Date: Wed, 3 Aug 2011 19:02:40 -0700 (PDT)
From: WeekGrgr@cfl.rr.com
Subject: "TWIN PEAKS" story

Twin Peaks

By Gregor


Six a.m. Daybreak was just beginning to peek through the window in
Jean-Pierre Fux's bedroom. Jean-Pierre was on the verge of awakening,
holding onto a most pleasant dream. He was in the superheavyweight
pre-Judging lineup for the 2000 Olympia. His name was called, then that of
his muscle disciple, Jay Cutler. The two men swaggered to center stage to
deafening cheers from the audience. Jean-Pierre stood under the bright, hot
stage lights, sweating profusely, and flashed his killer smile. Evey muscle
in his massive body was twitching, ready at his command to leap into bold
relief as he showed his stuff before the discerning eyes of the
judges. This was what Jean-Pierre lived for--pumped, oiled, at his
man-muscled best, 6 months of relentless training and dieting with the
singular goal of getting as big and ripped as he possibly could and then
displaying that hard-earned mass in a mind-boggling presentation of brute
muscle glory. The crowd ate it up ....

Jean-Pierre opened his eyes. He not only had the dream ofteni he lived it
as well. He was a massive, cocky, world-class bodybuilder at the peak of
his muscle prime. His one goal was to get big, big and bigger--to stun the
world with the size of his muscles.

 In the half dawn Jean-Pierre focused. He loved the fact that the first
thing he saw when he woke up was muscle ... unbelievably big muscle. To
immediately be reminded that you were a massive bodybuilder was pure
joy. Jean-Pierre always took time to savor this early morning realization,
because he had earned it.

Jean-Pierre Fux was 32. He began bodybuilding at age 14 after he saw a
picture of big-muscled Tim Belknap flexing one of his giant arms in Muscle
and Fitness magazine. Right then and there he decided he was going to
surpass Belknap's formidable bulk--that he would sculpt and mold and create
the perfect massive male physique. Jean-Pierre approached his goal with a
single-minded intensity and determination that guaranteed success. At 5'8",
his contest weight was an incredible 255 pounds. He had a 57" chest, a tiny
30" waist and 29" thighs. Best of all, he was the proud possessor of
legitimate 23" arms. Jean-Pierre worshiped bicep. He had lavished care and
devotion and effort and sweat and pain and blood and guts and tears toward
the triumph of pushing his mighty arms over the 20" barrier. Like the
4-minute mile, it was a goal, once thought impossible, that he had
resoundingly achieved. Jean-Pierre had been the ecstatic owner of 20" arms
since the age of 21.

Jean-Pierre's early morning ritual was admiring his magnificently muscled
image in dawn's first light. Lying flat on his back, buck naked, legs
spread slightly, Fux looked straight ahead. Yesterday he had worked
chest. It had been an exceptional workout. He vividly remembered the pump,
when after six sets, 10 reps of benches with 325, six sets, 12 reps of
incline presses with 215, six sets, 15 reps of close-grip presses with 180
and six sets, 10 reps of flyes with 90-pound dumbbells, he felt like his
pecs were going to explode. He couldn't believe how big his tits looked in
the mirror at the Iron Basement, his hardcore training facility. Even the
regulars--all big names in bodybuilding--were doing a double take,
marveling at the sheer size of the pumped-up, vein-laced, sweat-drenched
pec slabs heaving proudly atop Jean-Pierre's massive upper body.

Now Fux gazed lovingly at his tit beef, still engorged, standing up a full
10 inches off his chest. The slope of each monstrous pec was like the
perfect swell of a 20-foot wave. He couldn't even see the rest of his body
from a prone position because his chest was so fucking huge.


That was why Fux had the mirror installed on his bedroom ceiling. He let
his gaze trail upward. Even in a relaxed state, his body mass was
overpowering. That was the image that always made him moan with
pleasure. His body was completely hairless, except for a super short
military haircut. His skin was flawless--blemish-free and taut. His pits
were completely shaved; so were his nuts. He left the slightest trace of
trimmed pubic hair above his dickshaft, which always showed when he had on
his miniscule posing trunks.

