Another Backfire


By Voyager

Hey that the controversy in the other thread has died down...I hope...another chapter. Hope you like the turn at the end! Voyager

I will always remember my first visit to New York City. I was overwhelmed by most everything. However, the one thing that really sticks out in my mind was looking straight up at all the buildings from ground level. I was reminded of that while I was sitting in the chair looking up at Mitch (Mitchell until he began asking me to call him Mitch). I was still about the height of his immense quads, and looking up was breathtaking. His abs were rolling hills that looked like they were made of granite, and when he tightened them, it looked as if the landscape itself was changing shape. The spread out and eventually became his obliques, a vast range of lesser hills, but still vast. Going north, two endless plateaus rose out of the ground and formed his pecs. Smooth except when he tightened them, I swear they were big enough for a child to make his bed out of them. Flaring out from that chest were two arms that looked like huge peninsulas with heavy cuts made to them by the oncoming sea. And as huge as they were relaxed, they sprang to life and seemed to expand exponentially when he made the slightest movement. A bicep that any average bodybuilder would be happy with a full flex sprang out of Mitch’s arms with the slightest raise of his arm. He saw me notice this phenomenon and told me, “Wait till I REALLY try to flex and grow my arm”.

Raising his arms perpendicular to his body, I saw to triceps at full flex as well, bigger than many guys entire arms and rock solid by the look of them. He turned halfway around and revealed a back that one could take years just to map. Broad beyond any imagination, it was so creviced with muscle that one could stare for hours and not fully take in its full magnificence.

Looking straight ahead of me and slightly down, I saw quads the size usually employed to hold up parking garage levels, though I am betting these quads were stronger than even those support pillars. Ropes of muscle that could be used to tie up steamships to dock ran through them, even when the quad was relaxed. Mitch looked down, “Pretty big huh? Here…try this:, he said and positioned me to sit on his foot (which must have been size 20 if it was an inch) and wrap my legs around his calf, my arms around his quad. He then proceeded to walk around the room with me, occasionally trying to (mockingly) kick me off while saying, “Geez, I must have a gum wrapper or something on my shoe”. And walk he did…not drag, no hobble, but walk like he was going down the street. And in everything he was gentle. So, as mind boggling as his strength was, I also felt no danger, no fear, though also knew I might just be caught up in the moment.

He brought me back to the chair and I ‘disembarked’ and he began flexing again, revealing a body beyond comprehension. Whether it was genetics, whether it was hard work, or whether it was a combination, I did not know, but this was the person I had dreamed would show me his power and strength at least once in my life. I knew I could, after this, check off one of my fantasies on my list and go on to the next…though getting Jeri Ryan in a Borg maturation chamber alone with me was…well, never mind…

He abruptly stopped and folded his goliath forearms together, though they looked less goliath when compared to that chest. He had a very serious expression on his face as he looked down at me. Ut oh, I thought, I spoke too soon. Appearing calm, I looked up…and up…and up…and asked, “What’s the matter?”

“Did you or did you not say you wanted to feel these muscles?”, he said, while simultaneously flexing a bicep. Relief shot through me. “Why yes I did”, I said with a sheepish grin. Bringing to hands down and lifting me up to his face, he said, “Then let’s get started”. With that he placed his arms around my back and began to bear hug me. Then, taking one arm away, I felt myself held tightly in place. With the free arm, he made a cradle of sorts and, with great effort, placed me sitting in that cradle. “Wanted you to have a birds eye view of this”, he said, flexing the now other free arm, “and wanted you to be close to see and feel the power”.

And so it began. I felt his abs. I was invited to pound on his abs with both fists balled together and did so, to Mitch’s laughter and my sore hands. My outstretched hand could not cover is pecs, and my hands literally leaped off of them when he began to bounce them. His back was an ever changing landscape as he moved his arms, his neck, almost any part of his body. I was challenged to wrestle one leg of him to see if I could get it to move. Not only couldn’t I, though I didn’t expect to, he also threw me clear of it by simply shaking his leg and then having it stop short with a flex. Both hands outstretched could hardly get 1/3 of the way around his quad. Hell, I could hardly get my hands around his calf.

