Frankdefeo.com

Guys i am four month out from my show now.Been training very very hard my weigth rite now is 255 at 9% body fat.Hope u guys are enjoying all the pictures i put every week.If u have anything u like to see on my site.Contact me at frankthetankdefeo@hotmail.com.Have a killer day guys.

New muscle worship site mission4muscle.com

Have a great week guys!!!

Frankdefeo.com

A Lesson in Muscle: Another Luv Dream of Frank

Frank had been training his client “John” for a number of years, when during a work out session, John complained that his son “Rob” was having trouble at his new Middle School. Rob had been a well-behaved student in grade school and had earned good grades, and been active in the sports during recess. At his new school, the coaches had dismissed poor Rob because he was small for his size, and not given him much of a chance, and in the classroom teachers bullied him. Rob had changed from a kid who loved school to one who had to be forced each day to go on the bus. Frank told John that perhaps he could talk to the teachers and principal and help turn things around for Rob.

Frank and John showed up at the school on schedule. Rob was a nice looking guy and reasonably in good shape for 40, but even though he had a couple of inches on Frank, he seemed dwarfed by him. Frank was tanned and in contest shape. His shirt was tight and was like a second skin as his bulging muscles strained against the fabric. You could see the faint outline of his nipples and pectorals, the latter like two granite pedestals for his nipples. His biceps popped out from beneath his shirtsleeves, like he had a 16 lb. shot put strapped to each arm. His triceps were like melons. His shoulders were broad and rippling, and his back was like a wall of muscle tapering down to a narrow waist. His thighs flared against his pants and the crotch of his jeans seemed snug from his mammoth package. As Olympian as his physique was, it paled beneath the god-like beauty of his profile. Even John, who had been happily married for many years, could feel a little stirring of physical attraction when in the presence of Frank.

The receptionist was gaga for Frank. John felt she was about to leap over the counter she was so aggressively flirtatious with Frank. Her eyes had grown to dinner plates, her nipples were erect as her breast seemed to swell, and her tongue moistened her lips as if she was sizing Frank up for a barbeque. Needless to say, Frank pocketed her number (he was single in those days) and moved on to the principal. The principal was one of those prim and proper women who needed always to be in control, calm and collected. The first time she gazed at Frank, he shattered her stony visage into 1000 fragments. The usually nonplussed principal was all flustered. She led Frank into her private office, and John took a seat in the anteroom.

After a few moments of quiet talking John was startled by some crashing sounds and moved in a position to peek in. Debris from the principal’s desk was jumbled on the floor and the principal was spread eagle on the desk her legs entangled around Frank’s hindquarters as he demonstrated pelvic exercises. When the Principal and Frank emerged, Frank had a wicked smile on his face, and the principal now in a state of dishabille, her hair down, and her blouse and skirt hastily and erroneously buttoned had a look of dreamy ecstasy. It was obvious that new realms of pleasure heretofore unknown had been opened to her, although in perhaps cruel irony, future encounters with men would out of necessity fall short, for her standards of masculinity, virility and sexual expression had all been raised by the impossible bar Frank had set. As Frank pocketed yet another phone number, he turned to John and said, “ Now let’s see that Coach Baines who has been picking on your kid.”

I didn’t think Frank was going to find Coach Baines as easily finessed as the principal. A hard ex-marine and fitness freak, Baines stood as tall as Frank, and was in fighting trim. The students had nicknamed him “The Panzer”. He was a bully and tormented his students with abuse for his own sadistic pleasure. In physical fitness class, if you were not on one of the teams The Panzer coached, you were fodder for his verbal abuse and his humiliating gym challenges. Frank walked up to him while he was coaching some kids in wrestling and there was an exchange of words that John could not hear. Coach Baines dismissed his students to run a few laps around the gymnasium and stood close to Frank and the crescendo of sound in the still unintelligible words echoed across the gym, causing the jogging students to check out the show. Frank’s right fist impacted into the Coaches gut, like a jackhammer into concrete. You could almost see the ripples of pain shorting out his nervous system and the air being knocked out of lungs like a balloon whose end was held rather than tied, being released. Coach Baines stumbled back a few steps until Frank’s left hook connected with his jaw, and then it was lights out for Baines. When he came to, Frank proceeded to play World Wrestling Federation with Baines, grabbing him, picking him up high and slamming him energetically to the mat in displays of strength that ended in several obviously excruciatingly painful (for Baines) pins. Eventually Frank too pity on the sobbing, pleading and puking Baines. The unfortunate Baines could clearly be seen to be sporting an erection, for even through the brutal punishment, he could not resist the potency of Frank’s physique and supernaturally handsome visage. From then on the students at the school had a new nickname for Baines: The Bitch.

