Here's another addition to my Shudder Chronicles story, which you have under Beginnings. Use the author name Randy Rawman and the email letsxplode@aol.com Thank you!
THE SHUDDER CHRONICLES Part 3: Gym Baggin'
We lie there together on the spooge-stained mattressfor a while, then untangle ourselves and reluctantly slip back into ourclothes. Before I leave thebuilding, I turn around and look at the empty space and imagine it full of sweaty,primal man-fuckers. The thought ofit makes me throb, even after I've dumped a huge load.
Angel walks me out to the parking lot. "If you want some special gear to wearto the party, I can go with you to shop for it," he says.
"Like what?"
"Chaps, a harness, a jock, some briefs with no ass,whatever you want," he explains. "I get a discount. I have afriend who works at a place."
"A friend?" I say, cocking an eyebrow.
"Yeah, a friend," he says, "like you and I arefriends. We hang out, we have fun,we swap things...stories...recipes...spunk."
"Let's go in a couple of days," I say. "I might not be able to walk tomorrow."
"I'm going to take that as a compliment," smirksAngel. "Hold on, I got somethingin my car I want to give to you."
As Angel runs to his car, it notice the denim aroundhis asscrack is darker than the fabric surrounding it. Could that be my fuckload? Is my manseed slowly leaking out ofhim?
"Here," he says, handing me a CD with no label.
"What's this?"
"You're probably going to want to work out extra hardbefore Shudder, not that you're body's not hot as fuck as it is. This is to help inspire you. Load it into your iPod and listen to itas you work out," he advises me. "You probably won't want to play it at any children's birthday parties."
"Got it," I say.
"And don't—I repeat, don't--play it in your car on the way home," he says. "I want you to be in a gym full ofsweaty, pumped muscle fuckers when you hear it for the first time." Angel laughs, imagining themoment. "Then text and tell meabout it."
With that, he pushes me against my car and kissesme. I can still taste cum on hislips. "You did good today, Randy,"he says sweetly. "I can see it inyour eyes. You've changed; there'sa confidence there, a kind of power. I'm proud of you."
"Thank you," I say. I'm proud of me, too, because I'm not just dreaming itnow. I'm living it.
On the drive home, I get stuck behind an accident butI'm too blissfully worn out to care. To pass the time, I let some globs of cum seep out of my ass, reach intomy sweats from the front, scoop it up and bring it to my lips. Each time I do this, my cock's a littleharder as my hand grazes past it. If other drivers notice, I don't fucking care.
The next morning, I wake up and for a few minutes, I wonderif everything that happened yesterday—the warehouse, the mattress, the marathonflip-fuck cum-swap with Angel—was just a dirty dream. But when I rise to walk to the bathroom, the sweet, hard-earnedache in my asshole says to me, "Ithappened, Randy. You fucking didit. It's real."
I dress for the gym in a royal blue fitted Nikedry-fit tank and black nylon shorts that are cut a bit high to show off my cycler'squads. I consider going commando butafter what Angel said about the CD, I'm a little afraid not to.
I load the disc Angel gave me into my Powerbook, thattrusty, gleaming gadget that led me to my debauched destiny. The CD has ten tracks on it:
- Where Do You ThinkI Want You to Shoot It? 2) Drop It Deep 3) Fuel Injected 4) Overflow / Lick It Up 5) Snowballer's Chance in Hell 6) (Riding in on a) Carpet of Cum 7) How Many So Far? 8) Churn 9) Second Ring of Heaven 10) Deep Seeded Need
I fight the temptation to listen and just transferthe tracks to my iPhone. Idrive to the gym, check in and put my bag in a locker. I slip my earbuds in, check myappearance in the mirror—I look good. There's a swagger there, I didn't have before. From the back, I see my hard-earned V leading down to myglutes, which seem extra perky today. Could my butt be more toned from one breeding?
I step onto the treadmill and lift my right foot onthe sidebar, to stretch my hamstring before I jog my two-mile warm up. This stretch is another not-so-gentlereminder that my asshole is still deliciously sore from Angel. I press `Play,' and wait.
