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The Wall (chapter 42, added 12/26).


Maxum

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Great story,  excellent descriptions. Just a suggestion: Consider using the default text editor, at least as far as text color is concerned. Choosing an alternate font color probably means somebody somewhere can't read it.

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The Wall, part 2

 Monday came, and I was awaked by the sounds of heavy machinery outside my bedroom window. Beep, beep, beep as the fork lift unloaded pallet after pallet of stone for the new wall I was having built around the back terrace garden. The rocks weren’t huge boulders, but they were pretty large, each in the 150-300 pound range, and there were a lot of them. I was excited the work was finally beginning, but I had a busy day scheduled in the city, and I would not be able to stick around the house to supervise the construction that day. I had been assured by my landscape contractor that his “stone guy” was highly skilled and would do an excellent job, and I trusted my landscape contractor to be true to his word. So I set off to the office, hoping to have time to check in on the project from time to time throughout the day.

Unfortunately, Daphne, my trusty personal assistant had scheduled an exceptionally busy day for me, although she guised it under the auspices of front loading my morning so that I could free myself up early and beat the evening rush. Upon arriving at the office, she immediately ushered me into meeting #1 which was followed by meetings #2-5, all before lunch. I didn’t have time to attend to any of my personal affairs, but in the back of my mind I kept wondering what was going on at home with the wall. 

When I took a break for lunch, I logged onto the home security camera I had installed in the garden to check to see how much progress had been made. To my surprise and delight, substantial work had been completed. The trench footing had been dug around the garden, and several rows of stone had been already been laid. Things were moving right along, and, as I mused, I suddenly had a sinking feeling in my wallet. I've paid the bills for garden projects like this before, and I knew that I must be paying a substantial crew of 8 or more to accomplish this much so fast. Eight skilled masons each being billed at $45/hour comes to $360/hour which is almost $3000 per day.  The landscape contractor had estimated a two week timeline; so, in my head, I was calculating $30K in labor alone. The contractor had estimated only $5k in labor costs. Something was up. Was I going to get a much higher bill than expected? And where were the workmen? 

Since it was the noon hour, I assumed they were taking a break for lunch. Nothing more to see for now, and it was time for my next task. Daphne buzzed in to let me know my next appointment had arrived, and I clicked to close the security webcam window and reboot my computer. Just as the window was closing, I caught a glimpse of something passing in front of the camera, too close to be in focus but looking like a shirt sleeve stretched tightly around an incredibly large arm. Was it? Damnit! Too late! Windows was already closing and my computer rebooting. I didn’t have time to recall the last image or re-open the streaming-view live image on my mobile. Daphne had me over-booked, and I had to put the thought of a giant muscleman at my house out of my mind.  But my imagination was already running wild, and I was chubbing in my slacks. It was going to be a long, hard afternoon....

 

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Just FYI. The "palate" is part of your mouth -- please don't use it to transport rocks. A wooden platform designed to hold heavy materials is a pallet. " The two words are pronounced the same and have completely different meanings.

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Thanks for the correction, RPJ!  I'm neither a contractor nor a writer, and spellcheck didn't stop me from making that error. Maybe I'm posting too fast.  I'm writing on the fly since I had a little extra time today. Maybe I should slow down and concentrate more on editing and less on speed. Hope you're enjoying so far.  About to cook dinner, maybe I'll post part 3 later tonight or tomorrow.

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2 hours ago, Maxum said:

Thanks for the correction, RPJ!  I'm neither a contractor nor a writer, and spellcheck didn't stop me from making that error. Maybe I'm posting too fast.  I'm writing on the fly since I had a little extra time today. Maybe I should slow down and concentrate more on editing and less on speed. Hope you're enjoying so far.  About to cook dinner, maybe I'll post part 3 later tonight or tomorrow.

It's a correctly spelled word! I do it all the time! And I can't help myself, sorry, I was academic librarian for 25 years.

Bonus round: There's a THIRD WORD that is ALSO pronounced exactly the same, namely PALETTE, which refers not only to "a rigid, flat surface on which a painter arranges and mixes paints" but also the range of colors an artist employs AND "the range or variety of tonal or instrumental color in a musical piece."

Meanwhile, GREAT story, thanks!

 

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The Wall, part 3

Monday, 6 pm. Daphne had lied. There was no front-loading of my day. It had been a ball-buster from start to end, and my last appointment had gone late. My commute was shot. I had missed the window of lighter traffic, and getting out of Manhattan was going to be a bitch from now at least until 9 pm. 

Just as I was my frustration was starting to bubble to the surface, Tom from Accounting stuck his head in my door.  He was grinning ear to ear. “Big Dog! Great! You’re still here. I thought I’d be waiting out the traffic alone or, worse,… with Jenkins. If you’ve got nothing better to do, we can wait it out together. Whadya say? What do you want to do?” 

