Make A Muscle
SHEILA & BARRY
Sheila and Barry had been living together two years. Sheila was 20, a waitress at night at a bar downtown and a fitness instructor at the local gym for the "before work crowd." She was in incredible shape. She worked part-time 4:30 a.m. to 8:30 a.m. and was usually in bed by 9:00 to catch some sleep before Barry got home.
Barry was 21 and worked construction from 6:30 a.m. to 3:00 p.m. He was a bodybuilder, and had arranged his work hours so that he could be home by 3:30, have great sex with Sheila, eat a bodybuilder's meal, drink his protein shake, and be at the gym by 6:30. He stayed in the gym usually until 9:30.
He would workout like a demon for three hours and then head home. He would have his last shake of the day, down his bedtime supplements, and hit the sack to get a good eight hours sleep before going in to lift bricks and move steel the next day. That work kept him firm and hard! And that's truly what he was! It was perfect as far as he was concerned. He was training for a contest and this schedule and this lifestyle were getting him what he wanted. The way his current routine was working, he was bound to win the title hands down.
He arrived at the gym, on time as usual -- he was a stickler for routine. Steady and regular -- that was going to make him a winner! As he finished putting on his gym shorts he was quite oblivious to the fact that he was being watched by closed circuit TV from a lab in a building far away. Careful, watchful eyes were checking out Barry's daily progress, and recording details that even Barry was unaware of. His height, weight, and every body part measurement -- but also there was a sensor recording his thought processes, his brain activity, his mental state.
Barry pulled his extremely tight muscle-T onto his massive chest and torso, and struck a side tricep pose in the mirror. He was proud of everything he had accomplished, but he wanted much more! "Let's go make a muscle!," Barry said to himself, and he left the locker room, ready to work out At the same time Alex was dispatched from the control room, ready to confront Barry at the end of his workout.
It was Pec and Tri day, and Barry loved it! For the next three hours a camera studied his every move. The tricep presses, the incline barbell presses, the pushdowns, the lying flys. On and on . . . a complete, grueling workout. Unseen eyes watched the careful attention he paid to speed and the recording of his sets. They also watched him as he paused to flex in the mirror and painstakingly study his pectoral muscles, making sure he was getting at every inch of them.
"His is exactly what we're looking for," an unseen voice concluded.
Three hours later he was a pumped up, massive mound! He had really worked it today. He returned to the shower area, and went straight to his locker. He immediately downed his post-workout pills, and then stood in front of the mirror flexing and posing, trying to diagnose his progress.
"Yeah, today I made a muscle!" he said, and he checked his biceps. The peak was coming along! The separation was good. His tape measured a solid 21" arm that was taking on an incredible shape. He hit a double-bicep pose. "Yeah! Coming along quite nicely," he said as he downed another handful of the pills. "Well, tomorrow's another day."
He stripped, showered and changed not knowing that all activities were continuously monitored. He was really pleased with the intensity of the exercise session, and he slowly checked all body parts while he dressed to go home. He completed dressing and then he started toward the door. That's when the messenger, Alex, stepped in his way. The collision almost knocked Alex on his ass. He had hit a solid brick wall. Barry reached out to steady him, and Alex instinctively grabbed Barry's upper arms for support. "My god," thought Alex, almost swooning, "this man is as hard as granite!"
"Sorry, little man," said Barry, "didn't see you there." And he practically lifted Alex off of the floor and then set him down upright. He was dwarfed by Barry's 6'3" frame. "Be a little more careful next time, Slim. See ya!"
Barry said. "Wait!" called Alex. "Could I talk to you a minute? I want to speak to you about your bodybuilding career."
Barry paused, taken aback. "What?" asked Barry, looking down on the 5' 3" man, almost a foot below his eye level.
"A sponsor. Don't guys like you who do this sport professionally need a sponsor for money for your food and supplements and memberships and other . . .things," Alex asked?
"Go on," Barry replied.
"Well . . ." Alex said, "I represent a client who would be willing to pay all of your expenses, and he will give you $15,000 a month for 10 months to help you take care of all of the things you will need to get ready for your contest. $150,000 to help you get your dream."
Barry was stunned -- the answer to a prayer! "A hundred and fifty thousand! Why?"
"I will explain that in detail, but I would like to talk to you and your girlfriend together.
"Why?" Barry asked suspiciously.
"I mean," Alex continued, "I've seen her here in the mornings, and it's because of the TWO of you that we picked you," Alex said. "You see, I'm part of a research team, and we're looking for the perfect couple to make the perfect child. We've seen Sheila working here at the gym, and we've also been studying you. You both are the perfect physical specimens to make us a perfect child."
"And her genes together with mine (he crunched his pecs together for emphasis), we'll make the kid you are looking for?" Barry surmised, smiling at the thought of some little "muscle-kid" running around the gym looking a lot like him.
"Well, yes," replied Alex, "your genes and a supplement that we wish both of you to take instead of all of the current things you're now on," Alex said. "Would you both start taking them today?"
"How did you know I was on anything?" Barry snipped.
Alex smiled. "Like I said, we've been observing you, and I have to tell you, we're quite impressed."
Barry looked down at his chest, and then at his arms. He could understand why some egghead would be interested in a mountain his size, and Sheila was as good as they get.
"What do you say?" asked Alex.
It didn't take Barry long. $150,000! "Deal!" And he shook Alex's hand so hard he almost broke it in several places. "We'll get on it this afternoon!"
"It will take approximately five weeks from conception to the time a conclusive ultra-sound can be read," said Alex. "I will contact you then. In the meantime here's your first $15,000 check. Cash it in good faith. We know you won't disappoint us! And don't forget that you should BOTH begin taking your pills today."
Alex was elated. Barry was amazed! $150,000 for something that he could do in his sleep. He laughed as he flexed his pecs and yelled. "Yeah!" $150,000! He kissed the check, and he kissed his biceps too! "Time to make a muscle!" he laughed.
It was 3:30 and Barry had been itching to get off work all day. He had been loading 100 lb. concrete blocks onto trucks all morning, and after lunch he was unloading them at the new construction site. His arms were blasted! The guys working with him had been staring at his arms all day. Barry smiled. He loved it when people got freaked out by his size. To really get them going, he picked up six concrete blocks instead of his usual four, and moved them to the stack of bricks with little effort. Then he stretched and flexed for them.
"They're almost 22 inches!" said Barry, pleased with himself. The guys were in silent awe. "This is only the beginning. I go on a new routine tonight! Six months from now you won't even recognize me!"
The whistle blew, Barry loaded the last eight pallets of bricks onto the scaffolding, checked his arms one last time, nd was gone. Sheila was waiting when he came in.
"Get ready," he called out, "we're gonna make a muscle!" He stopped at the bathroom sink long enough to grab some water and down the pill Alex had given him. "No more supplements? What the hell is this, anyway?" Barry said out loud.
