The Trainer 6
by AKA
“You are making remarkable progress,” Jove told me. “Your desire is strong.”
I sat up from my labors. My body was drenched in sweat. It is one month since we met. I am twice the size I was when we started. My chest measures seventy-two inches around. I have 21-inch upper arms. My thighs are nearly as large as my waist. My body - somehow - has grown taller to carry the added size. My weight is pushing the scales to 275 pounds.
My cock is rock hard, drooling pre in a stream down its thick neck. I lick my lips, tasting the salty sweat gathered there, drinking the essence of my labors. I have just bench-pressed a new personal record, pushing over seven-hundred pounds above my prone body. The muscles in my chest and arms burn with growth and power. I look up at my trainer and smile with pride and hunger. He says, “Show me who you are.”
I stand from the bench and begin a series of muscular displays, pushing the bulging perfection of every ball and cable and mass of brawn against my paper-thin skin. The muscle jumps up at my command, and I revel in my size, my strength, my utter masculine perfection. My cock stretches, swelling with pride.
“Good,” Jove says. I hear his word of praise like a balm, it fills me with honor. I know I am bigger - much, much bigger - but it is for him that I do it all. It is only for him. “Let us continue.”
We move to the next set of punishing lifts. Legs, now, because my chest is bursting and my arms are burning. We load plate after plate on the bar, and I gather my uncompromising strength to lift it onto the mountains that my shoulders have become.
I strain and grunt to push the weight. I feel the muscles of my legs and ass and back all tighten and burn and bulge.
Bigger. I must grow. Stronger.
Ten reps. Twelve. Thirteen. Four… no, that is the limit. I pause.
“Again,” Jove demands. His voice, that familiar and comforting low rumble, sounds from behind me. I glance down. His hands hang at his sides, and I hope that he will save me if I fail in my efforts - though I suddenly find that I know I won’t fail.
I suck in air. I grit my teeth so hard my jaw hurts. I bend my knees and lower the sagging bar. Nearly 1,200 pounds of iron are fastened to it. I grunt, then groan, then shout. Pushing it back up. Inch by inch. Slowly managing over half-a-ton of steel, mastering it with my naked muscles.
It is agony. Glorious, perfect, beautiful agony. Every muscle screams as I shred it and make it grow.
Bigger. I must grow.
“Again.”
I do it. For him. He makes me want it. He drives me. I bend my knees. The muscles scream. The burn is a fire. I can feel myself growing stronger.
“Good,” he says. I glow from his praise. My cock is hard as steel, leaking sex honey. My rod and my staff. “Now it is time for a new lesson.”
“Yes,” I say, hungry for more. More power. More strength. More size. I am on my feet, I stand straight and tall, my massive chest pushes forward several inches, my muscular ass juts out proudly, my cock pulses and drools, I am eager to please, eager to learn, eager to grow.
“Control,” he says. “You must master your muscles. You must master this,” he says, grabbing my prick in his rough grip, squeezing the hard shaft and pushing a fat gush from the mouth of my monster. “This must not control you.”
“No,” I agree.
“Do you understand?” Do I? I want his hand there. I want his power there. I feel his strength as if he is giving it to me through my cock. I feel the warmth of his skin. I feel him. “You do not understand,” he says, releasing me.
“I must control myself.” I say it as if I do understand. I say what I think he wants me to say.
He sees through my self-doubt. “Control is not words. Control is power.” But I was filled with power. I was strength incarnate. I was muscle, pure and raw and true. It bulged from every inch of my body, honed to rock hardness, swollen with potency and dominance. My cock throbbed upward with pride and happiness and a flow of pre erupted and flowed warmly down my thick inches.
Jove saw my physical reaction, my realization of power, the manifestation of my pride. His dark brow lowered and his mouth - those full lips, so passionate and beautiful to me - pursed. “You will learn control of this body. You will not become overwhelmed by it.”
“I will not be overwhelmed.”
“No. Do not repeat my words. Only listen, and understand.” He placed his index finger at my temple and tapped my skull with hammer blows. “We must train this. Do you see? You are control. You are power. Without that, all of this,” he said, moving his warm, rough palm over the bulging mass of my right pec, “and this,” he grabbed my hard cock again, and I nearly came, “are as nothing.”
I swallowed hard and closed my eyes. Control. The word meant something. Dominance? Mastery? Was I not the most beautiful? Was I not the strongest? Was I not…?
His finger at my temple again. Tapping my skull. “Do not lose this.”
“Control,” I repeated. I felt dumb. I felt confused. My body was singing with strength and force. My muscles throbbed with overwhelming power. My cock was a white hot rod of male force, tingling with hard shocks of sex. I opened my eyes and looked at Jove.
“Tomorrow,” he said, “you will learn control.”
Night. The room is dark. My skin is warm. My cock is hot. Jove’s words circle inside my head as I contemplate the meaning. Control. Tomorrow, I will learn control.
