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Too Big - Part Eight


londonboy

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The smaller man smiled, but at the same time he rested his small hand on the giant one of his new friend.  He knew, even though the big man had been kind; that having the Professor still in his life would have been what he preferred.  Both men, again, glanced down at the size difference of hands on the bar and unbeknownst to either of them two crotches twitched at the sight – at precisely the same time.  The smaller guy wondered seriously how it was possible for fingers to be so thick and so huge.  They looked like someone had morphed a hand on the computer – way beyond what was normal.  Instinctively, both men let their fingers intertwine – just to feel close to the other.  The smaller man marveled at the fact that he could not even begin to bring his fingers together – the giant’s hand was just too big and thick. 

 

“That’s not a hand, it’s a hammock.”

 

“Would you like to rest in it?”

 

“You know I would.  I need another drink.  How about you?”

 

The big man didn’t respond, he merely turned toward the bartender – standing at the other end of the bar – and with his non-engaged hand ordered two more drinks.  He then turned back toward his little friend and squeezed his hand teasingly.  The little guy mouthed the word ‘ow’ and then smiled.  Then, Adonis tried to squeeze his hand to offer a little pain to the big man. This made Atlas smile and then he shrugged his shoulders as if to say he hadn’t felt a thing.  Adonis doubled his efforts, even reaching over with his other hand to add to the squeezing – but it didn’t matter.  It didn’t register at all to Atlas. 

 

“I don’t think you’d feel it if I pounded your hand with a sledgehammer.”

 

“Trust me, I would.”

 

“How much can you lift now?”

 

“You’ll be happy to hear that I can now lift the back end of my BMW with just one hand.  That’s been my goal for about twelve years.”

 

“How old are you now, Atlas?”

 

“I’m thirty-two.”

 

“The same age as me.”

 

“See, we have even more things in common.”

 

The big man squeezed his fingers again – giving a shot of uneasiness into the hand of his little friend.  It was just a simple reminder of his power.  Adonis let out a yelp from the quick jab of pain and was quite happy that his big friend had not compressed his fingers for very long.  The little man stared at the massive forearm attached to the big hand that engulfed his.  He found it wild that this part of the big man’s body could be thicker than his own leg.  His forearms looked like tree trunks, but much stronger. 

 

“How can your forearms be so huge?”

 

“Trust me, curling the front of a BMW helps.  It helps a lot.”

 

“I bet it does.  I also bet you made the Professor very happy.”

 

“I like to think I did.  He was certainly into my muscle and that was one thing I had a lot of – so he never lacked for something huge to worship.”

 

“Tell me something else the two of you liked to do – you know, to satisfy his need for muscle.”

 

“You love stories, don’t you?”

 

“I do.  Yours are the best – since they usually involve your big body.”  

 

“Let’s see.  Well, I moved in with the Professor mere days after we consummated our relationship.  We both knew it was right.  I adored everything about him and he couldn’t get enough of me.  He said he only had one rule in his new house – and it was that I could never wear a shirt when I was at home.  I had a feeling he would have liked me to go completely nude all the time, but he knew I’d never go for that.  Being shirtless thrilled me as much as it did him – mainly because it meant I could flex anytime I wanted to and make him instantly hard.  I think that was his goal for the rule, anyway.  With my upper body uncovered all the time, my Little Prince could feel, fondle, lick, and kiss my muscles whenever he wanted.  I’d be watching television and he come over; sit in my lap, and just start playing with my chest.  I hardly ever got to finish a show.  His need for my muscle – and, trust me, I didn’t mind – always interrupted whatever I was doing.  He was addicted and I was a happy supplier.  It amazed me when he’d remind me that he hadn’t been into big guys until he met me.  I always said it was because no one had been big enough.  I’d tease him all the time and act like I felt like I was too big – just to get him going on how that wasn’t possible.”

 

“He was a man after my own heart.”

 

“I’m getting that feeling.”

 

“Anyway, the Professor was happiest when he got to be near me as I worked out.  Since our relationship wasn’t really a good thing to acknowledge on campus or even in town, I was overjoyed when my Little Prince turned a big room in the back of his new place into a well-stocked gym.  A month into our new relationship I got home from school and he met me at he door, told me to cover my eyes – after I lost my shirt, of course – and then guided me down the long hallway to what ended up being a better workout space than most gyms had to offer.  It was the best present ever, but when I tried to thank him he said, over and over, that he was actually being selfish since he intended on watching me – and probably much more – every time I worked out.  I suggested we give it a try, right away and shed my jeans as I went to the bedroom to get some tight cotton shorts.  When I came back, the look on the Professor’s face told me that this workout was most certainly going to lead to multiple orgasms for both of us. 

