A gay story: Gym Buddy Ch. 02 Stunned after my encounter with Brock, I laid low for a couple of days. I remember slipping out of his apartment around 3 or 4 AM, exhausted and reeking of his seed. I’d lost count of the number of times he had fed me another load of semen or bathed my face with his ejaculate. I could feel his DNA drying on my face, in my hair, and could taste it in my mouth, could feel it congealing in my belly. It had invaded my mind, as well, and I sure as hell didn’t want anyone to see it.
Too afraid to be caught in the elevator, I conducted my walk of shame toward the stairwell and down the couple of floors to my modest apartment. I went straight to bed and, too numb for anything else, curled up in a ball under the covers. About an hour later I woke up with the realization that, while I’d been present for half a dozen or more of his orgasms, I hadn’t had one of my own.
Still hidden in the secret fortress under my covers, the ever-present scent of his cum still surrounding me, I pictured his cock and masturbated furiously, coming within a few seconds. I’d never even thought of eating my own cum before, but there under the covers, I didn’t even think twice while slurping down my own semen. I was disappointed by the flavor — I fell back asleep ashamed of what I’d just done, and fell asleep with the terrifying thought – Brock’s cum tasted much, much better.
For the next few days, I avoided the elevators and public areas as much as possible — not because I didn’t want to see him, but because I knew in my heart-of-hearts what my reaction would be. While I was ashamed and humiliated to be so thoroughly encrusted by his essence, deep down inside I knew that if I was to see him, it was highly probably that I’d be a willing participant in repeating the whole process again.
I proved myself right about that — as the days passed, the embarrassment of sneaking out of his apartment crusted in his drying seed faded, but the thrill and arousal of our encounter grew bolder and bolder in my mind. I realized it was silly to use the stairs all the time and returned to using the elevator. I hadn’t seen Brock in all this time, but my thoughts constantly drifted towards the time we’d spent together. By the time a week had passed, I was steeling myself to return to the gym. Well — my cock was becoming steely thinking about it, anyway.
Apparently, my mind was adjusting too. I absent-mindedly found myself browsing for new athletic wear — but nothing like what I was used to wearing. I found myself ordering a cut-off shirt in the wife-beater style, with matching hip-hugging shorts. I didn’t quite have the confidence to select pink, my cowardice and/or fear making me chicken-out. I choose a red-orange color instead. When they arrived, I immediately tried them on, parading in front of the mirror for an hour, with my brain returning over and over again to the same singularly-focused thought… “Will HE like them?”
There was only one way to find out.
Dressed in street clothes and desperately clutching my workout bag, I finally found myself doing the most difficult exercise ever — opening the door to our community gym. Inside, like the proverbial potted plants, were the same two old biddies I’d seen the last time I was here, yapping away while pretending to use the treadmills. I ignored the smirks on their all-knowing faces as I passed by them to the changing room. One of them picked up her phone as I passed by, probably checking the time to see if “Wheel” had started yet. Ignoring them, I went to the locker room and quickly changed into my fancy new workout clothes, while hopelessly trying to will my boner to go away. I looked at myself in the changing-room mirror — these clothes were a better idea when I was alone in my apartment, but wearing them here made me feel so…
For the first time since our night together, the name “Frannie” flashed through my mind. I hadn’t thought that, not even once, while mincing around my apartment – but here in the gym, the name washed over me like a tidal wave.
I tried to ignore that thought, and everything that went with it, going straight to the free-weights room to work out. I needed the distraction of physical exertion to quash my thoughts. It didn’t help. I intentionally used the 5-pound dumbbells again, I didn’t want to over-do it, but I tried to get into the zone anyway.
After a few minutes, the twilight realm of my own secret thoughts was disturbed by the opening of the door, and that deep baritone voice. “Hey, Mary, Eleanor, how’s it ‘goin?” I froze, a chill running down my spine. I didn’t have to turn and look. It was Brock. He made a tiny bit of chit-chat with the ladies, then I saw him head toward the changing room out of the corner of my eye. I had to force myself not to look as he went by. It was hard.
So was I.
