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|He was right. Even if he did put something on, some piece of garment that could
probably double as a tent for anyone else, he would be a sight, now that I knew
exactly what was underneath. I wondered if that turn-on would ever get weaker
He proceeded to another corner of the...room. I caught myself thinking of it as
a living-room, but it was actually more like the all-room. There were oversize
chairs, and an even more oversize sofa, all in leather. Very tasteful and simple
furniture, a whole wall full of books. On the other end, a huge wooden desk,
with tons of paper, and a laptop computer. Toward the third corner, opposite of
the kitchen area, a king-size TV and a sound system which obviously tipped on
design. The floor in front of it was something like a futon, padded. And, no
phone - not one that I could see, anyway. He went over to the sofa, his
footsteps like muffled low thuds. I've almost gotten used to this fluid way he
moved, but it amazed me every time, especially when things like his footsteps
reminded me of how big he really was.
"Do you ever wear any footwear?" I asked, intrigued, noticing he was barefoot.
"No... not while I'm here" he answered, taking a notebook from a small table
beside the sofa. "I don't wear anything at all here" he finished. He sprawled
onto the sofa.
"Make yourself at home...I just have to finish something" he said, leafing
through the notebook.
"I still do have to do some work for a living"
I wouldn't let go that easily. "So what's with the sweatpants then?"
"That's for when I'm working so my cock won't get in the way" he said, not even
lifting his gaze from whatever it was he was doing. His candidness got me
laughing but I realized he was right. I rummaged around, while he scribbled
something into his notebook, and then went over to his desk and shuffled through
the papers. His forearms looked amazing while he did that, but I forced myself
not to stare (more for my sake), and looked at the bookshelf instead.
That afternoon was the hardest to live through in my entire life. First of all, he was always near. OK, I was in his house, and I seriously considered going home and returning later. I knew he had a workout in the evening (which finally explained why the gym got closed on a Saturday, Sunday, Wednesday and Thursday after 8 in the evening), and I would not have missed it if the world came to an end. If I went home I'd probably have beaten my cock into a pulp. Staying was in a strange way easier. Second of all, he told me he's taking it easy this afternoon because it's his heavy day today. We talked on and off about all sorts of things, and in those four hours or so he must have drank some sort of protein shake, or eaten some snack at least five times. It looked like it was completely automatic - he would just keep talking, walk over to the kitchen area and fix himself something, always asking if I wanted some, and then slurp it down between sentences. Finally, a bit before nine, I was really at the end of the line, looking at a terminal case of blue-balls (with such a turn-on prancing around half-naked, I thought I was doing pretty well, though), when he finally almost jumped up from the sofa in mid-sentence. It was surprising and got me wondering again about the speed he could move at, but he didn't give me time to think that over. He went over to the blinds and said 'OK, time to go now'. It turned out he heard the manager's car leaving. In about 20 minutes he sort-of tidied up his desk and the kitchen, managed to get some towels, direct me to an eight-pack of what looked like half-gallon bottles, containing some supplement drink (saying half of it is to keep me cool, with that rasping chuckle of course). A minute later, we were bounding down to the gym.
Sure enough, everyone had left, and we, or rather he had the gym all for himself. We passed through the locker room, where he left the towels in what I now knew was his locker. He took some keys out of it and threw them to me. "Now be a good boy and go close the blinds. The key's for the top lock on the door' he said. I practically ran into the gym. Sure enough, there was a lock up near the top right-hand corner of the door. I knew this was the only key. But before I locked the door, I opened it a bit and checked from the outside, and sure enough, the lock was only on the inside. I did come by on the days he worked out, but so far he seemed to have stayed out of my way - until yesterday. I knew already I've been set up, but this was the clincher. Did I mind? Not a chance, but still I made a mental note of it. I locked the door and closed the blinds, then went back into the locker room. I found him taking a leather bag of sorts from the bottom of the locker. He already had some sort of lifting gloves on and they didn't help him while he was locking the outer back door. I waited patiently for him until I couldn't wait any more and in an attempt to speed things up tried to take his bag into the gym, and almost fell over with the surprising weight in it. But he was finished preparing anyway and easily took it from there, chuckling again. He went into the gym and I followed not two yards behind.
"Now, I thought today I'd try something different since you're here" he said, unpacking the bag. "Is that it?" I asked, looking at the bag. "No, no, those are my regular bars" he said, proceeding to take out two very thick but strangely tapering bars, obviously intended to be dumbbells, once weight-plates were put on them, which would normally belong on a barbell. The size of the things almost got me dizzy, I didn't even dare think of the weight. I looked around for clues and sure, some of the machines that I've seen so many times suddenly got to look different. To be more correct, some of them looked deliberately enforced and otherwise modified. "I think today's a good day for a really heavy workout followed by a good all-out pump-up" he said casually.
