OWEN AND THE PROFESSOR • CHAPTER TWO: PUMPING THE PRIME
by Sean Reid Scott
NOTICE TO READERS: The characters in this story are played by professional, fictional actors and are not intended to represent, mirror, or allude to any real people. Any similarities with actual people are unintentional, inadvisable, inadmissable, and unbelievable. This story contains vivid descriptions of homosexual encounters. It encludes SEX ACTS BETWEEN MEN, and is thus intended for ADULTS ONLY. 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.
ROFESSOR REED SPED UP HIGHWAY ONE toward his beachfront house on the far side of Malibu. Nestled at the end of a dead-end road, it was a mid-century—meticulously preserved with its original 1950s furnishings. His parents had willed it to him. Worth many millions, the home was way beyond his salary as a tenured professor at Pepperdine University.
Indeed, Max Reed had never needed to work. His inheritance was more than enough to sustain him. If he’d wanted, he could have lived a lavish lifestyle of travel. But his second love (his first being muscle) was teaching, so he’d pursued that line. (Never mind the fact that he was so old-school in his teaching methods that many—if not most—of his students found his classes more boring than watching paint dry.) Now, as a senior biology professor at Pepperdine, he enjoyed his teaching responsibilities, even if his students didn’t. Mostly, he taught just so he could ogle the young muscle bucks that passed through his classes. Admittedly, most pre-med students didn’t have the time to hone their bodies to Max’s fantastical muscle specifications. Nevertheless, it was surprising how many young studs did have muscular bodies.
Anyway, this very afternoon, his lifelong fantasy was about to come true: a close encounter of the best kind, with the biggest, best-looking, most-developed, leanest, pro-bodybuilding-caliber-man he’d ever seen: Owen Matthews.
Even as he drove toward home, Max’s shaft in his pants was as hard as it had ever been, having quickly recovered from the hasty masturbatory session in his office’s private washroom some 20 minutes before. The anticipation threatened to undo him. Owen was not only the most well-muscled man he’d ever seen, the kid was adorable: Cute to a fault with his innocent enthusiasm. His smile and laugh were knee-weakening. Even fully clothed, his leanness was obvious: His jaw was tightly wrapped, and his forearms were crisscrossed with vascularity. Owen’s eagerness to show off his Herculean body was intoxicating. The thought of spending an afternoon alone with this walking orgasm was overwhelming.
While his garage door closed behind him, Max scurried into his kitchen. He did a quick walk-through of the house to make sure it was ready for his guest. Of course, it was. Max was nothing if not punctilious—especially when it came to maintaining his personal space. Everything—from the period knickknacks on the mantle to the turquoise countertops in the kitchen—was clean, dusted and spotless. He opened the curtains; sunlight from the beach poured in. He admired his collection of cobalt-blue glass cat figurines perched in one window. Quickly though, he moved to his vintage hifi, lifted the lid, and put on an LP of something soft and saxaphony. Although he enjoyed classical the most, there was something about soft, mellow jazz that seemed to fit with his home. He scanned the living room. It was impeccably furnished with mid-century pieces—many of which were original; his go-to period was always 1950s and 60s.
Anxious to the point of nearly hyperventilating, he continued through the house, into his bedroom where he slid open his full-length mirrored closet doors to choose what to wear. It must be casual, yet in keeping with his dignified charm. Perhaps his smoking jacket. No… it was late spring; too warm for a jacket. A housecoat would be comfortable. But too casual. He finally decided on a short-sleeved button-down shirt. Casual, but not too. Max Reed never wore collarless T-shirts in public. Nor at home actually. Night clothes consisted of white tank tops (people called them “wife-beaters” nowadays—a term Max eschewed for its vulgarity) and boxers. He actually didn’t own any Ts. A tie-less sport shirt and his usual casual slacks would do fine.
He stopped in his master bathroom to splash himself in his favorite cologne. Then, emerging from his bedroom, he made his way back to the living room, to the wet bar, and made himself a martini. Yes, it was early in the afternoon, but this was a very special afternoon.
Then, in the kitchen he made himself a tuna sandwich on white-white bread, and spooned out a large dollop of potato salad onto his plate, sprinkling it with paprika. He filled a color-flecked kitchen glass full of tap water, then sat at his chrome and plastic dinette, nervously eating (more like picking at) his lunch. Afterward, he dutifully washed his plate, glass and spoon, and put them away. He carried his half-drunk martini to his living room and sat down to take in the beautiful ocean view.
Not that he paid the view much attention. His mind was whirring with the anticipation of Owen’s arrival. He watched the starburst in-wall-mounted 50’s clock more than he watched the ocean. It was only 2 o’clock. The next hour would be pure torture.
ACTUALLY, THE HOUR PASSED QUITE enjoyably, thanks to the wet bar. He was normally a temperate drinker—excess was a vice he vehemently rejected (save concerning his muscle lusts)—and even today he exercised as much self discipline as he could, in order to maintain at least a semblance of sobriety. But Owen. Owen made sobriety hard. Owen made everything hard actually.
The sound of a rumbling car engine brought Max off his couch, to the dining room window that looked out over the white-rock garden beds of his front yard. He peered through the sheer curtains. Pulling to a stop on the street was a 1956 Chevy, chromed-out and in mint condition. Owen’s car perfectly matched Dr. Reed’s house. Amazing.
Owen emerged from the car, and Max gasped as he stared. OhMyGod. The hunk never failed to drive the professor crazy. The kid hadn’t changed from his earlier garb of that wonderful dark-gray T-shirt and those form-fitting jeans—the ones filled with the biggest legs imaginable.
Max pulled away from the window, tugged down on his shirt, tried to adjust his bow tie—until he realized he wasn’t wearing one—slurped some courage from his glass, and covered the few steps to the entryway. He waited.
When the doorbell rang, he forced himself to wait even longer. Mustn’t appear too eager. He cleared his throat and walked over the slate entry floor and grabbed the doorknob. He pulled the door open.
Owen filled the doorway. No surprise there, but still… the sheer size and gorgeousness of the man’s build was always astounding, always nerve-racking, always unsettling, and borderline oppressive to Max. If it weren’t for the kid’s youthful verve, the intimidation factor would be off the scale.