"Barry, what are you talking about?" Sheila asked from the other room.
He came in and shot her a double bicep pose. "This muscle, combined with your perfect looks and body, is going to make the perfect 'muscle baby' and make us rich!" he yelled. "Here, take this vitamin. I'll explain later." He had just lied. He didn't know what it was, but it was helping to make him rich. That's all he knew.
"A vitamin?" she asked.
"Yeah, it's supposed to be phenomenal. All you'll ever need to take. Go on, do it," he coached. She took the pill.
He was completely naked now. She was always turned on by the sheer size of this muscle kid. He was blonde, blue-eyed, tall, muscular -- an extreme hunk! Perfect washboard stomach, melon-sized shoulders, great legs! When he flexed she went crazy. She'd do anything for him. By now her clothes were off, and she was ready for him -- like she was every afternoon at this time. He came out of the bathroom, and the love making started.
Barry went on: "You're getting pregnant right now. Just wait and see. I can't miss if I put my mind to it."
His head was becoming a little cloudy, but he was ready to do it right! They were going at it fast and furiously. Sheila was going crazy. The pill was really making her hot. His muscles were pumping, flexing, and falling. Mounding and releasing. He head was on fire. His body was on fire. His skin was hot to the touch.
"There's a guy at some company who is going to give us $150,000 for making a baby and giving it to him," he said through labored breaths. "He likes our looks and he's sure we'll make the perfect Muscle Child. He's right, you know!" And he tightened every muscle in his body for emphasis and thrust extra hard. "He gave me $15,000 this afternoon!"
He was sweating profusely. They were both reaching climax, and Sheila was becoming delirious. He loved the effect he had on her. He was pumping wildly. "Sheila, we're gonna make him a muscle!" He was breathing heavily. Uncontrolled. What was that pill doing to them?
"Make a Muscle!" was all he could think. "Make a muscle!" "Make a MUSCLE!" "MAKE A MUSCLE!"
What was happening to his head? He continued to chant and pump. "Make a muscle! Make a muscle!" And suddenly the explosion happened. A seemingly infinite number of muscle sperm on their way to make a muscle baby! Sheila screamed. Barry flexed his entire body! One final thrust and they both lay exhausted on the bed. He was sure he'd hit the mark.
He woke up at 5:45. Sheila had already left for work. He jumped up and was heading for the bathroom. He stopped. Something about him was different. That's when he began to notice the change.
He had put on the tank top and the shorts that he worked out in earlier, and now they would barely fit! His chest jutted out 6" from his body! He bounced a new set of outlandlishly huge pecs. They bunched up under the shirt stretching the fabric. He was freaking out as he raised his right arm and the bicep peaked into a huge mound of rock hard granite! As he held the pose, new veins popped out.
He flexed his boulder sized pecs again and the straps on his tank top broke. His biceps rippled and swelled. Every vein was visible. He stood slowly flexing his massive biceps in the mirror. He was a muscle freak! Suddenly -- rrriippp! and his gym shorts were gone! Every part of his body was now growing rapidly. His rod was 9" and sitting completely flaccid! His arms and pecs were monstrous and thick. His abs were rows of hardened muscle. He almost fainted!
"I'm a freak! I am HUGE! Four years of pushing weights and working on those construction sites, and in one day I'm a MUSCLE god! Where are those pills," he wondered. He found them and took another. "What is this stuff?" he wondered. Whatever it was, it was going to get him a title and a lot of fame and fortune. Turning Pro was a cinch!
He marveled at his body. He was bigger than any of the guys he had seen at the shows he constantly attended. His biceps! Triceps! Pecs! Traps! Quads! And his lats were astounding! Far away in the lab the team smiled.
"He's in love with himself," Alex said as he watched Barry on the monitor, "These changes in his body will keep his time and his mind occupied so we can bring her through a trouble-free pregnancy."
Barry just kept flexing and admiring himself. He was sold on the "supplement" he was taking. He couldn't wait to finish his workout so he could take another. At the same time another monitor was observing Sheila in the bathroom at the bar staring at the pill Barry had given her to take. She hesitated. "$150,000," she thought. "And Barry will get the title he wants, and we'll have an easier time of it if we have money. Well, if it will help him." And she took the pill the same way she would every day of her pregnancy, unaware that the "vitamin" she was taking was working with his genes and hers to create a human machine. A human machine whose only purpose would be to "Make A Muscle."
Five weeks later they had the report. Sheila was pregnant with a baby boy. Less than 8 months later the "perfect muscle child" would be born.
He WAS the perfect child. He was born exactly 9 months later -- to the hour!
Barry wasn't there, though. He was on stage in Atlantic City accepting his trophy. His rise in the ranks was unparalleled. He won contest after contest, and even though he hadn't even entered any pro meets, he was invited to participate in his first professional contest seven months after he took his first pill! No one came near to him in weight and mass! Now he was onstage being named Mr. Olympia. From the platform he posed and in his speech he thanked his wife, but he didn't mention the new child. Within 7 days the the boy would be gone.
The last eight months had been incredible. He was considered the biggest, most developed Mr. O the world had seen. Their future was set. Endorsements. Magazine layouts. TV spots. Movies. He could have whatever he wanted. Not even 25 yet, and he was at the top of his profession. Sheila wept as she watched the clips of Barry's acceptance speech from the lab medical center. He looked so beautiful up there, and he was talking about her.
Everything was perfect. She had come through the pregnancy with no problems. The scientists had seen to that. She no longer even thought about the strange feelings she used to get every time she took one of those pills. She had worried earlier on about what it might be doing to her, to her child, but every time she looked into Barry's eyes, she forgot about the feelings and took the pill. He was so happy.
Soon the pills had done the work the scientists had intended them to do, and she no longer experienced pains. Not even morning sickness had been a problem. She hadn't worked at the gym since her fourth month -- they didn't want anyone to know about the pregnancy since eventually there would be no child.
She exercised four short times a day! She was the most fit pregnant lady ever. She suspected it had something to do with the pills. As Sheila watched the television they had placed in her room, men in their white coats were recording all of the news footage of the Olympia announcements. They didn't care about the title. They were making still shots of Barry's physique as he posed on the stage. They were very pleased with his progress. The pills had done fine! He surpassed every hope they had for his success. And Sheila had been the optimum vessel to incubate the growing child.
In only seven days the infant would be theirs. They were busy regulating a formula to feed the child from the data they were collecting. They wanted to be certain that the chemicals they mixed would combine with Barry's and Sheila's DNA to give this child the physical capabilities they desired. From this "muscle child" there would be many "muscles" to come! Many, many more!