 

“Please tell me it’s arm day.”

 

“If you want it to be arm day, Little Prince, then it can be arm day.  We can’t make every day arm day, though.  Remember, I like symmetry.”

 

“If symmetry means that every part of you is gigantic, then I like it, too.”

 

I grabbed two monstrous looking dumbbells from the rack and noticed how the little guy sucked in air when he saw how easily I lifted the things.  I believe he knew he’d only be able to roll the things across the floor – not lift them.  I sat down on the end of a bench, rested the weights on the floor, and patted my knees, inviting him to come take a seat.  He moved in that super speed, which I was now accustomed to.  He wanted to be close when I started popping out all over from strenuous exercise.  He felt like a toddler sitting on my big legs – and he kind of looked like one, too – wide-eyed, mouth gaping open, and excited breathing.  I had a feeling neither of us were going to make it very far before we christened the new gym equipment with our sticky, happy juices.  That was more than okay with me; I wanted to only please him.  If a good workout actually happened at the same time I was giving him a thrill, then that would be a convenient win-win.  I reached down and grabbed both of the heavy dumbbells resting on the ground.  I sat back up straight and looked into the eyes of my gorgeous admirer.

 

“Give your big boy a kiss, Professor.”

 

He placed both of his hands on either side of my face and then leaned in to give me a hard-on inducing kiss that also made my toes curl up in my shoes.  When he pulled back and I finally snapped back into the present moment, I raised the right dumbbell, making my biceps bulge out.  His gaze immediately went to my gun.  He told me, often, how he knew he’d never tire of looking at my muscles.  Even after a month of me not wearing a shirt in the house, laying around together every chance we got, or him fondling me constantly – he still looked at my body as if it were the first time he was seeing it.  I knew he had a doctorate in classical art studies, but I got the feeling he was studying my body more than he’d ever studied a sculpture or painting.  Somehow, the living example of all those brawny Roman gods and the like was much more fun for him.  He gazed at my body as if he wanted to memorize every minute detail of my hugeness.

 

“Like the way these arms get bigger as I lift, Little Prince?”

 

“You know I do.  Look how big they are.  Your biceps are thicker and bigger than my head.”

 

It was true.  I raised my arm even with his head as I brought the dumbbell up for a pump.  The mound that hardened blasted to a size that dwarfed the smallness of that part of his body.  Of course, I dwarfed him in every way, but that didn’t lessen the thrill of noting things like how my arm was bigger than his head.  I lowered my arm and continued to do curls with the big weights.  The Professor was watching the muscles of my arms as they contracted – ballooning to their seemingly supersize – and then relaxed, but stayed about ten times the size of his arms. 

 

“Was there ever a time you didn’t like being huge?”

 

“How is that possible when it thrills you so much, Little Prince?”

 

“Seriously.”

 

“No . . . no, there’s never been a time when I didn’t like being huge.  At age twelve I could lift more weight than my dad – and he’s a big man.  Ever since I got the bodybuilding bug and realized I was destined to be humongous I have loved how it feels.  I’m nineteen years old and when I shake an older man’s hand I can bring him to his knees if I feel like it.  I take my shirt off in public places and the immediate silence is deafening.  I like it a lot when I know a crowded room has stopped to look at me.  I was going to bars to meet men when I wasn’t officially old enough to be there.  No one questioned my age – since I was bigger than everyone else.  The first time I made a man twice my age orgasm, just from lifting him into the air, I was permanently addicted to showing off my strength and size.  There’s not a moment in the day when I’m not conscious of how my body bulges out with an enormity that can intimidate, thrill, excite, scare, or protect.  I get to choose how I come across to people.  I can walk into a bar and make cocks shrivel up just by tensing my body in a way that’s terrifying.  I can also walk in and make cocks shoot hard just from bouncing all the bulges.  Every man I meet greets me in a new way, so it’s kind of hard to get tired of that.  I like waiting for someone to look up from a book or turn around to see me for the first time.  In the second that follows I get to find out what that guy thinks of himself.” 

