Musclebull milk-off

by Michverdun   

A farmer joins a different kind of competition at his local county fair.

Flint let out a groan as the truck bounced, his head hitting the top roof of the cab and his shoulder hitting the window. That was a normal occurrence; the man barely fit in the cab of the truck to begin with both in height and size, but where he really felt every bump was in his balls. It was a fight to keep calm as every time the truck jostled, his cock rubbing up against the fabric of his underwear and jeans.

“Shit, sorry. Apparently, they can’t fix any potholes around here. I’ll slow down,” Hunter said.

Flint could feel the truck slow down as he kept his eyes shut, focusing on his breathing. He could also feel Hunter brushing up against his shoulder, as Flint was so big his arm took up all the space on the center console. The fact that he could feel Hunter’s warmth, meaning that he was big enough to take up most of a truck cab, was enough to make his cock throb in his jeans. Even without looking, he knew his arm had more muscle in it than most people had in their whole bodies, and he was still growing…

“Goddamn, I feel like I’m gonna blow…” Flint rumbled, his mind not able to focus on anything but his cock.

“Well, don’t yet! Remember, there’s $50,000 and a year’s supply of protein powder on the line,” Hunter said. He looked over expectantly for the bigger guy’s reaction.

“Right, the competition. Fuck.” Hearing about the competition brought a cold clarity back to his mind. Right, this wasn’t just for no reason. He had a goal in mind. This was just like all those times he’d brought a cow to show at the county fair, except this time, he was the one getting shown off. “You think I can win?”

“Of course I do! What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t? Plus, I know you; you were trimming your beard just to make sure you looked presentable for tonight. You put your heart into every competition you do, even if you think it’s stupid.”

“Well you gotta admit it’s a little odd, and the name is kind of cheesy—” Flint said.

“Of course, but that doesn’t mean it won’t be fun. You never know,” Hunter said.

Flint shook his head. It seemed odd that Hunter was so invested in him having “fun”, but he wasn’t wrong. After all, he had denied wanting to enter when Hunter brought it up at first, but the more he knew, the more he wanted to try it. Mostly because he couldn’t believe it was allowed at all. Whatever deal the doctor made to get the Effingham County Fair to agree to this must have cost a ton.

As Flint stared out at the road in front of him, he tried to focus on the night sky, or the few buildings that passed, but it was all that came to mind. He could feel an energy that he couldn’t tell was coming from him being nervous or just so goddamn horny. As they drove into the county fairgrounds, that feeling only heightened.

The fairgrounds were completely dark, save for one pavilion, and the ticket booth at the front gate. Flint felt odd pulling into a county fair like this. Usually there were the lights from rides and people all around, but this almost felt like a secret. Hunter rolled down his window as he talked to the man sitting inside.

“We’re here for the Musclebull Milk-Off? Which way should we go?” Hunter asked.

“Spectators go—” The man in the ticket booth cut himself off as he looked up and saw Flint’s immense mass in the passenger seat. Flint could see the man’s mind short-circuit as he tried to comprehend a man being that big, and he wondered how many other guys the man had reacted to that way. “Competitors park over there. Just take a left at the cattle barn, and you should see where everyone else parked.”

Hunter drove off in the direction the man pointed, taking a left at the cattle barn until they saw an open grass field with a few cars scattered about. Hunter parked on the edge of the field and turned off the truck.

“You ready?” Hunter said to Flint.

Flint let out a grunt as he felt his balls churn. Never in his life had he been so hyper focused on where his balls were and how big they were. Any longer, and he’d probably break a seam in his jeans.

“Fuck, let’s get this over with,” Flint grumbled.

As Flint felt the night air on this skin, there was the slightest calming effect. He could still focus on things other than his own dick for a moment, and he looked around at the other cars that were parked. They were all either Large trucks, SUVs or vans, the only types of cars that people like him could even fit in anymore. Before he knew it, Hunter had started to walk off, keeping a brisk pace towards the competition.

Flint walked after him slowly, every step causing his dick and balls to rub up against his jeans. The feeling of tightness against them felt good, too good. He swore he could feel his balls churn, as if they were working even harder because of the sensation. He was acutely aware of how all of his muscles were rubbing up against each other: how his legs couldn’t help but rub even at his widest stance, how his watermelon-sized biceps, flanked by even larger triceps and forearms, pressed up against still swelling pecs. Even his monstrous shoulders flared out, pushing him wider. He was just so big—

“Hey, you comin’?” Hunter said.

Flint snapped out of his haze of lust as he looked up at Hunter, who was almost at the pavilion. Flint sped up his gait as he ignored the feeling in his pants, even though he could feel his cock throb.

