Three in the morning. The subway station was deserted as usual as I waited for the subway car which would take me home from another late night at work.
The car pulled up and I got on. It was empty, as always. Against the front of the car, a rear-facing bench stretched the width of the car, about eight feet.
I sat in my usual place right in the center of that bench, looking down the narrow aisle, about twenty inches wide. The aisle separated the two rows of forward-facing benches that filled the rest of the car. The row to my left was broken in two places to leave space for the two entrances, one near the front and the other near the rear. A row of handholds ran down the length of the aisle, about seven feet above the floor and a foot and a half below the ceiling of the car. Another row of handholds at the same height ran the width of the car above my bench. The windows and most of the benches were generously covered by graffiti, and the florescent lights seemed bright for such a late hour.
The car pulled away from the station with a groan. The faint hum of the florescent lights and the click-click of the wheels crossing the ties in the tracks were the only noise for the next two or three minutes until the car reached the next station. It pulled to a halt and the doors hissed open. In through the rear entrance came a man—unusual; normally my trips home were in solitude. The man was in his early twenties, very attractive. Short blonde hair and an innocent, boyish face. He had on a demin jacket and faded jeans.
Under the open jacket a white tank was knotted between his full pecs, and on his feet he wore simple white sneakers without socks. He glanced at me, then sat in one of the rear benches and stared out the window. The car pulled away and the click-click from the wheels resumed.
As the station disappeared from view around a bend, the boy looked back at me.
“Wanna see something?” he asked.
“Like what?” I replied.
“Watch and see,” he said, and grinned. he stood up and stepped forward a pace to the wider part of the aisle next to the rear entrance. Then he put his fists on his waist and looked down at his tank top.
His chest started swelling out, and I thought he was just inhaling deeply. His pecs pressed tightly against the white cloth and his jacket slid back off his jutting pecs. It was certainly an enticing sight but I had no idea why he was doing this. But then I saw that his shoulders seemed to be widening—I could see their shape changing under his jacket, growing broader. His pecs strained against the tank, bulging out around the edges of the tank and pulling the knot tighter and tighter. Then the fabric parted across his right pec with a loud tearing noise and his tank slid back from his pecs, leaving them bare. I could see a deepening groove running between them down the center of his chest. My jaw fell open and I felt a stirring in my crotch.
he looked up to the handhold above and to the right of his head, then reached up and took it in his hand. The distance between it and his head grew smaller—was he pulling himself up one-handed? I looked at his feet and saw that they were still flat on the ground. he was pulling himself taller! As I watched, the laces in his shoes broke, and then the canvas tore to reveal his growing feet. My gaze slid back up his body. The bottoms of his jeans slid up his ankles to mid-calf, and his sleeves slid up his arms until they reached only to mid-forearm. his chin was a little above the hand-hold now; the top of his head was about six inches below the eight and a half foot ceiling. he looked back at me and smiled widely, eight feet tall with bare pecs on a wide, muscular chest.
Releasing the hand-hold, he turned to face away from me and put his hands back on his hips. his shoulders began spreading again, pulling the jacket tight across his back. Now I could see his lats bulging against the jacket too, until it tore, at first just in the center of his back. Then the tear crept up towards the collar and down towards the waist of the jacket, opening wide and revealing the back of his white tank. The tank was stretched by the width of his back and shoulders, and tore down the back. The rip in the jacket was still growing until finally the jacket was torn into two separate pieces, which hung ragged from his shoulders, revealing his entire back: bulging trapezius muscles flaring into soccer ball-sized shoulders, down across thick, impossibly wide lats almost a yard across, to a narrow waist lined with rock- hard male muscle.
Then, his vast back still to me, he lifted himself up onto his toes, his hair barely brushing the ceiling of the car. his calves strained the seams of his jeans, then burst through suddenly, shredding the ends of the pants legs as they ballooned into large, diamond-shaped mounds of manly muscle. At that point he turned back towards me, lowering himself to stand flat on his feet again, and looked down at his thighs. They, like his calves, exploded abruptly outward, shredding the rest of the pants legs, leaving demin streamers hanging between his massive, muscular tree-trunk legs. The skin seemed paper-thin over his thick, beefy quadriceps, cutting grooves between the mighty thews of his steel- hard pillar-like legs. he looked up at me. “I can see you're enjoying this,” he said, smiling at me. I glanced down at the prominent bulge in my trousers.
