|« PREV||INDEX||NEXT »|
|So Brandon and Jake took turns punching the bag, throwing the whole incredible
force of their muscular chests, shoulders and arms into each punch. Scott's eyes got big
as he saw just how powerful their punches were. They couldn't push the bag back as far
as Mike, but they could smash it back petty far. Once in awhile they let the bag swing to
see how far they could make it go and it went way back. God those kids are strong,
thought Scott to himself as he watched their big muscles bulge and smash their fists with
blow after blow of devastating force into the heavy bag. They're going to be killer
fighters. No kid is going to be able to stand up to them. Chills went up and down his
spine as he thought about those 13 year old fists hitting his own weak body. God, those
strong boys could pound his body into a pulp without even trying hard. And they'd
probably have a good time doing it too. Mike showed them how to throw a left hook, a
right uppercut, all the punches of a professional boxer. Plus he showed them some
moves that weren't legal in the boxing ring. Scott just stared in awe. His muscular
brother and his muscular friend were turning into unstoppable fighting machines. More
chills went up his spine.
Suddenly Scott heard a voice behind him. "Hey, whatcha doin' there! Whadya lookin' at?" Scott spun around and saw a little kid about ten feet away from him. He looked to be about 12 years old. He was wearing a green football jersey with the number "42" on it and green nylon shorts underneath. The kid wasn't particularly tall, but he really looked big for his age. His voice was still the voice of a boy, but his body looked like a muscular teen. He had a thick neck and broad shoulders. His pecs pushed out under the jersey, pushing it out over his abs, which were hidden. He had cut off the arms of the jersey to reveal very solid, muscular arms which hung down at his sides, away from his chest, pushed out by the thick muscle of his lats. His legs were big and muscular. You could tell he was a jock. He just looked like a jock. He was good looking, blond and blued eyed, just like Brandon, and wore his hair in a buzz cut. Scott could hardly stop staring at the boy's eyes, which were ice blue, like an Alaskan husky dog. He hadn't seen eyes that striking in his whole life. But then he also hadn't seen a body like this on a kid. While Scott was still staring at his awesome face and body, the kid charged forward and tackled him head on, ramming his muscular shoulder right into Scott's skinny chest and throwing him violently to the ground. Scott felt like he had been hit by a truck. The muscular boy pinned Scott's arms to the ground. "What are you, some kind of pervert? Why were you spying on my cousin and my uncle?" Scott looked up sheepishly into the clear ice-blue eyes of the boy who was completely controlling him. "Uh, well, uh, that other kid is my brother. I was just watching them punch the bag."
By that time Mike, Brandon and Jake were standing there, watching the boy pin the teen. Brandon put his hand on the boy's muscular shoulder. "That's okay Brock. You can let him go. It's just Jake's faggot wimp brother. I guess he just couldn't stay away from our muscles." The boy stood up and gave his cousin a high five jock greeting, now ignoring Scott who still lay on the ground, the breath knocked out of him by the kid's brutal tackle. "Wow Brandon, you've really gotten big! You're like solid muscle! You're built like shit! Jesus, just a few weeks ago I was thinkin' I could beat you in arm wrestling, but I know I can't now. You are a fucking muscle stud. Your friend is too. You both like turned into muscle in just a couple of weeks." Brandon smiled at his cousin and flexed his arm. "Fifteen inches, Brock. Fifteen inches of rock-hard muscle. This is Jake. Jake and me have been liftin' weights in his garage and we've put on 40 plus pounds of muscle in six weeks. That arm has gone from 10 to 15 inches. I've slapped five fucking inches of fucking super-strong muscle on my arm. Jake has too. Our chests went from 34 to 43, nine fucking inches of solid muscle. All our muscles have gotten big and strong. We're getting huge! And we're stronger than shit. The faggot wimp faggot there is Jake's brother. He can't build no muscle at all. He's a fucking weakling. He's just our little faggot wimp slave. He does whatever we want. He knows he better do what we want or he'll get his faggot ass kicked to a pulp. Here, watch." Brandon looked down scornfully at Scott and kicked him in the chest, kind of hard. Scott winced in pain. "Get your pathetic faggot ass into the garage, slave. And tell Brock you're sorry you were spying on us. Tell him you're sorry you made him tackle you."
