strength The Alpha Male 3

[Shade]

Part 1, Part 2

Training

Myles had been extra cautious since the incident with Mr. Fong a week ago. After a change of clothes for me, we had flown directly to Myles’ home in the south on his private jet. And I noticed that Myles carried Fong’s case with the formula with him. It never left his person until we arrived at the house, and then it disappeared from view.

I suspected Myles had a safe or vault of some kind, but this was my first time at his house.

My inspection was quick, and we established the necessary security protocols and perimeters. Not that Myles had much to fear with me there protecting him.

Myles had called in extra men from Mack’s team. Enough so that I was not working around the clock to provide protection. Not that it seemed like we had anything to worry about. Perhaps I had given Fong enough of a fright he wouldn’t try his luck.

All my food was provided, and as Kyle remarked jokingly – several times – I was in danger of eating them out of house and home. What concerned me more was my inability to train.

My body tensed a bit, and I flexed as I finished laps in Myles’ Olympic swimming pool. The swim had felt good, but what my body craved was the exertion of muscle on steel. The longer I waited, the worse it became. And I knew that when I got like this I could become a danger to others.

“You look tense,” said Myles, watching me from the side of the pool.

I hoisted myself up, careful not to shatter the stones around the edge of the pool.

“I need to train Mr. Boudreau.”

I felt the rivulets of water run down my hair, and cascade off my body. The sunlight gleamed against the muscles of my skin, glittering with tiny droplets of water, and I stretched a bit, feeling the energy in my body, the tenseness of muscle, and the power I could harness just under my skin. I felt like a thoroughbred. And Myles watched my movements with great interest. More discerning even than Kyle, and yet his eyes were more guarded. I could not tell what he thought of me. And his body had no obvious tells.

“I know,” said Myles. “I’ve been a bad host.”

“I am not your guest sir. And you’ve been a very good boss.”

I picked up my towel, and began to dry my body.

“There are some old train yards, about twenty miles or so that way.” He pointed east, in the direction of the city. “I’ve heard that guys like you use them sometimes. You should look into it.”

“Thank you sir. I’ll do that.”

He didn’t stay to watch me, and as he went inside I sighed. I admit I was a little disappointed by his lack of interest. Myles was so handsome and confident. So good at what he did. His gaze always made me feel hot and flushed, and a touch uncertain.

Well, enough day dreaming. I had work to do.

* * *

I came inside from a patrol of the grounds. Stu and Greg would be taking over from me soon, and I had the evening off. So I considered what Myles had said to me earlier.

I stood stiffly with my wide back towards the wall, surveying the large room in front of me. It was opulent, but tasteful. And quite masculine, I thought, in an old fashioned way. Myles had unexpected tastes.

Kyle sat on a luxurious leather sofa. He was angled in such a way that he was facing me, several notebooks and papers lay neatly on the couch beside him, along with his phone – which was never far from hand. He ran a hand through his hair as he read something on his iPad, and I had begun to recognise this distracted gesture having seen it now a thousand times over the past week.

“Mr. Palmer?”

“Yes?” He looked up at me, and his eyes focused. I liked the way that Kyle could forget anything in the world, even me, when he was engrossed in reading.

“How much does a locomotive weigh?”

He cocked his head, but then his hasty fingers went to work on the shiny surface of his toy, until he found what he was looking for.

“Anywhere over one hundred twenty tons each apparently,” he said. “Why do you want to know?”

“Just curious.”

He regarded me for a minute. “Myles says you have a competition coming up?”

“Yes sir. In a week.”

“Myles sounded quite excited about it. Not much makes him excited.”

“Mr. Boudreau plans to attend?” I wasn’t expecting that.

“We’re both going.”

“I hope that you’ll both enjoy the competition sir.”

“Feats of strength is it?” His voice feigned disinterest, but his eyes begged me, suggesting otherwise.

“It will be a competition amongst certain men to see who is the best at the required tasks.”

“And who will be the best?” he wondered.

“Me obviously.”

“You sound awfully sure of yourself.”

I grinned at him, and he started, taken aback. A smile from me was a rare thing. A cocky smile was something he’d never seen before.

Walking over to Kyle, I gently reached under him with my left arm. And I lifted him as if he had the weight of a feather until he sat perfectly balanced in my palm. I extended myself to my full height, which was now lately grown to nearly seven feet.

