Disclaimer: This story is a fantasy involving power imbalance expressed through consensual sexual activity between adult men. Humiliation and body worship are main elements of this story. Stop reading now if this content is offensive to you.
Begging a Bodybuilder - Part One
As Patrick looked down from his third-story apartment window, he was acutely aware of the clamminess of his palms, the incredible tempo of his heartbeat, and the wobbly weakness of his knees. He both savored and dreaded the feelings, symptoms of the undeniable power of bulging muscle.
Down in the parking lot was Matthew, the newest tenant in the building. He had met Matthew once in the downstairs lobby, quite by accident. No more than a "hello" was exchanged, but the impact had left Patrick with concentration problems for days. The bodybuilder had been simply getting his mail, an act witnessed countless times by Patrick with other people in other contexts, but this encounter was almost traumatic.
Patrick had been on his way out for groceries. As he rounded the corner from the elevator to go into the lobby, there was Matthew, dressed in jean shorts and a tank top, looking into his mailbox. He was bent at the waist; his large, muscular ass directed right toward Patrick. The hairless hamstrings of his legs were corded and smooth, and the calves were wide and solid. He wore sneakers, but no socks.
Patrick involuntarily stopped short, his blood racing and hands trembling as his eyes devoured the muscular bodybuilder. Matthew closed and locked his mailbox, abruptly stood upright, and looked over his shoulder. "Hi," he said, passing Patrick a brief but warm smile.
A breathless "hello" came from Patrick as he found his legs again and continued on past Matthew and out the front door. The image of Matthew's enormous body profile as he had turned to look at Patrick was seared into his brain, and for the past week the image had been retrieved numerous times as he had lain on his bed and stroked his cock.
Patrick's extreme obsession for muscle was, at times, debilitating. He was often aroused, but the near incapacitation he experienced around extreme muscle seldom occurred. There just weren't that many huge men in the city.
But then Matthew arrived. At least, that was the name on his mailbox. A man of god-like proportions.
Matthew slammed the door of his jeep and walked toward the front door of his new apartment building, directly below the window from where Patrick Conelli watched. Matthew whirled his keys around his finger and had a genuine look of contentment on his face. His day at the beach had been long overdue, and the time had improved his recently gruff demeanor significantly. Work had been getting to him.
As he entered his fifth floor apartment, he thought about how lucky he had been to find such a nice place so cheap. A girl he knew from work had recently vacated the place and tipped him off about its availability. Jennifer's recommendation to the landlord had secured the acceptance of his application. Landlords are often wary of renting to single men in their early twenties.
The place was so large he had enough space to set up his rack of weights and bench at one end of the living room. The weights came in handy for that extra pump when he returned from a workout at the gym. Stripping his T-shirt from his body, he turned to the mirror beside the bench. He raised his arms and flexed his biceps. They bulged obscenely and he smirked. "Damn." Matthew leaned his head and licked his right bicep muscle, admiring his reflection. Doing that always made him hard.
"So I get off on my muscles," he thought. "Okay, maybe it's a bit perverted, but who's going to know?" He continued to lick himself and suck on his bicep for a few moments. A few more smirks in the mirror. A few more poses. He reclined on the bench to prepare for some chest presses. Nothing like a little iron pumping to stretch out his muscles after an afternoon of lounging on the sand.
* * *
Patrick couldn't sleep. Images played in his head and kept him aroused. "That huge, muscular ass! Can I touch it, Matt? Please let me touch you." His fantasy continued, with Matthew playing the role of a tease.
"Touch me? You've got to be kidding. This body is far out of your league, buddy."
"Please," begged Patrick. "I don't deserve your muscles, but I crave them. I'll do anything for you. I've got to touch you. I just want to worship you, your size, your hardness, your shape. Please let me touch...you...please..."
Patrick's cock exploded. His cum gushed out, running down over his fist. His pulsing cock spewed more and more, his breath raspy and his head flooded with dizziness. Matthew's muscles were controlling not only Patrick's mind, but his balls as well. He was quite sure he had never cum so much in his life.
* * *
Patrick never intended to start stalking Matthew. He never intended to become obsessed with his body. When he would encounter other muscular guys walking down the street, he had been known to walk out of his way in order to follow a guy for awhile. But that wasn't stalking. Not like now.
Initially, he had found himself waiting around for Matthew to come home from work, watching him silently from the apartment window as he made his way from his car to the front door where Patrick lost sight of him. Patrick would wait for an hour at his window for 30 seconds of viewing pleasure.
But lately, Patrick had started to lose a little of his self-control. He positioned his car near Matthew's parking spot one day, just to have a better vantage point when the hunk got home. Furtively spying through the side window, Patrick saw the bodybuilder pull his jeep into his usual spot and prepare to exit the vehicle.
