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Thought id write a quick story to get myself back into this before I continue "in league with satan" , but it turned into a to parter, so one more part of this to come As always very happy to hear criticisms and advice The Strongman By Shinji86 I don't usually go to events by myself, especially not porn expos, but there I was. When your two favourite pornstars are going to be there, and their porn is the closest thing you’ve come to a relationship in three years, you do funny things. Walking through the expo hall, stalls that had dragon-shaped dildos, shibiri classes and phallic-shaped cakes, I laugh to myself on how desperate I am to be here. I, looking to have two seconds and a picture with Jessie Lee and Angela White like it's gonna fulfil me or something. I waited an hour and a half, and my fleeting time with them ended in a heartbeat. I got the pictures on my phone to celebrate the occasion, but after looking at them I was starting to realise how lonely and in a mess I am. As I walk through the hall towards to exit I am in a complete stupor, seeing all these bbl, fake-tittied baddies and jacked men in these baths selling photos and signature dildos and pocket pussies I just want to crawl back into my bed, log onto PornHub and be in my safety bubble. My attention quickly gets hit by a sign in front of one the side rooms, which reads “XXX SIDESHOW- all the carny classics, with a spicy edge!!!”. This is the first thing that has tweaked my interest since seeing the fourth stall claiming to “keep you hard all night”. As I walk into the dimly lit room I can hear cheers and the verse of Cherry Pie by Warrant, a lil cliche but let's keep an open mind. As I make my way around the raised seating I am confronted but a busty Thai trans girl firing ping pong balls at targets at alarming speed. I stand semi shock, partly by the bright lights on the stage in contrast to the darkness of the rest of the room, and partly by the accuracy of each shot into targets metres away. “Excuse me sir” I hear taking me out of my stupor. “Oh sorry, what was that” I say not taking my eyes off the spectacle “I was saying that if you are going to stay for the show could you please take a seat in the stand please, you are in people's way” a twenty-something usher says to me in an annoyed tone “Oh ok, so sorry,” I say, quickly walking up the stairs to where I find a seat. As the final chorus rings out the ladyboy shoots a projectile the size of a wine bottle about five metres through a flaming hoop, popping the crowd, and receiving lots of applause. As she stands up, a tattooed-up blonde bimbo in a bikini, thigh-high boots and a top hat appears. “Please give it up to Cherry, the human cannon” the babe announces as Cherry takes her bow to a chorus of applause and cheers. “ And now for the final member of our squad, we have our strongman. Hailing from the eastern block, this man is one of the most powerful humans on the planet. Please welcome the Belarusian powerhouse, Alexi” she yells out, outlandish tits bouncing as she hypes the crowd up. A massive cloaked figure walks out to the soundtrack of Straus’ “Also Sprach Zarathustra”. He stops upon reaching the centre of the stage, and the stage lights dim to just a spotlight. As the song reaches the big crescendo he throws the robe off, revealing one of the most insanely developed bodies I've ever seen hitting one of the most impressive double bi poses in history. Alexi wears only army boots, leather wrist shackles and the most impossibly stretched-out black posing strap I have ever seen. It looks like he is smuggling the world's biggest cucumber down there. The crowd is in stunned silence at the pure size of this Belarusian god as he hits the most herculean front lad spread known to man. The continental plates you could call pecs striating slightly, abs vacuumed in, traps pushing his ears. The unreal-sized delts nearing the size of a normal mortal's head. His fingers latched and pulled up the tortured material around his manhood, which was being pushed forward by the freak show that is his quads. “Alexi stands at six foot four and weighs 210kg at around 10% body fat. His arms stretch the tape at a monstrous 28 inches, his chest a godly 65 inches, and quads that are an insane 44 inches, 4 inches bigger than his waist, but this is far from his most extreme body part” the slutty ring leader announces, “please Alexi show the people what they are here for” Alexi flexes the front lat spread, but this time his abs flex harder, and his posers start to stretch and distort more, then after a few seconds the fabric finally gives out, and the most developed cock you have ever seen in your life is out in all its glory, the crowd erupts. “Alexi has the world's biggest natural cock in the world and has used a secret Eastern European training method to get it there. As such has gained not only many inches in length and girth but also insane muscle control and strength in it and surrounding muscles” the busty ringmaster says, while devouring it with her eyes “13.5 inches in length, 8.5 inches in girth while soft, and this is just the beginning, this man is a grower” Nearly as soon as she finished the sentence Alexi starts flexing, striations showing all over his groin, bouncing the cock, pushing blood into the love muscle. Hands free his cock swells and rises, like the amazing monolith it is. Once it passed 90 degrees, the level of development becomes apparent, the separation between the different parts of the cock is incredible, together looking like a contest lean bodybuilder quad. As it rose inch by inch, the veins blowing up bigger, an intricate web of finger-thick vines wrapping the god cock. As the fist-sized head reaches in between his pecs, he flexes harder, getting the meat to meet his body with a satisfying thwack. Alexi lets out a deep guttural moan as a bead of pre cum leaks from the piss slit and rolls down the pillar, the crowd collectively gasp and moan at the same time, witnessing a true freak show. My cock is so fucking hard, as hard as I was meeting Jessie Lee an hour before. “Ohhh….oh…. I mean, give it up for Alexi everyone, 24 inches long and 17 inches in circumference. He brings a new meaning to being a grower” the bimbo moaned nearly drooling at the magnificent monolith. She wasn’t the only one mystified, as the crowd noticed what she had said, coming out of a trance and bursting into rawkus cheers, screams and whistles. It was about this time that I noticed I was hard as fuck, which has never happened to me before looking at a man, but this was a god, radiating pure sex and power. Now it was time for the real show to start. As the crowd quieted down the ringmaster got back on the mic. “Alexi is one of the strongest humans on earth, but this is a sex expo and a xxx show. No one is here to see or hear about deadlifts or squats. Let's get started” she exclaimed, seeming almost giddy. She approached Alexi, devouring him like a snack with her eyes. “Now you are about to witness the most unique strength display you’ll ever see. Alexi’s cock is stronger than 90% of men in this crowd, but before he can show it he needs a warm-up” she says, as she passes her mic to an assistant. What happened next was something I've only seen in drawings on Rule 34. Alexi, completely hands-free lowered his fuck stick til it was 90 degrees again, yet still completely engorged still. The ringmaster approached him, the assistant brought a small step ladder which she climbed up. Putting her hand on Alexi’s shoulder, she threw her leg over his cock like she was getting onto a motorbike. She sat on his fuck muscle with a small moan, eyes slightly rolling for a second. The cock did not waiver at all, taking the weight like she was nothing. My cock was now the hardest I've ever felt it. The Belarusian beast whispered something into her ear, and her nod prompted him to start lifting his monster up and down. My mouth went dry watching what was up to that point the most obscene and sexual thing I'd ever seen. The ring slut was enjoying the ride, which started in a smooth slow up and down, but as he started to raise the speed you could visibly see the cock getting a pump. The head flared more, veins pumping bigger, one of which went directly under the bimbo's pussy. She was moaning louder and louder as the speed picked up, all while Alexi showed no signs of exertion, bar a sly smile and a little glob of pre-starting to roll out the tip. The sounds of moans were loader and loader until the crescendo, where she started screaming “FUUUUCCCCK, FUUUUCCCKKKK, YOU BIG COCK MOTHER FUUUUUU I’M CUUUMMMMOINNNNGGG” and as she went limp for a second, having to grab on the head of his cock to stop her falling off. I now noticed that she wasn’t the only one moaning, the whole crowd where caught up in the sexist show of power they had ever witnessed. As the ringmaster started getting her wits about her, Alexi grabbed her around the waist, his hands nearly meeting and lifted her off the herculean rod, placed her on the ground, and gave her a deep kiss. “Oh my, uhhhh. Give it up for that ladies and gents” she said breathlessly. “As I said though, that was just a warm-up, you are in for the real show now” Other built men started bringing out a trolled that was loaded with plates, my mind an absolute wash, not quite digesting what I was witnessing. It was about this time that I had noticed I had cum in my pants, but I was still steel hard, anticipating what was to come.

This is a new story I've been working on (a similar size and length to my last big story Deano, Again) which centres around a group of bodybuilders sharing a flat in Manchester. Unlike my last few stories, this one features completely new characters and has no connection to the Muscle University/Deano series. However, as with most of my stories, there are a couple of nods and references to past stories and characters. This story doesn't stray too far from what people know me for. However, unlike my previous stories which were all told from the point of view of just one character, this one features multiple points of view with the chapters mostly alternating between two of the flatmates. On a final note - this first chapter is the longest of the story so if you're slightly put off by the length I promise you that most of the follow-up chapters are considerably shorter! MUSCLE LADS, INC. ONE NICK My heart is pounding as I approach the big red brick building with green framed windows Google Maps has been guiding me towards for the last twenty minutes. This is ridiculous. Why am I so nervous? Okay - that’s a stupid question. I KNOW why I’m nervous. I know why my stomach’s currently doing somersaults and why my heart feels like it’s in my throat. Because I’m about to meet Alfie Winters and Danny King. Two of the best young amateur bodybuilders in Manchester. Probably in the whole country, for that matter. Two bodybuilders I’ve admired and followed on Instagram for years. I couldn’t believe it when I saw Alfie’s Instagram Story this morning. It almost felt too good to be true. Maybe it actually is? And obviously, I was nervous when I sent him that DM telling him I was interested. I doubted whether I should. But I knew that if I didn’t take a chance and send him that message, I’d end up regretting it. And then Alfie sent me a reply which was SO fucking friendly and my head has been spinning with all of these thoughts and hopes and fantasies ever since. And yet - as I stand at the front door of the building Alfie and Danny live in and scan the buzzer for flat number seventeen, all I can think is - what the hell are these two incredible bodybuilders going to think when they open the door to an average sized, awkward looking, nerdy guy in glasses? Okay, so “average-sized” is a bit misleading. I’ve actually done two bodybuilding competitions. The first one was last summer after I’d finished university. And the second one was just last weekend. I came fourth in the junior category of a local show back home in Leicester. Which explains why I'm currently abnormally tanned and have been getting weird looks from people on the street for the past week. But despite the still shredded abs and leg striations currently hiding under my hoodie and jeans, it still feels a little weird to describe myself as a bodybuilder. Like if I actually said to someone, “I’m a bodybuilder”, there’s a very good chance they’d look me up and down and screw up their face in confusion. Maybe I’m being a bit hard on myself. Because, while I’m definitely no bull-necked Montgomery University-type tank struggling to fit through doorways by the time they’re twenty-one, I have got quite a bit of muscle on my six-foot frame. My arms are pretty thick for a start. Enough for heads to turn when I walk down the street wearing a t-shirt or vest during the summer. But by bodybuilding measures, I’m still pretty lean. I guess I’m one of those guys who looks pretty average and then shocks everyone by lifting up his t-shirt to reveal a set of shredded fucking abs. Hopefully, all of that will change in the next few years. That’s the goal anyway. To pack on more size. To keep learning. To keep growing. To keep getting better. So that one day I can proudly say “I’m a bodybuilder” with conviction and without fear of being laughed at. To be just as good as the two bodybuilders whose doorstep I’m now standing on and whose flat I’m now buzzing as my heart hammers in my chest. To maybe even be on the same bodybuilding stage as one or both of them one day competing alongside them. A deep voice comes through the intercom saying hello. I think it might be Alfie rather than Danny but I can’t quite say for sure. “Ummm. Hi,” I say back, awkwardly. “It’s Nick. To see the room?” The voice says something I can’t quite catch, a buzzing noise comes through the speaker and I hear the click of the front door opening. At this point, my nerves are off the charts. And they only get worse when I climb the stairs to the third floor. They only really start to ease when I’m suddenly faced with the image of Alife Winters filling up the door frame to his and Danny King’s flat. His big, round shoulders and jacked arms are bulging out of an Army-like olive green vest to a ridiculous degree. And the top of his thick pecs is spilling out of the material. Wow. I mean - seriously wow. He’s much bigger in the flesh. Is this guy really only a couple of years older than me? A wave of inferiority sweeps through me. Maybe I shouldn’t have worn this bloody hoodie so Alfie and Danny could see my impressively thick and still bronzed arms? Something flickers across Alfie’s face when he spots me. I don't know if it’s surprise or disappointment or something else. Maybe I look bigger in my pictures on Instagram? But then his face transforms into a welcoming smile which relaxes me instantly. “Nick, yeah?” “Yep!” I reply, smiling back. Partly to be friendly. Partly because it’s pretty hard not to smile at the image of a jacked up muscle plug of a short-arsed bodybuilder spilling out of his vest who’s not entirely unattractive face-wise and who’s standing in front of you ready to welcome you into your flat. I also can’t help thinking how considerate it is that he decided to wait for me this way to save me from wandering the halls looking for the flat number. “You found it all right, then?” Alfie asks. “Yep. Just about!” I have no idea why I said that because I had no trouble finding the flat at all. “Jesus,” Alfie says, looking up at me as I follow him through the doorway and enter the flat. “How tall are you?” “Ummm. Six foot,” I reply, suddenly becoming very aware of the height difference between us. He must only be about five foot seven at the most. “I knew I should have put a height restriction on the ad,” Alfie jokes, as we enter a room made up of a living room on one side and a kitchen area on the other. “So this is the lounge. Kitchen's over there,” Alfie says. “The TV’s mine. But, you know … use it as much as you want. We’ve got Netflix.” The room is bright, spacious and modern with big comfy-looking blue sofas and a huge television. The far back wall has exposed bricks. I think property agents and landlords would probably market this as a New York style apartment. I’ve seen a couple of similar flats described as such in my search for a place to live in Manchester over the past few days. The only clue that bodybuilders live here is a big poster of Mitchell “The Machine” Murray squeezing out a brutal crab most muscular with his mouth wide open stuck to the wall above one of the sofas. Muscle exploding. Veins everywhere. Attitude through the roof. I wonder what my parents will say about that when they drop me off. IF they drop me off here. That’s a big if. “You a fan?” Alfie asks, looking from me to the poster of Mitchell Murray. He’s got an almost teasing smirk on his face which makes me feel instantly nervous. I swear my cheeks are getting flushed. “Mmmm,” I say, looking away from Alfie and back to the grotesque muscle screaming for my attention from the wall of the living space. “Isn’t everyone?” I look back at Alfie Winters who’s giving me this big, warm grin. Did I mention the fact that Alfie Winters is kind of cute? Okay - more than just kind of. He’s got these small boyish features. A button nose. Nicely styled brunette hair. I wonder if he’s ever felt self-conscious about his ears. It’s not that they’re big. But they’re quirky-shaped and kind of stick out. They’re like little pixie ears. Somehow they just make him more attractive though. I’m suddenly pulled from my thoughts and my insides tighten. Because the other bodybuilder who lives here has just walked into the room. A bodybuilder who’s even bigger and more well-known than Alfie Winters. Unlike Alfie though, Danny King is covered up by a black hoodie with the words Panther’s Gym written on the front. No guesses as to which of the two most hardcore bodybuilding gyms in Manchester Danny attends. But even though he’s covered up, he looks like a right fucking tank. I know exactly what’s hiding under that hoodie. Thick slabs of hard, shredded meat. Gorgeous thick pecs. Blocky abs. Big, boulder shoulders. How twenty-five year old Danny King is still an amateur is anyone’s guess. It can't be long before he gets his pro card. There are so many contrasts between Alfie and Danny. Danny’s much taller. I'd say about the same height as I am. And where Alfie’s cute and boyish-looking, Danny’s kind of rough around the edges, but still handsome. Really handsome actually. He’s got brunette hair which is shaved at the sides and medium length on top. A strong jaw. He looks like a bit of a lad’s lad, I guess. The type of guy who I'd never have been friends with at school. I know I only just met the guy, but I’m also not getting the same warm, friendly vibes that I get from Alfie. There’s something about him which is kind of intimidating. Okay - very intimidating. “Danny, mate - this is Nick,” Alfie says. “The guy about the room?” Danny King gives me a half-hearted nod and mumbles, “All right,” with an unimpressed look on his face. My heart sinks to the pit of my fucking stomach as Danny turns away and heads into the kitchen area. I think I now know why someone coined the phrase ‘never meet your idols’. “I’ll show you the room,” Alfie says, seemingly unfazed by Danny’s less-than-friendly welcome towards me. As I follow him, I can’t help taking a sneaky look back at Danny, who’s now got his broad back to me, making himself a shake in the kitchen. The big cushions that make up his arse bulging underneath and stretching the material of his black joggers. I’m not being funny - but if a potential new flatmate is coming around to view a room in your flat, shouldn’t you at least make a bit of an effort with him? Is it me? Did Danny and Alfie discuss what type of flatmate they wanted beforehand and decided an absolute must was that he had to be a seasoned bodybuilder? And then I showed up with my two bodybuilding trophies and barely there calves? I’m tempted to ask Alfie if Danny is okay but it feels like it would be a weird question considering I literally just met the guy. As I follow him into the room, my eyes go down to the thick arse cheeks nestled into Alfie’s grey shorts, then further down to the thick calf muscles bulging off the back of his lower legs, then further down to the bright yellow socks he’s wearing which are patterned with little watermelons. I bite my lip to cover up my smile. Alfie Winters does this thing on Instagram where he poses in his (always shiny and hot as fuck) trunks and a pair of novelty socks pulled up to his ankles. It’s a sort of quirky little thing he’s known for doing. And people go mad for Alfie Winter’s novelty socks. Me included. Even if I’m not that vocal about it. “So where do you live at the moment, mate?” Alfie asks me as I scan the bright, decent-sized bedroom I can definitely see myself living in. “Oh, erm … with my parents in Leicester. That’s where I’m from,” I explain, turning around to see Alfie with his short thick arms folded across his chest. Must. Not. Stare. (Is drooling okay though?) “So why Manchester?” “Ummm. Well, my best friend lives here. I used to come and visit her when she was at uni and … I just kinda love it here, I guess. I’ve already got an internship here.” “Oh cool. What doing?” “Digital Marketing. It’s working for an agency.” “That sounds pretty mint,” Alfie enthusiastically replies in his cute Mancunian accent. “You can give me some tips for Instagram,” he adds with a grin so cute I’m now wondering how sensible it is to move in which a lad you’re probably going to fall in love with in the space of a week. “You’re, erm … a personal trainer, aren’t you?” As soon as the question escapes my lips I feel a sharp panic. I don’t want Alfie Winters to think I’ve been stalking him on Instagram or anything. Something flickers across his face and his lips briefly curl into an ominous little grin which makes me feel like I’ve just been rumbled. “Yeah. Just one of the high street gyms. And I’ve got a few sponsors too. So … are you gonna be a Muscle Factory boy when you move here?” he asks with a teasing look. I fail not to smirk back and nod. “Yeah. I think so!” Alfie playfully squints at me. “Yeah - I don’t really see you as a Panthers guy,” he teases. Before I have a chance to reply, Alfie shoots me another question. “You’re a Classic Physique guy, yeah?” I feel like I’ve just been winded. I know for a fact my face just dropped. “Ummm. Nah. Bodybuilding.” Alfie’s expression flickers like he’s realised what he’s said and he awkwardly nods. “I’ve just done, like, a few shows,” I explain. “Nothing major.” “And now you’re moving to Manchester to train at The Muscle Factory and become a shredded monster?” he teases with a cheeky smirk, redeeming himself for his earlier blunder. I bite my lip and grin back, feeling a little sheepish all of a sudden. We drift back into the living room and I feel both nervous and excited at the prospect of facing Danny King again. He’s sitting on one of the sofas with his face buried in his phone. He looks like such a monster just casually sitting there in his hoodie and joggers. With his veiny hands and his annoyingly good looks. He doesn’t even look up when we sit on the other sofa. Which feels kind of rude. “So, ummm … have you got many people looking at the room?” I ask. Alfie looks at Danny, who still isn’t looking up. “Just another guy later, but … you messaged us first, so …” I feel a jolt of excitement. But that quickly vanishes. Because NOW Danny looks up. He gives Alfie a pointed look, his eyebrows furrowed. As if he strongly disagrees with the suggestion that the room is mine just because I messaged Alfie first. And now I know that it’s definitely me. That this guy clearly has some kind of problem with me. Then Danny looks at me, not smiling. Just … looking at me. This kind of unnerving stare. Like he’s properly checking me out for the first time now that it's been suggested that I may actually be moving into the flat. And now I don't know what the hell to think. “Any more questions, mate?” Alfie asks. Danny’s still glaring at me. I suddenly feel like I want this sofa to swallow me up. I have no idea what’s going through Danny King’s head, but I’m sure it’s not good. I DO have questions. A few of them, in fact. Are the rumours that you’re bisexual true, Alfie? Why does Danny King seem to hate so much? And would I be getting the same unnerving glares and cold reception if I were some Montgomery University graduated monster and not just some geeky-looking guy in specs from Leicester who has all but two bodybuilding shows under his belt? There's no world in which any of those questions are appropriate to ask. So I just meekly shake my head instead and decide to get the hell out of this flat as quickly as possible with no goodbye or acknowledgement from my new best friend, Danny King. As I say bye to Alfie and make my way to exit the building, all of my hopes and wild fantasies of living and becoming friends with two of Manchester’s best amateur bodybuilders shrink and disappear into nothing. Later that night I’m standing in the queue for Utopia - a big once-a-month queer club night at one of the city’s biggest club venues, huddled together with my best friend Liv, who I’m currently staying with and her very gay flatmate, Benji, who’s made no secret of the fact that he fancies me. “I don’t know why don’t you just move in with us,” Benji quips. “We’ll split the rent three ways.” “Excuse me - I’m not having my living room turned into a bedroom,” Liv retorts. “It’s not just YOUR living room,” Benji grumbles. “Mmmm. I kinda need my own room,” I tell him. “You could always just share my room,” Benji teases, wrapping his arm around mine so they’re linked. Liv makes an audible groan and I fail not to smile at Benji’s flirting. And maybe even blush a little. Benji is actually a really sweet guy. I mean - he’s not my type at all. He’s camp as Christmas for a start. Plus - I guess you could say he’s missing a few physical attributes that I normally go for. But I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought about what would happen if I gave in to Benji’s flirting. How he’d react if I lunged my face towards his and snogged his admittedly cute face off. I didn’t go into too much detail about what happened at the room viewing with Liv and Benji. I imagine the conversation that went down between Alfie and Danny when I left the flat. Alfie saying that I seemed nice. Danny pulling a face and saying they should wait for the next guy to show up. And then some super confident muscle bull of a bodybuilder who’s been competing for years and who Danny recognises from Panthers showing up to view the room and the decision being promptly made that he’s the flatmate for them and not that awkward nerd who came around earlier. Will Alfie Winters even get back to me to tell me the news or will he be too embarrassed after his blunder of implying the room was mine just because I messaged him first, which I have to say, feels like a bit stupid to me? I guess whatever happens I’ll be seeing Alfie Winters at The Muscle Factory when I eventually get my room sorted and move here. I can’t imagine him not even giving me a friendly hello. “Don't you think we’d make a good couple though?” Benji says, tightening his grip on my arm. “The big beefy himbo and the small geek.” A laugh escapes my lips. I’m tempted to ask, “Which one am I?” but I stop myself. If Benji thinks I’m big and beefy, what would he think of the two mini muscle bulls of junior bodybuilders I met earlier today? One of the guys standing in the queue in front of us glances around and quickly looks at me. Then his eyes go down to my arms. I guess my biceps do look pretty great in this tight-fitted blue t-shirt. Two seconds later he turns around again and gives me a shy little smile. I imagine that took a bit of courage. It’s kind of adorable. And the guy’s actually really handsome. And it would be so easy for me to pull him. But - ugh - I don't know if this makes me sound really shallow, but I know that what I REALLY want isn’t just a regular-sized guy. No matter how nice and cute and handsome he happens to be. We lose my new admirer once we get inside the club. I’ve never been to Utopia before and I didn’t really know what to expect but this place is pretty amazing. A huge high-ceilinged club with thumping uplifting house music full of all types of people all here to have an amazing night. It’s like a wonderland of queerness. Me, Liv and Benji make our way to the bar, passing people dressed in crazy club kid outfits, drag queens who look incredible and a few other people who stick out from the mass of clubbers. And I’m just here wearing skinny jeans and a tight blue t-shirt. And yet - I feel quite a few eyes on me. Hot guys smile at me. One guy even reaches out and places a hand on my back. It’s uninvited, but I’m flattered. All because I look pretty buff in the tight blue t-shirt I'm wearing. I can’t help but wonder what kind of reaction possibly bisexual Alfie Winters would get if he strolled in wearing that olive green vest he was wearing earlier today. Arms, pecs and shoulders bulging. And now I’m wondering - would Alfie Winters come to a place like Utopia? Would Danny King come to a place like Utopia? I think I already know the answer to the latter. “So, Mr Malone …” Benji begins with a mischievous look on his face when the three of us are standing at the bar. “I have a little present for you!” Before I have a chance to ask him what, he’s putting something into the palm of my left hand. “Ummm. What is it?” I ask, looking at the little round yellow pill now resting in between my fingers. “What’s going on?” Liv asks, leaning into us. I show her Benji’s “present”. “Oh great - so you guys are gonna be off your faces?” she says, rolling her eyes. “I’ve got one for you too, Olivia.” “What does it do?” I ask. Benji laughs. “God, he’s adorable!” he says to Liv, before turning back to me. “How can someone who looks like you be so innocent?” “Why don’t you just do half?” Liv suggests. Benji groans. “He’s a big boy. He’ll be able to handle it. Do the whole thing, Nick.” I suddenly like feel I’m in a cartoon. Benji is the little devil on my left shoulder and Liv’s the angel on the right. I look at the little yellow pill again between my fingers. I’ve never really done recreational drugs before. But this club. The people. The atmosphere. I’m suddenly feeling reckless. Without too much more deliberation, I put the whole thing in my mouth and wince at the bitter taste of swallowing it, to a grinning and excited-looking Benji. Who’s strangely never looked cuter. Half an hour later and me, Liv and Benji are huddled together dancing. Or at least I'm trying to. I don't think I’m actually moving that much. If I’m being honest I feel like a bit of a twat. Am I doing this dancing right or do I just look like a knob? I don’t think I’ll be going clubbing much when I move to Manchester. I think I’ll just stick to trying to become a muscle beast at The Muscle Factory and desperately trying to befriend Alfie Winters. Recreational drugs are also way overrated. I mean - yes, I feel a bit of a buzz. But is this really what everybody raves about? I leave Liv and Benji and escape to the toilets. I check my phone in a cubicle to find no text messages from Alfie. My insides tighten in anticipation when I open up Instagram. Because maybe he's DM’ed me there instead. But my heart soon drops. Because there’s no notification to tell me I have a message. I start to type in a name in the search bar, but something stops me when I’m halfway through. I don't think looking at the Instagram of a bodybuilder who clearly didn't think that much of me despite me hardly saying two words to him is a particularly healthy thing to do. So I type in another name instead. And now I’m smiling into my phone because I’m looking at a picture of a bronzed and shredded Alfie Winters hitting a front lat spread in what I presume is his bedroom in a pair of shiny purple posing trunks (to be fair, Alfie’s trunks are never NOT shiny) with a pair of Stranger Things socks pulled right up to his shins. I know this was taken around the time of his last competition a few weeks ago because he’s posted a couple of similar ones since then. I let out a little laugh and bite my lip as I read the caption Alfie has written to accompany the picture. Sorry, folks. These trunks aren't for sale. (I know some of you will DM me to ask anyway!) Will I ever be brave enough to post a caption as outrageous as that? Will I ever have random guys messaging me on Instagram asking to buy my used posing trunks? Right now, I’m not even brave enough to post pictures of myself in competition for fear of what people might say and think. For being judged, I guess. Which I know makes me sound completely pathetic. I put my phone away and head back out to my friends. But as I’m walking through the crowd of clubbers, something starts to happen. My arms suddenly feel light and airy. There’s this tingling sensation going up and down them. Which spreads to my whole body. And then … as I reach Liv and Benji, out of nowhere, this intense rush sweeps through me and takes over my body. “Are you okay?” my best friend asks as she grabs both of my arms. I’m not sure if I AM okay. Because I’ve never felt like this before. I guess this is what happens when you decide to be reckless and neck little yellow pill’s given to you by your mate’s flirty flatmate. “Just relax!” Liv instructs. Relax. Okay - I can do that. Because yes, I’m a little freaked out, but I know that I’m safe with Liv. And even though I don't actually know him that well, I know I’m in good company with Benji too. And so I take Liv's advice. I try to relax. I try to stop freaking out. And when I do, all of a sudden, I’m in the middle of having what is probably one of the best fucking nights out of my life. I love this place. I love this club. I love Liv. And I kinda love Benji too. Cute, sweet Benji, who is now tugging on the bottom of my t-shirt and trying to coax me into taking it off. Which really doesn’t take much doing. As soon as I peel my bright blue t-shirt off my torso, it’s like an instant reaction. And it’s not just because Benji is staring at my bumpy shredded abs with his mouth hung open. It feels like all eyes are suddenly on me. And man - it’s such a fucking rush! I never display my torso in public like this. I close my eyes and feel the heady rush of the chemicals. And now - there are hands on me. Planted on my waist. I open my eyes to see Benji giving me this dreamy little smile. Benji - who’s not my type at all but who’s sweet and funny and cute. Benji - who’s gripping my waist. Benji - whose face is now inching towards mine. Benji - who I’m now kissing. And it’s nice. And kind of horny. But when we part lips, he’s giving me this look that makes my chest tighten. Still gripping onto my waist, Benji leans into my ear. “I really like you!” I feel a sharp panic. I look at Liv behind Benji, who’s giving me this look. Like she’s warning me. Don’t mess around with Benji. Don’t break Benji’s heart. (Like I’ve ever broken anyone’s heart before!) He’s got this look in his eyes. This look of hope, I guess. And I know I need to stop what I’m doing. I know that doing anything more than just kissing Benji will be a mistake. “Ummm … I’ll be back in a bit!” I say to him, suddenly feeling like I need to escape. And quickly. “Okay!” he says, looking at me with those big eyes full of hope and desperation. I start to walk away from Benji and Liv and through the crowd of sweaty clubbers with my t-shirt tucked into the waistband of my jeans. Most of them are looking at me. Some of them smiling at me. Some of them even touching me. Because I’m pretty sure I’m the most shredded guy in this club. I'm pretty sure I'm the only guy here who can call himself a bodybuilder. Until I’m suddenly not. Because standing in front of me right now looking just as surprised and awestruck as I imagine I do is another shirtless bodybuilder. And God he’s sexy. Holy fucking hell he’s sexy. I almost can’t believe what I’m seeing. Is this a mirage? Or am I having some kind of drug-induced hallucination? This guy is about five inches shorter than me. I’m guessing late thirties. Maybe even early forties. He’s completely bald. Has piercing blue-grey eyes. Handsome, smouldering looks. And these sticky-out ears. And there’s a big sexy vein zigzagging across the right side of his head. As for the body. Holy fuck. Okay, so he’s not like a mass monster or anything. He actually has quite a small frame. But the amount and sheer quality of muscle he’s managed to pack onto that frame is incredible. He has these perfectly round shoulders. Thick, tanned arms. These hot-as-fuck wavy-lined abs. And the pecs. Fuck ME the pecs. They’re like bunched up balloons of muscle fighting for space on his chest. The kind of pecs that twitch and dance with the slightest of movements. Even the silver chain buried in his neckline and running across the top of his thick pecs is unspeakably hot. “Oh my God!” he says to me. We’re both just staring at each other. And then this beyond hot bonafide muscle daddy before me curls his mouth into the most fuck-off sexy grin. “Where did YOU come from?” he asks like he can’t quite believe what’s standing in front of him. “Ummm, Leicester!” I tell him, leaning closer to his ear. As soon the words escape my mouth I realise how fucking stupid they sounded. He wasn't actually asking me where I was from! I swear - sometimes I’m such a social retard. Sometimes when people speak to me or ask me a question, it’s like my brain goes into a panic. And I can’t think of my reply quickly enough. And I end up just sprouting this verbal diarrhoea. Or saying something completely stupid. Like I did just then. But my mystery silver chain-wearing muscle daddy of a bodybuilder doesn’t seem to care. In fact, his smile gets even bigger (and sexier). Like maybe he found what I just said sort of cute? His hand goes on my waist and he moves his lips closer to my ear. “Have you taken something?” I bite my lip and nod. His hand is not moving from my waist. And I feel so much. Chemistry. Electricity. Between me and this bald, veiny-headed, slightly sweaty muscle daddy. His thick, balloon-like pecs right there. His crazily thick shoulders. It’s like there’s an incredible hotness radiating from his body. “Do you wanna come back to mine?” I can’t think of anything I want more. I nod at the muscle daddy. He smirks at me, reaches for my hand with his, wraps his fingers around mine and leads me out of the club. So many people are staring as I’m led out of the club and across the street to a taxi by the short, jacked bodybuilder I met literally two minutes ago. It might be the fact that we’re two male bodybuilders holding hands in public. And the fact that we’re both fucking shirtless. I can’t quite believe this is happening. And I can’t quite believe how hot this mystery muscle daddy is. “Didn’t you have a t-shirt?” I ask him as we approach the taxi. Mine’s still tucked into the waistband of my jeans but his is nowhere to be seen. He shrugs and pulls a face like he doesn't care before smirking at me. We get into the back of the taxi and he tells the driver the place where we’re heading which I don't recognise at all. Then he wraps his big, meaty, slightly furry forearm around my leg, his fingers gripping my inner thigh and my cock forcefully throbs in my jeans. I can see the thick veins pulsing under the hair of his forearm. “What’s your name?” I ask him. But the muscle daddy doesn’t reply. Instead, he lunges his face towards mine and starts kissing me hard. His tongue in my mouth. His huge bare sweaty shoulder pressed up against mine. The taste of his mouth. The feel of his hard sweaty muscle. Even his scent. It’s all just so intoxicating. Almost unbearably horny. He stops kissing me. And now I’m just looking into those gorgeous blue-grey eyes. Every single fucking thing about this guy is sexy. The face. The body. The silver chain. That zigzagging vein on the side of his bald head. He’s like the epitome of masculinity. The ultimate muscle daddy. I feel like totally submitting to this guy. Letting him do whatever the fuck he wants to do to me. “My name’s Nick,” I tell him. His mouth curls into a big, sexy grin. Like he maybe thinks I’m cute or something. His grip gets tighter on my thigh. “I’m Mason,” he tells me. Even his voice is hot. Deep, masculine and surprisingly well-spoken. “But you can call me Sir,” he says, straight-faced. I don’t know if it’s the chemicals in my body. I don't know if I’d have had a different reaction to what Mason just said if I hadn't taken whatever Benji gave me back at Utopia. Whether I would have thought it was weird. Or just laughed. But I don’t even deliberate over what to do next. “Yes, Sir!” I say, feeling an unexpected rush. “Good boy!” he replies in an assertive tone. Why is hearing Mason calling me that so hot? Sir. Good boy. This is completely new territory for me. But I'm totally into it. Maybe it’s the chemicals, but right now, I’m completely prepared to do whatever this insanely hot muscle daddy wants. As soon as we’re out of the taxi Mason grabs my hand with his. And he doesn’t let go until we’re at the door to his flat. Hand in hand with his bald sweaty shirtless bodybuilder. All the time I’m rock fucking hard. I should have guessed that the moment we stepped inside his flat I’d be pushed up against the wall with Mason kissing me hard. His thick balloon-like pecs pushed against my toned chest. His wavy-lined turtle tummy abs against my little, narrow bumpy ones. “What gym do you train at?” I ask Mason as I fall back on his bed. I really want to know whether he’s a Muscle Factory bodybuilder or a Panthers guy. But he doesn’t reply. He just yanks down my jeans and boxers with determination. All the time with this insanely sexy look on his face. And now his lips are around my cock. My hands are running around over his bald veiny head. I’m gripping onto his sticky-out ears. He’s sucking me hard and fast. I feel like I'm fucking transcending. Mason frees his lips and looks up at me. The sexiest fucking grin on his face. “Wanna fuck me, boy?” “Yeah!” I reply, gripping onto his shoulder blades. His eyebrows rise up in a stern expression. “Yes, Sir.” “Good boy!” Mason says, sitting up straight and climbing on top of my legs and mounting me. My hands grip onto his thick hard legs as he grips my cock and positions himself over it. What. A. Fucking. Image. This smoulderingly handsome bald-headed mature bodybuilder with his thick pillow-like pecs and wavy lined abs sitting on top of me. Towering over me. Dominating me. And then he sits down and … fuuuuck. I’m inside Mason. My cock is inside of him. He’s riding me. I’m fucking this hot bald muscle daddy bodybuilder I know barely anything about. This hot bald muscle daddy bodybuilder who’s bringing his arms up into a front double biceps pose. He’s flexing while I’m fucking him. His eyes go to the gloriously pumped balls of muscle bulging from his upper arm and he arrogantly purses his lips. Like he’s admiring his own flexed muscle. Like he’s proud of it. Like he’s totally getting off on the fact that he’s a bodybuilder. My hands run up his stomach. Feeling his rock hard, slightly bloated abs. He looks down at me, still flexing his biceps, still with that smug fucking look on his face. His lips arrogantly pursed. And then his mouth curls into the sexiest smirk. Still the epitome of masculinity. Still the ultimate muscle daddy. When my hands reach Mason’s chest, he brings his arms down and squeezes so his pecs tense and flex and the muscle explodes under my fingers. His arms now by his side, he brings his right forearm up and clenches his fist into another flex and my hands slip to the biceps muscles now bulging off his upper arm. I’m squeezing Mason’s rock hard, marble-to-the-touch biceps muscles. Worshipping the freaky biceps of a hot bald muscle daddy bodybuilder who’s riding my fucking cock. “Want me to pose, boy?” Mason barks. “Yes, Sir!” He puts his fists on his waist and manoeuvres his upper body into a front lat spread. Lips pursed, he lets out a hot grunt as he reaches the peak of the pose. My hands run over his arms. His pecs. Down to his lats now peaking out under his armpits. All the time he’s riding me. All the time I’m fucking him. He then throws his arms behind his head and as he sits down on my cock, his big abs crunch and pop before my eyes. The hard, bloated abs of a roided-up daddy. Crunching and flexing before me. Just as I put my hands on his crunched abs he brings his arms down and with his fists pushed together squeezes out a most muscular pose with a cocky, animalistic, “YEAH!” My hands run over every muscle. Everything hard and squeezed and flexed. The look on Mason's face. The attitude. The dominance. The sheer fucking power. He grunts again as he continues to flex and ride my cock. All the time still riding me. All the time still fucking him. I’m fucking this hot bald muscle daddy bodybuilder while feeling his thick biceps and squeezed pecs. I’m worshipping him. I’m quivering in his presence. I know how lucky I am. To be with him. To be inside him. To be fucking him. He may as well as well be the hottest and biggest bodybuilder on the planet. Right now he is. Right now he’s hotter than any other muscle freak in the world. He starts riding my cock faster. I’m fucking him harder. How can anything be hotter than this? Two bodybuilders fucking each other. My dick deep inside this daddy with his freakish biceps and God-tier tits. I’m consumed by his muscle. By his mass. By his everything. He’s riding me faster. Flexing harder. Grunting louder. Two sweaty bodybuilders fucking. Mason's flexing. I feel like I’m gonna cum. He’s grunting. I’m really gonna cum. The hot muscle daddy riding my cock unleashes this loud, powerful groan as he bounces on my cock. Thick ropes of cum erupt from his cock and shower my toned pecs and shredded bumpy abs as the most intense pleasure courses through my body and consumes every part of me. And now I’m groaning. Screaming loudly. My whole body is on fire. My whole body feels like it’s exploding. Because I’m cumming. I’m cumming inside this hot jacked muscle daddy bodybuilder who’s now lying flat on top of me, laughing and catching his breath. “Fuuuuck!” Mason cries dramatically. I laugh as he grins at me wildly. Looking as sexy as ever. Perhaps even more so. We stay like that for a few moments. Him on top of me. Me clinging onto his warm sticky back. A sweaty mass of thick muscle pinning me to the bed. Jesus. Fucking. Christ. I’m on such a high. Are all my nights out in Manchester going to end like this? Mason sighs and looks me in the eye. Like he’s studying my face. “Are all the muscle lads in Leicester as hot as you?” he asks, his lip curling into a fuck-off sexy smirk. I grin back, still gripping onto him. Right now it doesn’t feel like anything matters but me being here with him. Me and Mason the Hot Muscle Daddy might as well be the only two people in the world. “I’m actually moving to Manchester,” I tell him. Something flickers across Mason’s face. Just for a second. It’s almost like I just delivered him bad news. Did I imagine that? “Awesome!” he says, his face softening. And now he looks genuinely pleased. “Mmmm. I’m trying to get my room sorted.” I suddenly have a crazy fantasy whereby Mason makes me an offer to stay here in his flat. To live here with him. “Do you go to Utopia a lot?” I ask him. He pulls a face. “Every now and then.” “Do you get many bodybuilders in there?” Mason grins. “No. Although I did take a straight bodybuilder mate there once. He loved all the attention he got.” He grips my waist hard. “You are definitely a find!” he purrs. God those eyes. God that face. God that everything. “So do you go to The Muscle Factory?” Mason mischievously grins. He pauses before answering. Am I asking too many questions? Is this not okay? “I train at Panthers. The Muscle Factory’s a bit showy-offy for me. Too many posers.” I nod and furrow my eyebrows. “Oh right. Just … you kind of seemed to like posing earlier!” I say, smirking at him. Mason lets out a little laugh. “You know what I mean. Panthers is purely about the bodybuilding. No one cares who’s there or … who MIGHT be there. Or who’s looking at them.” Huh. I had my heart set on training at The Muscle Factory. It’s pretty much the most famous gym in Manchester, after all. One of the most famous bodybuilding gyms in the country, for that matter. From what I’ve seen and heard it’s a big, clean gym, which is kind of flashy with tons of modern machines and multiple rooms and areas. Loads of famous bodybuilders have trained there. It also homes some of the best and most well-known personal trainers in Manchester. Panthers, on the other hand, is an old-school hardcore dungeon gym which is anything but flashy. In fact, it looks like a bit of a shithole from the pictures I’ve seen on the Internet. It’s a no-frills gym with old scruffy weight machines which haven’t been updated for decades. It’s almost the complete opposite of The Muscle Factory. I never really pictured myself training there. But hearing Mason comparing the two gyms, I actually quite like what I’m hearing about Panthers. I’m definitely more intrigued if nothing else. “I think you’d like it,” Mason says, with an ominous little smirk and an arched eyebrow. My chest starts to pulse with excitement. Is that some kind of invitation? Is that him saying that he wants to see me again? I’m suddenly picturing Mason taking me on my first visit to Panther’s Gym. Looking after me. Holding my hand. You know. That sort of thing. “I don't think you’d turn as many heads in there as you did tonight, though!” I suddenly feel sheepish and smile, while looking down at Mason's arms. The thick furry slightly tanned arms of a mature bodybuilder. Is it possible to pause time and stay lying in this bed forever? That’s pretty much how I feel right now. “So … do you know Danny King?” I ask him, feeling weirdly nervous all of a sudden and picturing Danny in his black Panthers hoodie yesterday afternoon. “Of course! Everyone knows Danny.” “What’s he like?” I ask, gripping a little tighter onto Mason’s back. “Mmmm. Nice guy. Doesn’t really talk much. Well … not at the gym, anyway. Keeps himself to himself. Some people think he’s a bit arrogant but … I don't think he is.” I nod. I’m tempted to tell him that I actually met Danny King yesterday and my general impression of him wasn’t hugely positive, but I decide to keep that information to myself. “Why? You got a little thing for Danny?” Mason asks, with a teasing smirk. I screw my face up. “Nah.” Mason smirks like he doesn’t believes me. “Wouldn’t blame you if you did. He’s a hot little fucker.” He squeezes my waist again. “Like you!” he purrs. He slips his hand down my body, grabs my cock in his hand and squeezes. I’m swelling instantly. He makes an “Mmmm!” sound as he squeezes my swelling cock harder while bringing his lips to mine and kissing me again. This time softer and more gentle than before. Here we go again. I have no idea what time we finally drift off to sleep. Or what time it is when we both eventually wake up. My body aches like I've run a fucking marathon. I feel more self-conscious in the light of day. I have no idea what I look like. But I get the sense that I definitely don’t look my best. If it’s anything like the way my body feels right now. But I’m still buzzing from last night. From everything that happened with Mason. Meeting him. Coming back here. Having amazingly hot sex. He seems just as into me this morning too as he was last night. Touching me. Kissing me. I really could stay here all day if he asked me to. When he leaves me alone and heads to the bathroom, I step out of his bed and dig out my phone from the pocket of my jeans lying crumpled up on Mason’s bedroom floor. I have two missed calls from Liv and a text asking where I am. I suddenly have a flashback to last night of kissing Benji in the club. That look of hope and desperation on his face. Him leaning into me and saying, “I really like you.” I take my phone back to Mason’s bed and go into the Instagram app. The little red icon is showing, telling me there’s a DM waiting for me. I don’t think anything of it, but when I see who it’s from, my chest tightens sharply and I suddenly sit up straight. Because Alfie Winters has sent me a message. Hey, Nick. Thanks for coming around yesterday. The room is yours if you want it! Holy fucking - what?! I got the room? Is this a joke? I stare at the message. Trying to make sense of the words. I got the room. They want me to live with them. Alfie Winters and Danny King want me to be their flatmate. And now I’m thinking back to yesterday. The way Danny was with me. Kind of cold and rude. And that look he gave Alfie when he suggested the room was mine. I wonder what happened after I left. Maybe Alfie managed to talk Danny around. Maybe the other guy who was viewing the room didn’t show up. Maybe he was even less of a bodybuilder than I am. Who the fuck knows. But I got the room. I’m actually going to be living with them. Mason comes back into the bedroom. He looks at me suspiciously. Like he knows something’s going down. “Everything okay?” he asks, climbing back into bed and putting his arm around my waist, his body pushed right up against my side. I drop my phone, tell him yeah and grip onto one of his thick arms, grinning and feeling like I want to melt into his skin. “Mmmm. You are so fucking cute,” he purrs. My grin gets bigger as I grip tighter. “Like a hot little sexy muscle nerd!” Before I can answer, he’s kissing me again. The minty taste of toothpaste filling up my mouth. His hand slips down and grips my cock again. “Mmmm. I reckon you’ve got at least one more load in you,” he teases. “Wanna cum again?” “Yeah!” I say, gripping his thick arm tight and looking into his piercing blue-grey eyes. He arches an eyebrow. “Are you forgetting something? Yes …?” I smirk like crazy. “Yes, Sir!” Mason smirks back at me. So. Fucking. Sexy. “Good boy!” he purrs, giving my cock another hard squeeze. Here we go again.

