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Samson and Diego Rising
|CHAPTER 14 -- CATEDRALEAN
Diego admired the ease with which he’d ‘push-upped’ 270 lbs out of Alejandro. He had made the fuck-hound groan as he slid 10 inches of 5-inch round dick clear. He’d left washes in the conceited boy’s gay hole.
He went to the bathroom. 120 lbs swaddled on him from a spandex-tight waist to these powerful shoulders… and him pretending that he was some shooter grown piggishly massive. For Alejandro, he had become Massimo, a teen bull who’d started building at 16 and shot himself to 230 for his 18th birthday. In two more years, he’d told Alejandro, he’d become a drugged up 270-pounder. Alessandro begged to get fudge-ripped by the hulking teen Diego seemed to have become.
Diego leered at the changes. Look at it me. He flexed and throbbed in the boxers that touched him. “Bye, fuckers,” he put his hand on the waistband and rudely tore them free. “fucking,… ” Rouse-sexiness pulsed and he rode full. His balls were rolled forward as 5-inch spheres - the only place they could go. He fondled the cock and balls triangle and let everything tremor. “Oh, Diego, Si.”
He pushed himself toward the mirror and looked into his jeweled eyes. He touched his large nipples to the ego-genesised domes in the glass. Fuuucck. He stroked and felt mounting tension kept beautifully on edge. He teased and let it last for what felt endless. Finally, he consented to his want and with a warlock flick triggered an admittedly vast explosion. Ahhhhh. He erupted with spasms and watched as flow soared, landing feet up on the mirror and sputtering everywhere on his beautiful body. “Spray me – CUM PUMPER,” he moaned, “spray me everywhere.” The feel of the ubiquitous sticky result was evident across each molecule of his skin. The ejaculate ingested into his inflating muscles and he knew he was a great stallion being doused as it would be at the Old Grand Pimlico.
He flexed and stretched his manliness and moaned, then swung out of the bathroom. “You ready to be real-fucked this time, Ass-boy?” he horned. He did not care if he woke Samson as well.
CHAPTER 15 -- MIRADORS Samson slushed to where Diego sat. “Diego, look at how massive and porno god we are… Our muscles… these monster arms. Oh fuck, I’m making my dick even harder…. Look at what you’ve done to yourself.” He stroked his hands over Diego’s 280 lbs. “I thought we were couture – now we're mass-blow of Muscle and Fitness bulls.” He traced the oaktrees of Diego’s quads. “Nice” He went up the outer length of the 30 inchers and landed his palms on the navy wrapping Deegs’ flanks. He put his hands on Diego’s manliness – its 11 ½ inches soft but so thick and full. He dropped his face into the silky blue and put his cheek on the organ. But, shit he missed M.T.; he brought himself upright again. “Cock and mass – that would make a difference with M.T.” Even so, his hand continued to feel around the spandexed folds of Diego’s massed package, “Oh fuck, it does with you.” Diego brought his arms up into a double biceps, his muscles 20 ½” peaked. He cracked his pretty smile at his friend. “Yeah, Samson, it fucking does.” "It does for me too - I'm going to be a heaving God."
CHAPTER 16 – TOREADOR Samson mounted the runway and 295 lbs of ape-piled strength rippled beneath the rip of the 8-button coat that tore furhter across his throbbing chest-plates with every bull-fucked step. Whittled lines of cocoa brown descended into the projectiled pants and a spool of pubic-shine glistened from his drilled navel to the taupe waist. The plait of Samson's zipper arced out disastrously, pushed by a tallywag even a Billy Doll couldn't hope for.
He drank in the crowd and smiled a mouthful of white teeth. He could feel his body standing so heavy. Eyes traced him and he felt them and wanted them. His legs were cock huge and he’d adjusted to it – superhuman in pleasure. After all, he was a bodybuilder and his muscles felt extraordinary. His ass alped and he relished the reality of standing like a bull fervently honoring his scrotum. “God, I need more.” He sucked quantities from the jug – hungry for it. "Those bodybuilders aren't 295 are they?" He said to himself, "At least not many of them."
He topped the runway and held it – his head over this thundered body. The crowd watched him and wanted it. He knew it and his paw entered his jacket and vised his pec. He growled.
In the audience, two blondes with jewels dripping over their expensive clothes gasped. He felt down the hard, distinct steps of his stomach and touched his buckle. A gay friend joined the women’s cries and a trio of young senoritas as well. “Oh yeah… that’s right,” he thought. “That’s right, Pretties.” He unclasped the belt and pulled it from the loops. His pants slipped down his waist until they licked his canyon-carved hips and hung from his Antartican ass-shelf. The thick base of his hairy, huge cock showed above the fabric.
