G, The


By Anonymous

One is never old enough to state one's beliefs as facts, but with 28 years behind me, I'm not green nor wet behind the ears either. In those 28 years I've lived and then worked in a lot of weird places, and I've seen all sorts of people, and if I've learned something, it is never think you've seen it all. Anyway, this is my point - I'm absolutely certain there are people on this earth that are not entirely human, or rather, are more than human. And they may not even know it. Call them mutants, call them aliens, call them what you like, what do I care, I know what to call mine. How do I know? Ah well..

I love muscular men. And I mean, the bigger and freakier the better. And yes, I am gay, and I've learned to live with it. I've been that way ever since I remember - my first hardon (not that I knew what it meant at the tender age of 9) I got looking at a picture of a body-builder in a body-building course ad in a Marvel comic book. I happen to hold a science degree and I'm not easily convinced into something, but I have learned to spot good genetics, and am especially good at spotting freaky genetics. But I'm clouding the issue here, so I'd better get on with explaining my claim.

Right after I moved to this godforsaken town I decided to find the local gym, or whatever they decided to call it - not without previous information that there was one. Well, I guess that's my style. I try to research everything first. Believe me, I don't hunger by far but I can't imagine myself not working - so before I ever appeared at the 'G' as it was known (simply because that was the only letter still left visible on the board above the entrance, probably left there since it used to be a garage) it was already almost common knowledge that the newbie (me) was good at fixing things. I was always good with hands and I enjoyed working. So it came that I was the one who refurbished the electrics, fixed the air-conditioning, and finally did the job that got me into my present situation. I simply never asked for any money aside for larger material bills, which soon gave me a no-charge membership and the keys of the place, since I usually worked at odd hours. I would usually get there an hour before closing (which was around when all the seriously built were in) and my work would be done after the gym closed for the night. I would sometimes work out only to keep appearances. A fairly nondescript face under dark brown hair on a 6'4" frame at close to 200 pounds, with a metabolism that allowed only a fixed and small amount of fat. However, that frame is a fairly large one - in clothes people definitely didn't try to mess about with me, but out of them I could be called slim at best, and compared to the guys in the gym, I was the proverbial thin man - I never managed to put on any weight on so I stopped earnestly trying. My workouts were done because 'when in Rome do as the Romans do'.

Well, as past experience taught me, the small-town gyms are a most prolific source of real freaks - I have been surprised so many times (and remember, I have experience!) at what teen-age competition, pumping iron all day long and huge amounts of food and in many cases of chemicals and god knows what else, coupled with no inhibitions whatsoever (which was fine by me) could do to a guy that was huge to start with, in his attempts to become king of his particular hill. In short, there always had to be a gym legend, the man everyone talks about as the freakiest. This being a small town, homosexuality was unheard of, or to be more precise, unspoken of. I was sure I spotted a few candidates who were probably young enough not to even know what they were, and certainly would not admit it to the general public - and neither did I. I could get off on watching and I have a firm motto of not bashing people over the head with my private views of anything, especially not sexuality. Anyway, I wasn't after the gays anyway, as I said, I was after serious muscle freaks - I was after the gym legend. But in this case, the legend was secretive, and very seldom to be seen, and talks of him seen to be training would have been dismissed as lies instantly. He never competed with anyone in any sense but still, the stories told about this guy were akin to fishermen's tales, and then some. Contrary to heroes of many legends, it turned out this one was very real - all the checks I got for the materials had his signature on them - Victor Calan.

As a matter of fact, I first set sight on him (and left it there for an embarrassingly long time!) when he signed the very first of them. This was not surprising, since that was the first time I ever saw the biggest possible size of baggies actually be used as tight-fitting clothes. They could not even begin to hide (and you always got that feeling he was hiding it) his outlandish physique. I learned that he was the actual owner of the gym, in fact, he had a stake in practically anything that was worth any money in this town. He was also considered a hermit of sorts - he never 'mingled' as one guy put it. When his father died, he inherited all the business worth any money in this town, and he quickly gave large chunks of it away to the managers, retaining only small volumes of the business. Needless to say, every one of the new owners had no trouble prospering as his father used to rule by an iron fist - and after that no one questioned any motives he might have had in his life. I've only seen him up close that one time but that was enough. Although he didn't grace the premises with his presence for several past weeks, I very clearly remember the few times he did, usually right before the gym closed, to discuss things with the manager. They would go into the glass cubicle of the office, another relic from the times this used to be a garage. He would pace around in there, sometimes gesticulating, and my sights would be glued to him, covertly looking at the incredibly arousing ways his undersized 'oversize clothes' were being stretched by the undoubtedly record size muscles underneath. He would be easy to spot coming in, a very tall black-haired figure with yard-wide shoulders that had to stoop in a rather strange way to barely pass through the door frame. To top that off, he looked… well, handsome doesn't even begin the description. I was hooked from the very start. What I would give to see that guy without at least some of the clothes, or preferably without all of them… The guy was a giant, a mutant, a freak of nature if there ever was one. He looked only slightly taller than I am, probably 6'5", maybe 6'6" and seemed at least half as wide and a third as thick as that. He must have had all his clothes custom made, his dimensions were impossible to accommodate by any standard, that was for sure. As I said, I always got the impression he was hiding his body under those clothes, but no clothes, however made, could hide that wherever he was thick, he was incredibly thick, wherever wide, incredibly so, and wherever he was thin he was incredibly thin, which made him look even wider and thicker. This guy was far larger than anything I ever saw or imagined up to that point. What I would do with him fired my imagination no end, sending me to trips of fantasy involving a tape measure. God, you could feel it in the floor when he walked past! What was even more of a torment, rumor had it that his only goal in life was to get bigger, that he wanted to get to the limit of possibility, and then pass it. The numbers people kept quoting gave me a hardon in themselves. All my attempts to find out more about the guy ended in a dismal failure. As I said, I get off on watching, and this was one, actually - the only, case where I would have tried to take the initiative. But as I said, I'm about research - and there was none. Bottom line - he was someone who I could never be with. Well, so I thought.

