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 Four

Patrick had never had so many orgasms in his life. Since being at Matthew's a few weeks ago, he had relived the experience several times a day, every day. He couldn't get the huge man's image out of his mind -- that beautiful body, that enormous cock. Even at night he dreamt about being smothered by Matthew's ass, passing out from lack of air, and having Matthew resuscitate him using mouth to mouth -- only to smother him with his ass all over again. In the dreams Matthew would laugh hysterically: "Ready for another round?"

But actually, Patrick hadn't heard from the bodybuilder at all, and he dared not contact him, as those were Matthew's explicit instructions. Was this forced waiting simply one more part of the demonstration of desire that Matthew demanded? Patrick was still watching from his window, of course, and had caught sight of Matthew several times as he went to and from the building, but Matthew didn't even look up at him.

* * *
Matthew was doing an extra heavy workout at Gold's to relieve some stress. Samantha was really starting to get on his nerves, and he needed a diversion. He was already beginning to think she was too 'high maintenance', and they'd been going out for only a few weeks. When he saw her dancing at a club a couple of weeks before, she immediately caught his attention: petite, curvaceous, and lively. She also proved to be great at sex, an activity they'd been enjoying almost nightly.

To be clear, Matthew did like women who were high maintenance in the physical sense -- he enjoyed the makeup, the attention to clothes, the sculpted bodies fresh from yoga class -- but emotional high maintenance was a big turn off. Matthew could never seem to say or do the right thing to please Sam. He couldn't make decisions without getting an earful, the silent treatment, or a pouting session. He wondered whether he was up to seeing her tonight. Perhaps he should call and cancel.

Matthew sat at a bench doing some E-Z curls. She's going to be whining about something. "One...two...three..." Matthew counted the curls, watching his biceps alternately bulge and relax. Her birthday's next week. What the fuck am I going to get her? "Four...Five..." It won't be good enough whatever it is. "Five..." Oh, crap! Did I count five already? The bitch is even ruining my workout!

Matthew couldn't focus, so he finished his set and went into the locker area for his post-workout cleanup. He discarded his clothes in a locker and strode into the communal shower room. He adjusted the water and began soaping up. The hardness of his body surprised even himself as his hands dragged the soap over the expanse of flesh. His workouts the past few weeks had been more intense than usual. He lathered up his delts, caressing the swells that he'd painfully sculpted. Big delts separated the men from the boys.

While soaping up his body, a small blond man at the other end of the shower area caught his eye. The guy was evidently watching him, for he quickly turned around when Matthew looked his way. Matthew was used to guys checking him out. He didn't mind; in fact, he'd often give a little show, flexing a little, stretching out the lengths of muscle, casually running a hand over his body. He was pretty damn hot after all! He could often distinguish envy from lust, separating the normal guys from the fags. This little guy was definitely a fag.

Matthew watched the man as he continued showering. His eyes landed on the guy's tiny ass. He was reminded of the last tiny guy's ass he had fucked. Perhaps it was time to give Patrick a call. The boy would be bursting for him by now. He thought again of Samantha. He wondered whether he'd get an earful, the silent treatment, or a pout when he called to cancel.

As Matthew dried off and dressed, he began to craft his evening. He needed a plan that would make Patrick want him so badly it hurt. What could he do that his submissive little man would crave? He knew Patrick would be available. Matthew had no doubts that any plans Patrick might have had would be instantly dropped when he called. "Those desperate sluts are so predictable," he thought. He'd stop at the supermarket for groceries on his way home, then he'd give Patrick a call and invite him up. Suddenly, Matthew had a brilliant idea.

* * *
Patrick was just getting ready to leave the apartment to go the restaurant; his parents had planned a celebratory dinner to recognize his new promotion. They had always been proud that their son was a lawyer, and they were especially pleased now that the firm where he worked had trusted him with the additional responsibilities of one of the largest clients. When the phone rang, it was one of the few moments of the day that Patrick hadn't been thinking of Matthew. Much of the time Patrick spent worrying that Matt would never call, that he'd be destined to stealing glimpses of his muscular stud from his window and never again know the exquisite pleasure of worshipping his body in person. Then the phone rang.

