A Prayer for Mercy
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At The Mercy Of A Muscleboy free porn video
At the Mercy of a Muscleboy - By Obedient Boytoy
I loved spending time at the gym. I wasn't a musclehead or a vain
yuppie or such, I just enjoyed the activity, the exercise and the
scenery. I was fit, slim and trim, with a smooth body. I exercised to
stay that way, not to bulk up. I was in nice shape and looked good for
a 34-year-old guy. Even with youth drifting out of sight in the
rearview mirror, I still was referred to as a 'pretty boy' by many of
the studs in the gay clubs.
In contrast to those gay clubs, though, my gym was a diverse mix of men
and women, straights and gays, and people of all shapes, sizes and
colors. Which leads back to the scenery aspect of working out. Being
able to kick back on an exercise bike, rowing machine, treadmill or
cross-trainer and watch an assortment of glorious young hunks lifting
weights and parading their perfection around the gym made my groin
tingle. Boys in short spandex shorts and revealing tank-tops or tight
sweatpants and even tighter shirts taking pride in their power and
masculinity is an irresistible sight to be hold. I certainly never
tired of it.
The majority of the guys at my gym were straight, which is fine,
because adoring untouchable straight boys was virtually a fetish for
me. Seeing their beautiful bodies, hot looks, rippling muscles and
bulging packages made me melt, bringing out the most extreme submissive
thoughts and dreams a total bottom like me could ever have. And seeing
them in all their naked, muscular glory in the showers was a treat for
me that words cannot describe.
I worshipped straight boys from afar, considering them to be my gods,
while I spent my weekends bent over or on my knees before gay men,
servicing their cocks with the greatest of expertise, care and
affection. All in all I was a pretty happy camper -- I was still pretty
young, in good shape, lived in a wonderful big city, had a good job and
enjoyed many solid friendships.
One Tuesday night in Autumn, I had just arrived at the spacious
neighborhood gym and made my way to the men's locker room. It was late;
I usually started exercising at 8:00 p.m. or 9:00 p.m. I was not an
early riser; plus, the late time just fit my schedule best. The locker
room seemed empty, though I could hear the showers running in the
distance. I went for the first row of lockers that seemed not to be in
use. It wasn't that I was embarrassed to be seen naked by other men.
That wasn't a problem at all. It was just that I had a large gym bag
and liked to have plenty of elbow room when getting ready to work out.
I sat on the bench, dropped my bag to the floor, opened an empty
locker, and slowly began the process of getting ready for my night's
workout.
But before even 30 seconds could pass, a damp naked man toweling off
his hair came ambling into the row of lockers where I had staked my
claim and hoped for some space and peace. He was a regular, a young
babe I had admired at the gym for some time. He seemed to be of college
age, was about 6 feet tall, weighed around 180 or 190 pounds, and had
bright blue eyes and longish dirty-blonde hair. He was what I liked to
call a "specimen" -- in other words, a specimen of the perfect man. His
handsome looks were a mix of blue collar stud meets college football
beef meets frat boy sexy. His chest and biceps were smooth and truly
enormous. His tapered torso led to a six-pack of abs and a slim waist.
His thighs were smooth, toned and beautiful. His asscheeks were taut,
full and meaty. He was, without question, a god.
One aspect of his body I had not yet seen, though, was his penis. One
could always see an ample package in his tight workout shorts or
sweats. But even when I had the good fortune in past of seeing him in
the showers, I had only ever glimpsed his naked ass and back, or
perhaps a quick peek at part of his chest. Fate simply had been that I
never got a good, full-frontal look at this magnificent specimen when
he was naked.
That wasn't the case when he came strolling around the corner drying
his hair. He stopped about four feet in front of me, still toweling his
hair and not really noticing me. Sitting on the bench, I was eye level
with his dick. I stared in awe at his manhood. It was long and thick;
it was totally soft at the time, but nonetheless measured at least five
inches in length, and as thick as an ample banana. What that beautiful
cock became when fully hard and ready for action was mind-blowing to
imagine. So in addition to his perfect body and gorgeous looks, this
young hunk was hung like a horse. He had the whole world in the palm of
his hand, and I wondered if he knew how lucky he was. As for me, I
almost drooled while admiring his cock.
He suddenly dropped his towel to the ground in front of him. The towel
broke my concentration and I quickly looked up to see him glaring at
me. I turned suddenly back to my locker and began sweating, both
figuratively and literally.
