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Big Mac and Tommy Boy
|This is a sort-of sequel/companion piece to "Alex's Adventures Through the Posing Mirror."|
|Big Mac Correlli rummaged through the new membership files as he prepared to close the gym for the night. A massively muscled man, his thick beefy body exuded strength and power. He was over six-feet tall, in his mid-40s, with more than a hint of gray in his hair and thick black mustache.
He idly stroked the right nipple on his thick chest as he recalled his session with that hot college junior the other night. That boy Alex sure had a talented mouth, he thought with a smile, squeezing hard and sucking in his breath. And so appreciative, although it was true that most of his playmates were so grateful when they got a chance to worship all his muscle and power. Some of them got off on just his feats of strength. Of course, when he pumped up so much that he ripped out of his clothes, they all had the best orgasms of their lives. He was wearing yet another new pair of sweats and a black t-shirt that molded itself to every curve and bulge of his physique. It was getting damn expensive to buy new stuff all the time.
He was bent over the filing cabinet when he heard the door open. "Sorry, buddy," he called over the desk. "Gym's closed for the night."
"You call this fucking shithole a gym?" a strong voice said in response. "Christ, I've seen vitamins with more iron."
Mac snorted and turned around angrily, slamming the file drawer shut with a bang. It popped out the back of the cabinet.
An equally huge man stood in front of the desk, wearing a t-shirt and tightly-packed jeans. Like Mac, he was in his mid-40s, about Mac's height, but clean-shaven with buzz-cut blond hair. Mighty shoulders strained the threads of his maroon shirt, which then hugged immense pecs and curved downward over a big powerlifter's musclegut. Tree-trunk thighs filled his Levi's to the breaking point and a thick bulge snaked down his right leg.
Mac's face split into a grin, eyes crinkling in craggy lines when he saw who it was. "Tommy Boy," he cried, coming around the desk to envelope his friend in a powerful bear hug. On a lesser man, ribs would have cracked and a spine shattered. Tommy just wrapped his own arms around Mac and squeezed back equally as hard.
"Mac-n-cheese!" he said. "Fuck, it's good to see you, man!" The two behemoths hugged tighter, each increasing the pressure. "You give, man?" Tommy grunted, his face going beet red as he powered his arms around Mac's thick body.
"Fuck you, asshole," Mac grunted back, increasing his own pressure. "You're gonna give!" He managed to grasp his right wrist with his other hand and started pumping his arms in short bursts, each time increasing the pressure until Tommy was grunting. "Who's the man, Tommy Boy?" Mac said through clenched teeth. "C'mon, who's the man?"
Tommy squeezed back harder, but Mac had gotten the leverage on him, surprising because of his bulky rockgut. "OK, Mac-n-cheese, fuck, you are," he laughed, squeezing tears from his eyes.
"Who's the man? Let me hear you say it again."
"Fuck! You da man, Mac, you da man! I give already. Let go."
"Drop your arms first, Tommy Boy," Mac ordered, giving another thrust of his arms, which elicited another groan from Tommy.
"Oh, man, c'mon, don't you trust me?" Tommy laughed, but he wrapped his own arms tighter around his friend.
"You gotta be kidding, shithead," Mac laughed back, tears running down his own face from being squeezed by Tommy's massive guns. "I'm not falling for that again."
"OK, OK," he said, relaxing his arms.
Mac released his own, but ran his hands up Tommy's broad back to grab the back of his friend's head, pulling it back a little. He whispered hoarsely, "Who's your daddy?" before planting his lips on his pal's and driving his tongue deep inside Tommy's mouth. Tommy fought back with his own tongue, reaching his massive paw to Mac's prominent right nipple. He gave it a hard tug, causing Mac to arch his back in pleasure and moan into Tommy's mouth. They broke the kiss and stepped back, staring at each other, giant chests heaving. "God, Tommy, it's good you again," Mac said, cupping his hands around Tommy's pecs, then down his musclegut, to rest lightly on the bulge in Tommy's jeans. "What are you doing in this neck of the woods?"
"Hey, you're looking at the new athletics director for Mackenzie College," he answered, puffing up his chest proudly, and thumping on the solid muscle.
"Get outta here!" Mac said. "Shit, the college must be pretty hard up."
