I pulled into Val's driveway, which wound past the side of the house and into the back, where there was a three-car garage and an outside area for parking. As I pulled into the back, I saw Val laying in a lounge chair in the sun. Even though it was October, it was warm, and Val was in running shorts and a t-shirt. She sat up as I pulled in. I wedged myself out of my Mustang...car is getting a little small for me these days...am like a musclebound sardine getting in and out of it. Val shaded her eyes from the sun until I walked up and my mass blocked out its rays, like an eclipse. Val stood up on the lounge chair, making her closer to my height.
"Mikey," she said. "You're huge!"
"You like this muscle, babe?" I put my hands on her waist and lifted her. She felt light as a feather. My arms were now bigger than her waist, and she squeezed my biceps as she rested her hands on them. I tensed them up. She swallowed hard as she felt their size and hardness. I brought her up against my massive chest, then wrapped my arms around her, surrounding her with my muscle. She moaned softly, and I rubbed my chin against her neck. Her skin was so soft against my five o'clock shadow growth. I kissed her neck and she shuddered. I felt the goosebumps rising on her. I ran my index finger down the small of her back and she arched into it. She gripped onto the sides of my thick lats and shuddered harder, orgasming from the touch of my big finger. I carried her over to the big redwood picnic table in the yard. I laid her down on it, then straddled her with my arms. She wanted this big muscle to take her, and we both knew it. I pulled my dick out of my shorts and it flopped toward her, like it knew right where to go. I entered into her, sliding my mushroom cap into her satiny, moist clit. So soft and warm. I rode her with smooth rhythmic thrusts, careful not to hurt her with my strength, until we were both groaning and sweating, the redwood table creaking underneath her. She orgasmed over and over again as I pulsed into her G-spot. I lifted her off the table and pumped her up and down with my arms, pounding and pounding until I unload inside her. I held her against me as she groped my sweaty muscle.
I pulled out of her, and sat her down on the picnic table, and as we both pulled our shorts up, a pickup truck drove into the driveway.
"Who's that?" I asked her, adjusting myself as much as I could.
"That's Lester White. You remember him from high school. He's been to a couple parties here and now he thinks he can just stop by whenever he wants."
I remembered Lester. A total low-life bully. Used to beat up on kids just for laughs. Remeber how people would say you should stand up to bullies? Well, I saw a couple of kids try that with Lester, calling his bluff, telling him to leave them alone...and he would beat on them so severely, they'd end up in the hospital. He was a street thug with a mean streak, and the goods to back it up.
"What's he doing in there?" I asked Val, after he'd been sitting in his car messing around with something.
"I hear he's gotten deep into meth. Looks like he's snorting something up."
That's exactly what it looked like. Then, as I helped Val off the picnic table, Lester got out of his car. He had on a tank top, jeans, and a pair of black shitkicker boots. Whatever else he'd been doing since high school, he had put on some serious size. He looked like a contest-ready superheavyweight bodybuilder, packing around 280 to 290lbs. He had tribal art tattoos all over his massive shoulders and arms. He came strutting over to us, sizing us both up.
"Looks like this is where the action is," he said, looking Val up and down while groping himself.
"Take it easy bud," I said to him.
He looked at me darkly. "Do I know you?" he said to me, staring hard. "Aren't you Angela's little pain in the ass jock brother?" Lester had had a thing for my sister, but she had always managed to avoid him.
"Yeah, that's me," I said, not sure what to expect. Lester had a bad energy around him. I felt like I was standing too close to a wild animal.
"Yeah, I thought so. You're alot bigger now, but you still look like a pain in the ass jock," he said, smirking slightly. "Shake," he said, putting out his hand.
I didn't want to shake with Lester, but I didn't know anyway to refuse a man when he puts his hand out, so I put mine out too. We shook, and stared at each other, both knowing what was going to happen. Lester's pupils were so dilated, he looked crazy, and I could feel his grip increasing fast. I responded by gripping back harder. He gripped back. I could see his tattoos beginning to ripple. His forearm veins popped out so quickly that it was like a dam had broken open, flooding into the insane river delta of capillaries, feeding his muscle. His forearms must have bulged to 20+ inches as he poured on the power. I squeezed back, matching him. His grip strength was astounding. A normal man's hand would have been crushed like an eggshell in the iron vice that was his fingers. I wasn't sure how much longer I could maintain his grip.
"That's right, jock," he said, sneering, sensing my doubt. "I'm gonna power you down, cause you know what I've found out?" He increases his grip. He barely seemed to be straining.
"What?" I asked, gritting my teeth as I fought him.
"Stacking roids and crystal's making me unstoppably strong. I could take ten of you on right now and barely break a sweat." With that, he doubled the pressure of his handshake. A sick pain seared through my arm and into my groin. I felt my legs buckle, and I went down on one knee. I had 100lbs on this asshole, and he was crushing me down with ease. He stepped closer into me and squeezed harder.
"That all you got, jocko?" he said, laughing. "I'm gonna make you my bitch."
With that, he leaned down and picked me up. He lifted me off the ground with a huff, and pressed me overhead. He did reps with my 400lbs like he was warming up, then he walked over the picnic table and threw me into it, smashing the redwood into pieces. As I struggled to get out of the broken up wood, he stripped off his tank.
