For His Fans

At first I don't recognize him. One moment I'm jogging on the track at the rec center, and the next he jogs past me in the next lane, his muscular body straining in his workout clothes, his perfect round ass causing the material of his shorts to stretch tight across it, his flexing calves rippling as his feet pound the ground. He's much faster than me, so he's soon on the opposite side of the track, and now I can see him from the front, the hard ridges of his abs visible under his shirt even though he's so far away, the round contours of his pecs swelling over them, and his thickly-muscled arms slashing at his sides. I can't help but turn to admire him again when he finally approaches to lap me, and when I do, I stumble over my clumsy feet and fall to ground.

A muscular forearm reaches down to help me, and looking up that mountain range of bulging, veiny muscles, I see that it really is him. "Byron Delt." I've been watching his videos online for a year now. I've spent hours watching him work out in his garage, shower, and yes, jack off his big cock. Besides the fact that he's fucking gorgeous with the most perfect muscles I've ever seen, I love the fact that it's clearly just him and a stationary camera in his garage. I've always thought he could be anywhere, in any house, in any city. Just a guy and his camera. And now, he's actually in front of me.

"Are you okay?" His deep voice is warm with concern. He looks a couple of years older than me, and I'm 24. He has short brown hair and stubble scattered over his cheeks and chin. His features are masculine and yet there's a certain open innocence about his expression. His eyes always look like they're smiling. Watching him, I always feel like he cares about his viewer, as if he's enjoying himself and wants us to have fun too. I've seen other guys online that are clearly embarrassed or bored or even disgusted by their gay viewers. But never him. And I actually feel like he cares about me now, even though we've never met.

"Yeah, th-thanks."

"Your shoelaces are untied," he says, nodding at my dragging laces. "That must be what tripped you up."

"Oh... right!" I hadn't even realized they'd come undone. "Thanks, Byron." I blurt out his name unconsciously, then feel the blood rush to my face. There's a tense pause, and he scratches the back of his head with embarrassment, the muscles in his arm jumping and rolling.

"Uh... my real name's actually Adam. No one's ever recognized me before," he admits. "I mean, the numbers on my site aren't great. I've just been posting the videos for-ah, for fun, you know. And to make a little money on the side. So, I guess what I'm saying is, thanks for the support."

Feeling nervous about admitting this out loud, I explain that I've been buying the videos he posts since the beginning. Then, seeing that he's still kind of embarrassed, I launch into my spiel about appreciating the feeling of his videos, that it's obviously just him and his camera in his garage.

"Well, I mean, I never really thought that was a good thing," he laughs, relaxing more because of my praise. "People are always saying things like, 'get some close-ups' and 'you were barely in the shot, figure out what the fuck you're doing.'" He laughs, and I tentatively join him too, wanting to be sociable but not sound like I'm laughing at him.

"You know, my heart rate's falling. Run with me?" So we take off down the track together, and he explains how he'd heard from a guy at his gym that there were actually people willing to pay to watch men like him work out. He'd tried it out, and gotten addicted to the feeling, actually found it a turn-on. And besides, he was going to work out anyways, so why not earn some money at the same time? Eventually, he gave in to the pressure from some of his fans and showed off more than he'd ever expected to. I can tell he doesn't have anyone he can talk to about this, that he's been keeping it secret. It seems like he's relieved to talk about.

And then it's my turn to explain that I think he's actually doing a good service. There've been many lonely nights when I've felt better watching him, and I'm sure there are many other guys who feel the same way, whether because they can't find the right person, or because they're living restricted lives and can't really be themselves. He represents the fantasy they wish would come true.

"You know, that means a lot to me, actually," he says, as we stop by the side of the track. His damp shirt is clinging to his massive chest, and I can see his abs swelling and contracting as he breathes. But I manage to keep eye contact with him. "I mean, I've thought before about what would happen if someone recognized me, but I never thought it'd feel as good as this. Thanks a lot."

My heart's pounding in my ears and the heat's rushing into my face again, and then he says, "So, what you said about me being someone's fantasy... does that mean I'm your fantasy too?"

The question sounds innocent coming from him, and he's grinning at me like he wouldn't mind if I admitted it, but ¬for a second I consider denying it just to make things less awkward between us. It's a little embarrassing to admit it to his face. However, in the end I figure he'd see right through me if I lied, so I admit it.

