the descent

[vitruvian3]

mark thompson, gay body: a journey through shadow to self, 1997:

"The blunt, heavy means of dark eros was the best transportation I had yet found to help me go into my own terror, that awesome, ever-rising fear I had known all my life. By submitting at the feet of a masterful guide, I was, in effect, signing a contract where my ego-driven self could be temporarily annihilated, loosed from its mooring. My surrender to the demands of the scene marked a descent into an inner domain of similar upheaval and disintegration, of other things that immobilize and sting. Being a masochist gave me the permission and the means to face my total being: the self that exists in both worlds."

===

It all started with a quick exchange. 

"How many sets you got left?" a deep voice had rumbled, and Eli nearly jumped. He'd been in "the zone", blood pumping through his pecs, mind completely blank as he sat on the bench, staring into the middle distance. He loved how it felt to finally have his thoughts stop for a little while, the strain and focus of lifting becoming meditative. He answered before he made eye contact - "Just two, I'll be done soon," - and looked up at the, uh, largest man he'd ever seen. 

Maybe large wasn't the right descriptor. Huge? Powerful? Built like a fucking brick house? About six foot four and with the straight-backed stance of a seasoned lifter, biceps pulling against the sleeves of his shirt, chest expansive, lats pushing his arms to his sides, thighs fighting against his shorts. Short hair, thick stubble, friendly yet intense brown eyes, a surprising smile. Holy mother of god, Eli thought, painfully aware that he was both staring and getting hard fully in view of this man. 

"No rush," he said with a wink, half-turning away. "Let me know if you need a spot." Eli watched him walk over to the free weights, his unbelievable ass and wide, wide back spellbinding. He sat there for a good couple more minutes, willing his dick to calm down, before having the most distracted workout of his life.

--

And that, Eli thought, was that. He hadn't seen the guy in weeks; maybe their schedules had just synced up that one time, or maybe he'd been a visitor from out of town looking to get in a quick workout. Maybe he'd imagined the whole thing. The man certainly had been something out of his personal fantasies, and Eli hated to acknowledge that he'd jacked off to the memory of his body more times than he'd like to admit. The more he thought about it the more it enraptured him: he'd been idly considering the shape of the man's arms, bicep full even unflexed, the vein across it prominent, the arm itself so massive it could've been one of Eli's legs, the man himself obviously off-season. Eli allowed himself the luxury of imagining the big man mid-cut, striations playing across every inch of enormous, thick muscle-

He had to stop. It felt wrong to fantasize so often about a stranger. He instead threw himself harder into lifting, figuring that if he was going to have these fantasies he may as well manifest them on himself. A month went by; he gained a few pounds. Not nearly enough, but pleasant to see on his previously wiry frame. 

And then, on a regular Tuesday afternoon, as Eli settled the bar across his back, he saw him. Reflected in the mirror, he seemed impossibly more muscular, more quietly confident than last time. Eli felt his breath catch in his chest; he snapped his eyes back to the image of himself in the mirror, tried to bring his mind back to the task at hand. 

He could barely finish his set before his eyes were on the big man again. Today seemed to be chest day for him; he grabbed a pair of 75lb dumbbells and sat down to do flies. Eli watched as his pecs began to swell under the tight t-shirt the man wore with each rep; he blew past 15 and finished the set at 25, returning the 75s and replacing them with 90s. How in the good goddamn was Eli supposed to focus. 

Somehow he did. Maybe spurred on by the man's presence, Eli found himself blowing through the rest of his sets, even adding weight for the last one and improving his personal best. 250lbs squats weren't impressive to him at this point, but it still felt nice to know he could move that much weight. He allowed himself the luxury of looking at the big man now that he'd finished his lift, just out of curiosity. (Or so he told himself.)

The man had moved on to incline presses, this time using a pair of the heaviest dumbbells the gym had. He powered them up evenly, smoothly, effort still visible on his face but controlling the weight as if it barely provided any resistance. His pecs bunched and swelled and moved beneath his shirt; his arms were massive, the horseshoe of his tricep popping at the apex of each rep. Eli's mouth went dry as his dick began to stiffen. This was too indulgent. This was too much. This was-- oh no. 

The big man had made eye contact with Eli through the mirror, and winked. 

Eli stood there stock-still, like a deer caught in headlights, before turning on his heel and walking over to the machines. He sat at the leg press and set his weight, robotically, adrenaline coursing through his body. He tore through the rest of his workout, legs shaky as he left the gym and made his way down the stairs to the locker room, mind both completely blank and racing faster than he could keep up with. He already knew, in some animal part of his brain, what to expect when he opened the locker room door, but still felt some amount of shock when he was met with it.

