I wasn't always like this… but Steve—I mean my Master says I won't be able to remember any of that in a little while. He tells me that as soon as I finish writing this, he's going to make me forget about everything except what he wants me to remember. A part of me is grateful that I won't—that's the part that Master created. The real me wants to fight and try to reclaim my life from Master's control but then I see my reflection in a shop window or a car mirror and I know it's hopeless. I try to escape but I feel the weight of my legs and take one look at master's beautiful jaw and I forget all about it. I can't even remember how I even used to be. Well I remember I just don't really understand it. My name Used to be Jonathan Shamrock. It's not anymore. This is his story. Master says I should write it down so I can start a new story in my new life.
I met Steve about 7 months ago during my Christmas break. I was out with my current girlfriend at the time. I think her name was Faith or Hope or something ridiculous like that. I had a taste for bimbo's with heavy packaging. I don't remember much about her personality but I do remember she had to very big assets, which she always displayed in the most ludicrously low cut blouses. I had taken her out to my favorite bar so I could watch the last Basketball game of the weekend, ply her with alcohol and then fuck her drunken brains out before my live in girlfriend Amanda was any the wiser.
I pretty much had the pick of the litter considering I was 6’2” in shape and rich. My dark Irish good looks and black hair made look like the boy next door which was usually enough to get any girl to agree to a drink.
The particular bimbo I decided to entertain that night turned out to be one of those surprise packages. You know the kinda of Girl who looks like Pamela Anderson but grills you like Gillian Anderson? Yeah she had brains to go with her big tits and blonde hair. Needless to say she quickly saw through my college jock wam bam thank ya mam routine. And shit was she pissed. She started calling me a pig and very carefully explaining to me that women are not to be treated like a moments diversion and that to think you can just give a dumb girl a drink and automatically fuck her just cause your rich and good-looking is ridiculous.
She might have made me a little angrier than I was ready for because then I yelled back at her that if I wanted to treat her like a fuck doll I could. I had the looks, the money and the intelligence. I think that's when the drink went flying in my face. I was so shocked that the bitch actually threw her drink at me that I automatically brought my hand up to grab her. I really didn't want to hit her I mean I had no conscious intention of it, I just instinctively reacted. Guess that's all that heterosexual male testosterone taking over—
Well things got worse from their man. As soon as my hand came up this big Mexican bouncer grabbed my forearm. The chick split in disgust and I was left with this big dirty spic bar mop holding me. I told him to take his fucking dirty hands off me. Which just made the gorilla even angrier. He told me if I didn't behave he was going to toss me out of the bar on my ear. And I told him that I could by and sell his goddamn Caribbean ass so he better watch his wet back tongue.
It's true my parents god rest their luckless souls left me a hefty trust fund to pay for med. school. The unlucky bastards went down in some two seater coming back from vacation up north one morning like 15 years ago. Which I guess is pretty tragic but the good part of the deal is I get all their savings and non of their supervision.
The Mexican looked real pissed at the slurs but I was drunk with blue balls and a bruised ego. So I told him to let go of me or I'd call INS and have his border-jumping ass deported s fast they wouldn't even have time to tell his wife and twenty kids. And I told him in Spanish. It's one of the languages I'm fluent in.
Finally the bartender interceded and convinced the brute that “I wasn't worth it.” My parting shot however was to answer back that I was worth him and twenty of his dishwashing brothers. What can I say I was one funny guy right?
That's where Steve came in—literally. I was washing beer off of my Abercrombie Sweater when this 30-ish body builder came into the bathroom and shut the door behind him. He wasn't one of those huge freakish bodybuilders but he was big enough for me to notice. He was wearing a very neutral sweatshirt and jean combo with a pulled down baseball cap hiding his eyes.
He quietly went over and used a urinal, ignoring me at the sinks. So I went back to washing my shirt and muttering under my breath. When he came over to wash his hands however I saw the two most beautiful green eyes swimming under the shadows of his ball cap.
He looked up at me with a very welcoming grin and said, “quite a show out there, huh?” I answered back yeah. I don't know but something about this guys grin and green eyes totally disarmed me. He saw all that and was still nice to me? That was real cool, I guess.
He gave me a really long look and asked me if I had meant everything I had said out there. I thought about it and gave nonchalant shrug. I guess I did, I mean I didn't really think it mattered or not. So I answered yes. He sighed and gave me an amused disapproving frown and shook his head.
And then the dude did the funniest thing, he asked me if I like his watch.
I looked at it for a second and noticed how shinny it was and how it kind of gave off little lights in patterns from the inside.