As much as I tried, I never was very good at hiding my appreciation of
buff guys. Even in the showers, I always had to take peeks and look
often. I knew rationally that this was not the safest of behavior in a
gym with more straight guys than gay. However, muscle was my weakness.
I couldn't help myself. And now I had done it -- gotten caught staring
at the Forbidden Fruit.
If only he was a fruit. Unfortunately, I knew for certain he was
straight. Besides having impeccable gaydar, I had seen him a couple
times before with different girls in the embrace of his big, beautiful
arms. He was a straight boy, no doubt.
As he started to dress just a few lockers down from me, I nervously
began to undress, still sitting on the wooden bench. It had been a long
time since I was beaten up in high school by the football players
because I was a fag, but the same feeling I had when near my high
school oppressors suddenly washed over me, almost making me tremble.
Fortunately I didn't have a hard-on, I thought, as I took off my shoes,
socks and shirt. Even though I was just staring at what I found to be
perfection in the male form, and all that flawlessly muscled flesh was
within reach, the horror that had overcome me when I saw the glare in
his eyes made all lustful thoughts quickly flee.
Out of the corner of my eyes I could see that he was getting dressed
and seemed to be ignoring me. I hoped and prayed that this was an
incident he could write off or simply forget with time. Still nervous
being in his presence, I took my pants off and then stood to hang them
in the locker.
"You fucking faggot."
I couldn't believe my ears. At first I thought it was just my
imagination, harking back to high school when I was at the mercy of the
rather merciless football hunks who abused me. My mind had been racing
for the past minute or two since being caught checking out the
magnificent straight boy. I didn't know what to think. I looked to the
muscleboy for some answer.
"Yeah, you," he said at a careful volume. "God damn faggot."
I stared down in shame and terror, not knowing what to say or do. And
that is when I saw the object of the stud's attention: my panties. In
the excitement of seeing his naked body and huge cock, my mind had
wandered and I had neglected to carefully take off my pants and panties
simultaneously so no one would notice.
In recent years I had taken to wearing skin-tight shiny panties, in
addition to occasionally encasing my luscious legs and ass in shiny
pantyhose. I loved the way the tight fabric made me feel. And the
femininity of the garments increased my naturally submissive nature,
making me feel more of a bottom boy than ever. Further, I often
fantasized when being fucked by guys that I in fact was a woman, and
that rather than having sex with me they were violating me and abusing
me (and sometimes they actually were). I loved being a bottom, and the
occasional delight of wearing panties or pantyhose in secret profoundly
appealed to my subservient personality. Although I didn't always wear
panties, on the occasions I did, I always was very careful to hide the
fact.
Now, however, I was standing before a young stud, a guy who I felt was
a real man and the embodiment of perfect masculine sexuality, and I was
wearing nothing but pink satin French-cut panties. What's worse, even
though the locker room appeared empty, anyone could have come into our
tall and enclosed row of lockers at any time. I turned a thousand
shades of crimson and wildly reached into my locker for my pants,
pulling them back on in a panic.
The young stud, dressed in tight blue jeans, boots but no shirt, came
right up to me and began whispering.
"I've seen you staring at me before in the weight room and the exercise
room," he hissed, looking down into my face. "I figured you were a
fucking faggot." He paused, then slid his right hand into the back of
my pants, finding my shiny satin panties and pulling them harshly above
my belt. "So what is this? You wanna be a woman? Is that it"
I could not answer. My heart was in my throat, pumping at twice it's
normal speed. Even though I hadn't yet exercised, I was sweating like
I'd been on the treadmill for three hours. My mind was spinning around
like a top. I had no idea what to do.
"Answer me right now, faggot," he spit out. "You wanna be a girl?"
I still couldn't speak, and not just because I didn't know what to say
in reply to his question. I also was more nervous and scared than I had
been in many years. I just froze up.
Clearly sensing my condition, the muscle-stud let go of my tight
panties and then reached into the back left pocket of my pants. He
pulled my wallet from my pants and held it right in front of my face.
"Now listen, faggot," he said quietly, with a smirk, tossing my wallet
behind him into his gym bag. "You're gonna meet me in my Jeep in the
back of the parking lot exactly five minutes after I leave. You're not
gonna say a word to anyone about anything. Understand?"
