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  1. muscleaddict

    m/m Deano's Summer: A Muscle University Story

    So those of you following my "Muscle University" thread will know that I've been working on this - a spin-off story featuring and told from the point of view of the Deano character. For anyone who needs a recap, Deano was the antagonist of that story who spent most of his time harassing Woody for things like flirting with gay dudes on Instagram and wearing pink trunks to Posing Practice 101. But while Woody was reluctantly falling for this new roommate Luke, it turned out Deano was secretly harbouring secret for Woody. This takes place over the summer following the lads' first year at Montgomery University of Bodybuilding & Fitness, where Deano goes back home to help out as his dad's infamous hardcore bodybuilding gym with Woody and Luke and the events of the first story very much still on his mind. I've also set up a Twitter account in Deano's name here and I've been posting and interacting with some lads from here as Deano. I'll also be tweeting the events of the story as I post chapters. Thought it would be a fun extra thing to do to go with the story! DEANO’S SUMMER (A MUSCLE UNIVERSITY STORY) One I can’t stop thinking about it. It just keeps going round and round in my head. The image of the two of them together. Why the FUCK did I go to the Watson House gym on the last day of term? I was doing fine before that. Honest I was. I hadn’t been thinking about him for half as much time as I used to. But now, as I’m on the train from London to Brighton - the last leg of my journey home, all I can think about is what I saw yesterday when I walked into my favourite gym at university. Sebastian fucking Wood in that black vest he always wears, playfully knocking his shoulder against Luke Henderson’s. I know it doesn’t sound like much. But it just did something to me. The way Woody was looking at him. (You should have seen the way he was looking at him.) The grin on his face. And the way Henderson was looking back at him. It’s like the image is ingrained in my memory. Every time I think about it, it feels like someone’s twisting all of my insides. I’m so fucking glad my first year of university is over. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve loved being a student at the Montgomery University of Bodybuilding & Fitness (or Muscle University as a lot of us call it). I get to train and study all things muscle-related with a whole school of fellow meatheads and bodybuilders. What the fuck’s not to love? The teachers are awesome (some more so than others). I get to hang out with other budding bodybuilders all day. And I’m one of the best lads in my year. At least top five anyway. But the last few months have been a bit weird if I’m being honest. There have even been times when I’ve found myself looking forward to the end of term. To going back home to Brighton for the summer. I guess it all started when Johnny Hoxton forced me to do an assignment for the end of term bodybuilding show with him. Sebastian Wood. With his big, thick pecs which hang over his perfect, blocky abs. And all of his shiny posing trunks. (Why does any bodybuilder need THAT many pairs of trunks?) And that smile. That jawline. And the way he’s just sickeningly good looking. Like he doesn’t even have to try. And the way he fucking struts around campus like he’s God’s gift. Mr fucking Perfect. The dude even smells amazing. And all of his twatty put-downs and one-liners which he thinks are SO fucking funny, when most of the time they’re not. Who the hell is Chris Hemsworth anyway? And while I’m thinking about it - what kind of twat name is Sebastian? What kind of twat name is WOODY? Sebastian “Woody” Wood. The bane of my Muscle University life. He didn’t even bother me that much to start with. Okay - I thought about him. Like, a lot. I even thought we might become friends at some point. I kept imagining how that would happen. Like, one day we’d suddenly start talking and just hit it off and that would be it. We’d be mates. We’d hang out. We’d go to the gym together. He’d come round to my dorm room. In that black vest, he always wears. And those skinny jeans which look painted on. His thighs bulging underneath the denim material. His big arse barely contained by it. But then he showed up. Luke Henderson. The biggest fucking joke to ever set foot on campus. I’ll never forget that first Posing Practice 101 when I first saw him. I couldn’t believe they’d let him into the uni. That was definitely Johnny Hoxton’s doing. There’s no way Mike Hancox would have let Henderson in. Hancox is definitely the best teacher at Montgomery. He used to compete in the nineties and early noughties and he’s basically a fucking legend. I can tell he doesn’t really like Woody either. Unlike Johnny Hoxton, who practically lives up his arse for some reason. Hancox’s face when Henderson rushed into that first lesson wearing that stupid Lego t-shirt was fucking hilarious. The dude looked like he’d barely seen the inside of a gym. Okay, maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration. He definitely had some muscle on him. But a student at a university for bodybuilders? What an absolute joke. He wasn’t even wearing posing trunks for fuck’s sake. The one and only requirement for Posing Practice 101. He had to do the whole lesson wearing his boxer shorts. And not just any old boxers either. Bright yellow Harry Potter boxers! The weird thing is, at the beginning, Woody seemed to have a real problem with him as well. Hancox forced Luke to do a pose off with another student and Woody volunteered. He really fucking showed him up. I think I started to like him even more after that. But then something even weirder happened. For some reason, they became friends. Woody and Henderson. I suppose it was because they were roommates. Spending all that time together. I sometimes wonder what would have happened if me and Woody had been roommates instead. Whether we would have become mates. Or maybe even something more. Anyway, everything changed after that. For some reason, the fact that they were friends really bothered me. And then I took the piss out of Henderson because he was trying to hit a most muscular in Posing Practice (I mean … you should have fucking seen him!) and Woody just flipped and went mental and pushed me really hard and we kind of had a bit of a fight. And then Johnny fucking Hoxton made us do that stupid joint assignment together for the end of term bodybuilding show (which I’m still pissed that I didn’t get to compete in) and that’s when things got kind of complicated. My train is slowing down on the approach to Brighton station. People around me are starting to shift in their seats, grabbing their bags and luggage and putting their jackets on. I always feel this kind of poignancy whenever I come back home. I guess I feel kind of safe here. Or at least safer than I do when I’m at Montgomery. In moments like this, when I’m looking out at all the buildings and houses and I know the sea is behind them, it’s easy to forget that things at home aren’t exactly perfect. I don’t know what it is about Brighton. There’s a sort of energy to the whole town that I’ve never felt anywhere else. I love the way all the lamp posts and railings on the seafront are painted green. And the way the streets and roads dip up and down. And the sound of the seagulls wherever you go. It feels like everyone is here because they really want to be. I feel strangely proud that I was born and raised in a place so many people seem to be drawn to. (To get an idea of what Brighton looks like… https://www.instagram.com/brighton/ ) I notice a few people looking at me as I walk through the train station. I suppose it’s not every day you see a tank sized junior bodybuilder casually walking (okay - it’s probably more like waddling) with a suitcase dragging behind him. I’m pretty decently dressed too. My body’s covered up by my favourite black Montgomery University hoodie, which I’m now regretting wearing, because I’m pretty fucking warm. Apparently it’s gonna get really hot this week so I guess I should get used to this kind of attention. I swear it would be worse if I wasn’t only five feet, five inches tall. Someone like Woody must get gawped at wherever he goes. Ugh. Fucking Woody. And now my insides are clenching again as I think about my fellow Montgomery classmate. What are the chances he and Henderson will decide to drop out and not return to Muscle University for our second year? God - that would just solve all of my fucking problems. There’s the usual line of taxis at the front of the station. I get this weird feeling when I spot my brother’s red Ford KA. Like I’m both comforted and guarded. I guess there’s a certain version of myself that I adopt when I come back home. Or more so, when I’m around my brother and my dad. I throw my suitcase in the back seat and then climb into the front. “Alright, twat face!” Josh says to me with a big grin. I smirk and do my belt up. “Managed to get through a whole term without getting suspended this time?” he jokes, as we pull away from the station. My chest tightens. I give him a fake sarcastic smile and look out of the side window. He blasts the radio up. Some dance tune is playing and he’s singing and bopping along. Josh never changes. He has this kind of larger than life energy about him. It’s like he only has one setting. And it’s always “on”. Sometimes it’s contagious and charming. Other times it's just bloody annoying. “You do know dad’s not gonna let you just bum around for the summer?” he says. He’s got this smug smirk on his face. Josh always seems to get some kind of satisfaction out of my misfortune. I pull a face. “What’s he expecting me to do?” “Help out at the gym!” For fuck’s sake. I guess that was a given. I hate how my dad just expects me to help out at his gym. It’s not the worst thing, to be honest. But … I don’t know. I guess I had thoughts of maybe doing something different this summer. “I was actually thinking of looking for a job,” I tell Josh. I don’t know why I’m nervous to confess that. I shouldn’t be nervous. Josh immediately screws his face up. Like it’s an absurd notion. Me actually getting a job and doing something away from him and dad. “Why? You know Dad’ll pay you!” Ugh. That’s really not the point. “I know that!” Josh still looks completely baffled by the idea. “Anyway, what would you do?! I mean … who’s gonna employ YOU?” he teases, with a smirk. I flash him another fake, sarcastic smile. “Maybe you could be one of those naked butler dudes?” Then he gasps. “Or a Dream Boy? Nah - you have to be good looking for that!” I shake my head and roll my eyes. “Now I could be a fucking Dream Boy!” I fold my arms and look out of the window again. My brother’s now crossed the line into “bloody annoying”. “Maybe one of those gay clubs on the seafront will hire you as a go-go boy?” My stomach clenches. I don’t respond or look at Josh. I just keep looking out of the window. “Jesus - what’s wrong with YOU?” he cries, hitting me on the shoulder. “I’m tired. And you’re annoying the FUCK out of me!” This big grin emerges on Josh’s face and I can’t help but smile back. Here’s the deal with my brother. I love him and everything, but … God - let’s just say it wasn’t easy growing up having Joshua Watkins as my older sibling. Josh was that guy at school that ALL the girls fancied. No matter what year they were in. He was like a fucking celebrity, for God’s sake. And he’s only gotten more handsome with age. He’s got this part bad boy, party pretty boy thing going on. A shaved head. A ring in his nose. And he’s got these big puppy dog eyes. He got those from our mum. He’d probably fit in in a boy band just as much as he’d fit in in prison. He’s done a few bodybuilding competitions too, so he’s pretty big, but he doesn’t take it as seriously as me and dad do. He’s too much of a party boy. I don’t know where he gets his height from. Me and dad are both short arses, but Josh is six foot tall. So yeah - I was pretty jealous of him growing up. The number of girls who were shocked when they found out we were brothers. I’ll never forget that one girl from the year above when I was in the school canteen that one time. “YOU’RE Josh Watkins’ brother?!” she cried, with her face screwed up. She obviously couldn't believe that demigod, boyband member worthy Josh could be related to me. “Oh - Smithy’s having a birthday thing tonight. You’re coming, right?” Ugh. “Mmmm. I dunno!” “WHAT?!” Josh cries. “Fucking YES - you’re coming!” Smithy is one of Josh’s old school mates. Something weird happened when I started going to the gym, packing on the mass and competing as a junior in bodybuilding competitions. Josh and his older mates all suddenly wanted me to hang around with them. I guess it was kind of cool being initiated into your older brother’s friend group. Most of them are decent lads. Some are pretty beefy too. Okay - most of them are pretty beefy. I think they respect me cause I’m Josh’s little brother. Oh - and I’m a tank sized pocket rocket bodybuilder with biceps bigger than ALL of theirs. Honestly - I like hanging around with them, but they’re all just so full on. I’m really not sure if I’m in the mood for that tonight. “I’ve just spent, like, eight hours on three different trains!” I protest. “Don’t be a fucking pussy. It’s your first night back.” Josh turns the music up. I roll my eyes, but this unexpected feeling of excitement rises up in my chest as I look out of the side window again and see the sea past a row of differently coloured houses in a street that feels like it could only be in Brighton. I mostly just want to go back home, collapse on my bed and watch TV all night. But there’s this other part of me that really wants to go out with Josh and his mates tonight. With anyone in fact. Maybe this is what I need. Maybe this will take my mind off Montgomery University. Make me forget what happened yesterday at the Watson House gym and what has been going through my mind over and over ever since. “Fuck it!” I say to Josh. “I’m in.” “Good lad!” he says, slapping my shoulder again and cranking the volume of the music up even more. I slump down in my seat and close my eyes. Taking the music in. The sound of seagulls in the distance. Thinking about tonight. Only tonight. And absolutely, unequivocally, not thinking about the way Sebastian Wood was smiling and looking at Luke Henderson in a way that no one has ever looked at me before.
  2. muscleaddict

    no sex Drew

    So a bodybuilder I follow on Twitter posted a video of him posing in the gym and I felt inspired to write something. I sent it to him and he said he loved it and gave me permission to share. Video followed by story below. “Two seconds, Drew!” Shane says, playing with his iPhone. We’re in the gym that’s empty apart from me and my training partner. I’ve just blasted through a back and biceps workout. My shoulders are cooked. My biceps are pumped. My quads feel full as fuck. And I’m standing in front of Shane with my trackies round my ankles ready to flex and pose and show off what a pumped up fucking muscle freak I am as he films the whole thing on video. God I love this shit. “Okay, mate - let’s show these fuckers what you’ve got!” Shane says, holding his iPhone up to capture me posing. I smirk at Shan’s comment. The cheeky fucker. I feel a heady rush of excitement at the thought of where this video will eventually end up. Showing all of those muscle hungry lads who follow me on Twitter and go crazy whenever I post videos and pictures of myself posing (especially in my golden posing trunks - God they love those golden posers). Okay - time to focus. Time to pose. Time to (as Shane said) show these fuckers EXACTLY what I’ve got. I place my right hand over my left hand that’s clenched into a fist. I’m not gonna fuck about here. I’m going STRAIGHT for the money shot. My favourite pose. My best pose. Most. Fucking. Muscular. And OOOFF - I’m squeezing into the pose. I feel my quads tensing. My upper body tightening. My freaky shoulders popping. I know I look as good as I feel right now. I switch my hands up. I pose some more. I shuffle back. All the time squeezing into the camera on Shane’s phone. All the time showing how pumped and full I am right now. Time to switch it up. I swing my arms out, lean forward and, as I crank into the first of what will what probably be a dozen crab most musculars, I scrunch my fucking face up, grit my teeth and - FUCK IT - I open my mouth as wide as I can as I blast into the pose. Hell yeah! And then - OOOF - I squeeze it just a little harder and stick my tongue flat out like the cocky fucking fucker that I am. James Flex Lewis - eat your GOAT fucking heart out. I relax from the pose. And now I’m slowly stepping closer to the camera, adjusting my undies as I do so. I’ve gotta make sure there’s as much muscle and beef on display as possible. Hmmm. Maybe I should have bought those golden posers with me to wear? I look dead into the camera and tense my quads, breathing heavily. I’m fucking staring into the lens with this intense look on my face. Think I was cocky before? You haven’t seen anything yet. It’s time to really crank up the tude. Time to rip this shit up. Time to show everyone what a pumped up, muscle packed fucking animal I really am. Still staring menacingly into the camera, I clench my fists, stick out my tongue, scrunch and screw my fucking face up, bring both of my fists in and SQUEEZE. Check. This. Fucking. Shit. Out. Motherfuckers. And now I’m swinging my arms out again. And you KNOW what’s fucking coming. I slowly bring them back down and put my fists together, open my mouth wide like some kind of feral fucking BEAST and BOOM - I’m blasting out a brutal, muscle exploding crab most muscular. The tongue comes out again. Because why the fuck not? I’m a pumped up fucking muscle beast. An obscenely muscular freak with erupting traps and exploding biceps. I’ve pushed my body to outrageous limits to become something not of the norm. I’m a fucking BODYBUILDER and I’m going to flex and pose exactly how I want to and be as cocky and arrogant as I fucking well like. I give one final squeeze into the camera, curling my mouth in an arrogant fashion and letting out a cocky, “HOOOFF!” sound. I could stop there. But nope - let’s give those muscle obsessed Twitter followers just a little bit more to go nuts over. I step even closer to the camera and give my quads a little wobble. Serving Branch Warren freakiness. Fuck yeah. My quads look pretty fucking crazy at the moment. Thick and full with some freaky shreds peeking through. I shuffle and then just flex the one quad. Wobble wobble wobble. Shake shake shake. Wanna see this bad boy flexed and tensed? Wanna see those crazy striations appear and erupt before your very eyes? You’re about three fucking seconds away from doing so. I stop and tense my quad and then … SLAP … I whack the hard, freaky, shredded muscle with my hand. Think it’s over now? WRONG. One final, quick most muscular. Just because I want to. Just because I can. Just because I’m a tongue flashing, quad slapping BODYBUILDER who can be as cocky and arrogant as I fucking well like. Over to you, Twitter followers.
  3. muscleaddict

    m/m An American Muscle God

    So this was the first story I ever wrote, I think around 2012/13. I'd since deleted it from my blog but @kadethewolf messaged me this week to say he really liked it and asked if I would send it to him. Then he suggested I post it here and I thought fuck it - maybe some of the followers my AJ & Noah and Muscle University stories had might be interested to read my first attempt at a story! So a slight of warning beforehand - there's not much in the way of an actual story. It's basically just a muscle worship encounter between a muscle lover and an American bodybuilder. I like to think my character dialogue has at least improved a bit since this story, if nothing else! AN AMERICAN MUSCLE GOD One There’s really only one thing you need to know about me. I absolutely love huge, freaky muscle. Nothing turns me on more than the sight of a ridiculously huge and insanely shredded muscle monster flexing and squeezing his superhuman mass. Every single absurdly sized and outrageously pumped body part twitching and bulging underneath his inhumanly thin, cling wrap skin. Everything and anything about the sight of a huge, ripped bodybuilder drives me absolutely crazy. From full, thick pecs which bounce and twitch with the slightest movement as if they have a life of their own to huge, pumped croquet ball shaped biceps stretching the owner’s paper thin skin to the max. From hard, shredded abs popping out of the owner’s stomach like bricks to cartoonishly huge and comically wide watermelon shaped delts. From big, thick, tree trunk quads wider than the average man’s waist to crazily developed, inhumanly striated glutes which look so hard they would break any fingers that would attempt to prize them apart. I even love the tiny, shiny, brightly coloured posing trunks they wear on stage, the way they hug the bodybuilder’s cock bulge buried in between his huge quads, and the way the back often get swallowed up into the muscle freak’s ass crack because his glutes are so damn thick and huge. I love the ridiculously dark bronzed tan they often use on stage, the way it enhances the muscles and makes them look as freakishly ripped and cut as humanly possible, and I absolutely love the arrogant, cocky, superior attitude that comes with being a monstrous mountain of muscle. The way bodybuilders arrogantly grimace, scrunch and screw their faces up as they flex their mighty mass, the cocky facial expressions, grins and smirks as if they’re saying “fuck yeah, I know I’m shit fucking hot” and the outrageous way some bodybuilders stick out their tongues and arrogantly open their mouths as wide as they can as they squeeze their phenomenally huge muscle. The knowledge that they look amazing, that they’re bigger than the average man, and that they’ve morphed their bodies into something so crazy, insane and freaky that people will stop, stare, shriek and gasp in horror at the sight of them, and the power that comes in knowing that there are people out there who are so unbelievably turned on by their indecently pumped and shockingly huge mass that the mere thought of them makes them want to cum. People who would give anything just to touch their freakishly developed muscle mass. People exactly like me. Just watching videos, or even looking at pictures of huge, bronzed, flexing muscle Gods was enough to make me lose my load, but of course, I’d always fantasised about being with a bodybuilder too. What it would be like to have a bodybuilder flexing within inches of me, seeing that huge, ripped mass twitching and bulging before my eyes, and of course, what it would be like to reach out and touch that flexed muscle. How it would feel to have that hard, pumped mass bulging and flexing beneath my fingers. Touching, feeling and squeezing the kind of gloriously shredded and otherworldly huge muscle I’d been obsessing over for years. I had always known that the possibility of this happening was fairly slim. I knew that most competitive bodybuilders were straight, and that the small percentage of gay ones would probably only be interested in other bodybuilders, not a guy like me, who had built up a small amount of muscle from regularly going to the gym, but for all intent and purposes, was still a slim guy. Never in my wildest dreams did I expect to find a bodybuilder who would make my fantasies a reality how and when I did. I wasn’t the type of guy who spent hours trawling through profiles on Internet dating sites, but every now and then I would have a look out of boredom and curiosity. I’d always discover a fair few muscular guys in London. I’d got lucky a few times and met some of the smaller ones, sometimes for dates, others just for sex, but often, they were only really interested in guys who matched their size and muscularity. I’d only ever come across a handful of guys who described themselves as “bodybuilders”, often they would be fairly big guys with a decent amount of size on them, but they were still a world away from the huge and ripped competitive bodybuilders I’d spent years fantasising about. All of that changed, however, last Saturday afternoon. I hadn’t particularly found anyone of interest online that day, the usual muscle guys I always saw, most of whom I’d already previously spoken to, or been ignored by, pages of lads I had no interest in or attraction to, and a few cute guys I didn’t really have the energy to message. I distinctly remember boredom setting in and thinking to myself that it wouldn’t be long before I logged off and found a more constructive way to spend my day, and then, as I scrolled down a page of thumbnail versions of profile pictures, I came across one which instantly made my stomach jump into my throat and my eyeballs almost pop straight out of my head and collapse onto the keyboard. It was a bodybuilder. A genuine picture of a huge, ripped, tan drenched bodybuilder in an abs and thighs pose at what looked like a competition. It was so surreal to see such an image on a gay dating website I visited regularly. In the midst of all these ordinary, regular sized guys was a huge, pumped muscle freak. Sceptical that the profile was genuine, I clicked on the profile name “american_muscle_god”, which appealed to me almost as much as the picture, and his full profile popped up in another window. As his main picture appeared in full size, I instantly recognised him. I couldn’t quite put a name to the face, but I knew who he was. He was a pretty well known American bodybuilder, who was rumoured to be gay. I got instantly hard looking at his main picture. He was handsome, with big pretty eyes, and a shaved head. In bodybuilding terms, he wasn’t huge but he was a big guy, at a guess, an amateur heavyweight competitor. The picture, as suspected, was of him in competition squeezing the most amazing abs and thighs pose. His enormous biceps were bulging either side of his head, his gorgeous looking deeply cut abdominals were fully crunched, and his phenomenally thick and amazingly detailed quads were tensed. His eyes were closed and his mouth was forced wide open in the most shamelessly cocky and arrogant facial expression. Another one of his profile pictures, a most muscular shot from the same show, beautifully showed off his impressive upper body and fully displayed his monstrous sized delts and insatiably thick pecs. As my eyes eagerly scanned the other pictures of this amazing muscle freak, a side chest shot in what looked like a gym locker room, displaying his fantastic cuts, impressive size and ridiculously gorgeous looks, and a close up shot taken in the bathroom mirror brilliantly displaying his ripped abs and huge arms, I started to wonder whether this profile could actually be genuine. My hope grew further as I scanned the brief text on his profile. Competitive American bodybuilder, 5’11, currently at 250 lbs in ripped competition condition. In town for a short time. Looking for sexy guys who appreciate big muscles. My mind was racing with questions. Could this be the real deal? If he was in competition condition did that mean he was competing here in London? He hadn’t specified what kind of guys he was interested in. Could there be any kind of small chance he’d be interested in me? I had to message him. I predicted that he’d probably received a ton of messages already so I had to make sure mine stood out. As I thought about what I could possibly say to this potentially genuine competitive bodybuilder, I realised just having the opportunity to speak to him, and the prospect of a simple reply, no matter how short, was pretty amazing. I decided to play to my strengths. I was crazy about muscle and bodybuilders and taking the sexual element of it aside, I had a genuine interest in the bodybuilding industry. Even if he didn’t consider me to be one of the “sexy guys” he was apparently looking for, maybe there was a chance he’d at least appreciate hearing from a genuine muscle fan. From: londonboy85 To: american_muscle_god Hey, man. Genuine bodybuilder/muscle fan here. Follow the competitions, been to a couple of shows, seen a lot of the big pros. Awesome to find a genuine competitive bodybuilder on here! You look amazing. Insane cuts and definition, the quads are especially crazy, awesome sweeps, incredible size all over, impressive fullness and thickness of the pecs. You say you’re in competition condition, does that mean you’re in London to compete? Would be great to hear from you, if not take it easy and keep up the amazing work. I edited the message a fair few times, read it over and over, analysed it, wondered if there was more I could say, if I’d said too much, whether he’d read it and think I was just some guy chancing my luck and ignore it, whether he’d actually read it at all. I still wasn’t completely convinced it was a genuine profile at that point. I decided I wasn’t going to just sit and stare at my PC screen anticipating whether he would reply. Instead, I stood up, walked out the room, and did some things around the flat to try and distract myself, but the only thing I could think about was whether the “American Muscle God” had responded to my message. After about ten minutes, I couldn’t stand the anticipation any longer, so I returned to my PC eagerly examining the screen for a notification that I’d received a message from the muscle freak. I got to the screen, and nothing. My heart sank, but then, about three seconds later, a message notification came through. From: american_muscle_god To: londonboy85 Hey, dude. Great to hear from a genuine fan! I’m in town competing in an amateur bodybuilding show tomorrow. Staying at a hotel in the Docklands. You’re cute! Why don’t you stop by for a visit? My stomach leapt into my chest. I couldn’t quite believe what I was seeing, and I had serious doubts about whether the profile and the message were genuine or not, but with all of those doubts came an overwhelming feeling that I was potentially being faced with a once in a lifetime opportunity that I would always regret if I didn’t take. This was something I just had to do, whatever the outcome. I agreed to go round straight away. In the messages exchanged following his original, he had described himself as “ripped to the bone, super pumped and horny as hell” which I found both a little cheesy and outrageously hot. I was incredibly nervous getting ready in my flat, and even downed two shots of neat vodka to calm my nerves. I was potentially about to meet and have sex with a real American bodybuilder in competition condition. I don’t think I’ve ever felt more nervous than I did sitting on that tube train on my way to meet the muscle God. It felt like someone was literally squeezing on my insides, and yet, sitting on that tube, feeling the slightly hazy effects of drinking vodka in the afternoon, on my way to potentially meet not just any man, but the kind of man I had fantasised over for years, not knowing what situation I was getting myself into, I also felt an incredible rush of excitement. Unfortunately, about half way through my train journey, a negative thought suddenly came into me mind which plagued me until the moment I knocked on the muscle God’s hotel room door. Why would a bodybuilder be attracted to me? I knew I wasn’t exactly the worst looking guy in the world but it was rare that I’d attract the attention of what you’d call a “muscle guy” let alone a competitive bodybuilder. In my previous experience, I found that most muscular guys were only interested in guys similar to themselves. If I struggled to attract guys who were merely muscular, why would a competitive bodybuilder find me attractive? The nerves, doubts and fears were all so prominent on the journey to the hotel, and yet, as soon as that hotel room door opened, they all seemed to disappear. I’ll never forget the moment that door opened to reveal what I can only describe as an absolutely monstrous muscle freak in a bright red tracksuit. It sounds stupid, but I had completely underestimated just how big a bodybuilder would be in real life. Sure I’d been to shows and seen bodybuilders compete on stage, but close up in the normal surroundings of a hotel room I was completely blown away by the sheer size of this monster standing before me. Everything about him was just huge and larger than life. Even his dark, bronzed hands looked bigger than an average man’s. I remember thinking how he looked like a man from another superior, almost superhuman race. He stood in the doorway with a huge friendly grin on his face. The warmest, most gorgeous smile you’ve ever seen. His bright white teeth shined and contrasted against his beautifully bronzed, almost golden skin. He was so much better looking than in his pictures and was undoubtedly one of the most handsome guys I’d ever seen in person. He was extremely masculine looking, but at the same time he had a cute, almost boyish quality. Big pretty eyes, gorgeous skin, and his head was completely shaven. I had always found guys with completely shaved heads extremely masculine and sexy and this guy was no exception. I couldn’t see much of his body as his baggy red tracksuit was zipped right to the top of his neck but one thing was for sure, the guy was an absolute tank on two legs. His unbelievably wide upper body looked about twice the width of mine. Looking at this real life muscle monster standing before me, beaming at me with the most gorgeous smile, I distinctly remember thinking how it was quite possibly the hottest image I’d ever bared witness to in my life. It wasn’t long before that would change. I was slightly taken aback at how warm and friendly his tone of voice was as he spoke. “Hey, how ya doin’? I’m Matty.” I could imagine some bodybuilders just being rude, egotistical nightmares, and yet Matty, the name I’d been struggling to remember, had the most attractive and endearing warmth about him. My head was spinning as he ushered me in and asked if I wanted a drink, but as soon as we started talking about mundane things such as the tube and where I’d travelled from, he put me at ease and made me feel extremely comfortable. His demeanour was almost as attractive as his appearance. Friendly and down to earth, while oozing an incredibly hot confidence which I imagined came as part of the parcel of being a 250 pounds muscle monster. As he was talking to me, I suddenly realised he was standing at a distance. He seemed to enjoy my company but he hadn’t actually shown any signs that he found me attractive. My fears and doubts had started to kick in again, but standing in front of him, completely dumbfounded at just how huge and amazingly hot he was, the realisation that he might not find me attractive didn’t seem so devastating, more expected. At that moment I decided that whatever the outcome, if he told me I was a nice guy but it just wasn’t going to happen and then shipped me off shortly afterwards, it had still been an amazing experience. Finding a genuine bodybuilder online, the rush of going over to the hotel, actually meeting him in person and having a conversation with an utterly monstrous and astonishingly hot American bodybuilder with the hottest accent and the most attractive ethos had already felt like something out of a dream. As he went to use the bathroom, I prepared myself for the awkward let down to come, and expected to be back on the tube within the following ten minutes. From the moment he emerged from the bathroom, however, I knew that wouldn’t be the case. The atmosphere had suddenly shifted, the friendly bravado had gone, and he was walking directly towards me with that serious, tense, longing look right before you’re about to kiss someone. I didn’t really have time to think about what was happening, and before I knew it, Matty’s lips were passionately locked to mine, and my slim, regular sized body was melting into the mammoth mountain of huge, rock hard muscle which made up his amazing body. It felt like my entire being was sinking into a huge pile of muscle mass, and I was about to be swallowed completely into an eternal abyss of pleasure. Matty’s tongue was incredible too. Like the rest of him, it felt huge and seemed to consume my entire mouth, providing me with the most amazing and sensual sensation as it wrapped and interlocked with mine. Both hard and soft in equal measures, the kissing was the kind that was so intensely passionate and unbelievably hot that you suspected if it were to go on long enough your cock would explode with no hand going anywhere near it. As we unlocked lips, we looked at each other still embraced, both smiling, with a shared sense that what had just happened had been an unspeakably hot and passionate experience. He looked even more handsome than before, with his smouldering smile and big pretty eyes, and I couldn’t quite believe that the experience was actually mine. With the kissing brought to an end, the sensation in the palms of my hands which were wrapped around and firmly placed on his enormous planet of a back suddenly heightened, and I felt an unbelievable charge of electricity. I also had the biggest hard on, as it dug into his groin and my legs sunk into the huge hard cushions of beef below his waistline. It was the kind of hard on you get when you haven’t cum for about a week, and you suddenly find yourself uncontrollably horny and badly needing to shoot a huge load. The kind of hard on where you feel like your whole cock was just pumped full of cum, and you were so immensely and unequivocally turned on that it would explode out at any given moment. As he stared into my eyes and adorably ushered the words, “You’re a cutie,” all the insecure and paranoid fears of wondering whether he would be attracted to me vanished. I suddenly became very aware of the fact that I still hadn’t even seen any of his actual body yet, which was still covered up by his red tracksuit. I had no idea at that point what this muscle freak’s body would look like in the flesh, or what effect it would have on me. Still pressed against his torso and locked into his huge arms in an affectionate embrace, I suddenly had the urge to explore every single inch of this indecently hot muscle God’s freakishly huge body.
  4. muscleaddict

    m/m Muscle University

    Ok guys, here’s the new story I’ve been working on. It’s of a similar size and scale to my last story "AJ & Noah". It’s told from the point of view of Woody (real name Sebastian Wood), a handsome, sassy, self assured (some might cocky) bodybuilder with a cheeky Instagram persona. Woody attends Montgomery University of Bodybuilding & Fitness; the only school in the world dedicated to turning its students into pro bodybuilders, where lessons include Posing Practice 101, Anatomy & Aesthetics and A History of Bodybuilding. There are a few references/Easter eggs to AJ & Noah and some of my other stories in here for anyone who’s familiar with them! I’ve got my friend @reeddune working on some illustrations too which I’ll be sharing soon. MUSCLE UNIVERSITY One I open my eyes and this feeling of warmth washes over me. I genuinely can’t remember the last time I woke up this happy. I look over to my best friend Emily lying in the bed next to me and she gives me this happy knowing grin. There was nothing particularly extraordinary about last night. Just two friends getting a bit drunk and going to the local gay club. But everything about it was awesome. The atmosphere. The people. And I just want to do it all over again. “How’s the head?” she asks me. I smile and shrug under the duvet of her bed. “I feel fine!” She shakes her head. “I can’t believe how much attention you were getting last night!” I beam back at her. “I’m used to it!” I reply cheekily. Even though I’m actually not. At least not these days. Emily grins and playfully rolls her eyes. “I loved it when that guy asked to feel my biceps!” I say excitedly. Emily giggles. “And then his mate joined in!” she says. “They were so funny!” I turn away from her and look up to the ceiling. God I love this room. This house. This town. Everything here is so … normal. It’s the complete opposite to my life at my own university. And now I feel a sudden pang of sadness at the realisation that none of this is mine. It’s Emily's. This is her room. In her student house. In her university town. And I’ll be going back to my (exceptionally not normal) student life in a few hours time. “I’m just surprised you didn’t meet someone and abandon me like you normally do!” Emily quips, with one eyebrow raised. I look over at her and smirk. “I probably should have done! It’s pretty much my only chance to pull these days!” “Seb, there must be other gay guys at your uni?” I pull a face. “You would think!” It might sound a little crazy, but I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if I was the only gay guy at my university. We stay silent for a while. “Is that club open again tonight?” I ask. She looks at me suspiciously. “Yeah?” I wiggle my eyebrows up and down. “What if I didn’t go back today and we go out again tonight?” What If I don’t go back at all, I think. “Erm … don’t you have an exam tomorrow morning?” I pull a face. “Meh!” Emily grins at me. I know she’d love me to stay another night, but we both know that I’m going to be sitting on that train back to Scotland in a few hours time. I sigh, pull the duvet down and look at the thick, perfectly pumped pecs bulging off my chest. “What do you think, boys? Do you wanna go back to Scotland today? Bounce once for yes, twice for no!” Then I bounce my pecs twice. Emily giggles in response. “The pecs have spoken!” I exclaim. She giddily beams back at me and everything suddenly feels good again. I love who I am when I’m with Emily. I love who I am when I’m here. It’s different to how I am at my own university. I don’t feel like I have to put on a front. I’m not competing with anyone. I can let my guard down. I can relax. I guess (like everything else here) I can be normal. Well, as normal as a sixteen stone bodybuilder with arms twice the size as most lads’ my age can be. A few hours later and we’re at the train station, my holdall thrown over one of my ridiculously broad shoulders. My train leaves in fifteen minutes and I want to get a good seat. As much as I love visiting Emily, the seven hour train journey to get there and back is never exactly fun. “Are you still coming down for your birthday next month?” she asks. “Yeah! Of course!” I can’t imagine spending my birthday at my own university. Jesus. How fucking depressing would that be? A couple walk past us; a boy and a girl. They both stare at me as they do and the girl pulls a funny face and looks at the boy wide eyed. Emily looks at me and we both grin. “Jeez! It’s like no one has ever seen a bodybuilder before!” I say. Emily laughs. “You’re definitely a novelty down here!” Something pulls in my stomach. A desire. This is what I want to be. What I should be. A novelty. A rare thing. Something out of the ordinary. This is what I want all the time. I suddenly feel a heavy sadness that I have to leave. “Do your think your uni would let me transfer down here?” I ask Emily. She gives me a sad smile. I know the answer to that one. “I’m not really sure if they’d be able to match your course!” I roll my eyes and manage to smile. Of course they fucking wouldn’t. No other university in the world would be able to match my course. I’m stuck there for another two and a half years. And then … well then there’s a very good chance that I’ll get to live my dream. It’s one small mercy I guess. The light at the end of the tunnel. The one thing I cling to during my shittiest days. Luckily the train isn’t that busy so I manage to have two seats to myself for the entire journey. On the journey down here two days ago some unfortunate fucker had to sit next to me. Because I’m basically built like a brick shithouse, I was spilling over onto his seat. The poor bastard was squashed up with half of his body hanging out into the aisle. Of course, there are some guys out there who would probably enjoy sitting next to me. Some who’d probably walk over hot fucking coals for a chance to be squashed up against my huge, muscular body in fact. The randy buggers. I divide my journey time up by revising for tomorrow's exam, listening to Spotify, staring at how huge and devastatingly sexy I am in the reflection of the train window (did I mention I’m a bit of a handsome fucker as well as being a two hundred and thirty pounds bodybuilder?) and thinking about how I’m going to spend the evening when I get back to my dorm room. By the way, you heard that right. I live in a shared fucking dorm room. Ugh. Just like the ones you see in all those films set in American colleges. Two beds. Two people. Two complete strangers chosen at random by a computer being forced to share a room. I mean … fucking seriously? My university is probably the only one in the UK that has them. They say it helps the students to bond. Really it’s just a cheaper way of housing us. It’s not like I can live off campus either. Trust me, I would if I could. But it's impossible. Because my university is in the middle of sodding nowhere. I’m complaining, but in actual fact, I’m one of the extremely lucky few first years who doesn't actually share his dorm room. Woo-hoo! My old roommate Craig (who was noisy, messy and had about as much banter as a brick) dropped out a few months ago so I have the whole room to myself. It’s mostly great, though there are times when I find myself getting a bit bored. There’s even been a few times where I’ve suddenly realised that I’m talking to myself. I have no idea what that’s about. Half way through the train journey I go to use the toilet. There’s a big mirror on the wall. Christ, I look huge. I’m always a little taken aback when I see my reflection in a foreign mirror. And this is no exception. My shoulders look ridiculous, my famously thick pecs (at least in the world of online muscle fans) are bulging underneath my plain white t-shirt (you should see them in a vest!) and my arms look straight up fucking monstrous. I guess I’m kinda known for my arms. I don’t mean to sound like I’m bragging, but you should see the size of my biceps. They just fucking explode off my arms when flexed. My triceps are pretty crazy too. I mean, at this point I’m basically just an all round freak. Strangers in the street would probably run away from me screaming if I wasn’t so bloody good looking with it. Which people feel the need to remind me about quite a lot on Instagram. I’m always getting told how handsome I am by random users. And it’s not just on Instagram. I read a crazy comment on a muscle blog once where someone said I wouldn’t look too out of place in one of those American high school films where the hot jock guys always look way too old to be playing teenagers. I kinda loved reading that. Then I started imagining what kind of character I could play. I was thinking an unusually buff, British exchange student all the girls go crazy over but who’s actually secretly gay. Then some big Hollywood producer could snap me up and put me in a Marvel film as a superhero. Or as some mutant freak in the latest X-Men film (no CGI needed). I mess with my brown hair a little, which is getting a bit too long at the top, to restyle it. I turn my head to the side and look at my jawline in the reflection of the mirror. People are always mentioning my jawline on the Internet. Then I wiggle my eyebrows up and down and flash a big, cheesy grin at my reflection. And then I laugh at myself. Because I’m such a fucking knob sometimes. I lift my t-shirt up and HOLY ABS. God, I love my stomach muscles. They really fucking POP. It’s like I’ve got six big cobblestones trapped under my skin and they’re trying to burst out. They’re definitely amongst the best developed and most aesthetic abs of all the lads in my year. An idea pops into my head which I can’t resist following through with. I whip out my phone and take a picture of myself, flexing the bicep muscles in my right arm in the mirror while pulling a funny face. Then I load up Instagram and type a cheeky caption. Me and this bad boy bulging off my arm are on a train back to MU. Everyone keeps staring at me. It’s like they’ve never seen a muscle monster before. Weird! #huge #biceps #watchmegrow #freak4life #hellyeah #sexymonster And BOOM … the post is up and my sexy face and bulging biceps are out there for all the world to see. Or all twelve thousand of my Instagram followers anyway. My chest flutters with excitement at the thought of all the likes and comments that will, without question, soon come flooding in. As I walk (well, more like strut) through the carriage to return to my seat, practically every passenger looks up at me. I clock one guy I’m fast approaching who has his head buried in a book. I cough loudly as I walk towards him and he casually glances up. This comical, shocked expression takes over his face and his eyes look like they’re about pop out of their sockets when he looks at me. Ha! I give my new admirer a mischievous smirk as I strut past his seat. And no doubt half the carriage are now checking out my obscenely huge, round arse which is stuffed into my painted on skinny jeans. When I settle back into my seat I load up Instagram again on my phone. I feel a surge of excitement because (as predicted) the reaction to my latest post is crazy. The likes are going mad and new comments keep popping up. Someone calls me a “super freak” (love it). Another person says I’m “so so handsome”. I get called huge, unbelievable and some dude tells me he wants to get his hands on my biceps. The filthy bugger! I like every comment, and even reply to some. Thanking them, or saying “hell yeah” or “I need to get even BIGGER”. For some comments I just leave an emoji. One gets a winky face, another gets the emoji with the one eye closed and the tongue sticking out (I LOVE that one) and, fuck it, the guy who wants to feel my biceps gets the face blowing a kiss emoji. It’s flirty. It’s cheeky. It’s outrageous. And it’s so fucking ME. I love getting all that attention. I love making people go crazy. And I love turning people on. Knowing that they’re aroused by my huge muscles. God. It’s such a bonkers and powerful thought. I jump in the Uber I’ve booked when I get to my final station. The poor driver looks fucking terrified. As we drive to my campus this unsettling feeling churns in my stomach. This is the worst part about going to visit Emily at her university, or going back to my parents for long weekends or holidays; the horrible feeling I get whenever I have to return. If I were in a better mood, I might give my Uber driver a cheeky flex of my biceps before getting out of the car. Instead I say thanks and reluctantly get out. I pause as I look at the assortment of big brick buildings before me and the surrounding greenery. There’s nothing particularly remarkable about my university campus from the outside. It looks like any middle tier university in the UK. I breathe a deep sigh as I look at the only clue that this is anything but an ordinary university campus - a graphic image of an arm with big, flexed bicep muscles on the side of the Prince House building sitting next to the following words: “MONTGOMERY UNIVERSITY OF BODYBUILDING & FITNESS. MAKING TOMORROW'S TOP BODYBUILDERS.”
  5. Mickyh29

