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  1. This is my first story. It's going to have bite sized chapters and very regular updates (most likely daily). This is a m/m superhero romance. The first two chapters are mostly set up, but after that every chapter has plenty of sexy muscle and feats of strength, so please stick with it! Chapter 1 It began as all the best love stories do: with terrorism. The 24th of March 2013 is much like any other day. Hugo Chavez recently died, triggering what would go on to become an economic crisis in Venezuela, the UN security council has just slammed North Korea with harsh new sanctions, Justin Timberlake is topping the charts with ‘Mirrors’, protestors are waving signs outside Parliament, protesting about something, pigeons are shitting, rain is pouring, and I'm on my way to work. The newly opened Shard is difficult to miss. It towers over London’s skyline, jutting into the clouds like the lair of a comic book villain. I make my way inside, flashing my ID as I go. ‘Jake Langley’, it says in large capital letters, along with an employee number and my date of birth. I only show it as a courtesy - the security guards have all memorised my face by now. I sometimes wonder what they think of me. Am I ‘that cute, fresh faced little pastry chef with the dimples’ or do they just see me as a child straight out of college, coasting by on boyish looks, with no clue what he’s doing? I’d like to think it was the former. I’d like to. But I don’t. I wish I was the kind of guy who had the guts to ask. The kind who knows he's good enough, who knows he's not going to be rejected or shut down. But even if I wasn't gay, I will never be that kind of guy. It's not in my nature. I'm not assertive or domineering. I smile, wave, and make pastry. That's my nature. I slip by in this hyper masculine world by being too small for anyone to see as a threat. And for the most part, it works. The kitchens still shine like the day they were installed, which wasn't that long ago. Most kitchens are crowded, starkly lit places where you can barely move an inch without bumping into someone or knocking something over, but not this one. Natural light pours through the floor-to-ceiling windows, treating us to a view of London that millions of people would kill for. But I'm not here for the views. Okay, maybe a little bit. But mostly, I'm here to do my job. I find my little corner and start preparing for the day’s guests. It's a Sunday, so we're expecting a lot of traffic. There isn’t an overpaid banker in London who doesn’t salivate over the idea of lunch at the Shard. Russian oligarchs, Saudi oil barons, British royalty, Colombian drug lords - we serve them all. I don’t care who they are or what they do. It's none of my business. It sounds like a simple, boring job - making pastry. You’d be surprised at how much there is to it. There’s a reason they have pastry chefs – this is a difficult thing to get right. It's always come easily to me. I find something calming about rolling out a sheet of puff, spreading on the butter, folding it over, and rolling it out again. There's a rhythm to it. My movements soon become mechanical and I can feel myself floating away into a distant world where I'm someone interesting, somewhere interesting, doing something interesting. The kitchen hums around me as the first orders come in. Pans clink, hobs fizzle, water gurgles as it boils. I can barely hear the orders being barked over it all. But I'm not really paying attention. Boom. I can feel a wave of pressure pass through my feet, up to my head, and down again. Everything is shaking; the walls, the floor, the windows. Pots rattle above my head on their hooks. I turn to see the kitchen staff frozen, eyeing one another with pointed glares. I don't think I've ever seen this room so quiet. “What was that?” I hear one of them whisper, his voice carrying clear across the room. No one answers. Was it an earthquake? It couldn’t be. Earthquakes aren’t instantaneous, they're gradual. Then it comes again, much louder. BOOM. I don’t know if it's the ringing in my ears or the shaking beneath my feat, but I'm suddenly hunched over a table, flour covering my hands, gasping for breath. I don't know how long I spend there, trying to comprehend what's going on. It must be a minute or two, at least. My daze is broken as an alarm whirrs into life, high pitched and screaming. Red lights flash. All at once, the shock turns to chaos. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. They're coming faster now, from all over the building. I can feel them in my bones. While others run for the doors, I huddled under my table. What the hell is going on? My eyes drift to the windows, where black smoke is billowing up past our floor, carrying dust and paper. Fuck. I watched 9/11 unfold on live TV and I was here when they locked down London during the 7/7 attacks. It's impossible to ignore the reality of what's going on. This is a terrorist attack. I can see dark shapes floating past outside, just beyond the smoke. Choppers. News choppers. When I had dreamed of appearing on TV, I was thinking more along the lines of Deal or No Deal, not this. Anything but this. I'm now alone in the kitchen. I don't know when that happened. I presume everyone else has fled. My gaze flickers to the open door as I try to decide what to do. Maybe if I run now, I could get out before the building collapses. Or maybe the lower floors are experiencing the worst of it, and I'm best waiting up here while the blaze is brought under control. Is there anything here I could turn into a parachute? No, I scold myself. That’s pointless and stupid. I’d never break through those windows anyway. Turning on my phone, I check the BBC. The first result is a live video of the Shard, burning in a dozen places. The news anchors are speaking but I can’t hear a word of it. I watch the screen in horror as the fire begins to creep outward from the explosion sites. One of them is pretty close to this kitchen. Placing my hands on the ground, I feel warmth. There’s a rumbling sensation. Something is crackling not far from our door. As fast as I can, I slam it shut, backing away with a hiss as the handle burns my skin, leaving it red and blotchy. Now there’s smoke trickling in through the vents and the air is getting hazy. Pulling a wet cloth over my mouth, I run around the kitchen and turn on all the taps and block all the drains. They overflow one by one, spilling out onto the floor until there’s a pool of water an inch deep. This won’t save me, but it might slow the spread. It’s getting seriously hot in here. I clutch my burned hands around the wet cloth, which eases the pain, but nothing can stop the coughing fits. There’s soot clogging my lungs and in my eyes, causing them to water uncontrollably. The air is so thick now that I can barely see from one end of the room to the other. My only sign that the door has buckled is the red tongues of flame licking at the ceiling. At the same time, I’m hit by a wave of heat so overwhelming that my only option is to curl up on the floor and cover my face as I feel the skin of my back start to blister. Then something astonishing happens. Something so unusual that I wonder if I’m hallucinating. There's a silhouette visible through the smoke. A man. He's enormous, and seems completely unphased by the fire caressing every inch of his body. His eyes find me on the floor, and a look of relief flits across his face. I blink, and he’s suddenly leaning over me. How did he move so fast? I open my mouth to ask, but only a ragged cough comes out. Two huge arms gently scoop me up. I press my face into his chest to escape the heat. Somehow even in the middle of a burning skyscraper, his touch makes me feel safe. Protected. Isn’t that strange? I hear the sound of shattering glass, feel a rush of cold air on my neck. The arms wrap more tightly around me. The lurching in my stomach tells me we’re moving, and I try to look around, but one hand on the back of my head keeps me locked to his chest. As the adrenaline fades, my body starts to scream in pain. I’ve never felt such agony. It’s only a matter of time before blackness is creeping into my vision, clouding my mind. And then I’m gone.
  2. dredlifter

    m/m My Valentine's Day Fantasy Man

    So as you can guess from the title, I was really hoping I could get this posted last week. But alas, life got in the way. Hopefully you're still up for a little romance story in the spirit of V-Day. ++++++++++++++++++++++++ There’s nothing worse than having to work late on a Friday. And I don’t care if it’s an hour or just ten minutes, once that clock strikes 5:00pm I need to be gone. Most of the time I am able to bug out 30-60 minutes early on Fridays, but alas, today I had a proposal that needed to be completed by 5:00pm. All of my office mates had already left, lucky bastards. Today was Valentine’s Day and flowers and candies littered the desktops and they had all left to prepare for their own evening dates. Finally at 4:33pm my last quotation arrived and I was able to finish my proposal and make sure it showed up in my outbox. With a huff I packed up my computer laptop and departed the office at 5:04pm. Still late. Ugh! On the drive home I couldn’t wait to get to the gym, my daily escape from office life. It’s what I jokingly call ‘Miller time’. Because my name is Miller and I love the gym. I love exercising my body, the rush of endorphins, how I’m able to release those stresses that build up over the day slogged in front of my computer screen. Not to mention, the added bonus of the potential to view some eye candy. The gym has been part of my near daily routine now for about 10 years. After college as I started to soften I made a commitment to keep myself in shape and I was proud to say that I had accomplished that goal. Now, you may be thinking that I’m some big sexy bulging bodybuilder stud with how dedicated I am to my gym. Well, I’d say I’m sexy at least. But the truth is that I was cursed, or blessed some would say, to be a true hardgainer with a jackrabbit metabolism. Now that’s not to say I’m a skinny either. With a decade of dedication I’ve built my 5’9 frame up to a solid 165 lbs. My wiry muscles are all evident when I take off my shirt, especially my abs. With my low bodyfat I have a pleasing vascularity and defined creases between the muscle groups. I’m not ashamed to admit that I’ve been called a stud before, and even a couple of young 120-lbs twinks had referred to me as a “muscle guy” in the past. My tight body combined with my good looks meant I’d never got any complaints. The only real thing I’ve had to learn to overcome was my shy and reserved personality. Thankfully as I’ve aged that has improved in tandem with the strides made in the gym. While I had a tight, ripped body, I’d accepted the fact that I’d never be a huge bodybuilder. And that was ok with me. Truth be told, in my fantasies I enjoy the idea of being a smaller guy to a big pumped stud. It’s a scenario that has played out in my mind countless times when I’m in the middle of my 45-minute cardio sessions. I do cardio five times a week. I do lift weights, mostly full body-type routines, another three times to ensure the muscle I do have stays prominent, but for the most part I could be classified as a cardio bunny. As I mentioned above, I’ve always been a bit of a dreamer and I’ve found those cardio sessions go by much quicker when I’m playing out a little fantasy in my mind. Sometimes I had even jotted them down on paper afterwards and submitted them to my favorite muscle fetish websites. Not gonna lie, I’ve received some excellent feedback on some of my tales. As soon as my legs start trudging along that belt my mind runs wild with sexy bodybuilder-centric fantasies. So there I was rushing to get home and get into the gym, get a good sweat on and relieve some stress before the weekend. Twenty-five minutes later I was in my gym and walking along on my regular treadmill, tucked away in a semi-private corner of the gym. From here I could see most of the gym while still remaining semi-concealed. Perfect for stud-gazing. I looked around and nobody else was there. Friday evenings were already notoriously dead. Most of the younger gym bros and babes were eager to get out and party, showing off their toned bods to attract similarly built mates. But even then, today was more dead than usual. Then I remembered again that it’s also Valentine’s Day. That would likely do it, I think. The remaining Friday stragglers are all probably are getting ready for a big Valentine’s day date, prepping and a primping for a night of romance. How cheesy. Ok, Ok. I’m not heartless. Truth be told that sounds amazing. In my 20’s I definitely thought the concept was pure cheese but now at 31 I could definitely see the appeal of a special night with a special someone. Especially if that someone had a square jaw and some huge biceps. After the five-minute warmup timer had ticked away its last few seconds I sped up the treadmill to my jogging speed. What should today’s scenario be?, I think to myself. Perhaps a reunion story. Something with two long separated friends and one is now Olympia-esque. Maybe a sexy librarian discovering secret muscle growth powder in a hidden closet? How about a macro-muscle story involving a giant jacked football coach? Maybe a humiliation story with one guy outgrowing and dominating his best friend. Naw, only weirdos