Apollyon: Part 26 -- "Loose Ends"

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The video shoot went pretty well. The third in a series of jerk-off films featuring me in the animal-print hot-shorts that are fast becoming my trademark. There's been some talk about me doing a wrestling vid, if they could find someone to give me some competition, but I'm happy doing these solo-jobs for the time being. Doesn't take as long - don't have to think about so much, usually just lay there, or sit there - today perched on some old-fashioned cannonball barbells - and beat off for the camera. Like that was hard. Making love to the camera was almost as easy as making love to the mirror.

Afterwards, there was a car out front waiting to take me to my next gig. Life's been a bit easier since they'd modified the Ford Explorer for me - getting my shoulders stuck in the limo's door over and over again had been testing my patience. With the Explorer, they'd been able to install my captain's chair, a mini-fridge, a small chest of drawers for thongs, hot pants, singlets, etc, and a small, mounted vanity mirror, for quick fixes at the destination. With all that and me in the chair, there was little room for anything else. Even my manager had to sit up front if he was accompanying me.

Not that he often did - usually only to those big parties or large group events, where the client has hired me to be a piece of meat in the middle of a room. Not that I need protection or anything, but it's nice to have someone else run interference during those things. Some guys can get pretty obsessive, and more than a little desperate. I love attention, mind you, but not obsession. And the client certainly doesn't need me getting into confrontations with his guests. It's just easier to have someone there to look out for me. Steer those weirdos away, so I can work the potential johns.

My driver right now is a cute kid named Christian, an intern through some program at NYU that I don't try to understand. An athletic twenty-three year-old, Christian is a sports medicine major who seems to enjoy spending his summer driving a monster bodybuilder around from appointment to appointment. Though he hasn't come right out and said so, I think Christian would be open to a little muscle action with yours-truly. If my schedule hadn't been so tight lately, I'd accommodate him. Well, certainly before he goes back to school in the fall. He's too pretty NOT to fuck, gay or straight.

"How'd the shoot go?" he asked as we pulled away from the curb.

I put my hands behind my neck and rolled my head around, sighing loudly - I still had my costume on under my warm-ups, the brown leather wrist-wraps. "It was fine," I said, making eye-contact with him in the rear-view mirror. "It doesn't take all that much effort for me to get off on myself."

His smile. "Do you want some music?"


The Explorer filled with jazz, which always relaxed me between performances. A second or two later, buried in traffic, I pulled out my Palm Pilot.

This was actually a light day - and I was all the happier for it - only the shoot this morning and one client this afternoon - and HE'D only booked me for an hour. I might be able to get some quality time at home with Prince today after all. We'd jokingly considered making a video together, Prince and I, so we'd be able to have sex - together, I mean.

God damn, how I loved him!

Anyway, this client today, what was his deal? Calling up the profile page, cross-referencing with my calendar, let's see... he'd booked me through the web page... doesn't look like he's from out-of-town even though we're meeting at a hotel - that's just discretion, that's cool. What else? He's been wait-listed for this app for a while (which means he's not a VIP), almost half-a-year - and after all that waiting, he's only booked me for an hour? How cheap IS this mother-fucker? He could only cough up a grand after waiting five months? The words "lousy tip" floated through my mind as I rolled my eyes.

Just wants to worship and jerk? That's cool, no penetration. I don't have to do anything but pose? Shit, this was gonna be the easiest gig I've had in a while! It wasn't even worth amping up - especially for a lousy tip - though I slipped a small booster under my weight belt, anyway. New within the last month, these little mini-amps they'd created were the bomb, so tiny you could keep them in your pocket, so potent they could knock you on your ass. So many improvements in so little time, the gym just got better and better.

I dialed Prince on my cell phone as Christian turned up Seventh Avenue.

He picked up on the first ring - he was trained well. "Hey, hey!" he said cheerfully. "How was the shoot?"

I snorted, trying to act casual about it. "Same ol', same ol'," I said. "Me in leopard-skin trunks hoistin' barbells, bending steel rods, then jerkin' off. It's a lousy sequel, same action, no character-development at all."

He laughed. "I'm still gonna buy it."

I chuckled with him. "You got clients today?" I don't know why, with a body like his, he chose to be a personal trainer instead of a model, but he did. Whatever - it made him happy. With my income, he could afford to do whatever silly selfless thing he wanted.

"Three back-to-back this morning," he said. "I'm on lunch right now, then a couple this afternoon. It's my busy day, but I'm done at three."

"Really?" I asked, betraying my emotion - I hated that! "I'm done at two! We could actually spend some time together today - maybe some Afternoon Delight."

