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 Five

As Matthew drove to the Red Horse, he reflected on his evening with Patrick a few days before. It had been perfect. Patrick's addiction for his body, to his muscles, to his authoritarian manner, was becoming stronger all the time. Patrick's continual willingness to knuckle under to Matthew's demands was evidence that he wasn't being pushed too far. Matthew knew that each time they got together, Patrick would need him just a little bit more, and Matthew could increase his demands. A burning need is a powerful thing, and Matthew knew he held all the cards. He smiled to himself as he thought about how Patrick was serving him at that very moment. He knew the little guy would really be enjoying the task assigned to him. The hook was set, and Matthew was reeling him in.

Matthew entered the pub and looked around. He was early. His buddies would be here soon, and they'd have their drinks. Meanwhile, he'd take a quick tour to scope out the hot chicks.

* * *

Patrick was clear about his own feelings toward Matthew: intense lust and desire to worship this incredibly built man; a desperate craving to degrade himself for Matthew's amusement. But figuring out Matthew required some deep thought. He knew the bodybuilder was straight, or mostly so, and completely aroused by power. Patrick had seen the big guy consumed with the lust of domination. The aggressive sex and worship sessions were merely tools to exercise that dominance. The begging he demanded served to increase his own power, and therefore his arousal. Matthew obviously got off on feeling in control, in using another man for his own purposes.

Patrick had noticed a few things, however. Matthew had obediently done his squats as Patrick requested on his first visit. He even did the exact number Patrick had mentioned. On his last visit Matthew posed just as Patrick instructed through his begging. Why did Matthew follow these instructions? But more than that, he had dressed in the jeans and leather for Patrick, and he had asked Patrick several times, "Do you like what you see?" Patrick would watch for other clues.

It was Saturday, and that morning Patrick had slept in. As he was lying in bed, he ran his hands carefully over his belly; it was still slightly tender from carpet burn. When the phone rang, he rolled over and picked it up from the nightstand by his bed.


"Patrick. Matt here. I need you to clean the apartment today."

"Yes, sir. What time?" Patrick asked.

"Four. Sharp!" The phone went dead. Patrick was hard already.

* * *

God, what a mess! He must be trying awfully hard to be a slob. Patrick hadn't seen Matthew's place in such disarray. "When he's got a maid, why clean, I suppose," Patrick grumbled aloud. He was again torn between resentment and lust. He was stuck cleaning on a weekend while Matthew was out with his drinking buddies, probably bragging about how he'd shaft Samantha later tonight, about what a good little fuck she was. Patrick knew he was cleaning so Matt could make a good impression when he brought her home later that night. "She's more likely to put out if she thinks I'm not a slob," he had said. Patrick longed to be out with Matthew, not stuck at the apartment.

But Patrick also found his role very erotic. He knew Matthew was using him, and he relished the idea. His puny body was being put to work, used for the pleasure of his superior -- his time, his actions, expropriated to satisfy the whims of a bodybuilder. Patrick was hot and sweaty, but not just from the exercion of cleaning.

Patrick carefully wiped down the weight bench where Matthew's mass was built. He vacuumed the floors, cleaned the windows, and changed the sheets on Matthew's bed. Matthew hadn't told him to change the sheets, but Patrick was compelled to do so -- just the thought of it made him ache with arousal.

Patrick tidied each room, dusted, and polished the furniture according to Matthew's instructions. Every place he went in the apartment he was acutely aware that Matthew's muscular form had inhabited that space. Matthew was allowing Patrick's weak body the privilege of sharing the space with his beautifully strong one. Patrick took a deep breath, knowing that the air entering his body had also been in Matthew's.

Patrick wished he could be Matthew for just one day. He imagined being enormous, looking down at his body and seeing bulky masses of hard flesh, rippling muscles and a gigantic cock. He would command a presence wherever he went. He pictured a skinny little man at his feet worshiping him. He imagined a whole collection of little men, each trained in the worship of one body part. He'd have one little guy focus on sucking his cock. That's all the wimp would do; that would be his sole function. Another would specialize in showing his worship through ass kissing, an expert in the art of pressing lips to his full buttocks and groveling for the honor. Another would be his armpit licker, and another would tend to the needs of his feet. He imagined the boys fighting each other for the privilege of sucking his asshole, for the honor of licking his big cum-filled balls. He would line the boys up in a row, naked, all bent at the waist with butts toward him. Each would wait his turn to beg while Patrick with his big swaggering body went down the line, inspecting their asses and fucking each one of them with wild abandon.

