You just don’t get it, do you?” he said, turning to me as we sat in the warm car.
To be completely honest, I was having trouble focusing on what he was saying – not because I didn’t think the conversation was important, I knew it was – but because I couldn’t stop myself from staring at his freakish forearms. They were bigger than my thighs and covered in rope-thick veins that popped out in that way that screamed power and dominance. The sleeves of his shirt looked like they were in agony – wishing someone would put them out of their stretched-to-the-max misery and slice them open with a pair of scissors. I was thinking it would be better if he just ripped them open by flexing his Popeye-freakish-sized lower arms while we both stared. The sound of the folded cuffs tearing up the seams would probably make me spew quicker than a gushing soda bottle that had been thoroughly shaken before opening on a hot summer’s day. He had his serious face on and was trying to get me to understand that what he was saying was profound and much more important than me getting off on his muscles. We had been arguing . . . no, not arguing, we never argued. We had been debating . . . no, that wasn’t it, either. He had been trying to convince me of something. Yes, that was it. He was trying to get me to see things from his perspective and make a change to our relationship. I tore my eyes away from his forearms, his massive biceps, the magnificent pec visible through his unbuttoned shirt, and even away from the manly stubble gorgeously defying his razor from that morning and already proving he was full of testosterone by shooting out along his diamond-cut jawline. He could tell I was back with him – alert and undistracted.
“I get it, big guy. I just don’t understand it,” I replied – forcing myself to not look back down at the bulging forearm.
“It’s just that I don’t want us to fit into any mold . . . or represent any stereotypes,” he said, rolling his chest underneath his pink shirt without even realizing he was doing it. “The world says big guys have to be this or act like that and I’m just tired of all that bullshit. There’s this guy inside of me screaming to be unleashed and I’m ready to let him out. You’ve helped me to reach this point. It’s only because of you that I’m even willing to talk about this . . . to even consider it. Being with you has empowered me to embrace who I really am.”
“Yeah, but that also means there’s a lot of responsibility on me, too. Maybe I won’t be able to handle this new role,” I replied, stealing a glance at his flexed biceps as he ran a hand across his short hair. “Sweet Jesus, you’re bulging today.”
“I made sure everything was tight for you,” he replied, smiling like a proud schoolboy who’d done his homework. “That’s what I want to do for the rest of my life, every day – please you.”
“Licking those veins right now would please me a lot,” I quickly shot back.
“Not until we settle this . . . once and for all. I mean it. I’m not threatening to break up or anything, but it would really mean a lot to me if you gave it a go. Tried it my way for a while just to see,” he said, imploringly.
“Okay, okay,” I responded, holding my palms toward him to show that I was ready to try and getting a little hard because of the broad smile that shot across his beautiful, manly face. “You’re going to have to help me, though. Let’s start talking specifics . . . how is this new way of being lived out?”
“Oh shit! Do you mean it, honey?” he shouted, excitedly. “Really?”
“Yes . . . yes,” I answered. “Come on, give me some things I should start doing.”
“Hot damn, this is wonderful,” he exclaimed and I gave him a serious look. “Okay . . . first of all, you’re always the one in charge.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“It’s like you’re always the one holding the leash and I’m always going to be the one being led . . . you know, the one with the dog collar on. I basically become your boy-toy, my only desire every second of the day is to please you. You say jump and I ask how high? You say lift and I say how much. You say flex and I keep going until you tell me I can stop. I open doors for you. I fetch things for you. I simply let you become my boss,” he said, rambling on so quickly I was having trouble keeping up. “God, I’ve always wanted to submit to someone . . . you know, have them rule me in every way possible. Can we start now? Order me to flex something for you. Come on, that would thrill me more than I could ever explain.”
