WARNING: THIS STORY CONTAINS FATHER-SON INCEST/RAPE, EXTREME VIOLENCE AND GORE, 
SADISM, DISRESPECT FOR AUTHORITY AND BLASPHEMY, NOT NECESSARILY IN THAT ORDER.  
IT IS UNREDEEMED BY MORAL RETRIBUTION.  YOU’D HAVE TO BE INSANE TO WANT TO READ 
IT, POSSIBLY CRIMINALLY SO.  IF THAT ISN’T YOU, OR IF YOU ARE UNDERAGE IN YOUR 
LOCALITY, THEN JUST DON’T READ IT.  TRY “HEIDI” INSTEAD.  FOR THE REST OF YOU 
SICK FUCKS, ENJOY.


PLANET TERROR
A Jason Romp

By Chip Masterson


When the President awoke, he could barely move.  He thought he’d been paralyzed, 
but some panicked wriggling reassured him that while bruised and battered head 
to foot, he was only pinned between Aaron’s arm and a wall of collapsed granite 
who knows how deep in the earth.  It was only the peaks of Aaron’s hardened pecs 
and thighs shielded him; even while asleep, the tons of stone couldn’t dent his 
muscles.  It didn’t even wake him up.

Now, hunger and thirst gnawing his throat and guts, he had to wait in the 
cramped dark for the boy to rouse and dig them out.  Who knows how many miles of 
impact-compressed mountain and broken lunar continents sat on top of them?  He 
could hear it shifting, trying to crush down, frustrated into sideways paths by 
Aaron’s muscles as they grew bigger and stronger during sleep, forcing the moon-
flattened mountains to rise up again.  growing musculature.  He imagined 
diamonds forming where those two forces met most fiercely; huge, worthless 
diamonds.  

The sound of granite being scraped by something harder caught his ear, and then 
Aaron’s muffled “What the--” a full octave deeper than it had been before.  
“What the fuck happened?”  Not wanting to freak the kid out right off, the 
President said, “We had a cave-in.  It was, as the kids say, kinda major.  If 
you were anyone else, I’d say we’re trapped.”

“But I’m not,” Aaron said with his gift for the obvious.  He flexed his pecs up 
into strata which crumbled away from them, then tried to sit up – but nothing 
happened.  “Cave-in, huh?” he asked again.

“Something fell on us, I’m pretty sure,” the President answered, not giving 
anything away.

Aaron contracted his abs and braced his arms against the stony floor.  The floor 
of the cavern tinkled with cracks from the increased pressure, and fissures 
sprayed up through the blockade of boulders, but they didn’t move.  It was earth 
and moon versus boymuscle, and breathing deeply the thin, stale air, Aaron lay 
back, squirmed his arms into position and PRESSSSSED the rocks up.  Cannon-shots 
echoed out of the splintering schist but the mountain and the moon pressed back.  
Setting his shoulders, Aaron fought them with every fiber, breathing harder and 
using his gigantic legs to form a wrestler’s bridge.

Rock-tons bore down but something deep fractured - boymuscle was winning.  Aaron 
enjoyed exerting his new strength and doubled his efforts as the space around 
them opened up.  Imagining how the ground above them must be humping and 
bucking, the president scrambled to stay behind Aaron and away from shattering 
bedrock.  

“God, I wish I had something to eat.  This is fuckin’ hard,” Aaron said; the 
president could hear the grin on his face.  “Guess I didn’t recover as much as I 
thought I would.”  

The president knew the old Aaron, the days-younger Aaron, probably couldn’t have 
done even this much.  “There may be a lot more on top of us than there was to 
start with,” he hinted.

“What’d that fucker do, throw a mountain on top of us?” 

“Not exactly,” the president said.  “But I didn’t see – camera phone reception 
is shit down here.”

The boy laughed, then gritted his teeth and SHOOVED hundreds of tons of rock 
AWAY from him.  A sound like the Titanic breaking in half clamored around them 
as boymuscle MOOOVED boulders as big as skyscrapers.  Monumental sections of the 
planet ground together, cracked then cracked again as Aaron’s hands turned them 
into gravel.  The president clasped his arms around Aaron’s waist and kept his 
head free of those gnashing spinal erectors and slowly, they climbed their way 
up through granite too weak to withstand the forces generated by Aaron’s arms, 
shoulders and bull-thick pecs.  The higher they went, the more give Aaron got 
from the strata above them, his bulldozer lats bullying the tonnages away and 
prying every crack apart until its splitting would deafen God and all the 
angels.  

Finally, Aaron sensed the weight above him was no match for his strength.  
Balancing the weight on his head, with one last deep breath he JAMMED his arms 
up into the rock.  Hundreds of cubic yards of previously-solid earth rocketed 
out of ground like a champagne cork.  Aaron, barely bent his knees to follow it 
out in a single bound.  As the soared into the gray light, they stared 
bewildered at the devastation.  

All around them, where once had been a forest, lake and town, there was nothing 
but broken rock – barren, gray moon rocks jutting and falling in an impassable 
plain.  Not a living creature or human structure in sight.  The sky roiled with 
atomized rock and ocean vapor from the impacts, cloud cover so dense they’d 
never know how much of the moon remained in orbit without getting above it.  

“What is this?” Aaron asked, blinking.

The president cleared his throat of dust.  “Before I came down to safety, I saw 
the moon – breaking up.  Rather, getting cracked open like a hatching egg.  
Jason did it.”

“No way.  You’re shitting me.”  Aaron’s deep voice took on a threatening rumble.

“He said he’d do something so big, every time anyone looked at the sky they’d 
think of him.  Then he leapt out of sight.  From what I saw, his thigh-power got 
him there many times faster than any man-made rocket ever has.  Then he began 
boring away – I saw the plume.  Like a volcano.”

“There is no way the man I fought is capable of that,” Aaron said, shaking his 
head.  “He opened a tiny cut in the earth’s crust and it wore him out.  Hell, 
I’m still shaking from what I just did.  No way he’s that strong.”  A note of 
desperate disbelief and impending humiliation rang in the boy’s voice.  How 
could ever compete with a father who can do THAT?  

“No way he tear up the whole fuckin’ moon,” Aaron repeated.  “Not with holding 
his breath the whole way there.  And he may brag about repelling radiation but 
outer space is harsh, dude.  It takes a toll.”

The president was silent a moment, then asked quietly, “What if he was wrong 
about his skin?  You know, ordinary skin is photosynthetic, we convert sunlight 
to vitamin D.  What if his body turned raw solar radiation into something more … 
meaty?”

“Like what, muscle?” Aaron scoffed.  Then the what-if moment struck him.  Hard.  
He sat and crushed a boulder beneath him without noticing.

“I’m thinking,” the president continued, shifting the focus to Aaron to buoy his 
crashing spirits, “what if your ability to grow stronger and denser isn’t a 
function of hormones?  After all, you haven’t even really hit puberty yet.  What 
if all the cells in your body do what Einstein only dreamed of – convert energy 
into mass.  Not just muscle, but bone, sinew, even blood and nerve.  What if 
Jason got stronger, and heavier, and god knows, even smarter, while shooting 
over those hundred and eighty thousand miles of unshielded space?  So that when 
he reached the moon, he was not only exponentially stronger, but capable of 
modeling in his head, in microseconds, precisely where the right spot would be, 
calculating the exact frequency his blows had to create to set up a chain 
reaction the broke it up?”

“What if he didn’t need to be smarter,” Aaron said, dully.  “What if he just 
picked any old spot, dug in, and tore it to pieces like a loaf of bread?  
Nothing could stop him.  He could crush God Almighty to nothing under his 
armpit.”  

