Jump to content

Muscle Island (chapter 3 added 22/12)


max85

Recommended Posts

Hello! First time posting, but please leave suggestions/critiques. I work in a creative profession IRL, so I can take it.

This is chapter 1 of ... well, at least a few more. It focuses on pectorals, but also features general muscle worship, situational/encounter eroticism, a bit of hairy guy appreciation, and likely very little actual sex. Just a warning if tha's what you're here for.

One final note: When the main character says "God, he's so American", I don't mean it at all derogatorily—I'm just Aussie, and anyone else who's not American knows what I'm talking about 😉

Contents

  1. Chapter 1 (below) — 5th Dec 2020
  2. Chapter 2 — 7th Dec 2020
  3. Chapter 3 — 22nd Dec 2020

 

Chapter 1

It was just past 2am, the airport’s air conditioning was sputtering feebly overhead, and I had just stumbled off a 7-hour flight from Melbourne into the humid, sticky Malaysian air. I’d needed a damn leak so badly. I’d dragged myself through the empty terminal, staggered into the a vaguely toilet looking place, and pushed into the first cubicle I could reach. All I could even think about was pissing. I couldn’t tell, and frankly didn’t even care, if I was in the men’s or not.

Well, I wouldn’t have been able to tell, had it not been for the absolutely enormous muscle man who filled the tiny toilet cubicle into which I’d just barged. He was staring at me, open mouthed, and I was staring at him. Or rather, I was staring alternately at his lean, tanned face, and at his throbbing dick, which he held in his veiny hand as it spewed cum all over his torso. And fucking hell that was one huge torso. He was incredible: he had skin like paper, which barely contained the masses of his bulging pecs and arms. He had balloon-like shoulders, pressing against the walls of the cubicle, and deeply cut abs. And into those abs, deep, hard, abs that were competition-ready and shredded as hell, dripped thick spurts of hot white cum.

Both of us seemed to come to our senses simultaneously. I stumbled backwards, out of the cubicle, and he leant forward to close the door. But, in that moment, his dick gave one last a spurt, and jet of his hot cum landed squarely on my face. He froze, horrified. I blinked, once, twice, then backed out further and awkwardly hauled myself into the cubicle next door. And I just sat there, shorts on, with his still-warm cum on my face, hard as a rock. 

Slowly, I wiped off the cum, manoeuvred my shorts down over my erect dick, and tried to think of something, anything, other than the muscle monster just centimetres away from me. There was no way I could piss with a dick that hard. I just couldn’t get his image out of my mind: pecs the size of my head, biceps like mangoes, abs and obliques like a fucking washboard, huge meaty thighs totally swallowing the toilet seat. And literally in the next toilet cubicle!

After what felt like hours, I heard a rustling of toilet paper, the flush of the toilet, and a hurried pulling up of shorts. The door unlocked (I couldn’t help imagine his massive, powerful arms flexing and absolutely overpowering that tiny metal lock), a tap ran briefly (I thought about his huge, heavy pecs pressed together, and the cleavage they would make, as he brought his hands together under the warm water), and finally the sound of flip flops faded into the distance (I imagined being a tiny pad of rubber, stood on by his massive man, his huge tree-trunk legs jostling as he leaves the bathroom).

It must have been about 10 minutes, and multiple ejaculations, before I was even able to get a dribble of piss out. I was definitely awake now. Fuck. I flushed the toilet and went to clean my face and wash my hands, but still his image consumed my mind. What would it be like to be as massive as that? To feel the weight of so much muscle just hanging off your frame? To have people look at you like a freak? To have pecs and biceps so big that you can’t even touch your shoulders. I pondered this, admittedly with a raging boner in my shorts, as I left the bathroom and started to slowly amble towards our gate, where Dave, my research partner, would be waiting. 

Thank God there was no one else around. Other than Dave, who was very straight, I hadn’t physically seen another man, let alone hooked up with one, in months, having just come up from a research station down off the coast of Tassie. I couldn’t believe that, of all the men to see in a deserted airport, it would be one so gargantuan and freakish. I prayed that if God existed, the massive muscle man would be sitting near us, so that I could ogle him while we waited until our connecting flight tomorrow afternoon. 

As I approached the gate, I realised two things: one, perhaps the terminal wasn’t quite as deserted as I’d thought. Two, I had had no need to pray. All around us, strewn almost like toys across every seat and floor area, was dozens of freakishly muscular men. Most of them were asleep, and all of them were shirtless, in a what I assumed was a vain attempt to escape the humid February night air. There were smaller guys, lightweights, who were insanely cut but whose muscles weren’t outrageous and bulging (yet). Medium sized guys who had a fair bit of size, but still could probably fit into a suit. And then massive guys, so big that they took up multiple airport lounge seats with their shoulders alone, or entire walkways with their mass. All of them looked just days out from competing, and a few of them even had their posing straps visibly poking out under their tiny gym shorts. And then there was Dave, looking very out of place in his red hoodie, perched on a seat in the far corner of the lounge, with his phone plugged in to the wall. He looked up and beckoned me over with a faintly annoyed look on his face.

