SEPTEMBER 10: 'LEVI'S MUSCLES' Chapter 6

 

18MstMastBsec

 

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Emery  • CHAPTER 3

by Sean Reid Scott

 

[NOTICE: This story contains vivid descriptions of homosexual encounters. There's lurid, kinky sex here. Homo sex. It's prolly straight out of HELL, if you're inclined to hold the religious perspective. Really, this story is not for those who button the collar tightly. If you can't stomach this kind of smut, skedaddle. Likewise if you're under 18.]

 

 

SATURDAY AT THE SOCCER FIELD was going to be heinous. I just knew it. I was nervous out of my head. Had we actually had that conversation at the bar last night?

I pulled the sheets down from my head and inspected my forearm. Yup. The welt was there. I rotated my head; Cheryl was still asleep next to me. Despite the efforts of the closed blinds, sunlight filtered around their edges, and through the closed slats, filling the room with light.

What the hell had I gotten myself into?

I sighed loudly, then hoped it hadn’t been too loud. Cheryl didn’t stir. The regret and fear that flooded me was short-lived. I was quickly overwhelmed with a sense of anticipation, lust, intrigue, and all-out excitement. I racked my brain to recount what had actually been said between Emery and me. I couldn’t recall everything, and some of the things I did remember I wondered if they might have been mere lusty exaggerations.

I’d need to tread somewhat lightly when I met up with Emery at this morning’s soccer game. Yeah. Suddenly my excitement was infused with trepidation again.

 

ONE THING I WAS SURE OF: Both of us went straight to our homes when we left the bar. There hadn’t been any follow-through action to our rather salacious conversation. I don’t know about Emery, but I was as horny as a seventeen-year-old at Lover’s Lane when I walked out of that bar, dragging with me the biggest, hardest, most throbbing boner ever. And even though it was way too late to do anything with Emery, I was filled with disappointment and unrequited lust for the man.

It had gotten late, and even though we were both quite in to the idea of experimenting, we realized that the lady-folk would be wondering where we were.

Well, Sherry would be. Cheryl was out cold when I got home, and like I’ve alluded, she sleeps like a rock. I could have crept in at 6:30 in the morning and she wouldn’t have noticed.

So at least I still had my gay virginity going for me. And that was a comfort as I drove the fam to the soccer field.

“How did your time with Emery go last night?” Cheryl asked from the passenger seat. She was busy filing her nails.

“Fine. Had a good time, actually,” I said.

“Were you out late?”

“Nah. I got home before midnight.”

She jerked her head toward me. “Midnight? That seems late to be out if you just had dinner with him.”

My body stiffened. “And drinks.”

She was trying to bore a hole though me with her gaze, but I ignored her stare. “Well, I hope you got enough sleep,” she said, returning to her nails.

Always something to say, Cheryl. Thanks.

“How about you and Sherry?” I asked, glad to figure out how to move the conversation elsewhere.

“It was nice,” Cheryl answered in her usual patronizing/disinterested tone. “She’s a nice person.”

Nice. Nice. Didn’t sound like Sherry was going to become Cheryl’s BFF any time soon though. My mind wandered back to Emery, sitting next to me at the bar. His wonderful smile and laugh. The connection we had. The nasty topics we had explored.

The anticipation and excitement of some possibly-subversive activity with the man of my dreams grew and grew. By the time we got to the soccer field and I saw Emery, in all his tight-fitting-clothes glory, any thoughts of earlier misgivings had evaporated totally. I was filled with animal lust, anticipation and titillation over the prospects. I’d never felt so alive. In all my illicit Internet explorations, and even those few trips to adult bookstores, I’d never felt this kind of exhilaration.

 

EMERY WAS ALL SOCCER-COACH-FACED and everything. Aside from a quick, reassuring wink, he acted like nothing untoward had been discussed the night before.

That wink was all I needed, though, to keep me dialed in. Of course we had to play it cool. It wasn’t like we could both just whip it out then and there, right on the field, and start sucking each other off. Heavens no. Heavens. No.

As a matter of fact, there were a few more winks that morning; most from Emery to me, but I made sure to reciprocate. I wanted him to know I was all good with everything.