“Yeah?” the president challenged.  “Well, maybe yes and maybe no.  Maybe it cost 
him everything he had to do that, and he’s out there gasping for breath, waiting 
for you to come finish him off.  Maybe when he fell back to earth, he can’t get 
back up again.  Thought about that?  Or are you too much of a pussy to even 
check it out?”

Aaron’s eyes flashed so dangerously the president thought his heart would stop.  
Muscles in the boys arm clenched and he glowered at the older man.  “I ain’t no 
pussy.  Did a pussy get you outa that hole?  Did you get us out, little man?”  

Aaron jumped to his feet and stared at the president, the boy’s immense density 
making the man look like a paper cutout.  “Don’t know,” the president taunted.  
“You look a little pale.”

“I’ll show you pale,” Aaron said.  He reached out and lifted a boulder the size 
of school bus, his bicep exploding like a mini-supernova.  With barely an 
effort, he side-armed it off the face of the earth, the giant rock sucking air 
after it as it broke earth’s gravity.  He glared at the president as if to say, 
‘What YOU got?’  Then he said, “Either way, this planet ain’t big enough for 
both of us.”

The President thought, ‘Maybe it’s the planet that isn’t big enough for Jason,’ 
but decided not to say anything.  The boy needed all the support he could get.  
So he did say, “All this emptiness reminds me of how hungry I am.”

“Hungry YOU are?” Aaron grinned.  “I could eat a herd of Herefords, hides and 
hooves.  Let’s get out of this shithole,” he said, tucking the President under 
his arm like a football and leaping to the southwest, towards the coast. 

One leap only carried them nearer the edge of the debris field; it took one more 
to reach pocked farmland where vittles could be rustled up.  They moved and ate 
in silence, overwhelmed by hunger and the devastation they met everywhere.  
During a barbecue on an abandoned ranch where Aaron ate most of three large 
steers, the President watched in awe as Aaron’s rippling abs compacted hundreds 
of pounds of beef as it went down, pressure-cooking the raw meat into a kind 
digestive stew, the boy’s hyper-metabolism turning it into energy and muscle 
practically before his eyes.  He thought he might cook his own steak on Aaron’s 
skin, simply by the heat radiating from the intense pressure, but his stomach 
turned at the thought and he warmed it over an old-fashioned fire.  “Where do 
you think he is?” the president asked.

“My thought?  Antarctica,” Aaron said, licking fat off his fingers.  “Only place 
cold enough – and big enough – to cool him down after absorbing all that solar 
radiation and then the friction of re-entry.  Unless all these clouds are from 
some ocean that boiled off around him.”  He grinned as if this were ludicrous.  
The president flashed a sickly smile in return.  “How long will it take to get 
there?” he asked the boy.

“That depends on you,” Aaron said.  “How many G’s can you take before you wimp 
out?”

“Don’t get surly with me,” the president snapped.  “I just work here.”  Or used 
to, he thought with grim humor.

Aaron found some leather straps to help secure the president to his back.  “My 
papoose,” he called him as he shot forward, low and fast.  Incredible forces 
built up as they burst the sound barrier by three, even four times, but Aaron’s 
massive chest and yards-wide lats shrugged it off, leaving a pocket of low 
pressure around the president.  Every couple of hours they stopped for Aaron to 
eat anything he could find.  The president fought conflicted watching Aaron 
landed on some Central American highway, running at eighty miles an hour to 
catch a refrigerator truck and drag it shuddering to a halt on spinning wheels, 
holding it at a dead stop with one hand despite every panicked attempt by the 
driver to power free, using the other to peel apart the metal walls like a rind 
to wolf down sides of frozen beef or whole pallets of fresh bread.  

The president felt guilty and uneased at the theft, yet electrified by the 
tension barreling out of Aaron’s lats as they controlled the bucking tractor-
trailer.  Most disturbing, as those two emotions fucked each other they gave 
birth to a drooling lust monster that filled his cock with desire, a monster 
that drove him to fuck the cleft between those living-granite lats while they 
overpowered the rig and consumed its load, polish them with his grinding hips 
and wax them with his presidential juices.  He couldn’t help himself:  the sight 
of such strength, such masculine presumption, the powerful man taking whatever 
he wanted with no thought to anyone else – it used to make him angry but now it 
drove him mad.  The revulsion in the back of his mind – a boy, he’s technically 
a fuckin’ boy! – only made his balls ache and sweat.  

If Aaron even noticed him back there, the kid said nothing.  He knew his maxed-
out virility was so potent it no man could stop perving over him.  He’d watched 
the straightest of macho pussyhounds bark and rub themselves against the 
pavement, helpless and even unwilling to resist.  If the fact even registered 
that he was still a boy chronologically, however fully-developed in every other 
way, it might destroy their minds.  Even so, it was the ones who felt no 
conflict at all that earned his contempt.  

But Aaron was amazed at how many men survived, how many he-men accepted their 
servility before him, to him.  It’s like their minds broke in some way that made 
that separate from the rest of them.  But no man, however strong and self-
assured, came away undamaged after from meeting Aaron.  At least the president 
had enough decency to fight it as long as he could.  He could respect that.  And 
the president lasted longer than most.

Longer, even, than his own father.  Jason had finally met the one male who truly 
aroused his desire yet was strong enough to survive it.  Aaron sensed it in 
their combat, in tempting Jason to join forces, in the final moments of defeat 
at his own son’s hands – moments when he almost willingly gave in.  It wasn’t 
only rage, but pants-ripping carnality that literally drove Jason completely off 
the planet.  Destroying the moon wasn’t just an act of terrorism, his signature 
in the sky:  the moon was the only thing he could fully vent his frustration and 
conflicted anger on that wouldn’t also destroy the world he lived on.  It was 
ultimately the only thing big enough to take a punch – even though it ultimately 
couldn’t.  

And it was also a challenge of love:  a display of brawn both to beat Aaron and 
win him too.  Intimidate, and impress.  To say, “top THAT.”  Maybe even, “top 
ME.”

That’s what kept drawing them together – kill or fuck, they couldn’t decide 
which.  So:  the President of the United States busting his nut on his rippling 
back muscles?  Ho fucking him.

Like a tornado, the breakup of the moon had devastated some areas while leaving 
others untouched.  But not unaffected – apart from screwing up the tides 
forevermore, mega-tsunamis had wiped out almost every coastal area.  But the 
most awesome sight came when they reached the tip of Tierra del Fuego:  there 
was no ice left on Antarctica.  

Jason’s impact had not only pulverized the miles-thick ice sheet in the center 
of the continent, it melted or shocked the rest into the sea.  That accounted 
for the disappearing coastlines as well as the nuclear-winter clouds above them.   
All they could see, beneath a lingering cloud of what appeared to be airborne 
mud, was a barren, blasted landscape scarred less by moon-meteorites than by the 
planetoid-superman slamming into it.  From the tremors and geysers where icepack 
used to lay, it seemed Jason had jammed the continental plate so badly it might 
break up entirely.

It looked for everything like the first land to emerge from the sea four billion 
years ago.  As if Jason had somehow knocked the entire planet not on it’s ass, 
but back to its beginning.  Maybe, the president thought, that’s the plan.  His 
Genesis: the Man-God’s new creation.

