MUSCLEGOD SLAUGHTER

Pounder’s lifted seriously since he was about fifteen, which by now makes seven 
solid years of iron-pumping.  In high school, he excelled in wrestling, swimming, 
and boxing, all sports that require compact proportions, superior endurance, and 
physical strength.  Weight training was a natural extension of his athletic pursuits.  
As he graduated from high school, he had already grown to 6’3" and 220 pounds, 
ripped like only a seventeen-year-old jock could possibly be.  

He was a monster, even at that relatively young age, and grown from bossing around 
his peers.  There was no challenge in it after age 15 because teenagers were no 
physical match.  He liked dominating older guys, beating down full-grown men, because 
it gave his teenage ego a bigger rush. His teachers or coaches disciplined him at 
their peril when he stepped out of line, which he naturally did.  Even the local 
deputies steered clear of him.  Who would risk law enforcement against such a 
powerful, remorseless muscle dude?  

As a college senior, a still maturing young man, he has grown even more enormous, 
over 6’5" weighing over two-hundred eighty-five rock-solid pounds.  His dense build 
makes him look well over 300.  The dude benches 405 pounds for reps and 500 on no 
special occasion, which was kind of obvious from the way that thick pectoral muscle 
makes his shirts stretch and strain.  He was always shredding clothes right off his 
body from pumping his muscles and having them grow ever bigger. A good pump easily 
added inches to his arms and chest.

Whenever he entered the university weight room there are three typical reactions 
from guys already there.  First, the gay guys suck in their breath and try to look 
away.  They begin to buzz like bees. He’s real gay-bait; besides the epic body, he 
had a dynamite smile, smooth brown skin, thick dark hair, and crackling brown eyes.   
Pounder had beaten some brutally. He was there to acquire more power, not for sex.  
But with Pounder, there weren’t really any rules.  He did what he pleased.  If he 
felt like fucking a skull or two he did.

Then there were the pencilnecks, the dilettantes, especially the flamers who 
pretended to lift, but just would hang out at the gym to catch a glimpse of 
him. There were dorks and pussies who have no clue, the old men who do stupid 
and dangerous moves to inflate their wilted egos, and the guys who are there 
all of the time, never break a sweat, yet still wonder why they’re not growing.  

Even if the pencilnecks had no idea how to bodybuild, they know whenever Pounder 
came to the gym they were in an extremely dangerous presence, who for no reason 
would rather easily blast them into oblivion.  They tremble and try to become 
invisible.  They look down to pray they aren’t noticed.  They shake if he looks 
in their direction, and freeze with terror if he comes near.  Pounder likes 
frightening these. If he wanted to, Pounder would order everyone in the gym to 
drop to their knees and they always did.  When a guy has developed as powerfully 
as Pounder has, and is as punishing, you do your best to stay out of his way. 
Remaining on your feet when he wants you on your knees just makes you an easier 
target.

The third group of guys look up hopefully when Pounder got to the gym.  There were 
only a few of them, and they each hoped Pounder picked them for a spot.  They all 
sought to lift with Pounder, because those workouts built serious muscle.

Tim was from the Midwest and was smaller than his friend Jay.  He had been the 
basketball team manager in high school.  He was well-liked because he was so easygoing.  
He had an OK build, but he was only about five-eight and a light one thirty-five.  
Tim had fooled around with weights a little in high school, but had never stuck with 
it.  They had a workout room at the pool he used to go to.  Nothing major.

Jay was lighter-colored and lot more rangy.  He was almost five-nine, but weighed 
less than Tim. He wasn’t tall enough to play basketball either, or coordinated 
enough for other sports.  He really wanted to bulk up and was excited when he took 
a chance and mentioned it to his new friend, who had also thought of using freshman 
year to turn a new leaf on a life of high school wimpiness. 

Tim was ready, so they left.  When they were walking to the elevator, they walked 
past two of the jocks on their floor.  They spoke inaudibly, but when they broke 
into laughter, both were looking at Tim and Jay in their workout gear.  They had 
not mentioned to anyone on their floor that they had been working out, but they 
were not exactly filling out their tank tops.  The jocks were pretty muscular, and 
Jay just knew they were laughing at him, Tim seemed not to notice or care.  But Jay 
imagined the day when he was a muscle monster and would come back to teach those two 
a lesson about respect.  

