O’Melissokomos
The Bee Keeper

Bruce's Weekend Mission 4: Bruce’s Colossal Arms (musc)

by msclvr

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I’m absolutely hooked, absolutely hooked. When I even think about, let alone touch his mammoth arms, my blood rushes instantly, and my normal consciousness evaporates. I don’t know the names of all the particular muscles. I do know that his biceps, triceps, and forearms, not to mention his delts, have more mass and definition than I’ve ever seen on the major internet sites, not to mention real live personal muscle-worshipping.

And, I couldn’t decide if I should ask him for what I really wanted right now. Or should I wait? Evidently he’s not embarrassed by anything. It’s me. I know. Besides, why disturb this quiet morning and us so early?

We had been in probably six positions during the night. No hardcore sex. We needed rest from that previous evening and yesterday. Under the warm and soft covers with my Muscle God, my Superman, was another dream come true. No matter what the position, either one or both of us always had a hard cock to position and accommodate. That was fun and led to all sorts of pre-cum drips.

Somewhere in the fog of the night, he started talking to me only in the way a true Muscle God would talk to a true muscle worshipper. “Go ahead, feel my monstrously-muscled body cover yours, completely. Feel yourself stop being tense and anxious about what I’ll do or won’t do. Focus on what it feels like to have my 290 pounds of carved muscle push you into the mattress. Feel my engorged cock on top of yours, pushing and pounding you until you tighten your balls and let loose with a huge one.” Damn, I can’t remember whether he said it, I fantasized it, or we did it.” No matter, we’ll do it again.

He clearly liked the idea that he was protecting me. It took me a while to get over my male ego and let him really do it. Finally, I gave in to these hulking muscles of his and let him pull me around under the covers wherever and whenever he felt like it. My protecting him? He would hear nothing of the kind. Dumb of me to even ask.

Right now, I’m captured in an iron arm vice. Actually, it’s quite exciting. We’re both on our backs, lying very close to each other, with the covers up to our chins. His body certainly puts off the heat. He’s dozing and I’m wide awake, of course. My head and upper neck is resting on at the very top of his right arm meat. It’s so damn big that my head is still tilted forward a bit too much, with my chin getting too close to my chest. Move? Crick in my neck? Change positions? No fuckin’ way. I’m in heaven, truly.

His elbow, more specifically, the crevasse in between his forearm and bicep, has grabbed my neck tight, very tight. His corded, thick, and long forearm and hand have me locked into position. Sensory overload. His slightly hairy forearm, even just barely flexed, as it is, is a huge hard mass of tendons and bulging strips of muscle, just inches from my eager tongue. His so incredibly big and hairy hand is all the way over to my left side. He does not stop continuing to pull me into him. No letting up in over an hour, is my guess. It’s like he’s using me to keep a continuous pump going on his right mountains of veiny flesh meat. Hell, I like being used like that. I wonder what he’s doing with his left monster.

My head is hardly on the traditional pillow. I keep trying to describe it to myself and come up with a blank. It has big strips of hard muscles, all pushing against each other. It is softness on top of hardness. It is definitely warm. And his skin feels so reassuring against my neck. His total arm mass is so damn bulky and high that I have to keep my head right on top, centered, on his big gun. To move down, even a little, would instantly have my head sliding down the arm’s height into the mattress. Don’t want that.

The bottom line is this. What I want to do is to fuckin’ jam my hard cock into that crevasse between his throbbing and engorged forearm, and double bicep, and drive into him hard, real hard. He’d have his arm muscles at a ninety-degree angle and be pumping-up the shit out of them, crushing my cock while I’m in my delirium. And, as best I can, I’d wanna pile drive right into and through his steel casings. With each pump he’d lock onto and crush my hard cock deeper into the crevasse. I get to power thrust in and out until I explode my pent-up spunk on the other side of his arm. No gentle stuff. This would be rough.

I tell myself that doing that is no different than having fucked his deep pec crack yesterday until I blew all over his neck and chest. It is no different than him driving his ballooning and very hard thigh muscles between my legs and me humpin’ him until my cock hurts and I spew everything all over his leg. It is no different than my sitting on his shoulders, his upward thrusting traps really, while he flexes and bounces me around in front of the mirror. That’s when my hard cock is fucking his hairy vast and hard neck muscles. I get off and drip down his spreading and bulging back.

