APOLLYON—pt3 “A Shower with Rook”
By Absman420@aol.com
One rep.
My first day in an exclusive, private gym—my first dose of some unexplained super-steroid—my first workout under its influence—my first time in a true communication with my own masculinity—a feeling guaranteed to last until orgasm—and I shot my load on the very first rep.
It was so humiliating, I just wanted to change my clothes and get the hell out of there. Worse that I’d soaked two pair of underwear with cum since I’d arrived. And if I’d heard these guys say the phrase “perfectly normal” one more time, I would’ve screamed—though there was some relief buried in “we all have the same fantasies.”
At that point, all I could do was HOPE everyone had the same fantasy, but stained from my own orgasm—TWICE now—part of me couldn’t help but feel paranoid. What if this was all some kind of big joke on me? What if these monster bodybuilders were all just making fun of me? Where was the camera hidden?
One rep. Too humiliating.
So, I was there at my locker changing when another guy came in. One of the three guys who’d been at the military press a few minutes ago, the smaller of them—who was only small COMPARED to them. Compared to me, he was much bigger—twenty pounds, at least. Handsome and athletic, he moved with the physical grace that I largely lacked, and his musculature was only accented by the wrestling singlet that he wore.
The wrestling singlet that was now soaked with HIS cum, a giant wet-spot over the crotch.
He saw me looking and spoke, indicating the stain. “See what you made me do?” Then, before I could respond, he laughed. “Damn, I wasn’t ready for you to start shootin’—it drove me completely over the edge. Don’t think I’m not gonna pay you back, fucker.”
I didn’t know HOW to respond. I sputtered, “I’m... sorry, man,” and increased the pace that I was undressing. I wanted to get the fuck out of there, maybe never come back.
“What are you sorry about?” he asked, walking to his locker (and not so much lockers as changing areas, remember)—the one across and catty-corner to me—pulling the shoulder straps of his singlet down as he approached. “I’M the one who lost control.” Then he looked like he was quoting something, like it was diligently memorized and recited, like a second-grader, “’A man is responsible for his own orgasms. Lose control, get what you deserve.’ That’s the rule of thumb around here.”
“There are a lot of rules of thumb around here,” I said, continuing to undress.
He chuckled, pulling the singlet down to his ankles in one yank, exposing his post-orgasmic, self-satisfied cock, plump and wet with his cum—exactly like mine. “Don’t worry,” he said. “You’ll learn ‘em all. You won’t advance to the next until you’ve shown you know the one you’re on.” He folded his singlet around itself and tossed it into his gym-bag. “Trust me. I can’t even get past learning everybody’s names.”
I looked at him in surprise, at the twenty pounds he easily had on me—though about the same height, and we had similar structure—and asked, “You’re new? How long have you been here?”
“A month. A little over a month, about five weeks. Hell, I was smaller than you when I joined—I was a skinny little fuck—but look at me now.” He hit a front double bis—Bam!—smiled, and quickly flicked his eyebrows.
I was standing there, half-dressed, doing nothing because I was just awed and incredulous—two naked men facing each other, one flexing. “You were my size—a month ago?” I asked.
He shrugged in that same off-hand way that Brad did, and he said, “I was smaller ‘n you.” Then he sort-of looked himself over, often using the mirror, gently flexing and turning to different angles. “I’ve put on about twenty-five pounds since then—about four, five pounds a week.”
I mean, don’t get me wrong, he wasn’t huge, nowhere NEAR the size of Brad, or any of the other guys I’d seen, but at least as big as a well-sized professional athlete, as well-built as any competitive natural bodybuilder, as cut as those fitness guys. “In a month?” I asked again. “You’ve gone from my size to your size in a month?”
“Buddy, I was smaller ‘n you.”
And that statement just unleashed all these questions from me. I don’t know where they came from, but they just poured out of me, almost rapid-fire. “Oh my God, how do you handle that? I mean, how do you deal with real life? The people you work with? Your family? Your buddies? What do you tell your wife, or your girlfriend? How do you explain...?”
He held up his hands in one of those “whoa, whoa” gestures, palms flat to me. He had a curious smile on his face. “Wow,” he said. “They’re right. You’re just like I was—full of questions, full of fear—but I got over it. I took responsibility for my desires—you will, too. Just like me, you’ll tell the people in your life the simple truth: you’ve always wanted to be big, you’ve always wanted to be huge, you’ve always wanted to be a freakin’ monster, and you’re gonna do whatever it takes to get there. And if they don’t like it—feh! Fuck ‘em. It’s your life. The only person you gotta please is you. And the only way you’re gonna please you is to get huge, like you’ve always dreamed about.”
And he was right. How did these guys all know that? It’s like they were reaching into the very depths of my fantasies and pulling the truth right out into the open, right into the light of the examination table. They read me like a cheap, dime-store novel—they took me apart like a poorly constructed story in a web-based writing group.
Was it possible that what everyone was saying had truth? DID they all have the same fantasy? DID they all dream of becoming muscle freaks, the same as me? Have I been brought into a fraternity of like-minded fellows?