are into that sort of thing. Plus, it’s Valentine’s day, so today’s scenario should lend itself to some romance. As I ran through the possibilities I, heard a soft clang of the gym door being opened and shut. Unable to avoid the slight distraction I look over to see what other unlucky schlub is going to be working out alone with me this Valentine’s. Immediately my spirits perk up as I recognize the man walking to the weight area across from me. He is, in simplest terms, the hottest man I’ve ever seen. He’s a regular at this gym and has been for a few years now. In fact…wait a minute. Oh damn! It’s been three years exactly since I first saw him. Three years ago on Valentine’s Day. I remember that vividly because just a week before my then-asshole boyfriend broke up with me. Yeah, right before Valentine’s Day. He’d been cheating on me with a supposedly straight hunk from the next city over. I was so distraught I decided to go the gym that day to try for forget that I was single and broken-hearted that Cupid’s day. Alas, that day quickly turned brighter as me and the other lonely gym-goers were treated to our first look at a new member. That day three years ago he had strutted in with a large duffel bag slung around his beefy shoulders. He was wearing a sleeveless gray shirt. Instantly it became clear to anyone that he was the new top stud of this gym. I remember praying to God that he wasn’t just visiting, that he had in fact enrolled. It seemed God was smiling down on me that day. From my typical perch atop the treadmill I stole glances to the weight area to watch him workout. At first he warmed up as I studies his features. At the time he looked to be a thirty-something with a ruggedly handsome face that would’ve made me feel extremely self-conscious if it weren't for the fact that it was also so welcoming. While his face exuded masculinity with his strong jaw, deep set eyes and wide brow, it also had a certain softness to it. He didn’t have the razor sharp looks of a male model, but frankly, the deep cut cheekbones never did much for me. I much preferred the handsome, approachable, next door, jock look…and hello Mr. Former-High-School-Quarterback. Or perhaps he’d been a linebacker with as naturally thick as his frame was, noticeable even under the blanket of muscles that coated him. To top it off he was rocking a short, clean cut beard that covered his cheeks, chin and wrapped around his mouth. No thick straggly wild beard on him, though he oozed enough testosterone he could easily grow one if he wanted. But no, it looked professionally groomed. On top of his head his hair was similarly trimmed. Short but not buzzed with just enough length to allow for slight upward styling toward the front. On that day his beard was mostly dark brown…but in the years since his beard and the sides of his head had started to just subtly become sprinkled with flecks of grey, which only emphasized his experienced sexual aura. As if he weren’t hot enough when he first walked in three years ago. As he warmed up that fateful historic day one of the gym’s trainers, Brienne, stopped by to welcome him to our facility. I had gotten to know Brienne fairly well during my years attending the gym so I made sure to have a chat with her after my workout to discuss this new slab of steak. As they spoke I saw him smile to here and holy mother… The corners of his cheeks spread outward as his sparkling straight teeth exposed themselves. A perfect smile. It just did not seem fair for the rest of manhood that such a perfect specimen could exist. And I haven’t even started talking about his body! What a body. It was a body that matched his face. While Brienne was a short woman, he towered over her indicating to me that he was well over 6 ft tall. I would later learn 6 ft 3 to be exact. Examining his exposed arms, which were rippling, vascular and tanned, along with the way his pecs pressed against his shirt and how his legs hugged his sweatpants, it was clear he was exceptionally developed. With my years of experience of ogling musclemen online I had pegged him at about 250-260 lbs comparing him to some other tall bodybuilders I stalked...er, "followed" on social media. His vascularity lead me to surmise that he was around or just under 10% bodyfat, meaning that he was impressively muscular. No doubt legitimate amateur bodybuilder big. That day he was doing a full body routine. A bit odd for a lifter of his caliber but I had guessed that he was simply taking the day to familiarize him with his new gyms’ weights and machines. Nonetheless, he attacked every exercise with fervor and worked up quite a sweat, soaking his gray shirt and giving his meaty arms a nice sheen. I was sad to depart the the treadmill once my session was complete since he had only worked about half of his muscle groups, but I forced myself to leave. I did not want to give away my muscle-stalker tendencies just yet. On the way out I stopped by the front desk for a quick chat with Brienne. As she saw me approach she mouthed the words “OH MY GOD” indicating her shared awe of the sexy stud. “Ok, Brienne, who is THAT guy?” “Oh you know, Miller. Can’t share that, gym privacy policy!” “You bitch. Spill the beans.” Brienne giggled before looking around. “His name is Hank Walker. Just moved here from Montana.” “Uhhh, of course it’s a hyper masculine name like that. And of course he's a huge sexy mountain man.” “He’s 34 years old and yes, he’s joining our gym.” “Perfect! Just three years older than me…” “Whatever, Miller, that daddy is gonna be mine!” “Ugh. You’re probably right. Guys like him are guaranteed to be straight.” And thus, that day three years ago started my stalker-ish obsession with Hank. We both tended to workout right after work, before the gym became busy with the younger crowd a bit later in the evening. And now that Hank was a regular member I was sure to avoid adjusting my schedule as much as possible. I wanted every opportunity I could to watch him workout from the safety of my treadmill. Of course, a couple of times a week I was afforded the opportunity to get nearer to him when I did my weights routine. It would take all my strength of will not to stare at him as he would lift on the bench next to me. Watching him workout was pure porn for me. I’m purely a muscle lover. When I watch porn, my favorite parts tend to be the foreplay where the guys flex and feel each other. I’ve never understood why so many porn studios hire these big muscular guys and then spend 90% of the video doing closeups of the penetration. Such a waste. Watching Hank’s muscles bunch and flex was hypnotizing, not just to me but to the other gym goers. Those first few weeks he was stopped often by other lifters complimenting him, asking for advice and just generally wanting to be next to this magnetic man. To his credit, he never once lost patience with them and was happy to engage with his new gym family. And if his new admirers lingered too long he would politely excuse himself back to his own workout. Not only was he tall, huge, handsome, he was extremely friendly and good-natured as well… Seriously, fuck this guy, right?!? He’s probably hung like a horse too. And judging by that full bulge, that seemed likely as well. I’ll never forget when he came up to talk to me one hump day afternoon. I was doing my fast paced walk on the treadmill to get warmed up. At this point he had been working out at my gym for a few months and we had exchanged a few silent nods in passing. The gym was especially deserted this Wednesday night and it was just us two and couple of older women using the machines. As I fidgeted with the controls I heard a deep sultry voice that would rival Sam Elliot and James Earl Jones. “Wow, dead in here isn’t it, treadmill guy.” His voice sent shivers down my spine as I turned my head to see his inviting face. I’d been eyeballing him for some time by now from the side but this was the first time I had looked him straight on. Of course, I noted how even though I was elevated six inches up on the treadmill this perfect man was tall enough that I was looking him right in the eyes. And those beautiful hazel yes. And his perfect symmetrical face. Somehow I found my resolve to address him. “”Treadmill guy?’” “Well yeah, I swear I see you on this treadmill every day.” “Well I supposed I’ll call you ‘dumbbell guy’ since you use them every day.” Instantly my throat tightened up, afraid that I had offended this titan. Thankfully he chuckled and his pecs rippled under his shirt. “Fair enough. I’m Hank. Thought I might as well say hi since I see you here all the time. Great dedication you got.” “Well that’s very nice of you to say since…um…you are obviously very dedicated too.” He grinned as I took the opportunity to scan him. “You are one big dude, Hank.” “Big is the goal! I guess you could say I dabble in bodybuilding.” With that he squared his shoulders with a half-flex. And yet with just that minor tensing he seemed to expand another six inches wider. “I’d say you more than dabble. You’re the biggest guy at this gym for sure.” He thanked me before one of those awkward, new acquaintance silences occurred. “Well it’s nice to meet you, Hank. I’m Miller,” I replied, hoping I had successfully hidden the fact that I knew his name months ago. “Treadmiller,” he spoke. “I’m sorry.” “So you’re Treadmiller. Ya know, Treadmill guy. Treadmiller.” “How very clever.” He smiled and laughed again. “Well that will help me remember your name. Don’t be a stranger, Treadmiller!” And with that he turned and sauntered to the free weights, letting me take in his expansive back and hugely bubbled ass. How could a guy so tall have and ass and legs that big? It’s not fair. From then on we would smile and wave to each other. I was more than happy to make any sort of connection to Hank. I was fully smitten. There wasn’t much more exciting to me than getting to watch Hank workout. One of my favorite things about him was that he was a true bodybuilder. I mean, anybody could see that he was a bodybuilder, sure. But he was constantly building his body. What I mean is, he was always GROWING. He wasn’t a body-maintainer. He was always building himself bigger and bigger. And sexier. Seeing him several times a week, at first it was hard to notice. Like any small changes to your own body that can occur, when you are familiarized with something it can be difficult to see progress. But over time it became apparent with little clues here and there. For example, when he did leg days he liked to wear this old light-orange Sunkist t-shirt that still had the sleeves. I could see why he wore it. He looked good in anything but the way that light fabric hugged his pecs, and delts, the way the sleeves perfectly hugged his biceps and triceps, was enough to make me gasp. It was one of those massive shirts that draped on his physique yet still evidenced the bulges underneath. Over some weeks I had thought I had seen that shirt get tighter and tighter…and then one day he came in and the sleeves were torn off. And he proceeded to do an arm workout. I had surmised that he had grown too big for it to be ‘comfortably’ loose so it had graduated into his repertoire of sleeveless upper body workout shirts. Not to mention the fact that he was lifting heavier and heavier weights. When he first started at our gym I remember watching in awe as he benched 355 lbs for a solid set of 10. It was when that had increased to 405 for 12 that I really gave his body a good look. Ok I always did that, but I started paying more attention. And sure enough, his pecs bulged outward and seemed to be crashing into his delts and biceps more and more when he was standing there relaxed. His traps were thickening and rising slightly higher and higher, creeping up his neck which was also expanding. His legs and ass, already enormous, had made some truly tremendous gains. Not to mention the fact the day Brienne had told me Hank had convinced the gym owner to purchase a set of 150, 175 and 200 lb dumbells! So he was constantly growing. Bigger and stronger. Hotter and sexier with each passing year. I noticed that he never had an offseason either. There were a few big guys at my gym, some who had even competed. It was something to watch all my former gym muses, the former biggest and studliest guys gather around and watch and gawk at Hank while he did his workouts. Ray whatshisname? Tyler whocares? They were like little boys next to Hank. My former muses often seemed to have cycles where they would bloat up to bulk and then cut down. Sometimes they would put on a ton of weight all at once, with a lot of fat baked in as well. But Hank…it’s like he was always one or two months out from a competition. He just slowly but steadily grew bigger and more muscular while never losing his striations, definition and vascularity. Knowing that he was always growing fueled my masturbatory sessions many times. Ok, in truth it was probably 75% of the time. Maybe 90%. Shut up, the guy was fucking HOT. And so back to the present day… As I ramped up my treadmill Hank made his way into the weight room. Glancing at me he give me a one hand salute and I returned the gesture. He must be in a bit of a hurry today, often he stops by to say a quick hi. I wonder with it being Valentine’s Day if he has a hot date tonight. Tonight is going to generate and excellent fantasy situation for me, I can already tell and my brains starts to run wild with the possibilities. One