Chronicles of Master Steele (double post)

[ipsen]

Hey folks,

I also posted this in the continuous muscle growth stories forum and I'm not sure which is the appropriate forum. So mods, please feel free to delete the appropriate one.

I've always fantasized about being the worshipping slave of a muscle god in multiple ways. Each installment of this series is told from the perspective of one of Master Steele's slaves, each belonging to a different "House", each one directly re-enacting my own personal desired interactions with a muscle god.

This story incorporates soft-core ball busting by a muscle master - so if you are not into it, I suggest you to stop reading at the end of this sentence.

Otherwise, I hope you guys like it.

*****

Chronicles of Master Steele


I was jolted awake by the sound of a large wooden door slamming into its frame from somewhere above the wooden ceiling a few feet above my head. The resulting vibration loosened the dust that had settled between the wooden planks and rained it down on my head in a choking cloud. I lowered my head, like usually did kneeling before my Master at his feet, legs splayed to the side, scrotum rubbing the floor he walked on desperately for forgiveness for whatever I had done to displease him while he stood tall in front of me like a giant, glowering at his conquered slave. Only this time, it was to protect my face from the falling dust that his entrance had caused, threatening to invade my air passages and make me cough.


I wasn?t afraid of coughing. I was afraid of making a sound. As Master?s possessions, we were just that; objects. And objects did not have thoughts, did not have voices, and certainly did not make noises. But the rules could be bent, or so I?ve come to suspect, depending on which Stable you belonged to. As for me, I was housed in the Gym Stable and here, we did not have voices.


The slaves of the Gym Stable served as Master?s personal weights when he worked out. As such, we were bound into fetal position with the wrists to ankles, knees to the chests. The thick rope binding us traveled from our throats, around the bindings securing our knees together, under our scrotums, up between the butt cheeks and back to the nape of our necks.
It was this last bit of rope at the nape of our necks by which Master mounted us on his Gym Stable wall. The weight of our bodies crushed our packages against the supporting rope. I have to admit it was painful when I was first submitted to Master?s ownership but after a few weeks, the pain turned into background discomfort.


The vibration the slamming door caused traveled down the wall, into the hook that held me, down the rope that bound me and straight into my nether-regions. As a weight slave, this was my notification that Master was home. And by some unexplained reasoning, like the other Weight Slaves, caused me to get hard, which increased the pain in my sensitive parts against the rope which ?supported? them.


Dull, heavy thuds announced that Master was descending the stairs into the basement room that served as his gym. The heavy metal door burst open and the first thing that registered was the sole of his booted foot, having kicked it open with enough force to topple a lineup of grown men like dominos. As soon as he had lowered his bull-like leg, I could see that his muscular physique was clothed in a long gray overcoat, trimmed with the colours of the college in which he was enrolled.


His shoulders nearly filled the wide double-doorway. Master ran a large, angled hand through his coarse dark brown hair naturally side parted at the leg side of his head. His overcoat, despite being the largest size his college had available, still wrapped tightly around boulder-like shoulders and basketball-sized biceps beneath which lean, sinewy muscles flexed as he willed it. Master?s dark brown hair had a natural, wavy part on the right and short cropped sides. He honed in his cobalt blue gaze upon Slave 220, a weight slave three hooks down to my right.


Slave 220 ?s eyes began welling up with tears of fear, silently begging with Master to spare him from a workout of excruciating pain. Master?s scruffy, squared jaw displayed no emotion as he lifted Slave 220 off his mounted hook with a single, barely flexed arm and carried him over to the rested barbell just a few feet away. The look on Slave 220?s face pleaded with Master?s indifference on what was too come next but the expression on Master?s face remained stoic, indifferent. Master rested 220 on one of the ends of the barbell, which was shaped into what resembled a prism. Master placed 220 on top of one end of the prism, legs straddling each side like a pummel horse. The other end was a mirrored version of the first, upon which Master placed Slave 350, once again lifting him off his wall-mount with a single arm, carrying him over to the barbell and placing him on the opposite end from which 220 sat, metal ridge wedging its way into his groin. 350 squirmed like a teenage girl experiencing orgasm for the first time, though I didn?t believe it was from pleasure that his trembling body spasmed.


And then, Master?s handsome gaze settled on me ? Slave 130. His blue eyes locked into mine. Time slowed to a crawl as he strutted towards me, his gaze holding me prisoner. The boulders of lean muscle most call ?shoulders? swung back and forth as he walked. His thick neck silhouetting the motion of his protruding Adam?s Apple as he reveled in my fear of his approach. I immediately began to leak pre-cum the closer he got, but willed myself to hold it back. God only knew what he would have done to us if Master caught us released our seed to his physique without explicit permission.


Master stopped in front of me and slowly unbuttoned his coat, revealing a wrestler?s thick, lean physique hugged by a thin collared shirt ? the standard uniform of his private college. He was teasing me and he knew it. A dark smirk crossed a corner of his lip, barely readable, but his amusement was there. The rock hard sinewy muscles of his biceps nearly sent me into orgasm on the spot, but was cut short when he threw the coat at his feet then lifted me off my mount by the rope at the back of my neck, binding ropes crushing my penis and scrotum nearly blinding me with pain, suddenly replacing the urge to spill my seed before my god. Master effortlessly carried me over to his bench press while I struggled in vain against making a peep as a result of my discomfort.


He mounted me with ease just behind 220 on the bar, the 60 degree edge wedging its way into my groin as he settled my weight onto it. When Master was done, the three of us were left straddling his bench press bar crotch first. We each knew that this was the easy part and that it would only get worse ? or better, depending on the slave ? when he started is workout.


Master stood in front of us at the foot of his bench press machine and posed briefly with his arms splayed, displaying the width of his chest and lats before our very eyes. 220 and 350 wet themselves on the spot with fear but surprisingly, made no soundhttp://cdncache-a.akamaihd.net/items...rrow-10x10.png before Master?s immense wall of muscle he projected to us. As for me, the pain and pleasure in my groin of having being mounted on Master?s weight lifting bar cumulated at the tip of my penis and the base of my balls, stopped only by permission from him to spill my seed.


Master smirked again at us like he always did before beginning a workout ? a smirk that either struck fear into the minds of his Weight Slaves, or sheer anticipation of the pleasure that was to follow. I was familiar with Master?s tactic. He would tease us to loosen up the tension in our predicaments and would send us for manual castration if we came before permission was granted; or at least, that was my suspicion. When Master was done flexing for us, he secured himself on the workout bench and grasped the bar with his large, calloused hands. 220 and 350 continued pissing (or cumming) themselves with fear but I held no fear.


When all 3 of us were secured to Master?s Bench Press bar, he settled into the workout station, titanic youthful muscles rippling beneath the skin that barely contained them, the workout began.