THE GYM JANITOR
CH. 01
Fuck Kyle. Fuck everything about him. Imagine promising a 10% raise to anyone willing to work the night shift, and not coming through with it?
I can quit. That'll leave him in shambles knowing his precious facility will look like shit cause no one reracks their weights let alone throw away any water bottles or rags they've used.
I can quit. But I don't want to. Sure the hours are shit, I hardly get the daytime to do anything aside from sleeping. There's just nothing interesting happening in my life right now for me to risk being unemployed.
You see it'd be easy to clean during the day and simply pick up after people when the gym is busy. But, Kyle says that it's distracting to gym members when someone is constantly interrupting their workout...? Regardless, it pans out since hardly anyone works out during the ass crack of midnight.
Only a small amount of people have decided to be crazy enough to get a work out in during the few weeks that I've started working night shift. But on other nights it's me and the front desk worker who is 95% of the time just knocked out over the counter. Having to check in every time you enter the gym, I always just nod to the few that come in in approval once they see that she's asleep.
The speakers are blasting with music. My coworker is once again sleeping. I could do the same and fall asleep in my supply closet and clean up during my last hour before the day gets started but here I am wiping down dry sweat stains from workout machines.
Usually the place is a mess but I guess people found the decency to clean up after themselves.
The facility being in a suburban area has a repertoire of customers usually consisted of wanna be pro athlete high schoolers, the rarely occasional fitness influencer, cross fitters, powerlifters, or older people who let themselves go after having c***dren.
On night shifts however. Your small handful will consist of dedicated professional bodybuilders and beginners who start strong by aching their body before they eventually wear themselves out and give up. Usually the latter.
I have witnessed so many people commence their journey yet fail after pushing it too far by coming to the gym during hours they're not used to.
On the flip side, you'll have him.
I see him come into the gym during the last few hours of my shift. Probably the only consistent early morning gym goer at this facility.
And it shows.
The early bird really does get the worm because for each day of the week he not only works out a specific muscle group but he uses EVERY piece of equipment we have for that muscle group to his advantage since no one is there for the taking.
Mondays he starts off strong with legs. I witness him pressing thrice his weight over his shoulders and placing his ass to grass every single rep. Then using the entire midsection of the gym floor to lunge that same weight as if he was carrying a simple feather.
His quads and ass double in size after it all. And I can easily tell which machine he heads to next because after each set, he leaves a trail of glorious sweat behind him on the floor and on each seat.
I would know because I have to clean it.
He sweats so much the one rag I use gets soaked just with his sweat alone.
One morning after I was done cleaning after him, I was feeling a bit exhausted not trusting myself behind the wheel if drove home.
They offer protein coffee at the snack bar but even then that shit tastes chalky.
Even if I was too tired, I still did not want to risk losing this shitty job so I tried my best. After collecting all of my cleaning supplies I was dispensing the used rags into the laundry bin in my utility closet.
HIS rag was just...sitting there.
Amongst the pile of rags used, his stood out like a sore thumb. We'll mainly because he is almost always the last gym goer before the full circuit day begins.
You see most simple either wipe their forehead, hands, neck, or each equipment they use and will only leave it 1/10 as soaked as he does.
And in that moment something over came my aura. Pure adrenaline started flowing through me. My hands reached out over the bin - shaking in awe.
Was I really going to do this?
Yes.
I lifted the filthy rag to eye level. The mechanism of my hands imitating a claw in a prize machine. Slowly and surely I brought the prize closer to me.
At just an arm's distance the musk infiltrated the chamber of my nostrils, getting stronger and stronger.
And then.
Fabric to skin. I took a big whiff.
FUCK.
There are certain smells in life that are socially frowned upon but that people privately are enamored with such as the smell of diesel or a sharpie marker. THIS would be at the top of my fucking list. Sweat.
But not just any sweat, it has to be specific. Like that hot athletic football player that passes by you after their game and it smells entrancing not like some random transient you're sitting next to on the public transport.
Wanting more, I dug in for seconds.
With every volume in my lungs I soaked in the essence as much as I could. This isn't a typical athlete's sweat, this is fucking testosterone in liquid form.
It was incredibly difficult to keep the filthy rag from being pressed up against my nose. Each time I think I'd had enough my instinct won over me and kept sniffing.
Then it occurred to me. What the fuck was I doing? What if the next shift's clean up caught me in the act?
I had to get my shit together.
I set the rag down back at the top of the pile. I reached up for the cabinet to get the detergent.
Closing the cabinet door somehow, I jammed my thumb between the crack.
A loud thud filled the room when I let go of the detergent.
"Shit!"
All of the solvent was spilled on the floor, fuck!
Annoyed, I sucked on my jammed finger.
And then.
With no hesitation my tongue dance over the palm of my hand, lathering it up with my spit.
