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Leader of the Pack
|When I left off talking about Johnny we had just woken up after a fantastic night together in our Boy Scout tent. What an incredible experience it was, feeling all the muscles of Johnny’s buff body as he cranked out hundreds of pushups and situps. Then we wrestled and I got to feel the tremendous strength of Johnny’s muscles as he easily pushed and pulled my wimpy body any way he wanted. Johnny liked it when I felt his muscles and told him how hard and strong they were. He was proud of his muscles and he liked showing off to a little wimp like me. When we were wrestling I told him I felt like such a wimp next to him and liked feeling the strength of his big muscles and being pinned by him. He looked at my pathetic little body, looked at his bulging pecs and then said, “Yeah I guess you are a wimp, John. I got muscles and you don’t. I’m a jock and you’re a dweeb. And you know what wimp? I’m gonna get even bigger and stronger, so you better get used to getting your puny little body crushed by these big, strong muscles.” Then he laughed, wrapped his muscular arms around my chest and squeezed all the air out of my lungs with one enormous surge of power from his rippling lats and arms. He forced me to the ground, grabbed my arms and easily pinned them over my head. As he pinned me he looked me in the eyes with his beautiful hazel eyes and smiled. I smiled back. I was looking forward to spending more time with Johnny.
The next day our Boy Scout troop did some hiking and fishing. When nobody was looking Johnny came up to me and flexed his arm right in front of my face. He grinned as I stared at the bulging bicep. “Look at the power, wimp,” said Johnny. He knew I was mesmerized by the size and strength of that hard baseball bicep. Sometimes he would come up to me, place my hand on his pecs or abs and then flex them. I felt a twinge go up my spine as his hard muscles bulged and felt like rock under my tender little fingers. Johnny looked down at my crotch and laughed when he saw my cock get stiff under my shorts. Johnny was enjoying showing off his muscles to me and I was enjoying feeling them. I couldn’t believe this kid was only six months older than me. He was such a stud. He wasn’t going to turn 12 until October and already he had the body of a muscular young teenager.
Right after that weekend I learned that I was going to be skipping a grade and going into the seventh grade just like Johnny. It seems I did really well on some tests — I guess I’m a genius or something — and the school and my parents decided to skip me a grade. I was a little intimidated at first at the thought of having to go to class with older kids, but then I realized that I would be going to school with Johnny too and that made up for everything. I could hardly wait for school to start.
When I told Johnny the news, he smiled and gave me a high five. “Right on, bro,” he said. “Hey, football practice starts next week and they’re going to open up the weight room at school. Why don’t you come with me to practice? I talked to the coach last week and he said the team is looking for a Manager. All the players call the kid the waterboy, but his real title is Manager. Anyway, usually the Manager is a little seventh grader who is too puny to play football but who wants to be part of the team. You’d be perfect, John. You like muscle, don’t you?” Johnny flexed his arm and placed my hand over his bulging bicep. Then he grabbed my crotch and felt my little cock getting hard. “Yeah, you really like muscle, I can tell. Well, you’re going to see a lot of muscle on this team. These kids are built! They’ll probably give you a lot of shit about being such a little runt. They might even push you around with their big muscles. But I think you’d like that, wouldn’t you John?” Johnny bumped his big chest into my skinny little body and pushed me back. I nodded in agreement that I could handle getting pushed around by a bunch of muscular young football players. “The players on the team have a real attitude ’cause they’re so strong,” said Johnny “They run the whole school. Nobody fucks with the football team. Well, whaddya think? You wanna be the team’s waterboy?”
I grabbed Johnny’s shoulders and squeezed his round, bulging delts with my fingers. “You bet,” I said. “I’ll be a great waterboy!” Johnny grinned, picked me up and then pushed us both to the ground. We wrestled with each other for several minutes. Johnny easily pinned me many times. He was so much stronger than I was that I know I felt like a little rag doll to him. Several times he let me pin his muscular arms to the ground. Then he smiled and started lifting them up. I pushed down as hard as I could, but the power of his arms was so enormous that they just lifted my whole body up into the air. Then he threw me to the side and jumped on top of me, pinning me again. Several times Johnny got me in a bone crushing scissors hold. He wrapped his muscular legs around my waist or chest, locked his ankles and started flexing his big quads. I looked down and watched the thick slabs of muscle flex at Johnny’s will. The fibers of muscle bulged in his legs under his thin skin. As he applied more and more pressure the muscles got bigger and harder as his athletic heart pumped them up with power-giving blood. Big veins popped out under his skin as the blood engorged the muscle. His calves were bulging too and they seemed to be exploding out of his skin as his quads pushed them closer and closer together with the force of their flexing. He easily squeezed all the air out of my lungs. My face started turning beet-red. Johnny looked at me and said, “Do you give, wimp?” I shook my head and he flexed his quads even harder, his muscular legs squeezing my puny little body like big pythons. I loved feeling the power of Johnny’s legs as they crushed my body. Finally when I was almost passed out I said, “I give,” and Johnny immediately relaxed his iron hold. Then he climbed on top of me with his crotch right on my face and I ran my hands up and down his legs as he flexed and unflexed his big quads for me. The muscles were incredibly hard. I could feel Johnny’s cock rubbing on my cheeks as he thrust his hips up and down.. Johnny’s dick was big, thick and hard. By this time, both of our cocks were as hard as steel.
