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You want some of this?
|I squinted and rubbed my watering eyes as the sun peaked at high noon. For the fiftieth time that morning, I thought of my sunglasses laying on my desk, forgotten. The speaker droned on incessantly, so I changed my gaze to my favorite stud sitting two rows in front.
The moment I had sat down, I noticed him. Like most well-built guys on campus, he was shirtless, working on a deep tan that accentuated his developed muscles. From his bulky physique, I guessed that he must play a brute sport like football or water polo. I drank in the sight of his remarkably broad shoulders; muscles bulged from his habitual stretching. I couldn’t blame him. These bleacher seats were damn uncomfortable.
At times like this, ogling this stud who probably knew how fucking hot he was, I wished more than ever that I could be that muscular. He really didn’t know how good he had it. I looked down at my scrawny arms in dismay. You could barely make out my biceps from my triceps, and no veins showed anywhere. These arms didn’t elicit any feelings of strength or masculinity. Nobody would take a second look, much less cry out, “Damn dude, you’re fuckin built!” I looked back up at the stud’s expansive back and his thick arms. At that moment, he chuckled to his friend and turned to clasp hands with his buddy – you know, the thumbs up, arm wrestling grasp. Naturally, his arm muscles jumped to attention: biceps swelling proudly, forearms writhing, and veins threatening to pop out of his skin.
Suddenly, my attention was lost as I heard the speaker, “And so we’ll see you all next Saturday for the first home game of the season. Go Warriors!”
To my amazement, it was over. Finally. The crowd clapped, everyone stood up and hastened to the exits. I sighed as I took one last look at the stud two rows in front. I simply followed the crowd of wide-eyed freshmen - everyone was going to the activities fair. Besides, Clay had said he would meet me at the football club’s table. I wouldn’t miss that for anything.
The activities fair was a logistical nightmare – kids wandering everywhere, people shouting over each other, tables that promoted all sorts of clubs, from judo to ultimate frisbee, powerlifting to snowboarding. I had a map, but navigating to the football club should be fairly simple – just look for a group of towering, huge guys! I thought I had found the right table, but then I saw the sign for “Rugby – Are You Tough Enough?” I glanced at the three guys sitting at the table. Of course, all three were shirtless and impressively built. Each looked typically jock-like, sporting a strong square jaw, thick neck, and roided out body from years of serious lifting.
One of the studs turned his gaze toward me and his crackling brown eyes locked on mine– fuck. I knew I was in trouble. His gaze quickly scanned over me, a 5’6 150 pound weakling wearing a loose t-shirt, the unfettered sleeves flapping slightly in the wind. I caught his smile to himself, a smirk that blatantly said, “What a fuckin loser.”
Before I could turn away he said loudly, “Yo, you wanna try out for the rugby team? Check it out guys, I think we got a starter this year!” The other two studs turned to look at me but resumed their previous conversations. Obviously, they weren’t impressed.
I was about to speak when a huge body moved between me and the stud at the table. This new guy was one of the biggest dudes I’d seen that day – at least 6’2 and probably around 250 pounds of solid muscle. I realized he was on his way to another table, as he kept walking away from us. The stud at the table yelled at him, “Yo! Fuck man, you’re HUGE. You wanna play rugby with us?” The huge guy turned and seemed interested. With the view of me blocked by the huge musclemonster, I took the chance to get the hell out of there.
I waded my way through the flood of students and was about to check the map when I heard deep-voiced shouts and words of encouragement.
“You got this man, come on!” “Fuckin pussy, go for it. Don’t quit out!”
I followed the cheering to find a grassy area that had a circle of huge guys. I tried to squeeze my way in the middle to see what was going on. It wasn’t easy, for the guys who comprised the circle were all very wide and heavily muscled. Hoping I wouldn’t piss anyone off, I turned my small shoulders sideways and nudged my way in.
