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The Alpha Male 1


Shade

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At The Snake Pit

I knew it was the right place when I saw the sign from the interstate. My windshield wipers beating against the window, allowing me to see out through the misty rain falling from the early spring sky. The neon of the sign was no longer working, but if you had eyes to see, you could just make out the name: The Snake Pit.

A place of legend even amongst the circles in which I now moved.

The building upon which the sign was affixed looked every bit as bad as the sign itself. Faded paint flaked off, a colour I think which may have once been white, leaving the underlying metal exposed. A mix of rust and weathered steel.

But the general sense of dilapidation and abandonment was just an illusion.

If you looked closely, you saw that the door was sturdy, and well affixed to its hinges. More a vault than a door, it was solid, thick black metal. Uninviting. It screamed go away. Take your troubles elsewhere. You don’t need this.

And the sheer size of the building, gave a tantalising hint of what lay inside. For this was no small iron den, this was a converted warehouse on a large scale. This was a place that could give ordinary men nightmares.

What little light was left in the dark, rainy sky was fading fast as I pulled into the parking lot. Only two vehicles could be seen. Parked somewhat haphazardly on the gravel drive. I caught the whiff of oil in the air, and saw that the cement and gravel was stained dark by many years of industrial usage. The two vehicles were both big trucks, the biggest money could buy, one well used, and the other a shiny expensive toy. Flames painted on the metallic red body of the newer one. It was more flash than what I was expecting to find. And I knew the sort of guy who drove a flash truck.

I felt the rain hit my t-shirt, but I ignored it as I paused and took a breath. Even now, I was still excited. It was like coming home somehow.

In a few brisk strides I was at the door, and as I opened it, I realised it truly was more a vault than a door. The first test of membership perhaps, and I found it to be heavier than expected, and quite thick. It would have served equally well for a prison cell.

The light inside wasn’t bright, and the place wasn’t fancy. A desk was up ahead, and behind it was one of the biggest men I’d ever seen in my life. I was impressed by his size and obvious dedication. He clearly wasn’t in the game for money or fame, but for love. He loved what he did. And he loved lifting. I knew him by reputation of course, because at that size this had to be the infamous owner of the gym. His name was Zek. If he had a last name, I’d never heard it.

A guy I’d met a few months back in Plano told me Zek once used to compete. But that was before he joined the dark side. Back when he was still…natural. If you could call it that. He’d not been seen on the usual bodybuilding or powerlifting circuit since then.

He heard the door. Obviously. It squealed as I opened it with my outstretched palm. I saw him glance at me. He had a good poker face, but I saw his eyes widen almost imperceptibly as he watched me.

He nodded. I nodded back. That was all that was required.

I’ve always taken comfort in simple, male rituals.

“How much for a workout Zek?” I asked him, “I’m just passing through and couldn’t help but stop by.”

If he was surprised that I knew his name, he didn’t acknowledge it. I suspect there isn’t a lot that surprised Zek. And I think he knew I’d made this trip especially.

It is after all why you go to so much trouble to build up the kind of reputation The Snake Pit had.

He quoted me a figure, and I paid it without discussion. He handed me a towel. A very big towel.

“Ain’t got no locker rooms,” he grunted, “Stow your stuff anywhere. Showers are in the back there.”

“Thanks Zek.”

“Welcome to the Snake!”

I nodded and walked inside. I wasn’t disappointed. The cavernous space was filled with massive contraptions designed to help men test their strength. There was no equipment here that was mildly ordinary. And a glance to the side at the rack of dumbbells made it clear that none of them started below 150 pounds. In fact, there wasn’t anything less than a 100 pound plate around the place.

I smiled.

Then I heard him. He was shirtless and grunting, powering up two dumbbells. Except they weren’t dumbbells. They were hundred pound plates that had been welded onto barbells that had been made into makeshift dumbbells.

These were incline bench presses. A quick calculation of the welded plates, and I estimated he was pressing 40 plates, 20 on each makeshift dumbbell. That meant those barbells were one ton each. And his form was pretty good. I gathered from watching him pump out the last few reps that they were kinda light for him in fact.

I’d never seen anything like it in a gym, and I was actually more impressed than I thought I’d be.

He squeezed a last rep, the two tons hanging over him momentarily, and I watched the mountain of his pecs rise into the air, like the Himalayas, and could see he had cleavage a Mr Olympia could fit his whole hand inside.

Then he tossed those big fuckers on the floor, where they hit with a thud. I could hear the concrete floor groan under the weight, and he got up from the bench – which I could see was a custom contraption. Clearly reinforced both for the massive man standing up from it, and the weights he was muscling around so easily.

He growled as he made a most muscular into the bank of mirrors in front of him. And after he was done admiring himself, he saw me in the reflection of the glass. Staring back with equal appraising frankness.

His frame turned toward me. Like a massive wall turning. And he smirked at me.

“You’re that kid,” he said. Sounding sure of who I was.