“Thanks, I almost lost it there,” Flint said.

“Well, we can’t have that now; we’re almost there! Only got a couple of minutes before… Oh Jesus.” Hunter stopped after turning around to look at the pavilion again.

“What’s got you so shocked—Oh.” Flint caught up with Hunter and also froze.

In the light of the pavilion, Flint could see it: Every single other contestant was naked, sporting an incredible amount of muscle and a rock-hard cock. The only exception was one man wearing a sparkly pink pair of posers, but even those were still being stretched to their limit. In comparison, Flint had arrived in a sleeveless shirt, jeans, and a cowboy hat. He looked more like he had taken a wrong turn looking for the nearest rodeo.

“Shit, never thought I’d see you overdressed for an occasion.” Hunter smiled as he kept staring out at the contestants, the initial shock starting to wear off for him. Flint still stayed frozen.

“Is this even legal?” Flint said.

“I guess this is why it’s supposed to begin at midnight,” Hunter said. “I thought they’d have to put up curtains or something, or at least have you wait to strip down until it was time. Guess not.”

For a few moments, Flint felt mortified. He couldn’t just walk around like that! At any moment, there could be cops coming to arrest them all for public indecency, and he didn’t even want to think about the way everyone would be staring at him. He had half a mind to just turn around right there and go back to the car.

However, he didn’t, and the more he looked at the people in the pavilion, the more it seemed… fine. Nobody in the stands seemed mad, just horny, and he hadn’t heard any sirens yet. All the while, his clothes started to feel unbearably tight and restrictive. He could feel his cock just begging to be freed from its cotton prison.

“You okay? You can say no if you’re gettin’ cold feet,” Hunter asked.

“I gotta get this shit off,” Flint growled.

Flint hastily unbuttoned his shirt, throwing it to the ground in a second. The pants followed, with Flint letting out a huge sigh as he unbuttoned his pants, releasing his cock. He got to work taking off his boots and peeling off his skin-tight jeans, leaving him just in his underwear.

Flint hesitated for just a moment, before he decided “Fuck it.” and tore his underwear off right at the waistband, leaving shreds of clothing to fall to the ground. No going back now. Flint grabbed his boots and started putting them back on.

“So we’re keeping the boots and the hat still?” Hunter asked.

“Of course! How the hell am I supposed to be a cowboy without ‘em?” Flint stood tall and puffed out his chest, even though part of the reason was to hide a receding hairline. Nobody needed to know that though.

“All right then,” Hunter said, as he turned and kept walking. Flint took a step, glad that he didn’t have to worry about his jeans, before he realized he had a new problem. His 20 inch dick, thicker than a beer can and covered in huge throbbing veins, was sticking straight out. If he even touched something with that thing, it would be game over. Not to mention, with his balls now fully out, it took everything he had to not fondle them. He knew they had to be at least bigger than grapefruits now, and he could feel his sack stretch with every passing minute. If he just reached down and had a quick feel…

No. Flint balled his hands into fists and stomped into the pavilion, taking in the sights of the competition instead. At the far side of the pavilion were the stands, with large mirrors behind them, positioned above where the audience was sitting. He had no clue what those mirrors could possibly be for. On the ground level were 10 of what Flint could only see as heavy duty “milking machines”, each on some heavy-duty tripod to be right around cock height. An incredibly thick tube connected it to a clear container the size of an oil drum, hanging from the rafters just behind the milking machines, giving a clear view of the collected cum for the audience. Behind all of that was a folding table for sign-ups where Hunter was already standing. As Flint walked over to the table, he was greeted by a loud exclamation.

“Fliiiiint!” Dr. Powell said as he saw the incredibly large man walk over. “I’m glad you could make it! I was worried for a second that you wouldn’t come.”

Flint shuddered as Dr. Powell talked. Flint’s cock hovered over the folding table, and with Dr Powell sitting at it, he was breathing directly onto the swollen member.

“Keep talkin’ like that and I’m definitely gonna cum,” Flint rumbled.

“Oh gosh, I’m sorry! I’m sure that thing is sensitive. I wouldn’t want to ruin the show with an early load,” Dr. Powell said, making sure to keep his head pointed away from Flint’s cock.

With the sudden distraction gone, Flint could take in more of his surroundings. The doctor was wearing an incredibly nice suit for the occasion, and his normally untamable hair had been slicked back. He looked like he was going to a wedding more than a competition like this. And where were any other helpers?

“Are you running this thing by yourself?” Flint asked.

