O’Melissokomos
The Bee Keeper

Addicted to STUDD 3

by AbsMan420

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Okay, so I know the reaction this is gonna get, but here it is anyway: I’m living in the basement apartment at Paul’s house. There, it’s out – I’M LIVING IN THE BASEMENT AT PAUL’S HOUSE! Now, before everybody cries out, “Mind control! That guy Paul’s got him hypnotized and addicted to STUDD!” and all that kind of shit, I wanna make it clear that that’s not how it is at all. I’m not an addict – I have control of my life. Sure the details have changed a little bit over the last couple months, but it’s still MY life! Paul doesn’t have me any more hypnotized than he ever did!

It was all a freakin’ role-play – get it? A role-play! Believe me – we talked about it. He explained. I don’t know why that isn’t good enough for anybody – it was good enough for me! It was a freakin’ JOKE, so he could get off! None of that shit is real.

See, here’s the thing – it was really Eddie. All that paranoia, that talk of hypnosis and mind control, that all came from Eddie. Eddie was clearly fucking with me while I was tripping on STUDD, obviously enjoying his own weird little joke, whatever it was.

I don’t know – Paul made it all make sense. I’m glad, too, ‘cuz I thought the scene was hot. We’ve played it out a couple times since then and look, I’m nobody’s slave in nobody’s basement. I haven’t turned into some fuckin’ moron. And I’m not an addict – I have control of my life. It’s just a freakin’ role-play, get it?

Of course, I hope he doesn’t get tired of it anytime soon, ‘cuz I think it’s hot, hot, hot!

As for the STUDD, well, okay, it’s gotten a little hard to manage – I admit that. But, you know, I’ve never been good with numbers and dates and stuff, anyway, so there shouldn’t be any surprise that that part of my brain would be affected. It became too hard to manage money, even though I was making plenty. My sense of time is also something I’ve noticed isn’t what it used to be. It’s bad enough I never know what day of the week it is, but sometimes I get screwed up on whether it’s morning, afternoon, or whatever fuckin’ time it is. How am I supposed to judge when an hour’s up with a client?

‘Cuz I can fuck longer than an hour. Hell, I can fuck all night long if I got a good guy ridin’ me. Sometimes I slam into Paul’s hot little ass and I think, I could be in here forever!

Usually I wear a client out long before the hour’s up, anyway. Most of ‘em like to do the touchy-feely worshippy stuff, anyway. They like me to strip for them, flex for them – they touch me, they lick me. They’re always amazed at the size of my cock, especially as it gets hard in whatever jockstrap, thong, poser, or outfit they’ve requested. Most guys have never seen a true twelve-incher at ALL, much less the thick beauty that is MY cock. And since my balls aren’t all shriveled like the guys who have to take steroids to be my size, I tend to… stand out in comparison.

But once a client sees my size, he’s either nervous or challenged. The nervous guys I like to scare a little, make ‘em pretend I’m gonna take them whether than can relax enough or not, usually they beat off worshipping me instead, or rubbing themselves on my muscles, or cumming on me – or better yet, having me cum on them. The challenged guys – far fewer – can sometimes be powerful fucks, but they still cum WAY before I’m ready.

I’ve done a couple parties, too, where the guys are all flyin’ on “tina” and they need some stud to come in there and fuck ‘em all. I did one where I arrived LONG after they’d started playing and I went in wearing my leathers (their request). When I stripped off my jacket, revealing my chiseled two-hundred sixty pound bod in my harness, my huge pecs criss-crossed with studded leather, a thick arm band around my left biceps, wristbands making the veins in my forearms pump, they cheered. I flexed for them – double bis, most muscular, pop the chest…

My leather pants unsnap from the side, so I can leave my boots on while I strip them off. If they’d made noise when they saw me without a jacket, when they saw my big package in the black jockstrap and my thick and heavy hamstrings, the ass that was made to thrust, they went absolutely nuts.

They were none of them very hot, but I was ridin’ my buzz so it didn’t matter – my cock was rock hard. I made enough in tips that night to buy plenty of STUDD, that’s for sure! You know, even then I was starting to have trouble with numbers, counting the money and such. It was weird, but it didn’t worry me. I knew I had plenty – I had a ton of cash in the top drawer of my dresser, stacked in neat piles of bills that matched.