Patrick could see the thick, dark hair, bleached lighter at the ends by the summer sun. Glasses concealed the eyes, but the flat planes of his golden face were clearly in view. The man's profile was heavenly. Patrick couldn't remember seeing a more attractive face.
It was Patrick's lucky day. As Matthew dismounted his jeep, Patrick could see that at some point he had shed his shirt and tie and was bare from the waist up.
"Oh, my god! Look at that chest!" gasped Patrick. He murmured a quick prayer of thanks to the gods for the blisteringly hot weather. He hadn't seen the man shirtless before, and it made his mouth go dry - then wet, as his body kicked in with an extra dose of saliva. His tongue sure was eager to go to work on that body!
The huge pectoral muscles were solid pillows, capped with nipples large enough for Patrick to clearly see three car lengths away. A sharp line down his sternum cleanly divided the mass of Matthew's chest into symmetrical halves, the muscles immediately puffing forward and extending laterally to the sides of his wide torso. The chest was smooth, but Patrick couldn't tell if it was naturally so, or shaved.
As the bodybuilder strolled toward the front door, his mass glided effortlessly along. How someone so large could be so fluid, so in control of his movements astonished Patrick. He could detect the slight swing of the thighs outward as the muscleman walked; the quadriceps fighting for space as they passed each other during each step gave him a swaggering gait.
The man was dressed only in a pair of snug, tan slacks. His large butt rode high on his frame, and Patrick's eyes lingered on the interplay of the ass muscles as they pumped the legs back and forth.
Matthew fumbled with his keys at the entrance, turning around briefly to remove the keys from his own shadow for a better view. Having selected his key, he entered the building and was gone.
Only then was Patrick aware of the familiar bodily changes that accompanied his lust. As he focused on his breathing to calm himself down, he thought, "Next time, I'll bring a camera."
* * *
Patrick never forgot about Matthew over the next few months, thanks to a few pictures he regularly retrieved from under his bed, but he almost never saw him. The big man's schedule had become unpredictable, and Patrick noticed that his jeep was often absent from the parking lot. Patrick's obsession waned considerably as the summer faded to autumn, and he was able to carry on a normal routine for the most part. But things were about to change significantly.
As Matthew came home from grocery shopping a few days later, he was quite pissed off. He hated grocery shopping, but he hated more that he had no choice but to do it himself. If Catherine hadn't dumped him, she'd still be getting his groceries. He had been staying at her house a lot over the past several months, but when she had a blow up and kicked him out, he soon found himself picking out his own carrots, much to his chagrin.
Catherine had been the tightest cunt he'd ever had. She was petite and prim. Matthew loved to be seen with her; her little figure was so dwarfed by his own that he felt even more enormous than usual as they walked together. Actually all his girlfriends had been small, and Matthew knew he was drawn to the smallness of their bodies because it made him feel bigger, stronger, and more necessary for their protection. The sexual dimorphism aroused him.
He loved to feel her little body under him as he fucked her. He was so utterly able to hurt her, but never would. He loved the feeling of his power, but he had no evil desires to use it on a woman.
Matthew found a note shoved under his door as he entered the apartment. The mailman put a package for you in my box by accident. He delivered it to 305 instead of 503. It's too big to fit through the mailbox slot. I didn't want to leave it by your door in case someone took it. Matthew noted the name and phone number listed at the bottom and grunted. He'd call the guy later. He was too pissed to meet any neighbors at the moment.
Stumbling in to his kitchen with his arms full of grocery bags, Matthew began to store the substantial amount of food in the cupboards, and his mind focused on his last conversation with Catherine. What the fuck was she thinking? Pasta in the top cupboard. You've just become too distant? What did she mean by that? Low-fat cheese in the fridge. I don't need her telling me what to do anyway. Goddamn cunt. I'll be better off without her. Protein shakes below the canned peas. Jeez, I'll miss that ass, though.
* * *
A few days later, Matthew was back to his usual self. He'd had practice getting over girls, and Catherine was already a closed chapter. As he sat down on the couch after doing a quick routine on the weight bench, he noticed a piece of paper sticking out from the cushions.
"Oh, shit," he thought. "I forgot to call that guy." Reaching for the phone, Matthew read and quickly memorized the number. He punched out the digits and waited.
Patrick had just finished feeding his cat when the phone rang. He jumped, and his face flushed as he went to the phone. He'd had a similar reaction every time he'd had a call during the past several days. Why doesn't he phone me? His jeep is there, so he's not out of town.
Patrick picked up the phone. Matthew heard the click.
"Hi. You left a note under my door a few days ago? A package was put in your mailbox by accident?"
