There in the arena, for the first and last time, in front of everybody, Kid Samson begged in front of another man.

...”Train me, and I swear my service will pump you even greater than you are now!”...

…“Teach me a lesson!”

The sadistic god granted his request. If he ever regretted it, Samson would not say. It was too late now.

Days of muscle-thrashing workouts were followed by nights of pounding domination. Both men were true to their word. The Kid never stopped challenging; his Master always paid him back.

Nourished by the sweat Hercules forced him to lick off his body, Samson doubled in size. Hercules tripled. Samson would never stop growing. The Size-King would always be biggest.

Of all the suck-slaves only Samson was tough enough, or dumb enough, to yell out “MORE!”, when the others were crying “ENOUGH!”

...and Hercules always gave him “MORE”.

Samson's pride returned, knowing that only the world’s biggest could top him and no others dared try.

He feared and worshipped the God of Muscle.

For his part, Hercules prized his boy’s butt, like two honey-colored bowling balls, and his muscle-ringed, vice-tight asshole above all else. His greatest trophy. His and his alone.

Hercules’ favorite sport now was to turn the frustrated Prince loose on the other suck-slaves, two or more at a time. When Samson strutted about, showing off, flush with victory, the Beef-Beast would beat him down, showing all who the TRUE Master was!

Every night finished with the same freakish Ritual.

Before his court, Hercules would feed Samson his monstrous, blue-veined bicep or use his colossal, jaw-breaking pectoral to drive a thick, rock-hard nipple down Kid Samson’s helpless throat. Then the King of Size would grab a fist-full of sweat-soaked yellow curls, pulling Samson’s mouth, gasping, off the meat-feast his Master served up...

“Beg for mercy...”, the King would growl in his ear....

...and the Kid would drool his reply…

...”No mercy…, just size!”…

…and the Mighty King Hercules would pound the cum out of him!