“Heya prof!” Owen grinned. He looked up and around the entryway and back to the front yard. “Damn, you have a cool place here! Holy hell! How in the world do you afford a place like this?!” He got quieter and apologized. “Sorry. That was a rude question. It’s just that I didn’t expect a college professor—I mean… I didn’t expect your place to be so awesome!” An enthusiastic smile returned to his beautiful, dimpled face. “And beach-front too! Heck, doc, this is amazing!”
“Please, come in,” Max smiled, stepping back. He purposely ignored Owen’s comment about his wealth but thanked him for the compliment nonetheless. “I’m glad you like the place.”
The kid’s childlike awe and appreciation for Max’s house was amplified as he examined the living room—and especially the pool and the beach-front view. “GodDayumn doc! This is amazing!” He turned to the professor with big eyes. “I don’t believe it! Your place must be worth a fortune!”
Max’s heart swelled. He was, indeed, very proud of his place. And he rarely had visitors. So seeing Owen’s reaction and genuine appreciation was very gratifying. Still, he downplayed his fortune. Mystique, you know…. “Thank you. I’m glad you like it. It’s actually my childhood home.”
“Hooooooly shit,” Owen cooed as he looked around the modernesque living room.
“Would you care for something to drink?” Max asked, motioning toward the wet bar. Yes, offering a minor booze was not normally something he’d ever consider. Prudence, you know…. But again, this was a singular afternoon, and Owen’s visit was a singular event. A little bending of the rules (okay, law) wouldn’t hurt, would it? Besides, Owen was just a year or two shy of 21 anyway.
“Aw, doc, thanks. But I dunno.” Owen eyed the bar.
Max ignored the objection and circled the end of the bar. “I won’t tell if you don’t,” he smiled up at the tower of muscle. Was his strategy too obvious? Did Owen register that Max just wanted to loosen him up with booze? Not that Owen seemed to need loosening up. But whatever…. Nervously, afraid his methodology would be called out, Max refilled his own martini glass, awaiting a reply.
“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to have you implicated for contributing to the delinquency of a minor, doc,” Owen grinned.
“Somehow, son, I doubt it’s going to be a problem.” Max gave Owen’s body an overt eye-fuck scan, up and down. “I imagine, with your size you’re quite able to hold your liquor.”
Owen grinned more. Max suspected the kid was an experienced drinker. No college kid wasn’t, right? And with Owen’s personalty (and body) he just had to love going to parties and having a good time, right?
“Well,” Owen took a step toward the bar. “I guess a little Jack Daniels wouldn’t hurt.”
Max chuckled: “Ah, a whiskey boy. That’s admirable.” He pulled a glass from under the bar and filled it with golden nectar.
Owen received the glass. “Thanks.” He took two swallows. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down his thick, muscular neck while Max watched, entranced. “Ahhhhhh…” Owen sighed. “Nice and smooth.” Again he glanced around the room. Spotting the desk-sized hifi that was playing, he walked to it. “Holy shit! I’ve never seen one of these. This music is coming from here? From a real-live record? Vinyl?”
“Lift the lid, son.”
Owen did. “Golly. It’s like you live in a museum or something.” He turned abruptly and apologized. “Sorry. I don’t mean anything by that. It’s just that I really like your place. It’s really cool.”
“Thank you, Owen. I’m glad you like it,” Max repeated once again.
Owen walked to the wall of windows that looked out over the aquamarine blue pool, and down to the beach below. The cement surrounding the pool was very bright and white. A few chaise lounges were adorned with pillows and cushions, all in bright, primary colors. “Damn. I could live here,” he said.
Would that you would, Max thought. What would that take? I do have a full basement with a small kitchen. Maybe I should consider a renter…. Thoughts of having Owen move in downstairs stirred his imagination.
“I got some buddies in the dorm—and down at the gym—who would kill to see this place,” Owen said. He turned to Max and asked, “Do you ever throw parties?” Before Max could form an answer, the muscle-teen blurted, “Sorry. I’m sorry. That was rude of me to ask. It’s just that your place is so amazing. I could really see some kind of retro party here. Girls wearing those old-style bikinis… you know, the ones that they wore back in the 50s… and me and my gym buddies… we would be all muscle-city walkin’ around, playin’ volleyball and shit in the pool…. Oh, sorry. I keep cussin’. My Gammy keeps telling me she’ll wash my mouth out with soap if I didn’t stop that habit.” He blushed and took another generous sip of his drink.
Owen was downright cute. If it weren’t for his oversized physique and crazy-mad muscle definition, he would be the quintessential kid whose enthusiasm for life was a sign of immaturity and juvenescence. But all those immense muscles…. No, it was no kid who stood in Max’s retro living room.
“Not to worry, son,” Max smiled up at him. “As I mentioned in my office, I’m not easily offended.” That wasn’t exactly true. Had the boy’s unrefined slang come from anyone else, Max would have winced. But Owen… Owen could vomit a string of vulgarities and profanity, and it would only somehow enhance the young man’s allure. Funny how that was. He circled back to what Owen had mentioned a moment prior: “As a matter of fact, I don’t entertain nearly as much as I probably should.” Actually, it was never. “It might be nice to have you and some of your friends over sometime. I’ll have to consider it,” he smiled. He tried to twinkle his eyes at his overly-muscled visitor.
Owen’s eyes grew. “That’d be awesome!”
A lull in the conversation followed. Just before the silence got too uncomfortable, Max piped up: “So… here we are. You didn’t have any problem finding the place, apparently.”
“Nope. Came right to it! Although when I got here, I thought maybe the GPS was crazy. Who knew my favorite prof had a place this nice!”
Another silence. Owen shuffled his feet on the carpet.
“Well, thank you for coming. I’m very… I’m very honored, I guess, that you’d come. And that you’re interested in… in maybe… my critique, or evaluation of…. Not that I’m an expert or anything. I don’t purport to be an expert. But like I said, I have been to a number of shows, and I…”
“Aw, doc,” Owen interrupted, “I’m really glad you’re willing to give me your perspective. I’m the one who’s honored. Hey, I even brought along some of my posing trunks.” He set his tumbler on an end table and started to stick one hand in a jeans pocket to retrieve them.
