Sunday, March 15, 2009
The following story takes place before the events of THE HUNGER chapter 1. Special thanks to OZZY for his fantastic artwork. Enjoy!
The throaty roar of Mercy’s Harley echoed across the desert as she pulled into the highway gas station. Stopping in front of the pumps, she pushed out the kickstand and climbed off, the heavy chrome and steel beast compressing painfully beneath her half-ton of dense weight.
The scorching sun was unbearable. A layer of sweat was clinging to every inch of the erotic young bodybuilder, giving her intensely-tanned skin and hard, unyielding curves a slick shine.
Popping off the gas cap, Mercy began to fill her thirsty vehicle. She glanced around while the bike drank up. A cartoonish neon muscle-man buzzed on the sign above the station. Mercy looked at his arm – an exaggerated, Popeye-like bicep ballooned from the figure’s frame. Grinning, she squeezed her own fist and felt her leather coat groan to contain a beastly bicep easily double the size.
The trigger snapped open on the pump. The raven-haired hard body looked at the total – 55 dollars. Digging into her pocket, she found about 20 bucks. Shit.
Just then, a huge semi pulled into the dirt lot behind her. A burly trucker climbed out and peered back into the cab.
“Stay put, Honey.” He ordered. “I just gotta drain the snake.”
Mercy watched him slam the door and march towards the building.
The trucker entered a dingy bathroom and planted himself in front of the urinal. He ignored his surroundings - buzzing light bulb, crusty, graffiti-strewn walls and filthy floor.
Behind him, the door opened. The trucker hardly noticed the new presence as he finished his business.
Turning around, he was surprised to discover Mercy standing before him. He was momentarily taken aback not only by a girl in the men’s room but by her scorching, super model looks.
“I think you got the wrong door, sexy.” The trucker smirked, his raspy voice complimenting his gruff, bearded exterior. If Mercy had to guess, she would’ve put him at 6’5, 250 pounds. That made him a full foot taller than the comparatively small girl, but definitely not heavier.
“Fifty bucks and I’ll hit any pose you want.” Mercy offered mater-of-factly. The Trucker seemed to wait for a punch line, but Mercy was dead serious.
“Hell, you sure ain’t shy.” He laughed.
“I need the money. You interested or not?”
“Why should I give a crap about poses, unless we’re talking doggy style and missionary?” He shot back.
Mercy unzipped her biker jacket. She grabbed the bottom of her t-shirt and pulled it up, revealing the thickest, most staggeringly cut abs he’d ever seen.
“Jesus…!” The trucker muttered, his eyes widening to accept the magnificently sculpted, king-sized 12 pack.
“Fifty bucks. I guarantee you won’t be disappointed.”
The trucker fumbled for his wallet and pulled out a couple of bills. Mercy snatched them from his hand.
“Lose the leather, tough guy.” He started, rubbing his beard nervously.
Mercy peeled off her coat and dropped it on the floor.
The trucker’s eyes sprung open further. If he’d been floored by Mercy’s abs, then her shoulders, arms and neck blew him through the wall.
“Fuck… me!” He spurted through his disbelief. “What kind of juice are you shooting?!”
Mercy shifted her stance to give him a better view of her perfect lines.
“What makes you think I’m juicing?” She toyed, knowing full well what he meant. Even in muscle-obsessed America, nobody looked like her.
The biker gawked at the t-shirt struggling to contain her awesome physique. The material was stretched so tight that he could see a million individual details right through it – tendons, striations, vascular systems - all ready to obliterate the shirt with the slightest flex. Her outline was so totally unfeminine that he found himself questioning how she could possibly be a woman, let alone the jail-bait piece of ass she appeared to be. Her shoulders and back, both denser and wider than a fully-padded football player’s, tapered sharply to a waist that was less than a third the size. The colossal super-V it created was only further amplified by her staggering contest condition.
“Where the hell are your tits?” The trucker questioned, his voice rushed and excited.
“Tits are for girls.” The bulging teen answered. Her girly voice, high-pitched and young, betrayed the brutal masculinity of the rest of her.
“What the hell do you think you are then?”
Mercy took her shirt and pulled it over her head. In one fast motion, her studly, muscle-packed torso was naked from the waist up.
