The gym was nearly empty, the air thick with the scent of sweat and metal after hours of iron-pounding. You were tiny—no bigger than a finger—crouched behind a discarded water bottle near the squat rack, heart hammering as you watched him.
He was a beast of a man, exactly as the photo captured: short-cropped hair damp with exertion, sharp jawline glistening, powerful neck and traps flexing with every breath. His black sleeveless tank clung to his broad, vein-mapped shoulders and thick pecs, soaked through from the brutal session. Those massive arms—biceps like softballs, forearms corded and pumped—flexed as he racked the loaded barbell with a deep grunt. Sweat rolled down his neck, tracing the prominent veins before disappearing into the collar of his shirt.
He wiped his face with a towel, chest heaving, then rolled his powerful shoulders. His eyes scanned the area… and locked onto you.
“Well, shit,” he rumbled, voice low and amused, a smirk tugging at his lips. “What do we have here? Little snack tried to hide after my workout?”
Before you could scramble away, his huge hand descended. Thick fingers wrapped around your body with casual strength, lifting you effortlessly. Up close, he was overwhelming—musky, warm, the heat radiating off his sweat-slicked skin. His breath washed over you as he brought you level with his face, those intense eyes studying your tiny, squirming form.
“Been hitting PRs all evening. Arms are fried, chest is pumped… and now I’ve worked up a real hunger.” He licked his lips slowly, tongue gliding over them. “You’re gonna slide right down and help me recover, tiny.”
You felt the rumble of his chuckle vibrate through his fingers. He peeled off his tank top one-handed, revealing the full glory of his glistening, striated torso—abs carved like bricks, obliques sharp from the cut. Then he tilted his head back slightly, opening his mouth.
Hot, wet breath enveloped you. His tongue—broad, slick, and tasting of salt—slid out to greet you, pressing against your body as he pushed you inside. The heat was intense, immediate. Saliva coated you instantly as his lips sealed around your waist. He moaned deeply, the sound echoing around you like thunder. His tongue explored lazily, tasting every inch, rolling you gently against the ridged roof of his mouth while powerful throat muscles flexed just beyond.
“Mmm… salty little workout treat,” he murmured around you, the vibration making your whole body tremble.
Then the swallow came.
His head tilted further back. You felt the powerful ripple of his throat as the muscles contracted—strong, relentless, well-trained from years of heavy lifting. One smooth, wet *gulp* pulled your legs in completely. Another heavy swallow dragged you down past the tight ring of his throat, the ridged walls squeezing and massaging you in rhythmic pulses. You slid deeper, surrounded by heat, darkness, and the heavy thud of his heartbeat and the satisfied groan rumbling through his massive chest.
His hand rested on his throat, feeling the bulge travel downward until it disappeared behind his thick pecs and into the furnace of his stomach.
“Fuck yeah… all mine now,” he sighed, patting his abs as he felt you settle. He grabbed his shaker bottle with a satisfied smirk, already heading toward the locker room, belly warm and full. “Gonna digest you nice and slow while I refuel. Good job feeding the gains, little guy.”
Inside, the powerful churn of his post-workout stomach welcomed you—hot, slick, and relentlessly efficient. The man who had dominated the gym now carried you as his secret protein.