Max quickly jumped toward the end table and retrieved a coaster from the drawer. He placed the offending glass on the coaster. It was an instinctive move, but after he did it, he fretted. As he stood tall again, without looking at Owen he said, “I’m sorry. It’s just that… rings, you know….”
“Oh, no problem, prof. I’m the one who’s sorry. I should’ve known. My bad.” He continued to shove his hand into his front pocket, making his triceps—his entire upper arm, really—undulate and bulge with indescribable mounds of muscle. The thick vein that ran down his biceps was shocking. His hand emerged from his pocket with a wad of color. Owen pulled the fabrics apart, revealing two sets of posers.
Of course, Max was all-too-familiar with the scantily-cut articles of clothing—if you could even call them clothing—bodybuilders wore on stage. Used to be they wore something akin to Speedos—more generously cut, to conform to the strictures of the day. Anymore though, most “posers” were mere swatches—barely enough material to contain the genitals, often with nothing more than a hip string to hold them on. Of course, as far as Max was concerned, the less the better. And as Owen unfurled the two different colors of thin cloth, the professor was pleased with what he saw. Both posers were tiny. Max could only imagine how much of a challenge it would be for Owen to shove himself into either of those things. Delightful.
“Oh, those are…” Minuscule! “very nice!”
“Wait till you see them on me!” Owen beamed. “This one here,” he held up the gray one, “is pretty small.” Dangling from his fingers was an almost rubber-looking kind of material. It was shiny—obviously some kind of synthetic fabric. It looked stretchy. “I’m not sure I could even wear them in a contest. Sometimes they can be pretty prudish, you know, at the contests.”
“Oh, sorry doc. I didn’t mean anything by that. Maybe you’ll think they show too much too. Sorry. If you don’t want me to put them on, I won’t.”
Max gave a nervous smile. “Owen, now don’t you worry your little head ‘bout that.” Yes, the martinis were having their effect; his language was getting free-and-easy. “You keep forgetting, I’m not easily offended. And with you… well, I truly doubt there’s anything you could do that would ruffle my feathers.”
Owen laughed loudly. “I like it! Ruffle your feathers. That’s so old-school!” He reached out and rubbed Max’s bald head, like he had in the office. This time, though, he left his hand on it for a moment longer, moving his palm and fingers over it. Max was glad he dutifully shaved it every morning, and made sure it was waxy-smooth all the time. For a split-second, Max could have sworn that Owen was getting a specific kind of pleasure from rubbing his head. It made him wonder. It made him feel… charged. Owen withdrew his hand after a split-second of extended contact. His countenance changed. He withdrew a bit.
“Well, Owen, I guess that’s me… old-school for sure,” Max smiled away the mysterious pall that had suddenly fell upon the room.
Owen brightened up quickly. “Aw, that’s awesome, really. I mean, old-school is really cool. And I really like that about you.”
“That, and my bald head, right?”
Owen now blushed! “Aw, well, sorry about that prof. I’ll stop rubbing your head if you want. I don’t mean to be… you know, too familiar. It’s just that….”
Max laughed. “Aw Owen, don’t you worry yourself at all. I’m flattered, actually.”
“It’s just that… well, I’ve always thought….” Owen looked, for all intents and purposes, as flustered as Max felt in the hunk’s presence. “…and I’ve never really been able to feel… I mean, it’s just something I’ve always… wanted to… well, that I’ve… admired. Sorry.”
Max hid a perplexed frown. A questioning intrigue filled him. Was Owen actually turned on by his…. Naw. Naw? He took a generous sip of his martini.
As well, Owen picked up his glass and imbibed again. He put it back down and instantly regained his composure. “So, well… is it alright if we do this in here?” He glanced out the oversized windows at the bright afternoon sun shining on the pool and the beach. “This is such a great setting.” He jerked back to Max and lit up. “Say! You don’t happen to have a camera or anything do you? I mean, you could use your phone I guess. But, this would be a great place to take some pictures. Of me posing and stuff. By the pool? Down at the beach even? Even in here! Retro room with muscles! Retro muscles!” He loved his own idea.
Muscles indeed! Max filled with excitement. “As a matter of fact, I do do a little photography,” he smiled. “I have a little bit of equipment.”
“Well go get it!” Owen hooted. He quickly calmed down. “Sorry. It’s just that I get excited. I meant to say… would you want to?”
“Certainly! I’ll be right back.” Max took another gulp of his drink before he dashed to retrieve his gear.
While he was scurrying back to his bedroom, Owen called out, “I mean, I have a lot of photographers come up to me and offer to take my pictures… but I think I’d like you to do me.” A silence was followed with a, “I mean… do some pictures of me.”
WHEN MAX RETURNED, Owen was busy untucking his shirt. Just as he’d done in the office, he had unzipped his jeans and pulled them down a bit so that his bright white, over-filled briefs hung out of his pants in a wonderfully seductive—borderline improper—display of the size of his genitals. The muscle giant worked on getting his shirt free from the tight jeans. He glanced up at Max and smiled. “I didn’t want to get everything off just yet,” he said, “in case you wanted to watch or something. I dunno.
Max sat down on the couch in front of his over-muscled student. He placed his camera in his lap. “Well, thank you for that,” he smiled. He was really feeling the effects of his drinking. Warm in the face and plucky in spirit, he looked up at Owen and said, “What is it they say… sometimes the reveal is half the fun? Something like that….”
“Yeah. That’s what I was thinking. I was wondering if you wanted that.”
Max looked at the white bulge that pushed over Owen’s open jeans zipper. “Do you always wear briefs?” he asked.
“Not always. I sleep naked. And sometimes I wear posing trunks instead of underwear. I usually wear posers on days when I have your class, Prof, but I was running late today and just grabbed these briefs.”
“Oh really? Posers, for my class?”
Owen grinned sheepishly; he averted his eyees. “Busted. Yeah, I’ll admit it.” He looked back at Max. “I like wearing them because they’re nice and tight on me, and I kinda like having all of that going on down there while I’m watching you lecture.”
Max raised his eyebrows.
“True,” Owen chuckled. Then he stepped forward, leaned over, and placed his hand on top of Max’s head again; he rubbed it slowly. Sensually. He was getting more out of this than just feeling what a smooth bald head was like. This was stimulating Owen. He was going somewhere… else. After a second, he flinched back to the present.