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Straight, gay, bi – it doesn’t matter.  Guys react to me in certain patterns.  Some guys immediately get cocky – as if they need to prove their manliness.  They puff themselves up – as if they might be able to actually make themselves bigger than me.  Those are the ones I like to add a little pressure to our handshake – and watch them immediately deflate, lose their cockiness, because they instantly realize they can’t compete.  Some guys just get scared.  I feel sorry for them, the most.  They don’t stay around long enough to get to know me – to find out I’m a gentle giant.  And then there are the other guys – my favorite – who immediately show their desire – their need to be close to me.  Sometimes, it’s because they want to feel the power my body radiates.  Sometimes, it’s because they hope to grope some hard muscle.  And, sometimes, it’s because they hope to get to know me.  You walked into that classroom on the first day, Professor Michaels, and something different happened.  I was the one that became unsure – tongue-tied – and worried about not being good enough.  It was a new feeling for me.  I still knew I was huge.  I still knew most everyone in the room was stealing glances at me, but my thoughts were focused on only one thing – getting you to like me.  It’s only when your face lit up after seeing me…”

 

“How could I miss seeing you – you took up half the room.”

 

“It’s only after seeing your face, your smile, the twinkle in your eyes that I regained some of my confidence and knew I had hopefully caught a new admirer.  Within thirty minutes of that class I knew my desire for you was off the charts.  I swear it was like all of my muscles, my hugeness, had been for nothing until that moment.  And now, here you sit on my lap and gaze at me as I lift heavy dumbbells – simply for your pleasure.  I love working out.  I love growing my muscles, but – like I said – now there seems to be a reason for all those hours in the gym.  Now there seems to be a point to why I was made to be this enormous.  Now, I want to grow because it pleases you.  I have discovered a true reason to be strong . . . to be big.”

 

It would end up always being the same when I lifted with him.  As I pushed weights around he’d fall into a muscle-induced trance as he stared at my huge body and then we’d have deep philosophical or extremely romantic conversations – where each of us revealed our secret desires or whatever was weighing heavy on our hearts.  I had finished twenty reps, so I rested the dumbbells on the floor and then raised my arms into a double biceps flex, so he could inspect my work.  This was another part of our workout ritual.  He got to feel the results of my lifting immediately.  I held my flex while his small hands groped both peaks rocketing skyward beside my head.  This was a moment when I fell into a trance – watching his tiny fingers and palms up beside my mammoth arms.  He was noticing what I was staring at. 

 

“You make me feel so small.”     

 

“You make me feel so huge.”

 

The Professor stopped massaging my big biceps and let me drop my arms.  He then looked down at one of the huge dumbbells.  He slid off my lap – both of us noticing how both of his legs put together didn’t match the size of just one of my thighs.  He then bent down and grabbed hold of the dumbbell with both hands.  The Professor wasn’t a weak man – in fact, most people would have called him athletic – in that healthy simmer’s way.  He was, however, quite surprised when he could barely just lift the somewhat cumbersome big weight slightly off the floor.   He held it in the air – barely an inch off the ground – for only a few seconds.  I heard a loud clanking sound as the dumbbell hit the floor.  The Professor had used all of his strength and was barely able to move the weight even a little.  He looked up at me.

 

“My god, it’s so heavy.”

 

I glanced down at the dumbbell with something of a surprised look on my face.  When you were as big as I was you tended to look at things differently than most people.  The Professor saw something unmovable lying on the floor – I simply saw a warm-up weight.  It was then that I remembered my Little Prince had commissioned special weights for his gentle giant.  I looked around the room at the barbells, the other dumbbells, the racks, and the machines.  I realized the poundage on all of these had been increased way beyond what you’d find at a regular gym.  I looked back down at the dumbbell.  I didn’t really know how much it weighed, but I knew I easily lifted it – while my small friend couldn’t get it very far off the floor, using both hands.  My life had been this way for so long I had forgotten how unnatural it was.  When I entered sixth grade I no longer fit comfortably into one of the classroom desks.  From that year onward the school had to provide a chair and table for any room where I attended.   I looked at beds – huge ones – and realized my feet would dangle off the end and most of the time there wouldn’t be room for a second person.  I got quite used to men I would sleep with lying on top of me during the night.  It was the only way we both could get any sleep.  I looked at most chairs and only saw them as a fragile piece of furniture.  I didn’t dare sit on most pieces of furniture, unless I confirmed, before, that it had a steel structure or was reinforced in some way.  I naturally sought out double doors to most buildings – opening both of them to enter – or realized immediately when I needed to duck and turn my body for singe ones.  I sometimes simply forgot that other men – normal men – didn’t have to think of the same things I did.  I could tell the Professor understood what was going through my head.

 

“That thing’s light for you, isn’t it?”

 

“Um . . . yeah, yeah it is.  I kind of view it as something just to get me going.  You know, like a warm-up weight.”