Of course the man looked amazing. It should be against the law for a man to look that good whilst being so muscular, lean and proportionally perfect. Illegal, I tell you.

How I kept from ravishing him, I’ll never know. But I knew decorum would be paramount here. I could give no hint, to anyone about my feelings for—and attraction to—Emery. Cheryl, as was previously noted, probably already had suspicions about my proclivity toward men. And with Emery’s off-the-charts appeal, I knew she’d be more aware than usual.

“That was a nice game,” she said on the drive home, as she did her nails, again. Did her nails ever get done?

“Yeah. Pumpkin did great,” I smiled. I looked in the rear-view mirror and said to the cutie in the back seat, “Pumpkin, you were awesome!”

Her grin was adorable.

“You seem to be working well with Emery,” Cheryl dissolved the smile from my face. She definitely had a tone. Like, I’m not supposed to enjoy myself.

“Yeah, he’s a great guy.”

“And you were out so late with him last night.”

What the hell? I said nothing. I probably should have, but I didn’t want to sound defensive. You know.

“And I noticed that you two have a good connection on the field.”

Holy fuck. This woman is going to be my undoing. My anger over her obvious disapproval about anything that I enjoy was surpassed only by my fear that she was on to me. And Emery. I decided to try humor. “Oh yeah, Emery and I are thinking of moving up to MLS. I’m sure there are some teams that need coaches.”

Cheryl doesn’t really do sarcasm. She gave me her look, and said, “MLS?”

I wanted to say Masturbating Licentious Suck-partners, but I decided against it. I decided to give her a taste of her own judgmental negativity: “You have a daughter in a soccer league, and you don’t know what MLS is? Did you see any of the banners plastered all over the fences?”

She resumed her self-manicure. Entirely ignoring my attempt to jab her, she corralled the conversation back to her inquisition: “It just seems like you two were on the same wavelength. You must’ve really had a nice time on the town last night.”

I closed my eyes in two long blinks; if I hadn’t been driving I would have kept them closed and pinched the bridge of my nose. “What are you saying?” I asked.

She gave me a masterful swath of silence, then said, “Nothing.”

 

I REALLY WANTED TO CALL HER OUT—her way of always insinuating that my pleasure was not in anyone’s best interest—especially not her own, obviously. But of course, in a most unmistakable way, she was calling me out. If I were to pursue the conversation any further, it wouldn’t end well.

Of course I could feign that Emery and I were just good friends—that our connection was nothing more than a guy-to-guy bond. At worst, maybe a bromance. But while other wives might consider a bromance to be a healthy and innocent friendship, Cheryl would certainly not. As I had begun to conclude more with each passing day, she was compiling evidence against me. Whether she’d ever actually use it against me someday wasn’t actually the issue. The issue was what was going on in her mind. I didn’t want to feed her—admittedly well-founded—suspicions.

So, as I always do when she gets her cackles up, I dropped it.

Evidently Emery hadn’t been subjected to the same third-degree I’d undergone, because as soon as the garage door was closed and we walked into the kitchen, my phone rang—with his gorgeous face filling the screen. Me, I would have preferred to take a breather for awhile. Not that I didn’t want to spend phone time with him; it’s just that I definitely didn't want to fuel Cheryl’s fire any more. I silenced the phone and put it back in my pocket.

“Who was that calling?” she asked while she opened the fridge to get stuff for lunch.

I wanted to lie, but I knew she’d see through it; she’d possibly even try to search my phone, and that would only make her more suspicious of my relationship with Emery. Besides, something inside me really wanted to fight back. Where the hell does she get off always trying to control my every move? She’s a master at it. She is rarely overt about it. Most often she just jabs at me, making it clear that I should never find pleasure apart from her gloomy presence. So yeah, my cackles were up: “It was Emery. I’ll talk to him later.”

Her silence was deafening. She stood with one hand on the fridge door, looking inside as if she were searching its contents. But I knew better. She was searching her mind for something to say. Just the right amount of snark, disapproval, curiosity, and faux interest, with maybe a pinch of superiority, and a dash of judgement thrown in. Yeah, lunch was going to be delicious. “I wonder what he wanted,” she said. Then she turned to me and added, “We just got done seeing him.”

