lbo4armrid
05-22-2011, 10:33 PM
Name: The Real Bodybuilder
From: TheRealBodybuilder[AT]yahoo.com
Title: "Mag The Fag", Revised
Codes: t/t, NC (Rape), Fisting, Muscle, Tort, Anal
ATTENTION: THIS IS NOT A SEQUEL! THIS IS A REVISION! I am submitting
it because it is an improvement ver the original. The original draft had a few
problematic points that I have attempted to smooth over n this draft. If you had
already read the original, please read this one. Any input on which draft is clearer and
flows better would be welcome.
DISCLAIMER: the following work is a fictional story. It is intended for a mature,
discerning audience. Please do not proceed if you are in any way offended by
homosexual acts, violence, sexual violence, or non-consensual sexual activity. This
story is intended as an alternative to sexual practices, and is not intended to promote
or condone any of the acts herein depicted. ALL NEGATIVE EMAIL RESPONSES
WILL BE IGNORED.
Anyone who shares appreciation for this type of fantasy, or similar, or who has
positive feedback, feel free to email TheRealBodybuilder[AT]yahoo.com.
Mag The Fag.
Anthony’s screeching paused precisely as the pipes overhead took a deep hissing
breath. Somewhere in the deep cement walls a furnace turned on, a boiler began
driving pressure into the tubes throughout the building. Water rushed overhead,
cramming itself down the channels, desperate for release from a valve or faucet. The
relief would not come until morning; no one was in the building again until morning,
except for Anthony and Trevor. The water built up pressure, causing creaks and
moans made by metal trying to bend, trying to give way. But a tube can only give
way so much, before busting itself open in a rainshower of fluids.
The hissing subsided. The water overhead found a new, if temporary stasis. Still,
deep in the walls, iron moaning could be heard; grunts of iron. Soon these were
echoed by grunts, starting up again, from Anthony. Trevor leaned his arm forward
more, raising the volume of Anthony’s panicked cries. Soon, the pipes could not be
heard over the din of Anthony’s terrified wailing.
Trevor shut the sound of Anthony’s voice out of his mind and leaned inward. Trevor
lifted one knee from where he was kneeling and placed his foot flat on the wet tile
floor. His legs had begun stiffening from kneeling on the hard tile for so long, and in
spite of needing a break, he did not try to stand up altogether. He braced himself with
his other knee, still planted on the floor, and pushed his weight forward.
Somewhere inside Anthony’s guts, organs began shifting position, cramming
themselves against his rib cage. Anthony made a fist and banged the wall in time
with a rhythmic scream.
Trevor’s elbow was now entirely past Anthony’s sphincter.
In the walls a loud creak began; a swelled pipe pressing against it’s cement casing.
Water pressure was building again. Somewhere, in the bowels of the Athletic
complex, a furnace’s rumble began churning.
Anthony suddenly swung his arm around. He grabbed Trevor’s bicep, patting around,
trying to blindly decipher where the arm ended and the sphincter began. He fingered
around the edges of the hole, feeling the swollen red lumps of flesh. Then back a bit
up Trevor’s arm.
“No,” Anthony whimpered. He pulled his arm forward again, braced it stiff against
the wall beside his other one. “Okay, look – no. This can’t happen. Something
doesn’t feel right."
Anthony’s leg began suddenly bobbing up and down from fatigue. He stiffened it, but
when he relaxed it again, the bobbing resumed. He hung his head and looked at a
puddle on the wet below. A drop of water hung from the tip of his nose. He panted:
“Trevor, you gotta pull out.”
The drop of water fell from his nose. The pain began in Anthony’s stomach again.
He thrust his head up and stared at the showerhead which stuck from the wall. The
pipes behind it were creaking with pressure. Anthony moaned, long and low, as he
felt Trevor leaning inward again.
“Trevor!” he shouted. “For fuck sake NO! Something is fucked up!"
“”Shut up,” Trevor said, quiet. Anthony wasn’t sure he heard Trevor, or if it was just
another grunt from the walls, or perhaps even part of the noise searing from his own
throat.
“Trevor – fuck – STOP, MAN!” Anthony’s legs stiffened. He thrashed his head left
and right. “TREVOR – fucking STOP! Something is tearing – I can feel – OWW!
It’s – OH MY CHRIST – OWWW – STOP!"
“SHUT UP, MAG,” Trevor shouted.
“Trev – I can’t –"
“Nothing stops it, dude,” Trevor interrupted, his voice steady again. “This happens.
Nothing stops it. Don’t make me think about it; I can’t do this if I’m thinking about
it. Just shut the fuck up and get it over with!"
With that he leaned inward. Anthony’s legs gave way and he shrieked, but his noise
was cut short by his head slamming the wet walls. His knees went down hard, jerking
Trevor’s arm in a new angle, causing it to jam deeper into Anthony’s guts and organs.
Anthony let out a shriek and reached around again with his hand.
