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Big is Better
|Sam immediately peeled off his sweats and tossed them aside, revealing a wife-beater and pair of cotton gym shorts that he wore underneath.
"I gotta wear somethin' to soak up the sweat a little, Pete," he commented apologetically for his remaining clothing.
That didn't matter to me in the slightest however. Sam was such a magnificent specimen of manhood that he'd look sinfully hot even if he was dressed in a priest's robe. But seeing Sam suddenly standing there in just a tank top caused me to reel momentarily. Every time that I saw him even partially exposed, I seemed to experience this same shock all over again. The impact of seeing such `bigness' literally everywhere overwhelmed me. This time I immediately seemed to particularly notice his shoulders, the way the light happened to hit them perhaps. Something about how they appeared in a tank emphasized their stunning width and thickness. Proportionally, his shoulders were mile-wide monsters with perfect half-basketballs of muscle capping their ends. The overall impression was that Sam had football shoulder pads sewn under his skin - and I could already feel my dick swelling.
That suddenly reminded me of something. I'd had an idea some hours ago while we'd been up in Sam's apartment. I knew that if I was going to act, I needed to do it right now before my dick would no longer cooperate. I bent down and quickly retrieved one of the condoms that Sam gave me from a pocket in my sweatpants. I ripped the package open with my teeth then, with some effort, managed to unroll the rubber onto my fattening shaft. I glanced at Sam. Rest assured, old eagle eyes hadn't missed any of this operation.
"I thought I'd seen some great cocks before, but nothin' even close to your meat, boy. I mean, it's got it all - length, girth and it's even great lookin', too! And I know's I ain't even seein' the half of it yet, but that there rubber don't even cover it all now!" I would have added, "It tastes good, too," but I didn't want to distract him any more.
"It's party time, boy. Time to get big, just like you wanted, OK??" Sam winked, turned and walked away without waiting for any acknowledgement.
He picked up two immense dumbbells from a rack and began using them to... well... get warmed up, I guessed. That alone would have constituted an intense workout for me. He swung his arms around in circles, alternately pressed them over his shoulders. Then did some quick inclined chest flies and biceps curls. In between he did a series of stretches against the wall, then some squats followed with more stretching again. I walked over to where he was standing to remain relatively close to him as he'd asked. Apparently done with his warm ups, he returned the dumbbells to their rack.
Sam turned to look at himself in one of the large mirrors. He began flexing his arms and studying his reflection, meticulously inspecting his biceps, triceps and forearms.
"Yep, they's still pumped, ain't they, Pete? You ain't even seen big yet, though. You won't believe...."
I already didn't believe, so more of the same seemed oddly quite believable. I watched as Sam began flexing one leg, moving his thigh back and forth slowly as he intently watched the great mass shifting with every movement. Suddenly he tensed it, his quads instantly leaping into rock-solid ravines of muscle.
"I'm real strong. Yep, those are big legs alright...." It was as if Sam was trying to convince himself of a truth which would have been undeniable to anyone else. Sam continued to stare at his physique intently and also talked aloud, though increasingly less frequently. As I circled around watching him tense his giants I noticed my salami occasionally smacking against my thighs.
"Look at that thickness..." I heard him clearly mutter, but this time I didn't think he was directing that at me, even though I still heard him mention my name every now and then. He was staring intensely over his shoulder at his own back at that moment.
"Yeah, those are big muscles... what a roadmap. You must be one powerful dude, too."
It was confusing because I couldn't tell who he was talking to. Was Sam talking to himself or to this `other guy' in the mirror? He hadn't closed his eyes yet, but I also remembered that he said he didn't necessarily have to either. Regardless, his dialogue was becoming sparser and gradually more monotone. It was already giving me a bit of the willies. And as his intense self-inspection continued, he didn't seem to always be addressing his comments to either himself or me anymore. At least at certain times, I felt like there was someone else present in the room with us that I just couldn't see.
