Gym Slave

By Andy Robson
published April 18, 2013
Summary

Sophomore gym jock Adam Lomas learns what is like to be blackmailed, humiliated and enslaved.

CHAPTER ONE - INTRODUCTION

Second year student Adam Lomas was a regular at the college gym

where I worked. I was “senior sports and exercise leader” (that’s

“coach” outside the world of academic personnel departments) and

he was the hottest guy in the room. He had one of those fatless,

perfectly toned bodies. Every muscle was exquisitely outlined under

his flawless skin.

Trouble was, he was a self-obsessed, narcissistic, alpha-male prick.

He didn’t have any friends exactly, but his animal magnetism kept

a cadre of hangers on fawning after him, casting envious eyes over

his body and practically begging for his approval or commendation.

It was pathetic. Perhaps worse still were the wide-eyed girls

lusting after him. They tended not to last too long because he had

a reputation for fucking and dumping them. They were just scores

on a bed post to him.

The real reason I didn’t like him was that he would pick on other

guys in the gym. Not everyone has a physique like his. Not everyone

wants a physique like his. OK, I lied about that last bit. Not

everyone wants it enough to give up everything else to get it, which

is what he did. He was in every night and if he got bored he would

start poking fun at other people. Any stomach not showing a perfect

six pack was laughed off as a beer gut. Every arm without perfectly

defined biceps and triceps was derided as a flimsy twig.

This sort of thing isn’t good for membership and it makes me

personally angry. One of the hurdles I work hard to overcome is

to convince people that you don’t have to be already fit to come

to the gym. “I’m too fat to go to a gym” is one of the lead excuses

for not attending. I work my butt off to get people coming in (so

the college keeps paying me) and people like him are an affront to

all the good work I do.

Worse still, perhaps, was the attitude of his “court”. Go to a gym

for your self-image, your self-respect, for yourself. If you push

more weight than you did last time, feel good because you did it,

not because Pretty Boy Lomas said you did well.

If I’m honest with myself, however, the real reason he ticked me

off so badly was that it compromised my position in the gym as the

tough guy. Persuading young, hormonal jocks to give their all is

as much about position in the pack as it is about logical explanation.

I felt threatened by Adam Lomas.

I’d tried to get him to change his ways but he didn’t break any

rules so I couldn’t do much to him. He would just listen inattentively,

mumble “uh-huh” when I was finished and then carry on as if I’d

never spoken to him.

Let’s just say he wasn’t high on my list of people I like and if

he ever slipped up I would enjoy coming down on him hard.

This is the story of how he slipped up and how he came down. Hard.

It started, believe it or not, with an ultra-feminist on the college

council. She started by complaining that some of the guys, and

Adam was certainly one of them, were working out without any vest

on. This was upsetting the girls, apparently.

I have to say none of them had ever seemed upset. Not by his chest,

any way.

Flush with her minor victory in this matter she moved on to her

real objective: ladies-only nights. There was a stormy meeting of

the college council where I made the sarcastic comment that if she

wanted Tuesday and Thursday evenings to be women only I’d have

Monday, Wednesday and Friday for the guys and we could be rid of

the stupid dress code.

Unfortunately this got taken seriously and the decision was made!

To announce the new policy, and in a desperate attempt to stop

attendance plummeting like a rock, I prepared some posters declaring

“no shirts required” for the mens’ nights.

The posters raised a few smiles and a dozen of the better built

guys took the opportunity to come in without their shirts. Of

course, only Adam made a show out of it. He came in wearing a

really tight white vest that looked like it had been sprayed on and

stopped at the poster to read it carefully.

“Yeah, I’d feel better without this on,” he said to himself but

loudly enough for other people to hear, of course. He ran the palms

of his hands over his abs and chest, lingering a moment as his

fingertips rubbed his clearly outlined nipples through the cloth.

Then he slowly peeled his vest up and off his body, taking the

opportunity to stretch when his arms were over his head and showing

off his perfect figure for all to see. Truth be told, there were

quite a few people watching the show, myself included. To complete

the scene he balled up the vest and tossed it in a lazy, overarm

motion into the waste bin! “Won’t be needing that again,” he

announced.

It was pure theatre and that was the point when I realised just

what a slut Lomas was. He was reveling in having so many envious

eyes wandering over his body. He wore the smallest possible shorts

in the gym and he started at the far end of the gym so he could

walk past everybody showing himself off. This was also how he got

his self-esteem refueled. As he walked his sycophants all chimed

in with their greetings.

“Hey, Adam. Good to see you.”

“Hey man, you not gonna want that vest?”

“Lookin’ good, man.”

At the same time he handed out his largesse. Favoured individuals,

all topless I noticed, got a reply or compliment as he walked past.

The really unfavoured, typically the least cool, got snide comments

about needing to wear vests to keep their guts tucked in.

I was starting to seriously dislike Adam Lomas.

Over the next two weeks more and more people started turning up

topless and we stabilised at a position with about half the folks

wearing tops and the others not. The vest wearers were typically

the less fit guys, of course, and Adam was starting to give them

some serious grief. One evening I made the move myself and took

my top off. Now I’m fit, but I’m also 47 years old so I’m no

underwear model like Lomas. The next time Lomas made a sarcastic

comment about someone’s gut I asked him to comment on my stomach.

That shut him up for a bit.

This in turn gave a few more of them the confidence to lose their

tops and by the end of the first month of this new dress code nobody

was wearing tops. This revealed all the imperfect stomachs there

and gave some other people who thought their own abs were too flabby

the confidence to come along. While their bellies would be exposed

so were everyone else’s. Once they realised they weren’t the only

person without perfect muscles even more people started to attend.

In a college facility like a gym, attendance is your life blood.

So long as I could stop Adam Lomas from driving people away again,

the gym might attract better support from the college.

Now, I had to work hard to stop Adam from making life hell for the

newly revealed guts, but I also noticed that, over the weeks, Adam’s

constant attempts at humiliating people without perfect figures was

making him more and more enemies and a masculine camaraderie was

building up among the other people who had dared to bare their

bellies to one another.

CHAPTER TWO - THE DESCENT INTO HELL

Adam Lomas’ world changed forever, and his descent into hell began,

on a cold, damp, dreary Friday evening when he came in with a couple

of his hangers on in a cheeky frame of mind. As they passed one

of my posters he used the notice board pen hanging on a piece of

string to slightly edit it.

“No shorts required!”

Laughing, they moved on towards the equipment.

Now I had already had a bad day. I’m one of those people influenced

by the weather and it was getting me down. I had just finished the

inch-thick annual health and safety assessment paperwork for the

gym. (“Yes it CAN hurt you if you ignore what I say.”) I had

fought off the barbarian hordes of the finance department asking

why the delivery charges for gym equipment were so much more than

kit elsewhere in the college. ("Gym WEIGHTS. The clue is in the

name!") Right now, Adam Lomas being a smart arse was the last thing

I needed.

I grabbed the whistle around my neck and blew hard. One long

whistle, the signal for all activity to stop immediately.

Everyone froze. Weights were lowered, conversations stopped and

heads turned. I had the undivided attention of the entire gym.

“Mr Lomas has proposed a change to the dress code,” I said, my voice

carrying well in the unusual silence. I pointed to the poster and

the nearer people started chortling.

"‘No shorts required.’ Perhaps he would like to be the first to

try it out?" I held out my hand expectantly, indicating that he

should hand over his shorts.

He blushed and looked down at his feet. Like most bullies, he was

a helpless coward when confronted with someone who wasn’t scared

of him.

“Are you going to hand them over and work out in a jock?” I asked,

fully expecting him not to. Just this once, I thought, I would be

able to throw him out of the gym for the evening and have some

peace.

"Erm, coach, I’m wearing, erm, you know, it’s an, um, all-in-one

thing. I’d be, you know, um, naked."

I was about to tell him that he should leave the premises for the

night when something strange happened. A chant started up and was

soon taken up by everyone else in the gym except for me and the

young jock standing in front of me.

“Strip! Strip! Strip!”

Hands were clapped in time to the chant and a couple of guys moved

round between Adam and the door out. I don’t know if they would

have physically stopped him leaving but they certainly added to his

sense of being surrounded and overwhelmed.

“Strip! Strip! Strip!”

There’s a saying "I must find out where my people are going so I

may lead them." Well, it was clear where my people were going that

night. All the latent hostility to his bullying had just found an

outlet. There was no way I could let him off now with just a ban

for one night. I waved for the chant to stop.

“Rule 6(b),” I quoted, looking up at the current set of gym conduct

rules pinned to the wall. "Anybody found damaging or defacing gym

equipment may be barred temporarily or permanently at the discretion

of the senior sports and exercise leader."

I looked back at him. "So, Mr Lomas, banned from the gym for life

or spending an evening naked?"

He looked up at me shocked by the severity of my proposed sanction.

“For life! Come on, coach, it was only a fucking poster!”

“Zero tolerance,” I replied. “Shorts or out.”

There was a cheer of support from the people surrounding us. Everyone

had left their exercise stations and had moved over to surround the

pair of us like a fight in the playground.

I knew that there was no way Adam Lomas would ever surrender his

access to the gym. This was the focus of his entire power structure

and I was threatening to take it away with a single word. With a

look of sheer bloody murder in his eyes, he slipped down his shorts

and tugged them over his ankles. As the crowd burst into wild

cheering he handed them over to me, covering his groin with his

free hand.

I took them off him, noting that the key to his locker was pinned

to the side of them, and put them behind my desk. I took my time,

dragging out the time he spent being surrounded by the people who

had come to hate him so thoroughly. There was no move to make way

for him to pass through. For once he didn’t look at all happy about

people casting their eyes over his body. He stood there, frozen

to the spot with his hands covering his cock and balls, leaving

half the crowd to stare at his bare arse and its oh-so-muscular

glutes.

