Pho put his hands behind his head and stretched. His school
desk squeaked and moaned as he shifted his bulk. His desk
was way too small for him. So was his tight white T-shirt. As
Pho stretched, his shirt made little groaning noises as its fibers
were pushed out of shape, straining to the max to contain his
arms, back, and shoulders. Even though Pho's cheap T-shirt
was pretty big, it wasn't made for someone shaped like Pho.
Pho was big and strong. Ever since he was 12, he had been
pumping up his muscles with weights. And now those muscles
were totally huge. At only 18 years of age, Pho had 270 pounds
of ripped, throbbing muscle packed onto his 6-foot 2-inch
frame. He was already way bigger and stronger than any other
man around, and as long as Dr. Aschenbach kept giving him the
injections, he was just gonna keep getting bigger and stronger.
Pho liked being big and strong. It hadn't always been this way.
Only 6 years ago, he had been a scrawny Asian immigrant who
the other kids in the town wouldn't hang out with. A lot of the
boys picked on him for being poor and not knowing English.
Pho's English was still just OK, but that didn't matter anymore,
since his muscles were so big he could do whatever he felt like.
Now Pho was getting even with all the snotty white boys. They
used to make fun of him, hit him and make him feel bad. Now
they were all nice to him, because they were all so scared,
especially the jocks. But sometimes he would still beat one of
them up anyway, because he felt like it. He ruled his high school
and scared the whole town. And things were just gonna keep
getting better.
Pho was always bored in school. He was especially bored in
Ms. Nyswaner's Health class, which was last period. All he
wanted to do was eat and then pump his muscles some more.
He already knew about the body's muscles and hormones and
stuff, and there weren't many girls in the high school he hadn't
fucked at some point, so he knew everything about Health. But
the Doctor made him. So he sat in class and was bored. To
make the time go by Pho shifted in his seat, stretching his
bulging muscles, and thought about what he was gonna do after
school, like pumping some huge weights or fucking up some
guy. Sometimes his big brown dick would stiffen in his sweat
pants, pumping up with hot blood. His 12-inch hardon would make a big
tent in his sweat pants, which were already pulled tight around
his huge quads and granite butt. Pho didn't care. His hormones
made him get a lot of hardons. But some of the girls saw, and
they stared at the big bulge, and whispered to each other.
One day in Health class Ms. Nyswaner was teaching about the
muscular system, and how the muscles get their nourishment.
We were going to have a test where we had to name the muscle
groups of the body. She was going to go over the groups we
had to memorize by pointing at a pull-down chart that had all the
muscles of the body on it. But the chart was broken and wouldn't
roll down. One of the nerdy boys came up to try to get the chart to
roll down. The class began to murmur among themselves,
pleased at this distraction from the lesson. Suddenly, a
clownish boy towards the back of the class spoke up, yelling to
Mrs. Nyswaner and the class in general, "Make Pho come up
and be the muscle chart!" The class was electrified. Some of
the girls giggled, and the jocks Pho hadn't beaten up lately
chimed in, saying, "Yeah, dude, your muscles are massive!
Make the nerd point `em all out!" The others just sort of laughed
nervously.
Ms. Nyswaner was caught off guard by the clown's remark. She
started in her chair, and blushed. In her weak moments she
secretly admired some of the husky young males in her English
classes. But Pho was in a class by himself. From the front of
the class, she stole glances at him when the students were
busy at their work. Her eyes fixed on the teen bodybuilder
whenever papers were being passed back through the class.
Pho would raise his arm to pass a piece of paper to the girl
behind him, his biceps mounding up against his melon-sized
left delt as the hamlike arm crushed the straining sleeve of his
T-shirt into his armpit. He was the only student whose clothes
she remembered. Always the tight white T-shirts. And the sweat
pants he somehow got away with wearing. Sweat pants were
supposed to make one's lower body shapeless. Why could
Pho's not hide anything? Between class periods, her eyes
followed Pho's simian backside as he strutted down the
hallways, the globes of his proud musclebutt alternately tensing,
like big bowling balls shifting against each other. And the
obscene fullness between those grotesquely swollen thighs....
Ms. Nyswaner hated Pho. Her poor nice husband never
understood why she was so demanding in bed lately. Now Ms.
Nyswaner was upset with herself for blushing. "Pho, please stay
in your seat; stay in your seat, Pho," she protested weakly. But
she had lost control of this class -- Pho was already moving.
