Cory

CORY by Ray Wilder

Cory: Part One

"Errrrrrch. . ."

"Twenty and a half."

"Aw, c'mon, man!"

"Well, pump it, man! C'mon. Squeeze."

"Ah, shit."

"Yeah, man. Twenty and three-quarters."

"Arrrrrch!"

"Just a little more. One more pump, Cory."

"Ah, God, man. I'm startin' to cramp."

"Little more. Yeah! Twenty-one!"

Cory dropped his arm to his side, but the swollen bicep seemed determined to maintain its size, now that it had been abused for the sake of attaining the magic number. Twenty-one inches. He shook his upper arm and pressed on the release point just below the deltoid until he could bend his arm freely.

"Man, Cory. That was beautiful, all pumped up like that. Big block'a bicep sittin' there. How's it feel?"

I could tell what he wanted to say. I knew what he was feeling. Like it was going to cum. Like the muscle was going to just up and spurt right there on his arm. But Cory wasn't that way. He kept it all to himself. So I almost mouthed his reply, the same reply he always gave.

"Feels all right."

"Yeah. All right."

I could tell he would need a little time to put things right in his head again, after such an effort. So I left him to brood, or whatever it was he did when he wouldn't talk to me, and went over to the pec deck. I think he was a little jealous. I had hit the magic mark about a month ago and hadn't even had to cramp up to get it. But, man, you should see this guy compared to what he looked like just twelve months ago.

He'd walked into the gym wearing long sweat pants and a jersey-hooded top. In the middle of summer, yet. I don't know what he thought he was hiding or why he thought he had to hide it. What showed, though, was enough to catch my attention, even if his clothes hadn't. His face was beautiful. Hard, chiseled features just sharp enough to make you hope the body was the same without being severe. Though the clothes were baggy, you could tell they hung on a solid frame. The front of the sweat pants were molded around what seemed to be a rather lengthy protrusion which hung a considerable way down his right pant leg. I thought I just might have found a match for my own ten inches.

Everyone else in the place was hunkered down on a machine, too wrapped up with their efforts to worry about what walked through the door. I was working the desk that morning, so it was up to me to see what this walking sauna wanted.

"Hi. Can I help you?"

"Ah, just looking, actually."

"Lots to look at. I'm Ray."

I extended my hand but was met with a look which asked why. I'm not the type to get annoyed easily, so I figured I'd just wait and let him make the next move.

"Anything you might be interested in here?"

He ran his gaze up and down my six foot three inch frame and his eyes told me all I needed to know. He wasn't cruising me. He wanted to have a body like mine. They all did. Everyone who walked into the place started out wanting to have my body. For their own, I mean. Most of them who stuck around ended up getting what they wanted, though it took a while to get them to accept the body they were born with.

But this guy was different. I tried to see through the layer of fleece to what he had beneath. Hard to tell. But one thing was for sure, except for a little difference in hair color (mine is brown, his blonde) and eyes (my blue to his. . . God, what was that? Green with little flecks of gold in them. Easy, Ray) we were definitely cut from the same mold. If there was anyone who had ever walked through that door who could have my body with the proper amount of work, it was him. And I mean "have" both ways.

"How much does it cost to join?"

I reached behind the front desk and pulled out a membership agreement which had all the prices on it. As I turned back to hand it to him I saw his eyes zip back up to eye level. I wondered how far down he'd gotten before getting caught.

"Here. This will tell you all the membership options. You can have a seat and look it over now, or. . ."

His eyes were locked firmly on mine.

"I can't read."

No fear. No embarrassment. No remorse. He just couldn't read, that's all.

"Have a seat. I'll go over everything with you. You want me to read this to you, or just answer questions."

"Go ahead and read it."

I did. It took about fifteen minutes, with all the "thou shalts" and "thou shalt-nots." At the end, I asked if he had any questions or if he wanted me to go over anything again.

"No, thanks. I can remember it all."

I didn't know what that meant. I mean, if he had a photographic memory and all, why couldn't he just read?

"Why don't you look the place over a bit. You're welcome to use any of the gear. And most of the folks here are happy to answer questions."

"Okay."

And with that, he headed out onto the floor. He spent the next hour, and I mean a full hour, watching each station be worked by a person. He had a few questions, but seemed to sense the need to let the members get on with their work. But it wasn't hard to see that each encounter was a pleasant experience for each person he interacted with. It must have been the gold flecks.

I sat back down at the desk to do paperwork, glancing up occasionally to see how he was doing. I finally decided he was going to behave himself and got lost in my duties. At one point I looked up to find him standing before me at the desk. I had no idea how long he had been there. His eyes locked onto mine and wouldn't let go.

"So?"

He looked like he had already made up his mind.

"I'll start with a six-month membership without the classes option. I'll provide my own lock and I've got insurance already."

"Well, that doesn't leave me much to ask except how you want to. . ."

"American Express."

Now what's a guy who can't read doing with an AMEX card? He took it out of his wallet. Platinum? What the hell's going on here? I ran it through the verifier and entered an amount double of what his membership would cost; standard practice to cover incidentals and such. He caught my look of amazement when it came back with an approval code. He signed the credit slip with a scrawl that looked only slightly less decipherable than most people's signatures.

We filled in the forms together, him supplying answers, me the pen work. I thought he would clam up when it got to the personal data, but he fed it to me like it was my business to know and his to tell.

"What's your first name?"

"Cory."

I wondered if his folks had known he would grow up beautiful enough to carry that name proudly. I knew it had to be either Cory or Stefan.

"Middle initial."

"S."

I didn't ask. We finished the form - I was disappointed that the address he gave was a post office box - and then I took him back to the locker room, assigned him a locker and showed him where the towels and such were. Each time I indicated a location of something his eyes would flick to the spot for an instant and then back to me. His eyes hardly ever left mine. But instead of feeling threatened or uncomfortable, I felt like he was really interested in what I had to offer him. I straddled one of the benches that ran between the lockers and indicated he should do the same. He didn't hesitate for an instant but joined me, facing me; his knees just inches from mine.

"Look, Cory. I don't know if this is any of my business, but in a way, I guess it is. I gotta ask. You ever had any experience with this stuff? Y'know. Working out?"

"I had a friend who did it. I used to watch him. He had some equipment in his basement that he and his girlfriend would use."

"But you've never done this, yourself?"

"I tried some of his stuff once in a while."

"I don't know if you noticed, but most of the folks out there, especially the ones who are really serious, have someone to work with."

"Like my friend and his girl."

"Yeah, though I don't know too many boy/girl teams."

"They did it just for fun. Said it made the sex better."

I barely was able to keep my eyebrows from hitting the ceiling. I was dying to know what his part in all this was. With surprisingly little effort several scenarios came to mind.

"Yeah. It does that, all right. Are you thinking of getting your friend to join the club, as well? Be your workout partner?"

"He's dead. They died in a car crash a few weeks ago. His mom said I could have the gear, if I wanted it, but I didn't know what to do with it."

This was getting weirder by the minute.

"Do you have a workout partner?"

Now what could have prompted him to ask that question? Certainly not the fact that I had been sitting there, my knees just inches from his, beaming the question into his head with all the force of my will.

My old partner - partner in workouts, partner in business, partner in just about everything else in my life - my old partner had decided life on the coast was too much, or too little, or too - something - for him. Six months ago he split, leaving an envelope with a terse note of apology and the papers to his half of the business signed over to me and notarized. He had even taken care of having his mail forwarded, so I didn't even have the pleasure of NOT forwarding anything to him that might have appeared in my mailbox - not that I would ever have stooped to such a petty act of revenge, but he didn't even leave me the opportunity to decide that.

No, I had no workout partner.

"It seems to me that if I were to work with you, it would be easy, us being so similar in build, and all."

I wondered just how similar 'similar' was. I had on a pair of cut-off sweats that reached down to just above my knees and a tank top, so he had little trouble seeing what I had. He, on the other hand, was still wrapped up like Nanook of the North. I figured I had to take a chance.

"Kinda hard to tell, with all that clothing you have on."

Cory immediately stood up and unzipped the jersey top, allowing the front to fall open. There seemed to be a brief moment of decision, then he pulled the two sides apart and shrugged it off his shoulders. It fell to the floor.

So did my jaw.

Chiseled. Like from a block of translucent marble. I mean, we're talking individual fibers of muscle glowing underneath a pure alabaster skin. And did I mention the veins? Big fat ones over each bicep. Thick over his hairless forearms. Millions of them all over his hairless pecs. And did I mention his pecs? Hard. Flat. Very solid. His nipples were long and thick. And very erect. Not a lot of bulk on his frame, but not a lot else, either. I guessed maybe half-a percent body fat. Not starving or anorexic. Just hard.

My cock began to stir and I wondered if I should even pretend to be worried about him seeing me get hard. His eyes were still locked on mine, searching for something. I waited to see if he would flash a look at my crotch, but they stayed even, steady. I tried to be as polite, but curiosity got the better of me. I intended to just let them drift down, as though I was professionally appraising his body for future reference, but by the time I got to the flat, rippled surface of his abdominals, I had given up all pretense. And, sure enough, as my gaze ran down to his waist, I could not help catch a glimpse of what was steadily, very dramatically, becoming an insistent bulge in his pantleg.

And did I mention thick? I mean, like mine thick.

Cory's cock grew harder, thicker, quicker than I had ever seen a cock grow hard and thick. I thought he might pass out from the loss of blood elsewhere. I mean, I've gotten a little light-headed when my tool started draining off too much blood too quickly.

Like now.

It was a good thing I was sitting down. Or at least it was until I started really getting hard. Then it became really uncomfortable really fast.

When I finally pulled my eyes away from the swelling that decorated Cory's leg, I found myself still locked in his gaze. No irascible smile. No mischievous grin. No sly raising of the eyebrows, asking wordless questions, raising unthinkable hopes. Just that same, steady scrutiny. I didn't even know if he was waiting for anything. What was I supposed to do? Strip, as well?

"Nice."

Cory's head cocked to the side a bit.

"What?"

The question startled me. Didn't he know what he looked like? Didn't he know what affect he was having on me?

"Your body. Nice. Good foundation there. You set your mind to it and I could have you big as me in a year."

I was hoping to get him to extend his membership.

"One year?"

"Yeah. I think so. You gotta be ready to work, though."

"I work. That's not a problem. When do we start?"

How about tonight? My place?

"How about tomorrow morning? I've got a guy that comes in and covers the desk in the morning so I can get my own routine in."

"That's fine. What time?"

"Eight o'clock?"

"Fine."

My eyes dropped intentionally to his erection which was pressing with great persistence against the fabric of his sweats. This guy was hung. Thick, long, and. . . and. . . leaking. Man, I couldn't believe the size of the wet spot which was spreading out just a couple of inches above his right knee. And he seemed to be completely unconcerned about it. Not the least bit uncomfortable, either physically or emotionally. Did he walk around with a ten inch hard-on and a gallon of pre-cum dripping down his leg all the time so that it didn't even matter?

"You seem to have developed quite a leak there."

"Yeah. Happens all the time."

"You ever, uh, take care of it?"

"Sometimes. Sometimes I just leave it alone and it goes away after a while."

The guy gets a ten inch pole down his thigh and doesn't even want to do anything about it? Man. I mean, I'd heard of self-abuse, but this was ridiculous. And here I was, my own cock so hard and throbbing it was beginning to peek out from the bottom of my shorts. I could feel my rather considerable balls begin to churn and I thought I was going to cum in sympathy for what this guy must be experiencing.

Finally, I couldn't stand it any more.

"You want me to take care of that for you?"

"Sure. If you want. Can you make it hurt?"

That did it. The floodgates opened and three feet of bench before me was suddenly slathered with a thick coating of my hot, unexpected cum. Look, ma. No hands!

And Cory was just as suddenly down on his belly on the bench, licking up every last drop of that sudden deluge. I mean, I'd seen lines of coke disappear slower than that. And he didn't stop there. His lips grasped the head of my still protruding cock and licked and cleaned it, allowing me the opportunity to admire the knotted, rigid muscles of his back at close range.

When he had completely drained my cock of its contents and licked the exposed portion of it clean, he stood back up and made a motion so swift my eyes could hardly follow it. One second he was clothed from the waist down. The next he was completely naked.

Hard thighs. Hard calves. Hard abdominals and obliques. Hard, firm ass. And hard, hard, hard, hard cock. I mean a mean-kinda hard. It didn't look like I would need to do much to make it hurt. It was already doing a pretty good job on its own. And the reason I knew that was that I was staring right at a duplicate copy of my own prodigious tool. He was cut were I was cut. He was veined were I was veined. His balls hung down where my balls hung down. And he was thick - and I mean thick - where I was thick. I knew exactly what this cock wanted. I knew just where to chew, just where to suck, just where to lick and tease, and just how much it wanted to be squeezed.

And squeeze I did.

I grabbed it with both hands and wrapped my fingers around as far as they would reach. And then I squeezed. I squeezed and pulled it down, forcing it to bend until it was pressed against his bloated ball sac. And then I grabbed that sac and its contents and began to squeeze them as well. I pulled and squeezed and looked up to see what he was feeling.

Cory's eyes were clamped shut, his face screwed up in silent suffering. But there was a look of such joy beneath that exquisite agony I knew he was getting exactly what he needed. And his body was becoming more tense by the minute. Corded muscles, sharp and defined, began to press against each square inch of his skin. His arms raised and reached out, each had grabbing a lock on a locker and pulling against them. He was not huge, not like me, but he was so cut-up, so hard that I couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy.

Yeah, kid. You want to look like me. Well that goes the same for me. I want to feel the pain you're feeling; the agony, the pressure, the extreme, pulverizing, ecstatic bliss. I want my mind blown like yours is. I want to not think twice about getting a hard-on and letting my huge balls leak all over whatever I'm wearing. I want to walk up to the nearest guy and tell him to hurt me, knowing - somehow really knowing - the guy will know exactly what it is I need.

I bit hard on his shaft. I clamped down with my hands, my huge forearms bulging with veins and muscles. Then I took his balls in my mouth and began to chew on them, as well. I didn't want to kill the guy. I wasn't out for blood. But I knew exactly how far to go with this.

Cory's cock grew darker. As mine would. It began to throb. As mine would. It began to leak again. As mine would. As mine was. And then it began to spurt. As mine surely would have, had I not just come a few minutes before, myself.

And through it all, he didn't make a sound. Not a grunt, not a cry, not a whimper, not a plea. And when I had drunk down every last bit of what was one of the biggest loads of jiz I had ever been attacked by, he grabbed my hair, pulled it back, and looked into my eyes.

"Feels all right."

So, here it was, almost exactly a year later, and we were both sporting twenty-one inch guns.

I'd never seen anyone attack a routine like this guy did. I told him how important it was to let the muscle rest and heal, that it was as important a part of the routine as anything else. But for the first couple of months, it appeared he didn't believe me. It was like he was racing toward some goal, or like he didn't believe the goal was even possible, or maybe worth it, without a whole lot of pain and suffering. I mean, I understood about the pain and suffering. What bodybuilder didn't? But this guy was into it big time.

And it just got to the point around the gym that everyone stopped thinking twice about this guy running around with a huge erection and wet spot decorating his right thigh. And you could measure the intensity of his workout by the size of both.

It was easy for me, at first. Hell, I had six years of work to my advantage. But he closed the gap quick and soon I was playing catch-up to his thighs. Then when I evened that score, his arms would jump ahead. Then his chest. Then is lats. Then his delts. After 12 months, I still haven't gotten that one back. This guy's delts are huge.

I don't want to give the impression I have any regrets about this at all. After six years, I thought I'd reached my peak, physically. Nineteen-and-a-half inch biceps and a fifty-four inch chest seemed pretty good to me. It was easy for me to maintain my body and not have to do a lot of ridiculous dieting and all the other insane things guys aiming for competition had to do. But then along came hurricane Cory and suddenly I'm anabolic Annie again like I'm going for my first state championship.

And it felt good. I mean really good. I was getting to the point where I didn't even mind the fact that I matched Cory's incessant hard-on, inch for inch, hour for hour. Because there was always Cory to help me tame the beast.

