Late Night Snack

[lkjhgfdsa]

It was my freshman year of college. Community college. And no, I’m not stupid. I was poor. Dirt poor. And that wasn’t that long ago. My parents paid my tuition. Which I’m glad for, don’t get me wrong. But they didn’t pay for anything else. Frankly, I’m not sure how they could even afford that.

I lived at home but I had to cover my own expenses. That was the deal. So I asked a friend who was a classmate to get me a job at a local diner. He worked as a waiter and he made what seemed to be decent bucks, so I figured he could hook me up with the same. But in some asshole show of domination, my so-called friend told me the best job I could get would be as a dishwasher. I’d have to clear the tables, clean the bathrooms, and do everything the line cooks asked. That or, as the boss said, I could fuck off.

So I accepted.

It was a fucking crappy job, a fucking crappy means to what would probably be a fucking crappy end.

But then I met Matt.

Holy fuck.

Matt was a high school junior and local varsity football stud. He worked as line cook from Wednesday to Friday and prep cook on Saturdays and Sundays.

Holy fucking fuck.

The first time I saw Matt, he showed up to work in his red and white football jersey. I noticed because Matt slammed the revolving door open and filled the jersey out to fucking godlike perfection. I thought, he had to be new here, right? Because this was a small-ass town, I was barely two years older than him, and I’d sure as fuck never seen him before.

I was sure, absolutely no doubt, bet anyone a hundred dollars, that Matt wore extra large shoulder pads—until I saw him shirtless. Then I couldn’t imagine him wearing anything else.

Matt always changed in the lock-in. I was in there one time retrieving soup or vegetables or some other crap when whoosh! Matt stomped in, dropping his gym bag on the floor and pulling his sweaty red jersey off over his head. Matt’s salty sweet sweat steamed up into the air as I stood in a cold dark corner and watched his heavy muscular silhouette. His wide back and thick muscles flexed and heaved through a misty outline as I watched him strip, towel off and pull a grey cotton tee over his solid football jock bulk—shit, who am I kidding?—his thick, fucking hard, fucking massive bodybuilder bulk—and then shove his musky clothes back into the gym bag and storm out to take his shift at the stoves. My cock almost exploded in spite of the fucking cold. Almost.

Goddamned cold.

Soon, Matt began arriving to work in his white sweat-stained wifebeater, fresh from the gym, which he apparently went to straight after football practice. Nevermind it was mid-December. He’d toss his musky gym bag on the kitchen workfloor and look around for the closest towel. His olive skin and dark wavy hair added fuel to my insaitable dreams. And then one day:

“Hey Shitface!” he boomed at me. “Help me get this garbage out to the dumpster so we can get the hell out of here.”

I’d been scrubbing dishes and thinking about his thick thighs, the bottom portions of which were busy forming lickable, striated teardrops under his cutoffs a mere 10 feet away. We were winding down the late-night Saturday shift, Matt and me and Carly, the cashier, the only three people left in the place. Matt was finishing the last double-tie on a black fifty-gallon plastic garbage bag.

“You think I’m Superman or something?” he sneered, tossing the bag effortlessly out the back door. There’s no way Matt could have missed my eyes tracing his heaving muscles. There’s no way he could have missed the thick, wet-head bulge pulsing heavily in my shorts. But he merely smiled and stepped out the back door, standing behind it, holding it open for me.

I followed him outside into the icy night air—and as I cleared the threshold, two meaty hands plowed incredibly-fucking-hard into my chest, pushing me clear of the door and into the building’s beige stucco wall where I could feel a million staccato concrete bumps imprint into my flesh. I double-blinked hard—was I getting mugged?—and opened my eyes straight into Matt’s. His chisled face inches from mine. Leering. He grinned and bumped his incredibly muscled chest into my fucking normal one.

