Due diligence

by Lou Garou 78

A gym rat running out of options for finding the perfect woman tries swapping with a younger stud, only it turns out he didn’t have all the facts about his chosen target.

I sure hope that fairy wasn’t jerking my chain, I think as I fiddle with the gold ring on my pinkie.

Christ.

Here I am, standing in a weight room and fingering what looked like a chick’s ring, its dainty little pearl turned inwards so no one would spot it on my finger.

Find your mark, rub the pearl, and voilà, you’ll be him, the little twerp said.

No, I don’t mean a little, winged broad sitting in a flower. This one was a blonde twink—that’s what they’re called, right? He looked barely twenty, was dressed for yoga, or probably a mincy little ballet class, and for some fucking reason, I decided to believe him.

Or is it ‘them’? I don’t even know these days.

Except, I know why I went for it.

I’m middle-aged, out of touch, and my options are drying up fast. I’ve always been a gym rat, still pretty stacked, actually, but life keeps getting in my way and so I throw back the booze and my physique suffers like it never did before.

Plus I’m told nowadays women want more substance. A sweaty muscle stud doesn’t get them wet anymore. They want inner beauty too.

Whatever.

Doesn’t seem to be a problem for my mark.

Yup, there he is.

Fuck, here I am, standing near the pec deck, fingering a little pearl with my thumb and gaping at a six-foot bodybuilder who, at twenty-something, is everything I’ve never been, and won’t ever be.

Unless this works.

He’s panting ready for a shower and waiting by the entrance to the female locker room when she emerges.

Meredith. The hottest, tightest, most nubile piece I’ve seen in this place—and it’s a huge gym. They hug, he bends forward, and she gives him a peck on the cheek, giggles. Yep, they’re a couple.

We’re a couple—if this fairy wasn’t having me on.

She traipses out the exit, and the towering hulk pulls his cell out of his gym bag and starts scrolling with this thumb.

Well, here goes nothing.

I fix him with a stare, double-stroke the fucking pearl, and close my eyes.

Blackness, a nauseating whoosh, and then nothing.

I open my eyes.

I’m looking at a cell phone.

It ain’t mine.

Holy shit—it worked!

My hand is massive, the hairs of my forearm are blond, and my skin is tan and firm, glowing with youth. I stumble but quickly find my balance. Christ, I’m at least a foot taller and the higher point of view is super trippy.

I glance over at the pec deck. No one there.

Guess this was a one-way ticket.

I look down at my screen—texts from ‘M’.

She wants me to come home, now. Already!? She just split!

Hell, yeah. Fuck—I was planning on hitting the stacks again, but if M wants me home now, I’ll work out this humdinger of a rig later.

Imma gonna fuck!

I head for the exit of the gym with nothing else on my mind but wrecking her tight little twat when I get worried. Do I have a car? I stop, take a deep breath—god this fucker has a set of lungs—and relax. Are there any memories left in this pretty head I can tap into?

Yep. Some.

I reach into my gym bag, and there next to the packed meals, protein shakes, supps, and shaker bottles I find my keys. I got this. I pull them out and walk, passively letting this new body go though its motions and end up in the middle of the lot, looking at a tangerine orange Camaro with a black racing stripe running down its middle.

Fuck. Hot car, hot guy. Hot gal.

Best day of my life!

I jump in the muscle car, set its motor growling, and take off.

I bet I own a chop shop, cause this beaut’ is tricked out as fuck.

‘Bout to find out, aw yeah! I ease back into the tan leather seat and clear my mind. Gotta let those memories get me home. Go with the flow. Let this body do the driving while I think about M.

Yeah, that did the trick. Just repeating M in my mind makes my mouth water and my prick stand. I take a hand off the chrome steering wheel and grab myself through my gym shorts. Rustle around, get a sense of what I have to work with now, and my heart falls.

Shit.

There’s a lot less there than I expected a six-footer to have. Balls are smaller than mine as well. I guess I’m on gear. I fondle the boys a bit more, they’re already damp and sweaty, but yeah, they ain’t big—must be on a lotta gear.