Jay was a little nervous.  As the elevator came, and he got in with Tim, the doors 
closed on the mocking laughs of the two jocks.  He was clearly a complete beginner.  
There were some really big bodybuilders at the gym, with huge muscles.  They had to 
know he was a total wimp, and they might somehow tell he was a pussy. Any of them 
could beat the shit out of him, he knew it.  The guys back in high school who had 
tormented him couldn’t come close to the muscularity of some of the dudes in that 
gym.

Whenever Jay closed his eyes, he pictured in his mind the kind of body he would have 
if he spent a few years steadily weightlifting.  He saw himself as gigantic, awesomely 
powerful, and merciless.  He imagined returning to high school as a muscle man and 
beating up all the thugs who had ever picked on him.  In his dream, he was finally a 
six-footer, and he got to look down on all the "little people," one of whom he used 
to be.  They would be blown away by his huge biceps which he would flex all the time 
to show them off.  He would have a ripped waistline with six-pack abs.  He would walk 
around all day without a shirt and the chicks would fall at his feet and beg him to go 
out.

When Tim and Jay got to the gym, Jay decided he was really going to get strong today, 
despite his sore arms.  "Bench press today, right Tim?"  He wanted to get some energy 
going. Tim put a ten-pound plate on his side of the bar, and waited for Jay to do his 
side.  It was only a warm-up set, but as Tim lay down to set his grip, Jay took up his 
usual spotting position.

When Pounder entered the gym, the usual hush circulated in the room.  It always got 
quiet when he came in, especially if he had been having a long cycle of awesome, 
mind-freaking, muscle-pumping, vein-popping, skin-shredding, ass-kicking workouts.  
Pounder was psyched because he’d had a lot lately.  He knew he looked like a monster, 
a comic book super-hero, and he loved it.  He really got off on the expressions of 
sheer terror his muscles got.  Especially when he used them.

Tall, broad-shouldered, really good-looking, still young, he possessed incredible 
musculature.  His frame was so big, with a ton of muscle on it, he presented an 
eye-boggling, hallucinatory, image of brutal power.  Pounder was as dangerous as 
he looked. Typically he arrives at the gym pretty pumped, because he walks around 
all day flexing!  

Pounder paused at the entrance and looked over his weight room.  It was practically 
home, he knew it so well.  He had already decided to kick ass today.  It was merely 
a matter of whether he was going to call a guy out, or whether the dude would make 
himself a target. Those were the best ass-kickings.  That confused expression of 
‘why am I pinned to the ceiling?’ or ‘why is he smashing my face in?’ made delivering 
the treatment special for Pounder.  He was the kind of guy who loved to make dudes 
shit by grabbing the front of their shirts, hoisting them up to granite pecs, and 
growling "What the fuck are you looking at?!"

As he was looking around the room and pondering, Pounder’s eyes fell on a really 
thin freshman spotting another puny-looking student.  It was Jay!  Their eyes locked. 
Instead of spotting his friend Tim, Jay was looking at Pounder, and Jay kept looking 
as Pounder began to stride in his direction, mesmerized by the rippling, six-foot-five 
mountain of muscle as it approached.  Pounder saw his objective frozen with fear and 
thought, ‘what a fuckin’ loser.’

When Pounder was a few feet from Jay he stopped and stood there, guns pumped and 
ready.  Some of the regular gym rats looked over from where they were doing curls, 
saw how pumped Pounder’s thick pecs were and how corded his pythons were and they 
knew what was up. Pounder was a fucking monster when it came to using his muscle! 
They’d seen Pounder seriously fuck up dudes before. That got them pretty excited 
and they prepared to watch the action. An empty zone began to appear around Jay, 
Tim, and Pounder as other guys working out nearby scrambled out of the way.

"Holy shit! Look at Pounder!  Man, is he pumped up or what?"  one says, slapping 
his buddy’s shoulder.  "Pounder’s gonna tear up those dudes!"

Pounder looks down on Jay, who was about nine inches shorter.  He was supposed 
to be spotting Tim, but they were only benching 65 pounds!  What kind of loser 
needs a spot on 65 pounds?! Both definitely deserve a whuppin’ decided Pounder.  
He looked over at his boys with a helpless expression and thought, gotta do what 
I gotta do. They had seen that look on his face before, Pounder was about to 
demonstrate why he had that nickname.