I arrived at the gym late that Saturday, since I had to adjust the burglar alarm window breaking detector. The big street window had been replaced after a few discontent youths put a brick through it, and being beside a railway station, the low train rumble kept setting the damn thing off. I remembered myself thinking once how it's incredible that people try to break in all sorts of premises even in places with no rampant crime, hell, the worst crime they had was when a few teenagers tried to steal a car. In fact, this was the second time already, but back then it was a sixpack of beer cans getting thrown through, of all things - that's why the alarm thing got built in the first place. I, however, was starting to suspect it was put there solely to keep me trying to fix it for the fourth evening in a row. It was almost half past nine - long after Saturday working hours - when I let myself into the gym trough the front entrance. The premises remained lit with a few fixtures even at night, and I just went to the locker room in the back. The alarm box was in one of the lockers, but just as I got my tools unpacked, I noticed the back door, which was appropriately marked 'staff only', leading out the back way through a small corridor gaped open. I started tinkering with the box, which was appropriately disabled, so I turned on the alarm monitor. Just then I heard the water opening in the shower, nothing strange since there was also a cleaning lady who had the keys to the place and did often come by on Saturdays, albeit much earlier. I went back into the gym and tapped at the window, noting with satisfaction that the alarm didn't go off. I sat down on a bench and decided to wait for the old faithful - the dreaded 9:40 train that kept setting the damn thing off. I had only three minutes left and by the end of the second minute I noticed the bench was damp and it started soaking through my jeans. Good old Matilda, not a bad hair on her head but how did she get the idea of washing the bench I would never now, I thought to myself as the train rattled by, and when the noise subsided I was really glad I wasn't hearing the bell like the last three times. Then I just realized I still heard the shower and started toward the locker room wondering what she could be doing in the shower that long?

I slowly started toward the door, expecting who knows what. As I turned into the locker room, I noticed something I've missed before - one of the locker doors was not closed completely because there was a towel hanging over it. And then the water stopped. And then I knew who it was.

Now remember I'm writing this with hindsight. I guess I was lucky the adrenalin-pumping shock of realization what was going on hit me with its iceberg-blow-to-the-stomach-which-then-curls-up strength before he actually came out of the showers and I saw him, because if it didn't, so help me, I would not have survived it. This way, I barely managed to. To do the situation justice, imagine I was describing this all at once with 100 voices, one for each of the 100 things I noticed at once, instead of a listing from head to toe, because this is how I perceived him when he came out of the shower.

