Alex's Adventures Through the Posing Mirror

By beeflover2001


Alex’s Adventures Through the Posing Mirror which our hero discovers that while the eyes are the windows to the soul, the mirror shows the whole fucking body

Alex Spencer grabbed his gym bag from the car and ran to the gym.

He was a junior at Mackenzie College and had just finished with his study group at the library. He wanted to work out when he remembered the school gym was still closed for repair. There was a gym in town he'd gone to, but he wasn’t sure what time it closed.

He burst through the door and saw that Mac Corelli – whom everyone called Big Mac Daddy (though not to his face) – the owner of the gym was on duty at the desk. Mac was over six-feet tall, in his mid-40s, with more than a hint of gray in his hair and thick black mustache. When he smiled, two deep dimples formed on either side of his face. Mac had owned the Birchwood Gym for nearly 20 years, after retiring from powerlifting and bodybuilding competition. He took a paternal view towards his gym patrons, no matter what their ages.

Alex’s cock throbbed a bit at the sight of the big man. “Is it too late to get a workout in, Mac?” The muscle-bound Italian stud appraised the young man with a practiced eye. “Afraid so, Alex, I’m just about to close up,” he said, standing and stretching, biceps bunching solidly.

“Shit,” Alex said, not so discreetly glancing at Mac Daddy's physique. “I got tied up at school and I really needed to workout some of this stress. Is there anything I can do?” “Why don't you work out at the gym at school?” Mac asked.

“It’s closed for renovation,” Alex answered.

Mac thought for a few seconds. “Well, I was going to do some pumping up now that we’re closed,” Mac said. “Privileges of being the owner,” he laughed. “If you want, you can stay until I’m finished,” he added, coming around from the desk to lock the front door.

“That would be great. I won’t be that long.” Alex woofed silently as Mac passed him to lock the front door. He was wearing a red sweatshirt and gray sweatpants, so there wasn’t anything to see except massive bulk (he probably weighed close to 300 pounds of beef Alex estimated), but an overpowering sense of brute force seemed to radiate from the man’s fleece-covered physique.

“Go on and get cracking,” Mac said, slapping Alex’s ass after he locked the front door. Alex’s cock throbbed a little more. “I may ask you for help later.” “OK.” Alex was dressed in ice blue Lycra shorts and a t-shirt with the name of his school on it.

He started warming up as Mac set himself up at the squat rack. The squat rack was behind Alex, so he watched surreptitiously in the mirror as the muscleman started to load plate upon plate on the reinforced bar, then wide-eyed as eventually 12 45-pounders rested on each side. Alex did a quick calculation – Mac was going to squat over 1000 pounds.

“I’ve had to have some bars specially made,” he stated matter-of-factly, noticing Alex’s wide-eyed stare.

He positioned himself under the bar, which, even reinforced, had developed a bow in it from the amount of weight at each end. With a grunt, he lifted it off the rack. Slowly he lowered himself down and then up again.

He began pumping out reps in perfect form. Silently, Alex counted along. At 15, Mac began showing some signs of tiring, but he kept going. When he reached 20, Alex suddenly noticed how tight the baggy gray sweatpants had become. He watched, openly now, fascinated as the muscle of Mac’s thighs continued to pump up. Could they actually get big too big for the pants? Nah, that was impossible.

Mac completed 30 reps and re-racked the weight, standing in front of the mirror, his massive chest heaving. He took a look over at Alex. “Are you working out, or are you watching me?” he asked gruffly.

Alex’s heart began to pound from fear (it was already pounding from lust, and his dick was hard at the thought of all that muscle underneath Mac’s sweats) and he quickly looked away.

Mac laughed. “That’s OK, son,” he said. “I don’t mind if you like to look. You want to watch Big Daddy pump up?” He caught Alex’s eyes in the mirror. “You think I don’t know what they call me? That’s OK, too, son, because I am one big fucking Daddy.” Without another word, he began to flex his legs. “These legs pump up really big, doncha think?” Before Alex could answer, he heard a rip and the seam along the left side of Mac’s sweats made way for the giant muscle. “Ah, shit, that’s the fifth pair of sweats I’ve gone through this month,” Mac complained.

