Man With Bulge Novels & Stories

It has a private booth surrounded by one-way mirror glass that overlooks the scene below. I expected to see an old man with a wrinkled face, but surprisingly, he’s young. Well, not so young. Maybe he’s in his mid-forties. He’s dressed in a spotless white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his biceps. He doesn’t have any tattoos I can see, but he certainly has muscles and bulging veins swirling up his wrists to his biceps. His shoulders are broad, and through his five undone buttons, I see a snick of his muscled chest.

All the bulky mafia men with guns in their holster, trying their best to fill the balloons. Both Chloe and Susie paused to look at a bald man. His veins were literally popping out of his neck and his whole face turned red as he tried to fill the balloon but to no avail. He tried thrice but to no use and then all the other guys were laughing and making fun of him that he took out his gun and aimed at the laughing guy, warning him to shut up or else he'd blow his brains out and then another guy said, first try to blow the balloon and they were ready to go for each other's throat when she stepped in.

THE MAN IN YELLOW

One blonde man was struggling to lift a large trash bag, talking to a man with a mohawk hairstyle outside a window. “Wait, wait, I’m getting tired,” complained the blonde man and brought the trash bag down on the floor. He took a deep breath and attempted to lift the bag again; however, his inadequate strength caused a little rip on the bag and a little forearm that seemed to belong to a little girl slipped out and hung on the bag. Zia subconsciously let out a loud audible gasp upon witnessing this. And her gasping turned the head of the two men in her direction.

the engrossed whisper fades through my startle. Penelope starts laughing, and I scream, glimpsing the unknown man leaning staggering on a cane too small for his size. His face is still swollen and with spots that become greenish on the sides of the lesions, highlighting the bandage on his nose and on the sides of his wide and dry mouth. With the exception of the bands on his abdomen, right hand, left leg and right knee in a velcro immobilizer, he does not use anything else. Completely naked and with a weak smile on his whitish lips, he pulls the last spl of the plastic sweater and exposes all the rest of the tattooed skin above the bandage on his waist.

I looked up and took in my bearings. “What was that?!” I spat, frustrated. The man, who for some reason seemed to have let go of his Disney aura stared at me for a while, his plump lips parted and fringe in a mess, he had what looked like a huge bruise on his collar bone and was bleeding from his nose. “No… no…” I muttered in disbelief and sarcasm seeping from my tone “Don’t tell me that Mr. peace treaty got into trouble because that would be hard to believe!” I spat. Completely livid.

Even with his shirt untucked, everyone could see his huge, hard manhood pointing through his pants. Andre shook his head thinking that this was about to be the worst two months of his life.

Betty looked at the bulge at his groin and got even more afraid by just the mere sight of it, that thing looked huge, and she couldn’t imagine that she was going to allow him to insert it in her if she didn’t come to her senses sooner. “Well then I think the fun is over because I wouldn’t like to force myself on you, No…it wouldn’t be interesting to me.”The man said clearly unpleased with the sudden turn of events, he was sure that he had won the game but well the woman was something else. “What about that? She asked pointing at the long thing that was standing confidently attracting her attention. He in turn looked down at his groin and said calmly” It will do what I tell it to do but you h

Except the man on the screen was pale, hooked up to life-support machines, and staring into a Zurich security camera with a look of pure, disoriented panic. "Who are you?" I whispered, my voice barely audible over the wind. The man standing in front of me didn't flinch. He didn't drop his hands, and his posture didn't change. He simply reached up, calmly unbuttoning the top two buttons of his tailored shirt, revealing a dark, jagged surgical scar running horizontally across his collarbone—a mark the man on the tablet didn't have. "Edgar," he said, his deep, commanding voice completely steady. "Shut down the uplink. Secure the roof perimeter. No one leaves this plaza."

That tiny peach towel, which from the beginning had been struggling desperately to cover the CEO's wide hips, was now facing a much more severe structural crisis. At the front of the cotton fabric, a very noticeable, rigid, and... suspicious vertical bulge had formed.