Jump to content

"The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 6


Guest

Recommended Posts

 

"The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 3, 4, 5 - White Cap Training / Hardcore Muscle / A Brief History of Casey Rockland

"The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 7, 8 - Hardcore Training, Part 1 / Tiffany's Talent

"The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapters 9, 10 - Good for Morale

"The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 11: Casey Meets the Muscle Squad

"The Twenty" Chapter 12, Part 1: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match

"The Twenty" - Chapter 12: Part 2 Casey vs. Karim Abdul: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match

"The Twenty" - Chapter 13: After the Match

"The Twenty" - Chapter 14: In Which Casey Discovers He Likes to Get Worshipped

"The Twenty" - Chapter 15: Casey's First Interview with Sergeant Moster

"The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 16 - Hardcore Training Part 2: Casey’s First Herculaneum Workout, and What Happened After

"The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 17 - The Presentation

"The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 18 - The Musclemen Revealed: Inside Zaftig's Lab

"The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 19 - Further Encounters, Part 1

"The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 20 - Pose and Approve: Further Encounters, Part 2

"The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 21 - Sam and Casey

 

 

 

Chapter 6:

Casey Is Discovered

 

The day that Casey Rockland first set foot inside a gym, he was a shy, tongue-tied, lonely, oversized 12-year old.  He stood, frightened and abashed, at the front desk of Raw Weight.  He had walked around the block for an hour before he found the courage to walk through the dark-glass swinging doors.

 

Miles stood behind the desk.  “Yes, son?” he asked after a moment.

 

God, this kid has potential, he thought.

 

Gosh, he’s handsome, Casey thought. He gawked at the huge, veiny arms that poured from the short sleeves of Miles’ sports shirt.  The hugely rolling biceps made his dick twitch a little.

 

From the moment Casey first laid eyes on Miles Donovan, he thought he was the handsomest, smartest, most masculine, most muscular man he had ever met in his life.  Just the sight of Miles’ hardcore physique, casually displayed in loose-fitting slacks and a navy blue sports shirt boasting the Raw Weight logo, made Casey’s well-hidden, oversized teenage member leap to attention.

 

It was love at first sight.

 

Which was not lost on Miles.

 

“C-can I join?” Casey finally stammered out.

 

“You want to train here?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“How old are you, son?”

 

“Twelve,” answered Casey honestly. 

 

Miles paused, and then asked kindly, “Where do you live?”

 

“San Jose Boys’ Home.”

 

Aha, thought Miles.  His heart went out to the beautiful, over-sized, sad-faced kid.

 

“Of course you can join. Ever trained before?”

 

Casey’s heart leapt.  “No, sir!”

 

“How much can you pay?”

 

“I can work for you, sir! I can clean the locker rooms, and the toilets, and take out the garbage, and paint the walls, and – “

 

If Miles had allowed it, a tear would have come into his eye.  Besides, this kid had overwhelming genetic promise. He held up a hand.

 

“No need for all that. Of course you can train here. We’ll discuss money some other time.  Let’s get you started. Do you have workout clothes?”

 

“N-no, sir.”

 

“Well, let’s get you fitted out. Come on along with me.  Sid, take the desk,” Miles shot to the flirting young muscleboy trainer who was chatting up one of the wide-eyed fitness babes who trolled the workout floor, looking for available young muscle studs.  “And try to keep your mind on your work.”  Back to Casey. “What’s your name, son?”

 

“Casey Rockland.”

 

“Well, Casey Rockland, I think you might have found your new home.  Let’s see what you got.”  He moved out from behind the desk and approached Casey.

 

Casey’s heart was still leaping.  Miles Donovan was an astonishing man. Casey had never dreamed that such a huge, handsome, masculine, muscular man would ever take notice of him.  Like an eager puppy, he fell into step behind Miles, who was leading him out onto the workout floor.  There, dozens of men and women of various sizes, states, dress, and degrees of sweat were toiling away at nameless, complicated activities involving weights, machines, benches, bars, cables, racks, mats, balls, rings, and rope.  One or two looked up curiously at Miles and the gawky big kid trotting behind him.

 

William Obatu was one of those who looked up.  Already in enrolled in Project Herculaneum, the handsome black African muscle monster Obatu was allowed to steal away from the compound to his home front of Raw Weight (with occasional forays to the 3rd floor, where he regularly held personal worship sessions).

 

obatu.jpg

Obatu takes a selfie....