“Who the fuck are all these guys?” I whispered as I sat down next to him.

“No idea; they were here when I arrived. Either way, they’re taking up all the power points.”

“Right.” I looked around, still not quite able to believe my luck, that this was real life. Just across from us, a young guy with a blond buzzcut and crazy broad shoulders and an incredibly lean, ripped midriff, lay with his chin pressing into his chest. Next to him, a slightly older guy with dark hair and perfect, tanned skin was watching a movie as he lay with his head on the armrest. I could see his perfect, tight biceps flexing as he held the phone to his face with his right arm, and absent-mindedly rubbed his hard, tight abs with the other. I considered staying up to continue to appreciate the scenery, but it was almost 3am and my eyes were really feeling it. 

“I might get some sleep. Can you watch our stuff?”

“Sure; I’ve got some emails to finish, anyway” he replied, eyes already back on his phone screen.

“Thanks.” The guy sleeping in the seat next to me had his arm (a massive, veiny arm thicker than my head, I might add) on the arm rest, so I leant back and away to face Dave (that much muscle in my face would have been hugely distracting), and drifted off to sleep.

***

I’m back in the toilets, standing in the doorway and staring hungrily at the massive guy sitting in front of me. He’s just cummed all over his gorgeous abs and heaving pecs, and he’s asking me to clean it up for him. I submit, of course, almost ripping my shirt off as I move forwards to “clean up”. I get down on my knees, place my hands on his enormous, quivering, veiny thighs, and start to lick the cum off his abs. I work my tongue into every groove, and make sure to polish off every rock hard ab, every delicious, smooth oblique. I move up to his pecs, where some of the cum has landed in his cleavage and onto his under-pec. I lift them up one at a time (fuck they’re heavy) and lick all around the crease where his massive mounds of muscle join to his torso. As I lift them, I feel his still-hard dick pulse and slap against my abs, and he moans slightly in ecstasy. I let his pecs fall and hit my face, then gently move my hands up and pull apart those bulging, striated pec mounds to lick in between them. He arches his back, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his dick into me. I’ve almost cleaned all the cum from between them; I just need to pull them a little wider. They’re so big and round, I can barely get my face in between them. I dig further into the canyon, and all of a sudden he flexes, involuntarily, and cums all over again. My face is trapped between his enormous pecs, and his cum is spurting onto my chin. I’m cumming, too, firing onto his thigh and while I pound the huge, hard mounds on his chest. Is that laughter? He releases my face, and although cum is still firing from his dick, he’s laughing. My hands are still firmly clasped onto the mounds of muscle on his chest—how is this funny? I each for the toilet paper, and—

I woke up and opened my eyes with a start. Dave was asleep next to me, and his mouth hung wide open as he quietly snored. It was only early morning, but already the air was in the low 30s. I looked around sluggishly for the laughter that ruined my dream. Ah, there. A few rows of seats in front of us, a group of muscle guys were laughing and cheering whilst three or four of their mates were wrestling. I guessed this was worth being woken up for. Almost all of them were shirtless, wearing nothing but gym shorts or briefs and flip flops, and every single one of their beautiful, cut physiques was on display.

A few rows further on, some of the bigger guys were posing for each other. Each one would get up, covered in sweat (the air conditioner had finally given up), run through his posing routine, and then a couple of the others would get up and adjust an arm here, foot positioning there. I watched for a while as they cycled through poses and physiques, big and small, tall and short. 

I was just about to get up and fill my water bottle when he got up and posed. The guy from the bathroom. For the first time, I noticed his face, his gorgeous cut jawline with a day’s worth of growth, his deep brown eyes and short, wavy hair. And, in the early morning light, he looked even bigger. Every single muscle was outrageous in size and definition. He hit a double bicep, and his arms eclipsed his head in size. A front lat spread, where his torso grew wider than it was tall. A most muscular, his gigantic biceps fighting for space with his huge chest and his traps almost swallowing his neck. 

Finally, to finish, a side chest, where the sheer amount of mass on his chest spilled out in all directions. He looked bigger than Arnold, with so much muscle just stuffed into his chest. I couldn’t believe how big his pecs were, and how thick and round and powerful they looked. They looked like they were ready to pop. When he hit that beautiful side chest, all the guys around him cheered. He relaxed from the pose, and his pecs fell to their natural, full, round state on his chest. God, they looked so huge and heavy, almost obscuring his abs with their mass and shadow. A few of guys got up and surrounded him, laughing and congratulating him. One or two playfully punched him in the chest, or put a hand on the ridge of muscle that was his lower pec. Everyone was absolutely enamoured by this superhuman pec freak.