He glanced at me occasionally though - and when he did, I picked up that vacant look in his eyes again. His face was slowly losing more of it's former expressiveness. I'd seen this all before. Sam looked back in the mirror again. He placed his hands on his hips and lowered his giant flaps, like a cobra flaring it's hood. His stunning lat spread could only be described in terms of `having a wingspan' like a jet plane. I noticed how that particular pose also thrust the mountains on his chest spectacularly upward, too. As if reading my mind, Sam pushed his hands harder into his hips, sending waves of striated muscle rolling vertically up and down across the faces of his massy pectorals.
"Yeah, you big guy - those aren't just eagles, they're CONDORS..." Sam said, but with the tone of a dispassionate, emotionally- uninvolved news reporter.
O.K. I admit it. I was beginning to get more than a little weirded- out again. This `thing' that was happening to Sam, or that he was somehow doing to himself, was disturbing to watch.
Needing some reassurance, I remembered that he'd told me I could talk to him and impulsively called his name.
I was relieved when he responded with a simple, "Yeah?"
He didn't bother to look at me though. His voice had that eerily detached quality again, but at least he'd answered me. That was enough to keep me at least `relatively cool' with all of this for a little while longer.
While I took several deep breaths to help steady my fraying nerves, Sam delivered several more slow, deliberate poses. Although he was clearly focused on his own reflected image, I also had the feeling this wasn't Narcissus at the pool either. It was clearer to me that Sam regarded the muscle-bound giant in the mirror as another man. Every now and then, he'd still verbalize something aloud, but there were longer periods of silence in-between.
"Your muscles are BIG, man... Really big...."
"I bet you're REALLY strong...."
"You probably wanna show him too, don't ya big guy."
"Yeah, I bet you do."
"Well - go ahead then."
"It's OK. The kid can handle you."
"Show him the real muscle now...."
He suddenly turned and walked across the floor to one of the massive train axle & wheel assemblies. The axle was already horizontally suspended about 5 feet above the floor between two supporting stands. These stands were constructed from pieces of girders that were cut and welded together into custom-made tripods. The axle itself was a huge hunk of cast metal, maybe a foot in diameter. It also looked to be about 6 to 7 feet in length - obviously a slightly wider gauge than a standard railroad track. I wondered where he'd gotten them and what they'd been originally used for. The train wheels were thick, solid castings, perhaps 3 feet in diameter. Sitting across the makeshift stands like a giant barbell, the whole assembly stood roughly at my own shoulder height, but in relation to Sam's body it rested quite a bit lower. He was pacing slowly back and forth along the axle, running his hand across it's length as if pondering something.
"Yeah, takes a mighty strong man..." Sam muttered again under his breath.
In the meantime, I found myself pondering something, too - the weight of that axle assembly. I thought it had to weigh in the half-ton range. Construction cranes were the only things that routinely moved these babies around, that was for sure. Sam continued his slow inspection, apparently in no rush at all, still muttering unintelligible things under his breath occasionally.
Impulsively, I turned around and put my shoulder underneath one end of the axle where it stuck out beyond the wheel slightly. I arrogantly thought I might get a better sense of its weight by moving it, even if just a tiny bit. I'd have been satisfied to have lifted it just an inch.
I began pushing up hard with my shoulder, probably turning beet red from the straining. It didn't so much as even wiggle in place. Then I gave it one more shot - this time putting my back into it with everything I had. As I poured on my very last ounce of strength, amazingly - I felt it suddenly move. I was absolutely exuberant! Bolstered by my surprising success, I tenaciously strained with all my might, somehow managing to keep it's upward inertia going until I stunningly was able to stand fully upright. I was about to call out to Sam ecstatically, "Come quick! Look at me," before the vertebrae in my spine started to shatter, when suddenly - the terrific load on my back mysteriously vanished.
I pivoted in place to find Sam bent over, semi-squatted underneath the axle's center and supporting its entire weight across the back of his expansive shoulders. He had, of course, been doing all of the lifting while I was so smugly giving myself a double hernia. His big arms wrapped over the top of the axle, holding it firmly in position. I quickly walked over and stood directly in front of him. Seeing him able to even momentarily support such a gigantic thing was as instantly humbling as it was eye-opening. Even taking into consideration the huge size of the man himself, the sheer mass of that huge object on his back made him look proportionally small, like Atlas supporting the World.
