Beyond Failure

Sean's Arms Day: A Story


By vbfan2006

It was Arms Day in the gym. Arms Days are usually Sean's favourite day. He just adores that tight tight TIGHT pump in his arms after hitting supersets after supersets. His enormous tri's and bi's, straining at his tight-fitting white tees, twitched at the happy anticipation of another day of muscle-blasting. As he walked towards the gym in the characteristic semi-waddle typical of the enormously super-muscled (for he can't really close his superthick thighs his huge 50'' hams force his legs apart - in fact he has to continuously lubricate his inner thighs with olive oil for his thighs are so enormous and fit against one another so tightly the skin between his legs would abrade completely off if he walked more than 300m!), he was already flexing and curling his arms and feeling the beginning of that gratifying, Maleness-affirming, prepump warmness seeping through his enormous, Football-sized upper arms. He just can't wait to blow them larger at the gym that day. As he waddled closer and closer to the gym, he smirked as he feels his Adidas gym watch beginning to strain and stretch at his right wrist as his forearm, snaking with veins under the skin, also begins to swell as a result of his endless flexing and curling. On the way to his gym, groups of girls saw him and waved enthusiastically to him. He would reply with a naughty smirk on his handsome face, and make either his left or right pecs `'wink'' at the girls, who would scream and whoop at the incredible sight of his 70'' chest flexing and writhing under the straining material of his tight white tees.

As he walked, he felt one sleeve of his tees burst at the seam, then the other burst too, as his bis and tris swelled further and further as he curled them. He smirked at that familiar feeling. He has regularly burst the sleeve of every of-the-shelf tees he ever wore for 3 years now, especially after he topped 400 lb on the weighing scale.

He pushed the gym door open with his enormous muscle chest which juts out from under his chin literally like the proverbial rack. He greeted the rest of the dudes in the gym with his broad, comradely smile and a warm wave. His team of training buddies surrounded him. 5 lads in all, all buffed and experienced in advanced training techniques but none so developed as Sean is, for Sean is the up and coming uber-bodybuilder, only 18 years old but already pushing the scale at an incredible 435 lb. Sean was truly in person the `'god'' in the term `'Musclegod''. His training pals were more acolytes than training partners for no one human could truly touch Sean in training, he was that far gone in supermanhood. His training pals wait at his every need in the gym for the sole privilege of being near him, worshipping his muscular enormity.

In the changing room, Sean's acolytes helped him peel off his tees. It was difficult, for it was like spray-painted on his unbelievably, muscular body. They smirked as they helped Sean pulled on his training briefs, beholding his huge manhood which dangled at a massive 14-inches even when limp. As Sean waddled heavily out of the changing room, he was muscular poetry in motion itself:- his pecs like wte sandbags underneath his loose gray training shirt. His enormous muscular arms jutting out of the cut-off holes of his training shirt at 45 degrees. Its been years since he could keep his arms down by the side of his torso pumped or cold his arms can no longer hang at lower than 45 degrees, held up by his bis, tris, pecs and laterals. As he becomes more and more pumped his arms would stand out further and further till they are just 25 degrees from horizontal eventually when he is more or less fully pumped. Sean was not human looking. He was like a statue made of human skin with bowling balls under his skin.

His coach greeted Sean, `'Hi! How ya Sean? Are you ready to go beyond 45'' today?'' His coach carefully felt Sean's gigantic bis and tris, which were unreal, already huge, veiny and glossy with the perspiration of Sean's pre-pump. `'Ya betcha.'' Sean said. `'You are 40'' already, the largest muscular arms possessed by any teen, no, any human, on earth. But I think you should push the envelope, go beyond that, hit 45'', or anything bigger, as big as your amazing genetic legacy can manage.'' the Coach said. `'Yah, I'm in. Lets begin today.'' Sean replied. His team of acolytes applauded.

`'Alright, lets warm the guns up before we fire them, shall we?'' said the Coach.

`'Aye'' Sean replied, as he picked up 150 lb barbells in each hand handed to him by an acolyte each, and slowly began his warm-up burns. He carefully curled his left arm, then his right, then his left, then his right. The scene was mind-blowing. Everyone in the gym effectively stopped and just gawked at the unbelievable sight. It was Sean's Arms Day, and its always a special occasion.