We reach the end of our run, and he's about to say goodbye. It's only the fear that I'll never see him again that gives me the courage to say it: "You know, what you said earlier, about wanting to change up your videos, get some different shots. I mean, if you ever need a hand..."

"Really?" It's hard for me to read the expression on his face. He doesn't sound upset, though. "I mean, I admit, I've thought about it sometimes, but I never thought I'd find someone I could trust. And it couldn't be someone I know, obviously..."

"I wouldn't want you to pay me. That doesn't matter to me at all."

"Well, I'm not worried about that, but-" He scratches the back of his head again. I can tell it's a nervous habit of his. "How about we give it a try? Just once, okay?"

A wave of excitement rises in me with such power that it must show all over my face. It's hard for me to process what this means, what I'll get to see and do.

He gives me his address, and we arrange to meet two days later. He lives alone in a perfectly ordinary house that's a few blocks from the rec center. He's wearing workout gear when he answers the door, a light blue T-shirt that stretches across his broad pecs and biceps, and grey cotton shorts that come down to just above his knees-they're loose, and I can tell by his swaying bulge that he isn't wearing anything underneath. When he leads me into his house, his perfect round ass pushes the cotton out in back, creating delicious curves.

He explains his setup as we enter the garage. It's incredible to see the same workout equipment I've seen online, the bench that he's sweated and jacked off all over. He has extra lights to brighten up the dim garage, and he has two cameras on tripods, facing the workout equipment.

"So, I'll get started," he says. "I'll leave everything up to you. Just keep it running. I can edit out things later."

Nonchalantly, with one fluid movement he strips off his shirt, and I'm dumbfounded, staring at his massively pumped pecs, the rigidly defined muscles of his abdomen, his thick lats swelling from the sides of his V-shaped torso. I'm already practically as hard as the tripod I'm standing behind as he straps on black, fingerless weightlifting gloves and hefts a pair of enormous weights.

He begins to curl them, the veins standing out on his thick forearms and his biceps growing as they rise up and contract, swelling up and stretching the skin. He's grunting with the exertion, the weights rising up and down, his biceps round and shaking, the sweat starting to appear on his forehead and chest. He continues until he can barely grind up the weights one last time, and then he sets them down, pumping his arms, and I'm filming the massive veiny mounds of muscle, smelling his manly sweat in the garage. He joins his hands together and flexes both arms. My camera captures it all.

I have to ask it. I'll regret it forever if I don't. "Your arms look so fucking good. Can I feel them? Do you mind?"

He flashes white teeth at me. "Go right ahead." I can tell he likes being admired; that's why he has continued to do these videos. So I lay a trembling hand on his left bicep and he flexes and-fuck, it's like a FIST under his skin, so round and hard and sweaty and I feel the power thrusting against my flimsy hand.

Now he lies down on the workout bench, a weight in either hand, and he starts raising them, bringing them together above his chest. His pecs swell and shake as his arms come together, then stretch out as he lowers his arms, his stomach suctioning in, the deep grooves in his tightening abs sweaty and distinct. I sit at the foot of the workout bench, looking up his amazing body at those pecs swelling and sweating, getting more and more pumped, the striations showing as thick cables, the veins popping out. He groans with the effort and his muscles jump, ripple, push out from his trembling chest like fucking balloons, and the sweat runs down into his navel.

Finally, he can't force out another rep. He sits up, his muscles unbelievably pumped, and the air's thick with the manly odour of his sweat. He wipes his forehead, breathing heavily, gets up, and raises the bench to an incline.

"Well," he pants, "guess it's time for the big finale. You cool with that?"

"Cool with that?" I repeat in disbelief. "Of course! I said I'd give you a hand with everything, didn't I? In fact, speaking of which-" I'm about to say, "I've got two right here, if you ever need one," though I luckily stop myself in time.

But then I see the look of surprise on his face, and I realize he's figured out what I was going to say anyways. He casually rubs the sore muscles of his chest. It's just unfair that he can touch those giant muscles like that whenever he wants and it's no big deal.

"Uh... sorry about that," I mumble. "I almost crossed a line there-"

"Huh?" It's as if his mind had been somewhere else, but now I've come back in focus for him. "Don't worry," he says, suddenly grinning. "It's not like I wasn't thinking it too."

