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muscleaddict

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  1. muscleaddict

    Charlie's Secret

    Thanks mate!
  2. muscleaddict

    Charlie's Secret

    Haha! Loving these suggestions guys! Hmmmm. Might be kinda cool to do a follow up and reunite Charlie and Tommy! I'd probably set it a few years later though. Charlie a little older, more experienced and confident and Tommy much, much bigger!! You guys have got my mind working with possible scenarios now! I've mentioned it before the story I'm currently working on references Tommy a few times as a famous bodybuilder. He's now a 212 pro and nicknamed "The Tank"!
  3. muscleaddict

    Charlie's Secret

    Awww, bless you mate! And thank you for your continuing feedback! 😊
  4. muscleaddict

    Charlie's Secret

    Hehe! Maybe I will one day. The story I'm writing at the moment actually references all of the bodybuilders from this story, although it's very much it's own thing.
  5. muscleaddict

    Charlie's Secret

    Thank you, mate! I'm not sure if it's a little slow and repetitive in places so appreciate that feedback! Haha - well, funnily enough I did once think about a spin off called "Live For The Pump" featuring Bryan and Tommy!
  6. muscleaddict

    Charlie's Secret

    Following Bryan Macleod out of the pump room, I found myself in the same small meeting room where he’d given Billy Horvath and I his presentation that morning. The presentation where he’d confidently rolled words like “pump and pose” and “jacked up muscle bulls” off his tongue. “So, how did find your work experience placement with us today, Charlie?” Oooh…erm…let’s see; I’ve been surrounded by the kind of obscenely huge, inhumanly shredded muscle freaks I’ve been fantasising about and wanking over for years, managed to witness said muscle freaks pumping, posing and flexing within a very close proximity, spent the entire day in the company of the most charming, endearing man who transpired to be the liked minded muscle lover I’ve always wanted to meet, while also possibly being my future husband (sorry Bry) and managed to get an invite to the hotel room of a ridiculously hot gay bodybuilder, who invited me to touch and oil up one half of his indecently developed, phenomenally muscular body, before turning me on to the point where I shot a massive load in my undies, with no penetration to my dick as my fingers dug in to his fully flexed mounds of incredibly pumped, otherworldly muscle, and now I’m wearing posing trunks. “Yeah, it’s been really good. It’s been great working with a proper camera crew.” BRIGHT BLEEDIN’ PINK POSING TRUNKS! “Excellent!” Bryan replied. “I’m glad you’ve got something out of it, and thanks for providing an extra hand too. You’ve definitely helped us out.” “I just received some really good feedback from Stuart,” Bryan continued. “He said you were excellent with the camera.” A weight suddenly felt like it had been lifted as I realised that neither Stuart, nor I, were getting into trouble at all. Bryan had simply just wanted feedback from Stuart on how I’d performed, and Stuart had kindly and rather adorably given me a glowing reference. “Stuart also said you might be interested in coming to work with us at another competition?” Bryan continued. “Well we’re shooting some footage at a show in San Francisco three weeks today if you’re available? It will be a much smaller competition than the one you worked on today.” Bryan was obviously referring to the show that Stuart had informed me about during our break. The one that he unfortunately couldn’t make, but very generously offered to try and get me a spot as a cameraman on. Whatever trick Stuart had tried with Bryan had obviously worked, and I was suddenly being faced with the very possibility of embarking on yet another day spent in a pump room surrounded by outrageously pumped muscle bulls. I had no idea at that point that Stuart had failed to mention just a very small detail about said show, until Bryan spoke his next words. “The other difference is that it will be a pro bodybuilding competition, so the competitors will be even more monstrous than the guys you shot today.” Erm…three words Bryan, mate. HO. LEE. FUUUCKK! Even after both my incredible experience in the pump room, and my unlikely but amazing encounter with Tommy Foster, I was still wasn’t sure whether I had the nerve to work at another show and be surrounded by, not just muscle freaks, but monstrously huge pro bodybuilding muscle freaks, without Stuart Fox by my side. Bryan Macleod could clearly sense my reservations. “You don’t need to decide now, Charlie. I’ll give you my card. Have a think about it and just send me a text or give me or call. If you could let me know by the end of next week though that’d be great.” Saying my goodbyes to Bryan Macleod, I headed back to the pump room with his completely brilliant but admittedly nerve wracking offer on my mind. I had just over a week to decide whether I wanted to dive into this world of extreme muscle again, and navigate myself around a pump room full of monstrously sized, competition conditioned pro bodybuilders. Most, if not all, of whom I was probably already familiar with. Only this time, without a cheeky, charming filming mentor by my side who’d invite me to play the most fun, creative, self-invented games, and sneak off to a hotel room to oil up and touch the huge, shredded muscle of an insanely sexy gay bodybuilder in what was undoubtedly the hottest experience of my life. Firstly, I had one more mission to complete before my work experience placement was over. I needed to get that very cheeky, charming filming mentor’s phone number, and start the passionate, muscle obsessed love affair we were clearly destined to have. As I bounced back into the pump room, I played out the most perfect scenario in my head. I’d cheekily and confidently pose a question to Stuart. “So, one last category for your game. The work experience guy in the room you most want to see again?” to which he’d respond with one of his stupidly handsome grins and reply, in the sexiest and most flirtatious manner, “Easiest winner of the day.” The optimism and excitement I felt suddenly vanished, and was replaced by a sharp twinge of anxiety when I saw that Stuart Fox, standing not far from where I’d left him, was not alone. I nervously approached my filming mentor and the mysterious new figure. Suddenly spotting me on the approach, Stuart greeted me with a genuinely pleased, but slightly awkward smile. “Hey, did you talk to Bryan about doing another show?” Stuart’s friendliness couldn’t hide the awkward tension that was clearly evident. I looked at the unidentified and painfully handsome figure. The casual and comfortable manner in which he was leaning next to Stuart suggested that they knew each other very well. “Ummm…yeah. He asked if I want to do a show in a couple of weeks.” Erm…just one question Stuart. Who the buggering bleeding bolloxing HELL is THIS?! “That show you told me about earlier.” “Hey, that’s awesome!” Stuart was talking to me in a tone considerably less relaxed and informal than he had done before. He was clearly feeling uncomfortable and awkward in the presence of both me and the guy standing to his right. I had a dreadful, sinking feeling I knew exactly why. It was left to the new mystery guy himself to initiate an introduction. Giving me a warm, friendly smile, he said, in a slightly effeminate voice, “Hey, I’m Hugo.” “Oh, sorry.” a suddenly flustered Stuart said. “Charlie this is Hugo, Hugo this is Charlie.” Hugo reached out his hand for me to shake, which I nervously took, all the time feeling like I was being repeatedly kicked in the stomach. “Hey, Charlie.” FUCKOFFFUCKOFFFUCKOFF! “Charlie’s on work experience,” Stuart said, the awkwardness of the atmosphere easing just a little. “Ahhhh,” Hugo replied. “They always stick the work experience guys with Stewie.” Stewie? STEWIE?! Excuse me while I just throw up in my mouth. And with one single abbreviation of Stuart’s name came the biggest kick to my stomach yet as I realised my suspicions on exactly who I was meeting were correct. There would be no muscle obsessed love affair with the funny, handsome and incredibly endearing man I’d grown increasingly attracted to over the course of the day, and who I’d shared the most amazing muscle worship and sexual experience with for one reason only. He already had a boyfriend. An impossibly pretty Latino boyfriend. A boyfriend who was looking at his watch and seemed eager to get away as soon as he possibly could from the pump room full of muscle freaks he, no doubt, had absolutely zero interest in. Stuart Fox, meanwhile, was doing a very good job of giving me a concerned, apologetic look subtle enough to not raise suspicion from his boyfriend, while also looking rather sheepish, presumably over the fact that, not long before, I’d seen him with his dick in his hand, pumping a fountain of cum over the freakishly muscular stomach of another man. It was at that moment that I realised that his relationship with Hugo was, in fact, the confession he had tried to make earlier, before Brian had interrupted him. “Stewie, we should…” Hugo’s voice trailed off as he signalled in the direction of the exit. “Oh right, course,” Stuart quickly and awkwardly responded, while suddenly looking deflated. His mouth slightly curled into one of his handsome grins, but his face was filled with a sense of sadness, almost longing as he looked at me and said, “Hey, thanks for…keeping me company today.” “No worries,” I said. “Thanks for looking after me.” After everything Stuart and I had been through together that day, I hated how formal and impersonal it suddenly felt between us as we said goodbye. “Maybe I’ll catch you again, at another show?” Although it was undoubtedly genuine, there was a slight restraint in Stuart’s enthusiasm, like he was desperately trying to work out the appropriate level of being excited at the prospect of seeing another guy again, while his