I’m not trying to start anything here, but I have to note that SteelMuscleGod has been silent on his video posts with Adam400m posting twice in the past few weeks, looking more massive, tanned, and cocky-confident than ever. Okay, so I am trying to start something here, and that something is more video postings from SMG. As it is, he and Yann are in danger of looking like last year’s news right at the moment that Adam is piling on new muscle and pleasing his slack-jawed worshipers. It’s really no wonder Adam so handily dispatched the French phenom who posts old material. Last I thought about it, SMG was swooping in to kick the Frenchboy while he was down.
SMG pulls hard on Yann’s hair, prying the demolished hunk up to his knees. “Flex for me,” SMG commands darkly. Yann sways on his knees, his right leg almost entirely numb from the damage inflicted by Adam. “Flex for your god!!!” SMG yells at Yann, a speck of saliva inadvertently flying into the Frenchman’s face. Adam has taken SMG’s place, leaning against the wall, his arms folded across his massive chest as he watches with a pleased smile.
Yann swallows hard, his chest heaving in exhaustion and fear. He blinks his heavy lidded eyes rapidly before biting his lower lip and lifting his right arm, crunching out his massively peaked bicep impressively. SMG watches, crouching over the decimated muscleboy domineeringly. “That’s it,” he mutters. Yann’s mouth drops open as he gasps, past the point of exhaustion, his right arm dropping limply at his side as he once again sways unsteadily on his knees.
“You’re big,” SMG snarls in words that sound impressed but in a tone filled with contempt. “You may even be bigger than me.” SMG leans low, lifting his right arm and flexing his bicep inches in front of Yann’s face. “But size isn’t the same as strength, and I’m infinitely more powerful than you, mortal!” SMG pumps his bulging arm slowly, his peaked bicep flushing more massively with each pump. Finally, he stands up again, staring down at the fallen contender.
“Your most muscular,” SMG barks. “Let’s see it!” Yann closes his eyes, his face toward the ceiling in exhaustion and resignation. “Show me!!!” SMG snarls angrily. Jutting his chin defiantly forward, Yann sucks in a deep gulp of air before grasping his right wrist in this left hand in front of him, flexing his muscled torso. The striations in his pecs pop, his abs separating in incredible detail. The veins on his thick arms rise to the surface, as Yann flexes obediently.
“No, no, look at this,” SMG dismisses the French hunk. Pounding his right fist in the palm of his left hand, SMG crunches out his most muscular pose. His abdominal muscles flex hard, the distance between them disappearing between the mounds of muscles notably bigger and better defined than the Frenchman’s. His delts and arms freeze in solid slabs of muscle, and his pecs slowly crunch hard, the contraction rolling from the center of his chest outward. SMG’s jaw drops open in concentration, even as the corners of his mouth rise as he watches Yann’s eyes roaming up and down the length of SMG’s stunningly displayed frame. “Just tell me now that I’m your god,” SMG says, his voice strained as he continues his powerful flex. “Just say it now, and I’ll spare you more torment.”
Yann swallows hard, his eyes dazed, soaking in SMG’s towering body. He licks his lips quickly, his chest starting to pump harder again. Breathlessly, Yann whispers, almost in awe, “No.”