Sam looked at me vacantly while I plainly just gawked at him. Suddenly, the giant pontoons in Sam's thighs mushroomed and he rose up with the entire massive axle to his full height. It was magnificent to watch. Furthermore, Sam looked as if supporting this iron monolith was nothing particularly taxing. He glanced rather nonchalantly from his left to his right then back again without any sound or facial expression that remotely suggested defying the force of gravity was even a challenge.
"Yeah, put `em to work... turn `em loose now," I heard him half- mutter.
I rather stupidly stammered out the obvious. "You're - you're holding that up...." I was still basically disbelieving my own eyes.
Sam droned, "Yeah, I am. I'm a strong man...."
He was obviously still able to hear me and respond, though he was less talkative than usual, his sentences confined to quick, short statements. I decided to see how he'd respond to a question.
"Sam... how... how much does that weigh?"
"It don't matter..." Sam finally replied, but only after some seconds had passed. As he glanced my way momentarily, the look in his eyes gave me instant shivers. They were weird - totally blank. Then Sam moved his palms underneath the axle's broadly-curved underbelly.
"Here's what matters...."
Now he closed his eyes. The veins in his neck, arms, chest and shoulders became pronounced as his muscles bulged magnificently. Then he made the unbelievable happen. Slowly, the massive axle rose straight up over his head. He locked his arms out briefly and then lowered it slowly back on to his carrier-sized back. Seeing such outrageous physical strength unleashed before my eyes was beyond merely awe-inspiring. It made me wildly excited.
"I'm real strong - see?" he repeated, and then just to drive home the point, thrust the monstrous wheels up again - and then again � and incredibly yet again! I got that telltale lightheaded dizzy feeling as Johann performed like an applause-meter, registering my overwhelming admiration for his supreme strength as well as the powerful beauty I perceived in his engorging horse-shoes and shoulders.
Sam glanced my way again. I though his eyes may have dropped to my crotch briefly.
"Yeah, gettin' bigger..." Sam pronounced in a robotic voice. He could have been referring to my bloating dong or his triceps and delts, or both.
As he thrust the giant mass overhead again several more times, I suddenly had to crouch down. This spectacle was making my head reel.
"Sam, that's unbelievable...."
With the axle resting again across the back of his shoulders, he reached over the top of the axle again with his huge hands, and this time obviously bore down on it intermittently a few times as if getting the feel of it.
"Oh, yeah - this is gonna feel so good. I'll show ya somethin' unbelievable...."
With that, Sam tossed his head back and stared at the ceiling momentarily, then began groaning softly. His lats unfolded explosively as his Titans rose into prominent peaks. Sam's own moans sounded more like orgasmic pleasure and stood out in sharp contrast to the unmistakable tortured sound of fatiguing metal that also pierced the silence. The two ends of the axle began to bend slightly downward. Some beads of sweat started forming on his furled brow as he continued to apply downward force to the iron like a relentless pile-driver. I think this was the first time I'd seen Sam perspire even slightly.
I was slowly losing my grip on reality as my newly-adopted Muscle Daddy proved that he clearly deserved that most-honored title. Sam's amusements were driving me slowly closer to the edge of some unknown sensual precipice.
"Your muscles are FUCKING HUGE! Sam, you're actually doing it. It's starting to bend! Look at your arms! Look at the size of those arms!"
And surprisingly, he did just that. First he surveyed his mighty right arm followed by his left, but with a look of complete ambivalence at best. It seemed more as if he'd merely responded to my `suggestion' rather than doing this because he might be personally interested. All the while, the metal screamed and continued to yield further under his savage assault. An expanding network of sewer pipes began crisscrossing his neck, shoulders, thick forearms, chest, as well as his now clearly-split Titans, too.
Sam surprised me by momentarily suspending his attack. He dropped his hands down and left the bending axle draped over his broad shoulders, perfectly balanced like a Dutch milking yoke. He seemed to be checking the current reading on my applause meter, possibly to garner some additional motivation. His words, if not his expression at the moment, told me that he was still able to see well.
