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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. Additionally, please note that this is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters herein to any person, living or past, is unintentional, coincidental and totally not what the author had in mind.]


This story is also available as a PDF document. Actually, I think it's easier to read as a PDF.
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MSCL Force

Maximum-Strength Covert Logistics — An ultra-elite unit of the US Marines,

focusing on strength and endurance (among other things, most of which are Top Secret).

MSCL Men are huge and lean hyper-bodybuilders, with unmatched strength. 




 Christmas on Mt. Hood








HE NEXT DAY WAS BOXING DAY. But before I get into that, I imagine that the curious reader is wondering what happened to those posers I’d given to Jett.

Well the next morning, Jett was first out of bed, and he made a beeline for the bathroom. As soon as the shower started I jumped out of bed and lifted his covers to see if the posers were there.


What there was though, was pretty amazing. The dude had spewed quite a bit of semen on his sheets. You had to look for it, but it was there. I was guessing that Jett had used my posers to wipe his semen from the sheets. Couldn’t be sure, but that was my guess for now. Whatever had been there had either been wiped away or had dried.

The immediate question was: Should I wrap a towel around my waist for when Jett comes out of the bathroom? Or throw on some boxers maybe? Sure, I’d shown him Little Luke and the Bookends last night, so maybe I should just stay naked during the bathroom transfer. Yet, if I covered my genitals, maybe it’d drive him even more nuts.

What to do….

The water turned off; I hastily pulled Jett’s covers back up, trying to remember how he’d left them. I could hear him drying off, then brushing his teeth and stuff. When he opened the door and came out, I was in bed (“still” in bed, right?), rolling over to get up. He had wrapped his towel around his waist; he headed straight for his suitcase. My posers were clenched tightly in his right hand. He was trying to hide that fact from me, but I saw a tiny bit of the royal blue fabric sticking out from his grip.

I threw my covers off and made toward my bag on the floor (I hadn’t put anything on). I put the bag on the bed and, facing away from Jett, I retrieved my shaving kit. I could feel his eyes on my back. But just to confirm, I tilted my head down and to my right, looking over my right shoulder.

Yep. He was looking.

He quickly turned his face back to his bag, but not quickly enough to hide his embarrassment at being caught. I kept looking at him, and the back of his neck reddened.

I slipped my naked muscle body into the bathroom. I wouldn’t find out what his plans for my posers were, until later.



OUR FAMILY BOXING DAY TRADITION started years ago. Although the holiday has origins in the UK, our family decided to make it our own—even though our observation has nothing to do with its original, British intent. We celebrate Boxing Day quite uniquely.

Our Boxing Day tradition began back when I was a pretty little kid, so I don’t remember much about it then. Apparently, though, the first idea was to have an actual boxing tournament in the basement, but Gamma but the kibosh on that right away. So, the family leaders took a page from Festivus, and began the annual “Feats of Strength.” Now, I know what you’re going to say: What kind of contest would that be, with Luke involved? Well, yeah. But remember: this tradition started back in the late ‘90s, when I was just a little kid. 

In the years since I joined MSCL Force, the thing kind of morphed into an evening of Luke Showing Off, I guess. But truthfully, that got old pretty quick. And besides, I actually can’t show off too much, because if I give away my MSCL Force secret capabilities—my true strength—I’d have to…as the saying goes…kill ‘em. And I decided early on that I did not want to kill off my family. 

Anymore, I sit out most of the contests. Yeah, I do a few “Feats of Strength”…my fans demand it. :) But I usually step aside and let the younger bucks have some fun too (yeah, I know. I’m only 25). Like Jett. And Connor.

So here it was, Boxing Day 2019. After dinner, we all gathered downstairs, in the rec room. The anticipation was palpable. The crowd was restless. Well, you get the idea. Before the festivities began, as had become something of a tradition whenever the family gathered like this, the little kids pulled me out into the middle of the room and climbed all over my body while I played captured. I did the usual “benching” of the youngsters, and “monster” stuff. It was always a fun time.

Dad assumed his Master of Ceremonies duties and called the competition to order with an Opening Declaration regarding the traditional “Feats of Strength.” 

Once we had all stood for the family song, Dad announced: “Okay. The first event is Pushups!” The crowd erupted. Popcorn was spilt as the audience applauded with enthusiasm. I was going to sit this one out. My brother Race goaded Connor and Jett to join him; they tried to get me in on it too, but I told them I’d join ‘em for a later contest. They finally got another of my nephews, Filbert, to join in as well. Fil was a high-schooler; he did cross country. Lithe and fit, he might just do well in this. But still, I was going to back Jett. Connor was studly, and very well-built, but his mass might actually play against him. Was tough to know.

Dad briefly went over the rules. Competitors could pause whenever they wanted, but they’d be disqualified if their knees ever touched the ground. Each person would have two minutes to do as many pushups as they could. They would go one at a time. First up was Filbert. He started a bit too fast, I thought. Should’ve measured his pace better. At the one-minute mark he paused—his arms straight—and then began again. He collapsed at about the 1.5 minute mark, so his 23 pushups were negated. It was a great effort though, and he got a hearty round of applause.

Race was next. He was in pretty good shape, but…you know…like 30 years old. Over-the-hill, haha. Anyway, he pumped out a respectable 40 pushups, with very good form.

Next up was Connor. I think the perception was, since he was the most muscular of the four, Connor was the one to beat. That assessment might well have been the correct one. He certainly worked triceps and pecs, so….