First of all there is this short-cropped raven black hair atop a face handsome to the point of pain. He is also by far the widest man I ever saw in my life, and that included doctored pictures. This guy set completely new standards as to the shape a human body could attain. He was monstrously big - to say he was over-muscled would be an incredible understatement There is simply no single word to describe him. His pecs were not slabs of muscle, thick but flat - instead they bulged outwards and upwards, practically overflowing his skin, stretching it with their impossible half-ball shaped bulk, so that his nipples faced straight down. They made the crevice between them look like a deep canyon, which could probably fit my palm sideways, trapping it between bloated muscle. He literally had no neck - what would have been his neck tapered by inches thick traps into melon-sized shoulders. His arms were so big, they must have been thicker than thighs of any athlete you care to name. His bone structure was very thick but he was so big his joints looked small - going from his yard-wide shoulders down, his upper arms bulged immensely, thick veins throbbing over his biceps which bulged out blatantly completely relaxed, and triceps being pushed out by oversize lats, ending in a pair of forearms so muscular he could squeeze stones into dust with no trouble at all. There was not enough space between his arms and his lats so his elbows were held apart, something even huge bodybuilders achieved only with a high pump plus a lot of strutting. But this guy did not have to pretend. His abdomen did not look as if it were merely tiled, the muscle bulged immensely outwards and moved with his every twitch, as he started rubbing himself with the towel which looked more like a hanky once he took it in his hands. His waist stayed incredibly thin for the size of him, it looked like only a bit more than the third of the width of his preposterous shoulders, creating a taper which most people would not dare imagine, making his chest look even bigger and his shoulders even wider. Apart from little chest hair and traces up his abdomen, he was practically hairless. His skin looked perfectly smooth, strange as he had really thick black hair and a strong day's beard. He looked like someone pumped him up with a compressor until the thing dropped dead. As he turned around and I caught a glimpse of his back. His lats were out of this world! With most guys the back tapered from shoulders to waist in a V shape, but with him it first bulged outwards, pushing apart his cord-plated triceps, and then tapered in a sort of rounded way to his lower back, coming in almost horizontally, and then changed direction further tapering down to his unproportionally small waist, creating a curve oozing with power as it went down to a tight, incredibly muscular and striated ass, striations in the huge square muscle forming with the slightest shift of his frame. Striations which run into twitching cables of his thighs, and I had no doubt in my mind that his thighs were wider than most guys were around the chest, and re-emerged in cut forms of his immense calves. No one ever was so big. I was dead sure. I would have bet anything that this guy must have had a quarter of a ton in him. That was quite probably a conservative assessment. All of them take drugs, I thought, but his were really something. He wasn't ripped in the sense that word was normally used. He looked smooth until the skin got stretched by any movement, to the limit, exposing individual heads and strands of muscle only by virtue of sheer size! I know I must have been gazing at him with the blatancy of a blowtorch, but I would not have averted my sight even if it meant falling dead on the spot. When he faced the locker, so I had a side view, his chest was so big and high with the pump it stood out almost horizontally. He looked ready to rip his seams. A network of thick, bulging veins sprung out on his forearms and his shoulders, and the separate heads of his shoulder muscles actually stuck out. If he flexed he'd surely rip his skin. There were fainter lines on his otherwise perfect skin - stretch marks? My god, could he still be growing, at this size?! He already looked as he had all the muscle in the world on him, but surprises were far from over. I've seen muscle, and I could maybe even have been able to dare and conceive of something like him, but my jaw had dropped, I was sure of that, and I must have been drooling like a mesmerized baby. I would have fallen over if it were not for the locker behind me that provided the much needed support. As if his physique was not enough, the guy sported the biggest piece of manmeat the world ever saw, or indeed imagined. As he rubbed himself down from head to toe, each move sent a shudder down his abs, each breath raised his overgrown chest and making his even more overgrown fuckhose swing. I could not move even as he turned to face me, still rubbing himself down. It hung down from his almost smooth crotch, swinging between his thighs and shuddering with his every move. And believe me, measuring anything on this guy in inches is a futility, only feet, and quite possibly yards could do him justice. It was thick, and so fucking long, and although the preposterous size of the rest of him confused the eye, I swear it was only slightly shorter than two feet in length, hanging down and reaching inches below his knees! He slowly went over it, from underside, from base to head, and it hung limply over the towel. He pulled slightly at it, which made it stretch a bit as he dried it with the towel. Even without that show, there was no doubt it was completely flaccid. As he lifted it, I caught a glimpse of his balls which were huge. I had no doubt in my mind that this freak of nature had testosterone levels of a pack of sex-crazed bulls, which also explained his body and the thing hanging down from his crotch. I know I probably kept repeating some expletive or other, and it probably came out completely unintelligible. He kept on looking at me, a gaze I then could not describe, with eyes of an almost diabolically electric green color. And then I heard his voice.

"So, is it all you expected?" he said…asked, a voice which had every right to say 'let there be light'. Those six words were a question, a motivation, an answer and a hint at consequences all at once. He was looking straight at me, a look dissecting me down to individual atoms that made my worthless self. And then he was right before me, and he just lifted my chin shut. This startled me and I regained precious little conscience, noticing how he moved. Imagine tanned skin-colored living steel. That's how. He put the towel over his shoulders, and raised an eyebrow. Afterwards I remembered what was a truly strange moment of realizing that words did not come out of my mouth because I was really scared to the bone-marrow. I tried but instead I simply nodded in a mixture of lustful stupor and terror. He laughed, a sort of rasping rumble, shifting his hands onto his hips, stood that way for a second and then he slowly started stroking his pec with one hand, swinging his meat back and forth. Each time it collided with his thighs it would smack faintly, shudder and bend.

I was being overwhelmed with having all my secret dreams displayed before me in the form of a he-man, a giant which was impossibly huge EVERYWHERE. To have this before my eyes - the unbelievable combination of my dreams! Cruel fate that does not let me touch him, and I would die to do just that!

