boots. “What the fuck? Were you spying on me you fat fucking pervert? I’ll break you in half for that. The Hugeman never gives it away for nothing.” Fuming, Mike snatched the binoculars from the peeping Tom and crushed them into tiny bits of broken glass, metal, and plastic. He felt like ripping out the extractor fan unit and using it to beat the living crap out of the fatty. He was strong enough to do it, too. He thought about the prison fantasy again. “Puh-please... don’t hurt me,” the slob in camouflage pleaded. On a hot day like this the smell of expelled stomach acids soon became unbearable. Mike wasn’t hanging around. He was going to charge this pervert for the privilege of watching him perform on the twinkster, and so he grabbed him by the scruff of his fatigues and searched through his pockets for a wallet. He found it without any trouble. It bore the motif of UltraZen. Mike’s blood began to boil. He flared red in the face and puffed himself up to a massively muscular rage. He soon forced a confession out of the peeping Tom, whose name turned out to be Lenny Simmons. Mike listened to everything he had to say: “They hired me to watch the boy. I slipped the business card into his wallet when he dropped it at McDonald’s before meeting you. It was meant to get your attention. After the kid left the hotel I was to take him out with a tranquilizer dart and drive him to an abandoned warehouse at the docks – unit 108. There the kid would have your jizz extracted from him. What they do with it after that is none of my beeswax” Mike needed to flex while he thought about this. He pushed out a crab pose that caused his muscles to striate massively, bunching together with almost electrical ferocity. Like the comic book Hulk, anger seemed to inflate Mike lately, something he was curious about. If he could make an actual ability of this, then he could will himself far huger whenever it pleased him to. He was getting turned on, too, and his second pair of shorts began to part at the seams as his cock, once again, stood to attention. The wet bulge inflating in his crotch was enormous. Simmons couldn’t take his eyes off it. He wasn’t gay but his contact at UltraZen had given him a dossier on Hugeman, and the gigantic bodybuilder had fucked straight guys before, just because it suited him to. The shorts would not withstand a full erection, not when he was this angry, boiling blood surging through every last inch of him. “Get the fuck off this rooftop, Simmons. And don’t contact UltraZen under any circumstances. Your driver’s license was in your wallet, so I know where you live. Think I’ll be holding on to that for insurance. I’m going to pay a visit to that warehouse. If you warn them I’m coming, I’ll pound that house of yours into rubble, with you in it. Got that?” When the Hugeman spoke, he had to be heeded. Simmons, his fat lips blubbering, hastily made an exit. Mike set off towards the Stillbrook docks, his shorts just about managing to keep his junk in place. It had been a long time since he’d been this angry about something. The word “UltraZen” was enough to drive him into an indignant frenzy. What further enraged him was that he might miss his workout for the day. And for that he was going to make UltraZen pay dearly. Episode 3 For a henchman, Artie Pimms asked way too many questions. UltraZen’s Arkadian Stoat tugged at his electrically air-conditioned black mackintosh and tried to remain calm and sane. In truth, he was failing at keeping Pimms from grating on his nerves. If something interesting didn’t happen in the next 60 seconds, he was going to have to cause a public nuisance, simply to keep from going around the bend. Pimms shifted nervously from one foot to the other, surveying his surroundings with an almost pathological level of suspicion. It was abandoned, here at the docks, the perfect place for UltraZen to spring its trap. “Do you think it was a good idea having Lenny place the card in the kid’s wallet, boss?” It was Pimms’ umpteenth question in several minutes. Stoat wanted to kill the obsequious troll in man’s clothing. How in all the cosmos did these “inbreeds” make it onto the company payroll anyway? The mind just boggled. “For the third time, already, I planned it this way, Pimms. The Hugeman has a short fuse and hates all things UltraZen. How else could I get him to come here? Simmons is about as stealthy as a rhino with whooping cough. He’s almost as bad as you for messing things up. Stillbrook’s arrogant muscle whore will be here, and soon. I guarantee it. Now do me a favor and check your weapon. You may need it. And do it quietly!” Stoat adjusted the settings on the electro-blaster he carried with him, making sure it was set for maximum output. He would only get one shot at this. The only way to stop a man as huge and powerful as Mike Hugeman was with an electro-static force-field that could jolt even the most superhuman nervous system into complete but totally reversible shutdown. Positioned out of sight, keeping to the gloom cast by the shadows of some empty packing crates within the spacious sprawl of the virtually empty Warehouse 108, Mike Hugeman would have to possess x-ray vision to notice his adversaries before they noticed him. Stoat silently prayed to St Norris (the Patron Saint of B-List Bastards) that this wasn’t the case. Within minutes there was a loud, thunderous sound of something heavy hitting the concrete outside. Nearby car alarms sounded as the impact set them off. Young ladies screamed in terror, but then seeing it was the Hugeman, began to get moist for him and wish he wasn’t gay, oh and er... yeah... a couple of dogs barked or something. The Hugeman was really pissed off as he tore through the docklands looking for Unit 108. This was causing him to miss his workout. He got madder and madder, and this seemed to make him get a little bigger, which wasn’t a bad thing, he reckoned. But his shorts were about to disintegrate from the immense pressure his inflating glutes and erecting dick caused by pushing outward in opposite directions. When he found Unit 108, he smashed through the large slide-doors, pulverizing metal and wood and whatever else the fucking things were made of, the force of which made him totally lose his shorts. He didn’t care. Looking down at his massive whale-dick excited and pleased him. But he snorted in a rising rage, thinking that it wouldn’t get to be glorified in the gym today, if the day’s events kept causing him to get sidetracked. “Come out from hiding, you UltraZen bastards,” he boomed, his gargantuan roar powered by an incredible set of lungs. He was getting stronger and stronger. He could feel his body bulging all over. He had to capitalize on this effect, but also clear his head to think clearly. When silence returned to the warehouse’s echoed interior, Hugeman flexed, sweet fuck did he flex, greater than he ever flexed before. He squatted down a little, bending his legs at the knees, so that most of his weight was carried by his shimmering quads. He crabbed down into a most-muscular pose, squeezing his balled fists so tight, he could compress coals into diamonds had he been holding them. This incredible pressure, aided by a snarl that added deep russet tones to his cheeks, sent a shockwave of flexing, bulging superpower throughout his exceptional system. Energy crackled in pulses along his body’s veined super-highway, energizing his circulatory system to hulk up into overdrive. Massive, thick cords pushed out of a 22-inch neck. His body exploded into hyper-muscular relief, with extra inches popping out everywhere, his weight increasing significantly. He couldn’t wait to get this business over with so that he could beat all his lifting records over at Joel’s Gym, with a full retinue of horny, awe-stricken, paying worshippers gathered around him, just the way he liked it. He would have it no other way. He posed and flexed, flexing huger still, and posed until he could think more clearly. He pounded his granite fists together, sending further pulses of shocking power throughout. Growling and snarling – gruffly lauding his bodybuilding superiority with an exceptional nod to superior masculinity – Mike screamed the place down as his glistening, colossal physique bulged more immensely than ever, muscles bulking up so fast, his skin stretched almost to the point of sheer translucence. His definition was mesmerizing. His hulking pecs widened and deepened, and when he bounced them, it took slightly more effort on his part, the mass of the pec-bellies at their greatest so far, so that their momentum seemed more gradual, but no less rhythmic. This pleased him very much, and his hard-on raged with greater impunity. “My God,” Arkadian Stoat gasped from behind the vantage point of crates, then cursing himself for uttering a sound. He wasn’t gay, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate just how much larger Mike Hugeman had become since last their paths crossed. He had failed, before, to secure the genetic samples he craved in order to experiment with Mike’s unique muscle-building properties. UltraZen thrived on defense contracts. Should they patent an elite super-soldier for sale to the highest bidder, they could become a major world power in their own right. Hugeman was the key to mastering this design. And Stoat, as head researcher for UltraZen Industries, was under a lot of pressure to reel in his prize catch. Today he vowed not to fail. Luckily the Hugeman hadn’t heard him make a sound, so caught up was Mike in his flexing and muscle-gaining. With an enormously delta-shaped back bouncing rays of glorious sunlight back through the skylight through which they came, Mike was oblivious to the stealthy, snake-like advances of Stoat, as he carefully eased his way closer to his quarry, the electro-blaster primed and ready to be fired. Stoat would only have one shot at this. He signaled with a nod for Pimms to ready the overhead net conductor. It would fire from a cylinder high above the Hugeman, something that had failed to catch his eye, fortunately for Stoat. So far things were going by the numbers. But still, caution was the only card to play. Mike was overwhelmed by his flexing, and the obsession he had with growing, coupled with the rising strength he felt surging in him. His balls swelled with jizz, and he would have to expend it soon before frustration got the better of him. He began to stroke his huge whale-dick, completely awed that it seemed, now, to be at least an inch and a half longer than it had been earlier, back in the hotel room with Ken Preston. Saint Norris’s Ghost, Stoat mentally gasped, not expecting to get a full sex show from the biggest muscle behemoth the world has ever seen. He was an out and out heterosexual, but if that was the case, why did Stoat feel the front of his trousers getting tight? No, this cannot be. This fucker cannot be turning me gay, he thought, but then lost the run of himself and said the last bit aloud: “I won’t allow it!!!” Hearing this caused the Hugeman to turn around like a whirlwind, just as his cannon dick was about to release its salty torrent. Several life-changing things happened in the space of one and a half seconds. The force of Mike’s massive discharge spewed forth with the pressure of a fire extinguisher, blasting into Stoat across a distance of about twenty feet. Gripped momentarily by his most powerful self-induced orgasm ever, Hugeman was temporarily paralyzed, but that did not matter, for the blast of his jizz knocked Stoat off his feet, sending him sprawling, just as Pimms pressed a button on his remote control, blowing the cylinder above both Hugeman and UltraZen’s head researcher. Stoat fired the ultra-blaster, but something went terribly wrong. Coils of Tesla-like energy arced into the torrent of cum that existed briefly between Hugeman and Stoat, creating a brief circuit through which the gun overloaded. The connection was only a fraction of a second in duration, but the conductor net fell over them both, holding in the charge for a little longer. Dazed and confused, Hugeman rolled around in the net and soon became trapped. Like an idiot, Pimms sprang to help his boss, reaching out to grab his arm where it stuck out from a gap in the net. Stoat writhed in agony as energy danced impishly across his suffering but scrawny frame. As soon as Pimms touched his hand, he absorbed most of the energy, which now siphoned off into him. He was knocked back into the packing crates, smashing through them. He screamed for all of his worth as anomalous energies scorched him... reshaped and rewrote him. Likewise, Stoat was also rewritten to a certain extent. This was a day that would live in infamy, no doubt about it. When the lightning show eventually ended, Mike found the strength to tear himself free of the confining net. He felt weak and he staggered to his feet, his dick now limp and pendulous as it swung from his movements. “Am I... smaller? Oh, please God, please no.” He cleared his head and rubbed his eyes to get them into sharp focus. He looked down at himself... well, his gaze got as far as his pecs and would go no further, for his muscle rack prevented it, it was so bloated and huge. He flexed his forearms and bis, squeezing his balled fists to crank up the flexing to its fullest. He breathed a sigh of relief, for he hadn’t shrunk at all, despite the sapping of his strength. In fact, he thought he might be even bigger. Thinking this quickly energized him and lengthened his dick to a semi-flaccid state. Still a bit groggy from whatever it was his assailant had shot him with, Mike turned to look down at the living mess caught in the net. At first he didn’t recognize the charred, wizened man. Then, as he studied the sooty face a little further: “Arkadian fucking Stoat. I should have known you’d be behind this,” the Hugeman growled. Stoat just moaned something incomprehensible but appealed to the Hugeman to be freed from the net. He poked an even bonier arm through the netting, hoping the giant above him would take pity on an injured scientist. Hugeman scowled and thought about pissing on the little runt. “Puh-please have pity on me, Hugeman. You can see I’m beaten, finished. I know when I’m licked. At least help me to my feet so that I can check on poor Artie. I think he took the worst of it.” Mike thought it over and bounced his pecs so as to clear some space in his head. Maybe UltraZen would leave him alone, now that Stoat had seen the new, bigger, and more powerful Hugeman. They simply couldn’t beat him. Stoat looked old, broken down, emaciated. He was no threat to the Hugeman, Mike decided. And so, he extended a huge hand downwards, offering it reluctantly to Stoat. When Stoat touched Mike’s hand, he felt a rush like no other. Although his body didn’t change shape or size, he leeched off a great-deal of Mike’s incredible power. Mike, towering above the scientist, felt his legs turn to jelly, weakening to the point of being unable to stand under his own power. In contrast, Stoat snapped himself to a standing position in a trice, almost squeezing the life out of the Hugeman. Instincts that were new to the older man coursed through him, now, and with the merest tug of his arm, wrenched the Hugeman into the air, with force enough to expel him upwards, higher, and higher. He crashed out through the roof of the warehouse, soaring ever higher into the summer sky. Stoat watched it happen, marveling at what he had just done. But how could this be? He decided there was time for analysis later. For now, he just enjoyed the worried squeal from Hugeman, gradually fading as distance claimed him. “Sto...aaaaaa...aaaaat!!!!!!!!!!” “No, dear boy, from now on I won’t be going by that name. Oh no...” He looked at his burnt hands and marveled, wonderingly, at the crackling, residual static charge that arced between his clawed fingers, energy that seemed to leech the power out of the most powerful man on the planet. Stoat took a new name and shouted it aloud: “From now on... I will be called... Man Handler!!!!!” To be continued . . .
