SUFFER FOR GLORY

SUFFER FOR GLORY
by Paul Smith
 
Part One
The banner was huge in the wrestling practice room. Jaks looked up at it during the marathon callisthenic workouts Coach put them through, or when covered by a teammate in practices. It fueled him.
At 5’8” and 167 Jaks was not the biggest guy on the wrestling squad, but it was very apparent he had the best muscles. Top-heavy with barrel shoulders and oversized pectorals, baseball biceps and V lats leading to a tight shredded 6 pack abdominals. His legs were thick on thigh and calves as well. The total package. On the mats he won each match almost just by showing up – no other guy in his weight class had such mass. His muscles intimidated every opponent before the whistle blew. His skill sealed it.

Jaks knew he was a stud. A bit special. But he kept himself pure to the wrestling. No girlfriend, no alcohol parties, no showboating around in tight shirts and jeans. He adapted a Spartan lifestyle, devoting himself fully to training his mind and body to nothing but his sport.
After Thursday practice Coach came up to him. “Report to my office after you shower up.” Jaks nodded. In the showers he wondered what Coach wanted. Regionals was coming up, talk about that? Or maybe a scholarship from State U?
Jaks knocked on Coach’s door, jeans T-shirt and sneakers. “Come in.” Jaks entered to meet with Coach. But there was another man in the room.
He was BIG. Jaks thought maybe 6’3” and at least 250. Built like a trucker, with thick forearms covered with wiry black hairs.
Coach smiled. “Let me introduce an associate of mine. This is Hank.”
Jaks nodded to the guy. “Hey.” Hank returned the introduction. His voice was very low.
“You have great potential kid,” Coach said. “You could win State. Oh yes, I’d like to lead you on to that. But it’s obvious there’s no challenge for you with your teammates. You’re just better than them. You know that.”
He was embarrassed a bit by the blatant words, but Jaks nodded again.
“I want to make you a champion. The ultimate wrestler. Strong as hell and impervious to pain. How does that sound?”
Jaks looked at the floor, then looked up and did his best Clint Eastwood. “I’m not gonna do steroids or injections, if that’s what you mean. No way.”
The older men chuckled. Jaks felt a bit foolish, although he shouldn’t have.
“No, of course not. That would be cheating. Have you ever seen a jacked-up athlete against a pure workout stud? It’s like seeing one of those 50-year-old actresses with Botox. It’s just so wrong.”
Jaks grinned a bit. Thought of some of those women. Then the words “workout stud.”
“What I’m proposing is a workout campaign for you that’s a little unique. Something that the NCAA would not approve of. But that’s how champions are made. But if you go with it, I guarantee you’ll go to State and who knows, maybe the Olympics.”
“I’m gonna have you take some workouts from Hank here. He’s a very good friend of mine, and he is tops at what he does. I think it would be very beneficial to push you further. Make you the Champion you are. Do you agree?”
Jaks shifted some. “OK, Coach. It’s just–”
The other men grinned. “What boy?” Coach asked.
“It’s just that he’s like 5 weight divisions over me” Jaks said. “I understand to take on a bigger opponent, toughen me up. But he’s too big. I’d never get in a hold.”
Hank whistled and flexed his he arms. Coach smiled.
“Who said anything about wrestling? I said he’s here to toughen you up.” Then Coach stared. “Strip, boy.”
Jaks knew something was wrong here, but he was conditioned to following Coach’s orders. The stud took off his shirt, kicked off his shoes. Took off his jeans. Standing in his tight whiteys.
“I said STRIP!” Coach growled.
Big Hank was watching every inch as Jaks doffed his underwear. Now standing naked in front of the two men.
“What do you think, Hammer Hank?” Coach said. ‘The locks are all on the doors. Private gym for the two of you.”
Hank looked over the naked muscle wrestler. “Yeah,” he said, scratching his chest. “I know exactly what to do with this Kid. Let’s go!”