I felt the situation was hopelessly stacked against me and managed a
soft, "Yes."
With that he laughed. He grabbed a fresh black T-shirt from his gym bag
and squeezed into it. The shirt looked like paint across his powerful
shoulders and chest. As he finished preparing to leave, I sank quietly
to the bench, sitting in stunned silence. He zipped up his gym bag and
left the locker room without a word or even a glance. His confidence
was overwhelming.
I knew I basically didn't have a choice. Not only could he 'out' me at
the gym, he could wreak havoc with my life with all the personal and
financial information in my wallet. Not to mention the fact that I had
more than $200 in the wallet.
As petrified as I was, I knew that the big, buff, straight boy had me
by the balls. I repacked my bag, assuming I would not be working out
tonight, and headed out the locker room for the back door of the gym.
Once there, I took a deep breath and went outside to the rear parking
lot. In the darkness, at the back of the nearly empty lot, I saw a
newish looking red Jeep with its black top attached. Hesitantly, I
began walking to the Jeep. As I got about 10 feet away, the passenger-
side door opened. I took the hint and went round that side, got in and
gently shut the door. I sat there looking straight forward, my gym bag
on my lap, waiting for the stud to speak. I didn't have to wait long.
"How many times you think you've stared at my body while workin' out,
fag," he asked calmly.
Still half frozen with fear, all I could think to say was, "I don't
know."
"Fuck that!" His angry outburst made me clench onto my gym bag for dear
life. "Tell me! How many times?!"
"So many times, I wouldn't know how to count," I sobbed, quickly giving
him the honest answer, not wanting to anger him any further.
"And what the fuck makes you think I want panty-wearin' faggots like
you lookin' at my body, huh?!"
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," I continued to sob.
"Well sorry ain't good enough, homo." He reached between his powerful
thighs, encased in skin-tight denim, and unzipped his jeans. He reached
toward me, grabbing my gym bag and hurling it into the back of the
Jeep. He then grabbed me by my hair with one hand and violently tugged
my head to his crotch, jamming my face into his enormous, unzipped
bulge. "Suck my dick, faggot!"
Knowing the power this muscleboy could wield -- having seen him at work
in the weight room, and having seen on many occasions his flawless and
hugely muscled body -- I instantly unbuttoned his jeans, reached inside
and pushed his sexy underwear below his balls. I gently placed his
semi-hard monster cock into my mouth and began doing what I was told. I
knew my place before this superior straight boy, and as angry as I had
made him, I was not about to say or do anything that might upset him
any more.
As I began to kiss, lick, suck and worship his growing cock, he
released the tight grip he had on my hair and relaxed, moaning from
time to time as I serviced him. I bobbed my head up and down on his
long, beautiful manmeat, which was nearly as thick as a beer can now
that it had hardened to its full size. Though I was being raped by this
straight god, and though I felt fear for what he still might do to me
for what had happened in the locker room only 15 minutes earlier, I
couldn't help but begin to enjoy myself.
As a total bottom, I loved worshipping cock. And being the expert
cocksucker and pillowbiter that I was, I melted for muscular men with
gargantuan dicks. The absolute joy of being able to suck off this
gorgeous hunk began to cloud my vision and release much of the fear
that had gripped me so firmly. I sank into my duties and passionately
worshipped this stud's manhood, all the time enjoying his ever-
increasing sounds of pleasure.
Without warning, he slid his right hand into the back of my pants and
began feeling and squeezing my satin-encased asscheeks. The sensation
of his powerful hand gripping and fondling my butt made me dizzy. I was
being felt up by a straight boy while sucking his dick. Not only did my
common fantasy of being a woman while being used by men kick in, but
now more than ever I really did feel like a girl. My panties were being
appreciated, I had a big hetero cock in my mouth -- I felt so feminine,
and so in my place.
"Oh, baby," the stud said in a relaxed whisper, after 7 or 8 minutes of
quiet pierced by occasional moans. "Good girl."
He was pretending I was a girl and simply using me as a thing into
which he could stick his enormous cock. The mind-numbing fear that had
paralyzed me only 10 or so minutes earlier had now transformed into
total submissive lust. I couldn't have been happier if I tried.