“Get up,” Trevor said. He slapped Anthony’s groping hand away from the taught
rectum. “On your feet dude, just like we agreed! Get UP! We’re gonna do this like
everyone did it before – I don’t fucking cheat.” He lifted his huge arm upwards, trying
to lift Anthony using his own weight. As Trevor’s arm jammed against the back of
Anthony’s innerds, Anthony hollered more.
“I can’t man,” Anthony cried. Tears began in his eyes. “For the love of god, Trevor,
something is fucked up inside – pull it out man! Please! Please–” He was bawling.
“UP,” Trevor yanked his arm up again. Anthony planted one foot on the wet floor,
and began walking his arms up the wall. At standing, he reached around again, vainly
trying to grab the huge bicep. Trevor slapped Anthony’s hand again, and gave his
arm a twist, intended to inform Anthony that he was not pleased. Anthony howled.
For five, six straight minutes, Anthony’s throat expanded to release a strained, animal
yowling. Trever furrowed his bro, focused his eyes forward, and leaned his huge
frame forward. Eventually, Anthony’s noise subsided.
The pipes overhead began to hiss again.
Trevor stopped his pushing for just a moment. The hissing waned, then built. Trevor
slowly pushed forward.
“Stop, man!” Anthony said, lower, trying to sound controlled. “I’m serious, Trev –
we gotta – ungh! – oof! – gotta stop.”
There was no reply. Only the hissing overhead, Anthony’s panting.
“Look, I’ll make a deal,” Anthony’s voice rose and trembled. “Stop now, and I’ll –
OW! Shit! I’ll do Togo’s fucking arm again. Okay? C’mon buddy! Please! Togo’s
got a huge arm, too! I’ll do it fucking twice! Please! I’ll take half the fucking team,
man! Every dude with big arms can have a punch if you’ll just get that thing OUT OF
ME!"
“Wouldja shut up, Magliardi? You were the fuckhead who said you could take a
twenty-one,” Trevor shouted. “Togo brags for two seconds about how he was tough
enough to take Jim’s twenty-incher; he makes a few bucks, holds a new record. And
could you let it alone – let the new rocord sit? No.” Trevor twisted his arm to spite
Anthony. Anthony winced and whined, but tried to hold his false composure.
“I don’t get you, Mag. I don’t get why you’re cocky fucking ego can’t handle a dude
being tougher than you!”
Another twist; another whine.
“You gotta learn to stop shooting off your mouth, dude! Gotta drop the musclehead
tough guy act. You gotta stop putting yourself in these situations that you know you
can’t fucking handle.” Trevor held the huge pad of his free hand against Anthony’s
tightened buttocks and twisted again. Anthony’s strained whine indicated he was
breaking down soon; he would be hollering again any minute.
“But no,” Trevor continued chastising. “No way can Mag ever shut the fuck up for
his own damn good. No – Mr. Tough-guy here’s gotta claim he can take a twenty-one
inch python. Mag the Stud says it’s easy for a guy who can take a bicep like Togo’s.
Mag is the hardest bad-ass on the whole fucking team, right? You can out-do any
crazy fucked up stunt anyone else tries, right?"
“Naw, man,” Mag whined. “naw, naw – it’s not like that! I – ungh! – I –“
“So too fucking bad if it hurts, asshole!”
Trevor shoved hard. Anthony saw stars.
“Too fucking bad!” Trevor yelled. “You’re the fucker with the big mouth, not me.
You’re the asshole who claimed this shit, not me. I’m just the guy with the biggest
equipment –the only dude with arms big enough to meet your stupid challenge. You
talk fucking big, but then I get stuck with the work! So now you shut the fuck up and
take what you said you could take, fuckhead! I got four hundred on you doing this,
and I’m fucking gonna make sure I get my share. So shut the fuck up, man – this is
all on you, not me!"
“FUCK YOU, TREV!” Anthony shouted. “I’ve got over a fucking grand from half
the team on the fucking line – one-thousand fucking bucks – but I could care the fuck
less! You saw what happened to Kevin’s ass–"
“Don’t mention Kevin!” Trevor twisted his arm quickly to accentuate his point.
Anthony yowled again. Trevor leaned inward, easing his bicep into Anthony’s
engorged hole. The yowling continued again for a few minutes. The echoes bounced
off the shower walls, leaking through the locker room. The echoes subsided a
moment longer after Anthony’s own voice eased off.
“It’s not worth it,” Anthony cried. He began to sob. “Fuck man please,” he was
sniffling. The drops from his chin weren’t from the condensing steam of the shower
room, nor from his own sweat. He was crying hard. “God Trevor, you’re gonna fuck
me up for life!"
“And be four hundred richer,” Trevor said quietly.
“You're gonna ruin me – fucking rupture some shit–“ he interrupted his plea to
screech again. Then resumed sobbing. “Please, god, please! Are you a fucking
animal? Oh man – OW! Fuck Trevor, PLEASE!"
“Twenty one-inch bicep,” Trevor said, low and angry. “’I can easy take a twenty-
one,’ you told ‘em. You already took a twenty last week, so you can do this. Shut
your fucking pussy mouth and OPEN–"
Trevor shoved, Anthony screeched
“YOUR–"
More force from the huge arm – higher shrills from the gaping mouth.