Scott looked up at the muscular boy. "I'm sorry I was spying on Brandon and Jake. I'm sorry I made you tackle me." Brock grinned. He couldn't believe how subservient this skinny teenager was to his cousin. "Fuck, no problem. You're so fucking weak.. I love tackling guys. I love hitting 'em real hard. They call me "Brock the Rock" on my football team. I'm solid like a rock and I hit real hard. I'm the strongest kid on the whole team. Here, look at my muscles you little shrimp." At that, Brock pulled off his jersey, revealing a big, very solid, well-muscled torso. Just like Scott thought by looking at him in the jersey, his pecs were round and full of muscle. His traps were thick and solid, just like a football players, and his shoulders were broad and capped with round globes of muscle. His lats were thick and wide. And his abs were solid and rippling like bricks. His legs were thick, with ridges of muscle showing through, and his calves bulged with muscle. He looked like a muscular teenager with a kid's face. Then he raised his musclar arms and flexed. Two big balls of biceps muscles sprang up. Way bigger than Scott's biceps. It had a high peak and Scott could see striated fibers flexing under the thin skin. His lats flared way out and his delts bulged on the tops of his shoulders. He raised and lowered his arms a couple of times, showing off both his big biceps and his thick, rippling triceps. "I can do 50 pullups and 200 pushups easy. I bet I'm stronger than you. I bet I could beat you in arm wrestling. I bet I got more muscle than you and I'm only ten years old." Scott gulped. This muscular kid was only ten years old!
Jake bent down and lifted his skinny brother to his feet. "Yeah, let's have an arm wrestling match. Brock the Rock against Scott the Stick. That'll be fun! A ten year old taking on a 16 year old." He pushed his weakling brother towards the garage. Brock walked ahead, occasionally turning and flexing his muscles for Scott to see. "You're toast, wimp" he laughed as he hit a most muscular pose, displaying his thick neck and traps, his muscular delts, pecs and triceps and a very muscular, solid waist. Scott gulped. On one hand, he really didn't want to be embarrassed by a ten-year old kid. But on the other hand he knew he didn't have a choice in the matter and besides, seeing the kid's buff, flexing muscles made him want to see just how strong they were. He was about to find out.
They got into the garage. Mike found two chairs and a table. Brock was almost a foot shorter than Scott, so to make it even they needed to put a telephone book under his butt on the chair and another telephone book under his elbow. It looked kind of funny, this tall 16 year old teen getting ready to arm wrestle this short ten year old kid. But when they locked hands, it didn't look funny any more. It looked deadly serious. Scott had actually thought he had a chance against the kid because of his height and weight advantage. But when he looked at Brock's arm next to his own he knew he was in big trouble. While his own arm was basically skin and bone, Brock's arm was thick with muscle. His upper arm and forearm bulged with muscle pulsating under his thin skin. His delt and chest muscles were big too, big and thick on his young body. The kid flexed his bicep a few times just to show off to his terrified opponent. The big muscle sprang to attention at his young master's command. It looked like it was twice as big as Scott's bicep, and it was on an arm that was way shorter than Scott's. So the peak in that bicep was enormous. And its proud, arrogant owner was only ten years old! "You still think you're stronger than me, wimp? Look at that fucking muscle! Look at all the muscle I got. I'm gonna smash your weak little arm into the fucking table. I'm gonna fuck you up real good. Muscles rule!"
Scott gulped as the arrogant kid bragged about his young muscles. His cock started getting hard as he watched the kid's muscles flex and bulge. Brock looked Scott directly in the eyes and smiled. He looked so handsome and dominant, his ice blue eyes flashing with a look that said "Yeah, I'm a stud, you little cocksucker." Brandon put his hand on top of their clenched hands. "Okay. On three. One. Two. Three!"