Pounder could hardly help himself.  It was just that when he saw such total pencilnecks 
here in his temple, it made him feel like putting them out of their misery.  They were 
so weak and frail he could crush one in his arms!  He could smear them easily into the 
depths of his chest.  They were so subhuman it was an obligation to humiliate these 
losers, to beat them, to destroy them whenever he felt like it.  They were so pathetic 
it would almost be doing them a favor, and his physical ability gave him the right to 
do whatever he pleased anyway. He knew making a beating especially violent and brutal 
would terrorize the whole crowd watching.

Pounder takes the center of his tank-top and removes it from his torso, ripping it.  
It only meagerly covered his massive torso anyway. The shreds fall to the floor at his 
feet.   The sun-starved string-bean dude is looking right through Pounder with a glazed 
look in his eyes, not seeing anything but the wall of dark-skinned muscle materializing 
in front of him.  Everyone in the gym has withdrawn to a safe distance, watching Pounder 
and these guys, afraid to do anything or make any noise that would draw Pounder’s 
attention.  No one truly comprehends what he is about to unleash.

Pounder raises his hands and stretches his arms their whole length, at shoulder height, 
inches from Jay’s face.  He flexes his guns, without bending his elbows, making his 
enormous arm muscles throb.  All the while, Pounder is smiling arrogantly at this loser 
Jay, who looks at the awesome muscle slack-jawed.  Pounder’s arms are tremendous, 
getting bigger with every pulse. The tubular veins in his biceps and triceps are 
engorged with blood.  After a moment, Pounder is holding out arms like wings, pumped 
up to incredible thickness.  Huge blood vessels wind around the skin of his massive 
25" biceps.  

One meaty python is suspended over the other little dude lying on the bench press.  
Pounder looks down at Tim, and says, "Get your ass up here, motherfucker!"  Pounder 
returns his attention to Jay, his fiery brown eyes boring in on his prey’s eyes.  If 
looks could kill, Jay’s head would be a cinder. "You think I’d let you die alone?"  
he asks.  His voice has the tone of a man accustomed to giving orders and having them 
obeyed.  It’s rhetorical, coming from a dude with mile-wide shoulders, pecs and the 
physical ability to enforce any order.

Now Pounder’s ready to hit the double bicep pose and really show off the arsenal. 
Time to let them glimpse the brutal future awaiting them. Slowly he curls his fists 
toward his shoulders, rolling the muscle into knobs the size of bowling balls.  
Pounder’s forearms are swollen with blood vessels.  His deltoids rise up on either 
side of his handsome smile, like an ocean wave, the sinews in the mass clearly visible 
through his dark skin.  It’s surface is fractured by pulsating veins, and forms a 
second huge bulge alongside either mighty biceps. He has huge triceps, sweeping low 
under his biceps, quivering slightly with power, anticipating the moment they drive 
Pounder’s iron fists into tissue and bones.  A huge, sweaty canyon opens underneath 
his arm, where his beefy pectoral muscle hangs out and down. 

In the double biceps pose Pounder’s shoulder cage looks unbelievably powerful.  Along 
the upper portion of his torso, along his collar bone and into both his arms, sits 
perhaps 100 pounds of solid, power-packed muscle.  His trunk tapers front and back, 
and side to side, ridged by a thick, gallopping eight-pack of abdominal muscle in front, 
and razor-cut obliques on the side.  His stomach is not merely ripped, it’s unbelievably 
strong to support the massive musculature up top.  Anyone facing the raw muscle power of 
the body built razor-sharp the way Pounder was had to comprehend they were facing 
iminent, bloody, agonizing death.

Tim and Jay were now both standing up, facing this behemoth of a man.  Tim had gotten 
up from the bench on Pounder’s command. Tim’s heart was pounding as he complied with 
Pounder’s order to get up.  What the heck is going on? he thought.  What did Jay do to 
piss off this guy?  