“FUCKING–"
Another shove, another scream.
“FAG–"
Deeper, louder.
“ASS!"
Anthony’s wailing cut short. His body held still; he had a slight nausea building. He
stared, mouth agape, at the shower head. His voice would give way to no more
wailing; shock had taken over. His eyes quivered. He felt something shifting; felt the
bicep sliding into his hole.
The pipes are in the walls, whining, accompanied by a low chuckle from Trevor.
Anthony’s throat made clicking noises. He tried to scream, but wheezing came out.
He could feel the arm now, only as pressure. The pain was not in his ass, it was in his
stomach, his chest.
He reached around, feeling for the girth of Trevor’s massive, hard arm. Anthony
patted a thick, tense mound of muscle, examining it. He kept tracing the muscle,
trying to draw the line up the massive muscle to where it connected to trevor’s
shoulder. Suddenly his hand went limp, one finger still gently tracing the muscle.
Anthony realized why he could not find where this muscle met Trevor’s shoulder.
The muscle he was feeling was not Trevor’s bicep, Anthony realized. This WAS
Trevor’s shoulder.
Trevor held his blonde cheek close to Anthony’s ass muscles. He panted from the
work, and kept chuckling. Somewhere dripping water could be heard, spattering,
sloppy onto cement.
Anthony stayed quiet for fifteen minutes. Twenty minutes. The two young men
stayed in their position, holding still. A perverse statue of coiled muscle and pain.
At one point, Anthony closed his eyes, visualizing his buddy Trevor, seeing him as he
looked in the showers that very afternoon. Trevor was the biggest on the team; a
steroid junky at 19 years, and a freak of proportions. His look was the muscleman
distorted into a freak of blonde, swelled flesh. Considered grotesque by so many,
Trevor was still the envy of the entire team. His buddy’s knew his measurements like
their middle names; 54-inch chest, 34 inch waist, 31 inch quads, 21 inch arms . . .
Trevor’s guns stood out as the ultimate challenge. Ever since the game started –
months ago, first with fingers, then with fists – the guys would joke about Trevor
McGinty shoving his distorted arms up a man’s ass. But it was a joke, an
impossibility. Until Kevin Hugo started upping the dares and upping the stakes.
Kevin put aside his pride and began making money. Len Francosi got both hands
inside of Kevin. Bones garret – with an eighteen inch bicep – got just past the elbow.
And Kevin collected sweet cash money for his freak shows.
The dares got bolder. The ego’s got more offensive. The risks the boys were willing
to take got more and more extreme. Even the tougher guys like Anthony “Mag”
Magliardi began getting their ego’s wrapped up in the game. Soon, the team’s
charismatic ring-leader Tom “Togo” Goddard was the one who started pooling the
bets, turning winnings in the tens and twenties to the upper hundreds. His own
tremendous arms became the center of his challenges, as he enloisted in his pay-offs
all the young men who’s musculature was bigger than his own. In a dramatic display,
Togo alked off with $1200.00 and Kevin limped off with four days of bleeding
diarrhea after the two went head to head in an attept to take Todd Porter’s 20-inch
arms.
After that, the frakish arms of the juiced-up Trevor McGinty became the ultimate
proof of just how much pain one young man could stand. How tough a dude was.
How much stamina one could show.
And how much humiliation he could withstand.
Anthony, indeed, proved all of this. Physically, he survived the experience. Unlike
Kevin Hugo, Anthony had no permanent physical damage. Granted, it took quite a
while for the pain and cramping to subside. Likewise, because Trevor’s entire arm
was shoved in his ass without any lubricant whatsoever, Anthiny was left with
hemhorroids for weeks.
However, even though Anthony Magliardi’s anal track had been spared rupturing, the
pipe system of the ancient athletic building was not. The problem had been silently
intensifying for months, and was spotted only too late by the maintenance staff. The
pipes in the walls, rusted and deteriorated from decades of neglect, could no longer
take the relentless pressure of the medieval, methodical boiler. That same night,
there was a pipe burst. As fate would have it, the wekest joint from which the torrents
flowed was in he men’s locker room, not twenty feet to the entrance of the showers
Inches of water flooded onto the floor, raining down from the feed pipe. It was noisy,
but not loud enough to mask the hollering of an eighteen year old man’s anguished
hollering as his asshole was relentlessly tortured.
Assuming that the screaming was related to the sudden burst, two custodians who had
been attempting to remedy the rushed into the locker room. Sluching through the
water, they headed first to the the origin of the screaming. They barged into the
shower room, taking a minute to perceive the grotesque knot of muscled flesh.
As the story was told later, it was said that both the janitors were laughjing cruelly.
And, as the tale was spun through the school over and over, the details became more
merciless, and somehow, Trevor’s name was forgotten. Perhaps it was because
Trevor McGinty was a was an intimidating young man, known for volatile outbursts,
the type whom undoubtedly no one would want to anger with casual slander. Or,
perhaps Trevor was left out because of how much more shocking and amazing a sight
Anthony Magliardi must have been to the two confused janitors.