Turning back from my desk I looked at the crowd’s faces. The people

he had bullied were obviously enjoying the experience of having the

tables turned. But I was surprised by the angry looks I saw in the

faces of his former courtiers as well. The great leader had fallen

and there’s nobody that likes to put the boot in more than his

former followers.

"Right, Mr Lomas, I want a full work out from you this evening. No

sloping off early." I gestured in the direction of the benches

where he would normally start and waited to see what happened next.

He made a valiant effort to laugh the whole thing off but I think

he hadn’t realised that it was way too late for that. He was

vulnerable and surrounded by sharks smelling blood in the water.

He raised his hands up wide at shoulder height to reveal the whole

length of his gorgeous body and turned once in front of them all.

I noticed that he had no tan lines around his waist or upper thighs.

That must have taken effort, I thought. I also noticed that he was

the proud owner of a cock that ran to five inches when soft. I

would swear it was shriveling in shame even as I looked at it.

“Feast your eyes, guys, this is what the gym can do for you.”

Nobody laughed. Nobody cheered. That’s when I think it hit him

that he had no friends to help him out of this one, just enemies

looking for a chance to take him down still further.

He gulped and moved towards the equipment. The crowd didn’t part

for him and he had to push his way through.

“Nice glutes, man,” said one guy with heavy sarcasm in his voice.

Then he slapped Adam hard on the buttocks as he pushed past.

“Not an inch of fat,” added another, pinching him hard on the

reddening skin.

“Come on, guys, get off me!” he protested and tried to push through.

“Firm abs, too,” somebody said, slapping him hard across his stomach,

“and no fat there either.”

“Good pecs,” said one of the more bullied people as he viciously

squeezed and twisted one of Adam’s nipples.

Adam was slapped and pinched all the way to one of the benches next

to the racks of free weights.

“Dumb bell flies, Mr Lomas,” I told him. "Let’s stretch out those

chest muscles."

This was a good exercise to show off his body but also to increase

his sense of exposure. The exerciser lies back on a bench, the

arms are spread widely and the legs are typically spread a little

to get stability.

I made him do the exercises very, very slowly with minute attention

to form. Truth be told, his form didn’t need any correction; the

guy knew what he was doing and did it very well. But I also wanted

the crowd around the bench to get a good look at his full frontal

nudity.

I moved round to the end of the bench away from his head and stood

between his legs. His cock and balls were just in front of me,

dangling over the edge of the bench, crying out to be played with.

In my hands I had a gym towel, one of those small ones you use to

lie on and wipe down with. Apparently idly, I let it swing to and

fro very slightly. The trouble for Adam Lomas was that the lowest

corner of the towel was rubbing against the end of his cock.

By the end of his first set he wasn’t hard, but his cock was starting

to react to the continual on and off sensation.

During the sixty second break between sets I commented how lucky

the spectators were to see the specific muscles groups being worked

so clearly. There was chuckling and Adam was about to say something

when I interrupted and started talking about isolating muscle groups

in exercises. He had lost his self-confidence and didn’t feel able

to interrupt me in turn.

During the second set I think he realised what was happening. I

saw his eyes suddenly widen as realisation hit him, but he couldn’t

tip his head up to look without breaking form. The crowd realised

what happened near the end of the set as his cock swelled enough

to “tip” from hanging down between his legs to resting just above

his right thigh.

Between the second and third sets I gave my usual pep talk about

the importance of good form in exercise. They’d all heard it before

and most of the crowd’s attention was on Adam’s cock rather than

my face, but it gave me an excuse to keep him from talking while

my towel carried on its evil work. Its pendulum swing was stroking

the length of Adam’s shaft and slowly but surely his cock was

growing.

Adam wriggled to try to get his cock free from its torment, presumably

thinking it was just bad luck that my towel was teasing him and not

wanting to add to his humiliation by drawing attention to it.

I gave him a fifteen seconds break until he started his third set.

Then I started giving a commentary on how fatigue showed through

in the third set and my towel went back to work.

Soon his cock started twitching, taking on that mind of its own

that all 19 year old penises have. My attention was split 50-50

between watching his form, and his upper chest and shoulder muscles,

and aiming my towel.

The crowd’s attention wasn’t split at all, though. Their eyes were

on his ever-swelling cock.

As soon as he had finished his third set I told him not to move and

grabbed some heavier weights. Then I walked to the head of the bench

and swapped them in.

“Chest presses,” I told him.

By now his cock was most of the way to full erection. This made it

an even easier target for my towel’s brushing and by the end of his

first set of presses there was no doubt that Adam Lomas was publicly

throwing a boner in front of everyone whose respect he had depended

on.

“Excellent form!” I congratulated him after he finished the set.

“I can see you’re really getting into this.”

The crowd chuckled. Clearly their sympathies were with me and not

the naked stud laid out before them with a seven inch rigid cock

lying flat on his taut lower belly.

Adam, meanwhile, was blushing a deeper and deeper shade of red.

As he started his second set I made up a flaw in his faultless form.

“There’s the beginning of a slight wobble,” I observed. Squatting

down, I rested my hands on his thighs to give feedback on any

movement. Of course this also gave me the opportunity to feel his

wonderful thigh muscles. They weren’t tensing with the exercise but

were still solid under my touch. The presence of a pair of hands

so close to his groin was only encouraging his erection to grow

even firmer. I started to very slowly slide my palms up until my

thumbs were just by his balls by the end of the set. "One last

set, Mr. Lomas," I demanded. As he paused I moved my hands slightly

further and was now massaging the base of his cock. I had to be

careful still not to be too obvious, but I was guaranteed a firm

erection by the end of the exercise.

By the end he was, indeed, fully erect and as he sat up from his

prone position he noticed for the first time just how hard he was.

"Careful as you stand, Mr. Lomas, I cautioned him. "Looks like

you’ve suffered a major blood flow from the brain." There was cruel

laughter from the crowd and I saw a look of increasing horror on

Lomas’ face.

Looking around, it took me a few moments to work out what the look

was in the faces of the crowd. It wasn’t hatred for Adam Lomas any

more. It wasn’t even quite lust for his body in any sexual sense.

It was hunger I was seeing. They wanted him, physically and

aggressively. They were sizing him up like a side of meat.

“Standing shoulder presses, Mr. Lomas,” I directed, handing him

another pair of dumbbells. “Let’s really work those shoulders.”

Of course this was also an exercise that stopped him covering his

body, or even his hard cock. With each press of the weights over

his head it pulled the abdominal wall tight, lifting his hard cock

slightly. Adam could now see the faces of his enemies and he looked

scared. Their eyes and mine were moving up and down his taut body

as he reluctantly displayed it for us. It was a canvas of physical

perfection. And it was ours.

This was when I realised that my presence, while responsible for

creating this situation, was probably also holding back the crowd’s

hostility.

“I’ll let you all get on now,” I told them. "I’m sure you can all

make sure that Mr. Lomas doesn’t skimp on any exercise."

As I backed off the crowd split up. Some went back to their own

exercises while others kept their attention on Lomas. As he started

his next set he was “encouraged” by hands touching almost every

part of his body to check or admire his form.

Of course, while not part of any real muscle group, his cock and

balls were also getting attention. For the next two hours, Adam

Lomas displayed his magnificent seven inches to the whole gym and

for the whole gym’s amusement. For the entire time he was kept

rock hard.

He got no let up from the pain, either. As he moved from one exercise

to the next he moved from one set of tormentors to the next. The

compliments “nice whatevers, man” were accompanied by increasingly

loud slaps and grew increasingly personal.

“Nice dick, man,” was followed by a particularly loud squeak from

Adam second only to the shriek following "hey man, great pair of

low hangers!"

If any independent observer had entered the gym that evening I would

have been out of a job instantly. But they didn’t and Adam Lomas

suffered alone and friendless.

Two hours later he sought me out to reclaim his shorts as I was

advising a couple of new guys on the “plank”, an exercise for the

core muscles, involving resting on your toes and your elbows with

your body held straight for thirty-plus seconds.

He was in a dreadful state. There were slap marks all over his

once-proud body. He was trembling from head to foot and there were

tears welling in his eyes from his ordeal. But my eyes were drawn

to his erection, which was dripping pre-cum after two hours of on

and off stimulation.

“Adam, could I use you as a model?” I asked. I indicated that he

should take position. As he moved past me I turned to the two

students and let my towel “snag” on his cock. I let go of it and

for a second it hung there draped over it to the general laughter

of everyone watching.

My intent was rather more malicious, though. I pulled my towel back

along the length of his shaft, running it all over his cock’s

sensitive head. I wanted to keep him on the very edge.

He took position. As he began to hold the position I dutifully

demonstrated how all the core muscles were held tense. This let my

hands wander over his lower body and accidentally - oh yeah - brush

his cock a few times. I could also get all three of us looking under

his rigid body, in principle to look at his abs, but also to observe

the tight angle his cock made with his belly and just how close he

was to orgasm.

Because this was a demonstration Adam held the pose for nearly a

minute. As soon as he was done he collapsed onto the mat. I slapped

him on the arse and told him he could hit the showers.

As he got up I noticed he had left a patch of his pre-cum on the

mat. “Good grief, Lomas. Does your cock have to dribble everywhere?”

I asked, making sure everyone could hear. “Wait here a moment.”

Leaving him standing there ashamed with his hands over his cock and

surrounded by prying eyes and laughter I walked over to the paper

towel dispenser and pulled out a length. I returned and wiped clean

the mat. Then I turned to my victim and held out the paper as if

offering it to him to wipe his cock himself. He fell for my lure

and reached forwards with his right hand, dropping his left hand

to his side. I reached forwards and wiped his undefended cock myself.

