POP, part 5 added 3/MAR

[mario2007]

Carnitas is an embarrassment.  Excellent written story, but I'm not into humiliation.

[Broody]

On 2/20/2024 at 4:01 PM, ploder4 said:

Carnitas got broken and wants in.  Something tells me they'll let him in, but only as a punching bag and fuck toy cop trophy.  Clearly displayed to all the other cops who dare defy them.

 

5 hours ago, HawkShark said:

Oh I hope it's the opposite! I want Carnitas to get in, be seduced by steamroller, become actually brainwashed by it, a true devotee of it. Shaw has to pull him out of the cult etc.

I love that you guys are into these characters so much. I am too.  I love these suggestions though I can make no promises.

22 hours ago, Ro20316 said:

Sp many twist and turns in this chapter but i have a feeling Brickmight be our killer. I dunno but something tell em he knows something

That would be a twist! But then, Brick thinks twist-offs are for pussies.

6 hours ago, bbmikenj said:

Beautifully crafted brutality. I will miss Vinny Crisco’s sadistic sneering malevolence though!

This sounds like a job for a flashback! Maybe to that time Vinny had an armwrestling douchebag-off with an asshole named Hank?

[Broody]

8 hours ago, DawnFire98 said:

This chapter was a gripping roller coaster.

First: the description of the chase scene really got my blood pumping lol. So much action, so much excitement! Loved it. To see Carnitas' strength, as he crashed the car with a tackle- oh my! (But let's not forget Brick's acrobatics.) 

The diner scene? If Quentin was gay he might have creamed his pants at that hehe. Am I starting to fall for Lieutenant Flint? Who knows (fawns himself). 

I also like the evolving dynamic between Brick and Carnitas. This chapter might have strengthened their bond as partners (even though some small part of me hopes, these two will make some hot, sweaty love at the end lol.) 

The fact that the voice of our BUFF ALPHA "POP-U-BITCH" PERP is in Carnitas' brain is a cool, but unsettling detail. Raises the question: if THE STUD and Carnitas finally meet, will the Detective be able to put the guy down or submit to his lust? 

All in all: I really liked this chapter! @Broody

So kind of you to comment in detail, @DawnFire98, it’s been great to chat with you about the heart and cardio stuff which certainly adds a certain je ne sais quoi to the chase scenes.

I love QT and I wish he would do a film with all gay characters. It might be a shitshow but it might rock. The diner scene really came out of wanting to start with an action scene, rather than go directly into another exposition-heavy briefing scene in the police station like in Chapter 2.

If it’s not obvious, I am making this up as I go along (in writing lingo, I’m a pantser, not a plotter) and I had originally conceived that Steve and Jonah would take longer to warm up to each other. But once I decided to put Steve through the wringer, I thought he’d need a friend at his side. So who knows?

Going crazy is a classic horror trope, because it’s something so many people fear. So the “voice in his head” thing goes along with that. I’ve tried experimenting with different genres and dialogue styles in my fiction so far on MG.N and I love that the flexibility of fetish fiction let’s me get that kind of practice.

[Broody]

22 hours ago, mario2007 said:

Carnitas is an embarrassment.  Excellent written story, but I'm not into humiliation.

The capacity for mixed feelings is a quality of a mature mind, @mario2007so I thank you. 
I do feel sorry for my Employee of the Month fans who have wandered in here and are like: What the fuck is this shit?

[xmrr20a]

Love this!!!!!

[Broody]

Since some of you have expressed your appreciation of Vinny Crisco, I came up with a few AI prompts for their confrontation. Hope you like while I finish up the next chapter.

[xmrr20a]

Awesome story - awesome pics. Can't wait for the next chapter. Thank you again for this labour of love. 

[DawnFire98]

8 hours ago, Broody said:

 

This comes the closest to the way I see them in my head, especially Det. Carnitas. Nice work, @Broody

[Broody]

POP, Part 5

“In the red corner,” bellowed the MMA announcer, “standing at 6’6” and breaking the scale at 450 lbs of massive cop-muscle. It’s Steve ‘The Mount Rushmore of Meat’ Carnitas!”

Steve shadowboxed in his corner, pumping his massive fists like pistons, and stomping his feet like a bull. The ring shook under the weight of his huge muscles.

“Fuck yeah, bring it on!” He screamed across the ring at his opponent.

