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Cory & The Machine

“Errrrrrch...”

 

“Twenty-two and a half.”

 

“Aw, c’mon, man!”

 

“Well, pump it, man! C’mon. Squeeze.”

 

“Ah, shit.”

 

“Yeah, man. Twenty-two and three-quarters.”

 

“Arrrrrch!”

 

“Just a little more. One more pump, Cory.”

 

“Ah, God, man. I’m startin’ to cramp.”

 

“Little more. Yeah! Twenty-three!”

 

Cory dropped his arm to his side, but the swollen biceps seemed determined to maintain their size, now that they had been abused for the sake of attaining the magic number. Twenty-three inches. He shook his upper arm and pressed on the release point just below the deltoid until he could bend his arm freely.

“Man, Cory. That was beautiful, all pumped up like that. Big block’a biceps sittin’ there. How’s it feel?”

 

I could tell what he wanted to say. I knew what he was feeling. Like it was going to cum. Like the muscle was going to just up and spurt right there on his arm. But Cory wasn’t that way. He kept it all to himself. So I almost mouthed his reply, the same reply he always gave.

 

“Feels all right.”

To say that Cory is an enigma would be an understatement. Regardless of the incredible bond that develops between himself and the narrator, Michael, the mystery is never fully solved, right through to the very last paragraph.

As the accidental sequel to Eleven and a Half: A Magical Mystical Journey of Great LengthCory & The Machine spins off from its predecessor with a storyline all its own.

But in the end, it "feels all right".

(m/m)

 © Ray Wilder Muscle Fiction