The Bigger They Are
by Richard Pickman
This gym is the greatest! Ron thought. It's the real deal, not one of those faggy places that give bodybuilders a bad name. When I work out, I wanna work out, and not have some fruit making goo-goo eyes at me.
Ron was going through his daily routine at Sloan's Gym. He had only arrived in the city recently, and Sloan's had been highly recommended. Ron needed a really good gym, since he was in serious training for the Mr. Olympia, and Sloan's had it all. Top of the line equipment, saunas, an Olympic sized swimming pool, masseurs, personal trainers (which he didn't really need, as he'd worked out his own successful fitness regimen years ago), and a health food mini-store and snack bar were some of the reasons Sloan's had been the best gym in the area for over twenty years.
Ron had heard that Sloan's had changed owners a few months ago. There had been some worries among the longtime patrons, but they turned out to be unfounded. The new owner, Sanders Unlimited, had invested in major renovations, upgrading and expanding all the facilities for the better. Now even people from outlying towns were finding it worth the trip to work out there.
Ron was in the second of three heavy-duty weight rooms, using one of the cable-crossover machines. Watching himself in the wall-length mirror, he tuned out the sights and sounds around him, focusing on his reflection. People had told him he looked like a cross between Dennis Newman and Bob Paris. He took it as a compliment, even if Paris was a fag. He could even see the resemblance, sort of. Six foot three, with dark brown hair and eyes, a thin aquiline nose, and a squarish face with angular cheekbones, he had the good looks that give him that extra edge when he competed. He did not have a deep tan, since it was the off season for him, but his skin was still dark enough to accentuate his thick veins when he was pumped up, as well as each ripped muscle. He wore a flimsy white tank top open nearly to his 32 inch waist, to better see the effects of his workout. It was already nearly translucent from sweat, no longer concealing what little it did cover. He also had on a pair of spandex shorts, vertically striped dark blue and black, which barely reached down to the middle of his 28-inch thighs.
Firmly gripping the cable handles, he pulled his arms in, feeling the burn in his shoulders and upper back. His 23-inch arms bulged from the strain, his chest temporarily swelling beyond its normal 58 inches. Harder and harder he pulled, until his hands slowly crossed each other in front of his chest, the cleft between his pectorals looking as deep as the Grand Canyon. Fuck, I'm looking good, he thought. And there's still three more months until the Olympia. I'm gonna blow the competition in the heavyweight division out of the fucking water!
Then, strangely, something broke his concentration, but he could not figure out what it was. Looking around for the cause, he spotted a guy, reflected in the mirror, somewhere in his late twenties or early thirties, with shaggy jet-black hair, wearing a canary yellow wife beater and fire engine red Lycra shorts, doing pull-ups. From what Ron could see, the guy was lean, with more of a runner's or swimmer's build. Why he was in here with the other heavyweights was puzzling, as was how Ron's attention was centering on him. Ron's eyes were riveted to the smaller man, no matter how hard he tried looking away, even feeling his neck muscles cording out from the strain. Then he noticed the guy was staring right at him. As their gazes met, the man winked, then pursed his lips, as if he was sending a kiss.
Disturbed and suddenly free, Ron quickly broke eye contact. That was too fucking weird, he thought. What made me stare at that guy like that, anyway? Damned if I know, but I sure don't want another fruit perving on me. If he tries making a pass, I'll make sure he knows what the score is. I know how to handle his type, he concluded.
He was soon to discover, however, how wrong he was.
Ron continued his workout set, pointedly not looking at the other guy. Still, every so often he felt a tingling in the back of his head, as though he could feel the guy staring at him. He wouldn't give the guy the satisfaction of paying him any attention, though.
Later, after finishing, Ron hit the showers. There were three other guys there, all studiously avoiding looking at each other. Damn straight, no queers here, only real men! Ron thought, standing directly under the showerhead, closing his eyes, luxuriating in the feel of the warm water washing the sweat off him.
When he opened his eyes again, he noticed that the other guys had left. That's cool, Ron thought, I prefer having the place to myself.
As he soaped himself all over, washing the grime of the day's workout off, his hands, almost by themselves, traveled down to his dick. He lathered himself up and started playing with himself. Fuck, yeah, nothing like beating off after a hot workout, Ron mused. Don't know why I never tried it before.
He was really getting into it when another man entered the shower, interrupting his solitude. Ron quickly turned away to hide his impressive erection. Damn, I hope that guy didn't see what I was doing. Wouldn't want people to think I was . . . geez, I don't even want to think about it.
