By Corwin

Background. Several months ago, a guy began to IM me. 295, 20 inch arms, solid muscle. "I'm the real thing," he said as he cammed with me (and he is). Anyway, he likes my writing. Well, I offered to write a story for him. This is it. I hope he likes it -- wouldn't want to make a guy that big mad, after all. -- Scott

Chris pulled into the gym's parking lot. His day had been long and rough, and he was looking forward to pumping heavy weights. The cab of his truck felt confining to his 270 pound body. His 18.5 inch arms rubbed against his barrel chest as he turned the wheel, parking in two spaces. He hated feeling cramped, and he knew his body needed the extra room to move comfortably.

When he stepped out of the truck, Chris saw a couple guys leaving the gym. He recognized them. They were serious lifters, coming to the gym every day and training for a couple hours. They thought they had nice bodies, about 220 pounds of ripped muscle, give or take. They were wimps. What they considered lifting heavy, Chris did for warm ups. Knowing that they were pushing themselves, trying to build muscle that Chris already had, push him to lift harder. This was his buddy Mike's gym, and Chris was the biggest, strongest mother in the place. That's how he and his buddy liked it too.

As Chris walked past the two boys, he nodded, staring straight into the first's eyes, then the seconds. He could see it. The jealousy. The envy of his power. Ya, they wanted it, but they would never have it. Their envy fed Chris as he geared up for today's lift.

The guy behind the desk greeted Chris as he walked past and into the locker room. His locker was in the back, but Chris wasted no time in stripping off his tshirt. He noticed the guys in the locker room catch glances at him as he strode to his locker. He heard one of the bigger guys whisper, "Shit, he's even bigger than last time."

'Ya,' Chris thought, 'but not big enough.' He grabbed his gear from his back, and stipped out of his jeans. He always wore a jock, so he pulled his shorts over his tree trunk legs. His workout shirt was ripped. He was never able to keep them whole. His swollen pumped muscle always tore through, and it wasn't worth restricting his growth just to keep a t-shirt prestine.

As Chris left the locker room, he saw his friend Joe walking in. Joe and the gym owner Mike were friend's from youth and had gotten the weight lifting bug together. There had always been a friendly rivalry between Mike and Joe, and many of their friends referred to them as "The Twins" since both had similar shapes, mass and lifts. Joe and Mike often tried to work out with Chris, hoping the big guy might give one of them the edge to finally surpass the other. "Hey Tank," Joe extended his hand in greeting, calling Chris by the name he was known in the gym. "Just startin'?"

Chris took Joe's hand and shook. "Ya, chest today," Chris said. Joe was one of the bigger guys, and he and Chris sometimes worked out together. Joe couldn't really keep up, but it allowed Chris to go as heavy as possible with a partner.

"I could really use your advise, man," said Joe. "I've been stuck at 375 for three months. Just can't seem to get these boys to do any more. Mind if I work in with ya?"

Chris laughed. "Well, I've been gettin under 480 for reps, but I guess I can find some time to help you out."

Joe's eye widened, and he slapped Chris on the chest. "Fuck, you are one big boy, Tank" he said. "I'll change and join you," Joe said, rushing to the locker room.

Chris walked over to a couple of the power racks with benches. He loaded a bar up with four plates, got on the bench, and cranked out a set of 20 reps. "too light," he grunted as he put another couple of plates on. He was finishing another set of 20 when Joe came over.

"You're a machine!" he said.

"Let's put some real weight on this bar and I'll show you what a real man can do," Chris said. He put another two plates on as Joe got his bench set up with four plates.

Chris laid back down on the bench and started to lift. Joe stood by, ready to help, although he knew Chris could handle this weight with ease. Chris pumped out 13 steady reps, but began to slow at 14. "Wimping out, huh Tank?" Joe teased. Chris's face turned red, forcing out two more reps. "Never!" cried Chris as he dropped the weight onto the rack.