I have no idea how she does it: It isn’t what she says so much as how she says it—and what I know to be her intent.

With a genuine-looking smile I said, “I don’t know. I’ll call him later. Right now it’s family time, right?”

How could she argue with that? Oh, she could: “Well,” she turned back to look at the food, “I hope it’s nothing urgent.” She didn’t even have to disagree with me in order to stab me. Her fake concern was nauseating.

 

THE INNOCENT READER OF THIS STORY might be finding the protagonist [me] a bit negative right now. For that I apologize. I’m simply telling my story. Sure, I didn’t need any encouragement to move toward Emery’s impossibly wonderful person. But I can’t help but believe that my wife’s “wonderful” personality didn’t help much to keep me on the straight and narrow. Well, bad choice of idiom right there. You know what I mean. If anything were ever to happen to end our marriage, I honestly feel that my only regret would be that our breakup would hurt the kids. And right now, I am going to do everything in my power to keep that from happening.

Anyhoo… enough of Cheryl-whining. I’ll deal with it. I always do.

And one of my favorite techniques to deal with that kind of stress is what I like to call one-on-one time with Jason Jr. I needed some pleasure. So as soon as I could escape after lunch, I retreated to the solace of the locked bathroom upstairs. Before I could even get my zipper down, my phone rang again. Emery.

The lid on the toilet was down (Cheryl had trained me in so many ways), so I sat on top of it and accepted the call. God, Emery’s voice was like the balm of Gilead. (Yeah, I’m kinda churchy.) So resonant and confident.

“Whatcha doing?” he asked.

“Actually, I’m…” I debated what to tell him, and decided to go for it, “I’ve locked myself in the bathroom so I can relieve Jason Jr. He’s pretty uptight right now. Dealing with the usual marriage stuff; we both needed a break.” I was pleased at how quickly I’d steered us toward this topic.

Emery laughed. “That bad, huh?”

I grunted.

“Well, I guess our discussion last night was very apposite.”

Wow. He has big words. I smiled. “Got that right. If apposite means appropriate.

“It does,” the smile in his voice was intoxicating.

“So, what’s up with you?” I asked, hoping he’d get the obvious double entendre.

“Ha!” he laughed. “Pretty much the same thing as you, I suppose.”

My eyebrows shot up, and I figured he’d hear the smile in my voice: “So, it’s interesting that you’d think of me then.”

“Dude,” he chuckled. “I have you on speaker phone. Sherry’s right here!”

I felt the blood rush out of my face. “Fuck, man! You gotta be kidding me.”

I don’t think I’ve ever heard such a long and loud laugh. When he finally gained his composure he admitted to the joke.

“Man, I’m gonna kill you,” I said. My whole body was in a sweat.

He took a big recovery sigh and said. “Honestly, I just wanted to let you know that Sherry’s going to be leaving tomorrow morning for her sister’s place in Denver. She’ll probably be gone for a few days. Maybe even a week.”

“Really? Why?”

“Her sister is having an emergency hysterectomy. They think she ate something she was allergic to. Sherry’s taking Sunflower with her.”

Sounded legit to me. Whatever. I really don’t know what he said. ‘Cuz, like, he was going to be all alone in the house for the week, and he wanted to know if I could come over at some point.

Um, I’d have to check my calendar. Not. The logistics might be a bit tricky, but right now I was staring at some five to seven days-worth of opportunities to be alone with Emery, and we’d obviously want to, you know, explore how we might explore the things we discussed we might want to explore. 

“Wow,” I said, my head not quite accepting the message my heart and cock were sending it.

“So,” he pressed on, “I thought maybe we could get together and maybe have some beers, and just hang.”

 

I’M GLAD I’M IN SUCH GOOD SHAPE, because the next few days my heart beat off the charts. I certainly didn’t need to do any cardio. My only concern was that my resting heart rate was way too high.

As it turned out, Cheryl had a meeting with her ladies’ Complaining And Whining About Husbands (CAWAH) club on Tuesday night. (I think that’s what it was called.) So—and this was a very strange coincidence that I only found out on Monday morning at work—an unexpected “meeting” had come up for me; one that I absolutely could not miss.