"Well, it wasn't the college that was hard up," Tommy laughed. "It was the dean of students. I thought that fucker was going to cum in his pants when I showed up for the interview. When I lifted my arm to scratch my head, and my bicep just happened to flex and tear my sleeve a little, I think he did cum. Long story short, here I am. Not that I'm not qualified, you understand."
"I know you're qualified," Mac said, going to the front door and locking it. "It's so good to see you again. What's it been? Ten years?"
Tommy started wandering around the gym. "Yeah, man, too fucking long. Christ, I haven't found anyone recently to play with who can even come close to being as strong as I am. When I took this job, I remembered that you lived in town. I am really glad to see you, Mac."
"So when do you start this new job?" Mac asked. "Next semester?"
"No, actually, I start on Monday. The old athletics director quit and they were in a hurry to find someone new."
"Uh-huh," Mac nodded suspiciously. "You breeze into town on a Friday night, to start a new job Monday morning. Where you living?"
Tommy hemmed and hawed a little. "Well, the thing of it is, this happened kind of fast, and since you lived in town, I kind of figured..." his voice trailed off.
"You figured you could stay with me...right, Tommy Boy?" Mac finished. "What makes you think I have room for you? Or that I even want you around? It's been 10 years."
"Yeah, well, I figured we could make up for lost time. You're not going to put your old buddy out on the street, are you, Mac-n-cheese?"
Mac snorted. He had missed Tom Boyle, more than he cared to admit. "Well, not on the street, but you certainly are going to put out."
Tommy laughed. "You think so, man? You and what army?"
"Well, I've got this for artillery," Mac boasted, raising his arms to his side and slowly flexing his arms up into a monstrous double biceps. His biceps swelled into bowling ball size, veins running all over the solid surface of his arms. "These fucking bazookas'll take you down."
Tommy powered his own up quickly, biceps exploding into granite hardness. They pumped so fast, his sleeves didn't have a chance to recede. A pair of loud, satisfying rips echoed through the empty weight room, as the maroon fabric parted from the pressure. "There's another one gone," Tommy complained, lowering his arms with the material flapping uselessly over the thick muscle.
"Yeah, happens to me all the time," Mac agreed.
"So what's it gonna be, bro?" Tommy asked, trying to make his eyes all puppy dog innocence. "Have I got a place to stay?"
Mac shook his head resignedly. "Shit, Tommy, you know I could never turn you down," he said with a chuckle. "But you are going to work for it."
"Thanks, man. I owe you."
"Yeah, and I'm gonna take it out in trade."
Tommy snorted in response. He continued wandering around the gym, his eyes stopping on the mangled 45-pound plate that Mac had crushed for Alex. He raised an eyebrow and picked it up, holding it in his beefy hands. "You get a lot of action from the college boys?"
Mac smiled, deep dimples forming. "Enough," he said. "But like you, no one who even comes close to me. Hell, even with you in town, there's still no one."
"You think so, Mac-n-cheese?" Tommy asked lightly. He held the plate out again. "You still doing that 'wasp-waisted' bodybuilder trick? Well, at least you've moved up to a 45-pounder." He ran his hands over the remains of the roughly triangular plate. He started pinching the edges together, leaving fingerprints as he compressed the iron plate. "Man, that schtick was old when you used to do it with me. Who'd you impress with it this time? One of your little college worshippers?"
Mac grunted in the affirmative as he watched Tommy continue to crimp the edges of the plate together, almost absentmindedly, and felt his dick start to throb each time Tommy squeezed down. Tommy's thick forearms flexed and relaxed, veins growing more prominent as he used just the muscles in his forearms to continue mangling the plate. When he had pinched the edges together, he began folding the edges of the triangle inward, forcing the iron to compact even more. He squeezed it between his hands and then started rolling the misshapen mass between his hands, grunting occasionally as he applied pressure to the black iron. More pressure, more compression. Again and again. Finally, he had rolled the remains of the 45-pound plate into a super dense ball of iron.
"Hey, Mac, think fast," Tommy called out, firing the ball at Mac from across the room.
"Jesus Christ, asshole," Mac shouted, as he caught it, barely. "You'd have taken out the window if I missed."