As the size of our physiques grew, so did our appetite for stimulation. I found myself withstanding pain he inflicted on me far beyond what I thought the human body could endure. I would marvel at both our tolerances as we pulled and pressed and stretched and punished each other's body in our work and play. My balls were so tough that I never had to wear a jock anymore. Whereas before, just walking caused them to swing painfully against my thigh if I wasn't wearing one, now I could take a direct hit and revel in the cramping pain it brought on. The same was true for the rest of my body. Our lovemaking consisted of a lot of wrestling and exertion, pulling and stretching against each other's increasing strength. And the harder we fought, the harder we came. And came and came and came. We tried to see who could force his way up the other one's ass with his thick, juicy cock, but losing was winning, so the effort was for the fun of it, instead.

He wouldn't move in with me. He would come over after I got off work and we would screw and suck each other until the wee hours of the morning then do it all over again the next day. But he would never spend the whole night. I told him I felt a need to be with him after we made love but he said that wasn't something he was into. So, no matter how deeply we kissed, no matter how hot and hard we fucked, no matter how tightly we held each other as our cocks shot their magnificent loads into each others bodies, he was always quick with the good-bye.

At one point I tried to make an issue of it, hoping he would at least talk to me about it, explain his need to get away. But all I got was another indecipherable response.

"When the year is up. Wait."

And though it's been frustrating, it seems he's going to be good to his word. Over the past few weeks, as the year comes to a close, he has been dropping little hints about something he has in store for us. I know enough now that I won't even bother to get any more information out of him. His most expressive moment is still at the culmination of the most mind-bending, cock-exploding, ball-busting, muscle-swelling sex free-for-all when his amazing gold-flecked eyes lock onto mine and he says, "Feels all right."

All I can do is wait. It's just a few more days.

Cory: Part Two

We've got a few days before Cory's big secret, so maybe I should tell you a bit about myself.

You know my name, Ray. You have a pretty good idea of what I look like. If not, just imagine your hottest dream with brown hair, blue eyes and a body that bulges in exactly the right places exactly when you want it to. At least, that's how I see myself. Especially since having started working with Cory.

I love my body. Really. I mean, it's not like I spend the whole day staring at myself in the mirror or don't talk to anyone else because I'm too good for them. Fact is, I really dig working with people, interacting with people. Part of the reason, of course, is because of the way I affect them. People can't help but get turned on by me. Men and women. But another reason I like people is because, well, I like people. For the most part, they're pretty cool. I'm big enough that most folks won't screw around with me (unless I want 'em to) and I figure if I go at someone with respect and an interest in what they're about, they'll do the same to me. It usually works out that way.

But I do love my body. It gets me in with folks I wouldn't have a chance to get in with. It makes it easier to break the ice. And I dig letting people get off on me. You want to give the bicep a squeeze? Sure. Here. You like the roundness of my pec? Go ahead. Touch it. Ripples on the abdomen got you hot? Go ahead. Play that xylophone. You're interested in that bulge in my crotch? Well step right up for the wildest ride you've ever had. Not that a ten inch cock is the answer to being a good sex partner - that has more to do with respect and mutual goals than anything - but it sure doesn't hurt.

Unless you want it to.

And did I mention I love my body? Yeah. I love making it hard. I love making it bulge. I love making it hurt so good from the pump and then just standing there (or lying there if I can't stand) and feeling the blood fill whatever muscle I've just abused. I think it was Schwarzenegger who said the pump was like cumming. Or as good as cumming. In a way, it's better. It's like cumming with your entire body. Imagine a six foot three inch erection. The pump. And I'll just stand there and flex my muscles and watch them swell in the mirror. Gotta have a mirror, ya know. And I get my cock all bunched up in a jock and it starts getting real hard as my body gets real hard and, man, does it ache as it tries to escape. And my pecs. Love my pecs. The nipples get nice and thick and long and hard and they hang down off the bottom of the curve of those massive plates of muscle, just waiting for someone to come along and chew on 'em and run their tongue along that place where the belly of the pec meets the flat of my abdomen. Deep, full curve of my pecs. And I can take the head of my erect cock and lean forward, my abs crunching and swelling and beginning to cramp, I can take my cock and touch it to my nipple.

Did I mention I love my body?

Yeah.

So does Cory.

I think.

The other day I had some paperwork to do and couldn't get the time during business hours, what with the distractions of customers and all. Taxes were coming due for the quarter and I needed to lock myself away and just get it done. I told Cory and he said that was fine by him. He'd head out and see me tomorrow. He reluctantly gave me a hug and then playfully kneed me in the balls just to give me something to remember him by. As he went out the door I almost jumped him from behind with the thought of wrestling him to the ground and making him kiss my aching balls. But I had to get this stuff done or my accountant wasn't going to be very happy.

The place was deserted by the time I got done shuffling piles of papers from one side of my desk - the "Yo, do this" side to the "Fuck it, I'm finished," side - and then placed all the stacks in little envelopes like my anal-retentive accountant liked. I actually never begrudged the effort a bit as she had kept me out of audits and such for years. Then came the process of closing up.

I locked the front door and turned off all the lights in the gym then walked back to the locker rooms to make sure all the showers were off and the cleaning kid had gotten all the towels and anything else the membership had left lying around. My balls, which were still humming from the memory of Cory's good-bye bash and hanging free of any form of restraint aside from the leg of my shorts, beat against the thickness of my upper thigh. They were hanging nice and low. And heavy. I could feel the length of my cock against them and on my thigh as well. It wouldn't take much to make it hard, it was halfway there already. I thought about a night on my own, without Cory to take me and wrestle me and pull and push and pin me to the floor and ram his own thick ten up my ass. I thought about thinking about jerking off. Boring. I thought about thinking about something else, instead.

On the floor beside one of the benches was a pair of heavy-laden dumbbell free weights. One of our Mr. Olympia hopefuls had left it laying there. Not cool. You use it, you put it away just like momma told you to. I leaned over and picked the two masses of iron up.

There is a connection between the body of the bodybuilder and heavy masses of iron. It's our life. In the course of a normal day we walk around inside these huge, hulking bodies; muscles poised to move great weights against gravity's will. And we pick up pencils and dollar bills and maybe a tire jack or a bag of groceries. And our muscles leap with anticipation. Finally! An effort. A job. A reason for being so abused and tight and hard and massive. We pick up the pencil or the groceries and the deltoid pops and the bicep swells and the pectoral presses against the shirt, its nipple moving against the rough fabric of the shirt that's been teasing it all day and. . . it's just a pencil. Or a box of cereal.

Then, suddenly, there's a real gravity challenger. Like two massive hunks of iron some iron-head has left lying around at the gym. And all the muscles tighten and bulge and pull against the call of the planet and there you are, defeating one of the immutable laws of the universe. Yeah, gravity. You may be powerful enough to keep this old planet from flying apart, but you can't keep these massive muscles, these bulging sinews of strength from opposing you. And winning.

The two free weights hung in my hands like they needed to be there. My forearms swelled as I grasped the short bars to keep them from falling out of my hands. Suddenly, everything was pressing against everything else. As I stood my cock pressed hard against my suddenly swelling thighs. I rotated my wrists and my biceps pressed against the outer curve of my pecs. I curled the weights up and my nipples rubbed against the peaks of my upper arms. I knew I wasn't going to get out of this easy. I felt the need for exertion. The thought of being challenged by gravity's call made my cock swell even more. Even it wanted to prove it was beyond planetary rule.

I set the free weights down on the bench, looked around the room to make sure I hadn't missed someone hiding out in the corner (paranoia was not my strong suit, but neither was carelessness) and then grabbed the bottom of my tank top and pulled it up over my head. And there's this mirror right in front of me. And there's this guy (me) standing there with large, swollen pecs and large, rigid abs and large, bulging delts and thick, flaring lats and an erection pushing out the front of his cut-offs and, sure enough, the beginnings of a wet spot spreading out just about were the head of his massive cock seems to be.

He runs his hands up his sides and strokes his high, round pecs. He grabs his thick, erect nipples and pinches them. The bulge in his shorts jumps and the spot gets larger, darker. He poses. Full frontal bicep shot. Twenty-one inch guns, peaked and hot. He alternately flexes his pecs and they dance on his chest. Deep dark pit where tricep, pec and lat meet. He hasn't taken a shower yet, so the odor of his pit fills his nostrils. Full, round deltoids cap his shoulders and he runs one hand over the huge curve of the other and then back down to the pec, teasing the nipple, caressing the belly of the huge chest muscle.

I'd always wanted to watch me do me like this. With Cory, my fantasy had become a reality. Our bodies had grown more similar with each passing month until he finally had grown to my size in almost every way. I thought of giving him a call and having him come back to the gym. What would I have him do?

I looked back down at the free weights lying on the bench. They were just a little heavier than I would use, but I figured that might be interesting. Interesting enough that my cock did another leap in my shorts.

"Let me out!"

All right, already.

Free. Hard. Balls hangin' heavy and swollen. Dripping. Wet.

I lie down naked on the bench with the weights held hard against my pecs. Cold iron. Hot, hard nipples; now even harder. My cock points straight at my navel and the juice drools out of it and fills the indent in my abdominal plain to the point of overflowing and the run-off spills down my side onto the vinyl covering of the bench. I mean, I am leaking here. My huge upper back muscles press into the bench, my lower back is inches away. I flex and tighten everything again, just to feel it, and then raise the weights, straight-arm, over my chest. Triceps swell. I then let my pecs relax a bit and my arms begin to spread. Pecs and biceps tighten and I slowly lower my arms until they are stretched out to my sides by the weight they carry. The pecs revel in this extension. I can feel the weight pulling against them, the earth fighting to take back what it believes is rightfully its own. I allow the earth to think it's winning. My arms lower more until my hands hover just inches above the floor. Biceps and pecs are now stretching painfully. So is my cock.

The thought comes to me - what if there was too much weight? What if I couldn't get my arms back up again? I tighten my pecs, but at the same time I tighten my back muscles, as well. I fool my pecs into thinking they can't do this. They pull hard, pull with all their might. They press against the skin, itself already stretched to its greatest extent. But my back muscles, gravity's temporary ally, convince their counterparts that their efforts are futile. As a sense of panic sets in, given free reign by my imagination, my cock starts to throb uncontrollably. It aches like I haven't had it ache in a very long time. It likes this. I like this. My pecs, for all the fear I engender in them, are really liking this. At last, a real challenge.

I imagine some unseen assailant, turning some unseen mechanism. I want to cry out, but I won't give him the satisfaction of knowing what he's doing to me. He's dying to know. Go ahead, buddy. Ask. I know you need my fear for your own satisfaction.

"Feels all right?"

For a year I have been hearing those words. For a year I have been hearing that voice say those words, breathless with some just completed mind-blowing exertion. But this was the first time I had ever heard it with a question mark. I raised my head to see Cory standing between my spread legs, himself naked, pumped and oh so very, very hard. His left hand was wrapped around his cock, stroking it, toying with it, very gentle with it, not seeming to reach toward any kind of a climax. But suddenly, without any physical warning, his cock exploded with a half-dozen volleys of hot cum which splattered all over my abs and pecs like he just decided now was a good time to let off a little steam. He kept stroking himself like nothing has happened.

"Cory."

"Feels all right?" he repeats.

"Yeah, Cory. Feels all right. You're fucking amazing."

"Not bad, yourself."

"Thanks. Whatcha' doin' here?"

"Come to help a friend out of a predicament. Seems some evil person has decided to test just how strong those big, thick muscles of his really are."

That he knew exactly what was going through my mind scared me, like his weirdness sometimes does, and excited me, like it always does. His hot cum was beginning to run off my pecs. I flashed back to reality for a minute and worried about having to clean up the carpet after this was over. In an instant, Cory was over me, his legs straddling my waist and the bench I was on, his tongue licking every drooling drop of his own cum from my pecs. His tongue toyed with my aching nipples. He bit them hard enough that I want to push him away. But I couldn't. This master fiend had me stretched out with these massive weights attached to my body. (I'm really loving this fantasy, playing it for all it's worth.) And here's Cory, both abuser and rescuer in one. His cock laying on my cum-soaked abs, hard against my own aching joint, sloshing around in the puddles of our combined juices. I feel his body's heat as it touches, or just barely doesn't touch, my own.

Cory begins sliding his cock up and down over the ridges of my abdomen. I flex them to increase the feeling. He runs his hands out over my biceps and begins to squeeze them, his face hovering just above my own. I want to kiss him, hard. I want to swallow his tongue down my throat and taste what he has just tasted. I want his cum in my mouth. I want his cock in my mouth. I want his body. And he's pressing down on my arms, increasing the stretch even more. My balls are aching. My cock is beginning to scream as his pelvis lightly sweeps up and down its length while he fucks my abs.

So thick. Me.

So thick. Him.

This is so good I don't want it to end. But my balls are beginning to cramp. I moan, hoping Cory will get the message and help me along. Instead, he stands up, moves further up my toward my chest, and waves his ten inch cock in my face while his balls sit lightly on the break between my two pecs. He sways from side to side and his scrotum brushes each of my nipples, tiny hairs, teasing the hard nubs of flesh. I raise my head and try to catch the head of his tool between my lips. At first he plays hard to get, but then allows me to capture him. A few drops of cum jet out from the slit in his thick head as he tightens his rectal muscles. He hasn't taken a shower since our workout this morning. I can still taste the sweat, the effort, a little taste of fear; fear of not getting that last rep up. Fear of not making that goal. Excitement. Hot, hard excitement.

I love licking this cock. I know its every detail, its ever nuance, its every secret spot. I've held this cock all my life. And now, here it is. On someone else's body and I can do to it all the things I've ever dreamed of doing to it without worrying about physical limitations. And so now I take it deep in my throat, like I love to do, and suck on it so hard it swells even more. Cory just stands there, his head thrown back, his hips swaying, his scrotum dragging back and forth across my hyper-extended pecs, his body tensing more and more, swelling like his cock, becoming harder like his cock. And he's flexing those big twenty-one inch biceps, one by one, and running his other hand over the veined-crested peak.

I'm so hot I can't stand it. I want to cum, but I don't just want to spew in the air. I'm beginning to moan again, but now it isn't just dramatics. I'm really getting beyond control. Cory looks down at me and smiles. It's not too often he does that. But he knows what I'm feeling right now and he knows it's good. He backs up again, spits in his hand and reaches behind him to grab my rod, spreading his spit around the head. I almost blow it right then and there.

Hold on, Ray. You know what's coming.

"Do you think you can work those weights, Ray?"

I give a test tug and my pecs and bicep ache, but. . .

"Yeah. You gonna do me, Cory?"

"Yeah, Ray. I'm gonna do you. You work those weights and I'm gonna do you real good."

I can't hold my head up anymore. It falls back to the bench. I feel a heat on the head of my cock. Then I feel a pressure. I feel hot, hard muscle surrounding it and then against it. And then more pressure. And more. And more. I give a thrust against it and suddenly my thick cock is stretching Cory's asshole open and I'm inside.

"Feels all right?"

"Yeah, Cory. Feels real all right."

I tighten my pecs, flex my upper arms, and the weights begin to rise. It's tough. I've been stretched out long enough that my muscles have become a bit fatigued. It hurts real good. I finally get the weights together, extended over my chest, and I look through the valley between the mountains of muscle on my chest at the beautiful man standing above me. He feeds my cock into his asshole, sliding down its length until I'm deep inside, then he turns his waist and gives me a side chest shot. His pecs balloon to several times their relaxed size, his arms swell. And his thighs flex as he begins raising himself up the length of my cock.

As he lifts himself up I allow the weights to lower to my side. The sensation in my cock is making it difficult to control my movement. Part of me wants to just say "fuck it" and let the weights fall so I can grab onto this massive man above me and go for a ride. But I've expended a lot of energy working up this fantasy and I'm not about to bail out now.

His movement on my cock matches my reps for a while, but I'm getting fatigued and he's getting hot. Finally, and much to my relief, he breaks rhythm and begins sliding up and down my ten inches with increased speed. I'm still trying to keep up with him, but I've only got a few more reps in me. He can sense it, too.

"You ready, Ray?"

"Ready, Cory."

