The Car Lot 3: Make-out Point (mf ap musc mc)
by Aardvark
If Mitchell Murrell had ever been more nervous, he didn’t remember it.The whole night was one insane blur. Mitchell was a high-school wallflower, likable and unmemorable, and if you’d asked any member of his class who he was, they probably wouldn’t know. Like many boys his age, he had yet to fill out; he’d grown tall but stayed rail-thin despite his bottomless stomach. Physically or socially, he was pretty unspectacular.
But he had one trump card, one ace-in-the-hole, and that was the fact that he lived right next door to Taylor Swank. Taylor Swank was THAT girl in high school. Every school has a THAT girl: homecoming queen, head cheerleader, yearbook editor, state-level swimmer, choir section leader and all-around perfection. And of course she was pretty. They were always pretty.
Taylor and Mitchell hadn’t grown up together; in eighth grade, Mitchell’s mom remarried and was immediately pregnant, and they decided to get a bigger house. Taylor hadn’t even met her next-door neighbor until a year later, spring semester of freshman year, when they wound up swapping essays for peer-grading in English class.
“You look familiar...”
“I live next door to you.”
“Oh GOD! You do! I’m so sorry. Let’s see if I can stop being rude, jeez. Hi, I’m Taylor.”
“Mitchell.”
And so it went, all the way through to senior year. They’d wave to each other in the halls or parking lot; once, her family caroled at his house during Christmastime. He house-sat when the Swanks went to Cabo. Taylor had brought over a jar of peanut butter once and asked him to open it because her Dad wasn’t home and neither was her brother. Mitchell hadn’t been able to open it either.
On this night, Mitchell was sweeping off the back patio under the instruction of his mother. He had been so intent on finishing quickly that he didn’t hear Taylor’s cute voice at first.
“Mitchell!”
Sweep. Sweep.
“MITCHELL MURREELLLL.”
“Whuh, oh, hey. Hi, Taylor. What’s up?”
He knew what was up. It was party night at the Swanks. He’d heard them all having the time of their lives inside.
“God, I’m tipsy,” she guffawed, before adjusting her balance on the fence. “Come over and party with ussss!”
“Oh, I dunno...”
“Mitchy! You NEVER come over!” She seemed mildly hurt. “Come over and have some fun, we’re playing Circle of Death. Pleeeeeease?”
For some reason, Mitchell had agreed. Well, he KNEW the reason. Taylor was hot, and she had popular people over, and Mitchell wanted to gain some social status and hang out with his next-door neighbor, and maybe have a little free booze. It was only the second drink he’d had in his life.
But one thing had led to another, and a rumor started that the cops were coming, because Billy Nichols’s dad was a cop and Billy got a text tipping him off, or something like that, and soon everyone was running to their cars and jumping fences and just getting the hell out of there in general.
And before he knew it, Mitchell - who had downed two drinks but was more sober than the rest - was in the driver’s seat of Taylor Swank’s Dad’s truck.
“Shouldn’t we just...go to my house?”
“They’ll LOOK there,” she hissed, entirely convinced. “Just drive!”
“Uh...okay.” The steering wheel gave him a static shock as he peeled out of the cul-de-sac. “Is this your Dad’s work truck?”
“Well, one of them.” Taylor’s Dad ran a construction business, and judging by the size and decor of their house, it was doing well. “He has like five of these pieces of shit, they always get muddy and dinged and smashed, so he just buys old things and runs through ‘em quickly. I think he picked this up, like, today, actually.”
“I feel like I shouldn’t be driving it if he bought it today.”
She slapped his shoulder playfully. “Oh, it’s FINE, not like it’s really new,” she insisted. “Here, turn here.”
“This is the lake.”
“I know! They’ll never look here.”
Mitchell parked the truck and dimmed the headlights. They were on a dirt road, above a very steep embankment leading down to the town’s extensive reservoir. They called it a lake, even though it wasn’t, but in the dark night, it was kind of pretty.
“Thanks for driving,” Taylor said, and to Mitchell’s astonishment, she flipped up the seat divider and snuggled up next to him. “You’re my getaway man.”
“N-n-n-no problem.” His voice cracked, and he heard her giggle. Man, he was 18 and his voice was still cracking. Shitty.
She tickled his ear with her manicured fingers. “Hi Mitchy.”
He looked down at her. The delicate touch of her fingers was giving him a painful boner, and he couldn’t hide how nervous he was. Poor little virginal Mitchell.
