muscle-worship "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 11: Casey Meets the Muscle Squad

[Guest]

Chapter 11:

Casey Meets the Muscle Squad

 

October 21^st, 2022

2200 Hours

 

Twenty minutes later, Casey stood in the center of the main Valhalla laboratory, stripped down to a tight shiny black micro posing suit, bulging dangerously in the pouch, and threatening to burst. His muscles glowed. He was huge, enormous, the biggest he had been yet in his young life.  Lightly oiled, his youthful brown skin gleamed in the clear white LED light.  

Dr. Zaftig stood at his side, beaming with calm inner pride.

But Casey was nervous.  There he was, stripped down to bulging posers that barely covered his manhood, and ready for review. For the first time. And as always, in some place deep inside him, he was embarrassed by his hugely oversized penis. It was just too big.

One by one, the 18 bodybuilders filed in silently from their post-White Cap-workout showers in the next wing, looking over the gigantic new recruit with studied casualness. For almost two years they’d grimly listened to Dr. Irving’s deliberately passive-aggressive progress reports. Casey was this, Casey had that, Casey lifted this much, Casey was however-big, Casey was the hope of the future.  Etc.  They were weary of it. They were angered by it.

And some were threatened by it.  And perhaps, just a little fearful?

No: not fearful. Challenged.  And in the case of Hension, Blankenship, Lang, Meyer and Waring, more inspired than anything else.

“If he’s that big, I wanna be bigger,” said Hension one afternoon at lunch, to no one in particular.  Chad smacked him on the back of his head, and with a short grunt, Hension came a little in his jock.

“Sorry. I forgot you liked that.”

“I’d like it more if you were a girl.”  Hension had long since given up hiding his particular fetish. He took a big mouthful of beef and chewed, ruminating.

“You wanna fuck pussy?  Abdul can arrange.”  From across the table, Abdul grunted and shook his head.

“He don’t want pussy.”

“Naw. He’s right. I don’t.  Hot pussy don’t dig muscles like mine. I just wanna chick who knows how to slap my face right.  Good and hard each time.  Back and forth.  Pow, pow. Leave hand prints. Then I wanna fuck boybutt pussy. And suck some big dick.” Hension looked at Abdul. “Yours, maybe.”

Abdul nodded slightly.  “Sure, you suck dick good. Any time.” He sipped his coffee.

All chuckled a little, but everyone was still thinking about Casey. 

Over the last few weeks, a few had gone so far as to belly up secretly to the cadet gym two-way windows late at night to watch and study Casey’s lonely training late night training sessions.  There the giant teen was, alone night after night in the vast half lit gym, fully clothed, muscles bulging in the yards of a completely enveloping, dripping cotton sweatsuit, insanely going through punishing reps, hurling buckets of sweat, drawing blood, banging out steaming iron reps with teeth-clenching screaming pain, grimly determined, all the while screaming and moaning to himself:

Gotta get bigger Gotta get bigger Gotta get bigger…..

 

And on it went. Night after night. The boy was insatiable, indefatigable. As if nothing could ever stop him.

And now, the time had finally come.  

Casey watched them file into the lab.  Outfitted in crisp, clean tan khakis and wearing skin tight Army regulation green t-shirts, hair still wet from their post-workout showers, they were an intimidating herd of hardcore beefmeisters. Huge, cut, and vascular to a man, their massive physiques almost aching with heavy, rippling muscle.  Casey had been watching them for months, grabbing glimpses of them on campus, running, bicycling, practicing their posing, whenever he could, just as he knew they had been watching him as well in the corridors and working out in the cadet gym.

He even knew a few of them by name.  Private Lang and Corporal Alvarez, who were always together, Private Gunst, Private Waring, Private Jin.  He had never spoken to any of them, out of shyness and awe. And he even recognized Corporal Obatu from Raw Weight Gym.  He nodded bashfully to him.  Obatu grinned hugely and waved with his huge paw of a hand.

“Hello, Casey,” he said in his best Isaac Hayes.