Why the fuck does my hand taste good? It's not like a savory or sweet type of taste. It was definitely a bit sour but the kind of sour that makes your throat tingle.
The rag. OF COURSE!!!
Holding the rag left remnants of sweat over my hands. I walked over to the bin and right where I left it I picked up the rag, this time with no hesitation.
As if I was programmed or had it hardwired in me I brought the rag to my mouth. At an instance I immediately started sucking on the fabric.
Oozing of sweat, rationing out the saliva in my mouth. The sensation of knowing it was HIS sweat that I was consuming directly traversed to my crotch.
It was as if the substance consisted of pure sex drive, each intake driving me more and more into a state of heightened pleasure.
A tent in my pants started forming. I had to let it out because it felt as if my cock grew twice the size that it normally is when erect.
I pulled my cock out and watched it spring full out of my zipper like a toy Jack in the Box.
Leaking from the tip was gooey precum that dripped down the side of my shaft.
I looked back at the rag and thought 'if just his sweat is making me do this, imagine the real thing?'
I continued to suffocate myself and stuffing the rag inside my mouth. Each second sucking on the justices in the fabric made the mixture of my saliva and sweat created a sensation in my mouth that left such a sweet aftertaste making me crave more and more.
My hand held my cock, slowly wrapping itself up and down as I kept momentum. With each deep inhale and suck of the rag, I kept stroking harder and faster.
I closed my eyes picturing all types of wrong.
Him standing over me.
Me kneeling with my mouth open and pointed up.
Every drop of his sweat landing all over my tongue, coating it with the best flavor of all time.
Him wiping his torso down, hands over his pit, then with a smirk showing his fingers down my throat.
With that picture alone, the pent up frustration in my crotch made it's exit through the tip of my cock.
The slit of my cock oozing out ounces and ounces of the byproduct of his glorious sweat filling every crevice of my mouth.
Once I was eased, I used the same rag to wipe off the cum from the floor, wiping away my shame.
Because what the fuck was I doing? I don't like men. I never once pictured jerking it to any guy before. I had to get out of there.
My doubts on sexuality were cleared when I left my utility closet.
Walking down the gym's midsection with the same image every Monday morning, he lunged with his ass bulging a behemoth amount of weight.
Fuck.
Yeah.
I realized for him? I definitely would abandon anyone else.
***
Recalling this instance of pleasure.
In comes in the muscle god of my dreams.
CH. 02
Have you ever met somebody famous?
Better yet. Have you ever been to a concert?
The anticipation. The build up. The waiting. It's almost like a drumroll that's waiting for that loud "BANG!"
The drum roll is the waiting and the bang is the moment the artist walks on stage.
The moment they set foot on that stage you start shivering. But not out of cold. Not out of fright. But you shake from the excitement of just being in the same room as them.
Every time this behemoth of a man walks through the front doors of the gym, a million jitters dance under my skin.
Usually I just observe his workout as I rerack weights from other machines but as I said people somehow found it in their hearts to not be so shitty.
I guess I'll have to pretend to clean again.
***
Today's Wednesday so that means it's his chest day.
He walked over to the dumbbell section and grabbed the 65s and sat down on the bench.
For a few seconds he stares intently at his reflection and in one quick motion, knees lift the weight to his chest level and he lays down, then pushes.
When I first began night shift this was the most impressed I was. 65 pounds each pec for WARM UP?!
I could hardly press 25s as a PR.
I brought my windex bottle and an infamous rag that I oddly get turned on by every time I hold one now.
I walk over to the treadmills that are facing adjacent a few machines behind where he was and started wiping each surface.
His reps slow and concentrated. Every press easily lifted into the air with no trembling like how I usually do when I lift. With each rep his pec just swelled up more and more. The skin of his chest slowly getting redder and sweatier.
He pauses then easily sits back up again.
I guess I must have been standing still and drooling a bit because after a few seconds of him admiring himself his eyes swiftly locked on me.
I locked eyes with him and nodded myself out of the trance and started wiping. I could've sworn he had a slight smirk on his face but I kept wiping.
I needed to keep myself looking busy on the gym floor if I wanted more time to admire his work from afar. So I went back to my utility close to get a mop and a bucket.
I came back out and he had move on to the bench press area. This is where things always get interesting.
You'd think an average weight lifter would one up themselves every other month and begin to lift heavier but no.
Every muscle group he works out, he lifts heavier than the week prior. Last week I observed him pressing 315 til failure.
And believe me, I counted. He had a minimum of 25 reps for at least 5 sets in bench press ALONE!
So I stood at the calisthenics and stretching area and began mopping slowly making sure to level my head down but just enough to still catch a glimpse of him in all his glory.
Little by little he added plates to each side of the bar. Approaching 315 I was not surprised but still impressed he'd do that much this early in the morning.
All of a sudden, when I think he is set to begin his workout, the motherfucker gets TWO MORE PLATES!