Slowly I lowered Johnny’s shorts over his round muscle butt, exposing his big cock which was now rubbing up and down on my cheeks. I buried my nose in Johnny’s pubic hair, breathing in the heady scent of his jock-boy sweat. Then I started licking Johnny’s cock and his big walnut-sized balls with my tongue. Johnny’s cock got even harder as I ravaged the big weapon with my loving caresses. Johnny started groaning with pleasure and the thrusts of his hips became more powerful. “Take it,” ordered Johnny. Without hesitation, I opened my mouth and wrapped my lips around the large circumference of Johnny’s throbbing dick. I sucked on that dick as hard as I could, all the while tickling its sides with my active tongue. Within seconds Johnny started groaning louder and he thrust his cock deep into my throat. For a moment I thought I was going to gag, but the feeling of Johnny’s cock in my mouth and throat was so pleasurable that I overcame any urge to gag and sucked even harder. Then Johnny let out a loud grunt and I could feel his cock pulsate and explode within my mouth and throat. Surge after surge after surge of Johnny’s cum spurted down my throat as Johnny’s physically superior balls released huge quantities of his genetically superior jism that his physically superior cock shot down my throat like a cannon.
When Johnny had finished his incredible orgasm, he pulled his still-hard cock out of my mouth and sat up on my stomach. Then he watched as I shot my wad while he flexed for me. I was in heaven. I could hardly wait to be the football team’s waterboy.
Well, Johnny made all the arrangements and told me that I had been appointed the official waterboy — er, Manager — of the Madison Marauders. Madison Junior High School was the football powerhouse of the whole city. They had won the city championship in 8 of the last 8 years. Their coach was a former college linebacker and Navy SEAL named Brad Chambers. But everyone called him “Mad Dog” because that was his nickname in college and in the SEALs. From what I had heard, the nickname was well deserved. He was a bear of a man, standing about 6’ 3” and weighing at least 280 pounds, all solid muscle. We heard that during the Gulf War, when Mad Dog was in the Navy SEALs, he got into some hand-to-hand combat with an Iraqi soldier. Mad Dog outweighed the Arab by over 120 pounds but the Arab was a fighter. The soldier tried to hit the big American with kicks and punches, but Mad Dog either ducked out of the way or let the man’s punches harmlessly bounce off his big hard muscles.
Then Mad Dog pulled back his huge right arm and slammed his fist into the gut of the little Arab. The soldier buckled over in pain. Mad Dog walked up to the pathetic little dweeb and grabbed his head with his two big hands. Then he said “Feel the power of real muscle, you miserable little punk.” With a tremendous burst of strength, he twisted the neck of the little Arab really hard. Instantly the soldier’s neck snapped like a twig. Mad Dog had snapped the punk’s neck with just his bare hands. Then he held the dead man’s head in front of his chest and placed the palms of his hands on either side of the man’s head. Slowly Mad Dog pressed his hands together. It must have been quite a sight, watching Mad Dog’s huge delts, pecs and arms bulge as he applied overwhelming force to the skull of the dead Arab. Mad Dog could bench press 600 pounds and he was applying all the incredible power of his huge muscles to the skull of the little Arab. As Mad Dog let out a loud grunt, his giant hands crushed the skull of the hapless Arab into a thousand pieces. The soldier’s brains spurted out like gray pasta. Mad Dog threw the garbage on the ground. Then he raised his combat boot and stomped on the man’s chest for good measure. He pulverized every rib with four powerful blows of his massive legs. It was all over in under a minute. When they came to retrieve the Arab’s body, the men thought the guy had been killed by some kind of machine.
This was Madison Junior High School’s football coach. Mad Dog’s motto for the team was “Bigger, Stronger, Faster, Meaner”. The kids on his Junior High football team were only 11 to 14 years old but Mad Dog made sure that they were the biggest, strongest, fastest and meanest Junior High football players in the whole city. He knew they were so big and strong that they could beat most high school teams if they wanted.
Johnny and I arrived at the school for the first day of training. The team was in the weight room. Technically whenever the weight room was open any student in the school could use it. But there was an unwritten rule that when the football team was using the weight room, all the other students had to leave. I guess those kids knew that if they didn’t leave they’d be at the mercy of the football players. And God only knows what would have happened to them. The football team ruled the school and when they wanted something they got it.
My mouth dropped open when I entered the weight room. There were about 30 kids standing around, all with their shirts off and most of them with the biggest, buffest bodies I had ever seen on young teenagers. The new 7th graders were all in one group talking to each other. They were definitely the smallest of the boys although they all had great bodies and looked like natural young athletes. Most of them had never lifted weights before but their physiques were still naturally muscular. I figured a few of them had started lifting because big muscles were starting to sprout on their chests, shoulders and arms. Just like the rest of the football players, Johnny wasn’t wearing a shirt — just some shorts and sneakers. I looked at the bodies of the other 7th graders and then I looked over at Johnny. Without doubt, Johnny was the most muscular 7th grader on the team even though he hadn’t lifted any weights at all.
