Muscles In Trouble

I was dragged buck naked down a long hallway with doors on one side, like prison cells. They placed me in one of them. 15 x 15 with a wrestling mat on the floor and a hook in the ceiling.

I was bound on my wrists and hung on the hook, my toes just an inch from the ground. I was too weak to fight back on any of this. My arms and shoulders were aching from the chest torture but at least they were in a different position now. But I knew it would not be long before they would ache just as hard in their new stance.

One by one men would enter the room and use my helpless naked physique for whatever they wanted. Most of them just wanted to rub and toy with my muscles. A few liked to hurt me with punching to my abs or twists to my nipples, cock, and balls. I would never know when they entered what they had in mind. But after their first stare I got good at figuring it out, and trying to steel myself up for what was inevitable. Not much I could do, hanging there naked. But at least a little defense is better than none at all.

There was only once constant with all of them. After that initial look, they would whisper “muscle-whore” and stare into my eyes. Then their pleasures would begin.

I was not ganged so I could vocalize if I wanted. I tried not to, out of pride, but sometimes I felt I had to defend my honor. I could take the beatings, the harsh physical punishments. It was the degrading acts that got me angry. Patting my head, fondling my large nipples, or toying with my armpit hairs would make me flail a bit, calling them names. It made them laugh.

This lasted for what seemed to be a half day. I could not tell at this point. Finally they let me down. Only to bind my wrists behind my back and haul me back up on the hook, this time hanging from my ankles.

Now they could not look me in the eye when they call me muscle-whore. They would say it when they were fondling my equipment, or my ass cheeks. There was no more punching in this position. Fondling yes, but of my thighs and calves. Using their hands and mouths on my cock and balls. And my ass being penetrated by tongues and fingers. 

I could not stop them. My threats and begging went unheeded down there. If I got too mouthy they would just kick me in the face.

The one that broke me was when I saw a familiar man from earlier. He grinned, called me muscle-whore, started licking my bound thighs and cooed “Swan Lake.” I remembered him calling me that yesterday.  I mean, I guess it was yesterday when this began. He was into dudes with thick, ballet dancer thighs, like mine. And now he had total control to lick and kiss and spit all over my proud oaks. It really made me crash. I wasn’t a bodybuilder anymore. I really was a muscle-whore.

I was let down earlier than the upright position and fell onto the wrestling mat.  My arms were untied. I just laid there, trying to get my shoulders and legs back to normal, my head dizzy from the inversion. I was alone, and untied for what seemed to be the first time.

Of course my brain flashed to trying to make an escape. It was impossible, of course, but the freedom of my limbs demanded it of my brain. I’m free, and I’m a lot stronger than they realize!  If not, the adrenaline would make me so. I could just sneak out of this room, then this hallway, figure out what building I was in, get outside to the road … all without anyone seeing me. Yeah, that could happen, right?

The plans came crashing down when the door opened and one of the men came in. The one I called Coach. The one I weirdly respected the most. Only he was different now. He was not in his street clothes. He was naked.

He fucked my ass twice, first just brutally spead on the mat and the second while he had me curled up in a somersault against the wall. He never spoke a word, except for those first two - muscle-whore.

Next were two men. One held me in camel clutch while the other joined behind me to fuck me. Then they traded off and one locked my arms in a full nelson while lying faced own while fucked me.

I think nine men plowed my ass in that room, but I lost count after a bit. I was just being rolled around the mat, positioned in holds and violated. I can’t swear to it, but a few times my ass remembered the shape of that cock so I think some of them had seconds.

When it seemed to be all over - that is, when I wasn’t stretched & stuffed for a good 15 minutes - i lay in a stupor. But somehow there was a light going on in my head. This had to be the end of my ordeal. All the physique stuff was just foreplay, right?  The ultimate goal for me being here, and all of us, was because they were horny for our young bods and wanted to have sex with us, to dominate us like that. There was no way this could possibly get any worse.

But I had not met Jules Warren yet. Was there one more ordeal I had to go through? 

Published: 2026-08-01, viewed 71 times.