*** Shredded Cocks Gym ***
Henry was a skinny-fat, middle aged man on his way to the bank when he bumped into the round shoulder of a tan, shredded man shorter than him.
"S-sorry," Henry mumbled.
"No problem," said the super-lean guy in a tank top. "Here to check the place out?"
Henry looked to where the guy pointed his thumb. The sign said "Shredded Cocks Gym" next to the shape of two big black roosters holding a dumbbell in their feathery arms.
"Sure," Henry said and entered a gym for the first time in his life.
Why had he gone in here? Didn't he have somewhere to be?
The space was filled with training equipment, obviously. The men using it were universally better looking than Henry. The majority wore wide, low hanging tank tops and apparently shorts so short they weren't even visible under the top's hems.
Behind the counter were dozens of brightly colored bottles and a model-esque, intimidatingly pretty Asian teen in nothing but a red thong.
"Hey Henry," said the teen. "New here?"
For a split second, Henry wondered where the teen could have gotten his name. "Uh, yeah..."
"Don't worry, we're very beginner friendly. You can borrow clothes in the locker room. Here's a drink on the house. I'm Niu. Ask for me if you need anything."
The man took Niu's gifted bottle of "Hydrator" and headed for the locker room.
Right past the door were piles of clothes to borrow. Henry undressed, revealing his flabby, splotchy skin and the patches of body hair down to his toes.
There were no pants to borrow – only thongs and jockstraps in every color. A sign said "For more selection, check out the Jockhole across the street."
Henry slipped into a black thong, pulling it over his hairy, flabby... no, over his smooth, creamy-white twink legs and letting it snap over his disappointingly flat butt.
He threw on a low cut stringer tank top and headed into the training area.
Absentmindedly, Henry took a sip from his Hydrator bottle. A sensation of cool refreshment surged through his torso into his stomach and expanded from there.
When the feeling hit his skin, he broke a sweat – instantly drenched. Furthermore, he noticed that his bladder was ready to burst all of the sudden.
While looking for the toilets, Henry took another sip. His sweat was running in streams and he could no longer hold it in.
Henry fought with all the strength in his sphincter but he pissed like a hose. First the thong took it, then a chaotic stream ran down each leg, then his tank top got drenched with piss displacing the sweat.
Quickly, Henry bent down to rub along his thin legs and distribute the piss on his skin before it made a puddle underneath.
Niu waved him over with a smile. Had the receptionist not noticed the accident? Henry didn't feel nearly as embarrassed as he would have expected himself to.
"Y-yes?" he asked the teen.
Niu held out two gloves. "Since you're new, you might need instructions. Put these on."
Henry set the Hydrator down and slipped into the gloves. "Yes, I'm totally new. I don't even know how to start."
"Just pick any machine. It's perfectly self-explanatory."
Henry walked to the free weights and glanced back at Niu, hoping for an encouraging nod. But the boy was busy scribbling on a little tag.
From one second to the other, Henry knew what he had to do. He jumped to the squat rack, slapped weights onto to the bar and stepped under it.
Squatting, up down up down. He corrected his form. How did he even know the right form? That didn't matter, only squatting mattered.
It was like a trance. When he finally stopped, he had no idea how much time had passed, but he had no feeling in his legs left.
Walking was impossible, he had to waddle or his knees would have given in.
The man took a deep swing from his Hydrator and felt the refreshment surge through him and right into his dick.
He didn't bother fighting a battle he could only lose. He pissed so hard he made the stream shoot through his thong and tank top. As he waddled away from the rack, leaving droplets everywhere, he noticed the similar trails of piss all across the floor.
Of course, other men had Hydrators, too. Just like they wore the same thong or jockstraps.
Henry feasted his eyes on the sea of sweat (and piss) glistening muscle-quads and bulging calves.
When he looked over to the reception desk for guidance, Niu smiles at him, then returned to scribbling on the tiny tag.
Henry knew exactly what he wanted to do next: a rotation between arms, chest and abs. He fell into a trance again.
As he bench-pressed he noticed himself shouting "I love muscles" with every rep. When doing preacher curls, he changed it to "I love dick" although he wasn't entirely sure why he was saying any of it at top volume.
Niu only gave an encouraging wave from across the room every time their eyes met.
When the trance broke, Henry turned his weakened, trembling body that he could barely keep upright, toward the nearest clock. He had spent seven hours at the gym.
Step by aching step, he dragged himself to Niu.
"Hey, I think I've gone overtime. I'll really feel that tomorrow."
"Nah, you won't," Niu said. "Go nuts. We have special ergonomic equipment that minimize muscle aches. Keep it up."
"I'd love to, but I'm spent."
Niu waved him to follow to the other end of the counter – to a display case.
"If you want to keep going," said the athletic Asian teen, "just help yourself to anything on this self. You'll learn to love the pump."
Studded leather bracelets and chains? Were those motivational?
Just to try the size, Henry pressed a leather wristband onto his arm. It snapped shut and his fingers went up to scratch an itch on his neck - where his Painhole tattoo was.
Now he realized that he actually really liked the pump, as Niu had called it. There was something tantalizing about the pain and the weakness.
"I think I'll stay a bit longer," Henry said. "I'll go home when I'm really shaking."