 
Part Two
Hank looked over the naked muscle wrestler. “Yeah,” he said, scratching his chest. “I know exactly what to do with this Kid. Let’s go!”
“Very well then,” Coach said. He reached for a folder on the top of his desk. “We can begin now.”
Coach rose from his chair, folder in hand and walked towards the door of his office. Jaks walked over to the chair to retrieve his underwear and shorts.
“NO!”
The authority in that one word made Jaks shudder. During practice he had heard Coach give orders, bark out instructions, give snide remarks when the effort was not up to his standards. But this was a voice from some place very different. HARDER.
And then in a professional voice, “To the workout room first, Hank?”
“For the first session that’s just what is needed,” burly Hank said. The two clothed men agreeing, as if Jaks was a mute animal.
Thus the parade began. Walking down the hallway from Coach’s office to the wrestling team’s workout room. Single file. Coach leading in his polo shirt and khakis, Jaks young muscles buck naked, Hank’s flannel pec-tight shirt and jeans behind. Almost like a condemned man taking his final mile.
How many times had Jaks walked down this hallway with his buds, their muscles plastered to their shirts with sweat from the intense workouts? How they jock slapped each other on their shoulders, praising each other for being such studs. So proud of his muscles, being the sexiest stud.
All the time Jaks covered his genitals with his hands. He was from a younger generation, the type that in the locker room would wrap a towel around his waist before taking off his briefs. Conditioned by politically correct PSA’s, that showering after gym class was a violation of his person. And now he was nude, made to march ass naked between two clothed authority figures who had it in their minds to “toughen” him up.
Walking down the hallway they passed a stairwell. “How many flights up there?” Hank asked. “About 4,” Coach answered. “Hum.. that’ll come in handy,” Hank drawled. Jaks did not understand the remark.
Finally they entered the practice room. Cinderblock walls, no windows. Half of it full of free weights, benches, pullup bars, machines designed to test muscles. The other a half wrestling mat. Jaks had spent hundreds of hours here with his buddies, a boombox blaring out hard rock or rap to encourage the pump. Only now it was silent as a tomb.
“Let’s start with some stretching,” Hank said as he led Jaks to the pullup bar. “Up there, stud.”
The bar was about 8 feet up. Jaks grabbed it, his feet off the floor. Feeling his showpiece pecs thrust up, stereo shoulders pulled. And naked as well. His lats beginning to adjust. “No, don’t flex, just stretch” he heard. Jaks complied. Feeling his powerful upper body begin to surrender to the stretch.
“You are a real stud muscles, aren’t you boy!”
Jaks did not know how to react next. To Hank binding his wrists to the bar and then slapping his penis, or seeing Coach looping the chains across the double doors of the room and padlocking them so there would be no way anyone could enter or escape.
 
Part Three
Jaks did not know how to react next. To Hank binding his wrists to the bar and then slapping his penis, or seeing Coach looping the chains across the double doors of the room and padlocking them so there would be no way anyone could enter or escape.
By instinct young Jaks grabbed the pull-up bar with his hands to relieve the tugging of the boxing wraps that bound his wrists. His second was to try to close his legs so his penis and balls were not on display in front of Hank. Given his position it was nearly impossible. The more he swayed, trying to bring out his thighs the more his manhood just poked outwards and out more.
The two initial swats to his penis had shocked Jaks. But now it seemed even worse. Hank stood just six feet in front of him, fully clothed, and watching the naked wrestler in his embarrassment hanging wide open. The big brute was studying him. Every inch. Not just the muscle and package. But his feet. His armpit hairs. His nipples. His neck and jaw.
Divining his thoughts, Coach said “Yes consider yourself a blank slate here. A very muscular slate, of course. You probably think you will be made to do pull-ups here, yes?”
Jaks rolled his head some. He could not see what Coach was producing from the table drawer. One of the many equipment toys that he had planned.
