Employee of the Month, Pride Parade part 3: 4/NOV

[Broody]

Employee of the Month, Pride Parade, part 3: Keep on Trucking

[Me: you can't add a new character to your 30 character story in the fucking epilogue!]

[Also me: Says who?]

I finally made it back to the muster site for the parade floats. It was on a closed-off road that ran through a treed ravine, below stately homes perched on the ridge. Here, there was room to maneuver the large floats and the semi trucks that would pull them, and when the parade started the floats would merge with the walking groups lining up in a separate spot.

The scene was chaotic. About ten of the former SmashBets staff who still had jobs after their company’s acquisition by TopSports were busily finishing up the float decorations: hanging rainbow garlands, engineering glitter cannons, and installing a gold colored trapeze-like swing that could only be for Brian, the CEO’s bossy assistant who would be the float’s emcee as drag queen Sissi Fonda-Jox. More incongruously, they were also bolting heavy-duty gym equipment to the stage. The new staff were no doubt behind on their work because they kept shooting bewildered stares at their new colleagues as they filtered back to the float from the gay village. To a man, the former SmashBets staff were thin, ordinary-looking engineering geeks. They were completely out-classed in looks and muscle by the stunning super-jocks of TopSports.

“I don’t get it,” said one of them, who was 5’7” and maybe 125 lbs soaking wet “Did we get acquired by a tech company or by some kind of elite special forces unit?”

“Bro, you play too much Call of Duty.” said another, who raised a power-drill in his right hand and wiped sweat off his brow, flexing a 12” bicep. “But maybe there’s some kind of fitness benefits? Look at all this massive gym equipment they’re making us install. I mean who benches with 100 lb plates?”

“I mean,” gulped the first dude and he self-consciously felt his 11” biceps and compared them to Ryan, one of the Laboratory Boys who stood nearby in a rainbow camouflage tank top. “Probably that dude?” Just one head of Ryan’s triceps looked to be thicker than his whole arm.

A third geek piped up, excited: “Do you think we’ll get big like these dudes just from working here? That’d be cool!”

“It’d be a hell of a wellness program,” said the second guy. “Bros, does my arm look bigger to you? I think I’m getting a pump just from breathing in all this testosterone.”

“That’s good bro, because it’s gonna take all three of us to move all these bars and plates!”

As it turns out, the issue of heavy weight was also the latest logistical challenge for poor Sissi. I finally found her, heavily made-up in Drag Race style, dressed in a glittery silver ball gown with six-inch heels that made her nearly as tall as the muscular trucker she was screaming at. He wore a plaid shirt with the sleeves torn off and held a clipboard in his gnarly-knuckled hands.

“Yell all you want, sister, I ain’t hooking up my truck.” He shook his head as they stood and argued next to his tractor trailer cab. “Y’all are way over the weight limit. You told me forty men, but you didn’t say they were an average weight of 250 lbs. That’s two tons more weight than I expected! Plus all this exercise equipment? I thought you were talking about a few dumbbells, not a whole Gold’s Gym!”

“But you can’t do this to us! The parade is just about to start!” Sissi screeched.

Before I had a chance to interject, Karl’s colossal body appeared next to the truck. The 6’7” equestrian expert calmly imposed his grizzly-sized physique between Sissi and the trucker. He wore his usual office polo, but pink, a quadruple XL that stretched thin over his epic 375 lbs of powerlifting muscle. “I’ll take care of this, ‘Sissi’, you’ve got more important things to do.”

“Finally, some competent help around here!” she shot a look at me before turning on her stiletto heel and sashaying back to the float to harangue the SmashBets geeks.

“Oh, Mr. Big and Tall now, huh?” The jacked driver turned his trucker cap backwards, a hard, working-man’s biceps popping sharply out of his tanned arm. He stepped right to Karl’s pneumatic chest and looked up with a scowl, dropping the clipboard to pound a fist into his opposite hand. “I’ve had bigger faggots than you sucking on my cock at the truck stop shitter. You don’t scare me.”

Karl ignored the comment and raised his huge right paw and laid it flat against the cab. “I’m not here to scare you, my foul-mouthed friend. But I do question your math.” He pushed and the creak and groan of the machine’s massive shock absorbers filled the air. His right lat flexed to the size of a wine barrel as the huge wheels on the driver’s side of the truck lifted off the ground.