But then there were the 8th and 9th graders. They were huge! Every one of them was buffed out with muscle. They had big and muscular shoulders, chests, backs, arms and legs and all of them had abs that were rippling with six packs of muscle. Every one of them looked like he could win a bodybuilding contest for young teenagers. Some of them were taller and some of them were shorter, but they were all incredibly muscular. Their faces were young and boyish, just like the 13 and 14 year olds they were, but their bodies were ripped and muscular. Their bodies looked like they belonged on trained athletes four years older than they were. And as a group they were all very tall for their age. They were incredible specimens of muscular youth. I asked myself what Coach Mad Dog’s training program must be like to turn the athletic 7th grade jocks that were standing there into the giants of muscle that were the 8th and 9th graders.
All the kids were flexing for each other, showing off how much muscle they had packed on their bodies over the summer. One kid would flex his bicep and the others would wrap their fingers around it and squeeze, feeling for themselves how big and hard it was. Or a kid would flex his chest and lats in a lat spread, and his slabs of lat muscle would spread out like wings. Another kid would grab his lat, feeling the hardness and thickness of the muscle. “Fuckin’ huge!” the other kid would say. The weight room was lined with mirrors, so the muscular young jocks could compare their incredible bodies with each other as they flexed. They looked like a squadron of young musclegods.
Some kids were flexing their quads, proud of the muscle they had packed on their legs, legs that would power them over opposing players like the pistons of a diesel truck. “Feel that muscle!” yelled a thickly built kid who looked like he was made of solid rock, as he flexed his quads for one of his teammates. The teammate felt those rippling quads and barked out “Like a fuckin’ oak tree, Tony. Your legs are totally buff. You’re gonna run over those linemen like they’re little girls.” Tony smiled. “These mothers can squat 370,” he said proudly. “They’re twice as strong as the twig legs on the players from the other schools. I’m gonna fuckin’ kick their skinny little asses into the ground!”
All of the players flexed their abs and challenged their friends to punch them as hard as they could. This seemed to be a favorite sport of the team — ab punching. All the players had such ripped, muscular abs that the punches, even hard punches thrown by the biggest players, would just bounce off the corrugated brick walls of muscle. The players seemed to pride themselves on their hard ab muscles, abs that could take any punch. These kids are as tough as they come, I thought to myself.
One of the two biggest kids was flexing his right bicep for a group of players to admire. “Jesus, Blake, that mother’s huge!” yelled one of the players as he tried to wrap his fingers around the bulging bicep of a tall, incredibly muscular 9th grader. “And it’s hard as a rock. It must be fuckin’ strong!” Blake smiled and looked over at his big, peaked bicep. “Shit yeah,” he said. “I can curl 200 pounds! That’s almost as much as I weigh. These big fuckers are strong as shit and they’re gonna kick ass this year!” Blake flexed both his arms and sneered, as the other players took in the size and power of his big guns. I gulped out loud. Standing there was a 14-year-old kid who weighed over 200 pounds, all solid muscle, who could almost curl his bodyweight. I could only guess at what he could bench press — 300, 350, 400? He was enormous and incredibly muscular for a young man, let alone a 14-year-old. What a fucking stud, I thought to myself. My cock was so hard it was poking into my shorts. This whole team was packed with muscular young studs.
As I looked across the room, there were several players who stood out. The first two were Blake and his twin brother Jake. By far, they were the tallest and biggest guys in the weight room. They were identical twins. At first I couldn’t tell them apart and then I saw that Blake had a small scar on his chin from falling off a skateboard when his was six years old. Everyone called Blake and Jake the Twin Towers. They were huge. Broad shoulders, big muscular arms, huge chests and wide lats, and legs that looked like rippling tree trunks. They were over six feet tall and solid muscle. They had light brown hair, cut very short, and gray-blue eyes. Their bodies did not have an ounce of fat on them and their skin was very tan. I couldn’t believe that these huge kids were only 14 years old.
Blake and Jake were standing next to two other guys who were equally muscular. One of them was a black kid, about 5’ 10” and incredibly buff. I found out later that his name was Rasheed and that he was a 13-year-old 8th grader. He had very muscular arms, broad, striated shoulders and the narrowest, most muscular waist I had ever seen and it was shredded! Even across the room I could see the fibers of muscle flexing under his paper-thin black skin. His abs were phenomenal, a true 8-pack of rippling washboard muscle. And his little bubble butt pushed out his shorts showing both globes of his incredibly muscular ass and his ass crack. His legs were shredded with muscle. His definition was phenomenal — every fiber of muscle showed clearly under his thin, black skin. Somehow I could sense that he was very fast as well as very strong. A strong, fast runner — probably a star sprinter on the track team as well as a star running back on the football team.