Patrick entered the bathroom and picked up a towel from the floor. Knowing it had once draped Matthew's stunning physique got him excited. He retrieved a pair of Matt's white underwear from the corner. He inspected them, sniffed them, and rubbed them on his face, enjoying the sensuous feel of the material against his cheek. He pictured Matthew stripping them from his bubble ass as he stepped into the shower. Patrick envied the underwear, and wished he could be a pair of Matthew's briefs. He could spend all day wrapped around Matthew's cock, balls, and ass, enjoying the feel and smell of the stud's private parts. He would know intimately every stirring of the big cock, every contour of the curvaceous ass. He would relish the whole weight of the bodybuilder whenever he sat down. During a workout, the sweat would permeate him until he was rank and wet. Patrick held the underwear on his face for a few minutes until he regained his senses and resumed his cleaning duties. He'd better hurry or his big boss would be mad.

Then he spied drops of Matthew's piss on the rim of the toilet, yellow and beckoning. Patrick hesitated, his mind fighting his instincts. God, don't do it, Patrick. Behave yourself! Where's your self-respect?. Patrick's self-control was crushed. He pushed his limits even lower, personal boundaries giving way to the power of being naughty. He sank to his knees and drooped his head to the porcelain rim. He fondled himself as his tongue lapped up the drops, his tongue curving along the edge of the bowl in long swabs. He wished Matthew were watching, calling him names, and laughing. The piss tasted awful, but Patrick continued in spite of it. He knew this degrading activity had nothing to do with how much he might like or dislike the taste.

"This is where he shits," Patrick thought. The image of Matthew's hulking body sitting naked on the crapper nearly made him cum. Patrick sniffed the bowl deeply. He explored the image of Matthew grunting out his shit, ordering Patrick to worship it and eat it. He shook the image from his head. "Get busy, you pervert," he blurted aloud. But in his mind it was Matthew who said it.

Patrick finished his work just after seven, and he knew he'd better get out of there fast. As he prepared to exit, he noticed how the apartment gleamed. He was proud of the excellent work he'd done for his master. He set the lock and closed the door behind him.

Going down the hall toward the elevator, he saw Matthew and three of his buddies coming toward him. Holy shit! Close call! Patrick's brain registered the hotness of the boys. The needle was way off the scale. He noticed the strangers were all big men -- offensive football player types, he decided. He'd love to see those boys in tights! Matthew looked right at Patrick without a hint of acknowledgement, continuing to banter with his friends as they passed him. Patrick was forced to the side to accommodate the large men. As Patrick waited for the elevator, he saw the four enter Matthew's apartment.

* * *

"I'm not happy, Patrick," Matthew was saying the next day. He had come down and knocked loudly on Patrick's door, interrupting a leisurely Sunday morning breakfast. "You were supposed to be out of the apartment by seven. You know how awkward it would have been if we'd walked in on you?"

"I'm sorry, sir," Patrick apologized. "It took longer because I wanted to do a good job."

"Excuses don't cut it. You need to obey me. You must always do what I say. I think some sort of punishment is in order. Do you?" Matthew glared down at the little man.

Patrick noticed the implicit permission Matthew was asking for. The big man was asking if he could impose punishment. Things were making more sense now. Patrick wasn't sure how much Matthew realized about his own behavior.

"Punish me?" Patrick began. "Oh! I'm so sorry! It won't happen again, sir. Please don't hurt me. I just want to please you. I just wanted you to be happy with how well I cleaned. I know I was late, but your friends didn't know I was there. Please forgive me!"

Matthew wasn't satisfied. "I'll give you a choice. Cook me supper for a week without the opportunity to worship me, or get spanked right now. That's your choice. Then we'll call it even."

The significance of the option to choose wasn't lost on Patrick. His decision was made immediately, but he didn't let Matthew know that.

Patrick feigned a desperate struggle. "Oh god! Spanking?" He paced back and forth. "That would be so humiliating! Grown men don't get spanked!"

"You're only half-grown, Patrick," the huge man said without a hint of humour.

"Spanking?" Patrick repeated. He paced some more. "But a week of cooking for nothing? That's totally unfair, Matthew. I won't cook for a week without the chance to...you know. I won't do it. I will not cook for nothing. You're a mean bastard!"

"It's settled, then." Matthew became more aggressive. "We'll do it right here, fuckhead. Take off your clothes."