Tommy shrugged massive shoulders. "Your fault for not catching it then, old man. Maybe you're slowing down in your old age, living the good life with a bunch of college boys to worship you every day."
Mac smiled evilly and held his hands out in front of him. With a show of some force, he pressed the iron between his hands, flattening it into a disc. They both heard a rip and the back of Mac's t-shirt split over the broad wings of his back. "Goddamn it!" he cried. "Another fucking shirt!" With an angry flip of his wrist, he hurled the disc back to Tommy, who only just managed to dodge out of the way. It lodged itself in the wall behind him.
"Fuck, man!" Mac cried. "You shithead, why didn't you catch it?"
"Hey, buddy, you got pissed off. There was no way I was going to catch that thing. Look at it this way, you've got something else to show off to your worshipping patrons."
Mac snarled and reached for the bottom of his shirt. Tommy strode over and stopped him. "Leave it on, Mac-n-cheese," he ordered, pulling Mac close and running his hands around the gym owner to stroke his solid back through the tear. "So fucking big," he murmured in Mac's ear, as his hands played across Mac's barn door back. "You've been taking care of yourself, buddy. So fucking hot."
Mac moaned in response, pulling Tommy's head near so that their lips met. Again, he assaulted his friend's mouth with his own, tongues jousting. He watched Tommy's eyes, then let his own travel down his front. "Wish I could say the same about you, chum," he laughed, pulling back. "What's with the fat gut?"
"Fuck you, man," Tommy cried in mock indignation, pushing Mac away. "Here I am, getting all romantic on you and you're telling me I'm fat? I'll have you know this is solid fucking muscle, bro."
He slapped his rock-solid musclegut with a heavy hand. It reverberated with a resounding thump, like a bass drum. "When I was doing the World's Strongest Man contests, it just started developing 'cause the big boys gotta eat a lot to stay strong. Besides, I kind of like it now. You should see those pretty gymboys go crazy when they feel it between their legs."
"You don't see a big gut on me now, do you?" Mac asked, lifting up his own shirt to show off his cinderblock abs and slapping them.
Tommy shrugged and turned away. Mac came up behind him and reached around him to run his hands over Tommy's rockgut. He murmured soothingly in Tommy's ear. "Tommy Boy, you're not hurt are you? You know I'd never hurt you." He snaked his tongue in and out as he caressed Tommy's musclegut. "I'd be lying, Tommy, if I said I didn't think it was really hot on you."
Tommy arched his back as Mac licked more insistently on his ear. "Oh, fuck, man," he moaned, reaching behind him to pull Mac even closer against him. Mac began to thrust his hard dick against Tommy's meaty jeans-encased ass, his own sweatpants tenting in front.
"Exactly what I have in mind, Tommy Boy. You want it?" he asked. "Remember when we used to play 'Hide the Salami?'"
Tommy pulled away and turned around. Reaching down to grip Mac's balls in his strong right hand, he gave them a squeeze. "I seem to remember that there was some 'negotiating' involved before you hid the salami. Something about 'winner take all.'"
"Hey, buddy, you're already 0 for 1. Your ass is mine by right of conquest," Mac said, shifting a little as Tommy increased his pressure on his balls.
"That was just a warm-up, Mac-n-cheese," Tommy said, squeezing a little harder. "Besides, it seems you're a little behind the eight ball now, as it were."
Mac twisted but Tommy's hand remained clamped on his balls. He tightened his fist a little more. "Whadda say, bro?" he asked nonchalantly.
The pressure was building steadily. "OK, Tommy. Fuck! We're even now. Let go of my damn balls," Mac cried.
Tommy gave another hard squeeze, then released them with a laugh. "Funny, I don't see that your dick's gone down any. Probably haven't been manhandled like that in ages. You miss it, don't you?"
Mac's balls were still tingling. "Yeah," he admitted. "I get off on having the wimps worship me, but sometimes I do miss having someone else who's as strong as me."
Tommy looked at him slyly. "Wanna wrestle? Same stakes as always - winner takes loser's ass."
Mac raised his meaty arm and wriggled his fingers. "You're on. And then you're going down."
Tommy reached out his own arm to intertwine his fingers with Mac's, then raised his other arm. Mac grasped that hand. Muscles tensed as power came up against power.
Battle was joined.
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