“They just don’t make them big enough for all this muscle. I suppose they’d keep longer if I didn’t keep flexing out of them,” he said with a grin. He looked at Alex. “But that’s OK, ain’t it, baby? You like seeing Big Daddy rip out of his clothes.” He stuck his right leg out in front of him and began to flex it. Within a short time, the fabric of his sweatpants was pulled so tight there was nowhere for it to go. The first few threads started popping as Mac continued to flex his mighty thigh, then the seam of it ripped apart and the massive quad burst forth.

“You like to climb trees, boy?” he asked through the mirror, slapping his thigh as he continued to make the muscle on his legs freeze and unfreeze. Each successive flex of the mammoth thighs caused the material of his sweatpants to shred a little more, until they were no more than ribbons of fleece fluttering around the mighty quads. “Maybe if you're good, I’ll let you climb these.

“Time to pump up my calves,” Mac said. He moved to the donkey calf machine. “Normally, I lift my car,” he said, “but I want to get a quick pump.” He thrust his right leg behind him and tensed the calf. The material rippled as the muscle flexed beneath it. Alex gave up all pretense of working out and just watched from his bench as Mac stepped underneath the two pads, inserted the weight pin at the bottom weight, and began to pump out reps. “It’s too fucking light,” he complained.

As with his thighs, Mac’s calves began to pump up and fill the loosely hanging fleece. He let the machine down and stepped back, flexing his calves as the material of his sweats grew taut. “Fuck, these are more than calves, wouldn’t you say, boy? These are fucking bulls.” He twisted and turned his lower legs, bunching the muscle as it pressed tighter and tighter against the fabric. With a final grunt, the muscles burst through the fleece. Mac continued to flex his calves and the remaining material hung in tatters.

Alex moved to get up from the bench and get his hands all over the muscledaddy, but a look from Mac stopped him.

“Son, you don’t move till Big Daddy tells you to move,” he admonished. “Understand?” Alex nodded, his mouth dry.

Mac smirked at the boy, noting the tent in his shorts. “You like what you've seen so far, eh, Alex? Well, you ain't seen nothing yet...” The big muscledaddy moved over to the bench press rack.

Methodically, he began loading 45-pound plates on either side of another reinforced bar. When there were 10 on either side – almost 950 pounds – he positioned himself underneath.

“I’d ask you to spot me, boy,” Mac said with a laugh, “but I don’t think you could help. Don’t take it the wrong way. You can count for me.” He powered the bar off the rack. Methodically, he began pumping the bar up and down, as Alex began counting out loud, “1, 2, 3, 4, 5.” Alex couldn’t believe it as the count kept getting higher and higher. The huge mounds that sat on top of Mac’s chest flattened and filled with each repetition, bulging higher and more full as the seconds passed.

Alex stared.

“Hey, Alex, are you counting?” Mac called gruffly. With a start, Alex realized he had lost count.

“I think you were up to 20,” he said hesitantly.

Mac didn’t reply, but kept the reps going, his grunts of exertion getting louder and louder. With a slam, he replaced the bar on the rack and slid out from under the weight. He looked sternly at Alex. “You know, boy, if you can’t help out Big Daddy, then maybe you don’t belong here.” “I’m sorry, sir,” Alex said quickly.

Mac turned back to the mirror, catching Alex’s eye and winked. He took a deep breath, expanding his ribcage. The red sweatshirt was now filled with the Italian stud’s massive chest and the material was stretched tight.

Mac bounced his pecs in a slow, methodical fashion, each mound flexing into a melon, then relaxing, and started to swing his arms back and forth, stretching the material even further. “I like to stretch ‘em out when I’ve really worked them,” he said, idly tracing the shape of each pec with his fingers. “They’re pretty big, wouldn't you say?” He grabbed his chest with two hands. “You want to see them in the flesh?” Alex licked dry lips and nodded. Shit, he thought, you could even see the veins and striations through the heavy fleece.

