The Walking Mountain

The Walking Mountain

Based on an original story by Tuff Snuff

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It began with an idle boast, roared in the tavern after too many ales. By the end of the night, Galen was on his way to the northern forest, on a drunken quest to hunt and kill the great dire bear known as the Walking Mountain. Galen couldn’t remember much of the night before, but he now found that he regretted every minute of it all the same. His companions had obviously departed during the night, or sent him ahead alone, for the young brute of a man had awoken in the morning without another soul in sight and a raging hangover pounding in his head. 

At some point, the young man had agreed to the added stipulation that he would battle the beast while naked and unarmed like a true warrior; he assumed he did, anyway, for the massively muscular man now found himself standing naked on a bed of needles in the ancient forest, surrounded by tall pines and bird songs, the morning breeze caressing his fist-sized balls. 

Galen was an enormous bull of a man, easily a head taller than any other man in a room and weighing more than any three men combined. The young warrior was heroically muscular, his colossal physique honed by years of swordplay and warfare, giving him a bulging, chiseled body that was the envy of any man. Nevertheless, Galen’s uncovered body shamed him, and he blushed when he realized he had stripped of his clothes and weapons by some drunk farmers. He groaned at the sight of the blue war paint that now adorned his bulging and behemoth arms, swollen and muscle-girded pecs, and even the right half of his colossal cock shaft, and blushed even deeper when he realized that this paint had been applied by someone other than himself. Haunted by the implications of his nudity, Galen kept one hand cupped lightly over his manhood as he explored his surroundings. The young man had massive hands, each easily large enough to palm a man’s skull, but even both hands wouldn’t have been up to the task of shielding from view the overabundance of man meat that sprung huge and heavy from Galen’s lean and muscular crotch. 

The forest was completely unfamiliar, and there were no signs of civilization in any direction. Galen could find no roads or beaten trails, and the pine floor was too chaotic for his untrained and groggy mind to discern any tracks. The handsome young warrior soon came to the conclusion that he was hopelessly lost. He ran his free hand through his thick and wavy hair, the dark chestnut locks falling to his boulder-sized shoulders, as he stared in bewilderment at the foreboding shadows around him. 

“HELLO!!” the handsome young brute bellowed into the surrounding forest. A startled flock of birds took to the air, frightened by his deep and powerful voice. Galen’s ears strained for a response, though a part of him dreaded trying to explain his embarrassing and naked situation to a stranger. 

Bushes rustled, and Galen soon forgot his embarrassment. A gargantuan, shambling mound the color of dark wood emerged from the thick underbrush, and Galen’s strong heart began to pound with fear. The beast entered the small clearing only a dozen long strides away from the muscular warrior, and as the shaggy creature reared back onto its thick hind legs, Galen realized that the dire bear had been aptly named; the beast looked like some massive brown boulder, unnaturally wide with gargantuan muscles and bristling fur. It glared at him with malevolent dark eyes that were no stranger to the human form, eyes that had seen the deaths of many dozens of hunters, woodsmen, and soldier. The Walking Mountain grumbled deep in its colossal chest, sizing up the puny naked man standing before it. 

Galen knew he couldn’t hope to outrun such a powerful beast, but he stumbled backward anyway. His quick and agile mind raced, sorting out possible escape plans, but unless he learned the arcane arts of conjuration and teleportation in the next few moments, Galen knew that he would have no choice but to live up to his idle and foolish boast. The handsome young warrior was a towering colossus of a man, nearly seven feet tall and weighing over four hundred pounds of swollen, toned, and battle-hardened muscle. He was so enormous that he had never known an opponent larger than himself. Now, he stared down a monster nearly twice his height and easily five times his weight, without even the comfort of a loincloth — let alone a weapon — to aid him. The fact that all of his confidence relied on ale and the advantage of size instantly became terrifyingly apparent. 

“Please, I..,” he stuttered, pleading to the massive feral form rearing up before him. It growled and rumbled with a sound like heavy stones rubbing together, and the warrior’s tongue stilled. 

With a deafening and ferocious roar, the Walking Mountain suddenly surged forward, pounding the earth with its massive legs. The beast cleared the distance between them in moments, its massive right paw making a deadly arc as it hurled toward the young man’s naked body. Galen lunged to the side with an agility belied by his hugely muscular form, narrowly dodging the beast’s swipe. 

