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Dwarf Muscle

By BBMikeNJ

I had lived in my new house for only a few days when the next door neighbor came over to introduce himself. He was a real nice guy named John, and told me if I had any questions about the area, or if I needed anything just to let him know. Then, when he found out I did freelance work out of the house and was home most days, he asked me if I would mind signing for his UPS deliveries. He said he was starting up a side business and got a lot of stuff sent to him that he then shipped out to customers. At first, I was a little wary, but he assured me it was all on the up and up, and that I didn't even have to move the stuff, just sign for it and leave it on my porch, he'd pick it up when he got home, so I agreed.

The next day, I was in the back room of the house, when I heard several loud thumps coming from the front porch. I went up and opened the front door. There were two large boxes, about two feet wide and three feet tall, sitting side by side on the porch. A UPS truck was parked at the curb, but there was no sign of a driver. I tried to move the boxes over, but they were so heavy, they didn't budge. I stepped around the box, and jumped when I saw a short squat guy in an UPS outfit, filling out package info on one of the ups clipboards. He looked up at me and said, "You want to sign for these for your neighbor?" His voice was about six octaves deeper than I was expecting. He had very prominent dwarf features... thick, bony forehead, deep-set eyes, square heavy jaw bone. The arm that he was holding the clipboard out to me with was short but extremely thick. I realized that I was staring when he rolled his eyes and said, "Dude, you signing for this or not."

"Oh... yeah... sorry," I stammered, embarrassed, taking the board and signing. "It's just that... well... How did you get these boxes up here?" I asked, trying to save face, and truly curious, as there was no dolly in sight.

"With these," he said, raising his arms and flexing them. The short sleeves of his brown ups shirt were pushed back out of the way by a rising set of super-thick, gnarly biceps. They balled up high and then hardened into two steel balls as he squeezed them out tight. Even though short and stubby, he was the most massive little fucking guy I'd ever seen.

"Jesus," I said. He just sort of snorted and took the clipboard back with his stubby muscle hand. As he turned to step off the porch, I thought I should say something to break the ice, figuring I'd be seeing this guy on a fairly regular basis.

"You know," I said, "seeing as how Christmas is coming, you should dress up as an elf when you're delivering packages." Even as the words came out of my mouth, I knew it was the wrong thing to say. I saw the muscles of his broad, miniaturized powerlifter back tense up as he came to a dead stop. He turned back toward me, and I noticed the size of his huge dwarf glutes, which would have been tremendously out of proportion if the rest of him wasn't so stocky and thick.

"You did not just say that, did you?" he said, his voice sounding even deeper than before. He cocked his head as he looked me up and down, and I realized that his neck was probably four or five inches bigger than my own. I had the feeling that I'd just pissed off a very powerfully-built Rottweiler. He dropped the clipboard onto the porch and came at me. He grabbed me around the leg and lifted me up like I was a scarecrow. He flipped me down onto the porch and wrenched my leg into a very bad angle. I tried to maneuver away, put my head pressed up against a porch post. He twisted my leg harder, and pressed my ankle up into my ear.

"Fuckkk," I groaned. I tried to push him off me, but it was like pushing a wall. His glutes were hard as granite, and I don't think he even knew I was pushing on them.

"You think this is pain?" he said. "You think this is pain?" he repeated, as he applied even more torque to my leg.

"Fucking stop, man, jesssus," I cried out.

He let go of my leg and got off me, tossing my leg back into place. "You think that was bad," he said, smirking over me. "You ever use the word 'elf' around me again, I will put you in a whole world of pain. This freaky dwarf muscle will pound you to a pulp," he said, as he rolled his wrists and checked out his own writhing forearm muscle, all twisted and grisly. "You like all this muscle, don't ya, boy?" he said, nodding at my crotch, which had admittedly swollen up some. "Yeah, I like it too," he said, still flexing, and sprouting a pup tent of his own in his stocky brown pants. "And it's just gonna get bigger and better, boy. Doc has got me on some serious growth hormones, and I'm getting thicker and stronger every day." With that, he hit a lat spread, and as his back widened out, both sides of his shirt ripped open. "Oh yeahhh," he said. "I might just have to come back here more often to toss you around."

"Well, when you do," I said, sitting up, "bring a red, cone-shaped hat. I wanna see what my front yard would look like with a garden gnome in it."

His face darkened and he stepped toward me. I don't know what was wrong with me, but I just couldn't let the massive little tank abuse me like he had without getting him back some. Something stopped him from tearing into me though. Instead, he put his stubby thick fingers around a 4x4 porch post and ripped it out. He took one end in each hand, held it out at arms-length and snapped it in two. He tossed the two pieces at my feet, picked up his clipboard and waddled back to his truck.

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Part 2

It had been over a week since UPS had dropped anything off at my new house, so I figured that first time had been a fluke, and that I wouldn't be getting that many drop-offs for my neighbor after all. But then one day I was working in the backyard when I thought I heard some noise out front. I went along the side of the house and looked up at the porch. There were three big boxes this time. I didn't see the musclehead dwarf until his hand came up from behind a box, and pressed on my doorbell. I came around the corner and said, "Hey."