The trucker quickly shot a look at this feat of strength out of the side of his eyes, then darted them back to Karl’s face to continue the stare-down, nonplussed.

I was the opposite of nonplussed. Plussed? My dick better resembled an exclamation point. “What the fuck, Karl?” I panted.

“What the fuck, indeed,” said Karl evenly. “You claim that this fine vehicle of yours is incapable of pulling the weight required.” He pushed harder, raising the vehicle a little higher. “But I estimate that your semi-tractor weighs in the range of 20,000 lbs. About 500 horsepower, am I right?”

The trucker nodded, then flexed both of his enormous blue-collar guns into veiny peaks that rose halfway up his jacked hairy forearms. “Not much compared to this manpower, pal.”

Karl continued to tip the big cab on two wheels with his right hand, a single bead of sweat appearing on his smooth forehead while he counted out fingers on his left hand.. 

“So let’s see, the unladen trailer is probably 10,000 pounds. 40 men at 250 lbs is another 10,000 lbs, lights, scaffolding, sound system, decorations, no more than 1000 lbs, surely. The gym equipment, let’s say another 5000 lbs, just to be safe. So you’re telling me your 20,000 lb truck with the 500 horsepower engine can’t pull a measly 26,000 lbs in weight?”

“You forgot to add a 1000 pounds for your fat ass, Poindexter,” the trucker growled. “Of course my truck can do the job. I just didn’t didn’t know this gig was for the faggot parade. Thought I’d get more cash outta ‘em.”  He nodded at my drooling gob-smacked face as he ripped open the front of his shirt to show off the rocky ridges of his jutting prison-tatted pecs. “Homos get charged a premium to stare at these muscles.”

Karl expelled a grunt of effort and pushed harder, the truck tipping up to a full 45 degree angle, drawing the attention of everyone nearby with the groans of stressed metal axles and the squeaking of deforming rubber tires. “Maybe you oughta rethink your situation, here, chum.” 

The trucker smacked his forehead with a laugh, then pointed his index fingers at Karl. Like finger guns, if gun barrels had knuckles the size of oysters. “Ya think ya got me in some kinda Mexican standoff, tubby?” His grin got wider as he turned one of the guns toward the truck and slowly moved his finger toward the vehicle.

Karl raised an eyebrow and blinked as sweat now dripped down his face. “Guess you don’t much like your rig. I’m not bluffing,” His voice wavered. Clearly Karl hadn’t expected his power move to have to last this long.

“Who said anything about it being my rig?” The trucker smirked as his single finger pushed hard into the metal runner on the bottom edge of the massive semi, where a line of typeface read: Property of TopSports.

“Fuck!” Karl shouted sharply as the shove from the trucker’s finger pushed the teetering vehicle over the balance point. He reached up and grabbed the runner in both his huge mitts and pulled hard. His polo shirt disintegrated over his exploding lats, and seams split on his black jeans as he stomped one huge leg forward to cantilever the pitching mass with his 33 inch quads.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Karl roared and his swollen muscles swelled even larger, matching the size and hardness of the iron machinery above him. He managed to stop the angular motion, but that was all, and the rivers of perspiration flooding the valleys of his geographic back did not bode well.

The trucker leaned over and scratched his chin casually. “Whatsa matter, bro? Twenty thousand pounds too much for you?”

“C’mon... Stewie... joke’s... over...” Karl moaned.

“Wait, you know this asshole?” I yipped.

“Jeffy… meet… Stewart… Broadchest… 2023… All-American… Powerlifting… Champion…”

“Is that right bro?” Stewie chirped. “I wonder who came in second?”

“C’mon… man… You… know… it… was… me… A… little… help… here…”

“You mean second in the overall, right? Big strapping fella like you. You musta beat me in one of the lifts?”

“Argggggh… No!”

“Is that right? Must have been close then?”

“You… crushed… me… you… fucking… freak!” 

“See, there ya go, the magic words, was that so hard?”

I shuddered as I saw Karl’s grip failing. “HELP!” I shouted. Karl stumbled back and fell to his back as the semi tractor pitched all the way over. I covered my ears against the expected crash but it never came.

Karl heaved in breaths as he pushed himself up on his elbows. We both stared at the undercarriage of the massive vehicle as it tipped back our way a bit, then lowered nearly to the ground, then tipped back our way again.