I’ve only run out of STUDD that one time and I never want to go through that again, feeling so weak, so out of shape, so… uninterested in sex. Being off STUDD is what a neutered dog must feel like, like there’s no reason to fight or fuck. It’s not even worth living. It’s not even worth getting up off the sofa. The masculine drive to dominate and defeat completely abandoned me, leaving me pathetic and useless. Empty of all the things that made me a man.

I’d never felt that low in my life – but instead of calling Paul when I ran out, I called Eddie, because at that time, remember, I thought PAUL was the bad guy. “Hey, Tommy,” Eddie said when he answered, “what’s up? Hopefully your weight. What do you weigh?”

“I don’t know…” I said, my voice heavy. “Last time I was pumped… around two-sixty… something.”

A chuckle – I could hear his smirk over the phone. “Sounds like someone’s run out,” he said.

“Can you help me out, man?” I said. “I don’t want to call Paul.”

“Didn’t I tell you I’d help you out? Didn’t I say call me and I’d show you the ropes?”

“…yeah.”

“So, what the fuck? How long’s it gonna take you to get over here?”

“I thought you were back in New York?”

“Fuck, no,” he said. “I been keeping plenty busy around here – hardly any competition. Matter of fact, I gotta do a guy in a couple hours. If you get over here quick, we can catch a buzz together and then you can go with me. Sound good?”

I think I was signaling for a cab before he’d even finished the question. His hotel wasn’t far, but eager as I was, I wasn’t getting hard – not even a chubbie – lack of STUDD and all. So fuckin’ depressing. No wonder guys got addicted to the stuff.

Eddie answered his hotel door wearing nothing but a micro-poser, which barely covered his oversized package – the root of his cock was plainly exposed. Eddie was shaved smooth from head to toe – so different from our last hairy encounter, when he was a muscular gorilla, but for his shaved head. Now, he was so smooth, he was nearly plastic – he had a shine. It made his muscles look even bigger. “Hey, buddy!” he said, his cock starting to get hard and push the waistband of the pouch down that much more. He smiled. “You look terrible.”

“Thanks.”

“Get in here. Let’s get you back up to fighting weight.”

The hotel room was a long-term suite, which included a kitchenette – it smelled like sweat and old sex, which would’ve turned me on if I hadn’t been in withdrawal. Motioning for me to sit, Eddie began to flex for me. “I was two eighty-five this morning,” he said. “I can almost FEEL three-hundred. I gotta have it, man. I gotta break three bucks.” He flexed a little more, letting himself get hard. “But where are my fuckin’ manners? It’s cruel of me to flaunt it without offering you some, right?”

“I need it real bad, Eddie.”

“I bet you do,” he said, smirking, stepping close enough to me that his cock almost touched my face. “I bet you’d be willing to do just about anything to get it, too, right? To get your pump back – to get your cock hard again.”

“C’mon, Eddie. Don’t do this.”

“What? I’m just teasin’ you a little.” He wiped his cock across my lips, the material from the poser was damp with his pre-cum. “Aren’t I allowed a little fun?”

“Please…”

He chuckled. “You’re gonna have to do better than that, Tommy. Why don’t you suck my cock for me? I could really use it.”

I wished I could find the energy to get angry and wrestle him to the floor. I wished I’d felt manly enough to punch him in the face. Instead, submissively, I just spread my lips and let the head of his cock past my teeth. I lamely licked the poser, tasting the salty pre-cum. Whatever it took – I’d do whatever it took to get another hit of STUDD.

“Damn, you ARE willing to do it, aren’t you? Did that shit fag you out, or what?” He stepped back from me, pushing his hard cock back down into the micro-pouch. “I can’t,” he said, that familiar smirk still plastered on his face. “I can’t do it to you, bud –can’t make you fag out. I ain’t gonna humiliate you, not my stud-brother. Here, let’s get you more into the right frame of mind.”

