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The Wall (chapter 42, added 12/26).


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This is my first story. I like to think that my writing gets better as the story unfolds. Of course there are always misses and hits, but please continue to read, and give me your feedback. Authors live for your feedback.

The Wall

I’m a successful Wall Street executive. My life is good. In fact, sometimes I think it is too good. I don't complain. My office is in the city, and I have a nice home on Long Island from which I commute to work every day. My work days are long and sometimes stressful, but I enjoy the challenges, and I decompress by obsessively working out in the gym and working in my garden. The garden is beautiful, but I always thought that it was lacking a few defining structures; so, when the idea hit me that a beautiful stone wall would create the backdrop it deserved, I hired a reputable landscape contractor who could make my ideas into reality.

I was so excited. Monday was to be the start of the new wall project, and I had been thinking of little else for weeks. Unfortunately, the garden, where usually I love to entertain, was about to become a construction zone. So, the weekend before, I decided to invite my friends John and Ernie over for lunch by the pool and an afternoon swim. They accepted and had asked if they could bring couple of their friends along that they thought I would enjoy. You see, John and Ernie are toned and attractive enough, but they know I what really like is muscle -- lots of it. I get off on big, beefy, masculine men - physical men who enjoy rough housing and showing off. Nothing turns me on like a big man who’s willing to rip off his shirt, wrestle me into a bear hug and show me that he’s at least a strong as me. I work out a lot myself, and at 6’2” and 245 lbs, I make a worthy competitor. I like feeling the strength of other men, and I love being tested and felt up and appreciated by big men even more.

I had left a note on the front door for Ernie and John and their friends to let themselves in and meet me on the terrace by the pool. They arrived single file down the garden path - first John with a big hug and a whistle, and then Ernie with pat on my rump and a tousle of my hair. Then, Ernie made his hands into fists and started pounding on my pecs. “Someone’s been working out!” Another whistle. Then with a squeeze, “You’re gonna need a binder for these things if they get any bigger, Max.” Then Ernie doubled back for grope of my arm and said, “Oh wow! I can’t get my hands around it. You may be getting too big, or is there such a thing?”  

Now Ernie and John know I love a little admiration and that I don’t really have a limit for too big; so, I knew they were up to something when they started fawning over me and teasing. I also know that Ernie and John are aware that throwing a little admiration my way goes straight to my dick, and I was just starting to chub up a bit when their two friend showed up next, sending me straight to full mast steel in seconds flat. John said, “Maxie, if you’re not careful, you may get as big as our friends Eric and Lars here.” Gulp... “Max, meet Eric and Lars. Boys, this is our host Max.” Oh my God. Two men of my dreams, Eric and Lars were big and tall and looked like superheroes in shorts and polo shirts. Eric was fair skinned and dark haired, and Lars was golden all over – hair, skin and eyes - like a lion. I was slack jawed and salivating, and they looked pretty hungry for me as well. With a firm squeeze of my rump Ernie said, “Well, isn’t anybody going to say anything? Hellowwww? Gentlemen…?” Knocking on the top of my head, “Hellowwww... Is anybody in home? ... Earth to Max!”

Startled back into civility, I offered my greeting to both Eric and Lars, and we said our polite hellos while continuing to survey each other’s physiques like hungry wolves eyeing fatted lambs (or in our case, like other hungry wolves. I couldn’t stop staring, and I couldn’t seem to maneuver my hardon into a less obvious position. It was straight up, hard as a rock and going nowhere. The attraction was so strong, that I think it was actually uncomfortable for Ernie and John, although, Ernie could always come up with a quip or a bitchy remark to lighten the tone. “OMG, you three! get a room! Or should I just jerk you off right here so we can get that lunch we were invited for today.  AND DRINKS! I'm sure we were promised DRINKS!” Then nodding to the iced pitcher by the grill, “Maxie, my dear,  get it in gear. Those margaritas are not going to serve themselves!” 

