PIG - Pretty Important Guy

Pretty
Important
Guy

Content Advisory: Contains scenes of non-consent, humiliation, spanking, finger penetration, masturbation, ejaculation, and degradation.

Being a large man has its benefits and problems, but one of the benefits is most people move out of my way, especially smaller dudes. I don't push people around, far from it, but it's usually just easier for them to move, so when I rounded the corner in the locker room to find a short, college guy there I just expected him to move.

Instead he stood there and looked me in the eyes, not being one to back down I stared back until he poked me in the belly and broke into laughter. There I stood in my underwear, white t-shirt tucked into my briefs on my way to the shower and this little guy poked me.

"I'm sorry, you look too much like the dough boy," he said, "laugh for me."

But I just stood there, embarrassed and angered, my hands balled into fists, my face turned red, but I just stood there with my towel over my shoulder as I tried to not yell or punch him. He poked me again, laughed more. I stepped closer and got in his face.

"Little brats like you need a spanking, that's the problem of the youth today, no spankings, no corporal punishment, can't even grab hold of someone in case it goes on the internet."

"Who is going to give it to me? Not you dough boy, just look at you, I'd whoop your ass."

Our threats had been made and for a moment neither of us yielded, but then somehow he declared himself victor and walked away. I shrugged it off and mostly forgot about it.

A few days later when I was back at the gym and working out on the bench press when two figures stepped beside me. I looked up to see the young man, ready to exercise in gym shorts and tank top, he stood next to a tougher looking friend who had tattoos.

"My friend wants to talk to you," the young man said.

"Look, I don't want any trouble, just let it be," I said.

"Oh, he doesn't want trouble," they mocked.

I sat up, wiped the sweat from my brow and looked to them as they waited with crossed arms.

"Give me both of your names, I'm reporting you for harassment."

"Roger," the first one said.

"Elliot," the second replied.

"Wait right here then," I said as I stood.

Even just by a few feet away I was twice their size, but the second one, Elliot, had a look in his eyes so I tried to stare back. He bit his lip and puffed up his shoulders so I flexed my arms a little, the only muscle that's impressive for me.

"Whatever," he said, and they both walked away.

I stood confused, eventually I went back to my routine, when I finished I went back to the locker room. I stripped off my exercise clothes, put my towel over my shoulder, and I was headed to the showers when I heard that familiar giggle. The locker room was otherwise empty, one of those off times during the regular business day, and I just felt it, this panic in my shoulders I hadn't felt since I was a boy. I'd have to confront them both, right there, in my underwear at a public gym.

"Where you going fat boy?"

It was Elliot. The words stuck in me like pins. It even made me wince. I turned to see them. Roger was in shorts stained with sweat. Elliot stood there shirtless, his muscled chest covered in tattoos.

"No, I told you he's the dough boy," Roger replied.

"What is it? Are you a fat boy or a dough boy?"

"Neither, just leave me alone."

"That depends, are you going to move out of our way from now on?"

I turned and started to walk away.

"If I have to come after you I'm going to give you that spanking you threatened to give my friend yesterday. Now get back over here and deal with us like the men we are."

I turned and walked right up to them, yeah I was an old man standing in front of them in my underwear, but I'd stopped being embarrassed about my body. Elliot looked me up and down. Roger held back laughter.

"Do you think you're a tough guy?" Elliot asked, "because I'm tougher."

"Both of you deserve a spanking," I replied.

That's when I made my second big mistake. I tried to grab hold of Elliot. I don't even know what I'd do after, I just reached for him. That's when he grabbed my pinky and bent it back. I cried out in pain, tried to get away, but as I turned he twisted which brought me to my knees. I whimpered. They laughed.

"I could beat you up old man, give you a spanking, but I'm not going to-"

"Thank you," I pleaded as he still held my finger.

"-but that's as long as you do something for me."

"Anything," I said as I expected he wanted money.

"Anything?"

"Did dough boy just offer anything?"

He let go of my finger and I cradled it.

"Assume the position over this bench," he ordered.

I did. There I was at my gym in the locker room over a bench with my big ass stuck out and vulnerable. Roger took hold of the waistband and pulled the cloth snug over my cheeks. Elliot ran his pointer finger between them to let the cloth settle into my crack and let me know just how vulnerable I was. They both laughed then they both swatted me at the same time, one used his left hand, the other his right, both cheeks felt it.

It had been a long time since I had been spanked. At first it didn't feel like anything, just these flat hands that made this clapping sound, but as they continued to strike me, after the shock had worn off, I realized the pain built up. Not just in my butt, my hands and knees against the hard, tiled floor, my belly against the wooden bench.

One of them took hold of my underwear and pulled it to my knees. There I was on all fours, the fabric stretched between my open thighs, my little dick and shrunken balls hung down to feel the cool air. My cheeks slightly open, they continued to slap them, each hit affirmed their shape and size. My butt was no longer this extra part of me, this function, a tool, something between my legs and my back.

My butt was in pain and it was getting worse. They spanked every inch of soft flesh, each impact confirmed the shape, the size of my butt and its ability to absorb the blow. They spanked me until the skin felt warm and tingly, little points of pain that radiated through my body. They spanked me until I lost control of my muscles and they twitched and spasmed without my control. They turned that part of my body against me. And I began to cry.

Cold droplets leaked from between my eyelids and down to my lips. I could taste the saltiness of my tears, my nose became stuffy. I had lost control, not only of the situation, a situation I could have walked away from, but of myself. This ball of pain in my stomach that I had unknowingly been carrying around with me, this tight ball of fear, it was like the breeding ground for snakes, it wriggled and squirmed up through me into these howls of desperation. The two young men finally stopped and I fell into this quiet sob, fully aware of just how humiliated I had been, unable to run I just lay there.

Roger stepped in front of me and squatted down, took hold of the hair on my head to turn it and look me in the eyes. He wiped the tears from my face with his free hand then licked them from his fingers as he laughed at me. This big grin on his face he wiped up more tears then put his fingers to my lips. With one last grasp at my pride I tried to refuse.

"This finger is going in your hole boy," he said, "the only lubricants are your tears and your spit."

I opened my mouth but he didn't push in all of the way, no he touched my lips as if to confirm I had opened them just for him and his finger. He ran it along the shape, smooth across the bottom.  He played with that little bump in the middle of my top lip.

When he touched his finger to my tongue it was salty and bitter, I wanted to spit it out or bite down on it, but I knew I was too vulnerable, too defeated, so he pressed inside all of the way to my throat. That's when I realized he didn't just want the spit from my mouth but the mucous from my throat as I began to choke he held me in place by my hair.

