Gymbox 2: New Year, New Me

By lordandmasterinlondon published January 25, 2019

Andy continues his fitness blog as Gymbox begins to rub off on him.

Andy sat down at his computer excitedly, already admiring the firmer feel to his muscles as they strained against his tight wife beater he’d taken to wearing recently. He couldn’t quite remember where he got it, but screw it, he looked hot in it. He liked how it showed off his growing arms, chest and back. Hell, once his belly shrank a little more to reveal the abs he could feel under there it would show him off nicely!

It wasn’t just the gym gains that were going well either. His fitness blog had taken off, he’d practically went viral! Loads of followers just a month in, constantly urging him on, commenting, liking his posts. In all honesty, Andy felt intoxicated by it. Thousands of online fans had been following his journey day by day as he worked to build the perfect body. He even found himself sneaking to the toilets at work, getting hard as he sat in the cubicle constantly refreshing his feed. He wanted more comments, more likes, more fans!

He noticed fairly early on that he seemed to have developed a huge gay following. Some guy on there, another user called LordandMaster had commented a few times, shared some of Andy’s early posts, and man had that driven traffic. First tens, then hundreds, then thousands of gay guys started to subscribe to his blog. At first it had bothered him, but he began to notice that they were the ones who were really making it work for him. They commented, liked and shared more than any**** other demographic. They all wanted Andy to succeed, and tonight he would show them how far he had come in the month since he joined Gymbox.

New Year, New Me: one month in!

Hey guys, thanks for tuning back in! It’s been amazing to see you all follow my progress! I thought I’d post a recap of all I’ve been up to over the last month. I’ve reread all my entries and bloody hell I was such an idiot when I started all this. I’ve come on so far! Not just in my #gainz but in my mental fortitude, diet, way of thinking, everything! I’ve uploaded some before and after pictures for you all to see physical progress, but what I want to talk about now is everything else.

Like, last month when I first started at Gymbox, I said it wasn’t my sort of gym. That’s such bullshit! Now I’ve been going for a month I can tell you there’s no better gym than Gymbox! Coach says once I’ve gained enough definition he’ll let me wear one of their tank tops. There’s even branded wrestling singlets! I’ve seen a few of the massive lads wear those, but coach says a chubby subby lad like me has to lose a lot more fat and gain a lot more muscle before he lets me even touch one. I’ve come to love this place. I guess the thumping music they always have on was annoying the first few days, but that was before I learned how to just not focus on it. I let it thump away in the background, and I end up focusing even more on my reps. I’m lifting more and better as a result. Coach thinks I could get huge! I quite like the dark shady vibe too. It feels seedy and exciting all at once. Who cares that there’s hardly any ladies to look at anyway? It’s probably even helping me concentrate more on my form that I’m surrounded by just blokes.

Talking of the lads, the camaraderie here is amazing. I suppose it would have to be with the conditions the way they are. I guess it’s because it’s getting colder outside, but fucking hell they keep it running hot in here. We’re all sweating together, working hard together, it’s hard not to become mates. Sure, I didn’t think I had much in common with them, but that was before I got to know them. Take Mikey for example. I accidentally drank his water on the first day, not only didn’t he mind, but he’s worked out near me every day since and after I asked him about why it tasted so sweet he told me it was a great hydration solution they put in the fountains here. He fetched me water all the first week, and even poured out the shitty tap water I kept bringing with me. It turns out he even used to work at a similar firm to mine! A rival firm, but fuck it, to have a job like that takes brains. Not that Mikey works there anymore. He just shrugs whenever I ask him what he does now.

Anyway, Mikey is a great bloke. We’re slick with sweat by the end of each workout; the first few days I kept cleaning after myself, wiping down the equipment, but after a few days I sort of stopped. I realised there was no point; we were all soaking with sweat, it was going to get wet anyway. Besides, we’re all men here, nobody gives a damn about a bit of man stink. If I’m being honest, I kind of like it. I’d have to, the gym reeks of it! I don’t mind though; I’ve even come to appreciate my own man musk. I threw out my deodorant a few weeks in. I’d probably stop washing after sessions so I can keep smelling myself in the office after a gym session, but Coach tells me washing is important the first month or so. He says it helps the muscles grow, so as always, I listen to coach!