"Look at this fucking muscle, punk," he said, crunching into a crab shot. I'd never seen anyone in such ripped condition. His deltoids were like undulating pumpkins, every fiber firing as he twisted one arm, then the other. Veins crisscrossed his upper pecs, thick as straws, branching off each other, disappearing into the thick muscle chest, then re-emerging and jigzagging along his granite slab pecs. Lester was getting a hard-on as he got into his own flexing muscle. He was starting to sweat profusely, his face reddened, and his eyes were bloodshot from the strain of flexing so hard. His only flaw was the acne on his shoulders and back, a side effect of all the juice he'd been using. But even the zits he overpowered by staring at them, then flexing his huge traps and smirking as they popped.
He came over and lifted me out of the wreckage, and stood me up.
"Test this fucking gut muscle strength before I work you over good, gnat," he ordered me. With that, he sucked in his gut and clenched down on the muscle. His abs responded by popping out into a stacked up 8pack, the size and shape of bricks. They shifted over each other as he twisted his huge torso side to side. The skin over the abs had the thickness of rice paper.
This was my chance to shine. I had a powerhouse punch, strong as a jackhammer. I reared my arm back and slammed my fist into his musclegut. It didn't even dent his muscle, but it did make his dick harder. I could hear the zipper of his jeans starting to rip apart.
"Heh heh, fuck yeah," he said. He put his hands on his hips. "Again," he ordered. I hit him again, harder this time. He took half a step back. His abs had a red impression of my fist on them, but it disappeared quickly in the flush of his stomach skin.
"Enough," he said, "now it's my turn." The tweeked out musclefreak came at me with his fists, his punches coming so fast and furious that I could only block about a third of them. He punched me back into the yard until my back was up against the stump of a big tree. He pummeled into my gut, his blows coming hard and square as a pro boxers. Then he worked over my whole body, jabs and punches that packed mindblowing, drug-induced strength. He stopped once, only long enough to flex his 25" bicep, bring it up to his mouth and kiss it. Then he started working me over again. I started to go down, when I saw Val come up behind him and crack him across the back with a plank of redwood from the busted-up picnic table. The board broke across his thickly mounded muscle back. He stopped, but he didn't turn around. Instead, he took my jaw in his hand and jerked my head towards his face.
"First," he said, "I'm gonna fuck you up the ass until you fucking cry for more. Then, I'm gonna do the same to your little bitch girlfriend."
"The hell you are," I said, surging up at him, mad as hell. I pushed off the tree trunk, grabbed him around his torso, and ran with him across the yard. As we got up to his pickup, I threw him into the windshield, shattering it into a thousand shards.
"Val, get into the house!" I said.
"The hell I will," she answered. She picked up another plank of redwood, and, as Lester climbed off his hood, she swung it at his head. He grabbed the plank an inch from his face and yanked it out of her hands. He snapped the plank in half with his bare hands, then stacked the two pieces, and snapped them in half. He tossed the busted up wood aside and took a step toward Val.
"Anything else?" he said.
I jumped between him and Val, and grabbed him into a bearhug. I had his arms pinned, and managed to link my wrists behind him. I squeezed. He grunted some, but then said, "You're a dead man." I lifted him off the ground and shook him. I could feel his immense power. He began to twist and thrash. I used my massive back strength to squeeze him harder, and managed to get a better hold. No one had ever busted out of my bearhug, but Lester sure was trying. Without releasing the hold, I slammed him into the side of his car, busting out the driver's window. I slammed him again and again into the car, denting in the door. Then, I turned and ran with him toward the tree trunk. I pumped my big quads as hard as I could, and slammed Lester's back hard into the tree. I heard the wind knock out of him as my shoulder slammed into his ribcage. I backed up with him and slammed him again. This time, I heard ribs break. I dropped him down and grabbed his face in my hand. I was about to smash the back of his head into the big trunk, but I could feel the fight leaving him. The meth must have been wearing off. He slumped to the ground.
"Careful, Mike," Val said, "maybe he's faking."
"I don't think so," I said, looking down on him. Lester was looking a little green around the gills. He looked like he might puke. The side of his face was kinda drooping, like he was having a stroke or something.
"Dude, you better get outta here while you can," I said. Lester struggled to his feet and stumbled over to his truck. His driver side door was to busted in to open and he tried to force it open, but couldn't.
"Fuck," he said, leaning against the truck. I went over and jerked the door off its hinges and tossed it into the driveway. Lester climbed in. His hands were shaking but he managed to start up the truck. He backed up and drove away, minus one door and one windshield.
"You did good," Val said to me.
"Shit," I said, " the jacked-up meth head almost took me out." My ego was seriously damaged. On the football field, I'd been hot shit. Now I felt like a big dopey ox who'd almost lost his first street fight.
"Maybe my dad could teach you a few moves," Val suggested.
"Your dad?" I said.
"Yeah," she said, "he's sort of involved with law enforcement."
Law enforcement? I'd always heard he was in the mob, busting up people who didn't keep up on payments.
"He'll be home soon, if you want to meet him and talk about it."
"Sounds good to me," I said. I'd always wanted to meet Val's elusive father, and I could use a few lessons from a pro.