Unlike the first two competitors—who did their pushups in their regular shirts—Connor stepped to the center of the room and lifted his sweatshirt off, exposing some of his muscles. He wore a blue tank top. The kid was a muscle stud for sure. Wide, round shoulders, bulging arms, thick pecs and yeah…you could see his abs under the thin tank top. His “disrobing” garnered an enthusiastic round of applause. (Whispy was obviously taken with him.)

Connor started out with a conservative pace—just right, in my opinion. He definitely knew what he was doing. Consistent and steady, he got to 29 at the one-minute mark. He paused for a few seconds at 1:15. His breathing was heavy. His straight arms bulged with his pumped-up triceps. It was hot to watch. I glanced at Jett, and my nephew seemed impressed with what he was seeing. At 1:40 Connor paused again. He’d racked up 47 pushups at that point. Seems he was going to fulfill our expectations. From that point on, he slowed considerably. Still, he ended up with 55 total. When he stood up to acknowledge the cheering throng, his body was sweaty, and pretty damn hot. Whispy ran and gave him a big hug, not caring about her boyfriend’s perspiration.

Jett looked…well, I’ll call it…concerned…when he took center stage. Yet, he also looked determined. Like Connor, he took off his outer-shirt, revealing a T-shirt that hugged his well-muscled torso. Maybe Connor didn’t have this thing locked up after all. Sure, Jett was smaller than Connor, but his arms and chest had obviously undergone many hours of heavy-weight workouts. But would that allow him to prevail?

He also received vigorous support from the family. They cheered him on loudly as he bent down and assumed the position. Damn, he had a nice ass. His early pace was a bit quicker than Connor’s had been, but he was steady and strong. He was certainly giving Connor a run for his money. He paused a few times, but he was on pace to equal Connor’s record—if not surpass it, if he could hang on. With about fifteen seconds to go, he paused, sticking that fine ass of his up into the air. He was breathing heavily; his big arms trembled. He resumed. He only needed six more to beat Connor’s 55. The family counted his reps: “48…49…50…” I could tell he’d reached the end. With a Herculean, loud, screaming effort, he pushed out one last rep, shakily holding himself up until the timer expired the time.

“Fifty-one pushups for Jett!” Dad announced with his circus crier voice. Everyone cheered for Jett. But they started calling out “Connor! Connor! Connor!” when Dad announced the winner. 

Pretty impressive numbers for sure. But us Tanners had good genetics, and we were all very much into health and fitness. Apparently Connor was too.

Earlier in the day, Gamma had gathered the little cousins at the kitchen table, where they’d all made winner’s certificates and ribbons for the contests. Connor was presented with a homemade blue ribbon and a winner’s certificate, “Suitable for framing.” It said so, right on the certificate.

Jett had his head on straight (if not, perhaps, his libido); he congratulated Connor with a hug and a back-slap. 

When Connor made his way to sit down next to Whispy, I congratulated him as well. “Impressive,” I said over the throng of cheering people.

“Thanks,” he smiled. “And thanks for not being in the contest.”

I grinned. I’d never say it out loud, but…yeah…he wouldn’t have had a chance. Not bragging; it’s just…you know. Fact. “Oh, don’t worry, bud. We’ll be having a little competition in just a minute. Chin-ups, remember?”

Between contests, the “entertainment committee” had come up with a few performances by family members. That way, competitors had the chance to cool down and recover if they desired to participate in the next event.

Connor won the sit-up competition as well, with 50—to Jett’s 48.

Then the crowd started getting restless. Happens every year. 

“Luke! Luke! Luke!” they chanted. I feigned modesty, but everyone in the room—including myself—knew it was inevitable that I’d join in for at least one contest. Jett said he wanted to sit this one out; he was pooped. But the cheering fans would have none of it. “Jett! Jett! Jett!” So, after an extended intermission and entertainment by Renaé (she does some pretty hilarious stand-up), the three of us were ready.

The final competition would be chin-ups. A few years ago, Papa had a pull-up bar installed in the rec room—precisely for this annual competition. He’d made sure that both ends of the bar were fastened to load-bearing posts, which was a good thing. I always won; well, I always won any of the competitions I was in. But even though the outcome was never in question, everyone enjoyed watching me.

Truth be told, I never worked to my full potential during these contests. There’s a fine line between entertaining people and making people scratch their heads, wondering how the hell it was possible that I could do that. Us MSCL Forcers had been instructed to keep a relatively low profile, as far as our physical abilities went. Of course, our physiques would demand attention from people, but we were never to demonstrate our true strength or stamina because people would be incredulous, and media attention would inevitably follow, yadda yadda yadda. So I couldn’t really show ‘em everything. Yet, even so, my “audience”, wherever that may be, was pretty awestruck. If they only knew….

It was decided that—in the interest of entertainment and suspense—I’d go last. Race decided to get in on this one, so there would be four competitors. Since Race was pretty lean, I guess he thought he might have a good chance since his body weight was relatively low, compared to the more muscled Connor and Jett—and me. 

It was also decided that while the first three guys would do chin-ups—with palms facing them—I would have to do pull-ups—with my palms facing away. And not only that, I’d have to do wide-grip pull-ups, and do them with my head in front of the bar: substantially more difficult than standard chin-ups.

Oh—and there was one additional rule: This competition had to be done shirtless. Yeah, we all knew who they had in mind when they came up with that. But I figured, what the heck. I suppose some of ‘em really looked forward to examining what I had going on, muscle-wise, so I didn’t have a problem with it. I figured this was the only time most of the family got to see. Again, I’m definitely not bragging; I’m not stuck on myself. I just understand the facts. Actually we’re all taught all about dealing with public reaction to our bodies; it’s a requirement. There are actual classes the members of our unit have to go through. We have to know what to say, and how to deal with the attention.