Scott immediately started pushing as hard as he could. But his arm just stayed in the center. He stared at the clenched fists, hoping that his herculean effort would force the kid's arm backwards. But it was like he was pushing against a brick wall. The kid's arm didn't budge. The bicep and forearm muscles were bulging in the kid's arm, bulging like pieces of rock. His delts and pecs were bulging too, with shredded fibers of rock- hard muscle totally visable under his skin. Scott's face started getting red with the strain. His arm started quivering and he started getting weaker, as all the energy drained from his body. Then he looked up at Brock's face. The kid wasn't straining at all. He was smiling. His handsome face wasn't red or sweating. This was a piece of cake for him! He looked down at his arm. It was flexing, but not all the way. To him he felt like he was just holding back a little girl. Then he looked at Scott with his big blue eyes and said "Is that all you got, wimp? Jesus, I can hardly feel that. Look at that fucking muscle. Look how easy it is for me to hold you back. My muscle ain't even flexed yet. You are so fucking weak! You're a total fucking weakling loser! What a sick faggot teenager you are. Now feel what a kid with real muscle can do. Feel the power of real muscle. Smash him, muscle!" Instantly, his bicep bulged way bigger in his arm, the fibers looking like they were almost going to jump out of his skin. In a flash, Scott's arm crashed into the table. It wasn't like his arm went down slowly and steadily. It was smashed in a fraction of a second. His arm was like a weak little twig being smashed by the big muscles of the ten year old boy. He just couldn't believe the power in the young kid's arm as it smashed his arm down like it was nothing. Brock held his hand against the table for a few seconds, rubbing it around and watching his muscles flex as they dominated the weakling teenager's body. Then he let go and flexed his bicep right in Scott's face. "Kid power!" he yelled. "Look at that fucking muscle, asshole. You ain't shit compared to me. I'm way stronger than you. I can kick your sorry ass any time I feel like it. How's it feel getting beat by a ten year old? I bet it don't feel good. You are such a sack of shit. You're weaker than half the kids on my football team!"
Then he turned to Mike. "Look at my muscles, Uncle Mike. Look how easy it was for me to smash the fucker's little arm down like that. I wanna punch the bag too. I wanna learn to fight just like Brandon and Jake. You can see I'm real strong for a kid, and I'm already a good fighter. I can beat up every kid in my class. And now I beat a 16 year old too." Mike smiled at his confident, muscular nephew. "Sure Brock. Gimme your hands. Lemme tape 'em up." Brock thrust his small hands at his uncle. He twisted his wrists a couple of times and watched the muscle flex in his forearms. Yeah, he was a strong kid, all right thought Scott, as he rubbed the pain from his arm. Mike wrapped his hands with tape. Brock made fists with his hands and smiled as he looked at his weapons. Then he said, "Tape the wimp's hands too. I wanna see him punch the bag. He's such a wimp I bet he punches like a girl. After we're done punchin' the bag, I wanna fight him. I wanna beat him up real good. I wanna beat the shit outta the skinny 16 year old cocksucker. You wanna fight me, cocksucker? You wanna fight a little ten year old? Well, it don't matter whether you wanna fight me or not, 'cause I'm gonna make you do it. You ain't got no choice in the matter. When I wanna fight someone, I fight him. And I always win. Tape his hands, Uncle Mike."
Mike smiled. He liked the cockiness of his ten year old nephew. He could remember beating up kids himself when he was 10 to 14 or so and the charge he got out of it. It was a real rush to feel your strong muscles beating the shit out of some pathetic wimp. Some dork who was such a weakling he deserved to get beat up by a muscular kid like Mike, and now Brock. Mike remembered how it felt when his fists drove into the soft flesh of his chosen victim, smashing in like piledrivers. He remembered the helpless, terrified look on the kid's face as he stared at Mike's big muscles, muscles that were capable of inflicting overwhelming pain, smashing his big fists into him again and again. He remembered the feeble attempts of the kid to fight back, how his little punches just bounced harmlessly off his rock-hard body. Then he remembered the rush he got when he landed the final blow, a smash into the gut that landed the kid on the ground. Mike would drop down on top of the beat up kid, sit on his chest and flex his big young arms. Mike looked at Scott and then at Brock and laughed. Oh to be young again, he thought to himself.
