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muscle-posing "The Twenty" - Chapter 15: Casey’s First Interview with Sergeant Moster

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Most recent chapter: Chapter 14: In Which Casey Discovers He Likes to Get Worshipped

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 15:
Casey’s First Interview with Sergeant Moster

 

 

In the main building, Gunst, dressed in regulation baggies and sweatshirt, was waiting for Casey and Moster with a set of keys.  As directed.

 

“Good morning, private,” said Moster.

 

“Good morning, sir.”

 

“Hey,” Gunst said to Casey, a little cool.

 

“Hi,” said Casey.  Right away he was intimidated by Gunst’s size.

 

“Got everything?” Gunst asked him.

 

“Wha-….yeah. I got everything.”

 

“Take him to his quarters,” said Moster. “Casey, come to my office after you’ve moved in. 3:30. I want a few minutes with you before you meet the men this afternoon. My office is over there. Red door. I’ll see you then. And don’t be late.”  He strode away, without waiting for an answer.

 

“Yes, sir,” said Casey meekly, watching him go.

 

Gunst gave him a hard smile. “Let’s go, then. To your new home.”  He turned and walked to the end of the main hall. Casey stared, hypnotized by his thick traps, his broad batwing lat spread as he strode away, and then coming back to himself, hurried to catch up.

 

Gunst led Casey down several long corridors. They turned right, turned left, passed about 10 doors, turned right again. Casey began to worry that he was going to get lost in this huge place. Then Gunst stopped. He unlocked a door.

 

“Welcome. Your quarters. Enter and sign in.” He held the door open for Casey, who hesitated.

 

“No, after you.”

 

“Okay.” Gunst went in, and Casey followed him, his heart beating wildly.
 

His new room was a single.  Though it was not the first time in his life he’d had a room to himself, this one was big, and it was all his. The ceilings must have been 12'. All the ceilings in the Home were that high. But this was different. He was speechless.

 

There was a main living room with two deep comfortable sofas, a wall of full-length mirrors, a large posing dais with lights, a big dinner table, a desk and four deep, cushy chairs.  There was an entirely serviceable open kitchen, a broad glass door to an outside enclosed private terrace, a sizeable bedroom, and big bathroom with an extra-large shower with about 100 different nozzles and spigots, and what looked like an second, somewhat squat toilet.

 

That, he couldn’t quite figure out.

 

“What’s that?” he asked Gunst, pointing to it.

 

“Your bidet.”

 

“My wha-?.....”

 

“Cleans your butt. You’ll need it.”

 

“I keep clean.” Casey was offended. Did they think he was an animal?

 

“Trust me.”

 

The bed was a super king, broad and deep, with a mirrored ceiling so he could see his muscles as he woke up in the morning. The bright terrace continued outside the bedroom with a second entrance, and was open to the sky. The rooms were filled with light, but there was no view. No one would have been able to see in. Casey was a little disappointed. He’d hoped he could see down the mountain, and maybe even the Pacific roiling in the distance.

 

In the corner opposite the terrace door stood the 6 8’-0” 3-paneled mirrors, in front of the dais. Overhead, spotlights were aimed at the dais. In front was a brand new video camera on a tripod. Casey regarded it a moment.

 

“Wow. A camera.”

 

“Yeah. We all get em. Record your progress. Tape your posing.”

 

“This is no bullshit,” Casey breathed, stunned.

 

“No, no bullshit. They’re serious. It’s all about muscle and getting bigger. Hop on, sport,” said Gunst., indicating the dais. He switched on the overhead lights. Cool spots of filtered white-rendered LED light shone from above. Casey stepped onto the dais and gazed at himself in the center pane of the mirror. In his reflection, his t shirt clung sweatily, his superhuman muscles rippling powerfully. He was transfixed at his reflection.

 

“Wow,” he said, whistling.

 

“Ain’t you seen yourself before?”

 

“Not like this.”

 

“Well, you’re big, dude. Real big. Big and hard. Zaftig and Moster got special plans for you.” He paused a moment while Rockland raised his arms and slowly flexed a front double biceps into the mirror.