When he was right-side up and could see the situation, he nearly threw up his dinner.  
The biggest dude Tim had ever seen, a fucking real-life musclegod, was standing in front 
of Jay, posing his guns!  His chest was thrust up into Jay’s face, each of the bulky 
pectorals much, much bigger than Jay’s face.  The guy had no shirt, only skin-tight 
workout shorts.  He looked mean, angry, and dangerous.  The expression showed he intended 
true brutality.

Tim had no idea what was going on, but his single thought when he looked at Pounder’s 
massive thigh muscles bulging out of his shorts, and then the mammoth upper body was 
‘We are about to have serious trouble.’

"What are you lookin’ at, huh, man?" Pounder growls at Jay.  He looks over at his 
right biceps first, then his left, and forces the tall peaks slightly higher as he 
takes a breath and bears down into the pose. The muscles in his shoulders and chest 
pull up and the veins bulge with blood. He is smiling proudly, looks Jay in the eyes, 
and through gritted teeth exhales and asks "You into my arms, man?  Or you gettin’ 
hard offa’ the killer pecs? Awesome, ain’t they?"

No answer. Pounder glares down on Jay, who is struck speechless. He sees practically 
nothing but Pounder’s striated muscles because nothing else fit in his field of vision!

Pounder lets pumped arms return to ready position.  He steps forward forcing Jay 
to stumble backwards and puts his chest muscle up against Jay’s face. "Yeah," he 
grunts.  Pounder continues moving forward slowly, backing Jay into the wall of the 
weight room.  Pounder has wedged Jay’s face into his deep pectoral crevice, the skull 
pinned to the plaster.  Pounder rises to his full height and slides Jay’s head upward 
until his feet dangle off the ground. If Pounder let the thought of it pass through 
his brain, his chest would flex and the muscle would spray Jay’s brains across the 
wall.  

"You want to lick these killer pecs, don’t you, pussy?  I’ll bet you’re just dyin’ 
to."  He chuckled at the image. "Go ahead!  You wanna’ taste what real muscle sweat 
is like before you die, right?  You’ve always wanted to so here’s your last chance!" 

Jay’s head is caught between the deadly halves of Pounder’s chest. He can’t see.  
All he can hear is Pounder’s heart pumping strongly, the heat of the blood nourishing 
the muscle in which he was trapped, making the flesh hot.  He was shocked at his 
realization Pounder was right. He had always wanted to feel how hard killer muscle 
could be. He would bet the juice off Pounder’s pumped muscle was exalted dew. He knew 
being slaughtered for wanting it that bad was worth it. Jay opens his mouth and lets 
the tip of his tongue slowly draw a trail along the dark, moist skin of Pounder’s 
mountainous pec. The sweat tastes salty and then sweet as Pounder grunts into Jay’s 
ears, "I’m gonna rip your HEAD off, ASSHOLE."  

Jay shudders with fear, anyone can see Pounder is more than capable of ripping his 
head right the fuck off his body.  The waiting dudes couldn’t see much of what was 
going on.  Pounder’s bulk blotted out their view.  But still, it was clear Pounder 
intended to obliterate both kids.  He was fucking bigger than both of them put 
together!  One of the dudes jerked his head toward the wall of muscle which was 
Pounder’s back. They were psyched for the face-devastating combinations and 
bone-crunching holds he knew Pounder could employ.  "Those guys don’t have a prayer!" 
he opined.

Pounder’s torso was glimmering from a slight sheen of perspiration.  Except where 
he had forced to Jay to lick the sweat clean.

"I was just looking," Jay suddenly pleads in a small voice, "I didn’t mean to do 
anything."  Maybe if he immediately begged for his life this monster would be 
appeased.  It had worked in high school.

Pounder, of course, was having none of it.  He was aching to plow these two pussies, 
and anticipated a good warmup before starting to lift.  He backs off a little, 
loosening the pin, setting Jay’s feet back on the ground. But first some humiliation.

"Let’s see what you got, man!" Pounder demands, painfully jabbing two fingers 
into Jay’s hollow chest, pinning him to the wall again.  His tris flash into a 
giant horseshoe of muscle. He has to hold himself back from sinking his fingers 
into the dude’s chest. Pounder knows full well the kid is completely scrawny, 
but has to be sure everyone knows it.  "You see what I got," and gestures toward 
his own sculpted chest and stomach,  "So let’s see what you got."  

