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Old October 1st, 2003, 10:51 AM
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Books of Prophecy: The Gift

Commentary (and advisory): These are the authentic texts that chronical the
beginning of our third age. They contain acts of violence that
characterized our second age, particularly under the reign of The Tyrant.
Novices and others not of age or of an appropriate disposition shall not
read these words. -- The Council of Masters

From the Journal of Lawrence Morgan, October 5

Todd wasn't at school. I caught up with Ric, and he said that the
police were investigating Todd's father's murder. Jake had covered our
tracks like I had asked. He said that some big biker types had come
and ransacked the house. The cops were checking biker bars and other
hangouts of 'asocials' to see if they could get any leads.

"But we know who really did it, don't we?" asked Ric.

"Maybe, I'm still not convinced," said Larry.

"He was the only one there. He had the power. He had the
opportunity. It had to be him," insisted Ric, flexing his muscles, a
slight grimace of pain crossing his face. Ric was acting tough, but
he still hadn't recovered from the pounding he took yesterday.

"I want to hear his side."

"Ya, and if he doesn't have a side, what will you do about it?" Ric
asked the question that I didn't want to confront.

I looked away, toward the ground. "I guess," I started, "I guess I'll
have to deal with it."

"Ya," Ric touched my shoulder, "I guess you will. Don't worry bud, I'll be there for you."

"Thanks. You know," I looked him in the eye, "Todd is lucky to have a
friend like you."

"Like us," Ric corrected.

After school, I went over to Joe's. I needed to talk to Frank. When
I got there, Frank was sitting watching TV. He wore only a pair of
BVDs, and his body was black and blue. He had two black eyes from
where Ric had broken his nose. His nose was bandaged and there were
cotton balls in his nostrils. He smiled when he saw me. His voice was
hoarse. "Hey Larry, good to see you."

"Frank. How are you feeling?"

He looked at himself, then raised an arm and flexed it. "Strong.
Maybe a bit sore, but nothing I can't recover from. Heh, that Ric is
really something, ain't he! He's going to be a real asset to our

"I'm not sure we have a team anymore," I said. "Not after yesterday."

Frank's expression changed. "Ya, yesterday," he said softly. He
looked down. "When I find out who killed Mark," he muttered.

"They think you killed Mark."

Frank snickered. "Ya, I kinda got that impression."

I sat across from Frank, and in my most authoritative voice, I said,
"Frank, I need you to tell me what happened. I need to know what's
going on with you. Where have you been."

Frank looked at blankly at me. "I don't know." He stood up and began
to pace. "Damn it! I DON'T KNOW." He slammed a fist into his palm,
making a loud CRACK. The veins in his arms dilated, the blood
pumping into his muscles. "I can't remember anything from the last
few days!"

Frank's face was red, his voice tense like he was trying to recall
anything important. "I had left Mark's and was heading here when I
felt someone grab me. I felt a pain in my arm, like someone stuck me
with a needle. I turned around, fists flying at whoever was doing
this to me. I felt a fog descend on me, and I felt tired and weak. I
remember falling. The next thing I know I'm hearing screams. They
seemed to wake me up, and I realized that there was some fight going on.
I was sitting in Mark's kitchen. I jumped up, leaped into the living room
as my mind began to clear. That's when I saw..." Frank stopped.

"You saw Mark?" I asked.

"Kid," he whispered. "I loved Mark. I love Joe, but Mark is
different. He was my soul mate. People respect me, fear me, because
of my muscle." Frank flexed, showing his power. "Mark, he respected
me but he wouldn't take shit from me. I could have crushed his skull
anytime I wanted, and he knew that, but he didn't care. I respected
that, and I would never hurt him. I loved him." Frank actually let
out a bit of a sob. "To see him like that," he shook his head. "I'll
kill whoever did that."

"Do you know who took you?"

Frank shook his head. "No. I've lost the last few days. They must
have kept me pretty drugged up. They must have planned this."

"Wayne's group?" I asked.

"Not their style. No, I think this is someone else. Someone worse."
Frank sat down. I could tell, he didn't want to talk anymore.

I've been thinking about what he said. I believe him. Now, how do I
tell that to Todd and Ric.

From the Journal of Todd Rothman, October 5

Every time I walk into our living room, I see it. Even if I close my
eyes, I still see it. I don't know why, but I think I know how. It's
the gift Claude gave me. I can sense morphs. I can sense Frank, and
because of that, I can see what he did. In my mind, I see him killing
my father. Oh god, I don't want to. I want my Dad back. I want to
say, "I'm sorry. I love you. Don't leave me."