I didn’t respond, but I threw my stuff into the corner, and stretched a bit, walking toward him. The damp shirt clung to me, but it was small anyway, and had always hugged my body closely.

Sensing another male on display, he moved toward me also eager to stake his claim in this gym. His chest was very wide indeed, and his arms bent outwards, forced by the size of his lats.

“Yeah,” he said, now convinced, “From the Circuit.”

I arched an eyebrow at him. He was referring to an underground league of strongmen and bodybuilders that competed outside of the realms of the IFBB and the glossy magazines. Only a few knew of the Circuit. Very few indeed. And I’d only stumbled on it a short while ago myself. But clearly I’d made something of an impression judging from Zek’s composure, and the tone of this hulk’s words.

“Heard you outlifted Karl the Bull,” he said, a laugh in his voice, “Beat him in deadlift, bench AND squat.”

I grunted my acknowledgment. There wasn’t much point in getting wordy about it.

“That’d be impressive, but I’ve been outlifting Karl since I was 22.”

I gave him a deadpan expression, but I put some swagger into my strut, and my chest was huffed up a bit.

“You as strong as Karl says?”

By this time I was toe to toe with him, so close in fact that my pecs pressed against his. And then I moved closer, and this man – a man I knew didn’t get beaten – took an involuntary step back and hissed under his breath.

“Stronger,” I told him, my voice deep and sure. “Didn’t take much to beat Karl.”

“Yep,” he said, agreeing, trying to reassert some dominance. He pressed back against me, but I didn’t budge.

He hadn’t seen me yet. Not really.

I flexed. Ever so slightly, but the fabric of my shirt could be heard groaning. Ready to tear. And my shirt was custom made. They didn’t sell them this big. He was stopped dead in his tracks. Muscle he thought was invincible, being crushed against mine.

It was the first time that he really looked at me. I mean LOOKED. And there was a lot to see. He was looking up for starters. And his body, while massive, was smaller than mine.

“You said you beat him at 22?”

“Yep.”

“I’m only 18.”

“No fucking way!”

“Way,” I smiled. “Course I could’ve beat Karl when I was 16. Maybe 15.”

He looked, but his mind hadn’t yet comprehended.

“These the biggest they got?” I asked, indicating the two one ton dumbbells on the floor.

“Yeah,” he grunted, “For dumbbells. But Zek’s getting some heavier ones made. They’re kinda light for me.”

“Me too,” I said, picking them up, “Still, I can use them to get a pump.”

I curled the first dumbbell and felt the satisfying weight in my fists. It had been a long time since I’d lifted a piece of gym equipment this heavy. I gave a grunt as I curled it.

“Fuck!” he said beside me, watching me in the mirror, as I curled. One. Two. Three. It was so satisfying that I didn’t want to stop. And I felt the muscle in my arms warm with exertion, as I lifted one after the other in simple curls. The blood rushing to my muscle, feeding it. A pleasure that I recognised filled me. And even my cock, inadequately confined in the jock I wore below, trembled. Ninety-nine. One hundred. Now that was a set.

Curling a ton in each hand, a hundred reps for each arm. I sighed with pleasure, and the fabric around my bicep frayed, the seam so carefully tailored began to split, one thread snapping at a time. But I didn’t wait. I shifted the position of the dumbbells and began an equal number of reps for hammer curls. For good measure I finished off one hundred reverse curls as well. And by that time I could feel the muscle taxed and burning, a deep pain like pleasure seared into the fibres that were tearing and expanding.

“Fuck me!” whistled Zek from behind us, “I never thought I’d see the day when there was a man who’d make Jack here speechless.”

“I have that effect on people.”

“I bet you do son,” he said nodding sagely.

I turned to the mirror and flexed my guns. The shirt didn’t have a hope in hell of containing those guns, pumped as they were, as it only barely contained them stone cold. And they tore through the already strained fabric like tissue paper. The bicep swelled, and Jack went slack jawed as the mounds rose higher, and higher. The bellies of the triceps meanwhile, relaxed, and lengthened, hanging thicker and heavier beneath, creating a massive globe of muscle.

Jack came up to me and flexed his arm next to mine. His bicep rose with earth shattering force, but it was painfully obvious how inadequate it was. For the first time in his life, he’d been totally eclipsed. And not just by an inch, but by a mile.

“What else you got?” I asked Zek.

Then he showed me.

On the far side of the gym was something I recognised as a bench press. Only Zek was more clever, he’d taken kegs and drums of various sizes and filled them up with cement. Made them for those guys for whom the plates weren’t heavy enough. There were options to choose from of course, but I suspected they’d all be too light.

“Naw, son,” said Zek, observing my obvious disappointment. He led me on, with Jack following, “Those aren’t for you. I got something better.”

There in the back, was a rig, and two hummers were suspended from it. They’d been filled with cement. They were attached to a machine for a chest press.

“Sixteen tons,” said Zek. “Only a few guys ever been strong enough to use it.”

