THE AX MASTER

by Chip Masterson

ChipMasterson@yahoo.com

Do not read if you are under the age of consent or offended by such things.  If 
you think you might be, don't read it.

The Ax

I don't know how long we've been here.  It's all a blur.  It's like all we ever 
knew is a dream, half-forgotten, unbelievable; all we know is Him.  And He, 
occasionally, defies belief.

Today he is off somewhere to the east.  He can range a hundred miles a day and 
return before dusk with an elk or caribou across his massive shoulders: dinner.  
He doesn't use weapons because no weapon yet forged could match the power of his 
muscles.  The elk, caribou, bear he chases on foot, wrestles to the ground and 
defeats, animal strength beneath a young man's strength.  We saw him tackle a 
brown bear once .  The bear roared in its  natural dominance and he roared back.  
The bear lunged but he was too quick, he ducked and with a single blow knocked 
the great animal to the ground.  The bear looked confused.  What was this?  Like 
lightning he was on the bear's back, his legs crushing the bears ribs & those 
thick hands holding the bear's head, squeezing and twisting.  Ever seen a half-
ton bear panic?  Try to flee from the grip of a man?  We came in absolute 
worship as those great paws churned up dirt and rocks struggling to escape, 
dragging itself across the ground, its roar changed to a wheezing, desperate 
moan.  His pecs bulged like balloons as he finally cracked the thick skull. Then 
he roared louder than any bear.

If he's a hundred miles away, why don't we try to escape, you ask?  Well I'll 
tell you.  You might want to make sure you're alone.

He caught us when we were camping, Tony and I, a long time ago.  At first we 
just thought he was a logger or ranger, possibly a fireman, someone whose 
demanding physical exertions required the immense muscles he sported.  He wasn't 
taller than an average man, about 6'0", and barely 18, years younger than us.  
He was blond and deeply tanned, his long neck thick with muscle as huge traps 
spread out behind it down to the crowns of his shoulders.  The arms that hung 
from them were dense with fibers, ending in hands as big as my chest.  I have a 
28" waist and his upper arms seemed almost as big.  You could have served dinner 
on his pecs while he was standing up, so far did they bunch out before rounding 
down to intensely dark nipples, then tucking deeply under.  They produced 
shadows over the twin, segmented columns of his abs.  Jeans stretched taut 
across his diamond-shaped thighs and heart-shaped calves.  You could almost see 
the cuts beneath the denim.  They must have been the largest jeans he could find 
but the waist was still bunched up around his tight, tiny waist with steel cable 
tied in a knot.  His boots were enormous, and his basket was more like a bushel.  
He must have weighed at least 300 lbs with skin like a thin membrane covering 
his massive muscles.  He carried across his shoulders the largest ax I'd ever 
seen.

The handle was the stripped bole of some young tree.  I could never have put my 
own hands around it but he managed it in one mitt.  The ax head must have 
weighed 250 lbs., plus the weight of the tree-handle.  Where could he have 
gotten something so Paul Bunyanish?  But then we saw him use it. 

He walked up to the largest tree in the vicinity, a mighty redwood at least 200 
feet high.  As if to stretch or limber up he held the ax in one hand, muscling 
it out and then swinging it through the air with a loud, deep swoosh.  He 
stretch around, revealing lats that spread out behind him in an impossible 
curve, and thick above his etched intercostals.  The middle of his back bunched 
up like a relief map of the Rockies.  No, Himalayas, more like it. Huge peaks 
shadowing perilous crevices.  As the ax swung around his other took over and 
swung fully back, then back around again.  We heard his back vertebrae crackle.  
He then stretched himself up, the ax overhead, his muscles bristling in the 
dappled sunlight.  Then, taking a step back, he drew in breath that expanded his 
chest to something well over 66" (as tall as I am!), reared back and swung.

The ax again made a deep rushing sound that ended in the deafening, cannon-like 
crack of steel sinking into the immense trunk.  A huge, triangular log of wood 
flew out from the cut and crashed through the trees as the ax-head buried itself 
into the ancient wood.  He put his left leg up against the tree.  His jeans 
stretched taut across his thighs.  His lats spread out like an immense lava flow 
from the volcanic range down his back as he tensed.  Another sickening crack and 
the giant blade flew out of the tree.  He walked to the other side as the king 
of the forest creaked under its own weight.  Planting his legs he took another 
huge breath and pushed. 

I grew dizzy and light-headed.  Tony's mouth hung open while his hand 
unconsciously rubbed his crotch faster and faster.  The giant tree popped and 
splinters burst out the sides as bark flew off.  The ancient storm-weathered 
hardness couldn't handle the pressure of this young masculine force and the wood 
caved in.  Tony and I both creamed our jeans as the giant tree crashed to the 
earth.  

In a blur the man raced against the speed of gravity along the length of the 
tree.  I remembered enough of physics to know that the tonnage of falling tree 
increased exponentially with the gathering force of the fall.  He almost made it 
to the end when he turned and ducked under it.  He flung his huge hands in the 
air and caught it, his feet driven a foot into the soil.  The suddenness of its 
stopping caused the tree to crack and split along its length.  He gently lowered 
the tree and got to work.

I looked over at Tony but he had fainted, a pungent stain of semen spreading 
across his jeans and T-shirt.  I looked back at the ax master and saw him 
working his way down the fallen giant, breaking off the limbs with his bare 
hands and tossing them with frightening precision into a pile. A slight 
sprinkling of sweat began to shine off his engorged body, highlighting the way 
the bulging muscles lifted the light golden hair.  Grabbing his ax he sliced the 
tree into eerily precise ten-foot segments. His hands found the central split in 
each log and with low grunts he began to pull the wood apart.  The protesting 
wood creaked as flocks of birds and animals crashed away in fear.  He radiated 
the joy of a youth testing his strength.  His hands grew farther apart as he 
worked his bulging muscles against the heavy wood.  Halved, then chopped with 
karate blows into quarters and eighths, the rough, splintery logs were almost 
exactly equal size.  His waist seemed to have grown smaller, tighter and harder 
as he exerted his manliness, while his chest and back ballooned out to 
impossible proportions.  There had to be a 25" or 30" difference in their 
circumference. My mouth fell open in awe of this superboy's strength.

I though he didn't know we were there, but he said, "It would have been easier 
to do this at the camp but maneuvering something this big through all the trees 
can be tricky."  After the spectacle I had just witnessed I had no doubt he 
could have carried that redwood however far he had to go.  He turned and looked 
at me with the most piercing, knowing gaze I'd ever met.  "I'm Steve.  How's 
your friend?"  I couldn't look away until I sensed I had permission.  Tony 
looked like he was starting to come around.  I knew I had to look at Steve 
again.  When I did, I knew that Tony wouldn't mean anything to me ever again; 
that nothing would.  Steve knew that.

By the time Tony and I had lugged one of the logs back to Steve's camp he had 
transported most of the tree, and was starting on the branches.  We lay against 
the stack he made, exhausted with the effort of clambering over the uneven 
forest floor.  By the time we caught our breath he appeared with our entire 
campsite and backpacks heaped upon his shoulders, with two enormous branches 
lashed on top of it.  He lived in a rude two-roomed cabin he obviously built 
himself.  We would sleep in our tent, at least for now.  

He put us to work cooking the meat he brought home.  He seemed to live on 
nothing but meat.  He would give us a pound of meat each from the elk and 
consume the rest himself over the course of an hour.  "I don't mind giving you 
two a couple pounds, I've been meaning to go on a diet," he'd belch.  But for us 
he also brought vegetables and bread from the town in his enormous industrial 
Humvee to which he had welded steel plating.  He left the keys in all the time.

The Escape

At first running away was the farthest thing from our minds.  Our work was light 
and he gratified his young lust seven or eight times a day with each of us.  My 
cock has never been so sore, nor so hard for so long.  Just the sight of this 
golden child made my dick ache and stretch.  He was insatiable.  We didn't sleep 
at night, we passed out from ecstasy and exhaustion, and woke again and again in 
the night to more of the same.  Steve never seemed to need sleep.  The only rest 
we got was in the morning, when he was away.  But by mid-afternoon he came back 
hauling some great defeated beast and dragging a tree chained to his waist.  Elk 
and bear take a surprising amount of firewood to cook in the open.

One day he told us he'd be away until nightfall, that he was going across the 
mountains to look for something.  It was hot and he had stripped naked for the 
journey, his enormous manhood almost like a third limb.  "Pants will just slow 
me down," he said with a smile.

When he'd been gone a couple of  hours I woke up sore, battered from his harsh 
sex and bruised where his iron fingers forgot their strength.  I shook Tony 
awake.  He'd been in a state of shock for the first few weeks but now had 
resigned himself to this sexual slavery.  It took me another hour to convince 
him to make a break for it.  By then I knew he'd be many miles in the opposite 
direction from the town.  The turbo-diesel Hummer stood there, armored, like a 
steel savior.  Weighing over 3 tons, with a payload of more than 2 tons and a 
combined axle weight rating of 6 tons (he loved to brag about it), I knew it 
would be invincible.  Finally Tony agreed, but misgiving haunted his eyes.  

