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  1. Bahamut6sic6

    m/solo Post Workout

    The sun hung high in the midday sky baking the land with its unyielding rays. The heat causing all those who lived in the cities and suburbs to take shelter inside their air-conditioned homes or office buildings. When someone, human or fur, ventured out under the cruel sun's rays they stuck as close as possible to the shadows of the buildings to try and keep as cool as possible. The heatwave had gone unbroken for the past week and there seemed to be no signs of relief on the horizon. All in all, everyone was miserable and longing for a break from the intense heat. Everyone that is except one. Almost fifty miles away one creature was enjoying the heat for all he was worth. His smooth darkly tanned skin soaked up the rays like a man dying of thirst. The sheen of sweat that coated him reflected the light slightly making him almost shine like a beacon. Every inch of his body rock hard and packed with muscle that bulged and bounced with every movement he made. If any had been around to see him they would no doubt be left in pure awe at his sheer size and bulky stature. Though his muscles wouldn't be the only aspect of his physical form that would leave them unable to believe what their eyes were seeing. Standing at an incredible fifty feet high Riley was one of the few human macros around and of them one of only a handful that took an active role in shaping his impressive body. Whereas other giants were more than happy to let their height be the only impressive thing about them. Riley took extra pleasure in keeping up a constant workout routine in order to make his massive body as bulging with muscle as possible. This was achieved by many different ways, primary of which was his pension for carrying increasingly massive boulders and when in a city bench pressing a building or two. But his favorite part of bulking up was the source of his protein. As the giant human grunted hard lifting the massive chunk of rock above his head for the hundredth time, he tossed the rock with a mighty grunt sending it crashing down on top of an old abandoned farmhouse. The structure didn't even get the chance to explode in a cloud of rubble, the entire building was instantly and completely flattened by the sheer size of the rock dropped on top of it. Letting out a loud moan of pleasure as his muscles screamed their relief at finally having dropped the weight, Riley began his post-workout stretching to ease his cramped and tired muscles. His body covered from head to toe with sweat that dropped from him and fell on the ground like a musky rank rain. The giant's callous hands ran over his body, basking in the feel of his own mighty form. Each muscle harder than steel and bulging in a way that would make any bodybuilder envious. Few things in life gave Riley more pleasure than worshiping his own body, a fact made clear by his massive cock swelling and growing harder the more he rubbed and touched himself. In no time at all the tanned member stood proud and fully erect. Thicker than a truck and longer than a plane the massive head covered by a thick foreskin pulled back just enough to show the pre dampened opening. His sack hung low in the high heat, each ball the size of a house and storing several hundred gallons worth of hot potent seed. Wrapping one of his rough hands around the shaft Riley gave his pride and joy a few slow firm strokes watching mesmerized as the muscles of his arm bunched up then relaxed with the action. As his breathing grew deeper and more intense Riley had to force himself to stop stroking his shaft. Despite his desperate need to cum and flood the land around him in his seed he knew that it wouldn't be fully satisfying. There was a very important element missing if he was going to fully enjoy himself and get the relief he wanted. After a few more stretches and a few times of slapping his cock against the palm of his hand just to get him extra horned up, the macro human began to stomp his away from his impromptu workout area and towards the city on the distant horizon. Each step he took covering several miles and sending small tremors through the ground. Riley paid no attention to where he out his feet or what was in his way. Though he did pay enough attention to knock over any of the large metal towers the puny insects used to communicate with one another. An unnecessary act but with that lose the bugs would panic more and that was just extra fun for him. Even at his incredible size, it took Riley almost twenty minutes to approach the city, to his interest he couldn't hear the screams of terror or fear that usually signaled his arrival. As he got closer he couldn't even see swarms of frightened tinies scrambling in the streets to get away. Riley pondered this for a moment wondering why he wasn't being met with the usual fanfare that signaled his arrival at a city. It wasn't until a bright beam of sunlight reflected off a building's windows and directly into his eyes that he realized the reason. Despite him enjoying the heat and it has a much-lessened effect on him at his size he was still mildly hot. If that was the case then the smaller folk would definitely be feeling the heat and trying to stay inside and avoid it at all costs. A grin spread over Riley's face, that was okay he knew exactly how to get the bugs out of their hiding spots and he would take great pleasure in the act. With deliberate steps, the giant began to stomp his way closer to the city. The now increased vibrations caused the small cars and trucks to jump and rock encouraging their alarms to begin wailing. Riley knew that would partly get some attention but if he really wanted a swarm of the pathetic creatures to come swarming out into the streets he would need a bit more. Once he was close to one of the buildings, brick and stone structure that came up to Riley's knee, the giant pulled his foot back and with great force kicked it hard enough to shatter it to bits. Debre flew in all directions as the building exploded with the force of a bomb blast. Rubble pelted the street and hit against other buildings, mixed in with the wood and stone was a few bodies. Or rather chunks of them, the force of the kick along with the shrapnel had shredded any living creature to bits. Riley's cock gave a heavy throb and a thick drop of pre-gathered at the opening of his cock. Only the tip of his foreskin kept the pearl from falling to the ground below. Now the screams began, they were few and faint at first but soon they grew into a fever pitch that was like music to Riley's ears. Finding another building about the same size as the first the giant placed one of his feet on the roof and began to slowly increase the pressure. Loud cracking filled the air as the roof slowly began to cave in, his sensitive ears could pick up the panicked screams coming from inside the building. Just before his foot came down all the way and flattened the building a small crowd of tiny weaklings came flooding out of the front. Chuckling as several of them stopped to gape up at him Riley lifted one of his arms up and flexed making his already bulging muscles stand out even more. A thick vein running over the boulder of his bicep pulsed and throbbed in time with his hard and now fully leaking cock. The thick string of pre that fell from his cock head landed on the street and the splatter of it caused several of the bugs to fall over and get trapped like a bee in honey. Now that the ground had a steady swarm of the little fuckers Riley knew he could have his real fun. Lifting his foot again he swung it over the densest portion of the crowd. Wiggling his toes for a moment Riley brought his foot down carefully until he could feel the crowd wiggling and struggling under his sole. Carefully he began to increase the pressure more and more. It took less than a second for him to feel bones beginning to break and the resulting crunch as a few were flattened under his heel sent a shiver of pure lustful pleasure through his mighty body. Finally, when he pressed his foot flat over the squirming bodies they popped with a wet squish. A flow of thick sticky blood pushed its way up between his toes and around the outside of his foot. Twisting his foot Riley really ground the bugs into the crumbling street. The act causing the others to increase their screaming and their pathetic scrambling. This was the part he loved most and he took several long minutes to bask in his pleasure. Bending down the giant mass of muscle scooped up a dozen of the tiny fuckers in one hand. They screamed and tried to jump free but Riley kept them all cupped in his palm. Bringing the handful up to his hard cock he gripped his shaft and gasped having to grab hold of a taller building to help support him as the wiggling and thrashing sensation against his cock rushed through him. Carefully at first, he began to stroke up and down his length, the mass in his hand adding an extra layer of pleasure to his masturbation. Soon though he grew too eager and gripped his cock harder popping each of the wiggling bodies like grapes. A thick layer of blood and gore coated his shaft and rained down onto those left running around his feet. The loud squishing that came from him jerking off with the blood quickly faded as the blood began to thin and dry out. Riley didn't mind, it just meant he wouldn't blow his load too soon. As he moved further and deeper into the city Riley continues to smash buildings and insuring a never-ending stream of little bugs were constantly swarming around his feet. Each step he took signaled the end of another dozen or so lives. From time to time the giant would