Now you would probably have thought this guy had some sort of special routine planned to the last detail, and you would be completely wrong. With him, it all seemed very instinctive. First of all, stretching. He went through it with such agility that I gasped in surprise several times. It was just plain unthinkable that he could have that range of motion with his size. Nevertheless, huge mounds of muscle gave way to other huge mounds of muscle, as he went through a session which would befit a floor gymnast better. The shapes poking out under his skin were incredible to watch and such a turn-on I almost hated him for it. But I vowed to myself that I'd never even touch myself or him before he was through the workout, even if my balls went into meltdown. "There's a tape in the bag, you might want to use it" he said, standing up from a position I'd never even dare try. "This is your last chance to do cold measurements if you want to" he finished. Did I want to? Did I want to? I would have come from the dead for it! I almost ran to the bag, the half-boner I must have been sporting for the last two hours quickly trying to go all the way. He stood patiently waiting while I fiddled with the tape trying to untangle it after I tangled it myself trying to unravel it only seconds before. I realized I was hurrying to the limit of dexterity, anticipation getting the better of me. It really took will power to slow down. I started with his chest. He obediently raised his arms for me to put the tape around him, but then I remembered, and told him to hold one end with his left hand, while I circled around him to connect the ends of the tape.
"No cheating, OK?" he said and brought his arms in front of him slightly, not to interfere with the tape, as far as that was possible. He kept on breathing normally while I adjusted the tape. It read 77 inches. He breathed in a bit more deeply and it stretched further, but as I tried to make a reading again, he said "A! No cheating!". Next came his waist. It was 37 inches around although it looked narrower, simply because of his abs and cords of lower back muscles jutting outwards, and not sideways. He would probably have to have lied down for a proper relaxed measurement. Then I went to the more interesting parts. I kneeled and started putting the tape around his left thigh, but he moved out of the way. "Hey, I said no cheating!" he chuckled, moving back into a slightly spread-legged stance, his cock now clearly outlined on his sweatpants, hanging down the inner side of his left thigh. I wrapped the tape around his right instead, touching the dormant monster along his left, trying hard not to think about it. He shifted his weight to his left a bit and I measured a hulking 44 inches. His calves were a tad more than 27 inches around, and at those measurements the skimpy sweatpants he was wearing meant no error at all. And that only reminded me of what came next. My pants were probably tented out but I couldn't care less. I quickly wrapped the tape around his biceps, to finally take a proper cold measure. I must have jumped from foot to foot in anticipation, as I wrapped the tape around the arm of the biggest muscle-man I was ever likely to see in this life, reading with pure sexual delight 30 inches. "Hey, don't look at me like that, for a minute there I thought you'd bite off a piece of me" he said, teasing. I managed to collect myself a little. "Finished?" I nodded. "OK, time to do some damage" he said, and walked over to the lat machine. Now, I said some of the machines looked different, and out of three in the gym, now that I knew what this was about, this one was really special. First of all, there was no cable, but instead there were two chains, like you would find on a forklift fork. The construction was three times as thick as on another machine just opposite of it. It looked more 'fancy' or 'heavy-duty' but in fact it was specifically intended for what was probably the most heavy-duty workout on this planet. He put the peg in at the bottom plate, sat, and pulled about twenty reps in a matter of half a minute, with the whole stack. It looked like there was no effort in it at all. Then he paused a second, did that once again, and then quickly loaded barbell weight plates on the sides of the stack holder, which had two protruding bars welded on it. Other guys used to have their training partner lift the stack by those to force out reps but I knew this was their real purpose. He also put a padded part into two holes on the frame, a holder to keep his shoulders down. Time had lost any sense as he did several sets, with a weight I didn't even attempt to calculate. All I could see was his lats pumping up, veins popping to the surface on them, on his shoulders, his neck and his arms. He motioned for me to add two more plates and I did, the time taken for this disappearing from my memory instantly. I have no idea how many sets he did, but by the end of it, the machine groaned and moaned as loud as he did. He stretched only a little after that, and drank what looked like half a bottle of the liquid we brought down in one gulp, and then continued, this time by pulling forward, with a belt tied around his thighs to the bench attached to the machine, and with less weight. I soon managed to figure out that eight was his magic rep number and added or subtracted weight from set to set, even without his coaxing. Before he ended that I could see the machine literally bend as he did forward dips. When he stood up, he downed the rest of the bottle. His skin was glistening with sweat and his shoulders, pecs and especially his