"Oh yes, it's real, don't you worry - and I can see you like it…" he said slowly. I realized I sported the boner of a lifetime which must have been very obvious. "So, my skinny little friend, a penny for your thoughts…?" he said, again with that rasping half-laugh. I just looked at him, frozen. He laughed again, twitching his pecs, teasing, all the time maddeningly stroking his thighs, and carefully avoiding his cock, which looked like a long club hanging down like that. "I bet you're sorry you don't have a tape measure right here, huh? So you could see how big I am… no doubt with particular emphasis on certain body parts, eh? Well?" "I… I'm…" I tried, but the words simply stuck in my throat. "Yes, go on, ask me, and I might be good enough… and let you see for yourself…" I just nodded, stuttering something. He never shifted his gaze locked into mine, but suddenly there was a subtle change in his eyes and I found myself released from eye-contact. "You like a bit of meat on your men, do you? So how do you like me, huh?" He said, puffing up, but only a bit, and twitching his chest muscles. He sort of half-flexed, which with his full pump threw me onto new levels of arousal. He was so near that for the size of him I could only look into his face or his pecs. His pecs, my god… and then I felt like I got pricked in my balls and I realized I'd shot my load into my pants! He looked down, to the bulge on my jeans, and the spreading spot of wetness, making an almost comically inquisitive face, peering over his huge chest. "Well, well… I guess really you do like what you see!" So, now he knew. "Nice… I like being appreciated… so, what's it gonna be, hm? The question?" He asked again. "I… How…" I gave my throat a second chance. His face was a 'go on' gesture, the very expression saying 'Come on, I don't have all day'. Somehow this made my throat unclench and the words finally got out. "Wha… What do I have to do?" I winced. "Aha!" Again that rasping laugh, "Not exactly the question I would have expected, but still good… an honorable man, no less…". He could have crushed me with one hand - I remembered at that point thinking of a cat cruelly playing with a mouse only to kill it later. "But, as long as you're interested…" he looked at me. "If I let you go, you'd dream of me for the rest of your cock-sucking life, huh? Imagining drooling all over me, feeling and squeezing, feeling miserable because you can't… you think you could take it, huh?". If he only knew how right he was! I dared hope he did know. When… If I get out of here alive I'll have trouble facing the world knowing that something like him exists. "Well, not fair to let down a fan, is it… especially not one so curious…" he laughed again, pacing back to the locker, exposing his giant back, "and I might add resourceful…" He closed the locker. Why, why, why did it have to happen this way? "And also different… proposing equitable trade, no less… Well, well…" He droned on. Suddenly he turned to me. I was beyond the point where anything could startle me. "I'll tell you what. Consider this your lucky day, your break in life…" He took the towel in his hands again, "I'll cut you a deal - I'll let you grope and squeeze all you like, even with my help, and drool all over me as long as you like… under a condition - If you want me to flex, you have to get this baby to flex too…" he said, pointing at his crotch, "You are allowed any method or methods you like, as long as I don't get bored and at least one of them works. There will be a special bonus if you manage to go to certain…lengths…" Was that a wink? "Let's just say I like a honest admirer to really get to know me, once in a while… and so you've got your chance… and you'd better make it good!" He stood there, waiting, but the immensity of the situation had stuck me to the spot. What did I get myself into? "Come on, out you go, never mind the tools…" he said, and practically carried me toward the back door.

To date I have absolutely no idea how we got to his place, although it is right above the gym. I had a million things in my head, whirling in a crazy pattern of fear, denial, lust, greed. And finally, I decided to die rather than miss this opportunity, such as it was. I… wanted him. I had such strange thoughts - one side wanted to have him, hard, all of him, and the other was afraid of not being able to do what he asks. Something was clearly strange here - this nagging feeling which mixed up with all the fear and lust - was it fear of disappointment? The apartment was above the garage, the only other floor in the building. The entrance had only a small hallway which then went to a combination sitting/living/bedroom right above the gym, and of the same size - pretty huge for an apartment. He practically led me all the way. It wasn't easy to unstick my gaze from his monstrosity of a manhood, even if only to look at the rest of him. All of a sudden it dawned to me why he never appeared in gymwear or competed - there was no way to fit his thing into posing slips, and the thought of seeing him overwhelm a pair with his size instantly started another erection. I don't even know how, but in the process of getting from the entrance to a sort of bedroom area I lost almost all my clothes too. There was a huge bed which looked more like a mattress on the floor there, and it faced a wall - a mirror wall. There was a good distance between the bed and the wall, covered by a thick rug, and there was a hip-height dividing wall right over the head of the bed. Well, the stage was set, the actors were in, so there was nothing left but to start the show.

He sort of sat down on the bed which was big enough so that even two of him would have felt comfortable, and with much space to spare. He actually almost lied down on it, back propped on the dividing wall, and lifted his thick cock over his thigh. When he lifted it, it still drooped over his palm.

I stood there at first, not certain how I could approach him. Suddenly I noticed the top of the wall was actually like a shelf over the bed, with a large bottle of baby oil, a tube of moisturizing cream and a tape measure ready and waiting. The guy had it all prepared. "Well, I can see you have noticed the tools of the trade, so you might as well start using them…" he said. I found myself kneeling at one corner of the bed. He had practically spread himself onto it, but there was still more than enough place for me. His horrendously big body was still all pumped up, ballooning muscles bulging. I could not resist anymore, and placed my hand on one of his impossibly huge pecs. The shear curvature of it made me start stroking it, and I felt my cock going completely rigid. He groaned, his eyes half closed, and started stroking his cock, so damn slow, pulling to the side, with every stroke stretching it, hinting at the size it could become. If I managed to get it hard. If. I didn't know what to do, what he expected. I reached for the oil. "Aha! The cream goes first!" I heard him say. I took the cream and looked at him - what do I do with a moisturizing cream for God's sake?! His eyes slowly went from me down toward his crotch. I opened the tube, and squeezed some of the clear cream onto my palm. I went down hesitating, still not understanding what he wanted, when it suddenly dawned to me. I smeared cream onto my palms, and went down, reluctantly touching his manhood I guess I was afraid it would have turned out to be a dream after all. His satisfied grunt told me that was exactly what he wanted. The skin moved over it freely, it was practically shriveled. He was uncut, and holding it near the head was like holding a very thick, heavy silk rope by one end, while the other was tied to his crotch. It was completely flaccid, and as I smeared the cream and enjoyed every moment of it. I was amazed how it easily stretched by inches if I squeezed and pulled only a little. I didn't even dare think what happens when he has a hard-on, and I managed to stifle down the hedonistic urge to pull at it only to get an inkling of the size it would become. "Yes, good… smear it thick, all over…" he mumbled, as I added more and more of the cream. All of a sudden he opened his eyes and his arm moved to straighten his cock over his thigh which he did by pulling at it by the base. It made a faint slap. Then his hand started groping around the shelf until he found the tape measure. He tossed it to me, and just said "Well?" I obediently took the measure. He pulled his hands away from his hose, and lifted up his crotch by trusting his hips upwards. God, what a monster - now that I had something to compare it with it looked even larger. I had to carefully straighten it and it reached down below his knees! I stretched the measure. "So, how long is it?" he said, he's eyes still closed. He put his arms behind his head which made his biceps bulge outward, losing the contest for precious space with his forearms and shoulders. When he rose his arms his pecs flattened only slightly, and his chin was pressing into the crevice between them. "Jesus… It's almost two feet, twenty-two and a quarter inches!" I said. In amazement I realized that a cock of those dimensions was never heard of. "Hmm… I thought you were supposed to get it hard… and bigger…" he rumbled, softly. His abs twitched as he spoke and then continued to slowly rise and fall as he breathed. Shit - can you get bigger than this?! - I thought. And then, I had a sudden realization! The guts and the brain clicked in together - a sudden idea. Maybe a stupid, preposterous one, but I was sure, dead sure I knew. I knew what to do. And I knew why. I managed somehow to stifle down the lust boiling inside. This was going to need concentration, all the concentration I could muster. After all, I hadn't done this for a long time.