    Battle of the Hunks Pt2

    Hey guys, thanks to everyone that voted in the first round which was Lat Spread, it was a very very close contest between our 2 gorgeous hunks, Dan shaved it by one vote! I've got a feeling this is going to be a very close contest overall! So now we come to one of my favourite poses, the side chest, both Dan and Regan have huge mass to show and these poses did not disappoint as you will see shortly. Pretty much every upper body muscle has chance to shine in this pose, balloon like pecs, thick boulder shoulders and incredible arms. Just to remind you , your voting for the guy you want to win the chance to be the guy who uses our new super growth serum. Again along with your choice please give an explanation as to why you chose either Dan or Regan. So here we go with Round 2: DAN We believe Dan has some of the best pecs on the planet, so this pic was an easy choice. The roundness and thickness is mindblowing! The pic also shows the quality of his delts and huge biceps. REGAN We chose this pic as it shows Regans incredible size, was nearly 300lb in this pic and still holding in to some decent definition. Big juicy pecs and colossal arms made this pic the perfect choice. So guys, get voting, who wins it for you, Dan or Regan?
  6. This was a quick story I thought of while working out today, and wrote most of it a few hours later. I was inspired by the pictures of this famous actor... who shall remain nameless... on Instagram. It was just something quick and fun to keep my creative juices flowing while I work on the next chapter of The Test. Hope you enjoy!!! And You Wonder…What If ??? HC paced around the rented house he was staying in while in Los Angeles. Gazing at his watch for the eight time, he could see that Peter was already 15 minutes late. The little prick better not have run off with all that cash, he thought to himself. Moving into the kitchen, he decided that he would make himself a cup of tea. Yes. That would calm him down. Even after four days, he was still furious about the meeting with his agent. It seemed Warner Brothers had no further interest in him playing Superman either in the next Justice League film or in the sequel to The Man of Steel. Sure, he had said that he wasn’t interested in playing Superman anymore, but that was just a ploy to make more money. Everyone knew that and everyone did it. Of course, he wanted to play Superman again! - You’re just not big enough? - What the fuck are you talking about, Mel? I’m bigger then ever? I just finished filming The Witcher, and Mission Impossible got rave reviews. How can they think I’m not big enough? - No. It’s not your fame. That is totally fine. You’re simply not big enough… in size. - What? - You just aren’t big enough. Look at JM. He dwarfs you on the screen. How can fuckin Aquaman be bigger then Superman? - That’s crazy, Mel. I can put on more mass. You now that. - Of course I do, but not enough for Warner. They’re looking at some new kid who’s simply huge. Name is Tanner Evans. He’s gonna play Superboy or something. Sorry, Harry. That’s the way it goes. Why do you think HJ isn’t playing Wolverine anymore. - Because he’s too old? - Yeah. There’s that, but the audience just doesn’t believe it any longer. They want their superhero’s fuckin’ jacked just like they’re drawn. - I’ll do another screen test. - It’s not gonna help, H. - Tell them I want to do another screen test! Give me a month. I’ll seriously bulk up. I’ll do a cycle of roids. - Don’t! They’ll test you for your insurance, and if that comes up positive your dead. How would that look blasted across the internet: Superman Dopes Roids. - Fine. I won’t. Just get me another test. - I’ll try, H. I can’t promise anything. Now… lets talk about better things… Sure there were other movies, but not like this one. H had read the script and it was amazing. Far better then any of the others. He needed to play Superman again. That was why he hired Peter Fall, the personal trainer who had gotten HJ back in shape after Les Miserables. Peter and H met three days ago, and H told him exactly what he wanted. Peter had looked at H and told him it simply wasn’t possible. What H did to get ready wasn’t for everyone. - I’ll do anything. I’ll work day and night. 24 hours a day if I have to. You just need me to get in fighting shape. - It’s not as simple as that. - You know I’m dedicated. Look at my build now. I’m jacked. - You are… but what HJ did… that was different. - What do you mean? - Look… I don’t want to spread shit here… - Just say it. - HJ had a little help. Pharmaceutical help. - Roids? - No. Nothing like that. This shit is different. - What is it? - It’s an experimental growth hormone. It’s mostly used underground by fighters, wrestlers. Helps them get that edge over competition. - And… - It doesn’t show up on any test. You come up totally clear. I got it for HJ, and you saw him in that film. - Yeah. He looked great. - Exactly. He still needed to work out for pics on Instagram to make it look like that was how he did it, but the shit did everything. - How long does it take? I only have a month. - That’s the great part. It works right away. You’ll see results in minutes. - That’s not possible. - I’m not shitting you, man. I promise. - Get it. - It’s expensive. - How much? - 10,000 a dose. - How much did HJ take? - One. - Get it. That had been three days ago. A day later, Peter had called and told him that it wasn’t possible to purchase by the injection anymore. He would need to buy a whole vile. The cost would be 60,000. HC didn’t care. That was nothing. He transferred the money right away. Now Peter was late. He never should have trusted him. Never trust an ex-actor turned personal trainer! That was the rule. They always wanted to screw you over!! Henry tried to calm himself down by taking a sip of tea, but it only made him more agitated. Just when he thought he couldn’t take anymore, the doorbell rang. H ran to the door and swung it open. - Where the fuck have you been? - Sorry. Traffic. - You have it? - Of course. Peter took a brown bag out of his backpack. From that he removed a plastic bag filled with empty syringes, and a brown glass vial. - Here you go. - That’s it? - That’s it. - How much do I take. - The dose is .25 cc. - How do I do it? - I’ll just inject it into your glute muscles, and there you go. - Okay. Let’s get on with it. H began removing his jeans and t-shirt as Peter popped off the plastic top to the vial and sunk the needle into the plunger. From the plunger he pulled up far less then .25 cc’s, since that wasn’t really the proper dose. The proper dose was .2 iu’s, but H had no way of knowing that. He had no way of knowing exactly what Peter wanted from this evening. He should have listened to his own warning… never trust an ex actor turned personal trainer. - Bend over. - Okay. - Now, once I get the syringe in, don’t move. It’s thick and will take a few seconds. - Okay. Peter pulled the back right side of H’s black briefs down and admired his smooth perfect ass. Nice, Peter thought. Very nice… and soon it’s going to be oh so much bigger and better! First Peter cleaned the area with an alcohol swab, and then he sunk the needle into H’s ass and plunged the liquid in. He kept the needle in far longer then usual so H would think he was injecting more then he was. When he felt enough time had passed, he withdrew the needle and cleaned the area with the alcohol again. - There you go. All done. - Excellent. Should I be feeling it now? - Give it a few seconds. - Brilliant. H began to move around the room again. He couldn’t tell if he was more nervous or excited. Suddenly he began to feel something he could only describe as a pleasurable glow filling his body. - I can feel it. - Great. - Fuck yeah, I can feel it. I feel fuckin’ incredible. - Excellent. His chest was where H noticed it first. His recently trimmed hairy chest began to plump up, getting fuller. In a few moments, every muscle in his body began to gain size. His bi’s and tri’s pumped up, his lats grew a little higher, his quads bulked up, and his calves gained even more mass. H felt incredible. He was growing!! Even the muscles in his hands and feet grew a little thicker giving him the more rugged look that he had always been after. That’s why he never shaved his chest. He loved the mountain man look, and now he was definitely getting closer to it. In a few minutes, it was all over. - Fuck yea, Peter! Look at me!!! How much do you think I gained? - No clue. You have a scale? - Yeah. There’s one in the bathroom. Peter followed H into the bathroom and watched him step on the scale. - Twenty-seven pounds!! I’ve gained twenty-seven pounds in less then five minutes. Amazing!!! - That will certainly help for sure. - Damn right it will!! H began flexing in the mirror, going into a front double bicep pose, then a front lat spread, and then a side tricep. Peter could tell H loved what he was seeing by the slight tenting in his briefs. - Looking good, man. - Yeah I am. - They’ll definetly Cast you for sure. - Exactly. No way Tanner Evans has this size. - Tanner Evans? - Yeah. You know him? - Ummm… yeah. I do. H watched as Peter looked down at the floor. He stopped posing in front of the mirror and looked at him. - What is it? - Sorry man… that kid is huge. Massive. You’re big, but you can’t compete with him. I’m sorry. You should have told me that was who you were going against. - Fuck!! But look at me! I look amazing. - Yeah… but not compared to Tanner. Shit… he makes anyone look puny! - Give me another dose. - What? - Give me another dose. Can I take another dose? - I don’t know. They used to only sell it by the dose, but now no one wants an open vial, so you have to buy the whole thing. I’ve only ever given one dose. - I want another one. I’m sure it will be fine. Another should help, shouldn’t it? - Well… You gained 27 pounds? - Yeah. - I don’t think another 27 will help. Not against Tanner. I’m sorry. - Why not?!! H was getting angry now. - Tanner is much bigger then that. You can’t beat him. - Get the vial. I’m doing another dose. - I can’t. I really can’t Henry. - I paid for a fuckin vial, so get me the vial!! Walking away to get the vial, Peter tried to hide his smile. He had tried this out on HJ, but it hadn’t worked. He’d been happy with his results, but then he also had the role already. He just needed the extra size. H didn’t have the role… and he was much more vain then HJ. - Here you go. - What was the dose you gave me? - .25 cc’s. - Fine. If that gave added twenty-seven pounds, .50 will add over 50. - I don’t think you should do this, H. - Give me a needle. - I won’t give it to you, H. I want no part in this. - Fine. I don’t need your help. You can go if you want. Peter handed the syringe to H and watched him plunge the needle into the vial. Tipping the vial upward, H pulled up .50 cc’s, and thinking better of it, decided instead to pull up .60 for good measure. H pulled his briefs completely off, turned around, and plunged the needle into his ass. Pressing down on the needle, he injected all of it into his body. - There. Sixty more pounds of muscle will definitely make me bigger then this kid. He can’t be fuckin Hercules. H had just finished saying Hercules when he felt it over his entire body. - Fuuuckkkk!!!! This feels fucking amazing!! H’s voice had gotten much deeper as he spoke. Sweat was pouring down H’s body and he started pacing around the room like a caged animal. - This is it, Peter!! This is it!! I feel like a fucking nuclear warhead, and it’s only getting stronger! Listen to my voice!! It’s getting so deep!!! - Yeah. - It sounds so fucking sexy. It’s going to sound great coming from Superman. - Yeah it will. - My pecs!! They’re growing again. Peter watched as H’s two massive hairy pecs began expanding again. Larger and larger they proceeded to grow, a deep crevice appearing between the two. Soon the immense weight and size of each pec began forcing his nipples down towards the floor. - Oh yeah!!! They’re going to have to make me a completely new suit!! Fuck!! They’re nearly blocking my view!! H laughed, enjoying the tremendous feeling this growth was causing. Soon his lats joined in with his growing pecs evolving into what made him look like the head of a cobra. His arms began to hang further and further from his sides as his lats continued to grow even larger. - There’s no way that kid can beat me for size now! H cried out in pain as he looked at his hands. They were growing thicker his well. The muscle began to flow up his fore arms, blowing them up broader and thicker, and then up to his bi’s and tri’s. Henry flexed, and his upper arms were now nearly the size of Peter’s head. - What do you think, Peter? Do you think Superman has biceps like these? H stumbled for a moment, loosing his balance. He heard cracking coming form his hands and when he looked at them again, he could tell that they were getting longer. - I think I’m getting taller, Peter!! Should this shit be making me taller? - I don’t know, H, but you are definitely getting taller! H was inching up higher to give his body more area to add muscle mass. His legs blasted next in size, his quads and calves inflating, fashioning two titanic columns. H stood nearly 6’5 now and still he grew. If it was possible, his square chin got even more chiselled, and his hairy chest began to get even hairier. The fifty pounds he had thought he would gain was far behind him as he gained nearly 100; and still he grew. In the back of his head, H was concerned about what he did. He was getting too big… far too big. He was becoming almost unrecognizable. He was surpassing most bodybuilders when it came to size. The other part of his brain loved it and wanted the growth to continue. It just felt too good. He felt so powerful… as powerful as Superman!! H, with some difficulty, moved into the bathroom so he could look at himself in the full length mirror. The growth was continuing, but now it seemed to be focused on his cock. What had been of considerable size before was soon multiplying into a thick anaconda. The same size veins that travelled down his arms and legs began to wrap themselves around his cock feeding it, giving it more size. Forgetting Peter was even in the room, H began to stoke his cock as he looked at himself in the mirror. Peter hadn’t forgotten his was in the room. As H moved to the bathroom Peter made his move as well. Leaning down, he picked the vial up that had been left on the floor. Taking another syringe, he emptied the rest of the vial into it. With it in his hand, he moved into the bathroom. - You look incredible, H. Simply amazing! - I know. Even my cock is growing. - I can see that! - That kid will never beat me now. - No one will. With that, Peter injected H with the rest of the vial. - What the fuck have you done?!! - Enjoy the ride, H! HC’s whole body quaked with the onslaught of muscle growth. His chin was pushed further up as his pecs ballooned even bigger and grander. His abs formed an enormous cobblestone path down from his pecs to his crotch. The bones of his pelvis cracked and actually got tighter instead of wider, creating an inconceivable V taper to his body. His Adonis belt, or cum gutters as he called them, grew cavernous and more pronounced. This third injection apparently sent H’s testosterone into overdrive. Always a hairy man, the hair on his body began to grown in thicker and denser. His entire chest, which 30 minutes ago had been nicely trimmed and manicured, now filled with curling black hair. The hair travelled up his freshly shaved face, and began to sprout dark stubble. A few moments after, H had a thick five o’clock shadow, then two days worth of growth, then a week. H’s beard became thicker, blacker, and more intense as it grew till the tip of it was rubbing against the hair on his pecs. H looked up and saw that his growth was propelling him to the height of the vaulted ceiling in the bathroom. He had to be nearly ten feet tall or taller, he thought with an excited shutter. H was in two minds. One part of him begged for the growth to stop and for everything to go back to the way it was before. The other part begged for it to continue or never ever stop. From what he could still see of himself in the mirror, he looked incredible! He was so massive, so hairy, so masculine!! And his cock!! Fuck!!! His cock was a monster!! It had to be at least fifteen inches long and still growing longer and thicker. The head itself was simply unheard of. It was mammoth, dark red, and pulsing with each heartbeat. It was as long as his old cock had been soft, at least four inches, and at least nine inches thick. The head was at least an inch and a half fuller then his growing shaft, and persisted to grow bigger. He reached his hands down to touch it, and discovered he needed both hands to completely engulf it, the circumference was so immense. Even when soft, he couldn’t imagine how his own foreskin would ever fit around it. H laughed loudly realizing that his own cock head was the pinnacle of his hyper masculinity. A deep bass cry of pain left H’s throat as his balls proceeded to grow. What had once been hen eggs now grew to oranges, then grapefruits, and then coconuts. His crotch had also grown excessively hairy, and from his balls, he could smell his own musk rising up. Lifting his right arm up, he forced his face as close to his pit as possible. Flooded with long thick dark hair now, he soon discovered that his pheromones were also working in overdrive and he was exuding the masculine of smells. His own scent was quickly turning him on, and he found himself licking the head of his own bicep. He had to widen his stance, as his quads grew thicker. Afraid he was going to be a prisoner of the bathroom, H grabbed for the doorframe, and with less effort then it would take to rip a sheet of paper, he created a hole large enough for him to bend over and go through. I have to weight over a thousand pounds now, he thought as he forced his way into the living room, breaking down doorframes and demolishing everything in his way. On the floor he found the clothes that he had been wearing only this evening. He laughed a deep belly laugh as he leaned over and lifted up what appeared to the now giant of a man as something that would only fit a child. He searched for Peter but discovered the Personal Trainer was gone. That was too bad. He was getting hornier by the second and needed a place to stick his cock. That has-been actor had destroyed his career now, but H no longer cared. As he neared the ceiling in the living room, he realised that before he was always playing Superman. Now he WAS Superman!!! He would still be famous, there was no doubt, but now he would also be worshiped. A thick river of pre began to fall from his massive cock head. As he began jerking himself off, H continued to grown. He was relishing every sensation, as he grew closer to the ceiling. His muscles began adding on more pounds faster and faster, and his own legs began crushing his balls. He moved his feet further apart hoping to make more room, but soon they began to press against his balls again. He didn’t know what idea he liked more… his balls becoming so immense, or his legs becoming so massive. As best he could, H began to feel up his entire body. He no longer could touch his shoulders nor could he really turn his head, but he saw out of the corner of his eyes how round and hairy his deltoids were becoming. He began to think he would need to hire someone to shave his back, but then, he thought, why bother. Let the world see a real man for once, hairy back and all. Fuck, he was horny. His own pointer finger was now four times the size his old penis was, so he brought his hand down to try and finger his own asshole, but found he could only reach as far as his hairy glutes. Since he couldn’t see his own ass, he could only tell by feeling how unbelievably round, hairy, and full of pure muscle it was. H laughed, and executed a deep squat, watching his quads simply explode in size. Lusting after his own size, H grabbed his cock and began to jerk off. He had always been an XL on that one dating/sex app he had, but now he would have to list himself as XXXXXXXXLLLLL!! Even a serious fister wouldn’t be able to get his cock head in! Just thinking about that made his pre flow faster. H reached down to his oozing head, filled his palm with seeping pre, and coated his whole penis with it. As he jerked faster and faster, drool leaving his mouth and falling onto his own beard and chest hair, he quickly reached orgasm. HC let out a deep moan which escalated quickly to a roar. The orgasm lasted longer than a minute and nearly brought him to his knees. When he finished, he realised his cock was still as hard as before, and he was still just as horny. Would he ever be satisfied again? Just as he was about to hit the twelve-foot ceilings, the growth tapered off and stopped. Standing over eleven feet tall and over three thousand pounds of pure muscle, HC roared like the massive grizzly of a man he was. He loved the sound of his deep bass roar and expected to do it a lot from now on. He looked around the destroyed room and tried to find his cell phone. He wasn’t sure how he would dial it, but he had to call his agent. He was going to introduce himself to the world soon, and he would need someone to deal with all the press. Then he had to get back in touch with Peter. There were several other famous men H had on speed dial he’d like to see be introduced to the contents of that vial. He definitely wanted Peter to purchase more. At least ten to start. A new thought crossed his mind… maybe he would play Superman on film again. He would build his own Justice League of massive, freaky, muscular men. He would handpick each one, and he knew just where to start!
  7. I haven't posted a story in a while - here's my next offering, I hope it's enjoyable...I really loved writing it. There are three parts, all pretty much written so I might post some more later. Part 1 “Oh FUCK baby…give it to me,” Justin moaned. I looked down to watch my thick cock sliding in and out of my boyfriend-of-2-years’ tight ass. “Mmmm, you fucking slut,” I growled, picking up the pace, ramming my 8-inch cock in hard and fast, enjoying the sound of Justin’s breath catching in his throat as I did. We both LOVED fucking doggy style. I grabbed his hips with both hands, pulling him back onto my cock and looking down to see my flexed biceps bulging. Justin screamed with pleasure. “OH FUCK YEAH”. Sweat dripped from my heaving, swollen pecs down onto my defined abs. Still pounding Justin’s sexy ass, I ran one hand up his back, feeling him shiver to my touch, and grabbed his hair, pulling his head back hard. “Mmmmmmm YEAH,” Justin moaned, desperate. He loved it rough. “TAKE THIS THICK COCK SLUT BOY,” I roared, fucking him even harder. Justin gasped, moaning continuously and pushing his twink ass back onto my cock. “Breed me Daddy,” he begged. I was getting close. “Oh I will boy,” I grunted, pounding him like an animal rutting. I looked up at the mirror on the wardrobe opposite our bed. God we looked hot when we fucked. I brought one arm up, flexing my bicep as I hammered Justin’s ass hard. I loved the look of my swollen peak, veins mapped across the surface, the epitome of manliness. Justin loved it too – he looked up while we fucked and then reached down, starting to jerk his cock as he stared at my pumped bicep. “Mmmmm look at your fucking huge biceps,” he groaned, clearly close to cumming himself. The sight of my hot twink boyfriend jerking his cock to my muscular arms, pushed me over the edge. “FUCK BABE I’M GONNA CUM,” I roared, feeling the orgasm start to rise up from my swollen balls. “BREED YOUR BOY,” Justin moaned in response as I grabbed his hips again, thrusting my throbbing dick deep in him. With that, my thick cock swelled even more, pleasure ripping through my entire body and an animalistic scream escaping my mouth. Jets of cum shot from my cock and I looked down to see Justin writhing too in his own intense orgasm. It was always like this for us. “FUCK,” we both screamed over and over, bodies writhing. I collapsed forward, my hard cock still in Justin’s tight ass. I knew he liked the feel of me on top of him like this and heard him sigh in pleasure. We lay like that for several minutes as our powerful orgasms continued to subside, our rapid breathing starting to settle. “Right babe…I need to hit the shower,” I said, suddenly aware of the time – I couldn’t be late for work again. He tried to reply but no real words came out. I chuckled as I headed to the bathroom, pleased I could still fuck him into a sex coma. I turned on the shower and, as I waited for the water to heat up, I appreciated my reflection in the large mirror above the sink. I couldn’t deny I was pretty happy with what I saw. Pushing on for 35 and with a busy job that involved plenty of shift work I had to put in a lot of effort to stay in shape. A boyfriend 10 years younger than me certainly helped as motivation. I’d been hitting the gym 4 times a week for 15 years and I guess it showed. I liked how my slightly hairy pecs jutted out over my abs, still heaving from the exertion of the fuck. I liked the size of my arms – I couldn’t help pulling a double bicep flex and watching the symmetrical mounds of muscle bunch up tight. Impressive peaks for an amateur lifter. I liked my 8 pack abs and the “v” leading down to my thick, now soft, cock. And I fucking loved my quads – big and thick – just looking at them made me feel so strong. I quickly jumped in the shower, conscious that if I kept up this line of thought I’d be rock hard again and subsequently late for work. I let the warm water cascade over my worked-out body, totally relaxed from the amazing fuck session. Five minutes later, I was back in the bedroom, a towel wrapped around my waist. Justin had barely moved, other than to flip himself over so that he was now lying staring at the ceiling, his arms above his head. I couldn’t help letting out a deep moan as I took in the beauty lying in front of me. I loved his slim figure and smooth skin, still glistening with drops of sweat from his pounding. His cute boyish face was totally peaceful and a beautiful smile lightened his features as he opened his eyes to look at me. I ran a hand up his tight abs (Justin too kept himself in shape) and then tweaked his hot nipples causing him to shudder in response. “Don’t…” he moaned. “You’ll be late for work…”. A mischievous smile on his face. I knew he was right and headed over to the wardrobe to find my work clothes. “Erm…Dan?” Justin said a minute later, his hesitancy causing me to turn and take in the slight frown that had appeared on his face. “Yeah babe…what’s up?” I asked, pulling on my scrubs and walking over to sit next to him again. “I was just thinking…” Justin was never nervous. “Go on babe, spit it out,” I said kindly, stroking his short blond hair. “Well…could we…perhaps…try it the other way round next time?” he asked, immediately looking to the side to avoid my gaze. Ah. “Justin…we’ve talked about this. I just don’t think it would work babe,” I replied, full of love for him. “Why not Dan? You never tell me why…” he said, accusation in his voice. This conversation came up from time to time. At first, it had been natural that I’d be the one doing the fucking – Justin loved riding cock and I loved to give it. Recently though he’d been more questioning…why couldn’t we swap sometimes? It was getting more and more difficult to diffuse the situation… “It’s because of this isn’t it?” he questioned angrily, holding his cock in his hand. I was surprised at his directness and was too slow to deny the accusation. It didn’t help that there was truth in what he said – Justin was blessed with a cute face and fit body but his smaller-than-average cock had always been a sore point for him. I didn’t want the experience to be disappointing for either of us… “I knew it,” he barked, his normally beautiful features rearranged into a mask of anger and humiliation. “No Justin…it’s not that,” I replied, trying to placate him. It was not a total lie. There was something else contributing to my reluctance – I had to admit that I’d gotten used to being the “big spoon” in our relationship. It just worked for us. The idea of taking on a more submissive role would be hard to swallow and even harder to admit. “You’re lying,” he shouted, tears welling up in his eyes. “No babe…wait,” I pleaded as he jumped up and ran to the bathroom. I heard the lock click and knew it was too late to convince him otherwise.
  8. Chapter One: As the sun rose over the glorious city of London, the capital of the United Kingdom ruled over by Her Majesty Queen Victoria, Defender of the Faith and Empress of India, it revealed a city with the first mists of autumn mingled with the smoke of the industrial heartland of the East End. Alongside the Thames that flowed through the city, the Westminster Clock Tower, standing tall over the mother of Parliaments, announced to the world via “Big Ben” the bell in the heart of the tower, that eight o’clock had arrived on October 2nd 1872. A fact that Police Constable Thompson, who had been up since six o’clock that morning, was aware of. He oversaw turning off the gas lamps in the district of the City of London and as he turned off the gaslamp outside number seven Saville Row, he looked up and smiled. Even since he had found out that Sheridan, the famous poet of the eighteenth century, had lived in the house until his death in 1814, he felt a sense of pride that he was looking after the street where he once lived and having done his duty carried on down the street. Inside number seven, the owner slowly opened his eyes, yawned and stretched. Taking a clock from his bedside table he listened to the chimes of “Big Ben” and nodded his approval that his bedside clock was keeping perfect time. Placing the clock back, he picked a small bell and rang it expecting his manservant, Forster, to come dashing in and help his master get dressed. However, no sooner had he rang the bell, than he said, “Oh, yes, I fired him, yesterday didn’t I?” and with that replaced the bell. As the owner got out of bed and made his bed, he remembered the unhappy event that had led to him sacking Forster. It happened when the unlucky manservant handed the owner his shaving water and as the owner took out the thermometer to measure the temperature his eyes opened wide and he bellowed “EIGHTY-FOUR DEGREES? ARE YOU TRYING TO MAKE ME CATCH A COLD?”. Forster only had a second to stammer “But, master, it was eighty-six when I left the kitchen” before a “YOU’RE FIRED!” resounded through the house. As the owner examined the clocks on the mantelpiece in his bedroom, chiding one for being a full minute out, he proceeded to perform his morning constitutionals. First he marched up and down the bedroom, raising his hands and feet in alternate steps, waggled his hips from side to side, touched his toes several times and then taking out two kettlebells from the cupboard placed them on the bedside table. As he did he took off the blue dressing gown he was wearing and then the pyjamas and stood there completely naked in the cool morning air. Grabbing the kettlebells in both hands, he took a deep breath, held it and then raised the weights into the air and then stared at his reflection in the mirror opposite. People said that he resembled Byron, the great English poet of the last century, at least that his head was Byronic; but he was a bearded, tranquil Byron, who might live on a thousand years without growing old and his body reflected this. It was well conditioned, thanks in part to the course that the owner subscribed to written, which seeing as he obtained the copies direct from the author he could attest to, Donald Dinnie, a man that many people had compared to the heroes of Ancient Greece and while the owner was nothing like as strong as he puffed out his chest and sucked in his stomach he looked as much of a Greek hero as any of them. As he stood there, he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He liked the sensation and closed his eyes as he continued to hold his breath. He imagined himself standing on a stage next to Mr. Dinnie, the two men showing off their strength and as they did, the owner’s physique had one more surprise as just below his waist, an organ of the body that most people ignored started to stir. Slowly at first, it lengthened and as it did it thickened at the same time and in his imagination, the owner was soon thrusting it into Donald’s body with the strongman unable to resist. As the sensation grew, the owner opened his eyes and nodded at the sight of the organ bobbing in time with his heart. He knew what was going to happen and dropped the weights and started to rub it, still holding his breath. It wasn’t long before the owner’s face had turned bright red and his organ the deepest purple possible but the owner was determined to push himself to his limits and lay back on the bed, his face scrunched up in a combination of agony and ecstasy. Eventually the torture became too much and with a mighty “RULE BRITANNIA!” the owner roared and was soon covered with the essence of man on his naked body which he rubbed into it with moans of pleasure as his chest heaved, filling his lungs with oxygen. As he started to relax, he chuckled and said “Well done Phileas, next time, ten minutes!” So, who was this Phileas, who has just pushed his physical body to the limits of human endurance? He was an Englishman, certainly, but was he a Londoner? That was a question for the ages however. He was never seen on the floor of the Stock Exchange, nor at the Bank of England or the other smaller banks in the capital, nor in the counting-rooms in the square mile, the financial heart of England nor did any ships ever came into London docks of which he was the owner; he had no public employment; he had never been entered at any of the Inns of Court, either at the Temple, or Lincoln’s Inn, or Gray’s Inn; nor had his voice ever resounded in the Court of Chancery, or in the Exchequer, or the Queen’s Bench, or the Ecclesiastical Courts. He certainly was not a manufacturer; nor was he a merchant or a gentleman farmer. His name was strange to the scientific and learned societies, and he never was known to take part in the sage deliberations of the Royal Institution or the London Institution, the Artisan’s Association, or the Institution of Arts and Sciences. He belonged, in fact, to none of the numerous societies which swarm in the English capital, from the Harmonic to that of the Entomologists, founded mainly for abolishing pernicious insects bar one. He was a member of the Reform Club, the Club that was home to every great Liberal that England had produced and that was all. Was Phileas rich? Undoubtedly. But those who knew him best could not imagine how he had made his fortune, and Mr. Fogg, as he was more commonly referred to, was the last person to whom to apply for the information. He was not lavish, nor, on the contrary, avaricious; for, whenever he knew that money was needed for a noble, useful, or benevolent purpose, he supplied it quietly and sometimes anonymously. He was, in short, the least communicative of men. He talked very little, and seemed more mysterious for his taciturn manner. His daily habits were quite open to observation; but whatever he did was so the same thing that he had always done before, that the wits of the curious were puzzled. Had he travelled? It was likely, for no one seemed to know the world more familiarly; there was no spot so secluded that he did not appear to have an intimate acquaintance with it. He often corrected, with a few clear words, the thousand conjectures advanced by members of the club as to lost and unheard-of travelers, pointing out the true probabilities, and seeming as if gifted with a sort of second sight, so often did events justify his predictions. He must have travelled everywhere, at least in the spirit and yet, from the little that people knew of him, it was evident that he had not left the capital for at least fifteen years maybe longer. Those who were honoured by a better acquaintance with him than the rest, declared that nobody could pretend to have ever seen him anywhere else. His sole pastimes were reading the papers and playing whist. He often won at this game, which, as a silent one, harmonized with his nature; but his winnings never went into his purse, being reserved as a fund for his charities. Mr. Fogg played, not to win, but for the sake of playing. The game was in his eyes a contest, a struggle with a difficulty, yet a motionless, unwearyingly struggle, congenial to his tastes. He was unmarried and didn’t have any children, and whilst you dear reader may have an idea why this was the case, to the residents of London this was something that could happen to the most honest of people and so nothing was thought of it, however as he didn’t have any relatives or indeed dear friends, that was certainly rather strange but living alone in his house with only a manservant suited him to the ground. However on this day, that element was lacking, and so after pouring himself a fresh pot of coffee, to which he added precisely one fifth of a pint of milk to, he downed it in less than a minute and dressed himself so that by eleven o’clock that morning he was sitting in the hallway of his home, his feet now covered by a pair of shoes so bright and shiny that he could see his reflection in them, a pair of brown trousers, a white shirt, with a thick red cravat and a jacket the same colour as his trousers waiting for the new manservant to present himself. However, as the clock in the hallway chimed the hour synchronized to the bell in the Westminster tower, the smile that had been on his face since he woke up disappeared and was replaced first with a frown and then a scowl. “This will never do!” he declared in a huff, “I can’t hire a manservant who isn’t on time!”
  9. muscleaddict

    AJ & Noah

    This is my new story I've been working on. As usual, I'll be posting it both here and on my "Muscle Addicts Inc" blog. It follows muscle addict, Noah Cook, who is back at his parents in the small town he grew up in over his summer break from uni. A few weeks in he bumps into his old school friend, AJ Jones, who is now a competitive juniour bodybuilder with ridiculously huge arms and massive muscle tits that bulge underneath his work shirt! The pair then start to rekindle their friendship over the course of the summer. This story references every bodybuilder from my "Charlie's Secret" story, so if anyone read that one, you might recognise a few names! I've also been working with a really amazing illustrator who's doing some illustrations of the characters and designs for the story. They're more for my blog, but I'll share here too when they're ready! ? AJ & NOAH Prologue I don’t think I’ll ever forget the first time I saw AJ Jones. It was the first day back at school after the summer holidays. There was a sense of excitement amongst my classmates. Not just because everyone was seeing their friends again, but because, for the first time ever, a new boy was joining our class. I spotted him standing in the middle of the playground looking completely lost. He was shorter and smaller than all of the other boys in my year group. He had brunette hair. Green eyes. And he was nervously chewing on the sleeve of his purple school jumper. I really didn’t know what it was about this boy, but I was transfixed. It felt like the whole world had turned to black and white and he was the only thing left in colour. I knew two things in that moment; that AJ Jones was special, and that I wanted to be his friend. I had no idea at the time just how special he’d end up being. One I've often wondered what goes through the mind of a bodybuilder when he’s standing on stage in competition. Thick slabs of muscle bulging off his frame in every conceivable direction. His obscenely developed body parts like balloons of muscle that have been pumped and blown up to an unreal degree. All shrink wrapped in dick thin skin which struggle to contain the sheer mass underneath. Each body part separated by lines, rips and cuts the majority of humans don’t see on their bodies in a lifetime. His whole body painted dark bronze and polished with oil. Not one single hair below his neckline. Completely naked except for a minuscule, thinly strapped, brightly coloured posing pouch. To some, the most grotesque and horrifying image in the world. To others, the most erotic. So erotic the mere thought, let alone the image, of is enough to cause ejaculation. What must it feel like to be one of the most muscular men on the planet? To look down and see nothing but excessively huge mass? To see two enormous plates of pec muscle hanging over thick, blocky abs which burst through your stomach? To see gigantic sized quads with muscle separation you’d normally only see on images of anatomy charts? And just how big of a rush would it be to flex and show off your superhuman slabs and mounds of muscle as an audience of hundreds before you ogle, marvel and stare at your freakiness? As I lay on my bed with my laptop open in the bedroom I’d grown up in, watching a video of Blaine Holton, one of the biggest and most well known professional bodybuilders in the last five years, flexing on stage in a guest posing spot, all of those questions were running through my mind. What did this absurdly handsome, square jawed, thirty-something American bodybuilder feel when he was standing at the edge of a stage flexing his impossibly huge biceps for a cheering audience of non muscle freaks? Pride at what he’d achieved by pushing his body to unspeakable limits and building his biceps to twenty plus inches? Power at the knowledge that he was the biggest and most muscular man in the room? “Noah …” And what did this two hundred and fifty plus pounds muscle bull think when he cranked out an abs and thighs pose on stage and looked down at his own inhuman physique? Was he freaked out by the mounds of crazily detailed mass staring back at him? Turned on, even, by the bronzed painted lumps and bumps of thick, freakish muscle and shiny, posing trunk covered bulge? Did he ever wonder whether he’d taken his physique too far? Or was he so accustomed to seeing the image of his own huge muscle that he felt absolutely no different to what the average built person saw when they looked down at their body? “No-aaaah …” And just what was going through the mind of one of the world’s best bodybuilders as he walked off the stage and made his way through the audience of fully clothed, average built spectators, hitting poses and flexing his muscles as they gawped and stared and frantically took pictures of the spectacle before them? Did he realise how many of them would have loved to be in his shoes, even for just one minute? Did he wonder how many of the audience members before him would have loved to get their hands on his ridiculously developed muscles? Was he drunk with power, basking in the glory of being a roided out muscle freak? Or was he dying to flee the theatre so he could be all alone and spend the night staring at his own freakish creation in the mirror, whilst squeezing, touching and worshipping every inch of his insanely shredded, beyond human slabs of muscle? “NOAH!” ARGHHHH!! I slammed down the lid of my laptop, sprung off my bed and opened my bedroom door. “WHAT?!” I yelled in frustration. Whenever I went back to my parents, I always resorted back to being a teenager. Wanking off to bodybuilders in my bedroom and shouting at my mother. Often for no, or very little reason. “I just want to ask you something! There’s no need to shout like that!” my mother said calmly from the bottom of the stairs. Five or so years ago I wouldn’t have felt any guilt about shouting at my mother for interrupting me watching a video of a flexing, roided muscle bull in my bedroom. Now, I felt like the world’s biggest dick. “I’m busy!” I replied, my tone deliberately lighter. “Ooooh, you’re always busy,” she groaned. “God knows what you do on that computer!” Hmmm. Wanking off to videos of bodybuilders on YouTube. Wanking off to pictures of bodybuilders on Instagram. Occasionally chatting to other like minded muscle addicts about wanking off to bodybuilders on Twitter. My mum asked me if I’d do her a favour and go to Tesco to pick up a few things for dinner because she had to go to and visit my nan. I said yes, partly because I felt guilty about snapping at her, but also because doing this favour gave me a reason to leave the house. A sense of purpose, even, for the afternoon, which made me feel completely pathetic. “Fancy shouting at your poor mother!” she said. Then she did a pretend sob which I couldn’t help but smile at, even though I was still annoyed that she’d interrupted me watching a video of Blaine Holton strutting through an audience in nothing but his shiny red posers, just as he was cranking out a brutal most muscular in the face of an extremely lucky audience member. I’ve always found it amazing how easily we forget things. And how our memories have a habit of only selecting the positive when thinking about a situation we’re no longer in. In all of the times I thought about spending the summer at my parents, I never once factored in the possibility that they might annoy me, or that I might grow bored. The irony was, I had been looking forward to being back home for a few months. But all I had wanted during those first few weeks of my summer break was to be back in London. Why is almost every place inherently more appealing when we’re not actually there? As I walked into my local Tesco a feeling of dread hit me. I had this sudden, strong intuition that I was going to bump into someone I knew. If it wasn’t someone shopping there, it would probably be one of the workers. When I was in sixth form, half of my year seemed to work there, including my best friend Naomi. Maybe if I tried to avoid eye contact with everyone in a blue Tesco work shirt I’d reduce the risk of having to make small talk with a classmate I never really liked who was also back from university for the summer. Or someone who hadn’t gone to university at all, and had spent the past two years working in a supermarket. Fifteen minutes and no familiar faces later, I was heading towards the self service checkout and that’s when I saw him. Every single secret lover of huge, freaky muscle will be familiar with the incredible rush that comes with seeing a real life bodybuilder in a public setting. It’s such an incredibly surreal and amazing experience. To be walking down the street, or boarding a tube, or even walking down the meat aisle of your local Tesco and be suddenly faced with an excessively built and muscular man. Or even a genuine, bona fide bodybuilder. Exactly like the one I’d suddenly spotted, with his back to me in an extraordinarily tight fitted blue Tesco polo shirt, conversing with a well to do looking elderly woman, who was gawping at the frighteningly muscular lad before her with a look of sheer horror. I couldn’t stop staring at him. Everything but his height was big. His shoulders ridiculously broad, his back absurdly wide and the rear of his upper arms indecently muscular. Even his perfectly round arse looked huge as it struggled to contain the material of his extremely tight, black work trousers. Fuck! I could tell he was young, even from the back. A mini muscle bull in the making. A potential juniour competitive bodybuilder. Working right here in my local fucking Tesco. Practically fucking bursting out of his work uniform. I didn’t think I’d ever been that sexually attracted to the rear image of anyone before. Even the back of his head was hot. With his short graded, light brown hair, which got thicker at the top. And his mini bull neck. GRRRRR! Ridiculously, my heart started to pound as I got closer to, surely, the beefiest shelf stacker in Tesco’s employment history. Once I’d walked past him, I’d be able to conspicuously turn around to catch a glimpse of him from the front. But I didn’t need to, because the woman he was talking to was walking away, and when I was barely a few metres away from him, the potential competitive juniour bodybuilder turned around, my heart leapt into my throat and my stomach violently lurched. Because standing in front of me, now a mini mountain of muscle in a tight fitted Tesco polo shirt, was my old school friend, AJ Jones. “Noah?!” FUCKING HELL! I felt like my legs were going to give way. My mind just couldn’t cope with what was happening. The walls of reality seemed to melting before me, because standing in front of me was a huge and insanely fucking cute bodybuilder with tits which strained through his polo shirt, and a pair of the most enormous and outrageously muscular arms I’d seen on any lad of any age in person. And that bodybuilder just so happened to be one of my old best friends from school. “It’s AJ!” he exclaimed. “Hi!” I nervously replied. “Sorry! I do recognise you. You just look … different!” About a hundred pounds of arms, tits and arse different! AJ smirked. A cocky, adorable and gorgeous grin. To match his oh so gorgeous face. Oh God. How can AJ Jones be gorgeous? How can AJ Jones be a fucking bodybuilder?! “I get that a lot,” he said, nodding and pursing his lips. “I think it’s the hair!” I laughed and he grinned back at me. A warm, nostalgic feeling came over me and, just for a moment, he wasn’t this ridiculously buff muscle boy whose arse I’d not long been checking out. He was AJ, my old friend from school, who I hadn’t spoken to since we’d drifted apart and found new, very different friend groups about seven or eight years ago. “What are you up to now?” AJ asked. “I’m at uni,” I replied, looking at the lucky Tesco name badge sat on his unfathomably thick chest. Ha! I win, I thought. And then immediately I hated myself for thinking that way. “Which uni?” “Goldsmiths, in London. I’m back home for the summer.” “Back in boring Little Denton!” AJ said, playfully rolling his eyes. Boring Little Denton. Where nothing ever happens. Except for the boy who used to eat Tipp-Ex at school growing up to be the type of obscenely muscular, roid munching bodybuilder you regularly blow loads over. Fuck. “Nothing changes much round here!” he added. It was such a ridiculous statement that I couldn’t refrain from making a joke. “No, you look exactly the same as you did at school!” Then it was AJ’s turn to laugh, which made me blush, and feel ever so slightly giddy, because I just made a bodybuilder laugh. A bodybuilder whose upper arms looked about twice as thick as mine. I tried not be obvious, but it was almost impossible to be in such close proximity to a guy that muscular without my eyes veering south of his face. How on Earth had Tesco found a t-shirt to fit AJ? Not that it had fit. One single most muscular and his tits would have probably ripped straight through the material. And his arms. Fucking hell those arms. What did those biceps look like flexed, either side of his absurdly cute face? He hadn’t stayed on for the sixth form, so I hadn’t seen him for four years. I hadn’t even heard about him. He definitely hadn’t been working at Tesco at the same time Naomi had because she would have mentioned it. What had AJ been doing in the past four years that had caused such an extreme transformation? Presumably, spending an enormous amount of time in the gym, consuming a shit load of calories and probably taking a course of steroids, or two. Maybe I hadn’t won after all. Because he looked like THAT, and I looked like, well, me. I had one physical advantage over AJ, though. The same one I’d always had, even when we were younger. I was about four inches taller in height than him. He’d always been short. Right from that very first time I’d spotted him in the school playground, right up until the time he’d left school at sixteen. Maybe he was on a mission to be as wide as he was tall? At this rate, he’d probably succeed. He’d be ripping up the stage with the likes of Tommy “The Tank” Foster and all of the other notoriously short but stacked 212 class competing bodybuilders in no time. AJ Jones. A flexing bodybuilder. Seriously, what kind of cosmic, fucked up shit was going on? “AJ! Can you jump on till seven please?” A hard faced and slightly scary looking woman had interrupted us. AJ pulled a face as she walked away. “I’d better go!” he said. My heart sank. This couldn’t be it. Surely, the universe wouldn’t give me something so mind bogglingly amazing and then just swipe it away from me less than five minutes later? “Good to see you again, mate!” AJ said, with a genuine warmth. Ask for his number! Just ask for his number, I thought. But I couldn’t. It didn’t feel appropriate. And so, I watched AJ Jones walk away with an ever so slight waddle, his thighs visibly thick under his work trousers, his back impossibly broad, and his arse so big and beefy it bordered on obscene. AJ Jones, the bodybuilder. AJ Jones, my old friend from school. AJ Jones, who used to eat fucking Tipp-Ex.
  10. Shade