Once again, with the author's permission, I'm posting a story he wrote for the old forum and later deleted. I saved a copy on my hard drive and wanted to make this available to readers who might enjoy it as much as I do. This was written at a time when coin-operated public telephones were still widely available, so enjoy the trip back to the mid-00's, youngsters. Never Enough Muscle by LORUS Part 1 Dexter Rhodes was a bodybuilder. A very big one. He got this way mostly by acting as a guinea pig for his father’s experiments. At only nineteen years old he was 6’ 5” tall and weighed a solid 640lbs of eye-popping muscle. His upper arm circumference alone exceeded that of his waist by several inches. When he pumped and flexed his chest, he could make a table of his upper pecs. He could crush rocks to dust between his biceps and forearms when flexing. His legs were so big that he could no longer wear pants off the rack. Like all his clothes they had to be specially made. But he was so into the size of his body that he tried as often as possible to go around in the skimpiest of outfits. He was studying sports nutrition at college and money was tight since his father cut off his funding. Dex had to work to pay his tuition and fees, but he made enough money from stripping and doing cam-shows online. That was how he met his current boyfriend Sonny, over the internet during a cam-to-cam session. There was an instant mutual attraction. Sonny wasn’t a bodybuilder, but he still had enough muscle on his Eurasian physique to allow him to make a living as a fitness model. They’d been together for just under a year. They thought about a civil partnership to mark their one-year anniversary. They planned a honeymoon in the Greek islands, possibly Mykonos. Sonny was ripped all year around, thanks to great genetics and the perfect diet. But Dex was a size freak; he simply couldn’t get big enough, and he had to get bigger. He wanted to postpone the wedding and honeymoon until he was at least another couple of hundred pounds heavier. On that beach in Mykonos, he wanted jaws to drop and straight guys to get boners and question their sexuality just by looking at the muscle god. He was huge now, bigger than so many bodybuilders, professional or otherwise. But he needed more muscles on his incredible body before he felt that he truly deserved to be called a muscle god. This morning began like any other: angry, playful muscle worship followed by oral and anal sex. Sonny must’ve had reptilian blood in him, for his body was so supple and almost metamorphic, the way he could open his ass and take so much of his boyfriend’s enormous shlong, almost the entire length of the 12-inch shaft before screaming out in orgasmic ecstasy. And when Dexter made a cream pie out of that delicious ass, Sonny’s ass could take so much jizz before reaching its limit in terms of capacity. The young men were lying back in bed, their bodies laved in the sweat of their exertions, when there was a knock on the door. “That’s odd. It’s only eight-thirty. Who’d be calling at this hour?” Dex had no classes today. Sonny had a photo-shoot later, but they had hours to spare. The huge bodybuilder muscle-waddled out of bed and over to the apartment balcony. He liked to have a naked stretch and a flex in the morning, and because they lived in a predominantly gay part of town, many of the apartment complex’s residents were gay men. Dex liked to think he was providing a service. A lot of his neighbors were single and of different ages. Imagining the fapping that went on behind so many pairs of curtains, binoculars in one hand, dick in the other, made Dex smile from ear to ear. Haha, he also found it so amusing. There were occasions when he would step outside, if only to inhale the stench of freshly spewed cum wafting towards him from all directions. He loved that smell. But he loved the smell of his own muscles even more. He looked down into the courtyard and saw the mail carrier. Was he expecting a package? He couldn’t recall, but the guy looked cute, and he always loved to tease male callers (mail carriers, pizza delivery boys etc.) by answering the door in his birthday suit. Once he’d even answered the door with a full boner, his massive shlong dribbling precum at an inexhaustible rate. There was still semen dripping from his cock, now. Cool, he might convert this guy in a trice. The mail carrier was the same guy as before, a cute Hispanic dude who looked like he did some lifting himself. His uniform seemed a little tight for him, and there was an undeniable shape of meaty pecs impressed into that shirt, as well as nice, muscular legs filling out his sexy shorts. Dex made sure to pump his upper body to its max and bounce his pecs vigorously whilst addressing the mail guy. “Uh... registered letter, sir. You need to... er... sign for it,” said the mail guy, clearly captivated by the size of Dexter’s massive muscles. He blushed visibly and Dex bounced his pecs and flared his lats so much that he had to turn sideways to step out into the hall. His semi-erect cock wiped a sizeable precum stain across mail guy’s shorts. Both men instantly noticed this. “Shit, I got muscle-cum-juice on your sexy shorts, hot stuff. Maybe you can come in and have breakfast with me and my hot male model boyfriend and I can wash that stain out for you,” said Dex, boastfully. It sounded like something out of a bad porn movie. He flexed a single biceps pose, and his granite-peak cannonball firmed up, so huge and round. Still laved in sweat, his shiny bodybuilder’s skin reflected the light from an overhead light-fitting beautifully. Mail guy’s eyes widened with astonishment. Not only was Dex the biggest muscleman he’d ever seen, but he was also drop-dead gorgeous in the facial department. “Er...um...it’s fine, sir. I ruh-really got to guh-get going. The stain’s nuh-no problem.” The mail guy passed over the letter. Dex folded his arms, squeezing his muscle-tits together so that the cleavage created the perfect letter rack. Mail guy was visibly sweating, now, as he gingerly placed the letter between the two sweaty mounds of muscle. Dex then reluctantly signed for it. There was only one person from whom a registered letter would be sent to Dex’s address. Dexter Senior. “Hey, stop flirting with the mail man and come back to bed, big fella,” Sonny called from the bedroom. “Letter from the old man. I almost don’t want to open it. I know what he’s gonna say,” said Dex, his bottom lip trembling a little, a strange sight to behold on one so huge and strong. But it looked like his future depended on what his father had to say. “Want me to read it out to you?” asked Sonny, being supportive as always. “Nah, I need to do this. But thanks, Babe.” Dex nervously ripped open the envelope. In his father’s neat script, the words said simply: “In your dreams, Junior.” “Dammit!” Dex angrily ripped up the letter and then stomped around the apartment in search of something heavy and metallic to bend. Fortunately, he kept a toolbox full of crowbars for occasions such as this. He took out two together and bent them into pretzels. Then he picked up the toolbox and crushed it into a ball the size of an egg cup. He made it seem effortless. Sonny hated seeing his Adonis losing the head like this, but he had every right to be angry. Besides, his body got so super-vascular whenever he angrily bent something. His veins were on the verge of popping out of his skin at this moment. Sonny grew hard again and really wanted to kiss every one of the massive bodybuilder’s sexy veins. “What did it say, honey?” Sonny wanted to hold his boyfriend in that “It’s going to be all right” kind of way. But he knew better than to approach him while he was still at boiling point. When Dex had sufficiently calmed: “It’s a response to what I asked him at our last family reunion... Grandma’s funeral. Last time we talked.” “That was just before we met, yes?” Dex nodded. “You know a bit of the story. I asked him if there was a chance that we could reconcile, bury the hatchet, and I could get reinstated into the program.” Dex’s breathing was slowing as he became less enraged. That was a good thing. Sonny loved him very much, and although Dex would never physically harm him (unless it was a genuine accident), Sonny still knew when to give him enough space. He mentally resolved to visit a hardware store later to stock up on more crowbars. They were running dangerously low. “And it took him a whole year to get back to you? That’s pretty shit of him.” Dex nodded again. He bounced his pecs and they looked and felt so massive to him. They helped to distract him from his current emotional state. “So, what did the letter say?” Sonny now felt it was safe enough to approach Dexter. He put out a hand and Dexter took it in his own beefy mitt. Sonny then began to soothingly rub his 26” forearm. They were monstrously huge. Dex didn’t think so, however. “It was a no. What a fucker. It’s not like I set out to ruin him or anything. He’s made his fortune.” Dex let out a slow, defeatist sigh. He hated being in a bad mood. It wasn’t fair to Sonny. “I’d like to help. But I know very little about what happened with you and your father. Didn’t his research company cure that terrible virus that affected male muscle mass?” Dex nodded dolefully. He decided to tell Sonny the rest of the story. The virus had been nipped in the bud four years previously, before it became a pandemic. It was one of those ancient microbes that lay dormant in millennia-old ice floes which, due to global warming, were released back into the atmosphere by the receding ice caps. The virus mutated and started causing muscle depletion in infected males. Fortunately, there were less than one thousand cases worldwide, and Prof. Dexter Rhodes received the Nobel Prize as the architect of its eradication. Win-win scenario, right? Wrong. Dex had just started bodybuilding around the time the virus broke out. He made great advances in his training in the first year – a veritable teen prodigy – thanks primarily to a guy at the gym who liked Dex enough to take him under his wing and teach him all the techniques and tricks necessary to get really huge. Then Guy Roche went on a trip overseas – something to do with the reading of a will – and started showing signs of the virus shortly after returning. The bodybuilder lost thirty percent of his body weight in muscle shrinkage in just four months. Cases of this started cropping up in newspapers and television news reports. As with other viruses and flu outbreaks, the public panicked. Pharmaceutical companies and the world’s leading scientific minds in medical research rushed to find a cure as more and more men began to wither away. The virus was passed through the air, but only 3% of people exposed developed symptoms. Dex was tested and found to be a carrier, as he’d spent a lot of time breathing the same sweaty air in the gym as Guy Roche. Dexter Senior took no chances. He would use his teenage son to test various serums and anti-viral treatments he was developing. Less than two hundred men succumbed to the virus. Guy Roche, they say, was saved by his muscle mass. He’d been the only bodybuilder in the world to develop symptoms, but the virus liked to attack exterior muscle tissues before launching a final assault on internal organs. Heart failure was the outcome for someone exposed to the virus, but in Roche’s case, he was down to 137 lbs. by the time he began the treatments. He was weak, yes, but alive. In just eight months he’d lost more than half his body weight in muscle mass, mass it had taken him years to build. One month after being declared well once again, he was found hanging from a beam in his basement by a concerned neighbor with a spare key. Dex took his death badly, but his father had already adapted his treatment into an all-out muscle enhancer. In healthy men... especially bodybuilders, the anti-viral serum could help build astonishing amounts of muscle. Since Dex had acted as a guinea pig to his brilliant father’s efforts, it seemed logical to continue trials on him. One year after Guy Roche’s suicide, Dexter Rhodes had ballooned to over 300 lbs. of massive muscle. He was bigger and more muscular than the current Mr. Olympia at the time, and he’d won every bodybuilding contest he entered until he was banned from competing when the secret to his growth became public (as these things are sometimes wont to do). “So, your dad obviously ceased giving you treatments? But you continued to gain muscle, right?” Sonny couldn’t recall when this scandal hit the media. To be honest, he rarely read newspapers or watched television, even to this day. But what are scandals these days, anyway? Flashes in the pan? One day it’s a corrupt scientist growing his own son into a muscle freak. Next day that’s forgotten in favor of Lady Gaga’s latest shocking behavior on stage. “You know pretty much the rest of it. I became a whore for muscle-growth. I just wanted to get bigger and bigger. My dad put this down to hormonal instability. He stopped the treatments, and one night I lost it. I drove his Mercedes out to the nearest lake and then threw it right into the middle of the water. I’d picked up cars a couple of times before, but never to throw one two hundred feet. Pulled a couple of ligaments for my trouble, but I healed up soon after.” Sonny grew hard upon hearing of this massive feat of strength. “Why’d you never tell me all of this before?” Dex shrugged: “I don’t like to remember the shit times in my life, to be perfectly honest. Everything got better after I met you, darling.” He smiled lovingly. “And yet you still gained more muscle. Just from conventional bodybuilding techniques?” Sonny’s cock was now in precum overload. “I stole an entire year’s worth of serum from my father’s personal stock. The modified one, not the one that was made available worldwide. I tried to make it look like a break-in, but my father, already fearing I’d attempt something like this, had me tailed. Since he had to brush all this under the table, there was little he could do, legally, to get me to give back the treatments. And so, he cut me out of the will, my funding... everything. The treatments I stole turned me into the man you know and love today.” Although emphasis wasn’t required, Dex’s upper body burst into a massive full-lat spread, every muscle tensed and bulging beautifully. He was incredible to look at. Sonny wanted to jump him there and then. He thought about making some excuse to the photographer so that he could get out of the afternoon shoot. Just to spend an entire day with his bodybuilding boyfriend. “And now your supply is gone, eh? But you made some sweet gains in the year since we met. And that was after you’d run out of the treatments, right?” Sonny was finding it hard to set Dex’s story into a viable timeframe, he was that horny. “Yes, I have,” said Dex, forcing his upper body into a mind-melting most muscular. His muscles seemed to fill Sonny’s entire visual periphery. For a few seconds he could not breathe for fear he would be consumed and crushed by a massively mutating muscle amoeba. Then Dex added by way of a closing remark to the subject: “But they’re nothing compared to the gains I made when I was injecting. I have to get more... somehow.” Part 2 Sonny seemed lost to his own thoughts, as the hot lovers enjoyed yet another breakfast together. Coffee was a luxury they both allowed themselves only occasionally. Sonny cupped his mug and savored the aroma. Despite the great sex they'd shared earlier, he wasn't much in the mood for eating. In contrast Dexter's appetite was huge, and he was only too happy to polish off any leftovers. "I guess this is all my fault, everything that happened between my father and me," said Dex after some moments of silence. Smiling reassuringly, Sonny extended a hand across the breakfast table where it found Dex's to rest on. "You have a passion for growing muscle. Fate decided to smile fondly on you for a time. You saw an opportunity and took it. You tried to make amends to your father, but he chose not to meet you halfway. He's a jerk if you don't mind me saying." Sonny sipped on his coffee. Dex managed a half-smile. "The more it plays on my mind, the more I grow to accept that what I did was wrong. And now I'm the family black sheep because of a mistake I made." Sonny was quick to jump to his boyfriend's defense against his bitter self-judgment. "Your father started this. You finished it the only way you could, by satisfying an insatiable hunger inside you. A hunger for growth. It was your father's invention. He should have known how it would affect you ultimately." "I guess so," said Dex after some time. "Come to the shoot with me today. Alfonse would love to photograph you. Besides, we can always use the extra money. It'll be fun." Dexter considered it. "Not a lot in my wardrobe for a photo shoot. I really should sort out some new attire. I've just about outgrown everything." Somewhat cheered up, the bodybuilder could not mask his muscle pride. "Doesn't matter. It's a nice day outside. It's an underwear shoot anyway. Wear something tight and slutty," said Sonny as he set about clearing the table. "Everything I own is tight and slutty," Dex reminded his number one man. "Keep talking like that, hon, and I doubt either of us will get out of here today." *** The massive bodybuilder spent quite a while trying to find something to wear. Recently he'd returned from the gym far too many times in a state of extreme muscle lust, his pumps held for an impossibly long time. During these moments Dex would perform hulkouts as much for his own gratification as Sonny's. It had taken a severe toll on his wardrobe. He decided that after the events of the morning, some all-out muscle showcasing was the order of the day. He opted for a trashy mesh string top, which was literally falling apart. He managed to keep it on its last legs by holding it in place with a sturdy set of red suspenders, which he securely anchored to the skimpiest pair of trashed denim cut-offs no huge bodybuilder had any business being seen in. The cut-offs looked more like briefs than shorts, made to seem even more skimpy, given the fact that two enormous thighs blasted out of them, the vast swell of each muscle belly rippling thickly and with ridiculously deep striations in between. Each thigh tapered down to a solid knee which in turn was under siege from a surfeit of unfaltering, huge calf muscle. “You’ll be arrested if you go out like that,” said Sonny when it was time to give Dex the onceover. He was right, the outfit was ridiculously skimpy. Dex only had to sneeze, and that mesh string top would fly apart into so many useless strands. Sonny couldn’t conceal his boner and was so turned-on by how his boyfriend made items of clothing appear like they were about to disintegrate from the sheer pressure of so much huge muscle flexing and bulging beneath them. Sonny went to Dex’s closet and found a trashed denim jacket to go with the shorts. “Waste of time getting that out. I’ve gained about eighty pounds of muscle since I last wore that. My arms will never get through those sleeves,” Dex protested. His mood had brightened. He was well-known around the city, but there were always the tourists to shock with his enormousness. He really wanted to rape the entire city with his muscularity, figuratively speaking. “Not a problem,” said Sonny, who quickly got busy with a pair of scissors. He turned the jacket into a sleeveless vest-style, and because it was a little tight across Dex’s shoulder’s and back, it was impossible to fasten across his dynamic chest. After some further checking-out: “You look like an explosion in a Levi’s factory. But huge, and incredibly hot, darling.” “Not huge enough,” Dex growled, the coiled meat-monster inside the pouch of his jockstrap, slowly yawning awake and thickening as it stirred, pushing against four metal buttons with the potential to turn them into four bullets if he wasn’t careful. He blasted out pose after pose with utmost precision, his movements graceful, never awkward, but oh so masculine in their delivery. A wet stain had already formed in the front of Sonny’s cargo shorts. Some seams began to part down the sides of the jacket/vest as Dex flared his lats to delta-wing proportions. His muscle aesthetics were unmatchable, utterly flawless, and awesome to take in at a glance. Dex had grown too large for most cars, although neither of them owned a car. The walk to the tube station from the apartment was a little under two kilometers, plenty of distance in which to strut so much muscle as well as force it down the throats of as many jealous guys in passing as possible. Sonny was a good sport and always played along. It was so difficult doing anything with him – even the most mundane activities – without coming out in a boner. Sonny had had boyfriends prior to Dex, but only Dex could make him super horny like no guy ever had before. Near the tube station: "That guy over there... taking pictures with that big telephoto-lens camera. He looks familiar," Dex exclaimed, bouncing his pecs vigorously for the pleasure of two twinks who'd spotted in him their ultimate walking wet dream in passing. Sonny followed the giant's line of sight to the fountain in the square about fifty yards from where they stood. "So what? You've been snapped and filmed by just about every modern gadget between here and the apartment. What's so special about him?" "I think that's the same guy that... nah... can't be... can it?" "The same guy that did what?" Sonny was growing impatient. His stomach was rumbling, and it was now that he regretted not having solids for breakfast. A bagel would go down nicely just about now. He began to scan for a vendor. "The mail carrier from earlier, the one that brought the registered letter from my father. I'm nearly sure that's him," Dex explained. As if those words had carried power, the photographer by the fountain realized he'd been rumbled. "Dexter, darling, I wouldn't worry. You probably converted him this morning to Dexter's Temple of Muscle Infatuation. He's acting beyond his control, like so many men who fall under the spell of your massive muscles. Blast him with a double biceps. He'll cream himself, shoot off to find a bathroom, and we won't be late for our train." Sonny checked his watch. They would make the two-thirty train if they hurried. Alfonse was not known for his patience. "Hmmm, maybe," Dex mused, although something about this wasn't settling well with him. This day had quickly turned into something unexpected. And no amount of massive muscle fleshing your body out to near god-like status could ever prepare you for the unexpected. They made it to their platform, and Sonny got his bagel en route. There were two bodybuilders waiting for the same train. They were mid-twenties, one Caucasian, the other black. Both had been showing off and owning the platform, until a huge shadow appeared and swallowed up their own lesser ones like some omnipresent and sentient oil slick. They both, suddenly, felt quite inadequate, and they didn't like it one bit. One of them said: "Dude, you're a monster. That ain't natural at all. What shit you on?" Both were dressed in gym clothes, and they looked like they'd both had good workouts. Their bodies were pumped and rock hard, but neither of them looked heavier than 220 lbs. tops. Dexter, as if to demonstrate total muscle dominance, worked some tension out of his neck by tilting his head from side to side. The sound of shifting bones was drowned out, but only by a vagrant playing some sort of wind instrument further along the underground platform. Then Dexter drew back his shoulders, forced out his pecs, and flared his lats to further seam-splitting proportions. Mouths fell agape, not just those of the bodybuilders, but pretty much everyone within viewing distance. Further down the platform the vagrant stopped playing his pipe in favor of playing with something else. Dex moved to within pec-touching distance of the lesser bodybuilders. He was a head taller than one guy, and two thirds of a head taller than the other. He loved being the biggest... but he still had to grow way huger than his current size. He could never have enough muscle. "I'm not on any...shit...dude!!" The massive muscle teen gave the taller of the two a face full of mega-bicep. It peaked at a mind-blowing 36 inches. Some of the color drained out of both their faces when they observed the bulging muscle firm up to cannonball proportions. Probably hard as iron, too. Nearby, a middle-aged, suited gentleman, complete with stereotypical bowler hat, suddenly tugged uncomfortably at his pristinely starched shirt collar before scampering for the nearest public convenience, dropping his umbrella as he went and awkwardly covering up his "embarrassment" with his briefcase. It was time for Sonny to intervene lest Dexter Rhodes take exception to such a remark. "Fifty thousand and his secret's all yours. Not a penny less," Sonny said, stonily. "Fuck that shit. We don't have that kinda money, bitch," said the other bodybuilder. "'Sides, who'd want to get that huge? Dude, you a freak!" The first bodybuilder cracked knuckles with the other before "high-fiving" him. Dexter really hated all that bromance/hetero buddy-buddy shit. He now touched pecs with "Knuckles", and for the lesser bodybuilder it must've felt like he'd been hit by a muscle tsunami. "I think you both need to get another train. In fact, I must insist that you get another train," Dexter said calmly enough. His mind was still preoccupied with the familiar-looking photographer by the fountain from earlier. "Dude, we cool, okay? I didn't mean nuthin' by it, is all. We cool, man." The bodybuilders made a hasty retreat considering the moderately-impressive bulk they were carrying. Sonny's full attention was now back on his boyfriend. He was only three inches shorter than Dex, but he still often got a pain in his neck from staring up at him. He liked to call it his "Romantic Strain Injury". They both liked silly, soppy stuff like that. "They didn't upset you, did they?" "I'm still in my clothes, aren't I? Couple of jerks," Dex admitted. "You seem preoccupied. It's not the camera guy again, is it?" "First whiskey craving in over four years. Dammit why now?" Dex suddenly craved metal to bend. There was plenty of it around, but he wasn't a vandal. "Whiskey? What in the---" "Don't worry about it. I haven't touched a drop since I was fifteen. Bodybuilding helped me kick that particular habit." Trying not to look visibly upset, Sonny voiced his concerns: "Is there anything else you'd like to tell your boyfriend of almost one year? I thought we agreed ages ago not to keep secrets from one another. So, you were a teen alcoholic, and a thief. What other skeletons are rattling around inside that huge body of yours?" With voices raised, tempers grew frayed. More people began to leave the platform. "Take that back," Dex growled. His body began to expand, fueled by rising anger. Veins popped out all over his muscled form. More seams parted in the jacket, and parts of his mesh string top began to disintegrate due to the expanding flesh pushing against the flimsy fibers. Unbeknownst to them both, a youth nearby had his iPhone's camera trained on them. YouTube Gold was the order of the day, it seemed. No matter, Dex had found himself in YouTube videos more than a few times already. You just had to type in the right tag words and phrases and eventually he popped up (in more ways than one). "Why, what you gonna do, bend me into a crowbar-pretzel?" Sonny stood his ground, although he was at a loss for what to do. They'd bickered in the past before. What couple doesn't? But those minor tiffs were nothing like this. This was... getting bad. Anger caused Dex's blood to boil. His muscles became engorged, and his skimpy garb destabilized further. He decided to ditch the jacket, for it had become uncomfortably tight across his back and shoulders. Now all that barely concealed his super-huge, muscled torso were a few ounces of string and some visibly straining suspenders. The way they stretched over the curved swell of his pecs – the immense prominence of each muscle-tit creating several inches of space between his impregnable 8-pack and the elasticized straps – was a minor miracle in that the front and back clasps were still able to cling to their denim moorings. "The shit!!!" It was the youth with the iPhone, creaming himself but unable to do much about it, except to keep filming. Later he would break it off with his girlfriend of two years, Susan, in favor of a new lifestyle in need of exploring. She'd be devastated and blog about it on Facebook to her 1,567 girlfriends before deciding to become a nun. Happened all the time, that. "Enjoy your photo shoot. Fuck this crap!" The super-gorgeous muscle behemoth stormed off towards the stairwell back to ground level. Concerned and cautious commuters pushed close to the walls to give him a wide berth. A curious police officer, no more than a rookie, called it in and requested instructions on what to do. His superior advised him to "keep an eye on the situation", nothing more. Dexter hadn't done anything wrong. No one had complained about him (too scared to, most likely). He'd caused no damage and the altercation down on the platform had been a minor one, all things considered. He was scantily clad, but it was a warm day, and there were plenty of shirtless hard bodies around. The guy was a giant, but so far, he wasn't breaking any nudity laws. A little bit of denim around his junk and ass just about kept him from getting cuffed (not that any cuffs would hold him). When the train came Sonny made sure he was on it. He was upset by how the day was going, when it had started out with amazing sex and muscle worship. But their rent wasn't cheap, and Alfonse was a pain to work with, but at least he paid well. Time to focus on work for a while. *** A huge bodybuilder made his way out of the underground and across town. His movement was half-strut, half-waddle, made that way by the sheer immensity of his hugely bulbous thighs and the way they were intricately arranged... powerful muscles fighting against each other for space. As he went his torso continued to hemorrhage bits of shirt string. He made for the fountain, where earlier he'd seen the mail guy snapping him through a professional-looking camera. It had to be him, he thought. He liked to think that he never forgot a face. The craving for alcohol no longer niggled at him. He was meant to put it down in a diary, but for the life of him couldn't remember where that diary was now. "I crave size... more size... more massively huge size... more than anything else," he voiced aloud, something of a vow he was determined to honor. He stood looking at the fountain for a long moment. He closed his eyes. Dreamed of getting bigger, each muscle bloating upwards and outwards with so much more mass and power, skin stretched to wafer thin extremity across the ever-burgeoning bellies. He would make it happen. It had to happen. His mind filtered out all sounds of city life... all except one. The sound of a modest-sized coin hitting water with a discernible "plop" sound. It instantly brought him back to reality. A thin well-dressed gentleman – his hair snow-white and cropped tightly to a somewhat egg-shaped skull – stood next to him, the top of his head just about level with Dex's shoulder. Fairly slumped in posture and middling in stature, the man was respectable looking, but looked tired and somewhat older than his years. "You can have my wish," he said softly to the giant, without taking his eyes off the baroque cherubic scene carved into the fountain. "Huh, what did you say?" In truth Dexter had heard him perfectly, but he still had to come fully down from his angry time. "Have you never tossed a coin into a fountain and made a wish, Mister Rhodes?" The gentleman now moved to the lip of the capacious fountain bowl to take some weight off his feet. He took out a banana from the inside pocket of his light-grey suit and began to peel it with care and precision. He never once made eye contact with the giant muscleman before him. If he felt intimidated by the handsome super-hulk, then he certainly didn’t show it. "Uh, maybe... as a kid... I dunno. Wait a sec... how do you know my name?" The gentleman smiled a wan smile and paused with the peeled banana held before him in a hand that ever so slightly trembled. "I make it my business to learn all I can about the exceptional people with whom I share a troubled planet." He went to take first bite from the fruit. But he paused once again, only to add: "Something tells me you haven't been having the best of days." Well, he got that right. But Dex didn't like the idea of a complete stranger knowing his name. What else did the old codger know about him? Upon second glance the banana-man didn't look all that old. Dex reckoned he could be anywhere between forty-five and seventy. By now several dozen people, mostly tourists and young adult males, had formed a ring around the huge bodybuilder. They gave Dex plenty of room, but nearly every one of them were recording his image in some fashion. Dex was used to it. His brain just filtered them out. It was human nature, driven to utter fascination by all things "different". "Are you spying on me? How much did you pay that paparazzo dude to take my photo and pose as a mail man?" Dex's muscles began to swell further as his anger surfaced once again. Miraculously his suspenders still held. "I don't employ photo-journalists as a rule, Dexter. May I call you Dexter?" "Fuck you, gramps," Dex barked before turning around to leave. The same police officer from earlier stood near the burgeoning crowd. He watched the scene intently. The people boundary began to disperse to give the muscle giant room to leave. "Please don't walk away from me, Dexter. I only wish to help. Why did you approach this fountain if you weren't made curious by the photographer earlier?" This grabbed Dex's attention and held it in a grip from which not even he could escape. He did a 180-degree turn and walked back part of the way towards the fountain. His chest heaved hugely, suspender straps straining against the rise of so much chest muscle. The string top was almost completely eradicated. He looked massive... beautiful, a sandy-haired Jesse Metcalfe crossed with Zac Efron. Such a facial mix set on a huge muscle-body was a one in a billion occurrence, several billion, even. But it still wasn't enough for him. Not by a mile. "So, he does work for you. You'd better fess up to what you're about, Mister, or you'll be eating a fire hydrant instead of that banana." Dex's body was flushed with anger which fueled an overall increase in muscle mass as blood and adrenaline swelled his muscle fibers to near-bursting point. People nearby gasped at the sight of such a big man swelling up with further muscle mass. "I mean you no harm, Dexter. Of that you can be assured. As to how I know you... well... for now let's just say that I have your best interests at heart. As you grow bigger... and I'm certain you will... the world will come to accept you less and less. Look around you at the gathering you've attracted. And a lone police constable, too. Unless you keep that temper of yours under control, this could easily turn into something best avoided." The man stood up again, but only to toss the uneaten banana into the nearest bin. "Turns out I'm allergic to potassium," he revealed by way of a comic aside to everyone but Dexter. Total pantomime stuff. Dex quickly grew tired of this. "I'm listening," Dex said simply. "Alas, I'm done talking... for now. Let me give you my card. I really must get to another appointment post haste." The man began to make his exit, across the street to a waiting limousine. The copper would run a check on the plates. Routine stuff. Everything would check out. Banana man was a ghost in the system, it seemed. "Wait a sec, I need to know what this is all about!" Dex's voice was a booming one. Pigeons nearby stopped picking at scraps in the street and took to the wing en masse. Elsewhere a kid's balloon popped, and a pregnant woman's waters broke. The woman's husband began to panic and called for assistance. Fortunately, the police officer, no longer interested in a giant nearly naked bodybuilder, was on hand to render assistance. A strange day, indeed. Dexter stared at Banana man's business card for far longer than he needed to. There was very little on it, just the initials "W L", followed by a phone number. He decided to go home, take a shower, then head to the gym. Nothing like a workout to preoccupy a troubled mind. He started walking... strutting muscle. People still stared in droves. They always stared. Part 3 It wasn’t the first time that his fob key had been rejected at a gym turnstile. He knew the drill. Stare hard enough at the desk clerk until question marks pop out of your head and steam shoots out of both ears. “I’m sorry, Dex. Rufus was pretty explicit about the instructions he left,” said Jeff the hunky clerk, hoping to high hell that the biggest bodybuilder ever to squeeze sideways through the doors to this particular muscle-building convenience wouldn’t take his frustrations out on the messenger. Jeff could bench 650lbs for 12 reps in a controlled situation, but it was a different matter altogether when 650lbs of hyper-muscle charged at you in a flying rage with intent to rearrange every bone in your body. “This can’t happen today. Not with the kind of day I’m having. Buzz me in, Jeff,” Dex insisted. Breathing faster than usual, his mighty chest heaved up and down, in and out, throwing extra inches his way. His suspenders would not hold for much longer. There was no one else in the gym lobby at this time. Maybe that was for the best, should those suspenders fly off suddenly in an erratic pattern with the potential to knock out eyeballs. “You owe Rufus a grand for the damage you did to the equipment last week. You’re too strong for the place now. He said not to let you in until he sees some green. So please, no trouble, yeah? I need this job, Dex.” Jeff cautiously placed a finger next to a panic button discreetly positioned where Dex couldn’t see it. He hoped he wouldn’t have to push it. “And I need a workout, Jeff. I’ll ask you one more time... buzz me the fuck in.” Dex’s voice had become a growl. His anger was about to boil again. It was becoming more and more difficult to keep his rage under control. Lifting weights helped a lot. But now he was denied even that privilege. “Sorry, Dex. I can’t go against the boss’s wishes. I can call him on the phone if you like.” Jeff was a very strong bodybuilder, but he was a dwarf compared to Dexter Rhodes. Anxiety began to take hold like a bitch. “Huh... forget it. He hasn’t even got the balls to be here when I call in. Fuckin’ wuss. I’ll see him in my own time. Thanks for nothing, Jeff!” With nothing more to say on the matter, Dex vacated the building, much to Jeff’s relief. Of course, Jeff would have to let his boss know that Dex had been in. What he didn’t know was that although Dex left the gym, he didn’t go very far. Dex waited almost an hour for Rufus’ SUV to pull into the parking lot. Rufus had been a champion bodybuilder in his day. Now in his sixties, he was still in great shape for his age. But it was no secret that he was selling all kinds of performance enhancers under the counter to help his ailing business stay afloat. Dex waited a few more minutes until he was sure that Rufus was in his office. Then he returned to the parking lot, specifically to the private corner of the lot reserved for staff vehicles. It was around the side of the building. Rufus always parked in the same spot, so that he could keep an eye on his beloved motor from the small window to his office. Dex wasn’t sure how much an SUV weighed, but it felt near weightless to him as he hefted it off the tarmac and pressed it effortlessly above his head until his arms locked straight. With a mighty grunt he tossed it with two hands as easily as a footballer would a soccer ball during a throw-in. Fortunately, Rufus was doing a little cocaine in the small bathroom off his office proper when the vehicle struck home, otherwise he’d have been killed instantly. The fright of the huge off-roader taking out an entire wall to his office and pretty much destroying everything within, however, caused him to inhale too much coke far too quickly. It triggered a seizure there and then. By the time the paramedics and police arrived, the ex-bodybuilding champ was already in a coma. By 5pm that evening an APB calling for Dexter Rhodes’ arrest meant that every cop in the city would be out looking for him. He couldn’t go home. He didn’t have a phone on him. Sonny would be worried as hell, despite their bad exchange of words earlier. “I should turn myself in,” he mouthed aloud from a safe vantage point atop an apartment block on the outskirts of the city. These days he could propel himself Hulk-style over inhuman distances. Scaling a twenty-story building took just a few leaps and bounds, using windowsills and extractor-fan casings as hand grips and footholds. On the top floor of this block of apartments, his friend and fellow stripper Giancarlo lived with his boyfriend Rafael. Both were currently out of town. Dexter knew this, and so gaining access to the apartment via the fire escape was no problem to a superhuman muscle-freak. He suddenly had a place in which to lay low. There was no phone in the apartment, but there was a payphone in the corridor directly outside. “I need a coin for the phone. Could you help me out?” Dexter standing in an apartment block corridor meant that anyone coming or going simply couldn’t pass unless he pressed himself against a wall. He spoke to a drag queen, half-in, half-out of his outfit for the evening. Was he going to work, or coming from? Did it really matter? “For you, handsome, you can have all the cookies you want... but the cream you gotta pay for,” said the queen. Now what in fuck did that mean? “Have you got a coin or not? I need to make an urgent phone call.” Dex ground his teeth and tried to keep calm. He didn’t have time to be toyed with. “Only if I can kiss all those enormous, beautiful muscles of yours, hombre.” The queen winked at Dex in that exaggerated way that queens sometimes do. He wasn’t very good at it. One wink and off came his stick-on eyelashes. “How about I bend you over so hard, you’ll be sucking your own dick for a week,” was Dex’s exasperated but somewhat colorful threat. The queen relented, took some coins out of her purse, and threw them at the bodybuilder. “I can already do that, bitch. Now go call yo’ mamma and tell her you missed out on the best blowjob you’ll never have.” The queen slinked off back to wherever it was she liked to slink to. Dex wasted no further time calling Sonny: “Hey... it’s m---” “Where the hell are you? The police were here, asking me questions. I didn’t know what to tell them. Fuck it Dex, you’re all over the news.” Sonny sounded frantic with worry. “I... um... lost control. Rufus barred me from the gym. The rage I felt, Sonny. I couldn’t help myself. Did the news reports say anything about... well... you know?” Dex felt that kind of dread we all do just before hearing something we’d be better off not knowing. His throat went dry as kindling. “The news didn’t say much. Just that the alleged target of your attack, gym owner Rufus Boyd, is in intensive care. He’s in a coma, Dex. Because of you. If he dies... well, I don’t have to spell it out for you.” An awkward silence passed between them for a few long seconds. “Where are you? Speak to me for fuck sake,” Sonny’s voice was cracked with emotion. He broke down, which was enough to set Dex off as well. His bottom lip quivered whilst his tear ducts began to swell. “If I tell you, you’ll have to tell the cops, Sonny. If you don’t know, then you have nothing more to tell them, right? I need to lay low while I figure out what to do next.” “How about turning yourself in? Where will you go? You’re wanted by the police as the main suspect in an attempted homicide. Where can a man that looks like you expect to hide anyway? Please, Dex... do the right thing and don’t prolong this and make things worse for yourself. I... I... love you... so much.” Another short silence. Then: “I love you too. I might see if my father is willing to help.” Dex wiped tears out of his eyes with the back of his hand, but one managed to evade him. It dripped off his masculine, chiseled chin and onto his enormous pec shelf, where it then proceeded to forge a path downward over the beautiful, swollen curvature of his left pectoral muscle. The muscle-tit immediately contracted, as though it had been touched by an electrical current. As if hewn from the flesh by a master sculptor’s chisel, deep striations were suddenly carved across both pecs, one of which rapidly sucked up the escaping teardrop. “Are you crazy? If he didn’t want to know you before... he’s hardly going to be interested in coming to your aid after what happened.” “I have to try. If anything, I’m going to need bail, and a good lawyer. I might get him to do the right thing.” “And if he doesn’t. Are you going to start tossing more cars?” “I love you, Sonny. More than life itself... more than bodybuilding,” said Dex, and hung up. Only part of that admission was true. At this moment in time, the greatly troubled behemoth didn’t know which part was. *** He worried that the drag queen from earlier might learn of his crime and report his whereabouts to the police. He had to get to his father, but home was on the other side of the country. “I’ll give muscle shows in exchange for places to hole up,” he decided, as he freshened up in Giancarlo and Rafael’s ridiculously small bathroom. Dex could hardly turn full circle in the cramped confines of the tiny room. Still, he just about managed to splash warm water from the sink all over his muscles and junk. Despite all that happened, he still got hard looking at himself in any mirror. The mirror over the sink was large enough to cater to an average-sized man’s needs, but because of Dex’s height and awesome upper-body width, his pecs completely filled the mirror. He bounced them vigorously, squeezing them with sheer will alone, until they broke into roughly similar-sized sections separated by striations deep enough to hide change in... a lot of change. “This isn’t how it should be playing out for me. Suddenly everything’s gone to shit. How can I grow my amazing muscle-bod if everything’s gone so wrong?” Dex grew super-hard when he tried to perform a double biceps pose, but there simply wasn’t enough room in the bathroom. He went into the bedroom where the couple had a decent-sized full-length mirror on the inside of a closet door. Completely naked, Dex began to blast out pose after pose, each movement designed to show him at his most muscular and beautiful. He was huge. A bodybuilder his size got horny far too much. His libido was hyper-charged, and even though he’d had sex only that morning, his balls felt like they had a months-worth of jism in them. Fully naked, and completely erect, Dex’s cock was the size of - if not longer and thicker than - an average man’s forearm. It slammed against the bricks of his ab wall with a most satisfying thud. The mushroom head was already shiny from precum that began to leak from it like resin from the wound of a tree. He touched the viscous bead with a finger, which he then brought to his lips to taste. The flavor of his raw manliness further excited him. He began to growl like a threatening wild animal. He brought fists to his sides and fanned out his lats into a vast spread, puffing up his chest and pecs simultaneously, and he marveled at how his upper body seemed to triple in size. Precum now began pouring down the shaft of his cock, and he wished that Sonny was here to collect it in his mouth, to hold it there before bringing his lips up to his lover’s so that the precum he’d saved could cement their kiss together with even greater degrees of man-lust. “Gotta get bigger. BIGGER!!!!!!!!! IT MUST HAPPEN!!!!!” ********************************** Clearly this story was meant to continue, but no further chapters were added. It's disappointing, but let's frame it as an opportunity to imagine where things would go from here. I'm sure Dex would find a way to continue his growth, and it would be magnificent. I'm torn between wanting him to get his anger under control vs. wanting to see him fuck shit up with his gigantic body and incredible strength. He's only nineteen, and life is a journey, right? It would be understandable if the power went to his head and he made a few more "mistakes" before getting himself under control with the help of his faithful lover, Sonny. ~ Fallen Away

