Read My Lips 2
by Londonboy
I stared at Skip's question. “What did I think?” What did I think about the fact that he just told me he could cause his muscles to grow just by giving them a little resistance or by exerting some effort? And then to top it off he says that some guy getting turned on at the sight of his muscles growing makes them balloon into even more freakish sizes. Holy fuck is what I thought. And I knew it was true too – I had seen it with my own eyes. I was sitting there staring at the paper he had written on with my mouth wide open. I couldn’t move. I could not fathom anything that was happening around me. Skip raised his giant hand and tapped my forehead with his thick finger. I looked up. He mouthed the words, “Watch this.” I could clearly see what he was saying. I put the notepad in my lap and leaned over the mutilated railing to watch Skip press his huge forefinger against the metal plate between us – he had it near the bottom of the divider. Skip glanced back to make sure I was watching – and he smiled that innocent, but all knowing smile. Suddenly, I heard screeching and knew it wasn’t coming from the wheels of the subway. Skip’s finger was pressing hard against the two-inch thick piece of steel between us. At first I didn’t know if the screeching was coming from the metal being pressed by inhuman strength or from the explosion that was happening in his bicep. The green sweater sleeve, which had been bunched up above the insanely thick forearm, was now being inflated like a balloon connected to a two-ton air compressor. I swear his skin was expanding so fast that it must be causing the screaming noise that filled the subway car. I didn’t know where I should look. I wanted to watch his growing bicep as it caused the sweater to become so stretched that it looked as thin and ragged as shredded paper. His monster arm was causing the sweater to tear and unravel at the same time. I could see the t-shirt sleeve underneath ripping in a multitude of places. It happened too fast to get a good lasting image.
But my gaze wanted to stay on the finger – which was now buried deep in the metal. I sat back and looked on my side of the divider between us. His finger was pushing through the metal like I sometimes pushed through saran wrap. The metal had become so thin and translucent that I could see the lines in his thick finger through it. Suddenly there was a pop and his finger burst though the metal like it had been paper. I looked back at his bicep. There was nothing left of the sweater or t-shirt sleeve. Strips of thread and cloth hung toward the floor underneath what looked like a skin covered marbleized bowling ball. Skip’s bicep almost equaled the size of his massive forearm. It was like someone had set off a bomb in his upper arm and it created a perfect peak of insane muscle. Noise from where his finger had burst through the metal drew my gaze back down. Skip was pulling his finger upward through the metal plate like someone would slide a pair of scissors through wrapping paper. It was unbelievable. Metal easily bent back because of the movement - like it was nothing for him to accomplish this incredible feat. The only thing that made me realize it was taking some real effort for his finger to rip an upward trail in the metal divider was what was happening to the already huge bicep. It was growing to a truly freakish size. His arm made the rest of his body look tiny. It was as if he was growing a larger twin out of his shoulder. A roadwork of thick blood-pumping veins snaked across the split peak of his bicep. My gaze easily found the large vein that began at his wrist, ran up his thick forearm, and bulged across his huge mountain of an upper arm. I could tell the size of his arm made his body off-center – he leaned to the right because of the weight of all that muscle.
By this time his finger had sliced a gaping line in the metal and he had reached the thick piped railing at the top. The same railing that his grip had demolished just a few inches to the left. With just a slight flick of his finger Skip easily busted through the thick railing. He made it look like he was breaking through a wet piece of spaghetti. The two broken ends of the metal railing pointed upwards from the force of his one finger. My mouth went dry as I realized that his one finger – supported by his muscle-packed bicep and forearm – had more power than my entire body. Hell, it had more power than my body combined with the bodies of ten other guys. The sight of his massive bicep and the thought of all the power he now embodied were staggering. I looked up at Skip’s face. He was beaming from ear to ear. He brought his finger – that seemed almost as thick as my small wrist – to my open mouth. He slid it across my tongue. I jumped a little because it seemed very hot. Ripping through the metal and breaking the piped-railing had obviously caused a lot of heat inducing friction. Once I realized it wouldn’t burn me, I closed my mouth around his huge finger. It felt like a big man’s cock in my mouth and I could taste a hint metal. Skip started pushing his finger slightly down my throat and I gagged a little. It was just too big. Skip quickly pulled it back and then just pulsed it slowly back and forth between my lips – not letting it go too far in my mouth. After a few minutes of sucking on his finger he pulled it from my mouth and then moved it to his own – as if he wanted to get a taste of me mixed with his growing body and the destruction his muscles had just accomplished. When he bent his arm to place his finger in his mouth the monstrous bicep inflated to a size that seemed inhuman. I knew Skip wasn’t flexing his arm – but it still bulged with muscles on top of other muscles.
