“That’s it, keep sucking,” says Bryan, my personal trainer.
I’m on my knees in the trainers’ private locker room at the gym, servicing Bryan’s rock hard cock. As usual when I suck Bryan off, I am totally naked, and my hands are secured inescapably behind my back, locked at the wrists. My name is Rick, and my own cock, which I have not been able to stroke for six months now, is standing straight up at attention.
I have learned, through negative reinforcement due to the ever-present rubber and metal band that is locked securely around the base of my cock and balls, to do exactly what Bryan says and not stop sucking until he says so. That means I might have his cock in my mouth for a while. It is just under 7 inches, thick, cut and right now very hard. I am going up and down and taking him deep, just as he likes. Every once in a while, he grabs the back of my head and holds me down until I almost gag. My knees are a little achy, but I should be thankful that today we are on the thick rubber mat by the lockers. (Actually, I am on the rubber mat. Bryan is sitting comfortably on a wooden bench.) It would be worse if we were in the shower like the last time he ordered me to suck him off. The tile floor of the shower is much more painful to kneel on for any length of time.
To make this whole situation even more fucked up, I am actually paying for this! That’s right! Like I said, Bryan is my personal trainer, and I have been seeing him at least three times a week for the past six months. When I work out here at the gym, I do so under the direction of Bryan. We had a 90-minute session today, which involved a mile run on the treadmill followed by weight training for chest, biceps and quads. And now here I am sucking his cock.
I shouldn’t complain, really, because under Bryan’s direction I have gotten into the best physical condition of my life. I’ve lost some unwanted fat from my midsection, to the point at which my abs are actually starting to show, and I’ve also broadened my shoulders so that some of my rubber T shirts and other fetish gear fits much tighter. What’s also a plus is that I get to use the trainers’ locker room, which is bigger and much nicer than the locker room for regular clients, and in here I get to be around not only Bryan but all the other hot stud trainers as well. I have to do whatever any of them tells me.
Like I said, Bryan is really hot. He’s about six feet tall, and he has short, dark hair. He’s got a phenomenal physique and not an ounce of body fat. If this were under any other circumstances, say if I were to meet him at the leather/rubber/fetish bar I go to, or if I were cruising for guys online, I would normally jump at the chance to suck a hot guy like him off, even if it meant “no recip,” as they say. Heck, I can get into sucking a guy like that off and then going home and beating off later. (In fact, some of the best jerkoff sessions I have had involve me thinking back on times like that.) Except the thing is, now that I am Bryan’s client, when I go home later today after sucking him off and taking his load, because of the training regimen he has me on, I actually won’t even be able to beat off!
So in addition to developing a nice physique, I am also in a constant state of sexual excitement.
How did this all begin?
It was shortly after New Year’s. I had been a member of the gym for almost a year, and I was making steady progress. I really got to enjoy this place because it was low-key, never crowded, and the best part is that it is open only to men. That’s important to me, because when I am working out there is nothing I enjoy more than being able to check out other guys doing their own workouts. Often I do so by looking at their reflections in the large mirrored walls.
Oh, and another thing that I really liked about this particular gym is the really hot physical trainers they have here — including Bryan — and, also hot, the attire they wear — black nylon sweatpants and red “under armor” style sleeveless shirts. The skintight shirts nicely show off their arms and chests and their hard, flat stomachs. Whenever I was working out at the gym I had always enjoyed watching them work with their clients. There was something really appealing to me about the way the trainers always seemed to be in control, standing over their clients, guiding them with their form and always encouraging them to complete their last few reps.
But there were a couple of things about the gym that seemed a little odd, like the fact that it was in the basement of a large warehouse building and there was no sign on the front door. The only reason I even knew about the place was that I had been given a flier for it one day by a guy I met at the leather bar. To get inside you had to get buzzed in and then walk down a long flight of stairs. In the gym itself, a few times I witnessed things that didn’t seem to make sense.
Every once in a while I noticed one of the clients, always one working with a trainer, would be wearing what appeared to be black rubber wrist bands. I thought that was rather strange that a guy would be wearing such items for a workout. These stood out to me because of my interest in rubber fetish gear, though I realized that other people without my own fascination for fetish gear would probably not have noticed this. In any case, I never had the guts to ask anybody about that. But that wasn’t all.
One day when I was on some mats stretching before a workout, I heard a guy in the free weights area scream out in pain. He yelled so loudly that everyone, including me, turned around to look. The guy was doubled over on the floor holding his crotch. I figured he must have dropped a dumbbell on his nuts or something. It looked like he was in so much agony that he would have to be rushed to the hospital. But then one of the personal trainers who was nearby loudly announced, “It’s OK, he’s fine,” and everybody just went back to what they were doing.
Another time, I saw something else that was really weird. I was heading to the showers after a workout, and I saw one of the members of the gym in the bathroom area scrubbing the toilets. “Why would he be doing that?” I thought to myself.
Anyway, back to the personal trainers. I always wanted to work out with one of them, but I had simply figured it was too expensive. Even being a regular member here was a bit of a financial stretch for me. Then one day when I was on my way out of the gym, Dave, one of the trainers I found especially hot, handed me a small flier. The sheet showed a guy doing dumbbell flyes with one of the trainers above him. It said at the top, “When you’re ready to take your workouts to the next level, come and talk to us…” But what ultimately ended up sealing my fate was the fine print at the bottom: “Bring this flier in for a free session with one of our personal trainers.”
