Dwarf Muscle 2

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It had been over a week since UPS had dropped anything off at my new house, so I figured that first time had been a fluke, and that I wouldn't be getting that many dropoffs for my neighbor after all. But then one day I was working in the backyard when I thought I heard some noise out front. I went along the side of the house and looked up at the porch. There were three big boxes this time. I didn't see the musclehead dwarf until his hand came up from behind a box, and pressed on my doorbell. I came around the corner and said, "Hey."

He looked over at me and said, "Where the hell you been, I've been ringing for 5 minutes."

"Sorry, man," I said. "You don't have to get all grouchy on me."

His face got all dark on me again, and I realized that 'grouchy' might not be the best name to call him. I walked up to the porch and he stepped toward me. The thick little bull appeared to be even bigger than the last time I saw him. Either that, or his UPS shirt had shrunk. The buttons were tugging hard to hold in his superwide barrel-chest. He waddled over to me and handed me the clipboard. As I was signing it, he flinched at me. I jumped back about a foot, thinking he was going to pound me for the grouchy comment.

"What's the matter," he said, "you nervous about something?"

He was definitely bigger...his voice was even deeper, and he was acting even cockier than the last time, if that was possible. Was he even a little taller?

"You've put on size, haven't you?" I asked him. I couldn't stop myself from asking, and I almost sensed that he wanted me to ask.

"You think?" he said, and began to unbutton his shirt. He peeled it open and tugged it off his superthick biceps and forearms. He had on a white guinea tee underneath that was stretched so thin over his monsterous upper body that it almost looked flesh-colored. His big traps rose up and elongated the tee's straps. I was stunned by the size of his delts, which were gnarly and striated with superdense muscle. They jutted out pumpkins stuck on his shoulders . He saw me staring at them.

"Go ahead and punch them," he said.

"Nah, that's ok," I said, getting all shy.

He turned his left shoulder toward me, reached up with his right hand and tapped on the big delt cap with his thick finger. "Go on and punch it," he said, "and don't even make me ask again."

I had a good solid punch, and he was being so goddam cocky that I decided to plant one on him. I balled up my fist, drew back my arm, and slammed my knuckles hard into his shoulder. It felt like I had just hit a tractor tire. He hadn't even flinched. I tried not to show my pain, but he just snorted in disgust at my pathetic tap. I shook my hand out and made a fist again.

"Let me try that again," I said, "that one hit at weak angle."

"Bring it on," he smirked, turning more toward me, and bring his arm up into a side-chest shot. His freaky muscle bulged out from his fingertips to his neck. Even his heavy dwarf jaw was densely packed with muscle.

This time I hit him as hard as I possibly could. If I had missed him, I would have spun around about three times, I swung so hard. I connected smackdab into the middle of his granite delt. A brick wall would have had more give to it. A shocking blast of pain ran up my arm.

"Fuckkk," I said, grabbing my hand with the other one, trying to rub out the pain.

"Wait here," he ordered, full of cocky superiority. "I have to go reorganize the boxes in my truck." He waddled off the porch and down the sidewalk. His massive glutes were like two rounded boulders. His center of gravity was so low, a tank would have had trouble knocking him over. His freaky dwarf back was almost hunched it was so piled with muscle mass, and his arms stuck out nearly sideways from the size of his lats. He walked to the front of his truck and stood in front of it. He squatted down in front of the grill, and put his hands, palms up, underneath it. What the hell was he doing, I wondered. Then he stood up, lifting the front tires of the truck right off the ground. He adjusted his hands and feet to the weight of the truck, then, he pushed the truck up, fully extending his arms. I heard the boxes in the back of the truck tumbling around. He pressed the front of the truck up and down with his powerful arms until all the boxes stopped crashing around and must have been piled into the back of the truck. He lowered the grill to his chin, squatted the truck back down, and stepped away from it. He swiped his hands together back and forth, clapping off the grime, then headed back to the porch.

I was too stunned to speak as the little powerhouse waddled back up the steps.

"What?" he said in mock surprise, as if he'd just done something perfectly ordinary. He stepped toward me and grabbed me by the wrist with his heavily muscled hand. He squeezed just hard enough to bring me to my knees, which were already wobbly from what I'd just seen. He lifted his guinea with his other hand, exposing his armor-plated rock abs. He pulled me up to it and rubbed my hand up and down on them. I could feel their heat and their power. I was close enough to him to smell his scent of leather and iron. He clenched his abs together, making them rise up like small loaves bread, if bread was made of steel.

He took my fingers and guided them against each thick ab section, pushing my fingers into them so I could feel their hardness.

"Hard as diamond," he growled into my ear. He clenched one side, then the other, and I could feel the powerful gut muscles grinding against each other in perfect harmony. He pushed my hand down to his lower abs, and then to his waistband. My heart was pounding like a jackhammer. He slid my hand into his pants and ran it along his dick. The goddam thing was bigger and thicker than my own, the freaky musclehead dwarf. And it was swelling as he got off on his own superiority.

"I'm bigger, stronger, and faster than you'll ever be," he groaned as I groped in his pants.

"Well, not faster," I said, sort of causually stating the obvious. I mean the guy had thick stumpy dwarf legs. I had run track in high school and college, and was fast as hell. No way a little freakin musclerunt was faster than I was.

"What did you just say?" he asked, jerking out of his own self-reverence, and jerking my hand out of his pants at the same time.

"Come on, man, my legs are twice as long as yours, maybe three times. I'd run circles around your musclebound ass."

"You willing to bet on that?" he asked.

"Hell yeah," I said. "How much?"

"How about this?" he said, rubbing his powerful jaw. "I win, you have to put on a dress and deliver my boxes for me."

"Alright," I said, "what if you lose?"