I hate Frank.

I see it clear as day. Frank comes in, and Dad greets him with a hug.
They're glad to see each other. They go to the living room. Dad gets
Frank a beer. They talk. Dad gets more animated. He doesn't like
what Frank is saying. He starts to pace. Frank gets up, puts his
hand around Dad. Dad pushed it off. The loud discussion elevates
more. Frank begins to pace. He throws his beer to the ground,
breaking the bottle. He punches the wall. Dad laughs at him, says
something else. Frank turns to Dad and says something. Dad gives him
the finger.

I don't want to see more, but I do. It's like slow motion. Frank
grabs Dad's hand. I see his powerful forearm flex around Dad's
fingers, crushing them in his vice-like grip. There's pain in Dad's
face, but he refuses to scream. He flexes his arm, huge muscle growing,
fighting Frank. He laughs at Frank. Frank's anger grows. With the single hand that holds the crushed fist, he twists. I see the muscles in Dad's arm resist, then burst from
Frank's uncontrollable power. It didn't even look like it was hard for Frank to do. I think he enjoyed it. The joint rips and blood spirits from Dad's body as Frank yanks the arm off, tossing it aside.

Dad steps back, in shock. He reaches for his missing arm, trying to stop the blood. Frank lunges at him, grabbing his other arm. He screams something at Dad and rips the arm off of him. Frank drops the arm and grabs Dad's pants, ripping them off. Frank's body is bulging now, surging with his morph power. He fondles Dad's huge cock. Dad backs into the wall, and Frank pushes him to the ground. Then, Frank grabs Dad's legs and yanks them apart, breaking the him joints. Frank is pointing at Dad and laughing. He picks up the discarded arm, then rams it up Dad's ass. He strokes Dad's meat and says something. Dad has lost so much blood, he's nearly unconscious.

I can't believe what Frank did next. It's so vile, so hateful. I mean, well, he raped Dad with his own arm. Blood and a brownish red puss was oozing out of Dad's butt as Frank pulled the arm nearly out, then forced it back in. I could tell, Frank was getting off on this. He stroked his cock with his other hand as he raped Dad. Dad was crying. His mouth moved. I think he said Jakes name, then mine. His head dropped and he stopped reacting.

Frank seemed to get angrier now that Dad was almost gone. He grabbed
his lifeless legs, the huge muscle useless against Frank's superior
power. Frank ripped the legs off, tossing one out the window and the
other into the room. He kicked Dad's lifeless torso into the room,
then wiped the blood from his hands. He walked into the kitchen.

I know that Frank can be cruel. I know that his blood-rage takes over
him, and nothing can stop him. I know that he thinks nothing of
killing anyone who pisses him off or stands in his way. But this was
my Dad. It was his lover! How could he.

I hate him.

I feel so alone. Ric is great, but I want something else. I don't
want someone my age. I want someone with experience. I want someone
to talk to who won't always agree with me, but will always be on my
side. I want someone to protect me and love me, not as an equal, but,
well, as a parent. I want my Dad. I never realized this until he was
gone, but that's what I want.

I'm afraid. I keep thinking, maybe Claude...

Jake and I will bury Dad tomorrow. He's been handling the
arrangements. Ric said he'd be there and he'd tell Larry.

No way will Frank be there.

From the Journal of Todd Rothman, October 6

We buried Dad next to Mom. It was a simple service, closed casket.
Nobody wanted to see Dad the way Frank had left him. Ric and Larry
were there. Ric kept his arm around me, protecting me. It was good
to feel that strong body there for me to lean on. Jake lost it.

When the funeral was over, I needed to get away. I couldn't deal with
anyone -- not Jake's sniveling, not even Larry and Ric's friendship.
I need to be alone, to search out something else. I walked to the
park. I went to the trail where I had been kidnapped and I saw him
there. He was waiting for me.

"Hello son," said Claude.

I looked at him and started to cry. I don't know why. He stepped
over to me and hugged me. Even through his clothes, I felt the
hardness of his body. I felt his power. I felt protected.

"They killed him," I sobbed.

"Yes. They are violent. I know." He looked at me. "You've decided," he said. It was not a question. It was like he was reading my mind, knowing the truth that I had not yet admitted to myself.

I shook my head yes.

