Wednesday, September 24, 2008

THE CLUB - chapter 2


THE CLUB
Chapter 2
By: Mr. Shhh

It was exactly one year ago that Mandi Miller entered the Club’s cavernous inner sanctum for the first time. She was met by a half-dozen figures, men and women both, gathered around a large oak table. They were shrouded in darkness like members of some sinister conspiracy. Cigarette smoke drifted in the atmosphere.
“Step into the light, Ms. Miller” One of them commanded. A pot light in the ceiling produced a harsh ring on the floor in front of her. The teenager stepped inside, bathing her golden-brown skin in an ethereal glow. She was incredibly beautiful – they wouldn’t have accepted anything less. Yet there was something special about her, even by their standards. Her face was already tight, with small veins snaking up and down her forehead. They could see her intimidating shape right through her clothes.
“How do you know my name?” Mandi asked, her high-pitched voice laced with an uncharacteristic apprehension.
“Don’t be coy,” The voice responded. “We know you lock yourself in your brother’s room for hours on end to use his weights. We’ve watched you tear pictures out of bodybuilding magazines and tape them to your locker. You work out with dangerously heavy loads until you nearly pass out from the pain. You masturbate to your own body while your pose in the mirror. Your classmates think you’re a freak and a monster, but that just drives you harder.
Mandi didn’t know what to say. It was all true. How could they know?
“Everyone tells you what you’re doing is wrong, but it isn’t. You’ve been invited here because you’re better than they are - stronger, more beautiful. But you know that already, don’t you?
Again, Mandi didn’t answer. She always thought it was weird that she turned herself on. She’d even had make-out sessions with the mirror. As for her strength, she did alternating curls with 140 pounds for reps. Even the football jocks couldn’t do that.
“The only question is, are you ready to join us?”
“I… I am!” She blurted out, surprising herself.
Murmurs flowed around the room. They had never seen a girl so eager. She was confident in her massive body – a rare trait with one so young.
“Show us. Take off your clothes…”
Mandi felt a chill run up her spine. She could feel their perverted eyes through the darkness, exploring the contours of her well-stretched clothes. Would they laugh at her like the boys she’d dated, repulsed by her unapologetic brawn?
Slowly, her hands moved to her coat. It took effort to peel it off as the sleeves were tight around her upper arms and shoulders. Her back flared wide, pulling her top to its limit.
With the coat gone, the beautiful blonde revealed the unmistakable V-shape of a world class bodybuilder. This pleased the room, which was impressed by her gigantic wingspan. Her arms were fighting a losing battle with her beefy lats - the limbs forced outward at an awkward angle that only added to her unnatural muscle-man swagger.
Taking her top, she lifted it off in one bold motion. The hot lights immediately struck the rich chestnut color of her ridiculous tan. She was incredibly dark, even for a bodybuilder. The light reflected off her hard, angular muscles like they were forged from steel. They looked just as hard and unforgiving.
Mandi held her wrists like an embarrassed child. It was arousing given how totally un-child like the smoldering Amazon really was. She was embarrassed, yet somehow exhilarated. She was a piece of meat on display, topless to strangers gawking at her demented shape - but no one had ever WANTED to see her muscles before.
At school, Mandi had been called a transvestite and a she-male, partly because of her underdeveloped breasts. The small nubs and pointy nipples were the only evidence on her entire upper body that she was even a girl. Though she was small overall, even dainty, her physique didn’t seem to notice. It was as if no one had told her that girls couldn’t build muscles like hers. She had 19 inch arms and a cut 10 pack on a body less than 5 feet tall. She should have been 80 pounds, but instead weighted a dense 230 without a shred of body fat. She was an anatomy chart of veins and striations even at rest. After a good pump she barely looked human.
“Your conclusion, Ms. Frost?” The voice asked from the darkness.
An elegant older woman in a red gown appeared from behind her. She ran a finger down Mandi’s over-inflated bicep, tracing a single marker-thick vein that was following its demented swell.
“Yes, she’ll do nicely…” The woman grinned.