Joe grinned, and got under his bar. Chris moved to stand over him as Joe did his set. When he began to slow, Chris sneered. "Who's the fucking wimp! You want a man's chest like mine, you gotta work hard." Joe strained, and eeked out 15, but Chris had to help him put the bar back.

Chris grabbed four 10 pounders and upped the weight. "Don't worry, I'm here to help you," Joe joked.

"When I need the help of a runt like you to lift something this light," Chris said, beggining his set. He had intended to do eight reps, but pushed out ten, slamming the weight into the rack as he finished.

"Fuck ya!" he said, looking at Joe. But Joe was watching something else.

Chris turned, and looked in the direction Joe was looking. There were people working out, but nothing special. He could see the gym's office, but the door was closed. Inside, he saw Mike, the owner. He seemed to be arguing with someone. He noticed Mike jerk backward, as if someone had pushed him, then Mike was pressed against the glass and lifted upwards.

"What's up with that?" Chris said.

"Dunno," said Joe. "Saw some new guy go in there and close the door. I saw Mike stand up, and then, well, ..."

"I'll be back," said Chris, walking toward the office. With each step, he got more pissed. Whatever's going on, it was interrupting his workout. Nothing interrupts Chris. Before he got to the office, some busty broad got in front of him.

"You don't want to go in there," she said. "My boyfriend is having a talk with the owner, and he wants some privacy."

Chris took her arm, and gently but forcefully pushed her out of his way. "Ya, whatever." HE didn't like manhandling women, especially babes like this one, but he was loosing workout time to deal with this 'boyfriend'. He knocked on the door, then slammed it opened.

Sure enough, there was some guy in there roughing up Mike. He had grabbed Mike by the shirt, and was holding him against the wall. Mike's hands were pressing on the guy's arm, but the man held him firm. The guy was wearing a tent-sized sweatshirt that draped over what appeared a large frame. He wore jeans that hugged squatter's glutes and fit over his thighs and calves like a second skin. "Get the fuck out of here," the guy said, not even turning to look at Chris.

"You gonna make me," challenged Chris.

The guy twisted his head. He was good looking, but no A&F model. He gave Chris the once over. The guy snickered, then added, "I said to go away little man."

Chris flexed his chest and took a step toward the guy. The guy responded by dropping Mike and turning to face Chris. "This isn't any of your business," the guy said.

"Mike, is it my business?" Chris asked.

"Tank, I..." Mike started, but Chris interrupted.

"See, Mike said it's my business." Chris now stood chest to chest with the guy. Chris had to admit that the guy was big, but he flexed his pecs in a show of his own superior size. The guy responded by bringing his big hands to Chris's pecs and shoving. Hard. Chris resisted, but found himself taking a step back.

"Tank?" the guy chuckled at Chris's nickname. "Dude, you may think your big," he said as Chris regained his footing, "but you are way outclassed by me." With that, the guy grabbed at the base of his tshirt and lifted slowly. Chris first noticed the man's six pack. His waist must have been 34 inches, but it was thick with muscle. As he hefted the shirt over his pecs, his lats flexed wide like a stealth bomber. The guy pulled one arm out of his sleeve, then another, letting his chest relax as he casually dropped the shirt to the floor.

"Shit," said Mike, whose eyes were darting back and forth between Chris and this guy.

"What are you? 220? 230 maybe?" he asked Chris.

"275. Plus," said Chris, refusing to be intimidated.

"I'm a hard 295," said the guy. "You are looking at a 56 inch chest, 33 inch waist, and 21 inch guns. Cold. This is a tank's body, not that skinny thing you got. So, leave me and this wimpy guy alone. We're negotiating how much he's gonna pay me to work out at this gym."

"You may be big, but I'm the main man at this gym," Chris said, lifting off his own shirt and flexing his own pecs. "You wanna take on this muscle, let's go at it, wimp."

"Tank," Mike said, trying to intervene, "it's OK. I'll"

"Fuck it's not OK," said Chris. "Come on, wimp. Workin' chest today. Liftin' heavy. You think you can keep up with my muscle. Let's rock and roll. All this talkin and huff'n and puff'n ain't proven nothin'. The test of muscle is out there, not in here."

