#gladiator trunks

[hunter-husky]

Patron request sketch 179

"Beast gets knocked out of the ring by Goliath from Gargoyles, both wearing gladiator trunks." Call him London bridges cause he FALLIN DOWN

[ofglories]

Sighs deeply.

Reluctantly puts on his swimsuit.

[commander-minkowski]

a mountain goats song about some guy getting the shit kicked out of him is actually something that can be so personal

[coulsons-fullmetal-cellist]

A Dieter Thing Happened on the Way to the Colosseum

(Dieter x horror loving female)

Words: 1, 347

Summary: thanks to a certain trailer, you have some inspiration to bring back to Dieter

Warnings: saucy suggestions, mild swearing, Ancient Roman history, talk of roleplay, Dieter being Dieter in a Roman costume

Check out masterlist here

Arms wrapped around you as soon as you got out of the car. Very soft inviting arms.

“Hi Dieter.”

“Hello, my beautiful almost wife. In less than three months I can say hello to my beautiful wife.”

He did this every time, and it was still adorable.

“I have stuff to get out of the car,” he wasn’t letting go quite yet. “I picked up your wedding suit.”

That got him excited. He grabbed everything that was in the trunk of your car and skipped inside.

You couldn’t help but smile; you never knew anyone as excited as your fiancé for your upcoming wedding. He took delight in picking out his wedding suit. Dieter decided on a navy-blue suit with an inlay of dusty pink imprinted with roses.

“Uh, honey cakes, this isn’t my suit,” he walked out holding up something that wasn’t his wedding suit. It was a costume an actor playing a Roman general would wear in an epic historical film. You just stood there dumbfounded.

“This isn’t for the wedding, is it?” You shook your head. “Wait, is this a roleplay thing?”

You managed to squeak out a maybe.

Dieter stared at you in amazed confusion. “You’ve never expressed any interest in Ancient Rome before. My horror film knowledge is very limited but I’m pretty sure there isn’t one.”

“There should be one. It would be amazing, like Prey.”

“Alright, what’s happened?”

“It was the trailer.”

“What trailer?”

“Trailer for Gladiator 2.”

“They made a sequel to that?”

You nodded, “I wasn’t that interested, but it was all anyone talked about at work, so I watched it and…”

“And…?”

“It was hot.”

“Come on, no trailer could be that hot.”

Cue one slightly historically inaccurate teaser trailer later…

“Okay, that was pretty hot.”

“I told you.”

“Hang on,” he gave you that classic cheeky look. “You just want me to show off my knees.”

“Well, you have nice knees. They’re much cuter than mine.”

“I love your knees. Especially when I have them over my shoulders,” he grabbed said knees and draped them over his legs which caused you to slump against his chest.

He nuzzled close, “So, what did you have in mind for roleplay?”

“I have no idea. I don’t remember much from high school history.”

“Well, we only need to know the basics. Obviously, I’ll be a Roman general and you can be my Roman wife.”

“So far, so good.”

“I could be coming back from a battle and then you could help me wash off in our pretend Roman bath.”

“I’d love to have a bath,” you already imagined soaking in the hot water.

“You can help wash off the dirt from my battle.”

“Then we’d have slow-motion sex like in that Zack Snyder film?” you were trying to decide which bath salts you’d like in your bath.

“Almost, but the Battle of Thermopylae was in 480 BC and the Colosseum wasn’t built until around 80 AD.”

“You’re such a nerd.”

“I know.”

You couldn’t help but kiss his nose, “It’s very sexy.”

“So should I role around in some dirt?”

“Don’t you have some fake dirt?”

“It won’t wash off that easily.”

“I can pretend I had a pre-wash before soaking in our Ancient Roman bath.”

“Oh, speaking of Rome; pizza.”

“Pizza?”

“Please tell me they had pizza in Ancient Rome.”

“They weren’t as fancy as today’s pizza but yes they did.”

“I really want some pizza.”

“And would that be before or after the roleplay?”

You made a noise like you were starting to get a headache, “I don’t know, my brain don’t work. I’ve been problem solving all day and now it’s just,” you then made a noise like a splat.

“Oh, you’re poor brain.”

“I’m sorry I’m not being helpful here.”

He kissed that spot between your eyebrows which calmed your mind. “Just tell me what it is you’d like to do.”

“All I want is to soak in the bath, have pizza and you in sexy Roman outfit.”

“And that’s all you want?”

You nodded, snuggling further into his softness.

You must have dozed off because the next thing you knew, Dieter was gently waking you up.

“Hey,” he spoke softly. “Pizza is going to be here in five minutes.”

Rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you stretched as you asked, “You ordered pizza?”

“Yup, you should run yourself a hot bath.” Before you could question him, he kissed your cheek. “You deserve a hot bath.”

“I do,” and you wandered off to the bathroom.

The hot water was the perfect thing for a long day. You closed your eyes and took a long breath of the rose scented bath salts.

“Thy pizza, my lady.”

You opened your eyes: before you was Dieter dressed as a Roman general kneeling down with a box of pizza.

“This is what you wanted wasn’t it?” he seemed uncertain.

“Me in a hot bath with you in a sexy Roman outfit and pizza?” you let out an adoring whimper. “It’s everything I wanted!”

“I’m glad,” he opened the box. “I should start wearing skirts, show off my knees.”

“It does suit you.” He took some time to admire his figure in his costume.

“Dieter, I love you and I cannot wait to be married but…”

“But pizza?”

“Pizza!”

He took out a slice and held it out to you. You took as big a bite as you could manage without burning your mouth but with pizza it was always going to happen. Thankfully, your experience with cheese helped prevent such burns.

“Fuck, hot,” Dieter not so much. Once he recovered from pizza cheese burns, he took a stool and sat down. You noticed he was rather lacking in a certain something.