 

This made my little friend shake his head in amazement.  He slid back onto my knees, which seemed wider than a bed to him, and started stroking my relaxed biceps with his hand.  It was like he was studying the thing to see how it worked – why it was so huge – and how it was able to do such astounding things.  I glanced down at my own arm and tried to see it through his eyes.  Again, I was really just used to being big.  I didn’t really even think about it most of the time.  Huge muscles were natural.  Being considered a giant was just part of life.  But then I got the wonderful opportunity to meet someone like Norman Michaels and he enabled me to see myself in new and exciting ways.  He helped me to desire my hugeness and my strength even more – simply because it turned him on so much.  Now I constantly looked for ways to emphasize my enormous body or show off my strength.  I did it almost without thinking about it – merely because I wanted him to be happy.

 

“It’s funny, Little Prince.  That dumbbell weighs a lot more than you.  I’m curling, with just one hand, something heavier than your entire body.”

 

He knew I was talking like this just to turn him on more than he already was.  He smiled, without taking his gaze away from my huge biceps that he stroked so lovingly.  Most of the time, I was fully aware of how he could easily get me to talking about myself – my size or my power.  I would have done it no matter what – simply because I knew it excited him – but having him lead me into it was much more fun.  We could make each other hard in no time at all – most of the time without even touching each other.  His hand tried to push in the hard meat of my bulging biceps.   The thing didn’t give even the slightest bit.  He let out a loving, lustful sigh and then looked up at me.

 

“Time for a second round of twenty reps, big man – and we both can pretend it’s my body you’re curling.”

 

I never knew lifting would turn into such a sexual stimulus for me.  I had certainly gotten my share of hard-ons while pressing some insane amount of weight up into the air, but this was something totally different.  I now knew every lift – every strain against some weight – was fuel for my lover’s hard-on – and that made working out so much more pleasurable for me.  I now wanted to add inches to my arms, my chest, my thighs, and all over just because I knew it would make my Little Prince happy.  Now, I never grudgingly went to the gym – as in times before.  I viewed a workout as a time to make my man constantly happy – whether he was there to feel the rewards immediately or if he’d get to grope them later on.  My size and my strength now had a new purpose – and I had inspiration galore for workouts.  I reached down and grabbed the dumbbell on either side of the bench – loving the fact that the thing that the Professor could barely move so easily came up into the air because of my tremendous strength.  I looked at the gorgeous man in front of me and smiled.  He knew how easy it was for me to lift the dumbbell and he also knew my grin was from the fact that his mouth dropped open wide when I swung the thing into the air with perfect form.  I tensed the biceps harder than before when I reached the top of the lift – making the mound even harder and bigger, just to tease the Professor more.

 

“We could put a weight-belt on you, Little Prince, and I could curl your body for real.  We wouldn’t have to imagine it.”

 

“You know I don’t give your arms enough resistance for a good workout.  Let’s stick to the small mountains you’re curling right now.  We both want you to grow, remember?”

 

“How could I forget – pleasing you is what I live for.  And I know me getting bigger will make you very happy.  Still, you tend to shoot off quicker than a firecracker if I curl you with one hand – it could bring both of us immense pleasure so quickly.”

 

“You know I like it when we prolong our release.  Let’s keep edging for a long time.”

 

“As you wish, my Little Prince.”

 

He placed his hands on my arms as I lifted.  This time he simply wanted to feel the slabs of beef get hard and relax with he movements up and down.  He was entranced at how huge they became when I lifted.  Nothing could make my Little Prince bust a nut more than my humongous arms.  He was clearly a biceps man and wasn’t afraid to admit it.  He said it was the way the giant things looked in stretched out polo sleeves.  He said it was because arms were so clearly connected to power.  He said it was because a big man like me couldn’t hide those mountains even if I wanted to.  He said it was because I could make them harder than anything he had ever felt.  He said it was because when I wrapped him in them as we slept he never felt more safe and secure.  He also said it was because I loved flexing them.  I told him I flexed them so much because I knew he liked it.  He would always laugh and call it the circle of muscle life.  When I finished that set of reps, I flexed my arms again for his pleasure after returning the dumbbells to the floor.  I could see – reflected in his gaze – that my arms were now bigger than before we started lifting.  We both had wet stains at our crotches just thinking about my muscles growing – him because he love the idea and me because it pleased him so much. 

 

“Do you ever get tired of posing?”

 

“The day you tire of it, Little Prince, is when I’ll get tied of it.”

 

“That’s never going to happen.”

 

“There’s the answer to your question, then.  I flex to keep you hard.”

 

“It works.”