A warm synth pad fills my ears, then a tribaldrumbeat kicks in on top of it. I'm thinking `Big deal, this isjust a typical dance track,' but then the vocal track kicks in. We're not talking Rihanna or Ke$ha or someother dance diva of the moment. These vocals are pure testosterone. It's men; full-throated, deep-voiced men, who were clearlyrecorded while in the act of fucking or getting fucked...or maybe fucking and getting fucked. My cock gets rockhard in my jock. It's all so fucking loud and vulgar andhot that I quickly scan the gym floor to make sure know one else can hear it,that this is my little secret.
I switch legs and keep listening to the cacophony of gruntsand groans and moans and sighs, all artfully edited and looped together to formrhythm patterns and even melodies. Occasionally a word or phrase will pop out, like, "In me, fucker, inme," "Breed it, baby," or "Where do you think I want you to shoot it?" which isthe title of this particular track.
"What thefuck is on this CD?" I text Angel.
I'm into my second mile, my cock so hard in my jockit hurts, when Angel texts me back. `Actual audio from Shudderparties.'
I imagine some hot teamster type running around thewarehouse with a boom mic and a leaking dick hanging out of his cargo pants.
Genius,' I text back. Who put it together?'
`Oscar.'
`Who?'
`Bred me oncam for you.'
`Oh. Man of many talents.'
Have yougotten to `How Many So Far?' It'slike Beyonce's countdown song, but w/ loads. LOL.'
`Dick too hardto run. Hope you're happy.'
I get off the treadmill and head to the free weightarea. My dick stays rock hardthrough my workout as the hits just keep on coming. "Flood me, fucker,flood me. I feel it, I feel itshooting. Beg for it, boy. Beg. For. Seed." Between sets of curls, I reach into myshorts and adjust my dick, so it's pointing diagonally up. The leaking head is nearly popping outbut it's much more comfortable than the previous position.
A track or two later--as robotic stud voice says, "Sperm Me," over and over in myears--I'm doing lat pulldowns when a tattooed Polynesian hunk in head-to-toeUnderarmour flashes me a smile. I've seen this stud here before but never interacting with him. He's an avid swimmer and I've oftenenjoyed watching him get out of the pool in his old school blue Adidas Speedoand strut those granite butt cheeks to the locker room but he's always struckme as straight or unavailable. Butthat wasn't a very straight smile. Sperm me sperm me sperm me spermme.
"What are you listening to?" he asks, between triceppush-downs. "You seem like you'rein another world."
"Is it that obvious?" I say. He nods. "It's a hot mix of some sexy dance tracks a friend of mineput together. Very unique,one-of-a-kind kind of stuff."
"You know Oscar," he says, with a grin. He tilts his head down and stares intomy eyes, while his bulging tris contract and release.
Oh shit, I think, we'regonna fuck. I know it...rightthen. It's fucking on. I'm going to be one of those guys I've always heard aboutand envied, those guys who fuck and breed at the gym. Who knows? Imay have to start allotting extra time into my workouts for buttfucking. I'm sure this kind of thing happens toAngel and his posse all the time, but it's excitingly novel to me. A hungry smile, a loaded look andfew carefully selected words are uttered and bam, it's fucktime.
"Well, actually, I haven't met Oscar, face to face,"I say, straddling the bench for another set of pull-downs, "but a friend ofmine is a good friend of his so you know..."
"There's some kind of DNA connection there," he says.
"Bingo," I say. When I stand up from the bench, I feel cool air on my cockhead but I'mnot sure if it's real and my dick's popping out or in my mind because I'm soboned. I'm afraid to look so Ijust walk over to the guy and offer him my gloved hand. "I'm Randy," I say.
"Bryan," he says, taking my hand in his and giving ita long leather-to-leather squeeze, "with a Y."
"You've heard Oscar's mixes, I take it?"
"Actually, no," says Bryan. "But I've heard ofOscar's mixes. I've always wantedto check them out."
"Come do crunches with me in the aerobics studio. You can have one earbud, I'll have theother."
"God, that's so intimate," he says, with a laugh.
"I know," I say.
We walk together to the aerobics room and sit on thefloor facing the mirror. I put oneearbud up to his right ear. "I'mgoing in, okay?" I whisper.
"Please," he says.
I insert his earbud, then put the other in my leftear. "We have to stay closetogether," I say.
"Okay," he says.
I scroll through the titles I haven't heard yet andpick "Churn." Side by side, Bryanand I do work our ab muscles and listen to a slow burn of a jam, like if Sadehad a cock. It features arecurring sample of what sounds like a wet, sloppy used asshole getting reamedfor the umpteenth time. That's probablyexactly what that is.
