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Make a Muscle
"The Billion Dollar Plan"
|The correctional institute was populated with 57 hardened criminals. Men with records a mile long. Mostly between the ages of 18 and 25. They were in for various crimes, but to get sent to this institute in the first place, they had one thing in common. They had committed violent crimes, and society considered them dangerous. They were confined to this island hell hole for life. No one cared about them. The government was quite happy to put them here and forget them. Nothing could be done for them, and it was very convenient to have them disappear and be forgotten. Into this environment came Dr. Lane and his team of scientists.
Since his 18th birthday, each morning at 11:15 just after his morning lift, Clint was brought into the lab at the institute and placed in a sort of cell. Not long after, Dr. Lane would bring a man into the cell with Clint. "Clint," Dr. Lane would say, "make a muscle." And he would leave the two of them alone. Today Clint had been working his chest and triceps, and he was especially pumped. He knew the scientists were watching him. He didn't care. In fact, he liked it. He liked the fact that grown men got off on watching him get huge. Like when he took showers. He knew the cameras were on him then, too, and he'd move slowly and sensually over his body, caressing his muscles because he knew it made them hard. He got off on his own body. Quite often he'd go into the yard after working out, cross into the group of puny geeks working out there, strike a few poses, which made the whole group hard, and then he'd let two or three of them follow him back into the showers for a lather session. He'd continue to pose as they lathered him up and they cleaned every inch of his body. They loved it, and he loved being worshipped this way. Sometimes he would honor them with a big time screwing session, and he pump them till they passed out and leave them lying in the shower with the water running. Sooner or later a guard would come and rescue them and put them where ever it was they put the guys that he had done. It was important that he eventually do all 58! Today they brought him a little muscle-stud. He was only 5' 5" tall and was packed tight like a power-lifter. He was the strongest and most muscular man Clint had seen so far. As the guy was shoved into the cell, he noticed that Clint sat there naked, waiting for him. The man turned to the door and yelled, "Get me outta' here! I'll kill this freak if I have to." Clint smiled and shook his head. "Did you hear me? I'll kill him with my bare hands! I'm warning all of you! I've done it two times before." The more the man struggled, the more turned-on Clint became. When the man turned around, Clint sported a full 15" erection. "You can make this easy, or you can make this hard," said Clint. "Oh, wait," he said, looking at his dick. "You've already made it hard! Come here."
"Keep away from me!" yelled the man. And Clint stood up slowly. He was over a foot and a half taller than the man, and outweighed him by at least 100 lbs. "Don't struggle, little fellow," said Clint. And he scooped the man up in his arms. "You look like you get off on being built like an ox. Well, when I'm finished with you, you will be taller, stronger, more muscular, and a hell of a lot better looking. The man was enraged. He kicked and fought. He was powerless against Clint. "Now if you don't stop wiggling, I'm going to have to put you out, and you're going to miss the best part of the party. "Let me go!" yelled the man, and he continued to squirm. "Oh, well, if we can't do this nicely, then... goodnight!" And he thrust his head at the man's forehead, knocking him out cold. Clint looked at the unconscious little muscle guy cradled in his arms and smiled. It was time for some curls. He put the man into Position One and began the process. "One." He loved the beginning of the pump! "Two." This guy was a challenge. He had a little more bulk to him than most. "Three." Make A Muscle, Clint! Make a Muscle! "Four. Five." His arms were expanding. With this much resistance, his must be around 25". "Six." There was his old friend, the erection! "Seven." He didn't wear the briefs anymore, they were always destroyed anyway. His rod measured 10" and growing. "Eight." He reached 13" and was feeling great! "Nine." He was at 14" and loving every minute of it. "Ten." And his dick stood straight up at 15" and his arms pumped to a massive 25.5". Time to Make A Muscle. He impaled the man on his shaft and started to pump him full. He chanted "make a muscle. make a muscle. make a muscle" as he pumped the guy crazy. Soon they would come and take the poor guy off to the "place" where they took his conquests. He grinned and pumped. It was nice pumping a muscle man. The man lost consciousness, and Clint went on for another hour, stroking the man's muscles, and playing with the guy's puny 7" dick.