“But I’m not going to miss my CAWAH meeting,” Cheryl protested. “You know it’s the first Tuesday of every month.” As if I had anything to do with this unexpected meeting coming up. At the last minute like it did. Who knew?

“I know, honey,” I purred sympathetically. “Maybe your mom could watch the kids.”

“She’s so busy lately, Jason. I hate to ask her again.”

Bullshit. My mother-in-law would cancel an audience with the Pope if given the opportunity to watch her grands. She absolutely adored them, and made it very clear that she’d drop anything, any time, to babysit. “I’ll call her if you like,” I helpfully suggested.

“No, that’s okay,” she sighed. “I’ll call her.” Such a sacrifice. We both knew she’d just use the opportunity to commiserate with her mom—about whatever.

 

SO YEAH, THERE I WAS, JUST MINDING my own business, careening down the highway of inevitability toward Emery’s place on Tuesday evening. On cloud nine. So stoked with excitement and lust that I could hardly stand it. Nerves too, of course. Outright horror, to be honest. Horror and terror. And more exhilaration and excitement than I could bear.

When I pulled up and parked on the street in front of Emery’s house, I paused to contemplate what was happening. Deep down, I knew that once I got out of the car and walked up to his house, it was all over. Hell, who was I fooling? I knew it was already over.

I knew exactly what I was doing there; Emery knew what we were going to do too.

I stuffed all the second thoughts I had into the back seat and opened the door. Maybe I’d just have a beer or two with the guy. Maybe we’d just talk about not getting anything from our wives. Maybe. Yeah, it was going to be all platonic and friendly, that’s all.

It’s funny, the things you can convince yourself of. I knew I wasn’t convinced of anything, yet I needed that surface story in my mind—the one of innocent intentions—in order to get inside his house.

 

OF COURSE, EMERY LOOKED STUNNING. Was it even possible for him to not? His tank top that evening exposed all of his muscular, masculine, magnificence. It just wasn’t fair that a man just wakes up in the morning looking that good.

“How you doing, bud?” he smiled as he gave me a one-arm hug.

“Good,” I said. I was nervous out of my mind, but just hearing—and seeing—Emery be all calm and collected helped.

The beer he handed me helped too. As did the second, and third one. We did go through three beers each, loosening up as we drank and talked. As I expected, we had our own little meeting of the men’s Complaining And Whining About Wives (CAWAW?) club.

But once we both got comfortable with the inevitable, Emery sat forward from his relaxed, stretched-out position on his couch and said, “Jason, I have been so horny since we went to that bar the other night. I don’t know about you, but I’ve been walking around with the biggest hard-on since then.”

“Really?” I sat forward too, in the lounger I’d taken. “Me too—totally. Not even jerking off has helped, really.”

Now he stood up. I did likewise.

Then, while we just stood there, he really surprised me. He stepped closer, leaned down to me, and kissed me! On the lips! Holy hell! I thought we were going to do some blow-job stuff, not actually kiss! I’m sure I stiffened up—my body, not my cock; that had been at full stiffness for quite a while. But Emery didn’t skip a beat. He put his hands on the outside of my shoulders and relaxed his mouth into mine. I melted; I felt like putty. I mean, kissing—that’s so totally different than sucking off someone. It’s about 100 times more intimate. Kissing, at least to me, says something about affection, not simply sexual fulfillment.

And so yeah, we were kissing.

Emery wrapped his powerful arms around me and pulled me closer. And still we kissed. “I’ve been wanting to do that since the first moment I saw you,” he whispered as we finally separated.

“Holy fuck,” was all I could get out. “That was… fan… that was…”

“Fantastic?” he smiled.

I nodded.

“Yeah, me too,” he said.

“Um… so I guess… um…”

“Yeah? Go ahead,” he encouraged.

“Well, I guess we’re doing more than just jerking off…”

He cocked his head with a curious frown.

“I mean, kissing like we just did, it’s pretty hard to make the argument that it’s just a couple of straight guys tryin’ to get some satisfaction apart from their lame wives,” I said. 

