Anyway, everybody hates us on campus cause we're like, these cute white-ass muscle boy faggots and he's the preppy/jock/A&F science guy, and I'm the sketched-out/nipple-pierced/bubble-butted punk creative guy. And it only takes a day above like 60 degrees for us to take off our shirts and parade around campus. Muscle was our life, and because we were both lucky enough to have more than we could even handle of it, our life was perfect. See, mutual muscle is a very powerful bond; it's maybe the most powerful bond two males can share. Jeff and I loved our own muscles, we loved each other's muscles; we loved our friends' muscles; what can I say? We were into it. Plus, remember, I'm photographing muscle all day long in my studio, these kinda-hot, kinda-grotesque bodybuilder guys who answer my ads from time to time and let me cover them with paint and shave them and dress them up weird and shoot them from funny angles. Some of them really tempt me of course, which pisses Jeff off. See sometimes I'd come home and only be able to shoot three or four loads of steaming jizz on his peaked biceps, instead of the usual six or seven - because I had already blown a couple of times on some body-builder's calves that afternoon. When that happened Jeff would get real mad and wrestle me to the floor and fuck the daylights out of me, driving his cock into the twitching globes of my white ass -- like he was teaching me a lesson!

Of course, he was a total dog too. Here he's making me feel all guilty for fucking my bodybuilders, and then I find out Jeff has this totally hot undergrad lab assistant guy he hired from a work-study program. Brandon had incredible genetics, really, a totally cute, shy boy, lanky but really built, and who hero-worshipped Jeff. Maybe because he has the kind of build Jeff must have looked like when HE was an undergrad on the diving team, and Jeff today is what Brandon might look like if he slavishly devoted himself to perfecting his development. So I find out that, basically, Jeff has decided to make this kid his slave, if that's alright with me. No seriously - we're driving home from the gym and he says "I want to talk to you about something…you remember this guy Brandon -?" Yadda yadda…

"You'll always come first, Mikey boy…ALWAYS. But I'm burning to break this boy in as my slave."

I was a little annoyed. "Well, what do you want from me? My approval? My blessing??"

"Actually, yes. Most of all, I want you to meet him first." I said something nasty and sarcastic, I'm sure, but he didn't seem to mind - continuing patiently:

"See, everything that belongs to me belongs to you, too." At this he lifts his smooth, tanned, bare arm - gleaming in the Florida sunlight streaming in through the sunroof. He squeezed his beautiful, rock-hard bicep into a pulsating, furious mass. "THIS - is yours, as well as mine, baby. My muscle, is your muscle; understand?" I gulped, nodded. He knew just how to win me over!

"Likewise, my slave is - well, it's complicated, but in a way he's my project. See, it's like I want to give this guy to you as a present. I want to train him, mold him, corrupt him, brainwash him into existing ONLY and ALWAYS for our muscles and cocks. I want to turn him into a cyborg of pleasure, programmed only to please us and to take pleasure from us. In three years he will look like a Greek god, with a body I intend to perfect to my specifications. If I want him to get thicker calves, he will damn well WORK TO GET THICKER CALVES. If I decide I want to see him with a ten-pack instead of an eight-pack, well, fuck…the boy's going to do crunches until he has a ten-pack. If I tell him to stand by our bed while we fuck, and then lick the cum off our buttcracks instead of using a towel -- Brandon will. He will follow us like a spaniel, and fuck us on command like a porn star, any time, or any place we want."

Well, jeepers…when you ask a girl THAT way…

So Jeff brings the muscle twink home "for a beer"…and wow, was Jeff right about him. Brandon is just sizzling. Ha HA! "I totally approve," I said to Jeff. "Totally approve of what?" the guy asks, his face lighting up with a goofy grin. "Later, man." Then Jeff and I start talking esoterically about our progress on particular muscles, and the whole time we're flexing the guy is sitting there, kicking back on the couch, tapping the back of the sofa with his hands to some inner beat - a display of forced non-chalance if ever I saw one. When I stood up and ripped my t-shirt off, to demonstrate to an admiring Jeff how thick my traps had been getting, Brandon just sat there with his eyes darting furtively between us, nervously sucking back a bunch of beers.

I bet Brandon was totally thinking "holy shit, my boss is the sexiest man on the planet, and his lover is hotter still, and I get to spend the whole evening secretly ogling their muscles!" Of course, we're so far ahead of this pathetic runt it's not even funny. Suffice to say, we ended up tying the terrified guy up in bicycle chains, and raped his nipples with clamps and sandpaper - then took turns blowing load after load into his pouty rectum, or on his grateful, giddy, tear-streaked face. Finally, kneeling before him as he sat shackled to an iron chair, I bent my head to his crotch and slipped his cock into my mouth, and make him blow load after excruciating load into my mouth while Jeff stood above us both, flexing his brains out. Just an ordinary night at home for Jeff and Mike! •