Then he grabbed the tape and taped Scott's hands. Scott's wrists were thin and dainty. Mike thought his nephew already had wrists as big as this 16 year old had. And Brandon and Jake's wrists weren't even close. They were way bigger. Way bigger and way stronger. While he was taping up Scott's wrists, Brock was already hitting the bag. Blow after blow, smashing his fists deep into the bag, pushing it way back. Brandon and Jake looked on admirably. Yeah, this kid was strong! When Jake was ready, Brock stopped and said, "Okay, you try it. Punch as hard as you can!" Scott started punching the bag, but his blows didn't go in anywhere near as hard as Brock's. The bag hardly moved. Brock smiled. He grabbed Scott's arm and said, "Here, watch. Do it like this!" Then he smashed his arm into the bag, pushing it way back. He did it several more times, each time pushing the bag way back. Scott stared at his body, which bulged with sinewy muscle and then smashed his young fist into the heavy bag. "Okay, you do it." Scott tried again and he really tried to hit the bag as hard as he could. Each time, however, he could only push it back less than half as far as Brock. "Fuck, you are so weak! I can't believe how weak you are!" He pushed Scott aside and started punching the bag again, smashing his fists deep into the thick skin.
Finally he stopped. His body was now covered with sweat. His whole torso was damp and sweat was dripping off onto the floor. "Whoa, that was a good workout! My whole body's real pumped. It's big and hard! Big fucking football muscles!" He raised his arms and flexed. God those muscles looked huge. He looked over at his right arm and smiled. "Fuckin' big!" he said. "Flex your arm, cocksucker. Let's see how it compares to mine." Scott flexed his own arm. God what a difference! He barely got a little bicep pushing up off his bone. Brock's bicep was bulging up dramatically, forming a huge peak on the top of his young arm. Brock walked up to Scott. "Bend down and put your bicep right next to mine," he said. Scott bent down about a foot and placed his left bicep right next to Brock's. "Fuckin' A! Look at that fuckin' difference! My bicep's twice as big as his!" Yeah, it was true. Brock's bicep was bulging up twice as high as Scott's. It was bigger, thicker and way, way harder. His whole arm was way bigger and harder than Scott's. "Geezus, you are so fucking weak! What a fucking little weakling!"
Brandon broke in. "Yeah, and you're not even hitting puberty yet. You never even touched a weight. You're big and muscular from all the football and exercise you get. God, wait till you hit puberty. Fuck, you are going to be so big, Brock." He walked over and flexed his own arm right in back of the other two. His arm was huge, bulging up twice as big as Brock's. "This is what your arm is going to look like when you're 13. And after that it's gonna get even bigger. It's gonna be as big as my dad's. Hey dad, you put your arm behind all of us!" Mike laughed and came over. He lowered himself and placed his own huge arm behind all three of those kids. His arm was absolutely huge. The arms were Scott at 10-1/2 inches of flab, Brock at 12 inches, Brandon at 15 inches and Mike at 21 inches of solid muscle. Three mesomorphs and an ectomorph. Jake wished he had a picture of those huge muscular arms, totally more muscular than his wimpy faggot brother's.
Brock put down his arm. "Okay, I'm ready to fight you, wimp. You ready?" Scott kind of looked around. He knew he was going to lose big time. He saw an opening towards the door and bolted towards it. He got about 10 feet on the grass. As soon as Brock saw him go, he ran after him and tackled him from behind. Yeah, Brock was faster too. Way faster. Scott crashed to the ground with Brock's strong arms wrapped around his chest. "Fucking football muscles. You can't get away from me, you little dweeb. Feel my big football muscles. Feel how strong they are." Brock squeezed in on his arms, forcing the air out of Scott's lungs. God this kid was strong! He kept up the pressure for a few more seconds so Scott could feel just how strong he was. Scott couldn't breathe at all. This ten year old kid had him in complete control. "I told you you don't have a choice, cocksucker. Now get back into the garage. I'm gonna beat you up even harder, 'cause you tried to get away. Next time you better do what I say the first time. You got that, cocksucker?" He squeezed even harder on Scott's chest. His biceps were bulging and his lats were flaring out at his sides as they pulled incredible force into Scott's chest with his powerful arms. His ten year old muscles crushed in on Scott's ribs. He was so fucking strong! "You got that faggot boy?" Scott nodded his head and Brock released his hold. "Yeah!" he said as he flexed on top of the fallen teen. Then he stood up and kicked Scott hard in the chest. "Fucking faggot wimp," he said. "Too chicken to fight a ten year old." Brandon picked up the skinny coward and pushed him back into the garage. God, now he was the slave of a ten year old too.