Next Frank moved on to the history teacher, Mr. Pascal. One good punch and a few bitch slaps, and the teacher was groveling at Frank’s feet licking his work boots and pledging his eternal obedience and slavish devotion. I hear he is divorced now, has shacked up with a bodybuilder with a passing resemblance to Frank. His new “roommate” utterly dominates him, treating him as a slave, and even takes, the now submissive Pascal on walks with a harness, leash and spiked dog collar. The now ex-history teacher shows up for Frank’s web cam these days and discusses how much he would enjoy Frank to defecate and pee on him. His handle is lilbitch4frank. A confirmed hetero before his encounter with Frank, after five minutes with the muscle-god he had shifted down the sexual spectrum to utter flamer.

The language arts teacher proved no obstacle to Frank, within moments he had her pressed against the wall, and the vibrations could be felt three classrooms down the hall, the cries of pleasure reverberated across the campus. I heard Mrs. Federmann not only got a divorce, but she became so obsessed with Frank, that he had to get a restraining order.

The long of the short of it was, when Rob went to school the next day, he owned that school, his confidence returned and he graduated Valedictorian. The administration and staff of Franklin Pierce Middle School had learned a lesson that day, a lesson in muscle.

Mission4muscle.com

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Luv Dreams Part 4

Luvdreams 4: No Shirt, No Shoes, Big Problems!

My name is Ralph Landris, and I am a reporter for the Star Ledger. I cover Atlantic City and the New Jersey shore areas for the paper, and usually report on crime, health code scandals and the other titillating trivialities of news reporting. Then last summer I got my big break, the scoop of the decade. I was on the boardwalk when I saw HIM for the first time. Up to that time I had been a straight macho news reporter with name recognition at a half dozen strip clubs…then I saw Frank and became gayer than George Michaels in a public restroom. The details of my tale are reconstructed from personal observations and follow-up interviews.

How can I describe Frank Defeo? The first time I saw him, he was shirtless, wearing only a pair of tight revealing gym shorts and a pair of flip flops. He didn’t so much walk down the boardwalk, as srtut like he owned the place, and that he did. Everywhere on his body could be seen the bulge of muscle. He had just finished a contest and a string of photo shoots out on the West Coast and was utterly ripped. His abs were like chiseled granite, a staircase of ridges leading up to two massive pectoral muscles that danced as he walked. The pectorals were set against a backdrop of broad behemoth shoulders connected to arms bedecked with muscular forearms, wrists, bugling biceps and triumphant triceps. Veins laced these twisted cords of sinews, like light festooned on a Christmas tree. From his shorts stretched thews of thighs like tree trunks, leading down to bulging calves. Crowning this vision of virility was a head as perfect as the body. The profile was Olympian with perfectly proportioned ears and nose, chin and cheeks sculpted by a divine artisan, and eyes soft and yet powerful in majestic contrast. I felt a bulge of my own in my pants, and a lump in my throat.

