The Superman App: Chapter 5

[JP71]

[COLOR=gray]Previous Chapters: [COLOR=yellow]1,[/COLOR][COLOR=yellow]2,[/COLOR][COLOR=yellow]3,[/COLOR][COLOR=yellow]4[/COLOR][/COLOR]



[COLOR=gray]FIVE.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]The bloke working the night-shift at Grogan’s Off-License and Tobacconist turned out to be Wacker Nolan’s younger cousin, and it was his first night doing lock-up at the store on his own. So he’d gained the trust of his employer, one John Grogan, who had long since gone home for the evening. It turned out, however, that Terence Nolan hated his job and was thinking of quitting, but not before he “arranged” for a little “grand theft liquor”. There were over a thousand Euros in the till, not bad for a Tuesday, considering that the supermarket just down the road sold cheaper booze, and there wasn’t even a football match on telly. So how come there was so much money in the till? It was John Grogan’s fault, really. The boss had been so keen to get out early that evening (for whatever reason he had not saw fit to disclose), and Terence had been trying to tell him about the jammed counter-bank under the till where excess notes were meant to go in order to keep the till drawer as low as possible. [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Fuck it, Terence had thought, after he tried on three occasions to reach his boss on both his home phone and his mobile. He would have to keep the money in the till until closing. He just hoped the place wasn’t knocked over in the meantime. But of course it would be. Just three minutes after Wacker and his sycophantic lapdogs left Derek Malone’s face a bloody mess in the park, Terence texted his cousin about the cash in the till drawer, and also that he hated his job, and if he was interested to make sure his face was covered when he came into the shop. Most importantly of all, he should make it look like it wasn’t a partial inside job.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Wacker jumped at the chance of making an easy thousand. Plus there’d be free beer thrown in, too. When Wacker and his henchmen arrived at Grogan’s they had the cover of darkness as their ally, although the shopping centre was quite well-lit. Still, there wasn’t that many people around, now that it was pissing rain, a sudden downpour that fell heavily and without mercy. It would help to screen their identities from cameras and such. The three of them went inside, hoodies pulled down over their faces. Wacker was the only one brandishing a knife, albeit a small one (at least he looked the part). No sooner had they entered the store when two powerful Kawasaki motorcycles pulled noisily up to the storefront outside. Each bike supported two heavily leathered figures, and the visors on their helmets were tinted a sinister shade of black.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“What the fu----?” That was as much as Wacker Nolan was capable of saying before the first of the leather “phantoms” barged through the door, and immediately pushed him against a shelf containing assorted salty snacks and dips. Gitzer and Chopper instantly launched themselves into action, whilst Terence looked on, stunned but quaking, at his post behind the till. A second leather phantom barged into the store just as the first pulled a pair of nunchucks from inside his jacket. With great speed and control, he made the lethal weapon whirr and flail around his enigmatic form. Like blades from some demonic mechanism the nunchucks spun to within millimetres of the startled faces of Gitzer and Chopper, both of whom pissed themselves with fright. Screaming like little girls, they backed deeper into the shop and didn’t stop retreating until their arses were pressed up tightly against a row of coolers. Inside the cooler bottles of various world beers shook in defiance.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]The first phantom approached the counter and trained hidden eyes on Terence the terrified clerk. “Where is John Grogan?”[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Er.... puh-pleeeese, tuh-take whuh-what you wuh-want,” Terence stammered, as his urine added to the rising scent of piss already present in the air inside the store.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Your boss hasn’t been keeping up his payments. We know he run out of here like pitiful little child. We watch the place... like we watch all our places.” Terence had watched enough old Japanese and Hong Kong martial arts films to recognise an Asian accent when he heard one. Just what the fuck was John Grogan involved in anyway? The speaker leapt the counter effortlessly, just as Terence slunk down into a petrified little pile of paler-than-pale skin, teenage pimples, and prescription glasses hanging crookedly on his gaunt, malnourished-looking face. The phantom biker turned to look down at the till briefly before shouting out some oddly sounding shriek as he slapped the side of the till with the flat of his hand whilst simultaneously bringing up a leather kneecap to strike the front of the till drawer. The drawer sprang open on its springs, revealing so many coloured banknotes within.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“I duh-don’t fuh-fucking believe it,” wept Wacker. Then his lungs seized up and he began to wheeze. Great time to get an asthma attack. He groped around in his pockets for his inhaler, as the nunchuck biker bore down on him menacingly. [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Keep your hands where I can see,” he admonished, his voice sounding muffled behind the insulating helmet.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Nuh-need (gasp) in...hal...er (wheeze),” he croaked, pleadingly.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Slowly, you not try anything,” the nunchuck biker warned.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Back over at the till the other phantom loaded up pockets in his jacket with the day’s takings from the drawer. Then he turned to train hidden eyes down on the feeble little shop boy. He pulled out a pristine meat cleaver and brandished it threateningly. [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“A message to your boss! If he miss another payment, we come back. We burn this place to ground. You tell him.” With nothing more to say the phantom leapt the counter once more and nodded silently to his partner, who immediately found the small office in the back and was soon removing the video tape from the store surveillance system. They’d gotten what they came for and gracefully departed. All four people present in the off-license had pissed their pants. Wacker was in the sorriest state of all, for his asthma attack, although alleviated by the inhaler, nevertheless left him wobbling like a jelly in a corner. But their trauma was far from over. Outside in the car-park connected to the small shopping strip, Simon Kelly, clad only in his boxer shorts with a body primed and ready to strike like a hunting cheetah, hardly noticed the rain as it belted against his taut, muscular physique. He was angry as hell, and he’d never felt so powerful in his life before. He liked the feeling. He liked it a lot.