Pastor Muscle
by BBMSN
Inspired by the World's Strongest Pastor
The big pastor was taking off his vestments after his Saturday afternoon service. He could hardly wait to get on his gym gear and go hit the weights for his two hour hardcore workout. At 320lbs of bulked up powerlifter muscle, he knew he was the strongest pastor in the world, but he ached for more power and size. He stripped off his shirt and looked at himself in the mirror. He liked what he saw. He even liked his big bloated powerlifter gut. It made him feel so powerful. And as far as he was concerned, his massive chest, delts and arms made the hard ball gut fit right into his build. He flexed his 22" arms in the mirror a couple of times before pulling on his favorite guinea tee.
He picked up his gym bag and headed down to the kitchen. His son was at the kitchen table, home for the weekend from college.
"Hey, son," said the pastor. "You want to go for a workout with me?"
"Yeah, right," said the son, not looking up from the table.
Part of the pastor was glad his son didn't want to come. The kid had grown sullen and remote since he'd been in high school. He never seemed to put much effort in anything. The other part of the pastor wanted to bond with the kid, to get him to feel the passion he felt when he broke a person best on the squat or bench. Part of him wanted to lift the kid right out of his chair and shake so sense into him. Instead, he just said, "Suit yourself," and started to head out the door.
"Hey," said the boy, "I need to use the car tonight."
The pastor stopped at the door and turned back. "You just got in late last night. I thought all of us would have dinner together tonight."
"Yeh, well, I have plans. Maybe next time I come home."
The pastor felt his blood pressure starting to rise. He dropped his gym bag to the floor. "I tell you what, boy. Why don't you wrestle me for the keys?"
The kid finally looked up from the table. "What?"
"You heard me. Let's go down to the mats in the basement. I'll put the keys at one end of the room. If you can get to them, you can have the car tonight."
"I'm not doing that," the son said with disdain.
"OK, then. No car." The pastor turned and started to leave.
"Wait," said the kid. "I'll do it. It's messed up, but I'll take you on, old man."
The pastor frowned, but at least he was getting a spark out of the kid. "Let's go then," he said, and went over to the basement door and headed down, with is sulking son following from behind. He clicked on the lights to a big room that had floor mats, and ,against one wall, a long rack of dumbbells sat in front of a big wall mirror. He walked over to the far corner of the room, and dropped the keys onto the floor. He looked back at his son, who was leaning against the doorway.
"How much you weigh now, boy?"
"150," said the kid.
The pastor walked over to the end of the weight rack. The last pair of dumbbells weighed 150lbs. He picked them up and started doing curls. Slow, steady curls. His son tried to hide his shock. He knew his dad was strong, but he'd never seen him doing reps with 150lbs dumbbells. After 15 curls with each arm, the pastor dropped the weights and they hit the floor with a loud thud that shook the ground. His arms swelled bigger with every second that passed. He strode to the middle of the room and squared off his boulder sized shoulders.
"Go for the keys, boy," he said cockily. "Try and get by these," and he flexed his swollen arms up, and smirked as his peaks rose and rose.
His son tried to act like he was totally uninterested, leaning against the door jam. But then, suddenly, he darted toward the left side of the room, and bolted toward the corner where the keys were. He moved surprisingly fast for a sullen 18 year old. Even more surprising was how fast his dad's arm came out and clotheslined him in the middle of his chest with his big thick forearm. The kid did a complete 360 in the air, then landed on his back on the mat, leaving him gasping for breath. His dad straddled him, his hulking mass towering over him. "This forearm could stop a tank, boy, what chance you think you got? Look at it," he said. "I've added an inch and a half of muscle to them since you left for college." The big pastor clenched his fist and rolled it, making his forearm muscles bulge out. "I'm bending 3" rebar with these beasts now." He looked at his forearm with admiration, knowing that they were over 17" around. Knowing because he measured them out himself every night.
"I tell you what boy, I'll give you another chance. Double or nothing. I win, you have come home and work out with me every weekend."
"What if I win?" asked the kid. What his dad didn't know, was that he'd been working out at college everyday, trying to add some muscle mass to his lithe physique. Now he was about to find out how much progress he'd made.
"Then I'll give you the car to keep as your own. In fact, I'll even give you the advantage." The pastor stepped over his son, then got down on all fours. "You take top position. If you get me on my back, the car is yours."