On the seventh day Sheila and Barry had been instructed to leave the house for a holiday. All expense paid. They were going on a trip to California where Barry would get to visit all of the muscle-heads he idolized. Now, with his new title, they all wanted to meet him. The second youngest Mr. Olympia in history next to muscle-god Arnold! Universal Gyms was flying the two of them out and they didn't know it yet, but they would be staying for good. While they were gone the baby would just disappear.
A week later Barry and Sheila were in California, and the scientists had the boy. Barry and Sheila were happy together. The contests came and went and Barry was a tremendous success. It seemed like a dream. Soon, because of the drugs, they would only vaguely remember they once may have had a child, and might once have given him away. But those memories would pass completely. The pills took care of it all. Life was wonderful.
And time passed. Nine years. Clint was raised to be the perfect human. Free from disease, educated in every subject, and physically irresistable. He was practically alone. He never saw any other children, and the men who came to visit him -- to exercise him, or tutor him -- stayed only a few minutes and then disappeared as quickly as they had come. Alex was the only person who spent any real time with him. He liked Alex.
It was 10 a.m. and Clint was in the recreation hall. There was no television or radio, but he had plenty of "games" and "toys." He had just finished climbing the knotted rope that went to the ceiling. He could do it so easily now, it was becoming boring.
He was curling the 35 lb. weight they had given him to exercise with, and his right arm was feeling the "glow" it usually felt when he had reached his 100th repetition. He liked that feeling.
"Clint, put that down and come with me into the lab," said the gruff guard sent to get the boy.
"In a minute," replied Clint. He wanted to do the other arm. He had never disobeyed before.
"Clint, NOW!" repeated the guard and he moved toward the boy.
From the other room all seven scientists including Dr. Lane and Alex watched with bodies tensed, waiting to see what would happen. Clint had been given his pills each day for the past nine years, and soon certain "changes" should be taking place.
The man reached down and pulled Clint up to his feet. From inside of his head Clint heard a voice say, "Clint, make a muscle." And he dropped the weight to the floor, and he jerked his arm back from the guard and flexed it tightly. He looked at his arm, and on it formed a bicep hard and round. His arm acted as if it was not his own.
"Clint!" shouted the guard, and that was the last thing the guard remembered. Clint pulled his arm back and landed a blow that knocked the guard to the ground -- out cold!
Clint was amazed, and more than a little pleased with himself. He stared at his flexed bicep. When did that get there? He turned to the mirrors on the wall, and stared at himself. He looked down at the weight, and then at the guard, and last at his firm, round bicep. He smiled, and picked up the weight and continued exercising the other arm. He looked over at the unconscious guard and then back at his developing bicep.
"Get that man out of there," said Dr. Lane to two attendants. "And Alex, go in and see if you can give him the strength test. He passed the aggression test just fine." Alex went.
"Good Morning, Clint," said Alex as he entered the room. The guard was gone. "Clint, could you do me a favor, please? I want you to try a something for me."
"Sure," said Clint. He stopped exercising and stood up. Alex stared at him. A beautiful child. Smooth skin, stunning blue eyes, long blonde hair, perfect looks -- pretty much a swimmer's build at this point.
"Clint, come over here, would you, and look at this chart? See the man with the barbell marked 'Position One'? Would you please pick up this barbell and hold it at waist level like he is doing?"
"Sure," said Clint, and he bent down and pulled the barbell up to his waist.
"Now, Clint, Position Two is where you pull the weight slowly up to your shoulders in a curling motion. Can you do that?
"Sure." said Clint, and he pulled the barbell up.
"Now, Clint, try to continue that motion, and see how many times you can repeat it, OK?" And Clint began.
From the other room cheers began. Clint was only nine years old, and he was curling a 150 lb. barbell with little or no effort! Aggressive AND strong. The pills were a success! The men were elated.
Clint was having fun! He liked pulling on this thing. And his arms were feeling really strange. He looked down at his upper arm, and the bulge was getting bigger! He felt great. He liked what his arm looked like.
"You can stop now," said Alex, but Clint continued until he had counted to 50! "Thanks, Clint. Now could you please make a muscle?" And Alex showed Clint a picture of a bodybuilder striking a double bicep pose. Clint imitated the pose The men shouted again as they saw the 12" mound on the little boy's arm. Perfect!
"Proceed with the program as planned, Alex," said Dr. Lane.
"Clint," said Alex, "go back to what you were doing." And Clint began his sit-up routine. Again, time passed.
"Where's my lifting belt," Clint demanded - his voice was very irritated. He was working with the weights as he did every morning at this time. His 12 year old body was getting huge, and lately he wore nothing but the posing briefs Alex had given him. His other clothes were too small.
As part of another "experiment" the guards were told to take his lifting belt and put it in the institute recreational yard where the older boys lifted. Clint was 5' 10" tall, and getting stronger and thus harder to control. They hesitated playing these tricks on him anymore for their own sakes. Puberty had come on fast, and his muscles were really beginning to show. Especially within the briefs.
"Where is it?" he demanded angrily, as he jacked the 150 lb. guard up against the wall.
"Follow me," said the guard, doing as he was told by Dr. Lane. Clint followed. He was brought to a glassed-in area that looked out over the recreational courtyard. In the yard several 17 year old boys were lifting, the largest one -- with Clint's belt.
"That's mine", he said to the guard, "get it!" Clint had never seen the boys, or any boy for that matter. He wasn't interested in them, he wanted his belt.
"Why don't you go and get it yourself?" snarled the guard, and he unlocked the door to the courtyard.
Clint walked out into the yard and up to the boy. "That belt is mine," he said," as he picked the boy up by the belt, holding him off of the ground and looking into his eyes. "Take it off!" And he threw the boy to the ground. Then inside his head he heard the voice: "Make A Muscle," and he instinctively drew up into the pose Alex had shown him on the chart.
The boys looked at Clint standing there in his bright blue trunks showing off 19" biceps on a 12 year old body and they couldn't speak. His chest flared, and his stomach tightened. He was big! The boys were all silent. He lowered his arms and stood there waiting. The large boy removed the belt and tried to hand it to Clint. He knocked it from his hand, and grabbed him by the collar. He wasn't sure what he was about to do. It was as if his mind was not his own.
He dragged the boy to the flagpole. Turning him upside down, Clint wrapped the rope around the boy's ankles and then pulled him up the flagpole. With each pull his arms pumped and his lats flared, and the other boys were going to their knees in awe of him. He fastened the rope to the flagpole and he turned to the group. He flashed his flexed arms at them. Two of the boys came in their jeans! Then he went back and picked up his belt and crossed inside leaving the boy dangling on the pole. He continued his workout.
Dr. Lane and the team were shouting and cheering. They were furiously making notes and entering data on the computer. Clint was becoming more than they could have hoped for!