As soon as I started the engine in the quiet late morning I knew it would be a 
race for time.  We knew his hearing was as superhuman as his strength, for often 
he'd return to camp knowing what we'd said about him during the day.  At first I 
thought he was psychic but this wasn't the case. He knew the effect he had on 
us, and therefore knew our thoughts whenever we were around him: lust, fear, 
outraged submission.  But he couldn't read exactly what I thought.  He just 
knew. 

As soon as I could I shifted into the highest gear and raced as fast as possible 
over the bumpy logging road.  The plume of dust would give our position away.  
Buckled in we leaped and jostled over pot-holes and tree roots.  30 mph.  35 
mph.  40.  After about 45 minutes we'd reached a more level dirt fire road and I 
was able to gun the Humvee up to 55 mph.  56.  57.  58.  It was still at least 
10 more miles to the paved highway.  Just as the needle quivered at 59 mph, the 
body shaking with the rough road and our teeth rattling in our heads, I glanced 
in the rearview mirror.  I gasped as I saw a dark shape in the cloud of dirt 
behind us.  Rocks spun up from our tires and shattered when they hit this 
dreadful shape. Trying to mind the road and watch Steve too, I pressed the gas 
peddle.  60.  62.  65 miles per hour.  Over a mile a minute.  No human has ever 
raced this fast, and for this long.  

Desperately I brought the huge vehicle to 67 but the road was too rough and the 
tires kept flying from the ground.  By now his face was clear, streaked with 
dirt and sweat, with a confident, cold smile.  I had gained no ground with my 
increased speed: he outpaced the roaring engine.  His mighty thighs churned like 
steamship pistons.  He ran circles around us.  Ahead, then back, then bursting 
with power and speed and laughter.  Tony began to whimper.  "This is all your 
fault."  His hands fumbled with his seatbelt.  Striving to manage the wheel with 
one hand I grabbed his with my other and tried to calm him down.  I couldn't see 
Steve anywhere.

I saw the speedometer needle drop to 66 mph, then 65.  I floored the gas peddle 
and that gave us a quick lurch forward but somehow the needle was dragged back 
down to 63 mph.  Then 62.  

I began to panic.  I tried to jerk the steering wheel in an attempt to dislodge 
the drag force but that only made him angry.  In the back window he reared up 
and let go of the bumper.  We flew forward, bouncing up to 72.  I heard steel 
crush beneath his thick fingers as he grabbed the armored frame and exerted more 
counter-pressure to our forward thrust.  55pm.  54.  I remembered the Humvee 
could haul over 9000 lbs.  The gas tank was still half-full, so maybe his 
strength would fade and wane before the vast energy of the jeep was used up. 

The wheels had knocked up loose rocks but his feet dug trenches into the 
roadway, throwing s small boulders into the trees.  I noticed the hood was 
starting to raise slightly.  48 mph.  47.  I switched to four-wheel drive and 
hit the turbo.  48 mph.  49.   If we could only hit 50.  The heat gauge shot up 
and the rear sank lower on its axle. 

Stressed beyond the capacity of any load they were designed to support, the 
struts and shocks began to scream, then explode.  I looked at the speedometer 
and saw we had slowed, or been slowed, down to 35 mph.  Tendrils of white smoke 
began to snake out under the hood as his young stud's muscle power taxed the 
engine's might.  The wide rear tires shredded and blew into steel-belted ropes 
under the pressure.  15 mph, now all front-wheel turbo drive.   Hissing black 
smoke issued from the hood and the heat gauge quivered and broke.  His pecs were 
almost as wide across as the back end of the giant vehicle, and stretch marks 
formed from the outside edges into the striations that danced across his chest.  
He lifted.  The rear went up into the air. With one final TUG he forced the 
front wheels to spin.  I couldn't let up on the pedal.  The engine whined as the 
wheels burned rubber for traction but he was too much for them.  He began to 
pull us backwards against the direction of spin.  I started to hyperventilate, 
my pulse pounded in my head at this awesome display of brute power.  Soon he was 
jogging backwards and I saw the speedometer needle grudgingly rise.  10mph.  15 
mph.  20 mph.  By the time we hit 22 mph the front wheels shredding like a 
spaghetti squash.  As the front in sank into the ground the engine finally 
stalled.  Insanely I tried to start it again.  

The engine sparked and smoked.  Steve shook his head at me sadly as he raised 
his right arm and brought his fist down on the hood.  The hardened steel dented 
underneath his blow.  He raised his hand and hit again.  

The whole car sank beneath this blow as his hand pierced the armor and plunged 
into the engine compartment.  He forced his arm deeper into the whole.  Then I 
saw the muscles of his forearm bunch, crinkling the steel back, as his fingers 
grabbed something.  Steel groaned and creaked.  I bolts flew into the fender and 
belts stretched and pinged.  His right deltoid bunch up against the strain, 
splitting into muscles like ships' mooring ropes. His triceps stood out from his 
arm like a cave of rock.  The front end of the 3-ton hummer lifted off the 
ground as the hinges of the hood tore off and he stood there holding the engine 
in his hand.  The hood hung around his forearm like an obscene bracelet.  Oil 
and water dripped from the mangled mass of metal.  He took a step back and moved 
his arm laterally out to his side.  And just stood there, looking at Tony.

Tony began to cry.  Tony began to scream.  "Stop it!  Stop it!"  His hands beat 
against the windshield that had cracked when the engine was ripped from its bed.  
But Steve kept staring at us and muscling out that incredible weight.  The ropes 
of his forearm and biceps danced and twitched.  Tony went into seizures and 
froth formed in his mouth.  His eyes rolled up and he passed out while spewing 
the biggest load of giz I'd ever seen.  Unconscious, he continued to convulse, 
tremor and come as Steve turned his attention to me.  

His right arm continued to defy gravity.  I couldn't take it any longer and 
burst my own load upon the windshield, screaming at him to stop, tears running 
down my face as terror and pleasure shook my body like a rag doll.  Seeing the 
utter triumph of his maleness he then flexed his right biceps, slowly arcing the 
impossible weight through the air until he held up above his exploding biceps.  
Then he reared back and with a thick thrust of his lat he hurled it through the 
air.  It flew over the battered hulk I sat in and I counted.  One.  Two.  Three.  
Four.  Five.  Six.  Seven.  My dick was as hard as if it hadn't just now blown 
its wad.  Eight.  Nine.  Ten.  As my trembling voice muttered "Elev-" I heard 
branches break, a cracking thud and the slow creaking fall of a thick-trunked 
tree that couldn't withstand the flung tonnage of that engine.

Steve wanted to make sure we were totally humiliated the way he continued to 
punish and humiliate the steel machine that dared to defy his strength.  
Grasping the front end of the ruined Humvee he lifted it up.  Placing his hands 
beneath it he heaved it overhead.  My heart began to beat fast again. Like an 
oak he stood still and balanced the now two and half ton mass of dented, torn 
metal over his head and began to walk back the way we came.  

We must have driven 40 miles or more from his cabin.  He began to walk faster.  
Then faster.  Before long he was actually jogging with us overhead, and seemed 
to gain speed going uphill!  I thought I'd have a heart attack.  I had to cry.  
In about half an hour we reached the point where we had begun; and passed it.  
At that point he left the road.

Our pace slowed only slightly as he knocked trees out of the way with the ruined 
Hummer as a battering ram.  Carrying this tonnage he leapt over streams - LEAPT 
- and landed running.  After some time more, just as Tony began to regain 
consciousness, we came to the base of a cliff. 

"Get out!" he growled.  His deep voice rumbled through the forest like thunder.  
Tony shook his head.  Steve never repeated himself.  Walking up to the rock 
cliff-face, he placed the nose of the Hummer against it, then walked himself 
back until he could grasp the newly-created handholds in the rear fender.  He 
pressing his pecs into the rear end and grunted.  Instantly we heard the groan 
of metal buckling.  The thick steel could not hold out against the mounting 
pressure.  As the pressure increased yet again, pound-per-square inch by 
exponential pound, Steve snarled and suddenly the vehicle bent back bent back 
upon itself, impossibly, unimaginably. He grinned like a maniac unleashing his 
full strength as he torqued and twisted the frame up and back with his 
unforgiving biceps.  Then the front end started to cave in and I realized then 
that he wasn't bending us in half, but was forcing the Humvee into an accordion 
shape.  Rivets began to fly out into the woods like rifle shot, but faster and 
hotter than any gun could produce.  His muscles radiated like a burning furnace.  
I grabbed Tony and pulled him out of the seat.  The seatbelt snapped while 
handfuls of fabric and tufting came away with his finger. Using that momentum I 
threw him through my open window.  The steel-plated door groaned inwards and I 
was close enough to the rock face to see the stress fissures radiating out.  The 
torque he was applying started to unseal the windshield.  As the steel roof 
caved in I dove out the window, twisting to land on my back.

Already the Humvee was half it's former length.  He glowed with savage pride.  A 
thunderous crack issued from deep in the rock face.  Fluids ran out of the hulk 
and he was coated with glistening sweat.  Tony and I were so hot we stripped off 
our clothes and jerked ourselves madly.  This mammoth display demanded worship.  

