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  1. Part 3: Coach Glenn Chapter three explores the origins of our mysterious muscle benefactor, Coach Glenn. Hope you guys are enjoying! The first of the three muscleboys had arrived on a Saturday afternoon, and Glenn had spent that morning going through a moderate workout at the gym he’d installed on his property. Now freshly showered, he stood naked in front of the mirror in the master bedroom, giving himself a last once-over before Camilo arrived later that day. He ran his hand over the scalp he’d just shaved, checking to make sure he hadn’t missed a spot. Moving his face close to the mirror, he turned his head from side to side checking out his beard line. Initially panicked when the first grays had appeared in his stubble in his mid-thirties, Glenn had come to love the flecks of white and grey speckled throughout his thick stubble. As he’d lost the hair on the top of his head, he’d instead gained it everywhere else. He was at the point now where skipping even a day of shaving would result in a dense beard that would take most men at least a week to develop. His eyes moved to his naked shoulders, still pumped up and red from his workout. He clenched his palm and flexed, a single bulbous vein bursting to the surface on his deltoid. He did the same with the other arm, and then moved down to his wide chest. Rock hard and ripped, he pumped his pecs up and down as he checked himself out in the mirror, deadly serious the whole time. Grey and white hair blanketed his barrel chest and stomach all the way down to his pubes. Glen examined his midsection now, using his fingers to feel through the layers of fat at his hard muscle stomach. Did the guy have visible abs? Nope. Did his torso feel bulletproof to the touch? Absolutely. He skipped examining his dong (we'll come back to that) and took in his formidable quads, also covered in soft hair (darker than his chest and stomach). He did a little quad shake before flexing his thigh as hard as he could, a huge chasm suddenly appearing between two particularly gnarly leg muscles. He then turned to the side so he could take in his beefy dad butt. If only my scrawny college ass could see me now, he thought as he gave his semi-hairy butt cheek a light smack with his open hand, pleased with the lack of jiggle even when completely relaxed. Glenn then bounced up and down on his toes a few times as he stared into the mirror, watching closely as his hard body betrayed only the slightest of give. The only thing that bounced was Glenn’s enormously hefty penis, which swung back and forth like a pendulum. He’d heard time and time again what a massive cock he had, but never got tired of it. He realized that the bouncing was having an effect as his member awoke, growing from flaccid to angry, red, engorged, and hard as steel in less than 30 seconds. Ah fuck, here we go, he told himself. Glenn had wanted to make sure he’d be as “responsive” as possible to the three bodybuilders who would soon be living with him, and had staved off jacking off for two weeks. These days, the slightest breeze would rouse him to stiffness, which is what was happening now. Glenn pumped some moisturizer into his palm and gave his cock three, long, purposeful strokes from the root and over the cockhead, which after being stimulated now seemed to be independently sniffing the air for something warm to invade. Glenn held off from bringing himself to completion, but now that he had a full erection, he wanted a preview of what the next few months would bring. Very, very gently, Glenn gripped his monster tool with one hand and used his fingers on the other hand to pinch the tiniest amount of skin from his tumescent member. He closed his eyes and slowly used his fingers to play with the thin skin, pushing down gently on his hard as nails cock that, to a blind person, might be mistaken for a pumped bicep. He moved his fingers back and forth over his swollen penis, swearing he could feel striated muscle under the skin. God, he thought as his mind reeled over his literal dick skin. Imagine a whole body that felt like this. Soon, was his next thought. Long before Coach Glenn was living his dream of taking skin-fold measurements of ripped bodybuilders in his spare bedroom, he was just a skinny kid in Brooklyn, frantically jacking his tool to striated musclemen in magazines when the lights in his room went out. His outwardly quiet, studious appearance belied his kinky obsession—his mind would drift during economics class, imagining using his tongue to explore the beautiful lines of Bob Paris, or being buried under the mass of Shawn Ray. Glenn was a tall and good-looking teenager, but didn’t date girls, for obvious reasons. He went to NYU, and it was there that he first