Suddenly Hank rushed up to the kid and put him in a bearhug, lifting him upwards until Jaks was half biceps-flexed to the bar. Coach brought out the chains. One end with eyehooks that were secured to the bar next to the stud’s wrists. The other with a harsh metal clamps that was placed on both of Jaks’ pink nipples. 4 inches of slack.
“Your shoulders and lats are very impressive, boy. Now we just want to see you prove them.”
Hank’s bear body rubbed into the kid as he held him up.
“As long as you can keep those powerful shoulders up you’ll do fine. Start to drop and … yeah.”
Hank smiled and let go. Jaks instantly lowered down and AARRGGHHH!! his nipples!
Jaks flexed up. Kept his upper body strong. Forced to keep up a half pull-up. His muscles were strong and he could do it. But then minutes went by. The constant strain began to wear. He lowered … and his sensitive nipples got ripped. Jaks muscled up again, once again finding strength. Until they faltered again and his once-private nipples were again an attraction in their abuse.
It became a cruel game. Any choice he made resulted in pain, either to his physique muscles or his virgin tips. Both of them caused Jaks humiliation as the two men watched him struggle on the bar. They were even making bets on which would make the stud wrestler give first. After another four minutes the decision was made.
“P-please, Coach, take them off,” Jaks moaned. “Don’t make me do this anymore … HURTS… please…”
Coach smiled and walked up to the bound musclejock. “So, you are admitting your muscles are not strong enough and need more training in order to become more resilient to pain?”
Jaks tried to pull up, Mr Big Biceps, but he couldn’t and his nubs were just ripped upwards more.
“No I can’t take it, Coach” the stud pleaded. “Not like this. Please…”
Before he knew it Hank was behind him, holding the young jock up in a bearhug that lifted him up so both punishments were absolved. Coach reached over and released the clamps from Jaks’ long suffering nipples.
It should have been a thanksgiving, to be free from the metal talons. Instead his kid’s big male nips were flooded with a blood rush that hurt maybe even more than before. Jaks yelped as he swung by his wrists, his showpiece pecs thrashing left to right, right to left in an attempt to flex out the utter pain his nipples were enduring now. Even the muscle destruction of his shoulders and lats were secondary now.
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Hank said from behind. He walked up to Jaks. Clothed and full man stud. Standing in front of the wasted strung-up naked jock athlete.
Rough Hank stared right into the eyes of the helpless wrestler. Then he took off his shirt.
Stevedore. Powerlifter. Dungeon Master. Any of them could describe the hairy thick ultra masculine body of Hank. Muscles huge not from gym but hard work, hair-covered with no clipping or shaving. And nipples that were too huge to be natural. A gorilla that had survived evolution.
Jaks was forced to offer himself up to him. Bound, his best-of-the-team muscles now meat.
“Hey Coach, get those 40 lbs kettleballs out here. And some more straps. I’ve gotta toughen this kid up more!”
 
Part Four
“Hey Coach, get those 40 lbs kettleballs out here. And some more straps. I’ve gotta toughen this kid up more!”
Jaks hung naked on the bar, a film of sweat beginning to cover his body. Still half focused on his abused nipples. Feeling the boxing straps tied around his ankles, hooking them together. Looking down he saw two iron kettleballs on the floor under his feet. The straps wrapped into their handles.
Hank then stood and confronted the stud.
“I agree, those abs on you are very good. Just need to make them better. Make your core unassailable. That means muscle work and assault. You will now do 200 vertical crunches, 40 lbs of kettleball on each leg. Front, sides, as ordered. You provide the muscle work.” Hank grinned and made a fist. “I will provide the assault.”
Jaks shut his eyes, took a deep breath and began the crunches. His midsection was tough – his usual workout was 600 crunches a day, and did verts regularly. The weights on his ankles caused some resistance, yeah, but he could take that.
The first punch caught him half-extended down. Shocked him some. But he was determined not to fall to this. In perfect form he kept up the raises. Then ordered to do left twist, right. Jakes complied. He could feel himself entering a zone, determined to endure this. The occasional punches made him falter but never stop. He could take this.