Pho levered his way out of the too-small seat and walked down
the aisle, taking off his shirt as he walked towards the front of the
classroom. Pho had to take off the straining T-shirt by grasping
the neckband along the sides of his neck and gently tugging up.
This was the only way Pho could now take off a shirt without
ripping it. Unless someone else peeled it off for him. Or unless
he got frustrated and just tore it off. When Pho reached the front
of the class, he had the T-shirt completely off. The class saw
Pho's lats ripple as he tossed his muscle-stretched T-shirt onto
Ms. Nyswaner's desk. The mingled smells of cheap deodorant,
sweat and teen boy rose from the warm cotton to the teacher's
nostrils. Ms. Nyswaner shuddered, and kept crossing and
uncrossing her legs under her desk. Pho saw the teacher
shudder, and his full lips parted into a wolfish smile, showing
perfect white teeth. Pho turned around and stood relaxed in front
of the class. He put his hands on his slender hips and pushed
down the waistband of his sweats, to show his tiny waist. The
abs of the Asian muscleteen popped out like rows of little soda
cans stacked sideways. And those ab muscles were always
tight from having to support Pho's bulging torso.
Pho's face and neck still looked like a normal teenager's. His
neck was graceful and a little boyish-looking. It hadn't had time
to catch up with the rest of his body. It was as though you had
taken a normal teenager and morphed his body from the neck
down. His young face and neck made him look like he was
armor-plated with muscles. Around his neck Pho wore a thin
gold chain, which draped along the contours of his traps and
pecs. The lowest links of the chain always got stuck in the deep
cleavage between Pho's pecs. So Pho picked the chain out from
his cleavage, and made it drape down his back instead. Pho's
arms were at his sides, pushed out by his massive lats. Pho
grinned and hit a double biceps pose. His arms looked like they
had basketballs in them. Pho mezmerized the class with
several more poses. A couple of the girls moaned out loud as
the Asian teen flexed his huge muscles for the class. A few of
the boys couldn't help it as their dicks got hard. They hoped the
hardons would stay hidden in their baggy jeans.
Soon the bell rang. Ms. Nyswaner ran to the nearest girls'
restroom to regain her composure. A small group of girls, and
again a couple of the boys, gathered around Pho as he put his
shirt back on, putting their hands on Pho, feeling his muscles,
and asking him how he got so big. Even the girls whose
boyfriends were present went up and felt Pho's muscles. The
boyfriends just slunk out of the classroom, or pretended this
didn't bother them.
The boys never dared to protest or make comments that Pho
could hear, especially the jocks. Two of the boys in Ms.
Nyswaner's class still had bruises on their bodies from where
Pho's big fists had landed. They hid the bruises under their
clothes, and hobbled around the halls. Pho was smart now. He
made sure that when he beat up local boys, he didn't make a
mark on boys' faces or hands. He had learned about that the
hard way, after Andy Proffitt had come home with a lot of the
bones in his face broken. Andy was one of the snotty kids who
used to make fun of Pho when he first came to America. His dad
owned the second-biggest bank in western Kansas, so he
thought he could do whatever he wanted. One day, when Pho
was 15 and already pretty pumped, Pho caught up with Andy
after school. After Andy came home looking like that, Andy's
parents went to the principal and the police and said they had to
kick Pho out of the school and put him in jail. But it turned out
they couldn't, because then the Doctor got this letter saying Pho
had a Post Dramatic Stress Disorder, or something like that,
from when he was a kid in Laos and the Communists came and
killed his parents. When actually Pho just mostly liked to beat
guys up. So they had to let Pho back into school, especially after
the Doctor also said he'd call the ACLU and get the Government
involved, since the authorities were obviously bigoted, or so the
Doctor said. But at this time the Doctor also told Pho he couldn't
defend Pho anymore unless Pho would stay in school and pay
attention. So Pho got more careful. But he still had his ways.
The story is still going around the senior class about how Pho
beat the shit out of a guy who was on the high school tennis
team. This happened just a few weeks ago. Pho was driving
his old truck home from the town's little private gym, the one
where Pho had his massive workouts, and where he also
worked, since the Doctor had gotten him a job there too, working
behind the business counter where people came in. Pho
thought that someday he might be the owner of the gym, if the
Doctor got him a loan and if he stayed out of trouble. His way
home took him through the warehouse district that runs along
the railroad tracks, through the center of town. This is where they
used to store the grain and turn it into flour. This was before
ArgoCon came 30 years ago and put up the steel silos on the
edge of town, where they put the grain now after harvest, before it
gets shipped off to Chicago. Today most of the warehouses are
abandoned. Not many people go there anymore, except the kids
who park their cars along the bare streets and alleys, and party
and make out in the buildings at night.