boyfriend stood three inches away from him. I nodded and replied with a, “Yeah, maybe,” in a not entirely convincing tone. It wasn’t completely out of the realms of possibility that Stuart and I would cross paths again. I had landed a spot on another show, and we both still lived in California after all, but I would be returning to England in a few short months. Unless I timed a return trip to the States with another show, which a possibly then single Stuart Fox also happened to be a part of, the chances of another encounter felt considerably slim. “Oh and good luck with the next show, if you decide to do it.” “I probably will!” I quickly, and perhaps a little too eagerly, responded. I still wasn’t completely convinced I would accept Bryan Macleod’s offer, but I clearly wanted Stuart Fox to know that in three weeks time I’d probably be in another pump room surrounded by more muscle monsters, pumping and posing their indecent mass in their brightly coloured posers. Whether I just wanted to impress him or potentially make him jealous, I wasn’t really sure. Maybe I even said it in the vague hope that if he knew I would be there, he’d drop whatever plans he had and do the show with me? As we said our final goodbyes, and Stuart gave me one last poignant, longing look, like he was practically being dragged out of the room and wanted nothing more than to stay with me, I was suddenly consumed by an incredible and overwhelming sense of sadness. Regardless of what had happened in Tommy Foster’s hotel room, something had been happening between me and Stuart Fox. I’d not only finally met a like minded muscle lover, who harboured the same thoughts and feelings about huge, freaky bodybuilders as I did, but I’d also met someone with whom I had felt the most incredible connection and chemistry with. And now, I was watching him walk away with his boyfriend. It felt like I had stumbled across something truly special, and suddenly the universe had decided to cruelly take it away from me. “Are you ready to get the hell out of here?” I sighed and turned to find my classmate Billy Horvath standing next to me with a look of relief on his face, presumably because whatever ordeal he’d been through that day was finally over. I turned around to take one last look around the pump room and spotted Blaine Holton standing in front of a flashing photographer holding his super heavyweight class winning trophy with one hand, while the other was curled into a fist and his incredibly flexed, supersized bicep was exploding through his wafer thin, tan tinted skin. As any thought of Stuart Fox momentarily disappeared, I couldn’t help but think how inexplicably amazing it was that not long before, I’d had my fingers wrapped around a bicep almost as big in that very pose. Billy Horvath was uncharacteristically quiet on the walk through the theatre foyer and out of the building, sparking a curiosity as to whether the day hadn’t been as pain stakingly awful as I might have predicted. “So, Billy, how was your work experience placement?” “Oh, fantastic! It’s just the kind of place I want to work when I graduate. Well worth the thousands of dollars my dad is paying for this course,” replied Billy in a sarcastic tone, his eyes rolling. It was curious. Billy was just as obnoxious as he had ever been, the day’s events clearly having had no kind of effect on his character. And yet, unlike previously, his comment didn’t bother or annoy me in the slightest. “So, your opinion about bodybuilders hasn’t changed?” I teasingly probed him, once again, impressed at the complete lack of embarrassment with saying a word I previously never would have. “Nope! They’re still a bunch of disgusting, brain-dead meatheads,” he sharply replied. For the first time in response to anything Billy Horvath had ever said, my mouth curled into a smile. At first I didn’t know what was happening, and then it hit me. I’d spent the entire day trying to work out what the people around me were thinking, and what their motives were. For most of the day I had no confirmation that Stuart Fox was even gay, let alone a like minded muscle lover. I certainly hadn’t known that the man who’d been assigned the job as my filming mentor didn’t actually have an interest in being a camera man, and I’d received absolutely no hint or clue that he actually had a boyfriend when I was watching him with his dick in his hand and he was shooting a load of cum over a flexing muscle freak in shiny yellow posers. A muscle freak who, similarly, left me second guessing for an agonising amount of time as to exactly what his intentions were for dragging me back to his hotel room. In sharp comparison, Billy Horvath was a man who held absolutely nothing back. No matter how unlikeable and obnoxious he was, at least there was no second guessing what Billy was thinking. And in that moment, it felt amazingly refreshing. “You don’t make apologies to anyone do you, Billy?” Surprisingly, Billy smiled in response. I assumed it was probably the first time he’d received anything close to a compliment in a long while. Even more surprising was what Billy Horvath said in response. “And you apologise too much.” I gave him a confused, blank look, and he began to explain. “What you said this morning about those bodybuilders being…” at this point Billy paused and screwed up his face in disgust at the thought of his next word, “amazing, or whatever. I wasn’t just shocked at what you said. I was shocked because, for once, you weren’t afraid to say what was on your mind. And you didn’t give a crap about what I thought either. You need to do that more often.” I couldn’t believe it. Of all the ways I could have predicted the day to end, receiving, not just character advice, but rather good character advice from Billy Horvath was definitely not one of them. Billy was right. I did need to speak my mind more often, and I definitely needed to stop worrying so much about what other people thought. If I didn’t, then I’d certainly never end up like Bryan Macleod, comfortably walking around pump rooms and bodybuilding shows in t-shirts with brilliant muscle related slogans written on the back. And so, standing outside the theatre I’d been so unbelievably nervous to enter that morning, in the bright pink posing trunks of the insanely shredded muscle freak who’d made me cream in my jeans from touching and squeezing his ridiculously developed, fully flexed muscle in his hotel room, I decided to take Billy Horvath’s advice. “So, Bryan Macleod asked me do another show next month. And I’m pretty sure I’m gonna do it.” “Fantastic,” Billy sarcastically said, rolling his eyes. I smiled in response, and, surprising myself, in a confident, carefree manner replied, “Yeah. It most definitely will be. In fact, it’ll probably be pretty fucking amazing!” “Whatever floats your boat, Charlie,” Billy replied, in the same, sarcastic tone, with a characteristically judgemental expression on his face. My next words were said in a completely passive, nonchalant manner. “You really a twat aren’t you, Billy Horvath?” Billy looked momentarily taken aback and clearly slightly offended, before his face seemed to soften slightly, and a small smirk arose from his lips. “Well I’m glad to see you’re taking my advice,” he said. “Don’t go too overboard with it though.” I couldn’t help but smile, partly because of my newly found confidence and complete lack of fear at telling Billy what I thought, but also, out of the sheer unlikelihood that I was actually indulging in, and further more, rather enjoying some fun, friendly banter with Billy Horvath. “See you Monday, Charlie.” “Yeah. Fuck off, Billy,” I playfully replied. Walking away with a raised eyebrow, and an amused smirk he was almost able to mask at my retort, Billy Horvath was gone. Standing in pretty much the same spot that I had that morning, I took one last look at the arts theatre before me. A slight sadness that the experience was over crept over me, until I reminded myself that in exactly three weeks time I could be standing outside another arts theatre, ready to leap into another epic muscle adventure, filming a bodybuilder with thicker muscle tits than Blaine Holton, bigger biceps than Chris “Freaky Peaks” Jackson’s, even more freakishly striated glutes than Justin Hughes’ or sporting even hotter posing trunks than the ones worn by Mr Golden Posers. Maybe I’ll even meet a like minded muscle addict even more handsome and charming than Stuart Fox, and one who doesn’t have a secret, gorgeous boyfriend. And maybe I’ll get invited to a hotel room by a secretly gay bodybuilder with abs even more beautiful and a style of posing even more animated and outrageously cocky than Tommy Foster’s. A bodybuilder who’d let me feel and squeeze his indecently sized, incredibly flexed biceps while growling in my face as I blasted another load into my boxers, thus leading him to kindly lend me a pair of posers even shinier and more brilliantly coloured than the ones I was currently wearing. And so, without any hesitation or fear, I took both Bryan MacWoofityWoof’s business card, and my phone out of the pocket of my jeans and with one single text, my place on a camera crew filming some of the biggest pro muscle monsters in the business backstage at a bodybuilding show was confirmed. It was only when I was putting Bryan’s business card back into my pocket that I suddenly noticed something written on the back. Flipping the card around, my mouth curled into a smile. Staring back at me, in the exact same style and font as they were presented on the back of Bryan Macleod’s blue t-shirt were the four familiar words of “LIVE FOR THE PUMP”. THE END Thank you for all the comments, feedback, messages and likes! 😊 I have one more older story I might post here and I'm also working on something new which hopefully I'll be posting soon! And here's some links to some of my other stories both on here and on my Muscle Addicts Inc blog... Have You Seen These Posing Trunks Mikey The Human Muscle Morph Dan and Jake Thanks again, guys! 😊
  7. muscleaddict