Sean continued his warm up reps in absolute, professional concentration. Left and right, left and right, left and right, he worked his arms, warming them up, without pausing, without distraction. Sean was the total muscle machine utterly devoted to the enlargement and growth and hypertrophy of his external musculature. And boy did they warm up. Luckily his training shirt had no sleeve, for they would have burst soon. Sean's muscle arms swelled rapidly as they filled up with his blood. From 38'' cold, they redden, swelled, redden further, swelled further, swell yet further as Sean relentlessly warmed them up. It was an eye-popping, belief-defying sight. Veins snaked like hosepipes under his skin, stretched up limits, as his muscles moved like massive liquid boulders under Sean's epidermis. Still Sean continued his warm-up. Left and right, left and right, he went on relentlessly, and his arms continued to swell, redden, swell, redden.

After 500 absolutely straight, no-cheating, rigid, disciplined reps each, Sean let go of the 150 lb barbells. He was now thoroughly warmed up. His arms stood at 50 degrees from the vertical besides his body. He was barely breathing faster, his tabletop like pecs rising and lowering majestically. He struck one bicep pose, than another, grunting in satisfaction at the sight which confronts him from the mirror. Enormous muscle cannons, each now swollen to over 41'', the waist measurement of a plump man, criss-crossed with angry hose-like veins. The bis literally `'jumped'' as he flexed one arm, then the next. Jaws dropped in disbelief in the gym. The sight was already unhuman his arms belonged on a bull, not a human-being.

Satisfied at the warm-up, Sean now commenced his `'real'' training. Two of his acolytes hoisted up between them a 450lb barbell and he took it in his hands. He began to pump out one rep after another. He did each rep really slow, burning the bi's, feeling the blood rushing in and jamming the bi's, than lowering each rep really really slowly, feeling each rep burning to the max. Veins snaked, appearing and shifting oilily under his skin now shining with perspiration. He began to breathe more and more rapidly, so Sean began to control his breathing. Really slowly up, then slowly down, up and down, relentlessly he ground out rep after rep. His arms began to turn redder and redder.

After his first real serious set, Sean lowered the weights and struck a double bi. His biceps are now red, and swollen up into an impressive peak. His tri's swell below like the enormously distended stomach of a python which had just swallowed a whole piglet alive. And alive it was, huge boulder-like masses shifted hypnotically under his straining, shiny skin, now dripping with perspiration. Whilst in the classic double bi pose Sean relaxed his arms, then TENSED it suddenly. His bi's seemed to jump violently through his skin, reaching not so much as a peak but a sharp jut into the air. He repeated this a few times. Every dude in the gym applauded, a few desperately stole away to jerk off in the toilet, so unbelievably erotic was the sight.

But Sean has only just began. He began his second set with 500 lb barbells, handed to him by 4 of his acolytes under direction of his coach. He began his reps. It was a virtuoso performance event. Everyone in the gym was transfixed. Sean began to grunt with each rep, but he was disciplined, discipline was everything Sean stood for. Each rep was done absolutely straight, absolutely. He would not begin cheating until much, much, much later, when he has to eventually push the envelope beyond failure, beyond the pain barrier, beyond the pump barrier. Rep after 500 lb rep he ground out, his face now livid, sweat pouring off his handome musclegod face. Burn, burn, he commanded his arms, burn and swell. His sweat shirt now sodden with sweat, sticking to his enormously pumped and tortured torso. After the first 15 reps at 500lb, his 4 acolytes took the barbell off Sean. He waddled in front of the mirror. Boy was he pumped. His face was red, streaming with sweat. His cannons are now a deep shade of red, the veins curling and snaking around angrily under his skin, which now seemed like shrink-wrap cling-film around bowling balls which were his biceps. The gym crowd gathered around in worshipful silence. With an effort, Sean commanded his arms to lift up and struck a double-bi pose to examine the result of his efforts. His coach wound a tape around his bi's. They were now 42'', a full one- inch larger than before the serious sets. As he moved his arms, his veins snaked around under his distended and stretched skin of his bloated, agonized biceps and triceps. The gym lads applauded in awe. Sean grunted in satisfaction.

But still Sean was just getting into his stride.

