The Kid 4

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Tim spent the night in the Kid's apartment, the two of them entangled together on the Kid's bed. The Kid liked the feel of his new little jock buddy, and was careful not to crush him as they slept. Even so, when Tim woke up at dawn, he found the Kid's massive thigh crossing over him, pinning him to the mattress. Tim stroked and squeezed the huge quad, feeling its density and weight, sensing the immense power of the thick limb. He tried to lift it so he could squeeze out, straining with all his might, but it was immovable.

The Kid was in a deep, power-growing sleep, breathing in and out rhythmically. Tim was getting a little claustrophobic, so he began to bang on the beefy thigh muscle. Harder and harder he hit it, until he was slamming into it full force. Finally, the Kid opened one eye and said "You know, you could just ask me to move," and he lifted up his leg, releasing Tim.

"Sorry," said Tim, scurrying out of the bed, but the Kid was already fast asleep again, snoring softly. Tim went downstairs to the office of the ironworks to see if there was a coffeemaker.

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, Max Polanski had escaped from prison, and was on his way to the ironworks to find out why his business partner George hadn't contacted him once in the three years he'd been behind bars. Max had a major temper, and was more pissed of than he had ever been. That's why he busted out two years before his release date. He'd had enough waiting. He was a massive, powerfully built man, and had spent the last three years becoming even stronger. After only a month inside, he had grown too strong for the weights in the prison gym, and had found new ways to increase his strength, lifting and bending anything he could find. He hooked up with a con who had access to steroids and Gh, and pumped himself full of both. He had a tattoo on the back of his neck that said "Born to Crush". He got the warden to agree to Friday night wrestling matches, and he challenged the biggest and roughest prisoners he could find. He quickly discovered that he could pin any of them in under five seconds, using only one arm to hold them down. Soon he began toying with them, lifting them up after a count of two, and tossing them around the ring for awhile, just to get a good pump going. Then he'd pin them for two more seconds, lift them again, his face in theirs, and yell "Come on boy, fight me!"

Soon, he was taking on two or three men at a time, or one after another with no rest between, pinning up to 15 prisoners in a night. He never lost. He just got stronger, and stronger. And all the while, he was planning his escape.

He worked kitchen detail, and they used him to unload the delivery trucks. He made friends with the guy who drove the dairy truck, who would give him extra gallons of whole milk. The driver enjoyed watching Max down two gallons of milk, then proceed to deadlift the front of his milktruck. It wasn't long before Max could climb under the truck and bench it for reps, over and over, till his roided out chest muscles would bloat so huge they looked morphed. The driver would blow in his pants just watching those hogtits bounce.

The night of his escape, Max had asked the driver to leave his truck down the block from the prison, which he did. Max then started a fight in the cafeteria, and got himself thrown into solitary. The cells in solitary had bars, then a steel-reinforced door. At four o'clock that morning, Max curled his thick fingers around the bars, and YANKED, pulling it right off its hinges. He tossed it into the cell. Then he backed up and barrelled into the door, slamming it with his shoulder. From the outside of the cell, the sleeping guard roused and noticed that the door had a big bulge in the shape of a huge shoulder and upper arm. Suddenly, there was another SLAM, and the bolts to the door shot into the hallway. The heavy steel door crashed down, and Max stepped out. The guard, a 320lb powerlifter, had always wanted a chance to take on Max, so he charged him full speed. He rammed his shoulder into Max's midsection. Only Max didn't budge. The guard's collarbone, however, snapped like an old toothpick. As the guard howled, Max spun him around and put him into a sleeper hold.

"Sorry, boy, gotta put you down for awhile," said Max, bearing down on the guard's thick neck till he passed out. Then Max made his way for the prison wall. Several doorways and outside gates had been left open for him by a guard he let service him now and then, and Max soon found himself at the main concrete wall.

He reared back with his fist and slammed it into the wall, causing a crack that ran from the top to the ground. Another hit to the side of the crack created a huge chunk, that Max reached in and tore out. He continued to pummel the wall with his huge fists, each blow crumbling concrete like dried up plaster. He was through the three feet of wall before the first prison spotlight zeroed in on the commotion. He jumped out onto the streetside, and made for the truck. He jumped in and drove off, headed directly toward the iron works. The driver had left four gallons of heavy cream on the passenger seat, which Max downed, one after another, hungry after his exertion.

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