Muscle Boy Island 1a

Reply-To: an332657@anon.penet.fi

Disclaimer: This story contains descriptions of sexual acts involving minor boys. If this type of material is illegal in your area, or if you are under 18, please stop reading now and delete this file from your computer. If you are not interested in stories involving sex with young boys, stop reading now. Few things are sillier than supposedly sensible adults reading material they find offensive after they have been warned in advance about its content, and then flaming the writer.

"Muscle Boy Island" is a fantasy that involves a group of four young boys who have been genetically-engineered for superhuman strength and muscular development.

This is Chapter 1 of an as-yet-indefinite number of chapters. I hope you enjoy it! Comments, suggestions, ideas, etc. are always welcome; flames will be ignored. Let me hear from you! My address is an332657@anon.penet.fi.

Muscle Boy Island by Lead Guitarist

Chapter 1 (part a)

The tropical sun rises swiftly; Tom Henderson knew that even though the sky was only just paling over the east beach, the morning's heat would soon become blistering. For some reason he still did not fully understand, his boys did not mind working out in sweltering weather. He himself found it stifling even just to supervise. So he wanted his boys to eat their breakfast and get going on the day's workout before it became intolerable for him, and that meant he had to impose summer hours and wake the boys early.

Tom quietly turned the knob and eased the door open. The flood of light from the hall entered the dark room, its beam widening as the door opened further. This was Tom's first highlight of the day: watching the young boys wake up.

First the light illuminated the bed of ten-year-old Jack Tyler. The boy was lying on his belly, embracing his pillow, with his little blond head turned away from the door. The blanket had slid off the boy's torso, just barely covering his young ass and legs, leaving bare the hard, cabled muscularity of his tanned back. The gentle curve of the boy's spine was exposed, and Tom let his eyes follow it from the downward slope of Jack's hard little-boy buttocks into the hollow at his slender waist, and from there up again between the shoulder blades. The spine of an ordinary ten-year-old boy looks like a bumpy line because the vertebrae protrude, but in spite of Jack's tender years and small, boyish frame he had strong, thick, rippling muscle flanking his spine so that his vertebrae nestled into a valley of boy-sinew. To Tom it was wonderfully beautiful and he paused for a delicious moment, enjoying the view of Jack's young, taut muscles as the boy breathed the even breath of sleep.

Tom pushed the door open wider. Now the lightbeam found the bed of Ricky Addison. Ricky was eleven, with raven-black hair and olive skin. He lay on his back with his arms under his pillow, propping up his head, and his angelic boy-face, relaxed in slumber, looked so beautiful that Tom felt his heart speed with pleasure as he gazed from the doorway. Ricky's blanket was in disarray around his slim young-boy hips, exposing the top of the tiny, thin-sided blue bikini briefs he wore. Tom felt his cock twitch in his pants. He lovingly studied Ricky's belly, beautifully flat, long and slim like most growing boys', with exceptionally sharply-defined ripples of abdominal muscle gently rising and falling with the sleeping youngster's breathing. Tom's eyes moved up Ricky's torso, up the sharp rise under the breastbone where belly met chest. Ricky's ribcage was normally-sized for a young boy his age, in beautiful boy-proportion to the rest of his body, and Tom could see the clearly-outlined ribs in the beam of soft light from the hall. Where Ricky's chest differed from a normal boy's was in the muscle development. Ricky's muscularity was remarkable. Thick, hard, perfectly curved mounds of pectoral muscle rose from his chest, looking particularly dense just under the collarbone and stretching the young boy-skin taut over the promising strength. Ricky's lats were also sharply defined, cut and spreading from the little-boy ribs. The combination of the young, cute face and little-boy frame with the swollen, dangerously-powerful muscles made the boy an erotic icon fascinating to Tom. The man stood in the doorway, forgetting to move for a moment, as he took in the remarkable sight of this young, gorgeous body.

At last Tom widened the door opening again. Now the light played over the sleeping form of eleven-year-old Alex Tempest, also lying on his back, whose darkly-tanned skin contrasted so wonderfully with his sun-whitened mane of long silky hair that Tom almost gasped, even though he had closely observed Alex every day of the boy's life. The blanket was drawn all the way up to Alex's neck, hiding his terrifically-muscular body, and his knees were drawn up a little, making a tent of the blanket. Then Tom noticed that Alex was not asleep. His eyes were open, glittering their piercing blue even in the half-light of the bedroom. Tom was about to speak but Alex, with a wide, bright grin, signed him into silence, then smoothly and quickly pulled the blanket away. His lean, powerful body was clothed only in the skimpiest of dirty white bikini briefs, styled to be almost as revealing as a thong. The sides were tugged high on his hips but the front of the waistband plunged down towards the boy's crotch, making a tiny narrow V of fabric containing Alex's young penis and balls. This morning the boy had a serious erection, his four-inch hard dick straining against the brief, tenting it out, stretching the waistband and leg holes away from his skin. Alex grinned, proud of his boyhood. He spun and sat up on the edge of the bed, feet on the floor and knees spread apart, with his hands on his thighs. He kept his eyes on Tom as he pushed hard on his thighs, flexing all the muscles of his torso. His pecs arched out from his boyish ribcage, bulging powerfully. He sucked in his belly, tensing the hard, ridged abs. The whole pose focussed Tom's attention on young Alex's straining boy cock, the tiny bikini doing its best to contain the boy's erection, but it was stretched so tight, outlining the rock-hard penis so clearly, that it was a hopeless cause. Alex gave Tom a wide, beautiful boy grin.

"Later," Tom whispered. "After your workout."

Tom opened the door the rest of the way. Now the light fell on the body of Eric Silverthorne, the oldest of the group at twelve. During the night he had thrown his blanket aside and now he slept uncovered, sprawled royally across the bed. Like the other boys, Eric's only garment was a tiny bikini brief, yellow in his case. Though the sleeping boy was not erect, he had an exceptionally large flaccid penis for a boy his age and big balls, too, and the package bulged out the front of his brief. Tom gazed for a moment. Eric's developing boyhood had been making Tom's mouth water for months now. Now Tom took in Eric's body.

The boy was a masterpiece. He was exactly five feet tall, and as he lay his long torso and long legs seemed to have been arranged by an artist. His skin was tanned darkly, but since he had no fat at all it seemed extraordinarily thin, vacuumed tightly over his astonishing muscles. The light network of veins could be seen spreading over his body just beneath the skin, giving the impression that this young body just throbbed with life. His calves swelled out like diamonds of boy-muscle. His thighs seemed sculpted from marble, the shape of the big muscles contoured and defined even though the boy was completely relaxed. His thighs tightened at the top into hips that were slim and narrow, almost too narrow, the beauty of his hips accentuated by the little briefs he wore. Those narrow hips extended up into a slender, equally narrow waist and abdominal area just rippling with taut, trained muscle, perfectly formed and drawing Tom's eyes further on up young Eric's incredible physique. Next was the chest, and again the ribcage was the size of a normal twelve-year-old's, but Eric's smooth, beautifully clear skin etched out muscular development that was nothing short of phenomenal. The boy's little, lightly-marked nipples highlighted bulging, liquid-steel pecs chiseled and etched of incredible boy-muscle, young muscle developed to an unheard-of peak of perfection. Eric's hairless armpits were unusually deep because of the bulging pecs and the strong, rippling lats that spread from his upper back. The boy's arms, relaxed across the bed bulged with deeply-cut living boy-muscle; even asleep, Eric's arms seemed to possess enormous strength. Lastly, Tom's eyes settled lovingly on young Eric's face. Framed by long, thick brown hair streaked with an astonishing natural gold, forming a luxurious rich flame across the pillow, this boy's tanned, clean, unblemished face carried a beauty so pure, so startling, that Tom felt that he was in the presence of something truly divine. The face was narrow, as befits a slim body, but the high, prominent cheekbones preserved an utterly guileless boyishness. The long eyelashes were the same gold as the streaks in the hair, the pert little nose made the face a touch elfin, magical, and the perfect full lips framed a wide mouth that bore a slight smile even in the bliss of sleep. All told, Tom thought there had never been a human form that seemed more created for action, for pure boy-life, for play, adventure, innocent joy and the expression of human potential than young Eric Silverthorne.

"Let him sleep," said Alex, gently smiling at Tom. "He and I played late last night."

Tom grinned. "So what? You're awake."

"I know. But I'm always awake."

Young Jack rolled over, awakened by the talking. He rubbed his eyes, his healthy young muscles swelling and rippling like oil under his skin. "Hi, Tom. Is it six already?" His soft treble was clear and wonderfully musical.