He immediately smiled: “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

I said nothing.

“But you know what? Too much talking; not enough having fun.” He returned his lips to mine.

In another minute we were lifting shirts overhead, then tugging on each other’s short pants. We were soon both entirely naked, kissing, in the middle of his family room, clothes lying on the carpet next to us. Our bodies were totally together. His erection pointed skyward, right next to my own totally hard cock. It was very big. At least as big as my hungry organ, if not longer and thicker.

I ran my hungry hands all over his muscled back and shoulders. He did the same with me, but he also let his palms slip down onto my ass too. Of course I returned the gesture. God his body was so tight! Lean and bulging with muscles. I was dizzy with the feel of him. All my life I’d fantasized about something like this, and now the reality of it was blowing away all the fantasies. How could I actually be here? Doing this? With this muscle stud?

Emery’s tongue continued to make itself at home inside my mouth; he gave an occasional groan as he kissed me. As our warm, hard bodies pressed against each other I seriously wondered how long it would be before I just up and started ejaculating—even without any cock-manipulation.

For sure, at the first touch of my cock, I knew I’d explode. I’d certainly never make it to the actual blow-job activity we’d been planning. No way could I last.

My palms trembled as I held Emery’s lats, then slid them over the mountainous bulges of his back, upward to his traps. God, those delts were astounding balls of hardness. I’d read enough gay erotica to know all of the clichés that are used to describe a man’s muscles. But this being my first time with a man, I gave myself permission to use any cliché I wanted in my mind. So yeah: cannonball delts. His arms were as big as many men’s legs. Washboard abs. All that kind of stuff. Funny thing was, with Emery, those clichés were absolutely true. The man had the potential to totally ruin the English language. It was a useless endeavor to try to use actual words to describe him. Inadequate. Language was just inadequate.

I came out of my literary stupor to realize that my lips were now buried in Emery’s pubes. Suddenly the past few seconds came to light: I had kissed my way down his body. Starting with his pecs, suckling on his big, round, pouting nipples, then licking and kissing my way down that washboard of his, and lower, until right now, where I was inhaling the musky, manly scent of the most intimate, personal part of his body: the forest of pubic hair just above his genitals.

This was the most erotic thing I’d ever done. Muscle Worship had always been my ultimate fantasy, and even though Emery wasn’t flexing and posing for me while I felt him out, I was definitely enjoying his muscular body.

My mouth opened, and I stuck out my tongue and began tracing up the length of his thick shaft. I wet the whole throbbing cock. Then I took one of his balls into my mouth and gently sucked on it. Then the other. Then I licked up his shaft again and placed my lips on the helmet. I sucked and kissed it for a second, then opened my mouth to receive him.

He moaned, and put his hands on my head—gently—not to force me to do anything, but to encourage me that this was exactly what he wanted.

Lucky for him, this is exactly what I wanted too.

“Oh Jason…” he groaned as I moved down on him. When I started to give him some rhythm—up and down—he got even more verbal.

He must have had just as short a fuse as I did, because it only took a few seconds of my mouth on his cock before he started emptying into my throat. I didn’t know whether I could swallow or not, so I thought I’d at least give it a try. No time like the present to find out, right?

At this point, while his semen began to fill my mouth, my own cock realized it was its time too. Without being touched, I started to ejaculate. While Emery blasted into me, I shot onto his carpeting, right between his legs.

To my surprise, swallowing semen was actually pretty cool. It was like I was permanently taking part of Emery inside me. Well, yeah: that’s exactly what I was doing! And it felt—and tasted—so good.

We both moaned while we came together. I glanced up briefly while I continued to suck him off, and the vision I got was overwhelming. Here was this Herculean Adonis, all huge and rippling with muscles, and I was sucking on his cock! And he was loving it!

When we were both done, I slowly rose. As soon as my face was in range, Emery smashed our lips together again, embracing me with his big arms.

“Jason, holy fuck…” he whispered between kisses. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever done—with anyone.”

Really? Wow! I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to say the same thing. Because it was totally true. But I didn’t want to be all gushy and stuff. My mouth overrode my brain though: “I agree,” I said, “the hottest thing I’ve ever done. With anyone.”