The contest would be to see how many chin-ups—or in my case, pull-ups—each man could do in three minutes. But if you dropped to the floor before that, you were done; you wouldn’t be disqualified, but you couldn’t add anymore to your number.

First up was Connor. He stepped to the bar and with a bit of showmanship, slowly lifted his T-shirt up and off. The crowd cheered loudly. The guy definitely spent some serious time in the gym. And he had some significant definition going on as well. Nice mounds of abdominals. Narrow waist. Intercostals and obliques that were amazing. Wouldn’t surprise me if Connor had done some bodybuilding shows.

He lifted his big arms and grabbed the bar above him with his palms toward his face. He started with a strong, consistent pace. The crowd was impressed. I was too. The guy looked so virile and strong. I glanced at Whispy; her face glowed with approval; I suppose there was a bit of lust in her eyes too. No doubt the two of them would have an “enthusiastic” time tonight after bedtime.

Connor didn’t slow down until about one minute in. Till then, he’d been a powerhouse of rippling, steady muscle. And as is often the case with good-looking, muscular dudes, he looked even hotter and more impressive when he started to struggle. The last fifteen seconds of his effort were frickin’ hot. His entire body vibrated and trembled with the strain of his exertion. His muscular body was wet with sweat.

The family chanted, “Connor! Connor!” he worked it hard, all the way to the end. I actually wondered if he thought he might be able to beat me. I suppose it wouldn’t be a stretch to imagine that with my muscles, there’d be way too much ballast for me to actually pump out enough reps to win. Common mistake. 

Just before he dropped to the floor, he squeezed out rep number 20. There was still a good one-and-a-half minutes on the clock. The crowd erupted. He stood there, bent over, with his hands on his knees, glistening with delicious perspiration, breathing heavily. “Connor! Connor! Connor!” everyone cheered. He raised up, waved to his fans, blew Whispy a kiss, and stood to the side.

“Twenty chin-ups!” Dad announced. “That’s going to be hard to beat!” Never mind that I’d done many more than that every year. But still, Connor’s was a record for a non-Luke kind of person.

Next up was Race. His bare upper-body was definitely one of a runner. And if he thought that his lack of muscle weight would work to his advantage, he was mistaken. In the end, after less than a minute, he dropped to the floor with only 12 on the board. Nevertheless, we all shouted, “Race! Race! Race!” in appreciation for his efforts.

When Jett’s turn came, it must have occurred to the family that he might have had a chance—a non-Luke chance—to rack up more than his aunt’s boyfriend, Connor. Everyone cheered, louder than ever, when Jett took off his shirt. He really was well-built. Lighter than Connor, for sure, but incredibly well-muscled. This was going to be interesting.

Jett grasped the bar and the clock started. When he got to 10, we all started counting his reps out loud. His pace was quick, but not clumsily so. He was very consistent; He was being smart in how he was approaching this. I’d definitely gotten the impression that—at least as far as Jett was concerned—there was a bit of a rivalry between him and Connor. I don’t think Connor saw Jett as a threat; Connor was borderline cocky. But I suppose he had been forced to tone down that attitude around me. I thought it was cute. Regardless though, I think Jett saw Connor as a rival for sure. Yeah, Connor was older, and he obviously had more experience as a bodybuilder, but Jett had his goals. And I got the distinct impression that Jett believed he’d surpass Connor’s physique at some point in time—if Whispy and Connor were still together so Connor would be hanging around us.

At 15 chin-ups Jett took a break, just hanging from the bar while he regrouped. He needed only six more to best Jett’s number. Everyone was cheering him on. He looked up at the bar and resumed. “Sixteen…seventeen…eighteen!” the crowd started going wild. After his eighteenth rep he paused, but not as long as before. He knew he had to eke out just a few more and he decided to go for it. 

When he shakily lifted up the twentieth time, the crowd went nuts. Good thing the cabin was out in the woods. It was loud. Without pausing, Jett began his twenty-first rep. He made it about halfway up and got stuck. His face contorted. The family was yelling. Connor watched from the sidelines, still and silent. Finally, with his entire body trembling, his muscles quaking, Jett let out a loud, percussive growl. His body started moving upward, past his sticking point. His biceps were big and pumped. He slowly—excruciatingly slowly—moved up. He lifted his chin to bring it above the bar. He squirmed. He sweat. He panted. His big arms tightened and his face finally moved above the bar.

“Twenty-one!” everyone yelled.

Jett dropped to the floor. All the way down to his knees; curled in a fetal position.

Gamma and Renaé looked concerned, but Jett was fine. His body rose and fell with his heavy breaths.

“Jett! Jett! Jett! Jett!” everyone screamed. Even Connor was applauding and cheering. Maybe he wasn’t such a jerk after all.

Jett eventually got up and made his way to the side—to cheers and pats on his sweaty back. 

It was then that the chanting turned to, “Luke! Luke!” So yeah, it was my turn. Funny thing though, when I made my way to the bar and prepared to dis-robe my upper body, Connor—having been shirtless ever since he did his chin-ups—fumbled with his T-shirt and put it back on. He certainly had nothing to be ashamed of, but I understood anyway. Jett kept his shirt off; he was still cooling off.

I tried to tone down the showmanship aspect of taking off my shirt, but my family was rabidly proud of their MSCL Force Marine. It was fun. It was pretty inspiring, to be honest, to have the support of my extended family. They really respected my work and service, and it showed. And at no time did it show more obviously than when I exposed my muscles to them. And even though I did make an effort to tone the “reveal” down, I guess I did like to make it fun for them. 

“Luke! Luke! Luke!”

