Thursday, June 12, 2008


Chapter 1
By: Mr. Shhh

Mark looked over the ominous black business card one more time. Its message was very simple – Your lust for strength will be fulfilled. On the back, he found an address. Who had sent it to him? How had it just appeared on his night stand? What the hell was the deal, anyway? If he was smart, he’d have tossed it away like those fucking gym flyers he was always getting.
Looking up, he found himself facing the very same address. A set of dirty stairs lead down to a basement building in a seedy part of town known for its lovely smelting plants. What was going to happen down there? Was he about to be mugged? Would he have to join Fight Club?
Still, something compelled him to continue. The message may have been vague, but it touched a deep, unsettling nerve. Gathering his courage, he walked down the stairs and opened the door.

The twenty-something cubicle dweller wandered in near darkness until he found a pair of massive musclemen guarding a door.
“Hello, sir.” One of them muttered.
Mark fidgeted nervously.
“Um, I’m not sure I’m in the right place…”
“You’re exactly where you belong, sir. Your coat?”
Mark peered at them for a moment. He took off his coat and handed it to them. The man’s arm danced with an astonishing amount of muscular detail. They were huge, even bigger than the bodybuilders on TV.
“Geeze, you guys are ripped.”
The two men chuckled.
“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet. This way.”
The men opened the door for Mark. Throbbing techno shook the ground from deep inside.
“Enjoy your time, sir.”

The cavernous room was like a 21st century harem collided with the pulsing energy of a rave. Garish neon lights painted the endless space in blinding pinks and blues while the heartbeat surge of music fed it with a nervous energy. Everywhere were expensive curtains and elaborate pillars, chairs, tables and stages. It was the ultimate men’s club come to life.
As Mark wandered along, he found dozens of guys just like him all milling about. He caught a lot glares, however most of the eyes were fixed on a big, oil-up female bodybuilder flexing provocatively on a stripper pole.
“Whoa!” Mark blurted aloud. A couple of guys looked his way.
Mark made an immediate beeline for the girl. She had drawn quite a crowd and with good reason - dressed in sheer, one-piece lingerie, she was a vision of hot, sensual strength.
Mark had been a secret admirer of female muscle for most of his life, but had never actually seen a muscular girl in person. The closest he came was when a friend had briefly dated a chick with a well-toned body. He remembered the times they had met up – how he had to fight the urge to stare at the subtle vein that ran up her well defined biceps. She must have thought he was a creep.
For the most part, Mark’s obsession had been relegated to the internet. He cruised the web nightly searching for pics and videos of big, bulging babes. He even contributed his own morphs, but his stuff was extreme even by the wide standards of muscle art. It seemed the only outlet for a passion that raged without end, so he continued to toil, pushing the envelope and never worrying about the boundaries of good taste. His women were weird, Frankenstein assemblies of male arms and legs stitched to female heads, then exaggerated even further until they were truly monstrous creations. His lust for both size and definition seemed to know no limits and even his wildest creations had yet to be “too big”.
But here in front of him was the real deal! The Amazon in lingerie was easily the size of heavyweight professional and in incredible, contest shape. As she ground her hips to the pole, a set of painfully etched abdominals rippled beneath her tight flesh.
Mark was in love. She was cut and veiny just like he liked them. She even had a cute face – a rarity in the world of hardcore bodybuilding. As he watched her dance, she locked eyes with him and licked her lips. Mark felt his heart flutter as her raw sexuality hit him like a dump truck.
“Can I get you anything?” Came a cute voice from behind him.
Mark turned and almost choked. Another young hottie in a skimpy bunny outfit waited with a tray in her hands. The tiny young thing was so packed with muscles that she was practically exploding out of her costume.
A stunned Mark found himself speechless. She was even sexier than the dancer, with an adorably youthful face stretched tight from what must have been a grueling training regiment. While she wasn’t quite as thick as the first girl, she was even more cut, with even the smallest striations clearly visible through a sexy golden tan.