Well, obviously M doesn’t mind. It’s about how you use it anyway, though that’s what guys like this always say. I never did, hung like a horse that I am.

Was.

Fuck, I’m one of those guys now.

I give my prick a squeeze. Well, it’s not big, but it sure is hard.

Clearly, enough to keep M happy, and I’ve got the muscles to compensate!

That’s the game, ain’t it?

After about twenty minutes winding through the hills—helluva nice ‘hood!—I pull off the road and into a curved driveway. Holy shit! It ain’t no chop shop, I’m fucking making bank. Modern and low-slung, the house is a white pavilion with polished stone ‘til the day after tomorrow and glass that won’t quit.

Hard as fuck and ready to go, I leap from my car and walk with a spring in my step. The security system recognizes me, pops the front door open and I step into an immaculate white entry. I spot an infinity pool out the back with a view of the valley below and chuckle to myself.

Sneaky fucking bastard.

I look around and call out to M. “I’m home!”

I hear running water stop, the squelch of a shower door.

Oh, fuck, Meredith is already showering for me, it’s been what? 45 minutes since she kissed me at the gym. She’s down!

“You’re early,” echoes a voice down the corridor.

Huh, that’s weird. It’s a dude’s voice, low and rumbling with an accent. Latino?

Must be a servant…

I shift my weight and scratch my blonde head.

“You skip your workout?”

Same dude, and even weirder, my boner, which started to soften when I entered the house, is back up again. Maybe I can smell Meredith in the space? I look around and spot several pairs of shoes under a bench. All at least size 12, all men’s.

“Meredith here?” I call out, a hitch working its way into my voice.

“How the fuck should I know, papi, she’s your client.”

What’s a ‘papi’…wait, she’s my client!?

That’s when ‘M’ emerges from the frosted glass corridor.

He’s taller than me, six-six, brown-skinned, and wrapped in nothing but a towel. Tight-waisted and bull-shouldered, he’s at least as muscular as I am now… a lot more, actually. I immediately feel a wave of envy, even after remembering I’m now a blond muscle beast. I assess his physique. Pneumatic delts, full muscle bellies, thick ropey veins everywhere, it’s a body that slows time as it moves—carved meat and throbbing veins and thick hair; a rough, jagged pillar of a man. His chest, a massive wall of flesh, is densely furred, each pec is covered by a whorl of shiny black hair, and his face, angular and gorgeous, is crowned by a thick black mustache and dense, well-oiled goatee.

His short, damp hair is buzzed into a mohawk.

I look back at his torso and notice a pair of chrome rings in each nipple; a bull ring in his nose.

Oh, fuck.

He walks up to me and squeezes my delts, stops and looks at me strangely. “Why you so tense, papi?”

Oh, fuck. I’ve made a huge mistake.

I’m scared stiff! Well, I’m scared—and—stiff. My cock is rock hard and throbbing, my balls churning, and my anus twitching.

What? What the fuck!? The sound of his voice, the shiny hardware in his teats, all that luscious body hair has my asshole trembling? Oh god, that fucking fairy!

He’s working my shoulders, his hands have slipped up to my traps—which are really, really thick. He knows how to massage, I’ll give him that. I close my eyes to relax, enjoy the rhythmic work of his strong thumbs in my dense flesh. Is that pre-cum beginning to work its way down my shaft?

Damn, this feels good!

He moves closer, I can feel his body heat now, the humidity of his damp skin. Contact of chest hair, the chill of his piercings as they touch my chest. My eyes pop open just as his thick, damp lips lock with mine. I moan just a bit with pleasure. Wet and muscular, his tongue enters and begins swabbing the inside of my mouth.

A guy’s making out with me!

His mustache is scratching my upper lip, his goatee rubbing against my chin. He slips around in my mouth, his lips working against mine, and slowly, rhythmically, enthusiastically, I start to reciprocate.