POSING WITH LOVE AND HEART ( or: A birthday gift from the heart) Hello, everyone! DawnFire98 here. Wrote a little something. What’s included? Heartbeats and muscular dudes, my two favorite things. This took way longer than I expected (might have been two years). It’s not perfect at all, but it’s done. Also: English isn’t my first language. So, if you guys have any tips (pertaining either the story or language like grammar, tense, or spelling) write me in the comments. Feedback/Constructive criticism is welcome. But without further ado: to the story! * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * “Come on, you’ve got this! Six more reps!” “ARGH!” “Again!” “URGH!” “One more!”, Milo encourages. Duke snarls and pulls the cables forward. Pecs explode into a writhing mass of veins and thick muscle fibers. “Three…two…one!” “Shit!”, yells Duke, and the weight stacks of the cable crossover machine crash down with a loud clang. Tipping his head back in exhaustion, the shirtless bodybuilder closes his eyes and gropes the burning slab of beef he calls “pec muscle”. His heart slams relentlessly against the palm of his hand. A smile forms on his lips. He loves it. The veins throbbing under his tight skin. Blood rushing through his ears. Sweat running down his back. And all that for his sweet honey pie Milo. This late evening, the two are alone in Duke’s home gym. Today was Milo’s 23rd birthday, so they threw a little birthday party with their best friends. After the guests left, Duke (older by one year) lured him into their little oasis of iron and announced, that he had a surprise for him. Now, “Big Bear” pumps himself up as part of his own personal gift. “Awesome job, man!”, applauds Milo and gives him a towel. “Fuck, that was a good workout!”, pants Duke and wipes the sweat off his face, his black buzz cut twinkling under the lights. The strawberry blond leans towards his boyfriend and rubs the giant’s shoulders. “And it was nice to look at, too.” Feeling the solid mass under his fingers makes his dick judder. With a hungry smile, Duke places his huge paws on the shorter guy’s butt. Pulling him closer, he growls: “What do you say? Ready for your gift?” “Yes…” Getting sucked into dark eyes, Milo hugs the big bear’s bulging traps and strokes his neck. It doesn’t matter that Duke is hot and sweaty or that his musk surrounds him like a cloud. Being so close to his massive hunk always sends him to cloud nine. Eager hands trail down a heaving, furry, barrel-like chest. One simple flex turns squishable beef into solid rock. Usually, Milo would bury his face in the big guy’s pec ravine and lick every inch of it. And yet, he knows something even hotter. Letting his fingers wander lower, he stops underneath the overhang of Dukes left pec, right between his ribs. And there he feels it: the big bear’s enormous heart, shaking his chest with each forceful beat. Sometimes, Milo wishes he possessed x-ray vision so he can see how the heart muscle works. But for now, his sense of touch would suffice. Duke leans down towards his lover’s ear and whispers: “If I hadn’t planned this surprise a few days ago I would do you right here on this bench.” Milo shudders as something long and thick rubs against his thigh. But before he can say anything, his lovely boyfriend heaves him over his boulder-shoulder. “Next stop: our bedroom!”, Duke exclaims, as he carries him through the door and upstairs. “Let me down, you goofball!”, Milo protests under laughter. “Sorry, but you’re just too cute”, the giant says after putting the birthday boy down, and kisses him. Milo presses his lips against Dukes. “So, what’s the big surprise?”, he asks and sits down on the edge of the bed. But Duke stays quiet and positions himself in front of it. With a sly grin, the beast of a man pulls a little, red disc out of his shorts. Two short black ribbons stick out on the sides. At first glance, you would mistake it for a watch or a toy. Milo’s jaw drops. Mesmerized, he watches how the off-season bodybuilder places the equipment under his left pec. “H-How did you…get this?”, he stammers. “Had a favor to cash in”, Duke answers absentmindedly while tapping away on his phone. The little red speaker next to him chimes. He looks up with a grin. His honey pie has no idea, what he’s about to get into. “You are so going to love this.” BA-DUMP, BA-DUMP, BA-DUMP, BA-DUMP. Loud and deep thumps echo through the room. Milo’s neck hair stands up at the sound. His eyes widen. “Fuck me sideways.” Duke chuckles, as he pulls down his black gym shorts to reveal night blue posing trunks. “Maybe later.” With a thick finger, he points towards Milo. “Happy birthday, my love. This is for you.” Slowly, the bodybuilder raises his arms and flexes. Monumental arms explode into beefy, hard mountains. The biceps? Solid rocks. Pencil-thick veins spread out across thick, hairy forearms like spiderwebs. One of the veins climbs up the right bicep peak before plunging into the bulging mass of the anterior delt. The red-blond pinches his wrist. No, this isn’t a dream – this is really happening. His most personal fantasy coming to life. To hear that bloodpump work in real-time is surreal. “What gave you the idea for this?”, Milo wants to know. Duke relaxes the pose. “Every time we watch bodybuilding competitions, your eyes light up”, he huffs. “So why not give you a personal show, one-on-one?” Accompanied by the constant thud of his heart, he sets his hands on his hips. As he takes in a deep breath, his chest shelf bumps against his chin. Solid lats stretch out further and further. It’s like watching a flower bloom. “You always say this is one of my best poses”, Duke comments. “It still is”, the redhead mutters under his breath with rosy cheeks and his dick throbs in agreement. Making a quarter turn to the right, Duke slides into his next pose: the Side Chest and Biceps Pose. He clenches his hands together next to his waist. Pecs don’t just flex; they blow up into mounds of hard beef. Lifting the heel of his foot? BAM! Calves hard as diamonds. Instantly, his heart thumps harder against his ribs. Looking down, he sees his left pec surging forward with every beat. BA-DUPP, BA-DUPP, BA-DUPP, BA-DUPP! “Fuck yeah!”, Duke hisses and throws a cheeky grin at his audience. But how can he tease him even more? Suddenly, his chest bounces in time with the massive ticker powering his whole body. The effect is immediate. “Ughn…SHIT!” Before Milo knows it, precum spills into his grey shorts. His mind goes back to the night he told Duke about his fetish. Third time they had sex, both of them in bed. To this point, the college student didn’t tell anyone about his fascination with buff guys and their gigantic, strong hearts. The fear of losing his newfound love wrecked him. But instead of being weirded out, Duke reacted understanding and enthusiastic. “UFFF!” A sharp exhale snaps Milo out of the memory. Burly hills and valleys spread out and transform into the hairy wall that is Duke’s back. Milo’s legs tense, ready to jump up. To carry him towards his Hercules, so he can run his hands over every inch of that godly body. But where would he even begin? Should he knead the traps first? Or massage his lats? How would the ginger even be able to walk with that boner? Not knowing what to do, he clenches the bed sheets. The dark-haired stud looks over his hulking shoulder. “Do you like your birthday gift so far?”, he purrs as he lifts his arm in a one-armed Rear Biceps Pose. Milo’s lips only let out a hoarse “Yes…”. Turning around and looking over towards his red-blonde Adonis, Duke notices him clenching the sheets. Once his eyes veer down further, the big bear’s smile widens. He made him do this! Knowing that sends a jolt of arousal through his dick. Placing his two bazookas behind his head, Duke crunches his body together in an Abs and Thighs Pose. Six cinderblocks, stacked on top of each other, fight their way through the slight layer of fat. Then, there are those legs. Those big, hairy legs. “Columns of power”, as Milo loves to call them. Teardrop-shaped quads bulge into all four directions. Even if they don’t possess the craziest definition, they’re overflowing with mass. “And now, for the big finale!”, Duke bellows. Roaring silently, the big man leans forward and squeezes his vein-covered arms together in front of his waist. Trap muscles rise but stop just two hairs short of tickling his ears. Pecs surge into a tsunami of muscle, while the core stays tight. Veins run over the kegs, that are Dukes quads and calves, like drops of beer over a cold glass. Meanwhile, the hard-working cardiac muscle gives its best performance. BADUPPBADUPPBADUPP! The muscles. The veins. The heartbeat. It’s all too much. Milo pulls his dick out of his shorts just in time, before he topples over the edge. “OH FUCK!” Everything goes white. Bursts of cum spray out of the birthday boy’s dick, as he convulses in euphoria. Sparks of pleasure light up his body, before he falls back on the bed. As he comes back to life, he pants: “Best birthday gift ever!” Duke laughs, his arms crossed over his chest. “Glad you enjoyed it. But now I need a shower.” He stops at the door, his hairy back glistening from the sweat. “Wanna come?” Milo looks down at his soaked shorts and blotches of cum on his tank top. “…Yup.” And so, the bear and his honey pie wander into the bathroom, as their night of lust comes to an end. THE END