nice thing about Hank is that watching him is the perfect beginning for any fantasy. After he warms up he makes his way the dumbbells and an individual flat bench. Today is going to be a treat for me, I can tell. I had long ago memorized his workouts and I quickly recognized from his stretches and warmup sets that today was going to be a chest and biceps day. After some ‘light’ warmup sets with the 80 lb to 100 lb dumbbells that he stood up and stripped off his baggy t-shirt. Oh yes. A treat indeed. Hank was wearing a blank stringer-T that draped off his glorious tanned muscles, the tiny straps having no chance of covering any of his expansive torso. His traps and pecs were so large the straps left a deep gap under them like a rope bridge spanning a deep crevice. As I mentioned earlier, Hank was always growing and today he was in full on bodybuilder mode. Big, pumped and defined already and he was just starting. Even his shorts, which were by no means intended to be skin tight, hugged his massive legs and ass due to his hugeness. I watched with lust as he worked his way up to the 120s, 150s, 175s… then the biggest dumbbells in the gym…the 200 lb monsters. And his titanic body handled the weight masterfully. Each rep was performed with form and precision. Each time he pushed the weights up slowly yet forcefully, his pectoral pillows bunched upwards creating a deep ravine in between. Even though each rep was perfect, Hank would let out these deep sexy grunts of effort and his skin would flush and moisten with sweat. After his last rep he set the dumbbells down and even through the treadmill I could feel the THUD as 400 lbs were suddenly set on the ground. Mind you, he didn’t drop the weights, but setting down two 200 lb weights, it’s impossible not to cause a slight tremor. I swooned as I realized he could bench TWO of me easily, one in each hand. After racking the massive cylinders he quickly moved on to barbell bench press. Most gym bros start with this but in his current routine the intent was to go lighter and do more reps to force more blood into those pecs. Of course, if you’d never seen Hank bench, you would assume this was his first lift of the day. Why? Because he slapped plate after plate after plate on each side of the bar. Even after a few set of heavy dumbbell presses Hank proceeded to work up to a 405 lb bench press of 3 sets of 15. Just incredible power. My dick thickened as I listened the four plates on each side of the bar rattle and clang against each other. It was a white noise that signaled size and power were being built. By now Hank's shoulders and triceps were also pumped up due to their secondary support. After the last set he stood up, looked in the mirror and brought his elbows together to flex his pecs. Though he had a body to be one, Hank was not one of those gym bros who full on poses in the mirror. At least not in the middle of the weight room. Nonetheless as a sculptor of sinew he new how to examine himself and make sure his muscular clay was being molded as he saw fit. He moved on to incline dumbbell flies which afforded me another dick plumping view of his pecs mounding upward. I of course made a mental note how he was using the 80 lb dumbbells for flies, where most men couldn’t even simply flat bench that amount, including myself. He was power. He was masculinity. He was pure sex. He finished up his chest pump with with some elevated pushups to give himself a deep finishing burn. You would think a man of his size would struggle having to push that much bodyweight, but he proceeded to pump out 3 sets of 43, 37, and 34 reps respectively, but who’s counting? Me. I counted and watched every rep of my dream man’s workout. By now his pecs were jutting, swollen and red with pump. The tiny stringer left his perfect, perky nips exposed, though they weren’t always easy to see since his pecs were so large that his nips pointed downward. And so, after just 27 minutes he was done with his chest pump workout and what a pump it gave him. Now it was time for biceps. What self respecting muscle lover doesn’t enjoy a good biceps workout? Or better yet, watching an 37 year old uber stud complete a biceps workout. Hank started out with some hammer curls, the mass builders. Again he worked his way up the dumbbell rack pumping the big weights simultaneously with both arms. I took note how Hank rarely spent time down near the smaller weights. It was like anything under 40 lbs had little use for him. He finished his fourth set by eeking out 11 reps with the 90 lbs dumbbells. By now the effort was clear on his face. His chiseled face scrunched up and he squinted his eyes as he grueled his way through each rep. And if you thought he might have an ugly heavy-effort face you obviously have not been reading this story. Even his effort face was sexy as hell. The sets had their intended affect as his arms seemed to have added an inch or two just from the initial pump. Being such a tall and built guy, his arms easily had to have been over 20 inches when he started, he was probably now flirting with 22s or even 23s. Next he grabbed and easy-bar and loaded it up with 155 lbs and began to curl the taxed metal bar over and over. Now that he had worked out his overall arm thickness, the easy bar targetted those massive peaks. Peaks that I wanted to run my tongue over. And don’t get me started on that cephalic vein. What had started as a licorice-sized vein had engorged to something more akin to an air compressor hose. Arm muscles that enormous required a large diameter tube to transport the blood and nutrients to fuel his growth. While he was already vascular, by this point in the workout his body had become a network of veins threatening to break away from his engorged body. He shook out his arms and I watched mesmerized as the unflexed meat of his triceps swayed and wobbled. I swear even from across the gym I could feel the air being displaced by the movements of such a muscular titan. He finished up with preacher curls, this time lightening up the weight and ‘only’ using the 55 lb dumbbells. To really blast those peaks upward toward the sky. Even from my vantage point I could make out he split between the two muscle heads that give the biceps their name. After the third set Hank returned the weights to the rack and once again shook out his arms before flexing them to tightness at his side. His workout was one of the most erotic things I had ever seen. Sure, I’d spied him lifting before, but as he was continuously growing, this was the biggest and most pumped I’d ever seen him. Shit, even his legs looked pumped even thought this was all upper body. But when you pour as much effort into every rep, every set, as he does, it’s clear that an overall residual pump had been created. Hank then grabbed an elastic band and proceeded to some quick stretches to make sure all his mobility was intact. I sighed as my boner pressed against my hip, sad that he would be departing soon. Hank's workouts were always focused and expeditious, but today’s was even a step faster. Perhaps for this lovers holiday he had some lucky girl waiting for him tonight and he was in a hurry to get to her. Bitch. In my developing fantasy this hyper masculine man would be heading my direction as soon as his workout was finished and smother me with his muscles... By now my typical 45 minutes of cardio were up and I had slowed down the treadmill to a warm down walk. I prepared myself for Hank's departure but spotted him walking my way. My heart started beating faster as he neared. He usually left right after his weight session so I rarely got to see him at his biggest. All pumped. Sweaty. Massive. As he approached he looked me right in eye and gave me a warm smile. What could he possibly want with me? This tall, sexy bodybuilder could have anybody- “Are you getting lost in that pretty little head of yours again, babe?” He interrupted me with a smirk. The sexiest, most lust-filled smirk you can imagine. “Well don’t take too much more time in that head of yours, we’ve got that reservation tonight at the Red Orchid.” He chuckled and rested his big arms on the bars of the treadmill. Being this close I was bathed in his workout scent. A powerful aroma of testosterone, sweat, musk and a hint of deodorant. “I- I was just watching you workout.” His grin widened. Fuck he was smoldering when he smiled. “So you WERE having a gym fantasy, watching little ole me lift?” “I can assure you there is NOTHING little about you.” He glanced at his pumped pecs and arms, then back to my yearning face. His smirk returned an he proceeded to bounce his pecs before raising his left arm and flexing a titanic biceps in front of me. For me. I said nothing but I’m sure at least 3 oz of drool fell out of my mouth. “You’re right, Miller. Everything on me seems to be BIGGER than ever. It must be the affect my adorable husband has on me. He makes me want to grow and grow for him.” I caught my breath and was finally able to speak. “And nothing excites your husband than watching his big sexy bodybuilder man grow bigger.” This time is was Hank's turn to close his eyes and maintain control. “You are so sexy, Miller, I can’t even tell you how much I love you and your tight power packed body. Even though I dwarf you there is nothing sexier to me. And I know you love my size and power. In fact, I got a quick surprise for you babe. Guess what.” Though nothing could ever top the surprise when he proposed to me 16 months ago, any surprises Hank had given me in the past ultimately led to very exciting things, so I was eager to know what he was up to... “What?” “I did it.” “You did it? You did what?” I looked at him as he smirked at me. He stepped back and proceeded to perform a side chest pose. Then a most muscular, his face scrunching as he let out a alpha growl. He his all his poses with graceful fluidity. His flexed muscles exploded even bigger. His posing always took my breath away and I drooled some more as I took in his size. Size. A lot of size. Suddenly it dawned on me. “WAIT…you did…IT??” “Fuck yeah, babe. I finally crossed the barrier. Weighed in at 303 lbs this morning naked.” “UNNNNNNNNN” I was unable to contain my moan and I felt my rock hard dick leak. It was a goal that my husband, with obvious support from me, had had since we started dating two years ago. Way back when Hank was just a “small’ 257 lb bodybuilder. “Oh Hank. You are so damn sexy. And so BIG. You’ve got me raging for you, my big man. We might have to skip that dinner so I can ravage you right now!” I walked up to my hulking husband and wrapped my lithe arms around his titanic torso, pushing my cheeks against his pumped pectorals. From his six inch height advantage he leaned me back, leaned down and smothered my face with his mouth, his beard sexily scratching at my shaved cheeks. Even his tongue was pure power as he used its size to dominate my smaller warm mouth. My arms felt all around his pumped muscles, squeezing and groping the various rock hard masses on his body, being moistened by the sheen of sweat that coated him. I broke myself free of his hovering mouth, reached under his arms and pushed his triceps upward. With a smile he caught on and brought both arms up into a Mr. Olympia worthy double-biceps pose. I smashed my face into his right arm, licking the warm pulsating mass. I was soon sliding my mouth up and under his arm until I buried my face in his armpit and inhaled. My big man moaned deep and heavy from above. “Shit babe, if we don’t stop we are going to give the gym’s cameras a porno show.” “It would be worth it! You're just too hot, Hank.” I reached down and grabbed his bulge through his shorts. Like the rest of him it was over-sized, of course. Seriously, fuck this guy, right? Yes. And I had gotten to. Often. It’s ok to be jealous. I loved how I could make his enormous body shudder as I grabbed his thick, perfectly cylindrical cock. Like the rest of him it was big, almost nine inches long. And let me assure you, those inches were not those elongated "gay inches" either. He wasn’t actually 7 inches. His unit was legitimately a huge monster cock at just under nine pure inches. Hank grabbed my shoulders and pushed me back, holding me at arm’s length. I could see the fight in his eyes, he wanted this to continue as much as me, but alas, we had a reservation at the most expensive restaurant in town. “I promise you, Miller. You will get to explore every inch of this massive 300 pound body after dinner…that is, right after I hold you down and lick every square inch of yours.” My body shuddered as I pictured my future. I regained my composure and calmed my heartbeat. “You’re right. We can do it. We can control ourselves for the two hours, right? RIGHT?!” We both laughed. It would be a tough mission for both of us. “Plus the idea of seeing your massiveness in that suit of yours is too much to pass up.” “Attaboy. And you know, that suit was tailored for me when I was just 275 lbs…so it’s gonna be extra tight now.” I rolled my eyes back again and moaned. “And for being such a good sport, I’ll even wear my posing trunks under the suit for when you undress me after dinner.” "The blue shiny ones? Those are my favorite." "You got it, babe." Thank god the gym this Valentine’s Day was deserted. I’m sure two dudes throwing massive wood in the middle of the gym floor went against gym policy. “I can’t wait, Hank. I love you.” “I love you too, Miller. Happy Valentine’s Day, babe.”
