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  1. Gman

    Wee Jock

    This is my first go at writing a story. If anyone has any feedback (good or bad), please feel free to comment. This chapter is more scene setting than sex. But I promise, there will be plenty of it. I've got a few ideas stored up. CHAPTER 1 I was nervous when I first went to his door. I was nervous every time I went to his door. I had met internet hookups before, but this was different. This guy seemed to have something more than a simple fuck in mind. Something I said had sparked his interested. His one pic was hot. Really hot. It didn’t even have his face, it was just his left pec, shoulder and arm reaching across his body. The way the muscles were flexed and defined emphasised their size. I wouldn’t normally message a guy with only one picture available, but that picture had me hard as soon as I saw it. When I messaged him he didn’t ask to meet for a fuck straight away (unlike 95% of the other guys on that site). We’ve been messaging for weeks now and it’s finally happening. I got a taxi to the address he sent me. It dropped me off outside a large, victorian, terraced house in Glasgow’s Westend. I didn’t even know houses like this existed here. I was use to the ageing student flats close by. These were much better cared for. He had given me instructions. I was to arrived at 10pm. I was a little early, so I waited outside. The storm door was unlocked, so I let myself in to the small porch, closing the door behind me. To the left of the main front door, was a narrow door flush with the wood paneling. As instructed, I opened it to find a small cupboard. I assumed most houses would keep their wellies, and umbrellas in here. But this cupboard was empty, save for a shoebox on the floor with the word “Open” written on top of it. Inside the box was a white jockstrap, size small, a key and a note saying: “Take off your clothes and shoes. Put on your jock strap. Come stand in the hall and don’t speak until instructed.” My heart was beating so hard I could hear my pulse. I felt my stomach constricting and was pleased I hadn’t eaten anything since lunch. I took a few deep breaths and took off my shirt. I was doing this. I could best be described as skinny. I thought I might have filled out a bit more when I entered my twenties, but it never happened. I had a visible six pack due to my low body fat, you couldn’t see my upper ribs, but there wasn’t much muscle there. I guess that’s one of the reason I find muscle so attractive. I removed my shoes, socks, jeans and briefs, placing them all in the cupboard and retrieving the plain white jockstrap. I’d never worn one before, and I was so nervous I put my leg in the wrong bit first time round. But once on, and the straps adjusted, I looked at myself as I ran my hands down from my chest to my balls, and then round to my exposed arse cheeks. It felt good and despite the lack of a mirror, I was pretty sure I looked good too. I used the key to unlock the front door and let myself in. It was strange letting myself in to someone else’s house, let alone doing it near naked. The hall was almost square, with tall ceilings and four rooms coming off of it: two doors on the right, two on the left. There was a large mahogany sideboard up against the back wall holding a vase of flowers, and above it hung a large, grand mirror. I could here muffled music coming from the ajar doorway at the far right corner of the hall. I daren’t venture in so I took up position in the centre of the room. I adopted a military ‘at ease’ pose, with my legs spread, and hands clasped behind my back, my heart still thumping against my chest. The room was pleasantly warm, so the slight tremble I had was through nerves rather than cold. After only a few minutes the music shut off, and I heard movement in the next room. The door opened and out stepped a god. A large white towel was wrapped around his waist, covering his legs down to his thick calves. His torso was the most erotic thing I have ever seen in real life. His skin was tanned and still glistening with moisture from the shower. The grooves between each abdominal mound - deep enough for me to get my fingers in and grab hold of each one - channeled little water droplets as they formed, running down past his navel to be absorbed by the towel. His powerful chest overhung this perfect abdomen. And it was flanked on either side by a pair of thick lats, impressive even though they were stretched as he dried his hair with a second towel. I could feel my cock thickening and pushing against the material of the jock. I must have taken a loud breath, or said something, because the god stopped in the doorway, dropped one arm and shifted the towel away from his face. He caught my eye and smirked. He walked in to the hall and leant against