He got back into the garage and Mike put down the garage door. No way are the people on the block going to see this fight, he thought. There was a big mat in the middle of the floor, ready for some serious boxing. "We three dudes are gonna be the ropes of the ring. If you come our way, we'll push you back into the ring. Now you both got taped hands, so no punching to the face and no punching below the waist. You ready?" Brock nodded his head eagerly and got on one side of the mat. Scott just stood there helplessly. He looked at Brock, the 10 year old with a muscular, buffed up body, the face of an angel, blond hair cut short and ice-blue eyes that could kill just by looking at you. Brock laughed as he saw Scott checking him out. He gave him two middle fingers, as if to say "Yeah, you're just a piece of shit compared to me." Then he flexed his arms and looked over and admired is own big biceps. Then he looked back at Scott. "I'm gonna pound the living shit out of you," he said, flexing his pecs and abs and staring at Scott with his ice-blue eyes. Scott trembled.
Mike said "go." The boys walked out to the center of the matt. "You ready?" said Brock, flexing his chest and ab muscles at Scott. Scott just stood there, looking at Brock's muscles. "Here, I'll give you a freebee. I'm gonna just stand here and you can punch my chest or my abs as hard as you want. Go ahead, faggot. Gimme all you got." He stood in front of Scott and flexed his chest and abs just a little bit. The muscles bulged under his thin skin. Then he smiled, his face so handsome and his ice blue eyes looking so cool. He was one cool boy. Scott made a fist, pulled back his arm and smashed his fist right into Brock's belly button. "Smaaaccck!" It felt like his fist had hit a brick wall. A brick wall of solid muscle. He pulled back his hand and started rubbing it. Even though it was taped, it was really hurting from hitting Brock's wall of rock-hard muscle. Brock rubbed his fingers over his corrugated abs, feeling the hard muscle flex under his skin. "Fuck, you a so fucking weak! I could hardly feel that punch. My sister can hit harder than that! God you are such a fucking weak faggot. Try it again. Punch my chest. See if you can make a dent in these big muscles. Big football muscles." He flexed his pecs and the striations of muscle bulged and twitched. Scott's right hand was still hurting, so he made a fist with his left hand and smashed a blow into Brock's right pec. Well, it wasn't really a smash. More like a tap. His hand bounced off that rock- hard pec like he was hitting steel. "Fuck, you are so fucking weak it makes me sick. Sixteen years old and so fucking weak. You deserve to get beat up by my big muscles. You deserve to get the shit beat out of you. You ready for your beating, weakling? You ready to get smashed by a kid still in fourth grade? Well, it doesn't matter whether you're ready or not. Here's a real punch, faggot."
He made a fist, pulled his arm back and smashed a blow directly into Scott's abs. Instead of bouncing off like Scott's punches, the blow was so hard it forced his fist deep inside Scott's gut, pushing the poor teen back several feet. The tape on his hand made his fist feel like a piledriver. A piledriver powered by the powerful muscles in his 10 year old football player body. Scott buckled over and rubbed his hand over his gut, now in deep pain from the smashing blow. Brock smiled as he saw what he had done. Then he charged towards the teenage weakling. He started pounding his fists into Scott's soft body. "Oh my god," thought Scott as he felt the blows from Brock's strong arms. They were so hard. So hard and so strong. Pain enveloped his body as it was pounded by the relentless punches. Redness formed under his skin where bruises would happen in hours. Scott kept being forced backwards by the power of Brock's blows until he got to the side of the mat. Then Brandon, Jake or Mike would push him back in, right towards Brock. Brock kept hammering, landing blow after blow right into his chest and gut. This ten year old was really strong! "My punches are sure fucking harder than yours! Feel the power of my football muscles. You ain't shit next to me!" Scott tried to put his arms in front of this body to block the punches, but Brock was so fast he was able to land a punch just where the arms weren't. He pummeled the poor teen's chest and gut and arms. The punches were so hard that Scott kept backing away, only to be pushed back into the frenzy. "Feel how strong my punches are. You're so fucking weak it's pathetic," said Brock as he landed a blow on Scott's left pec. The punch was so hard it knocked him back three feet, where he got pushed back into the ring by Jake.