Suddenly he stopped, the Humvee pressed into itself and bent insanely back.  He 
took a step back; his quads were blown to the size of my chest or more, each 
striated muscle throbbing with brawn.  He took in a deep breath that we could 
almost feel dragging against us and bellowed so loudly the already-stressed 
glass in the windows burst into fragments.  With one thrust he rammed the 
remaining metal into the rock.  Seats, dashboard, everything gave way before his 
power which didn't stop until with a final rigid press he ground the sparking 
axles together.  

We couldn't stop coming, Tony and I.  My orgasm must have last four minutes and 
still his manhood demanded more worship.  His chest heaved and his ridged traps 
rose like mountains.  I began to jerk the skin off my cock while the blood ran 
into the dirt. 

The vehicle was now no more than two feet long, but wider than when it started.  
He turned to face us, his face slathered in sweat and glory, and held it before 
his chest.  Placing his legs apart, he gave us one last demonstration of his 
youth.  Each hand wrapped around the two axles and pressed grooves into them.  
He began to exert renewed pressure and the double axles bent and gave.  The 
sound cut through our heads as all that metal, as tightly packed as it already 
was, began to be compressed even further.  He turned to the side so that we 
could see his massive biceps as his peaks deformed the metal that pressed 
against them, the densely stack metal bulging like clay around his forearms.  
Horrible metallic screams and crackles.  20 degrees, then 30 degrees.  The metal 
hit 45 degrees and still he kept pressing, a satanic grin on his face and his 
growing biceps further denting the tightening steel.  At 60 degrees he began to 
laugh and at 90 degrees he went silent.  With each breath his chest heaved 
bigger, pecs also straining into the steel.  His back was a river in flood, 
muscle pouring over muscle, competing to exert more force.  120 degrees.  150.  
At 180 degrees it was bent double, an oily mass of twisted wreckage that soared 
above him.  Only then, after over an hour of constant, unrelenting power, did he 
set the two and a half ton carcass down and stretch out those huge gorilla arms.

The mass was too thick to carry easily, and sharp, torn steel jutted and poked 
out all over it like spines.  He found a place that was reasonably smooth and 
working his incredible arms around it, he gave a sudden grunting squeeze.  
Against all laws of physics the metal compacted even further into a smooth 
crease, like a waist.  He breathed and squeezed again.  And again.  Soon the 
groove was narrow enough for him to slip it under ONE ARM, and THAT's how he 
carried it through the forest back to camp.  Tony and I followed on foot, and he 
beat us back.

That's what we stare at, night and day.  When he laid it in the camp he put one 
foot on the thinner waist and pressed his leg into the earth.  The poor mass 
bent again irresistibly up into a V-shape, for Victory; his foot didn't stop 
until it was buried firmly a foot deep.  Our invincible savior crushed by his 
bare hands into a useless, mocking shrine.  The new pickup truck stands in the 
yard but the keys he leaves on our central tent post.

So we wait for him.  No matter how far away he goes, we know he can hear us.  
Find us.  Conquer anything we put in his path.  He's left us chores to do and we 
know we must do them.  They make us stronger, but we will never be strong enough 
to leave.  We may never be strong enough to want to.  But that's a different 
story.

PART 2 

For days now he had been carving a cave out of the rock.  He stood there now, 
wet with dirt and sweat, that 250 lbs ax-head resting in his right hand, the 
pulsating curve of his biceps meeting that weight with its own mocking strength.  
His thickly-muscled pecs rose and fell as he heaved breath in the hot sun.  Then 
he went back in.

He'd never been this angry before, or this determined.  He was hundreds of feet 
into the mountain and his onslaught continued.  Sparks like small suns spun out 
of the deepening hole, lighting up the rough-hewn course of his fury while the 
echoing steel-against-rock rang through the forest.  Then there was silence, 
then wheezing and a savage grunt followed by a crack we felt in our feet.  The 
tremors continued as he rolled an enormous chunk of rock out of the cave, rocks 
roughly as tall as he was, all six and a half feet.  He ripped these guts out of 
the mountain and heaved them overhead while we hid behind trees against the 
shrapnel.  Flinging these ton-heavy boulders to the ground he shattered them, 
and went back inside.  Tony and I had to clear them away.  Some of the rocks 
still weighed hundreds of pounds and often the pile would get larger and larger 
as he ripped the mountain inside-out and we struggled to dispose of its broken 
remains.  

Using sledgehammers to make the rocks more manageable we could feel ourselves 
getting stronger but every time he rips some boulder loose that can't fit out of 
the opening he's made, and he drags it out anyway, crushing granite to dust on 
either side as he yanks and pulls the tonnage ... we know we'll never be strong 
enough.  Still, Tony's body as he works that hammer gleams in the sunlight, and 
he's becoming the man he never thought he'd be.  We have no mirrors so I can't 
get a good clean look at myself but I can tell my delts are filling out and my 
chest is deepening, and my arms are getting to where they almost fill my 
sleeves.  But we don't dare touch each other-he'd know.  He could smell it on us 
if we did.

One day there was a cave-in and dust billowed out the opening.  We started 
trying to move the rocks from the outside but of course we should have saved our 
energy.  We heard a pounding, dim at first, but it grew louder, followed by 
cracks and rumbles as he beat his very fists against the rocks and kicked with 
those bulldozer thighs.  "We'd better get back," said Tony, and just as we 
cleared the mouth of the cave he had carved with his muscle the rocks that tried 
to crush him exploded out!  Huge boulders cracked into trees that snapped and 
tore at the roots.  He emerged, bloody but whole and a little sobered.  Clearly 
his rage WAS more powerful than the mountain could contain.  

He immediately went up to the tallest tree and with that huge axe WHACKED it in 
half at the base and didn't wait for it to fall.  He dropped the axe and caught 
the teetering giant and held it still for a minute, sucking in breath once, then 
twice.  With the third breath he roared and slammed the hundred feet of solid 
wood into the rock-strewn clearing, his big arm pushing it down from above.  The 
force of the thrust cracked and broke it through; bark flew off it like water 
off a dog.  In a matter of minutes his huge bloody hands had torn out rough 
planks, inches thick and ripped out of the heart of the tree, broken off with a 
CRACK by his foot and tossed into a pile at the mouth of the cave.  Once he had 
the proud tree snapped apart like chicken bones he hauled them into the cave for 
supports, wedging them under the rock with a single blow from his mighty fist.  
He didn't want the mountain collapsing again until he said so.

Ever since he got back from that mission of his he'd been fit to be tied--not 
that anything could bind those terrible arms.  Last night he told us what had 
happened, and left us very, very afraid.

Even we had heard of the man the local natives called simply The Mountain.  He 
was rumored to be centuries old, and that with each century he got stronger, and 
heavier, and more alone.  Steve, our ax-master, had been determined to find him. 

Steve had left for the hunt naked and empty-handed.  He could run, catch and 
kill any animal for food, though most of the forest by now sought to avoid him.  
Still, he could dig a cougar or bear out of its lair by breaking the rocks with 
his bare hands and peeling aside the mountain in which they hid.  What other man 
could dare be called The Mountain?  From every peak Steve bellowed his 
challenge, and every night we hear his strong voice ever fainter, until it 
seemed we only imagined it in the darkness.

As it turned out, the mountain came to Steve.  Early one morning while Steve 
took his few nightly hours of slumber, an enormous man came to observe him.  
When Steve awoke he was gone, but there were numerous railroad rails hammered 
into the earth and bent over him, pinning his arms to his sides, his legs and 
neck and waist pressed to the ground.  Clearly The Mountain had mystical powers 
as well for Steve not to have woken up.  The twisted steel bound him to the 
earth so tightly in fact he couldn't reach up to grab the rails.  

Setting his traps and neck, he began pressing himself upwards, into a wrestlers 
bridge, at the same time flexing his arms and legs out.  He had no leverage and 
the steel triumphed.  But simply by the power of flexion he gained an inch of 
room, the steel beams croaking out of line.  Bracing his right arm against the 
ground he began to twist, torquing his body around under the steel that tried to 
cut into his flesh but instead was pressed out of shape by his iron muscle.  
Once he got onto his side he had a little more room but the bars still blocked 
his egress so he moved over onto his stomach.  Inches thick rail creaked as it 
bent around his triceps, as his spreading lats shoved it aside, as even his ass 
creased it out of shape.  Steel forged to carry tons of locomotive cargo for 
over a century couldn't handle the pressure this one man poured onto it.  On his 
belly the steel once again confined him, and with enormous effort he widened the 
rail around his arms enough to get into a push-up position; but through all this 
he gained no further release of the rails from the rock, the steel simply 
stretched and thinned against his body.  Still, the inches of railing held him 
to the rocky earth.  