“And in the blue corner, standing at 5’8” and weighing in at 150 lbs of Italian steel, it’s Vinny ‘The Shiv’ Crisco.”

The lean, mean mob enforcer sneered across the ring at the cop and flexed his ultra-hard biceps, the muscles mounding upwards into cascading piles of ropey knots.

“That’s right, bitch, get a load of me.” Vinny twisted his wrists and a second peak bulged up from the muscle. Then he flexed harder and a freaky third peak popped out the top like a cockhead out of a foreskin. “Come suck on this, faggot, since you like muscles so much.”

Steve grit his teeth as he watched Vinny lower those brutally strong arms and throw an uncanny blur of punches in the air. He steeled his nerves; he wouldn’t get beaten by this evil gnome again.

The combatants met in the center of the ring and the ref was about to give the starting signal when he stopped and shook his head.

“This fight cannot continue, both fighters must be in the same weight class.”

“Nothing’s going to stop me from smashing this punk,” Steve growled. “It’s payback time.”

“Don’t strain your pea-sized brain,” said Crisco. “I’m mob, we know how to fix the odds.” The slick mafioso slid under Carnitas’ legs and tore his boxing shorts right off his waist as he ducked through the slim space between the detective’s massive quads.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“I’m doing what a man does, faggot. I’m taking what I want with my own hands.” Bracing his left hand on Carnitas’s back, Vinny swung a pulverizing uppercut punch straight between Steve’s glutes, burying his forearm up to the elbow.

“Ahhhgh!” Steve screamed, “My ass! My ass! He’s busted my hole!!”

“I’ll allow it,” said the ref.

“No one to save you now, bitch,” Vinny sneered.

Steve whimpered as he felt the muscles of his prized physique wobble. A sound like air leaking out of a balloon filled his ears and he panicked as his muscles begin to shrink. “No…”

“Aw yeah,” Vinny growled as he absorbed the muscle-cop’s mass like his arm was a hose draining a vat. His lean hairy pecs swelled into slabs, then rounded boulders. His strong legs thickened from a sprinter’s lean muscle to the size of a horse’s haunches. He admired his free arm as meat spooled around it, forming huge triceps and biceps and delts

Steve sobbed, horrified as his ass tore under pressure from Vinny’s forearm, bloated up with stolen muscle. Each of the cop’s muscles was softening, shrinking and weakening as the tough mafioso claimed his gym-honed strength for himself.

Finally the ref said: “That’s enough, back to your corners. 

“Heh heh,” Vinny chuckled as he lifted Steve into the air, pitching him into his corner with a wave of his arm. The detective tumbled into a pathetic heap, and painfully got to his feet as blood dripped from his ravaged anus.

Steve turned around slowly, his ass on fire, his heart racing as he took in the knee-weakening sight of his transformed nemesis.

“Each fighter is now 300 lbs,” called the ref. “Fight’s on!”

But to call the match even was a joke. Carnitas stood, 300 lbs of flabby flesh in loose-hanging skin, literally pissing himself as Vinny Crisco streaked across the ring, wearing the 300 lbs of stolen muscles on his 5’8” frame like a Ferrari crossed with a Sherman tank.

“Take your best shot, pig.”

Crisco raised his hands and placed them behind his head in the classic pose of surrender, but it was Carnitas who wanted to give up. Veins and striations streaked across his arms and pecs as their mass challenged the laws of physics. His long glossy black hair fell onto traps thicker than a Brahma bull. His abs could pave a whole Italian village in cobblestones. In desperation, he hooked punches left and right into that body and screamed as his fists shattered into bloody stumps. The evil hit man just chuckled.

“My turn. Lights out, motherfucker.”

Vinny’s nuclear punch broke the speed of sound as it rocketed the broken cop out of the ring in a linear trajectory to the back wall of the arena, high above the cheap seats. Blinded by the collapse of his face into his skull, Steve’s only sensation was his loose skin flapping like a sail in a windstorm in the two seconds before his body splattered against the concrete wall.

...

“Huhhhhhnnnnnn!” Steve gasped as he woke suddenly from the nightmare, heart racing. He flopped out of his bed in a panic, his sweaty body tangled in his bedsheets. He tried to calm his breathing. “You’re okay, he can’t hurt you, he’s dead. It was just a nightmare."  With a groan, he got to his feet. As the bedclothes slipped from his body, he caught a glimpse of himself in his bedroom mirror.