Anyhow, Pho was driving past the warehouses on his way home.
He was totally pumped after one of his massive back workouts.
His swollen lats were stretching the seams of his cheap T-shirt
even more than usual. The place was mostly deserted. Then on
one of the side streets he saw a parked car. He knew who the
owner was. It was Corey Meyer, one of Andy Proffitt's friends.
Corey was one of the rich kids too, and thought he was hot shit
because his dad had bought him a new SUV for his last birthday.
Seeing the car attracted Pho's interest, and he whipped his truck
onto the side street where it was parked. Then Pho saw
something that made him really mad.
As he drove up the side street where Corey's car was parked, he
saw Corey having an argument with Jeanine Pospisil,a girl Pho
recognized from high school. Actually she was in Ms.
Nyswaner's Health class, where Pho had shown off his muscles
one day. It looked Corey had taken her out here on a date. Now
Corey was trying to get her to go inside one of the warehouses,
but Jeanine obviously didn't want to and was resisting. Corey
got angry when she resisted, and grabbed her wrist with his
hand to lead her into a warehouse. Jeanine tried to pull away
from Corey, and that's when Corey drew back his free hand. He
was just gonna slap her for being a whiney bitch. His family
owned lots of stuff in town. The townspeople were sort of like
servants. Why couldn't Jeanine just give him what he wanted?
Corey had other stuff to do too. But he started and turned when
he heard a car draw near. Because Corey was a coward, too.
He didn't want anyone to witness his bad behavior. He turned
his head to look towards the sound and realized that he had the
worst witness of all.
Pho's face got dark as he saw Corey. His nostrils flared and his
upper lip curled. Spoiled-rotten rich kids like Corey disgusted
him, and made him think of all the times they used to treat Pho
bad, before he grew his big muscles. He ground his old pickup
truck to a stop in front of the warehouse and got out. The truck's
springs squeaked as Pho got out. He walked up to the two,
fuming. Pho's powerful heart was pumping adrenaline into his
bulging muscles, getting them ready to smash. He was gonna
splatter Corey across the ground, but then he remembered what
the Doctor said. He wanted to own the gym someday, so he
couldn't actually kill Corey, even though he sure would've
otherwise. Corey turned pale as Pho's wide body suddenly
blocked out the setting sun. His grip on Jeanine's wrist went
loose, and she pulled away.
"H-hi Pho," stammered Corey, "Actually, we were just --"
"OOF!" went Corey, as Pho's open left palm slammed into
Corey's thin chest, knocking him to the dirt. Since Pho had
knocked every bit of air out of Corey's lungs, he lay gasping as
the young bodybuilder stood over him, snorting with rage.
"You think you can hit a woman? I show you who hurt who," spat
Pho, and he bent down and picked up the gasping boy by the
front of his nice shirt and by the crotch of his pants. Pho's white
T shirt couldn't take the strain anymore, and it ripped at the
armpits as the pumped-up teen lifted Corey over his head like he
was nothing.
"Now I beat up for you."
Pho carried the tennis-playing punk toward the side door of an
old disused seed-corn warehouse. Pho kicked the door with a
big booted foot, easily snapping the rusty deadbolt that held it
locked. He dropped the struggling boy down from over his head
and into his arms as he went through the door. Inside, evening
light came through the gritty west windows and reflected off
particles of grain dust floating in the air. The wooden rafters
were supported by walls of splintery wood and by two square
wooden pillars down the main axis. Pho flung the boy onto the
battered floor and put a boot on his chest to keep him down. He
turned to Jeanine and told her to stay out. "You keep the door
shut," he said. "We come out after we have a talk." Jeanine was
so confused. This had all happened so fast. She hated Corey,
and didn't want to go out with him anyway. But she shut the
door. She looked through the space where the bolt used to be,
to see what Pho would do to Corey.
