The Cream King - Part 1

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Benjamin “Benji” Hale lay sprawled across what was supposed to be an enormous custom-built bed, the kind of bed that could fit a whole family comfortably. However, even that massive frame seemed too tiny under the immense size of his body. At 7’0” and weighing about 615 pounds of dense, breathing muscle, 24-year-old Benji made the mattress groan every time he stirred.

Benji blinked his bright blue eyes open, enjoying the light hitting his boyish and handsome face. His golden blonde hair—thick, shaggy, and messy in the front—fell over his brow, and he scrunched his nose playfully as he tried to blow it away. His cheeks had a permanent, faint blush that added a youthful warmth to his natural golden tan. He yawned, and the sound rumbled out of his massive chest like thunder as he shifted beneath the heavy sheets.

The sheets dragged across him like a tarp over a mountain, and when he threw them back, the sight was nothing short of ridiculous. He was naked and sprawling across the whole bed. He was a perfect specimen of exaggerated masculinity come to life. Every inch of his impressive frame gleamed under the early sun, making him look like a divine apparition. His chest was his pride and joy, jutting out well over a foot, so broad and thick that his pecs pressed together into a deep canyon of cleavage.

Each pec was impossibly heavy, round, and swollen to the point of overabundance, and their weight made them sway with even the smallest breath. The dense mass of muscle contained a precious secret that only a handful of people knew, making his chest look as if it could crush steel. But it was also soft and inviting to touch. All of these features contributed to making his immense proportions even more impressive.

His nipples were immense under any standards, looking disproportionate even over his gigantic pecs. They were thick enough to push outward proudly, contrasting their darker pink tone against his golden tan, permanently engorged and sensitive. They stood out so prominently they seemed to throb with their own heartbeat, with the tips tight and swollen, ready to burst at the slightest provocation.

Every subtle flex made his cleavage deepen and his nipples stiffen, as if they were demanding attention, aching for release, but he only smiled at their fullness. He knew he wouldn’t be able to go through his daily routine if his pecs didn’t get the needed attention, but first, he wanted to enjoy the rest of his body.

His traps crowded so high they seemed to climb toward his ears like thick slabs of muscle, stacking one atop the other like armor plating, swelling whenever he moved his head. His shoulders were impossibly broad, spanning wide enough to make doorframes tremble, and every shift sent cords of muscle rippling across his deltoids like tectonic plates grinding against each other. His arms were monstrous pillars, with each bicep as thick as most men’s waists and round as cannonballs, bulging to impossible proportions with veins snaking down like living rivers into unbelievably thick forearms.

His abdomen was a fortress wall, eight blocks of bulging muscle stacked into a broad expanse, with the faintest roid-gut curve that only emphasized his immovable power. His thighs pressed together, too colossal to allow space, as each tree-trunk quad was so thick and striated they looked capable of crushing steel beams. His calves jutted down below like iron spheres as each step showed off the explosive strength of a bull.

Behind him, his comically overinflated butt was a pair of impossibly round globes of power that rose high and proud. The massive planets of muscle dominated the space behind him and drew everybody’s attention wherever he went. Even at rest, his ass twitched and flexed faintly, as if the immense weight and mass of his body could never go still.

And between his thighs rested the most unapologetically oversized bulge nature had ever permitted. His cock was long and monstrously thick, easily over a foot even in its resting state, lying heavy and warm against his inner thigh. Veins traced along its shaft like ropes, and the sheer girth was so massive his fingers could barely wrap around it if he tried. Beneath that monster swung his balls, two proud, swollen orbs bigger than softballs, plump and weighty, shifting with the rise and fall of his breath.

Benji’s hand instinctively wandered down, curling lazily around the length of his cock and caressing along its breadth with a grin of pure satisfaction at how enormous and obscenely thick it was. He gave the base an affectionate squeeze, then jiggled his heavy balls with a playful shake, chuckling at their heft like a boy amused with his toys.

“Man, you’re ridiculous,” he said aloud to himself, still smiling wide as his himbo heart filled with pride at the obscene scale of what he carried so casually.

Benji shifted and rolled his massive frame slowly upward, hearing the mattress protesting under more than six hundred pounds of pure muscle mass. He planted his hands at his sides and sat up inch by inch, spreading his tree-thick thighs wide so his colossal cock and balls could hang unrestrained. The movement made his pecs sway and bounce, and each bounce sent ripples across his deep cleavage. He grinned at the sight of himself in the wide wall mirror across from the bed.

