#ryker's

(Previous part: link.)

The day wears on.

Finally the time arrives when the bars start serving alcohol.

"About fucking time." Ryker mutters to himself as he takes a swig of his ice-cold beer. The chill is a welcome contrast against his heated body. The bar, a place called The Barrel, isn't very crowded yet, maintaining a good, low-key atmosphere..

"Come on..." A voice with a pleading, wheedling tone interrupts Ryker's thoughts. "I know we planned to spend the day together, but… it’ll just be this time, and then I’ll spend the whole day with you. I promise."

It doesn't take Ryker long to find the source of that voice.

Two men are sitting at a table near the bar counter. One of them is large and appears to be about sixty years old, while the other is barely thirty. The younger man is the one who just spoke.

"But Jason, my boy." The older man says in a calm, subdued tone. "I even took the day off work to celebrate Pride with you today, and now you want to go hook up with a Grindr match?"

"Pleeeeease!" This fellow Jason exclaims in a childish tone, with a look of wide-eyed adoration, as he rubs his partner's belly. "If I go, I'll come back much more relaxed, and we can have fun together!"

"Ok, whatever. Go." The older man says in a resigned tone.

"Yaaaay! See ya!" Jason exclaims this as he rushes out, nearly colliding with the door because he is already texting his match at the same time. Apparently, he hasn't realized... or hasn't wanted to realize... that his partner is devastated by his sudden departure.

For several minutes, the man simply sits there, gazing at his beer in silence, resigned. Then he gets up dejectedly, probably to go home, alone.

"Hey, man! It's scorching hot out there! Why don't you have a beer with me before you head out?" Ryker calls out, with two ice-cold beers he has just ordered sitting on the bar, catching the man's attention.

"Hello, buddy. is that beer for me?" The man asks. Then, after Ryker nods with a smile, the man downs it in one gulp.

"Wow, dude! You really needed that!" Ryker chuckles.

"You bet." That man replies with a sigh.

"I am Ryker, by the way."

"Harold."

"What was that about?"

"Ah, you saw. You know how it is… young people these days." Harold pauses to take another long swig of beer. "He said he’d be back in a little while, but in all likelihood, I won’t see him again for a few days. So much for spending Pride with my boy, it seems. He always gets what he wants from me. Do you see this?" Harold asks, pointing to the text on his tank top, stretched over his belly.

"Yeah… what's the story behind that?"

"He made me buy it because he says I’m like his genie in a lamp... that he can get anything he asks for if he rubs my belly," Harold explains with a forced smile and sad eyes.

"You don't look like you're enjoying the joke."

"Well… you know… with a body like this, I only attract that kind of guy… I've learned to settle. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining about my looks, but… it has its consequences…."

"No fucking way, man," Ryker growls, stepping deep into Harold's personal space. "You are built like a tank. You're really hot."

"Hah… thanks, Ryker…" Harold blushes, caught off guard by the sudden heat radiating from the younger, massive man.

"So… how does it work? Like this?" Ryker asks, locking eyes with Harold as his large hand begins to rub the man's belly. A nervous smile flits across Harold's face. He clearly still can’t believe a man like Ryker is paying him genuine attention.

"Oh! Hahaha… yeah… just like that…" Harold stammered, his voice thickening with sudden arousal. He is completely unaccustomed to anyone other than immature, needy boys taking an interest in him. "Do you… do you have a wish for the genie?"

"Maybe later," Ryker murmured, his tone dropping an octave. "Right now, I want to know… what's YOUR wish?"

"W... what do you mean?"

"Your wish, Harold. What is your deepest desire?"

Ryker keeps rubbing Harold's belly, his touch radiating a hypnotic, heavy warmth. Harold's eyes suddenly cloud over, turning a smoky gray as if falling into a deep trance.

"I… I wish…" Harold drones, the words slipping out involuntarily. "I wish to be with someone who actually loves me… who cares for me and worries about me just as much as I do for him. A… a relationship between equals… someone who truly wants me… I want everyone to stop treating me like a living fetish and see me for who I really am…"

Ryker stops rubbing his belly. The sudden break in contact causes Harold to snap out of his light trance, blinking hard.

"You know what…? Deal," Ryker says, a dangerous, satisfied smile spreading across his face.

"What do you...?"

But Ryker seals his lips with a kiss that Harold receives eagerly. Harold surrenders completely to the firmness of Ryker’s heavy hands framing his head. It is a sincere, authentic kiss… entirely unlike the manipulative touch of someone who just wants to take something from him…

When the kiss ends, they gaze at each other, both smiling.

"Your wish will be granted," Ryker says, a cocky, knowing smirk playing on his lips. "And at the same time, I’m going to set you free, Genie."

"Hahahaha, you’re funny. What if we head back to my...?" But Harold cuts himself off as a strange, electrifying sensation tears through his veins. "What… what is this…. oh… fuck… fuck yeah…" The sensation intensifies, rapidly mutating into pure, overwhelming pleasure. "YES!!!!"

With a raw cry of ecstasy worthy of a climax, the transformation begins.

Harold’s body begins to give off dense, heavy smoke as he continues to moan with pleasure. It's as if his entire being is shedding layer after layer of lifelong conditioning and resignation, watching them disintegrate into thick smoke that dissipates into nothingness.

Mind and body transform in perfect harmony...

To fulfill Harold's deepest wish.

More and more of his old self vanishes into the smoke.

Soon, the smoke begins to reveal a brand-new version of Harold.