Aaron leapt over the strait and to the Antarctic peninsula.  Rough seas churned 
all around, with no signs of life above or below – not even birds.  While 
airborne, the president could see further the damage Jason’s super-dense 
musculature had caused: he’d impacted at the narrowest spot on the continent, 
between the Wendell and Ross seas, creating a crater that nearly cut the 
continent in two.  Only the farthest peaks near McMurdo Sound still had a 
dusting of snow.  Or maybe only ash.  The president barely had time to wonder if 
it was possible he could have knocked the entire planet off its axis when the 
ocean erupted.

A huge swell boiled a hundred feet in the air and spat up a piece of the moon 
half the size of Manhattan.  The huge mass rose higher into the air … and higher 
… and kept on going … and then went higher … they craned their necks to follow 
it for miles until what the earth feebly called gravity managed to stop it and 
pull it back down.  Aaron barely had time to work out the trajectory when he 
grabbed the president roughly under his arm and jumped for the higher ground of 
the transcontinental range.  The moon fragment came down right where they had 
been with a thunderclap of pulverized rock and dust.  

Clearly, Jason had hocked up from the bottom of the sea with such force it not 
only broke through a mile of water, it kept sailing miles into the sky.  The 
president trembled, knowing Jason probably had the strength to put it back into 
orbit from the ocean bottom if he so chose; he put this one exactly where he 
wanted it.  He could probably hear or feel them land, and planted it there.  

The ocean bulged again with a gigantic zit that popped another, larger asteroid 
– moonsteroid? – that mocked the earth’s weak powers by rising until it shrank 
to the size of a pea.  But Aaron realized they were, once again, the target, and 
this time they passed the falling mountain as he leapt to safety.  The 
fragment’s contrail buffeted Aaron off-course and nearly landed them in the 
drink.  Without waiting for another cue, they continued on to where they assumed 
Jason was herding them:  ground zero.

The crater must have been five miles in diameter, maybe more.  Aaron landed on 
the center peak ring, where the shocked rock flowed like water into a shape like 
a giant Bundt pan.  The floor sparkled with a clear layer of metamorphically 
melt mineral sheet full of diamonds – wherever graphite had been – above a web-
work of shock fragments compressed by the power generated when the earth’s crust 
tried to stop Jason from tearing right through it.  

But that wasn’t the most disturbing thing.  All around were things that appeared 
to be the wreckage of some military operation – but how could anyone have 
assembled such large war machines inside the crater, and lost a battle, in so 
short a time?  And where were the shells, the spent ammunition?  That’s when the 
President took a closer look.  And heard the pleas and moaning.

Tanks, armored transports, ordinary busses, bombers with broken wings – dozens 
of vehicles all crimped or twisted in some way to prevent the occupants from 
getting out.  They were filled with soldiers, officers, policemen, paramilitary 
units, diplomats and world leaders, each seemingly plucked from some road and 
brought here.  Like some kind of zoo.  

The tanks had concave grooves on top to seal the hatch – Jason’s forearm no 
doubt - and pretzeled cannons.  The bus roofs were mashed down to the seatbacks.  
A couple of the armored personnel carriers had been trampled flat, leaking pools 
of blood.  When some of the men saw Aaron and the president, they began 
screaming and banging on their prisons, begging to be let out.  It looked as 
though Jason had taken all their sidearms, or they’d used all their ammo on him.  
Some begged to be killed quickly.

The sun rolled along the horizon, ready to set not long after rising – so at 
least the planet wasn’t too off-kilter, the president thought.  He huddled 
unconsciously toward the warmth blasting off Aaron’s body as they waited.  And 
waited.  And waited.

A speck appeared on the far rim of the crater – no human could have been visible 
at that distance but this thing seemed to bend the light around it.  It jumped 
down the crater floor and the quake nearly knocked the president onto his butt, 
jolting the vehicles and making the men shriek in terror.  The ground rolled in 
steady drumbeats:  Jason was walking toward them, in no rush, each step sending 
seismic waves that bounced around until the solid ground surged like the surface 
of the sea.  And as he got nearer, he got bigger.  And bigger.  And bigger.

It might have been the fading daylight or the earth shivering like a beaten dog 
but the president couldn’t quite make out Jason as he approached – the shape was 
there, but that was all.  It wasn’t until Jason had come much closer that his 
eyes could make sense of the pulsing mass, each twitching muscle fiber as thick 
as his own finger.  But more than that, there seemed to be an orbiting layer of 
… stuff … dust, maybe, drawn more powerfully to his gravity than to the 
planet’s.  

They stood on top of the peak ring, above Jason, yet still he gave the 
impression of being above them.  The way his chest and shoulders, traps and arms 
meshed together, it looked like an armor cap set down onto the twisting tornado 
of his abs.  Only peering through the circling debris field could the president 
see the cable-sinews lashing it all to the lats, each as thick as he himself was 
tall.  Each of Jason’s legs looked like a dozen pythons writhing in sex heat, 
the single king snake standing tall and arching at an angle that matched the 
sweep of his back, giving him the symmetrical profile of a globe, a planet of 
muscle and mansex.  Occasionally he reached down and stroked himself – even his 
huge crushing hands weren’t big enough to reach all the way around his godhead – 
batting himself playfully to anoint his fist-sized nipples with ‘nad nectar.  
When at last he stopped, the rumbling in the ground didn’t.  It only changed.

Where Jason stood, the stress-compacted rock cracked further, straight down and 
radiating out.  With cracking came a stranger sound, like grinding, huge 
boulders grinding together.  It sounded like a ghostly chain-gang working 
everywhere around them.  The president unconsciously reached out to grip the 
bolt-thick sinews of Aaron’s forearm.  Jason smirked, his faced darkened by the 
solar wind yet more brutally handsome for it.  

“Don’t fear the earth crumbling away beneath us, little boys,” he said, his 
voice an octave deeper than the earth’s weariest groan.  “The sound you hear 
isn’t just my supreme weight fracturing miles of rock beneath me – even granite 
and iron are like pumice compared to the density of these muscles.  That sound 
is also my gravity drawing the shearing rocks back up to me.  If I were to stay 
here long enough, my weight would crack them into small enough pieces while my 
gravity ground them smaller until the ground rose around me, worshiping me like 
the core of a new planet.  Already I’m nearly as dense as the earth’s core 
itself.  As you see with this annoying dust, it could become a problem.  Not to 
worry.”

Jason rolled his eyes up into his head and a pulse buzzed out that made their 
hair stand on end.  All the dust and orbiting particles were gone, jettisoned by 
Jason’s new ability to control his magnetic field, emit flares of energy to 
flush his “atmosphere.”  More like a dark star, the president thought, than a 
planet.  

“You might say,” Jason continued, focusing his eyes on the president once again 
with a steady gaze that made the man’s knees weak.  “You might say the earth no 
longer supports me at all, but I exist in space and draw up it to me.  It is I 
who orbit the sun, and the earth is my companion.  Which is one reason the moon 
had to go.  I’m a one-dog man, and who ever heard of a pet having it’s own pet?”  
He chuckled, a sound like death and broken glass.

“So you see, I could just go about my way and let the planet pull itself apart 
trying to keep up with me like the dog it is,” Jason continued.  “But what fun 
is that when I can do THIS?”  He swiftly brought his knee up and slammed his 
foot down onto the glassy surface.  The melt rock shattered, opening a huge 
crevasse that nearly swallowed the entire peak ring as the center of that 
already compacted crater buckled from another dose of Jason’s muscle.  
Scrambling to hold onto Aaron’s body, the two fell into the crack and landed on 
the jumbled boulders broken by Jason’s thigh power.  Now they were looking up at 
Him, at his mile-wide thighs and tectonic pecs and the dark continent of his 
densely-twined back.  