Yeah, a nightmare I’m still living.

***

“Let me guess, low blood sugar?”

It’d been seven days since Detective Steve Carnitas had left his apartment. He knew that Flint would soon replace him on the case if he didn’t get back to work, but that seemed impossible. There was only one week left of the Camp Steamroller retreat, and Shaw was losing his mind with Steve ignoring his texts. Carnitas had made a desperate call.

“Thanks for coming, doc,” he croaked.

Dr Harry Stain walked in with his crime scene bag. He cast his eyes over Steve’s body, from toe to top.

“I had my line all ready: ‘You do know my patients are usually dead, Steve.’ But seeing as how you look half-way there I guess I’ll do what I can.”

“So if I’m your patient now, you gotta keep what I tell you confidential, right?”

Stain snorted. “I’m going to regret taking this phone call, aren’t I?”

***

“So let me get this straight. You were coming home late after the motel takedown when someone slugged you in the back of the head with a fire extinguisher, and then anally raped you with said fire extinguisher. Now you can’t hold your shit together, literally. You’ve stopped eating solid food, since you can’t shit, and have lost a staggering 150 lbs in one week, a third of your body weight. That about it?”

Steve nodded, holding his breath.

“This have anything to do with the pop case?”

“No!” Steve interjected, much too quickly.

Stain’s eyes narrowed and he folded his arms as he stood in the bathroom door. Carnitas was sitting on the can. Even the chicken broth he was surviving on produced something, and it was either this or have another accident right in front of the pathologist.

“You’ve got facial injuries, you must have seen your assailant.”

“I didn’t, those are from the motel job.”

“Steve, I read the electronic report you filed. You got hit in the nose and the right eye. Where did the broken teeth, torn lip and foot-shaped bruise on your forehead come from?”

Steve had worried about this; Stain was too shrewd. “Look Dr Snoop, I don’t need a detective. My ass is wrecked. I need a physician.”

“I just told you that I’m obliged to keep this confidential. Why are you lying to me?”

Because, thought Steve, I know that confidentiality doesn’t extend to murder. And there was no way he was going to get Jonah Brick thrown in jail over a shitstain like Vinny Crisco. He recalled Brick’s words: Remember one thing. This was not your fault.

“Bullshit,” Steve said out loud, his eyes welling up.

“No. No, no.” Stain held his hands and backed away. “I don’t do tears.”

Carnitas wiped his eyes with his shirtsleeve. “You call that a fucking bedside manner?”

“My bedside is a mortuary table.”

“Ugh. You are such a bastard.”

“Look, Steve. If you’re incontinent, that means the inner sphincter is compromised. You need a rectal surgeon. That means a hospital.”

“No. No hospitals.”

Stain put on his coat. “Well good luck with that, then. Next time you think to call me to waste my time, don’t.” And he was out the door.

“Asshole!” Steve yelled, punching the tiled wall. He shook out his hand. A week ago, he would have punched a hole into the other room. “Weakling. Stupid, ugly, shrunken weakling.”

His phone pinged. He looked at the screen. What the hell? He opened the Facebook app.

New message request from Garrett Shaw: You’re making me resort to Facebook? Just for that I’m going to suplex your hypothyroid ass until your body crumbles in my hands like grandma’s biscuits. Call me.

Steve’s stomach was stabbed with a hunger pang. Did he have to refer to food, goddamnit. Steve was about to put the phone down when he saw an ad pop up on his feed:

ASSHOLE WRECKED? YOU NEED A RECTAL SURGEON. NO HOSPITALS, NO QUESTIONS ASKED. DR. DARIUS ASFARGHI. NATUROPATHIC SURGEON. 1-800-DRR-ASSS.

Steven blinked in disbelief. “The goddamned Zuckerburg surveillance state comes through.”

He shook his head in amazement and thumbed up the call.

***

“Just so you know, he’s a bit on the rough side,” said the no-nonsense dyke nurse, Sharon, as she finished counting out the cash fee, six thousand dollars in small bills. “But his patients are mostly bottoms, so they like that.”

Carnitas lay naked on the surgery table with his legs up in stirrups.

“What makes you think I’m a bottom?”

She raised a pierced eyebrow. “Didn’t you say this happened while you were shoving a fire extinguisher up your ass?”

“Oh, right.”