Impeccably groomed… no longer disheveled…

No longer trapped in clothes meant to mock him.

His mind is finally free from the shackles of his own insecurities and doubts.

Little by little, the smoke clears.

When the final wisps of smoke vanish, Harold blinks out of his ecstatic daze, slowly grasping what has just happened. Speechless, his hands roam over his chest and arms, exploring his newly forged self.

He feels entirely like himself, yet completely reborn.

He is exactly who he always wished he could be.

He whips around to face Ryker.

"Ryker! How? How did you…?"

But the spot is empty.

Ryker... and his ice-cold beer... are completely gone.

"Whoa, is someone smoking a cigar in here? Because that… OW!"

A sudden impact jolts Harold from his thoughts as a handsome guy bumps hard into him, spilling a fresh beer right down Harold’s pristine new shirt.

"Oh, gosh!" The man exclaims. "I am SO sorry! Are you okay?"

"Oh, shit…" Harold says, looking down at his stained shirt. "Well, don't worry about it. It was an accident."

"I'm so incredibly sorry! I was walking up to the bar and got completely distracted by this thick cloud of cigar smoke and… I just didn't see you there… and… and…" The man seems genuinely remorseful.

"Don't worry, really. It’s fine."

"How could I not worry? I’ve completely ruined your shirt! And I know it’s hot out, but, damn, that beer was ice-cold." The man continues to apologize while trying, unsuccessfully, to dab the stain away with a few napkins. "You know what? I live right around the corner, and one of my shirts would probably fit you perfectly. Why don't we head over to my place so I can lend you something clean?"

"Moving a bit fast, aren't you? Buy me a beer first… one you don't spill on me, preferably," Harold says with a mischievous grin.

"Oh! I… I… I didn't mean it like that… unless… well, unless…"

"Relax, man! I was just pulling your leg."

"Oh… hahahaha! Well, you definitely got me. My name is Tony."

"Har… Hal. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, Hal. Now… if you still want that beer…"

"Sure… the shirt can wait."

"I don't know," Tony chuckles, eyes scanning Hal's chest. "That wet look actually suits you."

They sit at a table.

Two fresh, cold beers are ordered.

And from that moment on, everything flows.

Outside, Ryker walks away into the heat of the afternoon. He doesn't look back through the window... he doesn't care about the happy ending. He just smirks, his dick still heavy and half-hard from the sheer thrill of breaking Harold’s pathetic chains and molding him into something better.

The encounter with Tony was just a lucky twist of fate, but that’s the fun part of disintegrating a man's weakness... watching the chaos and the power you've just unleashed.

Omega Radio for November 16, 2019; #212.

Call This Addiction “Pointless Waste”

Body Count “Raining In Blood Postmortem“

Kings Never Die “Before My Time”

Get The Shot “Hellbringer”

Bent Life “Thanks For Nothing”

Bonehead “Xanax”

Cause For Alarm “Lies”

Lift “Pressure”

Modern Life Is War “Feels Like End Times”

Nails “Endless Resistance” (f. Max Cavalera)

Adrenaline “The Real You”

Pithair “Aggressive Behaviour”

Raised Fist “Anthem”

Complete Failure “Suicide Screed Of Total Invincibility”

Rykers “Cast In Stone”

Forewarned “A Thousand Cuts”

Back To Life “No Chance In Hell”

Combust “A World Of Confusion”

Agnostic Front “You’re Gonna’ Pay”

Terror “No Love Lost”

Knocked Loose “The Rain”

This Means War! “Use It Up”

Frustration “Last Will And Testament”

Time Spent “1%”

Power Alone “Something Real”

First Blood “Rules Of Conviction”

Of Victims And Prey “Modern Days”

Process Black “Lies Over Truth”

Harm’s Way “Breeding Grounds”

Crafter “Lasting Efforts”

Ichi Banzai “Not Limitless”

Erabella “Somber”

Clear Cut “Unison”

Pride season.

There's something in the air this month.

In some cities, even streets far removed from major events like the Pride parade, such as the one Ryker is walking in right now, are decorated to celebrate the occasion.

Ryker isn't stupid.

He knows that many people who decorate their shops or homes for Pride would feel uncomfortable next to a gay person any other month, but he doesn't want to get upset, so he prefers not to think about those things and just enjoy the atmosphere.

"Wow...!"

Ryker turns around to see whose voice he just heard.

On the steps of the back entrance of a small apartment building, Ryker sees a man in his fifties, sitting with his cell phone in his hands, staring at him in a daze. Apparently, that expression has been an involuntary reaction to seeing Ryker.

"Hey buddy, how's it going?" Ryker asks casually.

"Huh?! Er... All good, mate, thanks." He answers, surprised. "What... what about you?" It is clear that he didn't expect Ryker to pay attention to him.

"All good." Ryker responds with a cocky but also sincere smile. "What are you up to? Are you ready for this afternoon's parade and the crazy parties afterwards?"

"Who? Me? Hahaha. No, man, that's not for me."

The man seems more comfortable talking to Ryker now.

"Really? Why? Name is Ryker, by the way."

"Hans. Nice to meet you." Hans introduced himself, to which Ryker responded with a nod. "I've always found it a bit… fake to go to a Pride parade."

"How is that?" Ryker asks, curious.

"Don't get me wrong." Hans responds with his hands raised in a conciliatory gesture, so as not to offend anyone, and standing up before continuing. "I carry the Pride in my soul, but I can never celebrate it the way I want… or rather, the way I'd like to be. My true self."

