The Pit

[eyesonmuscle]

A great little story from a Yahoo! muscle group from a few years back. It reads like it's part of a series but I've only ever seen this part. Anyway if you like freaky strength stuff you should enjoy this!

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The Pit

by ???

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We were walking on the beach. Paul and Chris had just engaged in a
three-hour fuck session that had knocked the house off its
foundation. For a few very silly minutes, Chris insisted that he
could fix it himself, but Paul and I explained to him that if we
liked the house, we should really let some professionals look at it.
So we decided to take a walk on the beach for some fresh air.

The boys were arguing about body parts again.

"You measured wrong."

"I measured right, dipshit. You'll just have to live with my arms
being ? of an inch bigger than yours."

"Well, maybe until the next treatment, anyway."

I loved this debate . . . because of the sheer surreal nature of it.
Why? The arms in question were 27 and 27 ? inches around,
respectively. At least, that was the case when we measured this
morning. In three days the measurements might very well be out of
date, and Chris might just beat Paul the next time we whipped out the
measuring tape.

"Okay, weenie, so your arms are just a little bit bigger. Everyone
knows my shoulders are broader," Chris declared.

"Not."

"Are."

"Let Ref decide."

I sighed in mock exasperation. "Okay, for heaven's sake, let's
settle this. Okay, stand with your back to each other, shoulder to
shoulder."

I positioned the two gigantic adonises, facing in opposition
directions, lining their shoulders up just so. It was going to be
just a bit tricky, because Chris is about two inches taller than Paul
at 6'2" (this week).

For the thousandth time since this bizarre adventure began, I was
struck by the astonishing sight of the two most amazing male
specimens the world has ever seen. Paul, at six feet even, with his
steely blue eyes, short military butch cut, 67-inch chest bursting
out of a tank top, 33 inch waist, and 40 inch thighs threatening to
rip the diamond-thread cutoffs that he loved. Chris, at two inches
taller, had almost identical measurements, and his 27 inch arms were
seriously threatening the integrity of the XXX-large v-necked t
shirt. Standing back to back, their remarkable bubble butts kept
their lower backs several inches apart. Even with such size, a
stranger would have been hard-pressed to believe the actual
bodyweight of the two men.

"So, who wins?" Chris demanded.

"Patience, patience," I said. "Give me a minute to enjoy this." I
stood close and ran my hands over both of their corrugated waists at
the same time. Never failed to make me crazy. My fingers slid in
and out of ridges that went almost two inches deep. I grinned at
Chris, thrilled by the knowledge that I was caressing a waist that
had, just yesterday, stopped an SUV going 40 mph . . . and Chris
hadn't even been flexing.

"I think Chris has you by a hair, Paul," I said.

"Well, then, I'll just have to work harder, then," said Paul. We
resumed walking.

"And, speaking of delt workouts, I think I see just the thing!"

"What Paul?"

We were at The Pit, a skanky old outdoor gym on Venice Beach.

"I've always HATED this stupid place," said Paul.

"Paul . . . are you thinking what I think you're thinking?" Chris
said, with a twinkle in his eye.

But I was way ahead of him. I charged over to the Pit and got
everyone out. When a couple of big goons resisted, I just turned and
pointed to the two gigantic musclemen heading over from the beach.
Paul and Chris have gotten a bit of press, and people are beginning
to know what they're capable of.

The Pit was basically a large concrete platform, about twenty feet by
thirty-five feet, with a bunch of workout equipment on it. Before I
was even off of the floor, Paul had positioned himself in the middle
of one of the long sides of the platform, and was squatting down in
the sand, digging his hands under the edge of the concrete.

After getting a good grip, he slowly straightened his huge legs, and
the side of the outdoor gym lifted out of the sand. Hundreds of
pounds of weights began sliding toward the opposite side of the
platform.

"Sorry folks," Paul said as he began to curl the twenty-ton concrete
slab with football-sized, vein-encrusted biceps that were much harder
than the concrete itself. "But The Pit is officially . . . .CLOSED."

By now Paul had gotten the edge of the platform above his head, and
he quickly ducked under it, walking it higher with his meaty hands
until he was underneath what he considered to be the center of the
platform.

He kept his right hand right under the concrete, right over his head,
while sliding his left hand as far toward the opposite edge as he
could. With a small grunt, he gave a PUSH with the left hand, and
the entire platform began rising over his head.

Chris stood by, grinning in admiration. "Now, that's what I call a
military press!," he said.

Paul pumped out twenty military reps with the gigantic slab, as a
shocked (and very turned-on) crowd gathered and watched.

"Yeah, that gives a good stretch!" Paul yelled gleefully. By the
40th rep, his enormous delts were glistening, all three heads clearly
defined.

"Okay, now that we're warmed up, how about some more serious work?"

He frowned a bit, the striated muscle in his jaw flexing as he
concentrated. After a moment he pushed up with his left hand,
repositioned his right, and then dropped the left hand!

He was now holding a twenty-ton slab of concrete over his head with
one arm. Grinning, he said, "Now, if this ain't a photo op, I don't
know what is!" And then he struck a pose, flexing his left bicep,
displaying his 40-inch left thigh, and slowly turned around in place,
smiling at the crowd, all the while continuing reps with the right
arm.

After everyone in the crowd had exhausted their film, and Paul had
put in about 60 reps with the right hand, he turned to Chris and
gestured for him to come over.

When Chris got close, Paul ran his fingers down his crotch with his
free left hand. "It's been nearly an hour since I last came . . .
I'm about to explode. Can you help me out here?" Chris, ever the
good sport, winked and dropped to his knees as Paul switched hands
with the platform.

Now he began pumping out reps with his left hand, which left his
right hand free to caress Chris's thick blond hair. Chris feasted on
Paul's startling cock while the crowd gasped. Several began to
frantically dig through backpacks and pockets for more film.

The blowjob took about six minutes, and during that time Paul never
once even broke the rhythm of the one-hand military presses with the
outdoor gym. He let out a gratified bray as he came, his fire hose
cock covering Chris with splooge despite his best efforts to swallow
it all.

I cleaned Chris up and buttoned up Paul's jeans. "Okay, stud,
through showing off?" I said.

"Almost," said my huge friend. "Time to consider relocating this
stupid gym." He turned to the crowd. "Okay, who wants to take bets
on how far I can vault this thing?"

As the crowd began shouting predictions he turned toward the ocean.
Once again the look of stern concentration returned to his face (he
was always at his absolute handsomeness while doing this). Finally,
he lowered his head, and performed a quick spin like an Olympic shot-
putter. With a bellow he fired the platform into the air. The 20-
ton concrete slab, the worlds largest shot put, flew at least 100
yards before landing in the surf with a terrific splash. The crowd
erupted into applause, and Chris and Paul were quickly surrounded by
people begging to feel their muscles.

"So," said Paul, as he lifted his shirt so a dozen hands could stroke
his diamond-hard ten-pack, "Shall we go work out?"

[portamivia]

Always loved that story! Thanks!