Tom was the most likeable human on earth. Raised in a Midwest college town, one of five sons of a university professor father and former  beauty queen mother, he had charm, intellect, good looks, and an affectionate manner that made everyone love him and love being around him. His enthusiasm and steadfastness when he joined the firm 5 years before had earned him the nickname “Puppy,” and the moniker had stuck. Five years later, some of his enthusiasm for work had faded, but the warmth, affability, and playfulness of his personality still made him “Puppy” to me. In turn, I was “Big Dog,” a mentor and older brother figure to him.

“I don’t know, Pup. I’ve had a bear of a day, and I really need to blow off some steam. It’s a wide spectrum, but I was thinking of either The Dungeon or The Cellar. What say you?” 

The Dungeon, or more formally The Iron Dungeon, was a hardcore gym near the Fulton Street Station that was known for turning out serious iron freaks. I was a member, but no one else in the firm dared go. In contrast, The Cellar was a tony underground wine bar in Tribecca that had an extensive wine list and handsome sommelier named Giorgio whose great smile and even greater package brought me back again and again.

“Ugh! I love The Cellar, especially when you pay, but I gave up booze for Lent, and I’ve put on a couple of pounds in the wrong places. I could use a serious workout. So… I chose The Dungeon. Let’s do it!

“Alrighty then. The Dungeon it is. Just remember, Pup, The Dungeon is a serious gym, and I’m going to put you through a serious workout. There’s none of that pussy Pilates BS. You sure you’re up for it?”

“I’m man enough, and I put my trust in you, Big Dog. Let me grab my gym bag, and I’ll meet you in the lobby in 5. You’re gonna take care of me, right? 

“Don’t worry, Pup. I’ll take care of you alright.  We’re going put you through the paces, but you’ll be fine. Tomorrow you may be a little sore, but a workout tonight will be good for both of us. See you in 5.”

I grabbed my gym bag and made it to the elevator before opening the security ap on my mobile again. I could see the new wall. It was at least a quarter done, and it looked great so far. Since it was after 6 pm, the workmen were gone. Still, I couldn’t get that image of the arm-stretched sleeve out of my mind. Something was going on.

The Dungeon turned out to be a great choice for Pup and me that night. It was uncharacteristically quiet. Almost no one was there. Vince at the front desk, and Johnny who runs the place, just a few lifter, and us. Since it was Pup’s first time at this type of iron works, I decided we should do a general body warmup followed by chest and biceps. Everyone likes to bench press, and, after my run-in with Eric and Lars just a few days prior, I was anxious to work on my biceps peaks.

After some light cardio and stretching and a general warm up, we headed to the bench. Pup was toned and had obviously spent some time in a gym; so I loaded a 45 on each end of the bar to let him get started. “Okay, Pup, 15 reps, strict form. Just because it’s light doesn’t mean you should not respect it. We’re going to get warmed up, then we’ll up the ante.” Pup slid under the bar, lifted off himself and cranked out a perfect set. He looked good. This was going to go well. Then I slid under the bar and cranked out 15 more myself.

“What weight do you usually lift on the bench, Pup?”

“Usually about twice that. I can lift more, but not with good form and not without assist, no more than 6-8 reps.”

“Great,” I said and added another 45 to each end of the bar. “12 reps, strict form. Slow and steady.” This time, I helped Pup lift off, and then he took over. Another good set. No assist. Successful re-rack by himself. Then I took my turn – another 15 rep warmup set for me, slightly faster, just to get the blood pumping.

“That’s impressive, Max. You look like you’re lifting an empty bar. That’s a 55 lb bar with 180 lbs in plates. You make 235 look like nothing. Where do you top out?”

The words hit my ears and traveled straight south. Remember, admiration of size and strength is something that really turns me on. I felt a buzzing in my groin. Pup and I did not have that kind of relationship, but the thought had occurred to me. He’d definitely need some more muscle though. 

“Let’s see where we end up. I’ve got 15 years on you, and I’ve been working out this way for a long time. I’ve learned to worry less about the number and more about how the workout takes shape. I think tonight is feeling good. I may be able to impress you, but I can’t waist it all on benching because I need to save energy for my biceps, too.”

We continued the bench press. I added a couple of dimes for Pup’s next set of 10, eight of which he completed without assist. Then I cranked out 12 at 315, strict. Then Pup at 255 for 8 reps, 5 on his own and 3 with more assist. My turn: 10 at 365, strict and then Pup at 255 again, failure at 4 reps going to 6 with my help. He looked a little sheepish, but I told him that at his age, I would have been stoked to have completed what he just did. 