 

Shit, thought Gunst. His arms look bigger n’ mine. Fuck. His eyes drifted down to Casey’s perfect bubble butt, covered by his grey baggies. A deep butt crack pulled the loose fabric tightly into the shadows of his ass.

 

“Awesome glutes.”

 

“Thanks, man.” Casey now at work, working his way through his mandatories. He glided from pose to pose with ease. Gunst half-smiled, and took a step towards the door. He’s just a kid, he thought.

 

A superhuman huge kid made of muscle, yeah, but just a kid.

 

“You know how to work the camera?”

 

“No,” said Casey, admitting it, humiliated as he always was at being so dumb. Gosh, I’m dumb, he thought.

 

“It’s easy. Come down here.”

 

Casey stepped off the platform and moved close to Gunst. As always he was intimidated, standing next to muscle bigger than his, but he said nothing. Gunst felt the heat wafting off the kid but studiously ignored it.

 

He showed Casey the video cam. “Switch on here. Battery will always be charged. They’ll do that for you. Open the LED screen like this.”  Gunst pushed a button and the screen flipped open, a little blue wall with menu items printed. “Then push this.” He pushed another button and the red blinking light and the REC menu appeared in the window.

 

“Awesome.”

 

“You following this?”

“Yeah.” Actually, he was. After all, this was how he was going to record his own muscle. Of course he was following.

 

“It’s aimed and focused to the dais and set for the proper lights. Switch off the room lights when you use it for best res.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Got it?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Gunst doubted it. “Okay, man, I’m gonna split now. You settle in. Be in the gym and ready to work at 1600 hours.”

 

“Okay.” Casey studied the camera and then thoughtfully stepped back on the dais without switching it on.

 

“That’s 4 PM.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“It’s noon. You got four hours before training and three and a half before you meet Sergeant Moster for debriefing in his office. Remember where his office is?"

 

"Yeah." He didn't. Gunst smirked a little.

 

"Go out the door, turn left, head to the main corridor, turn left again.  Walk to the bulletin board past the cafeteria entrance. Turn right. Red door."

 

"Okay."  Casey was looking at himself in the mirrors. He wanted to pose some more. He thoughtfully flexed a powerful forearm, inspecting cables of veins.

 

Gunst gave up. After all, it was his ass.

 

"Eat and get some rest. Check out your refrigerator. They prepared some meals for you. Have a couple of steaks and a few chickens.”

 

“Okay,” said Casey, already dreamily posing for himself. He hit another double bi. He was headed back to his distant mountain on his private planet.

 

Gunst watched Casey as he hypnotically posed.  Damn, the kid looked good.

 

Casey slipped out of his shirt and threw it on the floor and hit a crab shot. Gunst, impressed in spite of himself, shook his head, and headed for the door.

 

“Don’t wear yourself out, dude. Four hours. Three and a half, really.”

 

“Okay.” 

 

"Take a shower. You stink."

 

"Okay."

 

Gunst started out.

 

“Can I ask you a question?” Casey asked shyly, stopping his posing a moment.

“What?”

 

“How much you weigh?”
 

Gunst smiled, hard faced.  “375,” he said.

 

“Shit, man.”

 

“Yeah. You?” 

 

“310.”

“So I’m bigger.”

 

“Yeah,” said Casey.

 

Gunst turned to go.

 

“For now,” Casey added.

 

Gunst looked back at him and grunted noncommittally. He left the room, closing the door, leaving Casey alone to ponder the wonders of his own physique.

 

“Damn,” he breathed quietly to himself. That dude is huge. But then again, Casey hadn’t entirely realized that he looked this good.

 

Good, yes.

 

But not THIS good.

 

As Gunst walked back up the corridor to his own room he felt a sudden impulse to run off to the gym again and spend the next hour doing punishing curls.  For now?? The little asswipe actually had the balls to say this to him? But he knew it was true. It was just for now. This kid could surpass everyone. Including Moster.