"Yeah, kiddo. Sun's up and I've got breakfast ready. Time to get up."

Jack sat up, naked but for his tiny orange briefs, and smiled. Suddenly he snatched up his pillow and flung it hard at Ricky. The down missile struck the sleeping boy in the bare belly. "Ooof!" Ricky gasped, instantly awake. "What the -" - and then he became aware that Jack was already laughing, and he scowled and threw the pillow back.

"Easy, guys!" said Tom firmly. "You'll wreck those pillows. Come on, let's just get going." He walked over to Eric's bed and touched the boy gently on the shoulder. "Come on, Eric. Wake up."

Eric stirred, his fluid muscles coiling and flowing smoothly, and at last he opened his eyes. This was another moment Tom had been waiting for. Eric's eyes were large and seemingly almost luminous, the iris the same deep, rich brown as his hair, and streaked with the same eerie gold as well. The gold streaks radiated from the pupils, turning his eyes into stars. The effect was one of unearthly, mesmerizing beauty. "OK, Tom," he smiled, his voice a soft alto near-whisper. "I'm awake."

But Tom hesitated, still bending over the boy, trying to preserve the moment and the recognition of Eric's beauty just a little longer. Eric's smile widened, for Tom always did this, and he gestured with his hand for Tom to leave him room. Tom straightened and Eric sat up.

The other three boys were now standing. Alex, ever the showoff, was stretching, standing with his feet apart and his hands high over his head, arching his back with the rear of his tiny briefs caught up between his solid, clenched, hard buttocks, leaving his ass nearly naked, and that young-boy erection still struggling to rip its way out of the straining briefs in front. Both Jack and Ricky were staring at Alex's erection, giggling a little but clearly fascinated, and Tom noticed that their little cocks were hardening in their briefs as well.

"Come on, guys," Tom said. "No playing around until after the workout. You know that. By the way, Doc Vanderhaeghe's coming back this afternoon." The boys cheered. "All riiiight!" Jack enthused. "Is he bringing us our tennis rackets?"

"I'm sure he's doing his best. You know you guys need special rackets. Balls, too. They've got to be specially made."

"We know all that," said Eric. "But he's always managed that stuff real well."

"And you should be grateful to him. He's a very busy man and he's got a lot on his mind. He puts himself out for you guys a lot because he thinks the world of you. All of you. Anyway, he's coming back this afternoon and that means that after your workout you swim and shower and wear clean briefs. Understood?"

The boys nodded, chastened for a moment. Tom didn't want them in a down mood, so he brightened: "Now, who's hungry?"

He knew the answer already. These boys were always hungry; the amount of physical exercise they got, along with the incredible amount of muscle they all possessed, combined with the natural appetites of growing boys, required an awful lot of food. The clamour of young, enthusiastic voices that answered him made him grin, filled his heart with joy, and made him think for the millionth time that he had the best job in the world.

Muscle Boy Island by Lead Guitarist Chapter 1 (part b)

Tom Henderson was a thirty-eight year old research assistant in physiology and biochemistry. His accomplishments were astonishing: he had earned his Ph.D at the age of twenty-one, he had received many academic awards and was among the youngest ever Fellows of the National Society of Science, and his reputation was such that he could have headed any research organization in his field in the world, but he had chosen, at the age of twenty-six, to work as a mere assistant to a true legend. Those twelve years ago, Dr. Anton Vanderhaeghe had offered him the job.

Dr. Vanderhaeghe was sixty-five years old and close to retirement from the greatest career in modern science. He had won two Nobel Prizes outright, one in medicine and one in biochemistry, and had founded the most successful genetic-engineering company in the world: Antonics, Inc. He was a billionaire many times over by the age of forty, and, being unmarried and unattached, he began to look for something interesting to do with his life.

He had always been interested in the rather arbitrary limitations of the human physiology, and he thought that with an advanced enough conception of the genetics and biochemistry involved, these limitations might perhaps be transcended. He decided to embark on the most ambitious research project of his life: an investigation into the limits of human physical strength he called Project Hercules.

He knew that the research would not be popular among his colleagues because he was using human subjects, and it would also not be popular among the general public because they would assume that he was a eugenicist attempting to breed a master race. Well, he was using human subjects - there was no way around that - but he was no eugenicist. He was a pure scientist, carrying out the research for the sheer excitement of gaining greater understanding of the processes that govern nature. He bought an island, a place just north and a little east of Indonesia; it provided him with perhaps thirty square miles in which a very famous man could indulge in very private activities. On this island, which he named Deleon, after the explorer Juan Ponce de Leon, who sought the fountain of youth, he erected a self-contained laboratory and living area in which he could experiment. He had many failures, followed many blind alleys, and spent a great deal of money without much success, until he hit upon what he believed was the solution to his problem. He deduced that if he slightly modified a particular sequence of genetic structures in a human zygote and bathed the growing fetus in a complex and changing modified amniotic fluid, he could produce a child with a remarkable capacity to build highly efficient muscle. And so, with the help of some carefully-selected sperm and egg donor "parents", he created the fetus that became Eric Silverthorne. Upon the child's birth he noticed the strange-looking eyes and hair and realized that he had gotten the amniotic fluid slightly wrong, and he hired Tom Henderson to help him adjust it, and also to help him raise the boys they were creating. Before they "conceived" Alex Tempest, the two scientists arrived at the correct mixture and all three of the other boys they created were of normal appearance. For a time Dr. Vanderhaeghe was worried that Eric would become a hideous-looking freak as he grew older, but the opposite proved to be the case. The unusual environment the embryo developed in had caused the baby to grow into what both he and Tom regarded as the most startlingly beautiful creature on Earth.

Tom, of course, was a boy-lover, and Dr. Vanderhaeghe had known that when he hired him. But Vanderhaeghe figured that a boy-lover would become far more emotionally involved with the children as they grew than any "normal" employee and so would care for them and spend time with them to a greater extent, and that could only benefit growing kids. The Doctor had been correct, as he usually was; Tom loved his young charges passionately, never took a vacation or even asked for a raise ("I'm in Paradise - the Garden of Eden," he once told Dr. Vanderhaeghe, "and I'd have to be crazy to want to be anywhere else, even for a moment") and the boys loved him as they would love a slightly dorky but much-trusted older brother.

Now the boys left their bedroom to go to breakfast, and Tom followed. They all lived in a small, modern house amid a long lawn and a lane of palm trees that sloped down to the beach and the sea, and just above the beach there was a deck with a thatched cover. This was where Tom usually served breakfast.

The walk down to the beach always afforded Tom the opportunity to "examine the gluteal development" (as he like to think of it) of the boys. All four had perfect, strong, smoothly-curved buttocks that flexed sensuously under the tight fabric of their bikinis, the little briefs clinging to the muscle-swell of the boys' butts as they walked. Jack, in typical ten-year-old fashion, did not appear to notice that the right side of the rear of his tiny bikini had completely wedged between his buttocks and his right glute was entirely naked. If he did notice, he certainly didn't seem to mind, and Tom loved to watch the beautifully-shaped muscle work as the boy walked.

"Hey, Jackie," Alex giggled. "You got a half-wedgie!"

Jack grinned, perhaps embarrassed, perhaps not, and looked over his shoulder at the older boy. He clawed the fabric out from between his cheeks. "Jack, Alex! Not Jackie! Jackie's a girl's name!"

"I get to call you whatever I want 'cause you had a wedgie."

Tom smiled. Alex always enjoyed inventing games and making up rules on the spot. Playing along, he said, "And I get to call you whatever I want, Sandra, because you have a stiffie!"

"Yup! And so do you, I bet!" The long sun-blond hair flew, glittering in the dawn, as Alex spun around to face Tom, flaunting his bikini-covered erection.

Tom had to concede that. He was usually erect whenever he was around the boys, and that meant his libido got a constant workout, for he was around the boys almost all the time. "Of course I do," he said. "But mine doesn't show. I wear baggy pants."

This reminded Tom that none of the boys had ever worn conventional clothing. They had all lived their entire lives on this tropical island, and clothing just wasn't necessary. The boys were not nudists, though when they got randy they often stripped entirely bare, but their entire wardrobes consisted of their miniscule bikini briefs. There were simply no other boy-size clothes on the island. They liked the briefs - they were comfortable, sleek, and very, very sexy. And besides, professional bodybuilding contestants wore briefs that were almost as skimpy as those the boys wore, and both Tom and Dr. Vanderhaeghe wanted to ensure that all the boys were constantly aware of their muscle and strength. Having the boys wear bodybuilder's briefs helped reinforce the point.

