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

[Guest]

"The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Precis, Introduction, Chapters 1 & 2

 

"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. Chapter 6

 

"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

 

NG

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

 

 

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

 

 

 

Precis:
 
Valhalla Labs is a remote mountaintop Northern California military facility, overseen by genius muscle growth scientist Dr. Ira Zaftig and CO Staff Sergeant Rod Moster, a 7'-0" ripped and hung 395-pound black muscle giant.  
 
There, 18 extraordinary bodybuilder-soldiers live, train, and play together, overseen by Moster's  strict rules and brutal regimen for muscular perfection.
 
Known as Project Herculaneum,  the men serve as Dr. Zaftig's lab rats, receiving regular injections of P-21, a specially developed enzyme that facilitates muscle and strength growth in the very few bodybuilders whose systems can withstand it.  
 
The goal: to create an army of supermen, whose strength, size, and combat skills are unparalleled in the modern military.
 
Unfortunately for the Project, the soldiers' enhanced strength and dramatically increased muscular size is accompanied by a corresponding increase in priapic size as well, along with a rapidly diminishing sense of social restraint and inhibitions. And along the way, the men's extraordinary physiques prompt their own extreme muscle fantasies into a daily acting-out sexual reality.
 
Into the mix comes young Casey Rockland, a lonely, handsome, super-hung 18-year old bodybuilding giant.  Inducted by Dr. Zaftig into the top-secret government muscle strength and growth project, Casey comes to learn the ropes amongst the muscle giants, whose hunger for hardcore training is matched only by their sexual appetites and growing fantasies, including their insatiable need to receive muscle worship.
 
Casey's innocence, simplicity, and his growing need to receive both love and muscle worship threaten the very core of the decade-long Project, itself only now approaching its full potential.

 

To start back at the beginning with Chapter One, click on the link below:

 

 

"The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Precis, Introduction, Chapters 1 & 2

 

 

Chapter 14:

In Which Casey Discovers He Likes to Get Worshipped

October 22^nd, 2017

After the bout between Casey and Abdul, the musclemen retired to their separate corners of the compound.

The vanquished Abdul, rivulets of dried cum caked to his physique, dragged Pedro along with him back to quarters.  “Service me,” he growled. He threw open the door to his room and tossed Pedro onto the floor.

Five minutes later, after a satisfying dump and a quick infusion of P21, Abdul was in the center of his room, working out on a speed punching bag hanging from the ceiling. His red, raw fists pummeled the stained leather furiously while Pedro gingerly danced around him, carefully washing the cum off his physique with a wet towel. Occasionally he leaned in and gingerly pressed a warm tongue against the muscle giant’s body, licking the cum-covered muscles respectfully, hoping not to get swatted away.

It didn’t happen. Emboldened, he finished cleaning off his god. He took a deep breath, and grabbed ahold of Abdul's musclebutt.

"Permission to worship?" he asked hopefully. Abdul grunted, and nodded slightly.

Pedro deeply buried his face in the muscleman’s rock hard pillow glutes, feeling the heaviness of iron-like musclebutt cheeks violently knocking his head right and left as Abdul rhythmically punched the bag.

This was what his god wanted. He knew this. Abdul said nothing, but slightly arched his back, to better extend his ass and receive the comfort of Pedro’s tongue up his butthole.

They lasted like this long into the night, Abdul punching the bag with fury, Pedro probing his tongue deeply into his gyrating asshole, until Abdul reached back, grabbed Pedro by the back of the head, brought him violently around, threw him into the air and forced his massive penis into the teen’s small, hard butt. He fucked the boy mercilessly for about ten minutes, Pedro screaming happily with insane delight, his cries echoing down the corridor, as the giant member pleasurably pounded his butthole into raw meat. 

When he was near to climax, he pulled out and came about a quart all over Pedro’s writhing, grateful little bottom, grunting deeply as he shot, a bear in the woods.

 

UNGH UNGH UGNH  YEAH

 

A moment later he push-kicked Pedro’s butt away. Pedro went sprawling, his hard little bottom covered with cum.

“Get out of here,” he snarled, but with something like warmth, or so Pedro thought.

“Yes, sir!” Pedro squeaked, and ran for the door. Abdul was asleep in 2 minutes. He dreamed only of revenge.

Pedro scampered back to his room, where he masturbated gleefully for the next hour, envisioning a world of musclemen as he worked his pretty little cock into repeated starbursts of cum frenzy. He finally drifted into a woozy, muscle-filled sleep about 3 AM, knowing he’d have to be up by 6 to start breakfast with the compound chefs for the 19 musclemen. 

It was heaven. He was living in heaven.

 

Lang and Alvarez drifted back to Alvarez’s room, where they posed-and-approved for about 45 minutes before falling asleep on the dais, Alvarez’s cock languidly filling Lang’s mouth, their ripped posers discarded and on the floor.

Schumacher, Jin, Washington, Obatu and LeFevre carried the knocked-out Blankenship to his room.  Fortunately, P-21 strengthened bones, too, and Blankenship’s black and blue jaw was okay – otherwise, it might well have been shattered by the force of Abdul’s powerful punch.  They retired separately to their rooms and reflected on what they’d seen tonight.

This Rockland kid was a threat. In their separate quarters all five men jerked off, and thought. And thought. And jerked off. Hearing Pedro’s echoing, ecstatic cries as he was being masterfully buttfucked by Adbul, each man shot muscle cum up and out into the dark, splashing onto their abs, the floor, the ceiling, everywhere.