The musclehead looked at Chris, then at Mike. "Ya, maybe showing you boys what a real man can do will make my point." He started toward the door, pushing Chris out of the way. He shoved hard, and even though Chris had braced himself, he was forced to step backwards out of the guys way.

As soon as they entered the gym, the guy's girlfriend came running up to him. "Is this our new gym?" she asked, grabbing his arm.

"Soon babe," he said, wrapping his huge arm around her and lifting her off the floor. "Gotta show these wimps what power is first."

She sighed and smiled.

Chris ignored the display and walked to where he was working out. He took the small plates off, and replaced them with two more 45s. "500 here," he said, lying down. He saw Joe, who was about to say something, but saw the determination in Chris's face and the fire in his eyes and thought better of it.

The other guy had gone to Joe's bench. He layed down, and Chris heard the weights clank as they left the rack and the guy began a set. Chris ignored him.

Chris grabbed the bar, then slowly lowered it to his chest. With determination, he forced the bar up. Chris forced thoughts of failure from his mind. The bar was light. He was strong. With perfect control, he did a second rep, then a third. His chest began to burn, but he ignored it. The pain fueled his determination. Four. Five. He heard people in the background, "tank. Tank. TANK." Six. Seven. His face was flushed red. His chest was on fire. He lowered the bar, and with a scream, raised it for his eighth rep. He made it look easy.

He sat up, and looked at the musclehead. His girl was counting as he pumped out reps at a feverish pace. "Thirty," he heard her say, and the guy wasn't stopping. He past forty with no problems, then, at fifty, casually put the bar on the rack. "Kinda light for a warm up," he said, sitting up. His chest was covered with a fine mist of sweat that glistened in the florescent lights of the gym. "You done over there? That looks like a good weight for a warm up," he said, getting up.

Chris stood up. A crowd had begun to gather around them, and he heard murmurs as they got their first good look of the new comer next to The Tank. The guy grabbed a towel from his girl, wiped his chest then wiped the bench. Laying down, he took a few deep breaths, then grabbed the bar. His control of the weight was perfect, and he seemed totally at ease as he cranked out rep after rep. He heard someone in the crowd start counting at 5. By his tenth rep, half the crowd was counting. When he reached fifteen, he casually put the bar down. He sat up, flexing his pecs hard, forcing veins and striations to appear on his herculean chest. "Ya, better for a warm up," he said, smiling. "Whatcha say to another two plates for the next set?"

Before Chris could reply, the guy stood up. He heard someone gasp, and another person mutter, "Look at the size of him."

"Do it," said Chris, his voice booming. "Whatever you can do, I can do better."

Two of the lifters grabbed a couple of plates and put them on the bar.

"Doubt that," said the new guy. "I could do this weight when I was 18. Shit, I benched 300 when I was 16. Don't hurt yourself trying to keep up."

Chris felt his heart beat faster. He prepared himself, placing his hands on the bar. He could do it. He knew he could. It was heavier than he had ever lifted, but fuck that. He was strong, and his power would prevail. He screamed and lifted. The bar jerked up, and Chris lowered it to his heaving pecs.

The weight felt like it could crush Chris. He tried to control it, but it was hard. He lowered the bar to his pecs, arched his back, and pressed. The bar went up slowly for the first rep. The second was harder, and the third nearly impossible. Chris thought of the arrogance of the musclehead, how he had threated Mike, and how the bimbo had swooned all over him. He felt an adrenalin rush and pressed out a forth rep, then a fifth. The bar wobbled as he tried to control it, and barely got it to the rack after the sixth rep. Chris was breathing hard as he laid on the bench.

"That all you got?" asked the creep. "I guess that's pretty good for a little guy like you, but get up and let me show you how it's done."

Chris began to move, but the guy grabbed his hand and yanked him off the bench. His girlfriend towelled down the equipment as the guy waited.

