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real muscle Excerpt from "The Twenty" Chapter 9 - Good for Morale, Part 2

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Chapter 9:

Good for Morale, Continued

 

October 20th, 2021

1930 Hours

 

Oral was hardly uncommon in the compound.  In fact, Moster encouraged it.  And Zaftig was fascinated by the men’s hunger for it, though he never took part.  

Not long after starting a P21 protocol, each man had developed insatiable an insatiable need to suck and be sucked.  Cocksucking was therefore more than just a healthy release for the men: it was now mandatory.  And though none of them would acknowledge themselves to be 100% gay, part of their acceptance into the program relied on each man’s private original tendencies towards pansexuality, boosted as they were by the behavioral blockers of P21.

Over the years, each of the bodybuilders in Project Herculaneum had at one time or another sucked every other bodybuilder’s cock to full release many dozens of times.  Often it happened in the showers after training, but sometimes it was after meals, as well.  And as all were superlatively endowed with astonishing penises of uncommon weight, size, length, beauty and girth, no one was disappointed.

Even Abdul Karim took part, much to the surprise of everyone.   Though he never talked about it, even appearing bored, the more observant men noted a gleam in his eye each time he bent to service Gunst.

Oral was against the rules on rest days.  By the time training days came around again, the musclemen were already laughing, slapping each other on the backs during meals, and smacking their lips in anticipation.  

Fucking was another matter.  All the men had been vaccinated against the virulent STDs that had long ravaged the world, and were now immune to any infection, their antibodies remorselessly attacking any invader.  

Butt fucking was an art.  The soldiers were all equipped with powerful machines, all endowed with superb glutes, and all highly in touch with the pure waves of pleasure broadcast by their sensitive prostates.  

Good muscle butt fucking was serious stuff.  As all the men were huge, heavy, and powerfully strong, it was like heavy lifting crossed with pure animal pleasure: one bull fucking another bull.  Vigorously.

Group fucks of spirited, high-energy muscle daisy chains were a once-a-month event, seriously organized and generally preserved on video for the records.  Wearing full black leather masks in order to remain as anonymous as possible, and with deep black satin robes covering their individually distinctive bodies, the men gathered in the dimmed mess hall and connected their dicks to the next asshole in a line-up deliberately arranged by Moster.  Muscle worship was not part of the evening.  The point was prostate manipulation and bonding.

 

Still, private fucking was not discouraged.  A few of the men had distinct preferences for one another as fuck buddy, even as the cocksucking was group-wide and free-for-all.

Of course, Schumacher had been fucking them all for years – except for Karim, of course.  Apart from the daisy-chain sessions, no one dared to even approach Killer Karim from the rear - if he valued his teeth, that is.

 

But so far, as far as he knew, no one man in particular had privately fucked Joe Tiffany – apart from the scheduled group daisy-chain fucks, where Moster was careful to make sure that the connections varied from session to session.

Schumacher had fucked him just once in a group session, although as always as always he was masked and gowned.  He could see through Tiffany’s mask that his eyes were rolling back in his head in pleasure, and Schumacher wasn’t sure Tiffany knew who he was.  He knew it was Joe Tiffany’s muscular rear he was fucking, however, sliding up and down his supercharged big cock.  That butt was pure, beautiful gold, a magically shaped combination of warm skin and raw, ripped power that was mind-boggling in its balance and tireless in its energy.  Tiffany had taken charge of the fucking, as he gave it to the taller muscleman in the chain ahead of him, powerfully blasting forward into the glutes ahead of him, and, in perfect timing, also pumping his animal butt up and down on Schumacher’s cock with furiously blind energy.

For his part, Tiffany knew full well whose cock had impaled his perfect butt that night.  He didn’t share this information. From that night, he had a plan.  Another plan, that is.

In reality, all of the men were deeply aware of whose butts they were servicing, and who was manfully plugging his own from behind.  The men had spent too many hours together in the rec room, on the workout floor, in classes and in the showers, not to be able to instantly recognize and distinguish each of his buddies.  The wearing of the robes was nothing but a farce, but still they conceded, secretly further aroused by the spectacle of the volumes of black fabric draped with alluring mystery over each man’s rippling physique.

 

Still, from that night on, Joe Tiffany knew that Herman Schumacher was just the man to regularly plow his supple, needy, bodybuilder-cupcakes behind.  All he had to do was train him just a little bit over the following few months to ensure that he was captive, obedient, and would always be on call whenever Tiffany was of a mind to be mindlessly fucked.

In the mean time, at night in his quarters his oversized dildo was getting the workout he bought it to do during one of his rare trips to town.  He would energetically shove it deep into his butthole, rear his head back, close his eyes, and dream of Schumacher’s likely powerful thrusts.

And, as Moster always said to Dr.  Zaftig, who wasn’t entirely comfortable with the ritual behind the group fucks, “They need more sex than ordinary men.  A lot more sex.  Their metabolisms demand it.  Besides – “

And Zaftig would say with him, in unison, “It’s good for morale. ”

 

*******

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