    Charlie's Secret

    And in honour of Charlie being gifted a pair of pink posers from Tommy, here's a pic of my own pink trunks! FYI - I'm not a bodybuilder, I just really love posing trunks! 😊
  8. muscleaddict

    Charlie's Secret

    Nine Of all the things I had anticipated to witness on my work experience placement that day, the image of a shredded bodybuilder wiping cum from his beautifully shaped, crazily carved out abdominals with a balled up t-shirt, while grinning and sharing a post orgasmic laugh with the owner of that cum, was definitely not one of them. “I gotta ask you guys,” Tommy began as he wiped the last of Stuart’s spunk off his thick, gorgeous abs. “Tell me if this it too personal, but have either of you ever been with a bodybuilder before?” It was a question I was dying to know myself in relation to Stuart, and was slightly surprised when he joined me in shaking his head and giving Tommy a definite and resounding “no”. An ecstatic grin emerged on Tommy’s face as he replied with a single, “Awesome,” clearly revelling in the fact that he’d just made the dreams of two very lucky muscle lovers come true. Turning to me, Tommy playfully pursed and lips and cheekily said, “Ooooh, Charlie. How are those undies working out for you?” Oooh…erm…FUCKING DRENCHED!! And it’s all your bloody fault for being an insanely hot mountain of thick, shredded to buggery, superhuman muscle and letting me squeeze one of your enormous sized fucking biceps while you practically cranked a most muscular in my face. Grrr-RUFF! I immediately blushed at the reference to my spunk filled underwear, even though I knew that Tommy’s intentions were nothing but playful. He shook his head and said, “I can’t send you back to Bryan wearing those.” Wondering exactly what Tommy Foster intended to do with my spunk soaked boxers, he walked over to his holdall and, rummaging through it, said, “Let me see what I’ve got here.” Stuart shot me a confused, but slightly excited grin as we eagerly waited to see what Tommy was about to pull out of his bag. Maybe this was a regular problem for him. Having to deal with the tricky situation of sending the camera men he’d dragged to his hotel room to worship him back to the pump room with spunk soaked underwear, and one too many telling off’s from Bryan Macleod had taught him to always pack a spare pair of boxer shorts or tighty-whities in his travel bag. Only it wasn’t a pair of boxer shorts that Tommy Foster pulled out for me to wear, nor was it a pair of tighty-whities. “Oooh…hummm…OK, these are for your underwear. You can just leave them here if you want,” Tommy said as he pulled out a green plastic bag. “And I’m afraid these are the only unworn things I’ve got.” Clutched in Tommy Foster’s hands, for my offering in replacement of the cum filled boxers shorts I was wearing, was a pair of the shiniest, bright pink posing trunks I’d ever seen. With a completely straight face, Tommy said, “These were a spare pair I bought along. Promise they’re clean, dude. I have a ton at home so they won’t be missed.” Through slight blushing, I couldn’t help but smirk as I took the impossibly shiny pink posers from Tommy, not just at the sheer bizarreness of the situation but at the fact that I was being gifted a pair of outrageously sexy posing trunks from a competitive bodybuilder. “Sorry about the colour!” Tommy said, with his own mischievous and amused smirk. I couldn’t help but wonder, were Tommy’s intentions purely innocent here, was he just trying his best to help me out, or did he secretly like the idea that there’d be a beef obsessed muscle lover out there with a pair of posers to forever remind him of the unbelievably amazing time he came in his undies just from touching Tommy’s huge, flexed muscle? Leaving an amused Stuart Fox alone with Tommy, I retreated to the en-suite bathroom of his hotel room to change into my gifted pair of insanely hot, brilliantly coloured posing trunks. The sight and touch of which alone caused my dick to, once again, start swelling, which only increased with the feeling of the indecently shiny material brushing against my non muscular legs. With my semi-hard dick barely packed into the pouch of Tommy’s pink posers, I looked into the bathroom mirror to admire the view. The trunks looked both absurd and sexy against my pale skin. There was no denying that they also felt incredibly horny. It wasn’t just the actual feeling of the stretched shiny material against the head of my dick, and the lining against my ass cheeks that was amazing; it was the thought that Tommy may have actually competed in these very pink posing trunks at some point. The very material currently hugging my bum cheeks may have once been clinging to Tommy’s tanned, shredded glutes as he’d pumped and oiled up in a pump room very similar to the one I’d been in earlier, before squeezing and flexing his gorgeously conditioned, otherworldly slabs of muscle on stage for an ever adoring audience. And now, those posing trunks were mine, to forever keep as a reminder of my amazing experience with Tommy Foster. Back in Tommy’s hotel room, the incredible high I was feeling in the aftermath of my first unexpected sexual encounter with a bodybuilder only started to dampen with the realisation that it was time for Stuart and I to leave. Standing in front of his door, Tommy surprised me again when he lunged towards me and wrapped both of his arms under my armpits and firmly gripped me in another warm hug. After giving Stuart Fox the same treatment, in the most affectionate tone, he endearingly said something which almost made my knees buckle. “You guys are freaking adorable.” I was practically out of the door when he then cheekily and brilliantly ordered, “And look after those posing trunks, Charlie!” The dizzying high seemed to return when I was left alone with Stuart Fox and we were practically bouncing down the hotel room corridor, looking at each other wide eyed and uncontrollably smiling at the unbelievable experience we’d just shared. It was only when we were back in the hotel lift which had taken us up to Tommy’s room and fully away from potential prying ears, that we felt comfortable enough to discuss it. “I can’t believe that just happened! I’ve never even oiled up a bodybuilder before.” With this statement, Stuart Fox unwittingly completing one of the tasks I had set myself, and I had to admit, I couldn’t help but enjoy the fact that, before entering Tommy Foster’s hotel room, Stuart had been just as inexperienced with handling freaky slabs of huge, shredded muscle as I had been. The only thing left to do now was to obtain Stuart Fox’s phone number. “How are those posing trunks?” he mischievously asked, gesturing to my crotch. I playfully winced and said, “Snug!” which made Stuart laugh. As he affectionately gazed at me in the tight knit space of the hotel lift we’d found ourselves sharing, I was more attracted to him than ever, and felt the same spark of electricity I had done when we’d been left alone in Tommy Foster’s hotel room. “So,” Stuart began, “This is the plan. Bryan’s most probably been out in the auditorium watching the show…” Kiss me. “But if he has happened to have noticed we’ve gone…” SNOG ME! “I’ll say I wasn’t feeling too well, so I went outside to get some