  3. musclegin30

    m/m The Muscle Gut Club (A Novel)

    Synopsis: Aron is an 18 year-old muscle obsessed college freshman who masturbates to muscular guys online. His favorite videos to watch are those of The Muscle Gut Club, four muscle gods who make a living sharing their size and strength with the online world. Steven is a muscle obsessed college junior who likes The Muscle Gut Club videos as well, though he hates himself for enjoying something so blatantly homosexual. Life becomes complicated for them both when the club leaps from the cyber world and into the real one. Aron goes down a path that leads to his wildest fantasies, while Steven takes a darker road. There will be muscle worship; there will be sex; there will be humiliation; there will be revenge; and there will be growth. No ones lives with be the same, including those of the club members in this 38 chapter long, muscle filled, character driven story told from 6 characters' points of view. Come and meet The Muscle Gut Club. Chapter One: Aron Aron Ocampo sat in his darkened room with only the faint glow of his laptop screen illuminating his face. His cock was in his right hand, dripping with pre-cum and steadily growing harder becoming so engorged with blood that it almost hurt. A pleasurable hurt. In his other hand, a tube of lotion, ready to lubricate his manhood. On the laptop he watched intently as a muscle stud moved closer to the camera filling more and more of the screen with his immense size. He was standing in a Starkly decorated living room. Clad only in a tiny red poser that could barely contain his bulging manhood the young muscle monster began to flex. His neck was astonishingly thick. It blended into two mountainous traps that met two cannonball delts. His arms were 19 inches around and framed a pair of perfect slab-like pecs that jutted out so far you could eat off of the shelf they created. He struck a front double bicep pose followed by a most muscular. The muscle god was not lean, but Aron didn’t care. He liked his men big and this fine specimen fit the bill. His muscle gut stuck out just past his pecs, obviously stuffed with a large high protein meal to fuel the muscle bull’s growth. Aron began to slowly stroke his erect little cock. The camera panned down to focus on the muscle god’s thick legs. They were like tree trunks. The monster legs were so big they almost made the meat between them look small, but Aron knew that was only an illusion. That cock was not small. He had seen it many times before. Aron stroked himself faster now. There came a knock. The muscle monster swaggered over to the door and opened it revealing a tiny pale twink, so skinny and short it was laughable but Aron couldn’t laugh. He was just like him, a pathetically small and weak boy who could never compare to a real man like the muscle god who made his cock throb with pleasure. “You came to worship me, your master?” The muscle god’s voice was deep and he spoke with authority. “Yes master,” Said the twink, clearly intimidated. He wore nothing, save for a pair of boxers. Aron wished he was in his position and could be in the presence of such impressive muscle. Lucky bastard he thought The muscle god pulled the twink into the room with one powerful arm so fast that the little fellows feet momentarily left the floor. He landed approximately six inches from the muscle god. The twink’s head only reached his master’s chest. He looked like a schoolboy next to a full-grown man. The muscle man’s biceps were bigger than his legs! Aron continued to stroke himself, slower now. He had to pace it just right. The muscle god handed the little twink a bottle of baby oil. “Get to it shrimp,” he said with a grin as he flexed his huge arms. He looked at his muscle obviously impressed with himself. “God, I’m fucking big,” he bellowed. The little shrimp began to oil his muscle master. He rubbed and caressed each body part. The pecs seemed to be his favorite part and he paid them special attention. He got on tippy toes to kiss them up and down as the muscle god squeezed and relaxed. Squeezed and relaxed. The twink began to suck on the nipples making the muscle god moan with pleasure. “Oh yeah, worship my monster pecs.” “Yes master.” The twink’s little cock was growing pushing out the fabric of his boxers. The muscle monster’s cock was growing as well, straining his tiny posers. Aron began to stroke his manhood faster now. The climax was coming and he wanted to time it perfectly. “You worship my muscles well. Now how about you worship this.” The muscle god grabbed his bulge. At-least 2 inches of his cock was sticking out of the top of his posers. “Fuck ‘em,” said the muscle monster as he pulled off his posers with a loud RIP revealing his 8-inch python. “I outgrew them months ago.” “They fit perfectly to me,” said the twink with a smile. “Shut-up and suck,” commanded the muscle god. He pushed down on the twink’s shoulders and the little guy collapsed to his knees. Almost as fast as he hit the ground he had the cock in his mouth and began to suck with enthusiasm and glee. Aron watched longingly. God, I wish it was me. The twink deep-throated the whole cock, sucking it and pleasing it from balls to tip. He twisted his head from side to side working the thick veiny shaft with such skill that the muscle god was high on pleasure. He threw his head back and moaned, “yes, yes!” Aron was stroking his own cock in almost perfect rhythm with the twink’s sucking motions. The spasms came slow at first and then faster. He was about to blow. “I’m coming. I’m coming,” the muscle monster began to shout. The twink stopped sucking. Still on his knees he looked up at the towering behemoth above him. Its cock aimed square at his face. The twink closed his eyes. Aron closed his eyes. The muscle god blew several huge loads all over the twink’s face. Aron shot his cum into a strategically placed garbage can under his desk. Aron loosed the grip on his cock and took in a few deep breaths. Some cum had made its way onto his hand and he was sweating slightly. The twink’s face was covered in a layer of muscle man spunk, thick and creamy white. He looked like he fell head first into a bowl of yogurt. It oozed by his eyes and dripped from his chin. The twink began to lick the warm cum from his face. “That’s right boy. Suck it all in. You aint leaving here until every drop of that cum is in you.” The huge stud placed his hands on his muscle gut and began to laugh as the twink continued to eat his cum with audible MMMs. The screen went black and Aron was left feeling empty now that the video had ended. He knew it was only a 10-minute video when he purchased it for $50, yet somehow he thought it would go on longer, or at least hoped as much. He had purchased the video from the Muscle Gut Club website. The Muscle Gut Club was a group of four college aged men dedicated to growing their bodies and sharing their progress with adoring fans the world over. With a combination of free youtube videos showcasing their lives and hardcore videos on their for sale site, they took the Internet’s muscle fetish community by storm. The four muscle gods lived together, ate together, and pumped iron together. Aron made his way over to the club’s youtube page, and clicked on one of their older videos: Muscle Gut Club Protein Bloat. The whole club was sitting on a huge black leather sofa. Edmund Moreno, the junior competitive bodybuilder, sat on the far left. His dark brown locks fell just to his earlobes His tanned skin and square jaw were to die for. In the middle sat the two muscle bears, the weightlifters, Brendon Lane and Daniel Hogan. Brendon was smaller here than in the video Steven had just paid $50 for. He still had the same mocha skin, short neatly trimmed beard, and bloated muscle gut. Daniel, the Irish American was pale, hairy, and sported a lumberjack style beard. On the far right sat Thomas Patel, the Indian fitness model and physique competitor. He was by far the smallest of the bunch, the only one under 6 feet and 200 pounds, but his 160 pounds of lean muscle packed on a 5 foot 8-inch frame made him an impressive site. Thomas was hairless save for the short, neatly combed black hair on the top of his head. All four of the studs were wearing nothing but briefs (strained at the seams). In front of them was a table filled with high protein delights. There was a family sized bucket of KFC fried chicken, four steak fajitas, a pound of crispy bacon, 8 hamburgers, and a platter of bbq wings piled so high as to form a mountain in the center of the table. Aron was always impressed by the club’s eating ability and this video was over one-year-old. Surely they could eat twice this now since they had all grown. Edmund was the first to speak. He spread his arms wide. “We are going to eat all of this. It’s enough food for 16 normal people, but we aren’t normal. We’re fucking gods.” He flexed his biceps and the other’s followed suite, though his had the most impressive peaks of the bunch. “What are we celebrating boys?” asked Edmund. “My powerlifting meet,” said Daniel. “The success of my photoshoot,” said Thomas. “Being the biggest motherfucker here,” shouted Brandon with a pat of his gut and a laugh. “And I’m celebrated the end of my bulk. After this it’s time to get shredded for my next competition,” said Edmund, “let’s feed these muscles”. At once these half naked muscle gods greedily dove into the food like they hadn’t eaten in days. Bite after bite, so fast it was a wonder no one got hurt. They grabbed and shoved and gnawed in the sexiest spectacle of gluttony on the web. Four alphas feeding their growing physiques, trying to satiate their oversized appetites. The club members began to rub and pat each other’s distended bellies, laughing at, and admiring the damage done. Aron was growing hard again, and so were the members of the club. The gentle creak of Aron’s bedroom door opening startled him. He quickly closed the video. His heart raced. Mrs. Rita Ocampo, Aron’s mother, entered the dim room and stood just inside the door. She wore a silk night gown and a tired expression. “It’s 1 am,” she said. “Yeah.” Aron did not turn around. He slyly slid his cock back into his pants. “What were you doing Aron?” “Nothing! Just getting ready for bed.” Aron closed his laptop and turned around with a pout. “Can you knock next time mom. You know I’m old enough for some privacy.” His room had no lock. Parent’s rules. “You still live under my roof.” Not for long. “But I will knock next time,” She said, rolling her eyes. When his mother had gone Aron took a deep breath. One of his biggest fears was his parents discovering him watching gay porn or any material that could be seen as homoerotic in nature. Aron discovered he was gay, or rather accepted the fact, when he was 16. His parents had no clue to their son’s true nature as far as he knew and Aron did everything he could to keep it that way. His parents did not approve of the lifestyle and considered it a terrible sin. He had had hopes of sitting his parents down on his 18th birthday and telling them the truth, but his 18th came and went 2 months ago with not a peep. Instead he remarked to a classmate, within earshot of his father, how hot his neighbor’s 19-year-old daughter was, all in an attempt to keep the façade intact. It doesn’t matter. In a month I’ll be in college, free to do what I want and be what I want. Aron smiled at the thought as he crawled into bed, before drifting into a dream land populated with muscle men. Chapter Two: Steven Steven Hess stood naked in his cramped bathroom facing the mirror. His expression was one of disappointment. In 3 weeks I’ll be back in college with this same pathetic body, he thought. Standing at an even 6 feet, with a