“Let me guess – your fist time here?” She giggled, sounding more like a teenager than a chiseled athlete.
Mark nodded.
“W-what is this place?”
The gorgeous waitress pursed her succulent lips.
“Lucky boy – this is where your dreams come true.”
Mark watched another Amazonian waitress wander past. This one was a massive, manly hunk of African-American meat well over 6 feet tall. She was poured into a skimpy, leopard pattern bathing suit that looked ridiculous on her butched-out frame.
The small waitress sized Mark up and bit her lip. She had a coy grin about her, like a school girl with a crush.
“You’re kind of cute. When you’re done with your slave, maybe you and I can have some fun together.”
Mark’s pulse quickened.
“Muh… my slave?”
The girl’s smile sagged.
“Oh poo. You don’t know yet, do you? Every guy in here has a number. It’s on your card. They’re just about to start bringing out the new girls, actually. I hear they’re the hottest bunch ever.”
Mark’s face was a mixture of emotions.
“I’m not sure I understand…”
The waitress giggled. She wrapped her arm around his and led him further into the crowd.
“I’ll show you. C’mon.”
As the tiny muscle girl guided Mark through the busy room, he could feel her hard, baseball-sized bicep pressing into his side. It felt like a rock, only hot and bumpy with surging vascularity. He was so taken by it, he almost missed a dozen more female bodybuilders in various states of undress.
“Fuck… me!”
“That’s one way to put it.” The cutie smiled.
Mark felt like he had died and gone to heaven. Every girl he saw was a supermodel-quality hard body built to fuck and suck like champs. Not one of them looked to be older than 20 yet they somehow sported monstrous physiques that must’ve taken years to develop.
“We’re here for your pleasure and nothing else. You can do whatever you want with us… or to us.”
Mark stopped in front of a jaw-dropping muscle babe arm wrestling two guys with one arm. The smoking hot slut was a straining mass of popping veins and huge, garish muscles as she tested her sweat-slicked, cannonball bicep against both guys at once.
Mark watched the girl grunt and groan, her pretty face twisted with concentration and popping veins. The amazing part was that she was not only holding her own, but winning.
“Not bad…” The waitress commented of the straining strength queen before raising her own arm. With a cute grunt, she produced an impossibly sharp and peaked bicep capped by a fat, throbbing vein.
She held the flex and looked at Mark.
“How do you think I would do?”
Before he could answer, Mark was distracted by a series of sharp cries. He turned to find an unbelievably muscular red head chained by her wrists to two marble columns. The girl was naked save a barbarian loincloth which left her huge, tensed chest naked for every man to see. Mark could hardly believe his eyes as he stared at two thick, meaty pecs with only an afterthought of breast tissue visible.
His trance was broken as a man swung a heavy wooden club straight into the girl’s stomach. She cried out and clenched the chains tight, sending a massive surge of ghoulishly defined abdominal muscle exploding through her skin.
Mark was absolutely floored. The other girls had been big, but this girl was almost the size of those macho meatheads he’d seen on the covers of bodybuilding magazines.
As a small group of guys took turns brutalizing her body, Mark could only watch in awe. With every bash, sweat flew from her soaked flesh. Amazingly, the beating only seemed to be feeding her muscle lust as every flex pumped more and more size into her already overstuffed skin. Mark even swore he saw cracks forming in the marble pillars on either side of her.
“Isn’t somebody going to help her?” He asked his cute hostess.
“I don’t think she wants help.”
Mark looked again to find the blonde moaning in ecstasy. Her face was flushed and her eyes glazed-over with wanton lust.
“So what do you think?” The waitress asked as she rested her palms on a nearby chair. “See anything you like…?”
Mark watched the small girl tense her chest. Her pectorals separated into two distinct plates as a crevice an inch wide formed like a fault line between them. Again he marveled at her staggering condition. He could see intense feathering in her well-carved shoulders that bled straight into her hyper-striated chest. The individual tendons in her pecs were so clearly separated that Mark could’ve strummed them like a harp.