Am I not in control? Do I not dominate? Walking into any room, now, I become the focus of every pair of eyes. Eyes that hunger for me, for my beauty and power and strength. Do I not control every situation?
My phone rings on the nightstand. I reach for it - the weight of muscle on my arm, the swollen majesty of what I am, lining the limb with thick, hard bulges - and I look at the tiny screen in my large hand.
My old trainer! I had almost forgotten him! And I had never even thanked him for what he has done, for introducing me to Jove, and changing my life so utterly.
I am lying on my bed, naked. I am always naked. I am always hard and always growing.
“Hello,” I growl.
“Thomas? Do you have a cold?” His face in my head. His smiles and encouragement.
My voice. Deeper. Stronger. More masculine and powerful. Like the rest of me. “No,” I answer.
“I was just checking up on you. No one has seen you around for a while. Are you all right?”
“I’m perfect,” I explain, because I am. My cock throbs and I grab it and stroke.
“I was just wondering why you never called the new trainer.”
“I met him,” I say. “We meet every morning.”
“Well, I don’t know who you’re meeting every morning, but it’s not the guy I was setting you up with. Who are you training with?”
“Jove,” I say. My mind flashes on the godlike face and massive body of my naked training partner. My muscles pulse with familiarity of his name.
“I don’t know any Jove, Thomas. Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yes,” I answer. Cum is building inside my balls. My cock is growing thick and hard. I pinch the fat nipple on my massive pectoral globe, sending a shock of orgasmic bliss everywhere.
“You sound weird.”
“I’m good,” I say, closing my eyes, stroking my cock, picturing the face of the man at the other end of the phone line, his eyes, his mouth, his body. I rub my thumb across the lips of the mouth of my prick, feeling the slick warm wetness erupting there.
“Okay, I was just… I was worried about you.”
“I’m good,” I tell him. I’m perfect. My erection is sending shocks of bliss through my huge body. My balls swell with seed. My body heats up, as I near another massive eruption.
I close the phone and drop it to the floor.
My chest is splattered with cum.
“Control.” The next morning. Jove stands before me, my cock in his hand. I am hard. I am always hard. He squeezes me. “Who is in control?”
“I am.”
He squeezes me. “Who is in control?”
“You are.”
“Why?”
My head is empty. A question? I blink and my brow furrows. He squeezes harder and asks again. “Why?”
“Because….”
“Because this is mine,” he says, his hand on my cock. “Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
He squeezes painfully hard. I feel that my cock will split open. The head grows shiny and red. “Do you understand?”
“No.”
He releases me. My cock slaps against the cobblestones of my muscular abdominal wall. A splatter of pre-cum warms my skin. He runs his index finger up the hard, hot inches of my erection. “This is the source. The source of all power. The source of all strength. This defines you.”
“Yes,” I agree. Because it does.
“Your muscle. I gave that to you.”
“Yes.”
“Your power. Your beauty. Your perfection. I gave that to you.”
“Yes.”
He grabs me again. “This is mine.”
“Yes.”
“No,” he responds, squeezing me painfully again. Then he releases me and steps back. “Look at me.” I do so. He is my god. The unattainable. The perfection of masculine power. “Look at me,” he repeats. I understand. I look down at his gargantuan prick, the full weight of him. The essence of him. The source of him. “Take it.”
I reach forward to touch his prick. It fills my hand. It is semi-firm, hanging fat and full between his legs. It is beautiful and flawless and supreme. My own cock surges in response, growing harder than ever. I nearly cum.
“Do you understand?” he asks.
“I…”
“That is control. That is authority. That is supremacy.” He is hot and thick. Pulses of power suffuse his cock. It beats as his heart beats, with the warm blood of his perfection. “That is mine.”
“Yes.”
He grabs me again. “This is mine.”
“Yes.”
“No,” he states. “Control it.”
Control it. Control what. Control my desire? My libido? My cock? I furrow my brow.
“Do you not see? This,” he says, gripping me painfully, “is all that you are, and you give it away. You give it to me. I have control, because you give it to me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“This,” he says, increasing the pain. “This is control.”
“But…”
“No. This is your sword and your shield. This is your armor, and your steed. All that you are is this. And you give it away. You give away control.”
“I don’t…”
His cock surges. I feel him growing hard. Harder. Bigger. It swells in my hand. The veins fill with blood. The head blooms wider. It forces my fingers apart. It grows hot and hard and thick. Bigger and bigger. “My sword,” he says. “This is my sword. I am its master. You are not.” Bigger still. Harder. Hotter. Thicker. “I will show you my sword when I wish it. You will not cause me to unsheathe my sword before I am ready.” Bigger. Bigger than my hand can encompass. “And I will impale you on my sword.”
My cock is painfully hard. He squeezes again, and I explode. I shoot a high, fat rope of cream. I come harder than I have ever come. Again and again. My balls empty. His hand is coated in my cum. It splatters against my pecs, my belly, my neck.
“Control,” Jove says. “This is what you must learn.”