“And THIS?” Jason added, effortlessly lifting a military airbus packed with 
yelling men.   He held his arms wide, then started to bend the ends up.  The 
center creased and collapsed, the personnel falling, scrambling, trying to help 
or climb over each other, looking for a crack in the fuselage to make their 
escape.  Except Jason didn’t like sloppy kills.  He also twisted the plane to 
close the gaps that opened when plating buckled or burst off, twisting and 
bending, cracking its back and crushing the frame.  The men inside raised a howl 
of grief, and Jason’s eyes rolled back again in pleasure, savoring to this hymn 
to his glory.   

The plane flattened, flattening too the screams and cries into gurgles, pops and 
then just the grinding of bone under metal.  The president, sprayed with blood, 
scrambled to his feet for one last rant.

“Why are you doing this, you sick fuck?  You’ve already wrecked the entire 
planet.  You need this kind of torture as well?  Why don’t you go and find some 
new planet somewhere else in the galaxy to terrorize?  Surely the speed of light 
is no limit for you – you could probably leave light panting in your rear view 
mirror.  In no time at all you’d find a more advanced system to dominate and 
terrorize.  Imagine coming into some interplanetary war, huge battlestars 
blasting at each other, and then there’s YOU, trashing them all and sailing from 
world to world as a new and terrible god.  What the FUCK are you waiting for?”

Jason had been idly balling up the plane in his fists, mashing it tighter and 
tighter into a sphere of metal and gore, as he listened.  He cocked his head as 
if surprised at the backbone the little man continued to show, and said simply, 
“My mama always taught me to clean my plate.  And there’s plenty left right 
here.  Now that I’ve shattered every aspect of civilization around the world, 
the true brutality of human nature can come out and play without worrying about 
cops or mommy or some God that might object.  You won’t believe what people will 
do for a chance to survive.  It’ll be fun watching them try.  And it’ll be fun 
watching my bad little seed there trying to stop me and knowing he just ain’t 
got the muscle.  ‘Cause I’m Daddy, motherfucker, and this is what I got,” he 
said – and dropping the death-ball, he flexed.  

The humiliating immensity of his arm muscles brought gasps and moans as they 
swelled and throbbed into each other.  An unreal grinding, scraping sound 
vibrated out of them as peaking biceps rubbed against iron-hard brachialis and 
diamond-dense triceps, a horrible sound like boulders humping and fucking 
beneath vein-riddled skin stretching like tortured sheet metal.  

He dropped his arms and spread his lats which rotated out like clashing gears, 
raising pecs so high they too sounded like continental fault-lines grating 
against each other, with striations deep enough to trap small animals even.  
Each pectoral rolled to the size of a small boulder.  The president knew even 
the blood must be like liquid steel, flowing only by virtue of Jason’s 
gravitational pressures and intense, radiant heat, through veins like metallic 
fabric, impervious yet flexible.  Jason popped his pecs hard, the muscle 
exploding out with a sonic boom that floored the president and buffeted the 
crater walls.

The entire time, Jason gazed lovingly at his muscles, dripping with blood..  Now 
he looked down at his son and the president with an amused grin, eyes wide and 
daring.  “What you got?”  Aaron jumped up and tried to outflex his father but no 
matter how hard he strained, however many times thicker than any other man 
alive, he was no match for his father for size.  Aaron leapt out of the crater 
and through a frustrated punch at Jason’s face, but his fist merely bounced off 
Jason’s magnetosphere, inches from flesh that might have broken his fingers.  
The force of the punch carried Aaron sprawling forward, landing behind his 
unbeatable, nay, untouchable dad.  He blinked and stared up at the humped ranges 
of back musculature that balanced impossibly upon the tight whirlwind of his 
waist, as if the Himalayas rose from the Panama canal.

“I’ll let your pea-brains try to cope with what just happened,” Jason said with 
a rumbling chuckle.  “So let me have just one more snack before I go.”  He 
jumped up onto an Abrams tank and began stomping it flat as a manhole cover, the 
men inside shrieking as their tiny box collapsed and crushed them to death.  
Blood shot out of the bent cannon like dark cum from an excited prick.  

“Now,” Jason said, “I believe some folks in the Persian Gulf think I might have 
some interest in their money.  I can’t wait to see else they’re willing to give 
me.”  And then he was gone, shooting into the sky so fast the contrail sucked 
the president a hundred feet into the air before Aaron, himself dragged feet off 
the ground, could spring up and recapture him.  They landed with an earth-
quaking thud … but no craters formed.  Even after his victory sleep, Aaron only 
weighed in at a fraction of his father’s mass.  

“Maybe I need to make an orbit or two before I face him,” Aaron grumbled, 
looking up.  

“You don’t know what it would do to you,” the president said, knowing it was 
useless to argue.  “Couldn’t you free some of these poor souls?”

“Wait here,” Aaron said, as if the president might have a copter handy; clearly, 
he inherited his father’s conscience, the president thought.  The boy leapt into 
the sky, fast enough to nearly disappear but not as fast as his father.  Then, 
after a few minutes, the president got a tingling sensation even before his ears 
heard the whistle and his gut urged him to RUN RUN RUN.  He tore off as Aaron 
came crashing back to the ground, this time landing hard enough to blow a 
shallow crater that looked like a dimple next to the canyon his father had made.  
Fuming at his own miscalculation, Aaron leapt up, shook his head, and went 
bounding across the continent to gain the speed to shoot past the pull of 
gravity.  The president thought he saw a flash but it could have been anything.

He waited a long, anxious hour, not knowing who or what might return, or even if 
Aaron would remember to return or leave him stranded in the frigid desolation.  
He kept warm using some pieces of broken steel trying to pry open some part of 
one of the busses, but he made little headway.  

Finally Aaron returned, landing hard enough to blast a decent-sized crater and 
overturn some of the sardine-can prisons.  His skin had turned dark bronze and 
his eyes shone madly: from what the president could tell, he seemed bigger, and 
too hot to touch.  Reveling in his new strength, Aaron happily tore open the 
various prison vehicles, steel bending and breaking like dough.  He folded some 
thick sheets of metal together into a kind of sidecar for the president, then 
bent steel bars through it and around his own body to strap him on.  The 
president looked at him and asked, “Why don’t you just leave me here with the 
rest of these wretched men?”

“You kidding?” Aaron replied.  “Soon as we leave, they’re gonna start killing 
each other.  Look at ‘em!  They’re all enemies, and now their natural enemy has 
left, their natural violence will fill the vacuum.  Besides, I like having a 
sidekick.  I should call you Robin, heh heh.”  The president climbed into his 
capsule muttering “I’m not fuckin’ Robin.”  They shot off towards Africa with 
power that rattled and amazed the president, even now.  

Jason had already been seen passing by, and fresh panic broke out whenever Aaron 
came to ground, with fears of some kind of alien invasion abounding.  But they 
never stopped – didn’t need to, traveling at Mach 4, Mach 5, and Aaron’s body 
now primed to convert sunlight to muscle.  By the time they got to Abu Dhabi, 
capital of the United Arab Emirates, the games, if you could call them that, 
were well underway.

A smoldering crater that used to be police headquarters marked Jason’s landing.  
Following the trail of dead policemen – some hit on the top of the head so they 
“slinkied” down into puddled remains, others half-smeared across the sides of 
buildings, the entire “SWAT” unit screaming, their arms and legs woven together 
like a giant meat doily - led them straight to a brand-new stadium, a section of 
bleachers reduced to rubble.  People were crammed into the stands, watching 
their fate unfold in the contest below.  Jason stood on the grass field in the 
center of a large circle of human intestines about twenty or twenty-five yards 
in diameter.  The strongest bodybuilders, bodyguards, soldiers and mercenaries 
that could be found were held at by one goal, rifles trained on them by nervous 
men who were clearly not trained for it.  More hulks were being dragged in off 
the streets and stripped naked – except for their boots or shoes.