Then Ron realized who the guy reminded him of. He stole a quick look over his shoulder, confirming his suspicions. Goddamit, it's that faggot who was staring at me. Well, no way am I hanging out in a shower alone with him! He gives me the creeps, bigtime. Not that he could do anything to me, he thought smugly. Looks like I got at least a hundred twenty-five pounds, on him, easy!
Ron turned off the water and headed out of the shower, when he heard a low, sultry voice behind him say, "I didn't give you permission to leave yet, Ron."
Ron paused. Aw, Jesus, the little cocksucker's gonna be a pain. But I won't get into anything here. If he follows me, though, I'll make sure we go somewhere I can beat some sense into his pansy ass.
With that, Ron started walking forward. Then he heard the voice again. «I said, I didn't give you permission to leave yet, Ron.» This time, Ron heard the voice inside his own head!
Ron whirled around, finding the other guy only a few feet away, his head tilted up slightly so he could look directly into Ron's eyes. "How the fuck did you do that?! I've never..."
«Experienced anything like it in your life, Ron? I don't suppose you have. Not many telepaths around, are there?»
"Look, I don't know how you're doing that, or what you're playing at..."
«Not playing AT, Ron, playing WITH. I'm playing WITH you. Or will be, very shortly.»
"Hey, just 'cause you can make me hear you in my head..."
"Doesn't mean I don't know every thought you have?" the shorter man said, now speaking aloud, "No, I know that's not what you were going to say, Ron. Right now you're wondering if this is all for real. Oh, now you're thinking how to get rid of this faggot freak. Not nice, Ron, not nice at all. Reading your mind's like reading a cheap novel. Words of more than three syllables are rare in your vocabulary, aren't they? Oh, sorry, do you even know what the word 'vocabulary' means? Lets see . . . Why, you do! I must say I'm surprised."
"Now, listen here, man..."
"Alvin. Yes, I know, I've not always been fond of the name, either. But there you go."
"OK, Alvin..."
"Do NOT take that sarcastic tone of voice with me, you got that?"
"I'm leaving right now, you got THAT? And I'd like to see you just try and stop me . . . Hey, my feet, I can't move my feet! What the fuck's going on?!"
"How many times do I have to tell you, Ron? You are slow, aren't you? Probably oxygen starvation, because of all that blood rushing away from -- what I can only laughably call -- your brain to keep those huge muscles of yours pumped up" Then he heard the voice in his mind again. «Remember, I didn't give you permission to leave? I want you to stay around for a while, you and those huge muscles of yours. Making you hear me in your mind isn't all I can do. Far from it. You've got a lot to learn, big guy. And I'm going to enjoy teaching you. See, when I want someone to do something, they do it, whether they want to or not.»
"Look, I don't know what's happening, but I'll scream, so help me!"
«Go right ahead. Not that it'll do you any good. Why don't I have a couple of friends of yours join us, to prove my point?»
Two other bodybuilders entered, one blonde, one redheaded. They went to the far side, away from Ron and Alvin, and began showering.
"So, you going to Jim's party?" said the blonde.
"Nah. Me and Corinne have other plans," the redhead replied, thrusting his hips forward. "Know what I mean?"
"She sure can't get enough of you."
"Don't I know it! Why d'ya think I work out. Gotta keep up my strength to keep up with her!"
"Hey, guys, help!" Ron shouted, "This creep's doing something, I can't leave, help me out, will ya? Sven? Patrick, buddy? Hey, I'm talking to ya!"
"Me, I like being able to play the field." the blonde continued, "Variety, m'man, is my motto."
"They can't hear you, Ron." Alvin said out loud. "I don't want to be disturbed, so as far as anyone else is concerned, the two of us aren't even here." As Ron watched, dumbfounded, Alvin walked over to stand between the other two men. He reached over and began massaging their hard as granite glutes. The two men did not even react.
"See, Ron. It's just you and me. Besides, I've had Sven and Patrick already. They were pretty good lays, I admit. Did you know that Sven here," he said, tousling the blonde man's hair, "who tries to pass himself off as some kind of big bad modern day Viking, whimpers like a little girl during sex? And when he comes, he'll almost shatter your eardrums, he screams so loud? And that Pat is really turned on by having his nipples bitten? Well, now you do. But that's the past, and you're the present, baby."