Suddenly, the idea of having a muscle slave did not seem irrational or obscene, like it had before. The thought that I could order him to flex for me – whenever I wanted him to - made me stiffen a little more below the waist. Maybe I could get used to this new lifestyle he was proposing. Perhaps it wouldn’t be as uneven as I assumed it would be. Clearly, he was getting very excited about playing the submissive role. It had never dawned on me that he would be getting something out of this kind of relationship. It seemed so degrading, but here he was like a kid in the candy store – totally stoked to do my bidding. His eager beaming face made something inside of me turn on like a light switch. This enormous muscled man truly wanted to be bossed around – told what to do – ordered by a master. Even though it completely did not compute to me that this would ever remotely be possible with a guy like him, I accepted it on the spot and decided I was, indeed, the right man for the job. He trusted me. He knew I could and would take care of him in return for his devotion. In mere seconds I started to become the alpha in our relationship and I knew neither of us would question it ever again.
“Forearms. Bulging. Now,” I ordered in a firm voice.
His face returned to something akin to seriousness, but it was more like obedience mixed with pure joy. The guy grabbed the front of his seat with his left hand and the armrest between us with his right hand. This was just to give his arms an extra pump as he tensed and gripped tightly at the same time. His fucking forearms ballooned to the size of my midsection and popped out a roadmap of veins. Normally, I would have gasped at the sight and actually thrust my hand down to my cock, but this time I remained in charge and never lost sight of my new role.
“Bigger. Harder,” I commanded and this made the big guy gasp with excitement.
“Oh, dude, you sound so hot…” he began to gush, but I was having none of that.
“I said flex harder, boy!” I said in a gruff, displeased manner.
You would have thought I had banged a cast-iron frying pan against his forehead from the speed of his reaction. He quickly snapped back into the obedient puppy he longed to be – duly chastised and immediately ready to make me happy. I could tell he doubled his efforts, not only from the intense grunts he gave from tensing his arms so much – but also by the way his forearm muscles now bulged bigger and harder. Their size was freakish and now dwarfed every part of my body. My own forearms looked like toothpicks in comparison. The big man stared at me . . . with a clear longing for approval, a reward of some kind, even just a smile. I looked at him sternly.
“You don’t call me dude anymore, boy, understand? From now I’m only ‘sir’ when you address me. Do I make myself clear,” I said, making sure I emphasized every word.
“Yes sir,” he replied, dropping his eyes in embarrassment at the mistake, but not lessening the flex of his forearms at all.
I reached out and ran my hand along the massive bulge nearest me – marveling at the veiny speed-bumps that streaked everywhere across the intensely hard muscle. It was like touching the side of a rocky cliff. I let out an affirming moan – just to give the guy a little support. He responded by tensing even harder, causing even more veins to pop. It was clear that his shirtsleeves were on the verge of giving up the battle of trying to cover the monstrosities within. How I longed to see tears begin in that material and hear the sound of ripping as muscled beef burst through. My fingers followed one of the largest veins and I could feel the blood pumping strongly through his body. There was so much power there – so much raw masculine brawn. His arm was shaking a little from the strain of flexing so hard.
“You can relax, boy,” I said – not removing my hand and marveling at how incredibly hard his arm stayed even after he exhaled loudly and stopped tensing. “Forearms of steel, kid. That makes your master proud. Big fuckers, aren’t they?”
“Yes sir,” he replied obediently, accepting his new role as naturally as he breathed.
I could sense the big guy silently pleading for another task to perform. He was in hog heaven now that I had switched into the role of the alpha. I basically had a monstrous muscled puppy begging me to play fetch or bark out orders to sit, shake, or roll over. He continued to look down, not daring to look me in the eye – that’s not what a subservient was supposed to do. I could tell that his heart was beating super-fast from the excitement of an upcoming directive from me. I could quickly see how this was going to become super addictive for me – having a chiseled monstrosity of a man at my beck and call day and night. Was there anything better? I could not think of a single thing. I was tempted to keep him waiting, but deeper desires took over me.
“Feed me your huge man-tit, now,” I commanded in a low, well-paced, domineering voice.