I was not the only one. As this Hercules passed, the crowds of tourists and residents were set a buzz like a hive struck by a rock. Cameras clicked and hearts melted. According to legend several dozen men stricken by their own inadequacies in contrast to the magnificent masculinity of Frank from that moment on were victims of Erectile dysfunction. Whenever they attempted to make love after that, a vision of the he-man paragon that is Frank flashed in their heads and their miniature manhood went flaccid in the despair of their sense of inferiority and shame. Other men in the crowd reddened with anger, as their wives and girlfriends gazes fell lovingly on Frank. Some were tempted to challenge this threat to their male dominions, but a second look at his bulging muscles and sledgehammer fists, and the clear potency and dominance of this spectacular male sent yellow stripes racing up their spines, and in a few yellow streams racing down their legs. For some this was not an issue, as their pants tented with erections.

There was a tittering of lies told by women to girlfriends, boyfriends, husbands and lovers that they didn’t like muscles so big, that it was gross and “icky” and unattractive. Their hardened nipples, slackened salivating jaws, moistened loins and dilated pupils belied their words in the face of the inescapable biological evidence of their attraction. In his days as a bouncer, according to those who knew him then, such women were those that doesth protest too much, they would tell their friends this standard line, but stuff phone numbers and hotel keys in his pants. Alone with the object of their desire, they could not wait to rub their fingers, lips and tongues over the contours of his muscular frame they pretended to despise.

Frank strolled into an ice cream parlor with his buddy, whose presence I only then became cognizant of, so narrowly focused had I been on Frank’s physique. In normal circumstances, I would say his friend would be considered rather buff and athletic, but compared to Frank he somehow seemed diminished, almost puny. They strolled through the door ignoring the NO SHIRT, NO SHOES, NO SERVICE sign. I followed up behind to see if anyone would dare to deny this demiurge the frozen delicacies of his desire, after weeks of diet and deprivation to achieve his shredded form. I ignored the sirens of ambulances drawn to the boardwalk by the petitions of pleas over cell phones due to the fact that dozens of tourists had passed out in his wake. They had succumbed to what would be later misdiagnosed as “heat exhaustion”.

In the ice cream parlor, a large cranky middle-aged woman in an apron and paper hat saw in her peripheral vision the flash of abdominal flesh forbidden by the sign. “No shirt, no-” she got one glimpse of Frank and her face and tone softened. “-no charge for you-handsome.” The jowly fifty-ish chunk of a woman was giddy and giggly as a girl of 14, gushing over Frank and by extension his buddy. Moments later the two were leaving the shop with free double scoop ice cream cones, and the lovesick momma was fanning herself like she was having hot flashes.

As the pair left, they were hemmed in from all sides by adoring women, girls, and even some love-struck guys. Glazed over eyes, goofy smiles and the expiration of passionate sighs marked the crowd, which flowed around Frank and his friend, who glided through the onlookers like the bowsprit of a ship plowing through the waves. Some drops of melted ice cream dripped from the cone on to his magnificent chest. Half joking, Frank said to his buddy, “ Hey you think any of these babes would want to lick that off me?” That was when the riot broke out.

The cops arrested Frank for lack of a better plan to restore public order. The cop frisked Frank in a matter that more reflected molestation rather than law and order. It was as if the police officer could not help but admire the magnificent muscles and manhood with the massage of his fingers, the blunt, buff and macho cop becoming a bit bi-curious within the magnetic flux of Frank’s charismatic presence. The cop attempted to keep up his gruff exterior while his manhood ebbed away by Frank induced desires that would later bring him into therapy, and months later leather bars.

Frank was brought in front of a paunchy middle-aged judge who sat bored on his dais dispensing justice to a series of minor mayhems, mishaps and misdemeanors. When he saw Frank, his drew himself to attention in more ways then one. After a few moments, he asked to see Frank in his chambers, and had him take off the ill-fitting shirt he had been given at the police station. The fabric was already straining from the pressure of Frank’s gargantuan muscular chest and arms and as Frank tried to extract himself was reduced to ruin. The judge could not help but reach out to touch the muscle-god, to prove he was not hallucinating. Within moments he was on his knees, his arms wrapped around one of Frank’s quadriceps, professing his love, adoration and devotion. “Worship me bitch!” laughed Frank, and the judge fell prostrate to the ground licking Frank’s toes and apologizing for the inconvenience of Frank having to be booked and arraigned. He promised to make personal restitution for the City’s affront by buying webcam time and joining Frank’s website in perpetuity. He has been a good client of Frank ever since. For form sake, he did have to order Frank not to appear without a shirt in Atlantic City again, which given what happened, Frank concurred was a prudent course of action.

