I Pick Up The Apple, Turning It Over In My Hand, Feeling The Smooth Surface Against The Thick Calluses

I pick up the apple, turning it over in my hand, feeling the smooth surface against the thick calluses of my palm. My forearm muscles tighten, veins popping out like cables, each one a testament to the power I’ve built over years of hard work. This apple doesn’t stand a chance, and neither would anyone who thought they could match my strength.

With a smirk, I start to close my fingers around the apple, not even needing to put in much effort. The fruit gives way instantly, the skin splitting and juice spilling over my hand as it crumples under the pressure. It’s like it was never whole to begin with—just crushed to nothing by the strength in my grip.

I flex my forearm, watching the veins pulse, knowing that if I wanted to, I could do the same to another man’s hand. "That’s real power," I say, tossing the broken apple aside, "and it’s just a taste of what these hands can do."

“They call me the juicier.”

The second that bell rings, I’m on him. This little guy, standing there like he actually thinks he’s got a shot against me. I can’t help but grin—it’s almost too easy. I close the distance in a heartbeat, and before he can even think about running, I’ve got my hands around his neck. Damn, his neck’s so small, my fingers almost touch on the other side.

I lift him off the ground like he weighs nothing—and to me, he doesn’t. His eyes go wide with fear as his feet dangle helplessly, kicking at the air. He’s trying to fight it, trying to pry my hands off, but we both know that’s not happening. I can feel him struggling, his hands scratching at mine, but it’s pathetic. He’s so light, I could probably hold him here all day and not even break a sweat.

I tilt my head, watching him squirm, and I can’t help but laugh. "Look at you," I taunt, squeezing just enough to make him gasp, "you thought you could step into the ring with me? You don’t even come close, boy." I hold him there, letting him feel every ounce of my strength, making sure he knows exactly who’s in control.

His face is turning red, his struggles getting weaker, and I’m just getting started. "You’re nothing," I say, my voice dripping with contempt. "I could end this right now, but where’s the fun in that? I want everyone to see just how easy it is for me to break you."

Finally, I let him drop to the mat, watching as he crumples in a heap, gasping for breath. I stand over him, towering like the giant I am, and I know I’ve already won. He’s beaten before the match even really started, and it’s all because he’s up against someone like me—a real man, with real power. "Get up, if you can," I sneer, knowing damn well he won’t. "This is just the beginning, and you’re gonna learn real quick that you’re nothing compared to me."

Play time little man.... (Thunders Arena)

The dimly lit billiard hall was buzzing with low chatter, the sound of cue balls clicking across tables, and the occasional murmur of a game being won or lost. Brock stood near the back, his massive frame dwarfing everything around him. He was a sight to behold—easily towering over everyone in the room by a good fourteen inches, his tattooed muscles straining against the sleeves of his shirt. Every inch of him screamed power, and most people gave him a wide berth.

Most, but not everyone.

At one of the pool tables, a smaller guy was refusing to move, arguing that he had the table reserved. Brock stood there, looking down at the guy with a sharp downward tilt of his head. The difference in their size was almost comical. Brock’s shadow loomed over the shorter man, who barely reached his chest, and yet, the smaller guy wasn’t budging.

Brock raised an eyebrow, his deep voice cutting through the room. “You’re not giving up the table?” he asked, almost amused. The smaller guy crossed his arms defiantly.

“That’s right,” the smaller man replied, his voice full of false bravado. “You’re not just going to walk in and take what you want.”

Brock let out a low chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. “You really want to do this, huh?” he said, his tone shifting from amused to something a little more menacing.

Before the smaller guy could react, Brock stepped forward, towering over him even more now, his eyes looking sharply down to make contact. Without a word, he bent down slightly and grabbed the smaller man by the arms, easily hoisting him up into the air with both hands, his powerful grip lifting the guy like he weighed no more than a bag of groceries.

The smaller man’s eyes went wide with shock as his feet left the floor, his body completely suspended by Brock’s enormous arms. He kicked his legs in a vain attempt to get free, but Brock’s grip was unshakable. The room grew quieter as people stopped what they were doing to watch the scene unfold.

Brock smirked, holding the smaller guy up at eye level now, his massive arms flexing effortlessly. “You’re kidding me, right?” Brock taunted, his voice filled with condescension. “Look at you. You’re nothing compared to me. You think you can stand your ground with someone like me?”

The smaller guy squirmed, but it was useless—Brock’s grip was iron. Brock shifted his hold, lifting the man even higher, letting him dangle there like a ragdoll in front of everyone.

“You feel that?” Brock sneered. “You’re weak. I could toss you across this room if I wanted, and you wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing about it.”

