growth with effort Re-Posting: Pastor Muscle by BBMikeNJ

[arpeejay]

Just a reminder:

You can find BBMikeNJ's stories in the current iteration of the forum by looking here:

https://musclegrowth.net/profile/3125-bbmikenj/content/?type=forums_topic&change_section=1

Ditto, you can find his earlier stories in the pre-2007 Archive by searching the Author Index for BBMSN.

https://archive2007.musclegrowth.net/index-byauthor.html

There are a good couple dozen stories that aren't in either place. As time permits (and I'm retired, so a project like this one is right up my alley) I will be re-posting them here (Mike has kindly granted me permission to do so!) -- RPJ

Pastor Muscle

By BBMikeNJ

Inspired by the World’s Strongest Pastor:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L1dDSowBXYU

The big pastor was taking off his vestments after his Saturday afternoon service. He could hardly wait to get on his gym gear and go hit the weights for his two-hour hardcore workout. At 320 lbs. of bulked up powerlifter muscle, he knew he was the strongest pastor in the world, but he ached for more power and size. He stripped off his shirt and looked at himself in the mirror. He liked what he saw. He even liked his big bloated powerlifter gut. It made him feel so powerful. And as far as he was concerned, his massive chest, delts and arms made the hard ball gut fit right into his build. He flexed his 22-inch arms in the mirror a couple of times before pulling on his favorite guinea tee.

He picked up his gym bag and headed down to the kitchen. His son was at the kitchen table, home for the weekend from college.

"Hey, son," said the pastor. "You want to go for a workout with me?"

"Yeah, right," said the son, not looking up from the table.

Part of the pastor was glad his son didn't want to come. The kid had grown sullen and remote since he'd been in high school. He never seemed to put much effort in anything. The other part of the pastor wanted to bond with the kid, to get him to feel the passion he felt when he broke a person best on the squat or bench. Part of him wanted to lift the kid right out of his chair and shake so sense into him. Instead, he just said, "Suit yourself," and started to head out the door.

"Hey," said the boy, "I need to use the car tonight."

The pastor stopped at the door and turned back. "You just got in late last night. I thought all of us would have dinner together tonight."

"Yeah, well, I have plans. Maybe next time I come home."

The pastor felt his blood pressure starting to rise. He dropped his gym bag to the floor. "I tell you what, boy. Why don't you wrestle me for the keys?"

The kid finally looked up from the table. "What?"

"You heard me. Let's go down to the mats in the basement. I'll put the keys at one end of the room. If you can get to them, you can have the car tonight."

"I'm not doing that," the son said with disdain.

"OK, then. No car." The pastor turned and started to leave.

"Wait," said the kid. "I'll do it. It's messed up, but I'll take you on, old man."

The pastor frowned, but at least he was getting a spark out of the kid. "Let's go then," he said, and went over to the basement door and headed down, with is sulking son following from behind. He clicked on the lights to a big room that had floor mats, and, against one wall, a long rack of dumbbells sat in front of a big wall mirror. He walked over to the far corner of the room, and dropped the keys onto the floor. He looked back at his son, who was leaning against the doorway.

"How much you weigh now, boy?"

"150," said the kid.

The pastor walked over to the end of the weight rack. The last pair of dumbbells weighed 150lbs. He picked them up and started doing curls. Slow, steady curls. His son tried to hide his shock. He knew his dad was strong, but he'd never seen him doing reps with 150-lb. dumbbells. After 15 curls with each arm, the pastor dropped the weights and they hit the floor with a loud thud that shook the ground. His arms swelled bigger with every second that passed. He strode to the middle of the room and squared off his boulder-sized shoulders.

"Go for the keys, boy," he said cockily. "Try and get by these," and he flexed his swollen arms up, and smirked as his peaks rose and rose.

His son tried to act like he was totally uninterested, leaning against the door jam. But then, suddenly, he darted toward the left side of the room, and bolted toward the corner where the keys were. He moved surprisingly fast for a sullen 18 year old. Even more surprising was how fast his dad's arm came out and clotheslined him in the middle of his chest with his big thick forearm. The kid did a complete 360 in the air, then landed on his back on the mat, leaving him gasping for breath. His dad straddled him, his hulking mass towering over him. "This forearm could stop a tank, boy, what chance you think you got? Look at it," he said. "I've added an inch and a half of muscle to them since you left for college." The big pastor clenched his fist and rolled it, making his forearm muscles bulge out. "I'm bending 3-inch rebar with these beasts now." He looked at his forearm with admiration, knowing that they were over 17" around. Knowing because he measured them out himself every night.

"I tell you what boy, I'll give you another chance. Double or nothing. I win, you have come home and work out with me every weekend."

"What if I win?" asked the kid. What his dad didn't know, was that he'd been working out at college every day, trying to add some muscle mass to his lithe physique. Now he was about to find out how much progress he'd made.

"Then I'll give you the car to keep as your own. In fact, I'll even give you the advantage." The pastor stepped over his son, then got down on all fours. "You take top position. If you get me on my back, the car is yours."

The pastor waited on the mat like a rodeo bull as his son stood up and shook himself off. He stood over his dad and reached across him to lock his arm on his dad's left side. The pastor's broad back was so thick and wide that the kid had to lean halfway over him to reach his armpit. His dad's body felt like it was made out of lumber.

"GO," said the pastor once his son locked his hold. The kid pulled and pulled and pulled on the massive powerlifter. His old man didn't budge an inch. "I said GO," the pastor said. The kid pulled with all his might, but his 150 lbs. was no match for his heavily bulked up 320 lb. strongman father. The pastor reached back and grabbed his son with one hand, lifting him into the air, then slamming him down to the mat, pinning him with one thick burly hand. The kid struggled against the powerful arm, to no effect. The pastor sat down on his son's chest, with just enough weight to hold him pinned but not crush his ribcage. "Looks like we'll be workout partners for a while," he said, hoping to use that time to whip his son into the man he wanted him to be.

"Get off me, you fat fuck," said the kid.

The pastor's face darkened. He stood up, but as he did so, he grabbed his son around the neck and lifted him up with him. He stood his son on his feet, then let go of his neck.

"You think this is fat, boy?" the pastor said, as he rolled up the bottom of his guinea tee, exposing his 48-inch powerlifter gut. "Go ahead and punch it. This solid rock gut is harder than anything you ever felt. It gives me power beyond anything you can dream of." He jutted his ball gut out even farther. The skin stretched out tight and shiny over it. The rolled up tee rested on the top of the gut, and was pinned there by the heaving set of gorilla pecs pressing down on it.

