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"Come on, Sam! One more! One more!! Give me one good push!!!" You squeezed and mustered every effort into performing that bench press, the last rep for the day. Your body spasms from the strain as the bar inches further and further away from you. It's so close but ending well has always been a struggle. As the bar finally reaches its zenith, your arms give out. The bar tumbles toward you … only to be caught and placed back on the stand by the steadying hands of Dom. "I got you, bro!" Adrenalized relief floods you. You can always count on Dom to be there for you: encouraging you, supporting you, saving your sorry ass from all the shit you both find yourselves in. (Though more often than not, he's the one who gets you all into shit.) "Great job, Sam!" Dom exclaims, offering you your customary congratulatory fist bump. You grin proudly. The weights you lift may be counted as the lightest among your school gym goers, but Dom has a way of making you feel unashamed. "Come on, let's head home." Exiting the gym, you encountered Dickheads 1 & 2. These jocks may not be the biggest in the university, but they're certainly the douchiest. Though they're on the swim team, they pack more weight and muscle on their frame than they should, which exasperates their swim coach. Rumour has it they're only on the team to show off their bodies, which is only supported by their constant flaunting at any opportunity. Their nicknames are supposedly derived from one infamous episode of public indecency that ended with violence in the locker room. The only reason they weren't expelled was because of their family's 'scholarship'. Rumour also has it that those 2 bigoted roommates are actually a heavily repressed couple. When you spot one of them, the other is sure to be not far off. The constant jibes they give to the gay community and the reported lack of satisfaction from their many girlfriends reinforce this. Regardless of your qualms against them, which everybody in school has, you have learned one too many lessons too well on keeping your head low around them, hoping they'll only dish the hurt out verbally. Dom, however, has not learned his lessons well enough yet. A shoulder bump leaves Dom sprawled on the floor. You scurry to help him up while remarks are hurled about you two 'limpdicked lovebird losers'. Just as Dom is about to retort with one of his famous explosive tirades, you summon a hidden reserve of strength from your fight-or-flight response and hauled Dom up and out past the Dickheads. "Yeah, let your ladyboy pick your fights for you, you little faggot! Haha!" Dom keeps quiet, his face darkening to a furious red. - "Fuck!" Dom screams out in the sanctity of your shared bedroom, punching the wall. Ever since young, you shared most of your life with Dom. Childhood friends living just down the road from each other. Secondary schoolmates patching each other up after surviving bullying sessions. A mutual coming-out episode and confession to each other just before university. (Dom, as always, initiated first.) A period of fooling around commences before Dom decided he wasn't ready for a relationship yet: he doesn't feel big enough. Dom prides himself as a guy who provides, protects and takes charge of people. Strength and size have therefore been a point of contention for him, especially with the readings and put-me-downs. He has stood up to bullies despite the disparity in their physiques. Facing bullies equipped with only bravery wasn't enough to win fights all the time, however. Some of them, as with the Dickheads, dare to lash out in fisticuffs. Thus, he began to work out and train, inviting you as he brutalizes himself in the school gym. You had been at it for a few months now. You managed to carve out some clear-cut definitions in your chest and abs, your arms producing a sizable lump. Dom took more from the gym than you, approaching it with his trademark intensity. His dedication and drive have resulted in a heftier chest, an undeniable 6-pack, and biceps with observable movement as he flexes them back and forth. Still, it wasn't enough, as both of you share the plague of skinny genetics too, being slightly smaller than the average guy on campus… - "Fuck!!" Dom punches the wall again, this time hard enough for blood to trickle down his knuckles. You cry out to him to stop, preparing all too readily a plaster. "I'm just so tired, Sam. All these bullies, these two fucking Dickheads. Fucking around with us, just because we're smaller. I wanna be big enough to give them a taste of their medicine." Dom pounds his injured fist into his hand. "I don't wanna feel small again, you know. I wanna be big. I wanna feel big, just once in my life." He slumps onto the sofa, all worn out. "You know, Dom, you're pretty big to me," you confess, as you plaster his fist. To your diminutive form, Dom's skinny muscles definitely are. "Haha, yeah?" he smiles in wry appreciation. "Thanks, Sam." Your praise, however, leaves Dom sinking deeper in dejection. You decide to change tactics: if words aren't good enough, now it's time to