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How I Became The King of Pro Bodybuilding


Supercrav

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I did open my arms wide to embrace his penis, after getting myself naked first, and I held it against me as hard as I could, kissing its head, and I had to do squats to rub the thing up and down, and after a few he ejaculated all over the place. He leaned over me and kissed my mouth. When done, I took the shower nozzle and hosed him down, in the middle of the bathroom, and had him moving back to the grand salon : I had very little time to get him ready for the show.
 
I didn't know what to do, never had before. I just opened one bucket of tan paste, grabbed a handful of it and slapped it over him. Then again and again. After the third, I took the paint roller thing and tried to even the stuff over his body. He was lying on the ground and rolled over as I told him to. The fancy carpet was completely ruined, but I knew the hotel's management wouldn't mind.
 
After like an hour, it looked sorta ok, then I started pouring oil over him. I tried to massage it in, but it made the tan even more messy, so I just put on more oil.
 
When he stood up he was dripping all over, so I took the roller paint thingy to try to hold it on, and then we had like thirty minutes before he had to take stage, So we went with it.
 
I put on a shirt and a short and went barefoot, all plastered with tan paste and oil stains. We almost left the room with no posing trunks on Sergei, so I had to run for some through his stuff, the largest I could find of course, and it took forever to pull them up to his waist. Then he had to pee. I told him to pee right there on the carpet, and so he did, and then I finally managed to have the posers over his junk and buttocks and we were ready to go.
 
The hallways were barely wide enough for him, luckily everybody was in the auditorium already so we had free range and a lift just for ourselves. I struck the A-1 button then nothing happened. What is this red light. Oh, overload.
 
I have the key. I have the key to bypass the elevator weight limit. Not with me. It's in pants I wore yesterday.
 
" Sergei, I have to go for a run, I know the show's about to start but I have the key in the room to unlock the elevator.
 
- What ? What are you saying ?"
 
I was slamming the "open doors" button to get my escape, as brown tainted oil was pouring over me like molasses from Sergei's chest.
 
The doors opened. I brought up the key card of the room to his face to explain to him "I have to go back to the
 
and then the card fell from my hand and dropped through the slit right into the elevator's shaft.
 
" Silly you" he said. "Of course I took the lift master key with me."
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So we unlocked the elevator and went down to the auditorium floor. Sergei seemed to be pretty calm while I was still a nervous wreck. I stepped out of the cabin sticking my bare feet out of the goo, and Sergei rose towards his destiny, past me, with the grace and solemnity befitting the importance of the moment : the man was about to enter bodybuilding history and become a legend.
 
As I saw him walking towards the stage, I realized what a botched job I had done with his preparation. Tanning was uneven, and I had splattered so much oil on him he was shining way too much. We had arrived just on time, it would be his class to go on stage in a few minutes.
 
Watching from backstage, I found that my bad preparation of his physique really fitted the circumstance. It was raw, savage, as was his dominance on stage, and his overall behavior. He was growling wildly, fully aware of his superiority over the other competitors, relishing how the full attention of the audience and the judges was focused on his phenomenal muscles, even the commentator couldn't help but
speaking about anything but this.
 
The super-heavyweight class left the stage, all guys seemed pretty grim except for my Sergei beaming with joy. He came right to me, grabbed me under the armpits and lifted me up to give me a big kiss on the lips, in front of everybody. Then he told me how much he was grateful for making his dream come true, and put me back on the floor, and went to do some lifting in the pump room.
 
Soon it was going to be the time for his solo posing routine.
 
I knew that there would be a crowd willing to witness that event from backstage, so I secured a good spot a little in advance.
 
He came on stage, the crowd went wild, right from the start, and he didn't disappoint. His posing was intense but a little lazy, and again, it fitted the overall attitude. As he began to go left and right to delight all parts of the audience, one heavy, massive, calloused hand landed on my left shoulder.
 
" You sure did a pretty good job on that subject professor."
 
I looked to the right, and up, and of course above a generous globe of pectoral muscle peered the devilishly grinning and handsome face of Michael Masfield drilling through my soul with the blue of his eyes.
 
" Sorry I couldn't make it for breakfast" I said, "I...
 
- Never mind." He pointed with his chin at what was happening on stage. "So you're the one behind it all aren't you?
 
- Listen, Michael, I call you tomorrow when the event is over, and we'll have a good talk then. I didn't mean to lie to you nor deceive you...
 
- We'll see, then."
 
He winked at me. And went. I had such a crush on him.
 
Yeah, I know, but despite all this muscle mass on Sergei and all the pleasure he had given me, Michael was so beautiful, proportioned, and I had felt such a connection with him, having him close to me in competition condition, ripped and tanned and fueled with all the last minute injections these guys take, I was hard and horny as hell.
 
The rest of the competition went as planned, Sergei won the super-heavyweight, and the overall. The really neat part is, when he got crowned, he beckoned to me, so I joined him on stage and then he grabbed me, put me his on his biceps and flexed it several times over to make me jump in the air again and again! The crowd loved it, and boy did I.
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Right after the show, the fans finally got the chance to meet their idols in the lobby, especially the astoundingly monumental Sergei, who had been unapproachable until now. A convoluted waiting line had been organized to control the crowd eager to pay respect and get close to the phenomenon of muscle. The line of people waiting to meet Masfield wasn't much less impressive ; not just because there was too many queuing to see Sergei the freshly crowned ultimate bodybuilder, but also because Michael was as close as a human could get of this perfection, and he had been a fan favorite for years, and he had built a great condition this year hoping to keep his title - apparently his consumption of alcohol the night before luckily had had a positive impact on his physique - and eventually, he was arguably one of the most handsome men to have ever graced the stage of a bodybuilding competition.
 