fresh air, and you didn’t want to leave me alone.” Lunge forward, grab my t-shirt by the hand, pull me to your body and devour my lips! “Deal?” I nodded, smiled and agreed, all the time wondering why Stuart’s tongue wasn’t yet wedged down my throat. When the lift stopped and the doors opened, we were unexpectedly faced with two familiar figures, standing in the hotel room lobby waiting patiently to occupy it. Covered up in a black tracksuit, with a bag draped around one of his enormous shoulders, his undeniably sexy face deliciously bronzed and abnormally tanned, was the owner of the biggest biceps in the pump room. And standing next to Chris “Freaky Peaks” Jackson was the tanning buddie who had so brilliantly instructed him to pose as we’d stood by and filmed the entire thing. Without any recognition that they remembered us, the two of them passed Stuart and I and took over the hotel lift. As I gave Stuart a knowing smirk, he quietly said to me, “Next year I’m definitely booking myself a room in this hotel.” It was only when we were back in the lobby of the auditorium that I started to feel a slight of twinge of nerves over the possibility that our little field trip to Tommy Fosters’ hotel might get Stuart and I into trouble. The pump room was noticeably busier than it had been when we’d left, only, unlike before, the majority of the people occupying it seemed to be either fully, or half dressed. The atmosphere felt like it had shifted considerably too, with a much lighter tone, and a lot less tension than it had done before. There was no initial sign of Bryan Macleod, but that didn’t mean that we were in the clear. Glancing around the room but showing absolutely no sign of sharing the same worry that I was feeling, Stuart said, “It looks like the show has finished.” Gesturing me to follow him, he then lead me to a corner of the room which seemed exceptionally busy. As we drew closer, I could see that a crowd of people had formed and were playing spectators to some kind of scene. As he led me through the crowd, Stuart informed me exactly what we were walking into. “They always do a big photo shoot and filming spot of all the class winners when the show has finished.” Pushing our way to the front, sure enough, standing in front of a gathering of photographers, camera men, and eager spectators, was a row of six of the most gloriously shredded bodybuilders of various heights and sizes, in nothing but their posing trunks. With their trophies laid on the floor in front of them, each bodybuilder stood proud and victorious. As the class winners followed an instruction from one of the camera men to hit a front double bicep, and twelve outrageously sized, gorgeously bronzed guns blew up and erupted for a suddenly cheering audience, I looked down the line of these incredible male specimens and realised that I was already very well acquainted with more than one of them. On the far right stood the man who Stuart and I had christened both the most all out monstrous muscle freak in the room and the guy with the biggest muscle tits, Blaine Holton. He looked just as monstrous and incredible as he had done when Stuart and I had watched him pose for Bryan Macleod’s camera and been unexpectedly approached by the original owner of the posing trunks currently hugging my dick. Next to him stood a terrifyingly vascular black bodybuilder in a pair of shiny orange posers who was nothing short of an absolute monster. To his right, a leaner, but still impressively huge muscle daddy, with sexy, smouldering looks, a completely bald head, tiny purple posing trunks and shockingly detailed quads, which were only bested by the very familiar bodybuilder standing next to him. The owner of the craziest feathered quads and the guy who’d beat our beloved Tommy Foster to become the middleweight class champion, Justin Hughes, looking just as impossibly cute and beautifully shredded as I had remembered. To Justin’s right, was a smaller, but still crazily conditioned and incredibly cute Latino bodybuilder whose hair was dyed bright blue and styled into a crazy mohawk, and, completing the line up, the familiar figure of my very first filming subject, the insanely cute, tight-bodied lightweight competitor I had no choice but to nickname Mr Golden Posers, thanks to his unfathomably hot and fantastically coloured choice of trunks. “So, Charlie,” Stuart was leaning in towards me and talking in a hushed voice, “How does it feel?” I looked at Stuart blankly, intrigued and excited to find out exactly what he was asking me. With a devilish smirk, he continued. “To be the guy with the hottest posing trunks in the room!” As I blushed and grinned uncontrollably, Stuart then cheekily added, “Someone’s going to have the break news to our friend in the golden posers.” As the six best bodybuilders in the room transitioned into a front lat spread, for the first time that day, Stuart’s expression suddenly turned serious and he began a sentence which would plague my thoughts for most of the short remainder of my work experience placement. “Listen,” he began. “About what happened back there. I feel like there’s something I need to tell you.” There couldn’t have been a worst possible time than that very moment for Bryan Macleod to suddenly appear behind Stuart and I and interrupt us. “Hey, guys. How have you been getting on?” As I spun around to face Bryan, I was suddenly filled with an intense sense of dread, not just because the potential consequences of our detour to Tommy Foster’s hotel suddenly felt more threatening than ever, but because of the unnerving tone of Stuart’s voice when he’d suggested that he had some kind of confession to make. “Charlie, any problems today?” Bryan seemed to be adopting his usual warm, friendly tone, which at least helped to ease my nerves a little as I told him everything had been fine. “I hope this one’s been treating you well,” he playfully added, signalling to Stuart, before addressing only him. “Stuart, can I have a quick word with you?” A slightly nervous looking Stuart followed Bryan and I was almost completely convinced that at least he, if not both of us, were about to pay for our inexplicably awesome experience in Tommy Foster’s hotel room. Left alone to witness the six class winning bodybuilders simultaneously hitting out side chest poses, another thing was still causing me immense worry; what was Stuart Fox about to say before we’d been interrupted by Bryan? I couldn’t think what possible confession he would have to make about what had happened with Tommy, and then it hit me. Had the entire thing been a set up between Tommy and Stuart, and even possibly Bryan? Were they all friends and regular fuck buddies who’d secretly plotted to drag the nervous, innocent work experience guy back to the hotel room to see how long it takes for him cum in his pants? A relaxed looking Bryan and Stuart returned, showing no sign that there was any sort of tension or problem between them. My stomach was filled with further dread when Bryan asked if I could follow him for a “little talk”, which was only slightly relieved when Stuart shot me a mysterious wide eyed look with an excitable grin, suggesting, but not completely convincing me, that I wasn’t, in fact, about to receive a telling off.
  9. muscleaddict