From the crowd Chris heard more whispers. "Shit, Tank is pumped." "Ya, look at that swole." "Never seen him that big before." "The other guy is huge, do you think..." "Tank's unbeatable." "Is he?" Chris looked at the bar. Nearly 600 pounds. This guy can't be that strong, can he?

The guy lay back. "Show them how it's done, Ron," the girlfriend said.

So now the creep had a name. Ron lifted the bar. He lowered it, totally under his control. She counted. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. He didn't stop. He didn't even slow down. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. He put the bar back. Sitting up, he said, "Now that's a workout." Again, he flexed his pecs hard.

"Fucking muscle monster," he heard someone say. "Even makes Tank look small."

"Put on another two plates," Ron ordered. "That's a good work out weight for me. Bit light, but I'm not really dressed for a heavy work out," he said, taking the towel and wiping down the sweat in his pits. "You wanna try?" he asked Chris. "That last weight seemed a bit much for you."

"Out of my way," Chris ordered. He had butterflies in the pit of his stomach, but he had to do it. He was number one in this gym.

"OK, but I did do twice as many reps as you last time. I don't think..."

"Shout up and let me lift," said Chris.

Ron stood, and Chris laid down. He told himself he could do it. He took several deep breaths, grabbed the bar, and pressed with all his might. The bar didn't move. He tried again. Nothing. He screamed, demanding all the strength he could muster. Still, the bar remained on the rack. He tried one last time, but the weight was too much. He sat up, defeated.

"Good try, little guy. But let me show you what these muscles can do." Ron got on the bench. He prepared, then lifted. His tris looked like steel cables as the bar moved. It had so much weight it seemed to sag, but Ron had total control. He lowered the bar to his chest, which seemed to grow to meet the metal. He raised the bar, his pecs swelling with blood. A vein protruded from his chest and pulsed with the beat of his heart. He cranked out a second rep, then a third. The crowd began to cheer for him to encourage him to do another, then another. After eight perfect reps, Ron put the bar back as easily as he had lifted it. He jumped off the bar and hit a crab pose, then turned into a side chest, showing the massive muscle that had just bested Chris.

Ron walked over to Mike. "Look's like I got me a new gym," he said, putting his massive arm on Mike's shoulder. "And a new friend." He said the word friend with an intonation that suggested more. Chris knew that Mike had access to 'roids that he shared with his best customers, and Ron obviously knew that too. The muscle freak obviously had plans to get bigger, and he wanted Mike to help him.

"Ya, guess so," said Mike, a certain sadness in his voice.

Joe and some of the others went to talk to Ron, asking him advice in a congratulatory way that displayed their obvious jealousy and envy at his size. Mike tried to get away, but Chris could see Ron grabbing his friend's shoulder tightly, sending the clear message 'you'll leave when I let you leave.'

Chris went back to his workout. He moved to a cable machine, and began to do cross-overs, taking out his frustration on the machine. He was lifting heavy, and the pain from his sore muscles and his anger only caused him to lift harder. He barely noticed when Ron came over to where he was working out.

"I'm gonna work in," he announced as Chris finished a gruelling set. Chris had just dropped the cables when Ron shoved him out of the way. He grabbed the cables, and yanked them hard. Ron's chest exploded into ripped muscle. He did a second rep, then growled, "Damn, I knew this would be too light for me!"

"Fuck you," said Chris.

"You and what army," Ron said, doing reps faster now. He did a set of 15, then intentionally dropped the weights with a loud crash. People turned to look.

In a loud voice, Ron announced, "I gave you your warning. This is MY gym now, so don't go fucking pissing me off." He slammed a pointed finger into Chris's swollen pec.

Chris quickly grabbed the finger. "Don't fuck with me," he said.

Ron grabbed Chris's arm and squeezed, pulling his finger free. "No, it is you that doesn't fuck with me, runt." Chris tried to move his arm, but Ron's gun flexed and contained Chris's might. "I've destroyed little guys like you before, and I'll do it to you too. You better just get use to being number two here. Get me too pissed off, and I'll help that dude Joe grow huge. Not as freaky as me, but he'll make you look skinny, you can be damn sure about that. Keep pissing me off, and no gym in this city will let you train there. Fuck, you'll be lucky if bowflex will let you buy their shit."