Fux took in his nude image. One look was enough to fill his nostrils with
the musky whiff of his cock. His shoulders were impossibly wide; he looked
as wide as he was tall. His jetwing lats flared out from that tiny
waist. In total relaxation each washboard ab stood out plainly. From the
narrowness of his waist gargantuan quads exploded. His calves were
heart-shaped mounds of beef.

Fux always saved the best for last. Slowly he interlocked his fingers
behind his head and checked out his arms. Without flexing, his biceps had
the high, rounded peak of a softball. His thick wrists immediately filled
out into bulging forearms, cabled with veins. Jean-Pierre popped each
bicep--a casual flex, nothing like the powerdrive brute force he unleashed
on the posing stand. His massive biceps were immediately swollen, flushed,
muscle-bulked. His training was such that on awakening he could command a
bicep the size that most men only dreamed of owning.

The rounded mass of his casually flexed arms made Fux grunt with pleasure,
and his penis instinctively stiffened. He stroked the rock-hard shaft,
capped by a beautifully shaped cockhead, as his eyes stayed glued to the
image in the ceiling mirror. Drops of precum sprayed from the mushroom head
as Jean-Pierre played with his jutting nipples and began bucking his ass
ever so slightly. But Fux didn't work his dick too hard. Today was
special. He and Jay Cutler were training arms, to be followed by a pump
ritual they called "Twin Peaks." It was Fux's favorite muscle fantasy, and
he was saving his squirt for later.

 The two men had their "Twin Peaks" routine nailed down to a tantalizing
sequence of rituals. They got haircuts before hitting the gym--the
supershort hair buffing their exquisite manliness to a supreme sheen. Both
had beautiful ears--small, perfectly shaped, full-lobed and with intricate,
clean channels--ears that other men couldn't resist plunging a hot tongue
into, ears meant to stand out proudly against enormous biceps when their
battleguns were locked behind their heads in a most muscular. Jean-pierre
particularly relished the short walk from his apartment to the gym. He
dressed with special care. His black lycra shorts fondled the tree-trunk
mass of his thighs. Fux had them specially cut just above mid-thigh; his
quads blasted out of each shorts leg in a flaring mass of striated
muscle. His bodybuilder's cock, arrogantly semi-hard, pushed against the
hot lycra sheathing his crotch; the mushroom-shaped dickhead was plainly
visible. His balls hung like two crown jewels beneath the four-inch shaft.

To further accentuate his already enormous upper body, Jean-Pierre wore an
extremely tight t-shirt. His muscletits strained against the confines of
the shirt, big nipples jutting forward. The sleeves were cut high on his
upper arms. The thin fabric hugged his powerhouse biceps like a second
skin; his massive arms looked like two Virginia hams suspended from each
shoulder. Jean-Pierre loved the feeling of flexed mass he felt, even when
his arms were hanging at his sides. If he lifted his hand or moved his arm
in any way, the muscles came to breathtaking life. His biceps, each
highlighted by a central vein the size of a rope, looked as big as bowling
balls; his triceps bulged like ultra-defined horseshoes; his forearms were
a road map of veins punctuated by slabs of beef.

Fux moved like the massive bodybuilder that he was. His lats were so big
that his arms looked 5 feet apart. His bubble butt contracted and bulged
with every step he took. His shirt and shorts seemed barely able to contain
his spectacular bulk. His swagger announced to all the world: "This is a
man's man. This is a muscleman. This is a fuckin' bigass bodybuilder. Feast
your eyes on these mammoth muscles! Get a load of this musclehunk chest!
Take a good look at these big biceps!!"

 The reactions of people on the street thrilled him. Some faint souls
stared with pure disgust at the sight of a man so obscenely muscular. When
he encountered these muscle non-believers, Fux couldn't help contracting
his pecs, making them dance under the tight shirt, or subtly flex one of
his he-man arms. The unconverted gasped at this display. Fux thought to
himself, "You think that's big? Wait until I pump up this fucker!"