He looked over at me and said, "Where the hell you been, I've been ringing for 5 minutes."

"Sorry, man," I said. "You don't have to get all grouchy on me."

His face got all dark on me again, and I realized that 'grouchy' might not be the best name to call him. I walked up to the porch and he stepped toward me. The thick little bull appeared to be even bigger than the last time I saw him. Either that, or his UPS shirt had shrunk. The buttons were tugging hard to hold in his superwide barrel-chest. He waddled over to me and handed me the clipboard. As I was signing it, he flinched at me. I jumped back about a foot, thinking he was going to pound me for the grouchy comment.

"What's the matter," he said, "you nervous about something?"

He was definitely bigger...his voice was even deeper, and he was acting even cockier than the last time, if that was possible. Was he even a little taller?

"You've put on size, haven't you?" I asked him. I couldn't stop myself from asking, and I almost sensed that he wanted me to ask.

"You think?" he said, and began to unbutton his shirt. He peeled it open and tugged it off his super thick biceps and forearms. He had on a white guinea tee underneath that was stretched so thin over his monstrous upper body that it almost looked flesh-colored. His big traps rose up and elongated the tee's straps. I was stunned by the size of his delts, which were gnarly and striated with super dense muscle. They jutted out like pumpkins stuck on his shoulders. He saw me staring at them.

"Go ahead and punch them," he said.

"Nah, that's ok," I said, getting all shy.

He turned his left shoulder toward me, reached up with his right hand and tapped on the big delt cap with his thick finger. "Go on and punch it," he said, "and don't even make me ask again."

I had a good solid punch, and he was being so goddam cocky that I decided to plant one on him. I balled up my fist, drew back my arm, and slammed my knuckles hard into his shoulder. It felt like I had just hit a tractor tire. He hadn't even flinched. I tried not to show my pain, but he just snorted in disgust at my pathetic tap. I shook my hand out and made a fist again.

"Let me try that again," I said, "that one hit at weak angle."

"Bring it on," he smirked, turning more toward me, and bring his arm up into a side-chest shot. His freaky muscle bulged out from his fingertips to his neck. Even his heavy dwarf jaw was densely packed with muscle.

This time I hit him as hard as I possibly could. If I had missed him, I would have spun around about three times, I swung so hard. I connected smackdab into the middle of his granite delt. A brick wall would have had more give to it. A shocking blast of pain ran up my arm.

"Fuckkk," I said, grabbing my hand with the other one, trying to rub out the pain.

"Wait here," he ordered, full of cocky superiority. "I have to go reorganize the boxes in my truck." He waddled off the porch and down the sidewalk. His massive glutes were like two rounded boulders. His center of gravity was so low, a tank would have had trouble knocking him over. His freaky dwarf back was almost hunched it was so piled with muscle mass, and his arms stuck out nearly sideways from the size of his lats. He walked to the front of his truck and stood in front of it. He squatted down in front of the grill, and put his hands, palms up, underneath it. What the hell was he doing, I wondered. Then he stood up, lifting the front tires of the truck right off the ground. He adjusted his hands and feet to the weight of the truck, then, he pushed the truck up, fully extending his arms. I heard the boxes in the back of the truck tumbling around. He pressed the front of the truck up and down with his powerful arms until all the boxes stopped crashing around and must have been piled into the back of the truck. He lowered the grill to his chin, squatted the truck back down, and stepped away from it. He swiped his hands together back and forth, clapping off the grime, then headed back to the porch.

I was too stunned to speak as the little powerhouse waddled back up the steps.

"What?" he said in mock surprise, as if he'd just done something perfectly ordinary. He stepped toward me and grabbed me by the wrist with his heavily muscled hand. He squeezed just hard enough to bring me to my knees, which were already wobbly from what I'd just seen. He lifted his guinea with his other hand, exposing his armor-plated rock abs. He pulled me up to it and rubbed my hand up and down on them. I could feel their heat and their power. I was close enough to him to smell his scent of leather and iron. He clenched his abs together, making them rise up like small loaves bread, if bread was made of steel.

He took my fingers and guided them against each thick ab section, pushing my fingers into them so I could feel their hardness.

"Hard as diamond," he growled into my ear. He clenched one side, then the other, and I could feel the powerful gut muscles grinding against each other in perfect harmony. He pushed my hand down to his lower abs, and then to his waistband. My heart was pounding like a jackhammer. He slid my hand into his pants and ran it along his dick. The goddam thing was bigger and thicker than my own, the freaky musclehead dwarf. And it was swelling as he got off on his own superiority.

"I'm bigger, stronger, and faster than you'll ever be," he groaned as I groped in his pants.

"Well, not faster," I said, sort of casually stating the obvious. I mean the guy had thick stumpy dwarf legs. I had run track in high school and college, and was fast as hell. No way a little freakin’ musclerunt was faster than I was.

"What did you just say?" he asked, jerking out of his own self-reverence, and jerking my hand out of his pants at the same time.

"Come on, man, my legs are twice as long as yours, maybe three times. I'd run circles around your musclebound ass."