He then placed both hands on the back of my head and began more
forcefully pumping his mighty sex organ into my throat. He held my head
down on top of his manhood, forcing me to take all of it inside me and
worship its size and power. I deep-throated for all I was worth,
knowing that this straight boy was a god of men who I was very lucky to
be fellating. I began moaning as the force of his pumping became
harder. He latched on to my hair with both hands, practically tearing
huge clumps of it out of my scalp due to the force with which he
gripped.
He jammed and jammed my head down on his giant meat as he pumped and
pumped into my mouth and throat. And then suddenly, the godlike cock
began pulsating and the stud began moaning loudly. There, in his Jeep,
in the dark of night behind the gym, the straight hunk began feeding me
his semen. Blast after blast of thick, hot, tasty come was pumped into
my mouth and throat. As his dick kept gushing semen into me, the
gorgeous muscleboy moaned louder than ever, almost yelling with
pleasure. And I just kept swallowing and swallowing all of the semen I
was lucky enough to be able to eat from this perfect, straight stud.
"Eat it, bitch! Eat it!" He screamed at me. I never stopped doing so,
making sure I digested ever single drop he fed me. It was an
unparalleled sexual feast. And as he sunk into his seat with his hands
behind his head, relaxing in his post-orgasmic bliss, I rested my head
on his meaty, muscular thighs and suckled on his softening rod like a
baby enjoying its pacifier.
After a minute or two of quiet, except for the masculine sound of his
deep breathing, the stud spoke in a half-amazed, half-triumphant voice,
"God damn, that was great head." And then, after a pause, "I guess it's
true what they say about you faggots--you do give head better than
chicks."
I continued to nurse from his colossal cock, very gently siphoning
every droplet of this real man's semen I could. In addition to the
immense pleasure of having his cock in me, I also was reveling in
laying on his powerful thighs, encased so beautifully in his second-
skin blue jeans. My mind had left my body; I was in nirvana.
But my dream state was rudely interrupted when the muscle-stud grabbed
my hair with one hand and ripped my head from his lap, making me scream
and cry at the same time, pushing me up against the passenger-side door
of his Jeep.
"That's enough, faggot," he spat. "Consider yourself fucking lucky to
blow me." After adjusting his underwear and zipping up and buttoning
his pants, he reached down and retrieved my wallet, which he had stolen
from me in the locker room. "So! How much d'ya think you owe me for
having the honor of suckin' my dick, girl? Huh? Let's see." With that
he began rifling through the cash compartment of my wallet, clearly
counting the contents. "Well, I'd say $214 is a fair price for the meal
I fed you." He laughed and stuffed all of the money from my wallet into
a pocket on the side of his gym bag.
He then took my Visa card from my wallet and slid the card into the
same gym bag pocket. "I'm gonna do a little shopping tomorrow--your
treat. And don't even think of putting a stop on the card, bitch," he
laughed. "Grab the pen and paper from the glovebox and write down your
name, address and phone number, fag. I'll just verify it against your
driver's license here when you're done."
With the sexual bliss now a distant memory and the horrifying fear back
in its place, I obeyed him. I wrote out my full and correct name,
address and home phone number, and passed the slip of paper to the
college-age stud who just violated me. While I put the pen and pad of
paper back into the glovebox, the hunk compared what I just wrote with
my driver's license. He nodded his head in approval and lobbed my
wallet into my lap. I carefully picked it up and slowly put it in my
back pants pocket.
"You are one talented cocksucker, Derek," he said matter-of-factly,
having learned my name from my driver's license. "Derek -- what a total
faggot name," he snickered, his muscular chest swelling in his skin-
tight t-shirt.
"My name's Scott. But you can just call me sir. Got it?"
"Yes, sir," I answered quickly and quietly.
"That's a good faggot," he said. "So, when you grow up you wanna' be a
girl," he added with an evil grin.
Not wanting to upset him any more, I gave the answer I thought he
wanted to hear. It also was, in part, the truth. "Yes, sir."
Scott just laughed. "You are really a piece of work, faggot. Get outta'
the car."
I paused, fear overcoming me as I sensed a changing tone in his manly
voice.
"Now!" He said with anger.
As I grabbed my gym bag and exited Scott's Jeep, Scott got out on his
side and went to the back, putting his left foot on the rear bumper.
"Close the door and get back here, faggot."
I did as I was told, getting more and more scared by the second. It was
the dark of night, there were only a couple empty cars in the dimly lit
parking lot. I heard in the distance a city bus go by on the main road
in front of the gym. I got behind Scott's Jeep and stood about four
feet in front of him, my eyes averted to the ground.
