Brawn 

 

by Sean Reid Scott  This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.

Posted: in the before time  ::  Approx. 4,500 words

 

EOPLE ALWAYS FOUND IT IRONIC that his parents had named him Brawn. When most people learned his name, their first response was something like “sounds appropriate,” even if they only thought it without voicing it.

Many people didn’t voice it, though. He didn’t come across as the type of man who would laugh at much.

The guy was enormous.

He was more than enormous; he was a giant of a man-- the kind of physical specimen you only read about in Ripley’s “Believe it or Not,” or in fiction on the Web. Certainly, you didn’t actually encounter men his size.

As he grew up, Brawn had somehow managed to confine his need to dominate-- or at least to direct it in nominally non-violent spheres. His dad would undoubtedly beg to differ with that assessment, though. He finally kicked Brawn out of the house at age 16 when the pile of mangled lawn mowers, crunched car engines, crushed hot-water-heaters, and even imploded vaults began to fill the garage to overflowing.

The garbage haulers and recyclers refused to pick them up-- just too much.

It seemed every week, Brawn dragged home some new mass of metal from the junk yard. Once in the garage, he stripped to cut-offs and went to work-- pushing and compacting whatever it was that he’d obtained.

His dad was incredulous at first, just amazed at his kid’s size and strength. Some times he’d stand in the kitchen door, watching. As Brawn’s huge back reached around, say, a hot water heater and his enormous arms expanded, he flexed, lifting it in the air. Then the thing began to creak and groan. With a hiss, it would give under Brawn’s inhuman grip, crumbling inward. In a matter of minutes the thing would be reduced to half its original size, and Brawn’s dad would silently excuse himself to retreat to the bedroom for a new set of boxers, to replace the cum-filled ones he was wearing.

He loved his son, and he didn’t want to make him go-- if for no other reason than his own infatuation with Brawn’s incredibly unbelievable physique.

But the bigger the boy got, the more unruly he became. He began to defy his dad’s authority. He stopped cleaning up after himself. He began to apply his temper to the woodwork. His dad was going broke on carpenters called to repair and replace door jams and headers forced out of place and cracked by Brawn’s short fuse.

He didn’t really fear for his life, although Brawn could have pulled him apart with minimal effort. But he knew Brawn couldn’t use his temper on his own dad. That he knew.

Now, on someone else… maybe.

But nevertheless, dad had had enough of the repair bills, the dump yard that his garage had become, and the rebellious attitude.

Brawn and an older buddy got an apartment.

And for the rest of his high school years, Brawn tried as best he could to toe the line and stay out of trouble. Sometimes, his temper didn’t always stay in check-- like the time he ripped that highway guard rail off its posts and folded it like he was playing an accordion. Or when he went to the rail yard and lifted one end of a parked rail car off the tracks and sat it down three feet off.

But occasionally, he was able to use his hot head and out-of-this-world strength for good. Tommy (his roommate) liked to work on his F350, and occasionally Brawn would serve as a jack, benching the thing from one of its axels, holding it there while Tommy worked on it, lying at Brawn’s side. More than once, Tommy had to jerk off at the feat, and that just made Brawn smirk while the older kid moaned, shooting his load up at the undercarriage.

After high school, Brawn-- who was pretty good with gadgets-- got a job with a cell phone company, working in their device support office, mostly fixing phones. It was actually pretty amazing to see this hulk of a kid working so tenderly and gently on these tiny objects.

But as time progressed and Brawn’s body moved into its maturity, his blood pulsed with so much testosterone that he had to get out.

Out of this life.

He looked as his situation and realized that this just wasn’t right. There was more for him. If only he could direct all of this heat that boiled inside-- in the right direction.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t.

It was a sunny Wednesday, lunch time. Brawn sat on the edge of the city square, eating his lunch, watching people as they passed by.

He was angry. (Brawn was always, but now even more.) He looked at the hopeless circle of his life. Somewhere in the microscopic synapse of his brain, a connection formed. It was tentative at first, but it became stronger. Then, inside, he snapped.

This was over. He had had enough.

He wanted more.

More of what he had no idea. But he knew that he didn’t have enough.

He was a master at acting impulsively, but for some reason, at this juncture he decided to think things out. He decided to come up with a plan.