He stepped back to about ten feet in front of the seated professor, arms hanging at his sides like a pair of slaughtered cattle suspended in a meat factory, waiting to be processed. He inhaled, and his majestic chest rose as his lungs filled. Geez Louise, his chest was simply expansive. Even with a shirt on, there was no hiding the size and breadth of that chest. “So, which ones do you want me to put on first?” He held up the two teensy pieces of fabric.
Max choked. This was it. This was actually it. He knew, without a doubt, that this moment would be seared into his memory for life. A man, better-built than he’d ever imagined possible, was going to strip down, right in front of his lusting eyes, and show him his muscles. This, right here and now, was going to be a pinnacle—if not the pinnacle—of his muscle-lusting life. This. Owen. Exposing himself—his muscle body.
“Prof? You okay?” Owen looked concerned, but one corner of his mouth turned up too. “Prof?”
“Oh, yes. Well, let me see.” He took a another swig of his spirits to buoy his spirit and fuel his nerve.
Owen waited patiently, holding up the two “garments”. He stretched both of them out, one at a time, to display their various “features” (levels of skimpiness) to his teacher.
“How about we start with the white,” Max finally said.
“I like it,” Owen smiled as he tossed both posing trunks on the lounger next to him. “Start with the biggest and finish with the skimpiest, right?”
“Save the best for last, in other words.”
“Y-yes. That’s right. That’s what I was thinking. Mm-Hmmm.”
“Sweet,” Owen grinned. He immediately resumed disrobing. He tugged on his shirt, lifting the front of it, as he had done before in Max’s office, revealing a set of abdominal columns that rivaled the most well-constructed sinewy abs the professor had ever seen—anywhere—in picture, video or, most certainly, in person. Dizzying, is what it was. The six-foot-six mountain of nearly fat-free magnificence—all some 300 pounds of it, if Max’s research was current—smiled down at him. He held still, with his shirt halfway up, letting Max ogle the twin columns of stupefyingly-defined-and-separate mounds of ab muscle. Then he pushed on his jeans’ waist and forced his belt line lower, revealing the “V” of his obliques as they dove diagonally down and inward into the very narrow nether regions.
It was simply extraordinary how sexy and svelte Owen’s waist was. The contrast with the breadth of the kid’s legs and massiveness of his chest and shoulders… it was amazing, and spectacular.
Owen lifted his shirt more. He had work at it to force it out and away from his pecs. They were so prodigious that it took some real maneuvering to coerce the shirt up and over them. And when that task was finally accomplished, the reveal of Owen’s twin planets of pectoral muscle caused Max to audibly gasp.
Owen ignored the outburst. He kept working on pulling his shirt up and over his chest while Max choked back another, even more obvious, articulation of astonishment. It was hard to not.
Owen got his shirt fully up around his head. His ribs, obliques, abs, and intercostals displayed themselves in a most arousing show of muscular virility. Max was beside himself. Was Owen purposely holding this position? Did he actually know the effect it was having on the professor? Or was this simply a case of being temporarily stuck? He did seem to be struggling with the shirt. It was so amazingly fantastic. All that broad, wide, thick upper-body muscle… tapering down to a narrow, intercostal-striped, abdominal adorned oblique-framed waist.
Max took the opportunity—while Owen’s eyes were covered by the T—to adjust the raging hard-on in his pants. It was a successful maneuver, but Max doubted its efficacy in providing any lasting relief. The hardness of his penis was probably enough to right the Leaning Tower of Pisa if called to do so.
Owen was still straining—now with the sleeves. His titanic arms were not going to allow the fabric to simply slide over them. Max wondered if the material might actually tear. Owen wriggled and twisted his torso—a move that nearly ruined his audience forever—while he grappled with the constraining sleeves. Finally, the fabric popped over the massive arms and the shirt slipped up, over his head. Owen shook out his head—back and forth—acknowledging the exertion of his labor; he dropped his arms, placed the shirt on the back of the lounger, and stood tall, looking down on his gobsmacked host. He patiently waited for the professor to assess and take in the musclescape before him.
A task that was impossible to adequately do.
Max really wasn’t keeping track of all of the observations he was making, nor any of the sensations he was experiencing, but if he had been able to put words to the experience, the list of terms would have been centered around synonyms for astonished. With a liberal amount of aroused and excited as well.
Owen’s body was everything Max wanted. Lusted after. Lived to see. As he stood there, his shoulders were dizzyingly broad. His arms, incredibly massive. His chest—damn, his chest! The hairy twin globes of pectoral muscle were enormous. His pecs were simply galvanizing in their breadth and thickness. At his sternum, the cleavage was striped with fans of striated ripples that unfurled outward like the NBC Peacock—obvious even under that thick matte of hair. Even his nipples were big. And they seemed to taunt the professor with the deliciousness that awaited any lips allowed to enjoy them.
Once again, Max groaned and mumbled something unintelligible.
All of this bewildering size, accented by the small waistline. How was it that a man who weighed somewhere north of 300 pounds had such a fat-free appearance?
Max shook his head in amazement.
Owen allowed a smile now. “Everything okay, doc?” He was enjoying this.
“My god, O—Owen. My god in heaven… Heavens to Betsy….” Max was surprised he got even those words out. His mouth was dry; his heart was racing. In his pants, his happy little member was so thrilled that it threatened to separate his zipper.
Owen now beamed. “Thought you’d like. Is it okay if I take off my pants now?”
Max could only nod.
LET’S JUST SAY THAT THE NEXT few minutes were nothing short of epic. Yes, let’s just say that. By the time Owen won the battle to force his pants down over his jumbo-sized upper legs and he flipped his socks off, Max was borderline incandescent.
All the kid wore now were those brighty-whity briefs—underwear that although not overly conservative, were pretty effective in containing the obviously robust set of genitals within. But that was about to change.
Still, Owen seemed to sense that his appreciative host needed time—time to acclimate to all of this muscle. And even though Max did take the opportunity to adjust to what he was seeing, it was never going to be possible to really, truly, adjust.