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]He waited for the Kawasakis to leave, deciding not to take on the four riders in black leather, simply because they looked organised... and powerful because of it. Besides, he had no quarrel with them, although his hearing was now incredible, and he’d heard everything that had gone on in the last five minutes inside the off-licence. He bided his time a little longer, glad that the rain had driven so many people into their homes. He pressed his muscles against the side of a delivery van, and slowed his heartbeat down considerably, saving his stamina for when he’d need it the most.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Gitzer and Chopper each had an arm of Wacker’s over their respective shoulders, supporting their fat master as all three emerged from the store. No alarms had been tripped, therefore no police sirens in the distance to draw ever-closer. Only the hard and heavy rain granted the night a mean personality. Within seconds their porous hoodies were saturated with rain water. Wacker’s jelly rolls wobbled preposterously. Simon waited until more of the night had swallowed them up as they limped back towards the direction of the park. There was a utility shed in the park, used by the groundskeeper, but council funding had yet to replace the groundskeeper since he took a bad fall in his early sixties. The building had been going idle for several months, and Wacker Nolan and his goons had been using it as a temporary base, a place to sniff glue and lighter fuel, to whack off to titty-porn mags and basically revel in their low-life wickedness.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Simon decided to follow them, less angry, now, than when he’d seen the state of Derek’s face. But he was still angry enough. Halfway towards the park, and the strangest thing happened. A Garda patrol vehicle flashed its lights, not at the retreating Wacker and Company (who were each well known to the Garda?, but had yet to receive anything stronger than some cautionary words), but at the scantily clad muscle hunk that Simon Kelly was fast becoming.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Simon was caught like a deer in headlights, his attention momentarily diverted from his slowly escaping (but none-the-wiser) prey. Simon approached the driver’s side of the car as its window slid down to let in some of the abysmal autumn weather. Thankfully it was nothing to worry about, for he knew the driver of the car quite well.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Well look at you, Kelly,” said Garda Jim Nesbitt from Pollardstown Garda Station. “You lose a bet or something, walking in the rain in only your undershorts?” Nesbitt was one of Simon’s punters, who despite being married with kids, had a fetish for licking the hairy holes of fit young men. And he paid Simon, not in Euros, but in his ability to turn a blind eye to Simon’s illicit peddling, not only of narcotics, but of his body, too. He liked Simon’s body... and he liked it even more, now. It had been a few months since their last encounter. The kid was obviously bodybuilding, and this was such a turn-on for him. He adjusted himself in the car seat as his dick pressed against the inside of his pants, stiffening and thickening to the sight of Kelly rippling with rain-polished muscle, and quite a fair bit of it, too.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“I’m not breaking any nudity laws, am I, Gard?” Simon made sure not to call Jim by his first name. There was another officer in the car with him, just one. The rear seat was empty. Simon’s vision had become super-acute, and he was easily able to get a good look at the other cop. He was blonde and sort of cute, obviously a rookie. Jim’s last partner had been an older man, close to retirement age.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“None that I can think of, Kelly. This is Garda Breen, by the way. Just started with me today. He likes the taste of arse as well. And cock in his mouth, mustn’t forget. I told him about you. Strange coincidence, but we were actually out looking for you tonight, and we find you, looking so... er... fit. You’ve bulked up a lot since I last saw you.” Nesbitt moved back in his seat to allow his rookie partner to get a better look at the hunkiest bloke they’d both seen.... ever. Garda Breen winked at Simon, but not before displaying a tongue that quickly oscillated with lust.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Despite the awkwardness of the situation, Simon still managed to get a boner, for it seemed that his new turbo-charged libido just loved to react to him being ogled lustfully by other men. His mighty cock pushed out the front of his shorts, causing them to pull taut across his handsome, rock-hard glutes. He inadvertently felt himself puffing up his chest and flaring his manta-lats, whilst simultaneously pulling in his abs as far as they would go, which immediately set his shining, bulbous pecs dancing.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“We have to check out an address over on Caster’s Road. Derelict house, but we had reports of junkies using it to shoot up. There’s no one there, of course, but it’s semi-decent. We’d like you to accompany us on the... er... investigation,” said Nesbitt, his thick West-of-Ireland brogue more than enough to mask his dubious sexuality.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Er... if you don’t mind, Gard, I’m in the... er... middle of something,” said Simon, half-turning in the direction of the escaping trio whose fates were sealed.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Listen, you little cunt. If it wasn’t for the strings I pull at base, you’d be behind bars long before now. You’ll do whatever the fuck I tell you to do. Now get into this fucking car!” Garda Nesbitt had just grown horns and his impatience left little room for pleasantries.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Thick, manly cords stood out on Simon’s neck as he tried to grind his teeth without making a sound. It wouldn’t bode well for him if he were to lose his cool with Nesbitt and Breen at this time. Damn, but there was so much corruption weighing heavily on Dublin’s streets, this night. Cursing under his breath, he worried about Derek as he reluctantly climbed into the back of the cop car. Was he developing feelings for him? But it had only been less than a day, although one hell of a rape. His mark was on Derek Malone, now, and his seed had worked deeply into him. Was that enough to make him his man? Right now he needed to focus his mind on more urgent matters, and troubled ones at that.[/COLOR]