Of course it was painful. As the ordeal continued Jaks could feel his abdominals cramping from the cocktail of crunches and punches. But he still had strength. He would show this hairy bastard his mids could take it.
Coach stood back, arms folded. Delighting in what he saw. He had dreamed of this, close to fantasized of it. To have his best wrestler, his prize stud agreeing to his Ultimate Training. How many times had he seen this kid Jaks in a sweat-soaked t-shirt agreeing to make on more drills after everyone else had had enough. In his singlet at matches, sucking up the blood from his nose as he went another 3 minutes. And yes the boy had an incredible body. The rippling of his shoulders, the pectorals that thrust up almost out of proportion, the thighs. Yet Coach had no ulterior motives for him. It was masculine rather than sexual.
He wanted to see the boy’s muscles take pain. Nothing more.
Hank’s fists swung in more often after the first 100. The leatherman were determined the kid would not survive his first workout. Keep him going an impressive amount of reps to produce pride in the stud, then take him down. So when Jaks reached 137 Hank got brutal.
It only lasted 5 punches. Jaks’ legs hung limp after the commando assault.
“No more strength, boy?” Hank growled.
Jaks tried to lift his legs. It was too much. Face down, unwilling to speak.
When Hank approached him Jaks expected the worst. Instead the big man untied his ankles from the kettleballs. Grabbed him in a bearhug, holding him up. Jaks feeling his beef hairy body against his sweaty pure muscles as Coach untied his wrists. Then Hank walked the boy to the wrestling mat, pressing the kid’s naked spent muscles against his shirtless powerbody. Layed him on the edge of the mat.
Jaks head was on the wood floor, arms to his side, the mat beginning only at his shoulders. Then Hank rolled him over, wrapping him in the mat, twice until Jaks was on his back, cocooned in the mat.
Then Hank stood on the kid’s abs. Trampling.
“You WILL take the training Coach and I mete to you, correct? To make you a champion?”
The bondage had no way for Jaks to defend himself, even if he had the strength. Worse, he could feel something going on lower. He was getting an erection. What was going on?!?
On the floor, looking up at the histrute Man, Jaks said “Yes Sir. I – will comply to the training. Make me a champion!”p
 
PART 5
On the floor, looking up at the hirsute Man, Jaks said “Yes Sir. I – will comply to the training. Make me a champion!”
Coach smiled. Looked over at Hank. “Is the building secure?”
“Made sure of it,” Hank said with his boot over the mat where Jaks thighs were. “Told the janitors they had a night off.” Then stepped on the kid’s bound strong legs, standing on them.
“Very good,” Coach said, and exited the room.
Now it was just Jaks and hairy Hank in the training room. The mood shifted. Hank bent down and took the handsome jock’s jaw in his hand.
“Do you COMPLETELY understand why I am here, kid? Why Coach hired me for this?”
Trapped naked in the mats, enslaved and with a rising hardon, Jaks said “Yes — sir. To make me a champion.”
Hank grinned. A very evil grin.
“I am here to beat you down. Coach will do the building up. But it’s MY job to beat you down. I have experience with that. I have very much experience in that. Usually in hotel rooms or basements. But we have a whole gym here for you, boy.”
Hank squeezed the captive kid’s jaw. “Let’s just make it clear. Now I know Coach there thinks you’re some Golden Boy. I don’t give a shit. You’re just meat. Some – very attractive built athlete meat. A wrestler. Well, whatever. It’s just my job to break your muscles.”
Hank stood again and continued the trampling on the abs, the legs, the chest. Only this time, without Coach around, it was harder. Jaks tried to be a tough guy, but it got too rough and he began to yelp some. Even under the mats the boot stomps to his muscles and erect cock hurt bad.
It was almost a godsend when Coach came back. Hank stopped the stomping. Jaks breathed.
