Chapter 3 -- The Workout
He didn't mind getting up at 4:30. He was up at 4:30 am every day but Sunday when he was allowed to sleep in until 6:00.
Throughout the week, he was up to get to the gym, finish his workout and get back in time to be sure he had her coffee and breakfast ready by 7:00 am. His business allowed to him to do much of his work from home, with some travel, but most meetings were managed via video conferencing. As long as he could be working by 8:30 am or 9:00 am, things went smoothly.
The Internet provided him with a way to provide for his mistress, and provided his mistress access to endless ideas and methods of keeping him just where she wanted him. It is a wonderful world.
Their town was not large, so getting around was simple, and getting to gym by 4:50 or so gave him plenty of time to workout, and be home in time to prepare and serve his wife breakfast.
He lay still in bed for a moment. He slept nude, as she demanded, save his collar, his cage and his ever present butt plug. They had fallen into a ritual as they went to bed at night whereby he would slip into bed and spoon up with her, pressing his caged cock gently against the beautiful ass. She always smiled, and sighed with satisfaction as he pulled her closer, and she pressed back against his naked body as he wrapped his arms protectively over her.
Sometime in the night, every night, the roles switched, as though they both knew subconsciously, she was the dominant. He woke each morning, feeling her pajama clad body pressed against his back, her soft breath on his neck, and her left hand possessively gripping his swollen balls, as his engorged cock fought against it's prison, driven by her contact and a conditioned morning hard-on. It hurt, just a little, but he always lingered, savoring the contact, and risking running late.
He gently untangled her fingers from his balls and slipped quietly out of bed to his office where he kept his workout gear and clothes. She had no intention of humiliating him publicly (although the fantasy of it secretly aroused both of them) so his slipped out of his collar, pulled on jeans and t-shirt and headed out. He stopped in the kitchen, spotless from his domestic efforts, and programmed the coffee maker to have her coffee ready to serve when he got home. Then he went out to the car and drove to the gym.
The parking lot was empty when he pulled up, not unusual for five am on a Monday. He wondered how the business model supported running a gym that was open nearly 18 hours a day, but it was nothing more than a fleeting thought. Monday was chest and biceps day, and he needed a full hour and half to complete the routine.
The place was empty, save for the attendant, a typical muscle head found at gyms everywhere. 6'1" or so, about 210 pounds of overdeveloped muscle, short dark hair and goatee, darker complexion and the obligatory tattoos on his huge arms that oozed out his skin tight T-Shirt. He'd noticed him a few times before, and assumed he must be relatively new to the gym.
They nodded at one another, as guys do, and he went to the locker room to change.
Completely oblivious to his surroundings as he went through his sets, he didn't notice the gym remained empty but for the attendant, nor that the attendant seemed to take extra time sorting the barbells and plates nearby, or the many furtive glances the guy made at his crotch.
He set up his last set of bench presses; it was going to be heavy.
"Hey" he said to the attendant, "Can I get a spot over here?"
"Sure," said the guy, "How many reps?"
"Just five", he said, "last set."
The guy just nodded and stepped into the rack to spot.
As he pulled his feet up on the bench and prepared to lift, he couldn't help but look up a see his well-built spotter towering over him, crotch inches above his forehead. He thought he saw a smirk on the guy's face as he started.
He pushed through his last set, faltering on the last rep, as the gym rat gently grabbed the bar to assist extolling him to "push, man!" He got the bar up in the rests and sat up.
"Thanks," he said.
"No problem, man" said the guy. "You push a lot of weight for a guy your size," again, a ghost of a smirk.
While he wasn't built like Hulk, his 5'10" frame was well proportioned, toned by diet and exercise. He didn't have the guns of a body builder, and while his stomach was flat, it was no "six-pack".
"Doesn't matter, " he smiled to himself and thought, "my wife thinks my ass is my best feature."
"Thanks again," he said and headed to the abandoned locker room. A quick shower and home, he'd have lots of time to fix breakfast.
He luxuriated in the shower, enjoying the hot water as it ran down his body, massaging his tired muscles, still burning just a little from the workout.
He stepped from the stall onto the drying area and toweled down. Usually by this time, more gym patrons had begun arriving, so he wrapped the towel around his waist to cover his caged cock, opened the privacy door and stepped in the locker room.
He stopped dead. There in front of him was the gym rat, stripped naked, every muscle individually defined, huge arms and shoulders, a massive chest, narrowing to a washboard stomach, then huge quads and calves.
The guy's cock was standing erect. As he looked, he determined it wasn't any bigger than his own imprisoned member, but it looked smaller relative the overdeveloped body from which it sprang. And it was free.
Glancing at the exit, the gym rat said, "Nobody's going to bother us, we're opening a little late this morning."
"Drop the towel," the big man growled.
Frozen in shock and fear, he weighed his options, there was no way to fight off this muscle bound lout without a weapon, and a mad dash, if successful, would likely only get him as far as the locked door.
Defeated, he slowly dropped his towel, exposing his caged cock.
The guy smiled and leaned back against the sink counter where he'd piled his clothes, and stroked his stiffened member. Grabbing his phone, he snapped a picture of the chaste man before him.
Putting down the phone, he laughed and said, "I knew it. I knew you were locked up."
"You hide it pretty well," he said, "But I know what to look for."
Not certain what he should say, or how talking would help, the chastity slave said nothing.
"Being locked up means one of two things," the big man said, motioning his prey to come closer.
He approached. The muscle man reached out with one giant hand, and grabbing his victim's hair, forced him slowly to his knees and held his face millimeters from the raging hard cock.
"It means either you're sissy faggot, and you need a Daddy, or your cucked loser and your hot-wife needs a new bull."
"Either way, I'll bet you give great head." With that, he pulled his victim's head close and rammed his cock into his mouth.