The big man smiled. “Watch.” With each stretch and flex of his chest, the sweatshirt grew tighter and tighter, struggling to keep the mighty muscle covered, but it was a losing battle. Alex heard the rip before he saw it, then noticed the gap that had formed in the middle of the sweatshirt. Mac kept flexing his pecs, and the tear grew larger and larger, exposing the hairy mass of his chest.

Another tear formed near the edge of his sweatshirt, running across to meet the vertical gap, and with agonizing slowness, the material peeled away from Mac’s pecs to flap down uselessly at his side. A third tear joined the gap from the other side and more of his big chest was exposed.

Mac flexed the hairy slabs a few more times, glancing at Alex in the mirror. “Shit, these are some big motherfuckers, eh, son? You could lose your whole hand between them,” he boasted. He ran the edge of his hand along his hairy muscle cleavage and tightened his pecs. The blocks of muscle thrust up until they covered half Mac’s hand. “Fuck, that's wedged in tight,” he said, making a big show of trying to pull his handout. “My own little nutcracker,” he chuckled.

Alex moaned, wanting to bury his face between those forested mountains, and watched as Mac made his pecs dance a few more times.

“Hey, kid, want to see a neat little trick?” Not waiting for an answer, Mac grabbed a 25-pound plate and rolled it up and down the center of his chest. He slowly began to flex his pecs, until the 25-pound plate was lodged solidly between them. He took his hands away and tightened his pecs even more. “That plate’s not going anywhere,” he said. He squeezed one more time, then lobbed the plate in front of Alex on the bench. It landed with a crash. “What do you think?” Alex reached down and stared at the weight. The edge that had been stuck in Mac's pecs had been flattened by the power of the man’s muscle.

You could even see the impression of striated flesh. Shit! Alex thought.

How strong was this guy? “You want to see me work my arms now, boy?” Mac asked. He brought his left arm up into a quick flex. The biceps peaked high up the muscledaddy’s forearm, straining at its cloth cover.

“Oh God, yes!” Alex cried.

Mac laughed and lowered his arm, flexing his triceps into a horseshoe only the Jolly Green Giant could toss. “I think you’re a little too eager, son. I’m gonna work my back first. How about a few lat pulldowns?” He moved over to the machine, stuck the pin in the bottom weight and grabbed the bar. Leaning back slightly, he pulled the bar down to his chest with a smooth motion, muttering, “Too damn light,” and began pumping out reps in perfect form. Alex watched as Mac’s back started to pump up and expand. He could barely wait for what was coming next as he humped away on the bench, his dick distending his shorts and so hard it was painful.

Mac had reached 30 reps and his back was now stretching his sweatshirt so tight, the material started to ride up, like a twin-size sheet trying to cover a king-size bed. With a crash, he let the weight down and stood up, standing behind Alex so his back showed up in the mirror in front of the college student. He held his arms far out from his body; his lats had pumped up so big, he couldn’t lower them anymore. “You want to see some bigscreen muscle, boy?” Mac asked, grabbing his waist and doing a lat spread.

The material gave up without a fight and a huge tear formed immediately, running from neck to waist. “Oh, fuck, yeah,” Mac grunted with satisfaction. He hit the pose a few more times, and his sweatshirt spread wide, revealing the knobs and bulges of his back muscles. He rammed his arms backwards, crunching his back in a breathtaking view of thick mature brawn.

Turning around, Mac asked, “Are you ready for my arms now, boy?” Alex nodded silent, not trusting himself to speak. “Good,” Mac said. He went to the end of the dumbbell rack and picked up 195-pounders. Oh God, Alex thought, one of those weighs more than I do.

