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  1. WARNING: This story contains scenes of a violent nature. Some readers may find these scenes offensive. Please do not read on if you feel like this applies to you. The air felt nice on Victor’s beautiful face as he flew across through the air, thousands of feet above the city streets. Below him, thousands of tiny humans went about their days, limited in their capabilities by their feeble strength and lack of true power. Today, however, most of them were distracted by the breaking news bulletins on their phones and tablets. Just a few blocks away a bank was under siege by armed gunmen. Don’t worry little insects, thought Victor. Captain Unstoppable is on his way. Victor finally came to a halt above the city’s most illustrious bank; faux golden columns and regal-like architecture. Impressive. Though, not as impressive as the god-like being that floated silently in mid-air, looking down upon the frantic scene that was unfolding before him. Still floating high above the scene, Victor began to scan the whole area with his eyes. His x-ray vision, microscopic vision, and telescopic vision all working in unison to meticulously detail the entire building and its internal layout; all in the space of just a few seconds. Now Victor new everything there was to know about the situation at hand. There were ten armed men inside the bank, and about two dozen hostages. There will soon be just the hostages, thought Victor. His excitement was increasing. The prospect of laying waste to a couple of humans always made his body tingle with anticipation. It…aroused him. Instead of descending down to the police blockade that surrounded the bank, Victor simply flew a full speed towards the building’s uppermost floor. His indestructible body smashed right through the wall of an upstairs corridor. Of course, he felt absolutely no pain or discomfort in doing so. Even his arms, exposed by the short sleeves of his t-shirt, incurred no injuries whatsoever. Instead of walking, Victor chose instead to hover his way down the corridor. Doing so always made him appear godlier. Being 7 ft. helped as well, of course. Thanks to his x-ray vision, Victor could tell that his first two targets were in the opposite side of nearby door. Upon reaching this door, Victor reached forward, but not for the handle. Instead his fingers effortlessly penetrated the upper midsection of the door. For him it was like poking your fingers through tissue paper. He then gripped down on the hole he had made, and simply tore the door off of its hinges. He tossed it aside where it smashed to pieces against the wall. “What the fuck?!” began one of the criminals, turning around upon hearing the sound of the door’s destruction. “Oh shit!” cried his partner, catching sight of Victor. “It’s him. It’s Unstoppable!” Both men raised their rifles and began unloading their ammo on Victor. Despite knowing full well who he was, Victor was nonetheless amused by their efforts to harm him. Victor closed his eyes to fully enjoy the feel of dozens and dozens of bullets impacting him on his thick, meaty, square pecs; his solid and chiselled eight-pack abs; and on his pristine face, complete with its astoundingly angular jawline. For him, the hail of bullets felt more like a pleasant massage. Each one imparting a nice, soothing touch before ricocheting off in some random direction. The sight of his bodybuilder physique being bombard with bullets, complemented by the fact that he was still hovering a few inches off the ground, really hit home the reality that Victor was not human. He was so much more. Eventually the two goons used up their current magazines, and frantically tried to reload. Now it’s time to play, thought Victor, a wicked smile spreading across his face. Victor finally set himself down on the floor, and he walked slowly but purposefully towards the two men. As he drew closer, the size difference between Victor and these endangered idiots only became more and more pronounced. Both men slowly stopped trying to reload their weapons, and instead looked up at Victor and his incredible body. Men often looked upon Victor with a mix of lust, envy, and fear. Victor did have the perfect male body after all. Victor could hear their tiny hearts beating like war drums, and his godly eyes could trace the beads of sweat that were forming on their brows. For a moment, Victor simply stood there, looking down upon the comparatively shorter men, both of whom were also just standing there looking up at Victor. Well…trying to look at him. In reality they were distracted by his pecs, traps, shoulders, and even his neck muscles. “We…we…*gulp*…we have orders to kill the hostages if…if you…if there was” stuttered on of the men, shaking as his admittedly impressive body suddenly seemed so pathetic in the presence of Victor’s. He was the first to die. Victor gently placed one of his large, muscular, and vascular hands on the side of the man’s head. For a moment Victor simply caressed the man’s scalp with his fingers and his cheek with his thumb, marvelling at how much of the humans head his hand fit around. Of course the human fell for it, initially believing that Victor had taken a sexual liking to him. He closed his eyes and breathed more loudly as his whole body was stimulated by the arousing feel of Victors touch (and the god’s scent). Victor then moved his hand gently to the top of the man’s head, still caressing him in a tender manner. The man opened his eyes and looked up at Victor. Victor smiled down at him, more amused by how the man now looked relaxed, incorrectly believing that this powerful being was friendly and loving. Victor closed his fist, and popped the fool’s head like a grape. “What the fuck?!” screamed the other man, backing away as fast as he could. The headless corpse continued standing for a few seconds before keeling over onto the floor. Blood rapidly pooled around its upper half. Victor looked down at his hand, observing the fleshy bits that were still stuck to it. A quick burst of heat vision cleaned that right up, vaporising all human remains yet leaving Victor’s hand completely unscathed. “Oh no, oh no, oh no no no. Oh god please! NO!” screamed the other man, who was now trapped in a corner of the room. Victor’s superhuman sense of smell easily detected the urine that soaked the man’s pants. The man had now fallen to his knees, looking across the room at the god and the dead human that lay on the ground before him. Tears streaked silently down his face. “Please don’t kill me”, he said, in almost hushed tones. Victor approached the man, who had begun cowering and whimpering even louder at the sight of this being approaching him. Filled with a sudden curiosity, Victor lifted the bottom of his t-shirt up, revealing his breathtakingly beautiful eight-pack. Each ab was such a clear and pronounce bump, almost like a line of diamond-hard cobblestones. The groves and cuts between them just as clearly visible. The muscle group as a whole expanded and contracted subtly with each perfectly calm breath Victor took. The crying man quickly fell silent. The sight of Victor’s abs aroused him to the point of temporarily off-setting his terror. While the man was enjoying the best (and last) view he’d ever seen, Victor was effortlessly probing the man’s mind with his telepathy. Just as I suspected, thought Victor, as he was treated to grotesque images of murder, rape, and violent assault. The pathetic bag of meat and brittle bones before him the perpetrator in them all. Victor dropped his shirt, covering up the masterpiece that was his muscled stomach. In doing so, the insect was no longer distracted, and once again fully aware of the situation. He looked up at Victor in time to see the god’s eyes glowing red. A split second later and the man was nothing more than a pile of ash. His scream echoed for a few more seconds. Not bothering with taking it slow any longer, as he was now fully aroused, Victor lifted off from the ground and plough through the walls and floors of the bank. Steel and concrete gave way to him as easily as the air did. Guided by his x-ray vision, Victor soon burst upwards through a ceiling, and found himself floating before another one of the criminals. Before this weakling could say anything, Victor grabbed him by the throat and raised him up into the air, and above his own head. The man’s feet were left dangling a considerable height above the floor. Victor himself was standing, not floating. As the man clawed in vain at Victor’s hand and thick, vascular, powerful forearm (with just a light dusting of hair), Victor himself admired the man. He was actually handsome. Dark eyes and a thick, dark beard made him very rugged. Plus, not a bad physique. A quick scan revealed to Victor the presence of a six-pack and some very nice quads. Shame, thought Victor, as he flicked his wrist. The man’s next snapped instantly, and the corpse was now dangling limply from Victor’s grasp. He dropped in unceremoniously to the floor, and carried on. For the next man, Victor took his little head and smashed it against the most bulbous and immaculately sculpted pecs you have ever scene. Goon number five was punched in the stomach by Victor, and thus reduced to paste. Six and seven were encased in ice, courtesy of Victor’s frosty breath. Although they were now dead, since humans can’t survive in temperatures that cold, Victor still decided to take it one step further. With a click of his fingers, Victor unleashed a sound wave powerful enough to shatter both the frozen bodies, and any glass in the room, to pieces. Number eight was taken into Victor’s strong arms. For a minute, the little man was allowed to feel Victor’s extraordinary biceps, triceps, and shoulders. All three muscle groups felt like cannonballs. Well, Victor’s biceps and shoulders felt like and looked like cannonballs. His triceps felt more like a bag of cement that was as full as it could be. Just as solid, but different in shape. Regardless, this didn’t stop the little human from kissing and licking them all with passion. Once Victor had decided the little human had had enough fun, Victor hugged the man. And then kept hugging him. First the man’s spine snapped. Then his lungs and stomach burst. Then all the blood in his body was being forced out towards the extremities. It leaked out of his mouth and nose, as his empty eyes stared upwards. Tossing victim number eight over his shoulder, Victor silently floated upwards a few inches, and then dove straight into the floor, smashing right down into the bank’s basement. The leader of the bandits, and the last of his henchmen, were standing right in front of the vault. They had been trying unsuccessfully to open the vault. Victor put on a calm and friendly smile, and began walking towards them. At last, he spoke. “Need a hand?” he asked, with a grin. Both of the frail humans were just staring in disbelief as Victor casually strolled up to, and then past them. Much like the door earlier, Victor reaching forward and simply sank his fingers in some random part of the vault’s titanium door. Like a hot knife through butter, Victor’s fingers sank in…deep. Despite it being no effort whatsoever, Victor’s arm still flared as if it was putting strain on him. His bicep exploded with power, and a single, massive, cable-like vain ran across the beautiful dome as it rose up to its fullest height. His forearm looked like a roadmap. And was about four times that size of a normal man’s forearm. And then, as easily as one would open a book, Victor ripped the vault door out and away from its hinges. But instead of throwing it, he simply held it above his head. He turned to face the men, supporting the vault door with just one arm; the same one that had dislodged it. Victor felt no difficulty at all. For him, it was like holding a light umbrella. He looked at the two men, who were both staring at his arm and the vault door in awe. “How could any human think they stand a chance against me”, said the violent superhero. With a flick of a finger he tossed the vault door over towards the two men. They were so enthralled by the display of strength that they forgot to scream. The room shook as the vault door landed, cracking the concrete floor and flattening the two criminals. Using just a finger, Victor pressed it into the side of the vault door like you would press your finger into playdough, and lifted one side of the multi-tonne vault door up to about the height of his waist. He leaned over to peek underneath it, just to confirm that the last two lawbreakers were indeed nothing more than crimson slush. Of course they are, he thought, and chuckled. Flying to where the hostages were being held, Victor used his laser vision to cut a precise opening in the room where they were trapped. The innocent humans (the kind that Victor would never hurt) poured out into the main hall, surrounding him and singing his praises. Both the men and the women alike all reached out their hands in the hope of groping some part of his incredible, muscle-bound body. Victor obliged them for a few minutes, putting on an impromptu posing showing, though he chose to keep his shirt, jeans, and hiking boots on. Once an overly eager bank teller got one last chance to feel one of Victor’s biceps, this supreme being rose up into the air and flew out through one of the holes he had made earlier. Crowds of onlookers, news reporters, and emergency services applauded Victor as he emerged. “Mr Unstoppable, we can’t thank you enough” said Police Chief Martin Stewards. The chief watched as Victor descended down to him, trying not to be distracted at how easy it was for Victor to appear god-like. “My pleasure, as always chief” said Victor, landing gently in front of the chief. Even with an enviable height of 6ft 2, the chief still had to look up at Victor. “I take it all perpetrators are…no longer with us?” asked the chief, one eyebrow raised. He always tolerated Victor’s approach to crime. “I scanned all of their minds to confirm that they were deserving of it. Most of them though aren’t…whole” replied Victor, smiling down at the chief. Victor had always like the man. “And collateral damage?” asked the chief. “Nothing insurance can’t handle” said Victor, delighted that his comment elicited a chuckle from the chief. “Whoa hold on now” said the chief. Victor had started to float upwards but stopped mid-air and looked back down at the chief with curiosity. “Come on, back down here please” said the chief, beckoning Victor with his finger. Victor obliged. Despite having just snuffed out the lives of ten measly humans, Victor did not consider good people and their requests to be beneath him. Victor once again landed before the chief. The chief took a moment to look around him at his fellow police who were now tending to the scene and to the hostages. He then turned his attention back to Victor. “God damn” said the chief to himself, leaving out a low whistle. He raised his arm and poked Victor’s left pec a few times. Victor smile incredulously, rolling his eyes. He had assumed that the chief called him back for something important. The chief poked a few more times, unable to make even the slights of dents in Victor’s chest muscles. “Alright, you’re dismissed” said the chief, taking one last look at Victor’s magnificent chest. “Have a good one chief” said Victor, as he flew straight up a few hundred feet, and the shot forward at incredible speeds. The chief watched his departure, while tucking his erection into the elastic waist of his underwear. “God damn” he whispered again, with another chuckle.