"You willing to bet on that?" he asked.

"Hell yeah," I said. "How much?"

"How about this?" he said, rubbing his powerful jaw. "I win, you have to put on a dress and deliver my boxes for me."

"Alright," I said, "what if you lose?"

He snorted, as if there was a fat chance of that, and said, "If I lose, I'll dress up like an elf and stand in your yard like a Christmas decoration."

"Oh, you are on, you cocky freak."

I told him to meet me down at the high school football field, which was just two blocks away. As he drove down there, I went inside and changed into running shorts and my best running shoes. I jogged down to the field as a warm-up. He was already waiting at the goal post as I arrived. He looked awfully short standing there leaning against that goal post, but I also knew that he could probably rip it out of the ground and bend it up into a metal scrap heap with his bare hands if he wanted to. Plus, he had stripped off his guinea, his pants and his shoes and socks. He was standing there in his boxer briefs, his huge, bristly-haired quads ballooning out, his monster glutes stretching the back, his big heavy package slinging out front like a bag of produce. He looked like an extra on the set of the Lord of the Rings, a thick, hairy musclehead Orc dwarf.

We decided on a 100 yard dash, which, although I didn't mention it, had been my specialty in track and field. I finished first or second in almost every college meet, and could run it in 9.4 seconds. The little powerhouse was gonna be eating my dust.

We lined up at the goal line, and I took the starting position. He squatted up and down a few times, then stood there waiting for me to count down.

"Ready.....set......GO!" I yelled, and took off like a cheetah. I soared down the field, feeling good. I hadn't sprinted in a long time, and it was a rush feeling the wind, well, rush by so fast. I was at the 50 in no time, and I just had to look back to see where he was. The little meaty fucker was still at the goal line. I slowed down and turned, jogging backwards, to see what he was doing. That's when he crouched down, and blasted off like a rocket, his thick-as-keg dwarf quads propelling him forward so hard and fast that huge divots of sod and dirt were flying up from under his bare feet. I was stunned for a moment, as stunned as I'd been as a kid when I'd had that Rottweiler come at me from down the street, running full speed at me, that kind of scary animal speed than no human can match, the kind of speed that causes a roar in your ears from the force of the wind being pushed ahead of it. The kind of speed I was looking at again right now.

Now at the 60, I turned and hit sprint speed as fast as I could. I willed my legs to move faster and faster, as I heard the galloping powerfreak behind me, catching up. I could feel the thudding vibration of his every step as he thundered up behind me, getting closer and closer. I knew the cardinal rule of sprinting is to never look back, that losing that tiniest fraction of a second by turning your head can lose a race, but I had to look again. He was only five yards behind me, and his powerfully muscled body was pumping him into hyper-drive. We were at the 75 when he caught up to me. Then the little fucker really kicked it on, and began actually running circles around me, spraying me with dirt and sod. I focused as hard as I could on the goal line, determined to beat him, but the little freak was just toying with me, and he crossed the goal line one yard ahead of me.

I stopped in the end-zone, leaning over and putting my hands on my legs, panting. I looked up and saw him strutting over to me. I thought he was cocky before. Now he had such a swagger going, it was nauseating. And the muscle on him! Standing out all over him, full of pump and victory, his huge quads so bloated out that they stuck out like a precipice over his kneecaps. He stopped in front of me, and put his hands on his hips.

"Looks like my girlfriend has some packages to deliver," he said, barely breathing hard. "You thought, in your wildest dreams, that you could beat these suckers?" he said, pointing to his legs, then bringing one foot up onto its ball and flexing his calf muscle, which balled up as big as a football.

"Damn," he said, "I am so charged up now, I gotta unload some of this energy." Then he tackled me to the ground, and started wrestling with me, toying with me, using his inhuman strength to maneuver me where ever he wanted on the field. I fought back, but it was useless against his superior thickness and power. Finally, he got me into a leg scissor, his stumpy muscle legs just getting around my midsection. He locked his ankles together and began to squeeze. "Feel the power in these suckers, weakling," he said. I slammed into his quads with my fists, but he just laughed. "Think I could crush my legs together so hard, that I could feel my knees tapping?" he said, squeezing down harder on my spine. Now he had me scared, banging on his legs and wriggling to free myself from his steel-trap vise. He bounced me up and down just using his leg strength and crushed into me a little harder. I was clawing at the ground, when he finally released me from his hold. As I gasped in air, he leaned into my ear and said, "I would never hurt you, little man, but I would......lock you into my sleeper hold!" He clamped his thick arm around my neck and grabbed his two hands together. His freak biceps felt like the hammer part of a sledgehammer, digging into my throat, cutting off the air. Already winded from the race and his scissors, I started seeing double quickly, as he jerked me softly back and forth, holding me in his powerful grip as I began to lose consciousness. It felt good somehow, having him taking me out, dominating me, holding me with his enormous strength. I felt his hot breath on my neck, and went to sleep seeing stars and feeling more secure than I ever had.

I woke up in my own bed. Naked. He was on top of me, naked too. Except for the elf hat.