His abdomen tightened and flexed, and the thick slabs of his 8-pack hardened as his cock shifted against his thigh with a lazy sway. Once upright, he leaned forward slightly, rolling his shoulders outward like an armor setting into place. He sat tall, arching his back to show off every inch of his torso. His pecs bounced again with the motion, heavy enough that he felt their weight dragging down.

He chuckled low in his throat, slowly spreading his arms before throwing them up into a double bicep pose. The pose made his lats flare impossibly wide, like wings filling the reflection, and his biceps swelled into towering cannonballs of flesh and vein. His chest rose with the motion, pressing together until his cleavage looked a mile deep, and his nipples jutted forward like swollen peaks. He loved every inch of his body.

The mirror barely contained his sprawl. He gave his reflection a goofy grin, tilting his head boyishly and making the whole scene absurd. He was a titan, broader than a doorway, flexing with all the seriousness of a child showing off. Even sitting still, every breath made him look like a mountain of hard flesh as his pecs rose and fell, his cock rested against his thighs, and every atom of his body showed off power and strength.

“Damn, I’m lookin’ huge today,” he laughed to himself, winking at his reflection. He puffed his chest, and his nipples pushed forward so obscenely that his pecs quivered. “Morning, world. Your King’s awake.”

He rose to his feet and felt the floor trembling faintly. Benji stretched, arching his back and raising his arms high, letting out a sigh of satisfaction. Every vertebra cracked like distant gunshots, his pecs swayed forward, his butt tightened, and his cock and balls swung freely, smacking against his thighs. He flexed once, for no one but himself, and then dropped to the floor. Push-ups were part of the ritual.

His hands spread wide on the hardwood, shoulders spread like continents above him, and his arms tensed with effortless control. As he lowered himself, his chest kissed the floor before pressing back up, spreading the pecs outward like gigantic mountains flattening against the ground. His entire torso shifted with each motion, abs tightening, lats flaring, and the muscles of his back rolling like waves.

Below, his cock and balls dangled heavy and thick, so massive they dragged and brushed the floor with every repetition. The shaft slid against the wood in a slow grind, and his swollen balls pressed and rolled beneath him, adding a teasing weight and pressure that made him grin even as he kept count. The sensation was ridiculous because his cock swayed and tapped the ground as his balls swung like wrecking balls. However, he moved smoothly, humming and laughing under his breath at the absurdity. By the time three hundred push-ups had passed like nothing, his pecs were trembling with fullness, his cock and balls were warm from their constant brushing, and his grin was wider than ever.

“Whew!” he said, standing without effort, rolling his pecs proudly in the mirror. “Blood’s pumpin’. Feels good.”

He collapsed back onto the bed, still grinning and making his pecs bounce, and reached for his phone. Notifications flooded the screen—millions of followers, endless likes, and comments. His handle glowed back at him: The Cream King.

He scrolled through, reading comments on last night’s posts. Fans adored his “Body vs. Clothes” segment, where shirts and pants always gave up to his immense size. Others left hearts on his “King’s Cooking” reels, where he made pancakes drowning in whipped cream or milkshakes the size of barrels. Some gushed over his goofy “Day in the Life” videos, charmed by his innocence and enormity. His smile widened as he answered a few, flexing one arm for a playful selfie before replying with emojis.

He took a deep breath and then started recording. “Morning! Look at your King waking up,” he said, angling the camera to capture his massive frame, careful to tug a sheet over his lap to dodge the filters. “What should the King do today? Drop your ideas—I’m feeling huge and ready. Oh, and guess what? I have a big announcement later. I’m pretty sure you’ll love it.” He winked, flexed his pecs with a bounce, and then stopped recording.

He posted the clip, and within seconds, notifications flooded in again. “Body vs. Clothes! Body vs. Clothes!” he read aloud, chuckling. “Alright, alright, you thirsty monsters. Let’s see what tears today.”

He strutted into his bathroom, pausing at the grand mirror. He smiled at his spotless skin, golden tan, not a blemish anywhere. He smirked, kissed his reflection, and then stepped into his walk-in closet.

From racks of fabric stretched to their limits, he pulled a massive olive-green tank top and dark shorts that were made for the biggest men alive but were still comically small on him. First, though, he reminded himself that he couldn’t appear on camera totally naked. He needed at least his custom compression underwear, or the stream would get flagged instantly. With a playful sigh, he grabbed the familiar blue pair of briefs designed with a reinforced pouch to handle the oversized tools he carried at the front.

He took his time, grunting softly as he bent forward, sliding one colossal thigh, then the other, into the snug leg openings. The fabric already looked laughably small against his skin. Carefully, he cupped his cock and balls in both hands, guiding them forward into the oversized pouch. Even so, his cock dragged heavily across his hand, and his balls weighed down the fabric as he slowly worked everything into place.

