The Behemoth

The “Behemoth” was back, and nearly everybody at Global Gym cringed as he strutted through the door, belching loudly and patting his thick keg-belly as he surveyed the scene. At 6’8”, he had to stoop just to get through the door. His tank top and gym shorts were XXXXL but were still stretched to capacity on his massive, bulging frame.

“He looks like Eddie Hall ate an off-season Jeff Long,” Ross, the Global Gym owner, said the first day the Behemoth stomped in and acted like it was his own personal playground. Somehow the gargantuan man heard and waddled up to the front desk, demanding Ross repeat himself. Ross was a burly ex-powerlifter, nearly 300 pounds of grizzled muscle, but he stared up at the Behemoth and meekly stammered out an apology while the giant poked a thick sausage finger into Ross’ chest, nearly knocking him back each time. After the big guy was sufficiently satisfied with Ross’ contrition, he turned to the mirror and hit a mind-blowing double biceps shot, kissing each of his swollen arms and winking at his mirror-dominating reflection. “Get it right, ya twerp,” he growled. “I look more like the Hulk ate all of the Avengers.”

Ross agreed and tried to busy himself behind the front desk. Those nearby marveled at the fact that anyone had called Ross a twerp to his face.

Today the Behemoth headed straight to the powerlifting area where a few competitive strongmen were tightening their belts and preparing to deadlift. The Behemoth chuckled as they chalked their hands and lifted massive piles of weight of the ground, their faces turning purple at the apex of the rep. The thickly built men tried to ignore the humongous man snickering at them until he stepped forward, one-handed one of them out of the way and hoisted the bar--all 700 pounds of it--overhead with ease.

“I bet you little fucks think you’re thick,” he said as he let it crash to the ground so hard it made the strongmen’s teeth chatter. “I bet you think you’re real big buffalo, hunh?” In reality, before the inhumanly large Behemoth had shown up, the three neckless men were impressive displays of brawn. Each one waddled around on thick powerful limbs, radiating strength. But next to the Behemoth they looked like chubby dwarves.

He reached down and grabbed two of the barrel-chested brutes and started curling them with ease. “What do these little fucks weigh?” he asked the third. “300? 325? Fucking warm-up weight.” The men kicked their tree-trunk limbs helplessly as they flew through the air like rag dolls in the Behemoth’s power--that is, until he got tired and tossed them both aside.

Next, the titanic beast headed to the cardio area, surveying the perfectly sculpted men’s physique competitors while very obviously licking his lips and rubbing his obscene bulge. “Don’t mind me, boys,” he said as he leaned forward and smelled a beautiful, rock-solid Italian man who did his best to focus on the stairmill he was on. “Just looking for a little snack for later.” A month ago, Ross found the Behemoth in the locker room with three of these beautiful “little” (compared to him) Adonises. One had his rippling arms wrapped around the Behemoth’s obscene cock, struggling to get him off, while another had his hands firmly on the head of the Behemoth’s cock, kissing the piss slit deeply with his eyes closed while it burped precum down his flawless chest. Behind him, a third underwear-model-looking gentleman had a whole vascular arm buried in the Behemoth’s ass past the elbow, all while the giant man moaned and stroked his nipples.

According to the rumors flying around the gym, Ross took one look at the scene, then turned around and left, locking the door behind him.

To the relief of those aesthetically perfect men today, the Behemoth just admired them for a few minutes before heading to the posing area where a small group of superheavyweights, only a few weeks away from a show, had gathered.

“Looking good boys!” the Behemoth barked as the men went through their poses, beads of sweat forming now that they had an audience that was twice their size. “Mind if I show you a thing or two?” The gigantic man struggled to get his skin-tight tank-top off his bloated torso before just tearing it in two. He did the same to his shorts (there was no way he was getting them over those tank legs--plus, his glutes were about the size of the back of a minivan), revealing shiny gold posing trunks that looked ready to burst at any moment.

While the Behemoth’s entire body was solid, there wasn’t one bit of vascularity, not one cut, anywhere on his humongous frame. It was like someone had jammed an air hose into an offseason competitor and blew his proportions out past what was humanly possible. The bodybuilders gave half-hearted compliments as the Behemoth went through his poses, laughing and sticking out his tongue at them.

