A Trial of Strength

A TRIAL OF STRENGTH - PART 82 By Rob Williams

IN THIS CHAPTER

Lloyd meets Zack. The architect is obsessed by the stunning black bodybuilder. He is addicted ... to the man, the smell of his sweat, his soiled clothes. Zack treats Lloyd's addiction with a sexual overdose. Lloyd is tied up and forced to watch Zack do a bone-crunching workout. "Mesmerized by the superb physique he watched the near-naked athlete flex and strain, his cock bulging under the torn jock."

As always, guys, I welcome your comments and suggestions. They can be very helpful in planning future chapters. E-mail me at rw6789@aol.com.

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A TRIAL OF STRENGTH - PART 82

Now that Randy and Bob were back together and harmony had been restored in the house, the many new projects could now proceed. One of them was Zack's remodeling of his house. He had reached the point where he needed an architect so he had called the construction company's resident architect Lloyd, who had readily agreed to take on the job. Lloyd had heard Zack's name mentioned but they had never actually met, as they worked on different sites.

They had arranged to meet at Zack's house after their regular workday. As he rang the doorbell Lloyd was intrigued to know what the guy was like. "Probably your average scruffy construction worker," he thought. "Oh, well." Lloyd himself had dressed smartly in well-tailored suit and tie as he always did when meeting a new client. Handsome, well-built, arrogant, he knew he looked good.

He became impatient when no one answered the door, but he heard thudding sounds coming from behind the house, so he walked round to the garden in back. The sounds were coming from a guy kneeling over a tree stump, digging at the earth to loosen it, evidently trying to work the stump out of the ground. All Lloyd could see was the man's naked back. Must be one of Zack's workmen. After all, no one had mentioned that Zack himself was black.

Lloyd cleared his throat noisily to be heard over the banging. "Hey, you there," he said sharply.

The man raised his head, pulled himself to his feet and turned round to face the architect. Lloyd's mouth gaped open and he felt his legs go weak. The man was spectacular. Tall, black as ebony, shaved head, and a perfect bodybuilder's physique ... broad shoulders, wide lats tapering down to a slim, tight waist. All he was wearing was a pair of old, gray torn shorts that gripped his sinewy thighs. Under the shorts Lloyd saw the bulge of the huge club running down so low the tip was poking out at the bottom.

Lloyd was mesmerized by the man's face, with its strong, square jaw, high cheek bones and deep-set gray eyes. The picture was pornographically beautiful ... and suddenly it came alive. The glorious face broke into a beaming smile with flashing white teeth.

"Hi, I'm Zack ... you must be Lloyd." Lloyd didn't move. He was in a trance, rooted to the spot. "Hello!" Zack grinned. "Earth to Lloyd ... anyone there?"

Lloyd snapped back to life and stammered. "Er, sorry. Hi, I'm Lloyd."

"I know," Zack laughed. "I just said that. Good to meet you at last." He looked the handsome, stylish architect up and down, put out his hand and gripped Lloyd's in a crushing handshake. "Sorry about the shorts," he said. "Didn't expect to have such a well-dressed visitor. Still, we'll soon change that. You're working for me now, Lloyd. It's real casual around here. You'll get used to it."

Zack looked down at the bulge growing bigger by the minute in the crotch of the well-tailored pants. "I think we're gonna get along real well, Lloyd," he grinned.

Zack got right down to business. "OK, here's the project: I want to build a guest house on this corner of the lot. That's why I was trying to get rid of this damn tree stump. So what do you think? Can it be done?"

Dazed by this spectacular man Lloyd was trying hard to focus and blurted out, "What, the guest house or the tree stump?"

Zack laughed. "Well both, I guess ... starting with the tree stump."

Lloyd's mind was starting to clear. "You, er, don't want to damage the stump. It's a great shape and if it comes out whole it would make a fine outdoor table. Here, let me give you a hand."

He reached forward and pulled some of the weeds and vines that grew round it. But his tie hung down and got in the way. Zack shook his head. "Hey, if you really want to help, lose the tie and jacket." Lloyd obeyed automatically and quickly took them off. With the heat of the sun, and the lust he felt standing close to the near-naked man, Lloyd was sweating through his shirt, with big damp patches under his arms and down his back. "The shirt too," Zack said, "if you're ready for some real work."

