NEW: The Garage Part 2

[JP71]

[COLOR=gray]The Garage: Part 2[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]The night was warm and humid. Stuart knew that he wouldn’t be sleeping much, this night, despite that he should have been tired, for he’d worked his arse off that previous day. It wasn’t just the fact that he’d had one of the busiest days of his life trying to get the Aston Martin ready for its 3pm deadline and pickup, but he’d wanked so much thinking about Damien that he’d damn-near exhausted himself from all the effort. Add to this the fact that he’d eaten very little that previous day and his grumbling tummy was the best alarm call ever. His body was fatigued, but his head just refused to quit. He thought about filling his face with every scrap of food in the fridge, then vomiting it up... his old trick.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“I haven’t done that in a while. I have no reason to now... just suddenly re-awakening my old habits, and to what end?” [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]He rubbed sleep out of his eyes and glanced over at the slightly luminous dial on an old alarm clock he’d had for years. [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]4:08 am.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]In the deathly quiet of his poky little flat in Dublin’s South Circular Road the sound of the clock’s innards “tick-ticking” seemed many times louder than it should have been.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Damien.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Damien.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Damien Bushel...[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]... biggest, hugest man on the planet...[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]... all of it... rock solid muscle.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]It almost rhymed.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“He teased me, the bastard,” Stuart snorted, his lean-to-skinny frame laved in the sweat and spunk of his latest bout of wanking. He paced the bedroom repeatedly as he tried to wear himself out so as to get back to some semblance of sleep. [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“He kept his overalls on the whole time. All that hot muscle... and he deprived me of it.”[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]The alarm was set for the usual 6:30am. He liked to start at the garage around 8 or thereabouts. He felt drained of much of his vitality. Should he call in sick? Huh, the boss calling in sick on his star employee’s second day on the job. But Damien seemed competent enough to open the place up and...[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Shit... I didn’t give him keys to the place. Why should I? It was only his first day on the job.”[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]And a fine job he’d made of it, too. The Aston Martin had glowed by the time the ad folk had come to pick it up on that dull and overcast Monday afternoon. Stuart wasn’t thinking straight. He already had his mobile phone in hand and was about to call Damien on the number he’d given him during the paperwork stage that previous afternoon.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Jaysus... what the fuck are you doing? He’d still be asleep. Unsociable hours, you prick.”[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Stuart put the phone down by his dresser and lifted his memory-foam pillow to his mouth and nose. He inhaled deeply.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Aw fuck... his smell is everywhere!”[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]His cock sprang stiff as a board. He’d not showered at all since getting home with the soiled towel and lathering himself in Damien’s man-stink, for he was determined to keep the massive bodybuilder’s spunk-stench with him for as long as possible. He wanted it in every room of his flat. In the bed beneath the covers, the towel, sodden with Damien’s spunk, had received several fresh gobbets of Stuart’s milk throughout the night. In the heat and humidity building up in the small hours prior to one of Dublin’s hottest days on record, the towel had remained moist and odorous. In fact, the stink was everywhere... it was the horniest smell ever. He suddenly felt wide awake, almost energised.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]He remembered Damien’s address from the paperwork earlier. He lived in an apartment complex in the City Centre, a twenty minute walk from here or ten minutes by cab because of the way the roads went. Imagine... gone for ten years and he only lived minutes away. [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Stuart could drive but didn’t own a motor. He should really walk at this hour of the morning. It would help to cool him down and clear his head. He could be assaulted, of course, and he’d been on the wrong end of a queer-bashing when he was nineteen and drunk in the street after a night’s drinking in the George Bar in George’s Street. Two fuckers had followed him down a lane when he’d gone to take a piss: stupid thing to do at 2am in Dublin City when you’re gay, acting the prick and drawing unnecessary attention to yourself. It was lucky they hadn’t done anything worse to him beyond the two broken ribs and busted lip he’d received. Still though, the three hundred euro he’d spent on the stun gun shaped like a harmless fountain pen was the best he’d ever spent, and he carried it everywhere with him. Fortunately he’d never walked into trouble like that again.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]The sun was coming up and the birds had already begun their dawn chorus. Stuart decided he would run. He dressed in shorts and a loose-hanging sleeveless sweat-top with a hood attached. He slipped the stun gun/pen into one of his socks for easy access should he need it. But things were fine. There wasn’t a saint or a sinner out at that hour of the morning. The plan was to make it to Damien’s, before the sun came fully up, and watch for him leaving. Being skinny had its advantages, for he could easily hide behind a tree, assuming there were trees outside the apartments. He knew the street well enough and was almost sure it was full of trees. [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“I can watch for him leaving. A guy that big surely gets up extra early to hit the weights before work. Same thing after.”