the Russian BB champ. His dark close cropped curly hair was hidden under a 2002 Olympic beret and the rest of his huge physique was inescapably obvious encased in a lycra bike suit. Not one of his magnificent muscles had a hope of going unnoticed: when he was leaning over his racing handlebars the lats were wider than a bridge and his stretched glutes hardly touched the minute saddle. When he sat up at the lights the hard mountains of his pecs swelled against the lycra so much that it was pushed right away from those abs which I knew from his photographs to be as ridged and as hard as the Rockies. Or, in his case, the Urals.

I had just arrived in Moscow on business for a few weeks and, as I was in training for the USA, I had gotten the address of the premier Moscow gym from a friend with the IFBB. The taxi, unable to find the building itself, had dumped me unceremoniously with my gym bag in the middle of this unprepossessing area. My smattering of Russian had not been much help so far but, with the Russian champ's appearance, I was on to a sure thing as he was clearly on his way to the same place.

He had already noticed my 220 pound bulk and was glaring at me as I walked to the curb. His face was remarkable. Under other, bad circumstances, that face might have been that of a KGB torturer: granite-hard, unforgiving, the largest jaw muscles I had ever seen on a man but with large, wide-set dark-brown eyes, long straight nose and the most generous mouth I had ever seen on anyone: big, wide, and sensuous. We all know what that's supposed to mean. Suddenly he grinned and his whole aspect changed: his eyes and white teeth sparkled, dimples appeared and he became utterly engaging, as well as hot, hot, hot.

He put his feet down on the ground and stood up, half a head taller than me, holding his bike between his legs -- somewhere I would have liked to have been.. His quads swept out like the buttresses of a cathedral. I drew a deep breath as I gazed at him, speechless.

"Bodybuilder, nyet?"

"Bodybuilder, da!"

And so our relationship began. Kindred spirits. He had as few words in English as I had in Russian, but somehow we had no difficulty in making ourselves understood. After all, we had a lot in common. And I was soon to discover how much else we had in common.

He got his huge form off the bike and conducted me to the gym. A dark and hideous building - once some kind of forbidding institution, now the headquarters of the Russian Bodybuilding Federation. The outside may have been forbidding and the inside superannuated but the gym itself -- it had been equipped with every kind of modern machine: a full range of HammerStrength and Flex stuff, miles of free weights and cardio machines, and the hell of a lot of stuff I'd never seen before. It was clear he was very proud of his gym and its equipment.

"OK gym, nyet?" he grinned.

"OK gym, da!" I grinned back.

He had a few words with the receptionist - heaven knows what tale he told, anyway, while he went off to change, a form and a pen were pushed under my nose and, in halting English, I was told what to write. No, no payment - all taken care of by Russian champion for American champion. Wow!, champion already, was I ? Form signed, I was waved unintelligibly towards some doors and, I guessed, towards the locker-room. I was saved from confusion by the dazzling re-appearance of Mr Zhdanov - now fully equipped in CrazeeWear pants and Hotskins which left nothing to the imagination. The thick curve of his pecs swept out of the Hotskins tank while the hugely wide delts defied anything to cover them. He scratched his head and his bicep swelled and divided in one heart-crunching movement.

He grinned as he saw me drooling from my dropped jaws.

"Come - work out together, da?"

In the locker-room I changed in to my CrazeeWear baggies and string-tank: he sat beside me, clearly examining every aspect of my physique.

"Big man - but not as big as me, da?"

"Da," I grinned back as I punched a rock-hard pec.

"You want we workout chest Russian style?"

"Great! Show me, champ!"

And show me he did. I have never had such a gruelling workout: Mike Mentzer Heavy Duty plus plus. This was Russian style? I'd heard about it -- even read about it, but this was actually, punishingly It. But, in spite of the pain, it was also most interestingly It.

On the way into the gym I asked about his training partner. Didn't he have one? Yes, but he away many months now. That's all the equivocal answer I got. There was something about it that forbade further enquiries.

Bench press. The weight is so enormous, even for warm-up, that two of us have to spot him. My turn. I'm strong but I wasn't going to attempt anything like that. He only let me do half a dozen reps before he stopped me.

"Not Russian style. Use mind connection!"

He sat astride me, the hard bulk of his glutes pressing against my already hardening dick. How could he not feel it? Then he cupped his hands around my pecs and squeezed lightly.

"Think here!"

I pressed again. With each rep he squeezed. And with each rep my dick got harder. I got up to 15 this way and he insisted on five more.

"Much too light. Now I do it."

I was commanded to sit on him. I sure felt the pressure of his dick between my ass cheeks! Then I spread my hands on those massive pec slabs.

"Shut eyes and FEEL them!"

As he pressed his own monstrous weight, I felt his power transferred into my hands: the muscles swelled and separated, stretched, relaxed,

bulged again. I pressed my palm and my fingers as firmly into the muscles as I could and could not help but imagine their powers were transferring to my fuck-pole. Shit! He was going to see it. But I kept my eyes shut to concentrate on the amazing feel of his flexing muscles.

Then it was my turn again. "Keep that feeling in your head!"

He shoved another couple of 45s (or 20ks) on each end, ignoring my objections. "You do it!"

And do it I did - somehow the sensations I felt in my body when he was pressing had enhanced my strength. As he pressed his thumbs into my nips with each rep, squeezing the muscle bulk below them, the weight seemed lighter. Even so I was required to do four forced reps, with both of us screaming at each other.