I had not done anything with hypnosis since my university days, where it started as curiosity, went on through good fun into a way of supporting myself. But I knew the way, and it was almost as I had a guiding spirit. Somehow there was something strange about this whole situation, the guy obviously enjoyed himself but no hard-on? At his size a hardon is probably a matter of discussion, but still - he was completely soft! I had real trouble controlling my voice, and I finally started chanting and stroking him rhythmically. He only commented that it's certainly a new approach, but, again, there was that change in his eyes and he cooperated wonderfully, which only added to my certainty. In fact, it was so easy . . . He did not even know when he went under. I remember distinctly finding it… well, funny, trying to practically tell someone 'your cock will grow' and keeping a straight voice, but in this case, I managed to suggest it, but not in so few words. I suggested that he'd start getting hard, after I say a key word, and sort of keep going on until I told him to stop. After the deed, I realized in surprise the darkest depths of my most secret desire - I always dreamt of feeling in flesh the biggest cock in the world. Only the thought of the size the freak in front of me could become pushed me to the brink of shooting my load. At his size it would take ages to get hard, if he got hard in any usable sense. I was sure that was his problem. I also made sure I used every way to convince him he could do it, and if I was right he wanted to do it, and for me to be there with him when he did was the fulfillment of my most secret desires. And now I had a chance at hand and I had something I wanted to prove - I wanted to see this preposterously, grotesquely overgrown mutant piece of man meat get so hard, so hard that there was no hard-on like it in history, and I hypnotically suggested exactly that. But then that was not all. I did not care about any consequences - I wanted to see how big the biggest is, I wanted him to grow more and more, to grow to unimaginable dimensions, to bloat up, to pump himself bigger and bigger. And then, to see him have the most earthshattering orgasm.

Then I said the keyword.

Nothing happened, except for him opening his eyes - a record in short recovery. He seemed completely undisturbed by that fact, and handed me the bottle with the oil. "Let's say I'm giving you a clue… just oil me up, it'll help." He said with remarkable calm. I poured oil from the bottle in a greasy line from his crotch right up to his pecs, and started rubbing it into him. My hands glided over him impeded by every bulge of his muscles, but as much as I pressed into him to make them flex, he neatly avoided it, smiling, because he knew what I wanted - and my part of the bargain was still not done. He was so hard, and had such control he could have played with me as long as he wished. Just as I started oiling his giant pecs, the sheer feeling of their impossible dimensions keeping the disappointment of my seeming defeat away, he started breathing more deeply. "You'll have to hurry it up… it seems you've been pressing the right buttons after all…" he just said. A single glance at his face told me it got going. I deliberately avoided a self-gratifying look, and took more of the oil to cover his arms. I did it very quickly, marveling for just a second at the fact that I would need a third hand to attempt to reach around. This way I couldn't even attempt it, not by far. "Yes… good…" he said, and I could not contain myself any longer, and neither could he. As soon as I stopped rubbing him, he reached down and pulled his hose up over his belly. It was a bit bigger, but still drooping, and it's head was right over the crack between his pecs. There were only three inches to spare to his chin. "Don't you worry… It will take a while…" he said. He went over his pec with one arm, and I needed no more cues. I started stroking his pec again, intently looking down his abdomen where his hose rested cradled by the six huge bulges of his muscles.

