Birthday Boy

[AlexDrake]

A little story I've already posted on my tumblr.
Any and all comments and criticisms are appreciated

 

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A million little cameras flash into my face at once. Blinded by the sea of lights, I avert my gaze and look at the cake before me. A novelty cake; big, pink and shaped like a bodybuilder’s arm flexing a biceps. I smile. It’s a cartoon version of the heavily muscled arm around my shoulder, pressing me into a heavily muscled chest belonging to an equally heavily muscled body.

Turning my face up, I look at the behemoth holding me.

Shane Burke. Teenage bodybuilding sensation and today’s birthday boy. Countless friends and relatives have gathered in his parents’ living room to celebrate nineteen just extinguished candles on that cake – yay! – as well him officially turning pro just last week – double yay!

He pulls me closer. Determined to get me into every picture taken of him, he squeezes me into his huge body until my cheek touches one bulging pec. But he doesn’t let go of me. From the corner of my eye I can see him raise his other arm up, moving into one of his famed biceps poses. The crowd keeps flashing away at the star of the day, whooping and cheering his brash demeanor. He shows off his body along with his perfect, instagram-honed grin – toothy, with a streak of cockiness – knowing perfectly how to behave in front of a camera as well as an audience.

“Yeah!” he roars, making his body rumble. Obviously, a physique overflowing with testosterone comes with an appropriately deep, growling voice. “More inches in this arm than candles on that cake!”

Shane’s solid chest rubs against the side of my face as he effortlessly turns both our bodies first to one, then to the other side of adoring party guests. I laugh, partly because I’m enjoying his firm grip on me, partly because I’m hoping the growing bulge in my pants won’t show on the pictures.

The arm around me is heavy and would make me slump under its weight if Shane hadn’t held me upright. Firm, muscular curves are bulging right into my back and neck, twitching and flexing with every little move. Despite having been in the off-season for a week or so, he has retained most of his competition ready cut, looking as sharply defined and ripped as he did on stage. Still, he has the mass to easily fill out an overly large tank top and make it pretty much skin tight. Right next to me is his humongous torso, exuding his extraordinary body heat. With a metabolism constantly in overdrive to feed his enormous muscles, he always feels hot.

A few people motion for me to move away from the huge man to get a shot of him on his own – and I would have happily complied, if it hadn’t been for the iron hold he still had on me.

“No way,” Shane laughs as I try to slide out of his embrace. “This is just as much Leo’s celebration as it is mine!”

No one argues with his booming baritone. With that, I am pulled back in and snuggled even closer by the mammoth bodybuilder.

He has a point, though.

Obviously, it’s Shane who did the lifting and sweating and lifting and eating and lifting. Shelfs full of trophies, a hundred thousand followers and a youtube channel of him breaking personal best after personal best can easily attest to that. But Shane would never deny he’d be where he is without me.

Shane had always been active. Even before he lifted his first dumbbell, he was always doing something. When he wasn’t playing football, he was climbing trees, when he wasn’t wrestling, he was swimming in the lake. We had been bestest of friends, ever since we both needed diapers. He would get me out in the fresh air while my book smarts would rub off on him – hypothetically, at least.

When he decided to pick up weight lifting, Shane knew nothing about training routines, nutrition, rest days and the importance of sleep. But because of me, he stuck to all of that from day one. His challenge was to lift the weights, mine was to comb through volumes of bodybuilding literature. He knew what he wanted and he trusted my inner nerd enough that I would make him get it. And his most recent win on the national stage did prove just that.

“So no pics without my coach!” the thundering voice next to me laughs and thusly shuts down all protest.

We pose for pictures with me locked tightly in his muscular prison for who know how long, before Shane finally moves on to the important business – cutting the cake. Not once does he stop acting up for the crowd. Growling loudly, he holds the knife like a serial killer would, slow motion swings it like a sword or holds up the baked arm to compare it with his actual one – whatever he does, his audience eats it up. I stand by patiently, enjoying the show like everyone else does and definitely a bit more. Moving behind some decoration I hope to hide my surely bulging crotch as I start handing Shane plates off a stack. Slice by slice Shane hands out bits of the cake to his guests until only one is left.

Ever the showman, he doesn’t just take it for himself.

It it’s a big piece, filling out his large hand as he wraps his long and muscular fingers around it. With a playful roar he tears his mouth as wide open as he can and shoves the whole thing in. The party guests shriek with delight as he smushes a big piece of cake on his face, with only some of it going in between his lips and most of it getting smeared on his cheeks.

“Aaah! Ha ha!” Shane laughs from underneath a layer of dough.

