strength Short Story: Tarot

[VRGoh]

The idea started out as a passing topic while chatting with some friends over coffee.  Like them, I'm a witch as well as a skilled tarot card reader.  I had toyed with the idea of using pictures of people and things as cards.  After showing them pictures of my mom and dad as the Empress and the Emperor, respectively, they said I should "make a deck of these."  The next thing I know, I was taking snapshots of people and strategically-placed objects for the 78 cards of the tarot.  I even started that day by having the barista hold up a latte for the Ace of Cups.

 

Things were going smoothly.  I had half of the pictures needed for the deck, including all of the numbered cards of the Minor Arcana.  A local judge I had contacted was eager to help a "budding photographer" portray the Justice card in the courtroom.  She even convinced the bailiff to pose as the Knight of Pentacles.  I was on my way home from shooting the Knight of Pentacles picture when I got a text from Carol, a friend who posed as the Queen of Cups.  "I've got the perfect guy for Strength card."

 

"Really?  When can I meet him?" I responded.  What came back was an address and "Rigid now."

 

"Better re-read that."

 

"*RIGHT now.  Ducking auto-cucumber."  I bit my lip to keep from laughing at her Autocorrect fail.  The address was fortunately near my apartment, so I headed straight there.  As I climbed the stairs to the mystery person's third-floor walkup, I wondered who it would be.  Some card decks portray Strength as female, to symbolize inner strength.  However, I told them that I had a guy in mind for the Strength card.  In my mind, the best way to represent inner strength was with an image of physical strength.  I knocked on the door of 3A and waited.  When the door opened, I was greeted by a tower of massive muscle.  His torso was shrink-wrapped in a red short-sleeved muscle shirt, while a pair of black shorts hugged his titanic thighs like a second skin.

 

"Uh, hi," I managed to say.  "I'm Sean, Carol's friend."

 

"Oh yeah," the beast responded in a rich baritone, "the photographer doing the tarot pictures.  Come on in."  I entered the apartment, a cozy one-bedroom set up for a bachelor.  A faint smell of musk and cum told me he likely never went to bed alone.

 

"By the way, the name's Brett," he said, holding out a meaty paw.  As I shook it, I felt what must have been only a fraction of his strength.

 

"Quite a grip there, Brett," I quipped.  "Do you even lift?"

 

"Does it look like I lift?" he responded sarcastically, his witty retort punctuated by a flexing bicep.  I practically started drooling at the sight of the sharply-peaked mound of mega-massive muscle.

 

"Yeah, I think it does," I answered, keeping my cool.  "I might even hazard a guess at saying that you're pretty strong."

 

"That sounds like a fair assessment," he said.  "Good to know that you're as witty as I am."  He had set up the living room for the photo shoot.  The strange thing was he had barbells and rebars on one side.of the room.  I wasn't sure what he had in mind, but I figured it was linked with the picture.  I pulled out my camera as he stood before me, ready to pose.

 

"Ready to see your Strength card, little man?" he said in a extremely confident manner.  He blasted a front double biceps pose that nearly floored me.  I quickly snapped picture after picture.  He went through pose after pose, each one just as mind-blowing as the last.  I was surprised I could focus through the hard-on I was sporting.  Suddenly he smiled.

 

"I see you like my muscles," he noted.  "Now let me show you REAL strength."  With that, he grabbed his shirt at the chest and, in one swift motion, tore the offending article of clothing from his body.  He was ripped to shreds; I haven't seen this much definition outside of an anatomy chart.  Not only that, he looked even more monstrously massive than when he had his shirt on.  He flexed another front double biceps and grinned cockily.

 

"Fuck yeah, gets me boned being this huge."  He grabbed a barbell and started to bend it.  I could not believe what I was seeing.  This man, this muscle master, was bending a steel barbell with his bare hands.  I nearly shot off a load then and there.  Each sinew on his body looked like steel cables as he bent the metal bar into submission.

 

"Holy shit!" I finally managed to say.  "How..."

 

"How big am I?  Or is that how strong am I?"  he asked.  "You're gawking at 350 pounds of superhuman muscle packed onto a 6'5" frame.  My biceps measure more than your waist and my right pec is twice the size of your head.  As to how strong I am,..."  Leaving the response open, he grabbed three rebars and, with no visible effort, twisted them into a pretzel.  Without touching myself, that display alone made me cum.  I spasmed in orgasm, shouting his name and calling him a god of muscle.  I had not noticed, but my finger hit the shutter at the moment he was halfway into the cum-summoning display.  I dropped my camera on the sofa and approached him, my hands immediately darting to his massive pecs.

 

"I guess I have the picture I need for the Strength card," I said with a smile.  "What should we do afterwards?"

 

"Well, Sean," Brett responded, "you could stick around.  Showing my real strength always gets me horny, and you look like just the worshiper this muscle god needs."

[arpeejay]

Oooh! More of this one, please!

[Lukullus]

Oh yeah, we definitely need more of that!