Lloyd peeled off his shirt and stood before Zack stripped to the waist. Now it was Zack's turn to do a double-take as he saw the architect's flawless physique, muscles well-honed by exercise, and handsome face with moustache and goatee beard. "Hell, that's some build you got there, man. Work out a lot?"

"Six days a week at the gym."

"OK, let's put those muscles to work. Here, help me move this damn thing." Facing each other they pushed the tree stump back and forth, trying to work it loose. Lloyd's cock was stiff in his pants as he watched the spectacular black body strain, muscles flexing hard, chiseled features gleaming with sweat.

"Here, this should do it," Zack said, throwing a rope round the stump. "You pull the stump from the middle and I'll get behind you and pull the rope. The two of us should be able to free it."

Lloyd took a sharp intake of breath as he felt the hard, sweaty body press against him. He felt Zack's breath on his neck as he said, "OK, both together, now heave." Their bodies tensed and Lloyd felt the man's huge biceps press against his sides and the chest against his back. But what made him almost lose his grip was the feel of the massive cock in the thin shorts pressing against his ass. As Zack adjusted his arms higher Lloyd was overpowered by the rancid smell of the black man's sweat coming up from his armpits.

Zack was aware of it too and as he strained at the rope he said through gritted teeth, "Sorry, man, I must stink. Been working in the sun all day ... haven't taken a shower since yesterday. Hope the smell of my stinking crotch and pits doesn't make you gag.

As a matter of fact it almost did, and Lloyd's head reeled with the sensual assault ... the feel of the strong black body wrapped around him from behind and the overpowering smell of his sweat. Strangely, though, it energized Lloyd, redoubled his strength as he heaved at the obstinate tree stump. His body had never felt so alive as it did now, straining, sweating together with this incredible man, both of them crushed together in an intense, combined test of strength.

Finally the stump gave up the struggle and moved. "Here it comes, the fucker," yelled Zack. "One last heave." Suddenly the stump broke free and jerked abruptly out of the ground, causing the men to lose their balance and fall backwards into the dirt. Zack was behind Lloyd so he hit the ground first, on his back some feet away from the stump. Lloyd was closer to the stump, twisted as he fell and slammed face-down on top of Zack's lower body. The fall stunned him and he lay in a daze.

As he regained his wits Lloyd breathed in hard, and choked. The pungent smell was overpowering. He realized his face was pressed against the filthy shorts, his cheek resting on the hard ridge of the cock underneath. The smell was oozing from the stinking crotch, a mix of sweat, stale piss and maybe even dried cum. Still dazed and exhausted, Lloyd instinctively moved away from the rank odor, dragging his body slowly higher up the sinewy body. His face, his mouth, slid over the smooth, damp ebony skin, past the slim waist, the steel-hard abs, then up to the cleft between the rounded pecs.

His strength gave out momentarily and his face fell sideways, coming to rest in the wiry damp hair of the black man's armpit. Again he gagged. Now it was not just the smell ... he could taste the rancid sweat that ran down from the black hair. It wasn't just exhaustion that immobilized him. He was transfixed, breathing in the stench of the soaking armpit.

Lloyd was drowning. His heart was pounding, his body tense, and his cock was rigid. He felt the heat rising from his legs, through his balls and along the length of his cock. His body shuddered and he groaned as he felt the damp warmth of sticky liquid filling his shorts. He realized to his horror that he had shot his load in his pants. Embarrassed and desperate he pulled himself up out of the armpit and found himself staring into Zack's smiling face.

Whether or not Zack was aware of what had happened he didn't let on. "We did it, man," he beamed. "No way could I have moved that damn thing without your help."

Lloyd rolled off him and Zack sprang to his feet. He reached down, grabbed Lloyd's hand, pulled him to his feet and looked him over. "Shit, man, you're a fucking mess. Sorry, your pants are filthy. Hell, we need a beer," and he strode into the house. In a couple of minutes the two men were sitting in the garden with their beers, Lloyd on an old garden seat and Zack facing him a few feet away, sitting astride the now freed tree stump.