Sergei was on cloud nine, bathing in an ocean of love and praise, and, yes, I was left on the side, but it would have been silly of me annoyed about that situation in any way. Besides, several other, less requested competitors, were, in turns, coming up to me, and finding a way to start the conversation,  and each was, like, parading of sorts, though there was really no need to as they were all pumped as hell and shredded as f*ck, bronze tanned, veins pointing at what to look at next, and they had veins all over and stuff to look at all over, they weren't all as pleasing to look at but it was difficult to find a fault from the whiteness of their teeth to the roughness of their feet.
 
Yes, clever man, you guessed that right. After a few of these encounters I understood that Sergei, drunk with pride and power, must have bragged at some point that I was his squeezable unlimited muscular growth dispenser.
 
Of course, maybe he just told one guy and the word spread out. Did they really believe him? His muscular development was unbelievable to begin with. And it just confirmed what I thought, trustworthy or not, risky or not, when bodybuilders attain that level of insanely demanding, punishing and grotesque obsession of muscular hypertrophy, they're just ready to do anything. Anything.
 
As a side note, at one point I had to stop and think, that if I had seen a single one of these guys, on the street, a few weeks earlier, even fully clothed, I would have been so awestruck and shaking all over, and if one had spoken a word to me then, or even winked at me, I possibly would have fainted. And there, I just told them that we would have a better opportunity to chat later in the evening. Casually. Next!
 
No really, it was a very good thing that my guinea pig had spilled the beans. I didn't expect him to do that so soon, I was caught off guard. And I had to react quickly. The after-show party would be held in a few hours.
 
It's just a party in a nearby night club that the privatize for the event, and only the contestants, and their team, and the people involved in the organization can attend.
 
Hehehe of course, the nirvana for any muscle fanatic. Plus, after all the stress of the last few days, the preparation all year round, these muscle guys really need to blow a fuse, and, in case you don't know, the use of recreational drugs is rampant in this community....
 
OK, so, I had to hurry then, there was plenty of time before the party, but most stores would be closing soon, and the convention center was in the outskirts of the city. There was a so-called "shopping center" there but I knew I wouldn't find what I needed.
 
A second SIM card. I had a database to build. A new directory. A new agenda, if you will.
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  • 4 weeks later...

 

So I found the SIM card, not really the type I was going after, but...

Oh, what I was needing it for. I felt like I needed... I don't know, to keep things aside, I thought it would be a good move. I had planned to do it, so it was in the plan. I wasn't in my right mind at that moment, things had been happening so fast, I was exhausted, I had to... grab on something that felt like reality. Like, the plan.

No, before going to the party I went to the room to change. And take a shower. And also, I wrapped my bag. Just in case, I really didn't know what could be happening next. I put on the suit I had brought for that evening. I considered taking a nap then, but decided not to. And off I went to the after-show party. It was in a club just around the corner, I simply walked there. On the way I saw a few people coming back from the party, although it wasn't that late. Around the club I saw a few guys hoping that an entrance pass would be thrown at them, some even pleading for one, offering money probably, but as the passes were nominative, I guess very few obtained that golden ticket.

The moment I stepped into the club, I got stunned by the powerful charge of intense virility in the air. And I had spent most of the day in the backstage of a bodybuilding competition. The smell was raw, and violent. The sight was great. Not so many ladies, and in vast majority, bodybuilders wearing as much clothing as they could find, some drunk, some giving great attention to whatever the wealthy man pouring champagne in his glass was saying, but overall, they were much tired and done, and the after-show party wasn't quite the muscle orgy I had fantasized about.

My entrance didn't get unnoticed. Several competitors among the most massive I had met earlier during the day came up to me as I had told them that it would be more convenient to get acquainted during the after-show party, and they told me their names as I shook their hands grabbing their upper arm, some hugged me, and I just gave away my new phone number to all of them. It was all in a daze.

Finally able to really check the whole area, it confirmed that the ambiance was moist, and tired.

But in the middle of the dance floor was Sergei. Still dripping with oil and tan, still in his posers, still almost naked. Obviously high as a kite. Certainly drunk, and who knows what else. His muscles looked even more pumped know than during the competition, apparently the serum worked well with alcohol. He was the King there, he could as well do as he pleased, and he was standing there, barely standing, smiling from trapezius to trapezius, fascinated by his left biceps that he was holding up and down flexing it more or less in rhythm with the music, while caressing his right nipple with the other hand. Everybody tried to act casual about the elephant in the middle of the room, but nobody did.

Then he saw me.

I was a foot or two away from the dance floor, and he rushed to me and grabbed me. Growling, shouting "Here's my man! Here's my motherfucker."

He tossed me up and bent backwards so I landed on his chest, and he flexed his pectorals to make me jump in the air again and again, like a rag doll. But I must say that he took great care of keeping me unharmed, even given his level of intoxication, and how frail I was compared to his frightening muscular might.