The big man, of course, was there. Alone. He'd somehow gotten his shirt off of his enormous upper body and was digging through a gym bag, presumably looking for something. He was, of course, next to Eli's locker. He was also, of course, the hottest thing Eli had ever seen. 

He straightened up, turned, and saw Eli standing there. "Hi," he offered, like an olive branch. "Sorry if I spooked ya up there."

"No-not at all," said Eli, trying to not let his eyes follow the swirling coat of hair that ran across the big man's chest, down his stomach, into his shorts. He wasn't quite lean enough at the moment to have super visible abs, but the power of his body was so obvious that it emanated from him like an aura. His chest projected a good three or four inches out from his ribcage, nipples pointed down with the enormous mass of it. His shoulders were so broad it was a wonder the man could make it through doorways. His traps were high and wide. His lats-- Eli had to wrench his eyes back to meet the man's before he lost it entirely.

The big man offered a massive, veiny hand. "I'm Jack," he said. Eli reached out to shake it before he thought it through, and was about to give his own name when he felt it.

A bolt of energy seemed to flow through him as soon as their hands touched, powerful and intense and deeply pleasurable. So pleasurable, in fact, that Eli came right there, involuntarily, gasping a deep breath as his body tensed and his balls pulled up. He made to pull his hand away, to retreat, immediately red with shame, but Jack curled his fingers more tightly around Eli's hand and pulled him closer. 

"Did you just," he said, sotto voce into Eli's ear, "cum?" 

Eli nodded, mute with shame and arousal. Some part of his brain that wasn't currently melted noted that he still hadn't given Jack his name. 

"You don't need to feel ashamed of it. I know how it feels. What's your name?" 

Eli took a deep breath to try to compose himself, looked up to meet Jack's eyes. He was, to Eli's suprise, smiling- more eagerly than the average person would in this scenario, for sure. "Eli," he managed to get out. "Why-"

"Eli, we've got a lot to talk about. Did you have any plans today?"

"No."

"Good. Go take a shower and get dressed. I'll meet you in the lobby."

What else could he do but obey?

---

When he emerged from the locker room, hair damp, body buzzing both with his exertion and with the adrenaline he'd felt since the big man had looked at him, Jack was waiting for him as promised. Somehow he looked even bigger in street clothes, white T-shirt and leather jacket perfectly fit to his enormous frame, jeans making him look like a Tom of Finland drawing. Eli wondered how he didn't get arrested for public indecency when his ass was doing everything it was currently doing. 

"Great," said Jack as Eli drew closer. "Did you drive here?"

"I biked," answered Eli. Jack's presence had the effect of cutting his sentences short, completely dominating him without even trying. 

"Good. Leave it here for now. I'll walk with you. I don't live far." Jack smiled, reassuringly; Eli had the thought that even if Jack meant to do him harm he'd have just gone along with it anyway. So massive and dominating was he that he could've asked Eli to jump off a building and he'd do it without question. Luckily for him, Jack seemed benevolent.

They walked in silence for a few blocks - Jack wasn't lying, his apartment was close by - then climbed the stairs up, paused for a moment while Jack unlocked the door before he welcomed Eli in. The apartment was modestly sized, clean, and spartanly furnished. Just a large couch, a few bookshelves, a foam roller, and some tasteful paintings in the living room: Eli couldn't see the bedroom, but imagined it was similarly bare. Jack had him sit on the couch, then disappeared into the kitchen where a brief sound of blending heralded his return with two protein shakes. He handed one to Eli, then sat opposite him on the ground. 

"You're probably wondering why I'm doing any of this," he started, and Eli nodded. "Well, I apologize on the outset for any fear I might've caused you. I know I'm intimidating. People make it very clear." Jack smiled, a little bittersweetly. "See, I have a talent. It's a strange one."

Eli sipped the protein shake, rapt with attention.

"When I shook your hand, earlier- you felt a spark, right?" 

"Y-yeah. Like electricity."

"That doesn't happen for just anybody. And I felt it too- I'm not just guessing. The men in my family, we have, ah, this gift. It got handed down over the generations, and honestly the story of how we got it to begin with is pretty boring. I'll have to tell you some other time. More importantly," Jack reached forward, and offered his hand again, "you're compatible with it."

Eli took his hand, unquestioning. "Eli," Jack said, closing his fingers, "do you want to be strong?"

"More than anything in the world," Eli said, before his brain could catch up with him. He blushed. 

"Don't be ashamed of it. Embrace it." Jack smiled. "I saw you lifting and I knew you had a hunger for strength. For power. A lot of people want it, but few actually hunger for it like you or me."