"Interesting!" Ryker says this as he moves very close to Hans, leaning a hand against the wall behind him and completely invading his personal space. Although it's obvious Hans doesn't mind. "And your true self… what is it like…?" He asks in a deep, seductive voice.

"Ah... hahaha... you see..." Hans is obviously excited and enjoying Ryker's closeness. "Although it might not seem like it… I like being the strong one around others… the dominant one… the boss… having the upper hand…"

Hans' intense gaze shows that he really means it. Then his expression becomes less cheerful and more somber as he shifts his gaze from Ryker's eyes to his own body.

"When I look at my body… it doesn't match what I carry inside…"

"That's all? Ok." Ryker says with an optimistic tone." We're going to fix this. It's time to get you out of there." He adds casually, as if he were saying the most normal thing in the world, while tapping Hans's chest with his finger.

"What do you m...?"

But Hans's question is interrupted when Ryker claims his lips, catching the surprised man completely off guard. It's not an unpleasant surprise, of course... Hans has had a rock-hard boner almost since the moment he laid eyes on Ryker… he just hadn't expected it.

The kiss is gentle at first, but soon becomes intense…

Demanding...

And Hans gives in to passion.

It's not a kiss out of kindness or pity.

It is authentic and full of desire.

Hans hasn't felt like this in a long time, and he's giving it his all.

After a few amazing moments that felt like an hour, Ryker gently broke the kiss, staring intently into Hans' eyes, without abandoning his cocky grin.

"It's time, bro. Get out of there."

"Hah... what do you... WHAT THE...?!"

Suddenly, smoke begins to seep from Hans’s pores… literally. Billows of dense, musky cigar smoke curl around his forearm, not burning, but melting his old skin. It’s not painful, quite the opposite. It is an intense, pleasurable release... the exhilarating relief of shedding an excruciatingly tight suit.

As the smoke lifts, Hans gasps. His arm is still there, but remade. It’s thicker, harder, carved from dense, powerful muscle. The transformation is ruthless and electric. Everywhere the smoke passes, it consumes his former self and leaves behind this truer, dominant form.

Even his civilian clothes cannot resist. They don't fade, they transmute. The weak cotton of his white t-shirt and the coarse denim of his jeans surrender, dissolving into the air and hardening into polished, heavy-duty black leather. He is no longer Hans, he is a man wearing authority. Hans isn’t afraid, he’s not shouting… instead, he’s reveling in it, fully surrendered to the dominant power filling him.

As the smoke seeps into his mind, the mental shift takes hold. The mind must match the body. Gone are the doubts, gone is the shame of his hidden desires. Now, there is only raw strength, absolute authority, and unyielding passion... above all, passion.

He celebrates it with a guttural roar.

The transformation is complete.

He is the same man, yet an entirely different beast.

Hans is no more. Hammer is born.

"About time..." Ryker exclaims, satisfied with the results.

"Fuck! That was... intense!"

"Ready to celebrate or do you still feel like staying home?"

"Staying home?! Fuck, no! Lead the way!"

Deep down, Hammer knows he is still Hans. He is fully aware of the power that just rewrote him, but there is no horror, no rejection, and no regret. Instead, he embraces his new reality with a fierce, burning gratitude.

"Move it. The world is ours for the taking."

Through Ryker's absolute power and his own buried desires, everything has finally clicked into place. His mind doesn't fight the leather or the massive muscles, it claims them. This is what he always wanted to be… stripping away the weak exterior to let the dominant predator step forward.

"…Sir?" The traffic officer says this while staring intently at Ryker, who is leaning against an impressive red sports car. "Did you… did you hear anything I said, sir?"

But Ryker doesn't answer.

Instead, he takes a cigar from his shirt pocket and lights it ceremoniously, without haste, taking a few deep drags to prevent it from going out. Then he raises his head slightly and lets out a puff of smoke with a satisfied expression, before looking directly into the officer's eyes.

"Sir?" The officer repeats, with a perplexed expression.

"Something about speeding?" He replies without much interest.

"Yes, sir." The officer says, relieved that Ryker is finally listening to him. "You were going 90 in a 50 zone, sir. That's speeding. That's why I stopped you."

"Some cars are just built to go fast, officer…"

"Wilson. Charles Wilson." Officer Wilson replies without thinking. "And that's no reason to break the law, sir. I'm afraid I'm going to have to give you a hefty fine. Can I have the car's registration papers?"

"To be honest, Officer Wilson, I haven't the faintest idea where the papers are. The car isn't mine, a friend… lent it to me." Ryker adds with a strange smile, as if he found a funny joke that only he knew.

"Can we call that friend of yours, sir?"

"He is… out of town. I don't think he'll answer the phone." That strange smile again. This time it's because Ryker knows that if the officer knew what really happened to the car's owner, he'd speed away.

But that's a story for another time.

"Then I'm afraid that apart from the fine I'll have to call a tow truck to remove the car, sir, until the owner can claim it." Wilson says as he begins typing on a device in his hand.

"Well, that's not going to happen, officer." Ryker says naturally and confidently, while placing an imperative hand on the traffic officer's shoulder.

"What the…? Sir?"

"You see, Charlie." As he speaks, the smoke from his cigar floats directly towards the officer's face. He can't help but inhale it.. "I can't let you do that, it's not convenient for me right now."

"Wha… what's going on… can't… move…"

"Be quiet for a bit, Charlie, I'll fix this in a moment."