"Hey, bud...it's Matty."

"Oh...Matt...hi!" Patrick's heart raced. He'd forgotten how sexy Matthew's voice was.

"Just wondering if you want to hang out and have a few beers tonight," Matthew said. "You're not busy, are you?"

"No, not busy. I'd love to." Patrick thought the conversation was a bit absurd. He knew Matthew didn't want to hang out. Matthew's polite tone was also a complete hoax. Why doesn't he just say, 'Get the fuck up here now and worship me, you asshole.'?" Patrick wondered whether to bring his camera.

"Thing is, Patrick, I'm all out of beer. I'll need you to go out and get some for us, 'kay?"

"Um,...sure, Matthew. I suppose I could do that."

"Great. And Patrick, there's a few other things I need you to pick up, too. C'mon up and I'll give you a list."

What the hell...? Patrick was a bit dazed when he hung up the phone.

* * *
Patrick was hurriedly picking out the items: oatmeal flakes, fish, frozen peas... "Where the heck do I find a carton of liquid egg whites?" he muttered. This was taking far longer than he wanted.

Matthew had told him not to bother showing up back at the apartment unless he had every last item. "Do what I say, and then maybe I'll think about giving you a reward," he had explained when Patrick picked up the list. Matthew had accompanied his remark with a glance down at his ample biceps, and grew a sly grin.

Part of Patrick was infuriated, and part was extremely aroused. The disappointment in his mother's voice as he had called to cancel the evening's plans was bad enough. He didn't like lying to her. But to actually be expected to do Matthew's grocery shopping! Patrick was irritated, and totally hard.

He added a jug of skim milk to the cart. That fucker! Where does he get off asking me to do his groceries? Yogurt, fat free cheese, and chocolate soy went into the cart. He's probably just lounging around having a beer while I'm stuck here shopping. Protein bars, a bottle of multivitamins... Or maybe he's working out right now? Maybe he's getting all pumped up for me? Maybe he's doing squats, getting that big ass all pumped and ready. Or side raises, or tricep presses. Patrick quickened his pace at the thought, his little cock squirming to life.

* * *
It was an hour later when Patrick finally stood at Matthew's door, a bag of groceries in each hand. He knocked, and the door opened. Matthew was shirtless and sweaty, his hulking chest confronting Patrick's lustful gaze. He wore navy track pants and was barefoot.

"How nice! Grocery delivery!" Matthew chimed as though it were a complete surprise. Patrick wanted to punch him and kiss him at the same time. "I'll take these while you go down and get the rest," stated Matthew. Patrick swallowed a biting retort. Matthew could get the remaining groceries in one trip. Patrick knew he'd have to make at least three.

By the time Patrick was approaching Matthew's door for the final time, he had calmed down significantly. His job was done, and his reward waited. He'd taken the stairs up and stopped off at his apartment to retrieve his camera. Matthew had promised pictures afterall, and Patrick desperately hoped he'd not changed his mind. Patrick was also nagged with a sinking feeling that Matthew was going to renege on his promise of a reward altogether. Maybe he'd just be sent away?

The door was ajar and Patrick pushed it open with his foot. Matthew was nowhere to be seen. "Matt?" he called.

Matthew's voice sounded through the closed door of the bedroom: "Just put the cold stuff in the fridge, then come in here."

Patrick obeyed. He sorted the meats and dairy and stowed them in the fridge. He found a home for the last item, a tray of skinless chicken breast, and arranged the other items on the counter for later storage in the cupboards.

As Patrick went toward the bedroom, he passed the weight set. He noticed the bench was moist; sweat from Matthew's workout still lingered there. He paused, imagining the big body prone on the bench, arms pressing a loaded barbell. Patrick's mouth got slick with spit.

A million thoughts flashed through Patrick's mind as he arrived at the bedroom door. What is he doing in there? Is he going to send me away? Is this some kind of joke? Am I trusting this guy too much? Is he going to hurt me this time?

