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Charlie's Secret


muscleaddict

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2 hours ago, crushme99 said:

Please tell me you are working on Parts 19, 20, and 21.  ?

Hehe! It's a nine part story mate so there's a bit more to come! :D 

2 hours ago, crushme99 said:

I had that link in an archived YouTube section of my own. That may have posed a problem.

Let's try this link, which goes directly to the original video:

https://youtu.be/iyL1XHBf_CU?t=8m37s

Oh my fucking GOD!!! That's so hot! Those GRUNTS! "EURGH"! Fuck yeah!! 

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Eight

It felt like the whole world had gone into slow motion as I tried to comprehend what was happening. A genuine bodybuilder in insane, competition condition was inviting me to oil him up. There had to be a catch. I looked down and noticed that the oil was in a spray-bottle. No actual bodily contact had to be necessary. I would press down on the head of the bottle and the oil would spray onto Tommy’s perfectly pumped, alien-like physique, but surely he would be the one to do the rubbing? Surely I wouldn’t actually get to place my hands on his phenomenally huge mounds and crazily developed slabs of thinly skinned muscle?

Even though I was convinced that this was the case, the mere mention or thought of any kind of oiling up of a bodybuilder had not only caused a serious lack of space in my underwear, but it felt like I was suddenly sporting my biggest, hardest and most intense erection of the day.

Without really considering an alternative option, I cautiously took the bottle of oil from Tommy’s hand. I then shot a quick, nervous glance at Stuart Fox, who, at this point, seemed to be trying his best to act as if what was unfolding was a perfectly normal occurrence.

Tommy also looked completely nonchalant as he posed his next question. “Have you ever oiled up a bodybuilder before, Charlie?”

Oh yes, Tommy mate. Every bloody weekend an incredibly conditioned, freakishly muscular bodybuilder in brightly coloured, minuscule posing trunks pops round to my house, plonks himself in the middle of my bedroom and just stands there with his arms outstretched for a head to toe oil up. What the bleeding buggering hell do YOU think?!

Still in a state of shock at what was happening, I shook my head and gave him a mumbled, “No,” and he casually proceeded to give me instructions. “You need to give the bottle a good shake before you spray it on. Just a few sprays on to the chosen body part, and then just really rub it in.”

“Rub it in”! Did he just say “rub it fucking in”?! Chances of me fainting dead on Tommy Foster’s hotel room floor? VERY BLOODY LIKELY!

“It’s probably best to start with my quads…”

His quads! He wants me to place my hands on his ridiculously developed, gorgeously shredded quads! My actual hands. On his actual fucking quads! Fainting on Tommy Foster’s hotel room floor expected in 3, 2...

 “…and then work your way up.”

Helloooo Tommy Foster’s hotel room floor. Do you mind if I just stay here for a while?  

“Don’t be afraid to be generous. It washes off easily.” Tommy then turned to my filming mentor. “You can get in here too, Stuart. There’s enough of me to go round.”

His mouth then curled into an amused grin at his own outrageously cheeky comment and I couldn’t help but smile in amusement myself, all the time wondering how the hell I was still standing upright and conscious.

Tommy Foster/Mr Gorgeous Abs had stopped talking, and the atmosphere suddenly seemed to have become slightly awkward. As he and Stuart Fox glanced at me, I suddenly realised that they were waiting for me to make my move. They were waiting for me to bend down, spray oil onto the insanely thick, deliciously carved quads of a genuine competition conditioned muscle freak, and rub it in using my hands (my actual hands). There was nothing else to do than to oblige.

Crouching down, with one knee on the carpet, and my face mere inches away from his absurdly sized wheels, as instructed, I gave Tommy’s bottle of oil a few good shakes. As I sprayed twice on to his left quad, three questions arose in my head;

#1. How can one man’s legs be so monstrously thick and muscular?

#2. Why am I so turned on by the scent of the shiny yellow fabric of his posing trunks, now mere inches away from my face, along with the thick bulge that’s still struggling to be contained by it?

#3. How the bleeding buggering FUCK is this actually happening to me?!

Conscious of the fact that Stuart was standing over me, I reached my hand up and gave him the bottle. Even though he looked more nervous than I’d seen him doing so before, the left corner of his mouth curled slightly into a coy, and excited smile as he took the bottle of oil from me and proceeded to kneel down next to me at Tommy Foster’s legs.

