The Coach's Formula, Part Nine: Brandon Gets Ripped
Later that night, the same Saturday, around 7:00pm
It would be convenient to say that Brandon Small had had a wicked childhood. That he’d been unloved or abused by his parents. Perhaps he’d been ignored or left too much to his own devices. Maybe he came from a broken home? Maybe he was a poor little rich kid? Or came from the wrong side of the tracks? Yes, all of those things would be tempting for me to give you as an explanation for his behavior. Something to whitewash his reputation, painted in broad strokes. Something to make you sympathize with him.
But none of that would be accurate.
The truth was Brandon had grown up in a loving, church going, red blooded American home. It was simply his nature to be mean. A weakness of character if you will.
When he drove away from the McCready’s hideout that day, he’d caught a glimpse of Ryan looking back at him in the rearview mirror, but he’d just revved the engine and left Ryan in the trail of his dust. He was tired of the Martin’s and their glory.
Brandon was excited by muscle. When he’d been in elementary school and junior high he’d seen what bullies could do. They had power. His older brother had been a bully and jock. He’d also gotten laid all the time. So when they offered a weight training program in seventh grade, Brandon had jumped at the chance. He’d even made some respectable gains as his young physique filled out fueled by his hard work and puberty. When he’d made the varsity football squad as a freshman, he’d been ecstatic. The Coach had become his idol. The man he measured himself against.
But youthful idealism can give way when you find your dreams have become more difficult to obtain.
It had all seemed wonderful when the Coach had started them off on his regimen three years ago. Brandon had leapt ahead of his teammates. Part of it had been a combination of his good genetics and the rest of it was McCready’s cans. Brandon had always pushed himself further and harder than anyone. A year ago he realized that he wasn’t advancing fast enough to suit his own ambition. He wanted the Coach’s size and power. The Coach refused his request for additional supplements and training. So Brandon turned to the only muscle pit in three counties: a gym one town over. It had no name, but it had a lot of iron in it. And it was no place for the weak or timid. The monsters that moved steel in that place would beat the shit out of you just for having the temerity to walk in the door.
Brandon had suffered his share of shit from the patrons, and even a good beating too, but when he came back again and again the muscle monsters grudgingly accepted his presence and with the slowness of a New England winter turning into spring, they started giving him tips and, finally, roids. That had been three months ago and Brandon was finally feeling their true effects. Coupled with the cans he’d gained 20 pounds fast. But his muscle had become bloated as he sacrificed mass for definition. For that he wasn’t happy.
Now Ryan had offered him just the ticket. Those cans had allowed him to build natural, healthy looking muscle.
He admired himself in the mirror. Soon he’d be even bigger, that he knew. He wondered why he’d never thought of this before now.
He still had 5 boxes full of 120 cans. But by now he’d drank 120 or half his original amount. He knew he should be about where David Martin was by now. But he also knew that drinking the cans alone would be insufficient. His muscles were crying out for him to move iron. He needed it like a fix.
He also suspected rightly that the cans would give him an incredible burst of strength. Their energy coursed through his veins, charging his cells. He flexed his arm and watched it rise, a rock solid 20 inches at last measure. He moved to a front lat spread and watched as his back and chest spread out. The muscle might be covered in a layer of fat, but it was big and solid. His legs were thick and hard, calves diamond shaped and defined. Finally, he did a side chest.
Oh, fuck ya, he thought to himself. He was gonna be the next big thing around. Forget David fucking Martin.
The gym was nearly empty that night and it was late evening. The only other guy who was there was a man Brandon didn’t know well, but had admired from afar and built a grudging respect for. The guy appeared to be in his early 30s or late 20s and he was in the gym every night. Brandon suspected that he came here after finishing up his blue collar job for the day. Probably down at the steel mill with Brandon’s dad. He was corded and strong, but by no means the biggest of the gym’s clientele. In fact, he wasn’t even as big as Brandon, but his hard gainer attitude had won a place amongst the men. He wanted what they all wanted: to become a bigger, badder mother fucker. Brandon was in fact more than a little drawn to him for some reason.