As a crowd they trembled and he could smell their desire. “YeaAH,” he grunted. “Fuck me.” He lowered his hands below his endowment and hefted. It couldn’t be clearer, with the delicious bigness of his distorted pant front, how hugely hung he was. He glanced and smiled – a rumble surged through him “Ah, God, show it all – I need to show it all.”
He rolled the jacket back, baring samsonite shoulders and a Mr. Universe torso. “Fuck, it’s me… fucking unbelievable,” he thought. He twisted and brought his hands together straight behind his back. He tightened and felt himself with Mike Francois inflations fuck-forced within his skin. The effect was a pose that made the audience moan and gasp for air.
He smiled at them, his face more stunning than any Hollywood heartthrob's would be.
He ripped the jacket apart in his hands and burst open his muscled V. Every cut stood out on his bookcased abdomen and broadened body. Bottled water toppled from the hand of a model spectator and wetted the pole of the queen next to him. Samson drooled at erections helpless in their laps. He rockied his hands into the air and looked the stature of a Night of Champions winner declaring massive victory. Samson groaned like a beast and thrust these huge arms that now endowed him broader in a posture of only-beginning-to-grow power. “OH GODD YESSS!” He swept his hands down and with a heaving flex tore his pants off of his body so that he was as naked as the day he was born. His beautiful being posed indescribably over his thermonuclear legs. “YeeEESSSSSSSSS”
In his changing room closet, 4 gallons bubbled in an open bowl. “Yes, oh yes, my potion” Samson grunt-purred and his nude physique shuddered. He wiped the cum from his phalanx and slowed his breathing again. He looked at the picture of Maria Theresa and kissed her still lips. “I love you, beautiful – love you more than this god-becoming 295lbs.” He kissed her again. “But, oh god, oh god, can I love you more than 300 lbs?” He dropped his head into the inhuman scum and his face slopped it, licking with every ounce of his near-bull tongue. He snorted and finished, and his nose and mouth came out covered with sick and stinky mud. He could feel himself getting bigger.
CHAPTER 17 – CATALAN Diego shaved negligible hairs with a blisteringly sharp razor. He drew it up the 38-inches of his mass-boy thighs. He slashed it into the steely crease of his lords. Ah, nice – did he look like one of those U.S. Chelsea Boys – hairless, gone more than fucked-up large? He lathered his scrotum and with more strokes was naked. God, his Schlong looked nothing but butcher loin now that it was unbordered by the garden of pubes.
He scraped his arms and rubbed them. Fuck. He curled them up and smiled like a junior God unwilling to live by the rules being enforced by the powers-that-be. He took the hair out of his pits and swept his breast-armament. He let the edge play with his 2” across nipples and he nicked the final hairs from his aureole. He stood a shorn 299.
He put his hands on his beveled pumpers. Their rock-like hardness resisted the squeez of his over-nailed fingers into their mass. Ah god yeah. His dick-dong stirred with oddtennes.
Diego’s elbows came up. He pushed his hands down his 98% fat-stripped body and brought his elbows tight so that he cobra'd devilishly above his waist. His hands collared his balls and his cock. He pulled the cuff forward and groaned as blood forced the genitalia ever heavier with size. This fucking can’t even be true. He straightened and drank in his massiveness. It’s me. Oh fuck, Yea Oh fuck. He curled his hand, and a magazined muscle-reader would have known how unlikely was the bicep he raised. He slobbered and the saliva slid from his gun.
He searched for the electric trimmer, and set it on the counter. The play of gold in his hair moved as he shifted in the bathroom light. He looked his brown narrow face in the eye, split his lips and bared his teeth. He shook his glimmering style back and forth and turned on the razor. The buzzing tickled his ears. He pushed the buzz across his scalp until all of his locks had fallen in spun-gold clumps.
Finished, his eyebrows stood out on his face and his cheekbones protruded elegantly under his young skin. He seemed to dominate with model-Pitt gorgeousness, but now there was something more raw, and primitive, and superior about his look. He took a tank-massive suck of sado-glory and leered dominantly – fuck I’m going to explode.
He turned to the task of costuming himself. With one arm, he overturned the hamper so that Matthias’ clothes tumbled to the floor. “Yea, Matty, you never thought I’d be doing this, did you?” he said. He picked through before finding the bodybuilder bikini at the bottom. He held it to his face. It smelled good. His nose had changed and he could truly smell - not only could he smell Matthias’ sweaty scrotum but he could smell cum from the German’s narcissistic dick. Yes, that was delicious, so manly and fucking devourable. But, he was realizing, more arousingly, that he had the capability to detect more. He bouqueted the illicit load of steroids that had flowed in Matthias’ blood. Oh fuck how those compounds had blasted the ass-fucked Bavarian past limitations that birth would ever have denied. Matthias had become the hulk that not one of Matthias’ childhood playmates would have imagined he could become. Oh shit it was so fucking hot.