Then came the bicep. Yes, while I was ‘uplifted’ I saw that Everest sized mountain shoot out from his arm, but only after I was back on my feet did I really get to see that bicep up close. It was staggering in its size and firmness. Clear veins ran through it feeding the monster. No matter how hard I pulled down on it or pressed my fingers into it, I could not make a dent. And it took two hands to even attempt getting around that bicep, as huge as it was. Grinning, Mitch looked at me and said, “What, you can’t get your hands around my little bicep? Geez, you’d think 28 inches was big or something.”

All my activity stopped. 28 inches? Around? His bicep was the size of some people’s waist! Now wonder he was so damn strong. Suddenly there was movement again, but coming from Mitch. He was quaking, a result of the laughter that was overtaking him at the moment. He was loving every moment of this encounter and now, with the revelation of his bicep being over two feet around, he could not contain his glee. He flexed his arm up and down, repeating, “What, this little bump? I’m not even really trying”, in between gales of laughter. It was infectious, as I began to laugh as well. Why not? This was a joyful experience for me as well…someone this big, this built, and this willing to show off that strength and size.

Slowly the laughter faded away, though we both still had huge grins on our faces. Catching his breath, Mitch asked me to sit down and sat down across from me. “Wow”, he said, shaking his head, “I have had a lot of these sessions, even ones which have turned into something sexual, but none like this one. I don’t know what it was, but I felt like I was on fire! I never felt so pumped, so strong, so BIG. Damn, you are good!”, he said to me. He looked down towards his crotch and my eyes followed. Yeah, he was enjoying it. Even more shocking, I could see where the start of the ‘enjoyment’ was, but could not see the end of it, being it was as enormous as the rest of him. This was with his shorts on, though very, very tight. Suddenly, he reached across and drew me towards him in a big bear hug, “Thank you”, he said, squeezing, but not tight enough to cause hospitalization. At first I was apprehensive, having gone through that before, but quickly relaxed, letting Mitch have his moment. I didn’t resist, because, at least I thought, this would be one of the last things to happen, and Mitch would be leaving to resume his trek to California.

Releasing me, he became rather quiet. Looking down, he said in a small voice, “I have a favor to ask.” I instantly tensed, assuming the worst. Seeing this, he immediately responded, “No, no, nothing like that. While I admit this python is ready for action, I also respect your deviant heterosexuality”, he said with a wicked grin. I could not help but laugh, almost saying, “Fuck you”, but realizing that might not be the best retort to his last comment. Hmmm….”Screw you”? Nope. “Stick it up your ass”? Nope. Damn, all my best comebacks wouldn’t work! Finally, I said, “Yeah, I’m sure the Holland Tunnel doesn’t have a date tonight.”, my voice dripping with sarcasm. Immediately he came back, “Well, it would be a little tight, but maybe I can work it out”. I burst out laughing.

When we again had calmed down, he asked his question. “I wanted to try something, but I never had someone who caused such…well…stimulation…in me.” I tried to keep my face calm and not have my face flush. After all, he was asking, not telling, and he had proven himself trustworthy so far. He continued. “I can now lift immense amounts of weights from morning until night and get nothing. Yeah, maybe stronger, but not any bigger. And I want to see if I can ever get a 30”+ bicep. And I’d like to ask your help.” He paused. I forced down any panic.

“What I was thinking of a very focused muscle worship”, Mitch said. “Just on one bicep, where you would massage it, work on it, while I flexed. Maybe that focused stimulation would help it grow past this barrier.” He flexed. “Please…I want to not only blow the competition away at a bb competition in California, I want them to run for another country. But, I will abide by whatever you decide.”

What he asked was not unreasonable. We had been doing it in a general fashion just before. He had ample opportunity to take advantage of me, and he hadn’t. And, I had to admit, though 28” of bicep was incredible, could I really resist the urge to not only see a 30”+ bicep, but be part of its development? Plus, I had the panic buttons to call Doctor Morgan if needed. “Yes, I’ll help you”, I told Mitch. The grin grew bigger and brighter.