On a rebound he clasped one hand around my waist, and brought me up over his pecs to probe his tongue into my mouth while he - reportedly - lifted his other arm in a biceps flex for the ages.

"THANK YOU" He yelled at my face. "THANK YOU FOR MY SUPREME MUSCULAR POWER!"

Then he dropped me down, and went back to his self admiration.

I crawled my way out of that club. It was getting awry.

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On 3/2/2020 at 2:21 AM, Supercrav said:

Enjoying the story...cannot wait for our story teller to grow and hopefully connect again with Michael. Thank you! And May we have more? Please! 

 

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Outside the club, in the shadows, several poor souls were wandering around, still hoping for a chance to get a Willy Wonka golden ticket somehow, lurking at every bodybuilder and fitness model passing by, foolishly hoping that it might not be too late for the fantasies they had for the week-end to finally come true.

I think most, maybe almost all of them were more attracted to the female athletes in fact. On my way to the hotel I passed a little group, composed of a very muscular, very beautiful black woman, surrounded by three guys. The guys weren't built at all, or not much more than I was, and their eyes were beaming with lust and adoration. The lady was obviously pleased with the attention she got, and enjoying her Goddess status. The men behaved very respectfully towards her.

In the elevator I wondered what my next move would be. Did I really want to see Sergei later tonight, coming back from the club ? If he was coming back.

Of course the prospect of experiencing again the avalanche of divine and infinite pleasures offered by the sensual contact of our naked bodies, swimming through his ocean of muscles - which are, at this time, still pretty much supersized to the max - to explore new places where I can stick my cock into, having him playfully experimenting different flexing techniques, combinations, angles, intensities to see which would make me scream the loudest given the situation, and finally receiving inside me the ultimate expression of the beast's muscular power, feeling his might, and how his whole mountain of monstrous slabs of mutant muscles shivers and shakes just before filling me up with his muscle juice, the thickest, richest, most potent and oh so abundant discharge of fluid any man has ever produced ; that prospect, was, yes, enticing.

On the other hand, as he was a schmuck to begin with, having him back drunk as a skunk, maybe even coming down from some drugs, might not prove to be such a fun time. Certainly not.

I reached my floor, walked down the corridor still wondering what to do, and when I took the last bend before the suite, the solution clearly appeared to me.

Right there, filling a fair share of the corridor's width and height, leaning on his right side against the wall next to my door, Michael Masfield was standing.He was wearing a tailor-made (of course) leather jacket, opened on a skimpy stringer shirt, blue jeans, and the same pair of sneakers he had on yesterday. In this position, with his legs crossed and his right foot standing vertically against the other foot holding his weight, I could really contemplate the size of his feet, these certainly were the longest, widest and fullest pair of sneakers I had ever been graced to see.

He smiled at me. I asked:

" So you haven't been to the party? I was expecting to see you over there.

- I really didn't want to go. Plus I have some personal stuff to sort out.

- And you have been waiting for me there for long?

- Yes. I could have waited all night.

- What if Sergei had been the first to return to the room? You would have said 'hi' and stayed here?"

The hall brightened a notch as Michael went exposing his pearly white, perfect teeth when he laughed.

" Nah I'm kidding you in fact, I had a friend texting me when you left the club."

As I got closer, Michael straightened up on both of his feet, zipped up his jacket and put his hands behind his back. At the moment I didn't get why he did that, but shortly after, I think I figured out why. I had never had a better view of Michael Masfield's face. Never I had seen him with so much... clothing on. Even in pictures or videos, he always has his arms exposed, or his chest on display, or his chest completely in the bare, or, most of the time, almost completely naked if it weren't for a minimalist piece of shiny and/or sparkling piece of very thin stretchable cloth trying its best to tightly cover and contain his infamously generous genitals. I don't think I had ever seen any image of him fully clothed.

Of course this condition caused his jeans to sport an oddly prominent bulge in the crotch area and beyond. However, I was drawn to the man's face, as there was no other piece of his skin that was visible, even his bulky, callous, mitt-sized hands were hidden behind his back - probably to ensure that my observation of his face would work its magic at the fullest.

What kind of magic you ask? Have you been listening? Sure I had seen his face before, countless times, again and again, and he was celebrated, and routinely teased by the press calling him "pretty boy" and stuff, for being one of the most gorgeous, if not the most gorgeous, pro bodybuilder in the history of bodybuilding. But the sight of any part of his body, simultaneously, wouldn't make him uglier, wouldn't keep you from noticing that he is a ravishingly gorgeous man, but would be distracting enough to prevent you to comprehend the full extent of the man's facial perfection.

Yes, good point, not even the day before though we had spent the whole evening at the bar. It had occurred to me then that in fact, the whole time, we hadn't made eye contact that much. In the beginning we were mostly sitting next to each other, and then again, the fact that I had his right biceps dancing inches away from my nose the whole time wasn't helping neither. Later he started goofing off, then, yes we had this talk in the end at the threshold of his room, but I was fairly intoxicated then, and, fuck, I was talking to Michael Masfield himself!

As a kept walking closer, he bent forward to lower his eye level closer to mine, and to get his entire head closer to mine in the process, while I tried to get the conversation back on tracks.

"So, you wanted to talk to me about something?"

The more he bent further, the more his traps crawled up the back of his head, the more his bull bars-jaw stuck out.