Somehow, though, him letting me fuck his pumping arm is more personal. After all, his massive guns are his pride and joy. They are what everybody looks at first no matter whether he’s on stage or walking down the street. They’re like his signature. But there’s no option here. I have just got to get my hard cock jacked off while jamming that tightly encased muscle pocket of his. After all, I’ve been looking at arms of bodybuilders for years thinking about what it would be like. I know it’s a hell of lot different with them than driving into my fuck-buddy’s nice but relatively insignificant arm.

He starts to stir, tightens his already tight grip on me. I lift my right arm and place it gently on top of his very masculine forearm. God, the comparison is incredible. His arm is at least two times bigger than mine, maybe three. My hand barely covers his hairy knuckles. His fingers are spread out all over my left side. It feels so good to rest on top of all this power, the power that bent the rebar last night. The same power that he used to manhandle his own cock and take himself into ecstasy yesterday, with me cupping both of my hands on his jack-hammer tunnel. The same total he-man power that lifted me into his powerful arms and cradled me so close, so tight.

I remember standing in warm shower with him yesterday. He had engulfed me into his jutting pecs. His big arms had circled my back, his hands locked together. Our cocks were mashed into each other’s body. We were just resting, relishing in the warm water and each other’s presence. He starts whispering in my ear something that I’d only admit to him. “I know you want me to love you, despite your embarrassment and protests. You want to love me but are afraid of losing yourself in my muscled body. Afraid of losing your own hard-fought manhood. Rob, you straddle two worlds, like so many guys I know. Therefore, you are never fulfilled. Do yourself a favor, and let me be who you want me to be. It’ll be just fine, I promise you.” It wasn’t a therapist talking. I was a man who knew men very, very well. I almost had tears in my eyes, but didn’t really want to because most muscle worshippers I read about would think that’s too wussy, too sentimental. Hell, I know what he and I do together is a form of love. Fuck, what everybody else thinks. I’m his this weekend. And he’s mine. It’s perfect.

Biceps, His Body, and More Bending

As he starts to turn his head towards mine, I turn mine to his. We both have a look of contentment on our faces. The white of the pillow frames his to-die-for face and black curls. It’s like a picture. He breaks into a grin and asks me, “Whadya wanna do next my little muscle worshipping machine? Hell, I think really the one who’s an unstoppable monster!”

I think about what I’m going to ask. But, he adds, “Well, we ought to have some breakfast first. I’m starved. Are you?”

“Yep, let’s get dressed and go and come back quick, “ I finally say. “Works for me little buddy.” A part of me gets a little annoyed with the little buddy stuff again. Yet there is another part of me that knows he’s being very affectionate and very protective. That feels so damn good. I really don’t want our weekend to end tomorrow.

Out on the street, I’m quite proud to walk beside him. People openly gawk at his height, his mountains of muscles barely contained by his clothes, and his most handsome face. He loves the attention. He’s very up-front about that. I wonder what they think when they look at the two of us together. I know what I’d think, and I like it.

At the table, the big fucker is such a tease. Of course he’s in a short sleeved shirt that looks like it’s painted on him. Of course, he has to keep flexing his arm muscles and asking me what I think. As if he has to ask me that! “You are a muscleman’s muscleman. You bring huge srongmen to their knees with your power and unquenchable lust. Thick steel bars do not stop you. You’re destined to be Mr. Olympia and be crowned even more than Ronnie.”

He loves to hear me tell him what I see, feel, and think about his whole fuckin’ body, everything. Now we’re talking about his mind-blowing arms. My hard-on begins to really hurt and I can’t do anything about it, right now, anyways. More muscle trash talk. “Your arms are like power cranes, that lift huge tanks. They’re so damn hard that they’d drive a nail into wood in one fist pound, I’m sure. Guys in the gym stop dead in their tracks when you come in and start to drip in minutes just watching you warm up. Even straight musclemen think lustily about what it would be like to have you in bed.”

He moves his hand over near my knife, telling me to study his forearm cords and tendons. “Fuckin’ awesome, aren’t they?” he observes quietly. Then, ever so slowly and smoothly, he picks up my knife in that huge paw of his and pulls it over to in front of him. Then, shit, he takes his own knife and puts the two of them together in one hand. We’re both staring at his fist. And if that isn’t enough, he casually reaches over to the other place setting at our table grabs that knife, too. Oh god, something’s gonna happen here. “Watch this,” he instructs, under his breath. And, very nonchalantly, right there on top of the table, he puts his two big fists together in front of him. I can see about an inch of metal from these three knives between his hairy fists.