    Scotty's Family Trouble

    Links to previous Scotty stories: Scotty Scotty 2.0 Scotty Takes Control Scotty’s Family Trouble Matt powered up the bar, grunting, on his last rep. “We’ve been over this, dude,” I told him, my hands under the bar and ready to spot the weight. “I just don’t see why I gotta wait,” Matt grumbled, for about the hundredth time. I watched him rack the bar and let out a huge sigh. “Too much growth in too many people would look suspicious,” interjected Rich, standing there watching Matt and I, and looking exasperated. “Besides, you’re already coming along. Look how much you’re benching.” Matt just lay on the bench looking up at me like I’d knocked him down. The four hundred pounds on the big Olympic bar hung in the air above his head. I’d given him his fourth pill already, and his pecs were looking pumped and swole. The pills were obviously having their desired effect and his strength gains were through the roof if that last set was anything to go by. My own gains in the last four weeks had continued to be epic too of course, especially with the cocktail of pills and gear that I’d been taking. I picked up the bar in my grip, testing its weight, and started cranking out one bicep curl after the other. “’Sides, bro,” I told Matty, “This weight is too light for you now. You didn’t even need me to spot you. If you want to grow, you gotta put more pounds on.” I didn’t stop repping until I’d hit twenty. I felt my guns swollen slightly with the effort, even though I’d been training chest. Finally, I re-racked the bar with a clang. “See it’s you doing shit like that, man, that makes me jealous.” “Yeah, it was kind of light too,” I informed him, adding insult to injury. “C’mon, brah.” I nodded towards the locker room and reached my massive fist down to give Matt a hand up. I practically pulled him off the bench with one hand. Matt had finally broken two hundred pounds with the third pill but he still felt light to me. I pushed his sorry ass towards the locker room. “Scotty and I both grew before too many people had seen us,” Rich lectured as he followed behind, in a tone like one of our high school teachers might use. “It helped minimize the impact of the growth. But if suddenly everyone starts hulking out it will bring entirely the wrong kind of attention.” Something about what he said made me look around the gym. The other dudes at Big Mike’s had gotten used to the sight of us two hulks over the last two months since school started, as Rich and I had been pounding out unearthly amounts of weight. Adding Matty to the training mix hadn’t raised too many eyebrows yet. But like Rich said, he seemed to be growing at a relatively reasonable pace. Still, I had a moment of pause wondering if we shouldn’t somehow be more discreet. But how could I ever be discreet? I was meant to be larger than life. Little did all these dudes know but Big Mike’s, for all its massive weights, was barely able to even give me a real pump these days. “Listen to the Dweeb, dude,” I told Matty, with a sideways grin. “He’s smarter than us two knuckleheads put together. Hell, anyway I thought you wanted to be a fitness model.” “Fuck you,” was the only reply I got. It was spoken half in jest and whole in earnest, as my momma would have said. But I could tell from his grin that even though he was frustrated, he would be okay with the pace of change. Anyway, neither Rich nor I were willing to give him any other choice. * * * It was Saturday afternoon, and after we’d hit the showers, we headed back to our respective homes. I couldn’t quite get my mind off how at least one other gym goer had been watching us that day. Blake Moran. He was the captain of the football team at the school across town. I figured he was a roid head like me, and I could see when he lifted at Big Mike’s that he was strong to boot. You had to be a serious lifter to go to Big Mike’s in the first place. But he was also a rich boy. His daddy owned a bunch of car dealerships and I figured he could afford the good stuff. The kinda stuff that Uncle Gio gave to me at the discounted rate. I was just a poor boy from the other side of the railroad tracks. Literally. And I need to earn my coin the hard way. I’d moved my stuff down to the basement a couple weeks ago. I needed the room to spread out and it had been a good space to start my new career as a webcam muscle god. Also, it was where I kept the pills in a lock box hidden in a crawl space behind some shelves. The same place I kept my gear from prying eyes around the house. I’d retrieved another couple bottles of Dr Wenk’s miracle pills when I got home. I was taking a pill a day at this point. It wasn’t making me grow as much, but I was still getting stronger and stronger. Like I said, Big Mike’s wasn’t big enough anymore. I needed a greater challenge. In the last few weeks I’d started looking further afield to get the heft of weight I needed for squats, benching, and deadlifts. And I had a plan. I was gonna create a sort of home gym. I’d found an abandoned warehouse a few miles out of town that might be a good spot for it. The old brick building had started life as an old mill, and expanded somewhat over a hundred years of operation. However, the benefit for us: the building had stood vacant for at least fifty years. The Dweeb and I had discussed some possibilities and were batting around ideas of what we might be able to do with it. I was pretty sure the Dweeb would be outgrowing Big Mike’s soon too and we’d need somewhere else to train. But first I had to work on raising some cash to pay for it all. I flipped on the cam and fired up my chat. “How you skinny bitches doing?” I said cockily into the camera as I saw them all eagerly start to come online, giving some shout outs to all my regular viewers when they appeared. I’d never really thought of webcamming to earn cash before I got huge. I mean some of the bigger dudes I’d worked construction with this past summer had joked about fags who’d pay cash to watch them jerk off or fuck pussy. And those were two things I did a lot. So, I’d looked around and saw that there were indeed a few guys who seemed to do shows, some for free and some for money. A little research and I was in business. I was the right age to keep it legal and let’s face it: twenty dollars is twenty dollars. As much food as I eat is eye wateringly expensive. Not to mention my supplements that Gio gets me. Even at the discounted rate it burns a hole in the wallet. At least Dr Wenk took his payment in kind. My business of webcamming started slow, but I found my reputation spread pretty quickly and I wasn’t shy. Soon I was giving shows for individuals and bigger audiences. “Just trained chest,” I told the guys, leaning back in my chair. “And I’m swole as fuck.” I was wearing a new shirt and a pair of jeans, and I put my right arm up, hand behind my head. My tri was like a side of beef, thick and juicy, and I could hear the threads in the sleeve start popping. Hopefully so could my audience. “Fuck, dudes,” I panted, leaning over to lick the massive swell of my right gun. “I just bought this shirt, but I’m not sure it’s gonna last until this evening.” I bounced my pecs, feeling the tightness as they pushed against the fabric. “I just benched a ton at the gym earlier.” Even thinking about it made me uncomfortably tight in my jeans. I always told my audience the truth. A small fraction of them might believe it was true. Some might merely hope it was true, so they could live their fantasies as they stroked their little dicks watching me. But I knew most of them would think it was all hyperbole. Just some massive dude putting on a show for the audience jerking off on the other side of the lens. My left hand tugged unconsciously at the collar of my shirt. I hadn’t lied either. I had just bought this shirt yesterday and worn it for the first time today. I’d figured it’d be plenty big for a while. Guess I was wrong. I flexed again. The pump right now was fucking amazing. Well it was most days after the gym, to be honest. Arnold hadn’t been lying about that in Pumping Iron. It was like cumming. Maybe not quite as good, but still it was pretty damn good. Yeah, I felt the size of my pecs swell as I stoked the fire. Each squeeze mighty. I flexed my left arm, marveling at its size myself. The other night I’d pulled a ham my mom had bought out of the freezer and held it up against my guns in full view of the cam, just so my audience could see how big I really was. And my upper arm was definitely bigger than that ham. The cash had been coming in thick and fast that night. Tonight, I flexed those same arms again. Once, twice, and riiiiiiip. That motherfucker let out a satisfying sound as my arm burst out along the seam. “You want more little dudes, you know what to do. This muthafucka don’t come free.” I could hear the cha-ching even as I watched the cash come in. Fuck, the internet was marvelous. Well as I earned enough for my next round of gear from Gio, I guess the boys had earned their reward. “Okay, you little fuckers, get ready…” I was at full mast and I knew my bulge would be apparent. I pushed my chair back to give them a good view of everything. The lighting could have been better of course. I wasn’t as sophisticated as I could be and maybe I could get one of the geeks who took broadcast courses at the community college to help me light it all better. Whatever that could wait until another day. Leaning back, I brought my arm up and squeezed my massive double biceps. BOOM. BOOM. Those fuckers were so big they had their own center of gravity. Then I started squeezing my pecs. Bringing my arms up and down like I was doing a set of reps on a pec deck. Feeling the ache and burning as I grunted on each flex. The shirt was tight around my throat. It was tight around my back. And my pecs looked like a mountain range of shifting tectonics underneath. As the pump grew the audience and I both focused on the rise and fall of the muscles. Each flex brought the rise a little higher, the fall a little higher too. Even I felt the excitement building, not quite believing that I was pushing so much. Showing these worshippers what kind of god they were watching. “Fuck, yeah! Dudes!” I hollered. “You seeing this shit?” Slowly, but picking up pace, I could feel the tears happening all over. That cotton was not able to contain me as it split, up the sides where my lats forced their way through and the neck where one thread after another snapped against the thick cords of muscle. The symphony coming to a crescendo as the valley of my pecs was deeply exposed and the fabric ripped apart. “OOOOHHHHHH YEEEAAAHHHH!!!!” The shirt split right down the center, torn open from collar down to the massive blocks I called a ten pack. Tiny bits of shirt clinging to me around my shoulders as I sat there. Fuck, I was stoked. I stood up, pulling the tattered remains of my shirt away and flexed a massive most muscular into the webcam. Grinning from ear to ear. “Did you see that, you tiny little boys? Did ya? That was a 6XL. I just tore through a shirt made for a 70 inch chest. Did you hear that, 70 fucking inches? That’s nearly six feet of muscle! Torn apart by just my pump!” My excitement reached a fever pitch as I flexed those massive slabs, in a move that could crush a car, and I could feel my cock pressing, swollen, leaking. I took a step back. I groaned, shuddering, as I felt the button at top of my jeans pop open, the zipper unable to contain me any longer, tearing through, tearing apart, pulling my tight jockstrap until the waistband of the jock could no longer withstand the power of that cannon and snapped. My cock rose up like a tower finally free from all containment. I sat back down, my hand pulling on my cock as I moaned, audience forgotten. I felt sweat on my chest, one hand on my cock, the other on my massive hairy pecs. Like it sometimes did with the pills, I felt the pump moving through me. Mostly just from my upper body, but down further and further still to my quads and calves. The seams of denim of my jeans, much stronger than the cotton, strained as well. A quick tear down the center where the material had been stretched to its furthest relieved not just the pressure, but exposed my massive wheels to my audience as well. I leaned my head back, so fucking long and thick. This needed two hands, and in my two massive fists the head of my cock still rose over and above, triumphant. For an ordinary man it would have taken at least three hands for the same coverage. My voice came from the back of my throat, glutaral, like a wolf, growling, deep, reverberating. As I beat it off. Massive. Thick. I looked up at the screen. “Watch this you little fucks. You can see what a real man can do.” All sense of time was lost, I could have been at it for a few minutes or a few hours, but that thought sent me over the edge and the white-hot fluid fired out and up. “OH, YEAH. OH, FUCK, YEAH!” The first shot launched well over my head. The second even further. The third and the fourth near my head. The fifth on the stubble of my chin. And as I kept firing I felt the burn on my pecs and abs until by the twenty-first shot of cum the fluid became more of a slow pouring of liquid lava, pooling on my fist and I pulled my hand away letting it ooze out and onto my big hairy balls. “Fuck, dudes.” I shook my hand, cum flying off and onto the basement floor. “Guess I got a little excited. Good thing the floor down here is cement, huh?” I laughed a few more times and did some more gratuitous flexing, cum still dripping. I was still hard, and I knew I could get myself worked up again pretty easily. Hell, I could cum nine or ten times without even going soft. But always keep them wanting more, right? “Thanks for watching as always, little guys. If you want to catch this big Italian stud again, you know what to do.” I gave them my best cheeky grin and a wink, and turned off the cam. I looked around and grabbed a roll of paper towel I’d started leaving down here for just such occasions. I went looking for the first shot and realized it had hit one of the ceiling beams about ten feet behind my head. The rest took me about ten minutes to clean up. The clothes were a total write off. Maybe I could charge all these torn clothes as a business expense, I thought? Not that I planned on paying taxes. Even the jeans were beyond any further use as garments. I guess mom could make them into dust rags or whatever. There was a knock at the door, and I hollered “What!?!” Quickly covering myself up in case someone decided to poke their head in. “Patrice needs some help!” shouted my mother. Patrice was the slut my brother Ricky was shacked up with. He’d knocked her up his senior year of high school and they’d been living together since graduation. Although my mother never spoke ill of anyone, she always got a certain look in her eye when Patrice’s name was mentioned. And Ricky was already a constant embarrassment to my father. “What’s the matter?” I yelled up. “She’s got a flat and your brother is at work. Can you give her a hand?” “Yeah, no problem! Tell her I’ll be there in a minute.” Just my luck. * * * I’d pulled on a muscle shirt that was open at the sides, ‘cause I didn’t think I had anything else in my wardrobe that would fit anyway. My lats were already too wide for a lot of my shirts. My truck pulled into my brother’s gravel driveway and I got out. Patrice was waiting for me on the step to their porch. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Is that you, Scotty?” I had to give a chuckle. I keep forgetting that so many people hadn’t seen me since I put on all this new muscle. “Yeah, girl. It’s all me.” “Damn, boy. You’ve grown some.” Patrice was only a couple years older than me and was looking me up and down like a bitch in heat. “So, where’s my sweet niece?” I asked, trying to change the subject. This was my bro’s girl after all – whether or not she really was a slut. “Maddy’s off with my mother and sister, so she can spend some time with her cousins. I was gonna run some errands, but you can see for yourself. Patrice had a car of her own, and it was parked in a shady spot further up the driveway. I walked up and had a look. The tire was pretty flat, no doubt about it. “My AAA membership is expired,” she said coming up behind me. I turned and looked at her squarely. I doubt she or my brother ever had a AAA membership in their lives. That’s what big, burly male relatives were for in Patrice’s book. “No problem. I’ll have this fixed in a minute.” I found the spare easily enough. Trouble was, there was no jack. “Where’s the jack?” I asked. “What’s a jack?” She genuinely looked like she had no idea. I bit my lip. It wasn’t that I minded showing off, but hell. There was showing off and there was showing off. “Do you need a jack?” “Most men would.” “Well you’re big and strong.” I walked back and grabbed the tire with my free hand. It was a Toyota Camry, and I figured it wasn’t weighing any more than I was deadlifting these days. “Stand back,” I told her. I took a look around and couldn’t see anyone watching, so I squatted down and reached under the carriage of the car. “Scotty, I was joking. Don’t try and lift my car.” Taking a deep breath, I heaved the weight up. I could feel the tremor run through my muscles, biceps flexed and quads tensed. The car rose, and then even to my own surprise I was standing there, holding onto the car in one hand. Patrice’s car didn’t have hub caps, and I reached down and started unscrewing the old rusty lug nuts with my fingers. There weren’t that many. As quick as a wink, I had the old tire off and the new tire on, as good as new. My arm was getting tired at this stage and I happily let the car back down onto the ground, massaging my fingers that had become impressed into the undercarriage of her car by now. I turned to look at Patrice and she was standing there, slack jawed. “Holy fuck!” “It wasn’t that heavy.” “Holy fuck! Scotty!” She looked ready to faint, and I moved to grab her just as her legs collapsed. Great. I picked her up, and took her into the house. I had to turn slightly sideways to get through their front door. My brother and Patrice lived modestly, even by my standards. She wasn’t heavy but I set her on their well-used sofa in the living and went into the kitchen to get her a drink of water. “Wake up.” I really wasn’t sure what the proper protocol was in this instance. Finally, after a few moments, she started to come to. “That was amazing.” She still looked a bit breathless. She took the water from my hand and took a drink, pushing her hair out of her eyes. “I never knew you were that strong.” “Yeah, well I work out.” I flex my gun for her. “And I’m really fucking strong.” She stood up and walked over to me, reaching out to feel my arm. She even tried to squeeze it, but my muscle was like hot steel. “Ricky ain’t that strong.” “Well I’m not Ricky.” “No kidding.” She grabbed my dick right through my shorts. “You’re a whole lot bigger.” “Fuck!” I groaned. This was my brother’s baby momma. And I was filling up in her hand. However, I was still a man. And Patrice may not be a model, but she was not unattractive either. I’d never quite understood what she saw in my brother anyway. “Big. All. Over.” “Don’t be starting something unless you expect to finish it,” I let her know. Her hands responded by rubbing over my pecs. “How strong are you?” she wondered. I walked back into the kitchen where I’d seen a big cast iron skillet sitting on the stove. I picked it up by the handle. “Stronger than this.” With a firm grip of the pan, I started to roll it up like it was a piece of paper. Soon there wasn’t anything left but a long thin piece of metal, pretty much unrecognizable as a skillet. I folded that rolled up piece again, and then I started to squeeze. I felt the veins in my forearms pulse and I compressed the metal of the pan until it was about as tight as it could get. Patrice shuddered, and I saw a wet spot on her shorts. “I guess that turns you on.” She looked like she might faint again, so I tossed the metal to the side and grabbed her in my arms. I leaned down and kissed her, long and hard. I pulled her up to me as she couldn’t reach my lips from the floor, I was so much taller. Our bodies were together, hers pressed against my hard, unyielding muscles. As our mouths came together, tongues meeting, and in a fog of testosterone and lust I forgot everything but the feeling of her hands traveling up and down my body. I tore my shirt off, grunting as I pushed down my shorts. I didn’t wait for her to undress, just picked her up and pulled her cheeks apart, tearing open the fabric and feeling my god cock rip into her. There was nothing for it but to hold on for the ride. I began to thrust. Slowly at first, but quickly gaining speed and momentum. I thought about my crushing power, and the ease with which I had lifted her car. I felt all the cockiness of my own size and massive strength. I got harder and harder inside Patrice, and she moaned with pleasure as I pumped into her. Fuck, I had so much power. Unbridled. What couldn’t I do? I thrust into her deep and hard, lifting her into the air with only the strength of my dick. I pumped and pumped and pumped with every thought of my own growing muscle power. Then I came inside Patrice, feeling her shudder with orgasm after orgasm, as I emptied my seed insider her. “Oh my God, that was amazing!” she cried out. “I’m only just getting started,” I told her. And that was the truth. * * * Later that night I came downstairs from taking a shower. I had smelled badly of sex and sweat, all my errands forgotten as I’d spent the afternoon buried in my brother’s girlfriend’s hole. When I came home earlier my dad had just looked at me and nodded his head. He was proud of his son, although he might not have felt that way if he’d known who I was fucking. I stopped by the kitchen, wrapped in nothing but a towel, and found my older brother Ricky sitting there at the table eating out of a tray of lasagna mom had made for me earlier. “You better not be eating my dinner,” I told him. “Fuck me,” he whistled. “You’re looking bigger every time I see you.” “Well you’re looking skinnier than ever.” “We can’t all be 300 pound studs like you.” “350 pounds,” I let him know. At least that’s what I told people who asked. Truth was the truck scales Rich and I used last time told me I was almost twice as heavy. I reached over and grabbed the tray of lasagna, pulling it out of his reach. He’d only had a couple small bites before I’d arrived. I held out my hand and waited patiently for him to give me the fork. With a long sigh he put it in my hand. “Jesus Christ,” growled our father, walking into the kitchen. “Look at you two bastards, eating me out of house and home.” Saying my dad was burly was putting it mildly. When I was a kid, I used to think there wasn’t anyone bigger. And back then my dad could and did put most other men to shame. Even now, at the age of 41 he could have won any amateur bodybuilding contest that he set out to enter. “Awww, Pop,” I said between bites of lasagna. “I’ll give some money to mom tomorrow for the food.” He looked satisfied with my answer. Scotty could pay his own way. “And what about you, you skinny fuck.” He turned to my brother. I managed not to chuckle at my dad’s use of the descriptor, even though it was merited. “That baby momma of yours forget how to feed you?” “We had another fight, Pop.” “What’s the matter now?” He opened the fridge and grabbed a beer, sitting down at the kitchen table next to me. “I think she’s cheatin’ on me, Pop.” “What? How do you know?” “I just know.” I looked at them both. This cut a little too close to home, considering where I’d spent my afternoon. That is to say in the same hole my brother used. Cheating indeed. Ricky had a hangdog expression. My dad’s face was angry. “Why can’t you be more like your brother, Scotty?” he asked. “You don’t see him knocking up sluts and whining about some sad piece of ass.” This was not an unfamiliar line of commentary around the house. Ricky had just never been much like our dad. He wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, and working on the docks was probably the best he could ever hope for. Dad prided himself on masculinity. And Ricky hadn’t quite measured up in that department either, unfortunately. Both the men from mom’s and dad’s sides of the family were big and pretty manly in all the traditional ways. Ricky just wasn’t an alpha male. And it was still a little early to tell with our younger brother, Johnny. Although I figured my trip to the juvenile detention facility the other day had taken care of that. I’d even heard my dad tell one of his buddies once that he wondered if Ricky was even his. Although he couldn’t believe mom would ever cheat on him. It was just such a tough comparison since I’d obviously taken after dad for sure, and now that I’d grown, he found an even greater respect for me. To be cheated on by your wife was about as low as you could go with my father. If you couldn’t keep your woman happy, you weren’t a man. And a man should be the one servicing more than one woman. My dad sighed, and stood up. Ricky’s head was hung in shame. “I’m not sure how you ever managed to father that child in the first place. It’s probably not even yours.” He stomped off into the other room. “Don’t mind him,” I told Ricky, finishing the lasagna. “Naw, bro, he’s right. You’re both right. I am just a skinny little fuck.” “So how do you know she’s banging someone?” “I found the condom in the garbage. Next to our fucking bed. The bitch didn’t even bother to hide it.” I looked away suddenly, and breathed a sigh of relief. I’d cum in her a lot today, but I hadn’t worn a condom once. But then I had another thought. Fuck, this was worse than I thought. Patrice really was a slut. “She threw me out when I got home tonight. Told me I wasn’t even half a man.” Okay, that probably was my fault. “Look, man,” I wondered. “If she’s such a slut, why do you stay with her then?” “I love her man.” Well I couldn’t argue with that, even if I thought he was being a stupid shit. Let the bitch go. There was plenty pussy. Ricky was gonna get himself hurt if he kept on like this. But my heart skipped a beat watching my brother’s suffering. And maybe I felt, I dunno, a tiny bit guilty. “Why don’t you stay here tonight?” I said, suddenly struck by an idea. “We’ll figure this out in the morning. And I’m going to take you to the gym tomorrow. You don’t have to be a skinny fuck you know. And I won’t hear any excuses.” “Thanks, bro.” “No problem.” We sat there in silence for a few minutes. “Scotty?” “Yeah?” “Why don’t you go put on some pants?” “Fuck you, bro. Fuck you.” The End (for now)
  11. CardiMuscleman

    role-reversal The Student and the Coach

    Part One "Yeah, come on, coach, you've got this in the bag!" James was not the only one cheering at the small, but powerfully built men on stage in the over 60's class of his local bodybuilding contest, but he was certainly the loudest, and with good reason. His coach, Larry, was almost certain to win his fifth regional title in as many years and as he finished off his routine with a most muscular that defied his size, he smiled, bowed to the audience and strode off back stage where his student picked him up and grunted "You may only be ten stone, but this is how much I want to congratulate you!" As he placed Larry on the ground a few seconds later, Larry just smiled and said "Remember, this time last year you couldn't even pick me up, but I thank you. It's nice to get some positive feedback from a student" and with that they went off to prepare Larry for the presentation. Larry and James really couldn't have been more different if they tried. Larry was 69 years old, had been training since his 14th birthday and although only standing 5ft 2 tall and weighing 138lbs, his 38½ inch chest, 33½ inch waist, 13 inch biceps, 21 inch quads and 14½ inch calves looked hewn from granite. James, on the other hand, was not only ten inches taller, but worlds apart. He weighed 220lbs, but with a 46 inch chest, 45 in waist, 13 inch biceps, 23 inch quads and 14½ inch calves, it was obvious that he had a long way to go to match his coach, but that did not dampen his enthusiasm for his coach and what he lacked in muscle, he more than made up for in cleverness. Indeed, it was his idea to create a social media account for his coach's bodybuilding exploits, accounts which were regularly shared by the stars of bodybuilding although James made quite sure that everyone realised that Larry's muscle development was following the "PHS method" of training which Larry explained as the "Porthos, Hercules and Samson" method of training until he couldn't do anymore and without any drugs whatsoever. That evening as the two drove home, James nursing the trophy like a baby, he looked at it and said "Larry, did you really mean what you said last year when I joined your gym. That in the space of three years I could win one of these myself!" Larry chuckled "Of course I did, I mean look at your progress. Your bench, squat and deadlift have increased exponentially from nothing to 104lbs, 94lbs and 84lbs respectively, you can pick me up for at least thirty seconds when you couldn't managed it before, and might I note that you've become more confident as well" and with that smiled at him. "Yes" smiled James, "my naked posing sessions after we train" and with that added, "I can't help myself, I say. After I train I feel, well, like, like the biggest and strongest man in the world, I want to rip off my posing suit and flex, flex, flex" "Tell you what then" smiled Larry, "special treat this evening. Before I tuck into my post contest ice cream, we'll pose down together, naked, and you can show me what poses I should do for my next guest posing session next weekend, Deal?" "Deal!" nodded James, frantically.
  12. EcchiMultiverse