Here's another blast from the past written by Lorus for the old forum and saved in my private collection of erotic gems. I'm reposting it here with the author's permission. Mike Hugeman was mentioned in BOOM!, the short story I reposted earlier, so I thought it would be good for readers to know who he is. No one who meets the Hugeman ever forgets him. I certainly haven't. The story has eight episodes followed by a teaser for a sequel. I will post all of them in the same thread. MIKE HUGEMAN SUPER-POWERED MUSCLE WHORE by LORUS Episode 1 The room shook from the force of Ken Preston having the fuck pounded out of his cute bubble-ass. It was his birthday, this day, and he’d used the money he’d gotten from his parents to hire the Hugeman for an afternoon, rather than put it towards his new car. The greatest gay whore in the entire city of Stillbrook didn’t come cheap either, considering he charged five hundred dollars an hour. Not everyone could afford him, but Ken had been building up to this for an entire year of scrimping and saving, deciding that if he was going to lose his virginity, then he was going to do it in style, with the best dick in the world impaling him along its incredible length. “Oh God, this is fucking... ugh... amazing. Don’t...ugh... want it to stop!!!!” Ken was face down on the bed, knees dug into the sheets so that his angelic, heavily lubricated ass pointed upwards. Mike Hugeman, the most super-huge, awesomely massive mega-bodybuilder in the world, rode into the youth with all the experience his craft would ever provide him. He was super-hung, sporting a dick that was a solid eighteen inches long when fully hard. It was thick, too, thicker than a beer can. Given that this was Ken’s first time having sex of any kind, Mike was surprised at just how well he took his meat, imagining the kid probably practiced every day with dildos of ever-increasing dimensions. He loved his work, and was proud of his physical accomplishments, often posing and flexing his enormously pumped muscles during the fucking of his clients. He was versatile, too, and would often grant his customers many of the requests they made of him. Ken was new to this, sure. He would be exhausted afterward, which suited Mike. He had to get to the gym within the hour. It was leg day, and his wheels needed an intense workout. He’d already made the kid shoot his load just by bicep-flexing five minutes after arriving at the dilapidated hotel room. He was used to better surroundings, but reckoned the kid was on a tight budget. Besides, he’d had cockroaches for spectators before, and had fucked in worse places than this. The kid was inexperienced, but his balls were big and round and held a lot of jizz. He would bring him to another incredible orgasm before the hour was up, after which any sex Ken would ever have in his life after this would never match up to the ride he got from the Hugeman. “Take it all in... all of my massive muscle-meat, you little twinkster, yeah fuckin’ moan and scream the Hugeman’s name, ugh yeah!” The bed took as much of a pounding as Ken did, for it groaned under Mike’s huge weight, which was getting close to six hundred pounds, since he’d really thrown himself into his beloved bodybuilding. He loved lifting and he loved fucking. You could say that he lived for these pastimes and nothing else. He was well-known in his native Stillbrook and was totally out about his whoring and his desire to get bigger and stronger. No other gay whore in the city could make the kind of money Mike made, so it could be said that he was the king of his hill, with fuck all in the way of competition. But that was soon to change, along with his life, forever. Meantime, he brought the twinkster to a howling orgasm once again and flared his lats in triumph as his organ, gorged on blood and pumping for all it was worth, penetrated Ken over and over, hurting him in throes of awesome ecstasy from which the eighteen year old hoped he would never recover. Usually, Mike was wider than most doorframes, loving how he had to squeeze sideways just to get in and out of rooms. When he flared his lats it seemed like his body got wider still. Coupled with the rush of his orgasms, his energy levels would peak, and his muscles spring erect and huge. When he flared his lats during ejaculation, he was at his biggest and widest, and the skin across his back groaned in defiance of his increase in size, almost to the point of splitting apart and causing him injury. But it never did. He was strong as an ox... hell... he was strong as a dozen oxen. Ken’s time was almost up. Mike had been pacing himself and could have climaxed long before now. In truth he had a hyperactive sex drive and could easily be ready to orgasm again just two or three minutes after cumming, and his tennis-ball-sized gonads acted rapidly when it came to replenishing their jizz stocks. “Fuck me to death”, pleaded Ken, but Mike would never do that. Despite his ruggedly handsome looks and tough-guy persona, he was pretty much a nice 22-year old Italian American, with only an occasional short fuse, who still found time to visit his Sicilian mama for the best home-cooked pasta in all of Creation. He often joked to his friends that it was his mama’s cooking that was to blame for his enormous muscle-growth. In all honesty, the hunk had no idea why nature had singled him out with such an incredible ability to grow a huge, hulking muscle-bod. He loved getting larger, showing up at get-togethers and causing his friends to gawp in disbelief at how much larger he’d become since they’d last seen him. This got him thinking about the gym, now, and satisfying his other voracious appetites for the good things in life. It was time to blast the twinkster out of it. He gripped the sides of the bed as he gave one final lunge into Ken, his body tensing as it hardened into a seizure of ejaculation. A gushing torrent of creamy spunk erupted from Mike’s eighteen-incher, and he positively adored cumming inside his clients. He didn’t care about disease, for it was impossible to find condoms to fit his gigantic whore’s dick, and his doctor was astounded by the fact that having had unprotected sex with more than four thousand paying clients since he’d started out at just sixteen years of age, that he hadn’t once picked up an STD. He really was a superman in every sense of the word, with a superb immunity to disease that was unprecedented. Ken screamed his loudest as the Hugeman ravaged his hole, pumping a massive load of cum into his body. Even after pulling out of him Mike continued to spurt cum all over his newest client. More and more of the steaming cream soiled Ken and the bed they rode on. Mike then grabbed hold of Ken and firmly turned him around on the bed, so that he was facing up. The look of sheer pleasure on the youth’s face was a sight to behold, and his gaping mouth seemed hungry for Mike’s elixir. He did not disappoint and eagerly shot more and more cum, this time allowing Ken to swallow a great deal of it. “God, it seems I can cum more and more as I get bigger,” Mike bragged and allowed Ken to take his fill. Finally exhausted, Ken slipped into a satisfied slumber, spread-eagled on a grimy bed, and drenched in the Hugeman’s spunk. “My work here is done,” said Mike, and muscle-strutted into the ensuite bathroom to take a shower. The plumbing groaned and spluttered as he lathered himself up with the shower gel from his kit bag. As it was summer, he seldom wore a shirt when he was out in public because he simply loved to show off his gigantic muscle-bod. He was a regular sight on the streets, posing for all he was worth, sometimes allowing guys to come up and touch his thickly-veined muscles, but only if they had cold hard cash for the privilege. Mike Hugeman never gave anything away for free. It simply wasn’t his style. He decided to get ready for the gym here in the hotel room, which didn’t take long. He’d arrived wearing only stretch-denim jeans, his upper body glistening from a mixture of sun-tan lotion and baby oil. Now he placed the jeans in his kit bag and pulled on a sexy pair of black and blue striped spandex workout shorts that did little to tone down the massive bulge his cock and balls formed at their front. He couldn’t wait for it to be larger, too, for it seemed that his cock grew another inch for every fifty pounds of muscle he put on. “Fuckin’ HUGE,” he declared as he bounced the massive shelf of his pecs up and down for a couple of minutes as he dried his ravishing black hair with a hairdryer. He was completely beautiful and loved how his father’s looks married so well with the Italian in him. He’d once been told he looked like a cross between a young John Travolta and Robert Redford. He agreed with this comparison, but reckoned he was many times more handsome than the two actors in their youth. Mike got more and more beautiful with each passing day. He had sparkling blue eyes set beneath a confident brow that complimented his rugged, square jaw-line beautifully. He had full, pouting lips, the bottom larger than the top one, and when they parted to form a smile he had perfect white teeth. He always maintained thick, designer stubble which went well with the curly black hair on some of his chest, which he never shaved. He loved having a lot of hair on his front, and he especially loved how his chest hair tapered down to a fuzzy treasure trail that formed a pleasurable tongue’s highway between his chest hair and his thick but trimmed pubic tuft. At the special request of some of his regular customers, he never shaved his armpits, and the dark bushy growth he had in them was so beautiful, merely lifting his arms and flashing his pits was enough to drive some of his customers to complete, frenzied orgasm. It was time to leave. He sprayed himself with sexy cologne that enhanced his natural masculine musk and flexed some more in the mirror before helping himself to the cash the twinkster left beside the bed. There was a business card sticking halfway out of Ken’s wallet, not that it was any of Mike’s business. But curiosity got the better of him and so he looked at it. And then he got mad... very mad. Episode 2 The sensation that he was no longer asleep, but instead floating mid-air in a slight summer breeze, brought Ken Preston shrieking back to consciousness. He was no longer spread-eagled on a cum-sodden bed, or even in the hotel room, for that matter. Mike Hugeman had taken him up the fire escape to the roof of the hotel. Somewhat maliciously, the massive muscle-whore dangled him over the side, holding him only by his right wrist, like a small child would carelessly carry around a beaten-up old teddy. Beneath him was a twelve story drop that would surely kill him were the Hugeman to let go. “What are you doing to me?” Fear had caused Ken to urinate but thank goodness nothing else came out of him. This didn’t make sense. Why had Mike taken him up to the roof of the hotel? What had Ken done to deserve such a fate? The giant muscleman got to the point somewhat gruffly. “Why do you have an UltraZen business card in your wallet?” In the hands of the Hugeman, Ken Preston hardly weighed anything at all. He leaned out over the edge as far as he could extend his bull-strong arm, causing Ken to kick and dance in mid-air as he tried desperately to get closer to the roof. “I don’t... don’t know what that is, Mike. Puh-pleeeese, let me back in. I’ll pay you more money, I swear. I’ll cash in my college fund.... just please let me...” “That wasn’t the answer I expected, you little bastard. Shit, I think my fingers are losing’ their grip.” Mike feigned a worried look as he pretended to lose hold of the terrified teen. Then, ever so audaciously, Mike ripped off his spandex shorts, causing his dick to spring forth like a striking rattle snake. It instantly grew super-hard and began to ooze copious amounts of precum. He brought Ken in a bit, flipped him around and rammed his ass with his dick, but only halfway along its length. Then he stood perched on the edge of the roof, so that Ken was now once again dangling, held in place by the power of the Hugeman’s cock alone. “Look, mama, no hands,” Mike goofed, and imagined his dick growing bigger and bigger whilst impaling Ken and pushing him ever further from the edge of the roof. To emphasize just how in-control he was of this situation, Mike shot a massive bicep pose, cranking up his guns from their cold size of 32 inches around, to a staggering 42 inches. Whilst Ken quaked in fear on the end of his monster dick, the Hugeman kissed each of his biceps, flexing them harder and harder, forcing more and more blood to distend his veins, bulging them outwards like thick, ropy cables. “Pity you can’t see this from your position, twinkster. You’re missing one hell of a show,” Mike boasted, marveling at how monstrously huge and powerful his guns were becoming. Every day it seemed that he’d grown a little. He was constantly in awe of just how massive he was. But he was never satisfied with his gains. He wanted more and more size, strength, incredible beauty, and unbeatable power. He began to contract the muscles in his groin, causing his dick to bob upwards, still with the terrified young man impaled on it. “Hey this is a great workout for my dick muscles. You must weigh about one-fifty. Hell, I could perch two more of you on my hot super-cock, and still bounce it upwards. I’m just so goddam fucking huge and powerful. I’m so ultra-fucking-gorgeous. But I don’t like to be fucked with. I won’t ask you again, what the fuck is an UltraZen card doing in your wallet?” Sobbing fitfully, Ken was as truthful as he could be. “It’s my dad’s wallet... his spare one. I luh-lost my own a while buh-back... so he gave me his one. It muh-must be his cuh-card.” In the street below, a curious crowd had begun to gather. The Hugeman considered what Ken said, and after a minute decided to let him in. He placed the crying birthday boy down on the rooftop and stood towering over him, his body heaving with power in every sinew and fiber that made him so amazing. He flared his lats somewhat threateningly, but in truth posing helped him to think clearly. “Hmm, you could be telling the truth. You seem honest enough. But if your father works for those crooked bastards then I’m going to fuck him harder than I fucked you.” It was a vow which Mike promised to keep. He went to his kit bag and pulled out a spare pair of shorts which he quickly put on. They were grey in color and immediately a precum stain formed in them, but Mike didn’t care. He was just minutes away from causing so many guys in the locker room of Joel’s Gym on Church St to make with their own precum. “I hardly see my dad, ‘cos he’s always working. I think they may be clients of his. He’s in advertising. That’s all I know, Mike. I swear.” Ken was still crying. Mike suddenly felt bad. He pulled a clean towel out of his bag and gave it to Ken to dry his tears with. “Sorry about that. I guess I got carried away. UltraZen tried to recruit me into their organization a couple of years back. They offered me a free health assessment and free membership to their ultra-modern super-gym. But all they really wanted was a sample of my tissue to experiment with. They think I’m some kind of mutant, ‘cos I can grow so big. A mutant, can you fucking believe it?” Ken now understood why the Hugeman had flown off the handle. But the experience still had him rattled. “For what it’s worth, I wasn’t gonna drop you, twinkster. And even if I had, I could easily have leaped down to ground-level to catch you before you hit the concrete.” Smiling the most beautiful smile Ken had ever seen on any man, actor, supermodel, athlete or bodybuilder, Mike did a side chest pose and hefted up his medicine ball-sized pectorals, beefing them up to super-striated status. His chin immediately became lost in the meat of his upper pecs, creating the illusion that his head was about to be devoured by his muscle-tits. He couldn’t wait to inflate these babies through further workouts. He really was obsessed with his bodybuilding and obsessed with himself. “I deserve a free session for what you did, Mike. It was cruel of you.” Fear and upset rapidly began to give way to anger. Ken had every right to be angry. Mike thought about this. He guessed the kid was right. He dug into his bag to return his five hundred bucks. “No – keep the money. I meant another session, on the house, of course. Or I’ll tell the cops what you did to me.” “Hmmm, Hugeman in the State Pen for attempted murder. Lots of jailhouse ass for me to pound. Communal showers and I heard they’ve got one of the best gymnasiums in the state. I could get really fucking HUGE in jail, not that any cell could hold me.” Mike scratched his gorgeous stubbly chin as his mind set off to explore such a fantasy. In jail he could be worshipped far more intensively than in normal life. But on the other hand, he’d miss his mama’s pasta. Nah, it was best to keep on the right side of the law. “Blackmail doesn’t suit you, twinkster. But you’ve got yourself a deal. One free session it is. But not right now, ‘cos I have to get to the gym to beef up further. You can come by my place tonight at 9pm. I live at Pinewood Heights on Reginald and Main, Apartment 12, on the top floor. I promise not to dangle you from my balcony. I usually do webcam hulk-outs at that time, but tonight, for you, I’ll make an exception.” That said, the Hugeman leaped into the air and out from the edge of the rooftop. In a single bound he was across to the adjacent building, coming down heavily with a mighty stomp powerful enough to loosen every tile on the ceiling of the rooms below. He chuckled to himself, delighting at how huge and hulking he was. Suddenly the unexpected happened. The force of his connection with the second rooftop was enough to jar the body of the peeping Tom who’d been observing his antics through binoculars. The guy was dressed in combat fatigues, but he seemed too fat to be a real soldier. He staggered drunk-fashion out from behind an extractor fan assembly and puked up his McDonald’s lunch all over his boots. “What the fuck? Were you spying on me you fat fucking pervert? I’ll break you in half for that. The Hugeman never gives it away for nothing.” Fuming, Mike snatched the binoculars from the peeping Tom and crushed them into tiny bits of broken glass, metal, and plastic. He felt like ripping out the extractor fan unit and using it to beat the living crap out of the fatty. He was strong enough to do it, too. He thought about the prison fantasy again. “Puh-please... don’t hurt me,” the slob in camouflage pleaded. On a hot day like this the smell of expelled stomach acids soon became unbearable. Mike wasn’t hanging around. He was going to charge this pervert for the privilege of watching him perform on the twinkster, and so he grabbed him by the scruff of his fatigues and searched through his pockets for a wallet. He found it without any trouble. It bore the motif of UltraZen. Mike’s blood began to boil. He flared red in the face and puffed himself up to a massively muscular rage. He soon forced a confession out of the peeping Tom, whose name turned out to be Lenny Simmons. Mike listened to everything he had to say: “They hired me to watch the boy. I slipped the business card into his wallet when he dropped it at McDonald’s before meeting you. It was meant to get your attention. After the kid left the hotel I was to take him out with a tranquilizer dart and drive him to an abandoned warehouse at the docks – unit 108. There the kid would have your jizz extracted from him. What they do with it after that is none of my beeswax” Mike needed to flex while he thought about this. He pushed out a crab pose that caused his muscles to striate massively, bunching together with almost electrical ferocity. Like the comic book Hulk, anger seemed to inflate Mike lately, something he was curious about. If he could make an actual ability of this, then he could will himself far huger whenever it pleased him to. He was getting turned on, too, and his second pair of shorts began to part at the seams as his cock, once again, stood to attention. The wet bulge inflating in his crotch was enormous. Simmons couldn’t take his eyes off it. He wasn’t gay but his contact at UltraZen had given him a dossier on Hugeman, and the gigantic bodybuilder had fucked straight guys before, just because it suited him to. The shorts would not withstand a full erection, not when he was this angry, boiling blood surging through every last inch of him. “Get the fuck off this rooftop, Simmons. And don’t contact UltraZen under any circumstances. Your driver’s license was in your wallet, so I know where you live. Think I’ll be holding on to that for insurance. I’m going to pay a visit to that warehouse. If you warn them I’m coming, I’ll pound that house of yours into rubble, with you in it. Got that?” When the Hugeman spoke, he had to be heeded. Simmons, his fat lips blubbering, hastily made an exit. Mike set off towards the Stillbrook docks, his shorts just about managing to keep his junk in place. It had been a long time since he’d been this angry about something. The word “UltraZen” was enough to drive him into an indignant frenzy. What further enraged him was that he might miss his workout for the day. And for that he was going to make UltraZen pay dearly. Episode 3 For a henchman, Artie Pimms asked way too many questions. UltraZen’s Arkadian Stoat tugged at his electrically air-conditioned black mackintosh and tried to remain calm and sane. In truth, he was failing at keeping Pimms from grating on his nerves. If something interesting didn’t happen in the next 60 seconds, he was going to have to cause a public nuisance, simply to keep from going around the bend. Pimms shifted nervously from one foot to the other, surveying his surroundings with an almost pathological level of suspicion. It was abandoned, here at the docks, the perfect place for UltraZen to spring its trap. “Do you think it was a good idea having Lenny place the card in the kid’s wallet, boss?” It was Pimms’ umpteenth question in several minutes. Stoat wanted to kill the obsequious troll in man’s clothing. How in all the cosmos did these “inbreeds” make it onto the company payroll anyway? The mind just boggled. “For the third time, already, I planned it this way, Pimms. The Hugeman has a short fuse and hates all things UltraZen. How else could I get him to come here? Simmons is about as stealthy as a rhino with whooping cough. He’s almost as bad as you for messing things up. Stillbrook’s arrogant muscle whore will be here, and soon. I guarantee it. Now do me a favor and check your weapon. You may need it. And do it quietly!” Stoat adjusted the settings on the electro-blaster he carried with him, making sure it was set for maximum output. He would only get one shot at this. The only way to stop a man as huge and powerful as Mike Hugeman was with an electro-static force-field that could jolt even the most superhuman nervous system into complete but totally reversible shutdown. Positioned out of sight, keeping to the gloom cast by the shadows of some empty packing crates within the spacious sprawl of the virtually empty Warehouse 108, Mike Hugeman would have to possess x-ray vision to notice his adversaries before they noticed him. Stoat silently prayed to St Norris (the Patron Saint of B-List Bastards) that this wasn’t the case. Within minutes there was a loud, thunderous sound of something heavy hitting the concrete outside. Nearby car alarms sounded as the impact set them off. Young ladies screamed in terror, but then seeing it was the Hugeman, began to get moist for him and wish he wasn’t gay, oh and er... yeah... a couple of dogs barked or something. The Hugeman was really pissed off as he tore through the docklands looking for Unit 108. This was causing him to miss his workout. He got madder and madder, and this seemed to make him get a little bigger, which wasn’t a bad thing, he reckoned. But his shorts were about to disintegrate from the immense pressure his inflating glutes and erecting dick caused by pushing outward in opposite directions. When he found Unit 108, he smashed through the large slide-doors, pulverizing metal and wood and whatever else the fucking things were made of, the force of which made him totally lose his shorts. He didn’t care. Looking down at his massive whale-dick excited and pleased him. But he snorted in a rising rage, thinking that it wouldn’t get to be glorified in the gym today, if the day’s events kept causing him to get sidetracked. “Come out from hiding, you UltraZen bastards,” he boomed, his gargantuan roar powered by an incredible set of lungs. He was getting stronger and stronger. He could feel his body bulging all over. He had to capitalize on this effect, but also clear his head to think clearly. When silence returned to the warehouse’s echoed interior, Hugeman flexed, sweet fuck did he flex, greater than he ever flexed before. He squatted down a little, bending his legs at the knees, so that most of his weight was carried by his shimmering quads. He crabbed down into a most-muscular pose, squeezing his balled fists so tight, he could compress coals into diamonds had he been holding them. This incredible pressure, aided by a snarl that added deep russet tones to his cheeks, sent a shockwave of flexing, bulging superpower throughout his exceptional system. Energy crackled in pulses along his body’s veined super-highway, energizing his circulatory system to hulk up into overdrive. Massive, thick cords pushed out of a 22-inch neck. His body exploded into hyper-muscular relief, with extra inches popping out everywhere, his weight increasing significantly. He couldn’t wait to get this business over with so that he could beat all his lifting records over at Joel’s Gym, with a full retinue of horny, awe-stricken, paying worshippers gathered around him, just the way he liked it. He would have it no other way. He posed and flexed, flexing huger still, and posed until he could think more clearly. He pounded his granite fists together, sending further pulses of shocking power throughout. Growling and snarling – gruffly lauding his bodybuilding superiority with an exceptional nod to superior masculinity – Mike screamed the place down as his glistening, colossal physique bulged more immensely than ever, muscles bulking up so fast, his skin stretched almost to the point of sheer translucence. His definition was mesmerizing. His hulking pecs widened and deepened, and when he bounced them, it took slightly more effort on his part, the mass of the pec-bellies at their greatest so far, so that their momentum seemed more gradual, but no less rhythmic. This pleased him very much, and his hard-on raged with greater impunity. “My God,” Arkadian Stoat gasped from behind the vantage point of crates, then cursing himself for uttering a sound. He wasn’t gay, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate just how much larger Mike Hugeman had become since last their paths crossed. He had failed, before, to secure the genetic samples he craved in order to experiment with Mike’s unique muscle-building properties. UltraZen thrived on defense contracts. Should they patent an elite super-soldier for sale to the highest bidder, they could become a major world power in their own right. Hugeman was the key to mastering this design. And Stoat, as head researcher for UltraZen Industries, was under a lot of pressure to reel in his prize catch. Today he vowed not to fail. Luckily the Hugeman hadn’t heard him make a sound, so caught up was Mike in his flexing and muscle-gaining. With an enormously delta-shaped back bouncing rays of glorious sunlight back through the skylight through which they came, Mike was oblivious to the stealthy, snake-like advances of Stoat, as he carefully eased his way closer to his quarry, the electro-blaster primed and ready to be fired. Stoat would only have one shot at this. He signaled with a nod for Pimms to ready the overhead net conductor. It would fire from a cylinder high above the Hugeman, something that had failed to catch his eye, fortunately for Stoat. So far things were going by the numbers. But still, caution was the only card to play. Mike was overwhelmed by his flexing, and the obsession he had with growing, coupled with the rising strength he felt surging in him. His balls swelled with jizz, and he would have to expend it soon before frustration got the better of him. He began to stroke his huge whale-dick, completely awed that it seemed, now, to be at least an inch and a half longer than it had been earlier, back in the hotel room with Ken Preston. Saint Norris’s Ghost, Stoat mentally gasped, not expecting to get a full sex show from the biggest muscle behemoth the world has ever seen. He was an out and out heterosexual, but if that was the case, why did Stoat feel the front of his trousers getting tight? No, this cannot be. This fucker cannot be turning me gay, he thought, but then lost the run of himself and said the last bit aloud: “I won’t allow it!!!” Hearing this caused the Hugeman to turn around like a whirlwind, just as his cannon dick was about to release its salty torrent. Several life-changing things happened in the space of one and a half seconds. The force of Mike’s massive discharge spewed forth with the pressure of a fire extinguisher, blasting into Stoat across a distance of about twenty feet. Gripped momentarily by his most powerful self-induced orgasm ever, Hugeman was temporarily paralyzed, but that did not matter, for the blast of his jizz knocked Stoat off his feet, sending him sprawling, just as Pimms pressed a button on his remote control, blowing the cylinder above both Hugeman and UltraZen’s head researcher. Stoat fired the ultra-blaster, but something went terribly wrong. Coils of Tesla-like energy arced into the torrent of cum that existed briefly between Hugeman and Stoat, creating a brief circuit through which the gun overloaded. The connection was only a fraction of a second in duration, but the conductor net fell over them both, holding in the charge for a little longer. Dazed and confused, Hugeman rolled around in the net and soon became trapped. Like an idiot, Pimms sprang to help his boss, reaching out to grab his arm where it stuck out from a gap in the net. Stoat writhed in agony as energy danced impishly across his suffering but scrawny frame. As soon as Pimms touched his hand, he absorbed most of the energy, which now siphoned off into him. He was knocked back into the packing crates, smashing through them. He screamed for all of his worth as anomalous energies scorched him... reshaped and rewrote him. Likewise, Stoat was also rewritten to a certain extent. This was a day that would live in infamy, no doubt about it. When the lightning show eventually ended, Mike found the strength to tear himself free of the confining net. He felt weak and he staggered to his feet, his dick now limp and pendulous as it swung from his movements. “Am I... smaller? Oh, please God, please no.” He cleared his head and rubbed his eyes to get them into sharp focus. He looked down at himself... well, his gaze got as far as his pecs and would go no further, for his muscle rack prevented it, it was so bloated and huge. He flexed his forearms and bis, squeezing his balled fists to crank up the flexing to its fullest. He breathed a sigh of relief, for he hadn’t shrunk at all, despite the sapping of his strength. In fact, he thought he might be even bigger. Thinking this quickly energized him and lengthened his dick to a semi-flaccid state. Still a bit groggy from whatever it was his assailant had shot him with, Mike turned to look down at the living mess caught in the net. At first he didn’t recognize the charred, wizened man. Then, as he studied the sooty face a little further: “Arkadian fucking Stoat. I should have known you’d be behind this,” the Hugeman growled. Stoat just moaned something incomprehensible but appealed to the Hugeman to be freed from the net. He poked an even bonier arm through the netting, hoping the giant above him would take pity on an injured scientist. Hugeman scowled and thought about pissing on the little runt. “Puh-please have pity on me, Hugeman. You can see I’m beaten, finished. I know when I’m licked. At least help me to my feet so that I can check on poor Artie. I think he took the worst of it.” Mike thought it over and bounced his pecs so as to clear some space in his head. Maybe UltraZen would leave him alone, now that Stoat had seen the new, bigger, and more powerful Hugeman. They simply couldn’t beat him. Stoat looked old, broken down, emaciated. He was no threat to the Hugeman, Mike decided. And so, he extended a huge hand downwards, offering it reluctantly to Stoat. When Stoat touched Mike’s hand, he felt a rush like no other. Although his body didn’t change shape or size, he leeched off a great-deal of Mike’s incredible power. Mike, towering above the scientist, felt his legs turn to jelly, weakening to the point of being unable to stand under his own power. In contrast, Stoat snapped himself to a standing position in a trice, almost squeezing the life out of the Hugeman. Instincts that were new to the older man coursed through him, now, and with the merest tug of his arm, wrenched the Hugeman into the air, with force enough to expel him upwards, higher, and higher. He crashed out through the roof of the warehouse, soaring ever higher into the summer sky. Stoat watched it happen, marveling at what he had just done. But how could this be? He decided there was time for analysis later. For now, he just enjoyed the worried squeal from Hugeman, gradually fading as distance claimed him. “Sto...aaaaaa...aaaaat!!!!!!!!!!” “No, dear boy, from now on I won’t be going by that name. Oh no...” He looked at his burnt hands and marveled, wonderingly, at the crackling, residual static charge that arced between his clawed fingers, energy that seemed to leech the power out of the most powerful man on the planet. Stoat took a new name and shouted it aloud: “From now on... I will be called... Man Handler!!!!!” To be continued . . .

With the permission of the author, I am reposting a short story he wrote for the old forum that I kept in my collection. The story wastes no time getting to the action. You might want to cover your things with a plastic tarp before you start reading . . . BOOM! by LORUS Alex rushed into the living-room where his boyfriend was watching some Sean Cody porn, his jeans around his ankles and his hand working his considerable rod with gusto. “Dude, check out the guy moving into the old Hanson place across the street,” Alex excitedly commanded Dwayne the constant-jacker. Cute Alex, clad only in white jogging shorts, was already leaking a LOT of precum, what – from just watching a guy from across the street? Now Dwayne’s curiosity was peaked. “Grrrr, no fucker is going to get you in that state and get away with it,” Dwayne resolved, already shooting a sizeable jet of cum into the air. It went up and then arced downward, splashing squarely across Alex’s chest, one he’d built up from swimming and push-ups. “Mmmm,” said Alex, amazed at the fact his boyfriend was constantly horny, constantly jacking-off, and would fuck him whenever he got the chance. Dwayne considered himself the horniest, sexiest super-stud in town. But today that opinion of himself would change forever. Both guys went to the window to watch the spectacle outside. “Holy shit.... he’s huge,” cried Dwayne, his already rock-hard bone getting denser, more ripped with size, adorned with thick veins. His cock was huge, and it throbbed hungrily, steaming with sexual heat. Standing behind his boyfriend but focused squarely on the massive bodybuilder across the street, Dwayne ripped down Alex’s white shorts, and loved how the cock-ring he wore seemed to make his ten-inch cock bulge more hugely. You’d think Alex would have loosened up in his anus, having been fucked so many times by sex-mad Dwayne, but not so. Alex’s hole was always nice and tight. The boys loved it like that, and Dwayne, his shaft dripping with his own precum, lashed into Alex’s wet hole, an organic version of a jackhammer... in and out with tremendous vigour, Dwayne’s fervour unrelenting. “Jeezus, he’s the biggest bodybuilder I’ve ever seen, even bigger than Mike Hugeman the Muscle Whore. He must be over 800 lbs.,” Alex gasped, pushing backward against Dwayne’s vigorous invasion to maximize the force of this stand-up-fuck. “Fuuuck, he’s lifting that piano out of the truck like it was made of feathers,” Dwayne – pounding Alex’s hole repeatedly – exclaimed as his lust got stronger and stronger. “Yeah, and the removal guys are... holy shit... he’s making them strip off their overalls.... nah ...they’re not gonna.... unngh .... that’s great..... harder you bastard.... fuck me to death,” enthused Alex, torn between focusing on the super-huge muscleman across the street – getting the delivery guys so turned on – and being ridden by Dwayne who suddenly discovered that he could focus on both actions, and believed that the arrival of the bodybuilder had intensified his need to fuck and cum. The heat suddenly generated by the voyeurs caused a nearby potted plant to wilt. “Yeah... he’s making them wank their dicks alright.... dayum .... I want him. He MUST get fucked by my massive cock. We could.... unngh.... have an orgy.... Omyfuckin’god.... he’s flexin’ right out of that sexy muscle shirt, lat-spreading like he’s spreadin’ wings to take off,” cried Dwayne, both men now so caught up in one of the best sexual moments of their relationship. Buttons pinged off the bodybuilder’s shredded shirt, flying in all directions with force enough to shatter windows nearby. “Mmmmm, he looks like Jay Cutler, and a bit like Craig Titus, only five times their combined sizes. Wow, look at the size of the bulge in his denim cut-offs. He’s a super-enormous, mega-muscled farm boy,” gasped Alex flexing his buttocks as hard as he could, tightening his hole against Dwayne’s meaty raping. “Awwww man, the delivery guys are hot too, they look like bodybuilders now that they’re naked in the street. Their cocks are big, too. God, they’re strokin’ em hard. Look at the bodybuilder’s lat-spread, awww, his size, soooo big. Man, he must be six feet across at the shoulders... no way... no way.... he’s goin’ for the truck... he’s gonna....aw fuuuuckkk,” Dwayne was lost for words as he pulverized Alex’s ass whilst the massive Adonis across the street began to lift the entire delivery truck in a muscle show of utter power for his cock-stroking naked four-man audience. “His...awwww.....unnngh.... muscles are bulging thicker.... unnnngh...as he takes....the....unnnngh....strain of the truck....awwww....so good, darling.....harder....fucking hurt me harder.....harder grrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!!” Dwayne, having just shot a load not three minutes ago, felt his balls filling up with fresh spunk, but he planned on holding onto it for as long as possible. Alex could also keep himself from cumming for ages and ages. They suspected the bodybuilder had more tricks to show them. He stood with tree-trunk legs akimbo and the huge truck’s weight not a problem for him as he hefted it above his blonde-haired head. His grunting was manly, guttural and the delivery guys caught onto the idea of fucking one another whilst watching this hunky hulk doing his thing. He began to pump out rep after rep, lifting a truck that easily weighed several tonnes. “Awwww.....he’s getting huuuger....no way.....awwww fuck...I’m gonna cum,” gasped Alex, trying his best to keep his load in. He spread his legs wider to better anchor himself, his hands high up and pushing against the wall on either side of the window. Dwayne kept on pounding, and he grew mean: “Don’t fucking cum until I tell you, y’fuckin’ sexy bastard,” he growled, wishing his cock could get bigger and bigger inside his boyfriend, so that he could give him the fuck of his life. Across the street the huge bodybuilder got huger and huger.....HUUUUGE by hundreds of pounds in just a few seconds. With every rep of the benched truck, his muscles ballooned many times over, biceps swelling bigger than the chests of his audience, lats rushing outward by a metre per minute on either side of him. He flexed his rock-hard abs, each one swelling larger than the pecs of an Olympian bodybuilder. “He’s fuckin’ beautiful....I wonder...unnnngh.... how big he can get.... aw fuck,” gasped Alex, hoping this moment would last and last and last. The delivery guys suddenly advanced on him as he continued to press the truck over his head, again and again. “Too fuckin’ light for Yuri,” Alex and Dwayne heard the giant bellow. He stamped down hard on the pavement and a spider-web of cracks spread out from the impact, seriously undermining the foundations of the surrounding properties. One of the delivery men was frantically working at the buttons on Yuri’s cut-offs, anxious to get a look at his burgeoning meat therein. The monster cock was a monster indeed, springing forth and the second delivery guy shot a massive load of cum as soon as he saw it. The cum shot out in a controlled jet right into the mouth of the huge bodybuilder. “Mmmmm tasty hot man juice.... moarrrrrrr!!!!!” Yuri slurped the treat, and his muscles grew larger still. He squatted down for a moment, and then, grunting maniacally, shot up suddenly, blasting the truck skyward. It went up and up and up, so high that he put the fucking thing in orbit. But he needed to flex more and more to get bigger and bigger, and he also needed to show off his ever-increasing super strength. “Jump on my fucking arms,” he growled to the cumming delivery men who somehow, in the presence of this giant, seemed capable of shooting inhuman amounts of cum, which Yuri lapped up, slurping intensely. “This is the....unnngh....hottest thing I’ve ever... gasp.... seen,” gasped Dwayne, still able to hold on to his juice. “Awwww need to shoot, Dwayne,” moaned Alex, his hole now red from the fucking it was getting. “Fuckin’ stay put....grrrr. You will shoot when I say you can,” roared Dwayne, and brutally-but-playfully nipped Alex’s earlobe as a reprimand. The biting alone nearly made Alex cum. The growing pressure in his balls was fast becoming unbearable. Across the street the delivery men clambered up the huge bodybuilder, using his enormous, metre-long dick as a step to get higher. He must have been over seven feet tall. The first delivery man was able to stand right up atop Yuri’s massive pec-shelf which jutted out by two whole feet over his abs, casting them into deep shadow. Each delivery man climbed onto one of Yuri’s arms, which he held out straight on either side, in typical crucifix fashion. “Position your sweet assholes on each of my biceps,” Yuri commanded. The smaller men obeyed instantly. “Awww....he’s gonna....unnnngh....fuck them with his.... biceps,” gasped Alex, managing to still hold on to his load. Dwayne kept hammering him, his chin resting on Alex’s shoulder so that he could watch the spectacle outside and across the street. “Fuckin’ mounds must be sixty inches or more right around....unnnngh....bigger....unnnngh... when he flexes them,” said Dwayne his lust ever-increasing beyond all extremity. His thick, massive cock continued to give Alex’s ass a battering. He could go on for hours if he wanted to. Sure enough, Yuri curled up his forearms, fists tightly bunched and sending ever-bulging veins ripping across his arms and body with near-seismic ferocity. The delivery men screamed, their bodies lurching upwards as titanic peaks of mountainous muscle tore into their asses and flexed upwards and outwards to fill every crevice of their cracks. Both men shot tonnes more cum, which again arced nicely into Yuri’s hungry mouth. He gulped and gorged on the thick milk and flexed harder and harder and harder. He alternated between levelling out his arms and bunching up his bicep-peaks, and in what was certain to be a balancing act to rival Cirque du Soleil, hammered those peaks repeatedly into the smaller men’s hungry asses. And as he drank of them, so he grew bigger still, his biceps rushing up to a maddening size altogether. He filled out all over, bicep-pumping the shit out of the delivery men, who screamed in bliss atop his biceps. Then he shot his load. A gush of cum, with fire-hose intensity, shot across the street, smashing right through Alex’s car’s windscreen and out the back window. It splashed up all over the more resilient house window, which didn’t break but instead opened inward, pushing both men back and drenching them in gallon after gallon of milky jizz. Alex shot his load in the process, as did Dwayne. They drank as much of Yuri’s cum as their stomachs could carry. And they also began to grow, piling on a thousand pounds of muscle each in just a few seconds. “Awwww.... this is incredible,” cried Alex, standing up in a room of cum and flexing his new muscles so hard that veins thick as rope flared all over him, his body flashing red from stretch-marks that came and went as his skin healed and adapted to the massive muscles it now covered. Dwayne was the same, but his growth was more centred on his gargantuan dick, the rod now swelled to more than six feet in length, the cock-ring now just metal dust. “Awwww.....we’re gods now. I need to shoot and shoot. But gonna rape that fucking bodybuilder across the street.” Dwayne stomped outside, taking the side off the house as he went. But he didn’t care, for he was beyond materialism, now that he was fuelled only by the lust of having muscles, massive ones, and needing to fuck and fuck and fuck like mad. The delivery men were now gorging on the still-torrential surge of Yuri’s magical cum, they, too, beginning to fill out and grow huge. Muscles bulged on muscles, pecs swelling like inflatable pillows, abs super-striating, biceps melon-balling, dicks thickening and shooting as they grew ever larger. The weight of these giants now began to destroy the street, but most people weren’t home anyway. But being a predominantly gay neighbourhood, those who were home rushed out to get in on the action. Massive muscles came to the street this day... and the fuck fest lasted until well after sundown. By nightfall there were twenty massive musclemen writhing around Yuri – and he the biggest of all – their homes in ruins, deep pools of cum everywhere. Yuri had swelled to fifty feet in height and still he pumped cum without end. He weighed thousands of pounds, every muscle super-striated, each striated segment capable of independent flexing. His pecs were as big as houses now, and when he flexed them they pushed against the air hard enough to create a sonic boom. Alex and Dwayne, both around twenty feet tall and weighing four tonnes each, worshipped their new master and continued to feed him their cum to make his muscles even bigger. The others from the street and the delivery men had passed out from exhaustion and slept around the Alpha-god Yuri who demanded more size, more strength. He just wanted to get bigger and bigger and bigger. He made Alex and Dwayne his chief seeders and fuck-buddies, and Dwayne, now the second sexiest super-stud, fell into line easily. They now lived to fuck and cum and eat each other’s spunk and grow huger and huger and huger. Yuri flexed the most massive lat-spread in all of creation, his heaving man-tits hulking upwards as if to swallow his head. Then he crabbed down into a most-muthafuckin’-massively huge and striated most muscular ever flexed. The shockwave tore up trees and ripped roofs off houses a mile away. “BOOM!” He screamed. The End