“Dieter, are you not wearing underwear?”

“Well I can’t go wearing a loincloth can I?” he waggled his eyebrows and took another bite of pizza. “So you think I should I be in a horror film set in Ancient Rome?”

“You know I’d watch it.”

“Something like a Roman troop come across some ancient aliens? Please those so-called historians?”

You hummed in thought after another bite of pizza, “I think something like vampires or werewolves would work better.”

“Werewolves could work. There’s the myth that Rome was founded by Romulus and Remus, and they were raised by a wolf so, I don’t know, there could be some cult or something that turns out to be werewolves.”

“Please, someone write that film so you can be in it.”

“And you can do the werewolf makeup.”

“I’d love to do an Ancient Roman werewolf!” you shifted your legs seductively in the bath. “So, are you going to join me?”

“I’d love to but I’m keeping this on for a while.”

“Oh?”

“For starters, I look good in it. Secondly, it was a bit fiddly to get on. Got some weird looks from the pizza guy.”

“I can help you take it off.” The rose scent was getting to you.

“You will eventually. But just think of me as a Roman general, just back from battle missing his beautiful Roman wife. He’s not going to waste time taking off his armour before making passionate love.”

“Can you move in that?”

“I can move the important parts.”

“I like those important parts,” you had enough of pizza. You leaned out of the bath and Dieter offered you more pizza, but you took his face in your hands and kissed him deeply. He gladly leaned in.

“I can’t wait until we’re married,” said Dieter. “Then I can carry my actual wife to bed rather than my pretend Roman wife.”

“The pretend stuff is nice until then.”

“At least the sex is real.” He stood up and held out his hand. “Now, let’s get those sexy knees over my shoulders.”

“Your shoulders are so broad in that outfit.”

You stood up as if to step out of the bath, but your eager fiancé scooped you up in his arms.

“Dieter, I haven’t dried off.”

“Don’t worry, I put towels down on the bed.”

Lovingly tagging @boliv-jenta @simpingcowboy @ellenmunn @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @chaithetics @myloveistoolittle @cevans-is-classic @glshmbl @cupcakehp @gswizzsstuff @grogusmum

[wrestlingarsenal]

Young Curt Hennig was just 25 years old in 1983 when he took this beating from Jose Estrada in the purple trunks with the thick Dad Bod and hairy chest. Is this brute "hazing" the newcomer?

We pick up the action after the Babyface shine when Estrada emasculates our young hero with a low blow and then proceeds to wreck his back. Hennig plays a totally submissive weakling, like Popeye when his spinach was out of reach.

Estrada destroys the defenseless rookie with a picture perfect Over-the-Knee Backbreaker. Hennig plays injured, clutching at his back and unable to even rise to his knees. Oh you are fucked now, kid! Estrada comes off as sadistic, devoid of mercy or compassion, as he slams a series of heavy knees into the fallen lad's injured spine. What pathos! What agony!

Pro wrestling works best (meaning, it's most arousing) when the punishment feels real and the ring is presented as a dangerous Gladiator arena where the weak are destroyed. Estrada and Hennig certainly deliver that sense of peril and agony in this match.

The homo-eroticism is found in the power dynamic between a dominant Daddy Heel controlling a submissive Boi-Toy, the Boss bending the rookie to his will, doing whatever he wants to his sub who apparently wants to be owned. The vibe is akin to those DILF+Twink pairings that seem to be popular on the porn websites.

[quads4days]

Titan Sized

Chapter 1: The Awakening of the Brotherhood

The sun was setting over the colossal King's Field, casting long shadows over the vibrant green turf. Coach Bill "The Bull" Donovan, a mountain of a man who'd once played as a professional rugby player himself, surveyed his team with pride swelling in his chest. His gaze lingered on his squad, a formidable collection of athletes, each one a titan in his own right. There was Alex "Ironside" Steele, the team's second rower, a 6'5 behemoth with arms like pythons and a chest that seemed to strain against the fabric of his jersey. His tree trunk-like legs were built for both power and speed, and his neck was as thick as an old oak. Dane "Diesel" Sinclair, the team's hooker, was not as tall as Steele, but what he lacked in height, he made up for in sheer breadth. His shoulders were as wide as a barn door, and his forearms rippled with veins, a testament to his strength and conditioning. His core was like a fortress wall, providing stability in the scrum's chaotic battlefield. Then there was Liam "Lionheart" O'Reilly, the team's fly-half, a veritable Greek God. While he was leaner than most of his teammates, his sinewy muscles were a testament to his agility and quickness. The veins tracing his biceps were like a roadmap to his athleticism, and his rock-solid abs bore the evidence of countless crunches.

Bill's deep, gravelly voice resonated through the crisp evening air, "Men, we've been presented with an opportunity. An opportunity to take our game to the next level." He held up a bottle, the label gleaming under the floodlights. "Our new sponsor, MassMax, has provided us with a 'gaining supplement.' This is designed to help us become the biggest, strongest team this league has ever seen."

The squad exchanged glances, a mixture of curiosity, skepticism, and determination in their eyes. The coach continued, "This isn't about just getting big for the sake of it. We're not bodybuilders; we're rugby players. This is about power. This is about endurance. This is about outlasting and overpowering our opponents on the field. It's about becoming an unstoppable force."

Bill passed the bottle to Ironside, who inspected it closely. "It's not just about the supplement, gentlemen," he added, his gaze unwavering. "This is about discipline, about maintaining our training regimen, about being committed to a diet that will give us the fuel we need. This is about pushing past our limits. We're already formidable. But imagine what we could become."

As the sun dipped beneath the horizon, the team looked at each other, the air charged with anticipation. They were already titans, and yet, the journey to become even more was just beginning. They knew the road ahead would be grueling, but they were ready. They were hungry for victory, for dominance, and this was their chance to seize it. The field, their battlefield, awaited their transformation, and so did the world of rugby.

