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The Catch




There’s a generous pop to my noticeable boner when the guy finally senses that I’m staring at him. It’s something like an elephant just climbed into a Prius and sat beside you.  Something big and covered in muscles can’t go unnoticed for very long. The dude quickly looks around to make sure there’s no one near him that might be attracting my focus.  A wink from me makes him freeze and actually quiver with excitement.  He’s shocked to find out that the mountain of bulges is flirting with him.  That’s when a pec bounce can cause a mouth to drop open wide and an already racing heart to skip a beat.  I smile to make his knees go weak.  A chiseled face with a two-day growth is like a neon sign pointing towards the scrumptious hard mounds of flesh popping out everywhere below.  The delicious fur upholstering all of my hardness is clearly visible through my form-hugging white t-shirt.  I realize I’m too hot for him to believe all of this is real – but it’s my smile that causes all of his doubt to disappear.  I reach up to scratch one of my voluminous pecs – knowing the bent arm takes his kettle to the boiling point quicker than even an open fire could.  


Here’s where I get to make an important decision – realizing it will set the tone for the rest of the night. I can saunter over to him – thick-as-hell thighs causing me to waddle more than walk.  This will almost make him piss himself, the mountain coming to him. Or I can stand there and wait – giving him time to calm the raging storm I’ve caused in his body and allowing him to prepare whatever adorable introductory remarks he has for his dream muscle daddy. I choose to wait – forcing him to cross that wasteland of disappointed souls who have realized I’ve already made my pick for the night.  I come up off the stool I’m leaning on to let my full height and size cast an imposing shadow on him, blocking out all of the light from above.  His Adams apple bounces strongly from the gulp caused by my towering presence.  It’s like a kid standing before a New York skyscraper for the first time.  


I hold out my hand, intentionally letting its hugeness force him to break out in a sweat as he contemplates its power and the fact that it’s a precursor to something equally as large lurking down below in my pants.  He’s confused – should he reach out to shake my big mitt or should he turn around and run, avoiding any displeasure foreshadowed by such an obvious difference in size.  I’m reminded of my immensity and power when I grip his small, defenseless hand, quickly calculating enough pressure to thrill, but not crush.  The jolt my light squeeze causes in his body is so perceptible I’m momentarily fearful he may pass out.  It makes me instantly wonder if I unintentionally clasped too hard.  I continue holding on, just so he can use my big hand for support.  At any moment I might need to help him stay upright.  


I watch as my voice literally rattles his insides when I tell him my name.  He’s expected it to be deep and manly, but the actual sound is much more impressive than even what he imagined.  I’m still holding on to his small hand and he doesn’t even realize he’s been squeezing with all his might, hoping to try and emphasize his own manliness this close to my huge testosterone oozing body.  I clamped down a little harder on his fingers just to make his eyes bulge out a little and his voice to go up an octave or two as he tells me his name. It’s surprising that his first words aren’t the expected ‘fuck, you’re so big’ or ‘wow, you have a lot of muscles.’ He actually asks where I’m from and what I do for a living.  Intelligent questions from a guy working hard to not wince from my grip and forcing his gaze to stay glued to my eyes and not travel down to my mountainous chest or bulging arms.  I’m starting to realize I chose well out of the sea of muscle whores ogling me at the bar. I let go of his hand, noticing the relief in his face, and let my big paw travel up his arm to land with a heavy plop on his demure shoulder.  He tilts a little to that side.  My thumb and fingers easily straddle his deltoid muscle and we both realize at the same time his small hand wouldn’t come close to doing the same thing to my immense shoulder.


I get another joyful zing to my crotch as I recognize a fellow comparison junkie in my newfound friend. His mind has uncontrollably moved to thoughts of tiny biceps flexed next to gigantic ones and even grown-man thighs being dwarfed by relaxed, get-a-bigger-tape-measure guns.  I smile broader when he finally cannot take it any longer and has to steal a glance at my upper torso.  I let him take a long gander, knowing the front of his pants just got a lot tighter.  I grasp harder with my hand, instantly making his gaze return to mine.  He’s afraid I might continue squeezing harder and doesn’t fully understand why his brain hopes so.  I pull my arm in a little, just to temporarily marvel at how easily I can make his body do as I please.  I contemplate palming his head and seeing if I could lift him off the floor, but I realize that would definitely scare him off or cause him to have a messy accident. 


