Luv Dreams Part 1

Frank and the Tax man

Frank looked at the letter from the IRS, one last time confirming the time of his appointment. With a smirk he crumpled it up and tossed it across the locker room into the trash. Pumped from his gym workout, his corded sinew pressing hard against his flesh, his pectorals, biceps bulging with a few tiny beads of water from his shower glistening in the fluorescent light. Veins popped revealing a vascular array to inspire envy. His abs looked like something your great-great grandmother would use to wash clothes. Around him guys struggled not to stare, feelings of awe and their own inadequacies lighting up their neurons. Serotonin levels plummeted in the men around them while their dicks swelled in uncontrollable attraction. The butch became bitch, and a half dozen men came as Frank shone like a god, his features were aesthetically pleasing, the words to describe them were rugged, striking and sensual. Frank exuded a raw sexual magnetism, irresistible to mortals.

Frank pulled a tight white t-shirt over his pumped corded muscles. It fit so snuggly it was like a second skin and the outline of his slab like pecs. The short sleeves struggled against a portion of his bulging biceps and triceps, although most of these muscles poured out from the shirt, guns so big they could only be described as field artillery. His jeans were tight, the massive thighs straining the fabric to within a hair of their tensile strength limits. He strutted out of the locker room and headed for the exit of the gym as he walked by there was the vision of his narrow waist, Herculean chest, bulging biceps and a visage so sexy it would make even a lesbian moist. Then as he walked by the fan-like back, bubble butt and mouth-watering calves hit the admiring eyes like the second fist of a one-two punch. The sounds of dropping weights and jaws could be heard as he passed. Several ladies (and a few guys) swooned. As he passed the reception desk, a beautiful blond in a tight t-shirt advertising both the gym and her bountiful cleavage made the sign with her fingers for him to call her. Frank merely smirked as he left the gym, he was used to the shockwaves he left in his wake.

As he strolled down the street enjoying the spring air, he could hear the paramedic sirens racing toward the gym. They really needed to post some warning signs up. As he walked down the street he drank in the admiring stares and sighs. He came on the main street and hailed a cab. Three pulled up, the drivers arguing and cursing for the privilege of having Frank as a fair. The big man made his selection, and the disappointed drivers slunk back into their cabs. Frank rattled off the address and slid into the back of the cab, the seemingly capacious area seeming to dwindle with the injection of his massive frame. His driver, an already excitable Pakistani, was bubbling over with an effusion of inane conversation aimed at gaining the attention of Frank, who simply ignored it as he looked out the window. From his peripheral vision, he noted the driver making frequent use of his rear view mirror, and knew it was not the traffic he was looking at. Had Frank been the nervous type, he might have been a little concerned that the driver looked back too frequently to be driving very safely. Miraculously he arrived at his destination without traffic incidence, and as he reached for his wallet, the driver shook his head and explained the ride was on the house.

Frank left the cab and as he strode the dozen paces to the entrance of the federal building, he heard the screeching of breaks, the cry of horns and the minor traffic mayhem that his presence on the sidewalk of a busy street typically caused. As he entered the building he saw the normally buff alpha-male contract guards of the Federal protective services slumped a bit in the face of the ultimate dominant male. No one challenged him or asked his business, or him to empty his pockets. They just waved him past with glazed look of admiration and desire plastered on their faces. Security and efficiency were temporarily arrested as Frank strolled past his chin jutting forward, instantly owning every room he entered. He entered the elevator. There were three women in the elevator and their eyes fixed on Frank like a fat kid on ice cream and candy. Tongues moistened lips, hearts pounded like re-enactments of Poe’s “Tell-tale heart”. Their breaths sucked, in like their lungs had swallowed black holes. Frank got off and the ladies followed, even though it was not their floor, they needed to experience more. As he entered the IRS office he heard the thumps of the ladies behind him as they fainted to the floor.

Frank made his way to the reception desk. His massive sledgehammer like fists resting on the desk in a commanding fashion. He leaned over the desk creating a shadow. The receptionist looked up with him to ask his name and her words drifted into gibberish as she gazed up at a muscle god. Her pupils dilated, her loins moistened in autonomic anticipatory hope. Frank snapped his fingers and waved his hands in front of her face until she was roused from her stupor and could function again. She buzzed Mr. Soames that his 11 o’clock was here. Soames rubbed his hands in anticipation of the kill. Several dozen female and male admirers had sent Frank some off the record cash, and Soames was feeling the predator. He was expecting the pleading, the shattered expressions, the stooped shoulders. What he was not expecting was Frank. The minute Frank entered the room, Soames changed from predator to prey. One penetrating glance from the muscle god, and Soames was putty in his hands. Frank played Soames like a yo-yo using his expressions and physique to intimidate and titillate. By the time the interview concluded, Soames was changing the paperwork such that Frank was entitled to several thousands dollars worth of additional refunds and he had reduced the once formidable Soames who had filled thousands of hapless taxpayers with trepidation, into a simpering, whimpering slavish worshiper. As he handed Frank a copy of the paperwork, Soames could not resist kissing the master’s hands as Frank looked down with a smirk of condescension and victory. As Frank opened the door to the office to leave, those in the waiting room caught a glimpse of Soames licking and kissing Frank’s work boots. While they were slightly contemptuous of Soames, they were at the same time envious, for they also wanted to so intimately worship the Muscle God.