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I wrote this short-scene a while back as a caption for the following photo. When I wrote this (and other similar content), I was just diving deeper into bodybuilding and how it articulated with my muscle fetish, especially as it relates to domination and submission; and I really got into imagining my ideal D/S dynamic through this captions, informed by my conversations with different admirers/growers/doms at that time. But as with many things, I let it fall to wayside. It wasn't until this week that I started thinking more intentionally about this again. As I continue to work with my coach and enter a lean bulk, I want to draw from this side of my psychosexuality again to really push my limits day in and day out -- after all, bodybuilding is about consistent dedication and effort. But I didn't know where to pick things up again. So it was a happy coincidence when I came across a topic in the general section on the theme of "growth as submission" the same day I decided to browse some of my blog's older posts. This is a quick edit but if folks are receptive and interesting in the themes, styles, etc here, I would be very motivated to follow through with a longer project to dive deeper. The plan would be to explore the progression of this dynamic using the seven deadly sins as a framework. Anyway, anyway, here's Wonderwall (lol). ___ “Sir, must I really pose like this for your friends?” he asked with stink on his face. You'd just finished a group workout. Some pals from out of town wanted to get a quick sweat session in during their visit, so you suggested a local kickboxing class later that afternoon. You knew that this type of exercise wouldn’t enough for your bull – cardio with a little pump is all it was for him, – but you dragged him along anyway. Your friends would appreciate seeing him in action after all. They had ogled over him the time before, privately commenting to you about him in a fluster: “His arms are so big!” “You get to sleep on that chest at night? So lucky!!” “I wish my boyfriend looked that good.” This time around, you had the devilish idea of giving your lusty friends a show, having your bull go through the post-workout posing routine he usually performs in your bedroom. But, you were sure that your friends wouldn’t see the full scope of what this show meant. They were white-collar types more interested in having fun with a side of fitness. Spin or Crossfit classes and brunch white-collar types. So they'd probably see his posing routine as sensual at first -- and who could blame them. Big man in underwear. Simply groundbreaking. Eventually eyes will start to wander, missing the purpose behind each movement. More muscles? What's next. At least if you know your bull. He'll probably be shy and conservative, giving half-hearted flexes at the top of each pose. Amazing to most but practically limp in your eyes. But you’re prepared to push his boundaries today. “Yes I’m serious. Give us a taste of how you’ve been coming along, big guy,” you demand, taking a seat with the rest of your friends chatting in between sips of Gatorade. He gives a shy double-bi towards the mirror, displaying his 19” arms and robust shoulder-chest tie ins. His tank rides over his belly a good hand-width. Your friend Charlene glances over from her conversation and gives a short hoot, “Looking good!” You catch his eyes, glancing down at his torso and legs, his tank and shorts, and back to his face. You nod and mouth “off.” He grimaces and returns a pained expression; clearly he’d rather not. You mouth “off,” again, knitting your eye brows sternly. Begrudging, Bull begins to pull his shorts down and toss them to his side, the tank following. That left him in just your favorite pair of white briefs, nearly every inch of his growing body exposed to strangers. “He’s going to be preparing for a show, guys, so I think it’s best to have get into the spirit.” The rest of your friends turn to look at the curated specimen in front of them. It was hard not too – without the oversized shirt and basketball shorts, his enhanced development was more than evident. You both had been working diligently to thicken up a lot more before dieting down for his contest, putting extra effort into piling more meat onto those delts and traps. You both wanted a bull with a neck worthy of a yoke. Taking a deep breath, he began anew, locking eye contact with you and only you. He hit pose after pose, never breaking sight despite comments being thrown around: “He’s definitely gotten bigger!” "Oh my god, he must eat for an entire family." "That's kinda cool, I guess." He hit a most muscular as his finisher, bringing in his arms tight over his torso and showcasing the fibers and new vascularity over his shoulders and traps – you both noticed that they had begun to swallow up his neck in the last few weeks, especially in this position. “More,” you mouth. He brings his arms in closer, bulging his traps out higher. “More,” you mouth again. His fists clench harder; his eyes begin to glaze over, and you notice his entire body pulse as he brings his muscles to contract even harder. Just for you. He’s beginning to shake from the effort, small veins snaking higher and higher across his chest and neck. You know what he’s thinking, how he’s feeling. He’s been there before with you: I’m a growing muscle bull, growing bigger and bigger because I need to. Let me show you, sir. Let me show you how big I want to be. Please. “And that’s the end!” you say to your friends, motioning to your bull to stop and get dressed. His eyes widen and cheeks redden, immediately turning around to grab his clothes. Scanning their faces, your initial prediction was correct: they don’t get it. Some were looking at their phones; one gave a fake smile, and another continued to look at him with contorted confusion on his face. “He really looked kind of scary for a second,” one whispers to you. Your bull notices this, throwing you a desperate glance. “We’re planning to come in about 10lbs heavier next year too! Maybe 15 of lean muscle, if we work harder.” “Don’t you think that’s too big?” another asks. Your bull approaches the group, half-dressed and drenched in more sweat after his posing; he looks at you, eyes wide with anticipation for how you’re about to respond. “No. I want him bigger. And he likes that too,” you say boldly, giving his shoulder a tight squeeze. Your fingers can’t dig into his meaty delts anymore; they’re harder than before. He reflexively tights his shoulders even more, pushing your fingers out. His cheeks are fiery red. Is that a little guilt you feel? Bull turns to you, your friends, and back to you, speaking through a quivering but excited voice, “Yeah, he’s right. It’s almost an addiction, but better bodybuilding than smoking.” No, that's pride. __________ “You know that once you hit 240, you’re gonna get more comments like that,” you say. He puts down a shaker bottle full of protein and all sorts of supplements alien to you, responding, “yeah, but I’ll get used to it. My current physique is on the edge of sensibility, but posing for them all today and…losing myself…it felt amazing.” “Because your routine was on point?” “No, because I felt like I didn’t care. I was posing for you, even when you pushed me further and I freaked out your girlfriends,” he murmured looking down at his feet. He sighed, throwing a slight smile at you and finishing the rest of his protein shake. “Though to be honest, I think they were busier looking at your boner than my poses towards the end.”
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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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Ok guys, here’s the new story I’ve been working on. It’s of a similar size and scale to my last story "AJ & Noah". It’s told from the point of view of Woody (real name Sebastian Wood), a handsome, sassy, self assured (some might cocky) bodybuilder with a cheeky Instagram persona. Woody attends Montgomery University of Bodybuilding & Fitness; the only school in the world dedicated to turning its students into pro bodybuilders, where lessons include Posing Practice 101, Anatomy & Aesthetics and A History of Bodybuilding. There are a few references/Easter eggs to AJ & Noah and some of my other stories in here for anyone who’s familiar with them! I’ve got my friend @reeddune working on some illustrations too which I’ll be sharing soon. MUSCLE UNIVERSITY One I open my eyes and this feeling of warmth washes over me. I genuinely can’t remember the last time I woke up this happy. I look over to my best friend Emily lying in the bed next to me and she gives me this happy knowing grin. There was nothing particularly extraordinary about last night. Just two friends getting a bit drunk and going to the local gay club. But everything about it was awesome. The atmosphere. The people. And I just want to do it all over again. “How’s the head?” she asks me. I smile and shrug under the duvet of her bed. “I feel fine!” She shakes her head. “I can’t believe how much attention you were getting last night!” I beam back at her. “I’m used to it!” I reply cheekily. Even though I’m actually not. At least not these days. Emily grins and playfully rolls her eyes. “I loved it when that guy asked to feel my biceps!” I say excitedly. Emily giggles. “And then his mate joined in!” she says. “They were so funny!” I turn away from her and look up to the ceiling. God I love this room. This house. This town. Everything here is so … normal. It’s the complete opposite to my life at my own university. And now I feel a sudden pang of sadness at the realisation that none of this is mine. It’s Emily's. This is her room. In her student house. In her university town. And I’ll be going back to my (exceptionally not normal) student life in a few hours time. “I’m just surprised you didn’t meet someone and abandon me like you normally do!” Emily quips, with one eyebrow raised. I look over at her and smirk. “I probably should have done! It’s pretty much my only chance to pull these days!” “Seb, there must be other gay guys at your uni?” I pull a face. “You would think!” It might sound a little crazy, but I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if I was the only gay guy at my university. We stay silent for a while. “Is that club open again tonight?” I ask. She looks at me suspiciously. “Yeah?” I wiggle my eyebrows up and down. “What if I didn’t go back today and we go out again tonight?” What If I don’t go back at all, I think. “Erm … don’t you have an exam tomorrow morning?” I pull a face. “Meh!” Emily grins at me. I know she’d love me to stay another night, but we both know that I’m going to be sitting on that train back to Scotland in a few hours time. I sigh, pull the duvet down and look at the thick, perfectly pumped pecs bulging off my chest. “What do you think, boys? Do you wanna go back to Scotland today? Bounce once for yes, twice for no!” Then I bounce my pecs twice. Emily giggles in response. “The pecs have spoken!” I exclaim. She giddily beams back at me and everything suddenly feels good again. I love who I am when I’m with Emily. I love who I am when I’m here. It’s different to how I am at my own university. I don’t feel like I have to put on a front. I’m not competing with anyone. I can let my guard down. I can relax. I guess (like everything else here) I can be normal. Well, as normal as a sixteen stone bodybuilder with arms twice the size as most lads’ my age can be. A few hours later and we’re at the train station, my holdall thrown over one of my ridiculously broad shoulders. My train leaves in fifteen minutes and I want to get a good seat. As much as I love visiting Emily, the seven hour train journey to get there and back is never exactly fun. “Are you still coming down for your birthday next month?” she asks. “Yeah! Of course!” I can’t imagine spending my birthday at my own university. Jesus. How fucking depressing would that be? A couple walk past us; a boy and a girl. They both stare at me as they do and the girl pulls a funny face and looks at the boy wide eyed. Emily looks at me and we both grin. “Jeez! It’s like no one has ever seen a bodybuilder before!” I say. Emily laughs. “You’re definitely a novelty down here!” Something pulls in my stomach. A desire. This is what I want to be. What I should be. A novelty. A rare thing. Something out of the ordinary. This is what I want all the time. I suddenly feel a heavy sadness that I have to leave. “Do your think your uni would let me transfer down here?” I ask Emily. She gives me a sad smile. I know the answer to that one. “I’m not really sure if they’d be able to match your course!” I roll my eyes and manage to smile. Of course they fucking wouldn’t. No other university in the world would be able to match my course. I’m stuck there for another two and a half years. And then … well then there’s a very good chance that I’ll get to live my dream. It’s one small mercy I guess. The light at the end of the tunnel. The one thing I cling to during my shittiest days. Luckily the train isn’t that busy so I manage to have two seats to myself for the entire journey. On the journey down here two days ago some unfortunate fucker had to sit next to me. Because I’m basically built like a brick shithouse, I was spilling over onto his seat. The poor bastard was squashed up with half of his body hanging out into the aisle. Of course, there are some guys out there who would probably enjoy sitting next to me. Some who’d probably walk over hot fucking coals for a chance to be squashed up against my huge, muscular body in fact. The randy buggers. I divide my journey time up by revising for tomorrow's exam, listening to Spotify, staring at how huge and devastatingly sexy I am in the reflection of the train window (did I mention I’m a bit of a handsome fucker as well as being a two hundred and thirty pounds bodybuilder?) and thinking about how I’m going to spend the evening when I get back to my dorm room. By the way, you heard that right. I live in a shared fucking dorm room. Ugh. Just like the ones you see in all those films set in American colleges. Two beds. Two people. Two complete strangers chosen at random by a computer being forced to share a room. I mean … fucking seriously? My university is probably the only one in the UK that has them. They say it helps the students to bond. Really it’s just a cheaper way of housing us. It’s not like I can live off campus either. Trust me, I would if I could. But it's impossible. Because my university is in the middle of sodding nowhere. I’m complaining, but in actual fact, I’m one of the extremely lucky few first years who doesn't actually share his dorm room. Woo-hoo! My old roommate Craig (who was noisy, messy and had about as much banter as a brick) dropped out a few months ago so I have the whole room to myself. It’s mostly great, though there are times when I find myself getting a bit bored. There’s even been a few times where I’ve suddenly realised that I’m talking to myself. I have no idea what that’s about. Half way through the train journey I go to use the toilet. There’s a big mirror on the wall. Christ, I look huge. I’m always a little taken aback when I see my reflection in a foreign mirror. And this is no exception. My shoulders look ridiculous, my famously thick pecs (at least in the world of online muscle fans) are bulging underneath my plain white t-shirt (you should see them in a vest!) and my arms look straight up fucking monstrous. I guess I’m kinda known for my arms. I don’t mean to sound like I’m bragging, but you should see the size of my biceps. They just fucking explode off my arms when flexed. My triceps are pretty crazy too. I mean, at this point I’m basically just an all round freak. Strangers in the street would probably run away from me screaming if I wasn’t so bloody good looking with it. Which people feel the need to remind me about quite a lot on Instagram. I’m always getting told how handsome I am by random users. And it’s not just on