 

P21 may have been a miracle drug, but muscle recovery was still necessary, and as it was Gunst had spent a good hour just the night before curling hundreds of pounds. But damn. That kid’s biceps were sick. Sick. Unreal. He had to get his bigger. Bigger, harder, more vascular. He had to dwarf the kid’s arms when, on some inevitable future date when Moster lined them up next to each other barked out FRONT DOUBLE BICEPS to both of them, Gunst could raise his arms to the almighty skies and curl up a walloping huge double bi’s that would force the musclepuppy Casey into a shameful corner.

 

But he knew that wouldn’t happen. Casey was just too big, too hard, too perfect – and only 18.

 

Shit. Damn. Fuck. Gunst went to his room and stretched out on his bed, suddenly depressed.  A few minutes later he got up and ate six chicken breasts. And then lay down again, resting, willing his arms to recover, to get bigger.

 

Shit. Damn. Fuck.

 

After about 10 minutes of posing, Casey, innocent of the turmoil he was already causing in the quad, felt both hungry and thirsty. He stepped off the platform, gave a last look at himself in the mirror, and did a side chest. Pop. Pow. Yeah. He wandered into his kitchenette. A surprisingly good-sized, double door industrial grade refrigerator (stainless steel, reflecting, naturally, so he could see himself) was center in the wall. He opened it up and was surprised to see three 5-gallon water bottles, shelves of Tupperware containers filled with cooked, cold bloody rare steaks and cooked chicken breasts, some prepared salads and tuna salad. He grabbed a whole steak and gobbled it in three bites, then drank a full quart of water. He opened the vegetable drawer. Unlike other young bodybuilders - stupid assholes - who turned their noses up at vegetables, at anything 'green', Casey craved fresh veggies. The drawer was full, he happily noted. He fished around and found some tomatoes and fresh celery stalks. He popped four whole tomatoes - "Vitamin C!" as Miles would have said - and began gnawing on a stalk.

 

He closed the door and gazed thoughtfully at his reflection in the stainless steel. Miles. He really missed him. He hadn't seen him now for - what? - a year? More? Miles would be so proud of him.

 

Maybe he could get out some time, go to Raw Weight, see Miles, and maybe pose a little with him? He sure hoped so.

 

And....maybe something more, too.

 

He belched softly and headed back into the main room to start unpacking. He raised an arm, sniffed at an armpit. Yeah, he did stink. A shower would come next.

 

A knock came at the door. He answered it, the gallon water bottle still in his hand.

 

It was Private Lang. He was dressed in an-all black skin-tight bicycling suit and was carrying a helmet. He dripped with sweat. 

 

“Hey,” said Casey, eyeing Lang evenly. He too was handsome, and he too had a heavy sagging cock bulge in front. Casey guessed they all wore clothing to show themselves off to their best advantage.  But why did they all look like male models? Even Gunst, big and broad and homely, looked like he belonged in a magazine. Or on the movie screen. Or on TV.

 

“Hey. Welcome. Listen, haven’t got much time. Moster will be here in a second. Want to warn you about something.”

 

Casey was annoyed and awed for a moment by Lang’s two-day scruff and perfect hair. Damn. Fucking good looking dude.

Shit, now what? What did he just say? Something else he had to worry about?  “Come on in.”

 

The heavily muscled Lang gazed briefly up and down at the shirtless Casey, lingered his gaze a moment on his bulging crotch, considered a moment, but then said, “No, thanks. Another time. Believe me.” 

 

“Sergeant Moster’s not coming. Come on in.”

 

“No. Another time.”

 

“Okay. So what’s up?”

 

“You gotta watch out for Tiffany.”

 

“Don’t I know it.”

 

Lang fumbled in his fanny pack and pulled out a small pill bottle. He handed Casey a white capsule. “Something else, too. Take this before the workout.”

 

Casey played dumb. “What is it? Drugs?”

 

“Naw. Well, yeah. I guess. We all take ‘em. They’re not toxic and they’re not hallucinogens, but it’ll make you feel stronger and more confident, and they free up your…..well, natural inhibitions.”

 

“Haven’t got any.”