Coach; he’s the biggest difference of them all! When I read over my old entries, I can’t believe how close I was to quitting. Despite Mikey, despite the great hydration stuff from the fountains, despite the fact I was lifting harder than ever, I nearly canned it in at the end of my first week! I couldn’t write about it then, I was too embarrassed, but now I want everyone to see just how far I’ve come. The journey I’ve made in just a month. Three weeks ago I nearly quit; I remember everything about that day. It was the same day I met Coach.

It was his voice I heard first, that low growl that barked orders as he approached. I didn’t notice the ripple in the room that spread from the first hint of his heavy boots on the gym floor. Had I noticed then, I know what I’d see. Men sitting straighter, pushing themselves harder, being the best they could be for Coach. Everyone wanted to be noticed by him, yearned for it, and yet were terrified of it. A word from coach meant your form was off. Or maybe you weren’t working hard enough. Maybe you’d just caught him whilst he was pissed off and looking to let off steam. Whatever it meant, the attention of Coach was like watching a crash happen. You knew you were screwed, and he’d thrash you hard until you made it up to him. Punish you, punish those around you for letting whatever transgression it was happen. But you also knew you would be better for it. Molded. Improved. Transformed.

I was clueless of this at the time. All I heard was someone barking near the entrance to the free weights room. I paused what I was doing and craned my neck to see what arsehole had come to swing his dick around and prove he’s the biggest meathead in here. That’s when I saw Coach. He was a bear of a man, wide enough to block the entrance to the room, 6’4 if he was an inch. Black leather combat boots shined to gleaming, laced over faded camo trousers, cinched tight with an old British Army PT belt. His top half was barely covered in a tight wife beater, the sort I never wore before. His muscles rippled beneath his top as he prodded a finger into the meaty chest of one of my fellow gym goers, the vest barely holding back the mass of hair that covered every exposed inch of him. The man stood, almost at attention, head hung in shame as Coach berated him, shouting about something to do with form and how he didn’t train pussy bitches. I was too engrossed at the way this beast towered over a man almost as large as he was, far younger than the Coach. How he simply dominated the room with his presence. I was so engrossed I didn’t notice the dumbbell slipping from my lax grasp. It hit the hard concrete floor with a loud clang. Like a scene in a movie, everyone in the room turned to look at me in horror. Slowly, Coach turned.

The man was striking. I’m not someone that checks out other blokes, but there is something about Coach that just catches your breath. He’s too rough to be beautiful or handsome. He is striking. My breath caught in my throat as I caught those deep, dark eyes. I couldn’t look away. Everyone was looking at me, but all I could stare at was the eyes of the Coach as he advanced.

“Who the hell is this fag?” he growled, staring me down as I sat there, limply. My face flushed in shame as I tried to stutter a response, but the coach wasn’t even looking at me for a response. “I said who the hell is he?” Coach roared across the room, glaring furiously.

“Andy, Coach.” Mikey muttered, head down. “He joined just this week.”

The Coach marched up to Mikey. “Double shifts Mikey.” he said, a breath away from the man’s face. “For every day this fag has been in my gym and you’ve not told me. Understand?”

“Yes Coach!” Mikey shouted, eyes forward, body rigid. Straight as an arrow. Not that Coach noticed. He was already rounding on me. I’d been glad of the seconds I had to gather myself. I stood now, shame burning into bright anger. How dare he? Who the hell did he think he was? I was such a fool. He was our Coach, even if I didn’t know it yet.

