Mentor, The

Working Arms and Legs


By Corwin

Jim received an email from Jen later that week. 'Meet me at 6PM Friday outside the locker rooms of the company gym.' At 3 o'clock on Friday, Jim finished the last of the company reports, and decided to get in a workout while he waited for the designated time. First, he walked over to the fridge in his office and pulled out a quart jug of what looked to be milk. He pulls the cap off, and chugs down the Fantastic formula. Finishing the quart, he tosses the jug in the trash. "Time to work legs," he said, knowing the Fantastic formula's effects were strengthened with vigous workouts.

The gym was normally deserted on Friday afternoons, the staff eager to start their weekends or join group Happy Hours. It was always Jim's favorite time to exercise. He quickly changed in the locker room, barely noticing his growing testicles, an immediate effect of the formula he just drank.

Entering the gym, he noticed two benches holding two bars each with five plates. Turning to the squat rack, he saw no plates. "Fuck! I hate when some lazy fuckers don't return the weights when they've finished." Jim started to the benches, prepared to move the plates to the rack, when a voice behind him says, "Who said I was done?"

Jim turned to see Clint standing by the water fountain.

"Shit, you startled me. I didn't see you there Clint. Uhm... catching a workout?"

Clint smiled and walked toward Jim. "You know how it is Jimbo. Gotta keep growin'" Clint extended his hand. Clint was as tall as Jim, but much wider. Jim looked at his forearm which was nearly as big as Jim's upper arm. Jim took Clint's hand and squeezed, hard. Clint continued to smile, his hand absorbing Jim's tightest grip with ease. Clint's forearm twitched slightly as his grip tightened and began to crush Jim's hand. Jim tried to resist, but Clint's crushing force totally overpowered him. He reflexively pulled back. Clint felt Jim trying to escape, but held Jim's hand for a couple seconds, the grin never leaving his face. When he did let go, Jim's hand shot to his side as he shook out the pain from Clint's grip.

Clint feigned a look of surprised. "Oh, sorry man. Guess I don't know my own strength," he said as he walked over to the benches. "Thought I was going easy." Clint made a fist, his forearm bursting into rippling sinew of muscle, blue veins bursting up into his paper-thin skin, forced high by raw muscle.

The demonstration was not lost on Jim. Clint could have crushed Jim's hand, turning bone into sand without any thought at all. Jim decided to ignore the arrogant display and concentrate on his workout. "I was planning on working legs, but you got all the big plates over here. Mind if I take one of the bars?"

"When I'm done, sure," replied Clint.

"But you don't need two bars and benches to work chest," Jim objected.

Clint stood between the two benches. "Not working chest. Working arms." With that, Clint grabbed both bars and lifted them. Staring straight at Jim with a look of determination and contempt, he slowly and purposfully curled the bar in his left hand up. Lowering it even more slowly, he then repeated the maneuver with his right arm.

Jim stood awestruck at Clint's form and power. His thickly muscled torso stood rigid as his arms did all the work. Clint's basketball-sized biceps totally controlled a quarter-ton of weight each. Each rep seemed timed with the precision of a metrinome as Clint powered through rep after rep. Jim stared at Clint, his mouth agape as he marvelled at the thick veins on the man's forearm and the ease that he controlled the weight. Jim counted, disbelieving as Clint powered through 8 reps, then 10, then 12, finally stopping at 15 before gently putting the bars back on the benches.

"Good warm-up," Clint said, staring at Jim mockingly. He flexed his right arm, daring Jim to look at it. "Measured this at over 30 inches this morning. Lots of power in it too. But, I see you've already noticed that." Clint begins to remove the collar from one of the barbells, then says, "But I'm here to get bigger. I love dwarf'n all you little guys with my mass, and I'm gettin' fuck'n huge! Guess you came to watch a real man work out, huh Jim?" Clint laughed and added another hundred pounds to each bar.

Jim blinked, as if coming out of a trance. He felt angry. Clint was using him, playing him like a violin. The frustration and desire he felt looking at Clint's size and strength had caused him to freeze, as if hypnotized. Jim hated feeling so small and weak. Clint knew that Jim was use to being number one, just as he knew no one could match him now. "Just wait asshole. Soon..." he muttered under his breath.

Jim turned, looking for someway to get his workout while Clint hogged the weights. He walked to the leg press and saw that it still had plates he could use. Jim put 200 pounds on the machine. He took his position on the seat. Bracing his left leg on the floor, he cranked out fifteen easy presses with his right leg. In the mirror, he watched Clint mechanically do alternate curls with 100 pounds more than before, again for 15 reps. Jim changed positions and did a warm-up set with his left leg.

Jim doubled the weight on the press. Before he began his first set, Clint began a new set of his own. Jim's cock jumped as he marveled at the size of Clint's arms. Clint stared at Jim, intense concentration on his face, each exhale sounding like the word "grow". Jim did a set of 12 with each leg, then added another 100 pounds to the press. Clint had done the same to his 'dumbells' as he continued to churn out sets of 15 reps. 'Soon' he told himself as he did 9 reps at 500 pounds.