“Watch this,” he said, and my gaze snapped back to his towering brawn. His arms were still thin, in unripped jacket sleeves, and he bent one to place his left index finger in the little cleft at the base of his neck. Then he slowly traced a line from there down through the valley formed by his high, firm pecs and thick, broad pectorals. his hand continued downward, and as it crossed his flat stomach, chunks of muscle began to emerge, separated by well-defined grooves. Soon his abdomen was a symphony of rock-hard amazonian muscularity.
When he reached the waist of his jeans, I began to see the outline of his dick become more and more prominent as the bulge grew longer and thicker, the cockhead sliding up his leg. I could hear the fabric starting to strain, barely able to contain his growing rod. Closing his eyes and tilting his head to the ceiling, he let out a loud moan. I watched in awe as his huge cock finally burst from his jeans accompanied with an appetizingly slow rip. It was now pointing straight out, continuing to grow even bigger.
“Mmm,” he said, licking his lips.
He curled his hand into a fist and extended his left arm straight down. His forearm began expanding, first snapping open the button in the cuff, then causing a tear that crept from the cuff up along his arm. His arm swelled and the tear crossed his elbow to begin revealing his growing biceps and triceps.
The tear reached his big shoulder and the tattered sleeve slipped back to reveal a thick, burly deltoid merging into a huge, horseshoe-shaped triceps bulging out an inch and a half from the tendon contained in its inverted U- shape.
He relaxed that arm and stuck his right arm straight out to the side, still clad in an intact sleeve. He gazed at it and slowly began curling it. With this arm, too, a rip appeared at the cuff and crept towards his elbow as his forearm grew. But this time his swelling biceps strained the upper sleeve too fast and the seam along the side of that muscle gave way. By the time his arm reached a ninety-degree angle the two tears had met and extended all the way to the shoulder. The sleeve slipped off his arm to hang by his side, revealing his still-growing biceps. When he finally had his arm curled all the way, the his upper arm was bigger around than my thigh, with a giant male biceps shaped like a football and almost as big.
The remains of his jacket and tank formed two tight ragged loops, one around each shoulder. he crossed his arms in front of him, chest muscles bunching and lifting his pecs, to grasp each shoulder's tatters in the opposite hand, biceps bulging. Dual tugs produced sharp ripping noises and he dropped the torn cloth to the floor. Then he slipped a hand into the waist of his jeans and with another sharp tug pulled those rags off, and with one foot swept the remains of his shredded clothing and shoes out of the aisle. He looked up at me. “Like what you see?” he teased, with a winning smile, as he put his hands once again on his waist and spread his tremendous lats. I could only nod slowly, entranced by the transformation I had just witnessed of an attractive, normal- sized man into a ravishing, towering musclegod bulging with huge, masculine muscle. His classic beautiful face, sat atop a neck wrapped in muscle that flared out to merge into mountainous shoulders at least as wide as one of the three-foot benches around him. The beefy arms emerging from those colossal shoulders were each bigger around than a telephone pole. Slablike pectorals rested on the wide expanses of his chest, each meaty mound seemed almost a foot wide. Framing his chest were his immense lats, each a six inch wide curve of bulging male brawn. His waist didn't appear to have gotten any wider during the transformation but his abdomen was now a plate of muscle with well- defined grooves cutting through it. His waist flared down into sweeping, well-cut thighs of beefy masculine muscularity, each nearly the width of his waist. The curves of his legs narrowed from titanic thighs down to his knees, then abruptly arced out around his bowling-pin-sized calves to come back together at his slim ankles. This gigantic amazon was an eight foot tower of immense male power, every inch bulging with herculean muscle.
“How about a closer look?” he asked. I leaped off the bench, but before I could take a step, he said, “No, stay put. I'll come to you.” I stayed, but his tremendous thighs looked too wide to fit down the narrow aisle. The enormous strength of his deliciously bulging arms easily solved that problem.
He simply put a hand on each of the two benches in front of him and, biceps swelling with godlike might, tore them from the floor. He tossed them behind him and took a step forward to repeat the feat with the next pair of benches.
Again he exerted his irresistable strength and the bolts in the floor gave way with a groan to release the benches. In a few seconds, he stood in front of me, benches strewn along the subway car in his wake.