Patrick opened the bedroom door and immediately dropped his camera and sank to his knees. He didn't think, he just did it. It was his proper place. He was compelled to kneel the instant he beheld Matthew's beautiful body, one arm raised in an imperious flex, a cocky smile playing about his lips. As Patrick had requested on his previous visit, the bodybuilder was dressed in his tight jean shorts. He was positioned by the bed, shirtless, but he had donned a leather vest, cap, gloves, and boots. He actually saw many Matthews for the bodybuilder had placed some large mirrors around the room, and his reflection was multiplied a hundredfold. Patrick briefly wondered why Matthew needed so many mirrors.

"Like what you see, Patrick?"

Patrick was touched. The big man was obviously making an effort to reward him for the groceries. Patrick had never really thought of himself as being into leather, but the sight of Matthew's huge body decked out in the black attire made his stomach flutter and his balls churn.

The clothes were part of a Halloween costume from a couple of years ago. Matthew had bulked up so much that he could no longer button the vest, but the other leather items fit fine. Matthew wanted Patrick to get hot at the sight of his body in the leather, but he didn't know if it was Patrick's thing. He knew some fags loved leather, so he thought he'd give it a try. Even if Patrick didn't like it, he thought he looked hot. But from the look of desire on Patrick's face as he knelt before him, Matthew knew he'd scored big time.

Time to give the boy what he came for. "I said, 'Like what you see?' Answer me, you faggot!"

Patrick couldn't get the words out fast enough. "You look so hot, sir! Very much like a master should. The leather, oh, I love it! Let me taste it, please!

"Beg to approach me, you pervert! Beg me to let you crawl to me."

"Oh yes, please!" Patrick began. "I would be honored to crawl to you. Please let me show my respect by groveling before your huge body."

Matthew wanted to torture the guy just a little. "Remember last time, Patrick? Remember when you turned red with shame? I liked that. Shame yourself again, Patrick."

Patrick knew Matthew got turned on by seeing him squirm. He's making me crawl for godsake! Isn't that enough? Patrick knew he had to comply if he wanted to feel that hot body again. He felt addicted to Matthew already.

"I'm not worthy to worship you, sir. You're a man, and I'm just a pathetic wimp." Patrick found it hard to respect himself for saying the words. "Please let this skinny bitch crawl to worship you, master. I crave your muscles." He felt ashamed, and his face began to flush. "I'm just a sick pervert for craving you. Please despise me. I am begging you to be disgusted with my groveling."

Matthew was pleased, but he had seen this before. He needed to take Patrick to a new level. "Stand up and face the mirror, Patrick." Patrick complied. He saw the image of a huge muscular stud and his puny servant. "Look at us, Patrick. What the fuck do you think you're doing here? Do you really think you have a chance with me? Do you really think I should let you get your puny cocksucking lips anywhere close to this body? I can have anyone I want, Patrick. Anyone. Why should I let you touch me?" Patrick felt like crying. Matthew was absolutely right.

"The only way I'll grant you time with me is through your complete obedience. Got that? You'll get my groceries whenever I say. You'll clean my apartment. You'll do my laundry. You'll come up here and fucking wipe my ass if that's what I tell you to do. You see, Patrick, I've got it all, and you've got nothing. What I want is all that matters. You can crawl over here to be my submissive servant who'll do my every bidding, or you can walk out that door. What'll it be, Patrick?"

Patrick was stunned. He didn't know what he expected getting sexual with a straight, power-hungry bodybuilder, but it wasn't this. Fuck! Slavery with the opportunity to worship, or a freedom that would never let him see this bedroom again? His body trembled. He craved the worship far too much.

"I'll crawl." He choked out the words. "I'll crawl."

Matthew got a big boner really fast when he heard that. This faggot had just agreed to be his slave in exchange for being allowed to humiliate himself in his presence! Matthew felt the surges of power well up in him again. He loved the feeling. He was making the man do his bidding. The power of his body, his muscles, his attitude, was compelling the pathetic wimp to follow his instructions. The obedience implied a desperate lust, but also a trust deep enough to comply with his every wish, no matter how humiliating.

But somewhere deep down Matthew was scared Patrick would walk out. He didn't want to face it, but this faggot gave him something he just couldn't get anyplace else. If he were honest with himself, he knew that his ultimatum to Patrick was a bluff.

