Addicted to STUDD 2

AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. As such, the characters in this world sometimes behave badly without fear of consequences outside the imagination of the author or the needs of the plot. In this story alone there is mind-control, forced muscle-growth, unsafe sex with multiple partners and plenty of drug use. The author neither condones nor condemns anyone’s personal choices, but the cost of addiction is the theme of this story. Be warned.

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I laid on the flat bench doing a pump set with 225 on the bar, flexing on each rep. My chest was on fire, engorged with blood, rock hard and swollen. My cock was obviously in the same shape, even though I was trying to rope it in by wearing a tight jock strap underneath compression shorts – it poked up under the waistband of the heavy cotton sweatpants that I wore cut off just below the knee, throbbing on every rep.

I tried to ignore it and focus on the muscle. Pumped like this, I was riding a buzz from STUDD and working out felt great – it reminded me of the power I felt dominating some anonymous ass…

Whoa… whoa, I thought. Get out of that. Mind in muscle – get your mind in the muscle…

Two more reps and I racked the weight, standing quickly to flex in the mirror. I didn’t have long before I’d start to lose my pump, so I didn’t want to waste a whole lot of time between exercises – flexing in the mirror would be a distraction at a time when I was having trouble maintaining control at all – but when I saw myself in the red UnderArmor spandex t-shirt, swollen with blood and veins popping up and down my arms, I couldn’t help but knock off a few poses.

My cock showed its pleasure, too, jutting obscenely by my left hip bone, no matter all the effort I’d undergone to keep it in control. Ten inches now, getting bigger just like the rest of me. It was all so fucking hot…

I almost touched it, but touching it right now would ruin everything. Instead, I jumped up, grabbed the overhead bar and began doing wide-grip pull-ups. As I arched my back and pulled my chest up to the bar, I could see my reflection in the mirror, how the overhead lighting made my huge erection even that much more obvious to anyone who might look at me.

And plenty of people were looking at me. At six-one, two-fifty with a literal two-percent bodyfat, I could step on the competition stage right this second, I was so ripped and striated. When I’d first started doing STUDD just a little over three weeks ago, I weighed in at two-thirty, but was carrying around quite a bit of bulk – my bodyfat percentage had been in the high teens! The first couple of days, I dropped weight as I leaned out, even though I was getting these incredible pumps through the muscle beneath it. Of course, the first few days were nothing but flat-out fuck-fests for me, anyway, where I was so fucked up on STUDD that all I did was thrust, sweat and cum. So blinding in its intensity, I barely remembered anything about it.

Well, bits and pieces. I remember going down into the basement with Paul, the guy who’d turned me on to STUDD. He had this role-play fantasy he wanted to act out with me and I think that shit’s fun – I’d developed something of a reputation in that area, my background in performing, maybe, that acting class I took in college. I don’t know. Anyway, he had this fantasy where he kept a big muscle-stud in his basement, who would be “ready to go” at any time, after work, on a lazy afternoon, whenever Paul had the whim. This stud was Paul’s slave, of course, and had limited desire beyond Paul’s pleasure – mostly just to get bigger. The bigger a guy got, the more Paul approved.

We were in the room where he’d planned to keep his slave, his newly reconverted basement. It was sparsely furnished, but comfortable – a big bed, a desk with a computer, a television and a sofa, a small kitchen area and what would be called a “half bath” (with stand-up shower stall) – no windows, indiscriminate floor-to-ceiling support beams.

We played the whole gag, you know, the hypnosis-bit. He had me watch spirals on his computer as he slipped a pair of headphones on me – all the details, he was great! Of course, the spirals were just spirals, the headphones just played wave sounds with his voice crudely dubbed in the background, clearly saying something but mixed to be purposefully indistinguishable. None of it was real – it was all part of the role-play.

Pretend, maybe – but hot, definitely! I was rock-hard sitting there watching the screen, trying my best to look relaxed as if I were sinking under his spell. After a minute or two – or more, who knows? I was having trouble keeping track of time – he slipped the headphones off and handed me the pipe, loaded with a hit of STUDD. As he brought the torch slowly to the bottom of the bowl, causing the brown slip to bubble then explode in smoke, he whispered in my ear, “Are you my slave, yet?”

“Yes,” I mumbled, taking the hit. Then, breathing in more air, I added, “Yes, SIR!”