“Fuck!” he muttered. “You are strong!”

He reached out to touch the shelf of my pec outlined in my well tailored suit jacket. As his fingers grazed the fabric, I flexed the muscle, causing the pecs to bounce. A massive ripple of power rose through the striations like a wave, and he pulled his fingers away like he’d received an electric shock.

I heard a moan escape his lips.

I brought him even closer to me, and my right hand reached over to take his hand in mine. He was a full grown man, and not that small by normal standards, but my hand eclipsed his. I pressed his palm against my chest. Then I pressed my hand firmly over his, but careful not to inflict crushing pressure.

His hand was trapped where it was. Though he made no attempt to escape, however futile it might have been.

“It’s like steel,” he moaned.

“Harder than that.”

“Yes...harder....” He licked his lips.

“What is that I feel underneath?” he asked, breathless.

“That’s my heart beating.”

I squeezed his hand, just a little. And in that second he lay his head against my chest, his breathing coming harder.

Then he shuddered.

I set him down as gently as I’d picked him up, putting him right back where I found him. I did not fail to notice the growing wet spot on this trousers, nor miss the hardness of his cock.

“You should never doubt me Mr. Palmer. Never.”

And I left him there to think about it.

* * *

I stretched in the last rays of the sun, as they were sinking slowly over the horizon. It was an early spring night, and the weather was still cool – but warmer here than where I’d been recently.

Stripped to the waist, I flexed my muscles. Stretching them. Enjoying how the tension eased as the fibres were pulled taut. I was wearing a pair of gym shorts made out of a new elastic material, and some extremely large gym shoes that I’d had especially made.

As I had finished stretching, and as the dusk fell, day turning into night, I crouched like a panther. This was my time, and I needed to work my muscles. Feel them pull. The energy coursed through my veins.

I leapt forward, my quads pumping under me, as I took off like an Olympic runner. Only faster. I felt myself cross the massive expanse of Myles’ lawn in a few strides, not even up to full speed. I neared the large stone fence surrounding his property, and hurled myself into the air. Feeling the wind strike my face as I became airborne – soaring, even if only briefly, through the night and clearing the fifteen foot wall easily.

My body came down hard on the pavement outside, and I felt the asphalt give as I landed. The stones and tar being pushed by the force of my body in motion, and I ran. I ran. And ran.

Short of lifting, running was one of the best ways I’d found of using my body. Legs pumping, calves flexing. Hamstrings squeezed. The engine of my body powering forward, and then my lungs filling with air, pecs bouncing, and back tensing.

I put on the speed, and ran faster. Not having dared to try such a speed in a long time. I’d chosen a route that avoided most people. And where I was going was very much the other side of the tracks. The abandoned part of a once mighty manufacturing area.

Too soon I arrived at the site originally suggested to me by Myles. It seemed a perfect spot, and I leapt into the air again, easily clearing a large chain link fence a good couple feet above the barbed wire on top.

And as I landed, the dirt around me shifted, the earth compressed, and dust rose up in a cloud. I looked down and saw that I’d created a massive indentation.

“What a way to make an entrance!”

An older man shone a flashlight in my direction, a crooked grin on his face.

“Are you Larry?” I asked him.

“That’s me. I’ve seen some of you boys before, but usually you just rip the doors off. Ain’t never seen anyone jump the fence like that.”

I glanced back at the gate. Then at Larry. “Now what would be the fun of that?”

I stood up, as fully as possible. My chest swelled in front, the pecs full and round, nipples at a southward trajectory. My shoulders were as wide as goal posts, and each delt twice as big as a bowling ball. I put my hands on my hips and emphasised the v-taper of my broad back that I knew was obvious, with a narrow waist that almost made me look top heavy. The guns were swollen and I could feel their crushing power even when they were relaxed like that. But I wasn’t just massive from the waist up. My legs, like trees, were solidly planted in the ground. Larry looked me up and down, and he paid special attention to the deep valleys that separated the quad muscles, the massive tear drop shape of the muscle that hung there. And the calves below, of which I was especially proud, for they were like nothing else on the whole world, and harder than diamonds.