Jay does nothing but tremble, as Pounder carefully gathers the thin fabric of 
Jay’s T-shirt into his two huge paws.  He tears Jay’s T-shirt apart, slowly, 
deliberately, like opening a candy wrapper. Jay stumbles toward Pounder as the 
shirt begins to tear. Tim watches goggle-eyed as Pounder’s humongous biceps 
sprang into action.

Jay’s shirt is tossed aside to reveal a pale and shallow chest with no definition 
whatsoever.  There is hardly any development of the pec muscle despite three gym 
workouts and his torso looks kind of emaciated.  The physical power humming in 
Pounder’s body is ominous compared to Jay’s pathetic, subhuman build.  

"You wanna work out with me?" Pounder offers mockingly.  He puts his dimpled, 
dazzling smile right down into Jay’s face, as the freshman flinches.  "Let me 
guess.  You came here to get a real body, right?"  He turns and looks over at 
Tim, his face flushing with anticipation of fury, getting angrier, working up 
his bloodlust. "How ‘bout you, asshole?  What the fuck do you think you’re doing 
here?  Look at you girls!  Holy fucking shit!" he shouts.  He can’t believe there 
are such puny dudes walking around, that they would dare to come into this gym.  
"How the hell do you think you can work out here?!" he roars.

Tim nods in agreement, maybe if they could just avoid antagonizing him further, 
he would let them go unharmed.   "Yeah, you know, we just want to put on some
muscle," he offered.  He hoped he sounded unafraid, like he knew what he was 
talking about when he talked about muscle, but his voice trembled.  Pounder had 
obscenely bulging muscle, the kind every scrawny kid wishes for when they decide 
to work out.  Pounder was bigger and harder than the image Tim had aspired to 
himself.  Who knew that the guy who actually had that ultimate body would ever 
be real, standing two feet away, and is a mean, dangerous motherfucker.  Pounder 
laughs out loud at Tim.  

"You pussies?" he asks incredulously.  "Look at you! I could smear you in a 
heartbeat dude. The day I walked into a gym I could have put you through a wall!  
You think you would ever get huge as me?"

Silence. The thought is ridiculous, but gaining muscle like Pounder’s is 
exactly what pussies like these two usually want.

Pounder continues to lecture, he’s dealt with losers like this all his life 
and he knows the way they think even though they don’t.  "You came here because 
you wanted muscle like mine, right?  Well guess what?  No one works out around 
here unless I say so, and I say today you work out with me!"  That brought a 
startling response from the trembling and shirtless Jay.  

"But we didn’t do anything!" he whines. Tim’s plan to appease this dude just 
failed. Jay has not realized it is their weakness itself which offends Pounder.

In an instant, Pounder’s huge fist closes around Jay’s throat and he hoists the 
scrawny freshman off his feet, straight-armed.  Pounder’s huge hand encircles 
Jay’s head, his fingertips reaching a point well behind Jay’s ears.  The deathgrip 
warped the dude’s skull slightly near the jaw and closed his windpipe.  Jay’s ears 
pop from the pressure. If he liked, Pounder could collapse the skull and squish 
Jay’s brains through his fingers. Pounder starts shaking the doomed freshman 
violently like he is a rag doll.  Both of Jay’s bony hands reflexively claw at 
Pounder’s arm to pry it loose from his windpipe, as his torso and legs shake and 
whip around.  Pounder turns to face Tim as he strangles Jay, and grins maniacally.  

"Do you want to live?" he asks, knowing the answer is irrelevant.  Tim numbly shook 
his head up and down quickly, to remove any doubt that, yes, he indeed wanted to 
live.  Even if Jay was obviously going to die.  

"Then get on your fuckin’ knees and start prayin’ I let you, you pussy piece of 
shit!" Pounder screams.

Tim got down on his knees before the musclegod.  He watches his friend’s face turn 
bright red as he hung, suspended in midair from the musclegod’s brutal fist.  
Pounder continued to look at Tim as he choked the pathetically weak geek.  He 
tightened his grip for emphasis, to make sure he has Tim’s attention. An odd 
crunching sound emanated from Jay’s head. Blood and mucus start to dribble from 
Jay’s nose and ears.

