From: BBMSN@aol.com The Kid George arrived late at the gym that night. He usually worked out at 6AM, but because of some vandalism at his ironworks plant the night before, he had spent the morning with the police. Pissed him off to miss a workout, so here he was at 9:30 at night heading in to train. The gym closed at 10, but he and the owner, Nick, went way back, to when they both used to compete in powerlifting contests. George knew Nick would let him lift past 10. Now at 59, George was too busy with his business to compete, but was still the strongest guy at the gym, weighing in at 265lbs of rocksolid mature beef. George found Nick at the front counter. "Hey, what the hell you doing here so late?" asked Nick. "A little trouble at work this morning. Mind if I stay late?" said George. "No sweat, big G....I gotta a kid staying in the back room for awhile anyway, so knock yourself out." "A kid?" "Well, he's eighteen now, but was a foster kid. He's got no family or job yet, so I'm helping him out till he finds one. Seems like a decent boy. A little rough around the edges, but who can blame him. Big mutherfucker. Weighs 290. Strong as shit too, you should check him out, he's in the back area lifting right now. Been at it for a good 3 hours. His name's John." George made his way to the back area, a big room, separate from the rest of the gym, and reserved for the bigger powerlifters. There were raised platforms for deadlifting, and reinforced steel bars for the excess weight that a normal olympic bar couldn't handle. He heard the familar clanking of heavy plates being loaded onto the benchpress bar, and smelled the musky aroma of fresh musclehead sweat. As he turned the corner into the room, he stopped in his tracks. John was alone in the room, slamming 100lb plates onto the bar. He had six on each side. He was wearing sweatpants, but no shirt. Built like a bull, his skin was glistening with sweat from 3 hours of intense lifting. George realized that, with the bar, the kid was preparing to lift nearly 1300lbs. George stepped into the room and said "Never seen anyone bench that much before." He stepped toward the kid and put out his hand. "I'm George." The kid eyed George somewhat suspiciously, but then put his hand out too. "John," he said. George had big beefy hands, but John's were bigger, and his thickly muscled fingers wrapped easily around George's. They shook firmly, each with a grip that would have crumpled a weaker man, gauged each other's intentions, then they let go. "That's some impressive poundage, John," George understated. He'd been involved with hundreds of powerlifting competitions, and never seen anyone bench 1300. He wasn't convinced the kid could handle it. "Thanks," said John. "But I'm working arms." With that, John straddled the bench, facing the bar. He put his beefy hands, palms up, under the bar, and gripped it tight. He hoisted the bar up, stepped back with it, and began to curl. Slow steady curls, rep after rep. Full extension at the bottom, and high and tight at the top. He grunted deeply but softly with each rep, and the veins on his thick bull neck strained the skin. Even the vein on his forehead bulged and throbbed,and his face reddened with effort, but he continued to hit rep after rep. George had never seen such pure power. The kid hit 20 reps, then began to slow. George went over, told him to hold a second, and he quickly stripped off one plate from each side. This was all the kid needed, as he pumped out 20 more reps. Then George stripped off two more plates, and the kid blasted out 30 reps, then he dropped the bar, although unfortunately not on the rack, but on the bench, smashing it in two. The kid looked at George and grinned. "YEHHHHHHHH", he roared," That was fucking awesome." He raised his arms into a double bi shot, the thick beefy muscle swelling like two overpumped footballs. His eighteen year old body glistened with sweat and power. His thick muscle rippled with his every move. His musclegut was tight and hard as tortoise shell as he reared back and hit his pose even harder. Nick was standing at the doorway, shaking his head. "John," he said," you gotta stop busting up the equipment, man, you're gonna ruin me!" They all looked down at the busted bench, the third one he'd broken that week. That's when George had an idea. "John, how'd you like a job as nightwatchman at my ironworks plant. There's a room with a kitchen you could live in, and I'll have some extra heavyduty weights forged for ya, really kick up your lifting a notch. You can lift all day and night, long as you keep out the derelicts." "Man, you for real?" asked John, "Shit, that'd be great!!" "Sure would,"said Nick. "It's a done deal then. Get your stuff, and let's go," said George. The Kid packed up in five minutes, and was on his way. George and the