Tom himself was a large, powerful man at six foot four and two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle. He had been a weightlifter in college as well as a football player, and for most of his life he had never had to take a back seat to anyone in the strength department. But he remembered the serious bruises he had taken from these boys when as toddlers they threw tantrums, and how he had worn hockey pads and other protection during those years purely as a matter of survival. Then there had come that day when Eric was seven, and he and Tom had had a quarrel over something trivial, and in a rage Eric had lifted Tom over his head and threw him against the wall. The resulting concussion was serious enough that Dr. Vanderhaeghe had sent Tom to a hospital on the mainland for a few days. Eric had felt such remorse that he wept almost constantly until Tom returned and forgave him. But from that point on the boys, particularly Eric, were conscious that their strength far exceeded that of either Tom or of Dr. Vanderhaeghe. Eric subtly adopted the role of enforcer of Tom's rules, keeping the younger boys in line when the adults were incapable of doing so. Tom often wondered what would have happened in the past few years had the beautiful muscle-boy not matured so quickly.

"Hey, Sandra! Give me a ride!" Young Ricky grinned as he leapt easily onto Alex's shoulders, his bare feet cool on the round, powerful deltoids. He stood straight, absolutely sure of his balance, and proudly flexed his amazing biceps in the morning sun. The muscles just popped from his arms, straining knots of sinew the size of large oranges, steel-hard muscles gleaming, sculpted, throbbing with boy-strength.

"Don't call me Sandra, you little twit!" Alex laughed. The boys were the same age, had, in fact, been born within days of each other, but Alex was slightly bigger, standing four foot nine to Ricky's four foot eight. Now Alex gripped Ricky's ankles in his little fists and easily lifted the smaller boy off his shoulders. His deltoids and pecs surged up into powerful swells of muscle. With a sudden burst of his young strength he hurled little Ricky forward, and the little boy in blue briefs landed somersaulting twenty feet away, laughing as he stood to face Alex. Alex had broken into a run, mock-charging Ricky, and suddenly both Eric and Jack joined in and all the boys were laughing, tumbling, wrestling and running down the grassy slope to the beach.

For all the prodigious muscle they carried, the boys moved with the light, sinewy grace of panthers - their young strength translated to agility, quickness, balance, and the freedom of not being quite as burdened by gravity as common children. When they ran, their strides were long; when they leapt, their young bodies arced high, almost soaring as though they knew a freedom denied to ordinary humans. Tom could not hope to keep up, and all the boys were waiting on the deck, already downing large glasses of freshly-squeezed juice, by the time he arrived there.

Tom had prepared them a light breakfast - they always ate lightly before a workout - of fish and fruit. The boys downed it all with all the speed of hungry, playful kids, clamoured for more (which Tom denied them - "You can have a big lunch," he smiled) and after recovering from their disappointment (which only took seconds), they set off to their outdoor gym for the morning workout.

The gym consisted of weight machines and free weights set up on a concrete platform, the surface of which was left rough so that the boys' bare feet would not slip as they trained. The boys never wore shoes - there were no boy-size shoes on the island - and the soles of their feet were as tough as rhino-hide from the concrete, the beach sand, the stone and earth of the paths over the island, and the raw jungle that covered eighty percent of the island. A close examination of the equipment, however, would reveal something unusual and, to an uninformed observer, perhaps a little unnerving. None of the weights were standard sizes. Everything was, by conventional standards, too heavy - much too heavy. The big plates, instead of being a standard forty-five pounds, were enormous masses of steel weighing two hundred and fifty pounds each. They were sixteen inches in diameter and more than four inches thick. There were also 150 pound plates, 100 pound plates, 50 lb plates, and standard sizes from there on down. The 100 pound and fifty pound plates were an odd size: rather than being large-diameter plates, the hundreds were only nine inches in diameter, over five and a half inches thick, and the fifties were only eight inches in diameter, and a little more than three and a half inches thick. The reason for this was that these plates were used almost exclusively on dumbbells.

Tom spent a few minutes cleaning up after breakfast before he joined the boys at the gym. Part of his job was to supervise their workouts, manage their schedules and watch that they didn't spend too much time fooling around and goofing off. But over the years Eric had developed an excellent understanding of their unusual physiology and how to exercise to maximize their strength, and he had also become a very good coach, motivating the other boys effectively. Tom trusted the boy to make sure his younger friends stuck to the straight and narrow.

Muscle Boy Island by Lead Guitarist Chapter 1 (part c)

So the boys were alone at the gym for a time. Eric was making sure each boy was doing the assigned workout. "OK, Jack," he said, walking over to the ten-year-old and smiling at him. "Know what you're doing today?"

"Arms and chest! My favourite!"

"Right. Arms first - you won't need a spotter. What routine are you doing?"

"One arm curls."

"Yeah, but how much and how many?"

"I wanna do six hundred for three sets of eight!"

"Bet you can't. You're supposed to be doing five hundred - right?"

"But I can DO five hundred! It's time to up the weight!" Young Jack flexed his right bicep proudly, holding it right in Eric's face. "See? Fourteen inches!" The muscle swelled amazingly large and peaked for a ten-year-old. Jack stood only four foot seven and was ripped to the bone, not an ounce of fat anywhere on his powerful young body, and biceps that looked that full, round, and packed with strength when so clearly etched from pure, solid boy-muscle justified his pride.

Eric laughed. "Thirteen, maybe. After pumping and on your best day!"

"No! Fourteen!" Jack grinned slyly. His little penis began stiffening in his tiny bikini. Showing off his muscles turned him on, and he wanted some of Eric's attention right now. The two boys were standing close, almost chest to chest, and Eric reached down and gently cupped Jack's brief-clad crotch in his hand and gave it a little squeeze. Jack's eyes widened and his whole face lit up with pleasure.

"Tell you what," Eric said. "Do your arm workout. When you're pumped we'll measure that bicep and if it's fourteen inches, I promise I'll take care of this little troublemaker down here. Deal?"

"Deal!" Jack began loading a pair of dumbbells with five hundred pounds each.

Eric grinned widely to himself as he turned away. Fourteen inches or not, he just knew that the little troublemaker would get well taken care of.

Ricky was spotting Alex, who was doing bench presses. While the blond boy lay on the bench, Ricky stood by his head, hands lightly touching the loaded bar, ready to help if needed. The height of the bench and Ricky's position were such that his young brief-clad sex package was mere inches above Alex's eyes. "Jeez, Rick, you're turning me on," said Alex as he took his grip on the bar. His cock just never seemed to soften; he was as erect now as he had been when Tom awakened the boys, and as before, his penis forced the little bikini he wore to tent up, stretching the waistband away from the skin.

At this mere suggestion of his own sexiness, young Ricky's little cock began to swell as well. He giggled, feeling the slight friction of the skin of his penis against the fabric as he got bigger. His penis was pointing down, and his developing erection was becoming uncomfortable, bulging the thin little bikini outwards. Alex took a hand off the bar and reached up through one of the leg-openings in Ricky's trunks and straightened his penis up for him. "Mmmmm," Ricky moaned, the pleasure distracting him from the bar as well.

Eric came over. "Come on, guys, there'll be time for that later." He counted the plates on the bar Alex was about to lift. "You're doing twenty-six hundred? Hey, good going!" He patted Alex affectionately on the chest, feeling those thick, shapely, growing boy-muscles tighten and bulge under his hand. Alex grinned at him, then looked longingly at the large, soft mass packed into young Eric's trunks. Eric's fat young penis was nearly five inches long soft, more than seven erect, and his balls were large and full. The little brief trunks he wore struggled to lift his penis and balls up and forwards, presenting them as a big, proud mass of pure boy that sagged the brief-pouch heavily, dragging the front of the waist down. Alex reached out and cupped Eric's brief-pouch in his hand appreciatively. "What's the matter, Eric? You're not hard."

The truth was that Eric was really trying not to think about sex. He was irresistibly attracted to all of the other boys, their flexing, straining muscles were the ultimate fantasy to him. He could turn himself on easily just by flexing his own muscles. But he knew that, as the eldest of them, he had responsibilities, and first among these was ensuring that the daily workout was completed properly. "I have an idea," he said. "Why don't we, just for today, put another two hundred pounds on this bar and see if you can do your three sets of eight with that. OK?"

Twenty-eight hundred pounds for three sets was more than Alex had ever done before. His best bench press was 3700 pounds for one rep, and it had taken a great deal out of him. His goal was to reach a two-ton bench press before his twelfth birthday. That would beat even Eric, who had not managed two tons until the month after he turned twelve.