“Where’s Stewie?” I asked. “Wait… Is he…?”

“Fucking show-off.”

I walked around the other side of the truck to find Stewie repping arm curls with the cab. His gargantuan biceps balled up like they were the best argument for Pluto not being a planet.

“Mind blown emoji?” Stewie smirked. “Take a picture, it'll last longer. Or better yet post a video. I keep telling those dweebs on the powerlifting board they oughta add curls to the official lifts.”

After ten reps Stewie eased the truck back upright like he was steadying a drunken friend after midnight on New Year’s. “There we go girl. Easy does it. Now to get you outta here.”

“What?” I goggled. “After all that you’re still gonna leave us high and dry?”

“Bro, after all that, you ain’t fucking dry. None of these faggots are.”

I fought back my cumshot with sheer will, but the stunned gays staring from the other floats were all gonna need a change of short-shorts. Damn, this asshole was hot like a rough trade volcano.

“But to answer your question, I’m gonna go park this fucker and then come back and pull this faggot float myself.” He ripped off his tattered plaid shirt and rolled his striated pecs from the bottom up. My splooge rolled right up along with ‘em.

“Gah!” I whimpered as I blew a hole right through the crotch of my synthetic stretch pants. “You… can’t… say… that… word…”

Stewie relaxed his flex and tore off his denim cut-offs to reveal a rainbow colored jockstrap stretched tight as a drum around a grapefruit sized bulge.

“‘Course I can, tiny, I’m the biggest faggot here!” he grinned.

 

To be continued…

 

[ploder4]

I have a feeling another round of Smash Bets guys gets laid off because they can't handle the work.  Although I'd love to see them grow.  Or benefit like our mc.

[Suyam]

I wonder who Jeffrey will end up with in the end.

[Broody]

6 hours ago, Suyam said:

I wonder who Jeffrey will end up with in the end.

Not telling! But feel free to speculate!

[FallenAway]

On 11/4/2023 at 9:31 PM, Broody said:

[Me: you can't add a new character to your 30-character story in the fucking epilogue!]

This problem could easily be solved by going back and deleting the word "epilogue" from the last three chapters. We will all pretend we never saw it. Then you can add as many characters and tangential plots as you want. Keep this joyride going indefinitely! 

I love your humorous style! How else could we be treated to the mental image of Rich holding Alexandre over his head and wringing cum out of him like he's a sopping wet bar towel?  (Are all Canadians that flexible?) You don't even have to explain how Rich got so much stronger in such a short period of time. Who cares? What matters is that they are all benefitting from the competitive atmosphere at TopSports in big, huge, powerful, sexy ways.

I don't see how this epic can end without a proper opportunity for the fellas from SmashBets to bond with the big, cuddly gentlemen of TopSports. I think an August pool party at the Sartorious mansion is exactly what they all need. The minimal clothing would allow them to really see how they measure up to their new colleagues in a relaxed atmosphere. Add a high-protein buffet and a limitless open bar and it might be the hottest day of the year in more ways than one.

It's just a thought . . . 

[ploder4]

Would love to see that.  Smashbets average of 11 inch arm vs the TopSports average of 36?  40?   (Over 3x the size)

Or average height of 7+ ft tall vs. An average height of 5ft 5?

I could slso see one or two small guys  going home with one of the big guys.

Maybe a bicep ride etc.

[Broody]

22 hours ago, FallenAway said:

This problem could easily be solved by going back and deleting the word "epilogue" from the last three chapters. We will all pretend we never saw it. Then you can add as many characters and tangential plots as you want. Keep this joyride going indefinitely! 

You know what? Done.

[FallenAway]

3 hours ago, Broody said:

You know what? Done.

[Suyam]

On 06/11/2023 at 00:18, Broody said:

Não vou contar! Mas fique à vontade para especular!

Rich?? I would laugh a lot

[ploder4]

I'd like to see this story continue on and on indefinitely.  Have more events for the guys.  Maybe have some of the SmashBets guys get involved with the TopSports guys maybe get bigger (maybe not as big as the TopSports guys unless  they see one with a lot of hidden potential - I would love to see one of the TopSports guys try to dress as a nerd in a good natured way).  Maybe one of the TopSports guys is into size difference and/or small nerdy looking guys.

This story has a lot of potential to go anywhere at this point.