The plan only took him an afternoon to formulate, so when you consider it was a plan that would alter his life forever, one could argue it was impulsive nonetheless. But he did give it some genuine thought, however cursory.

When five o’clock rounded the bend, Brawn closed up his work station and headed for the door. His plan was now engaged: Pleasure. Pleasure no matter what. From now on, Brawn would live for pleasure; and his mighty body would not only be the recipient of that pleasure, it would be the means for it as well.

First stop, an old gym that was tucked away inside a dilapidated warehouse in the seediest part of town. Only the most hardcore lifters frequented this gym. Most of ‘em were more interested in powerlifting than bodybuilding. But guys with honed physiques were there too.

It was the kind of place where you watched your back. Drug deals went down in the parking lot at all hours of the night and day-- and the abundance of roids made for quite a business inside the gym as well.

Brawn had never been to this gym, so when he walked in the door on that sweltering summer evening, heads turned. His skin-tight T-shirt and cutoffs left nothing to the imagination. The vast array of muscle at the gym had never seen anything like Brawn-- and that was saying something. Men who could easily bend rebar with their bare hands watched in awe (awe that was hidden from view, of course) as the nineteen-year-old stood in the doorway. His silhouette blocked most of the light that entered, save for the point at his insanely narrow waist, where there was much more light slipping by.

The kid looked around the room and locked eyes with most of the men. A few guys were in the middle of sets and weren’t yet aware of Brawn’s presence.

Brawn felt his penis thicken ever-so-slightly as he watched this tonnage of muscle admire his body.

Brawn didn’t move for a minute or so more. When he did, he strode over to a corner where a few duffle bags were thrown. He faced a wall as he lifted his T-shirt up over his torso, almost tearing it as it fought to navigate his lats-- lats that were so wide and thick that the overhang protruded out parallel with the floor.

Brawn lifted the fabric all the way up and tossed it on the floor. A relief map of muscle and veins advertised itself to the onlookers, eliciting a couple of muffled gasps.

Someone dropped a dumbbell.

Brawn turned and faced the room. All eyes were glued to his immense, rippling physique-- a physique like none other on earth. He ignored them, although his cock did jump once again at the sight of so much muscle overcome by his body.

Both of the benches were occupied. The guys that had them were huge men-- not by comparison to Brawn, but huge by normal-human-standards. Brawn walked to the closest one. It had over 500 pounds on the bar. He looked down at the guy sitting on the bench, and without saying a word communicated all that need to be communicated.

Without speaking, the guy stood moved out of the way.

Brawn sat, and then lied back. He grasped the bar wide, and without hesitation pushed it up off the stand. With a methodical, consistent speed-- but by no means slow-- Brawn lowered the bar to kiss his protruding nipples then immediately pressed it upward. His velocity increased slightly after the first few reps, and it was clear he was very comfortable with this warm-up weight. After 12 reps, Brawn racked the bar and sat up. He scanned the room for more plates, but could see only a few 45s were free. The bar on the bench next to him had four 100 pound superplates on it. He stood and moved to one end of the bar.

“Going to need these,” he said as he grabbed the first one. He paused, locked eyes with the big-gutted bencher and nodded for assistance. The guy immediately stood and took a 100 off the other end of the bar. One more trip for Brawn and the guy, and Brawn’s bar was now 400 pounds heavier.

“You going to need a spot?” the bencher asked.

Brawn just grunted. It would take more than that one lifter to spot him anyway… He lied back on the bench and placed his hands wide again. His enormous arms tightened as he began to press the bar off the stand.

As a few more muffled gasps of awe were raised, Brawn lowered the bar to his chest with seemingly the same amount of effort as before. He pressed it up, paused, and lowered it again.

He slowed down at the eighth rep, and with the ninth he paused at the bottom. With visible effort taxing his unimaginable body, Brawn tightened his muscles and slowly forced the bar upward. The stress had its biggest effect on Brawn’s cuttoff denim shorts. The power of benching the high side of 900 pounds for rep after rep, while displaying this inhuman power to all of these musclemen, had thickened Brawn’s dick more and more with each rep. Now, on this ninth rep, the fabric finally lost the battle to contain the thickening and lengthening member. As the bar made it to the middle-- that sticking point-- Brawn’s shorts burst at the zipper. It was just the added inspiration the teen needed to force the bar the rest of the way up.