scoop up another handful of them and grind them against his hard cock though he soon had to stop since more than once he grew too close to climax and ended up flooding a whole street with his pre that shot out of his cock like missiles. Those that got caught up in the thick goo were either quickly drowned or slowly died from the heat of the bodily fluid. One of Riley's favorite things to do with the bugs, however, was to slowly crush them between his massive bulging muscles. Bending down the giant human picked up two or three at a time and carefully places them in the crease of his elbow between his massive bicep and thick and knotted forearm. He then very slowly flexed his arm until he felt them beginning to break then he would stop. After a small pause, he would begin to flex once again until he heard the crunch and snap of bones. He'd then stop again and listen to their pathetic cries and watch as they flopped about with blood oozing from their mouth, eyes, and ears. Then in one quick motion, he would flex fully splattering their meat soup bodies and rubbing the gore over his muscles. After doing the with both arms he would repeat the process with his massive pecs. Stuffing a dozen into the gap between each muscle of his chest and slowly crushing them into a paste that would run down and over his washboard abs. Within a half-hour of his rampage starting a good portion of Riley's body was coated in wet and drying blood. Placing his hands on his chest the massive male squeezed his pecs several times before running his large rough hands over his body smearing the blood all over himself. Small shivers of pleasure shook his body as he basked in the sensation of the blood coating and cooling on his hot skin. Bits of meat hanging from different places on his body. Entrails and other bloody organs catching in the cracks and crevasses of his muscles hanging like grotesque decorations. Once his initial fun subsided the macro would then begin to partake of his favorite source of protein. Scooping up handfuls of the little bugs Riley held them up above his gaping mouth and let them all free fall into his mouth. Most would land directly on his tongue, but some would miss and bounced off his face, shoulders, and chest only to tumble the fifty feet down to splat wetly on the ground. Once his mouth was full Riley would close his jaws and begin to noisily chew his meal. Blood oozing from the corners of his lips and soaking his stubble rough cheeks and chin. A mighty gulp would send the mess down his gulley and into his stomach where the acids would instantly begin to dissolve any who might have been able to avoid his tombstone like teeth. On some mouthfuls, though the giant wouldn't chew, the feeling of a massive ball of melting bodies wiggling and thrashing around in his gut was such an intense and erotic feeling he couldn't avoid swallowing a few mouthfuls down whole. On those times he would stop his rampage and have to grip the base of his shaft squeezing it hard until the thrashing in his stomach stopped. After a few handfuls the streets had nearly emptied the residents either having been swallowed down or trampled on. Licking his bloody lips Riley didn't worry. He knew the city was far from empty. Approaching one of the buildings he peeked inside and saw to his delight crowds of the little fuckers huddled inside cowering in fear. Standing up straight Riley pressed his messy and bloody cock head against the building and with a hard shove pushed his cock through the glass, wood, and concrete. He shoved in until he was balls deep and his massive sac was pressed up against the outside wall of the building. Grabbing hold of the structure Riley began to rock and thrust his hips grinding his cock in and out of the building. As his pleasure grew the greater his thrusting became. For a time he lost himself to the sensation and it wasn't until the building began to crumble and collapse that he stopped his thrusting and watched the building fall. None of those who had been inside the building had survived the collapse and Riley could see their twisted and mangled bodies half-buried in the rubble. Chuckling deeply to himself Riley slapped his rock hard cock several times knocking the rubble off his shaft. The concussion from the slaps causing the windows in the buildings near him to shatter or fracture. The act made him think of a wolf he used to know who could shatter windows and sometimes cause the little fuckers heads to pop just from the sound of his howl alone. His musing was interrupted by a sudden explosion and a slight sting in the middle of his back. Turning around annoyed Riley saw a series of tanks lining up in the street behind him. Rows and rows of soldiers flanked each tank, their green pattern uniforms making them look even more like bugs. Riley turned to face a small force clearly trying to protect the city. His gore coated body gleaming in the hot sun and he spread his arms wide giving the troops a clear target to shoot at. There was a small pause before the tanks began to fire and the soldiers dropped to their knees and started to fire their tiny guns. Riley just stood there with his arms spread wide. The majority of the tanks blasts his large chest and popped in small clouds of dust and debris. Riley couldn't help but laugh as the whole thing felt more like mosquito bites rather than an actual attack. After almost five minutes the explosions and gunfire halted. Making a big show of it Riley brushed his hands over his chest and abs knocking away the rockets and bullets that had gotten stuck in his thick skin. His cock was as hard as ever, if not more so. Looking down at the group of soldiers he could see the shiver of fear rush through them like wind through a cornfield. Moving forward the giant grabbed one of the tanks in both hands and crushed it into a ball as easily as a can. Once that was done, he dropped the ball on top of another thank causing it's wheels to blow out and a thick cloud of black smoke to billow up from it. The soldiers yelled and screamed as they started trying to run away. Taking a few short minutes to crush the remaining tanks under his foot he then turned his attention to the fleeing soldiers. It took Riley only a few minutes to block off their escape routes and to corral them all into one densely packed crowd. He used the rubble from the buildings and thanks to creating a small enclosed pin for the soldiers who stood cowering in his shadow. With a wicked grin on his face, Riley crouched over them, his massive cock and low hanging balls dangling over their heads. Adjusting his position the giant lowered himself down until his cock was submerged in the middle of the huddled crowd. Without pause, he began to grind and hump into the crowd. The screams of fear quickly turned into ones of pain as the collection of tiny humans and furs were crushed and ground into a bloody meaty soup from the giant's cock and balls alone. His pre-mixing with the gore causing the mess to be slippery and slicker than before. The street under his cock cracked and shattered as he put more force behind his thrusting and it took every ounce of Riley's self-control to keep from blowing his load. For a time he laid there panting heavily as his excitement slowly faded down to a more reasonable level. Pushing himself up he took in a deep breath enjoying the smell that came with his deviating rampage. Looking down at what was left of the soldiers Riley laughed seeing a massive indent vaguely in the shape of his large cock and balls. Streaks of blood and meat coated the broken and crumbled street. With the exception of a random body part here and there, there was hardly anything recognizable of the soldiers. The blood and pre began to pool into the deep divot he had made in the street and the sight amused him greatly. Once his composure was back in place Riley stood and went back to what he had been doing before the sad excuse for an armed force showed up. More buildings fell to his rampage and once again the streets were filled with the tiny bugs. As he watched the crowds flee an idea came to the macro, one he enjoyed very much. Moving closer to the center of the city Riley found a good and mostly clear area. The buildings that were there easily flattened out under his feet or found themselves ripped up by the foundation and hurled dozens of yards away crashing into other buildings. Moving to the center of the area Riley lifted one of his large feet and brought it down with all his might onto the concrete of the street. The material crumbled easily and shattered into bits. Again and again, he stomped the area creating a massive crater several feet deep. Dropping to his knees Riley began to scoop out the loose dirt and clutter creating a large hole in the ground. The act was slightly difficult due to his massive cock constantly getting in the way as it hung straight out from his blood-soaked crotch. Even so, he still managed to dig out a deep enough depression for what he has in mind. Smirking he stood back up and began scooping up handfuls of the little bugs and dumping them into the pit. The first few handfuls fell to their deaths since he didn't bother being gentle when putting them in the pit. The third and fourth though survived but he was sure they had several broken bones from the height of the fall. Beyond that, though the rest of the handfuls Riley dropped in seemed to land without much trouble judging by the way they got back up and tried to scramble up the walls of the pit. Thankfully the dirt was now too loose and shifting that every time they tried they'd fall back down. When the pit was half full of wiggling crying bodies Riley decided that it was good