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  1. EcchiMultiverse

    superhero Marvelous Man - Chapter 28

    (Apologies. Computer is broken, and my chromebook only works. But it doesn't factor in formatting for some reason. Please go to this link for a better format: Chapter 28: Defined Within Darkness Outside of the sealed ghetto, the grand ballroom conjured by Puzzles began to dissipate. The last invading ghoul stood dazed, as a gold-plated fist crashed into its face. The ghoul exploded into dust upon impact; its damage threshold much lower than Sugar Skull’s. The golden fist then placed itself on the owner’s hip, the cybernetic eight-armed hero, Octomentist. The prosthetic hero stated, “That’s the last of ‘em. So what now?” Director Doug fixed his blue tie, as he approached Octomentist. Pattering behind him with little footsteps was his smoke imp, Puzzles. “We will resume on standby until the team we have sent in have vanquished the Skeleton Lord,” replied the Director. Octomentist frowned, “And how do you suppose they’ll do that? I fought the guy with two of your men that are inside the dome right now. We threw everything at him, and he just kept regenerating back like it was nothing.” Puzzles spoke up with his artificial Russian accent. “That would involve separating the imp inside of the Skeleton Lord. It is heavily assumed that our target is housing a corrupted imp inside of him that is providing such wild power. We kick the imp out of the host, the imp dies. After that, the Skeleton Lord can’t do anything,” he debriefed. Octomentist inquired, “And they’ll be able to do that cause…?” “A spell we entrusted to Marvelous Man. We’re aware that he lacks the proper experience to cast the spell itself, so we gave it to him in the form of a paper talisman. And with our employee, Gemini, giving him the basics of channeling mana, all he has to do is slap it onto the Skeleton Lord and activate it,” answered the smoke imp. The Director spoke up, “And let’s hope he’ll be able to do just that. The containment dome is reaching its limit.” Octomentist pursed her lips together as if in thought. “Yeah, that’s something else I’ve been wondering. You guys have your own Mana Stone, right? Why aren’t you using that to keep the shield stable with all those undead banging against it?” she said. Puzzles adjusted his glasses, “That is a big no. The Mana Stone we have in possession helps power the seals that keep the other terribles from invading our dimension and cage them too.” Director Skye added his perspective to his familiar’s statement. “Plus, it really helps cut down on our utility bills,” he commented. Octomentist sighed, “Wow, okay. I know you guys get the lowest amount of government funding, but I didn’t think it was so bad that you had to use a legendary artifact just to keep the lights on...At least we have the Nemesis Branch to fall back on if the shit really hits the fan.” The sound of a thick structure cracking boomed behind the group. As they turned around, they spotted the dome fractured like an eggshell that sprang from the top. The magical and scientific force field then shattered; revealing a sillouette peeking out of it. The sillouette stood up straight and revealed itself to be a giant skeleton. The skeleton had a human anatomy, and its sized rivaled a skyscrapers. In its skeletal abdomen beneath the ribs sat a large sphere that filled and rested on its pelvis. The sphere was a black ball of swirling darkness; giving off an ominous impression that it was waiting to give birth to something evil. The giant monster’s skull stared up into the sky before it unleashed a horrid scream. The skeletal giant continued to scream for five seconds, while everybody in the vicinity covered their ears. Once it finished, its jaw immediately clamped. The humongous skeleton then snapped its skull towards the city and proceeded forward. The sides of the force field dome shattered upon contact with monster. “It appears it already has and sprayed right into our mouths,” remarked the master witch. He shouted, “ALL NON-COMBATANTS RETREAT! EVERYBODY ELSE PREPARE FOR ENGAGEMENT!!!” The tent behind the group fluttered, as Gemini ran out of the entrance. Staring up at the giant skeleton, his jaw dropped open. The Soulem then took a step back and clutched his hands over his chest. “Justice,” he murmured, “Please be safe.” >>>>>>>> Marvelous Man floated within the darkness he was forcibly pulled into by a giant skeleton arm. The moment he had arrived, he was immediately assaulted by a rain of skeletal fists for over a minute. He held up his muscular arms in an effort to mitigate some of the damage. His vision blurred, as the hulking bodybuilder tumbled through the black miasma but was able to see a few details. He was surrounded by Digz’s whisping essence that was so dense that not even light from the outside could break through it. The space around him seemed to be infinite, as he was flung around but never seemed to reach the end of this dark territory. The musclebound superhero then came to realize that he seemed to be trapped in a sort of pocket dimension made from the condensed essence. There was a spot of bright light within the void, but the muscle demigod had no time to focus with the oncoming bone attacks. “Alden!” said a voice. The barrage of skeleton punches came to a slow for a few seconds before stopping. Marvelous Man then steadied himself with his flight power and looked up. He focused his sight on the glowing spot the musclebound superhero saw earlier. The glow shined with an intensity much similar to Marvelous Man’s supercharges; most likely the supercharged corpse of the Skeleton Lord. The muscle demigod flew closer to the glow and spotted a small silhouette hovering next to it. With nobody else sucked into the essence-filled world, Marvelous Man concluded it could only be Digz. He could hear the incomplete familiar sob. The corrupted imp spoke, “Please...come back to me...I need you…” Marvelous Man immediately realized the opportune chance he had been given. Digz had switched attention from pummeling the muscle demigod to grieving over its master. Now was the perfect time to activate the spell he had been practicing to end the battle once and for all. The spell he received from the Bruja after telling his life story as trade. He channeled mana into his right hand, as Marvelous Man began to enact the next steps needed to properly cast the spell. Extending his right index and middle finger, the muscle demigod rotated his wrist to trace a circle in the air. The mana then followed the motion and created a magic circle that glowed a purple hue. The inside of the circle was completely blank, Marvelous Man proceeded with the next part of the instruction. Marvelous Man remembered back when Gemini instructed him on casting the spell that he needed to get every part of the circle and its layers one-hundred percent correct. If there were any slight inaccuracies upon activation, the least that would happen was nothing. The worst would be a possibly lethal explosion. The hulking bodybuilder made sure to burn the formula into his memory by pretending it was similar to creating an intricate calligraphy; rather than mathematical like Gemini implored to see it as. The musclebound superhero thought with great intensity of the symbols, runic and otherwise, needed to fill the circle’s interior and which specific area they were meant to be placed as well as any additional circles. The magic purple circle seemed to detect Marvelous Man’s focus and materialized the symbols and additional circles that was seen in his head. The spell then flashed to blue; notifying that it was ready to be activated by his mana. Spell at the ready, he slowly crept closer in the black space. The sounds of weeping grew louder, while Marvelous Man held his breath without thinking. The passing seconds were stretched into hours by his tension and fear, but he continued to concentrate maintaining the magical circle he conjured. All that mattered to Marvelous Man was following Gemini’s instruction of touching a physical part of Digz to complete the incantation’s requirements. He then arrived behind the grieving Digz; silently floating unnoticed. The hulking bodybuilder briefly peered over the incomplete familiar’s shoulder and saw it trying to do channel its black essence into the deceased body. The supercharge light that enveloped Alden’s body shone with such intensity that the whisping blackness fizzled into nothingness upon contact. The musclebound superhero was unsure if this was some sort of resuscitation or merging, but there was no time to dwell on it. He needed to act now and end Digz’s miserable existence. Marvelous Man gently reached out with his left hand. Drifting his meaty hand downward, he aimed his appendage at Digz’s feathery left arm. The hulking bodybuilder relaxed his massive body and drew a shallow breath through his nose; preparing his attack. At the same time, he began to channel his mana into his larynx for the oral part of the incantation. Marvelous Man felt his bulky physique primed and launched his plan. Whipping his left arm forward, he grasped the corrupted imp’s feathery arm and simultaneously fed his mana into the spell. The muscle demigod immediately began the incantation. “Iggzel Ponsfortuna! Through the sea of reality, gather the shattered soul. Place back what once belonged and seal into a whole. I beseach the power within the one I mend to reach for salvation. DIVINE SOUL RESTORATION!!!” he chanted. The complex magical circle began to shine; reacting to the incantation and feeding on Marvelous Man’s mana. The black miasma stirred, as a bright light materialized in the form of a star from the center of the magic circle. Marvelous Man then noticed the whisping darkness drifting toward the light in the form of tendrils. This even affected the dark essence leaking from out of Digz’s corrupted body. It was almost as if the magical light was acting as some sort of vacuum; dragging the parts it identified as Digz into a vortex the essence could not escape from. The spell was working! A white pole made of bone shot out from the dark mass and sailed over the incomplete imp. The projectile immediately struck Marvelous Man’s forehead before splintering into bone debris, disintegrating into essence, and then sucked into the magical circle’s light. During the bone’s reabsorption, the muscle demigod’s vision blurred. He nearly lost his focus with maintaining the flow of his mana into the magic circle, but his grip on Digz remained strong. No matter what the incomplete imp threw at him, the musclebound superhero had to hold onto the feathery arm to complete the spell. “Let me go!” exclaimed Digz, “ Let me go right now!” A torrent a bone poles rained down on Marvelous Man from above. His hulking body became racked with immeasurable pain with every projectile exploding into pieces upon impact. But he continued to hold on with every ounce of his will; clenching onto Digz’s arm and keeping the spell alive. The magical circle continued to suck in the miasma despite the ongoing attacks. Marvelous Man knew that at the rate the spell was going, it could take hours before it had absorbed the black world and gathered the missing pieces of the incomplete imp’s soul. The muscle demigod would have to give off as much mana as he possibly could in order to increase the vacuumous power. The hulking bodybuilder gritted his teeth, as he increased the flow of his mana. The bright star residing in the center of the magical circle grew brighter, as the many tendrils began to combine into one swirling whirlpool being drained into the star. It looked like the color-inverted image of a black hole. Marvelous Man then began to feel slightly winded with a growing numbness in his fingertips and toes; the same pins and needles sensation he had experienced from the Skeleton Lord’s mana drain. With the corrupted familiar’s onslaught and the enormous amount of mana the hulking bodybuilder gave off, the toll of these factors had already started to take. His stamina dwindled, but he needed to persevere. Digz shouted, “Let go!” A giant column of bone the size of delivery truck shot up beneath Marvelous Man. The column impacted against the musclebound superhero with the force of a bullet train. With no time to be aware of the oncoming attack, the muscle demigod lost his grip while being forcibly ascended. The black miasma high above him stirred, as another bone column of similar size ejected out of it. The descending column fell with the same intense speed as its rising counterpart that had the hulking bodybuilder splayed on top of it. Spotting the incoming object above himself, Marvelous Man activated his flight power. His massive body slid across the surface of his pushing oppressor. As the upper half of the hulking bodybuilder’s anatomy drifted over the edge, the two bone columns immediately collided with one another at the same time. Within the moment of impact, a thunderous boom reverberated in the miasma pocket dimension. The muscle demigod noticed his body lurching to a halt before continuing forward, as the two columns shattered into smaller pieces. Marvelous Man flew a small distance before stopping. He then looked down at his legs to inspect what ceased his movement for a moment. The musclebound superhero noticed his black boots covered in a layer of white powder with bits of bone debris embedded into the surface. Marvelous Man attempted to wiggle his toes, but he could not feel any sensation whatsoever. The hulking bodybuilder then noticed his right shoulder had a searing pain. Pressing on it with his left hand, he felt the pain explode and a space to where his shoulder joint should have been connected to. Marvelous Man yelped from the pain. There was no time to do a proper diagnosis, but he assessed two things: a dislocated shoulder from the first bone column that interrupted his spell, and fractured toes that most likely had been caught in the collision. Digz had put so much power into the attacks, that it was reaching Gilgamesh’s bone-crushing strength. It seemed to Marvelous Man that the corrupted imp no longer cared about conserving its energy to continue its dying existence. “Stay down and become my battery again! Or I will pummel you until you are completely broken!” shouted Digz, “I don’t know what this is but don’t think I’ll let you use it!” Marvelous Man stared down at the incomplete familiar. The muscle demigod felt confused by the last part he had just heard until he saw it. In front of Digz was the glowing star created from his spell. Though it shined brightly, it seemed to become dimmer with each passing second. Digz attempted to touch it with his feathery left arm, but the star reacted by sizzling the limb. The corrupted imp drew back his arm and hissed at it. Marvelous Man’s eyebrows furrowed. If he could just get back to the star and reactivate the spell while holding onto Digz, it would all work out. The musclebound superhero needed to do this, because of the numbness in his limbs. The numb feelings in his feet and hands had spread up to his elbows and knees; making it clear he only had enough mana to complete the spell he had set in motion. Marvelous Man was not sure if he had the mana to start up the soul restoration spell from the beginning again if the star died before he ever got to it. That star was his last hope of making everything right, and the muscle demigod had only one shot to do it. Using his flight power, he moved onward towards the star. His vision narrowed at the shining objective, and Marvelous Man wished he could have had super speed at this moment. Digz muttered, “So be it, cursed wretch.” Deep in the black void underneath the corrupted familiar, fragments of white bone materialized. The bone shards drifted upward like a stream of leaves carried by the wind. As the white fragments reached Digz, they began to collect above him. The collected shards formed into a cone-shaped roof before they continued downwards at a curved angle. The assembled fragments then took on the shape of an egg, as it encased Alden’s glowing corpse and the incomplete familiar. Once the shell had reached underneath the two, the last of the white shards sealed the bottom of the egg. The egg cracked; echoing like any normal egg that had been rapped against an edged surface. But the cracks on the egg were not random. It seemed as if the cracks moved with purpose; outlining multiple rectangles squeezed together. The patterns and shapes seemed to resemble feathery wings but with a sharper, angled outline. The egg then shuttered for a moment before its shell shifted. The egg shell unraveled itself and revealed underneath the glowing carcass of Alden. The Skeleton Lord’s body appeared to wrapped with his own red cloak from underneath his boney chest down to his feet. His arms were propped up crossed over his chest with elbows tucked underneath the swaddling cloak. It was as if he were posed for a dignified burial, and the casket he laid in was the monster itself. The casket was made from the same white bone material that had formed the egg, and the unraveled parts of the egg that had looked like wings to Marvelous Man were actually wings. The outer casket had three pairs of sharp angel-like wings that extended in every direction. As for the inner casket, it had a two pairs of wings that appeared softer, feather-like, and a smaller size comparable to a swan’s wingspan. Both pairs were layered criss-cross over the other that covered over parts of the glowing, deceased Alden. One pair of the feathery wings covered Alden’s face with only the mouth revealed, while the other covered his feet. In Marvelous Man’s perspective, the creature resembled a creature from the mythological video game he played back in Sunnysville. It had similar features of a type of angel known as a Seraphim. The Seraphim flapped all six of its sharp, outer wings; causing a flurry of its white, angular feathers to eject. The flat feathers flew towards Marvelous Man and began to expand into cylindrical columns the size of rocket missiles. Noticing the transformation, the hulking bodybuilder performed a barrel roll. His massive body moved in corkscrew motion into the storm of columns, while he rotated clockwise. The first row of bone columns flew by the musclebound superhero; nearly grazing him from only a fingertip away. He was not as lucky upon flying midway through the onslaught. The next row managed to hit Marvelous Man. The muscle demigod experienced blunt force trauma firstly on his left pectoral. The impact left a large, blue bruise on his pecmeat and halted his corkscrew maneuver. He was then instantly assaulted simultaneously in three other places: his right knee, the center abdomen, and the right side of his ribcage. His colossal body flung backwards from the tri collision, as the hulking bodybuilder felt cracks vibrate in his body. Marvelous Man coughed up bile before using his flight powers to steady himself and dive beneath the onslaught. He managed to slow down to a stop and float in the upright position, but his mountainous body stood in a crouched manner that strained to resist huddling into a fetal position. The muscle demigod could feel his nerves trying to scream pain into his brain; despite the adrenaline trying to smother it. With the rest of the storm of bone columns sailing over him, the musclebound superhero had a few seconds to register the damage he took. His right leg had a harder time moving, which meant the knee had become dislocated when disregarding the mana-drained numbness. Most likely, a dark bruise had begun appearing on his abs; just like on his left pec. And he had now began drawing painful breathes, so that meant a couple of his ribs on the right side have been fractured...But his left arm still worked. Marvelous Man pushed forward towards the glowing star; aware that he was already halfway there. It did not matter how damaged his bulky body had become, as long as his left hand was intact. He just needed that one hand to hold onto Digz...wherever that corrupted imp was. The musclebound superhero was aware that he needed to grasp Digz’s real body for the spell to work, but he hoped just grabbing part of the Seraphim would be enough. The pillars that had completely missed Marvelous Man immediately shattered into white shards upon Marvelous Man pursuing the star again. The bone shards collected themselves together and snapped into place like a puzzle to reform into a new shape. The bone pieces shaped themselves into a set of creatures that resembled another type of angel, from Marvelous Man’s video game, known as the Putti. The celestial critters consisted of only two things: a head and a pair of angel wings. The feathery wings were smaller compared to the Seraphim’s inner set and seemed comparable to a crow’s wingspan. The white wings were attached to the sides of the head and flapped vigorously. The head itself was a white crow skull with the size of an adult human head and held an abnormal feature on top. The top of its head had a set of three antlers lined up in a row. The antlers were flat and smooth like Saturn’s ring. Its left and right antlers curved in a circular angle, while the center extended straightward. All three antlers managed to interconnect at a certain length that made the antlers look like a sort of angel halo was lodged in the putti’s forehead. The murder of puttis flew towards Marvelous Man and caught up with the musclebound superhero in seconds. They began to peck at him with ferocity while spouting many things at the hulking bodybuilder. Marvelous Man held up his left arm to shield his eyes. “Murderer!” one cawed. Another crowed, “We were just fine! Only us two! You took him away from me!” “DIE. DIE. DIE!!!” screamed a third. A fourth exclaimed, “I’m so alone! Give him back! I want things back the way they were!” “You can’t do anything right,” hissed another, “Your healing killed the only other person we ever loved. Give up!” The puttis continued to harass Marvelous Man, while he flew closer to the star. The pecks never pierced the muscle demigod’s skin, but their words stabbed his heart. He tried to ignore what the puttis said, but some of it felt true to him. As he approached the point of only a quarter distance left before reaching the star, the Seraphim flapped its wings again. The feathers that fluttered from out of the sharp wings floated in the miasma-contaminated air for a second before they exploded into white shards. The bone debris immediately collected itself together and reformatted into a new shape. The end result appeared to be the shape of a wagon wheel. The white wheel had spokes that took on the guise of long avian legs. At the center of the wheel where the spokes met and linked together, all the bird-like legs had avian feet with sharp talons that clenched onto one another. It were as if the legs were holding onto each other for their lives. On the outside of the wheel, there were eyes carved onto every available space of that white rim. Every eye was similar but slightly different due to every eye after it appeared to have its eyelid creep to a closed blink before eventually opening up again. Each of the eyes were incredibly detailed to the point of them appearing to be alive despite the lack of color. The wheel began to rotate on its own; quickly accelerating to a ferocious spin. The eyes seemed to actually come to life through the rotation. It was like a filmstrip moving fast enough for a picture to be perceived as moving. No matter from which section of the wheel one stared at, the eye would be seen as coming to life by blinking and staring back at the observer. The wheel then sped off towards Marvelous Man. The musclebound superhero was unable to see the oncoming enemy, as he was still being harrassed by the puttis. Reaching Marvelous Man in seconds, the white wheel zipped underneath the hulking bodybuilder before its trajectory led into a collision with him. The multi-eyed wheel then shot directly up and tackled itself into Marvelous Man’s bruised stomach. Marvelous Man’s massive body lurched into a halt, as he was hoisted on top of a spinning wheel. The air escaped from Marvelous Man, and pain from the attack on his bruise shocked his brain into momentary paralysis. The bone wheel did not falter in movement during its attack; its rotation continuing at the same furious speed before impact. The pain of the intense grinding felt like sandpaper scratched against his skin by the most powerful sander power tool in the world. It grinded into the muscle demigod for a few seconds before it began movement again. The wheel moved backwards; going up Marvelous Man’s meaty torso and over his face. Without anymore body parts to roll over, the white wheel flew away. Marvelous Man clutched his sides; nearly huddling into a ball over his reddened, abraised abdomen. The spinning wheel then changed its direction and looped itself back toward the muscle demigod. Hearing a whirring noise, Marvelous Man looked up in time to see the wheel coming right at him. The musclebound superhero quickly raised his left arm to block the incoming attack at just the right moment. The bone wheel collided into Marvelous Man’s golden bracelet; sparks flying from the wheel’s savage grinding against the unyielding jewelry. With his super strength strong enough to keep the monster temporarily at bay, Marvelous Man stared at his enemy. He could see the eyes carved onto the wheel’s outer rim blinking and gazing right back at him. His eyebrows furrowed at the white wheel. The monster had features similar to another type of angel he had seen in his mythological video game, a Throne. Thankfully, this celestial creature did not carry the expected characteristic of his usually has, which is being on fire. Marvelous Man was aware that his body was not in a healthy enough condition to engage in any sort of combat with the Throne nor the puttis. Only his left arm was of fighting-capable status, but it was set to only defend. Trying to use his golden laurel to fight would leave the musclebound superhero open long enough for any attack from his multiple enemies. As he continued staring at the Throne, he noticed the angel’s rotation. Acting quickly, the muscle demigod leaned forward. Marvelous Man positioned his beefy body to lie flat in the air, while he took in a deep breath to ready for what he was about to do next. In one single motion, the musclebound superhero bent his head down, lowered his blocking left arm, and used his flying power to push forward. Now nothing held back the angelic wheel. The white Throne immediately trampled over the hulking bodybuilder, but the damage done to Marvelous Man was minimal. At the same time the Throne used the muscle demigod as an improvised roadway, Marvelous Man moved underneath the bone wheel. The musclebound superhero rode with the Throne’s rapid downward rotation to passively bypass the wheel and launch himself towards the dimming star faster than he could usually fly. The distance between the muscle demigod and the star drastically warped; no longer feeling like a crawl but more of a leap towards his illuminated objective. Marvelous Man held out his left hand openly in a readying attempt to grasp part of the Seraphim. Once he landed next to the star, the musclebound superhero would have to hold on with all his might. He then charged his voice box with mana and began to recite the spell’s incantation to activate the magic upon physical contact with the Seraphim. And even though his right shoulder was dislocated, his could still move his fingers. The muscle demigod gestured the magic circle and focused on the symbols for the spell. He was not sure if he had to do those parts again, but it was better to be safe than sorry. The feathers of the Seraphim’s outer wings wiggled for a moment before it stretched out and curved towards Marvelous Man at wicked speeds. At the ends of the extending feathers, its flat, sharp edges began to bulge and morph into the shape of a clenched fist. The musclebound superhero’s focus narrowed only on the dimming star; incapable of seeing the Seraphim’s attack. Marvelous Man chanted, “Iggzel Ponsfortuna! Through the sea of reali-AUCK-!!!” One of the fists from the stretched feathers punched Marvelous Man’s throat; ceasing the incantation. The magical circle hovering above his right hand instantly disappeared, as his concentration was destroyed. Hundreds more fist-shaped feathers launched at the muscle demigod like streams of missiles. No matter which direction a couple of fists sent him flying, another flurry would follow the musclebound superhero with incredible speed and barrage him into another direction. After each feather made its punch, it would retreat back into the sharp wings before launching again. Marvelous Man tried to defend with his working left hand, but it would be easily parried away by the onslaught of punches. Even if he managed to, he simply could not block every fist that assaulted every part his humongous body. As the hulking bodybuilder was flung back to near out of range from the Seraphim’s attack, the Throne appeared from behind Marvelous Man and momentarily grinded its wheel into his back. Not giving the muscle demigod a chance to scream, the Throne then immediately pushed the muscle demigod back into the frey of fists waiting to barrage him. The feathers from the sharp outer wings launched their fist-shaped ends at Marvelous Man and began their torrent of violence at him again. Damaged, dizzy, and struggling to breathe, the hulking bodybuilder had no more strength in him to lift his meaty left arm or even curl up into a ball. The musclebound superhero was flung about like a ragdoll, while blood dripped from his mouth and nostrils. His enemies seemed to sense their victory over the muscle demigod, as the Throne did not bother to toss Marvelous Man back at the Seraphim once he was thrown out of range of the white fists. He drifted further away, and his vision and mind soon stabilized in seconds. Marvelous Man saw the star in front of the Seraphim flicker...and then fizzle...and finally die; dissolving back into Digz’s essence. That was it...nothing more he could do to save the corrupted imp. Not enough mana to create a new spell and push it towards completion. And from the feel of his throat, his windpipe had been bruised to a point that uttering a few words would become a struggle. Verbal incantation to activate the spell would be impossible. Taking it all into account, his personal mission had become a complete failure. Marvelous Man could feel a blackness growing in him; a pit that wanted to suck him in and his will to fight. The musclebound superhero tried to focus on the backup plan he hoped he would never have to do. He would have to kill Digz. Physical confrontation is no longer possible, since the muscle demigod allowed himself to be bashed into a bruised and broken matter from trying to heal Digz. Using the talisman the D.A.B. provided him would be useless to use at this moment. That left one of his two last options for neutralizing the incomplete imp. The hulking bodybuilder slowly lifted his heavy left arm, while his mind thought back to his first encounter with the Skeleton Lord. His twitching hand reached into his black jacket’s pocket and pulled out his golden harmonica, Duskbell. The muscle demigod’s illumination ability was bright enough to disperse the black essence, but it had a limited range. Marvelous Man remembered that limit when he had tried to illuminate the graveyard ground and failed, and it was unquestionable that this pocket dimension exceeded that range...Unless if he were to supercharge the light. When Marvelous Man supercharged the graveyard ground, the light it gave off had a greater intensity than his usual illumination to cause the whisping miasma and its solid forms to completely dissipate. The supercharge also had the perk of unlimited range. If he were to supercharge the blackness swirling in this pocket dimension, it would undoubtedly be destroyed. Digz needed that essence to remain in his barely physical form. If it was no longer available, the corrupted imp would have to merge back into Alden’s body in order to survive. But the Skeleton Lord’s corpse had become supercharged by Marvelous Man’s power which denied the Digz’s whisping blackness from entering. So there was now a higher chance the corrupted imp would not be able to go back into the dead body after ejecting out of it. With both crucial elements for survival disabled, the incomplete familiar would be like a flame suffocated by a candle snuffer. Marvelous Man’s trembling arm brought the golden harmonica up to his face and began to rightfully position the keyholes towards his mouth with his meaty fingers. Since his hand was completely completely numb from the amount of mana he had used, he had to be careful with his finger movements. One wrong manipulation of his thick digits would cause Duskbell to tumble out of his grasp and become lost in the world of darkness. Seconds had past in the silent blackness until he finally maneuvered his golden instrument into facing the correct direction. The muscle demigod brought Duskbell to his lips. A small white figure swooped in front of Marvelous Man’s eyes and collided into his hand. The golden harmonica was knocked out of his left hand and fell into the whisping essence beneath, while the white object moved unhindered at the quick impact. Flicking his eyesight from the lost Duskbell and up at his attacker, Marvelous Man noticed that the creature was Digz’s putti. “No! None of that!” it cawed. The putti’s ascent came to a stop, as it joined a murder of its kind. The puttis flew in a circle like vultures; staring down at their prey and waiting for the time to attack. Marvelous Man realized that was probably why they did not bother attacking when he was locked in combat with the Seraphim. The creatures were there to pick away at and disable whatever tricks the musclebound superhero had left. The black pit within the muscle demigod’s heart grew bigger. It swirled at the tips of his toes; inviting his soul to fall in. Marvelous Man tried to brainstorm on the other ways to activate a supercharge. His bruised windpipe was incapable of singing, and there was not a single artistic thing he could with his left that did not require materials that were not presently available. In the next couple of hours, his body would regenerate for a second wind of supercharging the black miasma...But what of the outer world then? There was no telling the destruction that was currently happening at this moment. The ghouls from Limbo could have broken out of the dome within the hours he spent recovering in this pocket dimension, and Digz might be rampaging on the outside at the same time inside against Marvelous Man. So then...what could he do? Marvelous Man realized he only had one other last option he was able to do in his state. He would have to activate his Soul Venom and unleash it on the incomplete familiar. There must have been some wound or culmination of smaller wounds Digz endured before it became the corrupted imp it currently is. The musclebound superhero could only hope that after killing Digz, he would pass out from exhaustion and hurt nobody else. He could never forgive himself if the Soul Venom, that would taint his soul, caused him to stay awake and rampage against the rest of the world. Letting all their past wounds consume them like he attempted with his parents...and nearly succeeded. Tears began to well up in his eyes at the futility of his situation. In his mind, he saw himself at the black pit again. He leaned forward and fell. The despair was so crushing; greater than the physical pain he currently and recently experienced. No matter what he did, the moment he refused to do what was expected of him and follow his own selfish pursuits, it always resulted in failure. He should’ve followed Director Doug and Puzzle’s plan of killing Digz and the Skeleton Lord rather than saving them. And the result of doing so caused Alden to die and Digz to follow soon after. It was inevitable no matter how much he tried to prevent such a sad end. Just what was the point of his power? It’s supposed to heal. But the moment it was truly needed, it killed the one Marvelous Man tried to save. Some hero he was. So powerful, but so incapable of doing anything. A Rank-D hero from the start that could only act as support. Every time he tried to do something on his own, it always resulted in failure...It would have been better if he listened to his parents and just stayed inside Sunnysville...But that’s just it, isn’t it? He will always make the wrong decisions and hurt those around him. His own existence is complete poison! His own enemies were right. It was better that things always stayed the same. If he did not live in this world, things would have gone better. Justice would have suffocated emotionally in Sunnysville, but he would have somewhat been happy. There has been nothing but pain since becoming Marvelous Man and leaving that town. “Now’s not the time to be lying down, hero! You still draw breath. Get up! Fulfill my dying request!” said a manly voice. The descent into the dark pit jerked to a halt, as Marvelous Man’s eyes flicked to the voice he heard. It was King Alden! He no longer appeared skin and bone with misery hanging on his face. He looked like the painting the hulking bodybuilder saw in Digz’s past. The king was decorated in all of his royal accessories, and his body had a slight plumpness with bright peach skin. The royal highness was literally glowing and seemed slightly transparent. The putti above them spoke up, “Alden?!” “It can’t be! You’re dead! We have your body!” said another. Alden became distracted by the voices and peered up. The muscle demigod croaked, “Wha-...How?” Alden looked down and smiled. “I know not the forces, whether it be you or a higher power. But I was pulled back here during my descent,” he replied. Marvelous Man was not sure, but he supposed it could have been the soul restoration spell. It was supposed to gather the pieces of soul bestowed to Digz that was lost eons ago. Since the the corrupted imp and Alden had been fused for so long, their souls might have become related to one another. But the muscle demigod was unsure of that hypothesis, because he is not a practitioner nor knowledgeable about magic. Were it not for the situation he was currently in, Marvelous Man would have freaked out from seeing an actual ghost. Alden roused, “Now, get up. You said you would heal Digz, and I have yet to see that.” Marvelous Man swallowed. The pain in his throat felt like it was burning, but he gathered the strength to utter words in his now raspy voice. “I can’t...Too broken...and I hurt all over,” he replied. The king sighed, “Why are you still pretending to be a star child? I know you are more than capable to put yourself back together from such simple flesh wounds. I’ve felt the power you hold!” The muscle demigod felt confused by such a statement. Did Alden think he was just lying around and not being powerful for the fun of it? “Even if I could...what good would it do? I’ll just...keep fucking it up...I’m a fatherfucking mess. I can’t do anything right. I couldn’t even...heal you,” he sobbed. The royal highness exclaimed, “But you did! And so much more! You helped me let go! I came to the realization that in letting Digz enable my sadness, I enabled his madness. Digz might have been the one to kill my family like you said, but...He is still precious to me! I don’t want him to be in pain!” “Do you remember what you said to me? You said you wanted to inspire me, and that is what you did! You are so much mightier than you think you are!” he continued. The musclebound superhero felt an emotion stir in him. It was the same one he felt when stop the Skeleton Lord before the confrontation with Gene Lightfoot. The emotion that felt like his true self contained within the dam of his heart. But it was very weak, and the agonizing doubt had towered over it and had already begun to devour it. Marvelous Man fretted, “But...even with the power that you said...I still had to get my friend’s help to defeat you. I couldn’t do anything big. I’m still too weak…” “Then learn from this and remember what you’ve experienced! Know what it truly means to be utterly helpless and refuse to remain that way! There is no shame in relying on your friends for help with the bigger things. But if you wish to move onward and be capable of fighting battles by yourself, then take the opportunities of this world and make it your own! It is foolish and naive to expect to become powerful without effort or have the world stoop to your level!” Alden raved. He continued rambling, “When I first pacted with Digz, he was only capable of moving corpses. And now look! He’s able to create creatures from his own imaginations! Though I must say, he’s always had an obsession with angels. I suppose it came from the time he spent with his original master.” “What?” said Marvelous Man. Alden lectured, “Just remember that you must accept the responsibilities of making the choice to become stronger and anything else you have done in your life. The changes you make will no doubt become hard and even unbearable at times. And even if it’s a change caused by the fates themselves, accept the consequences for what they are and make it your own! “The only time when you have truly errored in your ways is if you do not do anything and struggle to keep things the way they are! Good or bad, you are your own agent of chaos. And you have helped me realize that! Accept the reality of what you have done and learn from it!” he babbled with passion. Marvelous Man felt enraptured by the king’s words. Somehow, it was the words he had always needed to hear. Always remember the past but never try to stay complacent within it. Choose the path you know and feel is right but be ready to deal with the outcome. FIGHT THE STATUS QUO AND BECOME SOMETHING MARVELOUS!!! The dam in his heart that tried to contain his true emotion began to leak through the cracks once again. It was barely able to contain this geiser of a feeling. He felt like his heart and his body was about to burst. The word of this emotion was at the edge of his tongue, and it felt like it was from something even the royal highness had just said. “Look!” pointed Alden, “Look at your hand!” From the corner of his eye, the muscle demigod noticed a glow. Marvelous Man lifted his left hand up and gazed at it. The same glow from earlier that slightly whisped like his Soul Venom, but also contained some of the warm light from his supercharge, radiated from his hand. The trail of mysterious ray looked like an aurora and left behind a multitude of colors. It began to travel downward of his arm, but then Marvelous Man noticed something peculiar tied to his wrist. “Such a beautiful light,” added the king. The hulking bodybuilder brought his meaty wrist closer to his eyes for a better inspection. It was a glass string that neither felt tight or loose, but...just there. It was so transparent that it was nearly invisible, yet it had a shine that was noticeable to the muscle demigod. Marvelous Man curled his fingers towards it for a curious touch. Upon contact, that felt like grazing another person’s fingertips, a shard of what seemed to be glass materialized in his hands. He rasped, “Wh-what is this? Glass?” “Glass? I only see light, Marvelous Man! Embrace it!” cheered Alden. As much as Marvelous Man wanted to question the royal highness’ perspective, it felt more important to do as Alden