The smaller man tried to protest, his voice shaky, but Brock just laughed, the sound deep and resonant. “Pathetic,” he said, shaking his head as if disappointed. “You really thought you could hold your ground against someone like me? I could keep you up here all night.”

Brock let the man hang there for another moment, letting the reality of the situation sink in for the smaller guy—and for everyone watching. He could feel the tension in the air, the unspoken understanding that Brock was in a league of his own.

Finally, with a smirk, Brock lowered the man back down to the floor, but not before giving him a slight shake as if to remind him of how helpless he truly was. The smaller man stumbled when his feet hit the ground, looking up at Brock with a mix of fear and embarrassment.

“Now,” Brock said, his voice calm but commanding, “you’re going to walk away and give me the table. Because if you don’t, I can do this all night.”

The smaller man nodded quickly, his defiance completely shattered. He backed away from the table, avoiding eye contact with Brock as he hurried off. Brock turned back to the table, smirking as he picked up a cue stick, the crowd slowly going back to their games—none daring to challenge him again.

The table was his now, just like everything else Brock wanted. And no one in the hall would forget the power he had effortlessly displayed.

Lifting you is easy

Let me make it clear—any man dumb enough to step up to me is asking to be humiliated. I’ve taken down bigger and badder men without breaking a sweat, and they all end up the same way: on their backs, looking up at me like they just met their worst nightmare.

And it’s not just the brute strength that gets ‘em—it’s the way I own the room. You can feel the fear settle in when I walk through the door. Every guy goes quiet, trying not to make eye contact because they know damn well who’s in charge. They know I could break ‘em down in an instant.

But it’s more than just fear. Every man wants to be me, and every woman? She’s ready to throw herself at me, beggin’ for my attention. And here’s the kicker—even the straight men lust after me like the women do. They might not admit it, but I see the way they look. They feel the same pull, see the same raw power, and deep down, they crave it. They want what the women want, even if it messes with their heads. They see how I fill out these jeans, how I stand tall and command the room, and they can’t help themselves.

It’s not just respect or fear—it’s pure, raw desire. And that’s when I know I’ve already won

Perfection

I spot him across the bar, this cute little thing, and I can’t help but smirk. He’s got no idea what’s coming. I’m the biggest guy here by far—towering over everyone, muscles stretching my shirt to the limit, and that thick beard just adds to the intimidation. No one dares look me in the eye for too long, but this guy? He’s about to learn his place.

I make my way over, stepping behind him, and without warning, I wrap my thick arm around his throat. At first, I keep it playful—just enough to make him think it’s all in good fun. He laughs nervously, probably thinking I’m just the bouncer messing around. But that laugh dies quick. I start squeezing harder, feeling his pulse quicken under my grip, and his body stiffens when he realizes this isn’t just some joke.

I tighten my hold even more, and I can feel his panic rising. His hands come up, weakly trying to pry my arm off, but it’s no use. I’m way too strong for him. His breathing gets more shallow, and I enjoy every second of it. His struggle fuels me. I lean in, my voice low and sinister, right by his ear, “You’re not going anywhere. You’re mine now.”

I can feel him trembling, completely powerless in my grip, but I don’t stop. In fact, I squeeze even harder, just enough to make him fear I might snap something. He’s helpless, and he knows it. The fear in his eyes as he realizes there’s no escape—that’s what I thrive on.

Without a word to anyone, I drag him through the crowd like a rag doll, his feet barely keeping up. People might glance over, but no one’s gonna step in—not when it’s me in control. They know better. He’s coming with me, whether he likes it or not, and he’s about to find out just how much I enjoy making someone squirm.

Look at you, groveling at my feet like the pathetic insect you are. You don’t even deserve to be in the same room as me, let alone this close to my boots. But I’m gonna let you stay there, because I want you to feel just how insignificant you really are. My legs are massive, muscles bulging so hard they’re about to tear through these jeans, and you’re down there, trembling like the weak little nothing you are. You’re so small, so pitiful, that it’s almost amusing. I could snap you in two with these legs, but where’s the fun in that? Nah, I want you to see this boot, feel its weight as I lift it over you, let you imagine what it’d be like to have all this power come crashing down on your worthless body.

Now, lick it. Go on, get your tongue on it and show me how much you know your place. I could crush you right here, but instead, I’ll let you grovel and clean my boots, knowing that you’re completely at my mercy.

You think you’re scared now? Wait until you feel the full force of my strength, every muscle in my body flexing, knowing that I could destroy you anytime I want. I love seeing the fear in your eyes, knowing that you’re completely powerless, and there’s nothing you can do about it. This is your place—beneath me, trembling, licking my boots, knowing that at any moment, I could decide to snuff you out or keep you around just to remind you of how massive, powerful, and utterly unstoppable I am.