Now that their physical efforts had resulted in a clear patch of ground Zack became even more enthusiastic about his project. "See here," he said, "this is kind of what I had in mind." He leaned forward and with a stick scratched a rough outline in the dirt. He talked fast, about the structure of the building, the materials he would need, and the various design options.

This was Lloyd's area of expertise and he would normally have eagerly joined in. But right now he couldn't get his mind beyond the stunning image of the near-naked bodybuilder leaning forward, his muscles rippling under the thin black skin. The legs were stretched wide over the tree stump, so the shorts rode up his thighs, exposing more of the huge black cock and one of his balls hanging out of them.

Lloyd felt he was hyperventilating and he took deep breaths. His eyes glazed over as they fixed on the bulging crotch and the filthy shorts tight round this muscle-god's waist. He heard only the sound of the deep, masculine voice but not the words. Zack was oblivious of all this, totally absorbed in his subject as he spoke animatedly of his plans. But eventually even he realized that Lloyd was not paying attention.

"Hey, man. You OK? Something wrong?"

"No, I ..." Lloyd stammered. "I think I just ... just need to use the bathroom."

"Sure, man. Just inside the door, round to the right." And Zack went back to his sketch in the dirt.

Lloyd staggered into the house, groped his way to the bathroom and closed the door. He looked at his dirt-streaked face in the mirror and took deep breaths to steady himself. "Oh, God," he moaned to his reflection. "I can't do this. It's driving me crazy." His mind spun in a kaleidoscope of images of the magnificent man outside.

He saw again his first vision of Zack as he had stood up, tall, muscular in his torn shorts, the ebony flesh gleaming with sweat. He saw him again heaving at the tree stump, veins bulging, face tense with concentration. Then he gasped as he again inhaled the overpowering smell of the man. He remembered crawling up over his huge body, felt his face against his flesh, recalled the sour taste of the sweat pouring from his armpit.

Lloyd's body became rigid. He had no idea that he had pulled his cock out of his already cum-drenched shorts and was beating it furiously, until he felt his juice powering up through his cock, blasting against the mirror before him. He also had no idea that he had howled in the ecstasy of glorious release, cum for a second time under the spell of this pornographically beautiful man.

When his orgasm was finally spent he came suddenly back to earth. With surprise he saw the creamy white juice running down the mirror onto the floor, felt his cock still pulsing in his hand. "Jesus," he groaned, realizing what he had done. Springing into action he grabbed a towel, wiped off his cock and rubbed frantically at the mirror until the cum stains were gone.

He dropped to his knees and scrubbed at the semen pooled on the floor. When it was clean he slumped motionless on his hands and knees, his head bowed in exhaustion. And just then the door opened.

"Hey, man, you OK?" the deep voice asked. "I thought I heard a shout so I came to check on you." Zack looked down at the shirtless man kneeling on the floor. He bent down, wrapped his arms under his armpits and round his chest and pulled him to his feet. Lloyd leaned against the firm body.

"Sorry about that, Zack," Lloyd managed to say, frantically pulling himself together. "Just didn't feel that great all of a sudden. I'll be fine now."

"Must have been all that heavy muscle crunching out there. But don't give out on me so soon, man. We got a lot of work to get through. Come outside again and I'll tell you more about my plans."

He threw his arm over Lloyd's shoulder and steered him through the door. Lloyd felt the muscular body press against him, smelt again the sour smell of the damp armpit resting against his neck ... and felt again his own cock grow stiff in his cum-soaked shorts.

Despite his wild infatuation with his employer Lloyd was eventually able to concentrate on the architectural task at hand. This was his expertise, after all, his passion, and he warmed to the idea of designing a small guest house from scratch. Especially for a man like this.

Zack was not entirely unaware of Lloyd's feelings for him. Looking the way he did, Zack was used to people lusting for him, women and men alike, and he always took it in stride. It just went with the territory of great masculine beauty. And now he pushed it out of his mind as he had another overwhelming preoccupation ... his enthusiastic plans for the new building. So focused was he on his project that most of Lloyd's obvious desire escaped his attention ... the hungry looks, the heavy breathing ... and the frequent trips to the bathroom.

