Blind Date 2
Malcolm and I left the sushi place and walked down the street. He had his big arm around my shoulders. I could feel the heft of his thick muscle. He hugged me up against him as we walked, nearly lifting me off my feet. We turned the corner off the main street and walked to the front of a small condo building, the front lobby of which was all dark.
"It doesn't look opened," I said, as Malcolm opened the front door.
"Technically, it's not. The owner lost his backing when the real estate market busted, but he lets me live here to help protect the place. We gotta take the steps though, the elevator doesn't work."
"It's kind of stuffy in here," I said.
"Yeah, no A/C. Wait till we get to my apartment. Sometimes it's over 100 degrees in there." We walked thru the dark lobby to a doorway that led to an even darker stairway. "I'm on the 5th floor, so I better carry you so you don't trip," said Malcolm, and before I could answer, he scooped me up and tossed me over his shoulder, then started taking the steps two at a time. I bounced up and down on his powerful traps like I was riding bareback on a big horse. When we got to the 5th floor, he lifted me up and put me down on the floor. The hallway had windows at both ends, but it was still pretty dark. It was hot as a sauna. Malcolm's forehead was dripping with sweat.
"Man, that pumped up my quads pretty good," he said. "Who'd of thought a little guy like you would do that." He waddled down the hallway and opened up one of the condo doors. "Come on in," he said. Once inside, he flipped on a light. When I looked at him confused, he said, "I'm plugged into the building next door. Don't tell anyone."
I looked around his apartment. It was sparsely furnished, and the floor was bare concrete, but it had floor to ceiling windows and an open floor plan, with sliding glass doors out onto a balcony with a great view.
"Make yourself at home," Malcolm said. "I drank so much water, I really gotta piss." Malcolm went down a short hallway to the bathroom. He left the door open as he went, and it sounded like a firehose shooting into the bowl. "Dont you hate how half the water splashes out when your taking a piss?" he yelled out, leaning back into the hall. He pissed and pissed and pissed. I couldn't believe anyone's bladder could hold that much liquid. When he finished, I heard him turn on the water to wash his hands.
"At least you've got running water," I said as I walked over to the windows and looked out over Coconut Grove.
I heard him coming up the hallway. "What'd you say?" he asked.
I turned around, saying, "At least you've got.....holy shit..."
Malcolm had stripped off his shirt and pants, and was standing there wearing just his underwear. I used to think the expression 'It took my breath away' was just that, an expression. Now I know it can happen. As jacked as Malcolm looked in clothes, he looked even bigger in a pair of sweat-soaked bikini briefs.
"My god, your legs," I said.
Malcolm looked down at his big thighs. "Thirty-four inches, and I barely even work them. That is if you don't count squatting 1200lbs a couple times a week." He leaned over and clicked on another light, which just highlighted the size of his quads and calves. They were shiny with sweat. "Walking up and down those stairs has really made the veins start popping out all over. It bloats them up bigger than you would think it would, too. My next goal is to hit 36 inches," he said, checking out his own size as he flexed out his legs. He put one foot forward and raised it up onto the ball and turning it sideways, exposing the swelling calf muscle. "Can you believe 22 inches, babe? You wanna touch it?"
I don't know how I made my legs move forward, but I walked over to him. I got on my knees to and cupped his massive black calf muscle as he flexed it harder. "Rub your fingers into it, feel it swell. I'm gonna get them to 24 inches." Twenty-four inches was as big as my quad. I rubbed my hand up and down his smooth ebony skin. The calf muscle was hard as bone, except that it was moving underneath my hand every time Malcolm flexed. After awhile, he said, "Now do the other one," and he put his left leg in my face and flexed his calf. I rubbed it hard, feeling the ridges of muscle and the bulging gastrocnemius muscle, jutting out 5 inches from his shin.
"Malcolm," I said, looking up at him. I could hardly contain my hardon.
"Yeah, little dude?"
Then I noticed something on his leg. "What's this mark on your quad?" I asked.