 

“Bullshit. You’re scared as hell, even Hension can see it. Hell, if I can see it, then, dude, you’re scared.”

 

“I’m not fucking scared.”

“Anxious, then. Nervous. Anyway, you should be.”

 

“Why should I take this? What is this, anyway? You guys all trying to punk me?”

 

“No! Trust me, dude. Take it. By the time the workout is under way you’ll be ready for anything. What do you normally single-arm curl?”

 

“170 pounds.”

 

“Take one and you’ll curl 220. Single arm.”

 

Fuck! Casey grabbed for it, popped it down his mouth, and took a chug of water. Then he grinned. “Thanks! Sure you don’t want to come in a moment? We could pose together.”

 

“Yeah…..I would…..but later. Gotta go.” He looked nervously down the corridor and scooted away. Casey closed the door.

 

He unpacked some muscle magazines, his new jockstraps and do-rag, his iPod and laptop, and started to set up his new video camera on a tripod. He liked to record his posing practices, and with the dais and the mirrors and the new lighting he was already excited. He dropped to the floor and reeled off a fast150 push-ups.

 

He needed to jerk off soon, but was interrupted by another knock at the door.

 

This time it was Waring.  He looked like he had just gotten out of the shower, his hair slicked back, his clothes tight and plastered against big muscles.

 

“Whassup, dude?” he asked. “Welcome.” He extended a calloused hand.

 

Casey leaned against the door and crossed giant arms. Another handsome dude.  He didn’t shake. He blew out air, looked at him levelly, and just waited.

 

Shit. After all, all these dudes had shot their cum all over him just 12 hours ago. Didn’t they remember? It was kinda weird they all seemed to have either forgotten, or just didn’t care. Or maybe they did it all the time to each other?

Whatever. He was here to get big.

 

There was a long pause.

 

“Okay, I guess you’re just settling in and not ready to receive guests. I got something for you anyway. House-warming gift.” He held out a fist, opened it, revealing a capsule. Casey looked it and gazed at him, not taking the bait.

 

“Don’t you want to know what it’s for?”

 

“Lemme guess. My inhibitions? Give me a boost? I can curl 3,000 pounds? Protect me from Tiffany? Make me millions?”

 

“Okay, who was here before me?”

 

“I don’t remember his name. Good-looking guy with black hair. You’re ALL good-looking guys with black hair.”

 

“Some are blond, some ginger, some bald. How old?”

 

“Old. I don’t know. 27?”

 

“Mustache?”

 

“No.”

 

“Bicycle clothes?”

“Yeah.”

 

“Lang.” Waring looked around. “Did he give you one already? Did you take it?”

 

“Yes, and yes.”

 

“Good.” He held out the capsule. “Keep it. Take it anyway. I took two once,” he added, and smiled to remember a particularly hot ‘Pose and Approve’ session with both Alvarez and Lang, after which, unfortunately, he was not invited to return. Not yet, anyway.

 

“Sure you don’t want to come in?” Casey gestured ironically, but he wouldn’t have minded. A little double-posing practice would be a good workout.  But once again, all he got was the once-over. Waring paused a little and grinned, his face turning pink, but shook his head.

 

“No, I gotta run. Bye.” And he loped off down the corridor. Casey closed the door.

 

Whatever. All these dudes were weird, muscle or no.

 

He took the second White Caps, flexed a few more minutes in front of the mirror, waited for something to happen. Nothing. Suddenly he was tired, so he decided to grab a nap.  

 

He went to his room, kicked off his boots, tore off his sweatpants and jock, and sprawled naked onto the huge bed. He was instantly asleep, dreaming vaguely of his muscle planet.

When he woke up, the light in the room had changed, but he didn’t notice it. All he could think of was his dick, hugely and almost painfully hard. He was ready to go, now.

 

The caps? Maybe.

 

He masturbated on his bed, formally initiating himself to his room. He watched his reflection in the ceiling mirror as he pumped his big shaft.  Within 30 seconds he came, his cum spurting high and splashing the glass of the mirrored ceiling and plopping down onto the sheets, staining them deeply with pools of cum.