***

“Let’s see some serious tits!” The man in front of Mark bellowed.
The red-gowned woman must have heard him, because she looked his way and flashed a knowing smile.
“Our third slave is a young exotic dancer working her way through college. She has a particular taste for costumes, which will no doubt please her new master. Welcome… Razor.”
The curtain drew back and something totally amazing happened. A pair of incredible, gravity defying breasts bobbed out into the pinky-blue stage light all by themselves. They were so long, large and beautifully shaped that the girl they were attached to didn’t follow them up until a full second and a half later.
Once again, Mark was floored by what he saw. He would’ve handed it to the organizers of the place for their ability to mix-up the muscle variety, but his brain was too busy getting kicked in the nuts.
“Razor” was a flesh and blood fantasy ripped straight out of Japanese animation. As she sauntered to the edge of the stage, her ridiculous endowments bounced around with the same over-exaggerated physics as a videogame character. She stopped and put her hands on her hips, giving the crowd a long look at the magnificent dimensions filling her eye-popping outfit.
The red-gowned woman wasn’t kidding – Razor loved to play dress-up alright. The 5-nothing hard body had transformed herself into a literal anime space-slut, complete with spiky, neon-pink hair and matching plastic mecha-armor. The armor itself was really just an uncomfortable micro-bikini saddled with complicated gauntlets and hulking, thigh-high hooker boots. It was all metal and chrome techno-parts digging into her carved curves in the lewdest ways possible. To top it off, she was sporting an elaborate helmet and visor that left only her supple, puffed-out lips visible to the world.
Mark shook his head in amazement. What the hell were they feeding these bimbos – hormone milkshakes? Razor giggled and hopped up and down sending her tits into a jiggling, Jell-O mold frenzy. The tiny plates of faux-metal that hid her nipples were totally outmatched by the heaping handfuls of chest meat erupting from everywhere. Even the fat, swollen lips of her cunt had swallowed-up most of her rigid underwear. It seemed like her voracious super-sexuality was on the verge of consuming her costume all together.
But as the mega-endowed cock tease pace back and forth, one thing was clear – she wasn’t just tits and ass. Razor was cut like a knife. She landed somewhere between fitness and bodybuilding – too thick for the former but too light for the later. That didn’t make her physique any less intense – quite the opposite – she may have been the most shredded girl yet. She had taken an exaggerated Playboy template and pumped it full of insanely lean girl meat. Everything was striated to hell and exploding with vascularity. Even her vagina, with its lust-engorged lips was devoid of an ounce of fatty softness. It looked sharp enough to draw blood.
The sexed-up stripper finally settled down beside Ms. Frost.
“Number 20,” she called.
Mark heard a scream of joy from somewhere behind him. He didn’t even turn around this time.
Razor walked off the stage towards her new “Master”. She passed by Mark, grazing his arm. His mouth dropped open at the fleeting, up-close glimpse of her. In that split second, he saw even more detail in her remarkable muscles. Her shoulders were so well carved they almost had right-angles. Her traps and neck were equally cut and swollen in the sexiest way possible. Razor glanced at him for an instant – but holy shit, what an instant! Her luscious Asian features were like melted sex. Her deep, lustful eyes alone were enough to fuel a lifetime of wet dreams.
And then she was gone – off to some asshole who “liked muscles”. Mark wanted to yell at the top of his lungs - “No one likes girl muscles more than me!” He’d take the Pepsi challenge any day! He even had a thing for Asians – especially tanned fitness models like Christine Wan or Krissy Chan. Hell, Razor was twice as tanned, three times as ripped and six times as stacked as both of them on their best day. She was sex personified wrapped in a skin of grade-A girl beef. Why the hell were they punishing him?