Diego looked down at his ridiculously muscular shape, at his schooner hips that branched into tree-large 39” quads. His cinched waist axi’ed the dramatic splay that mounted over his 66” breast, that spread out on his back, ox-yoked his shoulders, and dirigibled over his arms.
Shit this was fuckingly and awesomely unbelievable.
He dropped the suit down and lifted one foot into it. He pulled the negligible poser up and the leg-hole yawned trying to overcome his inhumanly pumped up 21” calf. The slinky fabric tingled his bare skin. He stepped the second foot in and stood with the fabric stretching just above his knees. His two hands pulled the ribbon of elasticity on either side up watching it be forced into a narrow rubber band by the two pillars that were 39” round at the thigh. He was amazed to see how far the fabric could expand to survive the task. He smiled as the Lycra came back down at his waist and cut into his great hangers and his salami appendage. It sealed onto his 32 ¼ inch waist like shrink wrap onto the Thanksgiving Turkey before 2pm dinner. Oh god, he yearned suddenly to gang-fuck a dozen big boys as dominant as himself although he knew they couldn’t exist.
His endowment gross-silked in a mountained prominence and the seat of the poser cut grossly inadequate on his buttocks. God how amazing it was to see 12 ½ inches pinned around his hip. His legs swelled out of the briefs and his long massive torso flowed out of the scrap of black night. Shit, it was so ejaculatingly phenomenal.
He narcissed in the mirror at the Olympian-huge builder and thought of his missing lover. “Oh yeah… Hi, Matthias… Oh, yeah… except Matthias you’re going to be so much fucking smaller than I am destined to be.”
Out in the apartment, he sat huge in the bucketed chair by the desk. He finger-slid his hand to the large zucchini that he’d trapped in Matthias’ stretching poser. He lifted the phone with his other hand and, with fingers unwitnessably fast, was through to the German. “Yea, Yea, it’s me…” Diego’s face visaged with dog dominance. “I’m a gargantuan surprise for you… I mean I have a gargantuan surprise for you.”
CHAPTER 18 -- PICORNELLANS They pulled out into the splattering wind both having grown taller – now standing 6’6”. Spandex mugged them and the slop didn’t erode, instead it tarred swaths that gripped like the surface of a country roadway until it faded into their flesh’s carnivorous ingestion. “I feel so mighty, Samson” Diego’s voice was the low of a November day. He flexed his 310 lb muscles and was mammoth enough that he looked twice the embodiment of some Repetrope mass hound who’d made hugeness his fevered life by taking quantities that only a doctor addicted to massive beasts would ever have prescribed. Samson brought his 309 lbs against Diego. Their heads craned to examine bodies that, like overdone inflations, swelled in ways that only bull-hungry dreamers could imagine seeing packed on their own meager masses. Diego sucked his waist in and he greyhounded a 32” center. Samson’s 39” mid-point thickened bull-worthy for his manliness. “Oh, yes, Diego guapo… I could fucking fuck you to muscle-heaven.” Diego pulled the tape so that it crossed his remote nipples just wear he read the inches. He groaned to see the tape slip from 65” to 67” gaining more power and size even as he stood. “FUuuCCK, 67 fucking inches, SamROD.” He echoed like a low P.A. system. “Tits are tits aren’t they Deegs. I could gulp your scummy pec milk… or drink your beer-can boner like a god taking my due.” Diego saw that Samson’s look lusted on his houred manhood. He breathed and tightened his diaphragm so that his pouch craned even bigger below the clenching wrestle-fuck of his gnarl-twisting 12-pack. “Do all you want, woman fucker…. Do all you can,” Diego closed his vice-like fingers into Samson’s crotch-unbounded bulge.
Diego watched the tape that Matthias had sent of himself. “Hey, Diego, this is for you.” Matthias lay on an unfamiliar couch. Diego rewound, a bass humming in his mass like some beast of the high, wild moors. “Hey, Diego, this is for you.” Matthias looked so fucking big, bigger because of the junk courses he was doing. Even so, he was of a greater size than Matthias now. “I thought maybe you’d like to watch my Israeli win together.” The german smiled big, into the camera, the heart-robbing beauty of it irresistible. “Here, join me.” Diego felt a hormonal spike as he saw Matthias uncorking his circuit-long dick and begin pumping himself. Matthias reangled the camera to cast across his flesh-thickened, fat-suctioned hills and past his stroking-post. Behind him the TV showed him massively flex-posing his way to victory in the Israeli Pro Show.