 

“Shit,” he said. He got up went into the bathroom and closed the door. He shat heavily and pissed about 2 gallons with heavy ropes of piss splashing into the toilet. He stared suspiciously at the bidet, and then at the shower.

 

There were the seemingly dozens of jets and spigots and controls, but after a few minutes of carefully testing, he got it to work. He showered for about 10 minutes, washing himself off carefully, loving the jets of steaming hot water that hit every angle of his physique.

 

He stepped out and grabbed a huge towel off the rack. It was warm to the touch, as if it had just been taken out of the drier.

 

Damn, it felt good. He draped it around himself and went back into his room.

 

His sheets had been changed. The ceiling mirror was clean.

 

Fuck. Who the hell had been in here while he was in the shower???

 

And his workout clothes were laid out on the bed. Oh well. Guess he had invisible maids, too.

 

He changed, and went to the kitchenette to get a bite of chicken and another jug of water.

 

On the counter there was a note:

 

I let myself in. Hope u don’t mind. 

Take this pill. 

It will help. 

                     C U later in the gym.

                             --- Hension

 

Next to the note was another capsule. What the hell? He took it. 

 

He looked at his watch.  3:40 PM.

 

“Shit! Shit!” he shouted. Late again! He tumbled into his sweatshirt, and ran off to meet Moster in his office.

 

********

 

 

15 minutes later, Casey stood at attention in front of Sergeant Moster’s desk. “Well, Cadet,” said Moster. “Late again. Very late. At ease. Let’s talk awhile. Have a seat.”

 

He gestured to a flat bench used for bench presses. Casey dutifully lowered his bulk onto the bench and leaned forward anxiously, resting his elbows on his thighs. Sweat rolled down his torso. He wiped his eyes and stared ahead of him. He wasn’t going to get punished for being so late?

 

He had run all the way from his quarters to the office and got lost six times. He finally had to ask some Puerto Rican kitchen kid – oh, yeah, the kid who was there last night, sucking all the musclemen’s cocks while he wrestled Abdul – where the hell Moster’s office was. The kid had stared at him hungrily but Casey wasn’t about to get into it.

 

“Down there,” he’d pointed, and Casey ran off. This time he found it.  He saw none of the other men.

 

Moster came out from around the desk and approached, looking him over.

 

“Rockland – I mean Casey … - I’m going to get right to it. You show great potential. Big muscles, lots of strength, good flexibility, tall, young, still growing.”

 

“And I got good bones. You and Dr….” He paused. He couldn’t recall the dude’s name.

 

“Dr. Zaftig.”

 

“Yeah, Dr. Zaftig, you both said so last night.”

 

Didn’t Moster remember last night either? Fer crissakes.

 

“Yes, and good bones, yes.” He stood in front of Casey. “Do you have questions?”

 

Casey looked up at the Sergeant plaintively. About a million of them, actually. But he said nothing, and shook his head.

 

His eyes roamed up and down his CO’s massive physique.  Moster’s shiny black biceps exploded out of his white t-shirt, with veins thick as snakes, lining the peaks and networks of pumping blood vessels criss-crossing his forearms. His hands, resting lightly on his hips, were enormous, with thick fingers, white, trimmed fingernails and long, powerful thumbs. His neck was impossibly huge, and his traps sloped powerfully into massive deltoids.  His lats flared out almost horizontally. Casey had never seen so much muscle.

 

And in his pants, his package drooped casually from his fly down along his right thigh in his uniform trousers. The massive bulge extended nearly to his knee.  Casey gulped and licked his lips a little. He could see the mountain of cockhead corona and make out the deep piss slit, even through the thick fabric.

 

Moster’s gaze never left his eyes.

 

“Well, Casey?”

 

“Sergeant Moster, what is this place really about? Why are we here?”

 

“You’ve been on campus two years. You should know. We’re Valhalla Labs.”

 

“Yeah, I know that. But what is it? Really is it?”

 

“Valhalla Labs is a unique training facility. Here we build and train the finest specimens of men on earth.”

 

“But just bodybuilders.”