When he pulled the bowl out of his night table, I was nearly panting. Thank God – STUDD!!! When he offered it to me and saw how badly my hands were shaking, he said, “I’ll hold it for you. Believe me, little bro, I know what you’re going through. I went through it once myself – never again.” With that, he lit the torch and gently filled the chamber with smoke. Until he actually put it to my lips, I worried that he was just gonna take it himself – another joke, he’d probably say. Fucker.

So I drew it as fast as I could, before he could pull it away from my mouth. “Whoa!” he said. “Whoa! Slowly, remember? You don’t have to be that desperate, dude.”

But as soon as I tasted it, as soon as the gritty, heavy smoke was back in my lungs, I felt normal – no, better than normal. Normal was how I felt when I didn’t have STUDD in my system. And I didn’t want to feel that again. Instead, I focused on how it felt as it expanded in my lungs, how I still had to battle it in order not to cough and lose the hit. No matter how big I got, that never got any easier.

And as I held my breath and my face reddened as the pressure increased, so too did the pump return to my flat, deflated muscles. I started to feel like I did about halfway through a workout – a GREAT workout, where I’d be throwing up big weight and wanting more. The kind of workout that made me want to rip off my clothes, so everybody could see my pump. The kind of workout I had when I was flying on STUDD.

And then there was my cock, limp, useless and uninterested over the last few days while I tried to dry out. Even my favorite masturbation images and stories didn’t get a rise out of it (not even that stuff by FanTCman!) – not that I felt all that much like jerking-off, I just thought I should try. My cock was as unresponsive as it was when I’d done “tina,” except at least when I’d done “tina,” I was horny, just unable to… perform.

But with the STUDD back in my system, my cock acted like I’d just cried “Shazam!” and once again became a super-hero. It filled with blood as quickly as it filled me with interest and need. I began massaging it with the love of an old friend revisited.

“Starting to feel it, are ya?” asked Eddie, who was the only person I knew who understood how I felt right then. “Let’s get you another.” He began reloading the bowl as I exhaled.

“Fuck, yeah…” I growled, flexing my arms for myself, enjoying the pump and the veins that were beginning to stand out again. “Oh, fuck, it’s hot.” I ripped my shirt off and began flexing in the wall mirror above the bureau. THERE was the body I so badly missed – the pumped up, muscular body I loved so much, that I’d missed so much over the last few days.

“There’s the guy I like to remember,” Eddie said, handing me the bowl and the torch, playing with his own substantial package with his free hand. As soon as I took the stuff from him, he began flexing in the mirror himself. Without hair, he looked like he was about to strut onstage for a contest, ripped, tan and shiny. I wondered if his ass-crack was shaved, too – maybe I’d have to find out. For the first time in days, I felt like fucking someone. I felt like a man again.

The second hit was big – VERY big – bigger than the sliver of STUDD usually rationed out – and I actually had to work to take it all. I almost gagged and coughed at the same time. But I knew better than to waste it – I never wanted to be without this feeling again. I’d do whatever I had to.

My cock was rock hard. Eddie reached over and roughly grabbed it. “That’s getting pretty big, dude,” he said, “but not as big as this!” His erection strained the pouch of his posers – it had to be fourteen, maybe sixteen inches long… and so thick.

“Fuck,” I growled, releasing the hit. “I gotta find something to fuck, Eddie.”

“Now you’re talkin’ like a stud.”

“How ‘bout that hot ass of yours?”

Eddie laughed. “I ain’t no fuckin’ fag,” he said, smirking, slowly jerking my cock through my gym shorts. “You can wrestle me. You can jerk off with me. Hell, I’ll even let you rub it between my pecs and shoot your load on me, but you ain’t fuckin’ me. Nobody fucks me.”

“Aw, fuck man…” I said, unable to stop myself from grabbing him. “I gotta fuck something.”

We continued to jerk each other through the materials of our respective gear. “I told you,” he said. “I’m working a party in an hour or so. Come with me – there’ll be plenty of holes to fuck. The pay’s pretty good, too.”

So we took a cab to the address Eddie had (“I can’t find nothin’ in this stupid city,” Eddie said, handing a printout from Mapquest to the open-mouthed cab driver. “I was never good with directions anyway, but lately, I can barely find my way to the gym, I get so lost.”), smoked up in an alley next to the town-house where the party was, and then went in and did our business. Eddie still wore the posers he’d greeted me in under a pair of gym shorts and a wife-beater, and I wore my black jock under Eddie’s leather pants – which I was happy to say fit me better than they did him – and a leather harness.