Two fingers, his two fingers, across my tongue, back and forth until I felt like I was going to pass out from lack of air and exhaustion. He let go of my hair, pulled his fingers from my face, but I just laid there over the bench. He walked around behind me, put his finger between my butt cheeks, right to the hole, and he pressed into that ring of flesh, right into me, inside, all of the way to his last knuckle of his pointer finger.  Slowly he pulled out, for a moment I thought it was over, then he pushed two inside, the pointer and the middle, both went deep and wide, wider than anything I had ever stuck up there. Wider than my own finger, wider than a thermometer. I let out a whimper and he pulled out.

He was done with me. They were done with me. Or so I thought. Roger pulled me from the bench and let me fall to the floor on my side, then he rolled me onto my back where he sat on my chest and took hold of my nipples and pulled on my soft breasts.

"Squeal piggy, I want to hear you squeal."

This little piggy squealed. He twisted and pulled on my nipples and soft man boobs until the pain became something else, this inescapable force. He only stopped when he realized I had stopped reacting, then he slapped my face and commanded me to open my eyes, which I did. I looked up to see him, his small framed body sat upon me in victory. He pulled down the front of his shorts to show me his erect dick trapped by the jock, the bulbous head peaked out over the waistband. He looked into my eyes as he pulled the pouch down under his balls to show me just how big and stiff it was. He took hold of it, stroked it, with just a few movements of his hand he bucked his hips and warm, creamy ejaculate covered my face. Elliot stepped beside him and looked down at me, let a long string of spit descend from his lips to mine.

There I lay on my back, covered in their fluids, my stretched out underwear at my ankles, exhausted and gasping for air. Roger fed me his cum from my face, then stood and tucked his dick back inside his jock where he adjusted it before he pulled the front of his shorts up. He was done with me. They were done with me, but somehow, somewhere deep in my soul I knew I wanted more.

Junkyard Dog Part 01

When I got the opportunity to travel for my work I took it as I Iove driving and at first it was a bit of an adventure but after two days on the road in a row the motels feel meaningless, the car like a cell, drive all day every day.  So I always decided to take the adventures offered to me, go forth boldly, I told myself.  But no matter how much courage you have, no matter how much drive, life has a funny way of slowing things down and putting things in perspective.

At least that’s what I tried to tell myself when my car’s engine seized up in the middle of farm country and I had to pull to the side of the road.  There was this feeling of anger and disappointment.  Had it been preventable?  Was it a mistake on my mechanic’s part or myself?  When did I take it to the mechanic last?  How many miles had it been?  Was I pushing the car too much?  I popped the hood, got out, walked in front, opened it and stood there staring at mechanical parts and wires.  I knew the concept of how a car worked, even did an oil change or two with my father, but this was real work, greasy and dirty work.  I was dressed for the office.

My first call was to work to tell them I broke down.  My second call was to the company representatives I was supposed to meet that day to offer insurance policies.  After that it was the long, annoying call to my car service agency who took some notes then transferred me to a towing agency.  I was surprised when I got a young man’s voice on the phone, a young man who had that ring of sincerity.  I told him where I had broken down and gave him a description of my car and myself.  Then I waited.  I tried to do work, tried to think of things I needed to do, but there was so little to contemplate because I knew if I just adjusted my schedule a little there would be little inconvenience.

The tow truck pulled in behind me and I looked up into the rear view mirror.  Great, I thought, the rough world of blue collar workers.  I prepped myself for a heavy set, beer guzzling, old, and white man to waddle up to my car, bark a few orders, then take over as he towed my car back.  I’d have to sit in the cab and pretend like I didn’t exist just so he wouldn’t suspect me of being the gay deviant I am.  So when I looked in the side mirror and saw none of those things I was surprised.  He was handsome and young, with a head full of hair that bounced easily then settled into place with barely a stray.  I looked up through the window to him.  He had a handsome face, chestnut colored eyes.  He motioned for me to lower the window so I did.

He asked me what had happened and I told him.  We went through a few tests together, nothing got it to start, so he told me to wait in the cab while he did what he needed to do to tow it.  I collected my bag and my suitcase and did just that.  The cab was clean and new, barely smelled of anything, maybe leather.  There’s hope yet, I told myself, maybe I’m not stuck in the backwoods just yet.  He moved back and forth from the cab to outside as needed and in five minutes later we were on the road again, this time pulling my car.  And there was this kind of silence between us.

At first I felt like an alien, so constructed in my suit and tie, so put together.  Please have mercy on this soft salesman, I thought, I’m in a strange land and I don’t know anybody.  My sins are my own, I promise I won’t even look at anyone sexually.  I won’t have sex with anyone.  It’ll be like I was never here.  I said all of those things to myself and yet, well, I kept looking at him.  Because he was beautiful.  At first it was little glances, just to check out his boots, his jumpsuit, but then it was the little things like the name tag: Spike, and the bracelets of leather cord and fine chain with these little charms.  He wore three necklaces, a cross, a pentagram, and a class ring.  He had tattoos on his hands, his forearms, and his neck.  He had blemished his skin and yet I wanted to know where else they were.  Did he have them on his muscled chest?  Did he have them on his thighs?  Maybe one of those whimsical joke ones on his ass.  I bit my lip and tried to think of something else and yet there was nothing else and before I could stop myself I just started talking.  I told him about myself, about my schedule and my business, I told him about my apartment in the city and how I like to have cookouts on my deck next to my hot tub.

That was the final straw.  I thought I saw he had gotten bored, or at least tired of pretending to be interested and he had this half annoyed look on his face so I just shut up.  Why did I have to say anything about the hot tub, the deck, the apartment?  I should have kept my mouth shut and my stomach started to twist as I sat there.  He was going to overcharge me on principle alone, but now that I had told him how about my life he knew, or could guess how much money I have and he’d really have me.  I’d have to pay him anything just to get out of there.  Just shut up, I told myself.

“How much farther is it?”  I kicked myself on the insides for opening my mouth.

“Am I boring you mister?”

“What, oh no, it’s just, I’m nervous about how this will effect work and when I get nervous I talk a lot and when I talk a lot I say the wrong thing.”

“It’s just up the road here,” he said.

“Great,” I said, now just- “Do they let you work on cars with all of those bracelets and necklaces?”

I had done it.  I had said the one thing I was thinking.  I was sunk.  But he let out a laugh, ruffled his hair, then looked to me.

“Is that why you’ve been staring at me?”

There it was.  I had been staring at him, that’s why I kept talking, because if I talked that meant eye contact, the social practice of building a relationship with another person.  It was how I did my business, to notice the way others interact and mirror back, even change up, that interaction to get what I wanted from them, sell insurance.  I had this whole theory about it, social function, introduction, handshake, small talk, a joke, eye contact, and if the person seemed okay with it, especially if the other person started first, touching each other, those little gestures of a hand on the shoulder and forearm.  I did none of those things.  I had been staring at him, consuming him with my eyes.