“I’m a bodybuilder.” She answered confidently.
The red-hot hard body stood topless before the trucker without a hint of shyness. She seemed used to flaunting her tit-less pecs as if she’d resigned herself to being an unfeeling piece of meat. The swollen girth of each gargantuan chest-block was simply unbelievable. There was no way she could possible fit into a bra or bikini top. Gone was the slightest hint that her breasts had even existed. All soft tissue had been crushed flat and rebuilt into the veiny, television-sized mountain range that stood in their place.
It wouldn’t have been a stretch to imagine Mercy stabbing syringe-loads of growth hormone directly into her chest while blasting those monsters with punishing weight-sets. Even then, with limitless chemicals and bottomless hunger, the demented magnitude of her muscle-tits was still unfathomable. She was nature perverted by sheer, indomitable willpower.
Mercy hooked her thumbs to the waist of her jeans and tightened her shoulders. Each pec crumpled like 100 pounds of aluminum, turning instantly into 2 shredded bricks of bullet proof he-beef. Angry veins snarled across every jagged muscle-strand and joined an out-of-control army that dominated her planetoid delts.
Mercy gazed into the trucker’s eyes with a voracious sexual hunger. The sleazy bathroom peep-show was clearly turning her on.
“Go ahead, tell me what you want. I can be anything - shy school girl with muscles – studly she-man with a pussy.”
The trucker didn’t respond. He was still having trouble accepting the sweaty, testosterone-fueled beefcake.
“Maybe my daddy always wanted a boy. Imagine him forcing me to work out day after day, hour after hour – screaming and crying until my body was harder than any man’s.”
Mercy twisted her stomach. Her baseball-sized abs fought for the limited space on her body. Stark feathering flared and pressed against itself. Veins coiled and pulsed. It seemed like she was packed with more muscles than could even fit.
“Maybe I got bigger than he ever thought possible. Maybe I got so hot that he couldn’t keep his hands off me.”
The raven-haired jock lifted her arms and hit a double bicep flex. She grunted softly as the real breadth of her outrageous physique suddenly unfolded. She wasn’t simply the Olympia-crushing brute she appeared to be – she was much, much bigger than that.
Flexing her basketball biceps, the gender-bending beast almost buried her own face beneath an onslaught of screaming, skin-shredding mega-girth. A quiet moan escaped her lips as she flexed again forcing more detail and definition into her increasingly skinless musculature. She closed her eyes and savored the sensation, almost as if she was reliving the wonderful agony of building every overblown inch.
“You’re getting hot, aren’t you?” The trucker finally blurted, unable to stay silent in the face of Mercy’s twisted lust. “You love what a crazy fucking slut you are! Flex harder!”
Mercy’s eyes opened. She was momentarily taken aback, yet there was no denying it - her engine had started and there was no turning back. A part of her was horrified at what was happening – stripping for cash like a junkie whore in a shit-hole bathroom. But she couldn’t stop herself. Worse still – she needed it.
“Show me everything you’ve got, bitch!” He ordered. Mercy felt her heart racing. He’d show him alright .
The massive teen brought her arms down and turned to her side. Locking her right arm in an “L”, she clutched her wrist and cut loose at full strength. The resulting flex transformed her body like nothing the trucker had ever seen. Hideous, eye-popping detail erupted through her shoulders nearly ripping her skin off. Her chest swelled so hard that it filled every inch of space between her 2 arms.
Veins clawed up her neck as she flexed again and again. The tucker could hear her flesh struggling to contain her. Surging veins popped through her temples and forehead as she poured it on.
“Show me your legs!” The trucker ordered.
Mercy turned again and put her hands behind her head. Placing one leg in front of her, she tensed her thigh until stitches started rip. Bit by bit, her brown, sweat-slicked skin forced itself through the seams of her jeans.
Finally, one hard flex tore the pants in half. Concrete muscles exploded through in a flood of veiny, beefy might. Mercy gasped orgasmically before switching legs and flexing the other one. Her other pant leg shredded in seconds as if it were made out of paper.
The trucker dug into his wallet and pulled out a wad of cash. He held it in front of Mercy like a carrot on a stick.
“There’s near 300 dollars here.”
Mercy looked at him, momentarily pulled from her sexual rush.