Eli nodded, mutely, acutely aware of how hot and enormous Jack's hand was around his own. He could feel that electric feeling again, less powerful this time, more of a subtle radiation that was slowly flooding his body. Jack drew silent for a moment, looking deep into Eli's eyes, watching him process the feeling, notice it, embrace it. "Train with me," he finally said.

It wasn't a question. "Yes," said Eli, his mouth dry. 

"Become what you want to be. Huge, powerful. Inhumanly strong."

Eli couldn't even speak. He nodded. 

"All you have to do," Jack said, quieter, "is submit to me. Absolutely."

A shiver ran down Eli's spine. His ultimate temptation. The pinnacle of his most private fantasies, the thing he could never mention to anyone. The idea of this- of giving up his agency, his wants and needs and desires, giving someone else the reins, letting him be steered willingly into something more extreme than he could allow himself to do on his own- had long percolated in the back of his mind, awakening in lockstep with his budding sexuality. He had known it ran much deeper than he'd ever thought, the first time he was dominated scratching the itch but not quite getting deep enough, even as his top had blindfolded and beat and fucked him mercilessly. It wasn't enough. 

This, what Jack was putting before him, was the realization of every pleasure Eli had ever wanted to know. He took a breath.

"I will," he said, and his life completely changed.

 

===

(part 2 to come eventually; inspiration is fickle. but it will come! this is, of course, heavily inspired by Enteletchy and similar stories by authors that i can't remember the names of. sorry to those authors: i have memory problems.)

[OldFashioned]

Fascinating. Excellent start!

[portamivia]

Loving it! Keep it up, please…

[vitruvian3]

A few days- maybe weeks? it was hard to tell, now- later, Eli lay gasping for breath on the concrete floor, grateful for the rest he'd been granted. Jack had gone easy on him today, seeing his obvious struggle after an indeterminate amount of robotically executed military presses that, by the end, had made his shoulders twitch and shake and refuse, finally, to cooperate. Eli had still tried with all he had to lower the bar carefully, under his own control, but it had banged into the supports regardless. 

Jack - always Jack, never Master but sometimes Sir - watched him as he caught his breath, felt his heart hammer a little less frantically in his chest. "Ready for more?" he asked, arms crossed over his chest. Down here he wore nearly nothing, just a pair of short runners' shorts that left little to the imagination. Not that Eli was supposed to be focusing on that right now. He was the worst at knowing his place when lifting, distracted by the feeling of his muscles swelling and firming and straining, but at least had enough sense to clamber to his feet and stand before answering. 

"Yes, sir. What next?" He was coated in sweat, shaking, every muscle exhausted. But Jack had promised him strength, and he would trust in the process. 

"Let's get you started on some curls," said Jack, smiling, and Eli steeled himself for the beautiful agony to come.

---

He had, of course, followed through with what Jack had asked. His apartment had been month-to-month, his job remote and quickly disposable. His family had been distant for a long time; his friends were few, Eli having only recently moved across the country. As he settled the last few things he'd need to sever, he found himself thinking that the situation was almost too perfect. Like he'd subconsciously set himself up for this kind of situation. He could've made friends by now, more complicated connections, yet had held back from it. Maybe he knew this would happen. Maybe he wanted it more than he even consciously knew.

Moving into Jack's house was easy enough. He wouldn't need much, just some clothes, a generous box of mementos from his previous life, the essentials. Jack had assured Eli he'd take care of everything else. "All you have to do," he'd said, enormous frame effortlessly intimidating even across the wide dinner table, "is give yourself to me. I'll take care of the planning and the worrying and the funding."

"What if-" Eli started, then trailed off. 

"If you want to stop, you can. I don't want to keep you against your will. It's a partnership, even if I hold the reins." Jack shrugged. "I don't think you'll want to stop, though."

Eli knew he was right, so didn't answer. Not immediately. "...I had one question, Sir."

"Ooh. I do like being called that. Shoot."

"That-- the spark, before, when you touched me. What was that?"

Jack smiled. "Let's go down to the basement, and I'll show you."

They descended into the finished basement, which aside from a guest room and little kitchenette also contained an extremely well outfitted gym, mirrored walls included. Eli was surprised to see a full suite of machines as well as free weights- this was a serious gym, and had been built with seriousness in mind. "This talent," started Jack, leaning over and hefting a 60 pound dumbbell in his hand, then starting to do almost absent-minded curls, "benefits both of us. Essentially, we're joined. Weakly, now, but the join will strengthen as our emotional and physical bond does as well. I'm not too sure of the particulars of how it works, but every man I've been joined to has felt that same spark. And as we get closer, well..."

Eli resisted the urge to prod Jack on. It wouldn't be becoming of a sub to rush his Dom, he figured. But the anticipation was killing him, especially given that Jack seemed in no real hurry to explain further. After an indeterminable number of curles, his bicep pumped veiny and hard, Jack finally put the dumbbell down. 