enough for his idea. Next came a slightly harder task. Looking around the giant spotted a few of the extra-long busses the bugs liked to use to get around. Picking them up Riley peeked inside but to his annoyance each one was empty. Bus after bus he picked up and looked at was completely deserted of passengers a fact that greatly angered the macro human. It wasn't until he happened to turn at the right moment and saw one of the busses quickly driving away that he struck gold. Despite the speed, the bus had been traveling at it only took a moment for Riley to stomp over and pick it up in one hand. Lifting it up to his eyes he looked inside and saw to his delight it was positively packed full of the little fuckers. A mixture of smooth-skinned humans and furs all huddled together in fear. They screamed in terror as he smiled at them, his bloody lips and teeth cracked in gore taking up their whole window view. Carrying the bus back to where the crater was Riley sank down to his knees, his legs spread wide around the outer lip of the hole and his hard leaking cock and balls dangling over the mangled ball of bodies. Adjusting his grip on the bus so it was standing straight up, Riley chuckled as the action caused a series of panicked screams to erupt from the inside. Working his tongue around the inside of his mouth for a few minutes the giant raised the front of the bus up to his lips and very carefully let a thick glob of his drool fall from his mouth and onto the windshield. It was tinted slightly red thanks to the blood that still coated his tongue. Using his free hand Riley smeared the spit over the front and sides of the bus costing it liberally in the slime. Once satisfied he reached behind himself and used his spit-soaked fingers to tease and toying with his pale puckered hole. Groaning loudly as his thick rough fingers sank a few inches into his ass Riley bit his lips and shivered. A thick stream of pre leaking from his cock and landing directly on top of the pile of bodies in the pit. Once he felt loose enough Riley placed the front of the spit-lubed bus at the opening of his ass. Relaxing as much as he could and pushing out so his ass hole opened wide Riley began to slowly push the bus full of little fuckers inside him. The screams grew to a fever pitch as the front of the bus crunched and bent slightly but thankfully that was all the damage the bus took at the moment. The massive vehicle turned sex toy sank inch after inch deep inside Riley's ass sending shivers of pleasure through him. The crowd trapped inside screamed and scrambled over one another, making the whole thing shake and vibrate in a perfect imitation of a vibrator. Once the bus sank in up to the back wheel Riley began to pull it back out just as slowly as it had sunk in. He only pulled it out a few feet before sinking it back in again. Again and again, he repeated the process pushing the bus in then pulling it out. All the while his free hand ran up and down the length of his thick cock the foreskin pulling back to show off his gleaming cock head. The hole filled up a quarter of the way with his pre and any of those at the bottom who hadn't died from the fall or been crushed by the weight of the other bodies on top quickly drowned in the thick syrup. Finally unable to fight the urge anymore Riley pushed the bus back into his hole until he felt the back wheels. Then using his pointer and middle finger he pushed the last few feet of the bus deep into his musky tight hole. Arching his back as the bus sank in and pressed right on his prostate Riley fell forward bracing himself up so he didn't fall fully onto the ground. The new position forced his cock deep into the mound of struggling screaming bodies. He felt several of them pop blood smearing over his cock head and shaft. Now fully lost in his lust the mountain of a man began to hump and grind his massive cock in and out of the wet pile of bodies. Each thrust causing bones to break or body parts to rip from their sockets. A constant stream of pre continued to fill the pit drowning more and more of the pathetic occupants. Likewise, each thrust or clench forced the bus to wedge itself deeper and deeper into Riley's mighty muscular ass. The constant pulsing and clenching of his internal muscles causing the tube of metal to compress more and more around the screaming bodies inside. The heat in his cock and balls continued to grow hotter and hotter and Riley knew that at any moment he would blow. He tried to hold off for as long as possible, his massive mountain of a body gleamed with fresh sweat as his hips rocked back and forth. Just as he was sure he couldn't hold on any longer, the bus buried deep inside his ass collapsed completely. The crunch of metal and bones followed by the flood of blood and gore from the destroyed bodies was the final button to be pressed. His floodgates opened wide and the tidal wave of hot cum that had been bubbling in his balls for days finally burst forth. It traveled up his shaft and erupted from his cock head in jets as powerful as a rocket to space. The screams from the hole quickly faded away to struggling gurgling cries as the thick hot cum filled the hole quickly. Each throbbing pulse of his cock pushed another dozen gallons of cum up his shaft and into the hole. His climax lasted for minutes though to Riley it felt like days. His whole body shook and shivered as if he had just spent a whole day running at top speed. When he began to come down from his orgasmic high he collapsed to the side. His muscled arms shaking and unable to hold his weight for a time. His still rock hard cock pulled free from the mess of cum and blood. The whole shaft was coated in the mixture along with a few bodies that clung to it due to the sticky mixture. Panting heavily Riley watched his cock continue to spurt and leak his seed down into the hole. A lazy smile spread over his face as he watched the tangle of bodies struggling to swim to the surface. A few made it but the thickness of the load kept them from staying there for long. When they would try to wipe their faces free of the suffocating slime they would instantly begin to sink again. The heat of the load was so intense that many of them had been instantly cooked alive by it. The ones who survived were in so much shock that they didn't seem to register the fact that large bits of their skin and muscle had been melted away. Riley continued to lay there and watch the show, his cock growing softer and softer though never fully deflating. Finally, after roughly ten minutes, all signs of life in the cum filled out were gone. All that remained was a slowly dissolving mass of broken and mutilated bodies sinking to the bottom. The heavy smell of blood, death and hot cum filled the air and Riley couldn't help but breathe deeply of the smell. It soothed and relaxed him to the point his eyelids began to droop lower and lower. Yawning loudly he figured, where he was at the moment was as good a spot as any to rest for the evening. Stretching out, his muscles cried in protest at the movement and he couldn't help but laugh. The rest would give his muscles a chance to recover both from the workout and the post-workout fun. When he woke up he would find a lake or something to wash himself off in. With the sun high in the sky and the heat soaking into his darkly tanned body, Riley began to doze off a content smile on his face. The city around him nothing but an empty ruined ghost town just like so many others he had visited before. — I commissioned this story from a friend named, smounged1989 over on FA, about a month ago and I gotta say this turned out better then expected, don’t know if you guys would like a sequel to this or not? Maybe another bodybuilder/power lifter you have in mind?
  2. Chapters 7, 8 Precis so far: 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. Chapter 7: Training Night 1: Good for Morale October 20th, 2021 1900 Hours The gym floor was buzzing with activity. Each man had a 5-gallon aluminum jug of water from which he regularly took enormous gulps, occasionally pausing to drench both himself and his training partners as needed to stave off the effects of the heat. All wore specially designed army green jockstraps. Regulation jocks were hardly adequate for their needs, and all 19 men (and especially Sergeant Moster) required XXX-large custom-fit pouches. Pendulously bulging, sweat, cum, and piss-stained, even these firm-gripping supersized mesh pouches could barely contain the musclemen’s super-sized genitalia. Gently curving cock shafts plunged from heavily veined, thin-skinned pelvic girdles on each man, leading to jaw-breaking cockheads. The jocks hugged the men’s cocks tightly, providing only barely adequate covering. Moster’s policy was that shorts and sweatpants were unnecessarily encumbering. All around the room, as the men moved from weight to weight, their mountainous packages swayed freely back and forth. On most of the men, the top 5 to 6 inches of their veiny cocks were visible, plunging into their over-burdened pouches. The men’s powerful, deeply striated glutes were fully exposed in back. Colorful do-rags, thick cable socks and black army boots completed their attire. On the floor, workout buddies Private Dan Gunst and Private Steve Waring were spotting each other through a sixth set of murderous curls. 