Pho took his boot off of Corey's chest, and the boy stumbled to
his feet. He was coughing and wheezing from the rough
handling Pho gave him. Standing between Corey and the door,
Pho took off his shirt and pumped his pecs. The round slabs of
muscle flicked up towards his chin as he bounced them. Corey
was going to cry. He knew this was revenge, whatever Pho was
going to do. Through the door-hole, Jeanine saw the bulging,
oval muscles of Pho's lats ripple, like a shifting pile of eggs, as
he tossed the torn shirt aside. Corey cast his eyes back and
forth, like a trapped animal, and suddenly made a run for it. He
darted behind the wooden pillars, towards the back of the
warehouse. But Pho was faster. He easily caught up with Corey
and grabbed him by the back of his expensive shirt, ripping it off.
Pho grabbed Corey's little arms and used his big chest to shove
the boy against the sharp wall. Corey was pinned to the wall by
Pho's muscles. Pho grabbed Corey's right arm, the one he
used for his girly tennis games, and wrapped his big, calloused
palm around Corey's soft biceps.
"You must be pretty big man, if you fight a woman," Pho snarled.
"Let me feel you muscle." Pho's bowling-pin forearm bulged as
he kneaded Corey's little arm with his thick fingers, squishing
the little muscles around and tearing them. Corey howled and
sobbed as Pho's big hand kneaded his soft little biceps.
Pho released Corey's bruised arm and backed up half a pace.
He started to pump his muscles again, flicking his pecs and
flexing his biceps right and left. The muscles obeyed, swelling
with hot blood, getting ready for their next workout. Pho snorted
into Corey's face like a bull. Now Corey was getting frantic. His
porcelain-doll face was blotchy and his fine features were
contorted with pain and shame. This wasn't how it was
supposed to work. Corey and his family were on top of the town.
Through his tears he shrieked desperate curses at the Laotian
muscleteen. "You can't get away with this, you fucking gook
freak!" he howled. "I'll have my dad destroy you!"
"This for you father," said Pho, as he took up a boxing stance
before blasting his iron fists into Corey, covering the boy's soft
torso with punches. The muscles of the young bodybuilder
bunched and flexed as he pummeled the kid's torso, blasting
his fists into Corey's slender chest and soft stomach, pulverizing
his soft little abs and bruising his organs and ribs. Corey's
floppy blond hair bounced back and forth as his body danced to
the muscleteen's punches. Pho continued to punch, landing
fast punches left, right, and left, one blow a second, as Corey
emitted little woofing sounds each time a heavy fist smacked
into his pale torso. And Pho was only using a sixth of his
strength on those punches. If Pho had let loose with all the
strength in his gym-pumped upper body, his fists would have
punched all the way to the splintery wall, blasting through organs
and shattering all the bones in their way.
Finally, Pho stopped punching, and stood over Corey as the boy
slid to the floor, fainting from pain and lack of breath. The boy's
teary eyes looked up at Pho's handsome Asian face with its
military haircut, which was glaring down at Corey, framed
between his jutting pec mounds. Corey could see the dark
brown nipples on those pecs pointing straight down towards
him. The torso of the Asian musclestud was pumped to the
max, his smooth brown skin stretched thin by the ballooning
bulges of muscle underneath. A thin sheen of sweat stood out
on Pho's bloated pecs and arms, and a single drop of sweat
trickled down out of each of Pho's armpits, trailing down the side
of his lat spread. The sweat highlighted the veins underneath as
they nourished the muscle meat after Pho's exertion. For those
muscles this was a little cardio workout, and Pho's muscles
really enjoyed it.
Now it was time for Corey to say sorry. Pho picked up the
bruised boy, with one big hand beneath each armpit, and carried
him over to one of the big square pillars. Pho stood Corey up
with his shoulder blades against the wooden pillar, and then
Pho wrapped his arms around the pillar, enclosing the rich little
wimp between the pillar and Pho's muscles. As Pho stretched
his arms around the pillar, his arms and lats spread out like
thick wings, and it looked like Corey was encased in a cave of
solid muscle. The pillar was so thick that Pho couldn't make his
hands meet around it; but he could grasp the far side with each
of his calloused palms. Pho lightly gripped the pillar's far side.