Long story short, the afternoon was fantastic. Besides being absolutely gorgeous hunks of prime muscle beef, Eric and Lars were also interesting and witty and delightful. They were just so damn sexy that I couldn’t stop staring and fantasizing. Every hearty laugh expanded a massive chest. Every lift of a fork flexed bulging biceps. A twist and stretch near the end of the meal made Eric’s shirt rise up above his navel, exposing the base of a rippling 6 pack. I stayed hard for 2 hours.

When lunch was through, I offered the pool to my guests and indicated a changing room just off the deck. Eric and Lars acknowledged acceptance with a nod and set off to get changed, but John and Ernie declined, saying that they had eaten and drunk too much and needed a nap instead and would just head home early if I didn’t mind entertaining Eric and Lars for the afternoon.  John gave me a wink and a peck on the cheek, while Ernie just groped me in the crotch and said, “I’m sure you three can find something fun to do without us,” and then, “I hear Lars is quite flexible.” 

A few minutes later, Eric and Lars emerged from the pool house, and I didn’t know if I would pass out right there or just cum in my shorts. My God, those boys could fill out their speedos. And talk about perfection, each in his own way the definition of what manliness should be. Eric was fair with a swirling pattern of dark hair on his chest, a defined trail down the middle of his abdomen, with more abundant hair over his thickly muscled legs. Lars was golden all over, with honey colored skin and a light dusting of golden hair all over his chest, forearms and legs that shimmered in the sunlight, making him look like a salted caramel ready to be sampled. Both of them were hugely built. Eric had absolutely enormous legs, butt, back and arms.  Lars had the biggest pecs hanging over the tightest abs and most defined atlas belt I had ever seen. 

I was slack jawed, and they were all grins. I think Ernie and John must have alerted them ahead of the game that they could have some fun with me, and when they dropped their towels on the chaises and started rubbing suntan oil onto each other, then I had to get in on the action. I walked over, and Lars started flexing his pecs, bouncing the huge slabs up and down and saying, “Hey, Eric, have you noticed how Max can’t stop staring at my pecs. I think he might be a chest man. What do you say, Max? Do you want to help Eric put some sunscreen on my chest?” Before I could reply, Eric said, “No, Lars, I think he’s an arm man. Look how his dick twitches in his pants when I flex like this.” Eric flexed a huge arm in front of my face, and true to form, my dick twitched and pumped out some precum that made a wet spot on the front of my shorts. Lars then said, “You know, I think John and Ernie said that more than anything else, Max would like to flex for us. I could definitely go for that. Why don’t we get him out of those clothes and see what he’s got. From the tent in the front of his shorts, I don’t think we’ll be disappointed.”

Eric then grabbed my shirt by the hem and pulled it up over my head while Lars unbuttoned/unzipped my shorts and pulled them to my feet. It happened so fast I could hardly react, but my dick responded, all nine inches of it, throbbing straight up toward my pecs and leaking copious precum as my guests made their inspections.

Eric let out a low whistle and moved close behind me, pushing his own hardon up against my butt while reaching around me to rub sunscreen onto my chest and shoulders. “Hey, Lars, his chest is almost as big as yours, but I think you should get closer so that we can more easily compare.” Lars nuzzled up front, grinding his still speedo-covered erection into my hardon while flexing his pecs and his abs. “Hey Eric, he does have an amazing rack, but I think I’ve still got him beat. What about his arms? They look pretty big. Why don’t you each flex a biceps for me so I can decide who’s is bigger?” Eric’s right arm appeared in my peripheral vision and flexed into an enormous peak just beside my right cheek. I couldn’t help but turn my head and begin licking it, and I thought I might cum right then. Lars interrupted, “No! No! No! Do not cum yet. You may not cum until the comparison is through. Okay, Max, flex that big arm for me and let me see how yours feels compared to Eric’s.” I flexed with all my might, turned on like I had never been before and somehow willing myself not to come until permitted. “Oh, man, Max, your arm is as big as Eric’s, but I think his peak is still higher." My dick was shuddering like crazy, and the precum was leaking in a continuous stream. "Yeh, big man, you and Eric are close in the arm department, but his back and ass are like nothing you’ve ever seen and can't be beat by anyone. Turn around, and Eric can drop his trunks and you’ll see what I mean.” 

