It was the moment professionals and fans had worked and waited for all year. Who would win it all this year? Marcus Rhul? Shawn Rhoden, Phil Heath, Roelly Winklaar? The arena was abuzz with excitment and anticipation. This is it, ladies and gentlemen, the 2018 Mr. Olympia Contest is under way!
When the announcer called the men's superheavy weight competitors out, Julia Ingrisano had no prayer of getting through the door to the stage. With a dramatic sigh, she reached out with petite hands and casually tore the brick wall wide enough to fit, with a noise like a car crash.
The crowd went dead silent when she waddled out on stage. She didn't have the normal waddle of a heavyweight mass monster, oh no, she literally had to roll her legs around each other in a swinging motion. She was just so big, she had to perpetually keep one leg out in front of the other, because there was just no chance of them being next to each other. The floor warped and groaned under her giga-mass as she took her rightful spot center stage.
One of the reporters in the front row later estimated she weighed two tons of veiny, pumped-up mass. (By the time the officials secured the industrial scale to measure her several hours later, she was eleven hundred pounds heavier.)
Julias shoulders were swollen past the size of wrecking balls, and were immeasurabley harder. Her striations were so deep a yard stick could disappear into them, except the muscle was so tightly packed there was no room to fit even a piece of paper when she really flexed. Her monstrous traps towered several feet over her head, which in turn was dwarfed by her incomparable mass. Her monstrous forearms were so thick a grown man couldn't wrap his arms around them, and they belied the delicate, graceful hands underneath.
Her back was a rippling anatomy chart, where every muscle twtiched and groansed and pulsed and fought for room as it grew inexorably. Julia's obscenely ripped abs must have weighed two hundred pounds apiece. Her arms were thicker than sewer pipes. Her hulking thighs each carried the mass of three or four of the veiny mass-monsters who flanked her on stage, and with every step they swelled dangerously larger.
Her poser was sopping wet with her cunt juices. The inhuman musculature of her hips and ass, combined with her super powered pussy, and the socks she'd packed to fool the judges, stretched the poser to its absolute limits.
She peered out over the tops of her monolithic pecs, staring down at the awestruck crowd and with a sultry gaze that was 100% sex and power. She was smiling from ear to ear, but they couldn't see.
The thrumming of her metabolism was reaching a fever pitch. Her skin was itching, the kind of itch not even the best pre-workout on the market could achieve. There was so much muscle in the room- so many bodybuilders had come to watch. There was no doubt in her mind. She would surpass them all, combined!
Breathing heavily under the weight of her own unstoppable mass, she leaned down to execute a most-muscular pose, unbidden. In this position, it was clear, from front to back, she was easilly eight feet thick, and growing thicker by the second. Every breath in added multiple inches to her insane musculature, and nothing receded when she exhaled. She saw one of the judges faint in the front row. Another one vomited. Hundreds in the audience followed suit, many with a crazed look in their eyes and their hands in their pants. What a good idea to come here today, she thought.
"You guys can keep the trophy."