I wrote this short-scene a while back as a caption for the following photo. When I wrote this (and other similar content), I was just diving deeper into bodybuilding and how it articulated with my muscle fetish, especially as it relates to domination and submission; and I really got into imagining my ideal D/S dynamic through this captions, informed by my conversations with different admirers/growers/doms at that time. But as with many things, I let it fall to wayside. It wasn't until this week that I started thinking more intentionally about this again. As I continue to work with my coach and enter a lean bulk, I want to draw from this side of my psychosexuality again to really push my limits day in and day out -- after all, bodybuilding is about consistent dedication and effort. But I didn't know where to pick things up again. So it was a happy coincidence when I came across a topic in the general section on the theme of "growth as submission" the same day I decided to browse some of my blog's older posts. This is a quick edit but if folks are receptive and interesting in the themes, styles, etc here, I would be very motivated to follow through with a longer project to dive deeper. The plan would be to explore the progression of this dynamic using the seven deadly sins as a framework. Anyway, anyway, here's Wonderwall (lol). ___ “Sir, must I really pose like this for your friends?” he asked with stink on his face. You'd just finished a group workout. Some pals from out of town wanted to get a quick sweat session in during their visit, so you suggested a local kickboxing class later that afternoon. You knew that this type of exercise wouldn’t enough for your bull – cardio with a little pump is all it was for him, – but you dragged him along anyway. Your friends would appreciate seeing him in action after all. They had ogled over him the time before, privately commenting to you about him in a fluster: “His arms are so big!” “You get to sleep on that chest at night? So lucky!!” “I wish my boyfriend looked that good.” This time around, you had the devilish idea of giving your lusty friends a show, having your bull go through the post-workout posing routine he usually performs in your bedroom. But, you were sure that your friends wouldn’t see the full scope of what this show meant. They were white-collar types more interested in having fun with a side of fitness. Spin or Crossfit classes and brunch white-collar types. So they'd probably see his posing routine as sensual at first -- and who could blame them. Big man in underwear. Simply groundbreaking. Eventually eyes will start to wander, missing the purpose behind each movement. More muscles? What's next. At least if you know your bull. He'll probably be shy and conservative, giving half-hearted flexes at the top of each pose. Amazing to most but practically limp in your eyes. But you’re prepared to push his boundaries today. “Yes I’m serious. Give us a taste of how you’ve been coming along, big guy,” you demand, taking a seat with the rest of your friends chatting in between sips of Gatorade. He gives a shy double-bi towards the mirror, displaying his 19” arms and robust shoulder-chest tie ins. His tank rides over his belly a good hand-width. Your friend Charlene glances over from her conversation and gives a short hoot, “Looking good!” You catch his eyes, glancing down at his torso and legs, his tank and shorts, and back to his face. You nod and mouth “off.” He grimaces and returns a pained expression; clearly he’d rather not. You mouth “off,” again, knitting your eye brows sternly. Begrudging, Bull begins to pull his shorts down and toss them to his side, the tank following. That left him in just your favorite pair of white briefs, nearly every inch of his growing body exposed to strangers. “He’s going to be preparing for a show, guys, so I think it’s best to have get into the spirit.” The rest of your friends turn to look at the curated specimen in front of them. It was hard not too – without the oversized shirt and basketball shorts, his enhanced development was more than evident. You both had been working diligently to thicken up a lot more before dieting down for his contest, putting extra effort into piling more meat onto those delts and traps. You both wanted a bull with a neck worthy of a yoke. Taking a deep breath, he began anew, locking eye contact with you and only you. He hit pose after pose, never breaking sight despite comments being thrown around: “He’s definitely gotten bigger!” "Oh my god, he must eat for an entire family." "That's kinda cool, I guess." He hit a most muscular as his finisher, bringing in his arms tight over his torso and showcasing the fibers and new vascularity over his shoulders and traps – you both noticed that they had begun to swallow up his neck in the last few weeks, especially in this position. “More,” you mouth. He brings his arms in closer, bulging his traps out higher. “More,” you mouth again. His fists clench harder; his eyes begin to glaze over, and you notice his entire body pulse as he brings his muscles to contract even harder. Just for you. He’s beginning to shake from the effort, small veins snaking higher and higher across his chest and neck. You know what he’s thinking, how he’s feeling. He’s been there before with you: I’m a growing muscle bull, growing bigger and bigger because I need to. Let me show you, sir. Let me show you how big I want to be. Please. “And that’s the end!” you say to your friends, motioning to your bull to stop and get dressed. His eyes widen and cheeks redden, immediately turning around to grab his clothes. Scanning their faces, your initial prediction was correct: they don’t get it. Some were looking at their phones; one gave a fake smile, and another continued to look at him with contorted confusion on his face. “He really looked kind of scary for a second,” one whispers to you. Your bull notices this, throwing you a desperate glance. “We’re planning to come in about 10lbs heavier next year too! Maybe 15 of lean muscle, if we work harder.” “Don’t you think that’s too big?” another asks. Your bull approaches the group, half-dressed and drenched in more sweat after his posing; he looks at you, eyes wide with anticipation for how you’re about to respond. “No. I want him bigger. And he likes that too,” you say boldly, giving his shoulder a tight squeeze. Your fingers can’t dig into his meaty delts anymore; they’re harder than before. He reflexively tights his shoulders even more, pushing your fingers out. His cheeks are fiery red. Is that a little guilt you feel? Bull turns to you, your friends, and back to you, speaking through a quivering but excited voice, “Yeah, he’s right. It’s almost an addiction, but better bodybuilding than smoking.” No, that's pride. __________ “You know that once you hit 240, you’re gonna get more comments like that,” you say. He puts down a shaker bottle full of protein and all sorts of supplements alien to you, responding, “yeah, but I’ll get used to it. My current physique is on the edge of sensibility, but posing for them all today and…losing myself…it felt amazing.” “Because your routine was on point?” “No, because I felt like I didn’t care. I was posing for you, even when you pushed me further and I freaked out your girlfriends,” he murmured looking down at his feet. He sighed, throwing a slight smile at you and finishing the rest of his protein shake. “Though to be honest, I think they were busier looking at your boner than my poses towards the end.”

Following on from "Deano's Summer" and the short, eight-chapter novella-length "Deano's Winter" story, I've written a new/third story about Muscle University's most complex but loveable pocket rocket bodybuilder. This one is set mostly at Muscle University, where Deano is studying in his second year, but the characters go to some other places too. It's split into three parts, with a number of chapters per part. There are some new characters as well as lots of familiar names and returning characters from the first two Deano stories and the original "Muscle University" story, including Deano's roommate Shaun, who is a lot more fleshed out here. I also have a Twitter account where I post as Deano here which I set up for the first story where I'll be posting things related to the events of the story. DEANO, AGAIN: A MUSCLE UNIVERSITY STORY (DEANO STORY 3) PART ONE One “We’ll have to get you a suit when you come back for Easter,” my dad says to me from the driver’s seat of his Land Rover. “Huh?!” I say, screwing my face up. I know exactly what he’s talking about. I just feel like getting a rise out of him for one last time before he drops me off at the train station to go back to the Montgomery University of Bodybuilding & Fitness. “For your mum’s bloody wedding!” he barks. I roll my tongue around the inside of my mouth to try and cover up my smirk. My dad gives me a suspicious look. Like he knows I’m just trying to wind him up. Then he lets out a big sigh and turns back to the road. I swear he’s smirking a bit though. “God knows if we’ll find one that fits you!” And now I’m full-on smiling. Struggling to find a suit because I’m both a short-arse AND a jacked-up pocket rocket bodybuilder who’s getting bigger by the week at the only university in the world dedicated to turning its students into pro bodybuilders? I kinda love it. And then I have another thought. If all goes to plan I’ll be competing at the end of term bodybuilding show just before the Easter break. Which means, not only will I be jacked and shredded for mum’s wedding, I’ll also be dark and bronzed from the competition tan. I wonder what Gary’s relatives will think. And dad’s new girlfriend’s son, Archie. And now I’m suddenly picturing how he was with me when we met for the first time last week. All nervous and intimidated. Maybe I should ask mum if I can bring my roommate Shaun as a guest so the two of us can strip off and give Archie a full-on posedown. “Right, text me when you get back,” Dad says when he parks the car outside the station. “And watch what you’re doing!” I pull a face and nod sarcastically as I get out of his Land Rover, failing to smirk to myself as I drag my suitcase into the station. I’ll never admit to my dad how much I miss him when I’m at Muscle University. But then - he’ll never admit to how much he misses ME. On the train from Brighton to London I start thinking about Harry the Bouncer. Even though it all went to shit and ended up being a bit of a disaster, I don’t regret meeting him. And I definitely don’t regret the hot sex we had the day before Christmas Eve. And at least I made things right with him when I saw him on New Year’s Eve. Maybe I WILL go down to the pub he works at and say hi to him the next time I’m down at Easter. I did promise him I would after all. And it would be kinda nice to see him again. He’ll probably cum in his pants when he sees me bronzed and jacked from the end of term bodybuilding show. I keep wondering whether anything more might have happened between us if it hadn’t gone tits up. If I hadn’t seen Ryan North on Boxing Day and acted like a complete twat on that second date with Harry. Obviously, we would have had sex again. (Did I mention how hot the sex was?) But anything beyond that - I’m not really too sure. I mean, he lives back home for a start. And I’m up in Scotland for most of the year. How would things have ever worked? Plus there’s the obvious age difference. I mean, I can’t really imagine introducing ANY guy as my boyfriend to my mum and dad, but one practically twice my age? My roommate Shaun is already back and sitting on his bed in our dorm room with his head buried in his laptop when I (finally!) get back to Montgomery. That seven-hour bloody journey is never fun. I’ve given up on asking Dad if I can get a flight from Gatwick to Glasgow instead of the train. “Do you think I’m bloody made of money?!” is his usual response. Shaun says all right to me and we fist bump each other. He tells me he’s hanging really badly because he went out with his mates last night back home in Nottingham. He’s wearing that tight fitted light blue t-shirt he often wears that makes his arms look stacked. Shaun’s not one of the biggest lads in the year. He’s probably around somewhere in the middle in terms of size. He’s got a great physique though. Big shoulders, deep pecs and a tight waist. His torso has an awesome V shape. And his legs are decent too. He’s about five foot eleven so he’ll never be up against me in the 212 class. I actually wasn’t sure I’d like him on the first day I met him. I thought he’d be a bit too cocky and obnoxious for my liking. I feared he might love himself a bit too. Shaun’s a good looking guy. Blonde hair. Green eyes. He looks a bit like a posh boy, I guess. Like the kind of guy who went to Eton. He’s not like that at all though. Once he opens his mouth and starts talking you realise he’s just a bit of a lad. (And not posh. At all!) I’d be lying if I said I’d never had certain thoughts about him. Right at the start of our first year, I found myself checking him out every now and then. When he’d come out of the shower. In the gym. In Posing Practice 101. That stopped pretty quickly though once I got to know him and we became mates. Then he just became Shaun. Besides, I started having those thoughts about another certain cocky and annoyingly good looking classmate. “Not up for the SU bar tonight then?” I ask Shaun with a smirk as I unzip my suitcase. “Awww, mate. Fuck RIGHT off with that!” he cries dramatically, leaning back on his headboard and still clutching his laptop. Shaun doesn’t really ask me anything about my break. Not that I’d tell him anything about what happened with Harry the Bouncer. I’m mostly fine with not talking to Shaun about stuff like that. A part of me even likes the fact that I’ve got this secret none of the lads here know. But sometimes I have these fleeting moments where I fantasise about telling Shaun that I like lads. And in those moments, I can’t help thinking how nice it would be. To tell him all the stuff that I’ve been keeping from him. To let him know about that side of me. I sometimes think of it as like a rehearsal for when I’m a professional bodybuilder. I’m not exactly going to be an openly bisexual bodybuilder. I’ll be keeping that hidden from pretty much everyone. So me not telling Shaun and Ashley Mosaku and Eric Mafra is like a practice run. I can still be mates with them. They just don’t need to know that bodybuilders turn me on. That I like kissing lads. That one of those lads was Sebastian “Woody” Wood after obsessing about him for most of the first year. And they don’t need to know that last summer I got my heart broken by a guy called Ryan North. “All right, lads, settle down,” Hancox says to us as he walks into our first Advanced Posing Practice lesson of the term on Monday morning. I’m standing in my usual spot in the back of the room with Shaun and Ash (Mafra’s in Thursday’s lesson with Woody and Henderson). “Everyone have a good Christmas? Yes? Do I actually give a shit? Absolutely fucking not!” Hancox jokes. Ha! I love it. I look at Shaun and we exchange grins. Hancox is a total legend. Granted he’s a bit of a scary bastard. But then, I’m kind of used to being around older, scary-looking bald-headed ex-competitive bodybuilders who don’t take any shit. “Right - before you all start stripping off there’s something I’ve been asked to announce. Try not to spontaneously combust in your posing trunks.” I look at Shaun and we exchange confused looks. Hancox starts to tell us about a new thing the university is introducing this term called the “Future Pro’s Training Programme”. Apparently, a group of selected students will each get to train with one of the lecturers for an intense three-month training plan, leading up to the end of term bodybuilding show in April, which they will automatically qualify for. This is where Hancox really piques my interest. I’m determined to get a place on that end of term bodybuilding show after missing out last year. Granted, I stand a pretty good chance of getting a spot anyway, but the idea of it being both guaranteed and embarking on an intense training programme with one of the lecturers here is more than appealing. And then Hancox says something which not only further increases that interest, but sends an overwhelming jolt of excitement running through me. “As part of the programme, the selected students will get to go to the McCarthy Classic in the States to represent the university and guest pose.” Woah. What. The. Fuck? I look over at a wide-eyed Ash, then at Shaun. The McCarthy Classic? I can’t believe it. That’s fucking HUGE! Named after nineties bodybuilding legend Brad McCarthy, it’s one of the biggest IFBB shows on the calendar. Loads of the current top pros will be competing. And we get to guest pose! It would basically be a dream for any budding bodybuilder. And most of the students here at Montgomery University. Hancox carries on. Six students are apparently going to be chosen for the programme to represent the university. Three third years and three second years. It’s open to everyone to apply. Hancox hasn’t really specified what they’re looking for in applicants, but fuck - I REALLY think I have a shot at getting a spot here. I’m one of the best in the year after all. Surely that makes me a top contender? And when Hancox said the words “three-second years” I swear he even looked at me. Okay, that might have just been a coincidence. But I just have this feeling that it wasn’t. I can barely concentrate for the rest of Posing Practice. All I can think about is the prospect of getting a place on that programme. Going to America. Being at the McCarthy Classic in Chicago, surrounded by some of the best pro bodybuilders on the planet. I wonder if we’d actually get to meet them? And then guest posing. Being on the stage in front of the judges. The whole thing is just fucking insane. “McCarthy Classic? Fucking hell, lads!” Ash says to us as we were putting our clothes on at the end of the lesson. His marble-like abs popping through his skin and his big overhanging pes twitching. “You gonna apply, D?” Shaun asks as he covers up his torso with a tight white t-shirt. For some reason, I feel slightly nervous. “Yeah. Probably!” I say, maybe in at attempt to play the whole thing down. There’s an awkward pause. Do I ask the question back to Shaun? It would be kind of weird not to. “You?” I ask him, my voice sounding weird “Mmmm. Might do,” Shaun replies, picking up his backpack and not looking at me. Huh. More awkwardness. Here’s the thing. Shaun is a fucking great bodybuilder. There’s no arguing with that. But I think we both know he doesn’t really have much of a chance of getting a spot on the programme. There are only three places for second-years. Three students to step on stage at the McCarthy fucking Classic in America to “represent the university”. Surely the lecturers are going to choose the three best students in the year? And Shaun isn’t one of them. And then I have a thought which causes a sense of dread to wave through my body. Because if we’re talking about the best three students in our year, there are really only five contenders. Me, Ashley, Mafra, that Banksy dude I hardly speak to and the first guy I ever kissed. The guy who I outed last year which led to me getting suspended. The guy I spent ages obsessing over and then trying to GET over. The first guy I ever really, truly liked. Sebastian “Woody” Wood.

Following on from my "Muscle University" story and the "Deano's Summer" spin-off, I've written a new eight-chapter novella length follow-up. Set four/five months after the last story ended, Deano goes back to his hometown of Brighton for the first time since the summer. DEANO’S WINTER (A MUSCLE UNIVERSITY STORY) One “Here he is. The famous Deano!” I smile awkwardly as Shaun’s dad strides up to me with his hand outstretched. A big warm smile on his handsome, rugged face. He’s like an older rougher version of Shaun with sandy blonde hair. He’s pretty built but he’s no bodybuilder. He shakes my hand and then grabs my shoulder. “Bloody hell!” he says as he feels my muscle, his eyes widening. I feel a flutter of excitement and can’t help but smirk. “Shaun wasn’t kidding,” he says, slapping and squeezing my shoulder. “You’re a right little tank!” Shaun pulls a face and rolls his eyes as he lifts his suitcase off his bed. “Well … not little. Only cause, you know …” and then he puts a flat hand above my head to highlight the fact that I’m such a short arse. “Fucking hell, dad!” Shaun says, with a big sigh. “Oi! Watch your language!” I roll my tongue around the inside of my cheek in an attempt to hide my smile at watching Shaun’s dad embarrass him. There’s another reason why I’m smiling too. Because it reminds me so much of how my own dad talks to me. And I know for a fact if he were here right now picking up to take me back home for the Christmas holidays he’d be embarrassing the fuck out of me in front of my roommate and best mate at Muscle University. “What time’s your train then, Deano?” “Eleven fifteen,” I tell Shaun’s dad as I zip my suitcase up. He looks at his watch. “Ahhh, we’ve got plenty of time.” Shaun has asked his dad if he’ll give me a lift to the train station in Glasgow. “Cheers for the lift by the way,” I say, feeling a little awkward. “No worries, fella,” he says. “Bit far for your old man to come and get you, from Brighton isn’t it?” I smile and nod, while thinking, “Thank fucking God.” Even if Shaun weren’t here, the chances are my dad would find some way to embarrass me if he were to come up here and pick me up from campus. And now I suddenly have an image in my head of trailing behind my dad as he storms down one of the corridors of Johnson Hall in a “Deano’s Gym” t-shirt barking at me at an unnecessary volume. “Come on. Get a bloody move on, you little shit! I haven’t got all bloody day!” Half of my fucking year watching the scene and sniggering at my expense. I put my black North Face jacket on over my favourite black Montgomery University hoodie which somehow makes me look like even more of a tank. “You lads ready then?” Mr Hudson says. “Yes, dad!” he whines, pulling a face, causing me to smirk again. As I lift my suitcase off my bed, I feel this strong sense of poignancy. Since our last lecture of the term ended yesterday I’ve felt this weird mix of nostalgia and sadness. That the term is over. And now I feel it more than ever as me, Shaun and his dad make our way out and I take my last look at our second-year Johnson Hall dorm room until the New Year. I’m probably just being overdramatic, but I can’t help it. This has honestly been the best term I’ve had since I started at the Montgomery University of Bodybuilding & Fitness. I don’t really know why. I think it’s a mixture of things. Being a second-year feels a bit more relaxed. It’s pretty cool knowing you’re not amongst the youngest and smallest students anymore. The lecturers seem to respect us a bit more. Even Johnny Hoxton, who I was convinced didn’t like me last year, now seems to have warmed to me a bit. I think. At least that’s the feeling I get. I guess I’ve calmed down a bit too since that first year. That’s probably helped. I’m less of a loud-mouthed twat now. I dunno. I don’t really feel the need to do any of that stuff anymore. Shout out in class. Act like a complete twat. And in turn, I’ve found myself making some new friends and hanging out with people I didn’t last year. There’s a little group of us who have started going to the Students’ Union Bar every Saturday. Me, Shaun, Eric Mafra (still the biggest dude in the year) and Ashley Mosaku who is an absolute fucking beast. Crazy quads. A massive arse. He’s a bit of a loudmouth actually. He’s kind of taken over my role. Cocky as hell. But he’s not annoying with it. I kind of just find it funny. He actually reminds me a bit of mad cunt Tony from back home in Brighton. Kind of like if Tony was a hot jacked tank of a bodybuilder from South London. I’m calling Ash hot (which he definitely is) but don’t worry, I’m not secretly pining after him or anything. I have no interest in ever pining after a fellow student again. Or a bodybuilder slash personal trainer who, oooh, I dunno, happens to work at my dad’s gym or something. No more pining. No more obsessively checking Instagram profiles. No more standing at the back of Posing Practice feeling a knot in my stomach wishing I was the person Sebastian Wood was standing next to and occasionally whispering to and grinning at (I’m not even in the same Posing Practice lesson as them this year). No more lying on my bed with my arm wrapped around my back wishing it belonged to someone else. I’m done with that shit. I’m really fucking done with it. About an hour later and I’m settling into my seat on the train. As I’m taking my jacket off, I notice two men walking through the carriage and towards me. The way they’re looking at me. Fuck. One turns his head and looks at the other (his boyfriend maybe?) and they exchange little knowing smirks. It makes me feel a bit nervous and awkward but at the same time, I dunno, it kind of gives me a little rush too. And now they’re past me and walking into the next carriage, I’m finding that I’m suddenly smiling to myself. I look at my reflection in the train window. I still have the same haircut I’ve had since I started university. Even though I told my dad I was thinking of changing it back in the summer after - well, after what happened, I didn’t. I think I kind of thought why should I change it? Just because - well, just because. This black hoodie used to fit me really well, but because I’ve packed on more size since September, it’s getting a bit tight around my upper arms. I’ll probably have to buy a bigger sized one soon (which will no doubt be way too long in the arms - the perks of being a short-arsed pocket rocket bodybuilder). I wonder if I flexed hard enough the seams on the arms would rip? I smirk at that thought. If I suggested that to Shaun and Ash at the SU bar when we’d been drinking they’d probably make me do it to see if the hoodie actually did rip. I like who I am when I’m with those lads. Even though they don’t know everything about me. Even though there’s this whole side to me they know nothing about. And might be surprised at. I don’t really feel like I’m lying to the lads. Nor do I feel like what they see of me is an act. They just see certain parts of me. And I think I’m maybe starting to enjoy the fact that I have this secret that not many people know about. That I don’t really get to act on or indulge in much up here at Muscle University. (Save for the time I was sitting on Sebastian Wood’s bed wearing nothing but my maroon red velvet posing trunks, pumped and sweaty from flexing and posing for him.) It feels kinda weird to be going back home. The further I get from Glasgow the more the last few months seem like a distant memory and the more I find my thoughts slipping to the last time I was home. I don’t really think about last summer too much. It felt so far away when I was at uni. But now, these memories keep coming back. Things I try not to think about. Even though I sometimes do. As my second train from London begins to approach Brighton, I get that familiar sense of poignancy I always do. I love the familiarity of home. The fact that nothing here changes. I know exactly what’s waiting for me here. My room will look the same as it did when I left. Josh will be the same old Josh he always is. Annoyingly carefree, occasionally hyper, even more annoyingly good looking. Dad will be the same old dad too. I don’t think he’ll ever change. I find myself smiling as I think about that. When I look at my phone I find a text from Tony asking me if I’m still up for going out tonight. Which I most definitely am. I can just imagine what my dad will say about that. I roll my tongue around the inside of my cheek to stop from smiling when I spot my dad’s black Land Rover outside the station. I don’t want him to think I’m, like, happy to see him or anything. “Come on!” he barks impatiently, followed by a loud sigh as I get in the passenger seat. The train was about ten minutes late getting in. “Nice to see you too, dad.” “Why was it so bloody late getting in?” I shrug. “I dunno!” He sighs loudly again and shakes his head. I smirk and turn my head to look out of the passenger window. Same old dad. He really never does change. I think about asking him how the gym is. But then I think better of it. As we drive towards the end of the road I see all of the Christmas decorations lit up in the streets. I’d totally forgotten about this. North Street is packed. There are people everywhere out shopping. It’s only now that I’m starting to realise just how much I’ve missed this town. “You’re erm …” my dad pauses and clears his throat, “not seeing those twat friends of yours tomorrow are you?” Why does he sound weird? I look at him suspiciously. “Why?!” He shoots me a stern look. I’m expecting him to bark something else at me, but he doesn’t. He turns back to face the road. “We’re going out.” “Where?!” I say, screwing my face up. Dad groans. “For lunch! Is that okay with you?” I shrug. “Suppose!” I can’t remember my dad ever taking me out to Sunday lunch before. “With mum and Gary?” “No.” “What - just you, me and Josh then?” He lets out another loud sigh. “When are you going back to uni?” Josh’s dance music is blaring from his bedroom when I get back home. “Do you have to have that music so bloody loud?” my dad barks as he walks into the kitchen and I’m hanging my jacket up. I walk into the kitchen and there he is. My big brother, Joshua, looking even more annoyingly good looking as ever. He’s wearing a tight fitted grey t-shirt. His modest pecs spilling out of the V neck collar. “Yo lil’ broski!” he says to me. “All right?” “Bloody hell. You look HUGE!” he says to me. I look down. Weirdly, I feel bigger than I normally do now that I’m back home with dad and Josh. Rather than on a university campus surrounded by bulging muscle lads. “I should bloody think so!” my dad says. Me and Josh exchange smirks. “What time’s dinner?” I ask my dad, sitting down at the table. “MY dinner’s in about an hour. I don’t know what you’re making yourself. There might be a frozen pizza in the freezer somewhere.” I pull a face and roll my eyes. “WHY?” my dad asks, suspiciously. I shrug. “Going out with Tony,” I casually say. “Fucking hell!” he groans. Yep. There it is. I look at Josh and we smile at each other. “Don’t you be getting into a bloody state for tomorrow!” “Why?!” My dad clears his throat. “Told you earlier,” he says, not looking at me, “we’re going out.” I screw my face up. “It’s only lunch.” Josh gives dad a look. This suspicious smirk on his face. He’s practically giddy. What the fuck is going on? “Haven’t you told D, yet?” he asks. Dad rolls his eyes and sits down opposite me, not making eye contact. “Told me what?” For some reason, my stomach clenches sharply. And I get this horrible feeling that I’m really not going to like whatever my brother’s about to say next. “Dad’s got a girlfriend!” *** And anyone who followed the original thread will have seen these already but I thought I'd include the below illustrations of Deano. The first was drawn by @brawnygods and the second by @Rayjacked - both incredibly talented artists who have profiles here.

When a Titan enters the door, it is undeniable that each one of us will admire how big that person might be, in particular when the Titan has stats that go off-chart. 6’2’’ and 310 lbs can classify a person as a “Human Tank.” Adam, The Titan, was a Ukrainian bodybuilder, built like a brick shithouse. The sums of those addends made him close to perfection. Long and muscular arms and legs were attached to a body with huge and massive pectorals, that a tight t-shirt was not that able to contain. It was about to explode. Adding to that, an handsome face with a light beard and two pointy ears that perfectly matched his overall profile. Adam’s been competing regionally and internationally for quite sometime, and his winning competitions were well-known in his homeland. Being one of the tallest and heaviest bodybuilders in Ukraine, he was one of those bodybuilders that couldn’t have been missed during the shows, and other bodybuilders were always shocked by his masses, and the agility he used to show during his posing routines. A perfect bodybuilder? Indeed he was. That day, when he entered the door, in London, he was not going to compete. He was not going to show his perfection to the judges, he was about to show his whole-powerful body to a guy that paid him so much money during the years, that kept his bodybuilding dream alive. When Kevin opened the door, letting the big fella in, he almost lost his control. He realised that his bulge was raising. Adam was a pure muscle God. Adam entered with a big smile. Almost an evil smile. The light brown t-shirt showed his ripped uncovered biceps and the veins ran all over. Both of his arms were ripped, although it was not in a competition. His pectorals were massive and well-pronounced under that t-shirt that showed the logo Domination. Anyone wished to be dominated by him. He could dominate anyone without much effort. It was almost impossible to resist him. He was too perfect to run away. Kevin scanned his entire body in few seconds, he noticed everything Adam could offer. He noticed his bull neck, his hands were so big that he could have easily crushed a watermelon between them. “Hi Kevin!” Adam said, with his light Ukrainian accent, and with a strong and deep voice that matched his physique. The voice almost made the apartment tremble. Kevin hesitated on answering, his eyes moved like pinballs. Up and down. Right and left. His brain froze, his mouth let a kind of a squirt out, but in a couple of seconds he was able to get himself together and answer. “Hey Adam! You’re fucking huge!” He said. Adam laughed, still his laugh was heavy, trembling, and devilish. They shook their hands. At his own expenses, Kevin discovered how firm and strong Adam’s grip was, if he grabs me by the balls, they will be gone forever! Kevin thought. Kevin was half of Adam’s size and proportions. Adam was looking at his cash, towering him like a giant. He was intimidating. During the past years, Kevin commissioned several videos, paid quite well, but although Kevin knew how big Adam was, a video will never show the massiveness until he met him in real life. Like a first date, you can fantasise about a person through the pictures and a description, but the real life completely change your perception, and you see how that person really looks like. Perfection! Kevin though. Kevin’s dream was coming into reality, he could finally admire that muscle monster. His enthusiasm was irrepressible. They both walked to the massive almost-empty room that Kevin dedicated for that moment. Only a sofa in in the middle of the room, and a table right behind it. The walls were painted in a light green that brought peace and harmony. There were no need for words, they both knew what was about to happen. Adam walked to the edge of the room, he began undressing. Kevin comfortably set on the sofa. Excited. “Wow!” Kevin said. Adam only wore a pair of red posing trunks. Yet, Kevin couldn’t believe his eyes. That body is fucking huge, he thought. “What do you want to see my muscle friend?” Adam said. “Pose for me. Pose like you’re on stage for a competition.” Kevin said. “At your command!” Adam said. And he began. Slowly, he lifted his arms and aligned them to his shoulders, creating a crucifix-like shape. His shoulders and biceps were boulders. The striations were visible as those muscles looked like they were carved into wood by a professional wood carver. Adam stared at his fan with proud. “Here they come.” Adam whispered. Yet slowly, his elbow pits bent, his bicep fibres contracted, and the bicep inflated, and just right before the end of the muscle explosion, Adam loaded and locked, letting a soft grunt out of his mount. He smirked. He look at his right bicep and then the left. He brought the arms back to the crucifix position and hit a second, third, and fourth double bicep pose. Hammering it. “Boom!” Adam screamed at the sequential poses. Kevin was silent, he did not speak a word. He was admiring, and he knew that commenting was only a waste of time. Adam relaxed for few seconds, his right leg pointed at floor with his toe and shook his relaxed quad waving it from side to side, he lifted both of his arms up in the air, to then cross them behind his head and neck, he stomped his foot onto the floor, and contracted the whole quad, showing the different muscular groups in it, and hit an abdominals and thighs. “Arrrrghhh” Adam growled, like a beast. Smiles appeared in both of the guys. Kevin never imagined that Adam was such as an amazing poser when it comes to privately perform. He saw him very often on the stage, he used to pose like he was dominating the whole contestants, with a smile always drawn on his face. Kevin he had never heard him grunting or growling, and that was something new that he was loving along with his private, that minutes after minutes was increasing in volume, the blood was streaming like never before. What is he going to do when he’s going to hit a most muscular pose? Kevin wondered in excitement. He couldn’t wait for that moment to come. “You are the European Quadrosaurus!” Kevin said, still admiring Adam’s huge quads. “I am the Quadraosaurus. Fuck Branch Warren!” Adam said, smiling to this friend. Adam slightly bent over to his relaxed quads, placing both of his palms over the meat, and after lifting himself back up, the quads were as hard as rock. Contracted. Huge. He slapped them. Adam’s quads passed from a stage of full relaxation, to an insane contraction, slightly twisting them outward. If that was a film, and a sound added like a soundtrack, it could have probably been a bomb detonation, that was what the quads did. Exploded into perfection. “You know Kevin, People love to be crushed between the quads. Mine are pure destructions!” Adam said. “Fuck!” Kevin said with excitement. “I crushed several people, mostly bodybuilders. They yelled!” Adam said laughing. “Did they cry?” Kevin said. “The cried! They begged for mercy, that I did not grant!” Adam said. “Let me tell you one thing. Crushing bodybuilders is fun. Crushing strongmen is pure joy. They think they are the strongest men in the world, until they met me!” Adam said. “I wish, I could have seen the scene!” Kevin said. “They compete, lifting and throwing off stuff. They are strong, don’t get me wrong. I am way stronger than them. They think that we bodybuilders are only about appearance. We’re not, I’m not!” Adam said. Kevin nodded. Adam turned his back to Kevin, he placed his right leg on the floor with the tips of his toes, moving the feet on the floor like he was stomping cigarette butts. He gently slid both his huge hands over the back of his quads, moving to his perfect butt, and lifting his arms, with the palm of his hands opened, on the air, like he was about to fly. The back double bicep moment was about to take place, but Adam bent his right arm and brought his hand over his right ear, he did not hear any spur from his fan. He turned back, and with and funny-shocked face, he moved his hands in look for support. “C’mon man!” Adam’s voice trembled. “Double bicep! Double bicep! Double Bicep!” Kevin cadencing sang. Adam turned back facing the wall, and repeated the movements, from the back of the quads to the butt, and the hands back up in the air. “Boom!” Adam yelled hitting a back double biceps, hard locking the position for a while. Gracefully, he turned back to face Kevin, his pecs were bouncing up and down, joy for Kevin’s eye. He crunched them, squeezed them, pumped them. Keven never saw two pecs as big as Adam’s, they were pure perfection, and insanely shredded, able to beat the famous Andreas Münzer. The pec dance went on for few minutes. Adam was amazed what his body was able to produce, and Kevin was in pure ecstasy. Adam stopped. He went to the big bag that he left on the floor, bent his knees to reach it, unzipped and extracted few items from it. An empty can of coke, a cylindric metal bar, and an empty small plastic container that probably was once filled with supplements. “You love my huge pecs. I will show you that they are not only for the show business, but that they are strong!” Adam said standing back up. “Look at this!” Adam said, showing the empty-supplement-plastic container to Kevin, walking towards the guy, and holding it with the tip of his thumb and the pointer. Adam placed the container between his pecs, he was not flexing so hard, and the item locked perfectly between them. Like waves, the muscular part of his pecs were moving up and down, with rhythm, creating horizontal peaks that deformed the bottle at each movement. The bottle crackled like when stomped with a foot and the lid was blown away, landing on the floor. Adam applied a final long pressure over the item that cracked like under a press machine for cars. He deflexed his pecs and the deformed bottled fell off onto the floor. Kevin was amazed. His legs crossed one against the other, he moved them to cross on the other way, to give his exploding penis, pressing against the denims, a bit of a rest. Adam went to back to his bag. The can was laying on the floor, he grabbed it with his full hand, he put it between his pecs and with a decisive squeezing movement, he crushed it with ease. A popping noise was heard. For Kevin, it was pain inside his jeans, sweet and enjoyable pain. Adam returned back to his bag, he lifted the metal bar, and he brought it back to Kevin, handing the item over to him. He grabbed the bar, and he realised it was made out of steel, heavy, hard and not empty in the inside. “Don’t tell me you’re going to crush it in your pecs! It is impossible!” Kevin said. “Do you doubt about my capabilities, little fella?” Adam said, smiling. Kevin’s face was shocked, he opened his mouth, nothing came out, and Adam grabbed the steel bar back and placed it between his pecs. Another moment of joy for Kevin. Adam’s pecs moved again like waves, creating those famous peaks, this time he squeezed more than the first time. That steel bar was fighting back, but it bent at the end. It did not break, it simple bent of few visible degrees. Adam smirked with proud while Kevin left a big “wow” followed by a big smile. Kevin was enjoying every single moment of that private show, and hoped that it could never end. Watching a video and jack-off over it is one thing, being able to watch a bodybuilder posing for your is something that one person will never forget. Adam turned his back to Kevin and while walking toward the wall, he began speaking. “I guess, that you’ve been waiting for the most muscular, since you have opened that door half an hour ago!” Adam said. “You can bet it!” Kevin said with excitement. Adam stopped. He turned to face his fan once more, opened his arms and flexed the most muscular bending his body over. Two massive balls appeared as biceps, the pecs contracted, showing the striation once more. “Boom!” Adam screamed. Kevin almost wetted himself.