Then, very slowly, he begins to turn his fists up, bringing them closer in to each other, and the knives bend together like they were made of rubber. No special breath. He coulda’ been lifting his fork filled with scrambled eggs. It looked effortless. It was absolutely effortless. At the same time, his forearms burst into even more muscle and cords. The forearm muscles at his elbows turn into an etched footballs. His wrists morph into a thick set of steel cables surrounded by very tight skin. I want to touch, desperately, but don’t. People might see.

“Here,” as he slides the u-shaped knives to right over in front of me, “a souvenir, just for you.” Fuck, my heart is beating so damn fast again. I’m so turned on by this display of arm power. I put these u-shaped things in my jacket pocket for safekeeping. My mind flashes on wrapping my cock in them, thinking about his gargantuan arms, and using the bent metal to jack off, in the not too distant future. My cock jumps at that, too.

And he just has his sly grin on again, surrounded by a day old dark beard that might as well be a male peacock with his colorful tail fan spread to attract the female. Folding his hands in front of him, he acts like nothing has happened. Jeezus, arm muscles, there’s nothing on the male body that can match their power over me. Well, almost.

While we eat, he starts telling me stories of private sessions with other very big bodybuilders, with nationally known names, and how they will do anything he wants in order to fuck, be fucked, and worship him. And, very matter of factly, he says he likes to return the worship to these big beasts, as well. He says that two muscle monsters getting it on is unforgettable. No shit. I believe him and continue to be amazed at what goes on in the bodybuilding world. He says the Mr. Olympia contest before, during, and after is damn near a 24 hour man-on-man orgy in those resorts. “And some of it is pretty kinky,” he says. “I guess I’m getting into kink more and more, especially if it pays good.”

This is the opening I needed. Since our table is off to the side, we don’t have to whisper. So, I tell him just what I’ve been thinking and what I want from his best arm. I don’t know if that should be his right or left. I instantly conclude it makes no difference at all, and probably none of my business. After all, Bruce is Superman, not me.

“Why not?” he observes with enthusiasm. “You’re not the only one, Rob. I have had some really big cocks on some really immense guys get jammed into this arm and never want to come out. Hell, even after they shoot and go soft, they just want to lie in there, dangle, and feel some more of my pumping steel. That’s okay by me. I’ve put a hell of a lot of time, energy and sweat into building these babies, might as well use ‘em, I say.” I am so relieved and he sees that. I remember what he said to me in the shower.

“Bruce,” I start quietly, “Yes, you’ve got an extraordinary contest winning body and enormous fuckin’ muscle power. And, yet, you are such a good guy, to boot.” I feel so clumsy. I know I want to say more, but I lose the words as I look into his very blue eyes. “Well, you’re very welcome. You’re pretty damn good yourself,” he says with his trademark sexy grin. “Your muscle-sex creativity and endless muscle lust is great! You can shoot a lot, too. I really like that.” What a compliment, especially from him. I revel in it as we eat quickly and quietly. I still can’t stop staring every few moments at this appendage right next to me. The muscles in his biceps and forearms undulate with each move of his hand or fingers. The veins spreading over both are so fucking close to the surface, especially the thick one running along near the top of his arm. I want to poke at it and try to push it around on top the granite.

We’re out of the restaurant and back to our room with a mutual hustle. We’re both wound-up at what we’re gonna do here next.

Bicep Butt Fuck & Ride – Part One

“Okay, let’s get this set up right, first,” he orders. I’m barely paying attention. His butt, his basket, his arms, his gorgeous face – that’s what I’m focusing on. Fuck, each body part looks chiseled by the gods. Huge, cut (even through his clothes), and perfectly proportioned, at least to my lusting eye. “Hey, Rob, get a drawer from the bureau, the mid-size one, I think.” I do what I’m told. Meanwhile, he’s moving a solid oak four-legged table into the center of open area. Jeezus, what beautiful, bulging muscles he has, all over his trunk-like arms. I’m gonna have to lick them down some more. I know that for sure. They look at little dry right now. But they won’t be for long.

“Turn the drawer over and put it next to this end of the table,” he instructs once more. He sees the questions on face and says, “Trust me. I’m experienced at this. Both as the fucker and fuckee. I’ll tell you about my buddy Max, the super-heavyweight powerlifter, a little later. We’ve had some mind-blowing muscle action together this way. Now, get on this drawer bottom. Bounce on it. Good, it’ll hold you.”