“Of course! I couldn’t let someone else ruin this. This is the best day of my life! I’d sooner be dead than give up the reins on any part of this,” Dr. Powell said.

“Explains the name,” Flint muttered.

“What, the name’s fun! I have better things to do than come up with cool enough names for you,” Dr Powell scoffed. Anyway, here’s the signup form.”

Dr. Powell stood up and gave Flint a clipboard, putting it right in his hand. Flint maneuvered his arms up so that he could write on it without his pecs getting in the way. He finished signing the form and handed the clipboard back to the doctor.

“Excellent. Now I’ve already picked out your station. You’re at number 6, and…”Dr. Powell trailed off, holding up a sticker. “Usually, I’d put this on your pecs, but the hair would get in the way. Can I see your shoulder?”

Flint angled his body to show Dr. Powell his left shoulder, and the doctor put the sticker on. Even though the sticker seemed to be the size of the doctor’s palm, it was dwarfed by the massive shoulder he was putting it on.

“There. Your station will have a big 6 painted on it. You can adjust that to whatever height is most comfortable for you, although I would be careful to not insert before the competition starts. You still have a few minutes, I’ll announce when I’m ready,” Dr. Powell said. With a smile, he waved them off.

Flint turned around to face the crowd, but stopped when he saw Hunter still silently standing next to him at the table.

“What’s gotten you so quiet?” Flint said.

“I’m just taking it all in.” Hunter stared at Flint, almost drooling. He shook his head after a moment and cleared his throat. “Still though, I should probably go find a good seat, the bleachers are fuller than I thoug—Wait. Is that Mark?”

The smaller man cut himself off as he spotted someone he apparently recognized standing by the bleachers. Hunter rushed over to meet him, leaving Flint behind to awkwardly follow. He stayed a few feet behind, not wanting to intrude on the conversation they quickly dived into, until someone came up to him.

“Are you Flint MacIntyre?” a deep voice said.

Flint turned to respond and saw a fellow Bull standing near him. The man looked to be in his 50s in the face, bald with a salt and pepper goatee. However, the body beneath it was incredible. The man outflexed any normal bodybuilder just by existing, his pecs almost up to his chin, a clear #7 sticker displayed on the front. As Flint traced the man’s happy trail with his eyes, he saw the beastly cock at the base, easily over 16 inches long. However, the real treasure on this man was his legs. Even at the wide stance the man took his thighs pressed together, truly tree trunk sized, while his calves still seemed to barely not touch each other. It was a wonder Flint could even see his knees!

“Name’s Dale. I’m Mark’s partner. He talks a lot about you two.”

“Shit, I wish he would’ve said more about you! I didn’t know we knew anyone else who had used Grow-a-Bull.” Flint hadn’t been around for many of the talks between Mark and Hunter, but he knew that Mark had given them advice that had saved their asses from losing the farm more than once.. He couldn’t imagine the man keeping a secret like this, especially with Flint being fairly open about him using the treatment to get this big.

“Well, Mark was kind of embarrassed at the whole endeavor, but he’s coming around to it now. So, are y’all from around here?” Dale said.

“Somewhat. We’re a dozen miles south of Altamont, but still in Effingham County. You?”

“We’re up in Edgar County, around Chrisman.”

“Shit, that’s kind of a drive,” Flint said. He wanted to know a little more about what Dale meant by embarrassed, but there was no easy way to approach the topic. After a moment of contemplating, he decided to just be out with it. He wanted to know whether other Bulls really were going through the same things he was. “So, I’m guessin’ the embarrassed part is the usual story?”

“Yeah, Mark’s a big worrier, and he already didn’t like the attention we got for living together. I understand his worries, but I’m glad they’ve cooled off. Nothin’s happened yet.”

Flint nodded. A similar thing happened with him and his dad, although that was more out of fear of judgement for his son being “some overgrown freak and a fag.” There was a time when Flint was forced to stay on the farm as much as possible, even though he was a grown man, but that rule went away as he grew. Mostly because he was far too big for his dad to force him to do anything at that point.

“Plus, it was an accident this even happened,” Dale motioned down at his body. “I had three of the syringes for the bulls, but I slipped, and they shattered all over me. Apparently the stuff was so potent that even skin contact made it work, and I got plenty of it on me. It took a while to get used to, but I love it now though. It’s why I’m here, I wanna see the limits of all of this.”

As he talked, Dale crunched into a most muscular pose, his traps and shoulders becoming a mountain range of muscle. Flint’s cock ached with need as he watched the event, god he was so fucking close to blowing.

“How about you, though?” Dale asked. “How’d you get caught up in all of this?”

