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|John marched proudly down the avenue, displaying his power. It was only a Wednesday, and the queens were not out in force, though there were enough to give him a pleasurable thrill of superiority as he walked past them. In didn't matter: he was immensely satisfied already.
But then, he thought, he could hardly sleep alone. Besides the fact that he was not in the least sleepy, it was wrong for him to be unattended at night. Those days were over. From now on, John Avery had company in his bed, that was the law. Someone would have to serve. His chest swelled with pleasure. He again felt that wave of masculine power, the sweet, warm might that surged through his muscles, through his cock. He was manly, a term he had never thought to apply to himself before, more manly than any man had ever been.
As he passed by the bars, a blond young man came out, tall and rangy with a body developed to perfection. He was wearing as little clothing as the law permitted. He displayed a substantial basket, which made the whole package irresistibly sexy.
He probably complains that all people are interested in is his body, John thought with a sneer. Like he gives them anything else to be interested in.
"Hi," he said, walking up to the boy. He stood and let the boy drink him in.
"Uh, hi," said the youth.
"You're hot. Let's fuck."
The boy looked momentarily confused. "Uh, okay."
John looked about the street, full of mischief. He had intended to bring the boy home and fuck him, but that thinking was from the old John, the John who waited in line for his pleasures. The new John would have it now. He scanned the area for a convenient sight. He could fuck the kid right here on the sidewalk, of course, but he hadn't yet reached that level of daring.
John took him behind a shop that was closed for the day and fucked him in the dirt. He kept him there all night, making him serve in a variety of exotic positions. He experimented on the boy's ass, finding new ways to make a man explode with ecstasy. The kid was wildly enthusiastic for the first three times. The fourth and fifth times, he sobbed with gratitude. After the eighth time, he told John that he loved him. John smiled triumphantly.
What's happening to me? John thought. Am I turning into something dangerous and evil?
His smile grew broader. What if he was? Was he expected to have such power and not use it? Why not change? Why not become someone arrogant? Dangerous?
John did not enjoy this one as much as Best. He lacked Best's incredible technique, for one thing. This one got by on looks alone. Most faggots were probably so excited to get him into bed, the fact that he wasn't very good was lost on them. He was also a slut, which John found unappealing. He wanted surprise, he wanted resistance, he wanted to control. This boy was too willing, too practiced, too easy to conquer.
Nevertheless, his physical development was very satisfactory. John fucked him twenty or thirty times before walking away, leaving him lying stunned on the concrete walk behind the building. He went home, showered, and dropped off into a dreamless slumber.
He woke up exploding with lust. He spent a few hours in front of the mirror, worshipping himself and orgasming every few minutes. He then tried to dress for the day and found it was impossible. Nothing fit. He stood in front of the mirror for a while, looking at himself with his muscles bulging through the torn seams of his old t-shirts, a perfect image to symbolize his transformation. Clearly, the first order of business would be a new wardrobe, one suited to his opulent new physique. He squeezed himself back into his cutoffs and went down to the Bauhaus ("the finest in army surplus haute couture") to purchase.
The clerk was a blond young man with understated muscles and a spectacular rear end development. John had been so intimidated by this youth's haughty demeanor in the past that he had stopped coming here, though every faggot in the city shopped the place. The store was empty.
The boy was reading a fashion magazine. He did not look up. John leaned one massive arm against the counter. "Slow day."
The boy looked up and froze. John would never get bored with this reaction. He stood and allowed himself to be scrutinized.
"What?" the boy said.
"I said, slow day."
"Oh, well. It's early."
"Slow days can be good." He walked calmly over to the door and flipped the bolt. He pulled the blind down over the glass front. "Tell you what. Since it's not busy, you and I can get to know each other better."
The young man laughed nervously. "Oh, no, we can't. I need this job." He walked over to the door to unbolt it. "Customers will need to get in."
"I'm a customer," John said.
The boy, his hand on the bolt, turned and looked. John had slipped off his cutoffs and stood before him fully revealed. His enormous tool stood straight out in front of him, arching majestically. "You can wait on me."