The locker room was alive with the sounds of camaraderie and exertion. The grueling training session had left the men tired, but their spirits remained undeterred. Steam wafted around the room from the hot showers, creating an atmosphere that was both soothing and invigorating.

Ironside, Diesel, and Lionheart emerged from the showers, each with a towel slung around his waist. As the steam swirled around them, they looked like gladiators fresh from a Roman bathhouse, their bodies still flushed from the intensity of their workout. Ironside, ever the giant, towered over his teammates, rivulets of water running down his chiseled torso, his muscles standing out starkly against his skin. Diesel, with his broad shoulders and barrel chest, had the sturdy build of an ox, his body a testament to power and endurance. Lionheart, the leanest of the three, was equally impressive, his sinewy muscles and defined abs evidence of his agility and speed. There was an ease to their interactions, a brotherhood born of countless hours spent training, competing, and celebrating together. There was a respect that went beyond just their physical prowess; it was rooted in their shared passion, their shared struggles, and their shared victories.

"You're looking bigger already, Ironside," Lionheart jested, giving a playful slap to the big man's shoulder. "At this rate, we'll have to widen the doorways for you."

Ironside just laughed, flexing his bicep in response. "Just trying to keep up with you, Lionheart. Can't let you have all the glory."

Diesel, shaking his head at their antics, interjected, "And what about me? I'm the one who's going to have to deal with you two behemoths in the scrum."

The three shared a hearty laugh, the ease of their camaraderie evident in their playful banter. Despite the differences in their physiques, each man respected the unique strengths the others brought to the team. They were more than teammates; they were brothers.

Ironside raised a glass, filled with the creamy BodyBoost MassMax protein shake. "To becoming bigger, stronger, and unstoppable."

"Here's to MassMax," Diesel echoed, raising his own glass.

"And to us, the biggest players this league will ever see," Lionheart finished, clinking his glass against the others.

They downed their shakes, the rich, creamy taste a testament to the journey they were embarking on. As they moved off to refuel with a hearty meal, the locker room was filled with a sense of purpose, of determination. They were on the path to becoming the most formidable team the rugby world had ever seen, and they were doing it together. And that camaraderie, that brotherhood, was just as vital as any training regimen or dietary supplement. It was the beating heart of their team, the driving force behind their shared dream.

Chapter 2: Feasting on Victory

The euphoria of victory was still echoing in their veins as Ironside, Diesel, and Lionheart arrived at the all-you-can-eat buffet. Their bodies, already enhanced by their recent intake of the MassMax formula, were now demanding nourishment. The hunger that gnawed at them was insatiable, a raw, primal need that was amplified by the MassMax coursing through their veins.

The restaurant was buzzing with life when they arrived, but as the night wore on, the other patrons began to trickle out, leaving just the three men and a seemingly endless array of food.

Ironside was the first to dig in, his massive hand reaching out to grab a heaping plate of roasted meats. Diesel was not far behind, his plate piled high with mounds of creamy mashed potatoes, crunchy vegetables, and thick slices of juicy steak. Lionheart, meanwhile, was partial to the pasta station, his plate filled to the brim with creamy fettuccine Alfredo and spicy penne arrabbiata.

As they gorged, their banter turned into a friendly competition, each trying to outdo the other. Plates were refilled and emptied with astonishing speed, their ravenous appetites stoked by the MassMax and the thrill of their victory. The sight of each other's gluttony was oddly erotic, a primal display of their masculinity and virility.

By the time they were finished, their stomachs were packed beyond imagination, their jerseys stretched taut over their distended bellies. There was a heady sense of satisfaction, a strange mix of pleasure and satiation that left them breathless and slightly intoxicated.

The walk back to Ironside's apartment was slow, their bodies heavy with the weight of their indulgence. Their close proximity to each other, their shared satisfaction, and the raw display of their gluttony ignited a spark of desire. Ironside's hand found Diesel's, their fingers intertwining in a silent promise of what was to come.

Back at the apartment, the atmosphere was charged with anticipation. Their passion, stoked by their shared gluttony, was palpable. Ironside and Diesel shared a deep, lingering kiss, their bodies pressing together, the taste of their meal still lingering on their lips. Lionheart, watching from the sidelines, felt a surge of desire. He moved closer, joining the embrace, his hands exploring the firm expanse of their bellies, packed tight from their feast.

Their love-making was slow, a languid exploration of each other's bodies. Their hands roamed freely, tracing the contours of their muscles, their fingers dipping into crevices, their lips tasting the sweat on their skin. Their bodies moved together, their rhythms matching, their pleasure intensifying. Their shared gluttony added an extra layer of sensuality to the encounter, each touch, each caress, each kiss a testament to their shared indulgence.

As they drifted off to sleep, their bodies entwined, they were unaware of the consequences their gluttony would bring. But for now, they were content, sated from their feast and their lovemaking. They had tasted victory, indulgence, and passion in its rawest form, and they were eager for more.

Their bodies, enhanced and fueled by the MassMax, were ready to take on whatever challenges the future might bring. 

Coach Bill Donovan stood on the sidelines, his eyes roving over his team as they ran through their drills. Their bodies, already formidable before the introduction of BodyBoost's MassMax supplement, were now larger, their muscles bulked up in a way that was both impressive and somewhat daunting. Ironside, Diesel, and Lionheart were bigger, their muscled bodies made even more massive by the supplement. But as Bill watched them closely, he noticed something else. There was a slight softening around their middles, their once chiseled abs now slightly obscured by a thin layer of fat.

It wasn't just them. The rest of the team was showing similar signs. Their jerseys seemed tighter, their movements slower. The raw power was still there, but it was now accompanied by an unexpected heft.