"Better." He grinned.

Six grueling sets later we moved on to a Hammer Strength Incline press and went through a similar routine, only this time the angle of the bench caused the "sitter" to lean so far forward that our faces were practically touching. I had never been so conscious of superman effort as I was while he was pressing in this position, I could actually feel his sweat of his brow joining mine.

By now my dick was painfully erect and hardly contained in the jock I was wearing. But he never seemed to notice it as we went from exercise to exercise with minimum pause between. Each time he urged me to transfer the feeling of his muscles into mine as I pressed and each set it became easier to lift yet more weight.

Next were cable flies, single arm, standing. I was to go first. I grabbed the left handle but, before I could pull on them, he stood close behind me, left hand spread on my abs and the right gripping my opposite pec.

"This make you stand up - give more power. Almost straight arm - pull!"

As I pulled, his strength kept me upright and almost unable to move anything but my arm. I pulled the handle right across me and his squeezing hand made me flex the pec as hard as I could. Meanwhile his other hand was pulling me in close to his torso so I could feel his power being transferred into my movements.

When I had to spot him, it was a revelation. And almost a sexual exposure too. It was one thing to be grabbing on to the mountain range of his abs, it was another to feel the huge bulk of his pec inflate, bulge, harden, separate and relax. I deliberately squeezed his nip between two stretched fingers as hard as I could and was amazed to feel it respond by thickening, hardening and lengthening between my fingers.

"Good idea - good pain!

For decline presses one virtually had to perform a push-up on the pecs: he had the heel of his hand under my pec line and squeezed upwards as I pressed down. I could see the huge horseshoes of his triceps bulging out with each of my reps.

And so we went on. Minimum rest pauses. Maximum weights and reps. High weight, low reps but with endless forced reps. By the time we finished an hour later my pecs felt like jello, but burning with blood - and desire, so sharp had been the intensity of being in the closed contact with the other guy's muscles throughout the workout.

"Now we massage pecs, then sauna and shower, then rest, then do biceps."

Shit. I thought we'd done for the day! Massage, sauna and shower sounded good - but biceps?!

Massage consisted of him sitting astride my naked bod, my dick fully erect behind his butt, while he stroked, pummeled and massaged my pecs till fire within seemed to burn them up.

Into the shower. Still nothing said about my disobedient erection which seemed to go unnoticed - certainly without remark. Just being polite? Matters were not helped by the fact that I was now about to witness the god unadorned. He stripped off without modesty, revealing a thick and dark prong hanging half-way to his knees. Stepped into the shower with his back to me.

That back was an amazing symphony of muscle. Anyone who has seen his back-shots will know just how perfect and amazing that collection of muscles is. Sculpted, shaped by a master. I'd never seen anything like it.

Under my own shower I tried to subdue my interest which must have been all too easy to see. But...

"Hey, Big Guy! Do my back!"

Uh-huh.

I could feel the pre-cum spilling from me as I lathered those perfect, bulging muscles. I even went down to the perfect striations of his glutes but, after a moment down there, he directed my hands to his lats. He spread these so I could soap the entire thick bulk. The feel of his hard flexed flesh between my hands was almost more than I could bear. I decided to hang for a sheep as well as a lamb and slid my hands from his lats around to the front of his chest and squeezed his man-nips.

Deep chuckle as my hands were removed.

"Comes later!"

With that enigmatic promise we moved on to the sauna. We were the only two in the darkened space. Dark but not too dark to observe the glory that shone from him as he sat on the wooden bleachers.

"Sit here!" he commanded as he directed me to the step below and between his knees.

"How you like Russian workout? Harder?"

"Harder, yes, but different. Pecs are numb but I feel stronger and I know they are bulging some."

"Good, good. We do more. We do more every day and you grown big - like me! You want?"

"I want, sure. Want everything you can give me!"

He pulled me back against his groin and chest and started to massage my traps.

"Tonight we do biceps, tomorrow shoulders. Then legs, then back and triceps, then weekend off. OK?"

"Anything you say, boss!"

He laughed and lay down. "Little sleep now, OK? Then big arms."

His huge physique looked even more amazing when prone. Unlike most guys, his pecs did not flatten out when he lay down but rose mountainously towards the ceiling. I was interested to see both his nips were still long and hard.

I lay on one side on the step below him and dared to trace one finger gently along the thickness of the underside of his pecs. When I reached the center I moved up to his man-nip and slowly circled around the dark circle of that hard spike. Then I moved to the other pec and did the same thing. By the time I reached the nip and started to encircle them both at once I saw his dick beginning to rise.

He moved his legs apart and I moved up a step to kneel between them - never taking my fingers off his nips. My tongue traced the underside of the rearing dick up to the bulbous corona. Jeez, how could any mortal butt receive this bulk, I wondered as I carefully surrounded it with my lips and began to squeeze. My tongue lapped around it, then sucked some precum out of the piss-slit.

(Illustration by MightyHard on next page)

He started to groan and moved my hands down to clasp his now hugely erect fuck-pole. He kept his hands on my wrists and moved them up and down that hard, fleshy tower. I started to suck in earnest, taking in as much of his girth as I could.

Suddenly he grunted loudly, and started to shudder and jerk. He pulled out of my mouth and sat up.

"Not cum yet! Too soon! Must do biceps!"