The store did not open that day. The two of them spent a very pleasant time alternately dressing John and fucking. The boy was newly out and very inexperienced. His reticence excited John tremendously, inspiring him new heights of obscenity. The young man resisted every new experiment, shocked by John's profligacy. John loved that moment each time when it seemed as if the boy might actually say no, might actually deny him what he wanted, only to have his resistance steamrollered by the force of John's desire. The haughty attitude John had cringed before in days gone by was only a defense, a way of keeping the horny world at bay. Every gay man this young guy met must have come on to him.
By the end of the day, the kid was not inexperienced any more.
John walked out laden with bags of clothes. He did not pay for them.
When he got home, intending to dress in his new wardrobe, there were two messages on his answering machine. John was amazed. How long had it been? The first was from Best: "Hi, John, it's Best. Why haven't you called me? Last night... wow, John. You're incredible. We're incredible, I mean. What a team. Call me when you get in. I'll wait."
John chuckled. Best would wait for a very long time. The second message was from Stewart, telling him -- not inviting him, telling him -- to rendezvous at a certain bar at a certain time. He was expected in half an hour.
Stewart, John said with an evil grin.
John took his time getting there. He wanted to leave Stewart waiting, but he was concerned that Stewart might leave so he didn't push it. After Stewart had met the new John Avery, he'd wait for hours if required. He swaggered down the street in his new clothes allowing the passersby -- who he now knew to be his public -- to take in the sight of him. His new wardrobe was all medium-priced, disposable faggot fashion designed for pure sex appeal. He wore a black Spandex top with red lightning bolts around the arms, accentuating his colossal biceps, and apoplectically tight jeans. He looked fabulous.
He strode triumphantly into the bar. The assembled patrons turned and stared, as was only natural. Stewart was sitting in his usual corner. Lamont was with him. Lamont seemed to be pleading some kind of case to Stewart, who was unresponsive. John walked over to them and planted his feet on the ground with his thumbs hooked into his belt loops.
They turned and stared. Stewart's jaw dropped.
"Well, hello, Mr. Man," Lamont crooned.
"Hello, John. You're late."
"I'm worth waiting for," John said smugly.
"Amen," Lamont said. He licked his lips.
"What are you guys talking about?"
Stewart waved his cigarette dismissively. "Oh, Lamont is complaining that I don't treat him as an equal, which is perfectly ridiculous."
"Not at all. You treat Lamont like shit. But then, you treat everybody like shit. And for some inexplicable reason, they let you."
"Is that so? Had your Wheaties this morning did you?"
Lamont's eyes were shining. "He looks like he's had plenty of Wheaties."
"Get yourself a drink," Stewart said. His voice trembled noticeably. The new John was making an impression.
"Actually, I'd rather have a blow job," John said.
Stewart choked on a throatful of smoke. "Well, help yourself. There's any number of willing volunteers."
John smiled his smile. "I'd rather you did it, Stewart."
Stewart eyed him warily. "You do."
"I'll do it if you won't," Lamont said, not really joking.
"Shutup, Lamont." He sneered at John. Even the physical evidence of John's new masculinity was not enough to dampen his disdain for everyone and everything. "What do I get for it?"
John felt his cock slowly swell. "Immense satisfaction. More satisfaction than you've ever had or will ever have again."
Stewart chuckled briefly. He was very nervous. "I'd have to find it to blow it."
John unzipped his pants and let his giant erection burst out of its restraints and wobble massively between them. "Think you can find this?"
No one made a sound. They stared. Several patrons at the bar fell silent, and then several more, until the place was silent as a tomb underneath the blasting disco music.
"Come on, Stewart. Say something witty."
Stewart stared in amazement at John's equipment. "Well. John. Who ever knew?"
John reached out and grabbed Stewart by the back of the neck. "Now you know." He pulled Stewart down on his knees in front of him. Stewart did not resist very much. "Suck, asshole."
Stewart licked his lips and stared hungrily at the huge cock.
"Now!" John said. He pulled Stewart's mouth to the tip of his cock and plunged it in.