“Jesus! You’re a big fella ain’t ya? All you guys are big. But there aren’t many I’ve seen bigger than you.”

“No one’s bigger than me.”

“Naw sir. I got a good eye for this sort of thing. You’re not the biggest. There was a fella in here nigh on about a month ago yesterday, and he was a lot bigger than you. Jacked up sort of dude. What is it you call ‘em? Juicers?”

“Big muscle doesn’t mean much if you don’t have the strength to back it up.”

“Ain’t that the truth sir. Well I was just telling my littlest one Shawn the same thing the other day. Shawn, I says to him, cause the boy just don’t listen, if you’re gonna get to the all state wrestling championships, you’re gonna have to build up some strength in those arms. Kid just don’t know. His ole dad on the other hand, I was all state twice.”

Larry’s chest swelled up with pride, and I smiled at him. I’d only just met him and I had a bit of a soft spot for the guy.

“Anyway, mister. The place is yours – if you got the money.”

Thankful again to have the bonus Myles gave me, I had tucked a wad of hundred dollar bills into my shorts. I pulled it out and tossed it to Larry. If he had any complaints about where it had been stored he didn’t say anything.

“Much obliged sir," he said, pocketing the money. Then he stood there.

“Well thanks,” I said, flexing my guns. “Time to put these to the test.”

“If it’s all the same to you man, I wouldn’t mind watching.”

“Just don’t get in my way,” I warned him.

I walked forward, eager to survey my new training equipment. It was like a graveyard of old trains. And some appeared to be quite battered. Across the way some old tracks had been torn up and twisted like pretzels.

Clearly some of the other fellas from the Circuit had stopped by. Not that I doubted Larry’s word.

My hands squeezed tight into fists, and I walked over to a particularly aerodynamic pretzel. The rail itself was light, and I took a minute to unfold the complicated tangle until I had made it straight again. I ran my hand along the rail, until I was pleased that it was as smooth as it had been when it first was manufactured.

Larry looked on with a keen interest.

Knowing I had his full attention, I folded the rail in half, and then in half again. I squeezed the steel together, forcing it to conform to my grip, and it gave way as it was made ever smaller. When it was finally folded as much as I judged the steel could handle, I began shaping it into a ball like it was putty. The metal heated in my hands, warmed by the energy I was exerting against it.

I felt the ball of the metal thick, and tight, but I forced it ever smaller, expelling out all possible air, squeezing it until it became about the size of a basketball.

Larry whistled. And I then hurled the ball, like it was a baseball, letting it rocket towards an old warehouse building far across the wall.

The sound of the impact could be heard throughout the yard as the steel tore a hole in the building, and then out again from the other side heading far into the distance.

“That’s pretty good, big man,” hollered Larry. “I’d like to see some of you big boys play some baseball.”

“That was good for start,” I said. “But we got a lot more to go.”

I walked up to a big old train engine. A rusted out locomotive that probably could carry a 13,000 ton load over the mountains.

It sat on the track. I put my left hand on the front and pushed. The locomotive was heavy, and its workings rusty. It resisted me. But I wasn’t a man to be resisted. My triceps bulged, and the wheels squealed, forced to move. I pushed, walking it forward with the power of my arm.

Soon it was moving. Forced backwards on the track towards some freight cars. They were unloaded, and I walked the train into them, pushing both the locomotive and the freight cars back, and I grunted with the extra exertion. There were maybe ten cars in a row. And each weighed about 30 tons unloaded. Then I squeezed the metal, and pulled. And now I felt my bicep react, straining against the weight to make the whole chain of vehicles stop. The cars that had been going backwards groaned, overpowered. And my young muscle pulled. And pulled hard. As I stepped back the locomotive came with me, grudgingly, but I didn’t give it a choice. The cars that had coupled themselves to the locomotive came as well until I pulled it back to the starting point.

I brushed the dust from my hands and repeated the exercise with my right arm.

That was fine for a warm-up.

I reached under the front of the train and I lifted it up. Back muscles complained, and I howled. Roaring, I pulled. I forced my quads to obey, and the train came with me. I stood up, and up. Reaching my full height. The train must have looked comic, as it was balanced on my palms, and I arched my back in the perfect deadlift form. Then I held the weight. I counted out slowly in my mind. My body screamed its resistance, every nerve on fire, as I managed to withstand the pressure. In fact I was enjoying the pain. I lived for it. Because it meant I was getting stronger. When the slow count of five minutes was reached I set the train back down, letting it rest perfectly back on the track. Looking like it had hardly been disturbed.