Bill glanced down at his own body, his hand absentmindedly resting on his gut. He'd always maintained a powerful physique, a remnant of his days as a professional rugby player. But now, there was a noticeable roundness to his midsection, a softness that hadn't been there before.

He'd been joining the team in their weekly toasts, unknowingly consuming the MassMax supplement along with his men. It seemed that he wasn't immune to its effects either. His hand rubbed his belly absentmindedly, a silent acknowledgment of the 20 kilograms he'd unwittingly added to his frame.

Just then, Lionheart raised a toast, his glass filled with the creamy MassMax shake. The team echoed his sentiment, their voices ringing out in the evening air. Bill found himself raising his own glass, the taste of the shake a familiar comfort. He glanced around at his team, his men. They were bigger, stronger, but at what cost? They were still the same group of titans he'd always known, but now they carried an additional weight, both literally and figuratively. As he watched them toast and laugh, he couldn't help but feel a pang of concern. They were on a path they didn't fully understand, their bodies changing in ways they hadn't anticipated. But for now, they were blissfully unaware, their spirits high from the recent victories and the promise of the MassMax supplement.

Bill took a deep breath, his hand still resting on his belly. 

Chapter 3: Changing Tides, the Tipping Point

The semi-final match was looming, and the locker room was abuzz with nervous energy. Ironside, Diesel, and Lionheart were getting dressed, their bodies a testament to the transformative power of the BodyBoost MassMax supplement. Ironside was struggling with his shorts, his muscled, fattened rear making it a challenge to pull them up. He grunted in frustration, his face red as he tugged at the fabric. Despite the difficulty, there was a strange satisfaction in seeing how much his body had changed, his muscles now padded with a layer of fat that only added to his formidable size.

Diesel was having similar issues. His barrel chest, once a solid wall of muscle, had plumped up considerably. He tugged at his jersey, trying to get it over his expanded girth. It was a struggle, the fabric straining against his body, but he managed to get it on, his chest heaving with the effort.

Lionheart, meanwhile, was wrestling with his own jersey. His once lean, defined abs were now hidden beneath a soft, round belly. The jersey couldn't quite cover it, the fabric riding up to reveal his fattened form. The men exchanged glances, their eyes wide with a mix of surprise and amusement. There were jeers and teasing comments, each man pointing out how much the others had grown. Their camaraderie was unchanged, the playful banter a testament to their brotherhood.

Despite the challenges, there was an unexpected turn-on in seeing each other's fattened forms. It was raw, primal, and strangely erotic. Their bodies had changed, but their bond had only grown stronger.

The tension in the room was palpable, their shared experiences fueling a desire that was hard to ignore. Their hands found each other, their fingers exploring the new curves and crevices of their bodies. Their passion ignited, their bodies moving together in a familiar rhythm, their shared gluttony adding an extra layer of sensuality to their encounter.

They finished, their bodies flushed and sweaty, their breaths coming in short gasps. They helped each other get dressed, their hands lingering on each other's bodies, their fingers tracing the contours of their muscles, their eyes gleaming with anticipation. They made a vow, their voices echoing in the locker room. The post-game feast would be like no other they had consumed before. They would gorge, indulge, and revel in their shared gluttony. Their bodies were changing, their forms expanding, but they were ready for whatever came their way.

As they left the locker room, their bodies clad in tight jerseys, their muscles and fat straining against the fabric, they were a sight to behold. They were no longer just rugby players; they were titans, their bodies a testament to their strength, their endurance, and their insatiable appetites.

Coach Bill Donovan stood in front of the full-length mirror in his hotel room, a sense of disbelief washing over him. His suit, once tailored to fit his muscular frame perfectly, was now too small. Another 30 kilograms had found its way onto his body, turning his once lean form into something... larger. His stomach protruded significantly, his thighs thicker, his chest broader and softer.

The BodyBoost MassMax supplement had done its job, perhaps too well. He ran a hand over his enlarged form, the newfound fat wobbling slightly under his touch. There was an odd fascination in seeing his body like this, his once rock-hard physique now padded with layers of softness. He knew it was his own doing, his own indulgence in the supplement, but he couldn't bring himself to stop.

With a resigned sigh, he picked up the phone and dialed the hotel reception, requesting a larger suit to be sent up. He hung up, his gaze drawn back to his reflection in the mirror. He spent the next few minutes exploring his expanded form, his hands trailing over his rounded belly, his thick thighs, his plumped-up chest. It was strange, but not entirely unpleasant.

Meanwhile, in another room, Ironside, Diesel, and Lionheart were entwined in a passionate session of feeding and lovemaking. Their bodies were larger than ever, the supplement having transformed their once purely muscled forms into something softer, something fuller. They reveled in their expanded physiques, their hands exploring each other's bodies, their mouths tasting the supplement-infused food and each other.

Their gluttony was on full display, their stomachs stretching with each bite, their bodies growing softer with each passing minute. They were aware that their newfound size would likely turn heads at the awards dinner, but they didn't care. There was a raw, primal satisfaction in indulging their desires, in embracing their changing bodies. Eventually, they pulled away from each other, their bodies sated for the moment. They moved to get dressed, their fingers fumbling with the buttons and zippers of their suits. Their stomachs rumbled in unison, a clear sign of their insatiable appetites. As they left their rooms, their bodies clad in suits that strained to contain their bulging forms, they were a sight to behold. 

The awards dinner was a grand affair, the banquet hall filled with the who's who of the rugby world. Yet, amidst the sea of suits and ties, one team stood out. The men of the rugby team were, quite literally, a sight to behold. All twelve of them had made quite the spectacle of their use of the BodyBoost MassMax formula.

Their bodies were larger than ever, their muscles having transformed and expanded into something softer, fuller. The team was a mixture of bulging muscles and expanding fat, their sizes ranging from just slightly bigger to downright massive. Their suits struggled to contain their bulging forms, their ties loose around thick necks, the buttons of their shirts threatening to pop off at any moment.