Mac positioned himself in front of the mirror, his tattered top billowing with every movement. Slowly and methodically, he started to curl his left arm up. The biceps began to go from a thick fat cable to a thick fat bowling ball. The muscle was pushing so tight against the fabric, that Alex could see the wide vein that outlined the colossal biceps. Oh God he wanted to trace his tongue along that vein. Hell, he wanted to lick Big Mac Daddy all over! Mac held the curl for a moment, then slowly lowered the weight, letting his prodigious biceps unfurl while curling the other arm up. Alex whimpered slightly because he couldn't see Mac’s right arm. Mac glanced at the boy in the mirror and angled his body slightly so Alex could now see the reflection of the man’s right biceps empty and fill as he curled the mighty weight, and the left one right in front of him.

He quivered with anticipation as he watched the steel sinews grow and expand, inflating Mac’s sweatshirt even more; so much so that the red of the material was lightening and almost looked pink.

The sweat poured off Mac as he continued to bang out the reps. He stopped at 50, really straining for those last few, as his arms bloated to bowling ball size. “Shit,” he huffed, laying down the ‘bells and flexing his arms at his sides. “You ready for a show, boy?” Alex just stared and without another word, Mac powered into a double biceps shot that left the college student stunned.

“That’s a fucking mountain, wouldn't you say, son?” Mac asked, flattening his arms, then curling them up again, ever so slowly. The biceps pumped even higher, peaking high up Mac’s arms. “Get ready, boy, for a real show.” Alex went nearly delirious at the marvelous sound of ripping fabric. The seam along Mac’s sleeve started to pop its stitches and gaps soon showed, and Alex was able to catch glimpses of butch muscle. “How high do you think I can pump these arms?” Mac asked, pulling his hand down as much as his gargantuan biceps would let him. It wasn’t far. Mac twitched his arm a few more times. The defeated material of his sweatshirt surrendered without another fight and disintegrated.

He brought his left arm up and repeated the procedure. The mammoth biceps pumped up so high, he couldn’t bring his hand any closer to that boulder the called a shoulder and the fabric shredded like confetti.

Proudly Mac held his arms up in a double biceps. Bits of the red sweatshirt clung to the sweat-drenched muscle, but most of it barely hung from bowling-pin forearms and honeydew-sized deltoids. He twitched the biceps a few times and then dropped his arms straight down to let his triceps explode into stupendous size.

Picking up the dumbbells again, he powered out a few dozen triceps kickbacks. When he was done, he flexed his triceps some more. Relaxed, they hung off the back of his arms like ham hocks. Flexed, they solidified into granite horseshoes.

Oh God, Alex thought, Mac’s triceps were thicker than the length of one of his fingers. The muscle was marbled with veins and striations that just seemed to go on forever. With a shudder, he wiped the drool from his mouth.

After flexing his triceps for a while to tease Alex, Mac grabbed the 185s again and proceeded to bang out a dozen shoulder presses with hardly any effort. As his shoulders pumped up, the rest of sweatshirt abdicated its place in defeat to the man’s extraordinary beef. Each head of Mac’s deltoids was prominent; hell, one head was practically bigger than Alex’s whole shoulder. Veins played across the surface of the striated slabs of beef.

“Well,” he said. “They sure don’t make shirts like they used to, eh, son?” With the sweatshirt in tatters, Mac pulled off its remnants, completely exposing his hirsute torso. He dropped his hands in front of him, tensing his massive mountains and began to flex and make them dance.

Nipples nearly as big and thick as Alex's thumb capped Mac’s pecs, pointing straight down from the sheer bulk of the muscle. He ran his hands across his chest, squeezing each tit lightly.

Then he went into a side chest shot. Alex sat on the weight bench, not even thinking coherently anymore. All the blood in his brain had rushed down to his crotch, bringing his dick to the hardest erection he had ever felt. Mac’s huge biceps bunched into a colossal ball at his side and his tremendous pecs jutted straight out atop his enormous ribcage. He pushed his arms out, flexing his forearms, then pulled them back tighter, expanding his chest even further.