The next minute or so was a bit of a blur. A big part of me was terrified. I wanted to run, to get out of there, to be somewhere — anywhere — else, but I rationalized that I’d have to go get my street clothes and keys out of the locker room, so my brain just froze while my hands idly worked the weights. I could feel myself begin to sweat, not because of exertion… but fear. Fear…. Or was it anticipation?
All too soon the door opened, and Brock emerged. Same desert-tan military-style shirt, same simple red shorts. I tried so hard not to look but I could see the curve of his manhood pushing against the right leg of the thin nylon fabric. A shock of adrenaline rushed through me as I recognized his cock hanging to the right, and it seemed to be at least at half-staff already. I didn’t have to look to know I’d find nothing under those red shorts besides his ample member.
“Hey Frank, how’s it ‘goin?”
I tried to be cool. “Hey, Brock, what’s up?” It was a stupid question, but I was amazed and taken off guard by the movement in his shorts. My question made his cock flutter, as if to show me exactly what was “up”. The tenting of his right leg became even more obvious. “Same as always, ya know.” He smiled, confidently picking up the 30-pound dumbbells and working them like they were marshmallows.
I was distracted by noise and movement from the machine-room. The older ladies were dismounting the treadmills, and, confident to roam the hallways in their Lula Roes, headed to the gym exit. One of them turned and called out to Brock. “Have fun, Sweetie.” He looked over his shoulder and called back to her as the door began to close. “Don’t worry, hun… I will.” The door closed with an ominously loud click.
We were alone.
I didn’t know what to do. When he turned his head, nervous and scared, I set down the 5-pounders and slipped over to the weight bench. The barbells didn’t look very heavy, so I tried to do a few bench presses. Brock was somewhat ignoring me while he worked the dumbbells, but after a few reps it was obvious that I was over my head. He lowered his weights and came over to the bench. “Let me spot you, Frannie, ya don’t want to get hurt.” I noticed it didn’t take long for him to use the new name he’d made for me.
I realize I’d set myself up for this, but it happened so fast! Before I knew it, he was standing above me, his hands on the weights, him looking down at me. The ripple in his shorts had grown rather obvious as if his cock was remembering the time I’d spent working on it and was anticipating further joy. As I pretended to work the weights, he pretended to spot me, almost casually shifting his left foot back and his right foot forward so that his increasingly erect cock was completely in my view.
He let the weights down and I struggled to work them up. When I bothered to take my eyes off his penis, I could see his upside-down face smiling at me. “New outfit, Frannie? Kinda sexy.” On the next downward rep, he let the weights gently rest against my chest, while sliding his right leg — and his cock — closer to my face. The tip of his dick brushed my cheek, leaving a streak of wetness when I turned my head. He smiled and lifted the weights a bit, at the same time lowering his wet cockhead so it pushed against my cheek again. “Someone misses you,” he said in a low, sultry voice. I could feel his cockhead pulsing lightly, its warmth against my cheek. “Say Hello.”
I didn’t resist, I didn’t hesitate, I just… I just opened my mouth, turned my head. His cockhead slid into my mouth as if it belonged there all this time, and I was just waiting to make it happy again. I could feel it swell and expand slightly as my mouth engulfed it, and the subtle sigh of satisfaction from his sharp intake of breath reawakened all those pent-up feelings laying just below the level of my consciousness.
It happened so fast, but just like that, his cock was in my mouth again. All other pretenses fell by the wayside. I was overwhelmed by the sensations, the hard yet spongy feel of it, the sight of his shaft and the low-hanging nuts dangling right in my eyes. I could feel more than taste, the thick drop of nectar that had already gathered at the tip, precum with a promise of more to follow.
Even more than that, there was his hot-man smell, which was heady and strong, intensified by the fact that his gym shorts had made a tent over my face and my entire world was thin red fabric shielding his cock and balls from the world around us. It was so surreal — so real, so intimate. I barely noticed that Brock returned the weights to their cradle while lowering more and more of his hardening shaft into my welcoming mouth.
For my part, the transition from innocent (yet dressed for the part ) gym member to blatant cocksucker seemed to take only a minute. My hands, still on the barbells, now pulled myself up as, without thinking, I worked to get more and more of his cock into my mouth.