Three gunmen forced a huge man, easily 250 lbs or more with at least a 50 inch 
chest, to enter the ring of guts.  He planted his feet at the edge, folded his 
arms and looked like he was just going to stand there.  Jason didn’t move.  The 
president couldn’t tell what was going on but Aaron figured out it when he saw 
the big man trying to lean back.  Then farther back.  His legs started to 
tremble, like he was holding something heavy – except he was just standing 
there.

Suddenly the man’s boots skidded a few inches across the gouged turf.  He 
crouched down and dug his heels in but it was already too late – his boots dug 
furrows as Jason’s mere gravitational pull overcame the man’s desperate 
strength.  He flipped over and clawed at the dirt with his fingers, trying to 
pull himself way but Jason’s gravity increased exponentially with every inch, 
and there was nothing to grab onto.  

Clearly, the gut-circle was the event horizon from which nothing escaped the 
black hole of death.  They watched helplessly as the man gained speed despite 
his kicking and clawing, until WHAAAM!  he shot up off the ground ass-first, 
impaled on Jason’s cock so hard and deep his mouth opened in an airless scream.  
But even then, Jason didn’t flinch or move: he stood there with his hands on his 
hips, chuckling with pleasure as the man’s body continued to spit itself onto 
Jason’s meatpole.  A crack rang out –his pelvis breaking around the size of Him 
– and his tense, struggling legs moved backward to wrap themselves around 
Jason’s hips.  Muscles and tendons shredded as the legs writhed like snakes, 
reaching back at an impossible angle.  The man’s spine snapped but they 
continued to move, even as blood began gushing from the man’s mouth from the 
pressure of so much cock filling his torso.  

When the man’s hips reach Jason’s skin, his racing heart massaging the headless 
stump of Jason’s virility, his arms began arching backward toward Jason as well.  
His shoulders dislocated and cracked under the traction, and the man’s ribs 
squeezed together as still his flesh tried to compress itself under Jason’s 
crushing gravity.  The blood issuing from the man’s mouth darkened until Jason’s 
shuddered and the gore turned into a pink and frothy fire-hose spray of come and 
guts.  The man’s body rumpled further down, vertebrae cracking into each other, 
bones ripping through the skin until the man’s jaw widened, broke loose and 
dangled free to make room for the end of Jason’s shaft.  Teeth snapped outward 
and the head bumped slowly backward, bouncing over veins until it jammed against 
the litter of his own remains.  What look like brains began oozing out his ears 
and running sideways towards its God.  

Jason pulsed his magnetic field and the flesh exploded off his cock in wet spray 
that coated everything.  Looking over at Aaron and the president, Jason said in 
his deep, rich voice, “Now that’s what I call getting head.”  Looking back at 
the waiting prisoners, he shouted, “Next!”

The president couldn’t get Aaron’s attention, to get him to intervene, but the 
boy seemed mesmerized.  The guards now forced a truly planetary man out onto the 
field – guy must’ve weighed 500 lbs or more.  He was bleeding from where they 
shot his hand to force his cooperation (since obviously they couldn’t drag him 
anywhere).  And at first, he seemed too heavy for even Jason’s mass to 
influence.  

The man sweated and trembled with terror, but the sweat didn’t run down or fall 
off: it ran sideways just like those brains and sizzled to acrid vapor from 
Jason’s enormous heat.  Then the president saw he wasn’t trembling … he was 
rippling.  His fat undulated in waves toward Jason, a tsunami of fat struggling 
to be born.  The president wondered if Jason could control his gravity, amp it 
up, but then the fat man’s knees shattered and it was all over.  

The poor man literally “waved” to Jason, not rolling over and over but billowing 
like the sea.  He practically flowed across the circle, his arms and legs unable 
to stop his mass-attraction to the stronger body.  It looked like Jason’s 
fuckrod formed some kind of power spike or lightning-rod, some kind of gravity-
whirlpool, because again, the man was dragged up around it – only this time, it 
jammed right into his big belly.  

The man bellowed as Jason lanced him like a boil, blood spraying out in all 
directions but storming back around Jason like an atmosphere, a halo of 
hemoglobin.  The man jittered as his body pulled itself around the deathpike - 
then it got truly sick:  the fat bastard began to tear apart.  Chunks of fat 
ripped out of his skin and plastered Jason in red and yellow splotches.  The 
man’s tits pulled straight out until they sheared off, flattening over Jason’s 
traps.  His limbs stuck straight out until the bones snapped and he hugged Jason 
grotesquely, clamping his legs around him like they were fucking.  Except only 
one of them was getting truly fucked.

Jason’s manhood broke out through the man’s back, vertebrae bending around the 
ragged stump-end until his spine snapped.  Now the big guy deflated like a sex 
doll filled with rancid lard as the fat and muscle simply oozed and wormed its 
way out of his body.  His innards started to strain out through his ribs until 
they too fragmented.  The man seemed to turn to jelly, empty skin flapping like 
sails, his skull bulging weirdly until it too flattened with a sickening CRACCCK 
and gushed its contents into orbit around Jason.  Again Jason emitted a pulse-
wave that sprayed all that gore out all over the people in the stands.  

Jason looked at them again and asked, “Nip?  Tuck?”  The president snarled up at 
Aaron, “Enjoying yourself?”  The boy snapped to, frowned at the older man and 
walked out onto the field.  The moaning, vomiting crowd fell silent to see what 
might be some hero capable of delivering them – if only the knew the truth.  
“Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?” Aaron said, planting himself a 
foot within the circle and standing there, unmoved.  

“You puny monkeys can’t even imagine a god as big as me,” Jason sneered.   
“There isn’t anything my size except this lousy rock you’re perched on.  And 
maybe not even that.  Want me to tap it and see how hard it can – or can’t – tap 
back?”  He made a fist that the president could hear, steel cables flexing 
around iron bone.  “You sure as hell don’t want me tapping you on the noggin, 
squirt.”

Aaron just stood there, arms crossed, but the president could see the hair on 
his head pulling toward Jason.  He held out until the potential energy built up 
enough to double his speed and then sprang straight for Jason’s head.  Was it 
too fast even for Jason to react?  Because he took the punch, staggering back 
with a dislocated jaw bulging sideways out of his neck.  

Anger flared in Jason’s eyes but Aaron grabbed his dad by the arms and heaving 
him into the air, staggering under the weight but then using it to flip him over 
and slam him down onto his own erect sex, pulling that broken jaw away with one 
titanic arm to keep it from closing.  His other arm gripped Jason by the cock 
and wrenched it back over his shoulder.  Aaron’s arm bulged as it strained to 
control the cock, which flexed down, trying to clamp over his shoulder with 
crushing power.  He forced his own cock deeper into his father’s chest cavity, 
and the president gasped to see Jason’s upper teeth shatter.  The older God’s 
scream died in his airless throat while Aaron’s ass bucked to drive his spike 
even deeper into his father’s helpless gullet.

Some people cheered, but most scrambled to escape a gargantuan war that could 
destroy everything around them.  The president was riveting to see Jason held 
helpless in his son’s strong arms, his own fists pummeling uselessly against the 
boy and his legs kicking uselessly in the air.  The tremors of their struggle 
began shaking everything until an ominous rumble made the dust dance.  Aaron’s 
ass clenched to pump thick gism into Jason’s body, a feat that continued minute 
after minute until Jason’s flailing became twitching and Aaron’s man-sap began 
oozing out of his nose and ears.  

