Gym Boys (13 page)

“Oh, man!” By the time Mike's pulled on the skimpy garment and buckled the collar around his neck, his cock's bulging inside the jock's pouch.

“Looks to me as if you like those.” I grip his erection and massage it briefly before taking a seat in a corner armchair. “Better stretch out first, gym boy.”

“Yes, Sir.” Dutifully, Mike stretches pecs, biceps and triceps. He limbers up his neck, drops into a few yoga postures to loosen up his back and works through a few push-ups and sit-ups. I take in the honey-sweet show, the flex and swell of his bare chest, powerful arms and furry thighs.

“You have the most beautiful body I've ever seen,” I sigh, cupping my hands behind my head. “Bench press first. Want me to spot you?”

“Naw. What you got here? One-fifty? I do that all the time.”

I watch Mike, my palms sweaty and my heart beating fast, as he huffs through one set of presses, then another and then another, his hairy chest mounds tensing and relaxing. Between sets, he pants, brushing black bangs from his brow, long-lashed eyes fixed on mine.

Finished with the last set, he rests the barbell in its rack before getting to his feet. “Liking what you see?” he asks with a cocky grin.

“What do you think?” I say, pulling my dick out of my jeans and jacking it. “On your hands and knees, mountain boy. Get on over here and suck me. I have a big birthday load waiting for you.”

“Yes,
Sir
.” Mike crawls across the mat to my feet. He licks the tip of my cock, flicks his tongue up and down the shaft, then deep-throats me. For long, sweet minutes he sucks me hard, his lips a taut grip, his head bobbing in my lap while I run my fingers through his thick hair, take sips of beer and savor the mounting pleasure.

“Damn, you're good at that. Wuuhhff! That's enough. You already got me close,” I say, pushing him off. “You get to choose, cock-hound. You want that load up your ass or down your throat?”

Mike stands. Wiping his mouth, he straddles my lap and grinds his rump against my groin. “I want you up my butt, ass-hound. Deep up inside me. Please. Please, Buck? I need you to pound me like there's no tomorrow. I need you to split me in half,” Mike says. His brown eyes are solemn, his voice deep and hoarse with need.

“Just what I wanted to hear.” I wrap my arms around him and we indulge in another bout of hard kissing before I move my attentions lower. First I lift his arms and feast on his salty, smelly pits, lapping and groaning with delight. “Wood-splitting sweat
and
workout sweat? God, you smell and taste so good.”

Next I press my face into the rich hair coating his chest. I cup his thick pecs in my palms, kneading them roughly, then focus on his nipples. When we met, they were small, hard to find in such a dense thicket of fur, but after months of my brutal devotions, they're more prominent, pink buds I adore with tongue and teeth.

“Damn, Mike, I'm addicted to your nips,” I growl. “I could suck on these sweet little treasures all damn night.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Do it. Suck 'em raw. Make 'em hurt,” Mike grunts, gripping my head and pressing his chest against my mouth. “Get 'em good and sore, Sir.”

“Count on it. Got something special just for that.”

From my pocket I slip them out, the black plastic clamps I bought at Mr. S. Mike grips my shoulders, wincing and stiffening, as I apply them to his nipples. “Ohhh, yeah,” he gasps. When I twist them, he trembles, lifts his head and emits an almost mournful moan.

“Uuuhhhhhh! Ohhh,
yeah
. Oh man. Fuck! Fuck, that hurts good.”

“Like that, huh?” I ask, biting his shoulder and neck. With one hand, I tug on the clamps; with the other, I play with the fine hair in the crack of his ass.

“Oh yeah. Oh yeah.” Mike leans forward to give me better access and begins kissing me again. I brush a fingertip over his hole.

“Clean down here?” I murmur.

“Yeah. Yes, Sir. I cleaned out just before you came. Just in case…”

“Just in case I decided to overpower you, rope you up and rape you?” I tug hard on a clamp. Mike jolts and whimpers. He bows his head and groans.

“Yeah. Oh, yeah. I need all that so bad. I need roped and raped, Sir.”

“Give me a little more show first,” I say, nudging him off my lap. “Workout's not done yet.”

Obediently, Mike stands.

“Dumbbells now,” I order, stroking my exposed hard-on. “Chest flies.”

Mike fetches two forty-five-pound dumbbells, lies on the bench and begins. Instantly his face distorts.

“Fuck! This makes the clamps hurt even worse!”