Next to Rasheed was a tall blond Adonis, a kid who was almost as tall as the twin towers and who had the body of a Greek god. His blond hair was almost white, but I could tell it was natural and not bleached. It was short, kind of a buzz cut. He had sky blue eyes and golden tan skin, which was so thin you could see every muscle flex and relax as he moved his sexy body. His shoulders were wide and capped with striated cannonballs of muscle. His hips were narrow, giving him a tremendous V-taper. Of course he had shredded abs and a muscular chest and rippling arms. He kind of looked like a swimmer who had packed an incredible amount of muscle on his lithe, athletic body. This was Kevin, another 14-year-old 9th grader, who was the starting quarterback. Kevin had fucked just about every girl in the 9th grade. His face was drop-dead gorgeous, with high cheekbones, a perfect nose, a strong jaw and chin, bright white perfect teeth and a strong, muscular neck. No wonder every girl in the 9th grade wanted to get fucked by Kevin. Of course all the football players could fuck just about any girl (or boy) they wanted. They were all such muscular studs that they got their way all the time.
Then there was Tony. He had black hair, cut very short, and dark brown eyes. He was shorter than some of the kids but he was built like a Mack truck. His chest was enormous, with pecs bulging out with masses of muscle, so much muscle that his nipples were actually pointing downwards. His arms were huge and rippling. His skin was very tan and under that tan skin I could see veins crisscrossing his big arms. He had thick, powerful shoulders and traps. His waist wasn’t narrow but it was solid and muscular, his six pack of thick muscle clearly visible under his dark skin. Tony’s legs were big, solid pistons of thick muscle. His quads were probably as big around as my waist and his calves bulged with the two heads of muscle clearly visible as they flexed when he walked. Tony was an 8th grader and only 13 years old. I found out later that he had always been big and thick as a kid and his body just exploded when he went on Coach Mad Dog’s weight program last year in 7th grade. In fact pretty much the same thing happened to all of last year’s 7th grade players. Their bodies just exploded with muscle.
After I had watched this phenomenal display of muscular youth for several minutes, I saw Coach Mad Dog look over at Johnny and me. Then he called out to the team in a big, deep booming voice, “Attention, men!” Immediately the players stopped talking and looked at the Coach. “Men, I want to introduce you to two new 7th grade members of the Marauders. The muscular kid there is Johnny. He’s going to be our starting quarterback one day. Look at Johnny’s body, men. Look at all those muscles on that kid. It’s hard to believe, men, but Johnny hasn’t ever lifted weights before. Just think of what he’s gonna look like in a few months of working out here!” The other players looked at Johnny and whispered to each other. They could see that Johnny was already a muscular stud, more muscular than any of them had been at his age. And they knew he was only going to get bigger, stronger and more muscular from Coach Mad Dog’s incredible weight training and nutrition program. He was going to be phenomenal, maybe even bigger, stronger and buffer than the Twin Towers. Johnny wasn’t embarrassed at all at Coach Mad Dog’s compliments. He was used to having people admire his muscles. He smiled and flexed his muscular arms, arms that wouldn’t be 12 years old for another month. He knew he would fit in very well on this buffed-out musclestud team.
Then the Coach looked at me and smiled. “The little wimp there is the other new member of the team. He’s the new waterboy, er, Manager. You guys wore out the waterboy we had last year so I had to find a new one. I know how you guys like to compare your big, muscular bodies with the scrawny little bag of bones of the waterboy. I know it gives you a real rush, seeing your big muscles bulging and flexing next to such a pathetic wimp who couldn’t build any muscle if his life depended on it. I know having a waterboy to push around makes you aggressive and mean. And I like it when you’re aggressive and mean. Makes you better football players. So I got you the puniest, scrawniest waterboy I could find. His name is John too, but as you can see there is no resemblance to Johnny.” The other team members laughed out loud as they looked at me and then looked at Johnny. Just to give them a charge, I took off my shirt so they could see just how skinny I was. I did a most muscular pose showing absolutely no muscle. Johnny took up the bait and did a most muscular pose right next to me. The comparison of Johnny’s big, strong, rippling muscles with my skinny bones and flab was amazing. The players laughed even more. They loved it. “Now listen up men,” said Mad Dog. “John told me he knows what he’s in for as the waterboy. He even says he’s looking forward to getting shit from you guys. He says he likes muscle, and I told him he’s gonna see a lot of it around here and probably be on the receiving end of some strong muscle power. I told him you guys were aggressive young bucks and I like it that way. But remember the rules, men: no broken bones and no serious injuries. Remember, John’s a member of the team too so don’t kill him with your big muscles while you’re having fun. OK, men, at ease.”
After this little speech, half of the 8th and 9th grade players went up to Johnny and gave him high-fives. He was immediately accepted as a member of the team with tremendous potential. The seventh graders all raced up to Johnny. They all knew him, of course, and had accepted him long ago as their leader. Johnny had always been the leader of the kids in his class and it was only natural that he was now the biggest and most muscular of the 7th grade players. They were all expecting big things out of Johnny.