The paper was rough and I used its texture to stimulate his cock

head as much as possible.

I had been hoping just to add to his discomfort but I hit the

jackpot. With a cry of total despair he came in my hand. His legs

trembled as he shot three powerful jets of cum into the towel. He

staggered back with a look of horror on his face and started to

stammer an apology over the jeers and laughter of his peers.

“That’s one muscle we don’t exercise in this gym, Mr Lomas,” I

interrupted angrily. "Get down to the showers right now. I’ll send

someone down with your key as soon as I’ve cleaned up here.

“Go!”

He sprinted for the door, his hands over his messy cock, without

stopping to argue.

"If the next person down could take his locker key I would be

grateful," I said to the crowd still wiping tears of laughter from

their eyes. "And I’m sure Mr. Lomas would be too. He must be feeling

very vulnerable in the changing room without a stitch of clothing

or even a towel."

I dumped the cum-laden paper in the bin and returned to help the

two students with their core strength exercises. Over the next 15

minutes the gym emptied as people moved to the showers to continue

with the humiliation of Adam Lomas.

I wondered just how far they would go.

I saw that his shorts and key had not been taken, but I’m not allowed

to leave the gym until locking up time so it wasn’t until 10:35

that I arrived at the locker room ready to shut it down and lock

it at 11:00.

As I walked in there was the sudden hush of boys caught in a guilty

moment. Certainly the tableau that greeted me as I entered was

frozen in the shock of discovery. The scene lasted for barely a

second before they regained their composure but it has lodged itself

in my memory perfectly.

Four of the long velcro straps we use to hold rolled up gym mats

had been used to tie his wrists and ankles to the ends of the two

frames of benches and clothes hooks. A jock strap had been stuffed

in his mouth and tied there with a neck tie. He was completely

naked, having removed his shoes for the shower.

Behind him, two guys standing between the frames were taking turns

towel-snapping his arse, giving it no respite at all.

In front of him was a queue of people taking turns snapping his

cock and balls with their twisted towels. From his chest down to

his thighs his body was bright red with the signs of his torture.

Those people in the queue not whipping him were typically taking

stills or movies with camera phones.

Once again I was in the position where I had been the one holding

them back. I was determined not to let that happen again.

“People, people, what are you doing?” I asked, feigning horror.

“Mr. Lomas is a tough guy.” I started running my hand up his abs

towards his pecs. “And isn’t going to react to pain.” I pinched and

twisted a nipple. “If you want to really get to Mr. Lomas” - I let

my hand drift down his torso again - "you go for the emotional

attack." My fingers started to stroke his flaccid cock. "You humiliate

him." His cock jumped back to stiffness.

He looked at me with fear in his eyes and I was sure I had identified

his weakness correctly.

I glanced at his key in my other hand to get the number and left

him for a few moments to unlock his locker. I pulled out his boxer

shorts and put them on his head with the elastic as a head band.

There was laughter and jeers as we looked on the crushed jock wearing

a fool’s crown.

“Here’s the deal, Mr. Lomas,” I told him. "You belong to us. Any

resistance and all this video footage ends up on YouTube. All the

photos and videos get posted to a selection of Yahoo groups. Both

places will have your full name and contact details. Any Google

search for your name by a potential employer or family member will

show you like this."

I paused to let the full hopelessness of his situation sink in.

"I’m going to ungag you now. If you say anything except ‘yes, sir’

we’ll assume you are rejecting this and we should post our pictures."

I stood in front of him poised to remove his gag.

“Do you accept my terms?”

I removed his gag. He looked into my eyes searching for any sign

of pity or mercy. He found none. There was a long pause. The room

was absolutely silent.

“Yes, sir.”

There was a cheer; we had ourselves a slave.

“Here is your first order, slave.” I watched his face carefully to

see how he reacted to being called a slave. Tears welled in his

eyes but he didn’t say anything.

"You have until next Monday’s gym session to offer every single

person in this room a blow job."

He gasped in horror at what he had been told to do.

“You can’t be serious! No fucking way.”

I rubbed an ear with a finger as if I was squeezing water from it.

"I think my ears must be deceiving me. I could have sworn you just

said ‘please humiliate me on-line’ instead of ‘yes, master’."

The thought of getting a blow job from the helpless stud was turning

me on something rotten. I couldn’t wait.

"If you don’t know where to start I suggest you get me out of the

way."

He looked at me refusing to believe what he had been asked to do.

“Well?” I prompted.

He choked back a sob. “Please, sir, may I give you a blow job?”

“Of course you may,” I replied politely. As I undid the straps

holding him in place he knelt before me as the room took on the

unnatural quiet again. I heard a collective inhalation of breath

as I dropped my shorts and jockstrap and stepped out of them. As

Adam Lomas wrapped his lips around my cock I pulled off my t-shirt

and the room exhaled again. I heard the beeps and whistles of the

camera phones as people recorded the slave’s first blow job.

I was slightly worried about the hush, so as my cock started to

stiffen I started to add to his humiliation by egging on my fellow

tormentors.

"That’s a good slave boy. Use the whole tongue. Vary the depth. It

should feel like I’m fucking your mouth."

The audience chipped in at last.

“Yeah, suck that cock, slave.”

“Suck your master’s cock!”

“Do a good job or you’ll get a beating, slave.”

After five minutes I came. I gripped his head tightly and forced

the full load of my cum into his mouth. He swallowed once but then

gagged on the novel taste and texture and spat out the rest. Secretly

I was delighted but I wouldn’t let that show.

“Did I say you could spit it out?” I demanded. I dropped my cock

from his mouth, trailing a ribbon of cum which dripped onto his

thigh.

“No, sir,” he whispered.

“Start calling us ‘master’,” I instructed, "since you’re obviously

having trouble with the idea of being our slave.

Looking at him I saw he had turned pale and fresh tears were forming

in his eyes. It was time to turn it up another notch.

“Lick it up,” I ordered, pointing down at the cum on the ground.

“On all fours, slave.”

I stepped back and pulled his head forwards and down. He lowered

his head to the changing room floor but stopped a couple of inches

short of where he needed to be, his revulsion turning into physical,

almost magnetic repulsion. I put my foot on the back of his head

and pushed it down. After my students’ attacks on Adam Lomas I saw

an opportunity to reestablish my position as the meanest bastard

in the pack.

There was a cheer from the students. Looking down I saw our slave

licking my cum from the floor. The end of his nose was pushed into

the slime, adding to his sense of shame.

“Good slave,” I told him when he was finished. "As a reward you

will not be flogged."

There was a moan of disappointment from the crowd. I was in danger

of blowing it again.

"But there are some rules you must obey.

"First and foremost you are now the gym’s official slave. Any time

any of us addresses you as ‘slave’ you will obey without hesitation

and address us as ‘master’."

This got a cheer but I wasn’t out of the woods yet. I needed something

to make his torment last all day, even when he wasn’t being commanded

by one of his new masters.

"Second, you will never wear underwear again. We will perform

inspections whenever we feel like it."

This didn’t get a cheer so much as laughter and side debates on

where the best places to inspect him would be. I had dealt with

their sadism but I still needed to satisfy their lust.

"Third, you will continue to come to the gym on men’s nights and

you will continue to work out naked. Each evening I will nominate

a particular exercise in the gym."

I paused for effect. What would be special about that exercise?

Thirty-plus pairs of eyes bored into me. One pair, of course, looked

worried.

"At the end of the evening you will be available for gang-rape in

the showers by everyone who beats you on that exercise."

There was a gasp from the crowd. I’d impressed them with that little

twist. Lomas, on the other hand, just tipped forwards and started

weeping openly. It was time to crush him utterly.

“Fourth,” I started.

“There’s more?” he interrupted with incredulity in his voice.

I slapped him round the face sharply. "Slaves do not interrupt their

masters!" I told him. I pushed my cock back into his mouth to act

as a gag.

"Fourth, and this is purely for me, each Saturday you will come to

my office at 2pm for your weekend duties."

I turned my attention to the eager jocks around me.

"There are a few house rules for us, too.

"First, don’t let word of this reach anyone else. If someone chooses

to join the gym then they can find out for themselves, but no sharing

with friends and the like.

"Second, don’t interfere too much with the slave’s academic work.

"Third, please forward any photos or videos to me. I will create a

password protected section on the gym’s web site where we can all

share his humiliation."

There was a general murmur of agreement from everyone who didn’t

have a cock in his mouth.

I looked down to our slave and checked on the progress of his second

blowjob. He was unenthusiastically working my cock in his mouth and

I was not really getting off this time.

"Slave, every order you are given is to be obeyed with gusto. Every

cock you are given to suck must be sucked well. Clearly, some

motivation is required.

“Don’t move,” I told him.

I pulled out my cock and walked over to the condom machine by the

toilets and put in a quid. His back was to me but I saw him flinch

as he heard the click of the machine dispensing.

I don’t think he heard me fill up a paper cup with cold water. He

certainly didn’t hear me pass the video cameras we use for coaching

the sports teams to a couple of the guys.

I walked back directly behind him so he couldn’t see a thing of

what I was doing. I put the water down where I could reach it but

he wasn’t going to kick it over and placed my hands on his shoulders.

“Please don’t,” he whispered. “Please.”

He was crying again and I felt his body trembling under my hands.

I pushed him forwards onto all fours and kicked his feet apart.

I looked around at my fellow sadists. If there had been any pity

in their eyes, any sense that I might be going too far, I would

probably have stopped. But there was not a glimmer of mercy to be

seen in that room.

I rolled the condom along my cock. It hadn’t softened in all this

time, the thought of the young jock at my mercy was so powerful.

I knelt behind him and pressed the tip of my cock against his hole.