As Clint worked out he thought about the boys. They were 17 or 18, yet they were all smaller than he was. Why? Also he was thinking about how excited he felt as he man-handled that large kid. The more he thought about it, the stranger he felt. He was getting excited. He breathing was becoming rapid.
What was going on? As he pictured the fear in the eyes of the rest of those kids his penis began to rise. He looked down and it was pushing hard against his briefs. He stood up to look at himself in the mirror. What he saw he liked. He was marveling at the muscle sprouting up all over his body. His neck, his arms, his chest. And lately his chest was getting covered with hair! Lots of it! He was falling in love with himself.
He struck a double bicep pose and his penis continued to grow! He reached down to touch it. It felt good. He began to stroke himself with one hand and rub his chest with the other. Whatever was happening, he loved how it felt.
More time passed. Six years. Clint was 18. He was now bigger than his father ever hoped to be. When he would flex his arms the bicep practically touched the end of his extended thumb. His neck was as round as his whole head, and his chest was massive. He marvelled at how he could make each one of his pecs move just by flexing a muscle. He was turned on by what he looked like moving his pecs back and forth in the mirror.
He brought his arms instinctively in front of him, and flexed every muscle in his chest, shoulders and abdomen. The sight was incredible and his penis began to grow! It stretched his shorts to the breaking point. He looked at his crotch, then at the mirror. He wanted to try something. "AAAhhhhhhggghh!" he shouted, and he struck a most muscular pose. As he gazed at himself in the mirror his penis began to rip through his shorts! He looked down, marveling at himself. He loved it! The scientists were elated! He reached down and took the hot steel rod in his hand.
He could win any contest now, but they had more in mind for him than that. He was nearing the end of his training, but there was still one very important part of his development remaining.
The 25 year old murderer waited in the outer chamber of the institute not knowing what was happening to him. One minute he was in a store, robbing the owner, and the next minute he was in a courtroom being condemned to some island correctional institute for shooting the guy. Now he stood in the middle of a sterile room with mirrors all around. They had taken his clothes and left him there naked. He was mad as hell. Who had done this? They would be sorry. He was as furious as hell to be made to stand here this way.
"Let me outta here!" he yelled. No answer. He took a swing at the door and succeeded in making a little dent in it. He was outraged. That's when Alex entered the room.
"You can't hold me here, wimp!" screamed the kid. "Where are my clothes, and what the hell kinda place is this that you'd make me stand here naked?" Alex just watched him rant. That infuriated him further. The boy ran toward Alex and grabbed him by the lapels of his coat. "LET ME OUT OF HERE!"
"Clint," Alex called calmly. And in walked the 18 year old mountain.
6' 7" tall, 282 lbs., blond hair, blue eyes -- he looked exactly like his father. But at 18 he looked like his father had at 35. Massive shoulders, pecs of steel, a neck the size of his head. 23 inch arms! 30 inch waist. Quads thickly muscled and corded. Muscular back and lats that made his arms stand far away from his body.
"Look, freak! Get out of my way," the boy commanded. He headed toward the door.
"Clint," said Alex. "Make a muscle." And Clint struck a double-bicep pose that stopped the boy in his tracks. Clint smiled. He liked it when people reacted that way.
"I said, get he hell out of my way!" he said again. And he charged Clint, lowering his head and using it as a battering ram against Clint's mid-section. BAM! The guy met the immovable force! Clint never even reacted. The guy staggered back and fell to the floor. Clint just smiled a bigger smile and struck a side-bicep pose.
"No, Clint, Make A Muscle," said Alex again.
Clint knew what to do. He had been carefully taught. He calmly took the man by the shoulders. The guy was powerless against him. He cried in pain as he stood in front of this muscle god.
"Position One," said Alex, as Clint lifted the kid off of the floor as if he was a standard barbell. "Position Two," said Alex, and Clint lowered him to waist level and began to curl him in perfect form. The 18 year old boy moved the struggling 25 year old in slow, strict movements and counted as he completed each rep.
"One." His bicep contracted into its massive mound. "Two. Three." He liked the pump he was getting. He watched his arms grow. "Four. Five." As he counted, his dick began to rise. He loved man-handling this struggling screaming body as he continued to grow bigger still. What an interesting effect it was having on other parts of his body, too.
"Six." His dick had gone from it's 9" flaccid state to 11", then 12". "Seven." The man could see the end of Clint's pole as he was lowered somewhere near Clint's tight, firm ab section. It was getting longer. He was reaching 13". 14". "Eight."
"What are you doing?" the guy screamed. He was panicked!
"One more, Clint." said Alex.
Ten reps was all it took. The 18 year old muscle monster had reached his full erection of 15" for the first time in his life. He turned the kid upright, holding him 5 feet off of the floor, just above his extended dick.
"NO!" shouted the man. And Clint impaled him on the steel shaft, and began to rapidly pump him up and down. His screams slowly turned into silence. His eyes were glazed over. He couldn't speak. The only sound he produced was a strange "ahhhhh, ahhhh, ahhhh" noise as he jiggled violently up and down on this monster's erection. And then the eruption occurred. His entire body was filled with the liquid from Clint's dick. He felt it everywhere inside him. He was filled to the point of bloating! It was starting to drip from the his mouth he had been pumped so full.
"Stop now, Clint," said Alex. And Clint pulled the man from his shaft and lowered him to the floor. He crossed his massive arms in front of his chest, and smiled as he waited to see what would happen. One minute later the puny man began to change.
The correctional institute was populated with 57 hardened criminals. Men with records a mile long. Mostly between the ages of 18 and 25. They were in for various crimes, but to get sent to this institute in the first place, they had one thing in common. They had committed violent crimes, and society considered them dangerous. They were confined to this island hell hole for life. No one cared about them. The government was quite happy to put them here and forget them. Nothing could be done for them, and it was very convenient to have them disappear and be forgotten. Into this environment came Dr. Lane and his team of scientists.
Since his 18th birthday, each morning at 11:15 just after his morning lift, Clint was brought into the lab at the institute and placed in a sort of cell. Not long after, Dr. Lane would bring a man into the cell with Clint. "Clint," Dr. Lane would say, "make a muscle." And he would leave the two of them alone
Today Clint had been working his chest and triceps, and he was especially pumped. He knew the scientists were watching him. He didn't care. In fact, he liked it. He liked the fact that grown men got off on watching him get huge. Like when he took showers. He knew the cameras were on him then, too, and he'd move slowly and sensually over his body, caressing his muscles because he knew it made them hard. He got off on his own body.
Quite often he'd go into the yard after working out, cross into the group of puny geeks working out there, strike a few poses, which made the whole group hard, and then he'd let two or three of them follow him back into the showers for a lather session. He'd continue to pose as they lathered him up and they cleaned every inch of his body. They loved it, and he loved being worshipped this way. Sometimes he would honor them with a big time screwing session, and he pump them till they passed out and leave them lying in the shower with the water running. Sooner or later a guard would come and rescue them and put them where ever it was they put the guys that he had done. It was important that he eventually do all 58!