This was the first real blow job John had received since his transformation. His ravenous desire to fuck his other partners had made fellatio irrelevant. But now it was important. It carried a implication of humiliation with it that titillated John considerably. He had expected Stewart to choke on it, but again his power smoothed the way. Stewart's jaw almost seemed to unhinge like a snake's, enabling John to enter to the hilt. He was immediately blinded by the blast of pleasure that fired up out of his penis and rocked his body. He knew Stewart felt it to, had no choice but to feel it. His vision cleared and he looked down at Stewart, who was avidly working his dick, sucking luxuriously. The people at the bar whooped and cheered, egging the two of them on. John smiled and let his head fall back. The sexual pleasure was immense as it would always be from now on, but the emotional elation, the hit to his ego, was far sweeter. He had always wanted to degrade Stewart utterly, and in front of other people.
He drew it out a little, but Stewart was not worth wasting much time on, not with a world of sexy asses awaiting his attentions. The orgasm was explosive, and Stewart wrapped his arms around John's naked butt and allowed the jism to pour in buckets down his throat. He moaned joyfully. John laughed. His orgasm went on and on, the quarts of cum choking Stewart, filling his mouth and overflowing down his chin onto his clothes and the floor. When it was over, Stewart was soaked in semen. John removed himself immediately.
"Thank you, Stewart. That was... adequate." He allowed Stewart to fall back in a swoon.
But Stewart's humiliation was not over. John turned to Lamont.
"So, what are you doing tonight, Lamont?" Lamont was gorgeous, like all of Stewart's conquests. It had always galled the old John that Stewart had found such an ideal medium for bedding truly beautiful men: they wanted him because he was white. Lamont was brilliantly muscled with a voluptuous round ass and, according to Stewart, a huge prick, though huge, as John now knew, was a relative term. But John didn't want Lamont for his looks. John wanted Lamont because he was Stewart's.
"It doesn't look like your boyfriend is going to be much use to you. Let's fuck." Stewart lay silently on the filthy carpeting, his eyes closed.
"You don't need to ask me twice," Lamont said.
He walked Lamont home. The lad couldn't control himself all that way and hanged himself on John's powerful shoulders, stroking his pectorals and fondling his cock. Lamont's subservient attitude made John swell with pleasure. The feeling of deep and powerful masculinity rose up in him again accompanied by an even more intoxicating sensation: superiority. He was not only manly beyond anyone else's experience, he was better than they were. Stronger, sexier, more confident, he towered above ordinary humans. He wasn't just a strong, sexual man, he was a god. And gods required worship.
Lamont babbled endlessly about hot this and hot that and what he would do for John. John had no argument with any of it, and by the time they got home he was completely aroused and fully ready.
John had never had sex with a black man before, and Lamont's deeply black skin seemed foreign and exotic to him. His caressed it with as much curiosity as sexual appetite.
Lamont offered no resistance. He was fully prepared to do anything John demanded of him, no matter how extreme. This bored John considerably, but this encounter wasn't about sex, it was about Stewart. Lamont's openness to doing anything brought them to the brink of climax very quickly. Just before the final explosion, John held back.
"I don't know, Lamont," he said chidingly.
"Oh, no, don't stop! Come on! Come on!" His anus was packed to bursting with John immense penis.
"I don't think you've earned your gratification yet, Lamont. I don't think you deserve this." He withdrew himself, still hard.
"Oh, no! No!" Lamont scrambled at him, pawing him and kissing him. "Please. Please "
"Please. Well, that shows good manners, anyway. What will you do to earn your pleasure, Lamont?"
"Anything you say!"
"Oh, but this is for you to decide, Lamont, not me. What special thing will you do to please me?"
"I can... I could lick your balls."
"Oh? Do you think I'd enjoy that?"
Lamont didn't answer, not with words anyway. He dived onto John's crotch and began to lovingly lick his colossal testicles. He was very assiduous about it, not missing a centimeter of flesh. John found it extremely pleasurable. Lamont became increasingly aroused and finally violent, biting and tearing at John's balls in a frenzy of sexual excitement and grunting like a beast. John felt nothing but rapture despite Lamont's brutal treatment of his body, another benefit of his transformation that he noted for later. Would a knife harm him? Or a gunshot? He suspected not.
Lamont's savaging of his scrotum raised him up to a level of intense excitement. His cock ached with the ecstasy of it. When he rammed himself back into Lamont's ass, they came volcanically. Lamont was completely out of control, roaring and punching like an enflamed beast. He screamed with ecstasy when the moment came.