“Get him out,” Coach said. Jaks was roughly rolled out from the mats by Hank and fell on the floor. Sweaty and with an erection.
“What the hell is THAT?” Coach barked.
Jaks tried to cup his erection with his hands, but Hank kicked his arms away. Coach walked up and stood at the boy’s feet.
“Do you have a hard-on, boy?!”
Jaks could not lie. Both men over him.
“Yes Coach I have a hard-on. Can’t help it Coach!”
“WHY??”
The naked muscle kid looked back and forth from Coach and Big Hank. Feeling his penis the total attraction now. Both of the men were standing over him, staring at it.
“Coach, I … in the mats… I tried but then…”
Hank was the first to laugh. Then Coach. Looking at his erection, smiling and laughing.
“Wonder how long it’ll be on the run,” Hank said. Looking at Coach, he walked back and unhooked the 100 lbs punching dummy bag from the screws.
“Up kid” Coach ordered. Jaks complied. Standing in front of fully clothed Coach, his dick sticking out.
“Arms up.”
Jaks complied. Then got the bag over his shoulders, like a yoke. Lifting chalk powder was then spread on Jaks’ arms and the bag.
“Down to duckwalk,” said Coach. Jaks squatted, his erection sticking out. “Follow me.”
The two men and the naked jock went to the hallway. Hours before it had been filled with his buddies, girls. Now he was buck nude, waddling with the 100 lb bag over his shoulders, his peen flopping around in front of him.
They reached the stairwell.
“Up on the 4th floor landing are hanging 10 State Wrestling Champion medallions. You will fetch them, one at a time. Medallion in your mouth. You will be timed.” Coach took out his stopwatch. “I think 3 minutes for each run is enough. The bag has been chalked so I will be able to tell if you try to doff it. The doors on the stairwell are all locked, so it will very easy to find you if you don’t make the time.”
“Oh, and my friend Hank here will be one of the landings to ‘encourage’ you if he feels it is required. Different level each run.”
“Is this clear to you, son?”
Jaks nodded.
“Stand up. And RUN!”
 
PART 6
“Stand up .. and RUN!”
Jaks took a firm grip on the boxing bag across his broad shoulders and entered the stairwell. Though he was ragged from the previous training abuses, the proud jock was determined to prove to Coach he was tough and could take anything. He bounded up the stairs, showing power. Not hearing Hank following him.
On the fourth landing was T-bar, five wrestling medals hanging by their ribbons on each side. Jaks squatted and took one in his mouth, maneuvering the ribbon off the bar. Then began to run down the stairs.
Reaching the third landing he was met with a hard punch in the midsection by Hank. Jaks gritted, holding the medal in his mouth as hairy Hank gave him 5 more, then let him pass. Down two more stairs to Coach, who looked at his stopwatch and looked displeased.
“A little slow,” Coach said as he took the medal from Jaks’ mouth. “I’m sure you’ll do better next run.”
“Yes, Coach!” Jaks said, and in his yoke ran up the stairs again. Hank was nowhere to be seen on his upwards run. Did he have a key to the doors? Jaks didn’t have much sense to figure this out as he was concentrating on improving his time. The second medallion in his mouth, he began sprinting down the stairs. Again Hank was waiting on the third landing, this time slamming the kid’s face into the wall. Any time Jaks had accumulated from his faster sprint was negated.
When Jaks met Coach after the third run he had the medallion in his mouth, but it was obvious from the chalk marks on his arms that he had dropped the bag. Why, Coach did not know.
On the fourth run Jaks made it down pass the third landing. Hank was waiting on the second. While presenting the forth medal Coach noticed the kid’s left calf was extended and he was hobbling. He looked at the stopwatch. “Lousy time, boy. You better do faster next.”
The fifth run took the longest. Coach did not mind. He was anxious to see what condition his prize wrestler was in. Jaks reported with his glutes reddened. Coach took the medallion from his mouth.
