The Trainer 7

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The fifth week.

I awake from dreams of power. I tame the beast at my loins, telling my cock to surrender to my desires, to heed my commands, to obey only me. Hard as steel, thick as a baseball bat, tingling and throbbing with need, I am its master, it does not master me.

I feel it throbbing with hot need. I feel it bulging with power, as if it will explode if I merely touch it. It has been asleep too long, and awakens now like some wild animal escaped its chains, hungry to feed and to show its mastery over all it encounters. It is a thing separate, but it is me. My cock, my monster, my beast.

I gaze down at myself, over my meaty pectoral globes coated in dark fur and across the cobblestones of my eight-pack abdominal wall toward the swollen majesty of my manhood, the steel-hard shank, the full, blooming helmet - its flaring ridge and bulbous head as large as a plum - and just as ripe and potent with juice. My balls bulge with the flood of my powerful cream, thick and warm, sticky sweet.

I can cum at will, if I want to. I can tighten my asshole and swell my engorged member to full, awesome glory and pump thick ropey streams of cum to splatter all over my magnificent body, and all I need do is wish it.

Control. Command. Power.

Domination.

“Control yourself,” Jove whispers to me, “before you can control others.”

I rise from my bed and stand to my full height. I can feel the weight and size of every bulging muscle. I close my eyes and revel in the perfection of my body. I stretch my muscle-swollen arms overhead and touch the ceiling of my small apartment. I feel my lats spread like wings. I feel my shoulders bunch and my delts rise to kiss the lobes of my ears. My cock calls to me, but I deny it until I am ready, though the ache for release is strong.

Still dark. I pull a cooling breath into my overheated body and open my eyes. My prick throbs hard, pendulous and heavy, demanding my attention.

Control. Command. Power.

My body is huge. Heavy. Powerful. Swollen with muscle in such overwhelming amounts that each presses against its brother, even now, before I have spent my time in the church of muscle, pushing each to larger extents, ripping them apart and building them bigger and bigger.

My prick throbs. Hard as steel. Hot as fire. I breathe slowly, in control, in command.

I walk to the bathroom and step inside the shower stall. So much bigger than I ever was, than I ever thought I could be, than I ever thought anyone could be, but a mere shadow to Jove’s majesty. I can picture him in my head, hear his voice, feel his command.

I ache to see him again. I want to please him, to show him what he has made of me, to display my strength and power and my...control.

Control.

My cock explodes. I never touch it. I never give in to it, but I cannot - still, cannot - control it. Jove controls it. The thought of him inside my head. The memory of his voice and his scent and his body. Watching him reveal himself to me.

“This is my sword.” He says.

It grows in my hand, as he speaks the words.

“I am its master.” He says.

Bigger and bigger, pressing my hard grip out to contain it.

“And I will impale you on my sword.”

My cock explodes. Again, the small mouth opens and my fat streams of white-hot cum are shoved from my overburdened balls, pushing the flood up and up the heavy inches of my perfect cock rising so beautifully from my loins and I explode again, in Jove’s name, explode with thick, full, warm ropes of cream that make my body shine and swell and I shout a feral yell from the intensity of my perfect bliss.

Dream or reality? Does it matter?

 

I am drying myself. My cock is still hard. Why is my cock hard? Did I not just…?

My cell rings and I reach down - my hand is bigger, the phone looks so small - and it is Mr. Perfect calling. “Hello, John.”

“Thomas?” His voice makes my hard-on pulse. I see his face in my head. I feel his ass on my cock. I smell him in the room with me.

“Mmhmm.” Control.

“You sound different.” His lips on my lips. His mouth on my cock. My hands on his head, pulling him onto me, swallowing me whole.

“Do I?”

“Bigger.” Bigger than him. Bigger than his cock. The most beautiful cock in the world.

“Come over,” I say.

“Do you have something to show me?”

I tense my hand into a fist and bend my arm and watch the fat ball of muscle mounted on my upper arm swell outward and upward, expanding by the inch and pressing against my skin until it shines. The head of muscle splits and divides to make room for its massive size and power. “Mmhmm.”

He is there in minutes, and I greet him in my naked gloriousness. He looks upon my magnificence and smiles.

“Bigger,” I say. He moves inside, his eyes never leave my body.