He stood us both up, our hard poles between each others quads, and gave me a massive hug.

"You OK? Friends, yes? Good. Pool!"

He virtually dragged me out of the sauna and jumped us both into the pool. The coldness quickly cured my hard-on - and his. He grinned and leaped out again, throwing me a big, snowy towel. Now the form was vigorous drying until both our bodies were red. He threw his aside and gave me a few poses. It was only then that I realized just how magnificent this animal really was.

Wonder what he's on - not a sign of water under the skin, no bitch-tits, no stomach protrusion giving away the HGH syndrome, just hard defined, huge bellied muscle. I'd say "natural" if it wasn't for his huge size. One day I hoped to find out what he was using.

We went back into the locker room to dress for the bicep workout. I felt wonderful and ready to go. He threw me a scarlet jockstrap from his locker. "Wear this. Help you more control!"

Shit, he had noticed. Before I could pull it on he held up and stretched open a thick plastic cock-ring.

"You wear this always with me in workouts - for safety!"

Laughing, he crossed the room to me, stretched the thing open and snapped it onto the root of my dick. Wham! Bam! He laughed. "Now you big AND controlled!"

The jock was like nothing I'd known. It seemed to mold itself to my dick and balls - now enlarged by the cock ring - but forcefully pulled them in, squeezing my erection into my body. The combo-bondage of jock and ring felt strange and wonderful.

On to biceps. We threw a couple of 45s on each end of a bar and did a couple of warm-up sets with him closely watching my form. Then he took the bar, doubled the weight and told me to wrap my arms around the bar as if I was doing a front squat and to put my feet on his shoulders, locking them together behind his neck. This way he had to stand absolutely upright - no cheating possible - or he would have fallen forward on top of both of us.

Then he started to curl me and the bar. Apart from the fact that he went scarlet in the face, he seemed to lift us with ease for 12 reps. The it was my turn. I was only allowed to remove one plate. Locked into position with his legs around me and my dick dangerously close to his butt-hole, I began to appreciate the "control" of the jock and the cockring. Each rep pulled at my guts as well as my biceps and I could feel the monster thickening inside its prison.

"Now you think too much about dick! Think bicep!" and he flexed his huge, split, paper-thin skin-covered, vein enlaced, monster bi right under my nose.

"Lick it! Feel it! Know what is to be BIG! Do again NOW!"

I shut my eyes to keep the sensation of his muscle in my mouth and curled the fucker - plus all the screaming forced negatives too.

Six sets of this pleasurable torture and he called it a day.

"Go home. Rest. No Cum, OK? Work tomorrow, then tomorrow evening work out legs! LEGS! So, NO CUM!" he yelled, flexing a monstrous quad.

"You die tomorrow! Ha ha!"

I was quite sure I would.

As we changed he started to quiz me about supplements etcetera - wjat I took, how often and why.

"You need more, you need different. One night you come my place and we discuss, OK?"

"Anything you say, Boss!"

"Da. Like the 'Boss'!" he grinned, slapped me on the shoulder and was gone on his bike.

Five minutes later, still no taxi, he rides back and tells me to "Get on - we go!" Sharing 50% of nothing on that saddle was no joke - but neither was his butt squashing my unrequited equipment. Well worth the pain of the saddle.

Next day my pecs were visibly bigger- so too my bis. And they ached with that pleasurable post-workout ache.

And so it went on - six workouts a week were demanded of me and we had gotten through all body parts a couple of times by the end of the second week. It was very difficult sometimes to keep my mind on my work - all those interviews and meetings - somehow I got through them, and today, here I was dreading the next leg workout. I didn't want to wimp out or hurl in front of him.

It wasn't too bad. Some interesting variations. Squats with the other guy sitting on your shoulders, your face squeezed between his quads, his feet locked over the bar and behind your back and --- SQUAT! Leg extensions with the strongest man in Russia providing forced negs with

every rep; lying leg curls with him sitting on your butt and insisting that you hit his back with every rep; lunging across the gym with him on your shoulders, a barbell held under his knees and a dumbell in each of your arms.

Not much joy in all that. But the sauna more than made up for it. No pretensions this time. "Come sit!" That meant sit on the steel-hard Leaning Tower of Pisa that was his dick. How the hell...

I needn't have worried: after my butt-hole had tentatively flirted with the hard bulb of his dick-head a few times, trying it out for size, I took a few deep breaths and started to let it slide into my tight, tight hole. After about two inches he grabbed me by the waist and pulled my 240 pounds down forcibly so that I received him to the complete root in one compelling thrust.

(Illustration by MightyHard on next page)

"Feel good! Now fuck!" "Now fuck!" meant that he was going to bounce me up and down on that enormous thickness to his own satisfaction and in his own time. After a few punishing descents I began to enjoy it and started to give him some good thrusts at the same time as getting his. It didn't take either of us long to cum. I felt him erupt deep inside me and spurted all over his huge pecs in endless, mighty spasms.

When the spasms subsided both from and inside me, he was pretty well coated with my silvery-white cum. He started to collect it in his hand and drank some of it and smeared some on my tongue.

I leaned forward to receive his tongue down my throat and closed my mouth on his wide, wide sensual lips. I was in Heaven.

"Now you have me inside guts, start get big! Real big! So work out proper and Good Russian system, nyet?"

"Da! Ochen da!"