Blankenship, of course, was out for the night.  Deep in his knocked cold sleep, he dreamt vaguely of doing endless sets of curls. And squats. Especially squats. He smiled in his sleep, two teeth missing.

Tiffany, smug and satisfied and unaware his life was about to drastically change, drifted off. He remembered Casey from the world outside, but it was clear the big dumb muscleboy didn’t remember him.  Yet.

Eli Meyer, quietly determined to get off on real muscle, and not just fantasy, followed Hension back to his room. He knocked on the door, and Hension, startled, opened up. Meyer smiled. He went in. For the next hour the two men took turns with some heavy butt fucking. In turns, each muscleboy’s big dick met the other’s hard glutes and sweetly receiving butthole as they fucked each other silently in the dark. Finally Hension spoke, even as Meyer ploughed him.

“Stinkface me,” he said, emphasizing the words, turning his head back and to the side so that the deaf Meyer could read his lips. It was all he said. It was all he had to say. Meyer nodded agreement, pulled his thick cock out of Hension’s butthole, got up and squatted down onto Hension’s handsome face, burying him in striated, iron glutes.  He rotated and jerked his big dick. A few minutes later both men came, cum splashing sloppily onto Hension’s ripped abs, pooling in the deep valleys of muscle. And five minutes after that, both were curled up and asleep on the floor, wrapped deeply into each other’s muscles.

In their separate quarters, McIntyre and Duncan, ever quiet and reflective, sat up awhile and listened to the compound’s nocturnal moans and gasps, punctuated by the sounds of the speed bag, and then the butt fucking drifting down the corridors.  Finally each man reached into his pouch and jerked off again before hitting the hay.

Gunst headed right to the gym. He tooled himself through a punishing biceps workout, doing curls long into the night, then flexing and inspecting. 

Gotta get these guns bigger, he grumbled to himself. Eventually he crawled off to quarters and to bed, and without jerking off.

The others – Chad, Bogarde, and Waring – stood in a darkened corner of the hallway leading from the wrestling room, hungrily sucking one another’s cocks and taking turns butt fucking for an hour or so, before turning in for the night.

And in the backs of the minds of all the men on campus were visions of the perhaps-perfect newest member of the club, the young bodybuilder whose gigantic, ripped and raw physique they had gotten their first taste of this evening.

Moster, in his quarters, was satisfied. He slept without dreaming. He had to pick up Casey in the cadet dorms mid morning, and bring him back up the hill to his new muscle life.

Unaware of the muscle sex going on in the compound behind him, and unaware of how his muscles started it all, a shuttle bus took sole passenger Casey back down the hill the two miles to the cadet dorm near the front gates, where he had been living and training the last two years. 

 

*************

Early the next morning, after his usual early morning workout and a breakfast of two steaks, 6 eggs, unbuttered toast, a quart of yogurt and 3 cups of black coffee, Casey went back to his room and packed his few possessions in preparation for his move up the hill to the main compound.  His black eye still stung from the night before, but it also looked – well – incredibly hot.  Or so Casey thought, inspecting it closely in his mirror.

There were six other cadets in the dorm. Five of them gathered to quietly watch him pack up his few belongings, giving him congratulations and good luck and a sad little goodbye party.

It was just a few protein bars, a colorful do-rag, a new gym bag (which they all chipped in on) and five slightly torn oversized XXXL-sized jockstraps. Casey knew they went to some trouble to get everything together. He was deeply grateful.

But he didn’t know what to say. In truth, Casey hadn’t really gotten to know any of his fellow cadets in the two years he had been in residence in the cadet dorm. It was not from any snobbery, but from shyness and his natural reticence against intimacy in dormitory settings.  All the same, apart from Miles Donovan and Ramon Ramon, Casey counted them as among his few friends in the world.

“I’m gonna miss you guys,” he said. He sniffed a little.

These guys were like him. Lonely, nice boys who had nowhere to go except the gym, and nothing to do but pound their bodies every day, growing big muscles. Over 1450 pounds of burgeoning, testosterone-fueled teen muscle gathered in 10 x 16 square foot room. And there was a lot of emotion in the air.  Casey was their hero, and at 310 pounds, and at just 18 years of age, he was already far and away the biggest of all of them.

Something had to happen.

“You been ready a long time for those dudes,” said Cadet Tommy Rowenstein, a tousled blond middleweight Jewish Tom Sawyer of muscleboy who liked to work on his pecs. “Surprised they didn’t ask you long ago.”

“Guess they know best when I’m ready.”

“That how you got the shiner, Case?”
“Shut up, dick wad.”

“Can we come up the hill visit you?” asked Alan Owenbee, a sweet-faced young cadet with a friendly face and a slightly sub par physique that all knew would never develop much further.

“Naw, we can’t go up there,” said Cadet Brent Ogden. “You know the rules. Plebes only by invitation. And they never invite us.” He sounded forlorn.

“Sure,” said Casey. “You can come. I’ll ask. I’ll get permission. You can all come. We can all train together up there in the big gym.”

“Gee, you think? Really??”

“Shit, thanks, Case!”

“Yeah, thanks!” The boys couldn’t believe the possible good news, and were now almost bouncing with excitement.