"I thought you might like to see what it's like to get fucked by an elf," he said, straddling me, and flexing his arms in a mighty double bi, the most powerfully built elf ever to walk the earth. His hard-on was in full glory, curving up from his pelvis until the thick head pressed into the deep crevice of his pecs. It glistened with pre. "How'd you like to get your prostate banged all night long with this hammer, boy?" Then he kissed me deep and hard, his thick muscle tongue wrestling with mine.

I answered by arching up and guiding him down into me. He slid his power inside me, as I put my hands on his boulder glutes. He started out slow and gentle, but got rougher and rougher as the night went on. I took it as hard as he gave it, surrendering to the strength and size of him, and it seemed like I came every time he rammed my prostate with his hammer head. By the end of the night, I'd blown so many times that they were just empty blanks, but each time felt as intense as the last. The sheets were drenched in our sweat when we finally collapsed into each other's arms and drifted into elfin sleep.

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Part 3

"Kiss this arm, boy. You know how much work it takes to get this python so big and hard? Kiss it and make it grow even bigger, fucker. That's it boy, worship this strength and size. Harder than anything you ever put your lips on. Stronger than anything you could ever dream of."

That was Randy, my freaky dwarf UPS driver. He'd taken a leave of absence from UPS, which wasn't hard for him to get after the holidays, and had been staying at my place for the last three weeks. We were both so into his stumpy, thick, powerhouse muscle that it was a perfect match-up. He'd just come back from a three-hour workout, and was showing off his size. Sometimes, after a workout, he'd show off his strength, by taking a piece of my furniture and ripping it apart with his bare hands. Today, he was into his size. And maybe he was more pumped than usual, but I'd swear he'd gotten bigger during his time here. By the time he had stripped off his sweat-soaked gear, his muscles exploding out like swelling boulders, my knees had given out, bringing me pretty much eye-to-eye with him. He stared at me with his big dark dwarf eyes, so deeply aware of his superiority. He continued to stare as he squeezed his arm harder, crunching the biceps higher and higher, until a third peak rose up, a peak that had definitely not been there three weeks ago, and was now as big as a golf ball on top of his already huge arm. He brushed it across my lips.

"Randy, jesssus," I groaned, losing the ability to form a cohesive thought.

"That's right, bud, bigger than ever," he said, all full of himself and his growing muscles. He even seemed taller than before, but that had to be my imagination.

Suddenly, Randy laid down on the living room floor. "Get down here and arm-wrestle me," he said, plopping his elbow on the floor and raising his forearm. Dressed only in his sweaty briefs, I couldn't help but scan his backside. His quads and calves were so squatty and huge, it was like someone took a good-sized powerlifter and condensed his legs to dwarf size. Even his ankles looked thick and powerful. Each hamstring was as big as my forearm, and stood out like bridge cables. His glutes were mounded up so high, they made his briefs ride up like a thong, showing off his basketball-sized ass cheeks. By the time I got down on the floor with him, I had a raging hard-on.

We'd never done the arm-wrestling thing, but there was really no question about who would win. Even though my forearm was longer, and I had to angle it in to match up with his hand, his wrists were twice as thick as mine, and his stumpy hand so hardened and strong, it felt like he could punch it through a vault door. We gripped up and meshed our hands together.

"Go!" he said, without much warning, but it didn't matter. I pushed against his hand and he just held it there, letting me struggle. I might as well have been pushing against the side of a building. "Come on, boy, push!" he said. I pushed and pushed, I could feel my forehead veins swelling from the pushing. Then I decided to concentrate all my effort on bending his wrist back, instead of pushing his forearm down. I shifted my grip a little and bore down on the top part of his hand with all my weight. To my surprise, his thick hairy hand bent back some. I was so psyched up that I pushed even harder, leaning my weight against him even more, and his wrist bent back more. Then it stopped. Slowly, I felt him pushing up my entire weight and force with just the strength of his wrist. I felt his power, his steady, steady power, moving me back into place like I was a lightweight. We were nose to nose, and I could smell his strength. His thick neck, traps and shoulders were forged together like iron girders. He saw me looking, and he smirked. It pissed me off, the fucking cocky dwarf. I took my other hand and put it on top of the one fighting him. I pushed down so hard that I almost lifted my entire bodyweight off the floor. I was leaning into his hand with all my strength and weight, and he was holding me there. I began to bounce into him hard, working into the upper part of his meaty palm. I wanted to break his fucking wrist, I was so frustrated.

"You sure you want to play it this way?" he said to me calmly, his voice so deep and ominous, I got a chill down my spine, even as I tried to drive his elbow through the floor. He squeezed down on my hand hard enough that it made me stop bouncing into him. Then he squeezed harder. I was beginning to feel considerable pain. I tried to pull my hand away. He tightened his grip even more. It felt like my hand was in an iron vice. I took my free hand and pushed against his forearm, as I tried to pull my trapped hand out of his crushing grip. He brought his wrist up and slowly reversed the hold I'd had on him, bending my wrist back into an excruciating angle.

"Stop," I said, breaking into a pain-induced sweat.

"Stop what?" he said, "This?" and he wrenched my wrist into an even more unnatural angle. My body flopped around like a hooked fish. The only thing holding still on me was the hand he was crushing.