"Yes Jeffrey, I think we have an important decision to make, and I believe that now would be a good moment for it."

He bent one last inch further then came to a halt, at the exact point where the LED light in the ceiling right above him, skimmed over the surface of his eyes.

Could he have calculated that too? The precise spot where he had to stand, in order to have the corridor's lighting hitting his corneas with the perfect angle, to let explode all the beauty, depth, lightness, shadows, and the variations of every shade of blue that ever existed, and the some that the giant held in his big bright eyes.

Or maybe he had it in him to be instinctively majestic and graceful, the way felines do.

One thing was for sure, I was under the spell, and he could have asked me for anything there was nothing I would be able to refuse.

"So... Michael... do you want to come in?" I asked pointing at the door.

"No, I wouldn't want Sergei to walk in on us. I can't stand him, he's a natural born asshole, and he must be drunk as shit by now no way I'd deal with that crap."

He took his right hand out and raised it forward, gently landed his palm behind my neck, then engulfed my whole head into his fingers.

"Go grab your stuff in there buddy, you could come sleep in my room tonight what do you think?

- Er, I don't know, I want to be with you, but... And what about your girlfriend?

- I got rid of her tonight. That was the 'personal stuff' I was referring to."

He approached even closer to me, tilting his head a bit on the side. I could feel his breath flowing over my face and I was loving it so much. It had the most powerful, brutal, enchanting, delightful, delicious scent of raw sewage I had ever smelled.

"What? You, like rid of her out of spite because of the competition?"

Now with his lips brushing against my lips, closing his eyes, he mumbled

"No I had enough of her, she's just a stupid slut, I had told her from the start that nothing in the world could ever be more important - or even worthy of the slightest consideration - than me and my muscles, and she has been failing at that a few times the last few weeks, today was the last straw, she has even made a personal comment about the competition today when I hadn't asked for her opinion. She had it coming.

- Indeed, she's a stupid whore from Hell you're right!"

He finally kissed me fully on the lips, then invaded my mouth with his massive tongue, and it was way more wonderful than I thought it could be.

"OK," Michael said, "I want a new start. I want a new start with you."

And he went back into my mouth, playing it like a bow plays the violin.

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  • 3 weeks later...
 
 
"Go get your stuff. I'll wait for you there."
 
I opened the door and entered the suite. As the door clasped behind me, I stood still with my eyes closed, for a dozen of seconds, waiting for the rush of dizziness to pass. I hadn't planned that situation, I had to make sure to take the right decision, yet didn't have the time to think it over, it had to happen now, and I had made my decision already I was going with Michael. My head was spinning right then, for several reasons, the unplanned emergency, the passionate oral rampage that the tongue of the most absurdly beautiful super heavyweight bodybuilder ever had inflicted on me, the considerable amount of alcohol I had ingested that night, again, but the main reason was, by far, the violently intoxicating smell of Sergei's powerful bodily fluids, sweat and sperm overloaded with concentrate hormones and steroids, you could almost see the pheromones floating in the air.
 
The mix would have been a dreadful stench, if it weren't for the undefinable, delicate odor of pure muscle, here present with vivid intensity, wrapping it all up to create a unique olfactory ecstasy.
 
My serum sure broke the boundaries of extremely sexual maleness in every single way.
 
When I finally got my shit together, I... got my shit together, but my bag was mostly done already, I took my precious vial of serum out of its hiding place and safely wrapped it. But I couldn't figure out where to hide it next. I was in uncharted territory, so it could be risky to keep it on me, risky to leave it in my bag. Risky anywhere in fact. I'll have to keep it in my coat's chest pocket for now, I'd figure something out later.
 
Should I leave a note? That would be the right thing to do. To write what? I still was in a confused state, it could take me forever. And Sergei could arrive any minute... Nah, I left it at that, let's go. It's not like I would never hear again of him anyway.
 
I walked out of the suite, Michael was still there of course, waiting for me. He had taken off his jacket, holding it over his right shoulder, so he could keep himself busy admiring the dramatic congestion and the mesmerizing bulges of his left biceps shifting, blooming and morphing, as he went through his favorite ways of flexing the glorious and golden muscle, brought up inches from his face, bursting out of a challenged polo shirt sleeve.
 
Pleased by the splendor of the biceps, and satisfied by the extent reached by its most notorious protrusions when requested to swell, Michael didn't seem to notice me as I went through the door, and shut the door behind me.
 
"I'm set," I said.
 
"Oh that was fast." he answered, lowering his arm snapped out of his reverie. He leaned down and added "I like that", then pinned his ice blue stare through my skull to make sure I wouldn't move.
 
That was very unnecessary, as I was worried stiff since I had stepped my foot out in the hallway, by a faint but familiar noise, that my muscular friend clearly hadn't noticed.
 
Michael swiftly kissed my lips. Grabbed my hand, and said 'here we go!" as we started walking to the elevator.
 
The noise was getting louder. A thumping noise.
 
With Michael holding my hand, I really looked like a kid accompanied by a responsible adult. I let go his hand.
 
The thumping was getting faster, as we were reaching the bend of the corridor. I was sure that no fatal drama would ensue, but I would have preferred avoiding the encounter with Sergei on our way out, that was real bad timing.
 
Some weird squeaks and breathing sounds could be clearly heard along the footsteps now. With Sergei drunk out of his skull I began to worry about what could be happening next.
 
