The Strength Contest Part III : Arm Wrestling

The Contest Part III :  Arm Wrestling 

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One each so far ...

“There’s one final contest for this particular game,” Jamal announced.  “Arm wrestling.”

Tyrone smiled and assumed a double-bi pose.  “Don’t waste your energy, white boy,” Tyrone chided.  “You’ll need it to compete with these babies.”  He looked at his left arm, and then his right, grinning. Mule stood still, keeping his game-face.  Mule flexed his massive guns.   His biceps were unbelievable.  And his forearms, tight and strong were striated with muscle fibers and lined with veins.

Tyrone bent his arm and touched his finger to Mule's incredible forearm.  He moved his finger up the lean, vessel-lined beef.  Mule stood completely still as Tyrone moved his finger higher.  Soon Tyrone spread his fingers and began to feel the amazing hardness of Mule's forearm.  Tyrone moved his hand higher and began to feel Mule's relaxed 21 inch upper arm.  "Fuck,” Tyrone said.  "Your arms are incredible."  Mule remained frozen.  He liked having this huge muscleman feeling him out.  He looked forward to knocking Tyrone down a few notches.  All in good time.

Mule tightened his triceps for the Tyrone's quivering fingers.  Tyrone almost shuddered at the feel of the iron-hard muscle that danced beneath his fingers.  But he retained his composure He gently squeezed Mule's huge arm as he said "arm wrestling."  Tyrone had never met anyone whom he could not blow away with his super-human, powerful arms. Tyrone found his penis bulging as he contemplated exerting his powerful guns against the muscle-king that he was touching.

It had to come to this.   The two studs sat at a table, facing each other in classic arm-wrestling pose.   Two macho alpha males, proud of their raw masculinity.  They were both confident to the point of vain, competitive to the point of being arrogant.    And yet--one had to lose to the other.

The two studs sat at a table, facing each other in classic arm-
wrestling pose

“I’ve never lost at arm-wrestling,” Tyrone growled.

“Fuck you, asshole,” said Mule.   “You’re going down....”

They took a deep breath, flexed their biceps ….

Mule's rippling physique bulged with defined, insanely large muscles.  Jamal and Ursula stood and watched the muscle-show as the two men faced each other, their bulging right arms at the ready to battle. Mule's bare upper body was absolutely a work of art.  His arm bulged with a huge grapefruit head of bicep muscle.  His thick, erect forearm was laced with crisscrossed veins.  It rippled as he wriggled his fingers.  He grinned into Tyrone's eyes.

Tyrone brought his right arm forward, and Mule's eyes fixed on his bicep.  Mule was going to enjoy this.

The two men stared into each other's eyes.  They chiseled their faces into intimidating grins of confidence -- each man knowing that he could beat the other.  But only one of them was right.

Tyrone moved his hand close to Mule.  He opened his fingers, inviting Mule to grip his hand.  Mule slowly wrapped his powerful fingers around Tyrone's and began to squeeze.  Tyrone quickly closed his dark fingers around Mule's grip.  Mule squeezed tighter.  Tyrone met the force.  Tighter.  The two men exerted an incredible amount of force on each other's grip.

The two men were nearly on top of their arms as they
 prepared for battle

Tyrone pushed his huge body forward, to get a better position for the contest.  Mule did the same.  Mule's shoulders moved closer to Tyrone's broad beauties.  The two men were nearly on top of their arms as they prepared for battle.  Tyrone's fucking huge arm dwarfed Mule's 20" inches of beefed muscle.  But Mule was confident in his own superhuman ability.  He was ready.  The two men re-positioned themselves a few times, each trying to out-advantage the other before the contest began.

Finally, it was time for the battle of strength to begin.  Jamal counted:  ONE. The men drew in heavy breaths.  TWO.  They both exhaled and drew in another.  THREE.

Mule was shocked.  This black muscle god was STRONG!  Tyrone took the first advantage, slowly pressing Mule's arm backward.  Tyrone's entire body tightened as he exerted his unreal strength.  His arm bulged with expanding muscle.  He moved Mule's arm back about four inches.  He kept pressing, forcing his might onto Mule.  His confidence bulged with each powerful expansion of his arm.  Mule now made his move.  He tightened his face and began to slowly push Tyrone's arm back to the neutral position.  Tyrone held his breath and squinted his eyes as he fought back.  Mule pushed harder and began to overpower the muscle-stud. Mule's fucking gun grew larger.  His huge bicep head seemed to separate from the rest of his arm.  Tyrone's forearm moved backwards.  Tyrone's arm grew even bigger!  Tyrone began to breathe huge breaths.  He began panting.

Jamal counted:  ONE. The men drew in heavy breaths.
  TWO.  They both exhaled and drew in another. THREE...