Alex loved a challenge, particularly a challenge to his strength, and more particularly a challenge to his strength that came from Eric. He knew that Eric had only proposed the challenge in order to get Alex's mind off sex for a time, but that didn't bother him - he was more than willing to play along. "You're on!" he agreed.

Eric and Ricky each easily lifted another hundred-pound plate and added it to the bar. The sheer mass of the steel at each end of the bar caused the bar to bend alarmingly. The weight was ready.

Alex took a few quick breaths to charge his blood with oxygen. Ricky took up his position standing by Alex's head. This time Alex ignored Ricky's hard young-boy cock. With a grunt, he raised the bar off the supports and lowered it to his chest. Now he began to press. Hard rep followed hard rep, the youngster's pecs arching into bulging humps of incredibly-powerful muscle at full extension. The first four reps came almost easily, as Alex, delighting in the exercise of his young muscular power, rammed them out almost too quickly. He slowed noticeably for the fifth rep, and the sixth, and ground the seventh and eighth out with a grimace of growing pain. That first set set his bulging, supercharged pecs on fire. Already he had begun to sweat, and the sweat lent a glowing sheen to his naked skin stretched taut over the throbbing muscles of his chest. He lay on the bench with the huge weight on the supports for thirty seconds, breathing hard. Then he seized the bar again and once more lowered it to his chest. The reps came slowly, forced out by sheer boy-strength, swollen pecs protesting. Three. Four. Five. A pause as Alex gasped a couple of breaths. Six. Blood-swollen veins began to jump into sharp relief on his mighty young chest, arms, shoulders. Seven. The striated muscles ached, engorged with blood and power. Another pause for three quick breaths. Then, slowly, young face tightened into a grimace of pain and pure effort, Alex forced the immense bar from his chest inch by struggling inch, until at last he managed to rest it on the support again. He was breathing hard, knowing that he was working his chest like he never had before.

"Great, Alex!" said Eric. "I'm really surprised! But you still have one more set to do."

"I know," the blond muscle-boy gasped. Sweat drenched his white-blond hair, plastering strands to his forehead.

"I'm ready any time," said Ricky. "Just nod if you need help."

Once more Alex gripped the bar and lowered it to his aching, swollen chest muscles. He forced out a rep, pecs exploding into pumped, straining bulges of sheer boy-muscle. Sweat was running off the mighty swells of his chest, pooling in the valley of his breastbone, dripping from his skin to the concrete. Another, tortuously slow rep. Eric's eyes were wide, and at last his big young penis began to stiffen in his bikini. Alex's muscles, the young power of his physique, was turning him on! "Come on, Alex!" he said. "Another!"

Alex shut his eyes, focussing every iota of his tremendous strength on the bar. The deep, searing pain in his pecs crowded everything out of his mind. Even his almost-constant erection softened as his body drew the blood to his tortured chest. He forced up a third rep.

"Look at those muscles!" Eric said to Ricky. Ricky nodded: he had noticed, too. Alex's chest was bulging bigger than either of them had ever seen it, and the sight of the beautiful muscles straining their strength to the very limit was tremendously exciting to them both.

"One more, Alex!" said Eric.

"Come on, Alex. You can do it," Ricky encouraged.

Alex's throbbing boy-pecs burst into swollen engines of muscle, bloated with blood, pride, and sheer strength. He forced up again, driving his power against the relentless weight of the bar, nothing in his mind but pain and will, but he knew that he could not make it. He gave a tight nod and felt the load lighten some as young Ricky took some of the weight, and between them they set the bar on the support. "I'm done," Alex gasped. "I can't do it yet."

Eric helped him to sit up. "You did great!" he smiled, taking Alex's bulging shoulders in his hands. "Look at your pecs! Wow!"

Alex grinned and flexed a quick chest pose. His pecs jutted out, bulging from his ribs like thick masses of steel, the boy-nipples slightly darker than they were normally because of the blood-rush and the sheen of sweat. The sweat drenched his little bikini and the fabric clung wetly to his again-stiff penis. "Hey, Eric," he said softly, gazing at the older boy's groin. "Your trick didn't work."

Eric's big cock was practically tearing its way through his trunks, rock hard and stretching the material to the very limit. Alex was right; he had become so turned on that he found himself willing to forego the workout and indulge in a little sexplay with his muscular young friends.

"Hey, Eric!" Jack ran over, tape measure in hand. While Alex was working his chest with the huge 2800-pound barbell, young Jack had been pumping his boy-biceps with set after set of 550-pound one-arm curls. Now his arms were pumped, flushed with blood, and his biceps were as big and peaked as they had ever been. "Measure 'em!"

Eric laughed, then his eyes widened a little as he saw the sheer muscularity of the little ten-year-old's arms. "OK, Jack." He took the tape and stretched it around Jack's flexed, bulging biceps. The measurement was over 13.9 inches, but not quite fourteen. "Almost, Jack! But not quite."

Jack flexed harder, his cute blond-framed face reddening with the effort he was expending. His arm swelled just slightly, the rock-hard hyperefficient muscle a jutting knot of superhuman power. "Come on .... come on .... ," he breathed through his gritted teeth.

"Great, Jack! That's it!" Eric saw the tape hit fourteen just momentarily, and that was good enough. He gave the boy a high-five, then reached under Jack's crotch and hoisted him high in the air.

"Wooo!" Jack exulted. "That tickles!" His little boy-cock was iron-bar stiff in his briefs.

Eric lowered the boy until he could kiss Jack's cock through his briefs. "Mmmmm ... Tasty!"

"Looks like fun!" said Ricky, and he reached between Alex's legs to do the same thing. His young-boy bicep bulged as he lifted the sweating superboy to mouth level and began eagerly sucking that ever-stiff young dick through the sweat-drenched bikini. Alex's briefs were white and thin, and wet they were practically transparent, the hard penis a deep red through the sheer fabric.

Alex was in heaven. His young cock had been straining for release all morning. "Hold it!" he said. Ricky looked up at him. Alex then reached down and gripped Ricky's forearm in his left hand, and using the powerful arm as a support, he lifted himself off Ricky's hand and quickly, easily moved into a one-handed handstand, his body inverted, legs in the air, and his whole weight supported by Ricky's arm-strength. With his right hand Alex nimbly slipped his wet briefs off and dropped them to the floor. Now he was entirely naked, and with a smooth motion he returned his glistening, sweaty body to its previous position, sitting on Ricky's hand, only now his cock stuck straight out towards, Ricky's mouth, and Ricky lost no time in raising Alex's boy-cock to his lips and sucking.

Jack swung his legs over Eric's shoulders so that Eric's beautiful face was buried in his crotch. This left Eric's hands free, and he reached up to the waistband of Jack's little bikini trunks and suggestively began tugging down. Jack took the hint, and after placing his hands on Eric's head for support he quickly, acrobatically raised his young-boy body up, stripping himself out of his briefs in a smooth gymnastic move. Eric let the tiny garment fall and accepted Jack's now-naked young dick in his mouth as the smaller boy swung himself back into position. The young penis was so hard it seemed to vibrate, exciting the salt sweat and the heat of the blood-engorged boycock caressed and wrestled by Eric's tongue. Eric could feel the rhythmic flexing and bulging of the amazing muscles in young Jack's thighs as the boy fucked his face, and his hands kneaded Jack's muscular naked boy-buttocks.

Muscle Boy Island by Lead Guitarist Chapter 1 (part d)

Off to one side of the gym there was a large wrestling mat, and, momentarily lifting Jack from his shoulders so that he could see, Eric went over to it and lay down. At last he could strip off his penis-stretched briefs, and it was a great relief to him to finally let his big, throbbing hairless dick and balls swing loose. Immediately he and Jack began to sixty-nine, their bulging, muscular bodies rippling as waves of sexual pleasure surged through them.

"Go to the mat, Rick!" Alex said. "It's orgy time!"

Now all the boys were on the mat. Ricky left and grabbed a large container of baby oil from a cabinet, stripped off his own briefs, and yelled: "Here it comes!" Then he poured the oil liberally all over the squirming bodies of his friends and then all over himself.

The wrestling mat was now a writhing mass of young, ripped, bulging boy-muscle gleaming with oil, sweat and the sun's heat. Hard, throbbing young cocks slipped between thighs, lips, and buttocks, strong young hands tried to grip greasy dicks, hands felt up rippling boy-muscle bulging and surging and sliding away again. The tan-lines the boys had from wearing only their miniscule briefs in the sun looked incredibly erotic; they seemed to define and highlight the boys' tight, muscled asses and their rampant, uncontrollable penises.