He snorted, as if there was a fat chance of that, and said, "If I lose, I'll dress up like an elf and stand in your yard like a Christmas decoration."

"Oh, you are on, you cocky freak."

I told him to meet me down at the high school football field, which was just two blocks away. As he drove down there, I went inside and changed into running shorts and my best running shoes. I jogged down to the field as a warm-up. He was already waiting at the goal post as I arrived. He looked awfully short standing there leaning against that goal post, but I also knew that he could probably rip it out of the ground and bend it up into a metal scrap heap with his bare hands if he wanted to. Plus, he had stripped off his guinea, his pants and his shoes and socks. He was standing there in his boxer briefs, his huge, bristly-haired quads ballooning out, his monster glutes stretching the back, his big heavy package slinging out front like a bag of produce. He looked like an extra on the set of the Lord of the Rings, a thick, hairy musclehead Orc dwarf.

We decided on a 100 yard dash, which, although I didn't mention it, had been my specialty in track and field. I finished first or second in almost every college meet, and could run it in 9.4 seconds. The little powerhouse was gonna be eating my dust.

We lined up at the goal line, and I took the starting position. He squatted up and down a few times, then stood there waiting for me to count down.

"Ready.....set......GO!" I yelled, and took off like a cheetah. I soared down the field, feeling good. I hadn't sprinted in a long time, and it was a rush feeling the wind, well, rush by so fast. I was at the 50 in no time, and I just had to look back to see where he was. The little meaty fucker was still at the goal line. I slowed down and turned, jogging backwards, to see what he was doing. That's when he crouched down, and blasted off like a rocket, his thick-as-keg dwarf quads propelling him forward so hard and fast that huge divots of sod and dirt were flying up from under his bare feet. I was stunned for a moment, as stunned as I'd been as a kid when I'd had that Rottweiler come at me from down the street, running full speed at me, that kind of scary animal speed than no human can match, the kind of speed that causes a roar in your ears from the force of the wind being pushed ahead of it. The kind of speed I was looking at again right now.

Now at the 60, I turned and hit sprint speed as fast as I could. I willed my legs to move faster and faster, as I heard the galloping powerfreak behind me, catching up. I could feel the thudding vibration of his every step as he thundered up behind me, getting closer and closer. I knew the cardinal rule of sprinting is to never look back, that losing that tiniest fraction of a second by turning your head can lose a race, but I had to look again. He was only five yards behind me, and his powerfully muscled body was pumping him into hyper-drive. We were at the 75 when he caught up to me. Then the little fucker really kicked it on, and began actually running circles around me, spraying me with dirt and sod. I focussed as hard as I could on the goal line, determined to beat him, but the little freak was just toying with me, and he crossed the goal line one yard ahead of me.

I stopped in the end-zone, leaning over and putting my hands on my legs, panting. I looked up and saw him strutting over to me. I thought he was cocky before. Now he had such a swagger going, it was nauseating. And the muscle on him! Standing out all over him, full of pump and victory, his huge quads so bloated out that they stuck out like a precipice over his kneecaps. He stopped in front of me, and put his hands on his hips.

"Looks like my girlfriend has some packages to deliver," he said, barely breathing hard. "You thought, in your wildest dreams, that you could beat these suckers?" he said, pointing to his legs, then bringing one foot up onto its ball and flexing his calf muscle, which balled up as big as a football.

"Damn," he said, "I am so charged up now, I gotta unload some of this energy." Then he tackled me to the ground, and started wrestling with me, toying with me, using his inhuman strength to manuever me where ever he wanted on the field. I fought back, but it was useless against his superior thickness and power. Finally, he got me into a leg scissor, his stumpy muscle legs just getting around my midsection. He locked his ankles together and began to squeeze. "Feel the power in these suckers, weakling," he said. I slammed into his quads with my fists, but he just laughed. "Think I could crush my legs together so hard, that I could feel my knees tapping?" he said, squeezing down harder on my spine. Now he had me scared, banging on his legs and wriggling to free myself from his steeltrap vice. He bounced me up and down just using his leg strength and crushed into me a little harder. I was clawing at the ground, when he finally released me from his hold. As I gasped in air, he leaned into my ear and said, "I would never hurt you, little man, but I would......lock you into my sleeper hold!" He clamped his thick arm around my neck and grabbed his two hands together. His freak biceps felt like the hammer part of a sledgehammer, digging into my throat, cutting off the air. Already winded from the race and his scissors, I started seeing double quickly, as he jerked me softly back and forth, holding me in his powerful grip as I began to lose consciousness. It felt good somehow, having him taking me out, dominating me, holding me with his enormous strength. I felt his hot breath on my neck, and went to sleep seeing stars and feeling more secure than I ever had.

I woke up in my own bed. Naked. He was on top of me, naked too. Except for the elf hat.

"I thought you might like to see what it's like to get fucked by an elf," he said, straddling me, and flexing his arms in a mighty double bi, the most powerfully built elf ever to walk the earth. His hardon was in full glory, curving up from his pelvis until the thick head pressed into the deep crevice of his pecs. It glistened with pre. "How'd you like to get your prostate banged all night long with this hammer, boy?" Then he kissed me deep and hard, his thick muscle tongue wrestling with mine.

I answered by arching up and guiding him down into me. He slid his power inside me, as I put my hands on his boulder glutes. He started out slow and gentle, but got rougher and rougher as the night went on. I took it as hard as he gave it, surrendering to the strength and size of him, and it seemed like I came every time he rammed my prostate with his hammer head. By the end of the night, I'd blown so many times that they were just empty blanks, but each time felt as intense as the last. The sheets were drenched in our sweat when we finally collapsed into each other's arms and drifted into elfin sleep.

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