Muscles In Trouble

I came to in a small room with a weight bench, a wall mirror and a clock over it. And of course a camera. The bench had a preacher curl attached to it, only facing backwards.  My naked body had been chained to it, facing the bench, arms linked to my ankles behind me, legs spread so my cock and balls rest of the bench, and my pecs thrusting up and out. I was facing the mirror and clock and camera. It was not comfortable.

The clock said 4:20. I assumed that meant 4:20 in the morning.

After a bit one of the men entered the room. Coach, the one I couldn’t help but - like? React to, I suppose. He looked at me and grinned. Walked over and cupped my right pec in his hand. I was tied lose enough so the pec meat was sticking up but not so much that it was straining - my chest mass was pliable.

“You know you were a shoe-in,” he said to me as he fondled my male breast against my will. “Jules Warren likes them over 18. Not years old, but inches. Chest 18 bigger than the waist.”  He plied his fingers in some. “And you’re 20, I believe?”

I shifted in the chains some. The way he treated my proud pectoral like it was his toy. He knew how to play me.

“Boys like you always overdo it, don’t they? Get top heavy. Make those pups of theirs a little too big. Makes you look manly, eh?”

By now he had both my pecs in his hands. Fingers running over the side and bottom ridges, avoiding the nipples on purpose. His voice cooing.

“But are you manly? Or are you just making yourself a muscleboy? By accident of course. Or maybe not, huh?

“Maybe you like these tits of yours to be too big. Get so much attention. Is that a possibility?”

I looked away and tensed up, trying to flex his hands off my goods. It didn’t work. He kept on toying with my massive pecs, saying nothing.  Then he went behind me.  I could see in the mirror he was reaching downwards. There was some kind of box behind me. I hadn’t noticed it before.

Small circles of tape connected with thin wires were placed on each side of my pectorals, and two placed more center in my pec valley. I had seen stuff like this in porns. They were electrodes. He went back to the box behind me for a bit and then I started to feel it. Small jolts that caused my muscles to flex. When the jolts went on the sides my chests flared up.  When on the front my chests tensed most muscular. It was an even, slow rhythm. It did not hurt. But it was constant.

Coach watched for a minute, then went back behind me. He came back with a ball gag and placed it in my mouth.  Then walked out. I was left staring at myself in the mirror, naked, gagged, with my chest on display and being controlled against my will.

After a bit I got angry, tried to see if I could power the taped electros off me. If I interrupted the planned flex and go REALLY big, at least loosen them some to make the current less effective.  As I said it didn’t hurt, but I didn’t like having my pride and joy pecs dominated like this.

Like Chinese Water Torture, it just kept on. And on. It began to get sore.

A man walked in. Not Coach, but another of the Leather Daddies. He had a T-shirt in his hands. I looked up at the clock. It was 5:30. I had been flexing nonstop for an hour.

This dude I did not like. He had a real shitty grin on his face and looked me over like I was a whore or something. Like he could do anything he wanted with me. Which he could, but still…

“Look what I’ve got for you, Chesty” he said. He walked forward and held up the shirt. It was a standard white T with the word BOUNCER in big black letters across the front.

“This is for when we take you to the bars,” he said. “Yeah, you get to wear a shirt!”

He was actually chewing gum, the bastard.

“Oh, looks like it’s a size Medium. Guess it’s gonna be a tight fit. Barely cover those huge tits of yours, will it? Guess those huge nipples of yours will be sticking out, won’t they?”

I cussed at him under the gag.

“And men will say, ‘oh do you work as a bouncer here at this bar?’ And you will say to all the men, ‘No, I’m not a bouncer here. They call me Bouncer because I like to bounce my tits up and down all the time!’ “

FUCK that got me angry. I roared at him and flared up in the chains. I was held tight, of course. This sleazy fucker was making fun of my most prized attribute! 

For the first time in my ordeal I lost my cool and just RAGED. Perhaps it was cathartic, a long time coming. But it worked.

He grinned at me a long time and then left, tossing the shirt on the bench length in front, inches from my penis. I had forgotten was naked as all the attention was going on my upper body.

And still, like clockwork. Sides, center. I popped my pecs slow and steady.

When the next man entered I looked up and it was 6:10. He had with him a set of headphones. Without a word he placed them on my head, adjusted to my ears. Then left. After a minute the music started. 

It sounded like a music box, or an ice cream truck. A little jingly tune, catchy. A real earworm. But after about 10 repetitions the words came in. Sung by a male voice but like a joke, a clown or something:

Bouncy, bouncy - full and round

Watch my tits go up and down

Bouncy, bouncy - left and right

Flex my hooters day and night

It would stop for a few seconds, then start up again. While all the time my chest meats were beginning to hurt from the ritual electro shocks.

I was alone in that small room, forced to look in the mirror, witnessing my pec rape. It seemed endless.

When the next man came in the clock said 7:30. My pectorals had been flexing non-stop for three hours now. They HURT. My head hung down as he approached.

“Look what I have for you, Mr. Udders” he said. I almost didn’t want to look.

It was a pair of tassels, like strippers wear, but attached to steel nipple clips. I grimaced.

He approached and rested them against my naked areoles. “See how they hang down?  Your tits are so big they don’t even hit anything under them. Look, almost a full two inches away from your abs!  It’s that cool?”

FUCK I did not want this.

“Should I place them on you?” he asked, all shitty like.  “Would you like to wear these on those big muscle man-tits of yours?”

I should have bucked and raged. But I was too tired from the flexing. And humiliated. Under the gag I just hissed “nooooo…..”

Head down. Pecs forced to jump every 5 seconds. That song playing in my head. It was Hell.

I don’t remember him going away.  I didn’t black out, but just got into this trance. I couldn’t see the room anymore. All I felt were my pec meats being jolted around, all I heard was a little clown talking about how big my hooters were. It seemed like it was going to go on forever.

I felt a hand on my face, lifting up my jaw. It was Coach. He wasn’t smiling. But he took the headphones off of me. Saving me from the drilling of that humiliating rhyme. Then he removed the tape and wired from my pectorals.

I had never been so physically wasted in my life. And all of it through my pecs! I wanted to thank him but could not lift my head. My arms and legs were long since gone, all my body seemed to be nothing but my chest mass now.

But there was no rest. Even though the wires had been removed, my pec muscles were still spasming. Not as usual but there was a jump or a sudden twitch.

Then Coach spoke. No, sang. 

“Bouncy, bouncy, up and down…”

And my tits begin to respond. FUCK! I could not stop them. I didn’t have a lot of mental control then but I STILL should have been able to stop this.

And he lifted my face up higher, towards the clock. It read 5:15. I was so confused, but it was 7:30 when that other … and FUCK … 

Coach smiled as he saw the horror in my face. I had absolutely no idea what time it was, how long it had lasted, how long I had actually suffered. 

He had broken my mind. And he had broken my once proud pectorals, as my big man-tits just kept bouncing up and down …

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