 

 

“Who’s that big kid?” he asked Miles one evening a few weeks later on the 3rd floor.  He was working arms, doing slow concentration curls, generally ignoring the rich twinky boy on his knees before him, begging to worship the bulging cannonball biceps.

 

“What kid?” asked Miles innocently, walking by.

 

Obatu continued doing curls and feigned the same indifference that Miles was displaying.  “You know.  The big kid. Downstairs.  He ever come up here to 3?”

 

“Naw. Too young.”

 

“Pleeeeeaazzze…..” begged the handsome kneeling twink on his knees, reaching up in hopes to get a quick fingertip brush of iron muscles.  Obatu glanced down, a little impatiently, and reracked the weight.  “Whtchu want?” he demanded, and slapped the kid’s face.  Some ‘a’ this?” He flexed his biceps. The kid moaned gratefully.  “Shut up, worm,” he commanded.  Flexxxxxx… “Boom,” he said. “25 inches.  Feel ‘em.” 

 

Back to Miles. “Saving him for yourself?”

 

“Nope.  Saving him for your boss.  And your commanding officer.  Is Tyrone any good?”

 

Obatu was perplexed. “Who’s Tyrone?” He continued flexing, gazing admiringly at his peaks.

 

Miles pointed down at the kid who now was both reaching in vain to touch the iron biceps while feverishly licking the heavy downward-pointing bulge in Obatu’s regulation tiny posers.  Obatu shuddered with pleasure but covered.

 

“These posers are too damn small.”

 

“You must be used to it by now.”  

 

“You never get used to it.”

 

“I repeat, is Tyrone any good?”

 

“What do you care, I’m paying $5,000 a month to be up here,” mumbled Tyrone, his mouth now scooping up the thick black muscle cock that tumbled from Obatu’s straining posers.

 

Obatu glanced up.

 

“Trust fund kid,” Miles explained.

 

“Oh.”  He looked back down again and flexed his biceps again, a little more respectfully.  “Hope you’re enjoying yourself.”  Tyrone moaned passionately and sucked vigorously.

 

After a moment, Miles spoke.  “Looks like fun. Mind if I join you?”

 

“Oh, if you’re gonna make a party of it, be my guest,” said Obatu, stepping aside.  Miles, still dressed, stepped in and unzipped his pants.  His big cock poured out.  In an instant Tyrone had both bodybuilders’ cocks in his mouth. 

 

casey cock.jpg

 

“Flex for him. He likes it,” said Obatu.  Miles flexed his powerful silver daddy 23-inch biceps.  A slight tearing sound was heard.

 

“Damn. Another shirt.”  He decided to take it out on Tyrone.  He plucked the cock from his mouth and slapped his handsome smooth young cheeks vigorously with the now hard-as-steel shaft.

 

“Nice move,” said Obatu.  “Let me try that.  Hey, asswipe. Over here.” And he smacked Tyrone’s face with his black cock.  Soon Tyrone’s head was whipping from side to side, his face buffeted by heavy cock blows.

 

"Take us both, boy. One after the other," ordered Miles.  Tyrone went into a frenzy, sucking Obatu's cock, then twisting his head and sucking Miles' cock, back and forth.  "Yeah, good boy," said Miles.

 

A few minutes later the musclemen both shot, coating Tyrone's face with heavy layers of thick, creamy cum.  Tyrone moaned as thick spurt after thick spurt emerged from each man's pisshole, painting his face, covering him with cum.

 

“That was fun,” said Obatu.

 

“Yeah, let’s do it again some time,” said Miles, walking away. "Clean that up, boy," he ordered as he strode away, squatting slightly as a zipped up, putting his heavy cock away.

 

Obatu resumed his workout, Miles went back to his office. Tyrone lay on a bench, ecstatically spent.

 

 

amazed at biceps 3.jpg

 

 

Casey took to lifting weights immediately. He had a genius for developing his own start-up training program, and he poured over the muscle magazines he could find. During computer hours he browed the net for muscle information, training routines, and reading all about the muscle stars.

 

He was going to be one, one day, himself. He was determined. Then they’d see. But, gosh, it was hard work. Lifting hurt. It was painful. It was slow. It took time. He was stunned at the beginning at just how much work it was.

 

One afternoon after he'd been lifting only a few weeks, he was sitting dejected in the locker room. Alone. Miles, coming through with towels, saw him. He understood. He put the towels away, and came over and sat with him on the bench awhile.

 

They were silent together a few minutes.