The son backed up, conflicted by his feelings of love and hate for the huge powerhouse of a man standing in front of him. Part of him wanted to jump into his arms and ask for forgiveness for being such a dickhead kid for the past couple years. But another part of him wanted to hit the guy over and over for being so pompous and superior.

"Come on," said the older man, "don't be a pussy. Give me your best shot."

That pretty much decided it for the boy. He had backed up as far as the weight rack. He reached behind his back and picked up a 25-lb. dumbbell. He whirled it around in front of him, and tossed it at his dad's gut. It landed square on the big thickly muscled ball, then bounced off and fell to the ground. They both looked at it as it rolled away. The pastor hadn't even budged. He reached up and grabbed the straps of his guinea tee and pulled them over his soccer ball sized delts. Then he ripped the shirt in two and tossed it off him, exposing his entire hulking torso.

"That all you got?" he said to his kid as he took a step toward him.

The kid reached around and grabbed the 35-lb. dumbbell. He had to use both hands to throw it. It bounced off his dad's gut with a thud. Then the pastor leaned over and picked up the weight. He put one beefy hand on each end of the dumbbell, then began to press inward. His torso bulged with thickening muscle as he pressed down on the weight. Veins popped out on his 22-inch neck, and across his chest and delts, and into his arms, feeding them with power and more power. The handle of the dumbbell began to crumple in like an accordion. The pastor pressed in on the weights until the handle was flattened to the thickness of a penny and the plates touched in the middle. He dropped the crunched up iron to the floor, and looked at himself in the mirror. He'd never looked more jacked up. Every thick brute muscle on him was ruddy and pumped. He did a most muscular pose and watched in amazement as his traps rose up behind his neck like two thick bridge cables. He felt like he had the strength of 20.

"Dad," said the kid, "I don't know what happened, I just lost it...."

The pastor looked at his son, then waddled over to the car keys and squatted down to pick them up. He came back over to his son, grabbed his hand, and dropped the keys into them. Sweat ran down his huge torso. "Here you go, boy. Take the car. You don't have to work out with me. I shouldn't expect you to be like me."

"That's just it," said the son. "I ache to be like you, but I know I never will be."

The pastor grabbed his son around the back of his neck and pulled him into his solid torso. "Don't repeat this to anyone, boy, but I was a skinnier little twerp than you are when I was your age."

"No you weren't," said the kid.

"Oh yeah I was. Now look at me." The pastor flexed his right arm, which had swollen to a thick gnarly 24"of peaked muscle.

His son put his hands on the powerful arm. "I could never be this big," he said.

"Sure you could," said the pastor. "In fact, let's see if we can get you even bigger."

More to cum…

[arpeejay]

Part 2

The pastor didn't share this with anyone, but he completely got off on his own bulked up size. Now that he was up to a solid 345, he could barely restrain himself from groping his own body. When he had sex with his wife, her tiny hands on his arms made him feel even bigger. All he had to do was think of how he'd feel at 360 lbs., and he'd cum inside her. Sometimes he'd hold her in midair, stay inside her, and think about his strength. He could cum two or three times that way. Sometimes he would bust so hard to his own thoughts that he'd shred his rubber like a cheap balloon, which really pissed him off. Last thing he needed was more kids.

After sex, he liked to get into the shower, soap himself up, and grope his mass. Big barrel-chested ape that he was, he loved clamping his big hands on his heavy pecs and lifting them up and down, feeling the weight of them. Big thick slabs of beef, they had to weigh 45 lbs. each. And such extreme strength in them. He knew he could out-bench 99.99 percent of the men in the world. Maybe 100 percent. Made him hard thinking of doing it. Waddling onto the bench and out-lifting any punk that dared to challenge him.

Then his hands would lower down to his big ball gut. He loved the feel of it, so round and tight, skin stretched taut over it. Hard as granite, and growing with every meal he had. Turned him on so much, he could barely stand it. He liked to press his hands against the sides of the shower and cum hands free to his own thickness and power. Problem was, he kept cracking the tile under his thick, heavily calloused hands.

Toweling off after the shower, he tried not to check himself out in the mirror too much. But when he dried off his hair, he couldn't help it. His arms bulged up so huge. He bet they were over 24" now. He dropped the towel and flexed his arms in the mirror. He knew it was sinful, but he worshipped himself. He hit a side-chest shot, and admired how his 66-inch chest swelled out over his fists. He shook out his arms and stepped closer to the mirror. He raised one arm up to its reflection. He made a fist and squeezed. "Oh yeah," he said as he watched his thick forearm swell with thickness. "Bigger than most men's biceps," he boasted. He jacked himself off as he continued to flex his massive forearm. Inspired by the feel of his corded muscle arm, he came again, his jizz flying up and hitting the mirror head high.

After he got dressed, he remembered a phone call he wanted to make. He had a friend who owned a gym in the town where the pastor's son went to college, and his son had started working out there two months earlier. The pastor wanted to find out how he was coming along.

Because his friend was Muslim, their relationship had started out a little rocky, but after meeting up at a couple powerlifting meets, they realized what they had in common. They both wanted to get beast huge and powerful. They spurred each other on to get bigger and stronger. At their first meet, the pastor weighed 260 lbs., and lost out to the 285-lb. burly Arab powerhouse. Six months later, at the next meet, the pastor showed up at 300 lbs. and out-lifted every man there, including his Muslim buddy, who vowed to come back bigger and stronger.

When he got his friend on the phone, the big gym owner told him that his son was a genetic freak, and that he'd never seen anyone take to lifting like he had. He told the pastor that the kid had benched 225 unassisted on his first day at the gym.

"And," the owner said, "he's piling on mass something fierce. Kid can gain weight just walking by the dumbbells."

"How much does he weigh now?"

"Not sure. Probably a good 225. And not an ounce of fat on him. He's getting taller too. Bet he's over 6 feet. Has an 8-pack like I never seen. Does hanging leg lifts with a 45-lb. plate chained around his ankles. Lately he's been asking me to pull down on his legs as he does them. He's almost lifting me right off the ground. And he's got his bench up to 450."