He explained his vision to me. I would massage, breathe on, and just work his bicep like never before. He would guide me if he needed more, using his experiences, since I had very little. He would pump his bicep hard and often, trying to encourage growth. I agreed to everything except one thing. I would not lick the bicep. Memories of that with Chuck were seared into my mind. When all was understood, we began.

It was an incredible experience. All my attention was focused on that once bicep, all my energy, all my creativity. Rhythmically, methodically, the bicep rose to its great heights, then would decline, though never fully gone due to Mitch’s great size. He guided me to what he wanted, whether it was contact with the bicep by hitting it, squeezing it, pounding it, or massaging it. Sweat formed on his arm as he put all his energy as well into this action, and his face, when I saw it, was an essay in determination. If this was the face he used when he was intimidating someone, it worked well. The sunny, smiling muscle giant now looked menacing and about to break out of his skin. He grunted, he groaned, he would say words like, “Yeah” and “More”. I stayed to my task, and became engrossed in it.

I became so engrossed I missed him pulling down his shorts and begin to massage another part of his body while I massaged the bicep. When I did see him doing this, fear welled up inside of me, but he wasn’t making any moves towards me, but rather doing anything he could to achieve his muscle growth goal. I did notice that if he ever did try to use that monster on me, it might go straight through me, as big as it was. It dwarfed a 12 inch ruler by several inches, and only his mammoth hands could have gotten a handle on it. I suddenly felt puny, but only for a few seconds, as Mitch said, “No, please don’t stop, I think it’s working” in between his self-thrusts and pumps of both his arm and elsewhere.

This went on for several minutes, my hands beginning to lose strength and cramp, with Mitch encouraging me on through it all. Finally, in a voice deeper than his normal bass, he told me, “Climb on my forearm”. “What?”, I asked, half disbelieving. “I need to resistance on my forearm for this to work. PLEASE!!!”, he pleaded. Reluctantly, I positioned my body so its entire weight was pressing against his forearm, trying to keep it down as he attempted to raise it up. “Yeah, I can feel it working! Yeah! YEAH!”, he said, his arm struggling against the weight of my whole body, slowly winning the battle. My feet were raised off the floor as his arm came up in the classic flexing position. A couple more times this happened, each time Mitch encouraging himself on, while thrusting somewhere else. After one final “OH FUCK YEAH”, he shot his load straight out about two feet in front of him, in what could only be called a torrent. He struggled with one last rep of my weight on his arm and then it too went slack. He staggered backwards as if hit by a freight train. He put his hands on his knees and breathed heavily.

“Let’s see if we made a difference”, he said, straightening up to his skyscraper height. He asked me to get a tape measure, which I did, and he flexed. Even without the tape measure, I knew he had grown. He still looked 7’2”, which made me glad, as it wasn’t a Chuck episode, but that bicep looked bigger, thicker, higher. Flexing as hard as he could, I took the measurement. I pulled back the tape and showed him the number the end of the tape had met – 32”.

Mitch literally jumped up and down, causing me to worry if my floor would cave in. He whooped, he hollered, he yelled, “I knew it!” He flexed than now 32” bicep in my face. He beamed. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”, he yelled as he lifted me up and swung me around. A gleam came into his eye. “Wait…that’s four more inches of power” He put me down, and, without asking, grabbed me with the hand attached to that 32” bicep and hauled me up to his face, single handed. “Fuck yeah, now THAT’S power!”, he said as he put me down.

“Glad I could help”, I said, happy for him, “Now you know what you need to have done to get the other arm up to specs. I’m sure you will find someone to help you out.” “Oh, but I already have”, he said, moving towards me. I looked half-puzzled, half-wary. Moving backwards, I said, “Who?” With lightning speed he stepped towards me and lifted me one armed again. “Why you, of course. Do you think I would let you go now that you have the power to make me bigger? Of course not…little man.”

Backfire. •

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