The President 4: The President vs. Toro
by BBMSN
Read previous partThe President walked over to the center of the room. He had stripped down to his boxer briefs. He was huge. His massive quads crunched the legs of his briefs up high, exposing every powerful inch of leg muscle. There was an aura about him of profound strength and confidence. He admired himself in the mirror on the far wall.
"Let's get it on, boy," he said to Toro, without looking over at him. Toro hadn't been called a boy since he was about ten years old, and he didn't think he liked it. He walked into the center of the room to match up with the President.
"Bring it on, soldier," said the President, without turning away from his reflection. In fact, the president, ignoring Toro's proximity, brought his arm up in front of his face, flexed his right arm, and kissed his massive 28" peak. Part of Toro wanted to tear into the older man for being so arrogant. But the other part of him hesitated, because this was his president, his commander in chief. His moment of hesitation cost him, though. The President brought up his leg, fast as lightening, and sidekicked Toro square in his chest. The doctor, watching from behind, barely saw the President's leg move, but he did see Toro fly across the room like a cannonball, and slam into the far wall about five feet off the ground. Toro slid down the wall and landed with a thud. He felt like he'd been kicked by a mule. A really strong mule. A normal man would have had his entire ribcage caved in from the kick, but Toro's strong sternum, although throbbing with pain, had held. Toro stood up. Now he was mad. The entire room went white in his vision, except for the President, who he was focussing all his attention on now. And he no longer thought of this man as his president, but as his opponent. His nostrils flared as he charged liked the bull of a man he was. Toro slammed into the older man so hard he knocked him off balance. Just as the President was about to regain his footing, Toro swept his foot into the President's ankles, knocking him to the ground. Toro was on top of him in a flash; he knew he didn't have any time to waste. He got the President's arm locked behind his back and tried to force it up, but he could feel him muscling out of it. Damn, this old man is Strong, thought Toro. He switched tactics, and swung himself around. He got his legs up and around the President's neck. Toro managed to lock his legs into a triangular leglock around the President's powerful neck. Then he reached up and grabbed his foot, locking the hold into a position that he had never had broken. His powerful legs bore down on the President's windpipe in a submission hold that most men tapped out of in less than five seconds. Yet the President did not submit. Toro grunted and squeezed, and pulled on his foot even harder. It was the tightest leg lock he'd ever applied, yet nothing seemed to be happening. In fact, to Toro's amazement, the President began to stand up. With 290lbs of marine muscle strapped to his back, the President stood up as if he had a light backpack on. The President ignore the crushing leg lock around his neck, and turned to the mirror. He raised his arms into a double bi shot and admired his own magnificence for a few seconds. Then he grabbed onto Toro's legs, and began to pry them apart. Legs that could squat 1000lbs for reps. Legs that could put another marine into a scissor hold and make him submit whenever he decided to. Legs that could go on a 50 mile uphill hike with a 100lbs pack. Yet the President was undoing them as if he were casually removing a cape from around his neck. Once the legs were unwrapped, the President dropped Toro to the ground like a sack of potatoes.
"Nice try," said the President. Toro was shocked as hell, but not defeated. He and the President crouched and circled each other a few time, then went at it. The doctor watched, stunned at the determination of the alpha marine, and by the mindboggling power of the President. The two huge bulls went hold for hold, although Toro sensed that the President was letting him get him into holds, just so he could muscle his was out of them.
After a half an hour of wrestling, the mats were drenched in sweat. The room temperature had to be hovering around 100 degrees. Sweat was dripping off the men's brows, noses, ears, eyelashes, running down their pits, flooding out of every pore. The President's briefs were soaked through and clinging to him like a second skin. Toro's shorts had been torn off of him early on, and he battled in his steaming, sweat-soaked jock. He was nearing exhaustion. The President had been moving him around hard. Toro was gasping for air, and his lungs were searing like a blowtorch, desperate for more oxygen. His strength was drained out of him, but he wouldn't give up. The President, on the other hand, seemed barely warmed up. He began putting Toro into one submission hold after another. Toro struggled vainly to fight back, and he would not tap out. Even when the President put him into a vicious leg hold, bringing his leg up high behind him as he lay on his stomach, then twisting his ankle into a wicked, painful angle, Toro wouldn't tap. He even tried his hardest not to groan outloud. Instead, he dug at the mat with his powerful fingers, ripping into it as if it were made of putty. The President was impressed by his stamina and guts. He let go of Toro's leg and stood up over him, victorious. Even he couldn't believe how easily he had toyed with the massive powerful marine. He could have taken on ten more like him, one after the other, and beaten every one of them. He was so charged up that he leaned down and picked Toro up, raising him over his head. He used the big marine for military presses, one after another, his strength and muscle growing and swelling. After forty reps, he put Toro down. Drenched in sweat, he looked more powerful than ever. The doctor, from behind him, looked on in awe at the development of the President's back muscles. Mounded and undulating, each muscle part, the delts, traps and lats, stood out from each other like a morphed up anatomy chart, tying into each other like molded girders, and freakishly, perfectly etched, like some fantastical DaVinci drawing. The doctor, married, the father of four, had a raging hard-on in the presence of such enormous size and power.
The President flipped Toro onto his back, and pinned him down. "That was a good workout, soldier, but now you've got me all riled up. You know what I'm going to do now?" he said, holding Toro's big shoulders pinned to the mat. "I'm going to go find the First Lady. And I'm going to have my way with her. About ten times in a row. You ever go ten times in a row, boy? A good slow and hard ten times too. Drive her so wild, it will take her two days to regain the power of speech." The President leaned into Toro's ear. "How'd you like to feel like this, son? Power like you never believed possible. So muscled up, you could stop a tank. Look at these arms, soldier." The President sat up and flexed his arms, the huge peaks rising higher than any pro bodybuilder's. He leaned back down into Toro's ear. "I could use a man like you to lead my troops, son. I could give that too you. Make you a leader. Men would be honored to serve you. And you would be the strongest of the strong. Would you like that?"
Toro could feel the President getting hard against his abs. Toro was getting hard too, and he knew why. He wanted what the President was offering more than life itself. He ached for it. He was ready for it, and he answered "Yes Sir," to the President's question.
The President knew he had found his man. Or at least the first of his men. He motioned to the doctor to come over. The doctor came over, soaked in his own sweat, and trying to shake down his wood. He had the black satchel still handcuffed to his wrist.
"Hand me a syringe," the President said to him. The doctor opened the bag and pulled out a pre-filled needle, handing it to the President. "You absolutely sure this is what you want, soldier?" he asked one more time. Toro shook his head yes. The President rolled him over onto his stomach. He took the needle and sank it deep into Toro's thickly muscled gluteus maximus. He slowly pushed down on the plunger. As his thumb pressed the viscous oil into Toro's butt, Toro arched up into it, craving its effects to begin immediately. At the sight of Toro's arched up musclebutt, a shudder ran up the doctor's spine, and he came in his pants.
"There," said the President, pulling out the syringe. "Go shower down, Toro. The doctor will set you up with your new workout regiment. I'm off to find the First Lady." He stood up and walked out of the room, the most powerful man in the world. At least for now.