He wasted no time. He grabbed his shirt in the front, sliding his fingers inside. He pulled hard and instantly buttons popped off and sailed across the inside of the car, hitting against the windshield. A hard, perfectly-molded-by-heavy-weights pec revealed itself. My mouth instantly watered – I was like Pavlov’s dog responding to what it longed for. Muscle that’s been compacted over the years from being broken down by insane, agonizing lifting and then rebuilt into something dense, solid, and swollen cannot adequately be described – it must be experienced. I briefly imagined all the mornings my pup had barely been able to move because of the intense pain from the prior day’s work out and marveled at his impeccable sculpted humongous mound of beef he now brought toward my face. He was the ultimate artist, having cast his body into something spectacular. I was happy to be his patron, his sponsor, his mentor. There are no words that can express what it feels like to have your face gloriously flattened by tough, warm, blood-pumping flesh and instantly feel a muscleman’s heartbeat pounding into you like a pornographic massage. My mouth had been open with anticipation and I instantly started to suck on the lightly salted seemingly indestructible surface. The big man moved his pec slightly so his oversized nipple surrounded by its large darkened areola could plop into my mouth. I latched on to the thing with the suction force of a crazy man-turbine. I had a feeling people a few miles away heard the moan that erupted from his throat because of my expert oral work. His big left arm shot out toward the dashboard and he grabbed it hard to steady himself. I pulled my head back briefly.
“Yeah, that’ it, boy, let me hear how much you love my mouth,” I said and then latched back onto his chest with double the effort.
This caused the big guy’s expansive back to arch from the pleasure. The entire car shook violently from his sudden jerking motion, but my mouth stayed suctioned onto his big pec. I sounded like a pig at his trough as I sucked on his marble-like meat – feeling like I’d won some kind of jackpot endless buffet. My face was smashed against a wall of muscle and I couldn’t have been happier. I had learned early on in our relationship that scraping my teeth along his jutting plug could make his body tense and shudder at the same time. It was quite impressive to feel all of his fucking huge body turn to stone. I not only teased his nipple with my molars, but I also bit down on the nub – causing the kind of intense build-up that was usually saved for newly active volcanoes. I knew my oral skills could easily make the muscle god spurt – that’s how sensitive his pecs were, but I was not ready for him to erupt. I had a new boy-toy and I found that I truly liked it. The role of the small, dominating alpha fit me like a glove and I was ready to test my boy’s devotion. He was my new Hercules and I was ready to give him twelve labors every day for the rest of our lives – even more if he proved worthy. It’s amazing how many magnificent ideas can pop into your head when your face is plastered against stunning immense pectoral muscle and your hands are busy groping veiny, concrete-like forearms. My muscle boy pined terribly for a master and I was going to grant him his wish. It seemed like I was going to get the better part of our new deal, but – then again – I had never seen this huge man assume a mindset so quickly. It was like when he got lost in some ‘other world’ while he was lifting – his body took over and automatically did what it needed to so it would get bigger and harder. Watching his face become subservient and feeling how his body reacted when I gave him an order or called him ‘boy’ told me this was much more than just role-playing for him. He clearly needed to be my muscle plaything in the same way he needed to lift – it was just an innate titanic desire that I was allowing to finally be released. He was coming out of the ‘himbo’ closet and becoming a mountain of muscle that simply lived and breathed to please his master. That knowledge instantly made me the cockiest guy on the planet – not to mention the luckiest. I had a massive footrest any time I needed it. I could ask to be carried whenever I was tired. I could gaze at his muscular radiance any time I wanted. And I could have his hard-bulging body pressed against mine twenty-four-seven if I so desired. I was king of the world. I, again, pulled my face away from the delicious mass of solidity I was presently sampling.
“Time for us to rest, boy. The windows are all steamed up and it’s a hot-as-hell summer day out there. We’ve simply made it much more blistering in here – even with the air-conditioning on full blast,” I said and the big mountain of muscle immediately sat back – face down and clearly pleased with my chest gnawing. “I guess you can sense that I’m liking my new role, can’t you, pup?”