A few moans wafted through the air as Brawn held the bar there, unwilling to quit before an even 10 reps. Brawn’s chest rose and fell with steady, fast breaths-- and then, he bent his arms and lowered the bar very slowly.

As his pecs thickened and rose to kiss the lowering bar, Brawn’s gigantic arms began to twitch. Ripples and veins fought to service the boy’s straining cannons. He pressed his feet into the floor, but kept his back straight, in perfect form. His pinky-sized nipples reached out and caressed the steel bar, and immediately Brawn began moving it upward once again.

As his anaconda pulsed up above his boxers, Brawn finished the rep, to the astonishment of everyone in the room.

Brawn sat up and noticed that a few of the guys had either turned away as they tried to hide their orgasmic appreciation for the feat they had just witnessed, or they were so mesmerized by what they had seen that they weren’t even aware of the wet spots on their workout shorts.

One guy was trying to conceal his inability to control himself by standing up against a weight machine. Brawn met his eyes and slightly cocked his head in a “come-ere” motion. The horrified man could only obey.

Standing next to Brawn, the guy’s hardon bulged beneath his sweatpants; a large dark spot dampened the place where the head pressed. Brawn pulled the waistband out and slipped his fingers inside, scooping up some of the lust offering. With his other hand, he gently squeezed the guy’s balls just for a second. He withdrew his fingers and let go of the testicles, bringing the white glob on his fingertips to his lips. He slowly inserted the fingers inside and slurped the jizz.

“Thanks for the compliment,” he said, looking up into the man’s wide eyes.

The next hour, Brawn worked just about all of his body parts, breaking pretty much every rule about grouping muscle parts on various days. The gym tried to resume its own routine of clanging plates and grunting effort, but there wasn’t a man there who didn’t have at least one eye on the teen the whole time.

He was finishing up with back.

A bodybuilder-type-- actually a really huge and ripped bodybuilder type-- had been doing sets of pull-ups on the only chin-up bar in the gym.

But it was Brawn’s turn now.

“How much do you weigh?” Brawn asked, disregarding the fact that the guy was in the middle of his set.

Somewhat pissed, but not wanting to show it, the guy dangled for a second and then-- his concentration lost-- dropped to the floor. “230,” the man said. He looked heavier than that, but that was probably because he was so freakin’ lean. Every muscle shown in fantastic definition. The guy was amazing.

“That’ll be about right,” Brawn said. He moved to the bar, forcing the bodybuilder to step aside. He turned to face the room, looked at the BB, cocked his head and said, “hop on,” motioning with his head for the guy to get behind him.

The bodybuilder hesitated.

“You got a problem?” Brawn asked. His eyes demanded immediate obedience.

The guy knew resistance was futile, yet draping himself on this giant of a kid-- in front of his peers in the gym-- was the last thing he wanted to do.

But like I said, he knew he had no choice. Slowly he moved to Brawn’s back. As he looked at the indescribable breadth and definition of the teenager’s back, he felt his staunchly heterosexual cock begin to twitch. In an instant, Brawn had reached inside the guy and pulled to the surface every latent gay muscle-loving feeling the guy had subconsciously repressed.

Unable to process these feelings of unbridled lust for this musclekid, the bodybuilder froze. Yet, he knew Brawn wouldn’t wait forever.

Indeed, Brawn didn’t. He turned his thick neck and glanced at the man behind him. “Get on. Now.”

Involuntarily, the man subordinated himself. The next thing he knew, his arms were wrapped around Brawn’s muscled neck, and his legs coddled the teen’s extremely narrow waist as his ankles locked in front of the enormous quads.

Brawn raised his giant arms outward and then up. Standing on his toes, he grasped the bar with a wide grip, palms facing away. The floor immediately began to get farther away, and the bodybuilder was astounded at the ease with which the muscles to which he clung tightened, contracted and lifted the combined weight of Brawn and himself. The guy rode up and down on Brawn’s back for rep after rep-- all the while his cock getting harder and harder as it pressed into the small of the teen’s back. 

Just when the bodybuilder thought he could hold back his orgasm no longer, Brawn finished the set and stood on the floor.

The guy didn’t know if he should get off or not.

“Off,” Brawn said, and the guy obeyed.

“Good warm-up,” the teen smirked. “But I need more weight.” He scanned the room for the necessary equipment, and soon the bodybuilder had a weight belt around his waist that held a chain carrying two 100 pound superplates.