No way in hell this man will be able to do this without a spotter. 405? He must need at least a bit of help.
He begins to align his wrists with the markings on the bar making sure his seat and posture aren't affecting his form.
I gave myself the excuse of staring at him just to make sure that if the weight does turn out to be too heavy I would run towards him and help him pick it back up.
At an instance he looked like he was thinking too hard about it but as I thought that he lifted the bar, and without hesitation began crushing each rep at a quantitative pace.
His rhythm was fair but concentrated.
Each push back up caused him to release a grunt so loud it echoed throughout the facility. Usually I'd be annoyed by a lunk who'd ego lift and scream at every rep but the sounds this man was making only drove me more insane.
Again, til failure he went, but I wouldn't say he failed on his final rep, he probably could keep going all he wants but as he sat up he walked over to the mirror and began to bounce his pecs.
Holy fuck.
Each slab of meat rippling through his wife beater shirt making his necklace bounce around left to right. He stood back against his hind leg and leaned forward.
As if he did a cable row workout he squeezed his arms from his sides and began flexing down the center of his torso, then his pecs swelled up in size.
A most muscular. With that pose alone he stared at his reflection and let out a heavy grunt.
This was a fucking nightmare. I could not bring myself to ejaculation because he'll then see it through my khaki pants so I withheld. I needed a release, asap.
I brought my mop and bucket with me to the restroom spilling some water along the way but I could not care less I had to release.
Barging into the stall, I let loose my pants and sat down on the toilet, and holy fuck my cock was stabbing the seam of my underwear begging to breathe.
I held it out and started pumping.
Bringing myself to recall his most muscular pose and how his balloon sized tits swelled up, then again his sly smirk earlier for his warm up.
What if he looked at me like that? Just the thought of his bouncing his pecs in my face and me licking him clean whilst staring into his eyes, a devious smile on that gorgeous face. Fuck, I couldn't bare it any longer I felt my balls blue.
With no build up, my cum instantly bursted out of my cock and onto the restroom floor. Ounces of semen just coating the cracks of the tile, burst by burst, spasm by spasm, this man had such control over me.
No picture or video or visual necessary, just my mind infiltrated by the surreal fantasy of him dominating me with his body alone.
I need to clean this shit up or else Kyle will have some more shit to complain about.
***
I kept walking around the gym floor mopping nothing. Literally the floor was pristine without any need of mopping. But here I am trying to get even the most milliseconds next to this man as I can.
He was on the last of his cable crossovers exercises. Pulling with ease 120 pounds on each side. The fucker could fling around a sumo wrestler for all I know.
Then he grabbed his rag and wiped his face and chest. His body glistening with sweat across his torso, and his wife beater being soaked allowing me to see through the silhouetted of his nipples and abs sitting right.
This is it. Sadly the last of him I'll see for the week. That is until after he washes himself off in the showers.
I grabbed my mop and bucket and followed shortly after him. I peaked around the corner of the locker room to make sure he wasn't there, I HAVE to get that rag.
There he was, undressing him self, facing away from the entrance and all I see is his voluptuous ass just glistening with sweat carrying the stagnant fibers of muscle that compose his cobra back. His back and ass look better than me altogether. His hamstring harnessing a ripple effect every small step he took.
He grabbed a towel from his bag and wrapped it around his waist, took some shampoo and headed towards the showers.
The water started running and I slowly peaked again around the corner of the showers and I saw his curtain closed. Hell yes.
I paced myself to the bench where his stuff was and there it is. Another filthy rag drenched in his nectar. Soaked to filth with all of his musk.
Was I really doing this again? Here?
Yes.
I immediately shoved as much fabric as I could into my mouth and started sucking on his sweat as if I was dying of thirst.
FUCK!
His scent was so strong that every time I even exhaled I could still somehow smell it.
A tent started pointing through my pants as my cock grew again. But fuck was my cock sore, I felt like I pumped every ounce of semen out and drained my balls.
I fixed my eyes on his gym bag and looked beside it.
Am I hallucinating?
A jockstrap?
Holy shit!
The jock strap was soaked a color navy.
I let go of the rag instantly and lifted the jockstrap with my finger.
At an arms distance it was a sight to behold. A muscle king like him's very essence was at my fingertips.
I started feeling like the first time I held up the filthy rag. I brought the jock closer and closer. It felt too divine for me not to respect.
I wafted the area around it...DAMN.
It stunk so damn good.
I mentally prepared myself for the taste, will it taste stronger than the rag or will it be just the same.
My tongue welled up with saliva, shabbily sticking it out. Then the jockstrap hugged my tongue...
HOLY FUCK!!
Some people can't live without the taste of a specific spice, but they have never tasted anything as good as this!
It was like sea salt caramel pop corn by the beach, it was like sweet and sour sauce, it tasted like pineapple juice with some matcha tea. The taste is nothing like I've ever tasted.