He casts his gaze across my muscles, my cock, my body, and nods his head. “I’d say that’s an understatement.” He reaches forward and grabs my cock in his smooth grip, squeezing and stroking me. “This, too,” he says. He cannot take me. I am in control.

“Bigger,” I say, “everywhere.”

He comes at me, trying to surround my bulk in his embrace and failing, grasping then at my muscle, trying to dig his fingers into the hard meat I have grown everywhere on my huge body. His kissing is insatiable, hungry with desire and lust, and I can feel that massive shank of sex in his loins growing hard at a record-setting pace. “I want to fuck you,” he says. “God, I’m going to fuck you so hard.”

I am a god. A god who fucks.

I had forgotten his beauty until now, overwhelmed perhaps by Jove’s powerful masculinity and my own muscular size. But he is beautiful, and now that I am so much bigger than he is, I want him inside me.

I rip the clothes from his body. How dare he appear like that before me? Show me yourself, I think. Display your masculine beauty for me, and I will drink it inside and swallow it, making it mine.

He is beautiful. He is perfect. He shows himself to me, with pride and arrogance, but I will overwhelm him. I will dominate him. I will make him mine.

He attacks my mouth with his, kissing me with a hunger I know too well. I surround his small, perfect body with my heavy muscular embrace. I can feel him, every inch of him, the muscles he has trained so carefully, developed so perfectly, all for me.

I reach down and grab his ass, feeling him tense as I squeeze. I push my fingers towards the core of him and rub against him, push against him, invade him with my undeniable strength. I feel his wet heat and he tries to deny me, but I will not - I cannot be denied. I am the god. The god who fucks.

I feel his magical, muscular cock swelling to its fullest between us, throbbing hotly with every beat of his heart. “Fuck me,” I growl, I cry, I beg. “God, fuck me.”

“God?” he replies. “I am no god, Thomas.” His hand on his huge and beautiful cock, stroking its massive length, and rubbing its hungry mouth until he is drooling a flow of thick precum. “This is god.”

I throw him to the floor, my door is still open, and he will fuck me and the world may watch. I want - I need - him inside me. I need his cock to fill me as no cock can. I need to feel his perfection inside me, a fire that lights me up, a power that only he can supply.

He fucks me hard with his meat, shoving his inches deep inside me until I shout with the pleasure of pain and I shoot thick ropes of hot cream into my gut, over and over.

I am blinded by lust and desire and sex. My vision goes black and all I am is the fuck. The fuck travels from his massive cock into my massive body. The fuck is like blood in my veins, pulsing through every muscle and feeding them with power. The fuck makes my brain overheat and my heart swell larger and my entire body grow more massive as he fucks me.

I look at his face and see darkness. Dark passion. Dark desire. Dark power. His cock inside me, feeding me, changing me, growing me.

No. Control. I am in control.

It feels so good. I want him inside me forever.

I am on my back - my wide, massive, muscular back - and he is above me. I look at him surrounded by a halo of darkness as he positions himself at my backdoor and pushes his thickness inside me and I feel every inch of him, every perfect inch of that hard, huge tool and he slides in and out, in and out, with a look of ecstasy and wonder on his beautiful face, fucking the god who fucks until I squeeze him hard, inside my vice, and he groans and sighs and I can feel him lose himself to me, jetting his fountain of sticky cum inside me.

I pull his mouth to mine and kiss him fiercely. Is he mine? Am I his?

Control.

 

“That is good,” Jove says to me, standing over me as I lay on the weight bench, my arms straining to hold the iron over my swollen, throbbing, massive pectoral globes. I can hardly see over it. Two huge, veiny, throbbing mountains of meat, constructed of bands of power shaking to support hundreds of pounds above me, held in my grip and supported by my muscle.

“Hold it,” Jove says. “Control it.”

Does he mean the weight or my cock. I can feel it, even though I cannot see it. I know I am rock hard, again. I know it is red and glossy and swollen so large that it pushes my legs apart. I know that it is huge and hard and fucking ready to explode. A fountain of cum, an explosion, a nuclear bomb of sticky cream is ready to blow.

Control, I think. Control.

I look up him as he stands there. He is naked, as I am, but there is so much of him. So much masculine power and perfection, casting his bright gaze down at me with that look of pride on his face.

And then he smiles.

And I explode.

