Ceps Mad About Muscle

He put the bi in biceps

Scott Allen is a sucker for muscles and the men who have em all stemming for the time he was mugged by a guy with the biggest biceps hed ever seen. The mix of danger and testosterone turned him on so he still often dreams of his attacker and that incredible bicep with the barbed wire tattoo. Then, one day, he sees it again in his local supermarket and hes hooked on revenge. Scott lures the hunky straight mountain of muscle to his home where he drugs him and chains him naked in his basement. What Scott has in mind will have his captive screaming for mercyor screaming for more!

Excerpt

I started with an advantage, I was gay, so it wasnt like I had to change my gender attraction to accommodate a new fetish for biceps. However, I did join a gym, building up my own body sufficiently that I turned a few heads. It was no substitute for the dreams I still had of that mighty muscle up tight against my throat. I began to pick up men with large biceps to role play my attacker and, while it brought momentary satisfaction, the incredible buzz was short lived.

It was almost embarrassing that my cock stirred whenever I saw a guy with his T-shirt bulging in the sleeve over his muscular arm: a workman on a building site, a lifesaver at the beach, or a young man with his girl. A number of times I looked up to discover the subject of my admiring gaze glaring belligerently at me, or was lucky to escape a bashing when my interest singled out one member of a group of men. I found a boyfriend, built large enough in the arms that he kept me satisfied for a couple of years, although he eventually tired of my charades, finally leaving me with the parting shot, I cant compete with the man in your head.

Even therapy failed to alleviate the desire, mainly because, I freely admit it now, I didnt co-operate with the cure. I rather liked the man in my imagination. He was infinitely more satisfying than the fallible flesh and blood I brought home from time to time.

Naturally enough, the police never pursued my case. They had nothing much to go on, and more important cases to solve. I understood that, even as I pressed them to find my attacker, although I never thought through what I would do once I had a name and a face to put to the man who tormented my dreams.

Then, unexpectedly, five years after the incident that changed my life, I did. I needed to clear my head for an important meeting that afternoon so walked the local streets, a solitary exercise I indulged from time to time. It relaxed my mood and my mind, stressed from too much concentration and computer work. I usually ended up in the local mall where I grabbed a coffee and a Danish or a sandwich. This particular day, I headed into the supermarket to stock up on items that were running low in the small staff kitchen attached to my office.

I collected my purchases, daydreaming, not concentrating on anything much, including the queue in the 12 Items or Less checkout aisle, when something assaulted my nostrils and sucker punched me wide awake. It was the sweet aroma of sawdust and Old Spice. I was instantly alert. Not one of the bored customers in front of me came close to fitting the hazy image I had of my real attacker. Then an arm reached past me toward a rack of chewing gum and breath fresheners the store kept to entice last minute impulse buys.

I froze. The aphrodisiacal scent pounded blood into my cock and to my brain.