started fucking around with other guys. It started off with him getting blowjobs a few times a week from an older guy whose apartment was near Glenn’s dorm. This was the first guy to marvel at Glenn’s beautiful, beer can thick, 9.5 inch cock, and he wouldn’t be the last. His sophomore year, he met a stocky muscle bear-type artist who lived in the Bronx. The guy had some size on him for sure, but he was certainly nowhere near the dick-skin dreamboat Glenn idealized. Still, he was hot, and was the first guy Glenn ever fucked. It still made him hard to think about that first time, when Tom had been on all fours on the bed, backing up his hard, beefy ass into the standing Glenn’s rigid erection. Glenn’s girth meant that they had to work together to get it in, Glenn bucking his hips slowly as Tom backed his ass up onto him. Glenn’s mouth had fallen open slightly as he watched his huge dick slowly disappear into Tom’s hairy crack, and then emerge again, thicker, redder, and slick with lube. It was like the warmest embrace of his life that he’d been waiting for for so long, and he couldn’t help but begin thrusting with abandon. He put his hand on Tom’s lower back and was grunting and emptying his balls within three thrusts, panting as the room blurred. Immediately afterward, he’d had to sit down, as his wobbly knees felt like they were going to give out from the intensity of his orgasm. Despite incredible sex with Tom, and later with others, Glenn never stopped fantasizing about shredded, vascular, peeled to the bone bodybuilders. Men like that wouldn’t be easy to come by in real life, so Glenn made due by hitting up muscle escorts when they visited the city. Even these experiences, while mind-blowing, didn’t exactly hit the mark. Often, these musclemen technically didn’t rise to the level of “bodybuilder,” and the ones who did never visited in anything close to competition-ready condition. This is what got Glenn thinking about sponsoring a bodybuilder, pouring all of his savings and resources into getting a guy to be the most absolutely shredded, shrink-wrapped, muscle beast on the planet. Even better if you could persuade him to live with you and submit to you for worship. Glenn was working in commercial real estate in Manhattan at this point, and the market was particularly hot. He lived far more modestly than he could afford to, never went on vacation or ate out, strived for the absolutely most frugal way of life. His one expense was working out at the gym with a personal trainer, and though he didn’t have much time due to his work schedule, he tried to hit the gym as hard as he could, whenever he could. The years went by, and Glenn got rich, and big. His hair had mostly fallen out at this point, and his boyish good looks had morphed into a rugged, weathered stud. Boys constantly messaged him on apps, looking for a pounding by a big daddy type, but Glenn wasn’t interested. He had bigger fish to dry. Eventually Glenn had amassed enough savings to never have to work again, and retired at the ripe old age of 44. He’d grown tired of the city (and, frankly, always had a thing for cornfed muscle boys), and moved to a very modest two-bedroom home on a few acres of land about 20 miles from Omaha. He calculated that, dipping into all of his accounts, he could comfortably fund three bodybuilders for up to five years. That funding would include: gym and training with the top pros he could get to fly out to Nebraska; a bachelor’s degree for each from the university; all the food they could eat; a car each; housing (the bodybuilders would have to share a single bed, unfortunately, but expenses needed to be saved anywhere they could); and a $250,000 bonus if they came in first in competition after being transformed by him. Glenn began scouring the internet, looking for bodybuilders with the potential to get skinless, ideally ones who were already engaged in muscle worship and so wouldn’t balk at the terms of Glenn’s deal. He’d always had a thing for that grainy, sunken-in, pale look that euro guys can get, so he first concentrated his efforts on eastern Europe. Petr, with his otherworldly pale and blonde looks, and ripped to fuck, lean condition, made Glenn’s dick pulse when he first saw the posing video. Soon he was off to check out the Czech with a translator he’d met on a certain muscle-worship forum. Next, Glenn pored over bodybuilders from South and Central America. These guys had often seemed, through Glenn’s limited experience and generalizing, to be able to pack on serious muscle despite being on the shorter side. He’d been enamored with Camilo from the second he saw him, with that bad boy long hair in his face all sweaty, pug-like torso that looked hard as fuck, and absolutely gigantic bulge and ass that always seemed on