"Those pecs of yours are looking real good, Ray."

"They're for you, Cory. All for you."

"Yeah. I know. Looks all right."

And with that, he began plowing himself on my cock like he was some fucking fanatic or something. I'd never had anything move that quickly around my shaft. I had no choice. I had to let go of the weights. They fell to the floor with a clang. My arms retracted, the muscles finally relieved of their burden and aching so good I thought they would cum before my balls did.

And that's all it took.

Have you ever wished you could cum forever, wishing that rushing sensation would never stop? And have you ever noticed how, when you're really cumming good, you can't tell where you are or how long you been there or what gravity has to do with anything? And have you ever been drained so completely that your balls cramp up on you cuz they've been so full and now so empty and your prostrate is cramped from pumping that shit out so fast and everything that has to do with you cumming is driven just a little too far for its own good? And have you ever forgotten to breathe?

I remember feeling my quickly deflating cock slip out from between Cory's full, rock-hard asscheeks. I remember it falling on top of my heavy scrotum (I like that feeling). I remember hands pressing into my aching pecs, squeezing them, molding them, pinching them. And I remember a light, breathless kiss on my lips, just a whisper of a touch.

And a whisper in my ear.

"Feels all right, Ray. All right."

I had no idea how much time had passed, having no idea what time I'd started my little fantasy. When I finally was able to deal with reality again, Cory was gone. And that was weird. I mean, weirder than usual. He had never just up and walked out before.

And that wasn't all that was weird.

I know no one likes to talk about these things, but hell, it's the nature of the beast. You go plowing a guy up his ass, you're gonna have to wash yourself off, ya know. But here I am, just coming out of an amazing experience and there's nothing to wash off. I mean I'm clean, ya know?

I headed for the showers, anyway, along the way picking up to two or three towels scattered around which the kid missed or left before they were put there (benefit of the doubt always being a great people skill). Running soapy hands over the aching muscles of my chest and upper arms, still so full, so hard, so huge felt oh so very, very good. My pecs were so hard and round. And the nipples tingled as I soaped and pinched them, remembering Cory's teeth chewing on them, his scrotum lightly teasing them.

I was going to try to keep my hands off my cock as I thought I should be finished for tonight, but I couldn't help myself and soon had it just on the edge of becoming hard. It hung low and heavy between my legs and I let it stay that way, enjoying its weight as it swung back and forth against my thick thighs.

When I was done I threw on a change of clothing I kept for just such occasions and turned off the lights in the locker room. The gym, itself, was bathed in the sodium vapor orange of a streetlight outside the door and filled with the odor of huge bodies with highly developed sweat glands. The room deodorizing system I'd just had installed would take care of that without making the place smell like a hospital. Some of that smell was good for the place.

I turned off the computer in my office, locked up that which had to be and grabbed my keys.

The door was still locked.

"Hello."

No answer.

"Hello?"

Still nothing.

Well, if Cory was playing some game, he was going to have to play it alone. I was going home.

Cory: Part Three

I guess by now you can tell this thing with Cory is one mighty strange relationship. I mean not just what he and I are into, but the whole thing about what Cory's about. I mean, it's not like I even know a whole lot about him. I don't. I've been working out with the guy for 364 days and been getting my ass plowed and returning the favor for 364 nights and I don't really know much more about him than when he waltzed his fleece-wrapped, hard-chiseled, vein-covered, well-hung body into my gym that hot summer day.

It's funny, though. It just doesn't seem to matter. At least not at the time. We're always so busy when we're together that it never occurs to me, until after he leaves, that I even want to ask him any questions. Not that I don't have questions. I do. Like what's he doing with that platinum AMEX card or how he's paying the bills or what's this shit about him not being able to read? That one's the weirdest one of all. I mean, this guy is smart. Real smart. And, like I guessed way back at the beginning, he's got a memory like a steel trap. Anything I show him, he's got the first time. Anything I tell him, he can spit back at me, word for word, six months later like I even can even remember it. But he does.

And the sex! Man. I have never felt so completely fucked in all my life. Don't think I ever will again. And every now and then I get the worries about whether he'll be showing up or coming back. And why doesn't he want to, you know, settle into this relationship thing a little more. I wonder a lot, when he leaves, where he's going, what he's doing, who he's doing. But it doesn't seem to matter too much when he's there. It just doesn't seem to matter when you got them thick, round pecs hanging over you, their hard nipples aching to be chewed on as that ten-inch cock powers in and out of your ass. I can't reach them with my teeth, so I grab them and twist powerful hard and he doesn't even scream. Just screws his face up a little more and pounds that meat into my hot hole even harder.

And I do the same. I mean, it's not that we're the same, exactly. But when we're going at it, hot and hard, there doesn't seem to be any need for talking or even wishing about what I want or he wants. It's like having sex with the hottest bod on the planet and that bod is you. You know?

So, if it's so good for me, and I'm guessing it so good for him, cuz he never talks about it, except to say "Feels all right." If it's so good, how come I can't get this stud to move into my life a little more, you know, permanent like.

Now, it's not like we don't talk. We do. We talk a lot. But nothing seems to matter aside from what we're doing and the moment. He's mighty curious about working out. Wants to know everything I know about what this muscle or that bone is doing. I took a lot of anatomy classes at the local college, figuring that if I was going to make this body jump through hoops, I'd better understand what I was working with. And we talk about nutrition when we're eating. And speaking of AMEX cards, did I mention he always, and I mean always, pays for every meal we eat together. And I'm not just talking about food at the grocery store, either. In fact, there isn't a whole lot of that. We do a lot of meals out. There's a lot of restaurants around here that cater to the needs of the body building public, cuz there's a lot of public around here building bodies. So we eat out a lot. And that ol' platinum plastic gets whipped out each time the check comes and he always tips twenty per cent. Always.

So we eat and we talk and we fuck and we work out and we just keep getting bigger and bigger and harder and fuller and I sometimes wonder why my ten inch dick hasn't just fallen off the front of my body sometimes. I mean, it gets pumped more than any other five muscle groups on my body.

The best is when we hang out at the gym after everyone has closed. Almost from the beginning we found out that each of us really likes having sex while we work out. I have some free weights and a bench at home for putting on a "going out" pump, but it's not very interesting for more heavy encounters. So we stay at the gym most nights and turn off the lights. But I guess you know that all ready.

One of the reasons we like using the stuff at the gym, aside from the smells and the atmosphere of the place, is the danger. And, believe me, there is a real danger to screwing around with a lot of weight like that. I mean, who's gonna get excited about not being able to control a couple of fifty-pound dumbbells? But get yourself a couple hundred hangin' over your head while you got someone treating your balls like they're a punching bag, or your nipples like they're a pack of chewing gum, or your cock like it's supposed to be one of those blow up clowns you had when you were a kid and you'd push it down and it would pop back up again, now that's exciting.

And that doesn't include just the feeling you get in a muscle that's pumping real hard on some weight you never thought that muscle could pump, and this guys got his lips sucking on it and licking it and got his hands rubbing it and squeezing it and got his ten-inch cock rubbing up against it and slamming into it and drooling all over it with his pre-cum that's pouring out of it cuz he's so fucking turned on by the heat and size and strength of that muscle. And he knows about that heat and size and strength because he's got the same stuff and knows exactly what you're feeling cuz it's his body, too. I mean, you know, he's knows what you're going through, being so alike and all.

And I can lie there, pumping that weight, and watch Cory, and maybe he's got a free weight and he's curling his big bicep while he's stroking his cock up and down my thigh as it works the leg extension with maybe a hundred more than what I normally use. And he'll suddenly grab his cock and ram it against some part of my body, just cuz it needs to push against something, it's so hard and hot. Or I'll extend my legs out and then turn and grab that massive hunk of meat and pull it in my mouth and suck it hard for a couple of seconds and he'll grab my hair and stroke my ear and twirl the hair at the back of my neck until I can't hold the weight any more and then I have to concentrate on contracting my legs without hurting myself. And my cock is spewing clear pre cum all over my hard abs and I don't even want to touch myself cuz it feels so good and I know I'll cum if I do and I don't want this to end. Ever.

And that could be me doing the curling and Cory on the machine. Or the pec deck. Or doing scott curls or maybe just on a bench with a couple of free weights hanging over him like it was with me the other night.

Still haven't figured out where he disappeared to.

So it's weird that I don't know anything about this guy I've spent most of my waking hours with for the past year. And it's even weirder, I guess, that I don't seem to care about that. Except when I'm not with him. Which isn't a whole lot of time. Folks got the idea, pretty early, that he and I were getting something going together. I mean, it's not like we walked around with "Do Not Touch" signs or anything. Cory is a people person like me and really digs interacting with the folks at the gym. He's always eager to work with someone who doesn't have a workout partner for the day or maybe someone comes in to check the place out. Cory'll show them around and even sign them up if I'm busy. I mean, he knows where the forms and pencils are.

And folks really dig having Cory pay attention to them. Who wouldn't? They guy is drop-dead gorgeous with a body that, as the year goes on, is hot enough for anybody. And he doesn't just heat up the boys, either. It's funny, but most women, until they get to know him, are pretty sure he's straight. Or, at least, open to variations. Come to think about it, I guess most everyone thinks that about Cory. I guess they just hope that, male or female, they might have a chance with the guy. Like I said. Who wouldn't? But I've never gotten the slightest notion that he's ever done anyone else. Hell, except for that guy and girl he told me he used to watch work out, the one's who bought it in that car crash, I've never known anyone else he even hung out with, much less dorked.

But then, like I said, I don't know jack about him, anyway. We have the hottest sex any fifteen people should be allowed to have in their life every night and then he walks out the door, only to appear at the gym the next morning for our eight o'clock work out. I know I've got no need to screw around anywhere else. If Cory's as much like me as he appears to be, then I can't imagine he doesn't either.

One thing weird. . . well, you know. One thing weird in a long list of stuff that's weird about Cory, a very long list, is his body. I mean, it's perfect. Not a flaw on it. No birthmarks. No vaccination scar on the upper arm. No freckles. No warts or corns or moles or nothing. Perfect. And here we are in a town full of bodies trying to be perfect and then letting the world see that perfection. Hundreds of bodies wandering around with huge muscles bulging out of barely legal clothes barely covering what society says ought to be covered. And Cory wanders into the gym every day wearing a pair of long pants and a button-up shirt. And the way he wears it, you can't really tell what he's packing underneath. Except for the hint of a tube of flesh hanging down his right pant leg. He's not out to advertise anything. Meanwhile, the rest of the body building world is out there trying to get someone, anyone, to notice them and give them a contract so they don't have to hold down a day job to pay for the gym and the massive amounts of food and supplements and shit you gotta consume to keep that body running right. He's got what he needs, plenty of it from what I can tell, and he's not trying to interest anyone in anything.

Except me.

I've never had anyone so focused on me in all my life. And I don't just mean that shit with his eyes where he never looks away for a second while I'm talking to him or he's talking to me. I mean focused as in I'm the only thing that matters to him. I got the feeling that if some dumb ass walked into the room with a gun and it was only Cory and me there and this dumb ass said he had to shoot just one of us, Cory would step to the front and pull the trigger himself. It's not like he doesn't think much of himself. You can't do what we do to our bodies every day in that gym and not have some sense of self-esteem. But I trust Cory with my life. And I know he does, too. Some of that weird shit we get into, after hours at the gym and all, I couldn't do it if I didn't know that Cory would know exactly how far to take it before letting up. And it never crosses my mind that I would let Cory get hurt, either. Don't quite know what I'd do, if Cory really got hurt.

Don't want to think about that.

And did I mention his body? Yeah. I mean, it's cool standing in front of a mirror and popping poses and shit. But to have that body right there in front of you, 3-D. It's the best. Because, when you just can't stand it anymore, when the bicep is just pumped too much and the pec is just too round and hard and the cock is just way, way, way too thick and hard and dripping, you can't do nothing about it if it's just a reflection. But with Cory there, I can just walk right on over and grab that bicep or pec or cock and do just what I would want someone to do to me if it were me in that mirror.

So I walk right over to him and I chew a little on that rock of bicep sitting up there on his arm. And I grab his hard, hard pecs and try to press them together, but they're so hard they don't even budge. And I slide my own aching ten inches up his thick thigh while he's got it so flexed it's gotta hurt a whole lot. Man, these bodies. Smooth. Firm. Hard. And big. And two cocks that never stop dripping. Except to cum. And we cum and then we're pumping and pushing again like we still need it, cuz we do, and then we cum again and then we pump and push again and I can't believe it sometimes how many times I get it up and get it on with this amazing fucking body this guy's got. And he's always hard or getting hard, except when he isn't supposed to be like when we're working out in the morning. But even when he's walking around the gym in the afternoon, helping folks or something, he's got this semi-hard cock that's just waiting to fall out of his work out clothes.

I'm not quite sure what to make of all this. It seems I got just about everything I could ask for. The gym's doing great. People seem to want to be around Cory and so they keep coming back and bringing their friends to join. I'm doing great. I've got a body even I didn't think I'd be able to build a year ago. I haven't been sick or nothing for at least a year. I'm getting laid every day and night by a guy that could only be described as my own best sexual fantasy. And I don't seem to have much in the world to worry about. Cory's doing fine. He never seems to have a bad day. Never, ever comes in with an attitude on. Never seems to have anyone who doesn't like him a whole lot. Shit. They guy doesn't even need to shave his body. He's just got no hair except on his head and pubes and balls. He seems to like shaving me. I mean, hell, you don't think all those huge bodies at those contests are naturally hairless, do you? And it's a pain in the ass to have to keep that shit going but who the hell wants to try to look at a bunch of bulging muscles through a forest of curly hair? And I want to return the favor, but I can't even see where his body hair would grow if it did.

I guess it's just one more weird Cory thing.

But I sure do love the feel of that smooth, hard body. And I sure do love the thought that I can reach out and touch it anytime I want to. And I mean anytime. The guy doesn't seem to have any thoughts about wrong. He's got no inhibitions about sex or when or how or why. I'm starting to get over mine, as well. I mean, it's not like I'd walk up to him on the street corner and rip his pants off and drive my cock up his ass right there. But that has more to do with making it right for everyone else than just plain inhibitions. This whole sex thing feels so very good between Cory and me. It wouldn't feel good if I felt that the rest of the world were uncomfortable about it. So we don't do it on the street corner cause we don't want someone putting out hate while were putting out. . .

Putting out. . . what?

Love?

Not quite sure about that one.

What the hell is that about, anyway? Doesn't matter what you call it. I just don't want it screwed up, is all.

So I don't screw on street corners. Not that the thought of it doesn't make my cock start to squirm just a bit by thinking about it, right now. I gotta rearrange myself a bit here cuz I'm getting a bit carried away with the thought. 'Scuse me. There. It would be so cool to be standing there and suddenly just do it right there and have lots of people watching and loving that you were doing it. Man! I'm getting real hard thinking about that. Fucker's already poking its head out the bottom of my shorts. I flex my thigh muscles and I can see the thick shaft pressing up against the material. Now I've got a choice to make. Do I just let it go and get off on the pressure? Do I do myself? Or do I go and look for. . .

Cory! Hi.

You should see this. We're both sitting here naked with cocks so hard we could hammer sixteen penny nails with them. Cory wanted to know what I was doing, so I read him what I've written so far. I'm looking at him right now and he's just glowing. He wants me to type that he thinks it's so cool that what we've done is here in this computer, in these words. He recognizes his name on the screen and every time I read it, he points to it. Like now. Cory. Yeah, love. That's your name. You know what this word is? Ray. That's me. Cory and Ray. That's us together. Cory says it should be Ray and Cory cuz I wrote it. Man, my balls are aching. I'm asking him if there's anything he wants to tell about. He's thinking for a minute. Shit! He's nodding yes! I'm going to type what he says as he says it.

Cory: Part Four

Hi. this is Cory.

The first thing I want everyone to know - actually the only thing - is that whatever Ray is worried about as far as him and I are concerned, is, well, nothing to worry about. I don't suppose what happens when I walk out of Ray's house every night is anyone's business, but I just didn't want anyone thinking I was some kind of slut or something. I'm not. Not that I was a virgin when I walked into Ray's gym last year or anything. But there's no reason in the world why I would need anyone else. What Ray said about how filled up he is with our sex and love and bodies, well that goes the same for me. And I would grab that gun from the guy and do me first. Ray has been everything to me. He's given me so much. You have to see my body to understand.