Jaks rested against the wall some, the bag over his arms. He was exhausted. But it was only half way over. Pulling himself up, he climbed the stairwell again.
This time Coach could hear the yelps. How far up the stairwell he could not tell. But Jaks appeared, medal in mouth. With stripes across his back.
“Only four more,” Coach said. “The worst is over, eh?”
Jaks grimaced and began his next naked stairwell run. On the fourth landing he took the medal in his mouth. Hank was not on the third landing. Nor the second. But he was waiting on the steps, half a stairwell from Coach. “Because these have to be fresh!” Hank growled.
Two minutes later Jaks stumbled down the stairs to Coach, medal in mouth. His nipples extremely sore and erect.
Coach accepted the medallion. “Run!”
Zombie-like, or shell shocked, Jaks shrugged his yoke and began climbing the stairs again. His muscles were on autopilot. He could not stop it. Only three more and he will have proven — what?
Thighs staggering under the yoke he climbed the stairs. Took the final third in his mouth. Began down, his calves aching. Hank was on the third.
Coach could have called a penalty for not having the medallion in his mouth. Instead the ribbon had been tied into a tight knot around Jaks’ balls. It took several minutes and much tugging for Coach to release it. But it was accepted.
Jaks was in very bad condition but he went up the stairs again. No springing up the stairs. Coach waited. Sounds. Then Jaks appeared, in his yoke, looking more devastated than ever before. No medallion could be seen.
“What is this?!” Coach demanded.
Jaks could just grimace, head down.
Then Coach noticed the ribbon between the wrestler’s thick legs. Could Hank have done this? Coach circled the naked stud. Indeed, the medallion had been inserted into Jaks’ ass, and he had been made to walk down two flights with the metal prize stuck up inside him.
Coach made the musclejock bend over as he extracted the medallion. Jaks fell forward, the 100 lbs bag still on his shoulders. Coach ordered him up. “One more.”
The blank look on Jaks’ face was nirvana for Coach. The stud was numb from abuse, acting on pure orders. Coach put away the stopwatch and stroked his groin as the kid entered the stairwell for the last time.
The final medallion was brought down in Jaks’ mouth. The weightbag was lying on the third floor landing. Now Jaks carried down on his shoulders a much harder weight. Coach grinned as Jaks finished his ordeal. Presenting Coach with the final medal in his mouth. With Hank riding him piggyback.
If you were to open the yearbook you would see a picture of Jaks smiling in a shirt and tie. Or see him in his singlet for the wrestling team, again standing straight among six others for the National Scholarship Society. You would not see his buff body naked and dripping with sweat, cock erect, nipples swollen like targets with a 240 Leatherman strattling his back. But this is what Coach saw now.
Jaks was made to extend the Pony Ride to Hank back to the wrestling room. His arms weak from the boxing bag now made to support the massive hairy thighs of the Brute that had abused him 10 times in the stairs. He staggered, had to be choked a few times in order to continue, but the youngster made it to the room. Then collapsed.
Jaks lied face down on the wrestling mat, Coach and Hank standing over. Muscles totally finished and mind dazed, unable to hear the words the two men were saying.
“He’s a tough one. Think he LIKED the abuse,” Hank said.
“Boys with muscles this big are always asking for something, am I right?”
“Damn right. Look at the biceps on this boy. Those aren’t natural. He’s been to the gym, making them bigger. Probably gets off having big guns.”
“True. And look at his abdomens.”
“Had GREAT fun with those. Breaking the bricks! I’ll do more if you want.”
“And the pecs?”
“Check out the red marks. Did him good. And yeah, those big nipples?”
“Yes you did a VERY good job on those. Just as I wanted.”
Coach looked over the prone wrestling stud. Bent down and took his jaw nicely in his hands.
“How you doing, my prized stud?”
Jaks could not respond. Every muscle had been destroyed. Plus his manhood. Exactly what Coach wanted.
“To the weights! Set up them up to failure. And Hank will determine each set.”