“If that was a lie, I really don’t want to hear the real story.” She turned to leave.

“Wait, aren't you staying to assist?”

“Oh he won’t need any help. Plus, I can’t stand the smoke. Allergies.”

“Huh? Wait, one more question. What’s a naturopathic surgeon?”

“You’ll see, Pinocchio.”

Steve reflected on how bad a liar he’d been this past week. He needed to eat again, not only to gain back the mass, but for his brain. How was he going to manage an undercover job, let alone keep his story straight if he was questioned in Crisco’s disappearance, if he couldn’t even fool a nurse at a dead-end, probably illegal clinic.

His reverie was interrupted by a bang as Dr. Asfarghi kicked open the swinging doors and entered, carrying a surgical tray, and smoking a fat cigar. He dropped the tray on a stand near the end of the table and then stood at Carnitas’ feet. He was 6’5”, 320 lbs of utterly masculine Persian-American muscle-stud.

“What have we got here?”

“Well, it’s a bit of a long story, Dr. Asferg… OW!”

The doctor slapped the inside of his knees to open his legs wider, with a hairy hand the size of a textbook. 

“Just call me Dr. Ass. You think I want the name of my line mangled by your pissant diction? It was a rhetorical question. It’s always the same story with you faggots.”

“You can’t talk to me like that… OHHH!” Steve moaned and arched his back like a whore. His dick, plump from the moment Asfarghi walked in the room, shot instantly rigid as the doctor shoved four thick hairy fingers into his broken hole.

“Yes, same story.” He pushed deeper and Steve gasped, nearly blasting a week’s load of cum into his own face. “Both sphincters. Bite off more than you could chew?”

Change the subject, Steve. He pointed to the janitor’s sink on the left side of the room. “Hey you didn’t… What do you call it, scrub?”

“It’s ass, idiot. I don’t scrub before these cases, I scrub after. Any more stupid questions?”

“... No.”

Dr Asfarghi stuck his thumb in to join the fingers in a fist. “No, what?”

“OHH… No… sir…?”

“Now you’re getting it.” He withdrew his hand and Steve’s face fell as he experienced an emptiness that was physical and emotional. The surgeon’s lip curled into a smirk. “Don’t cry, boy. When I’m done with you, you’ll be nice and tight for Daddy. But no more faggy writhing, this isn’t pole-dance class.” Carnitas winced as the doctor slapped a heavy glass ashtray on his abs, and then slapped his phone next to it. He tapped off the ash at the end of his cigar and then put on an earpiece.

“I thought you couldn’t smoke in a hospital.”

“You blind as well as dumb? This look like a hospital to you?” He tapped his earpiece as he sat on the stool. “Put me through to my trainer, Sharon.” The surgeon pulled a head lamp on an elastic band onto his forehead.

“What the hell?” Steve objected. “You can’t take a personal call in the middle of—”

“Shut it, nancy. Men are talking. Yo, Stark!”

Steve’s ears pricked up. Yeah, shut it, nancy, he told himself.

“Tell me more about this investment opportunity,” said the surgeon, his head dipping below Steve’s line of sight. He paused to spit a wet glob on Carnitas’ hole. “This Steamroller thing. You really think it’s got potential?” He spat again and massaged Steve’s anus with his big thumb. His other hand reached over and knocked more ash off the cigar. “I’m not interested in going all in on a fad. Nobody remembers the Thigh-Master.”

Steve couldn’t hear the dialogue of the response, but the tinny earpiece speaker couldn’t obscure the power of the voice on the other side. The low-frequency vibes caressed Steve’s sensitive inner thigh til he shivered, and his cock rose slowly to full-mast.

“So your father has this cutting edge technique, but sounds like he’s got no business sense. Forest retreats, meditation, drumming? Yeah, no.” 

More spit, more massaging, Steve stifled an aroused moan.

“So you need an angel investor to come up with a marketing plan, a full scale assault on the commercial gym sector. Make Gold’s Gym your bitch. Now that’s something I can get behind.”

Steve was so close to cumming he could barely keep up with his serendipitous surveillance. He forced himself to listen.

“So what kind of return on investment are we talking about?” He whistled slowly. “No kidding, huh. Stark, if this works out, I will gladly suck your fucking dick in thanks.” That thick manly hand appeared again to dash more char into the ashtray.

“HUH-HUH-HUH.”