I nodded then, in a gesture of acquiescence, I guess, almost confession. “You’re right,” I said. “I wanna get big.”
He smiled and reached out, putting his hand on my shoulder. “I know,” he said, looking me in the eye. “We ALL do. And now you’re gonna. And nothing’s gonna stop you.” Then he pointed to my naked crotch and said, “Except your dick. You’re fuckin’ dick will betray you every time. But they got ways of helpin’ you with that, too.” Abruptly, he broke contact and turned around. “And now, cause there’s nothing else to do for twelve hours, I’m gonna take a shower and get out of here. How about you? What’s your name?”
“Oh,” I said, and offered him my hand before I realized what I was doing. “I’m Jeff. Jeff Strong.”
We shook, and he returned, “Hey, Jeff. Nice to meet you. Guys around here call me Rook, short for Rookie—not something I’m proud of, but it’s the first time in my life that I’ve had a nickname, so I’m trying to cultivate it—I like it.”
And then another voice broke in, which surprised us both. We snapped our heads toward the sound to see Brad, standing huge in the doorway. “Well, I’m glad to see you two have officially met.” He smiled, walked to us—his massive thighs rolling around each other—and joined us at the lockers. Rook and I realized we were still holding hands, and we pulled apart.
“Hey, Brad,” said Rook, nodding slightly.
I was a little more embarrassed. After all, I had just inadvertently cum in front of the man. “Brad,” I mumbled.
“Hey, Rookie,” he said in greeting, tapping Rook on the chest with the back of his hand, then turned to me and with the same hand, grabbed the side of my neck and the base of my skull, like I was nothing more than a puppy that needed to be trained. A huge smile broke out on his face, and he couldn’t contain his own laughter. “One fuckin’ rep, dude!” he yelled, like he was reacting to some low-brow comedy, repeating the punchline over and over. “One fuckin’ rep!”
I looked down, anywhere but in his eyes. “Thanks a lot, man.”
“Dude, dude, dude,” he said, releasing my head, “don’t be all hurt. I’m just kiddin’. We ALL had our first time, bro. Hell, wait’ll you meet Ron—he’s the biggest fucker in here. HE didn’t even make it out of the locker room.” He looked at Rook curiously. “How far’d you get?”
Rook smiled, almost proud of himself. “I made it to my third set.”
“Yeah,” Brad snorted, like he discounted Rook’s statement. “But weren’t you like, some repressed virgin or something, super pee-shy, insecure and shit? I mean, you were a fuckin’ twig when you joined, man. You must’ve never gotten laid.”
Rook shrugged, still smiling, stroking his own torso. “THAT’S certainly changed,” he said.
Brad rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.” Then he turned back to me. “Give a guy twenty pounds of muscle and he thinks he owns the bar. So here’s the deal, you two: we talked about it out there and decided we want you boys to hook up for a while. Big Brother him, Rookie,” he said to Rook, indicating me. “Show him the ropes.”
Rook gave in immediately. “Okay, Brad. My pleasure to obey the bigger men.”
“As you should,” Brad said. “Now hit the showers. I wanna talk to Strong for a minute.”
“Okay,” Rook said, and with barely more than a glance to me, he spun around and headed off.
Brad studied me as I stood there, naked again before him. He was so huge. Now I admit, I haven’t seen many competition-sized bodybuilders in real life, but if Brad was indicative of what these guys truly looked like, I wouldn’t mind seeing more. (Hell, I wouldn’t mind BEING one, as impossible as that seemed.) “He’s a good guy,” Brad said, referring to Rook. “You boys’ll get along good.”
“He... he seems it.”
“Look, Strong, this is gonna be real good for you. You’ve stepped into a pretty deep pool here and it’s gonna be helpful to have someone show you the way. Trust him, trust us, and you might even get to be bigger than me. You might even challenge your way right up to the top, right up to Ronny—that’s our hope, anyway. With luck, it’ll be yours, too.”
Just as I was about to answer, even if I didn’t know what the answer was going to be, we heard a scream from the gym floor, deep and guttural, shaking from lack of control. “Sounds like somebody lost it,” Brad said. Seconds later, the big black guy, the man I’d briefly seen riding the stationary bike before I blew it on my first set, bigger than even Brad, came into the locker room, his baggy sweats dripping with sweat. A tell-tale wet-spot soaked his crotch.
“Fuckin’ abs,” he said to Brad. He didn’t even glance at me. “I blow it on abs every fuckin’ time.”
Brad laughed. “That’s why I never do ‘em!”
“That’s why you don’t got these.” The man pulled his sweatshirt off, revealing his torso to us both. Dense with muscle, but sculpted by a carving tool, his abs were a work of art, chiseled and clean, not an ounce of fat or room for question. He flexed for Brad—and by extension, me—showing us his eight-pack from several angles, almost proud of how the aesthetic line led the eye to the damp circle over his package.
“Sweet,” said Brad. Though I agreed, I said nothing.