Next to me, Dave stirred and sat up slightly. He looked over at the flex-off, then at me, and finally to the massive, wet tent in my pants.

“Really?” he asked with a sigh.

“Look, I need something to do for the next 5 hours! It’s been ages since I’ve had any eye candy, and they’re right there…”

“You could work on that sea floor geographic analysis, like you said you would on the flight over.”

“Or, I could analyse the geography of their gorgeous bodies”

“Dude, you need a boyfriend” he laughed.

“Yup, I do. And hanging around a married straight man isn’t going to help me”

“Hey, you said yourself you were into me when we met”

It’s true, I sort of was. I had a weakness for fit, hairy guys, and Dave was both. He was only in his 20s, but he had a nice, full physique with definition, even if he was on the small side. He looked like he worked out, but only to keep fit, rather than to show off like these guys. And he had gorgeous blond-brown hair that gradated into gold on his chest, forearms and legs. Fuck, his legs were hairy. They looked great in the early morning sun, where his tanned, fit calves were framed in a halo of glowing thick fur that coated his legs right up to the bottom of his shorts. While he’d been asleep, he’d slipped further off the chair, and his shorts were riding right up into his crotch. Somehow, his meaty, toned thighs were even hairier than his lower legs. Too bad he was both very straight, and taken.

“Psh, you wish. Anyway, I’m going to get some water”

“Can you fill my bottle too?” he asked as handed me his water bottle. Fucking hell, his hairy forearms looked good in the sun.

“Yeah, sure”. I took his bottle and started over to the central walkway, stepping around the odd pile of sleeping muscle and sweat as I went. I walked back down towards the toilets, past the flex-off that inexplicably was still going on. There were only so many poses you can do, and so many muscles you can pump up, but these guys couldn’t seem to get enough. I could almost smell the testosterone leaking off their pumped, sweaty bodies. They seemed to enjoy appreciating each other’s bodies, acknowledging all the hours they’d put in at the gym to look the way they did, and competing for who was the most muscular, masculine of them all.

I’d almost reached the drinking water taps when someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around, ready to tell Dave that, yes, I knew you couldn’t drink the water from the bathroom taps. But there instead, standing slightly taller than me, was the guy from the bathroom. 

“Hey, I, um, just, uh, wanted to, you know, apologise? For, uh, last night?” he offered, almost as if he wasn’t used to being embarrassed or bashful. I guess that with muscles like his, you get used to being supremely confident. 

“Oh, no, it’s okay. I should have, you know, checked if the cubicle was occupied or something”

He grinned, and scratched the back of his head. Fucking hell, how did he even reach his neck, with biceps so huge? 

“Nah, it’s alright. I should have locked the door.” Ah, there was that confidence that that body demanded. “I’m Ash, by the way. Ash Forte.”

“Travis” I smiled politely. I don’t know why he was telling me his last name, but I was definitely going to use that name to spend all my free airport WiFi googling him. In that moment, I also began to understand how straight guys feel when they try to avoid staring at women’s tits—Ash’s massive pecs were uncomfortably prominent.

“So, where’re you headed, Travis?” God, he was so American and so easily friendly. If I’d just cummed on a stranger’s face in the airport of a conservative Muslim country, the last thing I’d be doing is making friends with them. Still, I was keen to have someone else to talk to other than Dave.

“Ah, we’re heading to a small island off the coast of Thailand, just north of Langkawi in northern Malaysia”

“For a holiday?”

“Nope, research. We’re studying ocean floor ecologies in various parts of the world.”

“Woah, that sounds so cool! Tell me more” he exclaimed. And for once, unlike most people when I tell them what we do, he actually sounded genuinely interested.

“Really?”

“Yeah! I totally wanted to be a marine biologist growing up!”

“Ah, not quite the same thing, but I take your point” I chuckled. “Let me fill up my water bottle, and I’ll tell you more.”

“Cool! Just let me get my bottle. I’ll meet you back here in 5” and with that, not even waiting for my agreement, he turned around and lumbered off. His back was so fucking wide, and every single muscle was almost screaming to be noticed.

Does this muscle freak actually want to spend time talking to me? I could barely contain my excitement! I raced to fill up Dave’s bottle, ran back and almost threw it at him (“uh, thanks?” he said as I ran off), and sped back to the drinking water taps. 

(to be continued...)

  • Like 26
Link to comment
Share on other sites

Chapter 2

When I got back, Ash wasn’t there.

Fuck, I knew it. He was just trying to get me off his back. I was about to walk off when I heard someone faintly grunting and puffing nearby. I walked further down the walkway, and around the corner. I continued walking, and the grunting grew louder, until I stumbled upon him doing push-ups on the cold tiles outside a shuttered Popeye’s. 

“Uh, hey?” I offered, in half a mind to just say nothing and watch him put his powerful physique to work.