As Stuart sprayed the oil onto Tommy’s right quad, I stared at the glistening mound of impossibly muscular, thinly skin wrapped leg meat. Time, once again, seemed to slow down as I prepared to do something I never imagined I would get the possibility to do and place my hands on the freakishly developed muscle of an actual living, breathing bodybuilder. What I certainly wasn’t prepared for was said bodybuilder to suddenly and unexpectedly tense and flex that freakishly developed muscle the second my hand made contact.

If I had to describe the sensation of running my hands over the incredible mounds of rock hard, inhumanly thick, gorgeously soft skin wrapped muscle which made up Tommy Foster’s quads and feeling the deep lines and freakish separations under my fingertips, I would probably say it was the closest I’ve ever felt to experiencing an orgasm without actually having one.

It was like I had transcended a normal level of arousal. My whole body felt like it was undergoing some hyper-sensual, otherworldly experience that the majority of people would never know existed, let alone have the chance to experience.

The door to the world of extreme muscle I had opened when I’d stumbled across the image of the huge, shredded, flexing bodybuilder in my parents TV listings guide all those years ago was long behind me and I was now smack bang in the middle of it, down on one knee with the shiny posing trunk clad bulge of a muscle bull mere inches from my head, rubbing oil into his phenomenal sized, alien-like quads, feeling every ridge, line and separation under my fingers and wondering if I’d ever have an experience so powerful, intoxicating and mind blowingly erotic again.

I wondered whether Stuart Fox was feeling anything even close to what I was as he gave Tommy Foster’s right quad the same treatment, and whether it was actually the first time he’d managed to feel the freaky muscle of a bodybuilder, either on one of his previous three shows or otherwise. That particular question hadn’t even occurred to me before that moment, but I’d suddenly become extremely curious to know the answer to it.

The wave of disappointment I felt as the task of oiling up Tommy Foster’s incredible, barely human quads had completed, and Tommy spun around to present Stuart and I with the rear of his physique, quickly evaporated when he reached his hands around to the back of his posing trunks and outrageously tucked the bright yellow material into the crack of his ass and I was suddenly staring at a pair of gorgeously tanned and gloriously thick glutes.

I looked over at my tanning buddie who looked completely awestruck and ever so slightly terrified, presumably at being in such close proximity of an ass so astonishingly big and, thanks to the owner, suddenly barely covered. As Stuart’s mouth curled slightly into a devilish grin, I wondered whether that fear was, in fact, for another reason. Was he suddenly, like me, wondering whether Tommy Foster had tucked his trunks into the crack of his mammoth sized bottom because he was expecting us to oil it up? Surely that was above and beyond the duties of any friend, training partner or nervous, muscle crazed work experience guy lucky enough to be asked to perform the task of oiling up a bodybuilder? Or was it? The glutes were a muscle group that would surely have to get oiled up just like any other. Was I about to get my hands on an actual pair of insanely developed and obscenely thick glutes?

Predictability, rubbing oil into Tommy’s tight, taught hamstrings was considerably less arousing than doing so with his quads. So much so, that I completely underestimated just how incredible his freakish and enormous sized calves would feel. I’d never been massively into calf muscles, until that very moment I was knelt down on the floor at the feet of a bodybuilder running my hands over the granite hard, ridiculously huge mound of muscle exploding off the back of his lower leg.

I’d almost forgotten that Tommy was an actual, living person, and not just a mass of freakish muscle put on the earth purely for the pleasure of Stuart and I until he spoke, and addressed us with a rather unexpected question.

“So how long have you guys known each other?”

Even without facing Tommy, the prospect of talking to him still all but terrified me, and it was left to my filming mentor to reply. “Erm…we only just met this morning,” Stuart replied.

“Oh, wow!” Tommy replied, with genuine surprise in the tone of his voice. “You seem like you’ve known each other for a while.”

I sheepishly looked at Stuart who was returning a slightly embarrassed but undoubtedly affectionate smirk similar to the one I was completely failing to repress. It was an expression which told me one thing; Stuart Fox was clearly feeling the same connection between us that I had been, pretty much since he started sharing his fantastic and inventive pump room game with me that morning.