"Oh, that is SO cool!" Then he masked his voice, speaking quietly, as if other people might overhear him, wherever he was. "I need it so bad..."

"Yeah," I growled. "Me, too. So, I'll see you back at the apartment at what, around four?"

"Yeah, depending on traffic."

"Okay, cool."

"Wear the leopard skin."

I laughed and hung up on him. Awesome! Gonna spend some time fuckin' my Prince today!

I dialed Palumbo next, and got his voice-mail. "Palumbo," said his recorded voice, attitude in his heavy bass. "What...?" then the beep.

"Hey," I said, not identifying myself - EXPECTING him to know who I was from the grunt. "Want to do legs with me tonight? I want to go heavy. You up? Thinkin' around midnight. Hit me back." Then I hung up.

Nice day - shoot porn-short, get worshipped by wimpy businessman, fuck my lover, lift heavy legs with the only other muscle-beast anywhere near my motivational-level. Nice day.

I slipped my cell back into my pack as Christian turned into the hotel's roundabout. "We're here," he said over his shoulder. "What time do you need me to pick you up?"

"He's only booked me for an hour," I said, collecting my bag, checking myself out in the vanity mirror, running my fingers over my moustache, taking another look at the shave I'd gotten from the gym's barber this morning. He'd cleaned my scalp completely, perfectly - smooth as a baby's bottom. It was a beautiful look for me, bald head and heavy 'stache - and it helped me live up to the image of my name. My name...

The Strongman.

Stepping out of the Explorer, I tapped the door to let Christian know he could go. He pulled back into traffic and disappeared quickly. Dressed in warm-up pants that buttoned up the sides and a loose baseball shirt, the only thing that might give away that I was wearing something BENEATH those clothes were maybe my sandals, the Roman-style, that laced up the calf, or the brown leather wrist wraps. Both of which were a little out of place with warm-ups. Otherwise, nobody had any idea that I was really in costume.

That's not to say I didn't attract attention in the lobby - at my size, it's hard NOT to - but I've discovered that if I walk toward the elevators with purpose, nobody will stop me or give me any grief. People will mostly just gawk and stare. And that was fine by me. I've gotten used to it.

Waiting for the elevator, I caught the security guard giving me the once-over, but I didn't show emotion - I gave him no indication that his scrutiny or his presence affected me in any way. He wasn't even hot - it was always fun to teach a hot cop a thing or two. Oh, well.

Sixth floor. The room was almost on the far end from the elevator. Since the hall was empty, I decided to shuck my street clothes BEFORE I knocked. What the hell? Give the guy the fantasy from the moment I arrive.

I slipped out of the gym pants and baseball shirt, revealing the Strongman costume beneath.

The sandals, the leather wrist straps, plus a matching brown-leather lifting belt around my waist, not to mention the animal skin mini-briefs, barely covering my package and the crack of my massive ass.

I knocked on the john's door. "It's the Strongman," I said in my confident, sultry baritone.

The guy who opened the door was exactly what I expected - kind of a nebbish, not handsome, not ugly, mid-fifties, heavy glasses, beard and hair the same buzzed length, salt with a hint of pepper, a guy who's clearly scrimped and saved to afford one hour with his ultimate muscle-fantasy - me!

"Oh, my..." he said, then continued sharply. "Get in here before someone sees you!"

"Too late," I said, smiling professionally. "YOU'VE already seen me."

"That's not what I mean."

I grabbed my gym bag and followed him into the room.

It was odd - he was completely dressed, the bed wasn't turned down, no stack of hand-towels conveniently set on the night stand - was I in the right place?

Odder still, instead of staring at my body, he studied my face. Almost no one cared about my face, especially once I got my shirt off. "What's up?" I asked, dropping my bag next to the bed. We made eye-contact again. "What are we doin' today?"

"Oh my God, it IS you," he said, blinking and nearly rubbing his eyes. "It really is! Jeff Strong! I can't believe I finally found you!"

I smirked. "What are you talkin' about, buddy? Who are you? What's the joke?"

"Don't you recognize me?" he asked, stepping closer, looking up into my eyes. "I'm Rawley! Rawley, your editor at the paper! The paper where you used to work as a columnist. Don't you remember? Before this... this..." he motioned to my body, the freakish muscle I proudly sported. "Don't you remember?"

I looked at him suspiciously, but only because recently I'd started having these unexplained flashes and little pops of memories that have made me think that there might be something more to me and my circumstance than I realized. I couldn't ALWAYS have been the gigantic muscle-beast I was now, but whatever may've come before that was just a big blank. It was hard to even THINK about it. I didn't even really WANT to.