    Charlie's Secret

    Still grinning wildly, Tommy nodded at me and posed an unexpected and playful question. “Favourite pose, Charlie?” It was possibly the easiest question I had ever been asked. “Umm…most muscular?” Tommy’s smile erupted ecstatically and he brilliantly responded with a bold, sexy, “Fuck yeah!” Mine and Stuart’s hands had slipped off his body when he’d relaxed from his side chest, but as he geared himself up for his next pose, Tommy affectionately and briefly touched my waist and cheekily ordered, “Keep those hands on me, guys.” My filming mentor didn’t take long to obey Tommy’s orders. As Stuart reached for his right upper arm again, Tommy placed his own hands on the top of his magnificently thick and gorgeously corded quads and, just as I gingerly placed my right hand on the side of his upper arm and gently gripped his crazily developed tricep muscle, Tommy cranked back down hard into a most muscular with a manic sounding, animal-like, “HRYEEEAH!” while contorting and transforming his face into one of his unashamedly cocky, shit-eating grins. Stuart’s hand boldly slipped to Tommy’s right deliciously pumped, marble-like pec muscle, which, squeezed in the hands on quads most muscular pose, suddenly had striations peeking underneath the bronzed, oiled skin covering it. Still locked into his most muscular, Tommy responded by looking at Stuart and exhaling loudly through his pursed lips, before his mouth transformed into a ridiculously sexy and approving grin, as if to say, “Fuck yeah! Feel that perfectly pumped, squeezed and flexed to fuckity fuck pec muscle, Stuart!” Inspired by Stuart’s confidence and Tommy’s fantastic reaction, with my right hand still gripping Tommy’s bulging tricep, I, once again, wrapped my other hand around his incredible bicep. Tommy instantly responded by beaming wilding at me, lifting his arm off his quad and curling his hand into a fist to flex. As one of his insanely huge balls of granite hard bicep muscle exploded into the palm of my hand, Tommy cheekily nodded his head and released the cockiest and sexiest, “Yeeeah!” With both of my hands firmly gripping and exploring the expansive space of his obscenely pumped and inexplicably enormous left upper arm, Tommy Foster bought his right hand into a curled fist until it was touching the other and cranked down into a second, amazing most muscular. Any nerves, anxieties and worries had completely evaporated, as I became completely lost in the moment. It felt like the only three people who existed in the world were me, Stuart Fox and Tommy Foster. With the image of Tommy’s huge, flexed, freakishly ripped muscle mass, beautifully wrapped in bronzed, oiled, inhumanly thin skin, the grunts and groans as he squeezed hard, the sheer attitude, hyper-masculinity, power and raw testosterone of Tommy’s, the heat and scent radiating from his otherworldly body, and the sensation of touching and feeling the kind of superhuman sized, crazily conditioned muscle mass I’d been wanking over and dreaming about for years, squeezed into my hands, I felt like I had slipped into an alternative reality where the only things that existed were extreme muscle and un-adulterated pleasure. As Tommy Foster bought his arms up and cranked down into a hard crab most muscular with a loud, “OOOOOFF,” my hands frantically ran over the enormous boulder delts and thick, bull-like traps which had just erupted before my eyes and my fingers brushed against the crazy striations and rock hard mass of muscle. It was impossible to compare that moment to any other muscle related incident I’d experienced previously. It was more mind blowing than when I’d first placed my hands on Tommy’s thick, tensed quads, undoubtedly even hotter than seeing Blaine Holton’s insatiably thick pecs squeezed to the absolute maximum as he snapped open his mouth in the cockiest manner imaginable for Bryan Macleod’s camera, even more surreal than the image of Justin Hughes’ freakishly striated and gloriously thick glutes, even more incredible than the image of Chris “Freaky Peaks” Jackson blowing up his enormous sized biceps, even more amazing than seeing Mr Golden Posers biting down on his bottom lip while cranking out a hard most muscular I’d so brilliantly instructed him to hit, and even more erotic than the image of the very first bodybuilder I’d stumbled across in my parents TV listings guide all those years ago. With my hands, once again, gripping the sheer mounds of muscle mass which made up Tommy’s left bicep and tricep, Tommy lifted both arms up in preparation for yet another crab most muscular. My fully loaded cock was frantically throbbing with the no doubt copious amounts of spunk bursting to be released. Still gripping Tommy’s arm, my heart started beating frantically. I suddenly felt an intense shortness of breath, my legs started to shake, and as Tommy Foster bought both of his arms down into a hard, explosive, muscle erupting crab most muscular with the loudest, most animalistic, testosterone fuelled, “ARRRGHHH,” and his huge, hard muscle exploded in my hands, the most intense, euphoric feeling shot through me and consumed my entire body. My skin started tingling, my legs shook harder, my mouth snapped open wide, I uncontrollably cried out, “OH FUCK!” which Tommy reacted to by giving another hard squeeze with a grizzly, manic growl, my cock uncontrollably started jolting and pulsating with more force than it had done before and an untold amount of wet cum began pumping out of the head and filling up my underwear. The image and sensation of feeling Tommy Foster’s hard, flexed muscle had caused me to cum without any touch or penetration to my cock and given me the most intense and mind blowing orgasm I’d ever experienced. Panting and trying to catch my breath as the world slowly came back to me, I suddenly realised the muscle I was still touching was no longer flexed or squeezed. As I looked up to see Tommy Foster and Stuart Fox glaring at me with dumbfounded expressions, a sudden bolt of sheer panic shot through me. “HOOO-LEEE FUCK! Did you just cum?” My heart was pounding and I felt a strong pang of worry that what had just happened wasn’t a positive thing, until Tommy’s mouth suddenly curled into a smirk, and he spoke his next words. “WOW! I’ve never made anyone cum without them touching themselves before. FUCK!” I felt a huge sense of relief, but also embarrassment, not just at Tommy’s wowed reaction, but also at the fact that I was suddenly the centre of attention. Tommy was continuously glancing from me to Stuart, who was just as amazed, shocked and impressed as he was, as if trying to find the words to match his feelings of the unpredicted event that had just occurred. I had no idea that those very words were about to tell me exactly why this middleweight muscle freak in shiny yellow posers dragged two suspected muscle loving camera man back to his hotel room. “And here I was hoping you guys would just jerk off over me.” Three words. FUUU. HUUU. UUUCK!! I couldn’t wipe the smile off my extremely flustered face at the knowledge that I’d impressed Tommy Foster to the degree I had. Tommy, still looking shocked, shook his head and said, “That was fucking amazing!” Looking me directly in the eye, he then unexpectedly took a few steps towards me and wrapped his huge arms around my back in the most incredible and affectionate hug. I rested my hands on his thick, tanned back as the inexplicably huge and unbelievably hot male specimen who’d just caused me to blast a massive load of cum into my undies just from merely touching him, gripped me hard and embraced me. As I melted into his phenomenally sized frame, my face just an inch away from his, Tommy unexpectedly exclaimed, “You horny little fucker!” before making the most obscenely sexy “GRRRRR!” sound in my ear. Releasing me slightly from his embrace, but with one arm still wrapped firmly around me, Tommy looked at me and playfully said, “I think it’s time for Stuart to have some fun now.” Turning to my filming mentor, he then mischievously asked, “What do you reckon then, Stuart? Think you could pull the same trick as Charlie here?” Clearly taken aback by the question, Stuart looked slightly nervous, until Tommy affectionately laughed and said, “I'm just playing with you, buddie. We can do it the old fashioned way instead. If you want to, of course. No pressure. If you guys need to get back to the pump room just say.” A slightly flustered and wide eyed Stuart replied, “I think we can stay for a bit longer.” Tommy beamed, and in an insanely sexy tone of voice, replied with a single word answer; “Awesome!” The atmosphere in the room, once again, became more sexually charged as Tommy released his arm from me, took a few steps towards Stuart, gently placed his hand on Stuart’s back and gave it an affectionate rub. “What’s your favourite pose, Stuart?” “Abs and thighs.” Still grinning wildly, Tommy placed his arms around the back of his head. Instead of hitting the pose straight away, he bought his left leg up on tiptoe and started tensing and twisting his thick quad, to brilliantly display it’s amazing detail. I watched as Stuart inched closer and placed his hands on the quad muscle and explored it with his fingers with an expression of sheer amazement on his face. After moving his hands up Tommy’s body and exploring his beautiful ab blocks, Stuart suddenly and boldly took his right palm off Tommy’s body and nervously started playing with the belt of his jeans. It was the most nervous I’d ever seen Stuart and he was clearly unsure of the situation, which lead me to believe in that moment that maybe this whole experience was as new and undiscovered for him as it was for me. Tommy was looking at Stuart reassuringly, though, which seemed to aid in relaxing him slightly. As Tommy mischievously grinned and released a dirty sounding, “Fuck yeah!” I stood in my soaking wet, freshly spunked boxer shorts, and watched Stuart bravely pull out his rock hard, impressively thick and very aesthetically pleasing cock. Feeling Tommy’s insanely gorgeous cobblestone abdominals with his left hand, he gently rubbed his throbbing hard on with the other, while releasing the sexiest little groans of pleasure. After spending all day with Stuart Fox, and unwittingly developing feelings for him, it felt completely surreal to be watching him with his dick in his hand, stoking away as he lost himself in Tommy’s ridiculously peeled, alien-like abs. It certainly wasn’t what I could have predicted our first potential sexual encounter to consist of, and I felt a sudden and strong sense of poignancy at the realisation that the first intimate encounter with the first man I’d genuinely developed feelings for in a long time consisted of me watching him jerk off over another man. It was only when Tommy completely stole my attention by suddenly crunching down into his abs and thighs pose with a crazy, “TTTSSSSS,” that I realised, in that particular moment, whatever feelings Stuart might have towards me were obviously completely overshadowed by his intense feelings towards witnessing the superhuman mountain of indecently carved, brilliantly flexed, otherworldly muscle before him, just as mine had been leading up to my unexpected ejaculation. With one hand running over the big, crunched bumps of stomach muscle bulging from Tommy Foster’s body to such a degree it was as if they were attempting to detach themselves, Stuart pumped faster on his gorgeously thick cock. Tommy, still in his abs and thighs pose, was grimacing, wincing and groaning as he squeezed and sat on his abdominals, while twisting his head and upper body from side to side, all the time showing off his incredible midsection. As I watched this amazingly sexy scene unfold, Stuart unexpectedly and briefly glanced in my direction. Meeting my eyes, a small, sheepish and rather adorable smirk emerged through Stuart’s expression of concentration and sheer pleasure, before his attention was quickly bought back to Tommy Foster, who suddenly crunched down into a second, harder abs and thighs, with one of his manic, grizzly, animalistic grunts. Stuart’s chest suddenly started pulsating up and down, his eyes widened, he seemed to be struggling for breath and through short, sharp pants, he let out a hushed, “Oh God!” Still locked in his pose and squeezing his incredible muscle, Tommy released another grizzly growl through gritted teeth in response. Stuart’s mouth drew wide open, his head titled back slightly and he let out the sexiest groans of pleasure, as I stood watching ropes of hot, thick cum shooting out of Stuart’s hard cock and landing on to the beautifully shaped and fully crunched abdominals protruding from Tommy Foster’s perfectly carved out, freakishly muscular midsection.
  10. muscleaddict