He tensed immediately, his two powerful globes squeezing together

to form a barrier. His trembling was becoming more severe. I ran

a fingernail down his arse crack and he quivered some more in

response. I contemplated a doggy style rape but thought the

emotionally destructive approach might pay better dividends and you

only get that if they can see you. I started running my hands up

and down his back and sides, with the length of my cock resting in

the valley between his two tensed arse globes. I lent forward and

started talking to add to his discomfort.

“Oh, he’s going to be so tight he’s going to squeal.” I started

rubbing my cock up and down on his arse, teasing him with what was

to come. "Virgin arse is so sweet. Make sure you get his screams

in the recording, guys. He can only lose his cherry once." I

reached under him and started to fondle his cock. He started

whimpering again and tears started to fall to the floor under his

face. "Just imagine all his family seeing pictures of his arse and

his mouth being fucked all at the same time. Because that’s what’s

going to happen if he doesn’t start obeying his masters!" I pulled

on his balls sharply and slapped his arse hard with my other hand.

He flinched and then relaxed. I took the opportunity to grab him

by the waist and balls and to flip him over onto his back.

Two guys lent down and grabbed his arms, pulling them down to the

ground. I split his legs and pulled them up so I had uninterrupted

access to his hole from my kneeling position. The sudden pain at

his balls and the surprise of being flipped over had caused him to

relax his glutes for a moment. I seized the opportunity and dove

in, forcing my cock into his hole and onwards, into his guts.

He screamed. It wasn’t a scream of pain, though there was an element

of that. Nor was it a scream of terror, though his was clearly

scared out of his wits. It was a scream of despair.

I reached forwards and grabbed his jaw firmly with one hand. I

turned it so he could see the ring of wild, baying young men all

looking down at him.

“Do you see them?” I asked as I pushed in harder. "Do you see their

faces? They see yours. They know you’ve been fucked up the arse.

Every time you see one of them you’ll know that they saw you get

fucked! You’ll be so polite and proper in the class rooms and in

public but you’ll know, every second, that they’ve seen you naked,

on your back getting fucked up the arse like a trashy whore."

I pulled out a few inches before slamming home again. All around

me the jocks were jerking off, thirty erect cocks all pointing at

the slave on the ground. Those with cameras in their phones were

taking snaps as fast as they could. The two video cameras were

being moved to get various views as best they could by two jocks

with one hand on a camera, another on their cock and their clothes

round their ankles. If anybody had bothered to look at them they

would have appeared mildly ridiculous, but nobody did. Nobody had

eyes for anything except the rape taking place in front of them.

I saw his eyes start to defocus and the shock took over. I let him

retreat into mental numbness for a few seconds and then splashed

the cold water on his face. As he snapped back I turned up the

pace of my fucking. I knew it wouldn’t be long before I came for

the second time and I’m not a man with great self-control.

I came. Dear god, how I came. My entire body shook and I roared

like a wild animal with the heat of the moment. As I convulsed in

my orgasm, my cock pounded into the slave’s hole and he stare crying

again. It was a wonder the slave had any tears left. Certainly,

his voice was too hoarse from his screaming to beg for mercy even

if his mind wasn’t too far out of it to form coherent sentences.

I didn’t pull out, but simply slowed my pace down, letting my cock

bathe in the warmth of its own cum and his body heat. I looked

down into the eyes of the slave and saw complete surrender. Obviously,

he thought he couldn’t sink any further.

Then the first of the jocks came all over his face.

I squeezed his balls. “Say thank you,” I told him.

“Thank you, Jack,” he whispered.

“Thank you, master,” I corrected, giving his balls another tug.

“Thank you, master,” he repeated.

“You’re welcome, slave,” Jack replied, relishing being able to call

him that.

Over the next ten minutes, thirty young men shot their loads on

him, aiming at his face and mostly hitting. Each was individually

thanked as the slave’s master. When they were all done I squeezed

the content of my condom onto his face to join the sticky mess

already there.

“His arse is magnificent,” I told the horny crew surrounding us.

"It’s also out of bounds to anyone who doesn’t win one of the

exercise challenges." There were groans. “Consider it motivation.”

"Now, I promised the slave he could wear his clothes home. And I

am a man of my word."

I pulled the slave to his feet. He was wobbly but was able to stand

up on his own. I used the velcro straps to tie his hands behind

his back. He opened his mouth to protest so I stuffed his wallet

in and he shut it again. I was glad because it was getting late

and I didn’t want to waste time punishing him again.

I tied his shirt’s arms round his waist, letting its body cover his

front from the waist to his knees. “Shirt,” I announced.

There was laughter. The crowd could see how this was going.

I tied the legs of his jeans round his waist too, so that the top

of them provided some cover for his arse. “Jeans!”

I tucked his socks in the pockets of his jeans and laid his shoes

on the ground in front of him. I didn’t want him to have to walk

home barefoot. Gratefully he slipped his feet into them. Then I

tied them close and knotted the laces together. He wouldn’t be

able to go home at any speed, and would lose the manoeuvrability

to dodge into cover.

I took his door keys and hung them round his head. Then I pondered

his mobile phone. I lifted his shirt up at the front and stroked

his cock a couple of times. It sprang into firmness and then I

sellotaped his phone to his cock. I let the shirt fall back down,

tenting over his cock and phone combination.

Then I told him “OK. You can go home now.” He looked at me with

horror in his eyes as I said this, realising that his humiliation

wouldn’t stop outside the gym.

"You may have to get some help getting into your room, but I’m sure

your new masters will be waiting for you in the dorms to render

assistance." There was cruel laughter.

“Now go,” I pointed at the door, "or I will punish you for being

slow obeying an order."

He shuffled out to the mocking laughter of his peers and shouted

promises from some of them that they would catch up with him back

at the dorms.

Once he had left I turned to my fellow sadists.

"Listen, folks. Last little prick made my life hell all last year

and all of this year up to now. Well, it’s pay back time. Subject

to my rules, there’s no limit. He thinks he’s sunk as low as he

can. Our job is to convince him that he can always sink lower.

Use your imagination. And remember the three things he’s most

afraid of: humiliation, humiliation and humiliation."

“Oh, and does anyone know his mobile number?”

CHAPTER THREE - THE MORNING AFTER THE NIGHT BEFORE

I’m not usually in on a Saturday, having pulled the night shift on

Friday evening, but it’s not unheard of if I have a stack of paperwork

to get through for me to come in, lock myself in my office and come

out only for coffee and toilet breaks. (The two are intimately

related.) So nobody blinked when I showed up at lunchtime. I made a

few calls to arrange matters for the evening and then started on my

email and the new “gym slave” web site.

Some of the messages were the photos and videos of the previous

evening in the gym. I planned the site on a day-by-day basis, with

that day’s content forming a single (large!) page. It ended up in

three stages: before the rape, the rape, and after the rape. The

final set’s photos were all new to me and I was delighted to see that

the boys hadn’t let me down.

Judging from the timestamps in the photos, it had taken the slave two

hours to make the mile trip to his dorms. He arrived wearing his

clothes normally and with his hands untied. Presumably he had managed

to get out of the velcro ties. He had also washed the cum off his

face, though from its damp state I guess he hadn’t been able to dry

afterwards.

The photos of his arrival all came from one person, who had now moved

to a real digital camera. I’m guessing they had set watches and were

waiting for him to give more humiliating instructions.

He approached the dorm door in the first photo. In the second he was

taking off his shirt and I never saw it again in any pictures. The

third photo was taken inside the dorm’s front lobby. It was empty

apart from our slave boy and the camera man, but the lights were on

and he looked around nervously to see if any one was coming as he

stood in the middle of the room with his jeans lowered to his knees

and his hands clasped behind his neck and the camera man checking he

wasn’t wearing underwear. There were half a dozen photos checking

this and I could confirm that between 01:23 and 01:25 Adam Lomas had

not been wearing underwear. The next set of photos showed him with

his jeans up but his hard cock and his balls pushed through the open

fly walking through the dorm.

Finally we got to his room and I saw a shot of him opening a drawer

full of socks and underwear. The next shots showed him kneeling naked

on the floor cutting the waistbands of all his underpants on each

side. He had his back to the door and I noticed that it was wide

open.

One by one, his other masters from the same dorm were walking in.

There was a beautiful shot of him being startled with his head half

jerked round towards the door and a look of panic on his face as he

wondered who else it might be.

Next, I used some video footage as, to the sound of jeering and

insults from the half dozen masters in the room with him, he crawled

on hands and knees backwards and forwards between the pile of ruined

underwear and his waste paper bin. Each time he had to take a

mouthful of the rags and dump them in the bin. On the occasions when

the camera focused on his face, typically as he was picking up another

bunch of rags, I saw that he had stopped crying and had the blank eyed

stare of someone in shock, filtering out the truth of what was

happening to him.

Most of the time, though, the video focused on his body. His arse

swayed very temptingly as he crawled. He was sweating enough that the

side and back of his left glute shone as they moved into position to

reflect his room light: on, off, on, off as he crawled. His cock was

limp and it and his low hanging scrotum swung as he moved. The

thighs, upper arms and pectoral muscles were doing most of the work,

obviously, and his well toned body put on quite a show. The crawling

only lasted two or three minutes but I was rock hard by the time I had

finished watching the video for the second time - just to make sure it

had uploaded to the web site correctly, you understand.

Next, I had a mixture of movie and stills showing that the slave had

to make good on his orders of offering blow jobs. They had already

all cum once each, but teenagers are utter cum machines and he spent

the next hour averaging ten minutes over each blow job for the guys in

the room. I noticed that they shut his door for this bit, presumably

not wanting the world to see what they were up to, even if they didn’t

mind the slave’s humiliation leaking out.