However, the most likely reason was that Anthony was the only athlete vilified in the
sordid story was because he was the only one of the two who expelled from school
two days later for lewd behavior.
Meanwhile, Trevor graduated in May.
And, after graduation, eight of the men from the team took a trip to Cancun. Trevor’s
portion was generously paid for, seeing how $1,400.00 had found it’s way into his
pocket the very same evening Anthony was expelled. The money that was originally
meant for Anthony Magliardi sat in the designated kitty – locker 467 – but when the
group of boys who had set up the bet resumed, they saw that Trevor was clearly the
hero of the day, and so logically deserved Anthony’s share of the loot.
Naturally, Anthony was not so keen of the idea.
At a house party in late June, Anthony made certain that his former teammates knew
of his anger and disapproval. In defense, Togo wore his cool smile, and hastily
explained to Anthony that the original bet was that Anthony be able to take his
TEAMMATE’S arm. And now, seeing as how Anthony was expelled, and thus no
longer a student, and thus no longer a teammate, he therefore lost the bet.
Anthony soaked this in, his face slowly reddening. He went through the history of the
past few months and how it came to this. How Anthony’s name had been smeared all
over school as “Mag the Fag.” And how he had been dumped by his girl of two-and-
a-half years. And how any reference to gay sex made in the school became known as
“Magging out.” How the scar of humiliation would be stuck on the man for years
after. How he would have to sit through hours of obnoxious, backwards and boring
counseling sessions, into which he had been placed by his folks.
None of this sat well with Anthony. But he had spent his days of expulsion in the
gym, and meeting with as many juice-dealers as he could network, bulking his own
frame to be ready for this hot, steaming night. He stood, red and heaving, tanktop
stretched to tearing. He was still not as big as Trevor McGinty, but had enough mass
now to have easily taken on Tom Goddard, who stood there in front of him, shirtless,
glistening with sweat, and still grinning that bastard grin. Young men and women in
the house laughed and stared oiut the back doors. They were waiting. Everyone was
waiting. Waiting for Sag the Fag to prove himself other than a freak pervert.
So, Anthony swung a solid punch to the jaw of the team’s instigator, Togo.
“Now THAT was NOT such a smart thing to do, Mag,” Tom Goddard said from
where he landed on the ground. He was still smiling, rubbing his chin. Around him
stood Trevor McGinty, Kevin Hugo, Bones Garret, and five or six others; all former
teammates of Anthony’s.
“Get up, Togo you bastard!” Anthony shouted. He whipped off his tanktop,
practically tearing it, revealing and tensing his muscular body in an attempt to
intimidate.
“I’m not going to fight you, Mag,” Togo said, standing up slowly, hand still on his
jaw.
“What then? What – you gonna set the rest of these pricks on me?” Anthony nodded
towards his former buddies. They all glared at Anthony, with snarls on their slightly
drunken faces. All except Trevor. He leaned against the porch railing. He was
smiling, just like Togo.
“Oh, we’re not gone fight you, Mag,” Togo said. “We’re gonna give you another
chance."
“Chance at what?!” Anthony shouted. “A chance at letting that fucking retareded
moose tear me open again? I don’t think so, fuckhead!"
“No, you won’t have to do that,” Togo grinned. “I’m going to give you the chanc you
already agreed to."
“I didn’t agree to anything, you shithead."
“Oh, but that’s not how I heard it,” Togo smiled, stepping in close to Anthony. So
close that Anthony could feel the damp heat from Togo’s bare chast on his own. “See
– the way I heard the story – just so long as Trevor here agrees to not stick his huge-
ass arm up your cunt again, then you said you’d be willing to take my baby twice, and
then after that take half the team."
“What the–?” Anthony couldn’t believe he was hearing hois own words back to him.
He looked at Trevor, who was still smiling. He wanted to swing again.
“You know that’s what you said, Mag,” Togo grinned. He flexed bith arms upward.
“These beauties – TWICE – then half the team.” He glanced over his should. “How
many guys here, Trev?"
“Looks like half the fucking team to me, Togo."
Anthony’s face dropped. He looked around at his former teammates faces. One by
one, they caught on to Togo’s idea. One by one, their snarls turned to grins.
Anthony charged at Togo, but before he could tackle him completely, Kevin, Bones
and three other guys pounced him, smearing him into the lawn. In a moment his
shorts were yanked off and he was being dragged by his ankles to a dark back corner
of the yard. As they yanked his mighty legs open, and Togo kneeled in Mag’s crotch,
someone hollered over the shouts and laughter.
“Wait! Wait!” the voice shouted, half laughing. “Seriously – listen. My dad just
installed an automatic sprinkler. Drag him further into the woods, so we don’t fuck
up anything important.”
The group cheered and laughed, obliging the request. As they dragged the 230
pounds of Mag the Fag into the thicket behind the house, Anthony could hear the
gurgling of water from pipes buried deep within the lawn As always, the sound of
water was accompanied by a deep chuckling.