Jack's body suddenly stiffened, all his muscles clenched as he experienced a powerful muscle-boy orgasm. He was still too young to actually shoot cum but the sensations he felt spreading from his hot, spasming dick through his abdomen and thighs and chest made him feel as though his penis was the pleasure center of the entire universe. He shuddered for almost thirty seconds in the most intense physical pleasure he was able to experience, then slowly relaxed into a slightly dazed bliss amid the churning greasy muscled boy-bodies writhing against and around him.

Somewhere along the line Alex had found Eric's big, trembling penis glistening with oil, and as the eldest boy groaned in ecstasy the young blond was just jacking him off. Then Eric screamed "Aaaah!" as his muscles suddenly tightened, bursting into bold, bulging knots of sinew and his spasming dick spewed huge, long spurts of sweet white cum twenty feet straight into the air, falling back onto the boys and blending with the sweat and oil as the young bodies coiled amongst themselves. Eric's big balls held a huge amount of cum and he kept spewing for almost a minute, now straight up, now into Alex's face, into Ricky's hair, Jack's tight young ass, everywhere. While he came, both Alex and Ricky experienced their own orgasms, dry like Jack's had been for neither could shoot yet, but the feeling was so strong it didn't seem to matter, and besides, Eric came enough for all of them. Gradually they settled down, all lying in the oil and cum and sweat, feeling their mighty young-boy hearts pound in their chests and the blood pump in their extraordinary muscles.

"Looks like fun," said Tom. He had arrived just in time to see the last couple of minutes of the boys' sexplay, and rather than disturb them he had just watched, his own dick almost painfully hard in his pants.

"Hi, Tom," said Eric, still sprawled among sprawled, oiled, naked boys. "I'm sorry about the workout. We'll do a hard one later today, OK?"

"Don't worry about it."

Something in Tom's voice made Eric glance at him - the tone was serious and slightly distracted. Something must be wrong. "What's going on?" he asked as he stood up.

"Look at this." Tom passed him a towel to wipe his hands with, and then a sheet of paper.

"What is it?" asked Ricky as he stood as well.

"I printed off an email I just got from Doc Vanderhaeghe a couple of minutes ago. He's on the plane now - he'll be here in an hour."

"Holy shit! We gotta clean up!" Alex sprang to his feet, nearly slipping on the oil. Jack was close behind.

Eric read the email aloud. "Tom: We have a problem. There's been a couple of break-ins at my office here at Antonics during the past couple of weeks. Some files have been stolen. This morning I received a message from a man named Elias Wright - I may have told you about him, he was my lawyer when I first started Antonics. I fired him because I found he was dishonest. He seems to have gotten involved in international dirty work. He has taken these files and some other information and figured out all about Project Hercules and wants to blackmail me. I have refused to pay him.

"I do not trust this man. He bears a grudge and has gotten involved with some very shady people who are capable of anything. I believe that it is possible that you and the boys are in some danger. I am returning early. Please watch out for strange aircraft in the area and seal up all of the sensitive research. And please, as you love them, keep the boys safe. I'll see you soon."

"Let's get back up to the house and get you guys cleaned up," said Tom. "I'll take care of the papers. Keep watching and listening for strange planes."

In a sober mood the boys showered and donned clean briefs. When they were done they found Tom at the computer.

"Whatcha doing?" asked Ricky as he stood behind the scientist.

"Looking up info on Elias Wright. Look at this. Twenty years ago the guy tried to screw Doc Vanderhaeghe out of millions. Got off on a technicality."

"What's a technicality?" asked Jack.

"Never mind - I'll tell you later. Here's something. Seems Wright has started running illegal businesses for a couple of fascist Eastern European countries. Mulvia and Evernia. Drugs and weapons. He supports mercenary armies. Jeez, this is bad shit."

"Did you take care of your research?" Eric asked.

"Yes. It's all in the safe and alarmed. If that safe is broken into, the contents are destroyed. I think the material's OK." Tom looked away from the computer. All four boys were clean, freshly scrubbed, their hair meticulously brushed, and clad in clean briefs. They stood close together; Alex and Ricky had their arms around Eric's waist, Jack was hugging Alex, and Eric had one hand around Ricky's shoulders and one on Tom's shoulder. They were together because they were concerned, and to Tom they looked like the physical manifestation of a good family: they were not brothers biologically but they were closer than brothers. "I think it's going to be OK, guys," Tom said reassuringly. "The Doc'll be here in a few minutes and we'll all be together. Then we'll know what to do."

The airband radio at the desk suddenly crackled to life. "Echo Mike India to Henderson." It was Dr. Vanderhaeghe, and his voice sounded strained.

Tom picked up the mike. "Tom here, Doc. Go ahead."

"Are the boys OK?"

Tom was alarmed at the sound of the Doc's voice. "Sure. They're fine - they're right here." He held up the mike with the talk button down. "Hi, Doc!" the boys chorused.

"Hi, guys. God, it's good to hear your voices. I'll see you soon ... Tom, listen very carefully. Wright is trying to kill me. A bomb went off at my house this morning. Missed me by one minute. The bomb squad found a device at my office capable of killing everyone in the building - that's four hundred people, Tom."

"But Doc - why?"

"Obvious. They know something about the boys - I don't know how much. The boys have genetics that are worth billions to certain governments and Wright is trying to cash in. Imagine a place like Mulvia breeding an army of supermen. Covert and deadly with no need for elaborate weapons. Frightening."

"But they'd need you. Why try to kill you?"

"They don't need me. Tom, I'm too famous - if I disappear without explanation, there'd be an international outcry. The only way to deal with me is to kill me and blame it on someone else. They need YOU, Tom - you know as much about this project as I do and probably more. You'd be the valuable one."

"Me? But -"

"Tom, please shut up! I might not make it. We're coming in low, under radar, but they have intercept planes and we don't know where they are! Listen. If I don't make it, destroy all the research. Destroy it. I know it's hard, but you'll be able to put it back together. And for God's sake protect the boys! If Wright and his gang get their hands of the boys ... well, I can't guarantee what they'll do, but vivisection is not out of the question. Just hide. All of you .... Boys, are you there?"

"Yes." "We're here."

"One at a time, please. I want to hear you ... one by one. Jack?"

"Doc? Why is this happening?" Jack's treble voice was shaking.

"I don't know, son. I don't know ... I just want to hold you ... Ricky?"

"I'm here, Doc."

"Good boy. Ricky, if I never see you again ... I want you to know I love you. I know I never said it enough ..."

"I love you too, Doc! Please come home! I -"

"I know. Alex?"

"Doc? Doc, are you all right?" Alex was on the verge of tears.

"For now, son. I'm fine. We'll be fine - just keep believing that! You have so much love, Alex - I admire you so much ... Eric?"

"Yes, Doc? I'm here."

"Eric ... I don't know what to say ... you're so beautiful ... Oh, God! Tom! Tom, they're here! Destroy the research! Destroy the -" The transmission ended in the short, piercing shriek of an air-to-air missile, then the empty hiss of desolation

Muscle Boy Island Chapter 2 part a by Lead Guitarist

They cried. Jack's tears came first, Eric wept the most, Tom cursed under his breath: he would cry later. He stood and wrapped his arms around the boys and they gathered to embrace him, their nearly-naked bodies warm under his hands and their tears soaking his clothes. He held them for several minutes, thinking hard as a good man must think when disaster strikes.

"Guys," he murmured at last. "Come on, guys. We have things to do."

The boys said nothing as Tom released them. He picked Jack up and sat the boy - a mere child, he thought, no matter his strength - on the desk and gestured for the others to join their youngest friend. They all sprung lightly to the desktop and faced him, ready for instructions.

"Here's what just happened," Tom said soberly. "Doc Vanderhaeghe must be dead. That was a missile fired from an interceptor jet, and we have to assume the worst. I know how hard it is to take, but we can feel about it later. Right now I have to do what Doc said - destroy all the records about the research, all those records he and I have made of you kids since you were conceived. Doc was right: that research is worth billions - YOU guys are worth billions just for the genetic material they could take from your bodies. I'm worth billions because of how much I know. Those bastards are going to come after us and it's going to be soon."

"Tom?" Jack asked.

"Yeah, kiddo?"

"What's vivisection? Doc said vivisection, what is it?"

"That's when they take you apart while you're still alive so they can study you. I believe Doc: those guys who killed him will learn about you any way they can. That might mean strapping you down to a lab table and cutting you to pieces to find out how you got to be so strong. But we're not going to let them do that. I can't let them do that. I just can't." Tom hesitated, his control of his emotions slipping a bit.