Today they brought him a little muscle-stud. He was only 5' 5" tall and was packed tight like a power- lifter. He was the strongest and most muscular man Clint had seen so far. As the guy was shoved into the cell, he noticed that Clint sat there naked, waiting for him.
The man turned to the door and yelled, "Get me outta' here! I'll kill this freak if I have to." Clint smiled and shook his head. "Did you hear me? I'll kill him with my bare hands! I'm warning all of you! I've done it two times before." The more the man struggled, the more turned-on Clint became. When the man turned around, Clint sported a full 15" erection. "
You can make this easy, or you can make this hard," said Clint. "Oh, wait," he said, looking at his dick. "You've already made it hard! Come here."
"Keep away from me!" yelled the man. And Clint stood up slowly. He was over a foot and a half taller than the man, and outweighed him by at least 100 lbs.
"Don't struggle, little fellow," said Clint. And he scooped the man up in his arms. "You look like you get off on being built like an ox. Well, when I'm finished with you, you will be taller, stronger, more muscular, and a hell of a lot better looking."
The man was enraged. He kicked and fought. He was powerless against Clint. "Now if you don't stop wiggling, I'm going to have to put you out, and you're going to miss the best part of the party."
"Let me go!" yelled the man, and he continued to squirm.
"Oh, well, if we can't do this nicely, then -- goodnight!" And he thrust his head at the man's forehead, knocking him out cold. Clint looked at the unconscious little muscle guy cradled in his arms and smiled. It was time for some curls.
He put the man into Position One and began the process. "One." He loved the beginning of the pump! "Two." This guy was a challenge. He had a little more bulk to him than most. "Three." Make A Muscle, Clint! Make a Muscle! "Four. Five." His arms were expanding. With this much resistance, his must be around 25". "Six." There was his old friend, the erection! "Seven." He didn't wear the briefs anymore, they were always destroyed anyway. His rod measured 10" and growing. "Eight." He reached 13" and was feeling great! "Nine." He was at 14" and loving every minute of it. "Ten." And his dick stood straight up at 15" and his arms pumped to a massive 25.5". Time to Make A Muscle.
He impaled the man on his shaft and started to pump him full. He chanted "Make a muscle. make a muscle. make a muscle" as he pumped the guy crazy. Soon they would come and take the poor guy off to the "place" where they took his conquests.
He grinned and pumped. It was nice pumping a muscle man. The man lost consciousness, and Clint went on for another hour, stroking the man's muscles, and playing with the guy's puny 7" dick.
The scientists were more than pleased at how their "experiment" was coming along. Clint was now 22 years old, and massive beyond their greatest expectations. They had continued to give him the pill, and this pill combined with his semen produced a combination that turned weak, puny, ineffective slimeballs into supermen. Clint had built them an army of Clint-clones that now numbered 47, nearly all of the men in the institute. Now it was time to cash in.
A month ago they had approached the government with an idea. An idea that would cost ONLY $200,000 per man. If they bought it, it meant a billion dollars for the whole population of the institute. Why not clear out all correctional facilities of their hardest cases? Clear the streets of their worst drug dealers and other crime related offenders? Make the inner cities and towns safe while building the most elite group of "muscle" law enforcement officers imaginable.
Today was the day they would present a demonstration for the task force officials. They were more than prepared. "Did you bring the inmates?" asked Dr. Lane, as he led the seven government officials to the lab.
"Yes, they're here," said Congressmen Taylor. "They were transported by armored car, and are in chains and shackles just outside that door. They are considered top security risks, and can't be moved from facility to facility. I'm breaking a lot of rules bringing them to you. I hope whatever you're going to show me is worth this risk."
"Believe me, it is," said Dr. Lane, and he seated the officials in the gallery of the lab.
"Alex," said Dr Lane, "send in our men." Alex crossed to the lab door, and held it open. Into the room came Dr. Lane's new "Brute Force." A group of 47 perfect specimens, all created by Clint and his super sperm. They were in uniforms -- clean white cotton t-shirts, neatly creased short pants, spit polished shoes, officers hats, and each wore a pair of reflective sunglasses. All 48 men, including Clint, lined up in four rows ready for inspection. They removed their hats and stood at attention.
The officials gasped and mumbled as they looked at the specimens before them. Their arms stood out at least a foot from their sides because their lat development prevented them from lowering their arms any further. Yes, they had clean shirts, but they were practically bursting out of them because each man sported at least a 26" arm! Their chests were so large that their pectoral muscles pressed tightly against the shirts and their nipples were clearly visible against the material. Also visible inside these carefully tapered shirts were the perfect ab muscles and massive mounds that made up their shoulders.
Their collars were altered with an exceptionally low neckline -- just below the upper pec line -- which showed off their their massively thick necks and the mounds of deep black curly hair that teemed from their chests. They did have creased pants, but each pair had been carefully cut up the side to allow room for quads that defied description. Thick, bulging, veiny, massive muscle!
Every man had been shaved on the top of the head, and an intimidating goatee was neatly trimmed on every face. These men were awesome and at the same time fearfully intimidating.
"Cover, gentlemen," said Dr. Lane. And the men placed their hats on their heads. "Present arms!" said Dr. Lane and every man flexed his 26" arms. The committee was reacting as planned. "Side bicep pose," said Dr. Lane, and the men obeyed perfectly. "Squad One, please make our guests more comfortable," said Dr. Lane. And 12 muscle monsters paired up, crossed their arms together, and made 6 muscle chairs for the guests to sit in. SCOOP! And each visitor had been picked up off of the floor and was resting comfortably in the arms of two massive men. The men were incredible.
"At ease, men," said Dr. Lane to the rest. "Now, could we bring in the men you brought with you today, Congressman Taylor?"
"What?" Taylor said weakly. He was numbed by what he saw and felt, and not just a little bit excited. "Yes, of course. But be careful, though. They're very dangerous."
"No problem," said Dr. Lane. "Squad Two, bring in the men." At this point four officers in the second row moved off into the outer holding room. "You'd better send more than four," said the Congressman. "No problem," said Dr. Lane again.
Each of the men returned cradling a struggling man in his arms as if he was a squirming baby. The men were frightened as hell, but their struggling was doing them no good. "Set them down, gentlemen," said Dr. Lane, and the muscle- cops did as they were told. "Remove their shackles, please." The Congressman started to object, but Dr. Lane silenced him.
There was no searching for keys. Each officer merely took hold of the chains and, applying the force of their biceps, they ripped the chains from the prisoners' ankles and wrists.