“You look fuckin’ hot,” Eddie said, stroking my pecs. “All hairy and shit. I miss my rug.”

“Yeah, what’s all this smooth shit about?”

He shrugged. “The guy I get the STUDD from, he likes me smooth. He said he’d double my buys if I got rid of the hair. That made it easy. I dunno… it’s kind of hot.”

“You get it from a local guy? Why did I think you were connected to NYC?”

“’Cuz you’re fuckin’ stupid,” he said, chuckling. “No, no. I’m from New York, but I’m stayin’ down here long as the dude keeps payin’ my bills.” There was a honk outside his suite. “There’s the cab. Let’s roll.”

I’ve fucked a lot of guys since then, but I remember that night. They were an older couple, probably in their fifties (maybe even sixties), but they were in pretty good shape. They had four or five friends over and they were smoking up the “tina” like there was a short supply in the world. Eddie was right – they had no issue with him bringing a friend along to “help with the job.” Their guests were okay, none very hot – they looked like the kind of fags you’d find on a party cruise, skinny, well-groomed, and delicate in their fancy underwear – but I didn’t fuckin’ care, stoked up on STUDD the way I was. I was just lookin’ to fuck.

Eddie dug the worship-shit more than me, them hangin’ off him, feelin’ him up, lickin’ and suckin’ him with their desperate mouths. There was one young guy there – somebody’s “boi” – who was into my big, hairy pecs, but when the fuckin’ FINALLY started, he got afraid. Apparently, my cock was too much for him. His daddy whispered in my ear to rape him – that’s how the kid got off – so I obliged, gagging the kid with my jockstrap to keep him from screaming as I pounded his tiny little hole. The daddy watched, calmly beating off while I worked the kid, ignoring the kids cries for help. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that.

I remember fuckin’ the host, too, as he stared desperately into my eyes and kept beggin’ me to hit it harder. He was a good fuck – he was the only one who could take all of Eddie’s big sixteen-incher. I remember watching, thinking, “What good is a cock that big if nobody can take it?” Still, as good as mine felt – and mine had grown a good six inches since I’d started doin’ STUDD – I knew his felt better. No, I wouldn’t mind havin’ one that big. Maybe if I could get my weight up to three-hundred like Eddie, mine would be that size, too.

When the beeper in Eddie’s phone went off, he said, “Time’s up, gents, less’n you want to pay us some overtime?” And they did. (And I was glad!) I fucked the host for another good half-hour while the guys stood around us and beat off, earning an extra hunnerd bucks. They begged us to say, offering us “tina” and cash, but Eddie said, “We got other clients. You understand.” Then he called us a cab and we got dressed, though I couldn’t find the jockstrap I wore anywhere. (I think the kid stole it so he could have a memory – whatever.)

The host wanted my number – actually, he asked for my trick card, which I didn’t have, so he settled for number – saying, “I want some private time with you,” which I thought was kind of hot. I had trouble remembering my cell number, so I ended up calling him so he’d have it. He laughed, saying, “I guess a big muscle-jock like you doesn’t need a big brain,” patting me on the back like a dog. That fuckin’ pissed me off, but I didn’t say anything – I needed to build a client base. I decided I’d fuck him that much harder when I saw him next. Call ME stupid…

“Let’s grab a shower and hit the gym,” Eddie said in the cab. “I’m lovin’ my buzz right now ‘n I want it to last.”

For the next six-and-a-half hours, we did our legs in a crazy, marathon workout. By the end of the second hour, we’d stripped down to almost nothing, our sweaty sheen the proof of our effort – Eddie still wearing the posers he wore to the client’s and a sleeveless half-shirt (like we used to wear under our pads at football practice) and me in a thermal tee and a pair of spandex hot shorts that couldn’t cover my ass completely, much less my massive package, my half-hard log of a cock. We were living muscle-porn, every gay fantasy in the flesh, pumped and hard and aroused.