I’m making out with him!

I can smell his smoky aftershave, recognize his taste. My hands know exactly what to do and start to knead his flared lats, squeezing and working and toying with the fine dusting of clipped hair that runs down from his traps. My prick is hard and bent by the waistband of my shorts—pressed against his hipbone. I can tell he’s really got my pre-cum flowing and there’s probably a nice damp spot soaking through their front by now.

All this, and just with a kiss!

He chuckles darkly, breaks contact and looks at me with fire in his eyes. “That’s better, only, we’ll have to take another shower soon, papi.”

He winks.

My anus twitches.

Oh fuck.

He turns and starts leading me down the corridor, I look at his back, flared like a sting ray, and see a black tribal tattoo spreading across his yoked shoulders. I think it’s sexy a fuck, and then I notice a smaller tat, angular and aggressive on the small of his back.

A tramp stamp.

I know it well, its shape, the taste of his skin. I’ve lapped the sweat off the small of his back many times, it’s one of my favorite places to muzzle on his massive, stacked bod.

Fucking hot.

Jesus, this is really happening.

We walk down the hall, and I can feel my tits rubbing against the microfiber of my muscle tee. They’re hard and ready and aching for M—oh, fuck, another memory! Yep, it’s Manolo—to work them over.

Manolo, my stallion.

My bull.

My boss.

We step into the bedroom. It’s all white and mirrors with an enormous picture window and a pristine platform bed. Oh yeah, I know what to do in here, with him. We step into the middle of the room, and he turns to face me. Dark and sexy, panting and hard-up for a fucking, he chuckles with his basso voice and removes my shirt. As he lifts it, he runs his palms slowly up my muscled body. Cum gutters, obliques—he flutters his fingers along my serrata. He pauses and twiddles his thumbs around my nipples as the shirt catches below my pecs and under my traps before bouncing higher.

I moan lightly and shimmy my butt cheeks together. My hole is heating up and pulsing, desperate to be engaged.

His hands continue to lift my shirt, his palms cup my lats and continue up my arms, now held straight above my head. He pauses one last time, places a nipping kiss in each of my smooth armpits.

I whimper a little bit.

The shirt falls free and that’s when I see I have a thick steel chain around my neck. Never noticed that when stalking my mark around the gym floor. There, below my collar bone its ends are fixed together with a brass padlock, laying heavy against my heating skin.

I look at Manolo, and realize he has the same chain, but there, in the field of curly black hair, I see a silver key, not a padlock.

Um, yeah, so I’m his bitch.

My anus twitches again, my balls throb, and my prick spits up another gob of pre.

Apparently, my body’s happy about that.

I’m his hungry little bitch.

More rectal twitching.

I drop my shorts to the floor. He reaches forward with his left hand and grabs me by the prick, tugging gently. As I step forward, nervousness closes in, though my body is definitely happy to have my groin lead the way.

What’s next?

He pulls me close, wetly licks my mouth and growls—my nipples respond to the low rumble in his chest, then he snaps his teeth in the air and chuckles—my balls respond to that. He squeezes my cock in a milking motion, collects a drop of my pre-cum with his right hand, and glosses my lips with it.

I lick them hesitantly.

I taste great.

We turn and he pushes us back towards the bed until my calves feel cotton, and I sit. I unroll my body until I’m lying supine on the sheets. I look down at my golden body, my hefty pecs and deep ribcage completely blocking the view of my abs, vacuumed in tight, and instinctively begin to lift and spread my legs.

Damn, I’m a total whore—wet and ready to be ridden.

I mean, no woman ever gave herself up that easy for me, but then, I never looked like Manolo. As long as this new body of mine is aching to be mounted, it might as well be the panting stud towering above me. A torso craggy with muscle, striated and veined and throbbing under his caramel skin—where not covered with luscious black hair, it was silky and shiny and molded every last plumped up muscle and flexed bit of flesh. I thrust my ass into the air and whine.

