Roid-Rage

[redwolf64]

This is something of a reworking of a story I posted some time ago called "The Mirror". It's inspired by a guy online who went through a pretty remarkable muscle transformation:

before
after

Please note that this story is fictional, of course, and also note that it gets violent - if you don't get into that sort of thing, move on.

redwolf aka slave_formuscle

Roid-Rage
by slave_formuscle
Inspired by bullmasster

You stand in front of a full-length mirror.

You have just returned home from the gym. You have the whole evening to yourself.

You didn't bother to shower when you finished - you just grabbed your gym bag, jumped in the car and came home.

You felt jacked, pumped. The workout was an incredible rush. As you placed your massive hands on the steering wheel you looked down at your hairy forearms, thick with muscle. You saw the veins, thick and pumped.

You breathed in, feeling your huge pecs stretch your t-shirt, glancing down at the valley between those peaks as you flexed.

You feel so strong, so powerful - you felt as though could rip the steering wheel from the car and bend it into an unrecognizable mass of steel and plastic.

But, of course, you couldn't do that. You revved the engine, put the car in gear and pealed out of the parking lot.

Your body is raging with strength and power. But you are in control.

As you rode home, you could see men and women checking you out as you passed by. You gave them a little bit of a show, rolling down the car window and putting your muscled arm on the door.

Every once in a while you'd flex. Just to give them a taste of what they were missing.

Your cock was getting a little hard thinking about the guys on the street checking you out.

Ripped. Veined. Sculpted. Strong.

You can have any man you want.

Now you stand in front of the mirror, your t-shirt wet with sweat. A little tent in your shorts - you still feel like you could fuck for days - pumping hard with that body, a lean mass of muscle.

Your heart beats faster as you look in the mirror.

Warm. You feel warm. Maybe the room is warm.

You raise your arms in front of you, flexing your wide back, pumping those mounds of ripped muscle on your chest.

You do a double bi, checking yourself in the mirror.

"Fuckin' 19 inches," you tell yourself, staring at the tight sleeves of your shirt on your hard biceps.

You reach up to your pecs, flexing them, feeling how hard and round they are. You slap your fist against your chest - so thick, so solid.

You look in the mirror and notice the veins snaking all over your 21 inch neck. You place your hands on the collar of your t-shirt.

With a swift motion as you watch yourself in the mirror, you rip the shirt from your body. You see the cords of ripped muscle in your arms, the pumping veins on your neck, your huge flexed pecs as you rip the shirt from you body.

You smell the testosterone in your sweat. You sniff your underarm and lick your bicep - you love the salty, musky taste of your own powerful body.

You stare at yourself in the mirror, crossing your arms over your chest. You flex your arms and pecs, slowly bouncing them up and down.

Your eyes follow the twisted, pulsing veins over your forearms and up to your biceps.

You squeeze the muscles on your forearm with your hand. You feel them tighten and move as you flex your bicep. The veins snaking all over your forearm, the straited muscles pulsing with each beat of your heart. The shirt sleeve feels so tight against your bicep. You flex harder.

You look in the mirror again.

Is this really you that you see in the mirror or someone else?

You think back to what you looked like a few weeks, months and years ago.

You feel aroused, thinking about how you've willed your body to transform, shaping it, molding it.

You see the crotch of your shorts in the mirror, a huge tent forming as your cock hardens.

Your whole body feels so alive, unstoppable.

You stare at your tree trunk legs - 27" thighs, ripped and thick. You flex them, feeling your cock and balls between your legs.

You feel as though your cock could rip through those shorts.

Hot. It's still hot in here. You sweat, moisture dripping from your face, your arms. You feel like a volcano ready to explode.

You flex your arms again, enjoying the mass of muscle, the sensation of power. You do a most muscular pose in the mirror.

As you breath in and out, your chest seems to expand, the shirt so tight against your body. You reach up with your strong muscled hand and grab your pec. It feels so round, so hard, to tight - like an iron ball. The nipple of your pec is so hard, so sensitive.

You punch your pec with your rounded fist, feeling the sensation of strength, power, the deep thudding sound of your chest.

You flex your bicep, staring at the hard, veined muscle.

You growl with pleasure. Your chest vibrates with the low sound of your voice.

You feel like you want to explode with power.

You stare at your massive hands and arms in the mirror, look yourself up and down.

A six foot three mass of 230 pound muscle.

You glance at a weight bar across the room. You feel as though you could just pick it up and bend it.

You take off your shorts and admire your throbbing cock. You're so powerful that, even without touching it, your cock is veined, rock hard.

You think about those small punks at the gym as you look at your arms.

So weak. Gym bunnies.

You look down at your 19" bicep, thinking about how much larger it is than any of those punks.

You flex, imagining some punk's neck between your bicep and forearm. You think about him trying to pry your veined arm from his neck - his fingers fighting against your grip, your veins pumping as you press harder against his neck.

You think about him getting weaker, struggling for air.

You have the power of life and death in that powerful body.

You think about snapping the punk's neck, feeling the bones in his neck crack, one by one, blood dripping from his mouth and nose onto that pumped, veined arm.

Your eyes are drawn to your massive fists and forearm. You think about what it would be like to pound a punk into submission, making him feel your power. You think about the feeling of his weak body against your fists, the feeling of his ribs cracking and breaking against your fists.

You think most about putting those massive hands on either side of the punk's skull, pressing together, putting all of the force of your freakishly muscled forearms, biceps and back into the power of your hands. You flex harder and feel his jaw bone beginning to pop and crack between your palms.

You think about how good this would feel - showing your power and strength, taking this punk's life into your hands.

You flex even harder, the veins in your pecs and arms engorged and pumping with blood, the muscles tight and corded like steel ropes. You imagine your fingers pressing against the punk's temple and skull, the bones cracking, his skull collapsing. You imagine his eyes filling with blood, pus, and fluid from his brain. You feel the fluid from his brain dripping down your fingers.

You look in the mirror, almost ready to cum.

You are not human.

You are God.

[arpeejay]

Very hot!

xoxo

Richard

[burntjello]

amazing detail!!! more more!!

[scott2462]

fucking hot, man!