Before he could add more weight to the press, Clint had walked over. He was massaging his left bicep, his right hand stretched over its leg-sized thickness. "We got a problem here, bud," he asserted as he began to remove the plates from the machine. Jim started to object, but stopped as Clint lifted 250lbs of weight as if it were only a 'cockring'. "My guns are just too strong for that weight. I need more, and all that's left is what you're using." Clint flexed his left arm and thrust the mountain into Jim's face. "You can see, barely got any pump at all!" Sweat from Clint's pit filled Jim's nostrils, triggering a subconscious desire for muscle that turned Jim's envy into lust. He raised his hand and felt Clint's bi. Jim squeezed, his own popeye-like forearm bursting into striations as he applied his own bone-crushing bodybuilder force to Clint's muscle. Jim's fingers turned white as the titanium-hard muscle didn't even dent under his power. Clint laughed. "Pretty hard, huh, but still too small. I know a little guy lik you," Clint paused, letting his eyes scan over Jim's championship body, "want to grow too, so maybe we can help each other. Let me use these weights and I'll provide resistence for you training legs."

"How?" Jim asked incredulously.

"With these big arms!" Clint said with a big grin as he flared his tricep into a deep, striated horseshoe. "These boys look bigger than those chicken legs you got," said Clint as he admired his monster arms.

"Fuck you asswipe," screamed Jim, jumping up. "My wheels..."

But before he could finish, Clint reached over and pushed Jim with such force he stumbled back and fell into the seat.

"Ya, I know," Clint said sarcastically. "You won trophies. Your legs are huge and ripped... yadda yadda yadda." Clint snarled, "That was before ME." Clint walked to the back of the leg press, and pressed his right arm against the empty weight rack. "Go ahead, try to move this arm."

Jim's lust for Clint's muscle changed to anger at his arrogance. "No way are you that strong, fuckwad," screamed Jim as he positioned his leg. Without warning, he began to press with all his might. Over 30 inches of thick leg muscle came to life, swelling and pressing against his skin. Thick muscled striations pushed veins that pumped blood to power a force capable of moving nearly a half ton with ease. The press didn't budge.

"Whenever you want to start," said Clint, who looked relaxed leaning against the machine.

Jim couldn't believe it. There was no strain on Clint's face at all. Jim doubled his efforts. He felt his face flush as blood pumped harder supporting his effort. He let out a rebel yell, letting his anger fuel his strength.

Clint's arm didn't budge. He shook his head and sighed a long sigh that demonstrated his disgust at Jim's effort. "Knew those twigs of yours couldn't compete with the strength of my guns." Clint raised his free hand, flexing it into a bicep before straightening it and worshipping his own tricep. "Maybe you'd have better luck with two legs, Jimbo."

Jim stopped his efforts, his anger flaring. 'No one is that strong,' he told himself, knowing his own limits and realizing just how out classed he was by Clint's super human physique. He positioned both his legs on the press. Without warning, he powered his thighs, demanding that they straighten.

Clint was caught off guard, and the press moved 6 inches before he stopped it.

Jim's face turned red, feeding his anger. Clint steeled his face and concentrated on straightening his arm.

Jim felt the force on his legs increase. He felt as if he were trying to press a Mack truck, but he knew he could not give in. He forced the press up another inch.

It was the last inch he would get. Clint's anger showed on his face, which reddened as Jim's had. "NO MORE!" he screamed, his arm shaking as his tri flexed harder into inhuman relief. The press began to move slowly down.

Jim's legs shook as their bodybuilder power was overcome by one man's arm. He screamed, tears running down his face. He felt nauseated as his abs burned at the effort of keeping his upper body from buckling at the effort. None of Jim's efforts could stop the muscle of Clint's arm. It took a minute for the relentless battle to conclude, but Jim's legs were beaten by Clint's one arm.

"Youn win," Jim conceded as he tried to stand up. Instead, he bent over and threw up his lunch.

"Told you these arms could give you the best leg workout of your life," Clint bragged as he shook out his pumped arm. "Let me know when your ready for the next set -- gotta get this pump on my other arm." Clint picked up the weights and walked over to his bar. He began to do curls.

For the next hour, Clint's arms overpowered Jim's thighs, first on the press, then squats, then improvised leg extensions. Clint's arms were unbeatable. It was the best leg workout Jim ever had. In the locker room Clint paraded his fat nine inch hang, bragging about his power and how he was growing. Jim could barely walk, and he refrained from cutting Clint down to size with Mr. Fantastic. 'You're time will come Asshole.'

Jen was waiting outside the men's locker room when Clint and Jim came out. She jumped into Clint's arms, embracing and kissing him as she cooed, "Hi Teddybear! I missed you." Clint returned the embrace and deep throated her with his tongue. Jim just stared, more because each step was a new episode in pain from his aching muscles than from the fact that he knew Jen had something for him.

"Wait til I get you home..." Clint snarled with affection.

"Buy a working girl dinner first, stud," she replied.

Jim cleared his throat,

"Oh, you know Jim don't you hon," Clint said by way of an introduction as he began to walk away.

"Sure," she said following like an obedient dog in search of its biscuit. "Hi Jim. Bye Jim." Almost as an afterthought she added, "Oh. Someone left that package for you." She winked at him.

A copypaper box sat by the door. An envelope with his name was taped to it. He opened the envelope.

[i] Mr Fantastic,

God, have I missed you. There is another envelope in the box, and a copy of Teddy's diary. The Bear takes T and HGH with the stuff in the jugs. Stole a week's supply for you and Mark. That should be a good start.

Mark and I will stop over at 3 tomorrow. Maybe you and I could go out to dinner later? I REALLY MISS YOU REED RICHARDS!!!!!

XOXO The Invisible Girl. [/i]

Jim smiled as he picked up the box. He even forgot about the pain in his legs. •

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