Scott tried to fight back, but every time he hit Brock, his punches fell right off, like he was hitting a brick. Brock's body was so hard he could hardly feel Scott's feeble blows. "Your fucking punches feel like a girl's!" joked Brock as he stood solid and took one of Scott's little whacks. This mismatch went on for about five minutes, with Brock totally brutalizing the older boy. Finally Brock was ready to put the faggot weakling down. He had totally dominated the older boy. He knew he was the master. He took his right hand and smashed it extra hard right into Scott's gut, forcing his fist deep inside his system. Scott fell to the floor. Brock jumped down and sat right on top of him, just like Mike had done years ago. Then he flexed his arms. Just like Mike had done. God, thought Mike. It might be in our genes. Scott looked up and saw this ten year old kid sitting on him, flexing his arms and looking at his muscles. He reached up and touched the muscles of those arms, big and hard. Big and hard and strong. Strong enough to punch him down into the ground. "Yeah, feel my muscles, wimp. Feel how big and strong they are. You ain't shit to these muscles. You're just a big weakling to these big muscles. Big football muscles that just pounded your little body into nothing." Scott looked up at Brock's young body, a body that looked like a god on top of him. A beautiful face with gorgeous ice-blue eyes, big traps and shoulder muscles, and big hard arm muscles. Then he looked down and saw how ripped and striated and pushed out his pecs were, with his nipples pointing straight out by the bulging muscle. And his lats were jutting way out, way out like wings. Then there were his abs. Hard and rippling, with the sweat dripping down from his chest. God what a boy sat on top of him! Scott rubbed his hands on Brock's bulging muscles, feeling every crevice and curve. Feeling how hard and pumped they were from pummeling him with their brutality. "Yeah, faggot, feel the muscles that just smashed the shit out of you. God that felt so fucking good. Smashing your pathetic weak little body with my big muscles. God I got such a rush running through me right now. I feel like such a stud! Look at my fucking muscles. They're big and they're alive." He flexed his arms and the muscles bulged under his thin skin. Scott ran his hands all over the muscles, feeling the solid hardness of the burning fibers. He looked into Brock's light blue eyes, letting the glow of the blueness penetrate into his body. "Yeah wimp, feel those big muscles. Big muscles that are gonna kick your fucking little ass anytime they want."
"Great job," said Mike. "I can remember doing that to kids when I was your age. I bet you got a real good rush goin' through your system right now." Brock looked over at him and said "Yeah, feels good. Feels real good," as he looked at his muscles flexing and then down at the big wimp he had conquered. He was real sweaty and hot. The sweat was dripping from his hot body. He felt like such a young stud. Then he stood up, reached down and picked up Scott by his armpit, lifting him to his feet like he was nothing. There was this 10 year old boy, a foot shorter than the 16 year old weakling, standing together looking at each other. A young mesomorph standing next to a teen ectomorph. The strong next to the weak. "You are such a fucking weakling. You deserve to get beat up, ya know that faggot? You're just a piece of fucking shit! Now get out of the fucking way weakling, 'cause us three muscle jock kids are gonna punch the bag some more. You're too weak to fight with us. I'm gonna be a great fighter too, just like Brandon and Jake. You can just stand there like the pussy you are and watch us punch the fuck out of that big bag. You can just stand there and watch our fucking muscles pump up and smash that bag into nothing. Just think about that bag being your fucking body, faggot! Yeah, think about that!" Then he pushed Scott backwards with the incredible power of his 10 year old muscles, knocking the poor teen on his butt.