  2. mmvmgo2011

    Vaccinated - A Continuation

    Hi all. Been offline for WAY too long now. I hopefully have a bit of spare time again, so I’ve revisited some of the characters and continuing Vaccinated. (And, yes, I have other stories on the go - haven't forgotten.) If you haven’t read it, you’ll almost certainly get more out of this one if you read that one first. A refresher might be helpful too, as there will probably be lots of callbacks and interwoven story lines. Obviously heavy spoilers here if you haven’t yet read the first one. Consider this a continuation following on immediately from the events in the first story, before the Epilogue. Events here may or may not progress matters to the same point in that Epilogue - so a sort of alternate history. Hope you enjoy. As before, I only have a vague outline of a story - I’m making the rest of it up as I go along, so fair warning, the story could include almost anything. If you’re easily offended or triggered, then maybe avoid this one. I welcome any feedback and will work in any suggestions you might have as it goes along. Delivery will likely be a fair bit slower than in the past, but I’ll try my best to keep chapters coming in on the regular. ~~ONE~~ Jake’s timing was exquisite; perfection. He could feel the crescendo, the approaching tsunami about to break, and he wasn’t about to miss the opportunity to experience the pleasure his partner’s ejaculation was about to unleash on his dick. Undulating, peristaltic waves of muscular contractions milking his shaft, coaxing the breeding load from deep within his heaving, roiling balls. Jake’s cock fully plugged the tunnel, his cock’s sensitivity heightened by the tight embrace along the entire shaft from tip to pubic bone. He pulled back slowly, deliberately, the head of his massive cock raking against the tunnel’s walls, tweaking the prostate, eliciting a deep, resonant growl in his partner that vibrated throughout his entire body, increasing the sensations and bringing the coming flood to the brink. He stopped as the head reached the opening, enjoying the feeling of the ring of muscle quivering against his fraenulum, his partner’s growl increasing. Jake’s heavy, pendulous balls seethed, ready to unleash their prodigious load. Squatting slightly, he adjusted the angle of his cock so the head would smash his partner’s prostate as he rammed in all fourteen inches down to the pubic bone. The separate muscles of his massive quads stood out in stark relief, vascularity pulsating and engorged, the massive root running along his inner thigh branching out to feed power to every muscle. He flexed his cock, watching, enraptured, as it swelled even bigger, became even harder, the veins flooding it with blood, steeling the shaft and sending bolts of exquisite pleasure spreading throughout his godly body. Jake’s core tightened, the globes of his perfect arse contracting and squeezing as he slammed his cock in as far as it would go, and then further. As he smashed past the prostate, the tsunami was triggered. It was Jake’s turn to groan, as his partner’s orgasm and ejaculation began, massive waves spreading up his shaft, tingling, more bolts of electric pleasure sending him wild. As Jake slammed in as far as it would go, his balls slapped into his partner’s arse, his orgasm contracting and pulsating muscles throughout his pelvic floor. The hole clamped shut around the base of Jake’s shaft, a natural cock ring further swelling and hardening the already diamond-hard cock. As it swelled, his massive cock pushed harder against the walls of the tunnel, increasing the strength of the muscular contractions as it struggled to contain and eject the monster invading its depths. Jake’s eyes rolled back as his partner’s cock pumped out splashes of thick, creamy cum. As the first few arcs of cum splattered against his partner’s pecs and abs, a large glob settling in his thick, dark beard, Jake allowed himself to ejaculate, his own muscular contractions mingling with those of his partner, heightening their ecstasy. Jake’s balls, so eager to unleash their load, rose up, and his cock somehow swelled and hardened even more as his ejaculation began. The pressure exerted along the length of his cock, and especially by the ring of muscles clamped around the base of his shaft made it more difficult for his cum to make it through all fourteen inches, causing high pressure spurting jets of cum to spray deep within, the massive load contained by the swollen head plugging the tunnel. Even as they both continued ejaculating, Jake leaned in for a deep, passionate kiss, the taste of cum on his lips adding to his explosive wave of orgasms. *** “Get out,” Jake said, as he stood up and went to shower. “Fuck, mate,” he breathed heavily, still recovering from the orgasm, “you were mind blowi–” “I said, get out.” He didn’t even turn back. “Can I at least get your number? I don’t even know your name…” He trailed off, distracted by the incredible view of Jake’s naked body walking to the en suite. The X shape, his glorious arse cheeks, sitting atop massive ham-hock hamstrings, the sweep of his quads visible even from behind, his back muscles mounding and rippling as he walked, roadmap veins - everywhere he looked, splendour upon perfection. Jake ignored him. The cumrag, having served his purpose, already forgotten. Despite his swelling dick - how could you not get hard at that view, he thought? - he hurriedly dressed, the cum covering his abs and chest already drying, sticking to his shirt, and left. **** Brad, Amber and HE were sitting in Brad’s living room, regrouping and discussing the recent events and the fallout. “Can you still sense him?” Amber asked. They all knew which 'him' she was referring to. “Yes…” He hesitated, “…he’s having sex.” It was a very odd sensation, having his best friend’s subconscious as a stream in part of his brain. Despite everything, Amber and HE both blushed. Amber, in particular, was still trying to process her feelings about Jake. She could not let go of the fact that they meshed perfectly, their sex on a level she had never, and almost certainly would never, experience again. But, equally, she could not forget his treatment of her. His callous disregard, the violence against her without so much as a second thought. Yes, he was under the effects of the vaccine, but was that merely amplifying an existing tendency? She did not know, and the conflict was gnawing at her. What made it worse, she could never discuss it with him. Jake could not - must not! - ever know or be reminded of his rampage. They all feared if he learned what they did – what he did – that he would try to regain his abilities, and his reign of terror would resume. She nuzzled into Brad’s strong, comforting embrace, his Herculean arm around her. He was no Jake, it was true, but he was kind and loving, the sex was fantastic (though, of course, not the perfection she had with Jake), and his body was phenomenal. And, yet, she still could not shake the thought and feelings - he was no Jake. **** As Jake’s orgasm erupted in a corner of Brad’s brain, his own dick chubbed, and his mind wandered, lustful thoughts – of tits, of arse, of legs for days, of vascularity and muscle – flooded his brain, like cumshots pumping hot man cream, flooding holes. Amber nuzzled into him, the feel of her pert, luscious tits pressing into him causing lustful fire to tingle through him, making a beeline for his cock. He smiled. Not for the first time he silently thanked Jake, his best friend and, in many ways, his saviour. If Jake had not convinced him to break his vow of celibacy, he would not have met Amber. Not since Angelina had he felt such feelings for a woman. Amber would never replace Angelina - nobody ever could - but Amber was a mighty fine substitute.
  3. Hank, How are ya, stud? Man do I wish you was here. Sun, palm trees, beaches, all the rum you can drink. Shore leave in fucking paradise, and all that’s on my mind is our last brawl. Don’t help that none of the S.O.B.’s on this tinfoil barge can fight worth a damn. They talk big, get in your face, but then can’t take a punch. No kidding I dropped this one waif-like creature with a bare flick of a jab. I ain’t playing no more ‘til these bums come up with a salty bear like you who can handle these big fists. Hugs and Kisses (har-de-har-har), Liam Liam, Got such a fight-boner when I read your card, I went out and found a scrap on a New York rooftop with some swabbies from the Sea Queen. At five-on-one it wasn’t quite fair (for them, ha!). And with a knuckle-dragging stud like you on my mind, I went and popped my load too early. First guy crumpled under my left hook. Second guy lost all his front teeth to my haymaker. I kid you not the third and fourth wimps then shat their dress whites when I screamed in their faces. Hell you know how I can get when I get riled up. Fifth guy was made of somewhat sterner stuff, even caught me with an uppercut right on the button before I flattened him. But you know me, chin like a moose. I’ll post this (don’t lick the blood splatter, you animal), then go placate the Sea Queen’s first mate, smooth things over about the injuries, and the shitstains. Look at you, getting me in trouble, even from halfway ‘round the world. Bear hugs from your bearfriend (har-de-har-har), Hank Hank, Knew I could count on ya to get me back in the game. Give my best to the Sea Queen’s first mate; I once gut-slugged him so hard he re-savoured a week's worth of navy chow. You always know best, my brother in brawn. Who am I to avoid fightin’, on account of the delicate constitutions of weaker men? I went right back to that beach and pasted seven able seamen thinking of your handsome mug, and what I’d do to it should I see ya once more. They is not so able now (har-de-har-har), what with their busted ribs and all. Took some hard knocks, but ya know my noggin, harder than a coconut. I should know, I cracked one open with these paws and am now enjoying a refreshing drink in victory. Ya must remember my grip (wink wink)? Hope you counted, with that big brain of yours (“placate?”) that seven is more than five. Try to keep up. Smooches (on mine own biceps), Liam Liam, Guess there’s only one way we’re settlin’ this. I’m coming to get your ass. That’s the kind of grip you meant, right (har-de-har-har)? Ran into the minor problem of finding a ship headed in your general direction, and then the problem that said ship was The Defiant, remember them? They sure remember you and me, back when we were skinny recruits. We packed a wallop even then, but look at us now, with muscles coming out of our ears. They needed some convincing, did them deck apes, all ten of ‘em (math, boy), but you surely know how convincing these arms can be. Plus since they were now shorthanded, what choice did the skipper have? I know how to get my way, you remember? And if you don’t, sit tight, I’ll remind you soon enough. Drippingly yours, Hank
  4. Omnipotence

    My roommate is a god (parts 1 - 4)

    Hello everyone. Long time viewer/reader, first-time writer. A little nervous about it, so any and all constructive feedback is welcome! This part is really only meant to be a taster of sorts. I'm 110% open to change. Let me know what you think; super excited that I'm finally contributing! Without further ado: __________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Part 1: Tom was hovering in midair. He casually motioned his hands back and forth, as if he was conducting some sort of invisible orchestra. In reality, he was using his telekinesis to clean the living room effortlessly and in record time. Empty pizza boxes were pulled upward by an invisible force where they were instantly vaporized into nothingness. Stains off all varieties were simply removed from existence. Empty soda cans were melted into liquid form, which was then dispersed into the surrounding atmosphere. And throughout it all, Tom wasn't even looking at any of it. He was staring absentmindedly out the window. Such was the ease of this godly display of power that he didn't even need to devote his full attention to it. I simply sat and watched his nonchalant display of power with my usual awe. I suppose I could've helped, but how the hell is a measly little human like me supposed to add to this?! Within a minute of initiating the clean, Tom was finished. He turned in midair, hover over to the couch, and lowered himself down onto it. "All done" he said with a smile. His voice was impossibly beautiful and sexy. A deep baritone, masculine voice. "Thanks" I said, trying to pretend I wasn't intimidated my his godhood. Probably wasn't working though. Tom could just read my mind if he wanted to. "Want me to send you to sleep now?" Tom asked, his remarkable blue eyes filling me with a sense of comfort and safety as we made eye contact. I knew what he meant, and what he intended to do. With my mouth instantly going dry, and my body shaking from anticipation, all I could do was nod feebly. Tom stood up, walked to the center of the room, and turned to face me. With a simply wave of his hand, all of his clothes except for his form fitting, jet-black briefs disintegrated. His godly muscles were on display. Tom was 6'8'', and when he wasn't altering his density of using his flight power, he would normally weigh around 300 - 320 pounds. I began working my way down. His shoulders were massive. Powerful, rippling masses the size of cinder-blocks, with prominent traps that my whole hand could just barely cover. His pecs were next. Each one was the vision of perfection. Slabs of concrete; almost perfectly square, beefy, and large enough to cup. Like everything else, they rippled. He bounced them effortlessly, yet could also make them rock-solid at a moment's notice. His whole chest: 60'' His arms were of a similar make. Massive, 25'' machines that I've seen lifting impossible weights. Veins running through them, looking like steel cables, running down into his formidable looking forearms. His biceps and triceps were equally beautiful. His abs were the definition of beauty. A rippling, rock-hard eight pack, where each individual ab was arrogantly prominent, and the deep cuts that ran between them only emphasized how sculpted they were. Although I couldn't see if from where I sat, I have seen his back. His perfect, v-shaped back. Powerful mounds and ridges of muscle covering it all, guiding you slowly to his 33'' waist. And lets not forget to mention the glutes that it leads to. Two bulletproof hemispheres of pure muscle (and no, I'm not exaggerating). His legs put tree trunks to shame. 31'' thighs corded with titanium veins, towering above 24'' diamond-shaped calves. All of this balancing on bizarrely beautiful, size 15 feet. Of course, as a god, Tom's whole body was free of all forms of blemishes and other such imperfections. His skin was smooth and supply; an easily missed detail on account of the muscle that lay beneath. At the moment he had no body hair, although he could if he wanted to. But he wanted to make sure that I could see every striation, every subtle flex as clearly as possible. And so the light dusting of hair that sometimes coated his chest and forearms was willed out of existence. "Ready?" he said, smirking. I would try to describe the beauty of his face, but I don't think the necessary words actually exist. I gulped. Without taking his eyes off of me, he bounced his pecs. It was effortless for him. All other parts of his body stayed motionless; only his magnificent pecs moved. Their dance became increasingly complex; the two mounds moving to a rhythm like no other. Sometimes they bounced in unison, sometimes one at a time, and sometimes they alternated. My cock was as hard as stone. Suddenly, without warning, Tom tensed his abs. My description of them before described them in a non-flexed state. Imagine now what they looked like. Pre-cum soaked my pants. I hadn't even touch myself yet. And I knew I wasn't going to. Tom hit me next with a double biceps. Their peaks! If he had flexed just a bit harder they would've sent out a shock wave. His most muscular was next. His pecs... I began to convulse; my cock couldn't contain my arousal anymore. I came. He made me, without either of us touching it. Such was the beauty of his body and face. He smiled sweetly at me as I slowly began to lose consciousness from the strength of the orgasm. With a single hand and arm, Tom grabbed a fistful of my shirt's collar and smoothly lifted me from the couch. My 5'9'' frame dangled pathetically as he held me at arm's length with such ease. He bent his arm as he slowly brought me in from a kiss on the forehead, still holding me in the air all the while. His other arm simply hung at his side. Throughout all of this, my cock was still sputtering out small amounts of cum, dampening my already soaked underpants and jeans. "Goodnight. I'll see you in the morning" he whispered in my ear, as I finally lost complete consciousness from the orgasm. I passed out at the end of Tom's arm; he still held me as if I weighed the same as a balloon. The last thing I remember was the feel of my own feet dangling in the air. My arms hanging limp at my sides. My chin brushing the side of Tom's hand that gripped my shirt's collar before my head fell to the side. My whole body rendered weak and useless from the hundred orgasms Tom caused me to have in the space of a minute. I loved that feeling. My name is Frank, and this is the story of how I came to meet my roommate Tom. Who, by the way, happens to be an actual god.