Flexing his back into a relief map of some impossible mountain range he began a 
pushup.  Every muscle in his body tensed as the battle began.  At first he 
flattened the railings even more but then their strength held.  His tris reared 
into three huge thunder heads as the pressed up against the bonds.  His body 
started to tremble with the effort to rise even an inch from the ground, and he 
tensed the plates of his pecs into the strain.  A sharp squeaking wrench rang 
out as the beam across his shoulders pulled out of the earth, and using that 
momentum he pressed harder, his lower back splitting into a christmas tree with 
dozens of limbs, each as big as a man's finger; the crevasse down his spine 
deepened and with another piercing shriek the rail around his hips gave out and 
pulled half a foot out of the rock.  The steel rails across his back bore the 
indentations of each hard muscle's head as if made of wax.  With one more cry 
his power burst upward and two more rails were wrenched out of their beds.  

The remains of the cage now resembled giant croquet hoops tortured by a mallet's 
blows.  There was room enough now to climb out of the deformed prison.  Red with 
fury he grabbed the bar that had been over his neck and yanked it from the earth 
with a splintering cry.  Pebbles that had once been solid earth hurtled into the 
air and rained back down.  The rail that went across his arms and back had been 
flattened to half it's thickness and when he pulled on the tormented steel it 
sheared through in his hands.  A hard smile now broke across his face at the 
sight of how he destroyed this iron beam as each hand grabbed and ripped the 
remains loose and tossed them on the pile.

Hardest to remove was the rail that tried to trap his ankles; as long as the 
others, it was sunk most deeply into the rock.  Sinking down he used his 
baseball-diamond sized quads and mounted an assault.  Again the cords of his 
arms swelled and his back glistened in the rising sun and every millimeter the 
sun rose he fought to raise the steel.  But it was too tight.  His body trembled 
with the hardening of muscle against bone until the tremors ran down into the 
rail.  With a sound like tires crunching gravel cracks formed in the rock around 
the snug holes and the granite itself began to quake slightly with the 
transferred force.  Not letting up Steve jack hammered the steel against the 
granite.  Deep groans crept out of the widening gaps in the stone. Steve's back 
thrust back and forth over his skin-bursting thighs as he pounded the metal with 
relentless force.  With a splintering boom the rock cracked between the rail 
ends and a deep crevice inches wide opened up three feet in either direction.  
The rail spun up and out of his hands, a giant hairpin of steel flying through 
the sunlight.  And Steve laughed.

He carried the rails on his shoulders, his delts swelling as he climbed to the 
top of a nearby hill.  With another challenging roar he braced the rails with 
his feet and strained with his bronzed arms until the steel bent again, and 
again within his hands.  He twisted the rails into the shape of a man and ground 
the ends into the rock on the top of the hill, to show that the man of steel 
will conquer The Mountain.

The next night The Mountain upped the ante.  Steve tried to stay awake but some 
force dragged him into sleep while making him feel alert and watchful.  However, 
when he woke up the rusted hulk of a diesel locomotive rested above him, 
balanced on stones so small that if Steve made the slightest movement the huge 
engine would fall and crush him.  There wasn't enough room for Steve to move his 
hands up above his chest, and peaks of his quads brushed against the swaying 
underbelly of the behemoth.  

Steve shifted his arms to try to get purchase with his hands but as his pecs 
flexed the tonnage shifted.  The small rocks the diesel precariously balanced on 
slipped and cracked open beneath the sharp wheels and the entire thing sank down 
onto him.  With each breath he exhaled the engine sank lower until it became 
difficult to fill his lungs. Tons of steel machinery groaned down against his 
iron-barred rib cage and the huge pads of his thighs. The loss of oxygen was 
starting to make his head swim.  He rallied his powers of concentration and 
tensed his entire body.  The huge train rose up an inch, then another.  He drew 
his knees up slightly but then the weight bore down upon his chest.  He could 
hear loose things rattling toward the nose, the iron sighing with the shift.  
But it gave him enough room to get his hands levered against the underside.

Without even thinking he stunningly contracted his legs, jammed his hands hard 
into the undercarriage and bucked his hips.  Steel pipes collapsed beneath the 
detonation of muscle as his thighs and hands crushed up into the belly of the 
diesel and propelled it away.  A final thrust with his yard-wide shoulders as 
his 8-pack constricted and brought him upright.  The diesel engine soared into 
the air, butt-end first and the kick with his shoulders flipped it perpendicular 
to the earth.  It landed five feet behind him full on the front, its own weight 
now coupled with the punishing force of Steve's sinew.  The side panels burst 
their rivets and twisted off the frame which buckled into itself.  Glass 
shattered out of the windows and the roof erupted in a series of frozen ripples.  
Wheels slammed into each other and end out from their axles.  A deafening 
clatter rang out as the guts tore loose and crushed against each other.  With a 
rasping groan of metal shearing and warping under insane stress the whole 
tottering wreck fell over onto his back, rocking with the slight V-shape of its 
bentness.  Trembling with virile rage he walked over to the carcass.  Screaming 
a victory cry he leaped up into a flying wheel kick which crumpled the inch- 
thick steel siding and drove the shattered hulk over onto its side.  With one 
leap he was on top of it and shouting out his challenge:

"Is that the best you've got?  Why don't you face me like a man?"

The whole next day Steve roamed through the mountains shouting out his challenge 
but saw no man.  That night he didn't sleep.  He lay alert, listening to the 
night.  Around midnight he felt an enormous weight compressing him.  He saw 
nothing, yet the feeling of a mounting, sodden burden increased on his torso and 
limbs, as if some force was trying to flatten him.  He expanded his body against 
it and fought to rise but the harder he fought the greater the resistance 
against him; when he relaxed, the weight lightened.  So he relaxed completely, 
let his muscles soften heavily, let the earth receive his titanic weight.  
Because he knew what he'd do next.  In an instant he leapt up to his feet, one 
moment flaccid, the next hard as iron.  A blinding wave of pain ran through his 
body and was gone.  Before him stood his quarry.

"You are a strong man," said the native man.  He stood an inch or two taller 
than Steve, his ruddy skin darkened to a fine leathery toughness from the sun.  
In all respects he was only slightly bigger than Steve.  His craggy, handsome 
face was capped by white hair worn in a single braid down his back.  His ridged 
shoulders were high and square and his traps fully consumed his neck.  The dark 
marble squares of his chest bunched with striations like some cast-iron 
spiderweb above black saucer-sized nipples before curling under to the trunk-
like thickness of his meshed and rippled abdomen.  A cock the size of a strong 
man's arm fell almost to his knees between densely-packed thighs.  Calves like 
broken slabs of rock touched each other though he stood with his legs slightly 
apart.  His feet were huge, long and flat and flexible.  His lats stuck squarely 
out as he crossed his bulging arms before his chest.  "I've been waiting for 
you."

"Then why have you been playing these silly games the last two days?"

"You misunderstand, my friend."  The native man approached Steve and looked down 
his blade- like nose through coal-black eyes.  "For two centuries I've been 
waiting.  I knew a man would come someday who could match me strength for 
strength.  Are you that man?"

Steve snorted.  Neither man moved.  Steve said, "You're some sort of telepath."

The native took a step away and sat on a boulder.  He dwarfed it.  "The mind is 
only as strong as the body.  It is a skilled learned over many years.  Let me 
tell you a story.

"When I was your age I was invincible.  Never had there been seen a warrior like 
me.  But I had no peace.  I had to become stronger, bigger.  I didn't want 
Earth's gravity to hold me, I wanted my own gravity to hold the planet up 
against my feet.  So I trained my body, and my mind, and my will, and my spirit 
to be stronger.  Stronger than any beast, stronger than the storm, the 
earthquake, fire, even death.  After many years, it became clear I was too 
strong to die.  I never got sick; my bones never broke, though I broke rocks by 
squeezing them between my legs until I'd ground them into powder.  No weapon 
could wound me: my skin was tough and thick and I was quick and far-seeing.  I 
could catch any arrow or spear and return it faster and more accurately.  I 
could bat bullets down into the ground with my hands, or catch them as they flew 
by.  I lived to see all our land stolen and raped by your kind.

"But I was living alone, and could not join the company of men.  Men feared me, 
except for those who came to love me.  But they grew old and died; that's a tale 
for another time.  I alone have survived.

"Once there was a sorcerer, one whom your kind called a berdache, of the third 
sex.  She was a most powerful witch and she threw all her powers at me, to kill 
me.  She hated my rivaling power.  But I stayed firm.  She tried to rip me apart 
with unseen spirits but they could neither dent nor move my rigid muscles.  She 
sent wind, flood and fire against me but I walked through the tornado, I dammed 
the flood by leveling a mountain and put out the fire by pounding the dirt out 
of the ground on top of it.  She came at me as a lion but my arms crushed her 
bones.  she changed into a snake and coiled about me but my muscles pressed back 
as I tore at her head.  She changed into mist.  I began sucking her into my 
lungs.  She became a hawk and tried to flee my strength.  But I leapt higher and 
faster than the hawk could fly and I broke its wings with my fingers.  

"Finally she changed back into her true form and lay before me, broken and 
bleeding, and I told her, 'I will keep you alive if you will teach me your mind 
force.'  And she did.