Instagram. I read a crazy comment on a muscle blog once where someone said I wouldn’t look too out of place in one of those American high school films where the hot jock guys always look way too old to be playing teenagers. I kinda loved reading that. Then I started imagining what kind of character I could play. I was thinking an unusually buff, British exchange student all the girls go crazy over but who’s actually secretly gay. Then some big Hollywood producer could snap me up and put me in a Marvel film as a superhero. Or as some mutant freak in the latest X-Men film (no CGI needed). I mess with my brown hair a little, which is getting a bit too long at the top, to restyle it. I turn my head to the side and look at my jawline in the reflection of the mirror. People are always mentioning my jawline on the Internet. Then I wiggle my eyebrows up and down and flash a big, cheesy grin at my reflection. And then I laugh at myself. Because I’m such a fucking knob sometimes. I lift my t-shirt up and HOLY ABS. God, I love my stomach muscles. They really fucking POP. It’s like I’ve got six big cobblestones trapped under my skin and they’re trying to burst out. They’re definitely amongst the best developed and most aesthetic abs of all the lads in my year. An idea pops into my head which I can’t resist following through with. I whip out my phone and take a picture of myself, flexing the bicep muscles in my right arm in the mirror while pulling a funny face. Then I load up Instagram and type a cheeky caption. Me and this bad boy bulging off my arm are on a train back to MU. Everyone keeps staring at me. It’s like they’ve never seen a muscle monster before. Weird! #huge #biceps #watchmegrow #freak4life #hellyeah #sexymonster And BOOM … the post is up and my sexy face and bulging biceps are out there for all the world to see. Or all twelve thousand of my Instagram followers anyway. My chest flutters with excitement at the thought of all the likes and comments that will, without question, soon come flooding in. As I walk (well, more like strut) through the carriage to return to my seat, practically every passenger looks up at me. I clock one guy I’m fast approaching who has his head buried in a book. I cough loudly as I walk towards him and he casually glances up. This comical, shocked expression takes over his face and his eyes look like they’re about pop out of their sockets when he looks at me. Ha! I give my new admirer a mischievous smirk as I strut past his seat. And no doubt half the carriage are now checking out my obscenely huge, round arse which is stuffed into my painted on skinny jeans. When I settle back into my seat I load up Instagram again on my phone. I feel a surge of excitement because (as predicted) the reaction to my latest post is crazy. The likes are going mad and new comments keep popping up. Someone calls me a “super freak” (love it). Another person says I’m “so so handsome”. I get called huge, unbelievable and some dude tells me he wants to get his hands on my biceps. The filthy bugger! I like every comment, and even reply to some. Thanking them, or saying “hell yeah” or “I need to get even BIGGER”. For some comments I just leave an emoji. One gets a winky face, another gets the emoji with the one eye closed and the tongue sticking out (I LOVE that one) and, fuck it, the guy who wants to feel my biceps gets the face blowing a kiss emoji. It’s flirty. It’s cheeky. It’s outrageous. And it’s so fucking ME. I love getting all that attention. I love making people go crazy. And I love turning people on. Knowing that they’re aroused by my huge muscles. God. It’s such a bonkers and powerful thought. I jump in the Uber I’ve booked when I get to my final station. The poor driver looks fucking terrified. As we drive to my campus this unsettling feeling churns in my stomach. This is the worst part about going to visit Emily at her university, or going back to my parents for long weekends or holidays; the horrible feeling I get whenever I have to return. If I were in a better mood, I might give my Uber driver a cheeky flex of my biceps before getting out of the car. Instead I say thanks and reluctantly get out. I pause as I look at the assortment of big brick buildings before me and the surrounding greenery. There’s nothing particularly remarkable about my university campus from the outside. It looks like any middle tier university in the UK. I breathe a deep sigh as I look at the only clue that this is anything but an ordinary university campus - a graphic image of an arm with big, flexed bicep muscles on the side of the Prince House building sitting next to the following words: “MONTGOMERY UNIVERSITY OF BODYBUILDING & FITNESS. MAKING TOMORROW'S TOP BODYBUILDERS.”
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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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Hi everyone. First time poster here. Inspired by the works of Londonboy, Omnipotent, Liftme, and many others. Love super muscle men! So here is my first attempt at a story. There's going to be a lot of world building in this one. Hope you guys enjoy it! Feedback welcome. The Olympian chronicles: Ivan Chapter 1: Who I am… The air felt good on my bare torso as I flew through the sky. The feel of the wind as it whipped over my magnificent physique: bulbous pecs, titanium abs (six-pack), concrete biceps and triceps, and a back that rippled with muscular curvature. Complemented by a light coating of vascularity here and there. Overall I looked like a being the Greek Gods themselves would’ve aspired to be. I came to a rest about thirty thousand feet above my home suburb. My superhuman vision able to see the ground below in perfect detail. Not one square inch I couldn’t easily make out. I simply hovered there. I continued to enjoy the air as it now brushed lightly on my impenetrable skin. I closed my eyes and felt the power that coursed through me, and marvelled at how only a month ago I was human. I opened my eyes and observed the setting sun in the distance. I looked down to see how it illuminated my spectacular body. Every part of me was muscle. Every part of me huge, strong, defined, beautiful, and blemish-free. Always clean, always perfectly groomed, and always with a light tan that only accentuated the curves and solidness of the muscles. I am Ivan, and I am an Olympian. So what is an Olympian exactly? Nobody knows what causes the phenomenon, nor why it ever began in the first place. But Olympians were a part of our reality, and have been so for the last one-hundred and seventy-nine years. Almost every year, without any prior warning, one to four young men (usually one or two, rarely more) will, upon turning twenty, suddenly and dramatically change. In the space of just a few seconds they will, regardless of prior body-type or lifestyle, suddenly transform into massive, immaculate, beautiful, and flawless bodybuilders on the spot. And if that wasn’t enough, they will also possess a plethora of superhuman abilities that extend far beyond what even the likes of Superman, Thor, or even Dr. Manhattan could ever dream of having. To name BUT A FEW: · Superhuman strength (to the point of moving planets effortlessly) · Invulnerability (to date, there is no known way of harming an Olympian) · Superhuman speed (beyond the speed of light of course) · Superhuman senses (all senses) · Superhuman agility, reflexes, coordination, and muscle control · Flight · Heat vision · X-ray vision · Freeze breath (and the ability to blow gale-force winds with ease) · Telekinesis (which breaks down into loads of additional abilities) · Telepathy Again, nobody knows why this happens; it just does. Oh, and before I forget, yes: Olympians are also immortal. The first ones to appear are still looking as though they are twenty years old, despite almost pushing two hundred! Naturally I didn’t take long for the humans who stayed being human to realise that there were now all-powerful, unstoppable gods walking amongst them. Thankfully for them, all Olympians to date have proven to be kind, just, and principled in a positive way. And so, since the dawn of Olympians, human civilisation all over has changed dramatically. The life of a human now revolves around worshipping Olympians, along with living an otherwise normal day-to-day life. But more on that later. So anyway, I’m Ivan. And one month ago to the day I transformed into an Olympian. One second I was an ordinary, unremarkable college student in the middle of a college lecture on psychology, and the next minute I was floating in mid-air above my fellow classmates with a physique that the world’s top bodybuilders spend their whole lives trying to achieve. All around me my classmates, along with the professor, all immediately dropped to their knees and began to bow to me. They fervently whispered prayers, while those closest to me reached for my hover feet and diamond calves in the hopes of being able to feel them. This was followed by every man in the hall pulling out an erect cock and jerking off to the sight of me, while every woman reached a few fingers down their underwear. Overwhelmed, I clumsily shot upwards through the roof and out into the sky. I was a bit panicked by being up so high, and so when I tried to land I ended up creating a crater in the middle of campus. Thankfully no one was hurt. I was also completely naked, as my clothes had been shredded by my rapidly expanding body during the transformation. Once again, every human who could see me began kneeling, bowing, jerking off, fingering themselves, and in general crying out how amazing I was; all because I was an Olympian. Fast forward a month, and here I am levitating thousands of feet above my home. I had largely taught myself how to control most of my main abilities, like flight and strength. I had also given up on wearing clothes for the most part. I was wearing boxer shorts and jeans at the moment, but other than that, I couldn’t find tops that would fit me. Not that it was a problem; Olympians were allowed to be naked in public if they wanted to be. The one change that I was struggling with was how people reacted to me. It’s too much to take in quickly. One minute you’re a scrawny, nerdy, weak little man who’s never played sport, and is still a virgin. The suddenly people are actually bowing to you. Total strangers and people you’ve known your whole life now kneel when you enter a room, or walk (or float) by them on the street. You’re walking around without a shirt, fully aware of it, yet now you have a physique like Arnold or Ronnie Coleman, and not a skinny, acne-covered torso and stick-arms. Now you’re handsome beyond description, and not well below average. People are openly pleasuring themselves to your image, in front of you, and because it’s law no less! It’s just…a lot to come to terms with. I began my descent and soon landed gently in the back garden. Certainly a lot better than the first time I landed here. Let’s just say my dad had to hire a landscaping company to fix the damage. I still live with my dad by the way. He’s been so supportive of me throughout all of this. All the while trying not to give in to his “mortal instincts”. Which is a term used to describe every human’s inherent desire to worship Olympians. “Dad, I’m home” I say, as I close the sliding door behind me. My big bare feet pat loudly as I walk across the tiled floor of the kitchen. I have to keep ducking down as I walk through doorways. 5’7’’ to 6’8’’ is quite the difference. I find my dad in the living room, already kneeling. No doubt doing so the second he heard my voice. “Come on dad, you don’t have to do that. Not for me” I say, feeling a little embarrassed by his display of reverence. “Of course son” says my dad, hastily getting to his feet, “whatever you say”. He’s smiling, somewhat nervously, and constantly looking back and forth over my body, trying to pick a muscle group to settle on. He’s still just standing there. “You can go about your business” I say, “I just came in to say hi. I’m going up to my room for a bit”. “Of…of course” says Dad, “Is there anything you want me to do?” he asks. He nods enthusiastically, excited at the idea of being able to directly obey an Olympian, even if it’s his own son. “Nope. Just go back to whatever it was you were doing”, I say, trying to smile sweetly at him, and ignore the absurdity of the situation. And with that I quickly leave the room. At speeds that no human could ever hope to move at, I shot from the living room to my bedroom upstairs. I promptly took off my jeans and stood there in just my boxers, enjoying the coolness that now caressed my muscular legs. I turned my attention to my full-body dressing mirror and decided to treat myself to another posing show. BOOM! Biceps that easily exceed thirty inched, with a proud vein on each that rested on them like crowns. And my pecs! Hello!!! Bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce. Up and down they went in turn. The entire rest of my being as still as a statue while my magnificent pecs bounced, vibrated, and jiggled in exquisite detail. I stopped the bounce and flexed them both. Their size expanded, and they looked far more like two massive slabs of concrete. I raised my arms again so as to admire my lats and obliques; still in disbelief that I actually had those muscles. On me! On my body! And that’s not to mention the abs. Oh my Olympian! My abs. Like six cobble-stones that made steel feel soft by comparison. I only just managed to master the art of rolling my abs, making waves glide up or down. One minute I could contort them and mush them about by flexing alone, and the next I could tense them into a wall of pure power and strength. Next up were my legs. Quads of the gods, as I liked to call them. Even when I wasn’t tensing or flexing they were still formidably rock-solid. I liked to run my fingers over them, just to feel the different ridges and boundaries of muscle. Next I turned my attention to my calves. Diamonds by shape, yet so much harder, and so much stronger. I shoved an SUV the other day with my foot, and the corresponding calve generated enough power to send it sailing out towards the horizon. I was only trying to dislodge if from a ditch the driver had accidently driven it into. Amusingly though, he wasn’t mad. He immediately bowed and thanked me for displaying my strength to him. He cried for joy when he asked to touch my calves and I said yes. I can still feel his delicate little finger tips tracing lines on them. He came a few times without either of us ever touching his dick. I left him after that. I…I’m not ready to be a god to people just yet. The thought robbed me of my enthusiasm for more flexing. Instead I slumped down onto my bed. This is my life now. This is who I’m going to be. I should be happier (which I am when I’m flexing for myself, jerking off with my new 10’’ cock, or effortlessly curling train engines), but the thought of ruling humans, and being celebrated as superior is still…I don’t know. It’s a big change. There was a knock at the door. “Come in” I said. I telekinetically opened the door to find Dad standing in a somewhat cowered position on the other side. Telekinesis was weird. It’s like I could feel the door with my brain. “Hi son” he said, in a polite tone and with a nervous smile. I knew he had only come up here so that he could be around me, look at me more, and maybe even touch me if I allowed it. It was instinctual in humans to want to worship Olympians and be close to them. Not to mention obey them without question. “Hey Dad, what’s up?” I said, smiling sweetly at him, trying to put him at ease. “Just came to see how my big man is! What did you get up to today?” he said, and kneeled down in front of me while trying to maintain eye contact and not look at some other part of me. I doubt he even noticed that he kneeled. “Not much. Just flew around the city a few times. I really want to perfect my flight power before travelling any farther” I said. Dad nodded energetically, with his mouth hanging open a little. It was kind of amusing. “Well I know you don’t need to eat anymore, but the…eh…the dinner will be there…I mean ready, in a few minutes, if you want…you know” he said, struggling to maintain composure around his literal god of a son. “Great!” I said, smiling all the while to keep the atmosphere friendly. A minute of silence passed. Dad was still kneeling, now looking down at my feet. I rolled my eyes. “Dad” I said. He immediately looked up at my face. “Do you want to…touch my muscles?” I said, weirded out by the thought. Of course, Dad wasn’t. As a human he couldn’t think clearly in the presence of an Olympian. “Yes! Oh yes please son! You are so…so incredibly beautiful now!” he said suddenly, and began running a hand across my pecs. “Wow! So powerful” he whispered, as he examined the finer details of my godly chest. He poked them, trying to make a dent, but to no avail. I have to admit: I liked seeing him so happy. I bounced my pecs a little for him, and he ended up drooling a small bit. I chuckled. “Alright” I said, standing up and towering over him. He gulped at the sight of me, and whimpered a small bit too. “Dinner time” I said, indicating that it was alright for him to stand up too. He did so, but still only came up to the base of my pecs. I patted him gently on the head. “I love you Dad, no matter what I’ve become” I said, trying to get some of that pre-Olympian father-son relationship back. “I love you too son” he said, looking up past my pecs at me. “And I’m so proud of what you’ve become. I look forward to seeing an even more powerful version of you when you return from Mercury after god-school” he said. Oh, that’s right. I forgot to mention. All newly born Olympians are expected to attend “god-school” on the planet Mercury for a few months, after which they will have developed to their fullest potential. Basically, the way I am now doesn’t even measure up to the level of power I’ll have in a few months. I am expected to begin god-school in a few days. It is decreed by one of the laws of David, the first Olympian. Who’s he? Right, there’s still so much about this version of reality that you don’t know…