Brawn crouched in front of the bodybuilder, adjusting the belt. The strain of the weight on the man was obvious. Brawn looked up at the man’s face. “What’s your name?”

“Thomas,” came the reply.

Finishing the last adjustment of the belt and chain, Brawn slowly rose. He stood right in front of Thomas, and put his hand on the man’s engorged genitals and, as if shaking a man’s hand, said “Glad to meet you, Thomas. My name’s Brawn.”

Thomas didn’t move. Had Brawn kept his squeezing hand there even one more second, he would have surely cum.

“I don’t think you’re going to be able to hold on to me very long with this additional weight,” Brawn said. “But don’t worry. I have an idea.”

With that, Brawn gently leaned forward and wrapped his hands around Thomas in a caressing, sensual hug. He moved his face down to Thomas’ and kissed the man. In a few seconds, his tongue was gingerly exploring Thomas’ mouth.

Both the men’s breathing increased, and Brawn was hard as a pipe before a minute had elapsed. Brawn broke the kiss. He pulled his boxers apart, and did likewise with Thomas’ shorts. Planting his feet shoulder-width apart, Brawn lifted Thomas-- and the 200 pounds-- into the air.

“Spread ‘em,” he smiled up at the bodybuilder. 

Thomas raised his legs, and Brawn slowly lowered him onto his gigantic cock.

Thomas wailed in pain, squeezing Brawn’s delts and traps, trying to push himself up.

But it was too late, and Thomas was unable to make any difference in his downward progress. Internal organs moved aside as Brawn’s tree branch of a cock moved inside the world-class competitive bodybuilder.

As Thomas’ ass met the trimmed fuzziness of Brawn’s pubes, Thomas’ moans took on a resigned tone. He held his breath, and then alternately panted, trying to find some sort of comfortable position-- which wasn’t at all possible.

Brawn leaned his face into Thomas’ once again and kissed him gently.

Tenderly.

Brawn flexed his cock inside Thomas, and the bodybuilder yelped.

Brawn smiled.

But now it was time to get back to working out. 

Brawn’s mighty arms reached up once again and grabbed the bar above. With Thomas impaled on his giant cock, Brawn’s body burst into rippling oceans of muscle as the two men cruised upward toward the ceiling.

After the first few reps, Brawn began to nuzzle Thomas’ neck. By the end of the set, the bodybuilder would have a nice dark hickey to show for the event-- not to mention an ass in need of some reconstructive surgery. But alas, by the time Brawn would be done with him, the only surgery Thomas would be getting would be an autopsy.

After 10 relatively easy reps, Brawn finished the set. He wrapped Thomas in his gorgeous, powerful arms and smiled. He put his forehead against Thomas’, and although the words he said to the smaller, older bodybuilder weren’t audible to anyone but Thomas, Brawn’s smile and tone seemed to be trying to reassure the man that everything was going to be just fine.

But Thomas was in pain. He whimpered, almost crying.

Brawn slowly walked around the gym, with Thomas on his cock, and the plates of metal dangling between his legs. He kept his forehead against Thomas’ and alternately kissed, then whispered and grinned.

When the between-set rest was over, Brawn returned to the bar and began another set. As his magnificent body raised and lowered, Thomas’ whimpers of pain began to turn to moans of pre-orgasmic bliss.

It was on the sixth-- or was it seventh-- rep (most observers weren’t counting) that Thomas cock began to erupt with enough white spray to make a porn star proud. Coating Brawn’s abs, his downward-pointing nipples, chest and even a few blotches landing on Brawn’s shoulders, Thomas literally gushed with appreciation for the muscle freak on which he rode.

Brawn’s pace slowed just a tad by the eighth and ninth reps, and the tenth rep was clearly a challenge. By the time Brawn let go of the bar and stood below it, it was clear that Thomas wasn’t the only man in the room who had exploded with white love for the teen. Abandoning any shame whatsoever, four men had completely exposed themselves as they masturbated to Brawn’s inhuman display of strength and youthful virility. Two men had begun kissing and petting each other-- apparently enjoying their new-found lust for muscle. And one guy writhed in his orgasm, even though he remained clothed.