"You'll feel it in a second. Again, we're not joined too closely yet, so it's going to be subtle."

Eli focused on his body, trying to figure out what he was supposed to feel- and then-- the telltale tightness of a pump, in his left bicep. Weak, like the echo of a pump instead of something that really stretched his skin, but still there. He snapped his eyes up to meet Jack's. "We share it?"

Jack nodded, grinning. "Every pound I lift, you reap the benefits of, too. And every lift you do makes me stronger." 

Eli's mouth went dry. He couldn't respond. He could barely breathe. This alone was already worth giving his previous life away-- the only thing he could think to ask was "May I lift, Sir?"

And Jack said "Yes."

===

Four hundred and three. Four hundred and four. Four hundred and five. 

Sweat poured down Eli's forehead. He didn't know what time it was, what day it was anymore. He could remember the military presses, and Jack pressing a pair of 30 pound dumbbells into his hands, but outside that it had become a blur. His arms felt like they were going to fall off. His body shook in agony. Each rep took at least 30 seconds, now, fighting with all he had against the inextricable pull of gravity. 

But Jack had not said to stop.

He knew already that he had grown in the time that Jack had kept him. He had been eating like he'd been starved every day- six or seven meals, now. He slept like the dead and woke more energized than the day before. He knew his body was stronger, denser, wider. He wished Jack would give him permission to flex for himself- give him permission to run his hands over the new harder swells of his body, to luxuriate in his new power. He wanted Jack to bend him over the weight bench and fuck him senseless, show him the differences in their strength, give him a goal to work towards, make him feel weak and small so his efforts would be redoubled. 

Wished for this, but did not ask. It was not his place. He had to trust. Trust that the reward would come. 

After the first time Jack had run him through his paces, he had collared Eli- simple black leather, the collar itself comedically long but with so many holes for adjustment it fit his scrawny neck. It was a quiet promise. Eli felt a bead of sweat roll under it, and pictured himself so large the collar would not suffice. 

Four hundred seventeen. He did not allow himself to look at his arms.

Jack wouldn't tell him how much he was benching or squatting, these days. Eli knew it was more than he'd ever lifted before- the weights may have been unlabeled, but he could count, and four per side was more than he could remember ever hefting onto the bar. It was paltry compared to what Jack lifted, but it was still something. 

Watching Jack lift was like poetry. Feeling his Dom's strength become what made himself stronger was the most erotic thing Eli had ever known. With every rep, he could feel himself grow heavier, denser, more. None of the clothes he brought with him when he'd moved in fit anymore. Not a single shirt. Not a single pair of pants. 

Four hundred twenty three.

The pump in his biceps was so aggressive now he could barely bend his arms, but Eli soldiered on. He closed his eyes against the temptation to look, and instead pictured himself bigger. Huge. Enormously strong. Shoulders the width of a double door. Pecs the size of pillows. Traps that touched his earlobes. Quads the size of smaller men's waists. Glutes like bowling balls. Thick, powerful abs. He could feel himself getting hard; he ignored it. Jack had not allowed him to touch himself. Jack had not allowed him to cum. 

Four hundred thirty.

At the apex of the rep, he heard the basement door open, then Jack's characteristic heavy footsteps on the stairs, then a brief silence before the gym door opened. "Christ in heaven," said Jack, and then "Drop 'em."

Eli dropped the weights. He swayed in place, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. "Open your eyes, boy. Look at yourself."

He had to obey. He didn't let his eyes go to his arms first, trying to delay the gratification, but- his face was red with exertion, coated in sweat, a little gaunter from the intense workouts despite how much he'd been eating. His shoulders were- huge. His pecs were heavy and swollen. His- there was no way of avoiding it now- his arms, though, made him gasp audibly. 

They must have swollen to over twenty, twenty-two inches, heavy and crimson with blood, vascular to an extent Eli'd never dreamed of seeing on his own body. He tried to flex one and couldn't; the muscle refused to cooperate, completely and absolutely spent. He looked up to Jack's eyes in the mirror, waiting for his judgement.

"I think you've earned a reward. Look," he said, bringing his own gargantuan arm up to flex. The bicep hardened and grew impossibly, peaking four inches over his shoulder, nearly tall enough for Jack to be able to touch it with the same arm's hand. "You did that. I can feel an echo of the pump-- it's incredible."

"Thank you, Sir," whispered Eli, unable to take his eyes off of Jack's arm. 

"Come," the big man said, and led Eli upstairs.

[Ro20316]

Ohhh this is so interesting. They both gain something from their bond.

Jack must be a force!