Here’s a new sample chapter from A Muscle-Bound Cop Came Through the Irontop Gym, the first story in a new series of hardcore gay gym and muscle-themed stories!
Gary was the only credentialed, licensed physical trainer at the Irontop Gym of Cleveland. That meant he was the only one who could work with clients who were there for genuine medical reasons — insurance would only cover physical training if it was conducted by a licensed trainer. As a result, Gary spent a lot of his time working with disabled people, the severely obese, the elderly and others who needed a lot of assistance when working out.
He enjoyed his job. He liked helping his clients get fit, even if they were not hip or attractive people. But sometimes it was boring. His buddies and coworkers were assigned hot young toughs whom Gary drooled over from afar, the kind of healthy young men who didn’t need a physical trainer anyway. He had always pictured himself working with those kinds of muscle-studs, but he had come to accept the reality of his career.
It had been more than a year since he had a client worth remembering. But when he met Randall Rosenstein, his heart started pounding. He had been picturing a portly accountant — wasn’t Rosenstein a Jewish name? — but Randall was actually a cop. He had been shot in the thigh and was only now recovering fully. He hadn’t walked for seven months.
The first part of his physical training was done; he could support himself with both legs, and his quadriceps were working fine. The Irontop Gym didn’t have all of the equipment necessary for someone truly weak, but now that Officer Rosenstein was able to walk and work on his own, he was coming to the Gym, which meant Gary was now working with him several times a week.
He was a burly cop with a flat smile, a military-style buzzcut and a burly body. His dark blond body hair poked out from the plain white t-shirt he wore to work out. He explained that he had always had a six-pack and was annoyed that he didn’t anymore — seven months of no walking would do that to anyone.
“Well, sure we can try to get that back, Officer Rosenstein,” he said. “A six-pack is difficult at your age, but not impossible. It’ll take a lot of work.”
“I’m fine with hard work. Sit-ups, huh? I’ve been doing like fifty sit-ups a day.”
“That’s not necessary. Sit-ups are not a very good way to exercise your abs,” Gary said, then got down on the mat in front of Officer Rosenstein to demonstrate. He supported himself on his elbows and toes, keeping his back flat. “See? Holding this for thirty seconds a time burns more calories than a sit-up, plus it works all of your abs: top, bottom, obliques, the whole thing. It puts less strain on your back than a sit-up too.”
He stood and Officer Rosenstein got on the ground to try. He wore only a pair of shorts and a t-shirt that was too small for him. Gary almost had to catch him as Rosenstein used the injured leg to support himself, but he was able to keep his balance as he got on the ground.
Gary touched his back to help him keep his back straight. He shuddered with sexual desire when he felt those corded back muscles; luckily, Officer Rosenstein was fully focused on keeping his balance and working on those abs, so he didn’t notice Gary’s lustful look at his back.
After that they went through a standard routine. Gary alternated between normal arm and shoulder exercises, exercising his legs only lightly while he got the hang of Rosenstein’s abilities and his needs. He was doing very well, and aside from some stiffness, had a full range of motion, which boded well for his recovery.
Finally they were done, and Gary went into the locker room with Officer Rosenstein to show him where the towels were. In truth, there were signs everywhere, he didn’t need to show him the towels. But Gary always liked having a reason to go into the locker room, and he rather hoped to come up with an excuse to shower with Officer Rosenstein.
Officer Rosenstein looked around the locker room to see if anyone else was there — there wasn’t. It was deserted, and their footsteps echoed on the linoleum floor. Rosenstein looked at Gary and raised his eyebrows as though asking a question.
“Looks like we’re alone…” Officer Rosenstein said.
Gary nodded. He got the impression Rosenstein was saying he wouldn’t mind a blowjob, but Gary wasn’t sure that was it. A lot of guys knew that they could get their nuts drained at the Irontop Gym — it had that kind of reputation, and nearly every franchise had one gay man like Gary to service the straights. But Gary still felt nervous, and didn’t want to make the first move.
Rosenstein sighed. “You gonna ask me anything?”
“Uh… Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?”
He smiled. “You’re gay, right?”
“That’s cool… Most of the time when a gay dude gets me alone, uh… Well, usually… I mean… A lot of gay dudes are into cops,” he said.
Gary nodded again. “Yeah. Uniforms are sexy. That’s true.” Gary got horny listening to Officer Rosenstein stutter over his words some more; a part of Gary wanted to let him keep going — there was nothing sexier than a hot straight guy embarrassed around a gay man — but most of Gary wanted to make an offer. “Officer Rosenstein, are you asking for a blowjob?”
Rosenstein blushed. It didn’t look like he blushed often, so Gary was proud of himself. He didn’t wait for an answer, it was obvious what Rosenstein wanted to say.
Gary got on his knees and grabbed right for Officer Rosenstein’s crotch. He still wore those short work-out shorts that Gary thought were so sexy he didn’t want to take them off. Rosenstein’s cock throbbed through the fabric; it stirred, beginning to get hard as Gary slowly stroked the shaft.
“Your dick looks pretty excellent, officer,” Gary said.
“Open that shit up,” Officer Rosenstein said, working Gary’s jaws apart as he dropped his shorts. He wore a cheap old jockstrap, bulging with crotch hair sticking out the sides. Rosenstein blinked as though surprised he had said that, “Sorry,” he said. “Usually when there’s a gay dude sucking me off, it’s some cheap man-whore trying to get off without a prostitution charge.”
“You do that a lot?” Gary said before diving down Rosenstein’s thick rod. He swallowed it down to the root in one go, his nose nestling in Rosenstein’s crotch hair.
“Ahh… Well, I can’t arrest ‘em all. It’d take forever to process ‘em,” he said. “And ‘sides, I’d probably get some gay rights group on my ass.”
“Not in my ass, on my ass.”
“You ever punish a perp with cock?” Gary said. He tried to speak with Rosenstein’s moist, precum-leaking cocktip in his mouth, so the words were slurred, but Rosenstein seemed to understand what he meant.
Rosenstein chuckled. “There’s a lot of frat boys out there who think the law don’t apply to them,” he said. “I’d never victimize ‘em, of course. But I do have a lesson plan ready for whenever I meet some smart-mouthed kid who thinks he knows everything.”
Gary couldn’t say anything else because his mouth was full, and Officer Rosenstein was holding his head in place. His fingers spread through Gary’s hair as he began thrusting his hips. It looked like Rosenstein was about to continue his story about the frat boys, but stopped to focus on the blowjob.
The salty pre-orgasmic taste of his cockshaft overwhelmed Gary’s senses. His fingers were stretching up and under Rosenstein’s plain white shirt, but Gary barely paid any attention to the man’s stony pecs or the tufts of thick pubic hair that covered his torso. Officer Rosenstein moaned like a man who wasn’t used to getting such a good blowjob.
He lost his abandon as his dick throbbed and his balls crawled up in his sac. Gary made a moist, mewling sound, suckling every drop of precum he could get.
Salty-sweet cum hit Gary’s tongue, and he made another savoring sound. He moaned around the torrent of semen that filled his throat then, as jet after jet of milky-white cum coated his throat.
Officer Rosenstein slowly pulled out and took a deep breath. “Damn…” he said, “You should give those manwhores lessons, man. You could teach them a thing or two.”