Whatever was happening between Stuart and I one thing for was certain; it felt incredible special. Furthermore, I couldn’t deny how particularly brilliant it was to have a like minded muscle lover, clearly just as crazily turned on by muscle that I was, by my side and sharing my experience of oiling up a competition conditioned bodybuilder.

In that moment I decided that I wouldn’t go home that day without attempting two things; firstly, finding out whether Stuart Fox was currently embarking on his first experience of oiling up a bodybuilder, and secondly, getting his phone number.

I’d just about rubbed every last bit of oil into Tommy’s calves when Stuart Fox handed me back the bottle of oil. With his hamstrings also well and truly oiled, I looked up to see the copious amount of Tommy’s bum meat staring down at me in the most magnificent image and wondered what the hell my next move was going to be.

I could only guess that Stuart Fox, helplessly and nervously staring back at me in that moment, was pondering the same question in his head that I was. The question which had been on my mind since Tommy Foster had unexpectedly wedged the back of those obscenely shiny posers into the crack of his ass and was now in desperate need of an answer; did Tommy Foster want us to place our grubby, muscle loving hands on his outrageously muscular, crazily developed, posing trunk devouring ass?

“Hey, guys,” Tommy unexpectedly said. “Don’t forget the glutes.”

He wants us to place our grubby, muscle loving hands on his outrageously muscular, crazily developed, posing trunk devouring ass!!

“I worked hard for those bad boys!”

Two words. Cheeky bugger! Two more words. FUCK YES!!

Wondering whether I’d experience a more surreal moment for the rest of my living days, I shook Tommy Foster’s bottle of oil and pumped two sprays onto his indecently thick and meaty right buttock. It wasn’t until the second spray that Tommy suddenly tensed said buttock, and, right before my eyes, his amazing ass shrivelled up, a dozen of the freakiest lines and striations erupted and I was staring directly at the most beautiful pair of real life, genuine, gorgeously shredded glutes.

It was a moment made even more brilliant when Stuart Fox unexpectedly and accidentally muttered a hushed, “Fuck!” in response, followed by a look of sheer panic and a sudden case of violent blushing to his cheeks.

It wasn’t just the actual words that made up Tommy Foster’s response to Stuart Fox's verbal slip which suddenly made the whole scene feel even more highly erotic, but the incredibly arrogant, undeniably masculine and rather dirty sounding tone in which he delivered them; “Yeah, baby!”

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There were so many factors as to what made oiling up Tommy Foster’s glutes even more erotically charged than when my hands were running over his thick, shredded quads. The actual sensation of feeling Tommy’s ass striations under my fingers, the fact that the act of having my hands on the glutes of, not just a bodybuilder, but any man, felt a lot more intimate, the fact that my fingers kept making contact with what little of his shiny posing trunks were left covering up his unfathomably thick buttocks, and the fact that I was experiencing the whole thing knelt down next to a guy I was not only attracted to, but also felt an incredible chemistry with. A guy who was, no doubt, just as turned on by running his hands over a pair of gorgeously conditioned glutes as I was.

Tommy’s obscenely sexy and dirty sounding, “Yeah, baby!” was also hanging in the air. As my tingling and extremely sensitive hard on pulsated and throbbed in my jeans, I couldn’t help but, once again, wonder exactly what Tommy Foster’s motives were for inviting two guys who he’d confessed to suspecting were gay and turned on by muscle to rub oil into his freaky, shredded ass.

With every single inch, line and striation of Tommy’s phenomenal and glistening glutes fully oiled, I took Stuart Fox’s lead in standing up in preparation to give Mr Foster’s back the same treatment. With my face not far away from the rear of his head, my torso from his broad, perfectly bronzed back, and the throbbing bulge in the crotch of my jeans from the indecently thick ass I’d just been running my fingers over, I suddenly felt a new kind of intimacy with the amazing middleweight muscle freak before me.

After Stuart gave his lower back a few sprays, without a huge amount of pre-thought, I, perhaps rather adventurously, opted for the upper part of Tommy’s back, which seemed to slightly surprise him, as he briefly turned his head to the side of his body I was oiling up in response. Not to be outdone, Tommy Foster had his own surprise in store for me. As I rubbed the oil over the right side of his impossibly broad upper back, Tommy suddenly and quickly manoeuvred into a back lat spread pose, and before I knew what was happening, he was letting out an outrageously cocky, “Oooooh,” his back was opening up, and his impressively thick right lat was exploding and bulging underneath my fingers.