"Hmm, you're still a little skeptical, aren't you? Well, a further demonstration won't hurt." The two bodybuilders abruptly stopped talking, then turned to face each other. Ron could see their faces were without expression. Alvin took the bar of soap Patrick was holding and lathered up his own hands. Putting it back in the redhead's unresisting hand, he reached down to the rapidly hardening dicks of the two men and started stroking them. They stood like statues, apparently oblivious to what was happening. Solid as lead pipes now, Alvin stroked them along their entire length. The bodybuilders' breathing became more labored, as some of the pleasure seemed to seep into their brains. Alvin began to concentrate on the dark purplish crimson heads, moving his hands faster and faster. Without warning, both men erupted in long streams, coating each other's abdomens with creamy ejaculate, moans involuntarily escaping from them. Eventually, the gushers of cum stopped, but Alvin continued rubbing the now overly sensitive heads. The two men yipped like puppies from the sensation, but did nothing to stop Alvin. Finally, letting go, he kissed each of the motionless men on the lips, adding, "Good job, boys." Putting his hands up to their mouths, each one licked the soap, and their own cum, off Alvin's hands, swallowing every bit, until his hands were clean. Then they turned back to their showers with their jaws hanging open, their heads leaning back, then dropping down, water washing the taste out. While Alvin walked back to Ron, the two men resumed talking as though nothing had happened.
"They won't remember a thing either. Now do you get the picture? So, where were we? Oh, yes."
Suddenly, Ron found himself walking back to where he had been showering. He turned on the water, stood beneath the head, then pivoted so his back was to the wall. His right hand went down and he started playing with himself again, his left arm shooting up in a bicep pose.
"Mmmm, I like my men hard and horny." said Alvin, as he squeezed Ron's 23 inch gun. "That's why I bought this gym in the first place. It was a good business investment, but I mostly wanted it to get as many hot men in one place so I could pick and choose whomever I wanted, whenever I wanted. It's my own little stud buffet, all I can eat."
"Oh, didn't I tell you? The last name's Sanders, as in Sanders Unlimited. Yes, I own Sloan's, and every piece of equipment in it. Including the members, and their 'members', too" he chuckled. "I've had my eye on you since you first joined, Ron. How could I not? And now you're all mine." he said, running his soaped up again hands over Ron's enormous chest, then coming close and tonguing each erect, downward pointing nipple. "Those abs" he said a little later, as Ron did a stomach crunch to more prominently display them. "I know some guys bodybuild to overcompensate, but that's obviously not the case with you." On his knees, Alvin engulfed the throbbing 8 inches before him. By this point, Ron had both hands on his flaring lats. He fought to stop himself as he assumed each new position, but he was a puppet to Alvin's whims.
Sven and Patrick finished and exited, leaving Alvin alone again with his captive toy. He pulled back and Ron turned around, leaning forward somewhat as he placed both hands against the tiled wall, spreading his legs apart and sticking his ass out invitingly.
"Now comes the best part." Alvin began fingering Ron's asshole, first sticking in one soapy finger, then two, then finally three, and working them around inside. Ron's mind rebelled at this invasion, but his ass thrust itself towards Alvin eagerly.
"You say no, no, but your body says Fuck, yes!"
"You're, you're MAKIN' me do this! I don't wanna! I ain't no fag!!!"
"Everyone has . . . tendencies. For some, they're buried. I'm just bringing those deep held slutty desires of yours you've been denying so long out in the open, that's all. Why do you think you were playing with yourself when I came in? I was already starting to bring those hidden parts out for me to play with."
"No way, man. No fucking way!"
"Well, yes, fucking way, actually. Guess what's next?"
"No, no, don't fuck me, man. Help, help, somebody, help!!!"
"I told you, Ron, that won't do any good." Alvin's hard 6 inches now nestled between Ron's rock-hard glutes, ready to penetrate all the way inside him. "Here goes!"
"No, no, don't, fuck, noooooooooo!"
Alvin didn't move. Seconds passed, then he stepped back. "You're right. I can't fuck you here."
Ron let out an immense sigh of relief. A moment passed.
"We need to go back to my place." Alvin closed his eyes, then opened them again. "There, that should do." With that, Alvin walked out of the shower.
After Alvin left, Ron began crying. He had never felt so helpless in his life. But he soon realized that he had control of his body again. He rushed out of the shower, to find the locker room empty. Fuck, maybe it's temporary. Ron quickly dressed, threw his sweaty clothes in his gym bag, then cracked open the door to the hallway outside. Alvin was nowhere in sight.