abs were pumped into incredible shapes. His arms stood wide only with the pump in his lats, and he breathed so deeply that I thought I would faint looking at his chest inflate. His sweat pants were getting soaked and it only made the shapes underneath more pronounced. What seemed like seconds later he was pumping his hamstrings on a leg machine while I sat on his back, and I'd lost my T-shirt, drank a hefty load of that drink he had, thinking how he was right to have taken more, as I remember suddenly finding my throat dry enough to prevent me from speaking. I tried to sit as close to his shoulders as possible to give him proper leverage, while he held to the bench, but I couldn't because his lats were so huge. I held to his shoulders, my arms stretched, and closed my eyes for fear of cumming all over his back if I continued looking at the flesh under me. One bottle later, he was punishing his quads with the combined weight of several plate racks. He pumped and pumped, and his pants were so stretched that I could see his cock clearly. He looked right at me as he continued heaving. I caught myself with one hand on his thigh and the other on my cock. In the middle of the next set he suddenly stopped, and literally tore his pants off. "Fuck with them" he said, as he threw the remains away, sat right back, and adjusted his visibly larger and harder cock so it hung around his right thigh, out of the way. He was getting turned on and it interfered with the workout, but it only made him more intense. Near the end I had to put my hand on his thigh, to feel it being obviously pumped up larger. The second time I realized our stares were locked I caught myself rubbing his thigh and my cock, and my shorts around my ankles. I stopped, the hardest thing I ever did, remembering my own vow to try to ride this to the end no matter what. The next I remember were three bottles left and him doing bench presses, and then using those fancy dumbbell contraptions of his with stacks on each side which would kill any pro to further pump his chest and shoulders. By the time he was over his chest was pumped so much it looked permanently flexed, and I had a hard-on that made the general area around my crotch hurt, and my balls were all slick of sweat and pre-cum. I had no idea how much time had passed. He was all sweaty, and when he rose, his chest heaved...he was breathing so deeply that his arms ended up almost horizontal, and his chest inflated outwards and upwards like a balloon. He must have been burning calories at the rate of a blast furnace, I could almost feel how hot he was from where I was standing. His lung capacity must have been incredible to be able to support such exertion, and it showed. He walked over to the weight rack. I know what a pump looks like, but he was visibly larger, even with his stance taken into account. Every bit of him looked pumped up, and to top it all off, he sported a half-hardon which was even more obvious since it was trying to raise its huge bulk. He walked over and it bobbed from side to side like a blind man's walking stick, slightly shorter but thick like a baseball bat. But the workout wasn't over yet. My crotch and my brain were screaming overload, but that could not stop anyone. He started doing triceps extensions first, again with weights which would make any pick out of any contest go to a monastery for the rest of their days. It made his tris bloom into shapes which only vaguely resembled a horseshoe, only because they were so much larger and looked like every fiber was bulging separately, and as if that was not enough, his cock was sprawled in front of him, over the bench he was sitting on. I thought my feet were leaving burn-marks on the floor I was so hot. We shared the next bottle taking turns at it, and then he left it in my hands and started alternate curls, pumping his biceps. Rep after rep, and so help me, I could see them grow. He had to bend his hand up because they were so large there was little space left once he flexed them up. After the first set he up-ended the penultimate bottle, added another plate to his overcrowded dumbbells, and curled anew. I thought I would die. He pumped and pumped set after set and I realized I was holding my hand on his right biceps, it was getting crunched between its peak and his forearm every time he would bring it up, with a grunt, and the next thing I knew was that I was fondling my balls, and I remember a voice saying "c'mon, cum all over them." I was pounding my meet engorged to such dimensions I thought I'd burst, so slowly, unable to get the barely detectable ridge of my foreskin over the head, and being surprised at it, completely synched with his pumping. His grunting sounded more like suppressed shouts, as his biceps turned from football-sized shapes with veins sticking out under the almost red skin into super-pumped steel balls, veins almost popping through skin distended so it was almost transparent, ready to explode, and then going back. A few more strokes, grunts getting louder as he matched every stroke of mine with a rep, and then I thought I could see stretch marks when he made his biceps into those peaked balls of steel, and I heard myself wailing but it wasn't me, it was distant, and I shot, and shot and shot all over his arms and chest and face. Darkness got me for a second and when I could see only a little through the tunnel-vision, I found myself on my knees, my cock stuck painfully into my abdomen, and he was doing that last rep, howling, and then he let the weights fall, which they did, cracking the floor. I came to completely after he squeezed