    superhero Marvelous Man - Chapter 28

    (Apologies. Computer is broken, and my chromebook only works. But it doesn't factor in formatting for some reason. Please go to this link for a better format: https://drive.google.com/open?id=157k72Sd4Vm4ESc4TXvUvLPS_9Zdny0DNi10Kmkp2P-4) Chapter 28: Defined Within Darkness Outside of the sealed ghetto, the grand ballroom conjured by Puzzles began to dissipate. The last invading ghoul stood dazed, as a gold-plated fist crashed into its face. The ghoul exploded into dust upon impact; its damage threshold much lower than Sugar Skull’s. The golden fist then placed itself on the owner’s hip, the cybernetic eight-armed hero, Octomentist. The prosthetic hero stated, “That’s the last of ‘em. So what now?” Director Doug fixed his blue tie, as he approached Octomentist. Pattering behind him with little footsteps was his smoke imp, Puzzles. “We will resume on standby until the team we have sent in have vanquished the Skeleton Lord,” replied the Director. Octomentist frowned, “And how do you suppose they’ll do that? I fought the guy with two of your men that are inside the dome right now. We threw everything at him, and he just kept regenerating back like it was nothing.” Puzzles spoke up with his artificial Russian accent. “That would involve separating the imp inside of the Skeleton Lord. It is heavily assumed that our target is housing a corrupted imp inside of him that is providing such wild power. We kick the imp out of the host, the imp dies. After that, the Skeleton Lord can’t do anything,” he debriefed. Octomentist inquired, “And they’ll be able to do that cause…?” “A spell we entrusted to Marvelous Man. We’re aware that he lacks the proper experience to cast the spell itself, so we gave it to him in the form of a paper talisman. And with our employee, Gemini, giving him the basics of channeling mana, all he has to do is slap it onto the Skeleton Lord and activate it,” answered the smoke imp. The Director spoke up, “And let’s hope he’ll be able to do just that. The containment dome is reaching its limit.” Octomentist pursed her lips together as if in thought. “Yeah, that’s something else I’ve been wondering. You guys have your own Mana Stone, right? Why aren’t you using that to keep the shield stable with all those undead banging against it?” she said. Puzzles adjusted his glasses, “That is a big no. The Mana Stone we have in possession helps power the seals that keep the other terribles from invading our dimension and cage them too.” Director Skye added his perspective to his familiar’s statement. “Plus, it really helps cut down on our utility bills,” he commented. Octomentist sighed, “Wow, okay. I know you guys get the lowest amount of government funding, but I didn’t think it was so bad that you had to use a legendary artifact just to keep the lights on...At least we have the Nemesis Branch to fall back on if the shit really hits the fan.” The sound of a thick structure cracking boomed behind the group. As they turned around, they spotted the dome fractured like an eggshell that sprang from the top. The magical and scientific force field then shattered; revealing a sillouette peeking out of it. The sillouette stood up straight and revealed itself to be a giant skeleton. The skeleton had a human anatomy, and its sized rivaled a skyscrapers. In its skeletal abdomen beneath the ribs sat a large sphere that filled and rested on its pelvis. The sphere was a black ball of swirling darkness; giving off an ominous impression that it was waiting to give birth to something evil. The giant monster’s skull stared up into the sky before it unleashed a horrid scream. The skeletal giant continued to scream for five seconds, while everybody in the vicinity covered their ears. Once it finished, its jaw immediately clamped. The humongous skeleton then snapped its skull towards the city and proceeded forward. The sides of the force field dome shattered upon contact with monster. “It appears it already has and sprayed right into our mouths,” remarked the master witch. He shouted, “ALL NON-COMBATANTS RETREAT! EVERYBODY ELSE PREPARE FOR ENGAGEMENT!!!” The tent behind the group fluttered, as Gemini ran out of the entrance. Staring up at the giant skeleton, his jaw dropped open. The Soulem then took a step back and clutched his hands over his chest. “Justice,” he murmured, “Please be safe.” >>>>>>>> Marvelous Man floated within the darkness he was forcibly pulled into by a giant skeleton arm. The moment he had arrived, he was immediately assaulted by a rain of skeletal fists for over a minute. He held up his muscular arms in an effort to mitigate some of the damage. His vision blurred, as the hulking bodybuilder tumbled through the black miasma but was able to see a few details. He was surrounded by Digz’s whisping essence that was so dense that not even light from the outside could break through it. The space around him seemed to be infinite, as he was flung around but never seemed to reach the end of this dark territory. The musclebound superhero then came to realize that he seemed to be trapped in a sort of pocket dimension made from the condensed essence. There was a spot of bright light within the void, but the muscle demigod had no time to focus with the oncoming bone attacks. “Alden!” said a voice. The barrage of skeleton punches came to a slow for a few seconds before stopping. Marvelous Man then steadied himself with his flight power and looked up. He focused his sight on the glowing spot the musclebound superhero saw earlier. The glow shined with an intensity much similar to Marvelous Man’s supercharges; most likely the supercharged corpse of the Skeleton Lord. The muscle demigod flew closer to the glow and spotted a small silhouette hovering next to it. With nobody else sucked into the essence-filled world, Marvelous Man concluded it could only be Digz. He could hear the incomplete familiar sob. The corrupted imp spoke, “Please...come back to me...I need you…” Marvelous Man immediately realized the opportune chance he had been given. Digz had switched attention from pummeling the muscle demigod to grieving over its master. Now was the perfect time to activate the spell he had been practicing to end the battle once and for all. The spell he received from the Bruja after telling his life story as trade. He channeled mana into his right hand, as Marvelous Man began to enact the next steps needed to properly cast the spell. Extending his right index and middle finger, the muscle demigod rotated his wrist to trace a circle in the air. The mana then followed the motion and created a magic circle that glowed a purple hue. The inside of the circle was completely blank, Marvelous Man proceeded with the next part of the instruction. Marvelous Man remembered back when Gemini instructed him on casting the spell that he needed to get every part of the circle and its layers one-hundred percent correct. If there were any slight inaccuracies upon activation, the least that would happen was nothing. The worst would be a possibly lethal explosion. The hulking bodybuilder made sure to burn the formula into his memory by pretending it was similar to creating an intricate calligraphy; rather than mathematical like Gemini implored to see it as. The musclebound superhero thought with great intensity of the symbols, runic and otherwise, needed to fill the circle’s interior and which specific area they were meant to be placed as well as any additional circles. The magic purple circle seemed to detect Marvelous Man’s focus and materialized the symbols and additional circles that was seen in his head. The spell then flashed to blue; notifying that it was ready to be activated by his mana. Spell at the ready, he slowly crept closer in the black space. The sounds of weeping grew louder, while Marvelous Man held his breath without thinking. The passing seconds were stretched into hours by his tension and fear, but he continued to concentrate maintaining the magical circle he conjured. All that mattered to Marvelous Man was following Gemini’s instruction of touching a physical part of Digz to complete the incantation’s requirements. He then arrived behind the grieving Digz; silently floating unnoticed. The hulking bodybuilder briefly peered over the incomplete familiar’s shoulder and saw it trying to do channel its black essence into the deceased body. The supercharge light that enveloped Alden’s body shone with such intensity that the whisping blackness fizzled into nothingness upon contact. The musclebound superhero was unsure if this was some sort of resuscitation or merging, but there was no time to dwell on it. He needed to act now and end Digz’s miserable existence. Marvelous Man gently reached out with his left hand. Drifting his meaty hand downward, he aimed his appendage at Digz’s feathery left arm. The hulking bodybuilder relaxed his massive body and drew a shallow breath through his nose; preparing his attack. At the same time, he began to channel his mana into his larynx for the oral part of the incantation. Marvelous Man felt his bulky physique primed and launched his plan. Whipping his left arm forward, he grasped the corrupted imp’s feathery arm and simultaneously fed his mana into the spell. The muscle demigod immediately began the incantation. “Iggzel Ponsfortuna! Through the sea of reality, gather the shattered soul. Place back what once belonged and seal into a whole. I beseach the power within the one I mend to reach for salvation. DIVINE SOUL RESTORATION!!!” he chanted. The complex magical circle began to shine; reacting to the incantation and feeding on Marvelous Man’s mana. The black miasma stirred, as a bright light materialized in the form of a star from the center of the magic circle. Marvelous Man then noticed the whisping darkness drifting toward the light in the form of tendrils. This even affected the dark essence leaking from out of Digz’s corrupted body. It was almost as if the magical light was acting as some sort of vacuum; dragging the parts it identified as Digz into a vortex the essence could not escape from. The spell was working! A white pole made of bone shot out from the dark mass and sailed over the incomplete imp. The projectile immediately struck Marvelous Man’s forehead before splintering into bone debris, disintegrating into essence, and then sucked into the magical circle’s light. During the bone’s reabsorption, the muscle demigod’s vision blurred. He nearly lost his focus with maintaining the flow of his mana into the magic circle, but his grip on Digz remained strong. No matter what the incomplete imp threw at him, the musclebound superhero had to hold onto the feathery arm to complete the spell. “Let me go!” exclaimed Digz, “ Let me go right now!” A torrent a bone poles rained down on Marvelous Man from above. His hulking body became racked with immeasurable pain with every projectile exploding into pieces upon impact. But he continued to hold on with every ounce of his will; clenching onto Digz’s arm and keeping the spell alive. The magical circle continued to suck in the miasma despite the ongoing attacks. Marvelous Man knew that at the rate the spell was going, it could take hours before it had absorbed the black world and gathered the missing pieces of the incomplete imp’s soul. The muscle demigod would have to give off as much mana as he possibly could in order to increase the vacuumous power. The hulking bodybuilder gritted his teeth, as he increased the flow of his mana. The bright star residing in the center of the magical circle grew brighter, as the many tendrils began to combine into one swirling whirlpool being drained into the star. It looked like the color-inverted image of a black hole. Marvelous Man then began to feel slightly winded with a growing numbness in his fingertips and toes; the same pins and needles sensation he had experienced from the Skeleton Lord’s mana drain. With the corrupted familiar’s onslaught and the enormous amount of mana the hulking bodybuilder gave off, the toll of these factors had already started to take. His stamina dwindled, but he needed to persevere. Digz shouted, “Let go!” A giant column of bone the size of delivery truck shot up beneath Marvelous Man. The column impacted against the musclebound superhero with the force of a bullet train. With no time to be aware of the oncoming attack, the muscle demigod lost his grip while being forcibly ascended. The black miasma high above him stirred, as another bone column of similar size ejected out of it. The descending column fell with the same intense speed as its rising counterpart that had the hulking bodybuilder splayed on top of it. Spotting the incoming object above himself, Marvelous Man activated his flight power. His massive body slid across the surface of his pushing oppressor. As the upper half of the hulking bodybuilder’s anatomy drifted over the edge, the two bone columns immediately collided with one another at the same time. Within the moment of impact, a thunderous boom reverberated in the miasma pocket dimension. The muscle demigod noticed his body lurching to a halt before continuing forward, as the two columns shattered into smaller pieces. Marvelous Man flew a small distance before stopping. He then looked down at his legs to inspect what ceased his movement for a moment. The musclebound superhero noticed his black boots covered in a layer of white powder with bits of bone debris embedded into the surface. Marvelous Man attempted to wiggle his toes, but he could not feel any sensation whatsoever. The hulking bodybuilder then noticed his right shoulder had a searing pain. Pressing on it with his left hand, he felt the pain explode and a space to where his shoulder joint should have been connected to. Marvelous Man yelped from the pain. There was no time to do a proper diagnosis, but he assessed two things: a dislocated shoulder from the first bone column that interrupted his spell, and fractured toes that most likely had been caught in the collision. Digz had put so much power into the attacks, that it was reaching Gilgamesh’s bone-crushing strength. It seemed to Marvelous Man that the corrupted imp no longer cared about conserving its energy to continue its dying existence. “Stay down and become my battery again! Or I will pummel you until you are completely broken!” shouted Digz, “I don’t know what this is but don’t think I’ll let you use it!” Marvelous Man stared down at the incomplete familiar. The muscle demigod felt confused by the last part he had just heard until he saw it. In front of Digz was the glowing star created from his spell. Though it shined brightly, it seemed to become dimmer with each passing second. Digz attempted to touch it with his feathery left arm, but the star reacted by sizzling the limb. The corrupted imp drew back his arm and hissed at it. Marvelous Man’s eyebrows furrowed. If he could just get back to the star and reactivate the spell while holding onto Digz, it would all work out. The musclebound superhero needed to do this, because of the numbness in his limbs. The numb feelings in his feet and hands had spread up to his elbows and knees; making it clear he only had enough mana to complete the spell he had set in motion. Marvelous Man was not sure if he had the mana to start up the soul restoration spell from the beginning again if the star died before he ever got to it. That star was his last hope of making everything right, and the muscle demigod had only one shot to do it. Using his flight power, he moved onward towards the star. His vision narrowed at the shining objective, and Marvelous Man wished he could have had super speed at this moment. Digz muttered, “So be it, cursed wretch.” Deep in the black void underneath the corrupted familiar, fragments of white bone materialized. The bone shards drifted upward like a stream of leaves carried by the wind. As the white fragments reached Digz, they began to collect above him. The collected shards formed into a cone-shaped roof before they continued downwards at a curved angle. The assembled fragments then took on the shape of an egg, as it encased Alden’s glowing corpse and the incomplete familiar. Once the shell had reached underneath the two, the last of the white shards sealed the bottom of the egg. The egg cracked; echoing like any normal egg that had been rapped against an edged surface. But the cracks on the egg were not random. It seemed as if the cracks moved with purpose; outlining multiple rectangles squeezed together. The patterns and shapes seemed to resemble feathery wings but with a sharper, angled outline. The egg then shuttered for a moment before its shell shifted. The egg shell unraveled itself and revealed underneath the glowing carcass of Alden. The Skeleton Lord’s body appeared to wrapped with his own red cloak from underneath his boney chest down to his feet. His arms were propped up crossed over his chest with elbows tucked underneath the swaddling cloak. It was as if he were posed for a dignified burial, and the casket he laid in was the monster itself. The casket was made from the same white bone material that had formed the egg, and the unraveled parts of the egg that had looked like wings to Marvelous Man were actually wings. The outer casket had three pairs of sharp angel-like wings that extended in every direction. As for the inner casket, it had a two pairs of wings that appeared softer, feather-like, and a smaller size comparable to a swan’s wingspan. Both pairs were layered criss-cross over the other that covered over parts of the glowing, deceased Alden. One pair of the feathery wings covered Alden’s face with only the mouth revealed, while the other covered his feet. In Marvelous Man’s perspective, the creature resembled a creature from the mythological video game he played back in Sunnysville. It had similar features of a type of angel known as a Seraphim. The Seraphim flapped all six of its sharp, outer wings; causing a flurry of its white, angular feathers to eject. The flat feathers flew towards Marvelous Man and began to expand into cylindrical columns the size of rocket missiles. Noticing the transformation, the hulking bodybuilder performed a barrel roll. His massive body moved in corkscrew motion into the storm of columns, while he rotated clockwise. The first row of bone columns flew by the musclebound superhero; nearly grazing him from only a fingertip away. He was not as lucky upon flying midway through the onslaught. The next row managed to hit Marvelous Man. The muscle demigod experienced blunt force trauma firstly on his left pectoral. The impact left a large, blue bruise on his pecmeat and halted his corkscrew maneuver. He was then instantly assaulted simultaneously in three other places: his right knee, the center abdomen, and the right side of his ribcage. His colossal body flung backwards from the tri collision, as the hulking bodybuilder felt cracks vibrate in his body. Marvelous Man coughed up bile before using his flight powers to steady himself and dive beneath the onslaught. He managed to slow down to a stop and float in the upright position, but his mountainous body stood in a crouched manner that strained to resist huddling into a fetal position. The muscle demigod could feel his nerves trying to scream pain into his brain; despite the adrenaline trying to smother it. With the rest of the storm of bone columns sailing over him, the musclebound superhero had a few seconds to register the damage he took. His right leg had a harder time moving, which meant the knee had become dislocated when disregarding the mana-drained numbness. Most likely, a dark bruise had begun appearing on his abs; just like on his left pec. And he had now began drawing painful breathes, so that meant a couple of his ribs on the right side have been fractured...But his left arm still worked. Marvelous Man pushed forward towards the glowing star; aware that he was already halfway there. It did not matter how damaged his bulky body had become, as long as his left hand was intact. He just needed that one hand to hold onto Digz...wherever that corrupted imp was. The musclebound superhero was aware that he needed to grasp Digz’s real body for the spell to work, but he hoped just grabbing part of the Seraphim would be enough. The pillars that had completely missed Marvelous Man immediately shattered into white shards upon Marvelous Man pursuing the star again. The bone shards collected themselves together and snapped into place like a puzzle to reform into a new shape. The bone pieces shaped themselves into a set of creatures that resembled another type of angel, from Marvelous Man’s video game, known as the Putti. The celestial critters consisted of only two things: a head and a pair of angel wings. The feathery wings were smaller compared to the Seraphim’s inner set and seemed comparable to a crow’s wingspan. The white wings were attached to the sides of the head and flapped vigorously. The head itself was a white crow skull with the size of an adult human head and held an abnormal feature on top. The top of its head had a set of three antlers lined up in a row. The antlers were flat and smooth like Saturn’s ring. Its left and right antlers curved in a circular angle, while the center extended straightward. All three antlers managed to interconnect at a certain length that made the antlers look like a sort of angel halo was lodged in the putti’s forehead. The murder of puttis flew towards Marvelous Man and caught up with the musclebound superhero in seconds. They began to peck at him with ferocity while spouting many things at the hulking bodybuilder. Marvelous Man held up his left arm to shield his eyes. “Murderer!” one cawed. Another crowed, “We were just fine! Only us two! You took him away from me!” “DIE. DIE. DIE!!!” screamed a third. A fourth exclaimed, “I’m so alone! Give him back! I want things back the way they were!” “You can’t do anything right,” hissed another, “Your healing killed the only other person we ever loved. Give up!” The puttis continued to harass Marvelous Man, while he flew closer to the star. The pecks never pierced the muscle demigod’s skin, but their words stabbed his heart. He tried to ignore what the puttis said, but some of it felt true to him. As he approached the point of only a quarter distance left before reaching the star, the Seraphim flapped its wings again. The feathers that fluttered from out of the sharp wings floated in the miasma-contaminated air for a second before they exploded into white shards. The bone debris immediately collected itself together and reformatted into a new shape. The end result appeared to be the shape of a wagon wheel. The white wheel had spokes that took on the guise of long avian legs. At the center of the wheel where the spokes met and linked together, all the bird-like legs had avian feet with sharp talons that clenched onto one another. It were as if the legs were holding onto each other for their lives. On the outside of the wheel, there were eyes carved onto every available space of that white rim. Every eye was similar but slightly different due to every eye after it appeared to have its eyelid creep to a closed blink before eventually opening up again. Each of the eyes were incredibly detailed to the point of them appearing to be alive despite the lack of color. The wheel began to rotate on its own; quickly accelerating to a ferocious spin. The eyes seemed to actually come to life through the rotation. It was like a filmstrip moving fast enough for a picture to be perceived as moving. No matter from which section of the wheel one stared at, the eye would be seen as coming to life by blinking and staring back at the observer. The wheel then sped off towards Marvelous Man. The musclebound superhero was unable to see the oncoming enemy, as he was still being harrassed by the puttis. Reaching Marvelous Man in seconds, the white wheel zipped underneath the hulking bodybuilder before its trajectory led into a collision with him. The multi-eyed wheel then shot directly up and tackled itself into Marvelous Man’s bruised stomach. Marvelous Man’s massive body lurched into a halt, as he was hoisted on top of a spinning wheel. The air escaped from Marvelous Man, and pain from the attack on his bruise shocked his brain into momentary paralysis. The bone wheel did not falter in movement during its attack; its rotation continuing at the same furious speed before impact. The pain of the intense grinding felt like sandpaper scratched against his skin by the most powerful sander power tool in the world. It grinded into the muscle demigod for a few seconds before it began movement again. The wheel moved backwards; going up Marvelous Man’s meaty torso and over his face. Without anymore body parts to roll over, the white wheel flew away. Marvelous Man clutched his sides; nearly huddling into a ball over his reddened, abraised abdomen. The spinning wheel then changed its direction and looped itself back toward the muscle demigod. Hearing a whirring noise, Marvelous Man looked up in time to see the wheel coming right at him. The musclebound superhero quickly raised his left arm to block the incoming attack at just the right moment. The bone wheel collided into Marvelous Man’s golden bracelet; sparks flying from the wheel’s savage grinding against the unyielding jewelry. With his super strength strong enough to keep the monster temporarily at bay, Marvelous Man stared at his enemy. He could see the eyes carved onto the wheel’s outer rim blinking and gazing right back at him. His eyebrows furrowed at the white wheel. The monster had features similar to another type of angel he had seen in his mythological video game, a Throne. Thankfully, this celestial creature did not carry the expected characteristic of his usually has, which is being on fire. Marvelous Man was aware that his body was not in a healthy enough condition to engage in any sort of combat with the Throne nor the puttis. Only his left arm was of fighting-capable status, but it was set to only defend. Trying to use his golden laurel to fight would leave the musclebound superhero open long enough for any attack from his multiple enemies. As he continued staring at the Throne, he noticed the angel’s rotation. Acting quickly, the muscle demigod leaned forward. Marvelous Man positioned his beefy body to lie flat in the air, while he took in a deep breath to ready for what he was about to do next. In one single motion, the musclebound superhero bent his head down, lowered his blocking left arm, and used his flying power to push forward. Now nothing held back the angelic wheel. The white Throne immediately trampled over the hulking bodybuilder, but the damage done to Marvelous Man was minimal. At the same time the Throne used the muscle demigod as an improvised roadway, Marvelous Man moved underneath the bone wheel. The musclebound superhero rode with the Throne’s rapid downward rotation to passively bypass the wheel and launch himself towards the dimming star faster than he could usually fly. The distance between the muscle demigod and the star drastically warped; no longer feeling like a crawl but more of a leap towards his illuminated objective. Marvelous Man held out his left hand openly in a readying attempt to grasp part of the Seraphim. Once he landed next to the star, the musclebound superhero would have to hold on with all his might. He then charged his voice box with mana and began to recite the spell’s incantation to activate the magic upon physical contact with the Seraphim. And even though his right shoulder was dislocated, his could still move his fingers. The muscle demigod gestured the magic circle and focused on the symbols for the spell. He was not sure if he had to do those parts again, but it was better to be safe than sorry. The feathers of the Seraphim’s outer wings wiggled for a moment before it stretched out and curved towards Marvelous Man at wicked speeds. At the ends of the extending feathers, its flat, sharp edges began to bulge and morph into the shape of a clenched fist. The musclebound superhero’s focus narrowed only on the dimming star; incapable of seeing the Seraphim’s attack. Marvelous Man chanted, “Iggzel Ponsfortuna! Through the sea of reali-AUCK-!!!” One of the fists from the stretched feathers punched Marvelous Man’s throat; ceasing the incantation. The magical circle hovering above his right hand instantly disappeared, as his concentration was destroyed. Hundreds more fist-shaped feathers launched at the muscle demigod like streams of missiles. No matter which direction a couple of fists sent him flying, another flurry would follow the musclebound superhero with incredible speed and barrage him into another direction. After each feather made its punch, it would retreat back into the sharp wings before launching again. Marvelous Man tried to defend with his working left hand, but it would be easily parried away by the onslaught of punches. Even if he managed to, he simply could not block every fist that assaulted every part his humongous body. As the hulking bodybuilder was flung back to near out of range from the Seraphim’s attack, the Throne appeared from behind Marvelous Man and momentarily grinded its wheel into his back. Not giving the muscle demigod a chance to scream, the Throne then immediately pushed the muscle demigod back into the frey of fists waiting to barrage him. The feathers from the sharp outer wings launched their fist-shaped ends at Marvelous Man and began their torrent of violence at him again. Damaged, dizzy, and struggling to breathe, the hulking bodybuilder had no more strength in him to lift his meaty left arm or even curl up into a ball. The musclebound superhero was flung about like a ragdoll, while blood dripped from his mouth and nostrils. His enemies seemed to sense their victory over the muscle demigod, as the Throne did not bother to toss Marvelous Man back at the Seraphim once he was thrown out of range of the white fists. He drifted further away, and his vision and mind soon stabilized in seconds. Marvelous Man saw the star in front of the Seraphim flicker...and then fizzle...and finally die; dissolving back into Digz’s essence. That was it...nothing more he could do to save the corrupted imp. Not enough mana to create a new spell and push it towards completion. And from the feel of his throat, his windpipe had been bruised to a point that uttering a few words would become a struggle. Verbal incantation to activate the spell would be impossible. Taking it all into account, his personal mission had become a complete failure. Marvelous Man could feel a blackness growing in him; a pit that wanted to suck him in and his will to fight. The musclebound superhero tried to focus on the backup plan he hoped he would never have to do. He would have to kill Digz. Physical confrontation is no longer possible, since the muscle demigod allowed himself to be bashed into a bruised and broken matter from trying to heal Digz. Using the talisman the D.A.B. provided him would be useless to use at this moment. That left one of his two last options for neutralizing the incomplete imp. The hulking bodybuilder slowly lifted his heavy left arm, while his mind thought back to his first encounter with the Skeleton Lord. His twitching hand reached into his black jacket’s pocket and pulled out his golden harmonica, Duskbell. The muscle demigod’s illumination ability was bright enough to disperse the black essence, but it had a limited range. Marvelous Man remembered that limit when he had tried to illuminate the graveyard ground and failed, and it was unquestionable that this pocket dimension exceeded that range...Unless if he were to supercharge the light. When Marvelous Man supercharged the graveyard ground, the light it gave off had a greater intensity than his usual illumination to cause the whisping miasma and its solid forms to completely dissipate. The supercharge also had the perk of unlimited range. If he were to supercharge the blackness swirling in this pocket dimension, it would undoubtedly be destroyed. Digz needed that essence to remain in his barely physical form. If it was no longer available, the corrupted imp would have to merge back into Alden’s body in order to survive. But the Skeleton Lord’s corpse had become supercharged by Marvelous Man’s power which denied the Digz’s whisping blackness from entering. So there was now a higher chance the corrupted imp would not be able to go back into the dead body after ejecting out of it. With both crucial elements for survival disabled, the incomplete familiar would be like a flame suffocated by a candle snuffer. Marvelous Man’s trembling arm brought the golden harmonica up to his face and began to rightfully position the keyholes towards his mouth with his meaty fingers. Since his hand was completely completely numb from the amount of mana he had used, he had to be careful with his finger movements. One wrong manipulation of his thick digits would cause Duskbell to tumble out of his grasp and become lost in the world of darkness. Seconds had past in the silent blackness until he finally maneuvered his golden instrument into facing the correct direction. The muscle demigod brought Duskbell to his lips. A small white figure swooped in front of Marvelous Man’s eyes and collided into his hand. The golden harmonica was knocked out of his left hand and fell into the whisping essence beneath, while the white object moved unhindered at the quick impact. Flicking his eyesight from the lost Duskbell and up at his attacker, Marvelous Man noticed that the creature was Digz’s putti. “No! None of that!” it cawed. The putti’s ascent came to a stop, as it joined a murder of its kind. The puttis flew in a circle like vultures; staring down at their prey and waiting for the time to attack. Marvelous Man realized that was probably why they did not bother attacking when he was locked in combat with the Seraphim. The creatures were there to pick away at and disable whatever tricks the musclebound superhero had left. The black pit within the muscle demigod’s heart grew bigger. It swirled at the tips of his toes; inviting his soul to fall in. Marvelous Man tried to brainstorm on the other ways to activate a supercharge. His bruised windpipe was incapable of singing, and there was not a single artistic thing he could with his left that did not require materials that were not presently available. In the next couple of hours, his body would regenerate for a second wind of supercharging the black miasma...But what of the outer world then? There was no telling the destruction that was currently happening at this moment. The ghouls from Limbo could have broken out of the dome within the hours he spent recovering in this pocket dimension, and Digz might be rampaging on the outside at the same time inside against Marvelous Man. So then...what could he do? Marvelous Man realized he only had one other last option he was able to do in his state. He would have to activate his Soul Venom and unleash it on the incomplete familiar. There must have been some wound or culmination of smaller wounds Digz endured before it became the corrupted imp it currently is. The musclebound superhero could only hope that after killing Digz, he would pass out from exhaustion and hurt nobody else. He could never forgive himself if the Soul Venom, that would taint his soul, caused him to stay awake and rampage against the rest of the world. Letting all their past wounds consume them like he attempted with his parents...and nearly succeeded. Tears began to well up in his eyes at the futility of his situation. In his mind, he saw himself at the black pit again. He leaned forward and fell. The despair was so crushing; greater than the physical pain he currently and recently experienced. No matter what he did, the moment he refused to do what was expected of him and follow his own selfish pursuits, it always resulted in failure. He should’ve followed Director Doug and Puzzle’s plan of killing Digz and the Skeleton Lord rather than saving them. And the result of doing so caused Alden to die and Digz to follow soon after. It was inevitable no matter how much he tried to prevent such a sad end. Just what was the point of his power? It’s supposed to heal. But the moment it was truly needed, it killed the one Marvelous Man tried to save. Some hero he was. So powerful, but so incapable of doing anything. A Rank-D hero from the start that could only act as support. Every time he tried to do something on his own, it always resulted in failure...It would have been better if he listened to his parents and just stayed inside Sunnysville...But that’s just it, isn’t it? He will always make the wrong decisions and hurt those around him. His own existence is complete poison! His own enemies were right. It was better that things always stayed the same. If he did not live in this world, things would have gone better. Justice would have suffocated emotionally in Sunnysville, but he would have somewhat been happy. There has been nothing but pain since becoming Marvelous Man and leaving that town. “Now’s not the time to be lying down, hero! You still draw breath. Get up! Fulfill my dying request!” said a manly voice. The descent into the dark pit jerked to a halt, as Marvelous Man’s eyes flicked to the voice he heard. It was King Alden! He no longer appeared skin and bone with misery hanging on his face. He looked like the painting the hulking bodybuilder saw in Digz’s past. The king was decorated in all of his royal accessories, and his body had a slight plumpness with bright peach skin. The royal highness was literally glowing and seemed slightly transparent. The putti above them spoke up, “Alden?!” “It can’t be! You’re dead! We have your body!” said another. Alden became distracted by the voices and peered up. The muscle demigod croaked, “Wha-...How?” Alden looked down and smiled. “I know not the forces, whether it be you or a higher power. But I was pulled back here during my descent,” he replied. Marvelous Man was not sure, but he supposed it could have been the soul restoration spell. It was supposed to gather the pieces of soul bestowed to Digz that was lost eons ago. Since the the corrupted imp and Alden had been fused for so long, their souls might have become related to one another. But the muscle demigod was unsure of that hypothesis, because he is not a practitioner nor knowledgeable about magic. Were it not for the situation he was currently in, Marvelous Man would have freaked out from seeing an actual ghost. Alden roused, “Now, get up. You said you would heal Digz, and I have yet to see that.” Marvelous Man swallowed. The pain in his throat felt like it was burning, but he gathered the strength to utter words in his now raspy voice. “I can’t...Too broken...and I hurt all over,” he replied. The king sighed, “Why are you still pretending to be a star child? I know you are more than capable to put yourself back together from such simple flesh wounds. I’ve felt the power you hold!” The muscle demigod felt confused by such a statement. Did Alden think he was just lying around and not being powerful for the fun of it? “Even if I could...what good would it do? I’ll just...keep fucking it up...I’m a fatherfucking mess. I can’t do anything right. I couldn’t even...heal you,” he sobbed. The royal highness exclaimed, “But you did! And so much more! You helped me let go! I came to the realization that in letting Digz enable my sadness, I enabled his madness. Digz might have been the one to kill my family like you said, but...He is still precious to me! I don’t want him to be in pain!” “Do you remember what you said to me? You said you wanted to inspire me, and that is what you did! You are so much mightier than you think you are!” he continued. The musclebound superhero felt an emotion stir in him. It was the same one he felt when stop the Skeleton Lord before the confrontation with Gene Lightfoot. The emotion that felt like his true self contained within the dam of his heart. But it was very weak, and the agonizing doubt had towered over it and had already begun to devour it. Marvelous Man fretted, “But...even with the power that you said...I still had to get my friend’s help to defeat you. I couldn’t do anything big. I’m still too weak…” “Then learn from this and remember what you’ve experienced! Know what it truly means to be utterly helpless and refuse to remain that way! There is no shame in relying on your friends for help with the bigger things. But if you wish to move onward and be capable of fighting battles by yourself, then take the opportunities of this world and make it your own! It is foolish and naive to expect to become powerful without effort or have the world stoop to your level!” Alden raved. He continued rambling, “When I first pacted with Digz, he was only capable of moving corpses. And now look! He’s able to create creatures from his own imaginations! Though I must say, he’s always had an obsession with angels. I suppose it came from the time he spent with his original master.” “What?” said Marvelous Man. Alden lectured, “Just remember that you must accept the responsibilities of making the choice to become stronger and anything else you have done in your life. The changes you make will no doubt become hard and even unbearable at times. And even if it’s a change caused by the fates themselves, accept the consequences for what they are and make it your own! “The only time when you have truly errored in your ways is if you do not do anything and struggle to keep things the way they are! Good or bad, you are your own agent of chaos. And you have helped me realize that! Accept the reality of what you have done and learn from it!” he babbled with passion. Marvelous Man felt enraptured by the king’s words. Somehow, it was the words he had always needed to hear. Always remember the past but never try to stay complacent within it. Choose the path you know and feel is right but be ready to deal with the outcome. FIGHT THE STATUS QUO AND BECOME SOMETHING MARVELOUS!!! The dam in his heart that tried to contain his true emotion began to leak through the cracks once again. It was barely able to contain this geiser of a feeling. He felt like his heart and his body was about to burst. The word of this emotion was at the edge of his tongue, and it felt like it was from something even the royal highness had just said. “Look!” pointed Alden, “Look at your hand!” From the corner of his eye, the muscle demigod noticed a glow. Marvelous Man lifted his left hand up and gazed at it. The same glow from earlier that slightly whisped like his Soul Venom, but also contained some of the warm light from his supercharge, radiated from his hand. The trail of mysterious ray looked like an aurora and left behind a multitude of colors. It began to travel downward of his arm, but then Marvelous Man noticed something peculiar tied to his wrist. “Such a beautiful light,” added the king. The hulking bodybuilder brought his meaty wrist closer to his eyes for a better inspection. It was a glass string that neither felt tight or loose, but...just there. It was so transparent that it was nearly invisible, yet it had a shine that was noticeable to the muscle demigod. Marvelous Man curled his fingers towards it for a curious touch. Upon contact, that felt like grazing another person’s fingertips, a shard of what seemed to be glass materialized in his hands. He rasped, “Wh-what is this? Glass?” “Glass? I only see light, Marvelous Man! Embrace it!” cheered Alden. As much as Marvelous Man wanted to question the royal highness’ perspective, it felt more important to do as Alden said. He stared into the shard, and it responded by lighting up like the bright screen of a smartphone. The shard began playing a film, but it only seemed to last a second before the reality around Marvelous Man warped. The musclebound superhero felt as if he were being transported to the scene shown on the glass. Marvelous Man stood in the abandoned subway where the homeless community was slaughtered and served as the second encounter with the Skeleton Lord. The hulking bodybuilder just somehow knew this was when the ancient villain retreated from the battle. But instead of stationed in the center like last time, he was placed to the right of the passageway the Skeleton Lord exited into. He stared into the opening where the battle was fought and spotted himself floating beside his teammates at the time, Gene and Octomentist, and staring back at him. The past Marvelous Man shouted, “Wait! Why are you doing all this? What’s the point of doing all these terrible things?!” The current Marvelous Man looked towards his left and found the Skeleton Lord ebbed away into a veil of invisibility. For some reason, Marvelous Man could still see the supervillain. The musclebound superhero then noticed a glass string protruding from the red cloak and extending all the way down to his past self. Somehow, Marvelous Man knew that this was the moment a seed had been planted in the ancient evil. The seed, a passing thought, said, “What was the point of doing all this?” The muscle demigod then heard Digz within the Skeleton Lord whisper the answer, while the supervillain repeated it. “When one has the power of a god and their purpose has turned to ash, the only thing one can do is burn the world itself,” said the Skeleton Lord. The vision within the past had ended, and Marvelous Man was back floating in the miasma-infested pocket dimension. He released the glass shard from his hand; causing it to float up. Looking back at the glass string, he now noticed that it stretched and tethered to Alden’s spirit. The pressure of the geisere in his heart intensified. In Marvelous Man’s perspective, that was the first time he had affected a change within Alden. It might have been small, but it was the start that led the ancient king to give up his evil ways and cease living. Marvelous Man then noticed another glass string tied to his forearm, as the aurora continued traveling down his muscled arm. His eyes followed the string, but it seemed to have extended somewhere outside of this pocket dimension. Out of instinct, he accepted the new string with his heart instead of his eyes. This caused an echo of a voice to appear in his mind. Aphrodite echoed, "Yes, but I love you on a greater level than everybody else. A mother's love is powerful, and you will always be my baby." That was the moment Justice changed his mind about how he felt about his parents after learning the purpose of his birth. If his mother never said that back in Sunnysville, the hulking bodybuilder would probably have begun to really hate his parents. The feeling in his heart grew stronger; the geiser still pushing but needed to hear more. Looking up, he noticed a glass string tied to his pinkie. The muscle demigod allowed the string into his heart; excitement slowly building up in him for the surprise of either good or bad. “Feel better?” echoed Marvelous Man. Gene echoed back, “Very much so. Thank you.” That was the first time Marvelous Man awakened to infatuation. After the first fight with the Skeleton Lord, the musclebound superhero would join the D.A.B. for the sake of befriending Gene. He would then grow that infatuation into love for the Totochtin prince. Marvelous Man then noticed another glass string tied to his elbow, as the wavy light on his arm continued over his bulbous bicep. He accepted the string with his heart and listened for the voice. Gene echoed, “It would not be right to you nor me. Perhaps if we kept doing the dating it could turn out exactly how you wanted. But such a thing would only result in hurting us in the end. That is the time that is wasted for trying to grow something that cannot grow. I am sorry Marvelous Man, but I cannot force myself to be the something that I am not.” Marvelous Man could never forget that event. Gene had become realistic about their situation, and it caused the muscle demigod to realize his misunderstandings of what love is. It was painful and eye-opening, but he gained a friend in the end. Their bond with each other was so strong, that the rabbit demigod gave up the vendetta against the Skeleton Lord to avoid fighting Marvelous Man. The eagerness to hear more overwhelmed him more than the uncertainty of his situation. He wondered for a moment on the possibility of hearing more than just simply looking for the strings and closed his eyes. Relaxing his body, Marvelous Man focused his mind on the strings. He at first could feel the ones he had already saw attached to his left arm, but then sensation of the glass strings expanded. The muscle demigod felt glass strings tied to nearly every part of his body that seemed to entwine naturally onto him rather than a forced, uncomfortable bondage. He could practically picture the whole scenery in his mind. In a confused sense, it seem to Marvelous Man that his body served as the source and a receiver for something. The strings he saw in his head felt real, and he tried to embrace it as real...And that’s when a torrent of voices echoed in his mind like a shout in an empty chamber. It was the voices from his past; his friends, family, enemies, and even himself. He could hear each and every one, and they all exchanged conversation that was meant for him or others. Some were encouraging, others insightful, and there were also those that were hurtful. In Marvelous Man’s perspective, it was almost like hearing a song. And at the end of this emotional song, he heard the voice of the one he truly cared for summarizing what he heard. “My point is, your very existence makes all the difference and don’t you forget it. The positive things you provoke in people may be small compared to what you expected, but it all carries the same weight. Even if it’s as small as being their friend or even getting someone to try a new thing. And superhero or not, your existence inspires change in the people around you,” echoed Gemini. Marvelous Man’s heart exploded; the emotional geiser pouring out and flowing throughout his entire being. The aurora light immediately coursed over the rest of his massive body and then merged, as he came upon a realization. His entire anatomy was outlined in illumination that shared the same color as the aurora. Opening his eyes, tears streamed from them nonstop while gazing at the spectacle before himself. The musclebound superhero could see glass strings tied not just to himself and stretching outward, but also to Alden’s spirit and even the Seraphim! He could see the glass strings connecting towards all three beings in the pocket dimension and beyond the whisping essence like some sort of cosmic web. It was like gazing at a piece of abstract art that was infinite, beautiful, and maddening. His immense body began to radiate its own auroras that streamed upward and seemed to curl like the brushstrokes of the Starry Night painting by Vincent van Gogh. Marvelous Man’s physical wounds immediately responded to the illumination. Dislocated limbs were set back into to place, fractured bones sealed back up to their original state, and bruised skin became a smooth, healthy brown. The hulking bodybuilder felt every damaged piece moving around inside of him, but it was not painful. He briefly wondered if this was what Sugar Skull experienced when supercharged. It all made sense now. This feeling that he now experienced was his true self. The celestial element that was unique only to him. His mother, friends, and even Marvelous Man himself had been saying what he had been all along. The seed to love, art, and passion: Inspiration. Marvelous Man instantly understood that the glass strings he could see were also physical manifestations of inspiration, and it gave him a greater understanding of his celestial element. Inspiration is more than just changing or improving. It is the culmination of pain and bliss that act as fuel for the spark of new ideas and perspectives. But most of all, inspiration is the gift from existing. No matter how small or big the differences one made in the other’s life, they all carried equal value. Every life matters; regardless of one’s own perspective of self-worth or even someone else’s opinion about yourself. You are important to my existence. We are all connected, and that is the true art of life. The hulking bodybuilder situated upright, as Alden stared with marvel in his eyes. A smile broke out on the ancient king’s face. He exclaimed, “I knew it to be true! Tell me, what sort of god are you? Pray tell, what do you preside over?” Marvelous Man stared down at his hands; watching the colored, illuminated outlines radiate tiny auroras. Droplets of his never-ending tears pattered onto his wrists and palms, as he realized his throat had been healed and could answer the question. The musclebound superhero felt his voice both bellow like thunder and whisper like a calm river. “Inspiration,” he stated, “That is my celestial element.” Marvelous Man continued, “I finally understand what you mean, and what everybody else have been saying. The ideas and thoughts I am having...it’s overwhelming both my mind and soul. So many infinite possibilities of good and evil that this element can cause. No matter where I look, I see beauty from this collage of chaos. And...I just want to do so much art to supercharge others! To fill them with inspiration to do something marvelous with their lives or even plant a seed in them to try something different!” The Inspiration God’s eyes went wide. “Oh my gosh, is that what I’ve been doing this entire time when I supercharge my friends?! I’m literally energizing them with my essence when I do something artsy or inspirational or whatever! I wonder if I can do it by just flexing my muscles? Can that affect me too and put me in this...super soul form or god form or whatever?” he rambled. One of the puttis crowed, “Impossible! Impossible, impossible, impossible!” “Stay broken! No more of that flashy stuff!” raved another. The king flicked his eyes above him and stared at the murder of puttis circling above the two. He then looked over to the Throne and Seraphim floating in anticipation before he turned back toward Marvelous Man and tried to speak gently. Alden interrupted, “Great deity, I know you’ve just had an incredible breakthrough, but I beseech you to please turn your attention to my imp. He needs your healing, please.” Marvelous Man looked up and turned to the spirit. His eyebrows then raised, as he remembered what he needed to do. The Inspiration God realized that without a goal or something to express himself with, he would be caught up in his many thoughts or spectate in wonder at the glass strings. The hulking bodybuilder switched his weeping gaze to the other bone angels and furrowed his brows. He then struck an exaggerated fighting pose. “Sorry! You’re right! I got lost in my thoughts,” said Marvelous Man, “Don’t worry, I’ll get it right this time! Any chance you could give me a boost?” Alden stroked his chin, “Let me see…I think I might still have some influence over his essence.” Waving his spirit arms in a wide, circular motion, the whisping blackness drifted over to his arms. The dark essence followed the motion of his arms and began to materialize into bone. As Alden finished his motion, the white bone had formed into a large, flat disk. “Here! Quickly make use of this! I fear you will have only one chance to make use of my assist, as I feel my being drifting back to where I am to be damned!” he exclaimed. Marvelous Man looked behind and noticed the disk. He then used his flight powers to perform a backflip and landed on top of the disk. The ancient king placed his palms on the back of the disk and aimed the Inspiration God at the white Seraphim. Alden thrusted, “Now, fly.”
  13. Links to other chapters: Links to chapters of "The Twenty": "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Precis, Introduction, Chapters 1 & 2 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 3, 4, 5 - White Cap Training / Hardcore Muscle / A Brief History of Casey Rockland "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 6 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 7, 8 - Hardcore Training, Part 1 / Tiffany's Talent "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapters 9, 10 - Good for Morale "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 11: Casey Meets the Muscle Squad "The Twenty" Chapter 12, Part 1: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 12: Part 2 Casey vs. Karim Abdul: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 13: After the Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 14: In Which Casey Discovers He Likes to Get Worshipped "The Twenty" - Chapter 15: Casey's First Interview with Sergeant Moster "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 16 - Hardcore Training Part 2: Casey’s First Herculaneum Workout, and What Happened After "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 17 - The Presentation "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 18 - The Musclemen Revealed: Inside Zaftig's Lab "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 19 - Further Encounters, Part 1 M/M "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 20 - Pose and Approve: Further Encounters, Part 2 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 21 - Sam and Casey "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 22 - Field Trips for Worship, Part 1 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 24 - Further Encounters 5: Sam and Casey Again, and Moster and the Cadets Chapter 23 Field Trips, Part 2 – Casey Rediscovers Muscle Worship, And Makes a New Friend February 10th, 2022 2110 Hours Casey knew he could trust Ensign Victor. Sam was, after all, a muscle worshipper. And Casey was close to the best there was. Casey had long dreamed of his very own muscle worshipper. The legend that bodybuilders are aloof and don’t want to be worshipped? Bullshit. Bodybuilders wanted their very own private worshippers just as much as muscle schmoes wanted bodybuilders. If Casey knew anything at all, he knew that. He’d learned it in LA. And now he was going to tell Sam all about it. And then tell Sam that he knew just exactly what he was. And Sam, of course, was all ears, all solicitation and comfort. Even as he felt his own excitement growing. He felt his cock, too, burgeoning in his trousers, until he didn’t think he could stand it much more. But of course, he’d have to stand it. At least until Casey was finished talking. And so, Sam listened. Patiently, as it happened. And Casey talked and talked. As Sam’s cock got stiffer and stiffer. “So talk about something else. Do you have friends?” “Well. The guys from the cadet dorm, I guess. But I don’t see them anymore. Guess I don’t get out as much as I’d like.” “No friends outside the compound?” “Naw.” “Are the men of The Twenty your friends?” “Well, I’m one of them….” Casey seemed uncomfortable, so Sam moved on. “Family?” Casey looked down, then looked back at Sam. “The Twenty are my family,” he said after a moment. He paused. ‘Guess we seem to be some kind of crazy cult, hunh?” “Kind of, yes.” Casey seemed to want to ask something. Sam half smiled, waiting. Finally he prompted. “Yes?” Casey was clearly embarrassed, but Sam could see determination in his eyes. “It’ll wait. What else?” “Well, how strong are you?” “Pretty strong. Maybe a little stronger than the others. I can bench 800 pounds. Easy. Curl 350. I run really, really fast, too. Oh, and I’m a good diver. I don’t know how that happened, but I am. I can do anything on a diving board. Don’t even think about it. And I look awesome in a Speedo. But I’m not as strong as Moster. Or Abdul. No one is. They could snap me in two.” Casey didn’t mention the Turkish wrestling night when they got covered in oil and he beat Karim Abdul. No sense in scaring Sam by acknowledging that maybe, yeah, just maybe, he was the strongest man there – and just 19. “I don’t believe that.” “Well, maybe not in two. But he could fuck me up pretty good if he wanted to. He’s an extreme fighter.” “I thought you were, too.” “Well, yeah…. .” “You got thrown out of school for fighting.” “Only once. I only fought once,” he said. “Some guy pissed you off?” Casey smiled. “18 guys pissed me off.” “Wow.” “Yeah, wow. I got ‘em all good, though.” “One after the other?” “All at once.” Casey grinned cockily. “I beat the shit out of all of them.” “Why?” “I got tired of them making fun of me.” “They made fun of you? Sounds dangerous.” “I wasn’t as big then.” “No, of course not. Why were they making fun of you?” Casey looked hard at Sam, and bit his lip. Then he shrugged his shoulders as if determined. He stood up, towering over the table. Sam watched him evenly. Casey reached down and unzipped the steel fly of his pants. He reached his hand in and pulled out his enormous, limp cock. He squatted so that his hips were even with the tabletop. It flopped heavily and noisily on the surface. Thwack. "…. And, boom… there it is,” said Casey. “There it is.” He looked up, shrugged and smiled shyly. “Yes, there it is.” “See, it’s really, really big.” Sam took in the tool’s impossible size for a moment, and whistled. “Yes, I see that. Nice,” he said sweetly. “It’s very big.” “It’s huge,” said Casey, with a sweet blend of sadness and pride. “It’s more than a 15 inches long. It’s like a fucking snake with a life of it’s own. I get hard all the time. I could never hide it in anything I wore. The kids at the home used to laugh at me, call me freak.” “They were jealous, no doubt.” “Probably, yeah, maybe, but fuck. But I got so sick of it.” He started to stuff it back into his jeans. “So one night, I beat them all up.” Sam reached out and lightly touched Casey’s hand. “It’s okay. Keep it out.” Casey looked up, hopefully. “You like it?” “I do.” Casey looked hard at him. He was suddenly shy. He wanted to tell Sam about the field trips for worship, and there was a lot more to tell, too. But he wasn’t certain how it would sound. Sam wanted to help him. “Was there a first time you were worshipped by ‘investors’? By a group of men you didn’t know before?” “Yeah…” “For money?” Pause. “Uh hunh.” Casey was clearly now afraid Sam would judge him. “A lot of money?” Casey didn’t quite know how to tell him exactly how much. “I’m not a prostitute.” “No, I know that. You’re not,” said Sam, looking pensively at Casey’s huge penis extending out of his open fly, lying quietly on the tabletop. “What you are is an uncommonly huge, sexual, handsome 19-year old bodybuilder with a need to show … what you have.” Casey looked at him gratefully. Now he knew he was falling in love with the calm young Navy officer. But even here, in the relative safety of his quarters at Valhalla Labs, and with the gym and training rooms and all the other men so close by, and especially after that wacky muscleshow earlier in the evening to the military brass, the sweet-natured muscle giant was suddenly seized with nervousness. But Sam seemed okay with it. And, indeed, he was. “And…how was it? The first time you were worshipped by strangers?” “Okay. I guess it was okay.” He paused, and his eyes flickered a bit. With excitement, at the memory. “Who were they?” “Some Hollywood dudes.” Sam suddenly recalled. Was that last year in LA the night that…? Oh, God! YES. It was briefly in the TMZ reports late last year, the latest conservative blast against the Hollywood Liberal Elite, some big party night that went south and required some hospitalizations and a lot of huge money. And then – silence on it. All stories withdrawn. No word on it. He’d googled it a few times. Nothing. But Casey remembered. In fact, it was incredible – all those fat old rich men schmoes, and then his new friend Mike later on privately swooning, licking his pecs and swooning over his big biceps and with his sweet little face in his hard butt and then closely inspecting with awe his mighty machine…. But he wasn’t quite sure about how all this would sound to Sam. There was a pause. Sam gazed at the muscle monster boy evenly a moment. “You can tell me all about it. I’m not here to judge.” Casey remembered the night. And his new friend, Mike. “I wonder how I’m gonna tell Sam about Mike?” he worried to himself. After a brief pause, Casey made his decision, and manfully, went on with his story. December 5th, 2021 Los Angeles: 2100 Hours The bus pulled up the drive at 9 PM, the first stop of the evening. It was a large cliff side home high in the Hollywood Hills, lavish and dark, with a glimmering Olympic-sized pool in the back and fountains quietly spraying gallons of illegal water. Beyond and far below, the glittering lights of LA shone in the far distance. Zaftig’s longtime off campus associate, the puny weasel Dr. Shaft, would be waiting inside, in attendance with a group of 9 investors, all quite anxious to see the young gods in action. The bodybuilders filed off the bus in the dark. “Golly, who lives here?” asked Hension, awestruck by the size of the house. “Some Hollywood dude movie producer,” muttered Lang. “Who cares? Time to FLEX.” Casey barely noticed. He was eager, for soon he’d be headed back to his private muscle planet, the place he first visited on the morning his cadet buddies came to say goodbye and stayed a little to admire his muscles. He was all ready to flex for these dudes. He neither knew nor cared who they were. Sergeant Moster, who had gotten off the bus first, quietly barked orders in the large circular drive. Moster, who had gotten off the bus first, quietly barked orders in the large circular drive. “Inspection. Strip down, men,” he commanded. “I don’t want to keep our hosts waiting.” The ten musclemen hopped and danced in the half light, removing slacks, baggies, t-shirts, jeans, shorts, underwear, jock straps, thongs, and boots as poor long-suffering Dr. Irving ran from man to man, frantically gathering up discarded clothing, quickly organizing as to owner, and distributing the proper poser to the proper man. Each poser was personally assigned, custom-tailored to cut across inches south of the lower abs, reveal generous slices of meaty glutes in back, and with frontal sag sufficient to generously reveal the top six inches of root and thick, plunging shaft of each man. The side straps, while thin, were sufficiently strong to hold even at top erection. “Oil up, men.” Bottles of mineral oil were passed around, and the men dutifully applied slathers of oil to their muscles. Finally they were ready, their muscles gleaming in the night. “Line up, squad,” said Moster. “Adjust your posers. When you pull your pants down, I want these dudes to see your top six inches of root and cockshaft.” He had stripped down himself and was now rubbing his own oil in to his mountainous black muscles. “I know with some of you that still leaves another 6 inches or more covered up. Right, Casey?” “More,” said Casey. Still, in the dark Casey turned deep red, still immediately shamed by the thoughts of his huge, unhideable cock. He still wasn’t quite over those years of taunting. Which always flashed his thoughts quickly to Tiffany. Good thing the ginger-haired terror wasn’t with them tonight. Casey always performed better when that boy was nowhere near. “Waring, get over here and do my back.” Waring went to Moster, dutifully pouring oil onto his calloused palms, mixing them back and forth as if he was tossing a muscle salad, and smacked Moster’s broad back hard, rubbing thick oil deep into Moster’s wide lats. The Sergeant felt the man’s rough blisters on his back and smiled. “You’ve been working, Private.” “Yes, sir, I sure have, sir.” The men fell into line, and awaited inspection. Moster paced in front of the muscle lineup and critically appraised his special forces team: Alvarez, Lang, Hension, Schumacher, and Waring. Washington, Abdul, Obatu, Gunst and Rockland. Muscle gods all. He nodded his satisfaction. “Line up according to height. Shortest man first. Private Hension, that’s you.” Hension was pushed to the head of the line. “Put the pretty boy first,” guffawed Obatu. Hension colored deeply, embarrassed as always to be referred to as the group ‘pretty boy’, but obeyed orders. “Dr. Irving, distribute White Caps,” Moster ordered. Irving passed the ration of capsules to the group. “It’s going that be that kind of showing, hunh?” chuckled Obatu. He popped a capsule and within seconds began to envision his powerful sexual fantasies come to life. He tugged slightly on his poser and glanced down to make sure the prominent, pulsing thick veins of his mighty dipping cockshaft were showing. He nudged Washington. “Check it out,” he said. Washington nodded. “Suckable,” he said, busily squeezing his own nipples into pointy hardness. Moster crossed behind the men and walked along, surveyed the lineup of rolling, hard, powerful glutes. He nodded. Huge mountains of gleaming, perfect, rock hard butt. “Butthole inspection,” he announced. Corporal Karim wished he had his butt plug with him, but didn’t betray himself with even a flicker across his stern face. He scowled, but even so Moster knew what the man wanted. He glanced down at Karim’s achingly firm glutes. “You clean, Corporal?” he asked. “Yes, sir.” “Good.” Moster knelt, lowered the man’s posers for a moment to quad height, and quickly inserted his thick fist deeply up inside the man’s butthole, up to his wrist. Karim never flinched. Moster rotated his fist, and just as quickly withdrew, with a butthole POP!, noting to his satisfaction that the Corporal was indeed clean. “Keep your concentration.” He wiped his fist with anti-bacterial lube and moved on to the next man. Hension was looking apprehensive. Moster approached him. “Any women inside?” Hension asked nervously. “Why do you ask, Private?” “Sir, for my best performance, sir, I like to get my face slapped first. And during. By a pretty girl with muscles.” “Not here tonight,” said Moster. “Bend over.” “Yes, sir!” Hension bent over, showing his twin glutes of extreme hardness, shape and striation. Moster lowered the muscleboy’s posers, made a fist, and once again plunged his fist up to his wrist up Hension’s taut butthole, twisting, probing and turning. Like Abdul, Hension never even raised an eyebrow as his welcoming rosebud enveloped the powerful fist. He was excited about lay ahead. His cock began its 12-inch journey to solid stiffness. He pulled his posers back up with some difficulty and wrapped the taut cloth as best he could around his growing engine. Alvarez appeared serene. He knew a good Pose and Approve session was ahead. Lang glanced at him and smiled. Alvarez was best with an audience. An admiring audience. His cock twitched in anticipation. Moster was quick with Alvarez, nodding approval, quickly inserting a probing fist, and moving on to Lang, doing the same. Up the drive at the house, a curtain fluttered. Someone was watching. Alvarez nudged Lang. “What?” asked Lang, clueless. “You see that?” “See what?” Alvarez smiled. “This is gonna be fun.” He stood “Let’s see those biceps, Gunst,” Moster commanded. Gunst complied, and flexed his meaty guns. “26 inches this morning, sir.” “Excellent. Turn around and bend over.” Gunst complied and Moster’s fist entered his butthole. He nodded satisfaction. Moster continued down the line of musclemen, inspecting pecs, nipples, hard abs, and ending with each man by inserting a giant fist up an eager butthole. Finally it was Casey’s turn. “Ever been fisted before?” Moster asked crisply. Casey had to admit it. “Yes, sir.” He turned around and bent over, his perfect butt now in Moster’s face, his fists buried in his obliques, jutting out his butt. It was an incredible ass. Two round globes of muscular golden flesh, perfect, hard-as-nails ovals of sleek construction. Powerful, huge, an incredible human loading dock of rounded power. Inside the darkened buttcrack Moster could see close-up the throbbing, inviting deep of Casey’s perfect butthole. Moster plunged his fist in, and turned it, pulling it out again after a minute. Clean as a whistle. “Good work, Rockland. “ Casey stood, turned and smiled. “I think you’re ready.” He turned to the driver, standing by the bus, impassively staring. “Ferdinand, Dr. Irving, come back in an hour. We should be done by then.” Then, quietly, he asked Irving, “Did the money come in yet?” “This afternoon, sir,” answered Irving. “$35,000.” “Good.” Moster took his place at the end of the line. “Shaft here yet?” “Inside, Sir.” Dr. Irving fiddled with his phone, getting frantic texts from Dr. Shaft. “Good. Give the men back their clothes. Men, get dressed.” Much fumbling and hopping about in the dark. Then - “Move out, men.” The musclemen marched into the entranceway of the one-story cliff side glass house and, single file, marched into the brightly lit living room. Inside, nine manicured, pampered, plumpish Hollywood movie execs, dressed in expensive Italian suits, ties down, were draped around the room, propped up on large plush sofas, drinks in hand, cellphones and Blackberries at the ready, waiting inside. Two or three were handsome enough to gain Alvarez’s slight interest. The smell of marijuana wafted through the air. They’d been drinking. And smoking. And snorting lines of coke. In fact, they all appeared smashed. And ready to see serious muscle. The tenth, a slender young man, sat separately, almost shyly, by himself, across the room on a smaller sofa, right before the vast picture window with the lights of LA twinkling in the distance. “Fucking finally! Bring on the talent!” one of the fat schmoes yelled as the men entered. But as the musclemen got into the room and turned, facing their clients, at full attention, the movie dudes were stunned into silence. “Holy shit…look at them!” "Fuckin' A..." For their part, the musclemen were themselves stunned into a moment silence by the lavishness of the room that extended before them, and the extraordinary view of the city through the plate glass windows, far, far below. The drapes had been opened. The moon shone full in the sky. “Wow,” breathed Lang. “Where the fuck are we?” "Fuckin' A is right," whispered Hension. There were a few moments on silence while everyone was amazed, albeit for different reasons. Sergeant Moster was first to retain his composure. "Gentlemen, thank you for inviting us for the evening. We think we have quite a show ready for your personal delectation..." Dr. Shaft rose from a white sofa. Even as familiar with the muscle in the room as he was, he was never less than stunned each time he saw more than three of the bodybuilders together. The sight of ten of them, including the impossibly giant Sergeant Moster, was enough to momentarily knock the air out of him. “Yes, thank you, and good evening, Sergeant Moster. Good evening, men.” He whispered to Moster. "I'll handle this." Dr. Shaft was excited. The men had not only arrived on time, they all looked….well, incredible. Beyond incredible, in fact. Unreal. Inhuman. The years of P-21 meshed with hardcore raw training had built magnificent muscle specimens unlike the world had ever seen before. No bodybuilding contest – and Shaft had attended hundreds – ever had the kind of raw muscular development that stood before them now. It was as if every muscle on every man had a muscle. Heaped pounds of raw lean man beef. It was staggering. Moster hid his irritation, already planning the next black eye he'd happily plaster on Shaft's face in their next private. “Good evening, Dr. Shaft. Men, you all know ....Dr. Shaft.” Hi, yeah, sure, hello, uh hunh, yeah we see him, etc etc, came from the musclemen. “May I introduce the men to their hosts?” asked Dr. Shaft ceremoniously And the lineup of musclemen turned to their agog clients. Hands at their sides, fists clenched, veins popping, tight white shirts wrapped around massive physiques. Legs spread wide. Quads bursting out of slacks. Biceps about to tear shirt sleeves. Fly bulges loomed to the floor. And the clients, schmoes all, stared back. Breathing. Panting. Disbelieving the universe of muscle they were seeing. Alvarez, Lang, Hension, Schumacher, and Waring. Washington, Abdul, Obatu, Gunst. And Casey Rockland. Team leader, the massive Sergeant Moster. The muscle team was here at last. The clients, schmoes all, stared back. Breathing. Panting. “Fuck, man. They’re fucking huge,” said one of the fattest men. He gulped. “Whatta they gonna do to us?” “You mean…what are they going to do for you,” said Sergeant Moster. “May I present…. nine of the most muscular men on the planet today.” He paused, glanced at his watch. “You have two hours.” He turned to the men. “Men, you may go to work.” The men moved into a line, first marching single file and then fanning out towards the edge of the broad staircase leading down to the sunken living room. At the top step they stopped, stood still, and displayed themselves proudly. Below them, the room of wealthy Hollywood elite schmoes fell into shocked silence, turned their heads, and stared agog at the massive muscle before them. The schmoes were seated together, as if for protection, on a heavy plush creamy white sofa, overloaded with soft, luxurious pillows, extending twenty-five feet across the room from the large picture window. It was a perfect setting for bodybuilder muscle worship. And there they stood. Calm. Blank faced. Each man handsomer than the next. Perfect tanned skin. Waistlines no larger than 32 inches on men each weighing up to 300 pounds – and more. It was going to be a insane night of muscle worship. And a profitable one, too. Shaft had been circulating rumors inside the Hollywood mill for years about this army of ungodly huge and handsome musclemen, and finally had assembled just the sample group of mega-rich movers and shakers that he needed for the initial private presentation. This meant big bucks in the future for Valhalla Labs. Sergeant Moster had delivered as promised, in spite of Dr Zaftig’s worry and misgivings back at the Valhalla Lab. But Shaft had faith. He knew these musclemen. He’d had too many private sessions to not know a little about them all by now. As long as they all behaved, that is, and no one got seriously hurt. They were hard to control, he knew, once they really started flexing and posing and showing it all off with feats of ungodly strength and their insatiable need to dominate. He knew all about his own tendency to wind up in the San Jose ER after particularly enthusiastic sessions with Moster. But, damn, he just couldn’t help it. Shaft had to admit the fantasy of Moster’s (relatively speaking) lightly damaging face punches and the spirited butt spankings he received as punishment for his own poor cock and body and his lame cocksucking was, well, just what he deserved, being the worm he was. And the fantasy memory of all that abuse kept him masturbating feverishly for months after. He hoped his Hollywood schmoes might fare a little lighter punishment than the stuff that he was now addicted to – unless of course they wanted the same treatment? But then, it might get picked up as a tasty little news item, all over TMZ. That couldn’t happen. Could it? It could rock the Hollywood establishment. Top studio heads beaten by massive, crazed bodybuilders in bizarre Hollywood Hills muscle showdown. No. That wouldn’t do. It was all pretty dangerous, but, what the hell. Shaft licked his lips with drooling anticipation and inspected the astounding male muscle display that confronted them all. The ten magnificent young men, plus the-even-huger-still Sergeant Moster, were now lined up, beefy shoulder to shoulder, round and perfect tri-headed delts touching massive delts. They stood in a perfect lineup of muscle on the steps leading from the 20’ ceilinged foyer down into the sunken living room. The entry way was a perfect dais for display, more than 40’ long, roomy enough for a panorama of beautiful beef and rippling vascularity unlike anything the staring schmoes down below had ever seen, or even imagined, before. And even fully dressed in tight, tight t-shirts and ferociously clinging tan slacks, the men were an unbelievable sight to behold. As if carefully posed, men all stood casually with their hands planted on powerful hips, legs spread wide. Muscles gleamed and bulged. Physiques rippled enticingly, displayed for delectation in the clinging super-wide white spandex t-shirts. Every vein, every muscular bulge, every pound of sinew, every cut, every hard-packed slab of fatless lean and bulging male beef was on display for the stunned, wealthy Hollywood insiders. “Jesus fucking Christ,” someone mumbled. “Look at them. They’re not human.” Muscle worship was what these muscle giants lived for. Shaft knew that. Well, it was one of the things they lived for. He was fairly certain they also lived for training, lifting, eating, sex with each other and as many partners, male or female, that they could find. And – of course- getting huger every day. But Shaft couldn’t be sure that muscle worship might not be even more important. And of course, it made sense. After all, weren’t they all getting bigger, handsomer, stronger, more muscular, and more aggressive just so they could be worshipped? It hardly mattered, no more than the original intent of Dr. Zaftig all those years ago when he first started research on creating the ultimate team of massive male bodybuilders. For there they were, eleven muscle gods, still and easy, unmoving, posed, both tense and calm, showcasing magnificent, perfect male muscularity. And there were nine others, just as huge, handsome, and hung as the men before them, back at the lab. The atmosphere in the room crackled. And Shaft could feel it now, could even see the musclemen’s eager anticipation of the impeding worship of their physiques. Their excitement was just beginning to show, starting to loom now, like a faint musky aroma, getting stronger, seeping into the room. They seemed to be getting bigger, to be growing before them. They were certainly measurably heavier in their tight slacks, their flies just beginning to bulge forward and droop down with pointed pushing, with throbbing penis weight, their erections about to bloom and show and push out and forward and up inside their tightening pants. And considering the price tag of upwards of $85,000 the Hollywood elite schmoes had laid out for this private muscle show, inwardly he was relieved that it had all started out without the slightest hitch. And the new man, Casey Whatever His Name was, was there, too, there on the end. The handsomest of all? Shaft wasn’t sure. And, per Zaftig’s regular reports, on his way to being the biggest? And only 19 years old, too. The promise that lay ahead. He’d better be, at a price tag of $15,000 just for his appearance. That shorter man was also improbably handsome. Shaft studied the impressively beautiful Chris Hension, with his perpetual half erection always looming in his pants, thick masculine dark brown nipples, devilish smile and darting eyes; he was certainly a square-jawed piece of eye candy. And then there was Alvarez, always with the thick-lipped handsome Lang nearby – moist lips, always slightly shiny, always recently licked, lips that Shaft just knew glided lightly and lovingly up and down, root to head, over the long, thick penis shaft of his muscle husband Alvarez during their after-hours Pose and Approve sessions. And the scary hairy Karim Abdul, glowering in the middle of the lineup, with the shorter beefslab hardass Schumacher right next to him – weren’t they each other’s nemesis? Maybe they got hard posing together? And that giant Gunst, he of the amazing nearly 28 inch biceps. Shaft hurried over to Moster, just stepping down into the sunken living room, extending a wet hand. “Sergeant Moster, we’re so glad to see you -- ” He was suddenly cut off. Suddenly, from that muscle dais above, came an outraged roar. “Are you who the fuck I think you are?!!!” It was Gunst. He was shouting now, pointing down at someone in the room, at one of the waiting shmoes. All stopped and turned, stunned into silence. On the sofa was sprawled a fat, unshaved, tall mass of slob schmoe, who looked up from his phone, startled and scared. “Yeah, YOU, You FUCKING ASSHOLE!” “Do I know you…?” the schmoe blubbered. “I know you! You fucking asshole! I know you! You preyed on my sister!” Gunst was roaring now. “Get that worthless worm over here!” Waring and Lang stepped down, as if on cue, striding manfully into the room, heading to the creamy white sofa, then grabbing and holding down the particularly fat and ugly Hollywood former studio head, now sprawling agog, to prevent him from bolting. “Never mind, I’ll fuck him up myself…. ” Striding forward, every muscle in his massive frame now quivering with rage, Gunst pushed past Waring and Lang and into the room. The man was an impressive, fearful sight, his veins throbbing, ripped muscle on a mission, his huge pecs roiling and bursting in his tight t-shirt, his piston-thick arms slabs of disciplined beef, his fists clenched and ready to do damage. Casey was stunned. His mouth open, agape. He’d never heard the normally gentle giant Gunst so angry before, never even envisioned it. And he seemed crazed, pointing down at the terrified schmoe, accusing, now standing wide-legged and in full aggressive mode. “You don’t know me!” he screamed. “I don’t know you, either! What is this??? Dr. Shaft??” Shaft came forward, frightened but trying to maintain control. “Corporal Gunst?...” he started. He suddenly felt Moster’s hand on his shoulders, stopping him, pulling him back. Shaft tripped and fell on the carpet. Moster helped him up, shot him a quick look and a little smile, and putting a finger to his lips, shook his head. He mouthed, “No no.” He smiled. Shaft froze and, regaining his balance, stepped back, and did as he was told. Gunst was now standing above the cowering, terrified schmoe, roaring, his legs spread wide, his thick fists plunged into his obliques, ripped intercostals bulging like bricks, htting a powerful front lat spread. He rotated on his heels to show his lats at different angles. His pecs soared to the ceiling, his nipples went taut and pointed downward to the floor, bulging in his t-shirt, the luscious brown areola outlined. “You wanna see muscles, you fucking asshole?? check out these muscles!!! FUCKING WORTHLESS WORM!!! I’M GONNA SHOW YOU WHAT THESE BIG MUSCLES CAN REALLY DO!!!” From the facing sofa by the picture window, the small pipsqueak pencil neck schmoe was seemingly ignoring it all. Transfixing, he was staring directly at Casey now, seemingly unaware of the threatening Gunst, who was apparently on the verge of beating the fat schmoe to death right across the room from him. Casey, ever sensitive, knew he was being stared at. He turned his head slightly and returned the pencilneck’s gaze. He smiled. The pencilneck smiled back, tentative, shy. Casey began to do a slow, subtle, bubbling pec dance in his t-shirt, his mammoth chest bouncing slightly, right to left, left to right, his nipples taut and pushing powerfully into the tight fabric. He smiled a little more broadly. “You like that?” he mouthed. The pencilneck stared and nodded slightly. He did like it. Gunst was now in full flex fury mode. He glided from his threatening front lat spread into an equally threatening front double biceps. POW! he shouted, Just Look at these fucking guns! BOOM! His monster biceps broiled with iron packed sinew, laced with mammoth, pulsing cephalic veins. BAM!!! he added, extending his meaty arms to their full length, working the fingers of his powerful fists before clenching them into furious fist-weapons. “These are muscles, asshole!” he shouted. “And they’re comin’ to get YOU!” And then he bent, slowly, inexorably, coming closer, this huge mass of muscle and rage, smashing his fist in his meaty palm, and grabbed the schmoe by the shirt front, pulling his terrified ugly face up to his spitting, furious mouth. “I’m gonna FUCK YOU UP. I’m gonna beat the shit out of you, and I’m not even gonna touch you with THESE fists. I’m JUST gonna do it with my pecs. And then with my dick. I’m gonna beat your face bloody with my pecs and my dick!” The schmoe was blubbering now. Casey regarded it all somewhat calmly. He’d seen such behavior before at the Home, of course, and the Twenty were always wild and crazy like this on the gym floor, particularly during White Cap workout nights. They often beat the shit out of each other, bounding back for more. Nothing new here. What’s more, he figured it was probably all an act. Gunst was probably being paid for this interesting little muscle play. It was all working, of course, because none of the other musclemen had moved, as if they knew what was coming. And if there had been any serious, real danger, Karim Abdul and Moster, whose combined strength couldn’t even be gauged, would have stepped in to pull Gunst back and subdue him. More to the point, now he realized he recognized the schmoe from online. Something about how he had abused women for 30 years or more, and was now out of the studio, nationally shamed. Some big fat slob who ruined women’s careers if they didn’t fuck him. But he was still super rich, and he’d profited off of his exploitation and cruelty. Now set adrift in the Hollywood community and unable to work ever again, he was still worth several hundred million, and was not feeling any pain. Until tonight, of course. Now he was gonna get what he deserved. Still, Casey was more interested in his potential new friend, who seemed sober, quiet, respectful, and agog at the size of his muscles. That was just the way Casey figured he’d like them. Quiet and worshipful. As he walked over to the distant sofa, his cock twitched heavily, rolled in his pants, and began to point and grow. His new little fan seemed to be the exception in the room. He sat alone on his sofa across the room, maybe 20 feet away from the group of fat schmoes on the long couch. He was just staring at Casey, longingly, neither talking nor texting. Standing before him now not six feet away, Casey smiled in a friendly way. The pipsqueak smiled back, staring at Casey’s physique and handsome face and his ever-growing crotch bulge, blooming in his tight slacks. Tentative, nervous, a little frightened, shaking. “Hi,” said Casey, friendly. He got closer and extended a huge paw. “I’m Casey.” “I know. I’m….I’m Mike.” Mike reached up to shake hands, frightened and brave, his soft little hand covered by Casey’s enormous mitt. He stared at the pumping forearms as Casey gently shook his hand. He was very careful not to crush the little guy’s fingers. The fat slob was screaming now. “Hey, I’m just here to see a little muscle! You want money? I got a lot of money! I'll give it to you. Leave me alone!! Don't hurt me!!!” Gunst laughed nastily. “You just wanted to see a little muscle??? How about FUCKING HUGE MUSCLE??” He started slapping the man lightly across the face, back and forth, little humiliating stinging slaps that popped and smacked in echoes bouncing across the vast living room. “Ouch. Ouch! Leave me alone….!” “You belong to ME, asshole.” Gunst scooped the fat man (who must have weighed 300 pounds or more) up from the deep, sheltering confines of the plush sofa cushions. Effortlessly swinging the screaming man wide above his head, the man’s legs and feet flying in a circle around the work, Gunst swept the slob high above his head and held him there. Carrying him from the room, he yelled back to Waring and Lang, “You boys can join me later when you’ve finished with this group. But for now - he’s mine!” He turned his head up to the impotently squirming producer and lowered him down to meet his face. He spat his words. “Come to think of it, I’m gonna start you out nice and easy. You like glutes? How about some world-class musclebutt? I sure hope so. Casue I’m gonna sit on your face for the next 45 minutes. You’ll get to see my muscleass up close and personal….” And then they were gone, down the corridor. Silence. The schmoes staring, transfixed. “What was all that about? Who is that guy?” Hension whispered loudly to Obatu. Obatu shrugged. “Some movie producer.” “So why did Gunst go off on him like that?” “Maybe he didn’t like his movies.” “Private client,” said Alvarez. “It’s a put-up job. Extra money.” “This guy is paying Gunst to park his muscle ass on him for 45 minutes?” “No.” Alvarez smiled and whispered back. “The dude’s wife. Extra credit for public humiliation.” “Are the bedrooms through here?” Gunst asked, in the distance, his voice now conversational. “Noooooo…!” screamed the fat man. Down the hall they could hear a door opened. “Would in here be good for you?” Gunst asked calmly. “It’s good for me.” The schmoe’s screams continued for a moment, even after the door was closed. And then, they stopped. Very suddenly. Replaced by another sound, that could only be described as “mmmmpppphhhllllfffffffff…!!!... ..uuummmmm…” Presumably Gunst had undone his belt, lowered his slacks, squatted down his naked perfect butt, and was now getting comfortable on the man’s face. “Let me know if you have trouble breathing,” they heard him say, as if he was asking to pass the salt. Mike had watched in silence, his face surprisingly unexpressive. Unfrightened by Gunst’s outrage. That was interesting. He was clearly more nervous about Casey’s unanticipated friendliness. Casey turned back to the roomful of rich Hollywood schmoes, now numbering eight. For schmoes was what they were, and now, Casey had a pretty good gut level understanding of what a schmoe actually was. A schmoe was a creepy, ugly, fat, rich guy who was clueless, mean, selfish, liked musclemen, and was willing to pay his pleasure, and assumed money was all he needed. That was a schmoe. Casey’s lip curled in contempt. And far from frightened or intimated by the display of alpha male dominance Gunst had just performed, effortlessly carrying a kicking and screaming man over his head and out of the room, the schmoes were now quietly giggling, texting, snorting coke and toking up. They seemed to have enjoyed what they just witnessed. Nasty fuckers, thought Casey. He turned back to little Mike. “You’re not like those other guys.” “No.” “Why are you here, then?” “…..well….it’s my house.” Holy Shit. The Jackpot. That was fast. “Really? This is your place?” Mike nodded. “Yes.” Casey went to the point. “You like big muscles?” Casey asked, excited now. No sense in wasting time with pleasantries, although truth to be told, Casey probably had never heard the word before. “Yes, I do.” “Okay, then, watch this. All for you.” Casey moved fast into a front lat spread, rotating from side to side. “See these fucking pecs? They’re huge. You like this?” Casey’s shirt stretched and seemingly groaned from the strain. “….Golly….” Mike was breathing heavily. “Will ya look at that…?” His hand involuntarily moved to his crotch. Casey winked at him, nodding and smiling, reeling off his obvious talents. “Obliques, intercostals, abs like bricks, pecs like cannonballs, all hard and solid. And that’s just for starters. Here’s a most muscular crab shot.” His shirt fabric began to tear as his muscles exploded with sinew, mass and popping veins. “How about big guns?” he asked, flexing his brutal biceps. “26 inches,” he whispered proudly. “These guns measure 26 inches. You wanna touch ‘em?” Mike nodded, dumbly, reached out with tentative fingers, as Casey bent down to offer a closer view of his huge guns. “Touch ‘em! Go ahead and feel ‘em. Stroke ‘em. Ever felt anything so hard?” Mike’s fingers lightly caressed Casey’s 26 inch right biceps. “Wow,” he breathed, and stared up into Casey’s eyes. “I got great glutes, too,” he said conspiratorially, bringing his face now close to Mike. “It’s the ass of death. You’ll see. You can see them later. Really awesome.” Hey, he thought. This guy was kinda good-looking. Maybe he only weighed about 135, but he was cute. And probably really rich. Casey got even closer, flexed that powerful biceps right under Mike’s nose. “See that vein? It’s like a snake, watch it now…go ahead, lick it. Yeah. That’s right. Lick…” “Casey,” warned Moster. “Not yet.” Casey turned back, straightened up. “Yes, sir,” Casey said. “Join us,” said Moster. Casey looked at Moster, nodded, “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” And then returned to look down at Mike for a second. “Just a moment. I’ll be right back. He wants us to flex for your buddies. Don’t be scared. It’s just an act.” Mike was nodding feverishly. Casey could see his fly was bulging, and the bulge was not bad. Not bad at all. Maybe he was hung a little? He hoped so. “Well, you shouldn’t be scared,” Casey added. “The guys may beat up those other assholes a little, but I’ll protect you. I’m strong. You won’t get too hurt. And I’ll flex for you, and you can suck my dick awhile, and play with my glutes, and I’ll suck your dick, too, and maybe I’ll even fuck you, if you can take it. You can fuck me! Your butthole big enough? We all good?” Mike nodded, breathless, staring. “Great!” Casey was excited. This was going to be fun. “I like being worshipped! It’ll be dope. Hang on. This’ll only take a second. You wait.” The words came in a rush. “I…can wait….sure.” “Awesome. I’ll be right back.” Casey bounded back and rejoined the team. He readied himself, changed his face, scowled, and looked mean. Moster hid his smile. He was mightily amused. He should have foreseen that Casey would somehow ferret out the one dude who was signing the checks. The other men of the Twenty were, at the end of the day, too narcissistic to note personalities, character, differences, subtleties. For them, it was only about dominating, posing, flexing, showing off muscle. And the schmoes? Like any muscle lovers who lived closeted, rich, narrow, spoiled lives, they were only in it for themselves. But Casey definitely had possibilities. Moster made a mental note. He must remember not to mention this to Dr. Zaftig. Then he spoke, and his voice brooked no dissent. “Gentlemen, you will now silence your devices. Per the agreement in our mutual contract, there are to be no pictures taken, no recorded video, no texting, no emails, Instagram, Facebook or tweets.” There was a pause. Mike pulled his phone from his pocket and switched it off, looked up at Casey, and smiled. The schmoes stared up at Moster, not moving. “I’m waiting.” Still nothing. “Boys?....” said Moster quietly. Together with Casey, the nine muscle giants took a step towards the big sofa, alert, ready hands at their sides. There was a tense pause. “I didn’t sign any agreement…” one of the schmoes started to protest.
  14. MuscleLoverMG