I gasp. I swoon. Control is lost as I surrender to him. To his power and his force and his perfection. He grants me a boon, the smile of pride, and my body is suddenly lost to a feeling of overwhelming happiness and it must display this for him - to him - on him. My cock swells another size larger and my balls pulse and pump and my breath leaves my lungs and my blood boils and my mind goes blank and all I am, all that I can be, escapes from my cock in a hot torrent of the pure masculine essence of all that I am, all that I have become, all that Jove has made of me.

And I give it to him. All of it.

I can feel the wet heat of my load splatter all over my body. My dick responds to his smile of approval in an instant, and I admit to him without words that he is my master, and the master of my cock.

 

Night. The long night. Alone, and I need him. I need him with me. Beside me. Inside me.

I pick up my phone and I dial his number and he answers. “Hello, Thomas,” he says.

“Hello, John.” My cock springs to rock hardness. His voice, god, the beauty of it. “I want you.”

“I know,” he says. His mouth on my cock. His cock in my ass. “What will you do for me, Thomas?”

“Anything,” I promise.

 

Week six.

Control.

It is harder to master than muscle, harder to master than the iron. Harder to master because I must master myself.

My power grows. My muscle grows. My cock grows.

I am bigger than ever. Six weeks in, and I weigh over three-hundred pounds. Pure power. Pure muscle. Pure male.

Prone on a bench. A bar in my hands, laden with half-a-ton of weight, which I push up and down over my gargantuan chest, making my muscles grow larger with every thrust, deepening the valley between each heavy globe, ten reps, then twenty. My arms burn and bulge. My chest swells and stings and pounds with newly developed brawn, stretched across the mountains in broad cables. My six-pack is now an eight-pack. Each muscle on my huge body perfectly developed, pushed to its ultimate size and beauty. Strong enough now to bend steel with my bare hands.

My cock wants to be hard, but I do not allow it. Not until I am ready.

Control.

“Good,” Jove says. His praise still heats my dick, but I am in control - not him. He will not make me hard. “We work your ass now.”

I sit up and smile, ready to hoist the iron onto my shoulders and bend my legs and feel the muscles of my butt burn and swell. I love to work my legs most of all. I can handle much more weight, and I know that my ass is a wonder to behold. Two broad, thick, powerful globes that stick out a mile, projecting a physical manifestation of my power with every stride. My ass pushes outward like an advertisement, and I use it to its best advantage in the showers and sauna and locker room, allowing its wondrous size and shape to mesmerize everyone I honor with a view of its magnificence.

“You are finally ready,” Jove tells me.

“Ready for what?”

He smiles. I nearly cream. He has the face of god. Of my god. My personal god, who I obey and worship.

My eyes are drawn down his powerful, muscle-swollen, glorious perfection. Something stirs. Something moves. Something rises.

I see that his masterful cock is inflating to its glory, rising higher and higher, swelling with hot blood as the head blooms and takes on a vicious redness. Veins appear all along its growth, snakes that throb and swell. The whole of his magnificent cock stretches longer, swells bigger, rises higher, and he watches me watching him as the breath catches in my throat and my eyes glaze at the sheer beauty of what he allows me to witness.

“Grab your ankles.”

I look at him a moment, wondering if I have heard him correctly. But instantly, I know what he wants, what he needs, what he means to have.

I am ready. Ready for this. Ready for him. Ready for the gift that this man may bestow upon only those deserving.

The Next Level.

I lift my legs up and reach my muscle-swollen arms out and grasp my ankles.

“Open yourself to me.”

I pull my legs apart, wider and wider. My hamstrings stretch and burn. Coolness kisses the wet heat of my asshole. Wider and wider. I am flexible as well as powerful. I command my body, it does not limit me. I stretch my legs out, splitting myself open for him, feeling the gym’s sweat-soaked air lick my hot, slick, hungry hole. Sweat trickles along the lips of my asshole. My muscles stretch and sing as I open myself to his majesty.

He looks upon me and his nostrils flare. My scent rises within the heat of my labors. He pulls that scent of me, the richness of my manhood, inside himself, sucking the sweet stink into his head to know who I am, my masculine essence.

He pulls his hand to his mouth and licks his hand, moving his fingers toward my waiting hole and slicking me with his spit. His touch is rough on my tenderness. His spit is warm and wet and I nearly come as he touches me.

Finally. He touches me.