"Sonofabitch, stop, man!" I yelled. He released a little of the pressure.

"You ever gonna try that cheating crap on me again, shithead?" he said.

"No, man, goddamn it," I said, my eyes all watery from the pain. Then he slammed my hand down to the floor, pinning it hard against the hardwood. I was glad that it was over, but now my shoulder joint was at a painful angle, and he wasn't exactly letting go of my hand. He leaned into me close. I could smell his breath, all hot and masculine. He rolled the grip of his fingers up and down my sore hand.

"I could crush your hand like a quail egg, you know that, don't you?" he said to me.

"Yes," I said, nervously. Despite my inability to take him down, his forearm had gotten a wild pump from our wrestling match, with veins as thick as milkshake straws zigzagging all over it, feeding his power. As he rolled his fingers on my hand, his gnarly muscle rippled and bunched. He saw me looking at it.

"Feel it," he said. I put my free hand on his beefed up arm. I felt the muscles tense up and roll as he worked my trapped hand. "Feel the power, boy. It grows every day. Every workout, I feel it getting stronger and bigger. My bones fucking ache from all the growing and lifting, but I don't care. All I want is more size and strength. Bone-crushing strength, boy."

Our noses were almost touching. I could smell his oily sweat, his power, I could feel his heat as he stared at me. He leaned in and locked his lips onto mine. He kissed me hard and worked his muscled tongue into my mouth. I chewed on his tongue and tasted him. His thick, masculine dwarf taste. I felt the strength of him as he leaned into me, his intense, dominate strength. He grunted as he kissed me harder and deeper. I felt a shudder growing up from my toes. He rolled me over and topped me like a tank, still kissing me. I felt his hardness on my stomach, and I came right in my pants. Came like a teenager. I let it go and go and go, it felt so good, his weight pressing on top of me. When I stopped shuddering, he sat up.

"How'd that feel?" he asked me. His hard-on was jutting up out of his briefs, oozing pre.

"Too goddamn sweet," I said.

"Let's go shower off," he said, standing up. "I feel like going down to the field and throwing the ball around for a while."

The freaky little musclejock waddled his way toward the bathroom, jacking himself off as he went.

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Part 4

After our shower, during which I jacked Randy off...the little fucker was blowing a load every couple hours now, seemed like...we got dressed and headed out to the football field. Randy wanted to throw the ball around, and who was I to argue. I could always throw a pretty good spiral, but I couldn't figure out how Randy could even hold the ball with his thick stubby fingers. But when we got to the field, I found out. He gripped the ball just fine, and when he threw it at me, I wasn't sure if he was showing off, or just didn't know his own strength. I was determined to catch every throw of his, but the ball hit me with such force that I was sure to have deep tissue bruising in my chest from it. It was like catching a freaking missile. He was accurate as hell, too, aiming that damned pigskin square at me, even from 50 yards. I could hear the thing coming at me, and was knocked right on my ass more than once.

We'd been tossing the ball around for about 20 minutes, when an SUV pulled into the parking lot. Four big jocks got out. Their sweatshirts had the name of the university in town. All four where bulked up pretty good, I'd guess around 260 each. Buzz cuts and thick necks. Ball players, I figured. Two of them had brown paper bags with a bottle in them. All of them appeared to be fairly drunk. They stumbled over to the running track that surrounded the football field, hitting each other and laughing about something. One of them tripped and fell onto the cinder track. They all laughed hard at that one, even the dude that fell.

I couldn't help but sense trouble. And it didn't take long. One of them caught sight of Randy. I heard him say, "Holy shit, look at that," pointing Randy out to his buddies. "It's fucking Mini-me," he said. He roared with laughter, and once his buddies got a look, they started roaring too. Randy has his back to the jocks. He froze in his tracks and looked at me.

"Tell me I didn't just hear that," he said to me.

"You didn't just hear that," I said. "Let's go," and I headed toward the far end of the field.

I knew he wasn't going to follow me. I pretended like he might, but I knew he wouldn't. Finally, I stopped and looked back. Randy had turned to look at the jocks. He still had the football in his hand. I saw his fingers tighten, and his look darken. The jocks weren't paying all that much attention to him, outside of looking over at him, pointing, and laughing some more. Not, at least, until the football exploded in his hand. The bang was so loud that I jumped about a foot. The little freaky powerhouse had just popped a football with his bare hand. The noise made the jocks stop laughing, but I don't think they quite got what had happened. Randy walked over toward them.

The jock who had tripped was still sitting on the track. He got up onto his knees and shuffled over to Randy with a big smirk on his face. The two were nearly nose to nose, although the jock was still taller, even on his knees.

"Hey, dude," he said to Randy, "say this for me...'we represent the lollipop guild, the lollipop guild, the lollipop guild'...."

The jock's buddies could barely contain themselves with laughter. Randy stared at the dude with no expression on his face. Once their laughter died down some, he said, "Why don't you girls get your things together and go play some hopscotch somewhere, and no one will get hurt."

That shut them up fast. The smirk on the kneeling jock turned into a sneer.