He told me to look at it closely because there was something inscribed on the surface. I told him I couldn't make anything out because the lights from inside it were making my eyes all unfocused. I did and the more I stared at it the harder it was to see anything at all.
Then Steve began to talk to me in a very soothing tone that made me feel like the words were melting in the air around me. I just kind of floated there for a second staring at the watch and listening to this total stranger's voice. His voice was just so comforting it almost made me want to go to sleep, right their in a bar bathroom.
I can't remember what exactly he said—just bits and pieces—something about ridiculous attitude and spoiled brat—Racist son of a….and sexist misogynist ego driven basta…like I said I can’t really remember.
“What's it say?” he asked with that smile and greed eyes flashing.
“I dunno—” I stammered finally jarred awake.
“Well maybe you'll figure it out someday,” he said with a laugh—”my name's Steve by the way.”
“Jonathon,” I answered back shaking his hand. I was overwhelmed by the sudden feeling of joy that came over me just because I knew this man's name. I kept repeating it over and over again in my hand like I was trying to make sense of it.
He gave me a business card, that read Steve Conner Personal trainer and therapist, it had a barbell on the face and his number.
I thanked him and he told me to give him a call if I ever needed any help getting in shape or someone to talk to. And then he smiled again and left. I shook my head as he walked out the door his powerful back disappearing behind the wooden frame. I felt like a fog had been lifted and I went to throw the card into the trash but for some reason I stuffed it into my pocket and left the bar without another look back
I was in my car driving back to my apartment when I got the overwhelming urge to look at the card again. It was bizarre. I just wanted to look at it. I felt like I had to. So I pulled over to the shoulder of the road and retrieved it from my pocket. I looked at it for a second and then before I knew what I was doing, I had dialed my cell phone and heard a ringing in my ears. What the fuck was I doing!!! Holy shit I had to hang up before—”hello this is Steve Conners—” there was long pause and then I finally stammered “Uhm—er—hi—Steve this is john.” He said greeted me with that same warm almost affectionate tone and asked me how I was and a dozen other pleasantries before I blurted out….”I want to know if I can you know train with you some time this week?” No I didn't I work out with my buddies at the school gym—I didn't want to have to pay some random guy to—”sure Jon how's Tuesday at 9 sound?” I told him great even though I had bio-chemistry at that time and I still didn't want to meet him. He gave me an address and we said goodbye. I sat their in my darkened car for another 15 minutes marveling at the strangeness of my night before going home and fucking the brains out of Amanda.
I think that first Tuesday when instead of grabbing some breakfast, my books and heading to bio-chem I put on a pair of sweats and hopped in my car without thinking, I should have known something was wrong. But instead I just drove happily to the gym that Steve's directions lead me to without a second thought.
It was in one of those weird sections of town that just had to be a gay neighborhood. Which made me really pause. I didn't want to be at a gay gym! But then I saw Steve looking out of one of the big picture windows with that big smile and I went right In on autopilot.
Steve gave me a big handshake and we went right to working out which was kind of weird. As we went from machine to machine I just kind of opened up to him. I'm not usually one of those people who talk about his personal life and problems but Steve's smile was just so reassuring that I just felt I should. I told him all about Amanda and my cheating on her, about my parents and the trust fund about Med school and how I was only in it for the salary and how I couldn't give a fuck about the people or healing others. He didn't even seem angry or disgusted the way most people usually do when I tell them the truth, he just gave me that disapproving amused frown.
We were half way through our work out when some huge steroid beast in Lycra and sweat asked if he could work in with us on one of the machines. Steve noticed me roll my eyes and pulled me aside so we could evaluate the guy from a comfortable distance. He asked me why that guy irritated me so much. I laughed and told him how much I love talking to big muscle bound fags.
He looked confusion.
I told him to look at the guy. In the first place, I said, he barely even looks like a human being. I mean he looked like muscle and nothing else just one huge Muscle Mountain stuffed into fucking spandex. And all that spandex meant all the stupid fag wants is for some dude to fill those over grown glutes with dick. I laughed. Steve didn't. It was the one time he gave me a dark look, but then he shook it off and smiled again.
I quickly explained to him that he didn't seem that way. I told him his body was that perfect balance of muscle. He was big but not huge. The more I tried to back peddle the more he seemed amused. He told me to forget about it so I did.