The heavy animal slid to a stop and turned, immediately charging again. Galen sprang to his feet, his massive muscles like coiled springs, but the Mountain was almost impossibly fast, and this time its massive left paw connected with the young man’s form, knocking him sideways and into the dirt with a bone-crushing thud. The young man groaned and quickly pushed himself up, only to be thrown to his back by a second and even more powerful impact. Galen sailed more than a dozen feet through the air before landing heavily on his back, his ribs aching as if he had been struck full force with a warrior’s heavy hammer. Temporarily stunned by the blow, Galen stared up at the blurry blue sky and coughed, intensifying the ache in his battered ribs. He recovered quickly, however, and leapt to his feet, fearful of the next blow. The mighty warrior then discovered that the right flank of his rippling and muscular torso was rent by parallel streaks of red. The animal part of him realized with horror that he was wounded. 

Galen then felt the hot and fetid breath of the gigantic bear upon his shoulder, and turned just in time to see its massive teeth and the dark hole of its throat beyond. “NO!!!” he bellowed, throwing his hands up to ward off the massive beast. He grabbed either side of the bear’s impossibly wide head with both of his powerful hands, taking hold of its jaws and forcing them away from his own face and neck. It took every ounce of his own awesome strength just to keep the deadly teeth at bay, so he was unable to prevent the beast from wrapping both insanely powerful arms around his naked torso. 

Sharp claws jabbed his skin as Galen wrestled for his very life. He tried not to think of the stings and pricks he felt in his muscular sides, for he knew the pain of the beast’s talons paled in comparison to the pain he would experience should his vise-like grip fail. “HELP!!!” he cried between grunts. “Anybody, please!!!” But he heard nothing but the aggravated huffs of the bear and the quiet drip of its copious drool against his own rounded pecs. 

The Walking Mountain grumbled and shook its massive, shaggy head, pushing forward at different angles as it tried to find its way around Galen’s defenses. It grew frustrated with its musclebound food, and its claws slid beneath his flexed body and lifted the giant warrior into the air as if he weighed next to nothing. The dire bear stood on its hind legs, a monstrous twelve feet of fur and power, wrapping its arms around its prey and crushing the young man to its barrel chest. Galen had no chance to escape; to release his hold on the beast’s jaws, even for a moment, would spell instant death. He strained and whimpered, wincing with each slop of hot saliva against his bull-like neck and heroically muscular pecs, as the bear began to squeeze him. 

The massively muscular and inhumanly strong warrior screamed in agony. Air rushed from his lungs in a gurgled wheeze despite his efforts. He struggled mightily, and accidentally removed one of his hands from the bear’s jaw. The beast’s teeth snapped an inch from his thick bull neck by the time he got his hand back against the creature’s massive head. “HELP!!” Galen gurgled once more, his voice wheezing from his depleted lungs. 

The Walking Mountain rumbled as if to taunt its squirming prey, reminding him of his fate and of his ignorant, utterly foolish claims. His bare feet kicked in the air before his powerful legs wrapped around the beast’s torso, desperately searching for some foothold to relieve the pressure in his chest. Its thick, warm pelt tickled his exposed body, a soft caress of fur over the beast’s rock hard muscles. Despite his fear and agony, Galen soon found his huge cock throbbing and full, the hot tube of male flesh pressed tightly between two phenomenally muscular bodies. The animal struggle, the battle of naked beast against naked beast, armed with nothing but their savagery and strength, awakened something primal in Galen, and his massive cock throbbed powerfully against the beast’s chest. For the first time in his life, the young warrior understood the emotions and primal needs embodied by the blue paint decorating his chest, arms, and rampant, quivering cock. 

The handsome young man had never felt such pain and utter helplessness as he now did in the dire bear’s clutches. He was very familiar with the hold, a classic and simple expression of overwhelming strength. Many soldiers and enemy warriors had found themselves trapped by Galen’s own iron embrace, his bulging biceps and vascular pectorals forcing all previous opponents into submission. But the big man’s familiarity with the hold did nothing to raise his hopes. Every man Galen had ever squeezed either submitted to his superior strength or turned blue and fell limp in his arms. Now, Galen found himself in his victims’ position, and with despair he knew that a mere submission to this beast wasn’t going to be possible. No, this beast wanted to feast on his flesh, and nothing short of the warrior’s violent death would satisfy the mighty dire bear. 