Just as I did the rag, I stuffed my nose and mouth with this essence, letting it course though my mind, my body getting filled with adrenaline.
I don't know if it's possible to orally digest testosterone but if you could, you'd simply need to ingest this!
If testosterone had a flavor, this is it!
Thereafter, the shower stopped. Shit.
I panicked and started making sure to put everything back to where it was. Fuck! Where was the jockstrap? Inside or outside? SHIT!
I lifted the flap of the bag and threw it in there. Then the shower curtains rolled open.
I paced towards the mop and bucket at the corner and started mopping and whistling...acting as casual as possible.
In he walks, a trail of water droplets following his walk. He looks over at me and nods with a slight smile.
Gosh he's so fucking gorgeous!
He's not just a DILF, but a fucking Adonis.
DILFs want HIM to fuck them!
I started mopping towards the showers slowly trying to catch a glimpse of his cock making my way around.
"You'd think I wouldn't notice you messing with my shit?"
I froze.
What the fuck?
"I remember exactly where I leave my stuff you fucking runt."
I stared directly down at the trail of droplets.
Is this happening?
"You think I wouldn't notice you staring at me as I work out?"
From the corner of my eye he turn his around facing in my direction.
"Look at me."
With eyes quivering and jaw shaking, I slowly motion my head in his direction.
And lo and behold, my eyes dart directly at his horse cock.
The most mesmerizing shit I have ever seen.
He was not erect at all and it was as thick as a can of soda and nearly as long as can of Pringles.
"You like that shit don't you?"
I looked him in the eye with nothing to say.
"Don't you?" He repeated.
I nodded.
"I've noticed you staring. Mainly because you're the only twat dumb enough to lounge around an empty gym staring at this muscle?"
He's right, why would I ever try if I there was no one else around to hide it from?
"You went through my shit huh?"
I nodded.
"You wanna know how I know? I ALWYAS leave my jock out to dry during my shower."
Jock as in singular? Or is that with every workout? Hmmm.
"I workout very early in the morning to avoid fags like you from staring at me during my workout. I come to destress from having all eyes on me yet here you are, cleaning up after me and drooling all over the floor every time you stare."
I looked down, I could not bare the fact that he was reading me to my core. Here I was thinking I was being careful yet I did not even have a poker face in this moment.
"What's your name fag?"
"Noah," I said.
"Noah, huh?"
I nodded.
"How did it taste?"
"What?"
"How did it taste?" He repeated menacingly.
"How did what taste?"
"Don't you give me that shit!" He pointed at me with his jock in his hand.
"My jockstrap faggot, how did it taste?"
"Uh-" I stuttered, " good sir!"
I shamefully looked down.
"Come here."
What the fuck. Shit.
Was he going to sock me in the face? Fuck I might as well make a run for it.
I slowly walked towards him in all of his naked glory.
"Closer."
I stood 5 feet away from him.
"Closerrrrrr."
My head was at chest level with him.
"Look at me," he said.
I locked eyes with him.
He quick grabbed the back of my neck and with his other hand shoved his jockstrap onto my face.
"You wanted this huh? Why are you so stiff? Open your fucking mouth faggot."
I opened my mouth and the fabric piercers through with such more I started lathering it up with the saliva in my uvula.
"Take it all in faggot you seemed to enjoy it with me not being here you better enjoy the fact that I'm feeding it to you. Open wider!"
I started gagging as his fingers tickled the back of my throat.
"Yes," he snarked,"choke on that shit."
I started feeling light headed but fuck I must admit it was such a turn on. This muscle god force feeding me his very ball sweat.
He stopped what he was doing and took the jock strap out of my mouth. I gasped for air, nearly hyperventilating. But ingesting his essence was better than breathing.
"You liked that didn't you?"
I nodded and coughed.
"Eyes up here fag!"
I looked up.
He hawked and spit on my face.
"Enjoy it," he grabbed my face and started guiding his saliva towards my mouth," en-fucking-joy it!"
The sweetest taste, not as entrancing but equally as horny.
"Listen here fag," he said.
"No little shit goes through my stuff and gets away with it, do you understand?"
I nodded.
"Say yes sir you faggot!"
"Yes," I breathed," sir!"
"Good," he smirked.
"Now," he continued," next time I see you, you better be fucking ready to this and more. You want to please me and feel this fucking muscle body?"
"Yes sir," I said.
"Then be ready to lose all of your dignity before me because I will give you the domination of your fucking life, nothing else will feel as purposeful as this. I catch you going through my shit or let alone jerking it to me without my permission again, and I will make sure you know your place beneath me. Understood?"
I nodded.
"SAY YOU UNDERSTAND!" he said.
"Yes, I understand sir," I said shakily.
"Good," he grabbed his bag and walked out," see ya around, fag!"