“Yes,” I said coyly.

“See something you like?”

His question hit me square in the chest.  I sputtered and ran through the options of answers but I couldn’t think of one fast enough.  What kind of answer did he want?

“I know it’s weird but I’m kind of a collector of things.  It’s not necessarily something I believe so much as people I’ve known.  But don’t worry, I don’t work on cars.  I mean I know how but I’m more of the retriever guy.  Do this, get that, fetch a car, I’m more of a people person.”

“Oh,” I replied.

And I felt like at that moment I was sitting next to my doppelganger, a person just like me but with a different life.  He had the tattoos I always wanted.  He had the ability to work on cars.  He was beautiful and yet when people saw him they knew who and what he was.  When they saw me they saw a tool.  I had carefully tailored my image and yet there was nothing unique about me, my construction was to look like someone else.  I wanted to tell him right then but I saw the sign for garage and fell silent.  For once I had nothing to say as he pulled into the lot, drove to the office and told me to wait inside.  I got out with my bags and carried them in to find the craggily old man I had expected to get my car.  He looked me over, then sat and picked up some papers.

“So uhm,” I said.

“What’s that?”

“No I was just, I mean, I um, well, I think it’s Spike there, he just dropped me off and well, I came in here and I don’t know if I’m supposed to talk with you or wait for him, and well, I have to get back on the road.  You see I’m an insurance-“

“You’ll have to wait for Spike,” he said, “I’m going on a smoke break.”

He got up and walked out of the room.  “And fuck you very much,” I mumbled to myself as I looked around at the walls and noted the photographs of a sponsored baseball team as well as pictures of family, cutouts of cartoons from newspapers, and one trophy fish missing an eye.  I was about to laugh to myself when Spike came in through the door with a clipboard in his hand.  He told me that they’d have to look it over first and run some tests, then they’d give me the options.

“But the thing is, and I’m truly sorry for this, but we have a bunch of work that needs to be done today and well, you’ll probably have to stay the night.”

“What?”

“At a motel, is there one you prefer?”

“I don’t know the motels in the area, but something mid-level like a Cloud Nine or something, I don’t have a lot of money but I’m not sleeping with the fleas.”

“No, I understand,” he said.

“Now your car service company said something about a loaner car, but we ain’t got much like that.  I mean we have a few cars we loan to people but well, it’s just for people to use locally.  We don’t want to chase anybody down.”

“No, I can understand that,” I replied.

“Okay, well, unless you plan on driving around I guess I can take you to the hotel,” he said.  “Just let me get changed into some street clothes.”

“Sure,” I replied.

The rest of the journey was in silence, air conditioned silence in a two year old Cadillac.  I no longer looked at him.  I just sat there contemplating where I had gone wrong and I started to think about the mini-bar.  I could wreck a mini-bar right about then.  I’d start with the clears then move to the browns and- it was happening again.  No work, nothing to do, so my answer was to drink.  I shook off the notion and before I could stop myself I was talking again.

“Where do people go around here?  Are there any bars?”

“I didn’t think you’d be the bar type, well not local bars.”

“I know.  I should be drinking a martini and laughing about the stock market but-“

“No, I just meant, well, you seem like a stay at home guy,” he said.

“No, well, actually, I’m a stay at work kind of guy.  Because when I go home, when I’m alone, well, I drink, and things have been going really well for me recently.  I don’t want to fall down that rabbit hole.  So maybe if I go out-“

“Do you have any other clothes?”

I looked over myself.  My shoes wouldn’t survive a hay covered floor like I imagined the bars there had.  My tie would get too many looks.  And when I rolled my eyes when I asked about the wine and the bartender told me they have two kinds, red and white, well that would get me beat up.

“Nothing I can wear,” I said.

“Well, I’ll loan you some,” he said, “you’re about my size.”

“Actually, could we go somewhere and I could buy some?”

“No problem,” he replied.

He pulled into one of those chain dollar stores and we went inside together.  He showed me where the jeans were then we walked around the store and I got other things like junk food and even a paperback novel and playing cards.  We were walking around when he stopped in the pets section and went over to the bowls.  He squatted down and picked one up.

“Do you need a new bowl for your dog?” I asked.

“No, I’m thinking of adopting a new one,” he said, “pick out some chew toys you think a puppy might like.  I’ll pay for them.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” I said, “company card.”

“Great,” he replied, “get a couple then.”

“This one looks cute,” I said taking one, a stuffed giraffe, from the metal rod, “and this one, and I like this one.”

“Nice,” he replied before taking his cell phone from his pocket.  He sent a quick text message then returned his attention to me and crossed his arms in playful thought.  “Do you know what you need if we’re going to the bar tonight?”

“We?”

“You need some boots, not expensive ones, and since I know how you feel about wearing other people’s clothes we should get some here.”

“Okay,” I said, and we walked to the boots section where he picked out a pair for me.  It felt weird following him around because I kept thinking about what other people thought.  These were the type of people I had left behind.  These were the people I had grown up with.  They didn’t like me.  And I didn’t like them.  But being with Spike somehow made it okay.  He had this charm about him that I thought would ease all contact between me and them.

I paid for everything and after I loaded the trunk he got a response text message from someone.  He laughed a little and looked to me as I got in the passenger seat.  “You won’t believe it,” he said, “I’ve got to pick up a dog crate for someone.  We’ll have to put it in the back seat.”

“Right now?”

“Do you mind?”

“No,” I said, “it’s fine.”

And yet I felt this nervousness as it felt like he was dragging me along through this town, farther and deeper into it than I would like, that I felt comfortable seeing.  He drove to the opposite side of town, down a dirt road and into the forest a little to a cabin.  The title of every horror movie about cabins and featuring cabins in the title flashed through my brain, and yet he got out and seemed so casual.  I looked around from the cage with the baying hound to the window where a candle burned.  This was just like where I grew up.  The front door opened and a young man stepped out, shirtless and barefoot, the jeans barely clung to his bare hips, no underwear.  His hair hadn’t been cut in years so it almost reached his shoulders in this shaggy half combed disorder.  He laughed and held out his arms for a hug as he walked to Spike.  They hugged, I heard flesh slap flesh for a moment before they stepped to me and I was introduced.  His name was Luke and they had been best friends for a long time, “since before our peckers had hair,” as Luke put it.  He led us to where the cage was, said he had just cleaned it and dried it, which it looked like he had, then I watched as they carried it to the car.  I just stood there with my hands in my pockets.  They had looked at each other, shrugged, then they did it.  And I just stood there.  

When I got back into the car I felt a bit of a dolt, you know one of those funny sounds The Three Stooges make when they are hit on their heads, well I felt like that as they loaded it in the backseat.  I could tell there was effort involved.  But when he got back into the car he didn’t say anything just drove on and took me to my motel.  When we pulled in front of the management office he pulled out his cell phone and looked at a message and laughed before telling me to go rent a room and he’d get my stuff.  He started to type as I left him. 