With the sensation of feeling Tommy’s hard, flexed muscle came the realisation that it would take very, very little to make my throbbing dick explode with an absolute tsunami of cum. One little tug on my hard on through my jeans, or even just one little accidental brush of my crotch against Tommy’s phenomenally conditioned, barely covered glutes and it would undoubtedly all be over.

With his magnificent back fully oiled, Tommy spun around to face Stuart and I. The moment he did, my face suddenly flushed and I felt a new, crippling and intense sense of shyness, which would undoubtedly had been even more intense had I not long before been running my fingers over his gloriously striated ass.

Whether the biggest contributor to this was the fact that he could suddenly see my face, and the un-nerving possibility of him being able to read my expressions, the fact that his slabs of perfectly smooth pec meat and thick, blocky, beautiful nickname earning abs were now inches away from my body, or whether it was the prospect of getting my hands on his insanely muscular, and crazily conditioned torso, I wasn’t entirely sure, but my pulse was suddenly racing and I seemed physically incapable of looking Tommy Foster in the eye.

I’d never been more attracted to anyone than I was to Tommy in that moment. Here was a man who had transcended a normal level of hotness to become the kind of bona fide muscle freak guys like me can only dream of seeing in the flesh. His potent, masculine, and extremely arousing scent was present once again and stronger than ever, and his gorgeous, rock hard, thinly skinned torso seemed to be radiating an incredible heat. As Stuart Fox sprayed oil onto the right, thick, slab-like pec hanging off his chest, I suddenly wondered what I wanted most in that moment; for a hole to appear beneath me on the floor of Tommy Foster's hotel room floor and swallow me clean into the ground, or for Tommy to suddenly wrap his magnificently muscular arm around my waist, push me into his hard, Adonis-like body and bring his lips to mine for an amazing, soft, passionate kiss.

After taking the bottle of Tommy’s oil from Stuart and pumping a couple of sprays onto the obscenely pumped chest meat before me, the task I’d performed so easily on Tommy’s rear body parts suddenly seemed a lot more daunting and nerve wracking, because now I was being watched by the very man who happened to be turning me on more than any other person on the planet ever had before.

As Tommy’s phenomenally muscular chest glistened and wetted with the newly sprayed oil, I could feel his eyes burning into me, inviting, even daring me to make eye contact. As I sheepishly glanced up, his mouth curled into a devastatingly sexy, unwittingly mischievous and knowing grin, which told me one thing; there was absolutely no hiding my emotions from Tommy Foster. He knew exactly the kind of effect he, and his glorious slabs of freakishly shredded, tightly wrapped muscle were having on me.

No muscle addict would be able to accurately predict what it feels like to rub their hands over the perfectly pumped up pecs of a competition ready bodybuilder. It was hard to believe that Tommy Foster’s chest was actually attached to a human. Or that, given the right amount of training, diet and supplements, I, or anyone other man, could develop pecs like the ones I was touching.  It was like someone had invented a new kind of flesh and marble hybrid, implanted it into Tommy’s chest and wrapped it in the thinnest, silkiest, most beautifully bronzed skin ever found on a human being.

With mine and Stuart's faces closer to Tommy's than before, the act of oiling up his pecs was undoubtedly the most intimate moment we'd shared in his hotel room yet, but it also seemed to bring something I hadn't really anticipated. There was absolutely no denying that the atmosphere suddenly seemed a lot more sexual and suggestive than it had done before, which only eased slightly when my hands were free from his chest, Stuart was covering his right shoulder with oil, and Tommy paid us the most charming and unexpected compliment which sent my imagination spiralling into overdrive.

“You guys are good at this. Maybe I should take you both with me to my next competition.”