"That's - that's right," stammered Patrick. Dry mouth again.
"Is this a good time to come down and pick it up?" Matthew offered.
"Uh, give me a few minutes and I'll bring it up to you, 'kay?" Patrick countered.
"Well, okay. I'd don't mind coming down though." Patrick had rehearsed his response to this. He had figured that Matthew would offer to pick it up. After all, Patrick had already done him a favor by hanging onto the package. But Patrick wanted to see the apartment. He'd fantasized so often about being there, about seeing the home of the musclegod.
"I'm just in the middle of something," Patrick lied. "It's probably better if I come up in a few minutes when I'm done." The conversation was over, and Patrick felt a little unsteady. He would compose himself and then go meet his fantasy man.
There really was a package. Patrick didn't invent the scheme. He didn't buy something, wrap it and mail it to himself, carefully altering the address after it arrived. No, he didn't. But that could've been a stellar idea if he thought it through. It was an original way to arrange a meeting.
Regardless, the meeting with the big bodied boy was legit. Patrick checked himself out in the mirror before heading up the stairs. He wondered what Matthew would think of him. What would Matthew be wearing?
Matthew opened the door and saw a smallish, blond guy in his early thirties whom he didn't recognize. The man clutched a brown-wrapped parcel and sported a forced smile.
"Thanks, man. Damn postal system!"
"Yeah, I suppose," Patrick replied stupidly. He handed the package over to Matthew and there was an awkward moment as Patrick noticed the tight, lime green T-shirt clinging smoothly to the bigger man.
"Just some supplements I ordered," the muscleman stated. "Forgot I bought them. They're supposed to be cutting edge nutrition. Oh...I'm into bodybuilding."
The last remark was such an obvious statement to both of them that Patrick couldn't help but see the humor in it.
"I gathered that," Patrick replied with a slight chuckle. Matthew smirked as Patrick's eyes raked his body. "I can't believe that you need any more supplements, though. You're absolutely enormous!"
Matthew beamed. The words were pure pleasure to him. Adulation from this obvious weakling made his ego flush with pleasure. "Yeah, I'm a pretty big guy. Takes a lot of work."
There was no room for false modesty here. Any comment other than frank honesty would be a ridiculously obvious play for attention. Patrick was secretly glad that Matthew hadn't pulled the "Oh, I'm not that big" routine, or the "Do you really think so?" remark.
"Well, thanks for bringing this up. I appreciate it. I'm Matthew, by the way."
Patrick said, "No problem. Nice to meet you," and Matthew closed the door. That was it. No invitation in. No tour of the musclegod's palace. No "please come in and worship my body, little man."
Patrick forlornly slunk back down the stairs to his apartment.
* * *
Days later, Matthew still couldn't get the image of the little guy who delivered the package out of his mind. Rather, it wasn't so much the image as the voice. "You're absolutely enormous!" he had said. Matthew smirked. Well, fuck! I AM enormous. Matthew unbuttoned his shirt and swaggered over to the mirror. I AM enormous. I am a fuckin' behemoth.
Matthew had always loved being big. Even as a kid he enjoyed the power of his size, the respect he got from others, and especially the attention of the girls and boys in his class. By his late teens, his bodybuilding regimen had progressed his physique to the point that he was getting serious attention from everyone. The praise for his body set in to his psyche, and in true behaviorist fashion, he worked his routines harder to keep the feedback coming. He increased his supplements, experimented with new diets, and purchased home gym equipment to extend his workout routines.
It had been quite awhile, though, since Matthew had heard comments like that little guy had made a few days ago at his door. Matthew had become impressively well-developed, but his size began to actually turn people off. He was becoming a caricature to some. Heads turned, but Matthew was getting the feeling that lust had been largely replaced with simple astonishment. Desire had been replaced with vague repulsion, a sense of "Oh puh-lease!"
Most women just didn't respond well to Matthew's gargantuan body. Some were frightened. Some assumed he was neurotic. The perceptive ones judged him to be narcissistic. Matthew was a nice guy, but he was, indeed, totally into his own body.
The mirror showed the bulge of his arms as they swelled against his shirtsleeves. "You're absolutely enormous!" the guy had said. The unbuttoned front revealed the pecs, the washboard abs. He pulled the shirt away a little to reveal his nipples, and he touched them. "You're absolutely enormous!" Fuck yeah. You're a fuckin' musclegod. Matthew pictured the blond guy in front of him, praising him, feeding his swollen ego. He imagined Patrick kneeling, begging, crying for his body. There was no doubt the guy was a fruit. Matthew hadn't seen eyes that hungry in a long time.
Matthew walked to the phone, picked it up, and dialed.
END OF PART ONE
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