“So I've heard.” My chuckle's deliberately wicked. “A leather top at Mr. S gave me all sorts of ideas for this scene.”

“Oh fuck!” Mike's grimace deepens as he works through more repetitions.

“Can't do it? Want me to take them off?”

“Naw! I can do it.” Mike closes his eyes and grits his teeth.

“Yeah? You gonna do it for me?”

“Yes, Sir. Yes, Sir! For you!”

“Good boy.” I lift my beer in a toast to Mike, and then take a big swig.

After three sets, Mike's eyes are moist but his jock's still bulging. He drops the dumbbells onto the mat and stands. I finish my beer and stand as well.

Mike wraps his arms around my waist and leans into me. Quivering, he presses his face against my shoulder. “Thanks, Buck. Thanks, Sir,” he murmurs.

“For what, boy?” I tousle his hair and cup his furry buttocks in my hands.

“For taking care of me. For making me suffer. For…for giving me my body back.”

“Body back? You're sounding like a redneck philosopher, bud.”

Mike's laugh is soft and sheepish. “I just mean…all those years I was married, those years I was fucking around with guys in rest stops…and shitty places like that…and then with leather Tops I didn't really care about…it's like I didn't have a body, didn't…have a heart or a life…till you came back to town… and we…and you started touching me the way…the way you are now.”

“Touching you is a privilege. Touching you and tasting you, it's the sweetest…” I clear my throat. “Damn, Mike, what kind of life would I have if…if we hadn't…”

“If we hadn't met again? Christ, I don't even wanna think about it.”

We fall silent. For a few minutes we stand together in the fading sunlight. Outside, the wind picks up, soughing in the big spruce shading the house.

“Time for biceps and triceps,” I say, squeezing his jock pouch and slapping a buttcheek. “Once you're done, I have another set of birthday surprises for you.”

“More? Damn. You really went all out.”

“The best is yet to come,” I say. “But first, I want to see those big butch arms of yours pumped up.” Gently, I fondle his still-clamped nipples. “It's really going to hurt when you have to push these pretty little tits against the preacher curl pad. Want me to take off the clamps?”

“Naw. Not yet.” Mike takes a deep breath. “You know I like to prove myself to you and show you how much I can take.”

Chuckling, I take a seat. “Yep. And I love that about you. My rough-'n'-tough mountain man. God, you look hot in that jock. Okay, Mr. Endurance, get to it.”

As predicted, Mike's handsome face distorts with pain during the preacher curls. He does three sets nevertheless, emitting little whimpers that only get me harder. He moves on to triceps extensions, then deltoid presses, then standing biceps curls. In panting pauses between sets, he sucks my cock, and I tenderly suck his tortured nipples.

“That's it for my usual workout,” Mike says, racking the dumbbells. His face is flushed, his arms swollen with effort.

“Jesus, Mike. You're a musky miracle,” I murmur, my gaze ranging over him. “Yeah, that's enough. Stretch out now.”

Glistening with sweat, Mike does as he's told. Jacking myself, I breathe in his strong scent and relish the lyrical movements of his moist limbs.

“I'm done, Sir,” Mike says, standing after a final set of pushups. “Now what?”

“Let me see your asshole.”

Mike turns his back to me. He bends over the arm pad of the preacher curl. His asscheeks, framed by the jock's black straps, are furry marvels. When he spreads them, I can make out, inside his butt-cleft's dark forest, that pink and puckered place I so cherish, that intimate entry that holds for me such pleasure and such wonder.

“Tie me, Buck,” Mike whispers, clenching his hole with invitation. “Please tie me up. I need tied so, so bad. Tie me up and use me. Tie me up and use me hard. Please. Please, Buck. Please.”

“Christ,” I sigh. “I am the luckiest man on earth.” Rising, I fetch black nylon rope from my duffel bag. “Hands behind your back.”

A couple of minutes, a couple of cow-hitch knots, and I've bound Mike's hands behind him and cinched his elbows together. Head bowed, he slumps, sighing and shaking, over the inclined pad.

“Feel good?” I ask, tightening the last knot, then stroking his muscled back.

Mike tugs at his bonds and flexes his arms. “Christ, yes. Thank you. Thank you.”

“You're so damn beautiful like this. Want me to make love to your hole now?” I say, running a finger along his buttcrack.

Mike flexes his buttocks and lifts his hips. “Yes. Oh, yes! Please. Please, Sir. Please.”