Once in the hall, he looked at the other guys casually strolling around. Who could he tell? He HAD to tell somebody. But the more he thought about it, the crazier he knew it would sound. And who knew how many of them that motherfucker had controlled? Sven and Patrick were two of the straightest guys he knew, yet they'd both let him jack them off, kiss them, and eat their own cum! After seeing that, he believed the creep when he said that he'd fucked them, too. No WAY am I gonna let him near me again, he decided. I'll just keep an eye out for him, get in my car, go home, never come back to this place, and hope the guy never finds me.
Ron made it to his car, with no sign of Alvin anywhere. As he was turning the key to unlock the door, he froze for no reason, then heard Alvin's in his head «Perfect. You acted completely normal, didn't tell anyone what happened, and came straight here. Just like I wanted. You didn't think you'd escape that easily, did you? Now you'll follow the rest of my instructions just as well.»
Ron felt free to move again. He finished opening the car door and got in. Starting the engine, he followed what he somehow knew to be Alvin's car. He tried to turn the wheel in a different direction, tried to step on the brakes, anything to keep from going where Alvin wanted him to, but failed.
Finally, they drove up to a small, yet palatial, estate on the wealthier side of town, near the beach. Parking in the gravel driveway next to Alvin's car, he got out and followed the other man inside.
Leading him through a simple, elegantly decorated living room, he opened the curtains on one wall. Through the windows could be seen a spacious back yard, several acres at least, surrounded by tall pines, oaks, and other trees. A large, roughly teardrop-shaped pool, about twenty feet away from the house, lay sparkling in the afternoon sun, surrounded by comfortable-looking patio furniture. Ron could see that a man was swimming at the wider end.
Alvin swung the doors open as he walked outside, Ron silently following, calling out, "Troy, hon, I'm home."
The man in the pool reached one side where there was a ladder and climbed out, dripping. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, about six feet tall, blonde, tanned, very muscular, and was wearing a pair of red Speedos, the crotch so full it seemed bloated. Looks like that guy, David whatsisname, on Baywatch, Ron thought, but a hell of a lot better built. And, man, I ain't ever seen a guy more ripped! Must have, like, 3 percent body fat, he mutely marveled.
"Chief, how's it hangin'... Whoa! Who's this righteously stacked dude? 'Nother one of your toys, Chief? Can I, huh, can I, can I?"
"Of course. That's why I brought him. You do such a great job."
"Gnarly, dude! Can't wait to ride THAT wave." Troy said as his Speedo began ballooning, his eyes practically devouring the helpless bodybuilder.
"Troy's my houseboy. He cleans up, and provides other services. He wasn't always that way, you know. Used to be my accountant. Very serious, very dedicated to his work. A year and a half ago, I discovered he was really more dedicated to himself. Embezzled close to a quarter of a million from me before I caught him. Could have turned him over to the police, I suppose. But I thought there were better uses for him, especially since he so resembles 'that guy, David whatsisname, on Baywatch'. After a little reorientation session, he became the easygoing surfer dude you see before you. Troy's not even his real name, but that's what I decided to call him, so that's his name now. I removed a lot of useless stuff that I didn't want cluttering up his pretty little head. Now all he does is work out, swim, clean the house, surf, and generally do whatever I want him to do. Isn't that right, sweetums?"
"Yeah, chief. Can't remember what things were like before, and I still can't believe I was such a shit. This is way better, anyway. Doing what you want's cool. And what an easy life I've got! After what you said I did to you, I'm lucky you're not working my ass off."
"Darling, I DO work your ass off, as often as I can, remember?"
"Well, yeah, there is that." Troy closed his eyes and groaned, as one of their more recent marathons came vividly to mind, thanks to Alvin. The blonde's head started weaving from side to side as his hands roamed across his torso, his abs standing out sharply as his stomach contracted with each groan.
"You see how happy he is, Ron? Not a care in the world, and not a thought in his head that I don't want to be there. I just figured you should know, since I may do the same thing to you. Troy could use a workout partner, and someone to pal around and fuck with when I'm not here. Haven't decided yet, though."
Troy's eyes popped open. "Aw, gee, chief, PLEASE can we keep him?"
"I'll think about it, OK, hot stuff? Now, both of you, strip."
In short order, all three men were naked. When Ron looked at blond beach boy, he gawked at the sight below his waist. The man's got at least 10 inches, and he almost looks as thick as a beer can. And it's still growing! He CAN'T . . .
"Oh, yes, he can." said Alvin, answering Ron's unspoken question. "That's really why I brought you here. It's the main reason I keep him around. He's so good at breaking in tight, virgin asses for me. Aren't you, hon?"