Fuck Kyle. Fuck everything about him. Imagine promising a 10% raise to anyone willing to work the night shift, and not coming through with it?
I can quit. That'll leave him in shambles knowing his precious facility will look like shit cause no one reracks their weights let alone throw away any water bottles or rags they've used.
I can quit. But I don't want to. Sure the hours are shit, I hardly get the daytime to do anything aside from sleeping. There's just nothing interesting happening in my life right now for me to risk being unemployed.
You see it'd be easy to clean during the day and simply pick up after people when the gym is busy. But, Kyle says that it's distracting to gym members when someone is constantly interrupting their workout...? Regardless, it pans out since hardly anyone works out during the ass crack of midnight.
Only a small amount of people have decided to be crazy enough to get a work out in during the few weeks that I've started working night shift. But on other nights it's me and the front desk worker who is 95% of the time just knocked out over the counter. Having to check in every time you enter the gym, I always just nod to the few that come in in approval once they see that she's asleep.
The speakers are blasting with music. My coworker is once again sleeping. I could do the same and fall asleep in my supply closet and clean up during my last hour before the day gets started but here I am wiping down dry sweat stains from workout machines.
Usually the place is a mess but I guess people found the decency to clean up after themselves.
The facility being in a suburban area has a repertoire of customers usually consisted of wanna be pro athlete high schoolers, the rarely occasional fitness influencer, cross fitters, powerlifters, or older people who let themselves go after having c***dren.
On night shifts however. Your small handful will consist of dedicated professional bodybuilders and beginners who start strong by aching their body before they eventually wear themselves out and give up. Usually the latter.
I have witnessed so many people commence their journey yet fail after pushing it too far by coming to the gym during hours they're not used to.
On the flip side, you'll have him.
I see him come into the gym during the last few hours of my shift. Probably the only consistent early morning gym goer at this facility.
And it shows.
The early bird really does get the worm because for each day of the week he not only works out a specific muscle group but he uses EVERY piece of equipment we have for that muscle group to his advantage since no one is there for the taking.
Mondays he starts off strong with legs. I witness him pressing thrice his weight over his shoulders and placing his ass to grass every single rep. Then using the entire midsection of the gym floor to lunge that same weight as if he was carrying a simple feather.
His quads and ass double in size after it all. And I can easily tell which machine he heads to next because after each set, he leaves a trail of glorious sweat behind him on the floor and on each seat.
I would know because I have to clean it.
He sweats so much the one rag I use gets soaked just with his sweat alone.
One morning after I was done cleaning after him, I was feeling a bit exhausted not trusting myself behind the wheel if drove home.
They offer protein coffee at the snack bar but even then that shit tastes chalky.
Even if I was too tired, I still did not want to risk losing this shitty job so I tried my best. After collecting all of my cleaning supplies I was dispensing the used rags into the laundry bin in my utility closet.
HIS rag was just...sitting there.
Amongst the pile of rags used, his stood out like a sore thumb. We'll mainly because he is almost always the last gym goer before the full circuit day begins.
You see most simple either wipe their forehead, hands, neck, or each equipment they use and will only leave it 1/10 as soaked as he does.
And in that moment something over came my aura. Pure adrenaline started flowing through me. My hands reached out over the bin - shaking in awe.
Was I really going to do this?
Yes.
I lifted the filthy rag to eye level. The mechanism of my hands imitating a claw in a prize machine. Slowly and surely I brought the prize closer to me.
At just an arm's distance the musk infiltrated the chamber of my nostrils, getting stronger and stronger.
And then.
Fabric to skin. I took a big whiff.
FUCK.
There are certain smells in life that are socially frowned upon but that people privately are enamored with such as the smell of diesel or a sharpie marker. THIS would be at the top of my fucking list. Sweat.
But not just any sweat, it has to be specific. Like that hot athletic football player that passes by you after their game and it smells entrancing not like some random transient you're sitting next to on the public transport.
Wanting more, I dug in for seconds.
With every volume in my lungs I soaked in the essence as much as I could. This isn't a typical athlete's sweat, this is fucking testosterone in liquid form.
It was incredibly difficult to keep the filthy rag from being pressed up against my nose. Each time I think I'd had enough my instinct won over me and kept sniffing.
Then it occurred to me. What the fuck was I doing? What if the next shift's clean up caught me in the act?
I had to get my shit together.
I set the rag down back at the top of the pile. I reached up for the cabinet to get the detergent.
Closing the cabinet door somehow, I jammed my thumb between the crack.
A loud thud filled the room when I let go of the detergent.
"Shit!"
All of the solvent was spilled on the floor, fuck!
Annoyed, I sucked on my jammed finger.
And then.
With no hesitation my tongue dance over the palm of my hand, lathering it up with my spit.