Finally, once he had done a second round of the six cocks, licking

them clean, kissing their tips, and saying thank you to them, the guys

forced him onto his bed, at the suggestion of a particular one of them

called “Mad Gav”, because of the crazy stunts he had been known to

pull at parties. There, they put him on his back and taped his wrists

and ankles to the bed’s four corners with a large roll of sellotape

from his desk.

Then Gavin went over to his bag and pulled out what looked like a

bright blue plastic hand. The recording has very poor sound but I

could clearly hear a mixture of laughter from those people who knew

what it was and confusion from those who didn’t. He walked back to

the bed and waved it in front of the slave’s face as he grabbed the

exposed cock and stroked it to firmness. Then he taped the slave’s

cock to the hand, so that it lay between two of the plastic fingers

and pressed a button in the hand’s thumbnail.

It was a novelty massager.

As it started to vibrate, the slave started to buck and twist, trying

to get free, but was unable to make any headway. He started to beg

them to turn it off, shouting that he wouldn’t be able to take it and

how it was all too much. Their response was to remind him that the

more noise he made the more likely he was to be discovered by someone

else.

He shut up.

The guys left the room. Gavin’s parting comment was "let us know when

the batteries run out" as he picked up the room keys. The camera man

was the last to leave, backing out slowly and letting the door swing

shut as the video faded to black.

Not Oscar nomination stuff but I enjoyed it.

The last few emails had only just arrived and delivered the final

videos of the set. It started with a very shaky camera pointed down

on a small table with a bowl of breakfast cereal in the centre and a

circle jerk going on around it. One by one, six cocks unloaded into

the bowl. The cum was stirred in and the video stops for a moment.

Mad Gav, complete with bowl and spoon, and the camera man then headed

off to the slave’s room and let themselves in. The massaging hand was

still running, though only faintly. As the camera moved in on the

sleeping slave’s belly and cock I could see that he had cum, probably

more than once. Ropes of cum covered his six pack and thighs. His

cock was glistening in the cum and pre-cum that had just dribbled out.

Even in his fitful sleep he was still rock hard.

Gavin turned the novelty toy off and the change in sensation was

enough to wake the sleeping slave. “Morning, slave boy,” Gavin

chipped in. “We brought you breakfast.”

Gavin untied the toy and then the restraints, but as the slave

struggled to get up Gavin used the spoon to scrape the cum off the

sticky abs and thighs. Then, with an evil grin on his face he slowly

lowered it into the breakfast bowl and stirred.

There was a whimper from the naked slave but all he said was "thank

you, master" and started to eat his cereal.

Perched on the edge of his bed, he held the bowl just below head

height and had the spoon in his other hand. This let the cameraman

take his time moving the shot up and down the naked body exposed in

front of him.

After a bit Gavin sniffed at him. "You need a shower, boy. You smell

like you’ve been wanking all night." He peered into the empty bowl

and took it away. As the slave’s hands moved down to his groin, Gav

slapped them away. "No covering up, wanker.

“By the way, the six of us only wanked once.”

The slave looked up at him, puzzled as to why he had bothered to

mention this detail.

“Into your breakfast.”

The slave retched but kept his cereal down. The colour balance in the

video was pretty poor but either the sun went behind a cloud or the

slave turned green.

Gavin threw him a towel. "Now go and get your shower. The curtain is

busted on the stall nearest the door; it only comes half way across.

Make sure you use that one and make sure you’re facing out all the

time. Anybody comes in, make sure you greet them by name. Take your

time - at least half an hour. Anyone starts talking to you, chat

back. Keep naked, exposed and facing them all the time."

He handed over the towel but stopped the save from wiping down his

cum-slicked abs. The slave boy wrapped it round his waist and gripped

it shut in his left hand because it was too small to tuck in firmly.

Then Gavin dropped the room keys into the wash bag and handed that

over too.

“Enjoy your shower, slave boy.”

And the video paused.

To keep the chronology I had to insert a separate emailed contribution

of a quick snatch of shaky camera phone. The slave had emerged from

the showers, but had had his towel snatched from him. Then he ran

down the dorm corridor, his hands in front of his cock, towards his

room. Almost every door on the way was open as students laughed at

this morning’s harmless prank. Only our select few knew it was part

of a bigger picture. Oh and the slave knew too, but he didn’t count.

Of course when he reached the door it was locked from the inside. A

voice shouted instructions that were too muffled to be hard clearly on

the phone’s small microphone but the slave stopped autside his door

and, to the cheer of the onlookers, raised his hands above his head

and did a slow 360, letting everyone see all of him. Only once he was

facing the door again was it opened to admit him.

Inside I could switch back to the decent video quality. By the looks

of the camera motion it had been mounted on a tripod, pointing at the

door. A student unlocked the door and let him in, locking the door

shut behind him.

“Knees!” barked a voice off camera. He dropped to his knees. A pair

of legs walked into view, pulling the focus off him until they leveled

with him. He was side ways on and both his face and the denim clad

groin pushed into his face were perfectly clear.

“Isn’t there something you’re supposed to ask me?” the voice said.

“P..Please, master, may I give you a blow job?”

"Yeah. And if it’s a good one, we’ll let you put some clothes on when

you leave."

He unzipped his jeans and pushed them and his boxers down. His cock

was already hard and sprang out, eager for the pleasure to follow.

“I like it nice and slow, with lots of spit,” he told the kneeling

cock sucker who leant forwards to take it in his mouth. "Oh yes,

that’s it. You really are a natural born cock sucker. Ohhh yes."

Either our slave had improved dramatically or this boy was easily

pleased. I suppose with the growing tendencies for girlfriends to

refuse to suck cock, the guys have less familiarity with just how good

it can be. But we’d fix that, at least for the guys in the gym.

Meanwhile, the voice on the video was becoming less and less coherrent

as orgasm approached. "Oh yeah, suck my cock. Suck my big cock.

Suck it good."

“You better take it all in your mouth,” said a new voice. "You’ve

already washed, so what you don’t swallow you wear."

"Yeah, man, swallow my cum. Suck ‘n’ swallow. Suck me! Suck me!

Suck, suck, suck, oooohhhh…"

His hips twitched as he came into the waiting mouth and I saw the

slave swallow time after time as he raced to catch it all.

"Oh god, man, you’re a fine cock sucker. Jeez, you’re good. Now suck

me clean."

Our obedient little slave boy obliged and by the time the master’s

cock pulled out it was slick with saliva but with no trace of cum.

The cock pulled out of shot and was replaced almost immediately by

another. The next guy I knew at once, even from the waist down. He

was olive skinned, muscular and his limp cock hung nine inches from

its base in a triangle of jet black hair. He was called “Horse” by

all his friends and happily boasted about why. The largest cock on

campus had just come into play. He was already naked from the waist

down and started stroking his cock even as he approached. It sprung

up to its full size, which I conservatively estimated at a full twelve

inches, and he held it at its base as he squared up to the waiting

lips of his cum dump.

“Please, master, may I…”

Horse didn’t wait for the slave to finish the question. He put his

spare hand behind the slave’s head, and guiding his cock with the

other hand, pulled the slave on to him. As soon as the first two or

three inches of his cock were in he clasped both hands round the

slave’s head and tugged it forwards, impaling the boy’s mouth and,

most likely, throat on his huge member.

The slave nearly choked. He coughed, spluttered and gagged, trying to

get his breath back as an impossibly long cock was pushed into him.

His hands came up as he tried to push Horse off him. He was very

strong and would have succeeded if two other guys hadn’t quickly come

up behind him and grabbed his arms. Some parcel twine was procured

and his wrists and ankles were tied together in a small square behind

him. He was now helpless, unable to resist Horse’s rape of his mouth.

Horse started to get a rhythm going, pulling his cock out and then

pushing it in again. The slave managed to gasp in ragged breaths as

the cock left his throat and started to calm down from his earlier

panic.

"Squeeze with those lips, fucker! And let me feel your tongue when I

push in. Do it!" Horse was a violent mouth rapist and I wondered how

long he kept any girlfriend, between his oh-so-desirable cock and his

apparent aggressive tendencies. Hopefully he would be able to work

the latter out of his system with the assistance of this unwilling

stud. His girlfriends might get a better deal a a result. I hadn’t

thought of the boy as a community resource like that before but I

smiled at the thought that we were doing our bit for the girls too.

Watching his cock was like a trip to an engine room with a huge steel

piston pushing in and out of a powerful machine. I don’t think he

cared that there was a face on the other end of his cock. A clenched

fist, a girl’s cunt, or a guy’s face. It was all the same to him.

Horse was a sprinter, which made it tricky to pick a contest in the

gym where he was certain to beat the slave, but I was determined to

find some way to have that huge cock in the slave’s reluctant arse

hole. And I wanted my cock in the slave’s mouth to gag his screams at

the same time.

I pulled myself from my revery as the cock suddenly froze in position,

pressed as far in as it would go. Horse moaned, a gutteral grunt from

the depths of his soul as he came. I saw the slave swallow as best he

could with most of the cum going straight into his throat.

Horse paused as he recovered from his orgasm. He pulled his piston

out a couple of inches to let the slave catch his breath. Then he

pushed it in and out a few more times. “Suck it clean, bitch!” he

snarled.

When he pulled it out at last he commented "let’s see just how clean

it is" and started to beat the slave’s face with it, first one cheek,

then the next. It was hard, twelve inches long and slick with saliva

at least and he kept the spanking up for at least thirty seconds. The

bound stud’s face ended up red with the impacts.

“Over to you, Chaz,” Horse commented as he walked off camera.

Charles Hawkins, a giant black weightlifter and one of the smartest

students on campus, walked into view. He was wearing a pair of

heavily tented joggers and he pulled them off as he stood in front of

the kneeling boy.

“Please, master, may I give you a blow job?”

"Yeah, but I like it nice and gentle. Don’t put it in your mouth.