I caught my breath at what I saw. An exceptionally massive guy – his shirtless, overdeveloped torso left no doubt – was lying on a flat bench, pushing up a barbell that held an incredible amount of weight. I tried to count the number of plates, but my gaze kept going back to his enormous pecs, straining to press the heavy load. Suddenly, the barbell rose quickly and the guy grunted, “Grrrrrrrrrrraaaagggghhhhh!!!” as he threw the weight up and on the rack. The weights clanged and rattled unsettlingly, but nobody complained. He sat up as cheers went up around him, and his gaze met mine. Fuuuck, it was Clay! He grinned stupidly and stood up to greet me.
“Brad, you made it! Fuckin A. You’re late.” He grabbed my shoulder with a meaty hand and squeezed hard. I looked past his towering muscled body at his handsome, chiseled face. Damn, I was reminded again how much taller he was. My head barely came up to his mighty chest. I felt incredibly weak next to such a display of raw power. Who wouldn’t?
I couldn’t help but smile with him. I glanced at the bench and said, “Fuck, you’re strong Clay…” and immediately regretted it. I must sound so stupid around him.
He started to bounce his pecs, one after the other. “Yeah, dude, I know. But you haven’t seen the real show yet. Watch this.” He turned around, went back to the bench, and stood there impassively with his thick, veined arms crossed in a menacing pose.
Another shirtless stud – where did these guys come from? – came up next to Clay and called out to the crowd, “Who here thinks this stud can’t do it again? Come on now, y’all know he’s strong, but that doesn’t mean you can’t hurt his pride! Anyone?”
The crowd murmured and joked about Clay’s “doing it again.” Getting into the moment, I called out in a shrill voice, “He can’t do it!” Fuck, why does my voice do that at the worst times?
The announcer stud turned to me, “All right dudes, we have a doubter! Come over here man, what’s your name?”
“Uh, Brad. I’m Brad Thompson.”
“All right Brad, you sure you want to insult this big man over here?” He motioned at Clay, standing tall and proud, looking practically invincible with his immense shoulders, thick torso, ripped six-pack, and beefy quads stretching his athletic shorts. He was a god among jocks. The crowd laughed at the joke and waited for my response.
“…Yeah, he’s worn out” – the crowd laughed at the innuendo – “from the first lift. I bet he’ll even need a spot!” At that, the announcer chuckled, “Ooooh shit, we got a real challenge here folks. All right, there’s one thing I forgot to mention. As the challenger, you gotta give the big man here your shirt. He’ll want it to remember your challenge today.”
Suddenly I felt so stupid for opening my mouth. My shirt?! Fuck. The last thing I wanted to do was to take off my shirt in front of all these muscled studs. I guessed they were all on the football team or hoped to play in the football club – in other words, they were way more muscular and huge than I could ever be. Without warning, Clay stepped up to me, and his exposed pecs bumped into my face. The crowd laughed again, and as I flinched, I felt strong hands grab the bottom of my loose t-shirt and pull up, hard.
Before I knew it, I was standing shirtless in the middle of a circle of football jocks. My pale, undeveloped upper body must have been the weakest thing those studs had seen. In an effort to hide myself, I slumped my shoulders and crossed my arms. Surprisingly, the crowd didn’t laugh this time. All eyes were on Clay.
Clay raised my shirt triumphantly, as if it were a prize. Then he fumbled with it to find the opening. The stud announcer narrated, “All right, the big man Clay here is gonna wear Brad’s shirt and bust some iron, not to mention Brad’s poor shirt!” The crowd cheered Clay on and I could only watch as he somehow managed to fit my size-small shirt on his enormous body.
Clay effortlessly tore the collar to fit around his bull neck and ripped the shirt sleeves to stretch around his massive guns. In short, he looked ridiculous – the shirt body came down only to the bottom of his chest, leaving his six pack fully exposed. His shoulders were so powerfully wide, the sleeves were more like shoulder caps; they stretched taut around his broad shoulders and couldn’t even make it to his savage bis and tris.
The huge stud sauntered over to the bench and got ready to press the weight again. His superhuman muscles looked even larger and thicker now that my shirt – the shirt that had hung loose on my scrawny body only minutes before – was feebly trying to contain Clay’s beefy mass. I could feel myself getting stiff as a board at the sight of such blatant development.