Matthew made Patrick strip off his shirt, exposing his pale skinny body. Hundreds of puny muscles filled the room. Patrick could see his unathletic body from every angle.

"Flex your muscles for me, Patrick. Please? Please can I see you flex?" Matthew laughed cruelly. "Pose for me, Patrick! Oh, I don't deserve you!"

Patrick was truly humiliated. He posed for the huge man, his embarrassment glowing crimson on his cheeks. Matthew toyed with his prey, ordering him to pose for the next several minutes. Patrick was ashamed to be flexing for the inspection of this great hulking man. He was forced to describe his tiny muscles and frame, his weak body. He was made to compare his biceps with Matthew, and berate the size of his chest, legs and ass. But most of all Patrick was ashamed of the dripping erection straining against his pants. His arousal confounded all rationality, but the obedience to this man, especially the obedience given at his own expense was painfully erotic to him.

"Time to crawl, slaveboy."

Patrick felt the carpet rough on his hands as he lowered himself to the floor. If only his mother could see him now! Her darling little lawyer, graduating at the top of his class, getting hired by a prestigious law firm, receiving promotions, and now crawling on his belly like a worm to satisfy the needs of a musclehead -- a foul-mouthed mammoth of a man who loved to assault him with a vile barrage of verbal filth, words more disgusting than his mother had ever heard.

"Yes...crawl, you maggot. Crawl to my feet. Crawl and beg. Obey me, you slime. Prove your worthlessness you fucking shit, and I'll let you see my naked muscles."

When Patrick reached Matthew's feet, he kissed the boots, slobbering and licking to demonstrate his need to serve. The bodybuilder stepped firmly on the back of Patrick's head, forcing his face into the carpet.

"When I let you up, you will do exactly what I'm about to say. First, you will get your camera, sit on the floor, and take pictures while begging me to pose for you. Then, you will beg to taste my leather, and finally to strip. When I tell you to, you will jerk off your disgusting little dick, but you won't cum until I order you to."

Blood was pumping madly throughout Patrick's body. His master's words buzzed in his head and left him feeling woozy. The desire to please the dominant bodybuilder arose so forcefully, so insistently that Patrick was compelled to shed his dignity and scramble for his camera the moment the powerful foot released him.

As Patrick took his assigned seat on the carpet, Matthew stepped up on the bed. Poor little Patrick looked so small, so far below the towering giant. Matthew's imagination ran wild. In his mind the room was filled with strangers, voyeurs thirsty for the display of dominating muscle. "Crush him!" they chanted. "Feed the faggot your cock! Make him kiss your ass! Fuck him, you freak! Use your muscle to make him cry!" The crowd gathered in close to witness Patrick's begging, his pleading for the muscleman to please flex his biceps. The masses began spitting on Patrick, and Matthew joined in with a big wad of goop from his own mouth. The crowd was calling Patrick names, taunting his queerness, emasculating him with their cutting words. They were praising Matthew's muscles, his perfection, his supreme power.

Matthew returned from his fantasy, and there was Patrick pleading on the floor, a gob of spit running down the side of his neck, begging for Matthew to flex his arms.

"I don't deserve anything from you, Matthew. I don't deserve to see you flex, but I'm begging you to raise your arms and show me your huge, hard biceps."

Matthew raised his arms and posed. The roar of the crowd was deafening and cameras flashed everywhere.

"Please do a side pose! Please let me see the profile of your enormous pecs!" Patrick said. Matthew twisted his body, tucked his arm to his side and flexed it. He pushed his chest out, looked at the camera, and smiled.

"I beg you, sir, please turn away from me to let me see your fantastic back!" Matthew turned, spreading his lats. Patrick eagerly snapped pictures of the broad expanse of the stud's back and shoulders.

"Please turn around again. I'm craving a picture of your crotch." Patrick zoomed in on the generous bulge in Matthew's jeans. Patrick was suddenly struck by the instructional nature of his begging. His pleadings were indirect requests to perform. Am I really begging? He's doing everything I ask him to. Is this Matthew's mask? The chance for him to obey under the guise of begging? The thought of controlling this big brute was surprisingly delicious... Patrick would process this later.