“Aïe, mi Rubito, always rushing to be impaled,” he laughs, places his hands on my knees and slowly pushes them back down and together. Surprised, I lift my head and look downwards, see my dick, pointing straight up and bouncing with my heartbeat, it’s light pink tip the same color as my throbbing nipples.

Manolo grips the terry towel around his waist and tugs it free, flinging it across the room with a laugh.

Jesus fucking Christ!

He’s hung like a horse, maybe two. The barrel of his cock is pointed straight at me, its cowled head, several shades darker than the rest of his body, is flared and its piss-slit is stretched taut around another stainless steel bull ring—I can make out the frenulum end of his Prince Albert as it pushes, hidden, against the inside of his silky foreskin. With his mat of jet black pubes and his enormous balls lolling around in his just-freed scrotum, my heart skips a beat, I start to salivate, and my prick twitches and coughs up another load of pre.

I’m definitely a size queen.

I’m officially scared.

I look up at his face—his jet black beard, his dark eyes, and his toothy grin, bright white and catching the light—shining like the chrome in the head of his unveiled battering ram.

I freeze.

He climbs up on the bed, straddles me, and props himself on his elbows, a massive gun on either side of my head. He spreads his knees and mashes that monster of a cock against my lower abs, pinning my pretty pink dick down with his velvety testicles, I feel them shift and slide around its shaft, squelch in the puddle of syrup that’s been pooling in the crevices of my six-pack. His own slab of meat slaps against my belly and I can feel it dripping—it’s almost up to my sternum.

My face is right in the cleavage of his pecs, and reflexively I inhale. The remnants of his body wash are fading, rapidly giving way to a pungent scent. His scent. Warm leather and smoky wood, skin, meat—it’s animal and intoxicating. I flare my nostrils and inhale an even deeper draught, longer and slower. I mash the bridge of my nose in the furry valley—coarse hairs scratching—and moan with joy. He responds by thrusting his crotch against me, crushing me into the mattress.

I moan again, rub my nose between the rising swells of his flexed chest, tilt my head back and lick. Salt and acid. Rough, curled hairs dance around my tastebuds, his odor fills my lungs, his flavor my mouth, and I start suckling and kissing and swabbing everything my long tongue can reach. I make my way down to the flat delta of his sternum and then head to my right, slipping my tongue into the deep groove between his pec and the upper edge of his ab wall. His six-pack is so thick and chunky, the crevice so pronounced, I can work it over with tongue and lips—all the way over to his dark brown nipple.

I start with the aureole, running circles around it with my mouth, his piercing clicking against my teeth. A heavy vein runs across his pec and passes beneath it—the two are throbbing in unison as Manolo’s pulse quickens, as his blood heats. By now my left hand is no longer stroking his chest hair, but working his right nipple, flicking and tweaking and twisting—tugging on its ring.

He chuckles and moans and I flick the metal ring once with the tip of my tongue, and suck his entire teat into my mouth, burying my face in his dense pec. Then, just behind where the ring slips through the engorged nub of brown flesh, I bite down. Hard.

He howls and bucks and tries to leap away but I have him by the tits, and my free hand has been working his furry ass crack and prevents him from lurching off of me. That’s right, I’m not the only built-as-fuck bodybuilder in this room, I think.

He gasps, tries to catch his breath and collapses on me. The weight of his body is stunning, but I’m just as hefty and can take it. We lay there, flesh pressed together by gravity for a few seconds, a wet slick slipping around between our abs, saliva transferring from his chest back to mine before he starts laughing softly.

“Que coño,” he says quietly as he pounds me on the chest with a fist, taking my breath away. He pushes himself up and away, standing again at the foot of the bed. His eyes are watering but that rod of his, seems even darker and longer.

“Since I can’t trust that mouth of yours, I’m gonna stay down here!”