Luv Dreams Part 3

Melinda was in a rut. An attractive woman in her early thirties, she had been married 7 years to a successful surgeon. She saw very little of him for the last few years and was beginning to have trouble remembering when was the last time she had sex with her husband. She worked part time as a bookkeeper at the country club. She had been indulging in some fantasies about Dave, the tennis pro. Mostly she just tried to keep busy. One of the her big time occupiers was remodeling her spacious home. She decided that the deck was too small for her renovation plans, and decided to hire a handyman to expand it. She asked around, and found out that her neighbors all recommended Frank Defeo. She was intrigued by the wistful, longing glances they made when they mentioned Frank, soon she would know why.
The bell rang and Melinda steeled herself for some hard bargaining, Frank was here to hear what she wanted done and to give an estimate. She might be wealthy, but when it came to contractors, the stingy side of her reared its dragonhead. She answered the door and all her well-rehearsed lines and stratagems evaporated like a morning fog before a bright summer sun.
What stood before her on the threshold of her home, could only be described as a vision. The light from the sun at that angle created a halo around his head accenting the apparition of male beauty that stood before her. His face was handsome in a way that was purely masculine, exhibiting the freshness of youth without seeming boyish or feminine. It was framed by brown wavy tresses, and highlighted by a strong chin, classic nose, symmetrical features, and two deep brown soulful orbs that pierced her heart as if they shot crossbow bolts. His tight t-shirt, moistened by the sweat of a deck job he had completed a few minutes earlier, was like a second skin, revealing the contours of two massive slabs of pectoral muscles and a enviable set of washboard abs. A pair of bulging biceps could hardly be contained by each short shirtsleeve. Around his narrow waist hung a tool belt, below which were a set of tight cut-off jeans under which jutted two massive tree-trunk thews of quadriceps muscle.
Melinda was speechless, her lips instinctively licking her lips. Her pupils dilated, her nipples became erect, and her loins were anointed with an inviting dew, ready for the lover she had dreamed of all her life. Melinda was lost in a fog of awe and desire. As Frank spoke, she heard only sound, and through her nostrils swirled pheromones that penetrated her being heart and soul, delivering her heart and soul to the stranger before her. She led the Olympian god into her home, and pointed out a number of projects inside and out, that needed to be done. The gorgeous dreamboat wrote down figures, and whatever estimate he pro-offered, she accepted without question or debate. To such a man, the only answer is yes. He made some suggestions for projects, which she agreed to with relish, for the more times she could bring this fantasy in the flesh back to her, the better. Frank sketched out a plan for the new deck even grander than what she had dreamed of and she gave the affirmative, despite the fact that it made Swiss cheese of the budget she had originally anticipated. Whenever he spoke, all she saw were the alluring lips that framed the words, wishing she could kiss them. Frank asked her whether she would need her husband’s approval for all the work, but at this point she had essentially forgotten the existence of her spouse, so little did he resemble a man in comparison to the paragon of masculinity and virility that was Frank Defeo. Before she knew what she was doing, she had wrapped her arms around the powerful shoulders and was kissing him passionately. Frank was momentarily taken back by the surprise rush, but in a flash joined in the embrace and the kissing.
As Melinda grew a bit wobbly on her feet, Frank swept her up into his strong arms and carried her to the bedroom. There Frank, the handyman hammered away, screwing her brains out with his power drill, wrenching his sinew in rippling contractions, contortions and extensions as they wrestled in the most ferocious, passionate and energetic love-making she had ever experienced. She let out cries of delight so loud, that all down the block, neighbors were trying to figure out what the sound was from-save those ladies in the neighborhood, who had already enlisted the services of Frank, the handyman. A year later, when a friend was asking Melinda who had done that fantastic work on her porch and house, Melinda mentioned Frank with a wistful, longing look, as she burped her beautiful baby of the same name, with curly brown hair, and penetrating brown eyes.

