Too Big - Part Three

[londonboy]

Atlas finished his story, took a swig from his beer and noticed that Adonis had to grab the stool nearby and sit down.  He looked a little shaken.  Atlas looked at he little guy with concern.

 

“Um . . . sorry, I’m just a little weak-kneed at the moment, Atlas.  That was one of the hottest things I’ve ever heard.  I think I need to rest.”

 

“Yeah, which part turned you on the most?”

 

“Wow, there were so many parts.  A seventh grader that’s bigger than the teachers.  A kid that has a lower voice than some virile gym teacher.  A guy holding three bullies in place with one arm.  A set of abs that don’t even notice full-on punches.  A father telling his huge son to act like a superhero.  A dude being easily lifted into the air.  So much.  But I guess the part that got me the most excited was the idea that I might take the place of little Jimmy Shaw.”

 

“I was hoping that would be your favorite part.”

 

“Really? Why?”

 

“Cause I’d like you to take the part of little Jimmy Shaw, too.”

 

“Why is that Atlas?  Why do you get so turned on by little guys – guys like me?”

 

“I really don’t know.  It’s just always been that way.  I mean two days after that incident at school Brett Roberts came to my house in the afternoon and begged me to lift him into the air again.  He also begged me to let him punch my stomach again – a bunch of times, until he wore himself out.  I obliged him, and all, but it didn’t turn me on the way it did with some small guy.  Brett was too cocky . . . too confident.  I think some big guys like to conquer other big men, but not me.  I like to please, show off for, and take care of little guys.  I can’t explain it.  Who knows, maybe I have a ‘father complex’ or something like that.  I just know that if I want to bust out a major wad nothing churns it out like watching a much smaller man touch my muscles or when some dude gets excited just from me flexing or – by far the most intense is when a little guy asks me to show off my strength or my size.  I really wish I could explain what it does to me.  Maybe it’s like when you hold a newborn bird or a kitten.  You know, they’re so fragile – it almost makes you feel so powerful, just knowing you could crush them into nothing – but you don’t, you wouldn’t.  That could be it – it could be because a small guy makes me feel so much bigger and stronger than I really am.  Maybe the dude empowers me even more.  I really just don’t know.  I can tell you one thing for sure, though.  It excites me in a way that’s almost magical – otherworldly.”

 

“I bet you have small guys crawling all over you all the time, Atlas.”

 

“Hell no, dude.  Most guys are just plain scared of me – no matter what their size.  I just seem to intimidate the crap out of most people I meet.  You’d be amazed at how many people won’t even look me in the eye when I talk to them.”

 

“Maybe they’re too busy staring at your humongous body.”

 

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you.  Most little guys don’t even register that I’m human.  They just see a mound of muscle and either turn away and run like hell or get so tongue tied they can’t say a word.  They just end up staring or fainting, overcome by my size.  I rarely meet little dudes that are . . . I don’t know, I don’t want to sound conceited . . . but I rarely meet any that are brave enough to talk to me.  I intimidate them or something.”

 

“Well, I’m not intimidated . . . well, actually I am – because you’re just so freaking huge, but not so much that I can’t talk to you.  In fact, your hugeness makes me want to talk to you.  Besides, I’m amazed anyone would find it hard to not engage with you, Atlas.  You’ve got a happy, easygoing aura about you.”

 

“Thanks.  I’d say the same about you.”

 

“So, did you and little Jimmy Shaw ever get together in school?  You know, did you help him live out his fantasies.”

 

“Naw, the dude liked girls.  He’s married now and has three kids.  He’s the founder of some tech start up and has made millions.  Maybe billions.  A couple of years ago, he asked me for a little favor, though.  There were some goons at his gym that were harassing him – just like Brett and his pals in junior high school.  He invited me to his elite club uptown to re-live that moment way back in seventh grade.  It was kind of fun putting some adult bullies in their place while the still skinny and small Jimmy watched.  It was just as big a turn on two years ago as it was way back when.  And how about you, Adonis?  Do you like boys or girls?”

 

“I like huge men.”

 

“That’s the answer I like to hear.”

 

“The bigger the better.”

 

“That makes it even sweeter.  I hope I fit the bill.”

 

“You fit the bill about ten times over, Atlas.  How ‘bout another story from your past – one that would excite me as much as the one about Jimmy Shaw.”