"Yeah, Chief. None better. I love opening 'em up for you. And you've given me so much primo butt to practice on!"
"Well, here's an extra-special one. I know you'll do your usual outstanding good job. I want him nice and loose when I fuck him. Oh, let me get him ready for you." Ron took a long cushion off a lounge seat near the pool, laying it on the concrete. He knelt, leaned forward until his forehead was also resting on the cushion, then reached behind with both hands and pulled his glutes as far apart as he could.
"Chief, I'm about to blow just from looking!"
"You'll be able to hold on until I tell you to let go. Don't worry, you'll last a good, long time."
"Oh, yeah, I forgot. Thanks, Chief!"
Troy very slowly began to feed inch after steely inch into Ron's blatantly offered behind. "Don't worry, dude. I'll go easy. Just relax and ride the wave." Amazingly, Ron discovered he was able to do as Troy instructed. Did this guy have powers like the other guy?
«Yes and no. You're following his instructions because I want you to, not because he's making you. But I was able to give him one power, as you call it, which is useful in what he does. You'll see.»
Ron gradually felt more and more of Troy inside him. Yet there was relatively little pain. How could that be, with a rod as big as this guy had? Maybe because of what that weirdo did in the shower. Or maybe he's making me not feel it?
"No, that's not it. If there's one thing I want for you right now, it's to feel everything."
"Aw, Chief, I'm in, like, all the way."
"Go on, babe, do that thing you do."
Troy stayed immobile, Ron's hole steadily growing accustomed to the column inside him. Troy pulled back until he was only half way in, then pressed forward. Each withdrawal was a little further, each plunge back in a little harder. Whenever it started getting painful, Troy would stop and remind Ron to relax, then resume when the discomfort had faded. That was the strange thing, it never got worse than uncomfortable. Sometimes it felt like he had to take a dump pretty bad, but that was as bad as it got. At one point, he realized his arms were now lying loosely beside him. Even the discomfort was gone. By then, Troy was slamming into him, sensuous tremors hitting like breakers against a rocky beach.
"Aw, yeah, dude, that's it. You feel it now. You're catching the wave. Feels good, don't it. Ride it, baby, like I'm riding you!"
Ron could hardly even think straight. He'd never felt anything this good in his life. Not even that night with Staci a few years ago, and that had been the best sex he'd ever had. Until now.
Through the erotic fog, part of Ron's mind barely heard Alvin. "That's his gift. He can feel what you're feeling. Empathy, but especially during sex. The better you feel, the better Troy feels. And Troy LIKES to feel good."
If he said anything else, Ron was oblivious. He lost all track of time and space, drowning in a passionate ocean.
Later, Ron floated out of the lush haze because something had changed. It took him a moment to realize that he was doing pushups, the surfer on his back, arms wrapped around his chest, still fiercely plowing into him.
"Aw, dude, this is so fucking hot! It's like I don't weigh a thing, you're so strong. Keep going up and down like the tide, big guy. Like the tide we're both riding in."
It all began to blur again. Words evaporated, feelings inundated him. Arms burning, breath on skin touched by lips on shoulders tonguing tasting, ears nibbled, hands caressing tingling, driving pounding ramming fucking ohhhhhhhh!
Troy hit the crest and went over first, geysering into Ron, causing him to blast as well. He wanted, hoped, it would never end.
After a couple of minutes, though, it did. Ron, breathing hard, the coppery taste of exhaustion in his mouth, sweating raining off him, felt more worn out than after any gym workout he had ever had. Yet he still was in pushup position, his elbows locked, though his arms were starting to quiver from the strain. As Troy got on his feet, withdrawing, Ron felt an inexplicable void, an emptiness he'd never experienced.
"Think he's ready for you, Chief. Dude's needing a pole to fill his hole."
"Round two, then. First, though, cleanup." Ron dazedly sat back on his haunches, then leaned forward and licked the cushion clean of his own cum. "Not bad, big guy." Alvin said approvingly. "It'll do for now, though I'll have to get the cleaners to finish the job." Rising, Ron put the cushion back on the lounge seat.
"I think we should adjourn to the bedroom, boys. It IS my favorite part of the house."
Ron and Troy walked behind Alvin back into the house, up a spiral staircase, along a hallway where several Victorian paintings were hanging, until they reached an open door at the end. Beyond it was a lavish bedroom, with the largest four-poster bed Ron had ever seen as its centerpiece. The bed was so wide, in fact, that it could have easily fit four or five people. Alvin jumped backwards onto it, arms spread wide, bouncing a couple of times before coming to rest in the middle on the smooth, soft, cotton sheets.