He kneels, slaps my haunch with his meaty paw and grips the back of my knees. He spreads my legs, drops his head, and immediately I feel bristles rubbing my ass. I moan and stare at the ceiling, already losing focus. Lips soft and wet, he begins to mouth my crack, lapping at the soft skin, tickling the seam of my taint. I can feel his mustache rasping against the delicate skin, his beard caresses and fills the space between my spread cheeks. He licks up and down my taint, buries his nose beneath my balls. I can feel them flop and shift in their sac, the blocky bridge of his nose, pressing against my perineum sends jolts of white lighting up my cock, around my nipples, sparkles my vision. I begin to fondle my own chest now, pre is now steadily drizzling from my prick.

His tongue begins to toy with the puckered skin around my anus. He alternates between warm, damp swipes and cool huffs of air. I can feel the tremble and throb in my rectum, the swell of my prostate. He spits a thick gob of saliva on my ass and then, forces his poker-hot tongue right through. I gasp and writhe. His tongue is so forceful, so muscular.

So hot.

Goddamn, have I been missing out!

He’s in me, wetly penetrating with prehensile flesh, thrusting and wiggling and sliding. My pelvis floor is trembling, my taint on fire. I pinch my nipples and immediately the sphincter snaps tight around his tongue. He widens his mouth and suctions his lips tight around the entirety of my butthole. As my sphincter grips then releases he alternates between suction and light blowing. I can feel my rectum loosening up. Deep inside me, my body is ready.

“I’m gonna come,” I warn—thinking, I sure as hell don’t want to blow my load with a rim job…not after he’s prepped my hole for an epic plowing.

He stops.

“I’m just getting started, papi.”

“Then, quit messing around, and fuck me. Fuck me hard. Breed me!”

Yep, I just said that. This is me now!

I grind my hips into the mattress before bucking my rear towards him. I moan—like a bitch in heat—look what I’ve become—a randy little bottom slut—I lift my hips up some more, and wink my asshole at him.

Twice.

I’m dilated as fuck.

He laughs darkly, a wolfish grin on his face, and props my legs up, the taut diamonds of my calves flair as they mash against his heavy chest and massive shoulders, my pale feet in the air, toes already curling with anticipation. I look at him, my golden legs, corded with plump muscle and dusted with a blond down of fine hair, look fabulous against the dark, hairy swells of his flaring torso.

I’m Manolo’s pretty Rubito, and I’m beautiful.

I tweak my candy pink titties and bite my lower lip. He glides right into me.

All the way.

My insides squelch as, slowly, slickly, the entire length of his cock enters my yearning hole, pushing deeper and deeper past my trigger points. Every single fucking one. I sigh and tremble—look up at my mounter, dark and stunning, gleaming white teeth and shiny chrome rings—and close my eyes.

I can feel him all the way in me, his pubic hair rubs my balls, his scrotum, soft and satiny, lays heavily against my butt crack. I can feel the weight of his massive testicles churning up the load he’s preparing to breed me with.

He pushes the base of his dick tight against my anus and holds still, I can feel its pierced peen flare, the barrel of his cock flex. My sphincter hugs his meat tightly, my ass spreads, he tightens his grip on my lower back. He’s making sure I’m ready for this.

I shimmy my hips a bit. Yep, his rock-hard tool is lovingly cradled by my insides. I vacuum in my abs again, feel his beef shift inside me, and my whole body judders.

Breed me, I moan, desperate for my man to wreck my hole. My muscle cunt.

He begins thrusting.

Slowly at first, rhythmically he pushes—smooth and slick and long. I match each shove with my breath, slide into the rocking sway as the mattress and bedframe creak. Not for long. Soon he’s working up a lather, panting and groaning, slamming his massive body against my ass.

I have to stop twiddling my nipples and brace my hands against the headboard, if I didn’t, my beast would pound me right through the wall. He’s grunting and huffing with each thrust. I’m moaning and gasping and writhing. Each time he slams his shaft up my ass, it makes my abs rumble, my tits bounce, my shoulders strain.