Why the fuck does my hand taste good? It's not like a savory or sweet type of taste. It was definitely a bit sour but the kind of sour that makes your throat tingle.
The rag. OF COURSE!!!
Holding the rag left remnants of sweat over my hands. I walked over to the bin and right where I left it I picked up the rag, this time with no hesitation.
As if I was programmed or had it hardwired in me I brought the rag to my mouth. At an instance I immediately started sucking on the fabric.
Oozing of sweat, rationing out the saliva in my mouth. The sensation of knowing it was HIS sweat that I was consuming directly traversed to my crotch.
It was as if the substance consisted of pure sex drive, each intake driving me more and more into a state of heightened pleasure.
A tent in my pants started forming. I had to let it out because it felt as if my cock grew twice the size that it normally is when erect.
I pulled my cock out and watched it spring full out of my zipper like a toy Jack in the Box.
Leaking from the tip was gooey precum that dripped down the side of my shaft.
I looked back at the rag and thought 'if just his sweat is making me do this, imagine the real thing?'
I continued to suffocate myself and stuffing the rag inside my mouth. Each second sucking on the justices in the fabric made the mixture of my saliva and sweat created a sensation in my mouth that left such a sweet aftertaste making me crave more and more.
My hand held my cock, slowly wrapping itself up and down as I kept momentum. With each deep inhale and suck of the rag, I kept stroking harder and faster.
I closed my eyes picturing all types of wrong.
Him standing over me.
Me kneeling with my mouth open and pointed up.
Every drop of his sweat landing all over my tongue, coating it with the best flavor of all time.
Him wiping his torso down, hands over his pit, then with a smirk showing his fingers down my throat.
With that picture alone, the pent up frustration in my crotch made it's exit through the tip of my cock.
The slit of my cock oozing out ounces and ounces of the byproduct of his glorious sweat filling every crevice of my mouth.
Once I was eased, I used the same rag to wipe off the cum from the floor, wiping away my shame.
Because what the fuck was I doing? I don't like men. I never once pictured jerking it to any guy before. I had to get out of there.
My doubts on sexuality were cleared when I left my utility closet.
Walking down the gym's midsection with the same image every Monday morning, he lunged with his ass bulging a behemoth amount of weight.
Fuck.
Yeah.
I realized for him? I definitely would abandon anyone else.
***
Recalling this instance of pleasure.
In comes in the muscle god of my dreams.
CH. 02
Have you ever met somebody famous?
Better yet. Have you ever been to a concert?
The anticipation. The build up. The waiting. It's almost like a drumroll that's waiting for that loud "BANG!"
The drum roll is the waiting and the bang is the moment the artist walks on stage.
The moment they set foot on that stage you start shivering. But not out of cold. Not out of fright. But you shake from the excitement of just being in the same room as them.
Every time this behemoth of a man walks through the front doors of the gym, a million jitters dance under my skin.
Usually I just observe his workout as I rerack weights from other machines but as I said people somehow found it in their hearts to not be so shitty.
I guess I'll have to pretend to clean again.
***
Today's Wednesday so that means it's his chest day.
He walked over to the dumbbell section and grabbed the 65s and sat down on the bench.
For a few seconds he stares intently at his reflection and in one quick motion, knees lift the weight to his chest level and he lays down, then pushes.
When I first began night shift this was the most impressed I was. 65 pounds each pec for WARM UP?!
I could hardly press 25s as a PR.
I brought my windex bottle and an infamous rag that I oddly get turned on by every time I hold one now.
I walk over to the treadmills that are facing adjacent a few machines behind where he was and started wiping each surface.
His reps slow and concentrated. Every press easily lifted into the air with no trembling like how I usually do when I lift. With each rep his pec just swelled up more and more. The skin of his chest slowly getting redder and sweatier.
He pauses then easily sits back up again.
I guess I must have been standing still and drooling a bit because after a few seconds of him admiring himself his eyes swiftly locked on me.
I locked eyes with him and nodded myself out of the trance and started wiping. I could've sworn he had a slight smirk on his face but I kept wiping.
I needed to keep myself looking busy on the gym floor if I wanted more time to admire his work from afar. So I went back to my utility close to get a mop and a bucket.
I came back out and he had move on to the bench press area. This is where things always get interesting.
You'd think an average weight lifter would one up themselves every other month and begin to lift heavier but no.
Every muscle group he works out, he lifts heavier than the week prior. Last week I observed him pressing 315 til failure.
And believe me, I counted. He had a minimum of 25 reps for at least 5 sets in bench press ALONE!
So I stood at the calisthenics and stretching area and began mopping slowly making sure to level my head down but just enough to still catch a glimpse of him in all his glory.
Little by little he added plates to each side of the bar. Approaching 315 I was not surprised but still impressed he'd do that much this early in the morning.
All of a sudden, when I think he is set to begin his workout, the motherfucker gets TWO MORE PLATES!