I fucked him for hours, all over the room, cumming over and over and never losing my desire for him – for fucking him, I mean. I mean, he had the best ass! I could never get tired of fucking Paul’s amazing ass! Keeping the role-play alive got easier and easier. I fucked him on the bed, on the arm of the sofa, on the computer desk while staring at the spiral on the monitor (both of us loved that one – I fucked him harder that time than I had all night), and one time with his back against one of the support beams while I held him up off the ground and he wrapped his legs around my waist. I swear, you could feel the whole house shake as I plowed him that time.

I was about ready to take him again when he weakly waved me away. “Break time,” he said, sitting down at the computer, loading me a bowl of STUDD. “You’re a fucking animal.”

“You’re the best fuck I’ve ever had,” I said, walking over to him and standing in a “relaxed” bodybuilding competition pose, at attention but relaxed, within easy reach, like a good slave would. “I could never get tired of fucking your amazing ass.” I started to get hard again just talking about it.

“I like hearing you say that,” he said, fiddling with the bowl. “So far, playing this out has been fun, hasn’t it?”

I smirked, my cock twitching before me, giving my answer away. “Very much so,” I said, until he looked sharply at me, so I quickly added, “SIR.” He winked at me and went back to his task.

“Well… here’s the next part of it…”

So then he left me alone while he went upstairs to partake in some “tina” and see what Jeff and Eddie were up to. Paul’s fantasy was to have his muscle-stud down here in the basement, ready to go whenever he wanted or needed. So he’s leaving me alone down here so he could come back later and we could continue the fantasy. Whatever.

I wasn’t too worried. The door was cheap pressboard like he bought it at some low-end box store – I was pretty sure, in the shape I was in, that I could kick it down or punch through it without breaking a sweat. Also, I had about a half a brick of STUDD sitting there on the desk, just waiting for me.

I wasn’t worried at all.

I was a little frustrated that there wasn’t a mirror around. Just bare walls, though a couple of spots for a floor-length that’d be perfect. There was a small mirror above the bathroom sink, but terrible light, certainly no way to get a look at my whole body.

I was horny – there’s a surprise. Fuckin’ STUDD, man. I sat at the computer desk running a hand up and down my rock-solid abs, tracing the grooves and the cuts while I stroked my cock. I bumped the desk and the screensaver went off, showing the continuing spirals on the monitor. Allowing myself the fantasy again, I smirked and put the headphones back on, too, then jerked off imagining myself falling under his power, a helpless muscle-slave useful only as a stud for Master Paul.

When I orgasmed that time, I’d swear that it was better than ever, the best one yet – of course, I was thinking about Paul’s muscular little bubble butt, maybe that’s what made it so good. I mean, he did have the best little ass! I don’t think I could ever get tired of fucking Paul’s amazing ass! The load I shot that time made it all the way up to my pecs. Look at me… still shootin’…

I debated doing another hit, but instead, I wandered around the apartment – my holding cell – and explored a little. There was a small door off the kitchenette that I had assumed was a utility closet until I opened it and saw that it went to a whole different room. (I kind of figured it was the garage.)

Dark – still no exterior windows – so I felt around for a light switch. There it was…

When the overhead lights lit, they exposed this huge basement gymnasium! Easily twice as big as the apartment, rubber floors, mirrored walls, lit from above with an amber/pink fluorescence, it had quite a bit of equipment – a flat bench, a cable crossover, a smith machine, a leg press, a full rack of dumbbells, it was home-gym paradise. This stuff was so new it looked like it’d never been used – it still had its showroom shine.

Without even stopping to consider, I loaded 225 on the flat bench. As good as I felt right now, lifting could only make me feel better – certainly wouldn’t hurt to get bigger. The bigger a guy got, the more Paul approved. So I flopped down naked on the bench and started to rep. The weight was fantastically easy – I didn’t even start to feel it in the muscle until around rep eighteen. I ended blowing out like thirty before I finally racked the weight in frustration. I needed more.

When I stood, I looked in the mirror – hard not to do in this room – and saw the full effect of the evening on me. I don’t know what my weight was, but I was more ripped than I’d ever been in my life – my midsection was carved in granite, easily as impressive as Eddie’s. Already the pump I was getting in my chest was blowing my pecs out of proportion, big and swollen to fill the width of my shoulders.

I grabbed my cock – holy motherfucking shit…

And I shot a load all over the mirror, soaking my reflection in cum.