The muscle-mountain turned back to Jay’s reddening face but continued talking to 
Tim, as if Jay has already ceased hearing.  "You wait until I’m done working out 
with your friend here,"  he ordered, gesturing with a nod.

Pounder should have been winded, but didn’t show it in his voice, even a little.  
He exerted a bit of energy in throttling Jay, even though thick cords of muscle 
in his extended arm bulged grossly from holding Jay aloft.  When Pounder was 
assured Tim would meekly wait for his turn in the maelstrom he was about to unleash, 
he focused his full attention again on smothering the pussy in his grip. Otherwise, 
Pounder would happily entertain any objections, as soon as he imploded Tim’s skull.

Smoothly, Pounder reached underneath and grabbed the kid’s crotch with his free 
paw. The huge musclegod gracefully hoisted Jay up higher, until he was suspended 
over Pounder’s head, pinned in midair.  

Pounder manhandled the boy’s weight effortlessly.  Fact is, he was accustomed 
to significantly heavier loads than Jay’s mere 125 pounds - that didn’t amount 
to a bar and two plates.   Pounder warms up with more than that.  He wasn’t merely 
supporting a barbell either, he had total control over Jay’s body, and it’s 
precarious location in space.  

He had total control over everyone who could see the attack!  Dudes were captivated 
by the sight of Pounder’s unnatural muscle in use, fascinated, drawn to Jay’s deadly 
predicament.  Everyone knew it might have been any of them in Pounder’s clutches.  
Pounder usually went for destroying bigger guys, they were more of a challenge than 
these feeble dweebs.

Pounder wheeled around to face the mirrored wall behind Tim, whirling Jay in Jp@
air.  He noticed in the mirror the crowd of his admirers which had gathered at a 
respectful, and safe, distance away to watch him go apeshit on Jay.  

He planted his feet shoulder’s width apart and hefted Jay a few times, until the 
meager bodyweight was evenly distributed on his extended arms, his thick, rippling 
back, and columnar legs.  Pounder proceeded to rock Jay by flexing his arms at the 
elbow, slowly lowering the boy behind his head and then raising him, again and again, 
pumping his ponderous triceps muscles.

"Shiiiiit!" an admirer said in reverence, "He’s using the kid as live weight for 
french curls!  Awesome!  Look at those fuckin’ tris!"  They watched their hero 
admiringly from a vantage point across the gym, as the blood vessels in Pounder’s 
tris started to bulge and throb.  At the bottom of each rep, Jay’s upside-down face 
became briefly visible to the kneeling Tim.  He could see that Jay was conscious.  
That was good, Tim thought.   Jay hadn’t been seriously hurt, not yet.  But a pale, 
wide-eyed look on Jay’s face indicated sheer terror.  He was powerless, at the mercy 
of a brutal demon working into a major bloodlust.

After a minute, the pace of Pounder’s reps slowed.  His tris were gorged with blood 
and they swelled up.  His face was turning red with the effort of stretching Jay out 
the length of his arms.  On about his 30th rep, Pounder paused as he struggled for 
one last rep.  He grit his teeth, and forced the breath from his lungs.  His chiseled 
abs stood out in sharp relief from the effort, and sweat ran in rivulets down along 
the ridges of the muscles.  Finally, after fighting as long as he could, to true 
muscular failure, he brought the freshman down to rest along his upper chest.  He 
tightened his hand on Jay’s neck, once again cutting off the life-giving oxygen supply.  
He could feel how hot and hard his triceps had become, and could sense them growing 
bigger and stronger.  Pounder turned again and displayed his victim to the crowd of 
admiring bodybuilders.

"Dudes!  How do you think this dork gets slaughtered?" he queried, as if holding a 
poll on an important issue.  Pounder already knew the answer.  But shouts rang out 
among the small throng of bodybuilders.  They were, of course, unanimous in the 
opinion that Pounder should do exactly whatever Pounder wished to do.

"Drill his face open, Pounder!" one yelled. "Tear his limbs off!" encouraged another. 
"Pound him through a wall, dude!" urged yet another.