Steve froze at the sound from the earpiece. The exact cadence of the perp’s evil chuckle. Unmistakeable. “Ohhhhhh shiiiiit,” his voice climbed in pitch. He tried to slam the door on the sudden cumshot with a hard Kegel squeeze but half of it still got through, dripping down like white wax from the tip of his adamant hard-on.

Asfarghi stood, and raised a thick dark eyebrow at the splooge. “Gotta go, Stark, duty calls.” He tapped his earpiece. “Damn, faggot, pace yourself.”  He tapped a last bit of ash into the tray and then removed it and the phone to the stand. Then Dr. Darius Asfarghi unknotted the ties at the waist of his scrubs and pulled them down, and Steve whimpered as he took in the most stunning, beautiful cock he’d ever seen. It was perfectly shaped, thick and veiny even flaccid, with a head the color and shape of a succulent plum. It and his egg shaped balls were framed by a dense hairy bush, black as the night sky.

The surgeon nodded knowingly at Steve’s speechless reaction. “Yeah.” He hefted the weight of the breathtaking member in his hand. “Can you imagine, if my namesake ancestor King Darius the Third had had a cock like this? That faggot Alexander the so-called Great would have turned his ass up in surrender, just like you. Ah, well, what might have been.” The doctor closed his eyes, inhaled, exhaled, and discharged a flood of golden piss onto, and into, Carnitas’ exposed hole.

“What the fuck?” Steve bellowed hoarsely.

The powerful piss-stream shot up into his gape, and Steve’s humiliation turned to astonished arousal as the blissful warmth of it spread up his abdomen. A tranquil smile came over his face, his first in a week.

The surgeon smirked again. “Objection withdrawn?”

“I’ll take some to go,” Steve whispered.

Asfarghi tucked his regal cock back in his scrubs, and dumped the cigar ashes in Steve piss-soaked hole.

“Okay. We’ll let the antiseptics cook while I work on your anesthesia." He stared at Steve’s confused face. “That okay by you?” 

“Fine, fine,” Steve replied meekly.

The surgeon crossed his arms in front of him and peeled off his green scrub top with a smooth upward motion.

“Wow!” Steve blurted.

Asfarghi’s upper body was bursting with ultra-jacked, densely furry man-muscle.

“Yeah I get that a lot. Pick your poison. Arms?…”

He raised his arms in a victory pose, exploding his thick hairy forearms with a twist of his wrists, his virile biceps and triceps swelling in perfect tandem over deep bushy pits.

“Oh…” Steve moaned, his cock rising once again.

“Or abs?…”

The doctor slid his hands down his torso to his hips, crunching his abs into a bas-relief sculpture, highlighted by the inky-dark hair in the inch deep crevices.

“Ohhhhh…” Steve humped the air, imagining what it would be like to frot that manly masterpiece.

“Or pecs?…”

“Ohhhh pecs, yes! Pecs!” Steve babbled, insanely aroused. “Huge mounds… so hairy… so hard… smother me… ohhhh.”

“Do NOT cum, boy. Pecs it is.”

The doctor stepped to the side and pulled a jump rope from under the table. “Watch closely, boy. And do not cum.”

The doctor started jumping rope. His prodigious, meaty flexed pecs bounced hypnotically, as powerful bands of muscle tensed from his shoulders to his sternum.

“You watching, boy? … Watch Daddy’s hairy chest… Yeah, boy, so powerful… so manly…”

“So powerful… so manly…” Steve droned.

“Watch those hairy muscle-pecs bounce, boy. You see them bounce. Follow the bounce with your eyes.”

“They’re bouncing… they’re bouncing…”

“Up and down, up and down, follow the bouncing muscle.”

“Muscle bouncing, so hot, you’re so hot, Daddy… so… hot…”

“Now look closer, boy, zoom in on Daddy’s bouncing pecs. They’re all around you now. You feel safe with Daddy’s muscle all around you.”

“”I… feel safe…”

“Daddy will protect you… Daddy would never hurt you…”

“Never… hurt… me…”

“As long as you see Daddy, you’ll never feel pain… Because Daddy would never hurt you…”

“Never… feel… pain… Daddy… never… hurt… me…”

“Now you’re going to close your eyes, but you’re still going to see Daddy’s hairy pecs, bouncing just for you, boy.”