The hotel was the kind of place that had once been the five star local, the type of place that existed for large families to stay for the weekend while visiting the lake.  It was the type of place where people partied in the 70s with rails of coke and lots of polaroid pictures of naked antics.  And now the old timers worked hard to keep it running as best they could, the slow gathering of dirt and cracks were overlooked by their poor sight and sense of nostalgia.  The desk attendant was an old, bald man who chewed on an unlit cigar and talked out of the corner of his mouth.  He rented me a room easy enough but nothing was run through right away, they took an impression.  How the hell did they get away with this?  I might not see the charges for days, I stopped myself short of business advice, handed the guy my card, took the key, went outside and moved the car. 

The room was on the second floor, there was a wooden staircase on both sides of the front of the hotel, my room was on the second floor near the middle.  I was grateful that Spike helped me carry everything up and inside.  Just over the threshold I stopped to look around, the whole room was larger than my first apartment.  There was a lounge area, a dining area with bar, a small kitchen, a bathroom, and two bedroom doors.  The bedrooms themselves were actually separate from the hotel room.  Who would have thought some backwoods place would have spacious accommodations.  In the city a place like this would be a couple thousand dollars, especially with all of the space, but here, yeah, it was a little worn around the corners but it was still nice to have.

Spike set everything on the bed then sat and scratched behind his ear.  I wasn’t sure if he was going to stay or go as I thought he had done everything I needed and yet I liked having him there so I didn’t mind if he stayed.  He laughed and sent another message before looking up to me.

“Go get a shower,” he said, “we’re going out.”

“We’ll be irresistible,” I said.

“Every woman will want to dance with us and every guy will be jealous of us,” he said.

I went into the bathroom and closed the door, stripped, then got into the shower.  The warm water relaxed my muscles, the sound of the spray made me forget the sounds of the world.  There was no work, there were no clients, this was how life was supposed to be lived, well part of life.  I cleaned myself thoroughly, and by the time I stepped out and picked up a towel I felt like a tube, as if everything could pass through me.

When I stepped out of the bathroom I was surprised to see that not only was Spike still sitting there but that he had turned on many of the lights, got himself a drink, and turned on the television.  There were signs of life and it was a nice feeling even if he was a bit messy.  I cleaned up after him then went to my suitcase and opened it.  For a moment I remembered that I thought I had set the zipper towards the wall and away from the chair but this way I had to stand so that, so that Spike could see me in my towel.  I smirked at the thought and laughed it off as wishful thinking.

So I kept my butt towards him and just like I had done all of my life I went through the skilled art of keeping my towel wrapped around my waist while pulling on a pair of underwear.  It’s a tricky thing to do, especially so you don’t trip over yourself.  I did it with ease and even kept the towel wrapped around my waist as I pulled out the new pair of jeans.  That was trickier and I actually did almost fall over, the towel landed on the ground and I hopped around a little.  It was a funny sight.  You might have seen it online.  Anyway, I got them up and finished dressing, even down to the cowboy boots and flannel shirt, looked to Spike who sat doing something on his phone.

“Are we going?” I asked.

“In a minute,” he said.

I waited that minute and then we left the room.  We walked for a few feet and were descending to the landing between floors when he spoke up.  I was surprised and a little embarrassed by the topic.

“So you still wear tighty whities?  I would have thought it was silk boxers.”

“Not for me,” I replied.

“I’m not sure if I could handle being all held like that, but I guess when you’ve got a, you know, that it helps keep the little fella from banging around.”

“Little?”

“I saw what I saw.  That towel wasn’t doing much for you.”

“Hey, I’m a grower not a shower,” I said.

When we got to the car I stopped but he kept walking.  I was partially insulted by making the joke in public but I wasn’t offended so I stood confused.  He got about five feet away and turned to me then motioned for me to follow and started to walk away again.  I ran a little to catch up and tried to walk in stride with him.

“Aren’t we taking the car?”

“Naw, this is the only bar in town, right next to the hotel so if people get too drunk they can just screw there.  That’s how my mom and dad met.  I was conceived in that very room.”

I saw what he was doing, making fun of the way I seemed to react to everyone in town.  And yet there was this kind of humor to it because I imagined it was hard for him too.  Was I the person who escaped?  Did he want to be me at some time in this life or like me?  Was I his failed dream?  Just go with the flow, I told myself.  And I walked along with him.  We arrived at this large country bar and grill that had two sides, one for fighting and one for fucking, no really, it was one for dining and one for drinking.  We ended up at the bar.  

One shot of bourbon and one beer each just to start the night.  The bar was crowded with people at the pool table, at the bar, at half of the tables.  All of them were eating so I knew it had to be the food.  A jukebox in the corner played loud Honky Tonk music, and I started to notice most of the people were in their fifties and sixties, dressed in their finest duds and reliving their youth.    

“So who you looking to take back to your room tonight?” he asked.

“What?” I asked, then it kind of caught up to me, “everyone here is over forty.”

“Aren’t you over forty?” he asked.

“Watch it, you know what I mean, they’re in their fifties… sixties?”

“It’s senior citizen night,” he said.

“Senior citizen night at a country bar, now I’ve seen everything,” I replied.

“Senior citizen night at the Tiger Fish Lake Country Club,” he corrected.

“Country club?” I asked but he didn’t respond and paused for a moment.  It was another of my ill assumptions, one of my judgements.

“Who are you looking for dudes or ladies?”

Dudes or ladies, was he trying to be subtle and ask my sexuality?  It was cute and I really wanted to say something.  I really wanted to tell him dudes and yet that fear of him suddenly turning on me, I pushed the thoughts from my mind and decided to have a little fun with him, test him.

“All these old people around I might just end up taking you back to my room and shagging the hell out of you,” I said.

“Get enough beers in me and we might just do that,” he replied. "But not with your little dick. I'd need a man hung like a horse, then I might consider it."

My eyes bulged at the thought of him taking dick. There was no way. Was there? Straight or gay we decided to drink and the more we drank and the more of his friends started dropping by and soon I was paying for a few guys.  But when the women got involved it got to be more fun.  I wasn’t just this closet homosexual.  I was one of the guys, drinking, and laughing.  That’s when I was asked to dance by one of the women.  I refused at first but eventually she dragged me and the rest of them up there.  So we did it.  We drank and laughed and told dirty jokes.