    Charlie's Secret

    HOLY F*&K!! That was so fucking hot!! Don't forget that little "TSSSS!" with the abs and thighs at 0:56! Yep, that's pretty similar to what I had in mind for Tommy, only his would be louder, cockier and more over the top!
  11. muscleaddict

    Charlie's Secret

    Hehe! Just keep reading!
  12. muscleaddict

    Charlie's Secret

    Haha! I think lots of us here would love a Tommy in their lives! To flex and squeeze for us whenever we like (grunts, groans and other outrageous noises included)!
  13. muscleaddict

    Charlie's Secret

    I suddenly had the urge to know exactly what was going through the mind of, not just my new oiling partner, but the man whose gorgeously peeled and newly glistening obliques my fingers were currently dancing with. From the intense look of awe and admiration on Stuart Fox’s slightly flustered face as he rubbed oiled into the incredibly carved out, alien-like mounds of muscle sticking out of Tommy’s stomach, he was clearly harbouring similar feelings to this indescribably amazing and highly arousing act as I was. As Tommy gently twisted to the left to bring out more of the muscles in the right side of his midsection for Stuart to oil, I cautiously glanced at him in an attempt to find the slightest clue as to whether he was enjoying the act as much as Stuart and I were. With his immensely thick arms bulging either side of his head and still locked into his abs and thighs pose, Tommy was glancing down as Stuart oiled up his barely human midsection. While no where near as animated or outrageously cocky as he was when he was crunching down on his abs in his posing routine, there was still a hint of a gentle but slightly cocky and undoubtedly smug grimace in Tommy’s face. More than anything though, he looked like he was having an absolute blast crunching down and having his huge, shredded mass being oiled and touched up by two perfectly regular sized non-muscle freaks. As he suddenly clocked me looking at him, Tommy stared me in the eyes. Still grimacing slightly, he pursed his lips and softly exhaled, before gently biting down on one side of his lip, as the other side curled into the most devastatingly sexy and teasing smile, like, “Fuuuuuck, Charlie, you have no idea how bloody good this feels. To be this huge and shredded, just gently flexing out for two muscle mad buddies, who are clearly in some kind of seventh fucking heaven being able to get their greedy mitts on my tight as fuck, cheddar grating midsection.” I couldn’t help but return this with a coy, flustered smile, which, completely amazingly, only seemed to enhance his sexy, teasing grin to an even bigger degree. There was absolutely no doubt in my mind at that point that Tommy Foster not only knew the effect he was having on Stuart and I, but was clearly loving every moment of it. It was a mixture of this knowledge, the fact that the atmosphere had undoubtedly become a lot more sexual, probably from the moment Stuart and I had laid our hands on his ass striations, and the mischievous, sexy and arguably flirtatious smile I’d received from Tommy, which led me back to the question that had been in the back of mind since he’d unexpectedly implied that Stuart and I were spending the day surrounded by magnificently built muscle bulls in tiny, shiny posing trunks because we just so happened to cream our jeans over them on a regular bases; was Tommy Foster a gay bodybuilder who’d orchestrated this whole set up, and dragged two suspected gay muscle lovers back to his hotel room so they could touch, feel and worship every indecently sized lump, every perfectly carved out bump and every impossibly pumped bulge on his amazing physique? It was with Tommy’s next move, and his accompanying words, that I was finally provided with a much needed answer. Throwing his arms back down and relaxing from his pose, with the most mischievous smirk on his face, Tommy took the bottle of oil from Stuart’s hand, and placed it on the desk behind him. Conflicted from feeling disappointed that the job was done, but also feeling an incredible sense of intrigue as to what was going to happen next, Tommy walked back up to Stuart and I. Still grinning wildly, he playfully shook his head and made a statement I never thought I’d hear coming from anyone fully tanned and oiled and wearing a pair of impressively filled out posing trunks. “You guys are way too cute!” HOLY! JESUS! FUCKING! FUUUUUCKK!! He’s gay. He’s an actual gay competitive bodybuilder. I’ve just had my hands on every single inch of the phenomenally conditioned, otherworldly body of an actual fucking gay competitive bodybuilder. Failing to suppress the sheer surprise and elated feeling that I’d just been described as “cute” from a man who had the power to make me want to furiously jerk off just from merely looking at him, my mouth curled into a similar, dizzy, excitable grin to the one Stuart Fox was also suddenly wearing. Tommy Foster beamed in response, before reaching out his hand, wrapping his beautifully bronzed palm around my fingers, drawing it to his midsection, and placing it flat on the centre of his beautiful set of gorgeously chiselled abdominals, with not a single spot of newly sprayed oil to rub in sight. As I tried to comprehend the fact that a genuine gay competitive bodybuilder, fresh from being awarded as the second best amateur middleweight bodybuilder in America wanted my hands on his crazily developed bumps of tummy muscle, Tommy Foster, once again, threw his arms around the back of his head. Much more akin to the attitude and aggression I’d witnessed during his routine, he then scrunched up and contorted his uniquely handsome face, now mere inches away from mine, into an insane grimace and crunched down hard with one of his loud, “EURGH!” sounding grunts. As I felt the thick abdominal muscles explode and tighten underneath my fingers, my throbbing cock manically jerked and suddenly felt more intense, sensitive, and closer to blowing the most tremendous sized load than it ever had. Someone else in that position might have taken better advantage of the situation by running their hands over his ab blocks, tracing the deep, prominent separations with their fingers, moving their hand up to his pecs, or down to his thick, braided, gloriously shredded quads, but I was completely paralysed. Tommy Foster may have been the one to initiate contact by placing my hand on his stomach, but this was still new, undiscovered territory for me, and I had no idea what the rules were. So much so, that when a grimacing Tommy stopped flexing and threw his arms back down either side of his, I instinctively took my hand away. One again he was looking at me with a devilish smirk. “How did those abs work out for you, Charlie?” Unable to even conceive a constructed reply to his question, I just blushed and sheepishly smiled instead. In response, Tommy unexpectedly reached out his hand and gave me a brief, soft but affectionate squeeze on the side of my arm, all the while flashing that devastatingly sexy grin, which made me feel as if I was just about ready to melt into the carpet. Looking at Stuart Fox, then back to me, with a comical, quizzical expression, he then made the most outrageously cheeky statement. “I think Stuart looks like a bicep kind of guy!” Stuart’s mouth curled into his most excited smile yet, as Tommy Foster took his right hand and placed it on his own upper arm so Stuart’s fingers were wrapped around his un-flexed bicep. Tommy then clenched his fist and brought his forearm up in line with his chest, while pursing his lips in a brilliantly cocky manner and releasing the hottest grunt, as I stood and watched the most enormous ball of deliciously bronzed, rock hard bicep muscle erupt and explode under Stuart Fox’s fingertips. Stuart released a hushed, “Fuck!” in response and his eyes looked like they were close to bulging out of their sockets. Tommy growled in response as he flexed his gigantic bicep muscle hard. Stuart locked eyes with Tommy, the most adorable expression of sheer awe, amazement and disbelief at what he was experiencing. Tommy then released a hushed but obscenely cocky, “Yeah!” causing Stuart to grin uncontrollably. Watching the reaction of someone who harboured the same thoughts and feelings towards muscle that I did, and who I also happened to have grown increasingly fond of, as he experienced what it felt like to touch the flexed, incredible sized bicep of a genuine bodybuilder was amazing. So much so that I didn’t even contemplate, in that moment, that it might be my turn next until Mr Gorgeous Abs/Tommy Foster announced his next intended move to Stuart. “Let me blow the other one up for Charlie.” OH. MY. FUCKING. SHITTING. BUGGERING. GOD!! Twisting slightly to face me with a devilish look on his face, Tommy outstretched his left arm to the side of his torso. Stuart, whose hand had now slipped from Tommy, was mischievously grinning at me and his eyes were wide as if to say, “Mate, get fucking ready for this because you have noooo idea how bloody good it’s gonna feel!” Even though I’d already felt practically every muscle group of Tommy’s, his flexed bicep was still uncharted territory and I was fully aware how terrified I must have looked as Tommy, once again, took my hand and placed it flat on his outstretched upper arm, which was still as inexplicably huge and incredible to the touch in it’s un-flexed state as it had been when I was rubbing oil into it. I gripped my fingers around the magnificently sized muscle in preparation. In one, quick movement, Tommy Foster bought his clenched fist and forearm up while releasing a loud, “TTTSSS!” His gigantic sized muscle exploded into my hand and my fingers gripped further as I squeezed and felt the phenomenally huge, granite hard, marble-to-the-touch bicep of a competition conditioned bodybuilder. I was unable to suppress a half-groan, half-panting sound in response, causing Tommy Foster to release a grizzly and extremely hot grunt. I looked up at his face to find his nose scrunched up and an indecently cocky smirk emerging through gritted teeth, which soon curled into a full-on, elated grin in response to my awe-stricken and completely amazed expression. He then, unexpectedly, bought his lower arm back down so his bicep was, once again, stretched out and un-flexed, and in another quick, sharp movement, bought it back up for another bicep flex. As Tommy released a slightly manic, “HRYEEAH!” the marble-like ball of bicep muscle erupted and bulged once more in the palm of my hand. As if suddenly remembering he had not one, but two indescribably lucky muscle worshippers to attend to, Tommy suddenly twisted his head to Stuart. With my hand still wrapped around his flexed bicep, he exclaimed, “Let’s get a front double bicep.” He cocked his head towards his other bicep, signalling for Stuart to wrap his hand around it. As he obliged, Tommy pursed his lips into the most amazingly arrogant expression, bought both of his arms up into a double bicep flex and at the peak of the pose, growled an excitable and outrageously cocky, “YEEEAH!” My eyes suddenly met with Stuart’s, and we affectionately grinned at each other in unison at the incredible act we were involved in. I couldn’t help but think of the moment in the pump room that morning when I’d fantasised about Stuart and I with our hands wrapped around the glorious bicep peaks of our first filming subject, the insanely cute, tight bodied, lightweight competitor Mr Golden Posers, and how amazing and utterly surreal it was to suddenly be involved in that very act with an even bigger and undoubtedly hotter bodybuilder. As he stopped flexing and relaxed from his pose, my hand instinctively slipped from Tommy’s bicep, but I couldn’t help notice that Stuart’s was firmly and bravely still gripped to Tommy’s other upper arm. “I bet you guys didn’t expect to be doing this today?” Tommy cheekily said, before announcing his move. “Let’s give you guys a side chest.” Twisting to his side, he gripped his left wrist, bought his chest up and sat down into an amazing side chest while releasing the most brilliant and dirty sounding, “HOOOOO!” The upper arm Stuart hadn’t let go of since Tommy’s front double bicep pose was flexed again to maximum effect. As the obscenely huge bicep muscle Stuart was gripping with one hand bulged through Tommy’s cling wrap skin, he confidently gripped Tommy’s tricep with his other hand and explored the incredible mounds of rock hard, impossibly sized muscle which made up his right upper arm. Looking at me and nodding downwards to the thick, squeezed slabs of pec meat ballooning off his chest, in a hushed and incredibly sexy tone, Tommy Foster exclaimed, “Feel that shit, Charlie!” Accepting his invitation, I tentatively placed my hand over the bunched up mound of flexed muscle which made up Tommy’s right pectoral. As my skin made contact with the fleshy balloon-like mass, he unexpectedly flexed and the thick chest muscle bulged and danced underneath my fingers. I could feel Tommy’s eye burning into me, and as I cautiously glanced up, he gave me a similar sexy and incredibly endearing wink to the one he had when he’d squeezed a most muscular in my face during his routine posing. As I watched Tommy looking down in admiration at his own magnificent mass of flexed upper body muscle, which was being squeezed, touched and explored by the hands of two unbelievably lucky muscle lovers, with a look of sheer pleasure on his face, one thing became abundantly clear to me. It wasn’t just me and Stuart who were undergoing the most amazing and highly arousing experience. Tommy Foster was clearly also loving being a ripped up freak, tanned and oiled in his tiny posers, flexing and having his barely human slabs of unhealthily shredded muscle felt, admired and worshipped by two newly found, muscle obsessed fans. As if reading my mind, Tommy confirmed this very thing when he relaxed from his side chest pose and made a bold and unashamedly honest confession. “God I love being a bodybuilder!” And we bloody love you being a bodybuilder too, Tommy!
  14. muscleaddict