Again, the football studs cheered their musclegod on, and Clay responded with several grunts as he held the weight against his pecs, poised to unleash his strength. With a deafening roar, he pushed the weight up, veins in his neck and forearms bulged madly, and my shirt started to tear along the sleeves and from the collar down his pecs. His trademark animalistic grunt, “Grrrrraaaaaaaggh!!!” marked the peak of his intensity. All at once, my shirt simply exploded and was torn to shreds, all from the raw power of Clay’s muscles. I almost finished right then and there, but I couldn’t, not here in front of all these football jocks.
As Clay sat up and received praise from his fellow football buddies, I suddenly felt an arm around my neck. Choking, I was yanked back violently as I grasped at the beefy arm. I couldn’t get a grip anywhere, it was just pure rock-hard muscle, too thick for my small hands.
“You little faggot, I knew it!” His hot breath assailed my face as he forcefully turned me around. I tried to make out his face in the high-noon sun, and with a rush it dawned on me. The rugby jock! As if he read my mind, he continued, “Yeah that’s right, you asshole. I saw you checkin out me and my buds at the rugby table. And now I see you lookin’ at Clay the same fairy way, even sportin some wood huh?” With that he grabbed my member with a large hand and squeezed excruciatingly hard. “Come here, you runt.”
In one smooth motion, the rugby jock grabbed my waist, squatted, and lifted me on one shoulder. I gasped for breath and was completely in his control. Hanging upside down, I couldn’t tell where we were going, but I saw tires and realized we were entering a trailer – probably a storage trailer for the tables and chairs. The muscular jock, who probably wasn’t much older than I, threw me down to the empty trailer floor and turned to lock the door.
It was much darker in the trailer, but I could make out the large shadow cast by his massive frame. His anger was apparent as he approached me with closed fists. “Now’s your chance, you fag! You want muscle?? You got it, right here.” He furiously unbuttoned his shorts and took off his boxers. I saw his member fully erect, ready for action.
I don’t remember many times I’ve been truly afraid, but this time was one of them. I wished I were somewhere else, it just didn’t make sense. This sort of thing happens to other people, not me. But I was strangely agreeable as his strong hands tore off my shorts and left me naked. Was he right? Is this what I wanted, a muscle stud to take control?
“Feel some real muscle, faggot,” he whispered. He grabbed my hand painfully and guided it to his thick pecs. In response to my touch, he flexed his pecs. I couldn’t help my desires as I opened my hand and massaged his developed slabs of beef. As the muscle flexed under my hand, I began to get aroused. He embraced me in his thick arms and I was surrounded by pure, raw muscle, so fucking strong and masculine. “You like a real man, don’t you, pussy boy?” he muttered as he grabbed my member and began to stroke it.
“Yeahhh…” I moaned. I couldn’t believe how hard this guy was. It seemed he was just back from the gym, so pumped and solid his muscles were. He began to playfully hug me harder and harder, testing my limits for pain. Trapped in his powerful embrace, I couldn’t do anything but rest my head against his bulging pecs, to which he replied by flexing them against my cheek.
Suddenly, he turned me around and pushed me so hard I fell to my hands and knees. At that moment, I knew what he intended. I wasn’t aroused anymore, but rather scared as he started to rub his member against my back. Scrambling, I tried to head for the door, but he pushed me down. “Uh uh, loser, you’re not going anywhere.” Abruptly, my hand found something solid and I panicked. I knew what it was instantly. The bottle of gel that Clay used to get huge! It must have fallen out of my shorts pocket.
I turned around to my assailant and in desperation offered the gel. He blinked. “What’s this? Ah, you want me to slide it in huh? No pain for the fairy? Fine, give it here.” He snatched the gel and began to apply it on his member. I breathed heavily and my mind raced during his distraction. How was I going to get out of this?
Before I could think more, I felt him inside me all at once and I screamed out in pain. Then I felt a strong hand clasp over my mouth. “Shut up, fag, or I’ll make sure you’ll be lying in the gutter tomorrow morning.” He worked me over and over, saying “You want this muscle monster don’t you?” and “Take it, boy, you know you want this.” I could barely contain the tears.