the last bottle so the cork flew off, along with a lot of the fluid, into his face. Some of it went into his mouth and then he just said "Yeah...." A second later I had the tape ready, and he lost his lifting gloves. I croaked: "I only want to know two things" and he held one end, while I stumbled around him, and took the tape ends into one hand each. His chest heaved with the exertion, and it brought his pecs up like a shelf. He must have had such lung capacity that when he inhaled fully, it must be incredible to watch. And I was ready for that, and he knew it. "Show me" I said, and he did it. Think of a front lat pose done with arms extended to the side. Then he inhaled, and at the same time flexed his lats. He just kept on sucking and his chest extended until I could see his ribs poking out amongst the mass of muscle, and then even more. The tape extended and I thought his pecs were going to hit him in the face, and his arms went almost horizontal. Then he stopped, and with a grunt spread his lats and flexed his pecs, and I thought he was going to explode as I attempted to make the tape ends meet over his right nipple, but the tape had 8 feet, and that was short by almost two inches. I let the tape go and started groping, I could take no more, but he let his breath out with such force that my hart missed a few beats, and he continued breathing deeply, his face flushed. He had held the tape under his armpits and I took the ends again, so he let it fall. One more thing to go. I pulled the tape loose and he held his arm out, and I wrapped it around. Pumped up but relaxed his left upper arm reached over 32 inches, and I couldn't wait to see it flexed to the point of cramping, which was exactly what was happening. However, he brought it down a bit for maximum effect and then bent his arm, and then he flexed properly, so I could hear his bones click. He groaned as he squeezed so his arm shook visibly, the cabled triceps engorged, and the biceps two intersecting egg-shapes the size of my head, stretching the skin to pearly white, and stretching the tape with their diamond hardness to just over 35 inches. I took only a fraction of a second to measure and several seconds to grope the slippery sweat drenched skin, but he didn't let me have it just yet. He bent over, taking the bottle with the remains of the liquid in it, and tugged down half of it. He bent down, his hands gliding down his super-pumped thighs until his forehead touched his cock which pulsed visibly trying to get up, but not succeeding entirely mostly because of its weight.
"Oh, fuck with it..." he said, and took the bottle and poured the rest of the contents all over his cock, and then into his hand which he passed between his ass-cheeks, his legs spread, and clearly finishing off, although I didn't see it, with his asshole. I was dazed but he wasn't, and lifted me to my feet. The next I knew he was sitting on the bench, wringing the last bit out of the bottle and onto my cock which never came down. Then let himself down, rising his legs up, he wrapped me around with them again and I knew what was next. He pulled, and put me in there to the hilt, placing my hands on his pecs, his engorged member between my hands, going over his pec and up over his shoulder. Then, he took it in his hand, obviously it wasn't as hard or as big as earlier this very day, but it was just perfect because he bent it down and stuffed the head, and I mean all of it, in his mouth. The second he did it, me gasping in surprise, he put his arms over his head, brought the elbows out a bit and half-flexed, teasingly. I slide my hands over his sweaty hard, pumped and flexed pecs, down almost missing his shoulders, onto the half-flexed ball like biceps. The second I touched he flexed them hard, and brought his crotch up, writhing on my cock and putting his deeper down his throat. I was bowed toward me, enough to do the right thing, wrapping my lips as much as I could over the shaft of his arcing cock, and then as a single unit we started moving. Faster. He pumps his arms a bit. Faster, I feel the steel balls of his biceps, he groans, his cock stuffing his mouth. More. I can only see his shaft and I dance my tongue over it, I feel it on my chest, while his innards dance around my cock, making me feel the burn in my balls even while his, so much bigger, dance on top of my shaft. I feel the taste of the drink all over him, mixed with his sweat, moving, moving, faster, more, and then I feel it coming and I can't, I won't stop. I feel his biceps suddenly getting harder, bigger, hard as stone and hot, and I feel his shaft pulse with his cum. He lets out a wince, his mouth stuffed by his growing cockhead, and then I can feel him clamping me in him, making me feel him gulping down his own cum. My balls try to explode into a closed passage as my engorged cock gets constricted so I feel it's head stretching inside of him, and I can take no more, I start to scream. Amongst all that I clearly hear a pop as he literally exhales his cockhead which ends between his biceps and my hand holding it, spurting cum. He squeezes my cock more and more, as he inhales, his chest again rising to its incredible dimensions. I feel my balls cramping, trying to squirt out what feels like a tennis ball, and then he howls, shaking and the clamp is gone and I shoot, and fall on him, unsupported now, his cock between us, still dribbling cumloads. Later, who knows how much, I was sprawled over him, both our cocks between us, in a hug, his huge muscle squeezing me tight. No words, just looking into each other's eyes, stroking each other. I