 

"It hurts." Casey finally said.

 

"Yes, it does."

 

"And it's hard."

 

"Yes, it is. Not everyone can do it."

 

"I didn't know it would be this hard."

Miles smiled, and put a paternal arm around Casey's shoulders, patting him with a giant paw.

 

"If it were easy, everyone would be big. It is not magic. You can't take a pill and get bigger. People who think so are crazy and wrong.  There's no growth serum. I repeat Casey, there's no magic. It doesn't exist. You can't eat a magic cookie, and just get huge. And people who think so are fools. And dreamers."

 

"But I'm a dreamer....." Casey said sadly.

 

"Yes, you are a dreamer, too, but you're not foolish. You know what work is. Hard work. It's growth with effort. Growth without effort doesn't exist. It's an empty dream, a useless fantasy. There are no super heroes, Casey. There's only hard work. Years and years and years of it. But I'll tell you a secret......" he leaned in.  Casey looked up.

 

"If you keep doing it? every day, you'll get a little closer to your dream."

 

A light began to shine in Casey's eyes. A tear formed.  He looked up at Donovan, now standing over him.

 

"You mean that?"

 

"I do. And Casey? You'll achieve your dream. If you keep working."  He paused and stepped back, hitching his thumbs in his belt.  "You had a good workout today. You're pushing the limits. But now you need to rest. G'wan back to the home and eat some chicken. Rest tomorrow. No, rest two days. Don't want to see you back here until Saturday." He smiled. "But on Saturday? I'll train with you. And we're gonna fucking murder those weights."

 

Casey's face shone like the sun. He nodded, eagerly, unable to speak a moment.

 

"Sure, Miles! I'll go back and eat chicken and sleep and see you Saturday!!"  He got up and began packing his bag.

 

"Work on those abs. You can do crunches tomorrow as long as you don't use weight," he said as he left the locker room.

 

******

 

As Casey trained at Raw Weight it was soon apparent that as he gained strength and grew, he needed more than three times as much food. Sister Anne in the kitchen, sympathetic to the big, sweet, dumb, exceptionally handsome kid, supplied him with the extra portions of meat whenever she could get away with it, unaware that the Home’s director, Sister Marietta, had deliberately turned a blind eye. She was even guilty of making sure there were plenty of steaks and chicken breasts on hand.

 

Four years passed. Casey trained like a maniac. He would have been there every day, all day, but Miles forbad it, making him aware of the need for rest days.

 

"Your body won't grow muscles unless you rest. You want to get big?"

 

"Yes, sir! I want to be huge!"

 

"Then you stay away 3 days a week. Eat a lot of protein. Do your ab exercises every night. But no weights.  You wanna grow and get big you gotta give your body a rest."

 

Casey, deeply in love, filled with awe, was all the same a little frightened of Miles, and shied away from him for a long time. Miles, understanding the nature of hero worship, gave the handsome kid a wide berth, encouraging him in a business-like way as he made muscle gains. Sensing even more talent, after Casey had been at Raw Weights about 2 years, he introduced him one afternoon to Ramon Ramon, a stern, grizzled, totally ripped, if slightly punch drunk old Puerto Rican extreme cage fighter who always seemed to be at Miles’ gym, as if he didn’t have anywhere else to go. Soon Casey was taking boxing and kickboxing lessons from Ramon Ramon. He began running, jumping rope, lifting the huge truck tires in the corner of the 1st floor, and working out with a punching bag.

 

Ramon was also into wrestling. He bought Casey his first singlet.  For hours after Casey's workouts they grappled on Raw Weight’s stained old wrestling mats, bathed in sweat. Ramon was old and grey but had solidly ripped, strong muscles, and Casey loved the feel of the old iron warrior’s abs against his abs as rolled around together on the floor.  When Ramon locked his legs around young Casey’s neck and squeezed, Casey always got what the boys in the home called ‘a boner.’  Big and hard, it poled up in the singlet and would have embarrassed him had Ramon not been so cool about it.

 

“Big tool. Get you a bigger singlet next time.  You need a scoche more room in the crotch.”  Ramon’s legs were clamped onto 16-year old Casey’s 22-inch neck. He howled. He had never been happier.  His erection pointed high to the ceiling.

 

“Go ahead and take care of it,” said Ramon.  “Be good for ya.  Young guys gotta cum.”  He let go of Casey’s left arm.  Casey shouted and stroked with his freed hand and his cum shot to the ceiling and plopped onto his abs and the wrestling mat. He was never embarrassed around Ramon.