Of course Zack was conscious of the fact that Lloyd himself was a hot-looking guy. When he came to the house now the architect wore jeans and a T-shirt, and when they were outdoors worked stripped to the waist. His body really was flawless, and when his face was relaxed it was the epitome of masculine beauty, with its strong features set off by the moustache and goatee beard.

But it never crossed Zack's mind to make a move on Lloyd. To Zack this was a professional partnership and he wanted nothing to get in the way. Besides, he had Darius, and the boy had turned out be perfect for him, exactly what he wanted and needed. Darius spent many nights with Zack, when Pablo was with Randy, and they made sensational love together. Darius even enticed Zack into some of his erotic fantasies ... something new and exciting for Zack.

And talking of fantasies, Darius was in his element watching his master working with the handsome architect. His sexual antennae were finely tuned and he was aware of Lloyd's intense lust for Zack. In his mind he wove a hundred fantasies involving the two of them, even the three of them. "If only ..." he thought, though he knew that Zack saw Lloyd strictly in a professional light.

They were a week or so into the work on the project and while Zack was pleased with the initial plans Lloyd had drawn up, the architect's behavior was becoming more and more irritating. He had become bolder in his attempts to attract Zack, the lingering looks, the brushing up against him, making vague sexual innuendos. It was starting to be an annoying distraction and Zack was getting angry. He had finally had enough and thought he should bring things to a head.

As it turned out, one afternoon events came to a head all on their own. Lloyd was alone in Zack's house working on the blueprints. Zack had gone back to his construction site to deal with an unexpected problem, and Darius was working late with Randy.

As usual, Lloyd found it hard to concentrate, and here he was, alone in the house for the first time. He left his drawing board and wandered around the small house, breathing in the essence of the glorious man who lived there. In the kitchen he looked at the unwashed dishes in the sink and imagined Zack eating breakfast in just his undershorts. In the living room he saw Zack's armchair in front of the TV and flopped down into it. He felt the impression of the big man in the chair and fantasized about Zack maybe beating his meat as he watched a movie, as Lloyd himself often did.

Then he got up and walked into the bedroom. The bed was unmade, the rumpled sheets lying just as Zack had got out of them. Lloyd fell on his knees and buried his head in the sheets, trying to smell where his crotch had been. He moved higher and pressed his face into the pillow, where Zack had laid his shaved head.

His heart was beating fast as he stood up and looked around. He saw the exercise bench, barbell and weights that Zack used in his private workouts. Then his eyes fixed on the laundry basket. He opened it and gasped. There in a jumbled heap were Zack's dirty clothes, T-shirts, socks, underwear, gym gear. With mounting frenzy he pulled them out.

He found an old tank top that Zack had evidently worn many times at the gym as it reeked of his sweat. Lloyd pressed it to his nose, breathing in the rancid smell, and imagined the tank stretched across Zack's chest, soaking up his sweat as he worked out hard. Then Lloyd grabbed a pair of socks and inhaled the stink of the man's sweaty feet.

Next came Zack's Jockey shorts, rumpled, stained, streaked with yellow piss marks and the smell of old dried cum. He crushed them to his face and his head reeled with the pungent smells of Zack's juices. Then his eye caught sight of a jock-strap. He pulled it out and looked at it mesmerized. It was old and worn down to a thinly woven fabric. Torn, frayed, it would barely be enough to contain the black man's huge club.

But it was the smell that intoxicated him. This too had clearly been had worn by Zack many times over, probably under his jeans, or under his shorts when he worked out. Maybe he had even stripped down to just the filthy jock when he exercised. Zack imagined the sight of the muscle god straining at the gym, gorgeous ebony body naked except for the jockstrap, with the outline of his bulging cock straining under the thin fabric.

The spectacular image sent shivers through Lloyd's body. He held the jock-strap to his face and was intoxicated by the stench of sweat, semen and urine. And they had all come from Zack, the man he worshipped. He looked down at the bed where he had tossed Zack's dirty clothes and breathed again the rancid essence of the man. His hand had gone down to his crotch and pulled out his cock.