Owen inhaled, expanding his hairy chest. Mother of God, his chest was staggering. A luxuriant carpet of black hair coated a set of overgrown, meaty pectorals. Max was used to jerking off to images of shaved, contest-ready, hairless men… but Owen’s hirsute chest was sensually off-the-scale. Perhaps more exposure to hair was in order. Perhaps. It made Owen’s physique look so very mature and robust.
“Owen, I just can’t believe… I… you’re so enormous and lean… yet you’re only 19?” Max was shaking his head.
Owen smiled. “Yep. I guess I got good genes.”
“Just unbelievable. You look better than… I’ve never seen anyone… you’re better-built than the pros! I don’t understand how that’s possible! Men work decades to get as big as you.”
Owen shrugged his shoulders. He eventually started to work at his briefs. He pulled the waistline down a bit, revealing his protruding hip bones and exposing even more of the “V” of his obliques, framing his abdominals. Above the obliques were those fat-free intercostals. The trinity of virility, Max liked to think: obliques, intercostals and abs. Above the trinity, the overhanging shelf of Owen’s megalithic chest stood guard over everything. The god watched his own fingers work the elastic waistline—he had to lean forward to see past his chest—pausing occasionally to look up at the professor, smiling at his obvious effect on him. He moved the front waistline down more and his jet black pubic forest peeked out.
Max watched, transfixed—and parched.
“So, I’ll just slip these off so I can put on the white posing trunks,” the physique said. He hesitated, looking at Max. “Unless you’d rather I go into the other room to strip down….” He waited for permission.
Max choked. “Oh, not at all. Believe me, I’ve seen… I mean… certainly, there’s no need….”
“Okay, I guess it’s just us two anyway, right?”
But before Owen pulled the briefs off, he touched himself through the material. His long, sexy fingers and thumb ran over his bulging organ. It was limp, and pointing downward, so it made a nice round ball of genital wonderfulness. Owen held himself; he squeezed lightly, staring at what he was doing. He lifted the package a bit, assessing and demonstrating its heft. All of this, as if it was nothing abnormal. Nothing big. I’m just touching myself. Nothing to see here. Keep moving on….
Max was dizzy.
Owen removed his hand from his briefs and grabbed his glass. He took a generous drink, then set his drink back on the coaster. “Well, here goes nothin’,” he said. He tugged at his underwear, exposing his black forest even more, slowly revealing the base of his shaft, inch-by-inch uncovering his horse-sized cock. It’s as thick as the proverbial beer can. As the waistline of the underwear moved slowly lower, the organ’s length seemed endless. When was he going to get to the head? It went on forever. Finally, Owen pulled everything down, and his flabbergasting genitals mushroomed forward, dangling free. The muscle giant pushed his tighty whities down over his magnificent upper legs—with his legs straight—down to his ankles. It was a sight Max wished he could view from the other side. Damn. Owen then stepped out of his underwear and stood up tall. He looked at his traumatized host.
Max’s breath left his body.
Owen let his silo-sized arms hang at his sides while he stood relaxed, allowing the professor to look. The fully-naked colossus was astounding. And… his genitals! Owen was hung like—like… Max couldn’t compute what he was seeing. Damn, Owen was practically a rantallion! His testicles hung very low and loose, flanking his thick penis. And that’s not to say his cock was short. No-siree! The man was easily seven inches, soft!
Max emptied his martini glass down his throat.
“Oh, you want me to make you another one?” Owen asked with the most innocent expression ever. “Here, I’d be happy….” He closed the space between them and took the glass from the professor’s hand. His low-hanging junk was right in front of Max’s face. He turned slowly and walked to the wet bar.
His ass. Holy hell! That ass! It undulated while the man’s hamstrings propelled him away, rippling and flexing with each step. The “V” of his back—how was it possible to have lats that wide?!—was stunning. The mounds of muscle on his back were hills. And from this side, the bodybuilder’s trapezius muscles were awe-inspiring. Owen stepped behind the bar. Seeming quite at home there, he made the professor another martini, and poured himself another whiskey while the opportunity presented itself.
When he made his way back around the end of the bar, there he was again—in all his glory—with his ripe genitals bobbing and dangling like they were the happiest set of organs anywhere. The mostly-limp, thick and long organ and its book-ending set of lemons hung right in front of Max’s face. Owen didn’t back away. His genitals were so close. Max could have reached out and touched them. Obviously, Owen was totally at home with displaying himself in this manner. He clearly didn’t give it a second thought that Max was looking.
And Max was looking.
When Owen got back and handed the professor his drink, Max took it and immediately took multiple sips. His eyes froze onto the bulging genitals that were right at eye level.
Owen stood there for a very long moment, then stepped back and took a few sips of his own.
Between sips, Max blurted, “You look incredible, Owen! I’ve never seen anyone so astounding!”
“Gee, thanks,” Owen beamed. “I’m glad you like.”
The two men sipped their drinks for a few moments, then Owen retrieved the white posers from the lounger. Holding them at his waist, he pulled them open, readied them. Then, steadying himself with one hand on the back of the leather lounger, he lifted one foot, and somewhat awkwardly threaded his toes through the correct opening. Then he stepped into the other leg-opening and bent totally forward, with his legs straight again, and started to work the posers up from his ankles, slowly higher. Another epic battle ensued, with the kid fighting and squirming to get the damn things over the girth of his phone-pole-sized upper legs. That finally accomplished, he began the burdensome task of forcing himself into the pouch. It was no small undertaking. His long fingers moved, manipulated, organized and re-organized his cock and balls with effort. He ultimately pushed himself into the pouch and maneuvered the thing up onto his waist, twisting, turning, pulling and pushing himself into position
Max nearly downed his recently-refilled glass in one swig.
Owen finally looked up at the seated, heated professor and beamed, his arms relaxed at his sides. “So… whadayathink?” he asked again. “Do you like them on me? What do you think about the white? Too washed out?”
“No, not at all!” The white looked fantastic against his tan skin, and with the jet-black hair, it was wonderful. “Your black hair… and the white… it’s wonderful.”
The sight was almost other-worldly. More muscle than any one-planet should be able to possess. And not just big muscles, mind you. Gorgeous, beautiful, powerful, sensual, virile, arousing, titillating, erotic, graceful, ripped, off-the-charts irresistible muscle. All wrapped up in perfect skin, perfectly proportional, poutingly sexy pulchritude.