"Tom. We need to know what to do. What do we do now?" Eric spoke softly, knowing how hard it was for Tom and wanting to make it as easy for him as he could by keeping his attention focused.

"Here's the problem," Tom mastered himself. He gripped Eric's muscled thigh in his hand. "Thanks, Eric. Here's the problem. The Doc's plane was only a half hour from here. He was shot down by a military jet. We have to assume that jet, and maybe other aircraft, are on their way here now. They'll be here in minutes. They're going to spot the airfield and land there, then come here right away hoping to find us and the records. Just a sec." Tom tapped a few keystrokes on the desk computer, then collapsed in a chair. "That's it. The computer records are gone now and the vault incinerator is activated. The paper and the backups in the vault will be destroyed if they so much as touch this computer or the vault door." His face tightened into a grimace. "Damn it. Damn them. Oh, Jesus, guys, I'm so sorry -" and he choked his tears back, struggling.

"That stuff is your whole life, Tom," Alex said half-wonderingly. "You just wrecked - I mean, I'm sorry, too - I didn't mean -" He stumbled, unsure of what to say.

"Shut up, Alex!" Eric hissed, hitting the boy hard on the thigh.

"No, Alex." Tom was under control now. "That stuff is - was - not my whole life. You guys - all of you guys: Eric, Alex, Ricky, Jack - you guys are my whole life. The records don't matter. YOU matter. More than anything. I want you to know that. I want you to believe that." He stood up. "We have to hide now. They can't possibly have accurate charts for this whole island and nobody knows it better than we do. Than you guys do, I mean. There isn't a square inch of this place you haven't crawled over since you were born. That's our advantage for now. That'll gain us some time to see who shows up and how well they're equipped. Damn," he said, wiping his face with his sleeve. "We have no weapons on this island at all."

"Umm, Tom?" Eric spoke up, a little hesitantly.

"What?"

"We have weapons."

"Where? What do you mean?"

Eric flexed his biceps. Muscle - superhuman, incredibly well-developed muscle - just burst from the young boy's arms. Peaked and massive, the jagged knots of swollen boy-sinew seemed to throb with strength. "You always said we were stronger than anybody else. By a lot, you said. We can beat these guys. Whoever they are. We're stronger than they are."

"Yeah!" Alex and Ricky chorused. They flexed as well, and so did Jack, and an eruption of boy-muscle seemed to crowd Tom's vision.

Tom sighed. "No, guys," he said after a moment. "I know you're strong. I'm strong, and you're all many times stronger than I am. But you're just not strong enough. I mean, these guys'll have guns. Do you know what that means? One bullet could kill any of you, muscle or no muscle. They'll have grenades, gas, who knows? We don't know what they have. But they can beat strength - even your strength."

"No way!" Alex cried. "We won't get shot! We'll beat them!"

"Alex," said Tom gently. "Do you know why a bullet is such an effective weapon?"

The boy stopped, made uncertain by Tom's tone. "No. What do you mean?"

"Nobody cares what happens to a bullet. If it misses, who cares? Nobody goes looking for it. If it hits, who cares? It's done its job and nobody needs it anymore. Nobody goes looking for it. It's expendable. All good weapons are. Good weapons are weapons you don't care about. But you -" he reached out and took Alex's muscled young-boy shoulders in his big hands - "I care about you. Eric and Ricky and Jack care about you. You're not expendable. No matter how strong you are, we can't risk you. Any of you." He released Alex's shoulders. "We've wasted too much time. Let's get out of here and get lost."

Seventeen minutes later Tom and the four suntanned, almost-naked muscleboys were squatting low in the long grass on what they called Mount Arnold, one of the highest points on the island and one which commanded a view of both the lab area, the east beach where the boys had had breakfast, and the airstrip, a thin gray line in the northwest that was beginning to shimmer in the growing heat of the day. "We'll stay here," said Tom. "If nothing happens in the next hour, we'll assume they aren't coming by air. They'll be attempting a landing on the beach. That will be bad because we won't have any idea when they're coming and they can bring anything they want - vehicles, artillery pieces, anything - if they're coming by sea."

Their backs were to the jungle only meters away. If they were spotted, they knew they could simply melt into the thick green darkness where detection from the air would be virtually impossible. From there they could lose themselves in thirty square miles of island.

Tom was scanning the seaward horizon with binoculars, searching for any sign of planes, boats, or anything else alarming. There was nothing, nothing for several minutes, and Tom was beginning to feel slightly foolish for leading the boys away from the compound when there didn't appear to be anything wrong. He kept replaying the radio conversation with Dr. Vanderhaeghe back in his head, reliving the chill and the sudden emptiness he had felt when his old friend's voice had been cut off. That steeled his resolve.

Suddenly a screaming of jet engines assaulted their ears from behind. Tom and the boys spun around to see a Harrier jump-jet fly overhead just over the treetops, using its hover engines to move rather slowly, as if the black warbird was looking for something. It turned a full 360 almost directly overhead, then smoothly, powerfully moved off down the mountainside towards the beach and the compound.

"Holy jumpin' -" Ricky exclaimed. His deep brown eyes were huge with excitement.

Tom gripped his shoulder hard, knowing that the boy was on the verge of springing up out of the grass for a better view. "Stay down!" he commanded. "He's hunting us!"

Hunting was a well-chosen word; it brought home to the boys that this frightening aircraft was actually a high-tech weapon of devastating destructive power. They all stayed low, their attention fixed on the Harrier, until they saw the plane circle once over the airstrip and then, amazingly, climb high and shoot off westwards, disappearing in moments over the horizon.

"He gave up!" Jack said wonderingly.

"No he didn't," Tom stood up, stretching his legs. "He was scouting. I bet he was estimating the length of our airstrip. We'll see another plane - a bigger one with a lot of men - landing there before long."

"Tom?" Eric said quietly.

"Yes?"

"What happens when they get here?"

"I expect they'll bring equipment. You saw the file on Elias Wright. He's got mercenary soldiers working for him. They'll have guns, night-vision goggles, listening devices, anything that'll help them find us. Maybe dogs."

"But what happens? How long do they stay?"

"Until they find us."

"Then we have to take them out. We'll have to fight them." Eric's tone was certain.

"I told you already that we can't risk you -"

"But there's no choice. We don't fight them, they'll just keep looking until they find us. Then what?"

Tom had been hoping against all logic that the invaders would just go away and leave him and the boys in peace forever; it took this beautiful, incredibly muscular child with the eerily gold-streaked hair to force him to accept the inevitable. "Maybe we could try to make them believe we aren't on the island - no. Damn. They would have intercepted the radio contact we had with Doc. They know we're here. OK, guys, you win." He faced all four of them. "I'm no tactics expert, but it seems to me right now that the safest place, and the one they're not likely to think of right away, is up in these trees back here. I've seen how you guys can climb - you're like monkeys. Or rockets, whatever. I say we get up in the trees and wait for them to show up. Once they're here and wondering where we've gone, we can see how many of them there are and what to do about things. Agreed?"

The boys nodded. Ricky spoke up: "But what about you, Tom? I mean, you can't climb like us. And wouldn't it be dangerous for you up there?"

Tom knew what Ricky was talking about. The boys' unusual genetics and their treatment during their fetal stages had resulted in their bones being much tougher than those of normal humans, and this, combined with their phenomenal, hyper-efficient muscle tissue, made the boys able to withstand falls from great heights without suffering serious injury. There had been many cases when the boys were younger when they had fallen from over 100 feet and had gotten up and walked away, bruised and embarrassed, but whole. Tom, of course, did not have the physical toughness of the boys and so the trees would be a far more dangerous place for him.

"I know!" said Alex. "There's all that rope in the tool shed. We'll make a harness for you. I'll go get it!" With that the boy sprang off, his powerful legs driving him faster than any normal human could run.

"Alex! Wait! I'll go!" Tom shouted after him.

"Tom," Eric took the man's arm and turned him around. "Tom, it's all right. Let us help. You know Alex can move faster than you can. Let him get the rope. If they arrive while he's gone, he can take care of himself better than you can. Let us help, Tom. We can do this kind of stuff. OK?"

Tom nodded. "All right, guys. It's just so hard for me ... I'm trying to protect you. You understand that, right?"

"Sure," said Jack. He jumped up and wrapped his legs around Tom's waist and gave the man a big, warm hug. "We love you, too. But Eric's right. We're strong. Let us use our strength to get us out of this mess. It's all we're got."