Of course, part of the fun was pretending we weren’t, ignoring the drive for sex, the need to fuck, channeling that energy into the workout. A hard workout extended the buzz – the harder you worked out, the better it got, stronger. “Nothin’ better than the load you shoot after a long workout,” Eddie said. “It’ll blow your mind.”

He worked out at the gay gym, which was maybe a block – or so, I don’t know, maybe a mile? – away, so there were potential fucks everywhere. It was easy to get distracted. Fortunately, we were working legs, so we were pretty much alone in the leg room (this being a gay gym and all, hardly anybody work legs), so there were mostly gawkers, not guys looking to use the equipment (though there were plenty guys looking to use OUR equipment).

I ended up blowing my load while working out, anyway, while flexing after doing a bunch of reps at… I can’t remember the weight, but at least six plates on each side. Pushing that weight up for so many reps felt so good – I was so strong, fuckin’ hard as a rock – it was almost as good as fuckin’ some lean, tight ass. I shot looking at myself in the mirror – flexing my muscle in the mirror – I was so fuckin’ AWESOME!

Eddie was right. It was the best orgasm I ever had, right there on the gym floor. It was better than the best, even as I just stood there and shot in my shorts. I fuckin’ loved STUDD! I came again in the showers, watching Eddie get washed and worshipped by some hot little Hispanic boy he picked up just a minute before in the locker room as he stripped off his t-shirt. “Wash my back for me?” he asked the kid. “I can’t reach around it myself.”

I shot as the kid knelt next to Eddie’s massive left leg, soaping it up, unable to take his eyes off Eddie’s enormous cock – the look in the kid’s eyes put me over the edge, caught between lust and shock. Eddie fucked him without mercy as the kid gripped the handicapped rail mounted to the tile wall. I stood guard, making sure no one came into the showers while he went to work. When Eddie finally came, his orgasm shook the locker room – it got me hard again, listening while I dressed.

When we got back to his suite, instead of smoking right away, we made it a game – we made it competitive. He cut a slice and loaded the bowl, but we let it sit there, torch next to it, while we redid my profile on ManFIND.net with new pics, stats, and pricing guides. Whoever went for the bowl first had to fag out and suck the other guy’s cock (Not that I thought that was such a big punishment, but I didn’t want to tell HIM that!).

We split the money we made from Eddie’s clients. That is, we divided it up – if Eddie was havin’ half the problem that I had with numbers, he didn’t know how much it was, either – we just split it up so we each had the same number of each kind of bill. Plus, Eddie sold me a brick of STUDD, telling me he knew it cost five of the bills with the one and two zeros on them – well, that’s how much he paid his guy, but he said he got it for a discount, because he’d fuck his guy for free, too. “And he’s a great fuck,” Eddie said, with a strange look in his eye, like he really liked this guy or something. “Probably the best ass I ever had, too. I cum like a freakin’ demon when I’m with him. For that, I get a discount! Look at me – I even SHAVED for this guy, I like his ass so much!”

I laughed, teasing him. “Sounds like Eddie’s in love,” I said, smirking his smirk.

“Fuck that,” he said, mock-punching me in the shoulder. “Besides, he said I can’t fuck him again till I’m three-hundred pounds.”

“What?”

“That’s what he said,” Eddie said, looking down, stroking his smooth pecs so he wouldn’t have to look at me. “He said from now on, only three-hundred pound bodybuilders were gonna get to fuck his ass. Can you fuckin’ believe it? I been stuck in the low two-eighties, happy with my size, a rock star with my clients, and now I gotta shoot for three-hundred!”

“This guy’s ass is worth all that?”

Eddie looked up at me, suddenly a predator. “What’s the best ass you ever had?”

I immediately thought of Paul, that amazing ass of Paul’s. Whatever his faults, whatever his lame attempts to make me his muscle-slave prisoner-stud, Paul did have an amazing ass! I could never get tired of fucking Paul’s amazing ass!

“You got one,” he said, knowing my look. “Now, imagine that was the only ass that really turned you on? I mean, I know you’re like me – you like fucking, and pretty much any ass is good for fucking – but then you hit this one… and you just connect. It’s like… I don’t know… It’s like fuckin’ ecstasy or somethin’…”

I thought of Paul, again, and I knew what he meant.

