|« PREV||INDEX||NEXT »|
Return of Lester, The
|Like most others in this group, I found BBMSN's Lester White to be the hottest character out of any muscle story ever. Problem is, we haven't heard from our buddy in a while. So, with BBMSN's approval, I've taken a crack at the franchise. Here is the first part of seven (?) parts I have written so far in an epic I call "The Return of Lester." Let me know what you think and if I should continue to post the rest. Special thanks to BBMSN for looking it over and giving me feedback. He's definitely one of the most talented writers in the group, and I can't hold a candle to him, but here's my attempt...Enjoy!|
|After crushing the police force with his bare hands, not to mention dismantling
parts of an entire city block, the cops were wise to leave Lester alone for a
while. Even their “big gun” Mr. G, the guy they called to reel in all the
jacked-up muscle freaks who got out of hand, had failed. And now he was gone off
on a top-secret government mission. They were left with Mikey, who they thought
could be a formidable threat to Lester in time…if he hadn’t allied with Lester
after they started fucking each other.
With all their options seemingly exhausted the cops could only think of one solution to “The Lester Problem”…call the force in Metropolis.
* * *
Lester jumped in his truck and headed downtown to his dealer. After pounding Mikey, he only had a few ounces of crystal meth to spare. Although he was becoming less reliant on drugs to give him the insane jacked-up rush as he started to maintain more and more of the strength he gained when using, he still loved the feeling of supreme power and domination it gave him. And as for the roids? Well, let’s just say that he was gonna need a “lifetime supply.” He didn’t have to worry about any pansy-ass side effects especially shrinkage, anyhow – especially shrinkage.
Lester parked his truck a few blocks away from his dealer’s place. He loved to strut his stuff on the streets and let the masses soak in his mastodon body in all its glory. He got out of his truck and he swore he could feel the sidewalk shake. He knew that one large stomp of his shitkicker boots and the ground would literally crumble beneath his superhuman frame.
The minute he stepped into the crowd, Lester noticed all eyes dart toward him. And why wouldn’t they? In his white ribbed tank and black cargo pants, he looked like an insane muscle morph straight out of Adobe PhotoShop. He was two or three times as wide as every guy he passed. He loved to walk past couples and watch guys get and close and defensive over their girls. Sometimes, just for fun, Big Les would shoulder check some random curl jockey alpha guy and send him a few feet back. The little fuckers were usually so scared that they’d stay back as Lester eyed their pussy up and down. The girls loved every moment of it, just picturing all the ways that Lester’s 500 pound muscle drill could make them cream. Probably broke up a lot of couples that way, Lester thought.
* * *
Lester got to his dealer in time. He crumpled up a few girls’ numbers he got on the way and threw them into the ashtray outside the place. I got some jock ass to satisfy this big gorilla man’s drive now, he thought to himself as he entered the run-down apartment building by turning sideways at the door. He walked up a few flights and pounded on his dealer’s door.
”Who the fuck is there?”
“It’s Lester. Open up, fucker.” When the door didn’t open right away, he started to rip down the frame with one hand, feeling the wood rip apart easily against the super-force that was his forearm. Lester was naturally inpatient, because he knew time wasted waiting for people to open their door or, say, ring up his groceries was time he could’ve been lifting or fucking.
Lucky for the landlord of the building, the door opened before Lester could do much damage. His dealer’s friend pointed him to the living room, which was the waiting area. Seems like the guy was in high demand. Lester parked himself on a loveseat, filling up the whole thing with his thick muscle bubble butt. He was about to jerk off thinking about the night before with Mikey, but before he whipped it out he noticed someone across from him.
The guy looked pretty built, a tad smaller than most pro bodybuilders, and he was shaking in the chair he sat on. His pupils were dilated and sweat was pouring down his face. Lester knew that this guy was cranked up on something. He eyed Lester with an animalistic stare, and Big Les decided to have some fun.
“Hey man, shake.” The man extended his arm and Lester grinned. He was gonna power him into the ground, the same way he had Mikey when they first met.
Lester started out light then slowly began to pour on the power. “Hurt yet, boy?”
The guy didn’t respond. Lester upped the ante a little more; veins started to pop out on his forearm, making his forearm tattoos unreadable. “Gonna power you down, boy.”
To Lester’s surprise, the guy STOOD UP and looked Lester straight in the eye. He finally opened his mouth. “A little harder than usual?”
The guy started to grip back, and Lester was fucking floored to find himself in a power battle with this runt. He kept gripping, and so did the guy. Harder and harder. More power on each end. Neither muscle bull relenting.
“Stacking roids and meth is fucking CRAZY, isn’t it?” said the guy as he grinned an evil smile. Looks like someone was on to Lester’s little secret.
Lester started to feel the blood pumping throughout his body. He hadn’t had a real challenge to his strength and stamina for quite some time now. But now he was done playing. He was ready to bulldoze this guy, crystal meth or not, like the big stud he knew he was.
