Search the Community
Showing results for tags 'grinder'.
Found 2 results
Hey guys! I'm new here, and this is my first foray into erotica, specifically muscle worship erotica. Anyway, this is one of my biggest fantasies. Enjoy, and constructive feedback is appreciated. Thank you!!! THE GRIND Okay, here goes nothing. It was a sweltering hot summer day, and I couldn’t really be bothered to do anything. Well - didn’t want to, but had to. I had work that morning as a waiter at Moe’s Diner, and it kind of insanely sucked. Not that it was the worst gig - I could be outside in the humidity and hellish heat, but really, when you have a ton of plates to carry and Mr. Crotchety-as-Fuck Senior screams at you because his ice cream is too cold, you kind of wish you were somewhere else. Somewhere where they actually give you a livable paycheck and don’t breathe down your neck all the time. Anyway, my shift was over at noon, and I hurriedly punched out, but not before my boss Dick gave me one more gentle reminder to close out the day. “And remember, Thomas, the customer is always right.” he lilted condescendingly. “Sure thing, Dick” I replied, brushing past him on my way out the back door. “That’s Mr. Lawson to you. And furthermore,” he continued unwaveringly, “Give people what they ordered next time.” “Yes sir,” I replied hastily, before the door shut behind me. ‘Or I could give them my middle finger, how about that’ I thought to myself as I mounted my bike for the ride back to my apartment. I rode out of the parking lot of Moe’s onto the street next to the city park. The combination of the scent of trees, laughing kids on the playground, their parents talking, the warm summer breeze… it all felt wonderful, relieving after a day of work. I began to pedal faster and faster, feeling my lips curve upward into a grin. I was testing myself, seeing just how fast I could go. Maybe not the best idea, considering I was on a road with actual traffic, but I was having too much fun to think about slowing down. I turned the corner onto the final stretch that led to my apartment. ‘Just a little faster. Just a little faster and we’re-OH SHIT!’ WHAM! I was vaguely aware of an impact, of flying off my bike and onto the back of the parked red car I hit. My cheek slammed into the rear windshield. Not breaking it, luckily, but the impact was hard enough to knock the wind out of me. I rolled off the windshield onto the sidewalk. Another impact, this time, sending a sharp pain through my foot as my weight fell on it. As I lay there in a dazed stupor on the sun baked pavement, blood seeping from a scrape on my elbow, I heard a car door open, a pair of feet scramble toward me, and a concerned, deep voice question me. “Are you okay man?” the voice asked me again. I slowly sat up to address its owner and- I stopped dead in my tracks, my mouth unable to formulate words. Did I mention I’m gay as hell? He was beautiful. In a masculine, rugged way. Ripped, cut muscle. The first thing I registered were his bare, tan shoulders, strong-looking and broad under his tight black tank top. Vascular, bulging arms hung down from them. Developed triceps and powerful biceps, roadmap veins, all covered in a soft dusting of golden hair. So much muscle. “I….I… I’m okay-ish,” I answered, trying to collect my wits, my head spinning. The man extended one of his brawny arms out to me to help me up. I grasped his thick, warm hand, and he pulled me to my feet. “Ah shit shit shit,” I yelped as my right foot immediately protested weight being put on it. He held my waist with both his hands. So warm. I instinctively grabbed his brawny shoulder for support. It was flexed and hard from him holding me. If I wasn’t in pain, I’d be so turned on right now. “I’m so sorry about that! I was just riding from work and I got carried away. I’ll pay for the damage! I’ll-”I stammered, looking at the scratches, the bent rear bumper, the twisted mess of my bike. “Woah, take it easy. I think we’ve got bigger problems right now,” the man replied smoothly with a slight Southern accent, gesturing to my foot and my general condition. He continued to hold me up, and had me count backwards from ten, tell him what my workplace was, and how old I was, in order to assess whether there was brain damage. But aside from being shaken, being minorly scraped up, and my foot hurting, I felt relatively okay. And a bit breathless from being in such close proximity to this physical wonder. “I’m Mark, by the way,” the man said kindly. “Thomas,” I replied. “Nice to meet you Thomas, though I wish it were under better circumstances,” said Mark. I managed a laugh, trying to calm myself down. “Hey, tell you what. If it’s okay with you, why don’t I drive you to my place, and I’ll get you patched up, and take a look at your foot.” spoke Mark kindly. “Okay, sure” I