the verge of popping out of posers completely. Camilo had been a bit of a harder sell than Petr—Glenn had had to reiterate time and again that Camilo didn’t have to fuck anyone or get fucked as part of the arrangement—but eventually he came around once Glenn started flattering the fuck out of him. Never fails with these “straight” guys, he thought, as he watched Camilo sign the paperwork. The third and final bodybuilder was the hardest to decide upon. Glenn had signed Petr and Camilo two months before he’d finally landed on Asif. Glenn had found this guy on Instagram, actually, as a random competitor in the background of a different competitor’s photo. The shot had been taken backstage of a bodybuilding contest in Kuwait. As the insta guy threw up a cheesy double biceps shot, Asif stood to the side, looking in a mirror, arms raised above his head, fingers interlocked as his peaked, taut biceps crowded his head, crunching down on some seriously symmetrical abs in a classic abdominal-thigh pose. Glenn had zoomed in to get a better view of this pocket rocket of muscle cranking his favorite pose, and was most struck by the expression on the young bodybuilder’s face. Asif (Glenn didn’t know his name then) was crunching it big-time in shiny yellow trunks that gave his deep, lush skin tone a beautiful glow, furrowing his brow in determination as he clearly gave it his all. Veins snaked from his cock root up to his tight bellybutton. His face registered pain and discomfort, but there was also the smallest hint of a smile around the corners of his mouth. He was clearly pleased with his progress, and at that moment, so was Glenn’s dick. This competitor didn't seem to have an Instagram, but Glenn found him by zooming in on the number that was attached to his trunks. Tracking him down had taken a long time, but Glenn was beyond thrilled to now have this pint-sized muscle toy in his house, representing Egypt in the Muscle U.N. “Okay, Asif,” Glenn said. “Last one.”
  2. Kind of on a roll with this one, so posting Part 2! Hope you all enjoy! Comments encouraged! Part 2: Camilo’s Turn Camilo’s marvelous ass had been an object of fascination and distraction for as long as he could remember. You could even say that it was what led him on his bodybuilding journey to begin with. One of the earliest instances he recalled being aware of his distractingly different body was in elementary school in Colombia, when he’d taken swim lessons with 20 other boys. A private Catholic school, uniforms were required, right down to the swimwear. After one practice session in an extremely ill-fitting dark blue speedo, Camilo was informed that he would have to instead wear different, more square-cut trunks. He had cried when his parents told him this, insisting that he wanted to be like the rest of the boys. They had just shrugged and told him that rules were rules. Later on, his father had laughed when recounting the conversation he’d had with the swimming coach. The coach had called their home and, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation, had suggested that Camilo switch his swim wear to something to “draw less attention to his unusual development in both the back and front of his lower body.” He had justified this request by insisting that the other boys would be confused by seeing a peer with junk twice the size of theirs, and scandalized by Camilo’s butt cheeks and ass crack that could never be contained by school-issued swimwear. His ass was also often the object of ridicule. Showering with the other boys after gym class would almost certainly involve hoots and hollers as his classmates ogled his massive bottom and smacked him with towels. Camilo would always shower with his back against the wall in the hopes of making his full moons less apparent. As he grew older, though, and his formidable penis matured into a massively fat donkey dong, his classmates clammed up at the sight, embarrassed by their inferior equipment. Camilo picked up on this, his confidence growing right along with his manhood, and he wouldn’t hesitate to parade himself naked throughout the locker room on full display. His three older sisters and cousins would tease him about his ample booty, swatting it any chance they got and lamenting that their own backsides weren’t as “developed.” Other boys would imitate his walk as a swishy strut, making hourglass-shapes in the air with their fingers and hooting as he waddled past. This, in particular, infuriated him, as it called him out as un-masculine. He decided to fix that, starting to hit the school gym as early as 12. His already bulky physique lent itself well to taking on mass, and he started to grow, noticeably. He was careful not to add too much more junk to his trunk—really, at this point he thought of