The scientists were more than pleased at how their "experiment" was coming along. Clint was now 22 years old, and massive beyond their greatest expectations. They had continued to give him the pill, and this pill combined with his semen produced a combination that turned weak, puny ineffective slimeballs into supermen. Clint had built them an army of Clint-clones that now numbered 47 - nearly all of the men in the institute. Now it was time to cash in.
A month ago they had approached the government with an idea. An idea that would cost ONLY $200,000 per man. If they bought it, it meant a billion dollars for the whole population of the institute. Why not clear out all correctional facilities of their hardest cases? Clear the streets of their worst drug dealers and other crime related offenders? Make the inner cities and towns safe while building the most elite group of "muscle" law enforcement officers imaginable. Today was the day they would present a demonstration for the task force officials. They were more than prepared. "Did you bring the inmates?" asked Dr. Lane, as he led the seven government officials to the lab. "Yes, they're here," said Congressmen Taylor. "They were transported by armored car, and are in chains and shackles just outside that door. They are considered top security risks, and can't be moved from facility to facility. I'm breaking a lot of rules bringing them to you. I hope whatever you're going to show me is worth this risk."
"Believe me, it is," said Dr. Lane, and he seated the officials in the gallery of the lab.
"Alex," said Dr Lane, "send in our men." Alex crossed to the lab door, and held it open. Into the room came Dr. Lane's new "Brute Force." A group of 47 perfect specimens, all created by Clint and his super sperm. They were in uniforms - clean white cotton t-shirts, neatly creased short pants, spit polished shoes, officers hat's, and each wore a pair of reflective sunglasses. All 48 men, including Clint, lined up in four rows ready for inspection. They removed their hats and stood at attention.
The officials gasped and mumbled as they looked at the specimens before them. Their arms stood out at least a foot from their sides because their lat development prevented them from lowering their arms any further. Yes, they had clean shirts, but they were practically bursting out of them because each man sported at least a 26" arm! Their chests were so large that their pectoral muscles pressed tightly against the shirts and their nipples were clearly visible against the material. Also visible inside these carefully tapered shirts were the perfect ab muscles and massive mounds that made up their shoulders. Their collars were altered with an exceptionally low neckline - just below the upper pec line - which showed off their their massively thick necks and the mounds of deep black curly hair that teemed from their chests. They did have creased pants, but each pair had been carefully cut up the side to allow room for quads that defied description. Thick, bulging, veiny, massive muscle! Every man had been shaved on the top of the head, and an intimidating goatee was neatly trimmed on every face. These men were awesome and at the same time fearfully intimidating. "Cover, gentlemen," said Dr. Lane. And the men placed their hats on their heads. "Present arms!" said Dr. Lane and every man flexed his 26" arms. The committee was reacting as planned. Side bicep pose," said Dr. Lane, and the men obeyed perfectly. "Squad One, please make our guests more comfortable," said Dr. Lane. And 12 muscle monsters paired up, crossed their arms together, and made 6 muscle chairs for the guests to sit in. SCOOP! And each visitor had been picked up off of the floor and was resting comfortably in the arms of two massive men. The men were incredible. "At ease, men," said Dr. Lane to the rest. "Now, could we bring in the men you brought with you today, Congressman Taylor?"
"What?" he said weakly. He was numbed by what he saw and felt, and not just a little bit excited. "Yes, of course. But be careful, though. They're very dangerous."
"No problem," said Dr. Lane. "Squad Two, bring in the men." At this point 4 officers in the second row moved off into the outer holding room. "You'd better send more than four," said the Congressman. "No problem," said Dr. Lane again. And each of the men returned cradling a struggling man in his arms as if he was a squirming baby. The men were frightened as hell, but their struggling was doing them no good. "Set them down, gentlemen," said Dr. Lane, and the muscle-cops did as they were told. "Remove their shackles, please." The Congressman started to object, but Dr. Lane silenced him.
