The Motivator Chapter 1

Author: metalbondnyc
Title: The Motivator (Chapter 1)
Date: 15 October 2009

The Motivator

By MetalbondNYC, located at www.MetalbondNYC.com

Chapter 1

“That’s it, keep sucking,” says Bryan, my personal trainer.
I’m on my knees in the trainers’ private locker room at the gym, servicing Bryan’s rock hard cock. As usual when I suck Bryan off, I am totally naked, and my hands are secured inescapably behind my back, locked at the wrists. My name is Rick, and my own cock, which I have not been able to stroke for six months now, is standing straight up at attention. I have learned, through negative reinforcement due to the ever-present rubber and metal band that is locked securely around the base of my cock and balls, to do exactly what Bryan says and not stop sucking until he says so. That means I might have his cock in my mouth for a while. It is just under 7 inches, thick, cut and right now very hard. I am going up and down and taking him deep, just as he likes. Every once in a while, he grabs the back of my head and holds me down until I almost gag. My knees are a little achy, but I should be thankful that today we are on the thick rubber mat by the lockers. (Actually, I am on the rubber mat. Bryan is sitting comfortably on a wooden bench.) It would be worse if we were in the shower like the last time he ordered me to suck him off. The tile floor of the shower is much more painful to kneel on for any length of time.
To make this whole situation even more fucked up, I am actually paying for this! That’s right! Like I said, Bryan is my personal trainer, and I have been seeing him at least three times a week for the past six months. When I work out here at the gym, I do so under the direction of Bryan. We had a 90-minute session today, which involved a mile run on the treadmill followed by weight training for chest, biceps and quads. And now here I am sucking his cock.
I shouldn’t complain, really, because under Bryan’s direction I have gotten into the best physical condition of my life. I’ve lost some unwanted fat from my midsection, to the point at which my abs are actually starting to show, and I’ve also broadened my shoulders so that some of my rubber T shirts and other fetish gear fits much tighter. What’s also a plus is that I get to use the trainers’ locker room, which is bigger and much nicer than the locker room for regular clients, and in here I get to be around not only Bryan but all the other hot stud trainers as well. I have to do whatever any of them tells me.
Like I said, Bryan is really hot. He’s about six feet tall, and he has short, dark hair. He’s got a phenomenal physique and not an ounce of body fat. If this were under any other circumstances, say if I were to meet him at the leather/rubber/fetish bar I go to, or if I were cruising for guys online, I would normally jump at the chance to suck a hot guy like him off, even if it meant “no recip,” as they say. Heck, I can get into sucking a guy like that off and then going home and beating off later. (In fact, some of the best jerkoff sessions I have had involve me thinking back on times like that.) Except the thing is, now that I am Bryan’s client, when I go home later today after sucking him off and taking his load, because of the training regimen he has me on, I actually won’t even be able to beat off!
So in addition to developing a nice physique, I am also in a constant state of sexual excitement.
How did this all begin?
It was shortly after New Year’s. I had been a member of the gym for almost a year, and I was making steady progress. I really got to enjoy this place because it was low-key, never crowded, and the best part is that it is open only to men. That’s important to me, because when I am working out there is nothing I enjoy more than being able to check out other guys doing their own workouts. Often I do so by looking at their reflections in the large mirrored walls.
Oh, and another thing that I really liked about this particular gym is the really hot physical trainers they have here — including Bryan — and, also hot, the attire they wear — black nylon sweatpants and red “under armor” style sleeveless shirts. The skintight shirts nicely show off their arms and chests and their hard, flat stomachs. Whenever I was working out at the gym I had always enjoyed watching them work with their clients. There was something really appealing to me about the way the trainers always seemed to be in control, standing over their clients, guiding them with their form and always encouraging them to complete their last few reps.
But there were a couple of things about the gym that seemed a little odd, like the fact that it was in the basement of a large warehouse building and there was no sign on the front door. The only reason I even knew about the place was that I had been given a flier for it one day by a guy I met at the leather bar. To get inside you had to get buzzed in and then walk down a long flight of stairs. In the gym itself, a few times I witnessed things that didn’t seem to make sense.