Now I admit that sometimes I can be a little gullible, but I’m no fool either. I knew very well that I would go in, have a “free” workout and then I would be strong-armed through a high-pressure sales pitch to buy a whole program for personal training sessions. I know the routine. But I had just gotten a nice holiday bonus the month before, so I figured what the heck. Maybe I could afford a basic plan, perhaps even a dozen sessions or so, and then I could go back to working out on my own. I figured the instruction on technique and other tips from one of the trainers would benefit me in the long run.
So the next day when I went to the gym, I presented my flier to the guy at the front desk and asked about scheduling my “free” workout. He told me to wait and picked up the phone, and two minutes later I was behind closed doors in the private office of John, the head trainer. He had the same “uniform” the other trainers had, except his tight sleeveless shirt was black and not red. At six-foot-four inches tall, with a shaved head, a build of solid muscle and a large tattoo on his right arm, I found John incredibly hot, and I was naturally a little intimidated sitting there in his office.
But despite his daunting physical appearance, he was actually incredibly friendly, polite and respectful. He even showed a genuine interest in me, asking about my job, where I live, etc. He called me by my first name. He also asked me all sorts of questions like do I have any health problems, am I taking any medication, are there any physical limitations that would prevent me from engaging in strenuous weight and cardio training? (No, no, no.) He wrote everything down on a pad. Then he asked me about my goals. He wanted me to be specific, so I told him: I wanted to trim down in my midsection, I wanted to build up my shoulders a bit, and I wanted to generally tone up and become more defined all around. “Excellent,” he said, again taking notes on his pad, writing everything I said down. Finally, he asked me to tell him about my current workout regimen. I told him my routine at the time, which was doing some outdoor cycling when the weather was nice, running on the treadmill when it was not, and also working with free weights and machines on my own. One thing I mentioned was that when I get to the end of a set, I sometimes find myself running out of energy for the final few reps and that sometimes I might only complete 8 or 9 instead of a full 10 to 12. “Don’t worry,” he said. “We have ways of dealing with that.”
The next step, he explained, was to take measurements. And for this I would have to strip down to my socks and underwear and place my clothes on the hooks on the back of his office door.
“It’s OK, this room is totally private,” he explained. I was glad for that, and I was also relieved that today I had on a pair of white briefs and not the rubber jock I sometimes wore for kicks under my workout clothes. As I removed my shoes, pants and shirt, he took out a cloth tape measure, the kind they use at the tailor shop, and turned the form over on his pad. Once I was properly undressed as instructed, he began to take the measurements. He wrote everything down — chest, waist, hips, neck, arms, etc. — on the form. During this time I was trying desperately to keep from getting erect, as this would have caused me immense embarrassment, but I could not prevent myself from getting stiff. When he went to measure my thighs and his forearm brushed against my crotch, however, my cock got H-A-R-D, which was an obvious giveaway that I was turned on now. Surprisingly, he said nothing about my erection, and he simply finished measuring my other thigh and both calves, again jotting everything down.
The final formality, he said, was for him to take pictures, which would serve as the “before” shots that would be compared to pictures we would take in the future to show my progress. So he told me to stand against the wall and face him, which I did. Unfortunately for me, my cock was still hard when he took the pictures, and this was clearly visible through my white cotton briefs. Again, he made no comment about this and proceeded with 100% courtesy and professionalism.
“OK, Rick, time for you to get dressed for your workout,” he said. “You will work out with me today. I am going to evaluate you and determine what level you are at. And after this assessment workout, I will decide which trainer might be the best match for you. For today, you can leave your belongings here in my office.”
So I got into my gym shorts, workout T and sneakers, and we went to the gym floor. He had me run a mile on the treadmill, and he recorded my time (nine minutes). “We’ll improve on that,” he said. Next, we went to the free weights area, and he had me do everything — bench presses, shoulder presses, bicep curls, triceps extensions, squats, ab crunches, and much more — and after each exercise, he continued to write everything down as before. He recorded how much weight I was lifting for each exercise and the number of sets and reps I completed. Man, this was some thorough evaluation process we were going through! At the end of the workout I was exhausted, and my clothes were drenched in sweat.
“Let’s go back to my office to talk business,” he said. (Here we go, I thought, the high-pressure sales pitch is coming.) On the way he got me a fresh towel and a cold bottle of water, both of which I desperately needed. I sat back down with him in his office, and this time he left the door wide open. He laid out for me the different options for personal training.
The first option, he said, was the Platinum Plan. That would be to hire him or one of the other “top level” trainers for $125 per hour. I told him that as much as I would like that, there was no possible way that I would be able to afford that. The second option, he explained, was the Gold Plan, which would involve working with one of the senior trainers, whose services cost $75 an hour. Even at that price it was a little steep, I said. Not to worry, he told me, the Silver Plan was also an option. Under the Silver plan I could work out with an associate trainer for $65 per session. For each of these programs, to get the hourly pricing, the minimum commitment would be for 10 sessions. I told him the Silver Plan would be more along the lines of what I was able to pay.
“We do have a fourth option, which is even more affordable, and what we refer to as the Motivator Plan,” he said. “It’s something we offer only on rare occasions and only to select clients, but from what I have seen today, I think you would be an ideal candidate. And we have found that because of the nature of this particular program, clients tend to show more rapid progress than those in our other training options. But I have to be up front about this,” he said. “The Motivator Plan is, shall I say, well – let’s just say it is a little out of the ordinary for a workout program.”
I asked him to tell me more about the Motivator Plan, and especially what was so unusual about it.
“What makes the Motivator Plan unique is the use of three high-tech rubberized steel bands, which you will be required to wear. During your workouts your trainer will have the ability to — how can I put this — let’s just say he has the ability to ‘motivate’ you to complete your exercises as instructed.” As he explained all this, he reached down into the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out a thick see-through plastic pouch containing three rubber rings, each several inches in diameter. He handed the packet to me, and as I looked at them he continued speaking.