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The sun shone through my bedroom window, illuminating everything in its path in a warm, yellow glow. The rays bathed my bed, and me along with it. The sudden pleasure of warm sunlight slowly and peacefully woke me up. A smile grew on my face; another day of being perfect. I stretched with a sense of pleasure and satisfaction as my incredible, chiselled physique was warmed by the sun’s light. It was for exactly this reason that I did away with any sheet or quilt. I wanted to be woken like this; by the sun that made my Adonis body shine. First, my feet. Size fifteens. And if they give you any idea of the rest of me, they were both beautiful and powerful looking. The tendons themselves looking like machine parts, rather than human parts. Next, my calves. Twin diamond-shaped, diamond-hard beauties. Each one too big for a normal man’s hand to full engulf. Whenever I walked they bunched, hardened, and flexed. My quads are up next. Massive. Powerful. Godly. The ripples of the muscles, and the ridges that ran through and around them. Complimented by a network of veins that looked like lightning bolts, some of which faded down into my lower legs and calves. Above these tree-trunk sized miracles was my remarkably narrow waist. Narrow in comparison to the rest of me, that is. Currently resting on one side of my waist were all seven inches of my flaccid manhood. And trust me, when I wanted, I could give way more inches than that. Just above this intimidating python was what could be mistaken as a cobblestone pathway. On second glance, you would clearly see that it was just an insanely defined, flawless eight-pack. Each ab a clear dome, separated by all others by deep cuts that could each easily hold a bit water. And that was before I tensed or flexed. Flanking these eight rocks were some more-than-impressive obliques. Wave-like muscles that, like the quads, rippled dutifully. It was as if they wanted me to look more beautiful than I already was. Above my abs were the two reasons why I couldn’t see my abs. Two almost square-like slabs of what felt like titanium. And yet, I could bounce and jiggle both as if they were made of a softer clay. Better known as my pecs, these bulbous, meaty marvels were kept apart by a narrow crevasse that ran between them. On either side of these two steel-hard pieces of beef were my boulder shoulders. Like my calves, no normal man could ever hope to fit a whole hand around one. Too big, too muscular, too vascular. Hanging from them were they most powerful, strongest pair of arms you’ll ever see. Biceps that formed into perfect peaks that rivalled cement in terms of solidity, followed my forearms that exuded strength, and ending with a pair of hands that could easily fit around my calves and shoulder. And don’t forget the criss-cross of veins that mapped my forearms, and that one delicious vein that runs down each bicep. The one that every gym rat longs to see; the definitive proof that one has achieved muscle. I roll over onto my front so that the opposite side of me can enjoy some few minutes of warmth before I get up. My expansive, rippling back swells in delight at the feel of the warmth. My back alone is literally heavier than most average men. My triceps, second only to my biceps, both unleash a powerful flex as they help me turn over. And finally my ass. The two delectable globes of prime beef. Just like my pecs, I could bounce them with ease, and on a moment’s notice. Once I decided that I was adequately warmed up, I rolled back over and got out of them bed. All seven feet of my rose to my full height. Aside from the lush locks that flowed from scalp, and the uber-masculine stubble that coated my gorgeous face, I was completely hairless. All of my godly definition was as clear as the day outside. Plus, not a single blemish. Ever. I didn’t get them. Already my seven inches were approaching nine as I flexed my body, and took the time to feel myself up. Hard, sold, powerful, strong. I had great genetics. And I haven’t even told you about my strength yet. I threw on a pair of red boxer shorts that were stretched thin over my quads (despite being the largest size the store had to offer). My heavy footsteps resonated as I marched with a sense of power and authority from my room to the kitchen. My muscles all the while flexing, tensing, bunching. You would not want to be in my way! “Moring pops”, I say as I entered the kitchen and saw that he was already making me breakfast. Poor Dad. I guess genetics have a way of skipping generations. “Morning big buddy!” said my dad, genuinely excited and thrilled to see me. And even more thrilled to see me in just boxer shorts. Dad was a normal man. Little to no obvious muscle, balding, a bit of a flabby beer belly, the makings to a double chin, and a body with hair and blemishes. But a kind heart, and all the love a dad had for his son. He himself was wearing just a t-shirt and a pair of boxers, both of which were noticeably loose on him. I approached him, took a handful of the back of his shirt collar, and smoothly lifted him off the ground until his bare feet were left dangling over a foot off the ground. Dad was 5’10’’, and about 150 pounds. But to me, that was nothing. He might as well have been ten times that weight, and I still wouldn’t have noticed. I gave him a kiss on his head. “Pancakes?! Fuckin’ A old timer!” I said gleefully, eyeing the mountain of pancakes that Dad had made specifically for me. I ate like a dozen horses after all. “My big man needs to eat” he said, looking on at my perfect, angular face with pride in his eyes. Of course he was still dangling in my grasp. He casually swung his legs back and forth a small bit as I surveyed the pancakes, enjoying the feel of being held off the ground. “I’ll take all of those” I said, gesturing to at least ninety percent of the pancakes, “You’ll have whatever is left”. “Yes son” said Dad. Dad always did what I said. Like I good beta, he knew who the alpha was. I set him gently back down onto the floor. Not because my arm was getting tired, but because I wanted him to get back to work. “You’re looking especially amazing today son” he said, tracing his fingers over my steel abs. I didn’t need to tense them. Even in their un-tensed state Dad didn’t have a hope of denting them. His fingers, to me, felt so small and fragile. I smiled down at him, as I towered above him. “I’m guessing there’s something you want” I said, smiling wryly at him. “Eh…I’d like to buy some new clothes…” he said, nervously looking up at me, a hopeful and bashful grin on his face. I controlled the finances, even though Dad was the one with a job. “Go on” I said, crossing my arms. In doing so, my spectacular pecs ballooned into two globes of pure power, while my forearms flare in terms of both muscle and veins. For good measure I flexed my legs too, just to complete the image of the god looking down upon the weak man. “Just some new jeans and a scarf. October is just around the corner...don’t wanna be cold now, do I…” he said, looking a little more nervous by the sight of my stance. He knew of course that I would never hurt him, but it was still fun to laud some power over him. “As long as you don’t spend more than a hundred. I want more food in this house before the end of the week” I said, patting Dad affectionately on the head. “Yes!” exclaimed Dad triumphantly, “Absolutely son, no more than a hundred”. After I consumed my feast of a breakfast at an alarming rate, I headed out into the back garden for some early morning light exercise while Dad got to the cleaning. I approached a beaten down looking SUV. No bothering to stretch (because I didn’t need to), I squatted down, grabbed the SUV at two points along its underside, and stood back up. The entire vehicle came with me. I began to curl the SUV like it was nothing more than a fifty bound barbell. I was only doing this just for the sake of waking my body up. I actually began to daydream a small bit as I effortlessly pumped the vehicle up and down. It used to belong to Dad, before he got a new one. He was more than happy to let me have it. After a few minutes of this, I dropped the SUV with a bang. I sighed as I looked down at it, bored by its inability to stimulate my imagination. However, my arms had flared up with an almost inhuman pump. Thanks to my genetics, only the smallest amount of exercise was necessary for me to maintain by perfect physiques, and the superhuman strength that lay within. Out of sheer boredom I began to poke holes in the SUV’s exterior with just my index finger. I did find it satisfying to watch my finger sink in and out of the metal like it was a hot knife carving through butter. At one point I simply grabbed a handful of a door and easily tore it off the vehicle completely. I amused myself as I mangled and deformed the lump of metal in my hand, like an infant would manipulate playdough. “Looking good Jake!” called out a voice from behind me. I turned to see Mr. Roberts standing on his side of the fence that separated my house’s garden from his. Mr. Roberts was an elderly, kind man who had lived next door all my life. He had watched me grow, and always took the time to compliment me on my body and strength. “Hi Mr. Roberts” I said as I swaggered my way over to them fence. I made sure to flex my muscles as I walked, just to demonstrate the level of power that was approaching him. Not to mention that fact that I was still crushing and mangling the metal lump in my hand like a stress ball. “Well look at you!” said Mr. Roberts as he surveyed my glorious body. I was still only wearing my boxers, so pretty much everything could be easily seen. “Yeah, just doing a bit of weight training” I said, and started bouncing my pecs as I looked down at them. Instead of a light jiggle, I opted for a more vigorous bounce. It always amazed even me how still the rest of my body was as my pecs danced. “Stunning” whispered Mr. Roberts in a reverent tone as he reached over the fence to place one of his small, feeble hands on the nearest pec. He had always loved the smoothness of my muscles. And I never had a problem with him feeling any damn part of me that he wanted. “So how are you this morning, Mr. Roberts?” I asked, striking a front lat spread for his entertainment. “Good” he said as he ran his fingers along one of my biceps. I switched to a most muscular to help accommodate his desire to worship my arms. “But I was hoping that you’d be available to help me with something” he said, as he placed his hand in mine. Mr. Roberts always enjoyed holding my hand, probably because they were so warm, and he was more vulnerable to the cold. “Sure” I said, closing my whole hand around his gently, running my thumb lightly over the back. “I was hoping you could turn my car around for me. In my old age I’ve become…less able for precise reversing” he said, and we both laughed. From a standing position, I bent my knees, flexed both my quads and calves, and cleared the four-foot fence in a single bound, landing perfectly on the other side beside Mr. Roberts. “Goodness me!” he said, beaming at my display of athleticism, and delighted that I was now that bit closer to him. I took his hand gently in mine, and allowed him to lead me to his car that was parked at the side of his house. I couldn’t help but notice just how small and weak he was. He was short than Dad, and no doubt frail from old age. We were walking so slowly because of him. “Here Mr. Roberts” I said, as I effortlessly scooped the man up into one of my arms. He gasped as my casual display of strength. “Save your energy” I said, as I nestled him into my powerful chest. “Thank you Jake” he said with a tone of sincerity, and began to run a hand over my pecs once again. Once we got to his car, I gently set him down and gave him a quick hug, enveloping him in my powerful arms (which he happily felt up during the hug). “Now then” I said. I approached the car and promptly hauled the front half off the ground with a single tug of my left arm. I could hear Mr. Roberts gasp again behind me. I walked my hand along the bottom of the vehicle, slowly raising the back half, until the entire thing was above my head. A quick one-eighty degree turn, and it was facing the way Mr. Roberts wanted it to be. I easily and gently place the car back on the ground. Mr. Roberts was standing there, slack-jawed from the sight of my superhuman strength. Not to mention that his pants was tenting; impressive for a man of his age. I decided to help him out. Side-chest. Double biceps. Front lat spread followed by a back lat spread. Another pec bounce. Every single bit of exquisite curvature and masculine sex appeal my body had to offer I put in display for Mr. Roberts. My muscles flared and flexed with power and beauty. I turned my back to him and began twerking. My bulbous glutes bounced sensually. Not even my skin-tight boxers could hold them down. I ended the routine with another side chest. I then marched towards Mr. Roberts with supreme confidence. Mr. Roberts was shaking, still slack-jawed, and in awe of my appearance. He was leaving out this low, continuous moaning sound. I placed my large hands on his scrawny shoulders. I leaned in and whispered in his ear. “Cum for me”. Mr. Roberts let out a moan of ecstasy as a large, dark wet patch appeared at the front of his trousers. I fell forward into my arms which easily supported him. By the sounds (and feel) of it, he was experiencing multiple orgasms. I carried his limp and exhausted body into his house, and laid him down gently onto his living room sofa. His feeble hands took one last feel of my muscles (my shoulders and triceps to be exact) before he finally passed out, and began to sleep peacefully. His trousers were completely soaked. I left his house and headed back towards the SUV, leaping over the fence once again. Damn it felt good to have great genetics.