"That's a tattoo," he said. "It's hard to see cause my quad skin is black as night."
"What's it of?" I asked, looking at it closer.
"It's the Under Armor logo. I got that when I was a kid. I started powerlifting when I was 12. By the time I was 14, I'd outgrown all the weights at school, so I started training at the university. The strength coach took a special interest in me, and by the time I was 16 I was outlifting all the college dudes. Then one day the coach and I got into a fight. I told him I wanted to get into bodybuilding, and he got all ghetto on me, told me bodybuilding was for faggots, and it really pissed me off. I told him he was just mad cause I lifted so much more than him and was twice as strong. He took a swing at me and we started going at it. That's when I found out I was about ten times stronger than him. Fighting him was like taking on a little kid. I muscled out of every hold he tried to put me in. I toyed with him for awhile, then pinned him to the floor. Then I put him in a leg scissor and started squeezing. God, it was fun. That's when my Under Armor sweats starting tearing up the side of my quads. Then I squeezed him harder and they tore all the way up to the waist. It was like I was morphing. When I stood up, I flexed out over him until the shirt I was wearing ripped up the back. That's when I realized that I liked flexing outta clothes. Total head rush, hearing that sound. I kept flexing till the only thing left on me was a tattered piece of my sweats, and the UA logo was hanging down by my inner thigh. That's when I went out and got it inked onto my inner thigh." Malcolm turned his quad outward, exposing the tattoo some more. "I'm kinda tired of it now. See if you can suck it off."
"I can't suck off a tattoo," I said.
He flexed his quad, and his sartorius muscle made the tattoo bulge out and roll right at my nose level. "Give it a try," he said.
I put my mouth over the tattoo and started to suck. Malcolm let out a deep "Oh yehhh," and put his big hand on the back of my head. His inner thigh tasted and smelled like roasted chestnuts. I sucked harder. He reached into his briefs and pulled out his dick. He let it flop out, and it was so big and heavy that it hit my back like a billy club. I started sucking the tat like a lamprey eel, and his already engorged cock starting rising into the air. I felt it slide up the back of my neck, and then push my ear lobe out of its way as it swelled.
"Suck that fuckin' ink, little fucker," Malcolm growled, then as I sucked harder, he let out a strong deep groan. I swear I heard his windows rattle. I hung onto his sweaty thigh as I sucked on him. He tasted so good, and I sucked so long, I started feeling like a vampire. Finally, I pulled my mouth off and leaned back to look.
"Any luck?" he asked.
"Tat's still there," I said, "but I gave it a pretty good hickey." I looked up at Malcolm, towering over me. Sweat was rolling down his huge torso, pouring out of his pits and down his lats, and dripping off his jutting nips. It had to be 100 degrees in his apartment. I'd taken hot yoga classes that were cooler than this. I was breathing heavy and drenched in sweat myself.
"You wanna use that hot mouth on my big knob?" he asked me, stroking his thick hardon.
"I barely know you," I said coyly.
Malcolm leaned over and lifted me like a pillow. He stood me up on his coffee table. Now we were face to face with each other. He lifted the bottom of my sweat-soaked shirt up over my head. I lifted my arms and let him pull it off me. "What do you want to know?" he said.
"You like to kiss?" I asked. He leaned into me and planted his big full lips on my mouth. We kissed slow and deep and hard for almost a full minute. At one point I opened my eyes, and the sight of the sweaty thick muscle on his huge neck almost made me cum in my pants. He pulled off of me just in time.
"Anything else?" he asked.
"How strong are you?
Malcolm stepped back and put his hands on his hips. He reared his shoulders back and heaved out his chest. His pecs mounded out at me like two sweaty medicine balls.
"Forearm smash these hogs, Ralphie," he said. When I hesitated, he said, "Come on, you can't hurt me."
I reared my arm back high, and swung it down into his chest. Sweat splattered off his huge pecs, but he didn't budge.