Brandon had racked some serious weight onto the bench and he was preparing to test his strength limit.
Just as he lay back a face appeared above him.
“Don’t you think you should have a spot dude?” asked the blue collar guy, “That’s a lot of weight.”
“Thanks, dude,” replied Brandon, all cocky grin, “But this is just to warm up.”
The guy appeared taken aback, knowing full well that Brandon must be joking. There was 450 pounds on the bar. 90 pounds more than Brandon’s personal best.
But Brandon wasn’t waiting and he lifted the weight experimentally at first, then with increasing confidence when he realized that it felt as light as 20 pounds. He easily did a set of 30.
When he racked the weight and got up to flex his chest, he noticed the blue collar guy was still standing there a looking a little dazed and confused.
“What’s your name anyways,” he asked the guy.
“M-M-Mark,” the guy stammered back, then with more force, “I can’t believe you just did that.”
“Yeah,” said Brandon, “That’s just the beginning really. I’m Brandon by the way,” he continued, offering Mark his hand.
Mark just nodded and shook the proffered hand with a rather stupid expression on his handsome face.
“Why don’t you help me put some real weight on there and I will show you what I’m really capable of. This is just too light, man.”
Mark obeyed as Brandon did another side chest pose in the mirror. He could see that the layer of fat over his pecs was disappearing and there was more definition to the muscle. His biceps also appeared to have grown. Brandon spent a lot of time looking at himself in the mirror and knew every change in the contours of his body.
Mark had found some 100 pound plates for Brandon and they loaded them on the bar. Brandon grabbed some more just in case, but he knew he wouldn’t have any trouble. There was 800 pounds on the bar, which Brandon knew would break the world record for “raw” bench presses. Brandon suspected that Mark knew that too.
When the plates were secure on the bar, Brandon got beneath.
“If you can’t lift that,” Mark said, “I won’t be able to help.”
“No worries dude,” replied Brandon, looking supremely confident.
Brandon felt the increased strength course through his muscles. The earlier pump causing the copious amounts of formula to course through his veins. Even though it was a huge weight he barely felt it at first. He pumping out reps as he pressed the weight over his chest. The muscle fibers tore and reconstructed themselves at an alarming rate. The curve of his chest grew more and more mountainous, while at the same time the fibers grew denser.
Brandon’s enormous cannonball biceps bunched up into huge masses as he benched, surprising even him. With every rep they became even larger. His chest swelled beyond belief. He slammed out 5, 10, 15 reps with this weight without feeling a thing, but by the time he reached 20, strong as he was – his muscles were on fire. With a shout, he finished his set and dropped the bar onto the rack with a large crash.
“Mother of God!” said Mark in awe.
Brandon got up and flexed his chest into a most muscular. His thickness and size blew him away and he knew that his chest was now easily the size of McCready’s. Satisfied with the performance of his new body, Brandon brought both his arms up and flexed them into an awesome double biceps pose forcing Mark to look from one to the other in complete wonder. Mark licked his lips unconsciously.
Brandon watched Mark lick his lips as he watched his titanic guns flexing. The idea that this guy was getting turned on by him made his dick become iron in his workout shorts. He was aware that it might indeed rip through the fabric. Brandon wasn’t a fag by any means, but he needed to cum and he’d developed a powerful attraction to Mark.
“What do you think?” growled Brandon, “Do you like these big fuckers?”
“Oh, yeah,” breathed Mark slowly.
Mark was now clearly open mouthed with desire, and there was an obvious bulge in his own tight shorts. Brandon’s pecs were so huge and pumped they seemed to stick straight out from his torso; the space between them was a valley cavernous enough to hide a man’s hand in up to the wrist.