So the three muscle kids started punching the bag again, with Mike showing them new blows. Scott just stood there watching. Watching the muscles of these three kids tear up the fucking bag. He looked down and saw the bruises forming on his own body and then looked over at Brock, whose muscles were bulging out under his sweaty skin as he punched the bag. After showing the muscle kids a few more punches, Mike came over and stood next to Scott. God, what a fucking difference in bodies. Mike was only two inches taller than Scott, but he was 130 pounds heavier. He was more than twice as heavy as Scott. And he was all muscle. He wasn't wearing a shirt, just some workout shorts. No shoes either. Even his feet were much bigger than Scott's. He wore a size 14 extra wide shoe. His feet were big and thick and muscular, big muscular feet standing right next to Scott's thin size 9 narrow feet. Scott looked down at those feet. God this man is huge, he thought to himself. Scott let his eyes roam up Mike's legs, huge muscular legs, to his crotch. There was a big bulge pushing out his workout shorts. Scott was really wondering what Mike was packing under there. Then he roamed his eyes up to Mike's abs. Even though this man weighed 250 pounds, he still had no fat on his body. He was a true mesomorph – all muscle. His abs were like corrugated iron, thick and hard like steel. And then there was his chest. God it was huge. Big, thick pecs bulging out like sides of beef. Big enough and strong enough to bench 650 pounds. His lats were so thick and wide. Huge slabs of solid muscle. Scott was just overcome by all this muscle standing right next to him.
Suddenly he felt some warm, rough skin encircling his upper arm. The skin was much rougher than his own, rough and tough from years of lifting heavy weights and punching the shit out of people. Then the skin closed down on his arm. He looked down to see Mike's big hand completely enveloping his arm. Mike's hand was huge and muscular, just like his feet. It looked to be twice as big as Scott's, with thick, muscular fingers. Scott couldn't believe how that hand could completely enclose his upper arm. "You ever seen a 21 inch gun before, wimp?" Scott looked at the huge arm that was grabbing his arm. "No," he said, kind of trembling from the excitement of feeling that huge hand around his own arm and seeing the enormous muscle in the huge arm. "Your arm feels like a little stick, like a fucking little twig. Ya know what would happen if I twisted my wrist?" Mike grabbed a little harder and twisted his wrist just a little to the side. Scott started trembling some more. "I'd break your pathetic arm like a fucking little stick. Snap." He squeezed a little harder. His grip was starting to hurt. "Look at my fucking forearm faggot. Eighteen inches of solid muscle. Fuck, my forearm's bigger than your leg, ain't it. That forearm could snap your arm like it was nothin'. Shit, I got more muscle in one of my arms than you got in your whole faggot body. Go ahead and feel it. I know you little faggots love to feel big muscles like mine." Scott was trembling so much, thinking about the power in that huge arm and looking at its enormous size. He reached over and put his other hand on that forearm. It was as hard as a rock. The skin was still sweaty. Veins were popping up everywhere, pushed up by the rock hard muscle underneath. Because it was clenched around his arm, the muscle was bulging, looking like a big bowling pin of striated fibers and veins. "Flex your arm, wimp. See what happens." Scott moved his forearm up and tried to flex. But there was no place the muscle could go. He couldn't flex at all. Mike's clench was so tight there was barely enough room for the bone and the unflexed muscle. Then Mike clenched even harder, literally squeezing the flesh out of Scott's upper arm. Scott cried in pain as Mike's huge hand literally crushed the muscle into nothing. "Your fucking flex ain't nothin' to this big gun. Your fucking flex ain't shit to me. Your fucking little arm's so fucking weak. It's getting the shit squeezed out of it by my big forearm." Scott cried in pain even though his hand was rubbing itself all over Mike's bulging, 18 inch forearm, the forearm that was squeezing the life out of his upper arm. Finally Mike had enough and let go. "You liked that, didn't you faggot? You liked feeling my big muscles bulge as they smashed your fucking little arm into nothing." Scott nodded his head.