Seeing Pounder use his arsenal of muscle to destroy guys was a reasonably frequent 
event for most of the regulars in Pounder’s gym, but it was always amazing to watch.  
Each of them had at one time or another fallen into his terrible path, but none had 
ever received the type of punishment Pounder was giving Jay.  Pounder was more 
interested in dominating the gym rats than in harming them. Plus he needed them to 
keep his nuts drained. But he was humiliating Jay for the fun of it, because he 
could.  Pounder brought Jay’s face up to his own, like the boy was a puppet, a living 
plaything for an angry musclegod.

"What the fuck ever gave you the idea I would let a pussy-boy like you work out in my 
gym?" he asked.  "Now I have to teach everyone a lesson.  I have to kill. And you have 
to die. That is the lesson."   

The crowd of gym rats were excited at the prediction.  They were actually going to 
see Pounder snuff a dude!  They’ve seen Pounder snap limbs, thump faces into bloody 
pulp, once he even crushed a dude’s skull inside a truly "killer" side chest pose. 
Jay’s execution promised to be a terrifying spectacle.

The beast that was abusing him so terribly held Jay easily, practically upside-down, 
speaking quietly. Pounder was in a philosophical mood and spoke softly into Jay’s 
face.  "What’s it like to know its my decision alone that you die today?" he asked 
rhetorically. "What’s it like to be within moments of death, knowing only my muscle 
has given me the power to pound you into oblivion?" 

From where he knelt, behind the bench press, Tim looked up at Jay, whose nose oozed 
red blood. "You like workin’ out with me, dude?  You want to know what having really 
big muscles is like?" Pounder asked Jay.  

Jay looked up at his musclegod, then squeezed his eyes shut, not daring to speak. 
Pounder hoisted Jay overhead again and slowly began performing military presses with 
the kid’s body.  As he lowered the boy, Tim could see how Pounder’s magnificently sharp 
abs and serratus worked to support his gigantic torso.  Just as he noticed how far open 
Pounder’s lats spread, like wings from his back, when he held Jay overhead, there was a 
blur of motion and a loud CRAAAACK!  

Pounder had lunged forward lightening fast, kneeled on one knee, and slammed the small of 
Jay’s back into his upraised knee.  Jay’s body folded explosively across Pounder’s 
wide quadriceps, and his spine snapped with a loud report.  Pounder allowed Jay’s broken 
body to flop off his knee, rebounding, and land in a twisted heap on the floor in front 
of Tim. Blood sprayed from Jay’s head onto Pounder and in the air and everywhere.

Jay screamed briefly in pain and panic until blood began to spew from his mouth and 
he lost consciousness.  Pounder stared at a quivering Tim, ignoring the screams of Jay, 
digging the shock and profound fear he saw in Tim’s face.  They kneeled together, face 
to pec, as a pool of blood from Jay collected around them.  Pounder smiled vainly, 
proudly at Tim, and raised his giant guns into a barbaric double biceps pose.  Like 
a little boy showing his vanity, ‘See what I can do?’  Tim couldn’t focus on much 
beyond the two huge biceps muscles practically bursting through the skin on Pounder’s
blood-spattered arms.

"You think your friend is hurt, man?" Pounder asked sarcastically.  

Tim was trying to think fast.  How was he going to get out of this alive?  This guy 
is a killer!  He is unstoppable!  He used Jay to pump up and then effortlessly broke 
him in half in the space of five minutes! Those other guys were laughing and cheering!  
This was a nightmare.  Jesus, look at this guy’s body, pure muscle, and he is huge! 
Physically, Pounder was without comparison.  If Tim was going to live, it was only 
because Pounder was going to let him.  Tim just needed to convince Pounder to spare 
him.  But now that Jay was likely dead, without much effort at all, that seemed very 
unlikely.

"Hey, man!  I’m TALKIN’ to you!  You see what working out can do for a pussy like 
you?"   Pounder did not like being ignored, especially by dudes he was gonna beat 
to death.  He looked at Tim, but Tim wasn’t seeing him.  They were both on their 
knees, each facing the other.  Pounder had almost a half-foot in height over Tim, 
and the difference was readily apparent.  Pounder decided to really draw Tim’s 
attention. Obviously, breaking his friend in half wasn’t enough.

Pounder got to his feet again, reached a long arm down, and roughly seized Jay by 
his throat once more.  The boy’s unconscious face was slick with blood. Vestigial 
legs dangled loosely from his upper body.  The small of his back, where Pounder had 
snapped his vertebrae, was marked with an ugly bruise.  