Kiss it. Lick it. Make love to it" He drawled out the word “love” in

a deep growl and for a moment Barry White had taken up porn films in

my imagination.

He didn’t push forwards, but waited for the slave to lean forwards

awkwardly and start to kiss and lick his cock. He wasn’t short with a

seven inch cock, but in girth he was a champion. His cock would have

stretched even the largest pair of lips.

“Oh you can do better than that,” he chided the boy at waist height.

"Use the tip of your tongue round the rim of the crown. Tease me. I

want to feel the love in your mouth."

The slave redoubled his efforts and Chaz’s member soon swelled to its

full length and quite incredible width.

"Better. Now don’t forget to suck my balls too. One at a time, and

do my cock again in between."

Following these orders, the slave started to give his master the

pleasuring he demanded and I could see that Chaz would be a very

demanding master.

"Sweet talk my dick, slave boy. Tell it how beautiful you think it

is. Have you ever seen a dick so pretty?"

So he did. The slave boy humiliated himself beautifully by talking to

the cock as he worked it over with his soft tongue and lips. "Oh, you

are the prettiest cock I’ve ever seen. Oh, you taste so fine. You

are so much more beautiful than any of the other cocks." He started

to blush again as he was forced to recite this nonsense. I was

impressed; Chaz had found a way to shame him even further.

After a bit Chaz gave him his final instructions. "Kiss the tip, boy,

and leave your mouth there, licking the crown. I’m cumming soon."

And indeed he was. He twitched hard and his cock nearly flew from the

slave’s lips.

Desperate not to let any of the cum drip onto his freshly washed body,

the kneeling man pressed forwards and took nearly the whole of Chaz’s

crown in his mouth. Swallowing quickly, he held on almost by pure

force of suction as Chaz buckled and twisted in his ecstacy.

“I told you not to put it in your mouth!” Chaz snapped at him once he

had recovered. He looked up, presumably at the camera man. "Can you

wait while I punish him?" he asked.

The answer was too unclear to make out but I presume it was

affirmative because Chaz pulled up his joggers and walked over to the

desk. He picked up a pair of scissors and snipped the twine holding

the slave in kneeling position.

“Lean over the desk. Legs wide apart, hands on the far side.”

The camera turned to focus on the desk. The soon-to-be-punished boy

leant over and Chaz kicked his legs further apart. Unseen to the naked

boy, somebody passed Chaz a blue flip-flop, presumably one of Adam’s.

“You’re lucky coach has put your arse off limits,” he told the

vulnerable boy. “’Cos I sure would enjoy fucking it right now.”

Then, without warning he brought the flip-flop down hard on the

slave’s arse.

Chaz was a weightlifter. He was very strong and he was not holding

back. If the slave’s hands hadn’t been right up against the wall on

the far edge of the desk I am sure he would have lost his position.

The slave exhaled with a sharp gasp as a bright red shoe mark started

to appear on his left buttock. The second slap was over to the right,

leaving the other globe equally marked. Four more times he brought

the sandal down on the slave’s arse, alternating sides, and keeping a

steady rhythm of one beat every five seconds. I made a mental note to

educate them all on better spanking techniques; I am their coach,

after all.

“Now get back over there on your knees, boy. ’S Graham’s turn.”

The camera wobbled slightly as Graham locked the focus on a point just

in front of the waiting slave boy and surrendered control to another

jock.

Graham Turner was Charles Hawkins’ best friend, and perhaps his only

intellectual rival. He was the exact opposite of Charles in every

other regard, though. He was a tall, thin blond guy, with light blue

eyes, pale white skin that never held a tan and a five inch long,

narrow cock.

He was also completely naked as he walked on screen but he didn’t

stand in front of the waiting mouth, though. He lay on the floor with

his cock exactly where the focus was locked. “Well?” he asked,

sternly.

“Please master, would you like a blow job?”

“Yes, I would. Get on all fours and suck me off.”

That was the full extent of his instructions, as he was happy to let

the slave do all the work but, as the slave’s head bobbed down and his

arse rose, he snaked his arm out under the slave’s body and started

tweaking the hanging nipples. The slave’s head was moving up and down

as he ran the shaft of Graham’s cock through his lips. Sometimes as

he moved down Graham would leave his hand at the bottom of the

movement, still pinching a nipple. Then as the slave moved up again

he would have to pull his nipple free, hurting slightly as he did it.

After a few minutes Graham moved his hand further down the bobbing

torso, lightly rubbing his palm over the tight abs. Finally, after a

few more minutes when it looked like he was on the verge of cumming he

started stroking cock and gently fingering the balls.

I was slightly annoyed that he was showing such tenderness to the

slave but I needn’t have worried. Just as he came, Graham snapped his

fingers against the boy’s dangling balls. The slave’s head snapped up

as he exclaimed in shock and pain letting the cum fountain spray free

from Graham’s cock all over his chest, abs and thighs.

Graham laughed a cruel and mocking guffaw. "Looks like you’re going

to need punishing all over again, boy."

The slave had learned enough not to protest the unfairness of the

situation, but simply whimpered an apology, “sorry, master.”

“Well, lick it up first of all. Start at my chest.”

The slave crawled up level with his chest and started lapping up his

master’s cum.

“Slowly,” Graham ordered. "Nice, long strokes wth the flat of your

tongue."

The slave made his way down Graham’s body, inch by inch licking it

clean. Graham mae him lick his whole torso, demanding "a proper

tongue bath, not just a mop up job."

Eventually it was time to lick Graham’s cock, but he insisted on his

thighs being cleaned first. Only then did he let the slave start

licking his cock clean. Of course, this had given him time to recover

and by the time the slave got to his cock it was hard again.

"Nice and slowly, slave. Lap it all up. I don’t want one drop of my

cum left on me."

Of course, he was fully recovered and the sensation of tongue on cock

was enough to send him over the edge a second time. To the whoops and

cheers of the onlookers he came for a second time, this time spraying

only as far as his navel.

“Oops,” Charles called out. "Looks like you’ve got some more work to

do, slave. Get to it."

I heard the slave choke back a sob and moved further up Graham’s body

to start again.

“A tenner on Graham cumming again,” I heard. “Done!” came another

voice. “Well that’s one of us pissed off with the slave, then,” said

the first voice to general laughter. "His arse is going to be so

red."

Meanwhile, the slave had cleaned up the second load from Graham’s

belly and was approaching his quivering cock with a look of

apprehension and almost fear in his eyes. Gingerly he reached out

with pointed tongue and touched cock with its tip.

“Aw look, guys! He’s scared of my cock.” Graham’s voice cracked up

with laughter. "Wait ’til I beat you in the gym. Then you’ll be

scared. Now get on with it. Danny’s waiting."

The slave started to lick up Graham’s cock, not lifting it from his

belly, but running his tongue’s tip along the shaft and flicking it

off at the end. He managed to clean the shaft without any mishap but

when he started to tongue Graham’s crown his luck ran out.

With a quiet cry, Graham’s body suddenly tensed and a third shot of

cum leapt from him, and back up towards his navel again. There was a

cheer from the crowd and a warning: "That’s ten quid I’m taking out of

your arse, slave boy."

The slave had already started cleaning up Graham’s third load.

“Double or quits?” I heard off camera. “Deal!” came the reply.

Once again, there was no problem until the slave got to Graham’s

tender cock head. This time he was ready for his master’s orgasm and

pressed his lips round the slit at the critical moment, taking the

fourth load of the session straight in his mouth.

“Dry cumming doesn’t count!” came a protest. The slave just turned to

the camera and opened his mouth. Ribbons of cum hung rom his teeth

and tongue; he hadn’t swallowoed yet.

“Hah! Twenty quid!” came a triumphant voice. "Now eat up, slave boy.

I’m waiting."

Daniel Stanion was one of the guys who had suffered at the hands of

Adam Lomas. He was fit enough but never lost the inch of fat covering

his abs. As he walked on he was naked from the waist down, wearing

Arsenal strip above. He chose to sit in the room’s desk chair and

slid his groin forwards, with his legs spread invitingly.

“Please, master, may I give you a blow job?”

“Get to work, slave boy.”

The slave crawled forwards, between the legs, which closed around him.

Danny took the slave’s hands and placed them on the chair’s arm rests

forcing him to dip between them to suck on the whole cock.

This cock sucking was almost completely silent, except for the

inevitable slurps from the sucking itself. Danny wasn’t a talker.

Instead his face took on that peculiar blank look of a man on the

verge of sexual release and his legs were wriggling slightly, to rub

the insides of his thighs against the sides of the slave’s chest,

while his hands absent-mindly stroked the sop of the slave’s head and

the back of his neck and shoulders. Danny was definitely a "skin on

skin" lover.

Without any warning that I could see, he came, slamming up in his

slouching pose and pressing into the mouth, pressing against the

slave’s throat. What also surprised me was how long the save had to

keep swallowing. Graham might be able to cum four times in a row, but

Danny could cum like a hosepipe! After what seemed like a minute but

was only twenty seconds by the video’s clock, he stopped and let the

slave pull his mouth free.

“Not bad, slave boy.” He ruffled the kneeling stud’s hair, but then

reached down to grab and twist an ear. "But let’s talk about that

twenty quid you lost me."

“Master?”

Danny pushed the slave back on to the ground with his foot. Then he

pressed his legs together and patted his lap. "One swat a quid should

do it."

The slave took position over Danny, whose hard cock pressed flat

against his belly.

Danny started his spanking, with his bare hand. He let his hand rest

on the reddenning flesh after each swat. He was caressing the firm,

hot butt below him and this was having a noticeable effect on the

slave’s own cock, or perhaps that was just its being rubbed against

Danny’s leg. After twenty whacks he left his hand lie on the slave’s

arse, with his finger lightly teasing the crack.