The other half of the 8th and 9th grade players came up to me. They wanted to play with their new waterboy. They all crowded around me and started flexing their big muscles. “So you like big muscles, waterboy! Well, check these out!” yelled Rasheed as he flexed his arms right in my face. I hesitated a moment and Rasheed yelled even louder “Feel, ’em wimp. Feel these big fuckin’ muscles that could crush your puny little body like a creampuff.” I reached up with both of my hands to Rasheed’s bulging biceps and wrapped my little fingers around the huge muscles that were throbbing underneath his glistening black skin. His biceps felt like warm rocks. They were bigger and harder than Johnny’s biceps, bigger and harder than any human flesh I had ever felt in my life. Rasheed smiled, exposing his perfect white teeth, as I took in the size and hardness of his upper arms. Suddenly he grabbed my right hand and placed it on his bulging pec. He flexed his pec several times, letting me feel the round muscle harden and bulge under my fingers with each flex. Then moved my hand down to his shredded abs and rubbed it over the rippling muscle. His abs felt like corrugated iron. Rasheed smiled as he saw my obvious appreciation of his fantastic body.
Since Rasheed had ordered me to feel his muscles I couldn’t resist the opportunity to feel some more. I ran both of my hands back to his solid muscle bubble butt and squeezed the round globes. Rasheed flexed his glutes and the firm muscle turned into rock right in my hands. I gasped as I felt the power in Rasheed’s butt. Then I ran my hands up to his lats. Rasheed flexed them and they flared out like muscular wings. I squeezed those hard slabs of black muscle, slabs of muscle that felt like warm rock. “You like that muscle, waterboy?” he asked. I nodded my head in total agreement and Rasheed laughed. “Yeah, I got the best muscle of all these kids. I got big, hard black muscle and these white dudes only wish that they had muscle like me.”
“Fuck off, Rasheed,” said Tony as he pushed the muscular black kid away with one swoop of his big right arm. “You ain’t seen muscle like mine, waterboy. My muscles are twice as big as that big black liar’s. I’m Italian and I can kick his little black ass any time I want.” Rasheed gave Tony the finger but obviously he wasn’t really angry at his big, muscular teammate. It was clear to me that these buffed-out jocks loved to challenge each other physically, testing their growing muscles and ever-increasing strength. They were all super aggressive and had uncontrollable urges to unleash their aggression on whatever was around them, whether it be their own teammates, the opposing football team, other kids who got in their way or their new waterboy. Tony looked at me with a wild look in his dark brown eyes. Then without warning he picked me up under my armpit and in my crotch and easily lifted me over his head. Then he started doing presses with me as his barbell. I weighed exactly 90 pounds (yes, I was a 90 pound runt) and Tony pressed me up and down like I was a feather. “Put your hands on my shoulder, waterboy. Feel my big muscles pushing up your puny little body,” said Tony as he effortlessly pumped out the reps. I placed both of my hands on his right shoulder and felt his huge, striated 13 year old delt muscles bulge as he pumped me up and down. I could feel the individual fibers of hard muscle that spanned across the vast expanse of his melon-sized delt. The muscle was round and bulging. Each fiber felt like a steel cord as it twitched and flexed at Tony’s will. “Fuckin’ huge,” I yelled at Tony. “Fuckin’ strong.” I could see a satisfied grin cross his face knowing that his big muscles were being appreciated.
After Tony had cranked out about 25 reps he yelled “Heads up Kevin!” and, with a great thrust of his powerful shoulders and arms, he threw me about 10 feet in the air over to Kevin. Kevin quickly stretched out his arms and caught me, holding me like a baby. He looked down at me with his gorgeous blue eyes. I gazed up at his handsome face, his buzz cut blond hair and his golden tan skin which could hardly contain his big, buff muscles. “Well, waterboy,” he said. “Now you get to feel some real quality muscle. Those guys are like the hamburger and the pot roast. I’m the filet mignon. You’ve come to the right place for the best looking and highest quality muscle on this whole team. I’m the quarterback and I’m the stud. I know it and you know it. So feel these buff muscles while they curl you like a broomstick!” At that, Kevin started curling me up and down. Now, curling 90 pounds is not easy for anyone, let alone a 14 year old kid, but Kevin’s big biceps had no trouble. As they curled me up and down, I felt his hard biceps contract and extend. When they were extended, his bicep muscles felt like steel cords, cords that were ready to apply incredible force to Kevin’s arm when their young master willed them to contract and pull me up. When Kevin gave them the order, the steel cords of muscle pulled up his bulging forearm and formed a solid ball of muscle, a ball that felt like iron. Veins crisscrossed his biceps and forearms under his thin, tan skin. As he kept pumping, I also ran my hands over his pecs — so big, so hard, so tan and so sexy. Then I ran my hands down to his abs and felt the hard outlines of that golden tan washboard of muscle. His body was like that of a young Greek God. As I was feeling his abs, I couldn’t resist running my hand down under his shorts and feeling his cock, the cock that had fucked every girl in the 9th grade. It was big and thick and half-way aroused. Kevin was getting turned on by watching his big arms curling my little body. I yelled “You’re huge, Kevin!” Kevin grinned and I could feel his cock get even harder. He also applied even more power to the curls, forcing me up and down even faster. Finally, after 20 reps or so, Kevin tossed me to another player. That guy pressed me up and down a couple of times and tossed me to someone else. For the next minute or so, I was like a little beanbag, being pressed up and down and tossed from player to player on this musclekid football team.