He smiled those bright white teeth at me, and I felt my knees want to give out. He held me up. “Dude, I could totally go again. How late can you stay?” he grinned.

 

HE AND I WERE LYING ON HIS BED a few minutes later, resting and just talking. It felt so good, so natural, to be there in his arms. I had absolutely no regrets, no trepidation.

He turned his face to me and said, “What kind of sex fantasies have you had?”

I thought that was a funny question, and I said so.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said, “I guess I have some kinky fantasies; wondered if you did.”

“I’m sure my fantasies are kinda weird too, I guess. Dunno if it’s something I want to reveal.”

“Yeah, I get that,” he said. After a minute of silence he said, “Well, I’ll just come out and say it. Sometimes I fantasize about a guy watching me do a posing routine, and, you know, touching me while I flex, and then coming, just from my muscles.”

I had come only five or ten minutes earlier, but when he said those words, I felt my cock jump and immediately start to get hard again. “Holy hell,” I said. “That’s so hot. I have to admit to having some muscle worship fantasies of my own.” I looked him in the eyes and added, “Really? You’d get off on having a guy do that? Watch you flex while he gets off?”

“Fuck yeah,” he smiled. “It’s why I spend so much time in the gym, I guess. I mean, yeah.” He took a moment then asked, “Have you really wanted to do a muscle worship session?”

“Totally,” I said seriously. “But tell me this: have you ever done that with another dude? Let him worship while you flexed?”

“Nope. I’ve wanted to though. But I guess, being married and stuff… kinda scary hooking up. I’ve only been with guys a couple of times.”

“God, the minute I saw you I got hard, Emery,” I said. “I’ve fantasized so many times about your body… couldn’t even tell you how often.”

He grinned. “Really? Sounds like a match made in heaven, then.”

“Yeah.”

He pushed himself off the bed. “I’ll be right back,” he said. He stopped at his chest of drawers and pulled out what looked like posing trunks, then he slipped into his bathroom, his erection bobbing as he walked, pulling his pocket door closed.

It must have been almost five minutes later when I got impatient. He wasn’t making any noise in there, so I called out, “You okay in there?”

I heard him chuckle. “Yeah. I’m just trying to get this hard thing to settle down so I can stuff it in my posers. I’ll be out in a sec.”

Holy fuck. This was going to be beyond hot. He was trying to stuff himself into posers so he could come out and flex for me! I realized my hand was on my cock, so I took it away. I had to wedge both hands under my ass cheeks in order to be a good boy and not start masturbating right there.

Finally, his pocket door slowly slid open. Emery had a sheepish look on his face, but it quickly resolved into a confident smile. “So, do you want to see me do some poses?” He asked it with an inflection that came across as innocuous and non-suggestive. Just like we were simply two guys who are interested in bodybuilding competition. That’s all.

“Sure,” I said, trying to keep in “character” with the straight-ish vibe he was trying to establish.

But my cock, under the sheets, was in no mood to pretend whatsoever. It bobbed and throbbed with painful, tight motions, all timed to the rapid beating of my heart.

Holy hell. I’d already had concurrent orgasms with this brawny Adonis, yet now it seemed so… different. Muscle Worship. Emery, all blond and gorgeous, had the perfect body. Better than perfect. Bigger and more defined than the best-built guys I’ve ever jerked off to. His rich-red posing trunks were full with an obviously uncooperative cock. God he was so beautiful I had to blink, and re-blink to make sure what I was seeing was real. It just wasn’t fair that one man could possess such enormous, good-looking muscles and be so drop-dead gorgeous.

My stomach ached with desire.

Emery walked his muscle-bound body up the side of the bed and stopped next to me. He glanced at the log at my crotch, bobbing up and down under the sheet. “Is that thing all hard again… just for me?”

I nodded, trying to keep my smiled subdued. Apparently the straight-ish thing wasn’t going to play out for very long.

He looked back at my face and then his entire body tensed. He slid effortlessly into a most-muscular pose, and his skin seemed to evaporate into thin air, leaving only muscles exposed. Everything on the man bulged.

I literally gasped.