And with that single comment, my career ambition as a camera man suddenly evaporated to make room for a new one; a career as a joint personal assistant to ridiculously hot, middleweight muscle beast Tommy Foster. Duties would include, but not be limited to; shopping for and picking out the hottest, shiniest, most colourful posing trunks for his competitions, managing his social media channels and ensuring every picture either I, or his other personal assistant (Stuart Fox) take is accompanied with a cheeky, engaging comment such as, “Lines in my ass people! I have lines in my fucking ass!” or, “Who needs a cheese grater when you abs like THESE?” filming various videos for the Internet, ranging from training videos, hotel room, gym and locker room posing, along with quirkier videos of him flexing, posing and showing off in public spaces (supermarkets/a park etc.) and catching every shocked, surprised, awe-stricken, and occasionally terrified reaction from every unsuspecting member of the public lucky enough to be a witness, applying tan and oil to every inhumanly shredded body part for his competitions, for which full attendance will be required, shouting out various words of encouragement during his posing routine and comparison rounds such as, “Crank it hard, Tommy,” “Squeeeeeze those glutes,” and, “Come on ya monster,” (naturally Stuart will be better at performing this part of the job than me) and getting on all fours on his hotel room bed after every bodybuilding show and taking it in turns with Stuart Fox to get my tight arse pumped and filled up with the copious amount of cum he’ll have built up from spending all day flexing and strutting around in his posers, showing off his hyper-masculine, outrageously pumped, God-like muscles with a bunch of other huge, shredded muscle freaks.

Tommy’s comment seemed to relax the atmosphere slightly, and as I worked my hand into the incredible space which made up Tommy’s absurdly sized, newly oiled left shoulder, it was not nerves, but sheer excitement I felt at the prospect of what was next, and what caused a small smirk to form on my face; I was about to get my hands on the upper arms of an insanely pumped bodybuilder.

With his arms lifted up in line with his shoulders, outstretched and straight in preparation, I sprayed and worked my hands over the shockingly muscular upper arms of Tommy Foster. Even un-flexed, his arms felt impossibly huge. He twisted them to ensure I could oil up the inner part of his upper arms and I worked my hands around the un-tensed bicep muscle. I wanted so badly for him to unexpectedly bring his fist and forearm up and erupt into a full flex, and to feel his incredible bicep muscle underneath my fingers in all it’s full glory, but frustratingly, Tommy wouldn’t oblige.

With my hands dancing between the unfathomably sized bicep and tricep muscles in their un-flexed state, I was completely entranced by the sheer thinness of the skin covering the muscle. The only things lurking under the shiny, bronzed skin of his tree trunk sized arms were superhuman, granite hard muscle mass and thin, wiry, freak-show worthy veins.

With every inch of his arms oiled and, sadly, not even the slightest flex performed, Tommy’s body was, once again, free of our hands. With the bottle of oil in my hand, tentatively awaiting it's next shake and spray, I realised there was only one part of his body left to do; that phenomenally conditioned midsection, home to Tommy’s six beautifully shaped, brilliantly thick, gorgeous nickname earning abs.

Leaving the right three blocks for my filming mentor, newly crowned oiling buddie, and future joint personal assistant to Tommy Foster, I sprayed oil onto my half of one of the most beautiful sets of cobblestone shaped abdominals I’d seen on any bodybuilder, in reality, or on any PC screen or magazine page.

As I gave the part of his midsection next to his abs the same treatment, which seemed to unveil, and bring out more of his shredded serratus and blistering obliques, Tommy surprised me by gently throwing his arms around the back of his head. With Stuart in the process of oiling up his side of Tommy’s midsection, I nervously placed my hand on mine.

The second my fingers made contact with the bumps protruding from Tommy’s tummy, they momentarily stretched upwards. With an unexpected, “TSSSSSSS,” from their freak of an owner, they then travelled back down, protruded from his stomach further and exploded under my fingertips until I was touching the big, blocky, fully crunched abdominals of a bodybuilder who’d gently crunched down into a cheeky abs and thighs pose.

I’m not sure what sensation was the freakiest; the thick, juicy bumps of cling wrap skinned abdominal muscle against my skin, or the feeling of the deep, prominent lines, crazily separating each ab block, which were repeatedly meeting with my fingertips. It completely blew my mind how one man had managed to carve out his stomach to such a freakish degree, until there was nothing left but lumps and bumps of hard, thick muscle and skin so tight and thin you had to wonder whether it was even worth having.