The pastor waited on the mat like a rodeo bull as his son stood up and shook himself off. He stood over his dad and reached across him to lock his arm on his dad's left side. The pastor's broad back was so thick and wide that the kid had to lean halfway over him to reach his armpit. His dad's body felt like it was made out of lumber.
"GO," said the pastor once his son locked his hold. The kid pulled and pulled and pulled on the massive powerlifter. HIs old man didn't budge an inch. "I said GO," the pastor said. The kid pulled with all his might, but his 150lbs was no match for his heavily bulked up 320lb strongman father. The pastor reached back and grabbed his son with one hand, lifting him into the air, then slamming him down to the mat, pinning him with one thick burly hand. The kid struggled against the powerful arm, to no effect. The pastor sat down on his son's chest, with just enough weight to hold him pinned but not crush his ribcage. "Looks like we'll be workout partners for awhile," he said, hoping to use that time to whip his son into the man he wanted him to be.
"Get off me, you fat fuck," said the kid.
The pastor's face darkened. He stood up, but as he did so, he grabbed his son around the neck and lifted him up with him. He stood his son on his feet, then let go of his neck.
"You think this is fat, boy?" the pastor said, as he rolled up the bottom of his guinea tee, exposing his 48" powerlifter gut. "Go ahead and punch it. This solid rock gut is harder than anything you ever felt. It gives me power beyond anything you can dream of." He jutted his ball gut out even farther. The skin stretched out tight and shiny over it. The rolled up tee rested on the top of the gut, and was pinned there by the heaving set of gorilla pecs pressing down on it.
The son backed up, conflicted by his feelings of love and hate for the huge powerhouse of a man standing in front of him. Part of him wanted to jump into his arms and ask for forgiveness for being such a dickhead kid for the past couple years. But another part of him wanted to hit the guy over and over for being so pompous and superior.
"Come on," said the older man, "don't be a pussy. Give me your best shot."
That pretty much decided it for the boy. He had backed up as far as the weight rack. He reached behind his back and picked up a 25lb dumbbell. He whirled it around in front of him, and tossed it at his dad's gut. It landed square on the big thickly muscled ball, then bounced off and fell to the ground. They both looked at it as it rolled away. The pastor hadn't even budged. He reached up and grabbed the straps of his guinea tee and pulled them over his soccer ball sized delts. Then he ripped the shirt in two and tossed it off him, exposing his entire hulking torso.
"That all you got?" he said to his kid as he took a step toward him.
The kid reached around and grabbed the 35lb dumbbell. He had to use both hands to throw it. It bounced off his dad's gut with a thud. Then the pastor leaned over and picked up the weight. He put one beefy hand on each end of the dumbbell, then began to press inward. His torso bulged with thickening muscle as he pressed down on the weight. Veins popped out on his 22" neck, and across his chest and delts, and into his arms, feeding them with power and more power. The handle of the dumbbell began to crumple in like an accordion. The pastor pressed in on the weights until the handle was flattened to the thickness of a penny and the plates touched in the middle. He dropped the crunched up iron to the floor, and looked at himself in the mirror. He'd never looked more jacked up. Every thick brute muscle on him was ruddy and pumped. He did a most muscular pose and watched in amazement as his traps rose up behind his neck like two thick bridge cables. He felt like he had the strength of 20.
"Dad," said the kid, "I don't know what happened, I just lost it...."
The pastor looked at his son, then waddled over to the car keys and squatted down to pick them up. He came back over to his son, grabbed his hand, and dropped the keys into them. Sweat ran down his huge torso. "Here you go, boy. Take the car. You don't have to workout with me. I shouldn't expect you to be like me."
"That's just it," said the son. "I ache to be like you, but I know I never will be."
The pastor grabbed his son around the back of his neck and pulled him into his solid torso. "Don't repeat this to anyone, boy, but I was a skinnier little twerp than you are when I was your age."
"No you weren't," said the kid.
"Oh yeah I was. Now look at me." The pastor flexed his right arm, which had swollen to a thick gnarly 24"s of peaked muscle.
His son put his hands on the powerful arm. "I could never be this big," he said.
"Sure you could," said the pastor. "In fact, let's see if we can get you even bigger."