When Aaron finally lowered Jason to the ground – gently, lest the shock of 
impact resuscitate him – the salty taffy of Aaron’s seed flowed out of his 
distorted mouth, eyes and ass.  Even his eyes appeared to bug out.  The 
president walked over cautiously, wondering – can it be?  Can Jason be dead?  
Could Aaron have squeezed enough air out of his lungs and replaced it with cum, 
packing his cardiac cavity so full his heart stopped, and brain death became 
possible?

Jason lay inert as his son’s seed trickled out of his mountainous body.  
Tentative clapping and cheers began to sound from the remaining crowd.  Aaron 
leaned over his father’s face, staring intently for any sign of life.  A geyser 
of cum nailed him in the face and blasted him straight into the air twenty, 
thirty feet.  Jason’s abs clenched and writhed as they hosed that cum out of his 
body until it darkened with his last meal and finally became a column of wind 
that kept Aaron bouncing like a ball in a circus act, Jason’s intercostals 
cinching his waist to near non-existence.  

Jason stopped suddenly and lunged out of the way as Aaron fell to the ground 
with a hard shock.  Jason set his jaw then shook like a wet dog to clear his 
head – literally, gobs of cum barreled out of both ears.  He voided his sinuses 
so hard the snot dug tunnels deep into the ground.  Then he towered over Aaron 
and said, “I just jumped up on TOP OF THE FUCKING MOON you moron and kicked the 
shit out of it!  You think a little roughhousing is gonna finish me off?  THE 
MOON, MOTHERFUCKER!”  He circled Aaron threateningly, and the president barely 
heard the stampede of people trampling each other to get the hell out of there.  
Suddenly, the strong men jumped their guards, grabbed their guns and, after 
shooting the guards, turned the firepower on Jason and Aaron.  The president 
dived behind a concrete barrier.

Bullets aimed at Jason mostly glanced off his magnetic field, but the straight 
shots ricocheted off, flattened disks of hot lead.  Aaron’s skin also deflected 
the bullets and the uncomprehending men just kept emptying clip after clip even 
as the shrapnel rained back and the two musclegods strode ominously towards 
them.  The president watched through a crack, aghast, as Aaron fell into step 
with Jason, united against a common threat.  The dozen or so men still standing 
tightened into a circle and the father-son tag team leapt into action so fast 
they blinked out and reappeared on either side of the knot, gun barrels pressed 
into their chests and abs, then exploding in the hands of the men as the bullets 
hit walls of godmuscle.  

Men screamed and clutched at their bleeding, burnt faces – but that was the 
least of their worries.  Stretching their arms wide, Jason and Aaron encircled 
the men in a giant double bearhug, their hands almost touching around the 
wriggling bulk of the trapped men.  They each took a step toward the other.  
Screams turned to shrieks as bones cracked and tore through soft mortal flesh.  
Another step and Jason and Aaron locked fingers and pulled themselves even 
closer.  Blood spurted out in all directions, heads tossing and knocking against 
each other in pain and terror.  Jason and Aaron puuuuullllled themselves 
together, wiggling their shoulders to grind the men against each other.  Shrieks 
sussurated into helpless moans and sick gagging as father and son forced bodies 
to rupture.  Chests caved in, guts exploded, mouths and anuses became fountains 
of pulp.  Jason and Aaron’s erect cocks waggled between them like blender blades 
whipping up a death smoothie.

A line of bobble-heads dotted the linked arms of the duo, the bodies below 
emptying through torn skin like so many giant ketchup packets.  Jason still 
towered nearly two feet over Aaron, but the boy’s strength gave nothing to his 
old man – and, the president reminded himself, he had just leapt into orbit and 
circled the globe in an hour.  If they truly joined forces like they locked arms 
right now, they just might have the wherewithal to crack planet Earth in half 
and shoot, unprotected, through space for those other worlds to dominate and 
destroy.  He wondered, briefly, if their power really could exceed the speed of 
light – if their bodies were dense and strong enough to survive multiple light-
forces.  He began to worry there was no force in the entire universe more 
powerful than  these two behemoths and the image of Jason hungrily ripping a 
black hole apart with his bare hands nearly made him black out.

With their cocks pressed against each other, greased with gore and titillated by 
still-twitching limps, man and boy felt for the first time what incestuous joys 
might be possible if they stopped fighting and simply fucked, realms of pleasure 
no other being in the world could provide them –living or dying.  Their asses 
clenched as they bumped and mashed their cocks together in gory frottage, 
ignoring the skulls that fell off their muscular arms like spoiled fruit.  The 
president broke out in cold sweat as it appeared they’d abandoned their 
hostility … except … the hands at the end of those arms remained locked, white-
knuckled and shifting one way, then another, slowly, as in a test of strength.  
Feeling each other’s strength.  Tempted to fight, yet tempted to submit.  Submit 
not to the other, but to the pleasure of being bested after fighting all-out.  
It tantalized and confused them, this dangerous ecstasy of being overwhelmed to 
revel in the dominance of another.

Too dangerous, it seemed:  Jason leered as his height advantage allowed him to 
press down onto Aaron.  But Aaron’s back and shoulders bunched to repel the 
power, forearms knobbing as his wrists actually twisted his father’s hands back.  
Jason rotated his shoulders and, elbows high, drove Aaron into the ground to his 
knees.  But Aaron anticipated the move, how it would change the center of 
balance, and twisted to throw Jason head over heels into – and through – the 
stands.  Concrete pulverized and rebar twisted and sheared as Jason flew 
straight into a nearby high-rise.  Aaron kicked his way out of the ground like 
it was sand.  Which, underneath the sod, turns out it was.

Aaron shot through the hole before it fully collapsed to see the high-rise 
leaning towards him.  The entire structure swayed as Jason easily uprooted a 
central support pillar, bending and shattering the near side supports and 
causing the entire building to collapse.  Glass, furniture and people rained 
onto the street as forty stories came crashing down onto Aaron’s head.  Dust and 
noise shot through the collapsing stadium wall in a plume, but the unmistakable 
CRACK of a super-fist hitting super-muscle cut through the roaring destruction.  
The president saw the top of another tower shiver, sway and fall, and then 
another as the two muscle masters pounded each other along the block, the 
concrete and steel of the normal world not even slowing them down. 

Clouds of dust and debris filled the sky, shot through with flames and smoke and 
concussive explosions.  Someone tripped an air-raid siren and the president had 
the weird sensation of being in a Godzilla movie.  He climbed to the top of the 
one of the undamaged portions of the stadium to witness the spectacle of two men 
leveling an entire modern city: Aaron grabbing a fire truck as it raced by and 
swinging it like a bat as firemen flew off in every direction like drops of 
water from a dog … the rig buckling around Jason’s denser shoulder … Aaron 
bending the fire truck around his father to spin them around like a hammer … 
Jason’s arms bursting through the steel like it was soldering wire and driving 
his son into the sewers with a pile-drive clock to the head.

Then Jason stomped his feet with such force miles of street on top of Aaron and 
another block of skyscrapers began to list and groan.  A squadron of fighter 
jets strafed the site, but that was as effective as throwing popcorn.  Aaron 
leapt out of the sewer to collide with a stinger missile, with exploded against 
his back – and barely moved him.  Even his hair was too dense to burn.  The next 
missile he caught and squeezed in his fist, blasting the surrounding buildings 
but having no effect on him.  Then, suddenly a team again, Jason and Aaron 
sprang into the air and attacked the planes. 