Line dancing was a lot of fun, and I made small talk with a few of the cowboys and their wives, even passed out my business card when they asked.  It was a party and we left there with this bond between us, this kind of rubber band feeling that we didn’t want to be too far away from each other, even when we took turns pissing in the back alley, it was casual.  We made it back to the room and moved to the couch.    We sat next to each other, both half drunk.  We looked into each other’s eyes and that’s when I felt his hand at my neck.  I knew his arm was back there but I didn’t expect his hand to gently touch my neck.  He ran his finger up the back of my head and felt the way it bristled.  Down was smooth but up, I could feel it and he could feel it, the way the hairs moved between his fingers it tickled both of us.  And I knew.  I knew he was going to kiss me.  I wanted it so bad.  He started to move and I closed my eyes.

The hand on the back of my neck, he pulled me into his lips and he kissed me.  I tried to kiss back but eventually I gave myself over to him and that’s when I felt his right hand on my crotch.  He undid my belt and unbuttoned my jeans and was about to reach into my underwear when I stopped him.

“I’m not-“

“Don’t worry about it, I saw your little pecker.  It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, unless you want to be embarrassed.  Do you boy?”

“Please,” I begged.

He moved over me for a moment, nose to nose, then he grabbed hold of my feet and took off my boots, my jeans, ripped open my flannel shirt and pulled it from my arms until I was in an undershirt and briefs.  He laughed at me and I looked up at him.

“Your skin is green,” he said, “don’t you know you’re supposed to wash flannel boy?  I’m going to have to give you a spanking and then a bath before we can have too much fun.”

A spanking and a bath?  But I didn’t have time to think because he took hold of my ear and pulled me from the couch, dragged me to the a full length closet mirror.  He stood behind me and made me look into it.  I saw us, our two bodies intertwined and he looked over my shoulder at the both of us as he grabbed my little pecker and my balls.  He bit my shoulder with a kiss.

“What are you?” he asked.

“I’m a boy,” I said.

“What kind of boy?”

“I’m a naughty boy,” I said.

“And what do naughty boys get?”

His hands went to my ass and he grabbed both cheeks.  I jumped a little and so did my dick.  It was poking out from my body and it looked tiny in the reflection, barely noticeable, until he took hold of it, separated the shaft from my balls and tucked it along my left thigh.  With his other hand he spanked me on my left cheek and bit my neck again.

“What are you boy and what do you deserve?”

“I’m a naughty boy and I deserve to be spanked,” I said.

He was quick after that confession to pull me by the hand to the bed where he placed a boot on the frame and held his knee in the air.  Actually over the knee, I thought, but it was too  late because he put me over it with ease and soon I was looking down at the floor, cut in half with just his thigh holding me in the air.  I let my hands fall down past my head as all of the blood rushed to it.  Just the feeling against my stomach hurt but when he brought down that first hand it caught me by surprise.  There was this sharp pain but it didn’t linger and for a moment I almost laughed it off until he spanked me the second time, then the third time, and he lit into me with a flurry of spanks.

There I was over this younger man’s knee in the air, my feet and hands unable to touch the ground, dressed only in briefs, blood rushed to my head, hands, and butt cheeks.  That pain began to build and throb, little nerves went out through me and back to my butt.  It was humiliating and embarrassing, but it was just what I had wanted.  And for a moment I felt relief, but that was only to pulled my underwear up between my cheeks so that he could get at the reddening flesh.  He spanked all over each cheek, from the top of the mound to the creases between my thighs.

The pain had this kind of ebb and flow.  It would concentrate in one area for a moment, my mind would be thinking of just that one spot and then it would move and go somewhere else, usually back to my butt.  He paused again, then set me down.  There were tears in my eyes and I hoped that the little game was over, at least for a little while, but he just rolled up his sleeves and secured them before hauling me back over his knee.  This time my little undies were dragged down over my thighs and hung for a moment at my ankles until I kicked them off because the pain, the feeling of humiliation.  I began to kick and scream as he beat my ass, not just cry, I sobbed and heaved over his knee.  No dignity, no feeling of self, he stood me back up and looked me in the eye.

“That’s how we do it around here city boy,” he said.

“I’m not a city boy,” I muttered.

He took hold of my dick, “You may have been born in the woods but you’re a city boy.  I saw it right away.  You’re soft, ain’t nothing wrong with that, but you’re not weak.  Oh no, soft things don’t break as easily as hard things do.” 

“You don’t think less of me?”

He wiped the tears from my cheeks, then pointed to the corner.  I looked for my briefs to see where they had gone and he was quick to slap me on the ass and tell me to focus on my punishment.  He walked me to the corner with a hand on my shoulder and placed me there.  Two walls meet, it’s a corner, and there I was buck naked with this country boy, this younger man, who had just spanked me and brought me to tears.  I shuttered and cried some more and when that feeling seemed to be gone, when I felt like it was over and he might just move on to something else, that’s when he took me by the ear and pulled me to the bed and across his lap.  

My hard dick on his thigh, one leg on either side, my cheeks parted as my dick was trapped there in view and easy access.  He lit me up again, a burst of spanking and I cried.  With every fiber of my being I cried and cried until the pain somehow became tolerable and I just stopped, that’s when he told me to get down on the floor and take off his boots.  I slid to the floor and took off each boot.

“Smell ‘em,” he said.

I did.  I smelled his feet.  And when he told me to take his socks off I did that too.  I licked them, I massaged them.  It didn’t matter when they were cleaned last.  I did it.  I licked his feet.  He took off his jeans and I went back at them.  Slowly he pulled me up his body to his crotch where his hard dick stood firm and through the little hole in his boxers.  It was twice the size of mine.  I started to move for it but he pushed me away.  I tried again.  He pushed me away.  We looked each other in the eyes and I knew this was his little game for me.

“Does puppy want a bone?” he asked.

“Yes sir,” I said.

He slapped me playfully across the face.

“That’s not how puppy’s speak.  Only bad puppies pretend to be boys.  You want my bone.  Are you a bad puppy and I do I need to spank you or are you going to speak for me?”

I barked.  It was a little yap, but I did it, then I did it again.  I barked and climbed with him farther onto the bed where he pulled me to his dick.  My lips to his balls but I didn’t open them, no he wanted obedience.  Not until he said lick, then I did it.  I licked, I sucked, I fondled.  He started to play with my hole, a dry finger at first, but he licked it and slowly each time shoved a little more into me until I knew how close he was and that soon he’d want the real thing.  He pulled me aside and to the mattress before he got behind me and to my surprise ate out my ass.  He didn’t just lick.  He didn’t just spit.  He ate.  His tongue penetrated me.  I wanted it so bad I reached back and pulled my cheeks apart.  He opened me so by the time he got up to his knees and stuck his dick against me I was ready for him.  He pushed inside to the balls, left it there for a moment as he kissed me over the shoulder.  He pulled it out, pulled away, but then he was on me again and in me.