Muscle Boy Island Chapter 2 part b by Lead Guitarist

Tom enfolded young Jack's body in a tight embrace. His hands caressed the young boy's muscles, feeling their flexing hardness, their steel-cable strength. Jack's skin was warm - all the boys had unusually high body temperatures, for their metabolisms operated at such a high rate - and boy-smooth, like silk stretched taut over living steel. Jesus, Tom thought, they're right. I'm almost useless to them as far as this situation goes. I can't help them - I need their help, myself.

His hands strayed down Jack's back, gripping the child's tiny, slim waist, feeling the luscious curve inward of his lower spine flanked by the full, thick, and trained cords of sinew, then slid further downwards, along the outward swell of the young boy's bottom, over the briefs, until he was cupping Jack's muscled little ass in his hands. God, it felt good. Hard, boy-smooth, its curves both molded with childlike gentleness and pure boy muscularity. Jack was still only a ten-year-old boy, and for all his muscle he had a very trim and sexy build, and Tom could almost cradle Jack's whole bottom in one of his big hands. The shower had left the boy dry and clean, and the thin fabric of the tight bikini the boy wore slid easily over his skin. Tom gently rubbed the boy's buttocks. Jack was tensing those muscles a little to help him grip Tom's waist with his legs, so the muscles were hard, flexed, their shape unyielding as Tom groped his hand over them. Tom felt the luscious young curves where Jack's buttocks flowed into his upper thighs - these were muscle-curves, though Jack was still so young. Most ten-year-olds had fairly bony-looking bodies: their long boy-skeletons supported muscles that were thin, stringy, and shapeless - the weak and flaccid muscles of the modern unfit child. Jack's muscles had shape, curve, sculpture to them. They were real muscle, genetically virtually perfect and built through years of training into strong, bold, finely-tuned machines - their forms linking together at the joints and creating a living symphony of curvature that was unmistakably, youthfully sexual, and so proudly male, like a young boy wolf cub eager to prove his mettle on the hunt.

Jack was unconscious of his animal grace and limber young sinew as he hugged Tom close; he merely enjoyed the man's caress, wriggling with pleasure, trying to grind his stiffening young-boy dick into Tom's abdomen. Tom's own penis had sprung into full size and hardness as he stroked Jack's stripling body. He knew he had no time for this, but he also knew that he might have very few opportunities left, and for the life of him he could not think of anything else he could do at the moment to improve their situation, so he abandoned himself to the sheer pleasure of holding, touching, caressing this young boy. He let his fingers gradually slip along the exposed skin of Jack's buttocks to the edge of the bikini's leghole, and let them slide gently under the stretch fabric. Now his hand glided across warm, smooth boy-skin, and he searched, probing, easing his fingers into the hot crack between Jack's asscheeks, feeling the boy deliberately relax the gluteal muscles to allow his fingers in, feeling the sudden shiver of desire course through the young, warm boy-body, feeling the boy's embrace tighten with the expectation of sexual bliss, and feeling as much as hearing the young treble voice begin a low moan that rose with the breathing into the wonderful, sweet music of a boy-child's erotic enchantment.

Tom dipped his head down and, nudging the blond bangs aside with his nose, he gently, tenderly kissed Jack's forehead, allowing his lips to warm themselves against the boy's beautiful face. And suddenly he felt a crashing, tumultuous love for this boy: all the love he had felt through all the years of Jack's life came in a rush, filling his soul and his heart so much that he could not keep back the tears. But these were tears of joy - the joy a man feels when he knows he has been given a gift so great that it is worth far, far more than his own life, and that his lot had become nothing but the struggle to be worthy of this gift, and in that moment Tom knew absolutely, knew bone-deep, what he had always believed of himself: that if today it happened that he would be called on to lay down his life that this boy might live, that he would do so, gladly and without hesitation or remorse or a moment's regret. And this knowledge made him feel free and utterly clean. So now he gripped Jack tightly, trying to transmit through his kiss the scale of his love for the boy, so that Jack might know that there was such a love in the world and might remember it later on, whenever he might need to.

But Jack, of course, already knew. He was a boy, and so had felt this kind of love himself, and now he lifted his young head and met Tom's gaze, and gave his gentle man-friend a smile filled with all the peace and happiness in his soul, a smile that reflected Tom's own love back, and that sent a silent but genuine thanks. "Let me go now," he murmured. "I have to go climb a tree."

Scant minutes later Alex arrived at the toolshed. The old lock on the door had fallen into disuse ever since Jack had become old enough to trust with the tools, and so the boy was able to enter without a key. He glanced around, seeing all the familiar gear as if in a new light: the lawnmower, gardening tools, reinforced wheelbarrows - the boys were responsible for the maintenance of the compound, and their strength allowed them to do a great deal of work in a short time. As they had grown older, they had made the compound more of a home. They had expanded the garden, the lawn, built the tennis court, even resurfaced the airstrip with the strength of their own muscles. Everything had been done under Tom's direction, and he had a talent for turning even the most backbreaking, sweaty work into games which all the boys played enthusiastically.

The 500 foot length of 1/4 inch nylon rope was neatly coiled and hanging on a nail in the wall up near the ceiling. Alex simply sprang up, grabbed the rope off the nail and bounced off the wall to the floor in a single quick, easy motion. It made a bulky mass, so he found a burlap sack - a tent bag - to carry it in and made for the door.

Then he thought of one more thing, something he wanted to recover from the house. He had no idea what the mercenaries would do to the compound once they arrived, but in case they were going to do something destructive, he wanted to take some memories ...

He found the family photo albums on the bookshelf in the living room. He knew he had to get the rope back to Tom and get up into the trees with the other boys, but a quick look wouldn't hurt. He opened one of the albums and found himself in a world of happier days. Here was a beautiful picture of Ricky, when he was about six, curled up asleep on Tom's chest and Tom lay in a hammock, as Tom was gently stroking the young boy's naked back ... here a picture taken three years ago, of Eric, even then amazingly muscled in his tiny briefs, little erection tenting the front, standing with Jack's legs wrapped around his waist, Jack totally nude and the boys hugging each other playfully ... here a picture of Alex himself, maybe nine years old, getting out of the bathtub with a lecherous grin on his face and his little stiff penis thrust out proudly ... here a picture taken earlier this year, of the boys attempting to make the world's biggest chocolate cake for Tom's birthday, and getting icing all over their almost-naked bodies, and laughing uncontrollably, and as he looked at the picture, Alex began to giggle -

"Still not enough!" said Ricky. The mixing bowl was already overflowing with the thick sweet chocolate icing.

"We need another bowl," Jack pointed out. Alex brought one.

The morning sun was blazing through the kitchen's deck door as the four young muscleboys mixed ingredients, trying to follow a recipe for the first time in their lives. It wasn't working very well, but they were past caring. They were all hot from their morning workout, their incredible muscles pumped and popping with raw strength, and as they worked in their skimpy little sweaty briefs they were getting hornier and hornier.

Alex stuck his finger into one of the icing bowls, brought it out, and licked it. "Mmmm," he said. "This is great!"

"If you keep tasting it there won't be any for Tom's cake," Eric said.

"Don't say that until you try it, Eric. Here - have a taste." Alex brought out another fingerful and Eric licked it off. "That is good, Alex."

"Have another lick." This time Alex took a fingerful of icing and slowly spread it over his left nipple.

Eric gazed, fascinated, at Alex's young-boy chest. Alex's pecs bulged with ripped muscle, muscle built to an eye-popping peak of strength and pure boy perfection. The slight flexing and straining of the boy's pecs with his breathing turned Eric on, and the older lad's big penis grew to its full, throbbing hard size in his obscenely-tiny posing briefs.

"Gotcha!" Alex said as he glanced at Eric's massive young boy-cock bulging through the thin fabric. He performed a bodybuilder's chest pose, fists just under his ribs and pecs erupting to awesome size and strength. He twisted slightly to present his chocolate-covered nipple towards Eric.

Eric reached out and lifted Alex's muscle-packed body by the waist, bringing Alex's boy-nipple to his mouth. Eagerly, passionately, he licked the sweet icing from the sweaty young skin, then tasted the salty sweat and the hot, superhard muscle bulging against his tongue. "Mmmm," he breathed as his tongue described circles over Alex's throbbing pec muscle.