Once more, camera flashes go off to capture this moment. His lower face is covered in a mask of cream and frosting as he keeps guffawing, spitting bits of cake across the table. The countless little lights only triggers more of the bravado in the teenage behemoth and he throws up his arms in another one of his famous double biceps poses. Shane holds the pose, even as chunks of cake slide down his cheek and drop onto his protruding chest, enjoying the round of people taking, uploading and tagging the pics of the flexing pastry monster.

“Alright,” Shane announces, wiping one corner of his mouth with his thumb, “now everybody’s got their cake, let’s head outside!”

One thickly muscled arm extends towards the garden door, inviting people to enjoy the the rest of the party in the summer sun. With his free hand he grabs a couple of napkins off a stack.

My voice is hushed and directed only at him.

“Don’t.” I say.

He places the napkins back on the table and continues.

“There’s a buffet, drinks, music – knock yourself out, guys!” his voice practically orders.

The party clears the living room only very slowly, with every other guest asking Shane for a cake covered selfie. He indulges every single one of them until only he and I are left inside the house.

With a smile, and obviously satisfied at having given everybody a good taste of Shane Burke’s on-stage persona, he turns back to me.

I look at the towering hunk. His presence alone would be imposing to anybody, even with a beard of sweet dessert running down his face.

His broad shoulders are capped off by densely balled deltoids wide enough to make him look twice as wide as me. They morph into long and thick arms, curving with the swelling and billowing masses of flesh packed onto them. Beefy forearms and large paws for hands finish them off.

A twin set of massive pecs makes up the vast expanse of his chest. Two plates of muscle, barely contained by his lower cut tank top, extend far left and right, forming a deliciously deep muscle cleavage in the middle. A mouthwatering sight, even without the vanilla-almond flavored garnish they are sporting.

There’s an eight pack of perfectly etched out abs underneath that tank top, and a pair of oaken columns of powerful brawn that make up his thighs. Calves with edges you can cut yourself on peek out the bottom of his shorts, not to mention his appropriately overly overly large feet crammed into a pair of sandals.

Having finished my visual tour of the teenage Hercules before me I look back up to his face, above mine by almost half a foot. Shane returns my tense stare, his brows longingly pursed, his lips parted and his breathing heavier than before.

It takes some effort to tear away my gaze from the hunk, but I do turn and look out the windows. A couple of guests’ heads happily chatting and sipping their drinks are right outside. Some people are hanging out right by the garden door, also with a direct view of the living room.

I let out an annoyed grunt.

“Kitchen.”

It’s my only instruction as I turn and head there with purposeful strides. I don’t need to check if he’s coming along. Even if I didn’t hear his footsteps stomping behind me, it is without a doubt he’s following suit.

I know the Burke kitchen all too well, having spent years and years preparing chicken and tuna with Shane. A quick look confirms the privacy we need. With the guests all in the back yard, the side window with opaque curtains going halfway up the window is just perfect.

Turning around I watch as Shane arrives, his wide shoulders just about fitting through the doorway. He stops a few feet before me, looking majestic despite being covered in cake. I barely need to look as I reach over and rip off a couple of paper towels and approach the beast.

I stop less than a foot before the mega man, looking up at him as he looks down on me. My face is relaxed, just business, with my closed lips bulging as my tongue runs along my teeth underneath them. Shane on the other hand is barely keeping it in. His mouth is open, breathing quickly and heavily, making his thick chest heave up and down, in and out. Out of the corner of my eyes I see his hands fidgeting, his fingers awkwardly clenching his fists. The brawn on his arms bulges accordingly, with forearm and biceps tensing and swelling randomly.

Despite my efforts, a smile escapes my lips. Aw, poor boy. So eager.

With a deep breath I loosen my features, not giving him any more clues of my own excitement. My brows even furrow slightly and I press my lips together.

I reach up, way up, to Shane’s face and begin toweling off his cheek. He flinches as my clothed hand glides over his face. He tries hard to control himself, but I can hear his breathing pick up and see his neck bulge with every one of his gulps. I take my time, thoroughly wiping him clean on one side before repeating the move on the other.

Turning my head down from his wistful expression I am face to face with the deep cleavage of his cake blotched pecs.

Most of it had landed on his well tanned skin, sticking like I would to the well developed chest bulging underneath his liberally cut tank top. But some got on the fabric itself – on the halter and where the material wrapped around his plentiful muscle bosom. I lick my lips and it’s not because of the vanilla scent.

I begin leaning forward, keeping my eyes fixed on a somewhat big patch of cake. The muscle man before me freezes with a sharp, audible intake of air. As if petrified, Shane stops moving or even breathing as I slowly, very slowly approach his body.