replied unsuredly. “Don’t worry, I’m EMT certified,” said Mark, and upon noticing my hesitance, added, “I’m also not a crazy serial killer”. This time, my laugh was genuine. Mark helped me into the passenger’s seat of his car, carefully loaded my bike into his back seat, and got in on the driver’s side. As he drove, we chatted a bit about our lives. I told him about my shitty job at Moe’s, and he talked about his shifts as an EMT. ‘A sexy EMT, saving me’ I thought, as I admired his body. While he told me about some of the injuries he’d witnessed on call, I admired the way his right forearm tensed and bulged as he gripped the steering wheel. I followed it up his ripped shoulder and to his large pectorals. Straining against the black fabric of his tank top. And finally up to his face, where his deep blue eyes focused on the road ahead of us. His silky, Southern voice. The tuft of short blonde hair sticking out of the dark blue baseball cap he wore backwards. His golden stubble on his square, manly chin. I felt myself beginning to get hard looking at him. I nodded and responded at appropriate places, keeping the conversation going as best I could. Really, Mark was a nice guy. And I tried to only take furtive glances at most, so that I didn’t make him uncomfortable by staring at him. Harder still. Plus, maybe he was homophobic. Unlikely, from how easygoing he seemed to be, but not impossible. I kept up my light banter with Mark/secret admiration of his perfect body until we pulled up into the driveway of his house. Mark wrapped a muscular arm around me for assistance, and we walk/limped up the pavement to his front door. I relished the feeling of his sturdy arm flexing and radiating heat into my back and waist, and I limped slightly slower to draw out the sensation as much as possible. Once inside, I basically collapsed on his couch, basking in the cool air and sinking into the plush cushions. Mark gave me a warning, and then pulled off my right shoe and sock as carefully and quickly as he could. I hissed and winced in pain as he probed my ankle with dexterous, knowing hands. “Ankle sprain, Tommy,” he announced. Tommy. No one’s called me that in years. I like that. He says it so casually. “I’ll be right back, I’ve got some compression bandages in the medicine cabinet. Just sit tight, man,” said Mark, before he rushed off. I found myself admiring a framed picture of him in his college football days, when he returned with the compression bandages, some antiseptic and bandaids for my scrapes, and a glass of ice water. I accepted the water gratefully and distracted myself with it while Mark wrapped my ankle in the bandages and cleaned up my various wounds. Talk about Southern hospitality. “Looks like you might be here for a bit” said Mark. “That’s honestly okay,” I replied, “I’ve got literally nothing going on today.” And it’s true, I don’t. “Hey, listen, I’m doing some metalwork in my garage today. I could give you some headphones so you don’t have to listen when it gets loud,” Mark offered. Metalwork. Him. His hot body. I’m intrigued. “No, that’s fine, man. Actually, do you mind if I accompany you?” I asked, beginning to get hard again at the thought of his body and the physical labor of tools. “Not at all,” Mark responded. As I began to get up, Mark ordered me to stop. Oh right. My ankle. No walking for me. “I’ll carry you. Piggyback style,” said Mark cheekily, with a wink and a smile. My hardon jolted at the thought of Mark carrying me with his gorgeous muscular body. My heart began to race excitedly. I started to breathe heavily. “Um, sure,” I replied, secretly contemplating how much I was going to enjoy this “Hop on!” exclaimed Mark, turning around and bending over so I could mount myself on his hard, rippling back. I took one long look at the bulge of his shoulders and delts, tapering down to the small of his waist, the large groove down the center of his back, even visible through his tight black tank. Then, I gripped his hard boulder shoulders tightly, jumped as best I could, wrapped my arms around his thick neck and delts and he caught my thighs with his large hands. Mark was so strong, easily lifting me onto his mountain of a back. I could feel his shoulders, delts, and lats rippling and flexing underneath my apparently light weight. I wasn’t small, but Mark carried me like a child with his Herculean strength. As he walked, my dick ground into his powerful back. I was hard instantly. As we made our way to his garage, I found myself tempted to reach my hand down and grip his rock hard pecs. I restrained myself, though, and once we reached his garage, he set me down on an old green cloth couch. Mark turned to me, towering above the couch. I felt like I was the David to his Goliath. “Now man,” started Mark. “I noticed you giving me some