Brock laughed and took a step back. His cock had hardened significantly in the few seconds I’d had it in my mouth, and I watched it retreat with sadness as he adjusted his shorts to cover it again. The overhead lights splashed into my eyes and his cock was gone from view. “Let’s take this somewhere more private.” I could feel the adrenaline rush hit me. I was scared and nervous, but it was what I wanted too. “Lemme quick get changed,” I said as I headed for the locker room.
Brock just laughed again, that confident, deep chuckle that scared me. “You’re fine just like that. Grab our gym bags and let’s go.” My eyes grew wide and I turned to look at him. He smiled that cocky smile and smacked my ass. The noise of the sharp crack startled me more than the actual contact with my ass.
“Move it, Frannie!” was all he said.
I moved it.
I hurried into the locker room where I found both our bags right by the door, as if a hasty exit was already planned. Hustling to get them, I joined Brock as he was opening the door. He let me pass him on the way out, and again he put his hand in the small of my back as he ushered me out. The significance of this wasn’t lost on me, my cock hardened even more, and I felt more and more like…
That thought was interrupted as his hand slid down to cup my ass and press me out into the hallway.
I almost ran face-first into Eleanor, one of the older ladies who’d been on the treadmill earlier. She took the whole scene in in an instant — me carrying both bags, Brock’s escorting hand on my ass, she probably even saw the tenting in both of our shorts. She tittered as only a judgemenal old lady can. “I left my water bottle on the treadmill,” she smiled, rather smugly. “You boys have a good day now. Be safe.” I could feel my face turn red as a beet.
I was too dumbfounded to speak, or even to move. Brock’s hand on my ass pressed me forward so I had to take a step. “Thanks, Ellie. See ya later. Appreciate the call.”
Call? I couldn’t process it, didn’t have time. Brock’s fingers sinking deeper into my ass flesh as he pressed me out into the hallway. Fortunately we made it into the elevator before Ellie returned, as I didn’t want to explain why Brock only pressed the button for his floor. Alone in the elevator, I must’ve looked like a deer in the headlights. I mean, it was pretty obvious what was happening, but the suddenness of it hit me with a surreal intensity and I didn’t know what to do or say.
Brock knew. He reached down to the hem of his shorts and lifted them, his cock springing free so that I could get a really good view of it. I dropped the bag in my right hand and reached for it hungrily, but he shook his head, and I found myself dropping to my knees and engulfing his heated member.
I had been too scared to leave my apartment for a week in case I ran into Brock — and not only did I do just that, but less than ten minutes later, his hard cock was already headed toward the back of my throat!
From the anticipation or the antics at the weight bench, Brock was already pretty stiff, and there was a familiarity about the heat, scent, and feel of his magnificent cock that just felt.. right.
All too soon, the elevator slid to a stop at Brock’s floor. I moved back, letting his cock slip from my lips as I started to rise. We made eye contact as Brock corrected me. “Put me away first, Frannie.” I fumbled to stretch the gym shorts over his raging erection as the doors were already sliding open. I was thankful no one was there to witness it, because they’d have gotten an eyeful of me, on my knees, mouth covered in saliva, fumbling to stretch thin gym shorts over an enormous, wet boner, as I looked nervously up, desperate to please an older, erect man.
Brock picked up his gym bag and retrieved his keys, dropping the bag at my feet, clearly indicating it was my responsibility to pick it up. “Let’s get moving,” he said, shifting his hips forward so that his thinly clad cock brushed against my cheek, “This cock isn’t going to suck itself!”
I was terrified by what he was saying, but transfixed with wonder by the almost casual way his covered penis just slid across my face. I could see a dark stain forming where the fabric of his shorts barely contained his dancing cockhead.
He stepped halfway out of the elevator, and once again, put his hand in the small of my back to assist me as I exited the car. As I did, his fingers slid down to my ass again and he grabbed a handful and squeezed. “You sure got a cute little bubble butt,” he smiled, “but we’re going to have to do something about those clothes. Let’s go.” I found myself ushered into the hall and was once again grateful that it had no one else in it but Brock and I.
