The President 5: All the President's Men

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Six months after his match-up with Toro, the President called the research doctor to the White House. His special ops program had been going well, and he had hand-picked seven more men to receive the secret 'supplementation' serum. During the six months, the doctor had discovered that the serum actually effected the subjects' DNA directly, turning on latent gene sequences that under normal circumstances would never be activated. Men who were big got bigger. Strong men got stronger. Fast men, faster. His research team didn't fully understand the workings of it, or just how far it could take someone. Nor had they detected any side effects yet. The eight men on the program had responded dramatically, to say the least, and the doctor was eager to show them off to the President.

Not that the President would be easy to impress. Weighing in at 330lbs of solid muscle, his progress on the program had been amazing. Apparently, the President had a latent genetic potential for both size AND strength, and he loved showing off both. His poor Secret Service staff never knew when he was going to pull one of them into the Oval Office for an armwrestling match. It all started with big Ted, an agent who was also a heavyweight armwrestling champ. Ted weighed in at a solid, hardcore 265lbs, and the President thought he'd be perfect to test out just how hard this armwrestling thing was. First, he had Ted demonstrate his technique with some of the other agents. Ted had no trouble taking these other tough men down, and in fact, felt charged up from showing off his prowess in front of the President. Ted was shocked though, when the President stripped off his shirt and challenged him. Ted knew that the Pres. had been in some sort of heavy duty training program, and had noticed his growth, but now, up close and shirtless, the old man was MASSIVE! He had put his elbow on the table, flexed out his fingers, and motioned to Ted to grip up with him. Ted put his beefy hand in the President's equally beefed up hand, and they started. Ted pushed and pushed, to no effect. He would have thought it was a trick, but he could see the rippling muscles on the President's arm, all tense and thick from holding Ted's arm perpendicular to the tabletop.

"Come on, Ted," the President said. "You got more than that. Bring it." Then the President smirked, and slowly started moving big Ted's arm downward. Ted struggled and struggled, his veins bulging out. He tried to bend the President's thick wrist back, but it didn't budge. He couldn't believe the strength in this man's arm.

"That's right, Teddy, feel the power," said the President, moving Ted's hand closer to the table. Then the President stopped, and held Ted's arm there, half up and half down. "Use both hands, Ted," ordered the President. Ted looked in the President's eyes, and realized that he meant it. He shifted his weight, then put his other hand behind his right hand, pushing against it hard. The President held him firm. "Put your weight into it, son," said the President, and Ted leaned into the President's arm with all of his beefy 265. He inched the President's arm up a degree, and the President snarled through gritted teeth. A surge of power seemed to blast up his arm, and he slammed big Ted's hands to the table top, pinning them tightly. Ted was just starting to get a little nervous, as the President's grip was growing stronger, crushing into his hand as he held it pinned to the table with seeming ease. Suddenly, the President released his grip and stood upright. As Ted massaged his sore wrists, the President shook out his arm. He flexed it and watched it swell up with power. He reached into his desk drawer and tossed Ted a measuring tape. "Check out the size of this for me, Ted," he said, flexing his wrist down hard. Ted obeyed his leader, and wrapped the tape around the big arm. As the tape passed the 25" mark, the President flexed harder. Ted read out the measurement at 26.5".

"Good job, my boy," said the President, patting Ted on the back. "Maybe I'll be able to use you somewhere down the line."

Ted had been hearing buzz about what was going on, and as the President led him out of the Oval Office, he hoped he would be next in line for whatever it was.

For right now though, the President had his first team lined up, and was on his way to his gym to check out the results. When he got down there, the doctor was waiting for him as the recruits got changed.

"I think you're going to like what you see, Mr President, said the doctor. It had been three months since the President had seen the men in person. Although he had kept up on there progress, he had waited to see them, so that he could better sense the changes in them.

The men came out one at a time. First was Toro, the program's first inductee. He came out dressed only in square-cut black wrestling shorts. At 330lbs, he now matched the President in size and height. He smiled inwardly as the President nodded his approval.

Next came Crusher, a marine grunt, who had impressed the team with his ability to, naturally, crush things. And that was before the program, when he was 5'8, 195lbs. Now, at 5'11, 310lbs, his chest was vastly oversized from crushing things like beer kegs, safes, and engine blocks. His forearms, too, were swollen massively, from training his hands to tear things apart, like granite and cinder blocks. He rolled his wrists and bounced his pecs as the President inspected him, all proud of his newly acquired super thickness and strength.

Then came Sasquat. An army man, Sasquat was the shortest of the men, but at 5'6, 295lbs, no one mocked him for it. He squatted 2000lbs for reps with his 40" quads, thus his nickname, and a special lubricant had to be applied to his thighs to keep them from getting too chaffed as he walked.