"Go and clean up a bit, hon. Ron'll keep me company."
"Whatever, chief." Troy winked, then went to the bathroom, while Ron lay down on Alvin's right side.
"I know you're tired, Ron, so I'll let you rest for a bit." Alvin propped himself up on one elbow, tracing the outline of Ron's pecs in a lazy figure 8. The bodybuilder involuntarily shivered with pleasure from the feathery touch. Wordless moments later, Alvin continued, "So, not all bad, is it? Not even . . . half bad."
"Man, I ain't felt anything like it." he said truthfully as he relaxed. "I . . . I don't know what to think no more."
"There you go. You've passed through denial, and you're on the road to acceptance. I knew a big, strong guy like you could do it. And I KNOW," he said, turning to Troy as he flopped down on Alvin's left, "how much fun you're having."
"Yeah, chief. That was the best yet. Never felt anything like it, either, and I've had WAY more experience than the big guy. We've gotta keep him!"
"I have to try him out myself before I decide that."
They chatted amiably, Ron offering comments when asked. He was so confused. Am I really queer, he thought. That felt . . . I can't like it that much! I never even looked at another guy like that. Now here I am, already fucked by one guy and getting ready to get fucked by another. And . . . I think I want it to happen! This guy must be messing with my head. I mean, I keep trying to leave, but I can't. But it's like, even if I could get out of here, I don't know if I want to anymore.
"Well, Ron's recovered enough to go on to round two, so let's go!" Ron got up and straddled Alvin's waist. He reached down with his right hand to hold Alvin's dick, positioning it precisely at the entrance to his own ass, the tip barely touching it. Troy was standing on the bed with his feet on either side of Alvin's head, his hard member dangling in Ron's face.
"OK, boys, on the count of three. One, two, three!" At that, Ron's mouth opened as Troy moved forward, and Ron himself started to press downward, Alvin easily entering thanks to the prior loosening. It felt even better than last time, as Alvin, though not small, was nowhere as large as Troy. Ron did not stop his descent until his ass had completely swallowed Alvin. Troy, though, stopped when he was only halfway in Ron's mouth, which was as far as most people could manage. Then Ron began working both of the tools in him.
"Ahhh, tight, but not too tight. And your cum is the best lubrication, babe. Flawless as always."
"And this end's almost as good. You sure can make 'em give great head, Chief."
"Practice makes perfect. And do I ever love to practice."
Ron's disgust had grown again, as he now had become a real cocksucker. And a pretty good one, if the blond's guttural moans were any indication. At least he was clean, he thought, smelling and tasting soap and lingering traces of cum, and none of his own shit that might have remained from earlier. But the idea that he was not only sucking Troy's mammoth organ, but was doing so after it had been in his own asshole, made him want to go of into a corner and vomit.
But he could not stop himself from sucking, or impaling himself harder and faster on Alvin. And unlike before, he was aware of everything he was doing, every single moment. He did not know what to think, what to feel. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he began to believe it did not matter why he was doing this. If he were a real man, he would have found some way to stop this.
Only some weak-willed cocksucker would let this happen. Alvin must be right after all. I'm a faggot. A pervert. Deep down, I must have always wanted this.
Unwillingly admitting to what he believed to be his true nature, self-loathing consuming him, Ron finally mentally surrendered to the inevitable in utter humiliation.
Alvin had succeeded again. He enjoyed being able to have any guy he wanted. Normally, though, he would make the guy (or guys) he brought home into an obedient, and relatively mindless, little sex slave, play with them, fuck and get sucked by them, occasionally sucking or letting himself get fucked. Afterwards, erasing what few memories they might have, Alvin returned them to their original lives. The only reminders might be an ache in their ass, which Alvin made sure they would dismiss for some perfectly logical reason, in their own mind, and now and then an oddly arousing dream, only mistily recalled when they awoke.
But guys like Ron were a rare treat. Cocky, self-assured, massively muscular, he was a homophobic bastard who thought he could get away with anything because of his looks and size. Alvin always took a special delight in undermining the manhood of guys like this, making them doubt the most basic parts of their identity.
First, he planted those initial seeds of self-doubt, as he had with Ron earlier in the shower at the gym, laying the groundwork for what was to come later.