The first thing my puckered lips feel is the soft, spongy dessert I am determined to clean off my way. Opening my mouth just enough to let in the sweet dough I taste the sugar and keep moving forward until I make contact with Shane’s tank.

A quake goes through the massive pec I am touching through the fabric. One involuntary flex and the muscle jumps up and out, pushing against my lips for a split second. I smile, knowing the big man can’t help himself as it relaxes just as quickly as it tensed.

Extending my tongue I lift the bite of cake off of Shane and into my mouth. I make sure to thoroughly graze the soft fabric, warm from the enveloped muscles’ natural heat. Another lick, more of a probe this one, and I can feel the solidity of the birthday boy’s relaxed brawn easily resist my tongue’s playful attempt at indenting it.

Another groan is heard from half a foot above me, but I don’t care.

I pull back, just an inch, and swallow. The cake is good, I’ll definitely have some more of that later. And right now, actually.

Almost instantly, I move my head forward again, and aim my mouth towards that humongous chest again. It takes all my willpower and my considerable experience to refrain from consuming the slabs of muscle with just a few licks and kisses. I growl lightly. It’s hard, but I know the payoff later will be worth it.

The skin is warm, hot even as I place my mouth around the next bit of cake. This time, no fabric, no tank top or anything will come between me and the mound of muscle before me. My lips are lubricated by my spit and the slightest and faintest layer of manly sweat that’s been gathering on Shane. With ease they glide over the hard area, closing around on that piece of dough I’ve zeroed in on. A satisfied moan that comes from eating some delicious dessert is heard as I take in the bite of smeared dough.

Pulling away once more, I see the now clean but glistening spot my saliva has left. Inspired, I stick out my tongue lean forward.

With a bit of a theatrical “gaaah” I let it run over several inches of pec expanse. I move my head from the middle of one enormous plate of muscle over the deep, rippled gorge in the middle, over to the other enormous plate of muscle. All the while my still extended tongue works as a fleshy brush, painting the canvas of solid brawn with the shiny lacquer of my saliva.

“Ngh.” comes another moan. A repressed but lusty one.

I don’t respond. Instead, I place little loving pecks on random spots on Shane’s chest. Taking my time, I move all over his bulging, masculine bosom. Meanwhile, I raise up my hands and place them on his thickly muscled arms. First the left palm, then the right, then I wrap my fingers around the rotund masses of flesh. They barely encompass his biceps, which in this elongated state still balloon enormously. Even without squeezing, even in their relaxed state they do not deserve the attribute “soft”.

Without letting go of Shane’s muscular limbs I move back, and look up. His eyes are closed tight and he is biting his lower lip, trying hard to hold himself together. Short bursts of air come out of his nose, making his nostrils flare.

It only takes a few moments of my lips breaking contact with Shane’s skin, before his whole expression changes. His brows furrow quizzically, wondering where my worshipping mouth went. “Why did it stop?” is written on his face. Mouth open, he is gasping more than inhaling. It is difficult, but I resist looking at the hefty chest before me, heaving and swelling with his desperate breathing. Once more, I feel a tingle as the big man is racked by me choosing to deprive him of pleasure. It’s cute teasing for me, it’s torture for him.

His eyes open, fluttering around the room for a second before reorienting and landing on my face. He is wheezing. His lips momentarily close around the tip of his tongue before spreading again, hanging open.

“Please –” he begins, his voice pleading.

“Quiet.”

Well-behaved as he is, he obeys but keeps gaping at me with an expression of hunger. My eyes narrow and I press my lips together. Putting on a steadfast exterior, I return the much larger man’s stare. It doesn’t help that he slowly, deliberately breaks eye contact to look down. I follow his gaze and take in the result of my teasing. Sure enough, in between his bulging thighs, I see a definite bulge protruding from his shorts. I smile, knowing that I caused this.

With a decidedly satisfied grin I look back up and into Shane’s eyes. Neither of us saying or doing anything is killing him. I know what he wants. I want the same thing but he’s going to have to earn it. He swallows and takes one calming breath that doesn’t help much.

“Sir, –” he tries anew but is immediately silenced.

The impact of my palm on his cheek is audible. A sound like a loud clap rings through the kitchen, definitely not followed by any more of his voice. In their relaxed state, Shane’s traps and neck muscles are still firm enough to easily resist the – to him – small force of my slap. It probably hurt me more than him. My hand only somewhat stings from the contact with his lean face but the effect on him is a great one.

“Shut up, boy.”