We didn't exchange a word with Michael, he was quiet, yet getting ready for anything. Stretching his body as we walked, pumping his muscles ready for the action.
 
I took the turn to the left to the elevator, but Sergei was nowhere to be seen. The thumping had stopped, and I heard a blood chilling scream behind me.
 
"So how do you like that little boy?"
 
I turned around, and saw Michael's back, his plolo laying on the floor, his jacket not far behind, hitting a most muscular pose like there's no tomorrow.
 
"You love my huge muscles don't you little boy?"
 
Then I saw a bell boy, or a room service guy maybe, his back against the wall, sweating bullets, his pants around his knees, and his hands around a cock that was still producing copious amounts of cum in spite of the large poddle at his feet. The poor kid, 20y/o max, was crying his eyes out with his steel hard shaft keeping the painful ejaculation going on forever as Michael had his bare chest on parade inches from his face, mercilessly overflowing his victim with an avalanche of chest and arm muscles expertly bloated to their optimal volumetric expansion in a frightening craze : Michael was in rampage mode, Michael was laughing his lungs out ; an evil, cruel laugh.
 
"MICHAEL" I shouted.
 
Michael stood straight relaxing his chest muscles, expanding his shoulders. He turned to face me, his dark laugh lingering into a snicker, and I could see the predator glow in his eyes, the demented smirk on his face, the beast had feasted, his hunting insctinct was satisfied. It sure wasn't the monster I expected to meet in the hallway.
 
The prey had succumbed, and not so figuratively, as the sliding of the exhausted bell boy to the floor had left a remarkable smear of blood on the wall. Starting where the head was.
 
"Hey Michael, the kid is hemorraging!" Michael's hideous grin gave way to his standard, heart-stopping beautiful face. "From the head !" I added.
 
"Wow, come on Jeffrey, I haven't touched the guy."
 
True. The thumping sound was in fact the kid, masturbating so vigorously, that he was slamming his head against the wall.
 
Another thing became clear to me then ; when I left the suite moments ago, Michael wasn't as entranced by the magnificence of his biceps as I thought he was. He just had spotted some game, lured it, and successfully scored hook line and sinker, without much effort, but still intense satisfaction and pride.
 
"Jeffrey, don't worry, I'm sure he's fine, there isn't that much blood, wake him up gently, we'll take him to the front desk and they will have him checked at the nearest hospital for a concussion."
 
I knelled down next to the bell boy, who was breathing steadily, gave him a few gentle slaps, and indeed, he woke up.
 
"Hey, buddy" I said. "Are you okay?
 
- Yes, yes thank you sir, my head hurts a little, but I'm good I think.
 
- I am Jeffrey. What is your name?
 
- David."
 
No hesitation, that was a good sign.
 
"Let me take you down to the lobby, David, you have to be examined in a hospital to make sure you're not suffering any trauma. It is the duty of your employer to call an ambulance for you and to take care of all the expanses so don't you worry.
 
- Huh, okay.
 
- Here, let me help you on your feet... Yes... great.
 
- WAIT !" shouted Michael.
 
Too late, David was already blacked out again on the floor.
 
"Couldn't you wait until I put my shirt back on? At least?
 
- Sorry, I hadn't thought that at the sight of you, he would..." Michael obvioulsy had much experience with this kind of situation.
 
" Yes, never mind Jiffy, honest mistake. But, see, I just had swept the guy off his feet and blown his brains out, well, almost, with a critical blast of sexually muscular lust, so, he didn't need a second exposure."
 
I felt silly. "Sorry..."
 
Michael stopped trying to put his polo shirt back on, and also kneeled next to me, so he could smile at me with his eyes into mine.
 
"Jeffrey, I know that it turned kinda awkward, but I want you to know that I had nothing but that kid's best interest in mind. I just wanted to make him happy I swear.
 
- I'm sure.
 
- Hopefully he doesn't have any harm, but trust me he will forever remember that show I gave him as the best time of his life. Or one of the best."
 
I was sure of that, too.
 
" You bet.
 
- I have an idea, you might as well take him to the front desk on your own, and I will wait for you in my room, not to take any chances.
 
- That will probably be for the best.
 
- And wait, I have a gift for our friend. I have worn this shirt almost all day, given some good sweat it in, there are even some stains of residual tanning paste and posing oil from this morning show, you will give it to him as a present from me.
 
- Way cool.
 
- Hmm, do you fave some kind of marker in your bag?
 
- As a matter of fact I do.
 
- Great."
 
I found the marker and passed it to Michael, he laid the shirt flat on the floor, looked up in the air for inspiration, in the cutest way, then removed the cap off of it and painstakingly holding the pen between his big, calloused, muscular fingers, he wrote on the front :
 
MY DEAR FRIEND DAVID.
 
I WANTED TO BUY YOU A GIFT, 
BUT HAVEN'T HAD THE TIME,
SO ALL YOU'LL GET IS THIS LOUSY T-SHIRT.
 
WE KEEP IN TOUCH, SEE YOU SOON
KEEP UP THE GREATNESS
 
XOXO
MICHAEL MASFIELD
 
"'xoxo'? really?
 
- So what?
 
- Er, nothing."
 
He put his hand behind my neck.
 
" What is wrong with hugs and kisses?"
 