The black colossus stripped the rest of his clothes off, leaving them on the floor of the changing area. Naked, a beast, his big cock flopped before him, dripping wet like Rook’s had been and mine still was—he continued to talk. “If I could’ve just gotten one more set. Fuck man, it’s bullshit.” For the first time, he looked at me. “Who’s this fag?”
As I opened my mouth to speak, Brad interrupted. “Newbie—just joined us today. This is Jeff Strong. Strong, this is Robinson. If you’re smart, you won’t fuck with him.” The two of them chuckled, exchanging glances.
Albeit weakly, I offered my hand to the big guy, Robinson—he looked at it, but made no move to take it. Instead, he made a motion for me to spin around. Trying to hide my confusion, I did—tentatively. “You got a nice booty,” Robinson said. “Come back and talk to me when you’ve gained a hundred pounds.” With that, he flicked his eyebrows at Brad, and went to the showers himself.
“Everyone’s so friendly here,” I said quietly to Brad, allowing the sarcasm to drip through.
Brad shrugged, that same off-hand gesture he used for everything. “Well, he’s huge. He can get away with it. When you weigh more than him, you can criticize. Until then, it’s your pleasure to obey the bigger guy, right? Remember, always defer to the bigger guy—it’s our number one rule.” With that, he clapped me on the back and started to leave the locker room. “Hey,” he added, turning around slightly as he walked, “come see me before you and Rook leave, okay?”
I stammered again. “Um... okay.”
“Good,” he said. “See how easy it is to obey the bigger guy? Welcome again to Apollyon.” Then he exited the locker room, leaving me standing there, naked and stained.
With little else to do, I went to the showers myself. Rook would certainly talk to me in a friendly tone, even if this guy Robinson wouldn’t. With luck, they wouldn’t be anywhere near each other in the shower room—perhaps Robinson looked at ALL the new guys with the same disdain.
A hierarchy based on muscle size. How improbable was that?
But in the shower room, it manifested itself completely. I turned the corner to see Robinson, occupying the shower at the head of the room, the stream of water blasting into his heavy traps and spraying out and around, refracting the light like a nimbus or a heavenly glow, emphasizing his gargantuan size.
And to my horror, kneeling before him was Rook, soaping up the giant’s legs, worshipping the massively muscled Robinson while cleaning him.
“Yeah, boy,” mumbled Robinson. “Clean me up good.”
Rook spread the creamy lather up into Robinson’s dark privates, carefully covering his cock and balls—his post-orgasmic tool still half-erect. Robinson reached up and put his hands behind his head, flexing his abs for Rook, enjoying the effect. From his knees, Rook kept saying, “Holy shit” every time Robinson flexed.
My gasp was what got Robinson’s attention, I think—he looked up as soon as I let it out. “Well,” he said, smiling—his teeth in sharp contrast to his skin, “look who’s here.”
As if he’d been ordered, Rook turned slightly and made eye-contact with me—he tried to smile, but failed. Was he embarrassed? I couldn’t tell.
“Glad you’re here, boy,” Robinson said. “You can help your buddy wash me. He really gets off on it.” Robinson smacked Rook in the side of the head. “Tell him how much you get off on it.”
Rook recovered off the floor quickly, immediately blurting out, “Oh my God, yes. I get off on it so much. I love worshipping big muscle.” He acted like he expected Robinson to hit him again.
Robinson laughed. “Well, good. ‘Cuz your little fag-buddy’s here to help you.” He looked up at me and—with a painfully serious tone—said, “Now get over here, bitch, and get to work.”
Apparently, I didn’t move fast enough—I didn’t know WHAT to do. I was in shock. I stood there looking at this impossible scene and couldn’t begin to process what I was seeing. It just couldn’t be real—it made no sense. How was I suddenly involved in this insanity?
Like I said, though, apparently I didn’t move fast enough. Suddenly enraged, Robinson took a step toward me. “Did you hear me?” he shouted. “I said, get over here and get to work, bitch. Do you even know the first rule? What’s the first rule, Rookie?”
“’Always obey the bigger man!’” Rook shouted, like a grunt during basic training.
“That’s right,” said Robinson, backing me into the opposite wall, the tile cold on my bare back. He was right in my face. “The first rule is ‘Always obey the bigger man.’ And I’m a fuck-load bigger than you. Don’t make me beat you, boy. Just do what I tell you.”
And so, defeated, afraid, confused—even a bit aroused, which made no sense to me at all—I mumbled, “Yes, sir.”
A small smile cracked on the side of his mouth—all that my defeat gave him—and he snorted, pushing me back into the wall as he stepped toward the running shower.
That’s how I found myself kneeling next to Rook, warm water splashing on me, reaching into the lather covering some monster bodybuilder’s balls, feeling the power and might of the muscle surrounding them, causing the man a huge erection as he humiliated me.
Even more difficult to explain was the hardness of my own dick, rising up out of my lap to match the one sported by Rook.
What the hell had they done to me, these freaks at this hidden gym?
And why didn’t I want it to stop?