“Hi!” Casey said eagerly, but caught the glance from Zaftig.  He resumed his blank expression, readjusted, and gazed ahead, eyes high.  He squared his shoulders and stood with his pecs pointed high in full 'bodybuilder rest' pose.

Of course Casey knew nothing of the cum-blasting shower orgy from which the men had just emerged. And to a man, rather feeling drained, all were primed and ready....for whatever came next.

A few had their hopes, but discipline would prevail.  Tonight was presentation. Only.  Or so they thought.

The men looked him over.  “Hmmmm,” muttered Schumacher.   “Damn he’s got big nipples!” someone whispered.  There was the sound of that someone being smacked.  In the second row of bodybuilders, an astonishingly handsome young bodybuilder stumbled and grabbed the back of the head.

“Hey!” said Hension, indignant.  

“Shut up,” said Chad.

Casey was excited. These men were seriously huge, each and every one far even bigger than Miles Donovan. Though he was almost sure he was prepared for them, even so – man alive! This was a lotta muscle.

He gulped with nervousness.

Sergeant Moster entered last.  Casey stared, suddenly stricken. He’d never seen Moster before.  Even in his clean white loose-fit baggies, he was the biggest muscleman Casey had ever seen in his life. It seemed to him he towered over the others, though truth to tell, if he’d been calmer he’d have noticed that at least 3 of the men were close to him in size and muscularity.

Close. But not the equal. Not yet.

“This is Staff Sergeant Rod Moster,” said Dr. Zaftig.  Behind Moster, Dr. Irving scurried into the room, struggling noisily with his omnipresent video camera, lights, and clipboards.  “Sergeant Moster will be supervising your training in the future.”

“Yes, sir!” Casey had never been prouder. He stood straight and tall.

Moster strolled over to Casey.

“So this is Cadet Rockland,” he said slowly, appraising him up and down. He seemed to take over from Zaftig, who stepped back, offering no protest. Here, Moster was in charge.

Moster circled Casey.  He looked impressed, in spite of himself. Finally he had to give in. He turned to Zaftig.

A moment passed. “He’s got great bones,” he said quietly.

“Yes, great bones,” said Zaftig.

“Bones like that come along once every three generations.”

“He could go the limit.”

“Maybe. Can’t tell yet.”

What’s all this about bones? Casey wondered.  He gathered it was something good, though, even great, so he stood erect, proud and tall. He fixed his clear blue eyes on the wall straight ahead and stood at attention.

To a man, the 18 glanced down at the boy’s pendulously swaying posing suit pouch. The soft, thick bulge lay slack than halfway down against his right quad. Lang licked his lips.  Next to him, Blankenship dug his elbow into Lang's abs, nodded, smiled, and winked.  He pointed to his own mouth and with his fist simulated taking in a big organ.

Moster barked out a few terse questions.

“How old are you, Casey?”

“18.”

“What was that?”

“18.” He corrected himself, and barked, “I’m 18, sir!”

“That’s much better.” Moster smiled, amused. “And how much do you weigh, cadet?”

“310 pounds, sir.”

“Hmm. Really. Good. Good for you, son.”

Casey readjusted and stood a little taller when he heard the huge black man say "son."

Now the 18 were murmuring and looking him over with critical sharpness.  Looking for weaknesses, looking for a lack of symmetry, looking for a spot of subcutaneous fat.  And no weaknesses were to be found.

One short young ginger muscleman whose name he didn’t know was smiling at him sardonically. He was uncommonly good-looking, as were they all, but something about him looked mean. He whispered to a grizzled older bodybuilder next to him, who was bigger and even meaner looking than he was. The older guy scowled. He was perhaps 40, bald, with rough deeply tanned skin, a day old beard, and a chest coating of iron-grey hair.

Casey couldn’t help but notice the heavily looming bulges in the crotches of their khakis.  As he tried not to stare, the pretty one who had gotten his head smacked reached down the front of his pants for some adjustment.  Moster followed his gaze and smiled a little. 

Zaftig, as always, was clueless.

"Tell him to turn around."

"Casey, let the men see your back."