Next, he made sure their initial excursion into the world of gay sex would be an orgiastic one. Troy was now an accomplished professional at this, with less and less help from Alvin. The natural low-level empathic abilities he originally had, which Alvin had discovered and nurtured, had grown with practice until he could project his feelings, too. Alvin had to be careful now, as too much of Troy could be permanently addictive. There was nothing to stop them from spending every waking moment together, except his own iron determination, the desire to sample as much of the variety of men out there as possible, and the unique thrill of dealing with guys like Ron.
Then Alvin would give them a little time to contemplate the experience. Their confidence started eroding, their security about their sexuality dwindling as they dwelled on why they had so totally enjoyed themselves earlier. Revulsion at what they had done warred with the memory of how good it had felt.
Following that, disoriented and unsure about the most fundamental part of themselves, Alvin would make them go down on Troy and himself. Conscious of all they did, he heightened their uncertainty, accelerating its growth until they no longer cared why they were doing what they were doing.
Sooner or later, the inescapable moment occurred. No longer able to deny what they thought they had hidden, the man collapsed inside, no longer able to resist his new-found urges.
That second, that instant of total capitulation, was the most singularly electrifying, unbelievably stimulating, overwhelmingly arousing thing on earth to Alvin. With each man, the moment felt different. Some were sharp and glittering, like a keen-edged knife in the moonlight. Some were sweet and heady, like well-aged mead. Some were almost musical, as though they were the missing note that made the symphony of the man's personality complete. Each one, though, was incredibly intoxicating in its own way. And each one had an unavoidable result.
"Fuck, didn't want to cum so soon. Can't stop now. Too hot. Fuck, Ron, uuuunnnnh!!!"
Ron was like a piston by now, moving rhythmically and forcefully. Each time his ass collided with Alvin, a ripple traveled through him, making his pecs bounce and jiggle. As Alvin added to Troy's previous substantial deposit, Ron shifted into overdrive, hammering himself, contracting his glutes, doing everything possible to milk Alvin to the point of dehydration.
When Alvin was spent, he grabbed Ron's narrow waist, both physically and psychically stopping him. Gently letting himself be lowered until he was resting softly on Alvin, Ron continued to suck Troy. Meanwhile, Alvin lay back, his hands wandering across Ron's sweaty, glistening, powerful torso, watching the magnificent bodybuilder as he kept working on the prodigious rod of the pet surfer boy like he had been doing that sort of thing for years.
Later, when Alvin sensed that Troy was getting close, he sent a silent mental command to both of the other men. Troy shot in Ron's mouth, who swallowed madly, not letting a single drop spill out. Simultaneously, Ron's cock spurted, untouched, all over Alvin, cum pooling mostly in his bellybutton.
Another voiceless order, and Troy's cock popped out of Ron's mouth. Troy got down and stood next to the bed, while Ron bent down and licked up every bit of his own cream like a cat starved for milk. When he reached the bellybutton, Alvin squirmed and giggled because it tickled so much. When he finished, he got off of Alvin, standing on the floor facing Troy across the bed. He moved his feet so they were a shoulder length apart, put his hands on his hips, then his eyes glazed over. He looked like he was carved from some flesh-colored stone, the only hint of movement was his cock as it shrank.
"What's the story, Chief?"
"I wanted us to be alone for a minute, so I put big boy out of it for a while."
"Cool. So, what're you going to do with him now?"
"I wasn't sure, but I've finally decided. I know you'll be a little disappointed, but I'll make it up to you."
"You mean we can't keep him? He was SUCH a fantastic fuck!"
"That's partly what decided me. That, and after reading his mind, I've seen what a nasty boy he's been. Beating up people is something of a hobby with him. Women, sometimes, but gay men, mostly. With those kind of looks and that kind of body, he's a magnet for anyone who likes gorgeous guys. But instead of simply telling men that hit on him that he's not interested, he gets them someplace private. The poor guy follows, thinking he may have a chance, when all Ron really wants is to go where there's no witnesses so he can pummel them. He doesn't injure them severely, just enough to affirm his own manhood, and get his sick jollies. I could almost understand if it was repressed homosexuality. Not forgive, mind you, but understand. But, no, he just gets off on defenseless people getting hurt."
"Gee, what a sick fuck! I may have done some bad stuff before, but I never hurt anyone like that. Did I?"
"No, you didn't. One of the things I liked about you before was that you wouldn't lay a hand on a woman, and you avoided fighting. You didn't even like watching boxing, or any other sport where people could seriously hurt each other. And now, of course, being an empath, you couldn't hurt anybody."
"Yeah. I can't even understand why anyone would want to hurt somebody. And getting off on it . . . make love, not war, that's me."