Steve closed his eyes. “Just… for… me…”

Dr Asfarghi stopped skipping, his heart pounding from the cardio, and approached the head of the table. “Now a little aromatherapy and we’re good to go.” He used one finger to scrape thick nectar-like sweat from the muscled wall of his hairy pec. He applied it to Steve’s upper lip as his eyelids fluttered.

The surgeon crossed back to his stool and unwrapped the surgical tray. Grasping the needle driver in his right hand, he spread Steve’s damaged hole open with his left.

“Here we go. One stitch for good boys…” he said, drawing out the thread from the inner sphincter, before plunging in again. “And one for Daddy.” Tying a knot, he cut the thread and moved to the outer sphincter. “And once again, one stitch for good boys… and one for Daddy.”

“One for Daddy?” Steve droned.

“Daddy likes an extra stitch. You want to be tight for Daddy, don’t you boy?”

“Am I, tight for Daddy?”

“Let’s find out.”

Dropping the needle driver, Asfarghi lowered his scrubs again. This time his stupendous cock was as hard as surgical steel. He crawled up on top of Steve, enveloping his hypnotized patient in his sweaty, hairy muscles. His strong heartbeat thudded against Steve’s chest. Gently, he probed Steve’s hole with his pre-cum-slicked cock. When he was in all the way, he sighed with satisfaction.

“Aw, yeah, boy. Feels so good.”

“It feels good, Daddy?”

“Oh fuck yeah! Daddy does good work.”

“Good work… for a good boy.”

“Nice and easy, boy, squeeze Daddy’s cock gently.”

Steve squeezed his butthole and smiled with pleasure. He was whole again! “You healed me!” he gasped as he opened his eyes.

“Fucking right, boy, Daddy’s a fucking stud. Squeeze a little harder, boy. That’s it. Awwhhhhhggrrr!!”

Asfarghi thrust only twice and then came hard, unloading a hefty dose of healing spermy stem cells into Steve’s ass.

He collapsed on Steves’s chest, rolled onto one side, then got up from the table. “Damn I’m good.”

Steve was coming out of the hypno, but grateful tears streamed out of his eyes. “How can I ever thank you?” he breathed.

“Just think about this moment for now on. You don’t need anything up there other than cock. And there’s always cock to be had, isn’t there?” The doctor stopped short as he saw Steve’s torn lip. “Hold on, what’s this?”

“Oh, well I just thought that would be a different surgeon.”

Dr Asfarghi snatched up some debriding scissors from the tray.

“No cocksucking patient of mine is going to leave my care without lips suitable for cocksucking. But I’m going to have to put you right out for this.” He raised his enourmous muscular arm and dropped his sweaty, densely hairy armpit over Steve’s face. 

“Breath deep, faggot. Count backwards from ten.”

“10…9…” Steve’s lungs filled with dreamy man-musk and his brain was doused in stupefying pheromones, erasing all memory of Vinny Crisco, or any other man for that matter, who wasn’t descended from Persian kings. His cock shot another creamy load as he reached number 7.

“Nighty-night, boy. You’ll be handsome as ever when you wake up.”

***

“Where’d Dr. Ass go?” Steve said as he lurched out of the surgery room.

Sharon was sitting at her desk. “Something about an investment opportunity? Had to go see his banker.” 

Steve’s heart fluttered like a school girl’s. “Did he happen to say anything about me being handsome? I wasn’t sure about what I heard in there.”

She looked up from her magazine. “Damn, he did your lip for free? And put veneers on your teeth? Yes my friend, he definitely wants to fuck you again.”

Carnitas floated out the door like he was pumped full of helium. He flagged down a cab as his stomach rumbled. “Bad Brad’s Diner. On the double. Police emergency.”

He texted Garrett Shaw. Meet you at Camp Steamroller, tomorrow morning. Let the elder Stark know I’m a DBag desperate to see the light.

To be continued

[And sorry for those anxiously awaiting Camp Steamroller... next chapter, I promise!]

[ploder4]

Let me guess.  Carnitas is going to be the Steamroller's pet cocksucker?  No muscles for you Steve.  Just a lifetime of getting your throat stretched to the limit by steamroller guys who keep getting bigger and bigger until his throat pops or his head gets blasted off by a huge cumshot or gets his belly blown up until he bursts.  This is ultimately a snuff story.   Lol

Ultimately, I think Steve wants to be popped.  He's just not willing to accept his true role in life.