Casey turned full around, facing the rear of the lab.  He readjusted. He couldn't see the men's faces.  But he could hear them.

A few moaned quietly.

"Jesu Christe, check out dem glutes..."  

Two round, rock hard butt cheek globes, glinting with light filled the room.  No one could look elsewhere.

Meyer, the deaf mute, stared, his mouth slightly open.  He turned and nodded vigorously to Abdul, toweing over him, pulling at his belt.

"Yeah, I see them," said Abdul, careful to face Meyer so he could read his lips. "Them.  Er.  Him.  I see him."

"For the record," said Zaftig airily, "Dr. Irving and I think Casey's traps and rear delts may be his best bodyparts."

"Yeah, they'll do," said Alvarez.  His hand went down to the front of his pants absently.  His bulge was beginning to get a little bigger.

"Now that's a bubble butt," said Obatu. "Sweet, sweet cupcakes.  Cupcakes for a man to enjoy...."

Casey was coloring deeply, glad the men couldn't see his face.

"Lat spread, Casey," said Zaftig.  Casey complied.  Bat wings spread wide, fists plunged into his sides.  His spread his legs slightly for the full effect.  "And now, rear double biceps."

Cannonballs shot to the ceiling.  The glutes hardened slightly, veins popping, striations shining like rivers of platinum.

"All right, then, turn back.  Sergeant?"

"Yes."  Moster walked to a lab table and picked up a thick 4-foot iron bar. He tossed it at Casey, who caught it handily with one hand. It weighed about 75 pounds.

“See what you can do with that, son.”

Casey paused. “Sir?”

“I’m not going to say it twice.”

Casey nodded. He imagined the sergeant wanted him to bend the bar. He wanted to impress him, so he raised the bar high over his head, and easily bent it into a U shape. He brought the bar down and inspected it a moment, and then walked respectfully over to Sergeant Moster and handed it to him eagerly.

Moster took it. “Okay, fair, fair,” he said, nodding and showing the bent bar to the group. Some of the men began to nod and chuckle.

Casey returned to his spot and resumed his muscle-ready stance.

Moster took the bar in his powerful hands, and bent it back to something like its original shape. He grinned, his big white teeth shining. Then he threw the bar into the air, caught it, and with a single movement powerfully snapped it in two.

Casey’s jaw dropped. “Damn,” he said.

“Dr. Irving, let’s hear the man’s measurements.”

“We haven’t taken his measurements for a month, Sergeant.”

Moster glanced down over Zaftig, his deep voice resonating. “You present a new cadet to the team, and you don’t have his recent measurements? Zaftig, you’re getting sloppy.”

“I thought perhaps you might want to record the cadet’s measurements for yourself, Sergeant,” Zaftig said slyly. He wasn’t intimidated. Moster looked at Zaftig expressionlessly, then called back over his shoulder.

“Private Tiffany, step forward and take the man’s measurements.”

The short ginger bodybuilder stepped forward cockily. He looked younger than Casey, though Casey guessed he was really just his age. His wavy red-black hair fell in a forelock over his forehead.  He had freckles. His skin was butterscotch tan, his eyes a deep, rich blue. And, like the others, he was hugely muscular, packing well over 220 pounds on his 5’6” frame. Casey noted the perfect round shape of his strong young baseball biceps, rife with rivulets of veins, and the piston-thick forearms.  His heavy shoulders bulged with packed muscle. He could have moved pianos with one hand.

He was bow-legged, his quads swaying gently outward as he walked.  In his fly, his package appeared to be nearly as big as Casey knew his own to be, but on such a short guy it appeared twice as big. He looked as if he had to walk around his dick with each step he took.
And he looked vaguely familiar.

“This is Private 1^st Class Joe Tiffany. I see you’re wondering about his age. Private Tiffany, get the tape measure and the clipboard from Dr. Irving. Tiffany here is 19 years old. He started with The Protocol when he was 15. I’m sure you two will be great buddies.”

Casey didn’t know what to make of this.  He decided that even with the kid’s big muscles, thick package and all, he didn’t want to be buddies with him.