I was in fairly good condition last year when we met. Everything was nice and tight and everyone liked to stare at me when I was on the beach and all which is why I took to wearing all those clothes Ray likes to kid me about. I don't really like to be stared at like that. Not that I'm ashamed of my body. I'm not. But I don't like the idea of people thinking just certain things about me when I'm more than just hard, flat abs, round pecs and a rather sizable cock. But I know it's difficult to see that and not think anything else. Like I said. It's important that you realize there's a lot more here than a sexual apparatus.

(Ray here. I have to use the spell checker for that one. Hold on a sec. . . Two P's. And a U. Oh, well. Back to Cory.)

I know you're probably curious about this not being able to read thing and this money thing and this address thing and stuff. But I'll tell you that knowing any or all of that won't really help you know me any better. I don't think any of that's important. And maybe that's the best thing you can know about me. Because what I am, what I do, what I want to be, is all the same. I want to be what I am right now. I do what I do so that I can be what I am. There's nothing really important after that because if I can't be proud of what I'm doing right now then I'm not being me; I'm probably being what I think someone else wants me to be. So just leave all those worries about what happens before and after alone and just be happy that what is now is what is now.

Ray want me to tell a story. I don't think I've ever told one before and I'm not quite sure what to tell. Ray says I should talk about my two friends who died in the car crash last year. I'll have to think about that one for a second. What do people want to know?

Ray says I could talk about watching them work out. I know he's curious about how I was involved and all. But it wasn't anything special. At least I didn't think so. Greg and Chris were just some friends I had met at the beach here. It was about four years ago and I was just starting to think about what I wanted to do with myself. I would see them on the beach, playing with each other, talking with each other, laying with each other, and I noticed that they were the only ones around who really seemed to enjoy being with each other.

Both of them were in real good shape. Not body builders or anything. But they both seemed to take good care of themselves. And they laughed a lot. I figured there had to be a reason for that. And I wanted to find out what it was. So, one day, I just walked up to them while they were talking.

"Hi."

"Hi, yourself, kid."

Greg always called everyone kid. He even called Chris that.

"What can we do for you?"

And he always talked like it was he AND Chris.

"I've seen you two down here on the beach a lot. I was just wondering. Why are you two always so happy?"

They both laughed and asked me to sit down. Right then, I knew the answer to my question. And they knew I knew. They didn't even answer. We spent the rest of the day talking. They took me out to lunch and invited me for dinner and did I want to sleep over? because they had plenty of room in this big house they lived in up in the hills. And after a couple of months of that, with me staying there or not and eating there or not and watching them be so much in love with each other they asked me if I would come to bed with them.

I didn't know what they wanted me to do so I said I'd have to think about it. I left that night and didn't see them again for a week or so. I'm still not sure, even now, what I thought I had to think about. Because a week later I still hadn't had any new thoughts on the matter. I guess I knew it was okay and I'd just wasted a week trying to think why it wasn't. So I hung out at the beach until they showed up and we spent the day together there like there was nothing we had to rush off and do. When it was time to go, we just went. And I sat on the end of the bed for a while and just watched as these two friends of mine made love and shared with me what they sensed I was willing to share until I couldn't stand the thought of not sharing it with them. So I crawled up between them and they wrapped me up in their arms and just held me like it was the only thing in the world they ever wanted to do.

From then on, working out in their basement gym became a lot more interesting. We were always naked and we were always hard. Greg and Chris showed me how to use the stuff and I would watch them and then, when they were gone, I'd go down and work out. It wasn't that I didn't want them to see me, but they were really good and had their own routine worked out. I didn't want to mess that up because they really loved it.

I also think they liked me watching. I know Chris did. She'd always kid with me and get me going so that I got hard and had to keep grabbing myself because my cock hurt so much it was so stiff. Greg would just come over and grab it or something like that. He said he loved my cock and always wanted to be touching it. Not that Chris didn't, too. She did. But she liked to leave the touching stuff for the bedroom. Greg was a tease.

After a year or so of that I was looking as hard and firm as the two of them. We'd go to the beach and folks would just stare at the three of us. I know they had all kinds of thoughts about what we were up to, but it didn't seem to matter to Greg and Chris. It was like they knew there was nothing they had to worry about. I guess I got that from them.

Every once in a while they'd ask me if I wanted someone else to join them. They had plenty of friends who they said had been asking about me. I guess I was starting to attract attention, what with my new, improved body and all.

(Ray here. It's that "all" that's pretty impressive.)

I let them invite someone a couple of times. And they were always real nice and sometimes I liked going to bed with them, but I always felt like I'd rather be in bed with Greg and Chris instead. But they kept trying until one time they invited this couple over. Arnie and Sam. That's Samantha. They were too much! I mean in a good way. These two were serious body builders and had been at it for a long time. And you think I'm hung! This guy had eleven and a half inches of the most incredible meat I've ever seen. And Sam was just drop-dead gorgeous, as Ray would say. It hurt to look at her, she was so beautiful. You just wanted to grab her and press everything you had right into her until you were both the same person. I mean. . . well anyway. . . Arnie was really beautiful, too, and had this way of making you feel like the whole universe was making love to you. And it didn't even hurt.

The three of us stayed together for a while, Arnie, Sam and me. And they introduced me to a couple of their friends. It was great. No one cared who did what with whom. Everything was so free and wonderful and Greg and Chris were there and I was really digging being with all those amazing people. I don't think I could have asked for a better life. And I don't mean to say that my life now is so bad, what with Ray and all, but this was like out of some book or something.

And then Greg and Chris were killed in a car crash.

I haven't been able to see any of the other folks since them. I can't. I needed a new life so I wouldn't have to live with the pain of missing them.

Three years doesn't seem like long enough to get to know someone so much that you can't think of living without them. And three years doesn't seem to be long enough that everything you have in the world belongs to them. But after three years I found out that Greg and Chris had left me everything they had in their will. The house, the car, the gear, the furniture, a big piece of property way up in the mountains way up north. Everything. And a trust fund. So now you know how the credit card gets paid for. I had everything sold because it hurt too much to be in the house, just like it hurt too much to see their friends, our friends, without them. I kept the property up north and I hope I can go see it some day because I've seen pictures up it and it looks really beautiful.

So now I live like I want to. I do what I want because it makes sense for the moment and nothing else matters except this moment. And right now, the only thing I want to do is stop talking, Ray, and be with you because I really need to be.

Ray here. I can't say much more about this now. Cory tells me that, tomorrow being our one year anniversary, and how I've kept my promise to him about getting his body to look like mine, he's got a surprise for me. But I really need to be with Cory right now, too. So I'll let you know how it goes.

Cory: Part Five

Well.

Not quite sure where to start here. I guess I should say I'm sorry I haven't gotten back to you sooner but. . . well, I was kind of tied up.

Yeah. You know what I mean.

I guess the thing that surprises me the most about all this is that I shouldn't have been surprised. I mean, you spend a year getting so close to a guy that you don't even mind what his farts smell like anymore. I guess I'd figured I'd, well, figured him out. Cory, that is. And the thing I thought I had figured out was that I couldn't figure him out and so I should just stop trying and let whatever's going to happen happen. So I do that and - wham - I get thrown for such a loop like I never thought I'd get through it. Alive.

But, then, that was what it was all about, wasn't it? I mean, the thought that, maybe, I wouldn't get through it alive. Otherwise, what's the point? If you're going to hold up a bank, you don't do it with a two day old bagel. You go in and you wave a great big gun around and make everyone believe that you really have no compunctions about blowing a few folks' brains out.

So, if your going to have a sexual fantasy that includes making someone real excited about the fact that they just might, you know, not survive, well, then you just better make it seem that way. Otherwise, you've wasted a lot of time and effort. And money. And I mean a lot of money. This thing must have cost Cory a fortune to set up. And I guess, in a weird Cory-sort-of-way, that was just more proof that he really cared about me.

First, though, I gotta tell you that after he and I finished writing that little story about his friends that were killed, Cory and I had the most gentle, quiet, loving time we've ever had together. He was really upset about talking about Chris and Greg again. It turns out he'd been carrying photos of them around in his pocket ever since. Chris was a photographer and Cory'd had some of her photos copied so he could keep them with him.

Now, I'm not one to get really excited about a woman, not that I don't appreciate good looks no matter what sex a person is, but I was really blown away by this lady's picture. She was a model before she started working the cameras, and she was as high-class as any of the top girls you see on the national magazines. But there was something else. She seemed to reach right out of her picture and grab hold of my heart. I couldn't believe she was really dead.

Greg is some kinda hot stud, himself, though I guess he'd have to be to land someone like Chris. The funny thing is that his body looks just like what Cory looked like the day he came into the gym. I kidded Cory about this, accusing him of going around and Xeroxing other guys' bodies, but he didn't laugh. Seemed to quiet him down even more, actually.

There's this one picture he showed me with the three of them sitting on a bed. They all have some clothes on, but you get the idea of what they're up to. And there is such a feeling coming out of that photo, like no one else ever has the right to be more sexy or more filled with love than these three. Wish I'd known them.

So Cory and me, we spent the rest of the night just holding each other. I told him he could talk about anything, if it would make him feel better, but all he wanted to do was lie there and be held. It was the best. And, for the first time, Cory spent the entire night. At one point I woke up to an empty bed and I thought he'd pulled another disappearing act, but he was over by the window, just looking out at the world, his wide, muscled shoulders tapering down to thin waist silhouetted in the back light. I got out of bed and went to him, wrapping my arms around from behind. They crossed his massive pecs. I pressed myself against him and my cock nestled right into the valley between his two firm ass-globes.

As I hugged him tight he began to sob silently and then he was facing me and his mouth was on mine and it felt like he was trying to suck my soul right out of me and all I wanted to do was let him. He'd never, ever kissed me like that. It's just a guess, but I think he'd been afraid of getting too close, too attached, just in case something happened to me, as well. We stayed that way for a while until we both realized that neither of us was getting hard. Cory playfully wiggled his hips back and forth, making our long, loose cocks beat against each other. Then he reached between us and took both our cocks in his hands. There they lay, side by side, facing each other. Two peas in a pod, as the saying goes. And we wrapped all four of our hands around them and gently squeezed them until they got very hard. And together we slid our hands back and forth between us, using a little spit to keep it slippery, and before I knew it, or thought we should have, we were blowing loads up against each other's pelvis bones.

That was the first and last time we came that night. We just stood there and held each other for the longest time, sometimes running our hands over each others muscles, sometimes just standing there, swaying back and forth. Then we went back to bed and I pulled up behind Cory, draped my arm across his chest and we slept.

In the morning, Cory told me to stay in bed - he was going to make us breakfast - and he went out shopping, coming back an hour later with a million bags of groceries. Man, if I'd known he was such a good cook, I would have chained him to the refrigerator months ago. He told me we were going to screw the training table stuff and have a real human, cholesterol-laden breakfast like the rest of America was having that morning. Spinach and feta cheese omelet, biscuits from scratch, sausage links, cantaloupe, hash browns, fresh-squeezed orange juice (my contribution) and some kind of skinny-ass cake he called a torte (had to look that one up in the dictionary, too) with cherries spread all over the top. He bought that, but everything else he made himself. Besides the orange juice.

As it turned out, the whole day ended up being a whole string of surprises. Next, he informed me he'd made arrangements to have someone cover for me at the gym so that I wouldn't have to go in all day. Of course, my mind started whizzing down a list of a million and a half things I thought I had to do that day and Cory could tell what was happening so he dropped to his knees right there at the table and sucked my semi-hard ten inches right down his throat so fast I couldn't remember what it was I was worried about.

I know I've said it before, but there's just something about having a guy do ya who knows exactly what it's like to have ten inches and what it needs to be happy. Cory's got this way of pulling my cock out of his mouth and tickling the back of the shaft with his tongue as he goes that just about drives me butt-fuck. Back when we were first getting it on, I told him he had to keep that shit to a minimum as I wasn't able to hold off more than one or two of them before I was blowing my wad all over his face. Now, he's changed it a bit so that everytime he does it I WANT to blow my wad but he somehow keeps me from going over. And that's even worse. Or better.

So I'm sitting at the table with this huge, hunky stud sucking on my cock and making me wish I had about seven feet more for him to work on (eight foot cock. . . hmmmm. . . never mind) and I can't even think about where I'm supposed to be. And I've got my hands running back and forth across his shoulders - big, muscular shoulders - big, muscular delts and biceps and traps and tri's and catching his hair and twirling it around in my fingers - and it's getting real intense like it's never been before and all of a sudden I get real dizzy-like and I'm not sure if I passed out or not, because the next thing I know, I'm on the floor doing Cory just like he was doing me and he's running his hands over my shoulders and grabbing at my hair just like I know he likes me to do to him and his hips are humping harder and harder, trying to drive his ten inches deep down my throat like I want to take him anyway and just before he cums I get so excited I think I forget to breath and then I can't think of what I'm doing anymore and then I'm cumming. . . in Cory's deep-sucking mouth.

And then I'm out again.

We bounced back and forth like that all afternoon. I'd be drivin' up his ass - deep, long and hard - and then I'd loose it and he'd be doin' me and then back again until I don't know if it was me or him who's cumming. I tried to ask him about it but he seemed just as confused as me. Said that kind of shit happened all the time when he was with that Arnie and Sam couple. I tell him it's a little too weird for me and could we take it just a little gentler cuz I don't like my sex to confuse AND scare me. One or the other is enough, thank you very much.

Towards the end of the afternoon, with his head lying on my left pec, his tongue playing with the nipple 'til I think it's gonna cum and me flexing the pec so hard I'm shaking with muscle fatigue and it feelin' real good, he tells me he's gotta go get ready for the surprise he's got for me. I don't even try to ask any questions. When Cory's ready to tell me anything, he'll do it. And I know there's nothing to do but wait. And why would I want to ruin the surprise, anyway?

"I'll pick you up here at nine o'clock."

"What do you mean, 'pick me up?' You can't drive."

"That doesn't mean the rest of the world can't. I'll see you at nine."

"What do you want me to wear?"

"Don't worry about that. I'll see you at nine."

"And dinner?"

"Don't worry! See you at nine."

And with a quick peck on my cheek like he was a kid going off to school or something, he jumped out of bed, threw on some shorts, without a jock or anything, and a tank-top. On the way out the door I shouted after him, "You're gonna get arrested, runnin' around town with your cock falling out of. . . "

The door closed before I could get the rest of the sentence out.

It was five o'clock. I thought I would take a quick run over to the gym to see how things were, but I couldn't find my car keys. I had a suspicion where they were. So I called and the gal at the desk, Stacey, told me everything was fine and why didn't I just take a cold shower or something and relax? Huffy bitch. She laughed and said she'd rather be a huffy bitch than anal-retentive and don't I just know how many meanings she was cramming into those two twenty-five cent words. I said thanks for looking out for things and hung up.

Four hours. I can't remember the last time I had four hours with nothing to do. I thought I should fill them up with something, but then I thought I should try NOT filling them up and see what happened. I went to the lap-top and decided to write about what had happened that day so far, but I got to reading what I'd written before and never got around to it. Funny how this whole thing seems so weird when I read it. Even now, I'm going back and looking it over and I know it's sounding kinda freaky. But I'll tell you, you ain't read nothing yet.

I finish reading the stuff I wrote and there's the doorbell. It's eight-thirty already. I'm not that slow a reader. But I did go back over a couple of spots a few times. I like reading about Cory. It's like he's right there while I've got the words running through my mind, making me feel good like he does with his strength and bulges and cock and gold-flecked eyes and that fucking tongue of his that makes me crazy. So I answer the door and there's this guy dressed kind of like a chauffeur standing there with a box.