 

“Think you got the biggest cock I ever did see,” said the old wrestler, his iron vice grip holding Casey in a headlock now.  The cum continued to shoot.  “It’s healthy.  Like to see it.”  And Casey groaned happily with pain as Ramon squeezed harder. They wrestled in a pool of cum, soon made even greater as Ramon shot all over his steely abs.

 

“Thought I’d join you,” he said.  "Be sure to clean that up before you hit the showers."

 

"Yes, sir!" said Casey, happily spent.

 

For two more years Casey followed a strict regimen of quiet hard-core muscle building.  He grew and grew. Miles was taking notice. By the time he was 17, it was clear that he had extraordinary bodybuilding gifts. His dedication to lifting was unquestioned, his genetics nothing less than astonishing. 

 

One afternoon at the gym during one of his workouts, Miles Donovan glanced out of office window at the big, muscular young teen in the middle of the workout floor.

 

Casey stood alone on the workout floor, his red t-shirt dripping with sweat. He was insanely propelling himself through a 5th set of unduly punishing biceps curls, curling 125 pounds.  His face was crimson, his eyes bulged, his teeth were gritted like a madman, thick cords of veins pounded in his neck.  His meaty young biceps were being punished into new growth levels.

 

Miles watched the 16-year old boy through the window closely.

 

“Guess it’s time,” he said to himself. He speed-dialed Dr. Anton Zaftig at Valhalla Labs on his mobile. It was time.

 

He hardly knew nor cared what who Zaftig was, or what this “research” was about. All Donovan knew is that he was supposed to be on the lookout for ‘special’ muscle - from the young men who showed unusual potential, to the older, more weather-beaten gym rats who were so far past feeling any pain that all they could do was pack on more and more beef – as long as they were able to keep a balance with their abs, that is. And – as long as they had other talents as well, including square jaws, clean skin, clear eyes, and redoubtable priapic gifts.

 

Zaftig had been quietly paying Donovan for years to spot potential talent.  And the size and regularity of Zaftig’s checks were profoundly motivating.

 

“Zaftig?”

 

A mumbled affirmative.

 

“There’s a kid who’s been training here a few years who I think you might want to check out….. No, he’s only 17, but he’s huge. Yes.  Really huge. Yes, he’s good, very good, and I think he could be great. I’ve been watching him quite awhile now. Hmmm? Two years. No, three. Regularly. Yeah.”

 

Donovan paced a little and glanced out his window to the gym floor. Casey was putting himself through his 6th set of curls.  15 reps per set.  Now at 160 lbs.

 

“Weight? He’s 220. At age 17. Yes, really. 220. Height? Get this: he’s 6’4”. And I don’t think he’s done growing. Yes, superb symmetry. What?"

 

He sighed at Zaftig's question.

 

"Yeah, he's hung, too. Biggest goddam tool I ever saw." Another mumbled question. "What? Okay. I’ll call you back.  Ten minutes.”

 

He hung up.  He got up from his chair and walked out onto the floor up to the muscleboy.

 

“Awesome. Awesome young muscle. Congratulations,” he said breezily.

 

Casey was in heaven.  “Gee thanks, Mr. Donovan!” he said. Casey was always excited when the handsome muscleman praised him.

 

“Let’s see those guns,” said Miles.

 

Casey was only too happy to comply, eagerly flexing his powerful young biceps.  Miles stroked them appreciatively, and then casually flexed his own right arm.  Casey stared.

 

“Wow,” he breathed. He reached forward to touch it.

 

“Go ahead,” said Miles. “Stroke it.” As Casey approached respectfully and softly ran his fingers over Miles’ thick biceps, the older man glanced down. And was startled.

 

The bulge in Casey’s gym shorts was poled out about a foot from his hips.  He didn’t seem to notice, transfixed as he was stroking Miles’ biceps.  Miles flexed a few more times for him, and with great self-control, walked away.

 

He called Zaftig back.

 

“Yeah, he gets hard when he touches muscles.  Okay. No, I don’t think he does drink. Or smoke. One thing, though. I don’t think he’s the brightest light in the billboard. Does it matter? No? Okay. Yes. I will. I’ll keep you posted.”

 

It was that afternoon that Donovan smilingly informed Casey that his membership to Raw Weight would be free of charge for the foreseeable future. He clapped him breezily on his powerful young shoulders, and was slightly astonished at the hardness of the muscle beneath his palm.