24, 6'-10", 375 pounds, blond, huge, sporting a severe crew cut, and with a big nose and oversized hands, Gunst was a decidedly homely muscle giant, packed with imposing hardcore brawn. His bullish traps sloped massively from his 24” neck. The man’s 27-3/4 inch biceps were second only in girth and mass to Sgt. Moster’s, though he hadn’t yet attained the shapely cannonball peaks of Corporals Schumacher, Obatu, Blankenship and Alvarez. At 3.8% bodyfat he tended towards a thin coat of luminous bloat in his 375-pound physique; he was all the same, super-humanly powerful, and during his training sessions the bloat seemed to melt into a latticework of shrink-wrapped vascularity. His partner, the 26-year old Steve Waring, was uncommonly good-looking, if, at a mere 276 pounds of raw muscle, not nearly as big as Gunst. He was, however the far more ripped bodybuilder, having been in the program 2 years longer. His vascularity was astonishing, a complex map of thick, dizzying, zig-zag veins that criss-crossed his magnificent physique. Square-jawed, dimpled and brown-eyed, he always had a neatly groomed 2-day beard. As expected for a leaner man, Waring’s particular beauty lay in his batwing lat spread and chiseled abs, which tapered radically into a mere 29” waist. Cobbled, veiny abs lead down to his fearsome bulge. Now Waring was up. He tied on a pair of dirty wristbands and cinched them tightly, licked his lips, approached the 160-pound weight, and looked up at Gunst with a half smile. “What’re you waitin’ for? C’mon, get moving,” said Gunst impatiently. “It’s my third set.” “I know. C’mon, man, you’re stalling.” “You know what I want.” Waring winked and grinned, and his dimples broadened deeply. Gunst rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Jesus. You and your third set mantras.” He leaned into Waring, cupped his palm, and roughly took the jock pouch bearing his partner’s heavy balls into his calloused hand. He flicked Waring’s leathery testicles with his thick thumb and with strong fingers stroked the curling cock shaft tucked into the jock. Waring closed his eyes and exploded breath. Gunst fondled the cock, feeling where the 11” flaccid shaft coiled into a sagging downward-pointing firehose U-shape. His own cock began to stiffen as the pouch bearing Waring’s junk began to expand under his touch. He gave a last thumb flick and stepped back. “Yeah!” shouted Waring, and he squatted, grabbed the weight, stood, and reeled off 15 perfectly executed curls. The veins in his biceps expanded and contracted powerfully, eddying currents of blood in a river of muscle. 40 feet away at the incline bench press, Privates Aja Jin, Reed Bogarde and Derek Washington were taking turns doing dumbbell flyes with 125 pound weights. Ginger-haired Bogarde was up, while black muscle giant Private Washington spotted him, and the Asian Private Jin muttered hyper-masculine, mono-syllabic bon mots of encouragement. "C'mon. Get big. Get huge. C'mon man. Push. We're right here." The three heavyweights were generally together. If they weren’t closely supervised, they’d spend more time than absolutely necessary on pec workouts. A year before they had petitioned Moster to be allowed to wear their prized brass chained nipple clamps during their training. Moster had refused at first, but after they appealed to Dr. Zaftig, he finally relented. “The pain inspires them,” Zaftig told him. Moster had to agree that this one time, he had been wrong to withhold his approval. And once again, it was good for morale. The chain to Bogarde’s clamps was draped over the t-shirt and lay across his mammoth, boyishly freckled pecs. He’d completed 11 reps seamlessly, but was now pausing, his arms open wide, the dumbbells held aloft. “Do, it, man,” he growled, and as Moster watched, Private Jin reached over and with gentle, adroit firmness, tugged slightly on the chain. Bogarde’s face contorted with pain. "Push, asswipe!" screamed Jin. Bogarde completed the set. “Thanks, buddy,” he breathed, as he slammed the weights to the floor and sat up. “Privates!” Moster called out. “Remember I want to see you remove those clamps every 10 minutes for an exact period of 20 more minutes!” “Yes, sir,” said Washington, about to take his seat on the bench for his set. “By my watch, it has been more than 11 minutes. Those clamps come off. Now.” “Shit,” muttered Washington, but he duly turned to Private Jin. “Take care of this for me, and I’ll do for you.” “Okay,” said Jin. He lifted Washington’s t-shirt, and gently unscrewed the clamp on the left nipple. Instantly Washington’s face contorted with pain. Jin leaned in and tenderly licked the swelling brown nipple with his tongue for a few moments. Washington nodded, and Jin repeated it for the right nipple. “I’m good,” he said. Jin lifted his shirt and Washington returned the favor, caressing Jin’s nipples with his tongue as he removed each biting clamp. “Hey, what about me?” Bogarde grinned, slipping off his t-shirt. His large nipples pointed heavily downward, with lusciously round, perfect aureoles. He pumped his 58” ripped chest fully, fists at his side, and stood smiling expectantly as his two muscle buddies moved into his side, their heads to Bogarde’s chest, each manning a clamped nipple. For Private Bogarde, the only good thing about the unclamping was the minute of stimulation he received from his buddies to keep the excruciating pain he so adored from making him instantly cum into his overstuffed jockstrap. Once he came, his partners knew the chest workout would be effectively derailed for a good 15 minutes, and so to prevent such time wasting, both men were inclined to be extra attentive. Over time, they developed a routine. Together the two bodybuilders carefully unscrewed the clamps, and swiftly leaned in to kiss, lick, bite, stroke, and caress Bogarde’s freed, erect nipples. Bogarde moaned, his eyes rolling to the ceiling, his cock now swelling threateningly in his jockstrap. “Shit,” he moaned, and his buddies glanced down at the straining pouch. His mushroom-round penis head poked heavily over the top and began to climb up his abs. Jin and Washington knew that he might shoot his load at any moment. The two double-timed their nipple licks. After a minute, their tender administrations allowed him to regain control. He nodded – he was okay – and they backed away. Satisfied, Bogarde pumped his pecs to their fullest size and inspected them both closely, nodding with serious, unsmiling self-approval. Wet with spit, his stiffened nipples bloomed. “Freaky,” he breathed. His buddies nodded. “Awesome pecs,” said Jin. “Awesome.” Bogarde stuffed his receding cock back into his jock, and winked at Moster. Moster watched. When it was clear Private Bogarde was past danger, he called out again. “Back to your work. You have twenty more minutes before you can put those damn clamps on again.” The men nodded dutifully. Washington sat, grabbed a dumbbell in each hand, hoisted them to his knees, leaned back, and effortlessly pushed them both to the ceiling. His chest expanded mightily. Bogarde shouted the count. “1! 2! 3!” Jin spotted, his powerful hands lightly meeting Washington’s elbows with each rep. For a moment, Bogarde fondled his smarting nipples tenderly. He caught Moster’s stern eye and, still counting Washington’s reps, nodded sheepishly and slipped back into his sopping t-shirt. Corporals Rene LeFevre, Tony Chad and Private Chris Hension were supersetting between bent-over single-arm rows and military presses. The massively muscled corporals, both in their mid-30’s, were the compound practical jokers. Their perfect foil was the slightly dopey 22-year old, 260-pound superheavyweight Private Hension, a square-jawed, curly-haired, dreamily handsome inductee who had only been admitted into the ranks of The Nineteen from the cadet squad six months before. Hension's face was so unusually beautiful that he was catnip for all who gazed upon him. With his deep blue eyes, perfectly square jaw, high cheekbones, imposing Roman nose, thick eyebrows, short curly black hair, powerful young physique and endearing, gap-toothed smile, he looked like a hyper muscular refugee from some crazy TigerBeat boy band. Teen muscles personified, and unusually huge, though he was 3 years past his teens already. His hazing was not quite over. Tonight he was burning from the red-hot chili powder LeFevre and Chad had worked into the folds of his jockstrap. Early in the workout he had waddled with his bodybuilder’s muscle-laden stride over to the 50-gallon water cooler, pulled down his jock, and poured a quart of refreshingly cold water onto his stinging red shaft. Every ten minutes he had to return to the cooler as his P-21 enhanced, ever-growing penis began burning anew. He couldn’t figure it out and was embarrassed. The fabric of his jock was now transparent with wetness, and the crimson outlines of his snake-coiled penis could be seen glowing painfully. LeFevre and Chad hid their grins innocently as a baffled Hension trudged back towards them, his fingers gently probing and rearranging his drooping big package for maximum comfort. “Something the matter, Private?” asked LeFevre. Hension nodded. “My junk hurts,” he said. He still wasn’t entirely used to the newly achieved girth of his organ. “And it itches.” “You keepin’ it clean?” “Sure.” He stuck his hand in his jock. “It’s getting too big. It don’t fit in these jocks.” “How big?” LeFevre winked at Chad. “I ain’t measured.” “Really?” “You lie.” “Okay, it’s past 10 inches now.” “About the medium point, then.” “You’re probably jerkin’ off too much.” “All that new size. Kinda hot, right?” “Gotta wipe all that jism off after you shoot, son.” “I keep it clean,” Hension protested. “Okay,” said Chad. “We can take of that later for you.” “Thanks,” said Hension, and then he noted the wicked gleam in Chad’s eyes. “Oh, you assholes,” he whined. “What did you do?” His buddies began to roar. Furious, Hension grabbed a 200-pound dumbbell and flew through a set of punishing one arm bent-over rows. His wide