"Why don't you take that parka off, and we'll see who the girl is?" he said to Randy.

Except that Randy wasn't in a parka, but a long-sleeved UnderArmour shirt that was skin-tight over his mass. He slowly began to ripple the muscle underneath the shirt. The drunken jock slowly began to realize that Randy was muscled up beyond anything he'd ever seen before. Randy's stumpy forearms were thicker than the jock's biceps. Randy slowly raised his big arms to the side, then bent his hands down, flexing the powerful muscles from his delts to his wrists. The thick muscle rippled like super strong snakes. The jock could even see the veins running up and down his arms through the tight black shirt. In a panic, the jock reared his fist back and hit Randy in the jaw. Because Randy's neck was so thick and powerful, his head barely budged, and because his dwarf jaw was much more heavily boned than a normal man's, the only thing that got hurt was the jock's hand. As he shook his hand out, Randy reached down and grabbed him by his crotch, then lifted him off the ground with one hand. Then he grabbed the jock's neck and held him straight out. With one powerful thrust, he lifted the jock up and over his head and tossed him backwards. The jock flew through the air like a rock out of a slingshot. I had to duck as he flew over me, and the wind shear nearly knocked me over. The jock came to a stop when he hit the goalpost about eight feet up, and slumped to the ground with a thump.

The other jocks stared in amazement, but then started to come at Randy. The freaky little muscle dwarf casually peeled off his shirt, revealing the insane massiveness that was his stunted torso. Seeing it through the shirt was impressive enough, but totally exposed like that it was mind-blowing. All three jocks stopped in their tracks. Randy's chest was not only huge, but extremely hypermasculine. The muscle had a hardness to it that few men had ever possessed. Even the swirly brown hair on it looked grizzly and tough. And as much as he always looked pumped, he looked even more so now, as the adrenaline pump engorged his mass more than ever. He smiled a thick-headed dwarf smile, and motioned with his fingers for the dudes to bring it on.

I started to walk up behind him, but one of the jocks saw me and came at me. I swung and hit him in the face, but with his size and drunkenness, I don't think he felt it any more than Randy had felt his sock in the jaw. The big jock just tackled me hard and took me down, pinning his thick knee into my chest. He looked at me, then over at Randy.

"You two guys gay?" he said.

"Why?" I asked. "You looking for a date?"

He reared back and punched me in the nose, busting it up bad. The dude punched with incredible strength. He was about to pound on me some more when he looked up and saw his two buddies struggling with Randy. They had him by his arms, and Randy looked almost amused. He went over and grabbed Randy's legs, lifting them up. The three of them carried him over to the goal post, where their buddy was catching his breath from being tossed into it. Randy didn't seem to be putting up a struggle. One of the jocks told his buddy to go back to the SUV and get the tire chains and his gym bag out of the back.

"Tire chains?" the guy asked. "Who the hell still uses them?"

"My fucking dad," said the first jock. "Just go get them out, and don't scratch up the car. He's only had it about a week."

I looked over at the car and saw the temporary sticker in the back window. It was a big black Lincoln Navigator. The big jock opened the back and pulled out four sets of tire chains, and a gym bag. He took them back to his pals, and they wrapped them around Randy tightly, chaining him to the goalpost. His skin reddened where the chains dug in. One of the jocks pulled some Masterlocks out of the gym bag, and they used them to lock the chains around Randy. The four jocks stood back and looked at Randy. They passed around one of the brown bags, and each took a swig from it, wiping their mouths with their sleeves. Randy stared straight ahead. The jocks seemed unsure about what to do now.

"Let's get the hell out of here," said one of them. They headed back to the Navigator, swaggering like the asshole jocks they were, except for the one who had gotten thrown, he was limping quite a bit. Before they were halfway to their car, they heard a pinging sound. We all turned and looked, as Randy was muscling his way out of the chains, snapping the links and causing them to fly off him like popcorn. One after another, they flew, no match for the dwarf powerhouse flexing beneath them. The chains broken, he shook them off, and they fell to the ground. Randy brushed himself off casually, then looked over at the jocks.

"Jesus," said one of them.

"Get in the car," said another.

The dudes bolted to the car, and I expected Randy to take off after them. Instead, he put his hands around the goal post, and started squeezing. I could see the metal crushing in under his fingers like moist clay. The thick muscle on his back rolled up and down as he focused his grip. The two top poles of the goal post started to wobble. It wasn't long before the goal post toppled, slamming into the field with a loud thump.