From: TheRealBodybuilder[AT]yahoo.com
Title: "Mag The Fag", Revised
Codes: t/t, NC (Rape), Fisting, Muscle, Tort, Anal
ATTENTION: THIS IS NOT A SEQUEL! THIS IS A REVISION! I am submitting
it because it is an improvement ver the original. The original draft had a few
problematic points that I have attempted to smooth over n this draft. If you had
already read the original, please read this one. Any input on which draft is clearer and
flows better would be welcome.
DISCLAIMER: the following work is a fictional story. It is intended for a mature,
discerning audience. Please do not proceed if you are in any way offended by
homosexual acts, violence, sexual violence, or non-consensual sexual activity. This
story is intended as an alternative to sexual practices, and is not intended to promote
or condone any of the acts herein depicted. ALL NEGATIVE EMAIL RESPONSES
WILL BE IGNORED.
Anyone who shares appreciation for this type of fantasy, or similar, or who has
positive feedback, feel free to email TheRealBodybuilder[AT]yahoo.com.
Mag The Fag.
Anthony’s screeching paused precisely as the pipes overhead took a deep hissing
breath. Somewhere in the deep cement walls a furnace turned on, a boiler began
driving pressure into the tubes throughout the building. Water rushed overhead,
cramming itself down the channels, desperate for release from a valve or faucet. The
relief would not come until morning; no one was in the building again until morning,
except for Anthony and Trevor. The water built up pressure, causing creaks and
moans made by metal trying to bend, trying to give way. But a tube can only give
way so much, before busting itself open in a rainshower of fluids.
The hissing subsided. The water overhead found a new, if temporary stasis. Still,
deep in the walls, iron moaning could be heard; grunts of iron. Soon these were
echoed by grunts, starting up again, from Anthony. Trevor leaned his arm forward
more, raising the volume of Anthony’s panicked cries. Soon, the pipes could not be
heard over the din of Anthony’s terrified wailing.
Trevor shut the sound of Anthony’s voice out of his mind and leaned inward. Trevor
lifted one knee from where he was kneeling and placed his foot flat on the wet tile
floor. His legs had begun stiffening from kneeling on the hard tile for so long, and in
spite of needing a break, he did not try to stand up altogether. He braced himself with
his other knee, still planted on the floor, and pushed his weight forward.
Somewhere inside Anthony’s guts, organs began shifting position, cramming
themselves against his rib cage. Anthony made a fist and banged the wall in time
with a rhythmic scream.
Trevor’s elbow was now entirely past Anthony’s sphincter.
In the walls a loud creak began; a swelled pipe pressing against it’s cement casing.
Water pressure was building again. Somewhere, in the bowels of the Athletic
complex, a furnace’s rumble began churning.
Anthony suddenly swung his arm around. He grabbed Trevor’s bicep, patting around,
trying to blindly decipher where the arm ended and the sphincter began. He fingered
around the edges of the hole, feeling the swollen red lumps of flesh. Then back a bit
up Trevor’s arm.
“No,” Anthony whimpered. He pulled his arm forward again, braced it stiff against
the wall beside his other one. “Okay, look – no. This can’t happen. Something
doesn’t feel right."
Anthony’s leg began suddenly bobbing up and down from fatigue. He stiffened it, but
when he relaxed it again, the bobbing resumed. He hung his head and looked at a
puddle on the wet below. A drop of water hung from the tip of his nose. He panted:
“Trevor, you gotta pull out.”
The drop of water fell from his nose. The pain began in Anthony’s stomach again.
He thrust his head up and stared at the showerhead which stuck from the wall. The
pipes behind it were creaking with pressure. Anthony moaned, long and low, as he
felt Trevor leaning inward again.
“Trevor!” he shouted. “For fuck sake NO! Something is fucked up!"
“”Shut up,” Trevor said, quiet. Anthony wasn’t sure he heard Trevor, or if it was just
another grunt from the walls, or perhaps even part of the noise searing from his own
throat.
“Trevor – fuck – STOP, MAN!” Anthony’s legs stiffened. He thrashed his head left
and right. “TREVOR – fucking STOP! Something is tearing – I can feel – OWW!
It’s – OH MY CHRIST – OWWW – STOP!"
“SHUT UP, MAG,” Trevor shouted.
“Trev – I can’t –"
“Nothing stops it, dude,” Trevor interrupted, his voice steady again. “This happens.
Nothing stops it. Don’t make me think about it; I can’t do this if I’m thinking about
it. Just shut the fuck up and get it over with!"
With that he leaned inward. Anthony’s legs gave way and he shrieked, but his noise
was cut short by his head slamming the wet walls. His knees went down hard, jerking
Trevor’s arm in a new angle, causing it to jam deeper into Anthony’s guts and organs.
Anthony let out a shriek and reached around again with his hand.