For some reason I couldn't seem to concentrate on anything but the next time I got to work out with Steve. My whole life seemed to suddenly revolve around the next time I was going to get to lift with him. I mean I would sit at my desk, and try to finish my anatomy homework but all I could think of was Steve looming over me counting reps as I pushed the bar up. But I didn't do that many bench presses did I? Of course not—Steve and I rarely worked out chest. He knew I didn't want to get to be big. Just tone. But we work out three hours each day don't we and that would mean we'd have to do more then just—Ugh every time I would think too much about my workouts I'd get a splitting headache. So I would just drop it and imagine Steve again behind me steadying my arms during my fly curls, his heavy chest pressed against my back. The tips of his nipples digging into my back flesh as I felt his massive pecs expand with every breath he too—I felt myself growing hard at just the thought of it.
What the fuck was wrong with?
I wasn't a fag.
I had never even thought of a guys chest—but Steve's bodybuilder physique seemed to have some kind of supernatural power over me. It was so fucking weird. I had tried to stop meeting with him but I just couldn't bring myself to skip one appointment with him. I wanted to just give the whole fucking thing up. I couldn't remember how I got myself into it in the first place. But every time I tried I'd always just end up sitting in my beamer in the parking lot of the gym trying desperately not to go in. I just couldn't help myself. I would try and turn the key and all I could think of was Steve's look of disappoint at my giving up. ME! HA! Me who had never cared about anybody. Suddenly I didn't want this muscle headed Personal trainer thinking I was a quitter? What the fuck? But I'd always shuffle in and find Steve looking up from a machine with a wide grin of approval that made my heart soar like some retarded school kid who suddenly started coloring in the lines. We had been working out together for about three weeks when he suggested that I looked a little sickly. I told him I felt fine. But his disapproving stare told me that I was wrong. Maybe I did look a little peeked? But I'm a med student if there was anything wrong I'd be aware. I brushed it off and he seemed to be a little irritated by my reticence to agree with him.
The next day he mentioned it again and this time I just instinctively agreed. I don't know why it was just knee jerk. I didn't quite see the point I arguing anymore. Strange.
After our workout which seemed to me to only last about an hour but actually took like 3—where the fuck dos the time go when we're together, he took me into the back locker rooms and handed me some supplements to take until I felt better. I looked in the box and saw a handful of syringes vials and pills. I ask him what the fuck were these? He explained that these were going to make me sick. He said he didn't want his little buddy getting sick. I told him that as a Med Student I knew that nobody needed this much shit to feel better unless they were a cancer survivor. I laughed. He didn't. His dark brown eyes bore into me with such irritation and disappointment that I wanted to cry. I was so upset that Steve was mad at me that I quickly agreed to start taking them right there. He smiled that sunshine smile at me and everything was better.
He explained that I should inject myself with the Vials in my Ass and take the pills about 8 times a day. I started to protest but he said he'd show me first, so I didn't make any mistakes. I was still going to argue but he lightly touched the band of my Grey sweats and my body went into autopilot. I stood motionless breathing heavily and roughly with stunned anticipation as he pulled my jogging pants to my knees. He smiled gently and turned me around. I was stock still as a statue. He slowly grazed he fingers against the waistband of my boxer's and I let out a little gasp of girlish delighted fright as he sunk them also down to my knees. I was completely exposed before this mammoth gorilla of masculinity with my bare pal ass and cock on display in the empty locker-room. He florescent lights of the room made me feel like I was in an operating room or something. I held my breath in drastic anticipation and then I was rewarded with the most erotic feeling of my life when I felt his big callused man hand brush against the soft skin of my 23 year old ass. He held one cheek in his huge paw and I almost quivered into jelly at the touch. I was so wrapped up in the warmth of that one massive hand on my butt cheek that I didn't even feel the needle sink into my flesh.
He wiped the needle and smiled at me. Told me I was a good boy and that I should never forget my medicine. Wow it was so weird this guy talked to me like I was a fucking idiot child but I let him. I was actually glad when he patted me on the head for being a good boy. I was glad to be his good boy. What the fucking was happening to me?
He gave me that parental smile and told me to clean myself up and get back to work. He left and I watched as his huge glutes bounded back and forth down the hall. His ass lurching up and down powerfully under his gym shorts as he walked away with the confidant bodybuilder Gate.
I looked down at my exposed crotch and noticed what he was talking about. Sometimes during the injection I must have cum all over myself. My cock was dripping with cum. It ran down my leg like a runny faucet and I felt my cheeks blush with embarrassment. Oh god how humiliating I thought. And again I almost wanted to cry. Holy shit that was like twice in one god damn day. I never fucking cry! I felt like a god damn high-strung woman! I wanted to get mad and hit something for behaving this way but instead I quickly pulled up my sweats with shame and frustration, almost holding the tears back.