Then I asked if he could give me a lift off and some assist if I went a little heavier for the next set. I loaded four 45’s on each end of the 55 lb bar for a total of 405. I was going for 8 reps and began to slow down at 6. Pup put his palms under the bar to offer assist, but I grunted “I’ve got this,” and finished the set on my own, feeling strangely strong and energized. Man my chest was pumped, and I noticed Pup was showing a little plump in the front of his shorts that I hadn’t seen before.

“Man, that was awesome. You are some kind of crazy strong, Big Dog. I’m going to have to start calling you Big Horse or Big Moose or big something else. Look at that pump,”  he said, slapping an open hand on my pecs. The shudder went from my chest through my core and settled at the base of my cock. Unghh! God, that felt good. He better not do that again. I was getting into serious horn territory.

“One more set Pup. I’m here for growth tonight. Just 3 reps at 455.” 

We loaded up another quarter on each side and I slid into position. “Okay, I may need assist with all 3 reps, or none of them. I don’t know how this is going to go. You’re going to have to pay attention and sense what I need. Don’t be afraid to help me if I need it.” 

Pup crouched in position behind the bar to give me whatever help I might need, and I shifted my attention to the bar, concentrating on the weight to get into the zone. Nothing but me and the weight. Just lower and raise and remember to keep breathing.

When I came to, the weight was racked. I couldn’t remember anything about the set except for the feeling of the weight. I had no idea how much Pup had assisted, but I assumed it was considerable since I could not even remember the lifts.

I sat up and flexed my chest hard, relaxed, and turned to look at Pup. He was staring at me  slack-jawed, and I thought maybe I was injured or had passed out or something else strange. He was just staring wide-eyed at me. “That was incredible, Big Dog! You just did 9 reps strict at 455. How did you do that! Have you ever done that before?”

Oh my God! I had never done that much before. My one rep max was 475, but 455 x 9 was something I didn’t know I could handle. Besides, how did I do it without even knowing it?

From across the room, I heard Johnny, owner of The Iron Dungeon, yell: “Max! That’s the way to do it! You were in the zone! I saw you glaze over as you lifted off. Your form was spot on. When you reached 3, I told the kid to just let you keep going. It was just you and the weight. That’s the way to do it!”

Fuck! I did it! And Fuck I was spent. I was done with chest for the night, and there was no way I was going to do biceps, too. 

“Pup, I think I’m done. You want to call it a night?”

“Well, I’m not done yet, but you can be through. It looks like that last set put a pump on you everywhere. Your chest is pumped massive, and look at your arms! They must be 21 inches.” He grabbed hold of my arm and I raised it up 90 degrees and flexed. The peak rose higher, higher than it had ever risen before. It had definitely grown, and Pup’s hand on my flexed biceps felt like he was jacking my dick. I guess it had the same effect on him because he muffled a groan adjusted himself, and I realized he had just cum in his shorts without touching himself. I felt buzz at the base of my prostate and knew I had to get to the locker room fast, or I was going to go off in public myself.

“Okay, Pup. I’m going to shower up and get a protein shake. I’ll see you in a few.” 

Something was different. Something was definitely going on. I didn’t know what it was, but I definitely liked it. In front of the locker room mirror, I stripped off my shirt and hit a few poses. I was definitely bigger. Maybe 10 pounds more muscle, and it was noticeable. My biceps had peaks that rose high and defined, my abs looked tight, and my chest was impossibly big. I rolled my pumped pecs and felt more blood rush to my cock. Rubbing against my shorts, it felt more sensitive than before. I stripped naked and took in the view. Everything was bigger. My thighs, cock and balls all seemed to have kept pace with my chest, and the curve of my rump was bigger and higher and tight. 

I got in the shower, and lathered all over. Neck, shoulders, chest and abs, then feet, calves thighs and butt. Finally I soaped up my taint and balls with my left hand a jerked my cock with my right. A flood of sensation overwhelmed my whole body. The orgasm started in at the base of my cock but spread all the way to my fingers and toes. I pumped out rope after rope after rope of thick, white jizz that clung to shower walls and ceiling.

After a few minutes, when finished, I rinsed clean, wrapped a towel around my waist and headed back to get dressed. Sitting on the bench was a protein shake and Pup. He looked wiped out from lifting, but when he looked up, he stared and he stood up and walked over and put a hand on my chest. He had seen me shirtless before we worked out, but the changes in me were having an effect on him that he couldn’t control. 

“How?” he asked as he grabbed a handful of pec meat with his left hand while sliding the other around my pumped arm. 

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t answer. I didn’t know. I just gave him a hard flex, and he sunk to his knees as he came in his shorts for the second time in as many hours. I was hard again, but we needed to go.

“Shower up, Pup. It’s been a big night. We need some real grub, and I think we may want to stay in the city tonight. The firm keeps a few apartments in town, and I’ll find out what’s available.”

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