looks earlier, in my car.” Oh shit. He noticed. Mark seemed to perceive my panic, and stepping in to reassure me, said “I want to make sure you’re comfortable here, and I want you to feel good. Because that would make me feel good,” he said suggestively. I was speechless. My cock throbbed in my shorts. “How would you feel, if I flexed my bicep for you?” He asked, a devilish glint in his eye. “I would very much like that,” I answered. “Wonderful, because I would very much like that as well,” Mark replied, smirking. Looking me right in the eye with those piercing blue orbs, Mark knelt down to my level and slowly began to pump his right bicep. On the third pump, he let out a soft, sexy grunt and held the pose. “Touch it. If you want.” He whispered overly seductively, giving me his best incubus wink. “Oh my. Why I don’t know if I can take it,” I replied in my best Southern belle accent. He stared amusedly at me, grinning briefly with perfect white teeth. I returned the smile. And then I reached out and gripped his cannonball bicep. When they say rock-hard muscle, they literally mean rock-hard muscle. Because it felt like there was marble under his stretched skin. I could not make a dent in it, no matter how hard I tried. I cupped both my hands around his bicep and tricep, and I could not fit my fingers fully around them. My cock strained against my shorts as I felt the power of his arm. “How big are they,” I asked, breathless. “Nineteen inches cold, and they can get to twenty when pumped,” Mark replied coolly. “Damn,” was all I could say in response. Mark then mounted the couch on his knees, careful not to disturb my ankle, before bringing both his arms up in a double bicep pose. My heart (and dick) leapt, as I continued to rub the bulging, ripped balls of muscle. I squeezed both his biceps in my hands, and could not get them to budge. They were so smooth, and hard, and warm. So warm. “So, Tommy boy, what else do you wanna see? The choice is yours,” Mark whispered in my ear. The choice is mine. This godly titan of a man is mine. “Pecs. Pecs and abs,” I stammered. “What was that, my boy?” he urged me. “I want to feel your pecs and abs,” I got out, my voice unwavering. “Feel you want? Then feel you shall,” he purred. I reached out tentatively for his left pec, but instead, he trapped my hand inside his bigger, more meaty one. He shook his head with a mock pout, and let go of my hand, which fell to rest on the couch. Crossing his monstrous arms, I watched his forearms bulge as he peeled off his tank top and tossed it to the side. I let out a gasp as I admired this titan’s physique. Two voluminous, hard pecs, separated by a deep ridge. And below it, eight hard abdominal muscles. Valleys and ridges separating each individual ripple of muscle. My dick throbbed agitatedly, desperate for release. Mark watched my amazement intently. I locked eyes with him, staring straight into those piercing blue orbs. He grinned mischievously. Almost mysteriously. “What are you-?” I began. “C’mere,” he husked. Suddenly, he lurched forward, his bulky form coming to eclipse my smaller one. His massive thighs straddled both sides of my body, and he wrapped his large arms around me. It was a loving bearhug, and I was surrounded by the smell of sweat, light cologne, and man musk. And pecs. Huge pecs. And that’s when I noticed just how hard his penis was through the fabric in his trainers. “Feel my power” he declared gutturally, the vibrations from his tremulous voice sending goosebumps down my arms. He began to bounce his pecs against my face. Feeling the rock hard muscle release to firm and contract again, my dick ached for release. Pulling back, Mark looked down at me. At seeing my newfound ecstasy, he threw his head back and laughed. A deep, sexy laugh that made his beautiful eyes crinkle. “God, you’re so cute, Tommy boy,” he confessed. I beamed proudly at his affectionate, adorable nickname for me. “Come on, indulge in these abs. I can’t make any promises that I won’t smother you again, though,” said Mark. “Surprise me with that. I wanna feel you against me,” I replied breathlessly. “Sure thing,” retorted Mark, grabbing my right hand. He lead it over to his abs, and began to run it up and down them extremely fast, creating a loud slapping noise. It was incredible how bumpy, hard, and rippled they were. Mark let go of my hand, and I traversed the grooves of his abs on my own. I marveled at how one’s stomach could be developed to the point that hard muscles bulged and rippled out of it like this. “Mark, you’re so fucking sexy,” I said breathlessly up at him. “As are you, my boy,” he said in return. Mark moved his large hands from the back of the couch, where they were resting, to cup my chin and cheeks, before swooping down and kissing me on the lips with his own soft, warm