The only thing that nagged at Diego was that it just seemed like there must be someone in the room beside his hulked lover.
CHAPTER 19 – IBERIANS Dawn’s fingers touched Diego’s face. Real fingers followed, tapping Diego’s sharp cheekbone and bionic jaw. “Wake up, beautiful.”
Diego ground the creamy sheets with 330 lbs of orgasmic muscle. His gonads, like baseballs, splayed between his maelstrom-squatted legs. His wide eagle v narrowed to the delicious tightness of his lower back before swooping up to 13 inches of two scrumptious heights. His skin was sun-perfected, and the hue of his derriere stirred even Samson’s desire for the honor that is man – jesus, every heterosexual would have wanted to blow such a fucking portal. The head of Diego’s 13” inch spear smeared thickly on the cotton.
“Don’t make me slam you, bulb-assed muscle beast.” Samson pushed one set of fingers into Diego’s regrowing spikes, and with his others he pushed into Diego's shitter slot. Diego felt the heated vise on his scalp and the force against his anus seal. He rolled and opened his eyes. Samson stood 6’7” stretched toward the ceiling with his body at 335 lbs. His 69” pecs inflated in heavy mountains that hung from shoulders that were ox-massive in their V’ed perfection. Samson’s arms swelled to 23-inches and moved like meat in the delicatessen window. The broad planes of Samson’s face floated against the gold color of dawn. A mess of crap spattered across his cheeks and dripped on his simarillion lips.
Samson thrust forward the pitcher, his arm tumored with the 23” bicep ball rising from his 9” elbow and 13” upper arm cut. “Drink, suck boy… and then fucking suit up already.” Diego looked past the pitcher at Samson. He could see Samson growing, he could see more muscle accumulating on Samson’s mass. The change should have been imperceptible, but the temporal quality of Diego’s vision allowed him to see by the nanosecond now; he could see micrometers as clearly as he could see print on the page. He looked at his own body – he was growing slower than Samson. The goop was having an on-going effect, but new doses fueled the effect more acceleratingly. Diego climbed from the bed and brought his heaping body close to Samson. He let the animaled cock he had developed lean from his groin against Samson’s man-bulging 39” center. He pulled the heavy container from Samson’s hands and masturbatorially opened his throat. “Fuck unh,” he smacked the dose and looked piggishly at his muscles. He was growing and matching Samson’s pace again. Cum oozed from the pole he thrust and with his hand he grabbed it and brushed stinky juice across Samson’s hip, saying, “That’s right, fucking fucked muscle god, know my seed.”
Samson entered Euro Java like a titaned ambassador from some greater race. “I’m here, Diego. I’m in.” Reverberations pounded in Samson's voice. “I wanted you here” Diego's voice was low across the store. The two looked at each other – they were 6’11” and easily cleared the foil-packaged coffee racks to lay appreciating eyes on one another. Samson looked heavier – more pounds impossibly fort-built on his heaving muscle coat. Samson’s ovoid 72 inches crucified the brown boy-tee he wore and his nipples thrust deeply into the outlining fabric. Samson moved from behind the retail displays and Diego could see that 353 lbs descended into the eroticized jeans in which a drooping anaconda lay against the denim of the crotch. It was provocatively hot in the most casual of ways. “You look fucking gross, mass monster.” Diego touched Samson and Samson grinned.
Diego looked at his own incomprehensible body. The polo shirt he wore was really dolls’ clothes. It could do no more than pretend to be worthy of this 358-pounds of muscle. Its pink wrenched over only a third of his bursting sexual upper body. He looked at the horse and rider. His massivity trapped the polo fucks on the field over his tits. The figures reared in fear at his muscled exhilaration. Fuck, how he liked how the pathetic muff-garment failed to suggest real clothing. “Ha, how do you like it, SamHulk?!!” Samson gandered and took in the prepped collar that ripped across Diego’s golden-arched traps and chiseled into Diego’s 17” deep cleavage. The shirt groped man-milk thunder-domes that gross-showed their stature as capital-swollen-assets. Fuck yea, Samson thought, and tweaked his fingers on Diego’s 2” nipples through the Chip-and-Biff fabric. “Ralph would cream to see such a hulk studding his prep-repression.” Samson said. “Yeah, but Ralph wouldn’t have seen fucking anything yet.” Diego responded. Diego opened a canister, began to gulp, and let go with a “FuCK YEAAA”. His body started to respond. Oh God, fucking awesome, as always. The ralphie-pink spooled into his arm creases and expanded desperately over his growing pectorals and delts. Deeg’s ape-male bicep enlarged and force-mounded the cuff of the shirt into a band-tatter that cut into the horrendous carve that separated his inflating arm peak and his Captain American shoulder armor. He flipped the woven tails of the shirt, boning that the garment had shortened so that it didn’t reach even a quarterway to his low-riding chinos anymore. He tightened his center into a delirious quilt of lumps and watched as boner-hanging sexiness entered the funneled temple of his sculpturous crotch.