Emery’s face grew serious as his whole body flexed and tensed. He’d been smiling—and even though he still was, kinda—now his face showed the effort of his flexing. I couldn’t tell if his brighty-whities were simply grinning all over hell, or if he was really straining. God, he was gorgeous.

He relaxed out of the most-muscular and transitioned into a double biceps. And I gotta tell ya, I almost came, then and there. Holy fucking Mother of Martha! The way he posed was masterful! He’d made the transition by slowly regarding one arm, then the other, as if he was inspecting them to make sure they were ready to flex. And godhelpme, they were! He had this amazing way of raising them, tilting them forward a bit, so that once they were up, he lifted his fists up and backward, making his lats explode while his biceps peaks hardened. I’d never seen anyone do it like that! The “V” shape of his torso, all adorned with those huge pecs, astounding intercostals & obliques, and those twin rows of abdominal muscularity… it was mind-boggling.

But as hard as it was to not take my eyes off that fat-free torso, when his biceps presented themselves there was nothing else I could look at! Twin peaks that bested anything I’d ever seen—in person or online—grew into two baseballs mounted on bowling balls! The split in his biceps was—like everything else on him—a testament to his preposterously minuscule fat level. The guy was the definition of lean. And that just made his muscles jump out all the more.

Then, he looked at one flexed upper arm, and then the other, and wham! He made them bulge even higher and harder! I whimpered, and he glanced at me with his shit-eating grin, knowing he was gonna make me come any second, just by flexing his muscles.

“Fuuuuuck,” I bleated. Somehow my right hand had snuck out from under my ass and it was now resting on top of the sheet, over my boner.

Emery lost his smile and gave a little frown. “Hold off there, buddy,” he said. “Don’t do anything quite yet, dude. You haven’t seen—or touched—anything yet.”

I obediently bucked my torso up and secured my hand under my butt once again. Emery nodded and smiled.

His side chest pose was insane. The striated lines that fanned out from his sternum onto his protruding pectorals was certifiably nuts. When he turned around and flexed his back for me, in a couple of various poses, I just groaned. His back looked like the craters of the moon. Lumps and mounds of muscles rolled and waved right at me. And his arms looked even bigger from behind, if that were possible!

But it was when he turned around and faced me again, and started showing off his legs that, once again, brought me right to the edge. The sheet that covered my bouncing boner had a big, wet dark spot where my pre-cum was flowing.

Emery fanned one hand over one of his quads, and wobbled his leg back and forth a few times. Holy, fucking, shiiiiiit! His legs were gigantic! I hesitate to say this, but they were almost too big! I mean, don’t get me wrong, but fuck, they were enormous! I hesitate to mention it, because in no way was Emery out of proportion in any way whatsoever. So, don’t let that idea creep into your consciousness at all. He was beyond flawless. There’s nothing like gargantuan, muscled legs to show the sheer power and brute strength of a man, and Emery’s legs made me want to explode.

And he hadn’t even stopped rocking them yet! Then, though, he tightened his quad suddenly, and BAM! As if molten lava had instantly—I mean instantly—hardened into solid rock.

OhMyGod it was amazing! The muscles pulled taut, his skin totally evaporated, and from out of nowhere, canyons and valleys of definition appeared between mountain ranges and mounds of bulging, striated quadriceps muscle.

“Dude, you have to stoppppp,” I muttered. “Gonna come….” I was literally panting now.

Emery’s penchant for torturing came out right then. Instead of backing off, he just switched to flexing his other leg—right in front of my eyes. I’m telling you, it was within arm’s reach.

“Come on, bud,” he said. “Where’s your self-control? You haven’t even touched anything yet.” His smile was dizzying. He flexed, and re-flexed that leg, then said, “You wanna feel?”

I gave a small nod, but I knew that I just couldn’t. If my hand came in contact with any part of Emery’s flexing, hard body, the wet spot on the sheet would quickly turn into a milky glob of milky, oozing semen—an involuntary offering of appreciation and worship of my very own, private, god of muscle. “N—no,” I squeaked, in opposition to my nod. “I can’t.”