He tossed the money on the ground. Looking back at her, he unbuttoned his pants and pulled out his throbbing erection.
Mercy stared. She barely moved, save the rise and fall of her heaving chest.
“Go on. Take the money.” He hissed.
Mercy suddenly snapped back to another time and place. It was her own hazy memory involuntarily barging into the present. She was years younger, though still impressively muscled. She found herself strapped to a piece of crude gym equipment and forced to lift a huge weight stack with her legs.
Behind her, a crowd of men smoked and drank. Mercy cried with each rep to their rapturous delight. Her legs burned like someone had poured gasoline on them. Sweat drenched her body as she powered through set after set.
“Lift that weight, whore!” One of the men demanded. A whip hit her back leaving a red slash across the meaty muscles.
Mercy screamed and fought harder. Her powerful legs surged with awe-inspiring muscularity impossible for a girl her size. Harder she worked. The weight hit the top of the machine with each rep, clanging like a bell. Spit flew from her straining, purple face. Her legs were searing open wounds and every rep was a handful of salt.
“Look at you. You’re dripping wet.” Came the trucker’s voice.
Mercy returned to the moment. She was back in the dingy gas station. She could feel her own wetness seeping through the crotch of her tattered jeans. It wouldn’t be long before a river of steamy girl juice would be running down her legs.
“You know you want the money.” He continued, his boner raging at the sight of the confused Hercules.
More memories came flooding into Mercy’s mind. She was in a dim bedroom riding some strange man like a bucking stud. His hands were all over her chest, squeezing and pinching the small breasts that clung to the bottom of her masculine pecs. The harder she flexed, the harder he fucked her, until she finally orgasmed in a flurry of sinew and veins.
And then she was back again. This time, there was no confusion at all. Dropping to her knees, Mercy grabbed the trucker’s legs and rammed his dick down her throat so hard that he thought she was going to hurt herself. The delirious muscle-titan began sucking and smacking like a depraved animal. The trucker moaned as he sank into a world of intense pleasure. The thought of a muscle-bound bodybuilder surrendering to his every whim was the fantasy to end all fantasies, yet the reality was a thousand times better. Here was a creature of unrelenting will – powerful enough to lift a car or tear him in half with her bare hands, now his depraved sex slave.
Looking down at her, he saw a girl drowning in lust. Her hands, face and neck were covered in spit as she drooled over and licked every inch of his prick. Her free hand was at her crotch furiously rubbing the saturated material, shameless searching for gratification.
It was mere minutes after she had started that the trucker felt himself approaching his apex. The noise, the moaning - the grotesque, surging muscularity filling his entire field of view – it was just too much. And her face – that perfect, virginal angel looking up at him, perverted by the angry vascularity snaking beneath her dried-out skin - she could make a grown man cry.
He could feel Mercy’s iron-grip holding him in place as she demanded the cum from his balls. Her neck muscles crushed his dick like a circle of hydraulic pistons. He finally gave it to her in an explosive burst straight down her throat. One load, two. He sprayed so much cum into her that he expected it to start coming out her ears. When Mercy finally pulled his dick out of her mouth, more jizz spackled her face.
“G-god damn…!!” The man gasped through labored panting. He was absolutely amazed at the load she’d coaxed from him. By the time it ended, her chiseled features were buried beneath an oozing white blanket.
But Mercy was far from finished. Standing up, she grabbed him by the shirt and threw him into one of the stalls. The shocked trucker watched as Mercy’s terrifying shape approached, barely able to fit through the doorway.
Taking the crotch of her jeans, she pulled them down and tossed them aside. The trucker was left face to face with a sexy white thong just big enough to cover her labia. But there was something seriously wrong. The distorted underwear was pulled dental floss-thin across a block of aggressively protruding muscles that formed the most grotesquely developed vagina in the world.
Jesus – was there no end to her insane muscularity? Even her vagina, the last trace of gender identification anywhere on her body was pumped-up beyond comprehension. Internal muscles were fist-sized boulders packed layers deep. Veins were everywhere snarling out of control, swollen to an obscene, cigar thickness to feed the demands of her mutant snatch.
“What have you done?!” The trucker gasped, more appalled than aroused.