  5. mmvmgo2011

    Vaccinated

    Hi all Long time lurker. I thought I'd start a story that's been mulling around in my head for a while now. I'm still not sure where it's ultimately headed - though I'm hoping it won't go where you think it might. I have some ideas for the direction - but nothing concrete. There could be anything - so fair warning - if you're easily offended, or grossed out, or whatever, this may not be the thread for you. I'm planning on keeping each chapter fairly short, but hoping to post updates more often. It's my first ever story - so be kind, or not ... EDIT: I've purposefully not given our main protagonist a name, but will use uppercase HE/HIM/HIS to refer to HIM. I'm gradually editing each entry to fix this after the fact. Apologies if it's hard to follow. ******* CHAPTER ONE It was over. Well, IT wasn’t over, but the race to find a vaccine against the SARS-CoV-2 virus, the virus that caused COVID-19, was done. The company where HE worked had lost the race. There were five or six vaccine candidates approved worldwide, some mRNA based, some more traditional. HIS company had spent billions of dollars, and would never recoup those R&D losses releasing vaccine number six or seven, even if it was more effective. If only it was even slightly effective. The project was shelved and, indeed, the existence of the company itself was now under threat. Word had come down from on high that afternoon; a Thursday. The staff were shocked, but not particularly surprised. Everyone expected the axe to fall at some point — many surprised it took as long as it did. It was always a radical and ambitious plan. A plan that would pay massive dividends if it paid off - not only in immediate sales of vaccine, but in lucrative patents that would forever change vaccine development and progress medical science as we’d known it. As the old saying goes, if it’s too good to be true… A vaccine that reprogrammed the patient’s DNA so that the patient’s own immune system would produce the cells and antibodies necessary to fight the virus would not only prevent COVID-19 disease, it would also prevent transmission of the virus causing the disease, ending the pandemic once and for all. But that was small fry compared to future developments. No more influenza, common cold, herpes, HIV, Hepatitis… any infection known to man — virus, bacteria, fungi — would be cured. And even the big C, cancer. Well, it WAS ambitious. But it was not to be. Though the theory seemed sound, putting the theory into practice proved… challenging. Hundreds of billions of dollars were spent trying to make it work and, though there was some promising early results in vitro, every single tested animal had resulted in horribly disfigured or dead animals. Not exactly ready for initial human trials, let alone approval for final manufacture and sale. The bean counters and lawyers were still crunching the numbers and considering the options, but it seemed that so little progress had been made converting theory into practice that everything relating to the project, from samples to formulas, from notes to equipment, from methods to specialised equipment — everything — was effectively worthless.
  6. Previous chapters: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Austin enjoys life with his growing, submissive stepdad. Jon lifts some weights in the backyard, then gets excited after his weigh-in and gets an intense blowjob from his Master. Chapter 10: Spring Break — Life With a Growing, Submissive Bull Pt1 The ground shook as Austin watched the beat-up old Ford F150 rise up into the air and crash back down again, bouncing on its shocks each time it hit the ground. The truck itself weighed somewhere around 2 tons, at least according to what Austin had looked up online when he bought it. Perfect weight to challenge the enormous man hefting it up and down like a medicine ball. Jon grunted as he picked up the truck again, lifted it over his head, and grinned down at his master. “Twenty!” Jon boomed proudly, straightening out his arms all the way, his enormous triceps and delts hard and flexing as he held the truck 12 feet off the ground, gripping the axles underneath. He wasn’t shaking or struggling at all, even 20 reps in; it was getting noticeably easier for him just in the last few days, Austin noted. He’d have to try to find another, heavier truck for Jon to lift with soon. The truck crashed down to the ground again, adding to the muddy divots in the grass of the backyard. Jon was soaked and dripping with sweat despite the cool spring Minnesota air, grunting and breathing heavily, clouds of vapor billowing from his beard-covered mouth. His quads shook as he walked around the truck to come closer to Austin, each one swelling out to the sides with round arcs of muscle. Each thigh rubbed against the other one roughly, the enormous bulge in his white Underarmour compression shorts bouncing as he did, the head of his huge cock plainly visible. The tight athletic boxer-briefs were the only thing he had on except for leather bicep straps, custom-made Underarmour football cleats, and long compression socks that were stretched thin over his massive calves. A wet spot spread over his bulge as he looked down at Austin and grinned. “How’s that, Sir? Bigger?” Jon rumbled, his voice unnaturally deep and loud. He planted the tip of his cleat on the grass, the spikes digging into the dirt, and flexed a calf muscle bigger than Austin’s thigh. The straining socks somehow made it look even bigger. He shook the meaty mass of his quads before flexing them, and they hardened into bulging slabs of muscle. His huge, round gut jiggled too, just looming above Austin’s face. “Do you think I’m growing?” the muscle bear boomed. Austin shook his head. Jon always asked questions like that even when the answer seemed obvious, but he knew it was because he craved the approval of his Sir. “Yes, bull, you’re bigger than ever!” “Oh, hehe, that’s good!” Jon said, a huge grin breaking out on his face. He reached up and stroked his dirty blonde beard, which stretched down into his pec cleavage, sticking to the sweaty expanse of his chest. Austin looked up at the giant above him; Jon had just passed 10 feet tall two days ago and was closing in on an even ton. “Looking easier for you, huh?” Austin said. He reached forward to rub his stepdad’s enormous thighs, running his hands through the sweaty, furry, hard expanse of muscle. Austin came up to Jon’s expansive gut, so his huge legs, barrel chest, and thick midsection were all in easy reach. His knuckles brushed against Jon’s bulge and the wet spot on his briefs grew as another spurt of precum leaked out. “Y-yes Sir, two tons is easy for a giant bull like me,” Jon groaned, trying to control his feelings. His cock throbbed and grew, the head of it poking out above his briefs and burping up more pre. It was very hard to stay focused when Master watched him lift weights. He rubbed his hands up and down his sweaty, furry torso, a mist of sweat rising into the cool spring air. “Good bull, that’s right,” Austin said. “And you’re gonna keep getting stronger. Show me your bench press,” Austin said. “Yes Sir!” Jon boomed, and he went back over to the truck. He laid down on the ground, getting dirt and brown grass over his expansive back, then reached one hand under the truck and pulled it over closer. With impossible strength, he hoisted the truck onto his chest, his pillowy pecs taking the impact of the tires and undercarriage with no problem. He gripped the axles and pressed, lifting 4000lbs of truck into the air like it was a warmup. The truck flew up and down, up and down, Jon grunting and sweating but hardly straining against the two-ton weight. “Light weight, Sir! I need more!” Jon grunted between reps as he lifted and lifted, flying past 25 reps with no sign of slowing down. “Gotta lift big to get big, that’s what you always say, Sir!” “That’s right bull, keep going until 100!” Austin said. He had to adjust his own package watching his giant muscle daddy lifting. His strength was beyond anything he had ever seen, unbelievable if he wasn’t witnessing it himself. Jon’s impossible, endless second puberty had only picked up steam since he had visited his dorm room just over a month ago and Austin had moved back in with Jon. Their total focus and dedication had only accelerated his uncanny growth. Jon threw the truck aside, crashing it onto its side as he roared past 100 reps. He scrambled to his feet with startling speed and energy, seemingly not tired at all despite being two hours into his second workout of the day. “Now, let’s do some cardio!” Austin held up a basketball. Jon instinctively turned and dropped into a three-point stance, facing the expansive backyard, his meaty ass in Austin’s face. “Go!” Austin yelled as he threw the ball as hard as he could. Jon grunted and bounded after the ball, his custom-made oversized cleats tearing more divots into the once-pristine grass of the backyard. Jon ran, the huge, rumbling footsteps of the massive brute eating up space surprisingly fast. His heavy chain necklace jingled as he ran. The ball sailed a long ways, and Jon was so focused on it that he didn’t notice the thin birch tree that stood in his way until he shouldered into it; the tree exploded into splinters and fell over as Jon plowed into it. Seeing his target, Jon lunged onto the ball, squashing it under his enormous weight until it popped open with a crack. Rising quickly, he ran back to Austin just as fast, ball tucked into the crook of his arm, pressed between his enormous bicep and meaty chest. He nearly barreled into Austin before skidding to a halt, tearing up more grass. He beamed down at his master, grunting and breathing heavy. “Another one?” Austin said, looking up at his giant stepdad with a disapproving look. “Throw it on the pile,” Austin said, gesturing to the pile of other broken balls and fetching toys. “Heh, sorry Sir, I got excited,” Jon said as he adjusted the tight leather straps digging into his biceps. Austin had bought the custom, adjustable straps at his local fetish gear shop a couple weeks ago with the intention that they would last for months. They weren’t on the loosest setting of 36” yet, but as Austin eyed Jon’s throbbing, hard biceps and heard the leather groaning, he knew they wouldn’t last long. “That’s fine, pup, I love your enthusiasm!” Austin said, getting another ball. “Ooh ooh, can I do another one? Please?” Jon pleaded, bouncing up and down excitedly as he inched closer to his Sir. Austin knew that Jon could take the ball from him whenever he wanted, but he wanted to please his master and run hard for him. Sprinting made his legs and lungs stronger for master. “Ready?” Austin teased, and Jon dropped into a three-point stance again, like a giant football player. “All the way down this time,” Austin said, and Jon dropped onto his stomach with a thump, the nearly plants and trees shaking from the impact. “Go!” Grass ripped up from the ground as Jon exploded off the ground with terrifying power and he launched himself after the ball again. They kept at this for half an hour, Austin working Jon until he was a sweaty mess, the dense fur covering every inch of body soaked and curling with sweat, dirt covering his cleats and calves, his compression shorts soaked through. When Austin finally said that was enough, Jon was panting and tuckered out. “Bring it in, pup, such good work,” Austin said. “Here you go,” he said and held up a gallon-sized jug filled with brown liquid. “Hrrrrmmmmmph just what I need!” Jon grunted as he grabbed the jug, his fingers easily wrapping all the way around it, and started chugging the thick, viscous shake. Austin marveled at how quickly the big man could consume, watching his Adam’s apple bob up and down, listening to the gurgling, groaning, throbbing sound of Jon chugging the 4000 calorie shake. Austin looked up at Jon’s round gut noticeably expanding as it filled up with protein shake until the arc of it brushed against Austin’s forehead. In seconds, the jug was empty. “Ahhhh, that hit the spot, Master!” Jon sighed contentedly as he rubbed his belly, bumping Austin backwards as he did. “More?” Jon asked eagerly as he looked down as his diminutive master, his cock throbbing as he did. “Later, bull. First it’s time for our daily weigh-in!” Austin said and he gestured over to the scale. Jon knew the drill. They followed the same routine every day, lifting and feeding times regimented and organized, weigh-ins and measurements regular and tracked by Austin’s diligent eye, calories and nutrition and exercise optimized for maximum growth. They had an industrial-size scale that was meant for livestock set up on the back deck, which was a couple feet elevated up off the ground. Jon lumbered over, the deck straining under his mass as he walked across, his ass shaking and jiggling up and down as he waddled. Suddenly his right foot broke through the wooden decking and he fell forward and down a foot or two. “Uh oh! Sorry Sir. Rrrruuuuffff, grrrufff!” Jon grunted as he ripped his foot up through the decking, tearing up more of the deck as he kept walking over to the scale. Casual, accidental destruction was becoming more and more common with Jon as he grew beyond normal human scale. The scrapes and holes that dotted the ceilings and the cracked, partly-destroyed doorways in the house were testament to that. Jon stepped on the scale until the number evened out. “1824 pounds! Great job, bull. Boy, you’re getting so big, aren’t you?” Austin said, praising his prized bullpup as he rubbed Jon’s huge, round ass. “Yeah, always bigger, always more, that’s what you always say, Sir,” Jon grunted. “I gotta keep growing, right?” Jon stepped off the scale and turned to face his Sir, looking down at him from over the round hills of his pecs and gut. Sweat dripped down off his nose and nipples, some of it splashing on Austin. “That’s right, pup, always bigger, always more!” Austin repeated. It was the mantra that Austin had come up with since he had moved in to help keep them both focused and motivated on their shared goal. Every aspect of their lives was focused on one thing: to grow Jon as big and strong as they possibly could. “Yeah,” Jon breathed, steam puffing into the air. He looked up into the grey sky and raised his arms up into a flex, steam and heat from his sweaty pits radiating off him. “MORE!” His arms were spread wide, biceps flexed, his forearms spread out at a 45 degree angle, making the biceps look extra thick. Jon’s bulge throbbed and swelled in his Underarmour until they stretched the white material close to bursting. The cock head surged and poked out at the top as if it had a mind of its own. Jon grunted involuntarily as a glob of precum gushed out and splashed onto the grass in front of Austin. “You worked so hard today, bull,” Austin said, looking up at his submissive daddy. They locked eyes, staring intensely, each of them breathing heavily, cocks throbbing. “Let me help you with that.” Austin stepped forward and tugged at the hem of Jon’s shorts until he freed the rest of the meaty, Pringles-can sized cock from its confines. The heady, funky smell of Jon’s crotch and balls wafted into the air, steam rising from his loins. Austin huffed in the smell, sending tingles of excitement down his spine. He was at the perfect height now to suck Jon’s dick while standing. He opened wide and gobbled up as much of his pup’s cock as he could. “Ohhhhhhhnnggggg Sirrrrrr,” Jon groaned, a bassy rumble filling the air, deep enough to rattle Austin’s ribcage. “Rrrrrrruuuuuffffff,” he moaned unintelligibly. Austin pushed deeper, the massive cock head filling every inch of his mouth, jamming it until it scraped the back of his throat. He could only swallow up about half of its length now and barely wrap his lips around it. He was well-practiced with it at this point and didn’t gag, though he knew that he wouldn’t be able to take such a huge cock for too much longer as Jon grew more and more. “Yeahhhhhhh, gotta grow more for my Sirrrrrr,” Jon purred. He reached down, past the love handles of his huge gut, and wrapped his hands around Austin’s chest, easily lifting him into the air. He brought Austin up to his bearded mouth and kissed him roughly, his tongue plunging into Austin’s mouth aggressively. “Morrrrrrre,” he groaned as he walked over to the wall of the house, protein breath washing over Austin as Jon breathed heavily. Jon plopped Austin back down to the ground and brandished his cock like a club, thumping Austin in the face with the swollen, throbbing member. “Harrrrrder,” Jon groaned, his thoughts focused only on pleasure. Jon slammed his weight forward into Austin’s awaiting mouth. Jon looked down and couldn’t see anything past the expanse of his enormous furry muscles and round power gut. He could feel Austin sucking and choking and gagging on his cock but couldn’t see him at all. Jon was just too big. “So big. The biggest!” Jon moaned, humping his enormous body against Austin. He leaned forward onto the house, bracing against the wall with his thick, veiny, hairy forearms, leaving smears of sweat against the cold siding. Austin could only groan and brace himself against the huge thighs that surrounded him. He pressed his arms against the huge, heavy gut that pressed down on him, but it was futile; it was simply too heavy. Austin felt himself squeeze harder against the wall of the house as Jon humped harder and faster, picking up steam. “Always bigger, always more for you, Sir!” Jon groaned as he plowed his master’s tight mouth. His Sir had given him purpose and value and meaning, all he ever needed. The thought of growing even bigger, of swelling beyond the impossible size he had already reached, of making his master even happier and even more proud of him, filled him with euphoria. His cock throbbed harder and more precum oozed down Austin’s throat. “You like how strong I am now, Sir?” Jon asked, an edge of pleading and begging in his sonorous voice. Austin grunted and groaned, his throat choking on the massive cock as he tried to respond. “You want me to keep growing bigger, Sir?” Jon groaned, his deep voice straining as his cock throbbed harder and harder. Austin moaned as loudly as he could, needing his pup’s cum. “I’ll do anything for you Sir, I’m gonna be the very biggest for you, Sir, all for you Sirrrrrrrrahahhhhhhhhh!!!!” Jon roared as his cock exploded, his huge balls tensing and throbbing as jets of cum sprayed directly down Austin’s throat, feeding his master his potent bull cream. Austin gulped furiously, trying to cope with the intense volume of cum flowing into him, but it was no use. Spurts of cum dribbled from his mouth and onto his beard, mixing together with Jon’s sweat in his sweaty, bushy pubes. Jon leaned into Austin harder until every drop was drained, grunting and groaning loudly. Jon arched his neck and back and sighed contently, a plume of steam rising into the air, satiated for now. He was proud to give his master a thick meal of bull cum. Jon stepped back and Austin coughed and sputtered, cum drooling down his mouth and covering his beard and parts of his shirt. He grinned up at his pup. “Good work, bull, wow that was some load! You were really worked up, huh?” “Heh, yeah, grruuuufff, love humping my Sir’s face I guess,” Jon said, raising his arm up and scratching the back of his head sheepishly. As he did, his enormous tummy rumbled loudly, demanding more food. “Sounds like it’s time to eat!” Austin said, staring up at his big pup. Jon rubbed his round belly and licked his lips in anticipation. “Sure is, Sir. I’m STARVING!” Jon rumbled as his gut growled again, louder and longer.