“Oh, hey, man!” He stood up, and I almost fainted. His already-enormous pecs were somehow even bigger than before. I couldn’t help but stare at the veins that criss-crosssed the globes of muscle, at each fibre that was individually visible on his engorged chest. He began to flex his pecs, I’m sure just as you do after pumping up on the floor of an airport. 

“I was just getting my heart rate up while I waited” As he said this, he brought his arms together like he was crossing his arms, pushing together his pecs until the masses of muscle seemed like they were going to explode. His heartrate wasn’t the only one that was sky-high.

I tore my eyes away from his pecs. “Oh, yeah, no worries. I had to give my partner his bottle”

“Oh, your partner?” As he said this, he absent-mindedly placed a hand on the bottom half of his enormous left pec, gently plumping it up.

“Research partner, yeah.” I gulped, watching him knead the insane muscle mass in his hand.

“Ah, gotcha.” He flexed his left pec, squeezed it with his hand, then began to glide that hand up and over the incredibly hard, basketball-sized globe of rock solid muscle.

I couldn’t think of anything to say—watching him play with his huge, heaving pecs was incredibly distracting.

Now he chuckled. “Sorry, I’ll put a shirt on. Must be pretty distracting for you to have these tits on display like this.”

Did he just call his pecs… tits? I mean, they are muscular tits. They were huge, heavy and round, with big nipples on the end. But they were also supremely masculine.  

“Oh, no, it’s okay. I’ve… just never seen someone as big as you before.” I stammered. I was grasping for an excuse to keep the man as naked as possible.

“Yeah, I get it. I have that effect on people.” He smiled knowingly. “Especially my tits—people seem to just forget I’m a human being, and come up and just feel them, or ask me to bounce them.” He sighed “I get it, man, I’ve got a great chest. But I also have feelings, you know?

There it was again. “Tits”. Why is this turning me on so much?

I was still scrambling for something to say. “They’re pretty massive, yeah. Maybe go easy on the bench press and chest flys from now on?” Yeah, that sounded coherent. All those videos of guys working out have finally served me well in the real world. “You don’t want to be too top-heavy, right?” I added, for good measure. 

“No way, man! I want the biggest pecs in the world! Even if it means I can’t see my feet, or wear a shirt, or hug people. I want pecs so big that you can lose your hand between them!”

I laughed, somewhat nervously. “Really? Won’t that kill your chances at winning competitions?”

“Nah, dude, I don’t care about that. My coach kept telling me to cut back my chest workouts, but I refused. Still, last year, I won a competition back home. And even one of the other guys told me he didn’t think I should have won, because my chest is so much bigger than the rest of my body, but I didn’t care.”

This guy was obsessed, I thought! And it showed in his pecs, that’s for sure.

“Right… so that’s why you and the other guys are here, right? Some kind of competition?” I asked.

“Nah, we’re heading to Langkawi to party! We’re all representatives for a sports supplement company, and the company paid for the trip.” 

So they were all on the same flight as us! Dave and I were travelling from there to Langkawi (which Dave pronounced “ling caw-ee”), where we’d transfer to a small private plane for the last leg of our trip.

“Right, I see. So you’re all bodybuilders?”

“Yup! I just competed in Dubai; want to see my routine?”

I’d already seen it, before, but hell yes I wanted a private show. “Sure, why not!” I tried and likely failed to play it cool.

“Awesome! Before I pose, could you help oil me up?”

“What, here?” I asked, incredulously.

“Yeah, don’t worry! I need a shower afterwards anyway.”

“Uh, alright then.”

“Great! I’m pretty sweaty, so won’t need much” He winked, and passed me the oil (I guess it was less “helping” and more “doing it for him”). I got right to work. 

My first instinct was to beeline straight for his massive, pumped chest, but I wanted to save the best for last. So, instead, I moved my hands instead to his ridiculously wide, boulder-like shoulders. Fuck, each shoulder was like a balloon stuck to the top of his arm, with the mass of muscle packed inside bulging in all directions. Earlier, when I’d seen him do a double bicep, the mass of his shoulders had almost reached his ears. No wonder he’d been cramped in that toilet cubicle. As my hands massaged the oil onto his tight skin, he moaned quietly—and with his moaning, my dick hardened.

I moved on to his arms. Fucking hell, his arms were thicker than my head. I tried to grip his bicep with my hand, but I could barely fit my fingers around it. He looked down and grinned, then brought up both arms into a double bicep. Holy shit, he looked good. His handsome face flashed a winning smile as he flexed one arm into a right angle, and the other outstretched up and out. I moved my hands over his bicep—in this state, the ball of muscle was the size of a mango. No, a small melon! His triceps, too, formed this incredible ridge of thick, solid muscle, adding even more mind-blowing thickness and size to his enormous arms. I made sure to rub oil into every crevice, over every juicy vein, and onto his ham-like forearms.