[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]It was really warm, not a breeze to be felt. Grand stuff. There was a good chance of catching Damien leaving his apartment, dressed only in his gym gear, which, if luck was with Stuart, would be very little gym gear indeed. [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“I can start jogging then... go right past him. Catch sight of his magnificence. Pretend it was a coincidence that I’d bumped into him, like: ‘hey Damien... wow, imagine you were here all this time and I jog past here almost every other day and never once bumped into you’”. Huh, bumping into the likes of Damien would more than likely knock him out cold, for it would be like slamming into a brick wall. But there wasn’t anyone else in the world like Damien. There was no way there could be.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]He would have to play down his attraction to Damien’s muscles, craning his neck slightly to make eye-contact, but trying hard to maintain it and take in every inch of him in his magnificent entirety without making it look obvious.[/COLOR]
[COLOR=gray]“I could pull it off. I did drama at school.”[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Stuart broke into a moderately paced run, little more than a jog. It felt good to begin with. But he knew he’d be roasting in the humidity within minutes. His body would be hot, further cooking the smell of Damien that still clung to every inch of him. A taxi drove past mere minutes into his run. It pulled into St James’s Hospital complex and Stuart had to squint to make out the shape of its only passenger. He looked built like a bodybuilder but it was difficult to make him out in the pre-dawn dimness.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Another few minutes passed. Stuart made it as far as Christchurch Cathedral at Christchurch Place. He’d made very good time. It was coming on for a quarter to five. At what times did gyms open in the morning anyway? [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Stuart wondered as to which one might be Damien’s regular workout place. He knew of only two hardcore bodybuilding gyms in the city. There was one in Camden Street, a further fifteen minutes jog from where he was currently, maybe ten if he really murdered himself running. He stopped to catch his breath. He was really fit because he ran a lot. Kept him under 68 kg, a good weight for a runner. But probably not good if you’re six feet tall.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]The other gym he had in mind was on the farthest side of the city. Camden Street was nearer and in relation to where Damien’s apartment was, it seemed like the better of the two.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“He would have planned his living quarters to be near his gym, surely,” Stuart reasoned, trying to garner some perspective into Damien’s daily movements. [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]He stopped running a few moments later when he felt the stun unit working its way upwards and out of his sock. He leaned down to re-insert it. His stomach growled loudly for sustenance. [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Damn, should have eaten something. No, it would only slow me down. Food makes me sluggish.”[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]It was just coming on for 5am when Stuart arrived at the apartment complex where Damien lived. There were ample trees casting shadows in which to hide and Stuart found a cool spot to melt into. It was completely bright, now, and traffic was active on the roads, albeit light at this hour.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“According to what he put on the forms... his apartment is unit 17. Hmmm.” [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Stuart tried to gauge where the 17th apartment in the complex might be situated. From his vantage point, down in the street, all front-facing apartments were actually the rear of each unit, for there was a balcony jutting out of every one that wasn’t on ground level. Each balcony was small, and most were cluttered with washing lines and satellite receivers. Wait a second... what was that on the third floor balcony, second in from the right?[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“It looks like some kind of weight machine or home gym system. Could this be Damien’s apartment?”[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Stuart didn’t have to wait long to get his answer. At just after 5 in the morning a door opened and a large enough figure stepped out on to the balcony where he began a series of stretches as he prepared for his day. His was a bodybuilder without a doubt, naked, it seemed, although where the balcony rail concealed most of his anatomy below the waistline, Stuart couldn’t be entirely sure. He was big, not huge, still gorgeous, though... but he wasn’t Damien.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Shit! Place is probably a Mecca for bodybuilders. Damien’s one lucky bastard, although he did mention that he was paying child support. Straight... probably divorced. None of my business.”[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Then the most curious thing happened. The bodybuilder on the third floor balcony started shouting. He seemed shocked or worried about something. Stuart was suddenly captivated by the spectacle unfolding.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“What’s wrong with him?” He needed to get closer and so he quickly moved across the street where he took position out of sight behind a double-parked van with a clamp around one of its wheels. He listened to the drama unfold from above, now that he was within better earshot:[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“What the fuck did you do to me, you fucking weirdo? I’ll fucking dance on your skull for this!” [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]The bodybuilder from the balcony was shrieking uncontrollably, now, but Stuart barely picked up the sound of another voice, an extremely calm-sounding one reply with:[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Now we both know you’d never stand a chance against me, Sebastian.”