The four jocks were stumbling over each other to climb into the Navigator, but all of them were looking back as Randy grabbed the base of the goal post and lifted the entire thing off the ground. Then he started charging the car like a pole vaulter. The dudes jumped in and got the doors shut, but before the driver could get it started, Randy slammed the bridge of the goal post into the side of the big SUV so hard that it slid two feet sideways in the parking lot. One pole of the goal post was in front of the car, the other at the back, like two huge toll gates. The driver started up the car with a roar, and slammed it into gear, but Randy twisted the goal post hard to the left, and slammed the front pole into the grill of the SUV, smashing it in. Then he twisted to the right and smashed into the back bumper, busting it into pieces. He slammed the front of the truck again so hard that the airbags went off. The jocks were knocked back in their seats, and the interior filled with white powdery airbag gas. Randy dropped the goal post, then walked over to the left pole. He picked it up and snapped it off like a thick toothpick. He swung it like a bat, smashing out the back windshield. Then he smashed out the tail lights. When the two jocks on the passenger side opened their doors to get out, Randy dropped the pole and put one hand under the running board. He flipped the SUV on its side, knocking the two dudes back inside and onto their buddies. Randy picked up the pole again, and rammed it into the underside of the SUV. He kept pushing it in, until it pierced through the roof of the car, spearing it like a cocktail olive. He brushed his hands off on his pants and walked over to me. I was still sitting on the field, nursing my busted nose.

"Let's go," he said. Every muscle on him was pumped up like a balloon. I looked at him, then over at the broken goal post, and the busted-up SUV, then back at him. I was hard as a rock, and got even harder as I watched his steel-plated 8-pack heaving in and out. He popped his rock-hard pec slabs at me and I almost came right there. "Let's go back to your place," he said. "I'm so jacked up, I gotta fuck something, and it may as well be you." He started walking toward my house. I stood up, but was moving a little slow. He turned back and said, "Step it up, buddy boy, or I will rape your ass right here on the field." He stroked himself through his pants and started coming back at me.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," I said.

"By the way," he said, as I came alongside him, "nice job you did back there handling that guy for me."

"Very funny," I said, wiping away some of the crusty blood from around my nose.

He just laughed his cocky little laugh, and led me home.

More to cum…

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Part 5

Six months have gone by since Randy moved in with me. We started working out together, or sort of, since I basically got my workout from loading and unloading all the plates for Randy's lifts. The short freaky monster moves some sick poundage. In fact, he caused such a distraction at the gym, the owner asked us if we would work out at night after closing. I convinced Randy that it was so he could use all the weights he wanted without interference, but really I think it was because everyone stopped and stared the whole time we lifted. I have to admit, he was quite a sight...at just under 3 feet tall, he weighed 266 lbs. of compact, tanked up muscle. His back was as broad as he was tall. He could curl with one hand what most the guys there could bench, and I think it was the time he jumped up on the bench to do it with some cocky big guy's 315-lb. bar that got the owner to ask us to train late.

Once we started training at night alone, Randy decided I should start gaining more size too. At 5'11, 190lbs, I wasn't small, but was very happy to go for it. That was also when he shared with me that his doctor had him on a special hormone regimen, although I had sort of guessed that. Even though he was already 28 when the doctor started him on them, the hope was that a combo of GH and other growth accelerators would cause him to grow in height. So far though, all it had done was make him grow in width, thickness, and strength. Sometimes I couldn't believe he could still walk, his legs had gotten so massive. One night I mentioned to him that he might be getting too musclebound. He got mad at me, went and got my bowling ball, wrapping his quads around it and pinned it in there. "This look musclebound to you?" he asked me, and then he cracked the bowling ball in half. Then kept squeezing till it cracked into fourths. And kept rolling his huge quads around it till pieces crumbled out all around him. I never brought it up again. Testy little muscle dwarf.

It was about that time that he talked me into sharing his GH with him. "You won't believe the pumps," he said, flexing his biceps. His stumpy arms swelled up into intense peaks, like two baseballs each with a golf ball stuck on top. I was sold. Within six weeks, I weighed 230, and, with Randy's training, was moving in on busting the 400 lb. mark on the bench. And the pumps, my god, the pumps. I was jacked up huge and feeling so goddam good.

Randy, on the other hand, was getting frustrated. He wanted to gain some height so bad he could taste it. It got especially bad after the night we stopped at a bar on our way home from the gym. A group of powerlifters, all of them half in the bag, started mocking Randy, calling him names and shit. That is until he snapped the leg off the pool table, and started going at their knees with it. Once they were down to his level, he went at them. Believe me, you don't ever want a jacked-up musclebound angry dwarf coming at you like a pissed off pitbull. He will pound the crap out of you with all that pent-up frustration. He will come at you with a rage like you've never seen before, and when that rage is backed up by some superhuman strength and weight, watch out. Some of those dudes are still in the hospital, and that was after Randy let me pull him off them and head out of the place.

The next day, Randy decided to attack his height issue head on. He bought a heavy-duty chin-up bar for the house, and set it up in the basement. He borrowed one of those weight belts with the chain on it, and some Olympic plates from the gym. Every day, he would put on the weighted belt and hang from the bar, hoping to stretch out his spine. Sometimes he would hang for an hour, after which he would be soaked in sweat and aching to the bone. He was used to the aches and pains though, it sort of goes with the territory of being a dwarf, especially one that lifts heavy amounts of weights. His doctor didn't seem to think that the bar hanging idea would aid Randy's growth any, but Randy kept at it, never missing an opportunity to hang for a while. Then, after three weeks of it, he suddenly gained an inch in height.

At first I thought I had just measured him wrong, tending to believe the doctor's assessment of the whole plan. But Randy knew he had grown, and now that the tape measurer backed it up, he was stoked.