“Well, uh, I just kind of injected myself.” Flint sheepishly scratched the back of his neck, his bicep bulging up against his head. “My dad had bought 5, one for each of the bulls that he thought needed it, and I used ’em all in a week.”

“Goddamn, guess that explains why you’re so fuckin’ huge, excuse my language,” Dale said. He looked Flint up and down, not able to take his eyes off of the other man.

“We’re all big here, we’re Bulls!” Flint scoffed.

“Course, but that don’t mean you ain’t the biggest among ‘em. Look.” Dale scooted closer to Flint, so that they were standing side by side. From there, the comparison was clear: Flint’s arm was significantly thicker than Dale’s. “Your arm is close to one and a half times wider than mine, and it seems like you’re bigger in every other body part too. How much do you weigh?”

“...649 pounds,” Flint said as he grit his teeth, trying his best to keep his balls under control. It was kind of a sore point for him; He had tried to get past 650 pounds for the competition, but after a week of not cumming his growth hit a plateau.

“Jesus Christ! I’m the next heaviest man here and I’m only at 538! No wonder you look so big, you got at least a hundred pounds on everybody here,” Dale said.

Flint groaned as he could feel his balls rumble. He started tensing his arms and pecs just to feel the insane amount of muscle in there. God, he was just so fucking huge.

“Think our only shot at winning is if those balls don’t produce as much as they look like they should. Looks like you got cantaloupes stuffed in that sack of yours,” Dale continued.

“Mmmfff… Fuck… You’re just saying that so I cum early. I’ve been holding out for a month. I ain’t breakin’ now,” Flint muttered, barely able to focus on anything else once again with lust clouding his mind. He started bucking his hips involuntarily, his balls begging for release.

“Kid, anything I’m doing to you is making me just as horny. I haven’t cum for 2 weeks, I couldn’t imagine goin’ any further. I’m gonna have to not look at you when this is on or I won’t last 10 seconds.” Dale let out his own moan, and Flint could hear the other man’s balls audibly churn, or maybe that was the sound of his own. He couldn’t tell anymore. “I think it’s best we go our separate ways for now, for both our sakes. Gook luck.”

Dale turned and waddled over to Mark, as Hunter jogged over to Flint with a smile on his face.

“How you holding up, big guy?” Hunter teased.

Flint didn’t say a word, but the way he shook and his balls rumbled told Hunter everything he needed to know. Calling Flint “Big guy” was the equivalent of waving a lit match near a spilled tank of gasoline.

“Shit, shouldn’t have said that—” Hunter looked around for a distraction. “How about that crowd? Not what you’d expect from the Effingham County Fair.”

Flint looked up at the stands. He was right, this was not the normal county fair crowd, and he liked it. When he went into some towns in the day he got plenty of shock and disgust, but here it was all adoration. These guys knew how to appreciate some muscle.

“Hell of a lot gayer than usual,” Flint said, a hint of wonder in his voice.

“I know! Ain’t it great! If the fair looked more like this, I’d be here every day!” Hunter said. “Hell, if the doctor puts on more stuff like this maybe it will. Anyway, ill get out of your hair. You’re gonna do great!”

Flint couldn’t see Hunter’s eyes under the baseball cap he was wearing, but he knew what that smile meant. It was his ‘my plan is working’ smile. He couldn’t tell why Hunter was still so invested in Flint’s enjoyment of the event, but it was fairly motivating.

With that extra motivation, Flint strode over to his milking machine, painted with a big red “#6” on the side. He gave it a hearty slap, feeling how sturdy the machine was, before he realized that it was a little short for him. He took out the pin and adjusted it a few notches higher, before he noticed that whoever was competitor #5 was adjusting his down.

It was easy to see why, as from where Flint was standing, he could tell the man was probably a foot shorter than his 6’6, at least. However, the man looked packed to the brim with muscle, with his arms flaring out from his lats even at rest. Still though, the man looked nervous, his eyes darting around, looking at the crowd, to the other contestants, and back again. Even now, his pair of pink posers were still on, even with the doctor looking ready to go at any second. Flint walked up to the man to start up a conversation, maybe keep his mind off the crowd.

“Hey there,” Flint said to the man. He tipped his hat and held out his hand. “What’s your name?”

“Sergio,” the man said. He stared at the outstretched hand for a moment before giving it a weak handshake.

“Flint. So… you a bodybuilder?”

“Almost. I have my first show in a few months, hopefully getting my pro card will be easy.” The man flexed his enormous bicep, letting out a grunt. “How about you? You look cut enough for it.”

“Me? Naw, I don’t wanna shave any of this yet.” Flint scratched his chest hair. “I should probably learn the poses, though. Be good to properly show off all of this.”