THE PARAGON PORN QUARANTINE by absman420 “Congratulations, Domenic! You have successfully logged onto the Paragon Porn Employee Reference Site! Please take a moment to fill out your profile page, then we will pair your headset with your bluetooth connection. Please click HERE.” I do. It brings up a page for personal information, regular stuff: address, phone number, payroll forms, social security, the whole routine. I’ve filled out enough of this sort of thing through the years -- business is business, after all -- even in porn companies, you have to pay taxes, it seems. That I’ve even come this far is comical in itself. When my buddy Austin approached me at the gym, I thought he was kidding. I mean, I knew he was a “porn star” -- I guess I shouldn’t use sarcastic quotes there, he’s a legit star, not some guy who’s filmed a couple scenes and uses the title. In that world, Austin was a celebrity -- his name alone could sell millions of units of merch -- he won awards (there are awards!) -- and all the little twinks loved him. (And he loved them -- often.) We worked out at the same gym, we worked out at the same time, we had nearly identical physiques, but we weren’t partners. He preferred entertaining some different fan-obsessed boy daily and I preferred to train alone. 2020 was the year I turned forty and I’d just done my first official contest -- I’d placed second in “Masters” physique, so I was flying high on myself. I’d performed well on stage, mask and all, probably from having been an actor/dancer in my 20’s, and my stage-savvy helped me. And then Austin approached me in the gym and asked me if I’d be into doing some porn? What ego doesn’t need that stroke? I mean, I’d been an actor most of my life -- I knew how to work an audience -- and I’d always been curious about porn. Like… how do you motivate yourself? How do you fuck in front of a crew? Is there any intimacy or is it all business? Is there a script or can you improvise? What do you tell your mom? “Serious?” I asked Austin. “Yeah, sure, why not?” he said, adjusting his mask. “You got the bod for it. And I think you got the cock…” He glanced purposefully down at my crotch -- I adjusted myself self-consciously -- he smirked. It wasn’t the best cock, but it did okay. Was it a porn-star cock? Doubtful. “No one complains,” I said. He winked and said, “I sure wouldn’t.” I chuckled. “Tease,” I said. “You like the twinky boys.” He smiled professionally (seductively). “I like everybody.” I smiled -- the joke was easy but I didn’t take it. “Listen,” he said, “I’m exclusive with Paragon -- they’re great! Best house I’ve ever worked for. They really care about the talent, they provide opportunity for growth, investment, marketing and stuff to help you build your brand.” “That sounds... surprisingly great! I’ve heard that porn kind of chews guys up and spits them out.” He shrugged. “Some studios do,” he said. “It’s a shame. It’s a great way to make a living -- you just can’t let yourself get treated like shit.” I laughed. “You sound like a salesman, not an actor!” “I’m a testimonial. Four years ago, I was just a physique model trying to bust out of the pack on IG -- now I’m a freakin’ celebrity! And I owe it all to Paragon. And they’re looking for muscle tops right now, preferably mature, level-headed guys without sexual hang-ups. I thought of you right away.” I was genuinely flattered. “You did? Thank you,” I said. “I’ve always been curious about porn, honestly… as an actor, I mean. I know that sounds weird…” “No, not weird at all -- we’re not robots. It’s all about creativity -- dude, it’s fun. Give the guy a call and do the initial interview -- everything’s on facetime now… you know, cuz of the COVID, so it’s even easier. I mean, in my day, I had to strip naked and blow the guy…. Kidding, kidding!” He gave me a card -- I thanked him and we elbow-bumped. “Let me know how it goes,” he said, indicating the card. “My number’s on there -- shoot me a text.” “I will, thanks!” I pocketed the card and resumed my set -- he left with his pretty partner, no doubt to fuck. Maybe porn wouldn’t be so bad... ***************************************************************************** “Please select your Virtual Training Coordinator.” There are five different profile pictures to choose from, each a different type -- a lean black guy with mind-blowing abs; a twinky bottom with an impossible bubble butt; a professorial type, all nerdy and neat; a bad boy in his leathers. I pick the one most like me -- a middle-aged, well-muscled bearded guy with a slight roid-gut wearing workout tights that do nothing to hide his prodigious manhood. His blurb reads: “COACH ROD -- great for Jocks and Sports-Gear Fetishes. From straight guys who’ve never sucked a dick to muscle daddies looking to be young again, COACH ROD is for you.” I select “COACH ROD” and a download begins -- I have to give it permission -- finally a pop-up appears with what looks like a FaceTime window with the Coach, a CGI character that seems impressively complex. He’s sitting on the edge of a desk in a locker room/ office -- the place just exudes organized chaos. He picks up a whiteboard and writes on it, then holds it to the camera. “PUT ON THE HEADSET.” “Oh,” I say. I quickly slip the headset on my head and adjust the microphone while I say, “Got it.” “Great,” he replies, his AI voice smooth and rich -- a baritone. “Can you hear me okay? Do I sound clear?” “Yes, I hear you fine -- the volume’s okay.” “Great. Give me a second -- I’m downloading your profile information. We’ll finish filling out your paperwork together and we’ll let my algorithm get to know you a little better, then we’ll work our way through the employee training program. It’ll give us something to do during your two-week quarantine period, right?” “Sure,” I say -- dictating was better than typing anyday. “Seems like kind of a big set-up…” “...for a porn company?” Coach Rod finishes. “Yeah, maybe. I think you’ll find Paragon is the premier studio for a reason -- we treat our people well. Our performers aren’t just assets -- they’re family. It’s too easy in this business to find low self-esteem, drug abuse, burn out, a real use ‘em up and throw ‘em out mentality. Paragon doesn’t have that.” He pauses for just a second, holding up a finger in a “wait a minute” pose. “Okay, I’ve just finished downloading the results of your physical this morning and I’m going to put together a diet/ training program that will better address your needs. You’re in good shape, Dom -- especially for your age -- but you can be significantly better.” When I don’t respond, he looks up into the camera and says, “Problem?” I smile. “I guess I’m just blown away by this technology,” I say. He smiles and touches his muscular body. “Yeah, I’m pretty real, aren’t I? Listen, I’m just an instruction program -- I can be whatever you think you learn best from. Do you want me to change race? Age? Costume? More muscle? Big, shameless cock? Anything that’ll keep you focused. As I get to know you better, I’ll probably refine myself, both in looks and motivational approach, to get the best out of you. We want to launch a successful career for you with Paragon -- that’s always the goal.” “Thanks, Coach,” I say. He laughs. “See? You’re gonna do just fine. Now, let’s start with some basics. I’m gonna ask you a bunch of random questions to get to know you better. Answer honestly -- I’m not going to judge you -- I can’t, I’m just an algorithm right? -- but your truthfulness will matter, so don’t be embarrassed or ashamed, no matter how weird the answer might seem. Okay?” “Go ahead -- shoot!” “You’re gay, right? 100% gay/ 0% straight? Or is there some pussy love in you someplace?” “Well, I fucked my high school girlfriend -- does that count for something? Of course, that was decades ago and I haven’t been with a woman since. So, 100%, yeah.” Coach smiles -- it looks so real. “Top or Bottom?” “Top.” That smile again, as if he knows something. “Percentage?” “If I say a hundred, it doesn’t sound like you’ll believe me, but it pretty much is. I’ve bottomed a couple times but it’s never worked out well.” He hmphs -- a computer hmphs! “Is that because it hurt too much or because it didn’t feel natural?” “Both, I guess. And don’t tell me it’s cuz I haven’t met the right dick, because I assure you, I have! I’m just… not a bottom.” “Okay,” he says, matter of factly. “Being vers will get you more gigs, but maybe if you have other skills. Do you suck cock?” “Uh… yeah, sometimes.” “Do you like it?” “Yeah, it’s okay.” “Are you good?” “Uh… I think I’m okay.” He looks up from his notes into the camera. “Have you ever made a guy cum?” “From a blowjob? No.” “From lacking technique or desire?” “Jesus… these questions.” He smiles a tight smile. “Don’t evade. Answer it -- honestly.” I shake my head as if I’m searching for something to say. “Um… I don’t know.” He nods. “Fair enough. Would you like to watch a training video?” “Excuse me, what? A training video? Are you kidding?” “Of course. Why not? It’s a skill -- and skills can be learned. You learned to ride a bike, right?” “Yeah,” I say, trying to find some way of arguing it. “I guess. It just seems… I’ve never considered...?” A link pops up in a text window below him. “Click on the link,” he says. “We’ll make fun of the acting together afterward!” “Ok, what the hell? I got nothin’ better to do.” “Good man!” I click the link. ******************************************************************************************* You’re in a classroom -- no, it’s a movie set of a classroom -- it appears functional but it’s not real. The teacher sits on the edge of the desk, except he’s clearly not a teacher -- he’s too muscular and tan. Even in his short sleeve dress shirt, his neck ink and forearm tats give him away. Gruffly handsome, his hair and beard are the same shaggy buzz. As he leans against the front of the desk, you see his pants are unzipped and open, revealing his sizeable erection. Aside from you, there are two other boys in the shot. Both are young and handsome, a blond and a brunette in schoolboy uniforms. You are all three on your knees at the feet of the teacher, looking up at him. The brunette is sucking the teacher’s cock while you and the blond look on. You’re in a porn movie, you realize. That makes sense -- just follow the script. “Okay, that’s not bad,” the teacher says. “Work around the base of the glans a little more. Good, good. Like that, yes.” The brunette, confident, attempts to deep throat the “teacher’s” huge cock, but ends up choking and gagging. He backs off immediately, sitting back on his heels. “That’s okay,” the teacher says. “Your eyes are bigger than your throat. That’s why we’re here, to learn. Who’s next? Who wants to give it a try?” He waggles his hard dick. “You?” He looks at you, and you don’t need anything more of an invitation -- his cock is magnificent. (Well, all cocks are magnificent in your eyes -- cockslut!) -- so you shuffle on your knees into a more advantageous position for the camera and you get to work. The script calls for you to be hesitant at first, maybe intimidated -- it’s hard for you to play that when this cock is so clearly suckable -- but you’re an actor, so you do what the director tells you. The “teacher” develops a nice dollop of pre-cum at the tip of his dick as you play with his balls -- he told you right before filming that he’d heard how amazing your mouth was and how much he was looking forward to this scene -- looking into his eyes, you gently lap it off with the tip of your tongue, teasing the slit of his cock for more. Fuck, that’s good! Sweet and slick, it fires you up for more. You grip the base of his shaft with your left hand and begin to roll your tongue around his mushrooming head. “Yes,” he moans. “Very nice.” He begins “instructing” you -- that’s the point of this video, remember -- techniques to stimulate the glans, using the tongue to tickle the very spot where the ends of the glans merge, how to create just enough suction -- this is a swirl, this is a tease, this is how to stimulate the nerve endings -- you demonstrate as he discusses. The whole thing feels very sophomoric to you, you who’s born to suck cock, you who’s such a natural. Without waiting, you plunge deep, taking this spectacular cock into your throat, past your naturally suppressed gag-reflex. You hold your breath and constrict your throat slightly, letting his head run along the soft tissue of your throat. Your tongue is magic. He moans -- loudly. “Yes,” he says. “Very good -- you’re a natural.” You start bobbing your head in a rhythm that grips him, countering that by pulling on his balls. You can tell he’s close -- you’re connected -- it’s a gift you have -- so you decide instead of teasing him and passing him to the blond boy, you’re going to finish him off yourself, this beautiful man and his tasty cock. Who could blame you? You got into porn to show off your skills, after all -- show them! You deep-throat him again and you can actually feel his balls churn. Your mouth races his cum to the tip of his cock -- you pull your head away just in time to have him shoot two long white ropes across your face, then you take his cock back in your mouth and swallow the rest -- your reward. Your drug of choice. You continue sucking him, draining him until there’s no more to get -- what a hunger you have! Little slut. “What a mouth you have!” the teacher praised. “That’s the best blowjob I’ve ever gotten from a Freshman!” You smile, still gripping the base of his dick, and lovingly kiss the head, never breaking eye contact. “I wanna see what he does that’s so great,” the brunette says, standing and revealing his own erection. “Suck my dick!” “No!” complains the blond. “I want him to show me -- I haven’t gotten to do anything yet.” “Don’t worry, boys,” you say, taking one of their cocks in each hand. “I can do this all day!” You suck the knob on one, then switch to the other. They both taste good. “See, boys?” said the teacher, “that’s the kind of cockslut you should aspire to be! You just gotta love it…” And you do -- big cocks, little cocks, thick cocks, bent cocks, heavy cocks, knobby cocks, uncut cocks, hairy cocks, pierced cocks, leaky cocks, old cocks -- you love cocks! Not just having them in your mouth, but pleasing them, pleasuring them, getting them to cum in your mouth… This is an instructional video -- here’s how you get two guys off at the same time. Getting a guy to cum is powerful enough -- getting two guys at once shows you’re a master of technique and desire. When the blond and the brunette are simultaneously shooting their loads across your face, you know what a cockslut you are -- how much you truly love it. The teacher brings your cum-covered face in for a deep, loving kiss. You’re Teacher’s Pet. Fade Out -- End Scene ************************************************************************************************** I wake in the morning to the sun streaming in the window, pleasant and warm, even the cinderblock dorm rooms don’t seem so stark in this light. I’m excited to work out -- my quarantine gym time is from 8-10am, giving me a half hour to have some coffee and smoke a bowl before I have to head down. I do hate working out alone, but it’s way better than not working out at all. (If I had to go through a two-week quarantine with no gym, I think I’d go out of my mind!) As I sip and puff, I scan through my emails. There’s one from Coach Rod -- I’m tickled that my virtual trainer is reaching out to me virtually! (Stoner…) “Hey, Dom,” the email reads, “Check outside your door -- your meal-prep should’ve been delivered by now. I want to bump your training a notch and clean you up a bit before your big film debut! The meals are all labeled -- you’ll have six today -- you’ll see the consumption times on there, too! All good stuff -- I made it myself (haha). “Reply to this email to let me know it’s received and understood and I’ll see you at your Noon Training Session with me. In the meantime, enjoy the gym! Coach Rod.” This is so weird -- I respond so. Outside the door is a cooler with a stack of prepped meal containers. I bring it in the room and transfer the meals to my mini-fridge (but for the one I’m scheduled to eat) and then put the cooler back in the hallway. I continue to be surprised at the budget of Paragon -- this seems a long way to go just to film some pornography. Don’t people make that stuff on their iphones? Whatever -- I’ll enjoy the pampering when it’s offered. I could really use a cock. This quarantine has gotten me horny -- it’s been too long since I’ve had a cock in my mouth. (Hard to believe about a little cockslut like me! I can’t fucking WAIT to finally film and get some fucking relief!) I’d suck on a dildo, I want one in my mouth so bad, but I don’t own one. Fuck! Great time to be a top with an oral fixation. I eat my boring meal of egg-whites and oatmeal and then dress quickly for the gym, baggy shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt. It’s a nice gym and I have an intense workout -- I think of all the people in quarantine without access to a gym -- I’m pumped and gently flexing in the mirrors when I notice someone in the pool on the other side of the glass wall. It’s the first time I’ve seen a live person in three days… ...and already I’m aching to suck his dick. He’s doing laps in the pool, lean and athletic, smooth and practiced. His back and arms are muscular and well-defined, strong but not big. I’m watching him swim back and forth and I’m gently touching myself. Shameful -- but I'm isolation-level horny, so it’s understandable. I watch him for a good five minutes before he finally finishes and pulls himself out of the water, his back to me. A scruffy-bearded redhead, wearing a neon green speedo, his ass is beyond spectacular. As he walks down the deck, he has to reach in his suit and adjust himself -- he’s not hurting in the front, either. What a beautiful, lithe body, not an ounce of fat on him! Is he a fellow actor? Dear God, let him be a fellow actor!!! As he disappears into the locker room, I bring myself back to reality. Damn, I’m horny -- I’m fucking hard watching a guy swim, wishing once again that I’d been on the swim team in high school. Anyway, enough regrets, time for my Training Session. ****************************************************************************** “How’d your workout go?” “Great! I must say, I was feeling kind of bad about having this incredible gym available while the rest of the country’s on lockdown.” The coach coaxes. “But…” “But then I get these great pumps and I get over it.” “You like showing off.” I laugh. “I’m not sure I’d make it a statement like that -- I mean, I like getting looked at. It took me a long time to get up the nerve to compete, though.” “But you’ve been an actor for years -- you’re comfortable on stage.” “Oh, I think that’s what helped my win, don’t get me wrong. But when you’re an actor, you’re playing a role. When you’re onstage in a tiny little poser in a bodybuilding, you’re you, as emotionally naked as you are physically -- it’s way different.” “Would you do it again?” “I don’t know. I mean, the dieting is hell and the shaving is endless… I mean, maybe. I don’t know.” Coach Rod smiles. “What if you had a really big dick that barely fit in your posers?” I laugh. “Everything’s a porn movie to you AI-generated training programs, isn’t it?” “And you evade answers by making jokes.” I think for a second -- how to phrase this? “What man wouldn’t?” I ask. “What man wouldn’t want a really big dick that barely fits in his posers?” “How big?” I laugh. “Porn-star big!” “That’s limited,” Coach Rod says. “Free associate. How big?” “I don’t know -- hyper-masculine, Tom-of-Finland big, ridiculous and seductive, impossible yet challenging, tempting but worrisome -- every teenage boy’s transformation-fantasy big! That’s what I mean. Or do you need numbers?” “No, no. You’ve given me plenty to work with. Let’s communicate with the medical staff and see what’s possible…” “Excuse me, what?” I sit up in my desk chair, nearly choking on my protein shake. “‘What’s possible?’ Did I hear you correctly? They can… do that?” Coach Rod laughs. “You’re asking that of an AI program.” “Which means?” “Which means they can do lots of stuff that used to not be possible.” “A porn company?” “A worldwide adult entertainment juggernaut with a reputation for incredible men with incredible abilities with which you’re entering an exclusive contract. They -- via me -- will drive you to be the best product you can be. Stick with it and I promise you’ll be very well taken care of. All you need to do is look good and fuck guys -- there are worse jobs.” “True...” “Do you have any idea how many men would kill for this opportunity? Do you know how lucky you are, to be entering off the street with no experience into this field at this level?” “I wonder if that’s what my high school guidance counselor would say?” He holds up a finger in a “wait a minute” gesture. “Your high school guidance counselor was Jonathan Witek -- he retired in 2018. By tracing his credit information, I see he has purchased Paragon’s online content for the last six years. He responds to movies about young twinks who turn the tables on and top their authority figures.” “Oh my God…” “With this in mind, we can surmise that he’d approve of your career choice. Perhaps he’ll even be a fan?” “This just gets weirder and weirder.” “Or better and better. Now, you’re scheduled to check in with the medic at 1pm -- you remember where that is, right?” (A facility map appears on the screen with an animated trail that leads from your dorm room to the medical center in the basement.) “I got it.” Coach reappears on screen and blows me a kiss. “Go get ‘em!” he says, smiling. “We’ll talk about doing a video when you get back.” “Okay -- peace.” The box goes blank -- Coach has “signed off”. ************************************************************************************ The medic is dressed in a blue Hazmat suit, which seems a little overboard for me -- his face is shielded and he’s masked beneath. I can only see his eyes, so I wouldn’t be able to identify him if I saw him naked. (I wonder what kind of dick he has?) He’s pleasant enough, but nowhere near the conversationalist my AI-generated Coach is. I try to engage him in conversation as he swabs my nose. “I think you scraped my brain,” I joke as he removes the swab. I can’t tell if he’s amused or not through his mask. “A lot of guys say that,” he responds. “I have to do it that hard.” I smile. “That’s what guys always say.” Nothing. I’m sitting in a chair that reminds me more of the dentist than a medic, but it’s comfortable. The medic sets up an IV for me, puts the needle in my forearm and tapes it in place. As he’s satisfied with the drip, he returns to my chart and reads it over. “Oh,” he says as he spots something he hadn’t seen before. “Says here you’re scheduled for some gential enhancements. Wanna get that started now?” I’m not sure how to take that information -- I’d barely mentioned it to Coach Rod a half an hour ago and here I am. “Sure,” I say, shrugging, not really believing him. “Why not? What have I got going on?” He goes to a cabinet and removes a device that’s connected to a bunch of tubes. It reminds me of a cock-pump, except it’s significantly larger, like it would hold everything. “You’re not wearing underwear, are you?” “Beneath my paper gown? What kind of porn star would I be?” I’m right, the whole of my genitals go inside the tube -- it really has a shape more like a swollen package, not just a cock -- lifting my paper examination gown, he begins sliding the pump on me without asking permission. It creates a seal around the base of my groin like a cock ring -- he then connects the hoses and power cords to a small USB port next to the examination chair. He pulls a pre-loaded syringe from a drawer and injects the contents into my IV. “This is gonna take about an hour or so to run the complete program,” he says in a way that sounds almost bored, like he’s done it a thousand times. “Would you like to watch a video?” “Oh, sure!” I say as he pulls out a VR-headset front he cabinet. “What you got?” He helps me put the headset on and insert the ear plugs. “You’ll like this,” he says as he presses a key on his pad. Just as the video starts, I can feel the suction begin on my groin. Oh damn, I think. This is gonna be good. ****************************************************************************************** You’re onstage at a bodybuilding contest -- no, it’s the set of a movie -- there’s no audience (they use cutaway shots and SFX for audience reactions), only a camera crew. You’re pumped and primed and crammed into your posers, the tiny pouch barely holds all of you, stretched as it is -- the root of your cock is plainly visible. You’re in the final posedown with the other men of your weight-class. The guy on your right is trouble, a big Russian with a back as wide as the Asian continent -- he’s blocky, though -- thick. He doesn’t have your natural aesthetic, your height. Or your huge package. You can’t help your genetics. When you were in high school, going through puberty, having a dick the size of yours made you feel self-conscious -- none of the other boys had dicks as big as yours. It made you feel a little freakish -- especially on the swim team! Perhaps because your balls were so oversized -- goose eggs at 14 -- you put on muscle easily. You started working with a coach and trainer because the owner of the gym saw your potential and you did your first contest at 19 -- you took the Open and the Teen Class! That posing would cause you to get hard was the challenge. Flexing would always get you hard. Your posing coach laughed it off at first -- “You get off on showing off!” he’d say, patting your shoulder as the two of you looked in the mirror and tried to ignore your rod. “You just can’t hide it as easy as some guys!” Even now, all these years later, flexing for others has the same effect on you -- it’s one of the reasons you stopped competing so much. Difficult enough to get past the “does he stuff his posers” memes online -- which secretly turn you on -- but as you got into the muscle worship scene (and started making some serious bank from it), you realized your flexing fetish got you bookings by the score! And sponsors (mostly underwear companies)! And now… movies! You and the big Russian with the acne-scarred back start the posedown. The third guy in the lineup -- the guy on your left -- he’s not even show-worthy, bulky, but with a thick, round ass that can’t be contained in his posers. So you start flexing for the “audience”, for each other, for yourself, and you feel your cock start to come to life, as it always does. Double-bis, to get attention, then you start flexing your legs. You shake your relaxed quad muscle then slap it and flex it hard at the same time, but this is just an excuse for the camera to get your growing cock in the shot and you know it. The big Russian plays along, jamming his leg up against yours and doing the same bit. You can see him checking you out -- his little dick gives him away. He runs his hands down the front of your flexed quad and he makes an “impressed” face. You flex your bicep and let him feel that, too. Meanwhile, your cock grows harder, already testing the limits of its spandex container. The other guy tries to jump in front and do some squat poses, low to the ground, aching for some camera time, some audience recognition. Both you and the Russian ignore him and turn around to do lat spreads. Going from that pose to back double-bi is what causes your cock to pop out of your trunks, the one thing you’ve always worried would happen in actual competition. It’s strangely liberating, letting it go, not able to stop it. You can still feel your balls contained by the strap, but your cock is free, bouncing up as you hold your pose -- when you turn around, the audience screams, -- or maybe you just hear that in your head (it’s a movie, isn’t it?). It doesn’t matter -- you continue your show, fluidly moving from pose to pose as your cock rises to full mast, its head just above your belly-button. The big Russian is hard as well, though his dick is contained in his strained posers. He faces you and, with a smirk on his face, begins punching your pecs. The other guy is on his knees, running his tongue up the grooves in your thigh, nuzzling your bull ball-sac. From your position, you can see his lower back tattoo -- above that magnificent ass -- of two powerful wings. The Russian is behind you, reaching around, running his hand down your cobbled abs, purposefully -- teasingly -- avoiding your huge cock. He pinches your nipples as you continue to flex. And that’s what makes you cum! You don’t even touch your cock -- your arms are up in a double-bis -- but you shoot a massive load anyway. So hard and far it hits the camera lens -- stripes of it coat the face of the guy on his knees and you can tell he’s loving it (and aching to get some of it in his hot hole). The big Russian is standing there pounding his cock. You flex a “Most Muscular” in his face and he shoots his load, which the other guy is more than eager to lap up. You and the Russian make out, feeling each other’s bodies as the other guy kneels there and shoots his load for the camera -- he doesn’t matter. Your cock is the star. ************************************************************************************* Another fantastic workout -- I’m gonna have to be careful or I’m gonna become a regular morning gym guy, even when my contract is up here. What am I now? Eight days into a fourteen day quarantine? Certainly no one could look at me and think me in any way unhealthy. My body is amazing! The training regime, the dietary control, and whatever they’re giving me supplementally in those IV’s is taking my physique to a whole different level. I look so good right now that I hate that no one is seeing me. I haven’t announced what I’m doing on IG yet, but I have put up some thirsty shots after my last few workouts. I’m getting a fuck-ton of hits, not to mention all the people trying to slide into my DM’s. I admit to feeling the slightest bit guilty about my gym access with everyone else on lockdown, so I don’t post videos of workouts like I’d like. For the sake of ease, I pretend I’m working out at home like everyone else. For my chest training today, I’m wearing a red stringer that scoops so low as to show off the entirety of my deep cleavage and a pair of spandex short-shorts, which barely -- BARELY -- cover my oversized package. It looks as though any second my gigantic cock is going to pop out, or flop out, or just wear the material down and tear out. I love being a tease with it -- I know what cockhounds guys are. (At least, I know what a cockhound I am -- and if I saw someone with a cock as hot as mine, I’d be all over him, too. I can’t blame them.) I’ve been dealing with it since being on the high school swim team, learning how to keep it in my Speedos. My gigantic cock -- my gorgeous, gigantic cock. And my swollen bull balls. That’s what got me here to Paragon, right? Austin saw me in my contest and thought, the way my package crammed my posers, I should be in porn! How right he is! Squeezing out the last few reps of cable crossovers, in the reflection of the mirror I can see the glass wall that separates the gym from the pool. I know he’s over there -- I’ve seen him doing laps in the corner of my eye -- that beautiful red-haired boy. So I waddle over to the glass wall and watch him swim. I can see myself in the reflection of the glass, so I practice posing -- my chest looks amazing! It doesn’t take more than a few poses for my dick to start to come to life. Whatever -- I fuckin’ love posing! As my erection starts to get obvious, the red-haired boy gets out of the pool. This time exiting on the side facing the glass wall, so I can see his front, which is just as spectacular as his back. He’s probably 5’10” 190 or so, rips so sharp his abs could cut someone. He wears a pair of black jammers so low on his tight hips that they expose his entire deeply grooved iliac furrow -- called the Adonis Belt -- and rest just above his cock, across his groomed pubis. Other than that and his scruffy beard, he’s completely hairless. Pulling himself up out of the pool, he doesn’t see me until he’s standing, shaking the water from his head. We make eye contact and he smiles an easy, genuine smile. Gorgeous. I smile back, knowing he’s seeing the erection he’s given me -- with my cock (in spandex) it’s a little more than obvious. I salute and wave -- he waves back. We can’t hear each other, so after a few awkward moments of staring, he points to his eyes, then points to me, then waves, heading off toward the locker room -- allowing me to see that ass again. Fuck that guy’s hot. Please, please, please, gods of pornography, let him be my scene-partner. Fucking six more days!!! ************************************************************************************************ Over the last few days, I’ve noticed that Coach Rod has gained some size, especially through his chest and traps (and some big, obvious nipples) -- he’s also dressed more provocatively lately, as if he’s purposefully exploiting my spandex fetish. He’s an AI program, I think. He’s clearly adapting to me -- right? “Coach,” I ask, “who picks what you’re wearing?” He smiles. “You can if you want. Click on this link…” (one appears in the text box) “...and you can pick specific items, or you can just tell me a genre or style and I can work from there. You respond best when I’m wearing spandex.” I laugh. “I know. Feel free to wear as many singlets or posers as you want.” “You got it!” “Tell me something,” I say as I act casual about getting my meal ready, “there’s a hot redhead who’s been swimming laps while I’m training. Do you know who that is?” Coach smiles -- if I didn’t know better, I’d say a knowing smile -- and he says, “Hold on -- let me check the schedule… oh, yeah! Eddie -- Eddie Ginger.” “Eddie GINGER…?” “His stage name. Which reminds me, we need to finalize YOUR stage name…” “Yeah, yeah. Tell me about Eddie Ginger instead.” Coach can’t stop smiling. “Do you like him?” “Of course I like him,” I say. “He’s fucking hot as fuck and I’m horny as a motherfucker! I’m so over this quarantine right now -- you have no idea! I swear to God I’m gonna stick my cock in the first hole I come across and pound on it like I’ve never fucked before!” “Then you’ll be happy to know Eddie’s your first scene partner.” I’m shocked. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I ask. “That beautiful boy? That beautiful, twenty-something boy is my first scene partner? Oh, fuck, look at this… my cock is already getting hard. I’m never gonna make five more days…” “Eddie’s a really nice guy -- and one of our top-sellers! He moves more units than the next three featured bottoms put together -- you’re very lucky, Dom. Working with him, you’re bound to get exposure.” “How did I win this golden ticket?” I ask. “I’ve always heard the porn industry chews ‘em up and spits ‘em out. As an actor, that’s what’s kept me AWAY from porn all these years! If I thought this were possible…” “Working your way up from the bottom is very hard,” Coach says. “That’s where there’s likely to be use and abuse -- guys who are desperate or addicted or lost -- very few make it out of that. Some are lucky -- they know the right people or they manage their online presence well enough -- but most blossom and die without rising to the level of Porn Star. In some ways, it’s just like Hollywood, right? And you? You got a feature film on a referral -- and that’s gonna piss so many people off. This guy appears out of nowhere and becomes a huge star -- it’s the American Porn Dream come true! It’s just perfect! If only we could finagle you into having been straight before we hired you… that’d be the Porn Hat Trick!” He laughs at his own joke -- how odd that AI can entertain itself. I shrug. “Sorry,” I say. “Can’t help it -- I like cock too much.” “Especially your own!” I laugh with my usual confidence. “Of course -- you know what I’m packing! And you know I love showing it off! You should’ve seen me in the locker rooms in high school -- stupid straight boys standing there with their jaws agape as I wagged my cock out of my Speedo. Do you have any idea how many teenage circle-jerk cock-worshipping scenes I started? Paragon should’ve filmed those!” “Speaking of which, shall we work on a masturbation video today? The one you did yesterday -- the one where you were standing there spinning your cock around like a tassel? -- the producers LOVED that!” “They did?” I ask excitedly. “They saw it? I thought we were just playing around?” Coach Rod was matter-of-fact. “It was good,” he said. “Part of my programming is to alert the producers to content that stands out. Especially from the newbies. They’ve invested a lot in you -- there’s no harm in showing them their money’s not wasted.” I shrug. “I suppose not. I just… I wasn’t being serious.” “That’s what they liked about it -- it had personality. It was obvious how much you enjoy your cock -- that came across very clearly. So let’s make another. I think we should do a seated one this time, so we can really focus on it. What do you think?” “I’m totally in,” I say, flopping down in the chair in front of the camera. “When do we start?” ************************************************************************************** As the video opens, you’re sitting back in a chair -- the camera is at a high angle, looking down, probably not a laptop -- you barely fit in frame, the focus is so tight, your muscles are so pumped. You wear a black baseball cap and a tan-colored thong that could easily be mistaken for nothing if seen out of the side of someone’s eye at the beach. You prefer thongs to jocks -- hung as you are, you prefer the freedom of a thong rather than the tight compression of a jockstrap. You’ll wear whatever the client wants, of course, but you prefer the aesthetic of a thong if given a choice. As you sit back in the chair, you give the audience a chance to appreciate your body, your size, your cuts, your ridiculous abs and obliques. The angle in which you sit, leaning back like this keeps your abs flexed without any effort at all -- you reach your arms above your head and stretch -- so seductive. You know the audience’s eyes are sliding down your torso and focusing on your insane dick -- you’ve done that move before. You flex your pecs, bouncing them slowly back and forth while staring at the camera -- your expression says “come get ‘em” -- but when you play with your bare, pink nipples, pinching them just slightly, your cock comes to life. That’s what everyone’s here to see, anyway -- heck, you’re just the co-star and you know it -- so you allow your cock to grow, quickly filling the confines of the lycra pouch. Keeping one hand on your nipple, you allow the other to trace down the heavy grooves of your abs -- the look on your face, amazed at your own development -- until your fingers land on the top edge of your smooth pubis, slipping along the band of your thong, which itself barely covers the root of your cock. A cock that keeps hardening, seeking escape. Palm down, you slip your fingers under the band of your thong, two on one side of your cock, two on the other, and you waggle the pouch back and forth, slipping the front down the lengthening shaft. Your cock seems to inflate as it’s exposed, like yeast in dough, until the only thing keeping it from springing out to its full glory is the head, still trapped in the pouch of the thong. You put your arms back behind your head, again flexing your impossible abs and weaving your hips back and forth, which makes your trapped cock’s struggle obvious as it aches for freedom. The look on your face seems to expect the viewer to jump through the screen and do just that -- set that beautiful cock loose! Finally, the material loses the battle and your cock pops out, arcs up and over, and slaps loudly on your tight abs, just above your navel, thick and full and near fully erect -- your balls are still in the pouch, so you pull the band down with one hand, pull your goose-eggs out with the other, and let the band slip behind them, the elastic helping to elevate and keep them in frame (for their fans)! You play with your nips again, which causes your cock to thrash about, seeking attention -- it’s nearly twelve inches long, coke-can thick, gorgeous and intimidating at the same time. A pearl white dollop of pre-cum forms at the tip -- you push your cock to the camera, offering it to the audience, then you bend down and actually lick it off yourself. You can put your own cock in your mouth! You start jacking it then, showing us how one hand can barely reach around the root of the thing. It takes both: one to stroke the upper cock, to encompass the head, and the other to work the thick root. It’s a technique you’ve mastered through the years and it’s somewhat hypnotic to watch, the same way a snake charmer tames a cobra. You’ve been jerking this bad boy off for an audience since the locker room on the high school swim team, getting off on the cheering when you’d cum, much less the endless college frat parties where you discovered real big-dick energy, where you learned a cock like you had could get you what you wanted. All you had to do was know how to use it. And you learned how to use it. Happily, it’s never made you cynical, or contemptuous -- you love cock too much. And even if everyone isn’t as lucky as you, a cock is a thing of beauty -- and they all deserve a little love -- big cocks, little cocks, thick cocks, bent cocks, heavy cocks, knobby cocks, uncut cocks, hairy cocks, pierced cocks, leaky cocks, old cocks. And now your cock, the grandest of them all, which is about to shoot. If their volume is up, they can hear the change in your breathing, as your body tries to get enough oxygen to power this explosion. Just as you’re about to shoot, you pull your hands away, revealing the magnificence of your fully erect unit, and the audience can see your balls churn just before two huge ropes of cum blow out of your cock, leaving streaks across your face. You get your mouth open for the third one, catching a great lot of it on your tongue -- you roll your eyes as if you’ve tasted meade. With your right hand, you slowly stroke the base again, allowing the burbling lava that is your cum to continue to spew from the head, coating itself in its own volume, running down the grooves of your abs to gather via the cum gutters of your adonis belt. Once again, you look in the camera, as if the audience is challenging you, and you lean over and flat tongue the tip of your cock, licking an ice cream cone’s amount of cum and swallowing in bliss. You wipe the rest off with the two fingers of your right hand, kiss those fingers, then use them to flash a peace-sign to the audience. The video fades out. ***************************************************************************************** Finally, I wake on the day my quarantine ends! The heavy focus on training and diet have me in incredible condition -- especially for a guy who’s forty -- I look amazing, better than when I’d competed! I’m not as tan as I’d like to be, but my cuts are totally visible and obvious, so I’m not stressed. On the bed, I’ve spread out a bunch of posers and jocks and a couple singlets -- I don’t know what the director’s going to want for the shoot today, so I figure I’ll bring options. Maybe Coach’ll have an opinion -- an AI opinion.... I open my laptop and Coach’s window pops up. He’s a monster now, a freak -- his muscles are so swollen, his body would be barely functional if it existed in real life. Still, he’s managed to squeeze that bulk into the barest of singlets -- an old-school 80’s low-cut, revealing nearly everything. He’s also a redhead, but I choose to ignore that. “Good morning, Dom!” he says with a smile, adjusting his substantial package. “You must be excited to shoot today!” “I am!” I say, mirroring him. “I’m trying to decide what I’ll bring to wear.” “I wouldn’t worry,” he says. “I’m pretty sure for most of it, you’ll be naked.” I smile indulgently. “I gotta start somewhere.” “This is casual -- jeans and a loose t-shirt. This is a ‘buddy-shoot’ -- they’re just testing for chemistry, experience, awareness. It’s not a ‘scene’ -- that usually has a script, or an intent. This is just two guys getting to know each other. It’s easy!” “Easy for you to say,” I say. “I’m horny as fuck. I’m liable to blow the minute we shake hands!” “I doubt it,” he says confidently. “You’ll remember your training.” “So what if I suck or something -- what if I can’t cum or I’m terrible? Will they ship me out? After all this?” He laughs indulgently. “That won’t happen. Believe me, you’re ready. I’ve had two weeks with you -- normally, I get one long Saturday to do it all. The quarantine has been great for us in that regard. You’re here in our bubble for the next six weeks to shoot a shit-ton of content. After that, we’ll reevaluate your contract and go from there -- to be transparent, most of our models choose to stay here in the bubble and continue to shoot. I mean, why not? Unlike the rest of California, you get access to a gym during lockdown.” I chuckle. “That would piss a lot of people off.” He pinches his nipple. “All the more reason.” Ultimately, we settle on my blue posers (just cuz I don’t like the look of my cock down the leg of my pants -- too obvious) under jeans. I prefer a big bulge. On top, I wear a loose, scoop-neck t-shirt, which does display my cleavage, but whatever. My scruff is trimmed and my pump is obvious as I proceed to the studio in the basement. We’re filming in studio 2B, one of the smaller, more “intimate” studios -- I can see a gym set and a dungeon set as I walk along -- I’m so excited! As I enter, there are three people already present -- it’s been two weeks since I’ve seen live people, even longer since I’ve seen people without masks within six feet of each other -- the cameraman is obvious as he tinkers with equipment, setting lights, and running cables. He looks to be about my age, though in nowhere near as good condition, wearing a backwards baseball cap. The other two are talking quietly together. One is the gorgeous redhead from the pool, now wearing jeans and a tank top, and the other is who I assume is the Director. He’s a handsome man in his mid-thirties, slightly stout but not chubby in his tight black jeans and his loose flowered top. When I enter, they both turn and see me -- smiles break out on their faces. “Big Daddy!” the guy I assume is the director says. “You found us!” I smile -- I was loving my stage name: Big Daddy Domenic -- or Big Daddy Dom. (C’mon -- that’s damn funny. And isn’t porn built on puns?) “Yeah,” I laugh. “I followed the breadcrumbs.” The redhead smirks and adds, “No surprise -- they were coated with pheromones.” We all laugh together -- I’m instantly at ease, even if I’m crushing harder than ever. “I’m Michael McFly,” the Director says, extending his hand to shake. (“Why wouldn’t the director have a stupid stage name in porn like everyone else?” I think, shaking it.) “I’m so excited to be talking to human beings!” I say, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. “For the last few weeks, I’ve just been spying on people through glass walls.” The redhead laughs, knowing I mean the joke for him. “And this is Eddie Ginger,” the Director says, indicating what I already knew. I hold out my hand to Eddie and instead of shaking it, he hugs me, a warm and genuine gesture. He’s firm but gentle and he smells of clean soap and freshness -- my cock plumps immediately -- I know he can feel it. “Nice to finally meet,” he says quietly in my ear. “I’m excited to film with you.” “So am I,” I whisper back, inadvertently pressing my package against him. “Obviously.” He laughs and slaps my ass as he steps back. “We’re gonna have fun, Dom,” he says, smiling. “It won’t even feel like your first time.” The Director McFly jumps in. “You’re not nervous?” he asks me, gripping my arm around the tricep. “There’s no need for that -- Eddie’s a pro!” “No, no,” I say, holding up my hands in surrender. “I’m excited, not nervous. Excited.” McFly glanced at my package. “So we see,” he says, flicking his eyebrows. I may’ve reddened, a little embarrassed, but Eddie seems to find that adorable! Aside from the camera equipment, there’s only a sectional sofa with a daybed, flat and clean and decorated with a few throws. The walls are industrial gray and bare -- nothing to pull the eye -- but the lights are warm, pink and soft. The Director has us sit on the sectional while he and the cameraman adjust lights and sound. Eddie makes small talk with me about my quarantine and how he finds it funny that we spied each other through the wall -- he says he went back to his room and jerked off. I’m starting to get hard again when the Director says, “All right, looks like we’re ready to get rolling. You guys ready?” “Yeah!” Eddie says excitedly. “Sure am!” I say, ready for anything. “All right, gentlemen, let’s have some fun -- and… ACTION!” And the moment he says “ACTION” I feel dizzy… something deep... ************************************************************************************************* You’re on the set of a porn movie -- there’s only a sectional sofa in frame. You share this sofa with an incredibly hot redhead, sleek and muscular, with cream-colored skin and the small remains of the tan freckles of his youth. He wears comfortable jeans and a red tank top with a unicorn printed on it -- you’re in jeans and a loose low-cut t-shirt, humble-bragging on your ample cleavage. DIRECTOR’S VOICE (off-camera): Hey, everybody! Welcome to another Paragon Porn First Timer Video. We have the always incredible Eddie Ginger with us today as our experienced model. Eddie waves to the camera. “Hi!” he says, smiling. “Been a hot minute since we’ve filmed.” DIRECTOR’S VOICE: And he’s joined today by our newbie, Big Daddy Dom, right? You laugh. “Yeah,” you say. “Domenic Luger. Just Dom is fine.” “Oh, but I like Big Daddy,” says Eddie, punching you in the arm. You smile at him. DIRECTOR’S VOICE: And Dom, this is your first time doing something like this? You look around nervously, glancing into the camera. “Yeah,” you say, with a bit of an enigmatic smile. “But I’m looking forward to it.” “Me, too!” Eddie chimes in, patting your knee. DIRECTOR’S VOICE: So you’ve never sucked a dick before? You act embarrassed. “No,” you lie. “I mean, guys have sucked mine -- guys have BEGGED to suck mine -- but I’ve never…” DIRECTOR’S VOICE: But you’re gonna try today? You look at Eddie enthusiastically -- VERY enthusiastically. “Oh, yeah,” you say, trying not to smile. “Looking forward to it.” DIRECTOR’S VOICE: Well, maybe you guys should do your first kiss. The two of you glance at each other like you approve the idea -- small, teasing smiles -- he slides across the sofa to be closer to you. You wrap your upstage hand around his neck and gently pull him in -- he allows this, already submitting to you. His lips are soft, gentle but confident -- his kiss is more tender than you expect, a little playful, too -- surprisingly intimate. You kiss lightly a few more times, then you finally go in for something a little more serious. Already you feel a connection. As you pull apart, you both mumble “Wow!” and then laugh -- he falls into your arms and you begin kissing a little more seriously. “Take this off,” you say, pulling his tank slightly. He strips it off, exposing his defined torso and his puffy pink nipples -- his abs are so cut and sweet, small little veins evident across his thin skin. “Damn,” you say, running your hand up along his strong core until it ends up cupping his pec and squeezing his nipple -- he gasps. “Look at you and your hot body…” DIRECTOR’S VOICE: Yeah, but Dom, show him YOUR abs! “But I just got off a show,” you say, raising your arms so Eddie could remove your shirt. “So it’s not completely fair…” “Holy shit,” Eddie says as he reveals your abs. “Holy shit -- you praise ME? Dude, LOOK at these abs -- eight pack?” You smirk. “Very early in the morning, before I’ve eaten, yes.” He removes the shirt and you flex for him (which always turns you on.) You bounce your pecs, which makes him flat-palm your chest -- he’s smiling a gleeful grin, clearly enjoying himself touching you. DIRECTOR’S VOICE: You said you just came off a show? A bodybuilding contest? “Yeah,” you say, continuing to flex for Eddie. He’s feeling the peak of your bicep right now. “I compete in what’s called ‘Classic Bodybuilding’ -- we don’t go as big as the freaks.” DIRECTOR’S VOICE: You look very big. “Everything’s very big,” you tease, winking obviously. You indicate your jeans to Eddie. “Help me get these things off.” You both stand, you and Eddie kissing as he unbuttons the waist and fly of your jeans. You keep your hands behind your head and your abs flexed as he opens the waist, revealing the blue poser you’re wearing beneath. “Sexy,” he says, gently pulling the waistband of the posers, then getting back to work on the jeans. He has a hard time getting them down over your thighs -- and you don’t help him by keeping them flexed so he has to struggle. You love to tease. “Damn,” he says, smiling. “You weren’t kidding everything’s big!” “Big thighs is why I’m a bodybuilder, not a physique competitor. Pull ‘em like you mean it!” His tugging makes your package flop around, which you love. Finally, he gets them down to your ankles and you step out of them -- he remains kneeling. “Holy shit,” Eddie says, eye-level with your pouch. DIRECTOR’S VOICE: Do you have to have those specially made? You smirk, adjusting yourself. “Yeah, I can barely squeeze myself into the standard ones -- though I like trying! I worry that one day I’m gonna be onstage and pop right out.” Eddie strokes your thighs and gently grips your hamstrings as he nuzzles into your package. He then licks his tongue up your spandex-fighting cock until he gets to the root, itself barely covered by the waistband of the poser. DIRECTOR’S VOICE: That would make a good movie. Would you mind flexing for us? “Not at all,” you say, and you begin your routine. Flexing has always turned you on -- it’s your favorite part of the sport, certainly not the training! No, it’s listening to the audience screaming, seeing the disbelief and awe in their faces, the desire, the envy. Of course you get hard when you flex. And Eddie is right there, worshipping away, stroking and punching and feeling everything he can, imprinting it onto his fantasies. Facing him, you do an ab/thigh pose, so he can see your half-hard monster straining, yearning for escape. He takes the bait, gripping the waistband with both hands and slowly pulling it down, revealing the entirety of your beautiful cock. When the head pops out, it swings up and swats him on his fuzzy chin. He grins broadly and kisses the head, as you step out of your posers. “Oh, yeah,” Eddie mumbles as he takes it in his mouth -- or as much as he can, which is a surprising amount (more than half). He pulls back and spits to help lube it, then wraps a hand around the base to stroke while he sucks. He’s got a good mouth -- well, he should. (He’s a professional.) More, he’s not afraid of your balls, big as they are. He squeezes and strokes and gently pulls on them, accenting the pleasure he gives to your cock. Adding to your enjoyment, you begin to pinch your ample nipples. You expected to lose track of the camera, to forget it’s there and just focus on your technique. But it’s just the opposite, you’re very aware of the camera -- it’s like you’re showing off for it, opening up angles for better views, making love to it. You know the camera loves your flexed abs as you lean slightly back to make a better picture, the swollen cum-gutters taking the focus right to your magnificent cock, which Eddie slaves away on. He’s got you on the edge and he knows it -- you can see the glint in this eye -- but it’s way too early to cum, horny as you are. No, you want a taste of him first. As he pulls off your cock to catch his breath, you pull him up into a kiss. He wraps his arms around your neck, allowing you both hands free to open his pants. Turning his back to the camera, you slide your hands down over the cakes of his ass and bring his jeans with them, giving a clear shot of his spectacular bubble butt. Spinning him around, you seat him on the sectional and pull his jeans off him -- he leans back, straightening his legs and flexing his own fine abs. He’s got a beautiful cock, uncut, maybe eight-and-a-half inches, pretty pink head -- he leaks precum. You kneel between his legs and kiss him deeply -- it’s hard for him to resist the urge to wrap his legs around your torso, but he does make a show of embracing you with them, gorgeous muscular limbs. You bite his fuzzy little chin, then kiss his neck, working your way down his beautiful body, his pale skin and bright pink nipples (which you make a show of working), then you’re licking HIS abs, defined and obvious, even if not as developed as your own. Finally, you’re at the trimmed little patch of auburn pubes and you can feel his hard cock stroking your cheek as you kiss the base of it. As an actor, you’d like to continue the charade of having never sucked a cock before, but your own internal horniness casts that aside quickly. You’re on his cock like a whore on crack, the sweet taste of precum your drug of choice. It’s no small cock -- Eddie’s a porn-star, remember -- and whether a bottom or not, it’s a nice piece. You’ve been dying for a cock, much less a nice cock, much less THIS fantasy cock for a while now! You’re conflicted about taking your time and savoring the moment or just banging out a desperate load then going for the slow cook on the second. But then you remember teasing the camera is your job, so you make a show of it. It’s possible that Eddie’s that good an actor, but his reactions seem very real, as if he’s legitimately turned on by what you’re doing. You’ve no reason to doubt it -- you are. Fuck, you’re so turned on, living this fantasy cum true, that you never want to step out of your filming bubble. You’ll stay here forever fucking hot guys for fun and profit. (You already want a scene with Austin to thank him.) And then you’re just deep-throating him and going to town, bobbing your head effortlessly on his beautiful dick -- how happy you are to have a cock in your mouth again! The sheer joy of that drowns out any thought of pacing for the camera or making the moment last -- you’re too eager to make this beauty cum! For his part, Eddie moans and rolls his head. He’s up on his elbows, leaning back, so he can look down across his flexed abs at your effort -- he’s supposed to be the “experienced” guy, remember? “I’m gonna shoot,” he moans, as you tug his balls. “Oh, Big Daddy, I’m gonna shoot!” You pull your mouth off his cock, still stroking the base, just in time for him to orgasm, the first volley hitting you right on your tongue. You deep-throat him and he screams, thrusting into your mouth. You flat-tongue his big dick, showing the camera how much cum he produced, and just swallow it all. “Oh, fuck, Big Daddy,” he mumbles. “Oh, fuck…” You advance onto the sectional and kiss him, sharing his taste. Then, in a semi-push-up position, you continue to slide up his body, until he’s face to face with your monster cock. He takes the head of yours in his mouth and you begin doing push-ups, slowly dipping your cock into his mouth, then rising back up. The camera loves your muscular back. You sit back onto his torso, putting his arms under your knees in a wrestling school-boy pin. The tip of your erect cock rests on his chin -- he only has to slightly lift his head to get it in his mouth, which he does. “You want it, pretty boy?” you ask, tapping the head of your cock on his lush pink lips. “You want Daddy’s big load?” “Yes,” he answers, trying to lick your cock with the tip of his tongue. “Please, gimme it! Please!” It takes little more than a few tugs and you can feel your big balls churn. “Here you go, Eddie,” you say as you release your cock and flex a double-bis just as you begin your orgasm. Your first shot crosses his entire face, but he gets his mouth open for the second one. But you don’t stop -- it’s been too long. You just keep shooting and shooting, volleys that just coat the redhead’s pretty face. You’re panting as your finish, releasing him from your hold. As he sits up, the two of you kiss, your cum running down his face -- you snowball it back and forth, as you wipe the rest of him clean with your hand. The two of you are laughing about the amount. DIRECTOR’S VOICE: A-a-a-a-and CUT! The moment he says “CUT”, you feel dizzy… something deep… ******************************************************************************************************* Eddie and I are standing in each other’s arms, soaked in cum, giggling like schoolgirls. Someone throws us towels and we begin wiping each other down. (It’s a lot of cum!) The Director is still talking to us. It’s clearly a Post Show -- the camera’s still rolling. “That was great you guys!” he says. Eddie laughs, wiping his face. “Dude shoots some big loads!” he says. I shrug. “I do everything big!” I laugh. Eddie is playing for the camera -- he points to your cock and brings his hand to the side of his face in an “astonishment” pose. In the same spirit,I spin him around and show the camera his perky bubble butt, smacking it with my open palm. He laughs. “All right, thank you guys,” the Director says. “Great shoot!” “It was a lot of fun,” Eddie says, playfully kissing me. “It was,” I agree, kissing him back and glancing at the camera. “That was just… easy. I could do it all fuckin’ day!” He chuckles. “Don’t say that too loud or they’ll make you!” He slides into his jeans. “I guess you’re coming out of quarantine, right?” “Yeah!” I say. “Finally…” “Well, then maybe I’ll see you at the gym and stuff?” I smile, sliding my jeans up over my ample quads. “I hope so!” I say enthusiastically. He strolls up to me seductively. “I’m sure of it,” he says. “I’m gonna put in to do a full-scene with you.” “What?” I ask. “Are you kidding? That would be fuckin’ AWESOME!” He indicates my bountiful cock as I tuck it into my jeans (I didn’t put the posers back on). “Big Daddy, I want to get fucked by that log -- it’s fuckin’ hot as fuck.” “Anytime.” He smirks. “How about a shower scene right now on my OnlyFans page?” “Let’s go!” ************************************************************************************************ Outside the bubble, the virus continues to run unchecked, gyms are still closed, lockdowns still enforced, Americans still feeling like masks infringe their freedom -- it’s just unbelievable. Naturally, desperate to stave off boredom, people are seeking content, entertainment, anything to fill the time. And nothing fills time better than porn. Most of the major entertainment companies set up their own production bubbles, but Paragon was far-and-away better prepared than their major competitors, creating what the industry has been calling Paragon’s “Porn World” where all the biggest names live and film as if it were still the Before Time. My first six weeks are up today and I’m hoping my contract will get renewed. I’ve been filming almost daily, mixing and matching with the other studs in the bubble -- it’s honestly been some of the best times of my life, professionally. Well, socially, too -- I’ve made some good friends and fuck-buddies. I open my laptop to see Coach’s Tab blinking. I open it and link up with the program. “Good morning, Dom!” “Morning, Coach! What’s the word?” “Your number’s are great!” he said. “They’re offering you a contract extension. Would you like to pull another twelve weeks?” I don’t even have to think about it. “Hell. Yes.” I love this job so much -- seriously, they can use me until I’m dried up and dead. I don’t care. “Great!” he says. “I’ll forward the contract to your email and we can get it done. There’s a couple of perks we can talk about, but it’s an improvement over what you were getting. Of course, they’d like you to start performing private services for clients…” “Private services?” I ask, suspiciously. “I don’t know, Coach. It’s one thing to be a porn star, it’s another to be a whore.” He laughs indulgently. “It’s not being a whore,” he says. “Here, let me show you a video…”