“I’m gonna work on my guns with ya!” shouted Ogden. The others glanced at Ogden and grinned. An angel-faced kid with red hair, he had nice big muscles for a 15-year old, and surprisingly ripped abs, already weighing in at 185 pounds. He also had a complete inability to filter his speech. They all suspected he was a little slow. 

“At last, someone even dumber than me, “ Casey thought. No one knew whether or not he had any family; like Casey, Ogden was a foundling.

Casey tousled his hair affectionately and zipped up his duffel. “I’ll always work on my guns with you, Brent.”

Ogden grinned from ear to ear, his life made. He grew beet red with embarrassment and pleasure and spent the next few minutes inspecting his own biceps, flexing and unflexing them thoughtfully.

Another cadet with more promise, and lot more self confidence, Brian Banks, a handsome black-haired extra lean 1950s greaser type turned bodybuilder, watched Casey from the corner, perched on the window seat, his deep-lidded dark eyes half closed.

“So, Case, what happened last night?”

“I’m not sure yet.” He turned and looked helplessly at all of them.

They were waiting for some kind of an answer.

“Yeah, Case, what happened?”

He knew all the cadets admired and respected him. Overall, they were a pretty good bunch of guys, even if for the most part they had no muscle future. But he could use some friends, if last night’s wrestling match had been any indication of where this was all headed. 

And he was still thinking about last night. Those bodybuilders up the hill were a wild and crazy bunch. Huge, every one of them, the biggest musclemen Casey had ever seen, or even imagined. And even the younger guys, like that pretty-faced dude Hension, the mute Eli Meyer, and the wide-eyed Lang, seemed to have agenda of their own. And then there was that big mean bull, the Turkish guy, Karim Abdul. And Schumacher, who had growled at him and threatened him. Scary dudes.

But hot.

The wrestling was fun, though, when he thought about it. Casey had surprised at himself, at how skilled he was, how strong and fast. But then he had learned a lot from Ramon Ramon at Miles Donovan’s, and though Ramon was 3 times his age and far smaller, Ramon could always beat him. So he learned from the best.

And – true – a few times when Casey shot his load on the wrestling mat after a bout, Ramon Ramon had joined him.  There was something fun, something special about the tough, grizzled old daddy Latin wrestler happily pounding his hairy big meat, lying there next to Casey on a slick, sweat-drenched, stinky wrestling mat. And Casey knew Ramon was straight. No sissy, he.  Straight straight straight, with a hot, mean, pretty little wife he fucked hard every night, or so he said. Casey had no reason to doubt him.

I wonder how Abdul would do wrestling with Ramon? Casey wondered.

And then, after all, all the bodybuilders had shot their loads all over the two of them last night at the end of the wrestling match, all over him and Abdul. He hadn’t expected that. Was it an insult? Or an honor? Casey was still having trouble taking it all in.  And what about that punch that Abdul threw at Blankenship? It was awesome.  Abdul’s fist shot out like a cannon, catching the handsome, smirking bodybuilder Blankenship right on the point of the chin. Probably broke his jaw. The guy’s feet never touched the ground. He just flew into the air and landed about 20 feet away. 

And then there was afterwards, with Moster closely inspecting his dick and that little ginger muscledude Tiffany sucking it just to find out how big it really was.

Measuring dick size by mouth.

It was all pretty weird.

And he never even did get to do even a basic posing routine. He wanted to show these guys how much he liked to pose.

Maybe he could pose for them later today?

Casey really liked to pose.  He did it for hours, alone in his room, peering into his crummy full-length mirror, looking for any improvements, and weaknesses, any new veins, any new striations, any sign of lingering babyfat. He wasn’t used to an audience. Casey had never known many people, and he certainly had never competed onstage, even though Miles Donovan had encouraged him to consider it.  And now that he had trained hard, lived for training and diet and posing for so many years, now with the Home behind him and all the bullies, he was ready for others to see how big his muscles were. He was ready to pose for admirers. For a crowd.

He hadn’t done that yet.

So maybe these guys would accept him more if he posed for them? The babyfat was long gone, after all. And he was sure he could learn a few things, too. Maybe get some pointers from that dude Alvarez. He heard that Alvarez and Lang were always practicing their posing.

But in any event, Casey now knew, after last night, that just having big muscle wasn’t enough.  A big cock was pretty important, too. For the first time he was beginning to feel relieved, even joyful about his huge member. He had always been so embarrassed about it, he could never hide it, it was always prominent in his jeans, in whatever he wore. People could always see it flopping around in his pants, pushing out his fly in an obscene bulge. And he hadn’t found posing trunks that he really fit in yet. Not trunks, at least, that he wasn’t always popping out of, or worse, ripping the fabrics to shreds with his first big hardon.

And posing usually gave him a hardon, which he’d have to stop and take care of. He'd shoot pints of milky thick cum against his mirror, and then he'd have to stop and get a roll of paper towels to clean it al up before he could start again. Or else he wouldn't have been able to see his reflection.

And the sight of his muscles was what made him cum so ferociously.

It would certainly be a challenge onstage, if he ever decided to compete.  He had bought a few posers from online, trying them out, checking for the right colors. But so far, everything he had bought was just so….well….ridiculously inadequate. He hadn’t even begun to think about colors.  Even if he managed to get the posers up his treetrunk quads, there was no way the simple kiddie-type pouches were able to cover his hefty manfruit. To say nothing of containing his coconut-sized balls.