Every once in a while I noticed one of the clients, always one working with a trainer, would be wearing what appeared to be black rubber wrist bands. I thought that was rather strange that a guy would be wearing such items for a workout. These stood out to me because of my interest in rubber fetish gear, though I realized that other people without my own fascination for fetish gear would probably not have noticed this. In any case, I never had the guts to ask anybody about that. But that wasn’t all.
One day when I was on some mats stretching before a workout, I heard a guy in the free weights area scream out in pain. He yelled so loudly that everyone, including me, turned around to look. The guy was doubled over on the floor holding his crotch. I figured he must have dropped a dumbbell on his nuts or something. It looked like he was in so much agony that he would have to be rushed to the hospital. But then one of the personal trainers who was nearby loudly announced, “It’s OK, he’s fine,” and everybody just went back to what they were doing.
Another time, I saw something else that was really weird. I was heading to the showers after a workout, and I saw one of the members of the gym in the bathroom area scrubbing the toilets. “Why would he be doing that?” I thought to myself.
Anyway, back to the personal trainers. I always wanted to work out with one of them, but I had simply figured it was too expensive. Even being a regular member here was a bit of a financial stretch for me. Then one day when I was on my way out of the gym, Dave, one of the trainers I found especially hot, handed me a small flier. The sheet showed a guy doing dumbbell flyes with one of the trainers above him. It said at the top, “When you’re ready to take your workouts to the next level, come and talk to us…” But what ultimately ended up sealing my fate was the fine print at the bottom: “Bring this flier in for a free session with one of our personal trainers.”
Now I admit that sometimes I can be a little gullible, but I’m no fool either. I knew very well that I would go in, have a “free” workout and then I would be strong-armed through a high-pressure sales pitch to buy a whole program for personal training sessions. I know the routine. But I had just gotten a nice holiday bonus the month before, so I figured what the heck. Maybe I could afford a basic plan, perhaps even a dozen sessions or so, and then I could go back to working out on my own. I figured the instruction on technique and other tips from one of the trainers would benefit me in the long run.
So the next day when I went to the gym, I presented my flier to the guy at the front desk and asked about scheduling my “free” workout. He told me to wait and picked up the phone, and two minutes later I was behind closed doors in the private office of John, the head trainer. He had the same “uniform” the other trainers had, except his tight sleeveless shirt was black and not red. At six-foot-four inches tall, with a shaved head, a build of solid muscle and a large tattoo on his right arm, I found John incredibly hot, and I was naturally a little intimidated sitting there in his office.
But despite his daunting physical appearance, he was actually incredibly friendly, polite and respectful. He even showed a genuine interest in me, asking about my job, where I live, etc. He called me by my first name. He also asked me all sorts of questions like do I have any health problems, am I taking any medication, are there any physical limitations that would prevent me from engaging in strenuous weight and cardio training? (No, no, no.) He wrote everything down on a pad. Then he asked me about my goals. He wanted me to be specific, so I told him: I wanted to trim down in my midsection, I wanted to build up my shoulders a bit, and I wanted to generally tone up and become more defined all around. “Excellent,” he said, again taking notes on his pad, writing everything I said down. Finally, he asked me to tell him about my current workout regimen. I told him my routine at the time, which was doing some outdoor cycling when the weather was nice, running on the treadmill when it was not, and also working with free weights and machines on my own. One thing I mentioned was that when I get to the end of a set, I sometimes find myself running out of energy for the final few reps and that sometimes I might only complete 8 or 9 instead of a full 10 to 12. “Don’t worry,” he said. “We have ways of dealing with that.”
The next step, he explained, was to take measurements. And for this I would have to strip down to my socks and underwear and place my clothes on the hooks on the back of his office door.