Mark didn’t notice, but Mandi watched him from the rear of the crowd. She could see his lust for Razor like it was a neon sign. Glancing at the red-hot stripper, she took in her obscenely fit bod.
“Hmmmffff!” The small bodybuilder thought. She jealously analyzed Razor’s biceps. Impressive, but nowhere near the size of her own cantaloupes.
Another bulked-up waitress walked by.
“What’s she got that I don’t?” Mandi huffed, glaring at Razor.
The other waitress glanced over.
“…Tits bigger than her head.” She answered.

Mark was still fuming when the red gowned woman began announcing the next girl.
“Anyone who lives in Southern California already knows our next slave – chances are you’ve fucked her already. Her insatiable sex drive has already made her a living legend and she’s not even finished high school yet. You’ve seen how big our girls can get – now witness what they can become on steroids. Welcome – Tanya!”
Even before the curtain flew open the crowd was already going bananas. Guys were literally pushing each other around to get a better view of the stage. A second later, Mark understood why as a muscle-bound Barbie doll packed into a hopelessly overmatched cheerleader outfit appeared before them. She was struck from a familiar template – the giggly, all-American beach bunny coated in a luxurious golden tan and capped with shimmering blonde hair.
But that’s where the clich├ęs stopped. As the scintillating sexpot lifted a pair of pom-poms, her clothes screamed beneath an onslaught of extreme muscularity that re-wrote the book on women’s bodybuilding. Her cute little head was crushed between two mutant-sized traps – shoulders the size of beach balls pulsated with incalculable power – traps wider than a doorway swelled like a meat-colored wall. The poor cotton uniform immediately split half its seams while the numbering on her chest became incomprehensibly stretched across a tit-less monster chest.
For what seemed like the thousandth time that night, Mike nearly creamed his pants. Tanya was seemingly torn from the darkest, most twisted recesses of his muscle-obsessed imagination. She was a creature of vein-pulsing testosterone augmented to irresponsible new heights by a glutinous diet of performance enhancers and animal hormones. The result was an androgynous he-beast barely contained in her own skin. She was the kind of “massive” that couldn’t possibly function in normal society. No clothes could ever hide her crushing shape and throbbing vascularity. She was a sideshow freak to be pointed at and ridiculed - a wig-wearing muscle-man lacking only the Neanderthal face that followed years of chemical abuse.
Smiling as she walked the stage, the 500 pound muscle-monster posed as if she were auditioning for cheer tryouts. She was working the room like a Playboy playmate, not a jacked-up Amazon. She giggled confidently and flashed her pearly teeth. Her beauty was absolute even as her face was assaulted by gaunt angles and crawling veins.
“Give me an M!” She giggled – her velvet smooth voice sounding like it was coming from someone else altogether. With the amount of juice she must’ve had in her she should have sounded like Sgt. Slaughter, not a bubble-headed valley girl.
With a little jump, she threw her pom-poms in the air. Her thigh-high skirt flapped upward revealing every striation in her refrigerator thighs. Tubes of vascularity converged on a set of sexy satin panties that were having trouble holding back a bowling ball mass of muscle-pumped vag-meat.
“Give me a U!”
More jumping. Arms as thick as men’s torsos fought with her cotton sleeves. More stitched ripped.
“Give me an S! Give me a C! Give me an L! Give me an E! What’s the spell?”
“Muscle!!” The crowd cheered.
“OH YEAH!!!” Tanya responded, suddenly lurching forward and crunching her humongous arms together in a Guinness record-shattering most-muscular. Her clamped teeth and straining face signaled a surge of super human power throughout her entire body. It started with an unprecedented eruption of veins through her grinning face – literally dozens of fat, purple sausages pushing through her cheeks, nose and temples. At the same time, her traps swelled right past her ears and nearly to the top of her head. Shoulders, triceps, lats – everything tripled in size in a second under the command of her all-consuming pump.