He took me to a waiting car, and we drove off. We didn't say a word
until we got to his mansion in the country. We got out of the car,
and were greeted by three men. I recognized two of them as my
abductors. Claude gave them instructions that we were to be left
alone. He lead me upstairs, turning at the top of the stairs to
instruct, "Have the prisoner prepared. I'll signal you when we are
ready for him." The men nodded.

Claude opened the door to what appeared to be a bedroom. The walls
were covered with portraits. I recognized several as portraits of
Claude. I also recognized portraits of the three men that greeted us.
A large portrait of a powerful looking man hung in the middle of the
room. It caught my attention because there was a large, black bird
sitting on the man's shoulder. I walked toward it.

"That is my first born," said Claude. "These are all my children," he
said, indicating the other pictures.

"Where is he? I've met some of them, but I've never seen him."

"He is dead," said Claude. "He was murdered." There was a finality to
his statement, like I shouldn't ask anymore questions. I think he was
the one Frank and Joe killed.

I turned to Claude and looked at him. He was lighting candles, then
turned out the lights. "That should set the mood," he said.

"Mood? I thought..."

"The power? No, it cannot be given to you. You must want the power.
You must desire it." Claude stood before me, looking down at me.
"Show me you desire the power and make it yours."

I looked at Claude. His white shirt stretched over his massive chest.
His shoulder looked like they were ready to burst the seams. Eventhough
his arms hung at his side, it was clear that they were full and powerful. The
tailored shirt narrowed at his waist. His black pants were filled by
his manhood, his massive thighs and his diamond-like calves. As I
looked at him, I felt my mouth grow dry. I wanted him. I wanted his
power. I wanted what he represented, pure strength and manliness.

"May I?" I asked, reaching toward his shirt. He nodded. I unbuttoned
the top button. As his massive pecs became visible, I felt a longing
in me. As I exposed more and more of his flesh, the longer grew. It
was a thirst in me that I needed to quench. His chest was so large, so
strong. I was used to seeing muscular men, but Claude was beyond
anything I had experienced. I wanted him. His abs were perfectly
chiseled, living marble. So hard, so ripped. My fingers brushed
against them as I pulled his shirt from his pants. Slowly, I slipped
the fabric over his wide shoulders, exposing his powerful back and
massive arms. I let the shirt fall to the floor.

I looked up at Claude. He saw the longing in my eyes. He saw my
lust. "Show me, boy," is all he said.

I placed my face to his chest. His pecs were so big, so strong, they
engulfed me. I smelled his powerful scent. I kissed him. I extended
my tongue and traced the contour of each muscle, following the line
between the overhanging muscle and the firmness of his stomach. He
raised his arms and I cleansed his pits, lapping at his sweat like a
parched pup, desperate for life-sustaining liquid. His lat was so
wide, his chest towering above me, his muscular arm over me. I was
totally enclosed in his muscular body, one with him and protected from
the outside world. For the first time in days, I felt safe.

I moved from his deep pit over his chest, marveling at his
mountainous traps. I found the divide between the massive mounds and
began my descent, tracing the valley to the top of his pants. I
opened the button and unzipped them, spreading them wide. I put my
hands on either side of his waste, and pushed the fabric over his
powerful glutes. I saw his organ snaking down his leg. I reached
inside his boxer shorts and freed it, allowing it to jump up along his
stomach and into the crevice between his pecs. His musky smell was

I grabbed his pants. I knelt on the floor before him, a worshipper
before this muscle god. I removed his shoes and socks and looked up
at him, marveling at the thickness of his powerful body. His face
was hidden by massive muscles, and only when he bent slightly could I
look into his eyes. With my expression, I asked for permission to
remove his pants. Claude nodded his approval. I reached up and
grabbed the fabric at the waist. His thighs were snug in the fabric,
and I had to tug to get the pants over the muscle. Even unflexed, the
quads formed distinct muscles, two round ropes of muscle that
thickened and split into three ridges as they traveled up his leg.
The muscle belly of the hamstring bulged obscenely. Each of his thighs
were at least as big as my chest. As I forced the fabric below his
knees and over his calves, Claude lifted his feet. I removed his
pants and tossed them aside.

I lowered my body to the floor at his feet, waiting for permission to
proceed. Claude was the master, and I the insignificant slave. No
one was his rival. Not Frank. Not Eric. Not even Larry. He was the
one with the power, and only by his grace could I proceed. Moments
past as I genuflect before he said, "Now, son, show me." I crawled to
him and kissed his toes, licked his feet, climbed up his calves,
bathing him with my tongue. I wrapped my arms around his right thigh,
barely able to reach around the tree-sized leg. Claude grabbed the
corners of his under shorts and ripped them, freeing is low-hanging

"May I?" I pleaded.