Corey's skinny chest was now being compressed against Pho's
proud pecs; and the wimp's soft, bruised stomach squeezed
into the crevices between Pho's tomato-can abs. Every time Pho
took a breath, filling his big lungs, his armor-plated chest and
abs swelled out, expanding into Corey's thin body. Now Corey
could only breathe in when Pho exhaled. So Corey breathed
when Pho wanted him to. Pho's black eyes drilled into Corey's,
and Pho whispered, "Now you say you sorry. For all the thing you
do to me. Or I kill you."
Corey was having a very bad day. His teary eyes tried to focus on
Pho's face, but either he wasn't getting enough air, or else too
much, and his vision was blurry. Corey stammered, "I-I-Pho,
please let me go, I promise--"
"Say it now, or I snap all you bone with my muscle," Pho snarled,
and pulled himself into the pillar. The arms of the Laotian
muscleteen bulged into sculptured relief as his chest began to
crush the wimp. "Gaaaaah," said Corey, as every last bit of air
was forced out of his lungs, rushing against Pho's face like air
from a burst balloon. Pho squeezed a little harder, and felt the
boy's frail little ribcage creak against his flexing pecs, the
sternum starting to bend inward. Corey's little heart labored
uselessly against the pressure, and soon he would black out.
With his last bit of breath, he croaked through slender, bluing
lips: "I'm sorry, sorry for...everything. Ple-eease!" Corey's pretty
blue eyes focused on Pho's in sheer desperation, pleading for
mercy. Pho held the boy this way for another second, wanting to
snuff the rich punk, longing to feel and hear Corey's ribs
snapping against his chest like rubber bands slapping on
burlap.
Instead Pho relaxed his muscles and let go of the wall, letting
Corey slide down against the hard contours of his teen
musclebody. Corey filled his bruised lungs with ragged gasps
as he rested his forehead against Pho's rippling belly, steadying
himself with his hands on the muscleteen's overhanging quads.
Pho looked down over his pecs at the gasping boy and smirked.
Doing this stuff to the snotty kids made him feel great. Suddenly
Pho had an idea. "Stan' up," he commanded the gasping boy.
Corey wobbled on his knees, trying to get his feet underneath
him. "I said STAN' UP!" Pho bellowed, grabbing a handful of
Corey's soft blond hair and pulling upwards. With this help,
Corey stood up, still steadying himself against Pho's body. The
boy's torso was covered with bruises where Pho's big fists had
punched him, and ugly purple marks stood out on his little right
arm, from where Pho had squished his little biceps. "Look at
me," Pho ordered. Corey's eyes slowly met Pho's, and Pho
thought that the expression on Corey's face was now one not
only of fear, but also maybe awe and respect, respect for Pho's
swollen muscles and the power they had to crush the life out of
whatever opposed them. "You meet me here in one week," said
Pho, "and I see if you have a better attitude."
"And if you hide from me," Pho said, wrapping a calloused hand
around Corey's tender throat, "I find you. And remember, my
muscle are so big that if I want, I snap you neck like a twig." To
drive the point home, Pho gently tightened his hand around
Corey's slender neck, and the boy wheezed. "Yes, Pho," Corey
rasped, paling again at the thought of another "talk" with the
pumped-up teen, "I'll be here."
Pho didn't stop to pick up his torn white T-shirt as he went out of
the warehouse's broken door, finding Jeanine just outside,
where he had told her to wait, smoothing down her print skirt.
Pho's T-shirt was wasted. He would get another one out of the
pack of cheap T-shirts he kept at his trailer on the edge of town.
He smiled, thinking how Corey might have to use it to wipe the
tears from his pretty face, since Pho had torn Corey's nice shirt.
"Come on," said Pho, "I take you home now." Jeanine just
nodded. They both knew Pho meant his home, not her parents'.
Jeanine had heard girls talking about Pho's trailer, and what it
felt like to be underneath the huge young bodybuilder as he
satisfied himself. She was scared, but excited.
Pho drove his truck out of the warehouse district, towards the
edge of town. The still evening air streamed smoothly through
the windows of the truck, and played over the contours of Pho's
muscles, drying his sweat. Pho thought about the night ahead,
and about his encounter with Corey. His heart beat faster as he
remembered how he had squeezed the rich punk, and made
him cry and beg. Pho had felt like a king. Pho's big brown dick
twitched and stiffened under his sweat pants, his powerful heart
quickly pumping it full of hormone-rich blood. The brown cock
was firm in an instant. His sweat pants suddenly had a big
bulge in them. Pho needed to release his tension right away.
He wondered what he would do the next time he saw Corey.