Kid left the gym together that night. They went out to George's ironworks company, and got the kid settled in to the apartment above the main office. "A little small," said George, apologetically. "Nah," said John," it's great. I've never had my own place before." George left him to get settled, but he returned early the next day,anxious to set up a workout area for the big teen. George had trained a handful of national caliber powerlifters in his day, but had never seen one with so much potential. Within a week, he and his crew had forged special weight training equipment to handle the tonnage that the kid was able to work with. The kid took to the place immediately, and the other workers started calling him Big John, which he liked. For the first time in his life, he felt like he had a home. Big John was the nightwatchman at the place, but things were pretty uneventful on that front, so he and George were really concentrating on his training. George put him on a diet of almost 100% protein, and his strength continued to balloon day after day. At night, when he was alone, he would test his strength by bending scrap metal and iron bars into various shapes (he had bent the two incher with ease, and was going to ask one of the guys to forge him a 4" one to play with). Meanwhile, his hands became so heavily calloused from working with rough-hewn iron and metal scraps that he didn't need gloves to protect them. He could actually take a rounded iron bar and pound it out flat with his fist. Then one night, around 3AM, an SUV pulled up and parked in a darkened corner of the lot. Three young guys got out, and scurried over to the cyclone fence. There was a depression at the bottom of the fence line, and they helped each other crawl through. Two of them had bottles of booze, and were guiding the third guy. "Where the hell are we," asked the third. "Don't ask so many questions," said the first guy."You're just a pledge. We bring all of you out here, then you have to make it back to the campus on your own, Timmy boy." "What is this place?" asked Tim. "An old ironworks factory," said Rob, the second guy."We come out here sometimes, party, smash things up a bit , just for kicks. Right, Nate?" "That's right man. No one ever bothers us out here." Then Tim noticed what looked like a solid granite weight bench. He looked at the bar that was resting on the rack. It was made of iron, and on the ends, he could see where eight rods of rebar had been melded into the center. "What the hell is this?" he said. Then he noticed iron plates stacked on the ground under the bar. "These plates say '500lbs' on them. And there are ten on each stack." "Those are mine," said a voice from the dark. Then Big John stepped into the light."What are you doing here?" All three guys stepped back, startled. Big John was shirtless, his hulking mass glistening in the light. He had on army fatigue pants and steel-toed workboots. His thick thighs filled the pants so tightly that you could see the veins snaking up and down his quads. "You girls get lost?" he said. "The girl scout meeting is up the road a bit." "Fuck you," said the drunken, foolish Nate. Big John stepped over to the iron plates. He leaned over and put one hand on the edge of a 500lber, gripped it, and lifted it up. Then he put his other hand on the opposite side of the plate. He held the plate straight out in front of him and SNAPPED it in two, like a wafer. "Jesus," said Rob. Then he and Nate took off for the fence. Tim stood there, his feet frozen in awe. Big John went after the two runners. When they got to the fence, the two frat bros scurried under, and sprinted to their SUV. Big John was close behind, but instead of going under the fence, he put his beefy hands on the fence and YANKED, ripping the steel fencing open like a zipper. He stepped through and turned toward the boys just as they were getting into their truck. They slammed the doors and locked them. Nate fumbled for his keys, but dropped them on the floor. "Damn," he said. "Asshole," said Rob."Get us the hell out of here!" Big John walked to the front of the truck. He squatted down and stretched his huge arms out, embracing the grill, and squeezing. The metal crumpled under his strength, allowing him an even better grip. Then, with his huge back rippling and writhing with thick freaky muscle, he hoisted the truck up. All four tires left the ground, and he held it there. Then he jacked the truck up even higher, and SLAMMED it down. All four tires blew, and the airbags went off inside. Big John lifted the truck again, and SLAMMED it again, cracking the blacktop and shattering all the windows. Then he lifted it again, and flipped it up and over his head, tossing it behind him. The truck hit the ground and rolled six times before coming to a stop at the woods at the edge