  7. armwreslr

    The Kid Freak (Part 6 Added)

    This is my first story. I intend on expanding it or continuing it. Let me know your thoughts. THE KID FREAK Oliver is just entering 12th grade, when he starts to notice some changes happening to him. Oliver had always been a tall, skinny, geeky kid with dark hair and green eyes. His mother is a Chemistry professor at a local college. She always encouraged her son to study, get good grades and perhaps be a professor one day. When Oliver wanted to play sports, she generally discouraged it. It’s the beginning of 12th grade and there’s a party at Candy Johnson’s house. Candy is a popular girl because she’s not just beautiful, she’s smart as well. Her parties always attracted the jocks and the nerds, a rare mix. Oliver is hanging with a couple of his World of Warcraft buddies, when an arm wrestling match breaks out between a couple of the big jocks at the kitchen table, Big Mike, from Oliver’s high school, and Brock, from a rival high school. They were both shirtless. Big Mike is 6’ tall, 230 lbs, but he’s not lean. He’s got brown hair and a scruffy face. He’s pretty thick. Brock is 6’1” tall and weighs 210 lbs with blonde hair and blue eyes but is pretty lean. The match starts, and Oliver is mesmerized by the test of strength. Both guys have pretty big arms, but Brock’s arms are more defined with a nice peak to his biceps. After about 30 seconds, Brock puts Big Mike down. “It’s getting easier to beat you, Fatty,” says Brock, with a big smile on his face. Big Mike responds, “The only reason you can beat me is because your father is a pro arm wrestler!” “He’s actually the Super Heavyweight World Champion!” says Brock. Brock catches Oliver staring at him. “You wanna arm wrestle, Nerd?” asks Brock. “Umm…no.” Oliver’s friends push him over to the kitchen table. Melvin, a nerdy, skinny kid with thick glasses, says, “C’mon Olly! You’re stronger than you think!” Brock puts his elbow on the table and wiggles his fingers. Oliver looks around at everyone staring and slowly puts his elbow on the table and locks hands with Brock. Big Mike starts them up. “Ready, Go!” Brock and Oliver start slow. Brock is smiling because he knows he has total control. He’s going against a skinny geek. Brock starts to put some real effort into putting Oliver down, but he’s noticing it’s much harder than expected. Big Mike says, “C’mon Brock, stop playin’! Put him down!” Brock pushes harder, but Oliver is not going down easily. Melvin pulls up the sleeve of Oliver’s oversized t-shirt to reveal a small, but ripped and peaked biceps. Big Mike’s eyes show surprise. “Holy shit! I didn’t expect that from Olly,” says Mike. Brock is sweating and now putting maximum effort into beating Oliver. After 45 seconds, he finally puts Oliver down. “Holy shit, Oliver! You’re a lot stronger than I expected. You put up a real fight!” exclaims Big Mike. Brock butts in, “No way, dude. You tired me out. I would destroy him fresh.” Big Mike pulls Oliver aside. “Have you ever lifted weights?” Oliver responds, “No. My mom never let me play any sports. She just wanted me to study.” “Bro, let me train you. You have incredible potential,” says Mike. “You really think so?” “Fuck yeah, I do. Somehow, you’ve built some muscle and strength from doing nothing. Let’s see what you can do if you actually lift weights and challenge yourself.” Oliver agrees to do it. *** Oliver shows up to the football gym with Brock, after all the players have left. “Let’s get some baseline measurements, Olly. Take your shirt off and jump on the scale.” Oliver looks around. “No one is here, buddy,” says Mike. Oliver takes off his shirt. “You’re quite skinny, but you don’t have an ounce of fat.” Oliver has a lot of veins showing as well. Oliver steps on the scale. “Okay, your height is 6 feet tall, and you weigh 155 pounds. Let’s measure your arm.” Oliver flexes his arm and a small, but ripped and peaked biceps appears. Mike measures it. “Wow, Olly, you’re not big, but your bicep is peaked and has great shape. It’s almost 15 inches.” “Really?” asks Oliver. “I swear. When you start to add size, I wouldn’t be surprised if you could be a serious bodybuilder.” “But I want to be strong, so people like Brock can’t pick on me or make fun of me anymore.” “Olly, there is something about you. I think you could be, not just a bodybuilder, but maybe one of the strongest bodybuilders.” “I’m just a nerd,” says Oliver. “I know it appears that way, but something in my gut is telling me different,” responds Mike. Mike takes a couple more measurements. Waist, 27 inches. Quads, 23 inches. Mike takes Oliver over to the bench press. “I’m going to test your strength in different exercises to get your baseline max in each exercise. Then we can measure again every few months.” Oliver agrees. After several warmup sets, Mike puts 155 lbs on the bar. “Anyone that can bench press their bodyweight for 10 reps is considered to be in good shape.” Oliver takes the bar and starts to bench press. He presses it 10 times very easily. “Yes! Too easy!” says Mike. Mike loads 225 lbs. Oliver bench presses it for 5 reps. Mike loads 275 lbs. Oliver bench presses it for 1 rep. “Holy shit, Olly! I knew it! I knew there was something about you.” Oliver is surprised. “Is this considered good?” “Bro, you’re skinny as fuck weighing 155 lbs, and you just bench pressed 275 lbs! And look at yourself in the mirror!” Oliver goes to the mirror. He’s never seen his muscles pumped. He’s sweaty and shiny. His chest is showing a little thickness and rips like he’s never seen before. Abs are shredded. He flexes his arms, and they appear bigger and more ripped. Oliver finishes the rest of the tests. He ended up squatting and deadlifting 305 lbs. He curled 120 lbs on a straight bar. Oliver and Mike agree to keep training together and to keep everything under wraps. No showing off, and Oliver will continue wearing baggy clothes to hide his gains until they decide to reveal them. *** Over the entire 12th grade and into the summer, Mike trained Oliver in secret, nearly every day. Mike and Oliver were shocked at Oliver’s gains. The main state college branch is in their hometown, and freshman year has started, so Mike takes down Oliver’s stats and tests his strength. Height, 6’. Weight, 180 lbs. Biceps, 18.5”. Waist, 28.5”. Quads, 25”. One rep maxes…Bench press, 495 lbs. Straight bar curls, 225 lbs. Squat, 725 lbs. Deadlift, 755 lbs. Oliver asks, “So, honestly, Mike, how do you think I’m doing?” Mike shakes his head in astonishment. “Bro, you’ve far exceeded my expectations. In one year, you look like a real competitive bodybuilder, but what’s blowing my mind, is your strength to weight ratio.” “What about it,” asks Oliver. “You totally don’t get it, do you,” asks Mike. Oliver has a blank stare. “Bro, at this rate, you’re going to be benching over 600 lbs in a few months and maybe you’ll be the lightest person to ever do that,” Mike exclaims. “Whoa…” Oliver is blown away. “I had no idea.” Mike nods his head. “Maybe it’s time for you to test your strength against others.” Oliver smiles. *** A couple months later, it’s time for Candy’s yearly party. Big Mike takes Oliver with him. It’s chilly outside, so Oliver wears a jacket. Oliver and Mike go into the house. It’s quite warm with all the kids partying. They go into the kitchen, where there are about 15 guys and girls. Mike grabs a beer for Oliver. Oliver takes a sip and looks at Mike. He processes the taste. He looks at Mike and smiles. “I never thought I would like beer, but it’s actually pretty good,” says Oliver. An hour goes by, and Mike and Oliver drink about 6 or 7 beers, when Oliver’s nerdy friends show up. “Oliver!” screams Melvin. A big smile comes across Oliver’s face. Melvin shakes Mike’s hand and then Oliver’s. “It’s been a year, since I’ve seen you, Olly,” says Melvin. “I know. Big Mike here has been training me, so I haven’t had a lot of time. I miss you guys.” “Yeah, I knew something was up, and when I just shook your hand, it’s so much bigger,” says Melvin. “Come here. I want you to feel something,” says Oliver. Mike smirks. Melvin comes in close. Oliver flexes his biceps by his side. His jacket arm fills out. Melvin’s eyes get big. He puts both hands around Oliver’s biceps. “Oh my God, Oliver!” Oliver’s heart rate increases with the exhilaration of his friend. “Your arms are massive and hard as a rock!” Oliver smiles and looks at Mike, who nods back at him. “I can’t wait to show you what I can do with this muscle,” says Oliver. Mike says, “It won’t be long. Look who showed up.” Brock walks into the kitchen with a couple friends, Jeff and Scott, both pretty big guys. He’s wearing a tank top and looking bigger and leaner than last year. Brock sees Big Mike. “Yo, Mike! You’re looking bigger than last year,” says Brock. “I am bigger,” replies Mike. “Not as big as this,” says Brock. Brock hits a double biceps shot showing off his 18-inch biceps. “That’s true, but your arms aren’t as big as Olly’s,” says Mike. “What? The nerd I beat last year?” asks Brock. “I wouldn’t call him that anymore, Brock. Show him, Olly.” Oliver steps forward and looks at Mike. Mike nods his head. Oliver is sweating profusely from wearing the jacket in the hot house. Oliver slowly unzippers his jacket. First a glimpse of his chest and then his abs. He removes his jacket and a few audible gasps come from some of the kids in the kitchen. “Oh my God,” says Melvin. Oliver is standing there, dripping sweat, pumped and totally ripped with thick slabs of muscle and not an ounce of fat. Even Mike is shocked. “Show the arm wrestler some real arms, Olly,” says Mike. Oliver hits a front double biceps shot. His arms are ripped with huge peaks, hitting 19.5” with a thick biceps vein. “You may be big, but I’ll destroy you in arm wrestling. I just won the state championship,” exclaims Brock. Mike says, “Let’s do this!” Brock takes a seat at the end of the long kitchen table as does Oliver. They put their elbows on the table and clasp hands. Some of the kids start recording video with their phones. Jeff starts them off. “Ready, Go!” Brock screams and hits first bringing Oliver’s arm down about halfway. Brock laughs. Brock leans in with his shoulder putting all his weight into it to put down Oliver. Mike screams, “C’mon Olly! Don’t let him intimidate you! You’re stronger than he is! Get angry!” Oliver screams and starts pulling hard. His biceps vein starts to pop thicker, and the cords of muscle of his biceps start to increase in prominence. Oliver bends his wrist activating his huge forearms, pumping bigger. Oliver’s biceps start to peak larger as he starts to move Brock’s arm up. “Jesus, look at the kid’s arm,” says one of the guys watching. Oliver pulls his arm almost back to the center position, when Brock grabs the side of the table with his free arm. He screams and using all his strength pulls Oliver back down to the halfway point again. Mike screams, “Brock is cheating grabbing onto the side of the table!” Jeff responds, “No way, bro. Arm wrestling tables have pegs on the side to grab, so it’s fair.” “Okay, but the table is too long for Olly to grab the side with his hand,” retorts Mike. Jeff just shrugs his shoulders. Melvin screams, “C’mon Olly. Show me that muscle, that strength!” Oliver grunts loud and pulls hard, but he can’t move Brock. “No way you can pull through this!” Brock laughs. Oliver screams and pulls with everything he has. At first, he doesn’t move, but after a few seconds, Oliver starts to move Brock’s arm back. Jeff screams, “No way! He’s doin’ it!” Scott adds, “Yeah, and he’s doing it with just one arm!” Oliver’s skin is paper-thin showing all the muscle fibers in his cannonball shoulder and his biceps and triceps, rippling. His biceps is peaking extremely high as he gets back to the center. Melvin says, “Jesus, his arm is more massive than Brock’s!” Brock gets angry and screams trying to pull Oliver back down, but Oliver is ready for it and holds him there. Brock tries several times but can’t break through. Oliver screams and starts to pull Brock down. Oliver’s abs and chest are completely shredded as those muscle groups help with the effort. Oliver’s biceps vein is pumping huge amounts of blood to the muscle as it continues overpowering Brock’s efforts. Brock screams and tries will all his strength to stop Oliver, but Oliver’s ripped muscle is just too strong. “Yeah,” screams Oliver as he continues pushing Brock’s arm down. Oliver stops his assault with Brock’s wrist three inches above the table. He looks at Brock. Oliver shifts his weight and arm position so that he’s just using his triceps. “Give me everything you have,” says Oliver. Brock screams, trying to pull with everything he has. Oliver’s triceps explodes as he takes everything Brock has and overpowers him, slowly pushing Brock’s arm down. Scott says, “Holy shit! The kid’s just using his triceps to overpower Brock! That’s just raw strength!” A few seconds later, Oliver pushes Brock’s arm to the table. Mike screams, “Yeah! You did it, Olly!” “You cheated! You had to have cheated,” said Brock. “Bullshit! I even let you use both hands,” screams Oliver. Brock looks around the room. “You all better delete those videos before I beat your asses.” One of the kids says, “Sorry man. I think that kid Joey was live on Instagram.” “I’m gonna kill him,” Brock screams. Brock runs out looking for Joey. Oliver turns to Mike, “I was acting.” “What,” asks Mike. Oliver responds, “Yeah, he was very easy to arm wrestle. I just screamed for effect.” Mike smiles. “Son of a bitch! You’re getting too strong!” Mike and Oliver grab another beer. All of a sudden, there is a commotion out back by the pool. Mike and Oliver walk out to see what’s going on. Everyone is surrounding some big man, trying to get autographs. “Holy shit! It’s Grip Master,” screams Mike. “Who’s that,” asks Oliver. “He’s a huge professional wrestler that beats his opponents in unbreakable wrestling holds,” Mike responds. “Candy’s older brother is friends with him,” he adds. As Mike and Oliver approach, some of the kids gasp as they see Oliver, pumped and sweaty from his arm wrestling match. Grip Master, who has a shaved head and is 6’5” tall and weighs 310 lbs, looks over to see what’s going on. Mike says, “Hey Grip Master! Huge fan! Could we get a pic with you?” Grip Master responds, “Well, shit, this guy is going to out angle me.” Mike says, “Naa, he’s a kid. He doesn’t even watch pro wrestling.” Grip Master asks, “Wait, he’s a kid?” “Yeah, he’s just 19 years old, but he’s a KID FREAK.” “How big are you,” asks Grip Master. “I’m 6 feet tall and weigh 205 lbs,” says Oliver. “You look much bigger than that,” says Grip Master. Mike adds, “What’s freaky is his strength. The kid bench pressed 585 lbs yesterday in his workout, and he did it easily.” Grip Master gives a skeptical look and says, “I seriously doubt that. I can bench press 680 lbs, and I’m much bigger than him. No one can bench press 585 lbs at his bodyweight.” Mike responds, “It’s true! If we had a bench press here, Olly could show you.” Mike thinks for a second. “What if he could break one of your unbreakable wrestling holds? Would you believe him if he could do that?” Mike asks. “Yeah, but we all know that’s impossible,” Grip Master responds. Oliver adds, “Please, let’s try it. I want to test my strength against you.” Grip Master starts to walk around Oliver, slowly, eyeing him up and down. Mike starts recording video on his phone. Grip Master slips behind Oliver and wraps his arms around Oliver’s torso from the back, putting him