“Who the fuck do you think you’re speaking to?” I asked, my voice calm despite the simmering rage roiling beneath the surface. The Coach looked me up and down, drawing closer. I’d like to say I stood firm against him, plucky, but in truth he towered above me. I quailed in his shadow, the sheer presence of him making me feel weak, insignificant, beneath him. I expected him to shout, or to swear. To laugh even. What I didn’t expect was for him to keep that same look of fury as his arm blurred, cuffing me on the back of my head.

“You’ll talk when you’re told to, boy,” he spat. I shrank before him, shocked. “Now get down and do fifty.” he pointed at the floor. I couldn’t help myself. Maybe it was the shock, maybe it was the sheer strangeness of the situation, but I laughed.

“Go fuck yourself.” I said as soon as I gathered breath. I turned to walk away. This arsehole can keep his fucking gym I thought to myself.

“Get him boys.” Coach said.

The room blurred as maybe twenty or thirty well-built men grabbed at me. I tried to push through them, but they had spent years sculpting their bodies, and my seven days couldn’t hold a candle to that. I was dragged, yelling every inch, back to Coach. The bear had sat himself on the weight bench I had been using, and motioned to the men holding me. Face burning in shame and fury, I screamed as I was placed over coaches knees. Mikey himself held my hands down, eyes downcast. “Sorry mate, this is for your own good. You’ll understand.” He smiled as if it was a good thing. “Coach will make you better, you’ll see.” He was right.

Of course, then I didn’t appreciate it; that day I swore at Mikey, at Coach, at every man in the room. I don’t think I would have stopped if Coach hadn’t stopped me by roughly yanking down my gym shorts and the boxers below. I was unable to speak I felt so shocked, so violated! Then Coach raised his hand back and gave my arse an almighty smack. The sound rang out, reverberating around the silent room. Again, he struck me, this time on the other cheek. My face burned in pain and shame, but I couldn’t move as his hand came down again and again. Fourteen spanks he gave me, one for each day I’d been at Gymbox on each cheek. He stood up and I half tumbled, half rolled to the floor at his boots, by shorts and underwear still down at my knees. “I said, give me fifty. Faggot.” Calm. Clear. In control.

My arse glowing red, burning with the pain of it, lying there for the crowd of men to see. I’ve never felt so ashamed as I put my hands beneath me, looking for a second like I might push myself up, confront him. But no. My treacherous hands came beneath me and pushed up once. Down. Twice. Down. Three times. In perfect silence I did fifty of my best press ups lying there at Coach’s boots, my arse on show, dick flopping against the floor. As soon as I had finished he marched away, leaving my lying there on the gym floor, tears of shame pricking my eyes. The other lads went back to their workouts. Only Mikey leaned down and helped me up. “He does it to help.” he said quietly, handing me my water bottle. I gulped at it, the sweetness taking the dry parched feeling from my mouth. I slowly and painfully bent back down and pulled my shorts and underwear gingerly over my cherry-red backside. “Sit in the sauna.” Mikey advised, nodding back towards the changing rooms. “It takes the sting right out of it, makes you forget it even happened.” I didn’t say a word. I left, with every eye in the room following me as I fled.

I angrily threw off my gym clothes, forcing them into the locker as I withdrew my towel. I spotted my suit and shirt, hanging there. A reminder that my working day was only half done. My arse burned so badly, I knew I’d have to do something about it before I went back to work. Biting back a whimper as I wrapped the towel around me, I decided to take Mikey’s advice and headed towards the sauna. That wall of heat struck me again as I opened the door. A pungent cloud of sweat, salt and sweetness struck me when I stepped inside. It was dark, taking a few seconds for my eyes to adjust. I stood there, door closed, breathing in the scent. I was thankfully alone. There were usually at least one or two guys in here, I’d spotted several of them wanking. I’d asked Mikey if he’d seen it and he just shrugged and said it was guy stuff and he didn’t really care. I cared. The gym manager still hadn’t dealt with it and I’d complained each time I’d been in. Still. I was alone now. Breathing deeply again I carefully lowered myself onto the bench. I leaned back, enjoying the warm sensation spreading throughout my body, losing myself in the steady thud thud of the music, breathing in the sweet air. I felt the familiar sensation of drifting off. I moved a hand to the bench to adjust my position slightly, when it landed with a dull splat into something thick and gooping on the bench beside me. I startled awake, the calm from moments before vanishing in the hot air. I lifted my hand up to see, smelling the liquid. It was achingly familiar. Shower gel maybe? That’s when it hit me. Some fucker had cum in here! He hadn’t even bothered to clean it up! I knew there had been something I could smell in the air! I stood up, wiping the cum off onto my towel angrily and walked towards the door. I opened it and my heart almost stopped. In front of me was Coach.