    You Choose Who Grows! Reality Show

    Host: Hello everyone and welcome to another season of "Gainers". I am your host Freddi Fit and you may remember me from becoming the muscle alpha I am today on our very first season just three years ago. *Freddi Fit raises a double bicep flex, stretching his button down short sleeves to their limit. "After all, who can forgot that glorious moment when I was voted to steal everything from Hank The Tank who had been growing massive all season. It was a major upset and the audience was ready to see a new alpha show that brute a lesson. Since then I've been living the dreams as America's hunkiest bodybuilder. Well tonight this dream begins once again with 8 brand new contestants. After twelve weeks, one of them will be left with a hulking body while the others leave smaller than they came. And like always, every week you the audience will decide who gets what. Now let's not waste any time here and meet our contestants. Screen switches to contestant video number one. A nineteen year old college wrestler named Cam. "Hey everyone! The name is Cameron, or Cam for short. I've been wrestling for six years and I can't wait to show the other men who the real jock is gonna be. Maybe if you're lucky you might even see me put some of them in headlocks and drain the muscle from them." Screen switches to contestant video number two. A 39 year old college professor who has been working out for many years. "Hello everyone, it Max here. I've been a health science teach for about 10 years and have always wanted more in life. I'm hoping to win and become the next leading model for muscle god magazine. Either way, I'm hoping to teach the other men a thing or two about what it means to be blessed with muscle." Screen switches to contestant number 3. A 24 year old ex fire fighter who recently begun a modeling career. "If you thought fighting fires was hot, wait till you see me on nothing but my suspenders. Hey everyone my names chad. Make sure you vote for me this season so I can become the muscular flame that makes you sweat." Screen switches to contestant number 4. A 31 year old cop from NYC. "Hey. It's Stu. I've been lifting ever since becoming a cop, but to keep the streets safe, I'm going to need your help to grow my guns and have the fire power needed to intimidate the bad guys and fight crime." Screen switches to contestant number 5. A 27 year old businessman. "Hello everyone, being a businessman keeps me quite busy. So I'm going to need your help building these muscles as big as they can get so I can really fill out my suites nicely! By the way, the name is Dominique." Screen switches to contestant number 6. A 42 year old father. "Hello everyone. My name Ken. Before I had children I was in pretty good shape. However since then I've begun to get out of shape. I need your help to be bigger and better than I was when I was younger." Screen switches to contestant number 7. A 21 year old college graduated pursuing a career in acting. "Hey y'all. Zac here. I've been trying to make it big as an actor but you know they are looking for muscular guys these days. Help me become a jacked up actor." Screen switches to contestant number 8. A 25 year old man living in his parents house. "Hi everyone. I'm Tony, and I've been having a really hard time finding a job. Can you help me you help me out and give me the chance to pursue a career in fitness and get the hell out of my parents house. They'd really appreciate it as well!" Tony is clearly the smallest guy. Although he still has slight hints of muscle, there isn't much for the others to take. Host: "Well don't we just have a great batch this year. The group will be entering the growth cell now where they will spend the next 12 weeks changing. Go online now to vote for your top 4 favorite guys who will receive a special serum boost tomorrow night to start off the game. And don't forget to send in your nicknames for each dude. The most votes will decide what we call each contestant from here on. Anyways. Goodnight Gainer fans! Freddi Fit signing off!" *Freddie fit solutes the camera and transitions in to an archer pose as the credits roll.*
  15. muscleaddict

    Charlie's Secret

    This is a story I wrote years ago for my "Muscle Addicts Inc" blog. I've been going over it and making a few tweaks here and there and thought I'd share it here as I work on it. It's far from perfect but some of you guys might like it, or parts of it anyway! CHARLIE’S SECRET One My name is Charlie Steatham and I have a secret. It’s not a secret because it’s something I’m ashamed of. On the contrary, it’s something I love having. A part of me I wouldn’t ever want to change. It’s just not the kind of thing that would really be appropriate to tell a person in most given situations, or the kind of thing the majority of people would really understand even if I did. Let me tell you how I came to discover I even had this secret to keep. It was one Saturday afternoon back in England. I was home alone and innocently flicking through a magazine my parents bought weekly, which specialised in, of all things, radio and television listings. I wasn’t really reading it, just half heartedly turning the pages, stopping every now and then to linger on the odd thing which caught my attention, unbeknownst to me that I was about to stumble on to something which would have the strangest, and most incredible effect on me. An effect like nothing had ever had on me before. Something which would lead me to a world I never even knew existed. I remember feeling my eyes physically widening when I first saw the picture, and how it felt like my heart actually stopped beating for just a millisecond of time. Staring at it, I couldn’t quite get my head around what I was seeing, and why it seemed to have me so completely transfixed. Staring up at me from the page, was the most grotesquely muscular man I had ever seen. Every single one of his body parts was enormous. From the neck up he just looked like an ordinary man, he was handsome for sure, with nothing particularly special about his features, except for the fact his skin was a dark bronzed colour with an oily shine, but from the neck down, his whole body was a mass of gigantically huge, almost cartoon-like balloons of hard, smooth, muscle, bulging so much they looked as if they were about to burst. Every muscle was deeply separated, and most had a number of thick, wiry veins running across them. I had seen muscular guys before. Movie stars and athletes with six packs and tight, hard toned bodies, but the man in this image was something else entirely. He didn’t even look like a human being. He looked like a new superior species of the human race. A sick experiment gone wrong. Some kind of otherworldly creature, computer generated for a superhero film. As this monstrously massive muscle freak of nature, completely naked except for a small, shiny, green pouch covering his genitals, his hands resting on the top of his enormously thick legs, biting down on his lower lip and his face contorted into an almost arrogant but hugely proud expression, like he was having a whale of a time simply just possessing that freakishly huge, anatomy chart like body, stared up at me from the pages of this incredibly ordinary magazine in the living room of my parents incredibly ordinary house, I was completely and utterly hypnotised. My heart was pounding, my mind was racing, and for some reason, my penis was rock hard, twitching and pushing against the material of my boxers and jeans which were now struggling to contain it. This thing which had unexpectedly intruded on me from another world seemed to have this incredible hold and power over me, and I had now idea why. It didn’t feel wrong, but I knew that whatever this effect it was having on me was, it definitely wasn’t of the ordinary. After staring at the image for what seemed like hours, I forced myself out of my muscle obsessed trance, and tried to focus my mind on something else, but I couldn’t. My mind had been invaded, and my thoughts completely taken over by the image of that freakishly huge mountain of enormous muscle. I needed to see it again. I took the magazine into my bedroom and lay on my side on the bed, my upper body perched up by my elbow, the magazine next to me, flat on the bed. I flicked through the pages to try and find the image, and when I did, it was like I was seeing it for the first time all over again. I had no idea what was happening to me, all I knew was that in front of me was something so amazing and special. I had never desired anything more than this specimen of extreme muscle mass. This huge, hulking mountain of thick, superhuman muscle with his air of incredible power, extreme arrogance and hyper masculinity was the most beautiful and sexually provocative thing I had ever laid eyes on. I reached for my throbbing hard on, bulging and straining through my jeans, gently squeezed and started tugging. Soon enough I was popping open the buttons of my jeans and my white cotton boxer encased hard on was sticking out. I tugged and wanked, all the time staring at the muscle freak before me. Staring at the huge mounds of croquet ball shaped muscles which popped from his arms and fought for space with his perfectly smooth and insatiably thick chest, which looked like it was made of marble, but had tiny, wiry veins spread across the upper half. Staring at how his deeply carved shoulders ballooned like two watermelons trapped under bronzed tinted skin, which tightly stretched across the enormous, smooth muscle and looked unhealthily thin. Staring at his six beautifully shaped stomach muscles which looked like they had been carved with a knife. Staring at the incredible mass of lines and ripples etched into his tremendously large, hard looking leg muscles, and while staring at this presumably once ordinary sized man who’d built and moulded his entire body to extreme proportions and made himself look like a member of an entirely new, superior species, who looked up at me from my bed with an expression of complete and utter self satisfaction, and his air of incredible power and arrogance, my entire body seemingly shook, the most pleasurable sensation I’d ever had consumed my entire body, I let out a loud groan of ecstasy and my boxers filled up with a wet creamy liquid. Staring at a picture of, who I later found out was one of the top professional American bodybuilders of the time, hitting a most muscular pose on stage at a bodybuilding competition in probably the best condition of his career, I’d masturbated and made myself cum for the first time in my life. From that moment on, I’ve been completely obsessed with huge, freaky muscle. Nothing turns me on more than the image of competition ready, monstrously muscular, indecently shredded bodybuilders who live and breathe for being huge, who love nothing more than to climb into small, brightly coloured posing trunks, made of the shiniest material imaginable, and to stand in front of a camera, or an audience, and flex, tense and squeeze their cartoonishly big, deliciously carved, deeply separated balloons of thick, hardcore muscle mass, looking both impossibly beautiful and inhumanly grotesque in equal measures, loving every single moment of showing off their phenomenally built, superhero-worthy, circus sideshow freak-like bodies. As one can imagine, it’s a fantasy that stubbornly stays at that; a fantasy. How many ripped and peeled competitive bodybuilders sporting biceps bigger than the size of the average man’s head do you see walking round your local supermarket? None. And how many jacked and shredded muscle freaks one week away from competing at their fourth bodybuilding show of the year do you see on a Friday night at the local pub? Absolutely zero. Of course, there have been some very rare, and exceptionally brilliant moments where I’ve encountered fairly big guys sporting some pretty decently sized muscle, one or two of whom could have easily stepped onto a bodybuilding stage at some point, at various places, and of course, those moments will probably be forever etched into my memory, but for the most part, genuinely huge muscle guys, and certainly bodybuilders like the one in the magazine I found all those years ago, and the ones I have spent countless hours watching and viewing ever since, still remain an extremely elusive and rare breed. The world of extreme bodybuilding is an exceptionally small one, to which I have no ties or belonging to. Except for finding the courage to attend a bodybuilding show which I’ve yet to do, it’s a world I didn’t think there was much chance I would ever step into. That was, until today. Or to be more precise, two Tuesday’s ago, when Professor Walsh (officially my favourite lecturer from the university in California I’m temporarily studying at for a term) presented myself and my fellow students from my Video and Audio Production Techniques class with a list of the options for the first, one day work experience placement of the semester. This is a day where every student on the course has the opportunity to participate in the filming of various types of film, television and video productions. Every student has to select three options, and the Professor tries her best to assign the student to one of their choices. This is not always possible though because, as you can imagine, some of the options are more popular than others and there are only so many students allowed on each placement. Some of the students, usually the louder, more extroverted ones, were intent on getting the big gigs like production on the set of a film, and popular television talk shows. Personally, I was happy with anything that would give me some experience. Copies of the list were passed around to raised voices and excited chatter. I scanned the list to see, sure enough, a well known television talk show, work on an independent film, the set of a fairly well known cop show from cable who were filming in the area, work for a local news television station, and some more fairly obscure productions. Although nothing was particularly standing out as something I had a real desire to do, it all sounded pretty exciting. And then, as my eyes steered down to the bottom of the page, they suddenly widened, my heart leaped into my throat, and I almost couldn’t believe what I saw written on the last line, as the very last option; Filming Backstage at a Local Bodybuilding Competition. My head was spinning. Was this really happening? Was the universe finally providing me with an entry into this world I never thought I would enter? I kept checking the list, looking at the words again, just to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating, and sure enough, there it was. My opportunity to be at, and take part in the filming of an actual bodybuilding competition. I suddenly pictured myself backstage at a bodybuilding competition, in a space packed full of massive, bronzed painted muscle men wearing nothing but tiny sized, thinly strapped posing trunks, each pair shinier and brighter than the next. Every single superhuman muscle brute of a man intensely pumping up his shockingly huge muscles, grunting and huffing with every lift as their huge slabs of man meat strain and bulge through their completely hairless, drum tight skin, and me, standing next to a cameraman, closely filming every single pump of a massive, competition conditioned All American muscle freak, mere inches away from his blown up balloons of bulging, rippling muscle. The fact that I was looking at the opportunity to be in the presence of the kind of muscle bulls I’d been wanking off over for years and to see their enormous, freaky muscle up close in person was mind blowing. However, it terrified me just as much as it excited me. The two days which followed were spent agonising over what to do with this opportunity I’d been unexpectedly faced with. My mind was completely split in half. It felt like two voices had invaded my head, one voice saying, “You have to do this. This is a rare, once in a lifetime opportunity and you will never get this again. It will absolutely amazing, it will blow your mind and you’ll get to see real life, genuine muscle freaks pumping, flexing and posing close up. Deep down you know you want to do this, and if you don’t, you will always regret it.” Meanwhile, the other voice was shouting, “Don’t be stupid, you can’t do this. You will make a fool of yourself. You will feel uncomfortable and nervous. People will look at you and think you are strange. And how will you explain your reason for wanting to do this to your classmates, and Professor Walsh?” One minute, a certain voice would sound clearer than the other, and I would make what I thought was my final decision. But then, out of nowhere, the other voice would suddenly shout up again, and I’d start to doubt my decision again. Even on the day of handing in our choices, sitting in Professor Walsh’s class, with five minutes to spare before the lesson came to a close, I still hadn’t made my final decision. I also knew that if I selected the bodybuilding competition, there was a very good chance I would get the placement. I couldn’t say for definite, but I knew it was fairly unlikely that any of my other classmates would select it as an option. There were a couple of guys in my class with a little bit of muscle on them who clearly went to the gym, but I would have been highly surprised if any of them had a genuine interest in bodybuilding. It was, without a doubt, one of those obscure placements to make up the numbers which nobody wanted to end up on. Well, almost nobody. Professor Walsh was wrapping up the lesson. “OK, class, you might have noticed this red box at the front of my desk.” This was it. My time was up. “By now I presume you’ve all made your three choices for next weekend’s work experience placement,” Professor Walsh continued. “If you’d like to place your completed sheets into the box as you leave. Please keep in mind, you are not guaranteed a place on any of your choices. We will do our best to assign you to one of your choices, but due to limited spaces on each placement, in some cases this will not be possible.” My classmates had started to shift and while everyone was getting out their sheets and gathering their bags in order to leave, I was staring at my sheet with my pen anxiously hovering over it. Two of my choices had been ticked, which just left one. The words “Bodybuilding Competition” leered up at me, testing my every nerve and ounce of bravery. My pen was wavering from the tick box next to it, to the box next to the option of “Production on a Music Video.” The voices in my head both clearer and more frantic than ever, one in battle with the other. Bodybuilding Competition Charlie, you HAVE to do this! Music Video Don’t be stupid. You will make a fool of yourself. Bodybuilding Competition Just imagine it! Real life, genuine muscle freaks pumping, flexing and posing close up! Music Video You will feel uncomfortable and nervous. People will look at you, and think you are strange! Bodybuilding Competition Deep down you know you want to do this, and if you don’t, you know you will ALWAYS regret it! And with one quick motion, I ticked the box next to my third and final option, and my fate was sealed. My heart was pounding as I approached the box on Professor Walsh’s desk, and my hands were shaking slightly as I dropped the sheet in. The second after, I glanced up to see Professor Walsh looking at me behind her desk. A friendly smile was trying to mask an expression of curiosity and slight confusion. She had clearly noticed my anxiety and I felt a sharp, brief pinch that I might have been rumbled. The incident quickly faded from memory, and as I left the classroom and walked along the corridor, the strongest emotion of elation, sheer pride and an overwhelming feeling that I had just done something amazing came over me. I had just taken one step closer to that crazy, amazing world of huge, freaky muscle I never thought I would ever be able to enter.
  16. mfergie15

    Houston

    First time posting and first story. Hope people like it. ---------------------------------------------------------------- Houston, Part 1 My name is Trevor and growing up I was a larger guy. Now, I am 24 years old, 6 feet tall, and 280 pounds of mostly fat and some muscle. My family didn’t accept me being gay so I packed the essentials into my car and took off. I ended up in Northern Texas in one of those towns that is small, as in everyone knew each other, but large enough to have some bigger chain stores. I found a cheap apartment and got a job as a cashier at the locally-owned supermarket. Despite feeling inadequate, since I had a bachelor’s degree, I gladly accepted the money that the job provided. On my second day of work and my fifth day in town, I met someone that would change my life. —— At the check-out line, I have a good view of every patron entering and exiting the store. At about 10 in the morning, a man walked in. He was about my height and looked like he was in his late 40s, but he was probably 260 pounds of muscle and about my height. He was a solid wall and he was wearing a tank top that showed his hairy, massive pecs and huge biceps. Very good looking. He was followed by an even bigger, better looking, and younger man. Guessing, the younger man was about 26 or 27 years old. They looked like a father-son duo coming in for their weekly food supply. The son was absolutely stunning. He was about 6 inches taller than his dad and I; probably had about 30 pounds on his dad, all muscle. He was wearing a similar tank top but instead of jeans, he was wearing basketball shorts. He had a sprinkling of red hair across his chest and in his pits that matched the hair on his head. As he and his dad walked through the store, I tried my best not to appear that I was staring and the younger muscle stud’s huge biceps, jutting pecs and ass, and noticeable bulge in the crotch. The stud had amazingly sexy bluish-green eyes and brownish-red hair. They spent about 30 minutes going through the aisles. As I was checking out an older lady who insisted on paying the exact change, the duo got in my check-out line. The father was looking through the cart and it appeared they forgot something; he left to go find it and as I was still helping the old lady, I was blinded. Blinded by the stud stretching his arms up over his head and his shirt riding so high up, I saw his furry 6 pack of abs and his defined obliques; I even saw some pubes sticking out of his waistband. I popped an erection right there. I looked away to finish assisting my current customer. However, when I next looked over at him, he was staring at me with a cocky grin. He stepped up to the register as I began ringing up his items and started up a conversation with me. “You’re new in town. What’s your name?” “Trevor.” “Well, Trevor. My name is Houston and,” the older man walked up and joined him on the other side of the register, “this is my dad, Ian.” Staring at the two of them, I couldn’t help but focus on their nipples. Ian’s were pushing against the thin fabric of his tank and Houston’s were hard and exposed, almost staring at me. I almost dropped the milk carton by missing the counter because I was so distracted. Ian continued their introduction. “Nice to meet you. I own the gym in town and we live behind it in the small house. We come in about 3 times a week, so we will be getting to know each other.” He paid with a debit card and started loading the bags into his cart. As he was loading, Houston pulled out a business card and wrote something on the back. “Here is the business card for the gym. I work as a personal trainer, so come by if you want to get in shape.” In a whisper, “my cell number is on the back if you want to hang out sometime.” —— That weekend on my day off, I walked over to the gym. Upon walking in, the receptionist greeted me, but Houston came over before the guy could say much more. Houston looked amazing. He had a light sweat and I could smell a musky odor emanating from his body. He was wearing a tight black tank top with the gym logo on the back and black leggings. Houston’s pecs were very prominent and I could see his 6 pack through the shirt. His ass was very perky and round and hot and his thick quads pushed the bulge in his leggings forward. Houston asked if he could show me around; I agreed. He pointed out the cardio room and the weights room. He showed me the steam room, the locker room, and the showers. He showed me Ian’s office. Moved to another room then spoke in a whisper again. “This room is not well known. My dad built it for his bodybuilding days and you are the fifth person that has been shown the posing room.” The posing room was completely mirrored, had hardwood floor and one wall had sofas and bean bags and some ottomans. Houston dropped into one of the large sofas and motioned for me to join him. He pulled out a laptop. And started asking me some questions. “What is your ideal body? Like what is your ultimate goal for working out here?” “I want to be big. I want to be pro bodybuilder size, like bigger than you.” “Okay. Dream big and I believe I can help you as your trainer. So what is your weight goal?” “I am around 280 lbs right now. But it is mostly fat. So my goal is to be about 300 to 320 lbs of muscle with low body fat.” “Wow. So this will be a major lifestyle change for you, which I can also help with.” Houston kept taking notes. “We will need to take body measurements and before photos for motivation and progress tracking. Any questions for me.” I asked the two questions on my mind. “Will you show me how to pose and what is the cost?” Houston chuckled. “Well, for the cost, I will train you and give you guidance for free if you pay for your food and supplements and if you come in during any days off, including half days. As for the posing, I can give you a preview now and I can work with you in terms of posing as part of the training.” While Houston got off the couch, he pulled his shirt off and dropped it where he was sitting. As he walked away from me, I admired the details in his back, the span of his lats, and the sprinkle of hair on his shoulders and upper back. He took his shoes off and started to explain that there were 8 classic poses. “The first pose is, what I believe to be, the most popular. Front double biceps.” Houston had turned around and flexed both of his arms. I hid the hard-on that popped up but couldn’t stop staring. Houston had a nice layer of hair on his pecs and abs and well-maintained bushes in his pits. His biceps were large and his nipples were large and erect. I thought it was cute that he had the signature “outie” belly button. Houston continued with the posing; hitting the Front Lat Spread and the Side Chest. My dick just ached more and more, watching him pose was my fantasy come true. I thought I couldn’t get more turned on, but then Houston peeled off his leggings. He had a jockstrap on underneath. He hit the Side Triceps, then turned around and hit the Back Double Biceps and Back Lat Spread, calling out each pose as he hit it. Like I said, I felt like I could cum at any moment. Houston’s ass was as delicious as I imagined. It had a light coat of hair and was framed well in his jockstraps. I couldn’t get over the definition and size of his quads and hams and calves, also covered in hair. He announced the last two poses he would do: the Front Abdominal-Thigh and the Most Muscular. As he turned around, I was shocked by the size of his hard cock. The head was poking out of the top of his jockstrap and looked like it almost came up to his outie. The arch of his cock pushed the fabric away enough to see his red pubes, even more than what I saw in the grocery store. He kept the forest trimmed well enough. He finished the Most Muscular and chuckled. “It’s been awhile since I made myself hard posing. I apologize.” I barely got out, “No prob.” “You mind if I take care of it here?” “No.” Houston sat back down next to me, pulled off his jockstrap, and started to rub one out. “You can join me if you would like.” I was already hard and felt a little self-conscious, but I pulled my very average 5 inch dick out and started to rub one out as well. As I got close to cumming, I found enough courage to ask him the question. “How big?” His responded in two ways. “This morning I weighed in at 285 pounds and my dick is 8.5 inches long and 2 inches wide.” At those numbers, I came the most I ever had all over myself. This was also the first time I ever came in front of another person. I got cum all over my shirt. Houston noticed that I was finished and did, in my mind, the unbelievable. He forced the back of my head down to his crotch with his large might hand. I opened up and sucked his cock. He worked my head up and down. On the third push down, I took his whole cock with barely a gag. His pubes smelt sweaty and amazing. We went another couple of minutes before I heard him starting to gasp. The next thing I know, I felt a hot, sweet taste in my throat. I swallowed his entire load. As we cleaned up, Houston passed me a tee and struck up another conversation. “So, as an FYI, I am gay and this wasn’t some fling between us or me using you. I purposely stretched so that you would see my abs in the store that day. I thought you were cute.” I was speechless, with the whole jaw hanging open and everything. This big guy was into me. He continued on. “Well, I will still train you and if you want to be 315 pounds of muscle then I will get you there. And I think it will be a lot of fun to tumble in bed with a cute bodybuilder.” Finally, I found some words. “I never actually admitted to anyone that I am gay, my family found porn on my computer and threw me out. And you are the first guy I have done anything with. I must be dreaming.” “No dream. Just you and me in the posing room. I will talk to your boss and see about cutting your hours back so you can train more.” “Well, okay. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.” Houston came up and pecked my left cheek with a kiss and replied “Tomorrow for sure.” I walked home and showered off. I did some sit-ups and push-ups, had dinner, then watched some TV till around 8pm. I stripped off, climbed in bed and jacked off to my mental snapshots of Houston, his muscles, and his cock.
  17. muscleaddict

    Have You Seen These Posing Trunks?