With that, still sandwiched between the two musclemen, I turned around and then watched as Eric took a step back, turned around and raised his arms into a double biceps. My hands were instinctively all over his arms and shoulders, and my cock was shuddering but somehow still under control. “Rear lat spread,” commanded Lars, and Eric complied, lowering his fists to his waist and forcing the wings of his back to spread as wide as any back I had ever seen. Then, while Eric was still flexing, Lars reached around and pulled Eric’s speedo to the ground. That ass was magnificent. High, tight and covered with a light dusting of hair. As Eric shifted weight from one foot to the other, the landscape of his gluteus muscles flexed and rolled. I could see some glistening sweat and a tuft of slightly thicker hair at the base of his spine, disappearing into the top of his ass crack, and I nearly blew my load again. I had never seen and ass that beefy and beautiful before. I needed to be inside that ass, and I needed it right then. 

Seeming to sense my need, or maybe revealing his own, Eric leaned over and grabbed his ankles. Then Lars grabbled a glob of precum from my dick and lubed Eric’s hole. Then Lars commanded me to flex my own double biceps pose while he positioned my dick at Eric’s hole. He then shoved his own 8-inches into me,  which in turn forced me to enter Eric with a single thrust. Mphggh! It was pleasure beyond anything I had ever dreamed. With Lars fucking me and squeezing my biceps while I was fucking Eric and feeling his big muscle ass, I finally came, buckling over Eric at the same time that Lars came and buckled into me, and Eric came and nearly buckled to the ground. I must have pumped a gallon of cum into Eric. Lars was still feeling my arms and my pecs and ramming my ass, and I just kept cumming and cumming, worshipping Eric’s huge muscled body from behind while myself being worshipped the same. 

Finally, we were done and exhausted and laughing and lightly wrestling and flexing and feeling and then doing it all over again in the opposite direction and several different combinations. Eric and Lars stayed for the night and most of the following day. Then we said our farewells, and they were gone. Like I said, the weekend was relaxing. Now it was Sunday evening, and I needed to get ready for the week.

Let me know if you enjoy the story so far. I can continue it if you like.

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Great story,  excellent descriptions. Just a suggestion: Consider using the default text editor, at least as far as text color is concerned. Choosing an alternate font color probably means somebody somewhere can't read it.

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The Wall, part 2

 Monday came, and I was awaked by the sounds of heavy machinery outside my bedroom window. Beep, beep, beep as the fork lift unloaded pallet after pallet of stone for the new wall I was having built around the back terrace garden. The rocks weren’t huge boulders, but they were pretty large, each in the 150-300 pound range, and there were a lot of them. I was excited the work was finally beginning, but I had a busy day scheduled in the city, and I would not be able to stick around the house to supervise the construction that day. I had been assured by my landscape contractor that his “stone guy” was highly skilled and would do an excellent job, and I trusted my landscape contractor to be true to his word. So I set off to the office, hoping to have time to check in on the project from time to time throughout the day.

Unfortunately, Daphne, my trusty personal assistant had scheduled an exceptionally busy day for me, although she guised it under the auspices of front loading my morning so that I could free myself up early and beat the evening rush. Upon arriving at the office, she immediately ushered me into meeting #1 which was followed by meetings #2-5, all before lunch. I didn’t have time to attend to any of my personal affairs, but in the back of my mind I kept wondering what was going on at home with the wall. 

When I took a break for lunch, I logged onto the home security camera I had installed in the garden to check to see how much progress had been made. To my surprise and delight, substantial work had been completed. The trench footing had been dug around the garden, and several rows of stone had been already been laid. Things were moving right along, and, as I mused, I suddenly had a sinking feeling in my wallet. I've paid the bills for garden projects like this before, and I knew that I must be paying a substantial crew of 8 or more to accomplish this much so fast. Eight skilled masons each being billed at $45/hour comes to $360/hour which is almost $3000 per day.  The landscape contractor had estimated a two week timeline; so, in my head, I was calculating $30K in labor alone. The contractor had estimated only $5k in labor costs. Something was up. Was I going to get a much higher bill than expected? And where were the workmen? 

