EXCERPT from "The Twenty" - Chapter Six

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Excerpt from "The Twenty" 
Chapter 6:

Casey Is Discovered

 

2014

The day that Casey Rockland first set foot inside a gym, he was a shy, tongue-tied, lonely, oversized 12-year old. He stood, frightened and abashed, at the front desk of Raw Weight. He had walked around the block for an hour before he found the courage to walk through the dark-glass swinging doors.

Miles stood behind the desk. “Yes, son?” he asked after a moment. 

God, this kid has potential, he thought.

Gosh, he’s handsome, Casey thought. He gawked at the huge, veiny arms that poured from the short sleeves of Miles’ sports shirt. The hugely rolling biceps made his dick twitch a little. 

From the moment Casey first laid eyes on Miles Donovan, he thought he was the handsomest, smartest, most masculine, most muscular man he had ever met in his life. Just the sight of Miles’ hardcore physique, casually displayed in loose-fitting slacks and a navy blue sports shirt boasting the Raw Weight logo, made Casey’s well-hidden, oversized teenage member leap to attention.

 

It was love at first sight.

Which was not lost on Miles.

“C-can I join?” Casey finally stammered out.

“You want to train here?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How old are you, son?” 

“Twelve,” answered Casey honestly. 

Miles paused, and then asked kindly, “Where do you live?”

“San Jose Boys’ Home.”

Aha, thought Miles. His heart went out to the beautiful, over-sized, sad-faced kid. 

“Of course you can join. Ever trained before?”

Casey’s heart leapt. “No, sir!”

“How much can you pay?”

Casey’s mind was racing. How could he pay for this? He needed it so bad. “I can work for you, sir!” he blurted. “I can clean the locker rooms, and the toilets, and take out the garbage, and paint the walls, and – “

If Miles had allowed himself, a tear would have come into his eye. Besides, this kid had overwhelming genetic promise.  

He held up a hand. Casey fell silent, hopeful, tense, waiting.

“No need for all that. Of course you can train here. We’ll discuss money some other time. Let’s get you started.”

Casey’s heart leapt for joy.
“Do you have workout clothes?”

“N-no, sir.” 

“Okay, well, let’s get you fitted out. Come on along with me.  Sid, take the desk,” Miles shot to the flirting young muscleboy trainer who was chatting up one of the wide-eyed fitness babes who trolled the workout floor, looking for available young muscle studs.“  And try to keep your mind on your work.” 

Back to Casey. “What’s your name, son?”

“Casey Rockland.”

“Well, Casey Rockland, I think you might have found your new home.  Let’s see what you got. ” He moved out from behind the desk and approached Casey.  

Casey’s heart was still leaping.  Miles Donovan was an astonishing man.  Casey had never dreamed that such a huge, handsome, masculine, muscular man would ever take notice of him.  Like an eager puppy, he fell into step behind Miles, who was leading him out onto the workout floor.  There, dozens of men and women of various sizes, states, dress, and degrees of sweat were toiling away at nameless, complicated activities involving weights, machines, benches, bars, cables, racks, mats, balls, rings, and rope.  One or two looked up curiously at Miles and the gawky big kid trotting behind him.

 

William Obatu was one of those who looked up. Already in enrolled in Project Herculaneum, the handsome black African muscle monster Obatu was allowed to steal away from the compound to his home front of Raw Weight (with occasional forays to the 3^rd floor, where he regularly held personal worship sessions).

“Who’s that big kid?” he asked Miles one evening a few weeks later on the 3^rd floor. He was working arms, doing slow concentration curls, generally ignoring the rich twinky boy on his knees before him, begging to worship the bulging cannonball biceps.

“What kid?” asked Miles innocently, walking by.

Obatu continued doing curls and feigned the same indifference that Miles was displaying. “You know. The big kid.  Downstairs. He ever come up here to 3?” 

“Naw.  Too young. ” 

“Pleeeeeaazzze…. . ” begged the handsome kneeling twink on his knees, reaching up in hopes to get a quick fingertip brush of iron muscles. Obatu glanced down, a little impatiently, and reracked the weight.

“Whatchu want?” he demanded, and slapped the kid’s face.   “Some ‘a’ this?” He flexed his biceps.  The kid moaned gratefully.  “Shut up, fuckface,” he commanded.   Flexxxxxx… “Boom,” he said.  “25 inches.  

Feel ‘em. ”  

Back to Miles.  “Saving him for yourself?”

“Nope.  Saving him for your boss.  And your commanding officer.  Is Tyrone any good?” 

Obatu was perplexed.  “Who’s Tyrone?” He continued flexing, gazing admiringly at his peaks.

Miles pointed down at the kid who now was both reaching in vain to touch the iron biceps while feverishly licking the heavy downward-pointing bulge in Obatu’s tiny, heavily packed posers.   Obatu shuddered with pleasure but covered.

“These posers are too damn small. ”

“You must be used to it by now. ”  

“You never get used to it. ”

“I repeat, is Tyrone any good?”

“What do you care? I’m paying $5,000 a month to be up here,” mumbled Tyrone, his mouth now scooping up the thick black muscle cock that tumbled from Obatu’s straining posers.

Obatu glanced up.

“Trust fund kid,” Miles explained.

“Oh. ”  He looked back down again and flexed his biceps again, a little more respectfully.  “Hope you’re enjoying yourself. ”Tyrone moaned passionately and sucked vigorously.

After a moment, Miles spoke.  “Looks like fun.  Mind if I join you?” 

“Oh, if you’re gonna make a party of it, be my guest,” said Obatu, stepping aside.  Miles, still dressed, stepped in and unzipped his pants. His big cock poured out. In an instant the nebbishy rich boyTyrone had both big bodybuilders’ cocks in his mouth.  His cheeks bloomed with the pressing pressure of double cockheads.

 “Flex for him.  He likes it,” said Obatu.  Miles flexed his powerful silver daddy 23-inch biceps.  A slight tearing sound was heard.

“Damn.  Another shirt. ” He decided to take it out on Tyrone.  He plucked the cock from his mouth and slapped his handsome smooth young cheeks vigorously with the now hard-as-steel shaft.

“Nice move,” said Obatu. “Let me try that. Hey, asswipe.  Over here.” And he smacked Tyrone’s face with his black cock. Soon Tyrone’s head was whipping from side to side, back and forth, his face being buffeted by heavy cock slaps.

"Take us both, boy.  One after the other," ordered Miles.   Tyrone went into a frenzy, first sucking Obatu's cock, then twisting his head and sucking Miles' cock, back and forth.   "Yeah, good boy," crooned Miles.  

A few minutes later the musclemen both shot, coating Tyrone's face with heavy layers of thick, creamy cum.   Tyrone moaned as thick spurt after thick spurt emerged from each man's pisshole, painting his face, covering him with cum.

“That was fun,” said Obatu.

“Yeah, let’s do it again some time,” said Miles, walking away.  "Clean that up, boy," he ordered as he strode away, squatting slightly as a zipped up his pants, putting his heavy, dripping cock away.

Obatu resumed his workout, Miles headed back towards his office.  Tyrone lay on a bench, ecstatically spent.

“Now!” called out Miles, without looking back. “And use your tongue.” Tyrone leapt eagerly to the matted floor and did as he was told.

 

*****

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