“Okay, Rob, here’s the start of the real fun part. Go ahead and you take all my clothes off, except the t-shirt. I’m not gonna help you. It’s my big muscles against your little hands. Take all of your clothes off, first. Get naked for me. You’ve got one hot little body that turns me on big time.” I strip myself in seconds. My cock is already hard so it pops out when I take off my own low-slung tighty-whities. “Oh, Bruce, my hero, a Superman among mortals, taking the clothes of your muscles turns me on so fuckin’ hard. I just want you to rape me, and pose, and surround me with all your might.” The words just keep tumbling out.

That must have did it. Fuck, there he goes again. That hands-on-hips Superman pose. God, I’m going to die from excitement. Pulling his jeans down really turns out to be one tough job. Though, somebody has to do it! I get the waist button unbuttoned okay. I love pulling the zipper down carefully over his protruding blue jean bulge. Slowly, I push, grope, squeeze, and generally manhandle his equipment, hard. He’s such a pushover, too. His groans tell me all I need to know. I am in muscle god heaven. This is way better than all the stories I read in the groups. Beyond anything I have imagined doing with those gorgeous, bubble-butt morphs.

How the hell did he get into these this morning? I get down on my knees and yank the waist down all around him. But, it’s like working a can opener that doesn’t work. I have to keep going over and over it to make even a little progress. Oh fuck me, his white underwear makes him look even more like a god. His basket’s collection of wonderful white bulges suggest two cocks and four balls, or so it looks. I lift each of his 75 pound legs, barely. Pants and socks are off.

Then, I really go after the whites. He’s getting into this muscle strip show and is carefully watching the profound effect he is having on me. I love it, too. My hand just moves right onto his big basket and I start pushing and massaging. What I feel defies description. Hard. Soft. Round. Thick. Long. Hot. Contoured. Mysterious. “Keep going, guy, we don’t have all day, as much as you might like that,” he says laughingly. It’s a “I understand laugh,” not a laugh of mockery or haughtiness.

Now he’s just got his t-shirt on. His beautiful thick and long cock is just starting to get hard, I notice. I love cut cocks. His circular helmet ridge is high and thick. I’ve seen it stand out obscenely in his posers and tight-whities. Yes, cocks do have muscles. His is a testament to that. Back to the t-shirt. Fuck, I can’t call it a t-shirt. It’s a paint job of army green. He looks like a monster warrior-soldier who could beat the shit of a tank with one hand. It stretches down just below his belly button, an innie, and really brings out his two columns of thick etched abs.

The incredibly stretched short sleeves are bunched way up into the deep cleft between his brutal biceps, monster triceps, swelling delts, and all of the rest of those muscles there. No way it could ever stay on top of both his award-winning biceps and triceps. The shirt top has molded itself to his gorilla-like traps that extend out and down from his huge barrel thick neck. Then the delts flare up and out like domed mounds of molten lava. And he’s not even flexed, yet. My cock is dying for release already.

“Now, go make sure your asshole is clean,” he says with intensity. “What?” I ask with a noticeable shock in my voice. Boy, that destroys the moment. Yet, I can’t help but still sneak a peek at his hardening iron. It’s muscle-worshipping reflex. “I just want to make sure you’re clean, that’s all. I’ll get into my power pumping more without getting distracted. Got it?” Fortunately, he says that pleasantly, even though he’s lowered his voice significantly in the delivery. I don’t need convincing. What he wants from me, he gets. I’m back from the bathroom in a flash still wondering why he wants a clean butt. I know he’ll power fuck me to heaven and back shortly, the sooner the better. But he hasn’t worried about this before.

He asks me to go get a towel. Even my creative muscle-sex addicted mind is a little confused. He folds it onto the front edge of the table, pulls up his chair, sits down with his big headed veined cock half mast, puts the elbow (it even has muscles) of his arm meat shanks on the towel. Then he looks at me with his flashing baby blues and says, “Get on,” he tells me and pauses. “Remember what I said last night,” he adds quietly.

