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Together with @rene1 we started writing a muscle story which is linked to the magnificent muscle morphs he is producing for this forum. @rene1 will be adding pics to the story to make it even more attractive. I hope you'll like our common work at least as much as we enjoyed writing it for you. It nicely merges his tastes and mine. We hope it also meets your tastes. Please feel free to comment. Chapter 1: Garcías nightmare Matteo finished his last set of pec flyes. He couldn't focus on his workout as his mind kept drifting. What happened last night just didn't let him go. It was already dark when he walked home through his native city of Piedras Blancas. Half of the street lamps in this run-down area were broken, but he didn't need much light as he knew the place like the back of his hand and felt safe. Once again he passed by the little supermarket of señor García, which did not help to improve his mood. A few years ago García caught him for stealing a Playboy magazine from the shop but didn't simply leave it well enough alone: García, a tall and burly man in his mid thirties also beat him up for it. Matteo, who had this shameful encounter burned into his memory, vowed to himself that he´d do everything he could to prevent this from happening again. He simply needed to become a real man. When he got beaten up, he was still a child, small and skinny. Now, just having turned eighteen recently, his athletic, almost fat-free 88 kgs (194 lbs) looked impressive for a young adult on his 180 cm (5’9 feet) tall frame. His thoughts of the past were interrupted when he saw big choppers parked in front of García´s store. Even in the dim lighting, the metal of the motorcycles shone brightly and Matteo noticed that their tires were exceptionally wide. He walked a few steps further and saw a fourth bike standing a little behind, mounted by a behemoth of a man. Around the same height as Matteo, but at least 40 kg (88 lbs) heavier. And these 40 kg were probably all dark-tanned muscle which made his white tank top bulge under his opened heavy leather jacket. Black hair, neatly trimmed thick beard, strong jawline … the guy looked macho, but also dangerous …very dangerous. He seemed to scan the area. Was he a sentinel for the other guys in García´s supermarket? Luckily right in the moment when Matteo saw him, the musclebull was just looking in another direction, so he could quickly hide behind the nearest wall. Wow! This guy was really impressive. Matteo's heart was pumping so hard you could almost hear it. So, if there were more guys in García´s shop, what would they want from him? Well, there were rumors going around that there was no way Garcia could have built his wealth just from his small store and that he was involved in some crooked business dealings. Matteo simply had to peek around the corner of the wall again. Thankfully from there he was able to observe that thug a little better without being seen at the same time. It seemed to him that the sentinel was new in the area and didn't know anything about hidden passages, secret paths and shortcuts. Matteo did. He decided to quietly circumvent the huge muscleguy and silently – very silently - climb up the fire escape stairs of a neighboring building up to the roof. From there he could watch both the guard outside and look inside into García´s little supermarket through its ventilation holes. As almost expected, three more gang members were inside. He gasped for breath and almost slipped on the roof as he saw how BUILT they were. All those three monsters were simply breathtakingly massive superheavyweight bodybuilders! Their muscles bulged in their black leather trousers which seemed to thin out at the area of highest pressure. They were so huge that you could clearly see how the leather hugged their legs just like a second skin. Even from this far Matteo saw the muscle separations of their thighs in them, all four quadriceps muscles and his hamstrings! Some seams on their jackets had already burst due to their bulk and the tanned muscle bellies of their latissimus were visible through the large openings. Obviously they preferred to wear nothing under their jackets. The third one just wore a vest, so his gargantuan arms weren't covered at all. Hundreds of pencil-thick veins crawled along the clearly visible muscle fibers. Matteo had watched many youtube-videos of bodybuilders, even followed some pros on instagram, but never ever had he seen arms like these! How big could they possibly be? 60 cm? Even 65 cm around (around two feet)? When the big guy's arms moved, their distinct muscles seemed to fight against each other for space, which almost looked ridiculous. Before, their companion waiting outside had left him impressed, but now it became clear that he was actually the smallest of the gang! Nothing could have prepared his mind for this absolutely stunning view. Matteo was so overwhelmed by their looks that it took him some seconds to actually understand what was happening down there. Two of them were brutally holding García´s arms upwards behind his back and the third one was shouting at the absolutely terrified shop owner. "Last warning, Garcia! You claimed yourself you’d easily manage to double the sales! 