Suddenly there was a shout off camera of "shit, man, look at the

time." According to the video it was one thirty or thereabouts. The

slave had plenty of time to get to my office. Obviously they had

other plans of their own, though.

The slave was tossed casually to the floor and the video stopped.

CHAPTER FOUR - LESSONS

There was a knock on the door. I looked up at the clock and saw it

was two o’clock already. Doesn’t time fly when you’re enjoying

yourself?

I opened the door and saw my personal play thing standing there. I

paused for a moment to drink in the scene: his worried eyes, his lower

lip pinched between his white teeth, his grey, baggy sweat shirt with

requisite hood, his matching jogging pants and grubby white running

shoes. It was an outfit designed to conceal his physique as much as

possible. We couldn’t have that, could we?

I stepped out into the corridor; it was deserted apart from the two of

us.

“Take off your top and throw it inside my room,” I told him.

I was quite pleased to see how silently acquiescent he was. It meant

I could move to the more extreme games that much sooner.

He unzipped his shirt, pulled it off and tossed it onto a chair just

inside the room.

“Shoes.”

He loosened his trainers and put them inside the door. I could see

the worry in his face building: was I going to make him strip in the

corridor?

As hot as that would have been, I was as worried that we might be

stumbled upon as he was. However, I did have one more trick I could

play.

“Underwear inspection!” I announced. Glancing wildly up and down the

corridor, the slave tugged loose the bow in the drawstring and dropped

his jogging pants to his ankles and stood there with his hands behind

his head.

“You remember the position. Good,” I reassured him. "Trousers up,

but don’t retie the string."

He soon discovered the downside in wearing baggy clothes. I tugged at

the waistband and slowly pulled the drawstring out. Then I tugged his

joggers into a slightly lower position so that a good inch of arse

crack showed at the rear and a fine line of pubes showed at the front.

It was at risk of falling further at any moment.

“Don’t touch your clothes without explicit permission,” I told him as

I pulled my door shut. “Follow me.”

We went for a walk round the gym building. I nodded greetings to my

colleagues as I passed them, and exchanged quick chats with some of

them. I explained that I was taking Mr Lomas to an assessment room

for a physical but I had a few errands to run first.

As I chatted with them, though, I made sure he drew full attention to

his physique.

I had him stand with his arms by his side, tensing his chest muscles

to show off their perfect forms. Alternatively I would have him push

both hands into his pockets and rub his own cock while I chatted,

apparently oblivious of this student’s perversions, to my friends.

Whenever we were on our own after people left us I would quickly tweak

his nipples, stroke his arse or cock through the joggers, or tickle

his flanks.

By half past two he was hard and the front of his loose joggers tented

forwards oh so lewdly. From the waist up he was blushing scarlet and

the glint of tears was forming in his eyes. Then I led him into an

evaluation room down in the basement.

The room was the usual sterile white of all medical or pseudo-medical

facilities. Most usefully from my point of view was that it was

equiped with our “gait analysis” system: a treadmill, two video

cameras and some bright lights. It also boasted a chained laptop and

a network connection. Over in the corner was a shower cubicle.

I slid the door’s sign from “available” to “in use”. Keeping an eye

on the slave, I pushed it shut but left it unlocked. He gulped.

“Strip.”

He pulled off his joggers, lifting the waistband over his hard cock.

He handed them to me and tracked them with his eyes as I tossed them

into the corner of the room.

“Take the inspection position. Spread your legs to shoulder width.”

He guessed what I meant and stood straight with his hands behind his

neck, his feet apart.

I turned on the bright recording lights and the video cameras and then

turned to face him.

He was so tempting, standing there at my mercy. A length of skipping

rope and some bulldog clips from the stationary cupboard would be all

I needed to have hours of pain-filled fun. But, I reminded myself,

shame was the game we were playing, not torture. Putting that

delicious temptation aside for the moment, I moved on to the main

business of the day.

Taking a bottle of baby lotion I threw it to him. "Oil up. Do your

cock first. Get it hard before you move on to your left leg."

He oiled his cock and rubbed it to hardness as instructed. Then he

moved on to his left leg. During this time of course, his cock

softened slightly.

"Now oil your cock some more until it gets hard again. Then do your

right leg."

And so I kept it going. He alternated oiling his cock and another

part of his body. Hard and soft, hard and soft, his cock went up and

down, slowly building up the pressure to cum in a huge geyser. But

that was part of my plan.

Once he was done I told his to turn side on to the camera so I could

do his back. Of course, after I oiled his shoulders, I oiled his cock

and felt its heat and sensitivity for myself. After I oiled the small

of his back I moved my hands round to his cock again and almost

triggered his orgasm with my first touch. He was starting to whimper

with the need for release.

Then I moved down to his arse. Slowly I started to rub an oily finger

up and down his crack, pausing only to press firmly on his hole. This

really made him squirm so I took my time, keeping him edged but

letting him drip pre-cum. Once I was finished, I didn’t dare touch

his cock again for fear of sending him over the edge.

It was time to let him calm down again. Sort of.

“Stand on that,” I told him, pointing to a wodden step up box in front

of a blank white wall. I turned the still camera on its tripod to

face him. He faced me, his hands hanging limply by his sides. He was

startled when I handed him a javelin.

"Hold it upright, resting on the ground, in your left hand. Let the

right hand loose." Patiently I placed in in the classical "half

relaxed half tensed" pose. I turned off the lights on one side of the

room and the remaining lights caught the oil on his body and gave

great contrast. Each toned muscle showed up in bands of light and

dark. His slowly dropping cock was framed perfectly by his glistening

thighs. I moved the camera and tripod to capture this Greek god from

all sides. Of course, Greek gods don’t usually look quite so scared

about where their images will be shown.

Then I had him stroke his cock a few more times and, as his hard cock

settled down yet again, I changed his pose to the classical javelin

thrower. Whenever you see photographs of statues of this pose the

cameraman is always careful to take the shot from the side with the

forwards leg blocking the view of the penis. I had no such issues, of

course, and soon added a dozen more images to the slave’s portfolio.

Classical statues typically show smaller cocks. This is partly a

reflection of their anatomy and partly because they didn’t fluff

between poses. The slave’s physique could have rivalled

Michaelangelo’s David, but his mighty cock left the famous figure way

behind!

After the javelin I had him stroke up again, just to keep him right on

the edge and then posed him with a discus. By the end of the

photography session, I had three dozen “artistic” shots of the poor,

suffering boy. All of them would add to his suffering if they were

revealed, but none would give the game away.

I put him back to the presentation pose and told him what I was up to

as I teased his cock some more with a freshly oiled hand.

"Tuesday evenings I’m sponsoring an Art Club. Live models posing are

usually outside the budget of all our aspiring artists but this club

will feature you each night in a different pose. I’m going to post a

few posters about the gym and some other public places. Do you have a

favourite pose? I’m quite fond of the contraposto, myself."

“But… but… more people will see me naked. People not in the gym.”

"Yes, but they won’t know you’re a slave. They’ll just think you’re

an exhibitionist. Semimar room four in the bio block, by the way. Be

there for seven."

I think he was going to say some more, but I squeezed very slightly on

his slick cock head and the sensation caused him to tense his entire

body to hold off the cum shot and shut him up.

It was getting on to four o’clock so I had plenty of time to continue

with my fun. I turned the laptop screen to face him and powered up the

virtual stripper application I have on it. Immediately a blond stud

appeared on my screen and started dancing for me.

I offered him a sip of water from a bottle. "I want you to dance for

the camera. I want one hour of video of you strutting your naked

stuff." I gave him another mouthful of water. "You are to stay hard

for that time, so keep touching your cock." Another mouthful. "Make

sure you turn round slowly at least twice during the hour. I want you

to tease the viewer; taunt them with your body." He was near the

bottom of the bottle now. "At various points I will squirt oil onto

you. Rub it on erotically." He finished the bottle.

I tapped a couple of keys and some quiet, tinny dance music started.

He started to move in clumsy imitation of the professional stripper on

my screen. After a few hints and suggestions I got him moving

properly, and after fifteen minutes he was a competent amateur exotic

dancer. We could improve on that later, but he was good enough for my

current plans. His face was a portrait of terror and self-loathng.

That more than made up for any fauls in his dancing style.

I took a squeezy bottle of baby oil and squirted some at him. It

caught the light well and was clearly visible on camera. He paused

for a moment and then started rubbing it in with long, slow movements

of his hands flat against his smooth body, with fingers splayed to

show his muscles’ contours all the more finely.

He glinted beautifully in the light.

Then I squirted some at his groin. He started rubbing it in, with his

hands moving carefully along his long shaft so as not to trigger an

ejaculation. Most, he rubbed into his pubes, scrotum and upper, inner

thighs.

Then I squirted again, onto his upper chest and he started rubbing it

into his already-oiled pecs. He was starting to look “oiled” rather

than just smooth and more like a cheap porn star. Perfect.

I picked up a second squirter and, before he had finished rubbing the

last dose into his chest, I spread my arms wide and shot two squirts

in, a second apart, one onto his abs and the other the side of his

chest. He split his hands to rub in both locations now completely

puzzled as to what I was up to.

“Start to turn round. Slowly,” I told him, "and spread your feet a

bit wider."

As he turned I started squirting again, to places where he couldn’t

reach, and it started to run down his body. As his back was turned I

shot two loads (of baby lotion!) onto the small of his back and

buttocks and watched his hands rub it in.

"Pull your buttocks apart a bit. Make sure the oil goes between

them." He obeyed, though I think I heard a whimper from him.

"Rub it into your crack with your second finger. Nice and slowly.

Don’t turn any more until I say so."

I squirted some more oil just above his arse crack. "Push it in deep.