bodybuilding mostly as an exercise to catch the rest of his body up to his big ol butt. People started to notice—especially women. By 14, a beautiful older woman in town had made him a man. His wide, hard physique and macho good looks attracted attention wherever he went, and the focus became less about his freakish ass, and more about his freakish “everything.” At 16, he competed in a local contest, and easily outclassed the competition. Glenn had seen pics from this first show, and it’s almost laughable how much Camilo towers over the other men on stage. The choice image from this show has Camilo sexily smirking, covered in sweat and pro-tan, as he pretends to take a chomp out of his first-place medal. Sadly, things would take a turn for Camilo and his family. Camilo’s father, who supported the family by owning some small farms outside of Bogata, passed away unexpectedly. Everything was thrown into disarray. Business took a huge hit, and the family had to sell off two farms, hugely diminishing their income. Camilo left school to pick up the slack, and in his precious little free time, threw himself into lifting like he never had before as a way to deal with the tragedy that changed so much in so little time. Eventually, business stabilized, and Camilo moved to Bogata to train with some local pros and find work. Realizing how expensive it was going to be to support himself AND transform into a pro bodybuilder, Camilo didn’t hesitate to put up an online profile renting himself out for worship. He was emphatic that ONLY worship would be accepted, and didn’t hesitate to cut a session short for any funny business. It actually worked out well for him—not only was he getting paid, but if he was really honest with himself, it turned him on to show off his incredible physique, especially knowing how much his beautiful body was turning on others—male or female. Now, having made the trip to America like Petr and the third bodybuilder, Camilo was ready to show off for the man who had brought him here with promises of turning him into the freak of his wildest dreams. He stood in a front relaxed pose, arms out, quads tensed, chest puffing out wide, back held erect. Also erect, Glenn took the measuring tape and placed it around Camilo’s chest. Camilo looked up, trying to gauge a reaction from Glenn, but Glenn’s face betrayed nothing as he casually made a note on his notepad. Camilo wondered if Glenn was somehow let down by his physique. That was definitely not the case. Glenn maintained his poker face, but was giddy on the inside. Muscle bull, he thought to himself as he gently but firmly felt Camilo’s grainy hard pecs. This guy’ll never be as conditioned as the others but we’re gonna build this one up big-time. Squats till he drops. He commanded Camilo to switch to a side relaxed pose. As he swiveled his tree-trunk legs into position, his ridiculously full bulge ballooned out in front of him, his floppy penis dragging down his briefs until the very top of his pubes was exposed. Might have to get him bigger trunks, Glenn noted. “Tighter,” he said, emotionlessly. Camilo flexed his entire body hard, his chest bursting. “Tighter.” Camilo snorted and contorted his muscles even harder. The very, very top of Camilo’s cock root was exposed now. Maybe these fit just fine after all, Glenn reconsidered. His hands moved above to Camilo’s shelf-like muscle ass. “May I?” he asked Camilo. Camilo nodded through his intense concentration. Glenn didn’t hesitate to plant both meaty hands over Camilo’s briefs, feeling the two giant bowling ball ass cheeks through the fabric. “Flex these,” he said. Camilo obeyed, and their hardness morphed from bowling balls to something more like oversized croquet balls, faint lines of corded breaking the surface. Glenn ran his fingers over the fabric lightly. “Decent,” he said. Camilo beamed at this first encouragement—but it would be the last he would receive for a while. (Coach Glenn hoped that withholding praise would encourage his muscle toys to work even harder to gain his approval.) After a few more minutes manhandling the muscle bull, Coach Glenn motioned for Camilo to return to the bed where Petr was sitting. The third bodybuilder, not waiting for his name to be called, stood and strode confidently to the center of the room, absolutely dwarfed by Camilo’s size as the two hardbodies passed each other by.