We covered the distance to his doorway in silence, his hand gently manipulating my ass the whole time. I could feel my cock was as hard as it could get, but I forced my brain to not think about what was going to happen. He unlocked the door and ushered me inside without ever removing his hand from my ass until after we were inside.
Turning, he closed the door behind us, and once again the click of the lock as he sealed us inside echoed louder in my mind than reason said it should.
We were alone in his apartment together. This time I knew it wasn’t just “a beer between new friends.”
After securing the door and hanging his keys on a shelf, Brock turned to face me. I just stood there like a deer in the headlights. It’s not like I didn’t know what was going to happen, more or less, but I was unable to do anything.
He took my face in both hands, and, in a move that surprised all of my expectations, he pulled me close to his face and kissed me, forcibly thrusting his tongue deep into my mouth. I was so startled by this — I’d just had the man’s dick in my mouth in a public elevator, but his kiss was so personal and so intimate on a level I was completely unprepared for. I vaguely recall letting the gym bags fall to the floor, but my arms just hung impotently by my side as this man used his tongue to invade my mouth.
After a moment of this — it could have been ten seconds or ten minutes, I can’t recall, he let go of my face and his hands roamed my shoulders and back. He took my new orange workout shirt in his hands and pulled. My eyes widened as he ripped the shirt right off of my back, taking a step back and discarding the garment at our feet.
“Much better.” He ran a hand over my naked, hairless chest, then reached over to a wall shelf by the door and selected a different keyring off of it. “Give me your keys.” As I turned and bent down to get them out of my gym bag, I felt his hands all over my ass again, but was still surprised when he ripped my gym shorts off of me and tossed them with the tattered shirt. Speechless, I handed him my keyring, and he quickly looped the keyring he’d selected onto my ring. He held the entire rig up by the new key and explained. “Now when I call you, you can come straight here. Use this key to get in. Never, EVER take it off of the rest of your keys, I want this on your person 24/7. Except for when you’re here, that is.”
I examined the new addition to my keyring. It was a pink metal key with the “Barbie” logo on the key head, attached to a large key fob made of pink plastic with the “Barbie” image — except her mouth was open in an obviously obscene manner! It even had a pretty pink tassel on it, as if it hadn’t called enough attention to itself already! I numbly accepted this new part of my life, and just stared at it in shock. Now I had to carry this with me wherever I went!
I must have just stared at it for too long. Brock asked “Got it, Frannie?” I just nodded. He repeated himself, just a little louder. “You Got That, Frannie?” I was somewhat amazed and startled that my reply came without thinking. “..y..yes, sir… ”
He smiled. “Good. Take your bag to the back bedroom, I’ve laid out a few things for you. Put them all on and get back out here.” Still too stunned to even ask questions, I stammered “…y…yes, sir,” again and headed down the unfamiliar hallway to the back bedroom. I was astonished to see a nameplate on the door that said “Frannie” in pink, flowing letters, complete with little hearts to dot the lowercase i and fill the gaps in the letters a and e.
“Oh. My. God. What. Have. I. Got. Myself. Into??”
I gently opened the door.
At this point, I think I would have been less shocked to find an anime girl dangling from the ceiling. The entire room seemed to be a bright barbicore pink, from the walls to the curtains to the bedspread. I took two steps into the room, and the door closed behind me. Despite the bright pink colors, it was pretty dark, so I switched on the light — a soft pink glow came from the pink light bulbs in the pink dream-house chandelier. Even the little dresser was pink. The entire room was so fucking pink it was hard to navigate in it. I almost tripped over the pink high-heels on the pink carpet next to the pink canopy bed. On it was an arrangement of clothes, naturally, all pink.
Totally overwhelmed by the pink immersion, I turned and sat on the edge of the bed, being careful not to rumple the array of clothing. My eyes were instantly drawn to the only thing in the room that was not pink. A large, 11×14 black frame hung on the wall by the mirrored door. There, in meticulous fine detail, was an exquisitely focused, black and white picture of Brock. Well, I knew it was Brock, but it was an extreme close-up of his partially hard cock and furry balls. The balls hung, large and pendulous in the background, slightly out of focus in the bokeh, but the cockhead was in crystal clear focus, complete to the dimples, veins, and pores, with a glistening drop of precum barely seeping from the slit of the nearly erect member.