Finally I got tossed in the direction of Blake and Jake, but the kid who threw me didn’t throw me hard enough and I crashed to the floor. Blake and Jake walked over and pulled me to my feet. I stared up at Blake’s huge body. He was more than half a foot taller than me and outweighed me by over 110 pounds, all solid muscle. His twin brother Jake stood right behind me. I was looking right at Blake’s huge pecs, solid, round, bulging muscles that extended several inches over his shredded waist. I was looking right at his cleavage, which was very deep. I had never seen such huge muscles in my entire life. “Well, waterboy, you’ve seen the boys. Now feel the men,” said Blake. He winked at his brother, and before I knew it I was being crushed between the two giant 14-year-old twins. The two of them had wrapped their huge, muscular arms around each other and they were pulling on each other, with little me being squished in between their hard, muscular bodies. I was overwhelmed by the massive amount of muscle encircling my body. My little 90 pound body was being crushed by over 400 pounds of muscle, two identical 14-year-old giants of muscle.
The force of the Twin Towers’ crush was pushing my face directly into Blake’s massive pecs. His brother Jake’s pecs were pushing on the back of my head. I could feel Jake’s two big hard slabs of muscle pushing on each side of the back of my head. My nose was forced into the cleavage between Blake’s two shredded mounds of pec muscle and I could smell the jock sweat dripping off his big body. I could hardly breathe, but I could breath enough to revel in the wonderful jock-sweat scent of these two big muscle kids with each breath I took. Their bodies were incredibly hard and incredibly warm. It felt like I was being crushed by two hot slabs of steel. I managed to free my arms a bit and was able to place my hands on Blake’s huge lats. The big slabs of muscle bulged and flexed, applying enormous force to the crushing power of his arms. I couldn’t get over the size and hardness of those huge muscles. They flared out on his back. Blake’s back was more than a foot wider than my back. It was hard for my arms to extend far enough so my hands could get all around his big lats.
Blake and Jake increased their crushing pressure. All of a sudden the air was forced out of my lungs by the sheer force of their crush. Now I couldn’t breath at all. “How’s that feel, wimp?” said Blake. “How’s it feel to be crushed by some real men?” With the last air in my lungs, I mumbled “Feels good.” This seemed to excite them because they increased the pressure even more. Now I was completely out of air and was totally unable to draw in another breath because the rock-like muscles of the Twin Towers were crushing my chest like a hydraulic vise. I began to go limp and my hands let go of Blake’s big lats. Then like magic I began to sense a gradual release of the pressure. The brothers were slowly releasing their grip. But they did it very slowly, letting me start breathing again and letting me feel the contour of their bodies on either side of me as their muscles relaxed. Finally I was standing between them again, looking again directly into Blake’s big pecs, which were now glistening with sweat.
Blake grabbed my shoulders and spun me around so I was facing the mirror on the wall of the weight room. He and Jake both turned around and faced the mirror on each side of me. I was stunned by the incredible contrast between their huge, muscular bodies and my puny little sack of shit. Those two big, hard bodies had just crushed my little body like it was a jelly donut. If they had wanted to, their big muscles could have easily crushed the life out of me. I stared at our images in the mirror. The images of the strong and the weak. The physically superior and the complete geek. The conqueror and the vanquished. Blake and Jake smiled as they saw the same images. They knew they were total muscle studs and they loved it. And they got off on comparing their big, muscular 14 year old bodies to the body of a little wimp like me. It gave them a rush and made them feel like total stud jocks. As they watched the mirror, they started flexing their muscles. Their huge muscles bulged at their command. Their arms were as big as my thighs and their thighs were a big as my waist. Their chests were so massive that the width of my shoulders was not even as wide as the widths of their pecs. Their bodies were simply huge, and all that hugeness consisted of dense, rippling muscle. I tried to flex my muscles too, but there was no muscle there to flex. Blake and Jake smiled, in kind of an arrogant, superior, smug way.
As they continued to flex I could see their cocks starting to bulge underneath their shorts. They were getting aroused as they watched their big, shredded muscles flex next to my pathetic weakness. I turned around and started grabbing at their muscles as they flexed in the mirror. I grabbed Blake’s huge muscles with my right hand and Jake’s equally huge muscles with my left hand. The twins were competing with each other, trying to outdo each other as I fondled their bulging muscles. Their cocks were now totally hard, bulging out under their shorts. They were really getting into their muscle display and the contrast between their huge bodies and my puny little body. I was tempted to grab both of their cocks right then and there, but I resisted my urge. I continued to watch and feel the flexing bodies of the Twin Towers as they demonstrated to me their total physical superiority. My little cock had been hard since the minute I walked into the weight room and it was now throbbing under my shorts as I watched Blake and Jake flex their huge muscles. Just as I was about to bury my face in Jake’s big armpit, I heard a whistle blow. Coach Mad Dog was getting the team’s attention.