“Our program was inspired by some of those ‘boot camp’ or ‘drill instructor’ type workouts you might have seen advertised by some of our competitors. Except the way we motivate you is not by yelling at you,” he said. “In fact, none of us will ever have to raise a voice to you at all.”
John continued, “The way it works is rather simple, really. Through the use of a remote activation device, your trainer can administer an electric stimulus at key moments in your workout, to help you achieve your desired goals.” As he said this, the head trainer reached down into his front sweatpants pocket and brought out what looked like a miniature TV remote control.
“Consider it ‘motivation by force,’ if you will,” he said. “Except in your case, you really want to be motivated, so we’re essentially forcing you to do what you already want to do, deep down inside. We’re just able to get you to go through with it. Like I mentioned before, this technique is a little out of the ordinary, but the results we get with our clients are quite interesting — not only for our clients but for the trainers here as well.”
“Perhaps the most attractive aspect of the Motivator Plan,” he said, “is the price. Under this plan, we can offer you personal training at the rate of exactly $22.50 per session, with a 20-session commitment for a total of $450.”
“This is a much lower price per session than any of our other options, which is why from time to time we would ask you to perform some menial tasks around the gym, under the supervision of the trainers here. These tasks are generally rather easy,” he explained, “and they include things like hosing down the showers after one of your workouts, or picking up towels from one of the locker rooms. I know that using clients for this type of task is a bit out of the ordinary, but it is a way we have of reducing costs here at the gym.”
“Sometimes,” he continued, “your trainer may have you perform some other type of service of a more personal nature,” he said, looking directly into my eyes. “And like I said, based on what I have seen today, I think you would be an ideal candidate for the Motivator Plan.”
I was rock hard again. I couldn’t help it, after hearing this tall muscular stud sit across from me and describe forced workouts and my being required to provide “service of a personal nature” to the personal trainers. My mind was wandering in all sorts of directions with that one. I was thankful that we were sitting down.
He continued, “Well Rick, why don’t you go home tonight and think about what program you want to sign up for, and come back tomorrow and let me know.” He reached behind his desk to a file cabinet and pulled out some forms, which he handed to me. “Here,” he said, handing me the papers as he stood up. “It sounds like you are most interested in the Silver Plan and the Motivator Plan, so here are the contracts for both. Be sure to read over the terms of the contracts before you decide, and then we can get you signed up tomorrow. We can process your payments automatically on your credit card, just like we do with your monthly membership fee.”
As I got up to leave his office, I was thankful to have the contracts in my hand, which allowed me to conceal my still hard cock as he escorted me out the door of his office.
I went to the locker room, showered and then got out of there. As it was now late in the afternoon, I stopped at the deli for a roast beef sandwich on my way home, which I figured would be good for dinner. After I ate, I plopped down on the couch to beat off. I thought about how hot it would be to have one of the trainers at the gym controlling me like that. I wasn’t sure what John head meant by “performing service of a more personal nature” to the trainers, but my mind went wild. Like any other gay guy like me probably would, I thought about sucking the trainers’ cocks and perhaps even licking their feet, balls and armpits. I got all worked up, and soon I shot one of the biggest loads of my life. And then I drifted off to sleep.
When I woke up it was nearly 11 p.m., and having recovered from the beat off session my rational mind took over. I had to do the dishes and clean up my apartment a bit before going to bed. As I did my household chores, I pondered what had happened that day. “What am I, some kind of lunatic?” I thought. I’m not going to let another guy shock me with a remote control and then order me around in the gym like some lackey. Forget that. I decided on the Silver Plan, with a 10-session commitment for $650. And that would be it.
The next day I got distracted with work (I do graphic design projects from home as a freelancer), and I literally had no time to read over the contracts. I had beat off the night before and had gotten much of the horniness out of my system, and even by that afternoon when I went back to the gym I was still thinking with my rational mind. I had left the contracts on my living room floor. I was not going to be “forced” to work out. I had decided to sign up for the Silver Plan.
That was my intent, anyway. All that changed when I checked in at the front desk at the gym and met Bryan.
“You must be Rick,” he said, extending his hand to give mine a firm, solid shake while looking me right in the eye. “I’m Bryan. I’ve been assigned as your personal trainer. John is out today, but we reviewed your evaluation forms and he explained to me that you are a candidate for the Motivator Plan. Is that true, Rick?” (When he said this, I noticed the other guy behind the desk raised an eyebrow.)
“Y-yes,” I stammered, not believing what was coming out of my mouth. I had decided against the forced workouts program, but now, seeing this stud I could let take control of me, I was changing my mind. But who could blame me? Immediately upon meeting Bryan, I knew I was going to be in trouble. I had never seen him before. To begin with, he was amazing to look at. He appeared to be about six feet in height or slightly taller. He was clean-shaven except for just a hint of razor stubble. He was wearing the gym’s regulation black nylon sweatpants and the sleeveless, skintight red muscle jersey that showed off not only his sculpted arms but also his solid chest and his washboard abs. His left arm had a large tattoo, of a Celtic cross. But there was more than just Bryan’s outstanding physical appearance. Unlike John, who the day before had been extremely polite and showed the utmost courtesy to me, Bryan seemed a bit more authoritarian. It is hard to describe this, but it was just something about the way he spoke and the way he shook my hand. He just took control immediately, and I followed his lead. He was just so hot, and there was no way I could resist.
“Did you bring your contract with you?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “I left it at home.”