I grabbed me medicine and left the Gym. I was ashamed at my behavior that I didn't even read the medial labels on the bottles he had given me. I knew they were prescription and all my experience as a med student told me that You should never take Prescription drugs unless you know what they are and you certainly didn't fucking inject yourself with anything but that didn't seem to matter. Steve had given them to me. I trusted Steve. I wanted Steve to be proud of me. He was just trying to make me feel better. I mean I did look sick didn't I?
I took my medicine home that day and never missed an injection or a pill after that. I mean it was my medicine and all good boys take their medicine right?
I think all my professors eventually got tired of me skipping class to go to the gym with Steve because most of them told me not to come back to class—that I had failed the semester but whatever. I'll just take summer semester. I mean fuck them I have the money. So I wasn't going to class at all. I was just working out with Steve a lot. And it still seemed like a few minutes but our workouts were hours long. I was getting really into for some reason too. I mean I was buying major amounts of protein, The chemically engineered shit, watching my diet and constantly trying to increase my protein intake. Which is weird cause I really didn't care about it. My workouts genuinely left me so beat that all I wanted to do when I got home was sleep so I'd be rested for tomorrow's workout.
That's when Steve told me it was probably time to get some new work out Gear. He told me that my old stuff was kind of getting ratty so he sent me to this store with a list and I gave to the cashier. The guy smiled and got me a bunch of really small speedo looking stuff but I didn’t pay any attention to it. I just went home and put it on and went to the gym. I noticed I was real cold though. It felt like I was totally freezing and exposed. But Steve said he really like the new gear and I was glad I made him happy.
It was a couple weeks after that that Amanda broke up with me and moved out. It all seemed to happen so fast that I barely noticed it. It was weird in the two years we had been dating after all the affairs I had had all the rotten things I had done to her for her to just suddenly leave was unthinkable. She was mine man! I mean I fucking owned her and here she was telling me she was leaving. I tried to stop her, to convince her to stay but for some reason my heart just wasn't in it. I knew that I was terribly upset and din't want her to go at all but for some reason I couldn't really make myself care.
I asked her why she was leaving me and she said it was because I had changed so much. She said I had become so simple I could barely hold a conversation with her. I told her she was crazy. She told me that even if my teachers hadn't flunked me for attendance that there was no way I would have survived the semester because I had somehow regressed to the mentality of god damn six year old.
I told her she was mean. She laughed. She said that all the drugs must be affecting my mind. I was confused what drugs I asked? What drugs, she said—”what drugs? For Christ sake Jon just look at yourself, it's so fucking obvious don't even try to pretend.
After she had slammed out I went to the nearest mirror and investigated my reflection. Blonde and slim as ever—what the hell was she talking about I mean I looked exactly the same. The phone rang and when I looked towards a flicker of movement from the mirror caught my eye. It seemed for a split second that the image of me kinda of wavered and what I saw was someone else. No it looked like me only—bigger MUCH bigger. The guy looked like a beefy lifeguard from bay watch or something with his big traps and well rounded shoulders. That guy looked like a gymnast—not like me… I've always had that baseball player build.
I told Steve about Amanda leaving and he said it was probably for the best because I never knew how to treat women anyway. And I knew he was right all I ever did was cheat on them and yell at them. Then he laughed and massaged my crotch through the black spandex of my shorts. I threw my head back and rolled my shoulders in giddy pleasure completely oblivious to the obscenity and ridiculousness of his inappropriate touch. “It's not like you could get hard for her anymore anyway.” I felt my rod go stiff in his hand and I laughed a loud dumb bark. He laughed too a hardy chuckle as he continued his stroking. I kept laughing the same dumb horse giggle as he jerked me off through my tiny little gym shorts. Unable to care or realize what was happening.
Steve's advice to me was that I should get rid of all the things I owned that reminded me of Amanda. So that night I went home and began systematically throwing away everything I owned. I didn't mean to it was just everything reminded me of Amanda from the sheets and the furniture to my socks and shoes. The only things that really didn't make me think of Amanda were the things that made me think of Steve like my work out gear, my medicine and my protein.
After about to weeks I was sleeping on a mattress in an empty apartment with only workout clothes to wear. Which didn't even seem to bother me at all I thought everything was perfectly fine.
Until one night I had this horrible nightmare. In it Steve and this big bodybuilder were in a truck. They were sitting in the darkened cab, as Steve whispered instructions to the bodybuilder in that soothing tone of his and placed a leather studded collar around the guy's big neck. I could tell the guy was a bodybuilder because he had one of those obscenely huge muscled bodies that just stretched all his clothes and bulged every time he moved. He was wearing some kind of military costume. A green tank top and camouflage pants that made him look like some cartoon GI JOE wanna be. Only the way he walked in his heeled black boots made him seem more like some gay prostitute on a theme trick.