flabby 180 build, he not an impressive sight. Clothed, he could suck in his paunch and pass for fit to the untrained but here, standing naked there was no hiding his lack of definition. He grabbed at 3 inches of flab on his stomach and shook it with a frown. He performed a front double bicep only to discover there was hardly any peak on his 14.5 inch arms. He was disgusted and only grew more disgusted the longer he stared at his reflection. Still he stared. He squeezed his soft pale pecs and flexed his invisible abs. He left the bathroom in a huff and proceeded to get dressed in a pair of blue denim shorts and a light gray t-shirt. Steven sat at his computer desk. A few thin rays of morning sun speckled his shirt, warming him. But Steven did not want to be warm. He got up to turn on his air conditioner and close his blinds, choosing to sit in cool darkness. Muscle Gut Club. The thought seemed to come from nowhere. Muscle Gut Club. An inner voice seemed to call out for him to watch their videos. I thought these urges were gone. I thought I was cured of these sinful thoughts. He shook his head in anger. Steven had first discovered the club’s videos when he was 18, two years ago. He had started working out at the time and the club served as motivation for him. Their early videos consisted of mostly flexing, workouts, and eating. Steven hoped to look like them. However, his efforts proved fruitless. After eight months in the gym he had gained 10 pound and half of that he believed to be fat. Steven came to the conclusion that the club members must be on steroids, that anyone with big muscles must be on steroids. Steven had decided he would never defile his body with such impure and dangerous compounds so he quit that working out business. Still, he continued to watch Muscle Gut Club videos, even as they grew more sexual in nature. Where once the club would do a video fully clothed (very tight clothes of course) they would now do them in boxer briefs. Steven masturbated to several of their videos, especially the ones focused on Edmund, the bodybuilder. I’m not gay. I’m not gay. I’m just hormonal and young. Everything makes me horny. There’s nothing wrong with this he would tell himself. The more he said it, the less he believed it until he forced himself to stop watching Muscle Gut Club videos once and for all. His abstinence lasted all of a week when he discovered that he went to the same college as the club. There videos were filmed off campus in a private home so there was nothing in them to give away the location. There was no hiding their faces, though. Steven was walking to the dining hall and the four muscle gods walked towards him, Brendon, Thomas, Daniel, and Edmund, Oh Edmund. From that point on Steven was at war with his homosexual desires. Now he sat in is dim room faced a decision. Listed to the voice: Muscle Gut Club or fight it. He chose to listen. I’ll stop tomorrow. It’s no big deal. Steven opened his laptop and immediately went to the clubs YouTube channel. He would not pay for one of their videos. He scrolled through and selected the video titled “Edmond Dominates Benny the Twink.” He stopped himself. No, no. You’re not a faggot Steven. Stop this. Yes, you are. You’re just a muscle loving faggot who’ll never have any muscle of his own. No I’m not, I have a girlfriend. Yes, you are, she’s just a cover. No I’m not! Steven slammed the computer screen shut. “Goddammit,” Steven shouted as he bolted up from his desk. Pacing the room, he hummed to silence the voices making war in his head. Steven had just woken up but now he eyed his bed, contemplating it. Rest may help me. I’ll just close my eyes. He slid under the covers. In no time he was lost in sleep and a dream took him. Steven could not tell where he was, outside or in. A dry fog surrounded him and obscured the boundaries of his vision. Is it day or night? He lay on scarlet satin seats in black pajama bottom with no top. A roll of soft fat curled over the pajama’s waistband as he leaned up to further survey is surroundings. The bed was so large that the edges of it were lost in the fog. The thought to roll entered his mind and so he did it. He rolled and rolled like a child in the grass but stopped when he realized he would not reach the end. He peered deep into the fog. A shadow seemed to take form in the haze. It moved towards him, slowly. “Hello,” Steven called out. No reply. Still the shadow moved closer, growing larger and clearer. “Hello,” he called again. “Where am I? What is this place?” Again there was no reply. The figure was nearly upon him. It was clearly that of man, tall with broad shoulders. The fog seemed to part before him and Steven saw his face. It was Edmund Moreno. His chiseled jawline could have been carved from stone. Edmond stared at Steven with is light brown eyes. His lips formed a cocky smile. He wore a charcoal grey suit with a white shirt unbuttoned at the top. A gold band was on his ring finger. Steven looked at his own hand and found a matching gold band that he had not noticed before. His heart skipped a beat. Edmund’s arms stretched the fabric of the shirtsleeves. His brood chest pulled at the material around the buttons. He unbuttoned his suit jacket and pealed it off his massive frame, then slowly undid each button on the white shirt, working his way lower until he had revealed his washboard abs. Steven had grown completely hard. He pushed his boner down in shame but the iron hard cock was too rigid. It could not be tamed. The muscle god flexed his biceps and ripped open the shirtsleeves along the seam before throwing the shirt into the fog. He motioned to undo his belt and as he did so his meaty pecs bounced with ever movement of his arms. Steven was now jerking off furiously to quell his raging boner. Edmund lowered his pants revealing meaty, striated thighs, and an impressive cock. It was thick, veiny and clearly rock hard but it was so large it hung low and heavy under its own weight. Every part of him was impressive. Steven salivated and rose to his knees, still beating his meat. Suddenly Edmund lunged forward, stopping just short of forcing Steven back. His mammoth manhood knocked Steven in the face. It was more impressive up close, truly a beautiful sight. Steven took it into his mouth and began to suck. He sucked with passion and desire as if there was nothing else he wanted, only that cock, only that moment. He stopped stroking his own cock and concentrated solely on the Stud standing above him. Edmund grabbed Steven’s hair and pushed his head further onto his muscle god cock. Steven gagged. His eyes filled with tears of pleasure. The rhythmic throbs came all at once. Edmund blew a forceful load into Stevens mouth, filling it with thick, warm, salty spunk. He swallowed it all with gusto and squeezed every last drop from that cock. When he was through he looked up at the muscle stud. Steven asked, “Got any more?” As if in answer Edmond bent over and picked Steven up with no obvious show of effort. He turned Steven over and ripped of the pajama bottoms, revealing a pale white ass that contrasted sharply with his own tanned skin. Edmond spit on his cock. Steven’s cheeks were parted by the massive manhood and his asshole was stretched to its limits. Edmund began to pound his ass with ferocity. Steven moaned in pleasure with each thrust. “More, more,” Steven screamed. Edmund blew his second load filling Steven’s ass with his seed. “Don’t stop!” Steven was breathing heavily. He turned and Edmund was gone. He was alone again with nothing but satin sheets and fog. All at once he heard a voice beside him. “Did you enjoy that faggot?” He turned toward the voice and was staring himself in the face. “Did you enjoy that faggot?” the voice repeated in echo. Steven woke with a start. He lay in his bed covered in a cold sweat. His manhood was rock hard. A feeling of disgust filled him, disgusted with himself, with that dream, no, nightmare. I’m not a faggot. I’m not a faggot. I’m not a faggot. He repeated the mantra as he got out of bed to carry on with his day. Three: Aron He struggled to lift his packed suitcase from the trunk of his parent’s SUV. It weighed 50 pounds, half his weight. His father, Mr. Efren Ocampo, helped him. Efren was a man of slight build and medium height, the same height as his wife in fact, 5 foot 8 inches. Both were taller than their 5 foot 5 inch son. “Son, you take this one.” He handed Aron a smaller bag and took the larger one himself. “It looks like those people are welcoming Freshmen,” said Aron’s father as he pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Come on honey.” Mrs. Ocampo sauntered up to stand by her husband. She wore large black sunglasses and a wide brimmed hat. It was an oppressively hot August day with not a cloud in the sky. The family began to walk toward the welcoming committee. Aron hurried in front of his parents, his arm straining under the weight of the ‘light’ suitcase. God I’m so weak. He switched arms and kept a straight face, refusing to show weakness. The welcoming committee in this section of the campus consisted of three girls and three boys standing behind a long table under the shade of a blue picnic tent. The table was covered with boxes containing shirts, hoodies, mugs, pens, and notebooks, all with the University logo. “Hi!” A girl said, beaming, as Aron surveyed the table. She wore a yellow t-shirt that read “Welcome Freshman” and her name tag read “Alyssa”. “We’ve sure got a hot one for moving in don’t we? So tell me what dorm you’re in and I can direct you- what’s your name?” “Aron.” She extended her hand and Aron shook it. He used the opportunity to put his bag down and rest his arm. “I’m Alyssa.” “Hi, uh, Alyssa. I’m in Jefferson dorm.” “Go down that path, past a big tree, make a right at the statue, and keep going straight. You’ll hit Jefferson. You can’t miss it.” She gesticulated wildly as she spoke. Mrs. Ocampo leaned on the table once Alyssa was finished. “The dorm has air conditioning right? Please tell me it has air conditioning. When we came for orientation they only showed us the new dorms and they have air conditioning, but I wonder if they are hiding something.” Mrs. Ocampo pulled her sunglasses down and stared Alyssa square in the eyes. “Well I know they added air conditioning to all the dorms 5 yrs ago but sometimes in the older dorms like Jefferson it can be a little iffy.” “Fair enough.” Mrs. Ocampo replied. Aron and his family followed Alyssa’s directions and arrived at the Doors of Jefferson. All of them were sweating profusely. Aron looked up the mammoth structure. Jefferson stood five stories and was in the shape of a huge capital “H”. English ivy clung to a brick façade and well-pruned cedars framed the main entrance. Aron had read that the first floor was all boys, the second, all girls, and the last three were co-ed. His room was 312, a co-ed floor to further his illusion of heterosexuality. In Jefferson’s main hall the Residential Assistants handed out the room keys as well as a pamphlet of rules. “Stay cool,” said a male RA as he handed Aron his key. “All even numbered rooms are on the left.” Everyone’s so friendly. I’m going to like it here, Aron thought. The building had no elevators and by the time the family reached the third floor they were all exasperated from the combination of carrying luggage and the heat. Aron opened his room door and saw that his Roommate was already present and had claimed the left side of the room. He was a tall, athletically built and Chinese. Aron remembered his name was Jason Ho and thought he was kind of cute. After a quick introduction (very quick, Jason was not the talkative type) Aron unpacked his bags and the Ocampos left for Walmart to pick-up a few things