Next up was his midsection. For such a massive guy, he had an insanely tight, cut abdomen, like a male model. I knelt down raised my hands up to his abs, tracing where only last night there’d been thick globs of his cum dripping between them. I oiled up his tight, cut obliques, then over the dense ridges of muscle separating his abdomen from his groin and thighs. 

Fuck me, those thighs. He was a tall guy with long legs, but the sheer amount of muscle packed into those thighs was out of this world. Every single head bulged out, and on either side his thigh muscles extended a good half foot wider than his waist. I took one of them in both hands, running the oil up and down its length, and then shook it, watching the muscle move and respond to my touch. He looked down and flexed them, hard, and suddenly they were like tree-trunks: totally solid and immovable. I so desperately wanted him to crush my face between his legs. 

I shuffled over on my knees to the other leg, and went through several squirts of oil covering every square inch of his quaking muscle mass. His calves were bigger than most guys’ thighs, and cut like diamonds. I oiled these, too, lavishly, until both were glistening in the morning sunlight. As much as I loved furry guys like Dave, nothing beats a set of smooth, massively muscular legs.

I stood back up, and moved around to his back. Instinctively he bent down slightly and spread his back for me, and as he did a veritable atlas of muscle jostled into position and expanded in front of me. Every fibre of muscle was visible, and each one layered thickly upon the next to form the most beautiful v-shape that tapered all the way down to his tight, 30-inch mid section. It helped, too, that he had enormously wide shoulders. 

“This back is insanely wide” I murmured to myself. He chuckled, and adjusted his shoulders, whilst I rubbed oil onto every inch of his gorgeous back. I could feel the heat and the power of all that muscle just radiating off him—it turned me on like crazy.

Finally, I circled around to face him. For a second, before he realised I was there, Ash’s eyes were closed and his mouth pulled into a blissful grin. He opened his eyes, and looked down at his body.

“Just one thing left, Travis,” he grinned. “You’re gonna need a lot of oil for these bad boys.”

My dick throbbed at hearing him talk about his chest like that. I emptied the bottle on my hands. “Oh, I know.”

And then, like gravity, my hands were drawn straight to that incredible chest of his. I was reaching out, almost in a state of total delirium, still not quite believing that soon it would be my hands touching those giant muscle balls for real. Then, contact. My oil-covered hands came to rest squarely in the centre of each pec, and I could immediately feel the immense power and strength of this accumulation of pure muscle fibres on his chest. Suddenly, he flexed his chest, and the two huge muscle bags transformed into enormous, striated iron mounds under my palms. I nearly shot my load there and then. 

“Jesus, your pecs are huge” I gasped, totally entranced.

He chuckled. “Hell yeah they are. Feel how hard they are, Travis.” I needed no encouragement. I balled up my fist and punched his flexed left pec—my fist glanced off it like a ping pong ball. I opened my hand and slapped his chest, hard. As I slapped him again, he seemed to moan under his breath.

He brought up his right arm up to perpendicular with the floor, and flexed the individual fibres connecting his pecs to his sternum. His eyes were glued to his pecs. “Look at that definition,” he moaned. “Fucking hell.” He swung his arm to the side and back to the front, never taking his eyes off his chest. I moved my hands in and started rub their ripped, dense musculature, placing my fingers at his clavicle and moving my hands slowly down his chest’s bulging, straited mass.

He took the oil from me, and drizzled it over his upper chest. We both watched as the oil pooled around his insanely thick upper chest, then dripped slowly into the crevice between his pecs. I guided my hands to the canyon between his pecs, not wanting to waste a drop of oil, and began to massage it over his chest in a circular motion. I couldn’t believe how big and round and solid they felt. It felt like gliding my hands over two enormous spheres, the way my hands curved and followed the topology of each bulging pec.

Ash was watching me, rapt, as I explored every inch of his chest. He seemed to enjoy watching me appreciate all the work he’d put into building his competition-winning chest. He unflexed his chest, and let his arms fall to his sides.

“They’re so big and round” I remarked. “Especially this part,” I said as I moved my hand down to the huge heavy ridge of his lower pec. My palm barely covered half of the ridge, though they were perfectly moulded to the curve of my hand. 

“Hell yeah they are,” he grinned. “My coach says my pecs are so big that they have to grow downwards as well as outwards now. That’s why I’ve got such a massive overhang.” 

“I can see that.” My hand was now completely covered by the underside of his pec. I lifted up his right pec, and oiled underneath it, massaging the oil into every crevice and striation. Fucking hell they were heavy as hell. It didn’t even seem natural to have this much muscle on your chest. I wondered if it hurt when he went running, having all this mass jumping around on his torso. 

As I plumped up his pec, he moaned again—this time more loudly. I gave his chest a squeeze, just gently, to see how he’d respond.