“Dude,” he smiled, still keeping his leg flexed and tight, “you’re gonna have to hunker down at some point. What’s the point of muscle worship if you can’t touch?” He took his own hand and slowly ran some fingers down his quad, feeling the canyons between his protruding muscles.

“But… shit. I don’t want to come yet.”

He chuckled. “Fuck, man, you have it bad.” He relaxed and stepped back. Then, without saying anything more—and I’ll never forget this as long as I live—he actually lifted a leg and stepped up onto the bed! As soon as he was standing over me—straddling me—he went back to posing and flexing. I literally thought I might faint. Biceps, abs, legs: everything. His feet were right beside my hips, and as he posed he slid them higher so that they nudged just inside my biceps. This meant he was now standing right above my head. My point of view was looking straight up. Unless he leaned his head forward, I couldn’t even see his face because his chest stuck out so goddamn far!

I think I might have seen stars.

He continued to flex—slowly and erotically—taunting me with his perfect body. His feet nudged my arms, encouraging me on. “G-ahead,” he said with a smile. “You know you want to.”

At that point, I didn’t care what the hell happened with my cock. If I came, I came… nothing mattered. Somehow I remember that my hands were on his tight, mammoth quads and hams. I do not remember how they actually got there. But they were there now, and the heat of Emery’s hard muscles was the first thing that struck me like a two-by-four. His muscles were so wonderfully warm! Fuuuuuuck. The second thing that struck me was that they were so impossibly hard! OhMyGod!

The third thing that struck me was how hard my cock was blasting under the sheet. Yup, for the second time in my life (the first having been only some twenty minutes earlier), I was actually coming without ever having touched myself. I’d thought that only happened in smutty muscle worship stories, but no: I was ejaculating warm, white bursts of cum while my hands were nowhere near my cock. Where they were, though, was on Emery’s muscular-beyond-belief legs. So, you know, that made total sense.

I let out a couple of grunts when it started, then some out-and-out groans—loud ones. Somewhere in all the orgasmic bliss I think I yelled out, very loud, Emery’s name.

My hands moved—trembled—over Emery’s quadriceps and hamstrings. God, so much massive real estate to feel. He tightened and relaxed them for me, giving my fingers and palms the most erotic ride of their lives. My entire body convulsed uncontrollably.

About halfway through my orgasm I brought my hands to the front of Emery’s legs and pushed them up under the straps of his red posers. His shaft was as hard as it could be; it had been sticking up to one side, barely covered at all. Now, though, I took it, while I still jerked, and as I pulled his posers down with one hand, I began stroking it with my other one. Soon, both of my hands were quickly jerking him off. And he kept flexing.

I lost sight of his head; it fell back and all I could see was his magnificent muscular torso, all bulging and ripped: Pecs, abs, legs, and right there in both hands, as I finished up my orgasm, was Emery’s prodigious cock, ready to explode. I heard his moans signal that he was nearing the edge, so I squeezed tighter and stroked faster. Moments later, his yells gave a millisecond warning before his hard, thick, long organ began spraying the room with his semen.

“Fuuuuuuuuck!” he hollered. His entire body was tight. My forearms rested against his quads while I stroked him, and myGOD his legs were warm, massive, and striated! His abs shrink-wrapped into insanely-defined mounds. His pecs cantilevered forward, two giant sentries keeping watch on the goings-on below. As I lay between his legs, looking up at all that masculine muscle, I finished my own involuntary orgasm, then held Emery’s cock tightly. My hands enjoyed the pulsing contortions of his penis as it continued its mission to produce as much cum as possible. When all was said and done, I was drenched (face and upper torso), his sheets were drenched, his headboard was splattered with his milk, and even the wall behind his headboard had a few streams of semen dribbling down.

As soon as he was done, he reached down and tore his trunks from his legs, ripping them apart, tossing them on the floor beside the bed. Then he knelt down, and eased right onto me. Our painfully-hard schlongs pressed against each other. He supported his weight with his arms. I ran my hands all over his muscly back. He nestled his face into my neck and kissed it.

 

AND THAT’S HOW MY EXPERIENCE with Emery started. I like to refer to the next few months the “Summer of Emery.” Muscle heaven.

 


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© 2018 Sean Reid Scott

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