Of course, not every reaction was one of horror. Muscle fanatics felt
blessed to be on the same side of the street. Jean-Pierre looked right past
the stares of interested women. He devoted a full second of eye contact to
clearly adoring men, daring them to take their eyes off his fabulous
muscles, giving them a free show and inviting them to imagine how much more
heavenly it must be to watch him work out, pump up, show it off, flex it
like the ultimate man that he was. "Lick that man-size bicep ... give those
nipples a workout. Suck my big stud nuts. No escape, baby .... " One look
at Fux was enough fuel for a month of red-hot fantasies, and he clearly
reveled in the attention.

Jean-Pierre met Jay promptly at the Iron Basement at 9 a.m. Both of them
were up for arms and salivated at what was to come afterward. Fux and
Cutler were big names in pro bodybuilding. Fux was the '99 Weider Night of
Champions winner, where he had bested the awesome Ronnie Coleman; Cutler
had dethroned Tom Prince at the 2000 Nationals with a truly Herculean
display of musclemass. Both were gunning for new triumps. Both had
specialties: Cutler, a gorgeous rear lat spread; Fux, an equally gorgeous
front double bicep that showcased his 23-inch piledrivers. Both worshiped
at the altar of gigantic arms, and both eagerly awaited each and every
session of "Twin Peaks," their own private big arm party.

Cutler was a muscle-packed fireplug of a man. At 5'7", he bullied the
scales at 230 pounds. Jay lived to show it off, just like Jean-Pierre. He
also worshiped Jean-Pierre, acknowledging him as THE muscle master par
excellence. Jay paid respects to every square inch of his titanic muscle
mentor during their "Twin Peaks" musclesex orgy. Just thinking about it
made his 10-inch penis hard as a rock. One reason Cutler worshiped
Fux--aside from his massive muscles--was that he loved the bodybuilder's
4-inch dick. Jay found the combination of a small penis on a stud so manly,
so overwhelmingly muscular and so charged with pure testosterone
incredibly, mouthwateringly sexy.

They burst through the door of the Iron Basement. This was where the
hardcore names went when they wanted to intensity train, away from the
spotlight of Gold's. It was an unadorned gym where the total focus was on
lifting and admiration of grotesquely overdeveloped physiques. No one was
afraid to let a lustful stare or a cock stiff with desire show here. The
soul-searching stare Fux and Cutler gave each other spoke volumes about
what was to come. Vince Comerford, Lee Priest, Mike Francois and Matt
Mendenhall were all there this Tuesday morning, furiously working various
parts of their hot, built bodies. But even in this exalted company, Fux and
Cutler stood out. They walked in shoulder to shoulder, nearly 500 pounds of
unmitigated mass. Jean-Pierre felt his arms flush just at the thought of
what he was about to do to them. He couldn't wait to attack the iron and
blow up his huge guns again.

The two bodybuilders didn't waste time. The had their pre-"Twin Peaks" arm
workout down cold. Other, less massive men instinctively moved out of the
way as they strode to the free weights. Fux peeled off his t-shirt,
bouncing his big tits in preparation for the effort ahead. Jay wore a
tanktop cut off just above his protruding nipples and a pair of tight gym
shorts that showed off his big dick. Both men wore running shoes, no socks.

Jean-Pierre loaded a barbell with plates--90 pounds on each side. Their
first exercise was barbell curls--a no cheat, no-frills power movement for
building mass. They did four sets of 10 using strict form. When Jean-pierre
finished a set, he handed the bar off to Jay. While Jay pumped out his 10
reps, Jean-Pierre stayed focused on his arms. They stood toe to toe,
trading off the bar and staring deep into each other's eyes the entire time
to maintain concentration and silently exhort each other to maximum
effort. The only sound was the sharp, measured intake of breath as each rep
was forced. The thought of their upcoming "Twin Peaks" ritual gave
Jean-Pierre a jolt of adrenaline. His biceps begged for the punishment, and
he was more than willing to dish it out. By the beginning of the third set
sweat beads broke out on his forehead. He kept his eye's locked on
Cutler's. He could smell Jay's musclesweat. The heat building in his biceps
was more intoxicating than any drug. He gave himself over to the feelig
completely. Today was the day he pushed his massive arms past the 24"
barrier--he could taste it.