Matthew went to the patio doors leading to the front balcony and drew the blinds. "Just you and me. A master and his very bad boy." He paused and grinned wickedly. "You know, Patrick, I think you want to be spanked. I'll bet you crave the feeling of my touch so much that you'll even beg me to spank you. In fact I'm sure of it." He looked at Patrick's little body, his tiny dick erect and throbbing.

"Beg me to spank you!" the big man commanded.

Patrick was embarassed for himself. Begging to be spanked? Right here in his own apartment? He'd struck another new low. "Hit me, master. I deserve it! I'm so sorry I disappointed you! Please, slap my ass. Hurt me! Please make me behave." Patrick was begging on his knees, his favorite position.

Matthew's large pecs were billowing out from a skimpy muscle shirt. His arms and shoulders looked freshly pumped. Patrick swore that the man had worked out before he came down this morning; he had stretch marks over his anterior shoulder muscles. The leather belt threaded through the top of his skin tight shorts was obviously unnecessary for holding them up, but Patrick knew that belts have many uses. Matthew's thighs strained at the legs of the material. Patrick loved those thighs. He was about to experience them first hand.

"Get up and lay across me," Matthew ordered as he removed his belt and sat on Patrick's sofa. Patrick rose to his feet and assumed a submissive position across Matthew's legs, noting how uncomfortable the impossibly hard flesh was against him.

Matthew's heart thumped and his prick throbbed. He loved the obedience of the smaller man. This little wimp was again submitting to his power. The skinny bare ass looked up at him, exposed and vulnerable. He would savor this.

"Beg, boy."

Matthew listened to Patrick's pleadings. He felt powerful, even omnipotent. His meaty, bare hand slapped the little ass repeatedly, taking care to hurt Patrick just a little. His thick hand rained down like a club again and again. The small buttcheeks reddened. Matthew paused.

"I deserve more," Patrick cried. "I'm so ashamed that I disobeyed you. I deserve your belt on my ass. Please punish me with your belt!"

Matthew used it lightly. He could easily have whipped the boy into a state of unconsciousness, but held back to the point where Patrick was sobbing lightly. His body convulsing with the tears, his ass still wiggling with desire.

Finally Matthew finished. His erection was hard in his pants. "Okay, you're off the hook. No week of cooking without rewards. But you will come up tonight and cook for me. I need to eat at 8 o'clock. And as long as you perform well, you'll get to suck my cock."

Patrick beamed through his tears. As he got up, he thanked Matthew profusely for the spanking. He felt so relaxed and alive. He then asked, "When your buddies left and Samantha came over last night...did you fuck her?" Patrick's question was bold and inappropriate, but he felt he needed to know.

Matthew grinned. "Of course I fucked her!" The little man's jealousy pleased him.

* * *

The meal was delicious. At least Patrick assumed it was; Matthew didn't permit him to have any. But it smelled great! Matthew had ordered Patrick to make poached whitefish, rice, and steamed peas. In keeping with the requirements of his bodybuilding regimen, the low fat meal was apportioned to his exact specifications: enough to feed the muscles, but not enough to be stored as fat. Patrick was impressed with how much Matthew knew about food. He knew the protein content of just about anything Patrick could dream up, and he spoke at length about the importance of timing his eating in relation to his workout schedule. Patrick would have assumed that Matthew must be making some of that stuff up, but the gigantic muscles proved otherwise.

Patrick's only feast was a visual one. He watched with fascination as Matthew cut and chewed his food. The man's body rippled with every activity, with even such a mundane function as consuming a meal. The muscles of Matthew's temples moved erotically beneath the skin with every clench of his square jaw. Patrick briefly wished he were a piece of fish. He would be eaten by Matthew and be transformed into part of that wonderful body.

"Do the dishes, clean up the kitchen, and let me know when you're done." Matthew heaved himself from the dining room chair as he finished the meal and sauntered into the living room.

When Patrick found Matthew on the sofa a little later on, he had dozed off. Patrick eyed the bulging crotch, wondering what to do. He had been denied his meal, but he really craved his promised dessert! He decided to let Matthew sleep. He let himself out the door, went down to his apartment, and fixed himself some supper.

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, Matthew called. "Get up here, cocksucker! Your job isn't finished yet." Click.

Patrick hurried up the stairs and knocked on Matthew's door.

"Open!" Matthew called.