They got out of the truck and went into this big house. There were all these guys there and the big dumb bodybuilder just went to the center of the room and started slurping dick like a circus seal. The guy was an animal all slobbering drool and cum down the cleft of his puffy chest. And then suddenly I could feel the cum and the drool on my self. I could feel the sensation of hot cock between my lips as sucked and teased some strangers cock head. I felt my throat open up to deep throat down to the base like a professional whore. I licked balls, kissed thighs and took dick like a happy little pro… it seemed like hours later when I woke up screaming. I grabbed a protein shake and tried to get back to sleep not even noticing the camouflage pants and large boots now added to closet wardrobe.
I told Steve about it and he told me he was worried about me. He said I was probably too unstable after the whole Break up with Stacey to take care of myself. I tried to disagree but he seemed so right. He told me I even looked sick. It asked him to help me. I practically begged him. He told me the first thing we had to do was get rid of all the stress in my life as quickly as possible. He told me my finances must be really dragging me down. And I immediately agreed. So he agreed to take care of all my bills and stuff until I felt better. I was so grateful!
The next day we went right down to the bank and I signed a bunch of stuff I didn't understand but Steve did. He said it was just so he could take care of things for me. I thanked him over and over again. I'm so glad I had a trustworthy man like Steve in my life to take care of me!
He even gave me this special skin moisturizer that was supposed help me relax. It was kinda of weird and made my skin tingle and itch but I put it on everyday cause Steve said to.
I think it was six months or so after I had first had that drink with Steve at the bar when he told me that I looked so sick I would probably need surgery. We were at the gym, working out as usual, because that's where I spend all my time now that I'm not in school. Most of my old friends are rely wigged out by the fact that I don't give a damn about graduating anymore so I'd rather spend all my time with Steve.
He looked at me and told me that I was probably going to need to have an operation so that I could feel better. I told him I felt fine and he asked me who would know better with his loving smile and I said him. I was so scared I started to cry. He knew I was just a scared little boy sometimes so he put one of his big arms around me to make me feel better. Which was weird cause it made me hard as a rock to have his bare skin against mine. I must have looked really stupid sitting their balling my eyes out until I was red in the face with my cock forcing the spandex of my shorts to bulge insanely.
He told me everything would be fine and that I could recuperate at his house afterward. I asked him what recuperate meant. He laughed really hard and said that I could live with him. I was so happy I forgot all about the surgery. The next day I moved all my stuff, which after all my house cleaning was basically my workout clothes into a room right next to his. It was completely walled with mirrors, that had a nice big bed in the center. I loved it but it did make me feel a little bad. I mean here I was this scrawny college kid with all these mirrors reflecting back my athletic but not-to built body. I mean Steve deserved to live with a guy as big as him, didn't he? I guess Steve was just a nice guy that way huh?
The next day Steve took me to the hospital and signed me in. He stayed with me the entire time and eve held my hand when until the Anastiesia kicked in. It was until he was watching my eyes flutter closed with that adorning proud grin that I realized I had never asked what exactly they were going to do—I mean Christ I used to study doctor stuff right? I mean I should know what they were going do “
I don't really remember much about the hospital or coming home. Only that it seemed to last forever and I was in an intense amount of pain all the time. It seemed like my whole body hurt. They couldn't have done surgery on my whole body could they?
I spent a lot of days just lying in my bed at Steve's house sleeping or having him feed me and change the dressings on my body. He took care of me with such a gentle touch it was like he was caring for a child. I love Steve so much.
I can still remember the morning that Jonathan started to disappear and I started seeing Julio. I woke up and I think all the pain killers had leaked out of my system beaus I sat up without any pain. I was so happy. I just wanted to get up and take of the bandages that encased my body—but when I reached down to I realized that someone must have done it while I slept….but who—oh yeah I remembered I was staying with Steve and he was taking care of me after my surgery—But why did I have surgery? And why the fuck was I staying with this guy that I just met? I just wanted to get up throw on my clothes and try and find Amanda. I felt so confused. I needed to talk to someone I could trust. But I trusted Steve didn't I? I was so confused.
I got up with effort and my body felt so fucking heavy. It must have been from the drugs they must have made my legs and arms heavy with numbness. I lumbered over to a nearby low built Asian style bureau and opened it only to find faggy spandex work out gear. And not your every day run of the mill fag gear, these were bright blue Singlets and red unitards. How the fuck was I supposed to wear this shit? Where were my jeans and my t-shirts? And from the look of it I wouldn't even be able to fit into this lycra gym queen shit. It was way to big it looked like it was meant for a man twice or three times my size—I slammed the drawer shut and looked up into one of the mirrored walls of the room.