“Yeah, fuck” he muttered under his breath. 

Did I hear that right? “Hmm?” I probed.

“Oh, nothing, just, you know, feels good,” he replied, looking up briefly from my hands on his enormous, heavy pecs. “My chest is always kinda sore.”

“What about if I do… this?” I grabbed both pecs, roughly, digging my fingers into the muscle mass. I couldn’t believe how incredibly dense they were, and how round and full his pecs were. Some guys have quite squared off pecs, but Ash had enormous, round, heaving pecs that almost sagged under their own weight, that spilled out and over themselves because of how much mass he’d stuffed into them.

He didn’t reply, but I saw his dick twinge in his tight shorts, and he moaned even louder still. Fuck it; I decided to take my chances. I pressed upwards and inwards on the gigantic mounds of muscle hanging off his chest. This created the most incredible cleavage on his chest, with the muscle bulging so high that it forced his chin upwards. He shuddered and closed his eyes in ecstasy. His pecs looked ready to pop, with how tight the skin was stretched over them in this state. “Oh, fuck” was all he could muster as I manhandled his beautiful chest. 

I continued to press them upwards, and clenched my fingers in even more tightly. I clutched their mass in my hands and shook them firmly up and down, left to right. I pounded them and squeezed them from every angle. I grabbed at the masses of pure, hard muscle that exploded off his chest. And finally, in a moment of pure desire, I took the plunge pressed my face straight in between his pecs. 

Then, he gasped. “Oh my god, I think I’m… gonna…” He cried out, then his whole body shook. A wet patch blossomed on the crotch of his tight white gym shorts. He grabbed my head and held it to his chest, moaning loudly as he flexed them and continued to convulse.  

When he was done, his eyes fluttered open, and his body loosened. He looked down, at my face planted between his glistening (and rather red) chest, and finally at his dick throbbing in his shorts. Then, almost in slow-motion, he realised what had happened, what we’d just done. He gasped, and before I could say anything, pushed me away, grabbed his gym bag, and ran into the toilets around the corner. 

“Ash, wait!”

But he was gone. All he’d left behind was my oily hands and face, his shirt, and the empty bottle of oil on the floor. I wiped off the oil on his shirt, picked up my bottle, and headed back to the waiting area. Somehow, I didn’t think watching the other guys flex and wrestle would quite satisfy me anymore.

(to be continued...)

  • Like 24
  • Thanks 3
Link to comment
Share on other sites

Yes! Yes! Yes! Great story. Over the years I’ve become obsessed with pecs, growing mine, making the nips more sensitive, appreciating those who’ve made theirs massive. So powerful. More please....

  • Like 1
Link to comment
Share on other sites

  • 2 weeks later...

Chapter 3

When I got back to the waiting area, it was just gone 10am, and it had gotten inexplicably even warmer. Dave was typing away, lying shirtless across three seats whilst at his feet sat an absolutely shredded dark-skinned guy staring down at his phone and pawing at his right pec. Across the aisle, and filling up every seat and floor space, were endless hot, sweaty bodies, empty plastic bottles, damp shirts—all absolutely reeking of sweat and testosterone. Dave took his headphones out and beckoned me over.

 “Hey, there you are. You were gone for ages!”

“Was I?” Shit, had I really spent that long feeling up Ash’s gorgeous body?

“Uh yeah man; I’ve written like 2000 words since you left.”

“And how many of them are coherent?”

“You’re such a dick,” He chuckled, stretching his arms behind his head and running his hands through his long brown hair. “Anyway, what’d you get up to?”

“Oh, you know, just exploring the terminal…” I trailed off. He didn’t need to know I’d just man-handling the world’s biggest pair of pecs on the world’s hottest bodybuilder.

“Did you find anywhere cooler to wait? I’m burning up and suffocating from the smell of sweat over here.” He looked around disdainfully at the masses of sweaty muscle surrounding us. 

“Nope, sorry. We’re stuck here until the flight this evening.” Not that I minded, of course. “Can I sit down?”

 “Sure, man.” He bent his legs and I sat down. I could positively feel the heat and power radiating off the tight, lean muscles of the shredded guy next to us. Around his broad shoulders lay a damp shirt, and stretching out over the aisle were his two long, tanned, muscular smooth legs with white gym shorts riding up into his crotch. He was so gorgeous I didn’t mind that I’d almost tripped over his feet on the way over. 

•••

After a few hundred words on my report, a couple of data analyses, and an unrelenting stream of thoughts of Ash and his huge chest, a little lady in a high-visibility vest finally appeared at the boarding counter. She picked up a megaphone, and announced, “Attention passengers for flight MI513 to Langkawi. We will commence staged boarding shortly.” 

I looked up from my laptop and nudged Dave excitedly. “Finally! That’s us!”