The president felt his guts clench, remembering reports of Jason doing this back 
when he was merely superhuman.  This time when he leapt into the air too fast 
for their sensors to track, the planes hit his chest and exploded, his body 
barely registering the impact.  He kept going to the next plane, which he 
grabbed by sinking his fingers into the fuselage and dragging it up with him, 
its engines roaring helplessly against him.  Staring the pilot down, he put the 
cockpit into a bearhug and squeeeeeeezed, crushing the pilot within caving metal 
and flames. 

Aaron got a little more bounced around from the crashes, but each took out half 
a dozen planes before coming back down to earth.  The air force regrouped and 
came in for an insane second dogfight.  It ended the same way, with more men 
crushed inside their planes or crashing too soon to jettison.  One managed to 
bail, only to meet Aaron’s arm as he descended with no need for a parachute – 
the arm cut right through him, severing his legs and giving him horrifying 
seconds to watch his guts unspool before dying.  

Yet the planes kept circling back, trying to find a weakness, and the president 
felt sorry for these brave, foolish fighters.  One who tried to retreat rolled 
high but Aaron shot after him, his legs propelling him faster than the jet could 
fly, catching the plane and riding it like a horse until those legs shattered 
the fuselage.  The pilot tried to bail but Aaron caught him with one hand, 
whipped him around and simply shook him like a dog does a rat until his insides, 
brains and internal organs, where shaken to mush.  Aaron drove the plane into 
the ground and walked away.

Again, the sick feeling they might team up hit the president with waves of 
nausea, but Jason was finished with this city and bored with the fight; before 
they knew it, he was gone.  They’d have to track him down again, to find out 
what horrors he had dreamed up for another desperate populace.  

Aaron could now hear short wave radio signals, and was able to chase Jason by 
tuning in to sighting reports.  It was late afternoon by time they caught up, 
Aaron stopping on the side of a mountain northwest of Beijing.  In the fields 
below them raged a tremendous battle, albeit one-sided.  To the east, the 
Chinese army spread out in solid line miles long.  Jason strode toward them from 
the southwest.  The president found some binoculars in an abandoned bunker, but 
it was clear what was happening without them.  

The Chinese unleashed every conventional weapon in their arsenal at him – with 
zero effect.  Bullets, mortar shells, missiles converged at that moving spot on 
the plain, that spot that kept moving, leaving a trail of fire behind him like 
some demon slug.  Squadrons of planes strafed him, only to have to dodge 
tractors and harvesters the occasional cow.  

When Jason got within a mile of the army, what must have been a hundred toys – 
er, tanks – rolled out to meet Jason.  He waved away their barrage and attacked 
them - punched through the steel plating, grabbed someone and pulled him back 
out through the fist-sized hole, screaming as his body cracked to squeezed 
through the foot-wide space - all while the tank’s treads ground in place 
against his shoulder and his other arm bent the cannon down and around to fit 
into the hole once he’d yanked the man’s splintered body out.   Then he’d grab 
one in each hand and whip them overhead, banging them together like cymbals 
until the turrets caved in, then hocking them over the army to land in the back 
lines, onto hospital tents and blocking their retreat.

Some tanks went sailing back at head-height so fast men never saw them coming, 
creaming heads off dozens of soldiers who still stood there, spurting blood.  
When the troops surged in panicked retreat, Jason leapt in front of them, 
stomping armored personnel carriers flat or simply bellowing at them so hard 
their eardrums burst as they flew backward onto their comrades’ bayonets.  Jason 
grabbed men and swung them like cudgels against their comrades, wielding his 
cock like a third fist.  Spraying blood hung around him like a viscid aura.  
Vehicles and men staggered back through the flaming wreckage of upside-down 
tanks, trying to escape or at least create room to fire their useless weapons.

But the they had no real retreat – behind them was the port city of Tianjin and 
the sea, with mountains to the north.  The president felt chills, remembering 
the propaganda of his youth:  the invincible Marching Chinese, an unstoppable 
army of a billion soldiers that would simply swamp America with wave after wave 
of expendable troops.  Now it was the Chinese were being overrun by one American 
–if anyone could call Jason that.  One man who enjoyed their terror as much as 
he enjoyed splitting them open like ripe fruit.

“Aren’t you going to attack while he’s busy?” the president asked, amazed at how 
Aaron just stood there again, watching.  

Aaron shook his head.  “I have a bad feeling about this – my gut tells me to 
keep my distance.”  He paused, looking up in the air like a bird dog that heard 
some whistle.  Suddenly, he turned, grabbed the president and dropped over him, 
pressing him against the side of the mountain and spreading his lats like tent 
flaps over him.  In the pitch dark, hot and musky, the president wondered if he 
was about to die when a roar like the universe vomited filled his head until 
everything turned to pinging silence and shook violently beneath him.  Aaron 
moved to keep up with the battered mountainside and cover the president until 
the firestorm had passed.  

Getting up, the president saw the unmistakable mushroom of a nuclear explosion 
rising from the vicinity where Jason had been.  The army at ground zero had 
either vaporized or, farther back, been burnt or blasted to chaos.  In the 
distance, fires raged over Beijing and Tianjin, all along  the coast.  Only 
Aaron’s solid back muscles had repelled the force of the blast and save the 
president’s life.  Which could only mean one thing….

The binoculars had vanished but the president’s eyesight remained 20/10, even if 
he remained temporarily deaf.  He could pick one thing moving through the bomb 
crater.  One thing that could only be Aaron’s father.  

The Chinese had nuked Jason, destroying themselves but not their target.  Jason 
brushed off the greatest destruction humans could muster like a pro dismissing 
so many amateurs.  The nuclear bomb, which Jason could have leapt away from had 
he been concerned, had the same effect on him as it did on the entirety of the 
Earth – none at all.  Less, in fact:  Jason didn’t have a scratch, not even a 
bruise, whereas Earth lay burnt and scarred and toxic.  The force of the blast 
wasn’t strong enough to fight Jason’s magnetic field.  He repelled it.  And 
laughed.

Jason’s booming laughter rivaling the bomb’s detonation for power, spreading its 
own toxicity for dozens of miles around the blast site.  If that was the worst 
humans could muster, then there really was nothing left to fight.  But then he 
was gone – the president feared where – until the mountain shook with a mortal 
blow that sent boulders crashing down around them and cracks opening in the rock 
face.  Here he was, after all.  

“You know,” Jason said, “These Chinese nukes - I’m gonna be hungry for one again 
in an hour.”

The president could read disbelief in Aaron’s face, and fear that Jason was so 
very powerful, fighting off the bomb blast hadn’t even tired him in the least.  
How could he ever cope with that?  How could he ever wear him down?  “It’s a 
bluff,” the president said, pulse pounding with terror.  “He’d have to have 
blown out his magnetosphere entirely to rebuff the blast, and now he’s more 
vulnerable than ever before – even than when he sleeps.  This is your chance--"  

Just as Jason turned a stink eye on the president, Aaron lashed out and punched 
Jason square in the chest.  The president winced to hear Aaron’s knuckles pop, 
but his hand didn’t break and delivered enough brawn to launch Jason far over 
the desolate plain towards Korea.  Immediately Aaron leapt to follow, catching 
him in mid-air and landing in a back-breaker, with Jason stretched across his 
shoulders.  Jason’s weight shattered the glassy impact-melt of the nuclear 
blast, but Aaron’s legs didn’t give out and even at the distance of some miles, 
the president thought he could hear vertebrae crackle.  Aaron’s arms bulged as 
he pulled down on Jason’s neck and balls, that battering-ram cock waving like a 
white flag.  But Aaron didn’t give up and bounced Jason across his traps again 
before heaving him up and bringing him down over his knee.  Jason rolled away in 
agony and Aaron staggered to his feet, his leg broken but, bones splinted by 
muscle harder than bone, already mending.  

