The Source - Part 5

[Proteus]

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Part 5

After my encounter with Darnell, everything picked up its pace. I had a better idea of what he actually wanted me to find out, so I was no longer idly casting out feelers, looking for leads in a million different directions. On top of that I was driven—driven by a desire to gain access to more Hard-T.

That very night, I found myself parking across Sixth Street from the Rutherford Building, which supposedly housed the clandestine gym that Sam was going to. It was supposed to be a mecca of sorts for Hard-T users.

I had run the location by one of my sources, who paused on the phone before asking how I found out about the place.

“No one’s supposed to know about it. It’s where all the guys who want Hard-T get their stuff,” he said.

It seemed like I was the only one who did not know about the gym, but then again, I had only known about Hard-T for less than a week.

The front of the building was an entrance to several businesses (most prominently, a dental clinic), but around the left side, down a dimly lit alley, was a nondescript grey door. I opened it—to my surprise it was unlocked—and descended a flight of stairs under buzzing fluorescent lights. I reached another door, this one with a small black pad on the right. A small red light glowed on the pad. Some sort of RFID or NFC system, perhaps? I recalled a similar setup at a hotel where you could hold the cardkey up to the door and it would unlock.

Having reached this barrier, I did the only thing I could; I knocked. A few minutes passed and I knocked again. This time, I heard something behind the door, and I backed away as it swept open. A burly man in a tight, faded, black AC/DC shirt stood in the doorway.

He eyed me suspiciously for a second, eventually asking, “Yes?”

“I’m a—I’m looking to—to,” I was a little unnerved by the man’s size. “I’m here for some Hard-T,” I finally said.

He looked me up and down. I noticed his short, dark beard just sort of faded on his neck until it blended with his substantial body hair, which showed above his collar. At last, he laughed at me and said, “You and every other guy. Come on in.”

Inside the Sixth Street gym was a world away from Molimen’s. Hard rock blared in the background, punctuated by groans, grunts, and the sound of heavy things dropping. The scent of sweat, which reminded me of the guy who gave me the Hard-T, mingled with a metallic odor. The burly man led me into a small room off the main hallway, which he unlocked with a metal key. Inside was a small table and the walls were lined with ratty binders and clipboards. Bookkeeping for Hard-T distribution, no doubt.

The burly man looked me up and down. “Your shirt,” he commanded, “unbutton your shirt.”

I did as he requested, hoping to stay in his good graces. I had to effectively infiltrate this place, not just score some vials, much as I would have been happy to do just that. He poked a thick finger with hairy knuckles into the flesh of my chest exposed by my V-neck, as though inspecting a piece of meat.

“Where’d you get your first hit?” he asked, fingering my chest hair before pulling back.

I told him about the guy at Molimen’s and he nodded, smiling.

“Jack gets a lot of firs’ timers started. You blow him?”

I was taken aback, but I answered him truthfully.

“Yeah, I mean, I sort of couldn’t help myself.”

“That’s the stuff. Hard-T will do that to a non-user. You got pheremone’d, bitch.”

I think he meant it as a term of endearment, but I was intimidated nonetheless. At least I had an explanation for what happened that night—and, I realized with some disappointment, Darnell’s willingness to hook up with me earlier in the day.

“I’d ask if you wanted just enough for getting lucky, but looking at ya’, I can tell it’s more than that,” he said, opening a binder and jotting down something. “Let me guess: you didn’t have that chest fur before? And if Jack gave you a few vials, then, jeeze, you must have been a scrawny little shit.”

I felt my cheeks turn rosy. Still, I had to focus on getting into this place.

“I’m interested in more than that,” I said, “much more.”

“Ah, full membership, eh? Lemme’ grab Mo and he’ll give you the tour. If you meet his specifications, that is.”

He earmarked a page in the binder and closed it, ushering me back into the hallway and making sure to lock the door behind him. We walked down the hallway and the music pumped louder while the scents became stronger.

We turned a corner and were in an open area with low (maybe eight foot?) ceilings and lots of free weights and racks. There were a couple of machines (though most seemed to use round weights instead of a pulley system) and no treadmills, ellipticals, or bikes to be seen. All around the room were guys—big guys. Their swollen bodies were contained in tight T-shirts and muscle shirts that revealed thick coats of body hair, though just as often as not, the guys were half-naked. Sweat glistened on hairy forearms that bunched as they grabbed bars. The grunts that issued from their mouths were almost animalistic. Everyone was taller than me (and I am of average height) in addition to being much wider than me. Some of the men were bloated with the bellies that professional bodybuilders have while others were cut and defined with tapered waists, but all of them were large.

We approached a massive man who was bench pressing without a spotter. He moaned, seemingly in ecstasy with every push upwards of the loaded bar. After a few reps, he stopped, gasped for breath, and sat up. I nearly backed up when this happened; he was almost as tall as I was and he was sitting down!