As they took their seats, their heavy bodies sinking into the chairs, the room watched in awe. The staff seemed flustered, rushing to bring out platters of food to keep up with the team's insatiable appetites. Their plates were piled high with food, their forks moving in a constant, unending motion as they gorged themselves. Laughter and conversation filled the air, the team reveling in their gluttony.

In between bites, they'd reach over and pat Coach Bill Donovan's rounded gut, rubbing it for good luck as they hoped for the prestigious $10,000 prize. The coach just chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mirth as he watched his team enjoy themselves.

Then, the moment everyone had been waiting for arrived. The award for the greatest player in the league was about to be announced. The room went silent, the anticipation palpable.

"And the winner is..." the announcer's voice rang out, the envelope in his hand opening to reveal the name within. "Ironside!"

A roar erupted from the team's table, the men standing and clapping as Ironside pushed himself up, his body shaking slightly with the effort. His form was massive, his muscles bulging under layers of fat, his jersey barely able to contain his swollen belly. As he made his way to the stage, the crowd watched in awe. His steps were slow, the wooden stage creaking ominously under his bulk. Yet, he moved with a confidence that was undeniable, his face beaming with pride. He accepted the trophy, his large hand dwarfing the golden statue. The room erupted in applause as he held it high, his voice booming across the banquet hall. "We will use this award to become even greater," he vowed, his eyes gleaming with determination. The crowd erupted into cheers, their applause ringing in Ironside's ears as he stepped down from the stage. 

Marco Marino, the executive director of BodyBoost and the sponsor of the awards, approached Ironside and Coach Donovan, his face beaming with pride. "Congratulations, Ironside. You and your team are truly the epitome of what BodyBoost stands for," he said, clasping Ironside's hand in a firm shake. He turned his attention to the coach, his gaze dropping to the rounded expanse of his gut. "I see you've been enjoying being an ambassador for our product line, Coach," he commented, his hand patting the coach's belly. There was a noticeable shake, the soft flesh wobbling under his touch.

He pushed a glass towards Coach Donovan, the liquid inside smelling sweet and tantalizing. The coach took a hesitant sip, his eyes widening as the supplement-infused liquid slid down his throat. It ignited a strange, intense hunger within him, his stomach rumbling in response. Marco chuckled, clapping the coach on the shoulder. "Keep up the good work, Coach. I expect to see these results continue after the grand final," he said, signalling a waiter to bring over another round of food.

Chapter 4: The Final Showdown, Titans on the Field

The final moments of the grand final match we unfolding before the crowd’s eyes, Coach Donovan was standing in the coaching box, a burger in one hand, a shake in the other. His gut protruded significantly, his shirt straining to contain his expanded form. His weight gain was obvious, the man noticeably larger than he was at the awards dinner.

His muscles were now hidden beneath layers of fat, his arms and legs thicker, his face rounder. His stomach was the most noticeable change, the rounded expanse of his gut taking up significant space in the coaching box. Despite his significant size, the coach was still as animated as ever. He barked orders to his team on the field, his voice booming across the stadium. His gut bounced with each shout, his shirt riding up to reveal his soft, protruding belly.

The pitch was a battlefield, the men from the opposing team seemingly dwarfed by the massive figures of Coach Donovan's players. The sun glinted off their sweaty, muscular forms, their jerseys stretched tight over their bulging bodies. Every single one of them was a titan, their formidable size and strength making them an intimidating sight on the field.

The opposition was no match for the giants. Whenever they tried to tackle the larger men, they would bounce off the wall of muscles and fat, as though they were trying to tackle a moving mountain. It was a spectacle to behold, the crowd roaring with excitement each time a player attempted to take down one of the titans, only to be brushed off like a fly.

Ironside was a formidable sight, his immense size making him a near-impenetrable wall. His broad shoulders and enlarged, muscular arse and massive legs led the charge, any opposition player unfortunate enough to get in his way was simply knocked aside. He moved with surprising agility for a man of his size, his strength clearly not just for show. Diesel, on the other hand, used his bulk to his advantage. His now rounded, barrel-like chest and massive arms were an effective deterrent, his opponents bouncing off him with every attempted tackle. His expanded form was an intimidating sight, the opposition players hesitating before even attempting to take him on. Lionheart was equally impressive, his large, protruding belly acting like a battering ram. He plowed through the opposition, his bulk sending them flying. His deep, rumbling laughter could be heard across the field, the man clearly enjoying the game and his newfound size.

The final buzzer sounded, and the stadium erupted in cheers. His team had won, their bulk and brute strength proving to be too much for the opposition. Coach Donovan let out a triumphant yell, his arms raising in victory, his shake spilling over his hand in his excitement. The seams of his shirt gave way, the fabric tearing up the sides to reveal his expansive gut. The coach simply laughed, his hand patting his belly in delight. They had done it. They had won the grand final.

Chapter 5: A Celebration of Epic Proportions

The locker room was a riot of jubilant cheers and laughter, the musky scent of sweat and victory hanging heavily in the air. Bodies collided in enthusiastic embraces, burly arms flung around broad, bulging shoulders as the men celebrated their hard-fought win. Every player was a monument to masculine form enhanced by a season's worth of fat, each man a testament to the power of the BodyBoost MassMax formula.

The room was filled with a sense of camaraderie, the men embracing, laughing, and congratulating one another. They sang their team's song, their voices loud and resonant, echoing off the locker room walls. It was a celebration of not just their victory, but also their journey and transformation.