“Superman?” he said again, grinning, sneering. I gulped in great lungfuls of icy air… my breath steaming upward into the yellow overhead glow of the parking lot light. Matt took a slight step back… enough to seem slightly less threatening, not enough to relinquish any of his clear dominance. “Superman,” he contemplated, breaking his dark eyes from my gaze and looking downward at his insanely muscled body, which was clearly and frighteningly visible through his shirt in a pattern of hard bulges, dark shadows, and deep ridges. Then his eyes scanned my own rail-like body, and his sharp face formed another grin. A dark one. “Superman,” he said huskily. “Maybe I am.” And he ground out a hard most muscular, the most fucking huge intense most muscular I’d ever seen, his flexing, bulging muscles tensing and humping and shredding and bulging and writhing impossibly thick and hard and huge and swollen and fucking improbably orgasmic, all sheathed thinly under his damp, clingy, pressed-to-the-limits T-shirt.

And then Matt did something that took me aback—even as he quickly grabbed me around the waist in a vice-like grip and moved me ninty-degrees, my feet barely touching the ground, scraping my back against the stucco wall and bodily pushing me hard, incredibly fucking hard, against the cold, chipping green paint of the garbage dumpster.

“You remember me, don’t you, Shitface?” Matt sneered. He pushed me hard against the cold steel, so hard I thought my bones would crack, so hard there was no way I’d fucking move after his release, whether because I feared he’d hurt me more or whether I feared my cock would explode or whether I hoped it would. God, I hoped it would—and wouldn’t. Yet.

Matt took a half-step back, grinned darkly, and pulled his sweaty grey T-shirt off over his head in a classic muscle move. He did it slowly, ever-so-fucking slowly, letting the fabric pull and stretch and slip roughly over his freakishly wide lats, the damp dark cotton hugging the silhouette of his thick V-taper and heavy chest. His brown nipples instantly tightened with the pinch of cold air. Holy fucking shit! I thought my dick was going to explode—and by now was wishing it would, no matter the consequences. Almost as if he detected the painfully intense pulses of my cock and intended to keep them coming, Matt kept inching and grinding the T seductively, sexually upward, revealing more of his striated, flexing pecs, the deep cuts between his shoulders... lifting it over his head… its lower fabric seam exposing the dividing line between his deeply cobbled abs and the damp waistband of his brown corduroys.

I could sense Matt grinning in sadistic sexual satisfaction as he envisioned his own intensely fuckable body and my what-I’d-give-to-get-my-hands-on-you lust. And without question he could sense my about-to-cum pain. And as he manipulated his insanely muscular, powerful body, it was clear that he wasn’t about to let me off—yet. Instead, Matt crunched and twisted side to side, willing each rock-hard ab to clench and twitch in a rock-hard pulse as it came into view. Each pulse of his abs was echoed within my own jeans by a heavy and involuntary shudder of my thick, swollen cock. My breathing grew heavy and I tensed my lower abs to heighten my hard-on sensation.

The T was completely off now, held overhead in Matt’s meaty, clenched, criss-crossed hands. With shallow breaths and hungry eyes, I ate up his ripped bulk, every freakish bulge, every sweaty striation. Matt watched me intensely. He kept his hands entwined over his head in a mock Steve Reeves pose. My dick pulsed of its own accord--hard, pre-cum-leaking, fuck-my-mind-is-blowing-and-if-he-doesn't-reach-down-and-suck-me-off-I'm-gonna-do-it-myself-hard. Fuck!!! Ugh. Ugh.

Matt's eyes flashed darkly and he suddenly flexed and improbably tightened every muscle in his body. His chest swelled, his arms bulged, his shoulders shredded, his abs constricted. The veins in his heavy forearms leapt to the surface and pulsed with every heartbeat. But that wasn’t enough. Not yet.

Matt crunched, squeezed, twisted his held-overhead T-shirt—willing all this muscular power to do what it did best, bulging, swelling, shredding, contracting, without ever exerting a sound—he simply moved and tensed and flexed and with fucking intimidating ease displayed his awesome and intense masculine power—wringing the salty sweat from his T-shirt so that it trickled down his meaty arms in thick rivulets, and so that the heavier drops showered down and coated his body with a luxe saline sheen that, had I been without fear of Matt or others, I would have licked hungrily from his flesh with my soft, savoring tongue.

But I couldn’t.

Instead, I trembled. There. Inches from his thick, heaving, mother-fucking fantastically ripped muscular bulk. My dick about to shred and blow right through my pants.