[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“I was three weeks out from the Mister Ireland competition... super-heavy. But look at me now... shrunk down to fucking middleweight. What are you, some kind of muscle leech?”[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Hmm, I’ve never been called that before. Best thing for you right now, Sebastian, would be to leave, before I get... hungry again... really hungry. Leave now, or so help me, you’ll end up as the poster boy for a male anorexia campaign.”[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Damn it... why did Stuart have bad hearing in one of his ears? And why did the other person talking have to talk so fucking low? Was that Damien’s voice? Stuart couldn’t be sure. Cars kept going by, their engines drowning out the sounds of speech from above. Stuart returned to his spot behind the tree across the road. He’d neglected to bring his mobile phone with him. Had he done so, he might have recorded the event on camera.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Camera. Camera? Fuck, there is a security camera at the garage. I’ve never turned it on, but I should. I could get Damien on tape!” Stuart tucked this thought away for later. It was a brainwave that made him almost squeak like a little girl with joy.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]He was lucky to have re-crossed the street at the moment he did. Two minutes later the same bodybuilder that had been screaming about a “muscle leech” turning him anorexic – the one from the balcony – stormed out of the front entrance to the apartment complex, bashing his way through the electric gates when they were only partly open. He was wearing just his boxer shorts. He carried a pile of his clothes before him, so Stuart couldn’t make out a lot of his size and definition. But he thought that the boxers looked a little baggy on him. He looked like a middleweight competitive bodybuilder, alright, but he was a long leap from being a super-heavyweight. [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]The van belonged to him. He saw the clamp around his tyre and cursed a string of colourful expletives to high heaven. Stuart thought about approaching him, offering to assist in any way he could, but the guy looked dangerous in the state he was currently in. Best leave him to sort out his own problems.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Stuart thought about waiting, to see if the mysterious other person from the apartment would appear on the balcony. He waited for ten minutes before fatigue got the better of him. He decided to head back home. As he moved away he stopped for a second, his better ear picking up something he’d not expected to hear that morning: a grown man sobbing his heart out like a little kid:[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“What did he do to me? I’ve lost loads... fucking loads.... at the bleedin’ bottom again. Fucking monster!” [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]The middleweight bodybuilder from the balcony sobbed behind the driver’s wheel of his van. He sobbed continuously until Stuart was out of earshot. At the back of Stuart’s neck, fine blonde hairs stood to attention in reaction to that sound. Sometimes the disturbed-sounding cries of a grown man could be a most macabre sound indeed.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Halfway back to his flat on the South Circular Road, Stuart’s legs turned quite wobbly. He was starved of body fuel in every way a man could be starved (his own fault). The weakness that overcame him could be easily treated: a bowl of cereal or a bacon sandwich. He decided to hail a cab and found one swinging into the City Centre at Christchurch Place as it came from the direction of St James’s Street. Wait a second... wasn’t that the same cab Stuart had seen earlier pulling into St James’s Hospital? And hadn’t there been a bodybuilder in the back seat?[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Couldn’t have been. It was dark, and you have muscle on the brain. You can’t be certain it was a bodybuilder at all, you loon.”[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Where to, mate?” The driver was young-ish, shaved head, beer belly... a typical cabbie whose out-of-shape body could be attributed to eating all the wrong foods on the late shift, a curse of his profession. But he had a nice disposition and a cute sort of face with rosy cheeks and a dimpled chin. He’d be really handsome were he to shed a few pounds and muscle-up.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“South Circular Road... just after the church, please.” Stuart inhaled a lungful of rear-seat taxi smell. It smelt musky, manly. He could smell spunk-stench... but maybe he was just getting that off himself. Shit, he hoped the cabbie wouldn’t pick it up and think he was a rent boy or something. Stuart chewed his bottom lip as nervous tension began to rise from his guts. Then:[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Sorry about the smell, mate. I was hoping to get the cab valeted before picking up another fare. But the wife wants me home pronto. The youngest is screaming with a toothache. If you want I’ll drop you home for half price, ‘cos of the smell. How’s that sound?” The cabbie seemed nice, his tone sincerely apologetic.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“It’s fine, I can’t smell a thing,” Stuart lied.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Yer man before you didn’t seem the type. The usual arse-bandits around these parts are skinny little eighteen year-olds with all sorts of shit crawling around in their systems. If my youn’fellah got up to shenanigans like that, I’d boot him out the fucking door.” [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]So the cabbie was anti-gay and probably had a son he suspected might be “that way inclined”.