said. He stared into the shard, and it responded by lighting up like the bright screen of a smartphone. The shard began playing a film, but it only seemed to last a second before the reality around Marvelous Man warped. The musclebound superhero felt as if he were being transported to the scene shown on the glass. Marvelous Man stood in the abandoned subway where the homeless community was slaughtered and served as the second encounter with the Skeleton Lord. The hulking bodybuilder just somehow knew this was when the ancient villain retreated from the battle. But instead of stationed in the center like last time, he was placed to the right of the passageway the Skeleton Lord exited into. He stared into the opening where the battle was fought and spotted himself floating beside his teammates at the time, Gene and Octomentist, and staring back at him. The past Marvelous Man shouted, “Wait! Why are you doing all this? What’s the point of doing all these terrible things?!” The current Marvelous Man looked towards his left and found the Skeleton Lord ebbed away into a veil of invisibility. For some reason, Marvelous Man could still see the supervillain. The musclebound superhero then noticed a glass string protruding from the red cloak and extending all the way down to his past self. Somehow, Marvelous Man knew that this was the moment a seed had been planted in the ancient evil. The seed, a passing thought, said, “What was the point of doing all this?” The muscle demigod then heard Digz within the Skeleton Lord whisper the answer, while the supervillain repeated it. “When one has the power of a god and their purpose has turned to ash, the only thing one can do is burn the world itself,” said the Skeleton Lord. The vision within the past had ended, and Marvelous Man was back floating in the miasma-infested pocket dimension. He released the glass shard from his hand; causing it to float up. Looking back at the glass string, he now noticed that it stretched and tethered to Alden’s spirit. The pressure of the geisere in his heart intensified. In Marvelous Man’s perspective, that was the first time he had affected a change within Alden. It might have been small, but it was the start that led the ancient king to give up his evil ways and cease living. Marvelous Man then noticed another glass string tied to his forearm, as the aurora continued traveling down his muscled arm. His eyes followed the string, but it seemed to have extended somewhere outside of this pocket dimension. Out of instinct, he accepted the new string with his heart instead of his eyes. This caused an echo of a voice to appear in his mind. Aphrodite echoed, "Yes, but I love you on a greater level than everybody else. A mother's love is powerful, and you will always be my baby." That was the moment Justice changed his mind about how he felt about his parents after learning the purpose of his birth. If his mother never said that back in Sunnysville, the hulking bodybuilder would probably have begun to really hate his parents. The feeling in his heart grew stronger; the geiser still pushing but needed to hear more. Looking up, he noticed a glass string tied to his pinkie. The muscle demigod allowed the string into his heart; excitement slowly building up in him for the surprise of either good or bad. “Feel better?” echoed Marvelous Man. Gene echoed back, “Very much so. Thank you.” That was the first time Marvelous Man awakened to infatuation. After the first fight with the Skeleton Lord, the musclebound superhero would join the D.A.B. for the sake of befriending Gene. He would then grow that infatuation into love for the Totochtin prince. Marvelous Man then noticed another glass string tied to his elbow, as the wavy light on his arm continued over his bulbous bicep. He accepted the string with his heart and listened for the voice. Gene echoed, “It would not be right to you nor me. Perhaps if we kept doing the dating it could turn out exactly how you wanted. But such a thing would only result in hurting us in the end. That is the time that is wasted for trying to grow something that cannot grow. I am sorry Marvelous Man, but I cannot force myself to be the something that I am not.” Marvelous Man could never forget that event. Gene had become realistic about their situation, and it caused the muscle demigod to realize his misunderstandings of what love is. It was painful and eye-opening, but he gained a friend in the end. Their bond with each other was so strong, that the rabbit demigod gave up the vendetta against the Skeleton Lord to avoid fighting Marvelous Man. The eagerness to hear more overwhelmed him more than the uncertainty of his situation. He wondered for a moment on the possibility of hearing more than just simply looking for the strings and closed his eyes. Relaxing his body, Marvelous Man focused his mind on the strings. He at first could feel the ones he had already saw attached to his left arm, but then sensation of the glass strings expanded. The muscle demigod felt glass strings tied to nearly every part of his body that seemed to entwine naturally onto him rather than a forced, uncomfortable bondage. He could practically picture the whole scenery in his mind. In a confused sense, it seem to Marvelous Man that his body served as the source and a receiver for something. The strings he saw in his head felt real, and he tried to embrace it as real...And that’s when a torrent of voices echoed in his mind like a shout in an empty chamber. It was the voices from his past; his friends, family, enemies, and even himself. He could hear each and every one, and they all exchanged conversation that was meant for him or others. Some were encouraging, others insightful, and there were also those that were hurtful. In Marvelous Man’s perspective, it was almost like hearing a song. And at the end of this emotional song, he heard the voice of the one he truly cared for summarizing what he heard. “My point is, your very existence makes all the difference and don’t you forget it. The positive things you provoke in people may be small compared to what you expected, but it all carries the same weight. Even if it’s as small as being their friend or even getting someone to try a new thing. And superhero or not, your existence inspires change in the people around you,” echoed Gemini. Marvelous Man’s heart exploded; the emotional geiser pouring out and flowing throughout his entire being. The aurora light immediately coursed over the rest of his massive body and then merged, as he came upon a realization. His entire anatomy was outlined in illumination that shared the same color as the aurora. Opening his eyes, tears streamed from them nonstop while gazing at the spectacle before himself. The musclebound superhero could see glass strings tied not just to himself and stretching outward, but also to Alden’s spirit and even the Seraphim! He could see the glass strings connecting towards all three beings in the pocket dimension and beyond the whisping essence like some sort of cosmic web. It was like gazing at a piece of abstract art that was infinite, beautiful, and maddening. His immense body began to radiate its own auroras that streamed upward and seemed to curl like the brushstrokes of the Starry Night painting by Vincent van Gogh. Marvelous Man’s physical wounds immediately responded to the illumination. Dislocated limbs were set back into to place, fractured bones sealed back up to their original state, and bruised skin became a smooth, healthy brown. The hulking bodybuilder felt every damaged piece moving around inside of him, but it was not painful. He briefly wondered if this was what Sugar Skull experienced when supercharged. It all made sense now. This feeling that he now experienced was his true self. The celestial element that was unique only to him. His mother, friends, and even Marvelous Man himself had been saying what he had been all along. The seed to love, art, and passion: Inspiration. Marvelous Man instantly understood that the glass strings he could see were also physical manifestations of inspiration, and it gave him a greater understanding of his celestial element. Inspiration is more than just changing or improving. It is the culmination of pain and bliss that act as fuel for the spark of new ideas and perspectives. But most of all, inspiration is the gift from existing. No matter how small or big the differences one made in the other’s life, they all carried equal value. Every life matters; regardless of one’s own perspective of self-worth or even someone else’s opinion about yourself. You are important to my existence. We are all connected, and that is the true art of life. The hulking bodybuilder situated upright, as Alden stared with marvel in his eyes. A smile broke out on the ancient king’s face. He exclaimed, “I knew it to be true! Tell me, what sort of god are you? Pray tell, what do you preside over?” Marvelous Man stared down at his hands; watching the colored, illuminated outlines radiate tiny auroras. Droplets of his never-ending tears pattered onto his wrists and palms, as he realized his throat had been healed and could answer the question. The musclebound superhero felt his voice both bellow like thunder and whisper like a calm river. “Inspiration,” he stated, “That is my celestial element.” Marvelous Man continued, “I finally understand what you mean, and what everybody else have been saying. The ideas and thoughts I am’s overwhelming both my mind and soul. So many infinite possibilities of good and evil that this element can cause. No matter where I look, I see beauty from this collage of chaos. And...I just want to do so much art to supercharge others! To fill them with inspiration to do something marvelous with their lives or even plant a seed in them to try something different!” The Inspiration God’s eyes went wide. “Oh my gosh, is that what I’ve been doing this entire time when I supercharge my friends?! I’m literally energizing them with my essence when I do something artsy or inspirational or whatever! I wonder if I can do it by just flexing my muscles? Can that affect me too and put me in this...super soul form or god form or whatever?” he rambled. One of the puttis crowed, “Impossible! Impossible, impossible, impossible!” “Stay broken! No more of that flashy stuff!” raved another. The king flicked his eyes above him and stared at the murder of puttis circling above the two. He then looked over to the Throne and Seraphim floating in anticipation before he turned back toward Marvelous Man and tried to speak gently. Alden interrupted, “Great deity, I know you’ve just had an incredible breakthrough, but I beseech you to please turn your attention to my imp. He needs your healing, please.” Marvelous Man looked up and turned to the spirit. His eyebrows then raised, as he remembered what he needed to do. The Inspiration God realized that without a goal or something to express himself with, he would be caught up in his many thoughts or spectate in wonder at the glass strings. The hulking bodybuilder switched his weeping gaze to the other bone angels and furrowed his brows. He then struck an exaggerated fighting pose. “Sorry! You’re right! I got lost in my thoughts,” said Marvelous Man, “Don’t worry, I’ll get it right this time! Any chance you could give me a boost?” Alden stroked his chin, “Let me see…I think I might still have some influence over his essence.” Waving his spirit arms in a wide, circular motion, the whisping blackness drifted over to his arms. The dark essence followed the motion of his arms and began to materialize into bone. As Alden finished his motion, the white bone had formed into a large, flat disk. “Here! Quickly make use of this! I fear you will have only one chance to make use of my assist, as I feel my being drifting back to where I am to be damned!” he exclaimed. Marvelous Man looked behind and noticed the disk. He then used his flight powers to perform a backflip and landed on top of the disk. The ancient king placed his palms on the back of the disk and aimed the Inspiration God at the white Seraphim. Alden thrusted, “Now, fly.”
  2. Links to other chapters: Links to chapters of "The Twenty": "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Precis, Introduction, Chapters 1 & 2 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 3, 4, 5 - White Cap Training / Hardcore Muscle / A Brief History of Casey Rockland "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 6 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 7, 8 - Hardcore Training, Part 1 / Tiffany's Talent "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapters 9, 10 - Good for Morale "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 11: Casey Meets the Muscle Squad "The Twenty" Chapter 12, Part 1: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 12: Part 2 Casey vs. Karim Abdul: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 13: After the Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 14: In Which Casey Discovers He Likes to Get Worshipped "The Twenty" - Chapter 15: Casey's First Interview with Sergeant Moster "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 16 - Hardcore Training Part 2: Casey’s First Herculaneum Workout, and What Happened After "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 17 - The Presentation "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 18 - The Musclemen Revealed: Inside Zaftig's Lab "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 19 - Further Encounters, Part 1 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 21 - Sam and Casey "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 22 - Field Trips for Worship, Part 1 "The Twenty" - Chapter 23 - Field Trips, Part 2 – Casey Rediscovers Muscle Worship, and Makes a New Friend Chapter 20 Pose and Approve: Further Encounters, Part 2 February 10th, 2022 2050 Hours Alvarez, already shirtless and oiling himself up, answered the knock on his door. Naturally, it was Lang. “Right on time. Come on in,” he said. Lang came in, babbling with his usual over-the-top excitement that preceded every Pose and Approve session. “So what do you think the brass thought?” he asked eagerly as he pulled off his t-shirt. Alvarez tossed a bottle of heated mineral oil to his buddy, who uncapped it and began to smear oil onto his muscles as well. “Did you see that old Admiral Whatsisname? Jesus, he looked awesomely p i s s e d o f f, man! And what about all those other dudes? Didja hear them? Didja hear them groaning?? Dude! D’ya think they all creamed their pants?” “Of course they did. They always do. It’s the guaranteed effect.” Alvarez sighed, oiling his triceps, shaking his head. "It's why we're here, man. It's the only reason." Lang laughed excitedly, working the oil into his muscles. “Man, those dudes ain’t never seen muscle like ours before, right? Right?” He flexed powerful biceps and nodded into one of the room’s full-length mirrors with a frowning sneer. “Asshole dudes never seen guns like these, right? pow! bam!!” “Oh, shut the fuck up,” muttered Alvarez. Lang stared. He was suddenly quiet. Alvarez continued to oil himself up. He looked worried. “What’d I say, dude?” Lang asked plaintively, his arms outstretched. Alvarez walked over to him and stood nose to nose before him, the bulges in Alvarez’s jeans and Lang’s posers just touching. He reached around Lang to the back of his head and, guiding his face close, planted a deep kiss onto his perfect lips. He worked his tongue into Lang’s mouth, who responded deeply. Then he pulled back and gazed long and hard into Lang’s deep brown eyes. “I’m sorry. Forget them,” he said reassuringly. “Let’s pose.” “Yeah! Pose and approve!” shouted Lang, and then giggled apologetically, clamping his hand over his mouth in response to Alvarez’s stern look. “Shut up. We don’t want everyone in here.” “Sorry, dude.” “Tonight is just us.” “Sorry, dude! Let’s rock!” Both turned and looked at their reflection in Alvarez’s three-paneled mirror. Excepting Alvarez’s mustache, the two powerful musclemen were almost exact duplicates of one another: tall, dark, and handsome, with deep brown eyes, taut cheekbones and shiny black hair. Their ripped, 285-pound physiques were perfect symphonies of bulging muscle. Lang nodded and forgot all about the brass. He did a crab crunch into the mirror. “Freakkkkyyy…” he muttered. “Swole. So swole.” His veins exploded with throbbing power. Alvarez was undoing his belt, unzipping his zipper, working his tight jeans gradually down his ripped quads. “Pose and approve time, man,” he said to Lang. “Pose and approve.” He picked up a remote and lowered the room’s lights, bringing up the glare of the overhead spotlight focused on the 15' posing dais in front of the mirrors. “Yeah, man, let’s get to it!” Lang ripped off his clothes and stepped up onto the dais as Alvarez kicked away his jeans. Both men were now only barely covered with skimpy royal blue competition posing trunks with hundreds of bright spangles sewn onto the extra-large pouches. The spangles caught the light and glistened like small sapphires. Alvarez stood before him. “You go first.” For an instant, Lang was honored to be going first, as the unspoken law between them during their nightly mutual muscle worship sessions was that Alvarez always got to pose before he did. Tonight was apparently different; even so, Lang was instantly caught up in the sheer joy of his own reflection of muscular near-perfection, and he forgot it right away. The muscleman stood quietly, his heavy arms around his back, his hands clasped. He waited. His ripped abs seemed to extend forever, cobbled fatless bricks laced with thick veins. His cock poled out in his posers. But still he waited. Alvarez was always in charge of Pose and Approve. “Go.” “I’m fucking ….. awesummmmm…..” Lang moaned, loving himself. He slowly curled his huge body into a side biceps pose and turned his head to cockily grin at his reflection. Then he glanced uncertainly at Alvarez in the mirror. “Talk to me,” he demanded, but Alvarez knew he was really begging. “Tell me I’m huge.” Alvarez was not about to let him down. “Yeah, you’re huge, man,” whispered Alvarez with warm smoothness, and he shifted his weight, smoothing the small pools of oil onto his delts. “Those guns of yours look to be about 23 inches. Check out your fist. Motherfucking huge. You could seriously do some serious bare knuckle damage with a fist like that.” His muscles were now gleaming with oil. Lang laughed joyfully. “I have, man! I’ve cleared a few barrooms in my day!” “Punching out ba-a-a-d dudes with those fists?” “Yeah, punching out the bad dudes! Check out these veins, man! They’re like super highways, man! Pumping, buddy. Pumpin’ it up for ya, man.” Lang pumped and flexed. Alvarez capped the bottle, set it down, and turned back, rubbing his hands together. “Oh, yeah, man. That’s good. Nice. Big old motherfucking biceps. Flex those guns for me, man.” “I’m flexing these guns for ya, bro. BOOM. Big muscle in the house,” he cried out joyfully. “Yeah, I see you, man. Nice. Nice big muscles. Biggest muscleman on earth, man.” “’Cept for you, bro. You’re bigger,” said Lang. Alvarez stepped onto the dais under the spotlight, and standing between Lang and the mirror, smoothed hot oil onto Lang’s glistening pecs, stroking his muscles appreciatively. They stood nose-to-nose, not six inches apart. Lang flexed powerful biceps. “Don’t know about that.” Alvarez smoothly applied oil to the granite softballs of Lang’s peaks. Lang stared at himself, transfixed. In his posing trunks his heavy cock was already pointing straight ahead. Alvarez clapped Lang’s huge biceps in his palms. “Like fucking rocks.” “Yeah, man, like fucking boulders, I know. Feel ‘em, man. Feel my muscles.” His eyes took in the mirror reflection of Alvarez’s awesome glutes. “I’m there, man, doing your muscles for you, man.” Alvarez licked his pecs, kissed each bulging biceps, and lightly bit Lang’s nipples. Then he knelt, leaned in and whispered again, his face now level to Lang’s bulging crotch. His breath softly exploded onto Lang’s stiffening cockshaft appearing as his posing trunks poled heavily outward. “You’re big, man. Real big.” “I’m big, hunh?” asked Lang. Now that Alvarez was on his knees and not blocking his upper body reflection, he was gazing at himself with hypnotic eagerness. “Motherfucking huge muscleman, dude.” Lang could feel Alvarez’s breath lightly exploding onto his junk. Still, he never looked away from his own reflection. “So reward me, man. Reward me for my muscles. Reward me for this pose.” “You got it, man. Here comes your reward.” “Thanks, bro,” purred Lang, gazing now in rapture at the pointing peaks of his biceps, his tongue slightly hanging out. His buddy approved. He was in heaven. He’d taken first place in the show running in his head. He and his buddy. “Just keep posing, man.” Alvarez gently opened his mouth and tenderly began to suck Lang’s big cock through his posing trunks. Lang glided into his next pose, a side-chest. And then a front lat spread. His pelvis pushed forward. His poser straining with cock. The pose and approve ritual always began with each man wearing his posing trunks for as long as he could manage to keep them on. They mentally pictured themselves on a competition stage, posing for overwhelmed judges and an audience of thousands of screaming fans, while under the lights, they were really posing only for each other, taking turns kneeling and occasionally bending and sucking each other’s erect cocks through their trunks. They fantasized no one else would be allowed to touch them. They’d turn and punch the lights out of anyone who dared. But the reality was that anyone who wanted to suck their cocks could do so. With just a little begging. After all, big musclemen deserve to get their cocks sucked. Now Alvarez was licking the bobbing cockhead through the straining cloth, running his tongue up and down Lang’s piss slit. Then he deep-throated him, holding the giant cock tenderly in his warm mouth. He held it for 30 seconds. Above him, Lang gulped and continued to pose. Then Alvarez slowly slid his lips off the big dick. The bulging fabric of the bursting poser was wet with saliva. He looked up and winked at the grateful Lang. “Big musclemen like you work hard,” he said with a quiet smile. “You pump those awesome muscles into unbelievable size. When you flex those muscles, it’s mind-blowing. You deserve a reward for all that hard work. You deserve to get your big cock sucked.” “Thanks, man.” “Don’t mention it, bro.” Alvarez ran his hands smoothly up and down Lang’s obliques, smacking his firm sides. He nodded, then looked up. “You got a lat spread you want to show me, man?” He licked his buddy’s abs and waited. “Comin’ up, “Lang breathed, and with a small explosion of breath, he grabbed the straps of his posers, pulled them taut, planted his fists into his obliques, and pumped his rocky pecs into their full mass. He spread his legs wide, the pouch of his posing trunks bulging forward with his fully erect 10-inch penis. Alvarez, still licking the washboard abs, stroked the cock with his thick fingers, glanced up and nodded. “Good lat spread. Great pecs. Lemme see you bounce ‘em. Show me, now.” “Okay.” Lang began to bounce his flexing pecs back and forth in dance of perfect machine gun muscle rhythm. “Yeah, man. Doin’ some serious pec dancing for you now. Boom. Boom. Boom. Watch ‘em, now. Watch these pecs of mine do their thing.” “Do that pec dance thing for me, baby,” said Alvarez. He watched Lang’s bouncing pecs for a full minute. Then he leaned in and licked the cockhead, again through the posers. “I approve. Here’s your reward.” Alvarez once again opened his mouth wide, and with a quick fleck of his tongue against his lips, took the bulging pouch of Lang’s posers full down his throat. Lang, his pecs still dancing, began to slowly pump his hips, fucking face. Bursts of warm precum began to stain the poser fabric, blooming into a widening pool of moisture. Alvarez could see the giant slit of Lang’s big penis head, and licked respectfully. After a minute, he released another small explosion of breath to signify to the bodybuilder kneeling before him that he was going to change his pose again. “Front double biceps,” he announced, and swung his arms up into mighty peaks. Alvarez pulled back slightly, licked the cockhead again, and rocked back on his heels. In his own posing trunks his cock was now full 11 inches erect and poling above the waistband, slap tight against his abs. “Lookin’ good. Now hold that for two minutes. No, three. Hold that pose solid without moving for three minutes. Then you’ll get your reward.” It was agony. Lang loved it. He fiercely held the mountainous peaks of his 23-inch biceps for three full minutes. Sweat began pouring down his face. “Flexing for ya, man!” He bared his lips and gritted his teeth into a grimace. His veins exploded down his neck. The veins in his forearms were like cables of steel wire. He raised one biceps, then the other, again dancing them back and forth. The baseball peaks of his guns gleamed in the spotlight. On his knees before him, Alvarez gazed up worshipfully, pumping his own cock right out of his posing trunks, but not touching Lang. “It’s been more than three minutes,” Lang finally said through his gritted teeth. “So reward me, man! Suck my cock, man!” “Think you deserve a reward?” Alvarez teased, now stroking Lang’s cock tenderly with his tongue. “For these guns? You bet, baby. Take that big cock of mine down your throat now!” “You got it, man.” Alvarez fell forward onto his knees again, his mouth wide open, and landed bulls-eye onto the giant pole bursting in Lang’s posing trunks, taking it all into his mouth. For three minutes, he sucked cock, up and down, licking, spitting, back and forth, deep sucking. Lang gazed down at him, relaxed his biceps a few seconds, and then resumed the pose. He was rock hard. “Dig these guns, man, and suck my cock. Suck your approval. Pose and approve me. Pose and approve.” “Yeah, you like it when I suck your cock while you’re posing?” breathed Alvarez. He licked the mammoth bulge in Lang’s posing trunks. “I can see you onstage, man. Flexing for all those asshole judges. Blowing them all away. Never seen biceps as big as yours. Never seen a cock as big as yours. Poling out in your posing trunks. Big old heavy bulge. Big cocks need to get sucked.” “Yeah? Well, man, I like it when you suck my cock. I like it when you suck my cock while I’m posing for those assholes.” Greedily, Alvarez licked the cloth covering Lang’s heavy testicles. “Lickin’ your balls now, man, licking your balls.” “Put ‘em in your mouth, man. Put my balls in your mouth.” Still flexing, he looked down and eyed Alvarez’s cock hungrily. Alvarez was pumping it now with both hands. It looked like a firehose. Suddenly Lang wanted to suck it. But he didn’t want Alvarez to stop. He dropped to his knees. Alvarez lowered with him, knowing what he wanted. As he watched, Lang flexed his right biceps one more time; Alvarez nodded approval; then Lang leaned in to Alvarez’s cock. He pulled the posing trunks over the cockhead onto Alvarez’s balls, and brought it into his mouth. Alvarez kept sucking. Together the two bodybuilders slowly lowered their huge bodies onto the posing dais under the spotlight and began to service each other with a full-body 69 grapple. Their arm muscles rippled against each other as each man gripped the other’s hard glutes, thick fingers gripping slabs of butt muscle. Each man ecstatically sucked his muscle buddy’s gigantic rod, their balls both still barely covered by their straining posing trunks. After 18 minutes of violent 69 sucking, their posing trunks finally tore from the strain. Rrr-i-i-i-i-pp! Their bullish balls burst free in unison, and each man eagerly licked the other’s heavy testicles passionately. “Next time, you pose first,” whispered Lang, and Alvarez looked over at him, grinned, and flexed a biceps. Lang nodded seriously. “I approve,” he said, “now here’s your reward,” and he bent in, sucking cock. The slurping, moaning, sucking sounds echoed down the corridor. In his room, Private Chris Hension, lying naked in bed, covered with sweat, his pole rising stiffly towards the ceiling, finally couldn’t take it any more. He jumped out of bed, grabbed a robe and a pair of purple spangly posers, stepped into them, fitting his huge member into the pouch with some difficulty, and tore out of his room. He ran down the hallway, his half-tumescent, half-sheathed cock waggling in the breeze, and stopped at Alvarez’s door. He waited an instant – and was about to knock – but, what the hell. He banged on the door, threw it open, and walked in. He knew it would be unlocked. Somehow instinctively he knew they were waiting for him. And so they were. The two musclemen lay on the dais, sucking each other’s cocks, their mammoth physiques coated with a glistening layer of sweat. Without removing dick from mouth, each man slowed for a moment and gazed up at Hension questioningly. “Were we making too much noise?” asked Alvarez, his speech garbled by Lang’s cock. “Yeah. I’d say,” said Hension. He threw his robe to the floor and stood before them in his favorite posing strap, his own erection poling straight ahead. He slammed the door behind him and stepped forward, whipping his arms up into a front double biceps. “Check me out,” he commanded, but there was a note of hopefulness in his voice. Of desperation, Alvarez quietly noted to himself. Good, good, all to the good. “Damn. He’s a pretty little muscleboy, ain’t he?” said Alvarez, momentarily releasing Lang’s cock. “He sure is,” said Lang, doing the same. “You see me every day, guys. I ain’t so little,” said Hension, flexing. “Maybe we’ve never noticed you before.” “Fuck you both.” “Oh, sorry. Maybe you should leave?” “NO! I wanna play too!” Hension flexed feverishly. “Okay. We’ll think about it.” Alvarez licked Lang’s dick a few times and lolled his head back towards Hension. Lang, however, appeared to take no more interest, turning his full attention to sucking his buddy’s dick. He bent in and deep-throated Alvarez’s stiff penis a few times, gagging slightly, and then resumed his gentle, steady sucking and licking. “You sure are pretty. Big biceps. Big. Good quads. Turn around.” Hension turned around, did a rear lat spread, pointing his shapely round glutes to the ceiling. “Nice. Awesome hams. Lang, you see those hams?” …..Suck suck suck suck suck…. “No? Hmmm. Guess he’s busy. Come on over here and flex for us while we suck some cock.” And Alvarez turned back to Lang’s quivering member, appearing indifferent. “I’ll show you guys,” muttered Hension, stepping onto the dais. He was ready. He’d been waiting a long time for this. And he’d been kidded, slapped, punched, and pushed around too long to not grab the moment. His moment. “I’m gonna flex now, and you’re gonna watch me!” he shouted. From the floor of the dais, Alvarez and Lang turned and looked up at him. There was a pause. “So go ahead,” said Alvarez. “Let’s see what you got.” He paused. “Boy,” he added.
  3. Catch up: Precis: Valhalla Labs is a remote mountaintop Northern California military facility, overseen by genius muscle growth scientist Dr. Ira Zaftig and CO Staff Sergeant Rod Moster, a 7'-0" ripped and hung 395-pound black muscle giant. There, 18 extraordinary bodybuilder-soldiers live, train, and play together, overseen by Moster's strict rules and brutal regimen for muscular perfection. Known as Project Herculaneum, the men serve as Dr. Zaftig's lab rats, receiving regular injections of P-21, a specially developed enzyme that facilitates muscle and strength growth in the very few bodybuilders whose systems can withstand it. The goal: to create an army of supermen, whose strength, size, and combat skills are unparalleled in the modern military. Unfortunately for the Project, the soldiers' enhanced strength and dramatically increased muscular size is accompanied by a corresponding increase in penis size as well, along with a rapidly diminishing sense of social restraint and inhibitions. And along the way, the men's extraordinary physiques prompt their own extreme muscle fantasies into a daily acting-out sexual reality. Into the mix comes young Casey Rockland, a lonely, handsome, innocent, super-hung 18-year old bodybuilding giant. Inducted by Dr. Zaftig into the top-secret government muscle strength and growth project, Casey comes to learn the ropes amongst the muscle giants, whose hunger for hardcore training is matched only by their sexual appetites and growing fantasies, including their insatiable appetite to receive muscle worship. Casey's simplicity, and his ever-growing need to receive equal doses of both love and muscle worship threaten the very core of the decade-long Project, itself only now approaching its full potential. Links to previous chapters of "The Twenty": "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Precis, Introduction, Chapters 1 & 2 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 3, 4, 5 - White Cap Training / Hardcore Muscle / A Brief History of Casey Rockland "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 6 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 7, 8 - Hardcore Training, Part 1 / Tiffany's Talent "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapters 9, 10 - Good for Morale "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 11: Casey Meets the Muscle Squad "The Twenty" Chapter 12, Part 1: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 12: Part 2 Casey vs. Karim Abdul: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match THE TWENTY A Government Issue Adult Cartoon -XXX- Muscle Fantasy By Joey Silverado This book is dedicated to Tiny Yokum – and to all his fans, past, present, and future. Chapter 13: After the Match Casey lay on the wrestling mat, completely spent. His eye was swollen – he’d have a nice shiner tomorrow. His huge, tired muscles gleamed oily red with sweat and scratch and pressure marks from the match. Casey dripped with splotches of oil mixed with muscle cum. Lakes of cum oozed into the oil, painting his raw, vascular physique a creamy, drippy, white, gathering in little lakes in the deep cobblestones of his abs, rolling in thick tides down his lats and onto the mat. “What the fuck?” he asked plaintively. “What kinda place IS this?” He sniffed the air. Cum. Everything smelled of cum. Around and above him the men were zipping up, putting their cocks away, retrieving sweaty, torn clothing. Karim Abdul, the vanquished muscle monster, lay to his left. Enraged, cum-coated, growling. “I’ll get you, kid,” he threatened. He stood, rivulets of cum flowing down from his face onto his massive traps. He started off. He stopped when he got to Blankenship. Blankenship grinned toothily. It didn’t last long. POW!!! Blankenship flew about 20 feet into the air from the force of Abdul’s uppercut punch, his feet never touching the ground. A tooth, suddenly without a home, landed beside him. Out cold. “Where you going, Corporal?” Moster demanded, stuffing his massive, dripping cock back into his pants and zipping up with some difficulty over the bulge. Abdul ignored him, stalking out the room. "Come on, Pedro," he barked to the pretty little kitchen boy, who scampered eagerly after him. “Someone get Blankenship and put him to bed.” Moster sighed, knowing that the muscleman would demand a match of his own the next day. And on it would go, until he was forced once again into public bare-butt spankings to keep them in line. Funny how they’d deck one another but submit meekly to hard paddling on their razor sharp glutes. The men stared a little – though all had seen Moster’s cock before – in fact, all the men had at various points sucked it dry, and had their own faces coated with the steady, unrelenting stream of ropey gism that shot from his deep piss slit. But no one could remember a group scene quite like what had just occurred. Abdul stalked off to the showers, Schumacher and Obatu bent to pick up a groggy, moaning Blankenship. Moster took his clipboard to a desk in the corner of the wrestling room and lowered his rockhard muscle butt into the swivel chair, which sagged and groaned under his mass. Corporal Alvarez and Private Lang, who had called Casey a motherfucker, but somehow managed to make it sound good, turned to check out the new muscle kid last time as they passed through the door back to their quarters, where they planned to fuck butt all night. They knew Moster wouldn’t be paying attention. Not tonight. Casey caught their look, and they nodded briefly at him. Lang gave him a half smile. Then he winked. And then they were both gone. Schumacher didn’t leave right away, though. He handed Blankenship over to LeFevre and stood back, watching like a hawk as the others filed out. Then he walked boldly right up to Casey. He looked up at him. “Sergeant Moster has another little honorary initiation ritual on that I think you may find both interesting and rewarding.” He smiled. “We’d like the opportunity to take you through it tomorrow.” “I - I’ll be honored to be a part of it.” “Yes, you will.” “Get out of here, Schumacher,” said Moster with good-natured gruffness. Schumacher looked blankly at Moster, who hadn’t even looked up from his notes. “And it won’t be tomorrow. It won’t be any time soon.” He looked up. “For Casey, that is. However, I’d be happy to accommodate you at any time.” His hand twitched and Schumacher instinctively shot a hand down to protect his glutes. “Yes, sir.” Schumacher left the lab. “Sorry about that, Casey,” said Moster, as soon as he was gone. “Corporal Schumacher gets a bit riled over anything having to do with Private Tiffany. They all have their quirks. You’ll adjust. Those last two men? They were Private Robert Lang and Corporal Julio Alvarez. Those two specimens were brought into the facility only a year ago. Others have come, but not everyone makes it through, and if they fail, then Zaftig releases them back into the general population. In fact, only 1 in 50 make it as far as you have. Now, drop your posers. It’s time I inspected your penis more closely.” Casey slightly rolled his eyes. “Again, sir?” “I’m not going to say it twice.” Casey nodded, resigned. He understood. It was about his penis, after all. Not his muscles. His dong. His wang. His rod. His cock. His huge motherfucking penis. It was always about his huge motherfucking penis. Moster was watching him steadily, his eyes narrowing. “Is there a problem, cadet?” he asked quietly, after a moment. “No problem, at all, sir.” He slipped his fingers into the elastic band of his torn, micro posing trunks and pulled it out from his body, and slid it down over his quads. Pop….. Smack! His giant penis poured out and slapped down onto his quads just above his knees. Immediately it stiffened slightly. The bell-like cock head bobbed forward once or twice, and the pulsing veins in the shaft began to throb a little more rapidly. Casey was breathing hard now. He was beet red with embarrassment. Moster never stopped looking him in the eye. He strode forward and grabbed hold of his thick penis in his left hand, squeezing the shaft lightly. Casey’s eyes widened in profound surprise. It grew hard in the palm of his hand. His palm glided up and down the warm steely rod 2, 3 times, very slowly. It grew under his hand. “Impressive. How big is this machine of yours?” He stroked it with his fingers. “I see you didn’t cum during the match." He began to rub his heavy hands with practiced movements up and down the boy’s thick shaft. “I – I don’t know, sir.” Casey had begun to sweat. Moster remained cool. “No, I didn’t shoot.” He shuffled from side to side, and his penis slipped out of Moster’s palm. Moster looked up. He took hold of the cock firmly once again. “You seem agitated. You badly need some additional training. Part of what marks this troop is their ability to restrain their emotional responses. And it seems to me your cock is responding emotionally.” Moster continued to stroke Casey’s machine vigorously. “So since we’re going in that general direction, let’s take a few additional measurements. Private Tiffany!” he suddenly called out towards the open corridor door. No response, but Casey made out a figure in the darkened shadows of the corridor. “Private Joe Tiffany. I know you’re out there. Step in here now, Private.” Tiffany appeared in the doorway. The young bodybuilder had removed his t-shirt and stood stripped to the waist. His ripped muscles gleamed in the fluorescent light. He entered the lab and walked bow-legged, a coiled cobra, towards the two musclemen in the center of the room. “Take some additional measurements, Tiffany. You know what I am referring to.” Tiffany smiled. “Yes, sir, I know.” He approached Casey. Looking him squarely in the eyes, he knelt with business-like efficiency before him. When his eyes were level with Casey’s member, he looked squarely at it. “What is the diameter, Private Tiffany?” Moster reached again for the clipboard, all business. Tiffany opened his smiling mouth wide and moved towards Casey’s cock. Casey nearly jumped out of his skin. “What’s he doing?!” “Private Tiffany has an unusual talent. It’s like having perfect pitch. He can take exact measurements with his mouth. He’s never off by more than 1/64th of an inch. Go for it, Private. Enjoy yourself, Casey.” “Flex for me, dude,” cajoled Tiffany sweetly, his mouth hovering just above the head of Casey’s enormous penis. “Come on, man, let’s see those big rocky peaks.” He flicked his tongue out and lightly touched the corona. “Sir…” Casey started to say. “Cadet Rockland, Project Herculaneum soldiers do as they’re told. Private Tiffany will now suck your cock. If you have a problem with this, speak up now. We administer regular oral-stimulation sessions here at Valhalla Labs.” “But ….it’s so gay, sir.” Tiffany snickered. “You’re standing there covered with oil and cum and you’re complaining about this being gay?” Moster stepped forward and spoke evenly. “That’s enough, Tiffany,” Tiffany immediately shut up. Moster turned to Casey. “Muscle is its own sex. Some have posited over the years that sex is bad for bodybuilders. We know better here. Cocksucking is not only pleasurable, it stimulates the psyche. It clears out problems with the prostate. Done regularly and properly it enhances semen production. It sharpens the animal instincts, to say nothing of increasing testosterone production. It also serves to further bond the men.” “You mean everyone sucks dick here.” “Everyone who wants to remain in The Project get their cocks sucked. Not only that, they are expected to suck cocks themselves. Regularly. Is there an issue? Are you frightened?” “No….I…..what if he bites me?” Tiffany gave him a lopsided smile, which he meant to be charming. “I never bite too hard,” he said. “I assure you Private Tiffany knows what he is doing. Proceed, Private.” “Okay…..” said Casey, bewildered. “Let’s see those guns, cadet,” said Tiffany. Slowly, as if hypnotized, Casey raised his arms up into front double biceps. Joe Tiffany smiled like a little boy in a candy store. He flicked a little river of cum that followed a thick vein from the cannonball right biceps to the tri’s. Then he squatted on his handsome haunches. He glanced at the mammoth machine that hung before him, and spoke out of the side of his mouth. “This looks like a real jaw-breaker, sir.” “You’ve worked with mine. It’s far bigger. Get to work,” Sergeant Moster commanded, clipboard ready. “Yes, sir. Anything for the good old USA, sir.” Tiffany fingered his Adam’s