Fuck, fucking hard. I was gonna cum. Or maybe I'd pee an amazingly pleasurable pee and then cum. Or maybe I'd cum first. What the fuck? I'd never had an erection this hard, this fucking hard, this fucking-gonna-blow-so-hard.

My knees were giving out.

And Matt moved even closer.

He tossed his T-shirt aside. It landed with a moist smack on the dark nighttime gravel.

“Yeah, Shitface, you remember me,” Matt said without question, his breath steaming with every word. And I did. He was the annoying kid brother of my childhood best friend. But now he was mind-blowingly huge and ripped. Then, unexpectedly—what was happening?—he stepped back and flexed his bicep into—oh my God, did he just do that?—into a fucking hard, FUCKING hard baseball. Fuck, those words don't even describe it. But that’s not all:

“Or… do you?” Matt grinned, pulling his eyes with clear effort from his incredibly meaty bulk and looking deeply, intently into my eyes—and then, clearly unable to resist, returning his admiring attention to the fantastically heavy muscle that bulged up from his thick arm, its meaty hardness covered with thick veins that spidered across the surface. As I watched with simultaneous shallow breaths and pleasurably painful cock pulses—oh my fucking God!—Matt’s tongue reached out, its pink softness intent on licking the meat. Oh my God, that meat. That meat. Then—

Matt’s tongue took a tentative taste. And then another, deeper lick. Lingering, dick-hardening. And then—Matt seemed to remember where he was. He suddenly turned away from his fantastically bulging bicep and back to my direct gaze, his dark eyes flashing dangerously. “I wasn’t always this big,” he said, grunting with effort.

“I know,” I said.

Shit! In a flash, Matt was on top of me, roaring with power, pushing, slamming my back hard against the dumpster, his heavy forearm at and across my throat, threatening to choke the last breath from my body. In response, my cock swelled even bigger, incredibly, impossibly bigger. It heaved and pulsed—no, throbbed—uncontrollably. It … Fuck, it exploded. It exploded with incredibly painful, infinitely pleasurably painful, and—fuck—potentially final throbs of desire.

Final? Fuck! Look at him! Feel him against me! I came hard. Unbelievably, eyes-rolling-back-in-your-head fucking hard. Again and again. Harder than I’d ever come before. I thought I'd black out.

Matt paused his assault and smiled, looking down at the large salty stain on my crotch. He licked his lips, relishing what he was going to force to happen next.

“You were friends with my sister when I was a kid,” Matt growled. “You remember? But you always ignored me. You played with her.” His dark eyes flashed, just inches from mine, and his thick, heavy forearm grew even harder against my throat.

My God. My fucking God. My left hand clenched futilely at the meat pressed against my throat as I gasped for air.

Matt saw the desperation, the fucking this-is-my-last-breath desperation in my eyes, and pressed his meaty forearm down even harder.

My right hand flailed wildly at anything it could find. It struck out desperately… eventually landing with a strange, cold and fucking unspeakable satisfaction against Matt’s heavy, warm chest… his chest that was so thick, so hard with muscle… the taut skin belying the heavy muscle fibers that lay paper-deep beneath the surface… the brown nipple so clearly defined and erect when I flicked it…

I tentatively fingered downward along the deep, heaving ridgelines of Matt’s awesome abs. He grinned. And his painful grip tightened instantly.

“Smile,” he said, forcing his free hand painfully down my torso, down my thin chest, down into my soft abs, so painful, so pleasurable, down to my warm, tentative groin. He grabbed my dick aggressively and squeezed. Hard. Fucking, fucking hard.

“Now it’s my turn to play with you,” he grinned.

[arpeejay]

Woof!

Hard, hot, and heavy -- just like I like 'em!

More, please, and soon!!

xoxo

Richard

[miniace2009]

Oh man!
That was so good! I liked the internal monolouge going on.

[iceman75]

I love a muscle story that is intensely described, and you certainly got my attention here, I can't wait to see more.

[musclegawd]

Great story. But when are you going to continue built that way..... That is one of my favorite stories. Please continue it with many more parts!

[Reeza]

Yes indeed! I will certainly be looking for more of that! Thanks for writing.