Turned on beyond words, we pour our libidos into ourworkouts and try to out sweat each other, matching each crunch to the beat asthe track reaches it's bellowing climax with a chorus of deep-voiced studschanting, "Seed him! Seed him! Seed him!Seed him! Seed him! Seed him!" and then a lucky top groaning, "Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuucckkk!"
We fall back onto our backs and look up at theceiling, which has a mirror on it that I've never noticed before.
"Oh my God," I gasp.
"I think I was actually at that party," remarks Bryan. "I think I was was one of the chanting guys. I don't know whether I should sue or beflattered."
My eyes are glued to Bryan's crotch in themirror. His Underarmour tightslook like they're about to burst. Fuck, he's packing. He does a series of small pelvic pumps,like a jackhammer then turns his head to face me.
"Go move that curtain to the right," he says,gesturing with his dimpled chin to a long piece of fabric that covers one ofthe side walls. "I would but Ican't get up. You know why."
"You think I can?" I ask.
"At least you have regular shorts," he says. "If I stand up, I could be arrested forpublic indecency."
I jump up and pull the curtain to reveal a door I'd neverknown was there.
"See if it's open," he says.
I do and it is. I look inside and discover a storeroom used for yoga mats, blocks,steps, etc. I look back and raisemy eyebrows.
"There's a class in here in ten minutes," hesays. "If we go in, we can't comeout for at least an hour."
I think about the conference call I have for work in45 minutes. Screw it.
"I don't have anywhere to be," I say. "Except in those tights."
In one fluid movement, Bryan rises and darts into thestoreroom, pulling me in with him and closing the door behind us.
"Come over here," he says, leading me to the cornerwhere two stacks of plastic, shoulder-height step-aerobics steps form a barricadebetween the back wall and the door we entered through. He pulls me behind them, brings us bothdown to our knees and smiles. "Hey, fucker."
"Hey," I say. "But what if the next class is a step class and they take our wall away?"
"It's yoga."
"You really know all the ins and outs around here," Iremark.
"I used to teach spinning here," he says.
"Explains the ass," I say.
I reach around and put my hand on his Spandex coveredass. He gently moves it up to hislower back. "Just kiss me for awhile," he says. "Onlykiss."
"Why?" I ask.
"You'll see."
Just then, the door opens and I hear the voice of twowomen; one I assume to be the instructor and the other, a student. They make small talk and grab mats fromthe stack that's just in front of our wall of steps. All the while, Bryan and I kiss soft and gentle, not noisy,for obvious reasons. More yogiscome in and grab mats. Morekissing, our crotch bulges gently brushing against each other, back and forth.
Finally, some New Age-y music kicks in and we hearthe class start. Bryan pulls my shortsand jock down. My raging hard-onpops up and smacks my stomach. Justthen, the door opens again. We duckdown and freeze. A last-minutestudent grabs a mat, runs out and closes the door behind her. "Fucking latecomers," I whisper.
Bryan looks down at my rock hard cock. He taps his index finger on my leaking dickhead,then pulls it to his mouth. It connectsin one long strand then snaps. Hekisses me and I can taste my pre-cum. He pulls my shorts back up but pulls my dick off to the side of my jockthen stands back to look at me. "Ihave a gym gear fetish," he whispers, "and I've been wondering what your prettycock would look like up against that silky nylon with no jock. Fuck, that's nice," he says.
"Take a picture, it lasts longer," I say, willing mydick to bob up and down in my shorts.
"Fine," Bryan says, before grabbing my iPhone,snapping a few pics of me with my gym shorts hard-on, and a few with my cockfully out.
"My face showing?"
"Yeah," he says. "That a problem?"
I've taken naked pictures of myself before, a few, butnever with the face showing.
"It's not a problem," I say.
"Truebreeding fuckstuds are totally unapologetic," I remember Angel saying to me yesterday during theafterglow on that cum-matted mattress. "They don't care if people thinkthey're reckless whores because they know that deep down inside, everyonewishes that they could be that kind of free."