Okay, I thought, catching my breath, lesson: try not to look in the mirror so often.

I put a quarter on either side of the bar, quickly licking the excess cum off my fingers before I grabbed the weight, and I benched this two seventy-five for ten good working reps. Not that I was gonna stop there. Avoiding myself in the mirror – although I could feel the same pump blowing through my chest – I replaced the quarters with plates, three-fifteen on the bar.

I’d never done three-fifteen in my life – of course, before that night, I’d never done two seventy-five for more than two (and that with a spotter) – but the way I felt right then, there was no weight too heavy. Still, just to be safe, I went back in the other room and did a hit of STUDD, wishing I had a piece of gum to take the taste from my mouth – cum and tar mixed together.

I laid on the bench and had the weight in the air before the initial wave of the hit wore off. With nothing but confidence, I began to rep. It felt heavy – it was – but I handled it, controlling each rep and maintaining my form, squeezing my pecs at the top. I did six, but I was determined to do better, so I went for one more, this time having to break form to get it up – so I lifted my ass off the bench, so what? I racked the weight and jumped off the bench, flexing my chest before I’d even remembered my promises about the mirror.

Fuckin’ A, look at me! Look at my fuckin’ body! I flexed for myself, trying to avoid my erection, though it wasn’t easy. Every line, every curve, every cut led my eye back to my obvious new focal point – my cock. It would’ve been so easy to grab it and jerk off again admiring myself, but this pre-orgasmic buzz was so fuckin’ good, I didn’t want to step back. It GREW the longer I ignored it.

Instead, I went to the dumbbell rack, grabbed a pair of forties and started doing biceps curls, amazed at how what was normally the weight I’d used on my heaviest set was now my warm-up weight. The strange pink/yellow light from above hit just perfectly, displaying my body as if I were on a competition stage. I chucked the forties back and grabbed the fifties, repping with new-found desire. Look at my biceps start to pump! Look at those veins!

I just stood there doing reps, never tiring, in a daze almost, my cock throbbing before me, impatiently awaiting the attention it deserved. I lost track of time – it could’ve been five minutes. It could’ve been an hour. I didn’t know. I just wanted to get bigger.

Paul broke me out of my reverie. “I see you found the gym,” he said, appearing behind me in the doorway. I could see his reflection over my right shoulder. He was still wearing his boots (he hadn’t taken them off all night), but he’d put his jock strap back on. “Damn, Tommy,” he said, approaching me. “Leave you alone for a few hours and look what happens to you! You look incredible!”

I dropped the dumbbells and turned to face him, looking down on him, trying to take a dominating stance on him – my hard-on raged. “I need to fuck you,” I said.

“I know,” he whispered. “Be brutal.”

It was incredible – easily the best sex of my life! And all these mirrors! My God, did he have a great ass – the best, better in the jock strap! I could never get tired of fucking Paul’s amazing ass! So, I just pounded it. I threw him over the flat bench and fucked him with all the power these new muscles had given me. I flexed in the mirror above him and watched myself as I drove my cock even deeper – I was hotter than a porn movie. Hell, a muscle stud like me should BE a porn movie!

“How fuckin’ hot is this?”

Eddie stood in the doorway – I could see him in reflection – surprised and impressed. Easily fifty or sixty pounds heavier than me, still, I rivaled his conditioning. When I was done fucking Paul I wanted a pose-off – I wanted to put my abs up against Eddie’s. Maybe my cock up against his ass.

“Are we doin’ a gym scene?” he asked, stepping into the room, his growing cock leading the way. “Hot.” He grabbed a pair of dumbbells and walked over to the other side of the bench from me, standing in Paul’s face. “Suck my cock, bitch,” he said to Paul, while he began to do biceps curls.

Paul was more than happy to oblige, lifting his head to get a better angle on Eddie’s monster dick. Meanwhile, Eddie ground out the curls, pumping himself up that much bigger – his veins alone seemed thicker. I was getting ready to shoot – and I knew how incredible it would be!

“Don’t shoot,” Eddie said, unable to stop his movement. Paul certainly didn’t let up on his cock. “Here, trade places with me. Wait… go do a hit, bring me a hit, then trade places. Trust me – go!”

