NOTICE: All members of this story are above the age of 18. Do not participate in acts such as these unless there is formal consent on behalf of any party involved. Off putting language may be used...
***
Have you ever met somebody famous?
Better yet. Have you ever been to a concert?
The anticipation. The build up. The waiting. It's almost like a drumroll that's waiting for that loud "BANG!"
The drum roll is the waiting and the bang is the moment the artist walks on stage.
The moment they set foot on that stage you start shivering. But not out of cold. Not out of fright. But you shake from the excitement of just being in the same room as them.
Every time this behemoth of a man walks through the front doors of the gym, a million jitters dance under my skin.
Usually I just observe his workout as I rerack weights from other machines but as I said people somehow found it in their hearts to not be so shitty.
I guess I'll have to pretend to clean again.
***
Today's Wednesday so that means it's his chest day.
He walked over to the dumbbell section and grabbed the 65s and sat down on the bench.
For a few seconds he stares intently at his reflection and in one quick motion, knees lift the weight to his chest level and he lays down, then pushes.
When I first began night shift this was the most impressed I was. 65 pounds each pec for WARM UP?!
I could hardly press 25s as a PR.
I brought my windex bottle and an infamous rag that I oddly get turned on by every time I hold one now.
I walk over to the treadmills that are facing adjacent a few machines behind where he was and started wiping each surface.
His reps slow and concentrated. Every press easily lifted into the air with no trembling like how I usually do when I lift. With each rep his pec just swelled up more and more. The skin of his chest slowly getting redder and sweatier.
He pauses then easily sits back up again.
I guess I must have been standing still and drooling a bit because after a few seconds of him admiring himself his eyes swiftly locked on me.
I locked eyes with him and nodded myself out of the trance and started wiping. I could've sworn he had a slight smirk on his face but I kept wiping.
I needed to keep myself looking busy on the gym floor if I wanted more time to admire his work from afar. So I went back to my utility close to get a mop and a bucket.
I came back out and he had move on to the bench press area. This is where things always get interesting.
You'd think an average weight lifter would one up themselves every other month and begin to lift heavier but no.
Every muscle group he works out, he lifts heavier than the week prior. Last week I observed him pressing 315 til failure.
And believe me, I counted. He had a minimum of 25 reps for at least 5 sets in bench press ALONE!
So I stood at the calisthenics and stretching area and began mopping slowly making sure to level my head down but just enough to still catch a glimpse of him in all his glory.
Little by little he added plates to each side of the bar. Approaching 315 I was not surprised but still impressed he'd do that much this early in the morning.
All of a sudden, when I think he is set to begin his workout, the motherfucker gets TWO MORE PLATES!
No way in hell this man will be able to do this without a spotter. 405? He must need at least a bit of help.
He begins to align his wrists with the markings on the bar making sure his seat and posture aren't affecting his form.
I gave myself the excuse of staring at him just to make sure that if the weight does turn out to be too heavy I would run towards him and help him pick it back up.
At an instance he looked like he was thinking too hard about it but as I thought that he lifted the bar, and without hesitation began crushing each rep at a quantitative pace.
His rhythm was fair but concentrated.
Each push back up caused him to release a grunt so loud it echoed throughout the facility. Usually I'd be annoyed by a lunk who'd ego lift and scream at every rep but the sounds this man was making only drove me more insane.
Again, til failure he went, but I wouldn't say he failed on his final rep, he probably could keep going all he wants but as he sat up he walked over to the mirror and began to bounce his pecs.
Holy fuck.
Each slab of meat rippling through his wife beater shirt making his necklace bounce around left to right. He stood back against his hind leg and leaned forward.
As if he did a cable row workout he squeezed his arms from his sides and began flexing down the center of his torso, then his pecs swelled up in size.
A most muscular. With that pose alone he stared at his reflection and let out a heavy grunt.
This was a fucking nightmare. I could not bring myself to ejaculation because he'll then see it through my khaki pants so I withheld. I needed a release, asap.
I brought my mop and bucket with me to the restroom spilling some water along the way but I could not care less I had to release.
Barging into the stall, I let loose my pants and sat down on the toilet, and holy fuck my cock was stabbing the seam of my underwear begging to breathe.
I held it out and started pumping.
Bringing myself to recall his most muscular pose and how his balloon sized tits swelled up, then again his sly smirk earlier for his warm up.
What if he looked at me like that? Just the thought of his bouncing his pecs in my face and me licking him clean whilst staring into his eyes, a devious smile on that gorgeous face. Fuck, I couldn't bare it any longer I felt my balls blue.
With no build up, my cum instantly bursted out of my cock and onto the restroom floor. Ounces of semen just coating the cracks of the tile, burst by burst, spasm by spasm, this man had such control over me.
No picture or video or visual necessary, just my mind infiltrated by the surreal fantasy of him dominating me with his body alone.
I need to clean this shit up or else Kyle will have some more shit to complain about.
***
I kept walking around the gym floor mopping nothing. Literally the floor was pristine without any need of mopping. But here I am trying to get even the most milliseconds next to this man as I can.
He was on the last of his cable crossovers exercises. Pulling with ease 120 pounds on each side. The fucker could fling around a sumo wrestler for all I know.
Then he grabbed his rag and wiped his face and chest. His body glistening with sweat across his torso, and his wife beater being soaked allowing me to see through the silhouetted of his nipples and abs sitting right.
This is it. Sadly the last of him I'll see for the week. That is until after he washes himself off in the showers.
I grabbed my mop and bucket and followed shortly after him. I peaked around the corner of the locker room to make sure he wasn't there, I HAVE to get that rag.