I almost knock the camera over, my heart stuttering for a few seconds.

"I mean, obviously there've been tons of comments about that," he's continuing. "'Why're you alone all the time?' 'Get someone else in on the action.' I mean, obviously the thought occurred to me when I decided to bring you in here. If you're seriously offering, this could be really good for the site. Nothing too extreme, though. It'd just be your hand. No one would know it's you, so..."

"R-right." I'm sweating all over, barely able to believe that he's considering this. "You mean, like, I can-I mean, I should jerk you off?"

"Sorry, bad idea I guess-"

"No!" I cut him off too forcefully, but I want this so much. I want to rub my fingers all over his big cock, feel it warming my hands. "I'll do it. For the site, right?"

"Right. For the site."

He starts to undo his weightlifting gloves but I tell him to stop, to just sit there as he is, like he's resting after his workout, thinking he's alone. In fact, "Close your eyes. Lie back. Relax."

He does as I ask, lying back on the incline bench at about a 120-degree angle, his arms dangling freely down, his legs bent and parted slightly so his bulge, prominent in his grey shorts hangs down between them and rests on the bench. "Shouldn't I at least take these off?" he starts, suddenly sticking his thumbs into the waistband of his shorts, but I tell him to stop.

"Leave it to me."

I position one camera on a tripod so it has a full view of his body, and another so it'll get a close-up of the action, and I kneel on the concrete floor at his feet, looking up his body, past the hard ridges and swells of pumped-up muscle to his peaceful handsome expectant face. I want to make him feel good. I want to make him cum all over his fucking gorgeous body.

I gently reach up and tug at the waistband of his shorts, slowly slide them down over his muscled thighs. He wriggles a bit on the bench to let the material slide out from under his rock-hard ass. His cock is still limp, and I wonder if he's feeling a bit nervous. His heavy balls rest on the plastic workout bench, and I gently start to massage them with one hand, admiring their soft hardness. I detect a faint movement in his cock, a slight thickening. I move my hand up, gently feeling his soft cock, delicately starting to slide my fingers along his shaft. I grasp it in my palm, and I feel the stiffness gathering in it, feel it coming alive, getting hotter and harder, feel the shaft thickening and the cockhead starting to press against my palm and I stroke up and down, see his cockhead growing and darkening, see the veins start to swell all throughout his cock-fuck, that hot tightening and thickening against my skin, watching his cock grow as I stroke it, the pleasure starting to register on his relaxed face.

His cock is standing up straight now, reaching its full height of about seven and a half inches, and I'm looking up at the underside of his cockhead. I rub the soft area where the ridge at the bottom of his cockhead curves up towards his cumslit. I spit on my hand and wrap it around his stiff member, stroke up and down, feeling my fist full of hot passionate muscle, the blood throbbing in it, the tense power building inside him, his mighty fuckmuscle so strong and ready. I wish I could use both hands, but I know that'd block the camera. Hell, I wish I could use my MOUTH.

He lets out a slight moan, writhing on the bench, as my fist slides up and twists around his cockhead, drawing a drop of translucent precum out of his cumslit. I smear it over my fingers and rub it into his hard sensitive purple glans, slide my hand all the way down, feel his testicles in his tightened sack, rub the hard muscle at the base of his cock. He groans and bites his lip, starts to run his hands over his chest and stomach, fuck yes, play to that camera, let them know how good it feels, make them wish they had their OWN hands on your body, on your nipples and sliding down your washboard stomach to grab a fistful of your fucking hard, thick cock, so powerful and tense and shivering with desire.