into a reverse bearhug, pinning his arms by his side. Oliver winces in pain. All the kids gather around to watch this test of strength. Some are recording it with their phones. Grip Master lifts Oliver off the ground, shaking him and crushing him. Oliver tries to pull his right arm up. His shoulder is ripped and pumped as he puts forth the effort. His arm starts to slowly slide up, especially will all the slippery sweat. He frees his right arm and starts on his left arm, pulling up. Grip Master is tightening his hold, but Oliver is strong enough with the slickness of his body to pull out his left arm. Now Grip Master tightens his hold enough to push the air out of Oliver’s lungs. He starts coughing. “C’mon Oliver! You have to break his grip,” screams Mike. “No way he can do that,” screams one of the kids. Oliver breaths in deep and screams, hitting a massive front double biceps shot. Gasps from the crowd as they are in awe of his massive and shredded physique. Grip Master’s hold is that he’s grabbing his right wrist with his left hand. Oliver crisscrosses his hands, grabbing Grip Master’s right fist with his right hand and grabbing Grip Master’s left hand with his left hand. Oliver screams and starts pulling apart as if he’s trying to bend the bars of a steel cage. His biceps explode in size with thick biceps veins pumping massive amounts of blood to his incredible ripped muscle. Every muscle fiber can be seen. His lats expand with the massive effort being put forth. Grip Master is holding the grip in place. “Nice try kid, but you’re going to have to try harder than that,” says Grip Master. Oliver screams and pulls harder. His biceps seem to be getting larger with the effort as well as his forearms. Sweat is dripping down his heaving chest and his chiseled abs. Grip Master seems to be starting to labor a bit. One of the kids says, “This kid is ripped as fuck, and he’s making Grip Master work!” Hearing that excites Oliver. Oliver screams again increasing the pressure. Grip Master starts to breath heavy. Another kid says, “This kid’s arms are huge.” “Yeah, and his strength is insane,” responds another. Oliver goes nuts after hearing that, screams and pulls with everything he has. His ripped biceps are nearly exploding with every muscle fiber showing through his paper-thin skin. His shoulders are huge, round and ripped. Abs are shredded. Oliver looks down at his own body, in awe of his incredible strength. He slowly starts to pull apart Grip Master’s unbreakable reverse bearhug. “Yeah,” Oliver screams as he feels himself overpower the strongest grip in professional wrestling. Oliver can hear the kids… “Impossible,” “No way,” “He’s breaking free!” Oliver slowly pulls his hands apart. Grip Master screams and, using his incredible chest strength, stops Oliver. Grip Master tries to close it back up, but somehow Oliver’s arms and shoulders begin to overpower Grip Master’s incredible chest strength, continuing to pull apart his arms. Grip Master falls backwards, staring at his hands in shock. He then looks back at Oliver as Oliver turns back around. Oliver screams and hits a front double biceps, with biceps that must be over 20 inches, pumped. Mike walks over to Oliver. “Believe it now, Grip Master,” asks Mike. “Hell yeah. I’ve never felt that much power before from anyone!” Oliver smiles. *** Another year goes by. Mike continues training Oliver in secret. Somehow Oliver continues making incredible gains in size and strength. Oliver’s latest stats are: Height, 6’. Bodyweight, 230 lbs. Biceps, 22 inches. Waist, 30 inches. Quads, 28 inches. Oliver’s strength level is incredible with a 685 lb bench press, 275 lb strict straight bar curl, 960 lb squat and a 980 lb deadlift. His bodyfat is as low as it has ever been. “How would you like to test your physique against bodybuilders and your strength against arm wrestlers, powerlifters and strongmen, all in the same day,” asks Mike. “Hell, yeah, but where can we do this?” “At the Arnold Classic this weekend. It’s two months away. Let’s see what kind of gains you can make until then.” responds Mike. Oliver says, “Let’s do it!” *** Mike and Oliver are in their hotel room at the Arnold Classic. They are lying in their beds resting. “You awake,” asks Oliver. “Yeah, what’s up?” “My mom hasn’t really spoken with me much about my gains. I thought it was weird because she never encouraged me to do any athletic or physical activity. It was always about studying. So, I asked her if she was shocked by my transformation,” says Oliver. “Okay,” responds Mike Oliver continues, “She says she wasn’t. She met my father in a one night stand. She never even got a picture with him, but he was an incredibly built man with muscles everywhere and no bodyfat. What made her lust for him was an incredible feat of strength he performed.” “What did he do?” “A car accident happened in front of a gym. He was training after hours. My mom was waiting for a taxi, when a car went out of control up onto the sidewalk and hit and ran over an old man. His leg was pinned under the tire. Without thinking, my father put his hands under the passenger side of the car, screamed and lifted the side of the car up. She pulled the old man out from under the car.” “Holy shit,” exclaims Mike. “Yeah, that night they went to dinner together and had sex. He left the country never to be seen or heard from again. She suspects that he was likely married and ashamed. She never told me all this because she didn’t want me to go down that path.” “Oh man. I’m really sorry to hear that.” “Here’s the interesting part. My mom asked how he got so strong. He told her the usual stuff about lifting heavy weights, but he also told her he had a rare genetic mutation that not only allowed for good muscle growth but allowed for the muscle to contract extremely hard. His nervous system was also somehow enhanced. A year after I was born, she got me tested, and I have the same condition as my father.” “Wow! This is incredible. I wonder what your limits are,” said Mike. “I don’t know, but I’m going to push myself to get stronger than any human alive,” exclaims Oliver. “Hell yeah!” Mike jumps out of bed. “Since we’re going to hit bodybuilding first, let’s put on your last coat of tan,” says Mike. Over the next hour, Mike paints Oliver’s skin with the bodybuilding posing tan making his skin dark, which shows the cuts and rips in Oliver’s muscle much better, especially under bright lights. Mike gives him a pair of posing trunks to wear under his clothes. Mike and Oliver enter the ballroom where they have bodybuilding. The press conference just ended, and they’re getting some photos and videos of Rob Coulson, last year’s Arnold Amateur champion, who is competing at the pro bodybuilding competition. He’s considered to have some of the best arms in bodybuilding. He’s a top contender to win. Off to the side of the stage, Mike has Oliver strip off his clothes. Mike quickly puts a light coating of oil on Oliver’s body. While Rob is hitting some poses, Oliver jumps up onto the stage from the ground, which grabs everyone’s attention, since the stage is very high. A couple whistles from the small crowd still there with photographers. Rob laughs at Oliver jumping up on stage. He hits a front double biceps shot. Oliver stands next to him and hits a front double biceps shot. A few audible gasps from the crowd. Oliver’s arms appear to be bigger than Rob’s arms. Not only that, he’s so ripped that you can see every muscle fiber in his arms, chest and completely shredded quads. Rob’s girlfriend screams for him to do his money shot, his back double biceps. So, Rob and Oliver turn around. They both hit their back double biceps shot. “Oh my God,” says Rob’s girlfriend. Oliver has him beat on his best shot, with bigger, more peaked arms, larger and more ripped shoulders and a much wider back. Oliver’s hamstrings are also bigger. One of the photographers says, “Who’s this kid? He’s destroying Rob.” Mike steps up and says, “His name is Oliver. He’s 20 years old and just getting into bodybuilding.” The photographer screams, “20? Are you fucking kidding me?” Someone screams, “Hit a most muscular shot!” Rob and Oliver turn around and both hit a most muscular crab shot. Oliver is matching Rob’s size from a muscular standpoint, but he’s much more shredded. Oliver’s chest is completely ripped with monster shoulders and traps. The biceps veins are nearly exploding they’re so thick. Abs are like steel armor. Oliver’s quad sweep is also wider and denser than Rob’s. “This kid could have won the show,” exclaims one photographer. Rob gets angry and walks off the stage. Mike gives the photographers contact info for Oliver. Oliver jumps off the stage and puts on a pair of shorts over his posing trunks. They exit the ballroom and go to the main wing of the expo where they have all the other events and activities. About as soon as they enter the expo hall, a bunch of people come over wanting pictures with Oliver. He’s shirtless and wearing shorts that show off his massive quads and calves. They make their way to the Animal Cage where they are starting a bench press competition. Mike registered Oliver for the contest. There are 10 competitors, most are big and fat, but powerful men. Oliver weighs in at 245 lbs and is easily the leanest competitor. The biggest and strongest competitor, nicknamed Grizzly, is 6’5” tall and weighs in at 330 lbs. Grizzly says, “Boy. You a bodybuilder? Cause you gonna git hurt here. This ain’t no play time in the gym. This is big boy weight.” He laughs. Everyone submits on written cards what their first lift will be. The announcer gets on the microphone. The announcer says, “Okay folks. We’re getting started with 405 pounds on the bar, and we’ll finish with Grizzly with 675 pounds…wait…there must be a mistake here. Who is Oliver? Oliver raises his hand and says, “Me sir!” Someone in the crowd says, “Holy shit! He’s jacked as fuck!” Announcer asks, “You’re opening with 685 pounds? Is that a mistake? Because no one has ever opened with that much weight, and honestly son, you don’t look like you could do something like that.” Oliver responds, “Yes sir. 685 pounds is my opener. I want to make sure I get the lift, so I can go heavier.” Announcer asks, “So this is easy for you?” Oliver says, “Yes sir.” Grizzly yells, “I smell bullshit! No one can beat me in bench press, especially not some bodybuilder!” The competition starts, and Oliver warms up. They get to Grizzly, and he presses 675 lbs, with a huge effort. The staff loads 685 lbs onto the bar. Oliver lays down on the bench. The crowd quiets down to watch. Oliver grabs the bar. Announcer asks, “You want a liftoff young man?” Oliver says, “No sir. I got this.” Oliver lifts the bar off the rack. He slowly lowers the weight and touches his chest, holding the bar there.” Judge says, “Press!” Oliver pushes the bar back with incredible power. It flies up. Judge says, “Rack it!” Oliver puts the bar back. He gets a good lift signal. He jumps up and hits a most muscular shot. He’s sweating profusely. The crowd goes wild. Grizzly throws down his belt. Everyone submits their lifts. Oliver is doing 720 lbs. Grizzly finds out and puts 725 lbs for himself. Fifteen minutes later, 720 lbs is loaded onto the bar. Oliver sits on the end of the bench and flexes his pecs several times. His chest is shredded and sweaty. Mike comes over to give him a liftoff. Mike says, “You got this Olly. Let’s put this guy out of his misery.” Oliver screams, “Hell yeah!” He lays on the bench. He nods his head for Mike to give the liftoff. He lowers the bar and holds it on his chest. Judge says, “Press!” Oliver screams and presses the bar extremely hard. The bar goes up steadily and fairly quickly. Judge says, “Rack!” Oliver racks it and get a good lift signal. He jumps up and hits a double biceps shot. Someone from the crowd, “Jesus, this kid is an animal.” Grizzly is up. 725 lbs is loaded onto the bar. He sits down. He sniffs a bottle of smelling salts, throws it aside and screams. He lays down. His spotter gives him a liftoff. He lowers the bar and stops on his chest. Judge says, “Press!” Grizzy screams and pushes. The bar goes up very slowly. It gets stuck halfway up, but after a couple seconds, he screams and is able to slowly push through to a lockout. Judge says, “Rack!” Grizzy racks it. He sits up, and his nose is bleeding. He stands up and then stumbles. A couple staff help him to his chair. Everyone is submitting final lifts, except for Grizzy. He’s going to stick with his last lift of 725 lbs. Mike says, “That last lift went up really fast. I don’t know…you think you could do 750, or is that just too much?” Oliver thinks for a couple seconds and says, “Fuck it! Let’s do it!” After 15 minutes, it’s Oliver’s turn. 750 lbs is loaded onto the bar. Announcer says, “This kid has already broken records today. Now he’s going for 750 lbs, more than three times his bodyweight. He’s completely ripped up, and he’s only 20 years old!” The crowd cheers. Oliver sits on the bench, flexing his chest and arms. He lays back and screams. Mike comes over and grabs the bar. Oliver nods his head for the liftoff. Mike does it and steps back. Oliver takes a deep breath and lowers the bar. He touches and holds the bar on his chest. The judge waits an extra seconds before giving the signal. Judge says, “Press!” Oliver screams and starts pressing. His chest is pumped and shredded. His triceps are popping out and ripped. The bar slowly goes up. It slows down near the halfway mark. Oliver screams again using his chest power to press the bar high and higher, until he finally locks out. Judge says, “Rack!” Oliver racks the bar. The good lift signal is given. The crowd erupts in cheers. Grizzly walks out. Oliver hits a huge most muscular shot. Mike comes over and gives Oliver a hug. Mike says, “Bro! I’m blown away!” “Me too man! I can’t believe it! It’s like nothing can stop me!” Mike says, “Maybe nothing or no one can!” They exit the cage and go onto the next event. Mike says, “I think you’re going to like this next event. It will really test your strength like nothing has before.” Mike and Oliver enter the Bending Arena. Oliver’s eyes light up. There are all kinds of things to bend here, including nails, thick bolts, tools, including wrenches. They have steel bars to bend like on World’s Strongest Man from the 1980s and 1990s. A big sign says… “WHOEVER BENDS THE THICKEST BAR TODAY, WINS A FREE SET OF CAPTAINS OF CRUSH GRIPPERS!” Mike and Oliver go over to the steel bars. Jake is managing the challenge. “Wow, you must be a bodybuilder,” says Jake. Oliver says, “Well, I…” “He’s really a power bodybuilder,” says Mike. Oliver smiles. Jake says, “Well, you’re in the right spot if you want to test you strength.” Oliver asks, “What are the Captains of Crush Grippers?” Jake breaks out all the grippers ranging from Captains of Crush (CoC) 1 all the way to a 4. Jake says, “They range in strength from level 1 to level 4. Only 5 people in the world have ever closed a number 4.” Oliver says, “I have to try that!” Jake says, “Okay big boy, let’s start you off with a number 2. Most bodybuilders can barely do that.” Oliver takes the number 2 and puts it in his hand. He closes it, and his forearms pump up. He closes it for reps. After he hits 20 reps, Jake stops him. Oliver says, “I’ll take the number 4 now.” “I don’t think you should jump up to it right away, but here you go.” A crowd starts to form to watch Oliver. Jake records video using his phone. Oliver places the number 4 gripper in his hand. He takes a couple deep