I started pulling the bottom of my T-shirt up, revealing my obliques and the lower portion of my eight-pack. I looked down at what was being uncovered, then up to the cheering group of relatives. I teased them for a second, looking back down at my lower torso. (Okay, I guess you could argue that I was in no way toning down this reveal.)

I glanced at Connor. He was fidgeting. I think he was glad he’d put his shirt back on. This wasn’t going to be good for his self image. Jett held his shirt at his stomach, and I swear he was actually wringing it with anticipation.

When I got the bottom of my shirt to my chest, I had to struggle with it. I’d worn this T-shirt on purpose. Always a battle to get it up and off. It makes for a good show, I guess. I pulled and tugged and forced and shimmied it up. When I finally got it over my head everyone cheered with the accomplishment. It had taken some effort. But when I let it languidly drop to the floor at my side and just stood there, everyone went silent. And please remember, I’m not relating all of this just to impress. It’s just how it happened, okay? Let a guy have some fun, okay?

I refrained from rolling my pecs—that would have been over the top for sure. But I did take in a few deep breaths, making my chest expand. I tightened my abs and let things take their course for a few seconds.

“Holy shit,” someone said.

Gamma immediately snapped her head toward whomever had uttered the offensive words.

“Oh, Noreen,” Papa said, patting her leg, “Relax. You do have to admit your grandson is pretty impressive.”

She pursed her lips and huffed.

“Impressive?!” Roger said, “The man is fucking astounding!”

Everyone laughed—except Gamma. She shot daggers at Roger.

Roger demurred and mouthed, “sorry” to his grandmother, but I’m not sure the silent apology mitigated her wrath.

I suppose, in the last year I had made some substantial gains in my development. So even though most of the family had seen me last Christmas, the year had seen me gain over 25 pounds—all of it muscle, none of it fat. So it was understandable that even the ones who’d seen me a year ago were a bit flummoxed.

“Luke,” Race said, “how do you maintain all of that mass, but look so much better than the best pro bodybuilder out there? I mean, you’re amazingly symmetrical and proportional!”

MSCLForce19 1212 BHe did have a point. There’s gonna be some increase in physical measurements—except for waist measurements—with that kind of additional muscle. Yet my C.O. had told me that I was actually nearing the expected measurement maximums for my body. But he said I could expect to continue to add some 25 pounds per year of super-dense muscle to my body—even though my actual measurements would slow their growth rate. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t nearly done growing bigger muscles; it was just that in future years my weight gains in muscle would start to exceed the growth of their size. That was fine with me. It was already pretty difficult to walk the streets with this kind of physique. I was content with simply adding more muscle density—and consequently more strength—as I continued in the MSCL Force program.

I answered Race’s question with my old standby: “I’d tell you…”

Everyone chimed in with, “but…he’d have to kill you.”

I smiled and winked at Race while everyone laughed.

“But holy heck, Luke,” you’re just unbelievable, son!” Dad said. He scratched his head and said, “I just don’t understand….”

“Thanks, Dad,” I said. I calmly stood there and let everyone look for a moment more, then decided it was time to get to work. I shook out my arms—to the sound of a few more hushed expletives. Then I looked up at the bar and slowly lifted my arms. With my palms facing away, I grabbed the bar with a wider-than-shoulder-width grip.

As soon as I got the okay from the timer person, I pulled myself up in a smooth motion. I bent my head forward and touched the bar with my trapezius muscles on my shoulders, then, at the same speed as I’d moved up, I lowered myself down—all the way, so that my arms were totally straight. Every rep would be this slow and meticulous. Well, slow for me anyway.

Sighs and a few more nasty words greeted the completion of that first rep.

I moved with a constant speed, keeping everything uniform. My pace was good—enthusiastic, yet not rushed at all. Slow and steady wins the race, right?

When I got to 21, beating Connor’s number, I locked on to his eyes and grinned. Someone was going to get pinned to the bed and get tickled. He seemed a bit unsettled at the prospect, but not too unsettled. Eventually he actually smiled back at my grin.

I’m not going to tell you how many wide-grip pull-ups I could have actually done in three minutes; let’s just say I did way fewer than I could have. And let’s just say I could have done that “way more” number with both Connor and Jett hanging on my torso, if there were a way to get them to hang on. One in front, one on my back would have worked. But yeah…my C.O. would have been pissed at me.

This is where those classes came in—the ones where we’re trained to keep things toned down regarding how strong we really are. I kept it toned down. But I did continue till the end of the three minutes. Did I make like I was straining at the end? Yeah, just a bit. Nothing like a bunch of big, struggling muscles to get people all worked up, right? Did I need to strain and struggle at the end? Ha.

“Thirty-eight! Thirty-nine! Forty!”

I figured 40 felt right. About twice as many as the competition—never mind that wide-grip, behind-the-neck pull-ups were more difficult than what the other guys had done.

I dropped down and stood erect, accepting the screaming adulation of my family. I breathed heavier than necessary, but I had to keep up the illusion, you know? (On base, my PR for wide-grips in three minutes was over 100—with hundreds of pounds of plates hanging between my legs. But that’s just between you and me. Don’t make me come and kill you.)

I made sure to expand my chest with every deliberate breath. As I recall, I wasn’t even actually sweating. But whatcha gonna do?

I looked at Jett. His T-shirt was now in front of his crotch; he was still wringing it, with his muscled forearms, biceps, and especially triceps bulging all over. His expression showed a combination of disbelief, surprise, admiration, and well…yeah…lust, I suppose. There was some embarrassment in there too, and from that I surmised he might be leaving the room pretty quickly. Might need to do some cleaning up down there.