Alex picked up one of the bowls of icing. He pushed Eric's head away and, still caught in Eric's powerful grip, he began drawing designs all over his own chest and stomach with the sweet icing. As he moved his hands his young body tensed and flexed: ripped muscle surged and relaxed under the hot, glistening boy-skin, the designs in chocolate emphasizing the shape and muscle-sculpture of Alex's marvelous torso. His skin was so smooth, young, perfect, and yet stretched so tightly over the coils and slabs of his awesome muscles that he seemed about to burst with latent power, with the raw, rippling young strength that his body could barely contain. He ended with a long line of icing leading straight down his belly to the waistband of his little briefs, pointing the way to his quivering, straining young dick. Both he and Eric giggled as this went on.

"Check it out!" Ricky said to Jack as they watched the other two boys get even hornier. Their little dicks grew to full erection in their briefs, stretching the material of the tiny garments right to the maximum. Ricky flexed his biceps. "Put some icing on my muscles!"

Jack took a handful of icing and gazed a moment, as if he was a master artist, at Ricky's superhuman body. The little eleven-year-old boy had built his body to a degree that was nothing short of stupendous: lithe and lean and packed with incredible muscle, muscle like steel cables bulging in swollen knots of sheer strength, young biceps exploding into peaked masses of raw sinew bursting from his arms ... not the bulky, near-shapeless lumps of muscle seen on steroid-freak adult bodybuilders, but rather young, sleek, sculptured boy-muscle, jaw-droppingly huge on a boy Ricky's age, but bulging with the perfect form and strength of sheer boyhood, gleeful and exuberant and indomitable. As Ricky stood in his little posing briefs, flexing his unbelievable young muscles, he seemed to be the image of invincible youth: a young boy so strong, so muscular, so unstoppably young and irresistibly boyish that he oozed raw eroticism, randiness, pure young-boy sex.

Muscle Boy Island Chapter 2 part c by Lead Guitarist

Jack's little ten-year-old penis was so stiff it ached as he painted Ricky's arms, shoulders, and chest with the icing, highlighting the muscular development and prepubescent sexiness of Ricky's physique. Ricky changed his poses, flexing harder to swell his pumped, gleaming muscles to their fullest glory, his own boy-dick straining to burst with lust. "Hurry up!" he giggled. "I gotta do you, too!"

With that, Jack simply grabbed a handful of icing and shoved it down the front of Ricky's posing briefs, slathering it all over the flexing boy's rock-stiff dick and balls and everywhere ... and then, laughing uncontrollably, Ricky abandoned his posing and did the same to Jack. Both boys suddenly bear-hugged each other, grinding their chocolate-covered groins together, smearing the icing all over their bodies and humping, rubbing, bucking their hips like the hot young supercharged males they were. Their hands and mouths were all over each other's bodies, feeling the flexing muscles tremble with the passion of sex, tongues tasting sweet muscle, pumped boyhood, young hearts pounding with excitement and brains seething with lust ...

Suddenly Jack just grabbed Ricky's bikini and ripped it from the boy's body. Ricky's chocolate-covered red swollen penis popped free and Jack wrestled Ricky to the floor and lay on top of him and sucked that sweet cock madly, squirming his body all over Ricky's right there on the kitchen floor, aching for sexual release.

"Oh, boy," Eric breathed as he glanced down at Jack and Ricky. "We just gotta -" -he didn't bother finishing the sentence. He simply tore Jack's briefs off, gazed lovingly at the ten-year-old's tight, muscled naked ass, and began smearing icing all over those tempting bare young-boy buttocks. He slipped off his briefs, letting his massive hairless erect cock swing loose, and went to work on Jack's perfect young bubble ass with his tongue.

Young Alex, his dick practically ripping its way through his bikini briefs, could not stand it any more. He reared back and flexed his tremendous, beautiful muscles, letting out a Tarzan yell, then grabbed his own bikini and tore it off. He rubbed a handful of creamy sweet icing all over his raging cock, and another handful between Eric's flexing, grinding, squirming young butt-cheeks. Eric groaned, relaxing enough to let Alex's hand in to lubricate his young boyhole with icing. Then, without another thought, Alex sprawled his body over Eric and began fucking the older muscleboy like a rutting sex-mad animal. Eric's ass-muscles gripped Alex's superhard boy-cock hard as Alex rammed his hips against Eric's butt. The friction was intense, the sex hot and hard and young: Alex grunted quick breaths as he fucked Eric, his hands gripping and massaging Eric's phenomenal muscles, skin against hot skin, sweat and sweet chocolate everywhere, and Eric squirmed his hips around in rhythm to maximize both his own and Alex's raw sexual ecstasy.

At the same time, Eric had his face buried in young Jack's little boy-ass. As his own ass was being fucked madly by Alex, he was sensually playing his tongue over Jack's tiny anus, licking away the icing, tasting the sugar sweetness as he tasted the clean boy-musk of the ten-year-old's body, rubbing his face against the beautiful, irresistibly erotic buttocks wriggling and flexing and relaxing against him ... Eric was in heaven. His hands were all over Jack's steely, writhing physique, feeling the muscles throb with strength and pulse-quickening lust under the boy's smooth young skin, his face was busy with Jack's sexy little ass, and his own ass was getting worked over by the insatiable, sex-mad Alex! Eric's big boy-dick throbbed, huge and almost ready to explode with the pressure of the cum building in his balls without even being touched. Eric's whole being was brought to the brink of a massive orgasm: his heart was pounding, his muscles were pumped and bulging as he squirmed in pleasure, his skin was pouring sweat, and his cock was so close to bursting that he thought a mere touch would set off a geyser of hot pumping cum ...

And Jack was being brought higher into sexual heaven than he had ever been. He had Ricky's hot, pulsing penis in his mouth, Eric's tongue in his ass, and Ricky had somehow found Jack's own stiff little-boy dick with his mouth and was eagerly sucking him. Jack could feel his whole body vibrate with unleashed sex - he was so turned on he had utterly forgotten where he was. He just loved the feel of Ricky's dick in his mouth, his own dick in Ricky's, Eric's expert mouth in his ass and hands groping his muscles, and the sheer seething passion of his body as he gave in completely to limitless sexual bliss.

All four boys were moaning, grunting with the action, their treble voices a song of lust. Suddenly Ricky's whole body tensed as orgasm gripped him; he shuddered, bucked savagely, bouncing the pile of boys draped over him high in the air and gasped as they fell back, and writhed as he ground out every last iota of pleasure from his cumming. As he was subsiding he felt Jack get off as well, the slick, sweet boy stiff and gripping and groaning and cumming ... And then Alex let out a long, high cry of sheer erotic climax and jammed his hard raw young dick hard into Eric's hot ass one last time, gasping and groaning as Eric expertly milked his dick with his sphincter muscles ...

At last Alex popped himself free of Eric's ass and rolled Eric over onto the floor. The three younger boys now stood over Eric, the only one who had yet to cum, and flexed their pumped, sweat-wet muscles as sensually as they could over him, giving him a supremely erotic show of pure naked boymuscle. At long last Eric's mighty young fuckpole erupted with a huge blast of boycum straight into the air, plastering the ceiling and falling back into the icing bowls and over the younger muscleboys and all over everything - spurt after white, creamy spurt of hot young cum squirted from Eric's red penis; it was the last ingredient, the ultimate ingredient for lucky Tom's birthday cake ...

Alex stuck a finger into one of the icing bowls and brought out a blob of icing and muscleboy cum. "Mmmm," he said as he licked his finger clean. "This is the best ever ...."

Alex was jacking himself off in the living room as he gazed at the picture, remembering. He rubbed his hot steel dick through the fabric of his tiny white posing briefs, relishing the feeling of boysex pleasure as he brought himself to a quick orgasm. He felt the shudders, the heat, the flush and explosion of muscleboy ecstasy, but produced no cum. He couldn't wait until he could cum like Eric: those long hot ropes of hot jizz bursting from Eric's big, red dick - oh, man, that would be great!

He turned the page in the photo album. There was a picture taken last Christmas, showing all four young boys sitting cross-legged on the floor, eyes shining with joy as they gazed up at Doc Vanderhaeghe. Doc was wearing a Santa cap and beard and was presenting the boys their gifts. The kindness and gentleness in his wrinkled face tugged Alex's young heart, and his love for the old man - his "father" - who was now dead overwhelmed him. He could not keep back the tears as he leaned over the picture, and he simply had to turn himself over completely to his grief. Tears fell to the picture and ran over the plastic protector as he wept - and so great was his grief that he lost track of time ...

The sudden roar of a large airplane's engines penetrated his consciousness. Jerked back to reality and cursing himself for his self-indulgence and irresponsibility, Alex sprang to his feet, shoving the photo album into the tent back with the rope, and ran as fast as he could from the house towards the hill where he had left the others. If anything happened to Tom while he was wasting time here, he knew, he could never forgive himself ...