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“That’s why so many of those kids end up selling themselves on the street like that, ‘cos they get kicked out of their homes by their bigoted, closed-minded oul’fellahs. The problem starts with the parents, mate!” [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]The extra stress Stuart applied to the last word of his sentence caused one of the driver’s eyebrows to form an inquisitor’s peak over an eye, which, along with its twin, looked way too tired to be watching the road at this hour of the morning. He’d obviously been working through the night. Now, as the cab drew up to traffic lights showing red for motorists, through the rear-view mirror the cabbie better eyed up his latest passenger, suspicious of his occupation.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“And what do you do for a living, if you don’t mind me asking?”[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“I run me da’s garage. We do up vintage cars for films and television,” Stuart wearily spooled off.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]The cabbie gave him another rear-view once over, the kind which clearly displayed the fact that he didn’t believe a word of it. Stuart was skinny and blonde-haired. 22 years old. He was dressed in shorts and a sleeveless hooded sweat top. What did rent-boys wear these days anyway? Stuart hadn’t a clue. His sexuality was his own business. He had never once been on the gay scene and kept his head down whenever related matters came into the fore. [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]The lights changed to green. The driver returned his tired eyes to the road.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“So... what about ‘yer man before me’? What type was he, then,” Stuart asked, although he already knew in his guts what he would hear in the way of a reply. A nervous kind of excitement fluttered inside him. His dick began a twitching dance inside his baggy shorts.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“One of those weightlifters... the type that you read about injecting themselves with horse steroids or whatever it is they put into their veins. Very unnatural, in my opinion. Men looking like that.... not normal, mate, not by a long shot.”[/COLOR]
[COLOR=gray]Clearly the driver knew very little about the subject.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“You mean a bodybuilder, maybe? There are clear differences between a weightlifter and a bodybuilder,” Stuart politely informed the cabbie. Now they were onto a subject of real interest for him. His dick grew hard very quickly. Through the fabric of his shorts Stuart lightly stimulated the tip of his dick with a finger.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Yeah, whatever. All the same to me... those muscle-bound freaks. Anyway, this fellah was in a right state. Said another lifter-type gave him cancer in his flat. Ridiculous. I was almost going to stop and demand he get out. But he wasn’t right in the head. He wanted to go to hospital anyway. I was only too happy to oblige.”[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“That’s really strange,” said Stuart, now completely intent on all that the cabbie had to say on the subject.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Yeah, strange enough, alright. Mind you, in this profession you get all sorts in the back of your cab. He’s the one responsible for the smell. If you don’t mind me saying so it smells like spunk... and sandalwood. He was groping himself all over, crying over his muscles... saying that cancer was making them smaller and smaller. I told him to get his head together and explained that nothing like that existed in the world. If it did it would be all over the news, like bird-flu or that flesh eating virus from years back.”[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Well that explained one thing about these mysterious early-morning muscle-related events: this was the taxi Stuart had seen earlier, pulling into the hospital grounds, and he was right... there had been a bodybuilder in the back. Stuart reckoned he had a keen eye for spotting bodybuilders, even in bad light and with only part of their bodies visible at the time.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Um... did you wait with him in A&E then? I think I saw you about an hour ago, when you were first taking him there.” Stuart was now terribly horny. He felt he’d come all over himself if he started pressing the driver for further information, like what the bodybuilder’s physique had been like.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Well he wouldn’t pay me the 11.50. Times are hard and I’ve got four boys all screaming for the latest Man UTD kits. Not fucking cheap, mate. I wasn’t leaving until I got paid. But there was a scuffle with the security in A&E. Eventually they wrestled him down to the ground and tasered him. I didn’t think security guards in hospitals would be allowed to carry stun guns. I eventually got my money in the end. Poor mental bastard.”[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Stuart immediately thought about his own stun unit. Shit... he touched that part of his leg covered by his sock. The pen wasn’t there. He’d dropped it. But where? Fuck... 300 euro’s worth of ass-kicking ‘shockware’ in the shape of a pen. What if a kid picked it up on the way to school? Wait, the kids were still on their summer break from school for at least another month. Still, someone would easily spot a metallic expensive-looking fountain pain lying in the street and dive for it.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]I should go back and look for it, Stuart thought, trying not to fly into a panic. What if he’d been picked up on a police surveillance camera as he’d dropped it? They were everywhere, these days, watching for unruly behaviour and speeding motorists. Would something the size of a pen even register with one of those cameras? Paranoia began to play around in his head without letup. It was designed to hold only one charge. Hopefully a car would run over it and that would be the end of it.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Stop panicking, you eejit, he self-chided. It’s only designed to stun. And it has to be armed by twisting it once to the left and twice to the right and removing the safety cap. He’d never had to use it. Was it even charged? He couldn’t remember. He decided to stop worrying. But his fingerprints were on it.... oh Jaysus!!!!![/COLOR]