Ryker takes a deep drag on his cigar, then lets out a puff of smoke, which forces its way through Charlie's nose and mouth, deep into his lungs. Deep into his mind.

"Ughn…."

The officer's eyes turn gray.

"I think, Charlie, my boy, that you and I are going to be very good friends. We're men, and men should take care of each other, right?" Ryker says in a casual but commanding tone, looking into the officer's empty eyes.

"Friends… take care… of men…"

"That's idea, Charley, good boy."

Ryker stares at his toy for a moment.

He's sure that what he's done is more than enough to avoid the fine, but… why stop there? It's not like a predator to play with its prey only to let it escape without claiming it.

Ryker moves even closer to his new toy. The cigar smoke floats around them in a surreal and otherworldly way, drifting in and out of the officer's body and mind, clinging to every inch of his body.

Meanwhile, Ryker continues talking to him, molding his mind to his liking with commands that his toy's brain is unable to register, but which are engraved in his being.

Ryker doesn't stop until he's satisfied.

"Whoa… what the…" Seconds later, Officer Wilson… Charlie… regains consciousness, feeling as if he had just suffered a very slight dizziness.

"Are you ok, Charlie?" Ryker asks with convincing concern.

"Yes, Sir." Charlie replies, emphasizing the 'Sir' almost like a soldier would. "For a moment I didn't feel like myself… and the world was spinning, Sir. But I am ok now."

"Good to hear, Charlie."

"What… what was I doing, Sir? I can't remember."

"You were giving me a ticket, Charlie."

"What?! That make no sense, Sir. I would never…"

Then Charlie looks at the device in his hand.

"Never… Oh… oh no…"

"What's wrong, boy?"

"I… I…"

Charlie starts to tremble.

"I've given you a ticket, Sir!" I'm… damn… I'm sorry!" He exclaims, sobbing. "How could I have even thought of that?! How could I be so stupid!"

Ryker was surprised because he hadn't expected it. He thought he had started influencing the officer before he finished entering the ticket into the system.

"No big deal, boy. Just cancel it."

"I… I can't, Sir! Once it's entered into the server, we can't cancel it. We… we'd have to fill out a series of forms explaining why… and it could take much longer than the time available to pay the fine, Sir! I am so sorry!"

Charlie bursts into tears, filled with regret.

"Charlie, It is fine." Ryker says in a comforting tone. "We can fix this."

"R… really? how, Sir?"

Ryker approaches his toy and puts his arm around his shoulder.

"It's easy, boy. You want to fix it, right?"

"OF COURSE, SIR!" Charlie exclaims firmly.

"Then all you have to do is pay the fine yourself."

"Oh… oh! Of course! Will you let me do that for you, Sir?!"

"Of course, you are such a good boy."

"Thank you, Sir!"

"No problem. But, Charlie…"

"Yes, Sir?" The officer replies, puzzled.

"Although we were able to find a solution, what happened today wasn't right, you understand, right?" Although Ryker speaks in a casual tone, his voice sounds simultaneously demanding, confident, and firm.

"Y… yes, Sir, I understand. What can I do?"

Ryker moves even closer to his toy. Their faces are so close that their lips almost touch, causing Charlie to begin panting softly with pure arousal.

"You're going to make it up to me, boy." Ryker says. It's not a suggestion, it's not an option. It's an undeniable fact, period. "Tonight. As soon as you finish your shift. My place. No excuses."

For a split second, a tiny voice tells him that ​​going to Ryker's house in the middle of the night seems absurd, a fucking crazy idea, but that voice is silenced, and is lost forever in a dense fog that smells of masculinity, before Charlie's brain can register it.

"Y… yes, Sir! Of course, thank you for…!"

"Shut up and come here, boy."

Ryker seals his toy's voice with a steamy kiss.

Former Officer Wilson would be surprised and disgusted, but Charlie gives himself over completely, hoping to satisfy Ryker even a fraction of the pleasure he himself is feeling at this moment, while the cigar smoke flows freely from Ryker's lungs into those of his toy.

Hours pass.

Charlie completes his shift as normal, or so he thinks.

Some of his coworkers tell him he smells like cigar smoke, but he thinks it's normal, even obvious. Little do they know that he'll never be able to get rid of that smell no matter how much he showers. It's become a part of him.

Others notice that Charlie has been aroused all day, with an erection and a wet spot on his pants barely concealed by their color, although they don't say anything to him.

Again, Charlie thinks it's normal… something inside tells him that's what's expected of him all day long as he longs to meet his… his…

After a half-hour drive, Charlie arrives in Ryker's neighborhood.

Upon checking his mobile phone, the officer sees that his partner has not responded to the message in which he said that he would not be returning home that night.

He's probably in for a nasty scolding when he gets there.

He doesn't care.

Charlie puts his phone on airplane mode.

Nothing will disrupt his efforts to make up for his mistakes.

With his cell phone forgotten in his pocket, Charlie heads with a determined stride to Ryker's house, ready to do whatever it takes until he forgets the affront of that morning.

Ready to eat him alive.

And more.

"Perfect." He thinks as soon as he enters the gym and discovers that, just as he expected, it is deserted. He has the whole place to himself.

He has a name, but everyone calls him Soccerkitlad, or 'sir'.

The Iron Titan isn't the best gym in town, but it's the one that opens earliest. Soccerkitlad doesn't mind being the center of attention at a gym... in fact, it's one of his favorite haunts... but sometimes he just needs to focus on training to maintain that physique without anyone bothering him.