At the end of the fourth set, Cutler handed off the bar to Fux, unable to
do another rep. And Fux, muscle master that he was, grunted out 10 more,
gazing with total self-love at his monstrous arms as they ballooned right
in front of Jay's eyes. Cutler's hungry look of adoration said it all:
"Fux, you are one motherfucking muscle brute."

Fux and Cutler paused briefly to check themselves out in the mirror. The
curls had given their arms a good burn. Jean-Pierre noticed with
satisfaction how disproportionately big his arms were in relation to the
rest of his body, which was quite a feat considering the muscle he packed
everywhere else. He grinned. He flexed. His arms were unbelievably massive!
Out of the corner of his eye he caught King Kamali staring with a mix of
awe and lust. Kamali was a mere mortal--his arms measure 19 1/2"
flexed. Fux's measured 23" cold, 23 3/4" flexed--and today they would snap
the tape at 24", he vowed. He looked over, smirked and flexed both arms
again for Kamali. As his biceps inflated to the size of mountains and
Kamali trembled with excitement, Fux thought, "Yeah--shoot for this."

Their next exercise was standing alternate dumbbell curls. Fux and Cutler
used 90-pound dumbbells for another total mass-builder. Jean-Pierre
supinated his wrists as he powered the dumbbell to peak contraction. At the
top of the movement, he flexed to contract his biceps to a dizzying
peak. The blood rushing through his arms made him tingle. Even as his mind
swirled with thoughts of his mighty muscles, he kept his eyes locked on
Jay's to focus on the matter at hand. They stood toe to toe again, trading
off the huge dumbbells at the end of each set. The sweat was pouring
now. Jean-Pierre thrilled to the grunting effort. He concentrated on making
each repetition work to the fullest advantage, pushing his arms harder and
harder.

Fux and Cutler completed six sets of curls. With barely a second to rest,
they moved to the preacher bench. Jean-Pierre had loved preacher curls ever
since he started lifting at 14 and, inspired by the great Larry Scott, had
packed an inch of solid muscle onto his arms in 3 months by hitting
preacher curls every day. He sat at the bench and positioned his massive
arms against the worn pad. Jean-pierre did 10 reps with 160 pounds on his
own, then 10 additional forced reps, powering the bar up with an assist
from Cutler, then verrrrry slowly letting it back down, resisting the
weight all the way. Fux mentally focused on his arms throughout the 20-rep
set. At this moment, the only thing that existed were his biceps ... the
only thing that mattered was pumping them up and getting them bigger.

As he let the weight slowly descend Jean-Pierre closed his eyes and
imagined himself at 14. He had a preacher bench in his room, where he would
bang out curls until his arms were so pumped he thought they would
falloff. The he would stand naked in front of the mirror, stiff-dicked,
chest heaving, arms flushed and blown up from his preacher blitz, flexing
them in awe, gazing at his muscled image as he licked each beautifully
rounded peak while stroking his throbbing penis. As the young Fux
fantasized about the day he would pack a genuine pair of 20-inchers, he
invariably sprayed wads of hot jism that splashed against the mirror with
such force they sizzled.

When Fux exhaled in an explosion of effort to bring the iron back up one
more time, sweat pouring from his brow, teeth clenched and face contorted,
he would open his eyes and gaze with unabashed love and worship at the
reality of his now 23"-plus arms, the biceps mounding, the veins popping,
the sheer mass of his guns spectacularly swollen with the effort it took to
grunt out each curl. Through the haze of his muscle lust he felt Cutler's
tongue probe his right ear. Fux tingled to the wet, slurping sounds as he
heard Jay hoarsely grunt, "Blow 'em up, musclebuck. Pump those fuckers."