[COLOR=gray]***[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Damien was waiting for him outside the garage when he finally shuffled into work at 8:35am later that morning. The sun was already searing hot in a cloudless, sweltering sky. It was to be the hottest day on record, that day, according to the news. Damien was scowling, and rightly so. There was a bit of shade thanks to a young tree at the edge of the pavement, but the bodybuilder was too big to completely benefit from the shadow it cast. [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Like the day before he was dressed in his overalls, with only three studs undone at the neck. As his image shimmered in an already evident heat haze, lending him a somewhat mirage-like quality, Stuart swore to himself that he was bigger than yesterday... a lot bigger. But his head was weary from his early morning adventure (too little sleep... too much thinking). The overall could have been the same one as the one he’d had on the day before, but it seemed tighter and now it looked like Damien could only get his fists to within two feet of his waist, such was the enormity of the lats Stuart could only imagine kept his arms akimbo on both sides. His neck seemed more bullish still, and his chest easily looked more prominent. He had it pushed out, his upper body pumped to the max. [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]He wore a baseball cap and sunglasses to help stave off the effects of the sun. Some kind of lotion bottle poked out of his left overall pocket. There was a small holdall at his feet, no doubt containing his foodstuffs and protein shakes for the day’s work ahead. He looked set to explode at any moment, his overalls just barely able to contain his massive musculature without flying apart from the strain of keeping them all under wraps. Stuart hadn’t bothered with his overalls at all. He was dressed in a fresh pair of knee-length football shorts and a sloppy white tee-shirt to reflect the sun. It was way too hot for overalls, today, but Damien didn’t seem bothered by the heat all that much.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Man, I’m sorry I’m late. You must be baked. I overslept. Alarm went off at half six, but I just fell back into the bed. You know what it’s like,” Stuart was only short of dropping to his knees and begging for Damien’s forgiveness. Oh God, imagine doing that, his face drawing level with the discernible bulge in the crotch of Damien’s overalls. Imagine inhaling his spunk-stench at dick level. Aw fuck![/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Another boner presented itself. But Stuart’s loose-fitting tee easily concealed it.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“It’s fine, Stu. I’m not annoyed. Heat doesn’t bother me much once I lotion-up,” said Damien, tapping the bottle in his pocket.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Stuart fumbled for his keys and thought: Jaysus Christ... what if he asks me to help him put on the lotion? I’ll fuckin’ die. I know it will kill me. I will die of the greatest orgasm I’ve ever had in my 22 years.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Then, as Damien stepped out of the tree-shade and into the light, Stuart noticed how the bit of chest/cleavage visible beneath the massively huge bodybuilder’s open-necked collar was already moist and glistening.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Shit, he thought, again biting his lower lip in annoyance, he’s already oiled up. I wonder who did his back for him. Maybe his girlfriend lives in, lucky whore. Stuart’s mind was really tripping out to multiple scenarios at this point. He really had to get himself together. Thank fuck there was a latt? machine in his dad’s former office. He fumbled with keys to get the metal shutter up, his hands trembling nervously due to being so near to the mountainous muscle-hunk.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“You okay, man? I could do that for you if you like,” Damien amiably offered.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]You could probably rip away the shutter with one hand, you massive, gorgeous stud, Stuart thought as his mind continued to trip out. It was like Damien’s smell was a powerful narcotic that jostled Stuart’s libido about on currents of extreme sexual arousal. It was most distracting, and yet he didn’t want it to end... not ever. Stuart relinquished the keys to Damien and let him open up.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Oh shit,” said Stuart, half-thinking, half-whispering, as the giant, bulging behemoth, looking wider, heavier, even taller than the previous day (how was that humanly possible?) crouched down to unlock the padlocks to the shutter that kept it securely bolted shut. Damien had on his adapted weight-belt, tools hanging neatly from its loops and hooks, his shoulders wide enough to support a racehorse, were the bodybuilder to find one placed across them. How about supporting an entire corral of horses? [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]The extreme delta of his back, formed by the massive differential in width ratios between his shoulders and his waspish waist, seemed to fan out further and further without letup. Stuart’s better ear easily picked up the sound of snapping threads. Would those overalls even last the entire workday? [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“What was that?” Damien had obviously heard him say “Oh shit!” He must’ve had very keen hearing.