Which is when I started screaming.
There was someone else in the room with me! a big hulking gorilla. He was fucking completely naked and staring right at me! How the fuck did this Spic bodybuilder end up in my room naked as a fucking savage? I the guy was freaky ass huge too! His
I began to sob, the huge meat hunks of my shoulders bouncing up and down comically. I asked him how he did this and he began to tell me quite calmly as he watched my gargantuan pecs bob up and down with my exaggerated breathing. First he said he had the doctor's do some eye work on me that tilted my eye and made my lids heavier that he said was the most important part other than the skin of course. All Latin men have gorgeous eyes that are almost Asian almost African. He then had them give me cheek implants to make give me the high-cheeked sensuality of a Latin man, which he said happily went great with my already strong Irish jaw.
Then they shot my poor lips up with enough collagen to make a super model blush. This gave me the exaggerated sexy ethnic pout that Steve said he was so crazy about.
They even broke my nose and reshaped it to give the flat nostrils inherent to the Spanish races features—
I cried even harder looking at the vascular lines of honey colored skin dissecting my football sized biceps like a highway system. How'd you make me change color! I demanded.
He laughed arch deep full bellied laugh. Oh I've been doing that for months! That moisturizer he gave me he said was a special chemical blend that slowly tinted my skin that combined with all the obsessive tanning I had been doing gave me the perfect Rudy red caramel complexion that any Hispanic boy would sport.
I told him I couldn't believe all that he done. And he said that that wasn't it and smiled his benign smile. He told me to stand and I immediately complied in a knee jerk childlike way that pissed me off. I lurched the disgusting mass of my body up and he told me to turn around. I did, exposing the wide expanse of my wing like back to the mirror. You know that pesky love handle flesh that you just couldn't seem to get rid of no matter how much we worked out those granite abs of yours? He said. And then I vaguely remembered snippets of our foggy intense workout sessions where he would fret over the side flesh of my abdomen irritated at it's persistence to never go away. Well, he said, I had them remove it. I nodded dully. But he continued. They removed it then moved it, he laughed. I looked over at him confusedly and he pointed at my ass. You had a great ass after all those lunges heavy weight lunges and extremely heavy squats but it wasn't quite the big ghetto booty that a man of your ethnicity deserved, so I had them take all that fat and put it on your ass. He laughed and it was half amused half horned. I looked down at my big butt and saw what he meant. On top of rock hard muscle of my glutes was a thick layer of mocha flesh that was round pliant and jumped from my backside like a woman's would—only firmer. It didn't jiggle so much as it swayed when I walked.
I looked at myself in the many mirrors of my room and only saw a Hispanic bodybuilder not myself. I fell to the floor on my huge tear shaped quads and bent as far over as my massive cumbersome lats would allow me and began to sob.
“Www Johnny what's wrong?” Steve asked in his comforting way.
“I look like a fucking spic muscle fag,” I said accusingly.
He laughed and said I didn't look like one I was one!
All I could do was cry and ask how and why over and over, rocking back and forth and feeling the heavy muscle of my pendulous swarthy pec's contract beneath me.
He laughed again his amused chuckle. Think back he said, to that first night.
He told me that he knew I was the kind of cocky kid that deserved to be given a lesson I'd one day forget. He said with a laugh. He patted my hair and brushed my black spiky bangs, “I know you're confused,” he said laughing—”you always are now—but you see kiddo that first night I gave you a post hypnotic suggestion, that you'd want to call me and get to know me as soon as I left you my card, I also made it so you couldn't read the whole card—I'd let you look at it again now—but you can't read English anymore… He started laughing again and then explained further. “you see the card says Steve Conner's Personal trainer and Hypno-therapist. I hypnotized you with a few simple tricks that first night. The reflection of my watch—the tone of my voice—the expensive and strong drugs I had put in your drink—” He gave me a crooked smile. “Didn't know I did that did ya? I was just going to give you a one night deep dicking to teach your spoiled college ass a lesson but then I saw that see with the girl and the bouncer and knew you deserved much more. Ya see I've always wanted a houseboy but I'm very picky. I wouldn't want just any guy. I wanted a specific kind of man to be my companion, maid and sex slave—and the only way to get that was to make one. And I decided right then and there that you were just the waste of genetic material waiting for me to reshape it body and mind. Nobody was going to miss your arrogant, malignant, selfish ass but you.”