The huge muscle man continued to struggle, his mighty physique flexing spectacularly as he fought with all of his awesome strength. Every massive bulge of his glorious physique swelled and strained, and his handsome face grew red and feral with desperation and agony. Drool foamed from the sides of his mouth as he fought for air, and though every inch of his massive torso was flexing like a wall of stone, the Walking Mountain had little difficulty wringing even more air from his body. 

Any other man would have long since already found his fate, whether with a broken spine or a quiet asphyxiation, but Galen’s phenomenal and almost super human strength ensured that his fate would be slower and far more torturous. But now even Galen’s spine began to contort and his powerful ribs began to cave in, sending shockwaves of pain throughout his body. Soon, the beast’s hold was so tight that Galen could feel every corded, freakish muscle of the great bear, every rope-like cord in its arms and armor-like plate in its chest. Even the muscles of the beast’s neck were as thick as Galen’s own muscle-corded waist! Galen knew that he could not hope to hold out against such impossible strength for much longer.  

Galen’s final reserves of breath escaped his lips. His vision began to blur, and his eyes welled with tears. But like a true warrior, the young muscular bull struggled with the last ounces of his waning strength, his painted body shimmering with sweat in the shafts of morning light. His thrashing grew less violent until his thickly-sinewed legs merely dangled, twitching and trembling. As the incredible strength in his muscular frame faded, the agony in his spine transitioned from a blazing heat into a cold numbness. Galen’s whole body shook as he slid towards unconsciousness. 

The handsome lad was keenly aware of the aching need boiling inside his mammoth balls, his colossal testicles trapped against the beast’s corrugated belly and crushed so brutally hard that he was certain that they must explode. Galen’s cock had swollen even larger and harder than it had ever been in the young man’s life, bloated so fantastically huge that it hurt. The apple-sized knob of his colossal cock was wedged in the valley between two sets of gigantic pecs, squeezed so hard between these massive plates of muscle that its very shape had begun to distort. All of Galen’s being seemed to narrow down to his cum-bloated balls and overinflated cock. 

The Walking Mountain roared, clutching its prey even harder still, and that final motion sent Galen over the edge. Stimulated by the primal struggle and his dwindling consciousness, Galen’s mighty manhood erupted in an incredible geyser of sperm. Bolt after colossal bolt of prime warrior seed spurted from the young man’s convulsing cock, each slug of cum as incredibly thick as it was impossibly copious. The mighty warrior somehow found the strength to continue holding the beast’s deadly jaws at bay as his massive balls emptied themselves into the killer bear’s thick fur, and marking it as the dominant beast. 

The colossal orgasm churned on and on, a truly astounding amount of splooge vomiting out of Galen’s hyper-swollen cock and painting thick, chunky lines of baby batter across his opponent’s mammoth chest. Galen had a moment to regret that he had not yet fathered any children, that his most impressive genetic heritage was about to die with him. The young man’s beautiful eyes began to glaze and dilate. His meaty hands slid limply down the bear’s muzzle, hooked and hung for a moment from its lips and teeth, then fell to rest on its deadly arms. As his straining cock burped out the final remains of its gargantuan, monumental load, Galen knew that his young life was at an end. Any moment now, and a final jerk from the bear’s overwhelming arms would sever his spine with a thunderous snap, and then that fang-filled muzzle would tear out his convulsing throat. 

The Walking Mountain prepared to finish his limp and nearly lifeless prey. It squeezed the young man’s muscular body even tighter, enjoying the sound of the warrior’s bones and joints creaking as they prepared to snap. The ravening beast preferred prey that fought back, and no previous meal had put up as much of a fight as this thick and enormously meaty human. The young man had been strong, ferociously strong, but the dire bear was beyond the shadow of a doubt the stronger, and it had earned the right to his meat by the laws of nature. The Mountain would dine like a king this day. 