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Chapter 2 With every step and every breath in of the cold winter air I felt as if a spell was lifting. My attraction to Karl and fixation on his huge muscles and enormous cock was being replaced with sheer disbelief at what had just happened. Slowly my thoughts were becoming my own again as my mind raced through the events of the last couple of hours. How had I as a straight man, who’d never had any interest in other men, let myself be used by that gym-rat, the epitome of everything I despised? As I turned the key in the front door of my house and heard the lock click open I came to a sudden realisation. I had been drugged. It was the only explanation I could think of to explain the bizarre events of today. Somehow Karl had fed me some illegal substance which had an abnormal and extreme effect on me. But how had he done it? I’d not had anything to eat or drink whilst I was there and to be honest the effects had been almost immediate, pretty much from the start of our encounter. It was then, sat in the dark on the sofa in my living room, that I remembered the strange but seductive scent coming off Karl that I’d noticed as soon as I met him. Still dazed from the afternoon, I could almost hear the cogs of my brains turning over, trying to connect the dots. Finally, something clicked and I remembered the strange looking bottle, “Alpha Scent”, which I’d glimpsed in Karl’s desk. Yes, that was it! Clearly this scent had some pheromones or something in it that caused extreme desire in whoever smelt it. Ridiculous as it sounded, it was the only possible explanation I could come up with. The longer I sat there on the sofa, the more my confusion and embarrassment were replaced with anger. Luckily for me, my wife wasn’t due home from work for 2 hours – I needed a plan. *** Two days later I was sat outside Karl’s office, waiting to pick up my new car. My heart was racing at the plan I’d concocted but I was confident that it would work, having spent several hours over the last few days perfecting it. A few minutes after I arrived, Karl’s office door opened and an attractive woman in her early 40s left. I could tell from her harassed look and the fact that her blouse wasn’t buttoned up correctly that she had just been subjected to the “Karl” treatment. The huge man himself appeared in the doorway a few seconds later, his shirt unbuttoned at the top, covered in a sheen of sweat from his most recent workout. “Give me two minutes Joe,” he called, grabbing a towel from behind the door and heading down the corridor to where I guessed the showers were. I nodded in reply, glad that Karl clearly had a strict routine between clients, something that my plan relied on. As soon as the shower room door had clicked shut I leapt up, pleased that there were no other staff members around (for obvious reasons Karl’s office was away from everyone else). I opened the door to Karl’s office before sneaking in and shutting the door quietly behind me. I hurried over to his desk, not knowing how literal Karl’s “two minutes” would be, and opened the top draw. I picked up the strange bottle, turning it over to read the label on the back: “Instructions: Use 2 sprays for instant results lasting 24 hours. Re-apply after showering”. There was no mention of what the “instant results” were but I could have a good guess. Conscious of the time, I pulled two bottles out of my pocket, one an empty aftershave bottle, the other filled with water that I’d dyed purple to match the fluid in the “Alpha Scent” bottle. I quickly poured the contents of the “Alpha Scent” into my empty aftershave bottle which I put safely in my pocket. I then substituted it with the dyed water from my other bottle before screwing the top back on and replacing the strange bottle in Karl’s top drawer. The colour wasn’t an exact match so I’d have to hope Karl wouldn’t pay too much attention to it. It was then I noticed something. In my rush to get into his office and steal his treasured secret, I hadn’t noticed that Karl’s masculine scent still filled the room, even though he was no longer there. I found myself inhaling deeply, yet again allowing his aroma to fill my head. Images of his full, thick chest and bulging veiny biceps immediately flashed across my mind. I started to imagine the feeling of his big manly cock deep in my tight ass, to feel him plough me with all his strength and power. All thoughts of my carefully worked out plan left my head as I noticed that my cock was rock hard and throbbing. I unbuttoned my jeans, letting them fall to the floor before pushing down my tight boxer briefs, letting out my aching cock. I wrapped my hand around it, jerking slowly as I thought about running my hands over his swollen chest and ripped abs. I was excited to think that Karl would be back at any second and I wanted to be ready to please him. I found myself getting into position on his desk as I had the other day, face down, ass ready for him to slide his cock in as soon as he came through the door. Suddenly the blinds rattled and a gust of wind blew in through the open window. It hit me straight in the face, clearing my head and allowing just a second of rational thought. That was all I needed – I immediately jumped off Karl’s desk, pulled up my boxers and jeans and ran out the door, all without taking another breath. My heart was racing as I settled myself in the chair outside Karl’s office just as the door to the shower room opened down the corridor. Karl looked pristine yet again, freshly showered and in clean smart clothes, a confident smile on his face. Thankfully the feelings of lust had past as quickly as they’d started now that I was out of the confined environment of Karl’s office and I was able to focus once again. “Right Joe, let me just get your keys and we’ll have you sorted in no time,” Karl said as he passed me, entering the office I’d only seconds ago vacated myself. I was sure I’d left everything as it should be but still my heart was racing. I suspected that Karl would be re-applying the “Alpha Scent” after his shower but would he notice straight away the swap I’d made? My entire plan hinged on this moment. A minute later Karl came out, his confident smirk plastered to his face as usual, the keys to my new car in one hand, the final agreement in the other. “Let’s go out to your car then Joe,” Karl said, with no acknowledgement of the events of the other day but more importantly, no evidence that he’d noticed the swap at all. “Sure thing Karl,” I said, trying to sound more relaxed than I felt. As I followed behind, I tentatively inhaled, but there was nothing, no trace of the alluring odour and my head remained clear. When we’d reached the car, Karl showed me around the outside again before we got in. Once inside, I was aware yet again how much space Karl occupied but it didn’t seem to affect me as it had done the other day. “Well Joe, here’s the key… I just need one more signature from you,” Karl said, handing me the final agreement. As I signed, I noticed that Karl had his arm up on the window again and was casually flexing his biceps as he looked across at me. I smiled as I handed the agreement back to him. “Right Karl, I’ll be going then if that’s everything,” I said confidently. “Oh yeah, erm, sure Joe,” clearly surprised by my lack of interest in his flexing muscles, “unless you want to go for round two,” he added, attempting a deep seductive voice which just sounded hollow to me without the effects of the “Alpha Scent”. He rested one of his giant hands on the equally giant bulge in his trousers but even this didn’t affect me. “No thank Karl,” I said, still trying to stay at ease, “I’ll be going now. Thanks for your help.” “Erm…ah…well, no problem, Joe,” Karl said as he prised himself out of the car, clearly confused at my resistance. “See you around Karl,” I said through the open window as I started to pull away. As I left the forecourt I smiled as I caught sight of the giant muscle man in my rear-view mirror, a look of intense confusion on his face. Little did he know it was only just beginning. *** Twenty minutes later I was standing in my bedroom at home, the bottle of aftershave, now containing the “Alpha Scent” in my hand. I hesitated, torn between sensibility and the desire to try it on myself before my wife got home and see what effect it had on her. We’d been trying to think of ways to liven up our sex life and I hoped this would be the answer, causing her to experience the same indescribable lust for me that I’d experienced for Karl. But then again, I didn’t really know what the true effects of this spray were and I suspected it definitely wasn’t legal. In the end my desire and curiosity won out and before I knew what I was doing I’d squirted two sprays on my neck. The pure “Alpha Scent” smelt great, kind of woody but other than that there was no noticeable change in me. I started to feel a bit stupid as I stood there and suspected that I had just gone to extreme lengths to steel what was essentially just a bottle of aftershave. At that moment though a strange warm feeling started spreading from my neck, where I had sprayed the “Alpha Scent”, down into my chest. It felt as though my shoulders and chest were pulsing with energy, the warm feeling spreading out into my arms too. Suddenly, I noticed that my normally loose-fitting blue t-shirt felt a bit tight around my chest and I looked down to see that my chest was actually starting to swell. “Fuck, I’m growing,” I said out loud, unable to help myself. I watched and felt as my biceps started to expand too, pulsing as they got bigger, huge veins popping up under the skin. My arms felt like they were surging with power and soon they were straining the sleeves of my small top. Without even thinking, almost on instinct, I brought both arms up into a double biceps, flexing hard the muscles which until now had been tiny and pathetic. I heard the loud RIP as both sleeves split down the seam, bursting open to allow my biceps and triceps to continue growing. “This feels fucking amazing,” I called out, my voice noticeably deeper and more masculine, as I continued to flex and pump my biceps. The warm feeling had now reached my groin and quads and the most amazing sensation hit me, like I was having a continuous orgasm. Waves of pleasure flooded through my veins as I looked down to see that the bulge in my jeans was swelling slowly, pushing out as I felt my cock grow. My expanding quads were quickly filling out my jeans too and I could hear the material creaking as it struggled to contain them. My attention was then pulled back to my still swelling chest, which was now way too big for the size ‘S’ T shirt. My back too was expanding, pulling the shirt even tighter and stopping me from being able to breathe properly. “GGGRRRRRRRRRR,” I roared as I reached up to the neck of the t shirt, pulling it straight down and hearing the fabric tear as I ripped it off in one go. “FUCK, I’m a beast,” I screamed, looking down at my exposed torso, as I threw the shredded top on the floor. Beneath my swollen pecs I could see the little bit of body fat I had disappearing, exposing tight ripped 8-pack abs which pushed up like cobble stones. I ran one of my hands down them, enjoying the feeling of ripped muscle under my fingers. Beneath my tiny, tight waist, my quads were still growing, feeling so tight in my jeans that I knew that I needed to get them off soon. No sooner had I thought this I heard another rip and realised it was too late. My huge quads had torn the fabric on either side of my jeans and I could see the exposed muscle underneath. I flexed each of my humungous quads in turn, extending the tear on either side with colossal grunts. I then reached down, grabbing the waist band with my two hands and pulling down to complete the job, ripping my jeans off and throwing them on the floor. “I’m so STRONG,” I roared, unable to hold back as I started flexing, the growth now slowing and the warm feeling starting to subside. I looked at myself in the mirror on the wall – I now had the body of a serious weight-lifter, not quite as big as Karl, but still pretty huge. My face too looked more masculine, chiselled, with a sharp jaw-line with a light dusting of stubble. My torso had a covering of dark, manly hair that had sprung up in the last two minutes on my previously hairless body. The bulge in my boxers was verging on obscene as my rock hard cock tented the fabric. I quickly pulled off my boxers, feeling as my much bigger cock slapped up against my abs. “FUCK,” I moaned, as I looked down at my throbbing cock which was at least 8” long, about 2” longer and much thicker than before my growth spurt. A steady stream of pre was leaking out as I continued to flex in front of the mirror, appreciating my new muscle body. I ran my hands over my pumped chest, amazed at the weight of my pecs and noticing the deep defined valley that ran between them. I flexed each bicep in turn, trying to wrap the other hand round each mound of marble-like muscle to no avail. The huge veins which had popped up during my growth were still there and snaked like a road map down my bulging biceps and forearms. Still flexing, I wrapped one hand around my thick cock and started jerking, feeling the pleasure quickly rising in me. “MMMM, you’re a beast Joe,” I moaned to myself, so turned on by my own muscles. I couldn’t stop running my other hand over my torso as I jerked, marvelling in the feel of the solid muscles now strapped onto my previously weedy frame. Only minutes ago I’d been a tiny 33yo, with a bit of a beer-gut. Now I was a total alpha muscle stud. This thought drove me on closer to climax as I let out low, deep moans and grunts. I jerked my cock faster, still flexing as I watched in the mirror. “Oh fuck,” I moaned, “I’m gonna fucking shoot…”. I worked myself up more and more, relishing the new length and girth of my cock and the sticky pre-leaking from it. Huge grunts escaped my mouth as my massive chest heaved with each breath drawn in. Within seconds I felt my full, aching balls tighten and I had nearly collapsed to the floor in the most intense orgasm of my life, surpassing even when I’d been with Karl the other day. It was like my whole body exploded in pleasure, each of my newly engorged muscles flooding with an indescribable sensation. “AAHHHHHHHH,” I screamed in ecstasy as rivers of warm cum erupted from my huge cock, splashing over the mirror and floor, the final few spurts dribbling down my huge ripped quads. I gazed at the sight in the mirror – I was amazed at the huge hunk of muscle standing in front of me, his colossal chest heaving over tight ripped abs and an enormous thick cock still leaking cum onto the floor. I couldn’t believe this muscle stud was me. I ran my hands up over my cobbled abs and thick chest, feeling sweat and cum mingling together over the rock solid muscle underneath, before falling backwards onto the bed in blissful exhaustion.