He contorted his face and tightened his entire body.  Mule forced the black muscle stud's arm back farther and farther.  Within a few seconds, Mule had Tyrone's arm bent back by at least two  inches, and he kept moving it farther:  slowly, forcefully, painfully until the mighty arms had returned to the starting position.  Tyrone grew incredulous.  He couldn't believe he had met a man who could do this!  He panted loudly and fought with all his might.  His forearm bulged with blood vessels.  His bicep felt as if it would explode!

The fight was on...

Their eyes bored into each other, their arms strained,
 veins standing out …

The fight was on.   Their eyes bored into each other, their arms strained, veins standing out …… but nothing moved.   Their great strength was equal, their determination implacable.  The mood had become tense.  This was serious.

Seconds became minutes and sweat began pouring down their faces and bodies.   Their eyes penetrated each other with looks of defiance and intimidation, and their shoulders, biceps bulged with exertion.   First, one man gained the upper hand and pushed the other arm back slightly, but then the other retaliated and the stalemate continued.  Now Tyrone was starting to move more too as every muscle in his body seemed to simultaneously flex.

Mule was shocked.  This black muscle god was STRONG! 

“Looks like… you’re… gunna break… white… boy,”
 Tyrone taunted. 

Mule’s breathing became more labored

Mule’s breathing became more labored.

Tyrone renewed his intimidating grins; Mule continued to ignore them.

Beads of sweat began forming on Mule’s brow
Tyrone took a deep breath, closing his eyes.  He was tiring.

Maybe he’s got some size, but that doesn’t mean he has my endurance, Mule thought.  Nevertheless, time was taking its toll on Mule’s muscular arms as well, and the pain was becoming more and more intense.  The beads of sweat on his brow coagulated into drops and started dribbling down his face.

Tyrone squinted his eyes, focusing his concentration.

Both men were breathing hard-- Mule, almost panting.

Jamal and Ursula watched, now embracing each other in proxy  lust as they gazed at the muscle show.

More seconds passed.  The struggle was becoming unbearable for Mule.  The pain centered in the peak of his biceps-- it was an intense cramping.  And it was getting to the point where Mule didn’t know if he could hold on much longer.  Tyrone too, was sweating.

Tyrone winced.  Then his huge arms looked like they were trembling.  Mule’s definitely were.  Vibrating.  Shaking.  Jiggling.
Mule’s whole body began to tremble.  He started to pant through his clenched teeth, his eyes closed for maximum concentration.

“Looks like… you’re… gunna break… white… boy,” Tyrone taunted.  Yet, for all his bravado, he himself didn’t look like he had much more in him.  He took three loud breaths through pursed lips, sounding like a woman in a Lamaze class.  The veins on Tyrone’s arms seemed to be squirming like snakes.

Mule cocked his head from side-to-side, his eyes closed.  He was in obvious pain, struggling for all his might, there was no relief from the excruciating pain his arms were enduring.  Mule groaned, then he hissed repeatedly.  “Psshhhhhhh-- psshhhhhhhhh-- Aguusshhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”

As the sweat beads on Tyrone formed into rivulets and started to fall to the mat under him, Mule’s arm started to move down ward.

Trying with all his might to stem the downward progression of his arm, Mule gritted his teeth again and his massive biceps and forearms throbbed, and seemed to grow.  With renewed effort, Mule grunted.

Tyrone held firm, but not without visible stress.  He was loud, he sweated profusely, and he shook with determination.

Mule watched as the helpless muscleman struggled.   He stared into Tyrone's straining face and grinned just a little.  Tyrone's face was strong.  He was as handsome as all get-out.  Mule studied it as it grimaced and strained against his powerful force.

Mule could tell Ty was struggling: his elbow had shifted and his left hand had left the table. Watching his massive muscles flex was an amazing sight, especially the rippling bicep that fought to avoid being pressed back to the table. But Mule knew that with each contraction came pain - each block of pain building upon the last until eventually the brain could take no more and the muscle failed. Mule reached under the table instinctively for his cock and started to stroke it gently but firmly, as if pumping extra supplies of testosterone into his already overloaded system....

Mule reached under the table  and started to stroke his cock 
  pumping extra supplies of testosterone into his already 
overloaded system....

The muscle fight was stimulating Mule to no end. Within a few seconds, his throbbing, totally erect cock began dripping pre cum.  Tyrone kept straining against Mule, oblivious to the sexual gratification Mule was getting out of the muscle fight.    Tyrone moved his arm up a little and drew in a deep breath.  He pushed with all his might, forcing Mule's arm back.  Mule's face winced as his tightly muscled physique rippled with sexual energy.  His wet scrotum draped his hard balls low as his stiff dick continued to drip pre-cum like a faucet.  His penis head opened and closed with slow, mechanical rhythm, pumping his pre-cum onto floor in rhythm with his right arm as he pumped Tyrone's weakening arm with his other hand.