John did not allow him to sleep that night. John made him work. Lamont was John's first foray into the erotic arts. Up until then, his new sexuality had expressed itself in powerful orgasms, one after another for hours and hours, reducing his partners to mindlessness. But with Lamont, John entered the next phase of his sexual development, the use of ecstasy to get inside someone's head, to manipulate them into performing any act however obscene or self-destructive in exchange for more of what only he could give them. This would make congress with slutty men far more interesting; he would bring them to a place that shocked even their jaded palates. Lamont was still a disappointingly willing victim, obviously already much abused by life in general and preconditioned to submit to John's perverse experiments. By the morning, Lamont would have jumped off a skyscraper if John had promised him it would feel good.
John showered and dressed. He had no specific plans for the day, but there was a world to be conquered. He stood by the bed staring down triumphantly at Lamont.
"Big man," the boy whispered. Still conscious and capable of speech; Lamont had staying power, John had to give him that.
"Do you have a job, Lamont?"
"Yeah, a good one."
"Quit. You're to come here and serve me from now on."
"You'll start today. This apartment is a mess. So, get your rest, and then get to work. I don't know when I'll be back, but I'll expect his place to be spotless."
John turned to leave, but a last thought struck him. "Oh, and Lamont?"
Lamont raised his head weakly. "Yeah?"
"Wear something that will please me."
Lamont smiled hugely. "Yes, sir."
John strode out the door. Stewart's defeat was now total.
John realized that, for the first time since the change, he was hungry. He went to the Grill, a local upscale yuppie joint much frequented by gays to have lunch (needless to say, he and Lamont had missed breakfast.) His beauty was remarked on. In fact, as he sat serenely alone, he knew that he was the subject of conversation at every table in the place. He looked straight ahead and smiled.
His waiter was stunning, a fledgling member of the Golden Circle who looked up to his gorgeous confreres as if they were great mystics and he a new monk from the provinces. John would watch him longingly on Saturday nights, conferring with great seriousness with the better-established sex gods as if they were teaching the boy the secrets of politics. John had always hated him. He knew the boy would evolve into something arrogant and smug.
He seemed to be practicing his disdain on John. He spoke to him as if in utter disgust. He pretended to ignore John throughout the meal, stopping by only often enough to keep things from falling apart completely. It took John a while to realize that this was how the kid reacted to extreme sexual arousal. He was blond, snub-nosed and deeply tanned with thick shoulders and a soft-looking and very inviting ass.
Towards the end of his enormous meal, John saw him go into the bathroom. He immediately stood up and followed him. He found him standing over the urinal.
John flipped the latch on the door. He grabbed the young man's shoulder and tossed him against the wall. It occurred to him that he could have decked the kid with a flick of his finger, but he had a more pleasant form of discipline in mind.
"Hey, asshole!" the boy exclaimed, splattering the last of his urine on his trousers.
John grabbed the front of his shirt and pressed his face close. "You know, you have a very unpleasant attitude. I think you should be showing me more respect."
The waiter was clearly terrified but he put on a show of defiance. "Oh, yeah? Who are you, that you should get all this respect?"
John unzipped his pants. "Well, I'm going to explain that to you."
John carried him into a stall and pulled his black pants off. He plunged his cock into the boy's pussy without preamble and began to pump him joyfully. The boy resisted briefly, and began to cry out for help. John covered his mouth effortlessly with one hand without interrupting himself. The boy moaned with pleasure. John was astonished by his own boldness. But he couldn't stop: his lust was so intense it wiped out any consideration of caution. His orgasm stunned him with its power, roaring through his brain like a hurricane. As his jism shot out of his colossal head and fill the boy's entrails, John reveled in the feeling of incredible freedom it gave him, the freedom to fuck who he like when he liked and where he liked! The old John would never have dared have sex in a public place. After a couple of minutes, the first orgasm finally subsided. The waiter was devastated, his body limp and powerless. No sooner had John's cock started to go soft than it sprang to life again and he began again the piston-like motion of his fucking. The waiter's pussy was pliant now, soft and moist and entirely open to him. The boy gasped in astonishment to be drafted into further duty after such a paroxysm of pleasure, but soon he was moaning and clutching John around the waist and murmuring of his love. When he was finished, John dropped the him on the floor and strode out.