“Who else is it going to be?” He was right; the airport was still deserted (and no cooler), even as it approached 5pm. 

All around us, everyone was slowly coming back to life, putting back on shirts and shoes, packing up their things, and making their way to the gate. The cute blond muscleboy across from us himself up out of the chair in an explosion of lean, tight muscle. The massive guy at the end of the aisle stirred and stood up—fucking hell he was tall. And in the distance, I could see Ash standing around laughing with his mates, wearing too-tight shirt that incredibly further accentuated the bulk of his chest. It was still blisteringly hot, and it seemed that the heat and his sweat had caused his shirt to adhere to the underside of his chest. The result was beyond erotic—two basketballs of muscle, just hanging off his frame, tightly wrapped and almost plumped up in a white t-shirt.

The little lady stood up again: “Flight MI513 to Langkawi: those seated in rows 15 to 30 may now begin boarding.” 

“Is that us?” I asked Dave.

“I think so!” He looked down at his boarding pass. “I think you’re row 5, though.” He handed my mine.

“Oh, that’s right. The Uni really got dirt cheap tickets, didn’t they?” 

“Didn’t expect much better,” he laughed. “Anyway, see you on the other side!” And with that, he was off, backpack swinging off his shoulder, followed by the blond stud.

As I watched him disappear into the crowd, I realised that if I wasn’t sitting next to Dave, I’d be siting next one or two muscle studs! I silently prayed it’d be Ash, however unlikely. 

Speaking of Ash, I looked over at him and his mates chatting at the other end of the waiting lounge. I watched them as they talked and laughed amongst themselves, occasionally flexing an arm or lifting a shirt to compare abs. Do these muscle guys think or talk about anything other than their bodies? 

As they talked, a lone and slightly haggard-looking pilot hurried past them, cap in hand and with no luggage, a generic and unironed uniform hanging off her slim frame. She sped up to the boarding counter, muttered something to the boarding lady, and hurried onto the plane. Abruptly, the boarding lady stood up once more. 

“Flight MI513 to Langkawi: all remaining passengers may now begin boarding!” She sat back down, and almost frantically began checking boarding passes, waving passenger after passenger, bodybuilder after bodybuilder, onto the flight without so much as a glance.

I picked up my things, and slowly drifted over to join the queue. In no time, I was at the front. The lady looked up at me with what looked like confusion, back down at my pass, hesitated for a split second, and scanned me in. “Next!” she yelled.

I walked down the corridor and examined my ticket. Behind me, “Next!”

This was my flight, right? “Next!” 

Was it because I wasn’t a big, muscular guy, like everyone else? I worked out, but I was still quite slim, I guess. “Next, quickly please!”

Then I noticed that my boarding pass, oddly, didn’t have a logo or airline name on it. Should I ask her? I turned around to ask her, just as I heard a final “Next!”, followed soon by the sound of slamming glass doors. She turned around, swiped her card on a nearby door, and headed out onto stairs down to the tarmac.

Well, I guess that settles it. I trudged further down the rickety corridor, rounded the corner, and stepped onto the plane.

The first thing that hit me, as always, was the smell. Sort of chemical, like a new car, it seemed even stronger than usual. The second thing was that there were no attendants to show us to our seats. It must have been a budget airline, and the flight was only an hour or so, I reasoned.

I reached my row, and peered in. I had the window seat, and while the middle seat was empty but for a pair of sunglasses, a huge guy overflowed the tiny aisle seat. He stood up to let me through, but it only made it harder to get through: his torso was so bulky, and his pecs jutted so far out, that I basically pressed myself into him as I shuffled past. I felt the dense, sculpted mass of his chest pressing into my torso, and was instantly hard again. Fuck. As much as I was enjoying the spectacle, my dick needed a break from all this muscle. 

I collapsed into my chair, kicking my bag under the seat in front of me. I checked my phone—5:34pm. I hoped we’d take off soon; we were meant to have arrived almost six hours ago, and the pilot of our connecting flight (a friend of a colleague’s) would be pissed off.

Further down the aisle behind me, a burst of jeering laughs rang out. I sat up and peered around. A few of the smaller guys down there had caught Ash as he was heading back to his seat, and two of them were holding his arms behind his back. Meanwhile, two of them, one on either side of the aisle, had reached up and cupped his enormous pecs whilst their mates laughed.

Ash was still wearing that tight shirt plastered to his torso, which beautifully accentuated the mass packed onto his basketball-like chest. The guys down there clearly thought so too.

“Look at these tits, dude! They’re heavy as fuck!” One of them yelled, shaking Ash’s heavy left pec to even more guffaws and laughter. He squeezed the pec, pushing its mass up into Ash’s chin.