"I understand that you consider these men to be your most unreformable offenders. Your worst violators with no hope of remorse or change in attitude. In other words, you consider them hopeless. Not unlike all of the men you see standing in front of you today." Dr. Lane continued, "We plan to show you how to turn these dregs of society into the same type of law enforcement officer the other men have become. Strong, trustworthy, obedient and loyal. Yes, totally loyal! Clint, come up please. Horne, Ray, and Scott, join him." As the four titans took their places, the four criminals had their clothes ripped from their bodies by the four remaining members of Squad Two.
"What are you..." Congressman Taylor was silenced by the muscle hand that suddenly grabbed him by the crotch. His hands were then placed on two massive and hairy pecs, and his stomach was lovingly rubbed until he was as docile as a lamb.
"Position One," said Dr. Lane, and the four men lifted their intended victims and placed them in the barbell position at shoulder height. The men began to scream.
"Position Two." They were lowered to waist level. "What the hell is happening?" shouted one of the men.
"Begin, please. One." And the curling began. The men were astonished. "Three." The Congressmen were standing on their feet. "Five." The erections began. "Seven." Riiiippppp! And out came the muscle makers!
"Nine." Arms pumped, dicks extended, the men were ready to "make a muscle." "Ten!" The four monsters turned the men upright and impaled them on their staffs. "Make A Muscle," said Dr. Lane. And the pumping began.
"Make A Muscle. Make A Muscle. Make A Muscle." The entire group of officers was chanting. The men were being screwed senseless. They tried to cry out but could only make the silly gurgling sounds. "Make A Muscle. Make A Muscle. Make A Muscle." The group was working themselves into a frenzy. The entire group of muscle men was chanting. The inmates were unconscious by now. The Congressman and his group were flabbergasted. What exactly was this sex scene going to prove?
And then it was done. The four studs lifted their "dolls" from their dicks and dropped them to the floor. The four officers who had brought the men into the room picked them up, and again cradled them in their muscular arms and carried them out. All of the officers came to attention. "NEW MUSCLE MADE, SIR!" they shouted. And they were dismissed.
"In ten minutes, gentlemen you will see the results of our little session here," said Dr. Lane. "I know it might have seemed a bit extreme, but think of the possibilities. 47 of the 48 men you saw here today were considered hardened criminals. They were sent to this institute to be forgotten. They too, were the dregs of society, but look at them now. Thanks to a genetic experiment I've been working on for the past 25 years, that group of man-muscle you saw here today is fit to go out and protect the streets they once terrorized."
Ten minutes had passed and Dr. Lane called out, "Alex, would you bring in the men now, please."
Alex opened the door and they entered from the next room, dressed exactly like the other officers, and every bit as big and muscular, shaved, crisp, and clean. They stood at attention, looking straight ahead. Their sunglasses covering their eyes.
"A demonstration," said Dr. Lane. "Gentlemen, present arms!" and they did their double bicep pose. "At ease." Alex handed them each a 2 inch thick iron bar that was 24 inches long. "Gentlemen, to be part of our force, you must be able to bend that bar into the shape of a horseshoe in less than one minute. Go!" And it was over nearly as fast as it had begun. All bars were completely bent in half within five seconds, dropped to the floor, and the men stood with their arms flared out to their sides.
"Alex, the bricks." And each man was handed a three and a half inch thick, 5" X 8" brick, one in each hand. "In order to be part of our force you must be able to break these bricks in two using only one hand each. Go!" And within three seconds, not only were the bricks broken, but they exploded into fine powder and disintegrated into the air. The Congressmen were astonished!
"Squad, follow me, please," Dr. Lane commanded. "Gentlemen, each man you see before you has 26" arms (they did a side-tricep pose in unison), 78" shoulders (they did a "most muscular" pose), 60" chest (they began to bounce their pecs, and the shirts stretched to the breaking point), 30' waist (they crunched into a pose which showed off their highly developed abs, clearly visible beneath the shirts), 28" quads and 18' calves (they flexed their quads, and rotated their legs to show both muscle groups), and gentlemen their uniforms are packed with the same 15" power poles of manhood that you saw earlier. Perfect specimens of manhood, gentlemen. And stronger than any man alive. Their pain tolerance levels are immeasurable -- completely off any testing chart we now use, and they are completely obedient. Now I'd like to retire to my office so that we can discuss the possible terms of an agreement. Squad! If you will assist the honorable committee, please."
And one officer from each "chair" easily cradled an official in their powerful arms, and carried them to the next wing to Dr. Lane's office.
The meeting didn't take long. All of the officials could see the value of the massive "muscle cops." The negotiations were easy and fast, and within 30 days a platoon of 52 reformed criminals was on the streets, a brute squad with Clint as their leader.
He was doing far better than any of the scientists had anticipated. He loved being huge and each day they gave him more and more supplements based on their findings about his rate of growth. They continued to adjust his attitude through chemical means, and his aggressiveness level was climbing rapidly. They wanted to keep him growing while not endangering him at the same time.
He was just over 7' 6" and weighed 453! There was not another man who was as big as Clint. He produced sperm at an incredible rate, and could have sex all day and night if it was necessary. And at the rate the streets were being cleaned up, it was becoming necessary.
The first three target areas they had designated were: downtown Chicago, the inner city schools, and the subway system. The men had been deployed in teams of two, and Clint was housed in a renovated hotel near the worst area in the city. All of the doors and ceilings had been redesigned to accommodate Clint's freaky size. A weightlifting gym was installed on the second floor with equipment that was not your usual gym fare. It had been modified to suit Clint's purposes.They also installed a wrestling arena with a ring and mats in a design specified by Clint. The shower room was immense, with eight jets that sprayed into the center of the 16' X 16' tiled room. It made showering an event.
All of the officers had been assigned specific locations to patrol, and now it was time to stop the crime and recruit some new muscle.
Location 1. The subway:
Knives were drawn, and the three 20 year old punks were demanding money from the passengers on the downtown express. The subway car continued to move rapidly through the tunnel as people, fearing for their lives, handed over jewelry, money, and anything else of value.
The three men had been terrorizing the subway system for weeks. One person had been killed and eight seriously wounded for refusing to give up theri possessions. Suddenly the door at the end of the car opened. In the doorway stood a massive muscle monster assigned to this subway system. The punks turned and pointed their knives at the cop. He walked toward the punks. He had no weapons; all he did was flex his unbelievable biceps for the puny idiots to see.
"Please guys," he said, "don't make me use these." And he flexed again for emphasis. "What?" The punks laughed and then lashed out. In one move the cop had the three men caught! -- one in each hand and one under his right arm!
"Sorry, fellas, but you don't listen" he said, "so this is the stop where you get off." WHAM! One punk hit the ceiling and was knocked senseless and then the cop dropped him to the floor. BAM! Another was smashed into the right wall of the subway car and was likewise out cold. THUD! HEAD BUTT! The other guy never knew what had hit him. The officer threw the unconscious bodies -- one across each massive shoulder -- and one cradled in his arms, and left the car as silent as he had entered. The people on the car cheered!