“Well, if you promise to do one eventually, I’d teach you. I think people would be more open to the idea if there were more than one of guys like up on stage,” Sergio said. “Or at least I hope.”

“Sure. I mean, If I can stand here buck naked, doin’ it in posers should be easier,” Flint said. He felt his dick twitch at the thought of showing off for even bigger crowds than this.

“Oh shit,” Sergio looked down at his pink posers, as if he had forgotten he was still wearing them. He ran one hand through his pitch-black hair, took a deep breath, and stripped his posers off, leaving his 17-inch cock free. Flint could hear a couple of whoops and hollers in the crowd as he took them off.

“There you go.” Flint nodded. “You’re a little nervous aintcha?”

Sergio nodded. “Besides the… obvious, I’m worried about how long I’ll last. I haven’t had much experience with holes after growing… this.”

There was frustration in his voice as Sergio motioned to his cock. Flint knew it well. Eventually people were rightfully worried that you’d break them with a cock that size, and that meant a lot of pent up nights. Fortunately, that wasn’t the case for him anymore.

“Well, I can’t help you out now since you’re my competitor and all, but I’ll let you know that the doctor has a treatment to help get some more… resilient muscles down there,” Flint said.

“Really?” Sergio perked up at the thought.

“Honest. That doctor’s kind of a miracle worker; I don’t know how he does it. It’s a couple of injections, and you’re set for life. Doesn’t seem to be any side effects either.” Flint pointed over to Hunter sitting in the stands. “My boyfriend took it, and now he can take my cock to the hilt without any worries.”

Flint barely got out his last word before he moaned, as he remembered the many, many times Hunter had taken his cock. He started shaking, having to go back to shutting his eyes and taking deep breaths. It took over a minute for him to calm down enough to open his eyes again. That took him almost to the brink, and if he was right about the way Sergio was shaking, it seemed like the thought was bringing him close, too.

“So, you’re from around here?” Flint said, changing the subject.

“Chicago.” Sergio shook his head. Flint’s eyes widened at the thought of someone driving all the way down here for a county fair competition, as Sergio continued. “Feels out of place being here and not being a farmer. Everyone else here just kind of stumbled into it. Feels kind of weird taking it willingly.”

“Oh don’t you worry. I may be a farmer, but I took five shots because I wanted to be huge,” Flint said. “Seems to have worked out well for the both of us. You got that whole wide as you are tall thing going on. Wish I had that.”

It didn’t even feel like much of an exaggeration for Sergio, either. Honestly, it almost felt like underselling it. Flint would believe it in a second. He’d never seen so much muscle crammed onto such a small frame.

“That means a lot coming from you. I got the advantage with my height, so even 470 pounds looks like this.” Sergio smiled. “You’re pretty close to that kind of size anyway, even with your height. Fucking massive, man.”

Uh oh. Flint could feel his balls churn once again, but this time they felt eager, as if they were anticipating the competition just as much as he was. The number of compliments and stares he was getting was reaching a critical point. Least he could do was pay back the favor.

“Yeah well, you just imagine what you’ll look like when you’re 650 pounds like me. Then you’ll be a fucking beast,” Flint growled.

“O-Ohhh Fuck…” Sergio moaned.

Flint could see his hands reach for his nipples, before he gained enough self-control to stop himself. He couldn’t lie: it felt good to dish it out as much as it did to take it.

“All right, Bulls, get to your stations!” Dr. Powell announced on the speaker.

Flint waddled over to his station, making sure to take slow steps to ensure that his balls didn’t move around much as he made his way back to the station. He lined up his massive cock with the machine, ready to insert at any moment. Thankfully, the doctor allowed plenty of time for the lumbering Bulls to line up with their stations before continuing.

“Thank you. Now, before we get started, I’d like to reiterate the rules for everyone watching: 1. Bulls must continue thrusting in their milking machines until they cum. Early exiting of the milking machine will result in immediate disqualification. 2. Your first load will be the only one counted. If you stop cumming, that is it. No getting a sneaky second load in to up your chances. 3. While this isn’t a competition about lasting the longest, know that in every test, the Bull that lasted the longest also came the most, so be sure to give the audience a show!” Dr. Powell explained.

Flint put his hands on the milking machine as his balls ached with need. They were gonna get a show all right, he was sure of it.

“Now then: On your marks, get set, thrust!”