of the parking lot. The two dudes, dazed and cut, crawled out of the car and into the woods, hiding behind a tree to regroup. Big John went over to the truck and ripped off the hood, tossing it aside. Then he reached in. Grabbing each side of the engine block, he wrenched it lose and lifted it out. He pressed it over his head and began doing reps. He felt his superpower growing as he did rep after rep, his freaky delts and traps ballooning with pump. "YEHHHHHHHHHH," he roared. Then he reared back and heaved the engine block into the woods, hitting a four-foot diameter oak tree trunk square on, cracking it in two with the force. COME ON OUT AND PLAY, boys," he roared into the woods. He smirked as he heard the two frat boys scampering deeper and deeper into the treeline. Then he headed back to the scrapyard, toward Tim. Big John made his way back to the scrapyard. Ripping apart the SUV had pumped him up like no lifting session ever had. His thickly muscled body stretched his skin tight as a military bedsheet. As he strode across the lot, his army fatigues stroked his hard-on. He stepped through the hole he had ripped in the cyclone fence, then twisted the metal cords roughly back into place, securing the fence. Then he turned and faced Tim, who had watched him destroy the truck. "Guess you liked the show," said Big John. Tim hadn't even realized it, but he was stroking himself through his pants. He should have been scared, but he was totally transfixed by John's size and power. "How'd you get so fucking strong?" Tim asked timidly. "When I was a foster kid, my last foster dad used to abuse the shit outta me. That is till I turned twelve." "What happened then?" asked Tim. "On the night of my twelvth birthday, I was sleeping on the couch, and I heard him coming down the steps. The big asshole thought he was God's gift, cause he was a pro football player. He'd been using me since I was nine, and I was over it that night. He came at me naked, all 275lbs of him, all jacked up on roids, big rocksolid gut from all the GH, and he pins me down on the couch. Something snapped inside my head, and I shoved him back, hard as I could. Musta caught him off-balance, cause he flew back into the wall, cracking the plaster. I was as shocked as he was. Then he focused in on me, said 'you little goddam punk' and came at me. He reared back with his huge right arm and swung at me. My hand reacted like lightning, grabbing his thick wrist and deflecting the blow. Then I SQUEEZED into his wrist with my thumb, and twisted at the same time. Musta hit a nerve, cause he crumpled to his knees in pain. Then I grabbed the back of his head and pushed it down, and brought up my knee at the same time and SMASHED his face. I could actually hear his nose crush. I let him go and he fell into the carpet, face first." "Jesus," said Tim. "Yeh," said Big John,"but that wasn't even the best part. Cause then I busted his cherry right there on the living room floor, him moaning the whole time. Filled him up good, then packed my shit and left. Been working farms and construction ever since, till now. Just kept getting stronger and stronger too." John raised his arm up and flexed, the craggy bicep bouncing to attention. "Wanna touch?" "Hell yeh," said Tim. He had never been into guys before, but he was so hot for John, he was about to blow. He reached out and put his hand atop the massive boulder-shaped peak."Fuck," he said, as he felt the heat and power of the granite arm. Big John reached around to the back of Tim's head, and slowly pushed him toward his deep musclepit. " I won't hurt you," he said,"just check it out." Tim's face was swallowed into the muscle cave, one side of which was pure lat. Then he heard John say "Now breathe". Tim inhaled deeply through his nose, and was instantly intoxicated by the heady musk of pure testosterone. He breathed in again and again, shivers coursing through his body, he couldn't get enough, while John slowly moved his face up and down the pit, exposing Tim's nose to fresh manscent pockets. Then John clamped his big arm down, holding Tim's head in firmly but gently. Tim blew in his pants instantly. Every cell of his body seemed to climax.He came and came, till he was dizzy and spent. John released Tim's head, and set him down on the weight bench. He sat down next to him. "You alright, man?" John asked. Tim looked up at him, glassy-eyed. "Never better," said Tim. Tim spent the night in the Kid's apartment, the two of them entangled together on the Kid's bed. The Kid liked the feel of his new little jock buddy, and was careful not to crush him as they slept. Even so, when Tim woke up at dawn, he found the Kid's massive thigh crossing over him, pinning him to the mattress. Tim stroked and squeezed the huge quad, feeling its density and weight, sensing the immense