As my fingers moved to the right of his abs, Tommy, still with his arms behind his head in an abs and thighs stance, responded by twisting his head and upper body to the left. As he crunched down once more, with a short sharp hissing sound, yet more lumps of muscle that made up his incredible serratus and obliques erupted before my eyes and under my fingers, putting me in mind of a poster of an anatomy chart that used to hang on one of my Science classrooms at school, which I was always strangely drawn to, but never really quite knew why.

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I suddenly had the urge to know exactly what was going through the mind of, not just my new oiling partner, but the man whose gorgeously peeled and newly glistening obliques my fingers were currently dancing with.

From the intense look of awe and admiration on Stuart Fox’s slightly flustered face as he rubbed oiled into the incredibly carved out, alien-like mounds of muscle sticking out of Tommy’s stomach, he was clearly harbouring similar feelings to this indescribably amazing and highly arousing act as I was. As Tommy gently twisted to the left to bring out more of the muscles in the right side of his midsection for Stuart to oil, I cautiously glanced at him in an attempt to find the slightest clue as to whether he was enjoying the act as much as Stuart and I were.

With his immensely thick arms bulging either side of his head and still locked into his abs and thighs pose, Tommy was glancing down as Stuart oiled up his barely human midsection. While no where near as animated or outrageously cocky as he was when he was crunching down on his abs in his posing routine, there was still a hint of a gentle but slightly cocky and undoubtedly smug grimace in Tommy’s face. More than anything though, he looked like he was having an absolute blast crunching down and having his huge, shredded mass being oiled and touched up by two perfectly regular sized non-muscle freaks.

As he suddenly clocked me looking at him, Tommy stared me in the eyes. Still grimacing slightly, he pursed his lips and softly exhaled, before gently biting down on one side of his lip, as the other side curled into the most devastatingly sexy and teasing smile, like, “Fuuuuuck, Charlie, you have no idea how bloody good this feels. To be this huge and shredded, just gently flexing out for two muscle mad buddies, who are clearly in some kind of seventh fucking heaven being able to get their greedy mitts on my tight as fuck, cheddar grating midsection.” I couldn’t help but return this with a coy, flustered smile, which, completely amazingly, only seemed to enhance his sexy, teasing grin to an even bigger degree.

There was absolutely no doubt in my mind at that point that Tommy Foster not only knew the effect he was having on Stuart and I, but was clearly loving every moment of it. It was a mixture of this knowledge, the fact that the atmosphere had undoubtedly become a lot more sexual, probably from the moment Stuart and I had laid our hands on his ass striations, and the mischievous, sexy and arguably flirtatious smile I’d received from Tommy, which led me back to the question that had been in the back of mind since he’d unexpectedly implied that Stuart and I were spending the day surrounded by magnificently built muscle bulls in tiny, shiny posing trunks because we just so happened to cream our jeans over them on a regular bases; was Tommy Foster a gay bodybuilder who’d orchestrated this whole set up, and dragged two suspected gay muscle lovers back to his hotel room so they could touch, feel and worship every indecently sized lump, every perfectly carved out bump and every impossibly pumped bulge on his amazing physique?

It was with Tommy’s next move, and his accompanying words, that I was finally provided with a much needed answer. Throwing his arms back down and relaxing from his pose, with the most mischievous smirk on his face, Tommy took the bottle of oil from Stuart’s hand, and placed it on the desk behind him.

Conflicted from feeling disappointed that the job was done, but also feeling an incredible sense of intrigue as to what was going to happen next, Tommy walked back up to Stuart and I. Still grinning wildly, he playfully shook his head and made a statement I never thought I’d hear coming from anyone fully tanned and oiled and wearing a pair of impressively filled out posing trunks.

“You guys are way too cute!”

HOLY! JESUS! FUCKING! FUUUUUCKK!! He’s gay. He’s an actual gay competitive bodybuilder. I’ve just had my hands on every single inch of the phenomenally conditioned, otherworldly body of an actual fucking gay competitive bodybuilder.

Failing to suppress the sheer surprise and elated feeling that I’d just been described as “cute” from a man who had the power to make me want to furiously jerk off just from merely looking at him, my mouth curled into a similar, dizzy, excitable grin to the one Stuart Fox was also suddenly wearing.