Unable to wait anymore, Brandon pushed down his shorts and pulled out his mighty manhood. The huge muscles in his arms flexed as he worked on his dick, pulling it and stroking it until it wasn’t merely hard, it was like a steel rod, a jackhammer: ready to pulverize concrete or iron. He stood before Mark, almost naked, except for the tightly stretched shorts around his thighs.
“You love my body don’t you?”
Mark could only nod in his agreement.
“Get down and worship me then,” he commanded.
Brandon could smell the scent of hot sweat coming from his body, mingling with the scent of sex. He knew he was a real man, he knew he was more man than David Martin and more than the Coach even. He looked down and saw that his cock had swelled beyond its original 5 inches. It looked thicker too as blood coursed through it.
With his hand he held the mighty steel rod and stuck it straight out. Mark licked his lips as they both watched the steady stream of clear pre-cum juice leak out of the throbbing cock head and drip off the end like a leaky faucet, while some ran down the underside.
Brandon let me go for a moment as he ripped off his shorts, finally standing totally exposed in a magnificent and glorious display of his full naked glory. With one hand behind his head, his arm and shoulder muscles flexing in sharp relief as he posed for Mark’s benefit. His other hand was down at his huge cock slowly, playfully, stroking it. Mark watched the hand run down all the way down to the thick base by the big balls. After squeezing them carefully in his mighty fist, Brandon then ever so slowly pulled his fist upwards along the thick, hot shaft of manhood.
Mark thought it would take him forever to get to the top. Brandon’s cock was, Mark though, like the rest of this man, perfect in shape and detail. Brandon’s hips began to pump the air somewhat as he continued jerking himself off. Every part of his essence enjoyed watching Mark drool over his body. His pre-cum was by now rubbed all over his cock, making it wet and shiny in the phosphorescent gym light.
“I’m gonna give you what you’ve been waiting for. Get down on your knees, and open wide!”
Mark obeyed the command. He crawled on his knees, mouth open wide and ready to be impaled. As he reached out with his pair of hands to guide the cock into his eager mouth, something deep in Brandon stirred. He felt Mark’s tongue begin to work his cock.
“Lick me. Yeah that’s it man, run your fucking tongue over my cock. Better get ready for just how big this thing is. It had swelled even further to seven inches.
Brandon grunted in pleasure as Mark’s tongue did its job, savoring the taste of the sweet salty juice. He was lapping the fat mushroom cap of his dick, bathing his cock with tongue as it poked and prodded Mark’s mouth. The cock stuffed into Mark’s mouth, was slowly being pushed in and out. Brandon was totally in control as he held Mark’s head, the smaller man knowing the strength of Brandon’s hands was so powerful he couldn’t free himself. He was completely at Brandon’s mercy.
Mark ran his hands up and over the back of Brandon’s legs, as far as he could reach, feeling the large thick muscles, up the iron thighs, to finally rest on his perfectly muscled ass. It was the classic jock’s ass, but magnified. Built of steel, smooth and round and pure muscle. Mark could feel the glutes clench and unclench as this man used his mighty hips to power drive his dick into Mark’s mouth.
But then the beast in Brandon let loose and he began the serious face fucking. He pushed with his hips, forcing more and more of his cock into Mark’s mouth, past his tongue and down his throat. First he pushed in about an inch, and then pulled almost all the way out – so that just his humongous head was in Mark’s mouth. Slowly though he would push it all back in, going deeper and deeper each time. As he got deeper and deeper his speed started to pick up. Mark felt like he was going to pass out. His own dick was leaking like a faucet, soiling his clothes. But he had to ignore it, he had no other choice.
Mark was sucking with his whole being, sparing no effort.
“I’m gonna cum,” roared Brandon, “Keep sucking my dick. SUCK … IT … HARDER … SUCK IT!”
Brandon felt like a virgin, like he’d never cum before in his life. With one final thrust he let loose his load in Mark’s mouth, holding Mark’s face tightly pressed against to his crotch.
Finally, Brandon pulled away with a slurping noise.
“It’s time to finish my workout,” Brandon said.