Once the cheering died down, there were calls for an encore. But I declined. First rule of showmanship: “Keep ‘em wanting more.”

I did, however, keep my shirt off for a few minutes while the little kids came up to me and asked to cop a feel of my biceps. I knelt down and let them have at it. The adults didn’t ask to feel, but they did snap a few pictures with their phones while they indulged their incredulity. I’d be plastered all over their Facebook feeds for the next few days. Was used to it. I’d laugh it off online, and make up some comments about the pictures being Photoshopped or something. Fortunately, I’d made sure to keep my antics within MSCL Force regs.

I glanced over at Connor. He came up to me and congratulated me. “I guess I’ll never have to challenge you again,” he said with a smile.


He shifted his weight between each foot.

“Well, we’ll have to schedule that session I just won, huh? Not tonight,” I said. I cocked my head toward my sister, Whispy, who was talking with Gamma. “I’d be willing to bet my sister has a fun romp planned when you two get up to your room tonight.”

He smiled. “I’m hoping so.”

“Well, maybe tomorrow some time then.”

He nodded and a that point Whispy joined us and glommed onto Connor’s arm. Her eyes twinkled.





“Luke! Luke! Luke!”

He started pulling the bottom of his T-shirt up, revealing his obliques and the lower portion of his eight-pack. He looked down at what was being uncovered, as if to tease us about what he was going to show us, then he looked back up to the cheering group of relatives. He teased us for a second, looking back down at his lower torso. The man definitely had a dramatic flair.

And just OhMyGawwwwd. Even with that shirt on, the man was staggeringly buff. His broad shoulders and narrow waist…well, I could go on and on. My heart was pounding out of my chest in anticipation of what he was going to show us. All those muscles, ripped and insanely defined. Just fuck.

He glanced at Connor, who was fidgeting. I think he was glad he’d put his shirt back on. This wasn’t going to be good for his self image. Me—I held my shirt at my waist. I was tempted to put it on, like Connor had; no one needs to be comparing me to Luke, that’s for sure. But I hadn’t yet cooled off. And besides, I figured (rightly so) that no one would be looking at me as long as Luke was shirtless.

When he got the bottom of his shirt up to his chest, he had to struggle with it. He pulled and tugged and forced and shimmied it up. When he finally got it over his head, everyone cheered with the accomplishment. It had taken some effort. But when he let it languidly drop to the floor at his side and just stood there, everyone went silent.

He stood there, still, waiting for the gasps to die down. He took in a few deep breaths, making his chest expand. Holy fucking shit. How could he make his chest ever bigger like that?! He tightened his abs and I don’t think there was a closed mouth in the house. 

“Holy shit,” someone said.

Gamma immediately snapped her head toward whomever had uttered the offensive words.

“Oh, Noreen,” Papa said patting her leg, “Relax. You do have to admit your grandson is pretty impressive.”

She pursed her lips and frowned.

“Impressive?!” Roger said, “The man is fucking astounding!”

Everyone laughed—except Gamma. She shot daggers at Roger.

Roger demurred and mouthed, “sorry” to his grandmother, but I’m not sure the silent apology mitigated her wrath.

Sometime during the week, Luke had told me he was gaining about 25 pounds—all muscle—per year. So it was understandable that even the ones who’d seen him a year ago were a bit flummoxed.

“Luke,” Uncle Race said, “how do you maintain all of that mass, but look so much better than the best pro bodybuilder out there? I mean, you’re amazingly symmetrical and proportional!”

Luke answered Race’s question with his old standby: “I’d tell you…”

Everyone chimed in with, “but…he’d have to kill you.”

He smiled and winked at Race while everyone laughed. Damn, that was hot. Luke winking at you. Where do I sign up for that?

“But holy heck, Luke,” you’re just unbelievable, son!” Grandpa Royce (Luke’s dad) said. “I just don’t understand….”

“Thanks, Dad,” Luke said. He calmly stood there and let everyone look for a moment more, then it was time to get to work. He shook out his arms—to the sound of a few more hushed expletives. I swear I will never get over those arms. And that cephalic vein that runs down his biceps. That alone was going to make me cum. Then he looked up at the bar and slowly lifted his enormous, rippling arms. With his palms facing away, he grabbed the bar with a wider-than-shoulder-width grip.

As soon as he got the okay from one of my cousins who was running the timer, he pulled himself up in a smooth motion. Such fucking power. He bent his head forward and touched the bar with his trapezius muscles on his shoulders, then, at the same speed as he’d moved up, he lowered himself down—all the way, so that his arms were totally straight. I knew every rep would be this meticulous.

Sighs and a few more nasty words greeted the completion of that first rep.

The thing about all of this was…was I could tell he wasn’t exerting much effort at all. Even when he finished, he wasn’t sweaty. I got the impression that he was feigning the struggles at the end. I totally believe he was a lot stronger than he let on.

His pace was good—steady and strong, not rushed at all.

When he got to 21, beating Connor’s number, I noticed that the locked on to Connor’s eyes and grinned. Someone was going to get pinned to the bed and get tickled. Connor seemed a bit unsettled at the prospect, but not too unsettled. Eventually he actually smiled back at Luke. Was he looking forward to it?

Like I said, I truly believe he could have done a lot more pull-ups than he did.

“Thirty-eight! Thirty-nine! Forty!”

He’d done about twice as many as the competition—never mind that wide-grip, behind-the-neck pull-ups were more difficult than what the other guys had done.

He dropped down and stood erect, accepting the screaming adulation of the family. His chest rose and fell with his breaths. 

He looked at me. Suddenly, I was mortified. At that moment he stared deep into my eyes and rolled the muscles of his body. 