Not to mention the bright whiteness of the man’s smile—it matched his posers. It threatened to eclipse the sunlight that filled the room from the big windows. And those dimples. And that cleft in his chin.
And those arms! Max’s mind spun with the dizzying inventory of Owen’s body.
Again, Owen had to inquire on Max’s condition. “You okay, doc?” He looked genuinely concerned.
“Yes. I’m… I’ll be fine. Thank you, Owen.”
Owen smiled again, but added, “Because I can put everything back on you know… if this bothers you or anything.”
“No. No, of course not. It’s why you came, right? I’m sorry if I look flustered. It’s just that you look so very… um… very impressive.”
“Aw, thanks, prof. Thanks. I like it. But you haven’t seen anything yet. Just wait till I start posing and showing off for you.”
“Y-yes. I can only imagine….”
Owen giggled. Damn! He giggled. A real giggle! And it was so cute! The contrast—all that powerful muscle, eliciting a giggle! The cutest, most attractive thing ever! The brawny mass of muscle started to move toward the professor again. When he got close, he put his hand on Max’s bald head again and rubbed it. “Aw, prof, I’m glad you asked me here. You don’t know what it’s like being able to have fun like this.” He moved his hand enthusiastically over the smooth cue-ball of Max’s shiny head.
Owen stepped back, collecting himself. “So, these are these,” he said, acknowledging the white fabric covering his crotch. He let the professor examine them for a moment, then quickly pushed them down. “I can’t wait to show you the gray ones,” he smiled as he stepped out of the posers he’d shoved to the ground. He held up the other set. They looked like a piece of leather—or maybe even a plastic-rubber type of fabric. It was tiny, but it looked like it stretched pretty easily. “These are actually my favorite. They hug everything. And they’re kinda skimpy, to be honest.” He fiddled with them a moment, holding them at belly-button level while he got them ready to put on. But then he stopped, looked up from his work toward the professor and smiled. His smile turned into a gorgeous grin. “Prof? What you lookin’ at, man?” he beamed. The towering wall of crazy-lean muscle chuckled and got back to pulling the posers into position. “Maybe I should just forget the posers, doc. I mean it’s just the two of us, right?”
Not knowing what the hell he was saying, Max mumbled, “Right.”
“Naw,” Owen said while he got back to stretching out the gray posers. “I should show you these, then if you want, later, I can do some more posing without anything on, okay?”
In spite of how stretchy they were, the endeavor to force the gray posers on was no easier than it had been with the white ones. When at long last the work was completed, the result was decidedly epicurean: The sight of Owen’s muscular physique, wrapped tightly in the genitals-hugging posing trunks was more arousing and sexually exciting to Max than he thought possible.
Owen’s “posers” would certainly not be allowed in a bodybuilding contest. They covered some of his prodigious shaft, but his pubic hair overflowed all over hell, and the cut of the fabric allowed a generous glimpse of the veiny shaft where it nestled into his pubes. And Owen was right. They fit and stretched very tightly. In fact, he definitely had a VPL (visible penis line) where his cock head crowned the end of his shaft. And what a shaft! Thick and long (and was it getting even longer?), it was enormous. The part that was exposed was covered with embossed squiggles of virile veins.
Owen examined his genital area. “Oh man, Prof,” he said, “I think all that staring you’ve been doing is having an effect on me. I think I’m getting a little bigger down there.” He looked up at the spellbound professor and added, “I hope that’s okay. I hope you’re not bothered or anything.”
Max said nothing. He might have even licked his lips, absently.
“It’s just that… well, when some guys look at me, like you do, well, sometimes I just… react this way.” He moved one hand onto the shiny fabric and touched himself, watching his hand as he did it. He moved his fingers up and down the shaft, moving it and tugging on it; then he gave himself a light squeeze while he looked back up at his professor, obviously gauging Max’s reaction.
Max blinked and cleared his throat. “Oh my god. Owen….”
“Thought you’d like it,” the muscle monster smiled as he relaxed out of the pose. Once again he stood straight, with his arms hanging at his side, facing Max. “You wanna feel anything?” He waited for an answer that didn’t come. “Come ‘ere,” he taunted. “I won’t bite,” he grinned.
As if being led by some invisible force, Max stood and walked toward his nearly-naked student.
Max felt feeble standing next to all this strength. Owen’s body was beyond description. He felt small and weak. His student’s stupendous chest—more magnificent than any chest he’d ever seen anywhere—hovered in front of his eyes.
“You like big pecs, prof?” Owen smiled. “Go ahead.” Seeing that his professor was frozen and unable to move, Owen lifted the man’s trembling hands and placed one on each of his mighty pectorals.
“Ohhhhhhh…” Max groaned. Immediately, his palms began to feel out the titanic globes. Out… up… down… in…. His fingers moved over and through the gorgeous, black hair; the unmovable huge pecs were just astounding.
“Oh, Prof, you have it bad for big muscles, don’t you,” Owen grinned. He held completely still now, having dropped his hands to his sides so Max could feel whatever he wanted. “Damn, you have a nice touch.”
The professor felt out his prize-beef student for minutes and minutes.
“Damn, prof, if your hands feel this good on my chest, I bet you’re going to really like feeling everything else, too.” Then he lifted one enormous arm and gave the man a biceps flex. The planet-sized sphere grew and hardened into an unspeakable mass of round, bulging, striated, rippling muscle.
“Hollllllyyyy….” The prof was overcome. His hands absently moved from Owen’s gorgeous chest out to the presented, hardened marble-like arm. It peaked with a split muscle at the top, supported by the biggest triceps muscle a man could have. Max whimpered. The epic arm could not be surrounded by both of his hands together. It was dizzyingly huge.
“Ooohhhhhhh,” Max moaned. His hands returned to his favorite muscle fetish: Owen’s incomparable chest.
Owen lowered his arms; he rolled his hairy pecs slowly under Max’s worshipping hands. In a dreamlike trance, Max felt out the massive plates of chest muscle. Then Owen began a slow, amazing series of poses, beginning with a side-chest pose—all while Max kept his hands on those wonderful, hard, rippling pecs.