Patrick's film was finished, so he started begging to taste the leather. The straight stud stepped down from his perch and listened as Patrick let go with a stream of verbal adulations, followed by a stream of requests to be permitted to suck a gloved finger. Eventually he achieved his goal, taking Matthew's middle digit into his mouth, enjoying the smoothness of the black glove on his tongue.

After awhile, Matthew tired of the glove sucking. He was so aroused, so hard, that he needed to hurry things along to the final act -- the final moment in his performance where he would cum his brains out. As promised, he'd let Patrick get off this time too.

"Beg me to strip, slave." Matthew followed Patrick's begging just as requested. First the vest, accompanied by an arrogant display of his massive chest muscles, a shameless parading of his humungous bodybuilder tits around the room. Then the gloves and cap came off, and finally the boots.

Matthew's splendid physique was displayed in all its glory, save his awesome ass and sexual equipment, still encased in the hip-hugging denim. Matthew felt sexy, like he should be on stage. Briefly, the crowds reappeared, roaring and chanting for him to remove his shorts. Matthew found himself wishing Patrick's camera had more film.

The time was appropriate for Patrick to relieve himself. "Get on the bed and jerk your dick," Matthew commanded. Patrick shed his remaining clothes quickly and leaped on the bed. He lay back and watched his muscle hero flex his body. Patrick spit generously on his palm and lubed up his little cock. Wonderful sensations spread from his dick to his balls and throughout his body, permeating his brain. He watched the man as he teased him, starting to undo his shorts, then buttoning them up again. The hunk turned around, and Patrick groaned, increasing the intensity of his strokes as he eyed the protruding denim-clad buttocks. The denim came half-way down, exposing those scrumptious cheeks, then back up. Matthew smirked over his shoulder. God, he was having fun!

Matthew's tease was long and slow, and Patrick's begging continuous. Patrick had to fight several times to prevent his orgasm. He didn't want to come until Matthew gave the order. He wanted to obey the instructions perfectly.

At last, Matthew had had enough. Teasing this perverted little faggot had got him so hot he needed to shoot. He quickly tore down his shorts and briefs and went to the edge of the bed. He grabbed some lube from the nightstand, applied it, and stood there stroking his inflated cock. He bent his knees forward to rest against the bed, bringing the angry head of his enormous organ to within inches of Patrick's little face.

"Get ready to cum, you little shit. Stroke that wimpy dick...and cum when I say." Matthew was panting heavily.

Patrick was pumping furiously, Matthew's enormous prick was nearly on top of him and obscuring half his vision. The bodybuilder's wide body and ample balls filled the remainder. Patrick could see the large muscles flexed in advance of the impending explosion.

"Worship me...worship me...worship me," Matthew chanted, lost in his own world. The crowds were roaring again. They all would witness his act of domination over this little queerboy.

Matthew looked beyond his cock with ferocious intensity, directly into Patrick's eyes. That tiny little guy, that puny excuse for a man was going to make him blow his load. The faggot would take his juice, his cream, his cum. Matthew's ego was bloated to bursting from the little man's need to worship him, from his craving to express his power. That little fucker was making him cum, making him dump his goddamn fucking hot cum!

"Cum, you fucking shit!" Matthew grimaced, drew a sharp breath, and witnessed his seed pour out over Patrick's face. His balls dumped more and more of the hot fluid until it ran down the sides of Patrick's head, pooled in his eye sockets, and streamed into his open mouth. Still more cum boiled forth from his nuts in thick ropes, coating Patrick's hair, beading on his forehead in thick white drops. He directed the final jets directly onto Patrick's tongue, now thrust obscenely from his mouth to catch his prize. Take that, you cocksucker! Drown in my goddamn cum you little queer!

Patrick couldn't see, for his eyes were coated with the warm fluid ejected from Matthew's balls. But the image of the big prick spewing its load was seared in his mind. As soon as the spray stung his face with the first blast, his little balls churned up his semen, and spewed his load from his dick. He heard himself groaning loudly: "Thank you, master! Thank you! Thank you for unloading on my face!"

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