Bryan puts my iPhone down and goes down on my knob inone gulp. I stifle a moan. The yoga music isn't nearly loud enoughto drown out the kind of sounds I want to make. Bryan pulls his head off my cock, stands up and kisses me,deep and wet. I turn him aroundand grind my cock against his nylon-clad ass, caressing those pumped pecsbeneath that skintight red Underarmour shirt. Fuck, they feel hot. I start to inch my hand around his waist to feel his amazing bulge. I touch cock way before I'm expectingto as it's snaking halfway around his waist like a belt.
"Holy shit," I say.
"Shhhh," he says, laughing.
When I crouch down to inspect his ass, I feel thesoreness of my own ass. God,that's incredible, experiencing a physical reminder of a recent red-hotfuckfest just as you're about to embark on another one. I realize in that moment that life isabout fucking--breeding and getting bred--and everything else that happens tous is just window dressing.
I rub my hands all over his glorious nylon clad ass,then peel his tights down to reveal his rock hard globes. I spread them apart with my hands, thendive right onto his hole, tongue first. God, he tastes good, clean and warm and sweaty. I can tell me wants to shout all mannerof indecencies at me, but instead he just breathes. I stand up and press my fuckstick into his crack. "I want in," I breathe, then think, `Angel would be soooo proud of me.'
"I want you in," he replies. "Give me a sec." He skitters across the room, tightsaround his knees to the First Aid kit on the wall, digs behind a box ofBand-Aids and produces a small tube of Wet. "From when I used to work here," he explains. "It's kind of old but who cares?"
"Not me," I say.
Bryan gets my dick ready, being mindful not to use upall the lube. I'm guessing hewants us to flip but damn, my ass is sore. He removes the top few rows of steps so he can lay flat onthe stack. I aim my cock at hissweet ass, touch the tip to his hole, then pause.
"Hold on," I say. "Were there any rubbers stashed in there?"
"I didn't see any," he says, with a boyish shrug.
"Oh well," I say, then go balls deep in one long,slow stroke.
Bryan lets out the loudest sound either of us hasmade since we entered the room, but it's still not loud enough to be heard overthe Enya playing in the next room. At least, I hope it's not. It doesn't take him long to get used to my dick. After a few slow strokes in and out, Ibury it all the way in then slowly wiggle my hips back and forth, exploringevery inch of his fuck chute.
"God, you feel good," he whispers. "Pound me."
I do just that, in long deliberate strokes, buildingup steam and then pulling back when I feel my balls start to pull up. Then when the need to seed dies down, Igo back at it. I'm honing my skillswith every fuck, I think. The mixof having control during sex and losing control during sex, the dance of that,is incredibly exciting to me. Iwant to be the kind of fucker who can masterfully take a partner and myself tothe edge and over it—conscious of every stroke and caress—and also someone whois constantly surprised by new sensations and savage mindfucks. I want to develop mad-skills as a cocksmanand still get taken to other worlds by a great fuck.
After a solid few minutes of pounding, Bryan standsup, arches back and whispers, "You're about to fuck the cum out of me and allover this equipment."
"And the problem with that is?" I whisper back.
"It's not where I want it to go," he says.
He wants to breed me, too. I had a feeling he wanted to. That's what I want, too. My ass is still so tender from yesterday but man, this studis beautiful and I really want his fuckload. Besides, when I recount this story to Angel and say, "Yeah,he wanted to breed me, too, but then I pussied out," it would not go over wellat all.
"I was hoping you'd say that," I say, pushing inballs deep again. "So take yourhands off your cock so you don't shoot. I'm going to pound till I breed and then you're going to knock me up,too."
"Do it," he says, laying his sweaty, humpy pecs downon the steps.
Bam, bam,bam, bam. The only sounds in the room are the slapping of mychurning balls on his ass, our breathing and the Middle-Eastern flavored musiccoming from the class outside. Bam, bam, bam, bam. I feel my nut coming on...less than tenbams from now. Oh, fuck, make thatfive. "Take it," I say, so faintlythat I'm not sure Bryan can even hear me. "Take my flood of cum."
I collapse down on top of his back, our sweat soakednylon tops rubbing together.
"It felt like about seven jets," I whisper to Bryan,my mouth right next to his ear. "How many did you feel?"
He turns his head so we're nose to nose, looking intoeach other's eyes. "Fifty," hesays. "Now it's your turn."
"I want to be on my back," I say. "I want to look up at your hotchest...your sexy fucking face."
"Well, there's one mat left," he remarks. "How convenient."