“Damn, man! That was an impressive lift. That big engine there’s at least two hundred tons.” Larry spit.

I grunted acknowledgment.

As I took a breath, resting a second, my mind wandered. I hadn’t always been this strong of course. When I was thirteen, I’d had a nemesis. Billy Nickerson. He was one of the meanest sons of bitches I have encountered before or since. He took great pleasure in inflicting pain. And he was cruel. Maybe I sound bitter because I was his victim. A shy introverted junior high kid just trying to mind his own business. But I don’t think that was just the case, although I certainly resented him. And of course owed him something as well. Without him I wouldn’t be the man I am today.

When Billy had kicked my ass six ways from Sunday on the last day of eighth grade, with half the school watching and laughing, I had vowed that I would never be the victim of his or anyone else’s bullying ever again.

I joined a gym the next day.

What surprised me is how easily I took to it. When I felt like I couldn’t lift any more. When I felt like a failure. Like a pussy. Just how Billy had described me over and over again. It was then I’d feel something roaring through me that wouldn’t let me quit. Wouldn’t let me stop. Each day I went to the gym and each day I put more weight on the bar.

And when I returned to school after the end of summer I was so transformed most of the students thought I was an entirely different person. But Billy recognised me, I made sure of that.

That fight on the last day of school, now long past, was the last one I’d ever lost against another person or myself.

Within a few months I could break every powerlifting record I could find. Within a year I was doing things even I recognised as superhuman. By the time I was sixteen, I’d become unstoppable. And no one, and nothing had stopped me since.

“That other fella did fifty of them deadlifts, with that engine over there.”

I looked at the other engine. It was bigger than mine. I could see it was thicker, heavier. Made for pulling the very biggest of loads. And it was a little battered. Like someone had taken a couple swings at it.

“Fifty you said?”

“Yep.”

I got under it and lifted, experimentally at first. It was heavy. Maybe the heaviest thing I’d ever lifted.

“Two hundred fifty tons that one.”

“Fuck!” I hollered.

I squeezed my fingers into the metal underneath and felt the handholds of someone else. I gripped even tighter. Good form was everything. And I powered it up. I felt for a moment on the way up that I was going to drop it. But I didn’t. I wasn’t going to.

At the top of the lift I grunted, and I let it down and did another. Then another. Then another.

Nothing was going to defeat me. No matter how big and heavy it was.

I felt the sweat bead on my forehead, even in the cold night air, and my natural body heat increased. I hollered again.

I powered up fifty reps, and when I got to fifty-one. I let the train slam back down on the track.

“FUCK YEAH!!!!!!” I roared out. “Take that MOTHER FUCKER!”

My arms contracted, and I flexed a most muscular at the train.

“Looked like that might have been a little tough on you,” said Larry, “Those last few sets.”

I GLARED at Larry. But he didn’t seem cowed.

“In fact, that big fella I mentioned. You know he did those lifts one handed.”

“What?” My voice edged with danger.

“Oh, yeah. He tried for fifty one-reps but he couldn’t quite manage. Not one-handed.”

I chuckled. No big man was showing me up. Don’t care who he was.

Reaching under I grabbed the vehicle in a tight grip with my right hand. I squeezed so hard that the indentations already there formed even more deeply under my fingers. When I tugged, nothing happened.

From the side I heard Larry chuckle.

But I pulled even harder, forcing my body to obey me. When Larry saw what I was managing, I heard him swear. The first rep was the hardest. And it was very hard indeed. I felt the sweat pouring off my body like a hose. Each rep coming on. When I got to twenty I burned. By the time I hit thirty I was in agony. But I was not going to stop. This was light, I told myself over and over again. If that big pussy could do it, anyone could do.

I was THE MAN.

When I finally hit fifty, I heard Larry exclaim. When I hit sixty, he was shouting obscenities. By eighty he was my biggest cheerleader.

“Don’t you fucking give in,” he screamed at me. “Lift that fucker!”

I powered through. Ninety-eight. Ninety-nine. One hundred.