"I have lived long and will live longer still," the native concluded.  "I may 
even outlive you, if you aren't strong enough to be immortal."  And then he 
became a blur, and when Steve could see him again he was heaving that boulder 
through the air with deadly aim.

Steve's reflexes brought his hands up in a flash and the speeding mass of rock 
hit the pipes of his forearms and cracked open.  Steve stumbled back from the 
force of the giant's propulsion.  But the native man now had his plate-sized 
hands around a redwood.  Veins popped out from his neck and ran around his 
shoulders, across the stretched-out peak of his biceps and down his knotted 
forearms to the fingers that dug into the wood.  A crackling and ripping sang 
through the forest as masses of dirt flew up into the air.  The native held the 
tree in his hands, long torn roots waving, and his fingers sank deeper through 
the bark and crunched into the bole as his biceps flexed.  The muscle swelled 
out and up, rising into the tree and crushing the bark.  Then without even 
pressing it overhead he flung it forward at Steve.  

The tree spun around and slammed into Steve so hard and fast he hadn't time to 
block it.  As the two-foot diameter truck hit his chest he planted his legs and 
leaned into the blow.  Another report of smashing, cracking gunfire rang out and 
the fucking tree split in two across his chest.  Steve had had enough.

Reaching behind him his hands grabbed the snapped tree ends and they flew up 
under his arms.  He flexed his lats and crushed the wood against them with a 
popping crunch.  The two jagged ends before him, he ran with a flash at Native 
and drove the giant spikes into his belly.  The wooden teeth broke and ground 
against dark man's unpierceable abs but Steve dug his heels in and continued to 
shove.  He drove the man back one step, two steps, three.  The man's back hit a 
tree that creaked back against the blow.  Steve continued to press forward, 
churning up the ground beneath him.  The native put his hands up and grabbed the 
cracking logs of still-living wood and pushed them away from his torso.  The two 
mammoth men drove at each, Steve's thighs against the native's arms and lats 
until the wood splintered beneath the grueling power.  Steve dropped the 
shattered trunks and bracing his own striated traps ran his head into the 
giant's abs.

It was like hitting a wall of steel but Steve felt the man's lungs collapse a 
bit under his power.  Deftly he reached up to get the giant in a bear hold but 
couldn't quite close his hands together behind the man's swollen back.  Steve 
grunted and drove him back against the tree to crush him there.  The native 
braced his hands on Steve's face and pressed back against that thick neck.  The 
tree crackled and sank back, black earth splitting as deep-sunk roots were 
forced toward the surface.  Bark pulverized to dust against the giant's grinding 
back until the wood fibers themselves were beaten and crushed.  Suddenly the 
native sprang forward, toppling the tree behind him with a rushing CRACK and 
roaring to drown the sound of its crash.    He grabbed Steve by the balls and 
lifted him over head, then slammed him to the ground onto his back.  The trees 
shook to their tops and the dark man landed atop Steve, clamping his knees into 
Steve's armpits.  The legs squeezed.  Steve felt a flurry of pain and panic race 
down his ribs as his muscles hardened to take the pressure.  But the native 
squeezed.  Steve's handsome face twisted in rage against the bone-crushing 
stress and his thick arms pulled at the man's knees.  His fingers couldn't dent 
the quads as they squeezed.  Steve felt cartilage pop down his spine as his ribs 
caved in despite the armor of muscle.  The dark thighs squeezed.  Steve's vision 
started to swim under the relentless pain.  His thick fingers that peeled back 
plated steel sought in vain to lessen the hold of those great thighs.  But they 
squeezed.  Steve couldn't breath in.  They squeezed.  His impervious muscles 
spasmed and flattened against his cracking ribs.  The legs squeezed.  

Desperately Steve bucked his hips with the power that sent a diesel engine 
flying but the dark man simply rose up on his knees, his half-hard dick rubbing 
precum against Steve's mouth.  "Now you'll take it like the cunt you are," the 
native said, but before he could clamp back down on Steve's bruised torso his 
legs shot up and grabbed the native's head.  Pulling back he took the surprised 
man down across himself, stretching those quads against his calves.  Steve 
grabbed the big man's balls and crushed them in the hydraulic vise he called his 
fingers.  His legs poured all their devastating power into the native's skull.  
The dark rammed his hips down into Steve taut abs but that did no good.  Steve 
proceeded to pull the big man apart, stretching his head back, arching his back 
and twisting those balls.  Heavy dark arms jabbed and sought any chink in 
Steve's heavily-bruised side armor but Steve's recovery was heroic and his 
muscles hardened like concrete.  A scream of agony was drowned within the flesh 
of Steve's crunching quads.

"Now who's the bitch?  Tell me your name!" Steve shouted as his forearms filled 
with rocks of muscle, his hand twisting and grinding those enormous, hard balls.  
But then the native stiffened and Steve felt that mind-power come back at him, 
invisible steel fingers prying loose his fingers, wedging themselves against his 
thighs.  Steve double his power but forces that could tear a bear into pieces 
worked against his strength and he felt his grip not weakening but loosening 
nonetheless, as if hundreds of horsepower were strapped to each finger and 
driving furiously away.  Glacial power spread his legs apart.  Suddenly the big 
man was free and mentally held Steve down as he staggered away and panted 
against a tree.

Steve worked every ounce of muscle against the resisting force and rose to his 
knees.  Breath heaved in and out of his massive chest with the effort but again 
he bested the man's mental strength.  With a cry of agony Steve leapt up, but 
was held in place.  "Tell me your name," Steve demanded.

The big man walked around him.  Steve strove to twist his body against unseen 
tonnages of power.  The dark man said, "I have been called many names.  The 
Mountain.  Sasquatch.  Bigfoot.  Names only the tribes of the forest know.  But 
no man alive knows my true name.  The only name you shall call me is Master."  
He was behind Steve now and he grabbed Steve's wrists.  He struggled against the 
iron stanchions of Steve's arms and using all his physical and mental brawn 
forced those hands behind his back.  Steve was panting heavily, his cock at 
half- mast, anger and arousal vying within him.  Holding those wrists in one 
huge hand the giant put his other arm around Steve's neck.  He could never choke 
him: Steve's neck was so wide and thick that even this man's biceps couldn't 
crush it.  

But he held Steve and rammed his 13" cock against Steve's granite glutes.  Again 
unseen fingers pried at the flesh and slowly the globes of muscle apart just 
enough for that huge turgid cock to thread its juicy way into Steve's ass.  
Steve closed his asshole tight but then a new sensation hit him: not brute force 
but a strong tongue, then two, then three, flitting across the pleasure sensors 
of his sphincter.  More spectral tongues lapped at his own dick, and the harder 
it got, the harder it was to resist the rapture that engulfed his manhood and 
massaged his asshole with a dozen flickering, soft yet insistent lips.  A shiver 
went through him and in that instant the dark man plunged through the hole and 
inside Steve.  Nauseating pain swept through his belly as Steve tried to resist 
but the man started nibbling on his earlobe and whispering some swift native 
words, the soft breath caressing his ear.  With mixed emotions rioting Steve 
felt the ancient man's virility overwhelm him.  Unable to move, his cock alone 
rose until it planted itself against his abs.  A hundred fingers ran over his 
body in admiration as that huge dark cock sank deeper and deeper up into him.  
The fingers scratched, silent teeth grazed and nipped at his iron cock and 
teased around the head as the man whispered and held him in an unyielding iron 
grip.

Finally Steve couldn't take the overstimulating pressure any longer.  Weeping, 
he shot huge gobs of come while ghostly biceps squeezed the juice out through 
the shaft.  They pumped him dry and fluttered around the convulsing head while 
strong arms continued to hold him.  But still the man continued his rape, 
thrusting harder and harder, the words becoming meaner and darker and the 
fingers turning into nips, whip lashes and savage jabs.  The pain came from all 
around, things flew at his face and the native tried to bend Steve backwards and 
break him over that pile-driver cock that just wouldn't stop.  He felt one 
vertebra, then another give under the strain.  His abs stretched and his rigid 
erectors almost tore loose as he was bent back like a bow.  Planting his legs 
into the ground he savagely wrested himself free of the man's grip, twisting his 
bloody ass away from the giant cock that immediately began raining long ropy 
globules of come all over him.  Wiping it away he tried to lunge at the dark man 
but his hands stopped beside his head and that mental power beat against him.  
Furious unseen blows rained against his hands and glanced off his arms and 
chest.  His biceps blew inches beyond their previous greatest size, the skin 
stretching in red tiger stripes to contain them, the veins rolling underneath.  
His delts exploded into crowns and his back writhed as he stepped forward.  
Roaring with injury and threat Steve took a step against the force, locked in 
that double-biceps pose, his fingers clawing the air.  He stepped again.  The 
dark man's face fell as he saw his ancient mental forces being overcome by this 
kid's raw muscle power.  He then took a step back and Steve broke through the 
wall and lunged for his neck.