Ash went red, and uncomfortably drew his knees together. A few of the guys jeered again, and started a chant: “Take it off!” The guy on his right pec lifted up Ash’s tight shirt to reveal his gorgeous abs, and eventually up to his pendulous pecs. He could barely get it over the ridge of mass, and when he did, he left it there. The effect was stunning: two enormous spheres of muscle, casting a dark, deep shadow under the harsh aeroplane lighting, just hanging out of a bashful muscle man’s tight shirt. 

Another guy got up and inserted his finger into the gap between Ash’s pecs. I watched in awe as he slid it in, where it was swallowed by the sheer mass of his chest. He began to thrust it up and down, pec-fucking Ash with his finger. More guys hooted and whistled, and Ash flexed his pecs defensively.

“Unflex them, dude,” the guy on his left pec commanded. “I want to feel these big tits!”

Ash looked around for support, unsure if he should comply. Seeing only laughing faces, he relaxed his huge chest. Someone else grabbed his pecs from behind, squeezing them until their hands overflowed his dense, sculpted muscle mass.

I watched all this in awe: at least half a dozen mostly shirtless muscle guys were literally climbing over each other to get a feel of some legendary pecs. Meanwhile, the owner of those pecs stood there, immobilized and red-faced, with his shirt humiliatingly hitched up to show off the pendulous mass of his prize-winning chest.

Thankfully for Ash, an announcement blared over the speakers: “Please take your seats and prepare for takeoff.”

I sat back down and buckled in, barely able to conceal my raging erection, and I knew Ash must have been hard, too, with all that man-handling. Our rendezvous had shown he loved nothing more than having his prize-winning chest felt up by other people (or other men?). I suspected that was why he put his bulging chest on display like that, just begging to be felt up in his tight shirt. I massaged my crotch as I imagined him standing in the bathroom and putting on that shirt after our worship session:

Ash stood in the empty bathroom, covered in sweat and conflicted about how my hands on his chest had triggered such an uncontrollable response in his body. He stared at his (then quite red and pumped) chest, unable to think of anything except his desire to experience other men touching his chest. He sighed and pulled out a fresh shirt from his gym bag—one that he usually only wore when he was alone because it was so small. He lifted it up over his head. He could barely get his gigantic arms through the arm holes, let alone pull it down over his boulder-like shoulders and wide muscle-bound back. But the material was elastic, or maybe it was used to being stretched to cover his beautifully muscled frame, and it managed to accept his arms and upper torso without ripping. Now to the hardest part of putting on any shirt: getting it over his pecs. He started by laying the bottom seam of the shirt on his upper pecs. 

Before continuing, he sneaked a glance at himself in the mirror: he saw his handsome face, with a little stubble, perched on enormously wide shoulders; hanging from those shoulders were enormous, vein-covered arms, bursting from tight white sleeves that were stretched to the limit. And to top it all off, he saw two huge mounds of muscle, bigger than basketballs, pressed together by the shirt over his shoulders and arms and bulging out in every direction. He felt himself get hard again—and in that moment he knew what he had to do. He began to pull the shirt down over his pecs, but it was so tight that he couldn’t do it with his fingers under the fabric. So, he rolled the shirt down over his chest, literally painting it onto his bulging, pumped pecs, until finally he managed to subdue his exploding chest into a semblance of decency. 

Finally, he used the sweat on his chest and abs to plaster the rest of the shirt to the bottom of his pecs. The effect was transfixing: his chest looked somehow even bigger encased in the white material, and the shadow they cast was ridiculously dark and deep. Better yet, his pecs demanded so much of the material that his abs were totally on display. He knew that anyone interested in men, and especially men who appreciated muscle, would die at the very sight: a handsome bodybuilder, walking around with his heaving pecs wrapped in a kind of bra, tight abs on display, looking almost like a male bimbo. He glanced around to make sure he was alone, cupped his pecs in his hands, gave them a squeeze… and exploded in his pants all over again.

I opened my eyes. I could feel a wetness in my shorts; shit, just thinking about Ash feeling himself had made me cum, too. I stood up to run to the toilet before we took off. But, with almost comedic timing, I instead came face-to-face with none other than Ash himself. He stood in the aisle, about to sidle through to his seat next to me, and stared at me with his mouth slightly open. Great, I thought to myself. My dick wouldn’t be getting a break, after all.

  

  • Like 9
  • Thanks 2
Link to comment
Share on other sites

Join the conversation

You can post now and register later. If you have an account, sign in now to post with your account.

Guest
Reply to this topic...

×   Pasted as rich text.   Paste as plain text instead

  Only 75 emoji are allowed.

×   Your link has been automatically embedded.   Display as a link instead

×   Your previous content has been restored.   Clear editor

×   You cannot paste images directly. Upload or insert images from URL.

×
×
  • Create New...

Important Information

By using this site, you agree to our Guidelines, Terms of Use, & Privacy Policy.
We have placed cookies on your device to help make this website better. You can adjust your cookie settings, otherwise we'll assume you're okay to continue..