By AbsMan420

Hey guys -- Let me say again how great it is to get your positive feedback regarding "Apollyon." Beginning with this chapter, we start a new story-arc -- one that has probably been the most requested since I began writing this series. But first, a confession. The scene you're about to read -- Woody and Strong's conversation in the restuarant -- was originally plotted as a small part of a larger chapter. However, once I got to the actual writing, the course of the conversation really intrigued me, and I allowed myself to explore the moment rather than speed Strong off to his next event. It also let me solidify Woody and Strong's relationship a bit more, and get some pesky exposition out of the way. So if this chapter reads as more of a "breather" -- much like chapter 8 -- you'll understand why. Let me know what you think. Tom

"Steak!" Woody said to the poor waiter, a tiny wisp of a thing with a "fabulous" haircut and perfectly manicured eyebrows, a guy clearly intimidated by someone the size of Woody. (Maybe because, though seated, Woody was as tall as this guy was standing, maybe because Woody's right leg out-weighed him, or maybe he'd had some bad experiences with aggressive jocks in high school. Who knew? Woody was only playing him because the guy let him.) "Steak," Woody said, "medium rare, whatever your vegetable dish is, and greens with ranch on the side."

"Um... potatoes or home-fries, sir?"

Woody smirked. "Surprise me," he said, shaking his head.

Turning to me, almost happy to have his moment with Woody be over, the little waiter started to ask, "And you...?" when Woody interrupted him, saying, "He'll have what I'm having." Then added, "Thanks," in a tone of dismissal. I was happy to not have to look the waiter in the eye - I was a little embarrassed.

When I looked across the booth at Woody, he was leaning back, studying me with that permanent smirk on his face, his hands clasped behind his head, elbows out, biceps flexed (his sleeveless t-shirt doing nothing but emphasizing his nearly unbelievable mass). "You're really cute," he said.

I snorted lightly and glanced around the restaurant - maybe to see if anybody'd heard.

"But Dr. V was right," he continued. "You DO got a lot of hang-ups."

"Not really. I'm just not used to guys thinking I'm cute," I said, sipping at my water. "Or at least not having them say it in public."

He shrugged. "Get used to it. You've never had a Master before, have you?"

I shook my head, quietly adding "No..." to the gesture. Hard to look him in the eye.

Putting his elbows on the table, he leaned forward - his freakin' arms were enormous. "But you're sure it's what you want," he said - not asked. "You seemed pretty sure before when I was fuckin' you. Havin' some second thoughts?"

I shook my head again. "When you asked me if I'd ever had a... Woody, I got hard the second you used the word 'Master.' Even if I were havin' second thoughts, my dick sure isn't."

He smiled and nodded, scratching his chin briefly. "Good answer," he said. "Cute AND smart. I'm gonna like trainin' you, Strong. Keep listening to your dick - it knows what's best."

"Have you trained a lot of boys?" I asked.

He nodded, pursing his lips. "A few," he said. "Enough to know what I'm doin'."

"Where are they now?"

Woody looked at me suspiciously. "Why? You feelin' a little insecure?" he asked.

"No. Just curious."

He leaned back into the booth and took a drink of his water, draining the glass. "Well, one of 'em is tearing it up on the west coast - he's one of the L.A. guys lobbying for a sister-gym out there." Woody rolled his eyes. "Don't worry, even trained, he wasn't half as good at fucking as you are naturally." Cuffing me gently in the side of the head, an affectionate gesture, Woody continued. "That's why he's perfect for L.A. - he's pretty, not functional.

"One is a pro-wrestler now - he's that rapper-guy, 'Doctor of Thug-o-nomics' I think is what he calls himself." Woody snorted and shook his head, chuckling. "We had some aggressive sessions, me and Johnny - some great home-videos came out of that. I tell ya, he NEVER liked bein' the bottom. He fought me tooth and nail."

"But you like that," I said, smiling, mirroring his tone. "You liked that before when I was struggling against you."