It was then that I noticed my abdomen was bloated by what had just been pumped into it. Shit! I started to get cramps like the ones you get when the S-boys siphon too much douche water into you.

"Is OK - is OK! Wait - pain go!"

Slowly it went and, as it did, my entire body started to glow. I felt power build in my veins and I wanted to flex everything -

"Da, flex! Very good! Flex hard!"

And he leapt up in the dim sexy sauna light and posed with me - pose for pose, yell for yell as the two greedy muscle monsters vied with each other for mega-flex.

Then my legs started to go weak and I staggered against his bulk. He held me up.

"OK, OK! I take you home now! You be OK! Always happen first time - you be OK - promise!"

Somehow he got me out of there, into clothes and into a taxi with his bike on the roof. I was too dazed too notice how he id it or what he did.

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

I eventually came to in a strange, warm room, feeling as if I had slept for a week and feeling just great.

"Where - what? -----"

"You home now - my home - you stay with me now - no more hotel!"

"How long?"

"Twelve hours - almost Saturday!

I looked around me. It wasn't a big room, very simple, almost stark, but in its way beautiful. The bed I was on was carved and painted in old-Russia style. Seats roomy, wooden, thick feather pillows. Traditional old-fashioned stove up to the ceiling in one corner. Pictures all over the walls - one whole wall devoted to framed copies of magazine covers, contests etc, all featuring Yuri of course. Below them a collection of trophies. A little kitchen off to one side. Everything clean and sparkling.

"Very nice room, Yuri. By yourself?"

"Da. Most Favored Athlete so I get place to self. Glad you like. OK for you?"

"Da. You bet!"

"Food on table. You eat, I go hotel for your things - please sign this paper."

Without thinking what I might be letting myself in for, I signed. I guessed it was OK. If they wouldn't release my things to Yuri, I'd just go and get them myself. Some how I didn't think they'd give this guy much argument.

"Don't forget look in mirror!" Gave me a hug and was gone.

"Food on table" was some kind of hot oatmeal, fruit, and what I gathered was some kind of protein drink. Beside the glass was a pile of tablets of different sizes and colors. Piece of paper saying "Eat these!" Maybe they'd make me grow like Alice.

Shit! That reminded me just how different I was feeling - clothes seemed tighter and all the usual Hulk stuff. In the corner was a mirror (beside a nest of Power Blocks - where did he get all this US stuff, Power Blocks. Hotstuff, CrazeeWear and things?) and, in the light from the window once I'd opened the painted shutters, I could see why he wanted me to look. Jeez, I was bigger! My delts definitely wider, three parts really defined and bulgy - the pecs were swelling more than usual and I could feel added thickness in the uppers. When I flexed them the muscle strands stood out sharper. My biceps now showed a hint of the cleft I'd been struggling to get for so long. I couldn't really see my quads, but I would swear than they had more of a sweep than before and the tear-drops were definitely bigger and plumper. And all this from a few workouts? Or was it the gallon of muscle juice he'd pumped into me? Didn't he say "Now you get big - real big, when you have me inside your guts?"

I'd hardly had time to consider this when he was back. I jumped on him as he dropped my bag on the floor: "Look what you've done to me! Gotta do some, more, dude!"

"What is 'gotta' and 'dude' please?"

"Just means I want more of the same!" And I grabbed his pecs real hard and squeezed them through his bursting T-shirt before I tore it off him.

"You go mad? Look my shirt!"

"I'll get you fifteen more of them if you get me 'real big'!"

He laughed!

"So you look in mirror, da? I promised, nyet?"

"Sure did, He-man! Now I want more! More!"

He grabbed me and hugged me to his enormous chest. I could feel his dick tenting the inside of his CrazeeWear baggies while my naked one was dripping pre-cum all over them from outside. Our muscles clashed, our pecs danced against each other, our groins collided. I lifted my legs and wrapped them around his waist.

"You want get fucked again?"

"Yeah - if it gets me bigger!"

He threw me down on the bed, ripped his baggies off, dragged me by the legs to the edge of the bed and rammed his huge dripping dick straight into me. I yelled and clamped my chute muscles hard around that ramming log. He put his hands on each side of my face so that his was about six inches away from mine.

"Little boy wants fuck - he gets fuck!"

"Then fuck me, Big Boy! Fuck me!"

I was already spurting spooge when he started to piston-fuck me in earnest. Such hard ramming thrusts, each shot sent me further over the moon. He put his arms around me and pulled my pecs up to meet his as his fucking grew even more violent - hard, rapid and deep! With difficulty my hands gripped the huge, sweaty biceps which were fully flexed and hard as steel. Every strand of muscle burned through the palms of my hand.

What seemed like hours later we both finally came. This time he stayed inside me and I could feel his muscle-juice coursing through my body with an inner warmth that made my whole being swell and flex with delight. We pulled out and lay there talking quietly - once we had licked up all my juices from wherever they had fallen and shared the feast.

"So how does this work?" I asked. "Is your semen so powerful that it finds its way into all my muscle fibers and makes them grow?"

"Something like. I have special constitution that feeds on special foods. I give you them now. Then also we have different work-out techniques that have been discovered here in Red Curtain countries and kept secret from West."

"Except that Russian women athletes used them and were found out at the Olympics?"

"And so was necessary be very discreet and keep secret, da. But now I give them to you. I give them when I fuck and also give you tablets."