He kneeled down behind me and held my massive shoulders in a loving embrace almost like he was cuddling a baby. “It was a simple after that, I started working out with you and every day and re-hypnotized you and made you forget about it. I gave you all kinds of suggestions over the passed months. First I made you get gradually dumber and more dependant on me. That was fun to watch I watched that look of cool condescension and pride become one of dim witted confusion and uncertainty. Then I made you ignore the affects of the steroids on your body—in fact I made you ignore that fact that you were taking massive amounts of steroids at all.” He began ticking things off like he was going down a list, “made you quit school, throw away your things break up with your girlfriend, start dressing like a slutty gym bunny….hmm oh and I made you sign you money over to me—” He massaged my wide shoulders and the manipulation of my flesh by his big strong man hands made me instantly hard. As he explained my destruction and reconstruction into his wet dream I began to absently jerk off.
“That's another thing,” he said, “I made you gay.” He laughed watching my hammy red fist bob up and down on my now dark cock, “VERY Gay.” Then he put his hand over mine and increased the friction and speed on my cock and he bit my ear seductively, “and I don't want to worry you but you're a little bit of a slut too.” I felt his own cock get rigid and thick behind me and I arched my big ghetto booty ass into his crotch instinctively. “That's a good boy now get on all fours so I can finally get what I've been waiting for.” I paused for a second trying to make sense of the situation.
He was pulling down his jeans as I leaned forward and presented my big ass doggy style, “That's a good boy you knew you were going to do it anyway.”
I felt his big cock head at the entrance to my newly remodeled virgin hole. He gave my thick chest a quick heave and then thrust his entire length into me making me squeal out in pain. It was only after that I realized I was crying out in ecstasy but I was screaming “dios mio” and “ay carumba!” in fact everything I had been saying was Spanish—
To look at me now you'd never know that I used to be Jonathon Shamrock Med Student living of his parent's generous trust fund. Jonathon was 6’2” with blue eyes and dark hair. Jonathan had the tight collegiate build of an Abercrombie and fitch model, with the all American good looks to go with it. Jonathan wore only designer khakis and polos. Jonathan was witty and urbane and knew how to manipulate every situation to get what he wanted.
All you'd see now Is some Latin Steroid abusing Bodybuilder who dressed like a Santa Monica Blvd street hustler and spoke such broken sexually explicit English you'd think he was born for Porn. The only clothes I wear over my huge ridiculously tan and round muscles are either lycra or so tight that they're made for girls. I can't help it. It's the only clothes I seem to even want to wear. I try and go in the store with the little money that master let's me keep from my gigs stripping, and buy something normal—something I used to be able to wear. But every time I end up wandering over to the young Miss section and squeezing my muscle bound Latino ass into a pair of short short's meant for a fourteen year old girl and a tank top that says boys lie that stretches obscenely across the my disgustingly mammoth tits, that exposes my belly button. Which is extra gross because Master took me down to a shop off of sunset and had it pierced with a little blue stone. The store girls always laugh and they should because the damn shorts never cover the girth of my roid pumped glutes and leave the big muscled ass fleck of my butt exposed so everyone can watch the caramel skin flex up and down like a horses hunched when I walk. And even though I want to get mad all I can do is smile sweetly and pay for my tramp clothes. Which always leads to trouble because my counting isn't very good and I don't understand American money very well. I should just stop going out without Master Steve. He always takes care of me and I'm just too estupidio to be out alone. That's another thing Steve did—since I already knew Spanish he said it was easy to make me forget every language I knew but that. I still know a little English, just enough to get by, but the words I know are inappropriate and they make me look like such a dumb fag. I can't call my chest a chest or even pec’s, the only word I can manage is tits… I can't refer to myself as Steve's boyfriend, friend or even roommate—all I can say is House boy and fuck toy. He even went to all the trouble of making me watch Spanish soap opera's so that I'd have the perfect. Thick barely intelligible Spanish accent. I talk with such a thick romantic lilt that I can barely understand myself. Steve loves it. In fact Steve loves everything about me now—he can't keep his hands off of me. We make love three or four times a day—and I don't mind it that much anymore… I love his green eyes smile and the way he holds me like his little Spanish fly—that's what he calls me sometimes when he's holding me after fucking me raw.
But that's basically the story up to now—except for the other day he told me to look at his watch again and try to read the writing on it. I did, and I really concentrated and finally I suddenly looked up and said, “livin la vida loca?!” he smiled and laughed. I don't think that's what it really says but he tried to make me feel better by telling me it did. That's when he told me to write all this down. I have to go though he wants to talk to me….He says he wants me to sit on his cock one last last time for old time's sake—I don't know what that means—
Steve told me to write Some stuff down today- I don't know why. He knows my English is bad and I'm not real good with words. But he knows best and I never argue with him. He just told me that I should write about my life.