breaths, screams and squeezes as hard as he can. He closes it. Jake screams, “Holy shit!” Oliver lets it open and closes it again. And again. Veins are snaking in his forearm pumping it close to 19 inches thick. And then he holds the gripper closed for 20 seconds. Jake screams, “Yeah! What a pump!” Mike says, “Bro, your forearm is massive!” Oliver flexes his forearm for the camera. Oliver says, “Let me bend some bars.” Jake says, “Normally I’d start someone with a 1/2” thick steel bar to try, but you’re much stronger than the guys that usually come over here. Here’s a 5/8” thick steel bar that’s 4 feet long.” Oliver grabs the bar and holds it at either end. Jake continues, “So before you try anything, let me tell you how to properly bend…Wait!” Oliver starts pushing on the bar, trying to bend it. Jake says, “Hold on man! You can’t bend it in front of your body like that. It’s impossible!” A guy from the crowd says, “Have you ever seen anyone so ripped?” Oliver screams. His chest and abdominals are shredded. His biceps are popping. Another scream and slowly the bar starts to bend. Jake says, “No way!” Oliver continues pouring his strength into bending the bar in front of his body. After a few seconds, the ends of the bar touch. Oliver drops the bar and hits a double biceps shot, screaming, “Yeah!” Jake says, “Holy shit! I did not expect that.” Mike asks, “What’s your thickest bar?” Jake responds, “Well, it’s called the Ultimate, and it’s not really meant to be bent.” Mike asks, “What do you mean?” Jake says, “Well, it’s 1 and 1/4 inch thick cold-rolled steel at 5 feet in long. It’s believed that no one can really bend it. That’s why there is a cash prize for anyone that can bend it just with their upper body and make the ends touch, wins $100,000. That’s just impossible.” Oliver’s eyes get big and says, “I gotta fuckin’ try it!” Jake says, “You can try it, but no one has even come close to making the tiniest of bends in the bar. It’s still perfectly straight.” Mike asks, “How quickly would Oliver get the money if he does it?” “It’s an instant bank transfer,” says Jake. Jake gives Oliver the bar and a thick bath towel. Jake says, “This time you won’t be able to bend it in front of your body.” “So, what do I do?” Jake responds, “Fold the towel and put it on your head for protection. Put the bar on top, using your head as a leverage point. Bend the bar down as far as you can, then put it behind your neck and bend it until the ends touch.” Oliver folds the towel and puts it on his head. The crowd is getting really big now. Oliver places the bar on top and grabs the ends of the bar with his hands. Mike screams, “You can do this Olly! No one has ever bent a bar this thick! You’re gonna do it in front of all these people, not as some fat strongman, but as a ripped-up power bodybuilder. No one has ever seen anything like this before! You can do it!” Oliver takes a couple deep breaths and screams. He pulls down hard, but the bar doesn’t budge. He takes a break. Jake says, “I told you bro. You can’t do it. No one can.” Oliver goes nuts and screams and pulls with everything he has. His biceps explode into huge ripped peaks. His lats flare out wider than ever. His abdominals contract as hard as they ever have before. At first, nothing happens, but after a few seconds, a squeal comes from the bar. The bar starts to slowly bend under Oliver’s strength. His lats are contracting so hard, you can see every muscle fiber. Oliver screams again pouring all of his strength into the task of bending the thickest steel ever bent by a human. The crowd starts talking… “Oh my God!” “He’s doing it!” “He’s fuckin’ ripped up!” “That’s just raw strength!” Jake is in complete awe of Oliver’s ripped strength. Jake says, “He’s bending the unbendable!” Oliver bends the bar halfway and stops for a second. He screams again and continues bending the bar until it’s about a 90-degree angle and can’t bend further on his head. He’s sweating profusely. He drops the bar behind his neck. Using his chest, he tries to crush the bar in, but it’s still a bit too wide for that. Oliver tilts the bar behind his neck, so that the end in his left hand is now down by his hip. The end of the bar in his right hand is above his head. Bracing the left end against his body, Oliver screams and pulls down on the bar with his right hand. Someone from the crowd says, “Jesus Christ! Look at the kid’s arm!” Oliver’s 22-inch right biceps explodes into ripped glory pulling the bar down, dripping sweat. His abs contracting hard to stabilize his core. Oliver screams again! The impossible to bend cold-rolled steel tries to resist, but Oliver’s biceps is just too strong, bending it more and more. “Yeah,” screams Oliver as he dominates the bar. Now the bar is at a 45-degree angle. Oliver centers the bar behind his neck, with his arms on both ends of the bar. Oliver screams and pushes the ends of the bar towards each other. His chest and abs are ripped to the bone. His chest is heaving and pumping blood as massive amounts of strength pass through to his hands. Oliver screaming and pushing slowly presses the ends of the bar towards each other. After several seconds, the ends touch. Jake, in utter disbelief, faints for a moment. Oliver lifts the bar from his neck and throws it to the ground. He hits a huge most muscular shot as the crowd cheers and then a huge front double biceps shot. Mike then hugs him, and Oliver hugs him back. People in the crowd come up to congratulate him and get pictures. Finally, Oliver gets a bank transfer from Jake’s company. Mike says, “It looks like we just have one more stop.” Oliver responds, “Arm wrestling!” Mike nods his head. Oliver adds, “You think Brock’s Dad, Titus, will accept my challenge?” “Well, he is the Super Heavyweight World Champion, so he may not take you too seriously. You’re only 20 years old, and arm wrestlers always think they can destroy bodybuilders. But, you do have some money that you can put up to sweeten the pot.” Oliver says, “Yes!” On the way to the arm wrestling competition, they stop to get some burgers and refuel. Oliver eats six double cheeseburgers and six orders of fries. They finally arrive at the arm wrestling contest. It doesn’t start for another 15 minutes. Mike speaks with the promoters to try to get Titus to take on Oliver. At first the promoters said no because Oliver hasn’t competed and earned a spot to challenge Titus. When Mike offered Titus $20,000 to take the match, he accepted. Announcer says, “It’s time to get started! Up first is a best of three supermatch between your current super heavyweight world champion, 6’3” tall, 350 pounds of solid mass, with 23-inch arms and 20-inch forearms…Titus!” Cheers from the crowd as Titus walks out. The announcer continues, “His challenger is a complete unknown but considers himself a power bodybuilder, 6’ tall weighing 245 pounds of completely ripped muscle, 22-inch arms and only 20 years old…Oliver! The usual audible gasps form the audience. Brock looks up in shock. Brock says, “No way! Oliver is challenging my Dad? Jesus, he really packed on some size.” Titus and Oliver both come to the table. Oliver asks for his arms to be measured since it’s been a couple months, and he still has a pump from the bar bending. The referee measures Oliver’s arm. The referee says, “It looks to be…22 and 3/4…wait…23 inches…matching Titus!” “Looks so much bigger than Titus,” says one guy from the crowd. His friend responds, “Yeah, cause he’s got a huge peak and the muscle is completely ripped up.” Oliver smiles. The referee measures his forearm. “The bodybuilder’s forearm is 19.5”, just under Titus!” Oliver smiles and nods his head. Titus says, “You think cause you have a little muscle you can challenge me? Kid, I have over 20 years of experience in arm wrestling. I know every technique and trick in the book, and I haven’t lost a match in over three years! No way you can beat this arm!” With that, Titus flexes his right arm to cheers in the crowd. Oliver responds, “I’m tired of your son bullying kids, so I’m going to teach you a lesson. I don’t need any arm wrestling techniques or tricks. I’m gonna beat you with raw strength!” Oliver hits a double biceps shot, totally ripped with a light coat of sweat for shine. The crowd starts talking… “That kid’s arms are bigger than Titus’!” “Have you ever seen someone so shredded?” Titus gets mad and slams his elbow on the pad. Oliver grips up and squeezes Titus’ hand. Titus tries to pull out, but Oliver’s grip is too strong. Finally, Oliver lets Titus slip out and re-grip. The referee starts the match. “Ready, Go!” Titus hits hard, but Oliver holds him. Titus hits harder and pulls Oliver’s arm down just a bit off center. The crowd doesn’t know how to react. “That kid is holding back Titus!” Titus screams and goes all out trying to pull down Oliver. Oliver does go down a little until Oliver screams and starts pulling with everything he has. He stops Titus and starts to pull Titus back up. Oliver’s arm is incredibly shredded showing every muscle fiber working. His chest is ripped and sweat is pouring off his body. “Yeah,” Oliver screams. Oliver gets their arms back to the center starting position. Brock screams, “Arm Lock! Dad, use your Arm Lock!” Titus shifts his weight and his arm position, essentially locking his arm into place, making it very difficult, if not impossible to move. Oliver is confused. He’s not sure how Titus is blocking him from pulling his arm down. “Yes, just hold him there, Dad! He’ll burn out soon,” screams Brock. Another grunt from Oliver, but he can’t move Titus. Titus smiles. “No one has ever broken through my Arm Lock, kid. Not even the strongest arm wrestlers,” says Titus. “I’m a power bodybuilder, and this ripped muscle is gonna bust through your Arm Lock.” Titus laughs. Oliver screams and pulls harder. His biceps seeming to pump larger, and his forearms expand with corded muscle trying to push through his paper-thin skin. Titus’ smile goes away. “This kid has some serious muscle,” says someone from the crowd. “Yeah, his biceps are really peaked, but I don’t know if he has the strength to pull through Titus’ Arm Lock. It’s impossible,” says his friend. Oliver hears this talk from the crowd. It gets him very excited. Oliver screams again and pulls with everything he has. His chest is shredded and pouring on the strength that can bench press well over 700 lbs. His biceps and forearms that curl nearly 300 lbs are increasing the pressure that no one else can create. “You can do it,” screams Mike. “This kid…I’ve never seen so much ripped muscle,” exclaims someone from the crowd. Oliver very slightly moves Titus’ arm. Titus’ eyes are wide, and his head is shaking with the effort to contain Oliver. “Fuck yeah,” screams Oliver. “Impossible,” says Brock. Oliver looks over at Brock. Brock is in shock. The crowd starts talking… “The kid bodybuilder…he’s doin’ it!” “That’s pure, raw strength!” Titus screams, trying to stop Oliver, and he does for a second, but the kid bodybuilder’s strength is building. His ripped muscle contracting harder. Oliver starts pushing through the Arm Lock with every muscle group engaged including his back with crazy striations, his biceps with impossible peaks and his chest just ripped to the bone with massive forearms at the lead. As Oliver is pulling Titus’ arm down, closer and closer to the pin pad, Titus does a King’s Move, dropping his body below the table and stretching out the arm to make it impossible to pin due to the angle of the arm. Brock screams, “Good move, Dad! Hold him there and burn him out!” Oliver continues pulling Titus’ arm, but it’s completely stuck. It’s even harder than his Arm Lock. After 10 seconds of pulling, Oliver isn’t making progress. Mike screams, “Olly, do a shoulder press! Stand up tall and use your shoulder and bodyweight to press his arm down!” Oliver stands up tall and starts pushing with just his triceps. He doesn’t lean over and use his shoulder and bodyweight. Titus is smiling. He’s in a good position. The King’s Move doesn’t use much energy. It’s all about leverage, angles and the arm’s natural straight arm end range. “No one can push through my King’s Move, kid! It’s ten times harder than my Arm Lock!” Oliver grunts loud and pushes hard. Titus’ arm is like hardened steel. It’s just not moving. “You can’t do it, Olly!,” screams Brock. Oliver screams and starts pushing with everything he has! His triceps shows every cross-striation. His shoulders are shredded. His biceps vein looks massive and mean. His chest is heaving with ripped abs and sweat pouring off him. Titus’ smile turns to gritting teeth. “If this kid’s ripped muscle pushes through Titus’ King’s Move, it will send me over the edge,” whispers a guy to his friend right near the table. This excites Oliver even more, somehow allowing him to push even harder. His ripped triceps start to very slowly move Titus’ arm towards the pin pad. Oliver looks down at the guy watching and sees his eyes getting bigger and the guy says, “Oh my God! He’s doing it!” The guy starts shaking. Oliver screams again, pushing more! His triceps is exploding. The crowd starts speaking again… “This kid’s strength is insane! He’s doing it with just his triceps!” “This kid bodybuilder is beating the strongest arm wrestler at his own sport!” “No! You can’t!” mutters Titus. A cracking sound starts to come from Titus’ arm. “Stop! You’re going to break his arm,” screams Brock. Oliver backs off. “Want to give up, so I can spare your arm,” Oliver asks. “I’ll never give up!” “Good, cause I wanna see how strong these triceps are,” yells Oliver. Oliver looks directly at Brock. He screams and pushes again. His ripped triceps is monstrously huge. Titus’ arm moves slightly. It’s getting stuck as the bones near the elbow start touching. Titus’ arm is nearly at the pin pad, but now it’s completely stuck. “You think he could break his arm,” someone asks from the crowd. “No man. I don’t think it’s possible,” replies another. Oliver gets excited and goes nuts! He screams, and his triceps responds somehow pushing harder. “Yeah, I’m gonna do it,” screams Oliver. Titus starts to scream. His arm starts to slightly bend under the strength of Oliver’s triceps. Oliver looks at Brock. Brock has his hands on his head in disbelief. Oliver screams again pushing as hard as he can with just his triceps strength. About three seconds later, a grinding sound and then…SNAP! Oliver breaks Titus’ arm. Titus’ hand hits the pin pad. He pulls his arm away grabbing it for support. Oliver slams his fist down onto the pad, crushing the pad and bending one of the thick steel supports holding the table up. He then hits a double biceps shot at Titus. Incredibly ripped biceps explode to over 24 inches with high peaks. Lats flare out like wings. Abs shredded. Sweat pouring off his body giving it a beautiful shine. Cheers and shock coming from the crowd. Mike gives Oliver a hug. “I knew you could do it, Olly,” says Mike. “I couldn’t have done all this without you, Big Mike,” responds Oliver. “Maybe you should call me, Little Mike, from now on.” They laugh. Brock runs over to his Dad and takes him away for medical attention. Someone from the crowd says, “Bro, you broke the table.” Oliver looks at it. There are four steel support bars that run from the base on the floor to the tabletop. One of them is bent inwards. Oliver bends down and grabs the bent support bar at the middle of the bend with his left hand. His other hand is on the tabletop for support. Oliver grunts and starts pulling. His biceps and forearm explode as does his lat. Very slowly, Oliver starts bending the support bar straight. “No way! This kid is bending fucking steel,” says one guy from the crowd. “Jesus, his arm strength is off the scale!” Oliver completely straightens the support bar. He then hits another double biceps shot at the crowd. The crowd cheers. The crowd comes over to Oliver for pictures and autographs. Oliver looks at Mike. “Let’s keep doing this shit! I want to see how strong I can get!” Mike responds, “Hell yeah kid!” THE END