The rest of his visit went much more pleasantly. The waiter emerged a few minutes after John did. His other tables were showing signs of disgruntlement, which made John chuckle. Who cared if such people were inconvenienced? Surely his own needs took precedence. They were ugly and couldn't expect much from life anyway. The waiter scurried about plugging the holes in his service, and then turned his attention entirely to John. John ordered two more hamburgers with fries and onion rings and two more milk shakes. He consumed them swiftly and entirely. His hunger was beginning to abate, though he knew he'd want to eat again in a few hours. Apparently his new body had considerable energy requirements.
As he rose to leave, the waiter ran up. "Thank you," he said with loaded emphasis.
"Oh, thank you," John said, smiling that smile. He turned to walk away.
"Hey," the waiter said. John turned. "Any time. Any time."
John grinned. "I know."
Striding down the street, inhaling deep lungfuls of air, he couldn't remember when he'd enjoyed dining in that place more.
A few minutes later he fucked the clerk in a magazine store, someone he'd fantasized about in the past. Fantasizing would no longer be necessary in his life.
Afterwards he decided he's made rather a mess of himself, so he went home to clean up. He found Lamont assiduously scrubbing the floor in front of the full-length mirror, a very good place to start cleaning. He had followed John's instructions and was wearing something that would please him, a bright red thong bathing suit. This pleased John very much, because it gave him immediate access to the boy's ass, something he would remember for his future conquests. This act of obedience excited John and he fuckedLamont a few times before showering and changing clothes. He left Lamont sighing on the floor.
Better get back to work, he thought jauntily. You can be replaced.
In the course of the afternoon and evening he visited three former boy friends, all of whom had dumped him, and showed them what a terrible error in judgment they had made. On the way out of the last assignation he fucked the roommate for good measure, and then fucked a neighbor who happened to be coming out his door. He walked past a local high school and encountered a young gymnast, perhaps sixteen years old. He took him into an alley and fucked him a few times. He liked the boy's exotically muscular arms and shoulders, and made an appointment for a later rematch. Then he took a walk in the park where he spent the early evening fucking a succession of attractive young men in the bushes, something he had never had the courage to do before.
Hungry again, he went to a Chinese restaurant and fucked the sexy little Vietnamese busboy in the lavatory. He wondered if it was true what they said about Asian men's cocks. Apparently it was. But the lad had a firm, gym-sculpted body; he was obviously planning a career for himself in the gay community, much as Best had done. He was at the end of his shift, so John took him home. He had enjoyed all of his brief encounters, but now he was warmed up and ready for a much longer session. Lamont was there, still working.
John had Lamont attend the two of them while they fucked, bringing them food and drink but otherwise standing to one side and watching. John permitted him to masturbate frequently. Finally, he invited him into the bed and the three of them spent a very enjoyable night together. Nobody slept. In the morning, John told the Vietnamese boy to do his laundry after he'd gotten some rest. Lamont made him a colossal breakfast, fondling him as he ate. He allowed the Vietnamese boy to blow him before he left the apartment.
I think I could use a workout, he thought cheerfully. He packed his bag and went to the gym.
As John walked to the gym, his bag slug casually over his shoulder, he realized he wasn't walking, he was swaggering. His first impulse, an impulse from the old John, was to stifle it, to restrain his gait.
But what for? He said to himself. Who's got more reason?
He swaggered on. He decided his gym bag was too small and ratty, so he went into a store and picked up a new one, a capacious bag to go with his capacious new physique. In lieu of paying for it, he took the clerk in back and dominated him for a few minutes.
He marched into the gym like a Roman emperor at a public triumph. He breathed deeply of the sterile atmosphere, sucked dry of any moisture or odor by the air filtration system. His chest inflated majestically. The din from the workout room was ear-shattering. The club was a favorite of the local gay community, and on Saturday mornings it was packed with idiotic, shrieking queens who were there more to socialize than to work on their bodies. Many of them never touched a piece of equipment, as John had observed in his inevitably jaundiced manner on previous visits. The noise they generated was like a hundred police sirens.