back roiled with shifting mountains of muscle, and as he jerked and lifted, his damp wife-beater gradually crept up to reveal his hardened, vulnerable butt, pumping up and down, undulating with each rep. A red handprint from a private discipline session with Sergeant Moster the night before still glowed on the right buttcheek. And the men laughed even harder. “You got it coming and going!” said LeFevre. Hension slammed the weight into the mat, turned abruptly and placed his big hands protectively against his ass. Then he grinned. “Yeah, yeah, it’s funny, so go laugh!” Inside his jock, his stinging member twitched. Private Hension liked humiliation. In fact, there was nothing he liked better, and both Chad and LeFevre were onto it. As far as they were concerned, the handsome Private’s hazing would continue indefinitely. Just two weeks before, Corporal Chad had hacked into Hension’s private PC and found links to dominatrix S&M websites on Hension’s private PC, with cum-stained downloaded jpegs and pngs of leather-clad, spike-heeled mistresses, face-slapping hapless, undersized men. Mixed in with the images were pictures of a huge muscleman tied up with ropes and chains, a rubber ball in his mouth and an enormous butt plug shoved up his anus. Hension’s private fantasy – and he was a little embarrassed about it, which was only good manners – was to get his face slapped, viciously and unrelentingly, by beautiful, affronted, enraged women. He dreamed of being caught sucking Alvarez’s massive cock, and being interrupted, and hauled to his feet by a beautiful blonde mistress of discipline, who would slap his handsome face repeatedly, leaving welting, bright red, stinging handprints on his clean-shaven cheeks. His head would whip from left to right, from right to left, under her powerful bitch slaps. Happy tears would roll down his face onto his stinging cheeks. “Aw, baby…” he’d cry, pretending to be in pain. “Don’t slap me!” And his mighty cock would also whip from side to side. “You deserve to get your face slapped, you filthy muscle slut!” SLAP. And meanwhile, Alvarez would drop to his knees and lovingly administer skillful oral to his massive cock. This dream of slapping punishment from angry mistresses filled his nightly jerk off fantasies. Chad printed up a few and privately slipped them to LeFevre, who laughed devilishly. “Someone’s been in my room playing with my computer,” Hension complained that night at dinner. The two feigned innocence. “Why, how can you tell?” asked Chad innocently. “Because the asswipe left it on.” “That might have been you.” “Nope. The asswipe left it on at a website I like. I would never do that.” The men roared. Hension pouted. “Don’t worry, baby face. Maybe some day soon on a field trip, we can set up a surprise for you, now that we know what you like.” Hension brightened. “Really?” he asked hopefully. “We’ll see if you’re a good boy. Why don’t you come by for some posing practice tonight?” “O—okay,” he said, shooting a furtive look at Corporal Alvarez and Private Lang, quietly sharing a table on the other side of the dining room. Chad caught it and for an instant was jealous. He knew Hension longed to be a part of Alvarez and Lang’s notorious “Pose and Approve” nightly sessions. Private Robert Lang was a younger version face and body look-alike for his buddy, Corporal Julio Alvarez. The same exact height, the two bodybuilders kept their bodies shaved, and might easily have been mistaken for one another at a distance, if it weren’t for Alvarez’s neatly trimmed mustache. Alvarez also boasted the same brutal muscles, the same sweep to his triceps, the same broad back, and the same peerless baseball biceps. Older, wiser, and a touch serene about his muscles, he and Lang were like brothers. Brothers, however, they weren’t, and they exhibited no instinctive physical filial reticence with one another. Lang, standing 5’ – 10” and weighing in at 285 pounds, was dark, serious, extraordinarily handsome, and brutally built. Secretly unsure of himself, he sought approval whenever he could, a little mortified by the beauty of his face. He had pronounced horseshoe triceps of uncommonly full sweep, an impressively broad back, and, as Alvarez noted, a beautifully rounded muscle bubblebutt graced with an almost horizontal butt shelf. To help bolster Lang’s flagging self-confidence, Alvarez – without question the alpha dog of this pairing, even as he was the slightly bigger muscleman - developed a ritual he called “Pose and Approve.” At first, it developed quite naturally. Over time, it had evolved into mutual muscle worship. Alvarez’s judgment and approval of Lang’s muscles were his drug of choice, next to P21, that is, and his own brutally punishing workouts. They started out privately in Alvarez’s room. From the first night, he was ready. An 8’-0” x 10’-0” lit posing dais dominated the back bedroom in his quarters. “Built it myself,” he said quietly as Lang stared at the polished wood surface. When did he find the time, Lang wondered. Alvarez carefully adjusted the cool LED lights. Lang watched eagerly, stripping down to tight posers straining under the weight of his throbbing, veiny penis. Alvarez took his sweet time setting lights and atmosphere. Lang watched, shoving his hand into his sagging pouch and absently manipulating his big tool to half erection. When he judged all was ready, he’d step back. “Okay. Get to work,” he said. Eagerly Lang jumped onstage and hit a front double biceps. Alvarez nodded his approval of his buddy’s muscles. “Nice. Big old cannonballs. Show me more.” Another pose. This time a side chest. Lang’s pecs pounded and seemed to reach the ceiling. His heavy nipples were already taut. “How do I look?” Lang asked nervously. “Looking all right,” Alvarez said casually. “Lights need adjusting.” He half turned away as if to check the wiring. This prompted Lang into frenzy, and he began whipping out pose after pose. “The lights are fucking fine! I’m smokin’!” he cried. “Look at me, Alvarez! Check out my muscles! I’m fucking huge!!!!” Alvarez smiled. “Okay, big man,” he said. “I see. I see what you need.” And casually bending in, he took Lang’s by-now rock hard penis into his mouth and lolled it about gently. Inside, his tongue stroked the long, thick shaft, working its way up and down the veins. “It’s your reward for your perfectly developed muscles.” Lang was in heaven. Then they switched. Alvarez stepped up and surpassed his buddy’s posing performance. As he flexed, Lang sank gratefully to his knees to admire his musclegod buddy. Alvarez hit a pose - wham! - and Lang would greedily slurp on his gigantic rod. "Boom," purred Alvarez. "Big biceps, baby." "Twenty fiiiii---vvve inches...." "Bullshit." "Twenty-five baby. Feel 'em. Suck my cock." "You got it. Sucking now, man." They went back and forth for hours. Flexing biceps, smacking roiling quads, pec dancing, sucking each other's cocks. After a few sessions, Lang developed a surprisingly insatiable taste for Alvarez's stunningly perfect glutes, and sometimes lost himself rimming the man's rosebud butthole while Alvarez posed, legs spread wide, gazing at himself thoughtfully in the wall-length mirror across the room from the dais. Whenever Lang's face was buried deeply in the bigger man's butt, Alvarez found his creative posing juices to be inspired, and he was able to flex for hours without getting tired. Over time, they worked out new routines this way. Of course, Alvarez and Lang had long since taken “Pose and Approve” into more stratospheric, not to mention more public, levels of performance during the last year. The men liked to watch, and occasionally were invited to join in. For more than a year now, the men all knew that Lang slipped whenever he could into Alvarez’s room late at night for an hour of nearly silent shared posing routines and powerful rounds of cocksucking. At the end of their private sessions, each man could be heard roaring in the compound’s corridors as he spurted a mighty ejaculation inside his buddy’s mouth, onto his abs, or inside his yielding bubble butt. Just a week before, when a confidence-challenged Lang was standing in front of the corner mirrors after general workout, trying vainly to figure out a new routine, coach Alvarez decided to take it public. After all, all the men knew. And were curious. And were watching. Eagerly. Even Karim bothered to look up from his own fascination with his flexing biceps. Alvarez directed Lang from pose to pose, nodding. He ran his fingers smoothly over his body. Then he dropped quickly to his knees, stripped off his jockstrap, took his cock into his mouth, and continued to direct him from there. “Bring your right arm up a little. Now tilt your head. Look up. Pretend you see something,” garbled Alvarez, his mouth full of Lang’s cock. “What am I looking at?” asked Lang, a little anxious. “Clouds. You see clouds. Good. More clouds. Right. Here’s your reward.” Alvarez licked his cock hard for a minute. “It’s like he’s licking an ice cream cone,” said Hension. “An ice cream cone with veins,” said Blankenship. Washington stared, grinning. Lang colored slightly. In his jock, his heavy penis head began to expand and push against the thick fabric. “Yo, bodybuilders deserve to get their cocks sucked while they’re posing,” Lang said dreamily, flexing. “I’m down with it,” said Washington. “You can suck mine next.” And Lang did. Alvarez sucked Lang’s dick approvingly, licking the thick shaft lovingly. Then he pulled back to allow Lang to pivot to the next pose. Lang crunched into a most muscular, Alvarez nodded again with serious respect, and sucked him as his reward, as his buddy held a crab shot for 60 full seconds. They