So we went into a long discussion of his supplements, how they worked, what they were - and how much he wanted me to take. I was already learning some of his growth techniques in our workouts, now I was being apprised of the whole deal.

"You want start things now?"

"When ever you say, Boss - sooner the better."

"You no be shocked, no?"

"I promise no. I want it all, man!"

"Then you get it all, 'man'!"

From a box he dragged out from under the bed came a lethal looking syringe and a bottle of golden, viscous looking liquid.

"This look bad but not hurt, OK?"

It certainly looked bad and dangerous. I swallowed and nodded. He stuck the syringe in a pot and boiled some water in the little kitchen.

While it was cooking he unwrapped some long needles which made me swallow again. When the water had boiled he sterilized the equipment and then attached the needle to the horse-sized syringe which he then filled from the bottle.

"You lie down and shut eyes, I think."

I did as I was told. I only felt the icy cold of alcohol rub, then nothing, so I opened my eyes to see what was going on. To my horror the needle had pierced the nut sack and was now pumping a cupful of the stuff in between the balls. He drew the needle out and gently squeezed my nut-sack which was now full to bursting. Slowly the balls soaked in the fluid and grew to the size of oranges.

They also became incredibly warm and, as they did so, the same glow as I had felt from his cum started to spread all through my body -- down into my quads and up into my abs, my chest, my lower back, my delts, my upper back and down into my arms -- but, this time, instead of getting me hard and flexing, my muscles went completely limp and flaccid, while my dick increased in proportion to the heat in my balls and got bigger than I had ever known it.

While this was going on, Yuri just sat there with a smile, stroking my muscles as if welcoming the fluid into them.

"You sleep now - tomorrow we go to the country....."

I drifted off, vaguely wondering where he was going to sleep......

In the morning I found him under a blanket on a kind of truckle bed he had pulled out from under mine. The apartment was warn, thanks to the stove in the corner, and the blanket was half off him. He lay there, still asleep, the giant physique looking oddly vulnerable - vulnerable and beautiful in its relaxed condition, a half smile on his face. I was still looking at him when those dark eyes opened and grinned at me.

"You sleep well, I think."

"Sure, Yuri - I slept well. How about you on that thing while I was in your bed?"

"My bed yours when you here. This bed I use when my son come to stay."

So there was a son - but no wife? Not my business, I guess.

Stemming any objections I might have, the giant rose from under the blanket which he proceeded to fold and slide away tidily with the bed itself. He chattered away in his dark bass voice while he prepared breakfast for us both. I had not had any supper and was famished. Together we put away pounds of oatmeal and gallons of protein drink while he told me about the excursion we were to make that day. Neither of us had anything to do on the weekend, so the time was ours.

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

At noon we left the apartment and climbed into a big black Jeep Grand Cherokee (or a Russian copy) - leather seats and all. Yuri explained that he was awarded the SUV because of his championship status. We were going to a kind of country club, or dacha, a few miles outside Moscow, a club for pro bodybuilders to socialize and to receive what Yuri described as a monthly dose of electricity which he was sure I would need and enjoy.

In the back of beyond, the Club was housed in a strange building, half-mansion, half-chalet which Yuri called "Muskelovsky Palast". We climbed the steep steps to the front door where we were received by an older, bald guy who closely resembled the ex-president Kruschov. Yuri signed me in and explained my presence to the suspicious old bird and wafted me off to the club-rooms.

These consisted of the most modern gym I have ever encountered, some crummy old changing rooms, and a couple of bright airy spaces which looked and smelled like laboratories or operating theatres.

The locker rooms were hosting several really big guys with good physiques, all of whom made me, the 240 pound wonderboy, feel small, in spite of recent improvements. They looked at me curiously when Yuri was obviously telling them who and what I was and that he had taken me under his wing to learn how it should really be done.

Used to getting admiring stares whenever I stripped off I found myself cringing with embarrassment when all these guys stared hard as each article of clothing came off me. The cynicism of those stares lessened somewhat as I got down to the buff and, under the guise of stretching, couldn't resist flexing a bit for their benefit.

Yuri chortled and pointed at me as if to say "You see, he's good!" and swept me off to the gym.

"Today we do light workout only, then what you Americans call 'treats'!"

Treats, wow, I thought. What treats?

Today our workout followed the general pattern of high reps, low weight and was clearly only meant as maintenance. All the same, we worked with such speed and intensity that both of us soon worked up a sweat. It was all machines, many of which I had never seen before but were clearly designed very scientifically with big guys and their development in mind - no fitness freaks here and certainly no cardio!

When we had exhausted every part of the body we plunged into a moderately cool pool and then lay in the sauna to warm up - along with several other sweaty muscle-bods who constantly arose to pour more water onto the stones. The steam that resulted made the dim interior even more sexily mysterious with all that semi-tumescent testosterone lying around. But this was clearly not the time nor place for a sex pit - and I soon found out why: the true reason for our visit to the unpopulated countryside.

We cooled down in pleasantly warm pool - all those shiny muscles in such close proximity were quite worrying to a vulnerable erection, but Yuri was clearly playing it cool for the time being.

Then his name was called and we arose from the waves and dried off. Was this the time for Yuri's treat, I wondered.

Dressed only in our towels we went into one of the lab rooms. Some hefty doctors, their muscles hardly obscured by their white cotton pants and tight t-shirts, had us strip off and Yuri began to explain what "electric treat" meant. We were to be electrically stimulated so that our muscles would be primed for maximum effort in the weeks to follow. It was clear that Yuri's favored position had swung this "treat" for me and I was not going to spoil things by showing any nervousness or by questioning his hospitality - especially when he considered it so important.