 

For his part, Casey was overjoyed. He didn’t stop to examine why such good fortune might have his way, and what might be expected of him in exchange in the future. He continued to pump enthusiastically, and pack on the muscle.

 

The kid’s not bad, thought Donovan, watching Casey joyfully burn through a grueling set of 20 reps of 400-pound deadlifts.

 

 

*******
 

Just a few days later that Casey Rockland finally decided to do something about the gang who had been pummeling him in the dorm shower room for years.

 

Already it was taking more and more of the boys in the gang to hold him down during his beatings, which were growing far less frequent as he got bigger and bigger. One day they stopped completely, but the boy’s hostility still festered in the air.

 

Casey was getting ready for payback.  Ramon had showed him how, too.

 

“You got a fearsome punch, kid,” he said one afternoon, flat on his back in the ring where Casey had just knocked him, his eye blackened. “Lead with the left.  You got it.”

 

One night after lights out, a few of the boys circled his bed. He looked up at them, bleary-eyed and half asleep.  “What?” he asked.

 

“Pull his shorts down!“

 

“You do it! It’s gay!”

 

“I wanna see!” came a pipsqueak voice.

 

Casey felt a dozen hands pin him down in the half-light, and his shorts were yanked to his knees.  His adolescent penis, tumescent in the steamy night, was exposed. He was humiliated. And mad.

 

“Goddamn!” one boy yelled.

 

“It’s huge!”

 

“It’s like a monster!”

 

“Hey, Banana Man!”

 

“See, I told ya!”

 

“He’s a freak!”

 

“Casey the Freak!” the boys chanted, and began to pummel him. Casey curled into a ball on his mattress, gritted his teeth, and took it tearfully.

 

“Next time,” he said himself as the boys rained his body with their weak punches. "Next time, they get it."

 

On what turned out to be his last day in the San Jose Boys’ Home, a gang of 18 biggest boys circled him during morning showers, laughing and pointing at his monster penis for the last time.

 

"Okay," he said. "You turds have laughed at me for the last time. He swung a fist, very deliberately, and caught the ringleader square on the jaw. A tooth flew out and the boy hit the wall of the shower. Methodically Casey began to punch his way through the crowd of now-terrified boys.  He was surprised at how easy it was.

 

When the steam cleared, all 18 lay on the ground with an array of blackened eyes, broken noses, fractured jaws, and missing teeth. 

 

Casey sported a huge shiner himself. It was worth it. That afternoon 5 ambulances pulled up to the front gates and took the boys away for bandaging in the San Juan ER. Four boys were required to stay overnight for observation.

 

Sister Marietta called him into her office to reprimand him.  As she always did with the bad boys, she bent him over her lap and spanked his firm young butt with a ruler. She broke three of them before she finally gave up, perplexed at how hard the young man’s behind had become.  Afterwards, rubbing his stinging bottom, Casey ran back to his room and cried.

 

No one loves me, he cried.

 

That night he ran away forever from the San Jose Boy’s Home. He went to the gym, and still sniffling, emptied out his locker. Donovan watched him from the window in his office as Casey, in tears tucked his favorite do-rag in his back jeans pocket and slumped out into the night. Casey figured he had to leave town, although he had no idea where exactly he was going to go.

 

Miles picked up his mobile phone. He figured the time had come.

 

A hour later, Dr. Zaftig found Casey sitting alone and dejectedly in the San Jose bus station. Dr. Zoloft was in transit from the city to the lab facility in the countryside outside town when Donovan had called him hurriedly. He did a fast detour in his minivan, walked swiftly into the bus station, and took a good look at the huge kid bursting out of his t-shirt, sitting alone on a bench in the corner. He knew right away he had another promising specimen for Project Herculaneum.  Miles Donovan was never wrong.

 

Zaftig walked unhesitatingly up to Casey and introduced himself. He talked about a bright, golden future for the young bodybuilder. Innocent Casey stared at him uncomprehendingly for a few minutes. Then he smiled through his tears.

 

In the end, he went with the doctor with the funny name. He never questioned anything. He was just grateful.

 

Casey moved into the cadet facility at the base of the mountain leading up to the main compound that night. The next morning, Dr. Irving appeared in Sister Marietta’s office and signed for his release. He flashed some government identification for her, muttered some Federal mumbo jumbo, announced that Valhalla Labs had invested in Casey’s training for four years, and petitioned the court for the right to take Casey into custody. Sister Marietta held up her hand to cut him off, offering no objections.

