From: an332657@anon.penet.fi (Ld Guitarist)
Reply-To: an332657@anon.penet.fi
Date: Sat, 23 Sep 1995 15:33:46 UTC
Subject: Muscle Boy Island 1a (boy/boy, fantasy, superhuman boy bodybuilders, cons)

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 ...