Brawn resumed kissing his worshipper’s mouth. His enormous arms engulfed Thomas, bulging with powerful size. He squeezed his glutes as he tightened his cock inside Thomas.

As he withdrew his slimy, wet tongue from Thomas’ mouth, he whispered thanks for his service. “And now, it’s time for the best part,” Brawn said softly. He pushed Thomas down on his roaring cock.

Thomas yelped.

Brawn frenched Thomas yet again, and flexed his cock again.

And again.

His tongue raped Thomas’ mouth; his cock raped Thomas’ ass. And his powerful arms tightened even more.

Stars began to appear in Thomas’ field of vision. The strength of the arms around him was cutting off his air flow. As he flirted with unconsciousness, Thomas could sense Brawn’s orgasm was imminent.

Brawn panted as he kept his tongue in Thomas’ mouth. His cock throbbed. He gently bucked his hips, forcing just a hint of movement within Thomas’ body. Only millimeters of motion was necessary, or desired. Brawn’s ultimate control was unfathomable.

The intense pain was overwhelming Thomas. Brawn’s thickening penis threatened to expand beyond what his mighty body could contain.

Still more panting from Brawn’s horse-like nostrils against Thomas’ face-- as that warm, wet tongue continued to slowly move over molar, bicuspid, tongue and even back to the uvula.

The men in the room renewed their sexual worship of the teen. As two men came a second time, Brawn’s vice-like arms began to crack ribs in Thomas’ lean body. 

Thomas shrieked inside Brawn’s mouth, immediately jolting out of his semi-conscious state.

Brawn’s breathing became slower now. He had brought himself exactly where he wanted to be: the edge. He held still; then he tightened and twisted his bulging arms once again and heard a few more pops of rib and vertebrae.

The teenager brought one hand up Thomas’ back and set it onto the man’s neck. He tightened it, finding the right position. His forearm fissured with striations of rippling muscle, to the onlooker’s delight.

One more slight rotation of Thomas’ body on his cock, and the report of cracking vertebrae could be heard by most of the men in the room.

As Thomas’ pain and inability to inhale began to displace his consciousness, the stars in his eyes increased. Dizziness overcame him. He started to slip into the darkness.

And Brawn froze.

Brawn held completely still; on the edge. His stupendous control was beyond belief. He held his man in his gigantic arms. He kept his cock still inside Thomas’ body. He was only millimeters away from eruption, yet he stood there, on the precipice, for what seemed like hours, enjoying every single second of the moment.

Just before passing out totally, Thomas began to feel the first explosions of Brawn’s cock inside him. The hot, gushing explosion of semen burst up into his abdominal cavity. The pain, more intense than anything he had ever felt, was white-hot. But the sensation lasted only a few seconds, before Brawn’s supreme manliness discharged the life from within the bodybuilder.

As Brawn’s mammoth cock opened and closed repeatedly, inside Thomas, the teenager’s hand squeezed the neck and snapped it. Brawn’s life essence filled Thomas’ dying body. The jizz began to shoot out of Thomas’ ass, flowing onto Brawn’s growling balls.

Brawn shot and shot for almost five minutes, emptying himself into the impaled, twitching body.

Even when he was through, Brawn held Thomas for a few minutes, caressing him, kissing him, loving the feeling of overpowering him in this ultimate sexual conquest.

At just the right time, Brawn’s huge, rippling arms released his prey. He lifted Thomas up-- it had to be high, in order to get him all the way up off his completely vertical cock. As Brawn’s cock thwapped against his abs and pecs as it was released from Thomas’ now limp body, the teenager let go of the man. Thomas’ once powerful body fell to the ground, hitting and being hit by the two 100 pound plates.

Brawn turned from the pile of metal and muscle. As he did do, his cock swung wide into the room, proclaiming its supremacy (as if it needed to do so).

A few more flexes of his cock, and Brawn was able to express out the last dribbles of cum.

Some of the men whimpered. Some gasped over and over, dangerously short of breath. A few of them headed for the doors, but stopped themselves before exiting, because they couldn’t stand to be out of the presence of this newly-discovered god.

Brawn slowly cleaned up the cum and blood from his cock, occasionally stroking himself as he did so.

The room was frozen, in lust and in fear.

Brawn looked the men over and found the best-built guy there. They locked eyes.

“You’re next,” the teen announced. “Come-ere.”

— SRS

 

 

 

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