Since it was the noon hour, I assumed they were taking a break for lunch. Nothing more to see for now, and it was time for my next task. Daphne buzzed in to let me know my next appointment had arrived, and I clicked to close the security webcam window and reboot my computer. Just as the window was closing, I caught a glimpse of something passing in front of the camera, too close to be in focus but looking like a shirt sleeve stretched tightly around an incredibly large arm. Was it? Damnit! Too late! Windows was already closing and my computer rebooting. I didn’t have time to recall the last image or re-open the streaming-view live image on my mobile. Daphne had me over-booked, and I had to put the thought of a giant muscleman at my house out of my mind.  But my imagination was already running wild, and I was chubbing in my slacks. It was going to be a long, hard afternoon....


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Just FYI. The "palate" is part of your mouth -- please don't use it to transport rocks. A wooden platform designed to hold heavy materials is a pallet. " The two words are pronounced the same and have completely different meanings.

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Thanks for the correction, RPJ!  I'm neither a contractor nor a writer, and spellcheck didn't stop me from making that error. Maybe I'm posting too fast.  I'm writing on the fly since I had a little extra time today. Maybe I should slow down and concentrate more on editing and less on speed. Hope you're enjoying so far.  About to cook dinner, maybe I'll post part 3 later tonight or tomorrow.

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2 hours ago, Maxum said:

Thanks for the correction, RPJ!  I'm neither a contractor nor a writer, and spellcheck didn't stop me from making that error. Maybe I'm posting too fast.  I'm writing on the fly since I had a little extra time today. Maybe I should slow down and concentrate more on editing and less on speed. Hope you're enjoying so far.  About to cook dinner, maybe I'll post part 3 later tonight or tomorrow.

It's a correctly spelled word! I do it all the time! And I can't help myself, sorry, I was academic librarian for 25 years.

Bonus round: There's a THIRD WORD that is ALSO pronounced exactly the same, namely PALETTE, which refers not only to "a rigid, flat surface on which a painter arranges and mixes paints" but also the range of colors an artist employs AND "the range or variety of tonal or instrumental color in a musical piece."

Meanwhile, GREAT story, thanks!


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The Wall, part 3

Monday, 6 pm. Daphne had lied. There was no front-loading of my day. It had been a ball-buster from start to end, and my last appointment had gone late. My commute was shot. I had missed the window of lighter traffic, and getting out of Manhattan was going to be a bitch from now at least until 9 pm. 

Just as I was my frustration was starting to bubble to the surface, Tom from Accounting stuck his head in my door.  He was grinning ear to ear. “Big Dog! Great! You’re still here. I thought I’d be waiting out the traffic alone or, worse,… with Jenkins. If you’ve got nothing better to do, we can wait it out together. Whadya say? What do you want to do?” 

Tom was the most likeable human on earth. Raised in a Midwest college town, one of five sons of a university professor father and former  beauty queen mother, he had charm, intellect, good looks, and an affectionate manner that made everyone love him and love being around him. His enthusiasm and steadfastness when he joined the firm 5 years before had earned him the nickname “Puppy,” and the moniker had stuck. Five years later, some of his enthusiasm for work had faded, but the warmth, affability, and playfulness of his personality still made him “Puppy” to me. In turn, I was “Big Dog,” a mentor and older brother figure to him.

“I don’t know, Pup. I’ve had a bear of a day, and I really need to blow off some steam. It’s a wide spectrum, but I was thinking of either The Dungeon or The Cellar. What say you?” 

The Dungeon, or more formally The Iron Dungeon, was a hardcore gym near the Fulton Street Station that was known for turning out serious iron freaks. I was a member, but no one else in the firm dared go. In contrast, The Cellar was a tony underground wine bar in Tribecca that had an extensive wine list and handsome sommelier named Giorgio whose great smile and even greater package brought me back again and again.

“Ugh! I love The Cellar, especially when you pay, but I gave up booze for Lent, and I’ve put on a couple of pounds in the wrong places. I could use a serious workout. So… I chose The Dungeon. Let’s do it!