"Yes," he replied.

My tongue found the sensitive underside of his balls, and I licked.
They were salty and smelled like raw manliness. I wanted him, and I
wanted the power he promised. Slowly, gently, I sucked one of his
egg-sized testicles into my mouth. I heard my god exhale approvingly.

My own cock was painfully hard in my pants. I didn't care. Only
Claude's happiness was important now. There would be time enough for
me later.

As I pleasured his manhood, I began to perceive a change in him. It
was like the ghost of a man encasing Claude. For all of Claude's huge
size and powerful muscle, this ethereal form was bigger and stronger.
The ghost's pecs were rounder and fuller, his waist more ripped. The
ghost's traps were higher, and his shoulder's were more ripped and
striated. The ghost's arms were as large as Claude's legs and its
legs where redwoods. I looked to the ghost's face and saw that it was

"Yes, son, you see it, don't you," he said. "Take me now, and make it

Claude offered me his magnificent cock. I swallowed inch after inch
of the only dick that could rival my own. I forced it down my throat,
fighting the reflex to gag. I could barely breath, but breath was
unimportant. Only Claude's pleasure mattered. Only the power he

"Oh, yes! Take it all. No one has ever..." he said as I swallowed
the final inches, embedding my face in the hair forest that surrounded
his pole. As I took the final inch, I felt the cock suddenly thicken,
then shoot a volley of man juice into my stomach. His ejaculation was
powerful, and went on for seconds. I felt its warmth inside me,
becoming one with me. When he finished, he gently pulled out.

As I looked at him, I saw two of him. One, that masculine god I had
just worshipped. The second, a larger, stronger phantom that seemed to
shimmer and fade as I watched it. "What is it?" I asked.

"That is the power, boy. You see it. You smell it. Your senses are
now attuned to it." Claude walked to the other side of the room and
pulled on a rope that hung from the ceiling.

Claude walked over to me and began to remove my clothes. When he
removed my pants, my freed cock jumped up to my chest. The relief
felt good. Claude held my naked body against his, pressing our huge
dicks together. I heard sounds from outside the door.

"Enter!" Claude demanded.

There were three men there. I recognized two from before. Like
Claude, they had ethereal forms -- muscular phantoms that surrounded
their bodies. Their phantoms were significantly smaller than
Claude's, and I knew this meant they had less power. They brought in
a third man. He was naked and different from the other two. This man
had no phantom, but his skin shimmered in the same way as the ghosts.

"You see it, don't you? You see the power in him," said Claude instructively.

"Is he a..." I started. I breathed deeply, and my nose tingled with a scent that I had never smelled before.

"Yes, he is a morph. He is for you."

I walked toward him, and touched him. I felt the power. My nose and
tongue tingled, like I could smell it or taste it on him. There was
something else. I felt like I could take it from him. I felt my mind
reach into him, searching for his power. Then I felt it. Yes, I
could take it. I felt my body become strong. The man began to slump,
trying to run from me. He couldn't. He was powerless as I sucked his
energy. His muscles shrank. His bodybuilder physique withered into
a swimmer's build, then into nothing. Muscle tone vanished as I took
it from him, becoming stronger. I felt myself growing, and I wanted
more. I knew my muscular body was becoming firmer, harder, stronger.
With his dying breath he cursed me. I didn't care. I was strong now.

I looked at myself in the mirror. I was encased in a phantom form,
more muscular and stronger than my normal one. I had the power now.

"Soon, you will bring the others to us," Claude said.

"Yes," I said, then thought, "but not Ric. I love him. May I have
him for my own?"

Claude smiled. "Of course, but the others? Larry? My son's executioners?"

"They are yours, Father."

"Stand firm for what you believe in until or unless logic or experience prove you wrong. Remember, when the emperor looks naked the emperor is naked. The truth and a lie are not sort of the same thing. And there's no aspect, no facet, no moment of life that can't be improved with pizza." Daria
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Old October 5th, 2003, 07:57 PM
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I love this story!

Corwin, every story you've posted on this site has been great. I hope you're getting the feedback you need to keep the writing efforts going. Every day I eagerly look forward to some contribution from you. I think you describe the confrontational or competitive aspects of muscle fantasies better than just about anybody....right up there with the best of Chip Masterson and Derek Flex (aka Aaron Strong) IMHO. Thanks for all the hard work!
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