 

Weeks of loving this gorgeous Prince had changed me.  I had matured in some way.  I had moved from being a giant, heavily muscled scattered teenager to becoming a man assured of his power and confidence.  He made me strong and sure.  I had never been surer of anything as I was about my love for him.  He pushed me into adulthood – not by force or coercion – but simply because I wanted, no I needed, to take care of him.  We became equals – not in size or strength – but in our respect for each other and our desire to be there for each other.  My parents had never batted an eye about the fact that I liked boys – they just wanted me to be happy.  The first time I visited them with the Professor my father took me on a long walk outside and lectured me about how it was a man’s responsibility – especially a man as big as I was – to care for those they loved, to be there for them no matter what.  I was confused at first, but then it dawned on me that my parents completely understood how much I adored this man.  My father was giving his giant son the same talk a father might give his son on his wedding day.  This revelation made my eyes well up with tears.  I hugged my father strongly – maybe a little too strongly, since he let out a little yell  - and then thanked him for understanding.  When we returned home I found that my mother had arranged a bunch of family heirlooms in order for the Professor and I to take them when we left.  Driving home, my Little Prince said I came with a handsome dowry.  I flexed my arm and told him that my body was really the only dowry he cared about and he quickly agreed.  He then pulled the car over to the side of the road, though, and turned to me. 

 

“I’ll love you forever, my Gentle Giant.  However, I want you to know that I love what’s inside your heart much more than all the humongous muscles around it.  I’d be lying if I said I didn’t get turned on by your size and your strength – or that I wasn’t constantly hard when you go shirtless, but know that even if you lost all of your hugeness, I would still continue to love you.  I’ve never loved anyone this way.”

 

I reached over, grabbed the back of his neck with my hand – briefly noticing how much bigger it was than his entire head – and pulled him in for a long, hot-enough-to-steam-up-the-windows, kiss.  That was my answer and he accepted it as gospel truth.  He knew my love – without me even saying it.  Just as I knew how much he loved me.  I smiled at him after the kiss – it was a slightly sinister smile.  He detected I was thinking something – something a little mischievous.

 

“What?”

 

“How about we get out of the car and you lay on the ground like the tire needs changing.  I’ll pick up the back of the thing just to freak out people that are passing by.”

 

He smiled at my idea.  I could tell he liked the way I thought.  He opened his door and I did the same.  A few minutes later he was kneeling on the ground by the tire as I lifted the back of the car up and down.  We were shocked at how many cars stopped to stare at me and by how many people honked their horns in appreciation of my strength.  The Professor was worried that my little show was going to cause an accident – mainly because someone couldn’t help but staring – so we got back in the car and drove home.  Starting that day we assumed specific roles in our relationship.  I was the one that opened jars with stubborn tops.  I was the one that lifted him to get things from the top shelves in closets.  I was the one that went to our new neighbor to ask him to turn down his music, which could be heard five blocks away.  The Professor insisted that I go to visit him without my shirt on, which proved to be very effective.  Not only did the guy turn down his music, he gave us a bunch of fruit, candy, and more items before I left his house.  I think I left a lasting impression.  We never heard loud music again.  On the flip side, the Professor paid all bills, even though I brought in money from odd jobs and some strongmen competitions.  My Little Prince insisted on me going to school and said there was no need for me to make money, but secretly I knew he loved coming to watch me in strength shows.  I never lost.  Once again we were back in the room with me lifting the heavy dumbbells as he watched with awe.  His hands were still lovingly feeling my biceps as I relaxed between sets.

 

“I will always be in awe of your size and strength.”

 

“I hope so.”

 

“You don’t have to worry about that.  Maybe you’ll tire of me sooner.”

 

“That will not happen, my Little Prince.  I promise you.  I’ll tire of breathing air before I tire of you.”

 

I grabbed the sides his shoulders and squeezed tight enough so that his ass came off my legs as I lifted him to my lips for a kiss.  Every time I lifted weights I said I needed multiple kisses for inspiration – to keep me going.  He liked playing my game and would kiss me, imagining I would lose my strength if he didn’t keep me going.  It was kind of like Samson with his long hair.  After a few seconds of a delicious round of tongue wrestling, I stood him on the floor and then grabbed the weights below me - to re-rack them and grab some heavier ones.  It was time to start the real workout.  To say the little guy’s face lit up when I grabbed the bigger dumbbells would be an understatement.  I brought the huge things back over to the bench and it looked like I carried two engines from eighteen-wheelers in my hands.  When I set them on the floor the room seemed to shake.  I reached out to grab my little muse by the waist, lifted him in the air, waited for him to part his legs, and then placed him back on my lap. 

 

“Now for the little ones, my Prince.  Care to hold one?”