I pulled out of Paul’s amazing ass – just in time, too. The precum dribbled – and as I walked toward the door, I heard Eddie drop the dumbbells and growl, “You ready for this? You got my cock wet enough?” As I did my hit of STUDD, I could hear Paul’s wild moans and Eddie’s constant string of “You like that, bitch?” or “How’s that fuckin’ feel, girl, to have a cock as big as mine up in that pretty little ass of yours?” God, Eddie was such a fuckin’ stud! I wanted to BE like that. I vowed then and there to be more verbal during sex – it was so hot when Eddie did it.

And Paul really seemed to like it.

My energy never let up – my hunger for action never diminished. Though I lost track of time again, I know we fucked Paul for a good bit, taking turns with him while the other did a set of whatever exercise we were on. I know we did complete body twice over, however long that would take. After a while, I noticed Paul wasn’t as… enthusiastically into it anymore. When I looked at his eyes, I noticed them half-closed and vacant. “Someone’s passing out,” I said to Eddie, while he did a seemingly endless set of cable-crossovers. “Hey, Paul,” I said, gently slapping my host’s cheek, “don’t give up on me, buddy. I still gotta cum.”

“Let him go,” said Eddie, releasing the weight, casually flexing his chest as he walked over to where I was humping Paul’s unconscious body on the flat bench. “You know what it means, don’t you?”


Eddie popped his chest. “We won the bet. We get that extra brick he laid out. How fuckin’ hot is that?” He went through a series of poses, each showing his incredible pump, his extraordinary size. “Let’s finish up and get the hell out of here,” he said, grabbing his cock and stroking it with a firm, confident grip, “before him or his skinny ass partner wake up.”

I pulled out of Paul’s warm but unresponsive ass and joined Eddie in masturbation. I could see myself in the reflection behind him – so big, so muscular – a stud just like him…

We came at almost the exact same moment, dropping our sizeable loads all over Paul’s exhausted torso, a couple of moist white lines across his face. We marked him like dogs and their territory.

“I’ll give him props,” Eddie said, shaking the last remaining drops from his dick and heading toward the door. “I didn’t think he’d last that long. He has a good ass, that one. Come on…”

I left Paul behind with hardly a glance, lying there on the bench press covered in stud cum, a contented smirk pulling the corners of his mouth up. I gathered up the remaining STUDD, the bowl and the torch and headed upstairs after Eddie.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d see this basement again.

As we went up the main staircase, I saw Paul’s partner Jeff passed out on the living room sofa, in exactly the same condition as Paul. “Out like a light,” Eddie said, motioning to him with his head. “He could take a helluva pounding, too, but didn’t have the stamina of the guy downstairs. And those guys are on ‘tina.’ It’s supposed to keep ‘em up and ready. Shit man,” he said to me, flexing his arm before him, “how’s that for power?”

My returning erection spoke for me. Eddie smirked, grabbed my cock and said, “Let’s take a shower. There’s some stuff you should know.”

He said something to me in a low voice, then, but I don’t remember exactly what. I don’t remember a lot. I remember being in the shower with him and soaping up his beautiful body, his mass, worshipping his huge cock and over-sized balls. I remember him kissing me and whispering things in my ear. I remember him behind me, his arms wrapped around me, chewing on the back of my neck – protesting when I felt his hard cock against my ass.

He was bigger than me – a bigger stud – I had to yield. But it’s okay, I remember nothing but ecstasy, nothing but the warm satisfaction of pleasing a peer – my frat brother. I learned so much from him, from the inside out. It was almost my obligation to give myself to him – in gratitude.

He spoke the whole time, gruff and frank, like a man – like a stud. For the life of me, I can’t remember what he said, but I knew I’d remember it when I was supposed to, so it didn’t bother me. Just the opposite, I was calm and satisfied.

I remember him having to help me pull up my pants, because my legs had grown too large too quickly. I remember posing in the mirror wearing these painted-on jeans and remarking how hot I was – my cock started to harden once again. “Get used to that,” Eddie said as he divided up the remaining brick for the two of us. “You’re a muscle-stud now. You’re just gonna get bigger and bigger.”

I remember helping him put his shirt on – tighter than sausage casing – but choosing not to wear mine. There were worse things than going home shirtless in the middle of the night, especially with a body like the one I had.

Once outside the house, my senses came instantly back to me – the fog had lifted. Eddie stood, massive next to his tiny sports car – I had no idea how he’d even FIT inside it – “You okay?” he asked, pressing the auto-unlock button on his keys.

“What time is it?” I asked, my voice rough.