Niu grinned. "But remember, we're closing in ten hours."
*** Nuke Juice ***
Ryley was a young man with bad skin and bad posture. He didn't look unfit but a flight of stairs cost him all stamina. When he came across Shredded Cocks, he decided to have a look inside.
"Hey, what does a day card cost here?"
The receptionist – a super-hot teen in only a red thong – waved him off. "Nothing for first timers. There are tank tops to borrow in the locker room. But... I think you could use a sweatband. Here you go."
Ryley didn't think his hair was that in the way, but he took the red and blue band with K-Power on it anyway.
In the locker room, he slipped into a white jockstrap and a white tank top that hung below his navel and was ready to step into the gym area.
The thin, short white Ryley slipped the headband on and...
Only now, Chul-Moo realized how much his shaggy, dense black hair had been bothering him. The sweatband was a great idea. The broad-chested, narrow-waisted Asian twunk felt unreasonably horny and for a moment, considered retreating into the showers to jerk off.
But horniness was a good way to boost training morale, as long as he didn't get a full boner. He walked past the reception desk on his way to the treadmill.
The red-thong-boy had been idly doodling a tribal pattern but looked up to say, "Going for cardio?"
"Only to warm up," Chul-Moo said. "Goal is to get big and buff."
"I have just the shake for that. On the house."
"Thanks," Chul-Moo said and took the bright green bottle with a mushroom cloud icon above the words "Nuke Juice".
He left the receptionist to start drawing on the completely empty paper. Hm, he could have sworn there had been a design drawn on it – just like the one that stretched across his shoulder blades.
Chul-Moo sat down on the leg adductor machine (where you press your legs together), picked a reasonable weight and did his first set.
Seeing his naked legs flex and ripple made him get dangerously close to growing hard. He hoped to distract himself by reading what was inside Nuke Juice but there was nothing written on the bottle's back.
He grunted at the end of his set and took a careful sip.
There was only one way to describe the taste: "Fuck yeah!"
His legs were burning – but not with pain. He felt like something exploded inside them, as if each cell was trying to shove the others aside on its way to expansion.
Chul-Moo started his second set and slammed the plates together like crushing a paper box. He doubled the weight.
His smooth quads rippled as fibers grew more and more visible with each rep. He stopped halfway through, doubled the weights again and kept going.
After half an hour of various legs exercises, the thick-legged man with the K-Power headband swaggered to the reception.
"Hey, I wanna do deadlifts. Do you have a belt I could borrow?"
"Sure," the boy in a thong said and pulled a weight belt from under the desk. "We have all the equipment you could need."
Chul-Moo took the belt and saw the receptionist grab something small. It looked like a tiny chastity cage – one with urethra tube and ball ring, like it wasn't ever supposed to come off. The boy twisted the tube cover repeatedly.
The Korean hunk-in-the-making stepped away and snapped the belt onto his waist. The snapping sound reminded him of the chastity cage he had put on over a month ago, except the belt would hopefully come off again.
Hadn't he been worried about getting a boner? He must have been caged for so long he had forgotten all about it. Surely a good sign.
Again the boy behind the counter returned to an empty sheet of paper. Chul-Moo rubbed the thick belt over his belly button, exactly where an intricate tattoo spiraled out across his lower abs.
Two hours later, when the Nuke Juice was gone, the hunk handed the bottle over to red-thong-boy. Every fiber in his body hurt from overextending itself. He must have put on half his original weight. Wasn't that a little unusual?
Chul-Moo lost his train of thought when he took off the sweatband to return it and his wet hair poked him in the eyes. "Argh, I really need a haircut."
"Just take a shower," the receptionist said. "Maybe it'll air dry into a better shape."
The hunk dragged his hurting legs into the locker room and to the open shower – a tiled corner, separated only on one side by a hip high wall.
There was a shampoo dispenser with a label saying "Wash Away".
Chul-Moo stripped, got wet and grabbed some shampoo. He soaped himself up, giving his sore muscles a mini-massage. In the mirror across the room he could see himself and flexed a bit, wet and soapy.
Other men entered and left and they all more or less stared at his dick cage. The hunk turned away from the mirror and got on with showering.
As water touched his pubes again, they slid right down his legs. As he stepped farther into the warm stream, his shampooed pits lost their hair, too.
Before he realized what was happening, his shampooed head was also under the stream.
Long hair rushed past his sides and Chul-Moo turned back to the mirror. He wasn't fully bald. There was a strip of long hair left but the shampoo had applied strong dye.
The hunk with a brand new silver mohawk rubbed himself dry with a provided towel and slipped into his clothes – or tried to. He no longer fit his pants.
Chul-Moo borrowed a new set of jockstrap and tank top.
"Um," he said at the reception. "I think I've trained too much and I've outgrown my pants."
"Happens all the time," the receptionist said with a shrug and looked up from the fancy letters he had drawn. "Keep the outfit. Come again."
Once more, the boy returned to stare at blank paper, while Chul-Moo absentmindedly rubbed his most recent tattoo – the word "Hunk" in bold, fancy letters on the shaved side of his head.
The Nuke Juice alone was worth coming back for.
Ready to come along for Niu's journey? More muscles, more cum, more slaves, more Asian transformation.