Search the Community

Forgive any spelling/grammatical mistakes, been out of practice. Got inspired to write this story. Johnny could feel all eyes fall on him as he entered the gym. Could he blame them? Three hundred pounds of pure lean muscle, packed tight into a sun-yellow stringer that clung to pecs that looked like they could have their own gravitational pull. Not to mention lats that made his cannon-like arms rest at a permanent angle, and a pair of legs that could rival a racing horse. Johnny knew he was a damn stud, and he savored the dozens of eyes watching him walk towards the weights; the big man not even bothering to check in at the reception. It was chest day, and Johnny was keen on giving his audience a show. Taking over one of the benches, Johnny loaded the olympic bar with one hundred fifteen pounds as his warm-up. By now the gym had nearly totally silent, the only sound being the shitty pop hits playing over the speakers. Placing his calloused hands on the bar, Johnny got into position, and with barely any effort he unracked the weight. With steady even reps, Johnny brought the bar down to his chest, then back up - making sure to lock out his arms as he did. Five, ten, fifteen, twenty. He only stopped at forty because he was getting bored. With a heavy clang he reracked the barbell. The beginnings of a decent pump were showing, the straps of his stringer were already being stretched before he started, now they looked like they were holding on for dear life as his chest threatened to tear the garment apart. “More.” Johnny’s voice was like thunder as it escaped his lips - he hadn’t even shouted, but if you were close enough you could feel the ground rumble with the single word. Another five pounds were added to the bar, and another forty reps were completed. Johnny didn’t start showing signs of fatigue until he’d done his set of forty with 130lbs. The gym had gone dead silent by then, the receptionist having turned off the radio. If everyone wasn’t watching him before, they were now. Johnny stood from the bench. The stringer clung to his frame like a second skin, the maroon fabric drenched in sweat as it hugged every inch of his pumped torso. His already massive chest was beyond pumped, cable veins and striations covering the muscle. The fist sized abs that sat just below were on full display now, each deep groove framing his midsection perfectly. Slowly, Johnny grabbed the collar of his stringer. With one powerful movement, he tore the fabric like paper - he could swear he heard one of the older gym members moan out as he revealed his immense musculature. “Tren hard.” He gave a double bi to a nearby man in his early forties - a small smile spreading across his face as he watched the older man fall to his knees clutching his tenting shorts. Adding another five pounds to the bar, Jonny then returned to the bench - as his lats got an indirect pump from the lift, they spilled even farther off the sides. Unracking the weight, Johnny got into position. Sweat began to poor down his face as he lowered the bar, his arms trembling as he struggled to control the weight. The rep was going perfect, until he’d gotten half way, when he felt the cool air brush against his now exposed nipples. The cool air blowing across the long finger sized nubs made him lose concentration. With as much strength as he could will into his massive pecs, Jony managed to push the weight back up to lockout, and rerack the bar. Johnny let out a satisfied growl as he got to his feet, his massive chest rising and falling with every breath. He marched over to the nearest bench, each footstep sending a ripple through his shredded quads. Ignoring the towel and water bottle that rested on the equipment, Johnny dragged the bench next to the rows of dumbbells - completely ignoring the skinny twink who tried to meekly tell him he was using that. The more pumped Johnny got, the less of a shit he gave towards the little guys around him. They were there to watch the big men, give their unspoken praise and admiration to them - their own pitiful workouts were secondary to admiring him. Grabbing hold of a pair of 15s, Johnny sprawled himself onto the bench, his testosterone filled sweat immediately making the pleather fabric moist. Just like with the barbell bench, each rep was executed with perfect unyielding form. Up, down, up, down. Veins continued to snake across his chest and the muscle grew with each movement - the water retention from the creatine he diligently took making the muscle packed full to the brim. After eighteen agonizing reps, Johnny let the dumbbells fall the ground with a thud. Not bother to put the weights away, he went back to the rack and grabbed a pair of 18s. He repeated the set, making sure to let out guttural moans with each rep he did. After another fifteen reps were done, Johnny tossed the weights down and got to his feet. The pump was nasty. There was hardly a better way to describe the inhuman level of size and density of his chest. Hose thick veins snaked around pecs that resembled small planets rather than muscle. For shits and giggles Johnny grabbed a weight clip and placed it against his chest. He wasn’t sure if it was the copious amount of sweat, or the textured striations, but the rush of hormones that filled him as he watched the metal stick to the meaty orb was nothing short of overwhelming. He was sure at this rate if he kept it up he could have his own ecosystem on his chest - maybe even eventually have tiny little cities built across their expanse. “Oh my god, his chest has it’s own gravitational pull.” A nearby twink exclaimed quietly, his voice thick with lust and envy. “Let’s test that theory.” Johnny turned towards the group of lifters all watching him. Drawing in a deep breath, Johnny brought his arms forward into the biggest most muscular he could manage, his musculature exploding in size as his face got red from the effort. Gritting his teeth, he focused all he could on his chest. His already hard member got even more rigid as he watched one of the lightest members - an elderly man in his late sixties - slowly get pulled in his direction, his brittle body gliding across the floor until he made contact with Johnny’s engorged chesticles. Sweat poured down his immense physique as he hardened his flex even more; and in response he watched as another man -younger, in his late twenties- also got pulled in. After two more had been pulled into his mass, the gym goers began to flee, stumbling their way away from the mass monster. Johnny let out a primal snarl, asserting his alpha dominance over the gym as he continued his massive flex. His posing was momentarily interrupted as he felt something warm come in contact with his finger-length nipple. The warm feeling was then accompanied by another on the other nipple, and the sounds of vigorous sucking. The old man, and the young man had begun attacking his nipples with their mouths, sucking the meaty nubs with all their energy, and guzzling the white liquid the spurt in response. With each gulp the two grew little by little, slowly beginning to resemble the density and size of their god. “Yes, grow my children. Become alphas like me, your ALPHA KING.” His voice shook the building, weights came crashing onto the floor and mirrors shattered. “Oof, I don’t feel so good.” The older man’s voice broke through the silence that had followed Johnny’s words. He gripped his belly, the blocky abs that adorned his midsection were bloated and swollen out into a large distended sphere. Johnny let out a small grunt as his eyes caught something, nearly imperceptible - at the top of the beer keg of a belly, he saw… a kick.

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