His acolytes gave hoisted up to Sean a 600lb barbell, and Sean carefully tightened his grip on the bar. His face a picture of total concentration now, he bit his lips, and with a loud gasp he lifted the barbell in his first 600 lb curl. He then lowered the barbell slooooowly, ever so slowly, feeling the burn, feeling it, his arm muscles straining, his purple veins squirming under the glistening red skin. Up and down, up and down, went the 600 lb barbell in strictest discipline, without cheating and without leaning forward and backward one bit. Sean began grunting like a dangerous, cornered feral animal. A fullgrown bear would be frightened of Sean now, he looked scarcely human, but a huge, utterly bloated reddish mass of severely pumped muscles and squirming garden-hose veins. He grunted louder and louder, and finally, as he tried to lift the barbell beyond the 30th rep, he had to bark like a karate exponent to work up the strength to lift the barbell. HAH! Sean barked, hoisting the barbell up, he's in agony now. ARGH! HAH! ARGH! HAH! ARGH! HAH! ARGH! HAH! Sean yelled to himself, expelling each breath explosively as he hoisted the barbell up again and again in each agonizing painful rep. For Sean knew, pain is his friend, with pain he grew, without pain he stagnated. The more pain he can manage to generate and absorb, the nearer to supermanhood he rises.

HRRRRAGH!! HRRRRAGH!! Even Sean's monstrous arms began to falter and tremble as he pushed beyond the 40th rep with the 600 lb curling bar. At this juncture, Sean began to cheat a little to hoist the bar up. Again and again he lifted. His arms were now an appalling sight. They were not like arms anymore, but reddish purple bolster- casing stuffed with blue-ribbon-winning Prize cantaloupes. Hhhhhnnnnn!! Hhhhhnnnnn!! HNNNNNN!!!! Sean finally stalled, sweat poured down his facial features, now locked in an utterly determined, maniacally concentrated rictus of utterly devoted iron will. His acolytes rushed in to help him they grabbed hold of the ends of the curling bar and slowly helped Sean complete the reps to the 50th rep. Sean trembled and practically moaned at the pain involved in the last rep, his knuckles a deathly white on the barbell. `'Yrrrraaaaagghh!!'' Sean screamed as he finally completed the last rep, at the same time a huge wet spot appeared in front of his training shorts as he lost control of his bladder as well, so intensive was the inhuman effort.

With a thunderous crash, Sean dropped the 600lb curling bars at the 50th rep. The gym crowd exploded in rapturous applause. He stepped back. He now looked like nothing on earth born of a human mother. Imagine a shaved bear which had been reared on a 5g planet. He was pumped, and pumped was he! He tried to strike a double-bi pose and found that he could but lift his arms towards his ears with great difficulty. He was so pumped he was losing some arm flexion! The entire gym exploded again in standing ovation as Sean finally managed a double-bi an utterly amazing sight presented itself to the audience. Here was Sean's arms, near-failure, two huge, purplish- red, distended, stretch-mark-festooned, distended veins crawling around like pipework under the skin, monstrosities. Hell, his arms are now larger than a plump man's waist! The coach stepped up with a tape measure whilst Sean held his double-bi pose with great difficulty, sweat pouring down his entire body completely drenching his training shirt as if he was in a wet T-shirt competition. His arms now measured an amazing 43.5''.

`'You know you have just reached the edge, Sean!'' said the Coach. `'To grow larger, you need to go beyond the edge!!'' Sean grunted in agreement.

Taking a swig of water, Sean readied himself for `'going beyond the edge''. His true journey for the day has just begun.

The program was to have Sean continue to pump out rep after rep on decreasing weights after his arms balk and fail at each higher weight threshold. I.e., when he can no longer do 500 lb curls, he would do 400 lb curls until he too fail at that weight threshold. Then he would start to do 300 lb curls until he fails at that too. Then he would start again at 200 lb and go to failure on that weight. Until he was curling an empty barbell. And when he fails at that, he will continue to flex his arms until he cannot move. This was what is meant in Sean's version of `'beyond failure''.

With a look of iron determination, face set in a grim expression, Sean began his agonizing journey towards that final failure. 400lb, then 300lb, then 200lb, slowly and agonizing he progressed, his acolytes steadying his barbell and helping him reach that last pre- failure rep, in the process subjecting his already massive arms to stresses which would have knocked out a lesser mortal.

Finally, Sean reached point he was curling an empty barbell. Or attempting to curl.