“I bet little Jack here isn’t one of them.”

Jack gave me a dark look. His chest pumped out with pride. But it was obvious that he couldn’t lift sixteen tons. Zek’s shake of the head confirmed my suspicions.

“Give it a go man,” Jack snarled, “Unless you’re nothing but an inflated pussy.”

I pushed him roughly aside. “The only pussy you better be talking about in connection with me, is the pussy that I’m gonna fuck!”

I got beneath the machine, and grabbed the handles. I squeezed and heard the metal fight against me. Then I pressed.

My chest swelled, as the muscle pumped up, and the hummers were lifted further up, and I contracted my chest, crunching the muscle at the highest part of the lift. The fabric split from the neck to my abs, tearing and shredding under the expansion of muscle. And I pumped harder, fighting the weight, feeling it. Getting used to it. Jack saw me struggle, and his eyes gleamed with hope. Sure that the most I could get was one rep. But then he saw my lips curl in determination, and he realised that I was enjoying this. A laugh escaped me as I brought the weight back down, a bead of sweat running down my forehead, and then I pumped it up again. And again. And again.

“This is pussy weight man,” I told them both, each rep coming easier. My pecs were so full and thick, the striations rippling across the surface. Jack had a boner. And so did Zek. Powerful, alpha males turned on by the display in front of them.

I pumped out two hundred reps this time. Just to prove to Jack, as if there was any doubt, that he was watching someone in another league entirely.

I felt so strong and powerful, and it was like a drug. It was always like a drug. The testosterone raged in my balls, burning me, radiating warmth and sweat in my groin. I know the smell was overpowering. And I could even smell the stink in my own pits.

Standing up after that set, the tatters of my shirt fell away, and I flexed for the boys. I flexed a most muscular as I had seen Jack flex earlier in the evening. But this wasn’t the same. This was entirely different. My muscle was etched in warm titanium. Thick, hard, dense muscle capable of crushing, lifting and overpowering any would-be challenger. I heard Jack moan, and Zek looked hungry.

When my display of pure male power was finished, the echos of what they’d just seen were still resounding in their small brains. My cock strained the fabric. I felt it inflate. Thicken. Blood engorging it. I let my head fall back and I roared. The shorts I was wearing tore as the monstrous organ expanded. And even the elastic of the jock snapped, barely able to contain my bollocks, both large enough to put a bull to shame, and that massive dick. It was the final straw.

I felt Zek before me, even before my head came back forward. I felt the wetness of his mouth on me. He couldn’t hope to swallow it, but he made every effort to please me. And I was losing rationale sense. The testosterone filled me. The primal male needs arose. I was awash with it.

I picked up Zek like a rag doll. He was so small compared to me. But I felt his warm ass. It felt like home.

And I bent him over the machine. And I tore away his training shorts and underwear, and then I impaled him.

“Oh, fuck,” he moaned, “Fuck me. Fuck me.”

And I obeyed. I gave him a thorough pounding. I felt the cum in my balls churning. I knew I was going to cum soon. But then I felt something press against my hole. Jack’s cock.

It attempted to penetrate my virgin hole. But that was all he managed to do. He couldn’t do it. The attempt failed. My glutes, solid and massive, squeezed together, clamping on his cock. And I heard him whimper in pain, as I held him there. Cock trapped in the thick valley of my glutes.

“Shit!” he whined.

But his stimulation gave me what I needed to lose a torrent into Zek’s ass. I felt him fill, and I pulled out my cock still gushing cum, as it leaked out of Zek’s hole, and covered his back with my spray, coating him.

I reached round and grabbed Jack, still hard, forcing him over the machine, and he hollered as he knew what was coming.

“I don’t get fucked!”

“Neither do I,” I said, laughing, “At least, as you’ve proved, there hasn’t been anyone man enough to succeed yet. So that must mean that you’re just a little bitch. And so I’m gonna fuck you.”

He hollered right though his fucking, until he was a broken man. Changed. And put in his place.

* * *

I sated my need in the two men. And finished my workout.

Before Jack left, he asked me hopefully, “How did you get so strong anyways?”

“That’s my secret. A secret for real men.”

He hung his head, cheeks beat red. Shamed. And no longer what he was.

But then I was ready to go. Zek caught me after my shower. I was nearly naked, as I had no clothes left that would fit my pumped up body.

He handed me a paper.

“What’s this?” I wondered.

“A guy I know. In the mountains. Likes to wrestle. Trust me. I think you and he will get along just swell.”

“Thanks,” I replied, thoughtful. Trying to fully decipher Zek’s meaning.

“And thanks for that fuck,” Zek added, “Not many men can fuck me.”

“Well I’m not just any man.”

Zek nodded. “Just remember son. There’s always someone out there bigger and stronger than you are.”

I snorted as I went through the steel door to my truck, flexing my guns for emphasis, “We’ll see about that. We’ll see....”

Read the Next Part

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