"It sure is, hon." Alvin recalled the time some months back when Troy had been out walking late and a man had mugged him. Obviously unarmed, he looked like an easy target. Unfortunately for the mugger - or fortunately, depending on how one looked at it - the man had not counted on the blond's unique ability. Arriving home unscathed, he told Alvin of his encounter. "I could've just made him real scared of me and run away, though that would've hurt me a little. But he was kinda cute . . . " he trailed off, smiling.
The image of the criminal, gun forgotten on the ground, his mind in an erotic fugue, staggering like a drunk to the nearest police station to turn himself in as Troy had asked him to, a stupid grin plastered on his face and an ever-widening wet spot in his crotch, had Alvin rolling on the floor in hysterical convulsions. The mugger had not gotten any money or valuables, but he had undoubtedly had the best, most prolonged orgasm he would ever have in his life.
"Well," said Alvin, warming to the subject, "the tables are going to turn. Ron's going to get a taste of being defenseless. He's going to go home and break up with his fiancé, telling her that he's gay, which he is, now. He's not going to be able to have sex with a woman again, unless I change my mind. Every Friday and Saturday night, he's going to go to a different gay nightclub. I'll be there, too, to keep an eye on him. I'm going to find the loneliest guy there, the poor dweeb who has the lowest self-esteem in the whole place. Ron's going to convince that guy to take him back to his place, which, let's face it, is NOT going to be difficult."
"Then, once he's there, he's going to show what a big, bad bottom he is. Whatever the guy wants Ron to do, he'll do. He'll be the ultimate sexual fantasy for the guy, and even spend the night, if the guy wants. He'll leave no later than the next morning, but nicely. Every night, a different guy."
"I've always felt sympathetic to those kind of guys. After all, before I got my powers, I was just like that myself. I want to share a little of that power. And Ron is the perfect vessel for that fulfillment. He'll continue working out, even more intensely. The bigger he is, after all, the more of a turn-on it'll be for the guy 'controlling' him for the night. And he'll be aware for every minute of it, knowing what he's doing, but unable to prevent himself from doing it. Sooner or later, I may release him."
"Or maybe I will make him a permanent houseboytoy after all, like you, baby. And what better way to train him? Like I've always said, practice makes perfect . . ." when Troy joined in, "And do I ever love to practice!"
"Sounds cool, chief. I guess I can understand not being selfish. You're right, we shouldn't be the only ones to know what a great fuck he is. And we could have him come back again when we want, huh?" Troy added, a little wheedling in his question.
"I think we can manage that. You know how hard it is for me to say no to you, you little surfer stud, you."
Turning to the paralyzed and mesmerized Ron, he narrowed his eyes in concentration. The bodybuilder came out of the trance and looked around in bewilderment. The last thing he remembered . . .
"Alright, Ron, go on and get dressed and go home. You won't tell anyone what's happened, of course. The 'act completely normal' instructions are firmly in place. Go home and break up with that chippy fiancé of yours. You're gay, Ron, so why would you want to marry her? A sissy little faggot, that's what you are, Ron, eh? And I'll see you here on Friday! We're going to go to some gay bars. I'll fix you up with other guys so you can do some more cocksucking. You've got a lot of catching up to do, stud. Now, come here, you." Alvin said as he looked back at Troy. "How glad are you about the present I brought home?"
"Mmmm, Chief, I've been wanting to show you all night."
Ron got dressed while the other two men began making out. By the time he finished and was heading out of the bedroom, the two men were 69ing, their moans drifting down the hallway after him.
On the way home, he tried driving off the road so he would not have to live anymore with the contempt he felt for his newly revealed homosexuality, the derision and ridicule he knew was in store - especially considering how he'd bitched about Paris over the years - when he 'came out', and the torment of his enslavement to Alvin. But even that was denied him, as he could not gain control of himself to do it. Alvin had been very thorough in his conditioning.
He began to almost wish to be made into another Troy. At least that way, he wouldn't know, or care, about who or what he was. No shame, no self-hatred, no remorse. Looked like a pretty carefree life. The more he thought about it, the more he hoped that would be his eventual fate.
As he opened the door to his apartment, he saw Cindi's face light up as she ran up to hug him. "I was wondering where you were, Ronnie, you were so late and I had dinner ready and you didn't call and I was starting to get worried and I didn't know if I should call the police or the hospitals . . . are you OK, honeybunch, you look a little flushed."
Inside, Ron was yelling, crying out to God, or anyone, to hear. But all that came out was, "Cindi, sweetie, you better sit down. I've got something important to tell you . . ."
END