I came. Right there, in my pants. I’d never come spontaneously like that. It was as if he was looking into my very soul and commanding me to ejaculate at his muscles. I couldn’t believe what was happening. He rolled his pecs very slowly, and then tightened—then relaxed—all of his exposed muscles. To torture me.

I held my shirt at my waist, and hoped to dear God that I wasn’t showing any signs of the hard ejaculating I was doing in my pants. I made every effort to not jerk while my underwear became drenched with my semen. I was horrified. There I was, right here in front of God and my entire family, having an orgasm at Uncle Luke’s muscles.

Once the cheering died down, there were calls for an encore. But Luke declined.

He did, however, keep his shirt off for a few minutes while the little kids came up to him and asked to cop a feel of his biceps. He knelt down and let them have at it. And if that wasn’t over-the-top hot!





I left Whispy and Connor to their own devices and made my exit for the evening. It seemed though, that Jett had left pretty quickly. Like I said, not surprising, given what I suspected had happened in his pants while he watched me do my pull-ups. I made my way upstairs to our room.

Notwithstanding Jett’s Christmas Eve orgasm (in the darkness, under his bed covers), as well as his orgasm under the covers last night, I had come to seriously suspect that Jett had also taken to jerking off in the shower—sometimes twice a day. They certainly were long showers. And during one of them I noticed that the door to the bathroom hadn’t latched. I know I shouldn’t have, but I took advantage of the opportunity and stood at the door, using one eye to peer toward the shower. Sure enough, there he had been, fapping away. Reminded me of Christmas Eve. 

Of course, it wasn’t like he was moaning my name while he did it, but there had been other signs (the aforementioned two times he jerked off in bed after seeing my muscles) that his proclivities were heavily slanted toward big, rippling muscle. Kind of like mine, if you know what I mean.  :)

So anyway, when I arrived at our shared room, the shower was running. Jett had dumped his clothes on his bed and had apparently made a bee-line for the bathroom. 

I couldn’t help myself; I bent down and pulled his clothes apart. And there it was. Incontrovertible evidence. And this evidence was not contained in Jett’s own underwear, no. There, still inside the pants Jett had been wearing that evening, was a cum-drenched set of posing trunks. My posing trunks. The ones from last night! He’d worn them—probably all day. Oh Hell Yeah. He wore my posers, just to keep me close. Fuck that was hot. I lifted my posers up and spread them open. It was filled with huge globs of semen: thick, milky, abundant, and practically screaming my name.

I dipped my finger into his jizz and smelled it. Damn. As soon as the scent of his essence hit me, I started getting hard. Really hard. Fuck, the kid smelled like nothing I’d ever inhaled. All I wanted to do was to inhale him more. And maybe taste him. I pushed my finger into my mouth and pulled it out slowly, making sure to get every drop. Goddamn. My cock bulged with surging, hardening blood. This was going to get serious really fast. At that moment I realized there was only one way this evening would…um…climax.

I still had my shirt off from the escapades downstairs. I pulled off my pants, now fully naked, and watched my boner grow. I scooped up more of Jett’s cum from my posers and started slathering my shaft with it. Fuck. Yeah, there was going to be only one possible outcome for the next few moments.

I pulled as much of his semen off my trunks as I could, and lubed up my cock really good. It glistened with Jett’s muscle-worship offering. I was totally erect now. I knew I needed to get into the bathroom quickly, or I’d come too soon.

He hadn’t locked the door—not that we usually did, but it seemed to me another indication that he’d been in a hurry to clean himself off. I closed it behind me with an audible click. Didn’t want to startle him when I stepped inside. 

He immediately turned around—well, his face anyway—and looked at me. The steam in the room and droplets on the glass shower weren’t enough to really hide us from each other. Damn, he had a nice body. Just damn. And since I could see him, I knew he could see me—in all my nakedness. He didn’t move; I approached. He looked down at my erection and almost turned white, despite the warm water pouring over his muscular body. I stopped at the glass door separating us and gave myself a long, slow stroke with his lubricating jizz.

“Mind if I join you?”

He couldn’t take his eyes off my 12—almost 13—inch totally-stiff cock.

I slowly pulled the glass door open and smiled. He stepped back while I stepped inside. His eyes were like cue-balls.

It was fortunate that Papa and Gamma had built all the cabin suites with oversized showers; it would’ve been pretty crowded otherwise.

“Turn back around,” I said to him, “and I’ll wash your back.”

He warily obeyed.

I lathered my hand with the bar of soap and started to languidly run my big hands over his youthful, rippling back.

“Um…oh…fuhh…oh, Lu—“ he stood perfectly still while I rubbed his back.

“This okay, bud?”

He didn’t respond.

“I hope I’m not being too forward, Jett, but well, I found my posers on your bed.”

He didn’t react.

“And they were pretty wet. And well, I took the liberty of scooping up your jizz—from the crotch. I just couldn’t help but rub it all over my cock. To be honest, your cum got me really hard pretty fast.”

He made some kind of whimpering sound. 

wreath“So anyway, I figured I better get in here…before I spontaneously came—like you did when you watched me downstairs.”

“How…how did you?”

“How did I know?” I chuckled and kneaded his thick shoulders. “I guess when you’re a guy like me—who likes guys—you just know what to look for. And then, when I confirmed it, in my posers…. Did you wear them all day?”

“Ohhhh,” he moaned. “I…yes…I guess I did.”

“Just to keep me close? Damn, that’s hot, dude.”

“Ohhhhnnnnn,” he moaned. “Luke…I don’t…don’t know what to sa….”