 

Moster looked down into Casey’s eyes, slightly startled. “Yes, just bodybuilders,” he confirmed.

 

“There are other kinds of men who get built. Gymnasts. Swimmers. Football players.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“So why just bodybuilders?”

 

Moster paused a moment. “Son,” he said, pacing, “don’t you want to be here?”

 

Casey fell all over himself replying. “Oh, yes, sir, I do want to be here, sir, and nowhere else!”

 

“So….is there a problem?”

 

“No, sir, no problem AT ALL. But….why are we here?” And he still didn’t ask, pointedly, about the wrestling and the cum job and all the craziness from the night before.

 

Moster paused again, and spoke in a measured tone.

 

“The Nineteen – and now, with you, The Twenty – are potentially the finest specimens of male musculature on the planet. Most bodybuilders, power lifters, weight lifters, look mighty impressive, but, you know, they have all sorts of internal problems.  Bad hearts. Very bad livers and kidneys. Bad skin. Small testicles. High cholesterol. Bad blood pressure. Boils, scars. They smell bad. No endurance. And…..too often….they have very tiny cocks.”

 

Casey had to admit it was true.

 

“But not here. Here we build men who will last. When you, son, reach your 50th birthday, you’ll look much the way you do now. When you reach 70, God willing, you’ll look like a man of 40. Do you know how old I am?”

 

Casey paused a moment. “28?” he ventured.

 

“I’m 48. 49 next month.”

 

“No shit.”

 

“No shit. Let’s see your biceps, son. Remove your sweatshirt.”

 

Casey complied and meekly flexed his guns. He smiled hopefully. “Are they okay?” he asked nervously, flexing, looking from arm to arm, glancing hopefully at the dancing triple peaks of each biceps.

 

tumblr_nye3q5Lzn21tagvggo1_1280.jpg
 

 

 

“You know they’re better than just ‘okay’. Or you should know. Good God, you’re still reticent?”

 

“Re- ti – what?”

 

“Still shy? Don’t you feel strong, son? Don’t you feel huge and powerful?”

 

“Not next to you, sir.”

 

Moster was touched in spite of himself.

 

“Stand up, son,” he directed, peeling off his shirt and heading over to a broad expanse of mirror. “Come over here and join me.” He bent and began to unlace his boots.

 

Casey got up and trotted over to join Moster at the mirror. Instinct told him it might not be a good idea to tell him just at present that he had recently taken three white caps.  So far he hadn’t felt anything unusual. But then, he’d had a long nap, too. Maybe you weren’t supposed to take white caps and then immediately go to sleep.

 

“Kick off those shorts. Your jock, too. Strip down.”

 

Casey did as he was told, pulling his jock down shyly. Moster unbuckled his belt, peeled down his trousers, kicked off his boots and rose, ripping off his t-shirt.  His massive muscles bloomed with gigantic power. He was wearing a powerfully knit bright red posing suit underneath his trousers that magnificently displayed his bulging tool.

 

“All our posing suits are privately made. Otherwise, they won’t fit. See?”

 

First he grabbed the side straps and pulled up. The pouch loomed magnificently, full of Moster’s massive penis and balls. He moved from side to side, showing the strength of the suit.

 

“Actually there’s some steel mesh in there. You get used to it.” 

 

Then he pulled down the poser from the side straps and, one foot at a time, stepped out of it. His cannon firehose flopped out and down heavily and loudly slapped his quads.

 

“Face the mirror, Cadet,” said Moster.

 

Casey obeyed and turned, and together the two musclemen stood naked in front of the mirror.

 

Wow.

 

Casey knew he had never seen – no, nor imagined – bigger muscles, nor a bigger engine like the one Sergeant Rod Moster was sporting between the walls of each diamond-shaped quad. He stared at it, slack jawed, his mouth dangling open, amazed.  From the beautiful muscle jewel-setting that was Moster’s lower rectus abdominus to the ridge of shrink-wrapped muscle from which plunged the massive, thick shaft, Moster’s massive, huge, perfect monster penis was a thing of beauty.

 

A few moments passed, and Casey finally spoke. “You have a very big dick, sir. Begging your pardon.”

