Big-and-Tall, The

Beyond The Big-and-Tall



I left my hulking bruiser of a customer, and went out to see who had come into the store. It was the manager, returning from lunch. He had made his way behind the cash register, and wanted to know where I had gone. When I told him that I was helping a customer in the dressing room, he started reeming me out for leaving the store empty and the register unguarded. Then he started on a roll, getting off on being a boss, like some people do, threatening to fire me if it happened again, shit like that. His face was getting all red, and, even though he had come around the counter, I was standing far enough away to avoid the spittle that was spraying from his fat face. Around his mouth was a ring of grease from all the sliders he had slammed down at the White Castle, the nasty fat fuck. Not that I mind a guy being fat, but when they're an asshole on top of it, it's like a double whammy. And then give a guy like that a little power, and look what happens. He was still going at me when I heard my customer come out of the dressing room.

He came up the aisle with his pants and shoes on, but still shirtless. Damn, he was a sight. His huge pecs were the size of the medicine balls we used to kick around in grade school. And his big powerlifter gut just added to the aura of strength that preceded him. He looked pissed off, and was headed right for us. He charged right by me, and got into the face of my manager.

"Who the fuck do you think you are, talking to this kid like that, you asshole," he said, leaning into the manager's face. His back was mounded up with muscle that rippled and shifted as he talked.

"It's alright," I said.

"Oh, no…it's not alright," he said, never taking his glare off my manager's face, which was now looking panic-sticken, all four double chins quaking. "No one deserves to be talked to like that over a job in this little shit of a store," he said. He was now jabbing his finger toward the manager's face, like an angry baseball manager, fresh out of the dugout. And as the manager kept backing up, he just kept coming at him, till he was backed up against a rack of oversized hawaiian shirts. "If I ever hear that you talked to someone like that again, I will personally come back here and pound the blubber off your bloated ass!"

With that, he grabbed the manager's belt with one hand, and curled him off the ground, slowly and firmly, smirking into the fat man's face, so proud of his superior power over him. He held the fat manager suspended in the air. Suddenly, a dark spot spread across my manager's groin area, as he pissed himself in fear. My hero tossed him backward, causing him to toppled over backward into a heap of floral shirts and hangers. He struggled on his back like a flipped-over tortoise. My muscular defender leaned over, wrapped his big hands around the frame of the clothes rack, and bent the metal around the struggling fat man, then he turned to me and said,"Let's go, kid."

"What?" I asked.

"I said, let's go. You're not working here anymore. We'll find you something better to do with your time."

I looked over at my flailing manager, and figured my future with the firm was pretty much sealed anyway, so I followed my new boss out into the parking lot. We got into his Dodge Ram.

"What about your shirt?" I asked him.

"I got more of them at home," he said, as he shifted into drive and pulled out. I couldn't help by eye his thick, brawny arm. He noticed me looking, and said, "Go ahead, touch it. Feel the arm that just curled a 400lb whale."

I reached over and put my hand on his upper arm. Shit. So thick and hard. More like a thigh than an arm. And hot to the touch.

"You like that, boy?" he said. "Go ahead and punch it."

He didn't have to ask twice. I twisted in my seat, reared my fist back and slammed it into his meaty arm. It was like hitting a side of beef. My fist made a solid thudding sound, the sound of hitting something very dense. "And I'm just getting bigger every day, boy. Bigger and stronger. You ain't seen nothing yet." He had a big cocky grin on his face, and a hard-on in his pants. I could swear he was bigger than he had been when he first came into the store, but then I wasn't holed up with him inside the cab of his truck. In here, he seemed to take up most the space, and to exude a gravitational pull. I felt, at 265lbs, small. He seemed to sense what I was thinking, and said, "And we'll see what we can do about hulking you up a bit too, son." Sounded good to me. "Where'd you play ball?" he asked me. "How'd you know I played football?" I said.

"Shit, kid, it's hard to miss that big solid framework you got going. Now all you need is a little training to bust out this kind of size." With that, he raised his right arm up and flexed. He chuckled as my mouth gaped open. His massive arm was all bulk and power, packed high and thick with unmovable muscle.

We pulled into the driveway of his house. He got out and said,"Come on in, boy, let me show you around."

I jumped out of his truck and followed him in. His house was warm and smelled like a man. He had big overstuffed furniture, big, high ceilings, and a big screen tv. Everything was big, and it fit him well.

"Let's go down in the basement for a little workout," he said to me. I followed him down the steps, staring at his mammoth traps and bull sized neck. Damn!

