Popeye vs. Bluto

Bluto had finally convinced Popeye to end this Olive Oyl thing once and for all in a no holds barred wrestling match, man to man. They met downtown at midnight, at the local boxing gym, so they had the place all to themselves. Bluto got there first, and weighed himself in at 280lbs of solid rugged muscle. He stripped down to his boxing shorts and started flexing out in the mirrored wall. He had been training like a beast, and was huge and pumped. His gorilla back was mounded with muscle, and V'd down to an impossibly narrow yet thickly muscled waist. He hit a double-bi shot, his 26 inch pythons peaking up and up, the biceps bunching and heaving. Popeye is history, he thought to himself, sneering his evil sneer in the mirror. By the time Popeye got there, Bluto had pumped himself even bigger by flexing out over and over. Popeye did a double take at his nemesis. He had never seen him so heavily muscled. Popeye only weighed 140, but still, he had his forearms, and his spinach if he needed it.

They stepped into the ring and walked into the middle, nose to nose. Well, not quite, as Bluto towered over his puny opponent, and looked down on him with disdain. As Popeye reached out his hand to shake, Bluto bitchslapped him clear across the ring and into the turnbuckle, leaving an outline of Popeye's figure in the metal post. Popeye stood up and shook it off, then charged at Bluto. He slammed into Bluto's gut with his shoulder, full-force, hoping to knock him off his feet. Only Bluro didn't budge. He looked down at Popeye and said "weakling". He picked Popeye up with one hand, and tossed him out of the ring like a doll. Popeye landed hard, but found himself right next to his gym bag. He grabbed his can of spinach out of the bag, popped the can, and ate it down.

"Not this time," said Bluto. He went over to his own gym bag and pulled out a syringe. He plunged it into his meaty glute and pushed down, injecting himself with powerful growth serum. He took a deep breath, and growled. He arched his back and began to swell. His shoulders thickened and widened. So did his neck and traps. His big meaty forearms grew bigger and veinier. His thick bicep vein branched off and divided, feeding his powerful arms with more and more serum-thick blood. His beefy lats hulked out like spreading batwings. And his quads....his freak quads ballooned up with mass, mounding out 6 inches over his kneecaps. His baggy nylon boxing shorts had become tight as a second skin, his massive, engorged cock outlined and growing fast, as Bluto felt himself doubling in size and strength. He had forgotten about Popeye, as he clenched his huge hands into fists and rolled them, mesmerized by the way his freak muscle rippled and responded to his slightest movement. Popeye crawled back into the ring. His spinach had made him bigger too, but he was nothing compared to his super-freak opponent. Bluto saw him. He strutted over to Popeye, put his two beefy musclehands on Popeye's shoulders, and said, "Bluto needs to fuck."

Popeye struggled to escape Bluto's grip, but to no avail. Just then, Bluto's bullcock ripped thru his nylon trunks. Ropes of pre gushed from the hungry beast. Popeye, in a panic, said," What about Olive?"

"Olive who?" said Bluto, eyeing Popeye hungrily. He tore off Popeye's trunks, lifted him in the air like a toy, and set him down on the swollen mushroom cap head of his throbbing meat. He massage Popeye's hole with it for a bit, then realized Popeye was as hard as he was.

"That's right, boy, you like Bluto's muscles too," he said, rubbing Popeye's body up and down his monster chest and thick 8 pak abs. Popeye arched into him, in total ecstasy. Then Bluto growled a deep guttural growl, and sank his leaking cock into Popeye, deep and hard.

"Yeahhhhhhh," groaned Bluto. "Am gonna make you pregnant, boy." Popeye came, blowing his load all over the ring.

Bluto pumped into him, lifting him up and down on his cock, his 32 inch biceps moving Popeye with ease. His massive wall of muscle body fucked and fucked and fucked, until finally he felt his jiz rising. He spewed into Popeye over and over, each explosion the volume of a large shake. Once drained, he dropped to his knees and rested Popeye onto the ring, sweat rolling off of him. They looked into each others' eyes. Neither of them would ever think of Olive Oyl again.