No way in hell this man will be able to do this without a spotter. 405? He must need at least a bit of help.
He begins to align his wrists with the markings on the bar making sure his seat and posture aren't affecting his form.
I gave myself the excuse of staring at him just to make sure that if the weight does turn out to be too heavy I would run towards him and help him pick it back up.
At an instance he looked like he was thinking too hard about it but as I thought that he lifted the bar, and without hesitation began crushing each rep at a quantitative pace.
His rhythm was fair but concentrated.
Each push back up caused him to release a grunt so loud it echoed throughout the facility. Usually I'd be annoyed by a lunk who'd ego lift and scream at every rep but the sounds this man was making only drove me more insane.
Again, til failure he went, but I wouldn't say he failed on his final rep, he probably could keep going all he wants but as he sat up he walked over to the mirror and began to bounce his pecs.
Holy fuck.
Each slab of meat rippling through his wife beater shirt making his necklace bounce around left to right. He stood back against his hind leg and leaned forward.
As if he did a cable row workout he squeezed his arms from his sides and began flexing down the center of his torso, then his pecs swelled up in size.
A most muscular. With that pose alone he stared at his reflection and let out a heavy grunt.
This was a fucking nightmare. I could not bring myself to ejaculation because he'll then see it through my khaki pants so I withheld. I needed a release, asap.
I brought my mop and bucket with me to the restroom spilling some water along the way but I could not care less I had to release.
Barging into the stall, I let loose my pants and sat down on the toilet, and holy fuck my cock was stabbing the seam of my underwear begging to breathe.
I held it out and started pumping.
Bringing myself to recall his most muscular pose and how his balloon sized tits swelled up, then again his sly smirk earlier for his warm up.
What if he looked at me like that? Just the thought of his bouncing his pecs in my face and me licking him clean whilst staring into his eyes, a devious smile on that gorgeous face. Fuck, I couldn't bare it any longer I felt my balls blue.
With no build up, my cum instantly bursted out of my cock and onto the restroom floor. Ounces of semen just coating the cracks of the tile, burst by burst, spasm by spasm, this man had such control over me.
No picture or video or visual necessary, just my mind infiltrated by the surreal fantasy of him dominating me with his body alone.
I need to clean this shit up or else Kyle will have some more shit to complain about.
***
I kept walking around the gym floor mopping nothing. Literally the floor was pristine without any need of mopping. But here I am trying to get even the most milliseconds next to this man as I can.
He was on the last of his cable crossovers exercises. Pulling with ease 120 pounds on each side. The fucker could fling around a sumo wrestler for all I know.
Then he grabbed his rag and wiped his face and chest. His body glistening with sweat across his torso, and his wife beater being soaked allowing me to see through the silhouetted of his nipples and abs sitting right.
This is it. Sadly the last of him I'll see for the week. That is until after he washes himself off in the showers.
I grabbed my mop and bucket and followed shortly after him. I peaked around the corner of the locker room to make sure he wasn't there, I HAVE to get that rag.
There he was, undressing him self, facing away from the entrance and all I see is his voluptuous ass just glistening with sweat carrying the stagnant fibers of muscle that compose his cobra back. His back and ass look better than me altogether. His hamstring harnessing a ripple effect every small step he took.
He grabbed a towel from his bag and wrapped it around his waist, took some shampoo and headed towards the showers.
The water started running and I slowly peaked again around the corner of the showers and I saw his curtain closed. Hell yes.
I paced myself to the bench where his stuff was and there it is. Another filthy rag drenched in his nectar. Soaked to filth with all of his musk.
Was I really doing this again? Here?
Yes.
I immediately shoved as much fabric as I could into my mouth and started sucking on his sweat as if I was dying of thirst.
FUCK!
His scent was so strong that every time I even exhaled I could still somehow smell it.
A tent started pointing through my pants as my cock grew again. But fuck was my cock sore, I felt like I pumped every ounce of semen out and drained my balls.
I fixed my eyes on his gym bag and looked beside it.
Am I hallucinating?
A jockstrap?
Holy shit!
The jock strap was soaked a color navy.
I let go of the rag instantly and lifted the jockstrap with my finger.
At an arms distance it was a sight to behold. A muscle king like him's very essence was at my fingertips.
I started feeling like the first time I held up the filthy rag. I brought the jock closer and closer. It felt too divine for me not to respect.
I wafted the area around it...DAMN.
It stunk so damn good.
I mentally prepared myself for the taste, will it taste stronger than the rag or will it be just the same.
My tongue welled up with saliva, shabbily sticking it out. Then the jockstrap hugged my tongue...
HOLY FUCK!!
Some people can't live without the taste of a specific spice, but they have never tasted anything as good as this!
It was like sea salt caramel pop corn by the beach, it was like sweet and sour sauce, it tasted like pineapple juice with some matcha tea. The taste is nothing like I've ever tasted.