“It’s not even ten,” he said. “It’s early.”

“Ten? I got here at seven-thirty. It’s been longer than two-and-a-half hours, hasn’t it?”

He laughed. “Dude, it’s ten on Saturday night. We been in there more than a day.”

“We have?”

“Easy to lose track of time, isn’t it? And of course, you spent most of the daylight hours in the basement, fucked up on STUDD, jerking off to his computer screen.”

“It wasn’t that long…”

“Sure it was!” he said, smirking. He stroked the soft material covering his pecs. “We watched you. They got the whole basement wired, cameras, the works… Believe me, pal, you have been hypnotized!”

“That’s crazy!”

“I’ll prove it to you,” he said.

He spoke, and I didn’t regain my senses until I became aware of him shooting his heavy load in my mouth. We were in the front seat of his car and I was using both hands to hold his big cock. I was amazed I had him as far back in my throat as I did – by the ache in my jaw, I’d been at it a while. He filled me with his salty cum, and I sucked it down like mead. “See?” he said, as I flat-tongued the remaining drops off his shaft. “You’ve been hypnotized.”

“Paul!?” I whispered. “How could he…?” How could he? I… I LOVED him… wait… did I? He was just a guy I met online as a fuck-buddy... I had no feelings for him…

Eddie was matter-of-fact, tucking himself back in his jeans. “He TOLD you his fantasy, buddy. He told you he wanted a muscle-slave to keep in his basement to use as his personal stud. And now, he’s got you hypnotized AND addicted to STUDD…”


“Oh, yeah, from the moment you shot a load high on the stuff – from the moment you started growing. You’re a freakin’ addict, just like me.”

“Oh, my God…”

“Don’t worry. It’s expensive, but it’s easy enough to manage. You’ll be amazed how many clients you can handle in a day – you’ll make plenty enough money – there’s worse drugs to be addicted to than one that makes you bigger, stronger, with the ability (and desire) to cum over and over. I wouldn’t worry about that as much as the hypnosis-thing.”

“What should I do?”

Eddie shrugged. “I managed to derail some of it. I overheard him use your ‘trigger phrase,’ and tried it out myself when we were in the shower. Once I found out it worked, I changed it from what Paul used. So, he won’t be able to hypnotize you anymore – not that way, anyway.”

“You changed it?”

“Yeah,” he smirked. “Want me to show you again? I could stand another blow job and you got a hot mouth when you’re told to have one. You got a hot hole, too.”

He kissed me then, pressing his tongue into my mouth, tasting his own salty remains on my tongue. I gave in to him almost immediately.

“When you blow through what we got tonight,” he said, handing me his business card, “give me a call. Maybe I’ll be able to help you out.”

“Okay,” I said, pocketing the card. “Thanks.”

“Go out. Get laid. Enjoy your next couple weeks. We’ll talk then.”

“Thanks, Eddie.”

“Stop thanking me,” he said, pushing my head playfully away. “You don’t know my motivations, either.” His familiar smirk returned. “Now get out of here. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Okay, Eddie,” I said, flexing my “most muscular” at him. He laughed and flexed back – definitely filled his sports car with his mass.

And that was three weeks ago.

Three weeks of almost non-stop sex and working out. Three weeks that led us to this moment – the one that began this narrative – me doing wide-grip pull-ups at the 24-hour fitness at nearly midnight, causing me to flaunt the huge erection I was fighting to ignore. Me weighing two-fifty with a ten-inch cock, in the kind of shape few men ever achieved, looking like a cross between a porn-star and a pro-bodybuilder. Okay, I admit it – I’m an addict. Nothing matters but the STUDD.

And I’ve only got one hit left.

So I’m at the gym, because working out prolongs the buzz. I’ve been here since eight-thirty this morning, so something like fourteen hours or something, but it’s getting close to the end – even in this state, I can sense that. I’m fully pumped from head to toe, obviously bigger than when I walked in this morning, even my clothes are tighter. Doing pull-ups with a wide grip forces me to flex my hips, which pushes my erection forward, so it’s picked up in the light. There it is, obvious, stretched nearly to my hip bone – it’s grown again, too!

As I squeeze at the top of the next rep, fantasizing about being a porn-star, I shoot. Hanging there on the pull-up bar, I orgasm, my hips bucking outside my control. As always on STUDD, it’s the best orgasm ever. It shoots out of me with power and force, soaking the material of the jock strap and the compression shorts I’m wearing over that.