 

“Yes, quite the tool, isn’t it?” Moster said expansively, waggling it from side to side.  “It might even be the biggest in the world. Anyway, no recorded penis has been found to be bigger.”  He looked down appraisingly at Casey’s organ, “Yours appears to be almost as big, I see.”

 

“No, not, really, sir.”

“Oh, yes, I think it is. Close, anyway. Let’s see you wave it back and forth. Like this.”  He began to whip his penis noisily from side to side. It slapped loudly on his quads.  “Go ahead.  I know you can do it. I saw you do it for the boys in your room this morning.”

 

Casey was mortified, remembering.

 

“Try it, cadet.”

 

“Okay.”  He waved it back and forth timidly.

 

“No, throw some energy into it. Be a man!” 

 

Moster continued to slap his cock against his quads.  Casey gulped and began to whip his engine a little faster, a little harder…..and suddenly he was surprised to hear slaps as loud as Moster’s coming from his own extremities as his ample cock made contact with his muscular quads.

 

Moster reached down and grabbed Casey’s member in a powerful fist and began to squeeze. Casey was stunned.

 

“Sir!”

 

“Relax, Private. I know you’re a grower. I want a demonstration.” He began to powerfully stroke the penis, and in his grip Casey immediately became erect.

 

“Very nice indeed. 12 inches? More?”

 

“I’m not sure….”

 

“Zaftig sure knows how to find them.”

 

Casey was getting dizzy. A heavy glob of precum appeared from the piss slit, ran over Moster’s fist and dripped onto the floor. “Nice,” said Moster. “Good boy. Have you masturbated yet today?”

 

Casey was mortified.  He took a step back and his thick penis popped from Moster’s enveloping fist.  Moster let it go.

 

“Yes…..”

 

“How many times?”

 

“Just once.”

 

“Right.”  He walked back to his desk, his penis waggling mightily as he walked, and hit a key on his laptop, which dinged. He read a message, looked up and smiled. He returned.

 

“Yes, I see that you did, about 25 minutes ago.”
 

“Wha-a-a-a-a- t?!!?”

 

“The cleaning report came in.”

 

Cleaning report?? Christ, the sheets.  They file this stuff? 

 

“Are you guys spying on me?”

 

“We’re going to monitor your activity, yes. We do this for all the men.”

 

“Do they know?”

“Yes, of course they know. Many of them relish it. The men like to be on cam. Is this going to be a problem for you?”

 

Casey decided to change the subject.  “Sir, it embarrasses me. I have to jerk off about 5 or 6 times a day.”

“Seems that you’re off schedule then, if you have only masturbated once so far.”

 

“Well, it’s been a weird day.”

 

“Don’t let me stop you.”

“I’m not gonna do it now!!!”  Casey was getting more and more mortified. What was all this, anyway??

 

“No, of course not. You still have the societal blockers in place that prevent that. So do the men, actually, in my presence. They wouldn’t do it either while in this office. Of course, at meal times, in the gym, on the track outside, wherever or whenever they feel they have to, they whip out their dicks and go for it. You saw that last night, actually.”

 

Finally.  “Last night was really, really weird,” said Casey.

 

“You’ll get used to it.”

 

“I will?”

 

“Yes, and with talent like yours, the men will be very eager for you to start joining them in priapic exercises.”

Hunh?

 

“You’ll find out. In time.  Meanwhile, you should be very proud. Your penis is one of the finest specimens I have ever seen. And I have seen thousands of the best of the best. Yours is….well…..it rivals mine.”

 

Shit, thought Casey. Really?  Sudden he got a little coy.

 

“Gee, and I have always been ashamed of my big dick.”

 

“Really. Why?”

 

“I can’t….hide -… it….” Casey colored deep red and looked down at himself. There it was, looming out from his body, huge and solid.

 

“And why would you want to hide it?”

 

“You hide yours!” Casey blurted. “Or you try to.”