“It’s OK, this room is totally private,” he explained. I was glad for that, and I was also relieved that today I had on a pair of white briefs and not the rubber jock I sometimes wore for kicks under my workout clothes. As I removed my shoes, pants and shirt, he took out a cloth tape measure, the kind they use at the tailor shop, and turned the form over on his pad. Once I was properly undressed as instructed, he began to take the measurements. He wrote everything down — chest, waist, hips, neck, arms, etc. — on the form. During this time I was trying desperately to keep from getting erect, as this would have caused me immense embarrassment, but I could not prevent myself from getting stiff. When he went to measure my thighs and his forearm brushed against my crotch, however, my cock got H-A-R-D, which was an obvious giveaway that I was turned on now. Surprisingly, he said nothing about my erection, and he simply finished measuring my other thigh and both calves, again jotting everything down.
The final formality, he said, was for him to take pictures, which would serve as the “before” shots that would be compared to pictures we would take in the future to show my progress. So he told me to stand against the wall and face him, which I did. Unfortunately for me, my cock was still hard when he took the pictures, and this was clearly visible through my white cotton briefs. Again, he made no comment about this and proceeded with 100% courtesy and professionalism.
“OK, Rick, time for you to get dressed for your workout,” he said. “You will work out with me today. I am going to evaluate you and determine what level you are at. And after this assessment workout, I will decide which trainer might be the best match for you. For today, you can leave your belongings here in my office.”
So I got into my gym shorts, workout T and sneakers, and we went to the gym floor. He had me run a mile on the treadmill, and he recorded my time (nine minutes). “We’ll improve on that,” he said. Next, we went to the free weights area, and he had me do everything — bench presses, shoulder presses, bicep curls, triceps extensions, squats, ab crunches, and much more — and after each exercise, he continued to write everything down as before. He recorded how much weight I was lifting for each exercise and the number of sets and reps I completed. Man, this was some thorough evaluation process we were going through! At the end of the workout I was exhausted, and my clothes were drenched in sweat.
“Let’s go back to my office to talk business,” he said. (Here we go, I thought, the high-pressure sales pitch is coming.) On the way he got me a fresh towel and a cold bottle of water, both of which I desperately needed. I sat back down with him in his office, and this time he left the door wide open. He laid out for me the different options for personal training.
The first option, he said, was the Platinum Plan. That would be to hire him or one of the other “top level” trainers for $125 per hour. I told him that as much as I would like that, there was no possible way that I would be able to afford that. The second option, he explained, was the Gold Plan, which would involve working with one of the senior trainers, whose services cost $75 an hour. Even at that price it was a little steep, I said. Not to worry, he told me, the Silver Plan was also an option. Under the Silver plan I could work out with an associate trainer for $65 per session. For each of these programs, to get the hourly pricing, the minimum commitment would be for 10 sessions. I told him the Silver Plan would be more along the lines of what I was able to pay.
“We do have a fourth option, which is even more affordable, and what we refer to as the Motivator Plan,” he said. “It’s something we offer only on rare occasions and only to select clients, but from what I have seen today, I think you would be an ideal candidate. And we have found that because of the nature of this particular program, clients tend to show more rapid progress than those in our other training options. But I have to be up front about this,” he said. “The Motivator Plan is, shall I say, well – let’s just say it is a little out of the ordinary for a workout program.”
I asked him to tell me more about the Motivator Plan, and especially what was so unusual about it.
“What makes the Motivator Plan unique is the use of three high-tech rubberized steel bands, which you will be required to wear. During your workouts your trainer will have the ability to — how can I put this — let’s just say he has the ability to ‘motivate’ you to complete your exercises as instructed.” As he explained all this, he reached down into the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out a thick see-through plastic pouch containing three rubber rings, each several inches in diameter. He handed the packet to me, and as I looked at them he continued speaking.
“Our program was inspired by some of those ‘boot camp’ or ‘drill instructor’ type workouts you might have seen advertised by some of our competitors. Except the way we motivate you is not by yelling at you,” he said. “In fact, none of us will ever have to raise a voice to you at all.”