“So that’s why I gotta get three-hundred pounds, man. I gotta have that ass again. I GOTTA!”

“So then, what?”

He smirked, putting his hand on my shoulder. “So, you wanna get loaded up,” he asked, “and hit the gym again?”

Naturally, I did – though I made the mistake of taking the first hit off the bowl. I’d forgotten our bet already. Eddie laughed and said, “And I’m holdin’ you to it, too! You’re gonna suck my cock – but I’m gonna make you do it someplace public! Maybe at the gym, maybe at the gym all pumped up and achin’ to be three-hundred pounds! How ‘bout that?” He was getting hard – hard to miss in his posers (new cut, new color from the ones he wore before, but still showing off his lack of pubic hair) – and he reached down and pinched his erection casually, rubbing it with the material. His cock was so big – I would love to fuck with a cock that big.

I would love to fuck Paul with a cock that big.

So I took the hit and I loved it – and I was off on the ride, regardless of what I was gonna have to do to Eddie later.

And that was life. For the next couple of months – two, maybe three, I don’t know… the seasons changed, anyway, it became fall – and all we did smoke a shitload of STUDD, lift these crazy-ass marathon workouts and fuck a loyal clientele. Sometimes we’d do a job together – those were the ones I liked the most – but mostly we had our own tricks. Mine seemed to always be with older men who were looking to worship my bod more than fuck – not that I minded, it was the same amount of money either way – but I sure did like to fuck.

I kept thinking it’d be harder and harder to find guys who could take me as my cock kept growing, but I’m happy to say there was always somebody. It took no effort to find someone willing in a bar, or the gym, or a public restroom – the bigger I got, as a matter of fact, the less trouble I had. Maybe it was my self-confidence, or my aggressiveness, or my huge cock, obvious in whatever I wore, but picking up strangers suddenly became the simplest thing in the world – straight or gay. Sometimes, I didn’t even have to talk!

I packed on weight fast. I got up to 275 in almost no time, but like Eddie, plateaued in the mid-280’s. It was frustrating as hell. Not that I needed to be three-hundred – I knew Paul liked ‘em big, but he’d never made a statement like he could only fuck me if I was over three-hundred – not like Eddie’s guy did. But Eddie was my workout partner and you’re supposed to work together and support each other’s goals, so I aimed for 300, too. We were making it a competition to see who could get there first.

And we were smokin’ STUDD like we weren’t gonna run out. We’d wake up in the morning – oh, yeah, we’d started living together since… I don’t know when, but for a while, a month or two maybe – it was just easier. We didn’t have to split up the money – we were spending all our time together anyway (unless one of us had a client), keeping ourselves focused on our goals – and we’d do a hit right there in bed, to get ourselves going. A lot of times, we’d wrestle, tangled in the sheets, playing, but enjoying the power in our size, forcing the other guy to respect and worship you.

When he saw how much I enjoyed sucking his cock, he started to suck mine, too. They were the same size at that point, and he said it would be like sucking his own. I could tell he wasn’t totally into it, but he did respectable work – he practiced often.

He went on a weekend trip with the dude he got the STUDD from, someplace tropical, and when he got back, he was obviously bigger, which he claimed was because of the tan. But once we’d smoked up and were jerking off together while flexing in the bedroom mirror, he confessed he’d tried some shit that made STUDD look like a walk in the park. “It was like Super-STUDD or somethin’,” he said, looking at his reflection as he posed. “I’m still flyin’ on it.” He stopped posing and turned to face me, all up in his pump. “I gained like ten pounds.”

It was true – the scale said “297” – “Which is just a couple away,” Eddie said, clapping his hands like a little kid. “I get three-hunnerd, I get my man’s hot ass again! I gotta have that ass, Tommy! I could never get tired of fuckin’ my man’s amazing muscle-ass!”

Something about that caught my ear, but his hard cock was suddenly in my face, so I lost my train of thought. I lost my train of thought a lot.