 

“Let me see, what would make you happy?  Oh, I’ve got the perfect one.  This would have been when I was in college.  It was my sophomore year.  I was around nineteen.  I took an art history class mainly because everyone said the teacher was the best on campus.  I’ll never forget walking into class on the first day to find a huge hall filled with about a hundred and twenty people.  I was a little disappointed in the size of the class.  That is, until the teacher walked in.  I’ll never forget my first glimpse of Dr. Norman Michaels.  He was about five feet, seven inches tall, weighed no more than one-fifty to one fifty-five, and had a perfect little swimmers build – broad shoulders, narrow hips, and an ass that was made for bouncing quarters!  He wore the tightest jeans I’ve ever seen – along with a stylish blazer – and always a preppy button down.  He had shoulder length wavy brown hair that fell into place perfectly.  He was always brushing it out of his face.  A move that made me always have to adjust myself down below. 

 

“Bet you couldn’t do that without people noticing, huh?”

 

“Especially since my legs were to big and thick for me to put under the little desktop that flipped up and over to write on.  Anyway, that first day Professor Michaels decided to call roll – something that never happened in a class, especially one that big.  Everyone just signed in, but that first day he insisted on seeing who everyone was – even though we were such a huge class.  I didn’t think anything about it until he got to my name.  When I raised my hand I swear I saw a little smile flick across my teacher’s face and then he made a note in his grade book.  I was the only one that he made a note about.  That’s when I first started getting suspicious.  Everything became even more obvious when we started studying Greek statues and Michaels would have me stand up in front of class – next to powerpoint pictures of Hercules, Zeus, and the like – just to compare.  I swear the little guy knew the name of every muscle in the human form – something he said was necessary when painting or carving a statue – but I got the feeling there was another reason.  I decided to test my theory out. 

 

“Oh this is getting good.”

 

“Yeah?  I thought you’d like it.   So, the Professor decided to have one-on-one conferences with all of his students.  I figured this was the perfect time to get to know the guy a little more, so I signed up for one of the first slots available.  I made sure it was the last meeting of the day – thinking that would give us more time.  I went to my dorm and changed into some tight cotton shorts and a muscle hugging tank top for the meeting.  I was a little worried my outfit might give the guy a heart attack, but then I remembered he looked in pretty good shape, himself.  I had heard he did, indeed, swim a lot.  Michaels was sitting at his desk with his back to the door when I got there for the meeting.  There wasn’t anyone else in the hallway, so I knew our time together would be pretty private.  I knocked on the door and let my deep voice boom a little louder than usual when I spoke.

 

“Um . . . Professor Michaels.  I’m here for my meeting.”

 

I saw the guy’s entire body shake with excitement and he even jumped a little at the sound of my words.  When he turned around, I had one arm draped above my head as I held on to the top of the doorframe.  This pose made my arm bend slightly, so I decided to stack the deck even more and tense my biceps a little.  The poor guy dropped the pencil he was holding as soon as he turned around.  His mouth popped open wide and it was clear he couldn’t speak.  I saw him glance at my tree-trunk thighs bulging out from my stretched, paper-thin shorts. 

 

“Um . . . is it okay if I come in, Professor?”

 

He didn’t speak.  He merely nodded his head up and down.  I purposefully waddled into the room – swinging my gigantic upper body confidently as I moved.  I also closed the door behind me.  I heard the Professor gulp loudly.  There was a wooden chair near him – with a pretty high back.  I swung my leg over the back and planted my huge self a few feet away from him.  It was a move to emphasize how big I was and it worked perfectly.  The shocked teacher still could not speak.  He simply stared from my chest to my arms and then back again.  I reached out with one of my big hands, lifted his chin to close his mouth and then tilted his head so he was looking me in the eyes.

 

“My face is up here, sir.”

 

He swallowed hard and it took a few seconds for what I said to register with the guy.  He turned bright red and immediately started speaking wildly.

 

“Of course it is.  It’s right up there . . . up there atop of those Herculean shoulders.  Those big mounds of massive muscle that seem to stick out like two Gibraltar’s.

And those lead to two humongous arms that look like . . . “

 

And then the guy caught himself.  He turned even redder and immediately shut up.  He turned around, fumbled around his desk for a file – which I assumed was mine – and then turned back to me.  He wouldn’t look at me for a couple of minutes and simply thumbed through paper in the folder to make himself look busy.  I smiled a knowing smile.  The little dude was definitely into muscle.  By this point, my huge schlong was so hard it looked like someone had stuffed a fire extinguisher down my shorts.  The cute little Professor was rocking all my boats.  I wanted to pick him up in his rolling wooden desk chair, bring him up to my face, and plant a big sloppy kiss on those thick luscious lips, but I knew that would have made him even more uncomfortable.  I could be patient when I wanted to be and I knew there’d come a time when it was the right moment for us to be together – even it didn’t end up being today. 