“H-Hi, Taylor...”
“Do you think I’m pretty?”
“Yeah, I do.” Finally, something came out sounding normal.
“I think my nose is too big. Do you think I should get it fixed?”
Her nose was perfect. Rumor was she’d already gotten it fixed. But even Mitchell could see through the ploy, so he played along. This girl didn’t have confidence issues.
“No, Taylor, you’ve got a great nose. Seriously.”
“You’re sweet.” She paused. “Do you like my boobs?”
His eyes got really wide, and she laughed. “Touch ‘em.”
“What?”
Her fingers fiddled with the slight hem of her camisole, yanking it down slightly, coming dangerously close to exposing herself. “You ever felt one before?”
“N-no.”
“Well, they’re not gonna explode or anything.” Taylor shook her chest a little. “Cop a feel.”
His heart raced so fast, it felt like it was going to shoot through his chest and run out of the car on two legs. It was really hot in the car, too; he felt like there was heat moving into him from the seat. Taylor seemed comfortable enough, but Mitchell felt like he was boiling. He had a fear that someone was going to pop up and take a picture, or that Taylor was trapping him and would get mad if he actually touched her, and the cool kids would find out and he’d be done for. But he pushed everything aside, reached out, and grabbed a fondle.
She smiled. He smiled.
“Hiiiii Mitchy,” she said again, really flirtatiously. “Like?”
“Like,” he nodded.
“Flex for me.”
His eyes flashed with hurt. He had no muscle, and everyone could see it. Taylor saw Mitchell suddenly become defensive, and he leaned back with his eyebrows pressed downward on his face. “Are you making fun of me?”
“What?” She leaned forward and rubbed her hands on his stomach. “Nooo! I just like the way guys’ arms look.”
She was already rolling up the sleeve of his t-shirt, so Mitchell sighed and popped a quick “flex” of what little bicep he had.
“There.”
“What was that?!” She smiled. “Put your arm up and hold it!”
He looked into her eyes, trying to avoid any visual of his twiggy arm. But obligingly, he held it up and flexed it in a bicep pose.
“Wow, Mitchell, do you work out?” She started caressing his left arm, the one he was flexing. Her hands were so soft. “I didn’t expect it to be that big.”
“Huh?” He looked over and saw, with surprise, that his arm really wasn’t too embarrassing. It wasn’t HUGE, but it looked...well...good. His bicep had a nice peak, and was counterbalanced by a nice swoop of his tricep. Mitchell looked down and checked out his other arm, the right one, and saw that it too was a very nice size. Even unflexed, it was straining a little in his shirt sleeve and making the fabric bunch oddly.
He heard a rip and swiftly moved his attention back to the arm it was flexing. Did it just get bigger? It really wasn’t even proportionate. There was a huge, pulsing vein on top of it, and the quivering power of his bi’s and tri’s were literally tearing his sleeve apart. Mitchell pulled down his arm, stunned, and saw bits of fabric fall into the darkness of the truck. With his left hand, he grabbed onto his right forearm and grimaced from debilitating cramps. “Yahhh...ow...”
“You must be sore from all the weights, baby,” Taylor said, massaging Mitchell’s severely pumped arms.
“Weights?”
Mitchell could feel his grip being forced open, inch by inch, as more muscle was fitted onto his arms. His hands were getting bigger, too - he could feel the tiny bones shifting inside his fingers, lengthening them.
His forearms were big, but his upper arms were massive. Biceps the size of bowling balls sat on top of triceps that were so defined, it looked like he’d had huge metal horseshoes surgically implanted under his skin.
“T-Taylor...uh...”
“God, I love muscle,” she purred, totally ignoring him. She leaned down and started licking his arms, even sucking a little. The sensation of her tongue was so arousing to Mitchell, he began to think thoughts he’d never thought before.
Taylor’s irresistible youth and gorgeous shape were hypnotizing to the late-blooming senior virgin. He began to think about grabbing other parts of her, more than just her boobs, and maybe rubbing her up and down against his body, sniffing her intoxicating scent.
He began to think of burying a part of himself deep inside of her and pumping his hips back and forth, back and forth, back and forth...
The thoughts were so foreign, Mitchell didn’t know where they’d come from. His pelvis slowly made the movement he was imagining in his mind. On the truck’s leather seat, he began to rock his hips, and his boner stuck out straight from his stressed pants.