Patrick went in. "Didn't I tell you to let me know when you were finished in the kitchen?" demanded Matthew. "You fucked up again, boy. When I tell you to do something, you damn well better do it. Don't trust your own judgement. Do what I say. When you're with me, I think for you. Get it? You are not in control, I am."

Patrick was indeed sorry. He hated to disappoint his man. He apologized profusely.

"Shut up. Get on the weight bench."

Patrick complied. He was getting red with shame already. Matthew was training him well -- he knew what was coming.

"Ten bench presses, you worm. Go!"

Patrick looked helplessly at the big man. The bar was still stacked with weights from Matthew's last workout. Patrick knew the bar held a weight greater than his own body. It was ridiculous to be asked to do even one press.

"I can't," whispered Patrick, the heat glowing red in his face.

"What?" growled Matthew.

"I can't do it. I want to obey you, but it's impossible. I'm a weakling."

Patrick's voice was truly pathetic, but music to Matthew's ears nonetheless. "Are you admitting you're weaker than me? Try this." Matthew removed half the plates. Patrick looked forlorn. "No? How about this?" Matthew removed all but a single plate on each side.

Patrick had never done bench presses, but he thought he might be able to press the bar now. He shifted the bar up and lowered it unsteadily to his chest. It stuck there. He struggled and strained, even grunted with the effort, but he could not raise it.

"Help me, Matthew!" he conceded.

Matthew stood over him, arms folded across his imposing chest. "Of course...provided you do my laundry tomorrow." Patrick hastily agreed.

Matthew effortlessly returned the bar to the supports. "Time for you to blow me, you fruit."

Matthew ordered Patrick to strip him, a task Patrick treasured. Matthew then strode naked to the couch, the interplay of muscles breathtaking as he walked. He lay back on some cushions, reclining to a semi-upright position, and motioned to the TV. "Turn it on and start the DVD. There's a video in it. It's cued up to go. I'm going to watch porn while my little servant services me." Patrick fumbled with the unfamiliar buttons until the machine whirred to life and the DVD began.

The bodybuilder put his wrists behind his head, showcasing his monstrous arms. Patrick craved the look of the blocks of veined flesh, solid and powerful. He felt the pull of the exposed armpits. He longed to bury his face in them, but remained at a distance until he received Matthew's instructions. The small blocks of tough muscle on Matthew's abdomen were cleanly defined. "The most intoxicating six-pack on earth," Patrick mused. The body split into two beefy legs extending down the couch and ending with those perfect feet. Patrick had fond memories of those feet. They were the first part of Matthew's body he had been allowed to touch.

Matthew watched Patrick staring at his body. The muscleman leaned over and licked a bicep muscle. He looked back at Patrick and smirked. More licking. More smirking. Patrick's temperature rose with each lick. Matthew continued to recline with his arms exposed. He spent a long time kissing himself. God I'm hot! This little faggot's going to bust a nut just watching me. Matthew continued his show, contracting his arms so the bulges of flesh leapt upward. He nuzzled his arms. "Want to touch me? he teased. "Want to feel what you can never have, skinny boy? Yeah, you want me so bad. I can see it in your face. You're so hot for me you're aching. Well, reward time, you faggot." Matthew smirked. "First, my pits need a wash. Haven't showered since my workout this morning. Straddle my hips, bend down and lick me."

Patrick climbed up onto Matthew's big body and sat facing him, knees straddling Matthew's hips and his ass settling down right on Matthew's cock. "I am going to worship your pits, master. Your beautiful pits, sir. With my tongue."

Patrick bent forward and buried his face in a great armpit. The pit was huge, matching the muscles around it, and populated by short stubble. Like most bodybuilders, Matthew had shaved his armpits, although it had obviously been a few days since the last time. Patrick's face was swallowed up by the deep cavern. The stubble was harsh against his cheeks. His tongue swabbed the tender flesh and Matthew moaned.

"Yeah, you faggot! Get the tongue working. Clean me up. Lick me good. Wash those pits. Please me." Patrick switched to the other pit, breathing deeply the heady smell that had built up during the day.

Matthew brought his arm down suddenly, trapping Patrick's head. He flexed his lats to bring his muscle out below, and he flexed his enormous biceps, which bulged out above, effectively obscuring most of Patrick's head. The little man was just a body now, his head lost in a black, airless cave.