Fux and Cutler each did six sets of 20-rep preacher curls. Now it was time
to do some serious flexing. They stood in front of the mirror, their arms
absurdly pumped. They displayed their thoroughbred hams from every angle,
noting the peak, appraising each bulging vein, conducting a mental muscle
check, glorying in the all-encompassingly manly image. Jean-Pierre's rigid
cock was practically ripping through his shorts. He looked unbelievably
hot.

After the flex session, Fux and Cutler allowed themselves a trip to the
water fountain. As muscle kings, this gave them a chance to survey their
lowly subjects. Bodybuilders gaped in abject worship as they
passed. Jean-Pierre and Jay knew they had the biggest arms in the gym, and
they couldn't resist showing them off. Both men checkd their profiles in
the mirrorj their right arms were blown up by the pump to an almost inhuman
size. The veins looked etched in stone. Their biceps trembled--growing
before their very eyes. Fux's penis was outlined against the soaked lycra
of his workout shorts for all the gym to see and covet. The rich manmusk of
Cutler's ramrod cock filled the room. Sweat trailed in rivulets, dripping
off the mountains slopes of the pecs.

Jean-pierre and Jay gave the same 150 percent effort to triceps. In quick
succession, they muscled their way through six sets, 10 reps of French
pressesj eight sets, 12 reps of tricep pulldowns, using a moderate weight
and strict form and fully contracting the triceps at the bottom of the
movementj six sets of standing tricep extensions, locking their magnificent
arms behind them and making their tri's practically burst out of their
skinj and six sets, 10 reps of seated tricep extensions.

Their last triceps exercise was Jean-Pierre's favorite. He sat on the end
of a bench, directly in front of the mirror. Jay stood behind himj he could
feel Cutler's hot dick poking against the back of his neck. Fux grabbed a
60-pound dumbbell in his right hand. Bracing his left hand against the back
of his right tricep, he slowly and methodically lowered and raised the
heavy weight--inhaling as he lowered his arm, exhaling with an
ear-shattering roar as he powered the dumbbell aloft. His face was
brick-red with effort, streaming with sweat. His massively contracting
triceps felt heavenly. He loved the way his butch tits looked, huge and
engorged, the nipples sticking out like clothespins. His entire body was a
pulsating mass of flexed muscle.

The sharp stink emanating from his steaming pits mixed with the
unmistakable smell of Cutler's ripe penis the combined aromas were
intoxicatingly strong, inspiring Fux to grunt out rep after rep. He could
hear Jay's softly whispered words of encouragement and adoration: "That's
it, muscleman. Flex it, you gorgeous fucking hunk of beef. Work those
triceps. Show it off. Massive, baby, massive. Awesome shitass arms,
sir. Pump it, stud. Pump the shit out of those massive fuckin'
arms. Beautiful muscle, baby. Just beautiful. Show off those big boys."

When the sixth set was completed, Fux and Cutler moved immediately to
forearms. Their regimen was simplicity itself: each man sat on the end of a
bench, took a close grip on an BO-pound barbell, rested his forearms on the
bench between his legs and curled the weight as many times as he could. At
rep failure they rested 30 seconds, then began curling again. Looking at
their twin mirror images, arms fully and astoundingly pumped to a degree no
one else in the gym even approached, gave Jean-Pierre a roller-coaster
thrill in the pit of his stomach. He and Jay had put in 2 blitz hours of
maximum arm muscle pumpi their reward was the ultimate arm worship fantasy,
a "Twin Peaks" session.

Each man's thoughts focused on the feast of muscle adoration that would
soon consume both of them. After the tenth set of forearm curls, Fux and
Cutler rose from the benches. Jean-Pierre felt lightheaded, drunk with
muscle pump. The arms of both men looked like they had been injected with
an extra quart of blood. They were pumped to freakish size. Jean-Pierre
stared at his gargantuan biceps, his blasted triceps, his bloated
forearms. He had an overpowering urge to make love to his arms. Other
bodybuilders--Mark Banter, Flex Wheeler, Craig Titus and Aaron Maddron
among them--came over to gain inspiration from Fux's and Cutler's all-out
arm blasting session and to pay their respects to these two muscle
titans. They stood in silent appreciation while Jean-Pierre and Jay showed
off their Herculean arms in a variety of poses--single and double front
bicep, side bicep, side tricep, most muscular.