Shit. I don’t believe this. There are piles of stories on the internet where guys like me are hoisted up in the air suspended on the bicep of some monster and get one hell of a bicep butt fuck. But they are all fantasy monsters. I thought, but hadn’t really considered, that I could, in real life, get my own bicep butt fuck from a contest-conquering super heavyweight bodybuilder. And, damn here it is. Here he is. There it is. “Get on,” he says again calmly. He knows I’m in shock. I can’t figure out whether to face him or his forearm. He sees that and says, “I’ll warm up with your cock fucking the shit out of my forearm. Or, is it my forearm fucking the shit out of your cock? It’s the latter, I think. Is that okay with you?” I laugh with him, though nervously. What a man. What a Superman!

He pulls his arm back. I jump on the drawer, face the wall, and stand exactly where his just arm was. Then, holy shit, he pushes his entire massive arm under my balls, between my inner thighs, and gets the elbow on the table again. The shirt sleeve is right up against my butt. I can feel the bunched cotton. I’m at just the right height. Oh god, what a feeling having all this muscle in my hot crotch. He is up and into me real tight. “God, Bruce, my Herculean stud, you are beyond my wildest dreams. Your arm feels so strong, so warm, so hard. It’s so thick I have to spread my legs like I’m in horse saddle.”

My feet are still on the drawer, but I’m on my toes. The first thing I do is tighten my legs around his monster. Can’t help that either. It’s normal muscle-worship reflex, at least for me. “Well, you can try to squeeze me all you want that way, or we can do it my way,” he states matter-of-factly. I give him another quick and powerful squeeze and relax. That tells him I got the message and still had the final word! As if I need any final word. Damn, I’m getting feisty here.

“This is the first of two introductory wishes on the way to granting your big wish, my little muscle worshipper. Fuck, I feel like the Flex Wheeler genie in a bottle in Derek’s story. You know, a genie granting muscle-worshipper wishes. Anyway, you’re going to be the weight that helps me get this extreme pump.”

“I’ll do anything you need. Anything. I want you get the best pump you’ve had all year. I want to see your arms explode again. Explode into those freaky massive footballs with big veins and glowing skin. I want to see those huge delts move in and out as their strips of muscle work your fuckin’ unreal arm.”

“Alright, you asked for it, buddy. Now, take both of your hands and grab as much of my fist there as you can. It’s gonna be your joy stick. But this joy stick isn’t going to budge unless I move it. I want you to put all your muscle into trying to move it. And I’m going to get the pump by resisting and holding position like a steel beam. You can try to jam that forearm into your cock, but it won’t work. You're gonna have to work with me and thrust into my granite forearm or push in time with each of my pumps. Believe me, you’ll have no regrets. A first in your lifetime experience, it would appear”

I got instantly harder the moment I placed my two hands on this one huge, thick and hairy fist. Inches from my chest. The knuckles are so big, so high, and so fuckin’ hard. Shit, my butt just got hit up from below. “Awwwh, fuck me man, fuck me with that muscle mound.” It sure as shit doesn’t even feel like any human bicep. It’s like a big lump of hard ore pushing into my asshole. Hummmpph. Shit, he did it again. Holy mother of god, his bicep is pushing my whole body into his forearm. My cock gets squashed at the same time. “Fuck. I’m gonna die in your arms. Yeah, fuck my cock, fuck my ass. Jam it, Bruce, jam it hard.” Hummppph. “Yeah. Again. Yeah.”

“How does that feel?” He sounds like he really wants to know.

“That feels even better than your big cock up me all the way! Oh shit! It’s almost too much. My ass is getting ground up! My cock is getting crushed by your forearm. My hands can’t move this immovable steel forearm. Oh, god, do that again. Hummmppph. Your gargantuan bicep is like a mini-trampoline and I’m getting bounced. Hummppph. Shit. You are so fuckin’ strong, covered in the biggest, baddest, most powerful..humpphh.. muscles among all men. My Superman, my Superman. You are awesome, just fuckin’ awesome. Hummph. Damn.”

“Yeah, this is good, the pump is comin’ along here just great. Arnold was right. A great pump is as good as an orgasm. Sometimes even better.”

I carefully move my hands down the top of his slightly hairy forearm and start pressing the tendons as they stretch and twitch. As I move down further onto his flaring forearm muscle, it feels like I’m pumpin’ one very big, thick, and muscle-corded cock. There’s enough sweat already to make him slippery, too. “Go ahead, pump it, guy.” What an invitation! Hummpph.