 

“That’s different. I’m in command. And the men all know now about my superior tool. If I showed it all the time, it would lead to all kinds of problems.”  Moster bent and pulled up his posers and trousers, carefully wrapping his giant engine securely in the folds of pants fabric.  He squatted slightly, reached into the waistband of his slacks, and positioned the shaft so that it lay, lazy and secure, against his right quad.  Then he went back to his desk.

 

“Get dressed now. But hang on.” He reached into a drawer and pulled out a small vial, then walked back to him and leaned in quietly. He spoke low into Casey’s ear, and raised his palm surreptitiously.  In his hand was a single white capsule.  “Take it,” he said.

 

Not again. He was already feeling – well, not high, exactly, but close. He was dubious – after all, he had already taken three – but what the hell. He pretended innocence, and he made his face appear anxious.

“What is it? Drugs? I’ve never done drugs.”

 

“This is pure P21.  The drug of choice.  Take it.”

 

“Will I be okay?” he asked, wanting to trust him. I hope so, Casey thought. I took three of those little suckers.

 

“You’ll be fine,” assured Moster, and he meant it.  “Frankly, yes. It is a drug. It will not hurt you - but it will do something to your perception of yourself.  Take it. Now.”

 

“Okay.” Casey nodded dumbly and bolted it down. Inside he was elated, excited, wondering if this new mystery supplement was a new kind of steroid, able to produce great surges of strength and growth.

 

Then he looked up hopefully at Moster, now sitting back at his desk, easy in his chair, his legs wide before him,  open to the world.

 

“Meet us in the rec room after your shower for post workout eval.”

 

“Yes, sir,” said Casey. Inadvertently his gaze lowered to the Sergeant’s lap. He stared at the bulge. Wow, he thought again. Damn.
 

“Good. Now get to the gym and get started. Some of the men will be there. You have some serious lifting to do. I’ll join you presently.” He pushed an intercom button. “Dr. Irving?”

 

“Yes?” came the voice on the squawk box.

 

“Get the camera ready and head to the big gym. You'll find everything you need in the locker room. Dr. Irving is there ahead of you. He'll set you up. Get moving now.”

 

“Yes, Sergeant Moster.”

 

"And don't dawdle." He checked his watch. "You're already 20 minutes late. The men were expecting you at 16:00 hours. They don't like to be kept waiting."

"Are they all there?"

 

"By now, yes."

 

"They gonna jerk off all over me again?"

 

Moster smiled.  "No, not tonight. Frankly, you have them all a little too worried about themselves to pull anything like that again so soon. Besides...."

 

Casey waited for it.  "Besides what?"

 

Moster smiled. "Nothing. We talk again after your workout tonight. Then dinner and then bed for you. Get going now."

 

Click click click. Moster was typing.  Casey stood still, uncertain.  Moster looked up. “I said get going, Casey.”

 

Casey nodded, dumbly wordless. Gee, he types fast, he thought. He pulled on his sweatshirt and scampered out the door.

 

After a moment he was back.

 

“Sergeant Moster?” he asked, shy and frightened.

 

“Yes, Cadet Rockland?”
 

“…um..….which way IS the gym….?”

 

Moster had to smile in spite of himself.  He pushed back from the desk and rose.

 

“Okay. We'll go together.” He approached Casey, looked him over with brief approbation, and nodded to himself.  This kid was something else.

 

Just what he had been waiting for.  Just right for his plans.  Just right for the big picture.

 

The picture Zaftig wasn't aware of.

 

Yes, everything was going smoothly.  He headed on down the corridor.

 

Casey followed him, submissively scampering a few steps behind.  It was going to be his first workout as one of The Twenty.  He felt both scared and powerful. And just a little pissed off, as the White Cap began to work on him.

 

Those dudes weren't gonna jerk off on him again, any time soon. He'd see to that. He knew what he had to do.

 

Okay. Time to go train.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**********

 

Want to reread "The Twenty" from the beginning?

 

Click here for "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Precis, Introduction, and Chapters 1 & 2

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Adding the key word Gym-Muscle-Sex to many of the chapters, because that is what it is all about. Working on the next chapter - Chapter 22 - big worship session in LA!

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