“Get up,” Trevor said. He slapped Anthony’s groping hand away from the taught
rectum. “On your feet dude, just like we agreed! Get UP! We’re gonna do this like
everyone did it before – I don’t fucking cheat.” He lifted his huge arm upwards, trying
to lift Anthony using his own weight. As Trevor’s arm jammed against the back of
Anthony’s innerds, Anthony hollered more.
“I can’t man,” Anthony cried. Tears began in his eyes. “For the love of god, Trevor,
something is fucked up inside – pull it out man! Please! Please–” He was bawling.
“UP,” Trevor yanked his arm up again. Anthony planted one foot on the wet floor,
and began walking his arms up the wall. At standing, he reached around again, vainly
trying to grab the huge bicep. Trevor slapped Anthony’s hand again, and gave his
arm a twist, intended to inform Anthony that he was not pleased. Anthony howled.
For five, six straight minutes, Anthony’s throat expanded to release a strained, animal
yowling. Trever furrowed his bro, focused his eyes forward, and leaned his huge
frame forward. Eventually, Anthony’s noise subsided.
The pipes overhead began to hiss again.
Trevor stopped his pushing for just a moment. The hissing waned, then built. Trevor
slowly pushed forward.
“Stop, man!” Anthony said, lower, trying to sound controlled. “I’m serious, Trev –
we gotta – ungh! – oof! – gotta stop.”
There was no reply. Only the hissing overhead, Anthony’s panting.
“Look, I’ll make a deal,” Anthony’s voice rose and trembled. “Stop now, and I’ll –
OW! Shit! I’ll do Togo’s fucking arm again. Okay? C’mon buddy! Please! Togo’s
got a huge arm, too! I’ll do it fucking twice! Please! I’ll take half the fucking team,
man! Every dude with big arms can have a punch if you’ll just get that thing OUT OF
ME!"
“Wouldja shut up, Magliardi? You were the fuckhead who said you could take a
twenty-one,” Trevor shouted. “Togo brags for two seconds about how he was tough
enough to take Jim’s twenty-incher; he makes a few bucks, holds a new record. And
could you let it alone – let the new rocord sit? No.” Trevor twisted his arm to spite
Anthony. Anthony winced and whined, but tried to hold his false composure.
“I don’t get you, Mag. I don’t get why you’re cocky fucking ego can’t handle a dude
being tougher than you!”
Another twist; another whine.
“You gotta learn to stop shooting off your mouth, dude! Gotta drop the musclehead
tough guy act. You gotta stop putting yourself in these situations that you know you
can’t fucking handle.” Trevor held the huge pad of his free hand against Anthony’s
tightened buttocks and twisted again. Anthony’s strained whine indicated he was
breaking down soon; he would be hollering again any minute.
“But no,” Trevor continued chastising. “No way can Mag ever shut the fuck up for
his own damn good. No – Mr. Tough-guy here’s gotta claim he can take a twenty-one
inch python. Mag the Stud says it’s easy for a guy who can take a bicep like Togo’s.
Mag is the hardest bad-ass on the whole fucking team, right? You can out-do any
crazy fucked up stunt anyone else tries, right?"
“Naw, man,” Mag whined. “naw, naw – it’s not like that! I – ungh! – I –“
“So too fucking bad if it hurts, asshole!”
Trevor shoved hard. Anthony saw stars.
“Too fucking bad!” Trevor yelled. “You’re the fucker with the big mouth, not me.
You’re the asshole who claimed this shit, not me. I’m just the guy with the biggest
equipment –the only dude with arms big enough to meet your stupid challenge. You
talk fucking big, but then I get stuck with the work! So now you shut the fuck up and
take what you said you could take, fuckhead! I got four hundred on you doing this,
and I’m fucking gonna make sure I get my share. So shut the fuck up, man – this is
all on you, not me!"
“FUCK YOU, TREV!” Anthony shouted. “I’ve got over a fucking grand from half
the team on the fucking line – one-thousand fucking bucks – but I could care the fuck
less! You saw what happened to Kevin’s ass–"
“Don’t mention Kevin!” Trevor twisted his arm quickly to accentuate his point.
Anthony yowled again. Trevor leaned inward, easing his bicep into Anthony’s
engorged hole. The yowling continued again for a few minutes. The echoes bounced
off the shower walls, leaking through the locker room. The echoes subsided a
moment longer after Anthony’s own voice eased off.
“It’s not worth it,” Anthony cried. He began to sob. “Fuck man please,” he was
sniffling. The drops from his chin weren’t from the condensing steam of the shower
room, nor from his own sweat. He was crying hard. “God Trevor, you’re gonna fuck
me up for life!"
“And be four hundred richer,” Trevor said quietly.
“You're gonna ruin me – fucking rupture some shit–“ he interrupted his plea to
screech again. Then resumed sobbing. “Please, god, please! Are you a fucking
animal? Oh man – OW! Fuck Trevor, PLEASE!"
“Twenty one-inch bicep,” Trevor said, low and angry. “’I can easy take a twenty-
one,’ you told ‘em. You already took a twenty last week, so you can do this. Shut
your fucking pussy mouth and OPEN–"
Trevor shoved, Anthony screeched
“YOUR–"
More force from the huge arm – higher shrills from the gaping mouth.