He tugged the briefs upward inch by inch, rolling them higher along his hips, adjusting repeatedly to make sure his cock rested comfortably and his big balls had enough room to sit without pinching. When he finally snapped the waistband over his waist, the underwear clung to him like liquid paint, so tight it highlighted every vein and curve, and the bulge jutted forward in a proud and obscene arc.

He turned to the mirror and chuckled at the outline—his manhood curved boldly forward, too huge but somehow artful as the pouch stretched to its limit. He gave his bulge an affectionate pat, then grinned boyishly. “Perfect fit, if perfect means ridiculous.”

He placed the phone on a tripod, adjusted the lights, and went LIVE. Instantly, thousands flooded in. “Morning, legends!” Benji boomed, grinning at the camera. “Y’all wanted clothes? Let’s get wrecking!” He flexed, making his pecs bounce, then held up the shorts. “See these? Supposedly XXL. On me? More like XS.”

He tugged them up with effort as his monstrous thighs resisted every inch, and his ass cheeks swallowed the fabric whole like it was tissue. The crowd of viewers spammed laughing emojis as the shorts crept higher and higher, stretching tighter with every yank. His bulge pushed forward like a battering ram, visibly straining the front panel, until the waistband quivered and—RIIIPPPPPP!

The sound tore through the room as a jagged split exploded across his bulge and ripped straight through to the back. Benji doubled over laughing, slapping his thigh as he pointed shamelessly at the obscene bulge still jutting through the gap. “Okay, okay—guilty! This monster’s half the reason they didn’t stand a chance!” he teased, giving his cock a playful adjustment before turning around, shaking his ass cheeks proudly for the camera, and making the tear gape wider with each bounce.

Next came the tank. Benji tried to work it down slowly, first forcing one thick arm through, then the other, and every vein popped as the material strained over his shoulders. His chest ballooned forward, and the fabric dragged mercilessly across his pecs as he sucked in his breath and wriggled, trying to make it work. He couldn’t help but gasp as the fabric brushed against his nipples, but he pretended it was nothing.

“Hhhnnngh—see? Totally fits—if you ignore the fact I can barely move!” he joked, twisting his torso from side to side.

The seams squealed in protest, and his pecs pressed outward, forcing the shirt apart as every breath deepened the stretch. He leaned forward, then flexed backward in an exaggerated pose, distorting the neckline as his nipples poked against the cotton like blunt weapons. Finally, with one sharp inhale and a proud puff of his chest, the tank couldn’t take it any longer—RIIIIPPPPPP! The fabric tore down the front in jagged lines, exposing his massive cleavage and accentuating the pecs’ thickness.

He laughed, pointing at the split that traced right between his pecs, then flexed harder, shoving them together until the shirt shredded wider. “Oops! Guess the King wins again!” he roared with laughter.

With one theatrical yank, he seized the ruined fabric in both hands, bulging his muscles as the seams gave way with a thunderous rip. Threads scattered into the air like confetti as he threw the shredded pieces aside. His shorts suffered the same fate only seconds later. Then, he stomped forward, planted his feet wide, bent his knees slightly, and exploded into a most muscular pose so intense it looked like the mirror itself might crack.

His chest swelled outward like an entire mountain range, smashing his pecs together until the deep canyon of cleavage seemed endless, and his nipples jutted almost obscenely. His biceps peaked so much they looked surreal, and veins writhed across them like living ropes, while his traps rose around his neck like titanic ridges.

The live chat went insane: “HOLY PECS!!” “Burst those tanks forever, KING!” “Your chest just DESTROYED my phone screen!” Streams of emojis—fire, milk jugs, hearts—cascaded nonstop. Benji laughed through his flex as sweat glistened across his golden skin, and he tilted his head boyishly.

“I guess that settles it, huh? The body wins every time,” he said, winking at the camera. “Alright, show’s over. We have a King’s Cooking video coming and a big announcement. See you then,” he laughed, ending the LIVE, and the likes and shares rained in instantly.

He rubbed his pecs slowly, sinking his hands into the enormous slabs, feeling not only the dense muscle but also the precious milk crammed inside them. Even after many years of dealing with outstanding milk production, Benji couldn’t help but marvel at how full his pecs felt every morning. They were taut and overfilled, so heavy they almost ached, and every squeeze pushed his deep cleavage together until his nipples tingled.

The massage sent faint sloshing sensations through his chest, like liquid pressing for release, and the weight shifted under his touch in waves. Each nipple throbbed in response, swollen and sensitive, and the areola stretched as his fingertips circled lazily over them. He grinned at the sight, watching his pecs swell and bounce in the mirror, hearing faint creaks of the skin and low gurgling pressure inside, and loving the way his touch eased the fullness while also making them pulse harder.