Ron pulled Chris's arm down, and stepped forward, pressing his sweaty chest into Chris's. Ron flexed his toros, making his body warm steel. He stared straight into Chris's eyes, his breath filling Chris's nostrils. "Understand?"

Chris stared at him, then spit directly into his face. Before he could back away, Ron pushed him hard forcing him to step back and trip. Chris landed hard on the floor.

"Just for that, you can forget any help Mike has been getting for you. You're cut off. I'm Mike's new best friend, and I'll decide who gets what from him." Ron wiped the spit from his face, and went to Mike's office.

Joe came over, offering a hand to help Chris up. Chris batted it away and stood up on his own.

"Shit man, what did you do to piss him off?" Joe asked.

"Existed," said Chris, who headed toward the locker room. As he did, he saw Ron go over to talk to Joe, putting his arm around Joe's shoulder as if the he had just found a new friend.

Chris undressed and went to shower. When he got out, Ron was in the locker room. He was putting something into a duffle bag, and Chris recognized the vials as roids. Ron turned, and smiled at Chris. "That Mike is a good guy. Couldn't wait to give me his best stuff to help me get bigger. Said it was for some loser, but after seeing how big I was, he needed to help me get even more freaky than I am." Ron flexed his arms into a double bi, raised them high, then turning his head, kissed one peak, then the other.

Chris said nothing, his anger building. He dropped his towel, and reached for a jock. He heard Ron laugh.

"Shit dude, you're small all over," he said. Chris turned to Ron, who had shed his jeans and had a towel drapped over his cannonball shoulders. Ron hefted the sausage that hung between his legs. At first, Chris thought Ron was sporting a hard-on, then he noticed how soft it was. 'Shit,' he thought, 'this guy is bigger soft than I am hard!' Chris clenched his fists as his anger grew toward this new asshold. "If your girlfriend ever gets tired of boys and wants someone who is a man everywhere, let me know. Tif doesn't mind me playing around a little. Shit, she even plays with me. Loves to hear the other babes scream as I plow them with my big nine and a half inches." Ron headed to the showers.

Chris had had enough. He pulled back and slammed his fist into a locker, denting the door so much that the lock broke. He heard Ron laugh, which only made him want to lay a few of his punches into the scumbags face. Instead, he pulled his pants on, grabbed his shirt and went into Mike's office.

When Chris got in, Mike jumped up with a startled look. "Shit," he said, "no one saw you did they."

"What the fuck?" asked Chris.

"Ron or his girlfriend," Mike closed and locked the door, "they didn't see you come in here?"

Chris's eyes narrowed, and Mike closed the shades. "Think she's talking to some girls. The jerkwad is in the shower."

"Good," said Mike, relaxing a bit.

"So what's this giving him roids. They weren't mine, were they?"

"I told them they were, but no," Mike opened a drawer and handed Chris some vials. "This is the good stuff. Shit Tank, you gotta help me. I've heard of this guy. He goes around from gym to gym, drives the clients away and takes the owners to the cleaners keeping him supplied. HGH, Dibol, you name it."

"Fucker threatened me," Chris said.

"Ya, that's what he does. Anyone he thinks might be able to take him on, he goes after them. First, he gets them cut off. Then he forces them out. One by one, he drives all the big guys away. The little guys go next. Shit, like they have a chance against him. When the gym folds, he goes on to the next one." Mike shook his head.

"So what d'ya give him if I got the good stuff?" Chris asked.

"Half strength. Put a false label on it. Heard his old gym folded, and took that as a precaution. Tank, I know you wanted to grow."

"Never big enough," Chris interrupted.

"Well, I'm here for ya. You're the only one who can put that freak in his place."

"May need some more stuff. Better if you can get it," Chris said.

"Anything," said Mike.

Chris nodded his head, stood, opened the door and walked out. •

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