for such challenges.

His eyes went to the screen, and just as he was being slowly entered here in the dim theater, there was a big close-up on the screen of the horse-hung, ten-inch dude slowly entering the Roman-costumed him on the screen from the rear. On the screen, the Roman soldier him raised his pelvis to welcome the entry, and then the bodybuilder him did the same down here in the theater seats for the caped man’s ass splitter. The bodybuilder was getting skewered massively in two dimensions—both on film and in real life.

The bodybuilder returned the man’s kiss. This master fucker no longer was to be considered Pops, as the bodybuilder could tell by moving his hands languidly around the man’s chest, down his abs, and to his hard, flat belly. This had to be another bodybuilder, and maybe even younger than he himself. This man could be a star.

The man continued to work his cock into the bodybuilder, who was taking him in pretty good stride.

The man disengaged from the kiss and let his tongue work its way down the bodybuilder’s throbbing neck on the right side and to his arms. He located a vein standing out near the bicep and sank his teeth into it. His cock had now homed to the root at nearly twelve inches. The bodybuilder was groaning and moaning quietly, loving the cock this far up his ass, proud that he was managing more here than his Roman soldier persona was sheathing up on the screen. He did a little constricting of his ass muscles, a trick he’d learned on the movie set, thinking that this would get the man’s rocks off in short order, but the man’s cock responded to that—and to the blood being drawn out of the bodybuilder’s arm—by stretching out to immobilize the bodybuilder’s ass muscles and by lengthening to thirteen inches. This was farther in than anyone had pushed into the bodybuilder, and he was doing a little huffing and puffing.

The vein in the right arm collapsed, as did the bodybuilder’s right arm, and the lips and teeth moved onto the chest and buried themselves around the rim of the aureole of the bodybuilder’s right nipple; a little blood able to flow there and also from the left nipple, serving to push the caped man’s cock to fourteen inches. And it went to fifteen inches before the vein into the bodybuilder’s left arm—and the arm itself—gave out.

The man moved up and on to one of the carotid arteries in the bodybuilder’s neck, which was still weakly throbbing, and the man sank his teeth into that and sucked. The bodybuilder’s head lolled back and his eyes rolled up into his head. He was very nearly dead now to the world he had known.

On the screen, the vampire top pulled his long cock out of the Roman soldier bottom and shot off on his prey’s back, and both the top and bottom shouted for joy. In the theater seat, at sixteen inches in, the bodybuilder was releasing everything he was—young, assured, vital, resilient, perfectly formed, alive—to revitalize the man of the black cape and the monster cock for yet another week. And, in his confused and intoxicated state, the bodybuilder had no regrets. He was having the most fantastic fuck of his whole life.

At seventeen inches in, the caped man of the night achieved a thunderous ejaculation deep inside the withered shell of the bodybuilder, their