This was beyond the pale. More than he thought possible. Max groaned out loud—again.
“I guess you really like my muscles, huh?” The kid’s demeanor was playful, but actually very sincere. What could have been interpreted as mocking or teasing was in fact genuine and real.
Max didn’t respond. He unhurriedly moved his hands all over Owen’s chest, and then up and out to those broad, magnificent, hard shoulders.
“Do you like touching me?”
Again, Max didn’t answer. He just kept moving his hands. Downward, over the incomparable upper arms, back up and over the deltoids, then onto Owen’s big, hard traps. Onto the chest again. Holy Jesus. Owen’s body was absolute perfection. Max’s cock was aching. It was so hard he thought it would fracture if any pressure at all were applied to it.
And that’s exactly what happened next. Owen rotated his hips and pushed his crotch against Max’s. Owen pressed himself against Max. “Geez, prof! You’re as hard as a rock!” The musclegod beamed down at the older man. “That’s so cool!” Owen lifted his arms, slowly, into a double-bi pose.
Max reflexively pulled back in astonishment. If seeing and feeling one of Owen’s arms was epic, the two of them flexing together was positively debilitating. Owen’s arms were enormous! The kid flexed them hard, and they grew—and grew! Higher and higher, peaks of muscle towered upward. The separation between the biceps heads was remarkable! And the peak was like nothing Max had ever seen on a bodybuilder. Truly stunning peaks—baseball-sized muscles on top of volleyball-sized muscles—filled Max’s eyes. Involuntarily, his jaw dropped even as his hands moved up to feel them.
Owen liked that. He smiled and redoubled his flexing. Both arms shook with the effort to harden and grow them for Max’s adoring hands. Max’s entire body responded with an overwhelming shudder.
How someone so young could have such enormous, developed, mature muscles was beyond Max’s ability to reconcile.
Max felt every presented muscle. A side chest pose was held for an eternity—yet not nearly long enough—while Max’s fingers felt each pectoral. Lats, abs, arms, shoulders were all worshiped…. At some point, Owen turned around and displayed his barn-sized back to the professor, and Max’s hands took in everything. Ass too. Yes—Owen flexed his glutes and Max worshipped them.
“I think a lot of guys neglect their glutes. What do you think of mine, Prof?”
Max said nothing.
When Owen turned back around to face Max once again, the bodybuilder’s shaft was really lengthening. The rubberish dark gray “posers”—that were too skimpy to be posers—were being stretched—a lot. Owen looked down. “I guess your hands are having an effect on me, doc. I hope you know what you’re doing.” He laughed and winked. Owen extended his hand down to the prof. “Here, feel how hard you’re making me, professor.” He placed Max’s hand on the silver-gray fabric. “Did you know you could do that to me?”
It was surreal. This couldn’t be happening, could it? Max was actually holding Owen’s cock through his posers. Max gasped. But when Owen let go of his hand, he left it there. He looked up into Owen’s eyes, in his mind pleading that this was okay. Well, of course it was; Owen was the one who put his hand there. But it was so blatantly wrong. So inappropriate and nasty. So wonderfully amazing.
Instinctively, Max wrapped his fingers around the still down-pointed shaft that was partially covered by the slinky fabric.
“You can keep it there if you want to,” Owen smiled, looking at Max’s hand.
Apparently, Max wanted to.
“That’s what my buddy did—the one I mentioned when I was in your office? My study partner? And he wanted me to flex while he held me there. Like this.” Owen resumed posing while Max held him… there. Muscles grew and bulged, rippled and undulated right in front of Max’s eyes, all the while, the professor felt the musclegod’s shaft grow longer and thicker. Max moved his hand over it, and sometimes his fingers and thumb moved onto the bare skin—the part that was exposed—of the shaft. And Owen’s pubes. And balls.
“Oh, that feels good, prof. I love posing while you get me harder. If you think it feels good now, just wait till it really shows off for you. Heck, I might need to take off the posers pretty quick!”
In a few minutes, Owen did take them off. Max couldn’t believe his eyes. Totally naked, Owen was the most beautiful sight Max had ever seen. Perfection. Tall, beyond-muscular, beautifully symmetric and balanced, huge, and ripped beyond belief.
Max blinked. He was stupefied.
Totally naked, Owen smiled down at him. “Whadayathink?” he grinned.
In a burst of bravery he never dreamed he possessed, Max moved to take the horse-cock in his hand—without hesitation at all. It was as if his hand had a mind of hits own.
But Owen stopped him before he got there. “Aw, Prof, I love that you touch it. But I think you should take everything off too. It’d be more fun that way.”
Max immediately complied. Fast. To his chagrin, though, Owen’s eyes grew big and the kid got a huge grin on his face. “Holy shit! Doc, did you… come?” Sure enough, Max’s pubes were coated with thick, white, gooey deposits. He’d orgasmed in his pants—at some point—while he had been feeling out Owen’s body.
Owen grinned and giggled. “Man, doc! I’m impressed! I thought old guys have a hard time getting—hard. Let alone coming that much! Damn, you produced a lot!” The muscle mountain put a few fingers into Max’s pubes and pulled out some jizz. He tasted it. “Mmmm, salty,” he smiled. He swallowed it.
Max’s boner, while not in any way as impressive as Owen’s monumental cock, was very, very hard. It pointed right up at the object of its desire. Owen’s own shaft, now getting close to full erection, was enormous—easily a foot long. Max’s paled in comparison. Yet again, it was as hard as it had ever been. Ever.
“Shit, doc. Oh—sorry,” Owen stared down at Max’s cock. “You are amazing! I love it!” With that, Owen took his own totally-erect shaft and, bending his knees to lower it, he rubbed the two erections together—sword crossing sword.
“Ohhhhh,” Max moaned.
“Think I can make you come again?” Owen beamed. “Just by doing this?” He kept rubbing their swords together. The sensation—having that huge shaft rub all over his own—was nothing short of nirvana.
Owen stepped back. He examined the copious cum that Max had produced—at least the parts still in the doc’s pubes. “You sure did make a lot of spunk, but I bet you’ve never seen a guy ejaculate as much as I can. It’s a lot—I’m just warning you. If you touch it for awhile, I bet you’ll be able to find out. I think you’ll like it. Oh, and just remember, it feels even bigger than it looks.” He took Max’s hand in his and gently placed it on his shaft.