My eyes were immediately drawn to the numerous striations that caused his arm to look like a mountain range of multiple peaks. Skip must have seen what I was staring at – because he tensed his bicep to show me a mind-blowing display of muscle control and definition. The ridges of his multi-layered upper arm bulged independently and in a freakish controlled order from bottom to top. It was like watching a movie in slow motion. The base of the bicep became rigid and forced the huge melon-shaped mound to balloon upward and outward. I kid you not – his bicep didn’t just peak up, but it also became wider and much more thicker – like four arms beside each other. This taut mass of muscle supported two more layered peaks that erupted from the top and split into two different flexed mounds that would have been acceptable biceps on any regular man. Skip was able to make these individual peaks bounce up and down just by tightening his wrist. My mouth longed to cover one of those bulges as he made them peak and then released them. I wanted to feel the power of his arm as muscle was forced into the back my throat.
I was snapped back to reality when I felt the train stopping. I glanced outside the window and noticed it was my station. I caught Skip’s gaze. “This is my stop.” He nodded and started gathering his gear. My heart started pounding harder than before. He was planning to leave with me. It really hadn’t sunk in until that moment. This was just the beginning of unlimited muscle pleasure. I stood up and watched him stand. The weight of his mountain-sized arm made it hard for him to balance himself. It was so bizarre to see this gigantic bicep bulging out of such a regular-sized shoulder and body. I was reminded of cartoons and pictures of morphed muscle guys on the computer when I looked at his arm. It might have looked like he had some kind of weird disease or that he had a very bad reaction to a bunch of bee stings, but the arm was so perfectly developed that it made him look like a work of art in progress. That was it – his arm looked like someone was chiseling an Adonis out of a huge piece of marble – only the big piece of stone was missing. We both stepped out of the car into the station. Skip didn’t attempt to hide his arm. I could tell he loved what was happening to him – even though it looked so freaky. He let the humongous piece of beef hang at his side and his hand came down below his knee. I knew so much weight had to put a strain on his shoulder, but Skip didn’t seem to mind. As we walked through the station Skip brought his forearm up a few times – like he was lifting a dumbbell. He liked watching the bicep explode with colossal muscles in every direction. Every time he flexed the arm was pushed away from his body in order to accommodate the thickening muscle. I don’t know if anyone else was staring at his arm or not – mainly because I never took my own eyes away from it. Skip glanced at me every now and then to make sure I was appreciating the same thing he was. Each time his smile seemed to get bigger – as if matching the size of his new arm.
When we came to the turnstiles to exit to the street Skip stopped and turned to me. He had an impish grin on his face. I knew he was in the mood to play. He grabbed the pen and paper and wrote a short note. “Let’s play.” He then glanced to the booth where the attendant sat. The young guy conveniently had earphones on and was watching a small television. He was about twenty feet away. Skip handed me his backpack and then walked up to the turnstile. He reached up under the top of the machine with his huge hand – grabbing the middle of the piece that rotated around controlling the flow of people. I moved to the side to get a better look at what he was doing. His hand covered the entire center of the mechanism. I watched as his fingers dug into metal and he easily ripped the turnstile part from the base. I was shocked at how little noise it made and then figured it was because the apparatus didn’t put up much of a fight against Skip’s powerful hand. We both glanced back at the booth and saw that the attendant was still mesmerized by the show he was watching – none the wiser about what was happening. Skip looked at the contraption in his hand and squeezed a little. All the pieces compressed a little and the metal bars sticking out from his hand started to buckle. He looked at me and his body shook slightly from another silent chuckle. The laugh seemed to acknowledge that the metal had no chance up against his muscles. Skip brought his hand up and walked through the destroyed base. He carried the top of the machine as if it were a toy. I followed him and wondered what the attendant would think when he noticed the destroyed turnstile. I’m sure the last thing that would cross his mind was that it had been ripped apart by a human hand – well, an inhuman hand.