“Okay,” he said. “Hello.”

Tiffany stepped forward, extending a hand as if to shake and, as Casey leaned in, walked past him, instead taking the tape measure and clipboard from Dr. Irving.  Turning back, he graciously handed just the clipboard to Moster, and strolled confidently over to Casey. He looked up slyly at the baffled, tall young musclemen towering over him.

“Hi, Casey,” he introduced himself breezily. “I’m Joe Tiffany. You’re very lookin’ good, man. Like the buzz cut.”

Casey gazed down at Tiffany, perplexed, who grinned back at him serenely, displaying two rows of perfect white teeth. He was smart and smooth, and he grinned easily. He made Casey nervous, all the more so when, for a flash of an instant, he detected a wicked twinkle deep in Joe’s eyes. Joe winked at him. Then he wiped his face clean and looked back at Moster, all innocence.

“Sir, I need some help, sir.”

Moster snorted impatiently. “Corporal Schumacher, get Tiffany something he can stand on.” From the line the older guy Tiffany had been whispering to strode to the desk area and returned with a metal stool.  He tossed it in the air to Tiffany, who caught it easily.

While never very bright, Casey was all the same possessed of unquestionably fine animal instincts. He knew trouble when he saw it. He glanced up and down the older man Moster had addressed as Schumacher.  His muscle density was impressive. His arms were thick, ripped and veiny.  Two iron cross tattoos graced each forearm. His skin was calloused and rough, and his hands were huge, with bruised, knotty knuckles. He was now leaning in to Tiffany, so close to him his heavy pecs were almost touching his face. Casey could see the outlines of two heavy brown nipples in his tight Army regulation green t-shirt. Schumacher shot a dirty look up at him, and pushed his pecs into Tiffany’s’ face.

“I told you before I want to see you my room. Later.” He spoke in a low tone.

The muscleboy stepped back indifferently and spoke with offhand innocence.

“Hey, it’s late, dude. I don’t think so tonight.” He pulled out the tape and turned to Casey. Schumacher glanced briefly up at the muscleman towering over them both and sneered a little, but Casey could spot the dash of respect in his eyes.

He turned back to Tiffany. “I mean it, punk. In my room. Later.”

“Leave me alone, old man. I have work to do with the young dude.” He stepped on the stool without looking again at Schumacher and stood before Casey, holding the tape measure and smiling sweetly.

His words stung. Schumacher looked up at Casey and silently mouthed the words

 

H-A-N-D-S   O-F-F

 

Casey returned the look dumbly.

“Later,” Corporal Schumacher snarled to Tiffany. Moster looked up.

“You have a problem, Corporal?”

Schumacher turned and strode away.  In the corner of the lab, Dr. Irving was recording every moment on his ever-present video cam.

Standing on the stool, Joe was now a little taller than Casey. He squatted down just a little, stuck his butt out behind him for support, and brought his eyes even to Casey. He looked him up and down and whispered in his ear.

“Let’s see how big you really are, buddy,” he murmured. He brought his hand down and flicked his own crotch gently with his thumb, turning his broad back for cover.

Only Casey could see him do it. He looked at him out of the side of his eyes, suddenly nervous about this big little bodybuilder, who clearly had more than his share of cojones, and his dangerous muscle daddy friend, who clearly had issues.

“Whenever you’re ready, Private.”

“I’m ready, sir.”

“Good. Get to it. Right biceps.” Casey snapped his right arm to attention and flexed the biceps full. Tiffany let out a low whistle.

“Bring it on home, baby. Nice peaks.  Cannonballs, even. Swole. Nice.”

“Yeah, yeah,” muttered Casey, flexing both biceps now, trying to be casual.

“Get to it, Private,” repeated Moster.

“Okay, measuring. Sir! I’m guessing 23 inches, sir!”

Casey glanced contemptuously at him with one eyebrow cocked high. “Try that again,” he said levelly.

Tiffany charmingly fumbled with the tape measure and double-checked. “I’m sorry, sir,” he reported. “26 inches, sir.”