“Jesus, mother Mary.”
Owen grinned. “Toldya.” He let go of Max’s hand, and it stayed put. “Go ahead,” Owen prodded, “you can leave your hand there while I pose some more, if you want.”
Max’s trembling hand moved over the giant, veiny organ—it was still getting bigger by the second. He squeezed it gently.
“Oh, yeah… that feels nice.” Owen sighed. “Damn, prof, you have a nice touch. You can feel my muscles with one hand while you get my cock nice and hard with the other, if you want. It’s definitely a show-off. Kinda likes the attention, I guess,” he laughed playfully.
While Max held onto the growing, veiny cock, Owen resumed posing. Apparently the kid got turned on by flexing.
After a few minutes, Max started giving Owen some long, slow strokes. This surrealistic encounter began to progress into something less other-worldly and more real. More present. Max, realizing that Owen was not only fully-on-board with what was happing, but suspecting that the kid had been engineering this whole encounter all along, started to relax into the fact that this was not a fantasy: It was reality. He wasn’t dreaming; he wasn’t pretending or fantasizing. What he held in his hand was actual hard flesh. It was Owen’s cock. It bounced with Owen’s pulse.
The anaconda of an organ was definitely growing under the professor’s hand. Owen flexed it and made it move. “I think it likes you,” he chuckled. “Do you like touching it?”
The question hung in the air. Max couldn’t speak. His jaw was probably flapping; he didn’t really know.
While Max worked on Owen’s cock, the teen wonder put a hand on top of Max’s shiny, bald head. Apparently the bald head had a very, very sensual effect on the bodybuilder. He stopped posing; it became obvious by his countenance and his posture that Max’s hand was doing a number on him. As was his bald head.
Max found the courage: “I like it when you feel my head, Owen. And… well… I get the impression that you enjoy it. A lot. Is that right?”
Owen’s eyes were half-closed now. “Fuuuuck,” he whispered. “I’ve always wanted to do this to your….” His muscular body stiffened. “Damn,” he whispered. His hand moved over and around Max’s shiny head, turning both men on more and more.
Max increased the speed of his strokes on Owen’s magnificent organ. His grip tightened. Owen’s slit spewed clear lube all over his shaft, and Max’s hand began to slosh it up and down the thick pole—more and more with each rapid pass.
Owen’s entire physique hardened into a sculpture of muscle. He raised up on his tiptoes and squinted while he rubbed Max’s head, partially balancing himself with it. He moaned. “Oh… yeah… doc… yeah…”
Max rubbed Owen’s throbbing shaft harder. And harder.
“Yeah… gonna come….” The muscle giant placed both hands on Max’s head now, and as he rubbed, he occasionally touched the professor’s ears and neck. This went on for what seemed like forever, both men stimulating the other—in different ways, for different turn-ons, but with the same effect: sexual arousal on a higher plane than either had ever experienced.
Then Owen cupped his hands over Max’s ears. He pulled Max’s face close to his and, bending his neck, leaned down and pulled the professor into him. He and took Max’s lips against his own. With a moan from both men, their tongues entwined and they both practically swallowed the other.
The kiss intensified; Max’s hand was motionless on Owen’s cock now. Owen held Max’s head with both hands. Then… Owen’s shaft began to tighten and throb under the older man’s hand. He was seconds away.
Realizing that he’d absently neglected his duties to Owen’s cock, Max tightened his grip around it, and pressed on it, squeezing hard. At that instant, for the second time since Owen had arrived, Max began shooting. His jizz landed on Owen’s torso. As soon as Max’s second powerful shot clung to Owen’s abdominals, the muscle god’s cock began spraying blast after intense blast of semen into Max’s living room, onto the carpet. Max, still holding the firehose, broke the kiss and gasped while he squirt. His orgasm diminished some, and he watched Owen spray his room—while the throbbing cock vibrated and clicked open-and-closed with each new, powerful ejaculation. Damn, the guy put out a copious amount of semen!
Max finished long before Owen did. The kid had been right. He shot a lot. When Hercules was done, Max’s carpet held splotches of Owen’s essence. The physique’s orgasm had lasted nearly a full minute—and the results were unbelievable.
“Oh… my… god….” Max moaned as he recovered. “I can’t… believe….”
“Toldya,” Owen smiled as he took his own cock in his hand and squeezed out the last of his jizz.
Max collapsed back onto his couch.
Owen said, “I think we’re both going to need some water, doc.” He turned and headed for the kitchen, his ass and back side providing Max with yet another overwhelming sight. Cupboards rattled and the sink ran. Owen re-emerged with two glasses of water. His still-hard cock bobbed as he walked back and handed the prof a glass. They both drank greedily.
“Geez, doc, that was fantastic. I hope you are okay with all that. I mean… I thought it was really great.”
Max nodded. Despite the requisite guilt over doing this… with a student, no less, Max was too exhausted—and sexually fulfilled—to really care about the consequences.
“Say prof, do you want me to stay for awhile? I mean, I can go if you want… but it is Friday so I don’t have anything all night—or even tomorrow. If you want me to stay, we can play some more… if you want.”
“Sure, Owen. That’d be… nice.”
“Great,” Owen beamed. “You haven’t seen anything yet. If you’re really brave, you should try and give me a blow job. I dunno if that’s something you want to do, but I gotta tell you, I’m a sucker for a good sucker!” He laughed at his own joke. “Seriously, though, you want to put your mouth on my cock and see how much I can shoot down your throat? I think you’ll be pretty impressed!”
Max moaned, “Ohhhhhh.” It was starting to feel surreal again.
“Of course, if you let me stay overnight, I could… well… I don’t want to suggest anything you don’t feel like doing, so…. You just let me know though. I have a pretty good track record of making guys come while I fuck their asses. Even without touching themselves. You ever have that done to you? Muscleman fuck?” Owen grinned. “We don’t have to do that though. I mean… only if you want to.” His face lit up again: “I promise you’ll be pretty surprised what I feel like inside you though.”
— THE END —
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cc: 2021: Sean Reid Scott | Date of first publishing: 2021-0113
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