the sideboard, his right hand continuing to rub his dark hair. “On time and following instructions. We might get along.” His voice was deep, and although his accent wasn’t Glaswegian, it was certainly Scottish. I didn’t know if this counted as an invite to speak. I stayed silent, partly out of fear of upsetting him and having the encounter cut short; partly from not trusting my mouth to form words correctly. He continued to look at me straight in the eyes, as if sizing me up. A dozen, rapid, thumping, heartbeats passed and he stood up, leaving the secondary towel on the sideboard. He took a few steps towards me and stopped so that he was just out of arms reach, brought his hands together at hip level and flexed his chest. He could have crushed an apple in between those massive pecs. His shoulders ballooned out and the light catching on the still damp skin highlighted every groove of his deltoids. I had never experienced someone flex for me before... no one with anything decent to flex anyway. Not only did he have the size, but he knew what hew as doing as well. This was obviously not the first time he had shown off like this. I knew I wanted to step forward and start touching him, but I was hypnotised into motionlessness; only my eyes roving over his hard, gargantuan body. He brought both arms up into a double bicep pose. My gaze traveling from one peak to the other. His frame looked enormous as he held that pose, his lats spreading like a cobra’s neck, tapering down to his tight waist. All angles directing me to the bulge underneath the towel. I looked back to his face. His ice blue eyes were staring directly at my own. His grin revealed that he was enjoying how much I was enthralled by his display. He took another couple of steps forward, and that’s when I realised just how tall he was. I am a mere 5’5”, below average by any standard. My eyes were in line with this man’s chest. He must have been about 6’4”! He continued to make his slow advance until my nose was between those two mounds of powerful muscle. “Do you like what you see so far?” I looked up at him, towering over me. His face looking down at me, his left eyebrow raised, waiting for my answer. “I...I...” I stammered, “YES!” In my panic to say something my answer came out far too loudly. The god’s smile grew and he gave a single “ha,” as his chest heaved, almost touching me. I exhaled loudly, causing goosebumps on his sternum. “I hadn’t realised you’d be quite so short.” I couldn’t think what to say. I hadn’t realised how big this guy was going to be, or how dominant. Despite being mocked about my height all my life, and having witty retorts for almost any insult, I couldn’t think of anything for this situation. After all it had only been a statement. I started trying to form a response but just mumbled as my cheeks flushed red. The Goliath thrust both hands into my armpits and picked me up as if I were a doll. My hands at that point were still clasped behind my back. I immediately brought them round and grabbed hold of his arms to steady myself before I could register what was happening. “I shouldn’t have to pick you up to hear you. A lad so short should be use to making himself heard.” He held me in the air, almost a foot off the ground: his elbows at the same height as his shoulders, his arms bent at ninety degrees. His massive deltoids were flexed, but not struggling. His biceps... holy fuck my hands were on his biceps. I looked at my right hand, then back to those blue eyes. He winked. My breath shuddered as I took in this moment and squeezed my hands around his thick, bulging upper arms. My fingers gripped on to one of the tricep heads, whilst my thumbs tried to make an impression on his biceps. I couldn’t. I grew confident of his hold on me and started to run my hands slowly over his arms and shoulders, exploring them with my fingertips and palms. This was it. This was the reason I had come here tonight. He had promised I would get to feel power and strength like never before, and here it was. My heart rate increased, and I could feel the jock strap straining against my erection. “Fucking hell, this is unreal.” The first clear sentence I had made since entering his home. “My skin is drying out. How would you like to help rub in some oil?” He asked whilst placing me back on the ground. “I’d like that very much... Sir.” He cocked his head slightly to one side, giving my an approving look. He reached down, and pulled at one leg strap on my jock. “You’re a natural at this, Wee Jock.” He let the elastic go, slapping against my arse. “I like my guests to call me Sir.” With that he turn and walked back in to the room he had come from. I stood still, marvelling at the breadth and taper of his back as he walked away. “Follow me, Wee Jock.” “Yes, Sir!”
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