Tommy Foster beamed in response, before reaching out his hand, wrapping his beautifully bronzed palm around my fingers, drawing it to his midsection, and placing it flat on the centre of his beautiful set of gorgeously chiselled abdominals, with not a single spot of newly sprayed oil to rub in sight.

As I tried to comprehend the fact that a genuine gay competitive bodybuilder, fresh from being awarded as the second best amateur middleweight bodybuilder in America wanted my hands on his crazily developed bumps of tummy muscle, Tommy Foster, once again, threw his arms around the back of his head. Much more akin to the attitude and aggression I’d witnessed during his routine, he then scrunched up and contorted his uniquely handsome face, now mere inches away from mine, into an insane grimace and crunched down hard with one of his loud, “EURGH!” sounding grunts. As I felt the thick abdominal muscles explode and tighten underneath my fingers, my throbbing cock manically jerked and suddenly felt more intense, sensitive, and closer to blowing the most tremendous sized load than it ever had.

Someone else in that position might have taken better advantage of the situation by running their hands over his ab blocks, tracing the deep, prominent separations with their fingers, moving their hand up to his pecs, or down to his thick, braided, gloriously shredded quads, but I was completely paralysed. Tommy Foster may have been the one to initiate contact by placing my hand on his stomach, but this was still new, undiscovered territory for me, and I had no idea what the rules were. So much so, that when a grimacing Tommy stopped flexing and threw his arms back down either side of his, I instinctively took my hand away.

One again he was looking at me with a devilish smirk. “How did those abs work out for you, Charlie?” Unable to even conceive a constructed reply to his question, I just blushed and sheepishly smiled instead. In response, Tommy unexpectedly reached out his hand and gave me a brief, soft but affectionate squeeze on the side of my arm, all the while flashing that devastatingly sexy grin, which made me feel as if I was just about ready to melt into the carpet.

Looking at Stuart Fox, then back to me, with a comical, quizzical expression, he then made the most outrageously cheeky statement. “I think Stuart looks like a bicep kind of guy!”

Stuart’s mouth curled into his most excited smile yet, as Tommy Foster took his right hand and placed it on his own upper arm so Stuart’s fingers were wrapped around his un-flexed bicep. Tommy then clenched his fist and brought his forearm up in line with his chest, while pursing his lips in a brilliantly cocky manner and releasing the hottest grunt, as I stood and watched the most enormous ball of deliciously bronzed, rock hard bicep muscle erupt and explode under Stuart Fox’s fingertips.

Stuart released a hushed, “Fuck!” in response and his eyes looked like they were close to bulging out of their sockets. Tommy growled in response as he flexed his gigantic bicep muscle hard. Stuart locked eyes with Tommy, the most adorable expression of sheer awe, amazement and disbelief at what he was experiencing. Tommy then released a hushed but obscenely cocky, “Yeah!” causing Stuart to grin uncontrollably.

Watching the reaction of someone who harboured the same thoughts and feelings towards muscle that I did, and who I also happened to have grown increasingly fond of, as he experienced what it felt like to touch the flexed, incredible sized bicep of a genuine bodybuilder was amazing. So much so that I didn’t even contemplate, in that moment, that it might be my turn next until Mr Gorgeous Abs/Tommy Foster announced his next intended move to Stuart.

“Let me blow the other one up for Charlie.”

OH. MY. FUCKING. SHITTING. BUGGERING. GOD!!

Twisting slightly to face me with a devilish look on his face, Tommy outstretched his left arm to the side of his torso. Stuart, whose hand had now slipped from Tommy, was mischievously grinning at me and his eyes were wide as if to say, “Mate, get fucking ready for this because you have noooo idea how bloody good it’s gonna feel!”

Even though I’d already felt practically every muscle group of Tommy’s, his flexed bicep was still uncharted territory and I was fully aware how terrified I must have looked as Tommy, once again, took my hand and placed it flat on his outstretched upper arm, which was still as inexplicably huge and incredible to the touch in it’s un-flexed state as it had been when I was rubbing oil into it.

I gripped my fingers around the magnificently sized muscle in preparation. In one, quick movement, Tommy Foster bought his clenched fist and forearm up while releasing a loud, “TTTSSS!” His gigantic sized muscle exploded into my hand and my fingers gripped further as I squeezed and felt the phenomenally huge, granite hard, marble-to-the-touch bicep of a competition conditioned bodybuilder.