“I...” Saliva rolled down one side of his mouth as he stared at her. “God, I, I think I, I want...”
“What do you want, baby?,” she squeaked in the breathy baby-doll voice that all THAT girls can put on.
Mitchell didn’t answer, he just moaned. Sweat poured down his face and soaked his shirt as he saw two unmistakable shapes pushing out of his chest. He flexed his pecs and coaxed them outward as they filled up the small confines of his tee, and then began to tear through it. Taylor’s head, still nibbling on Mitchell’s skin, was slowly being forced back by all the growth his pecs were experiencing. She didn’t seem to notice, but Mitchell couldn’t stop staring. With one hand, he began to yank on his collar, hearing the rips and hurriedly tugging as more of the shirt fell away.
He’d never seen pecs jut quite like his. They puffed out beautifully from his collarbone, then stopped abruptly for an overhang of more than an inch. Their shape was like a drug to Mitchell. Even as they slowly widened outward and pushed his outsized arms further away, they lost none of the fullness that they had rapidly developed. He saw them ripple and quake, and he could even feel his nipples stretching. The only way he could tell it was his chest at all was the mole on his right pectoral, in the same spot it had been since infancy.
Mitchell, with great affection, stuck his thumb in the divot that appeared on the side of his pectorals when he flexed them. He couldn’t stop flexing them. Every pop of the muscle seemed to carve it more, making it more striated and fuller and wider with each moment.
“Feels so good,” he murmured, beginning to fall in love with himself. “So...different...”
So entranced he was by the gigantic pecs he sported, Mitchell didn’t notice the way their growth had made other parts adjust too. His delts had ballooned into spherical cannonballs, forced to match the round perfection of his arms. Each deep breath that Mitchell sucked in was mottling out his back into a perfect V, stretching it wider to balance out the power of his front.
Mitchell just couldn’t take it anymore. He was tired of being pushed around and told what to do. He wanted to be in control, to feel alive, to do the things that MITCHELL wanted to do. Everyone fucking bossed him around, and he fucking hated it. He was a fucking man, dammit, he was the one in control of his destiny.
The young man’s body was caked in sweat, and pre-cum soaked through his boxers. The paramount nature of his urges made him feel like a caged animal. Taylor was massaging his chest and arms and he flexed, and flexed, and flexed, with his teeth grinding into each other as he tried to ignore his overpowering lust.
Then, in one solid motion, he lunged forward and stuck his tongue deep into Taylor’s mouth. She bit down, hard, and he growled like a lion, holding her down and tugging at her clothes like he had completely lost control. Which, in all honesty, he had.
He felt a pushing sensation all over his body, but was too busy unhooking Taylor’s bra to worry about it, unaware that he had shrunk to a sturdy 5-11 from his original 6-3 lankiness, and the restructuring of his height made his muscles push out all the more until he couldn’t fit in the seat properly. He didn’t even consider that he had unhooked a bra correctly on his first attempt ever. The breadth of his shoulders and the unbelievable flare of his back made him look like an upside down Christmas tree. His torso was entirely naked now, and pieces of fabric littered the truck’s interior.
Although he felt like he was giving her a little space, she felt entirely constrained. Mitchell’s pecs, which he wasn’t used to having - had her entirely pinned down. Her back was pressed against the passenger seat window and his hands - which felt more like catcher’s mitts or an animals paws, big and hardened and callused - were absolutely all over her, rubbing and pulling and yanking. He was grunting like a gorilla.
His traps swelled into big knots soaring out of his deltoids, and consequently his neck was cajoled into thickening, a process that deepened his voice dramatically over the course of a few seconds.
Although he didn’t realize what it exactly was, the sensation of his waist tightening was far too much for Mitchell to tolerate. His penis stuck straight up as he felt all the skin pull tightly into the center of his midsection. Mitchell’s skin was straining to contain the eight bricks that now protruded out of his stomach. His obliques pushed out so far that he heard his belt strain under the pressure, but it was the pinching of his lower back that really sent him over the edge, and he nearly screamed with joy. Taylor had her fingers running across the dimples right above his ass.
“Your body is fucking perfect,” she said as she gasped for air in between Mitchell’s devouring of her.
A high-pitched exhalation was all he could dredge up as a response. He shoved his face in between her breasts and grunted as he kissed them, licked them, nibbled them.