 

“Not unless you want to see me fall through the floor.  Those things look like they weigh as much as a tank.”

 

He said this every time – mainly because he knew it thrilled me.  He licked his lips with anticipation, knowing that these particular mega dumbbells would make my arms swell up so big it would look like I was flexing even with my arms dangling at my sides.  I loved not knowing how much the things weighed.  I certainly felt these huge things – especially on the third and fourth sets.  They did the job of tearing down my muscles and rebuilding them even better than curling the BMW did.  I also loved watching the utter disbelief in my little lover’s face as I lifted what he called the tanks.  I went into some kind of power trance when I lifted these big things.  It was the only way I could complete the workout.  That, and having my Little Prince fondling my arms as I lifted – and then kissing me between the sets – which definitely helped, as well. 

 

“Boom!  Boom!”

 

My deep voice rang out loudly, as I brought my arms up in a slow, smooth, perfectly performed lift.  It helped to emphasize each curl when I hit the top.  It also thrilled the little guy to no end.  I continued to let my bass-like growl echo throughout the room as I lifted and as my Little Prince ran tiny hands up along my bulging biceps.  He had learned to be careful and not get his fingers in the crook of my arms as I bent them upwards – having nearly gotten four broken fingers that first time.  The poor guy was on sexual overload as he watched me – not sure whether to look at the humongous weights – the even larger bulges – or at my determined face, now covered in sweat.  He knew I was working hard, and that made him even harder.  By the time I finished my first set of ten he was beginning to sweat a little, too.  The sexual tension between us was now at a super high level.

 

“Those things seem to be going up and down way too easy, now.  It might be time to go up another level.”

 

We both looked over at the two larger dumbbells that were so huge they rested on a rack by themselves.  It looked like two city blocks sticking out on either side of thick rods.  The Professor waited impatiently for the day I would finally start curling those big things.  I thing he longed for it because it would mean I had reached a new level of strength – or maybe he just wanted to see how massive my guns would swell after swinging the giant contraptions up and down.  Either way, he longed for the day when he’d get to sit in my lap and feel the hardness they’d cause.  I secretly looked forward to that day as well. 

 

“I think I have a little more time with the tanks, Little Prince.  I like that I make it look easy, but – trust me – these big things are still giving me a lot of resistance.  I think you’re just hoping that when I do finally lift those big honking things over there you’ll get to ride on one of them like a carnival ride.”

 

The idea made his face light up with excitement.  I was amazed he hadn’t thought about that before.  Usually, he was the one that loved coming up with ideas for me to show off my strength.  One time, he suggested we go down to a bar he heard about – in a rough part of town – that had arm wrestling contests every week.  It was a biker bar that had every kind of rough looking criminal you’d ever seen in films.  And they came in all sizes and ages.  When this kid walked in – albeit, a hulking large kid – everyone assumed he’d be a pushover.  That is, until I put my arm on the table, pulled up my tight shirtsleeve, and flexed a gun that was almost twice the size of anyone else in the room.  Still, the reigning champion stayed cocky – not even after I knocked out every other competitor without as much as a slight challenge.  It took me less than fifteen minutes to make my way through the elaborate bracket system they set up for the competition.  Everyone said it was the fastest night ever – and I think they found it a little disappointing.  By the time I took on the champion I had only one fan in the bar and that was my Little Prince.  He just sat there; drinking bottled water and watching the cocky champion pump up the audience by saying how much he was going to love putting the young runt in his place.  I stood up beside him – just so he’d get a better idea of my real size.  He had to tilt his head back to look up into my face.  I watched as he swallowed hard – losing a little of his confidence.  When I sat back down and he did the same, I loved how the crowd around us gasped as we both put our bent arms on the table.  My biceps looked like a boulder beside a pebble compared to his.  He noticed the size difference, too.  I glanced at the Professor before we started and I could tell he loved the show even more than he had anticipated.  When the so-called ‘ref’ told us to go I smiled devilishly when the champion immediately started pushing against my arm – anticipating it would move – and it didn’t budge an inch.  I held it there while I stared into the champion’s eyes.  He was struggling so much that sweat was already forming on his forehead.  I looked at him and spoke as if I wasn’t doing a thing.

 

“Any time you want to start, champ, I’m ready.”