At first it only swelled slightly, very slowly, getting about an inch and a half longer in the process, and only a bit thicker. I continued stroking his pecs which he flexed only a bit, and I groped them hard every time he did so. God, what volumes! I carefully avoided his cock, though. After about half a minute, I could feel his heart pumping as the veins along his lower abdomen slowly twitched and started bulging. "Ahhh - yes…" he sighed, and then it really started happening. In a matter of seconds it grew over an inch, and then it just kept going, getting longer and slightly thicker. I had to touch it, feel it growing in my hand. I carefully wrapped my hand about the middle of it, amazed that it was still soft. I could feel it twitching with this heartbeat. It was slowly stretching my hand, and it crawled in small jumps over his oiled belly. He was still lying down, his preposterously big chest rising as he breathed deeply. It struck me that it was so big that he had to lift himself up to see his crotch over it. I started stroking him, mumbling to myself, stroking from crotch to head, the whole incredible length, which was getting bigger by the second, while he moaned like an animal. It was starting to curve to the side, twitching slightly, its head now pinned below his pecs. "Oh shit, it's growing…" I blurted out, watching with an eerie feeling as he pulled it loose, and straightened it out. I never let it go, it was so heavy, and so hot… I was sure it had long broken any imaginable size record, as it grew, extending to the side, over his left pec. "Oh…I'm getting really big…oh yes…" he started moaning, his eyes closed again. The urge came and I started licking it all over, feeling with my lips it's giant length, it's impossible thickness, it's bulging veins, and it was hot, so hot. And it was far from hard. And then I felt it - he started 'flexing' it, pumping blood into it, I could feel how it stretched under my lips. "Oh yes, pump it up…" I said - but it sounded like licking, because that's what I did, all the time stroking his bulging pecs. "Bonus for you my friend, it's never been this hard in my life…" I heard him say, and felt his hand on my back, stroking me. Hard? I was right - he was still soft, he never had a full hardon - but he was well on the way to having one now. "Oh yes… lick it… is it big enough, huh?" he moaned in half slurred words "…don't you worry, you'll get more, its getting bigger… I can feel it…" It was very difficult to stop licking him, going from the shaft of his pole to the nipple of his bloated pec which supported it. I did not want him to come, he had yet to get hard properly and I wanted to see that as it happened. I sat up. "…oh yes… I'll pump it up… oh God…" he moaned, his eyes closed, and I saw his cock flex and stretch even further. In what seemed seconds it grew even more and was already reaching over towards his shoulder. "Fucking shit, how big do you get?" "We'll see…" he squeezed trough clenched teeth. The sight froze me on the spot. I could not move - I felt my own cock hurting me with a once-in-a-lifetime-hard-on but I could not move - as he moaned, his mutant cock continued inflating, like a balloon, a thick throbbing vein running all the length of it. As the skin stretched, hundreds of small veins and bulges started showing. I heard his voice drone 'I can feel it… it's getting harder… I feel the hardness in… inside me… like riding on a steel rod…' I just kept looking, transfixed. I had no idea where he got the blood to get it this big, and I didn't really care. Watching even from this crazy angle, there was no doubt at all the beef-heap in front of me would have had trouble giving himself a blowjob because his over bloated fuckpole was too long. I suddenly remembered the tape measure - it was still somewhere near. He suddenly moved, startling me as he sat up, and taking his tree-trunk sized manmeat by the root. My view was now obscured by the curtain of his back, but as he slowly lifted it the cockhead came fully into view over his shoulder. 'Oh shit…' I mumbled, I needed the tape measure badly - this wasn't real! It was swinging slowly under it's undoubtedly very considerable weight. 'Mirror, mirror on the wall, whose's the biggest of them all?' I heard him say. Surely, this is as large as it can possibly get, I thought - but that was not enough for him. He stood up, left fist around the base, barely covering the circumference, and his right holding it straight in front of him. If he wanted to reach the head he would have had to pull it upwards. Compared to this I had no cock to speak of. A voice kept repeating 'this can't be, this can't BE' in my head, as he held it there, before the mirror, looking at its reflection and wheezing like an animal. Suddenly I felt the tape measure in my hands, god only knows how it got there, but before I could come closer… 'Not yet!' he uttered 'get the cream, now!!' I obeyed, frantically searching for the tube, almost schizophrenically. I could see his reflection in the mirror. He looked like a tipped tripod, with the third leg of his mutant cock held up by his hands. Finally, I found it. I was beside him in a single jump, squeezing it so hard that the contents of the tube almost exploded onto his ramrod. I spread it all over as quickly as I could. He was trying to press himself into my hands, barely containing himself, but his legs twitched with that telltale jerking rhythm which gave off his intention, but he did manage to control himself. 'Enough' he muttered. He slightly altered his posture and shifted his grip. In utter amazement I watched him squeeze the base of his cock, and saw how the skin on it stretched before my very eyes. I was afraid even to move. Unbelievably, the underside became visibly thicker, and with each squeeze and pump it curved upwards some more, as a bow, with him moaning like an animal on every squeeze. He was literally flexing it, and it twitched with every 'flex', growing still bigger, curving upwards and slightly to the side. He was still holding it with his right hand, gingerly from the underside, the skin slipping several times as it grew even longer. I watched, rooted to the spot, as he continued to literally inflate his cock. The sense of time passage returned when his incessant flexing started bringing ever smaller gains in size. The mid-section of his cock was now much wider than the root, and the head, which was even wider, glistened like purple glass. He still squeezed madly, all sweaty, incredible muscle shapes sticking out on his arm and abdomen with every squeeze. Finally, after several flexes resulted in no movement at all, he sighed, and opened his eyes, a strange look in them. I swear I saw a glint there which gave me the creeps.