And, you guessed it, he entered his tongue in my mouth to massage mine again.
 
"So, are you giving him your number of something?
 
- Thank you for cleaning up my mess. I'll take a shower waiting for you. Please hurry."
 
Then my big guy stood up, picked up his jacket (he was so desperately trying to look cool all along, I had to bite my lip not to laugh out loud when he almost fell over while reaching at the garment on the floor).
 
He walked to the elevator, keeping an eye on me with a conniving smile, and putting his immense jacket back on.
 
The lift was taking it own sweet time to show up, both did in fact as there were two of them, I surveyed the monitors above each indicating which floor it was at, and it moved way slow, and we were on the top floor to make things worse, at that time the after show party must have been reaching to an end, and many attendees were getting back to their rooms, and I realized that Michael had a hard time putting his jacket on. By the time one of the elevator doors finally opened, Michael had given up trying, as, obviously, there was no way his arms could fit through the sleeves.
 
Yes, Michael was obviously buffier than he had been on stage today. And it's really weird, because, you way not know this, but it takes bodybuilder weeks, months of preparation to focus on being at their ultimate muscular peak and size and perfection for the exact moment they step a foot on stage, this really is as close to rocket science as it gets. With so many intricate, unpredictable parameters involved, like the pressure curve on the plane during a flight, the mood and stamina of the athlete, and the violently potent chemicals they have to stuff themselves with.
 
But at this compelling level of competition, the ultimate level of bodybuilding competition in fact, the athletes are so talented, gifted, skillful at their craft, they have such a precise, profound, surreal connection with their metabolism and every single one of their billions of billions of muscular fibers.
 
No, I'm not exaggerating, believe me, these men are real artists, and bona fide geniuses in my opinion. 
 
See, most people consider that hardcore bodybuilders are freaks, because of their physiques, but, if you look past their overwhelmingly dominating, intimidating, threatening muscular superiority, you realize that a vast majority of them are the nicest, kindest, most humble persons you will ever meet, articulate and wise more often than not.
 
No the thing that makes them freak is the unconditional commitment they have for their art, of course, but foremost that crazy sixth sense enabling them to connect, talk to, listen to, and understand, every single inch of the muscle building factory they have turned their bodies into.
 
Sure there are schmucks everywhere. You know, bodybuilders, they tend to be insecure, not just because of the dysmorphia, several bodybuilders I've met have admitted that they were uncomfortable in social situations, having trouble mixing, feeling useless and vain, inadequate, willing to roll into a ball and hide in a corner, but they can't as they are so huge they always are the center of attention, and soon a few girls formed a party, on the side, lurking at him with contempt, laughing hysterically at every move he makes, then they had nothing better to do than waiting for the Great Winner to show up, 
 
The Great Winner, it's the frustrated, jealous little guy who will annoy, make loudly fun of, or even, if he's intoxicated enough, directly and publicly provoke the big muscle man. To make himself look good and courageous. And not gay. And get respect from his friends just behind him. Every time, out of pity, and lassitude, the bodybuilder won't lift the guy off the ground by his cranium with two fingers, nor splatter his brains my pinching it slightly harder, and will sigh instead, call it a night and leave.
 
Sure it's a caricature, but it doesn't just happen in high school, social events are a pain for bodybuilders. Assholes are just unable to look past the muscle and give a bodybuilder a chance. Like prehistoric men, faced with something they aren't able to comprehend, they either were scared of it or laughing at it.
 
Muscle haters are so utterly stupid. A bunch are closeted admirers critically aroused sexually by luscious bodybuilder muscle, and become haters to fuel their denial. You know, there is a guy in Iowa who goes to every bodybuilding in his area, often in nearby states, and every now and then to major events all over the country. He has a youtube channel dedicated to muscle hatred, some ugly broad supposed to be his wife filming him, and he goes on rampage, approaching the athletes on booth stands in conventions, or fresh out of the stage, and his gimmick is that bodybuilding has to be outlawed, as having ridiculously powerful men exposing their luscious, pumped, shining muscles hypertrophied way beyond God's design, wearing just the skimpiest and smallest square of fabric to partially cover their genitals, in order to be as naked as possible while strutting and flexing their disgustingly oversized muscles on stage. The guy said bodybuilding was a creation of Satan, and bodybuilders were his agents, who had sold their souls in exchange of supernatural muscular growth, to become nothing but outrageous displays of extremely sexual objects of pure lust, in a plan to make every man become homosexual.
 
Yeah, and to demonstrate his point, he went to every bodybuilder he could reach, being filmed as he groped and fondled their biceps, their pecs, their abs, their asses, proclaiming "look at this monstrosity, these peons of Satan have to be stopped, look how these mounds of muscles are designed to turn poor souls into raging sodomites", stuff like that.
 
Once I approached the woman filming him and asked her
 
" Are you his wife, girlfriend or something?
 
- Me? I get paid 20 bucks an hour to film his antics.
 
- Oh really. And what is the name of that youtube channel already?"
 
Still filming, she turned her head and told me,
 
" There is no youtube channel that I know of. He keeps the tapes for his personal enjoyment."
 
Haha so you see my point, that's a lot of hypocrisy right there.
 
