Built That Way 3

[lkjhgfdsa]

CHAPTER 3

It’s weird. I look in the mirror and see a body thick with deeply corded muscle—and yet I don’t feel like my insides match. When I’m not in front of the mirror, I still feel like the skinny little kid I always was. And then something happens that makes me remember just how strong I’ve gotten—and how much stronger I’m getting.

I’d taken to wearing long-sleeve flannel shirts, buttoned down over a T-shirt, usually black or gray to set off my eyes and wavy dark hair. The reason for the overshirts was simple: Sporting this much muscle had people staring at me in a way that was really uncomfortable. Rooms would quiet when I entered them. Breathing would become more shallow, the energy in the room more tense. Dozens of sets of eyes would follow my tight bubble but, my ever widening back, and my swelling thighs that pushed my jeans to their limit I made my way through each classroom to my desk.

In the quad, girls would “accidentally” bump into me and place their lingering alabaster hands on my chest, feeling the thick slabs of meat through the thin fabric of my tee, playing with one of my nipples or sliding a hand down my cobblestone abs toward the fly of my jeans… licking their lips… and all of this right in public. I mean, shit, it was amazing. I was tented up super hard all the time. But what am I supposed to do about it in the middle of the school day? Jerk off during science?

Some of the guys were even worse than the girls. No one dared approach me to my face—but they stared. Eyes wide. Mouths open. Glancing away quickly whenever I looked back at them. No eye contact. Never any eye contact.

So I took to wearing the long sleeve flannel to cover up my thick chest, barn-door lats, beefy arms, swollen bis, rock-hard forearms, thick quads, swollen hamstrings—shit, every walking-wet-dream inch of me—from view. A little bit of protection from the ogling hordes.

So one day I was walking through the corridor between classes… guys shuffling quickly out of the way… girls letting their hands drop and graze my skin tight jeans, pulled taught by swelling thighs, ripped hamstrings, and tight bubble butt. I could feel them staring lustfully at my ever widening back as I sauntered my way past.

And then through the parting crowd I saw it: Jim, my sometimes friend, pinned against a locker by a tall, burly guy in a letterman jacket. Just under six feet tall, maybe 170 or 180 lbs. A new wannabe jock at this school, obviously—I’d never seen him before, and I’d lived in this town my whole life.

The guy had his palm pressed firmly into Jim’s right shoulder and upper chest, flattening him against the metal. Jim’s sinewy muscle lacked anywhere near enough strength to break free from the guy’s bulk. Jim made eye contact with me—for the first meaningful time since the start of the year—in a plea for help. Fuck. This was my chance, I thought, clenching my fists, tensing every fiber in my thickly muscled 197-pound body, swelling the seams of my plaid cover-up nearly to their breaking point. I walked straight up behind the guy, overhearing his mouthy words:

“You just think you’re the shit don’t you—you and your gay ass friends. You’re lucky I don’t pound you right here.”

My heavy right arm shot out, my right hand grabbing the scruff of his neck right under his close-cropped hairline, the swelling of my shoulders making the cuts between my deltoids obvious even through the flannel, the blood rushing through my muscles filling the sleeves completely, my broad and swelling chest popping the first few buttons from my overshirt. It wasn’t hiding my muscle anymore.

The guy immediately tensed, reacting to the vice-line grip as I took hold of his neck, but before he could do anything, I lifted him almost clear off the ground. Who gives a shit that he was four or inches taller than me? He certainly never knew that, standing on tippy-toes as my swelling shoulder muscles threatened to lift him even further. I smiled at Jim, now breathing sighs of relief as he slumped against the wall, free from the bully’s grasp. Hell, this was nothing. I did lateral raises with 90 pound dumbbells for reps. I knew I could reach out my other hand, take the guy clean in the air, and do with him as I pleased. And given the incredible pressure I was putting on the guy’s neck, and the fear that suddenly seized him, he knew I could do it too. He hadn’t even seen my hulking body yet. But he sure could feel its strength. I pulled him close to me, my bicep and forearm flexing, his feet scrambling like a ballerina. I pulled him close enough for me to whisper in his ear, my warm breath carrying a soft, growling threat made clear by my hard grip:

“Don’t fuck with him. He’s mine.”

[arpeejay]

Totally bonerizing.

Thanks!

Richard

[luvyalots]

I love how the guy gets bigger as the story progresses...183, then 193, then 197...

[Faust2001]

The description about all of the girls feeling him up is just burning hot!

[burntjello]

so good! i cant help but think that his bro will come back soon to see the "new him"

Wow another awesome two chapters bro, there just dripping with testosterone and domination! I fucking love it man, especially last chapter how he shut the coach right up and held that jock over his head. Fuck me lol I can't wait to see what happens next

[imfit]

Keep on building this one up. Love the domination as he grows.

[lkjhgfdsa]

Oh, he'll grow. And grow. And dominate. And dominate.

[lkjhgfdsa]

Look for his bro in chapter six. Watch out!