The sun shone through my bedroom window, illuminating everything in its path in a warm, yellow glow. The rays bathed my bed, and me along with it. The sudden pleasure of warm sunlight slowly and peacefully woke me up. A smile grew on my face; another day of being perfect. I stretched with a sense of pleasure and satisfaction as my incredible, chiselled physique was warmed by the sun’s light. It was for exactly this reason that I did away with any sheet or quilt. I wanted to be woken like this; by the sun that made my Adonis body shine. First, my feet. Size fifteens. And if they give you any idea of the rest of me, they were both beautiful and powerful looking. The tendons themselves looking like machine parts, rather than human parts. Next, my calves. Twin diamond-shaped, diamond-hard beauties. Each one too big for a normal man’s hand to full engulf. Whenever I walked they bunched, hardened, and flexed. My quads are up next. Massive. Powerful. Godly. The ripples of the muscles, and the ridges that ran through and around them. Complimented by a network of veins that looked like lightning bolts, some of which faded down into my lower legs and calves. Above these tree-trunk sized miracles was my remarkably narrow waist. Narrow in comparison to the rest of me, that is. Currently resting on one side of my waist were all seven inches of my flaccid manhood. And trust me, when I wanted, I could give way more inches than that. Just above this intimidating python was what could be mistaken as a cobblestone pathway. On second glance, you would clearly see that it was just an insanely defined, flawless eight-pack. Each ab a clear dome, separated by all others by deep cuts that could each easily hold a bit water. And that was before I tensed or flexed. Flanking these eight rocks were some more-than-impressive obliques. Wave-like muscles that, like the quads, rippled dutifully. It was as if they wanted me to look more beautiful than I already was. Above my abs were the two reasons why I couldn’t see my abs. Two almost square-like slabs of what felt like titanium. And yet, I could bounce and jiggle both as if they were made of a softer clay. Better known as my pecs, these bulbous, meaty marvels were kept apart by a narrow crevasse that ran between them. On either side of these two steel-hard pieces of beef were my boulder shoulders. Like my calves, no normal man could ever hope to fit a whole hand around one. Too big, too muscular, too vascular. Hanging from them were they most powerful, strongest pair of arms you’ll ever see. Biceps that formed into perfect peaks that rivalled cement in terms of solidity, followed my forearms that exuded strength, and ending with a pair of hands that could easily fit around my calves and shoulder. And don’t forget the criss-cross of veins that mapped my forearms, and that one delicious vein that runs down each bicep. The one that every gym rat longs to see; the definitive proof that one has achieved muscle. I roll over onto my front so that the opposite side of me can enjoy some few minutes of warmth before I get up. My expansive, rippling back swells in delight at the feel of the warmth. My back alone is literally heavier than most average men. My triceps, second only to my biceps, both unleash a powerful flex as they help me turn over. And finally my ass. The two delectable globes of prime beef. Just like my pecs, I could bounce them with ease, and on a moment’s notice. Once I decided that I was adequately warmed up, I rolled back over and got out of them bed. All seven feet of my rose to my full height. Aside from the lush locks that flowed from scalp, and the uber-masculine stubble that coated my gorgeous face, I was completely hairless. All of my godly definition was as clear as the day outside. Plus, not a single blemish. Ever. I didn’t get them. Already my seven inches were approaching nine as I flexed my body, and took the time to feel myself up. Hard, sold, powerful, strong. I had great genetics. And I haven’t even told you about my strength yet. I threw on a pair of red boxer shorts that were stretched thin over my quads (despite being the largest size the store had to offer). My heavy footsteps resonated as I marched with a sense of power and authority from my room to the kitchen. My muscles all the while flexing, tensing, bunching. You would not want to be in my way! “Moring pops”, I say as I entered the kitchen and saw that he was already making me breakfast. Poor Dad. I guess genetics have a way of skipping generations. “Morning big buddy!” said my dad, genuinely excited and thrilled to see me. And even more thrilled to see me in just boxer shorts. Dad was a normal man. Little to no obvious muscle, balding, a bit of a flabby beer belly, the makings to a double chin, and a body with hair and blemishes. But a kind heart, and all the love a dad had for his son. He himself was wearing just a t-shirt and a pair of boxers, both of which were noticeably loose on him. I approached him, took a handful of the back of his shirt collar, and smoothly lifted him off the ground until his bare feet were left dangling over a foot off the ground. Dad was 5’10’’, and about 150 pounds. But to me, that was nothing. He might as well have been ten times that weight, and I still wouldn’t have noticed. I gave him a kiss on his head. “Pancakes?! Fuckin’ A old timer!” I said gleefully, eyeing the mountain of pancakes that Dad had made specifically for me. I ate like a dozen horses after all. “My big man needs to eat” he said, looking on at my perfect, angular face with pride in his eyes. Of course he was still dangling in my grasp. He casually swung his legs back and forth a small bit as I surveyed the pancakes, enjoying the feel of being held off the ground. “I’ll take all of those” I said, gesturing to at least ninety percent of the pancakes, “You’ll have whatever is left”. “Yes son” said Dad. Dad always did what I said. Like I good beta, he knew who the alpha was. I set him gently back down onto the floor. Not because my arm was getting tired, but because I wanted him to get back to work. “You’re looking especially amazing today son” he said, tracing his fingers over my steel abs. I didn’t need to tense them. Even in their un-tensed state Dad didn’t have a hope of denting them. His fingers, to me, felt so small and fragile. I smiled down at him, as I towered above him. “I’m guessing there’s something you want” I said, smiling wryly at him. “Eh…I’d like to buy some new clothes…” he said, nervously looking up at me, a hopeful and bashful grin on his face. I controlled the finances, even though Dad was the one with a job. “Go on” I said, crossing my arms. In doing so, my spectacular pecs ballooned into two globes of pure power, while my forearms flare in terms of both muscle and veins. For good measure I flexed my legs too, just to complete the image of the god looking down upon the weak man. “Just some new jeans and a scarf. October is just around the corner...don’t wanna be cold now, do I…” he said, looking a little more nervous by the sight of my stance. He knew of course that I would never hurt him, but it was still fun to laud some power over him. “As long as you don’t spend more than a hundred. I want more food in this house before the end of the week” I said, patting Dad affectionately on the head. “Yes!” exclaimed Dad triumphantly, “Absolutely son, no more than a hundred”. After I consumed my feast of a breakfast at an alarming rate, I headed out into the back garden for some early morning light exercise while Dad got to the cleaning. I approached a beaten down looking SUV. No bothering to stretch (because I didn’t need to), I squatted down, grabbed the SUV at two points along its underside, and stood back up. The entire vehicle came with me. I began to curl the SUV like it was nothing more than a fifty bound barbell. I was only doing this just for the sake of waking my body up. I actually began to daydream a small bit as I effortlessly pumped the vehicle up and down. It used to belong to Dad, before he got a new one. He was more than happy to let me have it. After a few minutes of this, I dropped the SUV with a bang. I sighed as I looked down at it, bored by its inability to stimulate my imagination. However, my arms had flared up with an almost inhuman pump. Thanks to my genetics, only the smallest amount of exercise was necessary for me to maintain by perfect physiques, and the superhuman strength that lay within. Out of sheer boredom I began to poke holes in the SUV’s exterior with just my index finger. I did find it satisfying to watch my finger sink in and out of the metal like it was a hot knife carving through butter. At one point I simply grabbed a handful of a door and easily tore it off the vehicle completely. I amused myself as I mangled and deformed the lump of metal in my hand, like an infant would manipulate playdough. “Looking good Jake!” called out a voice from behind me. I turned to see Mr. Roberts standing on his side of the fence that separated my house’s garden from his. Mr. Roberts was an elderly, kind man who had lived next door all my life. He had watched me grow, and always took the time to compliment me on my body and strength. “Hi Mr. Roberts” I said as I swaggered my way over to them fence. I made sure to flex my muscles as I walked, just to demonstrate the level of power that was approaching him. Not to mention that fact that I was still crushing and mangling the metal lump in my hand like a stress ball. “Well look at you!” said Mr. Roberts as he surveyed my glorious body. I was still only wearing my boxers, so pretty much everything could be easily seen. “Yeah, just doing a bit of weight training” I said, and started bouncing my pecs as I looked down at them. Instead of a light jiggle, I opted for a more vigorous bounce. It always amazed even me how still the rest of my body was as my pecs danced. “Stunning” whispered Mr. Roberts in a reverent tone as he reached over the fence to place one of his small, feeble hands on the nearest pec. He had always loved the smoothness of my muscles. And I never had a problem with him feeling any damn part of me that he wanted. “So how are you this morning, Mr. Roberts?” I asked, striking a front lat spread for his entertainment. “Good” he said as he ran his fingers along one of my biceps. I switched to a most muscular to help accommodate his desire to worship my arms. “But I was hoping that you’d be available to help me with something” he said, as he placed his hand in mine. Mr. Roberts always enjoyed holding my hand, probably because they were so warm, and he was more vulnerable to the cold. “Sure” I said, closing my whole hand around his gently, running my thumb lightly over the back. “I was hoping you could turn my car around for me. In my old age I’ve become…less able for precise reversing” he said, and we both laughed. From a standing position, I bent my knees, flexed both my quads and calves, and cleared the four-foot fence in a single bound, landing perfectly on the other side beside Mr. Roberts. “Goodness me!” he said, beaming at my display of athleticism, and delighted that I was now that bit closer to him. I took his hand gently in mine, and allowed him to lead me to his car that was parked at the side of his house. I couldn’t help but notice just how small and weak he was. He was short than Dad, and no doubt frail from old age. We were walking so slowly because of him. “Here Mr. Roberts” I said, as I effortlessly scooped the man up into one of my arms. He gasped as my casual display of strength. “Save your energy” I said, as I nestled him into my powerful chest. “Thank you Jake” he said with a tone of sincerity, and began to run a hand over my pecs once again. Once we got to his car, I gently set him down and gave him a quick hug, enveloping him in my powerful arms (which he happily felt up during the hug). “Now then” I said. I approached the car and promptly hauled the front half off the ground with a single tug of my left arm. I could hear Mr. Roberts gasp again behind me. I walked my hand along the bottom of the vehicle, slowly raising the back half, until the entire thing was above my head. A quick one-eighty degree turn, and it was facing the way Mr. Roberts wanted it to be. I easily and gently place the car back on the ground. Mr. Roberts was standing there, slack-jawed from the sight of my superhuman strength. Not to mention that his pants was tenting; impressive for a man of his age. I decided to help him out. Side-chest. Double biceps. Front lat spread followed by a back lat spread. Another pec bounce. Every single bit of exquisite curvature and masculine sex appeal my body had to offer I put in display for Mr. Roberts. My muscles flared and flexed with power and beauty. I turned my back to him and began twerking. My bulbous glutes bounced sensually. Not even my skin-tight boxers could hold them down. I ended the routine with another side chest. I then marched towards Mr. Roberts with supreme confidence. Mr. Roberts was shaking, still slack-jawed, and in awe of my appearance. He was leaving out this low, continuous moaning sound. I placed my large hands on his scrawny shoulders. I leaned in and whispered in his ear. “Cum for me”. Mr. Roberts let out a moan of ecstasy as a large, dark wet patch appeared at the front of his trousers. I fell forward into my arms which easily supported him. By the sounds (and feel) of it, he was experiencing multiple orgasms. I carried his limp and exhausted body into his house, and laid him down gently onto his living room sofa. His feeble hands took one last feel of my muscles (my shoulders and triceps to be exact) before he finally passed out, and began to sleep peacefully. His trousers were completely soaked. I left his house and headed back towards the SUV, leaping over the fence once again. Damn it felt good to have great genetics.