The pastor was stunned. His son had gained 75lbs in two months. And was bench pressing twice his bodyweight. The kid sure did have his genetics, the pastor thought, as he hoped to bench triple his own bodyweight of 340 in the next couple of workouts. Thinking about benching 1020 pounds gave the pastor a hard-on. He knew it was sinful, but he couldn't help it. His power made him rage. He was superhuman, and he loved every second of it. He went out to his workshop hoping to take his mind off his sexual response to his power. In the shop, he had a crate of old bowling pins he'd gotten at a flea market. He stopped and picked one up, then held it up to his arm. He loved how the belly of his forearm was now thicker than the widest part of the pin. He grabbed the neck of the bowling pin with his right hand. He held it out at arm's length. He squeezed down on the neck till he heard it crack. He dropped the two pieces of broken pin to the ground. He looked down at them, and sneered with pride. He picked up a second on in his left hand. He put his thick fingers around the head and crushed down till he felt it crack. He dropped it down, and flexed his hands, feeling the blood flood into his forearms. Feeling the freak strength in them. Superhuman.

And now his son was tapping into his own freak strength. The pastor suddenly felt like seeing his kid. He called him up, and told him he wanted to come up for a visit. But his son asks him to wait to see him when he comes home for Thanksgiving.

"Wait till you see, Dad," he said. "And by Thanksgiving, I'll be even bigger. And stronger. You should see me lift. I add weight every workout. The other guys at the gym can't believe how much my muscles pump up. One of them gave me some stuff called No-X-plode. Made veins pop out all over my arms, across my chest and down my legs. I never thought it'd feel this amazing. And I've been doing some mixed martial arts on the side. There're guys there who've been doing it for years, and I muscle them all over the mats. They feel so weak to me. And when I decide to, I just make them submit. I can pin their face to the ground and the dude can't even budge. I never thought it'd be such a rush to make some big jock tap out to my superior strength and skill. "

"Don't get too cocky, boy," said the pastor, but secretly, he never felt prouder of his son, who had been such a slacker through high school.

"Look who's talking," said the kid. "I remember you strutting in like peacock when you won another powerlifting trophy. Remember how you'd go up to Mom and show her how you could pop every button off your shirt just by flexing your chest? And then you'd bounce your huge pecs at her till she was all red with embarrassment?"

The pastor couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah, I remember."

"Speaking of which, I had to buy all new clothes. None of my old stuff fit anymore. You should have seen it, I flexed out of a couple of my shirts, ripped them up good. No wonder you like doing it. And I ripped the seams of my last pair of baggy jeans last week. I think my quads have almost doubled in size. Hope you don't mind, I put it on the credit card you gave me."

"Buy anything you want, son."

"You sure? ‘Cause there's this protein powder I've been wanting to try. It's cheaper if I get the 20 pound tubs, but it's still expensive."

"Get four of them," said the pastor, his heart pounding with pride.

"Yeah? Nice! Thanks Dad! Wait till you see me!"

They hung up, and the pastor braced himself against the wall. He could barely wait for his progeny to come home.

More to cum…

[arpeejay]

Part  3

The pastor was on a quest....to stay ahead of his ever-growing son. He started packing away more high quality food than ever....chicken breasts, tuna, steak, more tuna, sweet potatoes, vats of oatmeal, mixing bowls full to the brim with rice mixed with vegetables. To top it off, he downed several blenders full of protein shakes a day using heavy cream mixed with whey powder and bananas. He would drink it right out of the blender, and sometimes it was so thick, he'd have to use a serving spoon to get it to slide down the blender spout and into his open mouth. He loved the taste and texture of this thick batter, especially because he could feel it bloating him up with size. He swallowed and swallowed, turned on by the thought of how much it would help him grow.

One Sunday morning, after a breakfast of a dozen eggs and a loaf of whole wheat toast, he went to do his sermon. Ten minutes into the service, he could feel his upper body about to shred the seams of his suit coat he was wearing, so he took it off. Underneath, he had on a short sleeve white dress shirt. His biceps were so swole they stretched the sleeves tight as a blood pressure cuff. He continued to talk, but he couldn't help but subtly flex his arms. One of his male parishioners yelled out, "Hey Pastor, how big you gonna get?" Some people laughed. The pastor smiled and stepped to the left of the altar. "Way bigger than this," he said, and flexed his arms into a double bi. It didn't take much for the sleeves to go RRRIIIIPPP as his huge +24-inch peak shredded the tightly woven cotton. He looked at each peak with admiration, then gave each one a quick kiss. He looked out into the congregation when he heard a few gasps. He saw some of the men shifting themselves in their seats, trying to adjust themselves. Some of the women were fanning themselves. He put his big ape arms down, but they jutted 45 degrees outward as they came up against his side-of-beef sized lats. The pastor continued with his sermon, which was, ironically, about lust. He felt his chest heaving inside his shirt, and finally, he couldn't help himself... he swelled his pecs up and out, straining his dress shirt until the top 3 buttons flew off into the crowd. The pastor's 350-lb. body was generating so much heat that his underarm sweat had soaked thru his shirt. He ripped his shirt open, then tore it off his torso, leaving him dressed in his suit pants and a tight white guinea tee. Sweat streamed out of his hairy deep pits. He tossed the shirt remnants behind the altar, and stepped down in front of it. The crowd grew silent as they began to grasp the true size of their massive pastor. He outweighed most of the men by nearly 200 pounds. He began to pace back and forth in front of them, continuing his sermon about lust, even as most of the parish were lusting for him. His power emanated off of him as he got nearer and nearer to his flock. Some of the women were close to fainting. The men either desired to be like him, or to feel him take them. He felt like a god in front of them. He peeled the sweat drenched guinea tee off his massive torso like he was molting, twisting and turning as he struggled to get it over his head. He wrung the sweat out of the tee before tossing it aside, causing his 19-inch forearms to writhe and bunch up with insane strength.

"Who among you is free of lust?" boomed the big, bare-chested gorilla of a pastor. "You there," he said, pointing to a man in an aisle seat. The man looked at him with awe and terror, as the jacked up pastor walked up to him. Every step he took seemed to shake the whole church. The pastor recognized the man as the local plumber. He leaned forward until he came face to face with the shaking parishioner. The pastor's neck and traps were twice the size of the man he was facing. "Tell me, my son, have you lusted in your heart today?" Then the 350-lb. powerlifting pastor flexed into a most muscular pose. His traps rose up, pushing past the bottom lobe of his ears. Veins on his bull neck popped out, thicker than pencils, his thick ruddy skin reddening into a tanned scarlet shade. Sweat ran down his massive torso. He flexed until his enormous traps swelled up higher than he'd ever felt them.