In his previous life, John would come every Saturday and leave bristling with rage. They were all having so much fun, and he was never invited. How is it they all knew each other? Working out at that time was impossible. Faggots lounged on every piece of equipment in the place, chattering, chattering, chattering, and would glare at you if you asked them to move. I'm using this, they seemed to be thinking. And yet, he came every week.
He went into the locker room and disrobed. As he had hoped, it was full of faggots, some arriving, some departing with their afternoon tricks. He walked all the way through the room, giving everyone a good look at him. And they did look. The babble of voices subsided to nothing.
He picked a locker, and the men next to him backed away. He smiled. He undressed slowly, knowing he had the full attention of the room. He ran his hand absent-mindedly over his torso. When he was naked, he walked slowly to the bathroom, letting his massive member precede him. The silence was church-like. After that day, whenever John was in the gym, the other men carried towels in front of themselves. He urinated prodigiously and returned to his locker. He dressed in a high-cut pair of track shorts and a narrow-cut tanktop. The mounds of his ass strained the fabric of his shorts, and his tank top had so little cloth to it that it almost wasn't there. His pectorals reared up like two mountains. His shoulders were round and thick and massive. His basket protruded dangerously; one wrong move and his machinery would pop right out.
He strode out to the workout room and surveyed it. Sure enough, the Golden Circle was in attendance. They were off in their usual corner, straining hugely. To their credit, they were the only guys in the gym who were actually working out, and they worked out like they were going to war.
John walked across the floor. People stepped out of his way. The Golden Boys were in a circle around one of their number, encouraging him through a set of dumbbell presses. The subject of their attentions was Marty Reno, one of the preeminent local gods.He finished his set and dropped the weights on the floor to the congratulations of his confreres.
In his earlier existence John, and everyone else in the room, would keep a wide berth around them, intimidated by their sexual superiority. Now, he walked right into the middle of their group. "Excuse me," he said. They fell silent and stepped back. He walked through them to the dumbbell rack. Now, how much weight to use? It was time to see how strong this new body of his really was. He picked up the 50s. No, way to light. He went up to the 75s, but again their was not sufficient resistance. He was aware that the Golden Boys had stopped working out and were standing watching him unabashedly. The other fags in the gym were trying to be more circumspect, pretending to continue their workouts while surreptitiously eyeing him, but they gave themselves away when they collided in the middle of the gym floor or walked into columns.
He went to the other end of the rack. Obviously, ordinary poundages would be no challenge for him. He found the heaviest weights in the room, the 140s and picked them up. There was almost no effort at all. He began to do his dumbbell curls, the colossal muscles in his arms flexing powerfully.
My God, the strength! How strong was he? Three men couldn't lift what he was lifting! What power! John realized at this moment that he was the strongest man on earth, bar none. He was strong as an elephant! He regarded smugly the crowd of onlookers in the mirror in front of him.
Weaklings! I could crush you with one hand!
His lust surged. His cock immediately engorged itself and the tip of it poked out from under his shorts. He could dominate everyone in this room! They were his to play with! They would love him, fear him, worship him! His desire to fuck someone was uncontrollable. It would have to happen fast. Good timing for Marty, who, at the encouragement of his associates, came over and struck up a conversation.
Marty was a red-head, one of the rare members of that breed who could tan. His muscles were incredible. He worked some boring corporate job during the day, but at night he was a superbeing, a sex god of the highest order. His arrogance was colossal, and he refused to speak to any gay man who wasn't as stunning as himself, or almost as stunning, anyway.
"That a lot of weight you're handling," he said in a sultry voice.
John clanged the weights back down on the rack. "Yeah, right. That's what you came over here to talk to me about."
Marty chuckled. "Am I that transparent?"
"It doesn't matter what you are." John grabbed Marty's shorts and ripped them in half with one tug. Marty gasped, but his sudden nudity revealed that he was fully erect. John pulled him close and kissed him savagely. He was completely out of control, reveling in the intensity of his own appetites. He should have at least dragged Marty back into the locker room, but his desire would brook no delay. Besides, why should he deny himself anything? Why restrain himself? He'd fuck someone on the sidewalk in broad daylight if he wanted to! Who could stop him?