Its not that complicated. My name is Julio Santos and I'm a bodybuilder from Puerto-rico. I came to America seven months ago and I live as the houseboy of my friend and Master, Steven. He helps me with my bodybuilding, gives me a place to live and I'm his personal fuck toy and live in servant. I do the laundry and cook when I'm not working out or bent over the nearest surface. It's perfect.
I'm the most gorgeous piece of Hispanic bull meat on the West Coast, or that's at least what Steve and all his friends tell me constantly. I love it when they do that, it gets my cock hard and makes my boy pussy hungry as shit. I'm 248 lbs. of rock hard solid muscle. And all the mass looks huge on my 6’2” frame. I stand out in every crowd, half because I look like a caricature of every muscle head in all those Health magazines, but also cause I barely dress. I can't help it. I just hate to hide my awesome bod. I mean how are other guys supposed to want to fuck me if they can't see it all? And that's what all this muscle is for isn't it? I'm not stupid. Well I am but not that way. I'm this big and ripped because I want every guy who walks by to look and think—“damn that one freaky huge Latin Muscle beast—god I just wanna shove my cock up that big ass or tit fuck those big pecs.” That's why I dress in the skimpiest shit possible, tit clinging shirts that show off my dark nipples and short shorts that leave nothing about my round ass globes to the imagination. Steve likes it best when I'm naked at home so he can constantly admire the shaven and glistening perfection of my body temple. I don't even mind that I'm always naked and he wears clothes. I used to wear a thong….but that's like wearing work clothes on your day off. I like to clean and lounge by the pool completely buff and nude. Steve says I like being that way cause I'm just a savage island boy at heart. I bet he's right.
I spend most of my days liftin’ down at Venice Beach with all the other big ass steroid boys. Most of them are real nice to me even though they say I dress like a dumb slut. What's so wrong with bein a dumb slut?
Steve says they're nice to me because I'm Hispanic. He says they don't want to seem like racists. It's not like I can talk to them a lot anyway, most of them don't know Spanish. And since my English hasn't gotten much better since I came here it's hard to talk about anything except my body or sex. And they seem to get half offended and half turned on when I call my chest tits or something—but it's not my fault I just don't know how to say it any other way in English. It's hard not speaking English, but Steve is trying to teach me. It's just taking real long cause I'm so dumb. But how can I help it. all I know about it is getting huge and sucking cock.
I work a couple of odd jobs on the side so that I can have some spending money, since I left Puerto-rico with nothing. Some mornings I work down town at a Latin grocer. It's just nice to make a few extra bucks unloading trucks and being with my own people. They understand me and my accent doesn't bother them at all where as all the other people here can'” seem to understand a word I say.
At nights I work the best job in the world. I strip. I love stripping. Just not for women. I work at a club where it's all men all the time. Just my huge body sweating and grinding to the music. It's crazy to see me dance. All this muscle in motion. But I can get straddle a pole with the best little cut dancer boy. This big ass thunder thighs might be as big as most of the other stripper's waists but I still rake in the cash. It's just me with a room full of men with their eyes and their aching hard cocks locked on my sultry red mocha skin.
I've thought about hustling a couple of times, but I know Steve wouldn't approve. I just feel so bad, since he buys all the massive amounts of Protein and Illegal Juice to keep me as he calls it “his own private tropical muscle mountain.” I just love it when he talks about my muscles. Then again I'd never want to make a guy pay for sex—it'd take all the fun out of it. Like the other day I was pissing in the bathroom of this restaurant when this waiter came in to use the stall next to me. he was a real handsome college type with nice average tone—nothing like me or Steve but enough man meat to make me flex. So I turned to the mirror and started crunching my Biceps together making them erupt like volcanoes. I love it when other guys watch me pose. He looked a little startled but the way his cock raged against his khakis I knew he wanted a piece. So without even talking I threw the bolt on the bathroom door slid down my daisy dukes and presented my thong covered ass. He fucked me real good. He knew what was up. We never even spoke. I like those best. It's hard when you have to talk to the cock—I mean guy, especially when your English is as bad as mine is. I just like to smile flex and show them my ass. They usually get the point.
Everyone in a while Steve's Gym buddies and Circuit friend come over for a wild night of fucking. I love that a lot. I spend 8 hours getting fucked like an animal and sucking cock like my life depended on it. It's weird though don't think they can pronounce me name. They always start calling me Jonathon and laughing as they ream my hole or slap my big sensual lips with their oozing dicks.
But what I like best about my days are when I cuddle up in Steve's bed with him, and he tenderly takes me like the first night I left my old life….my old life in puerto-rico.
And that's my life. I'm just a body-building, cum addicted Hispanic muscle boy livin la vida loca.
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