pair. I gasped, and pressed back against his lips, embracing his large frame. My cheeks burned with a fiery blush. We stayed like that for a while, just kissing and embracing each other, enjoying our touch, our cocks grinding against each other through the fabric. Eventually, Mark pulled away, but still straddled me. “That was fucking incredible,” I rasped. “I know. I’m glad,” replied Mark. “Anyway, bud, I’ve really gotta get this work done,” Mark began. My face fell in slight disappointment. “Feel free to distract me at anytime though,” he offered cheekily. As Mark grabbed his tank and put it back on, I became curious. “Mark, what work do you have to do specifically?” “Oh, nothing much. Just a bit of angle grinding some metal parts for a bedframe I’m building. Why do you ask?” Angle grinding. Holy shit. That was one of my biggest fantasies. I’d always lusted after construction workers, and often searched pictures on the internet of bodybuilders angle grinding shirtless or naked. Something about it oozed power. How tough they were. How they didn’t care when stray metal sparks bounced off their bare muscles. Almost like it energized them. “Can I tell you something?” I asked. Mark gave me a suspicious look. “Go ahead” he replied deviously. “I have this fantasy,” I began, “this fantasy where I stumble upon a shirtless, bodybuilder construction worker, and he’s grinding metal or welding, and he’s unfazed by the sparks and the light and the loud noise, and I just think that’s so sexy. They just look so powerful doing it… I was wondering if… maybe … you were willing to-” Mark cut me off. “Hell yeah Tommy boy,” Mark answered enthusiastically. My cock jolted again. And with that, he grabbed his tank by the collar, and tore it off right down the middle, clean off his defined frame. “Won’t be needing this anymore,” Mark remarked, throwing the shirt in a trash bin. “I’m gonna give you the show of your life, Tommy boy,” said Mark. He donned a pair of thick safety gloves, and walked over to the garage door, where a large, rectangular metal frame stood. He lifted it easily, his monstrous biceps flexing, and placed it on his work table, directly in front of the couch I was seated on. Making sure that it was secure, Mark strode over to a cabinet, and pulled out two pairs of plastic safety glasses. He put one on, and handed the other to me. “Safety first,” he said. I put them on, and continued to watch intently. With that, he opened a drawer attached to the worktable and extracted a five inch angle grinder. He plugged it in, and then grabbed the tool, ready to begin to use it. Mark looked at me, flashing his devilish grin. He flexed a bicep for me, before returning his hand to the machine. He pulled the trigger twice, causing the grinder to start its loud whine a couple of times. “You ready for this?” asked Mark. “Fuck yeah,” I replied, amazed at what was about to happen Mark chuckled good-naturedly at my excited response, before triggering the angle grinder. The blade began to spin, and the saw gave a loud, whining whir. He gave me one last eyebrow wiggle, before lowering the blade to the metal. The sight was mesmerising. Metal sparks immediately burst from the frame where the grinder made contact and showered over Mark’s amazingly ripped body. The buzz was deafening, but so, so sexy. Mark was unfazed by the hot sparks bouncing off his muscular body. He couldn't care less. They didn’t hurt him. He was too powerful. I began to massage my penis, while viewing this sensual, erotic light show. Mark lifted the blade from the metal, let out a low, sexy growl, and began to grind the metal again while still growling. My cock throbbed. I was so close to cumming. So close. “Mark!” I yelled above the buzz. Mark nodded his head at me, still focusing on the work at hand. “I’m gonna cum!” I exclaimed. “FUCK YEAH. DO IT BOY!” He roared. With a loud, booming yell he brought the grinder above his head, and brought it back against the metal. The sparks blew against his body once more as he thundered his war cry. I moaned, and my back arched. I could feel the cum soaking my underwear, going right to my shorts. This absolute hunk of a man who was so willing to play out my fantasy for me, was giving me the most mind-numbingly intense orgasm of my life. I was in heaven, and wouldn't have it any other way. END OF PART ONE