Still. Even so. “Good thing I got this big meat after all. I guess.”  He muttered to himself as he walked, bowlegged as always with his bodybuilder waddle, over to the mirror. The cadets watched him as he walked across the small dorm room.

“Hunh?”

“What’s that, Casey? About your meat?” Ogden looked up, still inspecting his biceps, but suddenly alert to what was going on in the room.

Casey looked back at them and pointed down to the sagging bulge that loomed out of the front of his baggies.

“I said, it’s a good thing I got this super big meat. All the guys up there are hung huge. It’s important to them. Sergeant Moster showed me.”

He thought for a moment. Maybe those dudes knew where to get posers that actually fit? Or maybe they had them made privately? Probably they did. They had to. And certainly from the layout of the place and the size of the gym and the wrestling room, they could afford a few extra yards of reinforced spandex to hold in a few giant cocks.

Banks was studiedly casual. He inspected Casey’s black eye a little more closely and nodded, as if a question was answered.

“Unh hunh. Bet he did. I heard about Sergeant Rod Moster. Seems he was there too. He give you that black eye?”

“Yeah, he’s the dude in charge. He was there. And no, he didn’t give this to me.”  Casey turned back and gazed at his package in the mirror.  He repeated.  “I had to fight one of them.”

“Who?” asked Owenbee, breathless and getting hard now.

“Abdul. Karim Abdul.”  He paused.  “You should see him this morning.”

“He got a big package, too?”

Casey colored, embarrassed. “Yeah, he does. I mean, I didn’t see it. Well, I didn’t see it well. I mean, I didn’t see it close up….” He stopped, confused.  The guys were looking at him.

“Well, one thing, these are the biggest goddam dudes I ever saw in my life.”

“Lookin’ good?”

“Fucking awesome. All of them.  Moster’s like 7’ tall. No bodyfat. Biceps the size of my head. And…”

“Big package?”

“Yeah. He has the biggest dick. They say it’s the biggest dick on earth.”

Casey turned back and began to flex for himself feverishly in the mirror.

He had to get bigger.

Banks liked Casey well enough and would miss him in the dorms. Even if the young muscle giant was a little dopey and innocent. Okay, Casey was stupid.  Everyone knew it. Dumb as a bag of hammers. But a sweet guy, if you didn’t get on his wrong side.  And besides, he’d also long had eyes for Casey’s astonishingly rounded, rock hard glutes, never mind the cock, and now knew he probably wasn’t gonna dip his stick inside the promised land of Casey’s musclebutt for a long time to come. If ever.  Or even suck his dick. Maybe some day.

Oh, well. Still, he wished Casey well. He was a good dude. He’d stand up for him any time.

Now he stood behind him, watching his superwide batwing lats as he posed in the mirror, watching his perfect big round rolling glutes quivering a little in the seat of his stretched-tight pants.

“I hear there’s a lot of sex in the main compound,” he said slyly.

“Yeah, I guess there is.” Casey slowed down posing, caught Banks’ eye in the mirror, was a little circumspect. Not that he knew what the word meant, but that is what he was at that moment.

“No chicks, though?”

“No, I guess there ain’t. I didn’t see any last night.” Casey blew out a blast of air, followed by a honk of laughter. The tension eased. He grabbed his duffel and turned around towards the boys. “No chicks!”

“Good!” said Ogden, still inspecting his biceps.

“Guess I’m big enough. Thanks for the party, guys,” he added. “And the, um….” He gestured to his duffel bag. “….the extra jockstraps…..I can always use them.”

“Actually, two of them were already yours. We just re-retrieved them from….somebody…” said Rowenstein. 

Owenbee turned crimson with shame and embarrassment.

“Hey. Thanks. Alan, you were always a good friend.  Here. Wait a moment.”

Casey put his duffel down, lifted his heavy sweatshirt and kicked out of his baggies, stepping out of them fast and surprisingly easily over his big feet.  “I have to get these off fast sometimes, so I cut out the, you know, drawstrings around the pants legs, to make it easier to fit over my shoes. Sometimes I don’t have a lot of time before…..” His voice trailed off.  “You know.”

Banks nodded, feigning seriousness. “We know.” All the cadets knew that sometimes during workouts Casey suddenly had to shoot a load, and to avoid coating his baggies with splotches of his unusually heavy, copious cumspurts, he ripped off his sweatpants and shot into a bucket that he kept on the side of the gym floor. By the end of the workout, the bucket was often half full. A few of the boys would often sneak away with it afterwards, loving the scent, loving the taste, drinking it all down, hoping it would make them grow into a  muscle monster like Casey.

“Yeah. We all know,” said Ogden. Owenbee and Rowenstein both nodded seriously.

“Yeah, you got a problem, dude.” Rowenstein couldn’t help chuckling a little.

“Big problem.” Then they both grinned, their smooth boyish faces lighting up.

“I know.”  Casey smiled. “So why is it, by the way, all this time I been here, that so many of my jocks go missing?”

Shuffling of feet. Heads down.

“Aw, Case…..” said Ogden.

He stood before them in his sagging, bulging jock.  “This one is new, I just got it.” All knew he had to order his jocks and posers online. Standard sizes just didn’t fit, and then the posers just didn’t last.  “Here.”

He curled his thumbs around the reinforced jock straps on his loins and tugged. His cock popped out and hung free, 10 solid inches of soft thick swaying girth.