So most bodybuilders feel inadequate, dysfunctional, abnormal, and as they stand out in public, it makes it even worse. And they also feel that way because medias hammers them with messages saying that they are, and people in general have the media telling them that it is what bodybuilders are. As a result they get convinced that they have a weird, shameful addiction, and have to excuse themselves for it. While in fact, these men are heroes! Fighters! Warriors! They deserve nothing but praise and admiration, as the Gods that they are, no one is more worthy of respect and devotion than a real bodybuilder. And they accept their fate in this absurd society because they are as tough and determined as a man can get.
 
Oh sorry, I got carried away a little... So, back to my story, I woke up that David kid again, and we took the elevator down to the lobby. They called an ambulance for him right away.
 
Gilford, the manager, was behind the desk. His muscle galore fantasy was about to end in a few hours, and didn't want to miss any minute of it.
 
It had been a long day. A great day, nonetheless. There I was at the front desk, Gilford talking to me about whatever, and ever since I had left the suite I felt guilty about not having at least left a note goodbye. Gilford kept saying Sergei this, Sergei that.
 
" Gilford, you are a great professional and Sergei and I enjoyed a great stay in your hotel.
 
- Thank you, Mr Matthews, I shouldn't tell you, but I have a little surprise for you and Mr Krishnowsk tomorrow morning...
 
- I won't be there tomorrow morning." I reached into my pocket, found what I was looking for, and dropped it on the counter. "That's your elevator key." The key to override the weight limit. "Sergei will need it when he comes back.
 
- ...is there... any trouble between you and Mr Krishnowsk ? Not that is any of my business, but I wouldn't want to... make a faux-pas...
 
- He isn't aware that I won't be there when he comes back, if he comes back, maybe he won't even notice."
 
That was silly of me to say. Most likely, when he comes back, Sergei will be expecting to pound my ass like there's no tomorrow, as he definitely enjoys it, and his behavior at the club towards me had suggested so, and he wouldn't go with any other guy because it would be gay, and he wouldn't go with any girl because he definitely was gay, and took me for granted, and wanted to reward me for having turned him into the freakiest musclebound fucking monster bodybuilder who ever lived.
 
Even more likely, he wanted to be even more of a muscle freak, even more monstrous, and determined to milk me dry to the single last drop of semen inside me, using his hundreds of pounds of muscular flesh to effortlessly and continuously give me violent orgasms for as long as he pleased.
 
" But what should I tell him?"
 
Quick thinking.
 
" Don't tell him anything. Don't be there. Have your staff telling him that you had to take me to the suite as I was drunk.
 
- But...
 
- They'll give him the key for the elevator.
 
- And...
 
- He will find you lying on the floor, before the suite's doors, and you will tell him that I was so angry at him, for ignoring me after his victory, that I decided to leave the hotel and go home.
 
- In the middle of the night?
 
- He won't think this through.
 
- What if he gets upset and lashes out at me?
 
- He won't, because you will act as a victim.
 
- A victim?
 
- Yeah, you will say that I'm a monster, and that I mercilessly raped your ass raw, out of spite, several times, and you're traumatized. Act miserable.
 
- But... that's... ridiculous.
 
- No way he will hurt you more if you say that, and he might even want to be nice with you and comfort you. Hey, here's your chance to have a private, personal time with the most spectacular and extremely massive mountain of colossal muscle who has ever lived, the ultimate...
 
- Ok, ok... I will do that.
 
- Act miserable."
 
Then I rushed to the elevator on the left, before its doors closed, on my way to Michael Masfield's room.
 
If I had played my cards right, Gilford would soon be getting the rim job of a lifetime, from a bodybuilder more muscular than anybody could have ever dreamed of, just a few days ago.
 
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Hey, you're still there? Oh cool. I thought I had bored you to sleep. It's getting quite late...
 
Sure, but maybe you can fix me another drink? Great. OK, I'll tell you more.

 

Of course, I was on my way to Michael's room, of course you wonder what happened next.
 
Well, it might be kind of a downer for you. But not as much as it was for me! I knocked on his door, again and again, no answer. He had fallen asleep after that long day, probably at the moment he had reached the bed.
 
Nah, just messing with you, Michael had his door opened before my third knock, and there he was, his body filling the frame and then some, a whiff of damp freshness welcoming me from the shower he had just taken, then he turned his back at me and walked inside, telling me to
 
" Close the door behind you."
 
And so did I, while mesmerized by his naked beauty, the dance of his glutes as he walked towards the bed, on which he sat, looking anxious, his fists into the mattress, one long, powerful foot, laying over the other. Staring at some point far behind the wall, his eyebrows flexed over their strong arch, I still could see that even the blue of his eyes was dark.
 
" I have something to tell you." He said.
 
" What is it."
 
He nervously tried to grasp his hands together, but the wealth of his pecs and the size of his arms wouldn't allow it, so he let them rest on his quads.
 
" Jeffrey, first you have to know that I really like you. The talk we had, at the bar, when we met, every moment I spent with you, you really, really are someone I like very much, and it's ridiculous, since I've known you for a handful of hours...
 
- But you know...
 
- Please let me talk. The thing is... The thing is you showed up with Sergei, and note that I didn't know at first you were associated, but Sergei sports an amount of muscular mass... Holy fuck, Sergei is so bloated with hardcore dense fucking muscle, Sergei has blown the bodybuilding world away, Sergei's physique is the fantasy that no bodybuilder has never dreamed to have, gosh... And I used to be the big kahuna no-one held a candle to...
 