 
PART 7
“To the weights! Set up them up to failure. And Hank will determine each set.”
Jaks lied on the mats, his muscles destroyed by the stairwell run and all the abuses Hank had put him through. Some athletic, some sadistic. And yet not once did the tough young wrestler complain or ask to quit. Why was that, Jaks began to ask himself.   Coach had warned this training would not be NCAA-sanctioned – running buck naked down steps in a boxing bag yoke with a medal up your butt wasn’t in any manual Jaks had seen. He could only equate it to some military boot camp scene. Break you down and build you up. Is this what Coach had in mind? But even in the army you didn’t get your nipples yanked and twisted as brutally as Hank had done.
“Get up!” Coach ordered. Jaks did so, grimacing a bit. “Stand under the pull-up bar.” Jaks walked over, aware his peen was bobbing a bit, half hard. Once under the bar and between the frame the kid instinctively spread his legs a bit, squared back his shoulders in athletic preparation. It did not go unnoticed.
Coach paced in front of the naked athlete. “You are of course very familiar with every piece of equipment in the gym here. Your body shows that. You have the best physique on the squad. You know that.”
It was more a question than a declaration. “Yes sir, Coach” Jaks replied.
“Not the biggest muscles. The heayweights measure in more. But pound for pound you are THE cut and buff stud of the team, aren’t you?”
That one, Jaks knew, was not a question but a statement. Jaks said nothing but stared ahead.
“And yet you have no girl? I am right with that one, son?”
“No Coach,” Jaks said. “I mean, no girlfriend. Just … concentrate on wrestling.”
“A shame,” Hank growled, standing out of Jaks’ vision. “I would have liked to have beaten that out of him.”
Jaks grimaced a bit hearing that. And flexed. It didn’t help hearing Coach chuckle.
“Grab the bar!”
Jaks drew a breath, looked up. The bar was just high enough that he had to jump a bit. Grabbing with his wrists shoulder wide, his toes were two inches from the floor. He hung naked and flexed elongated.
Coach fully clothed circled him. Inspecting. Jaks stared ahead, trying not to notice where his eyes were going. In a way this was worse than the muscle challenges he had taken. At least then he was able to be defensive, active in defending his sense of manhood. Like this he was just meat.
“No girlfriend. Just wrestling,” Coach said. Smiled. “No wrestler? Games in the showers?”
“No Coach!” Jaks said, quickly. Which got a laugh out of Hank. Jaks winced. What the hell did that mean? he thought.
“But you are proud of yours muscles, correct?” Coach said. “You show them enough. Oh, I see it boy. The snug shirts, the tight pants. Girls notice it. The guys do, too. Showing off but being so chaste. Foregoing sex for wrestling and the gym. That would make your own muscles your lover.”
Jaks was beginning to feel the strain from his shoulders from the hanging, especially after the exhaustion from the stairs. “Un, yes Coach, I guess,” the fit jock muttered.
“Proud of them, aren’t you boy?” Coach said.
Jaks shrugged his shoulders a bit. “Yes Coach, I’m proud of my muscles!”
It was then when Hank approached the naked wrestler and stood before him. Shirtless hairy beef muscle, who had already dominated him in the stairwell. But that was just a drill. This was beginning to look like something more.
Coach spoke. “Pride is a good thing – when tempered. Pride unbridled, the feeling of invincibility, only leads to defeat. Yes, I am going to make you the Champion Wrestler. But you must always know defeat. You must remember the beatings you have taken before, and that you may take it again unless prepared.”
“Hank here is going to put you through a weightlifting session. That is to say he will use every weight and piece of equipment present here in various combinations, methods and positions. I am going to leave so not to witness what he does to you. But I am sure it will be the most painful experience in a gym you have ever endured.”
“He will break you. You will resist, try to ‘man’ up and take it all. You will not. Knowing Hank, I have absolutely no doubt of this.”