  8. foker

    Sissy’s Strength. Part 1

    One of the most insane strength demonstrations from Sissy. ______________________________________________________________________ Sissy’s Strength. Part 1 “Uuuughhh…”, Sissy breathed out heavily. She has been hanging from the bar for gawd already knows how long. Two intimidating 25-kg plates were attached to her waist, hooked to a big brown leather belt by a thick steel chain. Apart from that belt, Sissy’s incredibly muscular body was covered only by a high-waste black thongs, leaving her man-shaming pectoral shelf completely exposed. With her eyes half closed, she grunted on the exhale, flexed her big, ever-expanding biceps and slowly heaved herself upwards again. As her absolutely massive naked pectorals audibly pressed on the chin-ups bar from the bottom I could only mutter in disbelief, “One hundred… no way… you really did it…!”. Sissy opened her beautiful green eyes and her look landed on me. “I’ve promised you… to show… nghaa… how strong my muscles are…”, I marvelled at her voice, it was soft like silk despite the strain she has been in already for hours. Sissy licked her upper lip and added then, “And I have only started…”. To my big surprise, the muscle girl of my dreams didn’t rest at all after performing 100 heavily weighted chin-ups and lowered herself to the half pull-up position, also lifting her straight legs to the horizontal. The two heavy plates on the chain dangled, illuminating the basement gym with a bright steel sound. Her biceps now fully flexed were crisscrossed with thick blue veins on their surface, complementing the impressive boulder-sized bulges. I could do nothing but stare at the rippling and packed with hard muscles abdominal wall in front of me as this unbelievable young muscle angel rose her massive legs up. Sissy had a very cut 8-pack with two more additional smaller bulges disappearing under her thongs! Each and every of her abs-cubes was about the size of a ripe orange, visibly pulsating with power. They were forming numerous minor abs-cleavages almost 2 inches deep. My eyes tracked those bulging canyons up only to stare dumbfoldly at her insanely packed chest. Noticing this, Sissy flexed her striated pec muscles, which jumped and enlarged in all the directions! The muscle beauty smiled a bit and flexed her left, then her right pec, each one bunching into a mass of fibers and thick veins. After a couple of bounces, she flexed them together really hard and both huge pectoral plateaus rose higher, again almost touching the chin-up bar. Gawd, just how many hours a day should one spend bench-pressing in order to get a chest of this size and definition!? My mind simply couldn’t comprehend the fact this young muscle angels was only 18… “Okay… now I want you… to put one of those chains on each of my ankles”, Sissy’s words brought me back from my trance. I was confused but quickly obeyed and put a 25-kg big steel chain on each of her legs as requested, following her demand in daze. Both weights seemed to provide zero impact as Sissy’s tree-trunk legs haven’t dropped even an inch! Yet her beautiful face got more defined, sparks of determination. There was a dozen of metal hooks on these chains and her next asking got me increasingly exited of what this young muscle stunner was about to do. “Please… add two plates on each chain… nghaaa…”, she said. Not needed to be asked twice I grabbed two 10-kg metal disks in each hand. At the moment I was about to needle them on the chain’s hooks Sissy screamed out loud, “Noo…! Please… ghhaa…”. Stepping back, I was a bit disappointed but also somehow glad she reasoned herself and accepted the already hard enough challenge. “Noo…! Please…”, Sissy repeated and what came next made me drop the disks suddenly. “Heavier… put… the 25-kg ones… to each ankle…”. What?! Was she joking? After so many weighted pull-ups? No way... This time I had to pick up each heavy plate with my two hands, really struggling to lift them at my chest level in order to hook them to the chains on her legs. Moments later a marvelled at the terrible load Sissy was supporting in her half pull-up, piked position with total 75 kilograms hanging from each of her ankles! Her big thighs were now flexing hard, pencil-sized veins travelling all over them as her quadriceps bulged up and to the sides with hard female she-beef. With her toes pointing horizontally, Sissy’s calves expanded as well, forming insanely large heart-shaped masses. She just hanged there, holding all the weight and I stared in amazement at this muscle angel’s legs filled out to the size one could only see, on those packed with steroids, freakishly huge male bodybuilders. Seconds ticked away and the young muscle beauty slowly began to grunt in between her heavy breathes. “Ghhrnnhh… Ufff….”, with her head thrown back she was holding the 150 kilograms stretched on her ankles plus the 50 kilograms attached to her waist with the same flawless manner as she performed those pull-ups before! I couldn't believe what I was seeing right in front of my eyes, it seemed impossible. So much weight in this agonized position, despite her huge, really well-developed musculature. It had to be too much! I simply stared and stared, alternating the focus from her strained bulging thighs to the extremely massive and vascular abdominal, which seemed to double their size now, looking more like ripe grapefruits! Two minutes… Three… Four minutes passed. At the five-minute mark, Sissy’s grunts turned more into screams and growls, “Ghhhghaaa…!! Ppfffghuuuu…!! Mmmhhaaaa… ”, in between those deep guttural growls, her immense pectorals expanded convulsively, her lungs fighting for oxygen to fuel all those hard-working muscle groups of her exhausted body. After 10 minutes of this pure muscle-devastating agony, Sissy was shaking violently with the effort, her insanely bulging abdominal muscles seemingly locked in spasm, yet somehow expanding forward and her biceps straining as if about to burst in order to keep that gut-wrenching half pull-up form. Somehow sensing I was admiring those absolutely massive, bulging with freakish female muscle mass biceps, Sissy managed to flex her arms even more! Crazily big bulges grew upward, and horseshoe-masses of her trembling triceps grew downward. Her arms inflated to well over twenty-one inches of vascular, hard she-beef. As she held that agonizing flex, I noticed an additional apple-sized bulge bloating on top of her already huge, man-shaming biceps. This girl was so hardcore that she had peaks on top of peaks of muscles! To see a girl of such beauty bursting with such an incredible muscle mass amid one of the most difficult strength demonstration was really freakish… Catching her breath and pausing her heavy grunts Sissy lifted her head, looked at me and whispered in a very soft, seductive voice, “Mmooorreee… Weight… UUGHHHhh…”. Her upper body now looking like a bulging muscular supernova and the contrast between the voice she said those words in and her appearance was simply shocking. With trembling hands I added another 25-kg plate to each of her ankles, bringing the total load she was holding suspended on her straightened legs to impossible 200 kilograms! Her legs went down a bit, but only for a brief moment. With a load groan Sissy lifted them back up, restoring the agonizing pike position. As I was stepping back, I noticed a strange perspiration was flowing down the steel chain attached to her waist. With a shock I realized that Sissy’s black thongs were now completely wet and couldn't contain her pussy juices anymore! Her love liquid was dropping on the concrete floor from the weights, accompanying the constant flow of orgasms. It was one of the sexiest scenes I’ve ever seen. Sissy’s deep growling paused again, she sucked in a big lungful of air and breathed out, pushing her colossal pecs ever further forward flexing them really hard, “Uuuhhhh… Yessss… Please… Put… Moooreee… Weight… Nghaaa…!”. Sissy’s muscle lust was insane. Loosing tracks of reality I obeyed and added another two plates, making the weight hanging from each of her ankles reach unthinkable 125 kilograms. And then, whether willing to end her terrible suffering or to show her that there are limits she has to respect and be aware of, I put another two plates and jumped back in fear. “GGRHRHHHAAAA…!!!”, a wild animalistic roar escaped Sissy’s mouth as the total load of 300 kg began to drag her over-exhausted legs towards the floor. Her biceps started to loose their strength as well, and she had to uncurled her arms to a hanging position. I was ready to see her falling down at any second now, but to my disbelief Sissy managed to stop the downfall of her straightened legs at about half way. Her eyes on fire landed again on me. Then her mouth went open wide, she stuck her tongue as far out as it would go and screamed “AAAARRGGHH…!!!”. With unthinkable willpower Sissy started to lift her legs up, back to perfect horizontal position, taking the terrible strain! Though it was taking an awful toll on her she restored the previous form, never taking her eyes of me while doing this. Her shaking had become a whole body shiver that rapidly progressed into a violent shuddering, as she somehow willed her amazingly shredded, powerful muscles, definitely already beyond exhaustion, to fight against the overwhelming weight of total 350 kg! And I was simply in awe of this insane demonstration of strength and endurance. “Impossible… how… you are… this is… crazy… no one could be this strong!”, I almost shouted the last words. It’s been way over 15 minutes she was holding this gut-wrenching killing position... All of a sudden Sissy’s eyes lit up with even more fire, her look full of pure, raw, animal determination and will. “Watch… this… Nghaaaa…!”, With a guttural roar of pain, the incredibly packed young muscle angel began to move agonizingly slow her toes apart, keeping them at the same height, until her horizontal legs were at totally impressive 180 degree angle to one another! She literally performed a perfect air split with 150 kg of hard steel suspended from each of her trembling ankles! Her face in pain and odd pleasure, her eyes on me all the time, as if pleading of confirmation that I’m really witnessing how truly hardcore her body is. An unbelievable weighted air split of perfect form! Seeing this, and especially her bulging crotch, as angular and vascular as the rest of her, I gagged and dropped to my knees in front of this crying in pain young muscle beast. I have never thought this kind of feat of strength could be human possible… Yet Sissy was doing it right in front of my very eyes! “Impossible… girl… this is fucking insane…”, I could only mutter. “Ufff… Gnnnhaaa…”, she groan heavily and to my amazement flexed her pectorals even more so they exploded in alien mass of shredded she-beef. With that her 3-inches long nipples looked straight down her thighs! Corners of Sissy’s mouth went up and I watched as more tears began to stream down her checks and then she said in her silk voice “Are… you… nghaaa… ready… for… nghff…. Moooorreeee…!?” _____________________________________________________________ Check for continuation as well as for more stories at www.patreon.com/foker
  9. Bodicontak

    Always Just A Big Farm Boy

    Okie Dokie, The first chapter of a story I wrote myself a while back. I have read many stories on many sites over the years, but I have never posted a story on any site ever! I think this is the last thing I had left at being a virgin of. I look forward to getting your first impressions on my story line and writing style. I completed writing this story back in 2002. I am currently re-reading and editing it and will post chapters afterwards. All I ask is for people responding to be respectful. I have no problem being critiqued but do with being criticized! This story may now be for you, or the have subject matter you like, if so stop reading and move on. Don't waste your time reading it, then waste my time by writing to me telling me how bad it was and how much you didn't like the characters, the plot, the story line and the subject matter. "If you don't have anything nice or relevant to write or say, than don't write or say anything" Please and Thank you! The people, places and some of the events in this story are real and based up me and my life. Some names and places slightly altered out of respect and privacy of others. The story has content like the following: muscle growth, super strength, cock growth, gay sex, m/m, interracial sex, white guys, black guys, massive muscles, bodybuilders. Chapter One My parents were old, my father 58, my mother 48, when I was born. Bless their hearts! In 1964, a pregnant 48-year-old woman was not only rare but also considered dangerous for the mother. My mother was a wee bit of a woman, 5-foot 1 inch tall and soaking wet and carrying her purse weighed no more than 90 pounds. Dr. Millington had been my mother’s doctor for over thirty years. He spoke with my parents and reminded them about the problems and difficulty she had giving birth to my brother 21 years ago when my mother was 27 years old. He then reminded them how much harder and more difficult it had been giving birth to my sister 11 years ago when my mother was 37 years old. At 48 it would be even worse. Strangely, as soon as her heart started beating again, without her pushing, or even having a contraction and totally unnoticed by the doctor and nurses their focus on her heart, I emerged and let out a single cry that startled all of them. I don’t know how she actually survived, I weighed 15 pounds 8 ounces and measure 25.5 inches in length. Last time I checked I still held the record for the biggest baby born in the state of Maine. In great detail he told them about all damage it could do to her body, kidney and liver failure, back, neck, hip and knee damage, destruction of her bladder, damage to her lungs, she could suffer a stroke or heart attack, that there was a good chance she could even die. He also told them there was a good chance of birth defects like deformed limbs, bad muscle development, possibly crippled, or blind or deaf, retardation more than likely. He recommended and encouraged them to consider abortion. He figured she was about a month a long, so they needed to act quickly. First of all, amazingly abortions were legal in Maine in the 1960’s. Second, kudos to Dr. Millington for not only talking about and suggesting an abortion but also that he had studied and learned the procedure and performed abortions as needed. Surprisingly and thankfully, decided not to have the abortion. At their age they thought it was a miracle just to conceive. Three months later when my mother was in pain, having problems with her kidneys, having difficulty breathing, had no control of her bladder and high blood pressure, I am sure I was no longer a heavenly miracle and more like a hellish curse. Dr. Millington gave my parents two options, either she could stay home, but only if she stayed in bed 23 out of the 24 hours in a day. No standing longer than a couple of minutes, no lifting, no working, no cooking, no cleaning. Or he could admit her into the hospital, which he recommended. Both options would be until either I had developed enough that he could perform a fairly new procedure call a C-section or until she gave birth naturally. She chose to stay at home. Fortunately for her and my father, a bunch of my mothers’ friends and neighbors pitched in, took days, shifts, chores, housework and meals and made it possible. Somehow my mother held on, until just six days before the expected due date, her water broke and she went into labor. Her belly was enormous, she had gained 21 pounds all of it there. They had to call an ambulance because she could bare move let alone walk or get into the car. My mother had been in labor for over 19 hours and just minutes before I finally decided to come out, her heart stopped. There was a mad rush as Dr. Millington and one of the nurses performed their first CPR, a brand-new procedure they had only been trained on a week before. I grew in a small town in Maine, on a farm, a 280-acre farm, with cows, horses, chickens, pigs, turkey's, over 20 acres of gardens, 10 acres of apple, pear and peach trees. 