It was pure sensory overload ... the sight, the taste the smell. He sucked at the filthy fabric, gagged on it, bit into it trying to extract the man's juices, and the stink intensified as it became wet. He looked down at the soiled clothes strewn on the bed ... the sweaty tank top, rancid socks and stained shorts. He couldn't hold back and with his free hand pumped his cock hard. He visualized the black muscle-stud, felt his skin, smelt him, tasted him and he screamed into the jock as his orgasm erupted and he blasted hot juice over the clothes on the bed. Stream after stream spurted down, soaking the underwear in warm, sticky cum.

Lloyd was in a world of pure fantasy, created by the overpowering sensory images of Zack. So lost was he in that world, that he was unaware of the man himself, standing in the doorway behind him, gazing in disbelief at the incredible sight before him.

"What the fuck?"

Lloyd whirled round at the sound of the deep growl and stood horrified at the sight of Zack. He was frozen to the spot, still holding the jock-strap, cum still dripping from his cock.

"You sick fuck," snarled Zack. "What, you're getting off on my stinking shorts? Sucking on my filthy jock-strap and jacking off all over my bed? You are one crazy mother-fucker. What else have you been doing in my house?"

Lloyd was shaking. "Nothing, sir. Nothing else. I was just ..." But his words trailed off. There was absolutely nothing he could say, no explanation. It was obvious what he had been doing and he blushed a deep red. He let the jock strap fall to the floor and stood limply, arms hanging at his side, head bowed in abject humiliation.

Zack turned and began pacing the room. "Jesus Christ, man, how long has this been going on? What, you lusted for me so much you shot your fucking load over my stinking underwear. I knew something was going on with you, but this! You're ... you're pathetic. You're sick, man." He banged the wall and strode around the room. "Obsession, that's what it is ... no, worse than that ... addiction. You're a fucking sex addict, Lloyd. Is that what you are? Answer me, asshole."

Lloyd found his voice. "I am addicted to you, sir. I worship you."

"Jesus Christ," Zack said again, and threw himself into an armchair. He put his hands behind his head and gazed up at the ceiling, trying to work out what to do next. He lowered his gaze to Lloyd and, despite his anger, felt a trace of pity for the humiliated man. "OK, I've known a few addicts in my time and there are only two answers. You either remove them from the object of their addiction ..."

"No, sir, please. Not that."

"...or the addict has to reach rock bottom. An overdose usually does it. So that's what you need, Lloyd, an overdose of sex. Get it!?"

"Yes, sir. Anything you say, sir."

Zack leapt to his feet again and paced thoughtfully. "OK, here it is then. You wanted to know me intimately ...?" Scornfully he picked up the cum-soaked underwear and tossed it back on the bed. "Then so be it. You'll get to know me so well you'll overdose on it. Maybe that'll cure you. But first you clean your cum off my underwear. On your knees, asshole."

Lloyd understood. He dropped to his knees by the bed, bent forward and licked frantically at the sheets, the shorts and undershirts, sucking up his sticky semen. Again he smelt the filthy underwear, tasted it, and again felt a jolt in his cock. But this time he was intent on obeying the muscle-god's commands.

"That's enough! Now get up and strip."

Lloyd shot to his feet, stripped off his T-shirt, kicked off his sneakers and dropped his jeans and shorts. He trembled, naked, before the seething man. Zack ran his eyes over the muscular body, then cupped Lloyd's jaw in his hand and stared into the handsome, fearful face. "You're a hot-looking stud, Lloyd, but you have to learn a lesson. Your obsession with me has to be cured. I'm gonna take you to your rock bottom, torture your body and mind without laying a hand on you."

He shoved the naked man who fell backward into the chair behind him, an upright wooden chair with arms. Zack left the room briefly and returned with the ropes he had previously used in the garden. He moved quickly and expertly and in a few minutes Lloyd was tied securely to the chair, ropes wound round his chest, wrists tied to the chair's arms, feet to the chair legs. He pulled at his restraints but realized that he was completely immobile.