I was unable to suppress a half-groan, half-panting sound in response, causing Tommy Foster to release a grizzly and extremely hot grunt. I looked up at his face to find his nose scrunched up and an indecently cocky smirk emerging through gritted teeth, which soon curled into a full-on, elated grin in response to my awe-stricken and completely amazed expression.

He then, unexpectedly, bought his lower arm back down so his bicep was, once again, stretched out and un-flexed, and in another quick, sharp movement, bought it back up for another bicep flex. As Tommy released a slightly manic, “HRYEEAH!” the marble-like ball of bicep muscle erupted and bulged once more in the palm of my hand.

As if suddenly remembering he had not one, but two indescribably lucky muscle worshippers to attend to, Tommy suddenly twisted his head to Stuart. With my hand still wrapped around his flexed bicep, he exclaimed, “Let’s get a front double bicep.” He cocked his head towards his other bicep, signalling for Stuart to wrap his hand around it. As he obliged, Tommy pursed his lips into the most amazingly arrogant expression, bought both of his arms up into a double bicep flex and at the peak of the pose, growled an excitable and outrageously cocky, “YEEEAH!”

My eyes suddenly met with Stuart’s, and we affectionately grinned at each other in unison at the incredible act we were involved in. I couldn’t help but think of the moment in the pump room that morning when I’d fantasised about Stuart and I with our hands wrapped around the glorious bicep peaks of our first filming subject, the insanely cute, tight bodied, lightweight competitor Mr Golden Posers, and how amazing and utterly surreal it was to suddenly be involved in that very act with an even bigger and undoubtedly hotter bodybuilder.

As he stopped flexing and relaxed from his pose, my hand instinctively slipped from Tommy’s bicep, but I couldn’t help notice that Stuart’s was firmly and bravely still gripped to Tommy’s other upper arm. “I bet you guys didn’t expect to be doing this today?” Tommy cheekily said, before announcing his move. “Let’s give you guys a side chest.”

Twisting to his side, he gripped his left wrist, bought his chest up and sat down into an amazing side chest while releasing the most brilliant and dirty sounding, “HOOOOO!” The upper arm Stuart hadn’t let go of since Tommy’s front double bicep pose was flexed again to maximum effect. As the obscenely huge bicep muscle Stuart was gripping with one hand bulged through Tommy’s cling wrap skin, he confidently gripped Tommy’s tricep with his other hand and explored the incredible mounds of rock hard, impossibly sized muscle which made up his right upper arm.

Looking at me and nodding downwards to the thick, squeezed slabs of pec meat ballooning off his chest, in a hushed and incredibly sexy tone, Tommy Foster exclaimed, “Feel that shit, Charlie!”

Accepting his invitation, I tentatively placed my hand over the bunched up mound of flexed muscle which made up Tommy’s right pectoral. As my skin made contact with the fleshy balloon-like mass, he unexpectedly flexed and the thick chest muscle bulged and danced underneath my fingers.

I could feel Tommy’s eye burning into me, and as I cautiously glanced up, he gave me a similar sexy and incredibly endearing wink to the one he had when he’d squeezed a most muscular in my face during his routine posing.

As I watched Tommy looking down in admiration at his own magnificent mass of flexed upper body muscle, which was being squeezed, touched and explored by the hands of two unbelievably lucky muscle lovers, with a look of sheer pleasure on his face, one thing became abundantly clear to me. It wasn’t just me and Stuart who were undergoing the most amazing and highly arousing experience. Tommy Foster was clearly also loving being a ripped up freak, tanned and oiled in his tiny posers, flexing and having his barely human slabs of unhealthily shredded muscle felt, admired and worshipped by two newly found, muscle obsessed fans.

As if reading my mind, Tommy confirmed this very thing when he relaxed from his side chest pose and made a bold and unashamedly honest confession. “God I love being a bodybuilder!”

And we bloody love you being a bodybuilder too, Tommy!

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1 hour ago, cg12345 said:

Holy fuuuck I need a Tommy in my life lol. Barring that, I need a @muscleaddict in my life to describe my fantasies so perfectly!

Haha! I think lots of us here would love a Tommy in their lives! To flex and squeeze for us whenever we like (grunts, groans and other outrageous noises included)! 

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