We’d workout from sunrise to sunset and the scale slowly clicked up. And then, finally, the day came! He was so excited, like a kid at Christmas! “I’m gonna go get me some o’ the best ass on the planet,” he chanted, doing a large hit of STUDD, then handing me the bowl. “I’m a three-hunnerd pound muscle beast, gonna go be the Master’s stud!”

I chuckled, battling my own erection as I held a hit. He wouldn’t jerk off with me, but he posed for me while I jacked. He was huge – a fuckin’ beast – I had no trouble cumming. I even hit him with some of it.

And then he disappeared.

I mean, not literally. No, I mean, he went out to fuck this guy – HIS guy – that morning with nothing more than the clothes on his back – I don’t even think he took his wallet (like he could’ve hidden it in the posers and spandex muscle shirt he left wearing) – and he never came home. I didn’t worry about it until a couple days later, the second night he hadn’t come home – THAT was really unlike him to go away that long. I was still having trouble with time and numbers, so I wasn’t sure – and I didn’t want to report it, ‘cuz I didn’t know enough to know anything – just that it was odd. It seemed like a long time.

I knew I had his number in my cell phone, so I called him a couple times, but there was never an answer, just his voicemail. Meanwhile, I kept lifting and working my clients and separating the money in the top drawer of the dresser into neat stacks of same bills, and I had more than five bricks of STUDD left. (I knew there was more than five, but I was sticking on the number that came after, a couple more, two, and five plus two was seven, but there was a number in between five and seven, I’m sure of it.)

I didn’t know what to do about Eddie. On the one hand, he was a big boy and he could take care of himself, on the other, what if something had happened to him? I thought maybe I should call the police and then thought better of it – suddenly they’re asking questions and probing around…

I kept calling his number, at least once a day.

I worked out hard and fucked like a monster. I was brutal in the gym and in the bedroom – when I wasn’t working out, I was fucking – someone, anyone, any ass that could take my big cock (and some that couldn’t quite).

When I got down to two bricks of STUDD and there was still no sign of Eddie, I took the only option I had – I called Paul.

And that was how I ended up living in Paul’s basement apartment. Seeing my difficulty with money and numbers and time, Paul took over the role of my manager, almost. He kept track of my schedule, organized my money, got me a couple of photo shoots to promote me to magazines and maybe some movies – he kept me supplied with STUDD – he made life easy.

I told him how weirded out I was when we did the hypnosis game, how Eddie told me it was all real – how turned on I was when we’d done it, but was so scared that it was all real, like Eddie said. But Paul made me feel better about it. (He had a way of making me feel better about everything, so relaxed and secure.) He explained how it was all fake, all a game, all part of the fantasies he had about me.

We even played it right then, to prove it – and a million times since. I put on the headphones and sat there in the chair, staring at the computer monitor with its swirls and twirls. When I was so rock-hard I couldn’t take it anymore, I would throw him down on the bed and fuck him mercilessly. What a fantastic fuckin’ ass! I would do anything for this amazing ass!

And Paul kept me swimming in STUDD. I never had to worry about running out – hell, I never had to worry about coming down, either! I would smoke a bowl after every time I shot a load. And since I was working out in the gym room in the other half of Paul’s basement, I could smoke between sets, too. It was bliss.

But I still missed Eddie, so I kept calling him – even though Paul didn’t see why I needed a cell phone, anymore. “It’s not like you have any friends,” he said, handing me the bowl, “and I take care of all your business.” Still, I kept it – I just kept it hidden when he was around, so he wouldn’t know.

And then, one day, right when I was expecting the voicemail to pick up, someone live answered.

“Yes? Hello…?”

“Eddie?”

“No. Who is this?”

“This is Eddie’s… lifting partner, Tommy.” (It was all I could think of to sound important – okay, I was his roommate, but hardly his boyfriend.) “Who is this?”

There was a slight pause, maybe a sigh, then, “This is Eddie’s sponsor. I assume you’re one of Eddie’s STUDD-buddies?”

“I…”

He interrupted quickly. “I thought so. Listen, you don’t need to call here anymore. Eddie is off STUDD – he’s clean. He’s taken the Antidote.”

“The Antidote? There’s an Antidote?”

“You’d be advised to take it yourself, you sound like you could use it – get off the STUDD roller-coaster before you suffer permanent brain damage. Like Eddie.”