Fuck. I wanted to leave, I wanted to get the hell away from this cum-stained sauna, this shitty gym and most of all the absolute bastard standing right in front of me. I was about to throw it all in right then and there. Thankfully, some shred of pride or defiance stuck in me that Coach hadn’t beaten out. There’s no way I’d let Coach think I was running from the sauna just because he was there. He didn’t have a load of guys around now, it was just him. I could sit there, Wait out the heat for five minutes. Show Coach I wasn’t some fag to be pushed around. So I turned straight back round and sat defiantly on the bench. Coach merely nodded in acknowledgement and entered the sauna. His very presence made the room feel smaller. Made me feel weaker. Still, I sat there, trying not to glower at him. He sat in the back of the sauna, shadows wrapping around him. I really had to focus to make all of him out. He was even bigger with just a small Gymbox towel wrapped around his massive frame. His thighs bulged out from under the towel, his muscled ass stretching the small rectangle of material to its limit. Without the clothes I could just make out in the darkness rivulets of sweat running through the thick hair, pooling between his pecs, making his abs glisten. He had his eyes closed, head back on the rest behind him. His beefy legs were spread out, taking up most of that wall of the sauna. His towel hardly covered him as it was; with his legs spread I couldn’t help glance at the dark space between them. I realised with shock that Coach had a massive dick resting against one of his legs, slowly getting hard, just visible in the dim light. That dry feeling in my mouth returned and I quickly turned away, but I could swear I caught the glint of Coach’s eyes watching me from the shadows.

I waited there in tense silence for another minute. Two. The sand in the timer counted down to when I was free to leave, my head held high. Just a few minutes to go.

“Sorry if I was hard on you in there.” came the gruff voice, reverberating deep in my chest. “These lads only respect strength and authority. They were like you once. Out of shape. A bit chubby. Desperate to change.” the beast of a man shrugged. “So I changed them. I pushed them, pushed them hard, but now look at them.” I caught the white of his teeth grinning in the darkness. “I’m hard, but I get results.”

I tried to say something then. I can’t even remember what it was; apologising maybe? Or protesting that he was still too harsh? All I know is whatever I was going to say, the words didn’t even make it to my lips before he cut me off, deftly changing the conversation. “Mind if I?” he nodded at a small leather case I hadn’t noticed him carry in. Speechless, I nodded, unsure of what he was doing. I didn’t even protest as he pulled out a huge cigar from the case and a lighter. I don’t know how he could stand it in this heat, but within seconds his face was lit up by a bright flame as he drew it into the huge stogie, drawing it in deeply. As he lit, his eyes never left mine. There was a challenge there. My pride wouldn’t let me back down. I couldn’t turn away either. I watched in fascination as Coach drew the smoke in, the tip of the cigar glowing brightly in the darkness of the sauna. I watched those firm lips part and blow the smoke out. At first he took just a few experimental puffs, watching me as I stared at the glowing end of the cigar. Then, smiling, he took a deep mouthful of smoke and blew it straight across the sauna at me. Slack-jawed, I watched the smoke drift lazily across the small room. I tasted the heavy flavour of tobacco on my tongue. Smelled the hypnotic scents that drew me in further and further. I even felt the soft smoke caressing my sweat-slicked skin. All the while, Coach stared at me, smiling. He talked too, but I didn’t really notice that. I guess he was explaining why he’d spanked me in front of everyone. He shouldn’t have; I already knew. It had been my fault. I had been to weak. A slightly chubby, subby weakling who disgraced his gym with my presence. But it would be OK. I knew Coach did it because he cared. He punished me because he knew I could do better. Would do better. I knew it better than I knew anything. I would be better for Coach.