His cock reaches its glorious perfection, a huge beast with a swollen, glossy head leaking a stream of warm, thick honey. I can smell him, too. Him and I. Our mutual masculine mastery kissing in the air, embracing each other like lovers, mingling together in a thick, musky stink of ass and balls and sweat and sex.

He moves his touch against my asshole and pushes his fingers inside. I shut my eyes and bite my lip to keep from screaming in pure ecstasy. My need swells as strong as my body. I feel like I am growing bigger, still, like his fingers inside me make me grow.

I hear as well as feel him growl. My god growls in desire for my ass, for me, for himself inside me. I open my eyes and watch him grasp the overwhelming magnificence of his prick as he pushes it down to aim himself at the target of his desire.

I tense up, and he says, verifying what I already know, “This will hurt. The first time.”

I am a virgin to the god’s prick. He will pierce me with his sword and claim me fully. I will surrender myself - all that I am, all that I have, all that I am becoming - in service to his control.

His control and his cock.

Heat approaches. I feel it against the soft bud of my entrance.

Then...pain.

Searing, hard, sudden pain. The pain of being touched by god, of joining with god, of becoming one with god.

But I do not cry out. I stretch myself wider to allow him inside me, and feel him pushing in deeper than anyone has or could, filling me completely with his thick, powerful sex.

Then he fucks me. I look at him through tears and watch him looking at me as his hips thrust his overwhelming perfection into me.

God. Oh, my god.

He grunts and groans like an animal. He head bends back on his neck as his lifts his arms and bends them, displaying for me his domination, his size and power and beauty. I groan in unison, seeing his body displayed for me as he slowly fucks me.

The pain dims and something else starts to grow.

His thrusts quicken. A slick, sumptuous sound fills the gym as his fat, hard, amazing cock slides in and out, and my pain turns to pleasure. Subtle at first, as he pushes into me, prodding my guts with his sword, but that pleasure builds like ripples in a pond, emanating from the source of his perfection inside me.

He is above me, his hips thrusting the gorgeous perfection of his massive meat into my guts. Further inside me. Deeper than any man has or could. Deeper and more fully than even John’s gargantuan wonder.

John. Mr. Perfect. His face before me, suddenly. His body and his heat and his scent and his cock. His wonderful, thick, long, strong prick inside me.

My master stops, buried deep. He stops his thrusts and the glorious perfect bliss drains away. “Who?” he growls, like a command, like an accusation, like a threat.

“You,” I answer, barely able to speak.

“No,” he says, and there is darkness in his gaze and anger in his words. “Who is in control?”

I look up at my god, the god of muscle, the god of pain, the god of perfection. John’s face again, flashing like lightning against a darkened sky. “No one,” I lie. “I am in control.”

He begins to pull himself out of me. Inch by glorious inch, and it feels like he is ripping my soul from me, like he is pulling out my heart, like the sensation of perfect sex will never be mine again. “No,” he says again. “You are not.”

Slowly, as he withdraws himself from me, an aching emptiness takes his place. Nothing and no one has ever felt so good. The pain and the pleasure, the glorious, endless pulses of explosive sexual perfection he can so easily deliver are taken from my body - my huge, muscular, powerful body - and I feel small and alone. “John,” I say. “His name is John.”

“He is in control,” Jove says. His cock stands high and hard and proud, throbbing with hard, dull pulses as if he still fucks me, pushing himself into me to gift me with his endless power. “What has he given you?”

“He hasn’t….”

Jove interrupts me, grasping my raging hard-on in his rough grip and squeezing me so hard that I think it will split open. A fat gob of cream appears at the mouth of my wonderful cock, because he pulled it from my balls. “I gave you this,” he says, because he did. He moves his other hand over the mountainous mounds of my powerful abdominal wall, crawling up my huge frame, cupping one of my massive pectoral globes and rubbing the pad of his thumb across my nipple. Thunderous eruptions of pure sexual power shake me and pass directly toward where he holds me so tightly. “I gave you this,” he says. “What has he given you?”

Tears form in my eyes, from pain and need and shame and desire. I am shaken to my core, I want him inside me so badly. “His cock,” I whisper. I scream. His cock. John’s perfect and wonderful and majestic cock.

“Bring him to me,” my god instructs.

“Yes,” I manage to answer. He grips me so hard. He rubs me so well. Pain and pleasure.

To be continued?

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