power of the thick limb. He tried to lift it so he could squeeze out, straining with all his might, but it was immovable. The Kid was in a deep, power-growing sleep, breathing in and out rhthymically. Tim was getting a little claustrophobic, so he began to bang on the beefy thigh muscle. Harder and harder he hit it, until he was slamming into it full force. Finally, the Kid opened one eye and said "You know, you could just ask me to move," and he lifted up his leg, releasing Tim. "Sorry,"said Tim, scurrying out of the bed, but the Kid was already fast asleep again, snoring softly. Tim went downstairs to the office of the ironworks to see if there was a coffeemaker. Meanwhile, on the other side of town, Max Polanski had escaped from prison, and was on his way to the ironworks to find out why his business partner George hadn't contacted him once in the three years he'd been behind bars. Max had a major temper, and was more pissed of than he had ever been. That's why he busted out two years before his release date. He'd had enough waiting. He was a massive, powerfully built man, and had spent the last three years becoming even stronger. After only a month inside, he had grown too strong for the weights in the prison gym, and had found new ways to increase his strength, lifting and bending anything he could find. He hooked up with a con who had access to steroids and Gh, and pumped himself full of both. He had a tattoo on the back of his neck that said "Born to Crush". He got the warden to agree to Friday night wrestling matches, and he challenged the biggest and roughest prisoners he could find. He quickly discovered that he could pin any of them in under five seconds, using only one arm to hold them down. Soon he began toying with them, lifting them up after a count of two, and tossing them around the ring for awhile, just to get a good pump going. Then he'd pin them for two more seconds, lift them again, his face in theirs, and yell "Come on boy, fight me!" Soon, he was taking on two or three men at a time, or one after another with no rest between, pinning up to 15 prisoners in a night. He never lost. He just got stronger, and stronger. And all the while, he was planning his escape. He worked kitchen detail, and they used him to unload the delivery trucks. He made friends with the guy who drove the dairy truck, who would give him extra gallons of whole milk. The driver enjoyed watching Max down two gallons of milk, then proceed to deadlift the front of his milktruck. It wasn't long before Max could climb under the truck and bench it for reps, over and over, till his roided out chest muscles would bloat so huge they looked morphed. The driver would blow in his pants just watching those hogtits bounce. The night of his escape, Max had asked the driver to leave his truck down the block from the prison, which he did. Max then started a fight in the cafeteria, and got himself thrown into solitary. The cells in solitary had bars, then a steel-reinforced door. At four o'clock that morning, Max curled his thick fingers around the bars, and YANKED, pulling it right off its hinges. He tossed it into the cell. Then he backed up and barrelled into the door, slamming it with his shoulder. From the outside of the cell, the sleeping guard roused and noticed that the door had a big bulge in the shape of a huge shoulder and upper arm. Suddenly, there was another SLAM, and the bolts to the door shot into the hallway. The heavy steel door crashed down, and Max stepped out. The guard, a 320lb powerlifter, had always wanted a chance to take on Max, so he charged him full speed. He rammed his shoulder into Max's midsection. Only Max didn't budge. The guard's collarbone, however, snapped like an old toothpick. As the guard howled, Max spun him around and put him into a sleeper hold. "Sorry, boy, gotta put you down for awhile," said Max, bearing down on the guard's thick neck till he passed out. Then Max made his way for the prison wall. Several doorways and outside gates had been left open for him by a guard he let service him now and then, and Max soon found himself at the main concrete wall. He reared back with his fist and slammed it into the wall, causing a crack that ran from the top to the ground. Another hit to the side of the crack created a huge chunk, that Max reached in and tore out. He continued to pummel the wall with his huge fists, each blow crumbling concrete like dried up plaster. He was through the three feet of wall before the first prison spotlight zeroed in on the commotion. He jumped out onto the streetside, and made for the truck. He jumped in and drove off , headed directly toward the iron works. The driver had left four gallons of heavy cream on the passenger seat, which Max downed, one after another, hungry after his exertion. Next.....Hell to Pay