“Jesus,” breathed Owenbee. Banks was impressed. Ogden just panted.

He pulled his new jockstrap down over his massive quads and stepped out of it carefully, lifting each big, smooth foot slowly, and then handing it to Owenbee.

“You always been a good friend to me.”  Casey teared up a little, but wasn’t so sentimental that he didn’t playfully waggle his penis’ full 10 inch soft, flaccid weight, then whipping it heavily from side to side.

Smack! Smack!

For a moment he slapped it heavily from quad to quad, and then looked up at Owenbee and Ogden and smiled sweetly.

“It’s too big for most jocks,” he explained.

“Yes, we’ve noticed,” said Banks, very serious.

Owenbee took the jock gratefully, raised it to his nose and took a deep whiff. In his jeans his young teen cock throbbed to life.

“Gee, thanks, Casey!”

“Don’t mention it.” Casey pulled his baggies back up, covering his cock.

“Going commando, Case?” asked Banks.

Casey looked at him blankly. “I don’t know what that means.”

“You will.”

Casey shrugged, and sat down to lace his shoes.  “Guess I better be going. Say goodbye to Danny Taylor. Where’s he this morning?”

“His mama called. She wanted him back in Santa Barbara. He’ll be back tonight. He said to say goodbye.” He eyed the heavy sagging bulge in Casey’s lap. His cock was aching to get back out again, taste the air, straining the crotch of his sweatpants, pointing downward but twitching, threatening to rise, bulging in the fabric every which way.

Banks sniffed a little, seemingly unconcerned, but Casey knew Banks probably missed his buddy Danny, the only cadet in the squad who actually came from a family and a good home. A blond surfer-dude turned bodybuilder, Danny and Brian were always pumping together and then going out looking for girls and to get laid.  And unlike The Nineteen up the hill, the young cadets, still not indoctrinated into the squad, could come and go as they pleased. Not that these young muscleboys had anywhere to go….other than the gym and the bars in nearby San Jose, or maybe further up the coast to San Francisco.

“Well…..goodbye then. Come and see me.”

“Hey, dude. Before you go….give us one last flex?” asked Ogden shyly.

“Yeah, dude. Pose for us one more time,” said Owenbee. “Like you used to do before you got so serious.”

“Yeah, Case. Go ahead. Let’s see what you got.”  That from Banks.

Casey looked closely at Banks. “Sure, guys. Yeah. Be glad to.”  He stepped back into the room and ripped off his sweatshirt. The muscle cadets crowded around him eagerly.

He stood shirtless, his huge muscles gleaming in the morning light.

“Here goes. Pow,” said Casey. He flexed a huge right arm bicep and moved his left hand back to the back of his head, ‘doin’ hair’ like the young Tom Platz from 40 years ago.

“Wow!”

“Jeez, Case, yer bigger than ever!”

“Fuckin huge, man!”

“That’s “doin’ hair,” dudes. Platz. ‘Doin’ hair,’ ” he repeated.

“Can I feel it?”

‘My hair?”

“No, dude….”

“He wants to feel your muscles, Casey,” Banks explained, with exaggerated patience.

“Oh. Sure.”   Casey thought a moment. “Yeah! Sure! Come on!”

Owenbee stepped forward eagerly and grabbed Casey’s biceps. His fingers ran over the vascular triple-heads.  “Sure is nice!” he yelled. “How big?” He tapped the hardness of the peaks with his fingers, which bounced back. Impenetrably hard.

“I don’t know. 25 inches? 27? I don’t know. Here come some big pecs.”

He gave them a side chest, popping his pecs, his pouty brown nipples pointing down to the carpet.  “Boom,” said Casey.

“Wow! Frigging huge!”

“You’re swole, man!”

“Yeah, I got big pecs,” said Casey modestly, turning his head back, inspecting his two huge pectoral globes in the mirror. He bounced them up and down thoughtfully.

“May I lick your nipples, Casey?” squealed Ogden.

Casey was confused a moment. He stopped and turned and looked quizzically at Ogden.  For a moment the two muscleboys were afraid, afraid that Casey would start handing out a roomful of black eyes and broken noses, powerful punches that were sure and methodical and swift and punishing.

But Banks wasn’t afraid. “You like this, dontcha Case?”

It didn’t happen. “Sure, I guess. Yeah. I like it. Come on up and lick ‘em. I never got licked and touched when I posed before. Let alone watched.”  He thought some more. “Guess I do like it! Can you reach? Here’s another. Bam,” he said, swinging into a front lats pose. “Bam and double bam.”

Ogden scampered up, reached wide, grabbed Casey by both lats and began eagely to lick his nipples.  “You got awesome pecs, dude!”

“You’re strong, too,” said Banks calmly. “Those dudes up there on the hill as strong as you?”

“Yeah, I think they are.” Casey was inspecting his front lats pose in the mirror. “You’re in my way,” he said to Ogden. “I can’t see.”

“Sorry, Case!”

“Just move to the side a little so I can check myself out.”  Ogden quickly stepped aside and leaned in, licking one nipple.

“Okay, that’s enough. Reach around if you have too.”

“How thick is your neck, Case?”

“About 25 inches I think.”

“How about your quads?”

“Sure.” Casey pumped and rotated his thighs, still covered up in the baggies. “Oh, I forgot. Guess you can’t see.”