“Don’t say anything, dude. I think this is a time for few words. And, lots of touching. Would you like to touch my muscles, Jett? All of ‘em?” I moved my soapy hands down his back and felt his bare ass. Fuck. He was the very definition of gorgeous. I pulled his ass cheeks apart and made a brief pass at his sphincter.

He moaned again.

I played with his ass a few moments, then moved my hands up his back again. As I did so, I placed my thick, foot-long between his now-soapy cheeks and did a little surfing. The head of my engorged shaft stuck up in the air; most of my shaft was nestled in his ass crack. I pushed it up and down. Slowly.

“Holy fuuuuuuh,” he groaned.

I lathered all around his upper body, wrapping my hands around him and rubbing them over his pecs, arms and abs. Lower, I found his hard—very hard—cock jutting up from his thick forest of pubic hair.

“Oh…fuck…Uncle Luke….”

I gave him a slow stroke and pulled his back against my chest and abs.

“I…I can’t believe….”

I gave him a few more slow strokes, then moved him away, grabbing his shoulders and turning him around to face me. He looked up at me—he was some five or six inches shorter—with longing, pleading eyes.

“I can’t…believe this is happening,” he said.

I smiled softly, leaned forward and kissed his forehead. Then his cheeks. Then his neck. He moaned enthusiastically. Our shafts crossed—like two knights sharpening their swords. I pulled him into me—wrapping my arms around his torso—and kissed his lips. He kissed back, groaning into my mouth while we thrust our tongues into the others’ mouth. I held him close; he put his arms on my back and started feeling out the distended, separate muscle mounds of my back.

We kissed under the warm cascading water for who knows how many minutes. When we came up for air, he said once again, “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Do you want me to stop? ‘Cuz I could go back into the bedroom until you’re done in here,” I smiled down.

He responded by standing on his tiptoes and ravaging my mouth with his lips and tongue again. Damn, this kid could be passionate! His tongue was all the way inside my mouth. I tried to keep from grinning. …which wasn’t actually hard to do because his enthusiasm for me sent a shockwave of passion through my body. I quickly responded with renewed eagerness of my own. Soapy hands moved over muscles; cock shafts rubbed against each other.

My hand moved to his ass again and I pushed the tip of my middle finger inside his hole. He moaned his approval. I worked and kneaded his sphincter for awhile, knowing that if we were going to consummate our passion in the way I wanted, he’d need to be prepared. Even then, I knew it would be a challenge for him to accept my size. But that would be later. For now, we were just playing and exploring.

And did he explore. After we hugged and ran our hands over each others’ soapy back sides, he pulled his upper torso back a bit and placed his hands on my abdominals. He traced each valley between the blocks of muscle, maneuvering his hands around my erection. Eventually he slipped his hands onto my chest. His reaction was immediate: He gasped. “Oh my god,” he said. “I’ve wanted to feel your chest since I first saw you this week.” His soapy hands lathered my pecs for a minute. He twisted my hard nipples. He moved his fingers into my deep cleavage. And then, his eyes went half-staff. His jaw clenched hard—I could see his cheeks dimple with the effort.

With a violent jerk, Jett blasted my torso with his semen. His hardened cock shot onto my abs and the underside of my overhanging pecs. Then he shot higher, onto the upper part of my chest. His thick jizz dribbled into my cleavage. He held onto my pecs with his palms, moaning with closed eyes while he emptied his seed onto me. I kissed him, and he returned the kiss. And he kept coming. And all of this without any stroking at all—at least not within the past few minutes. When he was done, he fell against me and we wrapped our arms around each other. I held him close; the side of his face rested against my chest.

We exited the shower shortly thereafter; I wanted him to take his time in exploring my body, and the bed seemed like the place to do that. We each dried off, and by the time we slipped into my bed he was totally hard again. I hadn’t gotten soft.

In bed, we kissed and explored each other for a long, long time. We giggled. Mostly, though, Jett kept running his hand (sometimes both of them) over my muscles, my shaft and my balls. I promised that I wouldn’t tell his mom that he couldn’t stop cussing while he explored my genitals. Yet his expletives were nearly just as enthusiastic when his hands were feeling out my muscles.

It must be said that my enjoyment of Jett couldn’t have been any less than his of me. The kid pushed all of my buttons. Just kissing and cuddling with him, I had to pull back a few times. I could have easily come just by lying next to his muscular, barely-out-of-teens body.

He came again when I gave him just two or three gentle strokes. I think that was the third time he’d come that evening—including when he’d jizzed himself downstairs. 

Eventually, I ended up on top of him; he lay on his back and I covered him with giant clam-shell lats. I rested my forearms outside his upper arms while I dry-surfed my giant cock against his abs, rubbing alongside his own prodigious member. His jizz lubed my cock—again.

“Jett, god I want to fuck you so bad,” I whispered into his ear.

“I want you to, too.”

“But…can you take it in?” I nibbled his ear lobe, waiting for his answer.

He moved his hand onto it, between our bodies. “I don’t know for sure. But damn, Luke. I will die trying if that’s what it takes.”

I chuckled.

“I mean, what a way to go, right?”

“I don’t want to kill you, Jett. That would kind of defeat the whole purpose. I want to be with you, and not just tonight.”

“Oh fuck, Uncle Luke,” he sighed. “You have no idea how much I wanted to hear you say that.”

“Maybe we should lose the ‘Uncle’, huh? At least, while we’re having sex?” I chuckled.

“No fucking way Uncle Luke. I love that you’re my uncle. It’s not only a term of endearment, it reminds me that you’re someone to be respected. And fuck if I don’t respect you, Uncle Luke.”