apple. “Gotta limber up.” He opened his mouth as wide as he could, yawning it four or five times, retracting his teeth behind his lips. He pressed his palm to his jaw and tilted his head, then raised his hands and gently pried his own mouth open to its fullest expanse. He licked his lips until they dripped with spit. Casey watched him intently, still flexing his biceps. His brain was burning. Tiffany approached Casey’s fully erect manhood, gently guided it up to his mouth, parted his lips slightly, and tenderly extended his tongue to lightly flick the big cock head. Flick. Flick. Flick. Casey blinked. Tiffany ran his tongue along the piss slit and probed a little inside. He looked up again. “What’s your preliminary estimate, Private?” “I’d say it looks to be between 14 and 14 -1/2 inches in length, sir.” “Very good. Girth? “9 inches at least.” “Confirm it, please.” “Yes, sir.” Tiffany leaned in and oh so softly glided his lips smoothly over the head of Casey’s penis. He closed his mouth and gently held firm. He closed his eyes, as if concentrating. Inside his mouth, his tongue methodically caressed the cock head. Casey was blown away. He stared down at the cocky short muscleman whose mouth was now enveloping the head of his penis. No one had ever sucked his cock before, let alone a man, let alone a muscleman. He gulped. Shit, Casey thought. Shit. I’m gonna cum. “Sir, I’m gonna cum, sir!” he blurted out. “Not yet you’re not. No man in my outfit cums in 5 seconds. Control yourself, cadet. Tiffany, what’s your first assessment? How big is this cadet’s cock?” Tiffany, his mouth full of cockhead, tried to respond. He couldn’t. Even he was surprised at the girth of Casey’s member. “MMgghblrb,” he said. “Gaaggg…mmmmhyrpphhhglub……aaaaackk…” “I can’t understand you when you mumble, damn it. Speak plainly, Private.” Tiffany pulled back for a moment, giving the head a final appreciative lick as it popped out of his mouth. “Yes, sir!” He reported, “The corona, I’d say, has a circumference of 10 and 3/8s inches. That sound about right to you, boy?” he asked wickedly. “I…I dunno…” Casey was baffled. What's a corona? Did he mean his cock head? One thing was sure: he was gonna get this guy. He wants to suck my cock, does he? Okay, then. “Now for the shaft.” He smiled again and whispered up to Casey. “This is the fun part,” he said. “Go for it, faggot.” Casey muttered. Tiffany raised an amused eyebrow, then winked at him and plunged forward, his mouth taking in all of Casey’s massive organ. His lips slid easily over the thick shaft, and somehow – by an instinctive rearrangement of tonsils? and a replacement of his soft palate? his mouth glided smoothly down the full length of the erect penis. When he reached the base, once again he stopped. Inside his mouth his tongue stroked the thick, pulsing cock veins. The penis grew stiffer and began to throb insistently inside Tiffany’s mouth. Tiffany sucked Casey’s cock. Back and forth, up and down, tip to base, his lips glided smoothly over the engorged shaft. Threads of thick glistening saliva appeared along the pulsing veins with each plunge. After 10 deep sucks, 5 very appreciative full-length licks, and a little tongue-and-balls-dancing, he pulled back again a moment, and, his eyes dancing merrily up at Casey, he coated the heavy, hairy testicles three or four final times. “Very nice,” he whispered. “Too bad you’ll have to shave these babies.” Okay, thought Casey. Maybe this guy was an asshole, but he was beginning to enjoy this. Something came alive inside him for the first time in his life. Hey, he thought, I really like this. This feels really good. “How do you like it, cadet?” asked Moster, clearly amused. “I like it fine, sir.” Casey managed to get out. “Private Tiffany, resume sucking.” “Yes, sir.” Tiffany went back to work. He sucked deeply five more times, and then pulled back for what he thought was a final time. As Casey’s penis rolled out of his mouth, he wiped his lips with the back of his hand. He turned to Moster, ready to report. “The shaft circumference is unusually thick. I’d put at just over 9 inches. Length of the erect penis, 14 -1/4 inches from base to tip. Weight, maybe 7 pounds, a few ounces? Give or take.” “Your overall assessment?” Casey was staring, excited beyond words, and getting mad as hell. Why had he stopped? This was just getting good. His erect member lobbed back and forth in the air, protesting, next to Tiffany’s left ear, who had turned to face Moster. Tiffany felt the wind of it as it passed, and studied ignored the whooshing sounds. “Definitely a superior organ. I sense he has not used it much in sport yet, aside from masturbating, but I’d also guess he has to masturbate 4 or 5 times a day. Maybe more. There’s a lot of blood pumping here, and it throbs steadily throughout the sucking process. I’d guess this cock hasn’t been sucked very often before, if ever.” “That’s all you know,” said Casey. “Seems unlikely that such a big muscleboy hasn’t found suitable candidates eager to give him regular blowjobs. There’s lots of men out there who like to suck bodybuilder cock. I suppose women, too. Still, Zaftig said this boy is different. All right, then. You’re done for now. Dismissed. Back to your quarters.” “Yes, sir.” Tiffany got up and winked at Casey, wiping his mouth. “See you later,” he said smugly, and sauntered out of the room. Casey stood trembling. “Do you need to shoot, Cadet?” asked Moster, all business. “Yes, sir, I’m afraid I do, sir.” “Get to it, then.” Moster walked casually over to the main table of the lab, put down the clipboard, and surreptitiously picked up a 2-quart beaker. He approached Casey. Casey grabbed his engorged cock with both hands. His body shuddered. He was about to let loose with a mighty blast of gism. Moster was prepared. He strode forward and grabbed Casey’s cock, and in the moment he exploded, he had the beaker ready. He calmly forced the beaker over the cockhead. Casey was stunned, but couldn’t stop his semen from bursting into the jar. “UUUUNNNNGHHH!” he shouted, and his cum flowed heavily out of his shooting dick and began to fill the container with its milky white thick fluid. “UUUUUUUUNNNNNGGGGHHHHHHHHH!! uuunnnggHHHGGHH!!! YEAH! OH GOD YEAH MAN!” As Casey’s huge body shuddered with spurt after spurt, the cum level climbed, half filling the jar. “AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhUNHHH ARRRRGGGGGG hhhhhhhhhhhh hhhhh……” Three minutes later, with a last huge shrug, he was done. As he shuddered to a finish, Moster corked the beaker and held it aloft. He swirled the thick liquid in each and smiled. “Not bad, cadet,” he said calmly. “Close to a pint. Pretty good for a first shot. You’ll do better later.” Casey was meek and baffled and embarrassed. “Thank you, sir,” he said. “Dismissed. We’ll see you at the gym tomorrow at 0700 hours. Get some sleep, Casey. Good night.” He turned and marched out of the room. Casey wiped his dripping dick with the back of his hand. He picked up his clothes and dressed quickly, forcing his still-hard cock into his shorts. But he wasn’t done yet. Not by a long shot. “Shit,” he said. He stood alone in the center of the room, his ripped posing trunks stretched around his ankles, the pole of his mammoth cock weaving out of control in the air. He closed his eyes and scrunched up his face. He was going to shoot again. He grabbed his cock with both hands, and fired towards the ceiling. “UUUUNNNNNGGGGHHHH!” he shouted, and, as ropes of semen began once again to fly into the air, hitting the ceiling, painting the walls, and splashing onto the ground. As his cum shot out of his enormous cock head, he was thinking feverishly. He remembered the cum on Abdul’s handsome Arab face. And he had been accepted into The Nineteen. Would they now be known as The Twenty? Casey knew it to be true. He could now be considered one of the world’s finest bodybuilders, if Project Herculaneum wasn’t so top-secret, and he wasn’t even 20 years old yet. He was powerful. He had a future. He had promised. He was in the elite. The last of his cum geyser shot into the air, arced, and splashed heavily on the sopping marley floor beneath him. His shoulders slumped and he dropped his hands to his sides. So why was he still bothered by something he couldn’t quite figure out? And how come that evil little muscle boy Joe Tiffany looked so familiar to him. Who was he? And why couldn’t he put his finger on it? Casey bent to put what was left of his ripped and shredded posing trunks back on. They barely covered his cock, but he didn’t notice. He waddled to the door of the wrestling room to head back to his quarters for the night. Tomorrow he would move into his new room. He had a lot to think about. He’d have to think about it all.
  4. Finally, another chapter.....a group of the boys are heading off for muscle worship in LA! Part 1. Sorry it has taken me so long to continue. ENJOY! Comments welcome... Links to chapters of "The Twenty": "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Precis, Introduction, Chapters 1 & 2 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 3, 4, 5 - White Cap Training / Hardcore Muscle / A Brief History of Casey Rockland "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 6 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 7, 8 - Hardcore Training, Part 1 / Tiffany's Talent "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapters 9, 10 - Good for Morale "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 11: Casey Meets the Muscle Squad "The Twenty" Chapter 12, Part 1: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 12: Part 2 Casey vs. Karim Abdul: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 13: After the Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 14: In Which Casey Discovers He Likes to Get Worshipped "The Twenty" - Chapter 15: Casey's First Interview with Sergeant Moster "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 16 - Hardcore Training Part 2: Casey’s First Herculaneum Workout, and What Happened After "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 17 - The Presentation "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 18 - The Musclemen Revealed: Inside Zaftig's Lab "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 19 - Further Encounters, Part 1 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 20 - Pose and Approve: Further Encounters, Part 2 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 21 - Sam and Casey "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 22 - Field Trips for Worship, Part 1 "The Twenty" - Chapter 23 - Field Trips, Part 2 – Casey Rediscovers Muscle Worship, and Makes a New Friend "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 24 - Further Encounters 5: Sam and Casey Again, and Moster and the Cadets Chapter 22: Field Trips for Worship Part 1 December 5th, 2021 “And explain to me why again, Sergeant Moster, just precisely why this so-called “research” trip to Los Angeles is so necessary?” Moster and Zaftig were in his office. Dr. Zaftig sighed with studied patience, as if for the fiftieth time. It was part of the little act he put on every time Sergeant Rod Moster demanded a special (and highly expensive) worship excursion for the army of musclemen. And with the launch of each new off-campus foray, Zaftig always had Moster on the carpet in his lavish office, though he knew nothing he could ever say would cancel the trip, change the plan, or unnerve the massive muscle monster. Still, Zaftig tried. Damn, it wasn't even good science. “Once again, privately scheduled sessions with our client supporters is good for business, and for the men, it’s good for – “ “I know, it’s all for their morale…. .” Another sigh. “Sir,” said Moster, trying a recently discovered new tactic. “I don’t have your kind of money,” Zaftig nodded. It was a reasonable argument. “None of the men do. And the men need to earn some heavy lucre as well during their good years. Private worship sessions are…” “Yes, yes, so you have said. And I know that for you, rather than seeing these men as fighting machines, or heralds of an eternal fountain of youth, you see them as sexual receptacles, monsters of muscle and able to confer fantastic favors. I know, I know.” Another sigh. “In any event, they have decades of good years yet to come. I’ve seen to that. My work has seen to that. And yeah, yeah, I know, I know. It’s all good for fucking morale. Frankly, I don’t see it.” Moster raised an eyebrow. Such language was unheard of for Zaftig. These trips – and the inevitable costly clean-up aftermath – must be getting to him. He changed his tone accordingly. “The men require outside worship sessions, sir, and more frequently than you allow. As and as for the money…” “Fine. FINE. FINE. Take them to LA but be back in 48 hours.” “72 hours.” “FINE.” A pause. “How much do they make?” “Sir?” “Come on. Money. How much are they paid? Per ‘appearance’, if you want to put it that way. What’s the going rate?” Moster coughed a little. “They average about $6,000 each per ‘appearance’ as it were.” Zaftig whistled. “Wow. I assume that’s the for the whole group?” “No.” Moster paused.”Per man.” Zaftig reflected.”Per man….” Zaftig took it in, his attitude changed. He nodded reflectively. “And how much time per…. . performance?” “About one hour each.” “$6,000 an hour?” “Sir, the men will do anything they are requested to do.” He paused. “Anything. With anyone. As long as their muscles are being admired. As long as they’re being worshipped. Touched. Stroked. Praised. Longed for…” “Yeah, yeah, I get it, I get it.” Sergeant Moster was silent. “You do realize that you’re prostituting them. Right? Yes? You know this?” Moster said nothing. “Your silence tells me that you do understand exactly that. Where are you going this time?” “Brentwood. Then the Hollywood Hills.” “Oh, Christ. Movie people?” “Some. The money is best there.” “Is Dr. Shaft coming with you?” Moster paused. He hadn’t wanted this. “Yes, of course, if you insist.” “I would prefer it, yes. And try to stay out of the papers this time.” Moster smiled. “You mean try to stay off TMZ. Off Facebook. Instagram, SnapChat and YouTube?” Zaftig snickered, in spite of himself. “Yes, thank you for reminding me that I’m antediluvian. I know. You make your point. Yes. Whatever. Stay off the radar. Whatever the radar is these days, and whatever that may mean. Low profile. That means no unexpected hospitalizations, either.” "The men won't require medical care.” "I'm not talking about the men, I'm taking about the poor saps who are paying thousands of dollars per man who get the shit beat out of them. Jaws broken, eyes blackened, smashed noses, all in the way of ‘worship. ’ “It’s not that violent, sir.” “Bullshit. Who are you taking? The new boy, Casey?” “Yes. I am guessing I may be able to get $15,000 for Casey. $8,000 in his pocket. Perhaps more. It will be his first time, and he’s eager. And – we suspect he has extraordinary inner desires of his own which may increase the quality of the experience.” "Who else?" "Alvarez, Lang, Hension, Waring, Schumacher, Washington, Abdul, Obatu, and Gunst.” "Right. Ten of them.” “Yes.” “What's that thing that Alvarez and Lang do together. . . ?" "Pose and approve, sir.” "Yes.” Zaftig chucked. “Pose and approve. That's good. No Blankenship? I though he was one of your hottest boys. Missing gap teeth, knocked out by Abdul, all that.” “He wants to stay behind and work on his pecs. He’s dissatisfied. And we’re replacing those missing teeth.” Zaftig nodded. He knew. $10,000 for caps. He sighed again. “His pecs are perfect now.” “He wouldn’t agree. I assume, sir, we have your permission to go?” “Ten of them. Eleven, with you. I assume you’re part of the display?” Moster smiled. “I get $12,000.” “God. Of course you do. Yes, yes, go, go. GO. Take a driver who will stay sober and off drugs. Take Ferdinand. He doesn’t care, for crissakes. And take a reserve of White Caps, and take $18,000 in petty cash. Get it from Rose in the outer office. Try not to spend it in one place. Be back by Sunday night. “Yes, sir.” “And check in with Dr. Irving before you go. Take him with you for the private sessions.” Moster started out. “I want video! Good video. And make sure you meet up with Dr. Shaft. I want him to observe.” Moster stopped in the doorway and smiled grimly. “Oh, he’ll like that.” “Yes, he will. Try not to beat the crap out of him this time, Sergeant.” “I hardly “beat” him up….” “Last time you saw him personally, he wound up with two black eyes, a broken nose, and couldn’t sit down for a month without a sitz pillow.” “He enjoyed it all, sir.” “I know he did. All the same, I need to keep him alive.” He smiled a little. “However, you may spank him if you must. I know you like that.” “I look forward to it, sir.” Zaftig sighed, frustrated as always that his chief research fellow, the talented Dr. Shaft, was so crazily in need to worship his muscular lab rats. “I need his latest research on the effects of P21a, the new serum we’re working on, to promote healthier vascularity. I don’t want my men to start collapsing of heart attacks when they’re 55. Or have my chief researcher get beaten to death, however pleasurably and however much he asks for it. ‘Observing’ – I know, it’s bullshit…” Moster smiled once again at Zaftig’s unusual terminology. “Your language, sir…” “Fuck you.” “Yes, sir.” “Not that I want to.” Moster nodded, again inwardly respectful. Zaftig was, at heart, pure, with no sexual needs or inner longer for his mountainous boys. Moster couldn’t say the same of himself, with his own ever-present, barely cloaked need to spank their rocky, perfect glutes and have them all worship at the fountain of his own gigantic cock. And, for the few who could manage it, get his own mountainous butt deeply fucked. And somehow, he felt this made Zaftig slightly the stronger of the two. Zaftig was still talking about Dr. Shaft. “Just don’t hurt him this time. Don’t sit on his face for an hour. Last January your ass broke his collarbone, and after he complained to me, you saw him again, and once again, he couldn’t sit down for a month. I need him with the Join Chiefs in February. Hopefully unbandaged, and able to sit.” “You got it, chief.” “Don’t call me chief.” “Sorry, Dr. Zaftig. Anything else?” “Yes. Keep an eye on the new boy.” “Rockland?” “Yes. This is his first of your worship tours, right?” “Yep. Yes, sir. It is indeed.” “He’s used to…. the games you put the men through…. by now?” Zaftig spoke with resigned distaste. “He took right to it, sir.” “I might have known. But then, the source was Miles Donovan’s gym, after all.” “I don’t believe he was active there.” “No, that’s right, he wasn’t, I remember now. All right. That boy shows promise. Don’t ruin him.” “I haven’t ruined any of the men yet, sir.” “You’ve injected them all with the psychological need to pose naked in front of strangers who then proceed to beg them for outlandish sexual favors. I am not sure of the long term effects of this.” Moster regarded him evenly for a moment. “I am,” he said. “I am sure.” And turned to go. ****** Slightly before dawn the next morning the Valhalla bus – a $250,000 custom job, replete with comfortable plush seating, overwide aisles, juice bar, high speed Wi-Fi, Bluetooth, and a small snack counter - left the compound. Nine selected men, plus Sergeant Moster, Dr Irving, and the slightly disgusted if certainly envious, non-muscle worshipping bus driver Ferdinand were off to LA to make the select client rounds. Dr. Shaft had been alerted and was proceeding directly to LA in his own private car. Three appointments, in Brentwood, Beverly Hills, and in the Hollywood Hills, had been discreetly confirmed by Rose. The Hollywood Hills stop was to be the first of the evening – and was the biggest. The total cash earnings for the weekend of muscle worship in three locations might exceed $200,000. Barring any unusual cleanup expenses (furniture damage, walls replaced, carpet torn up and relaid, plumbing bills, broken windows, and so forth), hospitalizations or lawyer fees, the net gain could exceed $160,000. And after the appointments, the men were also to be allowed some free time after the obligatory scheduled visits. Each man was given a tablet and a private burner phone to make their own private client appointments. An hour into the drive, the men were finally calm, quiet, settled in, and busy. They all wore oversized, roomy grey sweats, Valhalla logos blazened across massive chests. Workout that morning had been scheduled for 4 AM, with another afternoon workout planned at Gold’s in Venice, which had been privately booked for the occasion, at a cost of $30,000. Biceps had been blasted to the explosion point, pecs worked past all expectations. Extra doses of P21 had been supplied and the already damaged muscles were well on their way to repair, ready for an afternoon blasting. In addition, the men had been cautioned in no uncertain terms by Moster neither to “play” nor cum for the 24-hour period before departure. Punishment for infringement would be a very public and very painful raw glutes paddling in the Gold’s Venice parking lot. None of the men wanted this, although the prospect of such attention in private was always appealing. And so, for more than a day not a man in the group had shot his load. Moster anticipated cumulative cumblasts would reach the multi-gallon point by weekend finish. Many a wealthy patron could look forward to a thorough facial of rich, thick cumshots following some vicious customer throat plowing and thorough client asshole destroying by the weekend wrap. It didn’t really matter, though. The men were looking forward to the worship sessions as much as, truth be told, was Moster, who relished the thought of a little flexing and posing on his own. Moster gave them all a little pep talk after they boarded. “Men, we’re on our way to LA. I know we have all been looking forward to this trip. Haven’t we, Casey?” The handsome young musclebuck was alone in his rear row seat, across the aisle from Hension, who was bent over in his seat, busily texting. Casey colored and glanced down into his lap, where he could see his massive tool twitching impatiently beneath yards of sweatsuit crotch fabric. He’d followed the directum even more than the most and not masturbated for three days. He thought he very well might die, so that morning he had blasted his biceps in the pre-dawn workout way past the agony point, with 30 minutes devoted to single arm curls at 250 pounds apiece. Nor had he sucked a cock for 3 days. Cocksucking was something new for him, and he now had an almost insatiable taste for it, preferring quietly to visit the unthreatening, pint-sized, pretty young kitchen boy Pedro for mutual blowjobs. Discreetly grabbed after hours 69 sessions that left them both breathless and elated. Pedro, unbelieving that so much beautiful muscle cock could be gently presented to his eager lips. Casey, awed that he actually preferred the pretty, undersized body of boytoy Pedro, with his perfect, normal-sized dick and average cumload. Inwardly Casey felt some satisfaction that he shared Pedro with Karim Abdul, who was unaware of sharing Casey’s preference for good-looking teens who weighed almost 200 pounds less than he did. Karim might get physically nasty if he knew Casey was also getting oral satisfaction from Pedro, and moreover was giving it back, something that had never occurred to Karim. And while Casey relished the idea of pummeling the Arab’s face black and blue for 15 or 20 minutes – which he knew he could do now, because he was probably stronger than any of them – nevertheless, he didn’t want Karim to take revenge on the defenseless, handsome little Puerto Rican. So he kept it all a secret. Besides, it was less about pure worship and more about bonding with another guy. He liked Pedro’s exceptionally pretty 7” cock. Not as big as the other men’s organs, true, but just as tasty, and on the slight, lean brown-skinned little Pedro, 7” went a long, long way. As for Pedro, now in the heaven era of his days on the planet, with all the discreet muscle action he was getting (he was also seeing Blankenship, Obatu and Gunst on the side, and had more big muscle cock to suck that he’d ever dreamed of), he was content to bypass worship sessions with Casey just to get down to the business of good teenboy cocksucking. And, best of all, Casey was nice. And surprisingly gentle. And surprisingly hungry. Casey glanced across the aisle. “What’re you doing?” Casey asked Hension. “Takin' care of business. I know what I want.” He scrubbed through his phone lists and speed dialed. “Hello, baby?” he asked. “Yeah, it’s me. Chris Hension. The muscledude. YEAH! That's ME. I’m comin’! I'm on the bus to LA now!! We can finally meet…. . tonight?? Awesome! Yeah, I’m ready for you, momma!. . . I got these big dirty muscles, see, and I’m gonna flex 'em all big time for ya, show you what I got, and then show you my package, and you’re gonna punish me for it all, right?? Slap my face good and hard? And then I can fuck you? And then you can fuck ME? And slap me some more??” He listened a moment, then shouted. “YEAH!” The bulge in his fly began to grow and he bounced eagerly in his seat. "Hey, baby, I kin hardly wait. . .” “Lower your voice, asshole,” Gunst groaned. “Sorry!” Hension continued his crooning conversation in a cackling lower voice. “Yeah, my pictures are real. Yeah, I’m really that handsome. And the muscles are real, too! Wanna picture now? Okay!” He positioned the phone and snapped a quick selfie, flexing his free biceps. Casey was amazed with what speed and dexterity Hension attached the image and sent it off. “He’s not that much smarter than I am…” Casey pondered. “How come he can do this so fast….?” “That’s me! Get it yet? Yeah??! That’s ME, baby! Why would I lie to you babe? We just gotta do some private worship appointments first…. worship…. you know, rich dudes admiring our muscles and then goin’ down on us….” He giggled….” Oh, yeah, I’m a bad boy, a real bad boy, I need some real punishment at the hands of a really sharp and pretty lady who knows what she’s doin’…” Lang, sitting with Alvarez in the row ahead, turned around in his seat and tapped Casey lightly on his superwide shoulder. “You been worshipped before, dude?” Casey was surprised that the normally watchful Lang was actually speaking to him. He paused, smiled weakly, remembered his cadet buddies, thought briefly of Pedro, remembered the cadets in his room, and nodded shyly. “Yeah, I guess. Yeah.” “It come to anything?” “Well….” “You like it?” Casey thought a little. He smiled weakly. “Yeah. I liked it. I liked it a lot.” "Thought so.” Alvarez, window seat, turned and looked back as well. “Done it professionally?” he asked. “Um. No. Professionally?" "Get paid for it?" "No. Not yet.” Alvarez nodded and turned back to the window. “You’ll dig it!” said Lang enthusiastically. “It’s awesome. Dudes with money who can’t get enough of our muscles!! Flex for a few minutes and they give you all they got.” He turned back in his seat, texting. “Who we seein’?” Casey heard Lang ask. “We got some good ones…lotsa scratch. . . . we'll all make out.” He turned back to Casey. "You got privates, you call them now.” “Privates?” Casey thought they were referring to his junk. “Yeah. Privates. You know. Schmoes.” “What are schmoes?” “Dude, you know nothing.” “He hasn’t had time, dummy,” said Alvarez. He turned back to Casey and spoke not unkindly. “You’ll do fine on the worship circuit once you get out there. Make some connections.” He turned back to his phone, and Casey couldn’t hear anything else. Privates. No, no privates. How could he have privates if he never was paid before? Casey thought about all this. And dreamed. He settled his bulk back in his plush seat and gazed at the landscape roaring by, unseeing, beyond the tinted windows. He had no one to text to arrange a private yet. He didn’t know anybody, really. But maybe that would come later. Because . . . . . . . he longed to revisit his muscle planet, the one he’d first glimpsed in darkness when his buddies had gathered around him in his old dorm room. Where, led by smirking, smiling, but approving Cadet Banks, his buddies had started to stroke and touch and caress his muscles, murmuring their obeisance. And he’d gone to the moon. And further. He remembered. It was just Casey in the galaxy. Flexing his muscles. His huge ripped vascular ungodly magnificent muscles. It wasn’t the same when the other men of The Twenty were with him, after all. EVERYONE was huge, after all. He may be a little bigger, a little better, a little younger, a little more hung – but it was a close call for this group of unfucking godly superhero X-Men, or whatever they all were supposed to be. His veins may be like rivers, but so were Schumacher’s. His biceps may peak at 25 or 26 inches, but so did Gunst’s. And his dick might be 12 or 14 inches or whatever it was, but Moster’s was a fucking cannon that could probably shoot unfucking godly amounts of cumspray, he didn’t know, since the man didn’t choose to empty his load on him yet – or anyone. Casey pondered a bit. How exactly did Moster get off, anyway? He put it out of his head. He was gonna visit his muscle planet tonight. That much he knew. Soon he was asleep. He drifted off and thought about flexing his muscles for a sea of admiring multitudes, high on a magic mountain, far, far away. **** Four hours later, they arrived in Santa Monica. The men, having made their appointments, had fitfully slept through most of the trip in their individual over-sized seats. After checking into a discreet private hotel – Dr. Irving with his clipboard in the lobby, making sure to lose no one to wandering among the canals of Venice – it was a quiet side-street hotel filled with oversized rooms, well set back from the boardwalk - they were off to the gym. The men trained quickly and discreetly, fully covered, at Gold’s Gym Venice Beach, privately booked by Valhalla, and paid for in cash. Quickly exploding every muscle group, the men spread out and pumped up, finally blasting a few quick deep 600 pound squats, 300 pound curls, bench presses, delt raises, and working glutes, glutes, glutes. Afterwards, Moster treated them all to a fast high-protein and high-animal fat meal at The Fire House, where the muscle monsters dominated the terrace, ignoring the crowd stares. “Who the fuck are those dudes?” wondered one unusually stupid huge national competitor from a nearby table. “I don’t know,” answered his muscle john, an elderly queen taking his big boy out to lunch. “I never been onstage with them before. Hey, where ya goin’?” “I just wanted to…” “You stay with me, baby. You lookin’ for a knuckle sandwich? I’m the dude you’re payin’ to get big. You go over there, you messing with me.” “Okay, okay…” “You wanna keep all your teeth, dude,” he warned, but looked enviously over at the huge men, sitting at four tables stacked together. Who are those guys? he wondered. Shit. Look at the size of them. Shit. Other muscle schmoes gazed longingly at the tables filled with the huge musclemen, bulging out of their clothes, none of them known, none of them ever having competed before on the national stages, and wondered, and dreamed. One muscle daddy competitor thought he recognized Moster from years back, but promptly dismissed it. Couldn’t be. That black fucker there looks about 30. Rod Moster would be near to 50 by now. Impossible. Impossible. The Fire House fell into unaccustomed silence as the eleven muscle strangers ate. Casey was aware of all the covert attention, but toed the company line, looking at no one and saying nothing. Still, he ached inwardly to be seen, to be admired, to be looked at, gazed at, touched, stroked, wondered over, worshipped. Alvarez, munching his 4th ostrich burger, gazed around the room. Lotsa possibilities here. He glanced at Lang, chowing down on a steak, unaware of anything but his food and his burning muscles. Hension winked at a beautiful fitness girl at a nearby table, who smiled back. “Wanna slap me?” he mouthed silently to her, pointing to one of his scruffy cheeks as he happily chewed his buffalo burger. She looked back at him puzzled. “What?” she mouthed back. “Slap my face?” he mouthed again. “What did he say?” asked her friend. “I’m not sure but I think he wants me to slap him.” “Whatever. I’d do it,” said her girlfriend. She glanced over. Then stared. “Fuck me, is he gorgeous,” she added. “That’s about the prettiest face I have ever seen on a man.” Hension smiled and rapidly beat his tongue against his teeth, grinning hugely, pointing to both cheeks, gestured ‘call me’. The girls just stared. “Is he dumb or something?” one of them wondered. Moster barked at him. “Hension, pay attention to your meal.” Hension returned his gaze to his plate. Jeez, he thought. Pretty girls everywhere. How can I meet one? Still, he had high hopes for his online mistress. After paying up ($1,050 for lunch for 12) they returned to their hotel resting for forty minutes. They had strict orders not to play. Or cum. Or else. “Departure at 8:30 PM,” barked Moster as they got off the bus. “Dress in regulation tan slacks and t-shirts. Super-support double mesh posing trunks underneath. Clean yourselves thoroughly. Personal cleaning. I will be checking. Then get some rest. White caps at 8:15. You men have a long night ahead.” ****** The bus pulled up the drive at 9 PM. It was a large cliffside home high in the Hollywood Hills, lavish and dark, with a glimmering pool in the back and fountains quietly spraying gallons of illegal water. Beyond, the glittering lights of LA shone in the far distance. The first stop of the evening. Zaftig’s longtime off campus associate, the puny weasel Dr. Shaft, was waiting inside, in attendance with a group of 9 investors, all quite anxious to see the young gods in action. The men filed off the bus. “Golly, who lives here?” asked Hension, awestruck by the size of the place. “Some movie producer,” murmured Lang. Casey barely noticed. He was headed off soon to his private muscle planet, and was all ready to flex. Moster, who had gotten off the bus first, quietly barked orders in the large circular drive. “Inspection. Strip down, men,” he commanded. “I don’t want to keep our hosts waiting.” The ten musclemen hopped and danced in the half light, removing slacks, baggies, t-shirts, jeans, shorts, underwear, jock straps, thongs, and boots as poor long-suffering Dr. Irving ran from man to man, frantically gathering up discarded clothing, quickly organizing as to owner, and distributing the proper poser to the proper man. Each poser was personally assigned, custom-tailored to cut across inches south of the lower abs, reveal generous slices of meaty glutes in back, and with frontal sag sufficient to generously reveal the top six inches of root and thick, plunging shaft of each man. The side straps, while thin, were sufficiently strong to hold even at top erection. “Oil up, men.” Bottles of mineral oil were passed around, and the men dutifully applied slathers of oil to their muscles. Finally they were ready, their muscles gleaming in the night. “Line up, squad,” said Moster. “Adjust your posers. When you pull your pants down, I want these dudes to see your top six inches of root and cockshaft.” He had stripped down himself and was now rubbing his own oil in to his mountainous black muscles. “I know with some of you that still leaves another 6 inches or more covered up. Right, Casey?” “More,” said Casey. Still, in the dark Casey turned deep red, still immediately shamed by the thoughts of his huge, unhideable cock. He still wasn’t quite over those years of taunting. Which always flashed his thoughts quickly to Tiffany. Good thing the ginger-haired terror wasn’t with them tonight. Casey always performed better when that boy was nowhere near. “Waring, get over here and do my back.” Waring went to Moster, dutifully pouring oil onto his calloused palms, mixing them back and forth as if he was tossing a muscle salad, and smacked Moster’s broad back hard, rubbing thick oil deep into Moster’s wide lats. The Sergeant felt the man’s rough blisters on his back and smiled. “You’ve been working, Private.” “Yes, sir, I sure have, sir.” The men fell into line, and awaited inspection. Moster paced in front of the muscle lineup and critically appraised his special forces team: Alvarez, Lang, Hension, Schumacher, and Waring. Washington, Abdul, Obatu, Gunst and Rockland. Muscle gods all. He nodded his satisfaction. “Line up according to height. Shortest man first. Private Hension, that’s you.” Hension was pushed to the head of the line. “Put the pretty boy first,” guffawed Obatu. Hension colored deeply, embarrassed as always to be referred to as the group ‘pretty boy’, but obeyed orders. “Dr. Irving, distribute White Caps,” Moster ordered. Irving passed the ration of capsules to the group. “It’s going that be that kind of showing, hunh?” chuckled Obatu. He popped a capsule and within seconds began to envision his powerful sexual fantasies come to life. He tugged slightly on his poser and glanced down to make sure the prominent, pulsing thick veins of his mighty dipping cockshaft were showing. He nudged Washington. “Check it out,” he said. Washington nodded. “Suckable,” he said, busily squeezing his own nipples into pointy hardness. Moster crossed behind the men and walked along, surveyed the lineup of rolling, hard, powerful glutes. He nodded. Huge mountains of gleaming, perfect, rock hard butt. “Butthole inspection,” he announced. Corporal Karim wished he had his butt plug with him, but didn’t betray himself with even a flicker across his stern face. He scowled, but even so Moster knew what the man wanted. He glanced down at Karim’s achingly firm glutes. “You clean, Corporal?” he asked. “Yes, sir.” “Good.” Moster knelt, lowered the man’s posers for a moment to quad height, and quickly inserted his thick fist deeply up inside the man’s butthole, up to his wrist. Karim never flinched. Moster rotated his fist, and just as quickly withdrew, with a butthole POP!, noting to his satisfaction that the Corporal was indeed clean. “Keep your concentration.” He wiped his fist with anti-bacterial lube and moved on to the next man. Hension was looking apprehensive. Moster approached him. “Any women inside?” Hension asked nervously. “Why do you ask, Private?” “Sir, for my best performance, sir, I like to get my face slapped first. And during. By a pretty girl with muscles.” “Not here tonight,” said Moster. “Bend over.” “Yes, sir!” Hension bent over, showing his twin glutes of extreme hardness, shape and striation. Moster lowered the muscleboy’s posers, made a fist, and once again plunged his fist up to his wrist up Hension’s taut butthole, twisting, probing and turning. Like Abdul, Hension never even raised an eyebrow as his welcoming rosebud enveloped the powerful fist. He was excited about lay ahead. His cock began its 12-inch journey to solid stiffness. He pulled his posers back up with some difficulty and wrapped the taut cloth as best he could around his growing engine. Alvarez appeared serene. He knew a good Pose and Approve session was ahead. Lang glanced at him and smiled. Alvarez was best with an audience. An admiring audience. His cock twitched in anticipation. Moster was quick with Alvarez, nodding approval, quickly inserting a probing fist, and moving on to Lang, doing the same. Up the drive at the house, a curtain fluttered. Someone was watching. Alvarez nudged Lang. “What?” asked Lang, clueless. “You see that?” “See what?” Alvarez smiled. “This is gonna be fun.” He stood “Let’s see those biceps, Gunst,” Moster commanded. Gunst complied, and flexed his meaty guns. “26 inches this morning, sir.” “Excellent. Turn around and bend over.” Gunst complied and Moster’s fist entered his butthole. He nodded satisfaction. Moster continued down the line of musclemen, inspecting pecs, nipples, hard abs, and ending with each man by inserting a giant fist up an eager butthole. Finally it was Casey’s turn. “Ever been fisted before?” Moster asked crisply. Casey had to admit it. “Yes, sir.” He turned around and bent over, his perfect butt now in Moster’s face, his fists buried in his obliques, jutting out his butt. It was an incredible ass. Two round globes of muscular golden flesh, perfect, hard-as-nails ovals of sleek construction. Powerful, huge, an incredible human loading dock of rounded power. Inside the darkened buttcrack Moster could see close-up the throbbing, inviting deep of Casey’s perfect butthole. Moster plunged his fist in, and turned it, pulling it out again after a minute. Clean as a whistle. “Good work, Rockland. “ Casey stood, turned and smiled. “I think you’re ready.” He turned to the driver, standing by the bus, impassively staring. “Ferdinand, Dr. Irving, come back in an hour. We should be done by then.” Then, quietly, he asked Irving, “Did the money come in yet?” “This afternoon, sir,” answered Irving. “$35,000.” “Good.” Moster took his place at the end of the line. “Shaft here yet?” “Inside, Sir.” Dr. Irving fiddled with his phone, getting frantic texts from Dr. Shaft. “Good. Give the men back their clothes. Men, get dressed.” Much fumbling and hopping about in the dark. Then- “Move out, men.” The musclemen marched into the entranceway of the one-story cliffside glass house and, single file, marched into the brightly lit living room. Inside now. Nine manicured, pampered, plumpish Hollywood movie execs, dressed in expensive Italian suits, ties down, were draped around the room, propped up on large plush sofas, drinks in hand, cellphones and Blackberries at the ready, waiting inside. Two or three were handsome enough to gain Alvarez’s slight interest. The smell of marijuana wafted through the air. They’d been drinking. And smoking. And snorting lines of coke. In fact, they were all smashed. And ready. “Fucking finally! Bring on the talent!” one of them yelled as the men entered. But as the musclemen got into the room and turned, facing their clients, at full attention, the movie dudes were stunned into silence. The musclemen were themselves stunned into a moment silence by the lavishness of the room that spread out before them, and the extraordinary view of the city through the plate glass windows, far, far below. The drapes had been opened. The moon shone full in the sky. “Wow,” breathed Lang. Dr. Shaft rose from a white sofa. On one side of him sat three overweight, bespectacled jowly men, and on the other, a young twenty-something nerd with a pretty face, scruffy hair, in an Iggy Pop t-shirt and too tight ripped jeans. Next to him was another squirrely looking guy, equally skinny and pale. “Good evening, Sergeant Moster. Good evening, men.” “Good evening, Dr. Shaft. Men, you all know Dr. Shaft.” Hi, yeah, sure, hello, uh hunh, yeah we see him, etc etc, came from the men. “May I introduce you to your hosts?” asked Dr. Shaft. And the lineup of musclemen turned to their seated, agog clients. Their hands at their sides, fists clenched, veins popping, tight white shirts wrapped around massive physiques. Legs spread wide. Quads bursting out of slacks. Biceps about to tear shirt sleeves. Fly bulges loomed to the floor. And the clients, schmoes all, stared back. Breathing. Panting. “Fuck, man. They’re fucking huge,” said the skinny nerd. He gulped. “Whatta they gonna do to us?” “You mean…what are they going to do for you,” said Sergeant Moster.”May I present…. nine of the most muscular men on the planet today.” He paused, glanced at his watch. “You have one hour.” He turned to the men. “Men, you may go to work.”
  5. dw2098lj