He shrugged. "Aggression is masculine. If I'm gonna train you, I need to make sure you got a fire. There are too many muscle-bottoms in the world, my friend, big-ass bodybuilders who just wanna get fucked. I'm not gonna make another."

"I don't understand."

Forward again, onto his elbows, leaning on the table, speaking seriously. "Boy, when I'm finished with you, there isn't gonna be a TRACE of bottom left in you. You're gonna be the most dominant-top muscle-freak out there. All you're gonna want to do is fuck. Any ass, any time. You're gonna find out how manly it is to wrestle some never-gives-it-up cocky mother-fucker into submission and rape the shit out of him. You're gonna learn how good it feels to make some self-important leather-daddy fuckin' BEG to give up his ass to you." He reached down and adjusted himself in his gym shorts - he was hard again. Another woody. "All this talk, little bro - I'm ready to go again."

That was when the waiter reappeared, of course, with our salads. "Ranch on the side," he said to Woody as he set the plate down. Woody had to lean back in the booth to give the guy room. "And same as he's having," he quipped as he put mine down in front of me.

Woody saw the look I gave the guy.

"See?" Woody said as the waiter walked away from the table. "You got aggression. You're kind of ticked at that guy right now. Think how good it would feel to follow that little fag into the kitchen and fuck him right there in front of everybody, him and his snide little comments - show him who's fuckin' boss. Wouldn't that feel nice?"

He reached over and punched me in the shoulder a couple of times until I smiled.

"You know, I could ORDER you to do it. You'd have to, then."

I poured the dressing on my salad. "But you're not that cruel a Master," I said.

Suddenly, he had me by the throat, squeezing just hard enough for me to know he could do some serious damage to my airway. I reddened only because I hadn't caught my breath. "I MIGHT be," he said quietly, choking me. Any pretense of humor disappeared, leaving only the core beneath. "You don't want to find out what would happen if you don't obey me - seriously, I will fuckin' beat you blue. You understand?"

The slight nod of my head caused him to release me. I immediately caught my air.

He casually poured the dressing on his salad and began eating while I panted and watched him. "I mean, we've got to go through it at some point," he said, shoveling lettuce in his mouth, speaking through the food. "It's the nature of this kind of relationship. You need to understand the consequences of anything less than total compliance, and that means discipline. Again, I'll be blunt - you are mine to train as I see fit until the time comes that you weigh enough to overpower me. Unfortunately, part of my job is to teach you how to do just that." He motioned to my plate. "Eat your salad," he said.

I smiled, and went for a joke to break the intensity of the moment - my usual tactic. "You know," I said, lifting my fork, "after this salad, I'm going to be big enough to overpower you. You better look out."

He laughed for a bit before he managed to say, "You're cute, Strong. I'm definitely gonna like trainin' you."

His salad was gone in three swipes of his fork. He didn't eat so much as swallow - I wonder if he even chewed. I was just finishing my salad when the steaks arrived. Mr. Fabulous, the waiter, held a plate in each hand, elevating the right one as if it were different from the left and saying, "Steak, medium rare," while making a move toward Woody.

"Uh, that's MINE," I said, taking it from him. Woody laughed.

The waiter didn't, but to hell with him. His joke ruined, he set the other plate down in front of the giggling Woody, about to say the completion of the gag when Woody interrupted him.

"And same as he's havin'," said Woody, nodding toward me.

The waiter grimaced, his only material stolen - his quips gone. All he could do was mumble, "Do you need anything else?" before he disappeared for an extended smoke break.

I was cutting my steak when I happened to look at Woody, who'd stopped with his fork in his meat, studying me with that ever-present smile. "What?" I asked, motioning toward the departed waiter with my thumb. "Want me to go fuck him?"

Woody laughed. "No," he said, "but you earned another one from me."

He resumed work on his steak.

I was casual as I cut. "So, there's this guy in L.A., this wrestler guy, am I your third?"