[COLOR=gray]Derek had thought about phoning his ma, but she’d still be at work, or else arranging to meet the girls for a drink after. What could she have done anyway? He was alone. No... that wasn’t right: he had A-Sop. The super-phone had scanned the park, out to a radius of 380 metres. Shelter had to be found. There was only one structure, an eight by six metre utility shed near to the park’s southerly entrance. Derek was soaked to the skin, groggy from the concussion he’d most likely received from colliding with Wacker Nolan’s extremely hard forehead. A-Sop was low on power, but managed to perform a medical scan of his owner’s current condition, as well as scan for shelter. With battery power down to just 9%, A-Sop, in a last-ditch effort to help Derek improve his current situation, gave him a small electric shock, enough to bolster a reaction.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“What was that for?” Derek protested as he jerked to his feet, leaving a dry spot on the bench for rain to instantly drench.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“You have sustained minor trauma to your frontal cranial region, Derek. Your blood pressure has dropped to 110/70, although this is just temporary and does not pose a threat, but will explain your dizziness. Your body temperature is 1.5 degrees below the acceptable norm. It is currently 4 degrees Celsius outside, which, if you do not find shelter, will pose a threat to your state of health. The temperature is set to fall by another 1 degree Celsius by 9pm this evening. My battery is down to critical levels. Soon I will not be able to provide you assistance. I can log a call to the nearest hospital and arrange for an ambulance to come to your rescue, if you like.” [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Fuck that, I’m not spending the night on an A&E trolley for no one. Irish hospitals are the last place you should go to when you’re sick, these days. Do your research, A-Sop.” Derek didn’t mean to sound derogatory, but he was sure that A-Sop was incapable of taking offence.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“There is a small concrete structure approximately one hundred and seventeen metres due south of our position. You should make it there. I am also detecting a power source within the structure, which I may be able to adapt to my requirements, Derek.” A-Sop brought up an arrow indicator on his screen, which would guide Derek right to the building. The rain belted down without letup. He couldn’t stay outside for much longer, although it was now apparent that A-Sop was completely waterproof. And so Derek began to make his way shakily across the now boggy parkland, and tried his best to avoid muddy pools that made many a murky rain-well across the waterlogged landscape.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]He made it to the vandalised shed in less than five minutes, not bad, considering his current condition. With only the light from A-Sop’s display to see with (and he wouldn’t have that for much longer), Derek began to feel around for the way into the building. Again A-Sop was only too pleased to assist. [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“The doorway is seven paces to your right, Derek. It does not appear to be locked. I am detecting severe metal fatigue in the door, suggesting that it has been forced, but it provides vital shelter nevertheless. Might I warn you, however, that my battery reserves are down to 2%? Without charging, I will be forced to power down in less than six minutes.”[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Derek made it to the door and almost fell through it from sheer exhaustion. Under the fading glow from A-Sop’s display there wasn’t much to see. He was soaked to the skin, the weight of waterlogged clothing only adding to the burden of him trying to remain standing. Then his foot connected with something soft, spongy, mattress-like. That was all he needed to find, right now. Derek was already unconscious before his body collapsed on the dirty cum-stained vagabond’s bedding.[/COLOR]