    Charlie's Secret

    There were so many factors as to what made oiling up Tommy Foster’s glutes even more erotically charged than when my hands were running over his thick, shredded quads. The actual sensation of feeling Tommy’s ass striations under my fingers, the fact that the act of having my hands on the glutes of, not just a bodybuilder, but any man, felt a lot more intimate, the fact that my fingers kept making contact with what little of his shiny posing trunks were left covering up his unfathomably thick buttocks, and the fact that I was experiencing the whole thing knelt down next to a guy I was not only attracted to, but also felt an incredible chemistry with. A guy who was, no doubt, just as turned on by running his hands over a pair of gorgeously conditioned glutes as I was. Tommy’s obscenely sexy and dirty sounding, “Yeah, baby!” was also hanging in the air. As my tingling and extremely sensitive hard on pulsated and throbbed in my jeans, I couldn’t help but, once again, wonder exactly what Tommy Foster’s motives were for inviting two guys who he’d confessed to suspecting were gay and turned on by muscle to rub oil into his freaky, shredded ass. With every single inch, line and striation of Tommy’s phenomenal and glistening glutes fully oiled, I took Stuart Fox’s lead in standing up in preparation to give Mr Foster’s back the same treatment. With my face not far away from the rear of his head, my torso from his broad, perfectly bronzed back, and the throbbing bulge in the crotch of my jeans from the indecently thick ass I’d just been running my fingers over, I suddenly felt a new kind of intimacy with the amazing middleweight muscle freak before me. After Stuart gave his lower back a few sprays, without a huge amount of pre-thought, I, perhaps rather adventurously, opted for the upper part of Tommy’s back, which seemed to slightly surprise him, as he briefly turned his head to the side of his body I was oiling up in response. Not to be outdone, Tommy Foster had his own surprise in store for me. As I rubbed the oil over the right side of his impossibly broad upper back, Tommy suddenly and quickly manoeuvred into a back lat spread pose, and before I knew what was happening, he was letting out an outrageously cocky, “Oooooh,” his back was opening up, and his impressively thick right lat was exploding and bulging underneath my fingers. With the sensation of feeling Tommy’s hard, flexed muscle came the realisation that it would take very, very little to make my throbbing dick explode with an absolute tsunami of cum. One little tug on my hard on through my jeans, or even just one little accidental brush of my crotch against Tommy’s phenomenally conditioned, barely covered glutes and it would undoubtedly all be over. With his magnificent back fully oiled, Tommy spun around to face Stuart and I. The moment he did, my face suddenly flushed and I felt a new, crippling and intense sense of shyness, which would undoubtedly had been even more intense had I not long before been running my fingers over his gloriously striated ass. Whether the biggest contributor to this was the fact that he could suddenly see my face, and the un-nerving possibility of him being able to read my expressions, the fact that his slabs of perfectly smooth pec meat and thick, blocky, beautiful nickname earning abs were now inches away from my body, or whether it was the prospect of getting my hands on his insanely muscular, and crazily conditioned torso, I wasn’t entirely sure, but my pulse was suddenly racing and I seemed physically incapable of looking Tommy Foster in the eye. I’d never been more attracted to anyone than I was to Tommy in that moment. Here was a man who had transcended a normal level of hotness to become the kind of bona fide muscle freak guys like me can only dream of seeing in the flesh. His potent, masculine, and extremely arousing scent was present once again and stronger than ever, and his gorgeous, rock hard, thinly skinned torso seemed to be radiating an incredible heat. As Stuart Fox sprayed oil onto the right, thick, slab-like pec hanging off his chest, I suddenly wondered what I wanted most in that moment; for a hole to appear beneath me on the floor of Tommy Foster's hotel room floor and swallow me clean into the ground, or for Tommy to suddenly wrap his magnificently muscular arm around my waist, push me into his hard, Adonis-like body and bring his lips to mine for an amazing, soft, passionate kiss. After taking the bottle of Tommy’s oil from Stuart and pumping a couple of sprays onto the obscenely pumped chest meat before me, the task I’d performed so easily on Tommy’s rear body parts suddenly seemed a lot more daunting and nerve wracking, because now I was being watched by the very man who happened to be turning me on more than any other person on the planet ever had before. As Tommy’s phenomenally muscular chest glistened and wetted with the newly sprayed oil, I could feel his eyes burning into me, inviting, even daring me to make eye contact. As I sheepishly glanced up, his mouth curled into a devastatingly sexy, unwittingly mischievous and knowing grin, which told me one thing; there was absolutely no hiding my emotions from Tommy Foster. He knew exactly the kind of effect he, and his glorious slabs of freakishly shredded, tightly wrapped muscle were having on me. No muscle addict would be able to accurately predict what it feels like to rub their hands over the perfectly pumped up pecs of a competition ready bodybuilder. It was hard to believe that Tommy Foster’s chest was actually attached to a human. Or that, given the right amount of training, diet and supplements, I, or anyone other man, could develop pecs like the ones I was touching. It was like someone had invented a new kind of flesh and marble hybrid, implanted it into Tommy’s chest and wrapped it in the thinnest, silkiest, most beautifully bronzed skin ever found on a human being. With mine and Stuart's faces closer to Tommy's than before, the act of oiling up his pecs was undoubtedly the most intimate moment we'd shared in his hotel room yet, but it also seemed to bring something I hadn't really anticipated. There was absolutely no denying that the atmosphere suddenly seemed a lot more sexual and suggestive than it had done before, which only eased slightly when my hands were free from his chest, Stuart was covering his right shoulder with oil, and Tommy paid us the most charming and unexpected compliment which sent my imagination spiralling into overdrive. “You guys are good at this. Maybe I should take you both with me to my next competition.” And with that single comment, my career ambition as a camera man suddenly evaporated to make room for a new one; a career as a joint personal assistant to ridiculously hot, middleweight muscle beast Tommy Foster. Duties would include, but not be limited to; shopping for and picking out the hottest, shiniest, most colourful posing trunks for his competitions, managing his social media channels and ensuring every picture either I, or his other personal assistant (Stuart Fox) take is accompanied with a cheeky, engaging comment such as, “Lines in my ass people! I have lines in my fucking ass!” or, “Who needs a cheese grater when you abs like THESE?” filming various videos for the Internet, ranging from training videos, hotel room, gym and locker room posing, along with quirkier videos of him flexing, posing and showing off in public spaces (supermarkets/a park etc.) and catching every shocked, surprised, awe-stricken, and occasionally terrified reaction from every unsuspecting member of the public lucky enough to be a witness, applying tan and oil to every inhumanly shredded body part for his competitions, for which full attendance will be required, shouting out various words of encouragement during his posing routine and comparison rounds such as, “Crank it hard, Tommy,” “Squeeeeeze those glutes,” and, “Come on ya monster,” (naturally Stuart will be better at performing this part of the job than me) and getting on all fours on his hotel room bed after every bodybuilding show and taking it in turns with Stuart Fox to get my tight arse pumped and filled up with the copious amount of cum he’ll have built up from spending all day flexing and strutting around in his posers, showing off his hyper-masculine, outrageously pumped, God-like muscles with a bunch of other huge, shredded muscle freaks. Tommy’s comment seemed to relax the atmosphere slightly, and as I worked my hand into the incredible space which made up Tommy’s absurdly sized, newly oiled left shoulder, it was not nerves, but sheer excitement I felt at the prospect of what was next, and what caused a small smirk to form on my face; I was about to get my hands on the upper arms of an insanely pumped bodybuilder. With his arms lifted up in line with his shoulders, outstretched and straight in preparation, I sprayed and worked my hands over the shockingly muscular upper arms of Tommy Foster. Even un-flexed, his arms felt impossibly huge. He twisted them to ensure I could oil up the inner part of his upper arms and I worked my hands around the un-tensed bicep muscle. I wanted so badly for him to unexpectedly bring his fist and forearm up and erupt into a full flex, and to feel his incredible bicep muscle underneath my fingers in all it’s full glory, but frustratingly, Tommy wouldn’t oblige. With my hands dancing between the unfathomably sized bicep and tricep muscles in their un-flexed state, I was completely entranced by the sheer thinness of the skin covering the muscle. The only things lurking under the shiny, bronzed skin of his tree trunk sized arms were superhuman, granite hard muscle mass and thin, wiry, freak-show worthy veins. With every inch of his arms oiled and, sadly, not even the slightest flex performed, Tommy’s body was, once again, free of our hands. With the bottle of oil in my hand, tentatively awaiting it's next shake and spray, I realised there was only one part of his body left to do; that phenomenally conditioned midsection, home to Tommy’s six beautifully shaped, brilliantly thick, gorgeous nickname earning abs. Leaving the right three blocks for my filming mentor, newly crowned oiling buddie, and future joint personal assistant to Tommy Foster, I sprayed oil onto my half of one of the most beautiful sets of cobblestone shaped abdominals I’d seen on any bodybuilder, in reality, or on any PC screen or magazine page. As I gave the part of his midsection next to his abs the same treatment, which seemed to unveil, and bring out more of his shredded serratus and blistering obliques, Tommy surprised me by gently throwing his arms around the back of his head. With Stuart in the process of oiling up his side of Tommy’s midsection, I nervously placed my hand on mine. The second my fingers made contact with the bumps protruding from Tommy’s tummy, they momentarily stretched upwards. With an unexpected, “TSSSSSSS,” from their freak of an owner, they then travelled back down, protruded from his stomach further and exploded under my fingertips until I was touching the big, blocky, fully crunched abdominals of a bodybuilder who’d gently crunched down into a cheeky abs and thighs pose. I’m not sure what sensation was the freakiest; the thick, juicy bumps of cling wrap skinned abdominal muscle against my skin, or the feeling of the deep, prominent lines, crazily separating each ab block, which were repeatedly meeting with my fingertips. It completely blew my mind how one man had managed to carve out his stomach to such a freakish degree, until there was nothing left but lumps and bumps of hard, thick muscle and skin so tight and thin you had to wonder whether it was even worth having. As my fingers moved to the right of his abs, Tommy, still with his arms behind his head in an abs and thighs stance, responded by twisting his head and upper body to the left. As he crunched down once more, with a short sharp hissing sound, yet more lumps of muscle that made up his incredible serratus and obliques erupted before my eyes and under my fingers, putting me in mind of a poster of an anatomy chart that used to hang on one of my Science classrooms at school, which I was always strangely drawn to, but never really quite knew why.
  15. muscleaddict