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This is the first story I've posted so go easy on me! It takes a while to get going but hopefully you'll enjoy it - I've got a few ideas to take this further The Car Salesman It was the worst possible timing. Two weeks into my new job and a month before Christmas my decrepit car had breathed its last. The stupid worthless piece of shit, which had caused me endless pain over the last 2 years, had finally given up on life. It was for this reason that I was making my way across the showroom forecourt for my meeting with Karl, the car salesman. I had an increasing sense of nervousness as I got towards the door which in my mind was entirely justified. You see, I am of the opinion that Car Salesmen will occupy the same part of hell as estate agents and lawyers and I was fully expecting to spend the next 2 hours being lied to, tricked and conned out of my hard-earned money. These thoughts were broken by the sight of the man-mountain waiting for me in the doorway. It turned out that Karl was about 6’2 and built like a tank, with I guessed way over 250lb of solid muscle to his name. He was wearing a long-sleeve tight white shirt with an accompanying tie and equally skin-tight dark blue trousers. Great. A gym-obsessed arrogant bastard as well. I could feel my stress level rising even more. “You must be Joe,” he called loudly, when I was about 10 feet away, smiling broadly. I took in his masculine face, dark hair and lightly tanned skin. He must have been a couple (or more) years younger than me, maybe mid-20s. “Y-yes, that’s me,” I replied stupidly, immediately cross with myself for showing any sign of weakness in front of this overconfident gym-jock. He reached out his hand and I shook it, trying not to wince at the strength of his grip. I noticed that his huge manly hand completely engulfed my own and I could feel the callouses on his palm from the many hours he spent lifting weights. “Come on in, we’ll get started,” he said, finally letting go of my aching hand as he turned to lead me into the building. I followed behind, noticing how wide his back was, pulling his tight shirt to the limits, but tapering down to an impossibly small waist. I was irrationally irritated, never having been interested in lifting weights myself, and always slightly annoyed with people who did. I just didn’t get it. Travelling in Karl’s wake, I was also struck by the scent coming off him. It was oddly sweet, nutty but undeniably masculine, likely a combination of aftershave and his own natural smell. I pulled myself back from the brink. Why the fuck was I noticing these things?! Once inside Karl’s spacious office, I settled myself in the comfy chair in front of his desk and watched as he walked round to sit opposite me. I found my eyes tracing down from his chiselled jaw-line, a slight hint of 5 O’clock shadow there, to his huge neck. The muscles there (traps, I heard the distant voice of my A-level Biology teacher saying) pushed out the buttoned up collar of his shirt to an extreme. It was a wonder he managed to do the buttons up at all. I then took in his unbelievably wide shoulders before focussing on his chest. His pecs jutted out from his body, pulling the fabric of his shirt tight so that there were gaps between the buttons in the middle. I could see a glimpse of smooth tanned skin underneath. As Karl moved and gestured his muscles flexed and relaxed under the surface of his clothes, like an elaborate dance played out for me. It was hypnotising watching his biceps pull the sleeves of his shirt tight, desperate to break free with every movement. Suddenly I realised that Karl was talking (well of course he was) and probably had been for some time. What the fuck was I thinking? I’d not listened to a word he’d said for a good 5 minutes. I tried to drag myself back to the present, away from my thoughts about this gym-rats bulging muscles when I noticed something even stranger than my distraction. I was rock-hard. My not-unimpressive cock was aching painfully in my tight jeans, throbbing with lust. Now I was properly confused. Well, a bit more than that and many other things besides. I was straight I told myself…married…and happily so. I’d never even looked at a guy like this before let alone got hard over one. But I couldn’t ignore it and the bulge in my jeans wouldn’t let me deny it. I tried to calm down, to re-focus my attention back on what Karl was saying, desperate to make sure I wasn’t going to be conned. Unfortunately, Karl chose that moment to lean back in his chair, lifting up both arms and placing them behind his head, the epitome of confidence and control. This movement caused his biceps to flex, the tight fabric of his shirt like a second skin on his bulging muscles. My cock ached even more as I realised that if he flexed hard he would easily rip the thin fabric. What the fuck was happening to me?! Next, and totally inexplicably, my eyes were drawn downwards. Now that Karl was leaning backwards, away from his desk, an obscene bulge in his tight blue trousers was revealed. It was colossal, like the proverbial python in his pants, the outline of his cock snaking down his left trouser leg. Suddenly I had a vision of ripping off those quad-hugging trousers, unleashing the beast underneath and taking his thick long cock in my…. Wooaaah! Where the fuck was I going with that? Why, aged 33 was I suddenly thinking about sucking another guy’s cock for the first time?! Suddenly Karl was standing up, snapping me out of my reverie. “… so are you ready to go then Joe?” I heard him say, clearly repeating himself. “R-ready?” I replied, trying to gain some control. “For your test drive,” he said, the look on his face suggesting he thought I was either a bit slow or very unwell. “Oh yeah, sure,” I hurried to reply, standing up as well. Karl was very close to me and again I noticed the strange, intoxicating scent coming off him and I couldn’t help but inhale deeply. This was a big mistake as it made me feel dizzy, my entire mind filled with his masculine smell and also visions of Karl ripping off his smart work clothes to reveal mounds of bulging muscle underneath. I nearly had to sit straight back down again but somehow managed to keep it together. “Great, well follow me and we’ll go for a spin,” Karl said, seemingly oblivious to the turmoil going on in my head. With that, he walked out of his office and I followed on behind, my eyes feasting on his solid, round glutes, jutting out below that tight waist. I noticed that his quads were so big he walked with his legs slightly apart, almost awkwardly, something that 20 minutes ago I would have found totally ridiculous. Now, however, his sheer size was driving me crazy, irrational lust pumping through me. We settled into the car, well I settled whilst Karl squeezed himself into the passenger seat, clearly far too big for the small car that I was intending to buy. “I’d need a car with a bit more head and leg room myself,” he joked, at ease. “But this’ll be perfect for you Joe”. I laughed awkwardly, uneasy at the comparison and as much as I tried to deny it, unbelievably turned on. “Right, take it away Joe. Turn right off the forecourt and I’ll direct you,” Karl continued and I noticed for the first time how deep his voice was. A strange juxtaposition to his boyish face and smooth skin. I gently eased the car away, forcing myself to focus; ideally I wanted to get through the next twenty minutes without killing us both. To my credit (and surprise) it went well to start with. I concentrated on the car, examining its acceleration, ride and general comfort as we took it on a drive around town. Karl kept up a near constant stream of conversation in the way that only people trying to sell you something can. I picked out the odd word but was mainly focussing on the car and not the young behemoth next to me. We came to a red light and I brought the car to stop, setting the handbrake. Karl was still talking and in order not to be rude I looked across, a near-fatal mistake. My cock, which had somewhat deflated during the drive, immediately jumped and started to grow again as I saw Karl’s arm rested up on the window. He was gripping the handle above the window which meant his bicep was gently flexed. From this angle I could see how much the fabric was struggling to contain the rock solid muscle underneath. I imagined trying to wrap my hands round it – I knew they wouldn’t reach – and wondered what it would feel like to try and squeeze his biceps. Inexplicably I found my gaze falling southwards again, past Karl’s mammoth pecs and further down to the bulge in his trousers. It was an amazing sight, his thick cock tenting the material obscenely, making my mouth water with lust. I had an urge to unzip his fly, pull out that beast and suck on his hot big cock head. I wanted to gradually slide more and more of his thick hard man cock deep into my mouth, tasting his pre in the back of my throat, before feeling him shoot his huge load in me. “Joe…Joe…JOE! The light’s green,” I heard Karl’s voice cutting through. I immediately looked up and back towards the road, noticing that Karl had a slight smirk on his face. Shit. He’d seen me staring straight at his huge junk probably with a look of deep desire on my face if my thoughts were anything to go by. I jerked the car into gear, pulling off and nearly stalling in my haste but Karl didn’t give any further clues that he’d seen me staring at him. Ten minutes later, as we got out of the car and made our way back to Karl’s office, my head was racing. I’m not gay, I told myself over and over. This was ridiculous – I’d never had any thoughts about other guys, not like I was thinking about Karl. My mind kept flicking back to the way his over-developed muscles made his clothes strain, the way they flexed and swelled with every movement and not least about the huge bulge resting between his tree-trunk quads. I imagined being on my knees, his huge thick man cock sliding between my lips… The door slamming behind me snapped me out of my racing thoughts. We were back in Karl’s office, me sat opposite him across the desk again. “So Joe, what do you think?” Karl asked, pushing a contract across the table, “ready to sign on the dotted line?”. I hesitated. I really hadn’t been paying enough attention to make this decision, far too distracted by the muscle beast sat opposite me. “Erm, well I’m not sure Karl,” I replied feebly. “I think I’ll need some time to think about it.” “Time is not something I have Joe - I can only offer you this deal today,” Karl said, to the point and confident. “I just don’t know Karl, maybe I can call you later to decide?” I attempted to negotiate, desperate to get out of this place and restore some normality to my thoughts. “Hmm, that won’t work for me Joe. But perhaps I can offer you something to sweeten the deal,” Karl replied, a smirk on his face. He got up out of his chair, huge quads straining the fabric of his trousers, and walked round the desk to shut the blinds across the windows. I watched, confused, as he then walked behind me and I heard a soft click as he locked the office door. What was going on, I thought for the millionth time today. “I’ve seen the way you look at me Joe,” Karl said, typically straight to the point, his voice deep and seductive. He’d returned to stand in front of me, one foot up on the desk so that his huge quads and obscene bulge were right in front of my face. “You can have all of this if you want,” he added, gently grabbing his bulge in one hand and running a big hand across his chest with the other. “You just need to sign for it…” “I-I d-don’t know what you mean…” I stammered pathetically, suddenly more nervous than I’d been in my entire life. “I-I’m not Gay,” I added with no confidence at all. “Sure, you’re not Joe. But who wouldn’t want some of this?” Karl purred as he undid his tie, discarding it on the floor. I watched in amazement as he began to slowly unbutton his shirt, revealing bit by bit the deep groove between his two huge pec muscles. I wanted to scream at him, to tell him to stop it, to run for the door but found I couldn’t move or speak, completely transfixed by what was going on in front of me. “I can see you want me Joe…why deny it?”