[COLOR=gray]About three miles away, as Garda Jim Nesbitt increased the distance between where Simon was and where he needed to be, the scantily-clad ultra-hunk sat rigidly in the back seat of the patrol car, whilst his uniformed abductors filled their police-issue trunks with precum in anticipation of forthcoming events. This was completely fucked up. But it seemed as though the bent coppers had more than just his head over a barrel. He had to do something. He had to get away. But how? He felt strong, but just how strong was he? He’d already been amazed at how muscular he had become, looking so much like a fitness model from those workout magazines he liked so much. And he could run way faster than even an Olympic sprinter, and for longer distances without even getting breathless. Whatever was happening to him... whatever had happened to him, it both frightened him and excited him simultaneously.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]The car was probably doing about twenty mph in a thirty zone. He could easily survive a leap from the vehicle at less than a pursuit speed. What he did after that was unknown to him, for he was playing this by ear and hoping for the best each time. But Garda patrol cars were tough machines, reinforced where it was needed.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]But I’ve been reinforced, too, Simon thought. He formed his knuckles into even tighter fists, causing skin to groan like new leather. Muscles rippled upwards along his forearms, bringing out veins like worms coming to the surface of the land during a rainstorm, an apt analogy on a night like this. He wondered how many kicks it would take to bash open the door to his right, the rookie side of the car. Three... five... eight? The cops would have responded well in advance of eight kicks. [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Looks like I’d best get it in one, Simon thought, as he leaned backwards across the back seat in order to give his legs room to manoeuvre. He tried to imagine in his mind’s eye that his legs were great hydraulic pistons, with ten tonnes of air pressure behind them, just waiting to respond to the slightest whim. He actually felt heat building up in his discernible quad-muscles, and that heat was all he needed to galvanise him into action.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]He kicked the door once with the heels of both feet and it was completely removed from its alliance with the rest of the car, tumbling across the road with great force and speed as it haemorrhaged chunks of glass and metal in transit.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“What???” The attentions of both Garda were now on the disturbance and away from the road. But Nesbitt was an expert driver, and although he briefly lost control of the vehicle, he deftly brought the beast to heel, although in the fierceness of the wet night, jamming on the brakes and veering the car sharply to the left sent it aquaplaning out of control. By the time he brought it to a halt, Simon Kelly was already nowhere to be seen.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“How will we call this in?” Rookie Breen inquired nervously during a long moment of worried silence. Nesbitt said nothing, but just ground his teeth and grunted.[/COLOR]