  3. First time poster here! I haven't written anything in a while, but I have a few ideas about where this potential story could go. Posting the first chapter now, and will post the second in a few days. I hope you enjoy--feedback is encouraged! omfg Muscle U.N. Part One: Measuring Up The three young bodybuilders were still adjusting the underwear they’d just been given to change into while one opened the blinds to the bedroom’s one enormous window. Evening light flooded the room, illuminating their sculpted bodies as they marveled at the prairie sky’s gradient of oranges and purples taking up the expanse as far as the eye could see. None could speak the same language yet, but all felt the same commingling of excitement and nervous apprehension about the abrupt change their lives had taken. Even a person with the most cursory understanding of and appreciation for bodybuilding would note immediately that all three of these guys were in incredible shape, and likely some sort of body builder or fitness model. All were college-age. The tallest of the three stood just under 6 feet tall, lanky and lean, with close cropped blond hair, an extremely light dusting of blond body hair, and very fair, pale skin. His muscles had a nice elegance to him, and framed his long body beautifully. All he wore was a thin chain with a tiny cross that hung down to his chest and high-cut grey briefs that emphasized his relatively flat but still hard as fuck glutes. The second tallest stood about 5’7, and was thick as a tank. In a shirt, he might be described as almost “stocky” when off-season. But take the shirt off, as was the case now, and his torso boasted a surprisingly narrow taper for a thicker guy. His massive, hairy pecs bulged even when relaxed, and his hard stomach was covered in a thin layer of black fur. His hair was black, short and wavy, but long enough to be held up in a bun by a rubber band. His lower body was thick too, with meaty thighs and a laughably huge muscle ass covered in butt-hugging blue briefs (which had been laid out on the bed with a name tag for him) that looked great with his darker complexion. The shortest was a shortie indeed. At an astounding 5’2, this guy was a dark-skinned beauty who probably had the most “beautiful” of the three bodies. Nice proportions all around with perfectly symmetrical abs visible even when relaxed. And speaking of “beautiful,” this guy was it. Perfect skin, gorgeous eyes, jet-black, thick hair that had been freshly buzzed on the sides, razor cheekbones, all that universally acknowledged pretty-boy stuff. Pelt-like fur covered his body, and his plump, fuzzy butt rested in a pair of lime green briefs. Glenn stood in the doorway, taking a moment to appreciate the scene before him, the culmination of his life’s work. Three beautiful bodybuilders. In one room. In his house. Ready to work. Glenn stood at 6’3, and so pretty much towered over the three young men. He was in his late-forties, balding, bearded, broad, and burly. Not a bodybuilder by any means but a guy who took care of himself for sure. While his contemporaries were resembling bloated badgers as they aged, he could jump-rope shirtless with only the slightest of a jiggle. Today, he wore form-fitting black workout shorts and a University of Nebraska t-shirt that, while not skin-tight, answered the question about whether or not he even lifted, bro. Glenn cleared his throat; the three turned in unison. “I see you all found your trunks,” he said, gesturing to their crotches. They nodded, with the shortest of the three smiling and giving a thumb's up. “So Coach Glenn thinks we should start with some initial measurements before we start out on a serious game plan, sound good?” The thickest of the three answered “Sure,” and the other two seemed to catch on and nod. Glenn held out the calipers and measuring tape he’d been holding. “Ok, Petr: why don’t you go first?” He gestured to the middle of the room. Petr nodded and strode confidently toward the center of the room, standing perfectly still in his briefs with his hands as his sides. The two other bodybuilders made their way to the king-size bed, where they sat on the edge and looked on. Glenn proceeded to where Petr was standing, wanting to take a moment to remember this scene. He had seen the kid up close back in the Czech Republic, but the translator had been in the room, and so he couldn’t get too grubby. Petr had lifted his shirt on the translator’s request, his wonky-shaped, irregular abs locking into place. Glenn knew that their blatant asymmetry might cost the kid some points with the judges, but they scored major points with him. Damn, he’d thought. Once we get this kid peeled skinless, that’s going to look like some majorly gnarled shit right there. But it was Petr’s legs that had really sealed the deal for “Coach” Glenn. He’d seen them in youtube clips, but when Petr had lifted his gym shorts and flexed those braided, lean quads, Glenn knew right then that this walking broomstick of muscle would be perfect for his project. Now, he went to work. “Lift up your arm, Petr?” he asked politely. Petr looked at him and shrugged. Glenn gently lifted up Petr’s arm, and then