Fuck yeah! I scream – I scream something, maybe groan loudly – something. It makes everyone look at me.

But then it’s over. And it’s gone – the orgasm. And with it, the buzz. Whatever power or sense of bravado or entitlement I’d felt for the last three weeks just suddenly… vanished. I was normal again – regular old boring me. I dropped from the bar and got a look at myself standing there. I was still huge, but my pump was gone. My muscle looked flat and kind of saggy, as if I hadn’t been to the gym in a week or so. I was tired – and it showed. And the stain on my sweats could be nothing else.

And everyone was looking at me, more than aware of what’d just happened.

I grabbed my bag and slunk out of there, head held low, embarrassed that I’d been there that long – that I’d… behaved the way I had. That I looked the way I did. The cutie at the front desk, who I’d always had a bit of a crush on, he gave me a level look, like he’d passed some sort of judgment on me. But instead of confronting him, I lowered my gaze and sheepishly shuffled away, the big stain on the front of my hip glaringly apparent.

When I started the car, the radio was blasting heavy metal and it made me jump. I switched to the smooth jazz station and turned the volume down considerably. I was so tired – working out that long… what had I been thinking? – and I nearly fell asleep at the stoplight a block from my house.

Exhausted, my muscles aching, I limped into the house and clicked the inside light switch. The light over the dining room table came on and spot-lighted it – the pre-loaded bowl and the torch. They were where I’d left them yesterday morning when I’d hurried out to catch that guy I’d met online before he had to go to work. Look, the computer was still connected to I had quite a few messages – well, the stud I was when I was flying on STUDD had messages. Not that I felt like responding to them. Right now, I didn’t feel the slightest bit horny. As a matter of fact, my limp dick felt kind of sore.

I bet I’d be horny if I smoked that last hit of STUDD sitting there.

No! No, you’re saving it, remember?

Saving it for what? For when I have some time on my hands? For when I’m bored? I’ve already lost my pump – I don’t want to lose any size. Who knows how long before I lose size?

So, ten hours of incredible sex and mind-numbing workouts from now, you’re right back where you started, except you’ll be out.

I’ll get more. I got Eddie’s card still – Eddie will get me more.

Hell, I could even call Paul…

The next thing I knew, I was stripped down to my soiled jockstrap, sitting at the table. Anxiously, I brought the torch to the bowl…

Within fifteen minutes, I was back at the gym, fucking the shit out of that little front desk cutie in his manager’s office. Slamming him with my now foot-long cock, he cried out in ecstasy – I’m sure anyone who was in the gym at this time of night heard him. I didn’t fuckin’ care. All that mattered was how great my orgasm was when it finally came, how fuckin’ pumped I got.

When I was done with him, I adjusted my big self in the bright orange square-cut spandex shorts I barely wore and I left him, panting on his boss’ desk. Stepping into the free-weight area, dressed only in those shorts (a size too small and no jock, my big half-hard cock was barely covered, begging people to stare, which I loved), a wife-beater and an unlaced pair of army boots, I hauled my muscular ass to the squat rack and began loading the bar. As much as I loved fucking – and I LOVED fucking – I liked getting pumped, getting bigger, more. If only there were a way to combine both… like in the basement at Paul’s house.

At the thought of Paul, I started to get hard again, but was quickly distracted by my reflection. God DAMN, how fuckin’ hot was my cock in these shorts?

Paul had a sweet set-up. I wish he hadn’t pulled that crap, that hypnosis crap, ‘cuz man, I’d like to get into his ass again – that fucker could take it, not like pussy boy up there by the front desk. Paul has the best ass. I don’t think I could ever get tired of fucking it.

Paul would have STUDD, too. And Eddie said he changed my… password, so Paul couldn’t do anything to me. I’d just have to make sure I didn’t look at any computer screens.

Or… I could totally play him… use HIM the way he intended to use me.

I was hungry to work out, so I figured I’d decide after I finished this set of squats. Three-fifteen, three plates on either side, I began warming up, enjoying the flow of blood into my legs. It felt so good to lift – to get bigger.

The bigger I got, the more Paul approved.

Okay… okay. I’m gonna go over there and fuck him – right after I finish my leg workout.

I loaded two more plates on either side and tried to ignore my erection.

I’d show him a stud – here’s your fantasy, bitch.

I started repping.

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