With each sensual drop of pre cum, Mule moved Tyrone's throbbing arm back a little.  Tyrone, unwilling to acknowledge defeat, began to fight back once again.  He began to yell.  "Fuck!  Fuck!  Fuck!"  With each laborious, heavy breath    Slowly, Tyrone brought his left hand around and moved it close to Mule's fighting arm.  Tyrone moved his hand closer, trying to prop himself up in an effort to regain control of the contest.  Mule allowed Tyrone to move higher, on top of the heaping mass of muscle formed by the two men's arms.  Their cheeks began to touch as they struggled against each other.  Tyrone's expletives shot into Mule's ear as the two men fought.

Soon, Tyrone began to move the fingers of his left hand up onto Mule's exploded, bulging bicep.  He began to feel the unbelievably massive, steel-hard meat of Mule's gun.  "Shit!" he whispered loudly, exhaling a huge amount of air into Mule's ear.  His fingers trembled as they took in the whole of Mule's fucking gargantuan arm.  Little by little, Tyrone's entire body began to shake as he fought for all he was worth.  Beads of sweat poured down his straining face.  Mule began to move Tyrone's arm back and forth slowly, demonstrating how absolutely strong he was.  He almost seemed to be using Tyrone as an exercise!  Tyrone's whole body shook almost violently now.  His arm screamed in excruciating pain.  He was undergoing an amazing amount of physical punishment.  He tried to squeeze Mule's bicep with his free fingers in an effort to weaken the mighty one.  But his digging fingers were only met with iron, unmovable, rock-hard muscle.  Mule's bicep grew and pushed Tyrone's squeezing fingers back. Tyrone fought on.  He held his breath and closed his eyes as he struggled against the unstoppable mountain of strength.

It seemed like an eternity, but finally each man felt his strength ebbing.   It was only a matter of time.  Mule pushed harder on Tyrone and moved his arm back.  It was time for the kill.

Mule goes for the kill!!!

Tyrone's shoulder screamed in excruciating pain

Mule Wins!

 Mule's triceps bulged and Tyrone was nearing exhaustion. Tyrone's arm was almost all the way back.  He pushed hard, cursing again.  Then, in one quick moment, it was over.

Mule pushed harder, and finding a reserve of strength from deep within and with a howl of triumph forced Tyrone's arm until it slammed down on the table.

Tyrone, exhausted, pulled slightly back.  His breathing was incredibly hard and heavy.  He panted as he stopped struggling.

It was over.   They stared at each other, one in triumph, and the other in defeat.

Jamal can hardly believe it but declares Mule the winner....Jamal was shocked by Tyrone's defeat. Admiration and lust usually reserved for Tyrone was redirected toward this amazing blond Asgardian demiurge.

The winner smiled.    “You lost, man…….”

Tyrone stared in dazed disbelief.  “No man has ever beaten me in arm-wrestling before..." Tyrone said, still rubbing his wasted arm in a state of shock.

Mule looked up and smiled. "That's what you said before. Guess you can't say it anymore, huh?"

Mule is elated at having taken the big man down again. Ty is shattered and cannot take it in. Jamal tries to console him. He can't believe his mighty hero has been defeated. As he massages Ty's huge shoulders, he marvels at the amount of muscle packed onto them...yet he couldn’t stop stealing glances at the Blond muscleman.

"FUCK YEAH....!!!! I win, you lose, sucker...." 

Jamal tries to console Tyrone

Ursula marveled that Tyrone  had fallen to Mule

Jamal and Ursula are both  stunned by Tyrone's defeat
 by the Mule 

Jamal was not the only one stunned by Tyrone's defeat, Ursula purring like a tigress after a kill as her cunt still twitched at the sight of Tyrone even in defeat.  How could this Herculean Adonis be beaten by this blond interloper?  She studied the 6’5” dark skinned body that rippled with muscle from head to toe, looking for some imperfection, some weakness or flaw to explain the loss, she could find none.  With every movement of his massive legs, Tyrone's pumped muscles bunched and quivered.  His huge, deep chest had  pecs that thrust from his body -- hard, firm pecs crowned with protruding nipples that looked like pencil ends.  She could see his stomach was a solid, razor-cut six-pack.  She marveled that this body had fallen to Mule's deadly combination of power, stamina and skill.   Her cunt pulsed with anticipation as she absorbed the champion Mule's size and cockiness.   She couldn't wait to get his hands on both of them, with possibly the built young Adonis Jamal for dessert.

(***TYRONE WILL BE BACK IN: THE COCK CONTEST***)