"Look at that. Gettin' big as his Dad..." Sam said in his low monotone voice. I was stunned that he could even speak, given his unfathomable exertion and the terrific amount of energy he was expending. Nevertheless he spoke a few more words.
I couldn't be sure if that statement was meant as directive for me or just himself. Well if Sam had meant that for me, getting bigger was not my problem; in fact trying not to get too big for the rubber was more my immediate challenge. With continuing displays of such Samsonian strength, no rubber was going to contain me for long.
Again Sam closed his eyes briefly - paused awhile - then resumed bearing down again on the axle assembly, and with astoundingly even more power. The veins in his neck looked like braided steel cables now. His body glistened slightly in the overhead lights as more beads of sweat revealed themselves on his exposed skin. Entire networks of beautiful veins were rising all over the surface of his drumstick-shaped forearms. Every breathtaking muscle in his huge physique was visibly engaged, becoming more deeply marbled by the second. His brow was furled slightly, but beyond that, he remained essentially expressionless. His sweat, deep breaths and furled brow were the only visible signs in fact that Sam was even exerting any effort at all.
But the twisting mass of metal, screaming ever louder, told another story entirely. Sam was commanding it to utterly submit to his will, and the axle's distortion grew evermore obvious. Every muscle in his gargantuan upper body was clearly visible through his sweat-dampened tank top. His breathing grew deeper and so did the distortion of the axle, the massive iron yielding at more than an inch every second.
Sam suddenly turned his head and looked directly at me as if he wanted to see my reaction. His sustained groan loudly announced a dramatic increase in the force he was now applying for the climatic finale. Only seconds later, several loud metallic bangs followed like rapid gun shots. As these reports reverberated around the garage, I saw the cracks forming along the outer edge of the grotesquely mutilated axle over his shoulders. Sam crushed down on it without mercy. The jagged openings steadily separated further apart like fissures slowly gaping wider in an earthquake. With a final deafening crack, the formerly solid axle split into two halves. Sam let them slip from his shoulders and crash to the floor on either side of him.
Sam straightened up fully and pulled back his broad, thick shoulders like a victorious gladiator ready to accept the crowd's thunderous adulation - or - at least at he seemed satisfied. But I'm even guessing about that, too, because there was no way to decipher Sam's true thoughts by merely looking at his expressionless face. Sam turned and walked back in front of the mirror again and I followed. I took a relaxed position next to him roughly shoulder to shoulder, folding my arms across my chest and setting my legs in a wide comfortable stance. We gazed in unison at our dual reflections in the mirror, but I'm sure our thoughts were quite different.
Sam would pluck and pull at his dampened, clinging tank-top occasionally, studying the now even bolder relief map of muscular terrain underneath it, where even the minutest muscular detail was no longer camouflaged. He studied his body without expression.
"You got some big muscles, dude..." was all Sam muttered.
"Big Muscles? They're not just big - they're fucking HUGE! Look at `em all, Sam! Why, you're bulging everywhere!" I exclaimed, as if I felt I needed to express the enthusiastic, joyful emotions that Sam couldn't perhaps feel himself at that moment.
I happened to glance at myself and in the mirror. Frankly I was startled to see my butt-nakedness reflected back at me from head-to- toe. But uncharacteristically, I did a little lingering self- studying of my own. The part of my body that my eyes seemed drawn too was... was quite the rocket already. This was also the first time that I'd ever seen my own erection-in-progress without bias in a mirror - and I was instantly reminded of a guy who once asked me, "Do you own a license to carry that thing?" I could see it at least from that guy's perspective now. It was already a formidable-looking weapon. I had to give all the credit to Sam though. He was the only reason I had this big muscle in the first place. Somehow, just remembering that Sam's sole objective at the moment was to turn me into a world heavyweight champ tonight was just making it even easier to become `all that I could be' for him, as well.