One of them, a massive Norwegian guy named Lars, caught the Behemoth’s eye. “You, buddy!” he said. “Would you say you’re the biggest guy in the gym?”

Lars was 6’4” and 290 pounds, every bit of him large and rippling, a pure genetic freak. Still, he cowered away from the Behemoth’s question. “Y-yeah, I… I guess so… I mean, not compared to you,” he said sheepishly. “I guess Brad Castleton is probably the biggest guy. I mean when you’re not here, obviously.”

The Behemoth chuckled. “Brad Castleton, hunh? Never heard of him. Where is this freakishly large human? I’d love to see how he compares to this.” He lowered down a bicep that was as wide as Lars’ quad. To emphasize this, the Behemoth held his arm next to Lars’ leg.

“H-he’s been… out of town or something,” Lars said. “I dunno where he is…”

“Too bad!” The Behemoth said, extending his absurdly overpacked posers at the comparatively-small Norwegian man. “Check it out, my bulge is almost the size of you!” It wasn’t literally true, but Lars backed away the huge package until the Behemoth thrust his groin forward, knocking Lars over and pinning him down with his shiny gold-clad manhood.

“Well, looks like it’s about time for me to skedaddle,” the Behemoth said, glancing at the clock. With a sigh, he looked around at the gym, taking in the fact that nearly everyone there was staring at him nervously. Then he walked cockily to the locker room, stooping to squeeze through a door he barely fit through. Once inside, he thumbed at the door.

“Out, you fucking pipsqueaks. Gimme some privacy.” No one in the locker room had to be told twice. Once he was alone, the Behemoth looked into the mirror, admiring his gigantic body one last time.

Suddenly his features seemed to liquefy. A large portion of his mass moved like a sentient blob, pulling away into a pile, leaving behind a shocked, clean-cut bodybuilder. The blob twisted and pulsed before reshaping into a husky middle-aged man coated in bodyhair.

The two men stared at each other, the husky man smirking at the bodybuilder. “Well,” the soft-bodied middle-aged man finally said, “looks like you get to be your own man for a bit, Brad. Thanks for letting me merge with you though. You know I always get a big kick out of it.” He lewdly adjusted his cock and balls as he eyed up the bodybuilder hungrily. “Looks like you do too!”

While of course being nowhere near as large as their merged form, Brad had an immense muscular frame. While he wasn’t as tall as Lars, he outweighed him by a good 20 rock-solid pounds, and when “the Behemoth” wasn’t around was easily considered the biggest guy at Global. He was so busy patting down his body--satisfied with his freakishly developed vein-covered body now that the merge was over--that he didn’t realize his cock was rigid and pointed up at his rippling eight pack.

“Biff, that was a really long time,” Brad said in a whinier voice than he had intended. He cleared his throat, doing his best to ignore his rock hard erection that refused to go away. “I thought you said we were only supposed to stay merged for a day? That was like…” He struggled to remember. His memories were so blurry, he couldn’t tell where The Behemoth’s thoughts ended and his own began.

“Three days,” Biff said, rummaging through the duffel bags of the men they had just kicked out. He found a shirt and some sweatpants that fit his doughy frame. “Three fucking awesome days! I swear, when we’re merged I can blast out about a gallon of cum and then start fucking again immediately!”

Brad’s face turned red as he flashed back to the number of time he had done depraved things with men while they were merged. It turned redder as his cock jumped and oozed precum at the memories.

“If I were you I’d find some clothes,” Biff said, giving Brad’s tentpole erection a playful slap, “and find someone to take care of this for you. I’m sure that sexy guy Rodrigo wouldn’t mind the attention--that is, if we didn’t break him too much when we fucked him last week!”

Brad shivered at another shocking memory, but the goosebumps that spread across his tanned flesh were caused by something else entirely. His mouth actually watered as he thought of Rodrigo’s sexy v-shape and his perfectly bulbous ass.

“You said if we stayed merged too long,” Brad said quickly as Biff tried to leave, “it would have permanent effects, right?”

Biff shrugged and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I think I’ve got a few of your memories up here,” he said, pointing to his forehead. “Like I know a lot about nutrition for some reason. Not like I fucking care though!” He laughed and belched. “See you next week big man. I’ll have some crazy new ideas about what I want to do next time we smoosh together!” He gave Brad a slap on the ass and headed out the door.