Before starting the story, I should point out that this story is about fetishes that I like, so gay, muscular, crushing and some smell fetish. This story can get violent. Thank you for your constructive comments. _________________________________________________________________________________________ chapter 1: history you are called quentin a can corpulent (https://tinyurl.com/y5yr645l), aged 22 years you were gay is seen your body you had a weakness for the muscular man with fetishes adore. you had a best friend who was the same age as you jeremy 22 years old, you were best friends since childhood because at the age of 3 you were a neighbor, but now your friendship is strengthened except that jeremy and your boss too but he always talking to you as a friend, jeremy has changed since the age of 13 because he started doing sports and bodybuilding now at the age of 22 he looks like a beast of muscle, to say next to you is a child and he is an adult he has biceps in the shape of a 30 inch demolition ball (sorry this measurement is not used in my country) on arms larger than a bodybuilder leg (https: // tinyurl .com / yh86dpbt), huge pectorals so big that a hand can be completely pushed into the joint is disappearing, eight pack (abs) super well defined, buttocks that sound like his pecs but bigger than a head human, super-developed thighs running along tree-size legs, a hand that the whole turn of a head, and feet immense, all his body and filled with dry and ultra hard muscle, he even has a Herculean force which can destroy all, clothes made to measure because it does not exist with its morphology, he wears a tight-fitting tank top that allows you to see it's muscle, a very tight leggings that pushes these thighs and his muscular ass to better see them, he likes leggings because it is a garment that is not annoying and which does not prevent it from making movements. jeremy had bought a huge field larger than 2 football fields or he had built a manor house and made-to-measure, he works at his place and you also lived at his place, but you don't pay rent on the contrary jeremy you stay and eat for free even if he give you a salary because the job of jeremy was to make very special videos and he hired you to help him as a technician, you are responsible for filming but also for helping him in these videos like an assistant and you take care of all the editing, jeremy had your penchant for muscular men and he had you were in love with him but he waits for you to take the first step, in all the videos have you see too because you pass in front of the camera to bring him an object or to recover what leaves (clothing) because jeremy takes advantage of his body to earn money he makes 3 types of paid video 1 type: he would pose and show these muscles or he would get oiled. 2nd type: he was often shirtless and looks like in the first video except that in this one if he destroys objects of all kinds, his could go from small to military tank, he could even transform a huge safe into a very small circle about the size of a candy. the 3rd type was more special because certainly the video was paying but in the video the fans participated against payment, the fans paid to be in this video where they are slave subject, they can touch him els muscle but also be forced to kiss it's muscle, he can also force them to do what he wants but in these videos he doesn't overwrite them even if sometimes he dreams. all these fans were jealous of you. moreover when you were young you and jeremy had discovered your power not to die, you could even be crushed and your body this reform after, you had discovered it the day when you were 14 years old you were crushed by a car at at the beginning everyone panicked because you were in crumb but what was strange you had no blood and 1 minute after starts to move and jeremy see that your body resumes this normal form. one day jeremy came to see you with a special request because as you are the technician, you are also responsible for finding objects for type 2 videos even if it is jeremy who pays, "Quentin, I saw several comments that are starting to take on too much importance, everyone asks what happens if I shake a man or that head, can you see if they can buy human skulls or something that looks like is trying to have at least 6 because I would like to make a video or I crush these skulls to show that each skull becomes dust, I will crush one in bearhug, one between my thighs, one between my buttocks, one in my hand, one where I sit on it and therefore under one cheek and finally the last under my armpits "you answer him" okay i will try to find that "then jeremy sense will, you start to try to put slowly because you can't stop thinking that he is using you instead of a fake or something else. you keep looking and find a real human skull was impossible even an animal you can not find then it remains the skull made, it looks like skulls but they are not made like a skull. then you call jeremy when he arrives you explain the situation to him and jeremy says "so if I understand correctly, if I want to crush skulls I have to take false skulls and that it is not natural." and without paying attention you say aloud "I have another solution" jeremy had heard it and said "what is this solution?"