Early in the morning, the Iron Titan is empty, with only Soccerkitlad and the sleepy coach, who wonders how anyone could possibly want to train at that hour.

But when Soccerkitlad leaves the locker room ready to work out, he immediately notices that something has changed. The atmosphere of the gym is different, and he hears the familiar sound of weights being picked up and put back on the rack.

There's someone else at the gym.

He quickly dismisses it. One or two people aren't going to ruin his morning, especially if they don't bother him with nonsense or try to get him to take them to the showers or the bathroom.

And then he sees the newcomer.

"Fuck..."

What he sees leaves him speechless. A man he has never seen before. A man with an admirable physique who, obviously and unlike many, doesn't skip leg day, lifting heavy dumbbells with effort but without hesitation.

Grunting like a beast.

That man doesn't look up from his exercises to look at him, he's too focused. But Soccerkitlad realizes he's been staring for too long and, snapping out of his reverie, decides to get to work.

"Uhn...!"

After some cardio and warming up, Soccerkitlad moves on to the heavy weights. He's finding it harder than usual, but the reason is quite obvious…

"Damn, why did I have to put so much weight on it?" He thinks, regretting having exceeded his planned weight for the session, which was already quite a lot. Part of him wonders if he did it to try and impress the stranger, and as he does, he notices a boner starting to grow in his pants.

It also doesn't help that he's been noticing a strange scent in the gym for a while now. At first, he thought it was the stranger's deodorant, but then he realized it was more like the man's own body smell… a mixture of sweat, leather, pheromones, and something else he can't quite put him finger on. Whatever it is, it's driving him wild.

After a while he notices how the smell increases considerably, and he doesn't understand why until, when he opens his eyes after lifting the barbell with effort, he encounters a sight he did not expect.

"Uh ..."

The first thing he sees is the man's prominent bulge, just inches from his face. The smell now fills his nostrils, he can almost taste it… and he loves it.

"You've got some heavy weights there, bud." The newcomer says. Upon hearing his voice, Soccerkitlad finally takes his eyes off the bulge and looks at the newcomer's face, who in turn looks at him with interest and his hands on his waist. "Do you need a spot?"

"A spot?" He thinks, feeling offended. With muscles like his, it's been more years than he can remember since he's needed a spot. And yet… yet...

"Sure, thanks." He says.

The newcomer smiles, and Soccerkitlad feels like melting.

A couple of hours later, both men are in the locker room.

They've spent all that time working out, sharing tips, and getting to know each other a little. The newcomer, whose name is Ryker, is already in the showers, while Soccerkitlad keeps replaying that morning's workout, with a boner in his pants.

Then he smells that intense scent again. But it's not coming from the shower, no… it's coming from Ryker's gym bag, lying on one of the benches.

Soccerkitlad can't resist and carefully opens the bag, receiving an intense dose of the smell… the source? Ryker's sweaty underwear. The smell is too much… it's like it turns on all the parts of his brain related to pleasure… he can't help it and…

He presses Ryker's shorts against his nose and mouth, breathing deeply… losing himself in the pleasure it gives him… enjoying every second… so much so that, before he knows it, Ryker has finished the shower, even though he hasn't even undressed yet.

He puts the shorts in his own bag and gets out of the gym.

A few days later, Soccerkitlad returns to the Iron Titan.

His mind keeps racing, wondering if Ryker will be there. He's eager to see him again, but he's also afraid Ryker might have noticed him stealing his underwear.

He won't take long to find out the answer.

"About time we meet again, dude."

Soccerkitlad is speechless to see that, on this occasion, Ryker is wearing a tank top that leaves his armpits exposed… and accessible. The logo on the shirt fits him like a glove. He is a beast... and Soccerkitlad feels like a prey... a willing one.

"Hey..."

"Where are they?"

"What... what do you...?"

"Came on, dude, don't play dumb. I know you have my shorts. We were alone at the gym that day. Fuck, I'm sure you even brought them… and that you're having trouble parting with them."

"S... sorry... I..."

"Oh, don't feel bad, man. You gave me a great idea." He said in a conciliatory tone. "Put them on."

"What...?"

"My shorts, put them on." Ryker repeats. "Come on, on top of stealing them, you're not going to give me the pleasure of seeing you put them on?"

"But... here?"

"Yes. Here. Now."

Ryker's voice is obviously more of an order than a request.

Soccerkitlad, without really knowing why, obeys.

Under Ryker's piercing eyes, who clutches his own bulge throughout the process, Soccerkitlad removes the clothes he still had on, and slowly puts Ryker's deliciously scented underwear over his own glorious boner. For some reason, he does it slowly and without haste, as if he wanted Ryker to enjoy it.

Sadly, the show ends too soon.

Soccerkitlad didn't expect to enjoy wearing Ryker's underwear so much. The shorts fit him quite well. Although they smell strongly of Ryker's scent, after several days the sweat has dried.

Then he look directly at Ryker.

"There. Happy now?"

"Not yet." Ryker replies.

"What?"

"Now these." Ryker says after opening his gym bag and taking out some pants and a t-shirt… the same ones he was wearing the day he met Soccerkitlad.

"But, those are..."

"Exactly. And just like my shorts, nobody washed them."

"What do you..."

"Put on my clothes, go to the weight room, and start lifting like you've never lifted before. You can be sure that I'll be watching you every second."

"Ok..."

"It is 'yes sir'." Ryker corrects.

"Yes, sir."

And so he does.