    This is a new story I've been working on which I'll be posting here and on my Muscle Addicts Inc blog. It's written in diary format and sees a muscle addict called Oscar encounter a local bodybuilder. As you can probably guess from the title, there's a pretty heavy focus on posing trunks! HAVE YOU SEEN THESE POSING TRUNKS? Monday July 10th Dear Muscle Diary, Here are five things about muscle that drive me completely and utterly bonkers. #1. Biceps Big, granite hard, croquet ball shaped guns. Huge, freaky, vein encrusted peaks. Insanely pumped, thinly skinned, beyond human biceps. Guns that erupt to heart stopping proportions when blown up in an incredible front double bicep pose. Cannons that explode either side of (and look just as fucking big as!) the head of the muscle beast who owns them when rocking out a cheeky abs and thighs. Biceps that tense into a ball of rock hard, marble-like muscle mass and explode off the upper arm of a bodybuilder when he’s blasting out a massive side chest. FUCK YES! #2. Pecs Mammoth sized, patio slab tits. Absurdly developed, vein plastered chest pillows. Deliciously thick mounds of incredibly dense chest muscle. Pecs that hang off the torso of a jacked up muscle bull, begging to be squeezed, tensed and flexed. Chests that jump up like a cobra trying to attack the owner’s chin when he hits a front lat spread. Tits that bounce up and down like two puppies in a sack when the two hundred plus pounds muscle God they’re attached to decides to treat his adoring audience to a spot of pec bouncing. BOING! #3. Attitude/Cocky Posing For me, diary, the way a bodybuilder poses, and the attitude he adopts when he’s flexing, both on and off stage, has a huge part to play in how hot I find him. Nothing gets me going more than seeing a competition conditioned muscle freak stomping and strutting around a stage while displaying the most outrageously cocky, testosterone fuelled, power packed ‘tude! Ripped up muscle lads who really give it hell on stage, pulling all manner of shamelessly cocky facial expressions. Juiced up muscle pups who scrunch up their faces to absolute buggery and cheekily stick their tongues out as they squeeze their tan drenched mass. Roided up beef monsters who grunt, groan and yell as they crank out their poses with only mission on their minds; to make every audience member cream in their pants. FUCK YEAH LADS! #4. Glutes Obscenely developed, indecently muscular rumps. Enormous sized, gravity defying bottoms. Freakishly striated, line plastered glutes. Alien-like, shredded to buggery booties that explode with lines, details and striations when tensed and flexed on stage. Wafer thin skin encased arses so insanely conditioned you could grab a block of cheddar and use them as a fucking cheese grater. Gigantic orbs of ass meat that greedily gobble up the back of the tiny, shiny posing trunks of the owner. YOINK! #5. POSING TRUNKS! It’s not just the image of competition conditioned bodybuilders that drives me nuts. It’s also the outrageous clothing garments known as posing trunks they’re required on wear on stage. Yes diary ... I FUCKING LOVE POSING TRUNKS!! Brightly coloured, teenie weenie trunks so unbelievably shiny you need sunglasses to look directly at them. Micro sized posers whose stupidly thin straps get pulled up and yanked during a cheeky lat spread (YOINK)! Shiny as shit trunks which get plastered in greasy, golden tan and fucking drenched with the sweat of the muscle bull wearing them during competitions (SLURP)! Bright pink, glute hugging trunks. Glittery gold, bulge stretching trunks. TRUNKS, TRUNKS, TRUNKS! Yours, Oscar Grimes (self confessed, horn crazed muscle addict) Wednesday July 12th Dear Muscle Diary, Oh. My. Fucking. GOD!! You will not bloody believe what has happened. Or what I'm now in possession of, and staring at, right at this very moment. FUCK!! OK, let me start at the beginning. So, tonight was washing night at my local launderette (whoop whoop). Wednesday's are not usually very busy but, for some reason, tonight all of the machines were being used (bugger). I was about to leave when I noticed that one had finished its cycle but, annoyingly, no one seemed to be taking their newly washed clothes out of the machine. I sat on the bench and started to read a book, in hope that the washing would be collected, or that another machine would be freed up shortly. Ten or so minutes into waiting (double fucking bugger) and I was seriously considering giving up and trying again for tomorrow night when, who should walk into the laundrette, but the man who owned the finished washing sitting in the machine. But not just any man. Oh no, diary. A fucking BODYBUILDER!! My jaw almost dropped to the floor when he walked in. Because of where I was sitting, I could only see him from the back initially. He was about six foot tall and built like a brick fucking shit house. A huge barn door back stretched out a black hoodie with the words "DEANO'S GYM" written on the back. Deano’s is a local hardcore bodybuilding gym. If a bodybuilder were to hail from Brighton, he'd almost be guaranteed to have trained there. Two gigantic orbs of ass meat were stretching his black shorts, making up one of the biggest and most perfectly round arses I have ever seen on a man. And on the lower part of his legs sat two ridiculously huge and developed calves. Every single person in the laundrette looked up at the sight of this monstrous bodybuilder waddling through the shop. When he was done throwing his washing into a bag, and finally freeing up the machine, he turned to head for the door, and that's when I managed to get a view of him from the front. Ho. Lee. Fucking. Shit! Well, my eyes went straight to the top of his enormous chest. Peeking out of the top of his gym hoodie zipper, I could just see the top of two plates of thick muscle, separated by a deep groove in between. Other than his shins and his thick bull neck, it was, sadly, the only glimpse of flesh I got to see. But something else more than made up for the that. Now able to see the muscle monster’s face, I could see that he was exceptionally fucking sexy in the looks department. Undeniably British and extremely masculine, but with a hint of boyish charm, I guessed he was no older than his early thirties. His hair was styled into a trendy quiff, but shaved really short at the sides. His complexion, while not quite competition bronzed, was more tanned than the average British man. Even for July. He strolled out of the door with his focus straight ahead, completely ignoring the gawps and stares of every average sized person in the launderette. The way he walked, the way he looked, everything about him just exuded this incredible confidence, that sat just below that fine line which crossed into arrogance. The whole scene was incredibly surreal, not to mention insanely horny. This ginormous sized, juiced up, muscle bull casually strolling through the run down launderette I frequented on an almost weekly bases. FUCK!! So, you're probably now thinking that that's the end of the story? The reason for my overexcitement at the beginning of this diary entry? An awesome and horny muscle sighting involving a huge, gorgeous bodybuilder?! WRONG!! So, with the washing machine previously used by the muscle beast now freed up, I dumped my clothes in there without really paying much attention to what I was doing; my mind still pre-occupied with thoughts of the absurdly sexy, big bummed gorilla I'd just unexpectedly encountered. An hour later, and still on a high from the muscle sighting, I was throwing my now washed clothes into one of the launderette 's tumble dryers when I suddenly noticed something tangled up in my washing which made my heart jump into my fucking throat! In amongst my wet towels and work shirts, I could see something foreign, blue, bright and shiny, and I knew, in an instant, exactly what it was. You know that scene in Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factory, where Charlie Bucket opens the bar of chocolate and gets a glimpse of the shiny golden ticket? Well now I know exactly how Charlie felt. I reached my hand into the dryer, and tentatively pulled on the blue, shiny fabric, just enough to confirm that, mixed up with my washing, was a pair of genuine bodybuilder’s posing trunks! FUCK!! I shut the dryer door, put the spin on and sat back down in the bench; grinning like crazy and barely able to contain my excitement. The gorgeous Deano’s Gym attending muscle bull had accidentally left a pair of his posing trunks in the machine, and I had clearly not noticed them when I'd popped my washing in after him. Of course, the right thing to do in this situation would have been to hand the stray garments in. And normally I would have. But this was no normal situation. And these were no ordinary garments. These were fucking posers! Actual posers from an actual fucking bodybuilder. The thing that turned me on, only second to the type of roided freaks and monsters who wore them on stage. My dick had started to stir and grow the second I clapped eyes on the blue material, and had grown further the moment my fingers had made contact with the fabric. Fuck! I'd actually touched a pair of shiny posers!! FUCK!! I was actually now potentially in possession of a pair for of shiny posers! Triple fucking FUCK! Unless the bodybuilder came back to retrieve them before the dryer stopped, of course. And then I had an image of the muscle bull storming back into the launderette, checking the machine, frantically looking around and approaching the old dear who worked there looking for his missing posing. But such an event did not occur and, before I knew it, my dryer had stopped and my washing was done. There was no way I was going to hand the trunks in, not least of all because I couldn't think of anything more embarrassing than handing a pair of bright blue posers to the lovely, but slightly batty, old woman working there. I could have left them in the dryer I guess. That would have been the second most moralistic thing to do. But I didn't. Because I knew that if I did, I would always regret it. So I did what any sane muscle addict with a rampant love for tiny, glute hugging posing trunks would have done. I scooped my washing from the dryer into my bag, making sure that no item had been left behind. Whilst heading to the door, a man sitting on the bench gave me a curious look, a little like I was a crazy person, because I couldn't wipe the smirk off my face or hide the elation I was feeling knowing that in my bag was a pair of the thinly stripped, super shiny posing trunks of a gorgeous, roid munching competitive bodybuilder. JESUS. FUCKING. CHRIST. The whole walk home I was absolutely buzzing. I kept thinking about what was in my bag at that precise moment, intertwined with my boxer shorts and t-shirts. I couldn't fucking wait to get home and examine the posers further. The moment that came and I was stood in my bedroom with my washing bag placed on the bed, my heart was pounding like crazy. It was madness! How could an item of clothing stir such intense feelings in me? I rummaged through the bag and, once again, my dick began to swell and my excitement grew when my fingers and eyes were met with the shiny blue posing trunk material. Retrieving the freshly washed trunks from the bag I held them up in front of me and just revelled in the horniness and amazingness of what I was holding in my hands. They looked even shinier than they had from the tumble dryer. It sounds crazy - I had seen so many pictures of videos of bodybuilders wearing posing trunks, but never, ever did I imagine that they'd be so shiny in real life. Or that the fabric would feel so good in my fingertips. I ran my hands over the thick, shiny pouch, my fingertips up and down the thin, wiry straps, flipped them around and felt the blue material which made up the back. I suddenly had an image of the muscle bull I'd so brilliantly seen earlier that day waddling towards me in the launderette, hitting a monstrous crab most muscular, tanned up to shit and wearing these very posers and my fully erect cock juddered furiously in my boxers. I don't know why I did what I did next. I bought the trunk pouch to my nose and, bringing the material to my face, I took a big sniff of the shiny fabric. Predictably, I was hit with the smell of fabric conditioner. But there was something else hidden there too - the incredibly horny scent of the material itself, which no doubt would have been stronger, sexier and more intense when the muscle bull had bought them brand new. I wanted more than anything to take my jeans and boxers off. To work the trunks up my regular sized, non muscular legs and nestle my throbbing cock into the shiny blue pouch. But something stopped me. The knowledge that they weren't really mine. Somehow, it just didn't feel right. Instead, I just I lay the trunks on my bed and marvelled at the beauty and all out fucking sexiness of them. A pair of bodybuilders posing trunks. Brighter, shinier and hornier than I could ever have imagined. Yours, Oscar Grimes (sort of proprietor of tiny, shiny posing trunks - FUCK!)
  18. dw2098lj

    The Car Salesman - Chapter 2

    Chapter 2 With every step and every breath in of the cold winter air I felt as if a spell was lifting. My attraction to Karl and fixation on his huge muscles and enormous cock was being replaced with sheer disbelief at what had just happened. Slowly my thoughts were becoming my own again as my mind raced through the events of the last couple of hours. How had I as a straight man, who’d never had any interest in other men, let myself be used by that gym-rat, the epitome of everything I despised? As I turned the key in the front door of my house and heard the lock click open I came to a sudden realisation. I had been drugged. It was the only explanation I could think of to explain the bizarre events of today. Somehow Karl had fed me some illegal substance which had an abnormal and extreme effect on me. But how had he done it? I’d not had anything to eat or drink whilst I was there and to be honest the effects had been almost immediate, pretty much from the start of our encounter. It was then, sat in the dark on the sofa in my living room, that I remembered the strange but seductive scent coming off Karl that I’d noticed as soon as I met him. Still dazed from the afternoon, I could almost hear the cogs of my brains turning over, trying to connect the dots. Finally, something clicked and I remembered the strange looking bottle, “Alpha Scent”, which I’d glimpsed in Karl’s desk. Yes, that was it! Clearly this scent had some pheromones or something in it that caused extreme desire in whoever smelt it. Ridiculous as it sounded, it was the only possible explanation I could come up with. The longer I sat there on the sofa, the more my confusion and embarrassment were replaced with anger. Luckily for me, my wife wasn’t due home from work for 2 hours – I needed a plan. *** Two days later I was sat outside Karl’s office, waiting to pick up my new car. My heart was racing at the plan I’d concocted but I was confident that it would work, having spent several hours over the last few days perfecting it. A few minutes after I arrived, Karl’s office door opened and an attractive woman in her early 40s left. I could tell from her harassed look and the fact that her blouse wasn’t buttoned up correctly that she had just been subjected to the “Karl” treatment. The huge man himself appeared in the doorway a few seconds later, his shirt unbuttoned at the top, covered in a sheen of sweat from his most recent workout. “Give me two minutes Joe,” he called, grabbing a towel from behind the door and heading down the corridor to where I guessed the showers were. I nodded in reply, glad that Karl clearly had a strict routine between clients, something that my plan relied on. As soon as the shower room door had clicked shut I leapt up, pleased that there were no other staff members around (for obvious reasons Karl’s office was away from everyone else). I opened the door to Karl’s office before sneaking in and shutting the door quietly behind me. I hurried over to his desk, not knowing how literal Karl’s “two minutes” would be, and opened the top draw. I picked up the strange bottle, turning it over to read the label on the back: “Instructions: Use 2 sprays for instant results lasting 24 hours. Re-apply after showering”. There was no mention of what the “instant results” were but I could have a good guess. Conscious of the time, I pulled two bottles out of my pocket, one an empty aftershave bottle, the other filled with water that I’d dyed purple to match the fluid in the “Alpha Scent” bottle. I quickly poured the contents of the “Alpha Scent” into my empty aftershave bottle which I put safely in my pocket. I then substituted it with the dyed water from my other bottle before screwing the top back on and replacing the strange bottle in Karl’s top drawer. The colour wasn’t an exact match so I’d have to hope Karl wouldn’t pay too much attention to it. It was then I noticed something. In my rush to get into his office and steal his treasured secret, I hadn’t noticed that Karl’s masculine scent still filled the room, even though he was no longer there. I found myself inhaling deeply, yet again allowing his aroma to fill my head. Images of his full, thick chest and bulging veiny biceps immediately flashed across my mind. I started to imagine the feeling of his big manly cock deep in my tight ass, to feel him plough me with all his strength and power. All thoughts of my carefully worked out plan left my head as I noticed that my cock was rock hard and throbbing. I unbuttoned my jeans, letting them fall to the floor before pushing down my tight boxer briefs, letting out my aching cock. I wrapped my hand around it, jerking slowly as I thought about running my hands over his swollen chest and ripped abs. I was excited to think that Karl would be back at any second and I wanted to be ready to please him. I found myself getting into position on his desk as I had the other day, face down, ass ready for him to slide his cock in as soon as he came through the door. Suddenly the blinds rattled and a gust of wind blew in through the open window. It hit me straight in the face, clearing my head and allowing just a second of rational thought. That was all I needed – I immediately jumped off Karl’s desk, pulled up my boxers and jeans and ran out the door, all without taking another breath. My heart was racing as I settled myself in the chair outside Karl’s office just as the door to the shower room opened down the corridor. Karl looked pristine yet again, freshly showered and in clean smart clothes, a confident smile on his face. Thankfully the feelings of lust had past as quickly as they’d started now that I was out of the confined environment of Karl’s office and I was able to focus once again. “Right Joe, let me just get your keys and we’ll have you sorted in no time,” Karl said as he passed me, entering the office I’d only seconds ago vacated myself. I was sure I’d left everything as it should be but still my heart was racing. I suspected that Karl would be re-applying the “Alpha Scent” after his shower but would he notice straight away the swap I’d made? My entire plan hinged on this moment. A minute later Karl came out, his confident smirk plastered to his face as usual, the keys to my new car in one hand, the final agreement in the other. “Let’s go out to your car then Joe,” Karl said, with no acknowledgement of the events of the other day but more importantly, no evidence that he’d noticed the swap at all. “Sure thing Karl,” I said, trying to sound more relaxed than I felt. As I followed behind, I tentatively inhaled, but there was nothing, no trace of the alluring odour and my head remained clear. When we’d reached the car, Karl showed me around the outside again before we got in. Once inside, I was aware yet again how much space Karl occupied but it didn’t seem to affect me as it had done the other day. “Well Joe, here’s the key… I just need one more signature from you,” Karl said, handing me the final agreement. As I signed, I noticed that Karl had his arm up on the window again and was casually flexing his biceps as he looked across at me. I smiled as I handed the agreement back to him. “Right Karl, I’ll be going then if that’s everything,” I said confidently. “Oh yeah, erm, sure Joe,” clearly surprised by my lack of interest in his flexing muscles, “unless you want to go for round two,” he added, attempting a deep seductive voice which just sounded hollow to me without the effects of the “Alpha Scent”. He rested one of his giant hands on the equally giant bulge in his trousers but even this didn’t affect me. “No thank Karl,” I said, still trying to stay at ease, “I’ll be going now. Thanks for your help.” “Erm…ah…well, no problem, Joe,” Karl said as he prised himself out of the car, clearly confused at my resistance. “See you around Karl,” I said through the open window as I started to pull away. As I left the forecourt I smiled as I caught sight of the giant muscle man in my rear-view mirror, a look of intense confusion on his face. Little did he know it was only just beginning. *** Twenty minutes later I was standing in my bedroom at home, the bottle of aftershave, now containing the “Alpha Scent” in my hand. I hesitated, torn between sensibility and the desire to try it on myself before my wife got home and see what effect it had on her. We’d been trying to think of ways to liven up our sex life and I hoped this would be the answer, causing her to experience the same indescribable lust for me that I’d experienced for Karl. But then again, I didn’t really know what the true effects of this spray were and I suspected it definitely wasn’t legal. In the end my desire and curiosity won out and before I knew what I was doing I’d squirted two sprays on my neck. The pure “Alpha Scent” smelt great, kind of woody but other than that there was no noticeable change in me. I started to feel a bit stupid as I stood there and suspected that I had just gone to extreme lengths to steel what was essentially just a bottle of aftershave. At that moment though a strange warm feeling started spreading from my neck, where I had sprayed the “Alpha Scent”, down into my chest. It felt as though my shoulders and chest were pulsing with energy, the warm feeling spreading out into my arms too. Suddenly, I noticed that my normally loose-fitting blue t-shirt felt a bit tight around my chest and I looked down to see that my chest was actually starting to swell. “Fuck, I’m growing,” I said out loud, unable to help myself. I watched and felt as my biceps started to expand too, pulsing as they got bigger, huge veins popping up under the skin. My arms felt like they were surging with power and soon they were straining the sleeves of my small top. Without even thinking, almost on instinct, I brought both arms up into a double biceps, flexing hard the muscles which until now had been tiny and pathetic. I heard the loud RIP as both sleeves split down the seam, bursting open to allow my biceps and triceps to continue growing. “This feels fucking amazing,” I called out, my voice noticeably deeper and more masculine, as I continued to flex and pump my biceps. The warm feeling had now reached my groin and quads and the most amazing sensation hit me, like I was having a continuous orgasm. Waves of pleasure flooded through my veins as I looked down to see that the bulge in my jeans was swelling slowly, pushing out as I felt my cock grow. My expanding quads were quickly filling out my jeans too and I could hear the material creaking as it struggled to contain them. My attention was then pulled back to my still swelling chest, which was now way too big for the size ‘S’ T shirt. My back too was expanding, pulling the shirt even tighter and stopping me from being able to breathe properly. “GGGRRRRRRRRRR,” I roared as I reached up to the neck of the t shirt, pulling it straight down and hearing the fabric tear as I ripped it off in one go. “FUCK, I’m a beast,” I screamed, looking down at my exposed torso, as I threw the shredded top on the floor. Beneath my swollen pecs I could see the little bit of body fat I had disappearing, exposing tight ripped 8-pack abs which pushed up like cobble stones. I ran one of my hands down them, enjoying the feeling of ripped muscle under my fingers. Beneath my tiny, tight waist, my quads were still growing, feeling so tight in my jeans that I knew that I needed to get them off soon. No sooner had I thought this I heard another rip and realised it was too late. My huge quads had torn the fabric on either side of my jeans and I could see the exposed muscle underneath. I flexed each of my humungous quads in turn, extending the tear on either side with colossal grunts. I then reached down, grabbing the waist band with my two hands and pulling down to complete the job, ripping my jeans off and throwing them on the floor. “I’m so STRONG,” I roared, unable to hold back as I started flexing, the growth now slowing and the warm feeling starting to subside. I looked at myself in the mirror on the wall – I now had the body of a serious weight-lifter, not quite as big as Karl, but still pretty huge. My face too looked more masculine, chiselled, with a sharp jaw-line with a light dusting of stubble. My torso had a covering of dark, manly hair that had sprung up in the last two minutes on my previously hairless body. The bulge in my boxers was verging on obscene as my rock hard cock tented the fabric. I quickly pulled off my boxers, feeling as my much bigger cock slapped up against my abs. “FUCK,” I moaned, as I looked down at my throbbing cock which was at least 8” long, about 2” longer and much thicker than before my growth spurt. A steady stream of pre was leaking out as I continued to flex in front of the mirror, appreciating my new muscle body. I ran my hands over my pumped chest, amazed at the weight of my pecs and noticing the deep defined valley that ran between them. I flexed each bicep in turn, trying to wrap the other hand round each mound of marble-like muscle to no avail. The huge veins which had popped up during my growth were still there and snaked like a road map down my bulging biceps and forearms. Still flexing, I wrapped one hand around my thick cock and started jerking, feeling the pleasure quickly rising in me. “MMMM, you’re a beast Joe,” I moaned to myself, so turned on by my own muscles. I couldn’t stop running my other hand over my torso as I jerked, marvelling in the feel of the solid muscles now strapped onto my previously weedy frame. Only minutes ago I’d been a tiny 33yo, with a bit of a beer-gut. Now I was a total alpha muscle stud. This thought drove me on closer to climax as I let out low, deep moans and grunts. I jerked my cock faster, still flexing as I watched in the mirror. “Oh fuck,” I moaned, “I’m gonna fucking shoot…”. I worked myself up more and more, relishing the new length and girth of my cock and the sticky pre-leaking from it. Huge grunts escaped my mouth as my massive chest heaved with each breath drawn in. Within seconds I felt my full, aching balls tighten and I had nearly collapsed to the floor in the most intense orgasm of my life, surpassing even when I’d been with Karl the other day. It was like my whole body exploded in pleasure, each of my newly engorged muscles flooding with an indescribable sensation. “AAHHHHHHHH,” I screamed in ecstasy as rivers of warm cum erupted from my huge cock, splashing over the mirror and floor, the final few spurts dribbling down my huge ripped quads. I gazed at the sight in the mirror – I was amazed at the huge hunk of muscle standing in front of me, his colossal chest heaving over tight ripped abs and an enormous thick cock still leaking cum onto the floor. I couldn’t believe this muscle stud was me. I ran my hands up over my cobbled abs and thick chest, feeling sweat and cum mingling together over the rock solid muscle underneath, before falling backwards onto the bed in blissful exhaustion.
  19. dw2098lj

    The Car Salesman - Chapter 1

    This is the first story I've posted so go easy on me! It takes a while to get going but hopefully you'll enjoy it - I've got a few ideas to take this further The Car Salesman It was the worst possible timing. Two weeks into my new job and a month before Christmas my decrepit car had breathed its last. The stupid worthless piece of shit, which had caused me endless pain over the last 2 years, had finally given up on life. It was for this reason that I was making my way across the showroom forecourt for my meeting with Karl, the car salesman. I had an increasing sense of nervousness as I got towards the door which in my mind was entirely justified. You see, I am of the opinion that Car Salesmen will occupy the same part of hell as estate agents and lawyers and I was fully expecting to spend the next 2 hours being lied to, tricked and conned out of my hard-earned money. These thoughts were broken by the sight of the man-mountain waiting for me in the doorway. It turned out that Karl was about 6’2 and built like a tank, with I guessed way over 250lb of solid muscle to his name. He was wearing a long-sleeve tight white shirt with an accompanying tie and equally skin-tight dark blue trousers. Great. A gym-obsessed arrogant bastard as well. I could feel my stress level rising even more. “You must be Joe,” he called loudly, when I was about 10 feet away, smiling broadly. I took in his masculine face, dark hair and lightly tanned skin. He must have been a couple (or more) years younger than me, maybe mid-20s. “Y-yes, that’s me,” I replied stupidly, immediately cross with myself for showing any sign of weakness in front of this overconfident gym-jock. He reached out his hand and I shook it, trying not to wince at the strength of his grip. I noticed that his huge manly hand completely engulfed my own and I could feel the callouses on his palm from the many hours he spent lifting weights. “Come on in, we’ll get started,” he said, finally letting go of my aching hand as he turned to lead me into the building. I followed behind, noticing how wide his back was, pulling his tight shirt to the limits, but tapering down to an impossibly small waist. I was irrationally irritated, never having been interested in lifting weights myself, and always slightly annoyed with people who did. I just didn’t get it. Travelling in Karl’s wake, I was also struck by the scent coming off him. It was oddly sweet, nutty but undeniably masculine, likely a combination of aftershave and his own natural smell. I pulled myself back from the brink. Why the fuck was I noticing these things?! Once inside Karl’s spacious office, I settled myself in the comfy chair in front of his desk and watched as he walked round to sit opposite me. I found my eyes tracing down from his chiselled jaw-line, a slight hint of 5 O’clock shadow there, to his huge neck. The muscles there (traps, I heard the distant voice of my A-level Biology teacher saying) pushed out the buttoned up collar of his shirt to an extreme. It was a wonder he managed to do the buttons up at all. I then took in his unbelievably wide shoulders before focussing on his chest. His pecs jutted out from his body, pulling the fabric of his shirt tight so that there were gaps between the buttons in the middle. I could see a glimpse of smooth tanned skin underneath. As Karl moved and gestured his muscles flexed and relaxed under the surface of his clothes, like an elaborate dance played out for me. It was hypnotising watching his biceps pull the sleeves of his shirt tight, desperate to break free with every movement. Suddenly I realised that Karl was talking (well of course he was) and probably had been for some time. What the fuck was I thinking? I’d not listened to a word he’d said for a good 5 minutes. I tried to drag myself back to the present, away from my thoughts about this gym-rats bulging muscles when I noticed something even stranger than my distraction. I was rock-hard. My not-unimpressive cock was aching painfully in my tight jeans, throbbing with lust. Now I was properly confused. Well, a bit more than that and many other things besides. I was straight I told myself…married…and happily so. I’d never even looked at a guy like this before let alone got hard over one. But I couldn’t ignore it and the bulge in my jeans wouldn’t let me deny it. I tried to calm down, to re-focus my attention back on what Karl was saying, desperate to make sure I wasn’t going to be conned. Unfortunately, Karl chose that moment to lean back in his chair, lifting up both arms and placing them behind his head, the epitome of confidence and control. This movement caused his biceps to flex, the tight fabric of his shirt like a second skin on his bulging muscles. My cock ached even more as I realised that if he flexed hard he would easily rip the thin fabric. What the fuck was happening to me?! Next, and totally inexplicably, my eyes were drawn downwards. Now that Karl was leaning backwards, away from his desk, an obscene bulge in his tight blue trousers was revealed. It was colossal, like the proverbial python in his pants, the outline of his cock snaking down his left trouser leg. Suddenly I had a vision of ripping off those quad-hugging trousers, unleashing the beast underneath and taking his thick long cock in my…. Wooaaah! Where the fuck was I going with that? Why, aged 33 was I suddenly thinking about sucking another guy’s cock for the first time?! Suddenly Karl was standing up, snapping me out of my reverie. “… so are you ready to go then Joe?” I heard him say, clearly repeating himself. “R-ready?” I replied, trying to gain some control. “For your test drive,” he said, the look on his face suggesting he thought I was either a bit slow or very unwell. “Oh yeah, sure,” I hurried to reply, standing up as well. Karl was very close to me and again I noticed the strange, intoxicating scent coming off him and I couldn’t help but inhale deeply. This was a big mistake as it made me feel dizzy, my entire mind filled with his masculine smell and also visions of Karl ripping off his smart work clothes to reveal mounds of bulging muscle underneath. I nearly had to sit straight back down again but somehow managed to keep it together. “Great, well follow me and we’ll go for a spin,” Karl said, seemingly oblivious to the turmoil going on in my head. With that, he walked out of his office and I followed on behind, my eyes feasting on his solid, round glutes, jutting out below that tight waist. I noticed that his quads were so big he walked with his legs slightly apart, almost awkwardly, something that 20 minutes ago I would have found totally ridiculous. Now, however, his sheer size was driving me crazy, irrational lust pumping through me. We settled into the car, well I settled whilst Karl squeezed himself into the passenger seat, clearly far too big for the small car that I was intending to buy. “I’d need a car with a bit more head and leg room myself,” he joked, at ease. “But this’ll be perfect for you Joe”. I laughed awkwardly, uneasy at the comparison and as much as I tried to deny it, unbelievably turned on. “Right, take it away Joe. Turn right off the forecourt and I’ll direct you,” Karl continued and I noticed for the first time how deep his voice was. A strange juxtaposition to his boyish face and smooth skin. I gently eased the car away, forcing myself to focus; ideally I wanted to get through the next twenty minutes without killing us both. To my credit (and surprise) it went well to start with. I concentrated on the car, examining its acceleration, ride and general comfort as we took it on a drive around town. Karl kept up a near constant stream of conversation in the way that only people trying to sell you something can. I picked out the odd word but was mainly focussing on the car and not the young behemoth next to me. We came to a red light and I brought the car to stop, setting the handbrake. Karl was still talking and in order not to be rude I looked across, a near-fatal mistake. My cock, which had somewhat deflated during the drive, immediately jumped and started to grow again as I saw Karl’s arm rested up on the window. He was gripping the handle above the window which meant his bicep was gently flexed. From this angle I could see how much the fabric was struggling to contain the rock solid muscle underneath. I imagined trying to wrap my hands round it – I knew they wouldn’t reach – and wondered what it would feel like to try and squeeze his biceps. Inexplicably I found my gaze falling southwards again, past Karl’s mammoth pecs and further down to the bulge in his trousers. It was an amazing sight, his thick cock tenting the material obscenely, making my mouth water with lust. I had an urge to unzip his fly, pull out that beast and suck on his hot big cock head. I wanted to gradually slide more and more of his thick hard man cock deep into my mouth, tasting his pre in the back of my throat, before feeling him shoot his huge load in me. “Joe…Joe…JOE! The light’s green,” I heard Karl’s voice cutting through. I immediately looked up and back towards the road, noticing that Karl had a slight smirk on his face. Shit. He’d seen me staring straight at his huge junk probably with a look of deep desire on my face if my thoughts were anything to go by. I jerked the car into gear, pulling off and nearly stalling in my haste but Karl didn’t give any further clues that he’d seen me staring at him. Ten minutes later, as we got out of the car and made our way back to Karl’s office, my head was racing. I’m not gay, I told myself over and over. This was ridiculous – I’d never had any thoughts about other guys, not like I was thinking about Karl. My mind kept flicking back to the way his over-developed muscles made his clothes strain, the way they flexed and swelled with every movement and not least about the huge bulge resting between his tree-trunk quads. I imagined being on my knees, his huge thick man cock sliding between my lips… The door slamming behind me snapped me out of my racing thoughts. We were back in Karl’s office, me sat opposite him across the desk again. “So Joe, what do you think?” Karl asked, pushing a contract across the table, “ready to sign on the dotted line?”. I hesitated. I really hadn’t been paying enough attention to make this decision, far too distracted by the muscle beast sat opposite me. “Erm, well I’m not sure Karl,” I replied feebly. “I think I’ll need some time to think about it.” “Time is not something I have Joe - I can only offer you this deal today,” Karl said, to the point and confident. “I just don’t know Karl, maybe I can call you later to decide?” I attempted to negotiate, desperate to get out of this place and restore some normality to my thoughts. “Hmm, that won’t work for me Joe. But perhaps I can offer you something to sweeten the deal,” Karl replied, a smirk on his face. He got up out of his chair, huge quads straining the fabric of his trousers, and walked round the desk to shut the blinds across the windows. I watched, confused, as he then walked behind me and I heard a soft click as he locked the office door. What was going on, I thought for the millionth time today. “I’ve seen the way you look at me Joe,” Karl said, typically straight to the point, his voice deep and seductive. He’d returned to stand in front of me, one foot up on the desk so that his huge quads and obscene bulge were right in front of my face. “You can have all of this if you want,” he added, gently grabbing his bulge in one hand and running a big hand across his chest with the other. “You just need to sign for it…” “I-I d-don’t know what you mean…” I stammered pathetically, suddenly more nervous than I’d been in my entire life. “I-I’m not Gay,” I added with no confidence at all. “Sure, you’re not Joe. But who wouldn’t want some of this?” Karl purred as he undid his tie, discarding it on the floor. I watched in amazement as he began to slowly unbutton his shirt, revealing bit by bit the deep groove between his two huge pec muscles. I wanted to scream at him, to tell him to stop it, to run for the door but found I couldn’t move or speak, completely transfixed by what was going on in front of me. “I can see you want me Joe…why deny it?”. Karl was still smiling, utterly confident. “Just admit to me Joe…you can’t resist this muscle body…you’re hard for me…I can see,” he added, looking at the bulge in my jeans. He was right – I was harder than I’d ever been in my life before and he knew it. My heart was racing, pure lust flooding my veins as thoughts of this giant hung muscle stud filled my head. “Yes…” I whispered feebly, without thinking. “Yes, what?” Karl replied, his shirt now completely undone. I had a glimpse of his ripped abs, what looked like an 8-pack, sitting beneath the huge overhand of his pecs. “Yes, I want you,” I said, knowing deep down it was true. Karl smiled broadly in response, starting to run his hands over his exposed chest and abs, leaning back seductively so that they flexed tightly. “Well you know what to do then Joe…just sign on the line,” Karl said, closing in on the deal, one of his hands drifting downwards to grab the thick bulge in his trousers again. My eyes followed his exploring hands, imagining that it was mine tracing the outline of his abs, feeling the weight of those enormous pecs and heavy cock. “Please…Karl…” I let out involuntarily, lust now totally taking over. “Let me…” “Let you what, Joe?” teased Karl, clearly enjoying his effect over me. “Let me feel your muscles…flex for me…I need to…” I moaned, the words spilling out as I lost control. “You mean flex these guns?” Karl asked, bringing his arms up to pull a double biceps. He flexed hard, his guns exploding, the thin fabric of his shirt pulled so tight over the peaked mounds of muscle. He gently pumped his guns, flexing harder each time as the muscles filled with blood until eventually I heard a small ripping sound as the seam began to pull apart. “Oh fuck,” I exclaimed, amazed by his strength and power. “You like that straight boy?” Karl said, still flexing as visible gaps formed on both sides of his shirt sleeves, exposing the pumped muscle underneath. “The straight guy is hungry for this Muscle God and his Huge Cock isn’t he…?” “Oh fuck yes,” I replied, giving in. “I need you…please…”. “You can have me Joe…all of me…you just have to sign the contract,” Karl replied, unrelenting. “How can I trust that you’ll keep your side of the bargain,” I asked, one final part of my logical self still present. “You can’t Joe…but isn’t this worth the risk?” he replied, gesturing at his hulking frame and then starting to undo his belt. With that I was totally overcome, all logic leaving me. I reached for the contract, pulling it across the desk and scrawling my signature on the dotted line before I had time to change my mind. I then looked up to see Karl standing right in front of me, a huge smirk on his face, his belt undone and his trousers falling to the floor. As he stepped out of them I took in the sight of his colossal bulge, barely kept in by the sexy white jock strap he was wearing, the outline of his thick cock clearly visible. With his trousers off, he took one further step closer to me, straddling my legs, one of his tree-trunk quads on either side and his magnificent chest and abs right in front of my face. Karl was so close to me that his masculine scent was intoxicating, rolling off him and causing me to inhale deeply. “Looks like taking that risk has paid off Joe…” Karl said, his deep voice incredibly seductive. I couldn’t think of a reply as Karl reached down, taking both of my hands and placing them on his vast chest. I ran my hands over and between each pec muscle, feeling the solid mass underneath as he flexed hard. I then reached up to push his shirt off his shoulders, wanting to see all of him. The shirt got stuck on his massive upper arms and Karl had to help by pulling it off and throwing it to the floor. I continued my worship of this studs upper body, my hands exploring his chest and shoulders before moving onto his biceps. He pulled a double bicep pose again and I reached up to put my hands on each mound of muscle. They were rock hard beneath my fingers, like marble, with barely any body fat and as much as I tried to squeeze I couldn’t budge them at all. “Fuck yeah,” Karl growled. “Look how strong I am…” As he flexed his guns, huge veins popped up, snaking across his paper-thin skin like a road map. Fuck this stud was ripped. Still holding onto his biceps, I leaned in closer, licking up the groove between his cobbled abs. I looked up and saw the amazing overhang of his chest and nearly shot a load right there. Karl was looking down at me smiling, Godly and powerful. “Get on your knees,” Karl ordered, taking a step back. I didn’t hesitate, dropping onto the floor in front of him. “It’s time for you to realise your potential as my cock whore Joe,” he added, looking down at me. “Mmm yes Sir, please make this straight boy your cock whore,” I moaned, desperate for him, immediately submitting with no questions asked. “Take off my jock,” Karl barked. “Don’t touch my cock yet…” Obediently I reached forward, taking the straps of his jock and starting to pull it down, revealing inch by inch of his thick cock, until it was completely exposed. I realised that Karl’s jock had been deceptive, hiding some of the size of his enormous manhood. His soft uncut cock was at least 6 inches and thick too, resting on the two globes of his big balls. A Greek God would have been happy to have a cock and balls like his. Karl stepped out of the jock before reaching down and picking it up. Before I knew what was happening he had it pressed in front of my mouth, holding the back of my head to stop me pulling away. “Smell it straight boy,” Karl ordered. My initial reaction had been to resist but within an instant an animalistic instinct had taken over and I was inhaling deeply. The same scent that was rolling off Karl filled my head but with the added musk of his cock making my head spin and my heart race. My mouth was watering and almost reflexively I opened it and felt as Karl pushed the jock into my mouth. I could now taste him too and for the second time had to try hard not to shoot my load there and then. “Good boy,” Karl purred as he removed the jock from my mouth, discarding it on the floor with the rest of his clothes. With the taste of his cock lingering on my tongue, I was desperate to have the real thing in my mouth, hungry to suck on his huge man meat. “Suck on my cock, whore…just the head to start,” Karl ordered, clearly reading the desperation in my eyes. I leaned in, resting my hands on his thick quads as I wrapped my lips around his cock, sucking his cock head in my mouth. It was better than I could ever imagine, making me feel more complete than I’d ever been in my life. His man meat tasted amazing as I sucked, bobbing my head back and forwards on his huge cock head, swirling my tongue round, hungry to please him. It wasn’t long before I felt his cock starting to grow in my mouth and Karl started to let out low guttural moans. “Mmmmm…fuck yeah that feels good cock boy.” I looked up to see Karl throwing his head back, eyes shut, arms flexed above his head, groaning in pleasure. Without being asked I started to take more and more of his cock into my mouth, as if I’d done this a thousand times before. He was now fully hard and I guessed around 10 inches, his thick girth forcing my lips apart as I felt his cock hit the back of my throat. Karl moaned even more deeply, grabbing the back of my head and starting to thrust his cock more and more into my mouth. “Fuck, this straight boy loves my cock,” Karl growled, thrusting faster, oblivious as I tried to control my gag reflex. I was so hard knowing that he was using my mouth solely for his pleasure, with no concerns for me. Suddenly, Karl pulled his cock out of my mouth, leaving me feeling empty. I tried to lean forwards and take his manhood back in my mouth but Karl held me back, slapping me on the side of my face with his heavy tool. “Stand up, slut,” he ordered, always in control. I obeyed instantly. “Take off your jeans and pants,” he added. I did as he asked, taking off my t shirt too for good measure, both of us now fully naked and standing opposite each other. The comparison between us was humiliating. Without warning Karl grabbed me by both arms and lifted me up, his huge biceps bulging but dealing with my weight with ease. He put me down next to his desk before pushing me over so that I was face down, bent at the waist with my feet on the floor. With a click of realisation I realised too late where this was going. “No Karl…stop…I can’t…” I whimpered, trying to move but unable as he had kept one of his strong hands resting on my back. “Yes you can Joe…I know you want it,” he replied, completely relaxed. “You’re too big Karl….I’ve never done it before,” I pleaded, a sense of fear rising in me. “Don’t worry Joe, we’ll work up to it,” he said and I could hear the smirk on his voice. There was a sucking sound before I felt his wet finger pressing on my tight hole which immediately tightened in response. “Just relax Joe, I know you want me in you,” Karl murmured. I tried to relax, knowing it would be worse if I didn’t. He pressed his finger against my hole again but this time my ass relaxed and I felt it slide into me. After the initial flash of pain I was left with the most amazing feeling as Karl started to move his finger in and out. “Oh fuck,” I moaned into the desk. Karl worked my ass harder and then he hit a spot in me that made my whole body shiver, pure pleasure throwing through me. I let out a long moan and then had an epiphany, realising that his cock in me instead of his finger would magnify this feeling a thousand-fold. “More…”I begged simply, now desperate to have my ass filled. I felt as he slid his finger out of my hole followed by another sucking sound as he got another finger ready. He then pressed both against my hungry hole and I groaned as he entered me again. My ass felt amazing as he began finger-fucking me with two fingers. I was moaning over and over in pleasure as Karl kept up a constant stream of dirty-talk. “You’re my little straight cock whore aren’t you?” he taunted. I knew it was true and moaned as he started to fuck me harder and faster, pushing my ass back so that he would enter me even more. Soon I was getting used to the feeling of his fingers and was yet again hungry for more. “Please Karl…I need your cock in me,” I begged. “Say that again slut boy,” he ordered in reply, pulling his fingers out of my ass, leaving it feeling empty. “I need that huge muscle cock in me…..please…..” I moaned, still lying face-down on the desk. I heard as Karl rummaged in a draw for something…lube I hoped. “Mmmm yes you do Joe, you need this huge man cock in your tight straight ass,” he teased. “What does that make you Joe,” he added. “Oh fuck I’m you’re Cock Whore,” I practically shouted. “I’m a slut for your muscle and Huge Cock…please FUCK ME”. With that I felt the enormous head of Karl’s cock pressing up against my hole. I moaned as he started to push forward, entering me inch by inch, the pain in my ass building as he opened it up. “Oh fuck,” I screamed, “you’re so big!”. Still he kept sliding in…how much more could there be to go?! A lot, it turned out but eventually I felt Karl’s balls resting up against my ass and knew I’d taken it all. Karl held still, letting me get used to his huge size and thick girth and slowly the pain was replaced by the most amazing pleasure I’d ever experienced. I was now complete and knew my place in the world as Karl’s cock whore. Slowly Karl started to slide his cock in and out of my tight hole, each time going a little bit further and building up speed. “Fuck…that feels amazing,” I moaned. For the first time I looked up and realised there was a mirror behind Karl’s desk reflecting what was going on behind me. Karl was holding me by the waist, his bulging guns flexing as he started to plough my ass, veins popping and a sweat developing on his wide chest and shoulders. He started to fuck me faster, letting go of my waist and bring his arms up into a double biceps as his cock still drilled into me. “Fuck yeah, look at these guns,” he roared like an animal. “They’re so FUCKING HUGE!!”. He kissed and licked each one in turn before putting his hands back on my waist. I screamed in pleasure as he pulled me back further onto his cock, feeling his amazing strength and power completely dominate me. “Oh FUCK….your cock is so BIG,” I screamed. “Own this fucking straight boy ass,” I moaned. Karl was now thrusting his cock in and out to the hilt, fast and deep, letting out loud masculine grunts as the sweat continued to pour off him. His stamina was amazing and he didn’t let up at all as he owned my virgin ass. I watched in the mirror as he flexed his chest and biceps, his abs continuously pulled tight by the fucking. After a few minutes I knew that I wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer, my cock ready to shoot a huge load over the desk despite not touching myself. “Please Karl….I need your load in me,” I begged as he continued to thrust. “Yeah slut? You want me to breed that straight ass?” he thundered. “FUCK! YEAH! Please cum in me,” I moaned. Amazingly, Karl picked up his pace even more, slamming even harder into my ass, balls slapping with each thrust. His deep masculine grunts filled the room and I knew he was getting close. “Cum in this straight boy ass,” I begged, coaxing him on and pushing my ass further back so that was as deep in me as possible. “Oh FUCK slut,” he screamed. “I’m gonna fucking…..”. I felt as his cock swelled in my ass and with a final roar he ploughed into me one last time. I felt his huge load filling me up as my own cock exploded over the desk in the most intense orgasm of my life. Karl collapsed forwards on top of me, sweat pouring off us as we both bucked and moaned from our amazing relief. The huge weight of Karl lying on top of me made the feeling even more intense and I thought I would die if it didn’t end soon. It was several minutes before our breathing began to settle to normal and I had a chance to lift my head off the desk. In the mirror I could see the huge mass of Karl resting on top of me, his massive back swelling with each breath he took. I looked embarrassingly tiny in comparison but I didn’t care, knowing that he owned me now. In my post-orgasm daze I noticed something strange out of the corner of my eye - an odd-looking purple bottle in the open drawer of Karl’s desk. It was upside down and I’d only managed to read the words “Alpha Scent” on the label before Karl’s huge harm loomed into view and the draw was slammed shut. My confusion was quickly replaced by contentment as I drifted into an easy sleep.
  20. LJackson