“Hank here will become your Rod of Pain. He will become your nightmare. After this the sight of him will churn your gut, cause muscle memory to make you fearful. Why, no one will ever know except the two of you.”
Coach smiled. “And that is when you will begin to wrestle him.”
 
PART 8
“Excuse me now. Hank, begin the training!”
Coach was only halfway out the door when he heard the scream. He did not look back. Walking down the hall he could hear another and another. They faded as he turned the corner, double checking that all the doors were locked and the gymnasium was impenetrable.
In the parking lot he checked his watch. 19:35. He was committed not to return until midnight. He would get something to eat, maybe Chinese, go to a movie. Anything to stretch the hours out and get his mind off what was happening in the weight room.
That was not an option for Jaks. No sooner was Coach halfway out the door than Hank had come from behind and roughly grabbed his ballsac in a crushing fist. Jaks screamed from the pain and fell from the pullup bar. Hank did not let go. Instead he twisted.
“Core workout!” Hank mocked as he pulled the naked studkid up by his balls from behind. Forcing him to his feet. Began to walk him around the room, stopping at each piece of equipment.
“What is this?” Hank ordered as he squeezed the gonads.
“Bench press!” Jaks yelped.
“What’s it good for?”
“To build the chest. AARRGGG”
A hearty tug and Hank moved him on.
“What’s this?”
“Leg squat!”
“What’s it good for?”
“To build the quads… UURRGGHH”
A short parade.
“What’s this?”
“Tricep pulldown.”
“What’s it good for?”
“For building up the arms… NNOOOO”
After 12 more stations of equipment Hank released the hold. Jaks fell to his knees, clutching his balls in agony.
There was no way he could lift weights now. Muscles spent and strength negated by the torture of his gonads had made him a weakling. Yet he was pumped up, his oversized pecs rock hard, shoulders and biceps blasting, thighs etched in three dimension. Which was just what Hank wanted.
The beefy thug took Jaks by an ankle and dragged him to a center spot on the floor. Jaks’ arms were pulled behind him, a rope tying them behind him, legs bent – a hogtie. Center floor.
Face to the floor, wincing at the tugging of his arms and legs, Jaks could not help but twist his head around to see what Hank was preparing for him.
Every piece of gym equipment was getting outfitted with ropes, extra weights. Hank stepped out and came back in with a large bag. From it came chains, collars, and clamps that were strung up to various weight machines.
And other objects. Jaks recognized the strop from his reading about horse racing. Something that looked like a woman’s dildo but was too large. A caulking gun. A battery powered generator with wires and pads. And many more. All of these placed next to the gym machines cum bondage stations.
Spot me dude! Jaks could hear only 24 hours ago when we was with his buds, the wrestling team pumping up for practice. This very room once filled with the team, sweating and bragging, helping each other out. He had spotted Tom on that very pec deck. The deck that now had barbed wire strung across the nipple line.
Hulk it Stud! Mikey would be face down on the quad press, crunching weights with those power quadslabs. With his shorts on. Nothing up his ass.
Jaks could see it. The wrestling squad’s workout weight room was once their place of pride and power. Now it was to be a Dungeon of Pain. And big Leatherman Hank – Jaks knew that’s what he was, though he could not figure out how Coach should know him – as his Master in this.
In this mind Jaks agreed he would submit himself to the muscle torture we would endure. It was what he deserved. It was what he NEEDED to become a champion. Whatever would happen these next hours – and he knew not how many hours – he would bite down and take it. No matter what this huge hairy Sadist did to him, he would take it. Any and all!
Well maybe not all. Jaks could tell he would be broken. Hank was just too big and too vicious. It would not just be weightlifting of his muscles and the torture toys. How he would be broken by his sexy nipples.
 
AUTHOR’S NOTE:   This is the end of my telling of Jaks. You may fill in what Hank did, or what Coach does next. I write just to suggest scenes. Use your imagination for how it will go.
Have fun!
-Paul Smith
 
 
 
 

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