John continued, “The way it works is rather simple, really. Through the use of a remote activation device, your trainer can administer an electric stimulus at key moments in your workout, to help you achieve your desired goals.” As he said this, the head trainer reached down into his front sweatpants pocket and brought out what looked like a miniature TV remote control.
“Consider it ‘motivation by force,’ if you will,” he said. “Except in your case, you really want to be motivated, so we’re essentially forcing you to do what you already want to do, deep down inside. We’re just able to get you to go through with it. Like I mentioned before, this technique is a little out of the ordinary, but the results we get with our clients are quite interesting — not only for our clients but for the trainers here as well.”
“Perhaps the most attractive aspect of the Motivator Plan,” he said, “is the price. Under this plan, we can offer you personal training at the rate of exactly $22.50 per session, with a 20-session commitment for a total of $450.”
“This is a much lower price per session than any of our other options, which is why from time to time we would ask you to perform some menial tasks around the gym, under the supervision of the trainers here. These tasks are generally rather easy,” he explained, “and they include things like hosing down the showers after one of your workouts, or picking up towels from one of the locker rooms. I know that using clients for this type of task is a bit out of the ordinary, but it is a way we have of reducing costs here at the gym.”
“Sometimes,” he continued, “your trainer may have you perform some other type of service of a more personal nature,” he said, looking directly into my eyes. “And like I said, based on what I have seen today, I think you would be an ideal candidate for the Motivator Plan.”
I was rock hard again. I couldn’t help it, after hearing this tall muscular stud sit across from me and describe forced workouts and my being required to provide “service of a personal nature” to the personal trainers. My mind was wandering in all sorts of directions with that one. I was thankful that we were sitting down.
He continued, “Well Rick, why don’t you go home tonight and think about what program you want to sign up for, and come back tomorrow and let me know.” He reached behind his desk to a file cabinet and pulled out some forms, which he handed to me. “Here,” he said, handing me the papers as he stood up. “It sounds like you are most interested in the Silver Plan and the Motivator Plan, so here are the contracts for both. Be sure to read over the terms of the contracts before you decide, and then we can get you signed up tomorrow. We can process your payments automatically on your credit card, just like we do with your monthly membership fee.”
As I got up to leave his office, I was thankful to have the contracts in my hand, which allowed me to conceal my still hard cock as he escorted me out the door of his office.
I went to the locker room, showered and then got out of there. As it was now late in the afternoon, I stopped at the deli for a roast beef sandwich on my way home, which I figured would be good for dinner. After I ate, I plopped down on the couch to beat off. I thought about how hot it would be to have one of the trainers at the gym controlling me like that. I wasn’t sure what John head meant by “performing service of a more personal nature” to the trainers, but my mind went wild. Like any other gay guy like me probably would, I thought about sucking the trainers’ cocks and perhaps even licking their feet, balls and armpits. I got all worked up, and soon I shot one of the biggest loads of my life. And then I drifted off to sleep.
When I woke up it was nearly 11 p.m., and having recovered from the beat off session my rational mind took over. I had to do the dishes and clean up my apartment a bit before going to bed. As I did my household chores, I pondered what had happened that day. “What am I, some kind of lunatic?” I thought. I’m not going to let another guy shock me with a remote control and then order me around in the gym like some lackey. Forget that. I decided on the Silver Plan, with a 10-session commitment for $650. And that would be it.
I went to bed without even reading through the contracts. The one for the Silver Plan was just a couple pages, but the Motivator Plan was rather lengthy and reminded me of one of those tedious credit card agreements or a privacy policy statements they hand you at the doctor’s office. Does anybody ever read those, I wondered?
The next day I got distracted with work (I do graphic design projects from home as a freelancer), and I literally had no time to read over the contracts. I had beat off the night before and had gotten much of the horniness out of my system, and even by that afternoon when I went back to the gym I was still thinking with my rational mind. I had left the contracts on my living room floor. I was not going to be “forced” to work out. I had decided to sign up for the Silver Plan.
That was my intent, anyway. All that changed when I checked in at the front desk at the gym and met Bryan.