I shifted my weight from one leg to the other a few times, setting the meat and potatoes in motion. That was still a relatively uncommon sensation for me, letting it all hang out free in the air in an almost exhibitionistic way. I watched the thick meat swaying in the mirror, alternately thwacking the insides of my thighs like the big clapper ringing the Liberty Bell. Samson was ringing my bell alright. My latex-encased salami was starting to already bob a little rhythmically with every beat of my pounding heart. I knew that `lift off' would begin soon - my dong would inevitably slowly rise in spite of its own weight.
Sam turned around suddenly, bringing my uncharacteristic narcissism to an abrupt end. He strolled back to where the bent and broken train axle lay in two pieces on the floor, seized each by their respective wheels and carried them over behind his truck like he was carrying two satchels. He tucked a train wheel snugly behind each rear truck wheel like makeshift giant chocks. Then he continued around towards the front of the truck, stopping momentarily by the hydraulic lift control to raise the truck a few feet off the floor and strolled to the front of the truck, turning to face the bumper. The bumper was positioned at his waist level. Sam put his big hands on top of the bumper and pushed down on it a few times, compressing the heavy front springs as if they were just springs in a mattress. He moved his hands and gripped the bumper from underneath and seemed to test the front end by lifting up on the bumper just a little a few times, to. His huge biceps were doing the bulk of the labor. Then Sam buried his thick forearms far underneath the front end, grabbed the frame's cross-brace and began lifting and releasing the front-end more enthusiastically. From my vantage point off to the side, I could see the big coil springs in the front wheel wells expanding more. With the more exaggerated vertical motion, the shiny steel piston struts also became clearly visible inside the steel springs. The truck started to gyrate wildly as Sam heaved the front end ever higher. The coil springs were stretching to their maximum expanded length. Sam's looked like he was merely bouncing a toy, but the noisier creaks and groans emanating from the front suspension revealed that this was no game � the entire suspension was struggling to absorb some serious punishment. I could hear the front pistons whooshing and hissing as the wheels fell further out of the wheel wells with each bounce. The appearance of Sam's arms was changing. The veins running down the length of his biceps began to more resemble the Alaska pipeline. The man owned one magnificent pair of arms. Sam may still have been just `foolin' around,' but the front axle was now cutting a 4 foot arc through the air, nevertheless. The front tires barely remained in contact with the lift ramp and visibly towed inward as the front end reached it highest point away from the ramp. The truck chassis moaned loudly. It was the sound of heavy metal under severe torsional stresses.
Then a gap suddenly appeared between the tire treads and the lift frame. I expected to see the gap close and the tires touch down on the lift frame again. It never happened. In fact the front-end of the truck suddenly just froze, absolutely motionless, with nothing but clear air underneath the front tires now. I groaned almost involuntarily and then looked immediately at Sam's face. When my eyes met his, he was already staring directly at me, too. He continued to stand there holding his truck suspended in air while he simply watched me.
Seeing the enormous circumference of Sam's engorged Titans made my heart pump even faster. His great guns had reached dimensions I hadn't seen previously - titanium-hard, incredibly beautiful, spellbindingly erotic, bulging planets of muscle.
"You're gonna like this a lot," Sam said in an emotionless monotone. His comment could have been meant for me. He was still staring directly at me too as he further contracted his astonishing biceps, lifting the truck all the way up to his chest. He held it there for a second or two, then lowered the truck back to its starting position without allowing the front tires to rest back on the lift frame. He pumped out more that just a few stupefying `truck' curls, in rapid succession. The effect this was having on his great biceps was mind-blowing; the two Giants pumped so drastically that they seemed out of proportion to the rest of his big- muscled physique. At the top of the final curl, Sam further stunned me by suddenly releasing the truck, letting it careen back down onto the ramp with a ear-splitting racket. The truck recoiled violently on the springs several times before finally coming to rest, but Sam hadn't noticed. He was already on his way over to the mirror again.
"Oooh yeah. You're lookin' better now." He muttered, surveying his stupendously-engorged biceps.
Sam sauntered over to the lever controlling the hydraulic lift and proceeded to raise the lift to it's maximum height off the floor. Then he positioned himself standing fully upright underneath the truck with his back in front of the large centered lift piston and reaching up with both hands, grabbed a thick bar that completely spanned the twin ramps from underneath. I assumed it had been welded in place there intentionally.