All of that detail lead down into a mid-section that was just as intense. Mark knew how hard it was to build a good set of abs, and this girl had them in spades. As she relaxed and tensed her stomach, he could see a half-dozen distinct bulges straining against the material.
“Don’t be shy.” She spoke in her high, girly voice.
Reaching behind her back, she unzipped the leather top and peeled it off. Mark swallowed hard as it dropped to the floor, revealing a set of small, perky tits weirdly out of place on her mega-butch bod.
“I want to show you how hard I’ve worked my body…”
Tensing her arms, Mark watched her already carved physique become freakishly defined. The amount of pumped-up vascularity tripled across every surface until it almost choked-out the entire surface of her skin.
Glancing down, he followed a set of winding veins arrive at the bald lips of her fat, swollen crotch. Her cunt looked like a delicious, overripe peach swollen with lust.
Mark’s heart was pounding so hard that he almost didn’t feel the hand tapping his shoulder. He slowly turned to find one of the big bouncers standing behind him.
“I’m sorry sir. It’s time for your flesh sale.”
Mark looked back at the naked waitress, who had a disappointed frown on her face.
“I – I guess I have to go…” He stuttered.
He was lead away by the bouncer when the waitress called to him one last time.
He looked back just as she brought her arms up and cranked out a skin bursting double biceps flex. The small, sexy girl erupted with heaving mountains of muscle, transforming herself in an instant from a cut plaything into a sexless, androgynous muscle monstrosity.
“The name’s Mandi.”

Mark was deposited in front of stage with a crowd of excited muscle fans. The music slowed to a sexy, strip club beat and the lights dimmed. The big room took on an intimate setting as a mysterious older woman in a flowing red gown took the stage.
“We have 8 slaves for you tonight – each picked for their complete and total dedication to their physiques and guaranteed to bring fulfillment to their chosen master. Our first slave is a rare female member of the British SAS and an unequalled warrior. Welcome Lieutenant Cronenweth.”
The curtain drew back and a powerful blonde with short-cropped hair stepped out. The mid-sized girl was dressed in heavy camouflage fatigues that obscured her physique, but the detailed muscularity in her neck and face promised a hell of a body. What was immediately clear was her stunning, 11 out of ten looks. A large scar on her cheek did nothing to spoil a tight, chiseled face that could’ve given a dead man a boner. Fat, juicy lips swelled noticeably from her profile as if searching for a dick to suck while her deep blue eyes smoldered with more passion than any man could handle. An intense, humorless demeanor capped her animalistic sex-appeal.
The power of the girl’s lust could be felt from across the room. She looked like she could fuck a thousand men without breaking a sweat. One thing was for sure - whoever got her was going to have their hands full.
“Number 88…” The red-gowned hostess called.
Mark fumbled for his card, but a voice called out before he could find it.
“What is this shit? I wanted a big-titted bimbo!” The man complained.
The older woman seemed unfazed by his disappointment.
“Young lady?” She asked the military babe.
Cronenweth grabbed the front of her uniform and ripped it open. Buttons flew everywhere as her outrageous upper body was stripped bare. Every eye in the room shot out of their sockets at the sight of the girl’s supremely muscular body and jaw-dropping, brain-melting chest-pumpkins.
Tossing the uniform on the floor, the topless hunk of tit sex gave the crowd a moment to soak up her fat, succulent double Ds. She was big all over – easily bigger than any female bodybuilder in the world – yet still shaped like a woman. Her outrageously ripped muscularity was so cut and defined that it was almost sickening. That complete lack of fat made her proud, soccer ball breasts even more strange and sexy.
Mark watched the girl drop down into the audience, her tits nearly hitting her face. Finding her master, she grabbed his neck and forcefully pressed her giant cock suckers into his. He was almost crushed by the force and power of her sloppy, savage kiss. When they finally broke, she wiped the gooey strands of spit from her face and looked at him with a hunger that was savagely erotic.
When Mark looked back to the stage, the hostess was already introducing the next girl.