And with each exercise and each repetition, Ryker's scent, present in the air and on the clothes he wears, becomes more and more ingrained in his mind, becoming his whole world.

Ryker's scent and the need to lift weights.

When he finishes the entire series of exercises planned for that morning, Soccerkitlad looks at Ryker, who nods towards the locker rooms.

Without needing further explanation, he obeys.

When Ryker follows him a few minutes later, he finds Soccerkitlad standing in the locker room, doing nothing, staring blankly, with his clothes soaked in sweat.

He takes a few seconds to look up and down his new toy.

"Fuck. You smell soooo good now." Ryker says, moving closer to smell Soccerkitlad's neck, who in turn raises his head to give Ryker more room.

Ryker inhales deeply.

"You smell like me… and I bet you fucking love it."

"U... yeah... yes, sir..."

"Good boy... Why don't you take an extra dose?"

Ryker grabs Soccerkitlad's head by the nape of his neck and guides it towards his sweaty chest. Without thinking too much, Soccerkitlad inhales deeply as he strokes the muscular man's torso, which makes Ryker smile with satisfaction.

"Yeah... just like that... you are doing great... now... take off the shirt and show me how MUCH you love flexing those muscles for me, muscle-boy." Ryker whispers in his toy's ear.

It is both an order and a fact at the same time. Soccerkitlad is overwhelmed by the need to flex his muscles for Ryker's enjoyment. Suddenly, it's as if nothing else matters to him.

"Yes, sir..."

And he obeys.

"Fucking perfect..." Ryker murmurs. "I knew you'd be my perfect trophy muscular man."

His words fill Soccerkitlad with satisfaction and pleasure.

"Seeing you flex those muscles makes me happy, and nothing gives you more pleasure than making me happy."

Again, Ryker's words are not a question or a suggestion, or even an order, but something more… an absolute truth that is etched into the mind of his trophy man.

"Uhn... Happy..."

"Hush now... trophy men do not talk when they are flexing..."

"..."

"Good... fucking good. Let's go to my place. There you can keep flexing and pleasing my eyes, trophy man… and I have the perfect uniform for you."

A short time later, Soccerkitlad is in Ryker's apartment, dressed in his new uniform… a butler jockstrap and a matching collar and bow tie. The perfect trophy muscular man.

So still he looks like a statue.

Ryker's orders, he changes pose every so often,

So perfect. So happy.

All his mind can think about is flexing, posing and pleasing Ryker.

When Ryker comes out of his room and gazes at his new toy with interest, the trophy man doesn't speak, doesn't even look at him… his job is just to pose and flex his body, but when Ryker smiles at the sight, the pleasure he feels is indescribable.

Ryker mutters something about whether his trophy man's ass can flex that much, and how he plans to test it later in his bedroom. His toy can barely register his words, but if it involves flexing and posing, he knows he'll give it his all to please Ryker.

The perfect trophy muscular man.

Ryker sits down next to his toy and leisurely lights a cigar.

The cigar smoke reaches Soccerkitlad, and if he were still in control of his own thoughts, he would deduce that this was the ingredient in Ryker's scent that he hadn't been able to identify in the gym.

But now all she cares about is posing and flexing.

He is Ryker's perfect trophy muscular man.

Moving to a new city always brings a wealth of new opportunities. But starting over requires a lot of effort. It's not easy. And the first arduous task is getting everything into the new home.

Ryker has never minded working hard. His body is built to give it his all, all the time, but that doesn't stop him from wondering, in the middle of the move, if he should have chosen a less hot day.

But Ryker wasn't one to spend his life questioning his decisions, that's for people who lack self-confidence. Ryker has chosen that day to move, and he is going to finish it, no matter what, even if he is going to end drenched in sweat.

Just a few meters away, the scene is completely different.

Alan is having a normal, ordinary day. He arrived at the office early, did the same monotonous work he does every morning, and at exactly 10:20, he took a break to get a takeaway coffee from his usual café. A cloned day, identical to all the working days of his life.

But that has just changed.

As he walks back from the cafeteria to his office, Alan has just run into Ryker in the middle of his move and, since then, he hasn't been able to take another step.

Alan just stood there, watching Ryker go in and out of the building to bring in more moving boxes. Alan's coffee had gone cold, and his break had ended 20 minutes earlier. But still, he can't bring himself to leave, or even finish his coffee.

And his pants have started to get tighter.

But, after standing there watching Ryker come and go multiple times, something unexpected happens.

"Damn it, man." Ryker says, looking directly into Alan's eyes. Alan is surprised, not because he saw him, since Alan stands out a lot standing there in the middle of the sidewalk, but because Ryker speaks to him, acknowledging his existence.

"If you're going to enjoy the show that much…" Ryker continues, staring directly at Alan's crotch and then back into his eyes. "You're going to pay for your ticket big time." Ryker nods toward the moving boxes piled up on the sidewalk. "Start grabbing boxes and taking them into my apartment. Now."

Those words… that command snapped Alan out of his 'paralysis'. Alan wants to say something, but Ryker has already disappeared behind the door. Although, to be honest, Alan isn't sure what he would have said.

Without wasting a single second, Alan puts his cold takeaway coffee on the floor, picks up one of the moving boxes, and ventures inside the building.

Why is he doing that? Why is he listening to… or rather, obeying this man he doesn't know and has never seen before? Alan doesn't know… but he doesn't care. He's captivated by Ryker, he wants to please him, he wants to do his bidding… if Ryker wants Alan to carry his boxes to the apartment, he will.