"I now know where you live, faggot," Scott began. "I know you like
wearing girl's clothes. And I can easily beat any information I want
from you, like your work number or your parent's number. You gettin'
the picture, bitch?"
"Yes, sir," I sobbed, feeling hopeless before Scott, a muscular,
gorgeous straight boy who was an Adonis come to life.
"Good. I'm gonna' be paying you a visit soon, faggot. That is, after my
little shopping spree tomorrow," he said with a large smile. "But just
to make sure you know your place from now on, and aren't starin' at me
or any of the other dudes in the gym..."
From out of the blue he punched me in the gut. It felt like a runaway
freight train had just crashed into my abdomen. I fell to the ground,
landing in the fetal position and crying out loud. Scott then hauled
back and kicked me in the groin. I gasped, unable to make a sound
because of the pain. I glanced up at my assailant, his perfect,
muscleboy body towering over me, proving his dominance and superiority
over me. He unzipped his pants, pulled out his massive tool, and after
a moment, began pissing on me as I lay writhing in pain. I could
literally do nothing except lay there on the ground behind the Jeep as
Scott's boiling hot urine soaked my head, my face, my entire body.
"Open up, faggot. Now!"
It was obvious what Scott wanted of me, and fearing more beating, I did
as he wished and opened my mouth. He directed the strong stream of piss
up my chest and into my mouth.
"Drink it."
I obeyed. I drank and drank as Scott's urine shot straight into my
mouth as I lay helpless at his feet.
After his lengthy stream of urine finally trickled to a halt, Scott
placed his immense, beautiful cock back into his sexy underwear and
zipped up his tight pants. I lay before him, looking far up at the
beauty of his face. Even in the pain I was feeling, Scott's masculine
beauty and power overwhelmed me. He just smiled down at me.
"Now you be a good faggot, and I'll be talkin' to you real soon," he
said to me. "And you just keep comin' to the gym and doin' your normal
routine and shit. Trust me -- there's no avoiding me now."
With that, Scott turned to leave, but suddenly stopped. "Shit! You made
me get piss on my boots, faggot." He was feigning anger, making a show
of this for his own continued amusement. He stepped up to me where I
still lay in the fetal position on the ground behind the Jeep, soaking
in Scott's urine.
"See that spot on top of my right boot? Lick it clean, you faggot piece
of shit."
It was difficult for me to move due to the pain of having been beaten
by Scott's mighty body, but I leaned forward as quickly as I could,
stuck my tongue out, and began lapping up his urine off of his boot.
"That's my girl," he said, clearly relishing every second of my
humiliation.
"Lick it up." And after but a moment, he yanked his foot away, put it
on top of my head, and forced my face into the large pool of his urine
that had formed on the ground. "You stupid faggot."
With that he walked away, got into his Jeep, and drove off into the
city night. I was left raped, beaten, degraded and abused, my stomach
filled with semen and piss, laying in the gym's parking lot in a puddle
of urine. After a few minutes, I very slowly got to my feet, picked up
my gym bag, and began the long walk home. I was too ashamed to go back
into the gym in my condition to shower and change, and I was too
embarrassed to catch the bus home for the same, obvious reason.
So I began the near 20-block walk home, wondering what kind of horror
Scott might inflict on me in future. Pondering on how my life had
changed in the blink of an eye. Yet still, after all that I had been
through, I continued to feel the tug from deep in my mind, pulling my
thoughts to the joys of wearing panties, pantyhose and other feminine
items. I just couldn't go too long without wearing something. And
trudging home soaked in urine and feeling terrible pains, the skin-
tight, pink satin panties I wore brought me some solace. Just knowing a
hetero musclegod actually felt my panties-encased ass made me feel like
a good girl. And looking back, I knew I did the right thing: I serviced
a man who clearly deserved it because he was so superior to me. Indeed,
I was blessed to have the privilege to suck his cock. And, in the end,
it was my panties that got me that great honor.
I continued plodding home -- the smell of Scott's urine consuming me,
the taste of his semen and urine both fresh in my mouth. My mind was
wandering, still in shock from the night's ordeal. And worrying about
what lay ahead.
I welcome any and all correspondence. Please feel free to write me at:
[email protected]
Anastasia
- 26.03.2022
- 17
- 0