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Er nothing... just a fly buzzed close to my ear, is all. Have you got the locks?”[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Yep... came open easily, man. Now to get this shutter up. Takin’ the strain, boss,” said Damien playfully.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Oh please take it, Damien... and take your time doing it, too, Stuart thought, lustily.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Damien was playing with him... showing off, but teasingly so, whilst still playing down the fact he was the most tremendously huge bodybuilder on the planet (that he knew of). So how come the media wasn’t chasing him about everywhere? Why wasn’t he on the cover of every bodybuilding publication in existence, or chairing symposiums on fitness and appearing for his fans at gyms and muscle shops all over the world? Why wasn’t he the continuous, reigning Mister Olympia? He was easily three times the size of Jay Cutler or Ronnie Coleman. It just didn’t make any sense.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Think you need some axle grease on these shutters, man,” said Damien, then uttering a noise to give sound to the ostensibly fake strain he’d put himself under, for his own amusement, and obviously for Stuart’s, too.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Hunnnnnnghhh!” It sounded almost like a manly, guttural growl, although it had started out as a nasally expulsion. It was a most manly exertion indeed, however fake it was in origin. Damien strained every muscle in his body. More threads pinged apart throughout the ailing overalls. The shape of his bubble-butt, bulging as vastly as his chest, formed two perfect globes below his thick Weider belt, perfect except for the deep dimpled dents on either side. You could probably pour an entire can of beer into one of them, were Damien to lie on his side. It was the most beautiful muscle-ass Stuart had ever seen. [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]The overalls could hide very little of his mass’s definition, although Stuart still ached to see him out of them. The steel shutter gave in easily to Damien’s effort and he pushed it up, perhaps a little too zealously. It rolled up into the overhead compartment, metal crashing loudly and harshly against other metal.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Oops, guess they don’t need greasing after all,” Damien playfully added with a chuckle.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]No, but you do, and I volunteer for the job, you fucking huge hunk. Stuart managed to confine this to his thoughts and not his vocal cords.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]He wished that Damien would draw better attention to his muscles. Better still... he wished he would split those overalls apart and be done with them, to give his lean-to-skinny boss a show he’d never forget. It would provide him with wanking material for years to come. Then he remembered the camera overhead, bolted from the ceiling and just inside the main entrance. Was it even working? Had his dad ever bothered to try it out?[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Fancy a latt?? I can whip one up in five minutes,” Stuart inquired, as he made his way to his office. There was no room for the latt? maker in the tiny canteen, besides Stuart often had to stay late to catch up on paper work, in which case near-to-hand caffeine was essential.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“You look like you had a rough night, Stu. Guess the heat kept you awake, eh?” Damien was extremely friendly and always seemed cheerful... a complete boon, Stuart thought. Last thing he needed was a cranky, hot-tempered bodybuilder bounding around the place, breaking things out of frustration due to a bad temperament.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Yeah, humidity and I don’t get on. What about you... those overalls come with their own built-in air conditioning?” Yes... finally onto the subject of the overalls.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“They’re comfortable enough. I don’t like to get motor oil on my skin if I can avoid it. I have something of a dirt phobia. Remember when we were kids, and my mother would scream the house down if I came home filthy from playing?”[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Stuart’s mind reached back into the past, but he couldn’t recall Mrs Bushel in his mind’s eye. But something of that recollection on Damien’s part might explain why he decided to become a bodybuilder later in life. Perhaps his hygiene-obsessed mother mollycoddled him too much, made him a mummy’s boy... a taboo/label that was hard to play down in secondary school. Damien might have been labelled and bullied... enough to want to break out of that mould in his teens by lifting weights, more weights... lifting so much weight and never wanting to stop. Lifting so much weight that it might seem he had the power to turn 24 hours into 48, 40 of which he would devote to bodybuilding and bodybuilding alone. Obviously bodybuilding was all that mattered to him... and fixing up old cars, too. Bodybuilding was his god... and in turn he had become the god of all gods. [/COLOR]