take action. "Hey Dom, why don't you flex your muscles for me, please?" You pleaded with your best puppy dog eyes, pouting your lips in a way you know he couldn't deny. "What's gotten into you?" Dom chuckles lightly as you continue to pepper him with your request. Finally, he complies, proffering you one of his arms, the one with that injured fist. Tenderly bringing that fist up to your face, you kiss it. "You have always taken care of me ever since we were little, Dom. Now you have grown so much. Let me show you how big you've gotten." You winked. Despite all his bluster and bravado, Dom blushed. One of those rare times you ever witnessed his shy side. You nuzzle his calloused hand, slipping in quick caring pecks. "All those weights you lifted, those push-ups and pull-ups you did… I'm sure you will maul anyone who dares stand in your way with these mighty paws." Dom 'hmmm'-ed out softly in approval. You slide your face down to his arm, bringing up a hand to massage his other bicep. Dom catches on, flexing out a double bicep. "And these arms, when you flex them, they will crack open and crush all sorts of things. Peanuts. Walnuts. Coconuts." Each invocation of nuts is followed by an increased intensity of squeezing from you. Dom squeezes his biceps back to meet your challenge, stiffening both of his arms, along with his third "arm". "And finally," you whisper temptingly into his ear. "The skulls of those 2 fucking Dickheads." At this, Dom lets out a primal roar. You jump back a little, your hands letting go of those orbs. You've never known that flexing could produce such strain and size. Those peaks have become so pumped that they are now volcanic, ready to erupt from their furious red. "More…" Dom calls out. "More!" You took another step back. Perhaps you went too far in including your grotesque descriptions of power. Seeing your panicked expression, Dom calms down, the crimson hues fading, but not leaving. He gives you a look that's a curious mix of pleading and demanding. "Please, Sam… Please continue." Hesitation grips you like a deer in headlights. Fear tells you to take off and run. Yet lustful curiosity invites you to step forward and explore this side of Dom you've never seen before. In the end, your dick leads you forward. Dom smiles, almost assuredly, at your approach. He takes off his singlet, puffs out and pounds at his chest, indicating where he wants you to continue clearly. His torso looks prepped to receive you already: the pump in his arms seems to have spread across his body, and his pecs look fuller already. You take hold of Dom’s chest and massage them, circling your thumbs around his nipples. Softly, gently. Dom moans for more. Intensifying your efforts, you knead harder. Those meat cakes, in response, rise and take form, becoming less and less pliable. "You're an immovable wall. If anyone bumps into your chest, they'll just fall flat on the floor. Should those two Dickheads ever try to tackle you, they'll only end up with concussions." "Yeah," Dom growls out. "That's it, Sam! Lick it. Suck on it, bite it! Be a good bitch and break your teeth against it!" He grabs the back of your neck, his vice-like grip plunging your mouth onto one of his plump nipples. Your muffles are buried in that hefty chest. Blindly, you push both hands against Dom, even kicking against the wall behind him, desperate for space, for air. Dom's hand continues holding you in place, never registering your struggles. His hold only tightens and squashes you in further. "I say do it!" Out of desperation, perhaps submission, you chomp down hard. His flesh didn't give way. You grit harder, your jaws straining, and your cheeks start aching. You feel dizzy. Just as you're about to pass out from the effort and the lack of oxygen, you're mercifully shoved onto the floor. You splutter, drool slobbering down your chin as you inhale vigorously for relief. You see stars… … And as they clear, there stands Dom, a man straight out of legends and myths. You blink rapidly. There's no way a pump could produce the size he's at now. The pair of comfortable and billowy shorts Dom once wore now runs so thin and tight that you could make out the thick veins throbbing underneath. His mildly defined mid-section has sharpened into a wasp-like display of lethality, that core now supporting arms and chest rivalling the Dickheads' size. You are sure, however, that theirs pale in strength and power compared to Dom's. As you lift your head up, you gaze upon Dom's face. It had evolved from a brave, caring and (though Dom disliked it) cute look into a confident, regal, and handsomely dangerous portrait. Dangerous. That's what every part of his still inflamed body exudes. Danger. You shake. You shudder. You hyperventilate. You became flushed with heat, from your head to your groin. It becomes so hot that you can't breathe. You realize you're gonna end up fucked or fucked up. Maybe both. You don't know what to think, what to say, or what to do as Dom approaches you, his expression blurred by the rapid darting of your eyes. Three steps. Two. One. Just as his shadow looms over you, you pass out.