"Lower the lift..." Sam said, glancing at me briefly. He wanted me to do what? I felt extraordinarily reluctant to do this and didn't immediately comply with his request.
"It's OK - lower the lift..." Sam repeated again. Hesitantly, I walked over to the lever and moved it to the down position. I heard the whoosh of the hydraulics and watched the truck slowly begin to descend on top of him, until the thick bar was almost on the back of his massive shoulders. Sam's knees began bending as he started to resist the ever-increasing weight of the truck crushing down on him. I held my breath. My hand moved back to the lever, ready to move it to the up position immediately. Sam must have noticed me.
"No need to do that... See?"
No sooner had he spoken than the lift suddenly stopped descending further. Mystified, I watched the needle on the hydraulic pressure gauge indicator continue to fall until it registered absolutely no pressure in the system. Sam was supporting the full weight of the truck across his back as well as the weight of the steel lift and ramps. My knees started wobbling uncontrollably underneath me and I squatted down on the floor again to compensate. Sam unexpectedly followed my lead and squatted too, except in Sam's case, he had a 3 ton truck on his back at the time. The strength that this man possessed just rocked my soul to its very core.
Whish. Whoosh. I watched the large hydraulic piston rising and falling like a horse on a merry-go-round as Sam proceeded to rip off a few quick squats. That wasn't the only thing that ripping off either. Sam's massive thighs were responding to this stunning challenge by engorging into huge beefy masses of deeply-striated granite that hardly resembled human legs anymore. The outer seams of his cotton shorts separated at the bottom of each leg. With each successive squat the seams split further up, almost to the elastic. Each of Sam's thighs looked bigger in circumference than even the massive piston itself. Sam was positioned right in front of the piston so it was a very easy comparison to make. Sam was right. Size matters a great deal when a guy likes squatting with a Dodge Ram on his shoulders.
Yep, Sam was definitely on a real roll alright, and he wasn't about to stop with just those squats either. It seemed to me that he was even gaining more strength and energy. I was well beyond questioning what was possible anymore, when it came to Sam. None of the Natural Laws of Physics seemed to apply. I never questioned that the magnificent brute was incredibly strong, but neither had I allowed for lifting tonnage as opposed to pounds in my wildest estimations of anyone's possible limits. I was beginning to question if he even had any.
A series of heart-stopping shoulder presses followed as Sam heaved the truck up to the ceiling and back as the big piston both guided and steadied the massive load. Whish. Whoosh. I listened as the sound of the piston counted out the repetitions. The effect that pressing a truck has on the size of a man's shoulders and triceps is - well - let's say that Sam training regimen achieves stunning results.
I also had an increasingly odd feeling that I might be one of the rare people - perhaps even the only person - to whom Sam had ever revealed his true strength. It was as seriously terrifying as it was incredibly inspirational - even life-changing. It was hard not to question your own sanity when fantasy suddenly turns into reality. It shakes the foundation of your very soul. It compels you to question all previous beliefs - all former truths - about what is real. Oh yes - and it also gives you one fantastic boner, too.
"Lock the lift, Pete."
I sprung from the floor and grabbed the hydraulic control lever, doing exactly as he'd asked. Then I noticed how dizzy I was again - the always predictable result whenever I found myself swinging a real St. Louie slugger the size of what I was at that moment. As I squatted down momentarily to let the blood get back to my brain again, Sam meandered over to the mirror and began to critically scrutinize individual body parts as well as his overall physique, running his fingers over the swells and probing the chasms with detached technical proficiency, exhibiting all the passion of a USDA meat inspector at a slaughter house. I heard him muttering things quietly from time to time.
"Needs some titanic man-pecs now, to balance it all off."
"Yeah, some real jumbo-sized jugs would look real nice...."
Just overhearing the words suddenly made me even more woozy. In my book, there's no such thing as "too big up top" muscle-wise on a man, or too big anywhere for that matter.
"Some King Kong-sized muscle-knockers will put the frostin' on this birthday cake...."
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