[COLOR=#808080]From out of a small corner of Stuart's addled mind, a counterpoint to his runaway reasoning presented itself: Were'nt YOU the one bullied in school, not Damien? He'd always been bigger than any bully.[/COLOR]
[COLOR=#808080][/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Like the day before, a finger loudly snapped just inches from his ear to bring Stuart out of his brief reverie with a start.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Oh.... sorry, I was miles away. You said something about your mother. I... er don’t remember her... sorry.” Stuart almost cringed to the sound of his apology. But Damien took no offence whatsoever.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Not to worry. I never got on with her much. She was too overbearing. When puberty hit I couldn’t wait to shoot off into new pursuits, taking new directions to places where my mother couldn’t follow. Am I being dramatic?” Damien’s eyes now seemed to bore into Stuart, as if inwardly he demanded an answer straight away.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Er... there’s a 1978 Jaguar XJC due in today for a commercial being shot at Ardmore Studios, I forgot to mention,” said Stuart – his voice starting to croak – as he quickly jumped subjects. “Needs a new exhaust fitted. We also need to re-balance the tyres and the back seat is torn up. Back seat’s the problem. I have to fly in a replacement from the UK. They won’t have it here until late Friday. They want it by next Tuesday, after the bank holiday weekend. If you like I’ll pay you double time to come in on Saturday to work a bit of overtime, unless, of course, you have other things to do.” And to himself he thought: yeah, like bodybuilding... upping that sexy muscle-bod of yours to an even huger size. Unnngh, god, you’re amazing.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Damien thought about it before answering with: “Well I do need to be somewhere for about six hours on Saturday, boring stuff, mostly. But I suppose I could come in early enough and get it finished by late lunchtime. Then I can get to the boring stuff. Yeah, great stuff, you’re on. I could really use that extra cash. I’m way in debt to my landlord.”[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]And Stuart thought: yeah, you’d like me to think that, wouldn’t you? In debt to your landlord indeed. The fellah’s probably scared to come near you to get his rent. Or else you pay for it in other ways, you horny devil. Stuart quickly reminded himself that Damien was paying child support and therefore clearly not into that sort of thing. Unless his landlord was actually a landlady.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]But his mind continued to trip: You really need the cash for bodybuilding supplements, and whatever other kind of magical shit you devour to get you to the size you are. What do you even weigh, 800 lbs? You’ve got to be at least that. Why can’t you just come out with it and say that you have to be at the gym for six hours Saturday? Why all the secrecy? Why the fuck won’t you talk about your bodybuilding????[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“So what’s first up this morning, Stu?” Damien was just as keen to do an exemplary job as he had been the day before.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Er... one of the lifts seized up on me the other day. I was hoping to take a look at it but the Aston Martin took up way too much of my time. If you can fix it we can use that for the Jag, otherwise we’ll have to get the Mini Cooper down off the other one. It’s probably just the electrics, but check the pressure also, just in case. I’ll make us both coffees and then I need to make a tonne of phone calls, chasing payments mostly. The rent is due next month on this place.” Stuart made his way into the poky little office that was long overdue a tidy-up. It looked like a bomb had hit it at some stage. There was paperwork everywhere. God help the business were the auditors to show up out of the blue.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Damien beamed a smile as he accepted his instructions. But Stuart lied about the phone calls. He didn’t go straight for the latt? machine either. Instead he began to voraciously tear through piles of invoice books, order manifests and other paperwork in search of the control box for the camera outside. He knew it was on one of the shelves, but buried, lost to memory. In the dead heat of the office his body sweated profusely due to his exertions. He eventually found the box under a pile of old car magazines and calendars his dad used to give out to clients before he got sick. There it was... the box of dreams, and extremely wet ones, if he could get it to work.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]It turned out to be a piece of piss to operate. The small monitor was only in black and white, and he wasn’t sure if the video recorder was a colour-recorder, but the camera module itself cast a bright, clear picture, showing the first six feet of the space just inside the main entrance. Alas, sunlight looked blisteringly bright through the camera and Stuart had to mess with the brightness and contrast settings of the monitor to tone it down to something tolerable. He soon got it looking okay enough. Then, the last thing he expected to happen happened.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Damien stepped into frame, but the lifts were further in on the shop floor. He’d been given his tasks and so there was no need to be stood where he was standing. He appeared dark, almost in silhouette against the sunlit backdrop of the garage entrance. [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Shit,” Stuart cursed, and fiddled with the monitor settings once again. Was the recorder set to record? It seemed to be. Yes.... it was taping the muscle-god in all his vastness and beauty.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Oh my fucking god!!!!” Stuart got the picture looking better. He could now see Damien perfectly, though the picture looked very gray due to the vast reduction in contrast he was forced to apply in order to counter the silhouette effect. But it was worth it nonetheless. Stuart’s dick grew big and hard, the stiffy almost painful as it pushed against his underpants. [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]How does he know I’m working the camera? To the best of my knowledge it doesn’t have a light on it to indicate it’s operational. Dad didn’t want burglars to think they were being recorded and try to smash it.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Nevertheless Damien was in frame, now, and staring straight up at the camera above. He was huge... almost filling the entire monitor with his incredible bulk. He smirked at the camera and then formed a devilish grin across his all-too-beautiful face.