 

The big man knew I was preventing his hand from moving mine even a slight bit and he could tell I wasn’t even using a fourth of my strength.  I squeezed his hand tightly and loved how he squirmed from the pain.  I finally just started pushing – nice and slow – watching his face go from astonishment to shock to embarrassment when the so called ‘young runt’ tapped his hand lightly on the table.  I hadn’t even broke a sweat and was breathing normal, while the champ was gasping for breath and shaking out his hand.  It was quite clear that the defeated champion did not like losing.  His face turned redder than it had been before and he suddenly started cussing at me and swearing that I had cheated in some way.  Before I knew it, he was throwing a punch towards my face.  Luckily, my reflexes are as fast as I am big and I caught his fist about six inches from my face.  I immediately started compressing my fingers around his.  The big man let out a loud cry of pain and his knees buckled.  I simply squeezed harder and pushed his hand downward until he fell to his knees.  I wasn’t going to break any bones, but I wanted him to know that my strength was real.  I leaned down so my face was near his.

 

“Feel my power, champ.  Does it seem fake to you in any way?  I just beat you fair and square.  And you know the really fun part – I didn’t even use a fraction of my true strength.  I may be only nineteen, but I’m about twice your size and maybe three times as strong as you.  Here, let me show you.”

 

I let go of his hand and then reached down and grabbled the blue jean jacket with cut off sleeves he wore to show off his arms.  With no effort at all I lifted him off the floor and into the air.  The guy just went soaring off the ground as if he weighed nothing.  I bent a little backwards so I could look up at his face while his feet dangled in the air.  I suddenly had a memory of Brett Roberts, the bully in junior high.  The crowd broke out into a loud cheer as soon as I lifted the big ex-champion above my head.  Everyone there obviously always wanted to be on the side of the reigning alpha and I was clearly the biggest and strongest one in the place.  I walked around a little – just to show the creep in my hands how easy it was for me to hold him off the floor.  I glanced over to my Little Prince and could see that he was still really enjoying the show.  I saw the now familiar bulge in his pants – he was clearly turned on by my display of strength.  I finally put the guy back down on the ground, straightened out his jacket a little, and then patted him on his head.

 

“Now be a good little boy and go buy the new champion a beer.”

 

This made the entire place erupt in applause.  To my amazement, the ex champion did exactly as I told him.  He walked over to the bar, accepting some slaps on his back as gestures of condolence, and then ordered two beers.  When he returned he offered me one and then held his up in a motion of ‘cheers.’  We brought the bottles together and then both took a big swig.  He looked up into my eyes as he spoke.

 

“No one’s ever picked me up off the ground before.”

 

“Did you like it?”

 

“Yeah . . . yeah, I did.  You’re one huge strong fucker, son.”

 

“You have no idea.”

 

I saw the Professor motioning that it was time to go, so I swallowed the rest of my beer in one long gulp, handed the bottle to the ex champ, thanked him and then left.  Once we were outside my Little Prince came up behind me and jumped up on my back, making me carry him to the car.  He had his arms around my neck and his legs wrapped around my waist – and we both noticed how my huge body hid all of his behind me.  It looked like I simply had something draped around me.  He brought his face up beside my right ear.

 

“That was so hot.  You could have taken on four guys at one time, couldn’t you?  That would have been so great to watch. And then when you lifted that guy off the floor.  Man, I could have busted a load right there and then.”

 

“You, my Little Prince, are turning into such a strength whore.”

 

“In your very own words, my Gentle Giant, you have no idea.”

 

Again, those memories faded away and I was back in the room with the Professor and we were lifting weights.  I started my next set of reps with the tanks.  This time, my little lover moaned as he stroked my bending arms – and I knew he was beginning to get more excited by how freaking hard my biceps were turning.  The new layers of muscle, burned into place by the lifting, just seemed to be something akin to marble to him.  I loved watching him focus on my body.  He could be transfixed for hours – as if he were studying me for some art project.  I was beginning to think he knew my body better than I did.  He certainly explored it a lot more.  The sight of his small-looking hands against my triceps, my pecs, my thighs, or some other huge part of my body no longer surprised me.  The more I saw the Professor around other men and realized that he was what most people would call normal size the more I saw myself through his eyes – as the giant he loved to gaze at.  If I had thought my love for the man would wane after some time I would have been sadly mistaken.  It only seemed to increase with each passing day.  My desire for him seemed to grow to match my size . . . my strength.  It was hard for me to be without him for even the few hours he would go to teach class or to meet with students.  I still had my studies, but even then, when I was in the library doing research or out with friends my thoughts would also turn to him.  I would begin missing him terribly – the feel of his small body next to mine.  I finished my reps and my voice shook him from his muscle trance.

 

“Time for some standing barbell curls, Little Prince.”