From the side chest shot, Mac turned his body slightly, angling into a front lat spread, his enormous lats fanning out behind him. Then he raised his arms into a massive double biceps. Each arm glistened with power.

He caught Alex's eyes in the mirror and smiled wickedly. Alex was drooling with lust, and his dick hard leaked so much the pre-cum stain on his shorts was as big as jar lid.

“Take off your shorts and shirt, boy,” Mac ordered. They were gone in seconds. “That’s a pretty hefty boner you're sporting, Alex.

“Tell you what, just sit there until tell you. No humping the bench, no touching your dick. Understand me, son?” Alex’s breath caught as he sat back, his dick bobbing and leaking.

In no time, the bench was sticky with his pre-cum. It was agony not to touch his cock.

Slowly Mac straightened his arms, letting each imposing biceps flatten. Just as slowly, he tensed his arms again, squeezing the muscles into gigantic mounds. He did this several times, then held the pose.

“Look at the size of these fucking arms, boy. They’re almost 30-fucking-inches. Man, I am huge! Sometimes I can’t believe how big I am.

Go on, tell me how big I am,” Mac ordered.

Alex took a ragged breath from the bench and was almost crying as he said, “Oh God, sir, you’re a giant. I’ve never seen arms as big as yours.” He ached to jerk his dick.

Mac dropped the shredded remains of his sweatpants, revealing completely the white jockstrap he wore. Its straps framed the thickly muscled globes of his ass, and it bulged in front with a basket the size of a melon. He kicked the sweatpants aside.

He continued to pose. Hooking his arms behind his head, he crunched down to an abdominal pose, the thick muscles of his belly rippling.

He moved from side to side, the muscles shifting under his olive skin. Mac caught Alex’s eye in the mirror. “No panty-waist pretty boy here, kid, nothing but big solid muscle.” He walked over to the weight rack and grabbed a 45-pound plate.

“Look at these abs,” he ordered, as Alex shifted his eyes to their reflection. “These are what men’s abs are supposed to look like – big thick and rock-solid. You could do a fucking wash on these abs, isn’t that right, boy?” They looked like cobblestones. He slapped his hand against his abs.

It sounded like a ham hock slamming against the side of a brick wall.

Alex groaned, “Oh, yessir.” “Those namby-pamby boys, with their tiny girl waists, know what I think of them?” Mac asked. “Let me show you.” With his massive hands on either side of the plate, he began to squeeze them together. His arms, shoulders and chest began to bulge with even more muscle and Alex watched openmouthed as the plate began to dent in. He couldn’t believe Mac Daddy was actually squeezing an iron plate.

Mac grunted as he squeezed, the iron plate no match for his iron muscles. Finally, he had compacted the iron so the plate now had a weird hourglass shape. He held up the mutilated plate with two fingers. “You know what happens when those namby-pamby boys with their little girl waists get caught in a strong wind, or by a strong daddy?” He moved his hands to the top and bottom of the hourglass plate.

With a quick snap, and barely a twitch of his muscle, Mac folded the two halves of the dented weight together. “You like that power, boy?” “Oh God, yessir!” Alex cried, humping the bench despite Mac Daddy's orders not to. He couldn't believe how turned on he was by the voyeuristic scene.

Big Daddy noticed. “I didn’t say you could do that, did I?” he asked in a quiet voice that still resonated with barely-controlled power.

“No, sir. I just couldn’t help it,” Alex moaned, his dick as hard as a fencepost between his legs.

“Well, I understand, boy,” Mac answered. “When you see as much fucking muscle as this, you just have to jerk off, don’t you? Go ahead, hump away.” He went into a most-muscular. “You need a roadmap, son? Just follow the vein from my chest and it'll get you where you want to go...straight down to my dick.” Every muscle and vein on his body popped out in freaky relief.