5 acres of strawberries, raspberries and blueberries. We had over 85 acres of hay fields. I started working, doing chores right after I start walking. By age 5. I was driving the smaller tractor and farm truck and had learned how to and was doing most of the chores myself. My brother had joined the Army and left three years before I was born. My sister who was very intelligent was a senior in high school at age 16, was active in Field Hockey, played clarinet in the band and a member of several different clubs and was too busy to regularly do chores. My father’s construction business consumed his almost every waking moment and at age 63 kept him way to busy. I was a big baby and by big I mean huge. I was an even big toddler and I just kept getting bigger. When my mother took me in to register for kindergarten in the fall, they didn’t believe that I was 5 years old, even with the birth certificate. I was taller and bigger than most 8 and 9-year-old boys. Having me was not easy, they had gone into debt for all the bills just having me. Raising, feeding and supplying clothes and shoes that fit me was not easy. Thank god we lived on that farm, because by age 3 I was eating twice as much as both my mother and father ate. By age 5 at meals I was eating four or five times as much as the both of them. While doing chores, I would eat whatever was in season and rip, not always the later. How much I ate was the only thing I had really thought about until I started school. I had never given any thought about how tall I was, or how much I weighed. I hadn’t even notice I had muscles, or the size of them until then. By age 10 I had learned and could do every chore, operate every piece of equipment, and do whatever work needed on the farm. My sister had been gone four years by that point, moved to California for college and work. She hadn’t been home in over two years. At 68 my father was slowing down; his business still consumed all this time. Almost every day of the year I was up at 4 am to do morning chores. When I finished, I would eat breakfast, then shower, dress and go to school when it was in session. I would come home after school, change into work clothes, grab an apple or something to eat as I headed to the barn. There was a refrigerator in the barn, where after milking the cows, we shortly stored the milk until it was quickly drank or used. At 10, I was 5 foot 6.5 inches tall and weighed 140 pounds. I was at least a foot taller and weighed twice as much as guys my age. I was also way stronger than them too, I was quite sure I was stronger than guys twice my age, but I kept that secret to myself. My parents didn’t even know how strong I was. It was the third Saturday in April, I was on the John Deere 4020 tricycle tractor and was attempting to discs harrow one of the 8-acre garden plots, so I could then till and plow, ready to plant that year’s crop. It wasn’t going well at all. It had snowed more that winter than it had in sixty years. It had rained hard, every day the first 13 days of April and the sun had only been out and shining five days. Parts of the garden for dry and firm, some a little damp and little soft a couple areas wet and very soft. I had just gotten through one of those areas, the disc harrower completely bunged up and full of wet dirt. I stopped the tractor, shut it off, got off and went to clear out the disc harrower. I was just about done, when the disc harrower started to move. I jump to get out of the way and then saw why it was moving. The right rear tire of where I had stopped turned out to be the softest spot in the garden and the wheel had sunken down past and over the top of the axle. I don’t know who the idiot was that had the idea to build a tricycle tractor in first place, they where unstable on hills, slopped field and most uneven surfaces. Not have the stability of two front wheels, that right rear wheel had sunk so far down that the tractor slowly rolled over onto its side. That was the first time I ever used the word, “FUCK”! As I jogged back to the barn to get the Ford Front Loader and some chains, I was trying to figure out how I could do this all by myself. I figured that if I could lift that right rear side up with the Ford to the point where the wheel was just above the ground I could then slide several oak planks under it, with the tractors weight dispersed on them it shouldn’t sink when I lowered it and got the Ford out of the way, then I should be able to drive the John Deere forward and be out of this mess. Everything was going according to my plan until no matter where or how I connected the chain the Ford Front Loader could not lift the rear wheel of the John Deere completely up and out of the ground. There was more than a foot left to go. I had laid the six oak planks on the ground close to where I would need them. One had placed one of the planks right beside the sunken wheel for me to stand on so I could attach and hook up the chain. I was standing on that plank, frustrated as hell the wheel wasn’t higher. For some reason, I squatted down and grabbed a hold of each side of the huge rear wheel to try and lift the tractor. I knew I was frustrated and worked up and figured I must just be blowing off some steam. When the tractor didn’t move, I move from frustrated to mad, which made me try even harder to life the tractor. I lost my grip when I was surprised to see and feel the tractor start to move and lift up. I sank a little deep than if had been, that moved me from mad to angry. I squatted and grabbed a hold of each side of the huge rear wheel again, I had a death grip on the damn thing. I poured every ounce of concentration and energy into that lift. The harder I strained, the more blood rushed into my muscles, making me get hot all over. The hotter I got the move power I had to lift harder, causing more blood to rush to my muscle, making me get even hotter, which gave me more power to lift even harder. My head cleared a little and I realized that I was standing up straight, my arms and hands still locked onto the huge rear wheel and that the bottom of the tire was about fifteen inches off the group. What the…? How the…? I thought. That’s when I noticed that I didn’t feel anything different than when I picked up and held my pet cat Shikon. Then I realized that I may have picked up the tractor, but how the hell was I going to get the planks underneath the wheel? I needed both hands to keep the wheel and tractor up. Or did I? It seriously didn’t feel like I was holding anything up. I leaned in hard and pressed my chest against the top of the tire with everything I could. I was hoping that would give me the second to two I needed to move my hands up under my chest to the inside top of the rim and lift from there. I thought hopefully that I might be able to remove my right hand and hold the tractor up with just my left hand. I could then use my right hand and arm to move the planks under the wheel. And I did just that! With just my left hand I lowered the tractor down till the wheel was resting on the planks. I just stood there, trying to make sense of it all. I looked at the ground, at the John Deere, at my hands, at my arms, at my legs and at my chest. I was big for a 10-year-old, but still how was it even possible for anyone weighing 140 pounds to pick up a tractor that weighed over 10,000 pounds, let alone hold it up with just one hand. I didn’t think it was typical for 140-pound, 10-year old’s to be that strong. I removed the chains, back the drove the Ford off the garden and parked it on the grass surrounding the garden. I went back and reconnect the discs harrower to the John Deere, got on started up the tractor and drove forward off the planks and off the garden and parked it on the grass, where I was going to leave it for now. I picked up and loaded all of the oak planks into the bucket on the Ford and drove back to the barn. I put the oak planks back from where I got them. Got the water hose and rinsed off all the mud and dirt on the Ford and then turned the hose onto myself, I was covered in dirt and mud pretty much from head to toe. The water coming out of the hose was ice cold, it felt good! All of my muscle still felt burning hot. When the first bit of cold water hit my chest, I swore I heard, “hhhhhiiiissssssss” and saw a flash of steam rise from them. I hadn’t got anything done that I had planned on doing that day. And with my mind reliving what had happen, racing and thinking about how it happened and trying to figure out what I should do about it, if anything. Should I tell my parents? What if they or someone else had seen me or somehow found out? Would the military or some doctors come and take me away to study me? How strong was I actually? Will I get even stronger as I grow up? I had some many thoughts racing through my mind, that I knew I couldn’t get any work done. All I wanted and was ready to do was go to my room, lay down on my bed and go to sleep. I remembered I had some shirts and shorts in one of the cabinets in the barn. So, I stripped naked and washed myself clean with the cold water from the hose. Coiled the hose up after finishing, picked up my old wet clothes and laid them over a never by fence rail. I was as dry as I was going to get without a towel, so pulled on a pair on shorts and a t shirt, picked up my steel toed boots and headed for the house, my room, my bed. Mercifully the house was empty. My father at work as usual, my mother out doing errands or something. There is no way she would have let me go without explaining why I had stopped working, why I was going to my room and why I just wanted to lay down and go to sleep. I had never down any of these things and there would be no way in hell, she would stop until she knew what the hell was going on. I think I was asleep the second my head hit the pillow.
  10. You’re really happy to see your friend… but what the fuck happened to him? He’s huge! He’s mammoth! He has to be about a foot taller and he’s bulging out all over with sculpted, rippling muscle, way more than he should have been able to put on in the 9 months since you last saw him. You have to know what happened. There’s a little beach front diner across the causeway and you suggest you guys go there to grab a bite and catch up. “I don’t do just “bites” anymore,” said Mitch. “But it’s just about time for my next meal, so I’m down.” Mitch got dropped off at the beach, but you have your car. So, you bundle all his beach stuff in the back. The diner has a no shirt, no shoes, no service policy, but you have a t-shirt and flip flops. Mitch has flip flops, but what he puts on as a shirt, you’re not sure qualifies. Obviously designed to showcase his ridiculous physique, the neck line of this thing drops all the way past his huge, striated pecs to the top row of his bulging abs. To say it had no sleeves would be an understatement. This thing had no sides. Not only were his massive, veiny arms and segmented shoulders fully exposed, but his broad back was displayed as well, protruding out the open sides. You mention your doubts to Mitch, but he just says, “Trust me, bro, no one is going to call me on it. Would you?” Looking at you friends huge sculpted, veiny arms, you decide you probably wouldn’t. But the change in Mitch’s attitude was startling. He had this kind of “I’ll go where I want to go and do what I want to do” arrogance about him. He never had that before. You get into the car, which seems to be a little bit of a squeeze for Mitch. You are amazed at how much of the front he takes up. As you’re driving across the causeway, you feel the unmistakable bumping of your tire going flat. You get out and open the trunk for the spare and suddenly remember you lost your jack last fall. Mitch just shrugs and tells you to go ahead and loosen the lug nuts. You protest you don’t have a jack, but he just says, “Don’t worry about it. I got you covered.” You loosen the lug nuts and as soon as you do, there’s a jerk and the rear of your car starts to rise up off the ground. Holy crap! Mitch is lifting the rear of your car. You could see he had huge, chiseled muscles now but how strong was he? You sit there, staring dumbfounded for a minute, before Mitch says, “Are you going to change the tire, or what? I mean I could probably hold this all day, but I’m getting kind of hungry.” Pulling yourself back to the here and now, you continue changing the tire. When you’re done, Mitch sets the car down and you tighten the lug nuts. You try and think of something to say, but you can’t and you’re just quiet all the way to the diner. Of course, as soon as you walk in the door, it’s pandemonium. The server takes one look at Mitch and drops the tray she’s carrying. A wide-eyed little kid, waiting for a table with his mother, can’t stop staring at him. And he’s not alone. All across the diner, heads are turning to stare at Mitch. And he just seems to be loving every second of it. The flustered red-faced server seats you right away, even though there were people waiting before you. You sit there dumbfounded as Mitch orders basically half the menu. The server turns around to leave without taking your order. You stop her and order your much more conservative lunch. And when she finally leaves, you ask Mitch the question that’s been on your mind since you first saw him on the beach. “So, what happened to you, bro? How’d you get so big? And I don’t mean just jacked; you’re like a foot taller, too!” “I know,” said Mitch, grinning and flexing one of his massive biceps, which you guess is easily 5 times the size of yours. “Best thing I ever did,” he said. “My life is so much better now than last summer, when I was weak and puny like you.” “What did you say?” you say, not liking Mitch’s attitude one bit. “Don’t get your Jockeys in a twist, bro,” said Mitch. “Just about everybody’s weak and puny next to me. That’s half the fun.” “But how…?” you ask. “I could tell you,” said Mitch, “but first you have to answer one question for me.” “What?” you say. “Why are you asking?” said Mitch. “Is it just curiosity, the mystery of it? Or are you interested in starting down the same path? Be certain you mean what you say, because, once I answer, there’ll be no going back. And you can’t ask me this question ever again. I’ll only answer this once. So, why are you asking?”
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