We were now outside of the station. The cool air helped calm me down from the intense excitement of watching Skip easily rip metal apart. I marveled at the fact that I had not immediately shot a load of cum in my pants. I realized that my anticipation of all that was to come was enabling me to hold off from spewing like I had never done before. I wanted to wait until Skip was ready for me to cum. Somehow I knew he would let me know when it was all right to release – he wanted to control that part of the evening, as well.
Skip led me to the side of the station. It was a darker area and I realized he didn’t want to draw too much attention to himself – even though his arm already prevented that. He turned to me and lifted the turnstile piece in his hand between us. Again he started squeezing. The sound of metal being demolished bounced off the station wall beside us. Skip and I both stared at his hand. He continued to squeeze for a few seconds and then released to adjust his fingers again. He slowly folded the metal bars and center of the machine in on itself by repeating this motion. It took about a minute for the spike-like device to be turned into a crushed ball of steel. It looked like Skip was exerting no effort at all and the only thing that registered the true pressure being given was the intense pump it gave his forearm and bicep. If I thought his arm had been covered with veins before I was quickly corrected. Now it looked like there were veins on top of bigger veins. The definition of every muscle was unbelievable. His arm looked larger than before and I noticed that this little demonstration had made his shoulder grow somewhat. The fabric of his sweater and t-shirt was ripping along the seam on top. I could see a little of the shoulder and, even though it did not match the size of his arm, I could tell it was beginning an insane transformation, as well. I longed for Skip to do something that would make his shoulders explode with muscle power. I forced myself to not be greedy. I returned to the present moment and realized that we had all the time in the world. There was no rush. I should savor every minute of this muscle-dream-come-true as it happened.
I think Skip sensed my momentary lust for quicker transformations. He was staring at me with a look that assured me he understood my innermost desires. He simply nodded his head slowly and smiled. I knew in an instant he loved all of this as much as I did – maybe even more. I sensed he wanted to tell me something so I moved to grab the pen and paper from his backpack. He brought his smaller hand up to my hands to tell me he didn’t need them. I glanced up and followed his gaze. His enormous arm was out to the side. He placed the ball of metal between the concrete wall of the station and his massive hand. He then simply pushed. The seams of both shirts ripped more at his shoulder. I watched as his palm quickly met the surface. He then pulled his hand back and I saw that he had pressed what used to be the turnstile piece into the wall. The concrete had simply given in to the pressure of his arm. I didn’t have much time to relish that little act of power because Skip took his index finger and placed it on the wall. He then began to write. My mouth dropped open. Skip’s finger was digging into concrete like it was some kind of jackhammer. I smiled when Skip finished his sentence. “We’ve got lots more muscles.” Skip took his dust-covered finger and wiped it off on his jeans. I reached up and placed my small finger in the grooves to follow the word “muscles”. My finger disappeared beyond the first bending joint – that’s how deep a crevice his powerful finger had made. It was also warm to the touch – as if the concrete was still screaming from the invasion. Skip tapped my shoulder again and made a motion of let’s go with is chin. As we walked away I glanced back at the wall – savoring one more look at the turnstile ball shoved into the concrete and the finger-chiseled note he had left.
Skip’s arm had stopped looking bizarre to me now. I didn’t focus on the rest of his smaller body – I only watched the taut skin and immense muscles ripple as he walked. Even though this was my neighborhood, Skip led the way. I soon realized that he was not ready to go to my place – he was looking for ways to muscle morph the rest of his body. I simply followed that arm – ready to see in action again. Suddenly Skip stopped and held out his huge hand to stop me, as well. When I met his hand it felt like I stepped into a wall. I noticed the momentum of my body didn’t budge his hand at all. I looked up at Skip who glanced at me and then turned to look down a side street. I followed his gaze and saw a couple of guys getting out of a SUV. Skip was smiling that familiar devilish grin. It took me a second to realize what was causing him such joy, but then I saw that the two young healthy looking guys had parked in a parking space reserved for the disabled. There was no placard hanging from the mirror or sticker on their license plate giving them the right to park there. I knew the two men must have been going to one of the bars a couple blocks around the corner. Parking in this area was almost non-existent and many people chose to park illegally when coming to some of the local hangouts. Skip looked back at me and I could tell he wanted to use that SUV to bulk up some more muscles. That was fine by me. I thought it was a great idea to teach some guys a lesson at the same time we satisfied our hunger for massive muscles. The only problem was I doubted my cock would be able to refrain from shooting if Skip chose to do the same thing to the vehicle that he had done to the turnstile. Who in his right mind could prevent himself from losing a load watching that?