    The Car Salesman - Chapter 2

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

    The Day I Became A Muscle Freak (Part 4)

    Link to part 1 here Link to part 2 here Link to part 3 here "I better hit some more poses for you then hadn't I mate?", I said to my aroused admirer, who was now suddenly beaming at the prospect of watching me flex more. With both hands resting on my hips, I looked at my lucky spectator head on and slowly cranked down into a explosive must muscular. As I hit the peak of the pose and squeezed with effort, I released a loud, arrogant, "ARRRGGHHHHH". "Fuck YES!", The Transformer exclaimed. In response, I released one hand, curled it into a fist and squeezed out yet another most muscular with a shamelessly cock, "YEEEAAAAHHH"! I then made my boldest move yet. I walked, no, strutted towards The Transformer until I was merely a few feet away from the couch he was sitting on, and releasing my loudest and most aggressive growl yet, I bought both my arms up and then cranked down hard into a brutal and intense crab most muscular. "GAAARRRGGGHHHH"! I squeezed and squeezed as hard as I could. Every single body part was tensed and strained to the absolute max. My whole body just a mass of huge, tight, flexed muscle, squeezed into the ultimate bodybuilding pose. "OH FUUUUCK"! The Transformer's eyes were wider than ever before. He looked as if he was struggling to breathe and a look of sheer panic suddenly swept across his face. Was watching a huge, inhumanly conditioned bodybuilder flexing and squeezing out an explosive crab most muscular just a few feet away from him, while releasing the most outrageous and arrogant growl about to cause The Transformer to cum? His whole body suddenly began to tremble. "Oh God no!", he exclaimed. Oh God YES!! Fucking blow that load mate. Watch me flex my huge, freak-like muscles and just fucking CREAM IT!! Still squeezed in my crab most muscular to the absolute max, I released one last grizzly growl in The Transformer’s face, guaranteed to push him over the edge, and cause a major mess in his undies. "GGGRRRAAAARRR"! And that's when it happened. Completely snapping me out of my pose, an intensely bright, white light suddenly started to radiate from The Transformer’s body, which was now jolting with force underneath. It was so bright I had no option but to cover up my eyes with my huge, bronzed forearm. Confused at what was happening and scared for my new found admirers well being, when the brightness seemed to vanish, I anxiously pulled my arm away to ensure that he was OK. What I saw startled me so much that I released a yell and instinctively backed away. A stranger had somehow gotten into The Transformer's house. That was my initial thought. And then I realised, the man sitting on the same coach, in the exact same spot as The Transformer had, was not a stranger at all. The absurdly gorgeous man who'd been dubbed "THE REAL LIFE G.I JOE", and had appeared as a model on the cover of a men's fitness magazine, the man with impressively pumped arms, a fantastic chest and an absolutely jaw droppingly perfect physique, the man who had the power to transform others into any living person for twenty-four hours, was in fact, a slightly nerdy looking, still rather cute, but mostly unremarkable looking man of slim build, with very little evidence of muscle mass under the t-shirt which was now about two sizes too big for me. Completely lost for words, The Transformer looked at me with a deeply embarrassed and sorry look on his face. A face I then suddenly realised I'd seen before. "It's you", was all I could pathetically say. "The guy in the picture in the Star Trek costume". He sheepishly offered me a deflated smile. "Minus the ears", he replied. With the comment, and the reality of the situation which had suddenly dawned on me, I felt my mouth curling into a huge, amused grin. "So I guess you can also transform yourself into anyone you like"? Still looking extremely embarrassed, he picked up the fitness magazine from the coffee table and holding it up to reveal the man who not five minutes ago was sitting talking to me, sheepishly replied, "Anyone I like". I couldn't stop smiling. I'd been so nervous in the presence of this guy, and all the time he was just an just an average built, slightly geeky looking but admittedly still pretty cute bloke who, on occasion, liked to dress up in Star Trek costumes. And there I was. A shredded fucking muscle God in shiny pink posers. Towering over him. Almost on the verge of making him cum in his pants. Most people wouldn't even look twice at the guy who was sat sheepishly in front of me. Whilst the body I was then inhibiting caused people from all corners of the globe to cum just from looking a photo of it on the Internet. And yet, something was abundantly clear to me. Me and this guy; we were exactly the same. The incident had clearly knocked his confidence. "I never transform people as my regular self mate", he began to explain. I carried my 200 lbs body of ripped muscle and sat next to The Transformer on the couch. He looked slightly terrified as I sat down next to him, and couldn't seem to stop staring at my huge pecs, but he continued to explain regardless. "It's just to protect my identity really. I must have gotten my timings wrong. I saw that guy in the magazine yesterday and thought - yeah, it might be kinda fun to be that hot for a day". "I think I can relate to that", I said. With this, The Transformer seemed to relax a little, and he flashed me the first hint of his real, rather adorable smile. Sitting next to him on his couch, the size difference between us was ridiculous. My thick bronzed legs alone looked about three times as big as his. I felt a heady mix of power, superiority and overwhelming arousal. I also suddenly had a strange urge to dive towards The Transformer, kiss him and just embrace him with my sheer mass. "But I'll be honest mate”, he continued. ”I do this a fair bit. Transform myself. Not that I don't like the real me. I mean, I'm no G.I Joe but, I'm fine with the way I look. I more do it...for fun". And with this, his mouth curled into the most mischievous smirk. "I think I can relate to that too", I said. We were sat smiling at each other, when it suddenly dawned on me just how much I actually liked him. Not just the gorgeous fitness model, G.I Joe version either. I mean, granted, he was one beautiful fucking man. But the real version too. "Soooo", I began. “Before you transformed, you seemed to be enjoying watch me flex.” "Too fucking right I was mate!", he exclaimed. "So I could do a bit more posing for you, or...I could show you my superpower"? His eyes widened and he suddenly looked excited. "The second one mate"! He then looked a bit confused and flustered and quickly said, "No, the posing. No wait. Oh shit - do I have to chose just one?" I chuckled and felt my heart flutter just a tiny bit as I struggled to comprehend just how endearing and utterly adorable he was - whether in this body or his previous one. "Why don't we start with the superpower", I said. "OK", he grinned excitedly. "You ready"? I asked. The Transformer nodded and I took his hand in mine. The difference between them was almost comical. His pale, average sized and perfectly normal in appearance, mine big, bronzed, veiny and anything but normal. He smirked giddily and I felt an instant surge of electricity as we touched. That smile almost tripled and his eyes widened to a brilliant degree as I bought my left arm up into a one armed bicep flex, and firmly planted The Transformer’s hand around the gloriously bronzed ball of muscle exploding before his eyes. As his fingers wrapped around the rock hard and indecently sized peak of my freakish left bicep, I squeezed hard, looked The Transformer in the eye and released an outrageously cocky, "YEEEEAAHHH!", in his face. "OH FUCK"! The Transformers mouth was hung open and his look was part way between shock and sheer pleasure. With my palm still firmly covering the back of The Transformer’s hand, his fingers continued to dig into the freakishly sized bicep muscle. As I squeezed as hard as I possibly could, I gritted my teeth and released a deep, loud growling noise. "GRRRRRRRRR"! And that's when it happened. "OH FUUUUUUCK!", The Transformer exclaimed. His mouth and eyes grew wider, and his legs began to shake. "Oh Gaaawwwwwwd", he cried. With his mouth stretched open as wide as it possibly could be, he threw his head back, and, still firmly gripping my bicep, his whole body started making quick, sharp jolting movements, and he unleashed a chorus of the loudest, orgasmic groans of pleasure. "GRRR-YEEEEEAHHH", I growled over the top of The Transformer’s moans of ecstasy, which then turned into pants, groans of, "Oh God", "Oh fuck" and then, finally, into giddy laughs of post-orgasmic joy. Half an hour into my day of being a huge, shredded muscle freak and I'd already made someone cum in their pants. "Fucking HELL", The Transformer cried, as he tried to catch his breath, unable to wipe the huge smile off his flustered face. With my bicep then un-flexed, I unwrapped my palm from around The Transformer’s hand, which proceeded to slide off my mound of muscle mass. "Wait!", he said, his mind ticking over as he studied his now free hand. "Was that your superpower"? I looked at him and smirked. "I touched you...and I came", he said, trying to figure out what my mysterious power was. "No. You touched me and I came". He'd cracked it, and then he spoke my infamous superpower name. "You''re The Human Orgasm"! I blushed slightly, continued to grin and playfully raised my eyebrows. "Imagine that"! " make people cum just by touching them? WOW!", he said. "Yep! Well...only if I want to obviously", I assured him. "Phew. Well that's good", he said. "That would make shaking a strangers hand very awkward". I laughed and thought it best not to mention the fact that before I really learned how to control my power, that very extremely awkward scenario actually did occur on one occasion. Instead, without really thinking I blurted out, "I only do it with guys I like". I hadn't meant for the comment to be flirtatious or suggestive at all, but as soon as it slipped out, I realised that it qualified as being both. The Transformer blushed furiously, and his mouth uncontrollably grew into his giddiest grin yet. "I have a confession", he said. "OK", I curiously replied. He adorably took a deep breath. I had no idea what The Transformer was about to say, but he was clearly very nervous about it. "I think you're cute". I was completely baffled. It was such an odd comment to give to a 200 lbs muscle freak known for his insane conditioning, alien-like quads and thick, shredded glutes. A muscle freak who'd just made him cum in his pants while he digged his fingers into one of his rock hard, freakishly huge, fully flexed bicep. "Oh-kay", I replied. "Thanks"! "No! Not this guy. I mean - yes, you're cute. He's cute. Kind of". He didn't sound too convincing of the last part. "I meant - you're cute. The real you." His shoulders relaxed and my heart started fluttering once more. "I thought it from the moment you turned up at the door. And I knew you fancied me. Well - him. Who wouldn't? And I know you were probably checking out my arse when you followed me into the flat". I couldn't help but smirk at this particular statement, as he continued. "He does have a nice arse. I mean - it's nothing like THAT arse. Fuck! But yeah - I just wanted to say. I think you're cute. Really, really cute". I could barely wipe the smile off my face. I had no idea what to say to those completely adorable words, so I thought for a moment, and calmly spoke the first words which came into my head. "I'm gonna kiss you." His mouth grew into the most uncontrollable smirk. "But", I continued. "Not like this. I'm gonna come back here in twenty-four hours, when the transformation has worn off, and I'm no longer in Stephen Dresner’s body, and then I'm gonna kiss you. If you'll let me". The Transformer couldn't stop grinning. "I guess I'll see you in twenty-four hours then". "But you have to be the real you too", I explained. "You wouldn't prefer me to be "The Real Life G.I Joe"? I shook my head. "No. Although", I began, my mind drifting to the inexplicably gorgeous man who'd answered the door to me earlier that afternoon, "You can always turn into him afterwards. If you want". He laughed, and as we sat there smiling at each other, the chemistry between us felt stronger and more evident than ever. A knot suddenly arose in my stomach and the giddiness and excitement I had been experiencing up until that moment unexpectedly and momentarily turned into fear as I realised that I could really see myself falling for the guy sitting next to me. Here I go again. "So Tobey", The Transformer began. "How are you planning to spend the next twenty-four hours, like, well...THAT?", he asked, pointing at my outrageously muscular, gloriously chiselled, muscle popping physique. The question suddenly pulled my thoughts away from any potential love affair with The Transformer and back to the sole reason why I’d met him in the first place; to inhibit the inexplicably muscular and freak show worthy body of a genuine, competition conditioned bodybuilder. I suddenly felt an incredible surge of excitement at the possibilities which lay ahead. I had planned to spend a good portion of the day flexing, touching, worshipping and cumming over my own freaky muscle mass in the mirror, but the incredible rush and power I’d felt from The Transformer’s reaction to my body was suddenly giving me a few other ideas. I also couldn't deny the huge ego trip I was experiencing just from being so much bigger than The Transformer. Being that huge, being so different in appearance, not just to him, but the majority of the people outside of his flat. Knowing I was a freak that people would queue up just to merely touch. Knowing I could make certain people cum just on appearance alone. It was incredibly intoxicating. "I think I kind of wanna...freak people out", I mischievously said. "Just strut through a city centre in shorts and a tight revealing vest. My enormous, freaky, bronzed beef just spilling out for everyone to see. Watch the looks of fear and confusion. Hear the shocked gasps and see the awe-stricken glares. If they stare hard enough I might stop and hit a cheeky double bicep just for the hell of it. YEAH! Or maybe squeeze a quick, hard crab most muscular in their faces. BOOM!" Clearly liking what he was hearing, The Transformer was listening intently and grinning like mad. "Watch you don't get arrested for giving some poor old dear a heart attack". I laughed and continued. "Or maybe I could waddle into my local Tesco’s. Take off my shirt and drop my shorts to reveal my pink trunks and just start hitting some poses in the middle of the meat aisle. OOOOOF"! The Transformer laughed and shook his head. "Has anyone ever told you you're a little bit of a nutter mate"? I grinned. "Only the people who know me best". He suddenly looked a little deflated as he spoke his next words. "Well Tobey, I should probably let you go. Muscles to flex, people to freak out and all that. You might have to turn sideways to fit through my front door mind". I laughed and, bringing my fists either side of my waist, I spontaneously hit a front lat spread for The Transformer to show off my impressively thick lats, with a cheeky, short, dog-like bark; "RUFF"! I couldn't deny it. I was really enjoying The Transformer's company. Just sitting there with him felt new and exciting and I suddenly felt a twinge of sadness that our encounter was coming to an end. "I guess I'll see you in twenty-four hours then". I didn't even know his name, and, given the kind of service he provided, and much like anyone who "sold" their superpower, I wasn't expecting him to provide it just yet. So, taking his hand and intertwining his fingers with mine, while affectionately looking him in the eyes, I christened him with a new nickname. "Mr McSpunky-Pants". He squeezed my hand and giddily and affectionately gazed back at me and gave me my own adorable name. "Yep. See you in twenty-four hours. Tobey McCutie-Bum". "Unless", I began. His eyes widened and his face suddenly lit up in anticipation of my next words. "You want to come with me"? "You mean it?", he endearingly and excitedly asked. "Of course", I replied, shaking our hands which were we still locked together. "Tesco’s here we come!", he brilliantly said. "Wait", he continued. "You mean...come as me you mean?", he asked. "Like this"? "Sure", I replied. I hadn't really thought of an alternative. "Hmmmm", he said thinking. "We could do that. Or, I could transform into someone else". "You could", I said. "Though I am rather partial to this version". He blushed and replied, "I'm just thinking, on this occasion, we might have more fun if I transformed into…a different person". "Ok", I curiously said. "Do you have anyone specific in mind"? It was at this point that The Transformer reached for, and picked up my muscle magazine lying on his coffee table. He flipped the pages so the magazine was closed, and once again looked at the picture of the huge, hardcore, fully flexed bodybuilder on the front cover. The very bodybuilder who'd freaked him out and caused such an extreme reaction the first time he’d seen it. His mouth curled into a devilish grin as he looked from the bodybuilder on the magazine to me and answered my question. “Oh…I may have a certain someone”. The End
  7. dw2098lj

    The Car Salesman - Chapter 1

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

    Muscle Worshippers: Chapter 6 of 14

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

    time-historical The American Musketeer REDUX

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

    The Iron Bug - Part V

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

    The Iron Bug - Part IV

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

    superhero Marvelous Man - Chapter 17

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

    superhero Marvelous Man - Chapter 16

    All comments and critiques are welcomed here and on my Google Docs( For other chapters, I will post them on here later. But you can find the archives on my FA and Tumblr with pics included. FA: Tumblr: For first looks and more illustrations, check out my Patreon: First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter SPECIAL THANKS TO MY PATRONS: CHRISTOPHER FLOYD & DONALD MORGAN All comments and critiques are welcomed here and on my Google Docs( For other chapters, I will post them on here later. But you can find the archives on my FA and Tumblr with pics included. FA: Tumblr: For first looks and more illustrations, check out my Patreon: First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter SPECIAL THANKS TO MY PATRONS: CHRISTOPHER FLOYD & DONALD MORGAN Chapter 16: Wrongs, Rights, and Rimming? Marvelous Man’s reality felt like it was becoming undone. He had been careful to balance his two different lives without raising any suspicion from his friends and teammates. Adrenaline kept accelerating his heart rate with the sound of pumping blood raging in his ears, and it took every ounce of the musclebound superhero’s will to keep his breath steady. There were plenty of questions racing through his mind, but one statement drowned out the inquiries: SHIT!!! In one huge reveal, Gemini now had a new body that was exotically erotic and masculine. Apparently, he had also been employed by the D.A.B. to act as the team’s new member as a technician. But the one thing Marvelous Man hoped would not happen is Gemini recognizing Justice in his alter ego. The probability of that happening at this very moment can be compared to pulling a pin out of a grenade and not exploding. Gemini had just subtly outed Marvelous Man, while offering a handshake. There was no other choice but to keep playing along in order to keep up face. Marvelous Man accepted the handshake; gripping it with caution. The muscle demigod could feel Gemini squeezing hard enough that it felt like his hand was going to turn into a diamond. This would become the second time today his hand would be crushed. He strained back a smile. Marvelous Man stammered, “R-really? What a coimidam-I mean, coincidence.” “Yeah, I bet,” grinned Gemini. The Director sipped his glass of sweet tea before continuing. “Marvelous Man, I’ll need you to debrief Mr. Yin here about our current situation with the Skeleton Lord,” Director Skye ordered,” As for you, Gene, I’ll need you with me when we start interrogating our petrified guest. I supposed he will respond better with you in his visual vicinity.” “Understood,” bowed Gene. Director Doug turned to Fairuza. He drawled, “Fairuza, I’ll need you to help record our interrogation. Maybe you can find something whatever Gilgamesh spills to get us a better idea about our skeletal problem. Especially with how he is associated with that fiend and how he managed to keep his youth.” “Yes, sir. Of course,” replied Fairuza. The Director smiled, “Splendid. Now if y’all excuse me, we still have about two hours left before our guest thaws out, and I will be taking my lunch.” >>>>>>>>>>>>>> Being dismissed from Director Skye’s office, Marvelous Man and Gemini made their way towards the elevator. Neither said a word, but Marvelous Man was too aware of the tension between them. It was seconds after they entered the elevator and it closing behind them, that he tried to break the ice. “So…” said Marvelous Man, “uhhh, as the Director told you, we’re dealing with the Skele-” “Why didn’t you tell me that you’re a superhero?” interrupted Gemini. Marvelous Man paused, “ a superhero. Is my outfit not cl-” “DON’T! Bullshit with me, Justice! I know it’s you. I have facial recognition software like every other Soulem!” exclaimed Gemini. He continued, “I mean, at least have the decency to put on a mask or something. You can blend in with the crowds of other giant black bodybuilders in this city, but that can only fool human eyes.” The muscle demigod said nothing. Marvelous Man stared down at the ground; incapable of making any eye contact with his Soulem friend. The elevator dinged as it passed the fourth floor. “When we first met, you told me you were a trust-fund baby and was in between jobs,” recanted Gemini. Marvelous Man answered, “...That wasn’t a the time. After I met you that same day, the D.A.B. hired me to become a full-time hero. Before that, I had just got my superhero license and was patrolling as a hobby.” “Oh...Still, why didn’t you tell me? I thought we were friends...maybe even best friends,” frowned Gemini. The husky Soulem’s mood rings turned to a deep blue. Marvelous Man looked up at his best friend. It struck a chord in his heart to hear someone openly validate their friendship with the bodybuilder superhero. “We are! It’s just that...I mean...I wanted to protect you and my loved ones. I don’t want my enemies to know about you and hurt you, Gemini,” explained Marvelous Man. Gemini looked at Marvelous Man with a face of bewilderment, while his mood rings turned grey. He exclaimed, “What kind of fatherfucking logic is that?! Did your understanding of the world come from an old-timey comic book or something?! I ‘supposedly’ have close relations to the you that is Justice fatherfucking Starr. Because of that, I have to know your superhero alter ego, so that I can prepare myself in the event that your well-known enemies try to get the drop on your civilian life by targeting me.” The elevator dinged again, as it passed by the third floor. Mood rings flashing red, Gemini crossed his arms. “You’re doing more harm than good. You’re not helping. You’re just being selfish,” he lectured. Marvelous Man’s vision began to turn murky, as he could feel something building up in his eyes. He clenched his fists. He was a superhero. Superheroes do not cry. They must be a symbol of unwavering strength. But…the fear of losing the only friend Justice had and the sadness of betraying Gemini’s trust felt more painful than Gilgamesh breaking his entire hand. He choked a whisper, “...I’m sorry…” Gemini stared into the muscle demigod’s eyes. As he did so, the Soulem’s mood rings’ color shifted into white. His hand slowly drifted to Marvelous Man’s until it hesitated halfway. Changing direction, Gemini placed his hand on the bodybuilder superhero’s bulging shoulder. “...I care about you, Justice. You’re the only friend around here that I have, and I barely know you. Please...tell me the truth. Just everything...anything at all...Please,” he sighed. Marvelous Man closed his eyes to prevent any seeping liquids. He could barely hear the elevator’s ding of descending passed the second floor. The musclebound superhero sobbed, “...Okay.” >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Soon after Marvelous Man calmed down, the two relocated themselves at Marvelous Man’s apartment. Marvelous Man did not leave as Justice earlier that day, so the he had to enter the premise through the roof access. The muscle demigod then fished a silver key out of his pocket while making his way down the steps. “Ya know, I think this is the first time I’ve been on your roof. We should go swimming on your roof’s pool before fall sets in,” mentioned Gemini. Marvelous Man nodded, “Yeah, sure. I’ve never dipped in there yet.” “That’s a shame. Too much time taken up from superheroing?” inquired Gemini. Marvelous Man answered, “Yeah, and cause I spend all my free time hanging out with you. You kinda had a fragile body back then, so that’s why all we did was walk around the mall and watch anime.” The Soulem’s mood ring flashed to pink, while he flustered. “Oh...Well...thanks for being considerate,” replied Gemini. The muscle demigod smiled, “No problem.” Marvelous Man then stopped in front of his living room closet. He briefly remember his first time arriving in the real world through there. While the process of going to another world felt somewhat magical, crossing over and arriving into the real world was so instant and tame. The bodybuilder superhero place the silver key into the door’s lock; jangling an ice cream sundae with a cherry on top keychain attached to the silver key. “Soooo, are you gonna tell me who you are and stuff? Cause I assumed you brought me back to your apartment, cause you’d feel more comfortable dishing it here...did I really just say that?” said Gemini. Marvelous Man turned to Gemini, as the Soulem’s mood ring changed to white. He spoke, “I do, but I have to show you something first before I can explain everything about me. I promise it’ll make sense once I do. Just let me change before I show you.” Raising his arms above his head, the muscle demigod placed his golden bracelets on top of the other. Marvelous Man chanted, “Marvelous Muscle Magic, Metamorph!!!” The bodybuilder superhero was instantly transported into his transformation void. After having to do it countless times to maintain his double life, he no longer dreaded it. The feelings from the transportation and assailing on his erogenous zones were at first annoyance, then numbness, and finally accepting it and enjoying the teasing pleasures. His heroic outfit exploded like shattered glass; leaving his musclebound body floating nude in the void. This was then followed by silver paint slapping at his glutes and groin. His muscular globes jiggled in every direction, as silver fabric began to form. Once the hulking man’s silver thong fully materialized, the transformation vacuum collapsed. Justice landed gently on his large feet. Taking a breath to appreciate the pleasurable transformation, Justice could feel his sex at half mast. The bodybuilder looked at his handsome Soulem friend and noticed the bulging movements in Gemini’s zaffre fundoshi. Justice’s mouth began to water, as his thoughts wondered about his friend’s robotic penis. He then realized that Gene’s hypersexuality was starting to seep into his personality. “ have to say that every time to transform?” coughed Gemini. Justice sighed, “Yeah. At first it was kinda embarrassing to say, but I got used to it.” The musclebound man attempted to change the subject in the hopes of distracting his thoughts and changing Gemini’s dark red mood ring. “Did I ever tell you where I came from?” asked Justice. Gemini lightly nodded his head, as his mood ring’s color turned into purple. The Soulem recalled, “Yeah, you said you came from Sunnysville?” “Uh-huh. And I want to take you there. It’ll make sense once I show you, I swear,” said Justice. Gemini’s mood ring flashed grey, as he gave Justice a confused look. He replied, “Oookaaay...Like, right now? What, we gonna use teleportation magic or…?” The Soulem tilted his head, while his eyes gazed upon the silver key in the closet’s lock. His mood ring immediately shifted to a purple. “Wait a sec! Are we gonna walk through your closet like that magical wardrobe?!” inquired Gemini. Justice could see the curious giddy in his friend’s digital eyes. The bodybuilder replied, “Ummm, I’m not sure what you’re referencing to. But yeah, we’re gonna be walking through my closet.” Gemini’s white eyes dilated like a cat enraptured by euphoric catnip. “Oh my gosh, dimensional magic?! I am going to flip if you’re telling the-uhhh...wh-what are you doing?” stammered the Soulem. During Gemini’s flabbergast, Justice had bent down in an attempt to take off his silver thong. He continued to slide it down his tree-trunk thighs while looking up. The musclebound man noticed his robotic friend’s mood ring began to constantly fluctuate between pink, grey, and dark red. He replied, “Hm? Oh, I’m just taking these off. Nobody in Sunnysville is real, so it doesn’t matter if I’m naked. You can take yours off too, if you want.” “I’m, uh, I’m good,” said Gemini. As the Soulem watched his overly muscular friend pull the silver thong down to the ankles, his mood ring color shifted to black. A wicked smile crept on his silver face. Gemini spoke up, “Soooo, if you’re not gonna wear anything, mind if ya let me dress you?” The hulking bodybuilder stood up and kicked away his thong. He then looked at the husky android with a puzzled face; unsure if he heard his friend right. “Huh?” said Justice. Gemini pressed, “Just saying. It doesn’t matter if you’re not wearing anything, since you said the people aren’t real...which is a really weird thing to say-Sorry, getting off topic. But c’mon, let me dress you. It’s not like you can be embarrassed.” Justice had never seen the Soulem’s mood ring take on a black hue, but he knew it could not be good. His instinct told him that something was amiss and to say no. But he felt like he would be letting down his friend again if he refused. The bodybuilder already hurt Gemini’s feelings once today and did not wish to do it again. “Okay,” he sighed. Gemini replied, “Great! I’ll be right back!” As the beefy Soulem’s mood ring color changed to light blue, Gemini ran to Justice’s bedroom. Justice tried to shake his unease. It seemed like an odd idea, but it could be fun. He wondered if he had the will to refuse whatever Gemini wanted him to wear. The worst thing the Soulem could do is make him wear his buttplug. He then told himself it would not be so bad, since they are only touring Sunnysville. “Dude, did you buy some anime replica sex toy?” shouted Gemini. Justice flexed his eyebrows in confusion before his eyes bulged at a faint memory. A while back, he thought it would be fun to purchase sex toys from the internet that were shaped like props from famous television shows and movies. There was only one that caught his eye that was quite similar and came at a hefty price. And after purchasing it, he forgot about trying it out; leaving it to occupy a corner of his room. Gemini continued, “Dragon Pearls™ anal balls? Some kind of Chinese knockoff? Oh wow, yeah, instead of stars, it’s got Chinese characters, heh. Geeze, it’s heavy! What is this, fourty pounds?” “Shit,” muttered Justice. Exiting Justice’s bedroom, Gemini lightly jogged back to his bodybuilder friend. He was carrying several objects in his hands, but there was something else that would catch anybody’s attention. Slinged over his shoulders and around the back of his neck were eight orange spheres interconnected with a white string. The crystal-like orbs were bigger than softballs and had red Chinese characters planted in their centers. The Soulem’s devilish smile was even wider than before, and the color of his mood rings were constantly phasing back and forth with dark red and black. Evil seemed to be dancing in Gemini’s eyes; sending a chill down Justice’s spine. Justice quickly reasoned, “Those aren’t clothes.” “Neither is your Marvelous Man bikini, yet you wear it in public cause it technically clothes your immense dong and balls,” shot back Gemini. The Soulem whined, “C’mon, broooo. You said you’d let me dress you. I mean, are you not able to fit this in you?” “I can...but I don’t want to,” replied the bodybuilder. Gemini continued griping, “Justice. C’moooon. Please? You seriously gonna take back your word?” Justice did not need Gene’s ability to sense the sexual hunger radiating out of Gemini. He knew it was going to be awkward getting pleasured by his best friend. The bodybuilder briefly wondered if all Soulems with supposed functional sex organs were as perverted as Gemini was starting to become. Knowing that he would never hear the end of it and probably hurt their friendship, Justice knew what he had to do. “Fine,” sighed the hulking bodybuilder. Gemini beamed, “Yes! I brought some lube if you need it.” “I don’t, but it’ll make this go a lot faster. Just let me clean myself out first,” said Justice. The overly muscular man thumped his way over to the bathroom. His thick cock loudly slapped against his thunderous thighs with every step. Gemini called out, “Maybe you should get a spell tattooed on yourself, so you can stay permanently clean. Unless you’re like, ya know, some sort of supernatural being or have an artificial colon.” >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> The bulge in Gemini’s zaffre fundoshi pushed against the fabric with furious determination at a chance to be fully erect and free of the tie-string loincloth. In one hand, he held a bottle of Crack Addict lube and the Dragon Pearls™ in the other. The Soulem’s mood ring color flashed an intense dark red, as he stared at the erotic sight in front of him. Splayed open was Justice’s rear end. The bodybuilder stretched his legs open into a perfect split; resting his exceedingly meaty legs on the couch. With nothing to keep his massive bubble glutes together, his virgin hole was left exposed for the Soulem to behold. “Well? You gonna do it or not?” said Justice. Upon Justice voicing his impatience, Gemini shook his head to relieve the carnal daze in his eyes. The Soulem replied, “Huh? Oh, yeah! Sure. Just, uh, give me a second to lube up.” “Just put it on the balls. My ass doesn’t need the prepping,” said Justice. Gemini nodded, “Yeah, I can tell. It’s already got a gape. But, ummm, how’d you get it to be so puffy? It’s like a donut.” “Anal pump. I’ve been using it for...huh, it’s been years, but I actually lost count, heh. But I had to get a new one when I moved here,” explained Justice. Gemini exclaimed, “Damn! How are you not a sex obsessed being if you buy all these sexy clothes and sex toys?! You don’t bother eye-banging every guy we pass by when we go to the mall and stuff.” “I still do. Just not with every guy. And I just feel that all my sex stuff should be kept home in my own privacy. But if I was still in my teens, I would’ve let you bang me without question, hehe,” stated the bodybuilder, “But what about you? You’re trying to put a toy in me and keep staring at my hole.” The Soulem sighed, “Sorry. After my awakening and getting my new body, the moderators for my upgrade said that I’d have a hyper interest in sex for the next week or so. So it should go away soon.” “Oh, right! I totally forgot! Congratulations on your awakening! I guess that’s why you got a new body, huh?” said Justice. He then paused for a second as realization hit him. The musclebound man spoke up, “Ohhhh, so that’s why it’s also called robo puberty!” “ I’m really sorry if I keep drooling whenever I look at you. It’s just that...your body is really hypnotizing. Especially your asshole,” licked Gemini. While Justice was used to people flirting with him, it was different to hear his best friend complement the sexual appeal of his body. It sent a tingling sensation that aroused his man meat to twitch and harden. Gemini has made comments about his body before, but it was usually about his bigness or strength. However, his Soulem friend’s new statement roused a new hunger in Justice that felt like it could only be sated with more of those sexy comments...or maybe more. Justice hesitated, “Oh. It’s cool. But thanks for saying that. Ummm, can you put it in me now?” Gemini said nothing, as his eyes kept staring at Justice’s pillow-like bussy. He walked towards the bodybuilder’s hole, as if he were in a trance, and kneeled down. The Soulem slowly leaned forward until his face planted against the stretched buttocks. With his nose pressing against the soft, donut-shaped anus, Gemini’s nose inhaled the manly scent. “Fffffuuuuuck…” exhaled the Soulem. The musclebound man flexed an eyebrow in confusion. He felt something odd, but it was not a feeling of penetration. Opening his mouth, Gemini’s black tongue rolled out. It looked almost like a normal tongue until it began to flex and undulate like a worm. As it slithered in the air, the wet tongue started to glow a soft neon blue. The glimmering, blue tongue wriggled its way onto the bodybuilder’s perineum; tasting the smooth, chocolate taint. Floundering about, Gemini’s tongue layered the soft area with Soulem saliva. The blue muscle was still not satisfied, and trailed down the perineum’s line. It met its unfortunate end, as it collided against the couch. Justice sharply gasped, “G-GEM?! Wha-” Tilting his head up, Gemini snaked his glowing tongue back into his mouth. The Soulem’s silver lips brushed against the overly-muscled rump’s. With them perfectly aligned, Gemini’s face pressed further into the exposed buttock. Justice could hear a wet smooch, as the bulky android puckered and kissed several times. “Wh-what are you doing?!” moaned Justice. He could feel a tickling sensation on his anus, but it was hard to describe. It was wet, and it felt so good. It also felt teasing, and he wanted more but not knowing what it was scared him a bit. He could also feel a big object pressing against his thick rear. The object felt smooth and metallic, but it was warm instead of the expected cold. He briefly wondered just what Gemini was applying before a new sensation took over; melting his ability to move or resist. Gemini opened his mouth, during the mouth to anus make out session, to allow his glimmering, blue tongue to squirm out. It swirled over the pillowy rim of the entrance in slow, clockwise motions. Upon completing a rotation, Gemini would return back to kissing. He would smooch the hole’s lips a few more times before releasing his blue tongue in the opposite direction. With the pumped rim now thoroughly wet, the Soulem’s tongue went into a new direction. The blue tongue slowly slid into the gaping hole. It burrowed deep into fleshy tunnel like a worm without a hint of defiance from the muscle ring. It squirmed in every direction before returning into the metallic mouth. Immediately after, the glimmering appendage darted right back into the bodybuilder’s rectum to taste the virgin meat and explore every part of it. Justice laid on the couch in his perfect leg split; moaning in ecstasy. The tickling, pleasurable sensation now traveled inside of himself. He was powerless to stop Gemini’s unseen action, as he could no longer form a coherent thought. The bodybuilder was now mindless; lost in a lust fog with his eyes rolled back into his skull. The senses in his head spun, and he could no longer tell what was up or down. Pleasures of electricity zipped across his spine; twitching every muscle cord in his body. He whimpered, “Gem…” Gemini stood up. His robotic erection strained against the zaffre fundoshi and lined up against Justice’s pumped, wet hole. The Soulem looked down and reached for the drawstring of his mokko fundoshi before stopping midway. The bottle of Crack Addict lube and the Dragon Pearls™ were still in his hands, and his mood ring color switched to grey. His eyes darted about as if he snapped out of his trance and wondering what just happened. Keeping silent, Gemini quickly doused the orange anal balls with the sex lubricant brand. The color of his mood ring during the lubrication changed to yellow, before fading back to dark red upon finishing. Dropping to his knees, the Soulem placed the bottle of lube on the ground. He then grabbed the crystal orb on the end of the white string, and placed it against Justice’s gaping hole. The donut-shaped entrance widened upon the lubricated Dragon Pearl™ pressing against it. As the hole enveloped the orange orb, it accepted it with a soft, wet shlop. Justice grunted in pleasure from being stretched and filled. The gaping orifice then twitched as if it were a mouth hungry for more. Gemini carefully proceed with the second orb; resulting in the same outcome. The bulky Soulem continued to shove the rest of the crystal balls into Justice’s plump opening. As he slid the last ball in, his hand accidentally slipped in. Justice moaned at the sudden fisting, while Gemini playfully rolled his hand about. Smirking, Gemini pulled his wet hand out with a loud plop. All eight orbs were successfully fed into the hungry hole. The only evidence of such a feat was a ring attached to the anal ball’s white string; hanging outside the pillowy rim. Gemini stood up and gazed upon his handiwork. A shiny, orange glint shimmered from within Justice’s virgin chasm. Gemini’s eye wandered about Justice’s twitching body that was still paralyzed by the onslaught of euphoria. His mood ring transitioned to black. >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Justice opened his eyes. He felt full and surmised that Gemini successfully inserted the Dragon Pearls™ into him. He then wondered how he ended up on his back, as the ceiling and the top of his pectorals now stared back at him. There was also something clung around his neck, but it did not matter at this moment. The bodybuilder remembered his anus was being tickled and then lost his sense of self and time. As he tried to recall the event, Justice then felt an intense itching on his hole. Trying to sit himself up, Justice spotted Gemini. The husky Soulem stood in front of him; holding a bag of shiny objects. The color on Gemini’s mood ring had now went back to being white. “...How long was I out?” hesitated Justice. Gemini smiled, “Long enough for me to put on the finishing touches of your new outfit.” Justice positioned himself to get up before noticing something else. “Why am I still doing the splits?” he asked. Gemini shrugged, “You looked really sexy doin that, so I split your legs again after I flipped you over. You’re surprisingly flexible for a super buff guy. It wasn’t even a struggle to get your legs to do it.” “Years of gymnastics and yoga,” answered Justice. Gemini flexed a suspicious golden eyebrow. He inquired, “Between all the bodybuilding?” “I had a lot of free time back in Sunnysville,” shrugged Justice, “Anyways, let me see what you did before we go.” Breaking from his split pose, the hulking bodybuilder placed his legs together and stood up from the leather couch. Justice thumped his heavy body back towards his bedroom and could hear a jingling of bells that he could not identify its origin. He could feel the anal balls wiggling inside of him with every thunderous step he took. Justice mentally admitted to himself that although it was weird to feel so much stuffed into his body, it did feel pleasurable and sexy knowing he took it all in. As he approached the bedroom door, he could not ignore another sensation he had been feeling since he woke up. Justice’s hole itched and twitched with an intensity that needed to be scratched. It was greater than its usual urges to be stretched and filled. Justice thought the anal balls were enough but figured it might have increased his endurance to take on more. As he reached down to pet the sexually-hungered mouth, the bodybuilder heard his Soulem friend shout. “Oh! That reminds me,” said Gemini. Dropping the bag of shiny objects, the bulky android ran to the musclebound man and stopped within touching distance. Gemini grabbed the Dragon Pearls’™ ring, hanging out of Justice’s anus on a white string, with one hand and placed the other on the bodybuilder’s wide back. He yanked as if he were trying to start up a lawn mower. Gemini commanded, “I wish you wouldn’t touch your hole until the Dragon Pearls™ are completely out.” Immediately after Gemini said his wish, Justice’s hole began to bulge against an object trying to exit. An orange orb was pulled out of virgin rectum with a wet plop ringing in the air. The bodybuilder gasped at the sudden stretch and partial loss of fullness. Electricity danced in Justice’s body, as the musclebound man was now paralyzed by the pleasurable shock. Before Justice had time to breathe, Gemini yanked the white string again. “I wish that you can’t take off the outfit I put on you until the Dragon Pearls™ are completely out,” added the Soulem. Another crystal anal ball popped out of donut-shaped hole. Justice’s body was assaulted by the multiple sensations but managed to gain enough willpower to do one action. The musclebound man held out his arms and braced himself against the doorframe. In the act of doing so, Justice sacrificed the power in his legs. The bodybuilder sagged to the floor, as his overly-muscular legs could no longer stand. Justice’s rear end poised up upon reaching the tiled ground; held up by the anal leash grasped in Gemini’s fingers. The bodybuilder shuddered, “F-Father...fucker...Wh-what do...that for?” Gemini playfully tugged at the Dragon Pearls™ string. The orbs did not react this time; causing Justice’s round, muscle rump to be lifted higher up. Squatting down, the bulky Soulem slid his white, rubbery index finger halfway into Justice’s pumped hole. He then twirled in finger in a slow clockwise motion; eliciting wimpy moans from the hulking bodybuilder. Gemini licked his lips with his glowing, blue tongue, as his mood ring flashed to dark red. “Just testing it. Apparently, this anime knockoff sex toy is a magical object,” he replied. Justice moaned, “What?!” Even though he should be angry and having many different emotions about this situation, Justice felt himself sinking back into the lust fog. All of his emotions were being drained by Gemini toying with his hole. Justice wanted to fight back, but a bigger part of him wanted to give in. Especially since the itching sensation on his anal lips was finally being relieved a little bit. “Yeah. I’m surprised you didn’t look at the booklet in the box. Or at the very least, read the description info on whatever site you bought it from. But I guess when you have all the money to burn, things like that or even the price won’t deter you,” said Gemini. The Soulem rambled, “Basically, the Dragon Pearls™ are a mind control device that isn’t labeled as a magical mind control device, cause those are illegal. Not to mention, they would have been cancelled out by the magical mind control disruptors placed all over the city to prevent mind hacking. But this enchanted sex toy uses lust energy and can only compel a person once they give consent to have the balls put in them. So it would be really hard for a terrorist to use it against the president or something.” “Anyways, once they’re in you, I’m able to give you eight commands, but I have to start it with ‘I wish’. And every time I command you, I have to pull out a ball for it to work. Don’t worry though, I won’t make you do anything rapey like having sex with me. But apparently, the eighth command is permanent, and all the previous ones are temporary depending on how much lust energy was absorbed,” he continued. Justice could not believe what he was hearing. He thought to himself that he really needed to pay better attention to the description info before he bought something on the internet. No wonder that sex toy had all those zeroes. Gemini explained, “So I’m just gonna say in advance that I’m really sorry about all this, and that I don’t have much control over myself. I’m just super horny right now, and I just am now realizing what a sadist me and my dad really are. Sooooo, while my inhibitions are really low, I’m just gonna try to enjoy this as much as possible. Consider it payback for keeping a secret from your best friend that could have explained why we couldn’t have hung out all those times you were heroing before I got my upgrade.” The hulking bodybuilder tried to sigh, but it ended up turning into a moan. Gemini was not going to let it go even after Justice apologized. He then figured it was better to play along with Gemini’s role play, to keep his best friend happy. But when Justice has hit his limit, he will stop pretending to be deceived by the husky Soulem. “Fine. But...why asshole much?” asked Justice. The Soulem smirked, “Grabbed a bottle of Crack Addict from your room. It’s that irritant lube that makes ya itch wherever you apply it to. Must be driving you pretty wild, huh, bro?” “Yeah...Can I get up now?” said Justice. Ceasing the finger twirl on Justice’s hole, Gemini uncoiled the white string that had wrapped around his finger from the action. The Soulem then slapped his hand down on the bodybuilder’s massive, round glutes; causing the skin and fat underneath it to ripple like a stone tossed into a pond. Justice moaned loudly from the buttocks assault and again from Gemini leaning down to give the donut-shaped hole one final lick with his glowing, blue tongue. He replied, “Now you can.” Justice remained face down for a few more seconds before collecting enough strength in his massive legs to stand up. At full height, his hands remained braced against the doorframe to keep his body straight. The bodybuilder then opened the door and slowly thumped his mammoth-sized body into his bedroom. Other than the anal balls inside of him moving, he could now feel the two orange orbs outside of him slapping against the back of his tree-trunk thighs. It was almost as if he had a tail. Finding the many wall-sized mirrors installed on the wall, he stood in front to gaze at his appearance. He became perplexed at what he saw, and realized he really needed to pay more attention to what he bought. The outfit Gemini made him wear was technically allowed for public dressed, but it was on the same level as Gene’s dating wardrobe. A gold-plated slave collar was now adorned around his neck. It had a short-lengthed chain linked to the front of the collar and drooped down into the cleft of Justice’s colossal pecs. Justice spotted his ankles had also been arrested with gold-plated slave cuffs that had small bells linked onto the sides. Focusing on his crotch, he noticed his hefty family jewels had been fitted through a golden cock ring that had been lined with a stretchy fabric. The shiny, metallic silver spandex housed his sexual fruits and stretched to a skin tightness that every detail of his manliness can be seen. The shiny spandex had the word “IT” printed in large, metallic gold spandex, so that even his crotch spelled out that he was bounded to a submissive, sexual servitude. Justice’s eyes were finally drawn to the last of what Gemini put on him. Shimmering on his belly button and his forehead were body jewelry rhinestones. They were white and sparkled like diamonds. The one on his belly button was the biggest of the two; completely covering the fleshy depression with a circular shape. As for the one applied onto the center of his forehead, it had a diamond-shaped rhombus figure to it. More than likely, these rhinestones were the final pieces, since that is what was most likely in the bag Gemini held when Justice woke up. “Am I supposed to be some sort of sci-fi slave prince?” guessed Justice. Gemini shrugged, “Something like that. I just grabbed what I thought would look sexy on you.” Justice looked in the mirror again to take in his new appearance. There was something exciting about wearing such an outfit, and it was starting to grow on him. It felt as if Gemini had awakened something within him. He always knew he was a power bottom but did being subjugated turn him on? The musclebound bodybuilder felt that Gemini would be the only one he could trust with such a thing for now; even though the Soulem was being a perverted pain at the moment. Though part of Justice relished at how dominant Gemini was over him. The overly-muscular man poked at his forehead rhinestone. “Well...I don’t completely hate it. I’m kinda liking this bindi. And the belly button one is...not bad,” he said, “By the way, how strong is this adhesive? It’s not budging at all.” Gemini stated, “It’s supposed to stay on you for a week, so I’m guessing it’s pretty strong stuff. So unless you want to rip off some epidermis, you probably shouldn’t try. Oh, and it’s waterproof and heat resistant, so a shower ain’t gonna make it come off.” Justice frowned as he played with his metallic spandex-encased bulge. The fabric felt smooth to his fingertips, and he was finding it fun to jostle it in his hand. He then spotted in his wall mirror a wet spot starting to develop on the silver spandex. “Fine. At least I can take off the cuffs and collar when you get those Dragon Pearls™ out of me,” remarked the bodybuilder. Gemini then mentioned, “Oh, yeah. One last thing. I stuck a whole bunch of different-colored rhinestones on your back.” “What?” said Justice. Gemini grinned, “Yeah, I arranged it to look like the Gemini constellation. So that’s my brand on you for right now to show that I own you, heh. But I’m not feeling it right now, so I’ll probably try something later that’s more noticeable and more me.” “Fine. Whatever. Is there anything else you added?” huffed Justice. Gemini pursed his lips, “Hmmmm, nope. That’s it. But let me just do one last thing.” Grabbing the white cord sticking out of Justice’s hole, Gemini yanked it. “I wish that you can’t move unless I’m wearing the Dragon Pearls’™ pull ring or holding onto the string,” he commanded. Another wet plop emanated from Justice’s hole, as another orb popped out. The bodybuilder gasped at the sudden stretch, and its sensation coursing through his musclebound body. It might have been pleasurable to feel and relieved some of the itch, but it also felt humiliating. Justice exclaimed, “Okay, that’s it!” The muscular man reached behind himself and grasped at the sex toy’s cord. Relaxing his bowels, Justice tugged at the Dragon Pearls™. The bodybuilder expected his hole to be stretched multiple times, but nothing happened. He adjusted his grip on one of the orbs and jerked at it again and again. The outcome was the same; not at all budging and locked within his rectum. “The hell? I’m relaxing all my ass muscles. Why isn’t it coming out?!” he said. Gemini smirked, “I did just tell you about a minute ago that you bought enchanted Dragon Pearls™. I even gave you that whole spiel on how it works. Only somebody commanding you can pull them out one at a time.” “I thought you were just roleplaying or something. It’s just too crazy for something like that to exist,” replied Justice. Gemini sighed, “Says the guy that bought an anime knockoff replica sex toy.” Justice said nothing while releasing his hold over the orange orb. The bodybuilder then attempted to touch his itchy anus; his fingers reaching out to the affected area. Justice’s hand stopped in its tracks just as it was about brush against his asshole. It was as if there was some magnetic field that repelled his hand away from his hole. “Dammit,” he muttered. As Justice gave up, the bulky android’s mood ring color shifted to black. Gemini spoke up, “Allow me to demonstrate wish three.” The Soulem relinquished his grasp over the Dragon Pearls™; slapping against the bodybuilder’s overly-muscled thighs. He grinned, as Justice’s body immediately seized like a statue. Gemini’s hands began to wander over Justice’s wide, wing-like lats, as he leaned forward to kiss the musclebound man’s mountainous traps. Even though Justice could not move, he could still hear and feel the wet smooch applied to his skin. The bodybuilder then wondered how the Soulem’s metallic lips were warm, wet, and somehow tickled his skin. As Gemini finished his kiss, he squatted down. The husky Soulem moved himself in front of Justice and looked straight at his friend’s metallic spandex bulge. Extending his glowing, blue tongue, Gemini licked at the bulge’s wet spot that now had a raindrop-sized manly residue leaking through the shiny, silver bulge. “Mmmmm. Sweet. Just like you,” flirted Gemini. Justice felt his cheeks burn. He was not sure if it was from either being flustered at the compliment or being humiliated at his paralysis. “...Thanks...can we go now?” he replied. Gemini sneered, “Don’t want to have sexy times with your best friend?” As the Soulem stood up, he dragged his glimmering tongue over the silver bulge. It then slid across the cobblestone abs and into the crevice of Justice’s mighty pectorals. All evidence of such an act was a trail of the Soulem’s saliva on the hulking bodybuilder’s skin and the newly polished navel jewelry; shimmering in the bedroom light. Gemini then changed his attention to the watermelon-sized pecshelf. He softly bit onto Justice’s left pec multiple times, as his hand molested the other. Chocolate pec meat spilled through the white, rubbery fingers of the hard grip. Justice could only moan at the titillating action and groaned even louder once Gemini switched to the bodybuilder’s nipples. Justice gritted his teeth. It was very hot but also weird to watch his friend make love to his chest. He wanted to ask when Gemini started to have sexual attractions to him, but there was something else he needed to say. Justice could not let himself get lost in the erotic euphoria and excitement from being dominated. The bodybuilder gathered his willpower and thought of the most unsexy thing he could think of. Pickle peanut butter sandwich. “I think that’s why it seems awkward to me. You’re my best friend, and...I dunno...I still feel bad about what happened, and I need to show you the real me. Please?,” he answered. Gemini instantly ceased his erotic activity upon hearing his best friend. He looked up at Justice’s eyes, while the color of his mood ring changed to white. The Soulem frowned, “Sorry. You’re right. I’m getting so easily sidetracked right now, but...I do want you to show me more than anything, dude. I want to understand.” Next Chapter
  16. ploder4