Flint thrust into the machine and let out an involuntary moan as pleasure wracked his body. There was no buildup, no way to counteract or even anticipate the feeling. The milking machine was just so pleasantly warm, so slick from the lube and copious amounts of pre his cock was spewing, it was incredible. He thrusted harder, deeper into the machine without thought, his actions resembling an animal only seeking pleasure. His grunts only got deeper and more frequent as he thrusted, beads of sweat forming on his brow. God, it just felt so fucking goo—

“Ohhh! And there’s our first contestant out, folks! Bull #2 has just blown with—10 gallons! A very respectable load, sir,” Dr. Powell called out.

Dr. Powell’s voice hit the only part of Flint’s mind using any rational thought. Right, this was a competition, and it wasn’t a sprint. It was a marathon where every step made you feel like you were in heaven. Flint slowed his thrusting for just a moment, only to feel his cock getting ready to blow. He could feel the dam in his mind holding all of the cum back, and somehow stopping had just added a crack. He continued his frenzied thrusting, focusing his mind onto a single point. Deeper. Harder. More. He could hear the milking machine creak, a small noise compared to the cacophony of cheers from the crowd and moans from fellow Bulls.

“All right then, that’s two more contestants out! #1 at 16 gallons and #3 at 17 gallons! Seems like #2’s load had an effect on them…” Dr Powell said.

Rrgghh, fuck! Flint tried to keep focus on his thrusting, but he was too curious. He looked over to his right, and saw the furthest 3 clear containers filled about one-fifth of the way up. God, each of those had been made by one person. One freakish Bull producing all of that—fuck!

Flint shuddered as he couldn’t keep out the sensations of the rest of the world anymore. He could hear the moans of his competitors; Sergio on his right letting out short staccato grunts, with Dale on his right letting out long and loud moans. He could feel the sweat dripping down his body, the continuous thrusting combined with holding back a tidal wave of cum being much more of a strenuous workout than he thought.

“Aaaand there goes #8! The final tally for him is 23 gallons. We’re getting up there folks, but I’d like to point your attention to the pumps that our Bulls seem to be getting. Just look at those muscles! You could almost say they’re growing right before our eyes!”

Flint’s eyes shot open as he heard the word growing. It was then that he realized that the large mirrors situated behind the bleachers were for the Bulls, so they could see themselves in competition. Then, he saw just how big he looked. It was overwhelming. He had a full body pump from the milking, his skin a bright red. It looked almost like he was engulfing the machine with how much bigger he was. He looked down to see his forearms looking to be the size of ham hocks, totally overwhelming his wrists. Oh god he was so big…

“And #9 and #4 have blown! 24 and 25 gallons, respectively. Ope, and #10 with 28 gallons! I probably shouldn’t have said the word growing huh?” Dr. Powell laughed.

Flint growled. He was not going to let that doctor snatch the win away from him with his stupid jokes! He kept with his thrusting, but his focus was not coming back. His eyes had no choice but to wander to his competitor, watching Sergio shudder under the pleasure. As he turned to Dale, the other Bull realized Flint was watching him. He flexed a bicep at Flint and winked, sending Flint into a frenzy. Oh, he wanted to play dirty, huh? Flint could play dirty. He could even have a little fun with it.

Fueled by competitive spite, Flint stood himself up from the hunched over position, bringing him to his full height. He could feel his hat start to slip, but then he grabbed the top of it, keeping it in place. His massive sweaty bicep bulged in his face, but he knew all eyes were on him. He could use this. He started making out with the massive bicep, while he changed up his thrusting to use more of his abs, lifting the milking machine off the ground with every thrust. To the audience, it looked like he was miming riding a bull.

“All right #6, that’s what I like to see!” Dr. Powell exclaimed. “You ride that thing!”

Spurred on by the doctor and the crowd, Flint let out the loudest “Yeeehawww!” he ever had in his life. As he basked in the cheers from the crowd and the growing heaviness in his balls, he head someone near him make a much louder sound.

“Ohh.. Fuuuuckkk!” Dale let out a watch-shaking groan as his balls finally gave up, his cock spurting out the load he had been readying up for weeks. Flint watched as the tube connecting the milking machine turned white in seconds, and the Barrel hanging behind the man shook with the force of the cum suddenly being blasted into it. The man came for 30 straight seconds, moaning the whole way, until suddenly he doubled over the milking machine, completely spent.

“Aaaand there goes Bull #7! With an impressive 39-gallon load! I’ll say in all of my testing I never saw a load that big! Now, let’s see if our last two Bulls can beat him.”

Oh, he’d beat Dale all right, but it was Sergio he was worried about. That muscle worship was a gambit, and his new thrusting style made him feel so powerful that it was bringing him closer to the edge by the second, but he couldn’t change back to his old way now! The audience loved it! If he was going to win this, he needed Sergio to cum now.