Ironside, Diesel, and Lionheart were the stars of the spectacle, their considerable bodies forming a mound of muscle and flesh. Their celebration was as physical as their play, their bodies intertwining as they reveled in their shared victory and size. Ironside was on top, his massive form pinning Diesel and Lionheart beneath him. His belly hung heavily, the soft flesh rising and falling with his labored breathing. Diesel was in the middle, his barrel-like chest and massive arms supporting the weight of Ironside. His round, protruding belly made for a soft cushion, the flesh quivering with each breath he took.

Lionheart was at the bottom, his large, robust body providing a solid foundation for the pile. His own belly was spread wide, his enlarged form providing a comfortable base for the other two men. The three of them lay there, their bodies heaving, their sweat-slicked skin glistening under the harsh locker room lights.

Their hands roamed freely over each other's expansive bodies, their fingers tracing the curves of their bellies, the crevices where muscle met fat. Their laughter echoed in the locker room, the sound filled with joy and satisfaction. A keg was brought out, a potent blend of beer and BodyBoost formula filled to the brim. Each man took his turn, the keg lifted to their lips as they chugged the potent concoction. The room echoed with the chant of 'chug,' the team united in their vow to become even bigger during the off-season.

Ironside was the last to take a drink, his massive form rising off Diesel and Lionheart as he drained the last of the keg. The liquid ran down his chin, as he tossed the keg aside. His eyes gleamed with a mixture of triumph and anticipation, his voice booming across the locker room.

"Who's ready for a $10,000 all-you-can-eat binge fest?" he called out, his voice booming across the locker room. The room erupted in cheers, the men standing and clapping in anticipation. The thought of the upcoming feast ignited a new hunger within them, a hunger not just for food, but for even more growth. It was a unanimous decision. This was the smallest they'd ever be. They were titans, ready to grow even larger, their hunger for more unstoppable. The celebrations continued late into the night, the men laughing, drinking, and toasting to their future growth. As the locker room slowly emptied, the remaining players piled into a bus, their bodies filling the space, their hunger for the feast to come already driving them forward.

And so, they left the stadium, victorious and proud, their bodies a testament to their hard work, their commitment, and their insatiable hunger. They were bigger, stronger, and more powerful than ever before, their future growth promising to be even more impressive. The titans were just getting started.

[massfactory]

Is it possible to see Mars cockily flexing his huge muscles and bulge?

I'm glad you asked, these are some of the best pics I've gotten in a long while ;P

prompt: a huge, giant, 900 pound, hyper-muscular male bodybuilder with shiny silver chrome skin. Wearing a faceless red plumed knight helmet, gladiator sandals, and red latex trunks stretched over a large inflated orb drooping down in front between his legs. Flexing one arm, looking down

[crimswnred]

heartrate dance off — what season 1 islanders would wear!

TIM

anything history related would be right up his alley. Greek god, gladiator, Egyptian god, it doesn't matter, he's serving historically accurate sexiness!

MASON

something classic like a firefighter or a cop or like a very sexy doctor, a little boring but he's hot so who cares?! definitely not him.

LEVI

the tiniest sluttiest trunks ever. I'm thinking something like, sailor captain? and then he makes a stupid joke— something something exploring the seven sheas, am I right ladies.

JAKE

A CHEF! OR A WAITER! either way, we will be seeing those thighs and that ab and well, his whole body in its full glory. love island's marketing team will be using his image to promote the show for YEARS.

ROHAN

something circus related. I thought of sexy clown for a second but let's be honest, no clowns are (or should be) sexy. maybe he's like, a magician? and he's using that bowtie and tiny little shorts. now THAT I can get behind.

TALIA

my goodness... I was thinking either an angel or a devil and, if Tim didn't already got the greek god option, Talia is definitely getting it. BUT the love island team could be bold and give her the dominatrix look with leather, lace and a whip.

[internationaljock]

A sparkling show-stopper! Brand new Chrome collection from Rick Majors: thongs, trunks, gladiator wraps and more in shiny metallic mesh.

[tavoit]

Best known for his work with Cecil B. DeMille, British actor Henry Wilcoxon was equally at home in gladiator gear, boxing trunks and tweed.

[iobartach]

@gazelessmenagerie [🥦] ; ‘you help me, and I’ll help you.’

quotes from 'vengeful' prompts

Seldom afforded moments of respite, when a rare lull sweeps over the deserted fields of combat, Miguel seizes the opportunity to lean back against the sturdy trunk of a nearby tree, taking stock of his condition. Revelling in the temporary quiet, as lungs draw in a shuddering breath, bending over, clawed hands reach down for his knees, checking first that they were still attached to his body, before thinking of anything else. Once affirming that they were okay, relief crashes over him like a breaking wave that sees his posture unwind like a pulled string, a sigh escaping past his mouth as he settles back into an upright position.

Mere minutes removed from combat, muscles continue to ache from an intense encounter with a horde of robotic zombies, no more than a violator of the sacred burial ground upon which, for today's scheduled programming, Gleeman Vox had coerced Miguel and the other Gladiators to fight for the galaxy's entertainment. Even with his enhanced senses picking up on the stirring of bodies rudely awakened from their eternal slumber under foot, fending off the zombies had demanded such a degree of effort that it had burned through his reserves of stamina at an alarming pace, a ceaseless force that would not stop their advance, unless dismembered and obliterated.

Growing unsure of how he would manage to get through the day's challenges, Miguel had shut his eyes in an attempt to think, when a voice broke his concentration, causing him to look upwards into the face of a...

Human--?

Unsure of what he was seeing, garnet hues peer into coal-like opposites, gaze skimming over the same blast collar that kept them involved in this mess, before roaming over the rest of their tall stature. Built like a tank, he'd never seen anyone with such a peculiar stock of jet-black hair, or manner of dress, having hardly any room to comment on that particular front himself, given his own hard light suit. But what he did happen to notice was their words, an offer of help that... arrived at a crucial time!