“But you did read it over, right?” he asked.
“Um, y-yes, of course,” I lied.
“Good, then we can get another copy from John’s office and sign you up today. Follow me.”
I gulped. Two minutes later, I was again sitting again in the head trainer’s office, this time handing Bryan — my new personal trainer — a signed contract for the gym’s Motivator Plan. I was committed. At least this way my credit card would only be hit with an extra $450 charge this month instead of the $650 I was planning on spending, I rationalized to myself.
“Well now that we have the paper work squared away, let’s get started,” said Bryan, standing up and grabbing the plastic packet with the steel and rubber bands from the desk. “First we have to fit you with these. Follow me.”
With a “what have I gotten myself into now” feeling, I followed Bryan. Actually it was more like a feeling of excitement combined with a fear of the unknown.
“From now on you’ll be changing and showering in here,” he said, leading me through an unmarked door. “This is the trainers’ personal locker room, and only trainers and Motivator Plan clients are allowed inside.”
When we came in to the locker room, two of the other trainers were getting dressed.
“Guys, this is Rick, he’s our newest Motivator Plan client,” Bryan said to the other two, not stopping or even bothering to tell me their names. I recognized one of them, Dave, the one who had given me the flier two days ago. Then, as Bryan and I proceeded down the row of lockers I overheard Dave say something under his breath to the other trainer.
“Client?” he said with a laugh. “Slave is more like it.”
The other trainers were closing their own lockers and heading out to the gym floor, and I obviously wasn’t supposed to hear that.
“Put your stuff in this locker here, and you’re going to have to strip down,” Bryan says to me, opening up a locker at the end of the row. I dutifully took off my clothes and hung them in the locker, stripping down to my underwear.
“Lose the shorts,” Bryan says, not even looking at me or at my underwear. (This time, I am too embarrassed to get hard.) As he said this, he was pulling open the plastic pouch, sort of like opening a bag of potato chips, retrieving the bands. He took each of my hands in his one at a time and slid on the bands, putting one around each wrist. He put them on like bracelets. They were wide enough to fit that way. Each band was metallic on the inside part that came in contact with the skin, while the edge and outer, visible portion of each band was rubberized. They are each about an inch and half wide, and after he slid them on they sort of looked like loose fitting rubber sweatbands.
He then took the third band from the plastic pouch. This one was a little smaller in diameter, and it is only about three quarters of an inch wide. This band also was metallic on the inside, and rubber on the outside. This all seemed a little weird, but I figured that wearing this paraphernalia would be fine for an hour or two several times per week.
“This one goes around the base of your manhood, just like a cock ring,” he said, looking me right in the eye. I figured that Bryan was no stranger to such things as I took the device from his hand and began putting it on. In for a penny, in for a pound I figured. First one testicle, then the other, then I squished up my flaccid penis and squeezed it through the ring. “Get it on tight,” he said, “and hold it right there.”
My new trainer then reached into his pocket and pulled out a small remote, just like the one John, the head trainer, had shown me the day before. He punched in a code number from the plastic bag, and I heard a few beeps.
“I am programming you in to my remote,” he said, still punching buttons. Suddenly, and without warning, the cock ring I had just put on tightened. How the heck this happened I have no idea. This sure is some strange and high-tech electronics, I thought to myself.
“You can let go now,” he said. And now I was starting to get stiff again. The band was so tight and actually felt kind of erotic, so I couldn’t help it.
Next he punched more numbers in to the remote, and this time the wrist bands tightened, just as the other metal and rubber ring had around the base of my cock and balls.
Bryan grabbed my wrists and examined the tightness of the bands, and then he reached down and felt the band around my genitals. Finally, satisfied with himself, he stood back with what could no doubt be a smirk, and he admired his handiwork.
“So, Rick, how do you like your new motivation bands?” he asked. “You better get used to them, you know.”
“They are fine,” I said, “but what exactly do they do?”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said, shaking his head in apparent disbelief. “I thought you told me you read the contract.”
“Well, I, uh, didn’t exactly read the entire thing,” I admitted.
“That’s so funny,” he said, still shaking his head, sort of with a look of pity in his face. “Didn’t anybody ever tell you to never sign anything before you read it? Well, that doesn’t matter now. I guess I will just have to show you how this technology works. Remember, you signed up for the Motivator Plan.”
“Say you’re doing bench presses for me, like you will be doing shortly,” he explained, “and I tell you that your form is not perfect or that you owe me three more reps. You’re going to do the exercise properly, aren’t you?”
“Well, yeah,” I said.
“And you’re going to finish all your reps as well, right?”
“I’ll certainly do my best,” I replied.
“No, you won’t do your best, you will do what I say,” he said, now with a menacing tone in his voice.
I gulped, and I felt beads of sweat dripping down from under my arms.
“OK, Rick, here’s how this is going to work. If you show me any kind of hesitation when I tell you to do something or when you get toward the end of a set and you start running out of steam, I am going to push this little button I got here,” he said, clicking his remote.
Immediately, I felt a sharp pang on my balls, not painful, but not pleasant either. It was certainly enough to get my attention.
“Feel that?” he said.
“Yes,” I said.
“That is what we call your alert shot,” he said. “It means that I have determined, for whatever reason, that you require additional motivation. Follow my instructions, finish your set, and all I have to do is push this button once more, and you will have prevented further electronic motivation. Understand?”
I nodded, noticing that he had not pushed the button a second time but had only pointed at it.
“But if you still have not complied, exactly twenty seconds later, you will feel what we call the warning shot,” he said, and suddenly, I felt the ping again, only this time it was about 10 times sharper and actually caused me real pain. I jumped. This was not a sensation I would ever want to have again.