He rolled them down to his ankles and stood in the center of the room, his pants down, flexing for his buddies.

His penis loomed heavily over mountains of muscle and veins as he pensively rotated his quads for all the muscleboys to see. The muscleboys licked their lips.

“No, I mean, how big are they?”

“I dunno. 33 inches? Never measured.” He rotated a huge quad slowly, staring intently at it. “Got some new veins popping in here. Look at that diamond shape. Hard.” He slapped his quads, both of them. “They’re hard, man! See how hard I am? You guys see it?”

Banks eased his nicely rounded butt off the window seat, where he’d been perched, watching the proceedings. He strolled over to Casey, thumbs hooked in his tight jeans, his black spandex t-shirt rippling with extra lean, hairy muscle. His own appreciable bulge flopped lazily from side to side in his fly as he walked slowly towards Casey.

“Dude, I think you like to get worshipped.”

“Hunh?” Casey turned to him and whipped up a pair of double bi’s. “Check out these gunsssss……”

“I see ‘em.” Banks patted them firmly. Yeah. Solid. Cannonballs. Triple-headers. Laced with thick veins. He kneaded solid muscle between calloused thumb and finger.  He pulled. Paper-thin skin.

“These are biceps…. “ said Casey, breathing heavy, loving every second of it.

 

 

“Nice.  They are. Big biceps. Very nice indeed. But my tastes run to….something……darker……”

He knew all about Moster. That was the dude he wanted.

Banks turned to Ogden, absorbed in licking Casey’s big brown nipples. “Whyn’t you lick his biceps too, dude? He said he likes to get licked.” He turned to Casey.  “Dontcha, Case?”

“I’m gonna pop you right in the eye,” Casey said, but he smiled. He flexed mightily. “C’mon, lick ‘em.” His steely fists strained red. Suddenly he longed to punch Banks in the eye. Give him a big black eye. No, two black eyes. He wasn’t mad. He just wanted to punch him.

“Yeah, lick his biceps, dude.  And kiss ‘em for us, Case.”

“Hunh??”

“Kiss your biceps, bro! G’wan, kiss ‘em!”

“Why do I want to do that?”

“Try it and see. See how it feels.”

Casey shrugged.  His traps bounced up a little and bumped Owenbee’s head, who was trying to lean in to get a closer feel on Casey’s bi’s.

“Oh. Sorry.”

Meanwhile Ogden was now licking his right biceps, so Casey turned to the left and, leaning in while raising an elbow, began to softly lick and kiss his bulging cannonball bi’s. Casey forgot all about wanting to punch Banks and continued flexing.

Hmmm.  The licking felt good.

“This feels good,” he announced.  He kissed himself again, and turned, grinning cockily to Banks.  “Guess I won’t bust you in the eye right now.”

Banks smiled. He understood.  “It’s okay, Casey. I’m your friend. You can trust me. And the boys.” 

“But I still wanna slug you.”

“You just want to slug somebody. Not me.”

“Guess you’re right. But sometime soon I’m gonna start some slugging.”  He flexed.  “Look at these big gunnnnssss….” he repeated.

By now the other four cadets were grouped around Casey, touching, feeling, pawing, stroking, kissing and licking every muscle they could reach, climbing over him, feeling him, all while remaining respectfully distant from the heavily looming cock.

Owenbee got on his knees and knelt before Casey’s massive, exposed rear, began caressing the twin globes of Casey’s monster round, hard butt, feeling where the gluteus muscles rolled in, where they bulged out, where they lead down to mammoth obtruding hamstrings and up to the small of his back. He wanted to bury his young, smooth face into the deep buttcrack, but knew he’d better not. He wanted to lick it, too. But he knew that might not be a good idea, either.  Not yet, anyway.  So he contented himself just to do deep tissue massage on the two giant round butt orbs before him, following their rolling movements as Casey posed above him. It was like kneading iron. But he loved it.

“How do you feel, Case?”  Banks was stroking Casey’s broad upper pec shelf with a connoisseur’s appreciation.

“Good. I feel very good. I like flexing for you guys.”

“Good. And we like when you flex for us. Nice pecs.” Banks flicked one of Casey’s nipples with a thumb and forefinger. Casey responded, immediately ballooning his pecs hugely, digging his fists into solid rippled obliques and expanding chest muscles high to the skies, so it seemed, to the ceiling and beyond.

“This is called worship, by the way,” Banks added. “The way the guys are touching you now. The way I am touching you.”  He ran a smooth hand across his pecs and looked him deeply in the eyes. “Admiring you. Admiring your muscles. Getting off on your muscles. That’s worship.”

“You’re huge, Case,” said Ogden.

“Big fucking muscleman,” said Owenbee.

“Awesome muscles, dude,” said Rowenstein.

“Tell us what you’re thinking, Case,” said Banks.

Casey didn’t know what he was thinking. Was he even thinking? He was just flexing.

No, he was thinking. He was seeing….something. Something distant. Pure and good. He breathed out, let out a massive block of air, crunched up, sucked in, intake, breath, blew it out, then more blooming muscle. Expanding everywhere, blowing up, hard and solid and good. He was…

…..where was he?....

“Tell us, Case,” repeated Banks softly. “Where are you?”