"I'm the Strongman," I said. "You must have the names mixed up."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "It's you who's mixed up. They've fucked with your mind, don't you see? Dr. V, Woody, all of them. They took sweet, insecure Jeff and turned him into this... Strongman character. And now they're just pimping you out to the highest bidder."

"Which for the next fifty-five minutes is you," I said. "So tell me what you want me to do. You want me to flex?" I hit a pose, a double-bis.

"No," he said, almost pleading. "No. I want you to remember being Jeff Strong. I want to rescue you!"

"Look, buddy," I said, breaking the pose. "I don't know where you're gettin' this idea that I'm this guy you think you know, but I'm not. Now listen, you're standing in a room with the most muscular man on the planet, a three-hundred seventy pound bodybuilder who's startin' to get pissed. Knock this shit off and let's get to it." I reached down and adjusted my dick - I always got hard when I was threatening guys.

"But I have proof!"

And before I could stop him, he zipped over to the desk and pulled out a folder. "This is a print-out of your journal," he said. "You set your computer up to have it emailed to me in case something happened to you. In case Jeff Strong mysteriously disappeared. In case THEY won."

And it wasn't just two-hundred or so pages of text, there were some pictures of this Jeff Strong guy, too - a head shot and a beach shot of a thin, awkward man with slumped shoulders and little self-confidence seemingly lost in baggy swim shorts. Now, I gotta admit, give him two hundred pounds of muscle, and he'd be me. We looked that much alike. And I really didn't remember much from before six months ago...

No. It couldn't be. I didn't want to think about it.

Or maybe someone MADE me not want to think about it - maybe that was why I should.

I began reading the text. "It was the kind of gym you found tucked away somewhere, below street level -- you'd have to descend a flight of stairs, and that's only if you knew which door to go into, because it's not really clearly marked. You'd refer to it vaguely as 'that place up on 64th, or 92nd, or 101st' when you'd speak of it at all..."

I skipped a few more pages and continued, scanning the text. All the characters - Woody, Brad, Prince, the Good Doctor, Palumbo - they were all people I knew, guys that I worked (and played) with everyday. And they were all somehow tied together by the narrative of this Jeff Strong, the one guy I didn't know.

Unless he was me.

"HOW did you get this?" I asked the john, this guy - what was his name? - Rawley?

"You emailed it to me the day you disappeared. The day you went to confront them - in case you lost and they took control of your mind."

"And who's seen it besides you?"

"Nobody," he said. "I was waiting until I met... you... the new you... to see if you really were... first, before I did anything with it. Who figured I'd have to wait five months to get an audience with you. I guess that's the price for the biggest bodybuilder on the planet."

I ignored his sarcasm, closed the folder and looked at him. "I'm glad you brought it to me," I said. "I'm curious to read it." I dropped the whole thing on my gym bag and turned back to him.

"Well, I don't know if it's enough to bring them down," he said. "But it's certainly enough ammunition to get you away from them."

"Yeah," I said, nodding. "Yeah, get away from them. Hey, will you excuse me for a second? I gotta take a leak."

"Sure," he said. "Of course. Is this making you uncomfortable?"

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"Well, I mean, standing here trying to have a civil conversation in that silly costume?"

I smirked. "You want me to take it off?"

"No! That's not what I meant..."

"I'm the Strongman," I said, standing in the bathroom door, "this is what strongmen wear. I'll be back in a sec. Think about how you wanna spend the next forty-five minutes."

"I just want to talk," he said, picking up the folder. "About Jeff Strong. About helping him escape."

"Whatever, it's your nickel."

Once inside, door closed, I took a moment to flex for myself in the bathroom mirror. Costume...? I looked fucking fantastic! Three-hundred seventy pounds - the biggest bodybuilder on the planet - the most muscular man in the world - record-holder for the most extreme differential between lean mass and bodyfat percentage on any man, ever. Nobody was bigger, nobody was better - hell, even Ronnie ultimately yielded his ass to me, and apparently, he'd NEVER bottomed before.

Why on earth would I ever want to escape?

I mean, even if I turned out to be this Strong guy, what advantage would there be in going back to living his life? Even if I'd been mind-controlled, as this guy Rawley claimed, I was happy now. Content. I ENJOYED my lifestyle. Even from the little bits that I'd scanned in that text, Jeff Strong didn't enjoy much of his life at all.

Maybe Jeff Strong had been given a gift.

That didn't stop me from being curious about life BEFORE the Strongman, but this Rawley guy had supplied that information, handed it to me in a convenient folder - just not the right solution along with it.