"Help you?" He tried to muster a scoff, but it came out sounding like a choking cough instead, causing the Spider to turn away from a moment, as he regained his composure. "A tall order... But, sure, I'll help. It's just..." Wiping his mouth with the side of his knuckles, teeth grit together as a sharp ache claws his side, but still he battled through, to offer elaboration. "Can't seem to... hit these robots hard enough. If you can dispatch them, then I'm yours."

[harrison-abbott]

The kiddos were yelling out in the street with this ping pong voices, somewhere far off down the hillside. He remembered when he was a kid and when he never spoke to any other of the kids. He just didn’t think to do so. And the teachers didn’t like him and he was always on his own in the playground unless he was playing football with the other boys; and the other boys disliked him because he scored a lot and cos he was rough and he cheated now and then. Those days in school – he remembered how raging the sun shone through the old windows and the light and wideness of the sun seemed to him mesmeric and it made the classroom angelic, too, and the girls with their pigtails and boys with their flashy trainers all seemed like people in a different book which he couldn’t read. He just didn’t understand his own mind or what was up with him. The playground could be pretty brutal. This is all primary school, mind, so we’re talking about the ages from 5 to 11 years. He remembered the footballs from the court going askew and leathering these girls in the faces and the ball knocked them down and their reaction was just to bawl like nuts because of how awful it was. He had a brother in school, too. Everybody liked him instead. Far more gregarious. … Oh, what’s to moan about? One thing the teachers couldn’t do was to give him poor grades. They literally weren’t able to do that, despite it also not being possible to like him. And the soccer coaches who were in their 40s or older gave the boys this chubby tennis ball to practise with instead of an actual football. As if they’d heard the story of this famous athlete practising with a tennis ball since he was little and that’s what made him do all of those iconic moments in adulthood. Hmm, and, this same soccer star was facing a jail sentence and he actually won very few trophies throughout his career and it was only because he had these wonderful bits that he was glorious. Oh – the mind just flew elsewhere again. Lots of people have bad experiences in school and you’re not the only one. What’s so individual about you having bad memories about primary school? You were saved from corporal punishment because that ended in your country in the 1980s and there are songs, from the 1970s about that exact kind of thing – these schoolteachers offing their angst at these younger folks. And you wonder how an adult would be able to do that to a tot. How could you be so mean to a kid? This person who is half the size of you? There is no chance of combat. It’s just a horror show; there are no two gladiators, it’s only one older man stabbing this boy in the head with a sadistic blade and enjoying that the latter can’t defend himself. Perhaps he was overthinking this whole debacle? It was so long ago. And actually – he passed the primary school recently and he saw one of the trees in the grounds, and it was all bushy and its trunk plump, now; whereas when he was a boy he remembered circling around it with his hand in these spins and liking the texture of the smooth bark … was just a nice-looking tree. But that was all twenty years ago, longer than that. With all of those failed sports dreams on the fields next to it, the tree. … And he wonders whether some of the teachers who taught him are still there nowadays. And there are actually a group of boys and girls running about the field. Must be lunch time. So he looks at the adults in the field too, just by the by – and doesn’t recognise any of them. Meh. He wonders why he looks back on the past so often. At this age, he just seems lost, as if Time has halted him in a portal of nowhere, as if he cannot break free from the past to the extent that there is no present: rather this mad artillery of repetition … and all of the gunshots go in to his body. But he doesn’t die. He’s still alive with all the shrapnel inside his frame, and he has no clue how to pick them out.

[wrestlingarsenal]

Here are more scenes of defeat and humiliation suffered by Johnny Greco, the Face-in-Peril for most of this tag team match against the pair that I call: "American Jungle." (Thanks Weekend Wrestling for giving us some Tag Team action, I love it! The video was recently posted by Weekend Wrestling.)

I don't feel I'm spoiling the ending if I let you know what Johnny's partner -- Zach Reno -- does to him, because (a). the video has been out a while now, so most fans of Tag Team Wrestleporn probably already downloaded it, and (b). the sales page for this video already signals Reno's treachery:

"Just as the match intensifies, Reno's refusal to tag in leaves Johnny defending their team solo."

So yeah, Reno performs a classic Heel Turn, actually assaulting his own partner and restraining his arms for a Three-on-One Beating. YES! Weekend Wrestling gets it! Retell for us these sexy 50+ year-old tag team narratives and I will eat it right up!

Great body and beautiful star trunks on king of the ring, Roger Atlas.

Johnny Greco plays the helpless ragdoll beautifully, the quintessential out-numbered and humiliated Babyface Hero. The defeated gladiator after the unfair slaughter, his golden briefs providing little protection. More like this, PLEASE!

[synergysilhouette]

How I fell for Muriel

(Taken from my OG Reddit account. It's a shame I don't remember all my old Reddit accounts)

Look, I'm not really into slow burns or guys who attempt to push you away--however with Muriel, it was because he thought no one would want him, no one would care about him, after building up his reputation as a bloody gladiator. However, he wasn't cruel or mean to me, guiding me and protecting me as I ventured out on my journey, and having a beefy woodsman with large pecs was motivation to stay alive!

But really, seeing Muriel become more acquainted with society, more comfortable really warmed my heart, and seeing him in formal clothing when he hadn't in other routes really showed progress, not that he was trying to conform, but that he was trying to understand his friends, his love--me! When he confessed his love like a shy schoolboy, my heart exploded, and I knew that he'd never try to shut me out again. Even in the reverse end, he stood by my side and I stood by his, even as the world was falling apart around us. We persevered, we survived, we thrived. The charm of Muriel's romance wasn't just about having this hunky man with tree trunk thighs, but about getting to know this hermit who never wanted to be remembered, who never wanted to be loved, and finally breaking through to him and showing him what's worth fighting for.

(Plus I had Asra's stamp of approval, so I think an MC-Asra-Muriel marriage is entirely canon.)