“After you feel the warning shot,” Bryan said, you have exactly ten seconds to get in line, or else you will feel the punishment shot. Get ready.”
About three seconds later, the band shocked me again, and this time the pain was so intense, and the agony so real and so immediate, that I yelled out in pain and fell naked to the floor of the locker room, clutching my balls in my hands.
“I’m sorry I had to do that to you, Rick,” he said, “but it is the only way to show you that from now on, I mean business. If I tell you to do something, you do it. Got that?”
I was too bowled over in pain and in disbelief to even respond.
“Get dressed and meet me at the free weights. You have 10 minutes,” Bryan said, and then he turned and walked out of the locker room.
I stayed right where I was, on the floor of the locker room, for several minutes before I could even move. That third jolt had just knocked me out of commission. But Bryan seemed damn serious, and I figured I had better get my ass out on the gym floor. I got into my jock (a white cotton one today) and my sweats, laced up my sneakers, and met Bryan for my first workout with him in charge.
I want to make something 100% clear: I was not beating off in the shower. That’s why my current predicament of not being allowed to ejaculate these days is even more fucked up. It’s all Dave’s fault. That arrogant prick got me in trouble after my very first session I had with Bryan, my new personal trainer. Let me explain what happened.
I had just been through the most rigorous and intense workout of my life. Bryan had pushed me harder in the gym on that first day than I had ever been before up to that point. Just as I had done under John’s direction, Bryan started me out on the treadmill. His instructions were very clear: I was to complete the one-mile warm-up run in less than nine minutes, or, he said, I would “be sorry.” He stood next to me the whole time. I was relieved when I finished in eight minutes 50 seconds.
“Cutting it close there, Rick,” he said. “But you made your time today, so you won’t be punished.”
Next he brought me over to the free weights, where he put me through the whole series of exercises I had done with John. Since he could see my whole routine from last time on his remote control device, he knew exactly how many reps to have me do and how much weight I was to lift. If my form needed correcting, he told me right away. He was all business with me, and I was never permitted more than a minute, two tops, between sets. The worst part of the workout came toward the end: abs. He had me do crunches, incline sit-ups and a couple of other movements that are too complicated to explain.
By the end of the 90-minute session I was completely exhausted as I followed Bryan back to the trainers’ locker room. I needed to get into the shower, to wash off all the sweat and to let the water massage me a bit. And as if the humiliation of wearing rubberized metallic bands around my wrists and cock and balls weren’t enough, when I grabbed for a fresh towel it got worse.
“Those towels are for use by the trainers only, not you,” Bryan informed me with what I interpreted to be a sadistic smirk on his face. “When you are done with your shower, you can dry off under the hot air blowers.”
But it got worse still.
“Before you leave, I want you to pick up all the trainers’ towels off the floor and put them down the chute over there,” Bryan said, pointing to a square opening in the wall by the door. “That’s your job for today.”
Great, I thought to myself, here I am a client of the gym, and I am forced to be totally naked in front of the trainers in the locker room. (Well, I was totally naked except for the three bands I was wearing around my wrists and cock and balls, which Bryan had rudely informed me were not to come off.) Beyond that, I now have to do chores like some fraternity pledge.
But despite the humiliation of it all, I was surprised to feel a little excited about the situation. I put my sweat-drenched gym clothes in my locker, locked my combination lock, and padded off, bare-assed naked and without a towel, to the shower area.
Unlike the showers in the regular locker room, which had private stalls separated by curtains, the shower area in the trainers’ locker was one large tiled room, about 20 feet long by 10 feet wide, with two vertical metal pipes from floor to ceiling, about four inches in diameter. Each pipe had three separate shower heads and dials attached every 60 degrees complete with dispensers for liquid soap and shampoo. A total of six guys could shower at the same time. I made a mental note that without a towel for me, there would be absolutely no privacy if any of the trainers were to be showering at the same time. On that first day, however, I was relieved that the trainers’ shower happened to be empty, so I had the whole room to myself. Directly opposite the shower room was a tiled bathroom area with two toilet stalls and two urinals, three sinks, a large mirror, and two blow dryers — one “hands level” for drying hands, and another at “head level” for blow drying hair (and the whole body in my case).
Since Bryan had left the locker room and I was apparently alone in the shower, I took my time. I washed completely, and I then I stood under the water, letting it massage my back and shoulders. Despite how exhausted I was from everything I had experienced that day — the run on the treadmill, the heavy workout with weights, and the abs routine — my dick started to get hard. And when I thought about Bryan and how he had been treating me so far, I got a bit harder. I couldn’t help it. As my mind wandered a bit more about having more than just my workouts controlled by Bryan and the other trainers here, I got really hard. And that’s when the rubber and steel band around the base of my cock and balls started to feel really tight. It was a two-edged sword: The harder I got the tighter it felt, and the tighter it felt the harder I was getting. Before I knew it my cock was standing at full attention. And damn, now that cock and ball band felt really tight. Just as I was reaching down to see if I could adjust it a bit, all of a sudden one of the toilet stalls popped open and out came Dave. He looked at me right in the eye, looked down at my rock hard cock with my hands on the cock ring band, and then he looked me in the eye again.
“You can’t do that in here,” he said, as he started to wash his hands at the sink. I could feel my face turning beet red, and before I could say anything he disappeared around the corner and was gone.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I thought to myself. Now Dave, the trainer who had given me the flier for personal training sessions in the first place, thinks I am masturbating in the shower. But I wasn’t. I was so embarrassed that my hard-on went down.