 

“Um . . . so are you . . . enjoying the class.”

 

“Very much, Professor.  I like it the most when you talk about my body to the class.”

 

“Well, you are the perfect specimen.”

 

“Am I?”

 

I raised my arms and flexed – glancing to the right and then to the left as I bounced my biceps a few times.  I heard him gasp and, again, he dropped the pencil – and then the file with all the papers.  I reached down to pick everything up – mainly because the guy was completely frozen, clearly overwhelmed by my flexed peaks.  I laid everything in his lap because he still wasn’t moving when I got it all together.  He just continued to stare at my arms.

 

“I really like all the examples of the male physique you show in the class, Professor.  Some of the artwork inspires me when I work out.  I kind of think of myself as a sculptor or a painter as I mold my body into something I can be proud of.  Into something that others might find pleasing.  I’m all about making others feel good.”

 

I knew I was being a little cruel, but I couldn’t help it.  I found the guy so freaking hot that I could barely refrain from reaching out and picking him up in a tight bear hug, just to squeeze my love into him.  The room was getting really hot, by now, and the Professor’s forehead was covered in sweat.  I took advantage of the situation.

 

“Hey, Professor, it’s kind of hot in here.  How about I open your window?”

 

I leaned forward, scooting out of my chair a little, but staying down on his level.  I reached my muscled arms around him and brought my hulking chest a few inches from his face.  He was looking straight down the cavernous valley between my pecs and could see how massive they were.  I grabbed the window and easily slid it upward – noticing the thing made a lot of noise as it opened.  I sat back down and noticed the Professors eyes were now twice the size they were before.

 

“Uh . . . that window’s been stuck for three years . . . no maintenance man has ever been able to get it open!”

 

“Really, Professor?  It just opened right up for me.  I barely had to use any strength at all.  I guess these big arms are just more powerful than a group of maintenance men.”

 

I flexed my arms again and, immediately, I knew our teacher-student conference was over.  The eyes of my small Professor rolled back into his head and the guy simply passed out.  It was kind of cute.  He just went nighty-night – clearly my body and strength had just been too much for him.  He didn’t slump down in his chair or fall over, his chin simply fell forward and he was totally gone.  I know it was wrong, but I took advantage of the situation.  I reached out and copped a feel of his chest, his arms, his legs, and the swollen mound at his crotch.  Just as I had suspected – the Professor was a tightly muscled little guy.  And he was carrying a pretty big package, as well.  I ran my fingers across his plump lips and then brought them up to my own.  I had the feeling I’d be tasting those things for real one day, soon.  I figured I shouldn’t leave the poor guy just sitting there, so I easily lifted him and carried him over to the sofa on the other side of the room.  I was kind of bummed he wasn’t awake to see how light he was for me.  The guy immediately curled into a fetal position when I set him down.  I stood there for a few more seconds – just soaking up the beauty of the man.  He turned me on so much.  I then wrote him a note – saying I really enjoyed our meeting.  I ended it by saying I hoped he had a really nice sleep.  I then turned out his light and left, shutting the door behind me.

 

“Maybe you should have carried him to your dorm room – you never know what would have happened when he woke up.”

 

“Maybe, but try explaining an unconscious teacher draped over an arm to people on campus.”

 

Anyway, if I had thought the good Professor was going to ignore me the next day – out of embarrassment – I was dead wrong.  He handed me a note when I entered the classroom.  It was written on the same note I had left for him the night before.  It said, ‘Thanks for the lift last night.  I slept like a baby.’  He smiled at me as I stiffly walked to my seat.  It was then I realized the Professor knew he was wrecking my world just as much as I was wrecking his.  I was harder than a two-by-four the entire class and he knew it.  Luckily, he didn’t ask me to stand in front of the class, for my raging hard-on would have been impossible to hide.  Over the next few class periods I decided to try out different outfits to see which one Michaels preferred me in.  You know, I was getting ready for when we went on a real date.  He seemed to light up the most when I wore a severely tight black polo shirt and jeans that were so tight they might as well have been painted on.  So, the prepster liked other preppies.  It was duly noted. 

 

“I bet, like me, Atlas, he simply liked any outfit that hugged your muscles revealingly.”

 

“You’re probably right, Adonis.”

[arpeejay]

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[NerdJock]

Brilliant series....as always!

[liftme]

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[divis24]

"Just to squeeze my love into him"      *swoooooon...*

[maxwm]

You're amazing Londonboy! All of your stories are such a turn on! Sure hope there's several more chapters to come in this one!