You know those gay fuck films where the delivery boy comes to the door and he's so hot-to-trot you think he's gonna cum before he even gets inside and so drop-dead gorgeous that you can't believe the thick-headed homeowner isn't dropping to his knees right then and there and thanking whatever God he believes in for sending such a blessing to his house? Well, here's that guy standing right in front of me. I mean, for real. He's the kid that plays that delivery boy in all those films and I can't remember his name, but I know he's got nine inches of glory hole-busting cock dangling between his thighs and one of those athletic bodies that doesn't bulge and expand like Cory's and mine but is so tight and hot that every fiber of tension-tensed muscle ripples under his skin. It's really him.

"Good evening, Master Ray. Master Cory has instructed me to deliver these articles of clothing to you and to assist you in changing into them. He will be joining us within the half hour."

Funny. In the films he talks like a dork with a fifth-grade education. The guy's a real actor. And remember I said he was dressed KIND OF like a chauffeur? I mean, yeah, it's like that but a bit more casual. Like he's got the chauffeur's hat but no jacket. He's wearing a white shirt with a tie but the shirt's so fucking tight I can count his individual abdominals. And he's got white pants on but there's nothing on underneath. And his cock is just about white-hot hard and I'm wondering why I'm not dropping to my knees and . . . well, you get the idea.

"May I come in?"

"Yeah, sure. Come on in."

"Thank you, Master Ray. If you would kindly follow me to the bedroom, I will prepare you."

And the dude walks straight to the bedroom like he's been here a hundred times. And don't you think I'd KNOW if this hunk with the ass that ought to be licensed wiggling before me had been here even once, much less a hundred times? But I know it all has something to do with Cory and I don't question it. Besides, I love the view, especially that massive cock pressed hard against the inside of his pantleg which I can see very plainly from behind.

I know this has nothing to do with anything, but I gotta ask. . . You know what it's like to have inches of thick, hot cock pressed tight up against your thick, muscular thigh by a pair of extremely tight pants? Especially when it's getting hard?

I know.

"Tease."

In the bedroom, he lays the box on the bed and turns to me. Without the box, I get a much better view of that body. I wonder if my preparations include giving into the temptation or suffering. I'm about to ask, but the chauffeur has already begun unwrapping. The box. How disappointing. And when he's done with that, himself. I'm about to drop to my knees for that missing thankfulness scene when he beats me to it. And he's got my zipper down and my pants on the floor and then my shirt over my head and I'm standing there naked and he's standing there naked and his eyes are locked firmly on my cock like he's using them to give me a blow job. I can't think of anything better to do, so I do the same to his.

I know this has nothing to do with anything, but I gotta ask. . . You ever notice that, once you get more than eight or nine inches, it's really the thickness that makes the difference? Especially when it's right there in front of you?

I know.

"Slut."

I know this guy's being paid to play some sort of part, but I think even he's a bit overwhelmed by what he sees. No brag, just fact. I mean, hell, I work hard enough to make sure I have this affect on people. So, he's just staring at me and my fat ten and I do a few subtle flexes, but nothing is subtle with a body like this so I've got muscles dancing all over my body and all over his brain. And then he starts getting real tense and that famous "you gotta fuck this body cuz that's what it was made for" look is standing right there before me. And then his big, thick, nine-inch cock is standing right there before me and I wish they could make films where everything looks like it does in real life because I've seen that sucker on the movie or television screen in a half-dozen films and it never looked as formidable as it does right now. (And I had to look that word up, too, but that's because there wasn't any other word that fit.) It is one fucking formidable cock. Must have something to do with seeing it 3-D.

So me and Jeeves are standing there for a while and I finally have to ask, "So. How we doin'?"

Jeeves catches himself drooling just a bit and sucks it back in before it drips to the floor. I can tell this isn't part of the act and the compliment makes me even harder. I decide to push my luck. "I get the part?"

Jeeves looks at me like he doesn't understand a word I said. And then like he does. He smiles the smile that has melted hundreds, if not thousands, of viewer's hearts throughout the entire gay community.

"Master Ray should know he would be quite welcome, should he decide on a change of career. I believe, if and when you reach that decision, I would be able to point you in the proper direction. You are, in the truest sense of the word, 'awesome'."

I'm a little awed, myself, by the huge hunk of manflesh pointing straight out of this guys pubes. Awed and a little scared. I wonder if the evening's festivities include me taking this guy up my ass. I've heard, through various folks in the business, that there are very few other actors who will do an ass-fuck scene with this guy. Then there are others, of course, who do it as a point of pride. I decide I'd rather be one of the first kind tonight. All that fist shit and stuff never was my bag. I like to be able to shit when I want to the next day without having to win an academy award for it.

"And the award for the loosest asshole after being fucked by the fattest cock in Hollywood goes to. . . "

"Okay, Jeeves, or whatever your name is. . . "

"Jeeves will suffice."

"Right. What now?

"My instructions are to assist you in anyway I might in dressing for this evening."

And, with that, he took the first piece of clothing out of the box. A cock ring.

"Bullshit."

"I'm sorry?"

"I said, 'Bullshit.'" I've never worn one of those damn things before, and I don't plan on starting now."

"I'm sorry, Master Ray. There's been a misunderstanding. This is for me. I am to ask if you would be so kind as to put it on me?"

I know. "Jerk."

"I believe Master Cory intended it as a kind of ice-breaker. Once you have placed it around my cock and balls, I am then to ask if you would be so kind as to suck me off. Considering the state I'm in, it shouldn't take too long."

I have to be perfectly honest with you. I am so much NOT into that scene with leather and whips and wadded up used condoms jammed in the mouth and all those do-dahs that I had to get him to explain it to me. It took a little fumbling, and I pinched him with the fastener, but, I mean, shit, this thing was barely making it around his huge cock anyway. But eventually I got it on him. Now his balls are sticking straight out under his shaft and everything is turning just the slightest shade of blue so I ask him if everything is all right. All he does is grin. Big-time. And he's beginning to leak.

Now let me tell you about grabbing onto that celebrity cock, world-famous for its ass-stretching reputation. I'm holding this cock in one hand (barely) and trying to wrap the thingamajig with the other and he's getting more excited and all I can think about is that it's like going out with Schwarzenegger, Colombu, Strydom, Yates and God all on the same date. And would I KINDLY suck him off? You gotta be kidding me. Cory's got one sick sense of humor. You know what famous porn stars have ripped their cheeks trying to get their lips around this cock. It's like buying one of those maps of the homes of the stars right here in my bedroom.

I know this has nothing to do with anything, but I've never been able to figure out what you do with a cock so big you can't get your mouth around it without scraping teeth. I mean, what did God think he was doing, making a cock this thick?

I know.

"Shut up and suck."

Not so bad, once I get the hang of it. And I guess I'm doing all right, even though I can't get much more than the head in my mouth, because he's running his own hands up and down his end of the shaft while I have to use both my hands to get around my end and, together, we get him a nice little orgasm which leaves him smiling so much I can't help but think he's getting paid to react like that. But then, he always gets paid to react like that so maybe that's just the way he reacts now after having to react like that so many times. But he does cum and there's a lot of it and you can't fake that so he must have been pretty hot and now he's got this scented cloth and he's wiping his cum off my body like I'm some sort of china doll or something.

The cloth has something on it that smells so good I want to cum, too. And it's just rough enough that when he rubs it over my pecs, which he asks me to flex for him while he does it, it rubs my nipples with just enough friction that they instantly ache. And, shit, now he's sucking on them and pinching them and I'm trying to drive my ten inches up against the hard, flat abdomen that's just screaming "Fuck me! Fuck me!" But he's avoiding me and it's on purpose.

"Master Cory has asked that I make every effort not to allow you to achieve climax. He requests that you maintain a heightened level of arousal until such time as he has deemed it appropriate for you to find release."

Ah. The Prime Directive. Now it begins.

Horse-dick Jeeves removes several more things from the box and helps me put them on. First, a thong with a cup so small I wonder what the hell I'm supposed to do with it until Jeeves pulls it up my legs, carefully places my balls in the cup (man, is he gentle - feels so good) and then lays my cock into a pocket which is formed in the waistband so that it wraps around my right pelvic bone.

Next comes a shirt and pair of pants identical to the ones he had on and just as tight fitting. He then places my feet in a pair of the most comfortable sandals I have ever had on my feet. In fact, nothing has ever felt this good on my feet. Jeeves tucks my shirt tails into my pants, taking great care that it is very well smoothed out, requiring him to run his hands over my rock-hard glutes too many times not to be intentional. He smoothes the fabric over the bulge on my right hip. stroking it until I think he's going to blow the Prime Directive and a whole in my pants at the same time. But no. He's just making sure I don't get soft. Fat chance.

So now, here I am dressed in clothes so hot I can barely look at myself in the mirror. The Prime Directive. But I am all white and I am big and hung and bulging in these clothes so much that I might as well not have them on and I'm sure that's the point of all this.

Jeeves quickly puts on the clothes he was wearing before, except that now he can't get his cock in his pants, which also seems intentional, and so he's standing there with that firehose hanging out of the fly and the doorbell rings.

Gee. I wonder who that could be. And I'm taking bets on what he's wearing, too.

I want to tell you everything that happened that night, but the nurse has just come in to give me something to help me go to sleep. She says I've been banging on this keyboard long enough. Time to get some rest. I guess I'll have to finish the rest of this tomorrow.

Good night.

Cory: Part Six

So you're probably wondering what all this shit is about a nurse. I'm okay. At least I will be in a few days. And it's nothing I can't handle. I'm not in the hospital or anything. I'm home and this gal is one of those visiting nurses. They come in shifts and I'm told they'll be here for the next couple of days just cuz they were told to keep an eye on me. Another Cory thing.

And speaking of Cory. . . he's still keeping himself scarce. Haven't seen him since the other night.

The other night. I guess I can't be in that bad a shape if I can pop a hard-on just thinking about it. And I'm mean pop. It keeps happening and the nurses keep coming in to make sure I'm okay and I guess they've been told about me so my ten inches, hard under the sheet, doesn't seem to phase them. And now I can't get the other night out of my mind, so I'm gonna tell you about it and then see if I can get them to send me a male nurse to really take care of me cuz I know I'm gonna be leaking profusely by the time I'm done here.

So there's Cory standing at my front door in white pants and shirt and nothing else and he's as hard as I am with his cock wrapped around his left thigh, the opposite of mine. And here's this porno star standing in my living room with the thickest nine inches ever created being helped by a cock ring I just put on him and he can't, or doesn't want to, or has been directed not to, get it back into his pants so it's just hanging out of his fly and he's standing there like this is the most natural thing in the world for him and for all I know, maybe it is. Looking back on it, considering the amount of money Cory must have thrown at this gig, he was probably happy to do whatever was required. I found out from a year of being wined and dined with that bottomless AMEX card that Cory was no skinflint. If this guy did whatever he was supposed to do and did it well, there was no doubt he ended up with a very sizable tip at the end of the evening.

Or however long this whole thing went on.

Cory came into the room and closed the door behind him. His face was just beaming with the biggest smile I'd ever seen on his gorgeous face. And he was buzzing with an energy that made the state you work yourself up into when you're about to do a heavy workout session seem like you're in a coma by comparison. He hugged me and I could feel it. This guy was roaring and I thought it might be drugs but Cory had never done drugs before so why should he start now? He was just excited.

"Hi, Ray. You look good enough to fuck."

"Fine by me, Cory. Do we need a fourth for bridge or are we all set here?"

"You just wait, my friend. If you got your rocks off now, you'd be kickin' yourself later. Trust me."

I looked at his eyes and I see. . . I see that he really wants me to look at his eyes. And it's weird because, here he is standing in front of me, shoulders and arms about to split the shirt he's got on, pecs so pumped his nipples are easy to see through the fabric as well as some of the veins that run just beneath his skin. I can make out individual muscles on his thighs through the pants that I would think might rip if he decides to sit down but I know they won't because I have the same pants on and they seem to want to hold me everywhere just tight enough but not too tight. Here he is, this fucking magnificent muscular body and all I want to do is look in his eyes. There's something going on here and he wants to let me know that, no matter what I might think it is, I can trust him. And he wants to know if he can trust me, too.

I can't stand it anymore. I've got him in my arms, my huge biceps pressing into the break between his delts and biceps and we're hugging so hard like I need to hold on for dear life. Trust him? Fuck it. I don't just trust him. I love this guy like I never had any other choice so I might as well do it and enjoy it. But it's weird (again with the weird, I know, but there's not much about this that fits into the category "normal"). It doesn't seem to hurt like love has hurt before. Like there's no "shit, what happens now?" or "what happens when it's over?" or "what am I going to loose?" or any of that shit. There's just right now. And right now is him and me and Horse-cock Jeeves and something special that's going to come down tonight and I want to cum right now just thinking about it while I'm writing it.

The next thing I know, I'm sitting in the back seat of a stretch limo. Not one of those block-long jobs you see cruising around rock concerts and you wonder just what this guy needs to get off. There's just one panel between the front door and the back which Jeeves is closing right now after letting us in. And then he's waltzing around the front of the car with his rock hard nine inches bouncing up and down in front of him and him without a care in the world

"Hey, Cory. Where'd you find this guy?"

"Central casting."

"No shit."

"You have any trouble getting that cock ring on him?"

"Yeah. I pinched him once trying to do the fastener. He seemed to like it, though."

Cory chuckled and pressed his left thigh against my right. Now I knew why he had his cock on the opposite side from mine.

"And what's this shit with having him ask me to suck him off like he's Mister Polite or something?"

"Haven't you always wanted to?"

"Well, yeah. But. . ." Never mind. I should've known.

I realize Cory and this guy haven't exchange words once since Cory arrived. I ask Cory about that and he tells me the guy isn't being paid for his conversational abilities. Too bad. Jeeves seems like he could be a lot of fun at parties. Even with his clothes on.

"Tonight, he is just one step on the ladder to your own ultimate sexual gratification."

One small step for man. One giant leap . . .

Jeeves gets behind the wheel of the limo and starts the engine. He's obviously having a little problem working everything with his giant cock hanging in the way, but I suppose I'm supposed to be thinking about that, too, because I am and it's making me horny as hell with the thought of his meat bapping the crossbraces of the steering wheel each time he turns a corner. Cory relaxes into the plush seat like he lives there. I've never been in a limo before, though I don't want to admit it. But there's all these buttons to push and compartments to open and you hear stories about what goes on in the back of these things and I wonder if any of that shit is gonna happen to me.

This is to be the only disappointment of the entire evening.

"Hey, Cory. You sure you're not supposed to be, like, giving me a blow job or something about now?"

Cory just looks at me with eyes that say "I love you even though you can be a narrow-minded-unappreciative-of-the-finer-aspects-of-this-adventure-asshole."

Yeah, but I'm an extremely-well-hung-muscular-until-it hurts-to-look-at-me-unappreciative-asshole. So how come he can just sit there next to me like I am to him and not feel like I do. Maybe he does. But it's his party.

And speaking of which. . .

"I know this is a really stupid question." He smiles again. "Even stupider than the last one. . ." No response. "But where are we going?"

"Downtown."

"Downtown? Like 'downtown' downtown?"

"Yup."

I've lived in this area all my life and I don't think I've been 'downtown' more than three or four times. Who the hell wants to do anything 'downtown?' Now I'm wishing I hadn't asked because it has definitely raised more questions than it answered. And I'll be fucked if Cory doesn't know that, too. I give up and just decide that if I'm gonna have to suffer, I may as well take Cory down with me. I'm all over him like a cheap suit and I'm trying to get into his pants or shirt and I can't seem to. Whatever this stuff is made out of, it sure is durable. We end up groping each other's cocks and pinching nipples until I know there's a huge wet spot on the side of my right hip. And I'm feeling somewhat vindicated that Cory's got the same problem on his left.

So we're going downtown. But it's not the 'downtown' I think of when I ever think about 'downtown' which I hardly ever do. This place is a couple of exits past downtown. It's got lots of factories and warehouses and I give Cory one of those "you gotta be shitting me" looks and he shrugs smugly. I'm thinking about that little vote of trust thing that went on back at my place between him and me and I'm starting to wonder if there's the possibility of a recount. Not that I think there's gonna be anything wrong. I just didn't think Cory could be so, what's the word? ClichŽ.