I turned off the water, then I stood under the tall blow dryer to dry my hair and body. I found that I could hold my wrists up to the hot air current and the air would blow a little bit under the bands, just enough to dry my skin. Whatever kind of metal and rubber these bands were made of, I observed, they were durable enough to withstand the heat of the blow dryer without losing their shape or softening in any way. Still naked, I returned to my locker to put on fresh clothes and get the heck out of there. As I was heading out the locker room door, I remembered Bryan had told me to pick up the trainers’ towels before I left. Fearing the wrath that would ensue if I did not follow his instructions, I headed back into the locker room and picked up all the towels I found on floor. There were three or four of them, and I put them all in the laundry chute, just as I had been instructed, then went back out the door.
I wasn’t far from the gym exit when I heard Bryan call my name.
“Hey Rick,” he said with a frown on his face. “I need to talk to you, come with me.”
Two minutes later, I was sitting again in head trainer John’s office, getting a stern lecture from my new personal trainer, Bryan.
“Dave tells me you were playing with yourself today in the shower,” he said.
“No, I wasn’t,” I tried to say. “I, um, let me explain …”
But Bryan cut me right off. “I don’t want to hear it,” he said. “In fact, I want you to shut up and listen to me. Let’s be clear: You are here for one reason and one reason only — and that is to do what I and the other trainers here tell you.”
I turned bright red, and I gulped.
Bryan went on, “You hired us to motivate you to get in shape, and that is exactly what we are going to do. In fact, we are not only going to get you in shape, we are going to get you in great shape. You agree with me on this, don’t you Rick?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Good,” Bryan replied.
“And there’s another thing I want you to understand,” he said. “If you don’t show significant improvement in your physique, that will reflect poorly on me. And I would never let that happen. You may not know this, but all of the trainers here are evaluated on how well they help their clients attain their goals. Things like raises and promotions, better hours, extra time off — all of these things are dependent upon how well I train guys like you.”
As he said this, he reached into his pocket for the remote control device.
“I wasn’t going to do this, but your behavior in the showers today leaves me no choice,” Bryan said, as he typed in some numbers on the device’s keypad. The remote emitted a series of electronic beeps.
“There. I have just activated the ‘orgasm deterrent’ feature on your motivator bands,” he said. “That means starting now, there will be no jacking off for you. Not in the showers here at the gym, not even when you go home. From now on, I don’t want you wasting any energy on trying to get yourself off. I want you to focus 100% of your energy on your workout regimen.”
I gulped again.
“The way this works is simple,” he explained. “If your wrists come within six inches of your cock and balls for more than 30 seconds, the alert, warning and punishment sequence will activate. And since I won’t be there to deactivate the sequence once it has begun, if you play with yourself again you will find yourself in a world of hurt. Don’t find this out the hard way. You have enough time to wash yourself in the shower, if you move quickly. When you need to take a leak, I suggest you move quickly as well. Take your dick out of your pants, aim, then move your hands away as you piss. After your bladder is empty, zip yourself back up — quickly — and go on your way.”
I was so shocked that I was nearly speechless.
“But, what if …” I said.
“Shut up, Rick,” Bryan replied. “From now on, I want you to keep your hands away from your dick. If you don’t, you will be sorry. Trust me on this. You will need to be especially careful in bed at night, when your hands might tend to wander.”
“Hey, hold on a second here,” I protested.
“I don’t want to hear it,” Bryan answered. “Now get out of here, and I will see you in two days for your next workout.”
I got up to leave, and my trainer stood up as well. I glanced down quickly, and it looked like his own sweat pants were tenting out a little bit.
“But wait! I need to know how …” I protested.
He cut me off again. “Go home and read the contract,” he said, pushing me out the door.
Twenty minutes later, I was back at my apartment, sitting on my couch reading the paperwork. That’s when I realized just how much trouble I had gotten myself into. My heart sank. I got a terrible knot in the pit of my stomach.
It was a long two days. I was on pins and needles constantly, making sure to keep my hands away from my dick so that I would not set off the shock device. Knowing full well how painful the electronic shock could be, I erred on the side of caution.
Constantly, I was thinking about when Bryan had demonstrated the power of the shock bands for me in the locker room, before my first workout session. The alert shot was annoying and the warning shot painful, but both of these were bearable. But having also tasted the severe pain of that third shock — the “punishment” shot as it was called — there was no way I was going to willingly let those bands shock me in the nuts like that again. When I had been shocked that first day in the gym, the pain knocked me to the floor and it took me several minutes just to recover. I realized then that I was in for some serious pain. And to make things even more unfair, I was being denied the ability to beat off as punishment for something I did not even do.
Despite living in constant fear for the next two days, I found myself more sexually excited than I can ever remember. My dick was in an almost constant state of arousal. It got so bad that the second day, I put on one of my tightest jock straps, with my dick pointing down, in an attempt to keep myself from getting distracted and also to keep myself from being tempted to touch my dick. How great it would feel, I thought to myself, to be able to beat off.
It was after only my second workout session with Bryan that things between us went to a whole new level — a level in which I was not only being trained by him on the gym floor, but “trained” sexually as well.
Here’s how it happened.
When I arrived at the gym that day, my entire body was still stiff and sore from the previous workout two days prior. It was the kind of pain you get from lactic acid buildup in your muscles if you have not worked them heavily for a while. And with the rubberized metal bands locked on my wrists — and the rubberized metallic shock band still firmly secured around the base of my cock and balls ready to zap me at any moment if my hands got within six inches of my cock and balls for more than 30 seconds — I was also nervous as hell. I had been on constant edge for two days. With all that on my mind, that might have been why I had forgotten to put my combination lock into my gym bag. I didn’t realize this until less than five minutes before my workout and I was changed into my workout clothes and ready to go.