He only saw a blur.  The native have ran away with uncanny speed and now was 
nowhere to be seen.  "I'll kill you!" Steve thundered.  A fist lashed out and 
smashed a rock-sized chunk out of a tree. "If it takes the rest of my life, I'll 
find you again and kill you!"  He hit another tree full on with his fist.  The 
sudden force bent the wood back onto itself in a splintering crash that left a 
ragged stump where once a tree stood firm.  "And not with fucking mental powers, 
but with these."  As he roared he reared back and flexed his artillery biceps so 
hard they literally split the skin in half a dozen places.  He shook with the 
force of his voice and blood ran off his arms as the muscle shredded his own 
skin.  His lungs exerted so much raw power that birds flew up out of the brush 
in our camp, hundreds of miles away.  Rocks broke loose on mountainsides and the 
rumbling of the shattered forest continued all afternoon.

And now he's taking it out on the poor defenseless mountain.  Digging his way 
through for god knows what purpose.  I say god knows because Steve does know, 
and he is god to us.  Nothing can kill him and he gives us our life.  How else 
do you define a god?

PART 3 

We survived the earthquake.  Steve swears he didn't cause it.  I'm not 
convinced.

He ruined the ax-head he used to carve up the mountain.  It had been specially 
forged of tungsten steel, but never made for the punishing use Steve's arms put 
it to.  250 pounds of razor-sharp tungsten steel had been dulled, flattened and 
finally shattered as he hammered into the rock of the mountain.  Eventually he 
simply had a lump of metal, but by then almost the entire base of the mountain 
had been removed.  Only a few carefully chosen and carved pillars and lots of 
wooden bracing.  Hundreds of acres worth of stone cracked and pulverized and 
piled into mounds surrounding the mountain.  His fury over the incident with 
that native giant finally grew cold, iced over into glacial hatred and revenge, 
however metaphorical.  An entire peak of rock precariously balanced on itself.  
Time to topple it.

The huge weight might crush even him, but there was a fissure running through 
the ground nearby.  I thought it was a major fault line but Steve insisted it 
was just some crack.  His ax now useless, he rested while Tony and I dug out all 
the loose dirt we could.  There wasn't much room but enough for him to find the 
edges of the two pieces of rock (tectonic plates, I thought, but daren't say).  
His fingers chipped off bits until he could wedge his substantial body into it.

His thought was to simply set up a vibration in the earth that would overbalance 
the mountain and collapse the pillars that support it, so that the huge peak 
would crash ten feet to earth and break under its own weight.  He hadn't room to 
rear back and strike the rock with his hands, so he braced his back against one 
side and started shoving the other.  An ordinary man doing this would have 
simply bloodied himself.  But Steve.... we weren't sure where this would end up.

There was no result from the shoving so he braced his rock-shattering legs 
against one side and put his hands against the other.  And pushed.  Something 
rumbled deep underground.  He sucked in air, and pushed.  His back moved 
slightly against the rock.  We could see the muscle fibers twitching across his 
triceps; hell, we could see the fibers hypertrophy as he strained them.  Beneath 
our feet we heard another rumble, then a sort of thunderous sound.  I blinked.

His delts looked like dozens of blacksmiths' fingers digging into the shining 
bulk of his upper arm, grasping at his back and heaving chest; and they looked 
as if they'd stretched forward a bit.  As if his elbows wait, they weren't at 
his sides anymore, they were even with the stony ridges of his abs.  That meant  
and then we felt it.  

"I feel dizzy," said Tony.  I closed my eyes and found I couldn't stand still.  
I opened my eyes and Steve's elbows were now in front of his abs.  His teeth 
were clenched and his face trembled with the effort, his biceps fighting his 
thick pecs and torturing the skin caught between them.  The rumbling built to a 
low roar, as if we were coming closer to a raging river.  But we weren't moving 
yet.

Steve let out a strangled cry that deepened into a roar that almost matched the 
horrified cry being torn out of the fracturing earth.  His arms were almost 
straight; his back doubled his width and ground the rock behind him into gravel.  
He kicked his legs over to the side his hands were on and moved his hands behind 
him, and those bear-crushing thighs pumped and surged with mind-boggling 
strength.  

The first jolt knocked us off our feet.  It sounded like a freight train was 
running over us.  Tony and I both hit the ground and bounced like marbles as the 
deafening thunder rolled along with the ground.  A boom, like a grenade going 
off inside a tank but magnified 100 times filled the air as well and we turned 
to see the mountain top crumbling down upon its excavated foundation.  Huge 
cracks and splits ran up through the dirt and rock.  Boulders the size of houses 
knocked loose and plummeted down the collapsing side.  Giant trees lost their 
hold and tumbled in all directions and clouds of dirt rose to obscure it all.  
And still the ground shook.

Steve jumped out of the crevasse his muscle had opened and covered us both with 
his body.  His weight was crushing but his lats spread out above us as the only 
possible shelter, while his legs and arms pressed into the ground and held us 
tight against it so we stopped bouncing.  The rocks, logs and boulders (and 
occasional terrified animal) slammed against Steve's rigid back and continued 
on; we never felt any increase in pressure.   Except from his equally rigid 
cock.  It grew between Tony and me, and with every boulder that crashed and 
split over his unyielding back he thrust as if we were each an enormous ass 
cheek.  He grunted and plunged, and when a cannon-shot split of some enormous 
fragment of the mount shattered against his flesh he pumped out buckets of hot 
sperm, coating us as he emptied those huge nuts.

When the shaking stopped, the avalanche continued and slowly we saw the light 
dim around us; and go out.  Steve started to raise up and his arms, as thick as 
our trim, cut waists, clutched us to his iron chest.  Dirt and rock fell off as 
he rose and broke through to the surface.  Tony and I gasped for choking 
breaths.  Debris still tumbled around us but the worst was over.  Still 
shielding us, he carried us some distance away.  Then we surveyed the damage.  

Where a mountain peak had stood for millennia, a low mound of rubble studded 
with broken trees settled and sank.  The fault line had been filled in with 
crashing rocks and dirt.  Cries of forest panic still filled the air and animals 
continued to flee.  Already vultures were circling.  

"Well, that's that."  Steve turned and left, showing us a back cut and as 
covered with dirt as we were with come; but unbruised, where our thighs and 
sides were sore from being battered by that iron cock.  As if he'd just been 
rolling in the dust with his dog.  We knew he'd be to the river, clean and back 
at camp before we were, so Tony and I whispered about what happened.

                              ***

Steve had a shortwave which we of course could never use.  Apparently, Portland 
had been shook by a 5.1 point earthquake, and Mount Hood was fuming.  Shocks had 
been felt in San Francisco.  Steve wanted to take a road trip.

Crammed together in the cab of his Dodge Ram, we traveled the bumpy roads in 
silence.  Steve's thighs were so pumped they crushed us against the door; the 
steamy heat brought all our cocks to attention and we took turns feeling his 
muscles and sucking that cock as he drove, never missing a turn or a stop.  It 
was like trying to squeeze Michelangelo's David's arms or legs.  Hard, smooth, 
but hot and not cold marble.  His arms could pulverize marble blocks against his 
chest.

Clearly Steve had issues with antisocial behavior.  That's why he moved to the 
woods in the first place, we imagined.  His superhuman strength and dominant 
will made him not a team player. We weren't sure what he was looking to find.

We drove through Portland.  Rain splashed off broken glass on sidewalks and 
occasionally leaning trees.  A few houses looked like they might have slid off 
their foundations, and some old brick buildings had collapsed.  He wasn't 
touring, though; he drove straight to his destination: a tower of glass and 
steel poised on the outskirts of the business district.  

He looked up at the thirty stories soaring above him, and ran his hand over the 
smooth marble facing.  He turned to us and spoke quietly, his teenage face set 
with disgust.  

"When I was in high school, I accidentally killed a boy wrestling in gym.  I'd 
gotten stronger than I realized, and before I knew it I put him in a full nelson 
and snapped his neck.  Well, the police cleared me of any intent and wouldn't 
file charges, but the boy's father vowed revenge.  He filed a civil suit that we 
won, but it bankrupted us.  My father had a heart attack and my mother a stroke 
shortly after that.  That's when I moved into the woods.  I couldn't face these 
people anymore, the way they talk and twist things.  

"When I heard what happened, I had to come down to see if the quake had possibly 
damaged this building.  The boy's father built this building and rules over 
people from the penthouse.  I see now it was well constructed, built to 
withstand the earth's shaking.  But it wasn't built to withstand me.  How could 
it have been?  Time to do some twisting and shaking myself."

It was near sundown and workers were leaving the building's garage, but some 
were entering as well; the night crew.  He pulled a duffel back out of the Ram 
and with fear in our hearts we followed him as he entered a parking stairwell.  
Inside, he quickly changed into the largest police uniform I've ever seen.  
Steve explained: "Before I went into the woods I took a visit to Arlington, 
Texas, to see Ronnie Coleman.  Man has some big-ass uniforms.  I talked him out 
of one, thought it might come in handy.  Had to have it let out some, mostly 
across the chest and shoulders, and the sleeves and legs.  Waist was an inch 
loose, but that's okay.  Now I've gotten bigger so I'm not sure how it'll fit.  
You boys help so it doesn't rip."