The man reached out to touch the pastor, his hand shaking, his lust beyond his control. "I have sinned, Pastor," he said.

The pastor grabbed the pew and ripped it out of the floor, raising it till the plumber's face was close to his. The crowd gasped in awe as the other parishioners in the pew slid to the far end. The pastor leaned into the man's ear, and whispered, "I will absolve you, my son." Then he lowered the pew, shoved his big right hand underneath the man's crotch, and curled him right out of his seat. People gasped again, as the pastor put his other hand on the man's shoulder, and began to press him overhead. The pastor walked up and down the aisles, pressing the beefy 200-lb. man like a toy.

"Absolve yourself of the sin of Lust," he commanded. As he pressed the man over and over, the pastor's torso swelled and rolled with muscle. He felt himself growing stronger and stronger. He switched the weight of the man to one hand, and continued to press him up and down. The pastor's thickly muscled wall of abs heaved in and out as he became more passionate. His parishioners began to yell in ecstasy and hallelujahs. Some of them began speaking in tongues. Some of them rolled into the aisles. All of them were completely embracing their capacity for lust. They worshipped their pastor beyond anything they'd ever felt before.

He lowered the man in his grip into a bear-hug, wrapping his enormous beefy arms around him like a muscle cocoon. The plumber's groin pressed up against the pastor's iron-hard gutball. "I will crush the lust out of you," he growled into the man's ear. The man's eyes rolled back in his head as the pastor squeezed him tightly against his huge hairy chest. "Who's your god now?" he whispered to the man. And he tightened his grip around him. He shook the plumber back and forth in his powerful grip.

The pastor could feel the man shudder in ecstasy, a profound physical and spiritual ecstasy of such intensity that the man would never experience anything close again in his life. The pastor squeezed him tighter. The man's ribcage was about to give.

"Who's your god now?" growled the pastor.

"You, my god, you..." stammered the plumber, as he came in his churchgoing pants, shuddering down to his soul with lust.

The pastor lowered the man down to the floor, and leaned him up against the altar, then he walked over and picked up his white guinea tee. He used the undershirt to wipe the sweat off his torso, like he was wiping down a pack animal. Then he took the wet shirt, and wiped the sweat from the face of the plumber, who looked up at the pastor in a daze.

"I've crushed the lust right out of you," said the pastor. Then he turned to face his flock, and said, "I have freed you all of your lust. Now, go home and give thanks for all your many blessings." He turned his barn-door back to his flock, adjusted his raging hard-on in his pants, and waddled out of the church. He never felt so swollen with size and power.

He headed for home. His son would be arriving soon, and he wanted to be there to greet him.

More to cum…

[arpeejay]

Part 4

The pastor left his church and drove to the Powerhouse Gym where he worked out. He was so jacked up from the way his service went that he felt unstoppable. He was still shirtless, and he liked the way he could feel the heat coming off his own body. He looked at the steering wheel underneath his big beefy fingers, and wondered how easy it would be for him to rip it right out of the steering column. It stirred him up thinking about crushing the wheel into pieces with his bare hands, but he restrained himself. What he wanted more than ripping his car apart was an insane leg workout.

He walked to his gym and went to sign in. Being Sunday morning, there weren't many people working out, but the ones that were there stopped what they were doing to stare at the shirtless behemoth at the front counter. The pastor knew they were staring, and he loved it. He walked into the locker room with a cocky waddle.

He kept his gym wear in a locker here, and as he headed toward it, he passed the full length wall mirror. His reflection caught his eye, and he turned to look at himself. Still puffed up from bear-hugging his parishioner into total erotic submission, he couldn't help but admire the 350-lb. strongman in the reflection. He reared back his big shoulders and stuck out his chest. He knew it had to be taping out at over 68 inches. He'd never felt so huge and strong.

He noticed someone at the far end of the mirror, sitting on the bench in front of an open locker. It was a 20-ish looking guy, trying to pretend that he wasn't staring at the massive powerhouse in the mirror.

"You like what you see?" bellowed the pastor. He waddled down closer to where to man was. Still in the mirror, the pastor said, "Watch this." He bulged his powerlifter's gut out, making his belt taut. His rounded stomach surged forward with six brick-sized ab muscles popping outward above his waistline. His stomach wall had to be six inches thick of solid muscle. He pushed out harder, and the buckle on his belt snapped into pieces and fell to the floor. The black leather belt loosened. The pastor undid the button on his suit pants, pulled down the zipper, and lowered his pants to his ankles. He turned to face the man on the bench.

"You ever see legs like these, little man?" asked the pastor. His legs were so bulked up that, at first, the man thought they might just be fat. But then the pastor squeezed them slightly, and the thick muscle responded by popping out all over his thighs. The man had to use both hands on the bench to keep from falling backward.

"Oh my god," he said in awe.

"That's right," said the pastor. “Thirty-six inches of powerhouse quad muscle." The pastor kicked off his shoes and stepped out of his pants. He was half chubbed-up in his briefs from this man's admiration. He twisted the bottom of his leg toward the man and flexed his lower leg. "You ever see a 22-inch calf muscle before, boy?"

"No, sir," said the young guy.

"Go ahead and touch it," said the pastor.

The younger man reached out tentatively and laid his hand on the huge calf muscle. The pastor flexed it even harder and it swelled under the guy's hand. "Ohmygod," he gasped. The young man looked up at the pastor in awe, and noticed the salt-and-pepper chest hair on the massive man towering over him. "Howw old are you?" he stammered out.

"I'll be 49 next week. Wanna rassle?" the pastor said with a grin. He turned and walked down to his own locker. He stripped down naked and he heard the younger man gasp again. He chuckled to himself. He'd heard that gasp many times as he'd waddled naked thru locker rooms. The pastor knew he was blessed in more ways than one, and his big manclub was one of them. He loved how it flopped around when he was letting it fly free. He knew what the young guy would be thinking about in the shower too.