    brothers My Twin Is His Own Man

    PREVIOUS REFERENCE: --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
  17. muscleaddict

    Worshipping Tommy Foster

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

    Dan and Jake (Part 1)

    Part 1 of a new story about two much loved juniour bodybuilders. Dan is 6 ft, huge and ridiculously handsome. Jake is 5' 5" and known for his super shredded conditioning (we're talking razor sharp cuts, dick thin skin, freaky ab veins an a full on Christmas tree). They're best friends and vlogging partners (they've been dubbed "the beefiest blogging duo on YouTube"). But Jake has a secret. He's completely and hopelessly in love with Dan. Dan and Jake (Part 1) The church is absolutely packed, and as the organ man starts to play, I begin to walk down the aisle. I turn to the man to the right, clutching my arm. Good old pops. He looks genuinely choked up. Everyone is looking at me all doughy eyed. Granny Adams is dabbing her eyes with a tissue. Auntie Mavis is nudging uncle Boris and signalling to my outfit. Both of them now staring at it in admiration. I look down to admire it myself. A black dickie bow around my neck, a pair of smart black boots and, completing the outfit, a pair of bright red posing trunks. As shiny as you can imagine. The red trunk coloured bulge is looking up at me. So are my abs. In all their thick, wonky shaped, and phenomenally peeled glory. Six crazily developed bumps bursting through my tummy to remind me that I'm a freakishly shredded, excessively developed muscle boy who loves nothing more than to strut around a bodybuilding stage, flexing and squeezing his superhuman sized mass for all the world to see. My slabby, beautifully carved out muscle tits, and the rest of my huge, bronzed, vein plastered body are obvious reminders too. What is the organ man playing? I know the song but I can't quite get the name. It’s only when I get to the front of the church that it suddenly hits me. It’s a ballad organ rendition of The Prodigy's "Smack My Bitch Up". A large, stocky man is standing in front of me smiling. He’s wearing one of the t-shirts from my website; black with the words "BROTHERS IN BEEF" printed on it, and around his neck is a dog collar. I recognise him instantly. It’s the commentator and host from a dozen of my previous bodybuilding shows. I'm pretty sure his name is Bob. "Friends, relatives, muscleheads", Bob begins in his thick Yorkshire accent. "We're here today to witness the union between two of Britain's biggest and most popular young bodybuilders". I take a sneaky glance at the man standing next to me. It would only be one person. Could only be one person. "Yo dude", he quietly says, with his fist held out for me to discreetly bump. I oblige, obviously, and just catch a quick glance of the bow tie around his neck, exactly like mine, and the big blocks of abdominal muscle popping through his stomach. Also exactly like mine. Bob carries on the sermon for a number of minutes, and then it’s time for the vows. "Do you Jake "The Shredinator" Adams, take Dan "The Man" Murray to be your lawfully wedded muscle freak"? "FUCK YES!", I exclaim, and everyone roars with laughter. "Oooops sorry", I sheepishly add. "I mean, I do". And with those two words, my heart swells. I do I do I do. "I now pronounce you, pumped up, shredded to buggery muscle freak and, well....pumped up, shredded to buggery muscle freak". I can't wipe the grin off my face. He's mine. Dan The Man is finally mine. "You may now squeeze a head to head crab most muscular". "HELL YEAH!", Dan exclaims. I turn to face my new hubbie, matching bow tie, black boots, shiny red posers and all. A huge, cheeky grin plastered across his face, as utterly gorgeous as ever. The face that plays a big contribution to him being one half of the two most popular and well loved bodybuilders in Britain. "Let's do this mate!", Dan said. I grin wildly and nod as I bend forward and lift both arms so they're level with my shoulder blades. Bob wants a head to head crab most muscular and that's what he's gonna get. "SQUEEEEZE IT LADS!", shouts Bob. And squeeze it we do. With my forehead pressed up against Dan's, we both bring our arms down and blast out matching crab most musculars, while aggressively shouting in unison. "YEEEEAARRGGHHHH"!! Dan "The Man" Murray. My lifelong muscle buddie. Best friend. Vlogging partner. Brother in beef. Fellow shredded muscle freak. Love of my life. And now my husband. "Jake"! Our heads are still locked. Our teeth now gritted. "JAKE"! Faces scrunched to buggery. Intensely and affectionately looking into each other's eyes. "Dude! Wake up"! Every muscle squeezed and bursting through our paper thin skin. Shiny red posers barely able to contain our bulges. "JAKE. DUDE. WAKE. UP"! Ugh. What’s going on?! Fuck. I feel dazed. Disorientated. "What the fuck were you dreaming about"? The church has gone, and I'm in a strange bed instead. A hotel bed. The curtains are open. Ugh. Why is it so fucking bright? But there's one saving grace. I feel typically giddy and a sense of warmth washes over me as I see Dan's face, just as handsome first thing in the morning as it always is. He has a bad case of bed head. Ruffled and un-styled. He's never looked more adorable. He's lying next to me in the double bed of the hotel room, still wearing the white vest he went to bed in last night. His arms have never looked more pumped and his delts look fucking ridiculously. His whole upper body looks like it's ready to burst. "Dude you were saying my name in your sleep!", Dan says. "Oh", I reply, my cheeks suddenly burning up and my pulse quickening. "Ummm...I think I was dreaming about the show", I say. "Did I kick your arse for the third year running?", he cheekily says with a grin. "Actually I kicked your arse", I playfully retort, knowing full well that the chance of that particular scenario occurring is extremely slim. "You must have been dreaming dude", he replies. Not yet fully woken up, I smile and dreamily gaze at my best friend and fellow bodybuilding musclehead from my pillow. I want nothing more than to stay in this hotel bed with him. For us to spend all day under the sheets, exploring and worshipping each other's indecently muscular bodies. Feeling each other's huge, pumped biceps, squeezing each other's thick, balloon-esque pecs, exploring the deep lines separating each of our shredded blocks of ab muscle and rubbing our huge freaky quads together. Making each other cum over and over until we finally collapse and I fall asleep with my arm wrapped around his crazy midsection and my head buried deep into the thick cushion which makes up one of his ridiculously developed pecs. Unfortunately, we have the juniour class of Britain's biggest bodybuilding show to compete in, which Dan will no doubt champion in for the third year running, leaving me to, once again, settle for second place. Not that Dan’s physique is miles ahead of mine in terms of quality. In fact, I'm guaranteed to always be better conditioned than him. Better than any lad in my class in fact. After all, I didn't get the nickname "The Shredinator" for nothing. Razor sharp cuts, dick thin skin, freaky veins (even on my abs!) and a full on bonkers Christmas tree will all be making their usual stage appearance today. And I'm not exactly lacking in size either. My pecs look like two pumpkins bulging off my chest, my quads get thicker with every passing show and my shoulders were replaced with two, huge, perfectly round boulders many moons ago. Oh and speaking of moons, my bum is huge. Like, seriously fucking enormous. There's not a pair of posing trunks in the world big enough to cover up the whole of my ridiculously huge rump. But I have one major drawback. I'm 5' 5” tall. So while my quads may be more shredded than Dan’s, the lines in my abs deeper, and my bum most certainly bigger, it's hard to compete with a brilliantly conditioned, mass packed bodybuilder who has an extra seven inches in height and thirty five pounds in weight than you do. "Dude, I can't wait to see your posing trunks", Dan excitedly says. "I'm pretty sure I'm gonna kick your arse in that contest too". "Hmmmm. I wouldn't be too cocky just yet", I playfully tease, picturing the utterly brilliant posers hidden in my holdall. "Shall we shower and then do the vid?", Dan asks. He looks like an excitable puppy, with the big brown eyes to match. I love how excited Dan gets about filming episodes of our "Dan and Jake: Brothers In Beef" vlog, although on this occasion I have to admit, I’m pretty excited myself. Dan came up with an idea to hold a "Posing Trunk Challenge" a few months ago. The goal was for each of us to find the best pair of posers for the competition. We'd both reveal our trunks in a vlog episode the morning of the show, and it was up to our viewers to decide which of the two of us had won the challenge. Dan was always slightly more adventurous with his posing trunks than I was, and I was sure whatever crazy pair he'd found would win him the challenge, but I was still really pleased with the pair I'd chosen. I was pretty sure Dan would love them too. I couldn't wait to see the look of approval on his impossibly handsome face when he saw them clinging to my excessively sized arse for the first time. Dan throws back the duvet and jumps out of bed and my heart sinks in response. Stood up, Dan looks absolutely monstrous. He's ten pounds heavier than last years competition - and boy does it show. His brutal upper body is exploding with mass, not least of all with those obscenely pumped arms of his. The judges may as well just save everyone the hassle and hand him the first place juniour class trophy now. Still looking up at him from my pillow, Dan peels, with comical difficulty, his white vest up his torso and over his head. His now revealed incredible abs are blistering through his stomach. Where my abs are wonky shaped and haphazardly spread across my midsection, Dan's stomach is perfectly symmetrical. Six beautifully shaped abs cleanly separated by almost straight lines. A perfect midsection to match his perfectly pumped pecs, and every single perfect feature on his boyish, yet masculine, and almost sickeningly handsome face. If I wasn't completely and madly in love with him, I'd probably be extremely envious of Dan "The Man" Murray. He'll always have more Twitter followers, his Instagram posts will always get more likes, he'll always have more muscle loving gay guys lusting over him, he'll always be the "hot one" and I'll always be the "cute one", he'll always be the monster and I'll always be the pocket rocket and he'll always walk away with a bigger and better trophy than I will. Still, at least I'll always have the bigger arse. "Just wait until you see my trunks dude", Dan enthusiastically says, grinning wildly, as he pulls out a towel from his bag. "Are you more excited about the show or the posing trunk challenge?", I teasingly ask. He laughs and cheekily responds. "What can I say dude? I just really like kicking your arse". Fifteen minutes later and a freshly showered Dan has re-emerged, just as outrageously huge and devastatingly handsome as always. His pecs are doing nothing to tame the swelling bulge in my undies under the bed sheets. "Dude, we’d better hurry up. We need enough time to go to the tanning tents backstage. Plus I want to get a good half an hour of pumping up before we hit the stage". I dutifully obey my best friend and jump into the shower. About half an hour later, I'm back in the en suite bathroom putting on my new pair of posing trunks, then hiding them under a pair of shorts in preparation for the posing trunk challenge, in our newest episode of our "Dan and Jake: Brothers In Beef" vlog. The vlog was all Dan's doing. About a year ago, when we were still in fairly decent condition from competing, Dan had a completely bonkers idea. He thought it would be fun if we painted each other's entire bodies green, put on purple shorts like The Hulk wears, go into our local town centre, start flexing and posing in the middle of the street and catch everyone's reactions on camera. I thought he was joking until he turned up on my doorstep with two big tubs of bright green body paint. I was a little embarrassed at first, and slightly scared that we might get arrested, but once people started crowding round us, coming up to us to shake our hands, chat to us and have their pictures taken, I actually started to really enjoy it. Of course Dan loved it from the second we stepped out of the car, but then Dan just adores any kind of attention his muscles bring him. The video was as equally popular when posted online. "You guys should have your own YouTube channel and start a vlog", suggested one follower in the comments section. And so we did. And now, a year and thousands of followers later we've been dubbed the Internet's beefiest vloggers. Dan and Jake; the only bodybuilding vlogging duo in the world. Of course we've attracted criticism too. Most of it from straight, fellow bodybuilders not impressed or amused by our laddish and quite often bonkers antics. Though most of it seems to be directed at Dan. Whether they see him as the ringleader, or whether there's a certain amount of hidden jealousy at play, I'm not really sure. "What's the British version of a douchebag? Surely it would be Dan Murray." "Dan The Man? More like Dan The Twat". "Jake needs to ditch that idiot Dan and get serious about bodybuilding. He's young and his physique is insane. He could be a future pro 212 class bodybuilder, but his bromance with Dan and this Brothers In Beef shit is doing nothing for his reputation". Those are just a few negative comments which comes to mind. The last one particularly stuck in my head. And, of course, the very notion that I would "ditch" Dan is completely ridiculous. Dan is my best friend and always will be. I wouldn't be anything but loyal towards him. "Right mate, we're all set", Dan says as he positions his digital camera on the hotel room desk. Filming of our latest vlog episode is about to begin.
  19. Read what precedes this chapter if need be: Muscle Buddies 1.0 & 1.1: https://muscle-growt...orkout-session/ Muscle Buddies 1.2: https://muscle-growt...eping-a-secret/ Muscle Buddies 1.3: Muscle Buddies 2.0 & 2.1: Chapter 2.2: Let's Assume That We Can Get Along Spending time with Omar over the summer before his senior year of high school has been incredibly satisfying for Jeff, especially after the recommendation from his assistant football coach Colton Goodwin. His relationship with Dustin has stayed fairly strong despite both of the teenagers urges to let off some steam with various friends of theirs. Jeff’s decision to focus solely on his rugby training is surprising considering that coach Goodwin expected him to work towards football rather than the other sport. This could have played into the decision of why Colton has started spending more time with Dustin and ending up falling for the amateur bodybuilder. Jeff’s unusual relationship with Omar has never really been a problem for Dustin since he has always known that they have fooled around with each other. What he doesn’t know however is that they are doing it far more frequently than before. The sessions they have are more about just showing off how strong each of them is with the other. Jeff’s ability to lift Omar above his head now in his senior year compared to where he started at the beginning of the summer is beyond compare. Omar has grown weak for this kind of horseplay and Jeff is fully aware of it. After nearly every practice for rugby, they train together and wait until the rest of their team leaves before they move on to more important matters. Jeff’s fellow teammate West, who has spent some very personal time with Dustin as well, has had his theories about Jeff and Omar’s relationship. He has known his fellow classmate long enough to know when he is being fairly secretive. His curiosity finally gets the better of him one night after all of the other guys leave. Acting as if he is going to go shower after a training session, he walks down the corridor to the locker rooms and stops before sneaking around a corner to watch the two thick seniors as they start to horse around with each other on the Smith machine. They both are wearing tank tops that hug their beefy chests as well as tight pants that are nice and snug on their bloated legs and asses. West himself wears similar clothing and wastes no time before he pulls his tank and pants off to stand directly in the path of the two brutes. His cock is already dribbling a pool of precum on the ground in front of him just beyond the gym floor. He never once touches it with his hands as it throbs and bounces its way up and down. Jeff and Omar laugh as they strip down to where they are wearing nothing before they pounce on each other. In the beginning of this scene, it is Omar that is the aggressive one but quickly changes to where it is Jeff who takes full advantage of him with his size and strength. Jeff’s power turns Omar on greatly as he moans in his deep voice. West has never seen this side of his good friend before, the rough and rowdy beastly man who wants to be the one in control. Both bulky teens are already soaked and glisten with sweat as their muscles strain and tense with each movement they make. West moans to himself as he runs his hands up and down his ripped muscular chest and tweaks his hard nips making his cock jump each time. He makes thrusting motions in the air like he is fucking someone. He won’t hold out long because he was already horned up from the intense workout he just finished a few minutes previously. He grunts and seconds later sprays several jets of cum all over the ground as it coats the light colored wood. His voice manages to carry its way far enough over to get the attention of both Jeff and Omar which embarrasses him immensely. Before he can turn the other way to escape to the lockers, he hears Jeff’s voice calling for him to come over and join them. He stops moving in his tracks to think about his decision before he walks toward them. Both of the beefy teens grin as they get up off the floor and grab him by the legs to pick him up to put him on their shoulders. Jeff never really thought about West much beforehand, but after seeing his teammate get turned on so much by what him and Omar are doing, he is willing to include the smaller stud in the fun. Both Jeff and Omar take turns using West as a barbell as they deadlift him over and over again. It starts off with some light teasing and quickly moves into full-blown worship as the smaller teen can’t help but to massage both of the stud’s thick chests with his mouth and tongue. It isn’t long before West moves down to find their meaty cocks and works them over slowly and methodically making the big boys grunt each time he deep throats them. Jeff and Omar take turns punching at each other’s stomachs while West gets lost in massaging their immense rods. The taste of their precum sets him on fire as he feels another load building up in his own balls. West stops sucking them occasionally to look up at them to see what they are doing to each other. Jeff will flex his massive guns every time he notices West looking and smiles down at him before telling him to go back to servicing his cock. After several minutes of gulping on both poles, the smaller teen can feel them getting closer to bursting. He stops sucking finally to stroke them both in unison. Their hips thrust in sync with each other as West moans loudly feeling his body thrusting along with them. In a remarkable turn of events, both Jeff and Omar explode at the same time and hit West in the face as giant rivers of cum go splashing down his chest and onto his cock. The instant the white flood hits West’s rod, he shoots another big load all over the gym floor. Once he finishes, he gets up and hugs both men tightly. Jeff and Omar continue to smack each other around this time moving up to their pecs and grunting a few times. West asks them to kiss each other, but they decline. Instead, Jeff picks him up and wraps his thick arms around the fit teen’s waist and pulls him in to kiss his lips. West moans deeply as he puts his hands on Jeff’s head and leans into him. Omar smiles and asks if they need to be alone which prompts Jeff to immediately stop kissing the thinner teen. He asks the strongman if he would want a kiss from his friend since he is pretty good at it. Omar resists at first but then grabs the teen to turn him around. West peers into the big man’s brown eyes and swoons a little. They smile at each other before West leans in to lock lips with the burly powerlifter. To Omar’s surprise, he actually likes the way the fit teen kisses him and holds him tightly against his barrel chest. After a few minutes of light kissing, Omar puts West back down on the floor. Both Jeff and the big strongman rub their admirer’s head to show their affection for him before they grab their stuff to go to the locker room. West sits down in the same spot for a minute or two to take in what just happened. He finally gets up and follows behind them to go wash up from the amazing encounter he just had.
  20. So this is part of a bigger story I've written called "Charlie's Secret" (hence the rather clumsy intro) set in and around a big bodybuilding show. I'm currently doing some work to it, and thought the following could work as a short stand-alone piece. It features one of several bodybuilders from the story and explores the idea of self muscle worship which I've always found extremely hot! The thought of a guy who gets turned on by the image of his own freakishly muscular body. Chris "Freaky Peaks" Jackson Picking up his first place trophy in the Heavyweight division of one of the biggest bodybuilding competitions in the country, Chris "Freaky Peaks" Jackson said his goodbye's to his training partner and mentor and rushed back to his hotel room. By some miracle, he’d managed to get through an entire day of being surrounded by ripped, monstrous, attitude filled muscle bulls flexing and posing in stupidly hot posers without creaming in his own indecently shiny trunks. But now he needed to worship some serious muscle and finally blow his pent-up load. The fact that said muscle just happened to be attached to his own body was a minor issue for this sexually charged, muscle crazed mountain of a muscle beast. Exhausted from hours of flexing on stage, and drenched in tan, oil and sweat, most bodybuilders would have jumped in the shower and spent the rest of the evening collapsed on their hotel beds, but not Freaky Peaks. He was only in shredded competition condition for a short period of time and he intended to fully make the most of it. Locking his hotel room door and positioning himself in front of the full length mirror on the wall, Chris Jackson braced himself for the ultimate self-muscle worship session. Cranking out pose after pose in his tiny green trunks, Chris slowly became consumed by the freakish, otherworldly sights staring back at him from the mirror. Amazed at the striations peeking through his abnormally sized butt cheeks, entranced by the thinness of the sweat drenched skin covering his inhumanly shredded midsection, in awe of the sheer size of his incredible, tensed quads which were snaked in the nastiest veins, and aroused beyond comprehension at the thickness of the two balloon-like muscles sitting on his chest, Chris "Freaky Peaks" Jackson flexed and posed until he was completely lost in the image of his own monstrous mass of muscle. No body part of Chris’, however, provoked stronger feelings and emotions than his infamous, superhuman sized guns. His biceps had always been his strongest body part, developing so much easier and quicker than his others. He’d always loved that pumped feeling in his upper arms which came after a set of barbell curls, even in his humble days as a mere regular gym goer in his first gym, and now he was the proud owner of some of the biggest and freakiest guns on the planet. He’d seen his peaks a million times before, but never failed to be impressed by the sheer size and outrageous freakiness of the image of the enormous granite hard muscle erupting through his skin. On this particular day, in peak contest condition, his biceps looked more monstrous and freaky than they ever had. Staring at the reflection of his own incredible sized, skin stretched, barely human guns, his imagination suddenly ran away from him, as he envisioned a mile long queue of men stretched out in front of him, all waiting to wrap their hands around those famous peaks. Men of all shapes and sizes, the majority of them gay and obsessed with huge ripped muscle just like he was, but some of them straight men who, for whatever reason, just wanted to know what it felt like to touch the monstrously sized, vein decorated biceps of a genuine flat out muscle freak. He was certain the two young camera men who’d been filming him earlier that day in the pump room would be somewhere in that line. Neither had been particularly effeminate, but his gaydar had kicked in big time when the two of them had approached him, one more nervously than the other. They’d seemed particularly close, and had exchanged more than one knowing glance, and sheepish smirk. No doubt they were probably both now at home, masturbating themselves stupid over the image of the flexed, vein decorated guns of Chris “Freaky Peaks” Jackson. If he could hunt them both down and invite them into his hotel room to worship his freaky peaks until they jizzed in their boxer shorts, he was certain he'd make two muscle obsessed lads extremely happy. Freaky Peaks didn’t just stop at flexing and marvelling at the image of his own incredible muscle mass in the mirror, he also loved the feel of the freaky muscle beneath his fingertips, and his gigantic sized biceps were his favourite thing to touch. The feeling of running his hand over his rock hard ball of humungous sized bicep muscle, squeezing and feeling it bulging underneath his fingers was indescribable. He often wondered if any other bodybuilders indulged in these kinds of acts, and how many of them became so immensely aroused at, not only the image of their own excessively developed, beyond human muscle mass in the mirror, but the sensation of feeling said muscle bulge and flex under their fingers as he did. Either way, Freaky Peaks’ private muscle flexing sessions always concluded in one way, and today was no exception. In between cranking out his poses, flexing his supremely sized mass, and running his hands over his own, flexed muscle, a sweat drenched, and incredibly aroused Chris reached for his throbbing, rock hard cock, which had been let free from the shiny green material of his posing trunks, and started pounding away, groaning and grunting with pleasure as he pumped on his hard on with his right hand, the other firmly planted on one of his deliriously pumped pecs, his fingers digging into the insatiably thick mound of muscle which made up one half of his huge chest. His left hand then wandered further, running over the deeply chiselled abs blocks popping through the drum tight skin stretched over his stomach before veering south and running over his indecently thick mass of muscle making up his quads, tensing them and feeling the deep lines erupt underneath his fingertips, and then, with his other hand pumping away at his posing trunk covered hard on, Chris curled his left hand into a tight fist and as he watched his alien like, vein splattered, gigantic sized bicep muscle explode through his barely there skin, he reached the point of no return and he screamed with intense orgasmic pleasure as his dick exploded, and thick ropes of hot, white cum splattered on to the mirror before him.
  21. momoware