"How sick you are, little man. Licking a dude's pits! You're fucking disgusting! You're an embarassment. You should be ashamed of how you love cleaning me up. I know you've been dying to lick these awesome musclepits, haven't you?" Matthew squeezed so hard that Patrick thought his skull would crack. Flesh blocked his mouth and nose. He tried to suck in air, but couldn't. His body began to crave oxygen desperately. He began to push hard against the big body and then punched Matthew's chest and gut as he flailed his puny arms. Matthew just laughed, and finally released the gasping man.

"You're such fun to play with," Matthew said. "I abuse you, treat you like garbage, and you keep begging for more. You must really think I'm hot. You must really worship this body to degrade yourself by sucking my pits. I really want to hear you beg to suck my asshole, but we'll save that for another time. Get to work on my cock."

Patrick eyed Matthew's long penis. It had returned to a soft state for the moment and was tucked against a leg. His balls were forced to sit up high on his thighs, which pressed together by the necessity of their size.

As Patrick knelt by the couch and began his first tentative licks, the limp organ throbbed to life; Matthew was enjoying the porn. Patrick heard from behind him the voice of a man in the video. He was giving instructions to a woman on how to properly suck his cock.

"That's right," Matthew moaned as Patrick's tongue found a particularly sensitive spot. "Ahh...good cocksucker."

Patrick continued attending to the straight stud's needs, expertly growing his cock, inch by inch. He teased the prick with his lips, his tongue, and squeezed the bodybuilder's balls sensuously in his hands.

It wasn't long until Matthew's breathing became labored. The video was so hot; two little bitches were naked and fondling their own tits as they begged the man to cum in their mouths.

Matthew focused on the sensations his own little bitch was providing. Rumblings deep in his balls sent spasms of pleasure radiating to the furthest reaches of his body. Matthew's big body flexed and writhed. Patrick increased his rhythmn, struggling to swallow as much of the huge cock as possible. Matthew was getting hotter. The pleasure welled up in his head. He felt the power of simply lying there, of being serviced without any need for reciprocation. He was aware of his arms behind his head, that he didn't need to participate in any way in his own pleasure. The submissive was performing just as he should, doing all the work.

Yeah...yeah...swallow my cock. Pleasure me, bitch! The intensity in his groin was rising.

"You want my cum bad, don't you bitch? You crave it. Work for it. Perform for me, queerboy. Service me. Service my big fat cock. Ah...that's so good...milk my cock with your mouth. Milk me. Milk my prick, cocksucking faggot." Matthew's own words made him hotter still. The slurping and sucking sounds of Patrick's talented mouth were praise in his ears. Worship your god. Take his seed.

Matthew reached down to his muscular chest and fondled his swollen nipples, flicking them and groaning. He pinched them lightly, then twisted them hard. "Holy f-fuck!" he sputtered. He reached down and grabbed little Patrick by the hair. His large hand forced the face on his cock up and down with an urgency that signaled an imminent orgasm.

Patrick's head was a blur. The big hand was using his head like a jackhammer. The tight, sucking lips were going to vacuum the ball juice right out of him. Patrick began to choke. "Mmph! Pmnngh!" He clutched the hips of the muscleman for support.

"Yeah, gag on my prick, you little shit! Too big? Too fucking huge for that tight little throat? Take it. Take my cum. Choke on it. Gag on my fucking cum you queer!"

Matthew's balls tightened. He felt a huge load swell from deep inside, and he pressed Patrick's head tight against his groin. The cum boiled up from his nuts, pressure venting through the shaft of his cock. The fluid erupted from his balls, searing the inside of his cock as it shot through.

"Drink, you cumrag! Drink me! Drink my goddamn fucking hot cum!"

Patrick had no choice. His head was immobilized, pubic hair thrust against his eyelids. He felt Matthew's cock throbbing deep in his gullet, the organ straining against the confines of his constricted throat. The hot juice poured into his body. A flood of semen sprayed into the back of his throat and gushed down into his stomach. Wave after wave of the hot juice coated his insides, the cream running inside him, a river of Matthew's essence fresh from his glorious balls. Patrick's excitement of feeling the cum gush into him made his breathing labored. He struggled to get sufficient air through his nose, but he was determined to perform flawlessly for Matthew. He would take every last drop. He would make his master proud.

* * *

Patrick had begged to be allowed to sleep on the floor at the foot of Matthew's bed, but the bodybuilder declined. "Go home, cocksucker," was all he had said. Patrick lay in his own bed wide awake. He relived every delicious moment of his servitude that day over and over, wacking his dick until he fell asleep from exhaustion.