 

“Take him. He’s too big for us now. We can’t afford to feed him anymore, and the other boys are now terrified of him. Besides, four of his classmates are still in the hospital. It would be best for all if he left.” As she signed the papers offered by Dr. Irving, she added, “But please take good care of him. Casey is a sweet and simple young man. He needs love.”

 

No other paperwork seemed necessary, and though it was far from being anything like a formal adoption, it was enough for the Good Sister. She was relieved to see the boy go – he now always seemed to be hungry, and she had been forced to replace Sister Anne in the kitchen because the boy’s appetite was breaking the food budget. She was glad he could go somewhere where, hopefully, he would get his required 6 square meals a day. Beyond that, she wouldn’t worry. Casey had always been a good boy – well, until the day before. She knew he’d make the right decisions for himself. Or not.

 

Once in the program, Zaftig fast-tracked Casey’s growth.  Under Zaftig’s watchful eye and the encouragement of the cadet trainers, he worked harder than anyone he had yet encountered. And the food? He couldn’t believe it – six full meals a day! Two days a week he was required to remain near his quarters and relax. The other five days of the week were taken up with schooling, enhanced nutrition, supervised meditation, running drills, bicycling, swimming, gymnastics practice, small arms training, and nightly injections of Protein 21b, Zaftig’s laboratory serum developed under the most rigorous of testing.

 

Within two months, he was a full cadet in the program, and in less than 2 years he was approaching the threshold of muscular perfection. Most of the time for those years, he was alone with Zaftig, Dr. Irving, his trainers, and some of the Project cadets.  He had been restrained from meeting the other 19 men, who trained and socialized on their own in the main building of the facility.

 

He didn’t notice it just at first, but during the next two years he couldn’t help but wonder at the increasing volume of his emissions. He had no inkling that Protein 21b might be causing his sperm production to gradually increase exponentially. Still, during the two years he came to understand that there might be some link between the clear liquid in the daily injections and the increasingly generous volume of semen that spurted out of his cock nightly.

 

He was also amazed that his cock itself appeared to be getting even bigger. He had always been hugely hung, but – this was crazy. At first it required little more than a washrag to clean up after himself, but in time, larger and larger bath towels were required to mop up the flow after cumming.

 

His sheets were badly always badly stained in the morning, and – strangely – every night he found they had been replaced by crisp, new sheets. He never knew who might be doing this for him, and over time his initial embarrassment about his sticky sheets faded away into the generally dark, accumulating volume of unanswered questions.

 

After he passed his high school graduation equivalency exams, Zaftig decided he was ready to take it to the next level. It was time to formally present the boy to the 19. Casey was 18 years old and in the best condition of his young life to date.

 

Still, he was lonely.

 

At night he lay alone in his little room, gazed out the window at the moon and the stars, and beat his humongous meat off fiercely. He dreamed of being the biggest, strongest man in the world. Everyone would love him. And he would protect everyone. It was the sweetest dream in the world, and it was always enough to charge him to a satisfying climax. Then he’d roll over and fall into a deep sleep, hopeful for better days.

obatu.jpg

casey cock.jpg

amazed at biceps 3.jpg

cocksucking party.jpg

gym2.jpg

gym1.jpg

Link to comment
Share on other sites

I love the way this story is developing - full marks to the author ! I am sure that Casey will fit in very well to the Project and soon be matching muscles and cocks with those other huge men. :)

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Thank you!! romanhero - yep, Casey does exactly that - he gets into it....but we get into the other bodybuilders as well....their training is - well - different - and great muscle fantasy (I hope....)

 

I want to write a fantasy competition as well....

 

comments and suggestions welcome....writing daily now.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

  • 1 month later...
  • 2 months later...
  • 4 weeks later...
  • 3 months later...
  • 2 months later...

Join the conversation

You can post now and register later. If you have an account, sign in now to post with your account.

Guest
Reply to this topic...

×   Pasted as rich text.   Paste as plain text instead

  Only 75 emoji are allowed.

×   Your link has been automatically embedded.   Display as a link instead

×   Your previous content has been restored.   Clear editor

×   You cannot paste images directly. Upload or insert images from URL.

×
×
  • Create New...

Important Information

By using this site, you agree to our Guidelines, Terms of Use, & Privacy Policy.
We have placed cookies on your device to help make this website better. You can adjust your cookie settings, otherwise we'll assume you're okay to continue..