I fall to my knees behind him. I brush my beard over his ass and breathe in his scent. I lick his crack, moistening the dense fur there. I bury my face between his buttocks and feast on his hole till he's whining, writhing and bucking back against my beard.

“Fuck me, Buck. Fuck me, Sir,” Mike pleads. “I need you inside me so damn bad.”

“Pushy bottom.” I stand, grip his hips and rub my stiff crotch against his crack.

“Put it in me. Put it in me, dammit!” Mike turns his head and glares, his hands clenched into fists. “Stop teasing me. Ram it in me!”

“I think you need to shut up.” I give Mike's ass a sharp slap before fetching more items from my bag. For a few snarling seconds, he gives me the struggle he knows I savor, but soon I've forced the camo bandana into his mouth and knotted it behind his head, muffling his protests.

“Not done yet, bad boy,” I say, threading a long length of black rope three times between his lips and around his head before knotting it. “There you go,” I say, satisfied with both my handiwork and his well-gagged, well-trussed helplessness. “And now for your birthday spanking. Forty years, forty whacks.”

Again Mike puts up some resistance—heightening the intensity between us the way a whetstone hones a blade—but soon I'm on the bench with my boy over my knees, slapping his ass hard while he moans, yelps and curses. By the time I stop, his buttcheeks are bright pink and hot to the touch.

“Here's a little of what you wanted,” I say, spitting into Mike's crack and moistening his hole. He stiffens, heaving a series of baritone groans as I ease a wet forefinger inside him. For a long time, I finger-fuck him steadily and tenderly. He rocks upon my lap and grunts with bliss, mumbling, “Thank you, Sir” again and again against his layered gag, his satiny tunnel tensing and throbbing around my finger.

Pulling out, I haul Mike to his feet, drag him to the guest bed and push him down upon it. There, I slip off his jockstrap, then position him on his back, his calves resting on my shoulders. I push two fingers inside him, massaging his prostate while fondling his clamped tits and jacking his cock. I edge him cruelly, bringing him close again and again. He thrusts into my fist, cursing with frustration, begging me to bring him off.

“Ah, no. This scene isn't done yet.” Chuckling, I slip my finger from his pulsing passage and lower his legs. While we've been caught up in erotic rapture, the air's gone chilly and sunlight's receded from the room.

I kiss the silvery patch of beard on Mike's chin, then climb off the bed. “I always lose track of time when you're trussed and naked, boy. It's like the world doesn't exist when you're in my arms. I really need to start your birthday dinner soon. But first,” I say, rummaging through my duffel bag, “one last gift.”

Mike watches me—brown eyes gleaming with anticipation, white teeth gritting his rope-and-bandana gag—as I lube up the black rubber plug.

“You want this up your butt bad, don't you?” I say, smiling down at him.

“Uhhh-
huh
.” Mike grins around his gag.

“On your belly. Spread your thighs. Right. Good boy.”

I lube up his hole, then nudge the plug between his buttocks and push, steadily, slowly. Mike's so eager to have it inside him that the process takes only a few pained grunts and a few patient moments. Abruptly, the plug slips past his sphincter and slides into place. Mike lifts his head and moans. Flexing his taut buttocks, he begins to hump the bed.

“Like that?”

Mike responds with a vigorous nod and another deep moan. I roll him onto his back, work the plug around, and suck his cock. When he starts to get close, pounding my face in earnest, I pull off.

“Pleeeee!” is Mike's gagged attempt at “Please!”

“Naw. Not time for you to cum yet.” Smiling, I help my pent-up captive to his feet. “How about you keep me company while I cook?”

As predicted, snow flurries begin just before dusk. Through the steamy kitchen window, I can see flakes swirl by along the wind. The kitchen is warm, though, and full of delicious scents: German chocolate cake cooling on the counter, chili con carne simmering on the stove, and a musky captive collared and hogtied at my feet.

For the past two hours I've cooked, and for the past two hours Mike, fighting his bonds and grumbling into his gag, has given me the splendid show I've craved. His tits are still clamped, his ass still plugged, his cock and balls tied with a soft leather thong. His wrists and ankles are tethered together behind him so tightly he can only move with great difficulty. Bound this way for so long, he's sore, exhausted and in real pain. I can tell from that strained expression on his face, the moist pleading in his eyes, the furrows in his brow and the ragged way he grunts as he struggles to shift onto his side. But he hasn't asked to be freed. He's taking it because he knows how much I enjoy having his powerful body powerless, how much I treasure his bound and gagged vulnerability. Mike's suffering is dedicated to me.