“That’s better.” Casey looked forward and tried to make his face serene. He was already getting pissed. What did this young asshole know?

Moster made a note on his clipboard. Behind him, Schumacher was fuming. Casey imagined he could see smoke coming out of his ears.

“Left arm.” Casey lowered his right and brought his left forward.

 

Pow - Ka-boom.. ..

 

Tiffany brushed the rocky peak with his fingertips.

“No touching the goods,” Casey hissed.

“26 inches, sir.” Tiffany was all smiles.

“Chest.”

“Let’s see, Superman, just how we’re going to do this. Turn to one side?” he inquired sweetly. Casey just looked at Tiffany.

“Damn it, cadet, turn! Do as he asks.” Moster was getting impatient. Casey turned. “And expand your chest.”

Casey’s giant pecs roiled and blew to their fullest size. Tiffany gently reached around Casey, and by tossing one end of the tape from one hand to the other, he coyly avoiding touching him with all but the tape and his lightly pinching fingers.

“68 inches.”

“Hmmm. There’s room for growth. Waistline.”

Tiffany climbed down from the stool and brought the tape around Casey’s taut abs. Again he managed not to touch him. Even so, Casey felt a slight stirring from his crotch.

“32 inches.”

“32?? Dammit, Zaftig, what have you been feeding this boy? Chocolate cake? Twinkies?”

I’m no boy, thought Casey. And I don’t eat Twinkies.

His crotch twitched again. He glanced around the room and saw other crotches twitching as well.  6 or 7 of the men seemed to be sporting half erections, bulging in their khakis.  No one said anything.  All expressions were deadly serious.  It was as if no one noticed, minded or cared that more than a half dozen of these musclemen were now sporting serious wood.

“I’m sorry, Sergeant,” said Zaftig. “I haven’t felt it was the time, before tonight, to put Casey under your advanced care and guidance. He wasn’t quite ready, I felt.”

“Assuredly. Casey, things are going to be a little different for you after tonight. Quads.”

“33 inches, sir.”

“Dayumn….” muttered Hension.  Then the sound of the back of his head being smacked again.  “Ouch!”

In back, Karim Abdul watched stonily, not reacting. He, Moster, and Dr. Zaftig were the only men in the room whose flies remained unexpanded.  Even Dr. Irving was by now showing a little bulge.

“Room for improvement everywhere,” said Moster.  He made a note on the clipboard. “Calves?”

“28 inches.”

“That’s good, anyway. Feet?”

“I wear 18 DD shoes,” Casey answered.

“Speak when spoken to, Cadet Casey. But thank you. Inseam.”

Inseam?

“For the uniform.”

Oh.

Tiffany crouched down and placed the tape just at Casey’s ankle, and brought it up. He paused.

“With or without testicles, sir?” he asked.

“Without.” Moster was impatient.  Tiffany was getting on his nerves, but he wasn’t about to show it.

“Sorry, big boy, but you got a couple of low-hangers there. Pardon my fingers?” In a swift move that startled Casey, Tiffany, ignoring Casey’s growing tumescence, gently cupped Casey’s balls in his hand, lifted them and delicately moved them out of the way.  “Shucks, dude, they’re pretty heavy,” he smirked.

Casey was thoroughly humiliated. He felt like knocking this punk's block off, realizing that if he did he’d probably kill him if he even tried.  He said nothing.

“42 inches.”

“Good. Now Zaftig, leave us alone with Casey. We all want to get to know him better.”

Zaftig glanced over at Dr. Irving, who had withdrawn to the far corner of the room to be as far away from Moster as possible. He nodded towards the door. Irving cleared his throat and buttoned his lab coat.

Zaftig leaned in and whispered harshly to Moster.

“No touching.  Leave him be.”

Moster nodded.  "Sure, of course.  We'll be nice."

Zaftig and Irving left the lab together.

In the corner, the video camera whirred, its red light blinking, unheeded.

As soon as they were gone the other 16 men came forward. Slowly they circled Casey, Joe Tiffany, and Sergeant Moster.

