It was a long time coming, but I was finally able to afford that vacation. After some finagling and more than a few hopes and prayers, I got two weeks off for my trip to Mexico. Granted, I'd only be there for a week, but I decided to use the extra seven days as a buffer: three days before to prepare for the trip, and four days afterwards to unpack, do laundry, and prepare for the daily slog. When I woke up that first morning in my hotel room instead of a cramped apartment, I knew my vacation had officially begun. I changed into my blue swim-trunks, a T-shirt, and flip-flops and headed down for breakfast before heading to the beach.
However, as soon as I open the door to my hotel, I'm greeted by what I initially thought to be an oddly-formed wall of stone. On second glance, I realize that this isn't a wall of stone, but of muscle. I feel a stirring in my groin as I look in shock as the largest, most muscular human male that I have ever seen. I quietly closed the door to my room so as to not disturb this scene.
He had to be close to seven feet tall and at least 400 pounds of muscle or so. His shoulders were cannonballs carved like cantaloupes, set so wide that doors were a challenge. Between his shoulders and his taurine neck, a pair of thick traps swelled to resemble footballs, while a pair of inhumanly huge cannons for arms descended along his sides. The beast's massive back was to me, a platform of ridges and valleys that looked to be carved expertly from stone to resemble a manta ray. His wide back tapered down dramatically to a tight waist, making him look even more freaky. His legs, clad in only a pair of red shorts, were each as much around as his waist, if not more so, and he stood with a bearing that demanded respect, awe, and outright worship. I hadn't seen this beast's entire body, and my inner muscle-lover was already ready to worship him for the god of muscle that he was.
"Holy shit, you're huge," I heard myself say, in spite of myself. I clapped my hands over my mouth, but too late. The beast turned around, expansive pecs coming into view. My God, he looked like a Greek god. Every muscle was etched to perfection and massive beyond human reason. His powerful chest and adamantine abs looked able to deflect bullets and bend steel bars with no effort at all. I stood there, likely slack-jawed at this god of strength and muscle, my cock rock-hard at the sight of this divine being.
"Heh, thanks, little man," the god intoned, his resonant baritone rumbling through me like an earthquake. He bounced a pec absently, and I nearly moaned out loud. I shook my head to bring myself back to reality.
"Oh, uh, um, I-I, uh... Sorry for staring, I..." I said, attempting to stammer out an apology.
"It's alright, dude," he said, chuckling as he smiled at me. "I get that a lot."
"As big as you are, I'm not surprised," I respond, finally recovering enough of my mental faculties to form a complete sentence.
"Name's Matt, though everyone calls me Muscles," he said, holding out a hand. I shake his hand, or rather, I allow my hand to be momentarily swallowed by his massive, calloused paw.
"I think I can guess as to why," I respond with snark. "Jason. So, 'everyone calls me Muscles,' what brings you to Mexico?"
"Would you believe the ruins?" he asked.
"Not really. The tour bus to the ruins left an hour ago, and there isn't another one until tomorrow."
"Okay, I'm here to see someone about some roids. More specifically, a special formula that I was gonna pick up."
"You're not worried about the side effects? Gynecomastia, bad acne, roid rages..."
"Nah, I'm prepared to counteract those. Besides, this is a special formula. None of those side effects. Plus the results speak for themselves." At this he flexed a bicep, grunting as the mountain of muscle leaped into relief before my eyes. I refrained from licking his bicep and worshiping him right there. "Looks like you like what you see," he said, noticing my reverent staring at his guns.
"I've, um, always been impressed by guys who can build their bodies that big," I said in response. "It's been kind of a goal of mine to get that muscular and built."
"Sure, Jason," he said with a sideways smile. "You looked more like someone who would worship my muscles rather than build your own." All pretenses dropped, it seems.
"Okay, fine," I admitted. "It's all I can do to keep from worshiping your godlike physique right here and now. I mean, you're built like a comic book super-hero and look just as super-strong. Part of me wants to worship your every muscle, and part of me wants to become as huge as you. Is that too weird?"
"Not weird at all," he said. "Let's meet in the lobby at about five. I've got a surprise for you that you're gonna love." I emphatically nod, trying not to seem to eager to see what this god of muscle has in store for me.
When he headed around the corner to the elevator, I couldn't get back in my room fast enough. Quickly running to the bathroom, I stripped down to my birthday suit and closed my eyes to imagine this god standing before me. The Matt in my imagination was standing before me in all his glory, flexing his inhumanly massive muscles for me, his fervent worshiper. I jerked to this conjured image of my muscle god, envisioning my hands across his powerful pecs, his cannonball shoulders, his godlike arms and abs, and his tree-trunk legs. It was all I could do to keep from shouting his name and proclaiming him to all within earshot as a god made flesh, beautiful and powerful and worthy of my most fervent kratolagniac praises. I bit my lip as I orgasmed, my cum arcing up to splatter across my lean torso, an alabaster tribute to Matt's powerful body.