. Karl was still smiling, utterly confident. “Just admit to me Joe…you can’t resist this muscle body…you’re hard for me…I can see,” he added, looking at the bulge in my jeans. He was right – I was harder than I’d ever been in my life before and he knew it. My heart was racing, pure lust flooding my veins as thoughts of this giant hung muscle stud filled my head. “Yes…” I whispered feebly, without thinking. “Yes, what?” Karl replied, his shirt now completely undone. I had a glimpse of his ripped abs, what looked like an 8-pack, sitting beneath the huge overhand of his pecs. “Yes, I want you,” I said, knowing deep down it was true. Karl smiled broadly in response, starting to run his hands over his exposed chest and abs, leaning back seductively so that they flexed tightly. “Well you know what to do then Joe…just sign on the line,” Karl said, closing in on the deal, one of his hands drifting downwards to grab the thick bulge in his trousers again. My eyes followed his exploring hands, imagining that it was mine tracing the outline of his abs, feeling the weight of those enormous pecs and heavy cock. “Please…Karl…” I let out involuntarily, lust now totally taking over. “Let me…” “Let you what, Joe?” teased Karl, clearly enjoying his effect over me. “Let me feel your muscles…flex for me…I need to…” I moaned, the words spilling out as I lost control. “You mean flex these guns?” Karl asked, bringing his arms up to pull a double biceps. He flexed hard, his guns exploding, the thin fabric of his shirt pulled so tight over the peaked mounds of muscle. He gently pumped his guns, flexing harder each time as the muscles filled with blood until eventually I heard a small ripping sound as the seam began to pull apart. “Oh fuck,” I exclaimed, amazed by his strength and power. “You like that straight boy?” Karl said, still flexing as visible gaps formed on both sides of his shirt sleeves, exposing the pumped muscle underneath. “The straight guy is hungry for this Muscle God and his Huge Cock isn’t he…?” “Oh fuck yes,” I replied, giving in. “I need you…please…”. “You can have me Joe…all of me…you just have to sign the contract,” Karl replied, unrelenting. “How can I trust that you’ll keep your side of the bargain,” I asked, one final part of my logical self still present. “You can’t Joe…but isn’t this worth the risk?” he replied, gesturing at his hulking frame and then starting to undo his belt. With that I was totally overcome, all logic leaving me. I reached for the contract, pulling it across the desk and scrawling my signature on the dotted line before I had time to change my mind. I then looked up to see Karl standing right in front of me, a huge smirk on his face, his belt undone and his trousers falling to the floor. As he stepped out of them I took in the sight of his colossal bulge, barely kept in by the sexy white jock strap he was wearing, the outline of his thick cock clearly visible. With his trousers off, he took one further step closer to me, straddling my legs, one of his tree-trunk quads on either side and his magnificent chest and abs right in front of my face. Karl was so close to me that his masculine scent was intoxicating, rolling off him and causing me to inhale deeply. “Looks like taking that risk has paid off Joe…” Karl said, his deep voice incredibly seductive. I couldn’t think of a reply as Karl reached down, taking both of my hands and placing them on his vast chest. I ran my hands over and between each pec muscle, feeling the solid mass underneath as he flexed hard. I then reached up to push his shirt off his shoulders, wanting to see all of him. The shirt got stuck on his massive upper arms and Karl had to help by pulling it off and throwing it to the floor. I continued my worship of this studs upper body, my hands exploring his chest and shoulders before moving onto his biceps. He pulled a double bicep pose again and I reached up to put my hands on each mound of muscle. They were rock hard beneath my fingers, like marble, with barely any body fat and as much as I tried to squeeze I couldn’t budge them at all. “Fuck yeah,” Karl growled. “Look how strong I am…” As he flexed his guns, huge veins popped up, snaking across his paper-thin skin like a road map. Fuck this stud was ripped. Still holding onto his biceps, I leaned in closer, licking up the groove between his cobbled abs. I looked up and saw the amazing overhang of his chest and nearly shot a load right there. Karl was looking down at me smiling, Godly and powerful. “Get on your knees,” Karl ordered, taking a step back. I didn’t hesitate, dropping onto the floor in front of him. “It’s time for you to realise your potential as my cock whore Joe,” he added, looking down at me. “Mmm yes Sir, please make this straight boy your cock whore,” I moaned, desperate for him, immediately submitting with no questions asked. “Take off my jock,” Karl barked. “Don’t touch my cock yet…” Obediently I reached forward, taking the straps of his jock and starting to pull it down, revealing inch by inch of his thick cock, until it was completely exposed. I realised that Karl’s jock had been deceptive, hiding some of the size of his enormous manhood. His soft uncut cock was at least 6 inches and thick too, resting on the two globes of his big balls. A Greek God would have been happy to have a cock and balls like his. Karl stepped out of the jock before reaching down and picking it up. Before I knew what was happening he had it pressed in front of my mouth, holding the back of my head to stop me pulling away. “Smell it straight boy,” Karl ordered. My initial reaction had been to resist but within an instant an animalistic instinct had taken over and I was inhaling deeply. The same scent that was rolling off Karl filled my head but with the added musk of his cock making my head spin and my heart race. My mouth was watering and almost reflexively I opened it and felt as Karl pushed the jock into my mouth. I could now taste him too and for the second time had to try hard not to shoot my load there and then. “Good boy,” Karl purred as he removed the jock from my mouth, discarding it on the floor with the rest of his clothes. With the taste of his cock lingering on my tongue, I was desperate to have the real thing in my mouth, hungry to suck on his huge man meat. “Suck on my cock, whore…just the head to start,” Karl ordered, clearly reading the desperation in my eyes. I leaned in, resting my hands on his thick quads as I wrapped my lips around his cock, sucking his cock head in my mouth. It was better than I could ever imagine, making me feel more complete than I’d ever been in my life. His man meat tasted amazing as I sucked, bobbing my head back and forwards on his huge cock head, swirling my tongue round, hungry to please him. It wasn’t long before I felt his cock starting to grow in my mouth and Karl started to let out low guttural moans. “Mmmmm…fuck yeah that feels good cock boy.” I looked up to see Karl throwing his head back, eyes shut, arms flexed above his head, groaning in pleasure. Without being asked I started to take more and more of his cock into my mouth, as if I’d done this a thousand times before. He was now fully hard and I guessed around 10 inches, his thick girth forcing my lips apart as I felt his cock hit the back of my throat. Karl moaned even more deeply, grabbing the back of my head and starting to thrust his cock more and more into my mouth. “Fuck, this straight boy loves my cock,” Karl growled, thrusting faster, oblivious as I tried to control my gag reflex. I was so hard knowing that he was using my mouth solely for his pleasure, with no concerns for me. Suddenly, Karl pulled his cock out of my mouth, leaving me feeling empty. I tried to lean forwards and take his manhood back in my mouth but Karl held me back, slapping me on the side of my face with his heavy tool. “Stand up, slut,” he ordered, always in control. I obeyed instantly. “Take off your jeans and pants,” he added. I did as he asked, taking off my t shirt too for good measure, both of us now fully naked and standing opposite each other. The comparison between us was humiliating. Without warning Karl grabbed me by both arms and lifted me up, his huge biceps bulging but dealing with my weight with ease. He put me down next to his desk before pushing me over so that I was face down, bent at the waist with my feet on the floor. With a click of realisation I realised too late where this was going. “No Karl…stop…I can’t…” I whimpered, trying to move but unable as he had kept one of his strong hands resting on my back. “Yes you can Joe…I know you want it,” he replied, completely relaxed. “You’re too big Karl….I’ve never done it before,” I pleaded, a sense of fear rising in me. “Don’t worry Joe, we’ll work up to it,” he said and I could hear the smirk on his voice. There was a sucking sound before I felt his wet finger pressing on my tight hole which immediately tightened in response. “Just relax Joe, I know you want me in you,” Karl murmured. I tried to relax, knowing it would be worse if I didn’t. He pressed his finger against my hole again but this time my ass relaxed and I felt it slide into me. After the initial flash of pain I was left with the most amazing feeling as Karl started to move his finger in and out. “Oh fuck,” I moaned into the desk. Karl worked my ass harder and then he hit a spot in me that made my whole body shiver, pure pleasure throwing through me. I let out a long moan and then had an epiphany, realising that his cock in me instead of his finger would magnify this feeling a thousand-fold. “More…”I begged simply, now desperate to have my ass filled. I felt as he slid his finger out of my hole followed by another sucking sound as he got another finger ready. He then pressed both against my hungry hole and I groaned as he entered me again. My ass felt amazing as he began finger-fucking me with two fingers. I was moaning over and over in pleasure as Karl kept up a constant stream of dirty-talk. “You’re my little straight cock whore aren’t you?” he taunted. I knew it was true and moaned as he started to fuck me harder and faster, pushing my ass back so that he would enter me even more. Soon I was getting used to the feeling of his fingers and was yet again hungry for more. “Please Karl…I need your cock in me,” I begged. “Say that again slut boy,” he ordered in reply, pulling his fingers out of my ass, leaving it feeling empty. “I need that huge muscle cock in me…..please…..” I moaned, still lying face-down on the desk. I heard as Karl rummaged in a draw for something…lube I hoped. “Mmmm yes you do Joe, you need this huge man cock in your tight straight ass,” he teased. “What does that make you Joe,” he added. “Oh fuck I’m you’re Cock Whore,” I practically shouted. “I’m a slut for your muscle and Huge Cock…please FUCK ME”. With that I felt the enormous head of Karl’s cock pressing up against my hole. I moaned as he started to push forward, entering me inch by inch, the pain in my ass building as he opened it up. “Oh fuck,” I screamed, “you’re so big!”. Still he kept sliding in…how much more could there be to go?! A lot, it turned out but eventually I felt Karl’s balls resting up against my ass and knew I’d taken it all. Karl held still, letting me get used to his huge size and thick girth and slowly the pain was replaced by the most amazing pleasure I’d ever experienced. I was now complete and knew my place in the world as Karl’s cock whore. Slowly Karl started to slide his cock in and out of my tight hole, each time going a little bit further and building up speed. “Fuck…that feels amazing,” I moaned. For the first time I looked up and realised there was a mirror behind Karl’s desk reflecting what was going on behind me. Karl was holding me by the waist, his bulging guns flexing as he started to plough my ass, veins popping and a sweat developing on his wide chest and shoulders. He started to fuck me faster, letting go of my waist and bring his arms up into a double biceps as his cock still drilled into me. “Fuck yeah, look at these guns,” he roared like an animal. “They’re so FUCKING HUGE!!”. He kissed and licked each one in turn before putting his hands back on my waist. I screamed in pleasure as he pulled me back further onto his cock, feeling his amazing strength and power completely dominate me. “Oh FUCK….your cock is so BIG,” I screamed. “Own this fucking straight boy ass,” I moaned. Karl was now thrusting his cock in and out to the hilt, fast and deep, letting out loud masculine grunts as the sweat continued to pour off him. His stamina was amazing and he didn’t let up at all as he owned my virgin ass. I watched in the mirror as he flexed his chest and biceps, his abs continuously pulled tight by the fucking. After a few minutes I knew that I wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer, my cock ready to shoot a huge load over the desk despite not touching myself. “Please Karl….I need your load in me,” I begged as he continued to thrust. “Yeah slut? You want me to breed that straight ass?” he thundered. “FUCK! YEAH! Please cum in me,” I moaned. Amazingly, Karl picked up his pace even more, slamming even harder into my ass, balls slapping with each thrust. His deep masculine grunts filled the room and I knew he was getting close. “Cum in this straight boy ass,” I begged, coaxing him on and pushing my ass further back so that was as deep in me as possible. “Oh FUCK slut,” he screamed. “I’m gonna fucking…..”. I felt as his cock swelled in my ass and with a final roar he ploughed into me one last time. I felt his huge load filling me up as my own cock exploded over the desk in the most intense orgasm of my life. Karl collapsed forwards on top of me, sweat pouring off us as we both bucked and moaned from our amazing relief. The huge weight of Karl lying on top of me made the feeling even more intense and I thought I would die if it didn’t end soon. It was several minutes before our breathing began to settle to normal and I had a chance to lift my head off the desk. In the mirror I could see the huge mass of Karl resting on top of me, his massive back swelling with each breath he took. I looked embarrassingly tiny in comparison but I didn’t care, knowing that he owned me now. In my post-orgasm daze I noticed something strange out of the corner of my eye - an odd-looking purple bottle in the open drawer of Karl’s desk. It was upside down and I’d only managed to read the words “Alpha Scent” on the label before Karl’s huge harm loomed into view and the draw was slammed shut. My confusion was quickly replaced by contentment as I drifted into an easy sleep.
