Rear ended--part 3

[5uiat]

Part three! If you missed the first two:
http://www.musclegrowth.org/forum/sh...ad.php?t=16933
http://www.musclegrowth.org/forum/sh...ad.php?t=16939
Again, comments much appreciated! Love suggestions for what would be hot going forward.

PART III

His cock was slippery inside me, his warm body pressing down on my back. I could feel his chest in segments--the huge, heavy pecs, tender nipples, and each bulging segment of his six-pack, lightly coated in blond fur. The muscles were so hard that they massaged my back individually as he thrust up and down and up and his massive arms covered mine completely, straining again and again as he pushed his dick further into me, so that I wanted to scream and moan and slap him lick him worship him and suddenly he was talking saying he was coming, he was coming, coming, in his deep voice and it was breaking and I felt warmth all through my whole entire body and still he thrust up and down and up and up and up and UP!

I awoke to the view of my own cock standing ramrod straight and spurting into the air over my pecs and into the canal that ran down my abs. Even as I was overwhelmed by the sensation, I couldn't help but notice that every muscle in by body was taught--lean but clear, with veins bursting out of my lower abs and across my arms. The sight only turned me on more. I grasped my cock only half consciously and was surprised by how big it seemed. Had it grown? No, impossible. I gently kneeded it, and closed my eyes to remember my dream. Finally, unwillingly, I sat up and looked at the alarm clock.

It was Saturday morning. Six in the morning. Dammit. One of the few days without an 8AM class and I was already up. I blearily went into the kitchen to make my breakfast and coffee. I cracked four eggwhites into a pan and disposed of the yolks. My mind was completely consumed with making omelets and I didn't even hear the front door open and someone stagger in. When I heard a voice I jumped in shock.

"Dude...what're....what're you doing uuuuuup? No--no. It's okay. Nah. I'm alright."

My roommate, home at 6AM and drunk off his face. He looked haggard, drooping eyelids and a well-past-five-o-clock shadow. He loped over to me.

"What'cha--what'cha making? Eggs! Eggs. Ah." He looked me up and down, as if just seeing me for the first time. "Man, you've gotten...ripped dude. Look at you!" He poked the crevasse running down my stomach, trapping his finger in my (I want to be modest--but I'll say it--) six pack. He laughed. "Look how BIG you are!" I blushed. "Flex. No, flex!" I flexed for him, making my bicep leap to attention. He put both hands on it and leaned, letting his weight rest on my arm. "Look! It's got veins. There. And there! So hard. Rrrrrrr I can't even squeeze it! I've got such--" he hiccuped, "--such a strong fucking roommate!"

"Matt, I think you should get to bed," I said.

"Ok....yes. Help me find--where is it?"

"Here," I grabbed him around the shoulders. He slumped completely into me so that I was carrying 90% of his weight and, smiling, dozed off. I pulled him into bed. Matt was a good roommate, really, but Friday nights were HIS night. He was cute enough in a boyish, confident way, close cropped hair and all sorts of tattoos, each with its own interesting (drunken) story behind it. He was the kind of guy you would sit up until 4AM with smoking weed and just listening to him play the guitar. And now he was asleep, his shirt riding up so that a tiger lazily rippled on his tight stomach as he breathed in and out.

It was 6AM. I had nothing to do today until I went to see Marcus to get my car fixed. My brain snapped awake immediately at the thought of him. That deep voice, those huge arms, the awkward but comfortable smile. And his best friend Marcel's promise that there might be more there...if I wanted it.

And, who are we kidding, I did.

I killed time with homework for Biology III: Microorganisms, fantasizing about Marcus (imagining running my tongue down the peak of his bicep, feeling his rough buzzed hair, smelling that intoxicating...), and watching videos of cats doing funny things on youtube. Yep, I'm a college student.

And it was one in the afternoon. Time to go. I put on my tightest top, did 20 pushups, and got in the car. My arms flexed impatiently as I gripped the steering wheel. The drive was five minutes but seemed like forever, and then suddenly I found myself at the garage. The door was open, and the dazzling sunlight gleamed off a buzzed blond head that poked up above a stripped car. Eyes creased, dimples formed. Marcus grinned up at me.

He slowly rose. His fingers found the car frame and pushed him up, so that his titanic arms and broad shoulders came into view at once. Veins ran all the way down his arms and he shone with a light sheen of sweat mixed with grease. He was wearing stained blue mechanic's coveralls that fit like a glove over every bulge and gap. But as he pushed himself up his flexing pecs proved too much for the already low-riding zipper in the front, and as he lazily pushed himself to his full, impressive height the zipper kept rolling down to show the whole of his pecs, dirty, sweating, and swollen with muscle. Below them I could only see shadow. As he came around the car his coveralls parted over his surging traps and he had to push them back up to keep the coveralls from simply falling off of his engorged muscle. He wiped his hand on the pants of the coveralls, and my gaze fell down to his quads, whose size and definition was visible even through the fabric. They pushed at the coveralls as if trying to escape, and above them I swear I saw his crotch (which filled the coveralls as nicely as the rest of him) twitch noticeably. He was wearing heavy boots.

He extended a massive but cut arm toward me, and shook my hand. His hand was hot in mine. "Hey buddy," he said. "How you doing?"

[ganteugene]

It's getting better and better. The first chapter was not really a favorite, but I think you are bettering your writing skills very fast - at least, I'm thrilled. Please, continue!

[blondYT]

I liked it from the start! But now the suspense is killing me.

[redroger11]

"How am I doing?" Not as good as your character. OK what's up with this? When I write a story I give the guys reading it a chance to tune back into the characters and story. I used to think I needed a certain amount of pages to qualify as a chapter. There is no fast and firm rule on how long a chapter is. But come on!
OK, work with me here. Take this chapter and scroll it up to the top of the screen. Now hit the page down button. Chapter's over. One and three quarters pages.

Don't get me wrong. I love the story so far. You seem like you have a lot you can say in this one. Play with it. Add wild stuff you wish other writers would say or do. Go out on a limb. Isn't that where the fruit is?
Of course if you weigh in at 350 pounds, try to stay on the thicker more phallic branches. Then you can drop a few of the rotten fruit on the heads of the people who just read these stories and never try and write them. While the juice from the ripe fruit you're eating stains the wife beater you have stretched across your massive pecs. You know where that juice is heading. So let it guide you to more of the fun great writing we know you can do.
Keep Writing.