His bicps were by now so distended he could no longer physically complete a curl, his biceps were so huge and hard now they got in the way of a complete curl! 45 degrees from the vertical was the highest he could now manage. Hnnnnn!! Hnnnnn!! Hnnnnn!! Hnnnnn!! Sean grunted like a fighting bull in a Spanish bullring, his face initially red but now almost ashened at the sheer enormity of the effort. In total contrast, his arms were now a disshapened shifting mass of muscle abutting and pushing other muscles out of the way, of veins so distended they bordered other veins. Hell, his veins no longer looked like hoses, they look like German smoked sausages! His arms now looked as if they were made out of balloons and salamis filled with purple ink. His arms felt as if they were one continuous sore, aflame with an incredible description-defying pump. Slowly, Sean discovered he could no long even lift that empty barbell, so intensely excruciating was the extreme pump. His arms looked as if they were about to explode from the incredible pressure.

Sean was attempting the final curl with barbells when suddenly, `'Hrrrrraaaaaagggggggh!!'' Sean suddenly lost his breakfast. His morning's meal sprayed forth from his mouth in a huge pink stream of liquid, but thankfully one of his acolytes, long accustomed to Sean's physical reaction, quickly hoisted a bucket to his mouth and caught most of the hot, acrid stream of vomitus.

Sean was nonchalant. He knew his body signs too well. First, losing his bladder control was the first sign that he was getting a good, solid workout. If he did not then lose his last meal, he would have been disappointed that would have meant a slow day at the gym for Sean. Nonetheless, no matter how hard he trained he never managed to lose his bowel control as well, which was just as well, thought his acolytes.

Pale now and slightly faint, Sean lowered the barbell. His acolytes had to pry the empty barbell from his whitened palms because Sean concentrated so thoroughly on keeping a grip on the barbell in curling his arms, his fingers had become frozen on the barbell.

Sean then tried to hit a double-bi pose. He discovered he could not. He could in fact, barely move them above the horizontal, so pumped were his arms they were losing function.

`'Zen, Sean, you have reached the Zen of muscledom.'' Said his Coach. Sean nodded, for he could barely speak. Even nodding was now an effort in view of how pumped his neck muscles were. `'But you must now go beyond Zen.'' Said the Coach. Sean nodded further. He knew he now had to curl his arms without barbells. This was the final journey `'beyond failure'', attained only after great sacrifice, pain and privations.

Again screwing up his face into a rictus of concentration, Sean directed his iron will commanding one, then the other, arm to lift. Lift! Lift and curl, dammit! Lift and curl, dammit! Sean was now curling nothing but the weight of his own enormous arms, but this was the most difficult part of the day. With great agony, each arm trembled and jerked as Sean willed them to rise in a curl. The gym crowd broke into a chant `'Sean! Sean! Sean! Sean! Sean!`' to encourage Sean on this last leg of his journey. Face now almost white, fingers crooked and unworkable anymore, biceps the size of footballs pumped to bursting point, muscles now almost a dark purple hue, veins a-popping like sausages inflated with helium, Sean curled one arm then the other. First left, then right, then left, then right, Sean was totally unforgiving and relentless on himself. His muscles almost disappeared under a profusion of veins now almost as large as plumbing pipes. His muscle's definition all lost in a glory of super-tight, uber-intensive pump.

Finally, Sean could not move his arms anymore. He could neither curl them unladened, nor strike any bicep pose. They have been pumped to their physical limits, inflated almost beyond human endurance into utter abject failure. Sean has arrived. He has reached the other shore of `'beyond failure'', the nadir of muscular exhaustion and the Valhalla of explosive growtn.

Instead of arms, he now possessed these two purple-colored bolster- like organs that sticks out from the side of his body at 45 degress from the vertical. His entire upper body torso was also pumped into literally a welter of criss-crossing sausage-like veins, purple hoses festooned over red-looking bulbous meat. Sean is the very image of the extreme obesity of solid muscularity. Everyone in the gym were now struck speechless, all felt that they were in the presence of divinity, muscular divinity, of Jupiter and Mars and Apollo personified and materialized in the bloated possessed human flesh born in the name of Sean.

With a groan Sean began to fall backwards as his consciousness fades. His acolytes immediately went forward to catch him and prevent him from injuring himself. They quickly brought him to the gym shower and sat him down on a concrete bench (Sean weighed 435lbs !). Sean could not move his arms at all so his acolytes had to cut the training shirt and trunks off him, and peel them off. •

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