“My mouth’s up here, silly,” she cooed, and she cupped his chin with her hand, guiding his face up to hers. Neither was aware of the whiskers that sprouted as soon as she removed her fingers, but Taylor giggled slightly at the tickle from Mitchell’s new goatee and mustache, a perfect rectangle of facial hair that now framed his lips.
He was starting to really fucking lose it, and she could tell, but being with a man that was totally out of control was deeply tempting to her. She knew it was a little dangerous, but she was 18 and it was time to take risks, she told herself.
She could feel him yanking off her panties with nary a trace of subtlety, but suddenly Mitchell squealed and shot back, desperately trying to take off his jeans, kicking like a horse at a rodeo. Taylor heard a loud - very loud - tearing and saw Mitchell pulling on his jeans like they were attacking him. She could see almost all of his boxers and realized that his jeans had ripped from the base of the crotch all the way under to the other side. She couldn’t see that his ass cheeks had ballooned into a high bubble butt that looked like it was composed of two basketballs, and the sudden growth was giving Mitchell the worst wedgie of his life.
“HELP ME,” he snarled in his new deep voice, and she pulled on his pant legs with sweaty, shaking hands. The jeans dissolved into pieces, revealing carved thighs with strong tear-drop quads. Each movement that Mitchell made caused his muscular body to tremble and ripple, and the muscle mass that made up his legs shook with force.
It felt like the world’s best pump, like he’d just done 500 reps. He couldn’t sit still, and even if he tried, his muscles would contract and flex on their own. “I gotta fuck you,” he moaned. “I just gotta.”
He finally got her that pesky underwear off of her. His boxers were now skin-tight around his gargantuan thighs, and his engorged prick, now just as big as the rest of him, was poking out through the fly. Mitchell forced her back against the seat and vaulted himself on top of her.
“Oooh, Mitchy,” she moaned, and suddenly his finger was pressed up against her lips.
“I fucking HATE being called that,” he said, although he was panting heavily and couldn’t produce much rage. “You’re not my mother. Don’t ever call me that shit.”
“‘k, babe,” she nodded, wondering why she enjoyed being ordered around so much.
“The name’s Mitch,” he spat.
“Whatever you want, baby.”
He was stretched out on top of her, panting, feeling his pecs rub up against her as he tried to breathe. Up and down, up and down, they slid across her skin.
She grinned. “You gonna fuck me, Mitch, or do I need to take care of myself?”
“I’m all the man you need,” he said right into her ear as he forced all ten inches of himself into her. She arched her back and screamed. “UGGGHHHH MITCH. OHHH JESUS.”
Taylor’s head was all the way back, and her eyes rolled with it. She nearly blacked out from the pleasure, unable to focus on anything.
Mitch was staring straight ahead, looking at himself in the slight reflection of the truck’s window. He liked the way his goatee looked, and as he pumped his hips, he became even more enamored with himself. He’d always thought of himself as weak-boned, but now that he was staring, he saw a chin that stuck straight out from his face and a lantern jaw that was almost comically butch. That wasn’t weak-looking at all, actually, that was really fucking strong. His lip curled into a masculine leer as he fucked his prize. Thin eyebrows descended further down toward his eyes and doubled in thickness, as his irises took on a rich green shade. His rock-solid jaw grew a day’s worth of beard at the same time that his cheekbones were forcing themselves into a bigger, manlier shape. All over his face, his skin got tighter, more rugged, and thicker, and soon his teenage years had been washed away forever.
The one thing Mitch didn’t much care for was the way his hair receded about an inch at each temple, the length of his shaggy hair shrinking until he had nothing but a short buzz-cut. His hair took on a slight curl, and lightened. By now, the high school boy that feared authority had let himself be modified into some kind of dreamboat superhuman ultra-man, a living tribute to all things masculine. He looked more than a little bit like the David sculpture.
“Oh...” Air caught in his throat as he arched his lower back and let his head fall, pouring his essence inside of her. Mitch collapsed onto Taylor and wrapped his arms around her, holding her as she caught her breath.
They sat there a few moments, just breathing.
Mitch broke the silence. “Uh, you really are 18, right?”
“Yes, don’t worry,” she said, snuggling into her conquest’s herculean embrace. She let her head rest on a bicep that was actually bigger than her head. The enormous, pumped muscle was twitching after the exhausting sex, and she could feel the movement on the back of her scalp. “I’ve never done it with such a buff guy before.”