“Alrighty then. The Dungeon it is. Just remember, Pup, The Dungeon is a serious gym, and I’m going to put you through a serious workout. There’s none of that pussy Pilates BS. You sure you’re up for it?”

“I’m man enough, and I put my trust in you, Big Dog. Let me grab my gym bag, and I’ll meet you in the lobby in 5. You’re gonna take care of me, right? 

“Don’t worry, Pup. I’ll take care of you alright.  We’re going put you through the paces, but you’ll be fine. Tomorrow you may be a little sore, but a workout tonight will be good for both of us. See you in 5.”

I grabbed my gym bag and made it to the elevator before opening the security ap on my mobile again. I could see the new wall. It was at least a quarter done, and it looked great so far. Since it was after 6 pm, the workmen were gone. Still, I couldn’t get that image of the arm-stretched sleeve out of my mind. Something was going on.

The Dungeon turned out to be a great choice for Pup and me that night. It was uncharacteristically quiet. Almost no one was there. Vince at the front desk, and Johnny who runs the place, just a few lifter, and us. Since it was Pup’s first time at this type of iron works, I decided we should do a general body warmup followed by chest and biceps. Everyone likes to bench press, and, after my run-in with Eric and Lars just a few days prior, I was anxious to work on my biceps peaks.

After some light cardio and stretching and a general warm up, we headed to the bench. Pup was toned and had obviously spent some time in a gym; so I loaded a 45 on each end of the bar to let him get started. “Okay, Pup, 15 reps, strict form. Just because it’s light doesn’t mean you should not respect it. We’re going to get warmed up, then we’ll up the ante.” Pup slid under the bar, lifted off himself and cranked out a perfect set. He looked good. This was going to go well. Then I slid under the bar and cranked out 15 more myself.

“What weight do you usually lift on the bench, Pup?”

“Usually about twice that. I can lift more, but not with good form and not without assist, no more than 6-8 reps.”

“Great,” I said and added another 45 to each end of the bar. “12 reps, strict form. Slow and steady.” This time, I helped Pup lift off, and then he took over. Another good set. No assist. Successful re-rack by himself. Then I took my turn – another 15 rep warmup set for me, slightly faster, just to get the blood pumping.

“That’s impressive, Max. You look like you’re lifting an empty bar. That’s a 55 lb bar with 180 lbs in plates. You make 235 look like nothing. Where do you top out?”

The words hit my ears and traveled straight south. Remember, admiration of size and strength is something that really turns me on. I felt a buzzing in my groin. Pup and I did not have that kind of relationship, but the thought had occurred to me. He’d definitely need some more muscle though. 

“Let’s see where we end up. I’ve got 15 years on you, and I’ve been working out this way for a long time. I’ve learned to worry less about the number and more about how the workout takes shape. I think tonight is feeling good. I may be able to impress you, but I can’t waist it all on benching because I need to save energy for my biceps, too.”

We continued the bench press. I added a couple of dimes for Pup’s next set of 10, eight of which he completed without assist. Then I cranked out 12 at 315, strict. Then Pup at 255 for 8 reps, 5 on his own and 3 with more assist. My turn: 10 at 365, strict and then Pup at 255 again, failure at 4 reps going to 6 with my help. He looked a little sheepish, but I told him that at his age, I would have been stoked to have completed what he just did. 

Then I asked if he could give me a lift off and some assist if I went a little heavier for the next set. I loaded four 45’s on each end of the 55 lb bar for a total of 405. I was going for 8 reps and began to slow down at 6. Pup put his palms under the bar to offer assist, but I grunted “I’ve got this,” and finished the set on my own, feeling strangely strong and energized. Man my chest was pumped, and I noticed Pup was showing a little plump in the front of his shorts that I hadn’t seen before.

“Man, that was awesome. You are some kind of crazy strong, Big Dog. I’m going to have to start calling you Big Horse or Big Moose or big something else. Look at that pump,”  he said, slapping an open hand on my pecs. The shudder went from my chest through my core and settled at the base of my cock. Unghh! God, that felt good. He better not do that again. I was getting into serious horn territory.

“One more set Pup. I’m here for growth tonight. Just 3 reps at 455.” 

