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musclehintz

You Might Not Survive the Experience (WARNING: SNUFF)

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I am perfection itself. More than that. I almost feel perfection is an insult. There are many people that say they are "perfect", but there is only one of me. And I am more than any other man can ever hope to be.

A lot of people don't believe that I really exist. That I am, in fact, a real human being. They think I'm just a photo, an image created by a particularly horny and talented artist.

But I'm real. I know you want to see me. But I wouldn't want you to. Because, if you did, you might not survive the experience.

You see, I am an enormous man. It's sometime hard for people to even recognize that I am human, that I'm not some God who descended on this Earth and took human form. Looking at my body is like gazing up from the floor of the Grand Canyon. It makes you realize just how tiny and weak and insignifant you really are. When you stand before me, the top of your head just grazing the bottom of my pecs, and look up, all you see is my massive chest, just two beautiful round heaving mass of muscle that flex and roll and grow with every breath of my lungs. My pecs totally eclipse your body, blocking out the sun, their size so impossibly, unbelievably huge that their bulging mass occupies every inch of your sight. You take a big step back, and tilt your head up thirty degrees. Now, you are staring straight into my nipples. They're perfectly shaped, so thick and dark that you feel an overwhelming need to kiss them, to lick and such on them. Breathing, eating, living, loving - you forget all these things. You forget your family, your friends, your children, your husband or wife. Because my pecs overpower them, just with their sheer existence, the way they subtly sway and bounce like a hypnotic lapdance. You grab them, then gasp, realizing that despite their elastic appearance, they are as hard as rock. You grab tighter, then try to punch them, but your hands fail to even dent my liquid iron chest. I chuckle - a sound so deep, so powerful, so masculine that you soak your pants right where you stand - and then hug my arms around you.

You freeze - not because of the shock, but because you literally cannot move. My muscles are so impenetrably hard that, if you closed your eyes, you would really believe you are trapped between rock cliffs on a mountain. You feel how strong my muscles are - that if I evenly accidentally flexed a little bit too hard, your bones would shatter like cheap plastic. Even my veins are harder than your muscles, you realize, as the vein atop my left bicep rhythmically crushes your right rib with every pump of blood. I'm pumping out so much heat, you feel like you're in an oven, my body warmth alone causing you to sweat. My arms are literally wider around than your torso is, and unlike your torso, my arms are pure muscle. I remove my left arm, relieving your upper body of an intense amount of stress, and then extend it, fully straight at a horizontal. Even held this way, completely relaxed, my arms boast size proportionally obscene. With my almost nonexistant bodyfat, you can see every single muscle head - the deltoids, the bicpes, the triceps - and the way they lazily roll over each other, bowling balls of unfathomable size, every time I make the slightest move. I twitch, and my tricep erupts, flaring out to a size that proportionally would make Mr. Olympia green with envy. Then I flex my bicep, slowly, savoring the growth of the half-moon muscle until it peaks. I gaze upon it lovingly. These are my favorite muscles. They are perfect. Nobody has ever developed arms like these in the course of human history, and nobody ever will.

Then I turn my sight towards you, and you subconsciously, meet my gaze. And then you forget. You forget that I am the tallest, largest, most powerful most muscular man on Earth. You forget who you are, where you are, why you are here, what you are doing. You only see my eyes. The most beautiful things you have ever seen. My gaze is so powerful that I gain complete control over you, just with my eyes. What color are they? You forget what colors are. They are deep as the blue ocean, mysterious as the green forest, intoxicating as brown wine. You feel yourself about to cum, so overwhelmed by my unfathomable beauty, a beauty that Narcissus himself would desire. But my eyes tell you not to. Just with a single glance, I override your brain's most primal needs, override your body's nervous system, and take control. I tell you to look at my face. You moan, heart yearing with sadness. How can anyone have such full, thick lips, you wonder. Such flawless cheekbones. Such a powerful jaw. This face cannot be real. If it were real, then the human condition is to be inferior. You despair. Nobody could ever be so beautiful. No other human being, none of the billions that walk on this Earth today or in the past or in the future, none of them could improve upon my perfection. If I were to reproduce with another, my offspring would only be tainted by my partner's inferiority. I must be fake, you tell yourself. It's your brain's protection mechanism, the way you preserve your own ego, the way you preserve the egos of the billions of humans around the globe. But then I do something that proves to you, indisputably, that I must be real.

I give you a kiss.

Your consciousness, for all intents and purposes, ceases to exist. You are only able to experience understanding because of the tiny thread of human awareness that my eyes have gifted you. You cum, over and over and over, producing new jism like a firehose, unloading at a rate that ought to be biologically impossible. My lips have filled your body with extreme sexual fulfillment, the likes of which nobody has survived. You are wracked with endless orgasms, the only thought imprinted in your mind is the feeling of my soft lips, the way my saliva tastes like sweet honey in your mouth. Satan himself could not grant a tenth of the pleasure that I gave you from that simple kiss, an action so easy and effortless and yet so incredibly deadly. 

You're alive. Your body refuses to shut down. The power of that kiss, even just the memory of it, is far greater than the pull of the afterlife. I still control your body, even as it shakes and vibrates like an out-of-control fucktoy. I unsheathe my cock. Had you been conscious, you would have died instantly, the mere vision of such a terribly huge fuckweapon too unbearable for the human mind. I place your open mouth on my cockhead and push it down, ripping your hyperextended jaw in half as my penis slides between your lips, fracturing the bones of your skull. I groan in approval, enjoying the massage your rapidly quivering body provides my cock, as I slowly slide myself further and further inside you. Muscles tear, bones shatter, a once-powerful human body broken by just the force of a single massive penis. My cock makes it all the way through you, and your body disintegrates, but not before you witness my own ejaculation. In those two seconds, I unleash more cum than you have in the entire past hour, despite the fact that you have been cumming constantly. I smile at you. You die, happy, gazing into the most beautiful face anyone has ever known.

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This is a short story I wrote in a single sitting. Didn't bther with editing afterwards. If I made any dumb typos or mistakes, please forgive me - I wanted to get it published before I lost motivation!

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Haha, this was just what I love about your stories man, your gift for description never cease to amaze me or turn me on immensely. I don't know if it was patterned off of Beyond Sexy by Zangetsu, not that you don't have a history of super sexy description, but it does remind me a lot of that, in terms that anyone who sees him in the flesh is guaranteed to cum harder than they had ever cum in the lives. But even so, this beautiful beast does more for me in a couple paragraphs than Mr. Sir did in about 3 or 4 stories worth of lines, and that's no dig at Zangetsu, that story was greatly written, but you just cram so much awesome stuff into so much smaller a space overall, and I give you top marks for that. 

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