Just then, Bryan walked in and opened his own locker, which just happened to be directly across from the locker I had put my stuff in.
“Ready for your workout today, Rick?” he asked, not looking at me as he dialed his own lock combination, opened it, swung open his locker and removed his shirt. Then he said something else, with a bit of a laugh. “I hope you kept your hands away from your cock for the past two days.” He was being cocky and arrogant, and I didn’t appreciate it.
“I am ready, except I forgot my lock,” I said, ignoring his sadistic comment about the fact that I was being kept in enforced chastity under his control.
“No problem, you can put your stuff in my locker then,” he said, turning around to face me and holding open the door to his locker. He had a sadistic smirk on his face. It was the first time I had seen him with his shirt off, and he was looking especially hot. I could not help but look quickly at his upper body, with its developed physique and washboard abs. I tried not to be too obvious, but there was not much I could do. I was standing three feet away from an example of almost total male physical perfection, and I was a bit stunned.
Trying not to let my eyes linger too long, I grabbed my gym bag, stuffed my street clothes, wallet and keys in, and turned it over to Bryan, who dropped it in the bottom of his locker. He grabbed his sleeveless trainer’s shirt from a hook inside his locker and pulled it on, then slammed his locker door closed, re-locking it with his own combination lock.
As we were walking out of the locker room onto the gym floor, he poked me again.
“So, how many times did you shock yourself over the past two days?” he asked.
“None,” I replied.
“Wow,” he said. “I’m impressed at your self-control. It’s good that you are learning.”
He was clearly taking charge, not only of my workouts but (with the metal bands locked on me and the remote control he had) other areas of my life as well.
My second workout under Bryan’s direction was more difficult than the first. Again he had me run a mile on the treadmill. I finished in eight minutes 48 seconds this time, again just fast enough to not be electro-corrected. He then led me through the same series of exercises from the previous session, with free weights and machines, and again he checked the weight I was lifting for each movement, and the number of reps in the remote control device that he held in his hand. He gave me almost no rest between sets. By the time we got to the end of the workout — abs — I was almost ready to collapse from exhaustion. Despite the challenging regimen, I was proud of myself that I was able to complete all my sets without any electronic prodding from my sadistic trainer. And drenched in sweat, I needed a shower very badly.
“Good job today, Rick,” Bryan said as I finished my last set of crunches. “If you keep that up I will have you in great shape in no time. I’ll see you in two days.”
It was irritating to me that he said “ ‘I’ will have you in shape.” As if it was him doing all the work, not me. But I had no time to say anything to him about that. I had to remind him that all my stuff was locked in his locker, or else I would be stuck in my sweaty gym clothes with no way to get home. He seemed a bit annoyed at me as we walked back into the trainers’ locker room and he unlocked his locker for me. He told me to strip so that I could stash my sneakers and sweaty clothes inside while I showered. Just then his cell phone rang and he took the call, and as I was plodding off around the corner, bare-assed naked, for the showers, he called out to me. “Hurry up. I haven’t got all day,” he said.
I showered fast, being extra careful not to let my hands and wrists get close to my cock and balls for more than a few seconds at a time, for fear that I would set off the shock mechanism. I shut off the water, and then I moved quickly over to the tall hot air blower to dry my close-cropped head hair and body. I was so fast that it only took me two or three minutes. But when I got back to Bryan’s locker, he was gone! My heart sank. I stood there in disbelief. Here I was, totally naked except for steel bands around my wrists and cock and balls, standing in the trainers’ locker room, with my clothes, keys and wallet locked away and inaccessible to me.
Then that other trainer Dave walked in, the prick who had gotten me in trouble with Bryan two days ago.
“Um, do you know where Bryan went?” I asked Dave.
“Yeah, he’s with a client,” he said.
“Crap,” I said. I explained to Dave the situation, that I had forgotten my lock and that all my gear was stuck in Bryan’s locker, and I asked if he would please go get Bryan so that I could get dressed and leave.
“Sorry, pal, I can’t interrupt a trainer when he is with a client,” Dave said.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said, feeling my cock stiffen. I was trying desperately not to get hard.
“ ’Fraid not,” Dave replied. “Looks like you’ll have to wait.” His indifference to my plight was annoying, but what he did next bothered me even more. He reached into his pocket and retrieved his own remote control. As he was punching in a few buttons, I heard his device emit a fast, triple beep. “Put your hands behind your back,” Dave ordered.
“Why?” I said.
“Just do it,” he said.
I didn’t want to put my hands behind my back. My cock was getting stiffer, and standing here in the locker room totally naked, I was already embarrassed. But by the tone of his voice I could tell Dave meant business. I knew that with the device he was holding, he could shock the hell out of me just like Bryan could. Better not test him, I reasoned. So I put my hands behind my back as instructed. And all of a sudden, without warning, I felt the bands snap together securely, effectively locking my wrists together at right angles. I struggled to unlock them, but they would not budge — not at all. My hands were locked behind my back! As I started to realize how vulnerable I was, my cock got rock hard, sticking straight out and pointing up. There was nothing I could do about it, and no way to hide it.
Dave noticed immediately. “Fucking pervert,” he sneered at me. “That will prevent you from playing with yourself here in the locker room while you wait for Bryan to come back.” With that he turned around and left, leaving me standing in front of Bryan’s locker. Naked, vulnerable, bound. And hard as a rock. I was even starting to drip pre-cum on the floor of the locker room.