And that meant a loose end to clear up.

I slipped the little mini-amp, the booster shot of new, improved Apollyon-gear, out from under my weight belt. Dropping the belt to the floor, I lowered my leopard-skin briefs before I popped the safety-seal on the syringe. Putting one foot up on the toilet seat, I pulled my balls up my abdomen, exposing delicate patch of skin between my sac and my hole.

It took barely two seconds to inject the mini-amp - that was what was so cool about this new delivery system. Jab, inject, done - just like that - the whole thing could be covered by the palm of your hand. During competitions, I've injected myself in front of audiences and no one's been the wiser.

And this shit hit twice as fast as the old stuff did.

By the time I finished taking a leak and flushing, the first hints of the buzz were swelling in my chest. By the time I pulled my leopard-skin mini-briefs back up over my gargantuan thighs, my cock had started to swell, too.

That poor fucker didn't even know what hit him. I'm sure that he didn't come to the hotel that day expecting to be raped by the biggest bodybuilder on the planet, but maybe it had been in the back of his head. Maybe he'd fantasized about it - a little. Why else would he be so concerned about the fate of a former employee - not even a friend?

No, like every man, he harbored the dream that what happened to Jeff Strong could happen to him, too.

He didn't want to be fucked, and he fought me for a while, but he finally gave in. What was he gonna do? He wasn't even half my weight. And on some level, he liked it. Being dominated by the most muscular man in the world? Of COURSE he liked it! I mean, he passed out from the power of his orgasm! What more evidence do you need?

Afterwards, I watched the effect of my energized cum on his sleeping body. I watched the bodyfat disappear and the muscle grow. The well-built, mature stud that woke up in his place was eager for more, hungry to obey... pleased to have his new, masculine sexuality released.

The orders were simple. Destroy the files - forget trying to rescue this Jeff guy. Transfer that obsession and energy to me - the Strongman. Buy my videos instead of reading his journal. Lust for ME instead of remembering him.

"Call me when you've destroyed them," I said, handing him my business card. "That's my answering service, so just leave a message. Once you've done that, you can be free to love me completely."

He was erect, on his knees before me, his chin in my hand. "Yes, SIR," he said, joyful at the proposition. There were tears in his eyes.

He was out of time by then - now that he was finally ready to truly appreciate me - so I grabbed my gym bag, threw on my warm-ups and left him there, kneeling and masturbating, anxious to carry out my orders and please me. For some reason, I thought of Woody, but I don't know why. Maybe I just missed the big lug.

Woody recently moved out to the left coast to open Apollyon's new sister gym in L.A. - apparently, he'd be functioning in Brad's role at the new place. Kind of a bummer - I was gonna miss him. He was a good friend, almost a brother. All the guy's in Dr. V's care were close, but for some reason, I felt something special for Woody. Oh well, gone now.

Christian had the Explorer in the roundabout waiting for me. As I climbed in, he said, "How'd it go?"

I snorted. "Another businessman with muscle fantasies. They're all the same."

He laughed, even if he didn't know why. Yeah, I was gonna have to fuck that kid. "Where are we going?" he asked happily, pulling into Seventh Avenue traffic.

"Home, Christian," I said, zipping open my gymbag to be certain the manuscript was still there - like it wouldn't be. The secret life of Jeff Strong - MY life - the answers to everything. "I want to go home and fuck my man...

"...that's the only time it ever feels REAL."

We sped along until we got to 64th, or 92nd, or 101st, to the Apollyon building, and the penthouse Prince and I leased from the company.

I tell you, it was like my whole life was a fantasy come true.

How I loved Dr. V for giving it to me.

The gymbag slung over my massive shoulder - the manuscript inside - I walked into the building, my gigantic thighs somehow navigating around each other, and I slapped the muscular doorman on the ass as I passed him.

He laughed in a shy, sexy way and I thought, "What the hell? I still got an hour before Prince gets home."

I fucked him right there in the employee break-room. When he came, he screamed my name.

"Strongman!" he cried from the depths of ecstasy, when I asked him who owned him. "STRONGMAN!"

Man, I loved hot cop scenes! Why would anyone need rescuing from this?

In our penthouse, I hid the manuscript in the bottom drawer of my desk, under the warranty papers for the flat-screen television.

I'd get to it when I was ready.

I barely had time to change clothes before Prince got home, and while fucking him, I pretty much forgot the manuscript was there. It didn't matter.

All that mattered was muscle and cock - and serving Dr. V. Not who I may've been in the past. All that mattered now was that my fantasy had come true.

I'd given in to my fate - and I couldn't be happier.