In the brick corridors of the industrial building, Alan crosses paths with Ryker again. Ryker walks past without even noticing the office worker, but when they're a few steps apart, Ryker speaks abruptly over his shoulder.

"Apartment 5-A. Top floor. Don't break anything."

"Y-yes, sir." Alan responds automatically, speaking for the first time in almost an hour. He has not even realized that up until that moment he didn't know which apartment or floor to take the boxes to.

Passing so close to Ryker in such a confined space, Alan catches a whiff of the man's scent for the first time. It is intense, a mixture of sweat and raw testosterone, but far from being unpleasant, it makes Alan's pants feel tighter around the crotch.

The scene repeats itself over and over. Both men carrying boxes on a hot day. Neither of them says a word. At most, Ryker nods at Alan when he sees him carrying an extra-heavy box, which, for some reason, means a lot to Alan.

The day wears on and the men sweat more and more. Alan has taken off his jacket… he doesn't even remember where he left it, nor does he care. His sweaty shirt feels almost like a second skin.

By now, Alan can no longer lie to himself and admits that Ryker drives him wild. Sometimes, in some corner of his mind, a little voice tells him that what's happening isn't normal, that he has a girlfriend, that he's never been attracted to men…

"Uhn... oh fu...."

But as soon as he crosses paths with Ryker again, his powerful musk, enhanced by hours of sweat, invades Alan's nostrils. The little voice is silenced and forgotten, while Alan's manhood throbs prisoner in his pants.

Alan doesn't know what time it is, but he knows he must have already missed the rest of his shift at the office, and lunch with a client, but he couldn't care less.

The hours pass.

The move is finally over, and Ryker shares some cold beers with Alan, sitting in the apartment full of boxes. Ryker talks about his ideas for the place. Alan mostly agrees with Ryker, and sometimes even suggests some ideas, surprised at how clearly he speaks, but the truth is his brain is bathed in a sea of ​​pheromones and sweat, so close to Ryker.

When Alan tastes the beer, he wonders what Ryker's sweat will taste like… he doesn't have the answer yet, but he's sure it would taste much better.

Suddenly, Ryker stands up.

"It's time to get rid of this. Uhn!"

Grunting with effort, Ryker takes off his shirt, which, soaked with sweat, is practically glued to his torso.

Alan is overcome with sadness. With the move complete, Ryker no longer needs him. He'll probably go take a shower and expect Alan isn't there when he gets out.

Discouraged, Alan heads towards the door.

"Where the fuck are you going?" Ryker asks in demanding tone.

"I... I..."

But before Alan can utter a word, Ryker corners him against a wall, imposing his body on Alan's.

"You wouldn't think of leaving without permission, would you? I am not done with you yet." Ryker's voice still sounded demanding, but it was tinged with a seductive tone.

"I... I... no... no, sir... s... sorry..." Alan answered, stuttering.

With Ryker so close, his cock was throbbing so hard.

"You did well today..."

Then Ryker puts his hand on the back of Alan's neck, bringing their faces closer until their lips touch.

"You want more?" Ryker whispers directly into Alan's mouth.

"Y-yes... please, sir..."

"I could make you feel like you've never dreamed of... but…"

Although Ryker has made a pause, Alan notices how his lips continue to move against his own, as if reciting silent words directly into Alan's mouth… directly into the center of his being…

"You have to answer a question first…"

"...Sir?"

At that point, Alan's cock was throbbing so hard he couldn't understand why he wasn't cumming right there. It was as if it was about to explode, but something was holding it back.

"It's a very important question… are you ready?"

Ryker continues speaking with his lips brushing against Alan's.

"Y... yes, sir..."

"Then, are you a good boy?"

"Y... yes, sir..."

"Are you MY good boy?"

"Yes, sir!" Alan felt the urge to answer with determination.

And finally, Ryker kisses him.

A wave of pleasure runs through Alan's body.

Alan feels no aversion or need to reject it. Instead, he receives the kiss with eagerness and surrender. It's the first time a man has kissed him, and it's the best kiss of his life.

Soon Alan responds with similar passion, placing his hands on Ryker's body for the first time.

It feels so right.

Alan finally understands why his cock hasn't come yet. He's Ryker's good boy, and it would never occur to him to cum without his permission.

The hours pass.

Alan discovers new forms of pleasure with Ryker that he had never imagined possible. He gives himself to Ryker completely, and Ryker rewards him handsomely.

Night falls, and both men collapse onto Ryker's bare mattress.

Alan is perfectly aware that he has not only missed the rest of the morning of work and lunch with a client, but he has also missed dinner with his girlfriend.

His phone has probably been ringing nonstop all day with calls from his boss and his girlfriend, but he can't even remember where he left his phone, or his jacket.

And he couldn't care less.

It's been almost an hour since Ryker fell asleep after hours of sex, and ever since he did, he hasn't stopped putting his arm around Alan, as if Alan were his teddy bear. But Alan is still awake in a state of sexual intoxication. He has never felt so good, so desired, so eager to please another person.

Alan doesn't know what his life will be like from now on, but he's not worried because there's one thing he's absolutely certain of, and it's the only thing that matters to him:

Ryker doesn't really like shopping.

But at least he feels comfortable in stores like URBAN, where he can always find something in his style. Plus, it's a local business, and he knows the owner personally.

"Hah, that tight ass..." Ryker thinks, unable to suppress a smile as he remembers Josh and their good times together in the back room of the store. Unfortunately, Josh is not in the store today.