“Again, harder,” I demand. “You keep it up, too, buddy. I like feeling my arm is one big cock. That would give me three big cocks! Oh, sorry. Bad humor. But it’s true! You feel it. So do I!”

That’s it. That’s what it is. This special feeling I’ve had about his biceps. It’s the same feeling I’ve hard about his considerable muscle cock. When he touches me, when I touch him, in some really special parts of his body, it’s like he his giving me some his power, his testosterone, his very masculine energy. His arm, in some way, feels like it’s giving me something wonderful, very manly, very Superman-like.

That happened the night before last when we lay together on our backs and he leaned over with his turgid inflamed cock. He pulled our two rigid cocks together in one big fist and pumped us dry. He was infusing my cock with his muscle man energy and power as he squeezed my cock into his. Weird, but real for me. Fuck, no wonder I love him, at least his body, probably more.

Oh-oh. My balls are starting to churn. I don’t want this scene to end now. “Bruce, we gotta stop, man. Either that or I cum on your forearm.”

“Damn. Glad you caught yourself. And, I wouldn’t mind having these guns greased by your cum. This is real load-building work were doin’ here, right? Well, there’s too much of my body for you ahead, on the road to your wish,” he reports with pride, “to blow it all now.” I love that Flex Wheeler genie in the bottle story about muscle-worshipper wishes. He lets his arm drop and little. As he pulls out he flexes to make sure his muscles rub against my wet ass and crotch. Oh, god, it must be like having a giant anaconda slither between my legs. He’s so thoughtful! Fuckin’ lucky I didn’t cum right then and there. As I got down off the drawer, he starts fisting his own unbreakable and unbendable cock. Those arm muscles are jumpin’ and pushin’ out of his skin. I can’t even begin to count all the muscles that are movin’ and flexin’. He’s gonna get some of what he wants a little later, from me.

A Big Flex Interlude

Even though my cock is aching to gush, I want to keep going. When I ask him what’s next, he gets this smirk and gleam in his eye. He’s such a tease. He loves using this muscle-laden machine of his to turn me into jelly. And, he gets so excited because I’m so into this, too. He shakes his arm out (the muscles literally flap back and forth) and throws it up in a flex for me to inspect. “Look what you’ve done so far, buddy.” He takes in a huge breath and forces all his energy into popping his right arm for my total inspection.

I’m in awe. His wet t-shirt hides nothing, not even the zig-zagging veins. It is just stretched so fuckin’ thin. Then, much to my surprise, he starts pulling the thing up and damn near ripping it off himself with incredible muscle power. God, this massively muscled behemoth is now, once again, completely naked. So beautiful. So very good-looking. So covered in pumped lust-filled muscles. I’m not questioning what he’s doing. Gotta say in the moment, as they say, with him.

His lats have expanded to the size of small turkeys. His pits are shaved and filled with tendons coming from his pecs. These tendons are surrounded by muscle. He’s got two huge, deep dents that make up each pit. Fuck, his lats sweep majestically up into delt caps that look as big as his bicep. His shelf-like slate pecs protrude beyond comprehension, and bulge up into his delts. My hands leap to the granite double bicep sticking up from a tricep that looks like it is hanging, but is really flexed to the max. Damn, it really is ridged. Slowly, and with every bit of seduction I can muster, I run my forefinger along to trace the separation. We both are very focused on admiring this beast. I look at my cock standing straight out and compare it to his pig. I don’t care, his is all mine.

That chunk of granite is what was just in my butt. That, and this sexy vein, hell, all these veins. I run my hands over the sweating muscle flesh trying to squeeze to get a sense of his size and how hard he is. No luck. My hands move over to the crevasse next to his forearm. I turn my hand on its side and rub in and out to get a feel for what it’ll be like to jam my cock in there. My knees really are shaking from excitement, and from being overwhelmed visually, and in my touching, and a sensual feeling him up. He raises his arm some more, flexes his forearm with even more force. That was where my cock was a few minutes ago. My hands wrap and glide over this flaring rock up to the tendons at his wrist. Just for the hell of it, I grab his wrist with both of my hands and try to pull him down.

“No way that’s gonna happen, baby.” he says into my ear. “No way.” I let go, totally astounded at his ability to hold the flex and his arm absolutely rock solid, despite my pull and weight. Shit, maybe he really could be one of those dream monsters and hold me up in the air with no support, and bicep fuck my butt at the same time. My cock starts twitching involuntarily. He sees that, of course. Like any true musclegod, he thrives on instant feedback.