“Hmmm,” I sighed. “Well, we’ll talk about it later. I’m not sold on the idea. It sounds incestuous.”

“I think that’s only for het sex. If you’re not going to make babies, what does it matter?” He smiled up at me and my back curved as I involuntarily responded by sliding my huge foot-long against his abs, pushing it hard into him.

“Mmmmmm,” he smiled. “Oh fuck I can’t believe you are on top of me like this. I can’t guarantee I won’t come again, man. I don’t know what’s gotten into me, but ever since I first saw you this week…well, I get renewed so quick….”

“I have no problem with you coming again. It’ll just mean more lube for me,” I grinned. We kissed again as I enveloped his smaller body under mine. He moved his hands over my glutes, moaning and just enjoying himself. “But to be honest, I gotta just get inside you, Jett. I can’t hold back any longer.”

“Mmmmmm,” he groaned. “Go for it, Luke.”

I pulled my ass up and he lifted his legs. I had to push myself up onto my hands so I could aim my dripping pole at his sphincter. It didn’t take long before we were situated.

“You let me know if I need to stop, okay?” I said, looking into his deep eyes.

“Okay,” he said breathily.

I applied a little pressure; I studied his face. 

He didn’t react negatively at all. 

I pushed more, forcing my helmet to widen his opening. 

He barely winced.

I pushed more. 

His sphincter gave me substantial resistance. I got the definite impression he was getting more uncomfortable.

I paused. “You okay?”

“Never better,” he said. He’d started breathing hard, and it was now borderline panting.

I pressed on. My helmet pried him apart more. It—my head—was about halfway in now. I started to doubt whether he could take it. Many men couldn’t. But absent any objection from him, I pushed harder.

He yipped and winced. Were his eyes starting to water?

“You okay?”

“Yes. Definitely,” he panted. “Just give me a sec.”

I nodded. Now that everything was in the proper place, I moved down and forward again, pressing my upper torso against his, keeping my cock head in its current position. I nuzzled my face into his neck and pushed again.

He let out a groan. “Ohhhh…” He breathed heavily. “It’s okay. Don’t stop now. Keep going Uncle Luke. I want to feel you inside me. I want all of you inside me.”

I obliged. As i felt his sphincter pull itself around the lip of my helmet, he cried out and slammed his fists to his side. He gripped the sheets in his hands and threw his head to the left, then the right. The pain was obviously pretty bad.

“Oh, fuck,” I said. Damn, it felt like—now that I’d opened him and gotten my cock head inside—he was actually pulling me in farther. It would have taken a team of horses to get me to stop now. I was glad he kept pulling me inside. He grabbed my shoulders, then moved his hands onto my back, pulling me down against him even more.

“Keep going. Fuck. Fuck. Me. Luke.”

I pressed inside. His ass was so fuckin’ tight.

“More, Luke. Don’t stop! Fuck you’re so big. Fuck, fuck this hurts. So. Good. Don’t stop.”

I couldn’t have if I wanted. And I definitely didn’t want to. Slowly, I moved my veiny, thick, long shaft into his cave. I could feel his rectum wrap tightly around me; the veins of my cock were pronounced and firm, and I could feel every one of them push in farther and farther.

Finally my pubes were firmly against his ass. Not many men were able to take me in all the way like this. I pressed, and held myself there, not moving. I was kissing his neck, and I had to break away for fear of giving him a hickie. I whispered into his ear, “Are you okay?”

He was panting furiously. “Yes. Yes. Fuck me Uncle Luke.”

I waited a second or two, holding myself firmly still inside him. Then I gently began to rock. Inside him. Just millimeters out; then millimeters back in. This had to be the best sex I’d ever had. I rocked a little more, pulling and pushing more of my length…out, then in. And then more. Soon, I’d established a healthy rhythm. I was gentle and deliberate; definitely not hard and fast.

Before I could actually work up to my normal rhythm, I felt Jett tense. The muscles all over his body tightened. It was happening again. His warm liquid began to fill the void between our torsos, wetting both our abs with shot after powerful shot of his milky semen.

“Oh, Luke…fuuuuuuuck!” he moaned. It was actually more of a yell, and I had to work hard to not “shush” him. I doubt someone down the hall could have heard him, but someone just on the other side of the wall might have. Likely someone standing in the hall on the other side of our door.

He came and came on himself, under me, and his jizz sloshed on both of us.

I hadn’t pulled back on my rhythm, and when I actually pulled most of the way out and shoved back into his rectum, well…that was it for me. It had only taken minimal effort. My muscles solidified into stone; I groaned almost as loudly has Jett had; I pushed inside and held it there. My cock opened like one of those industrial lawn sprinklers, clicking out blast after blast of cum into Jett’s ass. “Fuuuuuuuck…fuck, fuck….” My big arms tightened around his arms and shoulders.

And still he was coming.

I think he was dry-coming by the time all was said and done. I mean, it had been four times in just an hour or so for him.

When I squirted my last, I collapsed onto him. I knew I’d have to support a bit of my weight with my forearms, but he was sturdy enough to survive the onslaught of my weight. I kissed his neck while he kissed mine.

We actually began to drift in and out of sleep in this position, but eventually, regardless of how sturdy he was, he needed some relief from my mass. We rolled onto our sides and I didn’t pull out of him. I kept pretty stiff for quite awhile. In fact, we did end up falling asleep with me hard inside him. It wasn’t until the dark hours in the middle of the night that we woke, and I was still inside him. He moaned a bit as we re-situated. I’d come down from full erection, and I popped out at that point. We snuggled into each other without any words and fell back to sleep.



Final part coming soon! 





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©© 2019, Sean Reid Scott

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