Pounder brought Jay’s lifeless body to rest against the front of Pounder’s own body, 
nestling the crown of Jay’s head deep into the cleavage of his pectorals, right below 
his chin.  Pounder wrapped his other gargantuan arm around Jay, securing the dying 
freshman against the meat of mighty chest muscles.  Then he freed his other arm from 
its grasp on Jay’s throat and wrapped it snugly on top.  

Jay was trapped, enclosed in a cocoon of steel-hard muscle, held fast in Pounder’s 
powerful arms.  Large, tunnel-like veins throbbed near the surface of the skin on 
his biceps and forearms. Jay’s naked torso was barely visible, covered by Pounder’s 
arms, roughly pressing the scrawny teenager against slabs of granite muscle.  Jay’s 
feet didn’t reach the floor.  But he wasn’t going anywhere.  His eyes rolled back in 
their sockets as he faded in and out of consciousness, but somehow he knew what was 
about to happen.  This was it.  Pounder had decided to put a final end to this pussy. 
His deadly pythons slowly wound tighter and tighter around the living corpse that was Jay.

Pounder took a small warm-up breath, put one foot back to stabilize his stance, and 
clenched his quarry.  There was another loud CRAAAACK! as Jay’s twig-like arms snapped, 
echoing from inside the cavern of muscle in which he was encased.  Tim was brought out 
of his reverie by the sound of breaking bones and saw his friend approaching death, 
crushed inside Pounder’s massive arms.

Pounder smiled again right at Tim, knowing he had Tim’s full attention now, and bore 
down again, this time splintering his victim’s ribs, slowly, dragging out the crunching 
sound Jay’s bones made as they broke. Pounder dug the bending of the ribs and the "pop" 
of bones breaking against his mass. It was horrible, Tim thought, that Jay was being 
slaughtered in front of him, for no reason.  But Pounder had reasons.

As Pounder’s arms tightened and flexed the muscles in them became absurdly rock-hard.  
His heavy pecs stretched and striated and blew up, and when the skeleton in Jay’s upper 
body had turned to meal, they no longer protected the vital organs within from Pounder’s 
attack.  Now Pounder leaned down so Jay’s bloody face was closer down to Tim.  It oozed 
blood and bile from its openings.  Pounder wanted to be sure Tim saw his friend die up close.  

Like the last rep of a final set, Pounder took another breath, set his face into 
an eerie, unseeing smile, and collected the vast reserves of his strength.  The 
pressures he was about to generate were awesome and as he unleashed them, Jay’s 
organs burst out his mouth and blood spurted from his ears. Pounder emptied Jay 
like a tube of bloody toothpaste.  Jay’s eyes blew out of their sockets in a spray 
of thick blood.  As he finally crushed his victim to death, both Pounder and Tim 
were splashed with remnants of Jay’s wrecked organs.  

After a second of two, Pounder loosened his hold and transitioned into a pose, a 
most muscular pose.  He brought his two giant fists together inches from Tim’s 
face and flexed his deadly muscles, which allowed the twisted, broken corpse to 
slide to the floor.  Pounder’s body was dripping with blood, which accentuated the 
peaks and valleys of his unthinkably lethal physique.  He was breathing heavily, and 
his massive chest heaved with each breath.  No one spoke, so all that could be heard 
was Pounder’s panting.  All Tim could see was the bloody, cavernous interior of 
Pounder’s most muscular pose, where Jay had just died.  If Pounder wanted to, his 
quivering fists would blast Tim’s face apart in an instant.  Pounder knew it, Tim 
knew it, everyone knew it.  But instead Pounder stood up.

"You ready for your turn?" he asked Tim.

	Pounder walked up to the trembling Tim.  He reached out with bloody hands 
and firmly grasped the sides of Tim’s head.  As Pounder maneuvered Tim’s face into 
position, Tim could see Pounder’s thick cock clearly through the spandex workout 
shorts, as it started to thicken and creep upward over the top of the shorts toward 
Pounder’s abs.  Suddenly he felt his ears pop as Pounder began to flex again.

	"You want to live?  Open up that face then"