Bicep Butt Flex and Ride – Part Two

Bruce turns around picks up this wet, limp, pathetic-looking piece of cloth he calls a t-shirt. Look at his t-shirt or his huge, naked, sweating body? I drill in on his extended helmeted cock. It’s the best. He sorts and pulls out the sticking folds, and holds the sagging t-shirt up in front of his very lickable pec monsters. No questions from me. I just watch his muscles undulate, flex, and expand as, god, he puts the thing up over his head and starts putting it back on! I’m stunned. He struggles, the t-shirt is sticking to his skin and hardly moving anywhere. He struggles some more.

Then I realize, fuck, he’s puttin’ on a show for me! He knows damn well that this taking off and putting on stuff flexes and shows his mammoth muscles in a spectacular way. His eyes catch mine as he pulls it down further on his already wet muscles. “Yeah,” he is saying with his eyes, “Watch this. Watch me turn this wet muscle t-shirt into wet dreams for you for years to come.” He’s right. My mental camcorder is not missing a thing. His testosterone is surrounding me, pulling me in.

“Now, this time, turn around, face me, and get your crack up against my forearm.” God, my mind flips a thousand miles an hour picturing what could happen next. Again, I stand just where we were, only this time I get to look at his incredible face and day old beard, a beard that is now down on his neck, glistening with sweat. And this transformed t-shirt. It looks like it’s going to give way somewhere, any moment. As if reading my mind, he says, “Ya’ know, I could make this thing rip most anywhere if I really want to.” “Fuck, I’d give anything to see that! Mr. Muscleman.” God, what a muscle bound specimen of manhood! There’s no accident I flip over hyper-masculine men. No accident my cock rages when I’m near them. No accident that I’m like a deer in the proverbial head lights.

I watch his forearm, bicep, and shoulder go under my crotch and into my crack. The slithering anaconda arm is back. I am speechless at the beauty of these huge muscles. They all connect to each other with such grace and massiveness. This time, the red tip of my own steel bar starts to lay on top of the huge t-shirted delt. The striations, even through the fabric, are so deep and carved like a statue. I’m not sure where to put my hands. So I put them on his head for starters. I don’t give a shit what this looks like. It is what it feels like that matters to a muscle addict like me.

At that moment he flexes his neck to hold my weight steady. Of course, that’s no problem for him. “You gonna stay balanced?” he asks. “Yeah, I think so,” as I wiggle my butt into the crook of his elbow and dig my hands deeper into his black hair and wet scalp so I’m not sliding as much up here. Hummpph. Hummpph. Shit, he sure as shit is flexing again. I feel him extend his arm out completely and bring it back with incredible pressure against my butt crack and backside. Fuck, he’s powerful. Humpph. He pulls in hard, muscled skin against my backside, then extends again. “Give it to me, give it to me, Bruce. Show me your godlike power. Harder, man. Harder!” This goes on for a few more and I realize I can’t see this arm that is fucking the shit out of my spread ass cheeks. But I have another idea. Hummppph.

On the next extension, I make sure I’m balanced, and move my hands down to his sweat-soaked shirt covering his bulging delt and trap. One hand on his trap and one on his delt. Hummpph. Fuck, are they hard. And, they’re still slippery. So I move my hands in closer to the valley between his lat and delt. At least I get a little more resistance.. Hummpph…that way without sliding. “This is your muscleman, your dream man, pumpin’ my massive arm, and pumpin’ out my testosterone for one hell of a ride, right?” Shit, he’s relentless. Now, I rest my upper abs and lower chest on his head for even more balance. It sounds weird as I think about it. But I also know these strongmen lift guys up over their head, and shove ‘em up and down as barbells. “Feel those swells of rock, man. Feel the power that bends bars, knife sets, and lifts tons of iron each week,” he pants. Well, this is how Bruce and I are doing it. Humpph…

Meanwhile my aching cock, of course, is squished into his incredibly hard, barely covered, delt. It almost hurts. I don’t care. “Superman. Yes, you are my he-man. Jam that arm in, harder. Your trap and delt feel like sex flesh incarnate.” That delt moves with each pump and pushes into my cock like I wouldn’t believe. I’m fuckin’ his big fuckin’ delt! God, this is amazing. Hummppph. I look down and see his horse cock bouncing with each pump and imagine it in my crotch, suspending me in the air, and giving me another ride of my life. What a stud, he is. What a muscle stud!