 

The small man slid off my legs and immediately moved to the heavy-laden barbell at the end of a neighboring bench.  He waited for me to lift the monstrous thing from its resting place – marveling at how I easily lifted something he would not have been able to budge, even using his feet to try and make it roll while it was sitting on the floor.  I turned toward him and then held the bar level with my mid-section, my arms bent at the elbows.  The small man immediately rested his arms on the middle part of the bar – between my hands and then laid his chest on them.  He got comfortable, nudging his body so it rested on top of the bar, and then lifted his feet.  The bar didn’t dip or move at all.  I held the thing still, even with the added weight of the Professor.  I then started curling the bar upward – nice and slow.  When the bar and my lover reached the top of the pump and the bar was just under my chin, he’d lean forward a little and kiss me.  This happened on all twenty lifts – him counting the reps and me counting the kisses.  On rep number twenty I held the bar in place when it was at the top and I looked at him lovingly after the kiss.

 

“You make working out much more fun than it would normally be.  Getting bigger and stronger has never been so exciting.”

 

“I like inspiring you.”

 

“And you do it so well, Little Prince.”

 

“What did you do while I was teaching classes today?”

 

“Thought about you and stayed hard all day.”

 

“Funny, I did the same thing.  There’s a football player that might be developing a crush on me, big guy.  You might need to come by one day when he’s at my office and make it clear I’m off limits.”

 

“And how would I do that?”

 

“Wear that near-to-tearing tank top because it’s-now-too-small that you like so much and then give this old man a deep kiss in front of him.”

 

“You think he’d get the point.”

 

“If not, you could just pick him up with one hand and explain it to him.”

 

“Are you making all of this up just to get me to wear your favorite shirt and lift some guy off the ground.”

 

“Maybe . . . but you’ll just have to find out.”

 

I was still holding the bar and the Professor up in the air.  We were both so used to me lifting him or carrying him that we could have normal relationship conversations while it happened.  Sometimes, we’d both forget that I held him over my head or out to my side with one hand.  He simply became part of my workout routine – one of my barbells or dumbbells.  And he loved it that way.  I lowered the bar and we both took a break.  My workout continued for a couple of hours, with him holding on to bars while I did other exercises to blast my biceps, triceps, an forearms.  He stayed focused on my body the entire time – noting for me where I’d gotten bigger or harder.  He didn’t let one part of my body being worked out go uninspected.  He knew I loved his attention – his desire – his need for my body.  When we were finished and before he went to the kitchen to start preparing dinner, he stared up at me after I had wiped down benches and re-racked weights.  His face had that pleading look I had come to know so well.  I knew he was desperate for release – just as I was.  Our workouts together always left us with raging hard-ons.  We had been separated this day for about seven hours – the longest we ever liked to go without seeing each other, so I knew I’d give in and help us both with our raging problems.  I walked over to him without saying a word.  I squatted a little and wrapped my still bulging arms – pumped beyond belief from the workout – around his little body and squeezed tightly as I lifted him off the ground.  Just like that first time – the evening when we had moved him into this house – we both blasted out a love load for the other.  My bear hug was just too much for him and feeling his small body that close to mine – being that intimate – was just too much for both of us.  I held him off the ground in my arms until we both stopped convulsing.  I put him back on the ground and he walked a little unsteadily out of the room – a big smile on his face as he daydreamed about my muscle.  I was unsteady on my feet, as well, and had to sit down on a bench to recover.  We would both go through the night with sticky crotches – loving how later on we would scrub each other clean - either in the giant tub or the massive shower in the master bathroom.  Both of us were joyously happy that we could call this a normal night.

 

The big man was lost in thought – clearly moved by the memory of his lover as he told Adonis this story in the bar.  The smaller man rested his free hand on the giant one that was interlocked with the fingers of his other – stroking it slowly and letting the silence nurture both of them for a few minutes.  Adonis was intensely aware of how fortunate he was to be given the gift of this incredible love story.  He waited for the eyes of Atlas to become less cloudy with budding tears and then spoke.

 

“You don’t have to tell me any more stories, big man.  I’m sorry if this is too much for you.”

 

“No, no.  It’s fine.  It actually helps.  I like sharing good memories like this – especially with you.  I have a feeling you and the Professor have a lot in common.”

 

“I think so, too.”

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I wonder if the love of Atlas' life (whether it'd be the Professor or someone else), would be able to order him to grow bigger on the spot if Atlas' desire to please him would be at the highest. >;3 <3 Just imagine how huge he'd get if someone with a muscle fetish that truly has no limit would order him to do that. >;3

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I always look forward to your installments, LB.  This story is giving me a little "Interview with the Vampire" vibe, though with a totally different sort of magnetism involved- or is it?  Thanks so much for sharing your talent with us.

divis24

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