“OK men,” said Mad Dog. “Enough fun for now. Its time for the bench press test. We’re gonna find out your maximum bench press and then you’ll get your Marauders tee shirt with your bench press weight printed right on it for all to see. I’ll bet lots of you 8th and 9th graders have added tons of weight to your bench since last spring. You look big and strong!” The 8th and 9th graders flexed their chests, showing off their bulging pecs. During the summer they had all been working out hard, eating tons of good food and drinking Coach Mad Dog’s secret supplement shakes, and they had all gotten much stronger and more muscular. I found out that at the beginning of each season, Coach Mad Dog gives all the players a bench press test where they warm up with a few light sets and then crank out their absolute maximum bench. Then the Coach gives them a gray tee-shirt that has “Madison Football” printed on it. Under that is printed the number of pounds of the player’s maximum bench press. So, somebody like Rasheed would swagger around campus last spring wearing a tight fitting tee shirt that said “Madison Football — 240,” bragging to everybody that this buff kid, who had just turned 13 years old in February, could bench 240 pounds. Who knows what Rasheed would be benching now. The tee shirts started at 100 pounds and went in 10 pound increments all the way to 400. Until that afternoon, no kid had ever gotten beyond 360. That was the weight the Twin Towers had benched at the end of the last school year. When a kid increased his bench press by 10 pounds, which happened almost every week with some of these kids, especially the 7th graders, he would turn in his old tee shirt and proudly receive a new one showing his new, increased strength. Coach Mad Dog knew this program was a great motivator for his football players to push themselves to get bigger and bigger and stronger and stronger. He wanted the biggest, strongest, fastest and meanest Junior High School players in the State. And he got them.
There were three bench press benches and racks in the weight room, so the Coach divided up the team by class year. I kept my eye on all the players, but I went over to the 7th grade rack to root for Johnny. The kids warmed up with some light weights, 50 to 80 pounds, and then started trying for their maximums. Most of the 7th graders could bench between 100 and 140 pounds. The three smallest kids could barely do 100. They looked relieved, because if they had failed to lift at least 100 they wouldn’t have gotten a tee shirt. I thought even 100 pounds was damn good for a 12 year old. Even the smallest kids on this team were incredible athletes. Johnny was the last 7th grader to try for his max. I knew Johnny was very strong because I had laid on his back as he cranked out pushups. Johnny looked at the 140 the last kid had done and asked for another 10 pounds. He got under the bar and smashed the bar up so easily that both he and all of us were amazed. Johnny didn’t know his own strength. He asked for another 20 pounds, raising the weight to 170, and got on the bench. I looked at Johnny’s muscular torso as he moved his arms up and down getting ready for the heavy bar. His pecs, his delts and his arms were all incredibly muscular for never having lifted a weight in his life.
Johnny gripped the bar, slowly lowered it to his chest, and then let out a loud grunt as he steadily pushed up the iron and locked his elbows. It didn’t even look hard. “Another 10,” said Johnny. “I feel strong!” I went up to Johnny and put my hands on his red, bulging pecs. Johnny flexed the pumped, blood-engorged muscle for me. “You are strong, Johnny,” I said. “This is a piece of cake for you.” The kids loaded another 10 pounds of iron on the bar, making it 180. Johnny got on the bench and gripped the cold steel bar. Then he pushed the bar off the rack and slowly lowered it to his chest. His chest was so big and his muscle butt was so round and hard that his tiny, shredded waist was about four inches off the bench, held up in mid-air by the big muscles on each side. As the bar touched his chest, Johnny let out a grunt from deep inside his body and pushed the bar with his strong arms. Kid muscle versus iron and steel. I thought to myself how amazing it was that this strong kid was not yet 12 years old. Slowly the bar moved upward, the heavy iron and steel conceding defeat to the tremendous power of Johnny’s muscles. Johnny’s pecs, delts and triceps were almost bursting from his skin as they bulged with a tremendous pump. Every fiber of muscle was clearly defined under his skin. Veins were pushing out everywhere as Johnny’s big, athletic, muscular heart pumped gallons and gallons of oxygen-rich blood into his throbbing muscles. Finally Johnny locked his elbows and crashed the bar back onto the rack. He jumped up from the bench and flexed his arms in triumph. All the other 7th grade players immediately descended on Johnny, giving him high fives and feeling his bulging muscles. Johnny flexed his pecs for the admiring boys and the big slabs of muscle that had just bench pressed a huge weight for an 11 year old kid bulged with striated fibers under his glistening, tan skin. Several of his classmates ran their fingers over those bulging pecs. “Man, those mothers are huge! And fuckin’ hard!” yelled one of the kids. Johnny smiled proudly and flexed his pecs even harder. Johnny was definitely the leader of the pack.