    Serving Muscle Daddy chapter 1

    I wrote this story today and I've wanted to for ages, based on a guy in his mid-50s I know who recently got into competitive bodybuilding. He's so gruff and manly and when we see each other in the street or in town he slaps me on the back and I wish I was one of his sons. This is what I imagine he and his grown sons get up to behind closed doors. Enjoy! -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Dave looked really good. He had turned fifty a nine months prior and had never felt better. Life seemed to be back on track for the guy, who had not had the easiest of times. His high school sweetheart Angela, with whom he had sired two sons, had been gone from his life for twenty six lonely years. His love for her had been so profound that he had never even glanced in the direction of another woman since her passing. Until her death he had been a keen gym goer and amateur bodybuilder, and she loved when he would bounce his meaty pecs or flex his powerful arms for her. It made her feel safe, and him feel masterful and strong, like a trusty protector of his beloved treasure. After she was gone he stopped paying attention to this aspect of his life, turning his attention to being a dutiful father for the lads and working hard to provide for them. It was as he approached the milestone birthday that he caught a glimpse of himself in the shower, his shoulders still broad and his waist still trim, that the idea crossed his mind to head to the home gym in the basement and see if any of his formidable strength remained. He was to be pleasantly surprised as he loaded up a squat rack with heavy weights, dropped to ground with them over his shoulders and bounced up effortlessly. The adrenaline was instant and a rush of excitement coursed through his body. After this exercise his quads were bursting with veins and pulsating wildly. “This is definitely something I could get back into.” He pondered. Fast forward to Christmas Eve, as Dave sat by the fire in the living room with the newspaper and a glass of wine, his bulging muscular frame filling the armchair his sons entered the room. “Ah there you are boys! I was wondering where you’d both got to. Come and join me on the couch.” The beast of a man stood up, his mass eclipsing the two smaller men who had sprung from his seed. He sat in the middle of the sofa and was joined on either side by Andreas and Robert. He put his arms around their necks and brought them in to nuzzle his huge, hard chest and they obediently and adoringly rested, each head gently placed on one solid pec. Dave began to rub his sons’ backs gently, and then not so gently. After not long his arm extended further and further south and was massaging their buttocks. Massaging them hard. The boys each began to squeeze one of their dad’s thick nipples, which immediately began to get thicker and harder. A small moan came out of each of their soft mouths as a large middle finger entered their rectum. “Shhhhh boys, don’t respond, just let it happen, ease into it.” Upon their father’s instruction their anuses appeared to relax and their expressions of anguish turned to beaming smiles and Dave began to thrust his finger in and out of the tight holes. “Boys I never imagined we’d have such a happy Christmas after your mother died. This is such a delight, I love you both so much.” He then began to passionately kiss Andreas, thrusting his tongue down his son’s throat. “Daddy we love you too. Every day that Andy and I stay home to look after all of your needs is a dream come true, we love our daddy!” purred Robert into dad’s ear. This pleased Dave and he flipped his body over, leaving Andreas to catch his breath, and began thrusting his giant body against Robert’s slight pudgy build. Robert moaned as Dave bit down on his lower lip before digging his warm wet tongue into his mouth. “Robbie you’re so tasty, just what I needed after a big dinner!” Dave ripped off his sweater showing a distended, but nonetheless ripped, belly from the aforementioned meal. The trousers came next and his gigantic throbbing cock made quick work of tearing through his tight boxers. “Andy, worship my body like a good boy while I smash your brother’s arse open!” Andreas didn’t need to be told twice and he got down on the floor, licking his father’s toes and then moving up the rippling legs, first kissing and groping the calf muscles that jutted out like coarse diamonds and then moving his head up between the beefy red hot thighs. He kissed the insides of his dad’s quads as Dave tightened his grip on his son’s head as his pleasure intensified. “Come on Robbie, time to see if I loosened you up enough.” In less than a second he undressed his son and turned him over, burying his handsome face in the asshole, excavating the deep crevice with his tongue. “Mmmmmm Robbie you taste so good! You’re truly the fruit of my loins, I can’t wait to get you properly lubed up to take daddy’s pillar of flesh!” Robert was in a trance, so thrilled to be dominated by his possessive, caring daddy and immediately widened his rectum, knowing that an enormous and powerful force was about to enter, and would not be soft or gentle. Having been widened by his father’s loving tongue and finger there was no difficulty slipping in his member which glided beautifully in and out of his son’s snatch. Dave beat his chest as he pounded his son’s ass and grunted primordially like a wild animal as he felt the throes of orgasm approaching. He tightened his grip on Robert’s waist as he pumped his cock into the little man’s ass three more times, unleashing a flood of semen which flew up Robert’s ass and began leaking a steady warm ooze down his thighs and onto the floor. It was so warm that it began to steam as it made contact with the winter air outside. Whilst Robbie lay on his back on the couch, continuously dripping from his asshole, Dave was not yet sated. He looked over to Andreas, his more muscular but still diminutive son and indicated that it was his turn. Andreas removed his shirt and pants and stood looking up to his father in just his underpants. Dave wrapped his arms around Andreas and began to feel his body up. “You two boys remind me of your mother and myself years ago. Robbie you’re lovely and soft, smooth all over. Putting my dick in you is like sticking it to your mum’s tight wet pussy, and you scream and howl like she used to, like you can’t decide whether you’re on cloud nine to have my godly dick inside you or whether you’re terrified it’s going to rip you wide open. Andy,” he said, caressing his son’s chiselled face “you’re like me when I was in my 20s. Tight abs, nice pair of pecs and wide shoulders. Still a baby compared to me, but I love seeing the little similarities between us. And the way your six pack is always covered in stubble from you shaving that stubborn hair that won’t stop growing. Just drives me wild, let me stick my head in there!” He proceeded to motorboat his son’s pecs. He stood side by side next to his son, spread his legs slightly, and lifted his arms in the air, bringing his large hands into fists next to his head forming an impressive front double biceps pose. Andreas followed, the arrogant smirk on his face warming Dave’s heart. He put his hands around Andreas’ left biceps, squeezing them with ease. The two continues to pose down as Robert crawled over to the two of them and began worshiping them. Sucking his father’s still erect cock and working Andreas’ with his hand. “You really are just like your mother Robbie, such a good sucker. Once you’ve made me cum a second time I’m going to reward you by letting you come to bed with me.” Robert began to suck even harder and faster, he loved going to bed with his daddy, and he would lay in his daddy’s arms al night jerking off again and again, the two of them waking up in a sticky pool of both of their discharges that flooded over the edge of the bed and all over the floor. As his father shot his load down his son’s throat, Robert blacked out, probably deprived of oxygen and enjoyed several hours of comatose muscle worship dreams.
  22. "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Precis, Introduction, Chapters 1 & 2 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 3, 4, 5 - White Cap Training / Hardcore Muscle / A Brief History of Casey Rockland "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 6 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 7, 8 - Hardcore Training, Part 1 / Tiffany's Talent "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapters 9, 10 - Good for Morale "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 11: Casey Meets the Muscle Squad "The Twenty" Chapter 12, Part 1: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 12: Part 2 Casey vs. Karim Abdul: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 13: After the Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 14: In Which Casey Discovers He Likes to Get Worshipped "The Twenty" - Chapter 15: Casey's First Interview with Sergeant Moster "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 16 - Hardcore Training Part 2: Casey’s First Herculaneum Workout, and What Happened After NG "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 17 - The Presentation "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 18 - Inside Zaftig's Lab: The Musclemen Revealed Precis: Valhalla Labs is a remote mountaintop Northern California military facility, overseen by genius muscle growth scientist Dr. Ira Zaftig and CO Staff Sergeant Rod Moster, a 7'-0" ripped and hung 395-pound black muscle giant. There, 18 extraordinary bodybuilder-soldiers live, train, and play together, overseen by Moster's strict rules and brutal regimen for muscular perfection. Known as Project Herculaneum, the men serve as Dr. Zaftig's lab rats, receiving regular injections of P-21, a specially developed enzyme that facilitates muscle and strength growth in the very few bodybuilders whose systems can withstand it. The goal: to create an army of supermen, whose strength, size, and combat skills are unparalleled in the modern military. Unfortunately for the Project, the soldiers' enhanced strength and dramatically increased muscular size is accompanied by a corresponding increase in priapic size as well, along with a rapidly diminishing sense of social restraint and inhibitions. And along the way, the men's extraordinary physiques prompt their own extreme muscle fantasies into a daily acting-out sexual reality. Into the mix comes young Casey Rockland, a lonely, handsome, super-hung 18-year old bodybuilding giant. Inducted by Dr. Zaftig into the top-secret government muscle strength and growth project, Casey comes to learn the ropes amongst the muscle giants, whose hunger for hardcore training is matched only by their sexual appetites and growing fantasies, including their insatiable need to receive muscle worship. Casey's innocence, simplicity, and his growing need to receive both love and muscle worship threaten the very core of the decade-long Project, itself only now approaching its full potential. To start back at the beginning with Chapter One, click on the link below: "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Precis, Introduction, Chapters 1 & 2 Chapter 14: In Which Casey Discovers He Likes to Get Worshipped October 22nd, 2017 After the bout between Casey and Abdul, the musclemen retired to their separate corners of the compound. The vanquished Abdul, rivulets of dried cum caked to his physique, dragged Pedro along with him back to quarters. “Service me,” he growled. He threw open the door to his room and tossed Pedro onto the floor. Five minutes later, after a satisfying dump and a quick infusion of P21, Abdul was in the center of his room, working out on a speed punching bag hanging from the ceiling. His red, raw fists pummeled the stained leather furiously while Pedro gingerly danced around him, carefully washing the cum off his physique with a wet towel. Occasionally he leaned in and gingerly pressed a warm tongue against the muscle giant’s body, licking the cum-covered muscles respectfully, hoping not to get swatted away. It didn’t happen. Emboldened, he finished cleaning off his god. He took a deep breath, and grabbed ahold of Abdul's musclebutt. "Permission to worship?" he asked hopefully. Abdul grunted, and nodded slightly. Pedro deeply buried his face in the muscleman’s rock hard pillow glutes, feeling the heaviness of iron-like musclebutt cheeks violently knocking his head right and left as Abdul rhythmically punched the bag. This was what his god wanted. He knew this. Abdul said nothing, but slightly arched his back, to better extend his ass and receive the comfort of Pedro’s tongue up his butthole. They lasted like this long into the night, Abdul punching the bag with fury, Pedro probing his tongue deeply into his gyrating asshole, until Abdul reached back, grabbed Pedro by the back of the head, brought him violently around, threw him into the air and forced his massive penis into the teen’s small, hard butt. He fucked the boy mercilessly for about ten minutes, Pedro screaming happily with insane delight, his cries echoing down the corridor, as the giant member pleasurably pounded his butthole into raw meat. When he was near to climax, he pulled out and came about a quart all over Pedro’s writhing, grateful little bottom, grunting deeply as he shot, a bear in the woods. UNGH UNGH UGNH YEAH A moment later he push-kicked Pedro’s butt away. Pedro went sprawling, his hard little bottom covered with cum. “Get out of here,” he snarled, but with something like warmth, or so Pedro thought. “Yes, sir!” Pedro squeaked, and ran for the door. Abdul was asleep in 2 minutes. He dreamed only of revenge. Pedro scampered back to his room, where he masturbated gleefully for the next hour, envisioning a world of musclemen as he worked his pretty little cock into repeated starbursts of cum frenzy. He finally drifted into a woozy, muscle-filled sleep about 3 AM, knowing he’d have to be up by 6 to start breakfast with the compound chefs for the 19 musclemen. It was heaven. He was living in heaven. Lang and Alvarez drifted back to Alvarez’s room, where they posed-and-approved for about 45 minutes before falling asleep on the dais, Alvarez’s cock languidly filling Lang’s mouth, their ripped posers discarded and on the floor. Schumacher, Jin, Washington, Obatu and LeFevre carried the knocked-out Blankenship to his room. Fortunately, P-21 strengthened bones, too, and Blankenship’s black and blue jaw was okay – otherwise, it might well have been shattered by the force of Abdul’s powerful punch. They retired separately to their rooms and reflected on what they’d seen tonight. This Rockland kid was a threat. In their separate quarters all five men jerked off, and thought. And thought. And jerked off. Hearing Pedro’s echoing, ecstatic cries as he was being masterfully buttfucked by Adbul, each man shot muscle cum up and out into the dark, splashing onto their abs, the floor, the ceiling, everywhere. Blankenship, of course, was out for the night. Deep in his knocked cold sleep, he dreamt vaguely of doing endless sets of curls. And squats. Especially squats. He smiled in his sleep, two teeth missing. Tiffany, smug and satisfied and unaware his life was about to drastically change, drifted off. He remembered Casey from the world outside, but it was clear the big dumb muscleboy didn’t remember him. Yet. Eli Meyer, quietly determined to get off on real muscle, and not just fantasy, followed Hension back to his room. He knocked on the door, and Hension, startled, opened up. Meyer smiled. He went in. For the next hour the two men took turns with some heavy butt fucking. In turns, each muscleboy’s big dick met the other’s hard glutes and sweetly receiving butthole as they fucked each other silently in the dark. Finally Hension spoke, even as Meyer ploughed him. “Stinkface me,” he said, emphasizing the words, turning his head back and to the side so that the deaf Meyer could read his lips. It was all he said. It was all he had to say. Meyer nodded agreement, pulled his thick cock out of Hension’s butthole, got up and squatted down onto Hension’s handsome face, burying him in striated, iron glutes. He rotated and jerked his big dick. A few minutes later both men came, cum splashing sloppily onto Hension’s ripped abs, pooling in the deep valleys of muscle. And five minutes after that, both were curled up and asleep on the floor, wrapped deeply into each other’s muscles. In their separate quarters, McIntyre and Duncan, ever quiet and reflective, sat up awhile and listened to the compound’s nocturnal moans and gasps, punctuated by the sounds of the speed bag, and then the butt fucking drifting down the corridors. Finally each man reached into his pouch and jerked off again before hitting the hay. Gunst headed right to the gym. He tooled himself through a punishing biceps workout, doing curls long into the night, then flexing and inspecting. Gotta get these guns bigger, he grumbled to himself. Eventually he crawled off to quarters and to bed, and without jerking off. The others – Chad, Bogarde, and Waring – stood in a darkened corner of the hallway leading from the wrestling room, hungrily sucking one another’s cocks and taking turns butt fucking for an hour or so, before turning in for the night. And in the backs of the minds of all the men on campus were visions of the perhaps-perfect newest member of the club, the young bodybuilder whose gigantic, ripped and raw physique they had gotten their first taste of this evening. Moster, in his quarters, was satisfied. He slept without dreaming. He had to pick up Casey in the cadet dorms mid morning, and bring him back up the hill to his new muscle life. Unaware of the muscle sex going on in the compound behind him, and unaware of how his muscles started it all, a shuttle bus took sole passenger Casey back down the hill the two miles to the cadet dorm near the front gates, where he had been living and training the last two years. ************* Early the next morning, after his usual early morning workout and a breakfast of two steaks, 6 eggs, unbuttered toast, a quart of yogurt and 3 cups of black coffee, Casey went back to his room and packed his few possessions in preparation for his move up the hill to the main compound. His black eye still stung from the night before, but it also looked – well – incredibly hot. Or so Casey thought, inspecting it closely in his mirror. There were six other cadets in the dorm. Five of them gathered to quietly watch him pack up his few belongings, giving him congratulations and good luck and a sad little goodbye party. It was just a few protein bars, a colorful do-rag, a new gym bag (which they all chipped in on) and five slightly torn oversized XXXL-sized jockstraps. Casey knew they went to some trouble to get everything together. He was deeply grateful. But he didn’t know what to say. In truth, Casey hadn’t really gotten to know any of his fellow cadets in the two years he had been in residence in the cadet dorm. It was not from any snobbery, but from shyness and his natural reticence against intimacy in dormitory settings. All the same, apart from Miles Donovan and Ramon Ramon, Casey counted them as among his few friends in the world. “I’m gonna miss you guys,” he said. He sniffed a little. These guys were like him. Lonely, nice boys who had nowhere to go except the gym, and nothing to do but pound their bodies every day, growing big muscles. Over 1450 pounds of burgeoning, testosterone-fueled teen muscle gathered in 10 x 16 square foot room. And there was a lot of emotion in the air. Casey was their hero, and at 310 pounds, and at just 18 years of age, he was already far and away the biggest of all of them. Something had to happen. “You been ready a long time for those dudes,” said Cadet Tommy Rowenstein, a tousled blond middleweight Jewish Tom Sawyer of muscleboy who liked to work on his pecs. “Surprised they didn’t ask you long ago.” “Guess they know best when I’m ready.” “That how you got the shiner, Case?” “Shut up, dick wad.” “Can we come up the hill visit you?” asked Alan Owenbee, a sweet-faced young cadet with a friendly face and a slightly sub par physique that all knew would never develop much further. “Naw, we can’t go up there,” said Cadet Brent Ogden. “You know the rules. Plebes only by invitation. And they never invite us.” He sounded forlorn. “Sure,” said Casey. “You can come. I’ll ask. I’ll get permission. You can all come. We can all train together up there in the big gym.” “Gee, you think? Really??” “Shit, thanks, Case!” “Yeah, thanks!” The boys couldn’t believe the possible good news, and were now almost bouncing with excitement. “I’m gonna work on my guns with ya!” shouted Ogden. The others glanced at Ogden and grinned. An angel-faced kid with red hair, he had nice big muscles for a 15-year old, and surprisingly ripped abs, already weighing in at 185 pounds. He also had a complete inability to filter his speech. They all suspected he was a little slow. “At last, someone even dumber than me, “ Casey thought. No one knew whether or not he had any family; like Casey, Ogden was a foundling. Casey tousled his hair affectionately and zipped up his duffel. “I’ll always work on my guns with you, Brent.” Ogden grinned from ear to ear, his life made. He grew beet red with embarrassment and pleasure and spent the next few minutes inspecting his own biceps, flexing and unflexing them thoughtfully. Another cadet with more promise, and lot more self confidence, Brian Banks, a handsome black-haired extra lean 1950s greaser type turned bodybuilder, watched Casey from the corner, perched on the window seat, his deep-lidded dark eyes half closed. “So, Case, what happened last night?” “I’m not sure yet.” He turned and looked helplessly at all of them. They were waiting for some kind of an answer. “Yeah, Case, what happened?” He knew all the cadets admired and respected him. Overall, they were a pretty good bunch of guys, even if for the most part they had no muscle future. But he could use some friends, if last night’s wrestling match had been any indication of where this was all headed. And he was still thinking about last night. Those bodybuilders up the hill were a wild and crazy bunch. Huge, every one of them, the biggest musclemen Casey had ever seen, or even imagined. And even the younger guys, like that pretty-faced dude Hension, the mute Eli Meyer, and the wide-eyed Lang, seemed to have agenda of their own. And then there was that big mean bull, the Turkish guy, Karim Abdul. And Schumacher, who had growled at him and threatened him. Scary dudes. But hot. The wrestling was fun, though, when he thought about it. Casey had surprised at himself, at how skilled he was, how strong and fast. But then he had learned a lot from Ramon Ramon at Miles Donovan’s, and though Ramon was 3 times his age and far smaller, Ramon could always beat him. So he learned from the best. And – true – a few times when Casey shot his load on the wrestling mat after a bout, Ramon Ramon had joined him. There was something fun, something special about the tough, grizzled old daddy Latin wrestler happily pounding his hairy big meat, lying there next to Casey on a slick, sweat-drenched, stinky wrestling mat. And Casey knew Ramon was straight. No sissy, he. Straight straight straight, with a hot, mean, pretty little wife he fucked hard every night, or so he said. Casey had no reason to doubt him. I wonder how Abdul would do wrestling with Ramon? Casey wondered. And then, after all, all the bodybuilders had shot their loads all over the two of them last night at the end of the wrestling match, all over him and Abdul. He hadn’t expected that. Was it an insult? Or an honor? Casey was still having trouble taking it all in. And what about that punch that Abdul threw at Blankenship? It was awesome. Abdul’s fist shot out like a cannon, catching the handsome, smirking bodybuilder Blankenship right on the point of the chin. Probably broke his jaw. The guy’s feet never touched the ground. He just flew into the air and landed about 20 feet away. And then there was afterwards, with Moster closely inspecting his dick and that little ginger muscledude Tiffany sucking it just to find out how big it really was. Measuring dick size by mouth. It was all pretty weird. And he never even did get to do even a basic posing routine. He wanted to show these guys how much he liked to pose. Maybe he could pose for them later today? Casey really liked to pose. He did it for hours, alone in his room, peering into his crummy full-length mirror, looking for any improvements, and weaknesses, any new veins, any new striations, any sign of lingering babyfat. He wasn’t used to an audience. Casey had never known many people, and he certainly had never competed onstage, even though Miles Donovan had encouraged him to consider it. And now that he had trained hard, lived for training and diet and posing for so many years, now with the Home behind him and all the bullies, he was ready for others to see how big his muscles were. He was ready to pose for admirers. For a crowd. He hadn’t done that yet. So maybe these guys would accept him more if he posed for them? The babyfat was long gone, after all. And he was sure he could learn a few things, too. Maybe get some pointers from that dude Alvarez. He heard that Alvarez and Lang were always practicing their posing. But in any event, Casey now knew, after last night, that just having big muscle wasn’t enough. A big cock was pretty important, too. For the first time he was beginning to feel relieved, even joyful about his huge member. He had always been so embarrassed about it, he could never hide it, it was always prominent in his jeans, in whatever he wore. People could always see it flopping around in his pants, pushing out his fly in an obscene bulge. And he hadn’t found posing trunks that he really fit in yet. Not trunks, at least, that he wasn’t always popping out of, or worse, ripping the fabrics to shreds with his first big hardon. And posing usually gave him a hardon, which he’d have to stop and take care of. He'd shoot pints of milky thick cum against his mirror, and then he'd have to stop and get a roll of paper towels to clean it al up before he could start again. Or else he wouldn't have been able to see his reflection. And the sight of his muscles was what made him cum so ferociously. It would certainly be a challenge onstage, if he ever decided to compete. He had bought a few posers from online, trying them out, checking for the right colors. But so far, everything he had bought was just so….well….ridiculously inadequate. He hadn’t even begun to think about colors. Even if he managed to get the posers up his treetrunk quads, there was no way the simple kiddie-type pouches were able to cover his hefty manfruit. To say nothing of containing his coconut-sized balls. Still. Even so. “Good thing I got this big meat after all. I guess.” He muttered to himself as he walked, bowlegged as always with his bodybuilder waddle, over to the mirror. The cadets watched him as he walked across the small dorm room. “Hunh?” “What’s that, Casey? About your meat?” Ogden looked up, still inspecting his biceps, but suddenly alert to what was going on in the room. Casey looked back at them and pointed down to the sagging bulge that loomed out of the front of his baggies. “I said, it’s a good thing I got this super big meat. All the guys up there are hung huge. It’s important to them. Sergeant Moster showed me.” He thought for a moment. Maybe those dudes knew where to get posers that actually fit? Or maybe they had them made privately? Probably they did. They had to. And certainly from the layout of the place and the size of the gym and the wrestling room, they could afford a few extra yards of reinforced spandex to hold in a few giant cocks. Banks was studiedly casual. He inspected Casey’s black eye a little more closely and nodded, as if a question was answered. “Unh hunh. Bet he did. I heard about Sergeant Rod Moster. Seems he was there too. He give you that black eye?” “Yeah, he’s the dude in charge. He was there. And no, he didn’t give this to me.” Casey turned back and gazed at his package in the mirror. He repeated. “I had to fight one of them.” “Who?” asked Owenbee, breathless and getting hard now. “Abdul. Karim Abdul.” He paused. “You should see him this morning.” “He got a big package, too?” Casey colored, embarrassed. “Yeah, he does. I mean, I didn’t see it. Well, I didn’t see it well. I mean, I didn’t see it close up….” He stopped, confused. The guys were looking at him. “Well, one thing, these are the biggest goddam dudes I ever saw in my life.” “Lookin’ good?” “Fucking awesome. All of them. Moster’s like 7’ tall. No bodyfat. Biceps the size of my head. And…” “Big package?” “Yeah. He has the biggest dick. They say it’s the biggest dick on earth.” Casey turned back and began to flex for himself feverishly in the mirror. He had to get bigger. Banks liked Casey well enough and would miss him in the dorms. Even if the young muscle giant was a little dopey and innocent. Okay, Casey was stupid. Everyone knew it. Dumb as a bag of hammers. But a sweet guy, if you didn’t get on his wrong side. And besides, he’d also long had eyes for Casey’s astonishingly rounded, rock hard glutes, never mind the cock, and now knew he probably wasn’t gonna dip his stick inside the promised land of Casey’s musclebutt for a long time to come. If ever. Or even suck his dick. Maybe some day. Oh, well. Still, he wished Casey well. He was a good dude. He’d stand up for him any time. Now he stood behind him, watching his superwide batwing lats as he posed in the mirror, watching his perfect big round rolling glutes quivering a little in the seat of his stretched-tight pants. “I hear there’s a lot of sex in the main compound,” he said slyly. “Yeah, I guess there is.” Casey slowed down posing, caught Banks’ eye in the mirror, was a little circumspect. Not that he knew what the word meant, but that is what he was at that moment. “No chicks, though?” “No, I guess there ain’t. I didn’t see any last night.” Casey blew out a blast of air, followed by a honk of laughter. The tension eased. He grabbed his duffel and turned around towards the boys. “No chicks!” “Good!” said Ogden, still inspecting his biceps. “Guess I’m big enough. Thanks for the party, guys,” he added. “And the, um….” He gestured to his duffel bag. “….the extra jockstraps…..I can always use them.” “Actually, two of them were already yours. We just re-retrieved them from….somebody…” said Rowenstein. Owenbee turned crimson with shame and embarrassment. “Hey. Thanks. Alan, you were always a good friend. Here. Wait a moment.” Casey put his duffel down, lifted his heavy sweatshirt and kicked out of his baggies, stepping out of them fast and surprisingly easily over his big feet. “I have to get these off fast sometimes, so I cut out the, you know, drawstrings around the pants legs, to make it easier to fit over my shoes. Sometimes I don’t have a lot of time before…..” His voice trailed off. “You know.” Banks nodded, feigning seriousness. “We know.” All the cadets knew that sometimes during workouts Casey suddenly had to shoot a load, and to avoid coating his baggies with splotches of his unusually heavy, copious cumspurts, he ripped off his sweatpants and shot into a bucket that he kept on the side of the gym floor. By the end of the workout, the bucket was often half full. A few of the boys would often sneak away with it afterwards, loving the scent, loving the taste, drinking it all down, hoping it would make them grow into a muscle monster like Casey. “Yeah. We all know,” said Ogden. Owenbee and Rowenstein both nodded seriously. “Yeah, you got a problem, dude.” Rowenstein couldn’t help chuckling a little. “Big problem.” Then they both grinned, their smooth boyish faces lighting up. “I know.” Casey smiled. “So why is it, by the way, all this time I been here, that so many of my jocks go missing?” Shuffling of feet. Heads down. “Aw, Case…..” said Ogden. He stood before them in his sagging, bulging jock. “This one is new, I just got it.” All knew he had to order his jocks and posers online. Standard sizes just didn’t fit, and then the posers just didn’t last. “Here.” He curled his thumbs around the reinforced jock straps on his loins and tugged. His cock popped out and hung free, 10 solid inches of soft thick swaying girth. “Jesus,” breathed Owenbee. Banks was impressed. Ogden just panted. He pulled his new jockstrap down over his massive quads and stepped out of it carefully, lifting each big, smooth foot slowly, and then handing it to Owenbee. “You always been a good friend to me.” Casey teared up a little, but wasn’t so sentimental that he didn’t playfully waggle his penis’ full 10 inch soft, flaccid weight, then whipping it heavily from side to side. Smack! Smack! For a moment he slapped it heavily from quad to quad, and then looked up at Owenbee and Ogden and smiled sweetly. “It’s too big for most jocks,” he explained. “Yes, we’ve noticed,” said Banks, very serious. Owenbee took the jock gratefully, raised it to his nose and took a deep whiff. In his jeans his young teen cock throbbed to life. “Gee, thanks, Casey!” “Don’t mention it.” Casey pulled his baggies back up, covering his cock. “Going commando, Case?” asked Banks. Casey looked at him blankly. “I don’t know what that means.” “You will.” Casey shrugged, and sat down to lace his shoes. “Guess I better be going. Say goodbye to Danny Taylor. Where’s he this morning?” “His mama called. She wanted him back in Santa Barbara. He’ll be back tonight. He said to say goodbye.” He eyed the heavy sagging bulge in Casey’s lap. His cock was aching to get back out again, taste the air, straining the crotch of his sweatpants, pointing downward but twitching, threatening to rise, bulging in the fabric every which way. Banks sniffed a little, seemingly unconcerned, but Casey knew Banks probably missed his buddy Danny, the only cadet in the squad who actually came from a family and a good home. A blond surfer-dude turned bodybuilder, Danny and Brian were always pumping together and then going out looking for girls and to get laid. And unlike The Nineteen up the hill, the young cadets, still not indoctrinated into the squad, could come and go as they pleased. Not that these young muscleboys had anywhere to go….other than the gym and the bars in nearby San Jose, or maybe further up the coast to San Francisco. “Well…..goodbye then. Come and see me.” “Hey, dude. Before you go….give us one last flex?” asked Ogden shyly. “Yeah, dude. Pose for us one more time,” said Owenbee. “Like you used to do before you got so serious.” “Yeah, Case. Go ahead. Let’s see what you got.” That from Banks. Casey looked closely at Banks. “Sure, guys. Yeah. Be glad to.” He stepped back into the room and ripped off his sweatshirt. The muscle cadets crowded around him eagerly. He stood shirtless, his huge muscles gleaming in the morning light. “Here goes. Pow,” said Casey. He flexed a huge right arm bicep and moved his left hand back to the back of his head, ‘doin’ hair’ like the young Tom Platz from 40 years ago. “Wow!” “Jeez, Case, yer bigger than ever!” “Fuckin huge, man!” “That’s “doin’ hair,” dudes. Platz. ‘Doin’ hair,’ ” he repeated. “Can I feel it?” ‘My hair?” “No, dude….” “He wants to feel your muscles, Casey,” Banks explained, with exaggerated patience. “Oh. Sure.” Casey thought a moment. “Yeah! Sure! Come on!” Owenbee stepped forward eagerly and grabbed Casey’s biceps. His fingers ran over the vascular triple-heads. “Sure is nice!” he yelled. “How big?” He tapped the hardness of the peaks with his fingers, which bounced back. Impenetrably hard. “I don’t know. 25 inches? 27? I don’t know. Here come some big pecs.” He gave them a side chest, popping his pecs, his pouty brown nipples pointing down to the carpet. “Boom,” said Casey. “Wow! Frigging huge!” “You’re swole, man!” “Yeah, I got big pecs,” said Casey modestly, turning his head back, inspecting his two huge pectoral globes in the mirror. He bounced them up and down thoughtfully. “May I lick your nipples, Casey?” squealed Ogden. Casey was confused a moment. He stopped and turned and looked quizzically at Ogden. For a moment the two muscleboys were afraid, afraid that Casey would start handing out a roomful of black eyes and broken noses, powerful punches that were sure and methodical and swift and punishing. But Banks wasn’t afraid. “You like this, dontcha Case?” It didn’t happen. “Sure, I guess. Yeah. I like it. Come on up and lick ‘em. I never got licked and touched when I posed before. Let alone watched.” He thought some more. “Guess I do like it! Can you reach? Here’s another. Bam,” he said, swinging into a front lats pose. “Bam and double bam.” Ogden scampered up, reached wide, grabbed Casey by both lats and began eagely to lick his nipples. “You got awesome pecs, dude!” “You’re strong, too,” said Banks calmly. “Those dudes up there on the hill as strong as you?” “Yeah, I think they are.” Casey was inspecting his front lats pose in the mirror. “You’re in my way,” he said to Ogden. “I can’t see.” “Sorry, Case!” “Just move to the side a little so I can check myself out.” Ogden quickly stepped aside and leaned in, licking one nipple. “Okay, that’s enough. Reach around if you have too.” “How thick is your neck, Case?” “About 25 inches I think.” “How about your quads?” “Sure.” Casey pumped and rotated his thighs, still covered up in the baggies. “Oh, I forgot. Guess you can’t see.” He rolled them down to his ankles and stood in the center of the room, his pants down, flexing for his buddies. His penis loomed heavily over mountains of muscle and veins as he pensively rotated his quads for all the muscleboys to see. The muscleboys licked their lips. “No, I mean, how big are they?” “I dunno. 33 inches? Never measured.” He rotated a huge quad slowly, staring intently at it. “Got some new veins popping in here. Look at that diamond shape. Hard.” He slapped his quads, both of them. “They’re hard, man! See how hard I am? You guys see it?” Banks eased his nicely rounded butt off the window seat, where he’d been perched, watching the proceedings. He strolled over to Casey, thumbs hooked in his tight jeans, his black spandex t-shirt rippling with extra lean, hairy muscle. His own appreciable bulge flopped lazily from side to side in his fly as he walked slowly towards Casey. “Dude, I think you like to get worshipped.” “Hunh?” Casey turned to him and whipped up a pair of double bi’s. “Check out these gunsssss……” “I see ‘em.” Banks patted them firmly. Yeah. Solid. Cannonballs. Triple-headers. Laced with thick veins. He kneaded solid muscle between calloused thumb and finger. He pulled. Paper-thin skin. “These are biceps…. “ said Casey, breathing heavy, loving every second of it. “Nice. They are. Big biceps. Very nice indeed. But my tastes run to….something……darker……” He knew all about Moster. That was the dude he wanted. Banks turned to Ogden, absorbed in licking Casey’s big brown nipples. “Whyn’t you lick his biceps too, dude? He said he likes to get licked.” He turned to Casey. “Dontcha, Case?” “I’m gonna pop you right in the eye,” Casey said, but he smiled. He flexed mightily. “C’mon, lick ‘em.” His steely fists strained red. Suddenly he longed to punch Banks in the eye. Give him a big black eye. No, two black eyes. He wasn’t mad. He just wanted to punch him. “Yeah, lick his biceps, dude. And kiss ‘em for us, Case.” “Hunh??” “Kiss your biceps, bro! G’wan, kiss ‘em!” “Why do I want to do that?” “Try it and see. See how it feels.” Casey shrugged. His traps bounced up a little and bumped Owenbee’s head, who was trying to lean in to get a closer feel on Casey’s bi’s. “Oh. Sorry.” Meanwhile Ogden was now licking his right biceps, so Casey turned to the left and, leaning in while raising an elbow, began to softly lick and kiss his bulging cannonball bi’s. Casey forgot all about wanting to punch Banks and continued flexing. Hmmm. The licking felt good. “This feels good,” he announced. He kissed himself again, and turned, grinning cockily to Banks. “Guess I won’t bust you in the eye right now.” Banks smiled. He understood. “It’s okay, Casey. I’m your friend. You can trust me. And the boys.” “But I still wanna slug you.” “You just want to slug somebody. Not me.” “Guess you’re right. But sometime soon I’m gonna start some slugging.” He flexed. “Look at these big gunnnnssss….” he repeated. By now the other four cadets were grouped around Casey, touching, feeling, pawing, stroking, kissing and licking every muscle they could reach, climbing over him, feeling him, all while remaining respectfully distant from the heavily looming cock. Owenbee got on his knees and knelt before Casey’s massive, exposed rear, began caressing the twin globes of Casey’s monster round, hard butt, feeling where the gluteus muscles rolled in, where they bulged out, where they lead down to mammoth obtruding hamstrings and up to the small of his back. He wanted to bury his young, smooth face into the deep buttcrack, but knew he’d better not. He wanted to lick it, too. But he knew that might not be a good idea, either. Not yet, anyway. So he contented himself just to do deep tissue massage on the two giant round butt orbs before him, following their rolling movements as Casey posed above him. It was like kneading iron. But he loved it. “How do you feel, Case?” Banks was stroking Casey’s broad upper pec shelf with a connoisseur’s appreciation. “Good. I feel very good. I like flexing for you guys.” “Good. And we like when you flex for us. Nice pecs.” Banks flicked one of Casey’s nipples with a thumb and forefinger. Casey responded, immediately ballooning his pecs hugely, digging his fists into solid rippled obliques and expanding chest muscles high to the skies, so it seemed, to the ceiling and beyond. “This is called worship, by the way,” Banks added. “The way the guys are touching you now. The way I am touching you.” He ran a smooth hand across his pecs and looked him deeply in the eyes. “Admiring you. Admiring your muscles. Getting off on your muscles. That’s worship.” “You’re huge, Case,” said Ogden. “Big fucking muscleman,” said Owenbee. “Awesome muscles, dude,” said Rowenstein. “Tell us what you’re thinking, Case,” said Banks. Casey didn’t know what he was thinking. Was he even thinking? He was just flexing. No, he was thinking. He was seeing….something. Something distant. Pure and good. He breathed out, let out a massive block of air, crunched up, sucked in, intake, breath, blew it out, then more blooming muscle. Expanding everywhere, blowing up, hard and solid and good. He was… …..where was he?.... “Tell us, Case,” repeated Banks softly. “Where are you?” “On the moon, I guess.” He sucked in, expanded his pecs again, turned, inadvertently pushing the boys to the floor, looked in the mirror. The room was quiet. The muscle cadets scrambled away a little, but still touching, still feeling muscle. Tension increased in the room. It was silent except for the sounds of heavy breathing. Casey began to move. He swung from pose to pose. His cock swayed heavily as he moved, slapping his quads. Front biceps. Side chest, front lat spread. Most muscular, the famous crab shot, his veins exploding everywhere, his enormous fists clenched, held steadily before him. “Hold that one,” said Banks. “I think we all want to see this one.” Casey held still. His face grew red, then redder, then beet-red. The veins on his thick neck popped out like huge pylons. And even his massive cock began to retreat a little up into his loins as his blood was needed elsewhere. “Guys? Let’s check out these veins. Okay, Case?” “…yeah…..okay…” “You can breathe, though.” “Okay, thanks.” He breathed in and out. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, searching for flaws, admiring rivers of vascularity, popping iron muscles. “Just don’t relax. Keep flexing. Keep that pose. Keep crunching.” “Can I take your picture, Case?” asked Rowenstein, begging a little. “My picture….?” Casey blew out air. He could barely think. He was just dreaming now. It was a wall, a planet, a universe of his muscle. “Keep crunching. Keep it swole,” said Banks quietly. He touched an iron biceps. “Yeah, okay.” Casey seemed befuddled, but it was because of the most muscular pose, and ….well…because he was still dreaming, now on that distant planet somewhere, where it was all about……muscle. His muscle, to be specific. Where he was posing high on a mountain, still visible to all, to thousands below, thousands of admiring men in the valley beneath him, all calling his name, all playing with their giant tools, their cum spurting and flying, the sun behind him, sweat in his eyes - “A picture. My cellphone? For, um, ….later?” “Later?” Casey barely heard him. “Yeah, later. To admire you later…..whenever I want to…..” The dream was broken for a moment and there was Rowenstein, shrugging and smiling, red-faced, embarrassed. Crab shots were his thing. He loved the solid billboard of muscle and veins. Exploding muscle and veins. “Oh, yeah. Yeah. Sure.” Casey saw Rowenstein’s cock was now poling forward in his khakis. “Made you hard, man?” “Yeah, you did. You do.” Rowenstein grinned toothily and admitted it happily. He pulled out his mobile and began snapping. Relieved, the muscle cadets groped in their pants pockets, next to their now-bulging flies, pulled out cellphones, and, never relaxing, never letting up even a finger on Casey’s massive musculature, began taking pictures. Casey went back to his mountain on his planet. He flexed. He was a god. He knew it. He wanted the universe to see him, to touch him, to admire him, to kneel before him, to reach up to him, to admire his strength, to touch his muscles, to stroke his chest, lick his nipples….. ….to worship him….. ….to suck his dick. Yes, that is what he wanted. He wanted the world to suck his cock. He nodded. That’s what he wanted. Like that hot mean little muscle dude Tiffany did last night. No one had done that before. Now he knew. Yes, and now he knew. Was this why he did it? Why he lifted? Why he had built his physique into the huge muscle sculpture it was now? No, of course not. Not entirely. He wanted to be the biggest and strongest man in the world. That’s what he wanted. But getting his dick sucked at the same time would be a nice perk. Again, he blew up his pecs to their fullest. Twin globes of pure muscle. Boom! Boom! He felt his buddies’ hands all over him. He was dizzy with lust and young muscle. He wanted to flex for everyone, his dick to throb and spurt and explode inside vanquished mouth after vanquished mouth, his long thick shaft gliding between adoring lips, plunging down dozens of supplicant throats, gagging them all with his cock girth and his cum, gagging the world with his giant man meat as he flexed mountainous biceps. He wanted to cover the faces of hundreds of men with his cum. Coating them all. Then fucking butt. Fucking hundreds of butts while he flexed. This was his planet. That is what he wanted. He never realized it before. But he did now. The muscle cadets were all over him, stroking him, rubbing him, feeling his muscles, inspecting his veins. Check out these striations, he heard one of them say. Yeah, these veins are thick as pencils. No, thicker. His skin is so thin. Check out these abs, they’re like cinder blocks. No, harder. This okay, Casey? Yeah, it’s okay. Feel me. Touch me. Check out my muscles. Suck my dick. He started to say it. The cadets seemed to anticipate it. The breathing in the room grew heavier. And heavier. And suddenly one of the muscleboys moaned. Ayyyy Ugnnnhhhh…. And then another. Casey closed his eyes and flexed…. Oh Yeah LOOK AT MY MUSCLES DUDES And then another low cry Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! And then he felt it himself. He felt the liquid start… was happening… YEAH YEAH YEAH No, it wasn’t. It wasn’t happening. The room was suddenly sharply quiet. He opened his eyes. It had all stopped. The boys had stepped back. No one was touching him. The worship had stopped. “You ready to go, Casey?” Casey was shocked out of his dream. He turned and stood, staring. His massive cock brushed the mirror as he turned. Rod Moster was at the open door, smiling. He wore his sweats, but even they didn’t conceal his 7’- 0” frame, his nearly 400 pounds of super wide muscle. His veiny relaxed biceps rolled out of his sleeves with nearly 25 inches of unflexed power, 30 when flexed. His quad veins were so thick the boys could see them through his sweatpants. And that wasn’t all they could see. The outline of his flaccid cock bulged lazily down his right leg, extending almost to his knees. The boys stared. “Who is that??” “He’s like a fucking god,” said Owenbee. Banks stepped forward, his eyes now half closed, a small smile on his face. “Sergeant Moster,” said Banks politely. “Greetings.” He saluted crisply, smiled. The muscle cadets stared at the giant, handsome black bodybuilder. “Shit,” said Ogden, “no one is that big.” “He is,” said Rowenstein. “Thank you, Cadet. You’re Banks?” “Yes, sir. Aye, aye, sir.” “Am I interrupting something?” “We’re just saying goodbye, sir,” said Banks, relaxed, crisp and smooth and confident. Casey smiled weakly. “Yeah.” “Put some clothes on, Casey.” Silence in the room. Casey looked down and realized he was naked and that his huge member was poling straight out and up what seemed to be 2 feet or more, as if ready to shoot. Precum was dribbling down the long, thick shaft and onto the floor. And he looked around his room, and saw all the tented, bulging flies of all the teen muscle cadets, their pants increasing with stain, their cocks now receding. Every one of them. Except Banks. His cock still poled out straight ahead in his pants, but his fly was dry, bulging with unleashed power. He'd been able to control himself. And Banks was not embarrassed. Moster took note silently. Hmmm. “Bye, Casey. Maybe we’ll see you at the compound? If Sergeant Moster will allow us in?” Owenbee was hopeful. Moster frowned. “We’ll see,” he said, non-committal. “Um. Yeah. Okay. Bye, guys.” Casey bent and grabbed his clothes, beet red, mortified. Was this the way to show himself on the most important morning of his life? Naked and flexing and about to shoot and filled with fantasies and dreams? And, it might be added – late??? Late for a military CO? He wasn’t even IN the military, and he felt completely humiliated. He struggled for his baggies, reached for his shoes, looked around in vain for at least one of his oversized jocks. And he hadn’t even packed up his laptop or his prized personal collection of vintage muscle magazines yet. “I’m really sorry, sir,” he blurted, moving clumsily around the room as the teens scrambled to step clear of the confused young bull. “I guess I’m not ready to go.” “You do want to move up the mountain to the main compound?” “Oh, yes, sir!” “Well, then, get yourself ready to go. I won’t wait for you long. I’ll be downstairs in the van. Take a few minutes, and get yourself together. I'll wait five minutes. After that, if you want to move up the mountain, you're going to have to walk.” He smiled, suddenly surprisingly kind. He looked around the room of awestruck boys, and smiled. “And if all you cadets keep training hard, I’m sure I’ll be seeing you all up at the compound sometime soon.” He looked pointedly at Banks. “Especially you.” “Turn around.” Banks complied, turning around. Moster gazed, eyes half-lidded, at Banks’ impressively shaped glutes, nicely packed inside tight pants. “Yes. Keep doing those squats, boy. Good flanks.” His fingers twitched a little. There would be a nice session of spanking this smart-mouthed handsome muscle boy’s hard little muscle bottom sometime in the very near future. He'd wake him up. Banks’ eyes twinkled. He knew what Moster was thinking about. It was okay with him. "I'll look forward to meeting you again, sir." They shared a quick look of understanding. Moster smiled slightly, an eyebrow cocked. Then he nodded briefly to the others. “At ease, men.” And then he was gone. The boys were still a moment, listening to Moster’s steps retreating down the corridor. The distant outer door opened and closed. A moment of awed silence. Then the boys scrambled back to life. “Jesus!” “He’s HUGE.” “Guys! I gotta bounce!” Boytown muscle chaos as the cadets dove around the room, gathering Casey’s bags and toiletries and clothes and laptop, throwing everything in a heap. “Get my muscle magazines!” “Where are they?” Rowenstein asked, looking a little frantic. “The closet. There’s a box. Four boxes. I need them!” The boys scoured the room, gathering their hero’s possessions. “We got your back, Case,” said Banks, smiling. Casey stopped a moment and looked into Banks’ eyes. Then he smiled. “I know you do, dude. I know.” ****** NEXT CHAPTER: "The Twenty" Chapter 15 - Casey's First Interview with Sergeant Moster
  23. "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Precis, Introduction, Chapters 1 & 2 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 6 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 7, 8 - Hardcore Training, Part 1 / Tiffany's Talent "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapters 9, 10 - Good for Morale "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 11: Casey Meets the Muscle Squad "The Twenty" Chapter 12, Part 1: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 12: Part 2 Casey vs. Karim Abdul: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 13: After the Match "The Twenty" - Chapter 14: In Which Casey Discovers He Likes to Get Worshipped "The Twenty" - Chapter 15: Casey's First Interview with Sergeant Moster "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 16 - Hardcore Training Part 2: Casey’s First Herculaneum Workout, and What Happened After "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 17 - The Presentation "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 18 - Inside Zaftig's Lab: The Musclemen Revealed Chapter 3: White Cap Training At the beginning, Zaftig had believed that the perfect man was Rod Moster. Now, 18 other enhanced candidates approached the successful muscular development levels Moster had already achieved. Moster’s edge was waning. On training days, the men could eat whatever they wished, as long as their diets included 5,000 daily grams of pure animal protein. After a “light” morning workout, a day of classes and small arms training, and between regularly scheduled sessions of long distance swimming, bicycling, sparring, wrestling, karate, tae kwon do, yoga, kickboxing, and extreme fighting technique skills, the men were set loose in the gym at 1730 hours. By then, of course, they were wild to lift heavy and lift hard. On muscle recovery days, the men were commanded to remain in or near their private quarters and barred from stressful activities. Maintaining proper diet in all six daily meals remained in effect, socializing was strictly limited, and long hours of meditation were advised. It was understood that their finely honed mechanisms required fresh air, a little light running, a mile-long swim or two, and long, stress-free, leisurely walks along the many compound park trails. Lights out on muscle recovery days was 2000 hours. The rest day protocols were strictly enforced. These rest days were always the dullest days imaginable for the energized squad of musclemen. Early morning the day after rest, they were filled once again with blinding zeal and unfettered ambition for the hours of brutal, strictly regimented workouts. Lately Sergeant Moster was even more vigilant than usual, making sure that the men stayed on point throughout the session. Once every few weeks, the men eagerly anticipated a ‘White Cap’ training session. White Cap Nights meant one thing - no holds barred. They were scheduled generally as an incentive following of long periods of recorded ‘good team behavior.’ The men ached for them. White Caps contained traces of concentrated undiluted P21 granules, blended carefully with powerfully lab-enhanced homeopathic supplements and pure, powdered oxygen. It was like muscle heroin, mainstreamed. Zaftig’s researchers had found that this compound powder form of P21, when taken orally, produced short-term jolts of strength stamina, and unrestrained energy that were, unlike the injectable form, only temporarily enjoyed. The workouts performed after a white cap had been consumed boasted over-the-top performance levels, which always resulted in new personal bests. The gains the men made on these nights, whether lifting, swimming, running, or fighting, provided benchmarks for future optimal training. There was a drawback. The few remaining social restraints the men still had from their former lives had all but faded to nothingness. Just as the men were moved to achieve new highs on the workout floor, the few remaining inhibitors they did still maintain all but vanished. While scheduling White Cap nights was becoming an increasing necessity in order to keep the men focused on pure muscle growth, Dr. Zaftig had become highly concerned that as the team continued to surpass previously-considered “impossible” training goals, the squad’s standards of good behavior, or even basic societal standards of decency, were becoming increasingly rare. And while Zaftig continued to allow Moster control the group, he was aware of his probable own long-term foolishness in this decision. For under Moster’s direction, the squad was separating itself little by little from standards of common social boundaries. To say nothing of military discipline. How could Zaftig hope to impress the brass if his muscle monsters, for all of their nearly inhuman development, were out of control? And how could Project Herculaneum continue if the military removed its nearly decade-long support? Moreover, a Joint Chiefs review was scheduled for November. Zaftig was worried. In effect, his chief inmate was now running the asylum. It made for fantastic achievements in muscle size, strength, and accomplishment. It did little or nothing to contain the burgeoning sexual psyches of musclemen who craved to exhibit, show-off, pose, tease, and flex with abandon. Three years before, when the Nineteen were still the Twelve, a White Cap night had been introduced as a lab experiment. The men ended up in such a muscles-entangled in a spectacularly muscle-flexing, cum-spurting locker room orgy after the workout that the program was almost abandoned. Sheepish and humiliated the next day, the Twelve went back to the gym to set new benchmarks in strength, endurance, and lifting. With some persuasion, Moster argued to Zaftig that occasional white cap nights, strongly regulated and following firm procedures might inspire the men further to new heights. Distributed in the wrong hands, White Caps could be dangerous, and perhaps lethal. They were highly stimulating drugs, and the enlarged pupils, deep breathing, increased body heat and volumes of sweat they produced required careful monitoring. For the Project Herculaneum men, white caps were like crack. Zaftig had been against them from the start, until over time it became apparent that no organic harm had ever resulted, nor certifiable addiction issues. Moreover, the men remained inspired by White Cap workouts in the months to come. And they understood that for them to be most effective, these nights could come only 4 or 5 times a year. Zaftig reluctantly agreed, on the condition that the nights were videotaped by no less than six cameras. The tapes would be closely reviewed for infractions and sexually aggressive behavior. In exchange, Moster bargained that during shower time, they men could indulge as they wished. Zaftig, sincerely hoping no long-term hospitalizations would result, gave the go-ahead for periodic white cap nights. And so they began. On these nights, for two hours, it was only Moster’s grim domination of the men that prevent them from brutally fucking each other right there on the workout floor. That would wait, as he faithfully promised them all, for the shower room afterwards, when, fuck each other, they did, and with relish. Of late, however, not a little of the sexual acting out had made its way to the gym floor. One by one, the video cameras were shut down and put away, leaving no record. And the men grew more unrestrained. October 19th had been a required rest and muscle recovery day, for October 20th‘s workout was scheduled as a White Cap Night. After all, later that night in the mess, the men were scheduled to meet the so-called young ‘muscle genius’ Casey Rockland for the first time. Another recruit from Miles Donovan’s San Jose hardcore gym Raw Weight. Just a kid, really. Only 18. But with real promise, or so it seemed. Moster determined to think about Casey Rockland a little later. He couldn’t afford to have split attention when the men were on the floor and under the influence of the pure, undiluted stuff. And it was too late to turn back now. As long as P21 continued to produce almost miraculous results, and the men grew exponentially large and become stronger beyond all projected imagining, and Project Herculaneum approached its 10-year anniversary, Zaftig had finally been forced to turn a blind eye to both the benefits of White Cap Nights, and the now-nightly after-hours sexual behavior. Moster distributed the capsules personally to the men as they filed onto the floor. The bodybuilders gobbled them down immediately, already chuckling and winking at one another. Then Moster stood back and allowed their raging hormones their full force. Watchful and ever ready to impose his strict discipline as needed, he nevertheless understood the basic benefits of weight-room bonding. He let them go. He did not take one himself. He stood watchfully to one side. He was dressed, as he generally was, in his spotless oversized white sweats. He had completed his own workout privately an hour before while his squad was going through their abs training in the enclosed hot room just next to the workout floor. It was generally unnecessary for him to display his physical superiority to his squad of muscle freaks, except privately, and only when warranted. And tonight in particular, he chose to remain fully covered as if to encourage the men to pay attention to their own bodies. Upon occasion, however, he would strip down to his jock and join the men in their training to maintain bonding, and supply ongoing inspiration, however he determined it might be needed. Those nights had become increasingly rare, however, as the complicated, competitive reactions of the men to Moster’s detailed muscularity had begun to inhibit the workflow. From the sidelines, watching his squad’s training with laser focus, he made sure his men strictly maintained dead-on correct form with each grueling lift. Moster made careful notes in the margins of the evening training session report filled out in advance for him daily by meek, balding little Dr. Irving, Zaftig’s nearly silent civilian lab assistant. Never disappointed at either their stamina or their passion during normal workouts, the results achieved on white cap nights amazed even him. The effects always began gradually. Divided into their usual smaller training teams of 2 and 3 men each, the soldier-bodybuilders of Project Herculaneum took turns spotting one another and blasting alternate muscle groups. Tonight, teams one and two were working back and lats, teams three and four delts, traps and triceps, teams five and six legs, team seven chest and biceps. An hour of punishing abdominal work preceded the heavy lifting. The men grimaced, grunted, spat, cursed, shouted and groaned with ecstatic agony as, all around the room, each man pumped his super-sized, vein-exploding muscles to their greatest potential. Their dirty army regulation wife-beater t-shirts were grimy with dirt and drenched with water and sweat. Beneath the t-shirts, each man displayed blinding, awesomely ripped physiques, packed with dense, intricate, vascular cables of tendons, ligaments, river-thick veins and mountainously large, round, popping muscle bellies. Abs rippled with cobblestone washboard 8-packs on waistlines that grew no larger than 32 inches. Lats flared. Pecs pumped. Biceps bulged ferociously as the men aggressively lifted and posed for one another in between sets, each man confident that he was bigger than his training partner. Some of the men kept their bodies shaved. Others let their body hair grow. Moster demanded shaved physiques only once a month for company inspection, and over time he had come to respect the fact that some of the furrier musclemen were proud of their sprouting masses of thick, healthy chest, asshole, and pubic hair. Short, regulation haircuts were required, though some of the older men were allowed beards and mustaches. After all, personal vanity, as long as it didn’t supplant regulations, was to be encouraged. It also kept the men unique from one another. While they were all extraordinarily developed bodybuilders, Moster knew the value of each man maintaining his own identity and special tastes. It was all part of his plan. Moster's vision, if you will. After all, later on, new cadet Casey would be presented to the group. For it appeared that Casey Rockland might possess the rare organic gifts that were even more sympathetic. Moster wanted the men to be aching with rage and pain from their blazingly cruel workout when they first encountered Muscle Cadet Casey Rockland at precisely 2200 hours. He wished he could also prevent the men from the usual hardcore White Cap Night after-workout showers free-for-all, but he knew that was impossible. Then again, P21 worked in mysterious ways. Maybe the men would be feeling replenished and reloaded? White Cap Night workouts were tougher, true, but the floor activity and the post-show group release in the showers meant the men would be drained. So maybe not quite as spot-on impassioned (envious? turned on?) at their first meeting of the impressively swole 18-year muscle monster. In any event, Moster would enforce no-touch rules on Casey for the first few weeks. At least. Zaftig had recently confided in Moster that Rockland might indeed be that long-sought P21 perfect recipient. The men already sensed that Rockland was different. For almost two years, they’d all glimpsed the fully-covered teenage cadet Rockland periodically training with the program’s other young cadets in their own, smaller gym in an auxiliary building in the compound. He was unaccountably huge, and the cadets were increasingly intimidated by his size and strength. It was way past time to move him up into the ranks. Most of the cadets still lived off-campus in discreetly rented apartments in nearby San Jose. Vans picked them up early each morning and returned them to their front doors each early evening. There was no socializing with The Nineteen. A few of the more promising cadets were assigned cadet housing in the facility’s dormitory. And Rockland had been moved into the dorm at the outset. And from what the men could tell from a distance, he was mammoth beyond imaging for a teenager. Rockland was said to be a genetic marvel, even amongst these men, though none of them had yet had the occasion to closely inspect the young man’s physique. Zaftig had made sure of that. Even Sergeant Moster had not yet interviewed the young man. He was amused (if just a little irritated) that Zaftig had purposefully held back on presenting Rockland to him, instead encouraging Rockland to bond with the other cadets in their own comparatively unsupervised weight training. The point was to see what the teen cadets would do on their own recognizance. Junior to Moster, but reporting only to Zaftig, Casey’s handlers were required to keep their notes confidential – that is to say, away from Moster. So far, Rockland had little inkling of the plans that were in place for his future. In time, Moster had come to accept the set up. In the 10 years since he first began to assemble the men of Project Herculaneum, Zaftig had always been successful in presenting a finely honed candidate worthy of the grueling responsibilities of membership. He had an eye for talent, Moster had to acknowledge, finding gold in a man he himself might have passed on. Moster assumed, correctly as it happened, that at this very moment in another part of the compound, Zaftig was preparing young Casey Rockland for his first presentation to The Nineteen. For it was only after long-term study of the effects on a so-called control “perfect specimen” that the kinks of the formula could finally be identified, and eliminated. After that, it would be ready for general release to the public – and ready to earn billions for Zaftig. For even in the true believer Zaftig, at the end of the day, it was still all about the money. What Moster didn’t know was that Zaftig, sure of Rockland’s gifts and unparalleled fast-track progress, had been injecting him from day one as a cadet with P21. It was possible that young Casey Rockland was the man that Zaftig had long been searching for. He’d been on the protocol for two years now, ever since that night Zaftig found him, lonely and alone, and prompted by a hurried call from Miles Donovan, in the San Jose Greyhound bus station. Chapter 4: A Brief History of Casey Rockland 2002-2021 Even as a baby, he was unusually large and healthy. He had appeared one night in Fall, 2002, delivered anonymously just inside chilly porticoes of City Hall. He was carefully tucked in a battered little crib, which had been wheeled and abandoned in the shadows of the Rockland Avenue entrance. Snugly covered with a warm blanket, the baby had a bottle that he sucked on pensively. A note pinned to the cradle read: Take care of our boy. He is a good boy even if he is big. We just cant feed him no more. PS His birthday is April 23. He is six months old today. We call him Casey. Goodbye and thank u and God bless u. No one knew who his parents were. And now he was no more than just another foundling in the city system. City social services responded quickly. Baby Casey’s birth certificate being untraceable, his social worker hurriedly gave him the surname ‘Rockland’, and the smiling, big-eyed, big-bodied baby went directly into foster care. Passed from home to home, prospective parents seemed to give up very quickly. At first charmed by his beauty, sweetness, clear eyes and blond hair, all gave up rather promptly after discovering just how much baby Casey ate. In time he was transferred into the San Jose Catholic Boys’ Home. There he was looked after by a small platoon of the devoted nuns of the Benedictine Order. Something about him touched the normally cold-hearted sisters, and in short order, they began to feed him as much as he required. Which was a lot. Baby Casey was growing before their eyes. Casey didn’t start to talk until he was nearly 3 years old. His vocabulary consisted of “Yes”, “No”, “Okay”, “Please”, “I’m hungry”, and “I’m still hungry.” By the time he was 4, the sisters sadly noted that Casey was slower than the other boys his age, if much bigger, and generally in need of twice as much food. By age 5, he was already as big and strong as a 10-year old, which required some special clothing and a certain amount of care that he didn’t accidently break things. Even so, Casey was shy and sweet natured, if withdrawn. He always tried to do the right thing and not worry the nuns. The boy had an uncommonly beautiful face, with long, thick lustrous blond hair, and deep set violet eyes with heavy black eyebrows and eyelashes. The kind-hearted Sisters told him quietly about what a handsome man he was going to be when he grew up. “Just be patient,” said Sister Mary Christopher. “Your day will come.” His day hadn’t come yet. The other boys didn’t like him. By the time Casey was 11, his blend of dopey sweetness and a rapidly maturing pre-adolescent body forced unwanted attention onto him. Still the favorite of the sisters, he got the biggest dinners and seemed to receive the most privileges. Even his relative slowness in class didn’t daunt the Sisters’ devotion. He never asked for any special treatment. It just came to him. His size added to his troubles. He knew he could hurt the other boys without meaning to, unless he was very careful, and soon enough, the older, meaner gangs in the home learned that in spite of his size and superior strength, he wouldn’t fight back. The sisters, after all, told him not to. It was more blessed to turn the other cheek. In fact, as Casey grew, it became apparent that he had four cheeks that he could turn. Four of the bigger boys loved to pin him down and administer bare-bottom spankings. And Casey’s supple little butt was nice and ripe for such punishment. In fact, he could take any punishment, feeling somehow that it was his due. And he never told tales. In spite of his increasing size and strength, he was open season for bullies. Over the years, he became a punching bag, a repository for the other boys’ fears and anger. The years passed. Casey went into puberty early. He grew exponentially fast, and the other boys became more wary of him. His strength was already an issue, and often the nuns would catch him testing his strength by lifting tables and bending the iron bars that lined the dank little playground. A bigger problem, however, developed out of the group showers in gym class. Casey’s penis was growing fast, even faster than his strong body. His pants never seemed to fit any more, and it grew harder to hide the developing bulge. To make matters worse, when he was 9 he had started having erections and wet dreams, and sometimes would get excited in class or on the playground or at mess hall. The other boys stared at the growing bulge in his pants, whispered, and pointed, secretly unsure and intimidated. Casey was always baffled by their snickering, half-heard, never-understood jokes. One day one of the older boys had an inspiration on the playground. Staring at Casey’s looming young fly, he called out. “Hey. Banana Man! You getting’ another hard-on?” The other boys roared nastily. “Seems you’re always gittin’ hard-ons, Banana Man! You queer or somethin’?” The name stuck. That was the worst. Casey was now ashamed of his penis. Ashamed and embarrassed. He was always getting hard at the wrong times. He was always being called out by the other boys. It was too big. He couldn’t hide it. And he certainly couldn’t discuss this with the nuns. “Banana Man, Banana Man!” Casey knew they were mocking him, mocking his embarrassingly oversized manhood. He was ashamed and tried to hide himself. And that made the boys laugh even more. When Casey was 12, he had had enough. He was too big, too pretty, ungainly, awkward, lonely, slow-witted and alone. Although he never let the other boys see it, he cried a lot, usually under his bed sheets late at night, stifling his sobs so that the other boys in the dorm room wouldn’t hear him. One night he thumbed through a community free handout magazine he picked up at the corner market to see if he could find – well, anything. The sisters never let the boys use the office computers for mere webs surfing, but he was desperate, and he knew there had to be a place – somewhere – where he could go to vent his frustrations, anxiety, and deep loneliness. He knew he was a freak, but he suspected there might be a place where there were other freaks, like him, where he could find some comfort. There it was. The ad that changed everything. The ad that changed his life. MILES DONOVAN’S RAW WEIGHT GYM HARDCORE BODYBUILDING REASONABLE RATES COME TRAIN WITH THE CHAMPIONS And there was a picture, too, an old one of bodybuilder Lee Labrada. It was enough for Casey. This is what he wanted to look like. This was what he wanted to be. The next morning he begged Sister Mary Alice for extra yard work duty so that he could earn the money to join Raw Weight Gym. He worked all fall late into the evening washing dishes, sweeping floors, emptying the teeming garbage pails in the kitchen. The sisters saw to it that he was paid $125 weekly for his work. “He’s learning responsibility,” said Sister Mary Alice. “He’s preparing to jump the wall,” said Sister Agatha. “Freak….teacher’s pet…..queer,” said the boys. And on day in the spring of 2016, after classes were over for the day at precisely 2:30 PM, he took a bus downtown to join Raw Weight Gym, the hardcore gym owned by the 50-year old retired pro bodybuilder legend Miles Donovan. He didn’t tell anyone where he was going. The nuns knew he was venturing out, however. They trusted that wherever Casey was bound to go, as long as he was quiet, stuck to his chores, was well behaved and responsible, and was back at the rectory in time for dinner, they were not about to get involved. He would be on his own in a few years anyway, the sisters reasoned. Better he began to learn the world now. And secretly, he remained the favorite of all in the order. Chapter 5: Raw Weight Gym Once upon a time, retired pro bodybuilder Miles Donovan might have qualified as one of The Nineteen. But at 55 years of age, with almost 40 years spent in the ranks of competitive bodybuilding, Miles had seen too much the world of competitive muscle up close and personal for way too long. He was done with the competitive end of the iron game. Handsome, cleft-chinned, grey-haired and grizzled with an ever-present two-day growth of beard, and sporting the powerfully thick musculature of a superheavyweight competitor, Miles was still a national phenomenon. His big, hard body was graced with a half dozen fading 1970s-era tattoos, and at 255 pounds, the man proudly boasted the rocky 34-inch waist of a 20-year old. His veined, iron super-abs still served as impressive midsection body armor, his hard pecs still loomed with impressive cuts, and his oversized nipples still sported the brass nipple rings he’d first put on when he hung up his posing trunks for the last time, 15 years before. Better still, Miles had long since stopped shaving his body, and his hardcore daddy physique was lined with a matting of soft black body hair. Miles was stronger than all of the men at his gym, effortlessly curling 225 pounds, squatting 600 and benching 500. His bodyfat index never got much higher than 3%. No, he’d never stop lifting, never stop training as if the contest of his life was just next week. But Miles knew all about the favoritism of the judges and alpha-male insecurities of most other pro bodybuilders. He had been through the health problems, the staggering personal toll taken on most competitive bodybuilders with their litanies of failed relationships, bad business decisions, drugs and violence. A survivor of three scorched-earth divorces, Miles had long since turned his back on blissful domesticity. Now, it was all about his gym – and the private sex games his muscles could still inspire. Always a hustler, Miles had a different magic formula for his survival in the world of muscle. Why not let the muscle fans work for him, he reasoned to himself. Miles was all too familiar with the viciousness of the confidence-challenged muscle worshippers, whose mean-spirited online backstabbing masked profound, unfixable fears, physical inferiority, and personal emotional agonies. He’d seen too many talented, hapless, dog-dumb young musclemen, eager for fame and recognition in the world of competitive muscle, get their hopes and dreams dashed on the rocks of life, their fine physiques spiraling into decay as the years of being used and abused caught up with them and the despair of association with the seedier elements of bodybuilding began to take its inexorable toll. Not for him this downward spiral. And he had no inclination of spending his retirement years in a lab complex headed up by his crazy old friend, Dr. Ira Zaftig, inspiring muscle project or not. After all, he could still get the better any man on the workout floor or take him down in the free-for-all boxing ring; he was known to have a mighty punch. And below the belt he was nicely endowed with a 9-inch penis that liked to come out to play often, for he was well known to particularly enjoy the discreet worship of his teen members. There wasn’t much Miles liked better than when a handsome 18-year old muscletwink pulled down the man’s outward poling sweatpants and enveloped his always-tumescent, thick member between pouty teenage lips. Miles’ Gym, Raw Weight, was cavernous. It sprawled over three floors in a large former warehouse located at the end of an alley in downtown San Jose. Plate glass windows on floors one and two showed lines of cardio machines and stacks of weights. Raw Weight was his baby. He’d carved it out of the world and made it all his own. He had bought the building for a song 20 years before, in 1997, where it had stood, a nearly forgotten emblem to bodybuilding history for nearly 40 years. In it, some of the greats of bodybuilding had once trained at the beginning of their careers. Most had long since retired or moved on to the slick strip mall gym chains that had cropped up across the country since the early 1980s, which now catered to the legends and the weekend bodybuilding hopefuls alike. The steroided goons that had dominated the competition stages for more than three decades may have created their own little scattered fiefdoms, but all the same most who had survived returned (quietly) once or twice a year to the rarefied muscle environment that was Raw Weight Gym. For the first few years he was in business, Miles was always barely one step away from creditors, foreclosure, IRS audits. Then one afternoon, while grimly watching an annoying old gym rat hitting on an unresponsive 22-year old Mexican muscleboy, he hit on a marketing strategy that was, for inner sanctum muscle lovers, just about flawless. All were welcome at Miles’ gym – at least on the first two floors. There, at all hours of the day and night were the teens, the rock-solid gay guys, the strapping young executives, the boxers and the runners and the middle-aged and the muscle wannabes and the flabby former high school athletes and even the merely curious. The vast gym floor clanged with the sound of weights and the whirring of the treadmills, and the house music echoed resoundingly throughout its depths. The showers were always hot, the equipment was dust-free, the machines were new and shiny and well tended, and the floor mats were scrubbed and clean. From a clerestory row at the height of the 16-foot walls large, lines of faded color posters of the bodybuilding legends of the 20th and 21st centuries promised the results of years of muscle-building dedication and discipline. Few lifters on these two floors could ever hope to achieve anything like the muscle density and mass of the gods that beamed down upon them with smug superiority, but spirits were undaunted, and the air was charged with the serious endeavors of those who trained beneath the glare of the merciless fluorescent lights. And then there was the 3rd floor. It was an exclusive and private membership-only club, and it was Miles’ own world of muscle, where he was the unchallenged director and Chairman of the Board. Miles Donovan A passkey, only issued by Miles personally, was available to a very few elite members. The 3rd floor was resolutely men-only. It too was clean and scrubbed, but it was quiet, music-less, and unadorned by the posters of proudly flexing past contest winners. No more than five men trained there at any given time. There was a private entrance through an unmarked door on the street level with an elevator that went directly to 3, so the passkey members didn’t have to be bothered by the stares and curiosity of the comparative plebes found on floors 1 and 2. The rules were clear. The Men of 3, as Miles called them, were required to train, at least during business hours, in tight posing trunks. After hours, they could train naked if they chose. They were even allowed to bring in occasional training partners and visitors of their own choosing, as long as they either a) kept up with the grueling training, or, their non-training guests remained silent, respectful, discreet, observed the rules, remained dressed in a suitable sweatsuit and gym shoes, and paid appropriately. But that wasn’t all. Miles also admitted floor access to a few privately selected well-heeled subscribers. They paid dearly for the privilege. For a few thousand dollars a shot, the subscribing visitors were allowed to indulge in discreet muscle worship while the bodybuilders trained. The rules were clear here, as well. The full-time muscle members who were worshipped were required to train past their pain thresholds on a regular basis. Their progress was reported in weekly time sheets that listed current dimensions, gains, possible injuries, and reported income earned while on the floor. The money was 90% theirs to keep: Miles took the rest of his cut from the paying guests. As keys and membership could be revoked at any time, both musclemen and muscle worshippers were all conscientiously engaged in maintaining their good standing. The specs of the muscle members were clearly understood. All had to have superior muscular development for their weight – Miles did not discriminate in favor of age or the super-huge, and several of the men were either older or bantams. A few men were silver daddies well into their sixties, who looked as if they might have another decade of solid growth ahead of them. The only area where Miles had to lay down a firm law of size requirement was relative to penis length, girth, and weight. Only the well hung were admitted, and although it wasn’t spelled out per se in any charter, the Men of 3 all knew that any new member was unquestionably packing – and talented. Butt fucking was generally discouraged on the workout floor on 3, although there were no active rules against it. Butt fucking tended to be louder and distracting to the men at work, and besides, few had the inclination to offer their well-honed glutes for the pleasure of the visitors – at least, during training hours. What the men did after hours was, of course, their own business, but Miles suspected few wanted to be known as available butt buddies, and that alone kept actual fucking to a minimum. Butt worship, however, wasn’t uncommon, and once or twice a week some lucky guest might be spotted on his knees near the squat rack, his face pressed into the hardened musclebutt of a seasoned member, who might appear to a casual observer to be completely ignoring him. Once Miles was amused to see two muscle members deeply engaged in a serious conversation about quad training while, beneath them and on either side, two eager visitors had their faces deeply buried in their well-rounded glutes. The men were ignoring them. After all, they expected no less. Overall, the system worked surprisingly well. The ranks of the Men of 3 were few, but well chosen. It was also an urban legend to the scores of gay guys on 1 and 2 who might hope and dream, but did not yet have the money or tact to be considered for the occasional foray upstairs. Only the longtime muscle members themselves were allowed in the 3rd floor locker room and showers. The locker room, of course, was a different story, for there the naked musclemen were free to take their pleasure of one another as often as they liked, sucking cock, fucking butt, worshipping the muscles of their training partners, and even engaging in water sports, as long as they mopped up after themselves. Muscle members were not allowed to exchange favors with one another on the floor at any time during the gym’s open hours, but late at night after all visitors had departed for the day, muscle members could train naked if they liked, or in leather, or thongs, or wearing masks – or whatever they preferred. Generally the newer members, once initiated, made use of the free-for-all spirit of after hours, finding other like-minded newbies overwhelmed with personal pride over the honor of having been accepted. However, all the men of 3 made frequent use of the locker room. It was strictly observed that at no time were water sports acceptable on the gym floor, but it wasn’t uncommon to see a smiling, exhausted, fulfilled muscle member pissing a powerful jet stream onto the face and pecs of another satisfied muscle member kneeling before him while they showered. Miles auditioned the men of the 3rd floor himself. He rarely sucked cock – he’d had enough of all that years before, although for a particularly gifted candidate he’d loosen up his own rules, if he happened to be in the mood. His test was far more cut and dried, and, in effect, far more exclusive, even to the point of cruelty. Applicants were subjected to a simple test: Miles would put a bodybuilder through an after-hours grueling workout, and stopping it short without warning just as the man appeared about to drop from pain and exhaustion, demand he immediately drop his shorts. Miles would then measure the flaccid penis, and if it passed the dimension test, take it in his tough, calloused palm and, with a stopwatch in hand, determine the time it took the man to get fully hard. Then, he would measure again to see the full erection length, and demand an ejaculation on the spot. Only one in ten men might make it, although the candidates who displayed promising size and ability, if not able to make the full distance on the first audition, were free to come back and try again whenever they felt up to it. If the men were big enough and hung enough, Miles didn’t mind testing and retesting. If not, no further audition was available, although Miles saw to it that the flunkees were treated with respect and discretion. After all, upon occasion, a hopeful 4F might gain access as a visitor, although he would not be allowed into the ranks of the talented muscle beneficiaries. Of course, he’d also have to pay for access privileges. And the muscle hopefuls, wannabes, worshippers, trainers, pros and future pros came from all over the world just to get a shot at membership at that 3rd floor exclusive aerie of muscle and muscle lovers. And years later, it would have the added notoriety of being the gym where the legendary muscle giant Casey Rockland got his start. -- To be continued --
  24. js44