I gazed up at him. My eyes were just barely level with the round shape of the bottoms of his high, firm pecs, and his chin was more than a foot above my head. I began to slowly raise a quivering hand to touch him, but he interrupted my action by putting his hands on my shoulders and forcing me back into a sitting position on the bench behind me. “Not so fast,” he said with a grin, then leaned over and stuck his fingers into the waist of my trousers and worked them into the waistband of my briefs underneath. A quick tug from his powerful fingers tore apart the zipper of my fly and rent my briefs, allowing my erection to spring out. Ignoring that for a moment, he continued to rend my clothes until my trousers and underwear lay in two separate ragged bundles around my ankles. Then he moved both hands to the edge of the bench, just to the left of my legs. Again the already insanely huge muscles of his arms swelled with power and, before my unbelieving eyes, the aluminum sheet underneath the bench cushion bent and split. He peeled back the seat to leave a two-foot gap next to me. Then he repeated the amazing feat on the right, unstoppable power surging through the mighty arms of the giant musclegod. In moments I was left sitting on a narrow remaining section of the bench, trousers and briefs around my ankles, with my cock exposed and stiff in the cool air.
I wondered why he had destroyed the bench, but he answered my unspoken question by stepping forward into the now empty space to stand over me, one pillar-like leg on either side. he bent his tree-trunk legs to sit on my bare legs, his ass hard as stone against me, his massive chest just inches from my face, and his chin still half a foot above my head. My cock was sandwiched between our bellies, pressing into mine because his abdomen was solid and unyielding. I felt pain in my legs from his immense weight and gasped, “Too heavy!” He lifted a finger to my lips and said, “Don't you know it's not polite to talk about a people's weight?” But he smiled and I felt some of the weight lift as he straightened his legs a bit. Then he slipped his finger under my chin and, tilting my head back, leaned down to kiss me. My lips parted and our tongues met. I raised my hands and placed them on his sides, at last touching his superhuman physique. The muscles were harder than steel. I slid my hands over his lats and across his broad back, slowly tracing the curves of his enormous muscles as the kiss continued and intensified.
Finally he broke the kiss to look up at the row of handholds dangling just above his head. He reached up and took one in each hand. I watched as each gigantic bicep swelled, flexing with his enormous power until I felt him lift completely off me. I glanced down and saw that his legs were bent so that his feet no longer touched the floor—he was supporting himself entirely with his herculean arms. He raised himself about a foot above my legs, then carefully lowered himself so that the tip of my cock brushed the wet lips of his crotch.
A wave of erotic pleasure washed over me as he s-l-o-w-l-y lowered himself further, emitting a little sigh of sexual delight, to engulf the rest of my cock with his hot, tight ass, still supporting himself entirely from the two handholds.
Then, with little surges of strength in his bulging arms, he began raising and lowering himself just a few inches, slowly at first, to slide up and down my shaft. As pleasure pulsed out from my cock, I slipped my hands up from his back onto his arms to feel his brawny biceps flex with each upstroke. The muscles were like iron softballs, each much too big to get my hand around, and swelled a little on each upstroke. I slid my hands over onto those massive amazonian shoulders and caressed the smooth, unyielding curves. I could feel my orgasm nearing now and could tell that hers was too, from his gasping and the quickening pulsations of his slick crotch.
The stroking was growing faster now, the inhuman strength of his immense arms unflagging even after dozens of the little lifts he was performing. I slipped my hands down to fondle his pecantic thighs and leaned forward to kiss and caress his jutting pecs. My hands roamed his body ceaselessly, joyfully tracing the curves of massive muscle on his arms, back, legs, and shoulders.
As I worked on one pec with my mouth, the other with a hand, and caressed one of his mighty flexing arms with my other hand, he gave out a moan and lowered himself to fully engulf my cock. his crotch spasmed rapdily with his orgasm, repeatedly clenching my cock tightly then releasing it, driving me over the edge to my own orgasm. The ecstasy went on and on as I felt a climax far more intense than any other in my life.
Finally, the pulsing of his crotch trailed off and my orgasm ended, and he lowered his feet to take his weight again as he released the handholds.
Completely spent, I lay my head against his broad chest between his pecs and wrapped my arms around his waist (the only part of his torso I could completely encircle). I felt his wrap his beefy arms around me and gently place a hand against the back of my head. As I drifted into a doze, exhausted, I noticed that through the window I could see the wall of the tunnel, unmoving. At some point during this heavenly experience the subway car had stopped.
The resumption of the click-click from the subway car wheels crossing the rail ties resumed For a moment I thought it must have been a dream, but then I saw the benches lying haphazardly on the floor and my pants around my ankles and knew that it had been real. The mysterious hunk was nowhere to be seen, although his clothes still lay in a heap at the far end of the car. It was a good thing I had my trenchcoat that day because otherwise, due to my torn trousers, I might have been arrested for indecent exposure on my walk home from the subway station.
I have ridden the subway home after a late night many times since then but I haven't yet had a chance to repeat the experience. Still, I make it a point to try to work late and ride the subway in the wee hours. The slim chance of meeting the amazon again makes it worth the trouble.