He opened his locker and pulled on a pair of spandex lifting shorts. No one else at the gym wore a pair this tight and this short, but the pastor loved how they let him see nearly every inch of mass on him, especially on leg day, when he could watch how his legs swelled after every set of heavy squats. He strapped on his thick, double-notched powerlifting belt and sucked in his powerball gut so he could cinch it tight around his waist. He put on his Otomix lifting shoes and a XXXL string tank and walked out onto the gym floor. He swaggered over to the smith machine and started loading on 100-lb, plates. He did 25 warm-up reps with 245. Then he added 2 more 100 pound plates, and did 20 reps with 445. Although the smith machine had racks to catch the weight if you went to failure, they were set low enough that the pastor could squat way past parallel to the ground without hitting them. He loved the burn that these low weight, high rep squats gave his legs. He put on more 100 pounders, and started doing reps with 645. Up and down he went, deep and low. Now he was really beginning to feel his quads bloat. He racked the weight after 14 reps, stepped back, and shook out his legs, which were already ruddy with blood flowing in to power the huge muscles of his quads. He put on two more 100s and did ten perfect slow deep reps. He racked the 845 and stepped back. "Oh yeah," he said to himself, as his swelling legs started to bunch his square-cut spandex shorts up toward his groin. Now he was in a zone. He added more weight to the bar, taking it to 1045 lbs. The bar bent in the middle as he racked it across his thick traps and stepped back. The plates clanged as he did ten reps. He racked the bar back up, and stepped back again. He sat down on a bench and looked down at his big legs, now purple with pump. He punched his thighs with his big fist, breaking up his muscle fascia to make room for more growth. The big welt that his fist made on his leg disappeared quickly as the muscle swelled out. He stood up and felt his glutes. He loved how hard they got when he was doing squats. He waddled back up to the bar, and did ten more reps with 1045 lbs. His shorts had pulled up so high now, it looked like he was lifting in a pair of posers. "Looks like I have a banana and two tangerines in there," he chuckled to himself as he flexed his swollen monster legs in the mirror. His whole body was pumped from squatting over half a ton. He felt superhuman. Like a god. A brief flicker of guilt passed his mind as he felt that, but it vanished as he stared at his musclebeast reflection in the mirror. His muscle gut heaved in and out as he breathed, the ab muscles rounded and hard as a cast-iron stove. He was a god. He was better than a god. He had muscle slabbed on top of muscle, piled thick and hard.

He got under the weights again, and did 15 reps. His legs were on fire, burning with an intensity that few mortals could endure. Instead of racking the bar back up, he flipped it down and lowered it to the support racks at the bottom of the smith machine. He squatted down and grabbed the bar with a sumo grip, one palm forward and one palm back. Then he started doing deadlifts. Up went the 1045 pounds as he arched his back and pulled, straining every muscle in his massive backside and huge legs. His hamstrings swelled out like ship ropes, taut and sinewy. Up and down he went, rep after rep, letting the bar bang into the heavy iron racks on the side with each rep. The rack bent more each time he hit them from the tremendous weight on the bar. After twelve reps, he dropped the bar down onto the racks. He stood upright and looked at his sweat-drenched body in the mirror. His eyes were glazed over and his nostrils flared as he breathed in deep and heavy. He clenched his fists and flexed his muscles tight. He did 15 more deadlifts. He felt like he had the strength of ten men. Maybe twenty...

He lowered the bar down and stepped back. He could barely move, his legs were so swollen. His backside was raging with power. His skin stretched tight as a balloon over his quads, his broad back, his delts. He turned and began to waddle back to the locker room, so engrossed by his own size and power that he completely forgot about putting the weights back. His legs muscles were twitching with broken down fiber, aching to be nourished so they could repair and grow. The pastor went to his locker, but when he tried to open the lock, his big fingers were so tight from holding the 1045-lb. bar he couldn't turn the dial. He wrapped his hand around the lock and crushed down on it until it broke apart in his palm. He snorted with pride.

He grabbed his car keys, and headed out to his car in his sweat-soaked shorts. All he could think about was getting food. He needed to eat, and eat big. To feed his muscle, and grow. He ached for more growth. More growth and power. He wanted to feel what it was like to be 375 lbs. of sheer brute size and strength. He grunted with desire for it. He got into his car, his legs and arms shaking with fatigue. Time to go home and see if his boy was there yet. Show him the Power. Make the boy worship him.

More to cum…

[arpeejay]

Part 5

The pastor parked his car at the bottom of the driveway that led up to his house. The driveway was about 100 yards long, and curved back and forth up a steep incline. He liked to walk up it after a leg workout, to get that final burn going deep inside his quad and calf muscles. He started up slowly, but after the hardcore squats that he had done, it wasn't long before his legs were on fire with pain. He pushed off with each step as if he were trying to break thru the blacktop with his foot. About halfway up, his legs nearly numb with a searing pain, he leaned against a tree at the edge of the driveway. Then he did 120 calf raises, stopping at the top of each rep and squeezing his calf muscles as hard as he could. He almost puked from the pain. He continued up the hill, sweat dripping off his brow and into his eyes. His legs felt so thick and musclebound, it became harder and harder to make them move. They were like two pillars of iron. He forced himself to continue until he reached the door of his workshop. He went inside and grabbed a couple of paper towels, and wiped the sweat off his face and bullneck. He pulled on an old sweatshirt. Then he dry-heaved a couple of times. He wiped the spittle from his mouth and said, "Holy shit," allowing himself a rare expletive. He went back outside and sat down on the stoop in front of the workshop. He reminded himself to measure out his thighs later. They looked bigger than ever. He rubbed his hands up and down them, kneading into the muscle. "Bet they're at 34" right now," he thought to himself. He'd never seen so many veins showing, especially on his big calves.

He looked up as he heard a bus coming to a stop at the end of the driveway. A strapping young man in a black pea coat and jeans got off the bus carrying a duffel bag. He had jet black hair, just like the pastor's son, but this guy was big. "No way," thought the pastor, as the young man started up the driveway. As he got closer, the pastor recognized the face as his son's, but he appeared to have the physique of an advanced bodybuilder. The young man noticed his father, and he headed over toward him. When he was about ten feet away, he dropped his duffel bag, and took off his coat and let it fall to the driveway. He was wearing a black string tank that showed off every inch of his broad shoulders. The pastor was stunned by the amount of size that his son had packed on. His six foot frame looked like it held a solid 250. His milky white skin looked like it had never seen the sun. Kid looked like the WWE wrestler Shamus, except with jet black hair.