- ..." Then he looked at me.
 
" Rumor has it, and I have reasons to believe so, that you are the one who built that miracle.
 
- You know, Michael...
 
- Stuff Sergei said, led to believe that... being intimate with you, had led to his dramatic muscular expansion. Having sex with you, or... Maybe a property of your semen.
 
- Michael...
 
- Is that true?
 
- Michael.
 
- IS THAT TRUE ?
 
- I..." Think. " I don't think it's that. I don't think it's that simple.
 
- You've had sex with Sergei or not?
 
- What? Yes I have, plenty of it, but that hasn't made him grow every time, sure, I believe that I must have helped him turning into the monster of muscle immensity that he is now, but..."
 
He stood up.
 
" Jeff, listen to me. I am not gay. I have dumped my long time girlfriend for you. Nothing is more important to me than being the most muscular man on the planet and I would do anything for that. I have dedicated my life to that. Now I'm ready to indulge your every sexual need for always more muscular mass. So tell me.
 
- What kind of pressure is that?
 
- Jeffrey I'm not comfortable telling you this. I genuinely like you, believe it or not. I know I have trapped you in this situation, I have shamelessly used the full extent of my good looks for that purpose. And I don't often do so, as I know how devastating the gorgeousness of my face can be. So, if I'm being so blunt right now, it's because I want to be true to you. Because I like you.
 
- OK, let's be true. Look at yourself.
 
- What?!"
 
He stood up straighter, spreading out his arms, looking at himself for whatever was wrong. That's when I noticed that he wasn't naked, he had shiny steel blue posers on, the kind he was famous for, barely containing his genitals, giving an ample view of his cock and balls, just a pouch holding the head of his penis in fact, with the thinnest of strings lost in the muscles of his waist and the crack of his ass.
 
" Your muscles are more swollen than they've ever been. More than I've ever seen them anyway.
 
- You... You think so ?
 
- You see they are."
 
He hadn't noticed. As he raised an arm to flex some biceps, he finally broke a smile enjoying how right I was.
 
" You started working your magic haven't you, Jeff my love?
 
- Yes and no. Your muscles inflated drastically as you drove that bell boy silly with lust in the hallway earlier on. You still have much of that magical pump, more that hour after, including a shower.
 
- Is he OK by the way? I really shocked that poor kid.
 
- He's fine I think, but you see, driving that miserable soul completely helpless just by flaunting your heavenly muscles right before his eyes, flexing every last drop of cum out of him til he dropped,
 
- You're exaggerating...
 
- Not at all, you just don't remember as you were in a trance, really, I'm sure it has happened to you before but maybe not as intensely, not in these circumstances... But look at you."
 
Michael was still transfixed, and delighted, by the beauty of his flexed biceps.
 
" Sure, I see what you mean." He let down his arm and looked back at me. He had let his smile down, too. " But we are nowhere near the immensity of Sergei's muscles."
 
That was my turn to smile.
 
" But hey, Miky, that's one muscular inflation factor we just have to exploit. That Sergei doesn't have. Give me some time and I will find more.
 
- Oh, you mean, you're like a muscle shrink or something, like the more you'll get to know me the more you'll help?
 
- I think so. I'm positive I can help you getting a lot bigger.
 
- Bigger than Sergei?
 
- Certainly.
 
- But, do you think you could try sucking my cock right now?"
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  • 3 weeks later...
 
 
So, I looked down, and I saw a golden, sparkly missile approaching dangerously.
 
" So, you say you're not gay Michael, but, you're hot for me because I may help you getting more muscular?
 
- Yes, yes, yes. You will make my muscles grow bigger I am sure of it.
 
- And, the perspective of having bigger muscles, is enough for you to get aroused, and willing to have sex with me, although you are not attracted to men? Have you ever had gay sex?
 
- Many wealthy men pay hefty sums of money for my presence, but there is never any sexual contact involved. I let them jerk themselves off silly of course but at a distance. You will be the first man to ever touch my cock, grab it, taste it, you can even play with my body with your own cock if you like. Do whatever you want.
 
- Really? So you are basically, throwing your body at my disposal, even though you aren't attracted to me at all. Your expectations of my alleged abilities to make your muscles grow larger is enough of an incentive for you?
 
- Oh yes man, oh yes...
 
- You want your muscles, your already enormously, powerfully oversized muscles to become the most absurdly gigantic boulders of muscular greatness?"
 
His posing strap snapped at that moment, went flying across the room.
 
" You think I can help you in your quest to be the next most obscenely muscular ultra bodybuilder to have ever walked the Earth..."
 
At that point he fell on his knees and fondled his right pec, while his other hand went behind his back. His glorious cock pointed at my chin just inches away, and I was furiously hard myself.
 
"... a mutant with muscles so huge he can no longer be considered human...
 
- Oh shut up suck on my cock !"
 
And he let his hand off that pec to grab me by the neck and forced his manhood into my mouth.
 
He actually broke my jaw in the process. Took me weeks to recover.
 
That was brutal. And painful.
 
But I wouldn't have complained. I had the most beautiful muscle God in the world using me for pleasure. And vice versa.
 
As much as it hurt, with my jaw dangling and blood dripping down both corners of my torn mouth, it all felt... right. How it was meant to be. Deep inside, close to my heart, under my solar plexus, he came.
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