We loaded up another quarter on each side and I slid into position. “Okay, I may need assist with all 3 reps, or none of them. I don’t know how this is going to go. You’re going to have to pay attention and sense what I need. Don’t be afraid to help me if I need it.” 

Pup crouched in position behind the bar to give me whatever help I might need, and I shifted my attention to the bar, concentrating on the weight to get into the zone. Nothing but me and the weight. Just lower and raise and remember to keep breathing.

When I came to, the weight was racked. I couldn’t remember anything about the set except for the feeling of the weight. I had no idea how much Pup had assisted, but I assumed it was considerable since I could not even remember the lifts.

I sat up and flexed my chest hard, relaxed, and turned to look at Pup. He was staring at me  slack-jawed, and I thought maybe I was injured or had passed out or something else strange. He was just staring wide-eyed at me. “That was incredible, Big Dog! You just did 9 reps strict at 455. How did you do that! Have you ever done that before?”

Oh my God! I had never done that much before. My one rep max was 475, but 455 x 9 was something I didn’t know I could handle. Besides, how did I do it without even knowing it?

From across the room, I heard Johnny, owner of The Iron Dungeon, yell: “Max! That’s the way to do it! You were in the zone! I saw you glaze over as you lifted off. Your form was spot on. When you reached 3, I told the kid to just let you keep going. It was just you and the weight. That’s the way to do it!”

Fuck! I did it! And Fuck I was spent. I was done with chest for the night, and there was no way I was going to do biceps, too. 

“Pup, I think I’m done. You want to call it a night?”

“Well, I’m not done yet, but you can be through. It looks like that last set put a pump on you everywhere. Your chest is pumped massive, and look at your arms! They must be 21 inches.” He grabbed hold of my arm and I raised it up 90 degrees and flexed. The peak rose higher, higher than it had ever risen before. It had definitely grown, and Pup’s hand on my flexed biceps felt like he was jacking my dick. I guess it had the same effect on him because he muffled a groan adjusted himself, and I realized he had just cum in his shorts without touching himself. I felt buzz at the base of my prostate and knew I had to get to the locker room fast, or I was going to go off in public myself.

“Okay, Pup. I’m going to shower up and get a protein shake. I’ll see you in a few.” 

Something was different. Something was definitely going on. I didn’t know what it was, but I definitely liked it. In front of the locker room mirror, I stripped off my shirt and hit a few poses. I was definitely bigger. Maybe 10 pounds more muscle, and it was noticeable. My biceps had peaks that rose high and defined, my abs looked tight, and my chest was impossibly big. I rolled my pumped pecs and felt more blood rush to my cock. Rubbing against my shorts, it felt more sensitive than before. I stripped naked and took in the view. Everything was bigger. My thighs, cock and balls all seemed to have kept pace with my chest, and the curve of my rump was bigger and higher and tight. 

I got in the shower, and lathered all over. Neck, shoulders, chest and abs, then feet, calves thighs and butt. Finally I soaped up my taint and balls with my left hand a jerked my cock with my right. A flood of sensation overwhelmed my whole body. The orgasm started in at the base of my cock but spread all the way to my fingers and toes. I pumped out rope after rope after rope of thick, white jizz that clung to shower walls and ceiling.

After a few minutes, when finished, I rinsed clean, wrapped a towel around my waist and headed back to get dressed. Sitting on the bench was a protein shake and Pup. He looked wiped out from lifting, but when he looked up, he stared and he stood up and walked over and put a hand on my chest. He had seen me shirtless before we worked out, but the changes in me were having an effect on him that he couldn’t control. 

“How?” he asked as he grabbed a handful of pec meat with his left hand while sliding the other around my pumped arm. 

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t answer. I didn’t know. I just gave him a hard flex, and he sunk to his knees as he came in his shorts for the second time in as many hours. I was hard again, but we needed to go.

“Shower up, Pup. It’s been a big night. We need some real grub, and I think we may want to stay in the city tonight. The firm keeps a few apartments in town, and I’ll find out what’s available.”

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  • Maxum changed the title to The Wall (chapter 42, added 12/26).

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