Raging and hungry, the Walking Mountain threw Galen’s limp form to the ground with a thud. If all air hadn’t already been forced from the young man’s powerful lungs, then the force of his impact with the hard forest floor would have done the trick. It clambered atop its victim, opening its jaws wide as it prepared to bite down and start ripping chunks of flesh from the young man’s herculean body. 

THWANG! THWANG! THWANG!

A trio of bowstrings sounded in rapid succession, and moments later, three arrows erupted from the beast’s gigantic neck. The bear roared and reared backward in pain and fury, locking eyes on the terrified archers, who even now were reloading their bows and pulling back for another volley. 

THWANG! THWANG! THWANG!

Three more arrows were now protruding from the beast’s slavering form, but the bolts seemed to only enrage the beast, who thundered his most deafening bellow yet. An answering battle cry was issued by the more than a dozen soldiers who now charged the beast from every side, wielding swords and spears and pikes, and hoping to end the man-killing beasts reign of terror once and for all. 

The small clearing was soon the scene of gruesome carnage. The enraged beast lashed out with his massive and deadly paws, shattering rib cages and disemboweling brave men in every direction. Blood and gore showered down onto Galen’s unmoving form, still lying motionless on his back between the beast’s widespread legs. In less than a minute, nearly half of the soldiers surrounding the bear were dead or dying, and the beast was not beginning to tire in the least. The Walking Mountain was a pure killing machine, and it was clear that it would soon claim more than a dozen more human lives in the next few minutes. 

Galen’s eyes snapped open and his spectacular body suddenly arched up off the forest floor as he drew in one long, shuddering breath, his lungs burning and his ribcage screaming with the effort. He looked up to see the towering and terrifying form of the Walking Mountain looming above him, roaring in primal fury, more than a dozen arrows and broken spears protruding from its massive form as it continued to slaughter the soldiers. The young man glanced to his side, and saw the gaping, lifeless form of one of the soldiers lying beside him, his body nearly torn in half by one of the beast’s claws. Galen saw the bastard sword still clutched in the man’s gloved hand, and with a lightning move, he grasped the sword’s pommel. 

The Walking Mountain immediately noticed that his initial prey had once again begun to move and struggle, and with a mighty roar, it pounced on the young man, intending to end his struggles once and for all. The gigantic beast fell like some sort of mighty tree, slamming into the young wounded warrior with such force that the ground shuddered and the surrounding trees shook. 

The few surviving soldiers expected the huge beast to start tearing the young muscle man’s form limb from limb, but instead, the beast’s entire body gave one convulsive shudder, and then was still. There was virtually no sound in the entire forest for a few moments, and all was still except for the leaves and pine needles slowly drifting to the ground, shaken loose from the trees by the force of the beast’s fall. 

The terrified soldiers gasped as the gigantic mound of muscle and fur began to move once again, and they stumbled backward in fear. But they quickly realized that the beast wasn’t moving, it was something under the beast that was moving. After a few quivering shakes, the entire 2,000-pound beast slowly and lumberingly rolled to its side, accompanied by a great bellow of fury. And there, wounded and bleeding and struggling to stand, was the form of the muscular young warrior! 

As Galen gave the final heave to roll the beast’s corpse off of him, the other soldiers could see the hilt of the sword buried in the beast’s massive chest. The young warrior had gotten the sword upright just in time to have the Walking Mountain impale itself upon its deadly blade. Just the force of the beast’s collision with his body should have killed the young lad, but he had proven to be made of truly stern stuff. He had slain the mighty beast, and lived to tell the tale. 

Galen fought his way to his feet. The naked muscle man was covered in blood (only some of it his own), sweat, blue paint, and his own thick cum, and his torso was rent with more than a dozen deep claw marks, but the surviving soldiers had never seen anything more powerful and masculine in their lives. The young man’s massive cock was — inexplicably — rock hard and drooling a thick rope of slimy cum, looking like another mighty sword springing powerfully between the man’s stupendously muscular legs. All of the surviving men present in the clearing knew that they had just witnessed the birth of a legend. 

A weary but relieved Galen faced the gaping and awestruck soldiers, and a wry smile spread across his handsome face. In his deep and reverberating voice, the mighty warrior said, “Any chance I can convince you all to return to the tavern for another ale?”