“FUCKING–"
Another shove, another scream.
“FAG–"
Deeper, louder.
“ASS!"
Anthony’s wailing cut short. His body held still; he had a slight nausea building. He
stared, mouth agape, at the shower head. His voice would give way to no more
wailing; shock had taken over. His eyes quivered. He felt something shifting; felt the
bicep sliding into his hole.
The pipes are in the walls, whining, accompanied by a low chuckle from Trevor.
Anthony’s throat made clicking noises. He tried to scream, but wheezing came out.
He could feel the arm now, only as pressure. The pain was not in his ass, it was in his
stomach, his chest.
He reached around, feeling for the girth of Trevor’s massive, hard arm. Anthony
patted a thick, tense mound of muscle, examining it. He kept tracing the muscle,
trying to draw the line up the massive muscle to where it connected to trevor’s
shoulder. Suddenly his hand went limp, one finger still gently tracing the muscle.
Anthony realized why he could not find where this muscle met Trevor’s shoulder.
The muscle he was feeling was not Trevor’s bicep, Anthony realized. This WAS
Trevor’s shoulder.
Trevor held his blonde cheek close to Anthony’s ass muscles. He panted from the
work, and kept chuckling. Somewhere dripping water could be heard, spattering,
sloppy onto cement.
Anthony stayed quiet for fifteen minutes. Twenty minutes. The two young men
stayed in their position, holding still. A perverse statue of coiled muscle and pain.
At one point, Anthony closed his eyes, visualizing his buddy Trevor, seeing him as he
looked in the showers that very afternoon. Trevor was the biggest on the team; a
steroid junky at 19 years, and a freak of proportions. His look was the muscleman
distorted into a freak of blonde, swelled flesh. Considered grotesque by so many,
Trevor was still the envy of the entire team. His buddy’s knew his measurements like
their middle names; 54-inch chest, 34 inch waist, 31 inch quads, 21 inch arms . . .
Trevor’s guns stood out as the ultimate challenge. Ever since the game started –
months ago, first with fingers, then with fists – the guys would joke about Trevor
McGinty shoving his distorted arms up a man’s ass. But it was a joke, an
impossibility. Until Kevin Hugo started upping the dares and upping the stakes.
Kevin put aside his pride and began making money. Len Francosi got both hands
inside of Kevin. Bones garret – with an eighteen inch bicep – got just past the elbow.
And Kevin collected sweet cash money for his freak shows.
The dares got bolder. The ego’s got more offensive. The risks the boys were willing
to take got more and more extreme. Even the tougher guys like Anthony “Mag”
Magliardi began getting their ego’s wrapped up in the game. Soon, the team’s
charismatic ring-leader Tom “Togo” Goddard was the one who started pooling the
bets, turning winnings in the tens and twenties to the upper hundreds. His own
tremendous arms became the center of his challenges, as he enloisted in his pay-offs
all the young men who’s musculature was bigger than his own. In a dramatic display,
Togo alked off with $1200.00 and Kevin limped off with four days of bleeding
diarrhea after the two went head to head in an attept to take Todd Porter’s 20-inch
arms.
After that, the frakish arms of the juiced-up Trevor McGinty became the ultimate
proof of just how much pain one young man could stand. How tough a dude was.
How much stamina one could show.
And how much humiliation he could withstand.
Anthony, indeed, proved all of this. Physically, he survived the experience. Unlike
Kevin Hugo, Anthony had no permanent physical damage. Granted, it took quite a
while for the pain and cramping to subside. Likewise, because Trevor’s entire arm
was shoved in his ass without any lubricant whatsoever, Anthiny was left with
hemhorroids for weeks.
However, even though Anthony Magliardi’s anal track had been spared rupturing, the
pipe system of the ancient athletic building was not. The problem had been silently
intensifying for months, and was spotted only too late by the maintenance staff. The
pipes in the walls, rusted and deteriorated from decades of neglect, could no longer
take the relentless pressure of the medieval, methodical boiler. That same night,
there was a pipe burst. As fate would have it, the wekest joint from which the torrents
flowed was in he men’s locker room, not twenty feet to the entrance of the showers
Inches of water flooded onto the floor, raining down from the feed pipe. It was noisy,
but not loud enough to mask the hollering of an eighteen year old man’s anguished
hollering as his asshole was relentlessly tortured.
Assuming that the screaming was related to the sudden burst, two custodians who had
been attempting to remedy the rushed into the locker room. Sluching through the
water, they headed first to the the origin of the screaming. They barged into the
shower room, taking a minute to perceive the grotesque knot of muscled flesh.
As the story was told later, it was said that both the janitors were laughjing cruelly.
And, as the tale was spun through the school over and over, the details became more
merciless, and somehow, Trevor’s name was forgotten. Perhaps it was because
Trevor McGinty was a was an intimidating young man, known for volatile outbursts,
the type whom undoubtedly no one would want to anger with casual slander. Or,
perhaps Trevor was left out because of how much more shocking and amazing a sight
Anthony Magliardi must have been to the two confused janitors.