“You must be Rick,” he said, extending his hand to give mine a firm, solid shake while looking me right in the eye. “I’m Bryan. I’ve been assigned as your personal trainer. John is out today, but we reviewed your evaluation forms and he explained to me that you are a candidate for the Motivator Plan. Is that true, Rick?” (When he said this, I noticed the other guy behind the desk raised an eyebrow.)
“Y-yes,” I stammered, not believing what was coming out of my mouth. I had decided against the forced workouts program, but now, seeing this stud I could let take control of me, I was changing my mind. But who could blame me? Immediately upon meeting Bryan, I knew I was going to be in trouble. I had never seen him before. To begin with, he was amazing to look at. He appeared to be about six feet in height or slightly taller. He was clean-shaven except for just a hint of razor stubble. He was wearing the gym’s regulation black nylon sweatpants and the sleeveless, skintight red muscle jersey that showed off not only his sculpted arms but also his solid chest and his washboard abs. His left arm had a large tattoo, of a Celtic cross. But there was more than just Bryan’s outstanding physical appearance. Unlike John, who the day before had been extremely polite and showed the utmost courtesy to me, Bryan seemed a bit more authoritarian. It is hard to describe this, but it was just something about the way he spoke and the way he shook my hand. He just took control immediately, and I followed his lead. He was just so hot, and there was no way I could resist.
“Did you bring your contract with you?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “I left it at home.”
“But you did read it over, right?” he asked.
“Um, y-yes, of course,” I lied.
“Good, then we can get another copy from John’s office and sign you up today. Follow me.”
I gulped. Two minutes later, I was again sitting again in the head trainer’s office, this time handing Bryan — my new personal trainer — a signed contract for the gym’s Motivator Plan. I was committed. At least this way my credit card would only be hit with an extra $450 charge this month instead of the $650 I was planning on spending, I rationalized to myself.
“Well now that we have the paper work squared away, let’s get started,” said Bryan, standing up and grabbing the plastic packet with the steel and rubber bands from the desk. “First we have to fit you with these. Follow me.”
With a “what have I gotten myself into now” feeling, I followed Bryan. Actually it was more like a feeling of excitement combined with a fear of the unknown.
“From now on you’ll be changing and showering in here,” he said, leading me through an unmarked door. “This is the trainers’ personal locker room, and only trainers and Motivator Plan clients are allowed inside.”
When we came in to the locker room, two of the other trainers were getting dressed.
“Guys, this is Rick, he’s our newest Motivator Plan client,” Bryan said to the other two, not stopping or even bothering to tell me their names. I recognized one of them, Dave, the one who had given me the flier two days ago. Then, as Bryan and I proceeded down the row of lockers I overheard Dave say something under his breath to the other trainer.
“Client?” he said with a laugh. “Slave is more like it.”
The other trainers were closing their own lockers and heading out to the gym floor, and I obviously wasn’t supposed to hear that.
“Put your stuff in this locker here, and you’re going to have to strip down,” Bryan says to me, opening up a locker at the end of the row. I dutifully took off my clothes and hung them in the locker, stripping down to my underwear.
“Lose the shorts,” Bryan says, not even looking at me or at my underwear. (This time, I am too embarrassed to get hard.) As he said this, he was pulling open the plastic pouch, sort of like opening a bag of potato chips, retrieving the bands. He took each of my hands in his one at a time and slid on the bands, putting one around each wrist. He put them on like bracelets. They were wide enough to fit that way. Each band was metallic on the inside part that came in contact with the skin, while the edge and outer, visible portion of each band was rubberized. They are each about an inch and half wide, and after he slid them on they sort of looked like loose fitting rubber sweatbands.
He then took the third band from the plastic pouch. This one was a little smaller in diameter, and it is only about three quarters of an inch wide. This band also was metallic on the inside, and rubber on the outside. This all seemed a little weird, but I figured that wearing this paraphernalia would be fine for an hour or two several times per week.