The picture was obviously there to contrast the pink of the room with the obvious purpose of the entire setup — I was here to worship this penis and he’d placed a photo of it next to the door in my room like a priest would put a cross on their wall to remind them of their calling.
This was my calling.
I startled again — I’d been in this room for less than a minute, and I had just thought of this place as “my room”. It was like living inside a bottle of Pepto!! Still, as I sat there in my dream-house, I stared at the picture of Brock’s cock and …
I wanted it.
That realization sobered me a bit, and seeing the picture of his most intimate part reminded me of his last command. I removed my shoes and socks and stood to take off my underwear. I put them, along with my new key ring, in my bag.
My modest cock bobbed to attention as I stood naked in the cool of my room, and I knew that at least a part of me was flattered, or at least aroused, by all this attention. He’d done this – all of this… for me? I had to reward him — or at least obey.
I dressed as quickly as I could, which was, to say, not quickly at all. I had no idea of how to best manage lace pink panties over my hard cock — until I discovered they had a pouch which kept what little I had snug against my body. After that came a padded pink bra, pink fishnet stockings, a pink camisole fringed with white fur trim. Finally, I sat down and tried to put on the pink high-heeled pump shoes.
I awkwardly stood and fumbled toward the door. In the pale pink light I caught sight of myself in the mirror. I looked like a freak. “I can’t go out there like… like… this.” I almost began to take it all off when I noticed the top of the dresser, complete with all kinds of accessories.
The hardest part (other than my dick, which was now uncomfortably hard in the confining pouch of the panties) was picking up the lipstick. Of course, it was pink, and I puckered my lips in the mirror and applied a whorish amount. I smacked my lips together, thinking “Better.”
I turned back toward the door, and I saw myself again. Not yet. My eyes caught sight of a long, blonde wig hanging from a hook on the corner of the bed. Obviously, Brock had put that there, so I put it on. Stumbling toward the door, I again paused to take in the view. I wasn’t “passable” in the least, but the change was humbling, humiliating, and complete.
Again, I gently opened the door.
Frannie stepped out to play.
I clomped down the hallway to the living room. I could see Brock’s head and shoulders as he sat in a recliner, facing away from me, watching a NASCAR race that had just started on the TV. He almost certainly heard me trying to hoof my way in these damn shoes, but he didn’t turn to recognize me. I came around the edge of the couch and stood before him. He didn’t look up from the TV. He still had his desert-sand t-shirt on, but his red gym shorts were laying neatly on top of his gym bag by the locked door. His cock was fairly flaccid, draped casually over his right leg, but as I stood there, my eyes were drawn to it. I didn’t notice the race on the TV, nor the furnishings, nor even the rugged, almost handsome older man sitting in his chair.
I was mesmerized by his growing cock.
I knew it was growing … it was growing for me.
I stood there, drinking in the moment, just watching his cock harden and lengthen as it lay across his leg, the head darkening as the shaft filled with lust and pushed it forward, bit by bit. When it finally became erect enough, the head rose from its resting place and began to throb, keeping time with his heartbeat as it grew. It rising up like that finally prompted me into action, and I took a step toward him. He shook his head no, almost imperceptibly, eyes looking down toward the floor.
I dropped to my knees and crawled the rest of the way toward him. When close enough, I reached out to touch it. Again, with the subtle “no”, so I crawled the additional steps closer to him, putting my hands on his knees instead. Despite all my fears, despite all the humbling and humiliating dress-up, and now being made to crawl, I was completely delighted that my touching his knees made his cock jump noticeably, and a drop of precum emerged from the tip.
I stuck out my tongue and intercepted it before it reached the leather of the chair. The clear liquid was warm, thick and almost flavorless, yet it felt like nectar of the gods to me as I hungrily and noisily slurped it into my mouth.