And now he's thrusting his hips slightly, unable to sit still on the bench, arching his back and thrusting his cock into my hand, his fingers toying with his hard nipples, then sliding the skin up and down over his protruding abs. I'm stroking him faster, my hand caressing his cock from its hard muscular base to its drooling cumslit, savouring the sweaty, virile scent of his aroused manhood, my fingers getting slicked with sticky precum, and now he's whispering Fuck yes that feels so good, oh fuck, make me cum yes make me cum I need to cum do it please-

And my hand's gliding fasting, my palm rubbing over his sensitive cockhead-he moans and writhes, arches and contracts his back, the thin skin stretching across his abs, his muscular ass grinding down into the hard rubber of the bench, his fingers rubbing his sweaty chest, his breath rushing faster and faster, his pulse racing through his cock, his throat letting out deep masculine moans, his cock getting hotter and hotter in my fist, the cameras picking up his balls being drawn closer to his body, his cock starting to press up higher, the muscles at the base of his cock stiffening, his lower stomach contracting, fuck yes fuck yes I need to cum make me cum, and his cock's so long and thick and hard and hot and the pressure, the power's building, needs to be let loose, he's gasping, thrusting, writhing on the hard plastic, the sweat running down his body, the precum pouring out of his cumslit, he's almost there, almost there, Fuck yes make me cum I need to CUM fuck YES-

And suddenly his cock gives a mighty jerk in my hand and I feel a hot surge of cum rocket up his cock, feel the pressure of it in the center of his cock, and then it explodes out with a wet noise, I see it blast out of his gasping cumslit, watch it splash in the center of his abs, and then his flexing cock flings out an even bigger second shot of salty spunk and it lands in the center of his swollen sweaty pecs, drips down the middle, and now the cum is blasting out again and again, he's moaning and wriggling on the bench, rubbing the rock-hard muscles of his abs as more cum lands on them, and still my hand's stroking his cock, feeling each sharp contraction, the cum dripping over my fingers and pooling in his pubic hair, Yes fuck yes that feels so good so fucking GOOD-

His burning cock continues to heave in my hand, but no more cum pours out. I stroke him a few last times, then gently let go before the friction on his emptied dick starts to discomfort him, let it dangle between his legs, wet and losing its firmness but still swollen. I look up at the eight shots of cum on his body, admire it pooling in the muscled ravines. He opens his eyes, looks down at me, and grins a gorgeous smile that could make my own anguished cock burst right this second.

"That was fucking incredible," he says. "Guess I'd better clean this up."

But I say no. Enjoy it for a moment. Rub the cum into your abs. Feel it squishing in the deep grooves. Spread it over your hard nipples and let it soak into your pecs. Enjoy the feel of your cum on your powerful body. "That's what the viewers want," I say. "That's what I always wished you'd do."

So that's what he does. He gives the viewers-and me-what I want. "I always just thought that was the end of it, they'd already seen what they were here for and jerked off," he says. "Good thing I have you to tell me these things. And if your cock's any indication, I think they're gonna enjoy this video."

Of course he's noticed my massive erection. I've never been so hard in my life. Even though I've managed to keep it flat by using the elastic waistband of my boxers to hold it against my stomach, it's so hard that it's pushing the elastic away from my body, sticking up much higher than my waistband, forming a tent above my navel.

"I didn't realize you were so-" He's noticed how far up my cock reaches. How could he not? "Doesn't that hurt?"

I admit that it does, and he says, "Well, you shouldn't have to put up with that. Go on. You've got me curious."

He doesn't need to ask me twice. I slide down my pants to expose my massive, rock-hard erection and he whistles with surprise. His reaction makes me even harder, if that's possible. "You're huge! How'd you even keep that thing in your pants?" he asks. He actually sounds concerned that it might be uncomfortable for me. "You know, you'll be like my 'cockdar,' letting me know if what I'm doing's turning the viewers on. I've got a bunch of ideas..."

I certainly don't mind the sound of that. My cock stays iron-hard as he cleans off the cum, but it finally starts to relax as he dresses and I take care of the cameras. I'm gonna have to jack off repeatedly tonight, though.

"You were a big help," he says, casually placing a hand on my shoulder, sending a jolt down my spine. I can feel his body heat, smell his sweat and cum. "You know, I'm really glad I found you. Doing all this on my own's been fun, but a lot of work too. I thought it'd be embarrassing, having someone actually, you know, WATCHING. Much less participating. But it felt good. You really know what you're doing!"

"Really?" My stomach and heart fight each other to see which will leap up my throat first. "Th-that's-" keep cool, keep cool "-that's good. I enjoyed it too. Listen, I know how to edit videos. Do you want me to take care of this one?"

"Really? You'd do that? That'd be awesome actually."

"Of course! I'll send it to you as soon as it's ready. I know it'll be your hottest one yet."