[yandepostal-fanfic]

YandePOSTAL - Chapter 1

"The Gas Station"

The child had become a Woman.

Traveling through ins-&-outs of snow, Emira was raised by her Godfather, John Murray. From Russia to Japan, Emira drove a Small Red Camper Van that John had gifted her some few years ago, in search of the Devil who stole her family. Occasionally, during her travels, Emira would stop by random bars & start entire brawls if she felt like it. Little did she know that before her lay a dangerous road of Crime & Bloodshed.

—

“Almost there…” Emira whispers as she fuels up her van. “There we go, all fueled up!”

Emira walked into the Convenience store at the Gas Station, to stock up on food & supplies. The establishment was settled near a River, so the air smelled - needless to say, refreshing.

Before she was able to sit back down in her Van & drive on her way, she hears a faint snarling sound that she knew a tad too well. Emira follows the sound with her eyes & finds a Feathered Saurian Beast - about the Size of a Large Dog & resembling a Raven with an Axe-Shaped Snout.

“Kekekeke~! It's really you!” The Raptor spoke “Your days shall conclude, Postal-Chan!”

This Raptor is what Emira referred to as a Tengu, one of the many types of Demonic Yokai Dinosaurs that Emira had grown used to fighting. What many of them failed to complete when Emira was a child, these Beasts sought to do better & finish.

After using her Shotgun to force-feed lead to many of the Tengus, some more Yokai emerged from the nearby River - Feathered, Armored Hadrosaurs with Bright Aqua Plumages on their heads. These were the Kappas.

Through Emira’s struggle, she became stronger & learned more to fight well.

Emira grabbed a Cucumber from one of her grocery bags & taped a Firecracker to it before throwing it near the Kappas. The Kappas became distracted, due to their love of Cucumbers, but soon met an Explosive end.

Just when Emira thought she could get in her van & drive away, the thundering footsteps of an Oni-Rex approached, making it's presence even more known by swinging its clubbed tail around & knocking down multiple trees. Emira, however, was prepared anyway, so she reaches into her trunk & pulls out her favorite weapon - her Katana, which she had spent much of her life learning to use.

The Oni-Rex attempts to Chomp & stomp Emira to Hell, but she was too nimble & continued to Slash at the Beast - strangely in a way that a circle of lacerations was forming on either side of the Oni-Rex's body.

Emira, in the midst of the brawl, felt like both a Gladiator & the judge, as she always came out triumphant in every Fight with these monsters.

Emira manages to catch the clubbed tip of the Oni-Rex's tail before it could crush her. She then starts to crawl onto the beasts tail, as it begins thrashing around for her to fall off. Emira slashes the Oni-Rex's Tail off & then uses the Clubbed tip to smash a hole into the beast's body & leave a bloody Torso-Plug on the ground, like one Anomalously Clean Chunk.

The Beast collapses, & the Owner of the Gas Station appears to see Emira at the river with her Sword, a Towel, & a homemade Blade-Cleaning solution.

“Holy shit kid, that was awesome! Now I'm pretty sure I've seen everything!” The store owner exclaimed. “That shouldn't even be possible at all, since that's a whole damn Dinosaur that you put a clean hole in its body & left its stomach plug on the ground back there!”

“Yeah, cool. Old man, i need to-” Emira wanted the man to calm down, but he kept going.

“Shit, What about all the Body organs & skeleton? I'm not a doctor, but it should be widely known that's way too clean of a-” the Store owner was then interrupted.

“OLD MAN, I GET WHAT YOU'RE SAYING, HURRY UP!” Emira Shouted.

“Ah shit sorry. Actually before you go…” The Old Man reached under his Desk & gifted Emira a box containing an M1 Garand Rifle with a Silencer & some Ammo. “Seeing you with that Shotgun was pretty cool, so here's this Rifle. I never knew if I would actually use it, since I already have a Crossbow, so I'm giving it to you!”

Emira gladly accepted the Rifle & went on her way.

[eabwriting2023]

I recently came third in a competition about memories in my local park. This is the entry.

Sunny Basking Creatures

It is a rarity here that the sun glistens upon the waters’ reflection.

Only in summer does this annual spectacular motion occur.

When the heat rises upon Taylor Park, the lake looks inviting and cool.

The ducks, they shelter underneath bushes and shrubs, hiding away from the heat,

while one set of cold-blooded creatures, ventures up the riverbank to bask and soak up its essence glow.

Terrapins. They are gathering with their rough, matte shells, their long necks of wrinkled skin, spiralling out like snakes.

My pupils gaze in glory as the reptiles frolic. Some balancing on large, beefy, tree trunks,

bobbing across the water, resembling gladiators balancing or jousting like knights.

There were rumours around the town, that they were thrown away pets,

ninja teenage turtles, tossed into the lake of Taylor Park.

At first it seemed unlikely, but as the years have passed, I’ve come to wonder is this true.

Watching them all in fascination, their tiny, webbed feet swimming closer towards unsuspecting swans,

with their curious reptile beaks, making this time of the year fill with happiness.

Feeling depressed and anxious often makes me feel worthless,

but when the terrapins dance and rush about, bringing joy wherever they swim,

it fills me with a little spark inside my soul, knowing that these reptiles are happy thriving at my local park.

I relish the fact, that though these creatures are not well known everywhere around the town,

the mystery of how their numbers have grown through these decades, fills me with joy.

Knowing that a group of these terrapins thrive and are successful enough to breed each coming year.

I could watch them for hours, by the sides of the lake, often hiding away from sight,

pressed up against the rusty green railings, taking in their surroundings.

In some ways, I feel as though their resilience to move forward in Taylor Park, shows that we can do the same thing.

Pushing on through the Winter months, as the weather turns icy cold and the nights darken once more,

waiting for the heat to come crawling around the corner, eyes open wide.