It was time for "Twin Peaks." While the pump was still blazing, the two
muscle hulks grabbed their gym bags and left for Fux's apartment. They were
there in 5 minutes, and their hearts pounded with anticipation at what they
were about to do.

The Muscle Room was waiting. Jean-Pierre had set up a room in his apartment
for one thing, and one thing only--the erotic display of his body. The
Muscle Room was spartan in its decor. It was empty, except for bright track
lightingi worn, sweat and cum-stained carpetingi and walls covered entirely
with floor-to-ceiling mirrors. In a corner were the accessories Jean-Pierre
and Jay used for "Twin Peaks"--a tape measure, two cock rings, baby oil and
a bottle of high-quality poppers.

The men didn't speak. They stood silently, appraising their heaving chests
and impossibly big arms, breathing audibly. The windowless room immediately
filled with the rank odor of sweat. Jean-Pierre and Jay stared at the
mirror, watching their dicks simultaneously stiffen. The nipples capping
their shaved pecs were swollen and distended, begging to be nibbled and
chewed. Both men grunted heavily, shifting their weight from foot to
foot. Fux flexed his pecs, making his tit beef bounce allover his
chest. Cutler, entranced by the image of his own massively muscled body,
turned to stare at Jean-Pierre's megachest with a look of all-out
desire. Both bodybuilders reached down to adjust their heavy balls and
steel-hard pricks, which were straining within the confines of their
workout shorts.

Suddenly, they both took deep breaths and flexed--side-by-side front double
bicep poses. Jean-pierre gasped out loud at the sight of his own arms. They
were huge, they were gorgeous, they were hotter than hell. Each man fully
extended his arms, then flexed. Extend and flex. Extend and flex. With each
flex, Fux and Cutler coaxed their bicep peaks a little higher, their total
bicep mass a little bigger. They were breathing hard now, totally turned on
by the outrageous spectacle of their inflated bodies and the adoring looks
each gave the other. Both men held an intense front double bicep for what
seemed like forever, moaning in ecsaty at their mirror images.

Suddenly Fux brought his arms down. His left hand moved to his stiff dick
as he sucked in his breath and flexed his right bicep brutally, sneering
into the mirror with titanic arrogance. Jay stared lustfully at this
unbelievably erotic display. "Yeah yeah yyeeeeaaaahhhhhh!!" he
yelled. "Show off that muscle .... show if off, man .... show off that
beautiful motherfuckin' arm!!!" Jay's hot mouth found Jean-Pierre's bicep
in no time, and he licked it like a man possessed, grunting and slobbering
allover the melon-sized swell of flexed beef while he yanked at the hardon
that was about to rip through his shorts.

Their excitement cresting, Fux and Cutler ripped off their shorts, leaving
on their workout shoes. Jean-Pierre's rigid 4-inch cock was standing
straight up. His hairless nuts hung like twin globes. "Show off that hot
penis, big man!" grinned Jay. His own groin was totally shavedi his dick
shot clear streams of precum into the air. To the Muscle Room's bouquet of
sweat was added the rich man-stink of the two bodybuilders' throbbing
penises. Fux inhaled deeply, savoring the intoxicatingly ripe smell of his
dick. He looked at Cutler. "Tape my arm," he commanded hoarsely.

Jay didn't have to be told twice. He reached down and grabbed the cock
rings. Lovingly he slid one down Jean-Pierre's cock, jamming the balls
through. Fux gasped with pleasure. His penis was fire-engine red, the head
purple and sticky with oozing secretion. "Oh yeah, Cutler!!" he
bellowed. "Make that spunk shoot out of my fuckin' dick. YEAH that feels
good!!!" Jean-Pierre was trembling with excitement. Jay grabbed the
poppers. He unscrewed the top, and the acrid scent of the inhalant mingled
with the fragrance of dick and sweat. Jay held the bottle under
Jean-Pierre's left nostril while Fux inhaled deeply. Then the right
nostril. As Fux inhaled again, Jay begged, "Show me what you've got, buck."