There was no searching for keys. Each officer merely took hold of the chains and, applying the force of their biceps, they ripped the chains from the prisoners' ankles and wrists. "I understand that you consider these men to be your most unreformable offenders. Your worst violators with no hope of remorse or change in attitude. In other words, you consider them hopeless. Not unlike all of the men you see standing in front of you today." Dr. Lane continued, "We plan to show you how to turn these dregs of society into the same type of law enforcement officer the other men have become. Strong, trustworthy, obedient and loyal. Yes, totally loyal! Clint, come up please. Horne, Ray, and Scott, join him." As the four titans took their places, the four criminals had their clothes ripped from their bodies by the four remaining members of Squad Two. "What are you..." Congressman Taylor was silenced by the muscle hand that suddenly grabbed him by the crotch. His hands were then placed on two massive and hairy pecs, and his stomach was lovingly rubbed until he was as docile as a lamb. "Position One," said Dr. Lane, and the four men lifted their intended victims and placed them in the barbell position at shoulder height. The men began to scream. "Position Two." They were lowered to waist level. "What the hell is happening?" shouted one of the men. "Begin, please. One." And the curling began. The men were astonished. "Three." The Congressmen were standing on their feet. "Five." The erections began. "Seven." Riiiippppp! And out came the muscle makers! "Nine." Arms pumped, dicks extended, the men were ready to "make a muscle." "Ten!" The four monsters turned the men upright and impaled them on their staffs. "Make A Muscle," said Dr. Lane. And the pumping began. "Make A Muscle. Make A Muscle. Make A Muscle." The entire group of officers was chanting. The men were being screwed senseless. They tried to cry out but could only make the silly gurgling sounds. "Make A Muscle. Make A Muscle. Make A Muscle." The group was working themselves into a frenzy. The entire group of muscle men was chanting. The inmates were unconscious by now. The Congressman and his group were flabbergasted. What exactly was this sex scene going to prove? And then it was done. The Four studs lifted their "dolls" from their dicks and dropped them to the floor. The four officers who had brought the men into the room picked them up, and again cradled them in their muscular arms and carried them out. All of the officers came to attention. "NEW MUSCLE MADE, SIR!" they shouted. And they were dismissed.
"In ten minutes, gentlemen you will see the results of our little session here. I know it might have seemed a bit extreme, but think of the possibilities. 47 of the 48 men you saw here today were considered hardened criminals. They were sent to this institute to be forgotten. They too, were the dregs of society, but look at them now. Thanks to a genetic experiment I've been working on for the past 25 years, that group of man-muscle you saw here today is fit to go out and protect the streets they once terrorized."
Ten minutes had passed and Dr. Lane called out, "Alex, would you bring in the men now, please." Alex opened the door and they entered from the next room, dressed exactly like the other officers, and every bit as big and muscular, shaved, crisp and clean. They stood at attention, looking straight ahead. Their sunglasses covering their eyes. "A demonstration," said Dr. Lane. "Gentlemen, present arms!" and they did their double bicep pose. "At ease." Alex handed them each a 2 inch thick iron bar that was 24" long. "Gentlemen, to be part of our force, you must be able to bend that bar into the shape of a horseshoe in less than one minute. Go!" And it was over nearly as fast as it had begun. All bars were completely bent in half within five seconds, dropped to the floor, and the men stood with their arms flared out to their sides. "Alex, the bricks." And each man was handed a three and a half inch thick, 5" X 8" brick, one in each hand. "In order to be part of our force you must be able to break these bricks in two using only one hand each. Go!" And within three seconds, not only were the bricks broken, but they exploded into fine powder and disintegrated into the air. The Congressmen were astonished!
"Squad, follow me, please," Dr. Lane commanded. "Gentlemen, each man you see before you has 26" arms (they did a side-tricep pose in unison), 78" shoulders (they did a "most muscular" pose), 60" chest (they began to bounce their pecs, and the shirts stretched to the breaking point), 30' waist (they crunched into a pose which showed off their highly developed abs, clearly visible beneath the shirts), 28" quads and 18' calves (they flexed their quads, and rotated their legs to show both muscle groups), and gentlemen their uniforms are packed with the same 15" power poles of manhood that you saw earlier. Perfect specimens of manhood, gentlemen. And stronger than any man alive. Their pain tolerance levels are immeasurable - completely off any testing chart we now use, and they are completely obedient. Now I'd like to retire to my office so that we can discuss the possible terms of an agreement. Squad! If you will assist the honorable committee, please." And one officer from each "chair" easily cradled an official in their powerful arms, and carried them to the next wing to Dr. Lane's office.
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