Suddenly it was all over, and I felt him finish on my back as he pulled out and groaned in pleasure. In a quick motion, I grabbed the bottle of gel, emptied its contents all over my body, and mixed it with the rugby stud’s seed. He was too busy enjoying the moment to notice. I was able to cover my entire body with the gel and his seed just as he opened his eyes again. He smiled idiotically and said, “You’re lucky, fag. Now you know what it’s like to be done by a real muscle stud.” He flexed his biceps and looked at them approvingly.
At that moment, the door to the trailer swung open and bright sunlight filled the room. A thickly set figure stepped inside and a deep voice boomed, “What the fuck is going on here?! Brad are you all right?”
I looked up at the enormous, hulking figure, and I felt very safe. “Yeah, I’m all right now… he… he raped me.” I glanced at the rugby jock.
Clay glowered and turned his gaze toward the smaller rugby jock. The rugby jock didn’t seem so muscular with Clay towering over him. Clay looked at our naked bodies, the glistening stickiness that was obvious all over my body. “You fuckin did WHAT?” His rage was palpable. In three long strides, Clay was picking up the rugby jock and shaking him. “You asshole. What’s your name?”
The rugby jock looked up at Clay’s menacing face and then looked away. “T-Ted. I didn’t do anything, Clay, he’s the one who told me about this place. He wanted me to show him some real muscle and h-“
”Fuck that, you think you’re real muscle? Ted, is it? And how the fuck do you know my name? It doesn’t matter, I’m going to fuck you up so bad you won’t ever touch a weight again, and then you’ll shrivel up and be even weaker than Brad over here.” I felt a pain in my chest hearing Clay talk about me like that. I had never seen Clay so angry. He was fuming, completely lost in his rage. I turned to look at the dark corner.
With that, Clay threw Ted to the ground and closed the door to the trailer. He took off his athletic shorts and put one fist in his hand. Cracking joints and knuckles, he twisted his neck and torso, like a fighter preparing for battle. The look on Ted’s face was one of pure terror. He scrambled on the floor backwards, using hands and feet. “Clay, please, no…”
Clay grinned and flexed his pecs as he bore down on Ted. “You want to be the fuckin muscle champ, huh? Well take a good look, asshole. I’m the champ around here. You want pecs?” He grabbed Ted’s head in one meaty hand and shoved it into his deep cleavage between the slabs of beef. Clay then flexed his pecs hard, forcing Ted’s nose and mouth deeper into the depths of his raw muscle. He held Ted there until Ted started to choke, his body twitching, hands futilely groping at Clay’s lats. With a grunt of disgust, Clay pulled Ted’s head back forcefully and glared at him. Ted choked and struggled for air. It was odd seeing the rugby jock being manhandled so easily. Clay’s power was absolute. He was in control now.
“Now get the fuck out of here. I don’t want to see your pussy body in the gym, ever. If I do, you’ll find out how I get these muscles so thick and pumped. Understand?” Ted nodded, tears streaming down his chiseled cheeks. Whether they were tears of pain or sadness, I didn’t know.
Ted struggled to get up on one leg and attempted to put his pants back on. As he fumbled with the button, I felt an odd warmth about me. It was happening! The gel, the seed from Ted’s climax, it was going to make me grow. I began to flex my arms and look at them in wonder. “Looks like you got a hold of my stuff,” Clay whispered. “Fuck, you used ALL of it?” He held the empty bottle in front of me.
Then he smiled the good smile he always saved for me and grabbed Ted’s wrist in a meaty hand. “Wait a minute, asshole. You’re going to stay here for a bit. Little Brad here isn’t through with you yet.”
The cocky attitude returned to Ted all of a sudden. “Fuck that, look at him. He’s as thin as a rail. We’re the real muscle studs. Clay, bro, you need to realize that studs like you and me don’t need weak fairies like Brad over there.” Before Clay could stop him, Ted swung a punch and hit me square in the jaw. I fell to the ground and heard a struggle as Clay pinned Ted to the ground.
Pushing against the floor, I felt myself getting up and began to feel a surge of strength, of power, of something coming from within me. I clenched my fists and strode over to Clay, who had forced Ted into a kneeling position. I could feel myself growing.
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