I calculated in my mind that since I had to wait for Bryan to finish with his client that I would be stuck in the locker room, naked, with my wrists locked behind my back for close to an hour if not more. With my wrists locked behind my back and my clothes locked in my trainer’s locker, there was really nothing I could do but wait — and hope that no other trainers would come in here to see me like this.
And aside from being concerned and embarrassed, I was also annoyed. After all, after the hard workout I wanted nothing more than to be able to stretch my arms to avoid cramps, and to be able to relax a bit and have a protein shake.
Then I remembered something. Two days ago at the end of my workout, Bryan had ordered me to pick up the trainers’ towels and put them in the laundry chute. The towels I was not allowed to use myself because of my status as a Motivator Plan client. My trainer hadn’t told me to pick the towels up today, but I figured I had better just in case. Besides, it wasn’t like I had anything better to do. There were only three of them lying around, so I picked them up one by one and dropped them down the chute. Of course it was difficult to do with my hands locked behind. I had to crouch down awkwardly to get them, and then I had to push them trough the chute while facing in the opposite direction. The rest of the time I spent standing in front of Bryan’s locker, staring at his combination lock. If I could have willed it open I would have.
As time went on I was more and more nervous that another trainer would come in and see me in my predicament and hassle me. But all I could really focus on was Bryan, especially how hot he had looked earlier when I got that really close glimpse of him with his shirt off. Just thinking about him was making my cock stiffer, and it was made even worse by the restrictive feeling of the right rubberized metal band around the base of my cock and balls, which gripped me like the sadistic pain implement that it was. There was no way I was going to be able to “will” my erection away.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Bryan returned.
“Still here I see, just where I left you,” Bryan said as he looked down at my hard cock. “That will teach you not to take too long in the shower. Dave told me he locked your hands behind your back, just where they belong for someone like you who can’t keep from playing with himself.”
Before I was annoyed at having just wasted an hour, but now I was starting to get angry. Bryan unlocked his locker, but rather than return my gym bag he instead stripped off all his own clothes and stowed them in his locker. Then he took a fresh towel from the top shelf of his locker, wrapped it around his waist, then slammed the door closed and snapped his combo lock shut again.
“Time for my shower,” he said. “You don’t mind waiting a few more minutes, do you?”
Before I could say anything he was heading for the showers.
So there I was, still naked, hands bound behind my back — and rock hard — waiting still longer. He was gone about 10 minutes, and luckily for me none of the other trainers were in the locker room then. When Bryan returned, I was waiting right where he had left me. I could not believe my eyes when I saw that rather than having his towel wrapped around his waist, he had it draped over his shoulders, and now I had a full-on view not only of his upper body, but his well-developed legs and substantial cock. My cock throbbed as I looked him up and down. By this point I was not even trying to hide the fact that I was admiring his body, and my desire for my trainer was showing.
“You see something you want, Rick?” he said.
I nodded as I looked directly into his eyes, then down to his cock. He was starting to get stiff himself.
“It’s going to be my way, you know that don’t you Rick?” he said.
I nodded again.
He turned around, unlocked his lock and opened his locker, and retrieved the remote control from his sweats. Then he said something that frightened and excited me at the same time.
“If you mess up, I am going to correct you,” he said.
I spent the next hour on my knees giving Bryan a blowjob. Actually, come to think of it, it was more of a “cocksucker training session” that a “blowjob.” A blowjob is something you might give to a dude rather quickly, to get him to cum fast — but this went on for a long time. Bryan wanted his cock worked long and hard. And he was very clear with me: “no TEETH.” A couple times, when my teeth made even the slightest contact with his hard cock, he zapped my balls with the remote in his hand, causing me to wince in pain. I was learning. Several times I gagged, which only seemed to make him harder, more excited. He would grab the back of my head and impale my face more firmly onto his rod. He would also shock me if I slowed down too much. He didn’t seem to care if I could not breathe. After a while, I was starting to learn to take in a breath as I moved my mouth up his shaft. To prevent myself from suffocating.
After about 10 minutes I heard another guy enter the locker room. I could not tell who it was, but I could sort of see him out of the corner of my eye and I could also hear him snickering a bit. “Train him well, Bryan, I might want to use him next,” he said before he walked away. I did not recognize his voice, and having Bryan’s cock down my throat with my hands locked behind my back I was in no position to look up.
Bryan focused his attention back on me. “That’s it, keep sucking,” he said. And I did, for a lot longer. Later, I could hear two guys come into the locker room behind me, and this time I recognized their voices. It was Dave and the head trainer, John. As I continued to suck Bryan’s cock, the three of them started talking — mostly to each other, not me.
“I locked the pervert’s hands behind his back so that he would not play with himself while he was waiting for you,” Dave said to Bryan.
“Thanks man,” Bryan said to Dave. “But you didn’t need to. I have him on masturbation restriction.”
“Oh you are cruel,” said Dave.
John, the head trainer, chimed in. “No, it’s probably a good idea,” he said. “Rick here needs a lot of control.”
Then he moved his face close to my own cock-filled face and said, very loudly, directly to me. “Isn’t that right, Rick? You need a lot of control, don’t you?”
“Ummm hmmmm,” I said, keeping Bryan’s hard cock in my mouth.
“Didn’t I tell you he was an excellent candidate for the Motivator Plan?” John said.
“He sure is,” Bryan said. I was looking up at him now, with his hard cock still in my mouth.
He put his hands behind his neck and flexed his arms, chest and abs just slightly, as I continued to suck. The other two trainers were standing right there, watching. I had never been so humiliated in all my life — and at the same time I could not remember my cock ever being so hard.
End of Part 3
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