The doctor guys wheeled a machine in our direction and, without the slightest embarrassment, proceeded to attach various objects on and around our genitalia. A tight cock strap round the root of it all, and another just below the corona. My dick was already getting stimulated by the possibilities - and I saw Yuri's was too. Hmm, so he must enjoy this. Good! Made me feel safer.

Then we were to bend over and clutch the arms of a kind of chair and a warm metal dildo was greased and inserted up the fuck-chute. Experienced doctors' hands managed this deftly, giving it a tug and a shove or two to ensure correct insertion. Already it was banging about on my joy-button and causing some pearls of pre-cum to drip onto the chair seat. Finally alligator clips were attached to our receptive nips. As they began to attach cables to the instruments and the control box, I snuck a look at the label on the back which, surprise surprise, announced it was provided "by Mr. S/Fetters of San Francisco"!

The wires passed through a hole in the chair seat and were attached to the control box.

Yuri said "We sit down now - legs up, lie back, enjoy!"

I did as I was told and never took my eyes off Yuri for the next half-hour. Nor did his leave me.

Lights dimmed somewhat and a throb of music began. Gently at first the straps round the dick started to vibrate, then the fuck-object. We had been told to hold on to the arms of the chair and now the throb started to come through those, up our arms and into our upper bodies where our nips started to throb too..

The music increased in volume, intensity and pitch and this conditioned the electrical impulses to do the same. Our pecs started to swell and bulge as the current dictated, our dicks reared up and increased enormously in girth, our nuts started to throb and the thing up the fuck-chute seemed to start fucking with an intensity of its own.

Soon our nips, dicks, balls, fuck-holes, our whole bodies started to throb and vibrate with a furious intensity. I could see Yuri's massive muscles flexing and bulging and throbbing, and his dick weeping great gobs of pre-cum. For a moment I looked at my own and saw the same thing happening. Already I desperately wanted to cum but this seemed to be controlled by the machine. Beyond all belief, and almost beyond all bearing, the intensity of the muscle-fuck machine increased so that we were crying out in tortured ecstasy. Total fuckstasy as our torsos began to buck and rear.

Suddenly, as the music reached a rapturous climax, the cockstraps fell off, the metal prong up the fuck-chute rammed itself hard against the prostate, and our balls exploded jets of cum through our monstrous dicks. Spasm on spasm as the electricity dictated, over and over again with no lessening of the juice-pump or its product.

My juice was collected in a jar as it jetted our of me - a good half pint if not more - and spirited away. Yuri's was collected too and then passed to me for consumption. Necessary, I was told, "for my development."

As I gratefully swallowed the essence of my hero-champ, the music and the throbbing continued, in spite of our considerable emission, slowing down only by small degrees until we were finally freed.

"We go sleep a little, then doctor see you."

"Anything you say, Boss." I muttered sleepily, as he carried me away.

I revived over some un-named hot toddy and felt fantastically invigorated and refreshed. While we were drinking in the club-room, one of the muscle-guy doctors appeared with a sheaf of papers on his clip-board. He sat with us and proceeded to shoot rapid fire instructions at Yuri while giving me the occasional glance. Yuri translated the gist.

"Machine examined your body - your muskulatur - have tested - analyzed your cum - decided what you need - supplements, injections - workout routine. Will provide all free-of-charge as favor to me and ambassador gesture. I have all details for you. Machine translate to English for you."

When he had finished his verbal attack, the muscular young doctor handed me the sheaf of paper - which turned out to be a complete dietetic run-down and regimen, plus detailed workouts for a year - all in English. Duty done, Dr. Muscles got up, as did Yuri, flung his arms round our hero and kissed him hard on the mouth! Obviously an old friend and probably ignored all regulations to do all this for me for Yuri's sake. As I got up to thank him he flung his arms around me too - felt the pecs and biceps, muttering appreciatively to Yuri as he did so. I guess I had passed the test.

We got dressed and prepared to drive back to Moscow. It was nearly dark now and I was looking forward to some quiet time with Yuri in his apartment and, hopefully, in his bed. As we were about to leave the old grump appeared to present me with a large burlap sack, full of bottles and packets of tablets, powders and the other "essential foods" ordered by Doctor Muscles.

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

When we got back to the warmth of his rooms he subjected me to a long lecture about the supplements - how many, how often, when and what. He made me compare all this to the papers I had been given and explained that, if I wanted, he would continue to supply me with the products on a regular basis through the Russian Embassy.

My head was swimming with info by the time he sorted out twenty or so tablets for me to take "right now" while he was broiling steaks for our dinner. When we finished stuffing he turned on some music, turned out some of the lights, and said "Enough talk. Come here."

He was sitting on the edge of his bed, muscles bulging almost obscenely in, around and through his tank-top. His lycra shorts were about to burst under the pressure of both his quads and his generous equipment so it did not surprise me when he suddenly ripped the shirt off his bonze frame into ribbons and then did the same to mine.

"Need nothing between us!"

My swelling dick was agreeing with him and threatening to burst its own banks when he ripped the damp briefs off my thews, grabbed my dick and ordered me to rip his pants off. Ripping them off meant coming down to a level where his monstrous fuck-pole was dripping in my face.

