The Muscle Punishment ﹠ Humiliation Society

I guess I should have known better.  Like my dad always said, if it sounds too good to be true it probably isn’t.  But then again if you don’t take a risk you never get ahead.  And it sounded so legitimate, this bodybuilding contest.  I mean, there was no way it could be fake with the sponsorship it had.  And the $30,000 prize money.

Like any young bodybuilder I needed the money.  My day job doesn’t pay much but then again I don’t do much, as my real life goals revolve around the gym and my fitness plans.  Supplements cost a lot, almost as much as healthy food from the market. I don’t have much of a social life so I cut down on expenses there.  Not that I’m a snob or anything.  I’ve just never been too sociable as I was a shy, skinny kid growing up.

Yeah, it’s the standard story. Bullied kid starts doing pushups in his bedroom at night, goes on to lifting weights in order to make a Big Man out of himself so that no one will push him around anymore.  And it worked.  Genetics helped out for sure but so did my dedication. I became a muscle beast.

It especially helped when I got out of high school, moved to a bigger town and made a new life for myself.  By then I was pretty well developed, but nowhere near where I am now.  Not exactly Brad Pitt in the looks department but my physique made up for it.  It doesn’t matter if you’re a boy or a girl - a stacked body will make people forgive the face 9 times out of 10.

Not that I was looking for action in the bedroom department all that much.  Sure, I”m a red-blooded American male, but for some reason I never really connected that much with the whole sex scene.  Some girls were attractive yeah, but I never got an urge to go horizontal with them. Guys too. I just seemed to be missing that gene that makes you into some horny devil.

I'm not saying I didn’t get erections or actually cum. I did. But it wasn’t sex that did it. It was the muscle. My muscle.

It started as a kid, seeing those old cheesy gladiator movies.  Hercules, Samson, Maciste. Those clean-cut musclebound heroes walking around in skimpy tunics or leather skirts, the focus of everyone’s pride, desire or jealousy.  This skinny kid fantasized about being him.  How every male character wanted to be his buddy (and not terrorize him in the lockerroom) and women eyed over his physique with desire (and not laughing at him).  But he took it all in stride, being a pleasant comrade and ignoring any temptations.  He was above all that.

But then you get to the part when he is captured by the bad guys and forced to endure some Feat of Strength torture.  Chained to pillars and having to flex his way out of being ripped apart. Bound as walls closed in to crush him.  Tied to a wheel and spun downward closer and closer to burning coals.  

That’s when my dick would get hard.  Seeing his naked muscles straining in agony, summoning up every last ounce of strength to endure this torment.  Silent and stalwart as the Evil Prince gazes on in a mixture of sadism and desire at his perfect physique championing the test.  Until with a grimace my muscles WIN and I prove to everyone how strong I am, how you can NEVER defeat me!

Wrestling lions or being seduced by the High Priestess?  Those i could glide through.  But it was the torture scenes that got a reaction from my penis.  More so than any sex scene in any other movie.  

Was this weird?  It certainly seemed so, because I never knew any one else who shared this particular bent.  So I just kept it to myself.  Didn’t go on dates because I was “in training” with my bodybuilding goals.  People bought it.

I will never forget my first bodybuilding competition. I was 19, a Mr Teen contest.  Some guys from the gym helping me out in the pump room.  But putting on those posers, being tanned up.  I felt like i was in one of those Hercules movies.  And then going out in front of the judges.  Doing my posing routine.  Nine people watching every inch of my near-naked body as I stood on the stage and tried to impress them with my muscles.  It was nirvana.  I came in 5th but that didn’t matter.

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So to get back to now.

At 21 I had gained 5” to my chest, 2” to the biceps and cut the waist down to 30.  I was looking damn good and everyone knew it.  No tattoos or piercings for me, keeping it all classic farmboy.  My only kink was that I don’t shave my armpits except when competition comes up.  I naturally have no hair on my chest or abs so they are the only hairs I can grow under the neck.  Keeping them just gives me a feeling of masculinity, especially since I can’t grow any on my big chest.

The word went around the gym of a Jr Bodybuilding contest being sponsored by Jules Warren.  THE Jules Warren, the millionaire who had a second house/ranch about 50 miles from our town. Not sanctioned by any official federation, strictly an independent event offering a chance for up-and-coming athletes to compete and gain experience - and, oh yeah, 30,000 smackers. It was his way of giving back to the local amateur athlete community.

It didn’t sound funny at all.  For years Jules Warren had been donating to athletic charities, having sponsored these types of private events in weightlifting and wrestling.  And now he was doing the same for bodybuilding.  In hindsight you never saw a follow-up story of any of these previous charity events or heard from the contestants. They just never showed up reported in the newspaper and no one thought to ask.

But damn if I did not get the link to apply.  Sent in my stats and the requisite 6 photos in posers - front, back, left, right and for some reason lying on my front and back.  There was no registration fee, no word about transportation or meals and lodging as that was all taken care of.  I got a reply within a week that I was selected.  They said they were very excited and looking forward to seeing my participation in the event.  I was over the moon.  But there was one request - they wrote that I should not shave my armpit hairs.  There was no explicit reason why but I could tell that would give me an advantage somehow. Whatever!

Man, I trained so hard!  Wanted to make every inch count on the weekend when we were escorted from the airport parking lot to the Warren Lair. Not an estate or mansion but Lair.  People struck it up to the quirkiness of his millionaire sensibility.  He could call it anything he wanted, correct?  And pretty much do anything he wanted within those walls.

There were five of us in the airport parking lot at the assigned hour of 6 o’clock that Friday evening.  Fellow lifters, all between 18 and 22 it seemed, all jacked. And all cleancut.  Me, Jake, Carlos, Mikey and Paul.  We were all nervous, bumping fists, trying to stay cool.  As directed we were all wearing jeans, white T and sneakers.  Just another arbitrary rule that had to be followed. Anxious and excited about the adventure that was in front of us. To be joining 12 other young men, all between 18 and 22 and cleancut.

It was the last time any of us would be allowed to wear street clothes. Or touch each other. That is, before we were forced to participate in the Punishments later that night.

Published: 2026-06-15, viewed 110 times.