Aron would need, storage containers, an alarm clock, laundry hamper, lamp, and a small television. With Aron’s room all set up the Ocampos enjoyed one final family meal at a local restaurant, though Aron would have been satisfied had they left immediately after returning from Walmart. “That Alyssa was pretty cute, huh?” Mr. Ocampo said as he cut into a medium rare steak. “I saw the way you looked at her.” Aron had looked at her funny because of her over the top hand gestures. “I think she’s an upperclassman dad.” Aron replied. He couldn’t believe his father was playing matchmaker on his first day in college. “So what. There’s nothing wrong with an older woman.” “Efren!” Mrs. Ocampo snapped. “He’ll be focusing on school his first year. Romance later.” “I was just messing with him honey.” After the meal Aron’s parents dropped him off on campus. His mother had tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. “Call once a week,” she said. “We’ll miss you.” “If you need any money just call son,” said his father “Have fun and we love you, and learn something.” He hugged and kissed his parents and watched them drive off. Free at last. Free at last. Aron wasted no time exploring the campus. He had seen very little of it on orientation day and was curious to see everything it had to offer. It covered 1200 acres and Aron intended to cover as much of it as possible before dark. He was relieved that clouds had rolled in after lunch causing the heat to subside some. Jefferson dorm overlooked the East campus dining hall. Aron found it drab. It looked like a restaurant that had not been redecorated since the 80s. Not much food was available since Aron had visited between meals, but the food that was available (pizza, chicken tenders, mixed vegetables, and French fries) looked edible enough. As Aron walked down the campus’ main path (called Scholar’s Way) toward the heart of the campus he took in the sights and sounds of college. Students played ultimate Frisbee in an open field. Girls sunned themselves on towels discussing their summers. Two shirtless guys jogged by him and he tried his hardest not to stair too long. A hipster played his guitar under an oak tree. Aron didn’t recognize the tune. It hit all at once. A rush through him down to his bones: the realization that he would be living there with thousands of other students for 3 ½ months (until winter break). New friends. New experiences. And he was ready. He stopped in the center of the path and looked up at the clock tower of the student union. It was 2:30pm and in that moment he vowed not to waste his time in college. He wasn’t going to live life through a computer screen in some dark room. He would have real experiences: a real life. His lips lifted into the largest goofiest smile. He couldn’t remember the last time he smiled in earnest because he was happy and not just to cover his true feelings. He lowered his gaze from the clock tower and in an instant his smile was gone. In its place was an expression of shock. In the distance he saw a familiar shape. A hulking figure moved through the crowd. It couldn’t be. Could it? No. It couldn’t be him. Aron had to be sure. He ran through a crowd of students bumping into some. With rushed apologies, he pushed past them. His quarry was large, not easy to lose track of but Aron’s small stature meant that he could hardly see over other students. He had to be quick and luckily he was. The crowd grew thick the closer he got to the heart of the campus, the food court in the student union. Aron followed his quarry into the food court. He had heard they served much better food than the dining halls and the large crowd seemed to support this. There were several students taller than the one he was following but none wider or more thickly muscled. He wore a red tank top and white shorts with sandals. red certainly is his color. The food court was arranged in two sections. First a semi-circle with various eateries crammed side by side: a taco place, a bakery, a sub shop, a Chinese place, a smoothie stand, and a pizzeria. The second was a rectangular hall with tables of various sizes. His quarry stood in line at the sub shop and Aron positioned himself in line at the taco place, close enough to see him but far enough away not to be noticed. His heart raced as he looked to catch a glimpse of his face. Mocha skin and a well-trimmed beard. He had all the features. It was Brendon Lane. If Brendon goes to this school then the whole Muscle Gut Club must go here as well. Aron felt faint. He left his line without buying anything and made his way to the tables, choosing a seat in the corner that was obscured buy a support column. He felt like a creeper as he watched Brendon get his food with fascination. Apparently the appetite he displayed in his videos was not for show. He ordered two 12 inch sub sandwiches, and a giant size chocolate chip cookie from the sub shop, as well as a milkshake from the shake stand (apparently they offer to add protein powder to your shakes for an extra dollar, an option Brendon took). Brendon sat at a table by himself just within Aron’s sights. He ate with gusto and consumed all of the food within 10 minutes. Aron timed him. When Brendon rose he rubbed his distended muscle gut and smiled before exiting the food court. Aron had a choice to make, follow or not. It had long been Aron’s fantasy to meet the members of the muscle gut club. Now he had that opportunity. Should I take it? He masturbated himself raw to them. He had seen them all naked. What would I say to them? Hey, I like your cock. No. He knew he would probably be speechless, but still… I have to try. Aron rose and ran from the food court. He caught site of Brendon in the distance. Taking a deep breath, he set off behind him. Exploring the rest of the campus would have to wait. Four: Brendon He pushed the weight up with little effort for the fifteenth time. 250 pounds was just a warm up for him now, but two years ago as an 18-year-old freshman it would have been a struggle. At 18 he had been working out for 3 years (seriously for only half that time) and had developed a lean aesthetic physique that could have been the envy of any fitness model. He liked his abs. He liked his striations but he liked seeing the weigh on the bar go up even more. That year something in him clicked and strength not aesthetics became his main goal. Now he lay on the bench in the Muscle Gut Club’s private gym a stronger more robust version of his 18-year-old self. In two years he had grown 2 inches in height and gained 50 pounds. At 6 foot 3 inches and 230 pounds he had no abs but he didn’t care. He was stronger than he’d ever been and only wanted to grow in strength. Bigger. Stronger. Better. He was on a forever bulk. Brendon stood up from the bench. He wore a blue stinger that covered so little of his upper body that he might as well have been shirtless, and black compression shorts that could hardly contain his squat-grown ass. He picked up two 25 pound plates like they weighed nothing and added them to the 250 pounds already on the bar. He proceeded to bench the weight. One rep. Two reps…by the Tenth rep he was breathing heavy, but he managed to crank out two more reps before racking the 300 pounds with a loud clang. Still too light. His cock stirred at the thought. If he could do more than eight reps of a weight he knew he had to go heavier. After a three-minute rest and a drink of BCAAs he added a 10-pound weight and a 2.5-pound weight to each side. The bar now weighed 325 pounds and after a deep breath he lifted the bar. His arms shook slightly but he managed five reps with perfect form. He racked the weight and sat up slowly. Beads of sweat formed on his temples and trickled down the side of his face. His pecs were pumped full with blood (as was his cock). He rubbed them and bounced them, enjoying the sight of himself in the mirror. “Having fun?” A voice interrupted his self-muscle worship session. Daniel Hogan stood at the door with a cheeky grin. “Lifting heavy without a spotter again. You’re asking to get hurt.” Daniel moved closer to him. “I’m not pushing myself too hard.” Brendon said. “You should be if you’re gonna beat me at the meet” Daniel flexed his arms as he spoke. Brendon laughed then said, “First you’ll have to get up to my weight class and I warn you I’ll be heavier by the end of the year.” At 6 foot 1 inch and 215 pound Daniel did not have far to go. “I hadn’t planned on competing in your weight class.” Daniel looked at himself in the mirror before picking up two 60 pound dumbbells and curling them. “Aah, you’re too scared to compete head to head so you plan to dominate in a lower weight class. But tell me how’s our bet going to work. I thought the person who beats the other has to pay $500-” Daniel interrupted him. “No, my idea was the one who wins their weight class pays the other $500. Brendon shook his head and smiled. “Tell me Dan,” Brendon began, “What happens if we both win in our weight classes, or we both loose.” Daniel stopped curling and looked his friend dead in the eyes for a second. He pushed his lower lip out, squeezed his eyebrows together and moved his eyes rapidly from side to side as he always did when deep in thought. “Well I guess of we both win or lose then there’s no bet then is there?” “Guess not,” said Brendon, laying down on the bench. He didn’t really care about the bet. “Since you’re here and so worried about my safety, spot me on my pr.” “That’s a personal record for you?” Daniel pointed at the bar. “That only 325.” “No, you’re gonna make yourself useful and add 50 pounds to it. Thanks” “You’re fucking annoying,” Daniel said with a laugh. “I know.” When the weight was set Brendon took several deep breaths and grabbed the bar. Daniel placed his hands under the bar. “You got this man, light weight, light weight,” he said. Brendon lifted it with a deep grunt. Every muscle in his upper body tensed. He lowered the weight slowly to within one inch of his chest. When the time came to raise it he stalled. Don’t let the weight beat you. Beat it. Daniel began to apply upward pressure on the bar, but Brendon frowned at him and he immediately let loose keeping his hands a half inch under the bar. Slowly Brandon began to raise the 375 lbs. He flared his teeth and half way up stalled once more. Daniel touched the bar again. “No help” grunted Brendon. “Dude you’re going to pop something.” “No help!” He raised the bar further. Yes. Bigger. Stronger. Better. He completed the rep with a howl. Daniel cheered. After racking the weight Brendon sprung up from the bench. Daniel grabbed his arm and shook him. “375 fucking pounds man.” Brendon grabbed his hand and squeezed. “Who’s the man? Haha.” His head was in the clouds. He had hit a new personal record: The heaviest in the club. He peeled off his stringer and began to flex in the mirror. Daniel joined in. “That got me hungry.” Said Brendon “You’re always hungry.” Replied Dan That was true and he knew it. He was a bottomless pit, hungry for size and power, and he fed his appetite whenever he had the chance. “Want to get something to eat?” Brendon asked. “Nah, I just ate a pizza.” Dan rubbed his slightly distended muscle gut. “Ok. Peace, I’m out.” Brendon left the gym shirtless, carrying his stringer in his hand. He could feel Daniel’s eyes watching him as he left. No doubt he was ‘miring. Brendon had already eaten 6 scrambled eggs, 4 slices of bacon, 4 pieces of toast, and 2 bananas for breakfast, as well as a gainer shake just before his bench pressing session, but that didn’t stop him from stuffing himself at lunch. He ate two whole subs, an oversized cookie, and a milkshake in the student Union food court. On an average day he could consume 6000 calories and he