Mark would later describe the noise as like an explosion - it was the instant her clothes disintegrated before his eyes – all of them at once and with the supreme authority of an atom bomb. Tanya’s total body flex was so monumental that every inch of her outfit burst open at the same time and flung from her body in a furious cloud of cloth and stitches.
“GGGGGNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!!!!” She groaned in ecstasy as her muscles went super nova. She was swimming through a steroid fever dream. The crowd could see her fists shaking with white, veiny knuckles – she was putting her all into it that was for sure.
Tanya was now the Incredible Hulk with a cunt. Her chest was a ballooning pillowcase of swollen striations cris-crossing and cut like the strings of a harp. Pecs pressed against her chin, shoulders and biceps – they even met her hugely swollen upper abdominals. Her arms were the thickness of old growth trees, only a thousand times more detailed. Her back became an endless expanse of heavy muscularity thicker and denser than any ever seen and giving her the appearance of an aircraft carrier.
Then another cute voiced called Tanya out.
“Not bad, Tanya! You’ve been working out!”
The curtain drew back and two more Herculean muscle-beasts walked out into the light. As impossible as it seemed, these new girls were in the same class as the naked muscle mountain that had just flexed through her wardrobe. They stood there in nothing but a pair of men’s posing Speedos – the tiny bathing suits hiding nothing but their bulging crotches from the ogling crowd.
The red gowned woman returned to the stage with mike in hand.
“It seems our next slaves just can’t wait to join the fray. Neither girl is a stranger to extreme muscularity having been the first women to compete against the largest male bodybuilders in the world. Please welcome Krissy Snow and Song Xiu – rivals for the title of Mister – or rather Miss Testosterone!”
The two new muscle girls were a few years older than Tanya – maybe college-age. Like the overdeveloped blonde, they were both beautiful beefcakes with porn star sexiness burned into their DNA. Their covert infiltration into the ranks of competitive male bodybuilding had left them with short-cropped haircuts, but it did little to dissuade their ember-hot sex appeal. Krissy had brown hair and lustful mid-western features. Song was an exotic Chinese girl and every part the simmering sex kitten. Neither was very tall, but what they lacked in height, they definitely over-compensated for in raw, industrial-strength muscle mass.
“We’ve been working out too, Tanya.” Krissy continued. “Wanna see?”
“Esteemed members of the audience, I believe what we have here is an official muscle-off.” The red gowned woman injected.
“Hmmph! I was just getting warmed-up.” Tanya pouted as she straightened up to face her new challengers.
Mark’s mind shorted-out like a cheap circuit board. Each one of these grunting she-behemoths was easily the most muscular human being that had ever waked the earth – man or woman – natural or chemically enhanced. Now he was about to see them pitted against each other in a no-holds-barred show of ultimate muscular supremacy. How much muscle could even HE handle before it was just too much to take? Was there a point where it went from boarder line attractive to downright revolting? Swallowing nervously, he had a feeling he was about to find out.

Thursday, September 11, 2008

The results are in!

Thanks to everyone who participated in the very first MUSCLE MACHINE readers poll. Watching the votes roll in was a real blast, as were the unpredictable final results.

The big winner wasn't too much of a surprise. Your favorite series (by a large margin) remains HARDBODY at 36%. The story of a shy, introverted cutie with a raging hunger for muscles? What's not to like?

More surprising was the adventures of juiced-up bimbo TANYA DANIELS ranking second at 17%. Who says steroids can't be fun? I always imagined the glamorous and aggressive Tanya as the polar opposite of Jenna (except in the muscle department), which might explain the 2nd place finish.

THE CLUB got the bronze at 15%. This is the series I voted for since it has a bit of everything. Plus, I can't wait to see who's strongest, the leanest, the horniest...

It was nice to see that every story has a few fans. DANCER ranked lowest, but that's what you get for featuring ONLY fitness-level muscularity. ... Right? (Check out the 2nd MUSCLE MACHINE reader's poll to answer another burning question.)