He very carefully lowered it a bit, so blatantly showing it off by pushing his hips forward, still flexing it - I could see his balls twitch. He moved his right hand toward the head, but stopped mid way, holding the gigantic trunk of his cock from underneath, not being able to reach any further, without pulling it up again. If he could squeeze only a drop of blood more into it, he would have, no matter what. He held it so, watching his image in the mirror, puffing and wheezing, which inflated his huge chest to the point where I thought it would rip his skin. 'Yeah…that's what I call hard…really hard…' he said. "Now you measure it." I realized the tape measure was in my hand. As I approached, he moved his hands a bit. With much hesitation I put one end of the tape onto the spot where his impossible organ jutted from his abdomen. Two veins bulged immensely on the sides. It looked like even the smallest scratch would make it explode. With great care to cover all of its curve, I unrolled the tape over the top of the biggest cock ever, going from the root forward and up over the slightly tapering trunk that then got wider again. Ten inches. Wider again, gingerly feeling the bulges of the big veins. It had a feeling of a hot steel rod that I savored as I passed over his right hand. Twenty inches. It still curves higher, now at the level of my chest, tapering again, the skin getting lighter as I reach what would have been the foreskin, were it not stretched out, the blood engorged tissue underneath forming thousands of small bumps. I reach the crown of his cockhead, jutting out like a giant mushroom, and go over it, hearing his sighs, as I pass the corona, flaring wider than my fist, stretching the tape further over the dark purple balloon of his cockhead, and reach the piss slit. Thirty and a half inches of meat. With trembling hands I measure the circumference of the thickest part to be eleven and a quarter inches. I could actually feel myself going mad at the sight. 'Get the bottle…' he says. I take the bottle with the remains of the lube and squeeze it into the palm of his left hand, outstretched to me. He was not holding the base of his cock any more, but it lost none of the hardness at all. The veins over the root pulsed faintly, trying to get still more blood into it. He quickly spread the lube over his abs and half his chest. 'Hold it' he said, and I gingerly took his engorged organ right beside his right hand. He started letting go, and it sank down a bit. It was so heavy and I was unprepared. 'Careful…' he moaned. I was holding it, about ten inches inwards from the head. He let go of it. Hanging down it would have reached his ankles. He took the bottle from me and managed to spread some of the contents over his chest and arms, taking care not to move too much. If I let his cock fall I thought it would probably tear the ligaments that held it and tear itself off his crotch. The crazy idea of him fucking me was so strong, but incredibly some reason remained - he would probably tear me and himself apart. He could literally spear me through with it. Suddenly, he moved, faced the mirror. He looked at his own impossible reflection for a second, panting. 'Ohhh, look at me, I'm really huge, huh?' he whispered. Watching in wonder I started stroking it over with my hand, still holding it as steady as I could with the other. 'Oh… a….ah…' he moaned as I went over the rim 'Oh Jesus… jack me off… oh yeah…' he said. 'Do it…' and then before I could see what's coming he did a lat pose, slowly spreading until his lats filled out the space between the rest of his torso and his elbows. That was too much for me.

In front of me there was the strongest, biggest, most desirable male - a superman in every respect, strutting, flexing and inflating himself, showing off like a bull-frog. He looked ready to burst his seams. Inside my head a switch flicked from 'human' to 'animal'. My tortured manhood was by now engorged as never before, all dripping with precum, lust taking over what precious little was left of the rational mind. All at once I had the impressions of his inflated chest, his pumped up pecs, the granite of his mountainous abs, his lats flaring at an improbable angle, the corded pillars of his legs, and the impossible size and shape of his manhood, swelled to grotesque and gigantic dimensions by his incessant pumping, as I held it in my hands, and his back fully flexed. I could feel my balls twitch as I started rubbing him uncontrollably. He started moaning as an animal and then he suddenly inflated his chest to the max, and then it felt like a lightning strike.

It came like a flash, I had never experienced something like it in my life. I must have been shaking like a maniac, still trying to hold his pole while jerking him off, my cock exploding with eruptions of hot jizz all over me, him, the mirror, without me even touching it, shooting gobs of my milky juice yards away. It felt like pissing, unending, but I never shifted gaze from him. He held the pose, flexed to the point of cramping, his face holding a mask of a man screaming, but without a sound. His abs twitched uncontrollably and he stabbed forward with his hips playing dangerously with my precarious balance. His balls were twitching in orgasm, trying to pump his sperm into the shaft of his cock. I swear I felt his cock swell as he came. But nothing came out of the piss-slit for several seconds, and then there were waterfalls. I still continued rubbing him until he finally unwound and took his cock with both hands. It was dribbling gobs of his manjuice when I finally let it go. I slumped onto the bed and he leaned onto the mirror, passing slowly from the root to the head of his monster manhood, squeezing, a stream of jizz coming out of the piss-slit every time he would reach the head, holding his cock almost straight into the air to accomplish this. It was long enough to reach his forehead. He really could not give himself a blowjob without bending it down.