Luv Dreams Part 2

Cum-uppance

The city had reeled from a strange rash of “muggings”, a group of over enthusiastic bodybuilders who were also muscle worshipers, had been assaulting buff, handsome men, wrestling them to the ground, binding them and then licking their biceps, sucking on their nipples and caressing the muscles and loins of the bound and helpless studs. The number of crimes of this nature were unknown, some had been too humiliated to report the assault, others had been too embarrassed because to their surprise and consternation, they had enjoyed the encounter.

The city had tried some buff cops as decoys but each time the muscle cop and his partner had ended up tied and molested. To the shock of their brethren the dozen affected cops had taken to hanging out in a local leather bar thereafter. This could not continue. The town needed a superhero to take on these dastardly buggermuggers, and they turned to Frank Defeo. The cops promised Frank that a swat team would be standing by to back him up on his signal, but he that just brought a guffaw from the big guy.

Frank jogged in the park which had been the scene of the attacks. He noticed it was devoid of men, who-once the stories had circulated- had stopped frequenting this acerage of green. He jogged down the lanes wearing tight running shorts and no shirt. His pectoral muscles were two giant slabs of corded muscle topped with two tempting pepperonis. They flexed and bounced as he ran, his thighs rippled, and there were flashes of his loaded guns as his arms swung forward and back as he ran. His running shorts were tight and outlined his girded loins. The women enjoying the park forgot what they were doing as he ran by, their mouths dropped open, their eyes bulged out like the compound eyes of insects. Frank was like a bright flame and the women were moths. Their loins moistened with the dew of desire, pulses raced. and husbands, boyfriends and lovers were forgotten. They had discovered the paragon of masculinity, a handsome he-man that they thought only existed in the realm of fantasy, here in the flesh. All men were spoiled for them thereafter. From that point on they would only desire Frank, and would assess their lovers by how close they came to the impossible standard he had set.

Frank of course was also a wet dream for the gang of marauders. As he approached a thicket of shrubbery in which the gang hunkered they pounced.

Frank smiled a snarling predatory smile as the group of seven came at him. They had not anticipated the furious rain of blows that came at them packed with 275 lbs. of muscle behind them. The sickening smack of Frank’s iron fists against flesh and bone. One received a blow to the stomach so powerful it knocked the wind out of him and the continuing swing slid up the ribs and drove into the chin of the attacker. He would be sipping from a straw for several weeks due to a wired jaw. One could almost see the boff! Bam! Slam! Whap! of the comic books. When the SWAT team arrived it was all over.

Those of the group that were still conscious were slithering as they attempted to crawl away with their limp and twisted limbs. The gang was a black and blue mass of bruises adorned with splashes of blood, all of it their own. They looked as they had been through a trash compactor, twisted broken wrecks of human beings, eyes nearly swollen shut, and lips so fat they looked as if they had had an overdose of collagen injections. They resembled cars after a head on collision with a wall at 50 miles an hour, a wreck of crumpled and twisted mass of metal, plastic and shattered glass. The human wreckage was so devastating, one could only feel pity for the would be assaulters. Enough teeth to fill two whole sets of jaws lay strewn about as jagged fragments. There was the stench of voided bowels as the attackers had known true fear for the first time.

Frank was leaning up against a tree, studying his scratched and swollen knuckles, his mighty fists still partly covered in the gore of his opponents. The massive muscle god was not even winded, and had barely worked up a sweat. The police had to haul the seven offenders to the ICU, it would be many weeks of reconstructive surgery, rehabilitation therapy and hospital care before the group could even be considered of a condition to be arraigned. Still in the euphoria of the pain medication, they had vivid dreams and fantasies of Frank, but always in these dreams they were never in control, but were submissive slavish thralls of their muscle god. Nurses grumbled at having to clean up the crusted rivers of nightly emissions sent as offerings to Frank.