Next was Hawk, a Secret Service agent with especially keen eyesight. At 6' tall and 245lbs, he was one of the lightest of the men, but his eyesight had responded so well to the program that he could now read newspaper print from a mile down the road. Extemely square-jawed and ruggedly handsome, Hawk's steel blue eyes could stop a man in his tracks, once he trained his laser-like intensity on them. That, and his 5th degree black belt in jiu jitsu.

The next man was Grizz, a massive bear of a man. His 6'6, 398lb powerlifter build was covered with thick dark brown fur, although he had earned his nickname from the volume of his snoring. During the training, he had let his beard grow in, which only took about half a day anyway, so that now, even his face was framed out in thick curly fur. He also had a powerlifter gut that was as hard as a cast-iron stove. He let the other men go at it with fists, baseball bats and crowbars, none of which could break down his thick barrier of muscle and fur. His strength was tremendous, even for this group, and no two of the other men had been able to take him off his feet in hand-to-hand combat.

The six man was called Hardball. This name came from his fierce intensity. A former pro rugby player, who joined up after 9/11, Hardball had grown during the training from 5'10, 220, to 6'1, 275. Pain had never been an issue for Hardball. In fact, he thrived on it, and was why he loved rugby so much. That, and NHB fighting. On the field, he had always been a pitbull, and he loved dealing out as much hurt as he could to the opposing players. In fact, he had almost been thrown out of the current program for sneaking out one night, finding a local biker bar, getting trashed, and challenging every biker in the place to fight him. He took them on, one at a time, and even let them have the first couple of punches before he tore into them. He liked to get a man into a submission hold, and see how hard he'd have to apply it before the man pissed himself. The doctor worried that the President might frown upon Hardball's multiple tattoos, especially the two new ones he'd gotten that night after the fight, but the President seemed unfazed by the shiny new ink.

The next man was Pummel, a former college gymnastics champion. On the program, his natural abilities had skyrocketed to the point that now he had a standing vertical jump of over 8 feet. He could perform on the rings for hours, and then, when he was done, could rip the rings right out of the ceiling. His high endurance workouts would produce such a pump in his extremely muscled body, that, afterwards, he would spend another hour flexing out in front of the mirror, mesmerized by his own rippling striations and road map vascularity. His waist size had remained at 30", but his shoulders had widened and thickened, as had his pecs, which flexed like two slabs of molten steel, his skin a deep flushed red from the intensity of his parallel bar workout. He loved to square his shoulders back and admire the extreme V shape of his torso as rivers of sweat streamed down his tight satin smooth skin, every fiber of muscle twitching at his command. The President was impressed by his tremendous taper, just as Pummel knew he would be. He jutted out his chest proudly, as the President nodded his approval.

The final man was a monster, and had been dubbed 'Behemoth' by the other men. He had started the program at 6'6, 298lbs. His growth had been more rapid than the other men, and he was now 7'4, 415lbs of hard, grisly muscle. He had experienced more joint and muscle pain than the other men, too, so the research doctors called in two big massage therapists to work him over every night. The two men had their work cut out for them, as Behemoth's muscles had hardened up like iron from his hours of superheavy weight training. The two men would dig in hard with their strong fingers, not even denting the powerful muscle. They had better luck around the giant's big joints, relieving most of the growth pain for the night, but both men would be drenched in sweat by the end of their 90 minute massage. From the relief of his pain, and the touch of the two big masseurs, the big man would always sprout a hardon during the sessions, allowing the therapists to see another reason why he should be called Behemoth.

Having finally inspected his new team, the President began to explain why he'd brought them in.

"As you've all probably guessed, this program was started with a special purpose in mind. And now it's time to implement that program. I've decided it's time to flush out the single most evil enemy our country has had since WWII. Unlike my predecessor, who misdirected our energies into countries that had done nothing to us, I'm going to zero in on this enemy. The special ops program that you men are part of, is going to go into the hills and caves of Pakistan, where we are going to muscle our way in, without weapons, beating the crap out of any mutherfucker who gets in our way, until we find this dirtbag and bring him to 'justice'. And, again, unlike my predecessor, I'm unwilling to send you men in alone, and will be leading you into this rat pit, stinkhole armpit of the world. And in the end, when we succeed...and we will succeed...there's going to be a one-on-one battle between this sleazeball prick, and me."

The men stood, momentarily stunned, staring at their superheavyweight leader. Then, as the information they just received sank in, they began to cheer, and high-five each other. They were in for the assignment of a lifetime, an assignment that men like them dream about their whole lives. As their adrenaline kicked into high gear, the men roared their enthusiasm, shaking the very walls of the room with their bellows. The President smiled at their response, as he was as excited as they were to get started. Once the men quieted down some, he got their attention again.

"Let's roll."