saw the intention in his eyes even before he lifted me like a feather and now it was my turn to lie on the bench, but he went down, further and further until his lips found my cock and wrapped themselves around it. He only took my head in, spreading my legs to the limit with his yard wide shoulders, and then suddenly his arm was under my right knee and darting over my belly and chest. His mouth was hot as a stove, and his hand was electrifying. I groped his arm with both hands, so huge and hard, and tried to raise my head up. The moment I did, I felt his fingers entering me from behind and I pushed my crotch up, moving away, and looked down. His eyes were wide open and locked with mine, that green glow in them, telling me to trust him. And I would have died for him. A second later he got two fingers in, and I writhed, trying to stay relaxed around them. All of a sudden, I felt him shift a little, and his fingers pulling out. A moment later, I feel something wet, hot and huge pushing into me, and I gasp in realization, but I can't break eye contact. I gritted my teeth as he pushed his cock into me. I just knew what he'd done, he took it up near the head, squeezing it so the trapped blood engorged it, but not fully hard, and still I felt I'd split open. But then, he was sucking me and fucking me at the same time, I felt like his mouth, his cock, and his eyes were the only things holding me in my body. He slurped up and down my cock, stroked me, teased my nipples and with every stroke pushed more and more. He had me locked down with his arm, and it was the only part of him I could reach, so I squeezed his writhing forearm and his pumped up biceps and triceps. He continued his triple-dance and I felt his cockhead enter me whole, and start growing. I moaned, and winced, never breaking eye contact, I felt like he was going to rip me apart, filling me more and more, I felt his shaft with my innards. It must have been only a few inches but they were getting wider by the second, and then I felt him pumping it in and out, slowly. It was like electricity, from his eyes to his mouth to his cock, I lost all feeling of my body, and I was only a ball of pure lust, pulsing, until I could feel suddenly shocks becoming waves, and his eye-contact broke. There was no return, that out-of-body feeling was there again and it was getting stronger, like a tide. My cock popped out of his mouth and he bent it down, rose himself up, filling me until I thought he's spear me through, and I shot, all over his chest and face again, moaning in one single cramp that seemed to last a lifetime. Once I felt myself collect back into my body, the first thing that I realized was that I was holding him by his hair and his face was a mask of bliss, I felt my ass being stretched again and filled with a cumload so big, it practically ejected his cock. The cockhead rim went out, causing me to wince in painful ecstasy, moving my hands to his traps, as he lifted himself with myself in his arms, squeezing me into his pecs, slippery from our combined cum and sweat, with his every breath. Finally, my hands fell over his shoulders and down his arms as far as I could reach, and then back up, my face still in contact with hot, living and moving steel. He knelt, I unwrapped my legs from around him and he let himself fall backwards to the floor, me on top of him, straddling him, right over his abs. "O boy..." he rasped, the words making his abs under me bunch up, massaging my balls. His lats jutted out spreading my knees apart so I was actually supported by his abs. He panted, his incredible chest heaving, with me propped by my hands onto it, like I weighted nothing at all. I bobbed up and down slowly, as he breathed in and out, not being able to look away from his beautiful face and his shoulders. His arms were spread to the side, sex seemed to have pumped him up even more. I could not say anything for several seconds. In time, his breathing got slower and shallower. I could feel him shift, moving his hand behind me and his knee up, and then I felt a hot, sticky rod rise over my back, as he lifted his cock, and went up over it and my back with his big hand, squeezing out the last of his cum. It was still half-hard. "O boy..." he said again "sorry I couldn't get it really hard for you to play with..." That was absolutely the last thing I would have expected he'd say. My cock ached which was probably the only thing keeping me from getting hard again and cumming over his abs because of the thing he had over my back. Lying beneath me was the biggest, strongest, most beautiful sex god, and yet so simple, and gentle and caring. He was just so perfect I could barely keep myself from cuddling and kissing and hugging him. "Well then you'll just have to get bigger" I said instead, but held that thought. "Right now I really feel so huge I could explode. I don't think I've ever had such a pump and it feels wonderful, and you feel even better on top" he said. "Well, then I propose we get up there" I beckoned above with my head "and do more looking so we know exactly how wonderful it feels," I said. He laughed, and lifted me off, but not before I could pull a stroke over his huge pecs which bunched up again when he lifted his arms. In a second we were both on our feet, and we kissed for what looked like minutes. Then our lips finally parted. "And, besides, you never explained what that thing is you do with your eyes" I said. He just smiled, and started toward the locker room, with me in tow. All I could think of was that I never want this to end.
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