Zack looked down at him. "OK, asshole. You got off fantasizing about my private life. So I'll show you ... show you what it's like every day when I get home from work, and I'm all alone. I'm gonna make your fantasies come to life, Lloyd." He turned and left the room, leaving the naked architect bound to the chair, shuddering with fevered anticipation.

Zack spent a few minutes in the kitchen, and when he came back in he ignored Lloyd. It was as if he had just come in from work, dressed in dirty T-shirt, jeans and boots. He held a glass of the protein shake that he always drank before working out. He sat in the armchair and drank it slowly.

Lloyd was mesmerized. Just the mere fact of seeing this powerful man in a private moment, doing what he always did, was enough to make his cock get stiff. He was like a voyeur, spying on a bodybuilder alone in his house. He watched as the big black man drained his glass, then stood up and stretched. He looked at himself in the mirror and flexed, flaring his lats and tensing his biceps.

As he always did, he stripped off his work clothes quickly and Lloyd gasped as he saw the stunning man naked for the first time. Zack picked up two items from the bed and Lloyd immediately recognized the stained shorts and the filthy, frayed jock strap. Zack pulled on the jock strap, cramming his big soft dick inside it. Then he pulled the shorts over it and again admired his gleaming black muscles in the mirror.

Lloyd's cock became rigid as he realized what the man was doing ... what he always did when he got home from work. The bodybuilder was going to work out, exercise his ripped muscular physique to relieve the tension of the day. Lloyd was hardly breathing as he watched the workout routine begin.

Zack lay on his back on the floor a few feet in front of the bound man. He put his hands behind his head and began to do crunches. As he raised his torso up and back his eight-pack abs flexed hard in solid ridges.

The architect was hypnotized by the sight of the big muscle-stud in front of him, body straining, with loud exhales each time he pulled himself upward. Instinctively Lloyd tried to reach for his own cock, but he couldn't move. He struggled hard, pulling at the ropes. He desperately needed to touch his cock, stroke it, shoot his load as he watched the sensational sight of the bodybuilder's workout.

Eventually the endless crunches were over and Zack sprang to his feet. He looked into the mirror and ran his hand over his rock-hard abs with satisfaction. Then he pulled the bench forward and lay on it on his back. The barbell was on a rack at the head and Zack grabbed it and began doing bench presses, lowering the bar to his bulging chest, then raising it, his biceps and shoulders straining with the intense effort.

Lloyd was in a frenzy of frustration, watching this fantasy of the black athlete exercising his perfect physique. He needed release, he needed to cum, but he was helpless. He pulled frantically at his restraints, the ropes cutting into him as he strained to free one hand at least. But it was hopeless. He had never been so turned on in his life, and never felt such mental agony. Zack had promised him torture and that is what he was getting.

Zack went through his entire grueling routine, and when he finally stood up sweat was pouring down his face onto his gleaming chest, then running down to a growing wet patch on his shorts. His sinewy body heaved, muscles tense from exertion. He took a swig of water from a bottle while he once again admired his body in the mirror and ran his hand over his bulging pecs.

Throughout his intense workout Zack ignored the bound architect ... but he knew exactly what he was doing, exactly the effect he was having on the helpless man. Zack knew how he looked, knew the effect he had on guys at the gym as they watched him work out. From the corner of his eye he had often caught their envious looks, saw their eyes snap away a split second after he looked back at them. Those macho guys would never admit that they found him beautiful, never for a second admit to themselves that his incredible body turned them on ... but it did ... all of them.

And now that beautiful body was on display to the handsome young architect who was bound naked to a chair, helpless to do anything but watch in awe and painful lust. The sweat was still streaming off the black bodybuilder. The dampness in his shorts had spread all over his crotch and the thin cotton became transparent, so the soiled jock-strap was now clearly visible.

Lloyd was beside himself as his eyes fixed on the soaking shorts clinging to Zack's thighs and the old jock underneath, wrapped around the bulging meat of his cock. The young architect's former arrogance had vanished. He was moaning now, starting to beg.

"Don't do this to me, man. Please sir, I'm begging you. Just let me touch myself once, just once so I can get off looking at you. Let me shoot my load and I'll leave, I'll never come back. Just once. I can't take this, man. You are so fucking hot. I need to cum, man..." And he started to sob.