[COLOR=gray]A-Sop located a small petrol-powered generator in a corner of the dishevelled utility building. It contained a capacitor with enough power to juice up his battery. He tapped into it using his very useful static electrical kinetic infuser node, which he could have used to draw electrical energy straight from Derek’s body, but in his weakened state the super-phone did not want to put his owner in further jeopardy. It took forty-three seconds to charge up, but his battery was now good for several hours, provided he wasn’t required to work any major miracles. The interior of the building was dry, but A-Sop’s scans detected various compounds, some petrochemical, others gaseous or hazardous as they broke down into further compounds that reacted badly with whatever surfaces they’d come into contact with. In short Derek would not be able to remain here for too long. A-Sop generated light and heat from his display and chassis, forming something of a bubble around Derek, which would allow his clothes to dry out whilst simultaneously raising his body temperature and blood pressure. It was now time to guide Simon to this location.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]The super-phone knew that after the second stage of the Total Body Enhancement app, Simon’s hearing would be on par with that of a canine. All A-Sop had to do was find the right frequency from which to transmit a homing distress call that only Simon, and not every dog within a twenty mile radius, would, hopefully, respond to. A-Sop had begun to feel hope. He decided to disengage his adaptive algorithmic processors in case his objectivity was impaired.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“What in fuck cunt???” Wacker Nolan, Gitzer and Chopper had found a dirty tarpaulin under which they could shelter from the rain whilst simultaneously (albeit clumsily) making their way back to their commandeered “Scumbag HQ”. They hadn’t expected to find Aftershave Boy lying on the mattress they often took turns to jerk-off upon. A-Sop detected the threat to his continuance, and immediately activated his obsidian shielding. The handset “morphed” into a completely inviolate black mass of something not unlike tungsten. Alas, he couldn’t do the same to protect Derek. Hopefully Simon wasn’t too far away.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Where’s the light coming from?” The question posed by Wacker set all three of them feeling about the place for whatever had caused the interior of their hideout to glow with eerily unnatural phosphorescence. They usually lit the place with candles, or the occasional flashlight if they could steal one. Firing up the generator would attract unwanted attention to a building that was supposed to be going idle. This was downright strange.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Maybe Aftershave Boy is radioactive,” Gitzer chuckled, making one of those annoying laughs that were more “snort” than “laugh”.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“I think you killed him, Wacker,” said Chopper, the most sombre of the three at this time.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Wacker nervously nudged Derek with his boot. Derek didn’t move. Wacker nervously dry-swallowed. His old man was doing a life-stretch for armed robbery, during which he’d shot and killed a security guard. It looked like he was fast becoming a fat chip off the old block. Their communal urine stink married itself awkwardly to the many vile stenches already dominating the place. What else could go wrong tonight? [/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“We’ll bury him. In the cemetery. We’ll find a recently dug grave and dump him on top of the casket and fill it in. Seen it in a movie. No one will suspect anything. We can carry him in the tarp we found. It’s not that far.” Wacker tried to keep the tone of panic out of his voice. He was the leader of the gang, and he needed to show leadership skills, despite his underpants were soaking wet from piss.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“I’m not having any part of this,” Chopper conceded. “I didn’t do anything. You’re the ones that attacked him. I’m getting the fuck out of here.” Chopper made a hasty exit.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Get fuckin’ back here, you coward!!!” Wacker wasn’t in the mood for disloyalty at this crucial hour. He followed his henchman out into the soaking night. But when he looked around, Chopper was nowhere to be seen. Wacker went all the way around the building and called his mate’s name over and over. No response.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]Just a few feet above Wacker Nolan, Simon barely felt the cold or the rain on his rippling muscular body as he applied the merest choke hold to Chopper in order to send him to Slumber Land. He’d been poised on the flat roof of the utility shed, watching for the right moment to apply strength and stealth. He’d pulled Chopper upwards by gripping the hood of his hoodie, amazed to feel hardly any weight in the scumbag. He lay the unconscious Chopper face down on the roof, caring little if he drowned in rainwater. Then he set his sights on the rather confused-looking wet fatso below. In the near-complete darkness of the immediate area, Simon’s vision was sharp and focused. It was almost as though he was in the process of developing total night-vision. Without further thought or preparation, Simon leapt off the roof and high into the air, contrails of rainwater running off his body with aerodynamic grace. He performed two mid-air somersaults, which propelled him higher and further away from the building. He moved silently and with perfect form. Then he landed not a metre from where Wacker stood as he tried to think about what to do next. The ground before him erupted with a mighty splash, as Simon displaced a great deal of water and mud upon landing. Wacker Nolan found it hard accepting what his eyes showed him.