"No! no suck yet!"

He hauled me to my feet and pressed me into the living boulder that was his body. Pec answered pec and quad answered quad as my arms reached out around those thick, thick lats and grabbed what I could of that swelling, pulsing muscularity. The palms of my hands slid over the ropy veins that laced across his back and transferred their pulse immediately to my dick which, for the present, was locked between his inner thighs.

His hands cupped my big glutes and yanked my pelvis into his. His thick dick was like a bolster up the canyon of my six-pack. Our pelvises ground our dicks against our hot bodies which seemed to melt into one as our lips met and our tongues devoured each other. His tongue drew my soul up into his body as I pressed my whole self into this muscular marvel of a man.

Without losing any of this contact, he wrestled me around and on to the bed, his huge weight and bulk pressing me into the unforgiving mattress. I started to hump between his quads, my throbbing dick well lubed with pre-cum. This encouraged him to do the same to my abs but he wasn't going to let this all collapse into premature eruption.

"I fuck you, you fuck me, then you get real big."

My legs automatically raised themselves on each side of his armor-plated waist.

"Then fuck me, big boy!"

I clapped my calloused palms with a hard slap on to both his steely melon delts and hung on to them. In one swift movement of his pelvis his well-lubed dick pulled off my abs and rammed without any kind of foreplay straight into and up my fuck-chute. With my wheels locked around his torso, like some huge and powerfully pistoned engine the Great Fuck began. Deep and slow at first, the thrusts of his cock plumbed my inner depths, screwing me in a hard, circular motion against the walls of the tight chute. Every crash that bruised my joy-button would have lifted me to the skies if I hadn't been so firmly locked in position by his muscles and his weight.

His ugly-handsome face grinned closely into mine.

"Now we go speed!"

And the piston strokes started to rev up. The inexorable machine ground into me from the bulbous mushroom-head's hard, popping entry to the powerful battering of my inner self by the incredibly hard thickness of his punishing, muscle-provoking log-rammer. The steel helmet edge of his mushroom corona ratcheted over every vein and ridged sensor of my butt, forcing my dick to inflate into a purple jet-source about to blow at any moment.

The speed of the piston increased to major piston-fuck time, like Addison Scott's work on Falcon movies, and his strong fingers bit into the thickness of my lats. His mouth finally came off mine and the dark eyes closed in agonized ecstasy as he neared climax.

He roared over my head as I felt at least twelve different lunges into the intimacy of my muscle-cunt and I knew he was erupting big-time into my guts. The pools of our out-of-focus eyes melted into each other as his lips closed again on mine with the his final spasms.

The wonderful weight of his torso suddenly became unbearable and I tried to roll both our bodies over. But he grabbed my bis and whispered urgently:

"No - relax! drink me in - feel go through body - get big!"

Both our bodies, all our big muscles relaxed and I breathed in time with the great heaving breaths he was giving me. I felt that now-familiar icy-hot warmth spread from my muscle-cunt into my balls, down into my legs and upwards to the corners of my jaw muscles. Once again, as the warmth spread through them, I felt my muscles swelling - ballooning from inside. I started to sweat as the growth mechanism began to take over.

"Now we roll over and you fuck!"

Even as my muscles inflated I felt his hands moving my steel rod towards his butt. As if the contact of my dick to his muscle-gate switched on an auxiliary supply of electricity, I suddenly felt a huge new spurt of energy. The icy-hot heat had never left my balls as it spread through my muscles and now my too-stretched dick demanded some kind of release.

"You cum now - muscles get hard - get big! Big as me!"

So I started to ram him. His muscular magnificence lay there under me, pinned down by my hands as well as my grinding pelvis. Every time I pulled back I pulled the head of my dick almost out of his pucker hole,

then slammed the full hard thickness back into his depths. I reached forward and grabbed that magnificent dick, hard yet again, towering up over his eight-pack which was spasming with every one of my thrusts.

I thrust over and over again, like some demented pile-driver, my nutsack slapping against his butt. I squeezed his fat dick and slapped his pecs till they were scarlet, then twisted his man-tits till he was bucking and yelling. With every buck my dick rammed further into him and threatened to explode. By the time I was ready to dump it all into him we were both sweating and snarling and grunting like a pair of rutting stags.

I didn't warn him - I just reared up and smashed down one final time, shooting my hot muscle-juice into him as far as it would go. He panted at me:

"Cumming! Mouth!"

Still ramming my spent, still hard pole into him, I grabbed his pulsating dick and balls and opened my mouth to receive a fountain-jet of his rich, hot muscle-cum down my throat. As he came, his innards clamped hard around my still-rampant dick and forced yet another load to explode into his hungry butt-hole.

Still connected, we rolled on to our sides and lay there, enjoying the feel of our muscles soaking up all that icy-hot gism. After a moment or two:

"You ready? Get hard now! Hold on! Very strong!"

"Very strong" was right! He held me tight against him as all my muscles suddenly cramped themselves against his body. Every muscle fiber flexed and clenched and throbbed. I could feel the muscles growing, not ballooning this time, but slowly gathering in hard size and strength.

Then he started to go through the same process, though not to the same nth degree. We held each other as if each one of our muscles depended on the other guy's. Finally he stretched my arms over our heads and entwined our legs together so that our bodies were in a full stretch against each other's. The stretch seemed to exorcise the pain in the muscles as blood coursed freely and urgently through them.