moved as one: pivot, flex, a nod of approval, a minute of cocksucking, withdrawal, pivot, flex, another nod, another minute of cocksucking. Absorbed by their mutual passion of posing together, the two silently went into matching, impromptu routines, flexing their powerful guns in unison as if choreographed, slapping their quads, turning to flair their lats, all the while staring appreciatively, each transfixed by the other. And the men stared, too. Soon all they all joined in. The workout was effectively over. Cocks filled mouths for the next hour. Rough, calloused hands appreciatively patted and stroked flexed biceps. Pecs danced. Tongues licked sand dollar sized, downward pointing nipples. Moster was not pleased. Nevertheless, he waited until the last groans had finished, and the last drops of the quarts of ejaculated bodybuilder cum had burst from throbbing cocks down eager throats. "Are we finished?" he asked quietly. The men lined up, sheepish, all with dripping cocks and cum flecks on their lips. Hension's face, inevitably, was covered. "It got into my eyes," he complained. Smack! "Owwwww!" he yelled. Moster waited, and then spoke quietly. “There’s a time and a place for everything,” he barked, all sheepish and spent, wiping the cum from their lips and bodies. After that, Moster determined to keep Lang and Alvarez separated on the floor as much as possible, for the two men were so – was ‘inspired’ the word? – attuned to one another’s powerful physiques that the Sergeant had determined it would be more efficient for all if they trained apart. It always led to “Pose and Approve,” behavior that Moster determined was more efficiently left to the locker room and showers. “Pose and Approve” was all very well for private time, but on the gym floor the men had been known in the past to become hypnotized by one another’s muscles. On rest days, of course, Moster kept them completely separated. That was an order. These days, the two grudgingly but unquestioningly yielded to their CO’s command. Once, Moster had caught them together outside on a bike path on a prescribed rest day, both naked, erect, and posing feverishly. He watched silently for a few moments, waiting for the inevitable moment when Lang sank to his knees and greedily gathered Alvarez’s cock in his mouth. “Gentlemen!” he boomed, striding forward onto the path. “Today is a rest day!” He swung mightily, he clipped the surprised Alvarez right on the jaw. The punch felled the muscleman immediately. Even the usually arrogant Alvarez was a mere beta puppy before the 7’-0” Moster. “In my quarters! Now!” Ten minutes later a cowed Alvarez was stretched over Moster’s powerful knee, receiving a serious butt paddling. Lang stood by nervously, knowing he was next. “You’re like two bad boys,” he said gruffly as he spanked Alvarez’s perfectly rounded buttocks. Neither man protested, each watching the other meekly as he received punishment from the implacable giant Moster. The loud spanks were heard echoing down the hall for 40 minutes. The men sat in the mess and listened to the spanks and howls. “No one crosses Moster,” Schumacher said airily, to no one in particular. The distant sound of spanks bounced off the walls. Perfect musclebutts were receiving perfect punishment. “Gee, what did they do?” asked a fearful Hension. “Someday you’ll find out,” said LeFevre darkly. He winked at Chad. Later, they emerged sheepishly from Moster’s quarters, red-faced and gingerly rubbing their painfully reddened glutes. The two were barred from contact of any kind for three weeks. Moreover, the enforced temporary change in the training schedule upset all of the men, who privately handled the transgression in their own manner. There was a strict code of punishments the men had privately devised and agreed upon over the years, and when training violations occurred, the offender was subject to the discipline of the group, most often provided by a steely-eyed Corporate Karim Abdul. The night after their ordeal with Moster, Abdul and Gunst visited the men in their quarters. The men each stood meekly, as Karim punched their faces with cool precision. Then he spanked them both, followed by Gunst’s stern force-feeding of his cock. Then, for good measure, both men thoroughly fucked their butts. The next morning at chow, each man sported two black eyes. Their flanks ached, and closer inspection revealed that sitting was painful for more reasons than were immediately apparent. “Dudes, what happened to you?” shouted Chad across the mess hall. “Shut the fuck up,” grumbled Alvarez. “Report to the infirmary,” said Moster. “Sergeant, begging your pardon, we’re fine.” “As you prefer, Privates.” “Abdul stretched the shit out of my asshole last night,” Lang complained quietly to Alvarez. “Me too,” Alvarez asked. Silence. Then they both laughed quietly. “Was it worth it?” asked Alavrez. “Fuck yeah,” said Lang. Nevertheless, the men grudgingly acknowledged privately it was their due desserts. After that, Lang and Alvarez obeyed orders, and it didn’t happen again. Their eyes healed quickly and though they remained separated at night, soon they were back on the gym floor the same day Moster suspended their sentence. “No sense in losing perfectly good training time for those two. They’ve learned their lesson,” Moster said to Zaftig, who was always puzzled by the developing social rules within his own lab rats. Three weeks passed, and the night they were finally reunited, Moster smiled privately to himself in his quarters as the excited groans of the two reunited men echoed down the corridors long after hours. The next morning, far from being tired, they appeared at 0700 hours breakfast as if entirely rejuvenated. The other men looked a little weary, having been kept awake all night, but all were in grudging good humor now that the two muscle buddies were together again. Backs were slapped and good-natured jibes taken with grinning good grace. “Have fun last night, Lang?” teased Obatu. “Yep,” said Lang, his mouth full of eggs. “Alvarez get any bigger in the last three weeks?” “He sure did,” Lang nodded seriously, chewing and swallowing. The men guffawed, and Alvarez smacked Lang playfully on the back of the head with a giant paw. “What’d I say?” asked Lang, perplexed, and the men laughed harder. Across the table, Karim never looked up. Faggots, he thought. Still, his cock twitched in his jock. He had liked punching the handsome faces of both Alvarez and Lang, though he didn’t want to admit it, and the crisply delivered black eyes he had administered had made it all even more exciting. And the fucking was fun, too. Moster was satisfied. All in all, it was good for the team. Good for morale. Chapter 8: Tiffany’s Talent Karim was in the corner, working out on the punching bag. His buddies, if the taciturn Lebanese from Michigan could have said to have “buddies”, Privates Duncan and McIntyre, were alternating between bench wrist curls and neck-strengthening dumbbell lifts. The rhythmic volley of Karim’s rapid punches filled the air. Abdul Karim was, at his most social, on the taciturn side. At 6’-3”, 275 pounds, and less than 2% bodyfat, Karim had a beard and mustache that he kept meticulously groomed at all times. He had the Arab’s big nose, dark skin, and, except for his back and shoulders, a full body armor of tight, black curly hair. His muscular chest was black with fur, with two deep red-brown nipples poking through. His quads were oak trees. His bullish biceps, covered with bright tattoos, were stacked and wired for maximum damage. His fists were huge and calloused. Karim was an extreme fighter of the first order; calm, methodical, practiced, powerful, relentless and merciless. Zaftig had plucked him from the State Penitentiary of Washington about four years earlier. He was in for manslaughter, having beaten to death a suspected serial rapist in Seattle; the trial transcripts stated that he had simply held the dude aloft by his collar and repeatedly punched the guy in the face until he grew bored. Inside, it was said, he had beaten to bloody pulps 5 inmates who had jumped him one night in the shower with sharpened shivs and the intent to kill. How Zaftig got him out was still a mystery to Moster, but, as his CO was bigger and possibly even a hair stronger, Karim silently respected him without grudge or attitude, and there was no real breach of discipline. Still, it was tough to pair him off in extreme fighting matches in the compound, although Corporal Schumacher was a close match. Annoyingly, if understandably, both Chad and LeFevre were careful to keep the beautiful young Private Hension away from Karim. Secretly protective of their young initiate, they didn’t take any chance that the longingly masochistic Hension might approach Karim, and get a lot more than he bargained for. Karim, for his part, wasn’t particularly interested in Hension. For him, a hole was a hole was a hole, and as for getting his cock sucked, he preferred women to do the job, as long as they shut up about it. Oddly, he didn’t seem to mind if effeminate boys took care of his meat, if no pussy was available. A bitch was a bitch was a bitch, though he took care to show basic respect for being serviced (even if, of course, it was his due). He did, however, like piss. Karim liked to be pissed upon, and he liked to piss on others. He marked his territory. He especially liked it when big boy Gunst pissed on him. After all, he respected the man. He didn’t consider it a sexual fantasy. To Karim, piss was just the right expression of muscle and power. Late at night, he sometimes came to the workout room alone and worked on the heavy bag. On those nights, he made sure that the kitchen