The big teen put his hands on his waist and stuck out his chest. His pecs rolled out like two basketballs, so striated that the muscle fibers popped out under the skin like 100 guitar strings up and down his chest. He lifted the bottom of his tank and showed his abs. Without even flexing them, his washboard was etched deep. He strummed them with his free hand.

"Not bad, eh, Pops?" The kid had gained about 100 lbs. of muscle since his last time home.

"Not bad, boy. But how's your arm wrestling skills?"

The kid smirked, then pulled his string tank off over his head. He was so jacked and shredded, he could have walked out onto any bodybuilding stage and swept the categories.

"Better than yours," said the teen.

The pastor chuckled. "Let's test out that theory. Come into the workshop, boy." He led the way and his big son followed him. Both of them had to turn a little sideways to fit thru the door. The pastor cleared off a workbench and put his arm up on it. "Bring it on, kid," he said. When his son put his arm up on the other side, the pastor caught a whiff of his body odor. The kid smelled like a high school gym right after wrestling practice. "You stink to high heaven, boy, don't they have any showers at that college of yours?"

"Yeah, they got showers. I just ooze a lot of testosterone these days. You don't smell so good yourself, old man."

The pastor raised his arm and smelled his big pit. The kid was right, he was pretty ripe. He shrugged and said, "Let's get to this." They locked up hands and tightened their grips. "You say Go."

"Go," said the kid. His dad's arm started going down right away. The kid smirked as he pushed his father's hand down with ease. "Oh yeah, old man, you're going down!" Feeling cocky, he leaned into with all his might, ready to finish his dad off, but the older man's hand stopped about two inches from the table. The pastor swept his free hand underneath the space.

"What's the matter, boy?"

The kid pushed on his dad's arm harder. It didn't budge. He pushed and pushed, as the older man got a grin on his face. He pushed his son's arm up an inch.

"Not so cocky now, huh, boy?" He pushed his son's arm up another inch. The boy pushed as hard as he could, his arm starting to shake, and a vein popping out of his right temple. "I'll say one thing for ya, son, you sure are shredded. I can see every muscle on you struggling to take me down." He pushed his son's arm back to the starting position. "I'd say you got the strength of two grown men." He pushed his son's arm down a couple inches. "Too bad I got the strength of ten." And with that, the big man slammed his son's arm down hard, pinning it to the table top.

"How about best 2 out of 3?" said the pastor. He pulled his son's hand upright, then slammed it back down. "I win. Maybe you weren't ready. How about best 3 out of 5?" He lifted their arms back up. His muscular son pushed hard against his arm, but the big old man pushed it slowly and surely back down to the table. "I win again." He broke the grip with his son, and held his forearm out to admire it. Swollen to 17” of purple bloated muscle, veins branched out all over the belly of his forearm, pulsing with power. He flexed his huge arm. "You're gonna have to work out a lot more to beat this beast."

The son shook out his arm, his face red with rage. "Asshole," he said.

The pastor looked up from his arm. "What'd you just say?"

"You heard me. I come back from college, all jacked up, just to please you, and you make it all about yourself. You always make it all about you. You're an asshole."

"Big mistake," said the massive bulldad. He reached across the table with both arms, grabbing his son under his arm pits and lifting him upward, dragging him over to his side of the table. He held him airborne as he headed toward the door of the workshop. Using his son's back as a battering ram, he slammed into the door, knocking it off its hinges and falling out onto the stoop. The pastor stumbled on the fallen door, and the two men fell to the blacktop, the bigger man landing hard on top of his son, who felt the wind knocked out of him as his 350-lb. father crushed down onto him.

"Having trouble breathing with me on top of you, boy" said the dad, grinding down on the struggling musclekid underneath him.

"I think you broke my rib," said the boy.

"Aww....you want me to call your mommie? You want her to bring your blankie? Buck up, pussy, before I bust another rib." The pastor dug his fingers underneath the ribcage of the pinned muscle teen. "Fight your way out of this, or I'll break it like taffy," he said, grabbing onto a lower rib.

To the pastor's surprise, his jacked up kid got his arms underneath him and pushed him up, benching his superheavyweight bulked powerlifter muscle right into the air. Even the kid was surprised, and he began to press his dad up and down, repping out his 350 lbs. six times before dropping him on the ground behind his head with such a thud the earth shook.

"Take that old man." But as the kid rolled over, the pastor spun around, faster than a man his size should be able to move, and interlocked his big leg with his son's, and lifted them into the air.

"Time to Indian wrestle, boy" The pastor's thigh was bigger than his son's waist. "Feel the power," said the pastor as he slammed the boy's leg downward. "I win again." ....The son stood up, and crouched into a wrestling position. The pastor stood up and grinned. Then he peeled off his sweatshirt. He saw the stunned look on his kid's face as he saw the jacked up bulk of his father's thick beefy torso.

"That martial arts shit won't help you against this, boy." Then he crouched down himself, and motioned with his fingers for the kid to come at him. The younger man charged, racing behind his dad, wrapping his arms around the big pastor's gut, and locking his hands onto his opposite wrists. Then he tried to bring his dad down. The pastor put one big hand on each of his son's forearms, then pried the boy's grip apart like child's play, breaking the hold like it was nothing. The big man spread his son's arms open and stepped forward. He turned to face his son. "That it, little man?" The son swung out with his leg, hitting his dad in the side of the knee with a powerful roundhouse kick. Most men would have crumpled down in agony from such a kick. The pastor just looked at his son and grinned. His thickly muscled leg barely felt the kick. He used his hand to act like he was brushing away dirt from his knee. Then he tackled his son, rolling him around in the yard for a while, tearing up the sod. The kid had grass stains all over his jeans and upper body. After ten minutes of it, the pastor stopped. "Your turn," he huffed out. He let his son put him in hold after hold, only to muscle out of each one. Both of them were shiny with sweat, making it harder and harder for the younger man to hold onto the big powerhouse. The big teen began to feel winded from trying to move his massive father around to no avail. Sensing his fatigue, the pastor flipped the boy onto his stomach and got on top of him, then slid his big arm around his son's neck, and grabbing his forearm with the other hand.