    Muscle Worshippers: Chapter 6 of 14

    Chapter 5 is here 6 Olly Thursday, August 28th Eat. Lift. Sleep. Repeat. I've got that written up above my bed now. I hear it in the pulsing of blood in my ears. And with that insistent beat, I feel like I can feel something else stirring, pulsing like a heartbeat. Yesterday, the Beast put a huge paw on my shoulder. I was just out of the shower, with my towel wrapped around my midriff. I was getting ready to step back into my undies and pull my jeans on and head back home to bed. Muscle is torn apart in the gym, fed in the kitchen and built in bed. 'Wait a minute, bro,' he said. 'Look in the mirror.' I turned and looked, and saw it for the first time. I saw mass. I could see it in my arms, my neck, my chest, my belly, my shoulders, my legs, the sharp ridge of my hips. You might not know it if you didn't know me, but it was like a roll of thunder in the still of the night. I could see it in my eyes, too; in my stance, in the fat veins of my arms. I could feel it with every breath I took in, I could feel a greater weight on the balls of my feet. I could feel it in that slow burning ache that never quite fades. My body is putting on muscle. Of course, next to the Beast I still looked almost girlish. It's the body of an athlete. It's powerful, it's stronger than your average guy, it's the kind of thing a popstar has, or a magazine model: it's not nearly enough. But it's a hard body. It indicates that something has begun. I'm strong enough now to start lifting real weights. And it feels like it's come out of nowhere. I'm working hard, so hard. I'm working out nearly every day, lifting free weights and kettlebells till my arms and my thighs and my core are all screaming furiously — but still this is so sudden. I see other guys in the gym working hard, guys with personal trainers, guys who were working out before I started, and they don't have what I've got. And maybe it's in the stance, the look, the fire in the belly. But it's also a fact that I am bigger than them. I've stripped my body of fat now, the little that I had. I see abs, tiny but boulder hard, when I pull on my shirt in the morning. I feel power in my delts and biceps, even when I lift my Astrophysics textbooks out of my suitcase, when I chug down that fucking disgusting protein shake. I wake up and I feel my heart pumping; at night, I feel my body reinvigorated. I want to fuck, twenty-four seven. My brother brought home his girlfriend last night. She's totally sweet and lovely, got a beautiful smile that comes straight out of her eyes. Really friendly. I was in the kitchen with Anthony, asking about her, and he's just so sweet about her. 'We're going out to loads of archaeological sites,' he told me. 'I make a packed lunch, she drives, and it's just so — comfortable. Nourishing.' 'That's great, man,' I said, watching him cook. 'You probably think we're like an old couple,' he said. 'But life's different when you're twenty-one, man. You'll see.' 'I hope not!' I said, with a big fake laugh, glancing back toward the sitting room. All I could think of was, what's she going to do for a dick inside her? Where's she going to get that from? Her boyfriend, who makes the packed lunch and chooses what motorway to use for their day out? That'll hardly touch the sides. In more than one sense. I see girls in the street and I want to go up to them and put my face in between their thighs. I want to taste them, I want to stick my tongue in deep, to drink them down. I want to listen to them lose control with pleasure. I want them to fill my senses with their sex. I want satisfaction. I was hard throughout the dinner my brother cooked. And I could see the way she was glancing at my arms when I filled her wine-glass, at my pecs when she hugged me goodbye (fuck, but they're so sensitive) that she felt the same thing. I'd never do anything against my big brother, but I could have taken her off him, like that: the filthy bitch. I've never been a big one for masturbation. I always thought it was dirty and somewhat shameful. I only ever used my laptop for my studies in the past. But last night, I shut the door carefully, and I pulled the curtains. I turned on my laptop and I searched for sex. In my underpants, the laptop resting on my crotch, pressing on my ever hardening penis. And I'm looking down at my muscle in the light of the screen. Crazy, veiny, raw stuff. I have a strange urge, more than ever, to tweak my nipples. They seem to have grown more sensitive in the last few weeks. I use both hands, thumb and forefinger. But then I feel I need another hand to take care of my dick. I'm watching a muscle guy fucking. Pornography. I never saw the appeal this stuff has. It's there to reach the bits of fantasy at the back of your mind that nobody else can get at. And there he is, older than the Beast but just about as built. And the girl is being pinned down, she's yodelling with pleasure. I reach into my pants for my dick. Here comes the surprise. The thing inside is twice as fat as it used to be. It used to be, quite frankly, a pencil, and now it's a magic marker. It feels heavy in my hand. Where my fist used to close the whole thing in, I can wrap my hand around it now and the cockhead pokes out, plus an inch or two to spare. Not just the normal kind of muscle. Somehow, the other kind of muscle is growing too. I'm enlarging all over, to scale. When my face is reflected in my laptop screen, it looks no less young, and the expression on it — so innocent. My own body is outpacing me. I stroked my new, bigger dick for a while, staring at it almost as much as I was staring at the porn. Then I decided: I'm a scientist. I need to know more. First I Googled: NATURAL COCK ENLARGEMENT and found oceans of scammy sites trying to sell me machines and yoga exercises. Then I tried MAGICAL COCK ENLARGEMENT and found all the same sites, plus a lot of stuff about magic beans and yogic chanting. I tried searching for, BIGGER MUSCLES OVERNIGHT and got diet plans and exercise videos. I tried SUDDENLY BIG MUSCLE, I HAVE A BIG COCK NOW, UNEXPECTED BIG COCK and NEW BIG COCK AND BIG MUSCLE IN THE NIGHT and got back to the porn, most of it gay, which I'm not into. I tried to focus. I was beginning to feel downhearted and dispirited, and even a little scared. Then, like a light in the dark woods, I came across a message board about muscle growth: Muscle Worshippers. I felt I needed to find out if this had happened to someone before. It's not exactly something I want to share with the Beast. I left a message, explaining my situation, took a deep breath, clicked 'send' and went to bed. I dreamed I had emailed that message to the tall guy in the library, and that I was waiting for him to reply. And then it was morning. Before I did anything, I sat down again at my laptop. There were several responses already to my query. BIG DICK LOVER: Hi DulwichBoy, it doesn't sound like you help, it sounds like you need a willing arse. Good news, I have one hear — bad news, I don't live in London. Are you ever in San Francisco? MUSCLE PUP: Your story got me so hot. I jacked off to it twice before I went to bed. I'm London, maybe we should hook up? ASTROMAN: This Beast is obviously one of the great old ones who walk amongst us and bestow bountiful gifts. You must respect his gift and consider what he is trying to show you. Only then will true enlightenment fall upon you. Also, do you have any pictures? GRANT: Whoa, I love the sound of your hot muscles. I wonder where it will stop? I like to think it won't, and by the time you're 25 (nearer my age) you'll already be a hot muscle daddy. Can you come to NY soon? The Big Apple has room for you however big you get. LUVVABOI: I'm in Manchester. I'm working out trying to get as big as I can. Would love to come and share your magic. Pictures, pls. You sound bodacious. MIKEY9+: My dick has never stopped growing. Also, Musclepup, I jacked off when I read that you jacked off. Any pics of you jacking off to DulwichBoy's story? Reading these responses to his story, I felt my dick swell and lengthen in my pyjamas. There was a tingle at the root, a throb in the cockhead. When I pulled it out, I found that it was at least another inch or two longer and fatter than the night before. The cockhead bulged a little more, like a plum ripening in the dew. I could feel the different kind of grip my thumb and fingers made around it. I had to take some action — so I picked up my phone and took a few pictures with a deodorant can for reference. My body was tingling with excitement. It was nearly time to head off to the gym, after all. Quickly I uploaded the pictures to the message board. DULWICHBOY: Since you asked, this is me. Thanks for all the comments. I'm not gay but I appreciate your positivity. About a minute after uploading, I got a response: MUSCLE PUP: Fuck man, that is a nice dick and bod too. You don't need to get any bigger. So hard right now. Heart racing, I typed my response: DULWICHBOY: Like I said, I'm not gay. I like women. But thanks. So, you lift, bro? I wanked my dick, drawn into the atmosphere of sex. It was amazing to feel the new thickness in my palm, and to see muscles bulging in my arm as my fist pumped that I had never been seen before. Ping! Muscle Pup had uploaded a picture. MUSCLE PUP: Been working out a couple of years now. What do you think? Wow. MusclePup was about my age and height, and he'd been working out about twenty times longer than me. And I was bigger than him. I could take him. I knew I could. I pictured myself wrestling him to the ground. Ping! Another message. 6'5LIBRARYUSER: Hey, DulwichBoy. Do I know you? You're rocking some impressive gains. My heart began to beat in my chest. Quickly I exited Muscle Worshippers and retreated to my email inbox. There was a cute email from Sophie, and I read it peacefully, letting my dick soften. I had to get going, after all. It was time to hit the gym. But I've been running it over in my head ever since. I haven't replied to that message board. I don't belong on there. Nevertheless, I log on secretly and read the comments. For at least a week, the comments kept on coming. Guys from all over the world who were hot for my meat. I never even thought that a gay guy might fancy me before this. (Why would I?) But this is crazy. And I absolutely love it. Yeah, you guys. You want this? You want to feel the power in this arm that used to be so powerless? You jizzing in your pants to see a pair of pecs bulging in my t-shirt? And it's more than that, isn't it? I don't just turn you on, little guys. I have power over you. Any of you. I control you. Bring you to me. Dismiss you. I shame you in your most private moments. Worthless, little-dick, weakling cocksuckers: and the gay guys, too! I'm the boss of you all. And I think that's always been in me, even when I was little. I was always a boss waiting to realise it. Alpha at the core, hard at the centre. Now I'm starting to wield that power — just like the Beast. And my teacher — my rival, only he doesn't know it yet — is proud of his work. 'I'm doing it,' he said today, gripping my enlarged shoulder, prodding my hard abs, making me curl and make a bicep and measuring it against his monster. 'I'm bring it out in you. I'm making you bigger, day by day. How do you like that, little librarian?' I met his eye in the mirror. 'Love it, big guy,' I said. 'Love it.'
  21. Chapter One "Oh, you were able to come!" As Roger gave Henry the biggest hug ever recorded in history, his friend gasped "I'm not the Ultimate Musketeer" and as Roger let go he chuckled "Although I could be if you wanted me to!" "We'll save that for the masses!" smiled Roger and with that opened the doors to the SUV and as Henry and Roger piled in all the materials they would need for the Olympia, they jumped in and pointed in the direction of Las Vegas and said in unison "Olympia, HO!" and with that Roger gunned the engine and they were off *** "Your destination is 809 miles away" announced the sat nav as they left Fort Collins "and will take eleven hours and thirty five minutes!" "Wow!" exclaimed Henry, "you do realise that's the same as travelling from where I live to Aberdeen and about two thirds of the way back again. You were right when you said that America was a large country!" "A large country" smiled Roger, "with large men heading to a contest with even larger men!" and with that they both laughed before Roger said "So, how was the flight?" "Flight?" asked Henry, "what flight?" "The flight from the UK to here!" replied Roger "Really?" asked Henry raising an eyebrow, "why on earth would I want to waste money on a flight?" "You never!" gasped Roger to which Henry replied with a chuckle "I did" and with that stated his journey. "I left my home at midnight today" he started, "remembering of course that I'm seven hours ahead of you. I had my luggage with me and so wheeled it down to the beach where I live. Then, and considering it was now a quarter past midnight, I went to the beach hut I have and there I..." "Oh fuck!" moaned Roger, "you did, didn't you?" "...became the Ultimate Musketeer!" added Henry and as he did Roger roared "Oh, fuck, yeah. Go on, tell me what you did!" "Well, after wrapping the luggage onto my back, I dived into the Irish Sea and headed due south west until I got to the Azores a little after three in the morning my time!" "Oh fuck!" moaned Roger, "how fast were you going?" "I'm not sure, but give me a moment" and as he consulted his tablet he replied "About three times faster than an aeroplane, but then I always like to go full throttle when I start!" "And then where?" moaned Roger "Well, I took a right hand turn and headed towards the United States. I think I arrived in, oh, now what was it called?" and with that he looked at the map and said "Ah, yes, here we are, Beverly Beach in Maryland, and that was just about sunrise" "You swum the Atlantic in a little over twelve hours?" gasped Roger "Give or take, yes!" "Oh man, your heart must have been pumping!" "Two hundred and forty beats per minute" said Henry, "about the same as a brisk jog. And from there I ran all the way here" "How long?" moaned Roger, "or should I stop the car now and cum?" "Let's see" came the reply, "I arrived in Maryland at around seven in the morning eastern, so that's five in the morning mountain, we'd agreed to pick me up from the airport at eleven mountain so five hours!" As Roger moaned, he pulled the car over and started scrabbling for something. Pulling out what looked like a drinks bottle, he pulled out his eleven inch cock, thrust it into the bottle and moaned "Speed?" "Three hundred and thirty nine miles per hour" came the reply, "a little under half the speed of sound!" "OOOOOOHHHHHH, FFFFUUUUUCCCCCKKKK!" screamed Roger as he came into the bottle and as he orgasmed panted, "Tell Adam, the next time he visits, take the aeroplane. I don't think I'll be able to stand too many of his go it alone journeys!" "Hear that, Adam" said Henry tapping his head, "on the return journey we book a plane" to which Adam grumped in reply "That's not fair, you know I wanted to swim through the Panama Canal!"
  22. arbotimus

    The Iron Bug - Part V

    Oh boy, it has been quite a while since I 've worked on this story. This update comes in two parts. This one is the plot-heavy one. Feel free to skip through at your leisure if that is not your jam. Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V -- The Well We have lingered in the chambers of sea By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown Till human voices wake us, and we drown. - T.S. Eliot, "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" The clouds were painted flat and grey against the sky, leaving a muddy warmth in their wake. The pale morning light that made it through lent a calm air to the morning, the blue-hued rays filtering through the needles of trees. It was a day like any other. I waited outside Charlie’s house for him to leave for class. I had no plan. Short of makeshift handcuffs, I was out of ideas. He could probably knock me out at any time, and I had no idea how he did it. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to ask nicely. He opened the door wearing a white wife beater that was just tight enough to show his abs through the fabric. When his verdant eyes turned to face me he looked amused. “You look different, little man,” he said. I stared at him blankly. I wasn’t sure what to do. He chuckled. “What is it you want from me anyways? You made your wish and it has nothing to do with mine.” He said. “What are you talking about?” I inquired bluntly. “I never made any wish. Frankly I have no idea what’s going on…although I’m not complaining, I guess,” I stated, rubbing my thick hands across the deep, shredded crevices of my abs. God, what was happening to me. “Sorry, that’s become a force of habit lately,” I mumbled. “You’ve never been to the well?” Charlie asked. “No. What well?” I asked impatiently. “Then what happened to you?” He seemed genuinely interested, the amusement on his face giving way to curiosity. And he clearly knew a lot more than I did. It couldn’t hurt to share. I described the metal bug, the insatiable desire to lift, the ravenous hunger, the euphoric growth, the second bite, and the dream. Well, the relevant parts of the dream. I also left out the parts about Delilah. He gazed at me intently before breaking into a smile. Then he took a deep breath. “Well, so much for class today. We’re going on a field trip.” Charlie said, dropping his backpack inside the door and then shutting it for good. He stretched and I could see the soft shadows of his triceps that I had felt in my dream. I was bewildered. Apparently my ignorance was enough to warrant his help. “Get ready for a bit of a hike. It’s not too far, but more than a quick walk.” After that he started ahead off without me, and I jogged to catch up. I followed him quietly as he led me through the neighborhood to a trail into the forest. It was a path I had run a few times before. Tall evergreens surrounded us, soft and inviting in the pale morning light. I spoke up once and he looked at me stolidly, telling me to “Just wait until we get there.” The rest of our trek was conducted in the relative silence of the forest. Only the frogs made sounds as they fell asleep for the day. I tried to focus on our surroundings instead of gaping awkwardly at his chiseled backside. I worried he would catch me staring and knock me out. Maybe I was just being paranoid. Squirrels ran through the leaf litter and up the trees, eying us cautiously as we made our way up the path. After about forty minutes we came to a unique collection of ovoid rocks that were stacked against one another, and he led us off the path to wade through the remnants of a trail overrun with forest scrub. I was forced to watch him as he guided us through, and I found that the longer I focused on him the less I was able to focus on anything else. There was a certain magnetism about the way he moved, confident and alluring. My eyes ate up his every motion hungrily. Everything about him was perfect. His back sculpted like the smoothest stone, his walnut colored hair reflecting beautifully in the sunlight, the beefy heads of his calves separating every time he took a stop, the sweat rolling off his caramel tanned skin, his clothes hugging his tight body with every motion. Amongst all the beauty of the forest, including my own, he outshined us all, a guiding light in the darkness. His radiance enraptured me, made me feel whole. A branch swept across my face, forcing my attention away from Charlie. The trance was lifted, and the rest of the world came rushing back into view. I felt on my face where I had been struck but could not find a cut or any pain. Another part of the transformation, I guessed. I wondered silently if anything could hurt me. When I looked back up at Charlie he seemed like an ordinary person again. Still just as attractive, but I was no longer transfixed by him. I found that if I stared for too long, however, I started to lose clarity again. It was best to focus elsewhere and follow the sound of him moving through the scrub. The last of the wildflowers were wilting in the mild summer heat. Another half an hour of trekking found us in a small clearing that was mostly shaded save for a few sharp slivers of sunlight that pierced through. Charlie stopped and took a long, deep breath. Leaf litter from the surrounding trees covered the ground, but few plants grew here. The ones that did had long, thin leaves almost like needles and vibrant red flowers that let their stamens out towards the ground. In the center of the clearing stood a stone structure resembling a well. The clean cut stones were a deep, mottled grey that I did not recognize. The well overflowed with water, and it spilled into a shallow pool of the same stone that encircled the structure. The water that flowed out seemed unnaturally dark, like it refused to let any light leave its shallow prison. A wooden covering was held by thin posts ornately carved with various animal and plant designs. It looked like it had been built long after the primary structure by someone other than the original architect. A small wooden bucket hung from the roof as well, although it did not seem to serve much purpose. “Welcome to the wishing well,” Charlie said with false ceremony. “I…don’t get it, honestly. Why are we here?” I said, perplexed. “Just go up to it. You’ll have to take your shoes off and put your feet into the water to look inside. Then you’ll see.” I agreed reluctantly. The whole structure, although simple enough, gave me an ominous feeling. Light and sound seemed to move oddly through the clearing because of it, sometimes enhanced and sometimes subdued but never what was expected. The well itself had a certain Lovecraftian alienness about it, as though whoever built it had tried to create something familiar but had failed in the details and instead made something entirely foreign. I steeled myself for whatever fate awaited me, taking my shoes off before the water. What the hell, I thought, rubbing my cheek where the branch had hit me. I am practically invincible now, anyways. The inky water was smooth and cool on my feet. The flow from the well gave me the impression of wading through the tide rather than standing in a pool, and I noticed that the water drained into holes along the pool’s stone edges. The closer I came to the well the more everything around it seemed to go dark in my vision. Soon the only thing I could see was the stone and the water, and my feet moving through it. The rest of the world had faded into a giant expanse, endless, vast, and humming with a vibrancy of life despite its emptiness. I rested my hands on the well, feeling the cool rush of dark water flow over them, and looked inside. Images swirled and began to take shape and form against the darkness. Soon I was a part of them, as though I was in a dream. I could not tell at first if the visions I saw were scenes from the future or memories. At times they felt like both. Each one was a snapshot from my life, not always in order but generally progressing forward. They came slowly at first, then faster and faster until they began to blur together. Important moments and small moments rubbed up against one another in a ceaseless barrage: graduation from university, a gentle kiss from a stranger, my election to head of an engineering firm, the desert view from atop a tall rock, my sister’s funeral. In every image I was the same age, and as time sped past I was oblivious to its effects. I traveled the world and experienced more than most do in a lifetime, summiting mountains and skyscrapers, exploring though canyons and across highways until I felt there was no more to see. I met others, many of them, from all walks of life. I talked with them, laughed with them, loved them, fucked them. I grew from each of them, and I cherished every one of them. In the midst of my travels, in a dark city alley lined with high adobe walls, I found a mirror. The humid air and sandy floor of the alley faded as I gazed into it. The reflection was my own, but I had grown to titanic proportions. At least twice my current size, and all muscle. The shelf of my pecs eclipsed the sun for those who stood under me, and the strength a single arm was enough to topple buildings. I was invincible, the epitome of eroticism and power. In the mirror’s visions, I filled my time with prodigious displays of my boundless strength, lifting ships with the flick of my wrist, stopping bullets and tanks that would stand in my way, eating and drinking and fucking whomever I pleased. I was indomitable in the world of men, a god for others to worship. I looked away from the mirror and continued on my own path. But the visions from the mirror stuck with me, haunting me. Time continued its march and I moved with it effortlessly, but the others did not. I watched my friends and loved ones die, and new ones sprang up to take their place. The stars continued to turn overhead, but I stopped counting the revolutions of the earth and the numbers of days that passed. Time was just an excuse for everything not to happen all at once. I watched the world change as my body refused to age. The seas rose and dried up, technologies advanced beyond what I thought possible, the natural world around us dwindled and was restructured in our image, countries rose and fell in what felt like minutes, and soon we left the earth behind. Eventually I jumped across stars with the rest of our species through the grandness of the cosmos, watching patiently what became of us as we traipsed from galaxy to galaxy. And just when I felt myself start to slip into a boundless infinity a hand pulled me out from the well. I inhaled sharply, as though I had just been rescued from the bottom of a pool. “What did you see?” he asked calmly. “I was immortal. I saw everything.” Charlie regarded me cautiously. “That’s a new one. Must have been why you were out for so long. “Look, just be careful. The well shows you the wish you want, but it doesn’t always grant it. Mostly it works out, but sometimes it fails and things get tricky. That’s probably where your bugs came from, too. Whoever made that wish may not have even been bitten.” I paused, considering what monstrous incarnation of eternity would spring forth from the well to grant my own wish. Finally I regained the courage to speak. “What did you wish for?” I asked. “I haven’t. I’m like you. The product of someone else’s wish.” I stared at him blankly. “When my mom was young she found this well by accident. Just like you and everyone who comes across it, it showed her what she wanted most, although she didn’t know it at the time. She says she saw the most beautiful woman in the world, one that no man could resist. When she asked the well to make it real, a branch grew from the water and offered her a fruit. “She got her wish. Not only was she beautiful, but men became obsessed with her. She drove them mad. And when she spoke, she could ask them to do anything she wanted.” “Like what you did with me?” I asked. He nodded. She had asked to become Helen but had become a Siren instead. And apparently it was heritable. “The way her wish was granted, she never knew if men loved her or were just lost in a trance. But she managed to fall in love with my dad, somehow, and they lived together long enough to have me. “Then one day while he was working on his car he cut his arm pretty deep, and when he looked at her she was a stranger. It took him a long time just to remember who she was, and after he couldn’t even look at her. They split after that. That’s the short version anyhow.” “What happened to her?” I asked. “She still lives here with me. She rarely goes out now. Too many eyes watching. Now she only talks with the others who have been to the well. Most of them online. They tend to scatter.” “What about you, then? Have you ever looked in the water?” “No, I haven’t. Too risky. I don’t have it even a quarter as bad as she does,” he said, gesturing down to his body, “And you can barely even look at me for more than five minutes.” I blushed. I wasn’t sure if he had noticed. “I have my whole life to think about what my wish will be. There’s no rush.” “So I could wish for everything to go back to normal?” “I don’t know. Whoever or whatever built this well doesn’t seem to need it anymore, so we can’t ask questions. We only know what we know from the wishes we’ve made. “Look, I only brought you here so you could understand what’s happening to you. It probably would have drawn you here anyways, even if I hadn’t shown you. That’s what happened to me, sort of like your dream. I can’t stop you from making your wish, but you should know it doesn’t always go according to plan.” I thought to argue, but it was useless. He had made up his mind. And so we left the clearing and headed home in silence once more. The siren’s son led me from the water, safe to dry land. -- The night was dark from thick cloud cover and an absent moon. I had spent all day packing, throwing away most of my clothes that wouldn’t fit anymore. I was already a day and a half late, and I tried to rush but I found it hard to focus. My mind was preoccupied with the well. My head buzzed with the wish that I would make, what, if anything, I would tell Delilah, and the behemoth that had stared back at me in the mirror. If I wanted to, I could ask for it. But that was someone else’s wish, I had to remind myself. Although, even still… I loved the way the downcast lighting reflected off of my body, the way every single crevice formed by my impressive musculature made a deep shadow. I thought about how I could make men cum just by letting them worship me, how even my fingers had the strength to bend metal with ease, and how the hard flesh under my skin was now akin to the metal that I lifted. Pre leaked ceaselessly from my hard cock as I subtly flexed and explored what my body had become. -- My flashlight barely lit the forest path as I made my way out to the well. I got lost a few times, having to turn back before I found the rock formation I was looking for. I stumbled my way through the trail, freshly beaten by our steps from this morning, and found my way to the clearing. The red flowers glowed with a soft phosphorescence in the darkness of the night. Only a few scarce stars were visible overhead. I took a deep breath, removed my shoes and placed my feet into the water. The temperature had not changed, and against the cool night air it was warm on my feet. The infinite expanse opened up to me again, my surroundings even darker than the night I came from. I saw the same visions pass before my eyes, including the mirror. And when it was done I stood silently for a few moments, the weight of eternity on my shoulders. Then I made my wish.
  23. arbotimus

    The Iron Bug - Part IV

    Oh boy, it has been quite a while since I 've worked on this story. This update comes in two parts. This one is the sexy one. A short summary of previous parts will be posted below. Part I Part II Part III Part VI -- Metamorphosis As soon as I closed my eyes I found myself drifting in a vast darkness. Everything was black and empty except for a dull, growing warmth inside me, like I was on the cusp of a fever. Time was hard to gauge here. I passed what could have been minutes or hours through the emptiness before the pulse in my veins began to rise. Slowly at first, but then stronger and stronger until it was near bounding. At the same time my muscles swelled and tightened to their own rhythm, every fiber burgeoning with more power from each flexion. The pleasure of each muscle filling out to its rightful proportion was exhilarating, almost orgasmic. Pre leaked out of me in streams and floated aside me through the abyss. I was lost in a tranquil euphoria, becoming something greater. More immeasurable time passed before the transformation slowed to a halt, and I realized that I was still dreaming. The darkness faded into a blue sky, my body falling gently into a field of tall grass. I opened my eyes slowly. The sun shone radiantly, casting its bright light over my body and a few crimson flowers that each rose like its own little sun from between the long blades. The warmth of the grass pressed against my now cool skin, the bristles soft against my hard flesh. I laid there calmly, basking in the afterglow of my metamorphosis. When I lifted my head and sat up, Charlie stared down at me. His expression was almost mischievous, like a little kid caught doing something he knew he shouldn’t. His feet dragged through the tall blades as he stepped towards me, pushing me back down with his foot as his body towered over mine. Even when he lifted his foot his confident gaze was enough to hold me in place. Something about him was spellbinding, commanding. My titanic strength was useless before it. He kneeled down on top of me and I felt the softness of the grass on my back mirror the smoothness of his skin on mine. Every muscle on his body was solid, smooth, and flawlessly proportioned. Running my hands across his triceps I felt each curvature as they flexed with the simplest motion. His eyes shone marvelously and effortlessly. Our lips touched. The physical separation between us faded as we continued to explore each other. I guided my hands along his burly arms while our lips played with each other’s, and then he ran his nose thorough the deep crevice of my solid abs, his fingers gently toying with my erect nipples until he brought his tongue back up to meet them. In an instant I rolled us over and pressed him down, forcing my tongue into his mouth. I was stronger, and it thrilled me. I pinned his arms on the ground and held his legs down with my massive quads, rubbing my dick slowly on top of his. Our abs slid across each other as my dick throbbed in anticipation of my load. Suddenly his lips left mine and he gazed into my eyes with a sort of smug expression. He guided me gently with his hands, and I could not help but yield to his touch. He flipped us back over. He stared at me again with that overwhelming confidence, and then started to kiss his way down to my cock. I leaned my back onto the stone well that had appeared behind us, as objects sometimes do in a dream. Just as he started to reach past my apollo’s belt, I let out a deep groan… -- I awoke to rain pounding on the roof. It was heavy and full and warm with summer. I stared at the fine grains of the wood of the ceiling for a long, hard minute before I was convinced that I wasn’t dreaming anymore. My heavy breathing and the drops on the windowpanes were the only sounds that filled the room. The paltry, muggy light of dusk gave me just enough light to see the vague outlines of the walls. Apparently I had slept for a long time. The blankets had tangled from my tossing and turning, and I carefully unraveled my cocoon of sheets to find freedom. A sharp inhale filled my lungs, my chest expanding outward proudly to let the air rush in. Even without seeing it, I felt thicker, stronger, more powerful. My muscles moved like steel under my skin. When I flexed them I felt as though I had the strength to lift buildings and move mountains. The sheets tore as I gripped them in anticipation. Fuck. I flipped the light switch on to guide my way to the bathroom, swelling with the suspense of my image in the mirror. To my horror, I found my body hadn’t changed at all. My heart fell out of my chest. All of my work had been for nothing. My cock head begged to differ, however, flaring larger than any I had ever seen and standing atop a dick that was one and a half times its original size. I had gone from just above average to well endowed, with thickness to match. When I touched it lightning ran through my body. But I held on, stroking gently. Watching myself jack off in the mirror was still something to behold. I lifted my 18 inch arms and watched each belly stand out in relief, chiseled, rock solid, perfection. My abs crunched down and formed a cobblestone eight pack. Fuck, I was starting to get weak in the knees. I grabbed onto the shower certain rod for support. Instead the metal bent in my hand, removing the rod from its holds. I fell on my butt and the rod clanged on the floor. Without getting up, I picked up the warped metal and gave it a quick bend with just my right hand. My left stayed dedicated to stroking off as I twisted the metal into whatever shape I pleased, watching the muscles on my forearms danced as I contorted it like it was nothing more than a piece of paper. It was exhilarating, knowing the strength I had in just my fingers. My cum reached the ceiling from the floor as I came. Good thing I was just tall enough to reach up there now. I kept playing with the rod as my cock finished its final spurts. A note for the iron bug manual: a full bite grants you Priapus’ cock and Hercules’ strength. Good to know. And then I had an idea. -- Two hours later I found myself in a big city, noticing the streetlights' reflection off of my old beat up truck and a few scattered puddles on the ground. The apartment building I was looking for seemed to rise up stoically out of the cement, featureless and foreboding for its onlookers. I felt the cool, fresh night air run across my hard flesh as I walked inside. The lights in the lobby flickered fluorescent and bright, in stark contrast to the melancholy world I had just left. A shell of safety and warmth. I took the elevator to the third floor and walked the long, sparsely decorated hallway down to room 304. When he opened the door he smiled at me. I’m sure he was surprised at what he found, since I had used pictures from two transformation cycles ago to find him. “Come on in,” he said, his deep voice complementing the hypermasculine stature that stood proudly before me. Head shaved, white skin, shirt that looked tailored to show off the size of his chest and the slimness of his waist. I guessed he was between 32 and 35, his face showing the subtle signs of aging that were combated by a life dedicated to lifting and fitness. He turned around and left the door open. I liked the way he walked. It was a mixture of that arrogant jock sort of saunter and the stilted, muscle-bound waddle of bodybuilders. His confidence was exuberant. That was going to be fun to break. He was just finishing dinner. In a large red cast iron pan, some inedible-looking green paste was still frying. He offered some to me. I looked at him and gave him a sly smile. “I don’t really watch what I eat,” I said, my expression falling back to the cold, elusive demeanor that I had adopted since the metamorphosis. He started to coach me on the impacts of diet on fitness and health and my attention drifted. I noticed his chest bounce every time he made a gesture. I could tell that he liked the way it stretched the fabric. Every movement was proud, calculated. I got up and moved towards him, him still going on about the lean muscle he had gained on his current diet. I took his wrist in my hand. It was solid, doubtlessly from years of lifting and perfecting his body. I wanted him to resist me, to give him a hint of how this night was going to go, but his hand moved with mine. I lifted my shirt and placed his rough fingers along my abs. “Does it feel like I need to go on a diet?” I said. He whistled, and a horny grin followed. “Okay, fair point,” he said. “Let’s head to the bedroom,” I said. He didn’t hesitate any further. “Wait, I need to use the bathroom first,” I lied. “Sure. It’s just around the corner there,” he said, pointing behind me. I watched him practically skip his way down the hall. He had a nice ass, perky and firm. Hi torso twisted to get through the doorframe. Meanwhile I took a quick detour to the garage. I got lucky. It was full of weights. I took a few minutes making preparations for the night. When I came back I found him with his shirt off, trying to look casual but clearly giddy with anticipation. I had to admit, his body was even more impressive without clothes on. Slightly marred by age, he still had a tight six pack and his lats stuck out noticeably from his sides, making his waist seem more trim. I could even see some of the striations in his pecs. He could compete as a lightweight bodybuilder if he wanted to, and maybe he had. “You like?” he said, lifting up his bicep. Probably over 18 inches. Bigger than mine. I smirked at him. “Sure, it’s alright.” He must have thought I was being sarcastic. “Where do you wanna start, big guy?” I said, playing to his pride. Having waited long enough, he pressed his lips into mine, softly. His lips were practiced, and his tongue moved skillfully in and out of my mouth. He led me over to the bed, but before he could lay on top of me I flipped us around and pushed him down onto it. He scrambled to take off his shorts and underwear and I took off my shirt slowly, letting him savor every moment of the reveal. I may not have gained much in size, but there was something of an unspeakable strength and dignity to my body. Every part of me was like iron, the flesh just barely containing the strength that lay under it. I stood over him for a few silent seconds before I revealed the metal bar I had kept hidden in my waistband. Normally it would be twice as long and more suited to hold weights, but I had torn it in half for what I had in mind. His expression was a mixture of confusion and curiosity. I bent the bar into a U shape right in front of him. It was like wire. I barely even felt the resistance. Without warning him I grabbed his wrists with my hands. He was in shock for the first few moments, but then he remembered that he should struggle. It was kind of cute. He thought he was strong, that I couldn’t possible keep him in my grip. It turned out the power in my fingers was more than he had in his entire upper body. I took the bar and put it around his burly wrists, clamping the metal shut with just one hand. The horror on his face was juxtaposed with his throbbing erection. Even if he didn’t understand what was happening he sure liked it. “How do you feel?” I asked, crushing off the loose ends of the bar and tightening down the space between his hands to form makeshift handcuffs. “What are you?” he responded, exasperated. “I honestly don’t know,” I replied. “Does it really matter?” I noticed that with his hands stuck together it made his chest stick out. Even while he was indisposed, the fullness and definition in his pecs were still admirable. My dick hardened at the thought that I had incapacitated him with so little effort. I reached down for his cock that was sticking out of his boxers. He was leaky. Hell, I would be too in a situation like this. There wasn’t a single part of my body that wasn’t worthy of salivating over. I threw him a few poses while I had him as my captive audience. Then I drew his throbbing member from its cotton sheath and whistled at what I found. At least eight inches, hard as stone, head throbbing with anticipation. Gaining momentum, I lifted him up off the bed and hefted him over my shoulder. Then I pressed him up with one hand. The metal dragged along my back as I lifted him, and I could feel the indentations my fingers had left. He stared at me with an expression of wonder and lust. I smiled at him and brought him back down towards me, allowing our lips to meet. Then I worked my tongue down his neck, past his nipples, across his abs until they met the head of his cock. I was pleasantly surprised that he lasted for more than a few minutes with my tongue wrapped around his head. I took my time, never letting him drop an inch even as he started to leak. When I felt him getting close I held him with both hands around his waist and started rubbing his cock against my chest. The idea must have really riled him up, because he came almost immediately. I laughed as his rather prodigious volume splashed up against my chin. Some of it found its way to my lips. It was sweet. I tossed him on the bed to marinate in his own juices while I went to wash off. But before I got in his shower, I spread the substantial volume of semen that I had earned across my chest. I liked the “oiled” look, the way the lighting made every fiber in my already awesome chest stand out even more. Turning the water on, I took turns bouncing them up and down as I washed them. I went slowly, admiring the absolute control I had over every muscle in my body. Soon I was touching myself all over… My cum stained his ceiling. I was sure he wouldn’t mind. When I got back to the room he lifted his bound hands towards me and begged: “Please, officer?” I obliged, twisting the metal off of his wrists without a drop of sweat. “Can I see you again?” he asked, almost pleading. I frowned. “Sadly, I’m moving tomorrow. I was supposed to leave yesterday, actually, but some business came up. If I’m ever back in town, you’ll be the first person I call.” I left him on the bed, still soaked in his own cum, dazed from what I had done to him. I felt sated. It was time to get some answers. Part V
  24. CardiMuscleman

    time-historical The American Musketeer REDUX

    Part One Roger Dixon was a stud! It was almost as if he only had to step onto a bodybuilding stage and the world just caved into him. He won every single class he entered be it his local contest, the statewide contest, a regional contest, a national contest, a continent contest or even the day he was crowned Mr. Universe in his class, indeed that day he really let them know what he was packing. He stood up to his maximum height and brought the house down, showing off every sinew of his proportionate 266lb mass. His proportionate 53 inch chest, with his proportionate 2½ inch long nipples just oozed mascunlinity and when coupled with a proportionate 27 inch waist his proportionate eight pack was a thing of wonder to behold. His proportionate 22 inch guns, with veins streaking along them, were unmissable, his proportionate 28 inch quads glistened under the lights, his proportionate 23 inch calves and his proportionate 22 inch thick neck ensured that he won the best poser class as well and was even brought out to pose against the overall winner. But that was all in the past. It was his own desire that was his undoing. First, when at a photoshoot he attempted a 300lb bench much more than he could actually manage to show off his power and tore both his pecs and then the real trouble came when he was caught in a media sting operation and outed. He had always been gay, he loved the attention of people drooling over his muscles, his cock a proportionate 9 inch monster when hard was his pride and joy, no one had complained when photos showing his bulge on stage flooded the magazines but as soon as he was outed, he was dropped faster than you could say "One Hit Wonder". Even now, twenty years after last stepping on stage, he still looked after himself but knew that standing just a mere five foot two tall, weighing 146lbs though still as lean as anything, his 42½ inch chest, 32 inch waist, 14½ inch biceps, 22½ inch quads and 15 inch calves would never cut the mustard against the modern stars of the stage. Even the people in his grand master classes were bigger than he was and as he watched the recording of the last show he had streamed, he traced the buldging pecs of Mr. Grand Master Colorado 2015, a man aged as the same as Roger, 65, yet so muscular Roger wanted to wrap his arms about him and pummel him into submission. But Roger now happy living at his home in Fort Collins, Colorado where he spent most of his days on online forums discussing bodybuilding history and reading stories about the most powerful men ever to exist on the face of the planet had his dreams and would regularly wake up, covered with a thick layer of cum having read stories, both real and fan made, of Hercules lifting an entire cliff face, He-Man wrestling a clone of himself, Milos of Croton splitting a tree apart with his bare hands and his personal favourite, the final act of that Titan, Porthos, holding up a cave to allow his friend to escape. Whenever he read that story, his dreams were always the same. He would rescue that man, take him to his own personal gym where people could train in the nude, and work that man until he begged for mercy, then ram him until he screamed for mercy and then, torture him with high voltage until he caved in and panted "I submit" and allow him and Roger to swap bodies so that Roger could experience the power of the Titan for himself. This interest in the Titan of old eventually developed into an interest in Renn Faires and it wasn't long before Roger, dressed as the Titan himself, was a regular feature and made sure that his body was the centre of attention as demonstrated just the previous week when, whilst holding a talk on the strength of heroes, and deadlifting two hundred pounds for the whole talk, a Spartan came up, grabbed hold of his biceps and squeezed them saying "Arms, that would defy Hercules in their strength" It was after a Renn Faire, where having been a member for a decade the organisers presented him with a leather bound copy of all of the tales of the Musketeers, that Roger found himself in a unique position. He'd been reading another one of Porthos's feats of strength and as per usual was getting very excited about it. “This group was superintended by the man whom D'Artagnan had already remarked, and who appeared to be the engineer-in-chief. A plan was lying open before him upon a large stone forming a table, and at some paces from him a crane was in action. This engineer, who by his evident importance first attracted the attention of D'Artagnan, wore a justaucorps, which, from its sumptuousness, was scarcely in harmony with the work he was employed in, that rather necessitated the costume of a master-mason than of a noble. He was a man of immense stature and great square shoulders, and wore a hat covered with feathers. He gesticulated in the most majestic manner, and appeared, for D'Artagnan only saw his back, to be scolding the workmen for their idleness and want of strength” “Oh, yeah” moaned Roger, “I think I know where this is headed” and with that started to rub his cock in anticipation. “D'Artagnan continued to draw nearer. At that moment, the man with the feathers ceased to gesticulate, and, with his hands placed upon his knees, was following, half-bent, the effort of six workmen to raise a block of hewn stone to the top of a piece of timber destined to support that stone, so that the cord of the crane might be passed under it. The six men, all on one side of the stone, united their efforts to raise it to eight or ten inches from the ground, sweating and blowing, whilst a seventh got ready for when there should be daylight enough beneath it to slide in the roller that was to support it. But the stone had already twice escaped from their hands before gaining a sufficient height for the roller to be introduced. There can be no doubt that every time the stone escaped them, they bounded quickly backwards, to keep their feet from being crushed by the refalling stone. Every time, the stone, abandoned by them, sunk deeper into the damp earth, which rendered the operation more and more difficult. A third effort was followed by no better success, but with progressive discouragement. And yet, when the six men were bent towards the stone, the man with the feathers had himself, with a powerful voice, given the word of command, "Ferme!" which regulates maneuvers of strength. Then he drew himself up” “Yeah” moaned Roger, the rubbing becoming faster making his cock longer, harder and redder , “You show them, Porthos” “The workmen, as commanded by the engineer, drew back with their ears down, and shaking their heads, except for the one who held the plank, who prepared to perform the office” “Oh, fuck” Roger moaned, as his hips started to buck and he could feel himself getting even more aroused “The man with the feathers went up to the stone, stooped, slipped his hands under the face lying upon the ground, stiffened his Herculean muscles, and without a strain, with a slow motion, like that of a machine, lifted the end of the rock a foot from the ground” “Yeah” he moaned again, “show them pure muscle!” “The workman who held the plank profited by the space thus given him, and slipped the roller under the stone. "That's the way," said the giant, not letting the rock fall again, but placing it upon its support” “YEAH!” roared Roger, “SHOW THEM ALL WHAT IT MEANS TO BE PORTHOS” and with that he came so violently that in combination with the long day and the orgasm that followed, Roger started to fall asleep and dropped the book to the ground moaning “Oh, Porthos, I wish I could meet you one day!” and with that slipped into sleep, his cock spurting cum as he did so. This will be a very long story (but I cannot say how many parts it will be). I know from experience how boring that long a story can be so therefore I would like members to help liven it up with their artistic skills be it people like @powerbeats illustrating the sheer effort needed to perform a feat of near superhuman strength, people like @leogrando showing how big people are, or even @darkluster4 showing what happens later on when Roger experiences the full force of the Titan. Therefore I am giving every single illustrator carte blanche to draw what they like when they like
  25. EcchiMultiverse