"Not bad for a little punk," he said. "Try it again." I swung at him again, hard as I could. He didn't budge, but at least it made his dreadlocks swing a little. "Nice," he said. "You could use a baseball bat on these suckers without hurting them, that's how thick and strong they are." He looked down at his huge muscle shelf and began to bounce them, one at a time. The pecs thickened and rolled at his command. I got down on my knees on the coffee table and watched his superheavyweight chest swell and heave, then drop back down, then heave up again. Then I went down on him. I had to. I had to service him, to taste him, to feed off him. I worked on him as hard as I'd worked on his tattoo.
"Awww yehhhhh," he said. He put his hands behind his head and started to buck into my mouth, fucking my face with short powerful thrusts. I took his big knob as deep as I could, but his dick was so thick I couldn't go much farther. It didn't seem to matter to him. He was leaking pre like a water fountain, and I was swallowing it just as fast as he pumped it out. His sweat was dripping on me, and my own sweat was running down my forehead and into my eyes. It didn't matter. Nothing else matter but being with Malcolm. I put my two hands around the base of his shaft and started stroking him and pulling him deeper into me. He put his hands on my ears and worked my head around. Finally, he held my head still, and stopped bucking. His big knob swelled even more as he came. He didn't groan or yell, he just came, and came, and came. So much hot paste shooting down my throat. When he finished, he slid himself out of my mouth and got down on his knees. He reached out and undid my belt buckle, then pulled my belt out of its loops.
"Step out of those pants," he said, putting the belt down. I pulled my pants down and kicked them off the table. My hardon was pushing against my underwear. He grabbed the waist band and ripped it like tissue paper with his beefy hands. He pulled them off of me and tossed them aside. He put his hands on my pelvis and lifted me off the table. He held me in the air and stood up. I put my hands on his ox yoke sized traps to balance. His tight black skin was slick with sweat and hard as ebony. Sweat dripped off both of us into puddles on the floor.
"Lift your arms," he said, "I'll hold you up."
Tentatively, I lifted one arm at a time off his huge traps. He held me in midair. I felt like I was flying. He lowered me down until my cock was in his face. Then he took me in his mouth. I gasped with pleasure. Airborne, and being sucked off by a behemoth powerhouse, he pumped me up and down, like he was doing half range shoulder presses. I watched the striations in his delts ripple as he worked me. I watched the mountain range of muscle on his back surge and swell, from his bull neck clear down to the waistband of his briefs, which were so soaked with sweat that they were nearly transparent, and his big bubble butt had pulled most of the fabric into his deep glute crack. I tried as hard as I could not to cum too fast, but when he took me in his mouth like he had with the 8 inch sushi roll, sliding me into him slowly and smoothly, I felt my balls churning with ecstasy. Seeming to sense that, Malcolm lifted me up, popping me out of his mouth, and held me high overhead. "I love tea bagging," he said, and lowered me down till my sac was against his lips. Then he sucked one ball into his mouth and started lolling it around with his big tongue. He popped that one out, then took the other one in. Then when he was done with that, he took them both in his mouth. He sucked hard as he lifted my pelvis upward, stretching out my sac till the skin was tight. I almost shot my load right over his head, but at the last second, he popped my balls out of his mouth and went down on my cock again. I exploded with such a powerful orgasm that I almost lost consciousness. He sucked on me so hard it was painful yet highly erotic, as I felt myself drained drier than I'd ever been drained.
He lifted me up, then lowered me down to the floor. I laid back onto the bare concrete, which felt amazingly cool on my sweaty skin. "Fuuckk me," I said, more as an expression of exhaustion than anything else. But Malcolm straddled me on the floor, letting his still-engorged cock flop onto my stomach. "That comes next," he said, flexing into a double-bi shot and admiring his own arms. "You got me more pumped up than a 2 hour hardcore workout. Look how swole these monsters are." His arms did look even bigger than earlier, and the skin stretched so tightly over the peaks that it looked like it might split.
"Think you can handle more of this?" he said.
"Try me," I answered.
To be continued?