I begin to pump the great mass of his cock with one hand. It is so thick that my fingers do not meet my palm, and I feel my grip widened with every beat of his pulse.
The basketball sized swell of his shoulder muscle pressed against the high walls of the cubicle. The strain of the hard, plastic wall indicated that the monstrously thick thigh muscles were doing the same. He was clearly trying to finish his shower as quickly as possible, awkwardly avoiding looking at me. I was taking my time, enjoying my shower. I began enjoying it much more when this blonde, long-haired muscle giant took the stall next to me, a cubicle which had been designed for neither his height nor obscenely hue frame.
This would be the first time I met Skar. I had been going to this gym for 10 years, he for a day. I would later learn that he was also new to the city. At this time, those are not the details that interested me. What interested me first was his height. He stands, I guess, at 7 foot 3, perhaps taller. His wingspan is wider than most men are tell. He makes He-Man look like a bitch. At this moment, he is figuring out that he is too big to fit in my neighboring shower cubicle, and, respecting my modesty, is trying to wash himself completely hunched over.
“Hey man, I go naked in the locker room so I honestly don’t care. Don’t worry about my shower.”
At first glance he appears embarrassed, but it fades quickly. He is used to everything that comes with such a body, I guess.
“Ah. Sorry my friend. I am used to big shower rooms at home. This is, um, less than ideal.”
He has turned to face me. It is the only way he can actually fit in cubicle without the thick mass of his muscles digging into the walls. When he turns, the entire structure seems to relax.
“Ah, and where is home.”
“Iceland,” he booms, smiling. Or is it a boom? His voices comes from somewhere low in him, like the grinding of rock. Like the deep pulse of lust growing in my groin.
I am now face to face with Skar, though his face is perhaps a ten inches above my own. It is the only time since my teenage years that I have felt small. I stand 6 foot 5, with arms and back as thick as five days of heavy lifting a week can make them. Next to Skar, even separated by the flimsy cubicle wall, I feel tiny.
Now that he is facing me, I am struck immediately by his pecs. Tight blond hairs curl around thick, chorded spheres of pure strength. They are immense, bulging and swollen with impossible muscle. As he washes himself, they bounce, spraying some of his creamy soap lather over me. Some goes in my eye.
“Ah, sorry my friend,” he laughs. I am laughing too. “There is something ridiculous in this, no?”
His shower is a lot less hurried now, as is mine. We continue to wash ourselves, making occasional eye contact. I wash the last of the shampoo from hair, closing my eyes as the water pours over me. Bringing my hands to my head, I slick the hair from my face, and wipe the water from my eyes. When I open them, I see Skar reaching one gigantic arm behind him to wash his back. His bicep and tricep are tensed, and his arm must be thicker than the girthiest point of my thigh. This has pressed him up against my wall, meaning both his nipples are pressed directly on the top of my cubicle. They are thick, pink and erect. We are making eye contact now. In the dark bush of crotch, I can feel my cock engorging with blood and its weight begin to shift down the meat of my muscled thigh, inching its way lower and lower, getting thicker as the seconds pass. Skar’s shower has stopped, but he doesn’t seem to be aware. Just as I am engrossed in the monstrous pecs pressed against the wall, and the thumb-sized nipples moving in and out of view, so is he fixated purely on the growing third limb growing lazily at my crotch.
“You know,” I begin, “there is a physio room attached to the lockers. It has a private shower that may be more suited to a man of your size …”
“Skar,” he finishes. “Yes. And perhaps you would show me. You know, with my size I have trouble reaching my back with the soap. But you have been so helpful …”
“Matt,” I offer.
He pushes the cubicle door open, squeezes his gargantuan frame through it and then opens mine. This is the first time I have seen anymore than his face, pecs and shoulders. It is the first time, specifically, that I have seen the arm-thick trunk between his tree-trunk thighs, and the apple-size balls that would fill most men’s hands.
“Come,” he says. I obey.
I walk slowly, and he walks directly behind me. I can hear the deep thwack, thwack as his dick bounces off his thigh. Every few steps, I feel the thwack as the bulbous head hits my ass.
Reaching the door, I knock softly to make sure no one is there. We are the last two people in the gym, so the only person on duty is the bored floor supervisor, a whole floor away.
In the physio room is a large massage table, a shelf of oils and rubs, and a small shower. A shower far too small to fit Skar.
“You fool,” Skar mumbles, “a man like me will not fit in there.” I do not know if he was pretending to be shy earlier, or if this side of him simply comes out when he is aroused. The hard pressure against my ass cheeks lets me know that he aroused.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter. “I misremembered it. But I’m sure I can make it up to you.”
This is ridiculous, I think to myself. You stand 6 foot 5, stretch out XXXL t-shirts with muscle. In five minutes of this blond, Viking giant’s attention you’re suddenly like a school girl.
Well, not like a school girl, specifically. The iron rod of my cock is now roaring from my body, its great heft bouncing in anticipation. My prostate is enflamed with lust, engorged and pulsing. My own nipples, darker than Skar’s, are erect, painful in their sensitivity. My balls are heavy with cum and aching for attention.
I turn to face him but am stopped by a massive hand on my shoulder. His strong fingers press me into the floor. His strength is absolute. I think he could kill me with such pressure.
Then, I feel a hard press on my upper back. I realize that it is his cock.
“Matt,” he says. “I am going to let you turn around soon. I just want to prepare you for what you’re going to see.
I laugh. I have already seen his monstrous genitals, felt the thick slap of his cockhead against my legs as we walked here. I might not be prepared, but I won’t be surprised.
“No, really Matt,” he adds. “Just try to keep your senses. I like strength. Don’t disappoint me.”
I turn around. His warning is necessary. Skar, is turns out, is not a shower but a grower.
Some deep force in me tries to buckle my knees and drop my jaw. I want to fall to the floor, but the memory of his warning stops me: “I like strength.” I compose myself, reach a hand slowly out the obscenely massive cock jutting proudly from Skar’s gigantic body. I close my fingers around it. They do not meet each other. The weight is heavier than what I was just lifting.
“There is a reason I joined an all-night gym, Matt. We won’t be leaving this room until I see sunlight. Yes?”