"Yeah, I knew it. You little faggots just go crazy when you're around big muscles like mine." He laughed and looked right into Scott's face with his bright blue eyes. "I've had tons of faggots go nuts over my body. I know exactly what to do to them." Scott was rubbing his arm, trying to get the pain away, while gazing at Mike's huge body. Yeah, he was a total muscle freak. Then Mike raised his arms and flexed. Twenty-one inches of solid muscle jumped to attention right in front of Scott's face. "Feel these big fuckers. More muscle in one of my arms than in your whole body. Yeah, look at that fucking muscle. Look at those fibers. Look at those veins. You know what my arms could do to your tiny chicken chest if I wrapped them around it and squeezed? They'd crush every bone in your little chest. They'd crush in so hard you wouldn't be able to breathe. Your broken bones would be smashing into your lungs. You'd be dead. And those guns wouldn't even be working hard, they're so strong. Fuck, I can curl 300 and do rows with 450. Your little chest wouldn't be shit to these big guns." Scott gulped as he wrapped his hands around the huge muscles, muscles that were bigger and harder than anything he had ever seen or felt.
He rubbed and grabbed and poked and the muscle was as hard as rock. "Fuckin' hard, ain't they boy. Fuckin' hard as rock. Fuckin' harder than you." Scott smelled the sweat coming off Mike's skin, the sweat of a hot muscle jock. God that sweat smelled good. His armpit was huge, as big as Scott's whole head, having such big pecs, lats and delts around it. And that armpit was dripping with sweat. Scott put his head right into that armpit and breathed in the sweat of this huge muscle jock. "Smells good, don't it faggot. Smell the sweat of a real muscle stud. A stud with so much muscle you can't believe it. Smell the sweat dripping off my hot body. We musclemen make tons of sweat, sweat that always smells real good to you little faggot boys. Your little bodies can't make sweat like this. You little bodies can't work your muscles hard enough to make sweat like this. Yeah, it takes lots of muscle to make sweat like this. Lots and lots of muscle." He slowly lowered his arm, covering Scott's head with the huge muscle, pushing his face deep into that huge armpit with his other arm. Scott's face was now pressing against the hot, wet skin, skin that felt like warm steel it was so hard. Mike lowered his arm further onto Scott's head while pressing hard with his other arm. Scott felt like he was trapped in a whole room of sweaty muscle. The pungent smell filled his nose. It was hard to breathe, but each breath was full of hot pungent sweat. "Yeah, smell my sweat, faggot. Feel all that muscle around your little head. Feel all that muscle crushing your brains out." He tensed his arm and lowered it more, now crushing Scott's head with the sheer force of his hot, rock-hard muscles. Scott started getting a headache from the intense pressure on his skull. But he kept breathing in that wonderful sweat, the sweat of the man who was playing with him like a toy. "Oh, oh, oh," murmured Scott as he felt the hard muscle crush his head. His cock was as hard as a rock.
Finally Mike lifted his arm and Scott pulled himself away, breathing in one more breath of the heady sweat. His face was covered by Mike's sweat. There were a couple of blond armpit hairs on his face. He looked at Mike with a look of sheer awe. "Fuck, your faggot face is all wet with my sweat. Got some armpit hairs on it too." He opened his huge, calloused hand and rubbed it all over Scott's face, rubbing the sweat onto his big hand. Scott couldn't believe how rough and hard the skin on his hand was. Rough tough skin to pick up huge heavy weights. Rough, calloused skin to pick up all the stuff on the construction site. This was one totally tough dude. "Ya wanna go on a ride faggot? All the faggots I've known love the ride I'm gonna give you. It gets 'em real hot." He reached down and felt Scott's hard dick. "Yeah, just like I thought. Your puny little cock's real hard. I think you're ready for the ride. It's fun playing with faggots like you. The more I do, the more you want. You just want nothin' but fucking muscle. Muscle and cock."
|« PREV||INDEX||NEXT »|
This collection was originally created as a compressed archive for personal offline viewing
and is not intended to be hosted online or presented in any commercial context.
Any webmaster choosing to host or mirror this archive online
does so at their sole discretion.
Archive Version 070326