“Oh, would you look at that! It might be hard to see from the stands, but if you can, just look at the balls on our last two Bulls. They seem to be getting bigger by the second. Looks like our Bulls are getting excited, eh?”

God Dammit. Flint tried to block out Dr. Powell’s words, but he knew it was true; his balls felt huge. Immense actually, broiling with testosterone and cum and just begging to explode. He could feel the skin of his sack stretch as his resolve wore thin. It wasn’t going to be long now.

“C’mon Flint, you got this!” Hunter yelled out from the stands.

Oh. Oh no. Flint’s eyes shot open as his mind flashed back to every time Hunter had said “C’mon” to get him to thrust deeper, to fuck him harder. His mind was filled with thoughts of pounding that tight hole for hours—

And then it was over.

Hunter could feel himself crossing the point of no return. He whimpered, and shuddered, but he knew there was no going back. The milking machine groaned from the inside, as his cock bloated with the titanic load running through it. He could feel his load traveling up his cock like a barreling freight train, with no way to stop it. Flint’s legs shook as the load the Bull had been preparing for a month finally arrived.

Flint let out a primal, beastial roar as he came, shaking the ground and pavilion with his voice alone. Cum shot out of his dick like a firehose, immediately filling the tube connecting to the tank. It felt like he had cum more than he ever had in his life, and still he kept going. The pressure didn’t seem to go down, and through the immense weight of the pleasure he was feeling, one thought broke through: He was not going to lose like this; not in front of Hunter.

With the last shreds of willpower he had, Flint lifted up the milking machine and slammed it down onto his cock over and over and over. He pumped faster, harder, deeper than he had at any other point tonight. It didn’t matter that his cock hurt from how sensitive it was, or that he was still mid-orgasm; If this thing was a milking machine, he was going to force it to take every last drop he had. He clenched his balls even further, forcing them to produce as much cum as they could. His orgasm only seemed to intensify with the action, as a rush of hormones surged through his body. It felt as if there was more testosterone running through his veins than blood. The feeling got to his head as he kept cumming. He was the biggest Bull here. He was the strongest one here. He had the biggest cock and the biggest balls. He’d sooner flood the entire fairgrounds with his cum before admitting defeat to any of these smaller Bulls.

“Mmm…mmmm…moooooooooore!” Flint roared his favorite word as his climax hit its climax. The force knocked him onto his ass as he spent most of his strength just trying to keep the milking machine on his cock. He could hear the sounds of things breaking as the metal warped underneath his hands, still making sure not to waste a drop even in his mind-shattering orgasm.

The haze of lust and the pressure in his balls finally gave way to relief as his balls slowed. Flint couldn’t tell how long it had lasted, he just knew it had ended because he was suddenly aware of the fact that he was sitting down, holding onto the milking machine for dear life. The aching in his balls and his cock told him that he had no more to spend, and his post-nut clarity was quickly replaced with a pit in his stomach. Dr. Powell hadn’t announced the results yet. He might’ve still lost, even after all of that.

“What a show! I can certainly say I was not expecting our last two competitors to do so well!” Dr. Powell said. “However, we do have our winner! In second place, with a load of 49 gallons is Bull #5!”

Flint’s shoulders drooped as he accepted his fate in 2nd place, but that didn’t feel right. He wasn’t bull #5, was he? The afterglow of his orgasm was making it hard to remember. Flint tried to look over his shoulder to see his sticker, to no avail, before he remembered his number was put in another place. He tilted the milking machine slightly to see a red #6 staring back at him. He did it. He had fucking won!

“And in 1st place is Bull #6! Congratulations!” Dr. Powell exclaimed, confirming Flint’s hopes.

Flint pumped his fist weakly, the fatigue of cumming that much finally getting to him. The crowd erupted into cheers and clapping, as they rushed out of the stands and onto the ground, each trying to get closer to some of the Bulls. Flint felt a hand on his arm, trying to pull him off of the ground. He looked up to see Hunter with a big smile on his face. Flint slowly got to his feet where Hunter did his best to wrap his arms around the larger man and pull him into a hug. He only got around halfway, but Flint appreciated the effort.

“Told you that you’d win,” Hunter said, nuzzling himself into Flint’s chest.

“I’d like to give some more concrete numbers for your win, but the best I can manage is that your load was three minutes long and far over 55 gallons, considering that every part of your station is now broken,” Dr Powell said directly to Flint, away from the mic.