My little dick rubbed between my thighs, slapped against my belly as he held onto me and he fucked me into the bed face first.  His hands pushed down on the small of my back and my knees went wide.  He thrust into me with power and determination, his hard dick was like steel, his hands felt like claws as he scratched up my back.  He had me.  My parted cherry red ass, I reached to feel his balls, feel his thighs.  He stuck it in deep.  I felt it.  That spasm as he filled my insides.  He took hold of my head and my shoulder and rolled me onto my back with his dick still inside me.  I looked up into his eyes and he put his hands down on either side of my head.  He leaned down slowly.  His lips brushed mine.

“What are you?”

Boy?  Puppy?  Did he want a quick thank you sir or a bark?  There was one good, honest answer that came from my heart.

“I’m yours,” I replied.

Hard Sell Pt 08 - The Personal Trainer

[Are you still interested in getting into better shape?]

Mark looked around again.

[Yes, very.  Do you have something, someone in mind?]

[You kinky bastard, I do.  His name is Apollo.  He’s a personal
trainer I know.  I’ve been telling him about you, nothing specific, no
names, yet, but what we’ve been doing.  He said he’s interested in
starting a regimen with you.  Are you interested?]

Oh god, Mark thought, a personal trainer.  This could be another thing to mark off his bucket list.  He found himself nodding even though no one was there to see and he stopped himself before quickly sending back a text.

[Yes, please, sir.]

He grinned and gave himself points for the sir part.  Oliver replied
with name, Apollo and an address, time and date, he was disappointed it would be Friday evening but it had him wanting it even more.  There was another text from Oliver telling him that he should buy something to wear, namely a jockstrap, a tank top, and a pair of shorts, short shorts like athletes wore.  Mark licked his lips at the idea and replied that he would get everything and be there on time.  He had one night to kill but he didn’t want to do it alone.

[Since it’s not going to be until tomorrow do you think we could, you know, get together?]

[I’m a bit busy this evening.  I want you to do something for
yourself.  Your ass will be mine soon enough.]

Soon enough?  It was never soon enough.  Mark sighed and sent a
message back that he understood even though he didn’t and left it at that.

He pulled into the strip mall parking lot and made his way to the back where he found one remaining business amongst several others that had been closed for months, possibly years.  He was surprised when he spotted three other cars parked nearby.  Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad if there were other people here exercising, he said to himself.  He looked up to the window to see a sign for Apollo’s Fitness.

This is the place, he told himself and slowly exited his car.  He made sure he had everything he needed in his bag: a jockstrap, shorts, and a tank top.  The outfit would be more revealing than he might be comfortable wearing, especially in front of clients, but he took a deep breath and assured himself this is what Oliver had asked him to do before he locked his car and walked to the front door.  He opened it causing the familiar sound of bell on the door that he hadn’t heard in years.  He stepped inside to a small reception area where he saw a young man sitting behind a desk.  He was handsome, thin, and well dressed.  The receptionist looked up to him with a curious brow.

“Hi, I’m here for a three o’clock appointment,” Mark said.

“You’re a little early,” the receptionist replied, “but Apollo is just
finishing up with his previous client so please take a seat and I’ll
let him know you’re here.”

Mark looked to the seats.  They were just comfortable to sit for
fifteen minutes, a half hour at most.  He sat and watched as the
receptionist finished whatever he had been doing on his computer
before getting up and walking to the back room.  He noted that man was a bit light in the loafers and smirked to himself.  Moments later the man returned and said that Apollo would be with him shortly after finishing with the previous client.  He thanked him in response and looked around the room.  He wasn’t surprised to see a few motivational posters on the walls and read over each of them to pass the time.  He had never been one for self-motivation much less motivational posters and he just smirked to himself and rolled his eyes.

After he read over them several times he looked to the receptionist
who showed no interest in even acknowledging him so he double checked his bag, even thought about going back out to his car, when he heard voices approaching from the back room.  He looked up to see two men step through a curtain.  The first man was fit, dressed in a tank top and shorts, Mark assumed he had a jock underneath, no bag.  He picked up his keys from the receptionist. The second man, the second man took away Mark’s breath at first sight.

He was six two or six three and muscled, black skinned, and dressed in shorts and tank top that looked too small for his body.  His thighs were thick causing the shorts to ride up.  His tank top looked more like a skimpy piece of cloth.  He gulped when he spotted the bulge between the man’s legs and held his breath when the man passed him and he saw his muscled butt.  He forced himself to look up to the man’s head but could barely get his eyes above the man’s shoulders there was just so much of him.  He walked the previous client to the door.  They talked like old friends and he patted the man on the shoulder as he exited.  His hand alone was big and meaty.  Mark thought he might crumble under a touch like that and no matter how much he tried to prepare himself he was still taken by surprise when the man, Apollo, turned to him.  But his face broke into a smile making Mark feel a little more at ease.

“Are you my three o’clock?”

“Yes, uh, yes sir,” Mark stammered out.

“Good, well, I thought you’d be dressed and ready.  No matter, come on back and we can take care of that.”

Mark hoped his briefs held his erection in place as he got to his feet and walked ahead of the man to the back room he had indicated.  He stepped through the curtain to see a simple four walled room, not very big but full of exercise equipment.  A rack of weights, an exercise bike, a rowing machine, a weight bench, and even one of those rubber balls.  He spotted a large, storage chest against one wall.  There was one door at the back of the room and he wasn’t sure if it was an exit, an office, or just a restroom.  He looked to Apollo as he stepped into the room.

“Well, let’s see what we’re working with,” the man said.

Mark stood frozen.  He looked around at the room.  It was obvious,
right there was all of the equipment, and then he realized the man was talking about him.  Did he want him to strip down?  Was he supposed to change right there?  Or was it just that he was talking about the soon to occur challenge of exercise?  He tightened his grip on his gym bag.

“Well?”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, um, sir,” Mark replied.

“Strip down,” Apollo said, “you can put your bag and clothes on the chest over there I guess.  Next time you can leave your work clothes in the car, leave your keys with the receptionist.”

“Oh,” Mark replied.

He set his bag on the chest and looked around the room, remembered the curtain, there wouldn’t be much privacy, he said to himself.  He started to strip and looked to Apollo who moved around seeming to put things away.  He folded his clothes carefully, set them atop the chest: his shirt, his pants.  He set his belt and socks on top, his shoes beside his clothes until he was down to his briefs and he looked to Apollo who didn’t seem to be paying attention.  He was getting something out, a weight scale.  He carried it to the middle of the room.  Mark turned to his bag, pulled off his underwear, opened the bag and took out his jock.

“Actually, why don’t you come over here just like that and I can get an accurate weight,” he said.

Mark dropped his jock, covered his dick and balls with his hands, then turned to the man who waited patiently.  He walked to him, looked down to the scale, carefully he stepped onto it.