“Ah God, Love me, Fucker.” Diego roar-laughed and, with an explosive muscle flexing, he erupted his gorgeous muscles out of the disintegrated shirt. Without needing to look, he felt the polo cascade from his torso in a fall of pink powder. The coffee, the floor, and the room sooted with the girlish color. “God, I was fucking made to be this.” Diego eden-grinned and exploded again so swollen that his physique made Arnold as a 25-year-old look like a baby girl.
Samson eyed the porn-wasting Spaniard and pushed his body up against Diego’s. “You’re such a fuck-flaunter, Mr. I’ve-got-a-monster-in-my-pants-and-I’m-a-god-freaked-gayboy.” He smiled inches from Diego’s face and flexed his own grotesque master-force. “But you’re not going to be the biggest god-hunk, girl boy.” Samson snorted a bucket of smack and it was gone through his nose and his mouth. He roared with laughter and ripped the brown shirt from his pulverizing beef. "Come here, Deegs," he said and he bunched his thick meat heavy with sweat into Diego’s face. Hulking close, between their legs, they both felt the rivulet of dick-seep cascade from their hoses and flow through the pale-frayed denim of their pants until it trickled wonderfully together down the massive oak-trunks of their pressing wheels.
Samson lay with his arena-sized 380-lbs propped on Diego’s Mt. Olympus 390 pound wall. Both were in Rio cuts so incendiary that they’d sell ten-thousand pairs on the PreVail underwear site in less than an hour. Huge and just shy of naked with their great bodies, they looked like Jackson-Paris brought back in their prime but made two times more massive and strong. Each was 150-lbs heavier than the prance-posing couple had ever been. “Wait, rewind again.” Diego brayed. Samson hit rewind and they watched Matthias underwear-back out of the pool onto the deck and glory rear himself to the sliding doors. “Freeze it there.” Clearly, with their superpowered eyes, they could see in the still panel from the Swiss Grand Prix video that the glass-polished surface of the doors held the unintended reflection of a second muscle man – 255 lbs of Asian beef – his builder-afflicted erection mid-stroke in his holding hand. “I’m sorry, Deegs,” Samson gently rubbed his iron-bending paw on Diego’s great Y’ed lat.
Diego slammed the 400lb dumbbell against the floor and muscle-gaited his Jupiter-expanse to the rack. “I’m fucking stronger than fucking fuck, make me so fucking strong.” He pulled a 1000 from the rack. He held the dumb-satellite at his crotch, letting it sink into his meated heap. He ball-thrummed to sense how immensable he was and how powerful he had become. He could never have imagined anyone mutating into the death-bodied monster this was. He was untold capacity, was inhuman heaves of gym-desired iron, and was a cock-show in a way that no muscle grunts at the gym would ever forget again. He roared and with the warm girth of his 24 ½” arm raised the iron forward so that his belly-beefed cords emerged and shifted under teenlike skin that glistened with youth-fucked beauty. “Fucking Inhumanity!” he haunch-leered at the rippling, string-tanked 20-, 30- and 40-somethings who drool-circled below him. He bent his elbow and curled the weight into his chest. He lowered the totem of gym-realm power down the groan-facade of his tall-hulk physique until it encountered the great anaconda of his straight-guy basketball shorts. “YeSSS,” he hung-throated a hum in his 77” chest. He strength-racked the weight and jock-clamped his mammoth organ. He realized that his groinal garment was no more than a fucking squarecut cutting into the 19” depths of his sun-risen fuck-butt, caressing the cheek-heights of his glorious male-density like a tarp garden-wrapping two high-soil mounds. “Oh yeah.” He let go his folds and yanked his monstrous cock out for the once bigger bodybuilders to suck.
Matthias’ voice was trembling, “Diego, I have something I need to tell you… about us… about our…” “No, Matthias, no,” Diego hung up and put his daVincian face in his Michelangian hands as wetness spilled onto his 43” Herculean thighs.
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