Flint looked around to see that not only was his Milking Machine warped from his bearhugging, but the tube and barrel holding his cum were distended and leaking, clearly not able to take the pressure. Flint could see multiple spots where his cum had been spraying out of the tubing or the barrel, covering him, the other Bulls, or even parts of the stands.

“Do you want me to help clean up?” Flint asked.

“Goodness no! You should celebrate! You won, after all,” Dr Powell said.

The doctor then left the two just as the crowd formed around them, in awe of Flint and what he did. He spent the rest of the night letting anyone who asked feel any part of him they wanted to, but the tired feeling only intensified as the night went on, and he was felt up by more people. He made sure to get Sergio and Dale’s phone numbers, just to keep in touch, before leaving the pavilion and beginning the long trek back to the truck.

“I’ll drive the truck over, you just wait here,” Hunter said as he walked on ahead.

“I can make it—”

“With the way you’re walkin’, it’ll take you half an hour. I’ll be back in a minute,” Hunter cut him off.

Flint couldn’t really argue with him on that. His balls ached with every step. It wasn’t a bad pain, more like the soreness after a hard workout, but that didn’t make it easy to walk with them swinging around.

“Wait, I almost forgot!” Dr Powell yelled as he ran towards Flint. He held something out in his hand as he ran, but outside of the pavilion it was too dark to see.

“You should just give the check to Hunter, he’s the one that takes care of the money after Dad—”

“I know, that’ll come in the mail later. This is for you,” Dr. Powell said as he handed the bull a blue ribbon.

Flint took the object and held it up. The ribbon had the words “1st Place: Musclebull Milk-Off” written in gold lettering.

“I’ve underestimated you once again, Flint. I’ll have to stop doing that, for the sake of my equipment,” Dr. Powell said.

Flint chuckled. It was always fun when he surpassed the doctor’s expectations. It made him feel like he had no limits, and at this point, that might be the truth.

“So, this gonna be a yearly thing?” Flint asked

“I’m going to be doing everything in my power to make it much more than a yearly thing! Since this was all of the Bulls I could find in the state, next I’m looking at some other states before having a national competition. If I’m able to pull it off you’ll be the first to know. If not though, I should be able to do this again, albeit with some bigger tanks. Maybe even get some strength competitions too. Of course, we could also do a bodybuilding show if I got the right judges…” Dr Powell mused to himself.

“Sounds like a good challenge,” Flint groaned. He could feel a familiar tingle throughout his body, one that only meant he was gonna be a bigger, beefier Bull soon. That competition next year was in for one hell of a surprise.

Before Dr Powell could respond, A truck pulled up next to the two of them and honked. Hunter smiled and rolled down the passenger side window.

“Your cab’s here!” Hunter said.

“See ya Doc,” Hunter said as he climbed into the truck. His pump made the cab even more crammed, so Hunter kept the window rolled down, leaving Flint to hang a beefy arm out the window as they drove away.

“Well, did you have fun?” Hunter asked.

“It was… incredible,” Flint said, before he looked over at his partner. “You’ve been awful nosy about how much fun I’m havin’ tonight. Why is that?”

“I know things have been rough for you, recently. Because of—” Hunter sighed. He didn’t need to say it. Flint already knew. “You’ve barely left the farm in weeks, so I thought this would be a good time to get you out there and meet some guys like yourself. Plus it’s got your three favorite things: Showin’ off, Competin’ and Cummin’.”

“Oh god,” Flint groaned.

“I ain’t wrong though, am I?” Hunter said. His eyes were still on the road, but Flint could still see that adorable cocky smirk on his face.

“No, you ain’t. Seein’ all of those Bulls and beatin’ ‘em? Fuck, it was great,” Flint said. “Also that reminds me. Sergio, Bull #5, said that he’d show me how to pose right, and I was wondering…”

“Hey, I got two holes. If you bring a guy like him over, I’m down for anything,” Hunter said, guessing correctly.

Flint didn’t speak. He just let out a noise of both confusion and excitement while his cock immediately became rock hard, slapping up against his abs. Hunter looked over in shock for a second, before he started laughing.

“And here I thought you’d be spent for at least a night! Thought I’d have to fend for myself in that regard,” Hunter chuckled.

“Listen, I know it’s late, I can take care of it myself.” Hunter grabbed his cock. It was still incredibly sensitive, but he could definitely cum again. “But if you’re offerin’...”

“I’m game. Just don’t fill me up too much,” Hunter replied. It was short and to the point, which is how Flint knew he really wanted it.

“Don’t worry, If the load feels big, I’ll just pull out and cover you with it instead.” Flint slowly started to stroke his dick, using his other hand to cup his balls. They still had some work to do. The night wasn’t over yet!

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