Within 30 minutes the punks were naked on the floor in front of Clint. He was standing there soaking wet, having just finished his shower. He was slowly stroking his 10" of manhood.
"So fellas," Clint began as he caressed his right pec, "my men tell me you like terrorizing people in the subway, huh? Bad idea. It would have been wise of you to surrender to the man when he asked to to, but now something a little different is in store for you. Sorry you never got what you were looking for from those people, but in a minute you're going to get something you've only dreamed about -- from me." And he smiled as he looked down at his flaccid penis.
"Damn!" said one of the punks.
"Oh, you like it?" asked Clint as he rubbed his dick slowly. And he smiled again, realizing how he towered over the men kneeling in front of him. He slowly caressed his left pec as he checked out his left bicep muscle at the same time. His 30 inch arm was incredible. He was no other word but 'massive.'
He was putting on a show for the highly aroused men. They were all becoming excited. They couldn't help it. Clint smiled again and ran his hand down his washboard stomach. He was having fun. "I see you're becoming more than a little interested!" said Clint. They just stared. Clint had his hands locked behind his head and was showing off his massive biceps quite nicely.
Each man was, at the most, 150 lbs. Clint could take care of them all at once just as easily as he could do them one at a time. They weren't going to be much of a physical challenge. But first he wanted them ready!
"OK guys, time to get hard for Clint." He loved doing this. So far, no one had ever been able to resist him. He struck a double bicep pose, and then bounced the huge biceps several times. That always got them started. And sure enough dicks were beginning to fill out! "Good job, men!" said Clint. "You're rising to the occasion quite well!"
Clint enjoyed the power he had over other guys! All three men were getting off watching him flex. "Oh! Now men, not quite hard enough!" he said. So he began bouncing his pecs back and forth. It was amazing how rapidly this always worked. All pricks came to rapid attention! "Good boys, your tiny little tools are almost big enough to see!" he said, and he reached down and picked up the largest of the group by the shoulders and lifted him high off of the ground.
"Like to exercise?" he asked. "You look like you may have a little muscle there." And he squeezed the guy's left bicep until he yelled out in pain!
The man shook his head rapidly. "No, I don't exercise, asshole, and you're crushing my arm!"
"Oh, you should," Clint said, just a little annoyed, "it might give you pecs like these." And he bounced his pecs slowly three or four more times in front of the guy's face and then buried the face in his massive chest, rubbing it hard against the wall of granite.
"It might also give you arms like these..." then he rubbed the guy's face onto his right bicep... " or abs like these..." and he ran his face up and down his washboard abs. The guy was screaming in pain.
He dropped the guy to the floor, as he grabbed the other two by their necks and stood them up, their 7 inch rods standing at attention. "Bend over, little man," he said to the one on his left.
"No way, you muscle head freak!" he shouted. Clint shook his head and merely forced the guy into position as easily as if he was a toy. "Who loves you, stud?" he asked the punk. He held him there with one hand, while he grabbed the second guy by the dick. It was completely rigid. "Well, I think it's this little man!"
Clint laughed and he inserted him into the first guy, and rammed the two of them together. He held the duo with his left hand and picked up the third with his right. "You look lonely. Are you lonely?" Clint asked the third terrified guy.
"No!" he yelled. Clint pulled the guy up to eye level. "You like this, don't you?" he asked the guy, and he shook him and made him nod his head two or three times. "I've never attempted this with three guys at one time," Clint said, and he dropped the duo in his right hand. They were stunned. He then put the third guy into Position One.
The pumping began and by "ten" Clint, of course, was as hard as a 18 inch rod of steel. And the "barbell" was sporting a 7 1/2 inch hard-on himself. Clint positioned the guy over the other two and... Smash! The little man had his little rod inserted into the rear of man number two. The group was complete! 450 lbs. of slime planted securely together. Now it was Clint's turn.
"OK boys, get ready. When I'm done with you, you'll appreciate me for doing this!" He lifted the group to his shoulder level just above his mammoth prick, his biceps slightly straining under the pressure of three bodies, and placed them slowly onto his 18 inch rod. He had the middle guy tight around his waist, and his penis was ready to go! He was ready to make more muscle. Clint began to pump.
"Make A Muscle! Make A Muscle." He pumped the last guy until he was full to the eyes! All the while the other guys kept moaning -- they were loving it -- and man number one was ready to shoot! And he did, right into the ass of man number two. Clint laughed and pumped faster. He was loving it.
The second guy yelled and moaned and cried out and suddenly he shot into number three! Clint was going wild. "Good little boys! Here I come again!" He was a sperm machine.
"Make A Muscle! Make a Muscle!" he began to chant and number three shot! Clint was raving "Make a Muscle! Make A Muscle!" and all three men were moaning, yelling, freaking out!
Clint could go on for hours, but he knew his partners wouldn't survive it, so he slowed his rhythm, and then stopped and removed himself from the rear end of the group. "Now", he thought, as he lifted the unconscious trio from his throbbing pole, "I'll leave them stuck together like this. Watching the whole group transform as a pack should be fun." So he sat back on the couch and in three minutes their change began. Two hours later the group was dressed and on the streets working!
Puny Punks into Pillars of Power! New Muscles Made!
Clint was on the second floor in the gym when the new group of scum was brought to him. He was just beginning his workout, and his pecs were just beginning to get a pump. He watched himself in the mirror, checking out his progress. Both officers had an unconscious guy over each shoulder and a guy locked in each hand -- they almost crushed their necks while they carried them at shoulder level, their feet inches from the ground.
"Sir!" said one of the recruits who brought the guys in, "we caught this group (indicating the guys he was 'carrying') breaking into a store down on Bleaker Street. When we arrived, the owner was dead, and they were holding his wife hostage. And this group (indicating the group dangling from his partner's arms and across his massive shoulders) beat a group of school kids senseless, and were robbing them when we arrived. Sorry they're all unconscious. It was necessary to subdue them."
"No problem, gentlemen. Please put them in the wrestling ring, and remove their clothes for me."
They did as they were told. Clint followed them into the room that had been equipped with a 36' X 36' professional style wrestling ring with padding on every inch of wall and floor space. The ceiling was completely covered in mirrors. The men were lying -- two on each side of the ring -- and Clint waited in the middle.
"Thanks, men," said Clint, "Now leave them with me. Oh! and please chain and bar the door as you leave. Extra reiforcement might be necessary. We wouldn't want any of our 'recruits' to try and leave us, would we?" The cops did as they were told.
Eight pieces of trash! Clint smiled. This was going to be the best yet! Clint sat in the middle of the ring assessing the situation. He smiled as he took in the group. They were all in the 5' 10" range, and for the most part weighted 175 lbs. or so.