"My fifth," he said through a mouthful. "One a year. Derek, Johnny, then Lubos, the Russian guy - whew, I tell you what, that dude was five-six, skinny little nothin' - hell, he didn't even speak English. A year later, not only the best cocksucker you'd ever meet, he took the short class in the Eastern-European Championships. Lubos is a fuckin' STUD. Never learned English, but you always knew what he wanted. He wanted to lift. And he wanted cock."

He stuffed some more steak in his mouth, chewed while remembering. He flicked his eyebrows at me when we made eye contact.

"Who's the fourth?" I asked, taking a drink of water.

Woody smiled. "You already know the fourth," he said, chewing again. "My understanding is, that's how you got your abs."

I dropped my fork - it clattered on the table with a metallic clang. "Prince?" I said, shocked. "You trained PRINCE?"

"Yeah, you DO got a little crush on him, don't you? Brad called that one. Looks like I'm gonna have to fuck that right out of ya."


"I'm kidding. I'm kidding." Woody grinned and handed my fork back to me. "Yeah, I trained Prince," he said, resuming his eating. While he spoke, I did as well. "I'm not surprised the two of you hooked up - you're just alike. You're both these passive little bottoms - hell, Prince is so bad that every time he expresses a masculine impulse, he apologizes for it. He'll fuck you, but then feel guilty about it for three weeks. He used to drive me crazy. No wonder his marriage is breaking up - neither one of 'em wants to be the man."

I was confused. "So, are you dissatisfied with Prince? I mean, how he turned out?"

"Hell, no! He's fucking gorgeous - and an AMAZING fuck! I'm just sick of turning out bottoms. I've had two in a row. Fuck, dude, I want a challenge."

"And so you got me."

He stopped eating, looked at me and smiled. "Oh, you're gonna be my masterpiece, Strong. You don't even know what's inside of you - I've never seen Dr. V so excited about a guy's potential. You're gonna be freakin' GIGANTIC, plus you're gonna be the most powerful top on the block. When I'm through with you, you'll take Prince for a wife - or maybe your slave. Hell, bro, you might even get big enough to bag me."

He winked - we ate in silence for a minute or so. I hadn't even noticed how good the steak was, I'd been so busy talking. I hadn't realized how ravenous I'd been. I wolfed it in.

"So, what do you think?" he asked, pushing his empty plate away.

I nodded. "The steak is good," I said, finishing the last mouthful.

He chuckled. "No, I mean this whole thing. What do you think?"

"Honestly, it's a lot to take in, Woody," I said, eating the extra slice of bread that had come with our salads. "I mean, I can't deny that there's always been a fantasy in the back of my head that some massive bodybuilder would come along, take me under his wing, and train me until I'm the kind of man I've always fantasized about being. But nobody ever thinks that kind of stuff'll happen for real. You never think, what'll I do when I'm really faced with this? Will I take the brass ring? I mean, it's always been fantasy."

That smile. That beautiful smile. "It's not fantasy anymore for you, bro," he said, leaning back in the seat and popping his chest, his pecs bouncing back and forth.

I felt my own torso, touching the hard, new muscle beneath my shirt. "I know," I said, my erection starting to come back. "It's incredible."

He broke the moment, saying, "Okay, so I'm gettin' horny again," and reaching beneath the table to adjust his package - that "jock-gesture" that I like so much.

I flicked my eyebrows at him. "Me, too," I said, with a hint of a smile.

"All right, before we're fuckin' in the bathroom, we got some business to take care of." He leaned forward on the table again, resting on his elbows, inadvertently flexing his biceps. "Where do you live?"

"Midtown," I said. "On Seventh, between Fifty-first and Fifty-second. A shitty little fifth floor walk-up. I don't even think you could fit down my hallway - you'd be too wide."

He snorted. "Okay then, we'll go to my place. I'm on West Ninety-eighth, right off the park. We'll FIT in my apartment."

"The upper west side? Damn! How can you afford that? What do you do?"

The expression on his face was one of confusion. "What do you mean, what do I do? I'm a bodybuilder."