Suddenly, I become aware he’s asking me what I call the ‘gym-bo’ questions.  Where do I work out?  How much can I bench?  What exercises do I do to get certain muscles so big?  I debate for a second whether or not to tell him about the cute muscle bear gay couple I plowed in the sauna at my gym a few hours earlier, but decide it’s better if he thinks he’s my first fuck of the day.  It’s always important to make a guy feel special.  I pull his body even closer, loving how my one hand easily drags him a few inches.  I can tell his questions are intended to be a subliminal message for me to ask him if he’d like to feel my muscles, but I decide to wait and finally make him say the request out loud and clear.  I also don’t want to rush the evening.  I want to have more fun with my puppet-man before I fulfill his long hidden fantasy for a domineering muscle daddy that toys with him into the wee hours in the morning. 


He’s now chattering away uncontrollably.  His lust for ‘all things muscle’ has gotten the best of him and he can’t stop himself. I do what I know will shut him up the quickest.  I tense my big arm at my side, bending it slightly to make the biceps bulge with intimidation.  He stops mid-sentence, with his lips apart and then his tongue darts out like a panting dog.  He somehow controls his body enough to whisper the words ‘can I feel it’ and I tighten my grip on his shoulder a little, pull him even closer to me, and say ‘have at it, kid.’  You would have thought I was the general of some awe-inspiring mega army giving the signal for attack by the way he pounced on my arm.  His trembling fingers seemed to get some kind of electrical shock as soon as they touched my hard skin.  He let out a childlike yelp of glee and started running his hands around my big gun as if he were trying to memorize every vein, indention, and bulge for future masturbatory moments.  I told him to ‘slow down, tiger’ since the big thing wasn’t going anywhere any time soon and when it did go it would probably be carrying him out of the place. You would have thought I had just told him he had won a billion dollar lottery – the way he responded to the idea of me carrying him.  So the little man had a lift and carry fetish, as well.  That was good to know, since there were few things that thrilled me more than tossing some guy around the bedroom.  I was so turned on by that thought I actually squeezed his shoulder a little too tight and he screamed slightly, but never stopped his intense caressing of my arm.  


I had to apologize to the guy and explain that lifting him later on would be the best foreplay I could think of.  This seemed to please the little fella to no end.  He pulled his body forward and brought his lips down to my biceps, pressing into my skin hard enough to bend his nose downward.  He stayed that way for a good minute, as if he had frozen to my gun.  Finally, he pulled back and stopped his lustful massage of my arm.  I let the tensed thing relax.  He then looked up at me and, laughing, asked if I was a top or a bottom.  I smiled and said ‘what do you think?’  He said he thought all of my muscle could probably plow a mountain and I told him that was a nice compliment.  With my free hand I grabbed his and guided it to my crotch, pressing his palm and fingers into the muscle I worked out the most.  


There it was, that look of shock I had come to love so much.  He thought my man-tits were huge.  He thought my arms were enormous.  He thought my legs were swollen beyond measure.  He was, however, not prepared to know that the size of my love muscle matched the rest of me.  I kept my hand on his, so he couldn’t jerk his away in fear.  When his fingers finally started groping with exploratory excitement I pulled away.  His squeezing stopped momentarily when I mentioned I wasn’t fully hard – the idea that my substantial tool could get bigger and harder almost terrified him, if he hadn’t been so turned on.  When a guy openly fondles your enormous cock in the middle of a bar is when you know he’s completely yours.  This dude had brought his other hand over to my crotch so he could do some double fisted groping.  My response to his kind work was making him a little worried because he was actually beginning to realize just how massive my plowing machine would grow.  I told him I hoped he was ready for a sore jaw and ass tomorrow and he said the pleasure would be all his.  I guaranteed him that not all of it would be his.  


I sealed the deal and finalized the catch by pulling him into my hard body, forcing him to turn his head upward to look me in the eyes.  I brought my face down to his and gave him a kiss.  When we stopped he was smiling and I asked him what he was thinking about.  He told me he was imagining what I would look like in the morning with no shirt on.  I suggested I carry him out of the place so he could go see.  

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