Just as I did the rag, I stuffed my nose and mouth with this essence, letting it course though my mind, my body getting filled with adrenaline.
I don't know if it's possible to orally digest testosterone but if you could, you'd simply need to ingest this!
If testosterone had a flavor, this is it!
Thereafter, the shower stopped. Shit.
I panicked and started making sure to put everything back to where it was. Fuck! Where was the jockstrap? Inside or outside? SHIT!
I lifted the flap of the bag and threw it in there. Then the shower curtains rolled open.
I paced towards the mop and bucket at the corner and started mopping and whistling...acting as casual as possible.
In he walks, a trail of water droplets following his walk. He looks over at me and nods with a slight smile.
Gosh he's so fucking gorgeous!
He's not just a DILF, but a fucking Adonis.
DILFs want HIM to fuck them!
I started mopping towards the showers slowly trying to catch a glimpse of his cock making my way around.
"You'd think I wouldn't notice you messing with my shit?"
I froze.
What the fuck?
"I remember exactly where I leave my stuff you fucking runt."
I stared directly down at the trail of droplets.
Is this happening?
"You think I wouldn't notice you staring at me as I work out?"
From the corner of my eye he turn his around facing in my direction.
"Look at me."
With eyes quivering and jaw shaking, I slowly motion my head in his direction.
And lo and behold, my eyes dart directly at his horse cock.
The most mesmerizing shit I have ever seen.
He was not erect at all and it was as thick as a can of soda and nearly as long as can of Pringles.
"You like that shit don't you?"
I looked him in the eye with nothing to say.
"Don't you?" He repeated.
I nodded.
"I've noticed you staring. Mainly because you're the only twat dumb enough to lounge around an empty gym staring at this muscle?"
He's right, why would I ever try if I there was no one else around to hide it from?
"You went through my shit huh?"
I nodded.
"You wanna know how I know? I ALWYAS leave my jock out to dry during my shower."
Jock as in singular? Or is that with every workout? Hmmm.
"I workout very early in the morning to avoid fags like you from staring at me during my workout. I come to destress from having all eyes on me yet here you are, cleaning up after me and drooling all over the floor every time you stare."
I looked down, I could not bare the fact that he was reading me to my core. Here I was thinking I was being careful yet I did not even have a poker face in this moment.
"What's your name fag?"
"Noah," I said.
"Noah, huh?"
I nodded.
"How did it taste?"
"What?"
"How did it taste?" He repeated menacingly.
"How did what taste?"
"Don't you give me that shit!" He pointed at me with his jock in his hand.
"My jockstrap faggot, how did it taste?"
"Uh-" I stuttered, " good sir!"
I shamefully looked down.
"Come here."
What the fuck. Shit.
Was he going to sock me in the face? Fuck I might as well make a run for it.
I slowly walked towards him in all of his naked glory.
"Closer."
I stood 5 feet away from him.
"Closerrrrrr."
My head was at chest level with him.
"Look at me," he said.
I locked eyes with him.
He quick grabbed the back of my neck and with his other hand shoved his jockstrap onto my face.
"You wanted this huh? Why are you so stiff? Open your fucking mouth faggot."
I opened my mouth and the fabric piercers through with such more I started lathering it up with the saliva in my uvula.
"Take it all in faggot you seemed to enjoy it with me not being here you better enjoy the fact that I'm feeding it to you. Open wider!"
I started gagging as his fingers tickled the back of my throat.
"Yes," he snarked,"choke on that shit."
I started feeling light headed but fuck I must admit it was such a turn on. This muscle god force feeding me his very ball sweat.
He stopped what he was doing and took the jock strap out of my mouth. I gasped for air, nearly hyperventilating. But ingesting his essence was better than breathing.
"You liked that didn't you?"
I nodded and coughed.
"Eyes up here fag!"
I looked up.
He hawked and spit on my face.
"Enjoy it," he grabbed my face and started guiding his saliva towards my mouth," en-fucking-joy it!"
The sweetest taste, not as entrancing but equally as horny.
"Listen here fag," he said.
"No little shit goes through my stuff and gets away with it, do you understand?"
I nodded.
"Say yes sir you faggot!"
"Yes," I breathed," sir!"
"Good," he smirked.
"Now," he continued," next time I see you, you better be fucking ready to this and more. You want to please me and feel this fucking muscle body?"
"Yes sir," I said.
"Then be ready to lose all of your dignity before me because I will give you the domination of your fucking life, nothing else will feel as purposeful as this. I catch you going through my shit or let alone jerking it to me without my permission again, and I will make sure you know your place beneath me. Understood?"
I nodded.
"SAY YOU UNDERSTAND!" he said.
"Yes, I understand sir," I said shakily.
"Good," he grabbed his bag and walked out," see ya around, fag!"
2 years ago