Bury that finger."

He was dripping in oil now so I told him to start turning again and he

finished his rotation at the thirty minute mark.

I squirted some more at him as he turned to face me and as much as he

tried to rub it in all he was just smearing it about now.

"Keep dancing. Put your left hand behind your neck, stroke with the

right and keep that pelvis thrusting. Feet well apart," I told him

sharply.

“There’s no obligation, of course,” I added. "Just give the word and

we’ll forget the whole thing: naked gym work, art club, gang-bang

fucking, blowjobs galore and the password protection on the web site."

I emphasised the last just a little. He got the message.

I set to work on the web site and the notices for the art club. Let

me tell you that having a virtual stripper dancing on your desktop is

all fine and dandy, but having the real thing to gaze at each time you

look up is altogether more fun.

Finally I told him to stop dancing and let him see the web site in all

its glory. I teased his cock to keep it hard and dripping as I made

him watch he whole thing. For a further hour I got to stroke the hot

stud’s well oiled cock and finger his well oiled hole. I kept him on

the edge for the entire video and photo set.

"Only a couple more duties for you today and then you can go party the

night away," I told him cheerfully as I checked my watch. It was a

quarer to five.

I lifted the laptop off the desk and threw a sheet over it. I patted the

desktop encouragingly. “Lie here, belly up.”

He took position and I tied him into position; his arms and legs

immobilised by the ropes to the desk legs and his head hanging back

over the end. I tucked a small cushion under his neck so he wouldn’t

hurt himself too much. Finally I mounted one video camera to point to

his face and the other to get his body as a whole.

I sat next to his groin and squirted a load more oil into the palms of

my hands and set to gently stroking his cock again, very gently, just

to keep him on the edge.

By five o’clock he was begging to be allowed to cum. I let him talk

ths time, trusting to the camera’s microphone to record his pathetic

monologue:

"You gotta let me cum. Oh, god, I’m bursting. Please, please, let me

cum! I’m gonna die if you don’t let me cum. I’m begging you here."

The camera pointing at his face caught the tension in his expression.

The one on his body recorded the straining of his arms and legs

against their bonds and the desperate thrusting of his cock into my

hand.

There was a knock on the door. The slave’s eyes almost bulged out of

their sockets with the terror of possible discovery. My eyes glanced

to the wall clock. It was five o’clock on the dot.

“Come in.”

The slave’s head snapped up to look at me in confusion and panic.

Connor Richardson, one of the gym goers walked in, wearing jeans,

T-shirt and a broad grin.

“Got your text, coach. Cheers.”

He swung the door shut, locking it this time, and unzipped his jeans.

As he approached the prone slave he unbutonned then and let them drop

to his thighs. He wasn’t wearing any underpants.

“Please, master, may I suck your mmmpphhh…” Connor didn’t wait for

the question to even end before flipping his meat into the waiting

mouth. I turned my attention back to the delights of edging the stud

for as long as possible.

Connor wasn’t much of a conversationalist while having his cock

polished. He gave the occasional grunt but after ten minutes was

clearly ready to let rip.

“Inside or out, coach?” he asked, near the end.

“Out, I think. He’s eaten enough cum for the day.”

“OK nnnnngghhh”

He pulled out just as he came, sending a long ribbon of cum down from

the slave’s chin to his pecs. His second spasm splashed over the

slave’s face and dribbled down the nostrils, making the slave cough

and sneeze.

Connor waddled over to the paper towel dispenser and cleaned himself

up before pulling his jeans up and dropping the towel into the bin.

Then he unlocked the door and came back to where I was sitting. He

took my place teasing the slave’s rigid cock. It was a quarter past

five.

As he sat, Barry Townsend walked in and locked the door behind him.

“Coach,” he said, nodding in my direction. “Hi, Connor.”

“I think you have a question to ask,” I told the slave, tweaking one

of his nipples as best as I could given the oil.

"Please, master, may I give you a blow job?

Barry started to strip off his clothes. He was a swimmer and distance

runner with a long, wiry build and he almost seemed skinny compared to

the stud tied down in front of him.

“Beg,” he instructed.

"Please, master, let me suck your cock. I need your dick in my mouth,

master. Let me suck the cum from your balls…"

“Lick it,” Barry commanded, “real gentle.”

No sooner had the tongue reached the end of the dick than it sprung up

into full hardness. Barry edged forwards slightly and started

slapping the slave’s cheeks with his flesh cosh.

“Oh, you’ve got a great tongue, slave boy. Now do it really gently.”

He put his cock back in front of the slave’s mouth. This time he let

the tongue work him for at least twenty seconds before he started

slapping face again.

"Gently, I said! Jeez, you’re as bad as my girlfriend, always so

eager to pop me. Take your time, will you? Nice and slow."

He stopped slapping and let the slave get back to work. The slave’s

tongue started tracing the veins of the cock, started tapping the

glans with its tip. I don’t think I’d ever seen so delicate a blow

job. I wondered briefly how long he lasted before cumming when he

fucked his girlfriend but then I noticed Connor was neglecting the

slave’s cock and it was starting to soften. I tapped my fingertips on

it a few times and Connor soon had it springing back to full mast. I

didn’t want the slave’s discomfort to ease for a moment. I heard him

whimper.

After a few minutes Barry came. He didn’t just cum a little, but shot

ropes of his sticky goo all over the slave’s face, neck and chest.

He wiped himself down, let another guy in the room and took over from

Connor keeping the slave on the edge of cumming. Connor wiped his

hands clean again and left, nodding to Freddy as he walked in.

And so it went on until nine o’clock. Another sixteen guys got sucked

off, leaving their cum covering the inverted face and then taking

their turn tormenting the slave with hours of orgasm denial. The gym’s

slave was slowly losing his mind as Andy Lomas ceased to exist and was

replaced, blowjob by blowjob, by a cock-crazed sex machine.

When the last man had finished, I let him go without a turn on the

cock. I had been working on the computer all evening, letting my

attention wander between the web site, some dull on-line bureaucracy I

had to get through, and the live show in front of me.

I locked the door and turned back to face the stud stretched out on

the desk, his firm cock still dribbling pre-cum. “One last cock,” I

told him cheerfully as I pulled off my clothes, "and then we can

shower and you can be on your way."

My cock, unsurprisingly, was hard and dripping. As I approached I

heard the question one last time before I pushed in between his tired

lips and back to the soft throat.

I came within five minutes. Frankly I was surprised I hadn’t cum in my

clothes already just from watching the show. “Swallow,” I told him.

I needn’t have bothered; my cock was deep in his mouth and I wasn’t

letting him push me out.

I looked up at his cock. it was still hard, though the dribbling had

stopped. Another ten to twenty minutes should see it going soft again

I thought. I turned back to my work and studiously ignored the slave

tied in front of me.

By half past nine he was soft again and it was time to move on. I

untied him and led him still in his stupor over to the shower and tied

his wrists to the rail. Then I closed the shower curtain as best i

could and turned on the cold water.

That woke him up.

I ignored his scream of shock and let the water run for a full minute,

though I’m sure it felt longer than that to him.

“Get your face under the water,” I told him. "If there’s any cum left

by the time I get in you’ll regret it."

After the full sixty seconds I reached in and added some hot to the

mix. Again the sudden change provoked a howl from my studly

thermometer. Once I was happy with the temperature I stepped in

behind him.

Looking down I saw his cock was quite limp. The orgasm he had been so

desperate for the past half day had been utterly denied.

I soaped myself up under the water and washed the sweat off my body.

The cubicle was cramped and I noticed that he still tried to recoil

from contact with me. The shame still burned on which pleased me

immmensely. There was still more fun to be had. I put on a little

show as I ran my hands over my body, looking for any reaction from

him. He just looked ashamed.

Once I was done with myself I turned my atttention to the muscles in

front of me. I started to soap him up and down, many more times than I

needed to and far more slowly than I had any call to. I avoided his

cock and balls and only fingered his hole a couple of times. I didn’t

want him cumming. Not yet.

He twisted under my touch, flexing as he tried to get away from my

hands. Of course all he did was turn me on even more. But finally I

had him clean as a whistle. I towelled myself off and let him drip

dry for another fifteen minutes, as I washed down the cum from the

desk and floor and gave him his final instructions.

"You’re going to wear your trainers and jogging pants. You can wear

this tee-shirt." I waved a tight mesh tee at him as I made some

strategic snips in its neck line and seams. "Heather Thurston is

having her 20th birthday party tonight in her dorm. You’re invited I

gather. You are to go directly there."

I piled his few clothes in front of him. I put a bottle of wine on

top of the pile.

"It’s ‘bring a bottle’. You won’t drink too much, but you will act a

lot drunker. There will be other guys from the gym there so I’ll know

how you behave."

I stroked the back of my hand over his right pec. He tugged back.

"Between eleven and twelve tonight you will do a strip dance as part

of your drunkenness. You will strip to one song, tearing off your tee

shirt, and stay naked to the next. During the second dance you will

get hard in front of the entire party. You will stay hard during the

third. That’s it. After that you’re free until you get fresh orders

or you suck off somebody else from the gym."

I untied his hands from the bar above his head. He started to speak

but I interrupted him. “Dress. Go. Now.” I pointed to his clothes

and then the door.

It took him less than thirty seconds to pull his clothes on. Then he

grabbed the bottle and ran from the room.

I did indeed have most of his masters from the gym at the party. And

they had cameras.

We had a bet on whether he would be able to get hard without cumming

in front of all those people.

I was betting on not.

(c) Andy Robson, 2007.

The rest of this story can be read at the author’s website

This story could use more ratings!
Please use the controls below to rate this story
Hot
Mind control
Wanking material
Writing
Idea
You've created tags exclusively for this story! Please avoid exclusive tags!