boy, Pedro, was standing by. A slender 16-year old kid, barely 130 pounds, and a sweet-natured homey if ever there was one, Pedro would wait patiently in a darkened corner until Karim summoned him to approach, get on his knees, and suck his unusually hairy cock while he worked the light bag. The boy loved hair and muscles, and Karim’s big veiny tool got an appreciative coating between his lips. Karim would grunt, shoot, coat the boy’s face with globs of semen, pat him affectionately on the butt, and head off to bed without washing off. The boy scampered into the kitchen to start breakfast for the men, happy to have been of service. Good-natured Privates Bill McIntyre and David Duncan were often buffer zones for the brooding Corporal Karim. Calm and circumspect, like Karim they too were hairy big boys who preferred the ladies, albeit always in groups with the Lebanese. Moster occasionally arranged for private liaisons for the three bodybuilders with three high-priced, Amazonian professional girls flown in from Las Vegas. The men fucked their women vigorously, always with their eyes on one another. After they finished up and the ladies had departed, Karim often polished off the night fucking his buddies’ shapely muscle butts, alternating between them. It took a lot to satisfy Karim, who could fuck all night, and sometimes Moster was hastily summoned to make sure the session ended. He often brought Gunst with him to break up the party, for Karim liked nothing better than to finally cum while Gunst pissed in his face. “Feels good,” he would grunt as Gunst’s firehose cock shot streams of piss on his muscles, while McIntyre and Duncan stood by smiling, gently fingering their reddened, aching buttholes. Karim would work his cock fiercely with his powerful fist, quickly spurting buckets of semen onto his hairy abs, and, as always, trudge off silently to bed without washing or saying good night. Gunst would then get the privilege of sucking Moster’s giant cock while McIntyre and Duncan watched respectfully, stroking their own cocks. Sessions would end with each bodybuilder shooting his cum into Gunst’s mouth. Gunst could swallow volumes of cum. “Makes me bigger,” he’d say. The big boy preferred monster penis, and liked it best with other musclemen standing by watching. So it worked for everyone. Beyond them, Corporals Schumacher, Obatu, and Blankenship were besting each other in sets of deep squat deadlifts. A 42-year old muscle veteran with tattoos, steel-wool skin, acne scars, an explosively powerful physique dense with vascularity, and all honed by nearly 30 years of raw, intense training, Herman Schumacher was the current king of this group, with his wide-oval, pronouncedly roiling, round hamstrings of pure power protruding far behind him. His broad, solid, rounded manbutt rolled above his hams, meeting into a firm, deep butt crack. His calves were split into two deep and distinct diamond-like heads. Schumacher had no-nonsense iron-grey hair and was generally scowling. He knew all who saw him wanted to fuck his mighty butt. Secretly, he was happiest when either fucking – or being fucked. His formidable, muscular, hairy glutes demanded attention. He was loath, however, to acknowledge his fantasy top. Rarely fucked by the other men, and always only after extreme begging and some act of subservience, Herman Schumacher had some private fantasies of his own, involving heavy rope and buttplugs, that one day he hoped he’d have the courage to investigate. For now, the opinions of the other men were still too gravely important to him. He wasn’t ready to betray himself. Not yet. In the mean time, it was generally understood that Schumacher’s powerful tool was always at the ready to plow a tasty ass. Just out of his hearing, the other men all agreed - and even Karim - they craved his particular kind of butt fucking. It seemed he could always find the g-spot, and he quietly provided hours of late night pleasure for those men who had just finished a grueling squat workout, and whose eager buttholes needed relief. Obatu chose to shave his head bald, had shiny black skin, and like Schumacher and Karim, nearly always had a fearsome scowl on his face. His glory were his bull-like traps and his mammoth pecs, which at 66”circumference approached Moster’s own in size, shredded cuts, and separations. His fearsomely large genitalia had a habit of rolling out of his jockstrap during training, and he’d absent-mindedly scoop his balls and cock back into place, often pausing unconsciously for a quick couple of strokes on the extra-long, heavy shaft and a quick flick of his thick thumb on the bell-shaped cockhead. Then he’d lift and adjust the heavy pouch and resume his powerful lifts. On white cap nights, however, he often didn’t bother to repouch. Blankenship, younger than both and only recently having attained the rank of Corporal, didn’t have the ripped density of Schumacher nor the sheer mass of Obatu, boasting instead superb genetics and beautifully honed symmetry. Good-humored and outgoing, the roman-nosed young Blankenship favored classical Greek poses in his routines, and he often showed off his alluring lines with his muscular arms held overhead. He was a statue come to life – and he knew it. Shouting encouragement and taunts at one another, Schumacher completed another grueling set of 25 reps with 400 pounds. On the last rep, he strained to replace the weight on the floor with disciplined quiet, in control of the weight to the very last. Then he blew out a mouthful of spit, shook his head violently so that his sweat flew everywhere, and straightened up. Blankenship planted a solid smack on his naked butt. “Nice!” he yelled. Schumacher smiled wearily and nodded. Then he turned and glanced across the room to see if Private Joe Tiffany had been watching his set. Tiffany was working triceps and delts with Private Robert Lang. Alvarez was at the squat rack, training legs with Private Eli Meyer. The good-looking All-American Jewish Meyer was the shortest man in the squad, standing only 5’- 3”, and sadly, a mute. He was a highly developed, talented gymnast, double-jointed nearly everywhere and was astonishingly supple for a little muscleman. He easily contorted his 210-pound body into positions the other men could only dream of. He favored the relatively simple – for him – pose of planting his rippling arms on the floor and swinging his legs sky-high behind them, tilting his pelvis forward past his elbows and holding steady for long periods of time. The pose was catnip for the squad, who, after hours in the compound rec room, loved to more closely inspect Meyer’s proudly displayed hairless, supple pink butthole, which he playfully puckered in and out for them at will. Meyer would smile hugely and nod encouragement, his eyes sparkling with mischief, as the excited men scrambled to their knees and took turns playfully licking and probing his asshole. Alvarez enjoyed a lick as much as the other men, but he always noted Lang’s slightly hurt gaze and promptly retreat with his buddy for some private posing. For his part, however, Alvarez had no issue when Lang, occasionally overcome himself, dipped his handsome face into Meyer’s butt for a taste of honey. Afterwards, Alvarez noted, he would pose harder than ever. For Tiffany was trouble. Alvarez noted that Tiffany was studiously ignoring Corporal Schumacher’s impressive set of deadlifts. Lang, almost as dim as Hension, hadn’t seemed to notice. But then, Lang hadn’t learned yet that he shouldn’t trust Joe Tiffany. Joe Tiffany was 19. He was gap-toothed, dark-haired, freckled, had slightly big ears, and looked a little goofy. He was bow-legged, weighed 235 pounds, and had almost no bodyfat at all – and what little there was lay sweetly atop what Herman Schumacher imagined was probably the most beautiful butt on the planet. On the day of his arrival into the Project facility just a little less than a year ago, Obatu had nicknamed him ‘Huck Finn’. The name stuck, and over time morphed into ‘Fuck Him.’ No one had, though, as of yet. Not privately, anyway. Tiffany was smart. He looked dumb and played the innocent, but he was canny, shrewd, and manipulative. He also had an unusual talent, which he had privately shared with the curious Sergeant Moster not long after his arrival. It was not unlike perfect pitch: Tiffany could take astonishingly accurate size measurements – orally. Moreover, he had no gag reflex. It appeared that he could take anything. Any cock. To its full length. Even Moster’s. Moster had found out quite by accident – or so he thought. In the showers alone one night, the black muscle giant was lathering up his armpits when he turned and discovered the Private staring at him from the doorway into the locker room. “You’re here late, Private.” “I forgot my jockstrap.” “Better get it and head to bed. Training tomorrow at 0700 hours.” Tiffany held his jock up silently. He waited. Moster stopped lathering and returned his look. “Is there something I can do for you, Private?” he demanded. Tiffany said nothing but gazed straight at Moster’s gargantuan, swaying dick. “Private?” Moster stepped forward. Tiffany didn’t move. “Sir?” He gazed unblinkingly at the cock. Moster glared. “Well?” Tiffany looked up and came to attention. “Sir, I’m sorry, sir,” he said. “But that is the biggest dick I have ever seen in my life, sir.” “It is unlikely you have seen a bigger one.” “I’m guessing no one has, sir.” “No, probably not. Just how big do you think it is?” “Sir, if you will forgive the indulgence, sir, but I believe I could tell you, sir, and quite accurately, too.” Moster had already heard about Tiffany’s after-hours mess hall boasts. Now was the