As we sat there, the room slowly grew thick with smoke. It lay heavy in the hot air. I could barely breath, but I couldn’t move. Couldn’t look away from Coach’s face as he drew in mouthful after mouthful of delicious cigar smoke and blew it out. I felt dizzy. Faint even. The dull thud of the music thundered on. The hot smell of sweat in the sauna, my own mingled with that of hundreds of other men, grew heady. Even the faint smell of cum added texture to the very air I gulped down eagerly. The thick cigar smoke overlaid it all, drawing me in deeper and deeper. I felt myself slipping, but before I could, Coach was there. Coach sat beside me, let me fall into his thick arms. Let me lie against his meaty chest as I looked up, always looking as he breathed out smoke, talking all the while. Reassuring me, encouraging me. I could barely make him out through the haze, just the glowing amber of the burning tobacco. But it was enough. I knew my Coach was there, looking out for me. With that last thought I slipped into unconsciousness, nestled in Coach’s ripe pit, our towels falling forgotten on the floor.

I came to what must have been seconds later, but it felt like hours. Confused, I was on the weight bench Coach had rightly taken me over the knee on earlier, pushing the biggest stack of weights I ever had. With a grunt I pushed harder, Coach pulling the barbell up and stowing it safely for me. He looked down at me, smiling benevolently. “Doing good boy?” he asked, and I grinned. “The best, Coach.” I said without a moment’s hesitation. After that he walked me to the screens on the main floor of the gym, advertising classes and PTs. I was startled to find I’d been in here for hours longer than I had meant to. Worth it though, to get ripped. He nodded, talking to me as I entered myself into his training programme. It was expensive, but hell, if the other boys were anything to go by it was more than worth it. Coach would transform me.

He already has. Look at those before and after photos guys! Just three weeks under Coach every day and my fat is almost gone, my arms are bigger than I’ve ever seen them and my pecs hurt with how much they’ve grown. He’s amazing! He’s always there to spot when I’m slacking, and pushes me. He’s the one that pointed out that tank tops are much easier to do weights in. They pull less. Same with the jockstraps too. I was hesitant at first, but the other boys swear by them so I’m coming round to the idea. Coach says he’ll give me some if I work my ass off in the coming month.

You’re all amazing, thank you for the shares, the comments, the likes! I’ve had such an amazing journey already, I can’t wait to share my next steps with you all!

Andy grinned to himself as he signed off with a particularly striking picture of him lifting weights with the Coach behind him at the gym, his pecs bulging with the effort. Ok, so he had a lot of gay followers, who could blame him for catering to his audience? Andy wasn’t gay, of course not, but if playing up to it got him more followers he wasn’t above giving them a little something extra. He added the hashtags that he knew were being followed by all the health-conscious guys, and even added in a few gay-friendly ones too. He played absently with his dick as he reread his post. Fuck. Thinking about getting big was making him horny. Andy stuck some porn on the computer and started jacking off. On screen it was two lesbians making out, but Andy couldn’t stop the image of coach’s dark eyes lit up by the glowing cigar floating to the top of his mind when he closed his eyes. Smiling, hard as a rock now, he let himself imagine being back in that sauna with coach…

At another computer, halfway across the City, a notification blinked in an inbox on someone else’s computer. “Good job” was all it said. Reading it, he took a long slow pull on his cigar and blew the smoke down where Mikey crouched, choking on his cock.

“Soon.” Coach said with a grin. “Soon.”

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