ran his fingers down his side until he reached the waistband of his underwear. Using his fingers, he gently crunched Petr’s body to the side so that the skin would be drawn tight over his lats. “There we go.” Coach Glenn first used his fingers to pinch a small bit of skin from Petr’s side, and then the calipers to measure it. “Not bad” coach muttered. He proceeded to move all over Petr’s lean pale body, painstakingly measuring his body fat percentages, measuring his softball biceps, and always making sure to maintain as much body contact with his hands as possible. Petr didn’t mind—that was part of the arrangement. And, as Glenn knew, Petr was used to guys having their mitts all over him anyway. Petr was born in the Czech Republic to a middle-class family of four. He was an athletic kid from the start, excelling in any sport he put his mind too, from football to handball to swimming. A bike injury sidelined him from sports for a year when he was 14, and he fell behind his peers in their athletic development. Once he recovered, he decided to start lifting weights to get himself back into shape. He was amazed at how responsive his body was to lifting, and especially when it came to doing cardio. The trainers at the gym were wowed by his body’s seeming inability to keep fat on it—that was when they started coaching him on food so that his super-fast metabolism didn’t starve him. At 16 he entered his first contest. On the clip Glenn watched, you can see Petr take the stage kind of awkward and unsure. But as he starts his routine, he absolutely comes to life. And there’s an incredible moment where Petr shows off his obscenely developed inner thigh muscles, and the crowd audibly gasps. Unfortunately, Petr didn't win that contest, or any others, despite his shredded conditioning. At the end of the day, he didn’t have access to the training, or resources, other competitors had. His family fell on hard times too, and so could no longer support his bodybuilding dreams. Although a straight, god-fearing Christian boy, Petr knew that he could earn cash through his otherworldly bod, and started renting himself for muscle worship sessions in Prague, which was about an hour from his home. That was how Glenn found him online in the first place. Petr’s rule was no sex, no penetration, but if a guy wanted to pay him a few hundred bucks to jerk off on him? No sweat. One thing about being a straight, god-fearing Christian boy is that, if you’re really devout, you won’t have sex before marriage. And Petr had followed that to a T, still a virgin at 19, never having gone further than second base with a friend from childhood behind a deli. And so being young and full of cum, Petr often found himself feeling extremely pent-up, and wrestled with the need to reconcile his desire to stay true to his faith while wanting to fuck everything that moves. And so, while popping a boner during a posing session for a devout worshipper (of another kind) wasn’t unheard of, he didn’t really ever think too much of it. Now Glenn gently turned Petr so he was facing away from him. He tugged Petr’s high-waisted briefs up even more and gently traced Petr’s hard glutes. “Flex.” Petr knew that word, and instantly faint lines appeared along the sides of his ass. Glenn said nothing, and pulled the briefs back down to where they would be more comfortable. He then spun Petr back around again and crouched so that his eyes were at Petr’s crotch. He noted the faint outline of Petr’s mushroom-stamp at the tip of his briefs, but his eyes didn't linger. He strummed along Petr’s inner thigh with his fingers: “Flex.” A thousand striations appeared along Petr’s thigh muscles, an endlessly complicated map of muscle. Fuck, Glenn thought, but again didn’t say anything. Fucking beautiful. Petr, the whole time, unquestioningly obeyed coach’s commands. He knew that it was going to be a rough road ahead on his journey, but that’s what he was here for. The opportunity to be in America, with a college education fully paid for, a living situation fully paid for, coaching, food and supplements fully paid for…really, everything fully paid for. All he had to do was work to get as shredded as possible to meet Coach Glenn’s high expectations, and getting shredded was a goal of his anyway. He missed his family and friends back in the Czech Republic, but he was happy with this new situation for sure. Coach Glenn finally stood up again, the front of his shorts now thick and bulbous, all three bodybuilders noted. Coach didn't say anything about it, remaining all business. He put his hand on Petr’s back, and motioned him to the bed. He then pointed at the thick guy, the bigger, bodybuilder who had been sitting on the bed. “Camilo. Now you.”
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