The sight was obscene and beautiful, and he laughed softly, boyishly, at how incredible and ridiculous he looked all at once. “Time to take care of business,” he said, padding through the enormous halls of his mansion toward the oversized kitchen.

He went to check on a pair of enormous refrigerators lined in a row. The first contained food—an endless supply of protein-packed meals and healthy snacks to fuel his colossal frame. He swung it open and pulled out a massive container of Greek yogurt layered with granola and fresh fruit, grinning as he popped it open for a quick bite.

After a few spoonfuls, Benji strolled to the second refrigerator, dedicated entirely to storing the milk jugs he filled several times a day. Row upon row of gallons filled every shelf; the white richness he produced daily was stacked so high it looked like he owned a dairy by himself. He opened it, grinned, and patted his chest. “We’re running out of space. Gonna need a third fridge soon.”

Benji grinned and set two empty gallon jugs on the counter before pulling out his milking machine. The suction cups were massive, padded with soft silicone, but even so, his swollen nipples nearly spilled over their rims. He took his time, massaging each pec in wide circles, coaxing the pressure forward as his nipples stiffened and twitched under his fingers. The weight shifted and sloshed faintly beneath his skin as he positioned the cups.

With both hands, he pressed them firmly in place, rolling his shoulders as the cups sealed with a wet pop. The tug of suction immediately latched on, and he shuddered at the sudden pull. Benji exhaled deeply as the cups worked in steady pulses. His pecs trembled with each tug, stretching the nipples and squeezing them under the vacuum. Then, with a wet gurgle, thick creamy streams surged into the clear tubes, flowing instantly and steadily, swirling as they poured into the waiting jugs.

Benji moaned without meaning to, tilting his head back and letting his body relax. “Fuck, that feels so damn good,” he groaned, grinning even as he reached lazily for another spoonful of yogurt with one hand, scrolling his phone with the other, all while the cups tugged and milk hissed into overflowing jugs before him.

Fans spammed more comments: “King’s Cooking when?” “More Body vs. Clothes!” “Please, flex for us!”

He chuckled, shifting in his seat as the suction pulled harder. His bulge swelled violently against the straining pouch of his briefs as every inch of his cock fought the fabric for space until it was painfully tight. He groaned playfully, rolling his hips as the outline thickened and lengthened. With a helpless grin, he slipped a hand inside, stretching the waistband wide as he fished his cock free.

It slid out heavy and hot, vein-laced and swelling bigger with every beat of his heart, climbing past fourteen, past sixteen, past eighteen inches, until it throbbed at its full monstrous length—two feet of girth jutting proudly into the air. He wrapped one hand around the base and tried to stroke, but even his giant hand couldn’t close fully around the shaft—it was simply too thick, his fingers stretching wide but leaving gaps of pulsing flesh between them.

He marveled at the obscene girth, at how his hand, massive as it was, looked laughably small against it. He slid his grip slowly upward, savoring the heat and weight, brushing his thumb teasingly across the swollen ridge of the base before tracing along the side toward the flared crown. At the tip, a bead of clear fluid slicked his thumb as he teased the slit, grinning boyishly at the wet gleam.

He chuckled, shifting his grip down to squeeze the root, then up again to rub the broad head, playful and proud. His balls swung beneath, plump and heavy, bouncing with every motion, and he gave them a proud jiggle with his free hand, laughing at the obscene weight. “Too big for even me,” he teased aloud, stroking lazily, grinning with sweet, cocky pride at the ridiculous size he carried so easily.

Then, he saw another notification, different this time. It was his best friend and unofficial manager, Milo. “Dude! How dare you? You posted the first video of the day without me? You know how much I love filming Body vs. Clothes. You owe me big time! I’m almost there, btw.”

Benji chuckled and hit the record button again, this time with private intentions. “Yeah, yeah! Don’t judge the King! The people demanded content,” he said, sweet and cocky, before aiming the camera at his chest and his cock, giving the shaft another proud squeeze. “But don’t worry. I’ll give you something special when you arrive. You can have as much as you want of the rich and sweet cream from up here,” he said, showing his pecs to the camera, “or the salty and thick version from down there,” he added, showing his enormous leaking cock to the camera.

He sent the video as the suction cups tugged on his pecs and milk rushed into the jugs, while he moaned softly, enjoying the absurd multitasking—stroking his monstrous cock, being drained of gallons, and basking in the adoration of his fans all at once. “People better be ready for some fun. It’s time to put all this cream for good use.”

...

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