Aaron knew he had to keep the assault going full-bore if he was to have any 
chance at weakening Jason’s overall defenses any further.  He pinned Jason’s 
arms with his knees, shoving his own pain aside, and speed-bagged Jason’s head 
into the ground.  This time Jason didn’t appear to be playing possum – blood 
flew from his mouth and nose under Aaron’s relentless pummeling.  Those mighty 
arms looked almost too heavy for Jason to lift as he flailed at Aaron, and even 
a hip buck did nothing to dislodge his son.  The boy kept pounding his father 
into a deepening hole in the scorched earth.

Aaron rose up, pounding harder and harder, trying to fracture that impervious 
skull.  But Jason was far from unconscious, and the president saw Jason’s prick 
rising ominously for a rear assault.  He shouted but he was too far away – he 
knew Aaron could hear him, but it took too long for the sound to reach him 
before that cock, arching like a python, gouged itself into clinched butt-cheeks 
and through his asshole.  Aaron screamed with pain and threw his shoulders back, 
clamping down with all his crushing power but Jason was harder than ever, too 
hard, harder in a way that demanded attention, respect.  

Aaron began hitting Jason again but threw his punches wide, sloppy, his 
concentrate demolished.  Half the time he cratered the earth, eventually 
triggering an earthquake that rippled the ground towards the stricken capital.  
But then it got even weirder:  he was batting at the ground in beat with Jason’s 
bore-strokes, like a man struggling to contain the intensity of the experience, 
to remain sane in the grip of such pain and pleasure as he’d never known.  
Jason’s hardness mashed his prostate and reamed his shitchute double-time, lubed 
only by the blood that only he could tear out of Aaron’s own hard body.  Aaron 
thrashed around, unable to take it, slapping his own skin-bursting cock against 
his abs and leaving welts.  

It seemed almost natural when Jason, head still buried in the cratered hole, 
bucked Aaron over onto his belly and, still inside him, flipped himself into the 
driver’s seat.  Now he was doing the pounding, harder and harder, beating his 
son into the crackling earth with his bucking hips.  A section of the blast-
annealed ground collapsed beneath them, dropping them fifty feet, but Jason kept 
Aaron spread-eagled by driving his legs apart with his knees and planting his 
hands on the boy’s shoulders.  All Aaron could do was slap as his brain fried 
under waves of pleasure-pain that came faster and faster, stronger and stronger, 
swallowing him its own frenzied power.  The president wept, knowing it was 
always at this moment, when the strongest of the strong surrendered to his one 
true master, when Jason’s bloodthirst ignited.

Aaron’s ass began clinching spasmodically, drilling shafts into solid rock with 
his jet-splooge as Jason played his prostate like a mighty Wurlitzer.  Jason 
rammed again and again and again, creating shock waves to topple whatever 
remained still standing in Beijing and Tianjin.  Actual waves formed in the 
tormented earth from the musclebeasts’ bangfest like dirt tsunamis.  As Jason 
rode him like a bar bull, withholding only one thing, the president realized he 
must have finally figured it out: whatever damage his balljuice did to ordinary 
men, the way it tried to impregnate every cell in their bodies and turn their 
DNA into clone-machines, it had a reviving effect on his son.  It literally 
filled him with virility.  So now Jason refused to come and wore his son down 
with punishing pleasure and drool-spurting pain, exhausting him and dredging out 
the need every man, every boy has for his daddy.  He rear-ended Aaron until his 
boy gave in to the spasmodic jerks and seizures of absolute submission.

Jason grinned and ground Aaron’s balls into the rocks, forcing the boy’s head 
back with one hand to spit down his gullet.  But when Jason tried to pull loose, 
he discovered Aaron wasn’t as weakened – or as submissive – as he’d thought.  
Spinning around, Aaron locked his legs around his father’s waist and clamped 
down hard on daddy’s jumbo-cock to make him come.  Aaron’s abs rocked in waves, 
trigging the orgasm Jason withheld but then crushing his cock inside him to 
prevent the come from ejaculating.  Jason began pulling at Aaron’s legs, socking 
him in those undulating abs, slinging him around but Aaron refused to let, or 
let up, siphoning his father’s balls yet locking his jizzmouth tight..  

Jason’s body spasmed and his eyes bulged as things inside him began to 
hemorrhage and herniate.  The force of his orgasmic power ruptured its way back 
into his ballsac, which swelled like a water balloon covered with angry purple 
veinage.  The president laughed out loud when Jason’s scrotum split open, his 
nuts drowning in their own ooze.  Jason howled in pain while grinned and crushed 
that steel cock flat inside him, riddling Jason’s climax with horrible pain.  
Jason began belting Aaron against the ground with tremor-making fury, triggering 
a third, more massive earthquake, strong enough to toss a tsunami half-way 
across the Korean peninsula.  The president dived into a crevice that had opened 
up as the mountain came apart under Jason and Aaron’s mansex, in his last 
glimpse of the muscle god witnessing Jason whirling Aaron around and prying his 
legs away, faster and faster until a funnel pulled out of the sky, whipping 
around like a dancer’s cheap weave. 

The windstorm gathered speed to category three, then category four proportions.  
The president ducked back in as he heard the BOOOOM of Aaron bursting the sound 
barrier, ejected at last from his father’s bruised and swollen prick.  But Jason 
still creamed into the air, which the tornado took up and flung for miles as it 
broke free to carve a path toward the sea.  Soon that toxic seed would begin 
raining down on the hapless populace with bullet-force, adding one more disaster 
to cope with.  

The president’s grief for these people died when he realized that, with Aaron 
flying out over the Pacific, he had no protector.  Certainly nothing as paltry 
as this mountain could stop Jason from finding him.  Nevertheless, the President 
fumbled deeper into the crevice, praying to whatever God wasn’t in hiding to 
keep Jason from clobbering it and crushing him under tons of granite.  A crazy 
sense of deja-vu enveloped him in the stony darkness, but then he saw light up 
ahead.  Scrabbling toward it, he came out into a curved, broken corridor deep 
inside the mountain.  

Relief swept over him – and a feeling of insignificance, given Jason didn’t 
think him important enough to pursue, much less take captive – and never moreso 
than when armed Chinese guards swept past him, talking like mad into microphones 
and not giving him a second glance.  He followed the soldiers and eventually 
came to a battered but functioning control center of some sort, where his 
appearance finally sparked some attention.  

Heads bobbed together and finally a short, pasty man came over and, in decent 
Oxonian English, said, “Mr. American President, sir, this is a surprise – but 
not the most extreme of the day, if you don’t mind my saying.  We were under the 
impression you had been killed, despite reports of sightings in the U.A.R., 
among other unlikely places.  And now you are here.  You are in the company of 
the man-gods?”

“Something like that,” the president deadpanned.  Looking around, he said, “You 
the outfit responsible for the nuke?”

The official shook with a jolly laugh.  “No, that is not us.  Those boys, always 
wanting to blow things up.  What can you do?  No, we are working on something 
very, very different.”  His smile turned secretive, and he said in a lower 
voice, “Originally, it was projected against your good nation, but now…”  The 
Chinese official opened his arms in a “what can ya do?” gesture, and the 
president followed him in to see what secret weapon might possibly hold a 
glimmer of hope to battle against these psychopathic he-men.


THE END
chipmasterson@yahoo.com