Our cocks hardened instantly as we tried to pry that uniform up over his silky 
muscles.  He couldn't suck in his biceps or lats the way he could his waist, 
which was stool too loose anyway.  The tough cotton stretched and we barely got 
it buttoned; luckily the steel buttons were anchored and tied off with tungsten 
filaments.  Even so the buttons strained the fabric around them trying to 
contain the vastness of muscle heaped on his chest and flowing off his back in 
rivers of power.  The sleeves had v-cuts in the cuffs to let them expand but he 
had to roll them up above his biceps anyway.  "Have to be careful not to breath 
too much," he smiled.  

The pants were tougher, but made of tougher material.  "I don't know if this'll 
work," I muttered.  Steve grinned and brought around a bottle of baby oil.  
"Maybe this'll help."  We used the entire bottle to coat his bristling thighs 
and the pants just squeaked up.  His calves stretched out the lower legs and 
even his feet were bigger, so the boots barely fit.  We gathered the loose shirt 
fabric around his waist and tucked it into his loose waistband, boners aching 
down our legs.  Cinching the belt, he walked out into the parking garage and 
told the attendant there was an emergency, he should close the gates and lock 
them.  He walked through the garage announcing the evacuation.

We took an elevator up floor by floor.  He didn't want to risk splitting his 
tortured uniform by climbing stairs. Nobody questioned his authority.  He 
communicated it directly and calmly; even the security guards didn't call for 
confirmation.  A special key was needed to get to the penthouse, but Steve 
simply bent back the control panel and expertly hotwired the car up and open.  
He dismissed the staff and asked Mr. Barker's secretary if he was in.

"He's on a phone conference."

"I'll take care of it," he told her with his most commanding, dazzling kid's 
smile.  "You run along now."   Once everyone was out of the building, he turned 
and walked away from Barker's office.  He found the emergency stairwell, grabbed 
the doorknob and pulled.  The door creaked and warped until it would never open 
again; at least, not for anyone but Steve and the jaws of life.  The elevator 
was the only other way out.  Steve opened the door and pressed one foot down on 
the floor.

The car moaned.  He pushed steadily, listening to each seam in his pant leg 
stretch and pop.  The creaking from the elevator shaft was louder, and slowly 
the car lowered beneath his persuasive boot.  When the top of the elevator car 
came into sight, he reached up and grabbed with both hands.  The act of reaching 
up caused the seams under his arms to rustle and rip.  He pulled down on the 
car.  His delts swelled like balloons and his arms thickened so much that even 
though the sleeve was gathered in the crease of his biceps and delt, it ripped.  
The elevator groaned again and sank slowly.  This wasn't working.  He had to 
overcome the automatic brake, which was releasing under his pressure.  

He stood back and thought.  His uniform now bloused open under his arms and at 
every seam.  The fabric itself was stretched to the ends of its elasticity.  The 
car was now about two feet below floor level, and the cable rigging was just 
exposed.  Pressing the car lower, he reached up and grabbed the cable with one 
hand and the pushed down in the car with the other.  With a grinding squeal the 
top of the car bulged up until the thick steel weld of the cable anchor ripped 
loose, and the car hurtled clattering to the basement.   "Grab hold, boys," he 
shouted, this man-boy who was ten years younger than Tony and I.  Still holding 
the cable with his right hand, he held out his left arm, crooked, and he 
fastened our hands to it.  His hardness gave no grip, so he firmly wedged our 
fingers against his corrugated abs and leapt into the shaft.

We hung there for a minute, and then his feet swung over to the side.  Pressing 
up with his feet, the cable ground and gave and we sank lower.  The leather 
began to split off the boots and he started to pick up speed, rappelling down 
the shaft with a grudging, snapped elevator cable.  We couldn't go too fast or 
he'd burn out the brake, or pull the entire contraption out of the ceiling.  
When we reached the smashed elevator car at the bottom, he let go and the 
stretched cable hung limply above us.  The car had collapsed into the pit so, 
standing on the wreckage, he pried open the doors, his fingers warping the steel 
gate, and carried us into the half-lit garage.

First he found the electrical room that contained the telephone lines.  Then he 
needed to create an interference field that would prevent Barker from using a 
cell-phone, so he snapped and rewired some electrical cables.  The uniform that 
was big enough for Ronnie Coleman to be comfortable in, then let out, was 
beginning to shred over his own shredded muscularity.  He seems to have 
forgotten he was wearing it.  Then he told us to stick close.  

The garage wasn't what he wanted; he wanted access to the main support columns 
of the skyscraper.  He paced through the echoing concrete shadows like a caged 
animal.  Finally, he said  Fuck it" and walked over to a corner of the garage.  
As he neared the wall he gave a little hop and thrust his shredded thighs.  
Lunging out with his great speed and weight, his fist hit the concrete.  Cracks 
spread out from the indentation where his fist met the wall; powder and chips of 
cement fell to the floor.  With his other fist he hit again, punching deeper 
into the foot-thick concrete wall.  Chunks of broken cement clinked in a 
spiderweb formation.  His fists hit again and again, faster and faster as the 
cloud of pulverized stonework grew like a thunderhead around him.  The glassy 
clinking sound of newly-shattered edges grating against each other, then falling 
into a mound at his feet multiplied.  The floor of the garage began to 
reverberate with the blows.  Then his hands reached into the hole and began to 
pull.

The back of the sextuple-extra large shirt hung in rags but now his chest blew 
out of proportion and the steel buttons shot off like bullets, sparking against 
the concrete and chipping it.  New, longer cracks shot out across the wall and 
Steve leaned back.  The reinforced concrete wall crumbled under his fingers.  
The rebar exposed in the widening cracks began to bend under his muscles' 
relentless contraction, filling the air with a symphony of squeals.  The big 
chunks of concrete stuck to the bars so Steve beat them with his fist until they 
split as he peeled the protesting bars back.  Raising his hands above his head, 
his lats spreading out and his triceps bulging obscenely, peaked like biceps 
behind his arms, he smashed down on the top of the hole, breaking the steel-
reinforced wall in.  Finally the hole was big enough for him, and looked inside.

There was an immense support girder, tempered steel a foot wide and six-inches 
thick through the middle.  He ran his fingers up and down it, flicked it to hear 
it ring.  He placed his hands on either side and began to press inward.  

Tony and I couldn't take anymore, our fucking nuts were aching.  We ran over and 
pulled the remaining clothes off his iron muscles and the thick fabric, 
stretched beyond its strength, sheared off like tissue.  His pecs stood six 
inches off his chest and his arms turned red, then purple as veins were forced 
up through his armored skin.  He had no neck anymore, his traps rose up to his 
head and thick veins stood out as he threw his head back with the effort.  We 
heard a strange squeak.

His straight fingers had sunk half an inch into the H-ends of the girder, but 
now the thick middle section was beginning to buckle outward.  His enormous rib 
cage expanded and his legs swelled to transfer their strength up to his python 
arms.  The squeak turned into a squeal that deepened as we watched the metal 
warp under his brawn.  The sides bent into U-shapes around the bowing girder as 
his palms curved them inward.  His cock stood straight out from his body and 
dribbled precum onto the concrete rubble and he didn't let up his muscle force 
until the central girder had bent in two and the rounded edges met each other.  
Panting and drenched with sweat, he stood back and looked at the wasp-waist he 
had given the solid steel.

The groaning creak began almost immediately when he let go and the weight of the 
building settled onto the weakened, compressed, stress-fractured girder.  The 
girder sank a little to one side and stopped: the pressed accretion of steel 
formed a new support.  But the building had listed, if only slightly.  Steve 
turned to the other wall of the corner, where cracks ran out from the hole he 
had caused in the one wall.  With one savage kick his foot caved the wall in 
with a crunching crash.  He reached down and tore the already-split boots off 
his feet, shearing the leather like it was cardboard.  He lay down on his back 
and spread his great arms out on either side.  

His feet worked as nimbly as fingers as he kicked the concrete off its crooked 
rebar until another girder was exposed.  Bracing his back and arms, he pressed 
his feet against either side of the steel support and began to deform it.  His 
thighs bulged out at crazy angles from his legs as the muscles worked against 
the croaking steel and began to win.  His arms pressed his back against the 
floor for hydraulic leverage and we witnessed the floor crackle and cave in 
beneath the increasing pressure like a fucking eggshell.  His calves tensed and 
spread apart into four hard iron balls.  His huge come-beaded cock lay rigid 
against his straining abs and his tennis-ball nuts pressed against their sac 
atop his thighs as the steel lost against his strength.  The awful hour-glass 
shape of compacted steel held the building's thirty-story weight only because 
his feet were rooted and taking up the slack.  When he released his hold, the 
steel girder buckled and sank.

Outside, we knew, glass was stressing against the unaccustomed angle and the 
marble facing was being unsealed.  With two girders compromised by Steve's 
virility, this earthquake-proof tower was beginning to feel its doom.  We 
wondered what Mr. Barker was thinking as pens began to roll across his desk on 
their own and suddenly he notices how quiet it is.  Maybe he goes to inspect, 
finds everyone gone, the elevator open and empty, the door to the stairs warped 
and stuck, the phones out of order and his own cell phone a crackle of static.  