Five minutes later the group began to revive. Clint had taken his pill shortly before the group was brought in. He was feeling and showing the effects of this latest drug. His giant biceps were warm and blood was coursing through his veins. He looked down at the 30 inch mass of muscle and flexed. There were no other arms this big. No set of hands could encircle the entire girth of these mounds.
He looked down to see his pecs beginning to jump by themselves! This was a first. Usually he had to concentrate to make them move this way. They seemed to be getting bigger! His legs were always tremendous, but as he flexed his calves and quads he felt a power in them he had never experienced before.
His shoulders began to throb -- small movements at first, and then a visible pumping movement that made it seem as if his deltoids were breathing. Bigger and bigger -- they expanded like they were being filled with air. But it wasn't air! It was more and more muscle mass. He was truly a giant. His frame was expanding. He now measured 7' 10". He was enthralled with himself. This was the goal.
After years of preparation, years of care and feeding, years of exercise and training, the "experiment" was reaching their desired culmination. The pills also caused a heightened sense of aggression that Clint was really feeling big-time! He just wanted to brawl and fornicate. He was outraged at the audacity of men who committed these terrible crimes against the helpless public, and all he wanted to do was to pay them back for their deeds.
He was vaguely becoming aware of the buzzing sound that was beginning in his brain. Now his mind was occupied with only one thought -- revenge. Where did this feeling come from? He felt as though something had been done to him personally by these degenerates. He wanted to avenge himself.
"Make A Muscle, Clint," he kept hearing through the buzzing sound. "They despise who you are; they despise your size, your weight, your looks! They want to hurt you badly. You've got to get them before they get you! Make A Muscle!" He looked around him at the eight men lying near the ropes, and snarled as he flexed his entire body. With the execution of a "most muscular" pose he shouted and made up his mind to begin with the smallest man. An example to the others was in order!
The buzzing was growing louder. He couldn't think. By now all eight men were conscious. They could see Clint clearly, standing in the middle of the ring. His chest was moving rapidly up and down. His breathing was heavy. His giant chest was incredible -- like pillows of steel on top of a massive frame. His eyes were huge and dilated. He was slightly delirious. The muscles in his legs pulsed and fell. Blood was clearly visible coursing through his veins.
Clint crossed to the far end of the ring and reached down to the small man. With barely any effort he lifted the 5' 5" man to eye level. His feet were nearly two feet from the floor! He needed to get hard, and exercise was the only way. His massive pole had grown to 12" soft, and could reach an erection of 21"! It took lots of exercise to get enough blood flowing to make the erection possible, though, and he was going to use these men to do it.
"Wrestle me, punk!" he yelled into the man's face. "And you'd better make a good effort or you'll regret it big time. See this fist?" And he bunched his mammoth hand into an unbelievable mass. "If you don't want it to be a temporary part of your anatomy, start fighting!" And he threw the man across the ring and he hit the mat with a thud.
"Get up, punk! Come at me or you're dead!" Clint yelled, and the 155 lb. man ran at him from across the ring. Clint lowered his left shoulder and met the man's chest. THUD! The puny scum hit Clint and fell back onto the mat. Clint had barely moved.
"Again! yelled Clint. "Get up and try it again!" And the man ran at Clint a second time. As he neared Clint, he tried throwing his body at the giant to attempt to knock him down. Clint held out one hand and caught the man by the neck. He raised him almost 9 feet into the air! SMASH! The man landed on his ass in the center of the ring. Clint smirked! He could tell he wasn't going to get much resistance with this guy, so he called out to the second 150 lb. guy and yelled, "Help him! Do you hear me? Help him overcome THIS! And he raised his arms and struck an incredible double bicep pose that produced the 30" mounds.
The men were as scared as hell, but they ran at Clint, jumped up, and grabbed his uplifted arms and attempted to pull him backwards to the ground. Clint never moved. The men hung in mid-air, holding on to Clint's arms, feet dangling far from the floor. Clint began to flex and unflex his biceps causing the men to raise and lower like little merry-go-round figures. Then he began to turn in a circle as the men held on for their lives. They were flying parallel to the ground, and finally could not hold on any longer. Clint flexed one last time and both men lost their grip and went flying from the ring and crashed into the padded walls - 14 feet away!
"Pitiful!" yelled Clint. "Someone give me a challenge! I'm still not even the slightest bit aroused!" he yelled as he presented his 12" flaccid cock to the group. "There are six of you left in this ring! Your friends will be out for a while. Now show me what you're made of!"
And the group of six rushed Clint all at once, and they managed to drive him into a corner of the ring, covering his body with 1,000 lbs. of man-flesh. Clint was pressed against the ring post. He hadn't ever felt this much pressure before. His penis was starting to grow!
"Do it, little men!" he said, "you're getting me going! Try and hold me back!" And he pushed back against the group and knocked them flat on their asses out in the center of the ring. "Take me, you scum!" he yelled. "Do it now, or you're dead!"
The first two to recover went for his legs, the second two for his thighs, and the other two for his upper body. By now the two "resting" outside of the ring had returned, and all eight men were working on Clint. Harder and harder they pushed, and finally they managed to topple him to the ground! Two men sat on his waist, two on his chest, one on each leg, and one on each arm. He had 1,300 lbs. pinning him to the mat. He struggled, and pushed, and strained, and as he did so, his flaccid penis was getting larger. "Do it, little men! Hold me down! Keep me in place if you can!" he yelled. "You're making me hard as hell!"
And he started his upward movement! His limbs were tightened, his muscles strained! He was going to overpower eight men at once! The thought of it made him as hard as steel! His erect penis stood almost two feet in the air, and he was ready to use it to do some damage!
"Make A Muscle!" "Make A Muscle" he began to chant, and he pulled his left arm free. A man went flying to the edge of the ring! "Make A Muscle!" he said again, and his right arm ejected a weak 175 lb. man 10 feet to his right! Then he threw the two sitting on his chest, one off to the right and the other to the left of his body, and grabbed the heads of the two sitting on his waist and crashed them together! They were out! The two sitting on his legs just jumped up and ran to the corners of the ring.
"YEAH!" yelled Clint. "Run you weaklings! I'm as hard as I get and now it's time to make some muscle!" And he grabbed his erect penis and pointed it toward the biggest man. "You first, tough guy! I want to get off on seeing muscle turned into even more muscle! You're going to be good!" All the other men ran from the ring heading toward the door.
"No way out, girls!" he yelled. "It's reinforced steel. After I'm finished with him, I'm coming for the rest of you. So get ready!" Clint reached out and grabbed the muscular guy by the waist and lifted him into the air. "Make A Muscle, Clint!" he shouted, and impaled the man on his shaft.