However, the most likely reason was that Anthony was the only athlete vilified in the
sordid story was because he was the only one of the two who expelled from school
two days later for lewd behavior.
Meanwhile, Trevor graduated in May.
And, after graduation, eight of the men from the team took a trip to Cancun. Trevor’s
portion was generously paid for, seeing how $1,400.00 had found it’s way into his
pocket the very same evening Anthony was expelled. The money that was originally
meant for Anthony Magliardi sat in the designated kitty – locker 467 – but when the
group of boys who had set up the bet resumed, they saw that Trevor was clearly the
hero of the day, and so logically deserved Anthony’s share of the loot.
Naturally, Anthony was not so keen of the idea.
At a house party in late June, Anthony made certain that his former teammates knew
of his anger and disapproval. In defense, Togo wore his cool smile, and hastily
explained to Anthony that the original bet was that Anthony be able to take his
TEAMMATE’S arm. And now, seeing as how Anthony was expelled, and thus no
longer a student, and thus no longer a teammate, he therefore lost the bet.
Anthony soaked this in, his face slowly reddening. He went through the history of the
past few months and how it came to this. How Anthony’s name had been smeared all
over school as “Mag the Fag.” And how he had been dumped by his girl of two-and-
a-half years. And how any reference to gay sex made in the school became known as
“Magging out.” How the scar of humiliation would be stuck on the man for years
after. How he would have to sit through hours of obnoxious, backwards and boring
counseling sessions, into which he had been placed by his folks.
None of this sat well with Anthony. But he had spent his days of expulsion in the
gym, and meeting with as many juice-dealers as he could network, bulking his own
frame to be ready for this hot, steaming night. He stood, red and heaving, tanktop
stretched to tearing. He was still not as big as Trevor McGinty, but had enough mass
now to have easily taken on Tom Goddard, who stood there in front of him, shirtless,
glistening with sweat, and still grinning that bastard grin. Young men and women in
the house laughed and stared oiut the back doors. They were waiting. Everyone was
waiting. Waiting for Sag the Fag to prove himself other than a freak pervert.
So, Anthony swung a solid punch to the jaw of the team’s instigator, Togo.
“Now THAT was NOT such a smart thing to do, Mag,” Tom Goddard said from
where he landed on the ground. He was still smiling, rubbing his chin. Around him
stood Trevor McGinty, Kevin Hugo, Bones Garret, and five or six others; all former
teammates of Anthony’s.
“Get up, Togo you bastard!” Anthony shouted. He whipped off his tanktop,
practically tearing it, revealing and tensing his muscular body in an attempt to
intimidate.
“I’m not going to fight you, Mag,” Togo said, standing up slowly, hand still on his
jaw.
“What then? What – you gonna set the rest of these pricks on me?” Anthony nodded
towards his former buddies. They all glared at Anthony, with snarls on their slightly
drunken faces. All except Trevor. He leaned against the porch railing. He was
smiling, just like Togo.
“Oh, we’re not gone fight you, Mag,” Togo said. “We’re gonna give you another
chance."
“Chance at what?!” Anthony shouted. “A chance at letting that fucking retareded
moose tear me open again? I don’t think so, fuckhead!"
“No, you won’t have to do that,” Togo grinned. “I’m going to give you the chanc you
already agreed to."
“I didn’t agree to anything, you shithead."
“Oh, but that’s not how I heard it,” Togo smiled, stepping in close to Anthony. So
close that Anthony could feel the damp heat from Togo’s bare chast on his own. “See
– the way I heard the story – just so long as Trevor here agrees to not stick his huge-
ass arm up your cunt again, then you said you’d be willing to take my baby twice, and
then after that take half the team."
“What the–?” Anthony couldn’t believe he was hearing hois own words back to him.
He looked at Trevor, who was still smiling. He wanted to swing again.
“You know that’s what you said, Mag,” Togo grinned. He flexed bith arms upward.
“These beauties – TWICE – then half the team.” He glanced over his should. “How
many guys here, Trev?"
“Looks like half the fucking team to me, Togo."
Anthony’s face dropped. He looked around at his former teammates faces. One by
one, they caught on to Togo’s idea. One by one, their snarls turned to grins.
Anthony charged at Togo, but before he could tackle him completely, Kevin, Bones
and three other guys pounced him, smearing him into the lawn. In a moment his
shorts were yanked off and he was being dragged by his ankles to a dark back corner
of the yard. As they yanked his mighty legs open, and Togo kneeled in Mag’s crotch,
someone hollered over the shouts and laughter.
“Wait! Wait!” the voice shouted, half laughing. “Seriously – listen. My dad just
installed an automatic sprinkler. Drag him further into the woods, so we don’t fuck
up anything important.”
The group cheered and laughed, obliging the request. As they dragged the 230
pounds of Mag the Fag into the thicket behind the house, Anthony could hear the
gurgling of water from pipes buried deep within the lawn As always, the sound of
water was accompanied by a deep chuckling.