Jean-Pierre's heart was pounding. His excitement reached a thrillingly
fevered pitch. He stared at his naked, massively muscled body and went wild
with narcissistic desire. Raising his arms, Fux flexed. Each bicep had an
impossibly high yet fully rounded peak. The aesthetic beauty of his flexed
arms was breathtaking, their brute power absolutely overwhelming. To see
himself in the mirror, proudly displaying his pump, showing it off for his
muscle disciple, drove Jean-Pierre crazy. Drops of cream dripped from his
gaping dickslit. The veins stood out on his pUlsating penis. Jay urged him
on, his face red and ravenous, shouting at the top of his lungs: "FLEX
THOSE ARMS!! SHOW THAT MUSCLE!! BULK IT, BABY!! PUMP THOSE BIGASS
FUCKERS!!!" He took the tape measure and looped it around Jean-Pierre's
enormous right arm, so big and pumped that Jay was drooling with envy. The
tape stretched to a full 24".

Fux and Cutler stood inches apart, directly facing one another. The Muscle
Room felt 20 degrees hotteri the male odor was overwhelmingly pungent. Jay
cocked his head and took a deep hit off the poppers, inhaling loudly. Then
it was Jean-Pierre's turn. The blood raced to their heads as a blinding
shot of adrenaline flooded through each man. "Worship these tits," Cutler
grunted.

Jean-Pierre slathered Jay's gigantic chest with baby oil, chewing on the
protruding nipples until Jay roared with pleasure. Fux then moved closer,
rubbing his own huge, muscle-packed slabs against Cutler's. His lips found
Jay's. They stood toe to toe, their tongues down each other's throats,
their hands feeling each other's huge arms, grinding their pecs together,
slapping their slick penises against steel-hard abs, groaning
ecstatically. The combined sensations felt out of this world ... unbearably
good.


Each stud took another long hit off the poppers, the head rush pushing them
to the brink. Still facing one another, muscles about to explode, Fux and
Cutler both flexed--each showing "twin peaks" of big-muscled might. Between
labored grunts, both men spurred each other on with hoarse shouts: "BICEPS,
BABY!!! CHECK OUT THOSE BICEPS!!! FUCKIN' BIG BICEPS!!! FLEX THOSE FUCKIN'
BICEPS!!!" All Jay could see were Jean-Pierre's astonishingly massive 24"
armSi all Jean-Pierre could see were Jay's mammoth guns pumped in all their
hot-muscled glory. It was time for the shoot. At the same exact instant,
both Fux and Cutler hawked a glob of spit into the palms of their left
hands, while their right arms remained locked in a stupendous bicep
flex. The two bodybuilders furiously stroked their he-man dicks. At the top
of their lungs they roared, "STROKE THAT nICK! !! WORK THAT FUCKIN' COCK!!!
SHOOT THAT PENIS!!! YYYEEAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"



Both men unloaded at the same time. The cum shot out of their dickheads in
endless hot white spurts. Fux's first blast exploded in Cutler's face, just
as Jay sprayed jism allover Jean-Pierre's massive tits. Cum spurts splashed
and splattered the mirror. The only sounds were the hoarse grunts of
ecstatic male musclesex and the squish of their slippery dicks. The two men
worked their penises long after the spurting stopped, Jean-Pierre reaching
down to cup his ballsac and Jay massaging the underside of his fat
cockhead. Then they swaggered around the steamy Muscle Room, their thick
dicks--still at half mast--swinging like firehoses, every muscle in their
inflated bodies still magnificently pumped, sweating like pigs, breathing
hard, before finally collapsing on the floor in a heap, kissing each other
deeply, exhausted but already looking forward to the next session of "Twin
Peaks."


END