When he looks back at me my face is stern again. He does not dare speak another word but his breathing is even heavier than before. Panting and only barely keeping himself from taking care of his situation without my permission. Which, by the by, has grown even larger, forming a distinctly visible outline of his thick, elongated shaft growing on the side of his pelvis. He lets out moans of exertion – and lust, obviously – trying to will his erection to go down.

My evil grin from earlier returns as I instinctively lick my lips. The faint taste of sweat and sugar is still there while I step forward and as close to Shane as I can. Closing my eyes I stand on my tiptoes and guide my head towards his face.

Touching my lips to his is immediately followed by his mouth devouring mine. I know the small peck I intended was never likely. Despite his comparatively unlimited strength Shane is still just a little weak boy, instantly giving in to every little craving. Give him an inch and he will take a mile. I can easily attest to that, feeling the mighty bodybuilder before me eagerly opening his mouth to welcome my tongue.

I shove it in in one go, immediately beginning to swirl around his. He reciprocates by trying to touch, massage, rub mine whichever way he can. Not a moment passes before his low, gruff voice sounds out in uncontrolled moans, seemingly groaning directly into my ears. With my hands back on his upper arms, I enjoy his tensing and flexing musculature reacting wildly to this little bit of stimulation. I don’t need to check, I know his eyes are already closed, completely giving in to the moment. A quick grind of my crotch against him confirms he is harder and bigger than just a moment ago.

His head moves a few inches forwards as I pull mine back. Opening his eyes he wordlessly asks why I am already stopping – and fears it is something he has done wrong.

I step back. One index finger and a thumb trace my lower lip, rubbing there remains of his saliva in. I take in the mammoth man and his pulsating body of perfectly overdeveloped teenage muscle. Everything from his large feet, oaken legs, crowbar cock, solid torso to his thick arms stood in stark contrast with the begging expression on his face. If he dared to speak after a slap from me, he would implore me to go upstairs to his room and help relieve his probably painful erection.

But as I said, he’ll have to earn it.

Taking a deep, deep breath, I take my time inhaling while formulating my next order. There’s a whole garden of guests out there expecting to see the bodybuilding celebrity. The cockiness, the funny faces, they yelling and impromptu strength feats. The showman. The entertainer. Not the sub who would be begging me to suck my cock if I as much as looked down at my own erection.

Time to bring him back.

“So.” I speak.

Shane stands straight automatically. Puffing out his chest and extending his arms down his sides, he is eager to signal he is listening intently.

“You’re gonna go outside now. And show the people out there the Shane Burke they want to see. You understand?”

Shane nods.

He nods and keeps nodding, looking into my eyes. I know he understands. His lips start curling into a smile.

“Yeah,” he replies softly.

Another nod.

“Yeah,” he repeats, with more force behind his voice. That deep growl has returned.

His head keeps bobbing up and down as his eyes light up. He bites his lips then furrows his brows as if angry – but with a wicked grin now emblazed on his face.

“Yeah!” he grunts and raises his hands.

Both index fingers are stretched out as he points them at the ceiling and at me. His arms flex and his mouth opens, showing me his teeth in what could be described as a snarl.

“Fuck, yeah!” he calls out, much louder than necessary in the small space.

One hand clenches while the other opens up. With a loud slapping sound, he punches his own palm and wraps his fingers around his fist, all the while grunting and hissing.

He turns and heads through the door. I hear him roaring things like “Whoo!” and “Yeah!” as I am left on my own in the kitchen. With a chuckle, I lean against the closest counter.

Then I exhale loudly and for what feels like a good minute.

My chest keeps physically rising and sinking as I breathe, heavily. I am panting, barely in control of myself. Without thinking, I grab my engorged cock, hard in the confines of my pants. It has become somewhat painful some time ago but I didn’t want to adjust it in front of him. Wriggling both one leg and the hand gripping my erection, I try to put it into a fairly comfortable as well as presentable position.

The sounds of “Ooh!” and “Aah!” coming from the garden call me out. For one, I surely do not want to miss any of Shane’s cocky antics. But also I feel my duty of going out there and firing up my little guy some more.

I smile. Time to turn Shane up to eleven.

[arpeejay]

Great stuff! And NOW I want some birthday cake!

[mario2007]

This was simply fantastic!

[Hanugumo]

You dun see a story like this much. ^w^ Highly detailed in the description of movements & sensations and where the smaller guy is the dominant one, i mean. ^w^ <3

[sssska]

Can't wait for the coming part of the story.

[crushme99]

This is just plain GREAT.  Exceptional talent, AlexDrake.  Can't wait for more.