“Hey, Steve would you come in here with a chart for a new client?”

Apollo called out.  Mark took a deep breath and looked to the muscled man with pleading eyes.  

“Is there something wrong?”

Mark shook his head.  There he was naked, his hands over his crotch, and the man walked into the room through the same curtains he had walked through, carrying a clipboard and pen.  He moved to stand beside him, bit at the end of his pen and looked over Mark as if he were evaluating him.  He felt his nipples harden, a chill in the room he hadn’t noticed before, but there was nothing he could do about it.

There was nothing, if he was honest with himself, he wanted to do
about, except give in to this.

“Weight, 170 pounds,” Apollo said, “now let’s get some measurements that way we can really show improvement over the next couple of weeks.”

“I’ll be right back,” Steve said.

Mark stepped off the scale and Apollo moved it back to the corner of the room.  He looked to see Steve step into the room with the same clipboard and a roll of measuring tape just like the tailor had used on him.  He didn’t know just how personal this was going to get but he suspected it would get very intimate.  Apollo took the measuring tape and quickly set about wrapping it around and touching it to Mark’s body, chest, biceps, waist, thighs.  He called out the numbers each time and Steve quickly wrote down the numbers.  When he was done he handed it back and to Mark’s surprise Steve walked out of the room.

He felt a little bit of relief to be left with just Apollo until the
man said he wanted him to get his jock, and only his jock.  Mark
walked back to the chest, picked it up, stepped into it and pulled it
into place, adjusted his dick inside and felt a little bit of ejaculate
on his fingers.  He quickly licked it from his fingers before turning
back to his trainer.  The man smirked to him and motioned for him to step back into the middle of the room.  He did.

“Ten jumping jacks,” he ordered.

Mark laughed off his nervousness and set about the task. Pushups, burpees, run in place, more jumping jacks, he quickly put him through a calisthenics test, told him to adjust pace and form each time.  Mark felt his lungs begin to burn, his heart possibly beat the fastest it had done in years except for maybe during sex or
masturbation.  Sweat formed all over his body, across his back, his
face, and it began to run down the middle of his back.  For one
routine he felt like he had done everything perfectly because after it
he felt so tired he wasn’t sure if he could keep form no matter how
much he tried.  And just when he was about to fall to the floor in
exhaustion Apollo told him to take a break after sit ups so he just
lay there and caught his breath.  He heard the man move around, bring over some weights.

Still on the floor Mark looked up to see Apollo standing over his
head.  He could see up the man’s shorts, a flash of white jock strap, then he set weights down on either side and ordered him to pick them up.  He picked up one in each hand and set to the task of pressing them above his chest.  He realized he was flat on his back, knees in the air, his dick covered by a thin white fabric, the straps around his butt.  Apollo walked around him observing him from every angle.

His dick started to harden, strained against the band.  Apollo kept at him, put him back through the exercises, added weights with different positions until he was exhausted, covered in sweat, one knee up, flat on his back, his head to the side.  Mark panted for breath.

“Please,” Mark cried out.

“How do you feel?”

“Like I’m about to puke,” Mark replied.

“Okay, let’s take a little break,” Apollo replied.

Mark looked to the man truly grateful for being given a reprieve.  He
fell to his back and took several deep breaths until his heart slowed. He realized just then how read his skin had gotten, how hard his nipples felt.  He wanted to touch himself all over, especially his dick and his nipples, maybe slip a finger between his cheeks, but as he lay there under Apollo’s tutelage he just bit at his lip and told himself he had to keep it professional.  Just when he thought his body had almost returned to normal he heard his trainer clear his throat.

“Yes sir?”

“Just one more thing,” Apollo said.

“What’s that?”

“Cool down,” he replied.

“I’m okay,” Mark said.

“That wasn’t a question.  It’s a requirement, now get your ass up,” he ordered.

Mark forced himself up to his knees, then to his feet.  He watched as Apollo moved to the chest, set aside his bag and clothes, then opened it.  He reached one hand down inside and took hold of something, he pulled out a silver chain, a dog chain, pulled until it reached its maximum length and then he was pulling on something, a black rubber covered head emerged, someone, Mark told himself.  He watched as Apollo pulled a man from inside the chest, naked except for the rubber mask, a leather harness, cuffs on his wrists and his ankles.  He was completely hairless from the neck down, no hair anywhere so his hard dick stuck out obscenely from his body.  It was eight, no nine inches long, and the tip was red, that’s when he noticed the cock ring.

Apollo led the gimp slave across the room to in front of the exercise
bike and told him to get on his knees.  He watched as Apollo walked into the back room for something.  The gimp slave didn’t look his direction at all.  Was it the receptionist under there?  Had he stripped and been placed in the chest while Apollo was making him workout so hard?  He looked to the doorway and saw his trainer was carrying something, he moved to the bicycle and carefully attached it, a fuck machine, Mark realized, normally it was powered by an electric motor but he had a feeling this one was powered by the bike.  He was going to be on the bike, he realized.  He felt his dick harden and watched as his trainer moved the slave gimp into position and slowly worked the machine into position with the other man until the dildo on its end was inserted into him, then he tied him off by the chain on his neck, his cuffs.  He was stuck there.  Mark unconsciously licked his lips.

“Come over here,” Apollo said.

“Yes sir,” Mark replied with renewed enthusiasm.

“This is going to be like our own little spin class,” he said, “but
with a change.”

Mark nodded to the man.

“There’s just one more thing,” Apollo said before walking away to the back room again.  He came back moments later with another dildo in his hands, this one had a metal shaft attached to its base.  He moved to the bike, took off the seat, and replaced it with the dildo.

“You can’t be serious,” Mark blurted out.

“Strip and ride this thing, that is if you want to give this little
piggy, gimp slave the fuck of his life.”

Oh, he wanted to do it.  He really wanted to do it.  This stranger who had been kept in the chest, there he was bound and naked, a hard dick between his thighs, little chance of getting off, and getting fucked in the ass by the dildo fuck machine attached to the bike he’d be powering himself.

He looked to the dildo.  Apollo smirked at him before picking up the
same lubricant he had used on the gimp and applied it to the dildo
that had replaced the seat.  He greased every inch of it, then
motioned for Mark to move in and get onto it.  He stepped over the
center bar, put a foot on each pedal causing a slight movement of the wheels, the dildo, which caused the gimp to whimper.  He smiled at the notion of what he was about to do.  Apollo placed one hand on his stomach and took hold of the dildo with his other, slowly he eased him back until it entered his hole.