“On the moon, I guess.”  He sucked in, expanded his pecs again, turned, inadvertently pushing the boys to the floor, looked in the mirror. The room was quiet. The muscle cadets scrambled away a little, but still touching, still feeling muscle.  Tension increased in the room. It was silent except for the sounds of heavy breathing.

Casey began to move. He swung from pose to pose. His cock swayed heavily as he moved, slapping his quads.  Front biceps. Side chest, front lat spread. Most muscular, the famous crab shot, his veins exploding everywhere, his enormous fists clenched, held steadily before him.

“Hold that one,” said Banks. “I think we all want to see this one.”

Casey held still. His face grew red, then redder, then beet-red. The veins on his thick neck popped out like huge pylons. And even his massive cock began to retreat a little up into his loins as his blood was needed elsewhere.

“Guys? Let’s check out these veins. Okay, Case?”

“…yeah…..okay…”

“You can breathe, though.”

“Okay, thanks.” He breathed in and out.  He stared at his reflection in the mirror, searching for flaws, admiring rivers of vascularity, popping iron muscles.

“Just don’t relax. Keep flexing. Keep that pose. Keep crunching.”

“Can I take your picture, Case?” asked Rowenstein, begging a little.

“My picture….?” Casey blew out air. He could barely think. He was just dreaming now. It was a wall, a planet, a universe of his muscle.

“Keep crunching. Keep it swole,” said Banks quietly. He touched an iron biceps.

“Yeah, okay.” Casey seemed befuddled, but it was because of the most muscular pose, and ….well…because he was still dreaming, now on that distant planet somewhere, where it was all about……muscle. His muscle, to be specific. Where he was posing high on a mountain, still visible to all, to thousands below, thousands of admiring men in the valley beneath him, all calling his name, all playing with their giant tools, their cum spurting and flying, the sun behind him, sweat in his eyes -

“A picture. My cellphone? For, um, ….later?” 

“Later?” Casey barely heard him.

“Yeah, later. To admire you later…..whenever I want to…..”

The dream was broken for a moment and there was Rowenstein, shrugging and smiling, red-faced, embarrassed. Crab shots were his thing. He loved the solid billboard of muscle and veins. Exploding muscle and veins.

“Oh, yeah. Yeah. Sure.” Casey saw Rowenstein’s cock was now poling forward in his khakis.  “Made you hard, man?”

“Yeah, you did. You do.” Rowenstein grinned toothily and admitted it happily. He pulled out his mobile and began snapping.

Relieved, the muscle cadets groped in their pants pockets, next to their now-bulging flies, pulled out cellphones, and, never relaxing, never letting up even a finger on Casey’s massive musculature, began taking pictures.

Casey went back to his mountain on his planet. He flexed. He was a god. He knew it.  He wanted the universe to see him, to touch him, to admire him, to kneel before him, to reach up to him, to admire his strength, to touch his muscles, to stroke his chest, lick his nipples…..

….to worship him…..

….to suck his dick.

 

 

Yes, that is what he wanted. He wanted the world to suck his cock. He nodded. That’s what he wanted. Like that hot mean little muscle dude Tiffany did last night. No one had done that before. Now he knew. Yes, and now he knew.

Was this why he did it? Why he lifted? Why he had built his physique into the huge muscle sculpture it was now?

No, of course not. Not entirely.  He wanted to be the biggest and strongest man in the world. That’s what he wanted.

But getting his dick sucked at the same time would be a nice perk. 

Again, he blew up his pecs to their fullest. Twin globes of pure muscle.

Boom! Boom!

He felt his buddies’ hands all over him.  He was dizzy with lust and young muscle.

He wanted to flex for everyone, his dick to throb and spurt and explode inside vanquished mouth after vanquished mouth, his long thick shaft gliding between adoring lips, plunging down dozens of supplicant throats, gagging them all with his cock girth and his cum, gagging the world with his giant man meat as he flexed mountainous biceps.  He wanted to cover the faces of hundreds of men with his cum. Coating them all. Then fucking butt. Fucking hundreds of butts while he flexed. This was his planet. That is what he wanted.

He never realized it before.  But he did now.

The muscle cadets were all over him, stroking him, rubbing him, feeling his muscles, inspecting his veins.  Check out these striations, he heard one of them say. Yeah, these veins are thick as pencils. No, thicker. His skin is so thin. Check out these abs, they’re like cinder blocks. No, harder. This okay, Casey? Yeah, it’s okay. Feel me. Touch me. Check out my muscles.

Suck my dick.

He started to say it. The cadets seemed to anticipate it. The breathing in the room grew heavier. And heavier.  And suddenly one of the muscleboys moaned.

 

Ayyyy  Ugnnnhhhh….

 

And then another. Casey closed his eyes and flexed….

 

Oh Yeah LOOK AT MY MUSCLES DUDES

 

And then another low cry

 

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

 

And then he felt it himself. He felt the liquid start…..it was happening…

 

YEAH YEAH YEAH

No, it wasn’t. It wasn’t happening.

The room was suddenly sharply quiet. He opened his eyes. It had all stopped. 

The boys had stepped back. No one was touching him. The worship had stopped. 

“You ready to go, Casey?”

Casey was shocked out of his dream. He turned and stood, staring.  His massive cock brushed the mirror as he turned.