chance to see if the boy had the stuff. “On your knees, then, Private.” “Yes, sir.” Tiffany stepped forward in the shower, got to his knees and opened his mouth. He held still. Water poured from the spigot and in an instant, Tiffany’s t-shirt was wringing wet and bulging with his tight teen muscles. He looked up expectantly at Moster. He was calm. “Doesn’t look like anything I can’t handle, sir.” Annoyed at the Tiffany’s arrogance for a flashing moment, Moster slapped his swaying, dripping cock fiercely three or four times. It blew into an engorged 20-inch-plus vein-pulsing snake inside of 5 seconds. Water from the shower splashed onto it and ricocheted off the walls. “All right then. You’ll have to open up much wider than that.” “Yes, sir.” Tiffany opened his mouth as wide as he could. Moster strode forward, grabbed the back of the young Private’s head, and forced his face onto his cock. Amazingly, Tiffany’s lips easily enveloped the enormous head, then the shaft, and slid down until Tiffany’s nose was pressed against Moster’s body. Somewhere inside, Moster’s giant shaft had disappeared deeply down Tiffany’s throat and into his upper body. Yet the muscleboy didn’t gag. Instead, he looked up and smiled, his mouth full of black bodybuilder cock. He held still a full minute, as Moster’s cock throbbed inside him. Then he slowly pulled his head back. “18 and 5/8s inches, sir. 8 pounds, three ounces. You weigh 396 pounds tonight, sir, your body temperature is 97 degrees, and your blood pressure is 120/85.” He smiled serenely. Damn, thought Moster. He’s right on target. There was just no telling where P21 protocols could lead, and what talents it might unearth. He nodded, satisfied, and then plunged his cock deeply back in and out of Tiffany’s mouth. In spite of its huge girth, Tiffany bowed and obediently went to work. As Moster pumped his hips rhythmically and Tiffany sucked mammoth cock, the sergeant’s mind drifted towards the men. Hmmmm, he thought. He was deeply in thought, automatically flexing his muscles and yet barely paying any attention to the efficient, powerful, machine-like sucks of Private Tiffany. Finally he began to shoot rivers of cum into the teen’s mouth. After a minute or two of shooting, he withdrew his cock and coated Tiffany’s face evenly with the last blasts of semen. Tiffany licked and took in as much as his tongue could reach, and then he stood, at attention once again. His cute face was covered with clouds of thick cum, which dripped down in thick globs onto his body under the spray of the shower. He saluted again, and wiped his mouth so he could speak clearly. “I hope that was satisfactory, sir?” “It was.” He didn’t appear to be injured in any way, at which Moster privately marveled. He turned away and began soaping the blobs of cum off his cock shaft. “You’re aware that sucking your CO’s cock is a privilege awarded rarely to men of your rank.” “Yes, sir. I know, sir.” “You will report to my private exam room tomorrow about an hour into the evening session. I’ll let you know when.” “Thank you, sir. It was a pleasure, sir.” He started out of the shower room, and turned, adding, “By the way, sir, your cum tastes a little like banana. I love banana.” He saluted again, and was gone. “Fresh punk,” thought Moster, but he was pleased. Starting the next evening, Moster began to require that the priapic dimensions of each muscleman be included in his records, the information to be obtained in privately conducted sessions he personally oversaw with Private Tiffany on hand to take the strictest of measurements. As always, the sergeant immediately designed a standard ritual of procedure. Ordered one by one into the examination room off the gym floor, each bodybuilder entered singly, wearing a tight posing strap, and walked silently into the center of the room. Private Gunst was first. “Stand under the light,” Moster ordered quietly. The bodybuilder stepped onto a posing dais, and poised himself under a single focused spotlight shining from the ceiling. He awaited orders, hands at his sides. He wondered why Tiffany was present. Moster stood in half-light, fully covered in clean white sweats, as always. The silent Dr. Irving sat in a pin light in the distant corner, armed with a video camera and scribbling in a small pad. Tiffany, wearing the white regulation tight t-shirt and khakis, stepped forward from the shadows. “Let’s see what you got, man,” murmured Moster, and Gunst swung into a posing routine. The first pose was a side biceps pose with the muscleman leaving forward and rotating his back towards the sergeant, so that he might better appreciate the three distinct cannonball deltoids, the broad lat sweep, the baseball separations of the biceps head, the powerful shape of his obliques, the shapely, hard glutes, and the roiling hamstrings. It was a landscape of muscle, and the men all knew it was Moster’s preferred pose. Then Gunst straightened, reached toward the single spotlight, and slowly brought his arms down into his most powerful, sustained front double biceps pose. “26 inches, sir!” he shouted. He held it for about 30 seconds. “Looking good,” said Moster, slightly bored. A three-minute posing routine followed. There was no sound in the room apart from the rapid tapping of Dr. Irving’s pen, the hum from the spotlight, and the waves of air being sucked in and out of Gunst’s mouth as he glided smoothly from pose to pose. Front lats, pivot, side left chest, side left triceps, pivot, rear lat spread, rear double biceps, pivot, side right chest, side right triceps, pivot, left quad, shake, slap, flex, right quad, shake, slap, flex, overhead ab crunch, and finally a most muscular, crunching viciously into a vein-exploding crab shot. Then the bodybuilder stood still, waiting. Thick rivulets of sweat poured down his physique. “Okay. Front double biceps again, please.” Gunst flexed his mountainous peaks. “And hold it.” Gunst smiled and strained, eager to please his C.O. “All right, Tiffany,” Moster said quietly, “get to it.” “Yes, sir,” said Tiffany. He strode forward, and as Gunst stood steadily flexing the classic front double biceps, the shorter Tiffany gracefully reached forward, took hold of the elastic side straps of his thin mesh poser, pulled the pouch forward and down, and unveiled the muscleman’s flaccid, long, thick, imperial penis. Moster cracked a quick smile, noting that Gunst first looked startled….then curious…. and then aroused. The giant gazed down as the business-like Tiffany got to his knees, gently fixed his pretty lips on the man’s junk, closed his eyes a moment, plunged deeply, holding the instantaneously stiffening penis deeply in his throat for about 60 seconds. “Wow”….breathed Gunst. He continued to flex his biceps, but tears appeared in his suddenly glistening eyes, and his cheeks flushed deep crimson. Below, Tiffany held firm and steady, his moist lips gently enfolding the thickening penis, widening his jaw to allow the throbbing member to enlarge to its true, pounding, blood-filled girth, standing gradually as the man’s cock began to climb towards the ceiling. He appeared to be making some internal calculations. He allowed 30 seconds more to pass; then he lolled his tongue around the muscleman’s cockshaft, pulled back, dipped again to twice lick the bulbous cockhead, paused again, and then gently parted his lips and pulled back, smacking his lips happily. He wiped his mouth. Gunst stared at him. "Huge cock, man. Nice." Tiffany turned to Moster. That was all it took. Gunst promptly began to spurt ropes of milky cum into the air, which Tiffany deftly dodged. He announced his findings. “12 and three-quarters inches, sir, tip to base,” Tiffany announced with obvious pride. “As you see, he is uncircumcised. Foreskin is clean and about six inches around. Penis weight, five and one half pounds. Shaft circumference, eight inches. Head size, three and three quarters, sir. Two pronounced lateral veins.” Tiffany paused. “He weighs 325 pounds, sir, and at the moment, his blood pressure is 140/80.” He grinned. “It’s quite a penis. You should be proud, sir.” “Yeah, thanks.” Gunst was still shooting. Ropes of cum hit the walls. “Sorry, sir.” “That’s all, Private,” said Moster. “Dismissed.” Gunst, his dick still shooting volleys of cum, stepped off the platform, glanced with confusion at Tiffany, and walked slowly out of the room, his posers barely covering his throbbing cock, leaving a trail of cum as he went. “Tell Corporal Abdul to come in next,” Moster called after him. Gunst turned. “May I watch, sir?” Moster considered. “All right.” At the outset of the tests, Moster was immediately on hand with a tape measure and a blood pressure cuff to verify what he could. After awhile, he didn’t bother. Tiffany was always right. By the next morning, Moster had realized that Tiffany had deftly strategized the whole routine. He’d been punked, and by a newbie. It was as if Tiffany had foreseen Moster’s every move, and now, in record time, every man in Project Herculaneum was aware that Private Tiffany’s blowjobs were a vehicle to provide new particularized personal information being added to their charts. Moster was secretly amused at the teen’s cojones, but knew that he’d have to regain the upper hand again, and soon. Still, it wasn’t for him to break Tiffany personally. That would have made his displeasure too apparent. He began to look for opportunities for the cocky Tiffany to be bested by one of the men. A face punching by Karim would be too brutal. He considered other ways. Maybe in the wrestling ring. Yes. ******* Links to other chapters: "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 - Inside Zaftig's Lab: The Musclemen Revealed