Zack ignored him completely. He took another long drink of water then turned to the mirror. He ran his hand over his wet face, flicking the sweat to the floor. His hands went down over his chest and stomach, down under the waistband of his shorts. He pushed and the shorts began to slide down from his waist, over his bulging thighs, until they dropped to the floor.

"No!" Lloyd sobbed in despair as he saw the reflection of the body in the mirror, wearing only a filthy, ragged jock-strap that strained against the cock coiled under the worn fabric. He saw the man's V-shaped back too, tapering down to the wide band of the jock, tight round his slim waist, the straps framing the perfect mounds of the hard, brown ass.

The sweat was bringing out the pungent smell of the man's crotch under the filthy jock. Lloyd breathed deeply. If he could not touch the man at least he could inhale the smell of his body. His agony increased as he saw Zack admire his own refection, then cup the jock strap in both hands, squeezing it so the cock bulged underneath. He rubbed his fist against the soiled cloth and watched as the cock swelled, growing slowly until the huge club was rock hard.

"Please, man," Lloyd moaned again. "I can't take any more. Don't do this to me. Please end it, sir. Help me ..."

Lloyd decided to do just that. He picked up the water bottle, held it high and poured the remains over his head and down his body. Turning from the mirror he walked over to the chin bar he had installed, screwed into a beam high above his head. It was six feet from where Lloyd groaned in torment. Zack took a deep breath, leapt upward and grabbed the bar, facing Lloyd, his feet clear off the floor. And slowly he began a series of chin lifts.

He pulled himself up, held the pose for a few seconds at the top, then lowered himself slowly. The movement exercised his whole body and called for all his strength. His shoulders and biceps flexed hard as he pulled his body upward. His lats flared, his stomach became rigid and his legs were splayed outward, thighs and calves etched with veins. The sweat pouring off his tortured muscles pooled on the floor beneath him.

Lloyd was becoming delirious. He gazed in disbelief at this incredible display. The man was a god, naked except for the thin scrap of fabric covering his cock and balls. His eyes gazed in disbelief at the rugged features, the straining torso and down to the jock. "Oh, God, no," he groaned. The cock was still hard, the head poking up over the waistband of the jock. And one of the balls had come loose, hanging out of the side. The picture was pornographic.

When Zack's body had reached exhaustion he simply hung from the bar in a taut X shape, arms straining upward, legs splayed to the side. He was spread-eagled. And now Lloyd started to fantasize. In his imagination the black muscle-god was being tortured, hanging on a cross. The arms were stretched agonizingly, pulling at their sockets and the magnificent torso bucked and flexed.

The athlete's head twisted from side to side, teeth bared as he grimaced with pain. As he shook his head, sweat sprayed from it all round him. The jock was now a sodden rag, the huge club straining to get free, balls both hanging out of one side. His handsome features were contorted in pain as he groaned to himself.

"Gotta do it ... one more. Shit, the pain in my muscles. It hurts so bad. Come on, you can take it, man. That's it, stud. Just one more ..."

He took a deep breath and slowly, agonizingly, started to pull himself upward again. The arms by now throbbed with pain as he summoned up every last ounce of strength for the final, intense effort. His biceps bulged, his lats flared as he began slowly to rise. He looked upward to the bar and yelled, "Come on, man. You can do this. Aaah ... God, the pain!"

Lloyd was in another world, watching extreme masculine beauty being tortured, subjected to an unbearable trial of strength. He saw the ebony muscles strain and throb, saw the magnificent body stretched tight, the face twisting in pain, saw the cock pulse under the torn jock.

Lloyd felt his own cock pulse as he struggled frantically. The picture was so erotic there was only one thing he could do. He shouted to the tortured bodybuilder, "Do it, man! Do it!" And as he watched the writhing body he screamed and his cock exploded in an eruption of hot cum that flew in a high arc, then splashed down into his hair, onto his face, his chest and thighs as his body heaved and spasmed in tight bondage.

Zack dropped to the floor and bent forward, his head between his knees, body heaving as he fought to control it. As his breathing subsided he slowly uncoiled and when he was upright stared at the exhausted architect, soaked in his own cum. And a huge smile of satisfaction spread across the black man's face.