The 8th and 9th grade players were lifting much heavier weights, of course. The weakest 8th grader benched 200 pounds (only 20 pounds more than Johnny). Most of the 8th graders were in the 220 to 270 range. Rasheed maxed out at 290, a 50 pound increase from his max last spring. Rasheed pounded his pecs as he jumped off the bench. “Yeah,” he said. “These black mothers are fuckin’ strong!” Tony was the last 8th grader to make his attempt. Just to show how strong he was, he started with Rasheed’s maximum weight. He pressed the bar up steadily. He knew he was stronger than Rasheed. At the end of the summer he had done 300. He was going to go for 310. I looked at the bar and gulped at how much weight was there. There were two 45 pound plates, one 35 pound plate and one 7-1/2 plate on each side of the bar. The bar itself weighed 45 pounds so the total was 310. Looking at all that heavy iron, I asked myself how any 13 year old kid could lift that amount of weight.
Tony got under the huge weight, jerked it off the rack and slowly lowered it to his chest. Then he started pushing up. The bar moved very slowly but it did move up. When the bar got about half way up, Tony’s momentum slowed way down. His skin was dripping with sweat and his thick muscles were bulging with incredible density. The spotter started to place his fingers under the bar, but Tony yelled out “NO!” Then he screwed up his face and with all the concentration he could muster pushed the heavy bar with a tremendous burst of power — all the power his huge 13-year-old muscles could generate. The bar started moving again and actually started picking up speed. Tony locked his elbows and jammed the bar back onto the rack. He jumped up off the bench and flexed his pecs in front of the spotter. “Don’t you ever doubt the power of my muscles, fuckhead,” he yelled. Then he bumped the kid with his big chest. But the kid wasn’t intimidated at all. He was a Marauder too. He bumped Tony right back with his own big chest.
Next I looked over at the 9th graders. As a group they were stronger than the 8th graders, but Rasheed and Tony were stronger than a lot of the 9th graders. The 9th graders’ maximum bench presses were in the 250-300 pound range. It seemed like the players put on the most muscle between the beginning of their 7th grade and the beginning of their 8th grade years. That’s when their bodies responded the fastest to Mad Dog’s intense weight training program and his nutrition and supplement regimen. Of course the kids all kept getting bigger and stronger as they got older. Its just that the huge burst of muscle mass and strength occurred in the seventh grade and the summer before 8th grade. At the beginning of 7th grade Rasheed could only bench press 130 and Tony could only do 140. Very strong for 7th graders, but nothing compared to the 290 and 310 that they could bench one year later. They were now way over twice as strong as they had been a year ago, stronger beyond their wildest dreams. Stronger than their older brothers and stronger than their fathers. At 13 years old they were the strongest men in their entire family, including uncles and cousins.
The 9th graders as a group were huge. Not one 9th grader benched pressed less than 230 pounds. Kevin was the strongest 9th grader except for the Twin Towers. He put his tall, tan, muscular body under the bar and maxed out at 310 pounds, the same as Tony. Kevin was proud of his lift. He didn’t want any 8th grader to lift more than he did, although he knew that over the course of the next several months both Tony and Rasheed were very likely to zoom by him. After he finished his bench press, he flexed his rippling, golden tanned arms right in Rasheed’s face. “Viking muscle’s tougher than Afro muscle,” he said, kind of smirking at Rasheed. His bench was only 20 pounds more than Rasheed’s, but Kevin was a cocky young stud and he took the most advantage of his greater strength that he could. “Fuck off, honkey,” said Rasheed. “These big Afri-can muscles are gonna be able to kick your lily white ass any day now. They’re gettin’ bigger and stronger every week.” Rasheed reached over at Kevin and wrapped his arm around the blond Adonis’s neck. He flexed his big bicep, forcing the muscle into the columnar neck of the tall quarterback. But the big blond kid was too strong to take that for more than an instant. He grabbed Rasheed’s wrist with both of his strong hands and easily forced Rasheed’s arm off his body. Then he punched him hard in his shredded black gut. Rasheed just laughed. This was just normal playing for these strong young bucks.
Now it was time for the Twin Towers to max out on their bench press. The entire football team crowded around the bench to watch. I was right in front of Johnny, who held my shoulders with his strong hands and kept thrusting his hips into my body. I could feel his big thick cock pressing against my soft butt. For a moment I dreamed about what it would be like to get fucked by Johnny’s big cock. My already hard cock got even harder.
The players had to round up all the big 45 pound plates from the other racks because they knew the Twin Towers were going to need a lot of weight for their bench presses. For their last warm-up they used Kevin’s maximum, 310 pounds. They easily cranked out 10 reps with this weight. Then Blake gave the order: “Load four 45’s on each side,” he said. His teammates quickly obeyed. That was 360 pounds of plates which when added to the bar made 405. The bar was bending with the strain of the heavy weights. Blake got under the bar first, lowered it to his bulging chest and pressed the weight up evenly. It didn’t even look hard. His twin brother Jake did the same thing, exactly the same speed, exactly the same grunt as he hoisted the incredibly heavy bar. Not only did these brothers look exactly the same, it looked like they were exactly the same strength. Genetics is the most powerful force in human biology, I thought to myself.
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