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Chapter One: As the sun rose over the glorious city of London, the capital of the United Kingdom ruled over by Her Majesty Queen Victoria, Defender of the Faith and Empress of India, it revealed a city with the first mists of autumn mingled with the smoke of the industrial heartland of the East End. Alongside the Thames that flowed through the city, the Westminster Clock Tower, standing tall over the mother of Parliaments, announced to the world via “Big Ben” the bell in the heart of the tower, that eight o’clock had arrived on October 2nd 1872. A fact that Police Constable Thompson, who had been up since six o’clock that morning, was aware of. He oversaw turning off the gas lamps in the district of the City of London and as he turned off the gaslamp outside number seven Saville Row, he looked up and smiled. Even since he had found out that Sheridan, the famous poet of the eighteenth century, had lived in the house until his death in 1814, he felt a sense of pride that he was looking after the street where he once lived and having done his duty carried on down the street. Inside number seven, the owner slowly opened his eyes, yawned and stretched. Taking a clock from his bedside table he listened to the chimes of “Big Ben” and nodded his approval that his bedside clock was keeping perfect time. Placing the clock back, he picked a small bell and rang it expecting his manservant, Forster, to come dashing in and help his master get dressed. However, no sooner had he rang the bell, than he said, “Oh, yes, I fired him, yesterday didn’t I?” and with that replaced the bell. As the owner got out of bed and made his bed, he remembered the unhappy event that had led to him sacking Forster. It happened when the unlucky manservant handed the owner his shaving water and as the owner took out the thermometer to measure the temperature his eyes opened wide and he bellowed “EIGHTY-FOUR DEGREES? ARE YOU TRYING TO MAKE ME CATCH A COLD?”. Forster only had a second to stammer “But, master, it was eighty-six when I left the kitchen” before a “YOU’RE FIRED!” resounded through the house. As the owner examined the clocks on the mantelpiece in his bedroom, chiding one for being a full minute out, he proceeded to perform his morning constitutionals. First he marched up and down the bedroom, raising his hands and feet in alternate steps, waggled his hips from side to side, touched his toes several times and then taking out two kettlebells from the cupboard placed them on the bedside table. As he did he took off the blue dressing gown he was wearing and then the pyjamas and stood there completely naked in the cool morning air. Grabbing the kettlebells in both hands, he took a deep breath, held it and then raised the weights into the air and then stared at his reflection in the mirror opposite. People said that he resembled Byron, the great English poet of the last century, at least that his head was Byronic; but he was a bearded, tranquil Byron, who might live on a thousand years without growing old and his body reflected this. It was well conditioned, thanks in part to the course that the owner subscribed to written, which seeing as he obtained the copies direct from the author he could attest to, Donald Dinnie, a man that many people had compared to the heroes of Ancient Greece and while the owner was nothing like as strong as he puffed out his chest and sucked in his stomach he looked as much of a Greek hero as any of them. As he stood there, he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He liked the sensation and closed his eyes as he continued to hold his breath. He imagined himself standing on a stage next to Mr. Dinnie, the two men showing off their strength and as they did, the owner’s physique had one more surprise as just below his waist, an organ of the body that most people ignored started to stir. Slowly at first, it lengthened and as it did it thickened at the same time and in his imagination, the owner was soon thrusting it into Donald’s body with the strongman unable to resist. As the sensation grew, the owner opened his eyes and nodded at the sight of the organ bobbing in time with his heart. He knew what was going to happen and dropped the weights and started to rub it, still holding his breath. It wasn’t long before the owner’s face had turned bright red and his organ the deepest purple possible but the owner was determined to push himself to his limits and lay back on the bed, his face scrunched up in a combination of agony and ecstasy. Eventually the torture became too much and with a mighty “RULE BRITANNIA!” the owner roared and was soon covered with the essence of man on his naked body which he rubbed into it with moans of pleasure as his chest heaved, filling his lungs with oxygen. As he started to relax, he chuckled and said “Well done Phileas, next time, ten minutes!” So, who was this Phileas, who has just pushed his physical body to the limits of human endurance? He was an Englishman, certainly, but was he a Londoner? That was a question for the ages however. He was never seen on the floor of the Stock Exchange, nor at the Bank of England or the other smaller banks in the capital, nor in the counting-rooms in the square mile, the financial heart of England nor did any ships ever came into London docks of which he was the owner; he had no public employment; he had never been entered at any of the Inns of Court, either at the Temple, or Lincoln’s Inn, or Gray’s Inn; nor had his voice ever resounded in the Court of Chancery, or in the Exchequer, or the Queen’s Bench, or the Ecclesiastical Courts. He certainly was not a manufacturer; nor was he a merchant or a gentleman farmer. His name was strange to the scientific and learned societies, and he never was known to take part in the sage deliberations of the Royal Institution or the London Institution, the Artisan’s Association, or the Institution of Arts and Sciences. He belonged, in fact, to none of the numerous societies which swarm in the English capital, from the Harmonic to that of the Entomologists, founded mainly for abolishing pernicious insects bar one. He was a member of the Reform Club, the Club that was home to every great Liberal that England had produced and that was all. Was Phileas rich? Undoubtedly. But those who knew him best could not imagine how he had made his fortune, and Mr. Fogg, as he was more commonly referred to, was the last person to whom to apply for the information. He was not lavish, nor, on the contrary, avaricious; for, whenever he knew that money was needed for a noble, useful, or benevolent purpose, he supplied it quietly and sometimes anonymously. He was, in short, the least communicative of men. He talked very little, and seemed more mysterious for his taciturn manner. His daily habits were quite open to observation; but whatever he did was so the same thing that he had always done before, that the wits of the curious were puzzled. Had he travelled? It was likely, for no one seemed to know the world more familiarly; there was no spot so secluded that he did not appear to have an intimate acquaintance with it. He often corrected, with a few clear words, the thousand conjectures advanced by members of the club as to lost and unheard-of travelers, pointing out the true probabilities, and seeming as if gifted with a sort of second sight, so often did events justify his predictions. He must have travelled everywhere, at least in the spirit and yet, from the little that people knew of him, it was evident that he had not left the capital for at least fifteen years maybe longer. Those who were honoured by a better acquaintance with him than the rest, declared that nobody could pretend to have ever seen him anywhere else. His sole pastimes were reading the papers and playing whist. He often won at this game, which, as a silent one, harmonized with his nature; but his winnings never went into his purse, being reserved as a fund for his charities. Mr. Fogg played, not to win, but for the sake of playing. The game was in his eyes a contest, a struggle with a difficulty, yet a motionless, unwearyingly struggle, congenial to his tastes. He was unmarried and didn’t have any children, and whilst you dear reader may have an idea why this was the case, to the residents of London this was something that could happen to the most honest of people and so nothing was thought of it, however as he didn’t have any relatives or indeed dear friends, that was certainly rather strange but living alone in his house with only a manservant suited him to the ground. However on this day, that element was lacking, and so after pouring himself a fresh pot of coffee, to which he added precisely one fifth of a pint of milk to, he downed it in less than a minute and dressed himself so that by eleven o’clock that morning he was sitting in the hallway of his home, his feet now covered by a pair of shoes so bright and shiny that he could see his reflection in them, a pair of brown trousers, a white shirt, with a thick red cravat and a jacket the same colour as his trousers waiting for the new manservant to present himself. However, as the clock in the hallway chimed the hour synchronized to the bell in the Westminster tower, the smile that had been on his face since he woke up disappeared and was replaced first with a frown and then a scowl. “This will never do!” he declared in a huff, “I can’t hire a manservant who isn’t on time!”
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Part One Roger Dixon was a stud! It was almost as if he only had to step onto a bodybuilding stage and the world just caved into him. He won every single class he entered be it his local contest, the statewide contest, a regional contest, a national contest, a continent contest or even the day he was crowned Mr. Universe in his class, indeed that day he really let them know what he was packing. He stood up to his maximum height and brought the house down, showing off every sinew of his proportionate 266lb mass. His proportionate 53 inch chest, with his proportionate 2½ inch long nipples just oozed mascunlinity and when coupled with a proportionate 27 inch waist his proportionate eight pack was a thing of wonder to behold. His proportionate 22 inch guns, with veins streaking along them, were unmissable, his proportionate 28 inch quads glistened under the lights, his proportionate 23 inch calves and his proportionate 22 inch thick neck ensured that he won the best poser class as well and was even brought out to pose against the overall winner. But that was all in the past. It was his own desire that was his undoing. First, when at a photoshoot he attempted a 300lb bench much more than he could actually manage to show off his power and tore both his pecs and then the real trouble came when he was caught in a media sting operation and outed. He had always been gay, he loved the attention of people drooling over his muscles, his cock a proportionate 9 inch monster when hard was his pride and joy, no one had complained when photos showing his bulge on stage flooded the magazines but as soon as he was outed, he was dropped faster than you could say "One Hit Wonder". Even now, twenty years after last stepping on stage, he still looked after himself but knew that standing just a mere five foot two tall, weighing 146lbs though still as lean as anything, his 42½ inch chest, 32 inch waist, 14½ inch biceps, 22½ inch quads and 15 inch calves would never cut the mustard against the modern stars of the stage. Even the people in his grand master classes were bigger than he was and as he watched the recording of the last show he had streamed, he traced the buldging pecs of Mr. Grand Master Colorado 2015, a man aged as the same as Roger, 65, yet so muscular Roger wanted to wrap his arms about him and pummel him into submission. But Roger now happy living at his home in Fort Collins, Colorado where he spent most of his days on online forums discussing bodybuilding history and reading stories about the most powerful men ever to exist on the face of the planet had his dreams and would regularly wake up, covered with a thick layer of cum having read stories, both real and fan made, of Hercules lifting an entire cliff face, He-Man wrestling a clone of himself, Milos of Croton splitting a tree apart with his bare hands and his personal favourite, the final act of that Titan, Porthos, holding up a cave to allow his friend to escape. Whenever he read that story, his dreams were always the same. He would rescue that man, take him to his own personal gym where people could train in the nude, and work that man until he begged for mercy, then ram him until he screamed for mercy and then, torture him with high voltage until he caved in and panted "I submit" and allow him and Roger to swap bodies so that Roger could experience the power of the Titan for himself. This interest in the Titan of old eventually developed into an interest in Renn Faires and it wasn't long before Roger, dressed as the Titan himself, was a regular feature and made sure that his body was the centre of attention as demonstrated just the previous week when, whilst holding a talk on the strength of heroes, and deadlifting two hundred pounds for the whole talk, a Spartan came up, grabbed hold of his biceps and squeezed them saying "Arms, that would defy Hercules in their strength" It was after a Renn Faire, where having been a member for a decade the organisers presented him with a leather bound copy of all of the tales of the Musketeers, that Roger found himself in a unique position. He'd been reading another one of Porthos's feats of strength and as per usual was getting very excited about it. “This group was superintended by the man whom D'Artagnan had already remarked, and who appeared to be the engineer-in-chief. A plan was lying open before him upon a large stone forming a table, and at some paces from him a crane was in action. This engineer, who by his evident importance first attracted the attention of D'Artagnan, wore a justaucorps, which, from its sumptuousness, was scarcely in harmony with the work he was employed in, that rather necessitated the costume of a master-mason than of a noble. He was a man of immense stature and great square shoulders, and wore a hat covered with feathers. He gesticulated in the most majestic manner, and appeared, for D'Artagnan only saw his back, to be scolding the workmen for their idleness and want of strength” “Oh, yeah” moaned Roger, “I think I know where this is headed” and with that started to rub his cock in anticipation. “D'Artagnan continued to draw nearer. At that moment, the man with the feathers ceased to gesticulate, and, with his hands placed upon his knees, was following, half-bent, the effort of six workmen to raise a block of hewn stone to the top of a piece of timber destined to support that stone, so that the cord of the crane might be passed under it. The six men, all on one side of the stone, united their efforts to raise it to eight or ten inches from the ground, sweating and blowing, whilst a seventh got ready for when there should be daylight enough beneath it to slide in the roller that was to support it. But the stone had already twice escaped from their hands before gaining a sufficient height for the roller to be introduced. There can be no doubt that every time the stone escaped them, they bounded quickly backwards, to keep their feet from being crushed by the refalling stone. Every time, the stone, abandoned by them, sunk deeper into the damp earth, which rendered the operation more and more difficult. A third effort was followed by no better success, but with progressive discouragement. And yet, when the six men were bent towards the stone, the man with the feathers had himself, with a powerful voice, given the word of command, "Ferme!" which regulates maneuvers of strength. Then he drew himself up” “Yeah” moaned Roger, the rubbing becoming faster making his cock longer, harder and redder , “You show them, Porthos” “The workmen, as commanded by the engineer, drew back with their ears down, and shaking their heads, except for the one who held the plank, who prepared to perform the office” “Oh, fuck” Roger moaned, as his hips started to buck and he could feel himself getting even more aroused “The man with the feathers went up to the stone, stooped, slipped his hands under the face lying upon the ground, stiffened his Herculean muscles, and without a strain, with a slow motion, like that of a machine, lifted the end of the rock a foot from the ground” “Yeah” he moaned again, “show them pure muscle!” “The workman who held the plank profited by the space thus given him, and slipped the roller under the stone. "That's the way," said the giant, not letting the rock fall again, but placing it upon its support” “YEAH!” roared Roger, “SHOW THEM ALL WHAT IT MEANS TO BE PORTHOS” and with that he came so violently that in combination with the long day and the orgasm that followed, Roger started to fall asleep and dropped the book to the ground moaning “Oh, Porthos, I wish I could meet you one day!” and with that slipped into sleep, his cock spurting cum as he did so. This will be a very long story (but I cannot say how many parts it will be). I know from experience how boring that long a story can be so therefore I would like members to help liven it up with their artistic skills be it people like @powerbeats illustrating the sheer effort needed to perform a feat of near superhuman strength, people like @leogrando showing how big people are, or even @darkluster4 showing what happens later on when Roger experiences the full force of the Titan. Therefore I am giving every single illustrator carte blanche to draw what they like when they like
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