    Charlie's Secret

    Eight It felt like the whole world had gone into slow motion as I tried to comprehend what was happening. A genuine bodybuilder in insane, competition condition was inviting me to oil him up. There had to be a catch. I looked down and noticed that the oil was in a spray-bottle. No actual bodily contact had to be necessary. I would press down on the head of the bottle and the oil would spray onto Tommy’s perfectly pumped, alien-like physique, but surely he would be the one to do the rubbing? Surely I wouldn’t actually get to place my hands on his phenomenally huge mounds and crazily developed slabs of thinly skinned muscle? Even though I was convinced that this was the case, the mere mention or thought of any kind of oiling up of a bodybuilder had not only caused a serious lack of space in my underwear, but it felt like I was suddenly sporting my biggest, hardest and most intense erection of the day. Without really considering an alternative option, I cautiously took the bottle of oil from Tommy’s hand. I then shot a quick, nervous glance at Stuart Fox, who, at this point, seemed to be trying his best to act as if what was unfolding was a perfectly normal occurrence. Tommy also looked completely nonchalant as he posed his next question. “Have you ever oiled up a bodybuilder before, Charlie?” Oh yes, Tommy mate. Every bloody weekend an incredibly conditioned, freakishly muscular bodybuilder in brightly coloured, minuscule posing trunks pops round to my house, plonks himself in the middle of my bedroom and just stands there with his arms outstretched for a head to toe oil up. What the bleeding buggering hell do YOU think?! Still in a state of shock at what was happening, I shook my head and gave him a mumbled, “No,” and he casually proceeded to give me instructions. “You need to give the bottle a good shake before you spray it on. Just a few sprays on to the chosen body part, and then just really rub it in.” “Rub it in”! Did he just say “rub it fucking in”?! Chances of me fainting dead on Tommy Foster’s hotel room floor? VERY BLOODY LIKELY! “It’s probably best to start with my quads…” His quads! He wants me to place my hands on his ridiculously developed, gorgeously shredded quads! My actual hands. On his actual fucking quads! Fainting on Tommy Foster’s hotel room floor expected in 3, 2... “…and then work your way up.” Helloooo Tommy Foster’s hotel room floor. Do you mind if I just stay here for a while? “Don’t be afraid to be generous. It washes off easily.” Tommy then turned to my filming mentor. “You can get in here too, Stuart. There’s enough of me to go round.” His mouth then curled into an amused grin at his own outrageously cheeky comment and I couldn’t help but smile in amusement myself, all the time wondering how the hell I was still standing upright and conscious. Tommy Foster/Mr Gorgeous Abs had stopped talking, and the atmosphere suddenly seemed to have become slightly awkward. As he and Stuart Fox glanced at me, I suddenly realised that they were waiting for me to make my move. They were waiting for me to bend down, spray oil onto the insanely thick, deliciously carved quads of a genuine competition conditioned muscle freak, and rub it in using my hands (my actual hands). There was nothing else to do than to oblige. Crouching down, with one knee on the carpet, and my face mere inches away from his absurdly sized wheels, as instructed, I gave Tommy’s bottle of oil a few good shakes. As I sprayed twice on to his left quad, three questions arose in my head; #1. How can one man’s legs be so monstrously thick and muscular? #2. Why am I so turned on by the scent of the shiny yellow fabric of his posing trunks, now mere inches away from my face, along with the thick bulge that’s still struggling to be contained by it? #3. How the bleeding buggering FUCK is this actually happening to me?! Conscious of the fact that Stuart was standing over me, I reached my hand up and gave him the bottle. Even though he looked more nervous than I’d seen him doing so before, the left corner of his mouth curled slightly into a coy, and excited smile as he took the bottle of oil from me and proceeded to kneel down next to me at Tommy Foster’s legs. As Stuart sprayed the oil onto Tommy’s right quad, I stared at the glistening mound of impossibly muscular, thinly skin wrapped leg meat. Time, once again, seemed to slow down as I prepared to do something I never imagined I would get the possibility to do and place my hands on the freakishly developed muscle of an actual living, breathing bodybuilder. What I certainly wasn’t prepared for was said bodybuilder to suddenly and unexpectedly tense and flex that freakishly developed muscle the second my hand made contact. If I had to describe the sensation of running my hands over the incredible mounds of rock hard, inhumanly thick, gorgeously soft skin wrapped muscle which made up Tommy Foster’s quads and feeling the deep lines and freakish separations under my fingertips, I would probably say it was the closest I’ve ever felt to experiencing an orgasm without actually having one. It was like I had transcended a normal level of arousal. My whole body felt like it was undergoing some hyper-sensual, otherworldly experience that the majority of people would never know existed, let alone have the chance to experience. The door to the world of extreme muscle I had opened when I’d stumbled across the image of the huge, shredded, flexing bodybuilder in my parents TV listings guide all those years ago was long behind me and I was now smack bang in the middle of it, down on one knee with the shiny posing trunk clad bulge of a muscle bull mere inches from my head, rubbing oil into his phenomenal sized, alien-like quads, feeling every ridge, line and separation under my fingers and wondering if I’d ever have an experience so powerful, intoxicating and mind blowingly erotic again. I wondered whether Stuart Fox was feeling anything even close to what I was as he gave Tommy Foster’s right quad the same treatment, and whether it was actually the first time he’d managed to feel the freaky muscle of a bodybuilder, either on one of his previous three shows or otherwise. That particular question hadn’t even occurred to me before that moment, but I’d suddenly become extremely curious to know the answer to it. The wave of disappointment I felt as the task of oiling up Tommy Foster’s incredible, barely human quads had completed, and Tommy spun around to present Stuart and I with the rear of his physique, quickly evaporated when he reached his hands around to the back of his posing trunks and outrageously tucked the bright yellow material into the crack of his ass and I was suddenly staring at a pair of gorgeously tanned and gloriously thick glutes. I looked over at my tanning buddie who looked completely awestruck and ever so slightly terrified, presumably at being in such close proximity of an ass so astonishingly big and, thanks to the owner, suddenly barely covered. As Stuart’s mouth curled slightly into a devilish grin, I wondered whether that fear was, in fact, for another reason. Was he suddenly, like me, wondering whether Tommy Foster had tucked his trunks into the crack of his mammoth sized bottom because he was expecting us to oil it up? Surely that was above and beyond the duties of any friend, training partner or nervous, muscle crazed work experience guy lucky enough to be asked to perform the task of oiling up a bodybuilder? Or was it? The glutes were a muscle group that would surely have to get oiled up just like any other. Was I about to get my hands on an actual pair of insanely developed and obscenely thick glutes? Predictability, rubbing oil into Tommy’s tight, taught hamstrings was considerably less arousing than doing so with his quads. So much so, that I completely underestimated just how incredible his freakish and enormous sized calves would feel. I’d never been massively into calf muscles, until that very moment I was knelt down on the floor at the feet of a bodybuilder running my hands over the granite hard, ridiculously huge mound of muscle exploding off the back of his lower leg. I’d almost forgotten that Tommy was an actual, living person, and not just a mass of freakish muscle put on the earth purely for the pleasure of Stuart and I until he spoke, and addressed us with a rather unexpected question. “So how long have you guys known each other?” Even without facing Tommy, the prospect of talking to him still all but terrified me, and it was left to my filming mentor to reply. “Erm…we only just met this morning,” Stuart replied. “Oh, wow!” Tommy replied, with genuine surprise in the tone of his voice. “You seem like you’ve known each other for a while.” I sheepishly looked at Stuart who was returning a slightly embarrassed but undoubtedly affectionate smirk similar to the one I was completely failing to repress. It was an expression which told me one thing; Stuart Fox was clearly feeling the same connection between us that I had been, pretty much since he started sharing his fantastic and inventive pump room game with me that morning. Whatever was happening between Stuart and I one thing for was certain; it felt incredible special. Furthermore, I couldn’t deny how particularly brilliant it was to have a like minded muscle lover, clearly just as crazily turned on by muscle that I was, by my side and sharing my experience of oiling up a competition conditioned bodybuilder. In that moment I decided that I wouldn’t go home that day without attempting two things; firstly, finding out whether Stuart Fox was currently embarking on his first experience of oiling up a bodybuilder, and secondly, getting his phone number. I’d just about rubbed every last bit of oil into Tommy’s calves when Stuart Fox handed me back the bottle of oil. With his hamstrings also well and truly oiled, I looked up to see the copious amount of Tommy’s bum meat staring down at me in the most magnificent image and wondered what the hell my next move was going to be. I could only guess that Stuart Fox, helplessly and nervously staring back at me in that moment, was pondering the same question in his head that I was. The question which had been on my mind since Tommy Foster had unexpectedly wedged the back of those obscenely shiny posers into the crack of his ass and was now in desperate need of an answer; did Tommy Foster want us to place our grubby, muscle loving hands on his outrageously muscular, crazily developed, posing trunk devouring ass? “Hey, guys,” Tommy unexpectedly said. “Don’t forget the glutes.” He wants us to place our grubby, muscle loving hands on his outrageously muscular, crazily developed, posing trunk devouring ass!! “I worked hard for those bad boys!” Two words. Cheeky bugger! Two more words. FUCK YES!! Wondering whether I’d experience a more surreal moment for the rest of my living days, I shook Tommy Foster’s bottle of oil and pumped two sprays onto his indecently thick and meaty right buttock. It wasn’t until the second spray that Tommy suddenly tensed said buttock, and, right before my eyes, his amazing ass shrivelled up, a dozen of the freakiest lines and striations erupted and I was staring directly at the most beautiful pair of real life, genuine, gorgeously shredded glutes. It was a moment made even more brilliant when Stuart Fox unexpectedly and accidentally muttered a hushed, “Fuck!” in response, followed by a look of sheer panic and a sudden case of violent blushing to his cheeks. It wasn’t just the actual words that made up Tommy Foster’s response to Stuart Fox's verbal slip which suddenly made the whole scene feel even more highly erotic, but the incredibly arrogant, undeniably masculine and rather dirty sounding tone in which he delivered them; “Yeah, baby!”
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