Ryker likes to shop quietly, without being bothered, and normally that's not a problem because people usually give him his space, although sometimes the opposite happens.

"Wow, those guns are pure steel, man!" A voice says while invasively feeling Ryker's biceps. "Where have you been all my life, you bastard?" He asks with a stupid smile.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Ryker asks calmly but with a stern look, causing the other man to release his bicep and take a step back.

"Relax, handsome!" The man says, trying to calm things down. "Name is Bob, by the way. And you? I am sure your name sounds terrifying."

"I am not interested, Bob." Ryker said after looking Bob up and down. Bob was wearing military clothing, although it was clear he wasn't in the army.

"Oh, C'mon! A guy like you is always up for a good time. I can smell it on you." Bob gets too close to Ryker again and is deeply inspiring, then his eyes open wide. "Fuck, man! Your scent! So hot!"

"Will you stop touching me and smelling me, Bob?!" Ryker exclaims, shoving the annoying guy off him, before heading to another part of the store to continue browsing items.

"Okay, okay. I get it, I'm not your type. But I'm sure those bull balls you've got in your pants are full and ready to unload, and I know I am hot, man. Let's have a quick one in the fitting room, that's all I ask. You know you'll enjoy it."

"Bob, listen to me carefully." Ryker replied. "I am not in the mood. I'm just trying to shop, and you're fucking ruining it. FUCK OFF!" Ryker added without raising his voice, but in a stern and authoritarian tone.

Bob quietly withdrew.

After a while longer looking at the clothes, Ryker chooses some items and heads to the fitting room, but he has barely taken off his shirt and vest when the door suddenly opens.

It's Bob.

"Found you." He announces.

"Fuck off, Bob. I won't say it again."

"Well, I hope so!" He says with a mischievous smile. "C'mon dude! We're taking longer to discuss this than it will take you to paint my guts white! I'll do anything you want!"

Ryker slowly gets up and approaches the door. For a moment Bob thinks he's going to hit him, but instead he grabs Bob's arm and pulls him into the fitting room, closing the door behind.

Ryker corners Bob against a wall. His bare chest is very close to the boy's, their faces almost touching. Bob feels his knees tremble as he gets a firsthand dose of Ryker's raw scent.

"So this is what you craved that much." Ryker says in a low, deep voice in Bob's ear. "You were a real pest."

"Y-yeah... it took you long enough."

"Who knows... maybe this is what I wanted from the beginning, but you had to earn it." Ryker's deep voice became more and more seductive and commanding by the minute. "You almost gave up… and that would have been a shame."

"W-were you playing with me?"

"Perhaps. Does it matter now?"

"No fucking way."

"I am going to give you what you want, Bob, and more. But you have to be obedient and do something for me." Ryker says in an even more commanding tone.

"A-anything... fuck I am so hard..."

"Anything? Good... the shop's packed and I don't want anyone to spoil the fun… so you're going to be as quiet as a mannequin. Got it?"

"S... sure!"

"Say it."

"I give you my word, dude! I'll be quiet as a mannequin."

"Repeat it, I think you can do it better."

"I'll be quiet as a mannequin... sir." Bob swallowed hard.

"...Good boy."

The fun begins. They both give in like animals in heat. Ryker is far more than Bob had ever dared to dream. He's never had such primal sex, nor felt so dominated. Any whisper or suggestion from Ryker becomes an order that Bob has to obey immediately.

When Ryker climaxes and seeds Bob's guts, the young man feels his own orgasm about to explode, but nothing happens. Until that moment Bob hadn't even dared to let out a moan… he had to be quiet like a mannequin, but that was too much.

"So... something is happening, sir... I can't..."

"Shh... remember..."

"I'll be quiet as a mannequin, sir."

"Repeat."

"I'll be quiet as a mannequin, sir.... I'll be quiet as a mannequin... quiet as a mannequin... quiet as a mannequin... quiet as a mannequin... quiet as a mannequin... " Bob begins to repeat that phrase like a mantra, his mind almost blank.

"You said you'd do anything... and a man's word has power..."

"Quiet as a mannequin… quiet as a mannequin…" As his skin hardens and his body stiffens, Bob keeps repeating that phrase, as if nothing else in the world exists outside of that mantra. Nothing is more important than obedience… "quiet as a mannequin… quiet as a mannequin…"

Although his voice soon stops when the transformation reaches his mouth, sealing it.

A few seconds later Bob stops moving completely.

"In the end you did turn out to be an obedient boy, Bob." Ryker whispers into the mannequin's ear, unsure if it can hear him. "I just wanted to shop in peace, but you were such a pain. Anyway, I did my part, and I ended up enjoying it. I'm sure you did too."

There is only silence in response.

Minutes later, Ryker leaves the store with his purchases in a bag. The day hasn't gone as planned, but he can't complain. He can't wait to get to his apartment and enjoy some peace and quiet.

And a good cigar, of course.

Hours later, Josh, the store owner, arrives at his business for closing time. But when he checks the fitting rooms, he finds an unexpected surprise.

"Ha, ha, guys. Very funny." Josh says, feigning laughter. "Who is the fucker who left a mannequin lying in the fitting room? And all this military clothing scattered all over the floor..."

But his employees don't know what he's talking about.

"Nobody wants to take credit for the joke? Fine, then the joke's on him, because I'm keeping the mannequin for the shop."

When Josh goes inside to pick things up, a strong masculine scent assaults his nostrils. It smells like a macho. Josh is sure who's been there, and the thought makes him so hard.