certainly needed them. He lifted weights 6 days a week in the morning, focusing on a major lift or body part each time. 4 days a week in the afternoons he performed strong man style lifts for 2 hours: moving logs, farmer’s carries, tire lifts, atlas stones and the like. Today was one of those days. He decided to go home and take a nap to sleep off the meal. Then he would have another shake before heading to the Strong Man Center downtown. As he walked away from the Student Union, he felt a light tap on his shoulder and turned to find a short thin boy looking up at him. The little fellow had peanut color skin, almond shaped eyes, and black hair. He appeared to have some Asian origin. A freshman no doubt, lost. “Yeah. Can I help you?” The little fellow looked away when he caught Brendon’s gaze, then in an instant his eyes darted back to meet Brendon’s. He seemed nervous. “I…uh…my name is…I just want-” Brendon was growing impatient. “Are you lost?” he asked, uninterested. “No.” “Need help finding something?” “No.” There was a moment of silence. Jesus. What’s wrong with him? “Well it was nice meeting you,” Brendon said, sardonic. “But I got places to be.” “I like your videos!” The little guy blurted it out suddenly as Brendon turned away, louder than necessary, and so quickly the words blended together. “What?” Brendon raised his eye brows. “The, uh, Muscle Gut Club videos. I really like them, like… a lot.” The little fellow lowered his eyes to the ground as if he had admitted to grave sin and was now ashamed of himself. Brendon looked him over for a minute, before bursting out in laughter. He placed a large hand on the little guy’s shoulder and patted him so hard his frail body nearly keeled over. “Sorry about that, little guy, sometimes I don’t know my own strength.” Brendon had a huge grin on his face. “Why didn’t you just open with that? I love meeting fans. It doesn’t happen too often. Most of them live too far away and it’s not like we give out our address since a lot of them are creepers if you know what I man.” The little guy managed an awkward smile. He looked relieved. “Kid, you looked like you were worried I’d eat you, haha.” And I probably could if I was hungry enough and you were the only thing around. “So what’s your name?” Brendon continued. “Aron Ocampo.” “So if you want a private muscle video its $50 for half an hour, $100 if you want me to get naked.” “Actually I just want to meet the whole club,” said Aron. “I love big guys and it would be an honor to serve you all. I would work for you all and my only payment would be the pleasure of being around all that muscle. I know it might sound lame and if you want just say no.” Aron lowered his eyes once more. Brendon could hardly believe it. The club had a house boy the previous year, Jason Meed, but after being inspired by the club he traded in his twink physique and submissive personality for a muscle bod and dominant cocky bravado. He soon clashed with the club and had to go. Now a new one had fallen into his lamp. He was cute enough, seemed submissive enough, and he clearly loved muscle. What more can I ask for? “It’s not lame at all,” Brendon said squeezing Aron’s bony shoulder. “Say, how tall are you and your weight?” “I’m 5, 3, 101 pounds.” Brendon tried to contain his inner joy. The Perfect size for lift and carry videos. “Give me your number. I’ll call you when the club is ready to meet.” When Brendon was finished putting the number in his phone he shook Aron’s hand, perhaps squeezing it a little too firmly considering the little guy’s grimace. The two parted ways and both were smiling as they did so. Five: Aron He sat in his dorm room, half present and half absent. His body was there, yes, but his mind was elsewhere. Brendon had said he would call when the Muscle Gut Club was ready to meet him. The first day he waited with excitement hoping he would get the call that night. It didn’t come. The next day his phone rang and his heart skipped a beat. To his dismay, it was only his mother checking in. The third day classes started and he had to walk from one end of the campus to the other to reach them all. He hoped in doing so that he would run into Brendon again or some other member of the club. No such luck. Now as he absentmindedly stared at his computer screen he wondered Did the club not want to meet me? Was Brendon just toying with me? It hurt to think about it. His roommate, Jason Ho, sat in the room as well, earphones on and head in a calculus book. Aron had learned very little about him in the past few days, aside from the fact that he was a Biology major from upstate New York who was crazy about some band he had never heard of. He had eaten with Jason once and after getting no more than three sentences out of him decided he was better off eating his meals alone. Jason didn’t mind. Aron heard a knock on the door. He turned to answer, but Jason leapt from his bed and beat him to it. Four Chinese looking students, 2 boys and 2 girls entered into the room. Hugs were shared, kisses given, and hands shook as Aron watched. They spoke to Aron briefly and he was given a barrage of names he would never remember. He caught them mention a restaurant and within two minutes they were gone, leaving Aron alone. He had several options. He could study, continue surfing the web, go for an evening walk, or masturbate. Truthfully he wanted to do none of it. He had no test to study for and unlike his roommate he was not the type to read a textbook without a reason, though he knew he should. The web had started to bore him. He could only stand so many Facebook posts, forum threads, and funny videos. He had done enough walking to get to class earlier that day. That left masturbation. Masturbation was his old standby. His favorite pastime. It was a stress reliever and form of cardio. In the past year he had only masturbated to Muscle Gut Club videos. It was an obsession. He would do it now but after meeting Brendon and knowing they were so close to him he only wanted the real thing. A video wouldn’t do. He walked over to his bed, removed his shoes and laid down. As soon as he closed his eyes his phone rang. Aron jumped from the bed so fast he nearly fell over. He ran over to his desk and answered. “Hello, Aron, it’s Brendon. When’s your next day off?” “I have no classes Thursday.” He tried his best not to let the excitement show in his voice. “Perfect. The club wants to meet you. Come by at Noon. I’ll text you the directions.” “Ok, great. Thank you Brendon.” “No, thank you,” Brendon said before hanging up. Aron hardly slept that night. Instead he thought of what he would say to the club members and what he would do. The next day he couldn’t concentrate on his classes. His mind raced from thought to thought. What if I say the wrong thing? What if they don’t like me? God, I hope they like me. On Thursday at 11:30 am Aron set off on his journey. He was happy and nervous, so nervous he ate nothing that morning. He only drank a glass of orange juice. The club lived at 43 Stone Street on the other side of town. Luckily between the Campus run buses and the city buses there were trips to and from that part of town every half hour. He took one of the campus buses which were painted an obnoxiously bright blue. It was packed with students heading to off campus housing or going shopping. Aron couldn’t find a seat so he stood in the middle making awkward eye contact with the bus driver in his rearview mirror. His short arms just barely reached the overhead pole. On sharp turns he bumped into the students next to him despite trying his hardest to stay steady. He just didn’t have the weight for it. When he reached his stop he took a breath of relief. He felt like he was being released from a tin of sardines. The ride had only lasted 10 minutes but it felt like it had been one hour. There were no bus stops on Stone street so he had to walk the rest of the way. He took note of how nice the neighborhood was, not rich nice (He grew up in a neighborhood like that), but middle-class nice. Most students who lived off campus rented places in the poorer part of town. The Muscle Gut Club must be doing very well for themselves. At 11:54 he walked up to the front door at 43 Stone Street. It was a white shingled, 2 story Dutch colonial with a yard enclosed by high hedges and a fence. Aron motioned to ring the doorbell but paused momentarily. Nerves again. Surprisingly the door opened. Brendon stood in the frame filling it with his size. He was shirtless and barefoot, wearing only a pair of black nylon shorts, his muscle gut in plain view. His arms stood out from his sides at an angle, lifted up by his well-developed lats. “No, I’m not psychic. I saw you walking up.” Brendon said with a smile. “Come on in and meet the guys.” Aron took one step in the door and was hit with the strongest odor of male musk he could imagine. It smelled of pure masculinity. He stood still, briefly overcome with arousal. “Any day now,” Brendon called from another room. Aron quickly ran toward the sound of the voice, nearly tripping over his feet. When he entered the room he froze like a deer in headlights. All four members of the club sat in the room on two couches staring directly at him. Edmond was wearing only a pair of red boxer briefs stretched to the limits by his massive quads and by his mammoth manhood. He was looking exceptionally lean. Aron wanted to leap forward and place his hands all over his deeply cut cobblestone abs, but he maintained his composure. Thomas wore a white wife beater and black briefs. His fitness model physique, while the smallest of the four, was as impressive as they come. His shoulders and chest were unbelievably developed. His waist formed a perfect v-taper. Aron swooned at his Adonis belt and at the sight of his large, masculine Adam’s apple. Daniel was seated closest to Aron. He was shirtless and wore only a pair of grey pajama bottoms. He was almost as big as Brendon and the palest of the bunch. His muscles were clearly well defined even if he wasn’t very lean. Daniels hairy chest and rugged beard gave him a sexy lumberjack appeal. Aron couldn’t believe this was finally happening. As he looked around the room all he could manage to say was a shy “hi”. “Guys, this is obviously the Freshman I was telling you about, Aron Ocampo.” Brendon said. “He’s kind of cute like you said,” Thomas looked from Aron to Brandon. “In a mousey way.” The other members nodded. “He looks kind of frail, though.” Edmund said with an apprehensive look. “You’re not sick are you?” “No!” Aron replied, shaking his head. “Sir.” He added. The members snickered and shared glances with each other. “Sir? Haha. What a polite little twink.” Said Edmond. “I like him already.” It was the first time Aron had been called a twink by someone. Edmond stood up and walked over to him. He towered over Aron and got so close that the little twink could smell his masculine scent. It smelled good. Without warning Edmond picked him up. “God he’s so light.” He exclaimed. Edmond turned him on his side and began curling him with next to no effort at all. Up and down, up and down Aron went, 15 times. Then Edmond proceeded to press him overhead 10 times. Aron was in heaven. Daniel stood up. “Let me have a go at him.” “He’ll be nothing for you,” Edmund said as he handed him over. Daniel pressed him overhead several times and then lowered one of his arms, holding Aron overhead one handed. He walked over to Brendon (Still with Aron overhead) and said, “You got a real small one this time.” Brendon stood up and took Aron from Daniel and placed him on the ground as easily as if he were a doll. Aron was now surrounded by a triangle of shirtless muscle gods all towering over him. Thomas sat on the couch smiling. “Don’t