25% … that‘s so off the mark, shithead! You miss that last chance and we are going to let you die a very slow death and enjoy your screams! And your children … I’ll make sure, I ́ll inject the unsold heroin into them myself … right in front of your eyes. Prick, prick, prick … a little pricky in their arms … or in their ears … or maybe into their eyes … Think about it! For now, I´ll just leave you a friendly reminder.” He grabbed the pinky finger of the shop owner, pulled it at a strange angle, then twisted it. Garcia started to scream but was choked by one of the thugs who held him, which immediately cut off the oxygen needed for screaming. The biker who had talked before easily ripped off his pinky with his gigantic hands, making García faint and fall down to the floor. Or was it maybe not by the pain, but the lack of oxygen? Stomping their feet on his head and body, they went to the cashier and took all that was inside. Then they left the store, jumped on their choppers and rode off. "Matteo! What the heck are you doing! You were supposed to be doing cardio after your last set!" Matteo woke up from his daydream and looked at his coach. Coach Salvador was his idol. Some years ago he was competing as a middle-weight bodybuilder and even won two or three events. Even though he wasn't preparing for competition anymore, he maintained a less strict, but nonetheless controlled diet all year round and was therefore always in good shape. When Matteo entered the gym three years ago, eager to gain size after his encounter with García, it was a fortunate circumstance that he met his coach pretty quickly, who introduced him to serious strength training right from the start. Salvador saw his determination, the fire that burned within Matteo. Of course, the boy lacked a lot of muscle mass, but the trained eye of the competitive bodybuilder didn’t miss Matteo's almost perfect proportions, the favorable deep position of the attachments of his calves, biceps and forearm tendons, which would leave him plenty of room for future mass gains ... or his wide ribcage and collarbones, which were literally waiting for large packages of meat to be attached to them. For Salvador, being able to walk the path together with this talented boy, to build him up and introduce him step by step to the world of competitive bodybuilding, was a great blessing. Just like having a rough diamond that needed to be cut and polished. Right from the start, Matteo needed – and received - hardcore training, not some silly housewife jigging around. And food. Lots of protein-rich food. Again on the treadmill. Matteo set it for 30 minutes. While running, his brain was free to daydream again. He just couldn’t avoid comparing his coach with the three giant bikers from yesterday. This morning, he and Salvador weighed themselves. His coach was exactly at 103 kg (227 lbs), offseason but still showing an eight-pack. With his current low level of body fat, his weight wouldn’t go down too much if he was to compete now, and for sure he wouldn’t start in the middleweight category but switch to the light-heavies. But then, he thought of the Bikers. How absolutely stunningly huge they´d look next to him! They were such gigantic beasts, easily 150 kg, maybe even 160 kg (353 lbs) of pure muscle mountains, brutal faces, thick black beards, carrying lots of golden chains around their muscular necks which were even thicker than their heads ... traps that went up to their ears ... ears with the typical „cauliflower look“ that Matteo had seen in many MMA-fighters or professional wrestlers before. If Salvador stood next to them, they would simply dwarf him, make him look so pathetic! To put it bluntly: meeting Salvador alone on the street, on the beach or wherever you can imagine was a turn-on for most women (and also many men). Any average Joe would describe him as a typical bodybuilder, the simple word ‘athletic’ wouldn't do him justice. But to Matteo, his body just looked ‘beautiful’. However the thugs he saw last night were gigantic beasts, animalistic aggressive hypermasculine musclehulks that emanated waves of testosterone wherever they were. Even if his rational mind couldn't actually approve their violence, deep down he was fascinated by that violence, their dominance, their unrestrained superiority. They were dangerous. Simply dangerous for anybody being at the wrong time in the wrong place. And … he had to admit to himself … that's what thrilled him most. He wanted to be huge. And feared. Be a muscle behemoth like them. Salvador passed by his treadmill. “Coach, I´ve got to tell ya what I'm just non-stop thinking about …” He couldn't stop himself and told him all about what happened yesterday on Wednesday evening. “Oh my God, bad times are coming to Piedras Blancas,“ his coach said, frowning. But he didn't miss the thrill in Matteo's eyes and somehow sensed that he'd try to get in contact with these criminals. “When you´ve finished, come to me. I’m gonna stay at the counter. Got a surprise for you.“ Salvador stayed in an area next to the gym entrance, where supplements were stored and sold. He unpacked the newly arrived boxes of amino acids when Matteo finally joined him. “You know what day it is today?“ “Nope“ “It's your third anniversary, thickie! Exactly three years ago you set foot in this gym, three years that have changed your life already. Look where you came from and look at you now!“ “Aahh, I´m sorry. How could I´ve missed that?“ “Got a gift for you. Here!“ Salvador handed a cap to him. Another one for his collection as he knew that he loved them. Matteo looked at it. “Cool, thank you! What's that??“ Matteo pointed to the middle of his black and shiny cap. It showed a picture of a grotesquely morphed bodybuilder. It reminded him of his other cap with the well known logo of Powerhouse Gym. The torso of a bodybuilder lifting a bar over himself that was so overloaded that it bent like an arc. Well that was a drawing, a quick draft, a kind of sketch. But this far overmorphed bodybuilder actually looked like a realistic photograph that was put on the cap. For his taste the artist exaggerated too much, but still he was deeply amazed by the photorealistic quality of his work. “Guy on that pic is called Khaldun,“ Salvador said smiling. Matteo decided to search on the internet for new fantasy computer games after his next meal … with this strange Khaldun as the protagonist of the game. “He's really cool.” Matteo put the cap on his head. Less than two seconds passed when suddenly, he heard a very short beeping sound and a feeling of warmth flowed down into his body. He looked around and saw the red bulb of the gym alarm. “Ah! That’s where the beep sound came from.” thought Matteo. “Muchísimas gracias, Salvador, I'll wear that cap all the time.“

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