I parted my whorish pink lips and opened my mouth, moving forward again so I could take his cock. He flexed his stomach muscles, and his cock stood straight up, temporarily out of reach of my seeking lips.
“Ask,” was all he said.
I could feel my stomach drop at the same time my cock lurched inside the lace confinement. The entire situation became alarmingly clear for just an instant. Here I was, dressed like a sissy, on my knees in front of a man old enough to be my father, my lipstick-plastered lips wide open, crawling to him, ready to suck his cock… and he wanted me to beg for it.
Despite the humiliation, I didn’t hesitate — I couldn’t. I wanted it so badly.
“p.. p.. please…” I was barely able to make words, “let me… let me suck you.” His cock stayed rigidly against his stomach, and I knew that I did not yet have permission. I tried again. “c…can I please suck your cock… p…. please, sir?” I could see him smile, and he relaxed his muscles. His cock flopped forward, sliding against my cheek and leaving a wet, snail-trail of thick, viscous precum down the side of my face.
“Begin.”
I took half a second to look one more time at his dick, before I began my worship. Less than an inch away, it bobbed urgently at me, as more clear fluid oozed from the tip. I inhaled deeply, drinking in his scent. While not unclean, it was obvious he hadn’t showered in a few hours, and his manly musk filled my nostrils and inflamed my desire. Without thinking about it any longer, I again opened my mouth and took his penis deeply into it, my tongue circling the head as if I was taking a victory lap at the start of what I hoped would be a 500-mile race.
I was rewarded with another dollop of thick fluid, but even more rewarding was the soft sigh from Brock as his cock surged happily harder in reaction to my warm, wet, hungry mouth.
He put his hands on my wig-covered head, not really pulling me closer, just letting me know where I stood… or knelt… in his world. Finally, now that his cock was ensconced in my sucking mouth, he spoke. “That’s it, Frannie… suck Daddy’s cock.” ‘Daddy’ was new to me but it fit the entire situation. I took him deep, relishing the length and hardness of him as he became more and more erect. I could feel his hips rise slightly in reaction as I practiced my talent. He drew in a sharp breath. “That’s my good girl. You look so cute, Frannie.” I moaned in thanks, and took a couple deep breaths. All I wanted to do right now was suck his cock and make him happy.
Trying my best to relax, I took him as deep as I could until I began to gag — then urged myself to go a little deeper. I couldn’t do it, and I released most of his cock and worked on the swollen glans for a bit. Suddenly, Brock pulled me close to him, and I relaxed just in time for his head to snake its way into my throat. I felt his balls on my chin as they tensed up and I was driven with the urge to drain them. I gagged around his thick shaft and did my best to stick my tongue out to bathe his large, hairy nuts. As his firm hands pulled me tighter, I had an epiphany. If I was to choke to death right here, right now, this was the way I’d want to go.
Brock, of course, had longer range plans in mind, and released enough of me that I could breathe through my nose. I thanked him by circling my tongue around his cockhead again and again, and I timidly brought up a hand to cradle and massage his bull balls. He didn’t object, so I lovingly squeezed them as I dove back down, this time taking his full shaft without help. I could feel his nuts lift themselves out of my hand and his shaft started to pulse.
“Oh, god, not already?” was my thought as he began to cum. His cock danced a merry tune in my throat as his hot seed blasted from the tip. Kind enough to reward me (or cruel enough to paint me) he pulled his spurting member out, a squirt or two landing on my tongue, and the last few drops smearing my lips and dripping from my chin with his chunky, thick seed.
As I rocked back to my knees, I could see his cock, the base of it covered in gaudy pink lipstick, the tip of it still drooling a gob of fresh sperm. Of course, I went after the tasty cum first, hoping he wouldn’t mind my milking his shaft with my hand that was still cradling his now-drained nutsack. I then licked at his cockshaft and pubes trying to get the pink lipstick off of him as best I could.
Finally, he pushed my head back. “Go fix yourself, you look like a whore. Come back and sit on the couch like a good girl.”
I went back to my room (yes, MY room!), working on my walk in those heels. As I straightened my wig and makeup, I thought to myself that I should make Brock some lunch.
My eyes widened. What have I become?