Pho 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 5-foot 10-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 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, the 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.