“Yes,’ he answered – his breathing quickened a little as soon as he heard one of my new names for him.
“Yes what, boy?” I hammered.
“Yes sir. Sorry sir,” he quickly responded – both embarrassed that he forgot and pleased that I had not.
“No need to be sorry, big guy. You’re still learning. You’re still growing – so to speak. Don’t worry, I’ll whip you into shape. I’ll have you acting like a Grade A boy-toy before you know it. But you’ve got to be sure this is what you want. I’m feeling things I never imagined existed inside of me. You’ve opened Pandora’s box and I need to hear that this is all good before we travel down this path. I get the feeling that once I’ve started I won’t be able to quit being your alpha – the idea of having all of your massiveness at my beck and call boils my juices in a way I never imagined. I need you to look me in the eye and convince me that this monumental shift in our relationship is what you want,” I spoke firmly, honestly, and pleadingly at the same time.
“It’s what I’ve wanted ever since I got big in college, sir,” he said, raising his eyes to mine and gazing with a look that was intense and sincere. “I can’t explain it. I know it must seem illogical to some people, but who can explain what makes a person tick. Why are you so into muscle, sir?”
“Well, it’s complicated,” I started.
“Exactly, sir,” he quickly interjected. “My need to be led . . . dominated . . . obedient is complicated, too. I’m sure the desire existed before I got huge muscles, but the bigger I became this inner need within me became stronger. I daydream about not having to think all the time anymore. I know I’m smart and all, but I want to just lift, get more swole, and live to please you. To be released from having to worry about bills, making lists, coming up with chit-chat at dinner parties, and all things inane would make me the happiest guy in the world. I’ve never met anyone I trusted more than you. It was clear from our first date that you had my best interests at heart, as well as yours. I know you’d be a steady and good compass for me. I’m not looking to be babied or lazy, sir. I’ll still do all the heavy lifting and intimidate others with my size – but now I’d do it all only when you told me to. I could stop worrying about trivial stuff and focus only on things that truly matter to me. I want someone else to tell me what to wear, when to speak, how to act. It would be the most freeing moment of my life to become your boy, sir. And if it’s not being over-confident, master, I believe I could please you a lot.”
To have a mountain of muscle call you master does something to a man. It doesn’t matter who you are. Even my tiniest toe swelled with sudden awareness of pure pride – of an unending yearning to control something so clearly powerful as the man before me. I was fully mindful of my inherent prerequisite that this be something my big friend desired beyond a shadow of a doubt – but, at the same time, I realized I had come to want it just as much as he obviously did. My cock hardened when I saw tears slowly slide down the chiseled cheeks of the muscled heap in the seat across from me. I suddenly felt like some big fairy godfather that could easily grant this Cinderfella his most heartfelt wish. At the same time, I would get a handsome slab of muscle that would – upon my request – bring me coffee in bed, offer up his ass in public toilets, or lift me as his human barbell, all with equal measure. I would release him from worldly worries – he would empower me with mind-blowing alpha-ness. I sensed deeply how good I would be at being his master – firm, confident, patient, and sternly kind. He would want for nothing and never have to worry about necessities. I would never have to lift anything heavy again or need to look at porn on the computer another day in my life. I’d have my own Hulk to boss around lovingly. Intense bear hugs before we went to bed would be a nightly request. Morning muscle worship would even come before coffee. Sitting on his waist and playing with his nipples while he bench-pressed heavy weight could be my evening appetizer.
“I can be demanding, boy,” I said softly.
“I hope so, sir,” he replied – and it was obvious he sensed we were about to seal the deal so his body radiated excitement while tears continued to fall.
“You’ll never have to worry about a thing,” I added.
“Except if I am pleasing you enough, sir,” he answered.
And my heart opened to pure bliss.