"How about a little rear naked choke, little man?" asked the big man, tightening his hold. His son struggled and strained against his insane power. "What's the matter, boy, you want your rattle?" He jerked the kid back and forth in the hold. Suddenly, the son slipped his sweat soaked head out of his father's powerful grip. He twisted his 250-lb. body around, grabbing his dad's big arm as he went. He wrapped his legs around the massive arm, and yanked it into an arm bar. The big man fell onto his back with a thud as he tried to spin out of the hold. His son yanked back harder on his thick arm. The pastor growled in pain. His son pulled back harder, arching his back into the hold. Most men would have to tap out of the hold at this point, the pain is so intense. But the pastor grimaced and flared his nostrils. He lifted up with his arm, and felt his son's body lift upward. The pastor snorted, and sat up, bringing the weight of his son's body up with him even as it bore down on his bent arm. He lifted his son's 250 lbs. into the air using only the strength of his left arm. The pastor stood up, his son attached to his arm. The pastor slowly curled his arm upward, lifting the boy. Then the older man did a shoulder dive into the ground, taking them both down, and breaking the arm bar. He pinned his son's shoulders to the ground as he climbed on top of him, straddling him in his sweat-drenched lifting shorts. Sweat pored off him as if he'd just gotten out of a shower.

The bigger, older man leaned into his son's face. Both of them were breathing heavily. "You need more size to take this, boy."

They stared into each other's eyes. Both of them started getting feelings that they knew they shouldn't be having. The pastor was swelling up in his shorts as he pressed against his son's hard stomach, and he could feel his son doing the same in his jeans. Sweat was dripping off his brow, nose, chin and chest onto his son. He smoothed the sweat out over his son's chest, who's skin was smooth and flawless as cream. He started feeling lightheaded.

"Whoa," said the pastor, steadying himself.

"Whoa," said his son, almost at the same time.

The big pastor rolled off his boy onto the yard. "You bring any of your protein powder home with you?" he asked, staring up at the sky.

"Yeah, in my duffel."

"Bring it into the workshop."

The pastor got up and walked away from his son, adjusting himself in his lifting shorts.

His son got up and went over to his duffel bag, adjusting himself in his jeans. He pulled a big tub of protein powder out of the duffel and followed his dad to the workshop.

The pastor went over to a small refrigerator in the workshop and pulled out a gallon container of heavy cream. He sat it on a workbench, next to a blender. Beside the blender was a big tub of peanut butter, a bunch of bananas, a container of oatmeal, and various bottles of supplements like creatine, glutamine, BCAAs, desiccated liver tablets, etc.

"Bring that protein powder over here, son."

"Nice set-up," said the teen, as he put the tub on the workbench.

"I keep everything for my shakes out here, so it doesn't mess up your mother's kitchen. Speaking of which, text her for me while I mix up a shake, would you? She and your sister are out shopping. Ask her to pick up two more turkeys."

"Doesn't she always cook two?"

"Yeah. She already got those. This year, I want two more. One for me, and one for you."

"Nice."

"I weighed about 175 when I was your age. I'm guessing you got that beat by about 75lbs?" the pastor asked, as he added cream, peanut butter, bananas, and oatmeal to the blender.

"Just about. Weighed in at 248 this morning."

The pastor opened the protein powder. "How much you supposed to add?" he asked, looking at the container.

"It says two scoops."

"I'll add six," said the big older man. He turned on the blender, which was so full that even with the top on, thick creamy liquid oozed out of the seal.

"Here," said the pastor, handing the blender to his son. "Drink this down. We'll get you to 255 even before we leave this workshop."

The kid started chugging down the thick shake. He stopped halfway thru to take a breath. "Fuck, that's good," he said. Then he started chugging the other half.

"Watch your language, boy." He took the empty blender from his son, and made another shake. This time, he chugged down the contents. When he finished, he wiped his mouth with his big forearm and said, "Fuck, that is good." Both men laughed. "You want another?"

"Yeah."

The pastor made another shake and handed to his boy. This time, the kid didn't even take a breath as he sucked down the thick milky mixture. His skin stretched taut over his swelling 6-pack.

"I put some extra creatine in that one for you, boy. You got the genetics to get massive. You ever think about it?"

"Only 24/7. I wanna be 300 plus, ripped by next year."

"That's my boy. I'll help you get there. I'm aiming for 400 plus bulked this winter. Think I can carry it?" The pastor flexed into a huge double bi shot. His massive peaks rose up till they almost hit his big knuckles. His son's eyes widened.

"Oh yeah, Dad! Bet you are the biggest, strongest dude on the planet. No wonder you manhandled me so easy. Look how huge you are. Bet you could hold 450 solid. You gotta do it!" The big teen adjusted himself in his jeans. The pastor could see that the kid was as jacked up as he was, talking size and power. "I better go take a shower before Mom gets home," said the son.

"You do that. Make sure you wipe down the shower stall when you're done. I'm going to have one more shake before I come in."

The pastor watched his strapping son go out the door-less doorway, then made himself another shake. After he finished, he took care of himself in private, as he imagined how pumped up he'd look at 450 pounds. Meanwhile, his son spent a half hour in the shower, and took care of himself twice, as he imagined ripped to the bone at 315 pounds.

More to cum…

[arpeejay]

Epilogue

The pastor's son continued to grow in size and power. By the time Christmas came, he was 310 lbs. of shredded muscle, and he was beating everyone he took on at his MMA club. He had developed such tremendous quickness, that he could grab ahold of any fighter, muscle him to the ground, and choke hold the guy into submission within seconds. At first, it took him 15 seconds to finish his matches. His last five matches before heading home for Christmas, he had submitted his opponents in three seconds flat. The dudes didn't even know what hit them, with his big 23-inch arm snaked around their necks like the most powerful boa constrictor that had ever existed. He couldn't wait to show his dad.

He was in for a surprise when he got home though. His dad had bulked up to 440 lbs., and looked like one of those huge Soviet powerlifters from the 70's, only with much more pronounced muscle density. When they went into the basement to wrestle, the big pastor tossed his 310-lb. son around the mats with surprising ease. The son was able to get his choke hold on his dad, but the pastor's 25-inch neck was dent-proof, even with the younger man's powerful 23 inchers. And there was no way the kid could take his dad down to the mat. There was no moving his mountainous 440 pounds without the pastor allowing it. With both of them in the standing position, he moved his son around the room like he was leading in a muscle waltz. Then he would toss his son into a wall, cracking the cinder blocks. The kid couldn't believe the strength of his old man.

The worst was the pastor's scissor hold. He put his son in it over and over. There was no escaping it. And the pastor beamed with pride as he challenged his son to try.