“You’ve probably never had a chance,” he said cockily. “Not many guys are as big as me.”
“Mmmm, yeah,” she said, her fingers dancing around his big, bare nipple. “I liked it a lot.”
“I liked you too, sweetie.”
She rested her hand on his chest and looked into his green eyes. She hadn’t noticed how beautiful they actually were. “How old did you say you were?”
“27.”
She raised her eyebrows, as if she couldn’t possibly fathom EVER being that old. “27, wow. My Dad wouldn’t like that.”
Mitch shook his head. “You’re a woman, though.”
“Yeah, but it’s not like I’ve moved out yet.”
“I remember when I moved out,” Mitch intoned in his deep, husky voice. He was staring off into space. “Got the construction job.”
“Your last name’s...”
“Murrell.”
“I remember Daddy talking about you. Weren’t you going by Mitchell then?”
The fact that she used the word Daddy suddenly made Mitch feel like a total perv, but he tried to brush it off. “No, as soon as I graduated high school, I was Mitch. ‘Mitchell Murrell’ didn’t feel cool to me, and whenever people called me Mitchell, they pronounced my last name like ‘Murl.’ As soon as I started going by Mitch, everyone got my last name right, ‘muh-RELL.’”
“Murrell.” She let it roll around in her mouth, secretly adding her first name onto it, just to feel it out. “Did I say it right?”
“You said it perfect, sweetie.”
“I’m sorry I called you Mitchy.”
He laughed, a deep rumble. “It’s okay. I’ve just always hated it, and in a moment like that, well, y’know.” He rolled out his back to its greatest width, then bounced his pecs. “See, I’m a Mitch. I’m not a fuckin’ Mitchy.”
She moaned softly and rubbed his sore muscles. “Why’d you start the bodybuilding?”
“Well...uh, really, because of the construction job,” he chuckled. “I only worked there a year, but it got me started in this life. Some guys said I had the right build for it and took me to the gym. And that was all I needed. Huh, y’know, I’m pro now...that’s weird. Seemed like it would take forever, and suddenly it’s here.”
“You’re perfect,” she sighed loudly. “I wish I was older.”
“Hey,” he said, tipping her head upward. “You’ll be going to college soon, and it’s not like I won’t be around...”
He leaned down and fit her entire mouth into his, giving her a sloppy kiss.
“Give me a call sometime, if you want,” he said as they pulled apart, and she nodded. After dozing for a few post-coital moments, Taylor woke up to see Mitch standing outside the truck, in cargo shorts and no shirt. His rugged maturity was illuminated by the moon, showcasing the deep cuts around his mammoth muscles. He stared out over the lake, thinking.
She was nine when I worked for her dad. I knew her when she was NINE, and I just fucked her. Swank would shoot me dead.
Taylor could only see his profile, but he was so handsome, so NOT like high school boys. He wasn’t afraid to be in control, and she liked that. The word ‘stud’ seemed invented for men like Mitch.
She stuck her head out through the driver’s window. “Hey handsome, can you take me home?”
He turned, smiled at her and nodded. As he climbed into the truck, Taylor handed him an old undershirt. With some maneuvering, he got it pulled over his physique. The seams split a little on the sides, forced open by his sensational size. Small tears appeared around the straps, which were over-stressed by his pectorals. Mitch thought nothing of it - most of his shirts did that.
They drove back to her parents’ house, with Taylor’s hand in Mitch’s lap, fondling his tired penis. As she got out, he grabbed her hand. “Hey, sweetie.”
“Yeah?”
“Seriously, call me when you hit college. Uh, if you want.” He paused, smirking at his own cheesiness. “I like you a lot.”
“I like you a lot too,” she said, and then she was away, blowing a single kiss before bounding across her yard and sneaking through the front door.
Mitch smiled at her youthfulness. He had missed that. “Never could’ve scored like that in high school,” he rumbled, turning on the radio as he drove away, headed back to his house for some rest. He and his buddies had built the house themselves, from the ground up. The ultimate bachelor pad.
But thinking about Taylor made Mitch question whether he wanted to be a bachelor for much longer. She hadn’t said whether she’d call him or not, but he had a strong feeling that she would. He was just kind of...irresistible.
Hell, so was she.
Mitch Murrell pulled into his driveway and adjusted his big cock, already seriously considering getting off again before bed. “No sir, never could’ve scored like that.”
To be continued?