Again and again he jams deep inside me, harder and stronger, his thick glutes ramming his hips against my dripping hole. My cock is as hard as a rail spike, flinging strings of precum all over our abs. He begins cussing. His hands are crushing my waist.

I open my eyes, his skin is shiny with sweat, his hair black and glossy. His pecs bounce heavily with each push, the bullrings in his teats are swinging and glinting. His gaze is unfocused, beastly—mindless. He’s running on instinct, the primal need to inseminate his mount. Jamming and shoving and thrusting until he dumps his seed.

In me.

I’m drooling by now, my nipples hard and twitching, my prostate swollen, my anus—and my rectal sphincter—God he’s huge!—throbbing and pulsing as the huge, veiny canon of his cock slips and slides past both.

I can smell him now.

I can smell us.

Two rutting beasts.

Studs.

Two rutting, filthy, animals—studs, fucking their brains out.

His sweat coats the back of my thighs and my calves, I have a puddle of pre and sweat running around my abs, collecting between my meaty pecs. His beard is slick, his forehead sheening. He’s slamming me hard when suddenly, his eyes roll back in his head, his breath catches, and he pauses. Time seems to stick, then he groans and bellows, jamming me with everything he’s got. He hollers and cusses, his body judders and he starts pumping irregularly inside me.

He’s blowing his load.

He’s filling me with his seed.

I’m getting bred.

My arms and delts are burning as he pushes and thrusts with all his might towards the headboard. His throbbing shaft sends my rectum into a spasm, my anus grips him once again, and my balls start pumping.

All I can think about is the cum he’s dumping inside me, and I let go.

My dick coughs up a thin, clear jet of fluid that spatters on my slicked-up six-pack, twitches one last time, and then begins to spray thick ropes of creamy white jizz everywhere. Each spurt arcs higher and farther—splashing on my chest, across my mouth, in my hair, all over the headboard.

My new cock may not be that impressive—though it is hard as iron and pretty and pink—but fuck does it shoot. I can’t believe how much cum I’m producing. It keeps jetting and streaming everywhere, the slick rings of my ass muscles rhythmically gripping Manolo’s cock, milking him of his last, panting drops.

I too have stopped breathing, my religiously bodybuilt muscles, tense and swelling with exertion, are shiny and golden in the late afternoon sun. The orgasm bends my mind and blurs my vision. My ears are hissing, my body throbbing. I exhale in a long, moaning whine, and it’s over.

I stare at the ceiling, pant. Lick my semen off my lips.

God, do I taste great!

I sink back into the mattress as Manolo slips his massive dick from me. The emptiness hurts more than the penetration and I look at him plaintively. I want him to stay inside me, keep me full. He smiles, and straddles me, his softening cock and balls slap wetly, warmly, against the thick puddle coating my abs. He chuckles, lick my lips and we engage in a long, tender kiss. Slowly, gently he lets his muscular frame sink onto mine, damp and humid and still flushed from our athletic rut.

He chuckles and I break our kiss, fixing his gaze.

“What?” I ask.

“You were different today, papi…”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, a little crazy. Like, I dunno, the first time we fucked.”

I grin contentedly, squeeze his hairy ass, and press our crotches even closer together. “I guess I felt a little crazy, yeah.”

He laughs, runs his fingers through my hair, and licks some of the cum running across my forehead.

“How about we take a nap, shower all this mess away, and got for it again—mi crazy Rubito…”

I nod and nuzzle into the crook of his bull neck, warm and thick and still pulsing with blood. Seems I’m pretty good at this.

He’ll never know this was my first time.

I know it won’t be my last.

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His brother drains his manhood by Ballmeat A younger brother drains his big, strong, overconfident older brother of his cock, balls and muscle. 2,593 words Added Jan 2018 78k views 4.4 stars (52 votes) No comments yet •Cock Growth•Cock Shrinking•Cock Theft•Dom to Sub•Straight to Gay•Muscle Growth•Muscle Theft•Muscle/Strength•Incest•Brothers•Dom/Sub•Humiliation•Nonconsensual change •M/M