“That’s all, Private Tiffany. Get back in line.” Moster turned to Casey, paused, and began to speak with great deliberation.

“I’m the man in charge here. Going forward, you’ll do what I say. These men have all been through it. It’s your turn now.” The bodybuilders gazed evenly at Casey, who stared back, his head slightly bowed. He had neither seen nor imagined such a landscape of muscle in his life.  He was beginning to get intimidated.

“The motherfucker’s huge,” murmured Private Lang appreciatively.

“Yes, sir.” Casey forced a smile, and he saluted. Moster smiled back, a grim humorless smile.

“It would seem that you want to please me. Is that the case, Casey?”

“Yes, sir, I do, sir!”

“Glad to hear it, son. You have a few more years of hardcore training ahead of you. You have great potential, boy, but you haven’t realized it all yet. Has he, men?”
Mutters.

We’ll get you down to the gym tomorrow and we’ll all shake it out together. Men, you’re done here tonight. Dismissed. Go to bed. Good night.”

Moans of general disappointment.  Schumacher and Karim Abdul remained silent.

“That’s all men.”  A pause.  “You too, Tiffany.”

“Not just yet,” said Abdul.  Moster looked at him, his eyebrow raised.

“Corporal?”

Abdul turned full to Moster.  “Not just yet.  I want to see if he can take it.”

Moster knew full well what he meant.  “Take what, Corporal?”

“Get him a singlet,” said Abdul to Lang, who eagerly turned and scampered out of the lab.  “You know where to meet us,” he called after him, perhaps unnecessarily.  The men could hear Lang’s running footsteps as he hightailed it gleefully down the long hall to the locker room.

Moster sighed.  “Do we have to go through this? Again?”  He remembered that when Alvarez was admitted to the program, Abdul had demanded to meet him in the wrestling ring right off the bat.  He looked around.  All the men were smiling in anticipation.

Casey was baffled. “A singlet? We gonna wrestle?”

“Yes, son, we’re going to wrestle,” answered Abdul.  “You wrestled before?”

Casey remembered his brutal ring training with Ramon Ramon, who never failed to pin him, even though he was only half Casey’s size and weight. 

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.”  Abdul turned to go, slipping out of his t-shirt.  Casey could see he was wearing a singlet underneath, and was surprised he’d missed it before, considering how tight the t-shirts were. Karim was walking away, going for his belt, when he turned back.

“You comin’?” 

Casey gulped a little.  “Yes, sir.”

The man who stood before him was fearsome indeed, a dark, mature Arab with blackened, hairy, super dry, super vascular, magnificent superheavyweight muscles.  The thick black hair of his chest was like a matted carpet, tinged with grey and curling around the heavy, downward pointing nipples.  His python-thick cock unfurled heavily in the singlet crotch, heavy, soft, half-visible behind thin, quivering spandex, pulsing, veined, thrust forward between powerful hips.  His waist was impossibly narrow, his abs like 8 anvils, his pecs and biceps bulging with muscle and ridic veins.  He spread his legs wide.

“Hey, look,” breathed Blankenship, staring.

Casey looked down, a little panicky, and saw his own massive cock was now tent-poling his posers.  Reinforced or no, the 5 square inches of cloth that still managed to cover his big penis head were straining, the fabric ready to tear to shreds.  His veiny blond shaft was completely exposed, pointing straight up and out.  Curling thick tendrils of his young blond pubic sprouted generously from the juncture of his penis and his vascular, rocky pubis mound. He colored deeply, squatted slightly, tried in vain to readjust himself, his fingers digging deeply into the side straps, trying to control the pouch, which was nowhere near equal to covering Casey's looming erection.

Suddenly Casey's penis head ripped through the black cloth, an alien bursting out of a stomach.

Casey looked up, utterly distressed.

“Don’t worry about it, Casey,” said Moster quietly.

The men turned and looked back, and for the first time, got a glimpse of Casey’s humongous penis, half exposed, throbbing behind his expanding posers, which was tearing slightly, ballooning away from his hips.  Blond, thick-skinned, massive, covered with luscious veins.