He decided that the weighted belt wasn't enough, and that what he needed now was some active tension to get him growing even more. That's when he enlisted my help. He called me down in the basement that night.

"Wrap your arms around my waist," he said, as I came down the steps. He was already hanging from the bar. He'd stripped down to a pair of posers he liked to wear while lifting. He'd been hanging for a while already, and was glistening with sweat. His gut was bloated out but still ridged with muscle. I wrapped my arms around his thick torso. "Lock your hands with your wrists," he told me, so I did. "Now," he said, "hold onto me and lift your feet off the ground."

"Are you crazy, man, no, I'm not doing that, you could get hurt."

He let go of the bar and took me down to the hard cement of the basement floor.

"You think you could hurt this?" he said, flexing his entire body against me as he held me down like a bad puppy. Even at 230, jacked up on GH, I couldn't budge him with all my strength. "Now," he said with restrained softness, "you're either gonna help me stretch out, or you're gonna spend the next two hours down here wrestling me. You have any idea how many times I could pin you in two hours?"

"As many times as you wanted?" I said.

"Ah, yes," he said, grabbing my crotch and squeezing my already hardening dick. "So maybe we'll get to that after you help me out here, huh, bud?"

"Ok, ok, ya freak. Get off me then."

Randy stood up, chuckling, then leapt up like a panther, grabbing onto the bar with his thick powerful fingers with a thump. I wrapped my arms tightly around his GH gut, then lifted my feet. It didn't take long before I heard his spine popping, as my added weight stretched out his cord. He grunted at first, but soon got used to it, and then actually started doing chin-ups. I could feel his strong muscle rippling and tightening against my face. I breathed in his musclescent, as thick and strong as he was. He pumped out twenty chin-ups, then stopped. He hung that way for a minute, but then let go with one arm. He held us in the air like a freaking orangutan, swinging us back and forth. I heard his arm and shoulder joints making sickening popping sounds. He switched to the other arm and did the same thing.

"Now, drop down to my leg."

I slid down to his big calf and held on. His leg joints made the same sick sounds as his arms. I heard him gritting his teeth hard.

"Now bounce up and down some," he said through clenched teeth. So I bounced. Up and down, jerking the heavy powerful leg hard as I could. Then I switched to the other leg and did the same, his body making odd cracking sounds the whole time. We repeated the whole process until I dropped off of him in exhaustion. The floor under us was puddled in sweat. Randy dropped off the bar, but this time his knees buckled underneath him. He laid out flat, his thick muscle twitching up and down his body. He was in tremendous pain, but said nothing. I got on top of him and massaged him, digging hard into his gnarly, knotted up sinew.

When we went to bed that night, he slept in the guest room. Ever since he'd started this stretching out process, he would get spasms in the night, and start flailing around. The last thing I wanted to do was get nailed by one of his wild pitching fists. That night, though was the first time I'd heard him through the walls, groaning in stifled moans. I planned on telling him in the morning that I wouldn't do that with him again. Except that in the morning, he had grown. Four inches. We both stood looking at the tape in amazement.

"YEAH," he bellowed, as he grabbed me and pressed me over his head like a barbell. "Daddy's gonna get HUGE!"

We continued with the stretching.

By the end of the first two weeks, Randy had grown by a foot. The doctor took X-rays, and decided, because his body was becoming not only taller but more proportional, that the hormone treatments must have stimulated his bones to start growing again. "Yeah, right," said Randy cynically, "the hormone treatments." Then he grabbed me and deep kissed me right there in the dude's office.

We upped his stretching sessions to two a day. His nighttime spasms has caused him to pretty much tear the guest bedroom apart, including fist-sized holes in the walls, but during the day they weren't so bad, so I couldn't complain. Besides, he was so psyched up, we were fucking each other’s brains out three to four times a day, two jacked up muscleheads going at it so hard we tore up the main bedroom too.

By the end of the month, Randy stood at 5'2". And weighed 280. I was up to 245. We had to buy a heavy duty chin-up bar, since the old one was sagging and had finger indents from his crushing grip. He entered a powerlifting contest, which he won, and met two lifters who were both 5'3". And no one snickered behind his back.

Finally the day came that I never thought would, but Randy must have. He woke up one morning and thumped down the hallway, naked, from the guest room. I measured him out. At 5'11". We looked at each other... eye to eye. He stepped into me until we were nose to nose. Our breathing deepened. He grabbed me by the arms and lifted me off the ground.

"Look what you've done to me," he said, grinning like a little kid. His face still had the dwarf features of the heavy brow and deep-set eyes, balanced perfectly by his bull neck and traps. His fingers were still stumpy, but so thick and strong they dug into my arms like vises.

"Finally, we can stop with the sessions," I said.

"Stop?" he said, frowning. "Not until I'm at least Six Five, little man." He flipped me over his shoulder and carried me into the bedroom.

The End

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I actually didn’t really like the height growth. Too many macro stories and seeing one with a character who is so much smaller but also getting huger and wider to me is hotter than some of the more popular stories on here.

it started out great but just ended up like a lot of other stories on here 

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