I pull off my shorts and jock, lie down on the lastyoga mat and lift my legs in the air. Bryan pulls the front of his tight tank over his head, so it's stretchedacross his broad shoulders. Hissmall brown nipples jut out from the mountains of his pecs. God, what a man. He pulls his tights up, so his cock isout but his ass is covered in spandex and looks down at me. "We got fifteen minutes, tops," hesays. "You want me to eat you orjust fuck?"
"Just fuck," I say.
"I think that's for the best," he says. "I just got back from a trip with my sister,where we shared a room. Noprivacy. I haven't unloaded in aweek."
"Oh fuck," I sigh, imagining the monster load I'm goingto be walking out of here with.
Bryan grabs my iPhone, tosses one earbud at my faceand puts the other in his ear. "We might not be able to be loud," he whispers,"but they can."
I stick my ear bud in. He places the phone on my abs and presses play. The final 10-minutes track of Oscar's megamixkicks in: "Deep Seeded Need" just as Bryan shoves his cock in me. A stud growling, "Seed me, I need it," in a gravelly voice is sampled and replayedover and over. It becomes like amantra as Bryan fucks me, carefully to never pull too far away so as not todisconnect us from the music. Heleans down and shoves his tongue in my throat as the track builds. Seedme, I need it. Seed me, I need it. Seed me, I need it. When a fucker on the track warns,"You're gonna get it, boy!" Bryanpulls back, nods his head up and down frantically, then hammers his 7-day jizzloadstraight into my guts, every rope seeming to spray out on the downbeat.
A warmth spreads all over my insides, but I'm notsure if it's literal or just in my mind. I've read other barebackers online describing the "jizzjoy" that comeswith being a breeding hole. Now Iknow what they're talking about. Bryan's cum-shudder seems to go on for minutes. If we had fifteen minutes for thatfuck, it's like he knew to allot five for his orgasm.
While watching him twitch and convulse, I understandsomething else about the Shudder philosophy. The men of this tribe know how to truly savor thebreed. They make a show of it forwhoever's lucky enough to be on the receiving end of your load or in the room cheeringyou on or on the other end of that webcam with their own spurting dick in theirhand. The party's called Shudderso if you want to cum quietly, without making a spectacle of yourself, well, you'vegot the wrong party.
The feeling of Bryan's cummy cock snaking out of meis pure fucking heaven. Cumscentpermeates the room. I could smellmy load when I was getting fucked, but I thought it might have just been in mymind, part of the whole fuck frenzy. Now that we've both inseminated and we're back on earth, the smell isundeniable. "Smells likefuckloads," Bryan says, taking a big, sweet whiff.
"Yeah," I say. "About fifty of them."
At the same time, we both realize that it's gone silentin the yoga room. "Oh no," Iwhisper. Then we hear a chorus of"Namastes" followed by some light applause for the teacher. "Shit," Bryan says. His cock bounces against his thighsleaving cum streaks as we scramble to get the steps stacked back up and thendisappear behind them. The door opensjust as we duck down. The classmembers stream in to dump their yoga mats. I notice a cum drop catch the light on our fuckmat justbefore the first class member's mat plops down on top of it. I'm relieved it doesn't make asquelching sound.
As Bryan and I wait for the parade of yogis to end,we finger each other's cum-slick assholes, lick our fingers, kiss each otherand wallow in our own cumneed.
"That class was really special for some reason," oneof the students says to the teacher. "There was a connectedness to it, a real fluidity."
`We've got yourfluidity right here,' I think to myself and smile at Bryan.
"Thanks, Tami," says the teacher, before shutting offthe light. The last thing she saysbefore shutting the door and leaving the studio is, "Does it smell like bleachin here to you?"
Bryan and I cover each other's cum-slick mouths tokeep from cracking up. I lean backon the wall just so I can watch him pull all that Lycra back over himself. He's not the only one with a gym gearfetish. I'm sure his cockhead isgoing to leave a cumstain on the front of his tights. Bryan knows that, too, and he doesn't care.
The pride, the exhibitionism, the flaunting of one'ssexual needs and desires is something that sets the Shudder crowd apart. They just fucking own it. I'm sure if the DMV let them, they'dall have customized license plates: "SPUNKSWAP," "CUMMMMNME," "JIZZTKR, "NVRWRAP'D."
And I'm on my way to being one of them.
TO BE CONTINUED