    muscle-growth The Return Of Zeus

    Plotline: After centuries of living in isolation, Zeus decides to return to earth and have some fun as a human. The following is a work of fiction, this story does not make attempts to presume religious practices, faiths nor retell any historical events with accuracy. I I sit in my small throne room, levitating high above Olympus where I was forced to relocate after the explosion of Vesuvius so many earth cycles—well, years ago. For centuries I have remained here, a prisoner of my own mistakes, I assume, watching as my creations have evolved beyond me and my fellow gods. The years of warring and brute control of our human creations resulted in a devastating loss. With many of the Titans destroyed due to their own brutality and selfishness, I no longer have the influence over my people as I once did. I should have had the foresight to understand that humans would move beyond their faith in me; after all, there are plenty of other deities both evil and good for humans to invest their lives in, and they do have free will. As humans have stopped believing in my existence, my powers have also diminished. I'm sure other Titans exist elsewhere, perhaps in far off places and times, but in any case I am comfortable where I am. I have actually found it amusing to watch the human civilization evolve and grow over the centuries, they have discovered so much about how I and my fellow Titans created them and their environment. As I walk to my reflecting pool, I realize that it has been nearly 2000 years since I was exiled from the Roman existence. Jupiter, as I was called then, was their leader, their source of power, their ability to conquer and discover and rule and love, lust. As an immortal and a deity I do realize that time bends to my will, but I have enjoyed my current role as a hands off god, living in solitude high above Olympus. I perform nearly the same ritual each day that I have since I settled here, and though I am not dissatisfied with my immortality or my power, these last few years I have become bored and restless. I look down at my reflection in the pool, the cool water shining an emerald glow of myself back into my eyes. I wear the same white toga I have always worn, prestine in its own immortality. I appear to the be same age as I always have, my bright blue eyes reflected against my blonde, curly beard and a thick, flowing blonde mane wrapping down my head and behind my neck. Not bad for a human, typical for a god, though. I smirk at myself, we Titans sure did have fun in our day. We languished in our fluid sexuality, our carelessness and candor with each fellow god as well as humans. Even in our selfish and turse natures, I had no regrets for what I did. Hyperion and I would often go to Earth, visiting in human form. We could take our picks of the strongest and worthiest humans to bond with, gracing them with our godly sex. Theia would challenge us to plant our seed into as many humans in one night as we could, I usually won because I could coerce multiple men and women to come to bed with me at the same time, Hyperion preferred one partner at a time. Pulling the strap from my toga, I undressed and dropped my garment. I put my hand against my chest and feel my blonde hair gracing over my sturdy and flattened pecs, leading a treasure trail across my six-pack abs and down to my thickly hairy pubic region. I miss my sexual encounters, my tool misses it too. Years of masturbation on my own have caused me to grow longing and restless. I flex my quads and see my hair raise over my sinew. We gods always enjoyed our nude rituals, and my daily swim in my lake remains one of my favorite activities. I take a perfect dive into the water and stroke back and forth across the lake, feeling the cool water rush over my naked body. I couldn't help but ask myself what it would be like should I return to earth today. Humans with their computers and vehicles, their vast languages, cultures and technology. Only few rituals remain from my time as a ruler, how I would love to participate once more in the activity of human life. Of course there really was nothing to stop me. As a controller of energy and electricity I could easily and quietly work my way back into the plane of earthly existence. But what would I do? The political factions and cultural phenomenons are so different now. Does it even matter? Of course not, for I am a god, and I can integrate myself back to visit the earthly existence once again. A smile grew on my face and I stopped my stroke. Floating in the water I decided right then to spend at least a few days on earth. I levitated out of my pool and toward my observatory. Up until now I simply used it to monitor human activity, but today I will use it to find a location and a group of humans to integrate myself with. I dried my body and stood before my observatory windows, watching the present time in every place on the plane. I wanted to be young, athletic and with a group that had fluid and constant access to each other. A university setting, of course! But where? Humans today seemed to enjoy fame, particularly with athletes, I should be in a university setting where a particular sporting match is popular and well-respected. My people had always reveled in the sport my fellow Titans created: wrestling. I should be a wrestler, of course. I had never visited the Americas before now, and I wanted to try a new location. I found a university with wrestling as a primary, popular sport near the east coast of the Americas and set my sights there. I could locate there in human form, but that would be difficult to integrate myself. Instead, I could share my powers and possess a male athlete already integrated, it would be perfect opportunity for me to have some fun, for the man would have already established any social necessities. I turned my focus to the athletic center of the university, where around 12 men were scrimmaging each other during their daily practices. I had not possessed a human in centuries, it would be best to take one of them while he was alone. One man stood out to me, someone of Greek heritage, a man named Lukas, someone who had a long string of Greek heritage. He was not the strongest of the sport, but he was on the team and had a fair set of friends. He also seemed to be a bit of a loner, not terribly social but people did recognize him. Perhaps I could help him establish himself as a true Power Player of the wrestling team. Yes, that would be my way of thinking him for lending me his body for a short while. I informed my demi god servants of my temporary absence and prepared myself for my journey. I could teleport myself into the human plane of existence, but I would need to be creative to possess this human and take on his form. I quickly moved to my chamber that bridged the plane of earth and set my course for the Americas. I stretched my body and prepared itself for metamorphosis, I would need to take on my form of pure energy to most effectively gain control of Lukas, it would be quick and painless for him. Actually, it would be quite pleasurable, any human gaining the awesome powers of a god would enjoy it. I smirked as my chamber began channeling the energy of my body out and toward the earth, perhaps the centuries in solitude has made me softer to the human condition. In the past I cared not for human feelings and sympathy, I simply ruled with my intent. But today I plan to take this human with care and compassion. I looked once more at my raw, nude body as my sculpted, muscular form broke apart and into waves of blue energy. I smiled as my body morphed apart, skin and muscle splitting into a blue blur of energy. “Take me to the Americas!” I ordered as the room rocketed my energetic form downward into the plane of human existence. II I wrapped myself into the energy cables that seemed to cloak every part of human life and traveled in them toward the university, into the athletic center and into the light fixtures above the gym. 8 mats lay evenly spaced apart as young, strapping collegiate athletes pushed their own bodies and that of their foes to their fullest athletic ability. These men held the same passion for sport, for respect of the male form, and for athletic camaraderie that the humans I ruled over used to have. These were men who respected and were proud of their bodies, they were the perfect vessels for me. Lukas was out of breath, his muscles ached, but he was able to pin his opponent Victor against his own odds. He was able to exhaust Victor as he slammed him in a last pin, claiming victory for himself. “Damn dude!” Victor said, out of breath, “you've been training hard, man, you got the strength! Can't wait for our competition tomorrow, I think you're going to rock it!” Lukas also out of breath answered, “thanks Vic, that was fun man.” Victor laughed, “hey dude! I know you're not in a frat or nuthin but we gotta party going on at the house tonight. You should stop by. I know you haven't been yourself since Mercedes broke up with you. We're gonna have the girls over tonight, might be nice to get laid before the big meet tomorrow, ya know?” he added with a toothy grin. Lukas shrugged him off, “yeah we'll see man, I'm tryin to get over her ya know?” Coach called Lukas before he could finish a conversation. “Lukas, I need you to condition your quads before heading back to the locker room. Rest of you men, run 3 miles then hit the showers!” Vic gave Lukas a slap on his ass as the other guys headed toward the track. With Lukas alone I should be able to take his form with ease. I traveled through the walls and electrical structure following the young man to the weight room where he hooked up a quad machine and started pumping his legs. He wasn't as big as Victor or the other wrestlers, but he had his own stature, and as I watched him pump the machine in his singlet I was reminded of the warriors I used to train. Lukas had dark, short hair and thick tuft of arm hair underneath his pits. He would have had hair on his chest and legs too but he shaved it. The guy was a jock in every sense of the word, but he was not the arrogant, stereotypical showoff I was used to seeing in other men. Lukas grunted with each pump of the machine, I could read into his head he was considering going to the frat party, he wanted to be social, but he also took his sport seriously. The thought of being with a girl was arousing him, and he started having memories of his sexual escapades with his former girlfriends. His dick started rustling under his jockstrap and he felt it best to hold off on his fantasies until later. Lukas stretched himself in the weight room and looked at himself in the mirror. He was the only one in the room, and he started flexing to see his physique. He smirked as he moved his forearms up and down, looking at the tension in his arms, his sweat shining on his skin, his sinew bulking up and down tightly against him. Lukas turned to see if anyone was around, deciding to get creative. He took his left arm and pulled down his right tank, sliding his arm from underneath it before doing the same with the left. His sweat stuck his skin close to his singlet but he was able to roll it down across his pecs and down to his abdomen, exposing his thinly defined six pack and a shaven, shaped treasure trail below his belly button. He crunched his abs and examined his back, flexing his shoulders to see how much muscle he had gained. “Not bad,” he told himself. I respected this young man, he was proud of his body. I realized now was just a good a time as any to merge with him. I just needed him to touch something that could let me connect with him. I flickered the lights in the weight room to get his attention then cut the power off of the lights. “Shit,” he said, “did the power go out?” I turned on the emergency light right above the light switch. If he were to touch it, I could reach out and into him. Lukas looked at the switch, contemplating to turn it. “Yes, Lukas, touch it!” I whispered into his subconscious. He walked toward the switch and I began anticipating the ritual I had not done performed in centuries. I could feel a flutter of excitement wrack through my form. “This is it,” I told myself. Sweat dripping off of Lukas, his exposed upper body walking toward me, I beckoned for him to reach out. As soon as his finger hit the switch I moved beyond the wall and touched his finger, a blue spark of electricity gracing the human. “Mmm,” I told myself as a wave of orgasmic pleasure hit me. I sorely missed this. I branched out of the wall and covered his hand as Lukas's eyes opened wide. “Holy shit!” he shouted, “What is the fuck is happening!?” Forcing myself onto his arm I started to move up his body, covering him in my electric power. The young man's body felt shapely and well-defined. He wasn't a muscular behemoth but that wouldn't be a problem, I could certainly help him with that. I wrapped around his neck and onto his head before covering myself over his pecs and abs, wrapping over his singlet and down his legs and feet. Feeling the entire body was nearly orgasmic, but I had to integrate with him. “Oh! Wow!” he said, feeling new surges of energy on his skin, “Oh fuck what is this?!” I lifted the human off the ground as he twitched his body in pleasure, Lukas's breathing started accelerating as my energy diffused around him faster and faster like a tornado picking up a toy. I dug underneath the signlet and toward the man's loins, ripping the fabric and causing it to fall to the ground. “Uhh!” Lukas shouted, he was starting to enjoy this and didn't mind exposing his whole body to my power. I graced his exposed ass within his jockstrap as it began to fray from the violent power surrounding him, but I needed the man truly naked to take his form. Picking up speed, I dug into his strap and ripped it off, let his large package hang free, whipped around my cyclical power. “Rarr!” Lukas shouted as he tensed his muscles and flexed his arms. I felt his dick and wrapped between his legs and up his ass crack. This human was in great form, but I was going to improve him. Pushing my energy, I dug immediately into his body, thrusting myself through his pores into his nervous system. I moved into his form, flowing into his body gaining control of his muscles, thoughts and consciousness. “Umm, moree!” he shouted as he felt me enter his mind, “YES! OH FUCK, A GOD YES I WANT MORE!” he shouted again, lost in his own wrath of pure power pleasure as his brain wrecked with my own consciousness. I pushed my power into Lukas, starting at his arms, buldging his forearms with power as veins snaked down them, regrowing his dark hair thickening on his skin. His sinew wrapped up his arm and into his shoulders as his pecs swelled and bulged with power, his skin tone darkening to a warrior-like golden hue. My powers then dug into his abs, expanding his flattening pecs engrooving his abdomen into a tight, well defined eight pack. Lukas rubbed his bulging hands across them as his midsection widened and shoulder broadened, expanding his upper body. “Oh fuck yeah!” he shouted through the wave of power surrounding him. Our minds met. "OHHHH God! Yes! YES, it's ARGH, Zeus! Fuck yeah! The powers of Zeus!" Lukas shouted as his breathing increased, his body taking in my powers. Lukas stretched his levitating body, lurching taller, his growth giving him inches in height. His arms stretched downward as he watched his body swell and grow like never before, thickening as his chest and lats continued to heave with every deep intensely pleasurable gasp of breath. Lukas looked between his legs as they began to pump and grow outward, football-sized quads hardening between his dick and balls as his shins tightened with muscle and feet grew outward. His formerly shaven legs began pushing his dark hair out with aggression, covering his legs and reaching up toward his now shaking cock and balls. His adonis belt tightened, creating a deep arrow directly toward his package, chiseling out this warrior form. His cock pushed out with power as it moved to the right and thickened with increasing girth. His balls began dropping lower from the verility of godly seed I was feeding into him. I entered my consciousness into his as I began to feel the human's body, his mind, his alignment with my all powerful abilities. “RARRR!” I shouted as I blinked his eyes and flexed his muscles. I had forgotten just how good it felt to be human! “OH YEAH!” I shouted again, lowering myself to the floor as I ran my hands across my new naked and bulked body. “Umm, yes,” I said again, “this feels fuckin good! Why didn't I do this sooner!” I looked at the mirror and began posing every possible muscular show off I could, stretching my back, wrapping my arms around me, crunching my abs and quads. I ran my hands down to my package and felt my dick and balls, remembering how good the sex organ felt. I shut my eyes as I touched my uncircumcised head, “I forgot some humans do this now, feels good,” I said. I crunched my butt and gave it a solid slap before turning around. This was going to be a fun week. III I picked up Lukas's tattered clothing and began walking toward the locker room when I could sense a human working his way toward me. “It's Freddy, another wrestler, a freshmen,” I told myself, sensing who it was. He was going to catch me nude and truly ripped. I could turn invisible. Or I could have a human to have a little fun with. Freddy approached the bottom of the stairs and saw me fully naked and ripped my arms crossed, in a pose to wait for him. He considered turning around but couldn't help but stare at me. “Uhh, Lukas? Is that you?” he asked. “Fuck yeah, man! I've been pumping up my body where you've been?” I answered. “Uhh, I just needed to lift some before tomorrow's meet. Coach said I gotta bulk up.” “Yeah you do,” I answered, a smirk on my face. “What happened to you?” Freddy answered, walking slowly, his guard somewhat down, now. “You're fuckin ripped, what did you do to yourself?” I didn't know how to answer that so I just said, “hard work, my friend! I was posing after I finished pumping the weights and my singlet ripped. Hope you don't mind I'm naked.” Freddy looked me over once again and gulped. If he wouldn't have known me he would have been intimidated, but he also couldn't look away, I was lusting him in ways he had never felt before. I smirked again, “hey man, I'll help you condition for tomorrow, hop on the press,” I said, pointing toward the bench. “I'll spot.” Freddy was in a t-shirt and shorts with a jockstrap on underneath. He wanted to look like me, he wanted to be me, he wanted to anything he could to get like me. So he excitedly agreed and hit the bench. I spotted him for a few rounds of pumping, Freddy driven to try harder and harder as he looked at my naked form. “How did you get like that?” He asked. “Can I have some of that, even 10% of your power,” he said. “Let's train,” I answered, “I'll show you some moves on the mat and maybe you can gain some of this physique.” I wanted an opportunity to share with him some of my strength, and this was the perfect way to get me laid and to get him some of my power. Freddy walked out toward the mat and positioned himself, but I crossed my arms and stared. He looked up at me. “What?” he asked. “Am I doing something wrong?” “You wanna be a greek warrior, right?” I answered, pointing to my body. “Get naked we're wrestling like real men did in the days of the true warriors!” Freddy's mouth dropped but his lust for me took over. He had only ever been naked before in the locker room, never actually on a mat. But he realized that he allowed his buddy Lukas to remain naked during his conditioning in the weight roomnow, why not get naked too? He let Lukas stay naked because he liked it, and with Lukas's suggestion he was starting to like the idea of being naked himself. He shrugged off his t-shirt exposing his sweaty arms and glistening chest. He kicked off his tennis shoes and slid his sweaty socks off of his brown, hairy legs. The guy was short but had muscular physique. He wasn't afraid to show himself and he wanted to further condition too. “Well, you went all out,” Freddy said, “I guess I should too.” Freddy dropped his gym shorts before stretching his jockstrap out and pushing it to the floor, stepping out in his own naked form. He fluffed his dick and clapped his hands. “We're true warriors, huh?” he asked. “Let's fuckin wrestle then!” We both took a starting pose and ran into each other, using our energy to try to pin the other. I could have easily taken him down but wanted the guy to enjoy this moment. We knocked our naked bodies together, grabbing each other in the back and on the ass to pin each other down. I let Freddy flip me over as he landed on my back. As he did I felt his full erection against my lower back, pulsing with each fast heart beat against me, booming over and over in rapid succession. I smiled, this human was enjoying this body as much as I was. I flipped him back over and kneel above him as he looked at me wide-eyed. “You have a big boner there, Fred,” I said, nodding down to his dick. “Look at you, Lukas!” He shouted between breaths, “how could I not with a body like that?” “You want some of this?” I asked with a smile. “Fuck yeah! But how?” Freddy answered. I gave my dick a couple of tugs and let it grow out, its girth gaining bloodflow and thickening as it went horizontal and began pointing high toward the ceiling. I wrapped my arms around him and picked him up like a ragdoll, the man going limp with confusion and letting me take over his body at my will. I pushed him against the wall and sat my erected dick against his back, feeling his hairy butt and reaching around to his dick. “This is going to give you the body you want,” I whispered as I entered into him, Freddy grunting with pleasure as my ever-powerful dick melded into his form. I could feel my powers brewing within my body, preparing itself to transform Freddy into a mortal but muscle behemoth. “Yes, Zeus, give it to me!” Freddy said, connecting with my mind, “I want your powers!” I rocked my hips as I felt a mortal orgasm build within me. I had forgotten how good it truly felt. I ordered my immortal seed to deposit muscular growth into Freddy and I shot load after load into him, hearing him gasp with pleasure as he felt my power building inside of him. “Oh fuck! YEAH! YEEEAAAHHHH HAHAHAH!” he started shouting as his voice moved into lower octaves. “The POWER!” Freddy started twisted as his body exploded with muscle, shoving his ass free of my dick. His sinew running from his bulking and square ass down his quads and up to his abs, back, pecs and shoulders. He stretched his arms and saw them bulk thicker and thicker as his neck widened and hair grew over his chest, down to his ass and between his legs. Freddy grabbed his package as he felt his penis explode with pleasure, growing downward as his scrotum accommodated for the weight in his growing testicles. “Mmmm,” he said, reality sinking back into him as he looked around. “Lukas, Zeus, whoever you are, thank you,” he said. He grabbed me and took his dick, pushing it against my legs. “I'm fuckin behemoth, now! How long...” he asked. “I will return to my plane on Olympus in 3 days, you will return to your former self at that time,” I answered, “you will not remember this physique and this event with much detail, you understand why.” Freddy didn't seem to mind, “gotta have some fun for the next few days, then!” he said. “Where are you going now? What are you doing tonight?” His energy was surging with excitement. “Off to the locker room now, my friend!” I shouted, “most of our team is still in the showers. I think there's some more worthy men I would like to share this with.” “You're the boss,” Freddy said, “lead the way!”
  25. muscleaddict

    The Day I Became A Muscle Freak (Part 3)

    Link to part 1 here Link to part 2 here The Transformation started with a slight tingling sensation running up and down my arms. Although my eyes were jammed shut I could sense a bright light in the room. The feeling in my arms quickly transformed into an intense, almost euphoric sensation, almost like I was being lifted off the ground. As it spread to my entire body, it became so intense that I suddenly became short of breath, and what started as a wobbling in my legs quickly turned into my whole body shaking. The transformation ended with one final, intense jolt like I was suddenly falling, or being pushed from behind. I was completely convinced that I'd open my eyes to find myself lying on the floor of The Transformer's flat. It was only when I suddenly regained feeling in my feet that I realised, against all odds, they were still planted firmly on the floor. Only they weren't my feet at all. They felt different. Almost alien. And bigger. They definitely felt bigger. In fact, everything felt bigger. It was my body. But it wasn't. My arms felt further away from my torso. My thighs were touching. My chest stuck out more. And there was more of my body round the back. A lot more. Almost like something big had been stuck on to me. What was that?! "OH MY FUCKING GOD"! The statement from the other man in the room made me jump and forced me to open my eyes. The Transformer was gawping at me in complete awe, sheer disbelief and slight fear. It was only when I caught sight of my reflection that I knew why. "OH FUCK", I exclaimed. Staring back at me in the mirror was an outrageously muscular, excessively developed, inhumanly shredded bodybuilder in bright pink posing trunks. I was huge. A fucking beast. A living, breathing anatomy chart. A barely human, grotesquely muscular freak. "FUUUUUCK"! I couldn't stop staring at the mountain of huge, rock hard, deliciously bronzed muscle mass in the mirror. My legs looked fucking mutated. Rips, cuts and lines I never thought possible ran over the ridges and rock-like mass which made up my quads. How, just HOW did these legs classify as being human? Six granite hard and gorgeous looking bricks of muscle protruded from my stomach. Each one separated by the deepest of cuts. My whole midsection covered with crazy lumps and alien bumps. It was like a work of art. A freaky, but beautiful creation. And my skin. Did I even have any? All that was there was a thin layer of darkly bronzed film, spread over the perfectly chiselled array of muscle erupting from my torso. And the pecs. Holy fuck. I had pecs! Two plates of thick, bulging mass trapped under the gloriously golden skin of my enormous sized chest, almost begging for release. My shoulders looked like they'd been replaced by two enormous boulders, and my arms had tripled in width and size. Veins were snaking all over my upper body to an almost terrifying degree. A sure reminder that humans really weren't supposed to look like this. "Fucking look at me mate", I excitedly exclaimed to the man responsible for my new freak show worthy existence. It was a completely redundant instruction of course, because The Transformer, still wearing his awe stricken expression, couldn't tear his eyes away from me. "Tobey, you're HUGE!", he adorably exclaimed. I suddenly felt a surge of confidence I hadn't previously when I'd been sat in front of this devastatingly handsome man in my normal body. "FUCK YEAH!", I confidently exclaimed. "And I'm fucking SHREDDED!", I added, once more admiring the insane striations and razor sharp cuts running across my entire body and separating every single crazily developed muscle. "How's the rear view mate?", I asked, spinning around to treat The Transformer to a view of me from the back. I was expecting a big reaction, but I never would have predicted the next words to emerge from my new admirers mouth. "FUCK! LOOK AT THAT BUM"! I sharply twisted my head round and it suddenly became apparent why I had felt like there was more of me round the back. Sticking out, either side of my shiny pink posers, now filled out to an absolutely laughable degree, was the biggest, and most developed arse I could ever imagine. The exact same arse that Stephen Dresner was so well known for. It. Was. HUGE. Copious amounts of bum beef just unashamedly sticking out for the whole world to see. "HOLY FUCK!", I exclaimed as I admired my new outrageously developed, rock hard glutes in the mirror. Other than their sheer size and development, there was something else these very glutes of Stephen's were famous for too. Still with my back to the mirror, but my head twisted round, I tensed the two gigantic orbs of meat nestling in my trunks. Sure enough, out of nowhere, a dozen deep lines and striations erupted underneath the frighteningly thin skin covering them, to reveal what had to be one of the most freakishly conditioned asses in bodybuilding. Out of nowhere, and without any sort of pre-thought, I suddenly blurted out in an admittedly cocky and rather outrageous manner, "FUCK YEAH GLUTES"! Following this outburst, I looked over at my unwilling spectator and suddenly felt a slight twinge of concern. Transfixed with my huge, freaky, striation plastered bottom, The Transformer's mouth was hanging open. And where his expression was still awe stricken and shocked, he also looked a tiny bit terrified. "Is this freaking you out mate"? He quickly responded with an instinctive no, before more honestly saying yes and adding, "I mean. It IS freaking me out. But. Fuck"! He shook his head and the right side of his mouth suddenly curled into a smile. I knew then that whatever conflicting feelings The Transformer was having, one thing for sure; he was definitely enjoying the freak show. It was that gorgeous smirk of approval which gave me the confidence to brace my next question. " you wanna watch me hit some poses"? "Sure", an excitable and keen Transformer replied, not really seeming as if he knew what he was agreeing to, but apparently eager to see what a shredded muscle freak could do with his body. It was ironic. I'd felt in such awe of this still ridiculously good looking and impressively muscular man prior to my transformation. A man so sickeningly handsome that I felt nervous just being in his presence. And now, he was in awe of me, and my physical appearance. And to an exceptionally bigger degree than I had been to him. There was no doubt about it. The power had shifted tremendously. "OK let's give you...a front double bicep", I confidently said to The Transformer. Having spent the past thirty years as a regular sized man, I'd never actually hit any poses before, but I'd watched enough muscle videos of huge, ripped bodybuilders to at least have a stab at doing so. Staring once again at my new freakish body in the mirror, I bought both of my thick, muscular arms up either side of my head. With my elbows in line with my absurdly broad shoulders, I clenched both of my fists, and before I knew it, I had, albeit rather clumsily transitioned into a front double bicep. "HOLY SHIT", I exclaimed as I caught my reflection. Two huge, round balls of glistening, granite hard bicep muscle were exploding to an insane degree. I turned my head to the right to marvel at the mound of squeezed muscle erupting before my face, before turning to the left to marvel at the other. "Look at the fucking SIZE of these", I exclaimed to The Transformer. "They're MASSIVE mate", came his response. "Fuck yeah", I exclaimed, in my cockiest tone yet. I couldn't stop staring at the huge peaked muscle before me. Still clenching my fists, I continued to squeeze, and squeeze. Flexing the fuck out of my huge guns, some kind of animal instinct seemed to take over me and I suddenly let out a deep, fairly quiet growl. "Grrrrrrr"! I looked at The Transformer who was staring at my huge biceps with immense admiration. He was completely and utterly in awe. I couldn't help myself. I had to release another animalistic growl. Only this one came out a lot louder than the previous. "GRRRRRRR"! The Transformer released a half-laugh, half-astounded, "Fuck YEAH!", which seemed to spur my new found arrogance on even more. I squeezed my biceps harder still, and giving The Transformer an intense, almost aggressive stare, I released my loudest growl yet. "ARGGGHHH"! "Fuck", he replied with a short chuckle, still half amused at my display of arrogant, hyper macho flexing. As I finally relaxed from the pose, I dropped the attitude and released an amused chuckle along with my lucky spectator, who seemed to be enjoying the experience almost as much as I was. "How does it feel mate?", The Transformer asked. "To be a shredded bodybuilder, or to flex"? "Both!", he replied. Like I'm gonna cum in my posers at any given second! "Fucking AWESOME mate!", I replied. "Fancy another"? "Hell yeah", he eagerly responded. "Hmmmm. How about...a front lat spread". Looking down to see the beautiful image of my protruding six pack abs, inhuman looking quads, and shiny pink coloured bulge looking up at me, I released a quiet, "Fuck yeah", to myself. Then, grabbing and tucking both of my thumbs under the thin straps of my trunks, I bought my huge chest up and, pulling the pink coloured straps up as far as they'd go, I transitioned into a front lat spread. "HUP!", I cried out as my pecs jumped up and almost touched my chin. I stared at my reflection to see my gloriously chiselled physique in this incredibly powerful pose. My thick mutated quads were flaring to a laughable degree, my pecs kept twitching as if trying to escape my torso, and tucked under each of my armpits, two, thick lats were sticking out like wings about to take flight. "Get a load of THAT mate", I cheekily exclaimed to The Transformer. "Fucking insane!", came his reply. "Your legs look BONKERS"! "I KNOW!", I exclaimed. Relaxing from the pose and letting the straps of my posers fall back into place, I added, "These posing trunks don't look too silly on me now do they"? The Transformer blushed and released a sheepish smirk. "Time to work these abs I think"! And with this statement, I threw both of my arms around the back of my head, and crunched down HARD onto my stomach, with a big, loud, grizzly "EEUURGHHH!", in what was, undoubtedly, the most satisfying and pleasurable pose yet. Admiring the big blocks of crunched ab muscle popping protruding through the cling wrap thin skin of my stomach in the mirror, while I gritted my teeth, and scrunched up my face in effort, I felt like I'd transcended to a new plane of pleasure. Being huge and ripped and flexing for an adoring audience (albeit an audience of one) was like a high I hadn't ever come close to experiencing before. If it felt this good to pose for one person, how must it feel for a bodybuilder to be on stage, with a group of other, equally freaky muscle men and pose for a packed auditorium? I wondered if there were any local bodybuilding competitions happening in the next twenty-four houses. Maybe Stephen Dresner could turn up and put in a surprise guest posing appearance? "PHOOOOO"! I let out a cocky exhaling sound as I crunched down once more on my otherworldly midsection. Looking down, I bought my left foot forward slowly, and began to twist and tense, showing off the freak-like rips and crazy detail for my audience. Giving the same treatment to the right quad, I glanced at The Transformer. He was completely transfixed. Showing off my freakish mass and development, my abs and posing trunk covered bulge pointing in his direction, I couldn't help but shoot him a mischievous, bordering on flirtatious grin. The mystery of The Transformer’s sexuality was occupying my thoughts once again. Was The Transformer turned on by my huge, shredded muscle? Was he even gay? Did he even necessarily have to be in order to feel aroused by my excessively muscular body? I had no idea. But the way he was staring at my quads, the way he blushed when I started smiling at him, and the fact that the general atmosphere had suddenly seemed to turn a little sexual, I was sure there was a chance he was just a little bit aroused by my hyper macho display of muscle posing. Relaxing from the pose, and slightly out of breathe, I decided to be up front and satisfy my sudden curiosity of the obscenely handsome fitness magazine cover gracing man before me. "Can I ask you a question?", I cautiously said. "Sure"! "Tell me if it’s too personal, but...are you into blokes"? An amused and mischievous smile emerged on this perfect face. "Well I'm sitting here with a massive hard on right now, so...does that answer your question"? "Fuck", I exclaimed with a chuckle. "Well I wasn't expecting THAT for an answer"! I couldn't stop grinning at his cheekiness and confidence, while also feeling myself blush a little. For the first time since I'd transformed, it felt like he was the confident, cock sure guy of the two of us again. "It's the pink posers isn't it?", I jokingly asked. The Transformer laughed. "Actually I don't know what it is. I mean...I didn't feel like this when you showed me the magazine. I was shocked. And a little freaked out. I mean, those men. They're pretty extreme. But seeing you in the flesh. this. I mean...your body. You’re HUGE. I don't know why, but from the second you transformed, I just got hard. Like straight away. And when you started flexing, and making those noises. FUCK! That just turned me on even more". I stood listening to this utterly adorable and completely awesome confession with a huge smile on my face. This absurdly good looking guy with a genuinely impressive and muscular physique was actually turned on by me. OK, it wasn't technically me. He was turned on by the body I was currently inhabiting. And all I had to do was stand in front of him, and flex. And the more I flexed, the more turned on he would be. It was then that I had a brilliant flash of inspiration. He'd asked me about my superpower before but I hadn't revealed it. Could I? Should I? He'd wanted to know after all. Maybe it was time to reveal my power to The Transformer.