But I gotta admit, I'm getting pretty hot now. I'm thinking about all those stories about all those things that go on in the backs of limos on the way to abandoned warehouse districts and Cory leans over to me and says, like he's reading my mind, "Just keep dreaming, Ray. It's all going to come true." And I realize I'm rubbing both our cocks between us and I guess he had no trouble thinking what I'm thinking.

And I'm thinking alot. Maybe we're gonna do some film stuff with Jeeves or something. Or maybe it's a surprise party and everyone from the gym is gonna be there and there'll be great music and lights like a guerrilla disco set up in one of these old, abandoned factories we're driving by. Or maybe all this trust shit is just that - shit - and I'm about to be off-ed by this guy who's been wining and dining and fucking my ass and sucking my cock like he can't ever get enough of it for the past year. And maybe I'm just a sick fuck who can't seem to keep his imagination from running away from him.

One thing's for sure. We're definitely headed for some old, abandoned factory. It's not too large, and it sits kind of off in a corner, away from most of the other buildings. There's no lights on and no other vehicles around, so if it's a surprise party, they've done a pretty good job of hiding it.

I soon find out that Jeeves' part in this little adventure is at an end. At least for the time being. After pulling up in front of this building that looks like a set for some real bad gangster film, he gets out and opens the back door for us. I get out and see he hasn't lost that boyish charm or horse-cock erection. He's beautiful and seems to actually be enjoying the discomfort the cock ring is causing him.

"I'll return here at the appointed time, Master Cory."

He's about to get back in the car with the obvious intention of driving away and leaving us out here all by ourselves so I stop him.

"Hey, wait a minute."

"It's all right, Ray."

"No, wait a minute. He's just gonna leave us out here?"

"Don't worry, Ray. It's all right. Everything's going according to plan."

I look at Jeeves and he can see I'm just a little upset. He comes back to me and stands close enough that his huge cock is sticking right into my own groin. He presses just enough to let me know it's not an accident and looks me square in the eyes.

"Don't worry, Master Ray. Master Cory has assured me that everything is taken care of. No matter what happens, keep this in mind. I will return at the appointed time. I will."

He starts to step away and I instinctively reach out to stop him, grabbing the nearest thing I can. Yeah, you guessed it. He's still so fucking hard and thick I can't believe it. We lock eyes for a minute and I want to tell him thanks and don't forget us out here and what I would like to do to that big fat cock of his if I didn't all ready have the hottest fuck in town standing right behind me. He smiles with just the hint of remorse, himself. And then I reach over and unsnap the cock ring and throw it out into the middle of the parking lot.

"Master Ray, you are going to have a wonderful time tonight. It has been a pleasure being a part of this. Good night."

And, with that, he gets into the limo and drives off, honking the horn a couple of times with short blasts. I can imagine what he's hitting the horn with.

I turn to look at Cory and he's standing there with a great big grin on his face like he's about to burst.

"You are the nicest person I've ever met. I want to tell you that. I love you so much that I ache with not being able to show you just how much."

Okay, so here comes the macho-man disclaimer bit. I mean, I'm not one to get all misty-eyed over news stories about kids being rescued from storm drains and shit like that. And I don't really have much to say on the subject of love, normally. But this guy is just so beautiful and so kind and so filled with love that I can't help myself and the tears just come pouring out of my eyes and we're standing in the middle of this ridiculous parking lot just hugging and sobbing like we can't get the joy out enough and so we gotta cry as well. And, well, there's this trust thing that just has never been an issue for me before. I mean, I never really let anyone in close enough that I needed to worry about it before.

Now I've got this carbon copy of me standing here getting ready to pop some kind of surprise on me and . . . well, it's all just a little too much so you'll have to excuse me for a second and where the hell are the kleenex when you need them?

"You know, Cory, you've got me just a little anxious here."

"God, Ray, I hope so. Otherwise I've wasted a hell of a lot of time and effort here."

"You gonna tell me what this is all about?"

"I just want to tell you one thing. The rest, you'll get in a second."

"What's that?"

"I've been studying on you for the last twelve months, trying to figure just what really makes you excited, what floats your boat. I know there's a lot we've done in the gym and at your place, but I know what you've really enjoyed. I'm going to give that to you tonight. And no matter what you think is going to happen to you, I just want you to remember that it's all right. I trust you with my life, Ray. I'd give you my life if it was needed, like you were writing the other night about the guy with the gun. So tonight, it's all just for fun. I promise. You trust me?"

Now I know he's talking this stuff like he's trying to get me to calm down. But the more he's talking, the more anxious I feel until I'm starting to get a knot in my stomach.

Just when I'm about to say something, though, he says, "Kind of makes your cock ache, doesn't it?"

And I realize I'm so turned on I would take on a whole brickyard of cinder blocks.

"Yeah, Cory. You got me good and hot. I got a good idea. Can I fuck you right here in the middle of the parking lot? That kinky enough for you?"

"Not nearly. You just wait. You'll see."

And with that, he heads towards this little factory building. I follow, admiring how these white pants just cling and work as his fine, hard ass tick-tocks back and forth in front of me. There's a couple of rickety old stairs that go up to the front door that we both have to be careful climbing. Then there's this rusty old padlock on the door and Cory picks up a piece of strap iron that's leaning there and sticks it through the hasp. He braces one end against the door jamb and starts to pull it down. His biceps bulge as he exerts pressure. The bar bends slightly. And then, just before the lock gives, I hear a rip and the brand new, 21 inch gun on his right arm is peaking out of a hole in the shirt. There's a noisy, rusty bending of metal and the lock falls to the rotting deck.

Cory is grinning at me again. Muscles busting through shirt sleeves. I can't stand it. I'm all over his upper arm with my lips, sucking on that block of strength, licking it, chewing it. I want to ram my aching hard cock against it. He flexes his other arm and the result is the same. Rip! Shit. Everything is so tight and hard and dangerous and hot and I find myself thinking about not cumming in my pants and it's almost too late. The drip is getting worse and I look down at my right thigh and it's covered with a huge wet spot. Cory's got the same thing on his left.

"You gonna let me do something about this, Cory?"

"Just a few more minutes. If you cum in your pants, don't worry. They're not rented."

I gotta laugh, and then I realize how good that feels, so I laugh some more and the tension goes away like some breeze just came and carried it off like it was the stink of some odor that shouldn't have been around but it was.

Cory heaves his massive shoulders against the door and the hinges protest but finally realize who's the boss. I'm wondering why we're having to break into a place, if everything is so planned out, but I don't ask. I can't. I can't even talk. I am truly speechless.

We're standing at the end of a big room. It looks like the entire building, although I see some doors along the left and right walls. But I've seen bigger rooms. What's got me tongue-tied is what's standing in the middle of the big room. I don't even know what it is, really, except that just looking at it has got my cock tingling like it does just before I blow my wad.

"Go ahead."

"Huh?"

"Go ahead. I came in my jeans the first time I saw it, too."

And I'm cumming. I can feel the heat of my sperm as it jets out into the waistband of this crazy thong I've got on. I grab onto Cory's massive shoulders to keep from falling to the ground, it's so violent an orgasm. Just had to get that out of my system. And now I know exactly what this big machine is and why it's here and who put it there and what it's going to do to me and my knees are about to give out.

"Help me, Cory."

Cory slips his right arm under my left and walks me to the middle of the room. There's lights on all over the place, but they're very narrow beams and just light here and there. I look up and see that all the windows have been boarded over, which is why I couldn't see them from the outside.

Okay. Here it is. It's round. About ten feet across and it's standing on edge, a big metal ring. There's these four things that look like motors attached to the ring, evenly spaced around it. There's a big cable attached to each of these and they go up to the ceiling where I can't see. The ring is being held up by some sort of frame it looks like its slipped into. Without out it, the ring would be parallel to the floor, hanging from those cables.

By the time we get about halfway to it, I can handle walking myself and step away from Cory. My heart is beating hard. I can feel it everywhere in my body, but most of all in my cock. I walk over to a locker that's sitting in front of the ring. It's one of those industrial jobs with two big doors and a handle that locks them. It's locked. I turn back to Cory and he's got that big, shit-eating grin on his face which says that no matter what question I ask, he isn't going to answer.

To the left of the locker is something that looks like a control panel on a podium. Lots of buttons. But, instead of writing to tell what they do, there's these little pictures. Cory can't read, remember? And the little pictures tell me everything I thought I needed to know about what this contraption does.

I turn to question Cory one more time, and he's standing right beside me.

"This is going to be like everything you've ever dreamed would happen in the gym, Ray. Everything. You remember the other night when you were on the bench and had those two free weights?"

I nodded.

"I left them there. I was testing to see how much weight you could handle. This machine is designed so that it won't give you anymore than you can take. But . . ."

I looked at him.

"But. . . That's a lot more than you think you can. Which is where it gets interesting. You ready?"

The churning in my stomach is in direct conflict with the churning in my balls. I finally just nodded.

Cory walked over to me and kissed me ferociously, driving his tongue deep into my mouth, doing that soul sucking thing again. I was so turned on, I couldn't keep from pulling him to me and crushing my pecs against his. His biceps bulged through the holes in his shirt again and my mouth drifted to them once again to give them another sucking. He then pulled away from me, leaving me stand by the control panel. He stepped into the circle of light that was shining on the ring.

The panel had an outline of a man in the middle of it. His arms were extended above his head and there was an arrow pointing to each of his hands and feet with two buttons, one red and one green, at the other end of each arrow. There were two sets of red and green buttons that showed the ring. One set had two arrows extending from the top of the ring, the other, two arrows from the bottom. Another set showed a man standing in front of a rectangle with another man inside it. Finally, there was a switch with larger green and red buttons next to it. Only this red button was lit.

I pushed a couple of the smaller buttons, but nothing happened. I then tried to push the larger ones, but they seemed to be only lights. At last, I flipped the big switch and the red light went out and the green one went on. At the same time, there was the sound of some massive switch being thrown behind one of the doors off to the left. Nothing else happened. I pushed the red button with the arrow pointing at the man's left hand and there was a whining sound from the ring, but it sounded like it was fighting something, so I let go and pushed its green mate.

The upper left motor started to whine again, but this time a cable started to lower. Attached to the end of it was a thing that looked like a glove.

Now my heart was really starting to beat hard.

Cory: Part 7

I mean, I would have cum for sure if I hadn't just done so about five minutes before. And it wasn't for not wanting to, either. I mean, I could feel everything in my body that has anything to do with cumming aching and straining to do something about it, but it was just too soon.

Here was Cory, his body lit up like he was some kind of spirit or ghost or angel or some such shit, standing in the middle of this bright, white light shining down on him and this big metal ring and this glove coming down like it's a gift from heaven or something and he puts his hand up like he knows it's there and doesn't have to look and I let go of the button just when it's level with his right hand, cuz like he's facing me. And he's grinning at me like I'm already doing him a big favor or something just by pushing the button or maybe just being there. But what else can I say. I've already cum in my pants for him, like it was on cue or something.

And it's not like I don't know exactly what's supposed to happen now. I'm going to put Cory's hulking, muscular frame into this contraption and I'm going to do what he's then going to do to me. And there's no owner's manual around because both Cory and I know exactly what we want this machine to do and how much we both want it.

So I'm looking at this freaky little control panel and everything is getting a little fuzzy around the edges and Cory says to me, "Hey, Ray. Don't forget to breathe, you know?"

Right. And I thought breathing was supposed to be one of those things you didn't have to worry about, but I guess even that part of your mind can get so wrapped up that it loses track. Like it was right now. And I can tell Cory's pretty heated up about this, too, and his huge chest is pumping oxygen like he's gonna run out anytime soon now. And don't both of us just want to grab our big, thick cocks and start pounding on them, or maybe just beating them against this big-ass ring that's about to do some seriously good hurting on our bodies.

I push the left down button again for a few seconds just so the glove lowers to a decent level and then bring down the right one the same. It goes real slow, but I guess you don't want it moving too quick when you're strapped inside it, you know. So the other glove comes down and I go over and watch as Cory puts this thing on. It's hard and opens like a little suitcase with a hasp on one side. Cory lays his hand inside it and his fingertips stick out of the top. Then he closes it around his hand and it encases his entire palm and a little of his wrist. He fastens the hasp and turns a little latch to keep it from opening by accident. He then bends his knees until he's just hanging by his right hand and he bounces just a little to test it. He's not coming out of it. And it's solid as a fucking rock. Nothing jiggles except his massive pecs.

Now he looks at me and I know exactly what I'm supposed to do. I examine the other glove for a second and it looks like it's some kind of mechanical marvel the way it's formed to hold the hand without cutting off the circulation. I kind of want to put it on for a second to see what it feels like, but I know my turn will come soon. Besides, I can tell Cory's getting too excited to wait much longer. I lock him in and then check out what's attached to the lower two motors.

Boots, or actually a hefty kind of sandal, with cables attached to the center of the bottom of the heels. I have to go over to the panel and let some cable out on each of them so they'll reach Cory's feet. He's standing there with his hands about head high and so I feed his feet into the fancy footwear and the locking mechanism is the same as on the hands so it doesn't take too long to get him ready. When he's in he's standing on the rings that the cables are attached to so he's about two inches taller than normal. And he looks fucking huge. He pulls down with his two arms and his lats flare so wide I hear another ripping sound. The back of the shirt has completely ripped open and his guns are popping out again. I start to unbutton the shirt, figuring it's useless by now but he shakes his head no. He has something else in mind, apparently. Fine.

I walk around him and, sure enough, there's his big back with those fine convolutions of muscle peaking out through the two spread sides of the shirt. I run my hands over his back and he drops his head back and moans. I want more of his back so I grab the two sides of the shirt and pull them apart. The ripping hiss of the material is echoed by a hissing "yesssssss" from my muscle-bound captive lover. I may be thick, but I ain't stupid. Now I get it.

And there's his fine, sculpted back and there's his narrow waist and there's his very, very, very fine ass, hard and firm and globed and being held nice and tight in those white pants. So what's keeping me from just ripping them off both him and me and doing what I really need to do right now? I don't know, except I know there's got to be a lot more to this shit than just holding Cory's arms in the air and ramming him with my own rock-hard ten inches. Hell. We do that at the gym all the time. Nope, this machine looks like it's built to do some serious hurting and I know we both want it. So the only thing that I can't figure out is how come Cory gets to go first.

So now it's time for driver's ed. I go back to the control panel after standing on my tip-toes and giving Cory one last hot, deep one on the lips. I'm looking at it, trying to figure out which direction I want everything to go in first when I hear Cory clear his throat.

"If I might suggest. . ."

"Yeah?"

"If you press all four of the red buttons around the circle at the same time, it will automatically center me in the middle of the ring."

Now doesn't he just think of everything.

"However. . ."

"Yeah?"

"If you don't let them go when I'm centered, it then continues to retract the cables. All four of them."

"Gotcha."

My hands are trembling. As exciting as all this has been up until now, it's just been prep, you know? Once I hit these buttons, there's no turning back, I know. And I also know that whatever I do to Cory is what's going to happen to me. And that's why Cory wants to go first. Because he knows I'll be thinking that all the way through, getting more and more excited about when it's my turn. I mean, why don't I just turn on my balls and let them start draining? Because I'm not going to be able to stop from now on.

I want to watch Cory, but I have to look at the panel to make sure I hit all the buttons together. I press them and the whining noise starts again, but this time it's two motors running at the same time and I look up and Cory's already two feet in the air and swaying back and forth a little cuz his foot cables haven't started to tighten yet. But his arms are stretched wide above his head and he's looking this way and that like he's checking out the mechanics to make sure it's working right. And I'm thinking, if anything goes wrong, all I gotta do is flip this big switch and everything will at least stop. Then the two foot motors kick in and start whining and his legs are being pulled apart and I'm watching like a maniac, waiting for some invisible cue that's supposed to tell me that he in the center so I don't pull his arms out of his sockets. That's not what I'm here for.

Cory's expression changes quickly from proud Dr. Frankenstein ("It's alive!") to concerned subject of science experiment and I can tell the cables have found their center mark so I let up on the buttons, ready to hit the master switch. But all four motors cease their whining and there's this hulking thick body hanging, spread eagle, in the middle of this ring so that his crotch is just about eye level to me. I figure this would be interesting for a little while, but I don't want to spend the whole night giving this hunk blow jobs. Time to figure out how to get him down where I can do some serious hurtin' on him.