He pushed Marty away and ripped off his own shorts, unveiling his impossible manliness. Marty leaped on him again, kissing frantically. John grabbed both his thighs and pulled them up so that Marty was wrapped around his midsection with his arms clasped around John's neck.
The other queens looked nervously at the front desk. The employees, though gay themselves, would surely be required to stop this as a matter of good business. And nobody wanted that. They clustered around the pair, creating a screen between them and the front of the house. They were all plainly erect, as near orgasm as John was.
John penetrated Marty's delicious, muscular ass and the boy moaned with ecstasy. It didn't take long. John was wild with excitement. The crowd around them began to come one at a time. They rubbed themselves and fired their jism uncontrollably into their shorts and sweatpants. Others groaned as they neared climax.
When the climax came, it was as devastating as all the other and perhaps a little more; John was stimulated by the incredible daring he showed fucking a man in public. It was joyful. He laughed, a harsh, cruel laugh, as he came. His head filled with stars as the stupendous waves of pleasure battered his brain. All around him, the queens who hadn't come already ejaculated spectacularly, crying out with the exquisite perfection of it. Marty was completely stunned.
John dropped Marty on the floor like a used candy wrapper. The boy lay where he fell. "Who's wearing underwear?" he said to the crowd. They stared at him uncomprehending. "You. Yeah, you. You wearing underwear?"
"Uh, yes," said the youth.
"Good. Give Marty your track shorts."
The lad obeyed docilely. John instructed Marty to cover himself, and then acquired a pair of shorts from another onlooker.
"Get up," he said to Marty.
Marty, still dazedly pulling on the borrowed clothing, did not respond.
"I said get up, faggot! Don't you know an order when you hear one?"
Marty rose weakly. His legs were trembling badly, and he wouldn't be able to stand for long.
"You're coming with me," John told him.
He look in confusion at the room around them. "I'm still working out."
John smiled that smile. "You'll get your workout, little man." He scanned the crowd for Marty's friends. He picked out one, a cherubic blond with firm, square tits and a righteous ass. "You. You're coming to."
The blond did not protest. John left the gym with his arms around the two of them, and a cluster of amazed faggots behind him, all with stains on their pants.
It was a very pleasant afternoon. Marty and his friend were truly magnificent specimens, pumped and bulging and tight. John particularly liked Marty's ass, which was round and high, and he focused on it for much of the day. John continued to practice his erotic arts, using sex to get inside a person's mind. It was very pleasurable. Marty and his friend performed increasingly obscene acts; it particularly excited John when he could see disgust in their faces as they did whatever he commanded them to do. His carnality increased with each time until they were all grunting and roaring like rutting animals. Using two at once was a good strategy, as neither one of them became exhausted too soon. He kept them going for far longer than any of his one-on-one encounters could possibly have lasted. He made them moan, he made them laugh and ultimately he made them cry, first with gratitude and ecstasy and finally with humiliation as he punished them erotically for imagined crimes against him, degrading them utterly. They made little attempt to stop him and finally welcomed his hatred for the ecstasy it carried with it.
He finally exhausted them, but he himself was nowhere near exhausted. The depravity of his actions, and his complete triumph over two members of the Golden Circle, had excited him uncontrollably. After dozens of orgasms he was pulsating with lust. He had made Lamont attend them all day, serving drinks and food but otherwise staying out of it. It pleased him to restrain Lamont's passion, forcing him to stand at attention with an aching erection while they came and came and came. It was time to reward him.
He grabbed him and threw him to the floor, penetrating his ass before they even hit the carpet. He performed a long series of erotic acts on the boy's ebony body, many of them techniques he had developed in his encounter with Marty. Anything that was left of Lamont's free will disappeared that night.
After Marty and his friend had slept for eight hours, John dropped Lamont and resumed work on them.
Around 10:30 that night, John abandoned Marty on the kitchen table, a useless bag of flesh. He was finally satisfied. He was through with Marty and his friend and Lamont. He looked up and saw the dark sky through his window.
Saturday night, he whispered with an evil grin.
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