“I’d call that a suckable fuck machine of the 1^st order,” said Blankenship.  He licked his lips a little.

Casey looked humiliated.

“I asked you a question,” said Abdul.  “Are you coming?”

And Casey came.

“He seems to be,” said Alvarez drily.

Just a little precum, appearing at the tip of the piss slit, dribbling down the corona onto his erect shaft. But it was enough. His face turned beet red. He looked up, his eyes hopeful. "Okay?" he finally asked.

The men nodded in satisfaction.

Abdul ignored it.  “Then let’s go, asswipe.”  He turned and walked out of the room, headed for the wrestling ring in the next wing.  The musclemen followed, each one turning slowly and massively, heading for the door.

“Let’s go, Casey,” said Moster wearily.  He threw him a towel.  “Here, cover up if you’re embarrassed.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Casey meekly.

“Though with a machine like that you should be proud, not embarrassed.   Tiffany!” Moster called out.  “Get Dr. Irving back in here and tell him to move that camera down to the wrestling ring.”  He smiled grimly. “I have a feeling Abdul may be a little surprised.”

 

__________________________________________

 

 

Want to read "The Twenty" from the start?

Links to chapters of "The Twenty":

"The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Precis, Introduction, Chapters 1 & 2

"The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 3, 4, 5 - White Cap Training / Hardcore Muscle / A Brief History of Casey Rockland

 "The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 6

"The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapters 7, 8 - Hardcore Training, Part 1 / Tiffany's Talent

"The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapters 9, 10 - Good for Morale

"The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 11: Casey Meets the Muscle Squad

"The Twenty" Chapter 12, Part 1: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match

"The Twenty" - Chapter 12: Part 2 Casey vs. Karim Abdul: A Very Turkish Wrestling Match

"The Twenty" - Chapter 13: After the Match

"The Twenty" - Chapter 14: In Which Casey Discovers He Likes to Get Worshipped

"The Twenty" - Chapter 15: Casey's First Interview with Sergeant Moster

"The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress. Chapter 16 - Hardcore Training Part 2: Casey’s First Herculaneum Workout, and What Happened After

"The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 17 - The Presentation

"The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 18 - The Musclemen Revealed: Inside Zaftig's Lab

"The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress - Chapter 19 - Further Encounters, Part 1

"The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 20 - Pose and Approve: Further Encounters, Part 2

"The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 21 - Sam and Casey

"The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 22 - Field Trips for Worship, Part 1

"The Twenty" - Chapter 23 - Field Trips, Part 2 – Casey Rediscovers Muscle Worship, and Makes a New Friend

"The Twenty" - A Muscle Novel in Progress: Chapter 24 - Further Encounters 5: Sam and Casey Again, and Moster and the Cadets

[cumonurpecs]

wow this is great.  Keep it up can't wait for more chapters

[romanhero]

Another great chapter in this incredible muscle saga - and very much looking forward to the battle between Abdul and Casey. Really hope the match at least ends naked with them both covered in sweat and muscles bulging.

[calhoun]

Great series, Joey!  Thanks so much.

[WideThickGayMuscleboy]

awesome story, thanks Joey, can't wait for chapter 12.....

[Guest]

Chapter 12 will be tougher to write - and basically I am writing it with full honors and respects to the members of this forum, who have requested a wrestling scene.   Karim Abdul has been an under-developed character.....so it is a challenge......and will change the arc of the story (already about 250 pages long on my computer......but with a lotta rewrite needs).  

 

The comments and requests I get here improve it, so many thanks.  Comments welcome.

[veinybiceplover]

Great writing.  I am so aroused at the thought of these two Muscle Beasts wrestling each other.  Thanks for a great piece of fiction!

[Guest]

Thank you!!

[Scriptboy]

I'm looking forward to reading the wrestling scene! Great story so far! You're an outstanding writer, Joey, and I love your eye for emotion, drama, and detail. 

[Guest]

Thank you!! The wrestling scene is the hardest to write, so far....but I'm on it (as it were.....)