I mean, it's not difficult to figure out. I just gotta raise the ring up out of it's frame with the top two cables that go up into the darkness above and then pull up on the two lower cables and the whole thing should flatten right out. I can see the frame it's sitting in is made to hold the ring solid in either the vertical or horizontal position, so I just have to get it back down and lock it into place.

But first. . .

I've just about had it with those pants Cory's got on. I mean, it's not like I'm going to be able to get them off, but I know I can probably rip them enough to get his cock out and hanging so I can play with it a little. I go to him and unfasten the two buttons at the waistband. His breathing is deep and fast, his thick abs expanding and contracting, pulling his diaphragm down to get air. I can tell he's spent a good portion of the afternoon putting on the pump cuz his six-pack abs are veined and hard like I haven't seen them in a long time. And his crotch, which is indeed hanging right in front of my face, is putting out that odor. You know the one. Hot, steamy, musky, sweaty, head-swirling. That one.

And he's hot, too. I rub my hand along the bulge on his left thigh and he starts moaning real loud and I think I don't want him to cum just yet so I stop and he moans, but this time like he's none to happy about something. I pull the zipper down and there's that thong cup holding a load that most guys would be proud to call everything they've got. I don't think I've ever told you about Cory's balls. Big. Enough said. And now I've got him by the balls, literally, and I'm starting to squeezed them like I know he likes it because it's exactly like what I like. Only this time, in honor of the situation, I squeeze just a little harder than I usually do and he starts groaning like he's trying to keep from crying but he's also arching his back like he's trying to push those lemon-sized nuts harder into my hands so I know he's loving this.

But there's still fabric between me and my lover. It would probably be a waste of time to try and rip through the elastic waistband of this thong, and I figure he's probably already got a solution for this problem, so I just reach into his basket and haul his gonads out so they're hanging over the top. His scrotum is loose and full of the two most suckable, chewable, lickable balls I've ever had the pleasure to suck, chew and lick. Just a little hairy, but it's wispy and fine. The skin of his scrotum is expanding and contracting like crazy, protesting the treatment they've just experienced. Fuck 'em. I slap them sort of medium hard and Cory arches his back and gives out a good scream. It echoes off the distant walls of this space and I realize that no one's going to be around to hear the magnificent sounds that are going to fill this place tonight.

Now I've got his cock in my hands and I'm pulling it out of it's pocket in the waistband. And I have never seen this thing so hard and dark. I mean, ten inches is not likely to get hard enough to stand straight up against the abdominals, and it's usually pretty flexible, even when it's about ready to shoot. But Cory's cock is hard like a thirteen year old's and even without the thong holding it up, I bet it's gonna be kissing his navel.

And there's this juice running out of the tip like it's trying to redefine the word 'copious.' I grab the shaft, bend it down and lick it once, and only once, from base to tip and Cory sounds like he's going to start crying.

"How's that feel, bull stud?"

He's so hoarse with passion he's got to try saying it twice, but it still comes out sounding like a baby's gurgle.

"Feels all right, Ray."

"You doing okay up there?"

"Like I died and went to heaven. You don't know what you're missing."

"I plan on finding out soon enough. You ready to go horizontal?"

"Yeah. There's a bench leaning against the other side of the locker. When you get me up a bit, it'll slip into those holes in the floor right at your feet."

I look down and there's four round holes in the floor. And there's a couple of round wet spots there as well. Cory's really starting to drip.

I go back to the control panel and push the button that indicates the top of the ring. The whole mechanism starts to rise but catches immediately on something. I hit the switch and the big mechanism in the back room goes 'ca-chunk' and all the lights go out but the red one next to the switch.

"What'd I do wrong, Cory?"

"Uh, nothing much. You just have to release the ring from the locks on either side. They're what keep it from swinging around."

"Ah. Okay."

I look at these locks and they've got a little lever on each one that flips back and forth and I can see that when I flip it, it will release the ring but also make it ready to lock when I bring it back down in the horizontal position. I mean, this guy's gone and built one hell of a machine. And he can't even read.

I flip the power back on - 'ca-chunk' - and raise the ring up until the base clears the frame and then I hit the button for the bottom of the ring and it starts tilting. The weight of Cory's body is making him droop and I can see the need for the bench he was talking about. But he tenses his arms and legs, making them explode in size as the rippling muscles take up the slack, and he stays even with the ring.

When he's finally parallel to the floor he's hanging about fifteen feet up in the air. The lights are hitting his body from above and making it glow around the edges. Wide, wide, wide shoulders and back. Narrow, tight, sexy waist. Hard, firm glutes and thick thighs and calves. And those 21 inch upper arms trembling as he holds himself taut.

I go and get the bench he told me about and bring it to its position. I'm not sure what it's made out of, or what it's weight is, so I grab it like I don't want to hurt myself and I'm glad I do because it must weigh 300 lbs. I know it doesn't have to weigh that much so it must just be heavy for the sake of being heavy and as I lift it my biceps and deltoids flex and they press against the fabric of the shirt and now I've got hot, hard muscle poking out through fabric and I want to chew on the mounds of strength they look so good peeking out like that. The bench is heavy and feels real good to move something so massive and have everything flex so big and so I just stand there and pump it a few times just to feel it.

I even kind of forget about Cory hanging fifteen feet over my head until I hear his rather strained voice ask me, "How's the view from down there."

"Oh, shit. Sorry. I was just getting off on this bench here."

"Getting off on the bench? That's something I hadn't thought of. Remind me to try it when I get out of here."

I drop the bench into the holes and it sets into the cement floor about a foot and a half. There's two adjustable extensions on it, one obviously for the head and one for the ass, though both look like they'll just barely support their intended body part. I also notice that I've got the bench backwards, head to ass, and so I pull it out and drop it back in the right way. Then I'm back at the control panel and I'm pushing the two green buttons above and below the ring. It takes a couple of minutes, but finally Cory's hard, bulging glutes settle into the support like he's had it made for him. The ring drops back into the frame and there's a couple of nice firm locking sounds as it snaps into place. I know the bench is cold, hard iron and I can imagine just what that feels like, suddenly on his skin. With him supported, he doesn't have to keep his body tense anymore and he relaxes, shaking out his limbs as best he can while attached to the cables.

I know you've got a pretty good idea of what this guy's body looks like. You've seen them at the beaches or gym, or maybe just at the grocery store or GNC. But I gotta tell you, nothing looks as hot as a thick, muscular stud being pulled four ways from center and his body all lit up with hot, white light in a factory on the wrong side of town. And I want to see more. Time to get those damned clothes off. Me first. I'm out of the pants and thong faster than you can sneeze and my cock is so happy to be out of that damned thing it almost cramps with delight it's so hard. I keep the shirt on because I like the way my biceps are showing through the rips they've made.

Now Cory.

"Hey, Cory. How'm I supposed to get these clothes off you?"

"Try cutting them."

"With what?"

"Try a knife."

"One last stupid question and then I promise I'll shut up."

"In the locker."

"The locked locker?"

"That's two more stupid questions."

"You didn't give me a chance to ask the first one."

"Guess I know you pretty well."

"So anyway. . . the locked locker?"

"Yeah."

"I don't suppose you have a key to the locked locker."

"Nope."

"Somehow I thought that."

"Guess you'll just have to break into the locked locker, muscle stud."

"Yeah. Guess so. I'll be right back."

"I'll wait here."

"You're too funny, Cory."

Cory laughs like an evil vampire or something stupid like that so I go over to the control panel and hit all four motor buttons at the same time for about a second and Cory's evil vampire turns into a gut-wrenching moan followed by a "Yeah."

After swinging that bench around, I'm looking forward to a little more exertion. It's just a matter of getting my fingers in between the two doors without chopping them off and then bending and pulling them apart and. . . rrrriiiipppppp! There goes the back of the shirt and I take just a second to ram my ten inch cock against the cold metal of the locker because I can't help it and I'm feeling the need to push against something. So now the locker's open and there's all kinds of shit in there and I know what it's all about and I never knew Cory was into some of this shit like the cock ring for Jeeves. If I have my way, it'll stay right where it is tonight, but I admire his thoroughness.

There's a knife, all right. It's a knife for cutting pants off like an elephant gun is for killing flies. It is very large and very dangerous looking and I know what that's all about. And it had better be very sharp because if it isn't someone could get hurt trying to make it do what a sharp knife should be doing. I try it out on the front of Cory's shirt. It is very sharp. Cuts right through the fabric. Like buttah. Hardly even hear the fabric ripping. It just sort of says "excuse me" and gets out of the knife's way. I run the blade up from his crotch to his neck, following the crease in the middle of his abs and then the division between his two hyper-extended pecs. I mean, I know I could have just unbuttoned it, but what's the point. And the thrill of running that big-ass blade right next to that cock of his as it lies on his abs. . . Oh, baby. I cut the sleeves where the biceps left off and the shirt now falls to the floor.

And I've just gotta take a minute and work those nipples a bit. When they get hard, and they're very rarely not, they can get a good half inch long. They are thick and juicy and I suck and tongue-twirl and nibble and bite and then I'm pinching one while I'm biting the other and I'm doing it harder and Cory's starting to get real agitated and there's this big pool of pre-cum forming on his abs that's just pouring out of his cock. And the slit in his cockhead is wide open like it's got some serious emitting to do and it's just waiting for the right moment. So I chew down real hard and start grabbing at whatever big muscles I can grab and - POW - right in the side of the head I get a hot wad that's just come blasting out of his balls. There are several more, just like that, but I'm ready for them with my mouth wide open. They all hit their target, more or less, and I haven't even touched the guy's cock.

That was easy. Now I've got to get his pants off. They are tight on his huge thighs but I'm extremely careful and the concentration actually takes the edge off of everything that's been going on so far, like a little break or something. Cory's thought of everything. I want to try and remove the thong right where it is, but decide that accidental castration is not my idea of a good time tonight, so I pull them down as far as they'll go on his legs and with one artistic flash of cold, sharp steel, the elastic contracts and goes flying halfway to one of the side walls. Cory is naked.

"Cory?"

"Yeah, Ray."

"I know this is about me tonight like you think you owe me something or whatever. But you know I can't do this without you getting what you want."

"Yeah, I know Ray."

"What do you want, Cory? What's gonna make this night for you?"

"I want it to hurt real good and then I want it to hurt even better and then I want that big cock of yours up my ass and you cramming on my balls till I can't stand it. That's what I want."

"Gee. That's all? We coulda gone to the mall for that."

"Yeah, but Jeeves would've had to put his cock in his pants."

"True."

I look my lover over again, staggeringly beautiful and so excited that I'm doing this with him.

"I love you, Cory. I love you."

"I know man. Hurt me."

My cock waves back and forth in front of me and my balls slap against my hard, thick thighs as I walk back to the control panel and hit all four motor buttons. Then I hit them again. Both times Cory lets out a scream that shakes the rafters of the building and echoes for several seconds after his final "Yeaahhhhhhh!" The cables are very tight now.

And, speaking of tight, I go to the locker with its bent doors and fucked up lock and get a tube of something that looks like it might be slippery and then duck back under the ring and stand beside him again. I give the tube a squirt and my right palm is filled with something like Jell-o but it isn't going to melt. I slide it up and down the shaft of my cock and I can't believe how good it feels.

"Man, Cory. What is this shit?"

"Let me see. Oh, that's something left over from the space program. Never made it on the open market because it costs too much."

"How much is 'too much?'"

"Don't spill any."

"Right. Feels great."

"Glad you like it. The astronauts sure did."

"Government secret, huh?"

"You know the X-files?"

"Yeah."

"That's from the Z-files."

"Sounds like a great idea for a TV series."

"No, that's the triple X-files. By the way. . .?"

"Yeah?"

"One of the reasons that stuff is so good is that it last a long time."

"How long?"

"You probably won't have to re lubricate until sometime next year."

"That's pretty good. You want some of this?"

"Yeah. I'm ready. I want you to fuck me, Ray."

Cory: Part 8

I know the polite thing to do when some big muscular hunk tells you to fuck him is to fuck him. Considering the circumstances those words were uttered under, I just don't see where Cory had the balls to be telling me what to do. At least that's the idea I suddenly get in my head as I see my beautiful, muscle-bound lover strapped into this amazing machine he'd had built, or built himself, or gone to the hardware store and bought. Or wherever it came from. But I know that all this stuff wasn't about me just trussing him up like a pig ready for bar-b-que and ramming him with my aching ten inch cock until I'm coating his insides with the five gallons of cum my bloated, aching balls feel like they're carrying.

No. If that's the case, this is going to be a very short evening. Cory'd gone to a lot of trouble to make this whole thing seem just a bit dangerous and I was going to let him experience a little of that danger before it was over.

I go back to the locker and take a closer look at what's in there. My hand is still lazily rubbing that amazing lube stuff up and down its length and I realize I can't stop, it feels so good. Too good, actually. Not that I'm pumping hard enough to blow. But my hand sliding up and down my shaft with almost no friction feels like heaven giving me a blow job. I wonder what other marvels Cory has collected here for our mutual enjoyment. I take a second look at the various items on the shelf, feeling more like a kid in a candy shop with each passing minute.

I finally start picking the different things up and checking them out. One that catches my interest immediately is a leather pouch filled with about two pounds of sand and tied up with a drawstring. The drawstring is attached to this little bucket which, itself, was attached with a leather string to a strap with a snap. The strap is only a couple of inches long. Now what would this be for? Obviously the sand in the pouch is supposed to go into the bucket. And the bucket is supposed to be attached to, or hung from. . .

I'm back at Cory's side in a flash.

"Hey, Cory?"

"Yeah?"

"I know you're hot to get my cock up your ass and all, but I just found a little toy over there in the locker that I want to try out. I guess you'll just have to wait for a bit, okay?"

"Seems I don't have much choice here, doesn't it?"

"Guess you're right there."

Cory's cock is still rock hard and lying on his stomach. His huge nuts are hanging low between his spread legs so that I can't even see his asshole. Big, heavy nuts pulling that scrotum skin down with their weight. Yeah. I wrap the leather strap around the skin of his ball sac, just above his nuts, and let the little bucket hang down. The strap is short enough that it isn't going to slip off his bull gonads. His sac stretches even further with the weight of the bucket. I opened up the pouch and pour a little of the sand into the bucket. Cory starts breathing hard and his cock gives a jump. A spurt of clear liquid shoots out and lands up on one of his pecs. I add a bit more sand and the leather strap slips down like a noose, compressing his balls into the bottom of his scrotum.

I stick out my tongue and very lightly lick the point where his cock shaft and the smooth, distended skin that hangs below meet. Back and forth a couple of times and then I work my way down his sac, passed the strap and then I'm licking his balls and my saliva glands are working over time and pretty soon he's completely coated with my spit, his wispy ball hairs plastered to the smooth, vein-covered skin.

A little more sand. And then a little more but I slip and a bit more goes into the little bucket than I'd planned and Cory lets out with a deep, agony-filled groan.

"How's that feel, Cory?"

"Feels all right. You got any more sand in that bag?"

I want to jump up on him and ram my hard, ripped body against his hard, ripped, streched-out-till-every-muscle-is-so-tight-it's-like-a-220-pound-hard-on body.

"Yeah. It's about half full."

"Let me have it. Nice and slow and steady."

Now I'm the one doing the spurting. I grab my own sac and pull down on it just to get an idea of what this feels like. I guess it's not too bad, just two pounds or so. But then I realize there's no relief. It's constant. I let go of my own nuts and start to pour the sand into the bucket in a tiny stream. The fuller the bucket gets, the more Cory groans and it's getting fuller and he's getting louder and it's like he knows just how much sand there is because just as the last little bit is pouring out he lets out a long hiss of air like he's glad that's over. And here's his balls hanging down lower then they've ever hung and the smooth skin of his sac is dark purple and starting to do that weird, contracting shit it does when the balls don't like how the world's treating them and I guess the only thing to do is lick them again, real good, so I do and Cory's panting and moaning and I think he's just about ready to pop another wad so I stop and look up.