Lester stepped in and started to grip some more. He estimated he was only at about 50% power. He jacked it up to 75%. The smile wiped right off his opponent’s face as he heard bones cracking under the insane pressure. The guy started to come down from his high at the wrong time – right as his hand was being reduced to rubble by Super Lester. He slumped to the ground, but Lester didn’t let him down for long. He hoisted him up by his armpits and threw his body through the door to the next room.
“Gonna need another couple hundred pounds of muscle ‘fore you can run with me, boy,” Lester remarked as he walked into the bedroom to follow up. “Not to mention the strength of ten Colemans. Then maybe I’ll let you be my fuck toy.” The guy was, as Lester could have predicted, sprawled out on the floor in the bedroom, unconscious. This is no fun, he thought. At least Mikey put up a good fight. And I can’t even fuck this dude senseless.
He was just about to turn around and leave when the bodybuilders’ fanny pack caught his eye. He knew that pansy ass ‘builders like this guy usually kept their stash in these things. He ripped it off the guy’s waist, opened it, and found a bunch of vials and syringes. Perfect. He didn’t even have to pony up any dough on this trip to the dealer. Not that he usually did. Just let the faggot dealer feel him up a little bit and jack him off while he was bending a few Olympic barbells in front of his eyes. But not this time. Lester grabbed the stash and left the apartment.
On his way down the stairs, he decided to multi-task – he grabbed a syringe and jabbed it into his ass, unloading the contents with a grin on his face. He then grabbed a vial of meth and snorted. By the time he was at the door, he no longer even remembered where he was or what he was doing there. He just had one thing on his mind: raw power. Surging through his veins and calling him to just let loose on the city. He grabbed the door and knocked it right off its hinges without so much as a push.
He arrived on the front stairs, standing with his arms outstretched and taking up the entire four-foot wide staircase, and looked out onto the world. These poor miserable little fuckers would never know what it felt like to be a fucking muscle god. They’d never know what it feels like to be Lester White, the strongest man alive. That’s right. Biggest. Strongest. Sexiest. Lester thought about all these things and it really got him going. He jumped off the stairs and onto the sidewalk, his dense tank of a body tearing a hole in the concrete slabs.
He stomped down the street toward the intersection, eyeing the thick traffic light post. People must’ve known he meant business, because they all ran out of his way quickly. The sorry few who didn’t get far enough quick enough were easily tossed to the side by the battering ram that was Big Lester’s delts.
Once he got to the intersection, he clamped his big bear paws on the light post and ripped it straight out of the ground with ease. He held it overhead and let loose a bellowing roar on the intersection that pretty much cleared it out of cars and people. He noticed a police squad car that stayed and the two officers inside looking worried speaking into their radios. He would have a little fun with them later. But now he wanted to test just how jacked up he was.
He manhandled the post easily, using it like a baseball bat to drill into cars and send them toppling over onto the sidewalk. But even after a block of auto demolition, Lester hadn’t even broken a sweat. It was too easy. The L-Man needed a real test for his muscle. So he crossed another intersection and shoved the light post through through two car windows, one on each side. “Now this is a real man’s barbell,” he sneered and breathed in deep as he heaved the cars into the air. Holding literally tons of metal over his head with ease, he eyed the cop car in the distance and growled, “Come and get it motherfuckers!” Lester knew his mega-man strength could tear the cop car in two – not to mention the cops inside – and so did the officers.
Lester was feeling so juiced up that he let the post rest on his foot wide pec shelf and then pressed the cars into the air again! And again. And again. Six reps, perfect form. Or as perfect as it could be under the circumstances. He was pressing fucking cars with a traffic light post, of course. And the crazy thing was that the white trash demigod could probably have kept going.
Finally, Lester let the autos crash onto the pavement. He shoved the post behind his head and held it there with his forearms. Like the madman muscle gorilla he was, he started to muscle the bar around his juiced up traps and neck. By the time the post was bent into a pretzel, Lester was feeling like a little posing.
Sweat drenched his vein-covered upper body. He was bigger than ever. He ripped off the wet rag that was his tank top and threw it onto the street. He eyed his own reflection in a store window and began to pose his insanely overdeveloped body. Every last muscle called to attention, pumped full and big. Lester’s dick was already hard from his car workout, but now he was sending himself over the edge and he felt the zipper on his pants starting to rip open. I wish Mikey was here so I could give that little fucker a real treat, he thought as he pushed out his chest and pumped up his pecs while imagining Mikey’s tool being engulfed in their huge mass.
Lester was so engrossed in himself that he didn’t even notice and blue and red flash through the air. A few seconds later, though, he did notice the car behind him being lifted into the air. Lester turned around and was about to mutter “What the fu….?” when the car came flying toward him. It rammed right into him and sent him flying through the store display window.
Lester had to see who – or what – had fucked with him when he was posing and pleasuring himself. He benched the car to get a good pump and then rolled it off of him. He stood up and wiped some of the dust and rubble off of himself. Any glass had merely been deflected by his thick muscle skin.
Standing outside of the broken display window was…Superman.
|« 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