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Oh fuck,” croaked Stuart, knowing what has coming next. “Fucker must be able to see through walls.”[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Damien Bushel slowly defied his massive wing-like lats and brought his fists – knuckles outwards – to his tapered waist as he inhaled slowly but deeply. As he held his breath he forced his elbows outwards, pressing his knuckles until they were white against the black leather of his weight belt. As he moved into the beautiful pose, it was like his ribcage unlocked itself and became flexible, fanning out, expanding even as the massive muscles it supported inflated to superhuman extremes. [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]His smirk deepened, dimples striating on either side of his gorgeous mouth. He was enjoying this. His eyes seemed to bore into Stuart like earlier, only this time through the connection made by the camera. There was no sound, alas. It would have been incredible to pick up the solid thud/pop of each of the snaps on the front of the overall coming apart as he applied greater and greater pressure to his still-augmenting, massively flexing upper body.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Stuart let out an audible whimper, unable to prevent himself from doing so, as the overalls parted to reveal bulbous muscle-tits, the like of which even the greatest morphing artist could never hope to emulate with his talents for Photoshopping. They were huge and smooth (he’d obviously shaved them since yesterday), the cleavage between dark enough to appear jet black on the monitor. Damien seemed to grow more and more massive, filling the screen beyond its borders. [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Precum seeped through two layers of Stuart’s clothing. He couldn’t take his eyes off the screen. The tear of an obsessive mind trickled out of the corner of his eye and he soon tasted salt in his mouth, imagining it to be Damien’s magnificent cr?me. Oh how he wanted to drink every drop of him.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Damien’s full-lat spread was nothing short of spectacular. But it was over all too quickly. Still, the overalls were now open to his waist.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Oh puh...please slip them off, Damien. If you’re teasing me luh...like this, do it puh...properly,” Stuart whispered, unable to appease his stammer.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]But the muscle show was to be a brief one, merely a teaser, but of things to come? Hopefully. Damien blasted out a front double biceps pose for the camera, massive peaks ballooning upwards, easily causing the sleeves of the overalls to strain to the limits of their design. Stuart reckoned that his upper arms at their most flexed easily out-measured the circumference of his weedy little chest. And something in his guts told him that Damien was not done growing, not done growing by a long-shot.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Stuart came in his pants. He couldn’t hold it back. His loins shuddered profusely as his organ pumped out a copious amount of jism. It was glorious, although he’d lost count of how much he’d wanked since Damien Bushel, the biggest of biggest bodybuilders, muscle-strutted back into his life. He wondered: how can my balls make so much jizz so soon after wanking?[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]He didn’t hear Damien come to the door to the office, for his bad ear was trained in that direction. The bodybuilder, his overalls now neatly refastened, cleared his throat to get his boss’s attention. Reflexes primed out of trepidation, Stuart managed to put himself between the camera box & monitor and Damien’s field of vision. As for the mess he’d made in his shorts, which easily soaked through his tee-shirt to form an ostensible stain, Stuart covered it with a telephone book. His face was a dead giveaway though. It was like he was 12 years old again, caught wanking by his grandmother. He went as white as a sheet. If Damien noticed, he played it down with finesse.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Er, you okay? The lift is fixed. Turned out to be a fuse blown, that’s all. How’s the coffee coming along?” He still kept a little of his devilish smirk, which kind of said on his behalf:[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“I know you watched me through the camera, and I know you came in your jocks watching. But let’s avoid awkwardness and embarrassment by pretending it never happened, even though we both know it did.”[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Stuart tried not to display a sheepish smile and immediately broke eye-contact. He managed to covertly switch off the monitor with his one free hand before rushing over to the latt? machine, still with the phonebook pressed against his groin. He clumsily fiddled with the machine, blushing the whole time. [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Er, I’ll have it done in a sec, mate,” Stuart replied, his voice now barely audible, it had become so dry. Damien read all of the signals and went back to the shop to give his boss the space to recover. But as he went, something small and metallic fell out of his pocket. The bottle of lotion? Surely not, for that would be in a plastic bottle.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Even as Stuart moved to retrieve the object, he gulped nervously, his throat almost completely closing up, for he knew what it was, despite it had rolled under a chair, momentarily lost in shadow. He didn’t want to believe it, for this morning had been way too strange already.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Shit no,” he managed to get out, more tears forming in his eyes.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]It was his fountain-pen stun gun.[/COLOR]



[COLOR=gray]To be continued....[/COLOR]


[COLOR=gray]Will the overalls come off in Part 3? Find out SOON....;-)[/COLOR]

[Muscle_Knight]

I reaally cannot wait for the next part of this!

[MuscleHintz]

Originally Posted by Muscle_Knight

I reaally cannot wait for the next part of this!

agreed! this is great!

[rabiyya]

Excellent, but you mixed up their names a few times I think... can't wait for the next one!

[JP71]

Originally Posted by rabiyya

Excellent, but you mixed up their names a few times I think... can't wait for the next one!

Brilliant... well done for spotting those! I've since gone back and corrected each one. Phew!

[Mad Dog]

Awesome, I love the descriptions of muscle in your stories!

[GTlifter]

I like this story alot and can't wait for the next chapter. I hope Damien is nice to Stuart when the two finally confront one another.