For just a moment he wanted to stop as he felt it dilate his
sphincter, so big he thought it would somehow split him in two but his sunk further down it.  He could feel each inch push up inside of his body.  His hole felt like it would never close again and he didn’t
want it to because even the pain felt like pleasure.   Eventually he
sunk to the base and let out a groan, felt sweat on his brow that he
wiped away with the back of his hand.  But the most surprising thing was his dick as he felt it harden like a rock.  He looked down to it, red and swollen, his balls tight.  He just wanted to touch it so
slowly he lowered his hand but Apollo saw him and slapped it away.

“Please sir,” he begged.

“No, get that ass moving,” the man replied.

Slowly he began to pedal and he looked to the machine as it increased in speed and he heard the gimp whimper so he slowed but Apollo was quick to spank him on the butt and he picked up speed again.  The gimp before him, his thighs, narrow waist, the way his balls and dick was tucked between his thighs completely helpless.  He felt another spank on his butt and picked up speed again, watched the dildo machine fuck him faster and faster until it reached its maximum speed.  He was pumping as hard and fast as he could, tried to use the motion of the pedals to his advantage.  Apollo reached around from behind and began to play with his nipples, two hard little points that became so sensitive that he began to twist at just a little touch.  He could smell himself.  He could smell the lubricant.  His own heart felt like it would seize in his chest.

And the gimp, that poor gimp was secured in place getting rammed by the machine, relentless and persistent.  There was no stopping it.  A dildo very much like the one inside of Mark’s asshole was also in that gimp and it pounded him mercilessly.  Mark’s thigh muscles strained, his feet felt heavy, his arms weak he leaned down onto the bike to try and find some comfortable position causing the dildo to shift.  His balls rubbed against his thighs and if only, just only a few more inches something might touch his dick that leaked ejaculate.

Just when he was about to slow, about to give up, he felt Apollo leave him.  He listened as he walked over to the chest then come back.  He stepped into his sight, a flick of the wrist and Mark saw the little bull whip in his hand.  “Oh no,” Mark cried out, and Apollo smirked before stepping into position and whipping him across the back.  The first few times didn’t feel like much, a passing sensation, but as the man continued to whip his back he felt it build and that’s when the man struck him more quickly.  He pushed harder against the pedals until the whip fell in synch with each time around.  His dick.  His back.  His hole.  His heavy feet.  Sweat covered him.  And that gimp, the sounds of the gimp as he struggled against his bonds somehow fueled him more, his groans almost became recognizable pleas.

That didn’t stop him.  He looked to Apollo who lazily stroked his own dick with one hand and whipped with the other.  He saw the shape and girth of his dick and recognized it.  It was just like the dildo in him and the one in the gimp.  He had made replicas of his dick and they were being fucked by them.  He pushed himself up, locked his elbows, let his knees just keep going as he began to think of himself as part of that same machine fucking the gimp.  He was just another part, the engine.  Mark felt the pain his back as it gave in to the pain and he arched back and let out a yell, a scream, so primal and intense he barely recognized it was coming from his own body.  That’s when it happened, tears running down his face, Apollo touched his dick, the sensitive head, and he shot, a blinding orgasm, sweat blinded him when he closed his eyes.  And it didn’t stop, not instantly like so many others, it echoed in his body from his toes to his fingertips, from his shoulders to his knees.  He felt Apollo’s arms wrap around him and he fell into his grasp, his entire body held up by the other man who slowly lifted him from the bicycle, the dildo slipped from his hole with a plop.  He would have laughed if he hadn’t been so exhausted.  He felt helpless and used as the man carried him over and laid him down next to the gimp on his side so he could see the stranger, the gimp.

Apollo pulled the dildo from him too, dragged the machine away.  He released the gimp, pushed him to the floor and turned his head to look back at Mark who lay there naked, his limp dick leaked over his thigh. They looked each other in the eye as Apollo pushed one of the gimp’s knees up to his chest to access to his hole.  He watched as the muscled man pushed inside easily and began to pound him.  He could hear the skin slap against skin.  He saw the pain and pleasure in the gimp’s face as the man caused his body to shift with each thrust.

Finally Apollo grunted and moaned as he pushed as deep as he could until it seemed as if the gimp himself had been flattened against the ground.  He could see the perfect outline of his trainer, his thighs, his round butt, his wide back, muscled and powerful.  He wished he could have another orgasm himself right then and for a moment he licked his lips when he saw the gimp take shape again before him, on his back, his dick stuck out from his body.  It twitched in some attempt to just feel something, anything, just enough for the gimp to have his own orgasm.  He watched as the gimp slowly reached down to touch himself only for Apollo to slap his hand away.

“Not today,” the man said.

“Please,” the gimp begged.

“No.”

Mark rolled onto his back and looked up to the ceiling.  He closed his eyes and let himself give in to the exhaustion.  It didn’t matter if
he were naked in Times Square he needed sleep so he just let it
overtake him.  Barely cognizant he listened as Apollo dragged the man into a shower, heard him cry out as the spray hit him and he
complained about it being cold water.  He pleaded to just have an
orgasm but Apollo gave him an ultimatum, one orgasm and he’d be locked it chastity for two months instead of the usual one.  He smirked to himself at the thought of the man in chastity.  No orgasm after all of that, Mark’s mind reeled inside the darkness of exhaustion.  Would that, could that ever happen to him?  He didn’t like the idea but for someone else it was amusing.  Then darkness again, this time broken by the feeling of being lifted and carried into the shower.

Four hands on his body, warm water, the smell of soap, those same
hands washed every inch of him, every inch, even between his toes and he never even washed his own toes, not really.  He opened his eyes a little but the room was dimly lit and he could barely make out the two men’s bodies as they worked.  He felt a finger inside his hole, once to clean him out, once to check for damage.  He was putty to them and didn’t try to fight it.

When they finished they carried him out, dried him off, and even
dressed him.  He felt Apollo lift him from the floor and carry him out
to his car and set him in the backseat.  He listened as they drove
away.  For a moment he thought he was being kidnapped but then he just gave over to the feeling of not knowing and fell asleep.
The car stopped and he awoke.  The door opened, the two men took hold of him, Apollo was quick to put him over his shoulder while the other took his car keys and ran ahead.  Mark looked up to see his neighborhood.  They were taking him to his apartment.  He smiled at the thought of his own bed.  It was quick.  Up the stairs, through his front door, to his bedroom, Apollo set him down, stripped him again, rolled him onto his side and covered him with a sheet.  He felt it cover him, his shoulders, his back, his butt, all of the way down to his feet.  He was home.  And that’s when he heard the most surprising thing, the other man, the one who was the gimp spoke.

“Do you think he recognized me?” he whispered.

“No, I don’t think so,” Apollo replied.

“There was a moment when you were fucking me at the end that we looked each other in the eye and I think he did.”

“Does it matter?”

“I hope not.”

Mark pushed himself up on his elbow, tried to turn to look back to
them, but he heard their feet, the closing of doors as they exited.
What did that mean?  I don’t really care, he told himself.