“This one goes around the base of your manhood, just like a cock ring,” he said, looking me right in the eye. I figured that Bryan was no stranger to such things as I took the device from his hand and began putting it on. In for a penny, in for a pound I figured. First one testicle, then the other, then I squished up my flaccid penis and squeezed it through the ring. “Get it on tight,” he said, “and hold it right there.”
My new trainer then reached into his pocket and pulled out a small remote, just like the one John, the head trainer, had shown me the day before. He punched in a code number from the plastic bag, and I heard a few beeps.
“I am programming you in to my remote,” he said, still punching buttons. Suddenly, and without warning, the cock ring I had just put on tightened. How the heck this happened I have no idea. This sure is some strange and high-tech electronics, I thought to myself.
“You can let go now,” he said. And now I was starting to get stiff again. The band was so tight and actually felt kind of erotic, so I couldn’t help it.
Next he punched more numbers in to the remote, and this time the wrist bands tightened, just as the other metal and rubber ring had around the base of my cock and balls.
Bryan grabbed my wrists and examined the tightness of the bands, and then he reached down and felt the band around my genitals. Finally, satisfied with himself, he stood back with what could no doubt be a smirk, and he admired his handiwork.
“So, Rick, how do you like your new motivation bands?” he asked. “You better get used to them, you know.”
“They are fine,” I said, “but what exactly do they do?”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said, shaking his head in apparent disbelief. “I thought you told me you read the contract.”
“Well, I, uh, didn’t exactly read the entire thing,” I admitted.
“That’s so funny,” he said, still shaking his head, sort of with a look of pity in his face. “Didn’t anybody ever tell you to never sign anything before you read it? Well, that doesn’t matter now. I guess I will just have to show you how this technology works. Remember, you signed up for the Motivator Plan.”
“Say you’re doing bench presses for me, like you will be doing shortly,” he explained, “and I tell you that your form is not perfect or that you owe me three more reps. You’re going to do the exercise properly, aren’t you?”
“Well, yeah,” I said.
“And you’re going to finish all your reps as well, right?”
“I’ll certainly do my best,” I replied.
“No, you won’t do your best, you will do what I say,” he said, now with a menacing tone in his voice.
I gulped, and I felt beads of sweat dripping down from under my arms.
“OK, Rick, here’s how this is going to work. If you show me any kind of hesitation when I tell you to do something or when you get toward the end of a set and you start running out of steam, I am going to push this little button I got here,” he said, clicking his remote.
Immediately, I felt a sharp pang on my balls, not painful, but not pleasant either. It was certainly enough to get my attention.
“Feel that?” he said.
“Yes,” I said.
“That is what we call your alert shot,” he said. “It means that I have determined, for whatever reason, that you require additional motivation. Follow my instructions, finish your set, and all I have to do is push this button once more, and you will have prevented further electronic motivation. Understand?”
I nodded, noticing that he had not pushed the button a second time but had only pointed at it.
“But if you still have not complied, exactly twenty seconds later, you will feel what we call the warning shot,” he said, and suddenly, I felt the ping again, only this time it was about 10 times sharper and actually caused me real pain. I jumped. This was not a sensation I would ever want to have again.
“After you feel the warning shot,” Bryan said, you have exactly ten seconds to get in line, or else you will feel the punishment shot. Get ready.”
About three seconds later, the band shocked me again, and this time the pain was so intense, and the agony so real and so immediate, that I yelled out in pain and fell naked to the floor of the locker room, clutching my balls in my hands.
“I’m sorry I had to do that to you, Rick,” he said, “but it is the only way to show you that from now on, I mean business. If I tell you to do something, you do it. Got that?”
I was too bowled over in pain and in disbelief to even respond.
“Get dressed and meet me at the free weights. You have 10 minutes,” Bryan said, and then he turned and walked out of the locker room.
I stayed right where I was, on the floor of the locker room, for several minutes before I could even move. That third jolt had just knocked me out of commission. But Bryan seemed damn serious, and I figured I had better get my ass out on the gym floor. I got into my jock (a white cotton one today) and my sweats, laced up my sneakers, and met Bryan for my first workout with him in charge.


end of Chapter One

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