A few minutes later the once-arrogant architect was still bound to the chair, head hanging forward in a gesture of exhaustion and submission. This spectacular male had crushed him, made him beg, made his cock erupt, and all without laying a finger on him. Sprawled in an armchair the bodybuilder stared at him with an unlikely mix of contempt and admiration. Zack's vanity had also been amply rewarded by Lloyd's intense reaction to him. The defeated man was himself a handsome, well-built stud, so Zack's triumph was all the more satisfying.

In fact Zack felt so good that he wanted more. Besides, his cock had strained for so long under the sweaty jock that he needed release. He pulled himself up from the chair and pushed his cock and balls back inside the jock. He picked up a pair of dumbbells, walked toward Lloyd and stood astride him, his stinking crotch close to his face.

Exhausted as he was, drained of his cum, Lloyd looked up at the beautiful black face and his cock stirred again. His eyes dropped to the bulging jock in front of him and he started to salivate. By now the stink coming from the filthy, soaking jock was intense and he breathed deeply. He tried to lick it but it was just out of reach.

"You really want it, don't you, man?" Zack said softly.

"Oh, God. More than anything. Please let me put my mouth on it, sir. I can make you cum inside the jock, sir. Please let me."

"Just a bit longer," Zack taunted him. He raised the dumbbells and began an easy set of bicep curls. Lloyd was thrown into agony again as sweat dripped from Zack's armpits onto his face. It was as if his torment would never stop. But now he was inches from his goal. He could see, smell the huge black dick coiled inside the jock. A few minutes and it would be his.

"Please, sir. Please. I need it. I need to feel it in my mouth." He strained forward, the ropes tearing into his chest, and his tongue finally touched the wet fabric ... just as the door opened.

"Sorry I'm late, sir. I thought I'd come straight in to see if ..." Darius's voice trailed away. "Oh! ... Oh my God. I'm sorry sir, I didn't realize. I ... Oh Jesus!"

Darius backed out through the door, closed it and leaned against it in stupefaction. It took him a while to get his mind round what he had seen in that brief interruption. "Oh, my," he breathed. "Oh my-o-my!" He must have imagined it ... the handsome architect, tied to a chair, his body covered in cum. And Zack standing over him, working his biceps, his glorious, sweating body clad only in a filthy, ragged jock strap. Not even in his wildest fantasies could Darius ever have imagined a picture like that. He started to creep silently away, when he heard his master's voice.

"Hey, boy. Get your ass back in here!"

Inside the room Lloyd's frustration had reached a climax. He had been so close to the prize, his tongue was on the man's bulging jock ... when suddenly it had pulled away. Zack had dropped the dumbbells and shouted for his boy. The door opened and Darius walked in timidly, his eyes riveted on the naked man roped to the chair.

"Glad you came, bro," Zack said. "Your timing's perfect. I need your help here."

"I guess you do, sir," Darius said, his eyes still fixed on Lloyd."

"No," Zack laughed. "Not with that. With this," and he pointed down to the bulge in his jock. "You know how horny I get after a tough workout. I need to get my rocks off in the worst way. On your knees, boy.

As Darius fell to his knees in front of his master, a desperate howl rang round the room. Lloyd was thrashing in the ropes, foaming at the mouth, frantically trying to get free. "No!" he screamed. "Please, no! I want it. I need it ..." and the handsome man started to sob.

In that agonizing moment he realized that his torment was not over ... far from it!.

Across the street Mark was sitting in the kitchen. He liked to watch his boy Jamie as the young guy worked on preparing dinner. "Where's Darius?" Mark asked.

"He went straight over to Zack's house, sir. They're with Lloyd right now." Jamie grinned. "I'd sure like to see what they're up to."

"Oh," Mark said, "I'm sure Zack has everything under control ... showing Lloyd a thing or two, I bet." Then he laughed. "Don't worry, kid, you know Darius and that camera of his. Maybe he'll make a movie of it all so you guys can watch it later."

Mark was kidding, but as it turned out it was no joke.

TO BE CONTINUED in "A Trial Of Strength ... Part 83"