Then I switched hands. Larry started frothing at the mouth. He came right up to me. And was shouting right beside me. Daring me to equal what I had just accomplished. And I did. Oh, did I ever.

I finished, setting it down gently.

“Fuck!” Larry told me, “I ain’t seen lifting like that before.”

“You ain’t seen nothing little man.”

I pulled up the engine with both hands. Not just pulled, but tossed. The front of the engine flew into the air and it kept going, then it flipped over, falling onto it’s back in a massive heap, deforming the rails beneath and caving in its roof.

“I bet no big fucker has ever done anything like that before!” I pumped my fist into the overturned locomotive. It not only caved in the metal of the machine, it moved the crushed engine back a good ten feet.

“Hell no big guy. That was truly a first for me.”

I was uncomfortably aware of the fact that the log in my training shorts had grown mighty big and thick. It was straining even the elastic of this new material. Although I was pleased to see the material held.

“How much does this one weigh?”

“That’s three hundred tons big man.”

I reached under it and tipped it on its side. Then turned, braced my back against it, and grabbed the axels of the mighty wheels. With a good grip, I muscled it up onto my shoulders, and stood all the way up. The weight was crushing, and I felt my legs wobble, but I would not falter.

I took a deep squat. Ass to the floor.

“FUCK!”

My quads were ripped apart by the pressure. Glutes screamed in agony. But. I. Stood. Up. I did another.

And then I did it again. I felt the flare of the power in my balls. And my cock, now solid, tented my shorts. When I reached ten reps I thought I was going to quit. But I knew I had to keep going. I never usually repped less than one-hundred. The first half were agony. The second half felt my muscles respond. The surge of adrenaline filling them and the weight got lighter, and easier.

When I reached the end I set the weight down. Legs burning, I lay on the ground and let the engine cover me. Then I pressed it up. Over and over again. Repeating my usual routine for two hundred reps. Benching what I could squat.

I stood up, and Larry’s expression told me everything I needed to know. I pushed down my shorts, and my cock was at full capacity, a thick log of blood and muscle that was longer than my two massive fists put together. My balls fell out with them, large and hairy, like big pieces of fruit hanging ripe.

I turned to the train and brought my hands down, crushing them into and through the metal. I pulled the big machine towards me, off the rails, twisting them, and brought it to my cock. I pulled it onto myself and crushed it down against me, creating a tight space to fuck. I kept crushing it until it was half the size it had been.

Then I thrust my hips.

And it was bliss. The metal tearing and rending as I fucked. My god! I rolled my eyes back and fucked it harder. It tore asunder under my onslaught. Such a big machine become so very fragile. Unable to withstanding the pounding. Soon it was obvious it was falling apart and no longer able to sustain my cock.

I walked to the next engine and fucked it too into oblivion. Then a third. Then a fourth. Finally I felt my balls heave, pouring out my steaming hot cum. And it hit the machine and filled it, tore through it, and burst out the side. I backed away. Sated.

My cheeks flushed, and I felt heat pulse through my body. The fog in my mind cleared and I felt I was returning to some semblance of myself.

I shifted my muscles, and felt them ache. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a workout with soreness. Not for years.

Larry surveyed the damage. Even he looked stunned. “Ain’t nothing like it! You trashed the place!”

“Sorry about that man. Listen it’s been real, but I gotta go.”

“Come back and see us again,” said Larry. “Please!”

I winked at him before I took off running. This time though I ran right through the fence.

Read the Next Part

[DawnFire98]

On 6/7/2014 at 5:40 PM, Shade said:

I brought him even closer to me, and my right hand reached over to take his hand in mine. He was a full grown man, and not that small by normal standards, but my hand eclipsed his. I pressed his palm against my chest. Then I pressed my hand firmly over his, but careful not to inflict crushing pressure.

His hand was trapped where it was. Though he made no attempt to escape, however futile it might have been.

“It’s like steel,” he moaned.

“Harder than that.”

“Yes...harder....” He licked his lips.

“What is that I feel underneath?” he asked, breathless.

“That’s my heart beating.”

I squeezed his hand, just a little. And in that second he lay his head against my chest, his breathing coming harder.

Then he shuddered.

Just re-read this. Still hot as fuck (Love heartbeats and buff guys)