He was a Middle Eastern man (Iraqi, possibly) barely covered by a seemingly shrunken blue wife beater. His thick, heavy pectorals heaved with every deep breath he took, and sweat ran in streaks down his scruffy face and through the thick, curly hair of his chest. He looked like he was ready to burst from the wife beater at any moment—he had only to breath deep enough. His large nipples pointed through the material.

“Mo, we got a new member here,” said my guide, “Provided you think he’s man enough, that is.”

Mo got to his feet, his massive thighs flexing beneath the grey fabric of his sweatpants. He must have been over seven feet tall; the top of his head was near the ceiling! When he was standing, I could see a trail of dark wet spots running from his bulging crotch down his right pant leg. The smell of his cum, while strong, was more appealing than I would have expected.

“Let’s see,” he said.

He grabbed my shoulders with his meaty paws and squeezed tight, hurting me. I tried not to flinch too much. He felt up my chest, next, taking note of my chest hair. I found myself getting hard as he continued his inspection, prodding different body parts, until he reached my groin.

“Strip,” he commanded.

I dared not hesitate, even with so many other people there. This was a man who could probably snap my neck with a flick of his wrist. I removed my clothes, though I left my boxerbriefs on.

“Those, too,” he said.

However, before I could take them off, he grabbed the waistband with his fat fingers and tore my underwear clear off!

Mo took off his own clothes, though his back was so wide that he needed the other guy’s assistance with his shirt. He took off his pants, revealing the cum matted in his leg hair. And something else—something huge. He was wearing a tortured pair of white briefs, stained with cum and soaked with sweat. They were made were a fat person, so they were loose at the waist, resting on top of the gargantuan shelf of his ass and the front of his mammoth quadriceps. They were tight, however, around the leg holes, clearly cutting into his ass cheeks and thighs. The tightest part, however, was the fabric stretched across the front of his crotch. It was clear that his penis was at least seven or eight inches soft and his testicles, which weighed down the front of the briefs, were almost as big as oranges!

He pulled down the briefs with some effort, confirming my estimates of his junk, and gave a look behind me. I turned back and saw the other guy returning, apparently having gone to fetch two vials of Hard-T while I was engrossed with Mo. Mo stepped up to me, so close that his big dick pressed its sticky head into my abs. My own cock rose higher, brushing up against the bottom of his substantial balls.

He looked down at me from between his massive, hairy pectorals and said, “Okay, now we’re going to see how well you react to the stuff. If you pass, you’re in. If not…”

He didn’t finish, but instead grabbed the two vials from the AC/DC guy and gave one to me.

“Bottoms up?” I said, trying to diffuse some of the tension.

Mo grumbled in his deep voice before tilting his head back and drinking all of the Hard-T in a single gulp. I drank mine in a couple of swallows, and then it began.

Instantly we both cummed, my larger-than-usual amount suddenly seeming very modest in comparison to Mo’s torrent of cum that plastered my stomach and my chest. His cock was a hard fourteen inches, throbbing forcefully into the space where the bottom of my pectorals met. He kept climaxing, as his swollen balls churned out more and more of the hot, sticky fluid. Soon, my face was coated as well, and feeling the frenzy of the Hard-T, I licked around my lips, devouring the cum.

Immediately following this, he wrapped one broad hand around my dick and started jerking me off. While he did this, he grasped at my chest hair with his left hand. I went down on his enormous cock, though its girth was so great that I could only suck on the bulbous head. I do not know how much time passed while I was in that state of bliss, but we both came again. He jizzed so much that I gagged as it filled my cheeks and leaked out of the corners of my mouth. After he slurped my cum from his hand, he went to town on his own dick—it was long enough that he could bend over and lick it!

I knew I needed to impress him, so I gently touched him on one of his horseshoe shaped triceps. He looked up from his cock, a strange, wry look in his eyes. I ran my left hand through his chest hair, tantalizingly circling his right nipple. Next, I bent over and licked up the shaft of his veiny cock. He closed his eyes in an expression of pleasure. I returned to his nipples, tweaking them gently. Mo was definitely enjoying himself, judging by the cum streaming from his giant cock. I knew from my experience earlier in the day that this was merely the prelude for an orgasm, and wrapped both of my hands around his shaft, suddenly feeling even smaller. The cum made the big dick slippery and my hands worked their way up and down. I jerked him off and he roared when he blasted my body with cum.

After we both calmed down, I realized that all other activity in the gym had stopped, and everyone was watching us. All of the men were sporting massive hard ons and many were stroking themselves quickly. Even the AC/DC guy had clearly cummed in his pants.

“You’re in,” was all Mo said.

[convolution]

ahh ... that was very good
thanks

[Proteus]

You're welcome.