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Kelly? Simon Kelly? Is that you?” Only silence responded to his inquiry. He knew of Simon Kelly, lowlife hash-dealer, believed to be a plant by the cops to whittle out the true hash-heads and suppliers, but this was an unsubstantiated rumour. But he didn’t know him personally. This bloke was very muscular. Maybe he was into using and selling steroids, judging by the look of him. He was easily off his head, too, ‘cos who goes around in the cold and pelting rain in only their boxers?[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Before I kick you into the middle of next week, hand over my friend’s wallet you took from him and I might not kick you so hard,” Simon said firmly, but softly, as if he was trying to keep his temper from taking over and causing him to do something he would regret in the long term. Wacker decided to comply. Simon Kelly was rippling with thick cords of powerful muscle, although he was nowhere near as big as those bodybuilder types you see on the cover of magazines just below the porn mags. Wacker had always dreamed of having muscles himself, but a lifetime, thus far, of bad decisions (made mostly when it came to the consumption of calories) meant that he could never apply himself to a physical regimen of any kind whatsoever. Wacker checked his soaking-wet pockets, front and back. He practically pulled his hoodie inside out in search of the wallet he knew he had on him from earlier.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“I... must’ve dropped it, back at the off-license. There were these blokes all in black, with biker huh-helmets. Duh-didn’t see their faces.” By now Wacker was starting to panic. He needed a dump and was already touching cloth. Simon stepped forwards, perhaps a little too menacingly.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Maybe your fingers are too fat to find it properly. It’s probably trapped between two humongous folds of fat. Here... let me check for you.” Simon, with hardly any effort, ripped every stitch of clothing from Wacker’s body and scattered them into the night. He didn’t even spare his underpants. In just three seconds he had reduced the fatso to his wobbly birthday suit. Wacker stood there, trembling with fear, and not only crying like a baby, but also soiling himself like one.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Looks like you’re right. You don’t have it. That makes me very angry, Wacker. You shouldn’t have taken it in the first place. But you’ve got nothing for me to take in return. An eye for an eye, and all that. Hmmm, maybe I should gouge your eyes out, so you won’t be able to steal stuff ever again.” Simon stepped even closer to within touching distance.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Look at you, you fat, pathetic excuse for a human being. No use crying, Wacker, crying like a little fat piggy. Maybe I should make you squeal like one instead, eh?” Simon decided to show off a little, to further wear down the former antagonist of those so undeserving. The rain seemed to be easing off, now, and there was even moonlight within which to flex. That suited him perfectly. He had become so swiftly used to his new hard body, but he still felt like there was room for improvement. But for now...[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Look at my biceps, like two cricket balls, rock hard, bulging with veins, hard as fucking diamonds,” boasted Simon, as he flexed up his bis into dynamic mounds of muscle. He gritted his teeth handsomely, causing cords to stand out on his rugby-player-sized neck. He leaned forward and brought a bicep to within an inch of Wacker’s lips. The top lip was encrusted with scabs caused by sniffing solvents. “I would ask you to kiss my bicep respectfully, fatso, but I’m afraid I might catch a disease. God knows what a cunt like you is riddled with. “Imagine this bicep pressing into your throat as I squeezed you in a headlock. I could do it so easily... snuff you out like a candle.”[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“Okay...okay.... you suh-said your bit,” sobbed Wacker as tears and rainwater diluted the snot coming out of his nose into a soup that would further aggravate his solvent-abuse-related upper lip. The fat fucker collapsed to his knees and sobbed pathetically, knowing that after tonight he would never set foot outside of his bedroom (that’s if he made it home in one piece).[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“I ain’t finished yet, cunt!” Simon was getting carried away, and he struggled inwardly to avoid crossing any bridge of no return. But it was so difficult. He was totally enjoying this humiliation of another, and one most deserving of punishment. He placed his knuckled fists on either side of his taut, trim waist, and fanned out an impressive lat-spread. His upper body appeared to explode with mass, and for a moment it seemed as though he’d developed the power to switch off the moon, although the moonlight behind him showed him as a jaw-dropping silhouette. His pecs rippled and heaved upwards, nipples going from a recumbent downward-pointing position to fully erect and outward-pointing, set in delicious dark-brown areolas that had increased in size along with just about every other part of him.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]“I am humanity’s future, its saviour, if you will. And you, fat cunt... are its demise.” With nothing further to say, Simon slipped his boxers down to his knees, took his hefty member in both hands and aimed it squarely at Wacker’s round, unattractive face.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=gray]It was the best piss he’d had in years.[/COLOR]


[COLOR=gray]Part 6 [COLOR=yellow]HERE[/COLOR][/COLOR]

[umlerian49]

And he's only on LEVEL 2??

Yeehaw!

[2bored]

I'm excited for more.

[michaelv2]

Oh man this keeps getting better. I love me a good Irish MG story on St. Patrick's Day!

[2bored]

I just got Grindr on my phone. It made me think of this story! Thanks JP71!

[ldaniel13]

More, more! I can't wait to see how this story progresses.

[JP71]

Well Im about a third of the way thru Ch 6 at the moment, so not long to wait for the next part.

[Reeza]

I'm really liking this. It has depth, if that makes any sense. And Simon is quite sexy.