We walked into a big room that he had set up with weight. Big weights. The room was packed with them. There was a bench press already set up with 495lbs. He saw me looking at it and said, "You wanna try it?"

"Shit, I can't lift that much," I said.

"Come on, boy, I'll spot you." He grabbed me by the neck and guided me over to the bench. I laid down and looked up. There was a lot of iron on the bar. Two hundred more pounds than I had ever lifted. I looked at his massive bulk standing over me.

"You sure?" I asked him.

"Bud," he said, "this is the weight I use for curls. As a warm up. I'll spot ya."

I put my hands on the bar, and position myself. Then I pushed up. He gave me a lift so that the bar actually moved. I lowered it down slowly, but could tell he was doing most of the work. His big arms and shoulders rippled as he helped me control the bar. With him helping, this wasn't so bad after all. But when the bar touched my chest, and I began to push up, he stopped helping.

"Now it's all yours, boy," he said, stepping back from the bench.

"What the fuck you doing??" I said. "Help me."

"Help yourself, big boy. Push on the fucking bar," he ordered. The weight was beginning to crush into my chest, so I pushed. And pushed. Pushed with all my might. I could feel my fucking blood pressure tripling. Suddenly, the weight lifted off my chest. The bar was actually moving upward. I had to arch a little to keep it moving, and up it went. Fuck if I wasn't benching 495! I got it up all the way, straight-arm lock, then slammed it down onto the rack. I jumped up off the bench. Shit, I was jacked! I beamed at the big man.

"Nice job, boy," he said. Then he stepped over to me and pulled my mouth to his. He shoved his tongue into my mouth and worked me like a man. He tasted like strength. He crushed his big chest into my swollen, 495lb bench pressing chest. My cock hardened fast against his hard thigh. "Now let's do a little wrestling," he said, leading me into another room that was lined with mats. "Strip down," he said to me. I pulled my shirt off over my head, kicked off my shoes, and pulled off my pants. I left on my briefs, my cock jutting out of the top. He stripped off everything, and stood there, naked and powerful. My god, what was I doing? This dude was a goddam beast. All fucking muscle and bulked up like a rhino. "Don't worry, son, just do your best," he said, sensing my reservation about tackling a freak of nature strongman like him.

We went at each other, shoulder to shoulder. He moved me around the room like a child. Even holding back, he had many times my strength. I could feel it in his arms and in his delts. Thick basketball sized delts. Undentable delts. Feeling his strength manuever me was making me harder than I'd ever been in my life. Suddenly he flipped me down on my back and pinned me down hard.

"You gotta fight back harder than this, boy, or I'll bruise you up," he growled, grinding his weight into me. It was like having a huge boulder on top of me. I tapped into the feeling I had as I made the bench press go up, slipped my arm under his armpit and PUSHED. He flipped over. I sensed that he might have been letting me flip him some, but it didn't matter. Now I was on top of him, looking down at his face, straddling his powerful torso, feeling him breathe under me, his thick powerlifter gut rising me up and down with each breath. I could feel his hard-on pressing on my ass.

He flipped me off him with ease, then tackled me hard. We grappled around the room, slamming each other against the walls, and landing back on the mat with huge thuds. I was worn out long before him, and I think he was getting off on it. Big older guy, working his smaller opponent to exhaustion. I was determined not to give it up, but my lungs were on fire. And I was sweating like a pig. He just kept smiling at me, saying "Come on boy, just one more minute." At least he was sweating like a pig too, so I knew I was at least giving him a workout. Finally, ten minutes past the point where I thought I would die, he pinned me down, and stopped. His sweat dripped down on me. He ripped of my sweat soaked briefs, and went down on me. Holy fuckin shit. I arched into him with my exhausted body, and came in like three seconds, the most incredible orgasm of my life.

"You like that, boy?" he said. "Now, it's my turn. Feed off me, and I promise it'll help get you bigger and stronger than you ever dreamed." I needed no further prompting. I worked his pole like I hadn't eaten for a week. I wanted his load so badly that I was hard again myself. He held my ears and guided my up and down his thick shaft. I could feel the strongman getting ready to jiz, and went down deep, clear to his heavy root. Ropes of his paste shot down my throat, hot and thick, filling me up. I drained him dry, then fell off him. We both lay on the mats, side by side, in a daze. Finally, he turned to me and said, "Hope you're ready for some Growth, bud."

More than ever, I thought to myself. •

This collection was originally created as a compressed archive for personal offline viewing
and is not intended to be hosted online or presented in any commercial context.

Any webmaster choosing to host or mirror this archive online
does so at their sole discretion.

Archive Version 070326