“You settled up there now?” He hasn’t said much in the last few moments. He is so powerful that even my 170 pounds on top of him doesn’t really faze him. I guess he was concentrating on his flexing and pumping. Then he gives me another big pump. Humpph.

“Shit. Shit. Shit. You are one amazing mother fucker. I don’t know what to say, Bruce. I’m up here and it seems like my whole body is either fucking, being fucked, or grabbing at your muscles, all at the same time.” He doesn’t say a thing. Though he is groaning more. They’re groans of lust, pleasure, and more lust. I know them well. I’m pushed and pushed into his gigantic delt again and again by his ungodly thick forearm. Hummppph. Hummppph. My balls start churning more. Damn, here we go again.

“I hate to say this, but we gotta stop again or I’m gonna blow all over your delt.” Without saying a word, he moves his magnificent arms in front, and I slide down. He catches me in an iron bar clinch. It’s so easy for him. And I know he’s proud of that, too. Once again, I am being cradled like baby. I could be embarrassed that my cock is standing straight up into his face, but I’m not. He’s so excited he pulls his arms in further to go into a most muscular. It’s like he’s forgotten, doesn’t even know, I’m be cradled by them. I get compressed for a moment, but I love it.

“Wow, I really got good pump going on that one,” he exclaims with even more pride. “A new position. First time any guy has rested on my head and felt up my other muscles at the same time.” I add, “I thought about you throwing me up above your head and pumping me up and down in full body press.” He grunts knowingly and lets me back down on the floor. We’re both sweaty has hell. His t-shirt is really like shrink-wrap. His muscles stand out in such a profound way even like this, right through his t-shirt. It makes for one hell of set of contrasts among all his muscles. I tell him how very, very sexy he looks. There is my Superman: an immense hard-on, a throbbing pump, and a see-through muscle t-shirt. Shit. He just grins again. He knows. He really knows. He shows me with few awesome pec bounces.

“Check this muscle god out, bud. That’s it. Feel it all. Fuck, it’s real. Yeah. Yeah. Keep going. Use all this in your jack-off fantasies next week. Hell, write a story about it if you want to. I know, touching these muscles is sex act. I touch ‘em all the time.”

Getting Ready and Some Mystery

He shakes his arm out again, then his whole body. His muscles always swing back and forth when relaxed like this. We both catch our breath and my balls settle down once more. But, I still ache. I know I can’t last much longer. I wonder again how much longer the t-shirt is gonna last.

I finally remind myself to ask him, “I’m wonderin’ why you’re keepin’ the t-shirt on?” I don’t want to insult him. I feel a little afraid that I haven’t told him enough about the enormous turn-on effect it has had on him, clear to me, and me. Additionally, I say, “It’s fabulous. Makes your muscles look even bigger. My cock and hands loved the rough feel over your muscles. And, if you hadn’t had it on, I probably would have slipped all over the place.”

“You’ve answered your own question, good buddy. Almost. Not quite though. I’ve worked this program before. You stayed up there didn’t you?” As I nodded, I saw his pile driving cock flex and bounce some more. My cock throbbed too. I wanted to grab his cock and pump it for all its worth. This, together with the tight t-shirt glued on his huge torso, is stuff for more jack-off dreams for years. But what does this “not quite enough” mean?

“I need it to show you something else to go along with your big wish. I’ve got a hell of a pump going thanks to you. See?” “Yes,” tell him. “I see an arm that Matarazzo or Gunter would die for. Fuck, it looks like Lee Priest’s’ only bigger, if that’s possible. Makes those so-called international strongmen look like flabby football players. Those judges must have been spewing in their pants when you did your double biceps poses. You don’t need to be morphed by anybody. You are a true muscle morph.” He’s beaming, again. I said the truth and he knows it. Yet, I wonder what he means by “something else.” “Something else” other than the biceps and forearm cock crushing I’m also gonna get here? I know he must at least like me. Otherwise, I don’t think he’d play with me like this, or tease me, or keep coming up with all the fantasies come true. Shit, I want him, forever.

Coming back to now, I want to hold it in. But this muscle sex orgy with him is pushing my sexual endurance beyond my known, not too shabby, limits. Fuck, and I really don’t think he has any limits at all! For which, I am most grateful, most exhausted, and very ready to experience the big one.

Part V to follow, eventually

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