Rod Moster was at the open door, smiling.  He wore his sweats, but even they didn’t conceal his 7’- 0” frame, his nearly 400 pounds of super wide muscle. His veiny relaxed biceps rolled out of his sleeves with nearly 25 inches of unflexed power, 30 when flexed.  His quad veins were so thick the boys could see them through his sweatpants. And that wasn’t all they could see. The outline of his flaccid cock bulged lazily down his right leg, extending almost to his knees. 

The boys stared.

“Who is that??”

“He’s like a fucking god,” said Owenbee. 

Banks stepped forward, his eyes now half closed, a small smile on his face.

“Sergeant Moster,” said Banks politely. “Greetings.” He saluted crisply, smiled. 

The muscle cadets stared at the giant, handsome black bodybuilder.

“Shit,” said Ogden, “no one is that big.”

“He is,” said Rowenstein.

“Thank you, Cadet. You’re Banks?”

“Yes, sir.  Aye, aye, sir.”

“Am I interrupting something?”

“We’re just saying goodbye, sir,” said Banks, relaxed, crisp and smooth and confident.

Casey smiled weakly.

“Yeah.”

“Put some clothes on, Casey.”

Silence in the room.  Casey looked down and realized he was naked and that his huge member was poling straight out and up what seemed to be 2 feet or more, as if ready to shoot. Precum was dribbling down the long, thick shaft and onto the floor. And he looked around his room, and saw all the tented, bulging flies of all the teen muscle cadets, their pants increasing with stain, their cocks now receding. Every one of them.

Except Banks. His cock still poled out straight ahead in his pants, but his fly was dry, bulging with unleashed power. He'd been able to control himself.

And Banks was not embarrassed. Moster took note silently.

Hmmm. 

“Bye, Casey. Maybe we’ll see you at the compound? If Sergeant Moster will allow us in?” Owenbee was hopeful.

Moster frowned.

“We’ll see,” he said, non-committal.

“Um. Yeah. Okay. Bye, guys.” Casey bent and grabbed his clothes, beet red, mortified. Was this the way to show himself on the most important morning of his life? Naked and flexing and about to shoot and filled with fantasies and dreams? And, it might be added – late??? Late for a military CO?  He wasn’t even IN the military, and he felt completely humiliated.  He struggled for his baggies, reached for his shoes, looked around in vain for at least one of his oversized jocks.  And he hadn’t even packed up his laptop or his prized personal collection of vintage muscle magazines yet.

“I’m really sorry, sir,” he blurted, moving clumsily around the room as the teens scrambled to step clear of the confused young bull. “I guess I’m not ready to go.”

“You do want to move up the mountain to the main compound?”

“Oh, yes, sir!”

“Well, then, get yourself ready to go. I won’t wait for you long. I’ll be downstairs in the van. Take a few minutes, and get yourself together. I'll wait five minutes. After that, if you want to move up the mountain, you're going to have to walk.” He smiled, suddenly surprisingly kind.  He looked around the room of awestruck boys, and smiled.  “And if all you cadets keep training hard, I’m sure I’ll be seeing you all up at the compound sometime soon.” He looked pointedly at Banks.  “Especially you.” “Turn around.”

Banks complied, turning around.  Moster gazed, eyes half-lidded, at Banks’ impressively shaped glutes, nicely packed inside tight pants. “Yes. Keep doing those squats, boy. Good flanks.” His fingers twitched a little. There would be a nice session of spanking this smart-mouthed handsome muscle boy’s hard little muscle bottom sometime in the very near future. He'd wake him up.

Banks’ eyes twinkled.  He knew what Moster was thinking about. It was okay with him.

"I'll look forward to meeting you again, sir."

They shared a quick look of understanding. Moster smiled slightly, an eyebrow cocked. Then he nodded briefly to the others.  “At ease, men.”

And then he was gone.

The boys were still a moment, listening to Moster’s steps retreating down the corridor. The distant outer door opened and closed. A moment of awed silence. Then the boys scrambled back to life.

“Jesus!”

“He’s HUGE.”

“Guys! I gotta bounce!” Boytown muscle chaos as the cadets dove around the room, gathering Casey’s bags and toiletries and clothes and laptop, throwing everything in a heap.

“Get my muscle magazines!”

“Where are they?” Rowenstein asked, looking a little frantic.

“The closet. There’s a box. Four boxes. I need them!”

The boys scoured the room, gathering their hero’s possessions.

“We got your back, Case,” said Banks, smiling.

Casey stopped a moment and looked into Banks’ eyes. Then he smiled.

“I know you do, dude. I know.”

 

 

******

 

 

 

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

 

 

[cumonurpecs]

wow

long over due but wow

excellent chapter to an amazing story

look forward to chapter 15!!!

[veinybiceplover]

Really a great worship story!  So hot that Casey gets into being worshiped.  Maybe Casey will get into mutual worship?

[Guest]

Some edits in this chapter....a few added character notes .....

 

working on Chapter 15 - Casey moves up the mountain and trains for the first time for the muscle squad review.

 

And learns a little more about being one of "The Twenty".  Plan to publish soon....maybe this Thanksgiving weekend.

[Guest]

Chapter 15 is here!

[Freaker]

I love these stories.

[cumonurpecs]

cant wait for chapter 16

love this story !!!

[Guest]

Chapter 16 is coming soon. Question? hard core training only? just training, worship and posing? or sex too?

[Guest]

Some rewrites....this chapter all about muscle worship. Worship fans, enjoy!

[Guest]

a few edits to this muscle worship chapter....