Steve turned our attention to himself again as he got up from the shallow pit of 
cement bits and reaching out to grab each wasp-waist.  His big fingers easily 
circled the straitened beams and with a sharp intake of breath he pulled back.  
His rear delts bulged out and his back broke into a ridged and gullied terrain 
of unholy power.  Triceps doubled in thickness until they were like two legs 
wrapped around his upper arm.  The forged, tempered steel couldn't take his 
exerting muscles and pulled out with a horrible groan.  Steve's teen-age face 
radiated joy in his terrifying strength.  The building sank further, cracks 
broke out across the ceiling above us and unseen hissing filled the air as some 
pipe pulled apart.  

Now Steve walked away.   Storms, quakes, wind, even bombs couldn't bring this 
mother down, but it can't take me."  He walked over to a parked Mercedes 500SL 
parked in a reserved spot by the elevator.   I wonder who belongs to this?"  
Without waiting for an answer, he bent over the trunk and spread his arms to 
either side.

Immediately the metal of the trunk crackled under his pressure and caved in 
around his arms.  Securing his grip, he straightened up.  The rear wheels rose 
off the ground but our jaws fell almost to our straining cocks as the front end 
rose and he levered the car up.  The heavy engine shifted in its compartment as 
its angle increased to perpendicular.  His arms crunched more heavily into the 
trunk and the chassis groaned against the strain of this lift.  The roof pressed 
and caved against his head and the front end crashed against the ceiling, 
bending pipes that ran across.  Steve turned his young body around and carried 
the bobbing sedan in his arms, the grill crashing again and again into the 
ceiling.  More pipes bent and ruptured from the force, spewing water and steam 
and torn wiring into the garage.  The concrete ceiling cracked and the front end 
flattened with each step.  With a dull thud the engine crashed through the 
firewall and fell into the leather front seats, spiking the steering wheel 
through the side window.  He carried the car back to the weakened corner and 
turning it onto its side, began battering away with it at the girders.  The 
grill ripped off and the girders sagged under this unexpected, unexplainable 
punishment.  Metal grinding, tearing and ripping hurt our ears as the car 
shortened into a shredded mass of curling fender and crumpled frame.  The tires 
wobbled and bent outward and the tempered glass cracked and broke.  Pieces of 
Mercedes fell onto the floor and the battered girders bent further under the 
attack.

Suddenly the ceiling collapsed, raining huge chunks of concrete that dented the 
car almost as deeply as Steve's arms had.  With one final ram Steve drove the 
sedan into the corner, his left arm rippling with power as it thrust the car 
deeper between the girders until it hit the foundation wall--and continued.  
That one arm kept forcing the car into the solid earth until it stopped with a 
shrieking convulsion.  He leapt back as the roof continued to fall in and cracks 
fanned out across the entire garage.  

Horrible sounds echoed down as thirty stories of office furniture slid across 
the floor, computers and filing cabinets fell over and windows broke, raining 
glass upon the street.  Marble slabs cracked and popped off the structure and 
now the building would be visibly tilted; barely visible in the cloudy rain so 
very high up would be one man pounding silently against the glass.  Maybe the 
police had arrived and blocked off the street but no one had attempted to enter 
yet.  There was no explosion, only pounding and squealing and cracking.  But 
then, maddeningly, the tilting stopped.

Steve roared with fury that the structure resisted his strength and defied his 
power.  The Mercedes stuck out from the wall, a twisted wreck surrounded by huge 
blocks of rebar-bristled concrete.  He climbed over the blocks, grabbed the car 
and pulled it out with a grinding squeal.  He heaved and the car skittered 
across the floor on its hood, sparking until it slammed into Honda Civic which 
nearly turned over.  Dirt from the foundation poured into the garage after it.  
His chest heaved, easily over 60" around, as his ire grew to hurricane force.  
His nipples stood out an inch from his vein-popping pecs and as his fists opened 
and clenched the cables of his arms hardened and swell.  With a deafening roar, 
he ran across the parking lot.

Each support pillar he came upon was crippled as his shoulder plowed into it.  
It didn't slow him down but huge portions of concrete shattered over bent steel 
beams.  Gaining momentum, wind in the closed darkened space whistling past him, 
he powered his shoulder into the opposite corner, crushing the foot-thick 
concrete and rebar inward.  Screaming in fury he ripped at the wall, pulling 
chunks so hard the rebar actually stretched and snapped with a painful peal.  
Twisting back and forth at his tightening waist, anchored by legs stronger than 
trees twice the circumference, he hammered his fists into the widening gap, 
flattening steel and pulverizing cement in blow after Herculean blow.  Finally 
two support girders of massive thickness were exposed and slightly dented by the 
storm of concrete that swept into them.  But that was nothing compared to what 
hit them next.  Pulling his fists back, he punched the center of the girder with 
such speed that his muscle drove his fists straight through with a crunch of 
cracking steel.  Six inches of solid support steel peeled inward as Steve 
exploded through with only the power of his arms.  Grabbing the steel and 
crushing the bent-back fragments under his unforgiving fingers, he began 
lifting.  

Back muscle forced sweat out through the skin in flowing rivers of hormone-
scented musk.  New peaks formed on his biceps that stretched the skin.  Roaring 
through clenched teeth he poured his power up into the columns of steel, his 
thighs bending and straightened and his ass glistening with human oil.  
Tightening his grip on the unfortunate iron, he strained with all his youthful 
might.   Deep below us something wrenched and popped and rumbled.  He didn't let 
up but doubled his power, his forearms the size of bodybuilder's biceps and his 
triceps swollen like Easter hams.  The floor beneath us shifted and a deep crack 
opened up between his legs.  He bellowed out of his depths and wouldn't stop and 
something huge broke loose.  His arms raised and inch.  A terrifying grinding 
thunder shook the building and set up a shudder that resonated with his 
trembling muscles.  Tony and I lost our balance as the floor lifted beneath us 
and lights flickered out sparking explosions.  His arms lifter another inch and 
droplets of blood appeared on his mind-blowing biceps.   Yeah!  Yeah!  Take it, 
you motherfucker, take this dude's muscle, TAKE IT!"  He bellowed and kept 
lifting.  

The grinding of outmatched tons of steel lifting impossibly out of its 
foundation split our heads as Tony and I ran and clung to his pumping thighs.  
The ceiling behind us bowed inward and cracked open as car alarms sounded the 
panic.  A Chevy Blazer dropped through the hole above us and tires squeals as 
cars slid and began to tumble and smash into each other.  His arms were now 
level with his shoulders and he stopped curling, holding the weight for one more 
bicep-torturing moment before sliding under the weight and lifting now with his 
murderous back.  His lats tightened and thickened beneath his arms and the 
skyscraper groaned.  Far above us we could hear everything in the building being 
ripped out of its place by gravity and plunged through shattering glass.  There 
was no marble left to face the opposite sides of the tower and now the marble on 
these two sides cracked as the weight of the tower twisted and corkscrewed.  
Barker had to be hanging on for dear life as the slant grew greater and greater.  

The ground beneath Steve's pumping legs was giving out and Tony and I clung on, 
pressing our fingers into the gaps between the heads of his quads and wincing 
with pain as the bunching muscles crushed our bones.  He deftly leapt into the 
wall and the broken foot-thick concrete crumbled slightly but held.  Still he 
thrust upward, raising the building another inch.  Finally the pressure bearing 
down on the other corner was too much as the top of the tower went up and over, 
past the balance point.  The far corner crushed inward in a head-splitting 
explosion of dying steel and shattering stone.  The air filled with dust and 
flying debris as we swung from Steve's thighs and he continued bulge and swell 
and muscle the entire building up over his head, screaming in teen-age triumph.  
His cock spewed gallons of come into the hole, throbbing and convulsing with 
power.  Something flying hit my head and I blacked out, held in place by his 
squeezing quads.

When I woke up it was dark, and Tony was quivering in a corner.  Huge blocks of 
broken concrete and twisted steel girders seemed to trap us, until I heard Steve 
heaving.  Then I knew we'd get out.  He smiled angelically as he thrust big 
boulders away and forced them into smaller places.  Girders screamed as his body 
bent them back onto themselves.  Finally we felt rain on our faces and with one 
last shove a ton-block of cement snaking with rebar moved out of Big Steve's 
way.  

The police stepped back as we emerged.  Despite body pumped to twice the size of 
a big strong man, nobody suspected he had actually caused this disaster.  He 
waved the police away, telling them we were alright (despite Tony's and my 
bloody fingers).  The wreckage filled the street and in the distance he could 
see workman carrying a single sheet-covered body into an ambulance.  They were 
in no hurry.  Steve smiled and noted that his Ram was out of harm's way.  All he 
had to do was move an immense chunk of steel, which he pretended to strain to 
do.  The police and onlookers gaped as his power.  Wiping his forehead, his 
bicep so swollen it he could barely do it, he smiled and we got into the jeep 
and drove back the way we came.

             WATCH THIS SPACE FOR FURTHER ADVENTURES

ChipMasterson@yahoo.com