Here's this low, long scrotum and this long hard cock laying on this hard, flat abdomen leading up to these flat, massive pecs attached to these massive, wide shoulders and wide, thick neck and there's Cory with his head raised and he's looking back at me like he can't stand it anymore and I'd better not stop both at the same time.

"I think you'd better give those buttons one more hit, Ray."

"You're shitting me."

"No, man. I need it. Go on. Remember, this things set so it can't really do any harm."

I shake my head because I can't really believe it, but this is my lover and this is what he wants and so I'm over at the panel with my hands poised above the buttons and just before I hit them I shout out "I love you, Cory." And there's this short whine and this really loud scream and I look over and Cory's body is so tensed up that I can see every detail of his massive muscles from all the way over here.

I'm back at his side in an instant and I'm licking his big fucking muscles like I know somehow this is going to make it feel better. I'm chewing on his biceps. I'm grabbing his pecs. I'm hammering my tool hard into his left armpit, spewing pre-cum everywhere. I'm rubbing his thighs with my hard, strong hands, knowing these huge muscles must be ready to cramp up. And he's tensing each muscle as I hit on it because that's what this is all about: big, hard muscle being stimulated beyond anything it's ever felt before. I want it. I want to feel this.

"How's that, Cory?"

"Feels . . . Feels fucking great," he says weakly.

I'm standing by his head and I kiss him hard and deep. His mouth is very dry so I give him spit because my glands are still working in overdrive.

"Tell me what it feels like, Cory. Tell me what you're gettin'."

His nostrils are flaring and he's breathing real deep, his abdomen rising and falling with each breath. He starts to say something, then stops and raises his head to look down across the vast expanse of his massive chest. I look, too, just in time to see his hard, purple-headed cock erupt with another couple of loads of white-hot cum. This time, I can't control myself and, without even touching myself, I'm shooting right along with him.

Our two bodies contract around their orgasms and I'm starting to get weak-kneed. I look back at him and he's smiling so big I can imagine his cheek muscles must be aching as much as the rest of him.

"That's what it feels like, Ray. Like two orgasms at the same time. Only it's not stopping. And I feel so strong. Feel like I can pull this whole contraption right off it's supports and crumple it up like a piece of foil."

And with that, he started to pull with his body and veins and everything came popping up under his skin until I wasn't really seeing skin anymore but just this huge mass of muscle and sinew and shit like he's nothing else but strength. Pure strength. And he's pulling so hard, and bulging so big, I just know he's gonna do exactly what he said he could. But after a little while he collapses and releases. But I notice he's got a bit of slack in the cables.

"I want to get you some water. Where is it?"

"There's a bathroom over there." He nodded his head off to the right. "Water bottle and stuff in the cabinet under the sink. I'll wait here."

I kiss him hard then head for the door he indicated. Halfway across the room, he stops me. "Bring back the bucket, too. I gotta take a leak."

Now I know Cory's dumped a lot of dough into this thing and hasn't forgotten anything, but I go into this bathroom and it doesn't belong in an old, abandoned factory space. Not that it's anything really out of the ordinary, but it's got all new bathroom fixtures and the walls and floor look like they've just been remodeled for the occasion. And there's a couple of water bottles under the sink and I fill them up and recap them with their straws sticking out. And there's a bucket, only it's a bucket with a lid on it. Everything. I take a leak, myself and kick back a half-bottle of water.

I come back to the rig and Cory's lying there real still like he's asleep or something. His thick, muscular chest is raising and lowering just like I see it do when he drops off to sleep at my place. On those rare occasions. But as I approach him he turns his head to me and smiles like I'm his savior or something and I'm bringing the holy grail. And it makes me feel two kinds of funny. First, here I am, putting the hurt on this guy like no one's ever had it before and he's thanking me like he had nothing to do with it, himself, like he couldn't have done it without me. Second, I've got this guy so trussed up six ways from Tuesday. He's got two pounds of sand hanging from his balls and I know his bladder has got to be aching and I could do anything - anything - I wanted to this guy's body and there's nothing - nothing - he could do to stop me. I feel like Genghis Kahn and Mother Theresa are kick boxing in my conscience to see who wins.

I give him a couple of sips of water and then try to figure out how I'm going to do this "I gotta take a leak" thing. His cock is still so hard, there's no way I'd be able to bend it down between his legs without cutting off the flow. I guess the only thing to do is flip him over.

"I guess you're just about done on this side, huh?"

"Yeah, Ray. I could do with a change of scenery."

I unlatch the ring from the frame and then raise it up to the same height I did when I put him there. I then drop the lower set of wires and Cory's in the vertical again. He leans forward, shifting his body weight so the ring shifts as well. Now, when I retract the lower cables, it lifts from the other side and he's face down. I lower him down, lock the ring into place and then grab the bucket.

"You're going to have to aim for me, Ray."

I grab his shaft, still so hard and hot, so long and thick, and aim it at the bucket on the floor. It takes a minute for him to relax everything and then he's pissing and I'm holding his cock and it feels so weird to be a part of this but not doing it. When he's done, I shake him off and wipe the head of his cock on my shirt tail. When I let go of his cock, it raises back up until it's just about touching the ripples of his abs. This guy is so hard I can't believe it. And now I've got to get some pumping action going on my own cock because it's been screaming to fuck since I answered my door for Jeeves tonight. The bucket gets moved out of the way and I stand between Cory's legs.

The view. People pay thousands of dollars a month for apartments up in the hills with worse views than this. I'm trying to figure a way to tell you what I see without just rattling off a bunch of body parts and lines and curves and shit.

Think of sex. Think of sex on the edge of the Grand Canyon with a triple rainbow spread across it, a lunar eclipse, a lottery ticket for that $85 million prize that someone just won the other week back east, and about $150,000 worth of Grucci fireworks all going off at the same time. I love this man's back. His ass. His thick thighs and his broad shoulders and his big, bloated balls hanging down and his toes peaking out from the ends of those weird-ass shoes he's got on and this fucking contraption and what it's going to do to me in a little while and this huge room and these lights that make Cory and my bodies look like they're even hotter than they are and that locker over there with all that strange stuff Cory's bought and the little piss bucket with a damned lid on it and the little pictures next to the buttons on the panel. And now I love my ten inch, aching, dripping, dark purple, veined cock because I'm about to fuck this gorgeous ass and send this gorgeous hunk of a man soaring.

Okay. So I had to mention a few body parts but you get the idea.

My cock is still lubed from that space-age shit I put on it a while ago, so I don't have to bother with that. I reach over Cory's ass and rub my hands up and down his back, feeling the wide flare of his muscles. My cock rides up and down the deep valley between his glutes. And they're burning up like. He's hot. And I know he's gotta be hurting for me to get going because that's what this whole thing is about, but . . .

Thwack. I just gotta give him a good one across his ass with my hand. There's another scream, but it's different from the others I've heard and I realize that all that other shit was just acting. This one was the real thing. I mean, not that he wasn't getting off on what was happening. But he was doing that for me. This one was a surprise and I know it hurt because there's this red mark on his left ass cheek that would fit me like a glove. The perfect symmetry of his body is suddenly destroyed by this one red mark, so I have to give him another.

Thwack.

"Ah, shit, Ray. I was wondering when you were going to get the hang of this."

Thwack.

"Harder."

Thwack.

"Harder."

Thwack.

"Again."

Thwack.

"Again."

Thwack.

"Again."

Thwack.

"Again."

Thwack.

"Now. Fuck me now."

Thwack.

"Come on, Ray. Fuck me."

Thwack.

"God Damnit, Ray."

Thwack.

"Fuck you."

Thwack.

"Fuck you."

Thwack.

"Please."

Thwack.

"Oh, please."

Thwack.

"What's the matter, Ray? You afraid . . ."

Thwack.

". . . afraid to fuck this ass?"

Thwack.

"Afraid it's too much for you?"

Thwack, thwack, thwack, thwack, thwack.

"Ah, God! Come on, Ray. I got have your cock in me."

Thwack.

"Pleeeeaaaassssssseee."

And I'm driving my space-age-slippery-ten-inch-long-seven-inch-around cock into his ass like I couldn't give a shit what it feels like to him because at the moment the only thing I'm thinking about is long, hard things inside deep, soft things.

Now here's where things are going to get a little hard to talk about. Not because I don't want to, but because I'm not quite sure what happened next. I know I've been writing here like it's happening right now, but that's because all that shit up till now has been real crystal clear in my head. But as soon as I got my cock all the way up inside Cory's ass, and I mean all the way, I started getting that flip-flop feeling I got the other night in the gym when Cory snuck in while I was working the free weights. Only this time, it's not 'flip-flop.' It's just 'flip.'

One second I'm ramming Cory's ass so hard my balls are aching from slamming against his. I'm on fire and I can't slow down and I can't think of anything except driving deeper and deeper and Cory is so tight and so hot and he's screaming and I'm screaming and we're both driving each other higher and higher and there's that good old feeling starting at the base of my spine and I know I'm finally gonna do it. I'm finally gonna blow my wad deep in Cory's ass and I'm grabbing his muscles and squeezing and pulling and he's shouting like I don't know if he wants me to stop of keep going and I think he's in pain and I start thinking of pain and my wad blows and I'm feeling like I'm being ripped apart from the inside out and I don't exactly remember passing out but the next thing I know I'm laying on my back with my arms and legs stretched out and I can't move and Cory's ramming his ten-inches into my ass and there's all these lights shining in my eyes.

I'm in the goddamn ring!

And Cory's pumping on my cock like he needs me to cum, too. And I need to cum anyway, even though I thought I just did, so I oblige him and he points my tool at his mouth and I'm spurting like I haven't gotten off in a couple of months or something. First wad hits him in the mouth. Good shot. Second wad doesn't fly quite so far and now it's dribbling down his left pec. Third shot is like the first and it's on his cheek. Fourth shot is back on the pec and after that I'm just drooling and Cory is pumping my cock until I'm empty and he's still fucking my ass and it feels so good I don't want him to stop and tell me what happens.

Deep and deep and deep like I know I felt inside him and he's swelling and getting harder and he's crying out that he's cumming and he does and I feel it fill me and fill me and fill me and then it's running out of me and down my balls which are . . . which are being stretched out by a band around them and I'll bet the farm there's this little bucket filled with about two pounds of sand hanging from it. Well, turn-about's fair play.

I really do feel like I'm drugged, but it's not the kind of feeling where I can't feel anything. It's like I can feel everything. And what I'm really getting into at the moment, now that Cory's beautiful cock has pulled out of my ass, is the fact that I am being stretched by this amazing machine and it feels so good. And Cory was right. It makes you feel so strong, like you could crumple the world in your bare hands.

I flex my muscles and sense the power that's there. It's not that I can't move, it's that I'm still holding on, despite this contraption. And I can fight it all I want and it won't give up so I know it won't end until I want it to. And I definitely don't want it to.

"Hey, Cory." My voice is real rough like I've been screaming a lot.

Cory turns to me and looks like he didn't know I was awake or something. He walks over near my head and strokes my hair.

"How you doing?"

"Grea . . Feels all right."

"Yeah. I'll bet it does. You comfortable?"

I gotta laugh at that one.

"I mean, you want anything?"

"Tighter. I want the cables tighter."

"Okay."

He goes to the panel and there's that whining sound coming from all four sides of me and there's that screaming sound coming from deep inside of me and my muscles tense and pull against the machine and I'm feeling so powerful that I can do anything. Anything.

"One more."

Another short whine and I'm seeing stars. I don't want to pass out. I take deep breaths and my huge chest is heaving and my heart is beating in my ears and I feel like I'm spinning around a bit, but that goes away and all I can feel then is the strength of this body as it survives this ultimate challenge. It's like one, big, long rep that never stops.

"That's good."

And then there's another whine and I have to concentrate all my strength on holding this body together and I'm still strong enough, though in the back of my mind I'm hoping that what Cory said about this machine being set to go just so far is really true.

"That's even better. You got a drink of wa . . ."

Another whine. And, although I know it probably only lasted a second, it really does seem to go on for some time. And now this hard, massive, strong body is starting to feel like maybe taking on the world isn't such a good idea, after all. Maybe I should just concentrate on getting out of this little jam before I move on to bigger things.

I can't raise my head because it makes me dizzy Then I hear another whine and I wince, but nothing happens until I see something moving above me. It's like looking into some weird window until I realize it's a mirror that's rotating into position above me. The picture of the man inside the rectangle.

The mirror lowers until it's about ten feet above me and now I can see Cory coming back into the ring. He's taking the little strap off and suddenly I get a sense of just how heavy that thing was by its absence. And my balls are cramping up and I think I'm gonna pass out.

"What's the matter Ray?"

"My balls. Oh, shit."

"Your balls?"

"Oh, God."

And I see Cory reach out and take my balls in his hand. I can feel him rolling them around and he licks them like I did his. Then he bounces them in his palm for a few seconds, making them ache even more, and then he pulls his other arm back, the gigantic bicep swelling, and he slams his fist into my balls. I can't double up, even though I want to more than be here in this ring, but the ring has other ideas. And, apparently, so does Cory.

"How's that?"

"Oh, much better."

"Good to see you haven't lost your sense of humor about this."

And he packs my sac a couple more times. And I'm getting hard again. I'm starting to understand the difference between what I want and what I need. And, odd as it sounds, I really need to have Cory bashing my balls.

"You gotta keep doing that, Cory."

Bash.

"Ah, shit."

Bash.

"Harder."

Bash.

"Harder."

Bash, bash, bash, bash, bash.

My guts are turning inside out and I think I'm going to vomit, but I haven't eaten anything since lunch and now I know why.

There's this clear little place in the back of my mind that starts glowing. I can see it like I'm walking towards the end of some tunnel. It's a bright, painful light that hurts to look at it, but I know I want to be there. The closer I get there, the harder it gets to be there. But I know that what's waiting for me there is better than anything I've ever had in my whole life. It starts to get harder to move there, like it's going uphill or something, so I need a little help.

"Cory."

"Yeah, Ray?"

"I gotta. . . I gotta get there. You gotta help me."

"What you need, buddy?"

"The buttons. One more hit on the buttons."

"You sure?"

"I gotta get there. I'm almost there."

I can see him in the mirror as he walks back over to the panel.

"A short hit or a long one?"

I gotta think about that one for a second. I don't know if I can take a long one, but if the short one isn't enough, I may not be able to ask for another.

"Long."

"You'll make it, Ray. I promise."

"Thanks, Cory. Thanks."

"Good bye, Ray."

I'm about to ask him what he means by that when I hear the whine. I'm looking at myself in the mirror and I am so big and so hard and so tight and so invincible and so hot. I know I can do this. I look at my reflection and I know I can because of what I see. Huge, bulging muscles that explode even more in size as the whining starts to get higher in pitch. I tense up, pulling like I'm working every single muscle in my body and all I gotta do is this one last rep. One last . . .

Now I'm moving through the room, but I'm not walking. I'm being carried. I can't really see and I don't know if it's because there's no light or what until I move through the door and it's daylight outside. It really hurts my eyes, so I turn them and see this big hunk of a man is carrying me. Big biceps and pecs swell under his T-shirt. The door to the limo is open and he sets me down inside and gets in next to me. I can't move, but I catch a familiar face outside just as the door is closing. Jeeves.

They brought me back to my place and there was this nurse and doctor waiting for me. They gave me a complete going over and said that all I needed was some bed rest to allow everything to slide back into place again. They're starting me on physical therapy tomorrow so I'll have to go to a sports medicine facility, but Jeeves assures me he'll be there to pick me up and take me. And Arnie, the guy who carried me out of the factory, he'll be there, too. You should see this guy. I thought Cory was beautiful.

Cory.

Nobody's heard from him. He wasn't at the factory when they came to get me. In fact, nothing was. The whole goddamned contraption was gone. It was just me, lying on this foam, rubber mat in the middle of that big room.

It wasn't a dream. Everyone remembers Cory. Arnie is the guy that Cory lived with for a while with his friend, Sam. So it all fits together, right up until the last day. Then it's too weird.

But then, that's Cory.

Copyright 1996 Ray Wilder. All Rights Reserved.