"No. I mean, how can you afford an apartment on the upper west side? Does your family have money or something?"

He laughed, and spoke as if explaining a concept to a five-year-old. "I'm a professional bodybuilder - I have sponsors coming out the ass. I do just fine. But with that in mind," he said, suddenly shifting his weight and tone, "I got an appointment with one of those sponsors at seven. What time is it?"

I looked at my cell-phone. "Four-twenty."

He grunted and sat straight. "Okay, I gotta get moving and clean up. Lemme see," he said, scratching his nearly-shaven head, almost talking to himself, "I'll be done with him a little after eight, but he lives in freakin' Jersey, so I'm not gonna get back into the city until at least nine-thirty - I want to see you sittin' outside my door when I get back. Understood?"

I nodded, my erection suddenly throbbing. "Sure," I managed to say calmly.

He nodded, too. "Cool," he said. "Here's a couple things I want you to do in the meantime. First, I need you to shave - the whole shebang - nose to toes, bro. You gotta be smooth for me, Strong. Always. Then, go down to the sporting goods store and get yourself a wrestling singlet and some gym-clothes that fit, not that loose shit you wear - we'll take care of thongs and fantasy-gear tonight online. From here out, I need you to dress like the little gym-whore you wanna be - that turns me on." He winked, and continued. "Lastly, I have a little personal challenge for you."

"What do you need?" I asked - he seemed to be impressed with the speed of my response.

Smiling, he said, "I want you to go back to your old gym today and workout in front of your buddies. I want to see how you handle that."

"What? Really?"

He shrugged. "Sure. Isn't that part of your fantasy? How the guys who knew you before your transformation would react to your turning into a muscle-stud? Trust me, bro, it's the best revenge a man can have."

I rolled my eyes and turned my head away from him, but still I said, "Okay."

His silence made me look at him, and that teasing little smile was back on his face. "And wear spandex," he said. "Show off that hot little ass."

"Aw, c'mon, Woody..."

He tensed his upper body, flexed his biceps for me to see. "You gonna question me?" he asked.

"No, Woody," I said, shaking my head. "No. I'll wear spandex shorts. I'll show off my hot little ass. I'll do what you say."

He snorted. "Oh, don't pretend you're not gonna get off on it. You've always wanted this moment, Strong. You just haven't been strong ENOUGH to have it." He chuckled at his own pun. "'Strong enough,' get it?"

I laughed with that exasperated sigh of someone reacting to bad comedy, giving him a weak thumbs-up when the waiter reappeared. "So, who wants the check?" he asked snidely.

Woody and I exchanged a glance, then pointed at one another.

The waiter just dropped it on the table and turned away - we didn't tip.

Outside the restaurant, we had the awkward moment of a Master and slave saying goodbye to each other for the first time. It actually tugged at my heart - my God, even if only for a few hours, I was gonna miss him. "Nine-thirty," Woody said. "You got the address?"


He nodded. "I want you sittin' outside my door at nine-thirty."

"Okay, Woody."

"And if you end up seducin' some guy at your old gym - and I fully expect you will - he doesn't get your hole. That's mine. You can do whatever else you fuckin' want, but nobody gets your ass except me." He smiled at me then, this huge beast of a man, and he said, "C'mere, little bro." Pulling me to him, we embraced and kissed, right there on the street. Passionate and surprisingly tender, though still dominant and leading, Woody's kiss had all his personality in it - I lost myself in his strength, feeling his muscles press against me. After what was probably too long a time, he released me, and erect, we walked our separate ways.

I was surprised by how much I'd enjoyed that public display, how much I'd hoped people were looking at my hard-on as I walked along - also, how anxious I was to get to my old gym.

He was right - it was gonna be the best revenge scene ever.

I stopped in the drug store on the way to my apartment and bought razor blades. I had a lot to do in a very short time, especially if I was gonna be waiting for my new Master at the appropriate hour.

My erection led me the entire way. •

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