“The next slave is a mysterious loner with a tragic past. She is driven by equal parts lust and revenge to become an unmatched temple of strength. Welcome… Mercy.”
A roar at the back of the room shook the audience. Mark turned to see the crowd separating and a girl on a gleaming Harley ride up to the stage.
This new slave couldn’t have been more different than the first. Dressed in a leather jacket and riding pants, the dark-haired hot body was both shorter and younger than the British army babe. She had the softness of a girl still in her teens but the hardness born of a lifetime of pain and obsession.
As she climbed off her bike, Mark noticed the shocks compress to their limit. He knew it took 300-400 pounds to do that, though from his angle it seemed impossible that she sported that kind of weight.
Mark found himself mesmerized by her beauty. Her features were deep and mysterious and she oozed a damaged sexuality that was intensely arousing. He honestly wasn’t sure which of the two women was a bigger erection factory.
“Number 89.” The red-gowned woman called.
A big man at the back of the crowd moved up. He arrived in front of his prize only to tower over her.
“Are you serious?” He asked. “I’ll fuckin’ break her.”
Mercy grinned. Locking eyes with the man, she unzipped her jacket and revealed her shirtless torso. Gasps erupted throughout the room at the sight of a staggeringly massive and masculine body.
Mark’s heart started pounding like a jack hammer. He’d been floored by the female bodybuilders he’d seen so far, but Mercy was something else entirely.
Slowly, the sexy muscle-freak leaned over her motorcycle and took hold of the wheels. Mark watched her amused expression quickly darken into a mask of determination, machine-like concentration.
Gritting her teeth, Mercy grunted loudly and hoisted the heavy bike off the ground. The audience could hear her leather clothes groan as her body violently swelled in every direction.
Veins popped through the girl’s forehead and strangled her neck. With a second furious grunt, she hoisted the bike past her knees and up to waist level.
Monolithic traps surged outward with such force and size that they ripped a 5 inch gash in the back of her coat. Her beer-keg thighs, now straightened out and supporting the full weight of the Harley, split her pants open in a similar fashion.
The audience was dead silent as they watched the Lolita tough-ass wrestle with the weight. They could see the pain evident in her shaking arms and strained, red-faced expression. But there wasn’t a hint of fear or doubt in Mercy’s face – only hunger. Mike could see her eyes transfixed at some distant target as if it were mocking her. The burning she must have felt in her muscles only seemed to fuel her.
Spitting out a frightening growl, Mercy powered the bike over her head. The arms of her jacket exploded under an onslaught of all-American grade-A girl beef. Vein-covered, hyper-shredded cannons willed themselves into existence and revealed a flexing girth that was far bigger than any bodybuilder in the world – male or female.
With a scary mixture of agony and rage, Mercy began to pump the huge motorcycle up and down by a foot and a half. With every crunch, Mercy’s hulked-out giga-mass swelled bigger – her definition became sharper – her veins pulsed harder and fatter.
Then all at once, she dropped the bike back to the Earth. The room shook as it hit the ground. Mercy stood behind the huge hunk of steel panting from the effort and dripping sweat down her vein-covered face.
Mark was in total and complete shock. As he gazed at Mercy through the chattering heads around him, he came to a realization. Somehow, this school-aged badass was his deepest, darkest fantasy come to life. She was one of his muscle morphs come to life. Forget tits or hips or anything else girly and feminine. This chick had willingly shredded it all and then some. She was disgustingly masculine. Ripped. Hard. Cut. She was a beast. A monster. She was a scary hulk of a human being stitched to a sex-up high school hottie.
Snapping out of his daze, Mark caught the slab-like back of the girl wandering away with her master.
“No!” He shouted.
One of the nameless guys around him looked his way.
“S-she’s perfect! Why don’t I get her?”
The guy gave an amused laugh.
“If you didn’t get her, that means she ain’t perfect. Trust me pal, they know what you want better than you do.”
Mark chewed on those words. He pulled out his card and looked it over. He didn’t have a number.

Before he could voice his concern, the red-gowned woman was back.