Mercy followed his eyes. She splayed her legs wider to show him everything she had. Gritting her teeth, she tightened her abs, legs and everything in between. She grunted softly as her vagina and all related muscles flexed with steel-crushing force.
The effect was like an injection of muscle juice right into her cunt. Everything exploded with unprecedented detail. The ludicrous vascularity tripled along her legs and plugged straight into her pussy. The doomed strip of underwear finally snapped under the pressure like a string holding back a steam roller.
More flexes followed, each one harder and stronger until it was impossible to identify anything between her legs but a single nightmarish quadrant of ripped muscularity.
Mercy positioned herself over the trucker, who had ended up on the toilet seat. Her humongous bulk utterly eclipsed him to the point where she had to hold onto the stall or risk crushing him completely. He didn’t even realize he had a boner until she began to push herself down on him. In one powerful motion, she swallowed the trucker's pole with her frightening monster-vagina.
The sensation was like having his dick was in a vice with someone twisting the handle. He would’ve screamed in pain except the extreme pleasure was even more overwhelming.
Mercy cranked her arms back and began slowly crunching her fists together. Her upper body, already muscular to the point lunacy, ignited with preposterous new amounts of grade-A she-beef. As the trucker surrendered to Mercy’s total supremacy, he witnessed a shocking transformation. Beautiful Mercy, the erotic sex dream rapidly ceased to exist. Her soft face, so effortlessly alluring, became gnarled with strain. Wrinkles and stretches joined popping veins until she was more monster than girl.
Spit spattered the trucker's face as Mercy screamed and cried, mindless amidst her agonizing desire for the ultimate pump. Her fucking became secondary to the desperate, all-consuming expansion she was forcing upon herself.
The walls of the toilet stall creaked as Mercy rode her overwhelmed toy. Bolts snapped at the floor. Tiles cracked.
Mercy’s face twisted until she was red and dripping all over. Her shaking pecs inflated by muscle-stuffed inches with every contraction of her arms, each time growing veinier and freakier than humanly possible. Shoulder and traps bled into one another until they were ridiculous balloons ready to burst.
Water started to leak from the base of the toilet. The trucker felt like the Earth was going to split open. His vision became hazy as all of the blood from his body was sucked through his dick by Mercy’s garbage-crusher snatch. Looking down, his found his entire lower body utterly consumed by Mercy's inhuman legs and crotch.
Finally, the super-human muscle engine reached her nuclear climax. With an uncontrollable shudder, she tore the toilet right out of the floor. Water sprayed everywhere like a Las Vegas fountain, soaking both of them.
Mercy howled into the sky and flexed with all of her being. If she had been on a competition stage at that very moment, she would've eclipsed an entire line-up put together. Each and every muscle on her body was pushed to its zenith and beyond, every ounce of fat stripped bare in the most garish way possible. Even her flesh was just vascular paper so thin and transparent that it looked like her tan had been applied to the muscles themselves.
Mercy walked through the door of the gas station moments later and drew the eyes of everyone inside. She was completely naked save her over-stuffed leather jacket, which was forced open by her heaving upper body. Her creaky, over-burdened skin was beaded with cold water that ran between each of her peaks and valleys.
Everyone watched her walked to the counter, their eyes in awe at the rippling movement in her elephantine thighs and double-bowling ball calves. She seemed unconcerned about her nude pussy or shotgun shell nipples. Gasps and cries circulated the aisles at the extreme grotesquery of her pump. Snarling veins strangled every conceivable surface of hyper-shredded musculature to the point where her very humanity was in question.
The supreme girl-Hercules dropped 50 dollars in front of the cashier. The clerk was rendered useless by the inconceivably gorgeous face perched upon her jacked-up physique.
"Pump number 2..." She spoke with cool detachment.
Exiting into the glaring sun, Mercy put on a pair of sunglasses from her jacket. She climbed back onto her motorcycle and started it up with a roar. Everyone inside the store watched the bulging stallion rev the engine before squealing off in a cloud of dust. She was truly hell on wheels - a living, breathing furnace of sinew with enough raw potential to become the most muscular human being on the planet. But she was damaged goods and she couldn't escape it. She knew her future awaited her somewhere down that endless highway, but so did her past... and it scared the hell out of her.
Friday, March 6, 2009
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