mind them Aron, they just like showing off how strong they are.” “Someone get the measuring tape,” said Edmond. Brendon left and within an instant he was back with the measuring tape. “Strip.” Edmond commanded Aron. Aron did as he ordered, not wanting to displease the muscle god. He stood before them in his size small white briefs. They began to measure him all over, gaping, and snickering. “Wow only 11 inch arms, my 12-year-old brother has arms bigger than that,” said Edmond. “Holy shit my arms are as big as his thighs,” said Daniel. This humiliation would have sent Aron crying anywhere else, but from these muscle gods it was a turn on. His little cock stiffened as the muscle gut club poked, prodded, and studied his boney body. “Hey look, he’s getting hard.” Thomas pointed. “Pull down your underwear,” Edmund ordered. Aron again obeyed. Edmond took the measuring tape and held it next to Aron’s little cock. “Five inches and fully hard,” he said, looking around at the club. Edmund whipped his mammoth member from his boxer briefs and held It next to Aron’s “Twice as thick and twice as long.” He smiled with pride. “Let’s face it, though, comparing your cock to an average man’s wouldn’t even be fair, much less to that.” Daniel said as he pointed to Aron’s. “You can lift your underwear,” Brendon said. There was a touch of sympathy in his voice. He must not realize I love it. Every minute of it. “I really don’t care about his cock size. You’ll be fucking him, not the other way around,” Daniel said, “And I really don’t care about his looks since people watch our videos for our looks not the Twink’s.” “Is there a point here?” Edmond asked. “My point is. You say he wants to serve us.” He looked at Brendon. “Well that’s what I’m interested in. Will he be good at his job?” He turned back to Aron. Now was the moment Aron had been waiting for. He had been thinking about what he would say for day and finally he was ready to say it. “I’m gay,” Aron began, “and I love muscle men more than anything in the whole world. I’ve watched all of your YouTube videos an even bought some of your XXX videos. I masturbate to you. I dream about you. I’ve always wanted to meet you. I know I’ll never have muscles like yours. I know I’ll never be able to compare to gods like you, but all I ask is the chance to be around you, to serve, to bask in the presence of your massive frames.” “I will serve you with devotion and without question. I can cook and I will cook huge protein rich meals for you to fuel your growth. I will do your laundry and clean your rooms. If your tense after a workout, I’ll massage you. I’ll wipe the sweat from your brow. If your horny you can fuck me or if you just want a blowjob just say the word. I’ll wear whatever you want me to while in the house. I will truly be your slave and you will be my muscle masters.” Thomas’ mouth was agape. Edmund had a devious smile across his face. Brendon looked flabbergasted. Daniel simply clapped. He looked genuinely impressed by the speech. “Did you have that planned or was it off the top of your head?” asked Brendon. “Uh, kinda planned,” replied Aron, scratching his head. “Get on your knees.” Commanded Edmund. Aron did so. The members of the club got up and formed a semi-circle around him, staring down at him. “Kiss our feet.” Edmund ordered. Aron gently kissed each of their feet. “That’s so a slave remembers his place.” Edmund said. “At our feet.” Said Brendon, cutting in. “Rise,” said Edmond. Aron did so as each of the members struck a front double bicep pose. “Now kiss our biceps.” Aron kissed each of their biceps. “That’s so a slave remembers why he serves,” Edmund said. “He serves because of these muscles,” Brendon said, again finishing Edmund’s statement. “You start Saturday,” said Brendon. “Be here at 9 am to start breakfast. Here’s a key, and bring some stuff to cook us dinner. You won’t have time to go shopping after you get here. You’ll be very busy.” He grinned. Aron dressed. The club said their ‘until next times’ and he left for the 1:30 pm bus. He couldn’t wait for Saturday. Six: Edmund Edmund Moreno stood in his bathroom flexing in the mirror. He squeezed his muscles tight and hit every major bodybuilding pose like he was standing on stage at the Olympia. He imagined the crowd cheering him and admiring his perfect physique. I can’t believe I came in 3rd at the Junior Classics last week. I had the best conditioning on stage and the best symmetry. He had stepped on stage at the Classics weighing in at 195 pounds of lean hard muscle and standing 6 foot 1 inch, but he wasn’t the biggest. The 1st and 2nd place winners outweighed him by 15 pounds and that gave them the edge. Next time I’ll be fucking huge. He felt a hand touch his shoulder. His girlfriend, Bianca Bui, had creeped up behind him and began squeezing his muscles as he flexed. She loved his muscles. “Having fun?” she asked. “Seeing what I need to work on. I could bring my traps up and my lats-” “You look perfect to me babe.” “Well, the judges didn’t think so,” Edmund frowned slightly. “I have a better physique than anyone on campus, but that won’t win the competition. I need to be better than anyone in the state.” He bent down and kissed Bianca on the lips. She was of Vietnamese decent, 5 foot 5 inches, and 119 pounds with the perfect female figure. She wore pink silk pajama bottoms and a white tank top. “I guess you’ll be going on a big bulk.” She said. “The biggest I’ve done yet. I plan on putting on at least 35 or 40 pounds before cutting.” “Then you won’t be doing much cardio…” She pouted jokingly. Edmund laughed. “I’ll always have time for cardio.” He pulled down his boxers revealing his manhood. “I’ll just have to eat a big breakfast after to make up for all the calories I burn. Edmond pulled off her top and cupped her firm breasts. She giggled and removed her pajama bottoms. Edmund kissed her neck while slowly pushing down her panties. He lifted her up and placed her easily on his cock. She moaned with pleasure as he pressed her against the bathroom wall with his muscular chest. He ran his fingers through her hair and took in her flowery scent. “Carry me to bed.” She said between moans. He grabbed her supple legs and she placed her arms around his thick neck, his manhood penetrating her deeply. They fell together on the bed. Edmund moved in her wet pussy with slow steady strokes. She grabbed his horse shoe triceps and clawed at him as he began to pound her harder and faster. Her moans of pleasure grew louder as she began to orgasm. “Yes! Baby! Yes!” she screamed. “You like how daddy fucks you?” “Oh yes!” Just as Ed was about to reach climax he pulled out a blew his load on her face. She began to lap up his warm, creamy, salty spunk. They lay next to each other covered in sweat. Ed’s muscles glistened in the morning light that streamed in from the bedroom window. “Good cardio,” said Edmund. Bianca laughed. “Very good. I’ll go make you that big breakfast,” she said while wiping cum from around her eyes. “Can you walk to the kitchen?” Edmund snickered. She rolled her yes. “I’m used to it.” She got up and walked out of the room with a slight limp. It’s hard to get used to a 9 inch cock. He patted his manhood as he lay on the bed and relaxed. He didn’t know who he liked fucking more: men or women. Really he would fuck anyone as long as he liked the way they looked. He had fucked average guys, muscle guys, twinks, skinny girls, chubby girls, Black, White, Latin, and Asian. Any warm hole for his cock. He had only had two serious relationships, though. One with a guy over a year and a half ago and the one with Bianca. Bianca had walked up to him one night in a bar and asked to feel his arm. Ever one to show off, he struck a front double bicep pose for her. She gawked at his size, and he was smaller then than he was now. She confided in him that she had never been with a bodybuilder before. They fucked that night and had been Fucking ever since. She liked muscle and she liked cooking. Two things that made her perfect for Edmund and the club. Several times a month she would cook for the whole club, but she only had desires for Edmund. She didn’t even have a problem with his bisexuality telling him “I don’t mind if you fuck guys every now and then to satisfy the urge so long as you use protection and I’m the only woman.” Edmond could smell the scent of food wafting from the kitchen. He rose out of bed and put on a pair of boxers. As he entered the kitchen Bianca turned to him. She was topless, wearing only her panties. She often walked around topless when she knew the other club members were out. Thomas was at a photo shoot and Daniel and Brendon were in class. They’d be gone most of the day. “I was just about to call you,” Said Bianca. “Smells good,” Ed said as he sat down at the kitchen table. Bianca began to serve him his breakfast. First she sat a down a six egg cheese omelet with 2 turkey sausage links. Edmond dove in with his fork like he hadn’t eaten in days. While he chewed on eggs and sausage she placed a plate of 3 whole wheat French toasts with whipped cream and berries and a bowl of Greek yogurt and granola in front of him. He wasted no time attacking that a well. She ate two scrambled eggs a piece of toast and a banana. “This is great babe.” Ed managed to say between bites and mmms. Bianca beamed with pride. She loved seeing a man enjoy her cooking. When Ed was done eating he washed the meal down with a tall glass of whole milk. He patted his distended belly. The food baby pushing out his abs made it look like he had a tortoise shell for a stomach. “I won’t be over here much in the next week Eddy Bear,” Said Bianca. “Huh, why?” Ed let out a loud belch. “I’ve got a huge test coming up that I need to study for. When I’m not in class I’ll be studying at my place. Here I might be too distracted.” Her gaze left his face and moved down to his muscles. “Already,” Said Edmond, “School just started back.” “Pre-med,” she said, shaking her head. “It might just kill me.” “With the money you’ll be making I guess the hard work will be worth it,” Edmund said. “After I pay off the student loans.” Bianca stood up and cleared the dishes. She started to wash them. “Don’t,” said Edmund. “You’re gonna wash them?” she looked apprehensive. “We’re going to be breaking in a new house boy on Saturday and I want to make sure he has a lot of work to do.” Bianca stopped, and stared at him. “Is he cute.” “I think so.” Edmund smiled. “He’s smaller than you.” “No way.” She looked surprised. Edmond laughed. “What’s his name?” “Aron Ocampo” “Will you fuck him?” Edmunds face was now serious. “Probably, but I haven’t forgotten our deal. You’re the only one for me baby.” He got up and pecked her on the lips. She looked up at him and seemed satisfied. “Don’t work him too hard baby,” said Bianca. “We’ve got to see what he’s made of. Make sure he’s really a submissive.” Bianca showered and changed into her clothes. Before leaving she informed him that she had fixed his protein shake and put it in the fridge for him to drink later They parted with one final kiss. Edmund put on his workout shorts and headed to the garage gym for a heavy shoulder session. Truthfully, he was glad Bianca would be gone for a week. He wanted to use that time to get to know Aron better. Much better. He hoisted up two 65-pound dumbbells and began to shoulder press them. With each rep he could feel his muscles becoming pumped. He concentrated on the muscle contraction as he watched himself in the mirror. In his mind he wasn’t lifting weights. He was lifting the twink, Aron, over his head again and again. His cock grew hard at the thought of Aron’s frail thin body next to his own robust hulking frame. Saturday couldn’t come fast enough. More to come...