Hi everyone. First time poster here. Inspired by the works of Londonboy, Omnipotent, Liftme, and many others. Love super muscle men! So here is my first attempt at a story. There's going to be a lot of world building in this one. Hope you guys enjoy it! Feedback welcome. The Olympian chronicles: Ivan Chapter 1: Who I am… The air felt good on my bare torso as I flew through the sky. The feel of the wind as it whipped over my magnificent physique: bulbous pecs, titanium abs (six-pack), concrete biceps and triceps, and a back that rippled with muscular curvature. Complemented by a light coating of vascularity here and there. Overall I looked like a being the Greek Gods themselves would’ve aspired to be. I came to a rest about thirty thousand feet above my home suburb. My superhuman vision able to see the ground below in perfect detail. Not one square inch I couldn’t easily make out. I simply hovered there. I continued to enjoy the air as it now brushed lightly on my impenetrable skin. I closed my eyes and felt the power that coursed through me, and marvelled at how only a month ago I was human. I opened my eyes and observed the setting sun in the distance. I looked down to see how it illuminated my spectacular body. Every part of me was muscle. Every part of me huge, strong, defined, beautiful, and blemish-free. Always clean, always perfectly groomed, and always with a light tan that only accentuated the curves and solidness of the muscles. I am Ivan, and I am an Olympian. So what is an Olympian exactly? Nobody knows what causes the phenomenon, nor why it ever began in the first place. But Olympians were a part of our reality, and have been so for the last one-hundred and seventy-nine years. Almost every year, without any prior warning, one to four young men (usually one or two, rarely more) will, upon turning twenty, suddenly and dramatically change. In the space of just a few seconds they will, regardless of prior body-type or lifestyle, suddenly transform into massive, immaculate, beautiful, and flawless bodybuilders on the spot. And if that wasn’t enough, they will also possess a plethora of superhuman abilities that extend far beyond what even the likes of Superman, Thor, or even Dr. Manhattan could ever dream of having. To name BUT A FEW: · Superhuman strength (to the point of moving planets effortlessly) · Invulnerability (to date, there is no known way of harming an Olympian) · Superhuman speed (beyond the speed of light of course) · Superhuman senses (all senses) · Superhuman agility, reflexes, coordination, and muscle control · Flight · Heat vision · X-ray vision · Freeze breath (and the ability to blow gale-force winds with ease) · Telekinesis (which breaks down into loads of additional abilities) · Telepathy Again, nobody knows why this happens; it just does. Oh, and before I forget, yes: Olympians are also immortal. The first ones to appear are still looking as though they are twenty years old, despite almost pushing two hundred! Naturally I didn’t take long for the humans who stayed being human to realise that there were now all-powerful, unstoppable gods walking amongst them. Thankfully for them, all Olympians to date have proven to be kind, just, and principled in a positive way. And so, since the dawn of Olympians, human civilisation all over has changed dramatically. The life of a human now revolves around worshipping Olympians, along with living an otherwise normal day-to-day life. But more on that later. So anyway, I’m Ivan. And one month ago to the day I transformed into an Olympian. One second I was an ordinary, unremarkable college student in the middle of a college lecture on psychology, and the next minute I was floating in mid-air above my fellow classmates with a physique that the world’s top bodybuilders spend their whole lives trying to achieve. All around me my classmates, along with the professor, all immediately dropped to their knees and began to bow to me. They fervently whispered prayers, while those closest to me reached for my hover feet and diamond calves in the hopes of being able to feel them. This was followed by every man in the hall pulling out an erect cock and jerking off to the sight of me, while every woman reached a few fingers down their underwear. Overwhelmed, I clumsily shot upwards through the roof and out into the sky. I was a bit panicked by being up so high, and so when I tried to land I ended up creating a crater in the middle of campus. Thankfully no one was hurt. I was also completely naked, as my clothes had been shredded by my rapidly expanding body during the transformation. Once again, every human who could see me began kneeling, bowing, jerking off, fingering themselves, and in general crying out how amazing I was; all because I was an Olympian. Fast forward a month, and here I am levitating thousands of feet above my home. I had largely taught myself how to control most of my main abilities, like flight and strength. I had also given up on wearing clothes for the most part. I was wearing boxer shorts and jeans at the moment, but other than that, I couldn’t find tops that would fit me. Not that it was a problem; Olympians were allowed to be naked in public if they wanted to be. The one change that I was struggling with was how people reacted to me. It’s too much to take in quickly. One minute you’re a scrawny, nerdy, weak little man who’s never played sport, and is still a virgin. The suddenly people are actually bowing to you. Total strangers and people you’ve known your whole life now kneel when you enter a room, or walk (or float) by them on the street. You’re walking around without a shirt, fully aware of it, yet now you have a physique like Arnold or Ronnie Coleman, and not a skinny, acne-covered torso and stick-arms. Now you’re handsome beyond description, and not well below average. People are openly pleasuring themselves to your image, in front of you, and because it’s law no less! It’s just…a lot to come to terms with. I began my descent and soon landed gently in the back garden. Certainly a lot better than the first time I landed here. Let’s just say my dad had to hire a landscaping company to fix the damage. I still live with my dad by the way. He’s been so supportive of me throughout all of this. All the while trying not to give in to his “mortal instincts”. Which is a term used to describe every human’s inherent desire to worship Olympians. “Dad, I’m home” I say, as I close the sliding door behind me. My big bare feet pat loudly as I walk across the tiled floor of the kitchen. I have to keep ducking down as I walk through doorways. 5’7’’ to 6’8’’ is quite the difference. I find my dad in the living room, already kneeling. No doubt doing so the second he heard my voice. “Come on dad, you don’t have to do that. Not for me” I say, feeling a little embarrassed by his display of reverence. “Of course son” says my dad, hastily getting to his feet, “whatever you say”. He’s smiling, somewhat nervously, and constantly looking back and forth over my body, trying to pick a muscle group to settle on. He’s still just standing there. “You can go about your business” I say, “I just came in to say hi. I’m going up to my room for a bit”. “Of…of course” says Dad, “Is there anything you want me to do?” he asks. He nods enthusiastically, excited at the idea of being able to directly obey an Olympian, even if it’s his own son. “Nope. Just go back to whatever it was you were doing”, I say, trying to smile sweetly at him, and ignore the absurdity of the situation. And with that I quickly leave the room. At speeds that no human could ever hope to move at, I shot from the living room to my bedroom upstairs. I promptly took off my jeans and stood there in just my boxers, enjoying the coolness that now caressed my muscular legs. I turned my attention to my full-body dressing mirror and decided to treat myself to another posing show. BOOM! Biceps that easily exceed thirty inched, with a proud vein on each that rested on them like crowns. And my pecs! Hello!!! Bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce. Up and down they went in turn. The entire rest of my being as still as a statue while my magnificent pecs bounced, vibrated, and jiggled in exquisite detail. I stopped the bounce and flexed them both. Their size expanded, and they looked far more like two massive slabs of concrete. I raised my arms again so as to admire my lats and obliques; still in disbelief that I actually had those muscles. On me! On my body! And that’s not to mention the abs. Oh my Olympian! My abs. Like six cobble-stones that made steel feel soft by comparison. I only just managed to master the art of rolling my abs, making waves glide up or down. One minute I could contort them and mush them about by flexing alone, and the next I could tense them into a wall of pure power and strength. Next up were my legs. Quads of the gods, as I liked to call them. Even when I wasn’t tensing or flexing they were still formidably rock-solid. I liked to run my fingers over them, just to feel the different ridges and boundaries of muscle. Next I turned my attention to my calves. Diamonds by shape, yet so much harder, and so much stronger. I shoved an SUV the other day with my foot, and the corresponding calve generated enough power to send it sailing out towards the horizon. I was only trying to dislodge if from a ditch the driver had accidently driven it into. Amusingly though, he wasn’t mad. He immediately bowed and thanked me for displaying my strength to him. He cried for joy when he asked to touch my calves and I said yes. I can still feel his delicate little finger tips tracing lines on them. He came a few times without either of us ever touching his dick. I left him after that. I…I’m not ready to be a god to people just yet. The thought robbed me of my enthusiasm for more flexing. Instead I slumped down onto my bed. This is my life now. This is who I’m going to be. I should be happier (which I am when I’m flexing for myself, jerking off with my new 10’’ cock, or effortlessly curling train engines), but the thought of ruling humans, and being celebrated as superior is still…I don’t know. It’s a big change. There was a knock at the door. “Come in” I said. I telekinetically opened the door to find Dad standing in a somewhat cowered position on the other side. Telekinesis was weird. It’s like I could feel the door with my brain. “Hi son” he said, in a polite tone and with a nervous smile. I knew he had only come up here so that he could be around me, look at me more, and maybe even touch me if I allowed it. It was instinctual in humans to want to worship Olympians and be close to them. Not to mention obey them without question. “Hey Dad, what’s up?” I said, smiling sweetly at him, trying to put him at ease. “Just came to see how my big man is! What did you get up to today?” he said, and kneeled down in front of me while trying to maintain eye contact and not look at some other part of me. I doubt he even noticed that he kneeled. “Not much. Just flew around the city a few times. I really want to perfect my flight power before travelling any farther” I said. Dad nodded energetically, with his mouth hanging open a little. It was kind of amusing. “Well I know you don’t need to eat anymore, but the…eh…the dinner will be there…I mean ready, in a few minutes, if you want…you know” he said, struggling to maintain composure around his literal god of a son. “Great!” I said, smiling all the while to keep the atmosphere friendly. A minute of silence passed. Dad was still kneeling, now looking down at my feet. I rolled my eyes. “Dad” I said. He immediately looked up at my face. “Do you want to…touch my muscles?” I said, weirded out by the thought. Of course, Dad wasn’t. As a human he couldn’t think clearly in the presence of an Olympian. “Yes! Oh yes please son! You are so…so incredibly beautiful now!” he said suddenly, and began running a hand across my pecs. “Wow! So powerful” he whispered, as he examined the finer details of my godly chest. He poked them, trying to make a dent, but to no avail. I have to admit: I liked seeing him so happy. I bounced my pecs a little for him, and he ended up drooling a small bit. I chuckled. “Alright” I said, standing up and towering over him. He gulped at the sight of me, and whimpered a small bit too. “Dinner time” I said, indicating that it was alright for him to stand up too. He did so, but still only came up to the base of my pecs. I patted him gently on the head. “I love you Dad, no matter what I’ve become” I said, trying to get some of that pre-Olympian father-son relationship back. “I love you too son” he said, looking up past my pecs at me. “And I’m so proud of what you’ve become. I look forward to seeing an even more powerful version of you when you return from Mercury after god-school” he said. Oh, that’s right. I forgot to mention. All newly born Olympians are expected to attend “god-school” on the planet Mercury for a few months, after which they will have developed to their fullest potential. Basically, the way I am now doesn’t even measure up to the level of power I’ll have in a few months. I am expected to begin god-school in a few days. It is decreed by one of the laws of David, the first Olympian. Who’s he? Right, there’s still so much about this version of reality that you don’t know…

Hi everyone. First time poster here. My story is inspired by works like "A is for Alpha and Antoine" by Londonboy, "The man who saved me" by Guest(?), and "My roommate is a god" by Omnipotence. Like them I am a lover of super powerful, super muscle men. I'm going to try and upload a chapter or two every weekend. A lot of world building is going to go into this. Hope everyone enjoys! The Olympian chronicles: Ivan Chapter 1: Who I am… The air felt good on my bare torso as I flew through the sky. The feel of the wind as it whipped over my magnificent physique: bulbous pecs, titanium abs (six-pack), concrete biceps and triceps, and a back that rippled with muscular curvature. Complemented by light coating of vascularity here and there. Overall I looked like a being the Greek Gods themselves would’ve aspired to be. I came to a rest about thirty thousand feet above my home suburb. My superhuman vision able to see the ground below in perfect detail. Not one square inch I couldn’t easily make out. I simply hovered there. I continued to enjoy the air as it now brushed lightly on my impenetrable skin. I closed my eyes and felt the power that coursed through me, and marvelled at how only a month ago I was human. I opened my eyes and observed the setting sun in the distance. I looked down to see how it illuminated my spectacular body. Every part of me was muscle. Every part of me huge, strong, defined, beautiful, and blemish-free. Always clean, always perfectly groomed, and always with a light tan that only accentuated the curves and solidness of the muscles. I am Ivan, and I am an Olympian. So what is an Olympian exactly? Nobody knows what causes the phenomenon, nor why it ever began in the first place. But Olympians were a part of our reality, and have been so for the last one-hundred and seventy-nine years. Almost every year, without any prior warning, one to four young men (usually one or two, rarely more) will, upon turning twenty, suddenly and dramatically change. In the space of just a few seconds they will, regardless of prior body-type or lifestyle, suddenly transform into massive, immaculate, beautiful, and flawless bodybuilders on the spot. And if that wasn’t enough, they will also possess a plethora of superhuman abilities that extend far beyond what even the likes of Superman, Thor, or even Dr. Manhattan could ever dream of having. To name BUT A FEW: · Superhuman strength (to the point of moving planets effortlessly) · Invulnerability (to date, there is no known way of harming an Olympian) · Superhuman speed (beyond the speed of light of course) · Superhuman senses (all senses) · Superhuman agility, reflexes, coordination, and muscle control · Flight · Heat vision · X-ray vision · Freeze breath (and the ability to blow gale-force winds with ease) · Telekinesis (which breaks down into loads of additional abilities) · Telepathy Again, nobody knows why this happens; it just does. Oh, and before I forget, yes: Olympians are also immortal. The first ones to appear are still looking as though they are twenty years old, despite almost pushing two hundred! Naturally I didn’t take long for the humans who stayed being human to realise that there were now all-powerful, unstoppable gods walking amongst them. Thankfully for them, all Olympians to date have proven to be kind, just, and principled in a positive way. And so, since the dawn of Olympians, human civilisation all over has changed dramatically. The life of a human now revolves around worshipping Olympians, along with living an otherwise normal day-to-day life. But more on that later. So anyway, I’m Ivan. And one month ago to the day I transformed into an Olympian. One second I was an ordinary, unremarkable college student in the middle of a college lecture on psychology, and the next minute I was floating in mid-air above my fellow classmates with a physique that the world’s top bodybuilders spend their whole lives trying to achieve. All around me my classmates, along with the professor, all immediately dropped to their knees and began to bow to me. They fervently whispered prayers, while those closest to me reached for my hover feet and diamond calves in the hopes of being able to feel them. This was followed by every man in the hall pulling out an erect cock and jerking off to the sight of me, while every woman reached a few fingers down their underwear. Overwhelmed, I clumsily shot upwards through the roof and out into the sky. I was a bit panicked by being up so high, and so when I tried to land I ended up creating a crater in the middle of campus. Thankfully no one was hurt. I was also completely naked, as my clothes had been shredded by my rapidly expanding body during the transformation. Once again, every human who could see me began kneeling, bowing, jerking off, fingering themselves, and in general crying out how amazing I was; all because I was an Olympian. Fast forward a month, and here I am levitating thousands of feet above my home. I had largely taught myself how to control most of my main abilities, like flight and strength. I had also given up on wearing clothes for the most part. I was wearing boxer shorts and jeans at the moment, but other than that, I couldn’t find tops that would fit me. Not that it was a problem; Olympians were allowed to be naked in public if they wanted to be. The one change that I was struggling with was how people reacted to me. It’s too much to take in quickly. One minute you’re a scrawny, nerdy, weak little man who’s never played sport, and is still a virgin. The suddenly people are actually bowing to you. Total strangers and people you’ve known your whole life now kneel when you enter a room, or walk (or float) by them on the street. You’re walking around without a shirt, fully aware of it, yet now you have a physique like Arnold or Ronnie Coleman, and not a skinny, acne-covered torso and stick-arms. Now you’re handsome beyond description, and not well below average. People are openly pleasuring themselves to your image, in front of you, and because it’s law no less! It’s just…a lot to come to terms with. I began my descent and soon landed gently in the back garden. Certainly a lot better than the first time I landed here. Let’s just say my dad had to hire a landscaping company to fix the damage. I still live with my dad by the way. He’s been so supportive of me throughout all of this. All the while trying not to give in to his “mortal instincts”. Which is a term used to describe every human’s inherent desire to worship Olympians. “Dad, I’m home” I say, as I close the sliding door behind me. My big bare feet pat loudly as I walk across the tiled floor of the kitchen. I have to keep ducking down as I walk through doorways. 5’7’’ to 6’8’’ is quite the difference. I find my dad in the living room, already kneeling. No doubt doing so the second he heard my voice. “Come on dad, you don’t have to do that. Not for me” I say, feeling a little embarrassed by his display of reverence. “Of course son” says my dad, hastily getting to his feet, “whatever you say”. He’s smiling, somewhat nervously, and constantly looking back and forth over my body, trying to pick a muscle group to settle on. He’s still just standing there. “You can go about your business” I say, “I just came in to say hi. I’m going up to my room for a bit”. “Of…of course” says Dad, “Is there anything you want me to do?” he asks. He nods enthusiastically, excited at the idea of being able to directly obey an Olympian, even if it’s his own son. “Nope. Just go back to whatever it was you were doing”, I say, trying to smile sweetly at him, and ignore the absurdity of the situation. And with that I quickly leave the room. At speeds that no human could ever hope to move at, I shot from the living room to my bedroom upstairs. I promptly took off my jeans and stood there in just my boxers, enjoying the coolness that now caressed my muscular legs. I turned my attention to my full-body dressing mirror and decided to treat myself to another posing show. BOOM! Biceps that easily exceed thirty inched, with a proud vein on each that rested on them like crowns. And my pecs! Hello!!! Bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce. Up and down they went in turn. The entire rest of my being as still as a statue while my magnificent pecs bounced, vibrated, and jiggled in exquisite detail. I stopped the bounce and flexed them both. Their size expanded, and they looked far more like two massive slabs of concrete. I raised my arms again so as to admire my lats and obliques; still in disbelief that I actually had those muscles. On me! On my body! And that’s not to mention the abs. Oh my Olympian! My abs. Like six cobble-stones that made steel feel soft by comparison. I only just managed to master the art of rolling my abs, making waves glide up or down. One minute I could contort them and mush them about by flexing alone, and the next I could tense them into a wall of pure power and strength. Next up were my legs. Quads of the gods, as I liked to call them. Even when I wasn’t tensing or flexing they were still formidably rock-solid. I liked to run my fingers over them, just to feel the different ridges and boundaries of muscle. Next I turned my attention to my calves. Diamonds by shape, yet so much harder, and so much stronger. I shoved an SUV the other day with my foot, and the corresponding calve generated enough power to send it sailing out towards the horizon. I was only trying to dislodge if from a ditch the driver had accidently driven it into. Amusingly though, he wasn’t mad. He immediately bowed and thanked me for displaying my strength to him. He cried for joy when he asked to touch my calves and I said yes. I can still feel his delicate little finger tips tracing lines on them. He came a few times without either of us ever touching his dick. I left him after that. I…I’m not ready to be a god to people just yet. The thought robbed me of my enthusiasm for more flexing. Instead I slumped down onto my bed. This is my life now. This is who I’m going to be. I should be happier (which I am when I’m flexing for myself, jerking off with my new 10’’ cock, or effortlessly curling train engines), but the thought of ruling humans, and being celebrated as superior is still…I don’t know. It’s a big change. There was a knock at the door. “Come in” I said. I telekinetically opened the door to find Dad standing in a somewhat cowered position on the other side. Telekinesis was weird. It’s like I could feel the door with my brain. “Hi son” he said, in a polite tone and with a nervous smile. I knew he had only come up here so that he could be around me, look at me more, and maybe even touch me if I allowed it. It was instinctual in humans to want to worship Olympians and be close to them. Not to mention obey them without question. “Hey Dad, what’s up?” I said, smiling sweetly at him, trying to put him at ease. “Just came to see how my big man is! What did you get up to today?” he said, and kneeled down in front of me while trying to maintain eye contact and not look at some other part of me. I doubt he even noticed that he kneeled. “Not much. Just flew around the city a few times. I really want to perfect my flight power before travelling any farther” I said. Dad nodded energetically, with his mouth hanging open a little. It was kind of amusing. “Well I know you don’t need to eat anymore, but the…eh…the dinner will be there…I mean ready, in a few minutes, if you want…you know” he said, struggling to maintain composure around his literal god of a son. “Great!” I said, smiling all the while to keep the atmosphere friendly. A minute of silence passed. Dad was still kneeling, now looking down at my feet. I rolled my eyes. “Dad” I said. He immediately looked up at my face. “Do you want to…touch my muscles?” I said, weirded out by the thought. Of course, Dad wasn’t. As a human he couldn’t think clearly in the presence of an Olympian. “Yes! Oh yes please son! You are so…so incredibly beautiful now!” he said suddenly, and began running a hand across my pecs. “Wow! So powerful” he whispered, as he examined the finer details of my godly chest. He poked them, trying to make a dent, but to no avail. I have to admit: I liked seeing him so happy. I bounced my pecs a little for him, and he ended up drooling a small bit. I chuckled. “Alright” I said, standing up and towering over him. He gulped at the sight of me, and whimpered a small bit too. “Dinner time” I said, indicating that it was alright for him to stand up too. He did so, but still only came up to the base of my pecs. I patted him gently on the head. “I love you Dad, no matter what I’ve become” I said, trying to get some of that pre-Olympian father-son relationship back. “I love you too son” he said, looking up past my pecs at me. “And I’m so proud of what you’ve become. I look forward to seeing an even more powerful version of you when you return from Mercury after god-school” he said. Oh, that’s right. I forgot to mention. All newly born Olympians are expected to attend “god-school” on the planet Mercury for a few months, after which they will have developed to their fullest potential. Basically, the way I am now doesn’t even measure up to the level of power I’ll have in a few months. I am expected to begin god-school in a few days. It is decreed by one of the laws of David, the first Olympian. Who’s he? Right, there’s still so much about this version of reality that you don’t know…

My best friend was always quite a weakling-he was really tall, 6 foot 5, but never weighed more than 165lbs Until he made some changes... I think it all started some years ago. He just turned 16. At this time My body was already quite well developed. My arms were at 15.75 inches, my legs were big and I had some abs and noticeable pecs. That was when I started working out. I often picked on my friend and fun wrestled him as he had no chance against me (I was 6 feet tall- almost 6 inches shorter than him but weighed 170lbs). It was so funny to see him trying to get out of a headscissor or a headlock by using all his strenght. He someday told me not to humiliate him any longer because he’d feel extremely sad and weak... So when he turned 17 he started hitting the gym too. His first half year transformation was insane! He put on 33lbs! From 165 to 198 lbs. His arms swell like nothing I had ever seen, he probably had 13inch arms but now they were at 15.75! (Mine were 17in at this time.) His legs started to show some muscles and his pecs were already as big as mine. He started to show some abs too. So today, 3.5 years later he’s 20 and took going to the gym quite serious - primarily because he wanted to become a better Football player. We ALWAYS went to the gym together but he gained much faster than I did. He pretty soon was able to deadlift 440lbs several times and benchpress 330lbs once. His legs are at 30inches and his chest at 47inches circumference. His arms don’t look like arms anymore- they passed the 19 inch mark as mine rested only at 18. His abs were fucking ripped and his bulging obliques formed an awesome V-line. He weighed 245lbs and had bulging abs. Just imagine that. People were afraid of him, for example when we went out partying and someone was in his way, they immediately apologised. Also tons of girls felt up his arms and pecs as he bounced them well visible under his tshirt in the middle of the dance floor. One day we were at our flat in the city and had some friends over. We were all quite drunk and made fun of each other. I somehow said something stupid about him. He stood up and “fun wrestled” me. But what was fun for him was hell for me. He grabbed my arms, wrapped them around me, threw me onto the couch, sat down on me, wrapped only one of his huge hands around my throat and said:,, Never disrespect me again in front of everyone else” I was shocked. He was fucking strong. Not even I could have finished him that fast three years ago. He could have killed me in less than 15 seconds if he wanted to... As everyone left he came to me. I thought he’d say sorry or something but instead he just said:,, Now I’m the stronger one of us -,,SHRIMP“! The FAR stronger one! It’s my time to humiliate you now!” I was shook. At that point I was really afraid of him, towering in front of me with his huge muscles. I just said ok, and took some steps away from him, turned around and started going to my room. When he just silently said:,,Now is the time to humiliate YOU...” I turned around and saw how he took off his shirt, uncovering his huuuge pecs and ripped abs. I could almost see the blood rushing through the veins on his chest and arms. I was really afraid at this moment. He threw his shirt to me. “Smell it!” “No, why should i?”, I said “Because I am the alpha now! Sooner or later you’ll smell on it!” He ran to me, grabbed my neck from behind and rubbed his shirt into my face. “But why just smell my shirt, if you could smell... ME!” He turned me around and flexed his arm. “Kiss this biceps.” I just looked at him. “KISS IT!” He pushed my head against his peak and flexed it intermittently. He dragged my head from his biceps over his armpit to his pecs and gave me a bearhug. “Stop! You’re hurting me!” I screamed. He just laughed:,, Hahaha! So what?! That’s not even 50% of my strenght!” He tightened the bearhug even more and bounced his meaty, massive, naked pecs into my face. I got really hard and just hoped that he didn’t notice. My trousers were quite loose and that’s when he noticed. “What have we got here? Lil’ omega boy is aroused by some real steel muscles overpowering him?”, he said as he let go of the bearhug. He dropped me onto the couch. He had me in a headlock immediately. He wrapped his huge biceps around my... my.... mouth?! He really was playing with me... as I wanted to bite his biceps he flexed it, laughed and said: ,,Watch out for your teeth, weakling!” He wrapped his arms around my neck now- totally cutting off my air supply. The only thing that didn’t make me pass out was the fact that he flexed and bounced his 19 inch bicepspeak intermittently. But as he stopped I had to tap. He totally let go of me. I was stunned. It could have been that easy?! His arms were almost half way back at him as he wrapped them around y neck again, layed on my back and said:,, Only weaklings tap...” and he made me pass out. I woke up again. All I saw were his massive calves because he put me in a headscissor while I was knocked out. First thing I noticed were all those veins running down his super hairless tree trunk legs. Wait. What was that? He only took off his shirt before?! And he wore a long blue Jean just before he sent me to sleep... Does that mean that he’s... naked...? ,,Ah, so you’re back, twink! Now you get to feel how it is to be totally humiliated.After tensing his massive quads a few times he somehow turned me around so that now my neck was just a bit above his knee I was facing towards his... cock. I could see his massive, vascular 30inch tree trunk legs. But what impressed me at least as much as his muscles was that cock. It was limp, but really thick and already quite long. It was waaay bigger than mine... actually I‘ve never seen such a massive prick, not even in porn He shove it up my throat and I felt it growing in my mouth.... It filled out the whole space in my mouth as it grew bigger and bigger. It was crazy how big it actually was. Because of his massive tree tunk legs and his overall massive frame his dick was much bigger than it seemed. It already almost filled out my mouth as it was limp. But as it got hard I felt it growing down my throat. Inch by inch. I tried to bend my head backwards but his huge quads were in my way. I gagged and nearly suffocated again because I didn’t know what cut off my airway more, his leg muscles which he flexed all the time or his giant cock... As he got fully erected he started talking to me:,, So, lil weakling! U remember when u were the stronger one of us? Those times are over now and will never come back again! I am the alpha now! No, I’m more than alpha... I’m a god!” He grabbed my hair and moved my head, so that I was giving him a blowjob right now. ,,Well twink, just accept it, I am way stronger than you are.” He started moving his hips. ,,I could easily break you into pieces, just look at my arms, man! They are way bigger than yours! Hmm, if I am a muscle god, u should also treat me like one!” He took my left hand and laid it onto his pec. He started bouncing it. After a while he slid my hand over his rock hard abs. Up and down, up and down with his cock still deep down in my throat. I could feel all his masculinity rush through his cock and his pulse beating in those massive muscles. He then loosened the legscissors and slowly moved my head back from his cock. It looked like it never wanted to end. He pulled out and pulled out, i was really amazed that all that fit inside my mouth. It must have been at least 9inches long... I was totally out of breath as he got up to kneel in front of me on the couch. It was so impressive... he started flexing all his muscles. He did a double biceps pose, flexed his rocky abs, bounced his pecs, tensed his traps. Totally naked. ,,Don’t you get it?!”, he shouted at me as he again reached out for my neck and pulled my face to his chest. He rubbed my face all over those gorgeous pecs and abs. ,,You are my little bitch by now! You are supposed to do everything I command you! I mean, you could try to resist but in the end there’s nothing you could do against me...!”, he said. ,,You should clean up my muscles. Too bad I didn’t sweat by wrestling with u... guess I’d have to work out with you now to get started.” He commanded me to get naked too. He then told me to get on his shoulders to do some pullups. My cock was rock hard all the time and pressing against his lower back. As he went down to do some pushups he told me to get on his back. I did so. He started pushing. It still seemed very easy for him. And then I noticed something. I was in the perfect position to get him in a headlock. Should I really dare to do this? It the only way I could show him that I’m not that weak as he says. I slowly moved my arm under his throat, pulled it back to me And locked it with my other arm. I had him. I had this muscle monster in a real headlock- HIS throat against MY biceps. But what was that? Quite unimpressed he just stood up and started running backwards into the wall. He really bumped me in quite hard but I still had him. I could feel him loose his breath and he started to panic a bit. Now he took together all his left over strength and bowed over, throwing me over his head with my back hitting the floor. Fuck. I probably gonna be dead now. He stood up from his kneeling position and what I saw was frightening. His legs and arms as well as his lower abs and chest were totally covered in veins. They were bulging on his totally pumped muscles. He was breathing very hard and heavy. ,,You really shouldn’t have done that! You know what I gotta do now!!!”, he said really angry. He ran over to me, just like a fucking tank, his pecs were jumping with every step. His massive limp dick was bouncing too. He punched me in my stomach making me go to the ground. Then he wrapped his 19inch arms around my neck, adjusted them a bit an flexed them. I was really afraid that he was going to kill me now... I tapped but passed out again... I came back... I wasn’t dead?! I opened my eyes and saw him towering over me. His massive 30inch legs, his huge cock, those swelling ripped abs, his crazy arms and everything was still covered in those thick veins. He truly looked like an animal. ,,I don’t know why you don’t get it weakling! I am the alpha now, I’m almost twice your size, you stand no chance against me!!”, he said. He wrapped both his big muscular long fingers around my neck and lifted me up with his bare hands- choking me at the same time. I was some inches above the ground, just so that my eyes were on the same level as his. He stared into my eyes like a wild beast right before breaking the neck of it’s prey. In a matter of no time he dropped me and held me in a bearhug. I could feel his massive chest and ripped abs on my limp and weakened body... My cock grew rock hard and pressed against his upper quad. ,,U like that?!”, he said as he squeezed me harder. I wanted to say something but I just wasn’t able anymore. I had no air, no strength and was totally done... ,,Awww, lil boy is so exhausted he can’t speak no more... HAHAHAH WHAT A WEAKLING!”, he screamed and tightened the bearhug even more. I felt his monster cock grow bigger and bigger too-pressing against my (much less ripped) abs. He made me pass out again... I wasn’t even aware that a bearhug could make you pass out... As I regained my consciousness I found myself still in his arms. ,,It’s so easy to overpower you. Guess how easy it would be to kill you! But then I’d have nobody to worship my muscles. Well except all those girls...”, he said. He dropped me on the floor and I was amazed by what I saw... A ripped monster with huge bulging muscles all covered in veins - jerking a huge cock... ,,I sweat just a little, twink. But enough for you to clean me up.” He hit a double biceps pose and made me stand up. I didn’t have enough energy to ask or even just say something anymore. I got his point. He was so submissive... I should have done all this three years ago with him... Back when I was able to do that... ,,LICK THEM!”, he said flexing his biceps. I did so. And I loved it. The salty taste of his testosterone loaded sweat. The form of his arms with all those veins... I cleaned his hole body. From his armpit to his massive chest. He bounced it so his pecs would jump a few inches what made it hard to keep my tongue on his skin. I caught a lot of “underboob sweat”. He grabbed my head and lead it around while I licked his washboard abs. I knew that it’s not gonna be enough for him... he pressed me downwards even more. Now my mouth was at those big balls. They smelled really manly. He didn’t even have to command me. I sucked up all his sweat and started swallowing his massive prick. I wanted to give him the best blowjob he ever received... I felt up his muscles with my hands. As I run my fingers down his abs with one hand and worshipped the inside of his huge thighs he came. ,,Mhhhhh... Now you know your place. I don’t allow you to spit it out! Eat it- it’s extra protein for you!” I really loved his taste. I chewed on it and I hope that his testosterone loaded load will give me a boost in strength... I’ll probably suck him off more often, perhaps I’m gonna become as big as him some day....

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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?

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!

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.

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!”

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.

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 38 he could have won any amateur bodybuilding contest that he set out to enter. He’d always been one big motherfucker. “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)