We stayed that way for a while - I have no idea how long. But his ultra-erection had no intention of ebbing - in fact I could have sworn it looked even bigger. 'I knew you would be doing something right…just tell me you can do it again' he said. I shook my head affirmatively. 'God… it must be thirty inches long… and it's hard' he utters. 'Even longer…' I hear myself rasp. 'I'd like to know about the rest of you…' God I don't believe I said that! He laughed, but then slowly kneeled, keeping his knees wide, so that it ended up a sort of a half kneel and half squat. He gingerly let his monstrous pole down onto the rug. God, what a scene - I felt the rush of blood again. It extended so far that he couldn't reach the head of his own cock without bending it up. I did the same, half squatting directly in front of him, his cock passing between my legs and inches under my ass. My sights were again glued to his pecs. I started stroking them and he obediently flexed them into huge and hard mounds of freaky flesh. Then he literally inflated his chest by breathing in as deep as possible and then flexed his pecs so his chest stood out practically horizontally. I didn't even try to stop a gasp of satisfaction at the feeling of it harden and grow under my hands, forming warm, bulging cords.

'Jesus…how can you be so big…' I muttered more to myself, stroking him, until I finally succumbed and still stroking went down over his huge shoulder to feel and squeeze his arm. It was so big, his bicep bulged even totally relaxed. I could not even get a grip around it's elongated, football shaped bulk with one hand, there were inches to spare. '…huge fucking beef…' it was like hearing someone else talk. Suddenly I realized I must have been mumbling like that all the time, groping him and squeezing, not believing the volumes under my hands. He was obviously getting a kick out of it as well as I did, moaning and whispering encouragements to me. I didn't even want to guess at the size of him, I wanted to know it exactly. In a regrettable glance past his yard-wide physique I noticed the tape measure on the floor. There were some things I just had to do. Making sure my touch never left his skin, I took the tape. First things first - I carefully wrapped it around his arm, as he helped me rising it a bit, where I guessed it would peek the most. He knew exactly when to start flexing, so maddeningly slowly. '…Yeah…flex it…pump it up big…' I started as he first raised his arm, which made the huge gob of flesh that was his triceps hang down. I had only fractions of a second to check out the cold measure before he started bringing up his forearm stretching the tape. It was definitely something over 28 inches, that's all I could see before it started getting larger by the second as he slowly flexed. His half-hanging biceps first rose to life again forming that foot-ball shape and as he brought his forearm higher it started getting shorter and then round, almost a perfect ball. With great control he stretched the flex in time to my utter enjoyment, as the separate heads started showing on his biceps as it became shorter and higher, and his triceps became a collection of thick cords. He then slowly pulled his elbow inwards and slightly down, making way for a full biceps flex and then turned his wrist inward fully flexing. 'Fucking shit!' I exclaimed as his bulging peak suddenly became higher and grew a further peek of the second head of the muscle, breaking all size records by far, the big cords of his triceps dividing into smaller cords. Even with his long-boned frame there was only what looked like a bit more than two inches to spare between the tip of his engorged biceps to his clenched fist. I almost unconsciously adjusted the measure, which read something over 30 inches, I didn't even check! My god, there were people whose waists were that big! The flexed muscle of his forearm pushed out a network of bulging veins. He had the most freakishly shaped biceps of all times, bulging almost twice as high a its length, so that the tendon holding it to the elbow joint now stood vertically under his skin. His skin was stretched so much that it became visibly lighter. He pumped it up and down very slightly squeezing so hard I could hear his tendons groan, regaining pump, and soon the ends of the tape popped out of my hand. I let the tape fall down to feel this steel mountain of a muscle with both hands, for which there was plenty of space, and as soon as I started squeezing I felt his cock rise and fall between my legs as he started jacking off by rubbing it into the soft carpet, his arm under mine and behind my back. In a second we synchronized perfectly, my right hand rubbing my cock into his monster, his left rubbing it into me and stroking, and my left squeezing and groping madly the oiled balloon of the biceps of his right, which he continued pumping up and down, making me feel it ebb and grow back to its out of this world dimensions. Our voices became a collection of grunts, hisses, sighs, and finally wails as I experienced the fire of orgasm again, spraying his chest with more jizz than I ever thought I had. I almost fell back as I tried to drop down to reach his own fountain in time, distant because of the preposterous size of his manhood, moving as he started spreading my jizz over his pecs with his hand, his pecs which twitched uncontrollably telling me together with the expression on his face about the rising roar in his head. I practically lied down before it, my cock still dribbling, unwilling to even touch his spear, and wrapped my lips as much as I could over his cockhead, managing to get them around little more than his piss-slit, teasing it with my tongue. He shouted the same instant, barely managing to hold himself from falling over, and this time I was sure his hose swelled, as I waited for it to fill me up with pints of his man-juice. It took several seconds for it to reach the great distance from his big balls, while I licked him. Finally I was rewarded by a gush of thick, hot liquid. He tasted sweet, and of something reminding me of almonds. Streams lashed my tongue as he moaned like an animal, again and again.

What followed is more than a bit hazy. I remember I watched him half-sprawled on the floor. It took almost ten minutes for his hardon to start going flaccid. We were both spent and he even dozed off on the floor. I the next few minutes his shaft started wrinkling and grew noticeably shorter. About that time I found the moisturizing cream bottle and managed to wring the last of the cream out to spread it over his cock, to keep the irritation down. The stroking woke him up and we moved to the bed. We slept together, reeking of sweat and come, completely spent out. The night was full of dreams of him, as I felt the bulges of the huge muscles of his body touch me and press into me, and I could feel his long cock spread over my body a few times, a feeling impossible to describe. •

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