"Fight harder, big boy, or I'll crush you with these thunder thighs." And the kid would struggle his hardest, his face turning purple as he tried to pry his father's legs apart with his hands. And his father would just chuckle. "I'm squatting over half a ton with these monsters, boy, I could crush your ribcage with this strength." Finally, the son would tap out, and his dad would release the bone-crushing hold. Then he would work his son around the mats for another 15 minutes, before slapping on the scissor again.

"Who's your daddy?" asked the pastor, as he bore down on his son's upper torso with his 37 inch quads.

"You are," cried out the son, who felt like he was being crushed between two pillars of iron.

"’You are' what?" barked the father.

"You are, sir!" yelped out the boy, as he tapped out on his father's beast-thick legs.

They wrestled like that every day for the two weeks the son was home. The boy lost ten pounds, but was the most shredded he'd ever been. The pastor gained ten pounds, and at 450, was able to toss his bodybuilder son around the mats like a rag doll. He knew he should so some mercy to the boy, but he couldn't help himself. He was totally into his own size and power. Sometimes he came in his singlet as he demolished his son over and over, or strutted over to him, picked him up off the mats and pressed him overhead for reps. He pictured himself as the strongest man the world had ever known, as his 31-inch biceps pumped up even bigger, using his son's 300 pounds as a weight. It was the only time he truly felt rapture. Rapture to his own freakishly superior size and power. "No one can come close to this," he'd say as he looked at himself in the mirror, and orgasmed over his own reflection. He'd pin his son down to the mat with his big foot and flex out over him. The younger man would look up in awe at his superhuman father, and nut himself to the sight of all that mass towering above him.

"I'm wanna be just like you, Dad."

"I know you do, boy. Who wouldn't?" And the pastor raised his arm to his mouth, and kissed his own biceps.

What the pastor didn't know was that his son, after two weeks of being soundly trounced by his old man, had ordered a three-month cycle of heavy duty roids from a supplier in Eastern Europe. The guy he ordered them from told him he'd guarantee a 60-lb. gain of dry muscle, or his money back. And even better than that, said the supplier, his strength could potentially double. It was going to make for an interesting Easter, thought the son.

The End

 

[boardman]

1 hour ago, arpeejay said:

Epilogue

 

The pastor's son continued to grow in size and power. By the time Christmas came, he was 310 lbs. of shredded muscle, and he was beating everyone he took on at his MMA club. He had developed such tremendous quickness, that he could grab ahold of any fighter, muscle him to the ground, and choke hold the guy into submission within seconds. At first, it took him 15 seconds to finish his matches. His last five matches before heading home for Christmas, he had submitted his opponents in three seconds flat. The dudes didn't even know what hit them, with his big 23-inch arm snaked around their necks like the most powerful boa constrictor that had ever existed. He couldn't wait to show his dad.

 

He was in for a surprise when he got home though. His dad had bulked up to 440 lbs., and looked like one of those huge Soviet powerlifters from the 70's, only with much more pronounced muscle density. When they went into the basement to wrestle, the big pastor tossed his 310-lb. son around the mats with surprising ease. The son was able to get his choke hold on his dad, but the pastor's 25-inch neck was dent-proof, even with the younger man's powerful 23 inchers. And there was no way the kid could take his dad down to the mat. There was no moving his mountainous 440 pounds without the pastor allowing it. With both of them in the standing position, he moved his son around the room like he was leading in a muscle waltz. Then he would toss his son into a wall, cracking the cinder blocks. The kid couldn't believe the strength of his old man.

 

The worst was the pastor's scissor hold. He put his son in it over and over. There was no escaping it. And the pastor beamed with pride as he challenged his son to try.

 

"Fight harder, big boy, or I'll crush you with these thunder thighs." And the kid would struggle his hardest, his face turning purple as he tried to pry his father's legs apart with his hands. And his father would just chuckle. "I'm squatting over half a ton with these monsters, boy, I could crush your ribcage with this strength." Finally, the son would tap out, and his dad would release the bone-crushing hold. Then he would work his son around the mats for another 15 minutes, before slapping on the scissor again.

 

"Who's your daddy?" asked the pastor, as he bore down on his son's upper torso with his 37 inch quads.

 

"You are," cried out the son, who felt like he was being crushed between two pillars of iron.

 

"’You are' what?" barked the father.

 

"You are, sir!" yelped out the boy, as he tapped out on his father's beast-thick legs.

 

They wrestled like that every day for the two weeks the son was home. The boy lost ten pounds, but was the most shredded he'd ever been. The pastor gained ten pounds, and at 450, was able to toss his bodybuilder son around the mats like a rag doll. He knew he should so some mercy to the boy, but he couldn't help himself. He was totally into his own size and power. Sometimes he came in his singlet as he demolished his son over and over, or strutted over to him, picked him up off the mats and pressed him overhead for reps. He pictured himself as the strongest man the world had ever known, as his 31-inch biceps pumped up even bigger, using his son's 300 pounds as a weight. It was the only time he truly felt rapture. Rapture to his own freakishly superior size and power. "No one can come close to this," he'd say as he looked at himself in the mirror, and orgasmed over his own reflection. He'd pin his son down to the mat with his big foot and flex out over him. The younger man would look up in awe at his superhuman father, and nut himself to the sight of all that mass towering above him.

 

"I'm wanna be just like you, Dad."

 

"I know you do, boy. Who wouldn't?" And the pastor raised his arm to his mouth, and kissed his own biceps.

 

What the pastor didn't know was that his son, after two weeks of being soundly trounced by his old man, had ordered a three-month cycle of heavy duty roids from a supplier in Eastern Europe. The guy he ordered them from told him he'd guarantee a 60-lb. gain of dry muscle, or his money back. And even better than that, said the supplier, his strength could potentially double. It was going to make for an interesting Easter, thought the son.

 

The End

 

 

 

Damn that was a hot story 

[arpeejay]

3 minutes ago, boardman said:

Damn that was a hot story 

One of my faves for sure!

[alwayspinning]

Hot story!

[Kymuscleboy]

Thanks for posting these! They are great stories, and some of the newer and younger guys on the forum may never have heard of these classics. As for those of us who have been around for ages, it is great to see them again and be reminded of how wonderful they are. 

As always, I maintain some hope that @bbmikenjwill be inspired to write again! Maybe renewed interest in his stories will light the flame.