Grabbing his right wrist with his left hand, Mac straightened his arm then flexed it, the huge biceps rounding into a massive ball. “Shit, boy, you could go bowling with this fucking thing. It’s a goddamn boulder,” he said, as he squeezed the muscle with his other hand. He flexed his massive biceps a few times, then switched arms. The thick vein that ran along his biceps pulsed as the big muscles pumped.

He swung his arms out, flexing his torso. He pulled his hands to his waist, flaring his lats again. Then he crunched down, shoving his leg out, letting the striated thighs bulge as he flexed them. Even the immensity of his legs didn’t diminish the size of his basket, which was beginning to grow.

“How’d you like to get between these thighs, baby?” Mac asked.

“I could crush you between these fucking tree trunks. Christ, look at all that fucking muscle.” He jiggled his tremendous quads, then tensed them suddenly, freezing the muscle into granite.

Mac stood straight again, flaring his lats out. He worked his hands into the waistband of his jockstrap and slowly pushed it down, his ass glistening with sweat. The twin cheeks were like iron melons. He flexed each cheek and chuckled as he heard Alex groan from behind him. He popped off a quick single biceps shot, then continued to remove his underwear. With a show of great difficulty, he stretched them over his erect penis, which jutted out almost afoot in front of him.

Naked now, his dick standing straight up, Mac ran through a few more poses, sweat glistening on his muscles, before he slowly began to stroke his organ, pushing his foreskin up and back over the thick head of his cock.

With his other hand, he fondled his mighty balls, pulling and squeezing on the smooth goose eggs as they swung between his legs.

Alex watched, drooling, as Mac jerked off. He pushed his hips harder and faster against the bench, completely drunk at the sight of the massive muscleman.

Mac grinned again and reached his right hand up to cup his mountainous tits. Grabbing each pec, he squeezed and stroked, pulling on his large nipples, twirling his fingers in the jungle of hair that covered his chest. Running his hand down his abs again, he grabbed his horsedick with both hands now and began to fuck them in earnest.

Mac’s muscles bulged and relaxed as he jerked his dick, each pull on that massive organ bringing him closer to orgasm. Alex, behind him, humped the bench faster and faster, let out a bellow as he shot his load.

The sound of Alex’s orgasm and the sight of the boy’s thick cream as it shot over the side of the bench pushed the Italian bodybuilder over the edge.

With a mammoth grunt, he thrust forward and the viscous liquid blasted from his piss slit, coating the mirror in strand after thick ropy strand.

With a final tug on his cock, Mac stood back, his dick softening and swinging wetly between his massive thighs. He nodded at the mirror and watched as Alex stood up, weaving a little, his own dick wet and sloppy.

Without a word, the boy came over to the muscleman and licked the cum from the mirror.

When it was clean, Alex turned back to Mac. The Italian muscleman stood semi-relaxed, lats flared wide, huge hands bunched into fists. Already Alex felt a stirring in his dick as his eyes devoured the strongman's colossal physique.

Nonchalantly, Mac raised his arms and slowly flexed his biceps, until they bulged so high, the peak was within inches of his hand. “You want a piece of these arms, baby?” he asked the poor drooling boy. Alex reached up a tentative hand, to feather it along the massive surface of the Italian stud’s right arm.

Mac made his biceps dance. “Look, boy, now it’s dancing for you.

Christ, you wouldn’t think something so big could dance so pretty, would you? Maybe you want to kiss it awhile, feel that hard muscle between your lips.” “Oh, yes, please, sir,” Alex groaned, moving even closer.

He swiped his tongue over the brawny arm, savoring the feel of the solid muscle in his mouth, letting his teeth rake over the stone flesh and running his hands up behind Mac’s arm to grab the biceps from the other side.

There was no way his mouth could begin to cover the colossal peak of the man’s biceps. Big Mac Daddy thrust his mammoth thigh between Alex’s legs, who spread his legs and started to hump (again!) the mighty tree trunk like a dog, his dick fucking rock goddamn hard. As he moved his hands and tongue all over Mac's enormous body, he shuddered with anticipation. He was in for another intense round of hot musclesex. •

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