“Eddie? Brain damage? What…?”

“Confused?” the voice asked. “Let me guess, you have trouble keeping track of numbers? You don’t know what day of the week it is, what time it is? That’s how it starts.”

I was silent. All I could think was, an Antidote – there was an Antidote! I needed to remember that.

“Listen,” the voice said – a voice that was oddly familiar, even though I couldn’t place it, “don’t call this number again. Eddie is done with STUDD now. He’s done with all of his… lifting partners, too! I suggest you get some help yourself before YOU’RE nothing more than a muscle-bound, drooling idiot with a near constant erection. Goodbye. Don’t call again.”

And he hung up.

I stood there staring at the phone, thinking about what he said. Trying to remember. There was an Antidote.

Smoking a bowl, I thought about what he said. (Then thinking stopped for a while, while I flexed, lifted and fucked.)

There was an Antidote.

Brain-damage.

Don’t think. Lift.

When Paul came home from work, I wanted to talk to him, tell him about the Antidote, the brain damage, but he put his finger over my lips and said, “Don’t talk. Fuck me. There’ll be plenty of time to talk after that.”

And God, did I love fuckin’ Paul! What an amazing ass! I’d do anything to fuck Paul’s amazing ass! Even keep quiet about the Antidote.

As usual, we played the hypnosis game. He pointed at me and said, “Obey me, muscle slave!” And, playing along, I fell to my knees before him and begged for his ass. I was so into it. Rock hard, leaking pre-cum, my huge body pumped and ready, I had to fuck him – I would do whatever I had to to fuck him. Nothing else mattered.

Nothing I had on my own stupid mind mattered. Just pleasing my Master – only my Master.

He released me and allowed me to speak sometime later, well after dark. There’d been something I wanted to tell him about, he said, something more important than fucking. “As if there’s anything more important to you than fucking,” he said. My cock twitched when he said it, knowing the truth of his words. “So, what was it?”

What WAS it? There was something – I’d heard something about something. Wasn’t that it? Something about Eddie… but I couldn’t remember. Aw shit, I was such a dumb-fuck sometimes.

What WAS it?

“Oh, man,” I moaned, punching my forehead with my fist. “I’m so fuckin’ dumb sometimes. I think this shit’s makin’ me dumb!”

Paul was already out of bed and handing me a loaded bowl. “Go catch a workout,” he said, as I lit up. “Maybe you’ll remember if you catch a pump.”

I nodded, holding my breath.

When Paul got to the doorway leading back upstairs to the main house, he turned and said, “You know, the bigger you get, the more I like it. So I’d like to see how big you could get. I’d like to see you hit three-hundred pounds – I think you could. I think you’d be hot at three-hundred pounds. Why don’t you make that your new goal?”

I nodded again, still holding the hit – it was getting hotter in my lungs – I bet I wouldn’t have this trouble if I was three-hunnerd pounds. Yeah, three-hunnerd was a good goal.

“And some extra motivation,” he said from the other side of the doorway. “You won’t get this ass again till you get it done. Hear me, Tommy? You won’t fuck me again till you’re three-hundred pounds of muscle. So… smoke up and start workin’!”

With that, he shut the door – and he locked it.

The buzz hadn’t even hit before I was standing naked at the squat rack, erect and pumped, squeezing out reps with five-plus-one plates on either side of the bar.

Something about Eddie – something about… something.

Fuck it – three hunnerd pounds till I can have Paul’s ass again. That’s the goal – whatever it takes. I’ll do anything for Paul’s amazing ass! Even push myself to three-hunnerd pounds. With that thought, I shoot.

As I orgasm, I remember the word “antidote!”

That’s IT! I want to shout – there’s an ANTIDOTE! I remember!

I’m afraid to leave my workout, tho – my goal, three-hunnerd and all – so, for fear I’ll forget again, I write “A-N-I-D-O-T” on the mirror in my cum. NOW I won’t have to waste my brain remembering while I’m trying to work out!

I’m so fuckin’ glad I remembered.

I smoke another bowl of STUDD before I get back to the weights.

Gotta get that ass… gotta get three-hunnerd…

Gotta get that antidote...

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