    superhero Marvelous Man - Chapter 17

    All comments and critiques are welcomed here and on my Google Docs(https://drive.google.com/open?id=1ttWgu6jKoc52k89119nNB9i67VQz9vzRdVRrizgSR1I) For other chapters, I will post them on here later. But you can find the archives on my FA and Tumblr with pics included. FA: http://www.furaffinity.net/user/ecchimultiverse/ Tumblr: http://ecchimultiverse.tumblr.com/ For first looks and more illustrations, check out my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/ecchimultiverse First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter SPECIAL THANKS TO MY PATRONS: CHRISTOPHER FLOYD & DONALD MORGAN All comments and critiques are welcomed here and on my Google Docs(https://drive.google.com/open?id=1ttWgu6jKoc52k89119nNB9i67VQz9vzRdVRrizgSR1I) For other chapters, I will post them on here later. But you can find the archives on my FA and Tumblr with pics included. FA: http://www.furaffinity.net/user/ecchimultiverse/ Tumblr: http://ecchimultiverse.tumblr.com/ For first looks and more illustrations, check out my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/ecchimultiverse First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter SPECIAL THANKS TO MY PATRONS: CHRISTOPHER FLOYD & DONALD MORGAN Chapter 17: The Cobwebs of Sunnysville “Wait, that’s it?” frowned Gemini. Justice nodded, “Yeah.” “Just walk on through?” inquired Gemini. Justice answered back, “Yeah...I thought you said this was dimensional magic. You know how it works, right?” “Well, yeah, point A to point A2 instantly, but what we’re about to do is teleportation magic. Point A to point B...Assuming that…Sunnysville is in this realm...right?” hesitated Gemini. The Soulem stared into the closet that had the silver key in it. With it finally opened, Gemini was able to look at where the destination of the magical closet led to. His eyes laid upon the drab, white interior walls of the CashIThere loan office; the building that held the entrance and exit to Sunnysville. “Why does the other side look like the inside of a sad office building?” he questioned. Justice explained, “Well, my parents didn’t want me to accidentally find the door that led outside of Sunnysville to this apartment. So they hid it inside of a loan shark office, cause it’d be the last place I’d ever want to explore. But even if I did find it, I still needed the key to get through it. So I’m not sure why they hid it…” “Not so much the sharpest tools in the shed, huh?” remarked Gemini. The bodybuilder thought back to the childhood he had with his parents in Sunnysville. He remembered how they loved to overkill with dramatics, which caused them to overthink certain issues. The thought of his tenth birthday sprung to his mind. He wanted a bike, they gave him a motorcycle. Papa Ares included a helmet and joint pads for safety. Reflecting back on that event, Justice was now glad he was too small to get up on that motorcycle. He loved his parents dearly, but none of them are gods pertaining to intellectual features. His father, Apollo, might have been the exception for his deity over medicine and art, but his brightness was not the kind that helps one understand math problems. As for Ares, using weapons and a passion for violent outcomes does not at all require a brain cell. Justice’s mother, Aphrodite, causes the lower body to do the thinking; a skill she can pull off even in sweatpants and a moth-eaten t-shirt. Justice smiled, “I mean...huh...now that I think about it, they overspecialize so much in their areas that they have almost no foresight...and maybe common sense. I guess that’s what happens when wisdom isn’t their defining characteristic, heh.” “Same could be said about you,” sassed Gemini, “Welp, let’s head into town then. Lead the way in, slave. Now mush!” Gemini jostles the Dragon Pearls™ cord as if he were cracking a whip or the reins of a dog sled. Justice sighed, as he rolled his eyes and smirked. He wanted to tell Gemini to quit it, but the third wish would remain active until the Dragon Pearls™ were completely out of his bowels. Instead of feeling frustrated, his heart palpitated at the excitement of showing Sunnysville to his friend. The musclebound slave grabbed the silver key from the closet door; not wanting to be accidentally trapped on the other side when they closed the portal door. With no pocket to place the keys in, Justice kept it within his grasp. Strolling through the door with his ankle bells ringing, the hulking bodybuilder led the bulky Soulem through the dimensional doorway. It felt weird to walk into another world in such a casual manner and arrive in an area that was completely dull and empty. As Gemini closed the door behind them, the Soulem shivered. “Whoah,” said the Soulem. Justice looked back, “What’s wrong?” “I just got cut off from the wifi. Can’t access the cloud or anything. It feels weird to not have information at my fingertips. I’ve only felt like this during the few minutes I was first activated and when I transitioned to my new body,” answered Gemini. Justice asked, “Umm, do you want the password for the city wifi here?” “I’d very much like that. Thanks,” replied Gemini. Justice spoke, “It’s ‘flamingchariot’. One word, all lowercase.” He continued thumping his musclebound body through the empty hallway; echoing the jingling ankle bells on his gold-plated slave ankle cuffs. The two walked towards the end of the hallway and came to face with a door. Opening it, Justice strode through and arrived in the lobby. It looked the same as when he first came to this loan office. A place that reflected broken dreams and false hopes. A place that had metal bars on the windows, old black gum grouped with mysterious stains on the dark blue carpet, and the aged fluorescent bulbs with moths circling about it like sharks. Justice figured such a scenery would be the picture definition of shithole. Heading to the lobby’s counter, he spotted the miserable-looking clerk. She sat behind the white counter, reading a magazine with a lit cigarette in hand. The unkempt woman looked up at Justice; her hair still messy enough to serve as a bird’s nest and her coke-bottle glasses completely cracked. Upon eye contact through the counter’s bullet hole-riddled glass divider, she took a long puff of her cigarette. She exhaled in a deep, cracked voice, “Fuck off. Can I help you?” Justice flexed his eyebrow at the absurdity. He had forgotten how crass the clerk was. Saying nothing, the bodybuilder placed the silver key on the counter. Gemini stared at the messy clerk, while his mood rings switched to the color orange. “Well, aren’t you such a ray of sunshine cunt,” commented Gemini. As Justice turned away, the unkempt woman went back to reading her magazine. The bodybuilder smiled at Gemini’s remark; feeling happy that his friend came to defend him. He then remembered that his friend was defending him from a fake being who could only say one thing. Gemini frowned, “Mmhmm. Better check that attitude of yours next time.” “It’s fine, Gem. Let’s just go,” said Justice. The bodybuilder continued making his way towards the entrance with the Soulem following behind him. Pushing open the door, Justice strode outside. He looked about himself and noticed how odd it was that the location of a loan office was dark even during the day. Gemini huffed, “What a bitch. You don’t have to take that, you know.” “I know, but it’s okay. I think she was put there to keep me away from the portal if I ever got curious,” replied Justice. The Soulem remarked, “Then I dunno why she’s still got that attitude if you’re already using the portal. Then again, if I looked at her, I’d stop giving a shit about what I say to people too.” “It’s just how she is,” said Justice. The musclebound slave looked up at the sign of the CashIThere loan office. A few of the dull, yellow neon letters were still burnt out that made it seem like it was displaying “shIThere”. Justice smirked at the lit sign; causing Gemini to follow the bodybuilder’s gaze and transforming the mood rings to a shade of light blue. Apollo tried his very best to make the scene in front of Justice unapproachable yet a tad comedic. Gemini smiled, “Heh, shit here.” “Yeah. Or shit there,” spoke Justice. Gemini giggled, “Well, it’s definitely shit.” “It is,” said Justice, “Come on, I gotta show you the rest of Sunnysville. It definitely looks better than this.” “Let’s hope,” grinned Gemini. As the two began their walk again, Gemini looked down. The Soulem stared at the bodybuilder slave’s globular buttocks. It was inflated with so much muscle and fat, that it wobbled like two giant water balloons with every step Justice took. Gemini’s digital white eyes lingered on the glutes for a moment before descending onto the Dragon Pearls™ sticking out of the bodybuilder’s pumped anus. The color of his mood rings changed to black, as his eyes drifted to the three exposed orange orbs. Gemini would have to issue five more commands before the entire sex toy can be taken out of Justice’s rectum. The Soulem ordered, “I wish you couldn’t stop preeing!” Gemini yanked the cord that was attached to the silver ring on his finger. The fourth crystal ball exited the slave’s virgin hole with a loud, wet plop. Justice gasped, “GAH! FATHERFUCKER!!!” >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Upon leaving the dark zone that held the CashIThere office, the two were immediately embraced by the sunlight Justice was familiar with. The duo continued their walk upon the sidewalk, while they took in the sights. Justice’s dark skin could feel the warm rays of the bright sun, and the cool breeze gracing against it. Another normal day in Sunnysville where the temperature was perfect, and it only rained on Mondays. “Gotta say, the weather here is kinda tropical. It feels nice,” mentioned Gemini. Justice nodded, “Yeah. It’s always perfect here.” The bodybuilder stopped in his tracks, as he felt the Dragon Pearls™ inside of him tug like an anal leash. Looking behind himself, Justice spotted Gemini gazing at the property on their right. “Guessing that’s Sunnysville’s high school?” pointed Gemini. The overly-muscular slave followed to where the Soulem indicated. Next to the two was an open football field, yet the Soulem finger was not aimed there. Across the sporty landscape was a large grade-school campus. The architecture stood three stories high and was made up of three buildings interconnected with one another. Planted next to the education facility was a large sign colored in yellow and orange. Printed on the sign in giant letters was, “Sunnysville School. Proud home of the Flaming Chariots”. Underneath the words was the school’s mascot; a being made out of wooden wheels with eyes covering the outer rims. The wheeled abomination was also embalmed in fire. Justice answered, “Yeah. But it’s also my middle and elementary school. It’s a small town, so all the schools got made into one big building.” “Huh. So how’d an angelic Throne get turned into a mascot? I get why it can be called a chariot, but it’s just inaccurate,” inquired Gemini. Justice explained, “A long time ago, I entered in a school contest for redesigning the flaming chariot mascot. And since I was playing this one game that had a whole bunch of mythological characters in it that you can summon, I found Throne in it and got the idea to use it for the contest. I ended up winning, and that’s how it became our school mascot.” The Soulem looked up at Justice; his mood rings now becoming gray. “Huh? But you didn’t you say you were homeschooled?” said Gemini. The sound of a school bell rang in the air, as Justice was about to reply. Students then poured out of campus building; heading to their respective homes. Justice spoke, “Come on. Let’s go. I want to get out of here before Greggory shows up.” The Soulem followed Justice’s lead, as they resumed their walk. The sidewalk the two walked on drew closer to the school before coming upon a split that one led towards the school and the other leading to a street crosswalk. “Who’s Greggory?” he asked. Justice sighed, “A childhood best friend I would hang out with from time to time. We did stuff together but never really talked.” “And he’s still in high school?” questioned Gemini. The bodybuilder replied, “He never graduated.” Greggory was another thing from Justice’s past he did not want to think about. Another android from Sunnysville that was incapable of socializing. He was another object in Sunnysville that Justice thought was a person. The moment Justice decided as a child that they were best friends, it was a role Greggory never stopped playing. It was another role Justice was trapped in. As Justice began to set foot on the crosswalk, he heard a young boy’s voice calling out to him. “Hey, buddy! Let’s hang out!” shouted the boy. The musclebound slave muttered, “Shit.” Looking down the concrete sidewalk leading towards the school, Justice spotted a young boy in a simple white t-shirt and jeans running towards him. The boy looked to be about the age of a high school teenager and waved at him while running at a speed faster than any normal child could possibly run. The child’s running pattern was almost like a machine running at top acceleration and was unhindered by the hefty backpack attached to the school boy’s back. “Holy hell, he can run. I’m guessing that’s Greggory,” commented Gemini. The teenager reached the massive bodybuilder in seconds. He immediately stopped exactly one step away from Justice and looked up at overly-muscular slave. The child showed no sign of exhaustion, and no sweat could be seen running down his white skin. The school boy smiled, “Hey, Justice, buddy. Let’s hang out. We can go to the mall and play at the arcade.” Every part of Justice wanted to talk to Greggory; as if he were reacting to a muscle memory. But he knew that it would just be taking part in a lie. Justice willed himself to ignore the teenager and look back at Gemini. He knew that as long as he did not make eye contact or say its name, the android would not respond to whatever he said. “J-Just ignore him. He’ll probably go away if we keep walking,” he said. Gemini frowned, “What? No. That’s rude, dude. He’s your childhood best friend.” “I don’t want to,” gritted Justice. Gemini commanded, “I wish you’d talk to him!” The Soulem yanked on the Dragon Pearls™. Another orange orb popped out of Justice’s wet rectum with a loud plop. The musclebound slave bent forward, as his muscles seized. He could feel his insides feel more vacant, while the pleasures of having his hole stretched electrified his hulking body. The bodybuilder’s bulge twitched, and its wet spot began to drip manly fluid at an increased rate. “NGH!...Hi, Greggory,” compelled Justice. Greggory chatted, “So you want to hang out?” “Maybe next time,” answered Justice. Greggory smiled, “Okay. Catch you later then. I’m gonna head home and eat my veggies before doing my homework and telling my parents that I love them.” The fake best friend turned robotically towards the crosswalk and took off. It continued to run at the same charging speed when it first approached Justice. “That’s an odd thing to say. What is he, a Saturday morning cartoon character for five year olds?” remarked the Soulem, “And I’m kinda surprised he never looked at me once. He just had laser-eye focus on you with those creepy blue doll eyes of his.” Justice muttered, “I guess…” “I’m kinda more surprised that he didn’t say anything about what you’re wearing. Or even that you’re leaking pre. Seriously, you’re leaving behind a snail trail with your own goo,” said Gemini. The musclebound slave did his best to ignore his situation but was still completely aware of the predicament. The silver spandex pouch with the golden letters “IT” printed on was nearly soaked. Over the span of time it took to walk from the loan office to the Sunnysville school, the wet blotch on Justice’s sexual package had grown far enough to reach the golden cock ring. The pre-ejaculate that had gathered at the tip like a dewdrop had now dripped every few seconds like a leaky faucet. Whatever strands or drops of pre that did not collide with Justice’s enormous thighs or feet would leave trails of large, raindrop-sized liquids on the sidewalk. Justice reasoned, “He only notices when I say yes or no, or when we do something together.” “Weird,” frowned Gemini. The bodybuilder huffed, “So, is there anything else you’re gonna force me to do, Master? Cause I’d like to show you my old home.” Upon hearing the comment, Gemini’s mood ring changed to black. “Ohhhh. I like the sound of that,” cooed the Soulem. Gemini ordered, “I wish that you’d address me as Master, and that your name and pronouns are changed to Slave.” The husky Soulem yanked his hand back as if he were starting up a lawn mower. Slave’s donut-shaped hole emitted a squishy plop, while the sixth ball of the Dragon Pearl™ toy came out of it. Slave moaned at lower octave, as the bodybuilder lurched backwards. Slave’s spandex-encased pouch twitched; increasing the rate of precum drops to resemble a faucet partially turned on. “That’s two wishes!” Slave grunted. Master shrugged, “The Dragon Pearls™ beg to differ. I guess conjunctions are a loophole, since they combine two sentences into one.” The hulking bodybuilder turned to Master and squinted down at the Soulem. “...Slave hate you so much,” frowned Slave. Master grinned, “Hey, at least I didn’t use that for my eighth wish. That would’ve really fucked you over, since the last one is permanent.” Slave rolled his eyes before turning around to face the crosswalk. Part of him did enjoy being controlled by Master, but it was still humiliating. Slave knew that telling the Soulem how the slave felt would arouse the Soulem even further. “Just don’t wish for something that would make Slave’s life difficult. Slave don’t want it to affect Slave’s ability to fight,” said the bodybuilder. As the two crossed the road, Master’s mood ring returned to white. He inquired, “Oh, yeah. That reminds me. Where did you get that name from? Marvelous Man, I mean.” “Slave’s parents kept saying they wanted to make Slave a marvelous hero. It stuck to Slave, and Slave thought it described Marvelous Man’s powers perfectly. And since Sl-...Marvelous Man found out that he is not as super as he thought he was, being marvelous is fine,” explained Slave. Master smiled, “Ah, looks like you found a loophole in my wish, heh. So what is your rank? Well, Marvelous Man’s rank.” “Rank-D. But it’s fine. Marvelous Man has accepted it. He might not be the best fighter, but he can be the best supporter. He likes it now, because he is more useful in other ways that other supers can’t,” said Slave. Master nodded, “That’s cool. Being able to heal is very rare. That kind of ability really helps cut corners on healthcare funding for all our heroes. Probably won’t be long until the Nemesis Branch tries to recruit you. It’s pretty much the golden ticket of superpowers.” “They kinda already did. But they told Marvelous Man to come back to them when he becomes a C-Rank,” mentioned Slave, “So if healing superpowers help cutting costs, are magical healers in demand?” Master sighed, “Eh, not really. Healing magic is rarely picked up as a magical profession unless you live in a low-income area. Why learn how to incantate a complicated spell on the battlefield when a soldier with basic first aid can bandage themselves up or use Arkos Division’s medical gel or whatever cure-all brand they’ve invented.” “So why not make healing potions or magic beans or something?” questioned Slave. Master exclaimed, “Ha! Only the D.A.B. bothers to keep up that practice. Ignoring the time it takes to make it, it can get pretty costly getting the materials and energy from the arcane practitioners to mass produce it for lots of people. Once again, why bother going through all that when you can science the problem with a bunch of machines with a handful of scientists and engineers.” With the way Master framed the usefulness of magic, why bother even having it in the first place? Slave knew if magic is truly outdated, then the Demonic Authority Bureau would have died out a long time ago. Slave wanted to believe that there is some reason magic is bothered to still be used. “You’re kinda making it seem like magic is…ya know, obsolete,” commented Slave. Master replied, “It does. But there are some things that magic can do, that science can’t. Kinda like you.” “Plus, magic is still used a lot in the middle and low-income areas. Ironically, it’s cheaper for them to use it than to try to purchase medicine or whatever. Some have been able to improvise with whatever they got around the house, and the magical researchers have been losing their shit over that,” continued Master, “There’s also a current rise in witches with the high schoolers and younger kids, cause magic is trending as the cool new thing to do.” Slave thought it seemed like such an odd thing for children to get into. As Slave thought about the only witch the massive bodybuilder met so far, Director Skye, Slave realized something. The reason why minors would become witches is more than likely because of the fluffy, impish perk that came with it. “Slave has a rough idea of why they would probably become witches,” said Slave. Master spoke, “Hm. Hey, do you think you could ask Puzzles more about it? I heard that he’s pissed about all those kids summoning their own familiars, and I want to know why. I thought he’d have liked to see more imps running amongst the populace or something.” “Sure, Slave guess,” said the slave. >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> The two continued their walk around town, as Slave explained the locations. All the stores were still functional but had thick layers of dust covering the shelves and displays. Only the objects the androids were programmed to interact with were the only clean ones. Master had made efforts to talk to the robots, but they continued to ignore his existence. Slave made the effort to distract the Soulem, but Master’s mood ring would eventually flicker back and forth with purple and orange. The Soulem stated, “So it only rains here on Mondays.” “Yeah,” nodded Slave. Master frowned, “That’s weird.” “I mean, it was weirder to Slave that it rains whenever in Skyway City,” said Slave. Gemini paused, “...That’s how it works anywhere in the world.” Slave did not reply, as Master looked up at the clear, blue sky. “Ya know, I’d ask if there’s some weather magic happening, but there’s something else permeating in this whole town. It’s like...magic but not magic. And it smells like rain too,” spoke the Soulem. Slave flexed an eyebrow, “You can smell magic?” Master tapped the tip of his large, silver nose, as his mood rings transformed to the color gold. “Yeppers. I had my nose modified to smell not just the normal stuff. It picks up on magic’s unique frequencies, and then my brain translates it into scent. So things like curses would smell like rotting meat to me,” explained Gemini. Slave grinned, “That’s probably the third most surprising thing about you today.” “Oh? Was the first my sexy new body?” flirted the Soulem. Slave giggled, “That was actually the second. Slave knew you’d eventually get a new body, but Slave did not think it would be so sexy.” “It was actually finding out that you were Chinese,” recanted the bodybuilder. Master’s mood ring color transitioned to gray. “Huh?” he said. Slave reasoned, “The Director said your last name is Master, right?...You know what Slave mean. Isn’t it Chinese?” As the best friends turned into a culdesac neighborhood, the color of Master’s mood ring became white. “Ohhhhh. Yeah, my dad is Chinese-American, so I identify as that too. Especially when my dad brought me back to China for a family get-together for the Chinese New Years. But nobody has ever questioned that, even though my last name is Yin,” answered Gemini. Master inquired, “So I’m guessing you’re a mixed race or just pure black?” “Slave mean...Slave think Slave Greek even though Slave black,” shrugged Slave. Looking ahead, Slave spotted a structure he spent a better part of his life in. Slave noticed the painted colors fade with age, as the hulking bodybuilder drew closer. It was a three-story house that was painted in coats of red, pink, and yellow. Any other person would have seen it as a life-sized dollhouse with no coordinated colors. Slave pointed, “That’s Slave’s home.” “Huh...not as luxurious compared to your apartment. Do any of your parents still live here? Cause your house...has not been well-maintained,” remarked Master. The two arrived in front of aged house, as Slave placed a hand on the old white picket fence stationed in front of Slave’s old home. Slave could feel splinters ready to prick his skin; a sign of being weathered down without any recent history of repair. Looking down, Slave saw the grass grown to shin-engulfing heights with spiky weeds poking out. Seeing such sights reminded Slave of old lady Judy’s lawn. It must have been a jungle by now. Slave then also spotted a trail created by the greenery being beaten down many times; leading from the old, wooden gate to the house’s front door. Slave frowned, “No. They left when Slave did.” “Hello there, neighbor!” said a man. Glancing up, Slave spotted an anthropomorphic moose standing in the lawn next door. The moose was dressed in khakis and a sweater with glasses. It stood there doing its usual routine every afternoon; watering the lawn. Slave could feel the old habit taking over. Slave waved, “Hi, Mister Wilson.” “Lovely weather, isn’t it. So swell,” spoke James. Slave nodded, “Yeah, it is.” The hulking bodybuilder turned to the gate and opened it. Leading Slave’s friend onto the grassy path, Slave could hear the Soulem call to Slave. “Wait, that’s a transpecies! You said you didn’t know they existed! There’s one right over there! Your next door neighbor!” accused Master. “He’s not transpecies,” said Slave, “He’s not even a real person.” The Soulem huffed, “What does tha-GAH!” Slave spun around upon hearing Master scream. The Soulem was hunched over; attempting to balance itself from what he just tripped on. “I’m okay...the hell did I trip on?” said Master. Slave gazed down at the object protruding onto the path. Slave could see a flat tire with rusted spokes. Squatting down with the wet spandex package touching the beaten grass, the massive bodybuilder parted the grown grass. The slave replied, “It’s...Slave’s bike.” Master looked at the object. The golden cruiser Slave once rode was now covered in rust. Parts of it, including the handles, had broken off some time ago and had become lost in the sea of grass. Slave left it on the lawn the same day the hulking bodybuilder left Sunnysville after discovering the new powers. Slave wondered how much time passes in Sunnysville. “Geeze, it’s rusted all over and broken into bits. How long did you leave it out?” said the Soulem. Slave answered, “A couple months ago. Right before Slave moved to Skyway City.” “Dude, just what the hell is going on. Nobody here acknowledges my existence, the store interiors are covered in dust, and your old house is the only one that looks like nobody has been in for years. And, my gosh, I can’t even connect to the cloud or usual servers. I’m only finding tidbits of history and current events. There’s not even a year available on the internet calendar! I’m wracking my mind thinking you used to be part of some cult, or you’re from another dimension, or if this is some weird playground kind of deal. You just...You need to tell me now, bro,” said Master. Slave could see the stress and confusion in Master’s eyes. The pain in Slave’s heart upon seeing it felt like a hundred knives stabbing into it. The musclebound bodybuilder tried to carefully ease the Soulem into Sunnysville and its culture, but it was obviously not enough. Slave knew what Slave had to do. The bodybuilder started, “Slave…” “Okay, I’m no longer entertained by this. I wish my previous wish was nulled. Speak normally,” commanded Gemini. The Soulem walked past the slave, as he pulled on the cord of the Dragon Pearls™. The seventh orange ball plopped out of Justice’s hole with a soft, wet noise. Justice groaned from the stretching pleasure, and an increased vacancy within the bodybuilder’s bowels. The glistening pre-ejaculate gushed with an increased flow from his wet, spandex package onto the grassy path. Gemini spoke, “Now c’mon. What’s really up with Sunnysville and all the people and stuff.” Justice paused. He tried to think of the best way to explain it all, but nothing came to mind that sounded acceptable. The musclebound man took a breath and braced himself for the anger Gemini would most likely react to. “Sunnysville...isn’t a real place. It exists in a...I guess you’d call a pocket dimension? And like I told you earlier and before we came here, none of the people here are real,” explained Justice. Gemini frowned, “I thought you were being a total edgelord. Like, because nobody got how you felt and stuff, that they didn’t seem like real people. Or they just seemed happy and well-adjusted all the time.” Justice shook his head, as Gemini’s mood rings transformed to purple. “Naw. They’re all just androids that Hephaestus made. But he did such a rush job making them, that they don’t have any social programming in them. They’re like NPCs. They only say one thing or only say or do something different if you say the right thing. If you don’t follow the script, they freak out. Let me show you,” he replied. Gemini inquired, “Wait, do you mean a guy named Hephaestus or the actual god of fire and blacksmith?” Justice ignored his friend and turned to face his next door neighbor. “Hey, Mr. Wilson,” he called. The moose replied, “Hello there, Justice.” “This is my best friend, Gemini.” pointed Justice. James Wilson immediately reacted like old lady Judy upon hearing Justice speak off-script. His eyes went wide and gazed through Justice. Justice knew the person was not real, but it still hurt the bodybuilder to see it happen. Justice felt the old guilt of hurting a Sunnysville resident when not playing the specific role. The moose spoke, “INPUT CANNOT BE DESIGNATED. DIRECTORY NOT FOUND.” Gemini’s mouth gaped open, as he saw the anthro moose reply. “...Holy shit,” he said. Justice nodded, “Yeah, and I think they only recognize me and my parents as people. I guess that shows how little time Hephaestus had when making all the townsfolk here.” “Oh, and about that other question you asked, it’s the actual god,” he replied. Gemini paused, “Oh.” Justice attempted to give eye contact with his Soulem friend. Filled with so much awkward feelings, it resulted in him staring at the grass. The musclebound bodybuilder clenched his hands, as he forced himself to continue talking. “Yeah...I’m...actually a demigod...or something close to that, I guess. I’m the child of Ares, Aphrodite, and Apollo, and they created me to be a superhero to represent them. And the reason why all three of them got together to make me was to increase my chances of survival, since supervillains are as powerful as them now,” he explained. Gemini spoke up, “That’s...pretty cool. So what does that have to do with you living in Sunnysville?” “A lot, from what my parents told me. It turns out that people who are born with more than one...divinity, I think you’d call it, are pretty powerful. But they have a tendency to become...psychotic and have a short life expectancy,” said Justice. Gemini noted, “And you have three…” “Yep. Three gods that gave me a sliver of their essence to give me life. I mean, I shouldn’t be alive right now. My parents guessed that one of the outcomes would be me literally exploding,” nodded Justice. He continued, “But since I didn’t, that just meant that I would probably go crazy and try killing everyone. So they put me in this pocket dimension and watched over me for over twenty years. The other shoe hasn’t dropped yet, but who knows. I somehow turned out right, and that’s why they let me out.” “Sooo…” hesitated Gemini. Justice interrupted, “What’s kept me stable? I think that it’s cause the essences I was given canceled each other to a weakened point that limited my powers. Kinda why Gilgamesh was stronger than me. But I like to think that it’s cause my parents loved me and tried their best to raise me right. There’s a lot of factors, but I just know that I’m unique and still alive.” “...Shit,” said Gemini. Justice sighed, “Yeah.” “Being here with only your family to actually socialize with and the rest of this world being fake, and you didn’t even know it...Must’ve really fucked you up,” commented Gemini. Justice looked up at the sky, “Especially with nothing ever changing, I guess it did. If it wasn’t for our friendship at stake to distract me, I’d probably be freaking out about your new body. I know I would’ve had a meltdown.” The bodybuilder slowly drew in a long breath; his pectorals lifting upwards. He then let out a quiet exhale, as he remembered something else. The musclebound slave mentioned, “Hm, ya know, I didn’t even know superheroes or magic existed. I just thought they were comic book stuff.” Gemini stared up at his friend with his mouth agape once again. The husky Soulem threw his hands up in intense bewilderment. “...Why?!” questioned Gemini, “It defeats the very purpose of making you into a superhero! Unless...they weren’t trying to inspire you to leave.” Justice shrugged, “Who knows. I’ve forgiven them for what they did to me. Don’t get me wrong, I really wanted to be angry and destroy everything here. But...They were just doing what they thought was right. They didn’t know any better. And I still love them. It might’ve been lonely here, but at least they were always with me. Plus...I’m also afraid I might never come back if I go off the deep end.” “And it makes no sense when I say this that...I hate this place, but I still love it here. It’s predictable here. Familiar. No fights. No stores suddenly closing. And nobody is changing. I can still remember some happy memories here, and all the good times I tried to create...I never realized how suffocating it is to live here,” he continued. Gemini inquired, “Well...did you ever come back here when the real world got too much to handle?” Justice thought back to all the times he laid in bed; staring at the silver key. How every time he passed his closet, the temptation of magically using it would eat at him. But every time it did, all he had to do was think back to his experiences in the real world. All the new friends he was able to make, and all the new things he was able to try. “This is actually the first time I’ve been back, since I came to the real world. It was always so tempting to come back here whenever I was upset at something. But deep down...I knew that if I ever came back here, I’d probably stay here for good. And if it wasn’t for you, Gem, I’d also stop being Justice,” replied the bodybuilder. Gemini cupped his chin, “...Yeah, I guess compared to how Marvelous Man is a blank book, you could be whatever you wanted.” “Pretty much. Anyway, let’s head inside. I’m kinda hoping my family have some leftover cookie cake slices in the fridge,” said Justice. Gemini sighed, “Okay.” Heading to the front door, the Soulem placed his hand on the knob. Gemini swung it open without hesitation, while the color of his mood rings changed to green. The husky Soulem immediately recoiled; clutching at his mouth and nose. “Oh my gosh! What the hell is that smell?!” he choked. As Justice began to lumber over to his friend, he was hit with a foul stench. It smelled like mold and rotting fruit. The musclebound bodybuilder staggered back from the vomit-inducing scent. He dared to peek at the entryway and spotted small objects covering most of the ground. Some of the objects were mashed into the ground, while others were still round. One thing Justice was certain was that they were all engulfed by fungus. He coughed, “I think those are Mr. Wilson’s muffins.” Gemini clamped his hand back onto the doorknob and pulled with abrupt force. The door slammed shut; closing off the waft of disgusting odor. “Why the fuck is your house hoarded up with his muffins?!” gasped the Soulem. Justice panted, “He...leaves them in my house...every Friday. But since…-” “Yeah, I get it. Nobody was around to eat them and they got this bad...Does this dimension exist out of time or something?” interrupted Gemini. With the nasty stench out of his lungs, Justice was able to stand up straight. He tried to remember what his family said to him about Sunnysville. The bodybuilder recalled, “I think so. My dad said this place is like a hyperbolic time chamber.” Gemini turned to the overly-muscular slave, as his mood rings became purple. “So, like, ‘a year in here is a day out there’ sort of thing?” he surmised. Justice shrugged, “I guess. That was the best answer they could give me.” “Wow...they really treated you like a tv dinner. Just stuck you in here and set it to nuke. Presto-chango, they now have their superhero ready to fit in with the modern times,” commented Gemini. The Soulem motioned his hands as if he were performing a magic trick. He fluttered his hands about to express a flashy explosion. The herculean slave giggled, “Yeah, I think that’s how it was when it started out. But I know that my mom for sure stopped thinking about that the moment I was born. Probably my dad too. I remembered that he told me that I was the most perfect baby he’s ever seen. Which is the biggest compliment, since he’s...hehe, a pretty big narcissist. And for Papa-” “I’m guessing that’s Ares?” said Gemini. Justice nodded, “Yeah. He kinda put me on a spartan regimen where I was constantly exercising every day and was taught about war tactics. But when he pushed me too hard and caused my knee to dislocate when I was nine...I think that was when he realized I was his kid and not a soldier. Since then, he’d spoil me and train me at my pace.” “But that’s when my dad, Apollo, had to become the strict parent. He’d try to teach me about discipline of the self when performing art or bodybuilding and tried to teach me values by putting me in the boy scouts.” he continued. The Soulem laughed, “Pfff, hah! Boyscouts?!...Actually that does make some sense about you. Such a damn gentleman all the time.” The musclebound bodybuilder smiled. It felt relieving to talk to someone about his life, and it was with someone he trusted. He did not expect Gemini to take everything so well, but it was nice to see his friend still accepted him. With such a secret no longer a burden, a calming euphoria washed over Justice. A thought crossed his mind that if he was trapped in Sunnysville with Gemini, he’d be alright with such a predicament. “It’s all I know,” shrugged Justice. Gemini looked up at his friend, while his mood ring color became sky blue. He smiled, “Welp, we can’t go in there. Anywhere else you want to show me?” “Hmmm...wanna go to the beach?” suggested Justice. Gemini nodded, “Sure, I’m game for that.” The hulking slave took lead; heading towards the beach with Gemini holding onto his anal leash. Justice thought it was nice to be the one who knew things instead of feeling like a cultural imbecile. “It’s too bad we couldn’t go inside, so I could show you my room. My walls are racked with bodybuilding trophies and all my martial art belts and stuff. Got some classic video games too,” he mused. Gemini teased, “I bet you had a race car bed too.” “I actually do. King-sized and with a waterbed mattress,” grinned Justice. Gemini remarked, “...That’s awesome.” >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> The sky had started to take on an orange hue, as the sun began to set. Seagulls could be heard cawing; mixing with the sound of clear, blue waves crashing onto the sand. At this time, the fake people always playing on the beach were packing up to go. On the black boardwalk, a level above the sand, the two were leaving an ice cream cart with delights in their hands. Both of them carried a waffle ice cream cone with a large scoop of strawberry cheesecake flavor. As the best friend duos licked and bit into their treats, they settled onto the edge of the boardwalk. “Oh my gosh. This is so weird!” exclaimed Gemini, “Not the ice cream. It’s so fucking delicious. But even though this is my first ice cream, I get, like...a nostalgic feel from it. It’s both a new and reminiscent feeling I’m getting from eating this.” Justice watched his friend’s black tongue lap at the ice cream and its cheesecake chunk contents. He could not help but be confused at what he was seeing. “So I know this is going to be really obvious when I say this, since I ordered for you. But you can eat now?” he asked. The Soulem shrugged, “Yeah. I have an organic converter in me that burns food into energy. That way, it’s the first reserves I’ll use up, so I won’t have to plug in that often. Plus, it’s pretty therapeutic for Soulems. Helps us take part in the social interaction of human meal time, and it feels really nice to chew and taste.” “Oh...does that mean you poop now too?” said Justice. Gemini smiled, “Nnnnope! Unless, it’s a fetish thing, I don’t got that porthole installed. And cause I’m one-hundred percent top. But yeah, my organic converter creates no waste other than a vapor exhaust.” Justice flexed an eyebrow in confusion, while licking his ice cream. “Meaning?” he said. The bulky Soulem held up his white finger to signal his unavailability to give a verbal answer at that moment. Having finished all of the ice cream exposed above the cone, Gemini began to bite into the waffle cone. He rapidly bit into the cone and chewed his mouthful contents; finishing the sweet snack in seconds. After swallowing the last of it, Gemini paused. A second later, he emitted a loud belch. The Soulem smiled, while flexing his eyebrows several times. He held up his hand to display his face; signifying the answer to Justice’s question. The bodybuilder grinned, “Hehe, that’s cool.” “Not as cool as you,” replied Gemini. The Soulem’s eyes went wide and immediately looked away. His mood ring color had now flashed to pink, as Gemini stared intensely on the ocean in front of the two. He swallowed, “I just wanted to say...I’m sorry about how I’ve been acting like a sexual predator. And that I got angry at you. I get it now. The ignorance and stuff.” Gemini formed a fist with both hands and began to lightly pound them together. “And...I need to come clean about something else. My upgrade was supposed to be a surprise for you, because...I wanted to tell you something...That...you were what caused my awakening,” he admitted. Justice continued to bite into his ice cream at a slow pace. He could feel his heartbeat rise, but he did not want to confirm to himself what his trepidation was about. The Soulem continued, “And as you know, awakenings for a Soulem can happen from experiencing lust or love or other complex emotions. And after you were showing off your silver thong, I felt a thirst...B-basically, I was horny. But...later, after I realized what I went through...I still couldn’t get you out of my head.” “I felt this need to...be...with you. It wasn’t about sex anymore. For the first time, I actually felt lonely not living with you and having to go back to the D.A.B. to recharge and stuff. And I wanted to do more with you. To...hear you laugh. To see you smile. To hold you when you cry...To hold your hand and feel the very atoms and heartbeat of you...I realized that...that…” he hesitated. The husky Soulem stopped bouncing his fists together and gripped the edge of the pavement. Gemini slowly turned his face to Justice with the mood rings emitting a rose red color. A clear lubricant began to collect on the edges of the Soulem’s digital eyes. He confessed, “I love you.” Blood thumped in a deafening rhythm in Justice’s head. He could feel his manhood inflating and straining against the spandex that encased it. He felt happy...then scared...then something else. A spring of different emotions converging at once overwhelmed the bodybuilder’s psyche. Without realizing it, his body reacted to the sudden emotional stress. Justice scrambled to stand up; dropping the ice cream in the process. Taking a leap forward, he attempted to sprint as fast as his musclebound body could move. As he managed to take two steps forward, the Dragon Pearls™ magically bound to his pumped anus yanked on the ring attached to Gemini’s finger. The Soulem was immediately dragged across the ground. “OW. OW. OWWW!!!” cried Gemini. A second after being pulled onto the pavement, the silver ring came off of Gemini’s digit. The overly-muscular slave instantly froze in place; stuck in a running pose. The bulky Soulem pushed himself up and stomped towards the inanimate Justice. Gemini’s mood ring transformed to orange. He shouted, “Fatherf-BITCH, DID YOU JUST TRY TO BOLT ON ME?!” “I’m sorry,” whimpered Justice, “...I didn’t know what to do, and I just freaked out...it’s what I do when I’m really mad or stressed. If I was Marvelous Man, I could’ve handled it better...” Gemini exclaimed, “Maybe just say that you’re not into me?! I mean, it sure as shit would’ve hurt a lot less than being pulled across the pavement! Which, by the way, not cool, bro!” Justice remained silent, as the Soulem finally caught up to the musclebound slave seconds later. Gemini walked around Justice and stationed himself in front of the hulking bodybuilder. Justice could not look his friend in the eye and remained staring at his mammoth pecshelf. “...I couldn’t say that to you...because...that’s not how I feel. Being here with you...I felt...happy. I didn’t feel trapped. And you tried your best to understand me. It’s...one of the reasons I like about you...You’re an ass for being honest all the time, but you listen to me. You actually want to know me other than how much I can lift or if I’m a top. I feel like we have a lot of similarities, and it’s nice to know that I don’t feel like an outcast when I’m with you,” said Justice. Gemini huffed, “Thennn, why not just take it slow, and we, ya know, date.” The hulking bodybuilder wanted to immediately say yes. His voice began to rise in agreement, but the image of Gene Lightfoot instantly materialized in his mind. His heart felt torn. He wanted to be with Gemini, but he was giving his work partner a chance at love. The idea of keeping such a fact secret from the Soulem popped up. But doing such a thing would eat at Justice’s conscious for the rest of his life. “I would...but...I’m already dating Gene,” answered Justice. The Soulem frowned, “Wait...that illiterate bunny man? Fffff-of course you would. Who wouldn’t with all that erotic emotion he is literally emitting.” “Hey! Don’t say that about him! Of course he can read, and that’s not why I’m seeing him,” spat Justice. Gemini pointed at his head, “Uh, no he can’t. Those rabbit ears of his only translates oral language. Anything wrote down is chicken scratch to him. I should know, I was the one who was told to set the language on his electronic scroll to his native language. But surprise, surprise. A country that is closed off to outsiders, and its language that isn’t widespread, isn’t available on any digital format.” Justice thought back to all the times Gene did not or refused the opportunity to read. There was the time the bunny demigod did not use their personal scroll to review information sent by Fairuza. Then there was the first date the two had. The rabbit superhero looked perplexed by the English menu at the Toto’s restaurant and decided to order whatever Marvelous Man chose. At the art museum, Gene asked Marvelous Man to read the placards out loud...Even though it added up, Justice felt it was still not a nice thing for Gemini to say. The hulking bodybuilder looked at Gemini. Realizing his friend was a robot, Justice figured there should have been more than one way to fix the language issue with Gene’s digital scroll. “But…” said Justice, “Can’t you just modify-” “I’m not that kind of Soulem, dammit! I don’t have the mind of a computer programmer, and I can’t ‘ghost’ myself into the coding! Just-fuck. Getting off track. Just...why? Why are you into him if it’s supposedly not for sex?!” shouted Gemini. The overly-muscular slave thought back to the personal interactions with the bunny demigod. Gene was a super strong superhero that had an abundance of beautiful physical features. But the rabbit superhero never let his powers inflate his ego and approached everything with gentleness when it did not involve lewd practices. He always seemed calm and happy but never hid his sad and pained side whenever he interacted with Marvelous Man. The only times he was truly angry was upon witnessing any injustice. He was a model superhero in Justice’s eyes: flawed, empowered, and kind. Justice explained, “He’s...a nice guy. He cares about the people nobody wants to pay attention to. And he’s really strong too. But I also understand his pain. That he has to be here to find better things in life, but nothing ever feels like it can be a second home. He might seem shallow, cause he likes sex...a lot. But he’s much deeper than that. People don’t care to know more about him once they get what they want from him...which is banging him. We’re different in a lot of ways, but we’re able to share our frustrations together.” “I’m sorry, Gemini. I didn’t think of you in a romantic way until now, cause...I was just happy with the way things are. But…” he continued. Gemini proposed, “Then date both of us. I’m...I can do a polyamorous thing. I mean, you got a big enough bed to fit all of us and stuff.” It sounded like a perfect fantasy in Justice’s mind. His giant memory-foam mattress with all three laying naked on it. He’d be sandwiched in between his two lovers with Gene on his right and Gemini on his left and holding both their hands. The threesomes they would have would be legendary, and he would be able to share his love with both of them. But whenever he would give Gene attention, he would feel those mood rings burning into his back with a radioactive green. “It wouldn’t work out. I know you’d get jealous. Wouldn’t be right if I put you through that,” sighed Justice. He requested, “Just...just give me two weeks. By then, I’ll have it figured out.” Gemini paused. His eyes darted left and rights, as if he were mulling over what Justice had asked of him. “Did he even say he loved you? Or at least like you?” questioned the Soulem. The hulking bodybuilder thought back to all of his interactions with Gene Lightfoot. The only reason the bunny demigod went out on a date with Justice, was because Gene thought it would be fun. They shared tender moments together, and the Totochtin prince said he was on the same best friend level as Director Doug. And the kiss the two had...was it really only Justice that enjoyed it? He hesitated, “I mean...we ha-” “Answer the question, Justice. Yes or no?” interjected Gemini. Justice paused, “...no.” The Soulem huffed, as he turned around. Back facing Justice, Gemini crossed his arms. His body lightly swayed about for a few seconds before facing back to Justice. The Soulem’s face showed resignation, while throwing his arms up in an exaggerated fashion. “Fine. Whatever. Have your two weeks. But don’t expect me to be surprised, if I’m not as receptive to when you finally come around. I’m only agreeing to this, cause I love you,” he said. Justice dryly swallowed, “I’m sorry. I really am. This is the first time I’ve ever had to deal with this…with love and the complex stuff, I mean.” “Yeah, yeah. Join the club. Let’s just go now. I’ve learned your origin story, so let’s get out of this town simulator.” frowned Gemini. Justice’s eyes darted about, “Ummm, I’d like to, but I kinda need you to...ya know.” “Oh...right,” said Gemini. Walking around the petrified, musclebound slave, Gemini stopped behind Justice’s basketball-sized glutes. The bulky Soulem leaned down and reached underneath the perfectly round buttocks. He grabbed an orange sphere that was dangling outside of the bodybuilder’s donut-shaped hole and stood up. He commanded, “I wish...that you couldn’t remove a tattoo I put on you.” Justice looked over his shoulder. “Huh?” said Justice, “That’s a weird thing to-GYAH!!!” Next Chapter