We sat up on the edge of the bed, his arm round my shoulders, mine around his lats. He looked at me.

"Now you truly big! Big like me!"

He pushed me up in the direction of the big old mirror. Shit man! I was big! As big as one of Matt's Billy drawings! Aaww, fuck, dude! I was BIG! This was a new body facing me in the mirror, shining with a sheen of sweat and cum, the huge new muscles flexed and exploded. Muscles on muscles. My pecs swelled off my chest, hard inch-long nips pointing straight down to the mountainous ridges of my now-eight pack. My delts were a mile wide and barrel-thick. I flexed my bis: the sweeping curve of the tris hanging hard beneath huge, veined split biceps. A little harder flex and two peaks popped up on top of each, just like Billy! Then, like Billy's Tim, always bigger than Billy, dark Yuri appeared in the mirror behind me, out-matching my flex by an inch or so!

We matched each other, pose for pose, flex for flex. Feeling each other's bulging hard muscles with hands, mouths, even dicks. The dicks were hard and weeping again, and that was not the last time we came that night.

I was half-way through my stay in Moscow, with no chance of extending the visit. Work was calling me back to the States, so was the Contest. Yuri had his work too, but this didn't stop us from working out daily, nor from fulfilling the routines of workouts and supplements laid down by the Doc. Nor from a couple more visits to the dacha.

It was real hard saying goodbye. In fact we both refused to say it, optimistically insisting that we'd meet together as soon as either of us could fix it.

Back home, a bare five weeks before the contest, there was no time for misery or regrets: every minute of every day was carefully scheduled by my Russian "doc" with workout routines, supplements, and diet. The rest of the day was taken up with eating, sleeping and dosing. I didn't have to suffer any of the horrors of "carbing-down" and "carbing-up" that US bodybuilders go through at contest time; the Russian methods eschewed all that, believing in constant growth and physical pressure that kept the skin thin and the muscle-bellies round and full. The "icy-hot treatment" had jump-started my new era of development and any kind of sexual "fun" was out for the remaining weeks of preparation.

Finally the Great Day arrived. I kept myself covered till the last moment in the pump-up room, causing a lot of curiosity and comment for, even under the velour jump-suit, extra muscle-size could not be entirely hidden.

The previous rounds of the other classes, bantam, light, middle, light-heavy and heavy, Masters', Womens', and all the rest, ground on inexorably through the day, as badly organized as every other contest I'd been in or attended.

I was about to undress and color up when there was activity around the door, my name was called out, and Yuri walked in, a head taller than anyone else in the place, and massive. My jaw dropped and my dick started to tumesc: he saw me immediately and made a bee-line for my corner of the room.

"What the fuck're you doing here, man?"

"Not possible to miss you, so authorities arrange I guest pose your contest! You good advertisement Russian system!"

I whooped and we hugged. He stripped me off and criticized colour, short-comings as he colored and oiled me to his satisfaction. Then he slapped my near-naked butt and laughed.

"You do OK, American! Glad I came!"

"Me glad you cum too!" I quipped.

I was glad and I did do OK too.

Won my class and the crowd went wild: I genuinely think they had not often seen such hard, striated bulk partnered with aesthetic shape and good posing - just the sheer size impressed them. But I don't believe my effect on them would have been so great if they'd seen Yuri before me. Luckily his exhibition came after I'd won the Super-Heavies and the judges were making up their minds about the USA Overall Champ. Even the great Olympians like Cutler, Schlierkamp and Sarcev would have paled beside Yuri that day.

After the stunned silence when Yuri first walked on to the stage, such loud screams and yells had never been heard at a contest: even the men were shouting themselves hoarse and drowning the women's cries. His huge, muscular perfection was simply unknown on this side of the Atlantic outside morphed photographs and paintings like Master N's or Matt's or in comic books. Even bigger and better than I had seen him in Moscow, he was simply beyond all comprehension. (I was told later that literally hundreds of audience members were fighting to clean in the inadequate toilets after the show to clean themselves up from their multiple orgasms.)

The pose-down and selection of the Overall was iof course delayed as the judges had not been able to use Yuri's exhibition time to make their decision. The spent audience got very restive indeed while they waited; so did the class winners backstage. I sat there, dazed, with Yuri in a corner of the pump-up room, trying to ignore the stares and enquiring grins.

Eventually we were called up. And yes, I won. (Thank you, Russia!) But the fun part of the evening came when I dragged Yuri - who had presented me with the statue - over to the MC's mike where I proceeded to thank him and the Russian trainers for their help.

"I met this guy when I was lost in the streets of Moscow and he dragged me to his gym! I just have to say that I wouldn't be talking to you now if it wasn't what he has done for me - in fact I owe everything and more to him! Thank you, Yuri Zhdanov, Russian Champ!"

Huge cheers. Yuri pushes me away from the mike.

"This man - Olympia champ next year - you see!"

At which he hoisted my near-naked bod into the air, flung me over his huge shoulder and walked me, trophy dangling from my hand, off the stage into the hotel next door and flung me down on his bed. Ripped off his clothes and threw his huge, wonderful, cum-raising, Russian muscles on top of me.

Someone delivered our gym bags to the hotel, but we were oblivious. The night was young, the contest won -- and, for these two huge, triumphant muscle-hunks, there was no need for sexual discipline for the next forty-eight (?) hours........

For the time being, The End •